#not advisable first aid

[eabhva]

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[deadpresidents]

"What emerged in two interviews with Trump, and conversations with more than a dozen of his closest advisers and confidants, were the outlines of an imperial presidency that would reshape America and its role in the world. To carry out a deportation operation designed to remove more than 11 millions people from the country, Trump told me, he would be willing to build migrant detention camps and deploy the U.S. military, both at the border and inland. He would let red states monitor women's pregnancies and prosecute those who violate abortion bans. He would, at his personal discretion, withhold funds appropriated by Congress, according to top advisers. He would be willing to fire a U.S. Attorney who doesn't carry out his order to prosecute someone, breaking with a tradition of independent law enforcement that dates from America's founding. He is weighing pardons for every one of his supporters accused of attacking the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, more than 800 of whom have pleaded guilty or been convicted by a jury. He might not come to the aid of an attacked ally in Europe or Asia if he felt that country wasn't paying enough for its own defense. He would gut the U.S. civil service, deploy the National Guard to American cities as he sees fit, close the White House pandemic-preparedness office, and staff his Administration with acolytes who back his false assertion that the 2020 election was stolen."

-- "How Far Would He Go", TIME Magazine's interviews with Donald Trump, April 30, 2024.

I know we're saturated in coverage of Trump and it's easy (and probably better for our mental health) to usually ignore most of the articles when we see them, especially since he's so full of shit and infuriating. But it's also important to recognize that he is going to be the Republican nominee for President and he could absolutely be elected in November, and if you thought his first term was scary and dangerous, you need to understand that in a second term he's going to have people around him that are better prepared and VERY willing to do the crazy shit that he wants to do to this country. They aren't even hiding the fact that they are seeking vengeance against political opponents whom they feel have wronged them, and are ready to fundamentally dismantle the democratic foundations that are barely holding this country together after nearly 250 years.

Just look at what Trump says about the people who he incited to attack the United States Capitol in an attempt to overturn the results of the 2020 election and halt the peaceful transfer of power that has happened every four years since 1789:

"Trump has sought to recast an insurrectionist riot as an act of patriotism. 'I call them the J-6 patriots,' he say. When I ask whether he would consider pardoning every one of them, he says, 'Yes, absolutely.' As Trump faces dozens of felony charges, including for election interference, conspiracy to defraud the United States, willful retention of national-security secrets, and falsifying business records to conceal hush-money payments, he has tried to turn legal peril into a badge of honor."

Oh, and please note that Trump -- a former President of the United States and possible future President of the United States -- said on the record in these interviews with TIME: "There is a definite antiwhite feeling in the country and that can't be allowed either." We are at a point where political leaders are outright saying that in this country again, and it's because of Donald Trump.

So, take the time to recognize that Trump is straight-up telling us the country we're going to be living in if he wins again in November. And understand that your vote matters -- and WHO you vote for matters -- because, as I've been saying for years now, ELECTIONS HAVE FUCKING CONSEQUENCES.

[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

[clearestbluest]

what I am gathering from my dash tonight is that I really should update my first aid kit.

[lady-luckk]

Can I get more magical girl content? I love magical girls so much :3

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ lights, glitter, action!!!

# pairings: yandere batfam x magical girl reader

# synopsis: you randomly fall out of the sky and into the arms of the batfamily. now you get to experience wacky adventures with them.

# warnings: this will contain dark themes such as obsession and possessiveness. if you are uncomfortable, please block me. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI.

# notes: reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated!

thinking of a drabble about a magical girl (aka you) who crash-lands—quite literally—into gotham, face-first into a rooftop during a red hood stakeout. your transformation sequence sparks brighter than the bat-signal, and jason todd immediately points a gun at you before you finish your glittery intro pose. “i am celestia radiant, guardian of purity and—” click “you’ve got three seconds to explain the sparkles.”

“do not shoot that sparkly person,” dick grayson says through comms, voice full of older brother exhaustion. “that’s not a sentence i thought i’d say today, but here we are.”

you insist your wand only “dispels negativity,” which doesn’t go over well when you try to boop jason with it and his helmet actually falls off. “what the—kid, that thing costs more than your tiara.”

tim drake attempts to scan you with his tech. the scanner explodes in pink glitter. he blinks. “great. now my system’s infected with lisa frank malware.”

“i can sense your inner turmoil,” you tell him, solemnly. “do you even sleep?”

“define sleep.”

“when your soul regenerates through restful peace.”

“yeah, no. i run on coffee, spite, and childhood trauma.”

damian challenges you immediately and calls you “a delusional pastel distraction.” you politely deck him with a glitter beam. alfred bandages him while muttering, “perhaps don’t insult people with projectile sparkles next time.”

you enter the batcave and gasps, “so much repressed emotion... this place reeks of unhealed trauma!” bruce walks out of the shadows and deadpans, “welcome to gotham.”

dick pokes your wand, curious. it responds by turning into a cat. neither of them say anything. they just nod like this is normal.

bruce finally sits you down and says, “are you a threat?”

“only to sadness, injustice, and tight schedules.”

“...”

you’re officially listed in the batcomputer as “magical girl (?) – harmless (???) – very pink (confirmed).”

after months of you showing up to “aid gotham’s bravest hearts,” the batfam starts developing a crushing, all-consuming soft spot for you—like an airborne glitter virus of affection.

jason is furious about it.

“they’re weird, they’re loud, and they smells like vanilla cupcakes!”

“you mean the vanilla cupcakes you keep stealing from them?”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT.”

dick develops a habit of dramatically appearing next to you with his shirt slightly torn. “oops, must’ve gotten grazed again. guess i need magical healing?”

“you’ve got twelve band-aids on and none of them are real wounds,” tim whispers.

“don’t ruin this for me.”

tim claims he’s above it all. “we don’t even know what dimension they’re from.”

“your made them a custom batphone,” jason says.

“for tactical reasons.”

“it’s shaped like a heart.”

“tactical. heartline security.”

damian insists he feels nothing. "you’re a distraction." but when you calls him “gallant” after he saves a kitten, he literally freezes. the kitten escapes. he doesn’t notice. he’s still staring.

bruce has, very clearly, stated:

“i don’t care about you personally.” completely straight-faced. like he’s reading a grocery list. everyone heard it. everyone quotes it.

and yet… every time you so much as glance at something remotely out of budget, he’s already pulled out his black card.

“i’m just funding mission efficiency,” he says.

“that’s a limited-edition 40th anniversary magical cow figure from meow meow doki.”

“you seemed interested. we might need it.”

you mention wanting snacks once during patrol. the next day, the cave fridge is stocked with every brand you’ve ever casually mentioned.

“it’s for team morale,” bruce says, not making eye contact.

“you bought six flavors of celestial-themed ice cream.”

“they were on sale.”

you say it’s cold in your room once.

bruce upgrades the entire manor’s heating system by the end of the day.

“old wiring,” he says. “dangerous.”

over time it becomes apparent that they’ve grown an unhealthy attachment towards you.

whenever dick spots you, he clings to you like he can't bear to be apart. he’ll throw his arm around your shoulders with a grin, holding you a little too tightly. “did you miss me?” he’ll ask, leaning in just a little too close as he whispers in your ear. you can feel the weight of his gaze even when he’s not looking directly at you

jason has a habit of “accidentally” touching you. when you're walking together, his fingers will brush against yours, lingering just a second longer than necessary. he’ll give you a low, almost inaudible chuckle when you flinch. “i know you don’t mind,” he’ll say with a wicked grin, his hand remaining a little too close to yours.

tim loves to stand behind you when you’re busy, too close for comfort. you’ll feel his breath on your neck, his fingers lightly brushing against your back as he "casually" adjusts your chair. “just making sure you're comfortable,” he’ll say with a tone that feels like more than just a comment. when you turn around, he’s already walking away, as if he never meant to invade your space at all.

damian doesn’t shy away from showing his possessiveness. if you're out in public, he’ll stand a little too close to you, his presence always hovering just behind you like a shadow. sometimes, when you’re sitting, he’ll casually rest his hand on your knee, as if to remind you that you’re his responsibility. “stay close,” he’ll say, his voice unyielding.

bruce doesn't need to say much; his actions speak louder. he’ll touch your arm with a hand that's just firm enough to be a reminder. if you're sitting near him, he’ll make sure his leg brushes against yours, the slightest physical connection making it clear he's always aware of your presence. “are you comfortable?” he’ll ask, his gaze unreadable as if keeping you within his reach is the only thing that matters.

something that i've wondered was what people did during those long ass magical girl transformation.

imagine this: the city was in chaos. explosions echoed in the distance. the batboys were in the middle of a high-stakes battle against a villain whose name they still hadn’t quite figured out, but who was throwing around enough toxins and lasers to give gotham a new reason to be paranoid.

dick was leaping from wall to wall, trying to outmaneuver the villain’s henchmen. jason was head-butting a wall, making sure no one tried to flank them. tim was hacking into a control panel, eyes flicking between screens like a caffeinated squirrel. damian was already fighting the villain head-on, his sword clashing against their armor.

then, a voice crackled over the comms, interrupting the chaos:

“hey guys, be ready—i’m just finishing my transformation!”

everyone freezes. like someone hit pause on the action.

dick paused mid-flip, hanging from a ceiling beam. “wait—did they just say ‘transformation?’”

jason’s fist was raised, but he didn’t punch, staring at the comms like he’d been told the laws of physics were invalid. “they’re really doing this now?”

tim blinked. “are they seriously transforming? right in the middle of all this?”

damian, standing with his sword poised and looking perfectly ready to end the villain’s reign, sighed audibly. “this is… highly inefficient.”

but he didn’t move a muscle. not even to attack. he was waiting.

bruce, who had been silently observing the chaos and directing the others via comms, sighed too—his voice just low enough to avoid detection. “if we’re waiting, then wait. no need to rush this. hold positions. let’s see how long this takes.”

there was no mistaking it. he was as much a part of this ridiculous ritual as everyone else.

the villain, who had been watching the absurdity unfold, narrowed their eyes. “what are they doing? are they—waiting? are they—really pausing for a transformation?” the villain scoffed, clearly annoyed by the delay.

they pointed a glowing gauntlet at the group. “you’re all pathetic!”

but the batboys? completely unmoved. they were all still. all waiting. they were locked in place, every one of them silently enduring this ridiculous delay.

jason, gritting his teeth, turned to face the villain for the first time in a few minutes. “we’d love to keep fighting, but... you know. waiting on them.”

tim, flipping through some data on his wrist computer, half-checked out. “i’ll just optimize our schedule for the next one, but... they better have a good reason for this.”

dick was already making a list of things he could do during the wait. "i mean, it’s a whole process. at least we get a breather."

the villain, becoming increasingly frustrated, clenched their fists and began pacing. “no. i will not wait any longer!”

they leveled their weapon toward the batboys, preparing for an attack—but they didn’t move. everyone stood frozen—the batboys too disciplined to break formation, and you?

still getting ready.

there was another long pause. the villain shot a glare at bruce, who was calmly scanning the room, not even bothering to acknowledge the interruption. “are you all seriously letting this happen?” the villain snapped, voice rising. “i can’t believe i’m waiting on—”

and then it happened.

the unmistakable sound of sparkles filled the air. a soft chime echoed through the comms.

“magical girl transformation, initiate!”

dick’s eyes practically sparkled. “here it comes…”

jason let out a low groan, leaning back against a pillar. “this better be good.”

tim was frantically refreshing his mental list of everything he’d need to do to process this information later.

damian folded his arms and glared at the villain. “this delay better be worth it.”

there was a soft flash, a trail of glitter, and—there you were. in your full magical girl outfit, sparkling like a dream—the colors bright, the fabric catching the light, and your transformation complete in all its glory.

there was an awkward silence.

jason blinked, covered in what was still residual glitter from the earlier mishap. “okay, that... took a little longer than i thought.”

tim let out a long sigh. “i swear, the next time we’re scheduling this—everyone gets a 30-second limit.”

“done!” you announced, twirling dramatically. “let’s do this!”

bruce stared at you with a level of composure that barely hid his tiny sigh of approval.

“...now, we can continue.”

dick, ever the dramatic one, clapped. “absolutely worth it.”

jason just groaned and rolled his eyes, but the tiniest hint of a smile twitched on his lips.

“yeah, yeah, but next time, let’s maybe—i don’t know—not do this during a fight?”

the villain, now fuming, was clearly done. “this is your strategy?” they snapped. “you’ve got to be kidding me!”

they swung their weapon, clearly intending to take you down—but the batboys weren’t having it anymore.

in perfect sync, they moved, attacking from all angles.

you, of course, were already ready, using your powers to effortlessly counter their attacks.

the fight lasted all of five minutes after that.

once the villain was down, the batboys stepped back, eyes on you. jason let out a snort. “well, that was... something.”

tim raised an eyebrow. “maybe next time we make a better schedule for these things?”

damian just crossed his arms. “you’d think after all these months, we’d learn not to wait for their transformation.”

dick, flashed a smile. “what can i say? it’s worth it.”

bruce, just muttered, “next time, no delays.”

you, oblivious to their frustration and somehow enjoying the chaos, smiled brightly. “i’m glad you guys handled it without me!”

the villain, now completely defeated and embarrassed, could only mumble as they were carted off. “i cannot believe i lost to these people.”

and the batboys? they’d just endured yet another ridiculous chapter in their lives with you. but they all secretly agreed on one thing.

no matter how much it annoyed them… they’d always wait for your magical girl transformation.

[scarletwants]

million dollar man.

18+ notes: my sweet, flawed english man:’). summary: billy butcher finds solace and deepens his bond with you during a tender, intimate night after a rough day. warnings: soft billy, mature content, oral (f! receiving). discretion is advised. word count: 1.7k

You knew Butcher had a temper, a way of seeing red that could make anyone in their right mind stay clear of his path. But it was different with you. He had a soft spot, a rare vulnerability that he guarded jealously from the rest of the world. But tonight, he was late. And that wasn’t like him.

The clock on the wall ticked louder as the minutes dragged on. You tried to focus on the book in your lap, but your mind kept wandering back to Butcher. The scars that crisscrossed his back, the shadows that darkened his eyes, the rare smiles that lit up his face. He was complicated, infuriating, but he was also the man you’d come to care for more deeply than you’d ever thought possible.

The door creaked open and you snapped your head up. Butcher stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the hallway. He looked exhausted, his shoulders slumped and his usually sharp eyes dulled by fatigue.

“Hey,” you said softly, closing your book and standing up.

“Hey, love,” he replied, his voice rough around the edges. He stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him, and you noticed the blood staining his shirt.

“Jesus, Billy, you’re hurt,” you exclaimed, rushing over to him. He waved you off, but you could see the pain etched on his face.

“Just a scratch,” he muttered, but you weren’t convinced. You guided him to the couch, making him sit down while you went to fetch the first aid kit.

When you returned, Butcher had already started to unbutton his shirt, revealing a nasty gash on his side. You winced at the sight, but kept your expression neutral. He didn’t need pity; he needed someone who could help.

“Hold still,” you said, kneeling beside him and carefully cleaning the wound. He hissed through his teeth but didn’t flinch away.

“Bloody hell, that stings,” he grumbled.

“Well, maybe next time don’t pick fights with people twice your size,” you teased gently, trying to lighten the mood. He snorted, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Can’t help it. It’s in me nature.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah, well, your nature’s going to get you killed one of these days.”

“Not if you keep patchin’ me up,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. There was a sincerity in his gaze that took you by surprise. You finished bandaging him up and sat back, feeling the weight of his stare.

“Why do you do it?” he asked suddenly. “Why do you stay?”

The question caught you off guard. You’d asked yourself the same thing many times, especially on nights like these when the danger seemed too close. But the answer was always the same.

“Because I care about you,” you said simply. “And because I know there’s more to you than what everyone else sees.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening. “I’m not a good man, love. I’ve done things…”

“We’ve all done things,” you interrupted gently. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve a chance to be better.”

He didn’t respond, but you could see the internal struggle playing out on his face. You reached out, taking his hand in yours, and squeezed it gently.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Billy. Let me help.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m scared,” he admitted in a whisper, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

“Of what?” you asked softly.

“Of losing you. Of letting you in and then watching you walk away.”

Your heart ached at his words. You knew he’d been hurt before, that he carried more scars on the inside than the ones that marred his skin. But you also knew that he was worth the risk.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised. “Not as long as you want me here.”

He looked up, his eyes searching yours for any sign of deceit. Finding none, he nodded slowly. “I want you here. More than anything.”

You smiled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He kissed you back, his grip on your hand tightening as if afraid you might slip away.

The apartment was quiet, the only sound the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the distant traffic outside. Butcher and you had spent the evening wrapped up in each other, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten as you enjoyed a rare moment of peace. The bandage on his side was a stark reminder of the dangers he faced daily, but tonight, you wanted to focus on the here and now.

Butcher's hands roamed your back, his touch firm yet tender as he pulled you closer on the couch. You could feel the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. His lips brushed against your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and intoxicating.

You smiled, threading your fingers through his dark hair. "You're not so bad yourself, Butcher."

He chuckled, the sound low and gravelly, vibrating against your throat. "Not sure what I did to deserve you, love."

"You're not getting rid of me that easily," you teased, tilting your head to capture his lips in a soft kiss. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent as he pressed you back against the cushions. His hands slipped under your shirt, caressing your sides with a possessive tenderness that made your heart race.

"Let me show you how much I need you," he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

Before you could respond, he was lifting your shirt over your head, his eyes darkening with hunger as he took in the sight of you.

"Billy," you breathed, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as he trailed kisses down your chest, his stubble grazing your sensitive skin. He paused at the waistband of your pants, his gaze locking with yours.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice softer now, laced with an unexpected vulnerability.

"Yes," you replied, your voice trembling with anticipation. "Please."

With a growl of approval, he undid your pants, pulling them down along with your underwear in one swift motion. You were left exposed before him, your skin tingling with the cool air and the intensity of his gaze.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he murmured, his hands gripping your thighs as he spread them apart. He lowered himself between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh.

You gasped at the sensation, your fingers tangling in his hair as he trailed kisses closer to your core. The first touch of his tongue against your folds sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your back arching off the couch.

"Billy," you moaned, your voice barely more than a whisper. He groaned in response, his hands holding your hips steady as he delved deeper, his tongue swirling around your clit with a skill that left you breathless.

He took his time, alternating between gentle licks and firm sucks, his eyes watching your every reaction. You could feel the tension building inside you, the pleasure mounting with every flick of his tongue. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

"Please, don't stop," you begged, your fingers tightening in his hair as you teetered on the brink of release. He growled against you, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure through you that pushed you over the edge.

Your orgasm crashed over you, your body convulsing with the intensity of it. Butcher didn't stop, his tongue continuing its relentless assault as he milked every last drop of pleasure from you. You cried out his name, your vision blurring as waves of ecstasy washed over you.

Finally, when you could take no more, he pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal. He crawled up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that left you breathless all over again.

"You taste fucking amazing," he growled against your mouth, his hands cradling your face as he kissed you deeply. You could taste yourself on his lips, the intimate act only heightening your desire for him.

"I need you, Billy," you whispered, your voice raw with need. "I need all of you."

He didn't need any more encouragement. In one fluid motion, he was shedding his clothes, his body pressing against yours as he settled between your legs. You could feel the heat of him, the hard length of his cock pressing against your entrance.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough with restraint. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm sure," you replied, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. "I want you. All of you."

With a groan, he entered you, the sensation overwhelming as he filled you completely.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as he began to move, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

He set a steady rhythm, his movements growing more urgent as he lost himself in you. You met him thrust for thrust, your bodies moving together in harmony.

The world outside ceased to exist, the only thing that mattered was the connection between you, the unspoken promises and the love that bound you together.

As you neared the edge once more, you felt him falter, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered your name. With a final, shuddering thrust, you both tumbled over the edge together, your cries of pleasure mingling in the stillness of the night.

Afterward, you lay tangled in each other's arms, the sweat cooling on your skin as you caught your breath. Butcher pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hold on you gentle but unyielding.

"I love you," he murmured, the words carrying a weight that made your heart swell.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice filled with a certainty that left no room for doubt.

In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would always be his side. He was your million dollar man after all.

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part thirty-one: what we (don't) say

word count: 5.1k

warnings: this chapter contains 18+ explicit content. reader discretion is strongly advised.

thirty | thirty-one | thirty-two

Her stomach turned, overcome both with relief and something heavier, something that settled like dread in her chest. It clung to her ribs, cold and uncomfortable.

“Liam,” she whispered. Her hands reached for him before she even thought to move. “What happened? What the hell happened?”

Who did this to you? Tell me and I’ll–

He waved her off, jaw tight, the motion clipped and defensive. It pulled a faint scowl from her, but she stepped aside anyway, wordless now, letting him in.

Her eyes never left him. She saw the effort in his every movement—how hard he was trying to seem fine, to stay composed—but she knew better. She knew him better. The jagged edges of his expression, the tension in his shoulders, the way his steps faltered just slightly... it all gave him away.

“They really did a number on you,” she murmured, her voice low as she quickly eased some gauze under his shirt. “Why won’t you tell me what happened?”

He flinched, not from the pressure, but from the way she looked at him – like she was scared, like seeing him like this had done something to her chest. Her fingers stilled for a second, her breath catching. 

“I didn’t come here to talk,” he muttered, stepping inside like the walls are caving in behind him. 

His voice was low. Not broken, but controlled. Forced, like he was trying not to explode.

Quietly, she shut the door behind him.

The dim light of her apartment casted shadows across his face. There was blood on his collar, on his knuckles. A split just below his eyebrow that was still fresh. His hand flexed at his side like it still wanted to be making a fist.

“Sit,” she invited gently, already reaching for the first aid kit.

He didn’t move.

She paused, glancing back at him. “Li, let me help.”

His jaw clenched. For a second, he looked like he would refuse, like accepting help would be one humiliation too many. But then he exhaled through his nose, muttered something under his breath, and dropped onto the edge of her couch with a thud.

She knelt in front of him and opened the kit.

“You look like shit,” she murmured, attempting to lighten the mood, and perhaps also to get her hands to shake a little less.

“Feel worse,” he chuckled dryly.

When her fingers reached up to wipe away the blood, he flinched just barely, but he didn’t pull back.

“You should’ve gone to a hospital.”

“Too many questions.”

She didn’t press any further. Instead, she dipped the cotton pad in antiseptic and touched it to the cut. He hissed, but didn't make any sounds otherwise. His eyes stayed locked on hers, unreadable.

He hated this, that much was obvious. He hated being here, hated needing anyone, hated whatever the fuck broke him open enough tonight that she —sweet, normal, far-too-good-for-him her— was the first place he thought to run to.

“I didn’t mean to come here, you know.”

“Then why did you?”

A beat passed.

“Didn’ have anywhere else to go.”

She faltered. The truth, or whatever version of it he was barely allowing himself to admit, hit her square in the chest. It almost felt like he came here because he needed her, as if something cracked and she was the only one he trusted not to ask too many questions.

He trusts me?

She returned to his cut, her fingers brushing his cheekbone lightly. 

He probably wouldn’t tell her what happened.

She should’ve expected as much, really. 

Of course, he wouldn’t tell her. Not when his shirt was torn halfway down the back and the blood there hadn’t dried yet. Not when his knuckles looked like they’d met bone. Not when he was just barely upright on her couch, his jaw tight.

But he still came here, to her.

She exhaled, soft and shaky, and knelt beside him.

“Take off your shirt.”

A flicker of a smirk. “Woah, buy me dinner first.”

“Liam.”

With a grimace, he conceded, pulling it over his head.

She tried not to look at his chest or the bloom of bruises painted over him like bad art. Instead, she wet a small washcloth, wringing it out with shaking hands before pressing it gently to the worst of it. He didn’t flinch, but he did go still—unnervingly so.

“You’re lucky,” she muttered. “If any of this was deeper—”

“It wasn’t.”

“But it could’ve been. You could’ve—”

“But I’m not.”

Her hands stilled. The water dripped faintly into the bowl between them. He looked up then, only to find her already staring at him.

“You got lucky, okay?” she hissed. If Lando didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought she sounded angry – though he couldn’t imagine a reason why.

She became quieter then, focusing on the cut along his ribs. “This could’ve been a puncture. You could’ve– I don’t know–”

Died. You could’ve died.

She didn’t say it. But he heard it.

“I’m here,” he murmured, low, like he was trying to convince himself more than her. “S’alright.”

She forced herself to focus, to grab the gauze and wrap his ribs. 

“Just… Just hold still.”

His breath hitched when her fingers brushed too close to a rib he didn’t know had a hairline fracture. 

But when she leaned in to tie off the bandage, when her shoulder brushed his—he didn’t move.

Lando watched her. She was oddly good at this, all gentle and methodical like she’d done it before. And she had – she’d patched up Margot’s burn from the espresso machine once, tended to Kika when she’d sliced her hand on a broken glass. She was the kind of girl who took care of people, even when she couldn’t take care of herself.

She motioned toward the bathroom, needing the faucet closer with how frequently the washcloth kept coming back red. He followed the gesture, lowering himself against the closed seat with more control than comfort. He was holding back, trying not to show how much it hurt. But she saw it anyway—in the clenched jaw, the shallow breaths, the blood soaking into his unbuttoned shirt.

He saw the way her lips pressed together as she wiped the blood from his side, the way her hands trembled just slightly when she peeled his shirt back further. Her eyes stayed on the wound, but her mind was somewhere else.

She was remembering, he realized. These familiar bathroom tiles, but her hands. How it had been him, back then, rinsing the blood from her palms.

He exhaled.

“M’fine,” he muttered, voice taut. “Just… a little scuffle. Some idiot decided to try n’ mug me, looks like.”

She didn’t believe him. 

Of course she didn’t. But she also knew better than to push.

“Don’t lie,” she mumbled, breaking the silence as she leaned back for more antiseptic. 

“Who said anythin’ about lying?”

“I can tell when you’re lying, Liam.”

“You sure about that?”

She gave him a look. Sharp, disbelieving. “A mugging?”

“In Monaco,” he added, as if that made it more believable. “Rare, I know.”

She didn’t buy it. Not for a second. But she didn’t push—not yet.

Instead, she leaned forward, tugging the hem of his shirt up higher to clean the gash beneath his ribs. Her hands were strangely steady for someone who only weeks ago had been crying over Margot’s still-warm body. She didn’t look away now. She focused, pressed gauze to his skin with more care than she probably meant to.

“Jesus,” she muttered under her breath. “You need stitches.”

“And here I was hoping you’d say I just needed a kiss to make it better.”

She gave him a flat look, but it faltered when her eyes lingered too long on the corner of his mouth—split, bleeding. Her cheeks flushed.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “But I came to you.”

Silence. A beat too long. The antiseptic stung between them like truth.

Her voice came softer, almost hesitant. “I know we haven’t seen each other much lately but…”

He raised an eyebrow, watching the way her hands hesitated—still pressed to his side, still too gentle. “But what?”

“Well. Y’know.”

A smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth. “No, I don’t. What is it that I know?”

Her lips parted like she might explain, then closed again. She gave a tiny shake of her head and reached for another bandage instead.

He watched her the whole time.

“That…” she began, taping down the corner of the gauze. “That you always have a place here. If you need it.”

He stilled. For a second, everything in him paused—heartbeat, breath, even the dull hum of pain in his side. 

What?

Lando looked up at her and was surprised to find that she actually seemed sincere, more sincere than anyone had ever been with him before. In the low lighting of the room, there was a certain glow outlining everything, but nothing more than her.

This was both of them laid bare before each other, as bare as they can be without bringing themselves to confess something more.

“God, I…” he began quietly, voice barely there.

Warm brown eyes meet his own, his whole world looking back at him like a glistening mirage. Her gaze tentatively meets his, soft and unsure and curious all at once.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

And that was about as much as he could confess, because Lando Norris confessing he needs someone was the closest he had ever come to confessing his love. Because Lando Norris has never needed someone, has never known what that truly meant until her. He didn't know what this was, just that he needed her, needed her happy and safe and near.

He swallowed, gaze flicking between her eyes and her lips, and he wanted to tell her—about the ambush, about Daniel, about how close he came to dying—but what came out was:

“Thanks for the stitches, angel.”

Her breath caught, just barely. And in the quiet between them, something shifted.

Something irreversible.

The silence grew heavier.

She moved around him, focused on the task. Her hands were steadier now, more determined. She cleaned the wounds carefully, wiping away blood and dirt with the same tenderness she always gave him. But he wouldn’t look at her now, his jaw locked tight. Every time her fingers brushed a bruise or pressed too close to a cut, his body tensed.

Her touch lingered at his jaw, tracing the line where blood met bruised skin. He didn’t stop her or pull away. He just… let her.

She didn’t speak – she didn’t need to. It was there in the way she handled him — with care, with urgency, with something deeper. It was there in the breath she exhaled as she pressed gauze to his side, in the way she leaned just a little too close, feeling the heat of him under her fingertips.

And still, he didn’t say anything. 

When he finally met her gaze, something in her chest fractured. His eyes were open, raw in a way she hadn’t seen before. To Y/N’s surprise, he didn’t look away this time.

The version of her reflected back to her told her that he wasn’t as untouchable as he’d made her believe.

In that moment, she wanted to step back to give him space, but found she couldn’t move.

She cleared her throat, bringing her attention back to cleaning a gash along his chest. When she did her breath caught. He was close—closer than she’d meant to be—and still, he let her. The blood, the bruises, the mess of him… it painted a picture she didn’t want to acknowledge. But she stayed. She was still here, even if she was angry. Even if she was scared. Even if he’d lied to her.

Especially because he had lied to her.

Maybe it was the way he allowed her to tend to him, to see him broken. Maybe it was the softness in his gaze when she looked up at him. Or maybe it was the ache she hadn’t wanted to name—something that mirrored the need she saw in him now.

When their eyes met again, the space between them went still. His voice broke through the quiet.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, a confession wrapped in hesitation.

But she did have to. Right now, it felt like the only thing that made any sense, the only thing keeping her grounded.

Then his hand snapped up, curling around her wrist – not rough, but firm. It caught her off guard, causing her eyes to instantly flit to his. He seemed to look at her like he was drowning in something.

His voice was somehow lower now rougher. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to fix me.”

She swallowed hard, but didn’t answer.

His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist, right over the point of her racing pulse. Her lips parted unwittingly, but he still noticed. His fingers curled tighter around her wrist, gentle but sure. He guided her up until she stood in front of him, and when their eyes locked again, the world seemed to stop spinning.

Despite even his best intentions, his gaze dropped to her mouth, before looking back up to her eyes. Something sharp flickered in his expression – regret, resentment. Need.

He leaned forward, barely a few inches. His breath hit her skin.

And when she whispered, “L–”

He cut her off with a kiss.

It wasn’t soft or sweet. No, it was desperate, angry, hungry — like he was punishing himself for wanting this, and her lips were the only thing he was allowed to take.

It was raw, fierce, messy—the kind of kiss that said all the things they hadn’t dared speak aloud. He poured everything into it: the anger, the fear, the resentment, the tenderness. All of it.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was desperate – the kind of kiss that tastes like copper and grief and rage. It came without warning—teeth, lips, tongue—rough and bitter like he was trying to silence something inside himself.

She gasped, caught between instinct and chaos, too stunned to pull away right away. But when she did—

“What— what are you doing?”

He exhaled through his nose as he pulled back, pointedly looking away from her. “Forget it.”

“Liam.”

“It was nothing.”

“No,” she insisted. “That wasn’t nothing.”

He stood a bit too fast, staggering slightly, but didn't show it. His voice was calm when he spoke, almost clinical. “I lost someone today. You were kind. That’s all.”

“That’s not all.”

He gave her a look, cold, sharp, and defensive. “Don’t make it more than it is.”

“I’m not doing that.”

He turned away and picked his shirt up, just to drop it again. There was blood on her floor, but neither of them mentioned it. His hands shook as he braced them on the back of her chair.

“I don’t… I don’t get to do this,” he says finally. “I don’t get to, fuckin’–  to fall apart in some fucking living room.”

She stays quiet.

“I’m not some boy with a broken heart.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

His laugh is bitter. “What if you aren’t safe around me? D’you ever think of that?”

He seemed to be shouting half-hearted nonsense by now, but Y/N seemed entirely unphased. She sore small, downturned smile – not of pity, but of something even more unfamiliar: sympathy.

“Then why’d you come here? You wouldn’t put me in danger, so why?”

That stopped him. He turned and finally met her gaze.

Because I don’t have an answer.

Because even the Reaper bleeds.

Because the part of me that buried a brother today doesn’t want to be alone.

The other reason, the one so sacred he couldn’t yet admit it even to himself, was because the part of him that kissed her, despite everything, was the only part of him still human enough to want something more than violence.

She stepped toward him, slow and careful.

“Maybe you think you don’t get to fall apart,” she says, voice soft but steady. “But you do get to sit down. Let me finish patching you up.”

He stared at her for a long, long time.

Then he sunk back down wordlessly, and let her clean him, saying nothing more.

Y/N wasn’t a fool—she could tell Liam had gotten into a fight.

The bruises, the busted knuckles, the way his ribs shifted wrong beneath the bandage she secured—they didn’t lie. Neither did the old scars she’d never seen before, now exposed with his shirt mostly gone and his guard only half up.

But that wasn’t what got to her.

It was the way he watched her. Not stared, watched — like a predator trying to pretend it was something else.

She should’ve stopped letting her fingers linger against his skin longer than necessary. She certainly should’ve realized the silence stretching between them had shifted from comfortable to loaded.

Under the weight of his stare, her wrist grazed his chest by accident. His thumb found it a moment later. He just rested it there, the pad smooth and uncalloused stroking over her pulse.

Her mouth went dry.

His presence felt inescapable—the furnace heat of him, the curve of his ribs, the cut just above his hip bone. When she reached for more gauze, her elbow brushed against the line of his stomach. He exhaled—barely, but it was there—and suddenly she felt everything: the lean, warm muscle beneath her palm, the rise and fall of his torso, and the fact that when she looked up—

His mouth hovered inches from hers.

Her breath caught.

He didn’t move. He didn’t lean in. He didn’t make a sound.

But his eyes dropped to her lips.

Once.

Twice.

She swallowed, heart pounding hard enough for him to feel it.

“Liam,” she breathed. A warning. Maybe a question.

His thumb stroked her wrist again—soft, deliberate, over her pulse.

She swallowed hard.

“You should rest,” she said.

“Should I?”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth before she could stop it. Her hand still pressed against his side—his body hot, solid, real beneath her fingers—and she felt him inhale, slow and sharp.

She whispered, “Liam—”

And then he kissed her like he’d been waiting years for the right kind of wrong.

Within moments, everything unraveled.

He kissed her.

Harder than before. Dirtier. Desperate and aching, like pretending another second might kill him. Like the taste of her might be the only thing keeping him alive.

She gasped against his mouth, and he took full advantage—his tongue sliding over hers, his hands framing her face like she might disappear. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, unsure if she meant to pull him closer or hold herself steady.

“You shouldn’t,” she breathed.

He bit her lower lip. “Tell me to stop.”

She didn’t.

She couldn’t.

Because he kissed her like a starving man, filthy and frenzied and ruinous.

He caught her mouth again, fast and hungry, like he needed to hold her here, now, with every part of him. It was frantic, clumsy with want—her hands clawing at his shoulders, his fists gripping her shirt like it tethered him to earth.

His mouth moved like he wanted to forget. Like he had to erase something.

“Liam–”

She whispered his name and the sound broke something inside him. He groaned—low, wrecked. He hated how it made him feel.

“Don’t,” he growled, voice ragged, breath hot on her cheek as he backed her toward the wall. “Just… don’t.”

He kissed her again, harder now. His hands dragged over her thighs, slipped beneath her shirt, shoving it higher with a kind of urgency that made her knees weak.

“I need—” he murmured against her jaw, breath searing. “Fuck, just— don’t say it, not like it means something.”

She gasped when he lifted her, her back hitting the wall as his hips slotted against hers, hard and hungry. His mouth dragged down against her throat, open and greedy, like he needed to taste something real.

As he stopped to catch his breath for a moment, he just looked at her—something raw flickering in his eyes. Guilt. Grief. Maybe something darker.

Maybe even all of it.

He leaned in then, resting his forehead against hers.

“I need this,” he whispered, voice nearly broken. “I need this. I need– I need you. Let me feel you.”

She already nodded before he said—

“Please.”

His hands slipped beneath her shirt again, dragging over bare skin, and she arched into him like her body had been waiting. And when he kissed her again —filthy, like a man possessed— it ended them. They crashed like a lit match into gasoline.

He lifted her onto the counter without thinking. The bowl of bloody water sloshed but didn’t fall. She wrapped her legs around his waist, hauled him closer, his hands already under her thighs, pulling her tight to the heat of him, rolling his hips once, twice—

It was filthy.

Hot and open-mouthed and furious, all teeth and tongue and tension that snapped the moment their mouths collided. She made a sound —small, surprised— and he swallowed it, groaning low as his hand slipped behind her neck and dragged her deeper, like he needed her to survive.

She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into it.

Fuck.

Her fingers curled around the edge of his jaw, tugging him closer, her knees straddling his thighs before she even realized. He was warm under her, blood drying on his ribs, and she knew she shouldn’t be doing this. Knew it was messy, dangerous, wrong.

But then he bit her bottom lip. Her hips rocked without meaning to.

And all thought shattered.

This girl is going to be the death of me.

“Fuck,” he hissed into her mouth, voice wrecked. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

“I—” she tried, but her words dissolved as his mouth moved to her neck. “Liam…”

His name broke apart on her lips.

He groaned when she said it like that—like it meant something—and lifted her just enough to walk the two of them over to the open entrance of her room. His mouth never left her skin. His hands found their place back beneath her shirt, reverent and greedy.

“Y/N,” he whispered against her collarbone. “You are… unreal, Angel.”

“Liam,” she whimpered, almost helpless.

The sound of her voice, ruined like that because of him undid him.

His lips returned to hers—deeper this time. Slower, like he was starving but needed to savor it. Like he had to remember how she tasted in case he never got another chance.

When his hand slid between her thighs and found how soaked she already was—

He swore, dark and ragged.

“This what you wanted, sweetheart?” he growled, fingers toying with the edge of her panties. “Me, bleedin’ in your bedroom? Ruinin’ you with my mouth?”

She nodded, helpless, barely able to form a word.

“Good,” he rasped. “Because I’m not leaving tonight until I’ve made you forget every man you’ve ever known but me.”

He kissed her like he was drowning and she was the last breath he got. He was angry that she let him in, and angrier that she made it so damn easy to fall apart.

When her back hit the mattress, it wasn’t gentle. He didn’t ask. He just watched her for a second, chest heaving, blood still staining the edges of his shirt. Her fingers found the hem and pulled —slowly, wordlessly— until he helped her, dragging it over his head and tossing it aside.

His body was battered. Bruised ribs. Cuts down his side. A long gash across his shoulder. But still — he was beautiful, and she hated how she ached for him, even then, even like that.

She reached for him, but he grabbed her wrist before she could touch him. He just grabbed it—holding her there, suspended, breath caught between fear and something deeper.

“Don’t,” he breathed. “If you touch me like that, I won't stop.”

Her heart pounded.

“I don’t want you to,” she whispered.

That was it.

He was on her the next second—mouth claiming hers, his hand already between her legs, fingers slipping past fabric that was suddenly too thin, too wet, too willing. She gasped into his mouth as he groaned against her lips, palm pressing where she was most sensitive, moving slow at first—almost reverent—then faster, rougher, just to hear the way her breath stuttered.

She gasped when his hand slipped between her thighs—rough palm against soft skin. He didn’t ease into it, didn’t ask permission, just took — two of his fingers sliding through her slick like he was testing the depth of how much she needed him.

“Fuck…” he muttered, jaw tightening as he sank them into her, slow, deliberate, watching the way her lips parted around a sound she tried and failed to swallow. “You are soaked, sweetheart.”

Her hands scrambled for something —his shirt, his arm, his wrist— anything to keep her anchored while he worked her open.

I wonder if this is what euphoria feels like.

He curled his fingers like he knew her. Like he owned her. Like he’d done this a thousand times in his head and now he was making each motion count.

When his thumb brushed over her clit—light at first, then with more pressure—she arched into him with a choked moan.

“Oh god–”

“That’s it,” he whispered, voice low and wrecked. “Let me hear you.”

She opened her mouth again but the only thing that came out was his name — broken, breathy, and too damn close to real.

“Liam—”

But he shut her up with his mouth, tongue sweeping over hers as he curled his fingers inside her just right. Her walls fluttered around him, clenching as he drew her closer and closer to the edge.

And when she came—when her body shook and her thighs trembled and her hands gripped his shoulders like she’d fall apart without him—he groaned like he was the one losing control.

“Jesus,” he panted against her jaw, pressing his forehead to hers. “You looked like fucking sin like that.”

He swore again, dragging his fingers down to push one inside her, then another. Her hips jerked. His thumb circled, lazy and practiced. He watched her with dark, hooded eyes, chest rising and falling like he was barely holding on.

“Liam—” she whimpered.

His jaw tensed.

“Don’t say it.”

He withdrew his hand. She almost protested—until he was tugging her underwear down and kneeling between her thighs. Until his mouth replaced his fingers.

She shattered.

No warning, no time to brace—just his mouth on her, ruthless and consuming, like he was starving for her, like she was the only thing tethering him to this earth. His tongue flicked, licked, pressed deep until she was gasping, writhing, fisting the sheets with tears in her eyes. She came like that—loud, breathy, his name dying on her tongue as her body shook.

He barely gave her time to come down.

Barely a second later and he was already back to kissing her like a man possessed, grinding against her like he couldn’t stand to be separate for another second.

He pressed kisses down her body, eyes dark and blown wide, before pulling his shirt off, then his pants, then his boxers. She saw the line of his hip bones, the desperate curve of his cock, hard and heavy in his hand. Her breath caught.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice hoarse.

She pulled him down and kissed him like she wanted to ruin herself for him.

“Please. I want this.”

And without wasting another moment, he pushed into her slow.

They both groaned.

She was warm. Tight. Perfect.

His forehead pressed to hers. “Fuck, fuck– you feel like home.”

He continued to thrust — each deep, dragging, relentless.

And she let him. Let him take everything. Let him chase his ghosts between her thighs, teeth clenched like he was running from the hell he just walked out of. Let him hold her down and fuck her slow and filthy, like he wanted to bury every dark thing he’d ever done inside her body and feel clean for one goddamn minute.

She moaned. He kissed her again, biting at her lip.

“I need you,” he breathed. “I need—fuck—I need this.”

She arched into him. “Then you have me. Take– take whatever you need.”

And so he did. He fucked her hard—hips snapping, his hand gripping her throat not tight, but firm, grounding, like he needed to feel her pulse beneath his thumb to remind himself she was here, she was alive, she was his for now.

She scratched down his back. He bit her shoulder. The sound of skin against skin echoed in the room, messy and raw and aching.

She was soaked and wrecked already, but he was thick, heavy, and the stretch burned in a way that made her head spin. He groaned into her neck the moment he bottomed out, the sound guttural, like he was barely holding it together.

“Fuck—fuck, y’feel too good—” he bit out, voice shaking as he started to move, slow at first. Painfully controlled.

But that didn’t last.

The moment she gasped and gripped his back, nails dragging, he snapped—pulled back and slammed into her, hard enough to make the headboard thud against the wall.

She cried out, and that only made him go harder. Faster. Rougher. He pounded into her like he was angry, like the grief and guilt and adrenaline were all burning through him and she was the only thing keeping him tethered.

And through it all—his forehead stayed pressed to hers. His mouth grazed her cheek. His hand found hers and gripped. As if, somewhere in the violence of it, he was still clinging to something tender.

“Fuck, you’re amazing. So, so beautiful, all f’me. God, you feel fucking perfect, like heaven,” he muttered, voice wrecked as he thrust deeper, harder, like he wanted to carve that feeling into himself. “Don’t… don’t take this away from me. Don’t. Please.”

“I’m not, I won’t” she gasped, tears blurring her vision from the force of it, from the need. “I’m not— Liam—”

He groaned and kissed that godforsaken name off her lips once again, harsh and open-mouthed, hips slamming against hers as he got desperate. Every thrust was deeper, every sound between them louder—sweat and skin and breathless curses tangled in the air.

She came again, this time with his hand between them and her thighs shaking around his hips, and he wasn’t far behind.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m—” He lost it, hips stuttering, teeth sinking into her shoulder as he spilled into her with a broken sound that made her clutch at him even tighter.

When he collapsed on top of her, they were both trembling. Breathing hard. Hearts pounding in sync.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

And then—quietly, almost too quiet to hear—

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “Just… please. Stay.”

a/n: so... that happened...

(i’ve never written smut before in my life, so pls lmk if there's any errors, it was all starting to becoming a blur at this point lmao)

and @justlando? this one's for you ;)

[nyarumie]

What if Soshiro's girlfriend was nice to Weapon 10 because it saved his life and instead of being flustered 10 also start liking her and now Soshiro feels like he has to share his gf with the suit!!

A small continuation to 'Suit Anomaly', based from this ask! (Click here for Part 3)

Author's Reply: Hi, Anon! This sounds adorable! His gf's semi rude attitude towards No. 10 was because of the injuries Soshiro got from their fight, but she's not a totally cold person so I can see this happening! I shall do my best ♡

Requests and messages are welcome on my ask box! I can also write for Narumi and Mina (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

Just a few weeks after the nationwide cataclysm orchestrated by Kaiju No. 9, you once again found yourself standing in the very same training facility right after a small kaiju attack from the previous day. This time, you’re equipped with your own numbers weapon just in case it goes haywire after all the damage it sustained.

“How does it feel?” you ask him.

“Still as uncomfortable as ever,” he said. “Can’t say this thing’s more tame now, it’s as battle hungry as always; but it kinda listens to me and has a l’il bit of common sense now.”

You snort, hearing No. 10 roar an “Are you saying I’m stupid?!” at him.

Knowing him, Soshiro just refuses to tell the truth: He’s grown comfortable wearing his numbered suit, despite the strain it deals on his body. It’s particularly crazy how he’s able to wear it and fight using it again just after a few days of being discharged from the medbay—any normal officer wouldn’t be able to walk after that destructive fight.

"Hmm… You both did well in yesterday's fight," you started, followed with a sigh, "But you didn't need to go all-out at all. They were just small fry!"

Soshiro comically scratched his head, "No offense sweetie, but I think you're just upset you didn't get to kill one yesterday. This guy wanted to wipe 'em all out for ya. Some kind of thanks for actively watchin' over the suit's repair."

"I didn't say anything like that!" it complained.

Soshiro crossed his arms and complained, "Ya keep dragging me to her area! Told ya she's as strong as we are, but you kept screaming at me saying somethin' like 'Oi, Hoshina! Ain't you gonna protect your little foul mouthed girlfriend?!'"

"Stop lying! I just wanted to get a higher kill count; you're being too lousy in battle!"

'Ah… compatibility aside, the arguments aren't stopping soon.' you thought.

You cleared your throat, getting their attention back to you. "If that's the case, then I extend my deepest gratitude to you both—but you don't have to worry about me!"

Proceeding to closely inspect the suit, you went down on one knee and thoroughly observed its tail, which had been severed during their fight with Kaiju no. 12. You started caressing it, seemingly deep in thought.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! I told you I'm not a pet!"

Soshiro just quietly observed the scene, curious at your actions.

Going to stand in front of Soshiro again, you bent your upper body forward to meet the Kaiju's eye.

For the first time since he's donned this suit, you gave it a sincere smile. "I give you my deepest thanks for protecting Soshiro. You did well."

Silence.

After a minute of solid silence, the tail started aggressively swaying around and a frantic scream from Okonogi caught yours and Soshiro's attention.

"Vice Captain! Platoon Leader! I advise you to end the monitoring session—the suit's rapidly overheating for no reason!"

Eh?

Soshiro started pulling the tail, trying to get it to behave. "You cyclops! Keep still! My girlfriend's not flirtin' with ya, not with a Kaiju!"

"Cyclops?! I'm not even doing anything, bowlcut bastard!"

As you laugh at the entertainment in front of you, the Kaiju detection alarm goes off.

"Let's go. Make sure you let me kill some today, alright?" you said, mood heightened.

That being said…

In the midst of the battle, it took Soshiro a great deal of strength just to stop the Kaiju suit from rushing towards your aid.

The both of them started arguing again after the fight, as Soshiro saw how its tail was subtly waving when you approached them, as if asking to be caressed again.

"Ya don't get to ask my girlfriend to touch yer tail! I'm not sharin' her with you!"

"I didn't ask her anything! And would you look at that, she's already touching it!"

With a pout akin to that of a child getting their lollipop stolen, Soshiro said, "Dear, ya don't have to do that! I'm right here!"

You giggled, wanting to tease him a bit. "And I can see you well enough, 'Shiro. You'll get your kisses later, yeah?"

He groaned, continuing their seemingly never-ending argument.

Oh, you can get used to this.

[reasonsforhope]

"A long-awaited ceasefire between Israel and Hamas has officially begun, after a last minute delay of almost three hours. The fighting continued past the initially provisioned 8:30 a.m. local (1:30 a.m. Eastern) deadline as the Israeli military said Hamas had failed to provide the names of the first three hostages due to be released, as per the terms of the agreement.

The office of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu later confirmed that a list of names had been provided and that the ceasefire would take effect from 11:15 a.m. local time (4:15 a.m. Eastern). 

Now, families in Israel wait for the release of hostages who have been held by Hamas for more than 15 months. The exchange is set to begin at 9 a.m. Eastern Time, 4 p.m. local time on Sunday.

In Gaza, fighter jets and drones were reported to have disappeared from the skies as the deal took effect, and aid trucks began entering into Gaza through the Karem Shalom crossing.

The first phase of the ceasefire calls for Hamas to release 33 hostages over a six-week period. They include women, children and hostages over 50 years old, a draft viewed by CBS News said...

How the hostage release will work

Under the negotiated deal, the ceasefire will be in three phases.

The first phase of the ceasefire will last 42 days, and negotiations on the far more difficult second phase are meant to begin just over two weeks in.

After the six weeks of the first phase, Israel's security cabinet will decide how to proceed.

In total, Hamas would release 33 hostages during the first phase. Hamas would start releasing hostages on the first day, initially returning three to Israel, according to the draft viewed by CBS News. On the seventh day, Hamas would release four hostages. Thereafter, Hamas would release three hostages every seven days, starting with the living, and then moving on to return the bodies of those who have died.

Among those expected to be released is the youngest hostage, Kfir Bibas, whose family marked his second birthday on Saturday. The child has become a symbol across Israel for the helplessness over the hostages' plight.

During each exchange, Palestinian prisoners will be released by Israel after the hostages have arrived safely.

Mr. Biden said Wednesday that Americans would be among the hostages released in the first phase, but he did not specify any names or how soon they would be freed.

In phase one, Israel will release at least 1,700 Palestinian prisoners, including 1,167 Gaza residents who were not involved in the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas-led attack that sparked the war. All women and children under 19 from Gaza held by Israel will be freed during this phase.

The remainder of the Hamas-held hostages, including male Israeli soldiers, are to be released in a second phase that will be negotiated during the first. Hamas has said it will not release the remaining captives without a lasting ceasefire and a full Israeli withdrawal.

When does fighting stop

During the ceasefire's first phase, Israeli troops are to pull back into a buffer zone about a kilometer (half of a mile) wide inside Gaza along its borders with Israel.

In a post on X, Qatar's foreign minister advised Palestinians to exercise caution when the ceasefire goes into effect and wait for directions from officials.

Israel's military later said Palestinians would not be able to cross the Netzarim corridor that runs across central Gaza for the first seven days of the ceasefire, and it warned Palestinians not to approach Israeli forces.

Despite the caveats and uncertainty, anticipation was high."

-via CBS News, January 19, 2025

[grimdarling69]

Another Deaged Dan and Ellie or otherwise known as Crack pt7

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 Pt5 Pt6

Diana of Themyscura had met many evil men, but few had reached the evil of Lex Luthor. He had kidnaped batmans son, tortured him in numerous ways, and forced him to create a portal? They weren't completely sure about the specifics of the machine. It was obviously a portal, but to where?

Batman had called them in after taking heavy fire when they marched on Luthor previously, and the Justice League founders were currently investigating the area.

Superman especially. He's currently in the medbay recovering from emergency surgery. His sons were sticking near him after the very near death from Luthors' new powers. Last she heard, Lois had arrived on base to support him as well.

"I already told you. They are as safe as they can be." Luthor repeated under her lassos effect. He was tied up on the floor because it was the only thing that was able to stop him from using his powers.

Zatanna and her contact were currently working on a cell for him based on the mystics. Hopefully it was soon.

"Fine. Let's try another question. How do we work the portal?" She tightened to ropes.

"I don't know. My... little badger did most of the...work."

"Don't you dare call him that!" The Red Hood stomped over, picking him up by the lapels on his suit.

"You have no right to call him anything after what you've done. You're so goaddamned lucky I ain't running this mission cause if I was, I'd have ground you to dust underneath my feet and served your head to him." He growled green reflected weirdly in Luthors eyes.

"Red Hood. Back down." Jason growled but roughly dropped him hard enough he heaved as he hit the ground and curled over.

"Never thought you'd be such a killjoy, Wayne." They didn't freeze they were all much to good to freeze, but she could tell it was a near thing.

"That's right. He told me about all of you. He was more than happy enough to tell me everything." Luthor baited them. Batman growled and approached him with a furious snarl.

"Don't let yourself be led astray by anger." Diana advised him. She received the alert that the cell was ready and loaded him up to bring him to the closest zeta. Batman watched her all the while a contrast from everyone else that avoided even looking in her direction.

-----‐----------

"Fuck that hurts." His son complained but didn't shy away from them. Damians never complained before. The giant yeti stood by assorted through what he can only guess as their medical supplies before finding greenish tinted bandages in strange container. He angled his body infront of Damian shielding him from whatever that was soaked in.

"What is that?" He questioned hesitantly."It's fine, Richard, it's just ecto-aids." Damian answered with full confidence. He couldn't take it any longer and pulled the last stitch through gently before rising and starting to pace erratically

"Damian. I promised myself I would take this slow, but I can't. I have no-no! idea where we are, who anyone even is, and why the fuck you're almost a completely different person." He waved his hands around erratically ignoring the yeti placing the 'ecto-aids' on the counter snd leaving.

"We-are in the Far Frozen, in the Infinate Realms where all afterlives exist together. It's the very foundation of the mulitverse."

"What the fuck are even talking about?" His jead was hurting s d he barely restrained him self from screaming in frustration.

" I am...a reincarnation of the High King Phantom, my-his real name was Danny Fenton. He was a superhero."

"I don't-no I don't understand...what- how?"

" I think i should start from the beginning. Maybe you should sit..?" His son asked his voice gentler and almost fragile. Damian wasn't fragile. He'd seen him take out mountains of goons 4 times his size, but for the first time in years, he truly looked all his fourteen years of life. He sat down beside him and bumped his shoulder a silent show of support hopefully.

"In that life my parents were scientists who studied..." For hours he listened as Damian recounted his previous life occasionally telling his own short tales to make him feel better.

"So Lex Luthor is your godfather from another life?"

"Yes, but he prefers Vlad. He doesn't mind, Mr. Luthor, but he hates Lex." Damian winced.

"Well, this is going to take a lot of adjustment. My whole view on life has been fundamentaly been altered." That is a severe understatement. He's met people who've had past lives, but knowing his own son had one was a...adjustment.

"I...understand if you want me to leave."

"What? Damian-"

"It's fine. I understand if you think I'm to..to different..."

"Damian, you are right that you're different, but we're all a little different. The whole family is batshit crazy you know. We would never kick you out."

"But I was difficult before, and now I'll be even worse. I can't even go one day without getting into fights. I'm...wrong-."

"You are perfectly fine just the way you are." He took Damian face between his hands.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. I am so proud of you. You have come so far in just the short few years I've known you. You overcame your past and you can overcome this to."

"I'm scared. What if-father doesnt-...want me?" His lip wobbled, and his eyes glistened in the warm light.

"Bruce loves you. You're his son. And even if somehow Bruce doesn't, I'll be right here because you're my son too. My Robin. It's okay to be scared. Courage is not the absence of fear -"

"But the triumph over it. Do you know how many times you've told me that? I couldn't count it even if I kept a journal. I would never admit to being afraid to anyone but you." His son finished his quote.

"Then why did you run from me?" He could admit that the question had laid heavily on his mind. There wasn't anybody he trusted more than Damian, and he thought he shared the sentiment.

"I knew that if stayed I'd put them in danger." Damian tried to escape his hold on his head to look away but Dick refused to let him go.

"Who, Dami?"

"My-my...children."

"What? How? You're a-"

"It's more like incubation for ghosts. Dan and ellie, the siblings I told you about. Their bodies were injured and discorpolated to the point they had to retreat to their cores. Because of their pasts, they wouldn't have enough strength to heal, so I am hosting them." Many people have hosted...things before and he's sure ghosts are different, but he's heard of spirits and parasites before.

"Oh. That's a lot but it's not...hurting you is it?"

"Not..typically."

"What do mean?" Please don't make me lose you again.

"I needed to get to Frostbite to check if there are any complications, but because of circumstances, it's complicated." He admitted looking anywhere but his eyes.

"What circumstances? What complications?" He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice but he fears he only made himself sound frustrated.

"The Lazurus Pits. I believe they are corrupted ectoplasm. Frostbite would know more about this than i do. I believe that after I got more pure ecto, the corruption was flushed out, but I need to make sure." He makes a note to ask Frostbite about Jason later.

He opens his mouth to ask again, but Frostbite came back. "Is everything all right? Some of my people heard yelling in here?" Dick goes to speak but is interrupted before he can. Damian shakes his hands off and scoots away from him on the table.

"Everything is fine. We were just about to use the ecto-aids." Damian lied convincingly. The yeti sighed, obviously not believing his less than convincing act.

"You requested a check-up? On the young cores, am I correct?" He questioned, moving on from the subject. Dick didn't remember Damian saying anything about the cores, and he had carried him all the way here. He turned to Damian in question.

"We're ghosts, or I'm a halfa, but we do a lot of emotional speaking and sensing auras. Every core has a special ecto-signal, and most can see ecto-bonds aseell. He's obviously put the dots together. It's not hard." Damian explained. The more he learns, the more concerning it gets. He gives Damian an unimpressed look.

"Quite right. It's a special bond that traverses lifetimes that you two have!"

He turned to damian questioningly but he seemed just as lost.

"I sensed the small ecto-signal that I used to sense from your older sister. I thought you already knew?"

"No, no, I don't sense anything. Everything is diluted. I didn't even sense vlad until he was right in front of me before."

"Hmm, let's come back to this later and get you checked out first to make sure there aren't any immediate problems. I may just be mistaken. Jasmine was always a liminal. She never even reached ecto-contamination levels of a halfa." He pondered.

"Wouldn't i atleadt recognize some things if I was her? Dejavu?"

"I doubt it. You might have the soul of her, but without the ecto, you might never regain the memories."

"And we are not contaminated him just to test a theory. No experiments." Damian said with distant eyes.

"Of course, great one. It was merely a thought." And with that the conversation was over and the examination begun.

------------

Stephanie rubbed her eyes with expensive lotion tissues she'd called pointless, but Alfred always kept in stock. The tissue box was blue, and there was another green one beside it. The universe sure had a way of being funny.

"Care for a snack Miss Stephanie?" Alfred asked her with red rimmed eyes, he carried a plate with fancy cheeses and crackers with funny shapes.

"Thanks, Alfie." "Of course,miss." She sighed and ate the lightest cheese with an almost cat-looking shape.

"Do you want one Cass?" Cass was laying on the med bay bed with several bandages crisscrossed on her upper body. She had a heavily wrapped foot and her hair was secured with numerous brightly colored pins to keep it away from the healing scars.

She shakes her head slightly. Steph sighs and stands from the spare bed and takes the tray with her. She spares one last glance to her mourning and benched best friend.

Duke is dressed as signal sans mask bent over the batcomputer. His stance reminds her of Bruce and she can't help but smile. Duke nods his head at her.

"How is she?" He asks, typing and reading several reports. "Sad." She sets the tray on a nearby counter close enough for Duke to snack. He sighs and finally sits down in the chairs.

"Green Lanturn visited the island yesterday. He says it isn't alien."

"Which one?"

"Guy Gardner." She hums thoughtfully. She's met the guy only once before. He seemed a bit hot-headed, but she's heard of good work from him before. Jason's bike sounded out from behind them. He ripped his helmet off and slammed it down on the counter. The tray shakes, and the cheese mixes with the crackers in a pile.

"Amy leads?" She asked him ignoring his anger. He was getting better and now this.

"Do i look it panned out, blondie?" She sighed and pulled herself onto the counter.

"Zatanna had a contact look at the portal. They said it 'reeked' of death. Refused it to get any closer. Deadman is going to check it out today." Duke interupted them.

"What about Constantine?" She took the subject change.

"Still missing. Zatanna found his house yesterday. There was a note of a poker meeting in hell for a piece of his soul. Bruce thinks he lost and pissed of a demon he couldn't escape."

"You've got to be kidding me. How many people are going to go missing?" Jason started ripping off his armor and disappeared into the changing rooms. Hopefully, for a shower, he reeks.

"The Titans went back to the island today."

"How was that?"

"Raven ran into Zatanna and offered to look for Costantine in hell."

"Seriously? That's the worst idea ever."

"Batman said that to. She's probably going to go through with it still, though."

"Obviously."

"Hows your mom?"

"Good. She's worried about me. I keep telling her it's okay, but everyone knows about the cover story kidnappings by now."

" I still think the cover is bad. I'm surprised they even bought it."

"The press will buy anything that makes cops look bad. After that shootout at the mall last week, not a single person got hurt apart from some bruising, but everyone is dumping on the pigs now. Bruce is pissed."

"True. It was just some desperate kids trying to get quick cash anyway. They didn't even have bullets. Now all i get from Bruce is that I should have stopped them from pistal whipping that security guard."

"No shit?" The zeta tube rang out suddenly.

"Spoiler. Signal. Gather the others. We have a lead.

Fucking finally.

------‐---

Dick Grayson was no stranger to restless nights. Being a circus act turned vigilante, he'd been used to working well through midnight. Then he became a cop then Bruce 'died', and he quit. Then he came back and he had to say bye to his son and took a gymnastics training job. Much more flexible hours but just as exhausting. Classes, people, and training all day. It challenged even his extroverted attitude.

The coffee in this dimension wasn't anything like his own. It had an almondy taste to it, and he'd assume it was poisoned if he hadn't already drunken 2 cups a day since he got here.

It never got cold even if he left it out all day in the biting storms outside. It would be a little watery but still hot. He very much enjoyed that. He could drink room temperature coffee, but he still hated it.

They'd been staying at a log cabin in the Far Frozen since they got here four and half weeks ago. He'd questioned just about every yeti and random ghost about raising ghostlings, and hes pretty sure they run in terror when they see him coming by now. He sighed and set down his empty mug.

He spends just about everything day questioning ghosts, Frostbite visits, and spending time with Damian. Rinse and repeat. Don't get him wrong, he loves spending time with damian it was just hard. It's obvious they're running out of time. Bruce will get the portal fixed one way or another and come get them, and damian is scared out of his mind.

His nightmares haven't been this bad in years. It's gotten to the point that Damian starts out the night in his bed. Damian didn't talk in his sleep before it was mainly mumbled. Now it's all he hears.

(Please...I'm alive-im alive-im a real...person)

He gets his own nightmares as well. He sees Danny on the table. Strapped down, his hair, a white dewy halo. His green eyes glow, unseeing. A mix of red and green blood surrounding them. He's struggling with the wounds. Pushing the organs back in. Taking out the rib stretcher. Pushing them back in. Stapling his skin. His hands are covered in blood, both green and red. He thinks they might be a mix of Jazzs memories and his own imagination.

The toaster popping up pulls him from his thoughts. He picks up the burning bread. Swearing loudly and tossing the bread from one hand to the other all the way to the plate. Why didn't he just grab the plate? God he's fucking dumb.

The oven timer beeps, and he grabs his much needed mitt. He pulls out the golden brown biscuits. Alfred would be proud. He's not a bad cook, no matter what the others say. He's just a distracted and experimental one. Alfred often banned him from his experiments growing up trying to cook his parents' meals from memory. Alfred had, of course, pulled up recipes and even made calls. It just didn't taste right it was missing something he'd argue. Now that he was older, he thought maybe the circus was missing things and his parents substituting it the best they could.

He grabs the butter from the fridge and pulls back the wrapping to use the end of the stick on the biscuits. Damian hates when he does it 'unsanitary and gross', but come on, he has to do it as quickly as he can. They're also the only ones who have to eat here! Damians ghostly friends have been bringing back food from the real world for then to eat. He's trying not to wonder where their getting the food.

He grabs the honey jar and uses the fancy stick he can't remember the name of to spread the honey everywhere. He even puts some on his toast. He flips the last few pieces of suspicious looking fake bacon onto the resting plate. The Lunch Lady Ghost had brought for them saying he had to get protein somewhere, but if you ask him, it looks...iffy. He made extra biscuits just in case.

He loads the biscuits and toast on one plate and another for the fakon. He balances two cups of orange juice in one hand and holds the plate with his stomach and forearms. He nudges the slightly open door with his foot. The ghost dog 'Cujo' nips at his ankle and hopps around his feet excitedly.

"Down boy." He jokes half-heartedly. The dog takes his command very seriously and lays on the ground tongue halfway out his mouth. His wagging tail is undeterred by the wood intangiblely sweeping through in wide arcs. Damian is asleep under the covers his body to used to his footsteps to register as a danger anymore. He's trying his best to treat this as a vacation instead of getting used to it, but he can't help but admit he'd love to do this every morning. Making breakfast for them every morning, coming home or driving to pick him up every afternoon, no longer making do with calls and canceled weekends.

"Dami... wakey wakes, eggs, and bakey..." he sings, rubbing his shoulder. He sets the orange juice and plates on their one nightstand next to the baby 101 book they probably all read in Robin training already. He grabs his toast and a biscuit off the plate.

"Five more minutes..."No can do, baby. We've got a busy day today." Dami groans and rubs his face. His hair is much longer than three and a half months ago, no longer under Alfred's tutelage or gels, and now free to curl. He can't resist the temptation and runs his hand through the wild curls. Damian swats his hand away without any real heat, and he jumps on the bed, crawling over Damian and informing his squawk of protest to his side of their bed.

Damian sits up and snatches a biscuit and the baby name book underneath the other book. He pushes the book across the bed without a word.

"Did you find what you wanted? I thought you were going with Dan and Ellie. Like before." He notices a paper sticking out of the book, and he opens to that page. A small paper with Damis fancy scribbling is sticking out.

Dante Jasmine

Eleanor Richard

He sucks in a harsh breath.

"I-I had a rough time deciding on either Dante or Jordan. But I thought he'd like Dante more, you know. Do-do you like it? The names? Is it... okay?" Damian places a hand on his stomach where their cores are resting. They're growing stronger by day. Damian had let him hold his hand there just last night and feel them kicking? Pulsing? It was hard to tell, but Frostbite assured them it was normal and that any day now, they'd phase out. Frostbite had said that ghosts barely incubated for more than a month it only took so long because both the cores and Damian were weaker.

"It would be an honor. To have her named after me. And if Frostbite was right, both of them." Damian smiles and takes a bit of the biscuit. He barely manages to keep the happy tears in.

"I wanted to talk to you about something else as well."

"What Dames?" The last word sounded more like 'duhs' after he started eating his biscuit.

"Tucker stopped by when you were out interagating the yetis yesterday." He blushed and stuffed the rest of the biscuit into his mouth. "He said Constantine was asking around at big leagues poker last week. They invite Tuck all the time, probably to suck up to the Big Guy in charge, you know.

"Since he's been looking after the throne for you?"Yeah, he's been doing a pretty good job. we'll probably revisit it when I'm older, but he said that he was looking for a pair of lost heroes."

"He described us?"

"Yeah, Tucker said it was pretty accurate, too. Even called in some favors. Tucker thinks he suspects something with the dimensions."

"Is he suspicious?"

" I don't think so, but Tuck said he pissed off some demons."

"Enough to go after him?"

"It's John Constantine. What do you think?" Damian said, folding his arms and squinting as if to say 'really?'.

"Fine. You're right. Should we help?"

"I'm sure the league will go after him if anything happens. I'll put some ghosts on the trail. Some cute blob ones, maybe." The league...Bruce.

"We should talk about Bruce." Damian looked away.

"What's there to talk about?" Dick scooted closer, catching a glance at the dog curled below damian on a pillow.

"Bruce loves you damian."

"You already said. God, you're starting to sound like a broke record. Did you know that?" Anger. It's easier to be angrier than admit you're scared. He'd know that well.

"It's true. I know you're worrying about it."

"Do you really think Father will undersrand? Understand them? Leave it alone?"

"You're his son, of course he can!"

"Am i? Am I his son? Or am I just another obligation? A reminder of his mistakes." Uncommon tears threaton to fall from Damians face. Reflecting in the early morning light.

"That's not true. He loves you." God, he was broken record.

"But does he like me? Does he really trust me?" Damian turned to him, fully letting him see the falling tears.

"Of course he likes you. You're his Robin and his son." He reached out a hand to wipe the tears from his face. His heart aches for his son.

Damian threw himself into his arms. His head made his way onto his neck and shoulder. Clutching and gripping his clothes. Dick grabs him and does his best tonadjust him into a healthier position to not hurt either one of them. There's a damp spot on his shoulder, but he ignores it.

"I'm your Robin too..."

"He's your dad, dami." He mutters into his hair. He uses his fingers to soothe the knots in his hair out as gently as he can.

"I wish-wish you were my real dad... not Bruce." Please don't say that. Please, you don't mean it. Damian starts sobbing and shudders against him. Shaking the both of them. He tries to soothe him. Rocking them back and forth.

"Dont say that. Don't do this to me -" He tries his best to get rid of the thoughts. Of them being actual father and son. Of him being able to take Damian home. Of not having to worry about Bruce's reminders that they're brothers. That he's Damians father, not him.

"You're his son." A reminder to himself just as much to Damian that he's Bruce's, not his. Damian just sobs louder. His heart breaks into pieces, and he tries to comfort him, rubbing circles into his shoulder blades. He turns his head and kisses his Baby Bats forehead. This angle allows him to see his face. It was soaked and reddened from the tears. Damian tries to bury himself closer to him.

"No-no..." Damians sobs into his arms. His jacket is drenched.

[justanotherrpmeme]

After-Action Patch-Up starters

"Hold still, [name], this might sting a bit." "You're lucky it's just a few scratches. You need to be more careful!" "Don't be such a baby. It's just a flesh wound." "I can't believe you jumped into that fray without thinking! What were you trying to prove?" "Here, let me help. I've had my fair share of battle wounds." "Ouch! Warn me before you start cleaning those cuts." "You're a mess. How did you even get into this situation?" "I never thought I'd see you so vulnerable. It's strange." "Let's patch you up before anyone else sees you like this." "You really need to work on your combat skills. I can't keep playing nursemaid." "I've got the first aid kit. Sit down, and let me take care of those injuries." "You did well out there, but you're not invincible. Let me help." "I told you not to charge in without a plan. Now look at you." "It's nothing serious, just a few cuts and bruises. You'll be fine." "I can't believe you're complaining about a little pain. You should see what I've been through." "Hold on, I'll get the antiseptic. This might sting a bit." "You're surprisingly fragile for someone who fights so fiercely." "You really know how to ruin a perfectly good day, don't you?" "I never expected to see you in need of my care. Life is full of surprises." "I suppose I should thank you for saving me, even if it means playing nurse now."

[CLEANS] The sender takes a cotton swab and gently cleans the dirt and blood from the receiver's wounds. [BANDAGES] The sender carefully wraps a bandage around the receiver's forearm, securing it to protect the cuts. [SCOLDS] The sender scolds the receiver, shaking their head as they tend to the injuries. [REACTS] The receiver winces as the sender applies antiseptic to a particularly nasty cut on their cheek. [COMFORTS] The sender reassures the receiver, offering comfort while tending to the injuries. [DISINFECTS] The sender pours antiseptic on a wound, causing the receiver to inhale sharply at the stinging sensation. [INSPECTS] The sender inspects the wounds, noting any deeper cuts that might need more attention. [LECTURES] The sender lectures the receiver, advising them to think before acting to avoid future injuries. [SMILES] Despite scolding, the sender smiles reassuringly, trying to ease the tension in the room. [COMPLAINS] The receiver complains about the pain, prompting the sender to roll their eyes and continue their work. [WORRIES] The sender expresses worry, sharing their concern for the receiver's well-being. [TREATS] The sender skillfully treats each injury, showcasing their competence in basic first aid. [ADMONISHES] The sender admonishes the receiver, emphasizing the potential severity of the situation. [ASSESSES] The sender assesses the overall damage, silently noting the toll the fight took on the receiver. [DISAPPROVES] The sender expresses disapproval, stating that putting oneself in danger is not acceptable. [ASSURES] The sender assures the receiver, claiming that despite appearances, the injuries will heal quickly. [HESITATES] The receiver hesitates as the sender reaches for a needle and thread to stitch up a deeper cut. [SYMPATHIZES] The sender sympathizes with the receiver, acknowledging the pain while praising their efforts. [SCANS] The sender scans the receiver's body for any hidden injuries, ensuring nothing was overlooked. [GRATEFUL] The receiver expresses gratitude to the sender for taking care of them amid the discomfort.

[seijorhi]

Gorge

Monster Geto Suguru x female reader

tw: blood and gore, hard vore (not reader), implied non con, mentions of breeding, yandere-ish as always

Fairy & Rhi’s Big Bad Valentines Event ~ Here there be monsters

Days of silence, waiting, calling fruitlessly into the vast nothing that surrounds you, and the sudden crackle on the other end of the radio sends your heart leaping to your throat. 

“Mayday, mayday, this is the S.S. Sarugami, requesting emergency assistance. I repeat, this is S.S. Sarugami, requesting emergency assistance, we’ve taken heavy damage with multiple fatalities, requesting emergency assistance, do you read me?”

Please.

You don’t so much as breathe, fingers poised over the transponder as you wait. They might not pick up the signal, they might not care enough to stop and help. It could be pirates, unfriendlies. Scavengers or reavers. You’d close your eyes and pray if it hadn’t been made perfectly clear that any higher power turned their back to your plight a long, long time ago. 

“Don’t you feel the teeniest bit of guilt?” a smooth purr snakes through your head.

You don’t bother hiding the shiver that trickles down your spine like ice. “No,” you snip. It’s somewhere between a truth and a lie. You don’t relish what you’ll be unleashing on them if they arrive to offer the aid you begged for, but if it gets you out of here, away from him–

Self preservation will always win out.

You’re not a bad person for this. They wouldn’t come if they knew. They wouldn’t help you.

“No?” Amused. Always fucking amused. You bite your tongue so hard you taste blood. The near soundless shudder, breathy and excited, that reverberates through the cabin wrenches at you like a knife. 

Seconds crawl past, and then–

“Copy, Sarugami, this is the Admiral Fleet, I.C. Justice Prime. Report.” A flare of panic sparks at the identification, the brash, no-nonsense tone at the other end of the transponder. The Admiral Fleet isn’t your first choice here, they’re assholes of the highest order, bound by the code and, some might say, a little too eager to sniff out violations and injustices they can throw the book at. 

If one of them escapes, if they report you–

“You think I’d leave one alive? My, such little faith in me, I thought we’d dispelled such notions.”

Ignoring It, you say to Justice Prime, “We were attacked by reavers four days past with heavy casualties. The Captain and his command are dead. The med-team is dead. Our core was disabled and stripped and our life support systems are running low. Requesting emergency assistance, please.”

More lies, sprinkled in truth. Reavers would’ve left by now. Reavers aren’t nearly as dangerous as the threat you’re luring them to. Your hands tremble, heart trilling like a hummingbird and sweat beads at your temple. From the corner of your eye, you spy a flash of dark hair and pale skin, an all too familiar aroma of thick, smoky incense washing over you.

Lie, lie, lie. 

You squeeze your eyes close and breathe deep, fighting the urge not to flinch when something too cold, too soft, too formless to pass for human pets at your cheek. Like you’re a pet. A pretty doll. “I think I like this side of you. Vicious, bloodthirsty little mate,” It croons.

“… Copy, Sarugami. We’ll send a boarding party to assess the situation and advise next steps.”

No promises of help, but you suppose that’s too much to expect from the likes of the Admiral Fleet. It doesn’t matter. Once the airlock opens, none of that will matter. “Copy.”

The moment your finger leaves the transponder, you swing into action. You shoulder the blaster (almost drained) and the backpack (stuffed with as many rations and water packs as you could carry) and bolt from the control board out onto the main deck. There’s no telltale hiss of slithering behind you, no artificial footfalls sounding at your heels. It’s following you, though. Even if you weren’t trying to escape, It never strays far, firm in the belief of Its possession. 

Navigating through the ship isn’t as easy as you imagined, your pace unwieldy and slow with the extra weight on your back, but you can’t afford to stop or be seen. They’ll be suspicious when you aren’t there to greet them, but so long as they venture in – and don’t catch you slipping past behind them – it’ll be okay.

You just have to get past them before It starts eating or– 

Well, that’s the only option. Get on the Prime and convince them to shut the airlock and leave. 

“Such a lovely little mate, bringing me feast after feast. When you fail, will you finally accept that this is inevitable?”

The visage in the corner of your eyes flickers, pulsing, warping, too much of a substance in a container too small, and the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You push forward, ducking out of sight, the back routes, the underbelly of the ship. Your breath comes in and ragged pants and your legs shake, more from the growing sense of dread twisting you up in knots than exertion.

“I’ll take the I.C Justice Prime,” It whispers in your head, far too sure of itself. “I’ll make a nest there to breed you in, keep you full and content. Such a good mate. Such a perfect, perfect monkey for me.”

Self-righteous assholes though the Admiral Fleet may be, you’re condemning them. Part of you knows it, even as It slips away from behind you, spilling from the tall, dark haired facade it adopts to soothe your nerves. Growing, black and slick, tendrils writhing, it slips through the grate like oil and forms itself on the other side.

“There’s other humans,” you hiss under your breath. “You can find another pet, I’m getting out of here.”

“None like you.”

The screams start before you resurface on deck. Your timing is off. There’s yelling and burst after burst of blaster fire, the sickening wrenching of limbs being ripped from bodies. Justice Prime sent seven soldiers and a single medic, and they’re being torn apart. Consumed in bloody chunks, still alive. Still screaming. 

Run, you think, skittering to your feet when they slip through a puddle, warm blood coating your hands, up your wrists and forearms, your knees. It’s everywhere, horrible trails of it leaking across the floor. Run. Run. Run, and for fuck’s sake don’t look back. 

“I shall have to reward you for this. Both my appetites sated, how you spoil me.”

Tears well in your eyes, shoulders shaking, heaving with the force of the sobs you choke back. The airlock is mere feet away – you’ve come too far to turn back. You cannot just submit to this, to It. 

There’s a difference, though, between the crew of the S.S. Sarugami and the I.C. Justice Prime. Your crew were explorers, scientists. Your best friend was a botanist studying alien flora, her wife a cartographer. They were taken unawares. The Prime are soldiers, first and foremost. Comms suddenly cut out on a suspicious mayday call, and they don’t wait to see if it’s a jammed frequency or miscommunication.

When you stumble through the airlock, the muzzles of six blasters greets you.

“We have to go!” you cry out, throwing your blood slicked hands up in front of you to show you’re not a threat, begging them to just listen. “Please, we have to go now!”

You feel It before you see It, the cold chill at your back. 

In one cruel sweep, It rips the blasters from their grips, sending them clattering uselessly to the wall. “I’m sorry,” you gasp, though it’s more a plea for forgiveness as you watch their eyes widen in terror, taking in the monstrous creature behind you. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t watch, sweet mate. I know how this sort of thing upsets you.”

But closing your eyes doesn’t stop the screams, or the warm, wet spray of blood that drips down through your hair from the toothy maw above.

[blaydie]

ᥫ᭡ A FOOL’S MISTAKE — “It’s not like him to be so careless.” -> Dan Heng x GN reader.

Word count: 1.2k

Contains: Dan Heng x GN reader, injured Dan Heng, fluff, comfort, affection, reassurance, cuddles, kissing, indirect confession.

Sprawled across your bed, Dan Heng lays there, scrunching his brows when your hand rubs over the wound he received while with the crew. He was sent back to the Astral Express, advised by Himeko to rest for the remainder of this trip. You’ve been here for a while and are accustomed to everyone’s mannerisms, but even an outsider could tell how frustrated he was for letting his guard down so easily. It’s not like him to be so careless.

“I swear I saw you. You were there.” He grunts, his fingers creasing your sheets with the force he grips them. The ointment coats the damaged skin, aiding repair and prevention of infection.

Whatever he experienced out there has led to a set of delusions. He keeps repeating the same words as though he is in denial about the truth.

“I’ve been here with Pom-Pom the entire time. I haven’t stepped foot off of the Express since our last mission.”

“I tried to—”

“Himeko said you ran straight into the enemies. Mr. Yang called you back, but you didn’t listen to him. Whatever hallucination you had wasn’t real, Dan. I’m okay. I never left the Express.” You speak softly, attempting to calm him from his frenzied state.

“…” His eyes fluttered, releasing his clutch on the sheets. His index finger trails down the length of your arm, searching you for any wounds.

“I’m fine, I swear to you. I wouldn’t lie to you, especially not about something like that.”

“It knew how to get to me then.” He mutters, leaving his hand flat on top of yours. “I thought you were going to die.”

“It was a cruel trick. You know the others wouldn’t let that happen so easily though.”

“Hallucination or not, I wouldn’t let you go like that. I couldn’t just watch it happen.”

“In future, please don’t rush into a hoard of creatures for me without double-checking with the others. You’re worried about me dying, but you could’ve been seriously hurt if that fight wasn’t wrapped up quickly.”

“I’m a fool.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am. I’m the only one who was unable to resist their manipulation. That hallucination. Everyone must have seen a different one.”

“You were just worried for my safety. I’m sure if anyone else witnessed one of us in danger, they would have had a similar reaction. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

A shaky exhale left his lips while his fingers locked with yours. His thumb brushed over the bumps of your knuckles, grounding himself from the extensive shock his body underwent. He remembers that day when he swore he would never let anything harm you, how you will always be the first one he saves. There was never a moment you doubted him, fully aware of how willing he is to throw away his own life if it means you get to live. 

“I got you a change of clothes when I heard you were hurt. I had to search through your closet, I hope you don’t mind.” You sheepishly push a fresh set of clothes towards him—the ones you usually catch him lounging in while working in the archives late at night.

“No, not at all. Thank you. I’m glad that you’re the first person I saw when I woke up.” Discarding his sombre expression, his lips twist up slightly. A subtle twinge of colour spreads across his face, scooting you aside while he sits up.

“Is the bandage too tight? I can loosen it a little if you’d like.” You glance at his bare torso, eyes lingering on his abdomen for longer than you’d like to admit. Something was alluring about him in your perspective, something that others may not see. 

“It’s fine. I appreciate the effort you put in to take care of me.” He stands to his feet, turning his back to you as he changes his attire.

When fully covered, he returns to your bed. Propping a pillow against the headboard, he pulls a blanket over himself, seemingly getting himself comfortable. It appears that he plans to stay here for the remainder of the evening, something he knows you won’t protest. Pulling you into his side, your head collides with his shoulder, a shared spell of laughter illuminating the darkness that was once cast in your room.

“I need to tell the group chat you’re okay. They were worried sick about you when you fell unconscious.” You reach for your phone, snapping a picture of the very alive Dan Heng beside you. 

Within a few seconds, multiple notifications flood your screen, mainly March and Pom-Pom, the usual dramatics when something like this occurs. Himeko sends her best wishes while Mr. Yang writes a small lecture. He doesn’t mean any harm by what he said, it’s the instinct of being a parent—he will always look out for you all, whether you like it or not. 

“I’m sorry if I frightened you,” Dan speaks up when you turn off your phone, capturing your attention.

“Don’t be. All I ask is that you don’t die without me.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Weaving his arms around you, he held you close in an embrace, the only sound filling the room being your mingled breaths completely in sync. It’s no mistake that out of everyone on the Express, Dan’s strongest connection is with you. You’re the one he turns to when he feels no one else would understand his woes, you accepted him and his stoic ways into your life without trying to change him. For that, he’s grateful. You understand that not every issue can be fixed with a smile, a snack, or a nap.

Shifting his hand from the small of your back, he pushes your chin up. You grin at him, eyes crinkling as he stares back at you. The outline of your lips is a shape he learned how to trace, now able to reconstruct it using his memory when not presented in front of him.

“I’m glad you joined the Express. Travelling through the stars together is romantic when you view it the right way. I wouldn’t want to experience that with anybody else.”

Sealing his sweet speech, he presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss. Allowing him more space, you open your mouth slightly. Dan adored every inch of you, being granted permission to be so affectionate was merely a blessing. The heat radiating from his palms made your skin clammy, a stark contrast to his usual cold hands. 

Pulling away, your saliva remains at the corner of his mouth while he beams at you, his eyes half-lidded. His chest heaves, your lips more pronounced from the puffiness. The look in his eyes speaks words that he is not yet ready to admit, and you understand them all. When the time comes, he’ll tell you properly in the way he has planned. 

Developing an attraction to you felt like a mistake at first, he didn’t want to let you down and paint himself to be someone he’s not. However, you proved to him that you can handle all of his issues and emotions. Every flaw he possesses you manage to see the beauty—memories which used to haunt him don’t dare reside in his mind when you’re nearby. You ease the pain placed upon him.

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)wife

Chapter I: The Chain 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Three months after leaving him, your inevitable reunion with your soon-to-be ex-husband Aemond isn’t as bad as you thought it’d be.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, toxic relationship dynamic, possessive Aemond, depictions of anxiety, allusions to smut

Word count: 3000

A/N: Edited and done, please enjoy 🩵 Thank you my love @theoneeyedprince for giving this a look-through for me 🫶

Breathe.

In. Hold three seconds. Out. Hold three seconds. In. Hold three seconds. Out.

You haven’t been able to eat anything all morning, far too nauseous to keep even a piece of toast down.

The breathing exercise your therapist had taught you does little to help you calm down.

You’ve felt anxious before, but rarely this intense.

It’s so physical.

You feel it in your stomach turning, chest contracting, hands tingling, head spinning.

You knew you’d have to meet him sooner or later.

Afterall, you’d both decided to stay in the band. You’d just started to gain traction, embarking on your first ever tour across the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

A once in a lifetime opportunity for an up-and-coming band.

Still, knowing that didn’t make it easier to turn the handle of the door and walk into the studio.

Knowing he’ll be there.

You hadn’t seen your husband, Aemond, in over three months now.

Soon to be ex-husband.

You’d honestly expected the process to be speedier; you hadn’t demanded anything from him, the only thing important to you was that you kept all legal rights you had in relation to the band; the rights to your songs. And he hadn’t really given any conditions himself, yet his solicitors took ages contacting yours.

That’s all you’d heard from him over the summer. Updates from your legal advisers about his.

You’d blocked his number after leaving the divorce papers at your shared flat and moved out, tired of your phone overheating from the amount of times he’d tried calling you.

In the end, Alicent, your mother-in-law, had phoned you, begging you to please meet with her son and talk it out. You told her that you’d already talked plenty and there was no point in continuing indulging in pointless discussion. You’d always gotten along well with Alicent, so having her call you to do her son’s bidding felt so unbelievably awkward. He’d always been such a mama’s boy.

With one final, shaky exhale, you turn the handle of the door and push it open, stepping into the hallway.

With the door ajar, you can hear chatter from the studio.

Everyone’s already here.

Good, then you’d just have to suck it up and face them. Like ripping off a band-aid; only painful for a second.

You spot Helaena first. She gives you a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and straightens up slightly.

You’d met her a few times in the last months; brainstorming song ideas and recording vocals together in the studio.

Besides playing the piano, she wrote songs and sang for the band, just like you and Aemond. She hadn’t asked you anything about him, which you were thankful for. You know she’s anxious about how the dynamic in the band will shift now that the two of you have separated. And her anxiety materialises in the way she starts picking at her nail beds as soon as she sees you emerge through the door.

Next to Helaena sits Jace, who plays bass for the band. He gives you a half-hearted smile, accompanied by tense shoulders and a murmured greeting.

Across the table from him is Erryk, drummer and the newest addition to the band. He seems to not sense the tension that hangs heavy in the room and smiles at you until his eyes crinkle.

His obliviousness almost makes you laugh. It nearly manages to cut through the uncomfortable tension, until your eyes travel to lock with the last person in the room.

You knew that Aemond wouldn’t cause a scene and act infuriatingly indifferent towards you.

You knew that he’d give you a nod and get straight down to business.

Still, you feel a sliver of satisfaction when your predictions turn out to be true.

“So, everyone’s done with recording their parts?”, he asks the room.

He’s already pulled out his laptop, quick fingers typing as he waits for confirmation.

Though the tense atmosphere never really leaves the room, you all collectively try to power through as you discuss how recording went and what else needs to be fixed before the album is ready.

Due to your and Aemond’s separation, and the tumultuous events leading up to it, the band had agreed that everyone would record their vocals and instruments separately; putting everything together in production later. This had slowed down the process significantly, resulting in you being far from done with the album your label wanted you to release at the end of the month.

“As you know, the label isn’t too pleased with the fact that we haven’t finished the album yet-”, Aemond says, eyes still on the screen of his laptop; both his seeing eye and the unmoving one covered by a layer of white mist,

“-But they’ve asked us if we’d be willing to perform some new songs during the tour, to boost sales and get the hype up”

His voice is stoic, every utterance straight to the point. You sit on his blind side, with Helaena between your chair and his, and you take the opportunity of knowing he can’t clearly see you to examine him, searching for any changes since you last laid eyes on him, when his knuckles were bloody and panic reflected in his lilac eye.

He looks exactly like he always does; infuriatingly handsome.

His long, silvery hair hangs loose over his shoulders. His long eyelashes cast down as he inspects the screen of his laptop. His aquiline nose slopes beautifully to meet his perfectly pouty lips, begging to be kissed-

Fuck, stop!

Truth be told, you’d put extra effort into looking your best today, spending an hour on doing your makeup and picking out the perfect outfit. Hopefully you’d succeeded in making it appear much less intentional than it was, suddenly feeling a flash of embarrassment wash over you.

Why do you care what he thinks anymore?

The meeting goes on for another hour. The band’s manager, Tyland Lannister, joins in after 20 minutes, briefing the band members on the upcoming tour. Opening night’s in one week, on Dragonstone, and you’ll all fly out the morning of the show.

As the members of the band prepare to leave the studio, the tension that had previously felt so crushing is now only lingering in the periphery.

Jace and Erryk talk excitedly about all the places they’ll visit during the tour; what they wanted to eat and what they wanted to see. For a second it almost feels like things are back to normal, like the last three months never happened.

As everyone makes their separate ways home, you spot Aemond walk up to a black car and quickly jump in the passenger seat.

Your stomach turns.

You only see a flash of her black hair before the car drives away. The mask of indifference you’d put on cracks slightly at the sight of them together.

You wanted the divorce, idiot.

It still hurts seeing him move on though. He’d done it so quickly; uncharacteristically so.

The first week after you’d left, he blew up your phone trying to get a hold of you.

Despite his inexcusable behaviour, there had been times when you felt guilty for leaving him so abruptly. Even though you knew he deserved it, you also knew that leaving him and refusing to talk to him would drive him insane. What you hadn’t expected was that he’d go and get a new girl a mere week after Alicent had called you.

Seeing them together in real life made you feel exactly as you did when your friend Alysanne had sent you the link to the 30 second video two and a half months ago.

Nauseous.

The video showed Aemond getting out of a taxi in front of a new and chic Braavosi bistro downtown. It was opening night and a few local news sources were there to report. One of the journalists had recognised Aemond, clearly intrigued by the fact that the still-married bandman rounded the taxi and offered his hand to a beautiful dark-haired woman stepping out. As they walked towards the entrance, the reporter chased them down, microphone in hand and cameraman in tow.

“Aemond Targaryen? Already moving on after the separation I see?”, the reporter half-shouts behind Aemond to get his attention.

His date turns around in response to the comment, smiling as her emerald gaze observes the reporter. The news of your separation had been speculated on a few minor fansites after someone leaked an email from your solicitor's office, but neither you nor Aemond had made any statement about it.

He wasn’t planning on giving one now either, unimpressed eye giving the reporter a once-over before huffing in amusement and gesturing for his date to follow him inside.

The reporter, set on getting an answer from the rising star, chuckles before forcefully shoving the microphone in Aemond’s face,

“Women come and go, is that the case?”, he presses with a cheeky wink.

Aemond huffs out a laugh, “Yeah, something like that”, he says, wrapping his arm around his date’s shoulders as he leads her into the restaurant.

You’d later learn that the date from that night was his new manager, Alys Rivers.

Funny how he’d gotten a manager to handle his possible solo work.

Six months prior, when you’d been approached by a talent scout asking if you’d ever thought of doing solo stuff on the side, Aemond had been absolutely livid. After giving the agent a few well-chosen words, he had stormed off, leaving you upset and confused.

It was ultimately his jealousy and possessiveness that broke your marriage, getting to a point where you felt like you couldn’t be with him any longer. Neither as a lover nor a friend.

Now, the only place he can take in your life is as your bandmate; business partner, and nothing more.

You’d seriously considered leaving the band when you decided on leaving him. Still, somewhere deep inside you can’t shake this feeling that what your band has is something unique; something you won’t find anywhere else.

You and Aemond had started the band with Helaena right around the time you’d first met.

The three of you quickly bonded over your shared vision of what kind of music you’d like to make. On top of that, your voices sounded so good together, Aemond providing structure with his precision while you focused on conveying raw emotions.

So you decided to stick it out, work with your ex-husband in order to make the music that you wanted.

You’re an artist. All artists suffered for their art, right? You’d just have to suck this up and get on with it; continue to create art. And the pain would be worth it.

Besides, truth be told, you’d never met anyone quite as talented as Aemond. You’d never met anyone else who understood the music you wanted to create quite like he did.

When it came to music, you two almost had a telepathic connection. As someone who relies a lot on intuition and ‘that feeling in your gut’, you found it hard to describe music and your visions for it in general. But with Aemond you never needed to; he understood. Two minds wired the same.

Unfortunately, that wordless communication only stretched as far as music.

You think back to one of the last conversations you had before you left him.

You’d tried to confront him about his temper and inability to keep his jealousy in check, and he’d promptly ignored you; defaulting into shutting you out.

Exhausted, you resorted to the only solution you could come up with.

“Maybe we should spend some time apart, let things cool down a bit”, you try, purposefully making your voice as gentle as possible.

Aemond, who’d been staring out the window of your apartment in contemplative rage, quickly turns to face you, expression impassive but one eye furious.

“If you want some ‘time apart’ you might as well get on with it and leave”, he says, voice chilly. Sometimes when he’s angry, he sounds so hateful it hurts your heart.

“What do you want me to do Aemond?”, you reply, patience running thin as anger overcomes you, “You don’t allow me to live my life, you hinder any chance of growth I have-”,

“Growth!? What else do you need?”, he spits back. “Do you understand what it means to be married to someone? I do fucking everything for you, you’re my wife!”

“Sure, chain me to our marriage. Keep me shackled to you forever, that’s what you want, isn’t it? While you fuck around town, relishing in the freedom you never allow me”

Your agitated voice matches his. You know your words will hurt him.

Aemond exhales loudly. His jaw’s shut tight and misty gaze piercing. He has a tendency to shut down during fights, especially when he doesn't have a snide remark waiting at the back of his mind.

Aemond’s eyes, locking yours in a death stare, narrow,

“So you want out?”

The flight to Dragonstone goes by in a flash, and after a quick soundcheck at the venue, the five members of Dragon Dreamers start getting ready for the show. 

You and Helaena do your usual routine of getting ready together, checking each other’s makeup and hair.

As the venue starts to fill up, the band gathers backstage, quickly running through your set one last time. You try to shoot a covert glance at Aemond, but he immediately finds your eyes. As always, he looks impeccable.

“Since we’ve finished ‘The Chain’ in production, I suggest we play that as our opening number tonight. It’s fast-paced and will get the crowd moving”, Aemond states, looking at his bandmates for approval.

They all nod knowingly, catching you by surprise.

“I’m not sure I’m familiar with ‘The Chain’”, you say, trying to sound neutral though you suspect he chose a song you don’t know on purpose.

“It’s the one you did some backup vocals on in the studio”, Aemond replies, throwing you a quick look, “Me and Helaena can sing the verses and you can join in during the chorus”, he offers, moving to pick up his guitar, signalling that he’s done with the conversation.

Great, first song on opening night and you’ll stand there like a deer in headlights.

You sigh quietly and grab your tambourine. If you’re not going to sing you’ll at least try to join in by jamming a bit to the beat. Only one thing echoes in your mind,

Don’t let him get to you!

‘The Chain’ starts playing. Steady drums beat in a slow rhythm as Aemond plays a bluesy melody on his guitar, and you realise that it is one of the songs that you and he had worked on when you were still together.

Last time you heard it, you had worked out the melody, but not really pinned down the lyrics. Aemond must’ve taken it upon himself to finish it, completely steering away from the direction you thought the song would take.

‘Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise’

Why haven't you heard anything about this new edit?

A chill runs down your spine.

Has he re-written it to be about you?

‘Run in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies’

Yes he has.

You and Aemond got married at sunrise by the Hightower summer house in Highgarden in June two years ago.

Aemond had proposed to you only five weeks prior, and being so in love that you couldn’t possibly imagine being separated for more than 15 minutes, you decided to tie the knot as quickly as possible.

You just wanted to be his.

That had been one of your fondest memories together; a small ceremony that was only yours.

Now, it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

Memories rotting from within.

You hate it. You don’t want to think about that now.

Damn him. Damn his love. Damn his lies.

‘And if you don’t love me now, you will never love me again’

‘I can still hear you saying, “you would never break the chain”’

As he sings, he sounds so angry, his voice is almost foreign to you.

He usually tries to keep his emotions in check, even when performing. Probably too scared to be vulnerable enough to let people know he actually has feelings, you reckon.

You remember the song and the rapid pace it picks up. Trying to ignore what you think is Aemond staring at you from the side of the stage, you dance and sing to the song about your heartbreak.

You let the music consume you as you work the tambourine, dancing and spinning, trying to relish in the feeling of knowing your band had made a killer song.

The audience is loving it. You have never heard them this rowdy before, and you can see the entire venue dancing.

You keep going, trying to distract yourself so your gaze won’t travel to Aemond.

He had played a rough first version of the guitar solo he wanted to incorporate in the song for you when you were still together. It really was phenomenal, fitting perfectly with the climax of the song.

He’s an insanely skilled guitarist, never missing a note and always instinctively knowing exactly what melody will match the feel of a song.

The audience is loving it, screaming and dancing with you.

Feeling braver and with the adrenaline from the performance running through your veins, you come up to your mic and sing along with Aemond and Helaena, chanting in unison.

The three of you sound good, like you always do.

The realisation gives you comfort; there’s still hope for your band.

‘Chain, keep us together’

‘Running in the shadows’

You can do this.

A/N: Thank you for reading! 🫶

[naffeclipse]

Tusks

Reader x Yeti!Sun & Moon

Commission Info

The lovely @divinit3a requested their Frostbite AU with their cryptid Arctic boys, which was an absolute delight! There's snow, there's local legends, and there's the fellas themselves! I had such a great time writing them, and I'm so glad for the chance to write Sun being so extra monstrous and Moon as soft and sweet. Enjoy!

Content Warnings: Animal death, blood, gore, and fear.

———

The evening light slants golden over the frozen tundra, the sky softening to a popsicle pink hue. Trees and jagged mountain outcroppings alike cast shadows which turn the snow blue and the rocks and bark of willows dark and thick. You cheerfully continue deeper along the expansive land, hiking in snug boots and thick layers of clothing that loudly rub in a high pitch zip with each stride you take. 

This journey is very ill advised—but that has rarely stopped you from chasing after what you wanted. Vanessa, the one who strictly told you not to leave the town set on the frozen edge of the sea at the North Pole, warned her to wait for either her or an official crew before you started chasing after myths and folklore in the region. But one night in and hearing about the local abominable snowman propelled you forward into a solo day trek into the frigid wilds just beyond town. 

Yeti. Local legend. Tall tale. “The ice devil” is too great of a story to pass up. You set out to find a hook, a real, captivating myth to jot down upon your notebooks and preserve on your voice recorder, and you are not going to disappoint yourself. 

Stories are as important as reality, as nature itself. Stories are how people keep themselves alive. You continue the tradition by writing reports for a renowned wildlife and wilderness journal. Nothing would give you more pleasure than to witness first hand the places and conditions which swirl the rumors of a creature so inexplicable lurking along the edges of the town. 

It was once thriving too. Even before the tourism died down, the town hushly boasted of the local cryptid that were said to roam in blizzards after dark. You’ve walked between the frozen houses and down the thin strip meant to behave as the mainstreet—it is struggling. 

Perhaps a new, fresh story could bring attention back to such a place. It could do good to remind the world that there are still stories here, waiting to be heard, wishing to inspire awe and fright and imagination. 

You slide between two giant boulders slick with frost and reach a fantastic overlook at the top of a crag. The town seems so small and far away. The sun is setting low, the perfect golden hour setting upon you like a caress from a loved one saying goodbye. You brush a gloved hand against your nose. It drips slightly, and you can already imagine how bright-red and cold-bitten you must look. 

It’s going to be a trek back down. You frown slightly, studying the distance. Maybe the town really is far away. You have… less than a perfect amount of time to return to your shelter for the night. You simply don’t have the gear to survive a night in the Arctic tundra without additional aid, but that’s no matter. You’re on your way back to your rental room.

Ignore the slight ringing of Vanessa’s voice in your mind, terse and firm, telling you to wait for her, you turn around to find a way to slip down the mountain. You couldn’t help but be allured by the beautiful tundra and the rising mouths of caves and caverns alike. Icicles hang thick as harpoons from the mouths of openings in the mountain and snow piles are so thick in some areas, it would bury you alive to step in them.

You’ve been careful. You’ve traveled slowly and mindfully, and stopped to jot down your notes in a notebook before pulling out the voice recorder to wander aloud about how the environment has crafted a perfect abominable snowman for the locals to chat about. 

Of course, you’re convinced there is no such thing. Stories are born for the need of understanding. One night, a long long time ago, someone saw something in the snow and it seemed larger than reality and taller than life, and then they never saw it again. The understanding of it drifted perfectly into place as a monster. One can wrap their head around a spooky thing when it fits the criteria of horror within their mind, and it becomes a way for people to warn others from wandering too far or staying out at night when the temperature drops to lethal negative digits. 

A new understanding was born. The story of the yeti thrives. 

You drop down towards a sprawling of trees. The mountain still looms tall and dark behind you, its pale face darkening with the change of the light. You almost lose sight of the sun over the sharp slopes and peaks—but you’re sure these are your own foot tracks you’re following back.

And Vanessa was so worried about you. You grin only for yourself to know.

A tempting ice cavern opens up along your side. It’s yawning mouth is towering and the inside is deep and dark. You stop a moment to gaze within, picturing a monster lunging from its depth at a poor, unsuspecting victim. Quickly, you pull out your recorder and make a few vocal notes about the textures and impressions of the cavern. Could more ice be inside, thickly burrowing underground? 

Something to return to later. Vanessa will have to explain more to you, and you’ll ask if she’ll deign to take you on a tour inside one of them. She’s so severe about anything—it can’t simply be the lack of light in half the year or the weather. No, that’s just her disposition.

Around a bend of willow trees, thick with snow clinging to its dangling branches like an umbrella beaded in white, you walk without care. Striding forward, followed the edge of several smaller caverns, still impressive but not comparable in size, your eyes fall to the ground you tread. 

The snow is disturbed. Long and lengthy strides of something small, and there are multiples of them. You slow your rush to peer closer under the deep shadow you’re caught within. Paw prints. Large, impressive animal tracks. 

Wolves.

You slowly straighten, intrigued. Did they pass through here? Perhaps they caught your sense and curiously lingered. You trek through the little patch of willows, studying the strangeness of which the snow is disturbed, markings that are too thick and long to be from wolves, but could perhaps come from them falling into the snow and rolling. Why would wolves roll around here? This couldn’t be a local resting spot for them, could it? 

The division between shadow and brilliant, bright sunlight glittering on snow is a stark threshold. You reach it, stepping from the trees’ shelter only to stop in the golden glare of a sunset. 

Further ahead is a wolf in the path. It lies upon the snow, terribly still. Your pulse pricks up along your throat as you stare. The beautiful, thick coat of the creature is ripped to shreds, stained with blood which languidly spills out around it. 

Your skull empties of rational understanding. As if compelled by morbid curiosity, you step closer, reaching its unmoving side.

Its tongue luls out of its mouth. Eyes, wet and open, stare lifelessly. The hide is decorated with severe gouges, exposing its entrails. Heat ever so delicately rises in misty wisps into the frigid air. The carcass, missing pieces, is not even cold yet.

Something was eating it. 

A crunch of snow echoes further down the path. You startle. An instinct, animalistic and wild within you, scratches at your heart. Go. Hide. 

You obey. Flinging yourself back from the clearing of the dead, eaten wolf, you hunker behind a cluster of frosted rocks. Dropping to your knees, the light barely glancing off the icy edges of the stones, you throw yourself into its shadow. 

The crunch of snow shifts into footsteps, heavy and quick. You press a glove over your mouth, afraid the smoke of your breath could somehow give your position away. 

The footsteps stop. The stillness turns your blood to slush. 

“Oh my,” a curious voice singsongs. It’s high and bouncy with a strange, radio-like static underlying its tone. “Friend? Come on out. I can share.”

The demand is too cheerful. Friend you are not. You hold your breath, terrified as you lean your head against the cold, unforgiving rock. 

“Reveal yourself before I find you,” the voice still is strong, but a strain hits its cords. 

You are doing no such thing. 

“How rude,” the voice pouts. 

The crunch of snow becomes a rapid sharpness of footsteps, and then silence.

The back of your neck prickles. You lift your head back, back, back—

A face of gold and rust stares back down at you, a crown of sharp, splayed icicles framing the creature's head, with a grin stained in blood just behind two golden, metallic tusks. Thick white fur clings to the monster’s frame.

The ice devil.

“There you are,” his voice deepens into a growl most dreadful. A hand, large and clawed, dripping blood, reaches over the rocks.

You throw yourself to your feet. Almost knocking into a willow, snow falling from the branches and catching like dozens of wayward diamonds in the sunlight, you run. 

The creature snarls and quickly strides behind you. Your heart thunders in your ears.

You almost trip over a rock and the creature tuts a sharp sound of rebuke, calling for you to stop. Breathless, fighting the tightening of your throat, you race back towards the ice caverns. A hapless thought of losing it in one of the caves crosses your mind. You step towards the fine division between shadow and sunlight upon the ground, and pump your legs with all your might.

A large hand closes on your shoulder, twisting you back to face him while throwing you to the ground. It knocks the breath from your lungs. In a split second, the creature of wild white fur and golden plates is upon you. He pins you down neatly, as if you were a small toy for his hands to enjoy shaking about. 

“Friend,” he beams, tusks decorated in red, “There’s not enough time!”

You struggle, your boots sliding against snow while you panic without air in your body. Your head spins. The yeti crouches over you, far too close for comfort. One eye is wide and pale, icy blue. The one is damaged, scratched, with a star-like prick of blue deep in its black center.

His claws squeeze your shoulder. His other palm sits on your chest, keeping you in place.

“I won’t get to play with my friend,” he pouts and snarls the next, “How naughty of you to run from me.”

The air trickles slowly back into your gaping mouth. You scramble, clutching at his arms in a vain attempt to push him off you, but you only succeed in smearing blood onto your coat.

The shadows stretch deeper. The monster tilts his head, the impressive icicle jags upon his head spinning like crystals in the air. He releases your shoulder to drag the back of a claw down your cheek, leaving you to whimper with precious little breath.

“We can play,” he decides. “You can run and I’ll hunt you down.”

You frantically mewl, trying to push out from underneath him but he cages you in his long and looming figure. He laughs, bordering on maniacal. 

“Keep struggling, little hare,” he growls, “It’ll make you taste all the better—if you don’t behave.” 

You suck in a sharp breath at the first cool brush of shadows on your face. The yeti snarls a guttural, temperamental sound. His claws sink into the front of your coat, pricking the fabric. 

“No, no, no!” His other hand flies to his face, covering it as the evening gives way to twilight, and the gold upon his particular face fades to a silver and black.

Unhanded, you push yourself out from underneath the monster before bolting straight back into the thicket of the willows. You dash madly. Your footsteps remain in the snow, calm and steady, now smeared with your backtracking as you rediscover the great opening of the ice cavern from earlier, and toss yourself inside with all your might. 

You race into the darkness. The coldness turns your breath into thick smoke before your lips. Your heart pounds while your fingers and toes grow numb. You ignore the paint of red upon your clothing, left on your cheek.

Stories are understanding. A warning. A way to survive.

The ice devil should have been a story.

The rounded walls of the ice cavern grow narrow. Panic hooks into you, sharp and cold, as you push yourself against the wall. The cold bites at your nose. Your head swims as black stains the edges of your vision—or is it that dark?

You slip down to your knees. Clutching yourself, your body shakes violently with shock and icy temperatures. This is too dangerous for you to lie low in—you won’t make it through the night.

Footsteps click into the icy entrance. You lift your head, staring at the large figure taking up the entrance with a thick, wild coat of undisguisable white. Shrinking closer to the frozen ground, you bite your bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

The figure draws near. The low light of the deepening twilight barely reaches inside. Your heart struggles in your ribcage, clawing at your sternum. You can no longer hold your breath. A faintness takes hold. 

A head snaps towards you, two sharp and icy horns upon the crown of its head, paired with two dark tusks. Something long and fluffy sways behind its head—a nightcap. The creature lumbers towards you upon lethargic steps. You yelp as it stands over you, eyes blue and piercing, but his expression is far less bloody. 

A sluggish hand reaches for you. Fear strikes so thick in your mind, you freeze without any adrenaline to protect you. The hand lifts you off your feet and pulls you against its body. You briefly struggle.

“Stop,” a voice comes, low and raspy, and exhausted, “Hold still.”

You obey, if only due to being struck dumb by the difference in the voice from only moments before. 

Long and thickly furred limbs wrap around you. A cloak, white and heavy, drapes over you until you’re snuggled against the creature’s chest, held secure in lithe arms.

Surprisingly gentle, the ice devil ensures every part of you is coated in the warmth of his attire. The fluff is wild and warm. The relief it brings is instant despite your shaking limbs, and you stare, wide eyed, up at the mysterious face of silver.

“Sun…” he mutters, shaking his head. His tusks cut through the air before he looks down at you. “It’s alright now.”

You don’t know if you believe him, but your body sags, and the blackness flanking your vision engulfs you entirely. The last fleeting sensation is a claw touching your cheek, wiping away blood.

[lex-the-flex]

Eating Him Away

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all the likes on everything! This might be my favorite version of Logan tbh. (And I'm aware of the perspective change in this).

The moment Logan laid his eyes on you, he instantly knew he had to keep you safe in the hellscape of the void. You didn't belong here. While you remained the same in Wade's universe, you were dead in Logan's.

Just seeing you alive and thriving meant the world to him. It made him want to worship at your feet.

From the moment you were captured by Cassandra Nova's men, he didn't let you out of your sight. Even to the point when you woke up tied up to him. Having your lips just inches from his made his heart race beneath the yellow suit.

"Hi." You whisper.

"Hi, darlin'." He replies low enough for Wade to miss.

"What happened?" You ask, looking around in the circular cage.

"We got captured and you fell asleep." Logan states.

A sly smile appears on his chapped lips and you glance down at them, only to feel embarrassed seconds later.

"You two gonna kiss or what? The suspense is killing me!!" Wade rebuttals from his spot on the floor.

"Leave them alone, Wilson. This is the most peace I've had in five years." Johnny interrupts.

"If I were too, it definitely wouldn't be with you in the same room, asshole." Logan answers, restraining his claws from coming out.

Feeling your brows scrunch together, your next words become hitched in the back of your throat, unable to come out. Glancing back at you, you can't help but look away, not wanting to give Wade anymore fuel to the kindling.

Following in Logan's direction, he leads you and Wade to an old and forgotten diner. Opening the door, the three of you step inside, and Logan keeps sniffing the air every few seconds.

"What are we doing here?" Wade asks.

"I smell food. Besides, I can hear Y/N's stomach growling from a mile away." Logan replies, already searching the cabinets for any kind of food.

Standing the middle of the diner, Logan almost instantly finds the jackpot: three cans of Spam. Tossing one to Wade, he joins you, and hands the second can to you. Touching his fingers with your own, you forgot how much his touch had on you. And it was the exact same for you.

"Thank you." You say, cracking the tin open.

Taking a few minutes to fill your empty stomachs, Logan can't seem to stay still. Knocking over countless bowls, cups, and other dishes, he frantically searches the tiny fridges and cabinets for something. Coming up empty, he furiously punches the stainless steel fridge, causing both you and Wade to jump.

"Fuck!" He shouts.

"What are you looking for?" Wade asks, recovering from the quick shock.

Discovering a small First Aid Kit below the register, Logan quickly opens the aluminum box, and finds two tiny bottles of rubbing alcohol compound.

"Oh, shit." He blurts out.

Walking towards you with the two blue and white mini bottles in his hands, both you and Wade begin to protest.

"No, no, no, no, that's rubbing alcohol. You don't want to drink--" He starts.

"Logan, please don't--" You advise.

But your words fall on deaf ears as he chugs the first bottle in one big gulp. Sighing in relief, Logan subconsciously leans closer to you before rolling the other way.

"Fuck that liver." Wade jokes.

Feeling ten times better, the three of you return to your quick snacks, and you take one of the empty seats at the counter. Glancing over to you, Logan can't help but admire how good your suit looks on you. The dark grey and green set of robes compliment every part of your body, from your hips to the tips of the combat boots.

Noticing this, Logan's light hazel eyes reflect off your e/c orbs, staring into his soul. Having this other version of you in the same room with him was eating away at him.

Standing from his spot at the booth, Logan walks up to you and takes you by the hand.

"Come with me." He orders.

Leading you into the back of the diner, you don't ask any questions, you just follow right behind him. Closing the office door behind you, you turn around to face Logan.

"Logan, what are you--?" You start, but you don't get very far.

Pouncing on you, Logan holds either side of your face, and frantically places a much needed kiss to your lips. Passionately moving his lips against your own, you let go of resisting and melt into him.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, Logan picks you up from your hips and gently sets you down on the desk. Guiding your legs around his waist, you run your fingers through his short brown hair. Moaning into your mouth, Logan longed to kiss you again. Just to have you in his arms once more made his heart soar.

Breaking the kiss, he leans his forehead against yours.

"Do you know how long I've been waiting to do that?" He declares.

"Too long?" You ask.

"Too long. It's been eating away at me." Logan repeats.

Hearing Wade knock at the door instantly kills the mood and Logan groans in disappointment.

"As much as I'd like to watch you two fuck, we really have to get going." He says through the door.

Holding your chin, Logan brings you to face him.

"Wanna grab a drink when all of this is over?" He asks.

"I'd love too." You reply with a shared laugh.

wolverine taglist ~

@dreamliners

@miss1sarcasmo

@yellow-eyed-sams-wife

@lost-in-horrorland

@peterparkernotfound

@pcrushinnerd

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@quillycrow

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