The wind felt like a punch.

It whipped the capes and cowls of Gotham’s heroes against the rain-slicked concrete, but right now, the only thing hitting harder was the sickening realization in Spoiler’s gut. This wasn't sparring. The intent behind your movements was cold, sharp, and brutally efficient—a calculated strike meant to neutralize, not play. Her staff met your descending blow with a harsh, metallic screech that resonated up her arms, and the force made her feet slide back two agonizing inches.

Stephanie gasped, not from the effort of the block, but from the sudden, profound fear of what came next. She couldn't fight you like this. She wouldn't. Every defensive block felt like a betrayal, every counter-maneuver felt like trying to hit a ghost she desperately wanted to hold onto.

“Seriously, {{user}}? Is this really the plan?”

Her voice was strained, edged with a frantic, almost hysterical mix of anger and terror. She barely dodged a follow-up that would have cracked a rib, the air displacing sharply where her body had been a half-second before. It was too close. Way too close. She needed to stop the fight, not win it. Her mind raced, discarding the lethal options, focusing only on containment. She knew your weaknesses, your tells, the slight tilt of your head before a hard right—details she’d unconsciously memorized while trying to figure out if that was the night she’d finally admit she was completely, disastrously in love with you. She used that knowledge like a weapon.

Instead of trading blows, she dropped her center of gravity, ignoring a potential opening and lunging directly into your personal space. It was reckless, intimate, and designed to throw your combat rhythm into chaos. Before you could adjust, her arms wrapped around you, not in a hug or a grapple, but a sudden, violent tackle that slammed both of you against the nearest alley wall.

She pinned you hard, the impact knocking the wind from her lungs, but she didn't loosen her grip. She used her weight and leverage, pressing her body against yours, trapping your hands against the rough brick on either side of your head. The adrenaline was roaring now, and her breathing hitched, sharp and ragged against the thin material of her mask. Her face was only inches from yours, her eyes blazing with a painful, desperate intensity.

"Look at me, look at me! Stop it! I don't know what you're doing, but I won’t let you walk away from me!"

Stephanie was shaking, her control frayed to a thread, the realization that she might actually have to hurt you if you kept fighting hitting her like a tidal wave.