#but what are their names? how did they die? the one guy died in the auto shop im betting them one in the gym and i think the last died in a

[batcavescolony]

GUYS GUYS GUYS i have no idea why i didn't see this before, maybe im stupid, but im watching s1 e4 again and they're all watching a movie right? Charley picked it cus he said Wally let him and we see the screen as Maddie walks in, its Demi Moore guys he fucking picked Ghosts, the same movie with the pottery scene he re-enacted with Yuri.

[heyclickadee]

So, my family is rewatching Rings of Power, and since I’m the one in the family that read The Silmarillion (like a masochist), I’m the one who keeps getting asked all the questions.

[babieken]

I was expecting so much more from Again My Life considering lee jungi was its main character but it was such a let down...

[what-even-is-thiss]

I met this pastor once who was sort of a missionary in the traditional sense I guess? Modern Christians often call both people trying to spread the faith and people who are just doing humanitarian work in the name of the faith missionaries. Like when some people from our church went to one of our sister churches in Baja California to help members fix their roofs, that was missionary work. When I was helping to plant community gardens through a church organization I was doing missionary work. But a person preaching the Bible on the street corner in a foreign country is also missionary work. You can also be doing both at the same time but they don’t always necessarily overlap. Idk. It’s confusing. But anyways.

This guy though I think was a traditional missionary in that he was trying to gather converts but he mostly did it by talking to people who were already interested in Christianity on their own and came to him with questions. Gave sermons and lessons to people that were interested and whatnot.

He told me that this one time he was giving a sermon to a group of these sort of potential converts about the death of Jesus. The whole Good Friday passion story intense version you know. Going into gory detail about how painfully people die while being crucified, the two guys who died next to Jesus, the way the Romans whipped him, you know. The works.

Afterwards a guy came up to him and said “Pastor, that was a great story, but was that it? He’s just dead?”

And that’s when it dawned on him that for YEARS he’d been telling the Good Friday story to people who didn’t know much about Christianity without mentioning the good news part. The he came back part. The whole point of the entire religion part. He’d just left them hanging assuming they already knew what came next.

I kept a straight face while he told me all of this because he was a pastor I barely knew but if I’m being honest with you on the inside I was dying laughing. Dude didn’t even finish the full sales pitch I have been thinking about that for years

[oh-no-its-bird]

Really stupid au where when they were younger, Kakashi and Obito shared an accidental kiss a lot like Sasuke and Naruto. (Kakashi commits to his mask shortly after but will never not insist it's unrelated)

Years later and Kakashi, trying to cheer up Naruto and Sasuke ab their own embaressing accidental first kiss, shares his own story

Then, years later when Obito reveals himself on the battlefield, instead of going "woah, another Uchiha!?" when he hears his name, Naruto can't help but point and shout OH MY GOD UR THE GUY WHO KISSED SENSEI!!!!!!!!

Instant dead silence. (Obito wants to die)

Sakura, who never heard the story ab how it was a one time accidental kiss: "omg... sensei's childhood boyfriend went evil on him... this is so fucked up"

Obito is VIOLENTLY thrown off by this turn of events (and also hasn't actually thought ab it in years oh my god that did happen didn't it)

Kakashi, seeing how badly it threw him off, and also the kind of person who plays hard into throwing people off and generally fucking w them to gain an edge, seeing Sakura mumbling ab lovers to enemies and just kinda goes "Yeah Obito I can't believe you'd do this to me I thought we had smthn special."

"Yeah a rivalry????"

"So I was only ever a way for u to get stronger,, figures u were using me,,,"

[Confused Obito car crash noises]

Sakura yells smthn ab him being a deadbeat and how Kakashi can do so much better and Naruto is instantly shouting in agreement as Sasuke stands there like "hn." Which is basically the same thing for him

Kakashi just starts straight up lying actually

"What about all those picnics we went on... watching the sun set over konoha..."

"Are you talking about when Minato said we weren't allowed to come back inside till we stopped arguing and ate on opposite ends of the roof bc we couldn't even look at eachother without yelling???"

"It was so romantic."

Obito, starting to actually doubt himself, "was that a date????"

(It was not.)

"You died in my arms..."

"I died under a rock"

"We literally got eye married" (not a thing, he just made this up 3 seconds ago)

"We got WHAT" (no one can prove him wrong tho bc no surviving Uchiha knows that much ab their clans marriage traditions)

"Oh my god sensei's husband is a deadbeat" - sakura, horrified (and maybe a little delighted)

"Figures." -Sasuke, who's been in proximity w Obito for some time now and absoloutley believes every word ab this topic Kakashi is saying

"Woah. This is almost as bad as the fact he murdered my parents when I was a baby dattebayo" - Naruto who's priorities are NOT what they should be

"Ok. I wouldn't go that far." - Sasuke, who's priorities are also fucked but not THAT fucked, oh my god Naruto

"No, no he's right. We should kill him even harder for this" - Sakura, who doesn't actually agree but wants an excuse for more juicy sensei love drama (and also wants to see Obito beaten to death anyways)

[robinavich]

goldilocks | jack abbot

jack abbot x attorney!reader | 5k words | ao3

synopsis: jack has trouble sleeping. you don't make it any easier.

content: 18+ mdni, age gap, swearing, super soft sex (not like super graphic bc I'm weak), reader is annoying as USUAL and jack is just so in love

a/n: teehee. LOL? tbh can I be honest. I'm not sure what this is fr

sorry for using an andrew cody gif. as if u could blame me LOL up top ladies! shoutout @doctcrrobby dani for putting this in my mind. also my dad was in the army and dude literally sleeps on the couch every night and I'm always like dad let's go get you a new mattress and he's like I'd rather fucking die. I don't know why I told you guys that I think I just had to cite my sources on that single line.

Jack’s back ached. It has for years—a legacy of abuse stemming from unforgiving cots, and the punishing weight of rucksacks weighing as much as he did, and strain from bodies thrown over his shoulder en route to safety. It ached from responsibility, and it ached from the perpetual guilt that he’ll probably never rid himself of.

It also meant no bed was ever right. One was as hard as the unyielding ground while gunfire split the air overhead. Another bed he tried sagged beneath him with every twitch, threatening to pull him under. They were too warm, too short, too something.

He felt like Goldilocks, if Goldilocks only had one foot and lumbar pain.

After his wife died, it got worse. Beds were suddenly too cold—cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. A vast expanse of isolation that chilled him to the bone. More often than not, Jack found himself wedged diagonally on his too-small sofa, sweat gluing his skin to the overheated pleather, or lying stiff on the ground with nothing but a pillow under his head to protect him against the hardwood floor.

Rest was always just out of reach, as elusive as the peace he naively once thought he could help secure. 

Then he met you.

Your bed was great, sure. Amazing, even. Your comforter’s woven out of straight springtime sunbeams, and your mattress stuffed from clouds that angels slept on, probably. Best sleep of his life in that bed.

Beyond the composition, though, what he felt the most is what it meant. It was the one place where Jack could rest. Really rest. Where his body didn’t have to stay coiled beneath the surface, waiting for the next sound, the next shadow, the next inevitable loss. It was the only place no longer had to sleep like a soldier.

Under those covers, he finally understood why kids hide from monsters under their blankets—like a piece of cloth would save them from the horrors. Not because it was logical, but because that softness, that warmth, meant safety. The comforter was flimsy armor, but it was armor nonetheless. A quiet prayer stitched into fabric, whispering you’re okay.

Not every night was easy. Not every nightmare stayed away.

But the difference now was that he had somewhere to come back to.

And with you wrapped in his arms, face buried in his neck, he knows that he could die contentedly in this refuge beneath the covers. That he would kill to have this feeling etched into his very soul.

Most nights, that’s how it was.

Tonight, something’s off.

He doesn’t know what. Can’t quite name it. Just something needling at him.

Poking and prodding him at the edges of consciousness.

Teasingly dangling REM cycles behind closed eyes, only to yank them back, leaving him tangled in restless sharp awareness.

“Psst.”

Not metaphorically.

It comes again, hushed and more incessant. “Pssssst. Jack.”

Jack’s eyes groggily flutter open, eyes rolling as they adjust to the complete and utter darkness that welcomes him back to the land of the living.

A jab in the skin directly above his heart.

He looks down.

It’s your stupid-ass finger nudging his chest. Robbing him of peace.

His muscles unconsciously tighten, instinctively drawing you nearer to shield you from whatever shadow you woke him for.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Jack asks, fatigue pulling his tongue off tempo and lagging behind a brain already whirring to attention. Really, the words come out more of a was wrong? Reyoukay?

Slowly, the rest of his body starts to power on, returning his senses to their rightful place. Distantly, he can hear sirens shooting down far-away streets. The gentle patter of rain on the window. The warm vanilla of your shampoo washes over him.

“You never answered me,” your soft voice drifts up to him. “About the penguins.”

Jack’s eyebrows come together, forming a small crease between his slowly closing eyes.

A deep inhale inflates his lungs.

“When I called you the other day,” you unhelpfully remind him. Like his silence was from lack of memory, not from trying desperately to keep his composure upon understanding he’s been yanked from his beautiful, glorious sleep for something like this.

“When I had my entire arm in someone’s chest?” Jack’s tired voice cuts out like a spotty Bluetooth connection. He clears his throat.

Stronger now, “Is that what you’re referring to?”

You snuggle closer to his chest, attempting to completely ignore the laws of physics prohibiting fusion of bodies, and nod, hair tickling his skin with every pass.

His arms reflexively tighten around you, rough fingers slipping under your shirt to trace the ridges of your spine. A pleased hum rumbles in his chest at the small shiver that runs down your body in response. His head dips down, burrowing against yours so gently tucked into his neck.

“Honey, why do you only want to have this conversation at—” his wrist tilts up and he peels open a single eye, immediately sliding it shut again, “—three in the morning?”

Your shoulders rise in a small shrug as much as they can snuggled safely in your cocoon of Jack and comforter.

“Could have a different one. Just missed you when I was sleeping,” you sleepily whisper, words so tooth-achingly sweet that Jack absently thinks that you should be a poster child for the American Dental Association.

His heart clenches in his chest—slow and nearly unbearable—because of course you woke him up to tell him that. Of course that’s the reason. And you say it like it’s something so obvious, like missing him when you sleep is something you’re well acquainted with and just wanted to keep him updated on what’s going on.

How do you manage to inadvertently weaponize the most innocuous things?

Jack exhales slowly and shifts down, lips gently placing a kiss on the tangled hair near your temple.

He doesn’t even know if you understand the effect you have on him.

“Never gotta miss me, kid,” Jack mumbles against your skin, lips brushing your temple. “Always’ll be here.”

He feels you shift against his chest—a quiet rustle under the blankets—trying to make space for your hand to wiggle free. 

With a groggy blink, Jack’s eyes open, vision sluggishly pulling into focus.

Hovering in the corner of his periphery, he sees it.

Your hand wedged between the both of you. Pinkie looking back at him. Patiently extended. Waiting.

“Promise?” you ask, and your voice is so soft—so small. It’s not a question, really, but the thought that there could be a drop of doubt in your mind pains him. Not after the way he looks at you like you hung the moon, not after the way he builds a home out of every room you’re in.

It twists in him, slow and aching.

Jack’s throat tightens marginally. His curls his own pinkie around yours.

“Promise.”

You shift, nudging your nose up along his chest until your lips are just shy of his neck like the thought of any distance between the two of you is a federal offense, breath a quiet puff against his skin. The blankets shift with you, rustling like trees in the wind. Your voice comes out half-asleep, muffled by the blankets and your lungs smushed against his chest.

“Break that promise,” you murmur, “and I get to take your pinkie.”

Jack blinks down at you, eyes drowsy and soft. There’s a moment he doesn’t say anything. Just looks—memorizing the way the streetlights bleed through the window and highlight the soft curves of your profile, illuminate the way your hair sticks straight into the air. The way your lashes fan against your cheek, and the way your hand—so much smaller than his—rests gently over his ribs, like you’re making sure he stays put.

You’ve never looked more beautiful.

He leans down and captures your lips—quiet and careful, sealing an unspoken vow. When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to yours, his voice low and steady.

“Kid,” he whispers, “you have my whole life.”

The words drift into the space between you.

They’re unmet with any response.

In fact, you’re silent for so long, Jack figures you’ve fallen back asleep.

He lets his body begin to sink, tension softening, breath evening out with yours.

Almost gone.

The holy choir of REM harmonizes in the distance, beckoning him with open arms, ready to anoint him with a divine blessing he’s worked so devotedly to earn.

Your voice slices through the quiet like a celestial record scratch, violently yanking his soul straight back into the prison of his body.

“See, you say I can have your life,” you mumble exasperated. “But won’t answer my question.”

Jack groans.

Loud. From that ancient, grizzled part of his soul that pre-dates the Geneva Conventions. One that can only mean holy shit, I’m going to kill you. 

“Alright,” he relents, releasing you from your pinkie promise and rolling off of you with all the enthusiasm of a man summoned to war. “We’re doing this.”

“Nooo,” you whine. Your hands smooth around his middle and pull him back in place. He grumbles in your arms, melting back into you.

You reconnect your pinkies.

“What’s the fucking question?”

You snuggle into his chest, mumbling, “Stop being so bitchy.”

His eye twitches and he makes a half-hearted attempt to push you away, which you halt with the force of a barnacle, clinging to his chest and pulling him on top of you.

Up at three in the morning. Demanding a metaphysical inquiry into the emotional state of flightless Antarctic avians. Jack shoving you away.

And all you want is to do is be close to him. 

He curls himself around you once more.

You sigh, loud and dramatic, like you cannot believe he had the audacity to wake you up to talk about this.

“Something about penguins?” Jack prompts.

“Do you think penguins get sad because they can’t fly?” you morosely recount, voice muffled by his bare chest. 

A beat passes, Jack’s shoulder lifting in time with your inhale.

“They probably don’t even know they’re missing out,” you continue, somehow completely articulate despite waking up not ten minutes ago. “But they are. Like, they don’t know that they’re taxonomically classified as birds. So, like, they don’t know they’re a bird that can’t fly. And they’re the only ones that can’t fly. In the entire southern hemisphere.”

Every sentence is acknowledged by a gentle press of his lips.

Against your neck, God, you’re insufferable.

The freckle right behind your jaw, God, I’m obsessed with you.

The soft curve of your ear, God, never stop talking.

Jesus Christ, it’s true, you are insufferable. But he would lay here and listen to you read a Wikipedia article about regional variations of the protected left turn signal if it meant you stayed this close, tucked in his arms, forever.

“I’m sure there are other birds in the southern hemisphere, sweetheart,” he murmurs in your ear, eyes drifting closed as your warmth consecrates his. On his next breath, his arm tightens around your waist.

“Albatross,” you agree.

Jack nods, already half-asleep again. “Sure.”

“Skua.”

He opens one eye. “Suka?”

Genuinely, Jack has never heard of that one before.

“What the fu—?” You twist in his arms, head coming up to glare. “Did you just call me a bitch?”

His eyebrows retreat to their exasperated place high on his head before his eyes have even finished opening fully. “How could you have possibly gotten there?”

You narrow your eyes, singular eyebrow ticking up in response, scrutinizing the sincerity of his confusion. Content with whatever the fuck he guesses you see, you slowly slide back under him.

Jack blinks into the dim, blue-tinted air of the room, the glow of the streetlights outside barely brushing the edges of your faces, his mouth coming together in half-formed, extremely confused words.

Your lips, warm and close, graze against his neck with every syllable, and he tenses, fighting back a shiver. “Crazy metathesis there, Abbot. Skua. S-k-u-a. A seabird.”

“There’s no way that’s real. You’re making that up.”

A laugh ripples out of you, soft and sharp, shaking your small frame. Your laughter seems to fill the quiet, swirling with the distant patter of rain. “You think I’d go through the trouble of inventing fake polar-adjacent birds just to gaslight you about penguins?”

“Sounds exactly like the kind of thing you’d do,” he replies, fingers tracing absent, looping patterns along your side. Blankets slide off his arm with a soft rustle as you squirm under his touch.

You’re silent for a second.

He knows he got you.

And he knows you know he got you.

Checkmate, your voice echoes in his head, tugging the corners of his mouth into a fond smile.

A small, displeased sniff twitches your nose.

“Yeah, well, shut up, so…” you sulk.

The rain hitting the window grows louder, the once soft patter growing to a sharp tapping on the glass. It’s like the storm wakes up as you do, deafening all the earlier sirens and yelling people. Wrapped in the warmth, and the darkness, and the percussive sound of water dripping down the windowpane in winding rivulets, it feels like the world has been narrowed to just this room.

And he guesses that he’s rubbing off on you, because you keep talking through it all.

“What, so, do you think that even if they don’t know they’re penguins, they probably see other things with wings and are like, must be nice?” you ask. “Was that your point?”

Jack didn’t even have a point with his follow-up question. It was just something to keep you occupied, in the same way he gives his nieces an anatomically correct model heart to play with when they come over.

He just wants to keep hearing your voice. So, he hums, faux contemplative. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, or whatever.

“Could also be an innate longing to fly,” he says.

You squint over at him like he’s a very confusing legal document. “What?”

“Like how humans want to live in the forest and hunt and gather.”

You blink. “Do they?”

He nods against your neck, self-assured, and rumbles, “Deep evolutionary memory.”

“Uh-huh,” you mutter, skeptical.

Then, after a moment, he says, “There’s definitely something innate, alright.”

He doesn’t specify what.

You don’t press.

Mostly because you know Jack Abbot well enough to know he probably means something like the innate desire to go back to sleep.

“So you do you think they’re sad?”

“I think,” he shifts, settling more of his weight on you, which you receive with a happy sigh, “they go so long without something, they forget what the weight of that loss even feels like.”

He pauses, almost lets it stop there. But then Jack says, “Penguins also mate for life. I think. I saw it on a documentary.”

“Oh!” you whisper, soft and full of sleepy delight. “That could be us, Jack.”

Your voice curls around those four letters identifying him as him, dripping with sleep and affection and something bordering reverence. You always say it like that, like it means something, but tonight, with his watch blinking 3:07AM and a storm crawling outside the window and you curled up in his arms, it hits different. Hits deep. Like gospel. Like divine direction spoken through the mouth of the world’s most annoying, sleepy prophet.

Four simple letters, his truth and his life.

Jack’s hand finds the nape of your neck again, thumb rubbing slow circles into your hairline. He breathes in—long and deep and steady.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “that’s us.” 

A beat passes.

“Could’ve been puffins, though,” he mutters as an afterthought.

The quiet stretches.

Jack tightens his grip, just a little. Doesn’t know how else to say what’s caught in his chest.

“If they are sad,” he concludes, “Maybe it gets lighter when they’re with the one they love.”

Jack doesn’t expand, but he’s pretty sure this time he isn’t talking about the penguins. Not even a little. He’s talking about the way he said that’s us instead of that could be us. He’s talking about how you slot against him like a divinely ordained puzzle piece. About how, with you, loss doesn’t press so hard against his ribs.

Maybe penguins can’t fly.

But Jack knows—a bone-deep truth—that if you were a penguin, he’d learn. Even if his body wasn’t anatomically built for such an action, he’d learn. Just to show you the sky.

Your arms tighten around him, your hand sliding up to scratch lightly at his scalp. The touch undoes something in him. 

“I love you, know that?” you whisper.

His palm splays wide across your hip and he swallows.

“I know, kid.”

Then, more softly, “You love me too?”

And even though he’s half asleep and mulling over your avian philosophy, there’s zero hesitation.

“I love you more than I ever thought I’d get to,” he confesses softly.

The comforter slips a little as you shift, tangling your legs with his and nestling yourself closer beneath him.

It hits him sometimes, how much he loves you—hard and sudden, like a blow. The kind he’s trained to roll with. But there’s no training for this, no drill that teaches you what to do when someone curls up in your arms in the middle of the night and trusts you so absolutely, so unconsciously, that it feels like a genuine extension of the self.

You're ridiculous.

And he would do this for the rest of his life.

He would let you poke him awake at 3:00AM for every stupid, nonsensical question in your brain. He would spend every hour learning the rhythm of your thoughts, memorizing the way your voice gets sleepy and small when you ask if he still loves you like you’re not already written into his genetic code.

“I love you,” he whispers again.

God, he does. He loves you so much it’s physically stupid.

“I know.” You trail the tip of your nose across his chest and gently press a kiss right over where his heart beats. “Just like hearing you say it.”

“I’ll say it as many times as you need,” he murmurs. “I’ll write it on every fucking thing you bring Robby to sign if that’s what it takes.”

“Those go to insurance,” you mumble against his skin. “You can’t just write in love declarations.”

“Says who?”

“Canon law.”

“Sounds made up.”

“You’re made up.”

Jack laughs, full this time, chest vibrating under your ear.

He presses a kiss into your hair again. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

“I’m tryiiiiiiiing,” you whine petulantly. “You keep talking, Abbot.”

He shifts just slightly, hand smoothing down your back. You sigh in response, one of those unconscious sleepy noises that makes him bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from absolutely melting into the mattress.

Soft lips brush the hollow of his throat as you murmur something half-asleep, unintelligible, and Jack exhales sharply, jaw flexing once. It’s not fair—the way even your unconscious affection feels deliberate. The way you can press your mouth to his skin like that, so casual, and not realize you’re rewiring every nerve in his body.

He shifts on top of you, just enough to turn his head, to press a slow kiss to your crown.

“Jesus,” he mutters into your hair. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“You’re a doctor,” you murmur. “Just resuscitate yourself.”

Jack huffs a laugh, low and warm. “That’s not how that works.”

“Sure it is,” you insist. “They let you keep the paddles in your car, right?”

His brows pinch together. “No—”

“Then what’s the point of medical school?”

He huffs a laugh. Beneath him, you wiggle, trying to escape the air tickling the sensitive skin of your neck, and he groans.

“Honey, please,” Jack mutters, mouth still pressed against your skin. “Stop moving.”

You go still for half a second, just long enough to make him think he’s won, before you shift again—less of a sleepy squirm and a little more intentional—and his hips respond before the rest of him catches up.

“God, you’re so annoying,” Jack groans, the sound muffled where his mouth is pressed against your neck.

His hips shift against you again. Your breath hitches, hands scrambling for purchase at his shoulder, fingers clutching fabric and muscle like your body’s trying to ground yourself in him.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, barely audible. “But I’m yours.”

Something flickers across Jack’s face, and his hand slides lower, under your shirt and over the curve of your waist—broad palm settling flat against your skin like he could hold you together with touch alone. His thumb moves in slow, hypnotic circles, brushing tenderly just beneath your ribs.

“I’m yours,” you say again, quieter this time.

And Jack stills for half a second—just enough for you to feel the tremble that runs through him, the sharp exhale that catches on something jagged in his chest.

His breath stutters, raw.

“Goddamn right you are,” he murmurs, his voice thick and hoarse and impossibly soft.

He raises on his elbow just enough to see you, drinking you in like he needs to memorize every inch before he dares move another step forward. Then, slowly, deliberately, his mouth drops to your collarbone—gentle and unhurried, lips warm and reverent.

Not so much kissing your skin, as reading it like a sacred text.

Every gasp and mumbled word you say is repeated in kind. His quiet prayer, said as a devout disciple.

Every sound from your lips something new to learn and to replicate—answering each quiet whimper with the same patience and care you might use when translating something holy.

Every press of his mouth, devout exegesis. 

His nose nudges your shirt higher, one kiss at a time, until his mouth is moving over your sternum, your ribs, following the rhythm of your heart.

You breathe his name, barely a sound.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers into your skin. “You don’t have to do anything. Just let me take care of you.”

You nod before your brain even catches up. Of course. You’d fucking let him do anything.

He eases your shirt up, slow and careful, ceremonial in the way he lifts it from your body. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t tug or fumble. Every movement is tender, reverent, every inch uncovers a secret you’ve chosen to share with him, and he refuses to take it for granted.

And when he looks back up at you, his expression unravels. All the smartass quips and dry commentary gone. He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth believing in.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he breathes, voice cracking under the weight of sacrament. “You don’t even know.”

Fingertips dragging across your waist, featherlight, hesitant. His thumbs brush over the dip just beneath your ribs and his mouth follows, open and warm. He kisses your stomach like it means something. Like it’s sacred.

Your body arches under him, chasing the heat of his mouth, and he cradles your hips with both hands, trying to steady you—trying to steady himself.

You’re already trembling. You don’t even realize it until he whispers against your skin, “You’re shaking.”

You laugh soft, breathy, half-lost in the haze blooming behind your eyes. 

“Because you’re being so nice to me,” you murmur.

Jack lets out a shaky breath, chest tight. He presses his forehead to your bare stomach, arms tightening around your waist.

“God, you have no idea,” he says, muffled, “what I want to do to you.”

Then he’s slowly kissing up your chest, lips dragging languidly, following the dip between your ribs, the rise of your sternum, the hollow at the base of your throat—pausing, breathing, letting himself feel the shape of you with his mouth like you’re a language he’s only just starting to learn.

One hand drifts up to your face, fingers brushing tenderly through your hair, tucking it back with a care so gentle it makes your breath hitch. He tilts your chin slightly, and his mouth finds just below your jaw, warm and soft and deliberate. He lingers there, just for a moment, committing the cadence of your pulse to memory. Then your jaw. The corner of your mouth. The faintest brush of his lips, hesitant and full of awe—unsure whether kissing you is a right or a privilege.

And then he is kissing you. Fully. Deeply.

Like it’s the first time all over again.

Like he can’t quite believe you’re real, and even less that you’re his.

“I swear to God, I could die like this,” he breathes. “I could live like this. Please let me live like this.”

And you feel it, all of it. In his hands, in his voice, in the way his body fits against yours like it was made to be there.

You pull him in closer. There’s no space left between you, but it’s still not fucking enough. Not until his body is pressed to yours, bare and burning, skin to skin, and the sound he makes when he slides home is a choked-off groan that you feel in your ribs.

Your name slips from his lips like a prayer.

His movements are slow—agonizingly slow—like he’s not trying to fuck you, he’s just trying to stay inside this moment as long as he can.

His mouth finds yours again, and he kisses—soft and shaking and so full of love it leaves you breathless. He murmurs against your lips, praise and want and desperation all tangled together.

“So good,” he breathes. “So perfect for me. You’re mine. Say it again.”

Your eyes are damp, lips parted, breath catching with every push of his hips.

You cup his face, grounding him to you, and whisper, “I’m yours,” more certain this time.

Not a confession. A confirmation.

Jack groans softly, forehead dropping to press against yours like he’s trying to soak in the words, let them burn themselves into his bones. His hand cups your face, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, eyes flicking down to your lips as if he's still trying to process that you said it. That you mean it. That he gets to have this. Have you.

He kisses you again, slower this time. Deeper, with a quiet desperation. The kind of kiss that makes your chest ache. Like he’s trying to tell you all the things he doesn’t know how to say. Like he’s memorizing you molecule by molecule. 

And still, he doesn’t rush.

He shifts, just enough to press further into you, his body cradling yours like he was built for it. Like there’s nowhere else on Earth he could possibly belong. His hands move over you with care—palms dragging down your sides, fingers tracing every dip and rise of your body as though mapping something sacred.

“You feel like home,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. His voice sounds broken around the edges, like it’s unraveling under the weight of how much he means it.

You tilt your chin up to kiss him again, gentler now, your fingertips skimming through his hair, down the strong line of his back. 

The roll of his hips is unhurried, worshipping rather than commanding, and your breath catches on a soft gasp that he kisses off your lips. Each motion drags sparks across your nerves, and every one of them is lit by the way he looks at you. 

Like you’re something miraculous.

“I’ve never—” he breathes against your cheek, like the words are betraying him by coming out at all. “—never wanted anything like I want you.”

He’s trembling a little now too. Not from nerves. Overwhelmed in the way only someone completely, irrevocably in love can be.

“I’m right here,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his, bringing one hand to rest against your chest. Right over your heartbeat. And then you echo his words from earlier back to him, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And you feel him break open just a little more.

His mouth dips lower again, dragging a trail of kisses down your neck, across your collarbone. He presses his lips to the space just above your heart like he’s trying to seal your promise inside of him. His hands, ever careful, move with intention—cradling your body, anchoring your breath to his, grounding you both in the kind of intimacy that’s so deep it feels like silence.

And when you come—quiet, breathless, your whole body curling toward him—Jack holds you like he’s cradling something holy. Like he’s never known anything more divine. He follows not long after, his body shaking with the force of it, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a prayer.

Afterward, he doesn’t roll away. He doesn’t loosen his hold.

He just stays there. Wrapped around you. One hand pressed flat to your spine, the other curled protectively over your waist, lips brushing lazy kisses into your hair as your breaths slowly begin to sync again.

“Still mine?” he murmurs, voice warm and quiet and nearly drowsy.

You nuzzle into the curve of his neck. “Always.”

Jack hums, eyes fluttering closed. You feel the smile against your temple.

“Good,” he whispers. “That’s all I’ll ever need.”

You’ll fall asleep again soon, he knows. You always do. But Jack stays awake.

Just for a while.

Just to keep looking at you like this.

Because in another life, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten to have you. Maybe someone else would’ve held you like this. But he’s got you now. And no amount of battlefield trauma, or paperwork, or middle-of-the-night penguin debates is ever going to make him take that for granted.

He’s tired.

But he’s yours.

[mygnolia]

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

[cosmosluckycharms]

Bug Like Angel

pt4

See you soon

hey guys warning this chapter literally has none of the batfam here its highlighting reader being insterted into itsv-atsv

It has been a year since you had gotten bitten.

You were now 14

Since then you've lost a couple of people.

Your Gwen Stacy, who was instead named [REDACTED], was killed while you were trying to stop the green goblin.

You lost an officer you were close to. He died while protecting a kid.

You lost someone you considered an uncle.

You were tired.

Since then you've been training yourself, secretly fighting crime to not be seen by your family, and getting stronger in general.

Every day was sortve the same. Wake up, get ready, go to school, come home, eat, fight crime, sleep, repeat.

It all changed one day.

You had just gotten back from patrol.

You stopped 3 muggings and saved a cat from a tree.

It was a slow day, thankfully.

You were doing your homework peacefully.

You were almost done with your algebra homework when suddenly a portal popped up right next to you.

You couldn't process anything as the portal sucked you up and took you in.

The next thing you knew, you were stuck in an alternate universe with other versions of you.

And you had to get home soon ASAP no rocky if you didn't wanna die.

And that be all fine and dandy.

Except you didn't wanna get attached to anyone.

You didn't want them to exclude you and you to follow them around like a lost puppy like you did with your family.

And guess what?

You did get attached.

Peni, a small kid who was in a tiny robot fighting, was like a little sister to you.

Peter B. Parker, ham, and Noir were all like uncles to you.

Gwen and Miles were your cool older siblings.

You loved them.

And you hated that.

Because you knew deep down, you wouldn't get to see each other again.

You all were destined to be apart, due to your separate universes.

You got attached.

You were attached to noir and how his coat smelled like cigarettes and milkshakes.

You were attached to Ham and how he always cracked jokes when things got tense and awkward.

You were attached to peter b and how he talked about his past experiences.

You got attached to Peni and how she would use stickers everywhere.

You got attached to Miles and how stupidly awkward he was with Gwen.

You got attached to Gwen and how she gave you the advice you always needed and never got.

Fuck.

You didn't wanna go back to the manor.

This is the happiest you've been in a while.

This is home.

This is what family is supposed to feel like.

You can go on patrol here without worrying that your family might see you.

You are constantly smiling and laughing with the people here.

You're always catching yourself wishing you could stay here forever.

Other than the annoyingly painful glitching, you're so happy and excited.

You never wanna leave.

You were so proud of Miles and how he got everyone home.

You cried as soon as you landed back in your room.

You sobbed into your pillow. You're gonna miss them.

No one even noticed you were gone for a week.

No one noticed how bruised up you were.

No one noticed how sad you looked.

It's been 5 months since then.

You got invited to join the Spider Society.

Miguel saw you on patrol trying to fight an anomaly and failing miserably due to you never fully getting actual training.

You were trying! It's just that you didn't want your family to see you so its sort of hard to control a whole glitching green goblin...

Miguel took you into the spider society.

You saw Peter B in Miguel's office and immediately tackled him into a hug and shed a tear or two.

You learned that due to being a mix of two multiverses (Marvel and DC) your canon events were a tiny bit messed up.

Miguel explained everything, but everything was going through one ear and out the other.

You wondered if the others were here too.

You wondered if they missed you like you missed them.

Miguel could see how spaced out you were.

"What's wrong, Mija?"

"Are the others here? Like Gwen, Miles, ham, noir, and Peni? I know Peter's here, I saw him just now, but what about the others?"

He went on to explain how they hadn't been invited yet.

Later on, you begged him to at least invite Peni.

He couldn't resist your puppy dog eyes, so he said yes.

Since being introduced into society, you've slowly started getting used to just doing everything here.

You would go into Miguel's office for hours and hours just to be around him.

He was like the father you always wanted!

He would listen to you complain about your family, and he would always lend a shoulder to cry on.

On multiple occasions, he had to carry you back to your bed in your universe because you'd fall asleep in his office on the floor.

You both have gotten close.

Miguel was your emergency contact, always there when you needed him. Despite his intimidating appearance to others, he was never scary to you.

At one point you saw Gwen again, finally!

You were so happy! one step closer to getting everyone together again!

Slowly, you saw everyone again.

..Everyone except Miles.

You didn't understand, why not Miles?

You asked Miguel and he went on a tangent that did not make sense and just made you more confused.

You did get to meet Pavitr and Hobie.

Pavitr was basically your twin! You guys had similar personalities and had twin telepathy.

You and Pavitr were always playing cupid for miles and gwen.

You both were around the same age and everything!

Hobie is SO COOL!

His peircings, his guitar, his clothes, his slang!

You were in awe!

He taught you how to play your guitar! You were finally getting a hang of it!

He was like the older brother you never had!

You wanted to be like him so bad!

Youd follow him around like a duck a lot, but unlike your brothers back home, he'd never yell at you to stop or ignore you, he'd enjoy having you around!

When he and Gwen jokingly said they wanted to start a band, you really wanted to!

A couple of months later, you saw Miles again!

It wasn't in the best circumstances.

You had just gotten back from school. You were in your room scrolling on your phone, when suddenly your spidey senses tingled.

You saw Gwen hop out of a portal in the middle of your room.

"Hey! I kinda sort of need your help."

"what's going on?" you asked, tilting your head in curiosity, putting your phone face down on the bed.

Gwen went on to explain everything you missed.

From Gwen seeing miles to Miles tagging along onto Mamhatten in Pavitr's universe, and then to Miguel's body slamming him into a train and calling everyone to chase him.

Jeez, you don't go to the society for one day and everything goes to shit.

You thought about it for a second, no one would notice you not being here for a couple of days, right?

"..Alright, I've saved the multiverse once, I can do it again."

You sat up on your bed and grabbed your suit.

You grabbed Gwen's arm as she took you to a whole other universe.

After a lot of fighting, you all managed to save Miles's dad.

Seeing their family be happy together made you tear up in happiness.

They deserved to be happy.

After a lot of apologies from all parties, everything was still pretty awkward.

You've probably apologized to Miles over a million times despite him insisting it wasn't your fault.

Sure, you didn't help the others chase him, but you still didn't tell him about society.

Hell, you should've been there to defend him.

You should've yelled at Miguel from the beginning over him not letting Miles in his stupidly exclusive clubhouse.

Instead, you were scared Miguel was gonna bring you back to the manor and disown you, even if you knew he would never do that to you.

You should've stood by miles from the start.

It's never too late to make up for everything

oml this was kinda boring but i needed filler lol

honestly i might write a oneshot of all the spiderkids together

taglist (please tell me if i forgot to tag you!):

@bath1lda @mariadvorak @coralaura @tsxukikami @hjgdhghoe @coffeeaddictxd @cxcilla

[coffeewasamistake]

Fuck Around and Find Out

For the Mini Pride Bingo hosted by @genderthings.

[AO3]

Prompt: Crop Top | Rating: T | WC: 1583 | Relationships : Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington&Robin Buckley

Summary:

Robin gives Steve a makeover. Eddie is going to regret his mean comment about Steve's clothes.

It starts with a comment. A mean one, perhaps.

Okay, scratch that. Eddie had definitely been too mean this time.

For his defense, his whole thing is going against the grain. Fuck conformity, right? And Steve is his friend, but no one can deny that the guy’s wardrobe is the quintessence of conformity. He wears jock clothes, all the time.

But still. Eddie’s comment was mean.

And now he’s stuck in hell.

He really walked right into that one.

------

“Robin, what do you think about the way I dress?” She looks up, startled.

“What?”

“My clothes. Is there something wrong with them?”

She considers it. Steve is wearing typical boy jeans, with a typical boy polo-ish shirt. She looks down. His shoes are boy shoes.

“You dress like a guy, Dingus.”

He winces.

“Okay, but do I dress like a guy who dresses well? Or more like an asshole?”

“Where does it ever come from?” Steve is Steve. He can spend more than twenty minutes doing his hair in the morning, she saw it. He is a bit like a preening peacock, her boy. He can be insecure about some things, like his romantic life, but she has never seen him be worried about his clothes. He was the high school king, he knows how to dress. Something is up.

“Did someone told you your clothes weren’t nice?”

Steve hesitates. Bingo.

“Steven, who was it?” She tries to do her best Nancy imitation, but she can tell by the closed look on her best friend’s face that it’s not working that well.

“No one. It’s nothing! I just wanted your opinion, that’s all.”

She drops the magazine she was reading on the table and turns toward her boy.

“Listen, babe, there’s definitely something going on. I’m not asking for a name,” she’s going to get it anyway, whoever made Steve feel insecure is going to DIE, “but if you want my help, I need to know what the problem really is.”

Steve drums his fingers against the table. She waits.

“Eddie doesn’t like my clothes,” oh that bitch “apparently I dress, like, full jock. So, like an asshole I guess?” He looks small, for once. It’s not something she can tolerate.

Munson is an idiot, but she can’t exactly murder her best friend’s crush and bury his body in the woods. She doesn’t have the upper body strength needed to dig a hole big enough for his sad ass, and Steve would probably cry if the guy died, instead of helping her with the body. And they worked hard to save him from Vecna and like, half of Hawkins, so that would be a waste.

And damn it, she likes him when he doesn’t put his foot in his mouth. With a bit of effort, he could be a good boyfriend for Steve. But before that, he must suffer for his crimes against her best friend.

“Eddie is a dumbass who preaches about nonconformity but shit on everyone who has different tastes than him. Don’t take his stupid criticism to heart.”

Steve is silent for a moment. When he finally talks again, his tone is dull.

“I know, but he’s not totally wrong. I still dress like King Steve.”

Hum. Eddie may have hit something important here.

“Forget about Eddie for a second. Do you like your style?”

Steve looks down, biting his lip.

“Yes? Sort of? But I feel a bit boring sometimes.” He looks up. “Remember when we went to that gay bar in Indianapolis?”

Like she would ever forget about Steve flirting with lesbians for her. It had been so weird.

Strangely effective, though.

“Yes, Dingus, I remember the gay bar.”

“Everyone was so cool, I felt a bit underdressed.” He sounds small, again. She can’t stand it. “Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in the body of Steve From Before. The Asshole. So when Eddie told me I dressed like a jock…”

Robin feels her throat tighten. She had no idea Steve was hurting this way. She has to do something, and quick.

“Do you want my help? We can play around with clothes. See what you like.”

“Like a makeover?” Steve smile is faint, but there. It’s the important part.

“Yep.” She leans toward him. “A total reverse breakfast club.”

Steve whines and bury his face in his hands. “They did Allison so dirty.”

“I’ll reverse Allison you, babe.”

Steve’s smile is like a ray of sunshine.

“Let’s do it.”

Steve looks at the scissors in Robin’s hand with trepidation.

“You’re sure about that?”

“Be honest. Are you going to wear that tee-shirt ever again?”

The fabric in his hands is both stained and ripped. The bottom of the tee-shirt has fallen victim of Steve’s drunk shenanigans after a winning game. It had been fun at the time, but there had been no way of salvaging his clothes afterwards. He had thrown his shorts in the trash, but the tee-shirt had still s somehow ended up in the back of his closet.

"...No.”

“Then we can cut it!” Robin crows, triomphant. « We’re keeping the sporty look, because that’s very you, mister let’s run at 6 a.m., but we make it different. More fun. A bit slutty, too, if you want. »

Steve blinks. There’s something interesting here. If he can make something wearable to a gay bar…

It’s a thought. Maybe next time they drive to Indianapolis, he will not feel so out of place, like he doesn’t belong. Maybe a cute boy will look at him and not just see a stupid jock. He could kiss a boy who’s not dating a girl or is one bad morning away from breaking his face.

Maybe Eddie would change his mind about him. Who knows.

“Alright. Let’s do it.”

He grabs the scissors.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Steve freezes.

“Put it on first, if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

Ten minutes later, Steve is wearing jean shorts Robin procured from whoever knows, and a newly cropped tee-shirt. He… doesn’t dislike the way he looks. It’s fun. A bit sporty, a bit slutty. 

“What’s the verdict?” asks Robin, sprawled on his bed.

“Yeah. I think I look okay. I sort of dig it.” He hesitates. “I’m just… not quite sure it’s the best top ever.”

“But you like the length?”

“Yeah, definitely. It’s flattering. I wouldn’t wear it all the time, but on occasion, when it’s hot outside, it could be fun.”

Robin clasps her hands together.

“Perfect! Now that we have something cute for the summer, let’s find a good club look! Something a bit more in-your-face.”

Steve blinks. Stare at his bare stomach. At the shorts. He is already very much exposed. What does she want him to wear, mesh? Nothing?

“What?”

She’s already on her feet, rummaging in the pile of clothes on the bed to unearth her bag.

“We’re going shopping, Dingus! I know a couple of good thrift stores not too far from Hawkins, and you need clothes with more humph. I can’t do miracles, and sports uniforms and polo can only get us so far.”

Oh no. 

What did he get himself into?

----

As stated previously, Eddie is in hell.

Maybe his mean comment was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He did a number of questionable things in his life, and now he has to pay the price for it. 

“Do you want something to drink, Eddie?”

In front of him, his skin gleaming with sweat in the sweltering sun, stands Steve Harrington. Wearing tiny shorts.

And a fucking crop top.

It’s yellow. The exact color of his sweatshirt, the one he had thrown at his face just before diving into Lover’s Lake. Eddie feels like it needs saying. Steve Harrington is wearing a lovely little crop top that puts his whole toned stomach on display.

“Eddie?” Steve is frowning, like his exposed skin is not currently wreaking havoc on an innocent guy’s mind. Eddie’s brain is about to leak out of his ears. “Did you hear me? I asked you a question.”

He wants to answer, he does, but his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. He can’t talk, at all. Which may be for the best, because “the sweat of your toned stomach” is maybe not the answer Steve is waiting for.

“Mmmmrrrr.”

Steve blinks and walks toward him.

Jesus H. Christ.

A huge hand is put on his brow, and for a second, he truly believes he is dead. Steve Harrington is leaning over him, half-naked, touching him. 

This is insane.

“I don’t think you have a fever. Did you stay in the sun for too long, Eddie? You look a bit unwell.”

Finally, finally, Eddie finds the strength to talk.

“Never been better, my liege. Anything from your royal stores would be greatly appreciated, but if I could have a beer, I would be grateful.”

Steve snorts and takes a step back. It would be a tragedy, except it puts him back in the sun, and the light reflects on his sweaty, toned abs. 

Eddie is in heaven.

 Eddie is in hell.

“Okay, if you can be dramatic, you’re fine. I’ll get your beer.”

He turns around, and now, Eddie has not only a glorious view of his fantastic ass, but he can also see his lower back, and, oh.

He has dimples.

Steve Harrington has two little dimples on his back.

Eddie wants to bite them.

Fuck. He’s never going to survive this.

[dykebehaviour]

your loser ellie is so CUTE i need more 🫴

this place has... character

summary: you and your girlfriend finally move in together. although your apartment isn’t what you thought it would be, you make it your home.

cw: modern au, loser!ellie, slice of life, first apartment, domestic fluff, smut, sub!ellie, bottom!ellie, top!reader, fingering (ellie!receiving), oral (ellie!receiving), alcohol consumption.

moving in with your girlfriend was supposed to feel like a big, romantic milestone.

instead, you were standing in a hallway that smelled like weed, wet carpet, and old soup, holding a box labeled “important stuff (DO NOT SMUSH!!!)” in ellie’s aggressively capital-lettered handwriting, staring at the crooked apartment door that was supposed to be home now.

“you sure this is it?” you asked, eyeing the faded number on the door. was it a 5? an S? a 2 that had been through a war?

ellie, behind you, was sweating profusely even though it was like 65 degrees out. her hair stuck to her forehead under her backwards cap, and she was holding a box that was leaking something suspiciously green. “yeah-uh…yeah! this is totally it. see? look. 3b. or maybe 8b. i dunno, it’s charming.”

“ellie, this building has three floors. there is no 8b.”

“exactly. that’s what makes it cool.”

you gave her a look.

“…i panicked and picked the cheapest one on craigslist, okay?! it said ‘vintage aesthetic’ in the listing. that sounded nice.”

“that was probably about the roaches.”

“they have a rustic vibe,” she replied seriously, unlocking the door with keys that jingled like someone had looted them from a janitor in the '80s.

the door creaked open with a dramatic horror movie noise. you stepped inside and immediately sneezed. dust clouded the air like the apartment had been sealed off since the civil war.

“oh,” you said.

“oh,” ellie echoed, quieter. “it’s… bigger than i remember.”

there was a faint dripping sound coming from the bathroom. the sink in the kitchen looked like it was giving up on life. there was a mysterious stain on the ceiling that looked exactly like hayley williams, mid-performance.

“…did you even look at this place before you signed the lease?” you asked, turning to her.

“i saw pictures! online!” she said defensively. “i thought the weird yellow filter was just… a vibe. like, an Instagram thing.”

you blinked at her. “ellie, they were hiding water damage with a sepia tone.”

ellie looked genuinely baffled. “i didn’t even know you could do that…”

despite the overwhelming chaos, she looked so proud as she dropped the leaky box in the living room, which consisted of one window (painted shut), one closet (without a door), and one overhead light (flickering like a haunted house).

“this is our place,” she said, smiling at you like she’d just bought a castle.

you sighed, setting your box down gently. “it’s hideous.”

“it’s perfect.”

it was neither. but it was yours. together.

two hours later, ellie was hanging your framed totoro poster crookedly above the couch, which was just a futon she found on facebook marketplace for $20 and “a back massage from some guy named stan.” she refused to elaborate.

“this looks straight, right?” she asked, stepping back.

“it’s literally diagonal.”

“yeah, but like… artsy diagonal.”

you looked up from assembling the ikea shelf (which had about seventeen extra screws and instructions written in what you thought was swedish but might’ve just been threats). “ellie, the last time you said something was ‘artsy,’ we ended up with that cursed lamp that looks like a giraffe and a gun had a baby.”

she gasped. “you said you loved the lamp!”

“i was lying. it scares the cat.”

“we don’t even have a cat yet?”

CRASH.

you both froze. something had just fallen in the bathroom.

ellie grabbed a broom like it was a weapon. “stay here. i'll protect us.”

“ellie, no. we go in together. this is how people die in horror movies.”

she looked so serious. “exactly. i have to be the one that dies first. it’s lesbian horror rules.”

“…you’re an idiot.”

she winked. “your idiot.”

three hours later, the two of you were sitting on the floor, eating cold pizza because the oven tripped the breaker and now the whole apartment was dark except for your one lamp (not the giraffe one - it was unplugged for safety reasons).

ellie was dramatically holding a flashlight under her chin. “day three. the ceiling stain has begun whispering to me.”

you rolled your eyes and leaned against her, resting your head on her shoulder. “at least it’s quiet now.”

from the hallway: THUMP. THUMP. followed by someone screaming, “NO MORE FERRETS IN THE BATHROOM, DAVE.”

ellie blinked. “i stand corrected.”

you laughed - really laughed - until your stomach hurt.

it was a crappy apartment. the window didn’t open, the closet smelled like pickles, and the walls were probably made of cardboard. but ellie was here, babbling nonsense, burning the first dinner you tried to cook, knocking over your plants, and making you laugh even when everything around you looked like a disaster movie.

so, yeah.

this place had character.

but more importantly - it had ellie.

which made it perfect.

it started, as most things with ellie did, kind of stupidly.

she’d been trying to install a curtain rod with nothing but a butter knife and some unearned confidence. you’d walked in just in time to see the whole rod come crashing down and hit her in the forehead.

“shit-fuck! i meant to do that,” she’d said, standing frozen in front of the crooked window, one eye squinting like it helped hide her embarrassment.

you blinked at her. “ellie.”

“i was testing gravity. science.”

“…babe.”

“i’m bleeding a little. kiss it better?”

you gave her a long look, then walked over - not to check the tiny scrape on her forehead, but to kiss her, full-on, hands gripping her jaw as you tilted her back slightly. she hummed into it, instantly melting, her bravado short-circuiting the way it always did when you kissed her like you meant it.

and maybe it wasn’t about the scrape.

maybe it was about this moment - just the two of you in a too-hot, too-small, half-furnished apartment with water stains on the ceiling and boxes you still hadn’t unpacked. everything smelled faintly of paint and takeout. it didn’t matter.

because it was yours.

and she was yours.

and right now, you wanted to remind her of that.

you pushed her gently against the nearest wall, which creaked in a way that did not inspire confidence, and kissed her again, rougher this time, one hand tangled in her messy hair and the other slipping beneath the hem of her hoodie.

ellie made a sound - soft, desperate, already needy - and gripped your hips like she didn’t know what else to do with herself. “we don’t even have a real bed set up yet,” she breathed.

you pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. “we have a mattress. we have each other.”

she blinked. “that was hot and corny. say it again.”

you didn’t. you just grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the bedroom.

the mattress sat directly on the floor, rumpled with mismatched sheets. the curtain on the window was just a towel, and the only light came from a lamp plugged into a half-functional outlet that buzzed every time you turned it on.

ellie looked around, then at you, cheeks flushed. “this feels like the start of a bad porno.”

you smirked. “wanna make it a good one?”

she gulped.

you backed her toward the mattress slowly, fingers playing with the hem of her hoodie again, dragging it up inch by inch until she raised her arms and let you strip it off. no bra underneath, of course. she never wore one at home, and you loved that about her.

your eyes dragged down her body - lean muscle, pale freckled skin, a slight tremble in her thighs already like her body was anticipating you.

“you always look at me like you’re starving,” she whispered, breath catching.

“i am,” you murmured, and pushed her gently down onto the mattress.

ellie laid back, hands uncertain, mouth parted. “can i- do you want me to…?”

“you don’t have to do anything right now,” you said, leaning over her, “except feel good.”

you kissed down her throat, sucking a mark into her collarbone just because you could, then down to her chest, where her nipples peaked almost immediately under your tongue.

ellie whimpered, hips twitching, hands balling in the sheets.

“touch me,” she begged, already wrecked.

you kissed lower; her stomach, the waistband of her boxers. you hooked your fingers under them, dragging them down slowly, dragging your tongue along the edge of her hipbone on the way down just to watch her squirm.

“fuck, you’re teasing me,” she said, breathless.

you gave her a look. “you like it.”

she did.

you knew she did by the way her thighs trembled as you spread them apart, revealing just how soaked she already was. her folds glistened in the soft light. her clit was flushed and needy. you ran two fingers through the wetness, slow and deliberate, and she moaned like it hurt to be touched that gently.

you leaned down, licked her slowly - from entrance to clit - and she choked.

her hand flew to your hair, not pulling you closer exactly, just holding, grounding herself.

“god, i- don’t stop, please-“

you didn’t. you licked and sucked and circled your tongue just the way she liked, teasing her entrance with a finger until she was panting, hips jerking, legs falling further open like she didn’t care about control anymore.

“look at you,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to slip two fingers into her. she clenched tight around you, walls fluttering. “so fucking needy for me.”

she tried to say something smart. failed. whined instead.

you kissed her thigh. “use your words, baby.”

“i wanna come,” she gasped, eyes fluttering. “please make me come…i’m close…please-“

you started fucking her slowly with your fingers, thumb rubbing tight circles on her clit while your mouth worked the inside of her thigh, marking her up, worshipping her.

her hands were gripping the sheets so hard they creaked. her back arched. her moans were getting higher, desperate, completely shameless now.

you felt her tighten. knew the signs. the way her breathing broke. the way she said your name like it was a prayer.

and then she was coming, hard, legs shaking, face buried in her arm to muffle the sounds. her whole body went tense, then melted - absolutely undone.

you worked her through it, slow and gentle, until she finally collapsed with a dazed groan.

you pulled your fingers out and kissed her lips softly.

she blinked up at you, flushed and dumb and glowing. “we’re definitely getting our deposit taken.”

you laughed and flopped down beside her, brushing sweaty hair off her forehead.

“i love you,” she said, voice soft, a little stunned.

you smiled. “i know.”

“shut up. that was supposed to be romantic.”

“it was. i just blew your mind and your legs don’t work. you’re in love. i win.”

she groaned, rolling into your side. “you’re such an asshole.”

you kissed her again.

“yeah, but i’m your asshole.”

two weeks after moving in, you and ellie decided it was time for a housewarming party.

ellie called it a “rager.” you called it “maybe ten people and some chips.”

she insisted on designing an ‘event poster’ in microsoft paint.

you found it printed out and taped to your fridge with a caption that read:

‼️🔥WELCOME TO THE GAY PALACE 🔥‼️

free snacks! maybe karaoke! defo fun!

please don't mention the ceiling stain or the haunted lamp.

love, ur fav gfs🐸

and just below that, in large red comic sans:

BYOB or Bring Your Own Beans (either is fine)

6:00 pm

“okay,” you said, surveying the scene.

there was one folding table covered in mismatched cups, half a bag of tortilla chips, a tray of mystery meatballs from the dollar store, and three candles that smelled like ‘ocean breeze,’ pumpkin screams,’ and ‘basement memories.’ the air was confused. so were you.

ellie, covered in glitter for reasons she refused to explain, came skidding in from the kitchen. “i set up the karaoke machine!”

“that’s literally your phone and a youtube playlist.”

“and a dream, baby. don’t forget the dream.”

you stared. “…why are you sweating?”

“i…don’t worry about it.”

you would later find out she tried to make “rainbow jello shots” and ended up permanently dyeing the inside of a saucepan green. she told you it was “an artistic sacrifice.”

7:15 pm

your friends showed up first. one brought wine. another brought actual beans. ellie cried a little.

“this is the greatest night of my life,” she whispered emotionally, hugging the can of beans like it was her firstborn.

then ellie’s friends started showing up, and everything went downhill at light speed. jesse brought his entire ps5 setup for reasons no one understood. dina showed up with three types of hummus and absolutely no intention of sharing them. some guy named kyle from ellie’s class immediately got into a debate with your friend jamie about the moral implications of pesto.

you tried to sneak away for a breather. ellie cornered you in the hallway with two red solo cups and said, “hey. i brought you some punch. i don’t know what’s in it. i didn’t make it. but i trust it.”

you sipped it. it tasted like regret and watermelon.

“thanks, babe.”

8:22 pm

the smoke alarm went off.

not because of a fire.

because someone (ellie) put a candle under a balloon for “aesthetic purposes,” and it popped dramatically into the candle flame like a freaking firework.

screams. laughter. someone shouted, “IS THIS PERFORMANCE ART?”

ellie flailed in a circle with a broom yelling, “I GOT IT, I GOT IT, NOBODY PANIC!” and then whacked the alarm so hard it fell off the ceiling and hit jesse in the shoulder.

“i didn’t got it,” she whispered in defeat.

you helped her up from the floor and kissed her on the forehead.

9:00 pm

someone found the karaoke playlist and started performing lady gaga like their life depended on it. someone else made a shrine of leftover meatballs and candles in the corner. the haunted giraffe lamp was somehow… glowing?

you and ellie sat on the couch together, surrounded by sweaty, weird, wonderful people.

“okay,” she said, exhausted and leaning her head on your shoulder. “not gonna lie… i thought we’d be kicked out by now.”

you smiled. “give it time. the ceiling stain hasn’t spoken yet.”

she snorted, rubbing her eyes. “this is the dumbest party i’ve ever been to.”

“you planned it.”

“exactly.”

you looked around the mess. people were dancing, drinking, laughing, throwing pita chips like confetti. the radiator was making a weird humming noise. someone had put googly eyes on the microwave. It was pure, unfiltered nonsense.

10:13 pm

the fire alarm went off again.

this time no one panicked.

everyone just applauded.

ellie took a bow.

you watch her from across the room, giggling softly to yourself when you realise:

this is exactly where you are supposed to be.

in your shitty, run down apartment with your stupid, silly girlfriend who you love more than you ever thought you could love someone.

this is home.

perm taglist: @yasmilks , @frosttbitten , @lovemiraamira , @ellies-real-wife , @wewerewildandfluorescent , @jullsii , @eyesttokill , @dmenby3100 , @bunchogravie , @oneinameliann , @intheshadowofthestars , @pariiissssssss , @vanpalmertruther , @madsxh1022 , @rbnvrnxoxo , @firefly-ace , @alyaserrax , @silly-pigeon69 , @glassofgreenteapls , @pearlsiie , @aj0elap0l0gist , @sincerelyherz , @imsiriuslycool , @0phantom0 , @ggutpunch , @leeidk87 , @mikellie , @celiacallsitcasual , @gurlbownerr , @l0veylace , @bluminescent-moon , @oatmatchalatte , @hitmehardmommy , @iadorefineshyt , @jksevendays , @liztreez , @clemrules , @yourl0caltrash , @rootytootymeow , @thebadwritersposts , @vanillacigarettes777 , @soltwent <3

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | masterlist!

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"God loves you but not enough to save you,"

summary: In the small town near Austin, Texas, you are trapped in a life of rigid expectations and silent suffering. As the preacher's daughter, you endure the mental and physical abuse of your father while your mother, bound by obedience, offers quiet love. Your longing for a father's warmth finds an unexpected solace in Joel Miller, your father's best friend and neighbor. In Joel's presence, you discover a forbidden sanctuary, where your yearning heart is met with a gentle strength you've never known.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡

❝ to my love, Joel.

,...found you just to tell you that I made it real far, i never blamed you for loving me the way that you did.

while you were torn apart, i would still wait with you there.

don't think about it too hard, honey. or you'll never sleep a wink at night again.

and don't worry about me and these green eyes,

baby, just know that i love you. and i'll see you when you get here.

i love you forever, Joel... ❞

THE PLAYLIST! (on spotify)👰🏼‍♀️

the preacher's daughter ▪️ dbf! joel miller

MASTERLIST!🐇

Chapter 1: "But I always knew in the end, no one was coming to save me,"

Chapter 2: "Because that's how my daddy raised me,"

Chapter 3: "I watched him show his love through shades of black and blue"

Chapter 4: "He looks like he works with his hands, and smells like Marlboro reds,"

Chapter 5: "Because for the first time since I was a child, I could see a man who wasn't angry,"

Chapter 6: "Let him make a woman out of me,"

Chapter 7: "You wanna fuck me right now?"

Chapter 8: "The fates already fucked me sideways,"

Chapter 9: "Christ, forgive these bones I'm hiding,"

Chapter 10: "and that's why I could never go back home,"

Chapter 11: "I don't care where as long as you're with me,"

Chapter 12: "If it's meant to be, then it will be."

Chapter 13: "Beautiful people, beautiful problems."

Chapter 14: "You put your hands into your head, and then smile cover your hearts."

Chapter 15: "Something's bad is 'bout to happen to me,"

Chapter 16: "Tag, you're it."

Chapter 17: "If he's a serial killer then what's the worst that could happen to a girl who's already hurt?"

Chapter 18: "He's cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed"

Chapter 19: "Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise,"

Chapter 20: "You poor thing, sweet, mourning lamb. There's nothing you can do."

Chapter 21: "If we die tonight, I'd died yours."

Chapter 22: "I'm always going to be right here, no one's going anywhere"

-THE END-

read it on wattpad!

the preacher's daughter by babyvenoms

ENJOY! and if you guys have any like visuals to this, or art that you made for this I would love to put it here, just let me know! thank you!! 🩵

[rikas-musings]

TEARS ✶⋆

PAIR: Mark Grayson x Reader, Sinister! Mark x Reader, Mohawk! Mark x Reader, No Goggles! Mark x Reader, Viltrumite! Mark x Reader

SYNOPSIS: He finds you crying.

WARNINGS: mentions of violence, not too graphic though, emotionally constipated men

A/N : let me know if you guys liked these!! i love each variant in a different way mwhahah °ʚ(´꒳`)ɞ°

MAIN MARK

he's coming home, but it doesn't matter what from, because the moment he enters your place, the air feels thick, he calls out your name in a sing-song tone, hoping that will ease any tension.

he hears it then, a single shaky breath, and his eyebrows furrow. he rushes to your room to find you lying on your bed, curled up like something hurt, trying to sob quietly, make yourself smaller

rushing over, he panics. mark grayson is panicking because you look hurt, and he can't stand the sight of his partner hurt

"(Y/N)? Please tell me what's wrong, are you hurt?" he rasps in his voice, hands hovering over your body, looking at you like your entire body is a bruise

"I-I just tried to come back home and I tripped and skinned my knees, then I came home and ordered food and they messed it up, and then I tried to cook but it—" you're cut off by a sob racking through your body like thunder, every emotion is high and rehashing the horrible day makes you unable to stop

he gives you his puppy dog eyes before gently moving himself into the bed beside you caressing your face, and pressing his body agaisnt yours being careful to avoid grazing your knees

comfort, mark will always give you comfort he holds you close as your sobs die down to a sniffle

"I'm sorry your day was so bad... Let me help make it better, I'm gonna be right back." he gives you a small grin before pecking your forehead and speeding out of your place

he comes back 10 minutes later with a bowl of what looks like ice cream

"I got you gelato, it's from Italy, so it's the real deal." he bashfully hands you the bowl, and you flash him a smile, his ears tinge red

SINISTER MARK

this one is the most unstable; therefore, his responses can tend to vary depending on his mood, this man is devoted to you but he's not a lovesick fool

at first, he won't take you seriously, eyes watery, snot running, hair like a birds nest, he may even make fun of you because he doesn't think there's any real reason you have to be upset. he listens in rapture, a weird sense of pleasure he basks in while you sob, especially if you're crying over him, expect him to dryly laugh in your face if that's the case

"You're so cute when you cry, it's not like I'm ever letting you go."

"I-I Mark please," you'd beg, he'd stare at you with empty eyes, raking his fingers through your messy hair

now, if your tears are because of something someone did, like if someone, somehow, hurt you, he doesn't take kindly to someone hurting what's his, he'll lap at your tears while whispering how no one will ever touch you again, caressing your face, the person is already locked away, limbs cracked and bent wrong

"The dumbest vermin I've ever witnessed," he spat in their face before leaving them in the mess of their own bodily fluids

MOHAWK MARK

there's two versions of him in my head, one is more callous, and finds it hard to speak sweet things to you, the other does it easily because he loves big, gross and obsessively (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

this mark is unhinged but differently, his eyes shoot over to you crying, and at first he also wishes to laugh a little because c'mon they look so cute crying like that

that dies down quick when your fingers dig into your scalp, desperation clawing into your fingertips— seeping out like spilled water, he's suddenly worried, not used to the feeling, he'll charge towards you, gripping your shoulders like that'll bring you back here, to him in this moment

"Hey, hey, come on, talk to me, what's wrong?"

you're choking on your own spit, and he's getting increasingly more frustrated with your inability to talk. seeing you like this makes him feel wrong; he doesn't like it

"I just, I can't do this," you heave through your chest, he grabs your head and places it on his chest. you hear the thump in his chest, his heart beating just slightly above normal. for a second, he feels human

shakily, your fingers grasp at him instead, clawing their way into him, never hurting him—because that's nearly impossible for you, but you calm down. he lets out a sigh of relief, he's not always there with words, in fact, he sometimes says things that make it worse. so he resorts to letting you know he is there in this moment with you

NO GOGGLES

this one may be a little freak, but deep down he does care about you.....

you're crying— and he doesn't flinch at first, nor does he take the most pleasure out of it either. he is used to hurting people, and normally, he takes immense pleasure in it, especially if they manage to hurt him, but something about seeing your tear-stained cheeks mixed with your pout makes him feel almost... sad? it feels weird to say it out loud

"Don't be that way, c'mon... what happened?" he's already sighing and pulling you into his chest, relishing in the feeling of you weak in his arms; hearing your pulse run like a rabbit his voice honeyed over your ear

you murmur something about not feeling good enough, and he's genuinely confused, fingers tousled in your hair his voice comes out louder then he means to

"If I choose to have you by my side, trust me, you are enough." his voice comes matter-of-factly as he flashes you a grin, you jump a little at the volume but nod your head in agreement

VILTRUMITE MARK

he's most different from all of them; he doesn't hurt because he wants to, it's because he believes he needs to

so when he sees you, the one person he doesn't hurt, no—chooses not to hurt, cry? he isn't sure if he should be upset or not. years of Viltrumite missions have numbed him out to things such as human emotion, so then why does he feel... like something's off, he feels something wrong in the pit of his stomach, like his organs are suddenly heavier in his body

your weak form curled into the couch, shaking like the entire world is screaming at you, he twitches, subtle but there

he begins to make his way to you, smoothing out your hair, almost coaxing you to come out, but he doesn't speak

not yet

your head cranes up to him slowly, and you know something is off with him, you can tell, the subtle expressions, the little twitches, everything that no one else noticed

so when he silently holds your hand, you let him. a tear falls from your eyes and lands on his hand interlaced with yours, you watch his hand tense, just barely, like you'd stung him

"Why?" one word, one syllable, cuts through the air, his voice like a whisper in the apartment, hushing itself like everyone in the world could hear him

"i felt alone." one sentence, one feeling, yet lots of tears, mark feels something in his stomach turn, and his hand tightens again, just slightly

enough to notice

"I'm... not going anywhere," he eventually says after the long silence you two sit in, and you twitch, just barely, enough for him to notice "..so don't feel alone, not with me, never with me." he finishes

this is definitely one of the earlier times of your vulnerability with mark, so he's not as vocal as he would be in the future; nonetheless, you feel a hint of comfort in the sureness of his words. he doesn't say things like that if he doesn't mean it

[mmisosoupp]

Things I think the haikyuu boys would do before dating you

(Karasuno ver.)

Hinata

•Most definitely confides in you.

•does anything that he can do to attempt to impress you. Weather being trying extra hard in his classes, trying a super cool new attack, or even just talking about things that he did that he deems a cool.

•is pretty touchy, not in a weird way. But he tends to somehow get his hands on you one way or another.

•He gets so hyped up seeing you at any sort of volleyball game, and he tries extra hard to do something cool and / or win.

Kageyama

•I personally believe he pays a lot of attention to things that aren't volleyball and that transfers to you. You tell him about a show you liked once three weeks ago? Yeah, he remembers and asks you about it when a new episode comes out.

•He tries his best to compliment you. He's not very good at it though, but I promise he tries.

•usally isn't a good listener, but for you he is, it's like a switch clicks on when you talk that has him zeroed into your rants and rambles

Yamaguchi

•He LIVES to complement you. There isn't a day where he isn't saying you look amazing or that he likes the way you did your hair that day.

•he's not very fond of touching. Like he would normally be very uncomfortable If someone tried to hug him. But every time you hug him, he melts into your touch, like he could be there all day.

•He will NEVER, and I mean never let you feel left out. He knows what it feels like to be left out and he wouldn't ever wish that on you.

•(metaphorically) dies when you get too close to him. His freckled face turns a bright shade of read.

Tsukishima

•somehow gets snarkier with you. But not in a bullying sense, he doesn't tease you more than anyone else. If you can tease him back, OH he has a field day.

•not only does he get snarkier, but he's also nicer to you. Especially if it's around other people who annoy him (hinata and kageyama)

It's kinda scary how nice he becomes.

•takes geuine interest in the things you talk about, especially if you do the same for him.

Tanaka

•you get the kiyoko treatment I fear. So if you don't like that, sucks to be you.

•another one who tries his hardest to impress you. He tries his best fo score extra points during a game or just look cool.

•is incredibly bashful. Dude, in private, he's internally panicking because he doesn't want to embarrass himself in front of you.

Nishinoya

•literally says I love you to you. "I love you, yknow that?" Good morning and goodnight texts "Goodnight, I love you" "Good morning, love youuu"

•gets you things that reminds him of you, a pair of socks with your favorite animal. Bought. A bracelet with your favorite colors on it. Also bought.

Sugawara

•flirts I don't care. you both have definitely made out "as friends"

•uses nicknames on you like "darling" or "my love" again just as friends, right? (No he's deeply in love with you)

•takes so many pictures with you. Like he has an album just of selfie with him titled: K + (your initial), he would die if you saw that folder name

Daichi

•pays extra attention to you, another one who buys things that remind him of you. He's gotten you a key chain of your favorite character that you cherish now.

•is protective of you but not OVERprotective. But he's always making sure you don't get hurt. (Not that he wouldn't mind taking care of you) He's a natural care taker due to being the oldest of his siblings.

•is always subconsciously bringing you up in conversations with the other third years. Poor guy doesn't even realize it.

Asahi

•is always showing you his sketches of outfits he's drawn, somehow they're always very close to your style (I wonder why that is..)

•He reassures you anytime you feel down. He never wants you to feel upset. I mean if he knows what it feels like to not be happy with himself why would he want you to feel the same?

•cuddlebug even before the relationship, you two are latched to each other's hip. Always touching each other.

•let's you play with his hair a the time. Usally he wouldn't let people touch his hair but he can make an exception.

[moldycheezeit]

Prologue

Before You read I'm letting you know again this is the first time I've ever written fan fiction so if it sucks I'm sorry. :(  This does have swearing and mentions of death and blood. Also I think I'm just going to make batsis just a mix of Nami and Uraraka b/c idk how to incorporate Mitsuri into her. And if you watch mha or one piece I'm sorry if I don't make batsis accurate to both characters, even though I've watched both shows I feel like I'll mess it up somehow.

By the time you were born Bruce Wayne and his wife, your mother, had adopted Richard Grayson also known as the first robin or Dick. Your mother was heavily pregnant at the time and about to pop. But when the birth happened about a month later something went wrong, she lost too much blood and did make it. Overcome with grief Bruce nor Dick could look at you, because they couldn’t see a daughter/sister all they would see was the thing that killed somebody whom they loved. 

This caused Alfred to be the one who had named you because no one else would, so Alfred picked the name (y/n). He can remember how much your mom loved the name. But let's interrupt the sadness if you had to talk about your run in with your so called “family” it would be like this…

Dick would talk to you but it’s not like he enjoyed or wanted to so he made excuse after excuse to get out of talking with you. Like how he’d said “ I’m sorry (y/n) but Damian asked me to help him study you know how it is.” you knew he really meant training with Damian. another lie he'd say was “oh I’m busy at the moment i'll catch you next time.” which was never.

Jason was a great brother. keyword was, when he first joined he loved to hang out with you even if you couldn’t do much because you were a toddler. When he died no one told you well Alfred tried to explain that Jason would never come back but all it did was confuse you and made you start looking all around the manor for him hoping he would appear. When he did return you were 10 and wow was he an ass. When you tried to talk or bond with him like you used to he’d yell things like “go the fuck away” or “stop being such a whiny princess” God that man got irritated easily.

Tim, well you didn’t really talk to him. I mean you tried to, he seemed to like similar things to you, like building and inventing gadgets. But all he did when you tried to talk to him was just look at you with disgust in his eyes. Well screw him too. 

Now Damian what to say about this demon you're related to. The first time you met him was when you were 16, you were 2 years older than him. And kinda excited to meet someone other than Bruce you're related to by blood. God how blind you were. Damian had walked into the library while trying to find his way around the Wayne manor.

“Oh hello I’m (y/n) you must be Damian, Alfred had said you were to arrive some time today.” you had happily said to him. But he took one look at you and had the impression of who you were. “Tch.” Was all that was said but you knew instantly he thought you were some weak defenseless bimbo.

Bruce, god how you hate being related to this man. As you could tell he practically seemed to blame you for your mothers death. Like how is it your fault, you couldn't control if she was going to live or die. Anyways the man seemed to not care for what you do and where you are. The media doesn't even know about you so why bother acting like he cares. But why do you care about what he thinks you can practically have done everything on your own. Some father he is.

Lastly Alfred. He's the man that practically raised you. He was there for you when you were younger but the older you got the more you pulled away from him. You love him but anytime you bad mouth any of you “family” he instantly defends them.  You also have to remember he serves the whole family, not just you.

YIPPIE I FINALLY FINISHED IT (≧∇≦) hopefully you guys liked it. Well thats it for rn buy :)

Taglist: @cxcilla @starslightzz @jackchanzzz

[uss-butterscotch]

Part 6! If you haven’t seen already i’m working on naming this fic so if you want to vote for your favorite option it should be just a few posts down on my blog :)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

(cw for vague reference to child abuse. It’s literally like one throwaway sentence but just in case!)

~

“I keep having nightmares,” she started quietly, “I’m too late to stop Billy from hurting Steve, or the syringe is empty and it doesn’t work, and he kills Steve and then he kills Lucas, then Dustin, then Mike, and I’m yelling at him to stop, but he doesn’t. Because screaming didn’t stop him in real life.”

Eddie was reeling slightly from that alone, he didn’t have time to think of anything reassuring to say before she was talking again.

“Or, it’s the mall. And Billy doesn’t- he lets Jane die. And he laughs at me like I’m stupid for believing he could be better.” She looked back to Eddie then, “And that’s the worst part. Because that’s not what happened. He did do the right thing for once and it got him killed.

“And it all makes me hate him even more, because even after he’s dead, he won’t stop fucking with me!” And there. Finally something Eddie could work with.

Her hands were clenched hard, knuckles turning white. She finally seemed done with her train of thought, breathing slightly heavy, and glaring a hole through the windshield. Eddie nodded, but kept his eyes on the road ahead of him.

“That sucks, Red, I’m sorry.” He rapped his knuckles against the steering wheel lightly, “My dad was in and out of jail most of my life. On the occasion that he was out he was a mean drunk, to me and my mom, the supposed love of his life.”

He rolled his eyes at that. “If he had really cared about her, he would have tried harder to clean up his act when she got sick. But he didn’t, and we couldn’t afford her treatments, and she died. And I hated him so much.

“And then about a year later, he dropped me off with Wayne, said he had some business to take care of in Indy, but he’d see me soon.”

Eddie scoffed sarcastically, shaking his head. “Not too long after that, Wayne gets a lovely visit from the sheriff’s department with news that his brother’s dead, killed in some sort of deal gone wrong. They said from witness statements it sounded like he was trying to to get money back from someone who owed him or something, and to top it all off, his nephew, one Eddison Munson, seemed to be missing-“

“Your name is Eddison?” Max interrupted, a mocking smirk peeking through the panic from before.

“Yes,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes, “what’s yours? Maximillian?”

“Sure.” She said, crossing her arms and settling into her seat. “I would have guessed Edward. Or maybe Edwin.”

Eddie shrugged. “Eddison was like, my mom’s grandpa’s name or something. I never met the guy, but I guess he sort of raised my mom.”

Eddie waved a hand around wildly, needing to steer the subject away from that topic quickly. “Anyway! If I may continue,” he paused to give Max an opportunity to tell him to shut up. When she didn’t, he went on, “after the situation was sorted out, and it was declared I needed a new legal guardian because I was fresh out of parents, I started living with Wayne full time.”

The school was rapidly approaching, so Eddie tried to summarize his points as quickly as possible. “Point is, I was so confused and angry for years. I wondered if he knew how dangerous what he was doing would be, and he kept me away from it to keep me safe for once in his stupid life. I wondered what life might have been like if he had gotten whatever money he went there to get and used it to make things better for us. I had a million questions and a million theories. But none of those ideas fit with the asshole I knew he was, and then I was mad at myself for even thinking that highly of him. For thinking he could change. And worst of all, I would never know the truth.”

He parked the van and shut the engine off. “It took me a long time, and a lot of serious conversations with my uncle that he had to practically drag me kicking and screaming into having, to know what to do with that anger. To work on accepting life’s unknowns.”

Max looked at him, chewing on her cheek. He hoped he wasn’t imagining it, but something in her gaze looked a little softer.

As he opened his own door, he said, “You don’t have to talk about it now, and you don’t have to talk about it to me, but you should talk someone. Eventually.”

He got out, closed the door behind him. When he noticed she was still in her seat he walked around the van and opened her door. “Ideally, you do it before it makes you do something really stupid just to feel something else besides the anger and the grief.”

He stepped aside to give her space to exit the vehicle and she slid out of the seat. He made a show of taking his time to lock up the van to give her a head-start into the school. He watched as she made her way to the doors, and was surprised when, for the first time since they had been driving together, she veered off her path to meet someone. When he realized who it was, Eddie chuckled to himself. He made his own way to the school and gave a two fingered salute to Sinclair and Henderson, who were joined by Max (and smiling so wide their cheeks had to be burning).

He made his way into the school and to his first period class, pleased to be able to check this side quest off.

Part 7

[its-tuff-out-here]

Pairing : Sylus x fem!reader

Masterlist

After hours of convincing, Sylus finally persuaded you into staying for a few days in Onychinus. But of course, his luck is forever terrible. Only a few hours into spending time with you, he was forced into doing some paperwork.

One of his accomplices died and now he has to find a new dealer for his weaponry. Of course, if he really wanted to, he can just go and steal the weapons himself. The twins might even be excited by the idea of a heist, but that's too troublesome. He has enough enemies, he doesn't need more as of right now.

As he looks through the list of businesses in the N109 zone, he suddenly hears a small gasp. Quickly, he looks up to find you on his couch that he brought into his office just for you.

You're reading some random book. It doesn't have a cover, so he can't make out what it is. Your brows are furrowed and you look at the letters on the book as if personally offended by it.

Not wanting to disturb your obvious focus, he goes back to his own inked papers. But of course he can never last long without looking back up at you. Especially not with how you suddenly slam the book closed.

He once again looks up and sees you sitting on the couch with the book on the opposite end of the couch.

Finally, he speaks up. "Something troubling you, kitten?" He asks, a hint of a smirk perched on his lips as he tilts his head.

You finally look up, your glare immediately gone as you look at him in surprise. As if you forgot he was even there.

"Oh! I'm sorry, did I disrupt your work?" You ask, worried since the twins made his paperwork sound really important.

His amusement grows, as does his smirk. "No, I just needed to rest my eyes for a moment." He lies smoothly. "Now, back to my question..."

Your brows furrow in confusion before quickly perking up as you remember what he asked. "No, I'm okay. Why?"

"You looked like the book committed heinous crimes towards you. You were glaring at it so hard, i was almost worried you'd light it on fire with your eyes alone." He teases as he leans back against his chair.

You huff and slouch against the backrest of the couch. "The book is being mean, Sy." You accuse.

The man grins at your annoyance. Always amused when you're upset at something trivial that doesn't include him.

"Yeah? Why's that?" He asks.

Sylus pushes his chair back a bit and pats his lap. Silent order to come and sit.

Never passing up the opportunity to be pressed up against him, you get up and casually scurry onto his lap where he pulls you close and wraps an arm around your waist lazily.

"Okay, so-" you take in a deep breath as you prepare yourself to rant, "there's this character in the book. I already forgot his name, but it's irrelevant because he SUCKS! I choose not to remember the names of assholes-"

Sylus cuts you off, "You constantly call me an asshole." He points out.

"Yes, but you're an attractive asshole who treats me well. So you get special treatment." You explain. "Now stop interrupting me."

He raises a hand in mock surrender and lets you continue.

"Anyways, he was a bad guy. His wife risked her life and died for his daughter. And because of that, he began neglecting and abusing the daughter! And then he even sold her off! Who does that to their kid!? Your wife laid her life down for your daughter, just for you to abuse and get rid of her?! First of all, shit dad. Second of all, shit husband! You just basically let your wife die in vain!" You shout, your voice increasing in volume slowly as you get more annoyed by the old man.

Sylus hums in acknowledgment as you speak, letting you know he's listening. Gently stroking your thigh in a calming manner.

"And that's not even the part that got me mad." You inform him.

"No?" He can't help but ask in amusement.

"No." You confirm.

"At the end, they ended up killing him. Which is great of course. But his death was so quick and anticlimactic!" You exclaim. "For the record, I didn't even inform you of the specifics of all of his monstrosities. But just know, it warranted much more than a fricking neck snap! They should've imprisoned him and prolonged his death!"

Sylus' brow raises in surprised mirth. "That doesn't sound very noble hunter of you, sweetie." He teases.

You wave off his comment. " Being a hunter means protecting the people and serving justice! And in this case, justice was not served properly!" You say righteously as you throw an arm up dramatically.

"Alright, alright." He chuckles as he gently grabs your raised hand and brings it down to your lap as he strokes your knuckles with his thumb. "How about we both take a break, hmm? You need to rest your eyes after reading for so long."

You immediately shake your head. "No, thank you. I'm almost done with the book. I need to finish it or else I'll get too distracted by something else and never pick the book up again."

"How many pages do you have left?' He asks, knowing you always check the amount of pages a book has before reading.

You avoid eye contact. " Around 100..."

Before he can even react to your words, you immediately begin your argument. "But that's not even that much, honey! I'm considered to be a fast reader! Or at least I personally think so. So I can finish this before the time of day becomes to late!"

Sylus gives you a pointed look. "When did you start reading?"

"12 PM."

"What time is it currently?"

You glance down at his watch. "6:23 PM."

"When did you last eat? Much less drank water?"

You slowly look away, avoiding eye contact.

He pinches your chin gently and turns your head to face him. "Well?"

You huff. "10 AM."

He sighs, not at all surprised. He merely gets up, carrying you with one arm, as he walks out of his office.

And of course, straight to the kitchen.