summary: dex never knew you were there all along
1.4k words!!
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When Dex found out you were a mutant, questions ran around his mind, burning to ask you and figure you out like a puzzle to be solved. He didn't immediately ask them, he didn't want to scare you off.
Ha, as if, you thought, "Come on, ask away," You waved your hand as if to say 'go ahead' and he hesitated, "I can see your fuse about to blow." You joked, a smirk tugging at your lips.
You paused, "Oh, wait, before we get into that, let's move this into the living room, away from my underwear," You quipped, huffing out a laugh when Dex avoided eye contact like he knew what he was doing was wrong.
He reached down to grab all of his weapons, but you stopped him, speeding over and putting his weapons back from where you got them, and moving back to your original position, smirking at him when he realized what you just did.
"Thanks," He awkwardly said, eyes slightly narrowed as he straightened up.
You didn't say anything in return, just moved out from your bedroom, into your living room, expecting him to follow you which he did.
Obedient, you thought. That was very helpful to know.
"Do you want a drink or something?" You offered Dex, opening the fridge and getting out a bottle of water for yourself. You get thirsty and hungry really quickly, fast metabolism and all that.
"No thanks," He denied, standing gauchely next to your couch.
You stifled a laugh, "You can sit down, you know." You led by example, taking a seat on the blanketed area, chugging down some of the water. He followed your actions, sitting not too far from you on the chaise. "Okay, go ahead." You said, continuing from a few minutes earlier on.
"Did you always know you were a mutant?" Dex asked once he knew you were okay with the questioning.
You snickered, "Oh, no, definitely not. I fear my parents would not be able to handle that." It was hilarious to think about; your parents frantic and panicking when you, a baby, run away. "I got struck by lightning in my lab when I was twenty-four, so about eight years ago."
Dex's brows raised in shock at your blunt statement, "Oh?" He was taken aback, that was not what he was expecting, but he really should've learned by now.
Expect the unexpected.
You nodded, smiling like nothing was wrong, "Yeah, there was a thunderstorm one day, and lightning struck my lab, through the sunroof and struck my chemicals, and me, by extension."
Dex was speechless, "What happened after that?" He leaned in like a child listening to a bedtime story.
"Well, lightning would kill any normal human, right? But, I was not a normal human, so I just got knocked unconscious, and taken to the hospital, where my heart stopped - multiple times - and eventually, my body adjusted to the changes. I still have the Lichtenberg Figures on my back," You explained, and Dex's breath hitched at your last words, "they were supposed to fade over time, but they never went away. I'm guessing it has something to do with my speed."
"Like a scarred mirror," He gently vocalized, his intense eyes striking yours.
You paused, shaking your head, "The mirror isn't what is scarred," There was a silent agreement in the atmosphere.
You then clapped your hands, disrupting the serious atmosphere, "So! Any questions nagging at you? Hit me." You moved your hands in a motion as if to say 'come at me.'
"How did your powers change you from now and from before?" Dex questioned, curiously. He would like to know how different you and him were, but not really, because you two were the same as Dex declared in his mind.
"Nice question," You complimented, smiling when he preened, "Not much is different, other than my metabolism, it is so much more faster now, I have to eat a lot to keep my blood pressure up. There was this one instance, right after I woke up from my coma-"
"Coma?!" Dex cut you off in shock, voice deep and gravelly, looking over you for nonexistent injuries.
"Oops, did I forget to mention that?" You scratched your head, making a face, "I was in a nine month coma after I got struck by lightning, yeah."
You tried not to look as sheepish when you were met with his deadpanned look.
"It was a long time ago, okay?" You defended, "So, I missed a few details, you can't really blame me. One of the side effects of being struck by lightning was lightning psychosis."
Were you lying your ass off? Yes.
Did you really care? No.
"What's lightning psychosis?" Dex inquired, concerned. He was doing that a lot, recently, he noticed. Worrying for you.
You also noticed. It was very endearing, but also, just a tad bit irritating. You did not need him on your case every five seconds.
That was a lifetime for you.
If he was on it every five to ten minutes, then that would be okay.
You sighed, "It makes it hard for me to remember the small details. So, don't be too concerned if I skim over things. All this talk is making me hungry. I'll be right back, you like any toppings on your pizza?"
It would be rude for you not to offer the guy anything. Even though, he did technically break into your apartment. Eh, semantics.
"Uh, I'm fine with anything." He answered after a few seconds.
He noticed you didn't stay on a topic for long, always ready to keep going, and always ready to move.
You nodded at his response, and then you were gone in a flash.
You were back just as fast, pizzas in hand.
"Alright, ask me some fun questions. I know too much about you to not let you even out the odds." You declared, setting the boxes down onto the coffee table, opening it and already starting to scarf down a slice.
Dex stared at you, head tilted, "What exactly do you know about me?"
You paused, mid-bite, "A lot. It's not hard to stalk someone when they don't know you're there." You chewed through the bite of pizza in your mouth, "Also, when you have super speed, duh."
Dex had to reboot. He needed to take a moment and comprehend all of the words coming out of your mouth because it seemed like everything coming out of your pretty lips seemed too good to be true, but somehow, they were.
When did he win the freaking lottery?
No, seriously, what the fuck.
You didn't seem to notice Dex's internal conflict as you continued to eat like a starved man, but you did pause eventually, "Eat a slice, I don't know where you get the time to eat when you're constantly 'people watching,' I'm glad I have my super speed, that would really suck if I didn't. I think I'd probably die of starvation." You nodded to yourself like it was a valid thought.
You then actually looked at Dex, grimacing when you realized what you just said, "Sorry, I tend to let my mouth move faster than my thoughts. I wasn't supposed to let you know that, damn it." You shook your head at yourself, hands free but slightly greasy from the pizza.
Well, there goes trying to be mysterious, but to be fair, you probably stopped being an enigma right after you told him about your powers.
Dex disagreed. You were a very interesting person, especially an enigma. It was like you told him one thing and he accidentally figured out ten more things. It was very whiplashing.
"How long have you been watching me?" Dex interrogated, eyebrows raised. He wasn't angry, not really, it honestly impressed him how you've been trailing him without him having an inkling of paranoia. If anything, it turned him on.
You noticed that, you always do, "Ever since you were jailed after killing Nelson. Who do you think helped get you out?" You grinned, shark-like.
"For that long?" Dex abruptly blurted out, mouth faster than his thoughts, leaning forward from his spot on the couch.
You nodded, "I've always been there, I won't lie about that, there were some moments where I wanted to rush in and stop you from getting hurt, but time is a force of its own." You smiled, sad and apologetically.
He didn't like that expression on your face. You were supposed to be happy. You were his protector, his stalker. You were to be content and sated.
He distracted the two of you as he grabbed a slice of pizza from the box, "So, tell me something about you. What's your favorite food?"
And, in return, you smiled, taking a slice for yourself.
“The only thing that remains the SAME in ANY dimension is the SPEED OF LIGHT."
Mark Grayson X The Flash/Gerrik! Reader
Prologue | Chapter One (here)
w/c: 4.0k
series c/w: Small age gap (Mark 20/Reader 25). Reader is a college educated cis woman from the 1930/40s.
a/n: Time in a Bottle is a slow burn, mostly episodic, request driven story. Also, the amount of research I did into early baseball for three lines is absurd
Mark genuinely didn’t even know why he was here.
Not that he wanted to be.
Surely there were other heroes in… wherever the hell they were in Germany.
But no.
Just him.
Well, him and the others Robot had either guilt-tripped or blackmailed into coming.
Luckily for Mark, it had only been guilt.
For Immortal and Bulletproof, flying beside him now, Mark suspected it had been both.
“Okay,” Mark called over the wind as they cut through low clouds. He tried to cross his arms. Immediately remembered that would absolutely kill his momentum as he awkwardly uncrossed them. “Remind me why we need to be here again?”
Immortal didn’t look at him. “An alt-right nationalist group has been growing in numbers.”
“Oh. Cool. Hate that already.”
“They’ve taken control of an abandoned facility,” Immortal continued evenly. “One that previously housed nuclear research and early ballistic weapons development.”
Bulletproof frowned. “That part wasn’t in Robot’s briefing.”
“No. It was not.”
Mark squinted at him as he tried to joke with the serious man. “What? Were you the reason it was abandoned or something?”
“Yes.”
Mark waited for something more than just the simple answer, but got nothing.
Bulletproof slowly turned his head. “You’re kidding.”
“I am not.”
Guess Immortal was guilt tripped as well, Mark thought.
The mountains came into view ahead of them. Tall, white, and unforgiving. And carved into the rock like a wound sat the facility.
Even from this distance, Mark could see fresh construction layered over old concrete.
Old bones with new teeth.
“You gonna elaborate? At all?” Mark tried to prod.
Immortal’s gaze never left the structure.
“This is a tomb,” he said simply. “And it’s being desecrated.”
“So that’s the actual reason you came back for this.” Bulletproof muttered.
Immortal didn’t answer. He simply started walking through the snow as flakes began to fall harder, dusting his shoulders.
Mark sighed and cracked his knuckles.
“Okay,” he muttered. “Let’s go ruin some fascists’ day.”
Getting into the compound was easy.
So easy Mark almost felt insulted.
Immortal didn’t hesitate. He walked straight to the first reinforced door and pulled it out, hinges screaming as they tore free from concrete.
Alarms blared instantly. Red lights strobed across the snow.
Men in black tactical gear poured out of the doorways, rifles raised.
The world quickly became fists and ringing gunshots. Mark plowed into the nearest cluster, sending bodies flying into construction floodlights and parked vehicles.
Someone tried to shout orders, he assumed. But Mark spun and drove the shouting man into a snowbank hard enough to leave a person-shaped crater.
To his left, Bulletproof simply walked forward, shrugging off gunfire with an annoyed expression.
“Seriously?” he muttered, grabbing a rifle out of a man’s hands, and tearing it apart like cardboard.
Immortal moved differently.
Efficient and downright terrifying.
No wasted no energy. He disarmed, he broke bones, and some men Mark swore would see double for the rest of their lives based on how hard Immortal hit them.
Mark hovered, scanning the wreckage.
“That can’t be it.”
And just his luck. It wasn’t.
The ground shook from below their feet.
Immortal froze.
Over the compound intercom, frantic shouting erupted.
German.
Immortal’s head snapped toward the main structure.
“What?” Mark demanded. “What are they saying?”
Immortal didn’t answer right away.
And for the first time since Mark had known him, something cracked through the hero’s composure.
Mark’s stomach dropped as another tremor tore through the ground. The lights that illuminated them flickered violently.
“Well?” Mark barked. “Let’s go!”
They tore into the facility.
Inside was chaos.
Mechanics scrambling. Armed men retreating. Sirens wailing.
The deeper they went, the hotter the air became.
Then they reached the chamber.
The reactor stood at the center, newer steel bolted around something much older if the rust was any indication.
And it was already humming. Sparks spat from exposed wiring.
Then something worse happened.
Lightning arced across the room, snapping against walls and ceiling like it was alive.
The reactor began to scream.
The sound bent the air. High and piercing.
“Shut it down!” Bulletproof yelled.
“I’m trying!” Immortal snapped, sprinting toward the control array.
And then the world split open.
A crack tore through the air above the reactor.
A portal.
But not the sickly green of Angstrom’s.
This was pure white light.
The lightning stopped lashing randomly.
It bent and spiraled upward.
Mark stared. “What the hell—”
Something shot out of the rift.
It moved impossibly fast, like a comet breaking atmosphere.
Immortal looked up.
And it slammed into him.
The impact launched him across the chamber, through steel scaffolding and into the far wall hard enough to crater reinforced concrete.
The rift snapped shut.
The lightning vanished.
The reactor powered down instantly.
Silence fell like a guillotine.
Mark blinked.
“…What.”
Bulletproof was already moving.
They rushed to the crater.
Immortal lay half-buried in twisted steel.
He wasn’t alone.
There was someone in his arms.
A woman.
Red suit torn. Boots scorched.
A metal helmet on the floor beside her.
Immortal stared down at her like he’d seen a ghost.
His hands were shaking.
“…No,” he whispered to himself.
Mark looked between them.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
You woke to the warm crackle of a radio.
Soft and familiar.
The voices blurred together at first. Static, then the low murmur of a crowd. A bat cracked. The announcer’s cadence rolled smooth and bright.
“…and that makes it two outs here at Ebbets Field, folks, Dodgers trailing the Yankees—”
Baseball.
The sound wrapped around you like sunlight through curtains. For a moment, you didn’t move. You just listened.
Your body felt heavy.
Numb in a way.
You pushed yourself upright slowly, palms pressing into the mattress. Your thoughts stumbled over one another, sluggish and out of order.
The last thing you remembered was light.
Heat clawing up your spine as the reactor screamed.
You had been certain you would be vaporized.
Or worse.
Instead, you were sitting in a bed.
In clothes you didn’t recognize.
Your breath caught in your throat.
This wasn’t the barracks.
It wasn’t the medical tent, either.
Not the one you occasionally woke in after fainting spells from skipped meals and too much running on too little rest.
There were no canvas walls.
No cots.
No antiseptic sting in the air.
This room, instead, smelled like linens and lavender.
The sheets were crisp. The walls solid. A nightstand sat beside you with a glass of water and a small lamp. The radio crackled again.
“…as DiMaggio steps up to the plate—”
Your head snapped toward it.
DiMaggio?
You swallowed thickly as you looked down at your hands, turning them over slowly.
No burns.
No blisters.
No tremor of sickness.
You flexed your fingers experimentally.
Alive and whole.
Your stomach dropped.
You slipped your legs over the side of the bed, bare feet meeting polished floor.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
The announcer’s voice continued, cheerful, unbothered.
“Game five of the World Series—”
You froze and listened closer.
DiMaggio flew out. Nearly got into a scuffle with Wyatt.
You remembered this game. You remembered the Subway Series.
It was part of the 1941 World Series after all.
Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.
That was four years ago.
Four years before the mission.
Four years before…
The door clicked open.
You were on your feet before it finished swinging inward.
“Miss Garrick?”
A woman in a nurse’s uniform stepped inside, with a bright smile and a tray in her hands.
“You’re awake,” she said carefully.
“Where am I?” you asked.
Your voice sounded rough and unrecognizable to your own ears. Like you’d slept years without water.
“You’ve been through quite an ordeal,” she replied, stepping further into the room. “You need to rest.”
“Where am I?” you repeated.
She didn’t answer that.
Instead, she sat down the tray, containing a fresh glass of water and something small you didn’t recognize, and moved to adjust the radio volume.
Your eyes narrowed.
“Forgive me, ma’am. But what year is it?” you asked.
“1945. You’ve experienced a great deal of trauma,” she said gently. “Disorientation is common.”
Your stomach twisted.
Captured.
That was the only explanation.
If you hadn’t died, you must’ve been pulled from the blast.
They would want to study you. They would want to experiment on you.
Your jaw tightened.
“You won’t get anything from me,” you said quietly.
The nurse blinked. “I’m sorry?”
You stepped back, muscles coiling with tension.
“This is some trick,” you continued, scanning the corners of the room. You see it now. Everything was staged around you. “If you think I won’t recognize it—”
This wasn’t just a room. It was a set.
The nurse took a cautious step forward. “Miss Garrick—”
You moved.
Where you planned to run, you didn’t know. All you knew is you couldn’t stay here.
The nurse’s eyes widened.
The door behind her burst open.
Armed men in black tactical gear flooded in. Some even appeared behind you somehow.
You didn’t recognize the insignia of the green star.
But that didn’t matter.
“Easy!” one of them barked. “Don’t—”
You bolted.
You were at the door before the first finger tightened on a trigger. The hallway stretched long and sterile, fluorescent lights.
Everything felt wrong. So viscerally wrong.
Wrong architecture. Wrong air. Wrong everything.
So you ran.
The world slowed around you. Voices stretched into slow, distorted echoes.
You dodged grasping hands, slipped between bodies, disarmed two men without breaking stride.
Alarms erupted as red lights strobed.
You burst through double doors at the end of the hallway which only led and a larger chamber. Reinforced walls, thick observation glass, metal railings.
Containment.
Your chest tightened as you quickened your pace. The world stopping around you.
The air howled in protest as you slammed through the far exit in a blast of splintering metal and screaming hinges—
—And ran straight into someone standing impossibly solid in your path.
It felt like running into a mountain.
Strong hands caught your shoulders.
You looked up.
“Arthur?”
The name left you on a breath, half relief, half disbelief.
You stepped back immediately, scanning him the way you had a hundred times before and after a mission. It was instinct to do so.
No visible injuries.
He looked the same.
But—
You frowned.
“What on Earth are you wearing?”
He wasn’t in his usual uniform. No white suit with the blue shield across his chest. No belt. No cape snapping in the wind.
Instead, he wore something sleek. Skin-tight blue fabric broken by sharp white and yellow lines that traced down his torso and arms.
It looked… Wrong.
His mouth twitched faintly. “A lot has happened, old friend.”
You blinked. “Old friend?”
You took another step back. Arthur didn’t call you that.
He called you ‘Garrick’. Sometimes ‘Miss Garrick’ when he was feeling particularly formal. Occasionally ‘Zippy’ when you annoyed him.
But not ‘Old friend’. Never that.
“You look the same as usual,” you said slowly. “Healthy.”
He did. But there was something in his eyes. Something heavier.
Behind him, boots pounded down the corridor. Men in tactical uniforms skidded to a halt, weapons raised but hesitant in a way you weren’t used to.
You glanced between them and Arthur.
“Are these yours?” you asked sharply.
“They are not here to harm you,” he said.
“That’s not what it looked like.”
One of the soldiers shifted. “Sir, should we—”
Arthur lifted a hand without looking back and they froze.
“Arthur,” you said carefully, “what happened?”
Silence stretched.
Too long.
He held your gaze.
“We all thought you’d died. Time moved on like you were.”
You waited for clarification. More details. Anything.
But more didn’t come.
So you asked, “How much time?”
He hesitated, but with a cross of your arms, he sighed out. “Over seventy years.”
A laugh escaped you, thin and breathless.
“That isn’t funny, O’Sullivan.”
“I am not joking.”
Your stomach dropped.
The vortex. The light. Being pulled toward it.
You looked down at your hands again.
Whole. Unburned. Unchanged.
“You haven’t aged,” you whispered.
“Neither have you.”
You swallowed as you felt bile pool in your mouth as your chest felt compressed.
“But the war?” you asked, because that was what mattered. “Did we—”
“We won,” Arthur said quietly.
You closed your eyes.
A breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding left you in a shudder.
“That’s… that’s good,” you murmured.
Arthur’s expression shifted, grief flickering across features that rarely betrayed it.
Footsteps approached from farther down the hall, slower than the rushed pace of the soldiers. These were measured and unhurried
“Can’t say I didn’t expect you to get farther than this,” a voice drawled, dry as old paper, “but it’s a pleasant surprise you didn’t.”
You shifted instantly, stepping to the side so you could see around Arthur’s shoulder.
An older man with a scarred face walked toward you through the corridor’s flashing red light.
He wore a crisp suit. And, pinned neatly to his lapel, a small American flag.
You would’ve likely been on edge despite your friend’s presence if not for that.
You straightened slightly. He was Government, then. But that didn’t mean completely safe.
The man stopped several feet away from you.
“Well,” he said. “You’re awake and raring to go.”
Your chin lifted. “I should hope so.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Name’s Cecil Stedman.”
The name meant nothing to you.
“Director of the Global Defense Agency.”
You blinked. “The what?”
“Long story short,” he said, folding his hands behind his back, “we handle things that governments can’t. Or won’t. Aliens. Superhumans. End-of-the-world scenarios.”
Your eyes narrowed slightly. That was your whole campaign during the war, that after the fighting ended you’d all remain a team and help the people of your nation.
“And I fall into which category?”
Arthur answered before Stedman could.
“Hero.”
Stedman tilted his head faintly but didn’t contradict it.
“You’ve been gone a long time, Miss Garrick,” he said. “Long enough that the world you knew doesn’t exist anymore.”
Your jaw tightened.
“Yeah, I gathered.”
His gaze flicked briefly to Arthur.
“You disappeared in 1945 during a reactor event in Germany. Historical records list you as killed in action.”
A strange feeling moved through your chest at that.
Killed.
You had never imagined your story ending that way despite all the danger you’d put yourself in.
“You didn’t,” Stedman continued. “Instead, you appear in the middle of a reactivated facility nearly eight decades later.”
Stedman’s expression didn’t change as he continued on, waving away the soldiers as they left you and the two men alone in the room.
“We had a containment scenario prepared,” he said. “The radio. The room. A familiar year. We didn’t know what state you’d wake up in.”
Your stomach turned cold.
“So it was a trick.”
“It was an attempt to prevent panic.”
“Did a piss poor job.”
“I see that now.”
Stedman studied your reaction carefully.
“You’re not a prisoner,” he added. “You’re not an experiment.”
“Then why the soldiers?”
“Because,” he said evenly, “you were shot out of a dimensional anomaly. Forgive me for wanting a few precautions.”
You opened your mouth and stopped with a huff.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
Arthur’s voice was softer now. “He feared you might not be… yourself.”
Your eyes snapped up. “And am I?”
Arthur held your gaze. “Yes.”
Stedman watched that exchange closely.
“There’s also the matter of the lightning. Whatever you connected to in 1945,” he said, “it came back with you.”
Silence fell between you all.
“I only meant to stop the blast,” you murmured.
Arthur’s voice was steady beside you. “You did.”
Stedman‘s gaze didn’t waver.
“And now,” he said, “we need to figure out exactly what you’ve become.”
The silence stretched just a little too long.
You lifted your chin. “You’re not putting me back in that box.”
Stedman didn’t blink. “That wasn’t the plan.”
“I’m sure it was close enough.”
Arthur stepped slightly in front of you, blocking your line of sight of the Director.
“She will not be imprisoned,” he said, voice carrying the weight of centuries. “If she agrees to testing, it will be voluntary.”
Stedman’s jaw worked once.
“You’re asking me to let a temporal anomaly with unknown energy output walk out of my facility.”
“I am,” Arthur replied calmly.
You glanced between them.
“I will not be studied like some captured weapon,” you said. “If I agree to your medical tests, it is on one condition.”
Stedman gestured faintly. “Name it.”
“I leave when I wish to leave.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek.
“That’s not how this works.”
“Then it won’t work at all.”
The air in the hallway felt charged, as though a storm were deciding whether to break.
Arthur looked at you as he places a hand on your shoulder.
“You need answers,” he said quietly. “As much as they do.”
You hated that he was right.
You didn’t understand what had happened in that reactor chamber.
You didn’t understand how seventy-nine years had slipped past you like a misplaced second.
And ignorance was one of the greatest dangers.
“I will not be detained,” you repeated, more measured this time.
“You’ll undergo a full medical evaluation. Bloodwork. Imaging. Energy output analysis. If at any point you decide you’re done, you walk.”
Your eyes narrowed slightly. “No sedation.”
“No sedation.”
“No restraints.”
Stedman hesitated. Arthur’s jaw ticked as he glared down at the Director.
Stedman sighed. “No restraints.”
You studied him carefully.
“And I leave when I say I leave.”
A beat.
“You leave,” he confirmed.
Relief didn’t come.
Only cautious acceptance.
“Then I’ll cooperate.”
Stedman nodded once, brisk and efficient. “Good. Let’s move before you change your mind.”
The medical wing was colder.
Sterile white walls. Glass partitions. Equipment that hummed with a pitch you’d never heard before. Screens flickered with complex readouts that meant nothing to you.
You didn’t like how easily they moved around you. How prepared they were.
Arthur stayed at your side as technicians approached. They were careful. Reverent, almost, in a way.
Blood was drawn.
Scans were taken.
Electrodes placed along your temples and chest.
After what felt like hours, the final scan completed with a soft chime.
Stedman studied the data tablet handed to him. “Well,” he said slowly, “that’s concerning.”
You stiffened.
Arthur’s voice sharpened. “Explain.”
Stedman glanced up.
“Her cells aren’t just energized. They’re… it’s like they’re drawing from a consistent external source.”
Your stomach dipped. “External?”
He met your gaze directly.
“So you see,” he continued smoothly, “why I can’t simply let you disappear into the general population.”
You folded your arms.
“Please, I’ve lived as a civilian before. I can do it again.”
Stedman’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“I’m sure you think so.”
Stedman sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Here’s the compromise,” he said. “You’re free to leave. Explore. Adjust. We won’t lock you down.”
You waited.
“But,” he continued, “you’ll have a tail.”
Your eyes sharpened. “A what?”
“Observers,” he clarified. “You won’t see them. You won’t hear them. But they’ll be there.”
“I don’t like that.”
“I don’t expect you to. But that’s what you’ll get.”
You thought about the scenario you were in.
The unfamiliar world beyond the reinforced windows. The knowledge that everyone you’d ever known, except Arthur, thought you were long dead.
You were alone in a future that didn’t belong to you.
If invisible shadows were the cost of walking freely in it…
You exhaled.
“Fine,” you said at last. “But if they interfere—”
“They won’t,” Stedman said.
Then you nodded once.
“Then I’m going for a walk.”
Stedman gestured toward the exit.
“Welcome to the twenty-first century, Miss Garrick.”
You moved toward the doors. A man with glasses and an apologetic smile waited on the other side who immediately fell into step with you.
And somewhere, unseen but heard, something unseen began to follow.
It wasn’t freedom.
“Miss Garrick,” he said warmly. “Donald Ferguson. I’ll be your… liaison.”
“Babysitter,” you corrected.
His smile tightened just a fraction. “Guide.”
You glanced past him. Through the glass walls of the facility, the skyline stretched farther than any city you’d ever seen. Buildings of steel and glass that seem to pierce the clouds. Bright, glowing billboards that flashed moving images brighter than any cinema reel you’d ever seen.
You swallowed.
It felt like stepping onto another planet.
Ferguson walked beside you as the doors opened to the outside world.
“Things have changed,” he offered gently.
“That’s one word for it.”
You stepped onto the sidewalk.
You turned in a slow circle. Looking at the loud, colorful, and crowded world around you.
“I thought this might help,” he said carefully, “to ease you into things.”
“And how many of your agents are easing me?” you asked without looking at him.
A beat.
“Standard amount.”
You smiled faintly.
“So. More than five.”
You let him lead you through the city. At one point, you stopped in front of a storefront window.
Televisions, you assumed.
Rows and rows of them, tin and humongous, each broadcasting a different image.
You stared at your reflection among the moving pictures.
Partly because anything you were going to say immediately lodged in your throat.
And partly because you heard it.
A scream.
Your head snapped toward the sound.
If Mister Ferguson heard, he didn’t react.
But you did.
“Miss Garrick?”
You were already moving. The world slowed. The city stretched into clean, perfect lines.
You turned the corner in a breath and found the source immediately.
A delivery truck had jumped the curb. The driver slumped over the wheel. The vehicle was seconds from crushing a woman and her child frozen in the crosswalk.
You didn’t think. You’d learned that hesitation, even when moving as fast as you did, served nothing.
Instead, you placed a secure hand at the back of the woman’s head, and carried her to a safe distance away.
Doubling back to pick up the child securely in your arms and going back to place him next to his mother once more.
Time slowly grew faster, back into its rightful pace.
People around you stared.
Weird bricks were raised, small glowing rectangles pointed directly at you.
That was new.
You stepped back slowly.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
“I’m sorry for frightening you, ma’am,” you apologized faintly.
And then you were gone again. Not far. Just quickly up the fire escapes to the rooftop above, heart pounding.
You exhaled.
Seventy-nine years hadn’t changed that part of you.
A voice behind you made you turn.
“…Okay. That was actually really cool.”
You blinked.
A boy in a suit, not unlike Arthur’s, hovered a few feet away, hands raised in a universal surrenderinggesture.
“I handled it,” you said automatically.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “You did. Fast too.”
He looked impressed, if that’s smile said anything.
“Donald’s freaking out, by the way,” he added casually. “Pretty sure he called Cecil about it.”
You glanced toward the skyline.
“I needed to leave. I didn’t mean to upset him.”
“Sure you didn’t.”
He drifted closer, studying you with open curiosity.
“So,” he said, “you always do stuff like that? Even before?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Lab accident.”
“Basic, but cool, I guess.”
You narrowed your eyes slightly.
“You’re very nonchalant about this.”
He shrugged. “I feel like I fight aliens every other day. Not much surprises me anymore.”
You stared at him.
He grinned.
There was something disarming about him.
Not naïve. More so earnest.
Below, emergency crews arrived. Ferguson stood on the sidewalk, looking upward with a resigned expression.
The boy followed your gaze.
“You should probably get back down before he has a heart attack.”
You took a slow breath.
The city buzzed beneath you.
Alive. Chaotic. And fast.
Though, you supposed, you could learn to grow used to it.
Lena had been contacted by the DEO to help them catch you since Supergirl's own strength and speed just weren't enough to do the job.
She developed a couple of devices to keep you restrained and contained and she even used her name's reputation to lurk you into her trap.
"I'm glad you followed my bread crumbs."
"You made it too easy, Ms. Luthor."
"That was the idea."
While the DEO kept you inside a special cell, Lena came often to talk to you or rather study you. She had never met a metahuman like you before.
You refused to talk with anyone at the DEO but her.
Whatever she asked you answered.
"Why me?"
"I think you're clever enough to understand why I do what I do."
"You're no different from those other men."
"I know, I'm worst. But what do you prefer, me against you or against them?"
Your conversations started to become more and more frequent until she finally had to admit to herself she had grown fond of you.
You discovered you understood each other better than anyone else.
When the Daxamite Invasion occurred, and you found out Lena had been kidnapped, you offered your help.
"I heard you helped."
"Well, I couldn't let the Earth be invaded just like that...Besides, if I didn't do anything we would miss our weekly meeting. I wouldn't like that."
"I wouldn't like that either."
You didn't go back to the DEO after that and Lena didn't try to capture you again.
She heard news about you sometimes. They regularly came in the form of police reports about the homicide of criminals. She learned to recognize your modus operandi.
After a couple of months you finally visited her at her office, confessing your feelings for her.
"As hard as it is to believe, I have a heart Ms. Luthor, and it cannot seem to stop thinking about you."
She admitted her feelings for you too and you started to see each other often.
You did what you could to hang out and you used your real identity while being with her.
You made sure to take her out to places around the world she could like. After all, it was easy with your speed.
She also used your time together to show you there were better ways for doing things.
"The good way is not as effective but I could try it a bit more."
"That would be nice."
When the DEO found out about your relationship they did what they could to catch you again.
You tried to come to an agreement with them. They would leave you two alone and you would help them once in a while and cause less trouble around. They had to agree.
After that it was just you and her.
Since she didn't really knew much about you, you came clean about your life, your powers and all the things you had done before.
She talked with you about her life too.
You accepted each other with all your good and bad.
She likes to design new suites for you, using only high tech materials.
You're really protective of each other. You are first on her speed-dial.
She knows you are a softy even when you won't admit it out loud.
You always make sure she knows she's not a bad person and that her family name does not define her.
"You're good, the best of us if I have to say. And I know because I've known some very bad people and you're not like them."
Having make out sessions whenever possible.
Since you need a lot of calories in your diet, she makes sure the fridge is always full and home cooking with you is her favorite part of the day.
You don't get along with the Superfriends but you're there if they ever need you, but mostly because Lena asks you.
You don't really like going slow but she has taught you to enjoy the slow life.
"Come on, (Y/N), just take a moment."
"A moment for you can be an eternity for me."
"Well, if that's the case, I like the idea of spending all of my moments with you."
summary: in which dex figures out how unpredictable you are.
1.3k words!
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After hours of searching for you, Dex came to the conclusion you were very unpredictable - he could've guessed that - you didn't stick to a schedule. You didn't stay in your lab at the NYPD for long, only being there when you had to test evidence. You spent most of your work time, out in the field, collecting evidence.
He wondered what you'd find if you collected evidence at one of his scenes. Maybe he should leave a scene for you. That was a good thought.
Despite being surrounded by cops, his cover was not detected and he got to watch you at work, where you shined. You were amazing at your job, rambling off your expertise without pausing for a breath.
Another thing he figured out was that you loved science. You were a total science nerd. Give you a topic and you could run a mile with it. You also weirdly knew a lot, from what he gathered, but he figured you were just passionate.
During a day he knew you would be busy with work, Dex broke into your apartment - which was trickier to find, but he managed. He wanted to know you better, intimately. He learned you liked being comfortable over clean; afghan blankets thrown all over your couch, potted plants that looked very well taken care of, shelves all over the walls with little trinkets residing on them, and many more little things.
He touched everything, like he was imprinting on the thought of you.
He liked the atmosphere of your apartment, it was comforting. He walked over to your small kitchen, there were a few dishes in the sink, dirty from the night before. He decided to do you a favor, rolling up his sleeves as he turned on the sink tap, letting the water gush down onto the plates.
After he was finished, he turned the sink off, wiping his hands dry on a few paper towels, throwing them away in the almost full garbage can. He'd take it out when he'd leave, he decided.
He moved over to your bedroom, the most intimate place. He opened the door, revealing a spotless area. Your bed, covered in a brown duvet, was made, pillows fluffed at the head of the mattress. You had a few posters on your walls, Videodrome, a movie he vaguely recognized.
Creep and Creep 2, aligned next to the other poster, a horror movie series he assumed by the covers. He'd have to watch them later to see what was so interesting about it.
Some music posters were also pinned up to your wall; The Faint and Nine Inch Nails, and a few others he looked over.
He moved over to your closet, sliding opening the wooden bypass doors, revealing your clothes. It wasn't surprising to him when he saw most of it was flannel and plaid. He flipped through your clothes, deciding on a blue plaid he liked - that was oversized for you, but big enough for him - taking it off the hanger. You had a few other shirts and pants hung up, he looked through all of them, before closing the closet, deciding he was done with that, for now.
He moved to your drawer dresser, sliding the first one open. It was full of your underwear, all types of briefs and boxers mixed inside. He picked one up, turning it over in his hands.
"Having fun?" Your voice shocked him, causing him to drop your boxers, his arm already moving to throw one of his knives at you before he could stop it, his eyes widening at his own actions.
You, with your super speed, go into what you'd call, Flash Time, where everything stops - time and space - moving to grab the dagger, flipping it over in your hands.
You ran your fingers over the little engraving in the middle, a bullseye, the metal soothing your fingers. You pocketed the knife, moving over to Dex's still figure, his arm reached out, eyes widened. You push his arm down by his side, examining him.
He was snooping around your place, you already knew, he wanted to know you better. Aw, you could just coo. He was sweet.
You had been at work, in your lab, mixing some chemicals, when you had gotten the notification that someone tripped one of the sensors you'd placed at the front door and the window next to your fire escape.
You had watched through the security cameras as Dex ventured your apartment, exploring your living room, touching everything, cleaning your dishes, which made you melt - just the tiniest bit - and then he went into your bedroom.
Naughty, you thought.
You saw him take one of your plaid button-up's, nodding in approval at his choice. He would look amazing in it.
You ran home when he started snooping in your underwear drawer, that was just invasive - plus, you didn't want him to find the ring to your suit in that drawer, oops.
You moved closer to Dex, running a gentle hand over the scars on his face. His skin, slightly rough, was warm under your hand. You stare into his doe eyes, acknowledging him while he's unable to reciprocate.
You didn't press hard though for a reason, you didn't want to bring him into Flash Time with you, yet.
Your hand fell back down to your side as you reluctantly moved away from Dex, going back into your original position that he last saw you in. You left Flash Time and time continued.
Dex's whole body jolted, confused by what it just went through. He felt a lingering pressure on his cheek, his arm stiffly by his side, now, the dagger he threw nowhere to be seen, "What was that?"
"What was what?" You asked, shoving your hands into your pockets, your tone just the slightest bit deeper.
Dex's eyes narrowed, eyes darting all over the place.
"What are you doing here, Dex? And in my underwear drawer?" You questioned, changing the subject, trying to sound stern even when you knew you weren't.
Gaslight successful.
Dex shut the drawer with a snap, seemingly realizing what was happening, "Uh-"
His mind blanked, like it always did with you.
"You know what, I really don't care, as long as I get to see your place and look through your underwear drawer." You leveraged, shrugging. You didn't really need to see his place, you've already been there multiple times.
You had a few of his things littered across your apartment, he didn't seem to notice though.
Dex's mind was in shambles, this was not how this day was supposed to go. You were extremely unpredictable, but for some reason, he did not mind.
"How did you do that?" Dex asked, confused but extremely intrigued. He knew something had happened, but he did not know what. He was not usually this caught off guard, but you were something unexpected.
Gaslight unsuccessful. Damn it, you thought.
"What are you talking about?" You tried to fake a bewildered tone, "If anything, what are you doing here? That's more suspicious. Are you stalking me?" You rambled, trying to get him off your case.
"Are you some kind of mutant?" Dex questioned, instead, the thought coming to his head faster than you could process. It was off-putting.
You paused, rolling your eyes, shoulders relaxing, "Fine, yes, I am. I'm really fast." That's an understatement.
"Prove it." Dex said, making you look at him muddled.
"Prove it?" You repeated, making a face, "Fine," You sped over to him and searched his body for all of his knives - and other weapons, but you knew he was still dangerous without them and without trying to feel him up, but you were just a man - collecting and dumping them on the floor in front of Dex.
He looked at you, impressed. He then realized, this was why you were so unpredictable, you were just moving too fast for anyone else to catch up to.
Yes, Dex thought, the unpredictability was a great thing.
"The only thing that remains the SAME in ANY dimension is the SPEED OF LIGHT."
Mark Grayson X The Flash/Gerrik! Reader
Prologue (Here) | Chapter One
w/c: 1.3k
series c/w: Small age gap (Mark 20/Reader 25). Reader is a college educated cis woman from the 1930/40s.
Long a/n: Ay, a brand new series!! This one is very episodic, and will rely on ‘requests’. Requests will dictate the plot of the chapter, but I’ll continue the over arching story throughout all of them. But this is planned to be quite a slow burn between Garrick!Reader and Mark, as the Reader slowly learns more about the modern day and Mark gets over a bad breakup with Eve at the end of S3 of Invincible.
“I have time.”
You truthfully can’t remember just how often you say that.
You told that to the other neighborhood kids as everyone rushed to the sandlot to play stickball after school let out. Your mother liked having you home. You were her only surviving child after all.
You had responsibilities. Even from a young age.
It was your responsibility to keep the house clean as your mother did chores. It was your responsibility to make sure your mother had everything she needed to mend everyone’s clothes.
But you counted yourself lucky.
You didn’t have siblings to look after. And your father joined in on the games whenever he could, when the factory let him off early.
He was lucky, too. He’d been one of the few fathers on the block to come back from the Great War, whether whole or broken.
“My lungs aren’t so good anymore,” he would tell you.
But that wouldn’t stop him from chasing after you in the street, both of you laughing breathlessly, until you ran out of time and had to race home before your mother started to worry.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
“I have time.”
Is what you told yourself in college.
You’d fought tooth and nail to be the first of your family accepted into a college, much less Midwestern University in Kansas City with a physics and chemistry concentration.
You worked so hard that, even in your first year, you were granted clearance to assist on an experiment the more seasoned students were running.
They were trying to prove one could purify hard water without any residual radiation as a byproduct.
“I have time.” You told your classmate, Elliot.
It was getting late, but you wanted to go through the measurements one last time before heading back to the dorms.
Those were your responsibilities, after all. You weren’t cleared to use the cyclotron like the senior students. Instead, you made sure everything was prepared and precise for them.
But something happened.
Truthfully, you don’t even remember what knocked the test tube loose.
Maybe you were too tired and clipped it yourself. Maybe Elliot bumped the table while packing his bag. Maybe the lab door shut too hard, and you hadn’t secured the rack properly.
Regardless, the test tube fell from its place and shattered against the floor.
Gas began to bloom upward.
You had studied the reactions that produced it before.
But this was different. Why, or from what reaction, you didn’t know.
Your head swam.
You tried to reach the fume hood.
You didn’t make it.
Darkness crept across your vision, thick and swallowing, until the world went black and you were knocked clean out.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
“I still have time.”
The wind howled in your ears as the city blurs.
A man had run from the bank with a sack of cash thrown over his shoulder, knocking a clerk to the ground in his hurry. In 1938, money like that meant rent paid. Food on the table. Heat in the winter.
It meant everything.
And you were fast enough to fix it.
Your shoes struck the pavement. Streetlights stretch into ribbons of gold. You can hear people shouting, but they’re slow.
Wonderfully, mercifully slow.
And the thief is only a moving target waiting to be caught.
“I still have time,” you promised yourself.
Time to stop him.
Time to bring the money back.
Time to make it to the hospital after, to sit beside your father’s bed and tell him about it. He’d smile, tired but proud, and tell you not to run yourself ragged.
His lungs just weren’t good enough to fight off the colds that came with winter anymore after the war.
The man never even saw you coming.
One second he was running.
The next, the sack is gone from his hand, his hat spinning in the air, his feet tangling as he tumbled to the sidewalk while you are already halfway back the way you came.
People will say later that a gust of wind stopped him.
You skid to a halt inside the bank, breathless, heart hammering, and place the money on the counter.
The clerk stared and you’re sure someone starts to ask you something.
But you’re already backing away toward the door, nerves alight, eyes flicking to the clock on the wall.
You calculate.
If you run, if you cut through Robinson, if the foot traffic isn’t heavy.
You could make it in time.
The hospital smells like antiseptic and wilted flowers.
You slowed in the hallway. Nurses don’t like sudden gusts of wind, and you’ve learned how to be careful, how to be small, how to walk like a normal, good girl whose heart isn’t trying to beat its way out of her chest.
Room 214.
You were already smiling as you pushed the door open. “Papa, you wouldn’t believe—”
The room is quiet.
Too quiet.
Your father wasn’t sitting up in bed.
He wasn’t coughing.
He wasn’t smiling.
Your mother was.
But it’s the wrong kind.
“Oh,” she breathed when she sees you. “Honey…”
The rest of it doesn’t make sense after that.
Not with the way your knees gave out.
Not with the way your ears rang.
Not the way the clock on the wall keeps moving, steady and cruel and unstoppable.
You were supposed to have time.
Your mother pressed something cold into your hands.
She found it in his things, she says. He wanted you to have it.
It’s old.
Steel, worn with use. The leather inside is cracked from days of sweat and weather. You remember him telling you once about France and about the boys who didn’t come home.
One of the lucky ones, he’d said.
You hold the helmet to your chest.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
“We should have time.”
You said it like a promise.
The snow crunched under your boots outside the mountain facility, the night split by searchlights and distant sound of artillery.
The war was almost over.
Everyone said it. The newspapers, the radio men, the hopeful looks traded between soldiers who are already dreaming of home.
Just one last push.
Beside you, Ted Grant rolled his shoulders, jaw tight beneath his mask.
“Doll,” he muttered, trying for gruff and missing by a mile, “I don’t like how quiet this is.”
You bumped your knuckles against his arm.
“I’ll run ahead. Clear you a path like always.”
Behind you, soft emerald light hums warm and steady as Alan Scott adjusts his domino mask. He looks at you the way he always does before a fight, already preparing the lecture he’ll give you later about being careful.
“Don’t be reckless,” he told you.
You grin. “Me? Never.”
A snort comes from the dark where Arthur O’Sullivan stood, arms crossed. Even he can’t hide the ghost of a smile.
When you all reached the heart of the base.
And that’s when the sirens change.
A voice barked over loudspeakers in frantic German. Even without understanding the words, you could understand the panic.
Arthur does understand the words, though.
“They’re overloading the reactor.”
The floor trembled.
“No,” Alan breathes.
Because if it goes, it won’t just take the mountain.
It will take miles.
Possibly even the cities that surrounds it.
People who are finally starting to believe they might survive this war.
Ted grabbed your arm. Hard. “We pull out.”
You looked at the corridors you all cleared.
You looked at your family.
“You should have time,” you said again, softer now.
Alan already knows. “Don’t.”
“I’ll have time.” You promised. You lied.
You pulled out of Ted’s grip. “Get everyone out. Please.”
And then you ran.
The chamber that housed everything was like a new sun trying to be born.
Energy screams from the core, tearing the air apart, clawing for release. Your body felt like it was burning. Your lungs ached.
But you’d outrun worse.
You plant your feet.
You run in circles.
Faster and faster. Pushing yourself harder than you’d ever needed before.
A vortex answers your silent plea, spiraling open, hungry and bright. The excess power bends toward it, dragged away from the earth, pulled into something infinite.
summary: you leave a gift for dex and dex leaves a gift for you
1.7k words!!
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After you two parted ways, very reluctantly, Dex couldn't stop thinking about you - not that he really thought about other things lately - you were so much more than what he expected.
It was very enlightening how you always managed to be there even though he didn't know you existed. It made him want to make up for lost time.
He made his way back to his lonely apartment, getting ready to head to bed since it was almost midnight. He wondered if you were watching him. He wondered how often you did that. How often you were lingering without saying anything. How often you ached to be there with him and not for him.
It hurt his heart to think about. He didn't like when you were upset or distressed. He was the stalkee to your stalker, he wasn't supposed to cause you unnecessary stress. It pained him to even chew over on. He tried not to think about that as he got ready for bed, slipping his shirt and pants off, leaving him in his briefs.
His mind wandered to you. It always did, that's no surprise, but it did take a turn. It wondered to how you'd feel around him. It wondered to what you would like if he fucked made love to you. If you liked it rough or gentle. If you liked it fast or slow - fast probably.
He pulled his underwear down to his knees, releasing his straining, hard cock. If he was going to jerk off, he wasn't going to do it like a teenage boy. He moved to grab the lube in his bedside drawer, pausing when he saw a brand new, unopened tube attached with a red sticky note on it.
Think about me ;)
Dex huffed out a laugh, shaking his head at your scrawly handwriting as a heat filled his stomach. Cheeky, he thought as he removed the sticky note, leaving it in the drawer as he took the lube out. He uncapped it, putting a good amount on his hand before closing it, leaving it resting on the side table.
He wrapped a hand around himself, eyes fluttering at the cool sensation around his sensitive skin. His thoughts went to you, thinking about the moles littering your smooth skin, the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about something you were passionate about, the way the veins in your hands shifted when you were using them, the way you stood tall and confident, the way you were you.
His strokes started slow but tight, moving back and forth and up and down, before he started to move faster, fucking into the vacuum of his hand.
He felt hot as he thought about how you were probably watching him right now. Watching him through some hidden camera or watching him in person like a pervert.
He panted, strokes fast and tight, wishing you were right there with him, jerking him off or taking him in your mouth or sinking onto him or even into him.
That was something he hadn't ever thought about - bottoming. He definitely wasn't going to complain, though, if he were to bottom to you. Dex thought he would probably like it if you prepped him with your fingers first and then sunk into him with your slick cock. If you moved fast with your super speed, nailing into his prostate over and over and over, bringing him to the edge before climbing over it.
He wondered what types of sounds would come out of your mouth as you grunted and groaned and moaned because of him. There was still so much to figure out.
Dex finally came with a loud, uncontrollable groan, his warm white release coating his hand. He caught his breath, chest heaving as he grabbed a tissue off the side to wipe his hand and spent cock with.
You, on the other side of the camera, came like you were watching your favorite porn video - which you were. You knew Dex would find your gift in his bedside drawer, you knew it wouldn't be long 'til he used it. You just had to wait until he started, skin thrumming with excitement.
Then he did, tugging his underwear down to his knees, revealing his hard, jutting cock which made your breath hitch at how long and fat it was. Your hand wrapped around yourself as you waited for his reaction to your present, strokes slow and loose.
His breathy chuckle made you keen, moans leaving your mouth as you stroked yourself faster. You matched your strokes to his, hand slick like his, eyes heavy lidded like you wanted to close them in pleasure, but didn't to keep watching him. His groans and whimpers made your skin feel electrifying and you wanted so badly to be there with him to be the one causing him to make those noises.
You came in sync with him, throwing your head back in overwhelming pleasure as your vision blurred, your hips bucking up into the air.
After the fun night Dex had, he came up with the idea of doing something for you in return for all that you've done for him. He knew that you loved your job and what it entailed - after the conversation yesterday afternoon - so he had the smartest idea of leaving you a gift. It was a perfect, well thought out plan and nothing could go wrong, Dex hoped.
So, he waited, sniper planted on the edge of the railing, hunched over, eye looking through the scope as he patiently waited for the ATF officers to arrive at the port area where he faked a call saying he spotted Daredevil, face mask secured snug on his head.
Fucking dumbasses, Dex thought to himself when the person on the other side of the phone said they'll send someone shortly.
About two minutes later, a black van pulled up, coming to a quick stop as agents in gear rushed out of the back, guns in hand, faces covered, moving in a unit as they searched the place.
Dex waited for the right moment before he attacked. He threw one of his knives, aiming to hit the first two guards, successfully hitting his targets.
"It's Bullseye." One of the guards yelled out as the two bodies fell, heads whipping around like chicken. They had been trained to recognize the signs of certain vigilantes and rivals, "Spread out!" The officers scattered like ants, all ready to fight with their bullets.
Dex took them all out, one-by-one. He took a few out with his knives and then he sniped some, then he killed some with their own weapons. He wanted to leave the scene as neatly for you as he could manage.
Just as he was taking out the last few from the rooftop, a yellow blur sped past Dex, knocking him off his feet and from the rooftop onto the gravel where the bodies lay. He landed on the concrete with a grunt, pain radiating through him as the wind got knocked out of him.
Dex huffed as he picked himself up, whipping his head around for the mysterious blur, hands ready by his side to hit a target.
At first, he thought it could be you, but you were too fast to leave a trace - no lightning or blur - plus, you would never hurt him, on purpose. He, wholeheartedly, trusted that.
The yellow blur appeared out of nowhere, punching Dex in the face, knocking him back down, blood spurting out of his mouth. The figure kept attacking him, moving too fast for Dex to even get a hit on. He still tried, though, trying to stab the blur in the stomach, but failing when they just intercepted him, driving his own knife into his shoulder, making him let out a low moan of affliction.
"Stop!" Dex heard your voice shout in panic, groggily looking up through the pain to see you in a red leather suit, a lightning symbol on the emblem on your chest, your cowl not covering your face.
You looked like an angel in red, he thought. Then, he thought you shouldn't be here. What if you got hurt?
The figure in yellow, holding him up, stopped phasing, letting Dex get a good look at the yellow suit, almost a copy of yours, but in reverse. "Guess I figured out your weakness," The man in yellow smugly said, looking down at Dex.
Dex didn't know who this guy was or why he had a problem with you, but he aimed to figure that out as soon as he could find a way to get away from him.
"Don't do this," You tried to plead, "not to him. You can kill me, just don't hurt him."
Dex's breath hitched at your words, there was no fucking way he was letting that happen. "N-no." Dex mumbled out, disorientated from the beating he had taken, but fully aware of the words coming out of your mouth.
The man looked at Dex in mock surprise, "Looks like he has something to say about that, Y/N," He hefted Dex up, grunts leaving the bigger man's mouth as he aggravated his injuries, "It's you or him, make a choice."
"Me," You and Dex blurted out at the same time, looking at each other in shock. You both would do anything for each other, even sacrifice yourselves.
"Take me!" You added on, you didn't want Dex hurt any more than he was. This was all your fault, you felt incredibly guilty Dex was even involved.
"Aw, that's poetic," The man - who Dex still doesn't know is - teased, "I was just kidding, there was never a choice." His hand phased, molecules vibrating through the limb - too fast for Dex to even see it anymore - he brought his hand back into the air before moving it closer and closer to Dex's spine.
Dex knew what was coming. He was angry about it. He should have had more time with you. He deserved it, you deserved it. He finally found something that could've lasted a lifetime, and something just had to come up and take it away from him.
For you, time stopped, every particle and molecule pausing where it is at. You would do anything to make sure Dex did not die, anything.
