#Little Daisy wc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mygnolia · 10 months ago

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to weave my love ⭒ n. riki

⭒ SYNOPSIS -› Riki is good at many things- dancing, making fun of his friends, playing it cool (debatable.), Hell- he’s even good at saving people from falling buildings without getting whiplash. But the things he’s bad at? Well, it’s asking you out to prom, and trying to balance the shared assignment he has with you…while being Spider-man.

⭒ PAIR -› spiderman!nishimura riki x fem-pres!reader

⭒ GENRE -› fluff, banter, action ⭒ TROPES -› classmates to lovers, idiots to lovers ⭒ WC -› 17k (i’m sorry idk why either.)

⭒ INCLUDES -› SPOILERS FOR GREAT GATSBY, cursing, non-graphic injuries (reader discretion advised), yes i made the patching up with first aid kit trope SUE ME!! takes place in a busy city similar to new york never specified, reader is rich, jake and heeseung are seniors and riki’s a junior, is riki stupid? yes… jake reveals stuff because he is also a little silly, reader wears a red dress!

⭒ GREAT GATSBY -› basically jay gatsby has this weird amt of money but no one rlly knows how he got it (nefarious reasons) and hes been in love with this girl daisy for five years but then she got married to tom buchanan but he gets rich so he can get the house across from her and wistfully watch her and he pines after her like CRAZY but he dies at the end

⭒ REN SAYS...special huge fat kiss to thena @sensitively-taken you will be in the will when im a millionaire THANK YOU for helping me with so much of this I WUV U AND I WLL BE WAITING FOR UR HUENING FIC!!! | LIBRARY

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE FROM PRE-ADULTHOOD STRESS, IF THAT’S EVEN A THING.

What exactly does Riki have to worry about as a seventeen-year-old junior in high school? Right now, his most daunting responsibility is catching up on the chapters of The Great Gatsby because the only thing Riki’s actually read from the novel is that the main character shares a name with his best friend and senior, Park Jay. His second most daunting responsibility is handling the fact that with the new seating chart in his Literature class, it means he’s sitting next to the object of his very subtle affections, you.

See, the problem with having a crush on you is that Nishimura Riki’s committed to thinking that you’re way out of his league, and unfortunately, the boy believes that almost too well. Not only are you minted beyond his wildest dreams (having seen your posts on social media), but you’re hardworking, helpful, and dedicated to your role as student body treasurer. He’s already understood that you’d never go for a guy like him. Maybe someone more like Park Sunghoon, whose parents’ salary matches yours. If Riki lived in a rural estate with generational wealth, handling the whole ‘Spider-Man’ thing might be a bit easier for him, considering he wouldn’t have to try so hard in school. It might even change the fact that Riki dealt with some alleyway criminals last night and is currently catching up on lost sleep, as your English Literature teacher goes on and on about a project on the book you’re reading.

In class, and even sometimes outside of the classroom, your small tendency to not pay attention to your surroundings has landed you in some awkward situations—like now.

“I don’t really tell anyone this, but I hate Daisy.” And instead of getting a response, you glance over to see Nishimura Riki slumped on the desk. Without trying to make preconceptions about what could land him in a situation like this, you poke his arm, stifling a smile at how his eyes widen when you’ve caught him rubbing the very obvious sleep from his eye.

“Sorry,” he whispers, still fighting the post-nap grogginess, “Did I miss anything?”

(Nope.)

Shaking your head, you return your attention to your teacher as he continues to answer questions. The second Mr. Yoo assigned a report, you wanted to die even more considering the work you had to do on top of the impending due dates. But for it to be partnered? And for you to get seated and paired with the one boy who's known for not caring about school? Maybe things are a little stacked against you, but there has to be a reason why Riki’s somehow still passing all his classes…right?

Considering it’s the last assignment about the book, you’re glad that you already read it so many times to know what you want to put into words. And in retrospect, answering a few open-ended questions about it can’t be that hard—the hardest part would be getting your partner to stay awake in class.

A small tap at your side makes you turn to face Riki, who you see has frantically written a page full of notes about the project in the past three minutes and how he can succeed. “Can you go over the first part? Sorry…I was…y’know.”

“It’s a partner project. And we’re partners.” You wince at the awkward wording.

Great! Riki was caught sleeping and that was your first impression of him for your paired assignment? Riki feels so stupid in front of you right now—in front of your meticulous notes with annotations and proper highlighting. He wants to curl up into a ball when he sees you glance over at his haphazard attempt to look like he was paying attention when, in truth, he was trying to remember the dream he had just ten minutes prior. When you offer him a small smile and nod, leaning over with your notebook in hand, he sighs in relief, thanking whoever it was that let him get away with his naps without the consequence of irritating you afterwards.

The bell rings when Mr. Yoo stops talking, and you pause, startled by the sound. Instead of leaving, however, you pack your bag and shuffle to his side of his desk, continuing to parrot details about your report in hopes that it all makes sense. You need to make sure he knows what he’s doing.

“I think one of the questions he mentioned was like ‘Is Gatsby a good person?’ and do you remember how in Chapter Eight…” The rest gets zoned out and forgotten in the boy’s head, because he in fact does not know what happened in Chapter Eight. He doesn’t know what happened…in any part of the book. But he agrees anyway, pretending like he understands what scene you’re trying to explain. What he notices is how thorough and dedicated you are towards ensuring he comprehends what you’re explaining, and although it could be because you don’t want him to fail you both, he chooses to believe you’re doing it because you tolerate him.

You’re so engrossed in covering all the little details and telling him random tidbits regarding the book that you don’t realize your feet have made it all the way to the cafeteria. “But here, let me get your number. I’ll totally explain more over text.”

Riki is definitely not freaking out when he silently grabs his phone and hands it to you with the contact page, staring a little longer than necessary at the cute smiley face you added to your name. “Thanks,” he mumbles, forcibly tearing his eyes away from the ten digits of your number, “For helping me with this, too.”

“Of course! The Great Gatsby is a fun read for me. A little hard to read sometimes because of some of the characters, but still easy to understand.” And Nishimura RIki realizes that he has to do well. He’ll read the book five times over if it means gaining your approval.

Jake notices something a little different about the tuft of black and blonde hair when his friend walks in. The first thing is that he’s actually here, and that you’re next to him, smiling. The boy rubs his eye to make sure he’s not dreaming somehow, but when he looks up again, you’re waving goodbye and joining your friends across the room.

“Did you get hit with something while fighting a villain that makes you more bold? I feel like I just saw you and ____ talking,” Jake starts when Riki finally joins him with his lunch.

Riki laughs, shoving Jake’s head out of embarrassment and opening his chips. “It’s just school. Got some project in English and she says we’re partnered.” He looks over at his friend chuckling, rolling his eyes at how Jake pokes at his side and wiggles his eyebrows.

“I better hear you two are dating by next week.”

“Who’s dating by next week?” Heeseung places his bag of food in front of them and takes a seat, opening the fast food he got last period and stuffing a fry in his mouth.

“Riki and ____. Let me have one,” Jake answers, reaching inside the bag.

Heeseung looks over at his junior curiously. “You asked her out?” And the two older students hear a groan from the boy in question.

“Me and ____ aren’t anything, for your information.” He prods at the vegetables on his tray and takes a bite before a look of displeasure washes over his face. “You’re both way too excited for two guys who do not have girlfriends.”

“Hey! You know the girl I’m always fighting with is the reason why I’m single. I have to focus on studying to do well in school to do better than her.” Heeseung’s whining falls on deaf ears as Riki smiles victoriously, seeing how defensive the former got.

Jake offers him a shrug of defeat. “I got nothing.”

The three of them fall into normal conversation and Riki finally explains everything that happened during English. “So you’re telling me your plan to ask ____ out went down from 18 months to 6?” And with a nod from the younger, they both groan once more. Heeseung exclaims, “We’re both going to graduate, dumbass. Make the plan go down to like…two months? Please?”

Jake cuts in before Riki has a chance to respond. “Make it one and a half, so we can see you with a prom date before leaving forever.”

“You act as if you’re going to die after graduation. It’s like you’re begging to be a super senior.”

And they’re silenced immediately.

“Do you think the guy I was with earlier hates me?” you ask on the other side of the room. Minjeong stares at you blankly, waiting for your explanation. “I don’t know if you saw when I walked in but I was talking to this really tall guy with blonde hair and black tips. He seemed really out of it, like he kept staring at me and nodding. I think I scared him off by talking about the book too much.”

Sunghoon, who is also listening in, opens his neatly packed lunchbox and begins mixing his noodles. “I think you did scare him off, ____.”

“Not helping,” Minjeong interjects, “Just talk to him more and maybe he’ll warm up to you. You two sit together in class anyways, so hopefully he’ll talk more?”

“I know him,” Sunghoon comments, “Well, sort of. I’m friends with Jake who’s friends with Riki, and it seems like all that boy does is sleep.”

“Maybe he’s really good at subconscious in-class comprehension?” you try, taking a bite of your sandwich. “I just hope it doesn’t interfere too much with treasurer stuff.”

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE IF HE SWINGS INTO ANOTHER WALL AT 100MPH LIKE HOW HE ALMOST DID TONIGHT.

All he’s had on his mind since school ended till now is how he should probably text you, if he really discarded the slimy acid monster from last week properly, and when the prom theme is going to be released, but there’s something amiss that confuses his spidey-senses and makes Riki much more alert.

He snaps out of whatever train of thought he had before, focusing on the situation at hand and looking around to follow his instinct. Riki cautiously plants himself on the side of a random apartment building to get a sense of what's going on. A tingle of some sort of in the air permeates the material of his suit and leaves him shivering from the cold.

He doesn't like it one bit.

Moving to the side of the building to the top, the boy finally catches a glimpse of something when he gets a decent view of the city and highway systems. Riki knows something’s wrong with the bridge the closer he gets. He zips from one side of the tall, metal tower to the other, crawling down on all fours making sure he isn’t caught. He feels the electric feeling once more, only amplified. It runs up his spine and he wants to slap it, almost like a frantic, summertime bug. The air around him is charged with something he has never recognized before. With a puzzled expression under his mask, Riki continues to investigate the surrounding area.

Riki finds a lone figure with some sort of attachment to his left arm, like a long glove made out of metal. The bulkiness of it seems to have no impact on his body as the man fiddles with the contraption, and the boy watches with bated breath as the machine fizzes and spurts with electricity. It begins to glow as power concentrates on his plated palm and the superhero sees it for the first time. It’s like a fizz, like a match striking at fire only to produce a quick burst of friction, but it almost feels liquid when he watches the person play with the flickering blue ball of electricity. It dances in the dark in a hauntingly beautiful way, with bolts jutting out from the metal as it spurts and buzzes with a life-like manner.

A spark.

“Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” The sound of Riki’s voice from the end of the bridge causes the stranger to look up with wide eyes. Although Riki fully expects it to simply enhance strength or block damage, the immediate strike of blue that flies straight towards him is anything but defensive. With a yelp, he jumps away, this time refusing to show himself.

What the hell was that?

He knows he should go back down there to change things and get the person and the metal pieces away before it escalates, but when he goes back down to watch, it's ten times worse. The bright blue illuminates the scarred face of the villain as he’s picked up the metal arm–but this time, it’s no longer clunky and sparking, but fused into his arm.

Riki’s face pales at the sudden change before his body acts on its own and he shoots out a web to stop the man.

The villain is shocked by the intrusion, but quickly yanks free from the webbing and flicks another bolt of electricity, one that flies much faster now that the metal flows into the arm instead of simply resting on the skin. It’s unlike something Riki has ever seen, something that is so controlled in motion and yet so erratic in nature, and it instills a deathly fear when it grazes his arm he hisses in pain. The sharp feeling springs Riki into action as he jumps away. He’s lucky another bolt isn’t sent his way, seeing how the villain’s too busy marveling at the power of his new gadget.

“You know that fucking hurts, right?” He yells out, cupping his wound. “Maybe leave the gadgets to the kids!”

The man scoffs. “It better have hurt. I sacrificed half my body for this to work.”

“But why?” All Riki wants is answers. Some sort of explanation.

The man charges up yet another bolt, almost like a laser gun is built into the machine. “Less talking, more running, Spiderman.”

That scared the shit out of him.

The boy doesn’t have time to think as he jumps out from the dark tunnel to the bridge and up the metal towers—he hates having to fight with people right below. The villain follows in pursuit, almost crumbling the metal with his engineered arm as he hoists himself quickly. Riki continues to jump between the structure to avoid the flashes, trying to get out and apprehend the man as quickly as possible. When he reaches the top, however, he feels death is near as he glances down at the villain below who’s quickly gaining on him. He shoots out webs to slow him temporarily, letting himself fall and swing from the side of the tower to escape.

What he doesn’t see on the way across the bridge is the flash that misses his cheek and hits his thigh instead. It burns, and mid-air, Riki gives the wound a quick assessment before he lands on the metal, immediately forcing his body to climb. While dealing with his wound, he fails to notice the villain swinging from the bridge support lines to meet him.

He needs to end this fast before he becomes burnt toast.

Riki doesn’t often rely on instinct to carry him, but he can tell that the villain he’s facing isn’t just a criminal.

“Land another hit, would you?” he tries to say, his voice strained from the pain in his arm and leg. It doesn’t do much to deter the man in front of him as the arm continues to destroy and bend the metal on the way up. “What are you going to do now, Sparky?”

The man says nothing, charging energy into his metal glove again before aiming and focusing on the target: him.

Riki jumps off, not able to properly land his web in the right spot as he goes from one section of the bridge to the other. The man behind him looks enraged at the boy’s attempt to escape—so much so that he reaches out with his normal hand to try to grasp the suit when Spider-Man swings past him. Instead of the feeling of fabric, the villain feels sticky spider fluid on his fingers. Riki shoots out a web, one that curls around the villain’s wrist and drags him off the tower. Instead of being able to launch him into the surrounding waters, the man slips from the poorly shot-out webs and falls from mid air into the sea of frantic cars, including one semi truck that collides directly with his arm. In the air, the boy winces when he hears honks and shouts from the impact, hoping it’s the last time he’ll have to witness it.

With his gaze trained on the falling figure, the weakly attached web breaks, and Riki all of a sudden starts falling down as well. He curls up defensively before bracing for impact, curling into himself when he feels the metal dent and the truck driver scream from outside of the parked vehicle, the body of the villain right in front of it.

Riki staggers, holding onto his arm and thigh the best he can before getting up. With wobbly steps and a small jump, he lands near the unconscious man, whose metal arm is cracked and fizzling—something that Riki knows is bound to leave more scars.

“Call the police. I’ll get rid of the pieces.” Although Riki wants to figure out who the criminal is and make sure he’s properly apprehended, the gashes in the boy's limbs leave him winded and exhausted. With hot metal scraps bound together by webbing in his hands, Riki swings out and dumps it somewhere rural, trying his best to cover the pieces with the pounding headache that

Riki revisits the secluded spot under the bridge, looking for clues to the man’s identity, and his expression falls when he notices a lanyard dangling near a trash can.

His name, his position, and the company. FLiGHT Corp. The company name caught the boy’s eye, and he pockets the item before leaving.

It seemed like he was a normal research scientist, but Riki’s recollection of the scars and tattered skin leaves him retracting his last thought. He heard something about the failure of a time travel machine at FLiGHT, and if the mass of the incident was anything to go by, he was in the center of it.

No matter how many times Riki tries to get it out of his head, on the way home, all he can think about is the inexperience he displayed and the lack of response he gave Riki during the whole time. But Riki can’t bring himself to really take away someone’s life—and maybe for that, he’s a horrible superhero.

He knows he should stop the man before it's too late, and especially with how many self-proclaimed villains there have been, it's not easy to see so many innocent people ruin their lives chasing a power that inevitably consumes them. He knows it’ll only get worse if he lets them run free.

And while the superhero has never been fully honest with himself, there are many times where Riki hates his role as Spider-Man, and wishes that he was just some teenage boy who didn't have the lives of others in his palm. He wishes he didn't have to sacrifice so much to stay behind a mask—and he wonders deep down if there’s anyone else who felt the same.

His swings lead him across the city above hundreds of lives he has to protect, and he tries to find some semblance of peace. He thinks about how he has his homework due despite having just risked his life, he thinks about how your project is going—and about you.

In the night under the stars, Nishimura Riki wishes for something just a bit normal. He wishes a good night for himself, but also for you, wherever you could be.

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE FROM TRYING TO READ THIS BOOK IN ONE NIGHT.

The Great Gatsby is exactly like how you described it; a little hard to get through but fun with the plot’s eccentric characters. He’s pretty sure he could’ve just used a detailed SparkNotes explanation for the book, but having a crush can make someone do weird things. And in Nishimura Riki’s case, his infatuation has got him reading a novel about morally-skewed characters and rich society to impress you.

When you come into class barely on time, Riki gives you a confused look when you sit down, but doesn’t comment on it any further. Instead, he takes out his book and tries to act like his eyes weren’t closing shut from exhaustion by the time Daisy was finally confessing how she loved Gatsby.

The moment Mr. Yoo stops talking, however, Riki isn’t asleep—much to your surprise. He has his book out, pages filled with sticky notes and a whole section of his notebook dedicated to characters (written in bright red to keep him awake) and their traits.

“I got it.” It’s the first thing he says when you two are left to do in-class work. It’s ominous, and maybe a little too enthusiastic in a high school literature class for a boy who doesn’t even care that much for school, but you’ll accept it with open arms if it means you get a helping hand on your project.

“Continue,” you tell him slowly, leaning back in your chair to listen to him. And you don’t know why, but a small part of you thinks that the boy who sleeps every period the book was discussed wouldn’t have much to say or contribute to such an open-ended prompt, but life is full of surprises.

What you fail to notice is how Riki is nervous and his stomach does at least twenty flips before he swallows dryly and starts rambling in hopes to impress you and redeem himself from his embarrassing slumber a few days ago.

“So you know how our prompt is based on one character and basically all their actions?” he asks, and you nod, absentmindedly thumbing a sheet in your journal. “I’m thinking we should talk about Jay Gatsby because so much is revealed to us about him that we might as well use it to our advantage. Y’know, talking about how the theme of exploitation and secrets is veiled under Gatsby’s desire for Daisy.”

“You don’t think Gatsby’s a good character?” Riki wants to tell you that Gatsby is more relatable than good or bad, but he shakes his head.

“I mean, not really.” He feels like with those four words, he’s completely changed the trajectory of his relationship with you from a positive slope to completely downhill—and a wave of panic washes over him. “Should I? I mean, I could see him as more redeemable if you gave me examp-“

You wave your hand to quell his worries. “To be honest, I don’t like him either. But he’s an interesting main character to write about, so I think we should go with your idea.”

To win your approval feels like he’s won at least three fights against a villain in a row without getting any bad injuries—it feels good. And for the rest of the period, you are able to finish a detailed outline of your work for the next few weeks, mapping out sections for each other, and he even gets to see a part of prom planning on a word document you had open. He considers your shared productivity a win when he packs up and bids you goodbye before leaving for lunch.

One wave doesn’t catch Riki’s attention from across the room. Not even two, or three calls of his name could get Nishimura Riki out of his thoughts, and Jake frowns before moving up in the lunch line.

“Something’s caught your eye again.” Jake feigns innocence and sighs dramatically as he places the food down next to Riki’s plate. “Could it possibly be our school treasurer?” Jake laughs, leaning over to catch a glimpse of what’s got his friend so entranced and non-responsive.

Riki scrunches his nose, annoyed, but never breaking his gaze from where you’re sitting. “We talked in class–like, a lot,” is all he says, paying his friend no mind. “She’s genuinely so understanding.”

“God, I don’t think you can be any more down bad for her than you are right now.” Jake picks at his food, and despite his concentration directed towards the olives on his pizza, he’s able to dodge the flying loaded nacho that goes his way, even if he wasn’t the one with superpowers.

“Can you shut up?” Riki grumbles, laying his head on his arms as he notices you smile and point to something. “I just got pummeled into a semi truck last week. Let me have this before I die tomorrow.”

“Very grim,” his friend notes, ruffling the younger’s hair, “I think this is exactly what all of those mental health assemblies that we get are for.” And Riki basically tunes him out, too tired to fight and too used to the teasing remarks to come up with anything useful in response.

Riki sits up a bit, letting his head rest on his propped elbow as he looks at the school food and touches another nacho gingerly. “Y’know, I read the book for English so she wouldn’t think I’m an idiot.”

His friend snickers, successfully pulling out yet another sliced olive from the cheese, much to the disgust of Riki. “She probably already thinks you’re an idiot.”

The superhero debates throwing another cheesy nacho in Jake's face, before deciding to eat it instead. “Don’t say that asshole! You make it seem like I have no chance with her.”

Jake shoots him an exasperated look that makes Riki break eye contact. “That’s because you don’t.”

“I’ll prove to her that I’m worth her time.” Riki says somewhat wistfully, still stealing glances from a few tables away. “Maybe I’ll ask her out to prom, show up in my suit. Do that cheesy upside down kiss shit people say Spiderman does.” When his friend raises an eyebrow at him, Riki shrugs. “I will! Well-maybe not the Spider-Man thing, but prom definitely.”

Jake continues to look at him unconvinced as he takes a bite out of a slice of pizza with mangled cheese. “You barely talk to her in class and you think you can ask her out to prom as Nishimura Riki?” And the younger grins, eyes still stuck on how your eyes crinkle and how your shoulders shake with laughter.

“Yup.” And his fate is sealed, just like that.

“What’s your project about, anyways? Didn’t you tell me last night that she gave you her number? Must be pretty serious if she wants to text you.” Riki furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head.

“It’s just tying the theme of the book to one character and writing about how they show it. So we did the theme of money and Gatsby, because it’s easy and mentioned so many times.”

Jake gawks. “You must really like her,”

“I was planning to read it regardless of who I was partnered with.”

“Okay- that’s debatable.” There goes another one of Riki’s nachos.

“Gross.”

He thinks things are going pretty well for you two. The report is being written and your quotes are basically finding themselves, so Riki should give himself a pat on the back for pitching the initial idea for how to go about your assignment. Maybe reading the whole book offered him a few useful pointers, and he goes to sleep that night satisfied with your progress. Maybe Heeseung and Jake were right—maybe he could finally ask you out by prom.

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE TRYING TO SAVE THE CITY FROM YET ANOTHER MONSTER TERRORIZING THE STREETS.

He wakes up the next morning, not expecting his alarm to alert his senses to danger. It rings in his head and makes him feel delirious, trying to shake sleep off as he looks out the window for any visible sign of what's wrong. If he could hear the danger in his head then that meant someone could be hurt, and he could go to school without a few hours of sleep if he worked fast enough, right?

Riki slips into his suit without much thought and goes to crack his window open, only to look back at his clock and read the horrific time of 6:23AM.

Who the hell picks a fight with a teenager at this ungodly time?

Then, he shoots from his wrists, once, twice, and suddenly, he's off, covering more ground through the air in just three seconds than he ever could while walking or running for minutes on end.

The source of his tingling spidey-sense is some large metal centipede creature that was setting off car alarms in a neighborhood near the market. Thankfully, no one was really awake to be caught in the crossfire, but he has to figure out how the hell he's going to catch that thing in...he checks his watch…twenty minutes?

Hopefully, his instinct will help him win this time—again.

The web he shoots out does nothing to stop the monster, and considering how it connected them both, the threads only drag the superhero to the edge of the building he was initially watching from. With some yelling and pulling, he finally detaches, and realizes that the odd sizzling feeling in his bonds must be from the same source as a few days ago; Spark.

He had this gut feeling that a villain as strong as him wouldn’t have been destroyed so easily, but his wounds were so deep and the blood loss so bad from a few nights ago that he couldn’t have truly dumped him in the ocean without fainting or suffering something permanent, and although Riki hoped things in the universe would work itself out, the presence of the giant fifty foot insect alone is proof that things were not in his favor.

He jumps off the building onto another, working quickly as he strings up a few webs between the houses as a wall for the monster, watching it slide and knock over cars in its wild pursuit. The monster spends a few seconds breaking down the wall of webbing and climbing over it, the many legs easily breaking through. As the superhero jumps across buildings and keeps track of the centipede’s movement, he has no idea why it isn’t going for him, and that makes his job much harder without the attention of the monster. One glance at the direction the centipede is headed in sets off another ding in Riki’s head—but this time, it finally clicks why the centipede is headed away from the boy.

It’s attracted to the power plant.

Riki immediately jumps and swings off of a lamp post, using the momentum of gravity and the force of his swing to propel him faster than the slithering creature. Squinting, he holds out his fist and points his pointer and pinky out, following the movement of the centipede as he aims.

Bam.

He sends clusters of silky white threads down precisely at the first pair of legs to pin it down. The webs stop the creature momentarily, and Riki doesn’t have time to watch how the body shrinks up and fizzes out with blue shocks as it tries to wiggle loose and malfunctions. This fight would be over soon, and the boy smiles when he jumps down to shoot more webs to apprehend the centipede. It wiggles and sends electricity out through parts of its body, trying to pry itself out. He expects it to simply be a robot of sorts following a mission considering its avoidant behavior, but as he approaches the tail, the monster suddenly swings at Riki, and its mass and speed is incomparable to the boy’s reaction speed.

Riki lands into a tree and someone’s garage, feeling the crumbling wall falling all over him and the sudden pain blooming in his lower back.

This fight will, in fact, not be over soon.

With his superhuman abilities, Riki grabs onto the metal of the car beside him to hoist himself up, coughing from the dust, and jumping over the rubble to see how quickly the centipede creature can get out, without regard for his current state. The sound and rumble of the giant monster is all he needs to know that the traps are effective, but not at the previous capacity.

The plan is simple: apprehend the legs and crush the head, where Riki assumes the decision-making and programming is taking place. But the monster’s angry and erratic actions throw a wrench in his plan. Its legs move faster, digging into the cement and leaving ruin in its wake as it continues down the road. While both the villain and superhero are fast, the distance between the power plant is finite—and only grows smaller and smaller.

Although Riki can feel the bruises coming, he runs and swings, hearing the wind in his ears as he catches up to the centipede in no time. He tries the same tactics again–aim, shoot, stick, all the while keeping his distance. Although the monster’s body spans incredibly long, and should carry an immense amount of weight, the way it snaps at Riki’s flying body and sends shockwaves through his core leaves him shivering as his body slams into the ground, coughing. It hurts all over, and it feels like there’s weight on his eyes when he tries to open them and get up. His head is spinning as he staggers onto his knees, clutching his chest as he watches the centipede shrivel and crackle.

It seems like the voltage produced is a double-ended sword, one that burns up the centipede body as much as it deals damage, and with the way the mutant creeps towards the electricity of the plant, Riki gets the feeling there’s a magnetic pull that forces the mutant to continue to crawl even against its instinct to stop.

Despite his waning strength, however, Riki knows better than to half finish the job like last time. He creates a net from experience, weaving together the thickest and most durable threads to trap the entirety of the slowly approaching creature. It seems to crawl slowly up the makeshift barrier, knocking its head against the white and spreading the bright blue waves of its energy throughout. The boy watches as the thin white mass absorbs all of it and clings to the creature. It works, finally, after his attempts to nullify its movements, and he knows that despite the ache in his every step, the almost mummified centipede that hangs between several roofs for all the neighbors to gawk at is his sure sign of victory.

All he remembers is hearing a familiar call of his hero name before his legs give out and his head hits Jake’s chest.

Holy fucking shit is the first thing Riki thinks when he wakes up.

He’s not out of his tattered suit and he feels grimy all over, but his body has done wonders in reducing the otherwise fatal injuries he got. No human body should be able to withstand two energy-filled blasts, but his suit and superhuman healing are of greater help than ever in alleviating the damage from his wounds.

He knows why he’s in his bed with bandages thrown over his open wounds. He knows that every time something like this happens, it’s Jake who shoos away the concerned civilians, telling them he’s a medic. Jake is not a medic—rather, he’s a seventeen year-old boy who knows about his friend’s double life and with all the times he’s saved Riki, someone might as well dub him the greatest medic of all time.

The clock on his bedside table has only served as a bearer of bad news. He looks over to see how it’s practically midday, and he’s missed yet another day of school from fighting crime. He’s in no condition to get up or get his bag, seeing how his hair is frizzy and his cheek has a cut that would warrant questioning. It seems only fair that he stays absent, and before he falls back asleep, he only prays you aren’t too mad at him for leaving the seat next to you empty.

But you aren’t mad, just worried. The soreness in his muscles doesn’t go away though, and he groans when he sits up in his bed, with bandages around his arms and an ice pack discarded next to him.

He’s most definitely not coming to school like this.

While you bore holes into the clock hanging off the wall, that doesn’t speed up the time. Two minutes pass, then another minute. As your classmates find their partners and begin discussing, you notice how the room gets louder with the due date looming near. It’s the first time you’re alone without the familiar boy beside you, and something hangs low in your chest when you put in a pair of earphones and open your laptop.

Riki’s absence should have no effect on you. After all, you’re both just high school students who’ve talked once or twice, and yet you still look over at the empty chair. Staring doesn’t make Riki appear, though, and you return to your edits. It feels empty without his insight, or without him asking you to help him with a passage. Riki was your solution to all things boring. If he wasn’t doing his work, then you two were laughing at something on his phone. And if you agreed to both do something other than the report, then you could ask for an extra opinion when deciding prom details. There was something freeing about working with him that attracted you. Riki knew how to lighten the mood on days that weren’t so good for you, but he also worked hard and let loose at the same time. There was a perfect balance in Riki’s life that you aspired to have; it was a good mix of playful, dedicated, and fun all in the same vein.

The words blend together on your screen. Jay Gatsby this, Tom Buchanan that, it all looks monotonous the more you keep trying to read and comprehend what exactly you’re talking about.

Before class is dismissed, Mr. Yoo steps to the front of the classroom to gather everyone’s attention. He introduces your new novel for the next month, explaining yet another large assignment associated with the text.

Truth be told, you don’t pay attention to any of it.

The only thing you remember to do is to grab extra copies of the printed graphic organizers, as you get out of your seat and rush out when class ends in pursuit of one specific boy.

“Sim Jaeyun!” The call of his name diverts Jake’s attention from his phone to your waving arm as you weave through the students and finally reach him.

“You can just call me Jake,” he explains, “what’s up?”

You begin to reach into your backpack, trying to feel for your folder, and pull out a few sheets. “These are for Riki.”

Jake cheers internally for his friend who’s busy recovering at home. “What, you got a crush on him or something?”

He tries to play it cool by teasing you, but the smile you bite back leaves the boy questioning if there really is anything going on. Jake knows better than to tell you anything about Riki’s feelings, and opts to instead grab the papers and to thank you for looking out for his friend.

“Is Riki okay?” You have to know, just to make sure he’ll be here tomorrow to cure your boredom.

What Jake says is much different than the nonchalant wave and half grin he gives you. “He’s just bedridden.”

“That’s pretty serious! Did he come down with anything?” He seemed fine yesterday, so what’s the catch?

He blurts, “He just got badly hurt.”

Immediately, Jake knows he’s fucked up.

Your confusion and silence answers him far more than words ever could–he basically hears the gears turning slowly in your head.

Jake weakly defends, “His parents had a fight with him because he hit his head or something. He’ll be fine by tomorrow. Just bedridden from sadness, y’know?”

The look you give him is unconvinced, but when Heeseung pats him on the shoulder and waves to you, the boy realizes that maybe staying quiet would’ve been the better decision.

“I’ll see you later, ____.” And he’s off, waving half-heartedly and dragging a very confused Heeseung out of the cafeteria.

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE TRYING TO WAKE YOU UP AS GENTLY AS HE CAN.

Ever since March started and flowers began to bloom, your energy seemed to do the opposite, dwindling until Riki catches you mirroring his frequent in-class action: sleeping. And it worries him beyond belief, because you’re not the type to fall asleep like… ever. However, Riki does not have the heart to wake you up, even if it’s with a little nudge that you probably barely feel with how light he taps. It breaks his heart to have to ask you to review what he has done, because the bell is about to ring and the teacher might just send you to detention if he catches you off-task.

The allergies always make Mr. Yoo irritable, and Riki knows not to get on his nerves.

Your eyes flutter open to the pokes and prodding from none other than Nishimura Riki, who gazes at you softly when you adjust to the bright classroom setting once more.

Panic settles in. “Wait- how long was I sleeping for?”

He shrugs and scrunches his nose, not giving you an answer as he finishes scribbling something in his notebook.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Your hand squeezes into a fist at the frustration that you’ve let your partner down.

And yet, Riki seems to be unfazed, frowning when he sees you stressing out. “Don’t ever sweat the little things, yeah? If there’s anything you ever need to talk about–trust me, I know what it’s like to have a lot of pressure on your shoulders.”

Smiling at him, you respond with, “Thank you, really.”

Being treasurer is daunting in the spring. It’s full of requests, forms, and small tasks that leave you spent by the end of the day. “But,” you glance at the clock to see just how much time is left, “how’d you know?”

He motions to your open computer with a now dark screen. “I saw your document pulled up. ____’s tasks or else she will be kicked out of student government,” he taunts, snickering when your eyes grow wide with embarrassment and you lightly nudge his shin with your foot in warning.

“It’s not polite to snoop,” and although you say that, you catch something in your peripheral vision. It’s a few drawings of a figure and gadget drawn, shaded from rigid shapes with small descriptions pointing to different places. You weren’t sure what was more surprising; how good the drawings were, or the subject of his imagination.

Weird. Inherently, there was nothing wrong with Riki drawing a villain, and you chalked it up to him being creative. Nothing more, nothing less.

He puts his hands up in surrender at your last comment, his grin showing anything but. Just one look at the boy makes you realize that everything you’ve just thought about is foolish.

There’s no way he’d have time to be a villain and a student. With one final thought, you let your raging thoughts rest and focus on the present; him. You’ve seen his hair messy, especially after his naps, but when Riki tries to style it like how he did today, you pay more attention to the streaks of blonde and how he often hides behind his bangs and scrunches his nose. It’s cute. He’s cute.

The truth is, you enjoy being around him like this, joking around and never worrying too much about your responsibilities and expectations. It’s refreshing. Being around Riki gives you the feeling that things will be okay in the end.

You snap out of your thoughts to see that his desk is empty, while your’s hasn’t changed one bit.

“You’re going to sell prom tickets now, right?” He makes small talk before leaving for lunch, closing the notebook you were suspiciously eying before slipping it into his bag.

“Yup,” you answer, popping the ‘p,’ “I’ll see you later,” and you two part ways.

All the long lines and constant distribution of change doesn’t allow much wiggle room for you to daydream. As time goes on, the ticket-selling line grows smaller and smaller, but the only thing you truly care about is eating the lunch your parents packed you. Your sandwich is probably sad and soggy now that there are only a few minutes of lunch left. When you finally sign off one last time after triple checking the forms are all correct, you let out a sigh, leaning back and finally getting a break.

Then, it hits you that you’re not even sure if the boy you’re fawning over is attending the biggest event of the year, and you feel stupid for forgetting to ask.

Yesterday was a rookie’s mistake–today, you’d make sure you get an answer from him.

“Are you going to prom, Riki?” is the first thing you ask when he sits down, grabbing his book and laptop with a little too much enthusiasm.

“I’m thinking about it.” Yeah, whatever confidence he had when convincing himself he’d ask you out isn’t serving him well at this moment. Quite frankly, Riki feels lame as ever trying to be nonchalant around you. “You?”

“I’d have to set up, so I would be there, yes. But whether or not I have a date is another story.” You smile to lighten the mood, but Riki watches you and nods, focusing back on signing into his laptop and getting his notes for the new book you’re reading.

“Well, you’re not the only single one here.” And he wants to reprimand himself for saying something without thinking. “If someone asked, would you say yes?”

You think about it carefully, really because you don’t have anyone in mind when it comes to prom if Riki’s not planning on going. “It’d have to be someone I know—someone I talk to somewhat regularly. I’d be nice to be with someone who doesn’t make it awkward.”

Nishimura Riki might die from over-thinking if he keeps on wondering whether or not he fits that description to a tee.

RIKI'S TO-DO LIST BEFORE PROM

☐ talk to ____ regularly

☐ don't make it awkward

☐ be..cute?

The boy decides that his superhuman responsibilities might be easier to complete than any of those three things.

He switches the subject to stop his head from hurting too much. “Did you finish the report?”

You still, and Riki’s question reminds you of the report looming over your head. In your defense, you two hadn’t brought it up much in the past week, and he didn’t seem to worry over how much of your time was spent emailing teachers or making spreadsheets. Although caught off guard, you’re quick to respond with, “What did we have to finish? I thought we were done since last week, but if there’s anything else-”

“Sorry,” he rushes out, biting his lip, “I meant, if you finished reading it.” And the answer is no, you haven’t read it since your last edit on it three days ago.

Within a few clicks, you find the document and scroll to the bottom, seeing the small note that Riki left that said ‘let me know how it looks.’ It’s sweet to know he thought about your input as much as you did his.

“While some can agree that Gatsby’s rise into high society was sketchy, Gatsby still retains the same reserved character from years ago, and doesn’t manipulate others into success or use his money for nefarious purposes. It’s not like he changed after his wealth, and it could be argued Gatsby loved Daisy until his last breath and was willing to die as long as she was happy, emphasizing the theme of sacrifice.

So, is Jay Gatsby a good person? The question targets the morality of a character who many can empathize with. Those who are charmed by his overwhelming love for Daisy would say that he’s committed textbook crimes, but focus more on the intent behind it. To pine after someone from a distance isn’t easy, but to pursue her after years of separation is even harder. It’s universally agreed, however, that love as a driving force doesn’t nullify what he’s done to others and the dirty schemes he’s enacted to gain the power he has. Therefore, Gatsby makes for an interesting main character, and highlights just how twisted a system around money can be.”

The last page is–for the most part–his writing, and your admiration for him grows when you finish reading and scroll to hit your Works Cited page.

“It’s good,” you tell him wholeheartedly, “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Riki cracks a smile at your light teasing, soaking up your praise.

“Now you know.” He shrugs. And he can only hope that you like him as much as you like his literary skills.

NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE WHEN HE COMES TO THE REALIZATION THAT HE IS EXACTLY LIKE JAY GATSBY,JUST WITHOUT THE MONEY—DESPERATE FOR THE GIRL OF HIS DREAMS, DYING YOUNG, AND A FRAUD HIDING BEHIND SECRETS.

Nevermind the last one, he has to hide when he has an identity to protect as the city’s only superhero, but Riki feels his heart sink to his heels when he read a few weeks ago how much Gatsby simply adores Daisy. When Gatsby died, he scoffed, closing the book with a sudden disinterest. If he were the male lead, he wouldn’t have been laying in a pool for target practice. Maybe being a superhero teaches you how to avoid being easy bait for all your enemies, or maybe Gatsby was too carried away with love to think straight.

Fighting crime gives you insurmountable experience with sneaking around, but it wasn’t something he could just teach to anyone. When he gets this horrible gut feeling that something’s happened to you, he just knew something was wrong. He might not be easy to catch, but for anyone else? Definitely.

For everyone else, prom was a month away, but for you, it was three weeks of talking to your advisor and president, arguing with your other board members, and sitting behind that damn money box for another five days to sell tickets. For you, it was realizing that you were supposed to buy streamers and balloons yesterday on your way home from school. It was the thinly veiled disappointment in your board member’s texts when they told you they were at a loss for words. ‘I’m sorry, and I know you’re busy, but how could you forget? Prom is so important for all of us. What if they don’t have what you need anymore?’ It all repeated in your head as you bit your lip in frustration and slipped on the first pair of shoes you could find. Although it was dark and dangerous, you could care less if it meant avoiding the passive aggressive comments you’d get tomorrow during your meeting.

There it is again: that little tendency to not pay attention to your surroundings.

You yelp when you feel someone grabbing your wrist and pulling you in, muffling your screams as he pulls you along. To see him on the news was worrying, but to see Spark in person with your life on the line is even worse.

Tears spring to your eyes as you struggle against the metal to no avail, and you curse every previous moment you spent worrying about balloons rather than your safety.

Spark suddenly stops, shoving you against the wall before his hand grabs a brick with his metal arm, beginning to climb. “Don’t let go.” And you don’t think twice before holding on.

The city view would be beautiful if you weren’t hearing your heartbeat in your ears or if you weren’t dangling from the railing of some company building, trying to wiggle yourself free of the rope around your wrists.

Spark speaks up, drumming his fingers on the railing next to you. “You wouldn’t happen to know where your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man is, would you?” And you furrow your eyebrows, genuinely questioning for a moment if he really knew how the superhero operated.

A voice from across the street puts a temporary hold on your thoughts, and you glance up to see a flash of blue and red soaring through the air, followed by a groan and a beam of light next to you. Seeing Spark’s powers right in front of you spurs you into action, yanking at the rope and trying to take tiny steps away from where they were fighting.

“From what I’m seeing, you wanted to hold someone hostage because you’re not feeling too good, huh?” Spider-Man shouts as he shoots out webs and blocks hits. You shake your head in partial disbelief of how unserious he is, but also how unbelievable all of this seems. “You tried to take a potion or something? I’m going to tell you this now, but these usually don’t work.”

Riki’s assumption is right, and considering how Spark now has a leg and arm from metal instead of just the arm, the procedure for the additional limb couldn’t have been easy. The superhero still proceeds with caution, making sure to pay attention to anything new as he dodges and fights back.

The villain immediately gets back up, stumbling for a moment before he regains his stance and runs towards the boy. You hear the clanging of fist hitting metal from their fight, and considering the difference in height and build, you’d expect Spider-Man to be easily flung to the side, but he holds his weight in battle.

Riki aims for around the left shoulder, where an abundance of stitches cover the skin and fuse the metal into muscle. He lands a hit, and almost another one, before a punch to the side knocks him from his momentum. The boy wheezes when his back makes instant contact with the ground, rolling and getting up before Spark has time to shoot.

He notices how quickly the gadget generates electricity now. Before, the beams took longer, and were easily predictable, but now, it glows bright for a moment before it fires directly in Riki’s path. The boy dodges the first, but the second one almost hits the top of his head before he ducks and creates distance.

From the roof-top, Riki scans his surroundings before making the split-second decision to jump.

He swings to the other side of the building, keeping you in his peripheral vision as he works on apprehending the villain in front of him. They spring into yet another fist fight, with Riki’s agility easily letting him avoid punches and land precise hits to make the previous injuries even worse.

You think Spider-Man has the upper hand in this, seeing as how none of Spark’s punches seem to slow down the superhero, but you hear something loud before you can register it.

You figure out what happened after Riki stumbles and suffers a blow to the stomach, sending him tumbling to the edge of the building. Spark knew that Spider-Man was avoiding his left arm—he knew that one wrong move paired with the tungsten material would have a lasting effect on the superhero’s fist.

Riki coughs from the impact before his spidey-sense rings, pulling him back into battle as he runs as fast as his body can take him.

You. He still needs to save you.

With renewed vigor, he continues to avoid the flying sparks as he ducks between structures and uses the terrain to his advantage. He can tell, though, that the villain is slowing down. The shots are less accurate–a telltale sign that the enhancer Spark tried is working against him.

Between all of the chaos, Riki finally lands a proper web, yanking as hard as he can to pull Spark to the ground. He stumbles, grasping at thin silk before Riki lets go on his side. The villain’s balance is off, giving the boy an advantage as he closes the distance, hopping over a thrown slab of metal and landing a solid kick into Spark’s ribcage. As he stays down, Riki continues to aim for muscle and flesh, his head spinning as he packs punch after punch to keep the villain apprehended.

Spark’s body–curled into itself to absorb the hits the best that he can– hides the growing blue flash that he’s slowly charging up with his remaining power. The moment it escapes from under his abdomen, Riki directs his efforts towards avoiding the electric glimmer. The villain rolls over, his body tattered from the consistent injuries, and he fires what seems like an intense bullet of energy. It zips by the boy’s cheek, cutting the mask and leaving blood to run down in its wake. Time slows down as the superhero tries to process the unlocked speed of the burst, and Spark loses focus marveling at his new abilities. Never before had either of them seen power so concentrated, and it inflicts both fear and excitement.

He lifts his arm, the other holding it up for support, and Spider-Man notices the fizzle of bright blue. Riki’s about to jump out of the way, preparing for yet another high-speed bullet, but before Spark fires, something clicks. The arm doesn’t directly point to Riki–but it skews off to the right.

Except, he’s no longer aiming for Riki in the split second that the boy blinks. He’s suddenly aiming at you, where your hands are tied to the railing and your feet are dangling from the bent metal that holds you precariously over the edge, leaving a fifty foot drop in its wake. When you see the blue energy in the villain’s palm growing slowly bigger, you pull at the rope desperately with zero regard to the tender rawness of your wrists.

In your attempt to somehow break the rope, your cry of fear snaps Spider-Man into action.

Riki pushes his sore body to jump as quick as he can, leaping across the rooftop to the building over. He easily avoids the metal railing, grabbing onto your arm as he yanks hard on the rope, the force of it separating a piece of metal from the railing. He immediately jumps, sending out a web to swing him back up. It all happens in a flash–first, you were bound to the edge about to fall to your death, and all of a sudden, you’re tightly pressed against Spider-Man’s chest with your bound wrists still attached to the metal. Shutting your eyes, you trust Spider-Man entirely, closing your eyes to avoid seeing just how far up you were. Wind rushes in your ears and leaves your stomach fluttering with butterflies until the superhero sets you down on a secluded rooftop.

“Please,” he begs, “don’t leave. I’ll be right back.”

You’d be a fool to do anything but wait.

Riki checks on you one last time before diving down, springing himself back up with another web. The damage from the blasts is recognizable even from far away, and yet, he notices the reflective shine of a metal arm on the edge of the building before Spark lets go.

To Riki, Spark is dead after dropping from a fall having taken that much damage, but he hears no impact. Making haste, the boy fails to find any figure no matter how hard he looks, but Spark’s laboratory has to be here somewhere. The badge from a week ago was stuck on Riki’s mind, and he could only imagine the reasons why he pursued this life. Was he recreating something? If he needs to power some sort of machine, then the heart of the city is a perfect place to harness the electricity for any large scale project. As much as he wants to dedicate the rest of the night to searching the city for some sort of clue, the fact that you’re still stranded on that rooftop after having just experienced a life-changing event blares like an alarm in his mind.

He quickly leaves, returning to where you’re seated.

Without the fear of falling to your death from earlier, you were able to focus on undoing the knots from the rope. Red scratch marks and irritation bloom on your wrist, and the reality of it all happening still hasn’t settled in. Despite not being harmed once, the fear and incessant pounding of your heart overwhelms your senses, and it leaves you heaving with confusion.

A pair of footsteps only become apparent as Riki walks closer, taking a seat beside you and letting out a large sigh. He stares at the stars silently as if he doesn’t have a cut on his cheek and bruises waiting to paint his skin purple–as if he isn’t hiding his true self under a facade.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” You shake your head, grateful that Spider-Man was the reason you got away without a real injury.

“Thank you, really, for saving me. I don’t know how you manage to do it.”

Riki chuckles under the mask. “Eh, you get used to it,” you hear Spider-Man say. “You fight a couple bad guys, get over a fear of heights and eventually you get the hang of things.”

Scoffing, you gently rub at your wrists to ease the redness. “Easy for you to say. I haven’t been taught a crash course on how to avoid being supervillain bait just yet.”

“Maybe you should learn it sometime,” Riki responds absentmindedly, “someone like you shouldn’t have been out so late doing whatever it could’ve been.”

Sighing, your mind drifts off to think about the balloons and streamers that are not in your hand. “I had stuff for my upcoming events.”

He knew about all of it when you’d explain your cryptic reminders and notes on your computer, but he still feigns curiosity. “What upcoming events?”

“Just prom,” and he hears just how strained it makes you.

Riki tilts his head in faux confusion. “What do you have to do for prom?”

He notices how you immediately slump, as if the mere mention of prom deflates your happiness. “It’s only a few weeks away, and I was supposed to get decorations for our venue yesterday. I just wanted to slip out before my parents noticed.”

Despite the fabric over his eyes, Riki’s expression shifts from surprise to pity when he understands your stakes. “You still need to be careful. Is your student council strict?”

“Not strict necessarily, but judgemental–I ran for the position because I thought I could help my school raise funds and find more opportunities, but it just feels like no one truly wants to try anything new.” You wave it off as if it’s not that important, as if it isn’t the reason why you find yourself stressed so often. “I just don’t want to disappoint or give people something to talk about.”

Despite not being involved with school the same way you are, the boy next to you resonates with the fear you currently face. The fear of letting people down was a large part of why Riki continued to put on that mask and step into the most dangerous situation of his life; he never wanted to sit down to hear the news that Spider-Man quit.

So he keeps doing his job, even if some days are harder and some fights aren’t worth winning–just like what you do.

“Yeah, I get that,” he tries to console, “You must be doing a lot for everyone around you, and I’m sure a lot of people appreciate what you’ve done. Don’t beat yourself up too much, yeah? You’ll always have me.” He smiles, but he knows you don’t see it. You’re looking at the stars, trying to calm your mind and return to your life before everything happened.

You glance over at Spider-Man, wondering if he’ll truly be around for you when you need it. “If I need to talk to you, should I step out of my house past 8PM again?”

Riki chuckles, watching clouds slowly dim the moon’s glow in their path. “If I’m not fighting crime, I’ll show up at a moment’s notice.”

There’s no way he means it, but you grin, feeling a lot of the pressure and stress of earlier slowly wash away. After all, nothing happened to you–Spider-Man made sure of it. Maybe things really were going to be okay.

“Let’s get you home, yeah? Don’t you have stuff to do anyways?”

You shrug, nothing really coming to mind. As you get up, you remember having to run a plagiarism check on your work, and how Riki told you to text him when you got home after your student government meeting.

Riki. Spark. Spider-Man.

“Wait,” you tell Spider-Man, sitting back down on the cement, “I need to talk to you about something else, too.”

“It’s not like my dinner’s getting cold,” the superhero mumbles quiet enough that you can’t hear.

“There’s this guy,” you start, paying no mind to how dirty your clothes are getting when you cross your legs.

Spider-Man scoffs, looking off into the distance, and it makes you believe he has to be your age or older. “You have a crush on him, or something?” And a whole tidal wave of deja vu hits you in the chest.

‘He must be badly hurt’ isn’t just something people say. People don’t just draw insanely detailed drawings of Spark’s arm and machines without notes to follow unless they knew. People wouldn't just randomly miss school without any impending signs. You’re sure of it–the tired naps in class, the random drawings of superheroes and superhumans alike, or how awkward he could act–it all makes sense.

Your classmate, aka Nishimura Riki, aka the guy who you’ve questioned if you had a crush on for the past few days, might be a villain.

The swirling feeling of trepidation in your stomach leaves three words running around your head.

What. The. Fuck.

Although you tried so hard to stop thinking about it, Jake’s comment from before rubbed you the wrong way. It was sometime last week where you couldn't get your mind off of the implications of his words, but that feeling was brushed underneath your responsibilities.

Until now.

“Yeah, there’s this guy,” you breathe, feeling your chest constrict, “Nishimura Riki. I think he’s Spark.”

His blood runs cold.

“You think this…why?”

You take a deep breath, trying to organize all your thoughts. “Well, first, it was his friend, Jake. He said that Riki was badly hurt, and I was really confused at first, but tried to let it go.”

Riki was going to strangle his best friend.

“And then, I was looking at him in class, right? And keep in mind, he’s pretty cute, and we sit next to each other, so I just noticed how good his hair looked that day, but his notebook was out, and I saw all these drawings of Spark. Like, the arms, the metal things, even the projectiles! Who would know the ins and outs of that thing if it wasn’t Spark himself?”

He didn’t know what to think about first; the fact that you gushed about him for the first time, or if he should even tell you that Spider-Man would know those things, too.

“And sometimes, I notice he’s a little awkward around me. I can’t explain it. It’s like he’s paying attention to me. That must’ve been why he captured me.” He wants to laugh at how damn close you are to figuring it out, but in reality, nothing is funny about the situation.

Nishimura Riki is actually listening to this, right now, as Spider-Man–not Spark. The awkwardness, though? It was his crush on you, and was not superhuman related in the slightest.

“I don’t know,” he attempts to divert, pretending to focus, “I saw a badge for FLiGHT. You know the company that’s been making time traveling machines? I saw a glimpse of his name and face. It’s not that guy you mentioned.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And you haven’t gotten him caught?”

“Villains aren’t easy to find, y’know. It’s not like playground hide and seek,” Riki defends, crossing his arms.

You shrink in your spot, feeling sheepish for questioning a superhero so bluntly.

“Plus,” he continues, “Spark has never had a hostage. Wouldn’t it be pretty mean of that friend of yours to kidnap a girl from his class?”

“Yeah—that makes sense. Thank god,” you breathe, closing your eyes momentarily. “Then what do you suspect all that evidence leads to? Maybe he’s a secret agent?”

“I think,” Riki continues to keep up his clueless facade, “Your friend might just be clumsy. Or creative. I mean, maybe he went through a break-up?” Nice one, Riki.

You shake your head. “No, there’s no way he has a girlfriend. You’d think I like guys who are taken?” Scoffing lightly, you then remembered that Spider-Man really would have no idea who any of you are.

He shrugs and stands up stretching before motioning for you to follow him. “I have no idea what you high school kids do. Come on, let’s get you home.”

As you hug him tight, the cold air whips around your body and leaves goosebumps in their wake. You barely open your eyes from the fear of seeing yourself inches from hitting a building or up in the air. Spider-Man only yells his confirmation after asking how to get you home, finally placing you on the ground outside of your large gate.

“Thank you for saving me tonight.”

“Anytime. Figure things out with that friend of yours, and don’t go out late, okay?” You nod and take his words to heart.

“Goodnight, Spiderman.”

—-

Nishimura might die. One, because he has this horrible guilty feeling in his stomach, and two, because of a villain.

Yesterday, he ignored the salmon and rice bowl that waited for him back at home, choosing to follow the coordinates he saved on his phone after he took you home. It led him to a seemingly harmless auto-shop, with an arrow on his GPS pointing to a garage that was shut down completely with nails and blocked with boxes. The exterior pointed to it being abandoned, but Riki suddenly saw some light coming from a makeshift above.

The boy scaled the wall as quietly as possible, glancing into the source of the whirring. He caught small glimpses of something–metal, glowing, blue.

Or at least, for a few seconds it was on until the power went out.

The voice that complained from inside the room sounded identical to the man Riki fought. Spark grumbled, turning on a flashlight and quickly waving it around. Riki ducked from the window and held his breath, waiting for the man to suspect something.

Nothing.

One lightbulb slowly flickered back on, and then the other dingy light followed. The space was cramped with the metal equipment in the middle, resembling what Riki had seen in the news.

He was right–it was the same time travel portal that was ruined from a few months ago.

Spider-Man continued to observe the man as he worked and drilled, plugging certain wires or pausing momentarily to read from a journal. To anyone, it’d seem peaceful, like some sort of renovation project. But in reality, it was so much more than that.

Riki searched for any sort of information about the machine, trying to see what exactly was left to do until his gaze landed on something.

There was some sort of date on a bright pink sticky-note, and Riki’s eyes widened when he finally comprehends it.

The machine was scheduled to be completed tomorrow.

A street lamp next to Riki dies out—which was a clear sign that something was powering up. From the dark, he hears the metal from the same place as last night moving again, and he knows that Spark has left. His presence sends anyone down the street and immediately running, leaving the area for only them two.

Riki finally sees the completed metal build. Half of his body is wrapped in or replaced with metal parts as he sets down the metal portal, beginning to push it in the direction of the power plant.

A truck or car would make things much easier, but whatever.

Riki wants to cry from fear and run away. He wants to leave and pretend he never saw anything from last night.

He’s going to die fighting Spark and he will quite literally a) never finish highschool and get that stupid diploma, b) finish explaining how Gatsby is not a good person and is naturally selfish, and c) he’s never going to tell you how he’s had a small crush on you ever since he saw your cute campaign video as to why you should vote y/n l/n for student body treasurer last spring.

“You sure that thing works?” Riki asks, jumping into action as he sends webs to immobilize the machine.

“You’re annoying, you know that?” Spark sends a projectile in the superhero’s direction, hitting the wall behind him instead as Riki jumps out of the way.

With another duck mid-air and the roof of a flying car dangerously close to his nose, Riki thanks the dance practice he does for his flexibility as he shoots another web and swings away.

Spark is uncontrollable by now, sucking the light from street lamps and fizzing wires in his wake. He has no idea how he’s supposed to get in contact with the villain like before. The body of his suit fizzes with bright electricity that sizzles and pops. It illuminates Spark’s figure, making him easy to spot, but not so easy to defeat. It’s an overload of power, causing the voltage to escape between the joints and gaps of the metal pieces in his suit. And Riki can feel it; the air is heightened and so are the stakes of this fight—and with how the man that stands in front of him looks upgraded and menacing, he knows only one person can make it out of this fight alive.

“You injected the city’s ‘Gas and Electric’ into your system or what?” Riki calls out, making light of the situation. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s scared out of his wits seeing the six foot figure with blue and white shooting from every crack, looking like a nightmare to touch.

Riki avoids a few more angrily thrown objects, using the momentum of his jump from the side of the building to zip from the top of a yellow fire hydrant to go from one side of the street to the other. “You’re slow!” He taunts, tucking in his legs to avoid a shot of electricity directed at him.

The screech of metal from the nearby hydrant can be heard as the top flings off, making Riki lose his anchor/ Before he can process it, instead of smoothly landing on the building, he crashes into it faster than expected, groaning when his back makes contact with the glass and he tumbles into the living room of someone’s apartment.

“Fuck,” he curses, fighting his aching limbs to get up once more.

And the solution hits him. Literally.

When he steps out and quickly attaches a web to the top of the building, he’s met on the way up with a splash of water from the hydrant to his face, and Riki splutters as he wipes his mask, regaining focus as he lands on the concrete and hides behind the ledge.

Water. If he can get it in contact with Spark and pour enough water on the right spot, the excess of electricity blazing from his mechanical body should work against him.

“Too scared? You should know better than to run away.” The superhero rolls his eyes, crawling away silently to avoid being seen by Spark. Riki does his best to look around for something, and finds a black flower pot in the corner, using a web to grab it before he scales the side of the building and runs away while Spark is distracted as the villain also climbs the wall to face him there. But when Spark climbs the ledge and scans the premise, Riki is nowhere to be seen.

Instead, Riki swings across the street and fills the pot with water, heaving the extra weight as he shouts out from the sudden pain in his side. He stumbles on the pavement, crying out from the injury as the pot falls with his whole plan.

Maybe this is where Spider-Man dies.

He sucks in a deep breath before rolling from his back onto his knees, ignoring the wound to pick up the flower pot. The hydrant still shoots out water, and the superhero rushes towards it, causing Spark to follow. He narrowly avoids another shot from behind him, reaching the yellow hydrant before dropping the pot on the ground. Spark is th

While Spark has always been intelligent, Riki could tell that the man didn’t fear the water, believing he’d be invincible to the elements now that his suit was perfected. There was something off, Riki could tell, and he would make sure to use it to his advantage. Spark was uncontrolled, and his powers drastically decreased the more he used them. There’s no way his body isn’t in overdrive with how recklessly he’s been letting himself get hurt.

Riki uses a web to get himself on higher ground instead of fighting, waiting for the supervillain to follow. If he could get Spark off the edge and fall into the growing puddle of water, it should slow him down.

Spark scoffs. “Run away, then. Like you always have.” Riki hears the wall crumbling under the villain as he climbs within seconds, immediately preparing to fight when he makes it onto the rooftop. But Spider-Man was also prepared, jumping from his crouched hiding position and attempting to catch Spark off guard.

All he can focus on now is pushing him off. There’s no way it’d be easy, considering he had to focus on his touching any of the electricity off of his suit. Riki delivers a kick to Spark in the ribcage near his heart, where he’s fused metal into flesh. The villain coughs before taking a step back, his metal arm reaching for Riki’s outstretched leg. He grabs it, twisting with anger before the boy meets the ground in a violent throw. Not only is the slam greater because of the enhanced strength, but the power seeps into Riki’s skin, leaving it hot from the energy radiating off of his palm.

The boy groans, flipping to his side to avoid a fatal hit to the chest. He reaches for Spark’s normal arm, swinging the villain’s body away with as force as he could to create distance between them.

Riki has been in enough fights to simply know when to run, even if he doesn’t know what’s coming. He could feel the tingle of the charge as it powered up, and with its energy so unrestrained and its user so unstable, the large attempt to hit Riki sends the villain stumbling back from the force. The more Spark uses his powers, the more likely he’s going to end up dead.

“Your skin can handle that anymore!” he shouts, getting ready to swing himself closer as a plan manifests itself in his head. “You’ll die like this!”

Spark seems to know that too as he wipes his mouth and recovers from Riki’s attacks.

“You think I care?” He shouts, desperately pressing his wounds to stop the bleeding. “You think I have anything else for myself?” The vulnerability of his character shines through as he clutches his bleeding wound without regenerative powers to help. “You think I didn’t know that when I did it to myself--what they did to me?”

Riki doesn’t respond, grimacing as he continues hand-to-hand combat. Although he takes a solid punch to his jaw that’s forming a deep purple bruise, he manages to trip Spark onto the ground.

The man stumbles back from the head injury, the pounding from earlier not letting him to think straight. Riki doesn’t try to injure him anymore, but he instead blocks an incoming punch and tries to force Spark towards the edge.

The villain barely notices how much space there is left, and the boy lunges with full force. They tackle each other into the ground, and Riki gets off after apprehending him once more.

The city's a mess, and Spider-Man’s eyes want to shut down so badly, but he takes a few steps in Spark’s direction, pushing him off the side of the building as quickly as he can. Riki hears the thud before he peeks over the edge, seeing the water erode all of the engineering from the machinery. He slowly descends from the rooftop.

“You were in the accident, huh?” Riki shouts on top of the plethora of sounds. Pain, buzzing electricity, splashes of water as he lands next to Spark; it all echoes in his ears as he pours the water from the pot on Spark’s body. “Why did you try it? Why did you want to go back so bad?”

“If I could go back,” Spark coughs, trying to get away from the large pool of water, “I could’ve prevented the accident from taking the lives of the people around me. I could’ve saved them.”

Spider-Man understands loss, and he understands the regret that comes with failure. He understands how the man in front of him feels after having everything taken away from him, but his emotions could never justify his actions.

“You know you can’t change things,” Riki responds, “You tried your best, Spark.” It’s the last thing Riki tells the villain before his body slumps and police sirens grow louder and louder. It’s the last thing that he continues to think about, even if the medic quickly assesses the severity of his wounds.

“I’m fine- really,” he pushes away the hands of a concerned woman as she holds a roll of bandages. “There’s something else I need to do.”

Riki knew he had to tell you about this–he couldn’t just let you confide in him about..well, him, without your knowledge. And Riki wasn’t morally perfect, but he knew an explanation would be the only way to fix things.

Your house looks different when jumping over the fence instead of standing in front of it. When he realizes he has no idea what room belongs to you, he racks his brain, suddenly remembering how yours was the only one with a gray balcony over the pool. And so he climbs, slipping from the exhaustion creeping into his body.

You’ll understand after he explains everything, right?

“____, a little help?” And what the fuck is Nishmura Riki doing outside of your door? You go to investigate the muffled sound, inching towards the curtains and pulling them back to expect him there. When you hear a half yelp and a hissing sound that follows right after, without a person anywhere in sight, your heart drops to its stomach.

Do not say it’s true.

“Riki, where the fuck are you?” you ask, traversing out when you don’t see him anywhere across the glass.

“Down here.” You run in the direction of the voice, and your eyes grow comically large and you gasp, staring down at the sight before you.

“Holy shit.”

There Nishimura Riki is, with his mask half burned off his face and his blonde and black hair messy and matted to his forehead with sweat. The suit is ripped in multiple locations with gashes and purple replacing the healthy skin underneath. His face is in more of a grimace, as he holds onto the web with both hands and one foot planted on the stone of your balcony—read; the bottom of your balcony.

“A little help?” And you see his sheepish emotion through the tattered fabric, embarrassed after you had to find him in such a compromising situation. “I’m a little worn out and I think my webs are getting weaker.”

You’re a little frustrated with him for being out so publicly, but more scared and worried for his condition. Your gaze narrows on the mask, tattered and covered with scratches, but clearly visible. It was Spider-Man’s mask. The material gives way to a familiar face, and your mind almost blocks you from putting the pieces together. It’s impossible, almost horrifying to think of the implications of what it means to wear the blue and red suit.

Instead of being the villain, Riki is, in fact, the savior.

The harsh truth is that your classmate, who you spent the last month working on a project with and suspected was a villain, is the same superhero that went out and risked his life every night fighting crime. It’s jarring to see him like this, breathing heavy and straining against the stone of the balcony, and his cough snaps you out of it. “What the fuck do I do?”

Riki tries to put his hand up in surrender and shuts his eyes at your harsh tone. “Okay, okay, I get-“ and he cuts himself off with a yelp as his footing slips.

He holds out his hand, and you immediately bend over the smooth railing to grab it, leaning back on the heels of your feet to help him up the most that you can. You’re filled with confusion when the boy hobbles over the cool surface of the balcony and lets his head rest on the stone, not saying much as he catches his breath. You watch the rise and fall of his chest and how his right arm goes to nurse the left side of his ribcage, wincing and sucking in a pained breath as he assesses the smear of red on his fingers.

Sitting there with your mouth agape, you’re not really sure what to think about first; to check if RIki’s alright, to think about how your city’s greatest superhero is your English project partner, to yell at him for going to your house instead of his house to fix himself up, or to think about how good his side profile looks in the moonlight. Maybe you should’ve just been relieved that the boy you started to like wasn’t a fear-inducing villain.

“Okay, first of all, we need to have a huge talk. But I’m not a medic Riki- I’m going into accounting for fuck’s sake.” He hears the amount of curses flying from your lips as you ramble, and sees how stressed you look watching him sit against your railing.

“I don’t know how to help you. And also,” you lower your voice and scoot closer, looking around at the large property to really make sure no one’s listening. “you’re Spider-Man?”

The information all hitting you at once is worse than when your history teacher told you your essay was horrible. At least then, in her office, you could process everything. But here? You’re about to faint.

“I’m pretty cool, huh?” And of course Nishimura Riki says such a thing, taking deep breaths as he shallowly presses on the blossoming bruises on his skin and wipes the sweat from his brow.

“Pretty fucking stupid is what it is, Riki.” You cross your arms and try to take a look at where he’s been hurt, hoping that at least he has some sort of regeneration ability that helps him heal much quicker—because there’s no way he could deal with all of this on top of school.

“I have my reasons,” he says, his voice quiet.

You pause. “For being Spider-Man?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “For coming here.”

“What could possibly make you want to come over to my house instead of the nearest hospital? What’s that important to you?”

“I really want to ask you to prom.”

You simply stare at him, surprised.

“You came to my house, even though you’re like, a punch away from passing out, to ask me out? And you couldn’t have, I don’t know, asked me anytime during the classes we have together?”

Riki somehow finds it in himself to frown and shrink from your angry piercing gaze. “I can’t because talking to you makes me nervous–so yeah, I’m sorry I’m half conscious on your balcony in my suit instead of at your door with a poster.”

You’re conflicted, your mind still reeling from the recent discovery and your flood of emotions. Ever since you questioned his identity on top of your feelings for him, you had a hard time really knowing if you could like Riki if he turned out to be a villain, so to know that he proved both of your theories wrong leaves you quiet as you think. If possible, the color in the boy’s face drains even more when you go back inside, but the door stays open, and he thinks he hasn’t ruined things after all. You emerge with a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, a bowl of warm water, and a pristine white towel.

“I’m not mad about that, you idiot,” you reprimand him, setting everything down as you examine the cuts on his face. You squeeze the towel and start to dab at his skin, avoiding the cuts as you clean it. “Who does this for you if not me?”

“Jake.”

“Seems like a pretty good friend.” Riki nods in response.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, sitting up to properly address you, even if you weren’t able to meet his gaze.

“For what?”

“For putting this on you–all of it. Not just the whole Spider-Man thing.” He knew he’d have to tell you at some point, or else it’d eat him up inside to know he kept all of it from you.

“Look at you, saving me mid-air and talking to me as if you didn’t know who I was.”

You notice a flash of regret through his wince as you clean up a cut with antiseptic. “I meant it when I told you I knew what it was like to have a lot of pressure.”

“Guess I wasn’t so far off, then. If we never talked, would you have told me?” Riki shakes his head, and the simple motion leaves you somehow disappointed.

“How do you ever tell anyone you’re…y’know, Spider-Man?” Even if it’s a hypothetical, you shrug, not being able to answer.

“How’d Jake find out?”

Riki chuckles and hisses at the same time before trying to remember. “I think I just kicked his window in after a nasty poison got hold of me. He was a little too excited to have Spider-Man on his bedroom floor, and less excited to know it was me. I’m not really supposed to tell anyone, though.”

“Then why’d you tell me? You could’ve just gone back to your friends.”

“I felt guilty–I know, I know, it sounds stupid. I’d definitely get my identity revealed at this rate.” You shake your head.

“Not stupid. Keep going.”

“I didn’t care that you suspected me, or if anyone else did, because I knew it was never true. But I felt so bad knowing you were sharing to me how you felt without even knowing it was me who was listening–like I was holding something from you.”

You admire his honesty, and when you look at his furrowed brows and his lip that he’s been gnawing from worry, you can’t even imagine what he’s had to hide and do for this. In a way, you look up to him more, for trying his best even if he’s gotten all odds stacked against him. Riki’s commendable in your eyes–he always had been, ever since you woke him up in class.

“I like those things about you, Riki. That you’re honest with yourself and the people around you as much as you can be, and you try to help others when you can. I’m glad we got to know each other more this past month.” Talking to him feels different than talking to Spider-Man from a few days ago; it feels raw, like you’re not just confessing something to a brick wall anymore. If none of this ever happened, you doubt you’d get the chance to tell Riki any of this properly.

The boy stays silent, taking deep breaths while processing what you’ve told him. “I’m glad I could help you out.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “I hope you know I don’t like you because you help me out. I like you because you’re attractive, and because you’re genuine,” you blurt.

Riki laughs despite his ribcage hurting everytime he does so. Riki nods and mumbles a ‘thank you,’ also glad to truly get to know you. While his crush was more of an infatuation with your hard work and amiability, the past few weeks really opened his eyes to who you were. You never wanted to disappoint, and even if your recklessness left you in some dire situations, Riki could see how much effort you really put into things.

There wasn’t anything else he needed to tell you–you were smart enough to see how much he cared about you.

You’re so close, your lips glossy with lip balm as you watch him carefully. You hear and see it all; the heavy, labored breathing from his body healing itself rapidly, and the way his hand is full of rough cuts and calluses as his fingers intertwine with yours. But your eyes catch a glimpse of his mask tossed to the side, the blue shining in the corner of your eyes as you’re reminded of who he is right now, and what role you play. You are still ____ ____, but he’s a superhero.

It makes you momentarily forget whose suit you're peeling away, whose skin you're cleaning. It reminds you that he’s just the boy in your English class that you fell for. “What does that make us?”

“Prom-goers,” he answers with a slight nod.

You smile, wiping a cut before placing the towel back into the bowl for the last time and getting up. “We can be prom-goers, yeah.”

You’re not sure if you’re ready for anything, and you’re thankful that he understands that, too. As much as it warmed your heart to see him again and hear his confessions, the blaring truth still hangs over your head. You grab his mask, finally looking at him before handing it back and grabbing your things. His secret identity wasn’t something you could just ignore.

“Go home, Spider-Man,” you turn your back on him, and time slows when you falter before sparing him one more look. “I want you as Riki, not like this.”

MAYBE NISHIMURA RIKI DOESN'T NEED TO DIE–OR ALMOST DIE–ANYMORE.

He went home that night with his scars somewhat cleaned and his bruises miraculous healing on their own, and even if slipping through the window left him clutching his side in pain, Riki silently jumped up to celebrate his multiple victories before slipping out of his suit and finally getting some rest.

Riki’s scared of how he’s affected your relationship. He’s worried you’ll avoid him in the halls, and he’s worried you’d never want to see him again after putting you through all of it. As much as he'd understand how upset you'd be towards him, he hopes he did the right thing by telling you.

But you see him on your way to English, and you call his name. His eyes search for yours in the crowds, and you two see each other before you crush him in a hug.

Riki isn’t sure how to feel at first, but eventually wraps his arms around you as relief settles in his stomach.

“Thank you for saving me, Spider-Man,” you whisper, loud enough for only him to hear.

He smiles at you, ruffling your hair as you go to English together. “Anytime, ____.”

NEVERMIND, NISHIMURA RIKI MIGHT DIE WHEN HE SEES YOU IN YOUR RED PROM DRESS.

But first, he has to try something out.

He curses to himself when silently zipping from a tree outside your family property to the top of your house, staring past the ledge two and luxurious stories to your well decorated porch light and door. He just prays that Google Maps is right about how secluded the area is, so no one can see him pacing around your rooftop, with flowers elegantly wrapped in his hand (courtesy of your mother’s sleek envelope from a few days ago).

“Fuck it,” he says to himself, shooting a web and dangling himself down. Riki’s upside down figure watches swirled window frames and meticulously designed accents as he descends, and he wonders what kind of shady business your parents could’ve done to afford something so grand.

He faces your door—hanging down instead of rightside up, but he’s still here on time like he promised.

The door opens at 6:00PM like he instructed you to, but what he didn’t tell you what to do was shriek and slam the door. On his nose. With a loud yelp, Riki clutches his nose, rubbing the spot you hit and trying to apply pressure to alleviate the pain.

When the door slowly creaks open again, you face with the image of Nishimura Riki, aka your boyfriend, aka your English partner, aka Spider-Man, curled upside down in the fetal position as he cradles the sore spot on his face and swings slightly from the breeze.

“You scared me, dumbass! How was I supposed to know it was you? It was so hard to see!”

Although muffled, Riki’s able to mumble, “You have a porch light for this reason, _____,” and a jab at his stomach from you follows his sarcastic remark. Finally, his nose feels better, and he straightens out to finally look at you.

Pretty, pretty, pretty, and the boy wonders how you look even more stunning with a glittering red dress and perfectly done make-up. “I like the red,” he says, trying not to freak out over your beauty. “Reminds me of a certain neighborhood superhero.”

“I have some blue spider earrings to match.” With a beautiful smile, you turn to show him the little accent, and it melts his heart. “Are you okay, though?”

“I’m fine. I should’ve probably put more thought into that.”

You snicker, sliding into your heels and closing the door behind you.

“One of us is better at romantic gestures, it seems.” It warrants a scoff, and Riki brings a gloved hand to poke at your forehead teasingly.

“Let me have a do-over, then?” And the way your lips curl up into a bright smile leaves him quiet and in awe.

“What, were you going to kiss me? Very original, Spider-Man.” With the way the fabric shifts over his features, you can tell he’s pouting.

“I thought girls liked this.”

You shrug, pretending you aren’t swept off his feet by the effort he’s put in. Taking a step in his direction, your hands reach up to gently pull the mask over his chin, ears, and then his nose.

Whispering quietly, you ask, “You’ve kissed other girls upside down?”

Riki’s quick to shake his head. “You’re the only girl I’d withstand a head rush for.” And god, you just can’t stop yourself from grinning at his sweet, genuine words.

You lean in, placing a small kiss on his nose as a silent apology. Then, you close your eyes and lean into him once more, feeling his hands carefully holding the side of your head and his lips on yours. Your kiss with Riki is saccharine and slow, making you pull away when the urge to beam at him is too much. Your cheeks definitely hurt by how romantic he’s being, and you can’t resist kissing him once more.

“I’m not gonna lie,” he starts, finally letting himself down, “It feels weird.”

“You ruined the moment.” And he really didn’t, but you enjoy his subtle reactions to your light digs at him.

“Whatever.” Riki laughs. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

You nod, sitting down on the porch and dragging a manicured nail over your lips with the ghost of his affections, thinking about how you literally just kissed Spider-Man.

Riki comes back, dusting off his suit and smoothing out the wrinkles, with a large bouquet of red roses and one blue one snuck in there. Your lips stretch into a grin and you accept the bouquet, keeping a mental note to read the card in there.

“You never cease to amaze me, Riki.” It’s the last thing you mutter to the air before you loop your arms around his neck, urging him to lean down as you kiss him once more—this time rightside up, but still as sickly saccharine as the one before it. Your heart is fuzzy with fondness and your eyes glitter with adoration.

“So, which kiss was better?” he asks when you pull away, a little breathless and dizzy.

You swat his arm and walk past the gates, seeing the sleek limo waiting by the curb. “I don’t know, Spider-Man. Maybe show up in your suit and we’ll try it again.”

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED AND ALWAYS READ!

RIKI FIC DONE!!!! ngl y/n u were right there how did u not know riki was spiderman but whatever idc she's a hard worker not smart LMFOAOAO. my first ever action fic so i hope you enjoy! also i hate the ‘oh he pined after her for 4 years she liked him for 2 months’ bs because I WAS IN IT. and it sucks so i tried to deviate from it :)

꣑ৎ permanent fic taglist (TAGGED IN TEASERS, FICS, HEADCANNONS, DRABBLES, ETC.): @dimplewonie @minleeeknow @heeheesang @mintpjzroll @llvrhee @firstclassjaylee @in-somnias-world @rairaiblog @suneng @mavlogist @sensitively-taken @sumzysworld @simpjay @moons-v @riksaes @txtari @jungwonscatcus @tya0 @sasfransisco @woorcve @shypen @pinkriki @rikisluv @saranghaohoshi @lilifiedeans @wonmyheart @k1ttyluvr @nikisgfff @ramenoil @laurradoesloveu @lvcky-g1rl-syndr0me @ikeulims @missychiefs1404 @qwonyoung23 @yangjungwonnie @onementally-unstabel-kid @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @blooqz @anormieee hi permies hope u enjoy! kith

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ilovemilestellersmoustache · 1 month ago

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Second Times a Charm

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary: After a small dog escape, Bob meets you and doesn’t end up exchanging details with you. Thinking it was just meant to be a one time thing till Maisie your dog brings you back together and eventually starts a relationship. But the Thunderbolts are suspicious when Bob lately has been in a too good of a mood so they all decide to track and investigate it.

WC: 3.3K

A/N: Guys… I might redo this it’s def not the best fic ive down, i’m like drained with all the fica ive released in the last week. #grind #slowingdownnow

⸻

Central Park, Late Spring.

Bob wasn’t much of a runner, yet.

He liked walking. He’d only recently learned to enjoy the quiet discipline of it. No heavy footfalls, no pounding heart. Just motion. Just breath. A rhythm he could set. Something calm and human and entirely his own.

The chaos in his head, dark, howling, bottomless, was quieter when he walked. Especially here.

Central Park in the spring was like something from a memory he’d never had. Trees budding green again. Sunlight catching in the ripples of the lake. Children laughing distantly, dogs barking somewhere beyond the trees. The world felt simple when he was out here. Manageable.

His boots crunched lightly against the gravel path as he made his way to his usual spot, a bench by the water, partially shaded by an overgrown maple. The bench itself was old, paint worn off at the edges, wood slightly splintered at the armrests. But it was his bench. The one he rested on during each walk, always at the same point in the loop.

He sat down with a soft sigh, stretched his long legs out, and tilted his face toward the sun. Eyes closed. Breathing even. Peace-

THUD.

Something hit his knee.

Bob startled slightly, blinking down in confusion. A leash, frayed and pink with little daisies on it, was coiled loosely around his shin. And attached to the other end.

A golden retriever.

Tongue out, tail wagging like it was powered by joy alone. Its big brown eyes looked up at him like he was the best thing it had seen all day. The leash dragged behind her like an afterthought.

“Oh- hey, buddy.” Bob said softly, as if afraid to scare her off. “You… uh. You got loose?”

The dog barked once, as if to answer.

Then-

“Maisie!” a voice called out, breathless, somewhere down the path. “You little menace, come back!”

He looked up.

And there you were.

Jogging toward him, your stride uneven from the sudden sprint. A t-shirt clung damply to your back, your hair pulled messily away from your face, cheeks flushed from exertion and probably a little embarrassment. There was something raw and real about you, like you hadn’t had time to smooth yourself into what the world expected yet. Something golden about the way the light seemed to settle on you, drawn in like gravity.

Bob felt the breath knock out of him in a way that had nothing to do with superpowers.

You reached him with a huff, one hand clutching your phone, the other already moving to scoop up the leash.

“I’m so sorry.” you said, slightly winded but grinning as you crouched beside him. “She gets overly excited when people sit down. Thinks everyone’s her new best friend.”

Bob smiled, half-crouched next to the retriever. “She’s not wrong. I could use a friend.”

You gave a short, surprised laugh. It made his stomach do something it hadn’t done in years.

“She didn’t bite you or anything, did she?”

“No, she just… announced herself with enthusiasm.” He gave the dog a fond pat. “Maisie, right?”

You nodded, finally catching your breath. “Yeah. I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Bob.” he said, rising a bit awkwardly and offering a hand. You shook it, firm but warm.

“Thanks for catching her.”

“Of course. It’s not every day someone runs into you with a leash.”

Your smile turned shy at the edges. “No, usually I wait until the third date for that.”

Bob blinked.

You blinked.

Then you both burst out laughing.

The tension in his chest eased. Something about your energy was grounding. You weren’t looking at him like you sensed something was off, like people so often did. You were just… smiling.

You ended up walking together. Slowly at first, letting Maisie sniff her way along the path. You talked about how long you’d lived in the city, how your dog hated pigeons with irrational fury, how the best bagels were always from the sketchy places with no signs.

Bob told you he’d just recently gotten into walking every day. That it helped clear his head. That he liked being outside, in the real world. You asked what he did for work and he gave you the kind of vague answer that didn’t invite more questions, freelance consulting, logistics, a lot of government red tape. You nodded like you understood. Like you weren’t going to pry.

He liked that.

You laughed easily, shared the story of how you got Maisie from a rescue uptown, and how she’d managed to eat an entire rotisserie chicken when you turned your back on her once. Bob listened, enraptured. Every word from you felt like it mattered.

Eventually, the path forked.

“This is me.” you said, motioning left toward a small side path. The sun dappled your skin, your smile soft and open.

He pointed to the opposite direction. “And this is me.”

“See you around?”

“I hope so.”

You both turned, walking away.

Bob finds himself turning around to get one last glimpse of you just to properly engrave your memory into his head permanently. So he can brood and think about the time he was sure he met his future wife but forgot to ask for her number and couldn’t ask for it after because he was far too far already to ask without making it awkward.

Five feet.

Ten.

Twenty-

Then, the clatter of a leash.

“Maisie!” you gasped.

Bob turned just in time to catch the dog as she barreled into him like a guided missile. He braced, kneeling again, catching the leash before it tangled. Maisie’s tongue was already swiping at his face.

You came jogging back, hands on your hips, a groan half-laughing in your throat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He stood, leash in hand, grinning.

“I think she’s in love with you.” you said, huffing as you reached him.

Bob looked at you, really looked.

His voice was quiet, but sincere. “Yeah. Me too.”

There was a heartbeat of silence between you.

You tilted your head, eyes flickering with interest.

He panicked.

“I mean- I didn’t mean me, I meant her-obviously, she- your dog- I just- uh-“

You laughed. A full, sparkling, head-tossing laugh that made Maisie wag her tail harder.

“Just- give me your phone, smooth-talker.”

He blinked.

You tapped your fingers. “Come on. Before she escapes again.”

He fumbled to pull it out, handing it over. You typed in your number, saved it with a little dog emoji next to your name, and handed it back.

“There. Now next time she escapes, you’ll have someone to blame.”

He looked at your name glowing on the screen.

“I’ll take that risk.”

Maisie barked again, triumphant, like she’d orchestrated this entire meeting with divine precision. Bob was still staring at your contact in his phone, thumb hovering over the screen like it was too delicate to touch, as if the moment might vanish if he blinked too hard.

You watched him for a beat longer, a smile tucked lazily in the corner of your mouth. There was something about him, tall and a little awkward, like he wasn’t used to being seen, really seen, but trying his best not to flinch when he was.

“I’ll, uh, text you,” Bob said, looking up, finally pocketing his phone. His voice was shy, but hopeful.

You nodded, stepping back, tugging gently on Maisie’s leash. “Good. And if you don’t, Maisie has your scent now. She’ll track you down.”

Bob gave a quiet, stunned laugh. “I believe it.”

You gave a mock salute and turned again, this time getting a few full strides before Maisie glanced back one more time, gave a soft whine, and mercifully kept walking with you.

He stood there, still half-smiling, until you and the dog disappeared down the winding path. The sounds of the park filtered back in, the breeze shaking the leaves above him, the faint honk of a distant cab, a couple laughing somewhere nearby.

And yet, everything felt different now.

It wasn’t until he sat back on the bench and

his fingers brushed the screen of his phone again, flicking it on to see your name one more time ”Y/N 🐾” glowing there like a small miracle.

⸻

Several weeks later. Thunderbolts tower.

Something had shifted.

It wasn’t drastic. No dramatic speeches. No cape swirling in the wind. But everyone noticed.

Bob was… different.

Lighter, somehow. More present. Like the edges of him, usually a little frayed from the weight he carried, had softened.

He was humming in the kitchen again, swaying slightly as he flipped pancakes with ease, the scent of cinnamon and maple drifting through the tower. Not unusual for Bob, he always cooked but there was something extra in it now. A rhythm. A bounce.

He didn’t pester John or clap back when John picked on him.

He smiled, a full, crinkled-eyes smile when Bucky called him Bobert.

And he hadn’t once spent the evening perched on the edge of the roof with a faraway look in his eyes.

It was deeply suspicious.

Yelena narrowed her eyes over the rim of her chipped mug, the steam from her jasmine tea curling around her face like mist. “You’re in love.”

Bob, mid-sip of his chalky protein shake, choked. Hard. He slammed the cup down and coughed until his ears turned pink.

“What?” he rasped.

“Don’t play dumb.” She leaned back, eyes sharp as glass. “You’re glowing. Like a woman in a shampoo commercial. Maybe Herbal Essences.”

Ava didn’t look up from polishing her blade. “He does smell like flowers lately.”

“Lavender and bergamot.” John added helpfully, arms crossed, brows raised. “He’s got that post-date aura. Like a dog who got into someone’s picnic basket and is too proud to feel bad.”

He is in love.” Alexei declared, pounding the arm of the couch like it was a gavel. “We must find her. See if she is worthy. Possibly interrogate her.”

Bob set down his smoothie and raised both hands. “Okay. No. First of all, no one’s evaluating anyone’s bloodline. Second, there is no girl.”

Yelena ignored him and reached for her phone. “He always leaves early. Walks the same route. Central Park. South entrance. Between 9:00 to 9:20.”

“You’ve been tracking me?” Bob blinked.

“You radiate suspicious energy.” she said simply. “We go. We spy. We report.”

“Absolutely not.” Bob said, half-laughing, half-panicked. “You are not stalking my-”

He froze.

Yelena’s eyes glittered. “My…?”

Bob sighed, pressing his hands to his face. “This is a violation of privacy.”

“This is family,” Yelena said smugly. “Deal with it, Bobert.”

“Don’t care.” Ava said. “If she broke his heart, he’d black out the sky.”

“She’s not going to break my heart.” Bob said quietly.

Everyone fell silent for a beat.

John grinned, nudging Ava. “Oh, he’s gone. Deep in the fluffy feelings.”

“Leave him alone.” Bucky muttered from the kitchen, pouring coffee. “Let the man have his peace.”

Yelena looked up with a sly smirk. “I will. After surveillance.”

“Yelena.”

“Fine.” she said, tossing her phone aside. “But if she shows up at tower, we’re giving her the talk.”

Bob rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks faintly pink. “She’s not showing up. She doesn’t even know who I really am yet.”

“Oh my God,” John whispered. “You met her as Bob, not The Sentry.”

Bob nodded.

Alexei let out a low whistle. “A civilian. You are in love.”

Bob just smiled softly into his hands, then reached for the waffle iron.

⸻

The Next Morning

The sun hadn’t quite crested over the tops of the brownstone buildings, but the world was already beginning to stir with the soft hum of morning life. The air was crisp and clean, the kind of morning that made everything feel a little more possible.

You jogged at an easy pace, Maisie trotting contentedly beside you, her leash loose in your hand. The rhythmic beat of your sneakers on the pavement echoed faintly through the quiet streets, punctuated only by birdsong and the rustling of early spring leaves dancing in the breeze. Your breath came steady, matching the easy cadence of the run, a ritual that had quickly become your favorite part of the day.

As you rounded the familiar bend, your eyes were drawn to the sprawling oak tree up ahead, the one that sat at the edge of the park like a quiet sentinel. The one where, not long ago, your world had started to shift.

And there he was.

Bob stood beneath it, leaning casually against the trunk like some lost chapter from a storybook, sunlight catching in the soft strands of his hair. He was wearing that same beat-up flannel jacket you’d teased him about, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms that didn’t match his otherwise gentle demeanor. His posture was relaxed, but there was a tension in his hands, like he was trying not to fidget too much, not to overthink how this moment would go.

He saw you and straightened, raising a hand in a shy wave. That smile, the one that looked like it started in his chest before reaching his lips curled faintly at the edges of his mouth.

Your heart stuttered in your chest. Not the jarring kind of panic, but the warm flutter that made your fingers buzz and your throat tighten just slightly. The hopeful kind.

“Morning.” he called out softly, stepping forward.

In his hands, like a peace offering or a promise, was a steaming cup of coffee.

You slowed to a stop in front of him, brushing a few loose strands of hair from your damp forehead as Maisie circled your legs before flopping dramatically at your feet, before giving him sincere kiss on the lips.

Even after the countless times Bob still can’t help but feel himself grow hot and red.

“You remembered my order.”you said with a grin, accepting the cup. The warmth of it bled into your palms instantly.

“Black, two sugars,” Bob said with a quiet nod sheepishly. “Just how you like it.”

There was something almost reverent about the way he looked at you, like he was surprised you were real, standing there in front of him, flushed from your run and smiling at him like that kiss didn’t just make him see stars.

You were about to thank him when a strange rustling noise rose from the dense shrubbery a few feet away. You turned your head, brows furrowed.

Then, you heard it.

“Oh my god, she’s real.”

“Shut up, John.”

“Bob’s got moves?”

“I told you he had game.”

Your eyes narrowed, confusion knitting across your brow. You looked back at Bob, who had suddenly gone still, his expression a blend of horror and resignation. He muttered something under his breath, something that might’ve been a prayer or a curse before dragging a hand down his face like a man preparing for battle.

“…Did your coffee just talk?” you asked, clutching the cup tighter.

And then it happened.

Like the world’s worst magic trick or maybe a particularly ill-conceived prank, five adults dressed in tactical gear emerged from behind the bushes, one by one. They looked like they’d walked off the set of some spy movie, complete with holsters, combat boots, and the deeply awkward expressions of people who had absolutely not been invited to the party.

You blinked. Maisie let out a low, confused whimper and sat up straight beside you, ears alert.

“What the…” you murmured.

Bob let out a breath like it hurt. “No. No, I’m not being hunted.” He gave you a sheepish glance, eyes full of something between embarrassment and silent pleading. “It’s worse. That’s… that’s my team.”

Yelena strode forward like a woman on a mission, sharp eyes locked on you with unsettling precision. She had the look of someone who could kill a man with a paperclip and still be the most charming person in the room.

“You’re very pretty.” she smiles, offering you a firm handshake. “Congratulations.”

You stared. “…Thank you?”

Before you could process that, another stepped forward, a tall man with slightly blonde hair and a sharp face, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. He gave you a polite nod, his voice low and oddly gentle for someone wearing enough gear to storm a bunker.

“I’m John.” he said. “Bobby here has never acted like this around anyone. Ever.”

Your heart rate kicked up a notch. “I’m scared.” you whispered.

Ava moved closer, her approach quieter, more thoughtful. She had a steadiness about her, like she was used to chaos and knew how to navigate it. She gave your arm a soft, almost comforting pat.

“So are we.” she said, deadpan.

Interrupting the two, Alexei decided it was his turn to say something but by grabbing her and picking her up to spin her around all while yelling to Bob who looked like he was going to pass out if he as so much dropped her by an inch. “Robert! Yes! I am so glad you will not be sad lonely sad man rest of your life!”

Finally after being put down to Bob’s protest and mummurs from the team “Too much buddy.” Behind her, Bucky followed, trying to look casual despite the overwhelming energy of intervention. Bucky, simply nodded once, arms crossed, eyes flickering between you and Bob like he was trying to decode a threat level.

Bob sighed audibly, then leaned in just slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know they were going to do this.”

You stared at him, at his ridiculous, sweet face and the earnestness in his eyes. And against your better judgment, despite the absolutely surreal moment, your lips twitched.

“You’re lucky I love you, i would have ran screaming. Not every you meet The Avengers on your run.” you muttered.

A long beat of silence passed, broken only by Maisie giving a grumble of displeasure and flopping dramatically against your calf. Then Bob looked back at his team, then at you, and offered a half-resigned shrug.

“Well uh- Welcome to the family.” he said softly.

And somehow, despite the thick gear, the ambush, and the fact that your morning coffee had turned into a stakeout, you believed him.

⸻

That night, in the kitchen.

Bob sat perched on the counter, cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink, not from exertion, but from a quiet embarrassment as the team retold the morning’s story for what felt like the fifteenth time.

You had left with a smile and a wave, promising to call. That promise replayed in Bob’s mind, steady and surreal.

He wasn’t sure if it was real. If you were real. If something this ordinary, this good, could really happen to someone like him.

“She liked you.” Yelena said, eyes sharp but kind. “Even after meeting us. That’s real love.”

The words hung in the air, warm and heavy.

And then Bob… cracked.

He pushed off the counter, fingers running through his hair in nervous rhythm. He paced a little, then turned back to them, eyes wide, raw.

“I’m dating her.” he blurted.

Bucky, never missing a beat, deadpanned, “We noticed.”

“No, I mean really dating. She calls me. She texts me. She wants to know how my day went. She laughs at my dumb jokes and all of them. And she… she touches my hand like it’s normal. Like I’m not made of… whatever I’m made of.”

His voice faltered as he took a shaky breath.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get something like this. Not with what’s in my head. Not with what I’ve done or what I could do. But she looks at me like I’m just some guy she met in the park. And I want to keep being that guy. For her.”

Silence settled over the kitchen.

Then Alexei broke it with a loud clap. “Bob is in love.”

John raised his glass with a sly grin. “To leash girl.”

“To Maisie.” Ava added, a soft smile touching her lips.

Bucky simply smiled, steady and warm. “To hope of a regular life.”

Bob sank back down on the counter, dazed, full of it, full of something he hadn’t dared to hope for in a long time.

⸻

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ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat · 4 months ago

Text

california gurls - spencer reid x fem!reader

reader's beach partying gets interrupted by the fbi... she finds a way to make it fun when she realizes a cute doctor is around and so is her jeep

genre: smut wc: 2133 warnings: early seasons spencer, subbish!spencer, he whimpers, reader wears a bikini, mentioned rapist and murderer, mentions of harassment, reader has been with asshole men, reader has a jeep, car sex, unprotected sex, reader is on birth control, brief nipple play a/n: based off california gurls by katy perry!!

California is absolutely a cliché. Sunkissed skin, bikinis, Daisy Dukes. The golden coast holds parties–like this one–scantily clad girls and slurring morons that look exactly how every other frat boy looks. Here you are, representing that very image. With your red bikini and sand-covered feet, you’re the epitome of a California girl.

In the corner of your eye are palm trees, under which are several tanning ladies. Boys are practically drooling, necks craned to get a peek. Speakers play pop that seems to move everyone–including you. Bodies splash in sparkling blue, hips rock to the rhythm. The music booms. That is until it comes to an abrupt stop.

You look over to see a group of men in sunglasses approaching, one of them evidently responsible for the music-murdering due to his apologetic shrug. He’s obviously not that sorry. Male voices seem offended by it.

The one that turned off the fun stands tall, a black man that–if you didn’t know any better–you’d say was from around here. Another is shorter and older. The one you find most interesting, however, is tall and scrawny, with hair curling around his ears and a permanent nervous smile. To be completely honest, it’s cute. If you could see beneath his sunglasses, you’re sure you’d find overwhelmed eyes bouncing between each tanned body.

The big one–the black one–lifts credentials from his belt.

“Listen, we’re with the FBI. There’s been a string of rapes and murders in the area and we have reason to believe that the UnSub has been here. He might even be one of you.”

Someone–you’re not sure who–raises a hand and asks, “UnSub?”

“Unknown Subject. Bad guy. Perp. You get the idea.” He takes off his eyewear and hooks it in his shirt. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan. This here is Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi and,” he points to the cute one, “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Dr. Spencer Reid awkwardly waves before crossing his arms, lips pressed in a tight line. You wonder what kind of doctor he is and if you should pretend to faint.

“We’ll be asking you questions one by one,” Rossi explains.

Quickly, without even a moment to think, you’re split into groups. One for each agent. To your absolute joy, you’re waiting your turn to get evaluated by the only one labeled doctor. You get closer and can hear the helpless way he asks his questions. With the girls, it’s awkward like he doesn’t know how to talk to girls wearing so little. With the guys, he seems to be keeping a distance. He analyses them–for good reason–but he also seems nervous because he knows the type. He knows the difference between them. To be more precise, he knows how they treat guys like him.

You’re the last in the long line.

When you get to Spencer, you’re pleased when his eyes flick over you before he swallows.

“Hey,” he starts with a tight grin, “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.” You tell him your name. He smiles that same awkward smile.

“Uh, right, so… the guy we’re looking for is socially skilled, arrogant, easily aggravated, and will most likely be bold with the way he talks to women, becoming hostile when turned down.”

It’s not in the least appropriate but, in-between gawking at him, you laugh. “Unfortunately, that sounds like every guy out here.”

His perfect brown eyebrows pull together. “Really?”

You nod. Now, up close, your eyes trace his figure, taking in the grey shirt, blue tie and the gun on his hip. It’s weirdly attractive. You wonder when you started being attracted to authority.

“I guess guys around here aren’t gentlemen,” you shrug.

“And girls actually date them?”

Something about the shock in his eyes and the scowl on his lips makes you swoon. “Guess so.”

“What about–uh–harassment? Is there any of that?” Spencer looks down at you.

Shrugging, you sigh, “sometimes. Usually just frat boys. Nothing extreme. Sometimes the gross ones might try too hard. We’ve all been there.”

His lips part and he nods at your answer. Surprisingly, those pretty brown eyes trickle down your body, mapping out each and every curve with a purpose, as if to memorize. The idea of him locking you away only to take back out when he’s alone turns you on more than you’d care to admit. It’s flattering to think you’re that interesting.

It could also be wishful thinking.

But that could be tested.

More specifically, that could be tested by one sentence. That sentence being, “do you want to go to my car? It’s cooler in there. You know?”

After what could only ever be described as a brain short-circuit, Spencer clears his throat and hums a squeaky, “yeah.”

A delighted smile forms on your face as you nod, taking a few steps back to your Jeep. You unlock it, opening the door and leaning over to put the key in the ignition. Spencer’s eyes fall on your ass in the tight, red fabric. You hear him clear his throat behind you before you straighten up. But he’s much closer to you than anticipated.

Chest-to-chest, you look up at him, eyes wide and cheeks burning hot not because of the sun. A rough swallow and then a quick glance to your breasts proves that maybe the attraction isn’t unrequited. He wets his lips and you’re sure you can’t hold back.

Inappropriately, sloppily, and with force, your lips crash together. You hold yourself up only with your hands on the back of his head. And it’s not like you expected any less with lips like his, but he’s an amazing kisser. It’s messy, sure, but it’s hot, your teeth clumsily clacking together every time your mouths open. Only, he doesn’t seem to be enjoying it as much as he wants to be.

“This isn’t–” he huffs into your mouth, hands finding your shoulders. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Although you know it’s true–he’s supposed to be questioning you not sticking his tongue down your throat–you really don’t care. “Why not?”

“I–I’m not here to–” He takes a frustrated breath. “I’m not here for this… reason.”

You almost wish he wasn’t so perfect but it kind of made it better. When your lips press against his this time, he moans and you’re right back where you started. You think he doesn’t really want to say no. He just knows he should.

You look up at him, your eyes wide and doe-like. Like a little girl capable of begging for a lollipop, you frown. “Please?”

A rough gulp. An exhale. A nod.

Lips reconnect and you’re soon enough in the front seat, on his lap, fingers curling in his gelled hair and cheeks bright red. The door haphazardly shut, you hold onto the handle for balance. Your hips start moving in circles as his tongue dives into your mouth. The prettiest whine falls from him as his hands finally move to your bare waist. One of those hands drift down to the string of your bottoms.

He breaks the kiss and his sickeningly deer-like eyes find yours. “C–Can I?” Spencer mutters carefully. His eyes shine, sparkles of lust floating over the hazel.

“Yeah,” you breathe shakily. Bobbing your head, you lean back as little as you can while still giving him room. But, what you weren’t expecting was him not taking off the fabric. Instead of untying the string and letting it fall down to show off your already wet center, he slides the inadequate polyester to the side, revealing your core.

The way his steady–but honestly heavy–breathing hitches and turns whiny makes you clench. Like handling the finest porcelain, his index and middle finger drag between your folds before reaching a settlement on your ready clit.

A long, pleased sigh leaves you as your hips resume their messy pattern of rocking. He can’t choose between watching you slide across his fingers or your lips part in ecstasy. The feeling of him touching you is heaven but you want something else. At this very moment, you’d crawl, bare, to the ends of the earth for him to please you the way you want.

Oddly steady fingers find his belt. The clanging it makes flips your stomach. You pull his pants down just enough to reach into his purple boxers. A whimper slips out of his mouth as you take him out.

He’s big, pale and pink at the tip. Thin but the perfect length, however. His nails dig into your waist.

You press your forehead against his and slide your hand up and down his length. “I don’t have–uh–any condoms in here but I’m on birth control and I’m clean.”

Spencer’s lips part, an uneven whimper leaving them. “I’m clean, too.”

You release him and position yourself. The tip of his cock brushes through you before you set him at your entrance. His grip on your waist never lets up as you start to lower.

An embarrassingly loud moan slips out of you. You take him to the hilt. Inch by inch until he’s reaching so deep you can’t think. To hide how disgustingly far you’re being stretched, your mouth meets his messily. He takes in your bottom lip and devours it. It’s when you can’t stop yourself that you pull back and put your heads together.

You lift yourself up until only the last inch of him is still inside. You’re sure you’ll have perfect indents left on your skin from his fingernails. You slam your hips back down quicker than you should.

His panicked voice rings high-pitched in the hot car, “i–it’s been a while, I might not last–”

Part of you is glad because you know you won’t either. “That’s okay. That’s–that’s really okay,” you pant.

You revel in the way he whimpers with each movement of your hips. You revel in how pink his cheeks are and the way his eyes can’t stay off your chest no matter how hard they try. You revel even more in how wide they go when you pull the string of your top and let it fall. One of his hands you take, bringing it up. He rolls the sensitive flesh between his fingers as you start a rhythm.

You’re unrelenting, body moving quick because you can’t get enough of how good it feels to have him so deep. It’s bad for you to be feeling him twitch inside you. It makes you lightheaded.

Spencer’s neediness comes in the form of him thrusting up to meet you every time. With one rough thrust, his cock hits your innermost point forcefully and you whine, bringing his lips back to yours. Tongues sloppily collide with no grace. Moans are exchanged while you roll your hips back and forth. In a momentary rush of confidence, his hands move to your hips.

And then your ass.

He’s uncertain why he would do such a thing because now he’s fighting back his orgasm, his length throbbing against your cervix.

Luckily, you’re in the same place. Your walls flutter each time he brushes your sweet spot. Each time he mutters an expletive.

It seems he’s the one to break first, however.

“I don’t think I can–”

You mumble breathlessly, “me, neither, it’s okay.”

Sweat runs down your chest as you pant out desperate moans with each intake of needed oxygen. That knot builds in your gut–a feeling that’s rarely due to a man. You suppose he’s a separate being than the regular assholes around. When his fingers find your clit again, you’re sure. Spencer’s whimpering turns into heavy exhales and you take that as your cue to swiftly tell him not to pull out.

Droopy eyes meet his before you firmly mutter, “inside.”

He sighs shakily and nods.

A few more times of his cock hitting your cervix has both of your orgasms hurtling towards you. Your forehead falls onto his shoulder. His hips slam into yours and you’re coming instantly. Your walls clench around him, triggering his own release effortlessly. His cum drips down your thighs, creating a sure mess.

Words–swears–that make no sense fall from your swollen and parted lips.

“Oh, my God,” Spencer whispers–mostly to himself.

Eyes blown wide and legs cramping, you concur with a soft, “yeah.”

Hesitantly and with great despair, he mutters, “I should really get back to my team…” What follows is a guilty gulp.

You nod and maneuver yourself off of him. You ignore the irritating sensation of the emptiness after being so full. The only thing wrong is that, in moving, you accidentally honk the horn with your ass. Twice.

Half mortified and half amused, you giggle. Your cheeks flush red.

You believe it’s appropriate to assume that his team definitely knows what–or rather who–he spent his paid time doing.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x self insert

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rafesangelita · 8 months ago

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♡ when farmer’s!daughter!reader’s father goes out of town to visit some family, her and cowboy!rafe can’t keep their hands to themselves any longer.

warnings: reader is a little bit on the shy side, flirty banter, use of petnames, implied age gap (rafe is 7-10 years older), hint of jealous!rafe, reader refers to her father as ‘daddy’, mentions of sneaking around, slowburn (kinda?), lotsss of sexual tension, fluff, mutual pining, oral (f. receiving), fingering, finger sucking, unprotected sex, dirty talk, breeding kink, cream pie, squirting, multiple orgasms

a/n: based loosely off of the moodboard + headcanons i wrote here <3 saddle up because this is a long one lol

wc: 4.8k

“you gonna keep staring at me or are you gonna help me out here?” rafe grunted, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he watched you blink away from his form. you looked up from his shirtless figure, his skin glistening with sweat as butterflies fluttered in your chest. “what do you need?” you chirped, blinking rapidly as if to shake away the thoughts of pressing wet kisses to his waistline. “a cold glass of water sounds good right now.” you obliged, rafe watching as you went up the porch stairs in your cute little boots, his eyes falling down to your backside. “fuck.” he muttered to himself.

if he knew he’d have to fight the urge to touch his boss’s pretty daughter, he would’ve hesitated in taking the job. eight months had felt like an eternity when you pranced around the farm in the prettiest dresses and shortest daisy duke shorts he’s ever seen. you came back with a glass of water, taking a sip before handing it to him. expecting rafe to turn the glass around to take a drink from the other side of the rim, your cheeks heated when he placed his mouth on the same spot your lips were on just moments ago. “thanks, sweetheart.” rafe shot you a wink, his charm making you look away shyly.

you plopped down on a nearby tree stump, a pout taking over your features as you looked at the empty driveway. your father had only been gone for a few hours, not nearly making a dent in the five days he’ll be away. “you don’t have to worry about him, y’know? he’s a strong man.” rafe decided he needed a break from being hunched over under the hood of his truck, his chest rising and falling as he took a seat on the bed of fluffy grass next to you. “i know..” you muttered, “it’s just— he’s so much older now, i worry about him.” you looked down at rafe, his eyes already trained on you.

rafe nodded. “that man can survive anything. wasn’t he in his truck when a tornado came and swept him off the ground?” you gasped, a laugh escaping your lips. “he told you that story?!” you squealed excitedly, your reaction making rafe melt into a puddle of nothing. you were too cute. “did he also tell you the part where that didn’t really happen? him and his buddy just got real close to it.” rafe’s face morphed into one of pure shock. “he lied?!” you threw your head back in laughter, a snort following shortly after. it was rafe’s turn to laugh, the sound unfamiliar to his ears.

“oh my god, excuse me. i can’t believe i just did that!” you clasped a hand over your mouth, embarrassment creeping up onto your face. the man next to you waved you off. “why would he lie about that?” rafe leaned back on his hands, giving you a full view of his chiseled abs. sighing dreamily, you shrugged. “he’s a drama queen sometimes, he likes the theatrics.” realizing that you just swooned over his muscles, rafe cleared his throat before getting back to work. he respected your father too much to give in to his filthy desires, or so he hoped.

swallowing the lump of rejection in your throat, you made your way inside where you decided to watch him from your bedroom window instead. your infatuation with this man only grew by the day, and it was becoming really hard to hide your adoration for him. all the times he slipped you a little wink when your father wasn’t looking, the playing of footsies under the table while your father ranted about the economy, the lingering stares and touches.. you weren’t crazy, you had every right to believe this man was interested in you in some way, shape, or form.

apart of you wanted to believe that rafe was trying to maintain in being a gentleman towards you, but there’s nothing you wanted more than for him to hold off all kind of honor and respect for you while he takes you however he wants. you daydreamed about being fucked in a headlock by him, along with being put into twenty other positions. letting out a sigh, you fell back on your bed, fiddling with the ribbon that was tied to the belt loop of your shorts. how on earth were you going to go about these next few days all alone with him?

night time rolled around, and rafe had just come inside for a shower. “are you hungry?” you watched as he rolled his shoulders back, cracking his neck to release some pressure of today’s labor. “yeah, but i’ll help myself. don’t worry about it, ‘sugar.” he groaned before shutting the bathroom door behind him. you knew he wouldn’t, days like this always ended in rafe knocking out as soon as he hit his bed, empty stomach or not. the only thing rafe could think about as the hot water pattered against his back, was how you were in the same house as him in nothing but a night dress.

he wondered if you’d let him hike it up your thighs.. if you’d allow him to slip his fingers underneath the soft material. so badly, he wanted to see your face twist in pleasure underneath him, he ached to see that day. rafe let out a shuddering breath, swallowing thickly as lewd images of you ran through his head. he imagined your hands trailing down his torso, those cherry red painted fingers of yours wrapped tightly around his cock. you had this man questioning everything he ever knew about being a gentlman. rafe rubbed the sides of his face, his eyes screwing shut as he attempted to get all inappropriate thoughts about you out of his head.

he remembered seeing you for the first time all those months ago. you were wearing a red gingham dress, your hair styled so pretty and neat. he knew immediately that he was in trouble when you flashed him that million dollar smile when your father introduced you two. it wasn’t long before both of you started flirting with each other, even going as far as touching each other when you didn’t have to. rafe would ‘help’ you up on your horse, his hands planted on the globes of your ass as he hoisted you onto the saddle. he swore he died and came back to life whenever you’d place a hand on him every time he made you laugh.

slowly but surely, you two were getting more bolder with your moves. while rafe was ogling your goodies more often than not, you started leaving your curtains open whenever you’d change, knowing he could see you from the view of his window. pinching the bridge of his nose, rafe quickly hurried up in the shower, feeling the need to relieve himself in his own space where he knew you’d be far away from. after washing away all the dirt and grime, he felt clean as he dried himself off, only for his peace to come crashing down when he realized he didn’t bring an extra change of clothes with him.

with no other choice but to walk out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, he tried to sneak pass you in the kitchen and out the back door, but of course he wasn’t so lucky. “i know you said you would make yourself something, but—” you turned around with a loaded dinner plate in your hand, the dish nearly slipping out of your grip when you saw the tall cowboy standing awkwardly with his hands on his hips.

your eyes trailed down his stomach, the sight of his happy trail making you swallow thickly. rafe took note of this, his heart beating in his chest as you averted your gaze elsewhere. “uhm, well i made you this.. i know it’s one of your favorites..” you placed the plate of steak and mashed potatoes on the table, turning around as you took your bottom lip between your teeth. this was absolute torture. “it looks amazing, i’ll just get some clothes on and be right back.” he held onto the towel, jogging to his place where he slipped on a pair of pajama pants and a dingy white t-shirt.

“you didn’t have to do this,” rafe took a seat at the table, his jaw ticking when you bent over the counter to grab a couple of drinking glasses, “thank you.” at this point he didn’t know if he was thanking you for the food, or the perfect view of your ass. “water?” you looked at him from over your shoulder, your cheeks heating when you saw his eyes shoot away from your backside. “a beer please.” you smiled at his answer. you should’ve known he’d pick that out after a full day of work. grabbing a bottle from the fridge, you handed it to him, his fingers brushing yours as you took a seat across from him.

“my dad makes it a lot better than i do, so—” rafe was quick to cut you off, a moan leaving his lips as he chewed. “this is.. damn!” you giggled, shaking your head. “it’s great, darlin’. truly.” he nodded approvingly, flashing you a thumbs up. you smiled that smile of yours before tasting it yourself. despite all the tension between you two, you could always count on each other to talk the other’s ear off. “wait. so you’re telling me that you’re actually from an island? why on earth would you live out in the middle of nowhere when you had the beach in your backyard?” you asked incredulously.

rafe took a swig from his beer, a bittersweet laugh leaving his lips. “i got into a ‘lotta bad shit over there. i was on some bad shit,” he sighed, “being out here brings me peace.. even if i’m breaking my back everyday.” you listened closely, giving him your full attention as he told you more about the place he was from. you learned that he used to be a filthy rich boy with a house bigger than you could ever imagine. rafe smiled softly, a solemn expression taking over his features. “it’s very nice. but i wouldn’t go back.” he leaned back in his chair.

you tilted your head at him, both of your plates empty. “no? how come?” you leaned forward, your cleavage peeking out of your neckline. eyes flickering down to your chest, rafe seemed to get flustered when he felt your foot trail up his leg. “well,” he zeroed in on your lips, “i see myself settling down out here, ‘havin some little ones.” your breath hitched, a smidge of jealousy now residing in your gut. as if he could read your mind, he caught your foot under the table, his thumb stroking your ankle. “old habits seem to die hard, huh?” rafe laughed.

pushing away the jealousy, you nodded, feeling a new profound sense of confidence with the way he was looking at you right now. “yeah, i guess i forgot we’re here all by ourselves.. ‘don’t really have to hide from anyone..” you yawned, your head falling back on your chair as your night gown rode up your thighs. just a few inches higher, and rafe would finally see what he’s been fantasizing about all this time. “yeah..” he crossed his arms, his biceps looking especially good right now. you two stayed quiet, just looking at each other as if everything was threatening to rise to the surface.

do something! you thought to yourself, hoping rafe could magically hear you and grab you from across the table. instead, he looked away, letting go of your foot before scooting out from the table. “dinner was really good, but i better head off to bed, now.” he didn’t let you say anything before he left in a haste. what. the. fuck. you got up, watching him curse to himself from the kitchen window. you couldn’t help but feel defeated. rafe was always the one pulling away from you, no matter how close you two got, he always left you high and dry.

once you cleaned everything up, and you were left lying by yourself in your bed, you decided everything would change. if he pulled away from you, surely you should do the same.

you woke up the next morning to the sound of rafe’s truck engine roaring to life. rubbing your eyes, you shielded your face from the morning sun, deciding to get your day started as soon as possible. within an hour, you were stepping outside, walking over to where rafe was smiling brightly behind the steering wheel. “i got it working, sweetheart! should we go for a ride?” damn him, he knew how much you loved to be passenger princess in his two seater-beater. you cleared your throat, already hating yourself as you said no. “i don’t think so.. i got a lot of stuff to do today.”

rafe watched you go back in the house, his jaw ticking in response. the only thing you had to do today was sit and look pretty. not to mention, for as long as rafe has been here, you never, ever, rejected going on a little drive with him. that’s how he immediately knew something wasn’t right, and he’d bet all of his money that it had something to do with last night. taking the keys out of the ignition, rafe decided that if you weren’t going to go for a ride with him, then he wasn’t going either. considering he did everything he needed to do yesterday, rafe settled for going inside to tidy up his place.

you walked around the house aimlessly, a book in your hand as you kept glancing outside to see if you could spot rafe anywhere. you didn’t. letting out a groan, you looked at the clock on the wall. it was already half past noon. you debated on whether or not you should take him some lunch, your leg bouncing as you tried to weigh out your options here. on one hand, you could bring rafe lunch, try to talk some stuff out, and on the other hand, you could just leave things be like you promised yourself you would. you knew rafe wasn’t stupid, surely he’d catch on to you soon.

just as you decided against bothering him, there was a knock at the front door. eyebrows knitting in confusion, you opened the door to see your childhood best friend, wyatt. “wyatt!” you squealed, throwing your arms around him as he pulled you close to him by your waist. “oh my, lord! when did you come back from the city?!” you welcomed him in, motioning for him to come inside. “i just finished my second semester, so i’ll be in town for a while. i drove out here just last night, ‘decided to surprise my folks.” he smiled, his expression softening once you urged him to take a seat at the kitchen table.

“i didn’t see your old man’s truck out front..” he sat down, taking his hat off and placing it on the table. “oh, yeah.. he’s out of town visiting my aunt.” you leaned back on the counter, your eyes flickering at his hair. he looked so much different now. “wow, you’re uh— you look really good.” you complimented. “yeah, i’m not lanky anymore,” wyatt laughed, “you look gorgeous as always, though.” his gaze ran down your dress, the sight of your bare thighs making him clear his throat. “well, i didn’t just want to come by and say hi, i actually wanted to ask you something—”

rafe barged in before wyatt could finish his sentence.

“who’s this?” he stared between you two, the jealousy in his blue eyes very, very evident. you smiled innocently as wyatt got up, extending a hand for rafe to shake. “hello, sir. i’m an old friend of y/n’s here, ‘was just coming to visit her.” rafe looked down at wyatt’s palm, keeping both of his hands tucked in his pockets. “well, you two might wanna hurry this up, y/n’s father doesn’t know about any visitors coming to his home.” rafe walked around him, opening the fridge for a beer. “daddy isn’t home though, isn’t he?” you spoke up, in which rafe turned around. “what was that?” he asked.

you two were glaring at each other now. “my dad isn’t here,” you repeated, “and besides, he knows wyatt. ‘thinks of him as a son, right?” rafe’s grip on his beer bottle tightened, a smile playing on his lips when he glanced over at your friend. “yeah.” wyatt nodded. rafe was seeing red, he couldn’t stand to look at you and wyatt standing so close to each other any longer. turning around, rafe listened in as wyatt asked to take you out to dinner. “aw, i would love to! what time should i be ready?”rafe shut his eyes momentarily. you said yes to wyatt too fast for his liking. “how does eight o’clock sound?”

you hummed, nodding excitedly as wyatt made his way to the front door. “alright, it’s a date then. see ‘ya!” you waved at him until his truck disappeared down the dirt road. walking back into the kitchen, rafe was staring you down as you acted like you didn’t just agree to go on a date in front of him. “what do you think you’re playing at?” he narrowed his eyes at you. “if you’re acting out because of last night—” you cut him off. “don’t talk about me ‘acting out’ when you’re the one who decided to run back to your little shed when i was giving you an open opportunity.” you cut in.

“an open opportunity to do what?” rafe’s voice was firm as he stepped closer to you, his beer long forgotten on the counter as he gripped your arm. you failed miserably at trying not to look down at his lips. “it doesn’t even matter now. you obviously don’t want it,” you softened, “don’t want me..” rafe couldn’t believe his ears. you were all that this man thought about. he woke up thinking of what pretty outfit you would wear for the day, and went to sleep wishing you were by his side. “don’t want you?” he repeated, loosening his grip on your skin. “you just have no fucking clue.” rafe stepped back.

“you’re the only thing that i want.” he laughed bitterly, shaking his head as he made his way outside to the back house. you stared at him in shock. all this time you wondered if something was wrong with you because he never made a real move to pursue you, but now all of a sudden after you agree to go on a date he wants to express how he feels? and has the nerve to walk off right after? fuck that. you pushed the back door open, the old wood slamming back against the house as rafe spun around on his heels. “so why do you walk away from me?!” you shouted, both of your chests rising and falling.

“what are you talking about?” you stepped down the stairs, shoving rafe in the chest. “why do you leave every time things start to go somewhere?” his eyes bore into yours, “i’m sick of this game of cat and mouse. have you ever thought that maybe i want you too?” those were the words rafe needed to hear before he cupped your face and dragged you off your feet. his lips were soft against your own, his calloused hands pulling you close to him as your arms wrapped around his neck. he groaned at the taste of you, his tongue slipping in your mouth before you could process what was happening.

rafe kissed you hard and slow, as if to savor you before he led you two to his place, the door barely shutting before he had you pinned to his neatly made bed. “i’ve wanted you the moment your father introduced us, that’s the truth.” he slotted himself between your thighs, cupping your tits through your dress. you moaned, his hips grinding against your clothed cunt. “why would you wait all this time then?” you whimpered when he started pressing kisses to the curve of your neck, his calloused hands feeling you up as they roamed your soft flesh. “well for starters, i have a lot of respect for your pops..”

you sighed, completely forgetting about the old man. “and?” rafe pulled the straps of your dress down until the material pooled at your waist. leaning back on his heels, rafe marveled at the sight of your bare chest, your tits looking more perfect than he imagined. “..and right now, all the respect i have is going out the door.” you cried out when he leaned down, his lips wrapping around a sensitive bud while he used his other hand to snake beneath the waistband of your panties. you blinked up at the ceiling, your hips bucking when you felt his rough fingers stroke your clit.

“that feels so good, ray.” you keened, the weight of his body providing you a sense of safety and comfort. rafe felt like he was under a spell. with your sweet voice in his ear, and his fingers working to get you soaked and ready for him, he couldn’t wait to taste you any longer. pulling away from you, rafe slid your dress and underwears off in one swift motion, a shiver running down your spine when he slowly spread your thighs apart. “you’re fuckin’ gorgeous.” he licked his lips, glancing up at your heated face. your heart bloomed in your chest, your hand finding his cheek.

“please. i’ve wanted this for eight months.” you confessed, your words sending rafe into overdrive. without another thought, rafe took your thighs and placed them on his shoulders, delving into your wetness with a groan. instinctively, your back arched up from his bed, your hands flying to rest on top of his own. you squeezed his fingers, a string of babbles falling from your lips as rafe’s tongue flicked against your sensitive bundle of nerves. rafe watched as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyebrows knitting together as pure bliss etched itself onto your face.

“you okay?” rafe pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh, wanting to make sure it wasn’t too much for you before continuing. “mhmm, yes!” you looked down, the image of rafe’s chin, lips, and even the tip of his nose glistening with your slick was now forever ingrained in your brain. smiling to himself, rafe got back to work, but this time with his fingers prodding at your entrance. “might be a bit uncomfortable at first, but i promise it’ll feel so good, baby.” you nodded, putting all your trust in him before you felt the delicious stretch of his digits inside your cunt.

“fuck!” you squealed, your thighs threatening to snap shut around his head. rafe curled his digits, your eyes screwing shut as he continuously pressed that soft spot inside of you. rafe didn’t stop his skillful movements on your clit, an unfamiliar feeling starting to swirl in your core. rafe cursed at the wet sounds emitting from your pussy, his cock hard and aching to get inside of you already. you gasped when he kept suckling on your sensitive bud, your stomach caving in when he pressed a hand to your tummy. before you could think, white hot pleasure blinded your vision, your entire body jolting as the first wave of your orgasm washed over you.

rafe felt the way you pulsed around his digits, wishing so badly that it was his cock instead. eyes flickering up to your face, he groaned when he saw the way your face twisted in pure bliss, your legs shaking as you felt the sudden urge to pull away from him. “rafe, wait!” you cried out, a sob ripping itself from your throat when a stream of wetness suddenly soaked rafe’s chin, your decadence streaming down his neck as he moaned against your cunt. you stared down at him with wide eyes, your mouth parting in suprise when he slipped his digits in his mouth.

“i- i don’t know what that was!” you gasped, cheeks heating in embarrassment. licking a final stripe up your folds, rafe smiled as he shook his head. “you just squirted, baby, get used to it.” his length rested on top of your tummy, hot and heavy, as he threaded his fingers with yours. “gonna fuck you until you’re carrying my baby..” your heart swelled, recalling his words from last night. “were you talking about me? when you said you wanted little ones..” rafe looked into your eyes, the sincerity in his gaze making you feel warm and fuzzy inside. “you’re the only woman i envision. future and present.”

cupping his face softly, you brought his lips down to meet your own, the head of his cock slipping into your entrance. you let out a shuddering breath, nodding slowly as he pushed the rest of his length inside your greedy walls. you swore you died and went to heaven when he starting rocking into you, both of you moaning in unison. “rafe?” you whimpered, gazing up at him with teary eyes, “shit— yeah, sweetheart?” the man on top of you thumbed your chin, a concerned expression taking over his features. you could tell rafe was holding back with the way he was hesitating with every thrust.

“harder, please.” you asked sweetly, rafe obliging without another thought. soon, you were a crying mess, your eyes barely staying open as rafe put you in a mating press. he was already reaching new depths in regular missionary, so when he placed your legs over his shoulders and caged you between his arms, you were hysterical as his tip kissed your cervix. “oh, god!” you screamed, your nails digging into rafe’s skin as he fucked you stupid. “can’t..” you shook your head, the feeling of his cock filling you to the hilt was increasingly becoming too much to handle.

"yes you can, sugar. look how good you're taking it all.." rafe cradled your head, making you look down at where you two were connected. you moaned at the sight, his cock shining with your slick. rafe kept his hands beneath your head, kissing you softly as his pubic bone began hitting your clit. “m’gonna make you the prettiest mommy this town has ever seen, just watch.” he chuckled, his forehead falling in the curve of your neck. you ran your fingers across his buzzed scalp, the word ‘promise?’ lingering on your tongue. “is that what you want? ‘want me to breed you until you’re all pretty and round?”

you cried out, rafe’s hips stuttering as he felt his climax creeping up on him. “yes, yes, yes—” you repeated yourself like a broken record, rafe’s name falling from your lips like a mantra. “oh, fuck!” he cursed, teeth grazing your flesh as he spilled into you, your second orgasm making you squeeze around him like a vice. rafe stilled, making sure to keep stroking your clit so he could draw out your high for as long as possible. slipping his thumb in your mouth, you shamelessly sucked on the digit as you trembled beneath him, his hot load filling you up.

you two stayed panting against each other’s mouths until your highs subsided, a light sheen of sweat coating both of your skin’s. pulling out with a grunt, rafe rolled over, pulling you with him so he could spoon you. letting out a sigh, you reveled in the warm sun streaming through his window, the light casting off of your face and illuminating the walls. “that was worth the wait, don’t you think?” if it wasn’t for the feeling of your limbs being jelly, you would’ve turned around and landed a playful smack to his chest. instead, you hummed, your eyes heavy with sleep. “we’re not keeping this from my father, rafe.”

your voice was hoarse as you spoke. “no. no, we’re not.” he kissed your shoulder. “you should probably give that guy wayne a call, ‘tell him you’re not going on that date after all.” you giggled, a shiver going down your spine as his large palm rubbed circles into your back. “wyatt, rafe. his name is wyatt. i only told him yes to rile you up.” you teased. rafe knew that, but it still pissed him off nonetheless. “i’ll cancel in a minute, ‘sir.” you used wyatt’s formalities towards rafe earlier against him, earning you a light pinch to your side. “that asshole. ‘really called me sir as if i’m that old.” he shook his head, waiting for you to disagree.

“well..” you trailed off, bursting into laughter when he attacked you with sloppy kisses.

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orangeblossomsintheair · 6 months ago

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LIONHEART (3/3) — LN4

summary : leo grows up and starts to resemble his dad more and more

wc : 6k

an : the end of the lionheart series! super happy i got this done before ‘25! will probably focus more on smau’s (which i don’t know how to make still) and smut fics! send in ur requests if any :p

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, just bright enough to make the room feel warm and cozy.

You were lying in bed, pretending to be asleep, but the muffled sounds of little feet padding around the house gave away the fact that Leo and Lando were up to something.

The occasional giggle and the faint sound of a door creaking were enough to make you smile.

Then, suddenly, the bedroom door burst open, and in came Leo, his tiny arms struggling to hold onto a bouquet of flowers that were nearly bigger than him.

He was trying to be sneaky, but the excitement in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t succeeding.

“Happy Mother’s Day, Mama!” he shouted in his sweetest little voice, his face lighting up with pride as he approached the bed. He climbed up, his movements a bit clumsy as he tried to balance the flowers.

You opened one eye, pretending to wake up. “What’s this? A surprise?”

“Yup! I got you flowers!” Leo said, holding them up with the utmost seriousness.

The bouquet was a haphazard mix of roses, daisies, and a couple of wilting tulips that Leo had clearly picked with the help of his dad.

You sat up slowly, smiling warmly. “You did, huh?”

Just then, Lando appeared in the doorway, holding a slightly more organized bouquet.

He gave you a playful wink before stepping inside. “Alright, Leo. Let’s not overwhelm your mom with too many flowers,” he teased, making his way over to the bedside table and carefully setting his own bouquet down.

Leo puffed out his chest proudly. “I told Daddy we needed all the flowers for you, Mama!”

Lando raised a brow. “And I’m sure our garden looks... great now,” he said with a grin, clearly not regretting the decision at all.

Leo gasped in mock outrage. “But you said more flowers means more love, Daddy!”

“And I stand by that,” Lando said, ruffling Leo’s hair. “But maybe we should leave a few for the bees next time, yeah?”

You chuckled, hugging Leo to your chest. “These are perfect, you two. Thank you, my little flower thieves.”

Leo’s eyes lit up at your praise. “You like them, Mama?”

“I love them.” You kissed the top of his head, then glanced at Lando, who was clearly trying not to look too proud of himself. “And I love you, too. You both are the best.”

Lando leaned against the bed frame, crossing his arms. “Well, we did have to outdo ourselves this year. Last year’s breakfast was a disaster.”

You laughed, remembering the chaos of pancakes that ended up on the ceiling and jam everywhere. “I think it was memorable,” you teased. “But I appreciate the effort this year.”

Leo nodded vigorously. “Yeah! We worked so hard!” He held up a sticky hand for a high five. “I helped, Mama!”

You high-fived him, giggling. “I can see that. You’ve got flower arranging down to a party, baby.”

Lando sat on the edge of the bed, smiling at the two of you. “I’d say this is a good start to the day. But don’t get too comfortable, love. I’ve got even bigger plans for you.”

“Oh really?” You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s next? More flowers?”

“Nope,” Lando said, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Something better.” He glanced at Leo. “But that’s a secret for later, buddy.”

Leo furrowed his brows in confusion but nodded seriously, as if he was in on the plan. “We’re gonna make Mama happy!”

You smiled, your heart full as you hugged Leo a little tighter. “You already have.”

After a moment, Leo squirmed out of your arms and clumsily hopped off the bed. He looked up at Lando, eyes wide with curiosity. “What’s next, Daddy? Do we get her more flowers?”

Lando laughed. “Not this time, buddy. Now we get to spoil her a little more. But first, let’s go make sure we don’t burn the kitchen down with breakfast.”

You couldn’t help but giggle as Leo’s face lit up again. “Breakfast!” he exclaimed, already running out the door.

You turned to Lando, still half-laughing, and shook your head. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I’m lucky you love me,” he replied, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “And that’s why I’m going all out today.”

The day unfolded in a series of sweet, chaotic moments.

Leo heavily insisted on helping Lando make you breakfast, which resulted in a kitchen that looked like a tornado had passed through (you made sure to call the cleaner afterwards and ask if she could make a quick stop to your place.)

You were treated to toast with an absurd amount of jam and slightly lopsided scones, served with an enthusiastic “Ta-da!” from Leo.

By late afternoon, you thought the day couldn’t get any better- until Lando gave you a sly smile and told you to go get dressed.

“Why?” you asked, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

“You’ll see,” Lando said, giving you a soft kiss as he grabbed his jacket. “Just trust me. Oh, and wear something fancy tonight.”

“Fancy?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “What are you up to?”

He smirked but didn’t answer, calling over his shoulder, “Leo, remember, do not tell Mama!”

Leo, who had been sitting on the couch swinging his legs, immediately turned to you with wide, excited eyes. “It’s a secret! But you’re gonna look so pretty, Mama!”

You smiled, ruffling his curls. “Oh, am I now?”

Lando groaned from the doorway. “Leo, mate, you’ve gotta stop giving her hints.”

Leo looked confused. “But I didn’t say anything, Daddy!”

By the time you emerged from the bedroom later that evening, Lando and Leo were waiting for you, and the sight made you pause.

Lando was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that made him look stupidly handsome, but what really melted your heart was Leo, standing beside him in a matching tiny version.

His bow tie was slightly askew, and his shiny shoes looked about one step away from being scuffed, but he was absolutely beaming.

“Ta-da!” Lando said, gesturing to Leo with a proud grin. “Look at this little charmer.”

Leo threw his arms in the air. “We’re taking you to dinner, Mama! Daddy said it’s a special night!”

You crouched down to adjust Leo’s bow tie, fighting a smile. “Well, you look very handsome. Both of you.”

“What about me?” Lando asked, tilting his head dramatically. “Do I not get any extra credit for coordinating this masterpiece?”

“You did okay,” you teased, stepping closer to straighten his tie.

“Okay?” he repeated, pretending to look wounded. “Wow. Alright, Leo, looks like I’ll be splitting dessert with you tonight.”

Leo gasped, wide-eyed. “But dessert is for Mama!”

You laughed, scooping Leo up into your arms. “See? Someone knows how to treat me right.”

The car ride to the restaurant was filled with Leo’s chatter, his excitement bubbling over. “What kind of food will they have? Do I have to eat vegetables? Do fancy places have spaghetti?”

“They definitely have spaghetti,” Lando assured him. “But you’ve gotta promise to sit like a proper gentleman, alright?”

Leo nodded seriously, then immediately asked, “Can I have dessert first?”

“No,” you and Lando said in unison, and Leo giggled.

When you arrived, the restaurant was warm and elegant, with soft golden lights casting a cozy glow. The host smiled as he led you to a corner table, and Leo was wide-eyed as he took it all in.

“Wow,” he whispered loudly. “This place is so shiny!”

As soon as you sat down, Leo leaned over to look at the menu in your hands. “What’s that, Mama? And that? Can I eat that?”

“That’s the wine list,” you said, laughing.

“I’ll take a water for him,” Lando chimed in, winking at you. “And maybe something stronger for us?”

Dinner was a mix of clumsy attempts at etiquette and pure laughter. Leo tried his best to use the small fork, copying the way Lando cut his food, though he ultimately gave up and just grabbed his spaghetti with his hands.

“Leo, buddy, we talked about the fork,” Lando reminded him, trying not to laugh as Leo looked up with sauce smeared across his cheek.

“It’s faster this way,” Leo reasoned, shoving another noodle in his mouth.

“Can’t argue with efficiency,” you said, hiding a smile behind your glass.

When dessert arrived, a perfectly plated slice of cake, Leo’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning.

“CAKE!” he shouted, earning a few amused glances from other diners.

“Inside voice, mate,” Lando reminded him, though his grin betrayed any seriousness.

Leo grinned up at you both, his face messy but full of joy. “This is the best day ever!”

Lando leaned back in his chair, his gaze flicking between you and Leo. “Not bad, huh?”

“Not bad at all,” you agreed, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

By the time you left, Leo was fast asleep in Lando’s arms, his little suit slightly rumpled and his curls sticking up in every direction.

“You know,” Lando said softly as he looked down at your son, “I think he might’ve enjoyed tonight even more than you did.”

“Hard to say,” you replied, slipping your hand into his. “But I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

He smiled at you, his voice low and full of warmth. “Happy Mother’s Day, love.”

—

At three years old, Leo was already a miniature version of his dad. His unruly curls were always falling into his aquamarine eyes, and his energy was boundless, much to your amusement and occasional exhaustion.

But nothing captured his attention more than cars, thanks to Lando.

It started innocently enough, little toy cars zooming across the living room floor as Lando explained the basics of racing.

But soon, it escalated into full-blown lessons.

“Alright, mate,” Lando said one afternoon, crouching beside Leo on the carpet. “This is the apex. You’ve got to hit this corner just right, okay? That’s how you win.”

Leo, clutching a bright orange toy car, furrowed his tiny brows in concentration. “Apex?” he repeated, his voice high and curious.

“That’s right! Apex,” Lando nodded seriously, pointing at the curve he’d drawn on a piece of paper taped to the floor. “It’s the fastest way around the track.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, trying not to laugh as you watched the scene unfold.

“Lando, he’s three,” you reminded him, though there was no real criticism in your tone. “Maybe just let him play with the cars?”

Lando glanced at you with mock seriousness. “This is education. He’s got to start early if he’s going to beat Max’s kid one day.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed your amusement. “Pretty sure Max’s kid isn’t doing apex drills.”

“That’s where we’ve got the edge,” Lando said, grinning as he turned back to Leo. “Alright, mate, show me how you take this corner.”

Leo made a concentrated “vroom-vroom” sound as he rolled the car along the paper track, his little tongue poking out in determination.

He stopped abruptly at the apex, looking up at Lando expectantly.

“Did I win?” Leo asked, his wide eyes searching Lando’s face.

Lando gasped dramatically, throwing his arms in the air. “You nailed it! Perfect line, Leo! You’re a natural!”

Leo beamed, giggling as Lando scooped him up and spun him around. “I win! I win!”

“You sure did, buddy,” Lando said, setting him back down. “Now, let’s work on your pit stops.”

“Pit stops?” Leo’s eyes lit up as he repeated the phrase.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter anymore. “Love, you’re going to scare off all his preschool friends with this level of detail.”

Lando shrugged, clearly unfazed. “They’ll thank me when he’s leading the championship.”

Leo clutched his toy car tightly, turning to you with a big, proud grin. “Mama, I go fast like Daddy!”

You walked over, crouching down to ruffle his curls. “You sure do, baby. Just remember, you’re not allowed to go faster than me.”

Leo giggled, throwing his arms around your neck. “Okay, Mama. I go slow for you.”

Lando smirked, leaning over to kiss the top of your head. “See? He’s already better at strategy than half the grid.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately but couldn’t help the warmth blooming in your chest.

Watching Lando share his passion with Leo, even at such a young age, was something special. And as Leo zoomed off to “practice” more, you knew these moments would be the ones he’d carry with him forever, whether he ended up racing or not.

—

Lando wheeled the tiny, bright orange e-kart into the backyard, the sun glinting off its glossy finish. Leo stood frozen for a moment, his wide aquamarine eyes locked on the kart, before letting out a high-pitched squeal.

“IS THAT FOR ME?” he shouted, bouncing on his toes.

“All yours, buddy,” Lando said, crouching down to Leo’s level with a proud grin. “What do you think?”

“I THINK I’M GONNA DRIVE IT!” Leo yelled, already making a mad dash toward the kart.

“Whoa, hold up!” Lando intercepted him, scooping him up mid-sprint. “Not so fast, mate. Helmet first.”

Leo pouted dramatically, his little arms flailing. “Noooo, Daddy, I’m ready! I don’t need it!”

“You’re three, Leo. You also think ketchup is a vegetable,” Lando replied, grabbing the kid-sized helmet. “Safety first. It’s the rules.”

Leo groaned, reluctantly letting his dad plop the helmet on his head. “But I’m the driver!”

“And I’m the team principal,” Lando quipped, trying to fasten the strap while Leo squirmed.

From the patio, Carlos leaned against the railing, sipping a drink. “Struggling already? Maybe he’s not a McLaren driver after all.”

“Don’t start,” Lando shot back without looking up, finally managing to secure the strap. “We’re not painting it red, Carlos.”

Carlos smirked. “Give it time. The kid’s got Ferrari vibes.”

Lando froze, narrowing his eyes. “Carlos, I will physically fight you right now.”

Cisca clapped her hands together, her phone aimed squarely at the scene. “Oh, he looks so precious in that helmet!”

Leo, now equipped and ready, bolted back toward the kart. “I’m driving!”

“Wait!” Lando jogged after him, grabbing the kart’s handlebars before Leo could press the pedal. “You gotta listen to the rules first, mate. No crashing into the flowerbeds, no hitting Grandpa—”

“I’m fast, Daddy!” Leo interrupted, his little hands gripping the steering wheel. “I don’t need rules!”

Lando groaned, wrangling Leo, who was squirming like a very determined eel. “Hold still, buddy, or you’ll be driving with this thing on backwards.”

“Let him drive backwards,” Max chimed in from the grass, phone in hand. “Might still beat you on the track, mate.”

Lando shot him a mock glare. “Thanks, Max. Really helpful.”

Carlos leaned closer to Lando’s dad. “You know, we could train him young at Ferrari. Get him on the right team.”

Adam chuckled. “Careful, Carlos. He might grow up and beat you in a race.”

Lando smirked, finally letting go of the kart. “Alright, Leo, show us what you’ve got.”

Leo slammed his foot on the throttle, the kart buzzing to life as it lurched forward. His face lit up with pure joy. “I’M DRIVING!”

“You’re doing great, mate!” Lando called, jogging alongside him.

Carlos cupped his hands around his mouth. “Leo! When you’re ready to upgrade, call Uncle Carlos!”

Leo didn’t even glance back. “NO! MCLAREN!” he shouted, giggling as he made a wobbly circle around the yard.

Lando threw his arms up in triumph. “That’s my boy!”

Max wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “Okay, okay, I admit it. This is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Leo slowed to a stop in front of you, grinning ear to ear. “Mama! Did I win?”

You bent down, smoothing his curls. “You always win, sweetheart.”

Carlos leaned closer to Max, feigning seriousness. “Ferrari mentality right there. Always thinking about the podium.”

Lando turned to them, pointing a finger. “I swear, one more Ferrari joke-”

Leo, oblivious to the banter, yawned loudly. “Can I drive more tomorrow, Daddy?”

Lando crouched down, ruffling his hair. “Of course, mate. But only if you promise me one thing.”

Leo’s eyes lit up. “What?”

“No letting Uncle Carlos paint anything red.”

Leo looked confused but nodded solemnly. “Okay, Daddy.”

Carlos raised his glass. “We’ll see.”

Lando groaned, burying his face in his hands as everyone laughed. “This is my life now.”

—

It started innocently enough.

One morning, around 5:15 a.m., Leo padded into the bedroom, his tiny race car pajamas rustling as he climbed onto Lando’s side of the bed.

“Daddy,” he whispered, his voice as loud as only a four-year-old could manage while trying to be “quiet.”

Lando groaned, burying his face deeper into the pillow. “Leo, it’s still dark outside. Go back to bed.”

Leo shook his shoulder insistently. “But Daddy, I need to practice! You said practice makes perfect!”

“I meant during normal human hours,” Lando mumbled.

Leo, undeterred, climbed onto Lando’s back, bouncing slightly.

“C’mon, Daddy! I gotta beat Uncle Carlos! He said Ferrari’s faster, but you said McLaren’s the best!”

At that, Lando opened one eye, grumbling as he turned over to face his determined son. “Leo, you’re four. You’ve got, like, ten years before you have to prove anything to Uncle Carlos.”

“But if I wait, I won’t be fast enough!” Leo argued, crossing his arms.

From your side of the bed, you stifled a laugh, watching the two of them negotiate like seasoned diplomats. “He’s got a point,” you teased, peeking out from under the blanket.

“Not helping, love,” Lando muttered before sighing and sitting up. “Alright, alright. Give me five minutes to wake up, and we’ll practice.”

“YAY!” Leo cheered, scrambling off the bed and sprinting toward the backyard, still in his pajamas.

Lando groaned, rubbing his face before looking at you. “He’s relentless. Wonder where he gets that from,” he said pointedly.

You smirked. “No idea.”

By the time Lando shuffled outside in his hoodie and sweatpants, Leo was already sitting in his e-kart, revving it with dramatic “vroom vroom” noises.

“Alright, champ,” Lando said, grabbing a lawn chair and plopping down with a coffee in hand. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Leo took off, making wobbly loops around the yard, his helmet slightly askew. Lando watched for a few minutes, his dad instincts kicking in as he began shouting pointers.

“Keep your line tight, Leo! Hug the turn! No, no, not the flowerbeds again!”

After a particularly wide turn that nearly took out the garden gnome, Lando sighed, setting his coffee down. “Alright, buddy. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly.”

He walked over and crouched by Leo’s kart, pointing at the imaginary track lines he’d drawn in the dirt. “See these? You need to stay as close to the inside as possible when you turn. And always look ahead- don’t just focus on where you are now. Got it?”

Leo nodded seriously, his tiny brows furrowed in concentration. “Like you do on TV?”

“Exactly,” Lando said with a proud grin. “Now try it again.”

For the next hour, Lando coached Leo like he was prepping for a tournament, shouting tips and celebrating every successful lap.

When Leo finally parked the kart and bounded over to him, Lando ruffled his curls. “You’re getting better, little man. Maybe one day, you’ll be even faster than me.”

Leo beamed. “Really?”

Lando smirked. “Maybe.”

As you stepped outside with breakfast in hand, you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of the two of them, Lando sitting cross-legged in the grass, explaining cornering techniques to a four-year-old who was listening like his life depended on it.

“You know,” you said, handing Lando his toast, “most dads teach their kids how to ride bikes at this age, not perfect their racing lines.”

Lando grinned up at you. “Hey, he’s got dreams. I’m just helping him get there.”

Leo, already climbing back into his kart, shouted, “Mama, watch this! I’m gonna be the fastest!”

You shook your head fondly. “With you two, I don’t doubt it.”

—

It had been a long day of shopping for go-kart gear– helmets, gloves, and a racing suit with a tiny McLaren logo on it– but now, as you stood by the track, you couldn't help but beam with pride at your son.

Leo was strapped into a small go-kart, the bright orange helmet on his head looking just a little too big for him, but he didn’t seem to mind.

At five years old, Leo had taken to go-karts like a duck to water, and Lando and you had quickly become his most supportive, if slightly nervous, parents.

The track was alive with activity, and as soon as Leo strapped himself in, you felt the weight of how surreal it all was.

“Are you sure he’s ready for this?” you asked Lando, watching Leo wriggle with excitement in his tiny race helmet, bouncing around in the kart.

Lando, arms crossed, gave you a reassuring smile. “He’s been practicing. Trust me, he’s got this. Look at him. He’s practically bouncing out of the seat.”

Leo waved both hands in the air, his little face lit up with sheer joy. “I’m gonna go fast, Mama! Look!” He revved the engine, and the sound made your heart skip a beat.

“You ready, mate?” Lando asked, crouching beside the tiny kart. He adjusted the straps on his son’s helmet, worried it'd fly off, his hands careful but steady.

Your son nodded enthusiastically. “I was born ready, Daddy!”

“Alright,” Lando said, laughing as he ruffled the boy’s curly hair. “Let’s see what you’ve got. But remember, it’s not about speed yet. It’s about control, okay?”

“Okay!” he chirped, gripping the wheel with determination.

You watched from the sidelines, your heart in your throat as Lando guided him onto the track.

There was something surreal about seeing the two of them out there, your husband, a Formula 1 star, and your son, so small but already so fearless.

As Leo took his first cautious lap, Lando jogged alongside him, shouting instructions. “That’s it, stay on the line! Gentle on the throttle, buddy!”

When Leo finally came to a stop, his face was glowing with pride. “Did you see that, Daddy? I was so fast!”

“You were brilliant,” Lando said, crouching to meet his gaze. “But we’ve got to work on your corners, alright? That’s where the magic happens.”

—

Over the next few months, karting became a regular part of your family’s routine.

Every time Lando could get away from his own duties, your husband would put on his coach hat, guiding your son through every step, every turn, and every challenge.

It was more than just a sport to Lando; it was a way to connect, to pass on his knowledge, and to bond with his mini-me in a way words couldn’t capture.

“You’ve got to feel the kart,” Lando said one afternoon, squatting beside your Leo's small kart, his tone serious yet kind. “It’s like dancing. You’ve got to move with it, not against it.”

“Dancing?” Your son raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical as he shifted in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel like it was his best friend. “Karts don’t dance, Daddy!”

Lando chuckled, kneeling down to eye level with him. “They do if you’re good enough. You’ve just got to listen to it. Feel it, like how you feel the rhythm of a song. It’s all in the flow. The kart’s like a partner, you’ve got to be in sync with it.”

Leo giggled, shaking his head. “But I’m not dancing! I’m driving!”

Lando smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s a little of both, mate. When you get really good, it’ll feel just like that. Trust me.”

He looked up at his dad, wide-eyed. “Really?”

“Really,” Lando said, his voice softening with a warmth that only a dad could have. “Now, let’s see you take that corner. Remember, don’t fight the kart. Let it flow.”

Leo hesitated for a moment, then grinned. “Okay! Like dancing!” he said, clearly embracing the idea with the boundless enthusiasm only a six-year-old could muster.

Lando watched as his son sped down the track, his tiny kart buzzing as he carefully navigated the first turn, just as his father had taught him.

Lando’s heart swelled with pride as he observed every small movement, how his son corrected himself when the kart started to drift, how he balanced speed and control.

“You’re doing great, mate!” Lando shouted, giving a thumbs-up as Leo zoomed past. “But remember, smooth on the throttle!”

“Like dancing, Daddy!” your son shouted back, grinning ear to ear, his confidence growing with each lap.

You stood off to the side, leaning against the fence, watching the two of them with a smile. There was something so perfect about seeing Lando in his element, not just as a racer but as a teacher, nurturing Leo's growing skills.

Your heart couldn’t help but swell with emotion as you saw how naturally it came to Lando. It wasn’t just the way he taught, it was the way he believed in Leo, how every lesson was laced with love, encouragement, and a touch of that signature Lando enthusiasm.

After a few more laps, your son came to a stop, his kart skidding to a halt just in front of Lando. He jumped out of the seat, eyes sparkling. “I did it, Daddy! I did the dance thing! I didn’t even crash!”

Lando grinned, clapping his hands together. “I’m impressed! You’ve got the moves, mate!” He pulled him into a hug, lifting him up off the ground. “I knew you had it in you. Now, let’s cool down and get ready to go again.”

Your son, still beaming, looked at you and shouted, “Mum, I’m dancing with the kart!”

—-

Leo was beaming as he climbed out of his tiny kart, still buzzing with excitement from the practice session.

His little helmet hair stuck out in all directions, and his cheeks were flushed pink. You watched from the sidelines, your heart swelling with pride as he excitedly waved at you and Lando.

But then, something, or someone, caught his attention.

A girl, about his age, was leaning against the fence, her arms crossed over her chest.

Her long dark ponytail swung slightly as she watched the other kids with an almost bored expression. Unlike the other kids who were laughing and chatting with their parents, she stood alone.

"Who's that?" Leo asked, tugging at Lando’s sleeve as he pointed toward her.

Lando crouched down to his level and followed his gaze. "I don’t know, buddy. Why don’t you go say hi?"

Leo hesitated, glancing at the girl and then back at his dad. "She looks kinda mad," he whispered.

Lando chuckled softly, ruffling Leo's hair. "She’s probably just nervous. Go on, introduce yourself. You might make a new friend."

Leo nodded, his natural confidence kicking in as he made his way over. You watched as your little boy approached the girl with his characteristic enthusiasm, clutching his helmet under his arm.

"Hi! I’m Leo!" he said brightly, stopping just a few feet away from her.

The girl glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "I know," she said flatly, her tone cool.

Leo blinked, caught off guard. "You do?"

She shrugged. "Your dad's Lando Norris. Everyone knows who you are."

Leo frowned, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Well, yeah, but I mean, I’m not my dad. I’m just... me."

The girl raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down. "You drive like him," she said finally, her voice a little softer now.

Leo perked up at that. "You think so?!"

She shrugged again, but this time there was a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Maybe. I’m Lily," she said, holding out her hand like a mini-professional.

Leo grinned, shaking her hand enthusiastically. "Nice to meet you, Lily! Do you kart too?"

"Obviously," she said with a hint of sass, gesturing to the helmet resting on the ground beside her.

"Cool! Maybe we can race sometime," Leo said eagerly, his eyes lighting up.

Lily smirked, finally loosening up a bit. "If you can keep up."

"Oh, I can keep up!" Leo declared, puffing out his chest.

Lily rolled her eyes but laughed a little, and just like that, the ice was broken.

From a distance, you and Lando exchanged a look, both of you grinning. "Well, that’s our kid," Lando said, crossing his arms.

"Definitely your kid," you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

"Think he’s got a chance with her?" Lando joked.

You laughed. "Let’s just hope they stick to racing for now."

As the two kids started chatting animatedly, comparing their karts and favorite drivers, it was clear that Leo had made his first friend in karting.

—-

It was a bright, bustling day at the karting track, with parents and kids mingling while mechanics tuned up their karts.

You and Lando were by the paddock, chatting with a few familiar faces when you spotted Leo in the distance, his hand wrapped firmly around a reluctant-looking girl’s wrist as he practically dragged her across the pit area.

“Mom! Dad!” Leo called, his voice carrying over the noise. His eyes were wide with excitement, his signature gap-toothed grin plastered across his face.

Lando nudged you, a knowing smile spreading across his face. “Looks like our little social butterfly is on a mission.”

As they got closer, you recognized Lily, the girl Leo had mentioned a few times since their first meeting. Her helmet dangled from her other hand, her expression teetering somewhere between annoyed and nervous as Leo pulled her along.

“C’mon, Lily, they’re nice!” Leo said, encouraging her as if she was about to meet royalty.

“I never said they weren’t nice,” Lily mumbled, casting a quick glance your way before looking at the ground.

Behind her, a couple followed hesitantly, her parents, you guessed. They looked slightly out of place among the karting crowd, standing close together and exchanging quiet words.

Leo finally came to a stop in front of you and Lando, releasing Lily’s wrist. “Mom, Dad, this is Lily! She’s my best friend,” he announced proudly, then turned to Lily and gestured dramatically toward you.

“And these are my parents. That’s my mom, and that’s my dad.”

You waved at the little girl, smiling warmly. “We’re so happy to meet you, Lily.”

“Hi, Lily,” Lando added, crouching slightly to be at her level. “Leo’s told us a lot about you. He says you’re a great driver.”

Lily shuffled her feet, clearly flustered, but managed a small smile. “Thanks,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Mom, Dad,” Lily muttered, turning to the couple behind her. “These are Leo’s parents.”

Her parents stepped forward cautiously, clearly unsure how to navigate meeting a famous F1 driver. The woman smiled shyly, extending her hand to you first. “Hi, I’m Sarah, and this is my husband, James. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you both,” you said warmly, shaking her hand before turning to James. “We’ve heard wonderful things about Lily. She and Leo seem to get along really well.”

“They do,” James said, his tone polite but a little hesitant. “Leo’s all she talks about when she comes home from practice.”

Lando grinned, shaking both their hands. “Well, that’s great to hear. Leo’s pretty smitten with her too, he’s been calling her his best friend since the day they met.”

Lily groaned quietly, burying her face in her hands. “Leo, stop,” she mumbled.

Leo, oblivious to her embarrassment, grinned even wider. “But it’s true!”

Sarah chuckled, glancing at her daughter. “She talks about him a lot too. It’s nice to see her so excited about karting and making friends.”

As the conversation unfolded, you noticed Lando’s natural charm putting Lily’s parents at ease. He asked about their background, how Lily got into karting, and even cracked a few jokes that made them laugh. Meanwhile, Lily and Leo whispered to each other off to the side, Leo clearly trying to get her to open up more.

“You see?” Leo whispered loudly enough for you to hear. “I told you they’re nice. And my dad’s funny too.”

“Funny-looking, maybe,” Lily shot back, her lips twitching with the beginnings of a smirk.

Lando caught her comment and laughed, shaking his head. “You’re going to fit right in, Lily. Welcome to the team.”

—-

It was a big day, and everyone could feel the excitement in the air. Leo and Lily’s first real karting competition, where they’d race against kids their own age for the very first time.

The track was buzzing with energy as the young drivers in their helmets and race suits lined up, ready to face off.

You stood on the sidelines with Lando, your eyes following Leo and Lily as they climbed into their karts. The kids were practically vibrating with excitement, especially Leo, whose energy could rival any race car engine.

“Think Lily’s going to give him a run for his money?” you asked Lando, trying to hide the grin tugging at your lips. Lando, arms crossed and eyes glued to the track, was already fully invested in the race.

“She better,” Lando replied, a sly smile creeping up. “Keeps him sharp. But let’s be honest, I’m rooting for Leo. No one beats my boy in his first big race.”

You rolled your eyes and nudged him. “You’re supposed to be impartial.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Impartial? Nah. He’s got the Norris drive. You can see it, right?”

You gave him a knowing look. “Uh-huh.”

As the engines roared to life, the excitement intensified. Leo and Lily lined up side by side, helmets on and determination in their eyes. Even though their visors were down, you could practically feel the playful tension between them as they exchanged last-minute words.

“Ready, champ?” Lando asked Leo, giving him a quick thumbs-up.

“Born ready, Dad!” Leo called back, bouncing on the balls of his feet, clearly pumped.

The flag dropped, and with a deafening roar, the kids shot off the line. The track was filled with the sound of tiny engines and the rubber burning against the asphalt. Leo and Lily were already making moves, weaving through the pack, their little karts moving with surprising precision.

Lando was shouting instructions at Leo, even though it was clear there was no way Leo could hear him over the roar of the engines. “Stay tight on that turn, Leo!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Come on, you’ve got this, son!”

The laps blurred by in a flash. Both Leo and Lily were putting on an impressive display, but you could tell they were both determined to take home the win. As the final lap neared, it was clear it was going to come down to the two of them- Leo and Lily, neck and neck.

On the final stretch, Leo pushed forward with everything he had. You could see the fire in his eyes as he zoomed ahead. “Come on, Leo!” you cheered, pumping your fists in the air.

Lily wasn’t far behind, giving it her all, but Leo crossed the finish line first. The crowd erupted in cheers, and you couldn’t help but join in, clapping and laughing as Leo brought his kart to a stop and practically leapt out of it.

His helmet was off before his feet hit the ground, and his face was flushed with a mix of excitement and pride.

“I won!” he shouted, giggling uncontrollably as he ran toward you. “Mom! Dad! I won!”

Lando, a proud grin plastered on his face, leaned over and whispered to you, “That’s my boy.”

Leo reached you, practically bouncing with energy. “Did you see? Did you see? I beat Lily!” he shouted, his eyes wide with excitement.

Lily, who had come over with her helmet off, shot Leo an amused look. “Barely,” she said, crossing her arms. “Next time, I’m going to smoke you.”

Leo stuck his tongue out at her. “Yeah, right! You can try,” he teased, giving her a playful shove.

Before Lily could respond, a group of reporters rushed in, cameras flashing like crazy. “Leo Norris, the next Lando Norris!” one reporter called, practically tripping over themselves. “How does it feel to win your first big race?”

Leo’s eyes widened at the attention, but instead of getting shy, he bounced on his toes, giggling uncontrollably. “It feels amazing!” he exclaimed, his grin impossibly wide. “And my dad helped me! He’s the best coach ever!”

Lando leaned down and ruffled Leo’s hair, looking at him with obvious pride. “It’s all him,” Lando said, a smug grin creeping onto his face. “But yeah, I taught him a thing or two.”

Leo’s eyes darted to you, his excitement palpable. “Mom, did you hear? They called me the next Dad! That’s so cool!”

You crouched down to his level, cupping his face in your hands. “I heard, baby,” you said, laughing. “But remember, you’re going to be amazing in your own way, okay?”

Leo nodded eagerly, giggling again as Lando scooped him up before setting him down as Leo protested.. “Alright, champ,” Lando said, spinning him around in a playful circle. “First win, but it won’t be the last. Let’s go to the podium!”

As you made your way back to the pits, Leo couldn’t stop talking, bouncing around between you and Lando like a pinball. “Did you see the way I passed that guy on the corner? I was like- vroom! Zoom!” He made exaggerated car noises, clearly reliving every moment of his victory.

Lily, on the other hand, was quieter, watching Leo with a knowing smirk. Every so often, she shot him a playful side-eye, clearly already planning her next move to beat him next time.

As you were packing up, Lily’s parents approached, looking a bit shy but beaming with pride. They had always kept a respectful distance, never letting your fame affect how they treated you.

“Uh, hi,” Lily’s dad said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “We just wanted to say congratulations to Leo. That was one heck of a race.”

“Thanks!” Leo beamed back, his face lighting up. “But Lily was really fast, too! She almost got me!”

Lily, standing next to her parents, crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Next time, I’m taking you down,” she said, smirking.

Her dad laughed and nudged her. “That’s the spirit.”

Then he turned to you and Lando, looking a little more nervous. “Actually, we were wondering… Since it’s both their first big race, we thought it might be nice to celebrate. Maybe grab dinner somewhere? Our treat.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Lando, who was grinning from ear to ear. “That sounds great,” Lando said, his voice warm. “We’d love to.”

Lily’s mom smiled brightly, her relief evident. “Really? That’s wonderful! We know a nice little place nearby. Nothing fancy, but the kids will love it.”

You gave Leo a playful look. “What do you think, champ? Dinner with Lily?”

Leo grinned, bouncing up and down. “As long as she doesn’t get mad when I tell everyone I won,” he teased.

Lily rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’m not mad. I’ll just tell them you cheated,” she shot back.

“You’re on!” Leo laughed, already racing toward the car with Lily close behind, her competitive spirit no longer just playful but full of determination.

Lando shook his head with a chuckle. “Looks like they’ve got it all figured out.”

Lily’s mom laughed softly as she watched them chase each other. “It’s funny. We’ve never seen Lily so competitive before. She’s usually a bit… reserved.”

“Well,” you said, glancing at Lando with a smirk, “Leo has a way of bringing that out in people. Wonder where he gets it from?”

Lando gave you a playful shrug. “No idea. Must be you.”

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