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mygnolia · 4 months ago

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to weave my love ⭒ n. riki

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Nope.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And they’re silenced immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn't like it one bit.

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

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

A spark.

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

What the hell was that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That scared the shit out of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake gawks. “You must really like her,”

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

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

“Gross.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s attracted to the power plant.

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

Bam.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blurts, “He just got badly hurt.”

Immediately, Jake knows he’s fucked up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RIKI'S TO-DO LIST BEFORE PROM

☐ talk to ____ regularly

☐ don't make it awkward

☐ be..cute?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You. He still needs to save you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Riki. Spark. Spider-Man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What. The. Fuck.

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

Until now.

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

His blood runs cold.

“You think this…why?”

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

Riki was going to strangle his best friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for saving me tonight.”

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

“Goodnight, Spiderman.”

—-

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

The machine was scheduled to be completed tomorrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the solution hits him. Literally.

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

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

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

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

Maybe this is where Spider-Man dies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll understand after he explains everything, right?

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

Do not say it’s true.

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

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

“Holy shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pause. “For being Spider-Man?”

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

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

“I really want to ask you to prom.”

You simply stare at him, surprised.

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

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

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

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

“Jake.”

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

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

“For what?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d Jake find out?”

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

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

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

“Not stupid. Keep going.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But first, he has to try something out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought girls liked this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED AND ALWAYS READ!

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

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

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starkwlkr · 30 days ago

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she’s always a woman | max verstappen

an: this fic is a special birthday fic for my lovely friend anto!! happy birthday love!! hope you enjoy your special day <3 also let’s just pretend that lewis wasn’t battling max for the championship in 2021 instead it’s max and the reader

tw: jos mention and narcissistic mother

Max couldn’t really remember why your friendship ended. He was always there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, when you had a bad race and needed some support, etc. He was always there so when you stopped talking to him, he was confused and hurt.

KARTING DAYS

At the time, the boys you raced against hated being beat by a girl. It was humiliating! A girl was faster than them? No way! But when Max Verstappen saw how fast you were, he was amazed. You made it look so easy.

“How many trophies do you have now?” Seven year old Max asked you as you two shared a bag of gummy bears, your favorite snack.

“I haven’t counted. What about you?” You questioned.

“I haven’t counted either.” He replied.

It was a long day of practice and all Max wanted to do was spend time with you and eat gummy bears. He noticed how you only ate certain colors like red, blue, orange and yellow. He asked why only those colors and your response was that those colors were your favorites, all the other colors looked unappetizing.

Spending time with you was something Max loved about karting. Most of the boys you competed with would rather lose than hang out with a girl, but not Max. He liked being around you. And it seemed like you liked having Max around too so it made no sense to Max why you stopped talking to him.

As time went on, Jos Verstappen kept a close eye on you. He certainly didn’t want some girl distracting his son. He kept telling Max how much of a bad influence you were, but of course Max didn’t listen. Why would he? He liked you and you liked him.

Unlike Max, your mother’s words went to your head.

“He’s just like the other boys, sweetheart. When you least expect it, he’s going to leave you heartbroken.” Your mother told you one day after another successful win. She watched the way Max stood next to you on the podium and clapped for you.

“But he’s my friend.” You said lowly.

“What did I say about this sport? You are not here to make friends, they are not your friends and neither is he. He’s competition and if you want to keep winning then you need to keep away from that boy!”

The next time Max saw you, he was the heartbroken one. Every time he kept trying to get your attention, you ignored him and turned the other way.

Did I do something wrong? Maybe I forgot her birthday? No, it was a month ago and we ate chocolate cake together.

All day Max was wondering what he did to make you upset. He had even brought a tiny bag with only red, blue, orange and yellow gummy bears for you. He had spent an hour picking out your favorite gummy bears and now you weren’t talking to him. . .

Little Max Verstappen had his first heartbreak at the hands of his first love.

The next day he figured you would start talking to him, but it was like he didn’t even exist in your world. He was starting to lose hope.

“Good, now you won’t have any distractions.” Jos told him after Max mentioned how you had stopped talking to him.

“But she wasn’t!”

“She was.” Jos confirmed.

Max stayed quiet. He knew it was no use trying to argue with his father.

As you both grew up, Max was beside you at every podium even if you weren’t on speaking terms. He hoped that maybe one day you would speak to him. He also kept a plastic bag in his bag with your favorite gummy bears to share with you in case that day ever came.

2021 SEASON

Max was both nervous and excited for the last few races of the season. Both you and him were battling for the championship. It was like a dream come true for him, both of you in Formula 1 and now you’re both in the championship picture. He wouldn’t have it any other way. To Max, it would’ve been better if you could at least acknowledge him.

It was after the Brazilian Grand Prix when Max wanted to congratulate you on your win, but had to wait until you finished with your interviews. He was eager to talk to you.

The post-race interviews were a whirlwind, but the moment that caught your attention was when a reporter, eager for a headline, asked you about Max Verstappen.

“We've heard that you and Max were childhood friends. What’s the story there? You two seem to be fierce competitors now. Was there any friendship left between you, or is it all business these days?"

Your smile tightened. It was the last thing you wanted to discuss, but you were a professional, and you knew better than to let your personal life spill over into the press room. Your gaze flicked to the corner where Max was conducting his own interviews, but you quickly refocused on the question.

“Max and I... we were friends, sure," you said coolly, your voice steady but your tone sharp, almost as if you were trying to distance yourself from the memory. "But that was a long time ago. I don’t really have time for friendships anymore. Racing’s my focus. It always has been."

“But you were so close back then," the reporter pressed. "Is it hard to battle him for the title, given your history?"

You shrugged, trying to maintain your composure. "Racing's not about who you used to be friends with. It’s about who’s the best right now. And I’m focused on being the best."

“So, no hard feelings?" he asked, genuinely curious.

You didn’t miss a beat. "No time for feelings," you replied, your lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Just results."

After finishing all your interviews, you walked back to your driver’s room. All you wanted was to lay down and take a much needed nap, but the sweet voice of a Dutchman stopped you. It had been years since you heard Max say your name.

Before you could say anything, Max stood up abruptly and walked toward you, his stride purposeful. He reached out, grabbing your arm with a firm grip, pulling you into your room without a word.

“Let go of me, Max," you whispered, but your voice cracked.

“No," he said simply, his tone rough, but his eyes were soft—something in them that you hadn’t seen in years. "I’m not letting you walk away again."

Your heart skipped a beat. His eyes searched yours, that fierce intensity you remembered from your childhood still present, though now mixed with something else—pain, perhaps. The unspoken hurt you both carried for so long hung between you two.

“Max," you began, but he cut you off.

“Why did you stop talking to me?" His voice was quieter now, but the question hung in the air, sharp and urgent. “Everyday i asked myself ‘did I do something wrong? Did I say something that hurt her?’ What is is? Why?”

Your throat tightened. You took a shaky breath, your eyes lowering to the floor. "You were my competition," you muttered. "And my mother… she made it clear. She said you would take everything from me. That I needed to stop talking to you or I’d lose everything." Your chest constricted, and you felt a sudden wave of bitterness rise within you. "She said you were nothing more than a threat to my future, and I had to focus—focus on winning.” It pained you to even remember all the talks your mother had with you about Max.

Max stared at you for a moment, taking in your words. The silence that followed was thick, the air between them charged with everything unspoken. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.

“I never wanted to take anything from you." His eyes were filled with a quiet sincerity that made your stomach twist. "I never asked for this. I never asked for us to be enemies."

Your breath hitched as a knot formed in your chest. You stepped back, your hands trembling. "But that’s what she wanted. She wanted me to beat you, to prove I was better. To make sure you didn’t have what I could have." Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a flood of emotion you had long kept hidden. "I—"

Your words faltered as you felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to fall. You tried to hold them back, but the weight of it all—the pressure, the competition, the years of silence—was too much. You turned away, pressing your palms to your face, feeling the dam break inside you.

Max didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, his arms enveloping you in an instant. You stiffened at first, surprised by the warmth and steadiness of his embrace. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn't think. But then, something inside you snapped, and you collapsed into him, your body shaking as the tears finally came.

Max didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back, grounding you in the moment.

"I’m sorry," you whispered between sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You kept repeating.

His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if offering you the comfort and understanding you had been denied for so long. "You didn’t deserve any of that." You clung to him, unable to stop the flood of emotions that had been building for years.

Eventually, the tears slowed, and the sobs turned into shallow breaths. Max didn’t let go. He stayed, a quiet anchor, as if he would hold you for as long as you needed.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were swollen, your makeup smudged, but you felt something lighter—something like relief, like a door you hadn’t realized was closed had finally opened.

“Does your dad know you’re here?” You wiped away the tears.

“I don’t really care about him right now,” Max responded. He took your hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “You need me right now.”

“Max, I don’t want you to get in trouble. You need to leave.”

“I’m a grown man. He can’t tell me who I can and any talk to.” He said.

“Then . . . I don’t care what my mother says either,” You declared. “You know, she said we couldn’t talk anymore because you were my competition. That I shouldn’t get too close to you. She thought it would make me weak."

“Your mom never understood that... you’re not my competition. You never were. You were my best friend. And I . . . I miss that.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Max.”

QATAR

The camera lights flickered on, and the usual hum of the media circus surrounded Max Verstappen as he sat in front of the press. Another victory under his belt, but the atmosphere in the room felt different today—slightly more tense than usual. The 2021 season was in full swing, and the rivalry between Max and his childhood best friend and fellow F1 driver, had become one of the most talked-about stories of the year.

“Max, earlier this week, someone that you knew quite well was quoted saying, ‘No time for feelings, just results,’ when talking about your past friendship. Given the intensity of your current rivalry, how do you feel about that statement?”

He took a breath and leaned forward, his voice steady but laced with an undeniable undercurrent of emotion.

“she’s one of the most focused and driven people I know. I don’t think anyone truly understands what it’s like to be in her head—how much racing means to her. She’s an artist, in every sense of the word, when it comes to driving. She doesn’t do anything halfway.”

A brief silence fell over the room. Max seemed to weigh his next words carefully.

“We’ve both been through a lot over the years, and yeah . . . I get why she said what she did. This sport can make you say things you don’t always mean. It can make you choose things—like cutting ties with people who used to be your family, just so you can win. But trust me, it’s not easy for her. Or for me.”

His voice softened slightly, the edge of competition giving way to something more genuine—something rooted in your shared history.

“She’s not the kind of person to just forget about things or people. I know her better than anyone,” He continued. It was as if he could talk about you all day and never get bored. “As for the championship, yeah, It’s just the way it is. But that doesn’t change the fact that I respect her more than anyone. She’s a hell of a driver, and I know what she’s capable of.”

Max leaned back slightly, the cool exterior of the driver once again overtaking his emotions. He was a fighter. And this season, he wasn’t just fighting for the title.

ABU DHABI

It had been weeks since your last conversation with Max, but occasionally you would sneak glances at each other. Maybe even smile at him, which caused the media to wonder if your friendship had finally been restored.

The paddock was bustling with the usual pre-race energy—team members darting around, engineers checking telemetry, and drivers preparing for what would be a pivotal race. But Max Verstappen was not focused on the usual chaos. He was standing in front of your motorhome, his jaw clenched as he faced a woman who had been an obstacle in his life for far too long: you mother.

All he wanted to do before the race was to wish you good luck but he had one problem that came in the form of your mother.

“This is a pivotal moment for her career, Max. The championship is on the line. She needs to focus.” Your mother spoke.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t need you to tell her how to focus. She’s not a child anymore. She’s not your puppet.”

She smirked, her gaze calculating. “Oh, I know exactly how to handle her. You, on the other hand, have always been a distraction. Just like you were when you were kids. I told her back then that you were competition. And look where we are now—competing for the championship.”

Max took a step forward, his voice low but sharp. “You don’t get to control her anymore. She doesn’t deserve the way you treated her. She never did. She’s not some tool for you to use to further your own agenda. She’s a person. A damn good one, too.”

Your mother raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smug grin. “And now you think you have feelings for her? After all these years? You’re wasting your time, Max.

Max’s chest tightened, a sudden rush of frustration coursing through him. He had always felt something for you—something deep and complicated—but he hadn’t realized how much until he saw you again. How could he not? The way you made him laugh, the way you understood him in a way no one else did. The way your presence grounded him when the world felt chaotic.

“I’m not wasting my time,” Max snapped, his voice rising. He was no longer just angry; there was something more vulnerable beneath his words. “I... I care about her. More than you’ll ever understand. And I’m not going to just stand by and watch you tear her down again.”

Her eyes widened, the smugness on her face faltering for just a moment. She hadn’t expected that. But she quickly recovered, her icy demeanor back in place. “You think you can just waltz in and change everything, Max? You think she’s going to forget the way I’ve always looked out for her?”

Max’s pulse was racing now. “You’ve never looked out for her. You’ve held her back. You’ve made her feel like she couldn’t trust herself. Do you know how many times she’s questioned her worth because of you?”

Before your mother could reply, Max spoke again. “If you think for a second that I’m going to back off now, you’re wrong.”

Your mother glared at the Dutchman. “I’ve spent years in Formula 1, fighting for every ounce of respect, and now I’m fighting for her, too. And I’m not letting anyone—least of all you—tell me what I can or can’t feel about her.”

His words hung in the air between them, the weight of them settling in. He turned to leave, but paused at the door of your motorhome, looking back one last time.

“Tell her,” Max said, softer now, “Tell her I’ll be waiting at the finish line. I’ll always be waiting.”

Maybe your mother would pass on the message, maybe not. Either way, Max would still be waiting for you.

The roar of the crowd still echoes in the distance, but it’s muffled, almost surreal, as you stand behind the barriers, your helmet under your arm, heart still racing from the intensity of the race. The buzz of the paddock feels far away, and your body is heavy with exhaustion and disappointment. You finished second—close, but not close enough. Max had done it. He’d won the championship, after all the drama and all the battles that had led them to this final, decisive moment.

You lift your eyes and see him, standing by his car. Max, in his usual composed way, looking like he belongs there, like he's always belonged there, standing among the team and the media, all his focus, all his attention fixed on you. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips when he spots you, but it’s the way he’s standing, waiting, that hits you. Like he said he would.

You hesitate for a moment, thinking about your mother’s words, about everything that has always been said about Max—his arrogance, his rivalry, the fact that he’s always been competition. But this, here, this feels like something different. He’s not the enemy anymore. At least, not in the way they used to think of each other.

You take a breath, and then, almost instinctively, you walk toward him. As you step closer, you hear the whisper of her mother’s voice in the back of your mind, a warning you’ve heard so many times before. Stay focused. Don’t let him distract you. He’s your competition, not your friend.

But your steps don’t falter. You reach him, and when you do, you look up at him, your gaze soft, not the hardened competitive stare it once was. Max’s grin deepens, though it’s filled with something almost bittersweet.

“I heard you were waiting for me,” You said, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your voice is steady, but there’s a touch of vulnerability in it, something you can’t quite mask.

Max’s eyes soften, and for a moment, it feels like time pauses. He looks at you as if he’s not seeing the driver, the fierce competitor, but the girl he used to know—the one he used to race against in karting, the one who once shared the same dream, the one who still, in some ways, understands him better than anyone else.

“I told you I would,” he replies quietly, his voice low and calm. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Your mind flashes back to the words he said to your mother, the promise he made—I’ll always be waiting.

“You won. Congratulations.”

Max’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a certain warmth in the way he looks at you, a quiet understanding that goes beyond just racing. He takes a step closer, his voice a little softer now. “You’re better than you think. I have a feeling you’ll take it away from me next year.”

You shake your head, but there’s no bitterness in your gesture. “Next year,” you repeat. Your fingers press the edge of your helmet tighter, almost like you’re grounding herself in this moment. But there’s something else too—a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. “Maybe. But I’m just glad you’re here.”

Max’s smile is genuine now. “I’ll always be here. Waiting for you to finally beat me.”

You laugh—a real laugh this time, one that’s not forced. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that one day,” you say, your voice a little lighter. “You should go with your team, I’m sure they’re waiting to drown you in champagne.”

Max chuckles, then steps forward. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, standing in the midst of the chaos, everything else fading into the background. You breathe in, realizing just how much this—this moment—matters more than the championship itself.

“So, Max, you’ve just won the title, but there’s a lot of talk about your competitor. She’s been called ‘too emotional’ in the past by some. What’s your take on how she handled this title fight?”

Max turns towards the reporter, a protective energy surging in him. He absolutely hated doing interviews, all he wanted to do was get back to you. “Well, for one, I think anyone who says she’s ‘too emotional’ is clearly not paying attention. She’s one of the most focused drivers out there. Honestly, anyone who thinks you can compete in this sport at the level we’ve been at, especially in the last few races, without being deeply passionate—well, they don’t understand what it takes.” He glances over at you, who’s trying to hide a smile while also looking frustrated with the question.

While you were a few feet away from him doing your own interview, you could hear Max. You tried hard to listen to the interview questions, but all you wanted to do was listen to what Max had to say.

“isn’t it a bit too much? The way she gets in her own head. She’s been—well, let’s just say, a bit of a perfectionist this season.”

Max shook his head, chuckling at the reporters words. “But, you know, that’s exactly why she’ll be winning a championship someday soon. I have no doubt about it, but I’m excited for the day she takes my championship away.”

Max could hear you burst into laughter at his words. His smile grew ten times bigger. “Seriously, though, she’s one of the most talented drivers I’ve ever known. she’ll steal the show when you least expect it. And maybe she’s a little bit hard to understand at times, but that’s exactly what makes her great.”

The reporter nodded. “Are you saying she’s like, uh, the Billy Joel song?” He asked confused.

Max grinned, clearly amused by the confusion. “She��s always a woman to me. Maybe I’m not the best person to explain it, but you get the idea.”

You chuckled once again as you heard Max. He really had a way with words.

“And one day, I’ll be watching her take the title with the same respect I have for her right now.”

That’s when you decide to step in after finishing your interview. “Maybe, Max. But for now, I think I'll let you have your moment. You’ve earned it.”

“We both did. I owe it all to you.”

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x you #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine #mv1 x reader #mv33 x reader #mv33 #mv1 fic

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hoshifighting · 3 months ago

Text

cold hearted!jeonghan + virginity loss

— after the rumors spread about Jeonghan, the coldest guy in the university, having the biggest crush on you, you ask him to be your first.

WARNINGS: +18, smut, virginity loss, oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, begging, protected sex.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

it feels almost too easy.

you’ve spent years skirting around the idea, dropping hints here and there to guys you thought could be good enough, but somehow it never worked out. none of them felt right—not that it was about romance, but the hesitation always lingered when it came down to it. maybe it was nerves, maybe it was the wrong guys, but the frustration built up to the point where you just wanted to get it over with.

and then there’s jeonghan.

the guy everyone whispers about, cold-hearted, unapproachable, but with a reputation that’s impossible to ignore. girls gossiping in between lectures, bathrooms filled with whispers of him being distant yet insanely attractive. and somewhere along the line, you heard it—the rumor that he had the fattest crush on you.

the thought of it festered in your mind for weeks. yo know him, a few polite exchanges, some assignments you did together, pairing up on p.e... there’s a confidence in your gut that he’ll say yes.

you hadn’t planned on showing up at his dorm unannounced, yet here you are, standing outside jeonghan’s door with a racing heart and sweaty palms. knocking felt surreal, like a dream you might regret later, but you do it anyway because you’re desperate. a familiar, twisted excitement coils low in your stomach when you hear footsteps, and the door swings open to reveal jeonghan—leaning against the frame, as nonchalant as ever.

“what’s up?” he asks, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to read your thoughts. the casualness in his voice makes you almost forget why you’re here. almost.

“can i come in?” you stammer.

he steps aside without a word, allowing you to slip past him into the small room. his dorm smells faintly of laundry detergent and something minty. it’s tidy, too—unexpectedly so.

“this is new,” he says, sitting on the edge of his bed, arms folded, watching you. “you showing up here and all.”

you laugh nervously, wringing your hands as you stand awkwardly in the middle of the room. “yeah, well… i’ve been thinking.”

his eyebrow quirks up, like he’s daring you to keep going. but you hesitate, biting your lip, trying to find the right words. you’ve played this conversation out in your head a thousand times, but now, under his steady gaze, everything feels impossible to say.

he tilts his head. “you’re not here to ask me about the assignment, are you?”

“no,” you blurt, suddenly sitting down on the chair next to his bed. you can’t meet his eyes. “it’s… something else.”

silence stretches between you. jeonghan waits, patient, but there’s something flickering in his expression now—curiosity, maybe.

you take a deep breath, your voice shaky but determined. “i want you to be my first.”

his eyes widen, and for the first time, jeonghan looks genuinely caught off guard. “what?”

“i… i want to lose my virginity.” you blurt out, no point in dancing around it anymore. you’ve been holding onto this for years, and you’re tired. tired of hearing your friends share their stories, tired of feeling left behind.

“you want me to do it?” he shakes his head, leaning back on his elbows, processing your words. “so what, you just wanna pop your cherry and bounce?”

“no!” you shake your head quickly, heart pounding as you try to explain. “i just… i don’t want my first time to be with some asshole. everyone else would treat me like a joke. but you… you wouldn’t, right?” your voice is small, and you hate how vulnerable you sound, but it’s true. jeonghan might have a reputation, but he’s never been cruel.

he closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the wall. inside, you can tell he’s thrilled—maybe he’s been dreaming about this. but the mask he wears is cold, detached, like he’s doing you a favor.

“you’re serious?” he asks, voice low.

“yeah,” you whisper.

he doesn’t move for a moment, just staring at you, like he’s deciding whether or not to believe you. then, slowly, he leans in, his face inches from yours. his breath is warm, and your heart skips a beat. it’s almost too much to handle, and you blink up at him, your voice a nervous squeak.

“are you… are you gonna kiss me?”

jeonghan furrows his brow, like it’s the dumbest question he’s ever heard. “what, you thought i was just gonna—” he stops, and you see the slightest flicker of a smile. “—get straight to it?”

you shrink into yourself a little, cheeks burning. “maybe?”

he chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that makes your stomach twist. “nah, you’re way too cute for that.”

before you can respond, his lips are on yours—wet, sloppy, and everything you didn’t expect. there’s no rush, no hurried fumbling. just him, kissing you slow and deep, making sure you feel everything. his hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as you melt into the kiss, your body buzzing.

then, he takes your hand, guiding it down to his lap, pressing it against the hard length straining through his sweatpants. you freeze, your breath hitching at the sudden contact.

“feel that?” he murmurs against your lips, voice husky. “that’s going inside you.. do you think you can take it.”

your fingers curl around him instinctively, squeezing just enough to make him groan softly. “i can.” you bite your lip.

“still sure about this?” he asks, his breath heavy.

you nod.

jeonghan's hands are all over you, moving so effortlessly, and before you know it, your clothes are off, tossed somewhere in the room. he’s slow, but it’s not the kind of slow that makes you feel exposed—more like he’s savoring the moment, taking his time like he’s got all night. and maybe he does.

when he spreads your legs, the sudden awareness of what’s happening, of how vulnerable you are, hits you. you instinctively cover your face with your hands, but you can still feel his eyes on you, taking in every inch of your body.

“cute,” he murmurs. “you hiding from me now?”

your breath catches in your throat, but you peek through your fingers to see him smirking, looking like he’s in complete control. and maybe that’s what makes it less terrifying—he’s not rushing. he’s not judging. he’s just... there.

when his head dips between your thighs, you tense, unsure of what to expect. your heart races, and you let out a shaky breath as his mouth hovers over you, his warm breath ghosting over your already wet folds. then he licks, slow and slick, and you almost orgasm there, the warm tongue on your clit making your eyes slightly roll back.

“fuck,” you gasp, your hands clutching the sheets beside you, your face burning.

he pulls back slightly, lips glistening, his eyes locking with yours. “relax,” he says. “we’ve barely started.”

and then his tongue is back, sliding through every fold, licking with a patience that’s almost agonizing. he’s focused, making sure you feel everything—every lick, every brush of his lips, every soft kiss to your inner thigh between his slow, sensual movements.

your chest heaves as you try to process the sensations, but it’s overwhelming. this is what you’ve been missing out on all these years? the thought is almost laughable now, especially when he sucks on your clit, gently at first, then harder, leaving it swollen and pulsing.

“oh my god,” you cry out, the sound escaping you before you can stop it.

jeonghan grins against you, winking naughty, and as if to rub it in, he gives your clit a playful suck, sending you squealing. he looks up at you, still grinning. “you like that?”

you don’t even answer, can’t answer, because your brain is too fogged up. you can’t think, can barely breathe, and he hasn’t even started properly yet.

his hand travels down between your legs, and he presses a finger against your slick entrance, not pushing in just yet, just applying pressure, teasing. “have you ever had your little fingers here?” he asks curious.

your face burns at his words, but you nod “just one finger,” you admit, shy and sly, like a secret you’re embarrassed to reveal.

the way you say it—so sweet, so unsure—makes him throb inside his sweatpants. he exhales heavily, eyes darkening as he pushes his finger inside, just the tip at first, slowly. “just one, hmm?”

you bite your lip, nodding as he slides the rest of his finger in. the sensation is new, unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable, his finger is a bit longer than yours. he’s careful, attentive even, and that’s what makes you relax into the feeling.

“you’re so tight,” he mutters as he adds a second finger, stretching you out even more. you wince slightly at the stretch, but the way he curls his fingers inside you, scissoring them slowly, almost instantly makes the discomfort melt.

your hips buck instinctively as he works you open, his movements precise, his eyes fixed on you like he’s studying every reaction. “how’s that feel?”

“good,” you breathe, the word slipping out before you can stop it.

he chuckles softly, his free hand moving up to caress your thigh as his fingers pump in and out of you, his pace maddeningly slow. “you’re getting impatient, aren’t you?”

you whine in response, your voice shaky. “take your clothes off,” you mumble, your neediness evident in your tone.

jeonghan pauses, amusement flickering in his eyes. “hmm? what’s that?”

“take them off,” you repeat, a little more urgent this time, your voice coming out in a needy whine.

he grins, leaning over you, his face inches from yours. “patience, baby,” he says, his voice soft, but there’s a teasing edge to it. “you really wanna see me naked that bad?”

you nod, shameless now, your body craving the sight of him, the feeling of him against you. he’s been teasing you for too long, and it’s driving you insane.

“just wait a little longer,” he says, his tone mock-sulky, like he’s the one being deprived. but there’s a smile playing on his lips, and you can tell he’s enjoying this, the way you’re practically begging for him.

his fingers curl inside you again, hitting a spot that has you arching off the bed, a soft moan escaping your lips. “you’re so cute like this,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh as he works a third finger inside you, stretching you even more.

you whimper at the new stretch, your body trembling, but it’s the good kind of overwhelming now. the kind that has you clenching around him, needing more.

“jeonghan...” you whisper, your voice breathless, desperate.

he smirks, his thumb brushing over your clit as he scissoring his fingers inside you, spreading you open. “i love seeing you like this,” he murmurs. “all wet for me, begging like that.”

you don’t even care how wrecked you sound when you plead, “please, jeonghan. take them off.”

he laughs softly, shaking his head. “soon,” he says, his voice dripping with promise. “just let me enjoy this a little more.”

jeonghan keeps his fingers inside you, watching every twitch of your body as you clench around him, so tight he almost groans himself. you’re so close, it’s written all over your face, but you don’t even seem to notice it—lost somewhere, breathing heavily but not quite there yet. and he’s not about to let you drift off when you’re so close to cum.

“mm, baby,” he murmurs, his fingers moving just a little faster, curling them in that spot he’s already learned by heart. “you don’t even know, do you?”

you blink, dazed, barely processing his words, but then you feel his lips on your nipple—a soft peck at first, then a sharp bite that has you gasping, your hips jerking against his hand.

“there you are,” he smirks, teeth grazing over your sensitive skin as he feels you clench around his fingers again, tighter this time. “you were drifting away, but i need you right here with me. focus.”

your body reacts instantly, the tension building again, winding tighter and tighter until you can’t hold back anymore. his fingers pump in and out, wet and slick with your dampness, and the obscene sound of it fills the room as he brings you right to the edge.

“fuck, jeonghan—” your voice is shaky, barely holding it together as your hips start moving on their own, grinding down onto his hand. you’re not even sure when it happens, but suddenly, the tight coil inside you snaps, and you’re coming hard around his fingers, your body tensing, then releasing all at once.

“oh my god,” you cry out, your back arching off the bed as you orgasm, wet and messy. you’re so slick that his fingers slide easily in and out, coated in the creamy evidence of your cum. jeonghan’s eyes are glued to you, watching the way your body trembles, how soaked you are, and the satisfied smirk on his face says it all.

“so fucking wet,” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself, fingers still buried deep inside you. he slows down his movements, letting you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm, his thumb brushing lazily over your clit. “you didn’t even realize how close you were, huh?”

you shake your head, still trying to catch your breath, your mind foggy from the bliss.

he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your thigh, his eyes flicking up to yours. “wanna see me take it all off now?” he teases, pulling his fingers out slowly, letting you feel every inch of them as they slip free. your breath hitches, still sensitive, but you nod eagerly, the post-orgasmic haze making you a little desperate.

“please,” you whisper, your voice a little hoarse, but the need is clear.

he grins, sitting up and tugging his shirt off halfway, but he pauses, eyes scanning the room. “wait a second,” he says, a bit too casual, as he starts searching around for something.

“what are you doing?” you ask, frustration creeping into your voice. he’s making you wait, again, and you’re about to protest when he holds up a condom, waving it in front of you with a satisfied smirk.

“can’t forget this,” he says, climbing back onto the bed.

you roll your eyes, still breathless, but your gaze drops to his chest as he slides the shirt the rest of the way off. his hand runs slowly down his chest, over his belly, and lower still to the waistband of his sweatpants.

“calm down,” he teases, his voice sweet, noticing the way your eyes are locked on his every move. “i’m not going anywhere.”

your breath hitches as he pulls his pants and boxers down, finally revealing himself to you. his cock is hard, flushed, and slick with precum, and you can’t stop yourself from staring.

“fuck, you’re pretty,” you mutter under your breath, barely aware you said it out loud until you see the way his lips curl into a grin.

“you’re the pretty one,” he counters, his voice soft as he strokes himself once, twice, before rolling the condom on. his eyes flick up to yours again, playful but with a hint of seriousness. “ready?”

you nod, your body buzzing as he lines himself up with your entrance. he slides the tip inside, and you both groan at the contact. it’s slow at first, his cock pushing into you inch by inch, and you can feel the stretch, how full he’s making you feel already.

but then, right when he’s halfway in, you gasp, “wait—stop.”

he freezes instantly, his eyes searching your face. “you okay?”

instead of answering, your hand slips between your bodies, wrapping around the base of his cock. the sudden contact makes him shudder, and he squeezes his eyes shut, groaning low in his throat. you give him a little shake, feeling the hardness of him pulsing in your hand, then slowly start guiding him deeper inside you.

you guide him in slowly, inch by inch, until your hand has nowhere else to go, and he's buried completely inside you, balls deep. you’re panting, your body adjusting to the size of him, and when you pout your lips for a kiss, jeonghan leans in without hesitation, pressing his lips to yours, swallowing the little scoff you let out between moans. the sensation of him stretching you so perfectly has your head spinning.

he pulls back slightly, eyes glued to yours as he starts moving, his hips rolling in slow thrusts. it’s a sharp sting at first, but nowhere near as painful as you expected, and the more he moves, the more that sting fades, replaced by a growing heat that makes your breath catch in your throat.

you don’t even notice the way your lips curl into the nastiest grin, like you finally got what you’ve been wanting, and you’re enjoying every second of it. jeonghan sees it though, sees the way your expression shifts from tentative to pure satisfaction, and it drives him fucking wild. his steady thrusts falter for a second, and he has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check.

“fuck,” he breathes, his voice shaky as he watches you. “you look like you’re having the time of your life right now.”

you moan in response, not even trying to hide it anymore. “i am.”

that’s all the encouragement he needs. his thrusts pick up, sharper now, deeper, and with each roll of his hips, his balls slap against your ass. the bed squeaks in time with his movements, but you barely notice, too caught up in the pleasure. your moans spill out freely, louder and more unrestrained, each one sending a jolt straight to his gut.

jeonghan’s losing it, the sight of you, the sound of you—it’s gonna replay in his mind for days, haunting him like a ghost, but right now, he’s not thinking about that. right now, all he can focus on is the way your body feels underneath him, how you seem to want this just as much as he does. his hips move faster, thrusts sharper and more purposeful, and fuck, you’re taking it all so well.

“god, you—” he groans, his voice strained. “you feel so fucking good. you don’t even know.”

his pace quickens, his hips rolling harder, and you gasp, your body arching up to meet him halfway. he’s hitting all the right spots now, and your moans turn into desperate little cries, your fingers gripping the sheets as you lose yourself in the feeling.

he notices how much you like it—how your body responds to every sharp thrust, how your moans get louder, and that nasty smile on your face only grows. it’s too much for him, but he tries to bury the overwhelming need down in his gut, focusing on fucking you just right.

but even then, he can’t help it—the more you react, the more he loses control, his hips working in sharper, stronger thrusts, the rhythm getting rougher as he chases that perfect high for both of you.

“you like that?” he asks, his voice rough, but the way your body clenches around him is answer enough.

he can’t help but smirk at your desperate little gasps. each thrust brings a little more pleasure, and your nails dig into his back, urging him on as you match his pace.

“more,” you whimper, the need spilling from your lips like a prayer. “please, jeonghan, don’t stop.”

he chuckles, making your heart race. “as if I could,” he replies, picking up the pace even more. you feel that familiar heat pooling deep inside you again.

he can’t help but lean down, pressing a kiss to your neck as he continues to rock into you, relishing in every little sound that escapes your mouth.

“that’s it,” he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot. “let me hear you.”

your moans grow louder, echoing off the walls as you feel the pressure building within you again. your body thrums with need as you claw at him, the sensation of him filling you completely making everything else fade away. you’re lost in him, in this moment, and nothing else matters.

“i’m so close,” you manage to gasp, your words barely coherent as your hips start moving on their own, desperate for that release.

jeonghan feels it, too—your body tightening around him, the way you’re pushing back against him, and it drives him crazy. he grips your hips tighter, controlling your movements, thrusting deeper, harder, pushing you right to the edge.

“cum pretty, cum f’me,” he urges sultry, and you can feel that heat building to a boiling point.

“jeonghan—” your voice breaks, and just like that, you’re falling, you’re gripping him tightly, your body spasming as you cum, crying out his name as everything blurs into a haze.

“that’s it, baby,” he groans, his own pleasure rising as he watches you unravel beneath him. “so fucking beautiful.”

the way your body squeezes him as you ride out your orgasm sends him over the edge, and he follows you, thrusting harder as he lets go, filling the condom as you both collapse.

you both lie there for a moment, breathless, the only sounds filling the room are your mingled breaths and the soft creaking of the bed. jeonghan brushes a strand of hair away from your face, a lazy grin spreading across his lips as he looks down at you.

“so, do I get to be the one who pops that cherry again sometime?”

“if you’re lucky,” you tease bakc, but deep down, you know you’re both hooked, and this was just the beginning.

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moonlightcycle571 · 2 months ago

Text

Lantern Corps and a 10 year old Child

In a last post, I said the Lantern Corps would love Captain Marvel because he’s omni-lingual (and there’s so many different species so it makes sense that they would feel comfertable around a guy who can speak their mother tongue, no matter how obscure it is).

And then it came to me in a glorious vision, the Cores would LOVE or absolute HATE Billy Batson, be it as a kid it as Captain Marvel.

First on the Love Captain spectrum:

Red Lantern: that’s the corps that’s the most insistent. Man’s fights littéral Wrath and demons alike on a weekly basis. Man’s go to weekly poker night with Satan and other Wardens of Hell. Why? Because he has his own prison dimension in th Rock of Eternity, who also holds the strongest demons.

Yellow Lanterns: as champion of magic, he holds a lot of weight. Especially for magic users. One flick of a wrist and boom, your magic is gone. The whole concept of ‘The Champion’ is enough for most to fear him. That and one does not play poker with The Devil from The Bible and other figures from various religions, and just have a normal presence. He’s terrifying when he wants to be. In his Cap form, he needs to actively tamp down to appear more family friendly, and not the eldricht horror he knows he could easily look like.

Green Lanterns: Homeless Child Superhero dealing with horrors must adults can’t handle. That takes willpower. Even before Captain, I’m pretty sure off willpower alone he could qualify. But what’s the real ringer is his imagination. The Rock of Eternity has access to magical dimensions that no amount of crack could dream up. Man’s had to learn how to use Looney Toones Logic irl and it works. Man’s got a while Disney Dimension with Ballerina Hippos with their Croc partners. Mans has debates about files with littéral walking talking dinosaurs. Billy is hella creative, and who knows what would be made with a ring.

Blue Lanterns: do I … do I need to explain? There are the lantern corps of Hope, I think the rest is pretty self explanatory. I will say though, he was close to accepting when he found out they got a Corgi. Even closer when Dex Starr, the red lanterns cat got a

Orange Lantern: bro fights the physical manifestations of the Seven Deadly Sins , including Greed on a regular basis. By right of conquest, he really should be wearing the ring rn. They be trying to put a ring on it for ages.

Black Lanterns: he once revived Freddy and or Mary by reconnecting them to the rock, and since then is considered a ‘nécromancer’. Also (similar to the Avatar State) he has memories of past champions, including death, so one can argue he’s in a life and death loop.

White lanterns: same reasons as the Black Lanterns. They’ve been trying to get Billy to also out-do said Black Lanterns (who in turn try to recruit him some more). It’s just one vicious snowball effect now.

Now for the Hate Captain spectrum:

Star Sapphire Corps: The thing about Billy is that he’s AroAce. Very Aro and Very Ace. So those who draw power from love and try to flirt are met with the disgusted face of someone who’s famously nice. It was a devastating blow to the whole corps. At some point Hal decided to hide behind Cap to escape another Star Sapphire who fell inlove with him, and they just, lost their power. No longer had the ability to fly and everything. He’s Ace-ness is crippling. And it did bring memes. The Ace community was winning.

Indigo Tribe: he’s too autistic for them. And while being the warden of multiple dangerous beings fits their MO and all, they ain’t touching the bullshit magical logic with a ten foot pole. That, and the first time a ring was sent to him to recruit him to keep the evil ones in line, he roasted their whole system, their ugly ass uniforms (that particular shade of indigo clashed with his Hero Outfit way to much) and ended with a comparison to them with a guy called ‘King Kid’ and the fucking ‘Easter Bunny King’ that somehow did a much better job at Machiavellic while also being uhly. They never sent a second one. The red lanterns sent more.

Ultraviolet lanterns: again, man’s fights the Seven Sins on the regular, is their warden along with other sick evils, lies to the Justice League on the regular and plays poker with Demons (and wins) despite being one of the most honest people there is. That and he’s so dad shaped, it counters their power of daddy issues.

Bonuse:

It’s not uncommon for various JL members to receive lantern rings. They just don’t want to. So the standard procedure is to find your local lantern, and give them rings. At some point all the Corps made a lantern offers chart (and maybe the JL got a bit competitive).

Problem, that screen was using old alien tech that didn’t have colour. So they knew Cap had the most lantern offers, but they didn’t know which colours. Until it got fixed.

J’le looking at the rainbow that’s Captain Marvels Ring List: …

Batman: Captain, why is there so many red ones?

Billy, sweating: …

Hal, not comfy with the amount of yellow: I… I need to make a few phone calls.

John, the one who’s been receiving all of his rings: Uh, don’t remind me. I’ve been getting cramps with the amount of times I had to input the different colours.

Dinah: I don’t think even I’m qualified for the amount of therapy everyone is going to need.

WonderWoman: How to you have Negative Pink Rings??? You can’t get a negative number in a list

Billy, inputing the Zeta Tube: haha, it’s so weird

John: … do I need to add AroAce as a weakness for the Sapphires???

Bonus points if the results are open to the galactic public, and just wonder who tf are and ‘Billy Batson’ and Captain Marvel and why they are dominating the top ranks. What is in the Terra city Fawcette.

Extra Bonus Point if the JL go: Who tf is Billy Batson, and why is he ranked above Captain Marvel.

I’ve been waiting to do this one for a while. But never got the motivation. Let me know if I missed any, and feel free to write fanfic (please tag me if you do, I wanna reeeeead).

Final note, I want to give a certain someone a comment of appreciation.

@wonderjanga you are my favourite person on this app. You are the reason I decided to get out of my procrastination slump. Thank you for you content, it’s always so creative and I deeply enjoy it.

For those who don’t know them, I recommend checking out their content. It’s genuinely inspiration for me to start writing again. I don’t think I’ll be writing on ao3 soon, but maybe one day.

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angelplummie · 7 months ago

Note

here for revenge.

being lily's best friend - you grow up with her - you're in the donaldsons orbit for all your formative years. you develop a crush on art that turns into love as you grow older. your home life isn't so glamorous. you spend lots of weekends at the donaldsons. art has tucked you in. brought you snacks when you stayed up late for movie nights, making you and lily promise not to tell tashi. you were there when art and tashi got divored, held lilys hand and pretended not to be happy inside at the thought of getting closer to art.

lily gets into college - a big smart one because she has tashi's ambition and leaves you behind, you're still stuck at home because your dreams have always been smaller.

maybe its not appropriate, to still spend time with art. but he's lonely. tashi left, and now his daughter has and you're the only one left in his life that actually wants to be around him, that has always looked at him with stars in your eyes. its probably not healthy. there should be a boundary there. your lilies, not his.

but you like being around him and he likes having someone to take care of. you come over and he makes you eat something healthy and you needle him about spending all his time at home and how he should get out more, and he rolls his eyes, tells you he should be saying the same to you, you're young and beautiful and you should be dating around.

but how can you date around when art donaldson is your dream man? when you're happiest at his side, eating what he makes you. you want more though. you want to share his bed, warm it for him, you want to make him not so lonely, you want him to stop seeing you as a little girl and as the adult you've grown up to be - so you start wearing less and less around him. start acting more and more like a housewife.

art accepts it without even realizing. now you just need to find the right opportunity to pounce.

WHEW. this one is long so buckle up

“art?”

“mr donaldson.”

you roll your eyes.

“mr donaldson, how come you never started dating again?”

he chopped the lemon with a deft clunk, eyes never leaving the knife.

“never felt the urge.”

“what does that mean?”

“what i just said. never felt the need to.”

“hm.”

you sat on the island, next to the chopping board. your legs swung haphazardly, and you watched art as he chopped.

why was he playing this game? he could’ve told you to leave, to stop coming back and bothering him, that this was inappropriate. and yet. he didn’t even tell you to get your sorry butt off the counter, or some such dad-ism. the low glow of the many warm lamps that adorned such a luxurious house illuminated art so softly, he looked as young as the day lily was born. he was as fit as back then, if not meatier. he didn’t have the pouch your dad had, but the years had given him a thickness. instead of wasting away like most lean men did, he struggled to the other side. he got broader. layer upon layer of muscle encased in a thin finishing of fat. he was skinnier when you were a kid, but he had no reason to be lean now. under his chin a tiny hammock of pudge rested as his head tilted down, kissed by light stubble. his blonde hair was streaked in silver, but that somehow made him younger looking. made him glow. he had grown it out, by your suggestion. he was everything in the world a man should be.

“what about you?”

“i hate boys. they’re all stupid.”

“you got that right. you’re too good for all of them, never settle.”

“maybe it’s just boys my own age. theyre so immature.”

arts wide chest heaves. his eyes flick to you then flick back down. you see it all, and cross one leg over the other.

“maybe.”

“what were you like when you were my age?”

he laughs at the memory.

“stupid, immature, evil. if i was anything to go by you should swear off men entirely until menopause.”

air left your chest cavity.

“i don’t wanna wait. i want a fully formed one.”

you watched the muscles in arts forearms flex as he squeezed the lemon onto salad. the main course was cooking, was singing loudly on the stove. art had gotten into cooking after the divorce. it took all his attention and put it in one place, something complex and delicate and time consuming. it helped to clear his head. it wasn’t helping right this second.

“i shouldn’t say that,” he said curtly,”boys your age aren’t so bad. give them a go and quit hanging out with an old man.”

“but i like you, old man.”

art was so harsh on himself. he really wasn’t that old. and you really weren’t that young.

he pressed his lips together and kept squeezing. his pink lips, that gave his face the everlasting youth it held. he shrugged his shoulders in that way he did when he was confronted with the truth of your arrangement. there was something going on. something very, very, very wrong. you were the same age as his daughter. 3 months younger. he was the worst man in the world. the worst person to ever breathe. what could he do though? tell you to go? tell you to leave his house and never come back? what would become of you then? without him, what pillar of paternity would you rely upon? what new low would you reach? what men would you come across, and what would you do to please them? while he gingerly entertained you, you dangled something in front of his face that others would not have the restraint or morality to resist. if you had to move to another target, your next victim might not care so deeply for your wellbeing. were you not altogether safer, sitting in his kitchen, eating his caesar salad, rather than inhaling second hand cigarettes from old wrinkled fucks who might murder you, or worse-

“art?”

“mr donaldson.”

“you got a bunch of lemon pips in the salad.”

“oh.”

he set down the lemon.

“are you ok? you seem tense.”

“i’m good. are you cold? i can turn on the heating if you like.”

“no. it’s actually quite warm in here.”

he hears the zip of your hoodie and starts away from the island, under the pretence of getting a paper towel to deposit the lemon seeds on. your jumper clatters to the counter, and you watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. low cut top. he knows that’s what you’re wearing. because that’s all it’s been for the past 2 months. your mini skirt flowers around you as you sit, but when you stand each swish and sway of the fabric is a death sentence. god forbid you take the stairs for some ungodly reason.

“hey, you know what you said about never having the urge?”

oh, fuck off, he thought. fuck off. leave him be. leave him alone. release him.

“yes.”

“you can’t really mean that can you?”

“sure i can.”

“i mean, you can. but i don’t think you do.”

you twirled a strand of hair in between your fingers. your stomach grumbled, loud enough that he could hear. you were so hungry you could die, but if you ate what art was frying your breath would smell like fish all night.

“let me check the salmon.”

“i’m not that hungry. you can’t mean that you never had the urge to. everyone has urges.”

“well sure. but after tashi, i needed a breather. a grace period, if you will. you can’t go from marriage with a woman like her right into dating.”

“but it’s been 3 years. you must be over it by now?”

he ignored the hope in your voice. ignore, ignore, ignore.

“i am over it. but. women scare me.”

he walked languidly over the salmon. it was ready.

“i don’t scare you, i’m a woman.”

a woman. he turned off the stove, and turned to fix you with a stare for the first time tonight. a woman. that was not the word he would use to describe you. your eyes were the size of saucers, and you bat your lashes languidly, like you knew how much you were making him suffer. you sat up pin straight, and twisted your spine to make eye contact with him. your body. he tried not to look. tried not to look in front of you and see the twisted grin come across your lips. but he was a weak man. the weakest of men, and his eyes dragged over where a fatherly view should never cross. your perky new tits, the press and curve of your ass against the counter, the plush of your thighs. it seemed you had grown up overnight, and didn’t know you were still a baby. you’re a baby. you knew what you were doing to him. you knew. he blushed involuntarily.

“you scare me most of all.”

his voice trembled. he hadn’t meant to say that. hadn’t meant to dignify you will any response at all. it had crossed his mind and then it crossed his lips.

your eyes lit up with extreme delight. he liked to make you happy, but his stomach churned with the thought of why.

“why?”

he turned back around, and plated up your salmon, adding potatos and asparagus from the same pan, drizzling it all in the residual oil.

“why art?”

“mr donaldson.”

a twinge of irritation tickles your stomach. what was he fighting this for? you’re all grown up now. you both knew what was going to happen. he was resisting fate, the inevitable.

all your life you had known he was the man you were meant to be with. from that first time he kissed your forehead as you dozed off on the couch, thinking you were asleep. when his strong arms would carry both you and his daughter, flinging you around, threatening to dunk you in their backyard pool. when he would catch your eye in the rear view mirror as he drove you around and winked. he was so nice. so nice and brave and kind and warm, and if you had to be with any man it should be him because you’ve loved him since you were 8, and now you’re old enough to claim it. you’re not just a dumb kid with a crush. you love him. you understand it being one sided back then. but it isn’t anymore, and you wouldn’t let him deny it. with gliding footsteps you approached him, drawing closer every second he didn’t turn around. a hand rests on his shoulder blade.

“just stop,” you breathed after a pause.

his spatula clattered to the pan with a metallic thunk. you pull your hand away like he burnt you. he gripped the counter with a sigh and hung his head.

“you stop. stop it now,” his voice was stern. you felt yourself shrink. art was never stern.

“i know what you’re thinking, and it’s not going to happen. this has gone on far too long and it stops right now.”

a mere few paces from his wide curved back, you blink. the urge to touch him is overwhelming. you want to press your hand to his back, feel him under your palm and tell him you know he wants this. you know he wants this just as bad as you do.

but you don’t, because he’s angry at you, and he’s never been angry at you before.

“i’ve let you come here and cooked you food and watched movies with you because you’re a good kid. because i knew you as a kid and i know your problems with your father and i wanted to be there for you when lily is away. but you have taken this too far. you’re my daughters best friend. i have cleaned up your vomit twice, i baked you a cake for your 13th birthday- it’s not right. i’ve tried to be understanding, i’ve tried to ignore it, but you never drop it. never. your lack of self respect is staggering. you have to drop it right now or, im sorry but you can’t come back here anymore.”

every muscle fibre was clenched. if the counter top wasn’t marble it would’ve crunch and fell away under his grip. he couldn’t take it anymore. he didn’t know how much longer he could be good. didn’t know how much longer he could take resisting you.

maybe he was harsh. but it was the right thing to do. the only thing to do. he rested his elbow on the counter, and between his forefinger and his thumb held the bridge of his nose. he exhaled loudly. he hadn’t meant for it to come out that way, hadn’t planned it. but now it was out. he had stared the elephant in the room dead in its eyes. he felt lighter, somewhat liberated.

until he turned around after a few too many seconds of silence to see you turned away from him, slightly hunched over. he stepped closer, and saw your hands covering your mouth. you body jolted, and you drew in quick, grasping breaths. you were crying. he said your name, and you didn’t turn to look at him.

“i’m sorry. i’m sorry mr donaldson.”

all the relief he felt was replaced by swift, acute, crushing guilt. your hair fell over your face, shielding you from him. he said your name once more. you sniffed.

“hey, hey hey hey.”

against his better judgement, and because of the aching of his heart, he took you gently by the shoulders, and turned you to face him.

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

tears spill from your eyes and you wipe them away with a heavy hand, refusing to meet his eyes. his neck craned down to your eye level, his thumbs began tracing circle in your shoulders. a thoughtless gesture but one that made you cry even harder.

“i’m sorry. i don’t know what i was thinking. im just so sorry.”

“hey, it’s ok. it’s alright.”

“it’s not alright. i’ve ruined everything. i’ve made it- so- weird. i just thought that you- you wanted me. i’m so stupid.”

your mascara runs, painting your face with your turmoil.

how could you be so dense? you had been making him uncomfortable. he didn’t want you. the only reason he even let you hang around was obligation. because of what you meant to lily. you didn’t mean anything to him. you were just some kid. did he even think you’re pretty? you bet he didn’t.

worse than that, you had disappointed him. him. he was supposed to be everything your dad wasn’t. and now he was disappointed. you had failed. you had ruined everything. what even were you? were you even human?

“don’t. you’re not stupid. don’t say that.”

“i’m sorry. i just- i wanted to make you happy. that’s all i ever wanted. i wanted you to be happy with me. you were so- so- so crushed after the divorce, i-i just-“

he guides you over to the bar stool, and you let him. you sit across from each other. his hand touches your cheek, the other holds you shoulder still. the touch of his hand quietens your babbling, your eyes round and wet and open.

“you do make me happy.”

your lips parted, plump with crying.

“i do?”

he cringes at the hope in your voice, at the feeling in his chest that it stirs. the feeling in his whole body at touching, after so many years, your soft skin. the last time he held your face you were 8, crying over a bumped knee. he had very different feelings now than he did then. sympathy and concern had ebbed, making way for much darker, much more corrosive emotions. he felt guilt and want broil in the chambers of his stomach, and the evilness inside him told him how easy to would be to get what he wanted. how close he was.

“yes. you’re my favourite buddy, we have a great time together,” he ruffled your shoulder like you pat a dog, speaking quick to placate you.

the hope in your eyes dwindled.

“so,” you sniffled, “you don’t feel anything for me? you don’t-don’t want me at all?”

with your convulsive sobbing your chest rose and fell, and with each jolt you spilled further out of your thread bare top. he closed his eyes, and swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing. inhaling deeply, his fingers released your shoulder.

“it doesn’t matter what i want.”

“yes it does, it matters the most,” you answer immediately, tears gone from your eyes, now sliding down from your water line and down your cheek, “what do you want?”

what does art want? when was the last time he asked himself that question? years. at least. he drew away from you. you felt sick.

he turned on the stool, ducking his head and cradling his face in his hands

“i want…”

what the fuck was he saying? he couldn’t say this to you. he couldn’t. but he was.

“i… you’re a very gorgeous girl. you’re sweet. you’re smart. you’re funny. i like you very much.”

he said it like he was confessing to murder. elbow resting on his knee, his hand covered his eyes with splayed fingers. god, he was going to hell for this. even saying the words felt like the deepest sin imaginable, and he was sanitising his truth extensively. what he thought about at night, when you went home and his house became cold again, when he got into the shower and mechanically relieved himself into the drain, that was truly deplorable. when he touched himself, it was you he thought of. invariably. everything a man could possibly do to a girl, everything a girl could possibly do to a man, he had laid up in his bed and touched himself to with you in mind. ropes and ropes and ropes of cum in your honour, so gently splattered on shower walls and bedsheets he needed to wash anyway. sometimes he came on his torso, just to feel young and frivolous, like you were. and when he did his brain would turn back on, and he would feel so guilty that he would lay there to soak up his guilt, a punishment for himself from himself. so yes. he wanted you. he wanted you very, very badly. with every fibre of his being, he craved you. and with every fibre of his soul, he hated himself for it. but apparently he was still talking. what his morality urged him his mouth couldn’t hear, or wouldn’t obey.

“so don’t think you’re delusional. you had every reason to think i might reciprocate.”

you watched him, glossy eyes wide as ever. he peeked from beneath his fingers, immediately covering his eyes again when he saw you watch him. he shouldn’t have said that. he shouldn’t have. that was bad, it’s only giving you hope, and there is no hope. he can’t, he can’t. he want to so badly but he can’t. god, no he can’t. it would be so easy but easy isn’t right and how could he ever look his daughter in the eyes again if he did? how could he look at tashi?

“mr donaldson?”

“mm,” he replied miserably.

“kiss me.”

slowly, exhausted, he lifted up his head. mistake. now he was thinking about it as he looked at your face, puffy and damp and shining like a star.

why did he look so disgusted? what was so wrong with you? you couldn’t stop yourself from barreling ahead, feeling his premature rejection like a rock in your stomach.

“just once. then i’ll leave and i’ll never bother you and you won’t see me anymore and i’ll go to church and ill get a therapist, but just once.”

he looks so tired. so tired and so fucking good. his eyes smouldered with deep thought, the thought only a mature man can have. he was so mature. he was so much larger than you. he could hurt you if he wanted to. he could make you do anything but all he did was look at you so tired it made you squirm inside. as your sobs died in your throat, regret and embarrassment become indistinguishable from desire.

he blinked slowly, and opened his mouth. the white of his teeth glittered. his tongue pawed the inside of his cheek. he was thinking about it.

how could he be thinking about it? he was the worst person in the world. and yet. and yet. one kiss. he could control it with one kiss. one kiss wouldn’t hurt. one kiss. he had kissed your head before. your cheek. what was so different about this?

wordlessly, he moved off the stool. heart in your mouth you waited. a tremulous breath shuddered from your chest as he took one step. two steps. three steps. until he was stood above you. his face was unreadable. not cold. not warm. just looking, appraising from above his brown lower lashes, down his strong kissable nose.

“one kiss?”

his hand rose slowly, palm facing upwards. his finger tips grazed your jaw, your chin, tilting your head up. fireworks burst in your stomach, and you resisted the urge to moan.

“one. that’s all.”

one. that would be all. one kiss and he would put this silly fascination away for good. a kiss is deniable. a kiss is nothing.

he stoops down, can feel the nerves vibrating from your skin. his head tilts slightly, and your eyes lock as he descends to your level. his hand moves into your hair, a combing hold. and you kiss. no tongue. your lips connect, mush and expand over the others. his nose touched your cheek. your arms remained stiff by your side as they gripped the stool. you felt the pinkness of his lips, felt the edge of his cupids bow. and then he pulled away.

there. one kiss. he had done what he had to to get you to drop it. had fulfilled your criteria, and now you could move on. now he could move on.

but if that was true, why was he leaning in again? why did almost tasting your saliva, a substance he had thought about in great detail, make him hungrier for it? why was almost having it worse than never coming close? why did he pull gently on your hair, making your head tip back, opening you mouth so he could kiss the part of you he craved; the inside part? why was he hard if it was over?

his tongue flicked gently inside, asking permission. your mouths closed together, making the kiss noise you hate hearing but love making. they open quickly and in sequence. your hands rise up to gently hover over his chest, barely grazing his shirt. you didn’t want to touch him too hard in case he dissipated into a cloud of smoke, an illusion.

but he was very real, and under your timid girlish touch he was undone. a soft exhalation like a groan into your mouth, and his tongue protruded. it touched yours and you tasted the salt on it, shivering. his other hand fell back to your shoulder, gripping so hard it was like had no idea what he was doing. feeling your mouth against his was all that there was. there wasn’t right, there wasn’t wrong, there was only sensation.

all the want he had saved for solitary and depressing masturbation now burst through his veins, into his actions and he kissed you with all the passion in him. with everything he’s never said, with all the times he held back with you, with tashi. he kissed you like if he didn’t he would die, breathing and groaning and grunting involuntarily. he mashed his face to yours, crushing your lips, taking your bottom lip between his teeth before recapturing your mouth in a sloppy open mouthed kiss. it felt like steam evaporated from where your met, so hot and wet.

you didn’t know what was your and what was art, where you finished and art began. you meshed like the broken pieces of a vase slotted against each other. his tongue became so wild it clipped the side of your mouth in its frantic exploration, and you sighed.

ultimately it was you who had to pull away. you pulled your hands into your own chest, gasping for breath. he didn’t move an inch. he gripped your shoulder still, cradled your face the same. he opened his eyes, chest rising and falling graciously.

he surveyed you, still too high from your touch to feel guilt, with lazy eyes. he was so fucked. your eyes sparkled like glitter. your lips shined pearly with his spit. his.

“art?”

“yes?”

“it’s not just one kiss is it?”

despite himself, despite everything, he smiled.

“no. i don’t think it is.”

#oh i had FUN with this one #not proofread #challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson smut #challengers smut #challengers x reader #poppy 🥰🥰#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x reader smut #older man younger woman #30s art donaldson #30s art donaldson x reader #challengers x reader smut

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nightingale-prompts · 3 months ago

Text

Finding Batboy

First| Previous | Next

Phantom

King

Fenton

Apprentice

Batboy

He just wanted to be Danny. Just Danny, nothing else.

But who was Danny anymore?

Danny was a 14-year-old boy who died in a tragic accident. Danny had a decent life with friends and a sister who he loved. Danny wanted to be an astronaut and loved the stars. Danny had an astrology phase that made him so annoying to everyone but Sam. Danny liked dogs and cats hated him for no reason no matter how much he loved them. Danny wanted to join the robotics club with Tucker. Danny still snuck into his sister's room when he was scared to sleep in her bed.

But Danny is dead. Danny has been dead for years now.

He missed being Danny.

Now he was Phantom.

No past.

No home.

No family.

But if that was true, what did that make Dick?

Just another person that he would have to leave behind. It wouldn't be long. History doesn't repeat but it rhymes. It can't last. It won't.

Danny flew to some abandoned factory located somewhere in Gotham. He hadn't really paid much attention. He just needed a desolate place to land. Somewhere even the ghosts have long abandoned.

Truthfully Danny didn't want to be alone. A part of him felt the urge to find that revenant that he had met. Something that felt familiar to him, someone that could understand.

But right now Danny wanted to rest and he wasn't picky about where. He wrapped his wings in a tight cocoon and plopped on the ground. His sleep was deep, more than he ever remembered having before, except once.

Danny walked through the halls of a spiraling tower that overlooked the Ghost Zone. The tower was decorated with stars and moons. Mist hovered just above the floor creating a icy blue carpet. Ghost sheep napped in corners. The scent of poppy and pine filled the air.

As Danny ascended to the top he met with a familiar face. Nocturne the ghost of dreams. The ghost's thick bridged nose reminded Danny of that of a sheep that matched his curled ramhorns. His red eyes with horizontal pupils reminded him of a demonic ram he had seen in a horror movie once. Danny could practically hear that line again: "Would thou like to live deliciously?"

It still gave Danny chills.

"Please refrain from making such comparisons." Nocturne said, his voice deep but soft at the same time.

Danny had gotten to know Nocturne some time ago. Apparently, he and Clockwork were close. They shared a high rank among ghosts as they were abstract manifestations rather then being that were once living like some. The hierarchy of ghosts was complex, and Nocturne was not someone to look down on.

"Nox, why am I here?" Danny said standing before the seven-foot frame of the amorphous ghost.

"You are spending too much time in the material realm. If you don't get time back in the realm to which you belong you'll go mad. It's already starting to happen. I stole your mind away for a bit to give you a mental break but your body is already starting to break down." Nocturne said waving a finger at him.

"My body and brain are fine Nox." Danny said crossing his arms.

Nocturne picked the boy up with one hand and held him at eye level.

"You are having trouble shifting are you not? Its not coming as easily as it should. The more attached you get to a form without the energy from our world to break it up the worse it will be. The Ghost of Time has already told me of the problem. You must stay here for the time being and recover. It is what's best. Mental weakness is the worst one can suffer and the remedy is sleep." Nocturne's breath smelled like warm milk and cinnamon. It calmed Danny's nerves and made his eyes heavy.

Clockwork had put him up to this. That old man...really was....annoying....Zzzz.

Back in the world of the living and awake mass panic has broken out.

Batboy is currently missing and Nightwing is not handling it well. The entirety of the Gotham Vigilantes team has been notified and is searching the cities of Gotham and Bludhaven.

"Have you searched the docks?" Nightwing asked frantically as he searched every rooftop in the city.

"I'm working on it. Do you really think he's here?" Red Robin said scanning every unit on the lot.

Red Hood didn't know what the BatBoy kid looked like other than the whole wings thing. If his little buddy Phantom could help it would help.

Although they had a slight resemblance Jason could see too many differences when looking at the pictures. Phantom had round ears, and silver hair that moved like fire and looked like a human. Batboy had long sharp ears, claws, pointy teeth, blueish-green skin, wings, and a white fluff around his neck. Clearly, they were different.

Batman searched the dark allies of Gotham as Signal and Orphan split up to cover as much ground as possible. Oracle searched every camera from the past few hours for the boy.

The good news was that Batboy was found. The bad news was who found him.

"Poor little Bluebird lost his fledgling and Batsy is looking for the lost pup. I should let them know that the little guy has been found! Ahahahaha!"

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #batman #nightwing #dick grayson #jason todd #red hood #red robin #tim drake #bruce wayne #dc joker

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areyouwell · 3 months ago

Note

Logan x angel!reader where the reader had to get medical treatment after a mission because her angel wings (that are apart of her mutation) were burned and partially damaged after battle, and Logan comes in to check up on her?

Tattered

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Word count: 10K

A/N: first request! so i definitely took some creative license with this... i sort of just kept adding scenes and ideas but this concept was so fierce boots i couldn't help myself. hope this is what you have in mind <3 i have also elected, from now onwards, not to use warnings on my fics unless there's explicit content in which case it will simply just have MDNI in red.

I don't have a taglist for like, oneshots or requests rn so lmk if anyone would like to be added :)

“Watch your six, Icarus!” Scott’s voice crackled from your earpiece as you swooped over the battlefield, the feathers in your wings fluttering in the wind. Glancing behind back, you realised why Scott had alerted you, three drones tailed you with six red dots seeking out your presence. Fuck, this wasn’t good. Why did nothing ever go right? Why were there always fucking complications?

You tucked your wings in tight against your back as you joined the rest of the team inside the Blackbird. You’d always been conscious of how much room you often took up, and whilst your mutation was your pride and joy, it was a common occurrence to feel a little self conscious when trying to cram multiple people into a tight space. You never occupied any of the seats in the cockpit, your wings wouldn’t allow it, and it was never comfortable for you anyway, the way they would shift and bend at unnatural angles meant you’d constantly be shuffling around to stop the awkward ache in your shoulder blades.

Icarus. That was your name. Well, not your name, but that’s what they called you on account of your gleaming golden feathers. You thought it was a little mean, to be honest. You had no intention of flying too close to the sun anytime soon, but alas, you were stuck with it, and over time, you’d come to appreciate it. They weren’t far off anyway. You did have grand ideals, and dreams to become something more than just a freedom fighter. You wanted to change the world and make it a safer place where humans and mutants could live in harmony. You knew a lot of the hard graft was political, and Hank was doing wonders for mutant reputation, but you still would like to contribute something other than stopping mutant slave trades and taking down illegal, anti-mutant organisations.

That was the mission today. Some hate-crazed fuck had been building some kind of drone that could target the mutant gene. Kind of like the sentinels from years ago, but they’d been discontinued.

Thank fuck.

The muscles in your shoulders tensed slightly as Ororo and Logan finally joined the rest of you, deep in conversation about the inevitable upcoming battle. You tucked yourself further into the wall, cursing lowly as you hit your head against the steel.

Your relationship with Logan was… complicated, to say the least. The two of you instantly clicked when you met, finding yourself at ease with his gruff, surprisingly playful demeanour. You guessed he must have felt the same, since you noticed he would often seek you out during breaktimes, or take the seat next to you during meetings, sending you looks whenever Scott said something particularly leader-ish. You’d have to bite back a smile and attempt to keep your serious composure, lest anyone would think you weren’t taking the meeting seriously.

And then there was the night things shifted between you. It was late, possibly early hours of the morning. Your muscles ached from being unable to find a comfortable position to sleep in, the beds not exactly being tailored to suit those with extra limbs, and with a huff of irritation, you’d given up to head downstairs and fix yourself an Irish coffee. And whilst there was a serious lack of Irish whiskey in the school, you knew Logan had a bottle of bourbon hiding somewhere in the cupboards, out of reach for most of the younger kids.

You’d managed to clamber up onto the counter, perched precariously on the edge as you rifled around the top shelf, pulling down various unused cooking equipment before you finally came across the liquid gold. With a triumphant smile, you reached in further to wrap your fingers around the neck of the bottle, delicately pulling it from the depths of the cupboard. Only, it was stuck.

The screw top kept scraping against the top of the cupboard, and you grit your teeth as your fruitless yanking sent pots and pans clattering against each other. You seriously didn’t want to wake anyone only to have them come down and find you up on your knees, balancing on the thin space of the counter, elbow deep in the top cupboard and frantically pulling at a bottle of whiskey. Fuck knows what kind of an impression that would give, but it certainly wouldn’t have been the correct one.

Flaring your wings for balance, you completely misjudged the tips of your wingspan, knocking over an empty can of baked beans and sending it rolling onto the floor with a loud, deafening clang. You froze, attempting to quiet your breathing whilst you waited for the telltale sound of footsteps or the annoyed slam of a bedroom door. But your intense listening found nothing, the halls of the school blissfully quiet as you loosened your held breath.

Nothing. Everyone was still asleep.

You turned your attention back to the stubborn bottle, this time trying to gently manoeuvre it around the baking bowls and saucepans, teasing it from the small little hiding place like you would a scared child.

“Come… on.” You hissed with effort, finally freeing your vice from its trap with a final, harsh tug. Only, it was a little harsher than you’d have liked it to be. You grabbed the handle of the cupboard to your left to hold your balance, only for the door to swing open and provide absolutely no stability whatsoever.

You felt yourself fall backwards with a frantic, whispered curse, swinging with the cupboard door, and resigned yourself to the sore back you’d get from falling to the floor. Or, at least, you would have fallen to the floor, if it hadn’t been for the sudden appearance of a warm palm at the centre of your spine.

“Rough–”

You yelped at the unexpected voice behind you, you entire body jumping as if you were shocked by a socket.

“Stop screaming, it’s me,” Logan soothed with no small degree of subdued amusement. “Rough night?”

It wasn’t like he was asleep, more like dozing when he heard the soft padding of footsteps pass his door and head down the stairs. Knowing it was you, he assumed you’d just woken up thirsty and were heading down for a glass of water. His assumption proved incorrect when the clattering of pans and the clang of something hitting the floor broke the steady silence, and curiosity won over when he decided to investigate just exactly what it was you were doing.

What he wasn’t expecting was to find you clinging onto the cupboards for dear life, his bottle of whiskey clutched in one stubborn hand and your other gripping the open door of the shelf next to you. And it was pure instinct to lunge forward and steady you before you fell to the floor, though in the following moments, he convinced himself it was purely because he didn’t want you to wake up anyone else.

“What?” You asked in bewilderment, turning your head to see his brow raise at the bottle you had in your white knuckle grip. How the hell hadn’t you heard him? You’d stayed silent for at least five minutes before resuming your attempts to pull the bottle out. How the hell had he managed to still creep up on you?

“It’s two in the mornin’ and you’re makin’ a grab for whiskey. So, rough night?” He asked again, moving his hands from your back to your waist, steadying you as you clambered down from the countertop, and he did his best to ignore the feeling of your warm skin seeping through the thin nightshirt you were wearing. At least you were wearing shorts. Though, he counted that as both a blessing and a curse.

He liked you. Despite trying to gaslight himself otherwise, there were times when he truly couldn’t deny it. And this time was one of them. You looked a little dishevelled, hair slightly frizzy and out of place from tossing and turning, and it was one of the rare times he’d seen you without any makeup on. You never wore a lot, just enough to accent your already glowing features and cover any blemishes he thought you had no reason to feel self-conscious about.

You were so perfectly yourself, it was tricky for him not to fall in love with you.

Not that he had, of course. This was just a surface-level crush…

Yeah. Totally.

“You uh, yeah, you could say that. One of those nights, ya know?” You offered a small, slightly dejected smile, and his heart bled slightly. He knew. More than he could say, he knew exactly what you were talking about.

“You plannin’ on drinking yourself to sleep?” He asked with wry suspicion as you leaned against the counter, placing his bottle next to the kettle you still needed to flip on.

“The opposite, actually. Wanted to fix myself an Irish coffee. Seeing as I’m not sleeping tonight, might as well stay up.” You shrugged, finding the willpower to turn away from him and grab the ground coffee from the lower cupboard. Thankfully, it didn’t put up the same kind of fight as the bottle.

It was getting increasingly difficult to ignore the electricity humming from where his hands were still against your waist, though his grip was lighter than when he’d helped you down. It truly wasn’t decent to detail the things you were thinking at that moment, and you had to force yourself to think of unsexy things.

“We have a mission in two days and you’re pullin’ an all-nighter?” He asked, his brows pinching in badly concealed concern. Your heavy sigh did nothing to quench his worry.

“What’m I supposed to do? You try sleeping in a bed that’s too small with wings that stretch to either side of the room,” You huffed, flicking down the switch on the kettle and spooning a good two heaps of coffee grounds into the cafetiere. “Doesn’t matter what position. On my back or my side, shit’s so fucking uncomfortable it almost hurts.”

“Why not sleep on your front?”

You snapped back to look at him, eyes hardening to steel. “No. Never sleep on my front.”

You’d said it with so much force he almost reeled back. There was a story there, there had to be, for you to clap back at him with such a bite there was no way it was just a personal preference. You hadn’t really told anyone about your life before the school, but from the bare snippets he’d heard from Charles, it wasn’t exactly how anyone would describe as happy. And there was fear behind that steel. Vulnerability.

Logan sighed, leaning across you to flip the switch back up, stopping the kettle from boiling. You gaped indignantly, and before you could ask him just what the hell he thought he was doing, he spoke before you.

“Sleep with me.”

You choked, eyes blowing wide with shock. “I… what?”

Logan rolled his eyes, unable to tame the crooked curl of his lips at your complete one-eighty from irritation to stupefaction, even the feathers of your wings had puffed out slightly. “Not like that, freak,” although I wouldn’t be opposed. “Just… for company. Might help, s’all.” He offered quietly, and a blanket of realisation settled in your chest. He was awake too. It had only just occurred to you. He hadn’t been sleeping. He didn’t even look like he’d been sleeping. And it made more sense in your head for him to offer if it was something that could benefit both of you.

It seemed highly unlikely he was offering just for you. Right?

“You sure? Don’t wanna like, intrude on your space or anything…”

“Not intrudin’ if I offer,” he reasoned, and you guessed you couldn’t argue with that. With a heavy sigh, you looked back to the bottle of whiskey you’d fought wars to obtain, realising now that the whole cupboard situation had been for nothing.

“All that effort,” you pouted comically, and Logan huffed a smile.

“I’ll put it somewhere easier next time. C’mon.” He nudged you before grabbing the bottle and returning it to the top shelf. You cursed his stupid height and the fact that he wasn’t down earlier. He could have retrieved it for you with so much less effort. But at the same time… if he had…

You wouldn’t be where you are now.

You followed him back up the stairs, taking a left to the door only a few down from your own. You didn’t quite know how sleeping in the presence of someone else would help, but you were not about to say no to sleeping by his side. It wasn’t like this was something you’d thought about. At great length. And in great detail.

And this certainly wasn’t a scenario he’d entertained far too many times to count.

Though upon seeing the double bed, that same self-conscious feeling reared its ugly head. There was no way you weren’t going to disturb him. You could barely find comfort in your own bed of the same size, let alone trying to sleep with someone else taking up space. You hesitated in the doorway, and Logan turned back to you, his head quirking to the side.

“You ‘kay?”

“Yeah… s’just– are you sure I’m not gonna disturb you? Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I take up a bit more room than other people…” you extended your wings in emphasis, barely able to stretch them to half their wingspan before the side of the closet and the wall stopped you. Logan breathed a soft smile, and you felt yourself shrink slightly.

“I’ll be fine, just get in.”

You huffed in resignation, tucking the feathers close into your back and crossing to the other side of the bed, unable to stop thinking about how ridiculous this was. You really should just get the fuck over yourself and go back to your room. How tricky was sleeping on your front anyway? Maybe this time you wouldn’t wake up with a panic attack and you were just being dramatic this whole time. You were fine. It really wasn’t that deep. You didn’t want to disturb him just because you couldn’t get over some stupid fucking fear. This was–

“Christ, I’m not even a telepath and I can hear ya thinkin’. It’s fine, sweetheart. You’re fine.” He implored, throwing back the covers for you to take up the space next to him, but you continued to hesitate. “You want a written invitation or somethin’? Get your ass in bed.”

“Alright, jeez…” you pursed your lips to stop yourself from smiling at his smartass comment, keeping your wings firmly against your back as you shuffled beneath the covers by his side, careful not to take up too much room. Your shoulder started to cramp up slightly, but there was no way you were about to release the tension in your muscles until you were sure he was asleep.

Pulling the covers up to your neck as best you could, you scooted down until your head hit the pillow, shifting in yet another attempt to ease the ache in your back. You hadn’t noticed he’d turned on his side to face you until you looked back ahead and were suddenly met with his flat look of exasperation.

“Seriously?”

“What?” Your voice raised into a pitch of innocence, and Logan barely managed to suppress his eye roll of sarcasm.

“The point was for you to be comfortable.”

“I am comfortable!”

“As comfortable as someone would be whilst constantly tensing, yeah?”

“Logan, if I don’t, you’ll wake up with feathers in your nose.”

He snorted a laugh, and you giggled slightly along with him. “You look ridiculous.”

You gaped in mock offence. “Hey!”

“Come ‘ere…” in one swift movement, you were dragged from your position on your side, and he turned the both of you until you were settled on his chest. Panic swirled in your mind as your back was exposed to the room, until a steady hand soothed your racing pulse against your spine, in the space between your wings. You felt comfort dampen your anxiety, breathing deeply into the dip between his collarbone and neck, exhaling a shaky breath. You let the seconds tick by, expecting yourself to start gasping rapidly at any moment. But the longer your heart stayed settled, the more you realised this might actually work. “Y’okay?” He asked quietly, and you nodded against his chest.

“Yeah… just surprised. Usually, I’d be thinking I’m about to die by this point,” you half-joked, and though you couldn’t see him, Logan’s brows pinched in empathy. What the hell had happened to you before joining the team? Finding the school? His fingers slowly grazed through the short, fluffy feathers at the base of your wings, carding through the stiff joints. He watched in mild amusement as you shivered slightly, those feathers puffing out and shuddering at his touch. He lightly dug his fingers into the hard muscles around the joint, and you had to clamp your mouth shut to stop yourself from sighing in release. You hadn’t realised just how much strain it was to constantly keep them tight against your back, and whilst it had proven useful to build up the muscle, it had also resulted in some nasty knots.

Achingly slowly, your wings started to relax, heavy, hollow bones coming to rest across his body, wingtips grazing the floors on either side of the bed as you blanketed the both of you in a soft, warm embrace. Your eyes started to grow tired, lids drooping with each gentle caress of his fingers across your back.

“Sleep, angel. ‘M here. You’re safe.” He whispered, and you didn’t have the energy to contemplate the fact he’d just used two new pet names for you. If you weren’t so damn tired, your insides would have exploded with butterflies by now, but the siren call of sleep lulled you into a sense of security, and with his steady heartbeat your lullaby, you gave in to the soft pull of rest.

That was the night things changed between you. The day after he would barely leave your side, sticking by you throughout the morning, taking the seat next to you in the pre-mission meeting that same evening, sending you quick glances that he’d cut short whenever your eyes met. And it was the same when he entered the Blackbird, with you tucked tight against the wall. His eyes found you instantly, lips carving into a gentle smile, his hand falling to your shoulder as he walked past you. You savoured the touch, missing the contact when his hand fell back to his side, still deep in conversation with Ororo.

“Do you want to fly above us, Icarus? Might be more comfortable,” Scott asked from where he’d taken his seat at the front of the jet, his head turning back to look at you through his glasses. You knew what he meant. There was only so much room in the Blackbird, and despite your best efforts, you were taking up a considerable amount. You took a moment to think, weighing up your options. And whilst you loved the freedom of flying, you couldn’t help but think it was a backhanded way of asking you to stop taking up so much room. He may not have meant it that way, but that’s just how it felt.

“Uh, sure. Yeah, might be better…” You mumbled with a shrug, trying in vain to stop the hot shame from flushing your cheeks.

Logan’s jaw tensed, his teeth grinding together, the sound resonating through his skull. He’d been trying so damn hard to get you to loosen up about your wings. And whilst he found it difficult to properly articulate just how gorgeous he thought they were, he thought he was finally making some progress after the last two days. So the way Scott insensitively asked you to fly instead of taking the jet wound him up.

“Only if it would be better for you. Don’t do it just cuz ya think it’ll be more comfortable for everyone else,” he ground out with a pointed look to Scott, whose brows furrowed in brief confusion before his mouth fell open in horror.

“Shit, no that’s not what I meant! I just thought–”

“It’s fine, Scott,” you tried placating the panicking Cyclops. “I need to stretch them out before the mission anyway.” You smiled a liar's smile, hoping he wouldn’t see through the façade and into your genuine hurt before turning on your heel to head back down the ramp. You managed to make it roughly halfway before a hand caught your arm, stopping you short.

“You’re not doin’ this cuz of these, right?” Logan asked, gesturing to your wings with his head, his eyes searching your expression as if he was looking to peer right through you. You offered him the same smile you gave Scott, and whilst it worked to settle Cyclops, it only served to broaden Logan’s concern.

“Nah, I really do need to stretch them out, feeling kinda stiff today so it’s not a problem.” You said brazenly, shrugging off his concerns with faux confidence. You knew it didn’t work when his expression didn’t shift, his hand tightening slightly around your arm. You sighed, defeated. “It’s fine, Logan. Everyone’ll be more comfortable like this anyway, myself included. I won’t feel like I’m–”

“If you finish that sentence with ‘in the way’ I’ll throw you off the jet myself.” He borderline growled, and you tensed your jaw in slight irritation. Couldn’t he just let you have this? Couldn’t he just let you do this one thing to make everyone’s lives more comfortable? Why did he have to be so damn stubborn?

“Just… drop it, yeah? I’ll see you guys when we get there.�� You bit, almost snatching your arm from his grip and continuing down the ramp, crouching low when you reached the bottom and launching into the skies, your wings beating hard as cold wind whipped your face. All Logan could do was watch you go, regret piercing his chest as the sound of your wings receded into the night sky.

And that was how you found yourself already airborne when Scott’s voice crackled through your earpiece, the low hum of those three drones on your tail like the toll of death, the rapid beeping of target systems an accompaniment to the symphony. Tucking one of your wings in tight, you fell into a sharp stoop, panic rising in your chest as they followed you down. The hissing release of metal combined with the sudden roar of a rocket told you at least one of them had fired on you. You flared your wings, catching the air like a feathered parachute as you levelled out quickly, the missile shooting past you and into the ground below. The heat from the explosion fanned your face as you whipped around the wreckage of a building, those three drones still hot on your trail.

Logan looked up as you soared above, his claws drenched in blood as he yanked them out the helmet of some unfortunate soldier who’d made the mistake of thinking he could take on The Wolverine. His heart raced in his throat as those six dots wouldn’t stray from your body, drones expertly following your manoeuvres, mimicking every duck and dive, narrowly missing the corners of buildings and rising flames. Ororo’s voice crackled in his own earpiece, her tone frantic.

“Icarus you gotta shake them!”

“NO SHIT!”

He almost winced at the panic in your voice, snapping back at Storm in a way he’d never heard you do before. Casting a quick glance to his surroundings, he saw Scott with his fingers braced on his glasses, beams of white-hot energy streaking the battlefield as he picked off one guard after another.

“Scott!” He called, his legs pounding the ground as he ran over, slicing through the gut of a nameless, faceless soldier who stood in his way before he jogged to a stop. “Think you can get a clear shot?” He asked, his words rushed as his gaze returned to the skies, another explosion booming bright before you raced around the corner of the main building.

“They’re moving too fast and it’s too much of a risk.” Scott called back over the din of battle, the crackle and boom of thunder overhead striking the earth with expert precision as Storm unleashed yet another bolt from the clouds above. A little too close to you for comfort.

Logan’s breath caught in his throat as you levelled out, those tenacious six red dots still focused solely on your racing form, your wings beating and dipping with every expert manoeuvre as you once again swooped from sight. But it still wasn’t enough.

“Lead the shot.”

“What?”

“Lead the damn shot, Scott. She’ll be comin’ back round, it’s a pattern. Just do it.” He almost pleaded, his voice cracking slightly. He knew you only had precious seconds before those missiles would fire again, and you couldn’t outrun them forever.

You crested back around the ruins of the facility, and it was only due to his enhanced sight could he see your confidence wavering, your jaw tense with concentration, though your eyes were blown wide with panic.

The beep of the target systems increased rapidly, before blending into one long note. And it was like time came to a slow crawl. A puff of silver gas erupted from the base of the drone, a pinpoint missile dropping from the small hold to hone in on your location before Scott had a chance to take it out.

Switching targets, Scott moved his head to the side slightly, leading the shot as Logan had said, the beam of pure, red and white hot energy shot from his glasses, quick as a blink. And for one, blissfully ignorant moment, Logan thought they’d succeeded.

But the missile was too close. The moment the pure energy collided with the steel casing, a ball of furnace orange flame and thick black smoke lit the sky. Before you had time to think, searing agony jolted your back, hellfire burning your shoulders and wings as you were thrust forward, losing control of your trajectory. Panic gripped your heart as you tried in vain to regain your altitude, but your wings weren’t responding. The stench of burning feathers and flesh singed your nose as you went down, caught up in the explosion between Scott’s beam and the missile.

Wind roared in your ears, whipping your hair as you descended, flailing and spiralling, to the ground, trees and ruin rising to bring your fall, and your life, to a sharp end.

“STORM!”

“ICARUS!”

Two indistinguishable voices exploded in your ears, deafening you over the din of death. You knew this was most likely it. This was most likely the end, but you felt numb peace as the wind kept you company, wrapping around you almost like a blanket as you braced your arms against your chest, pain splitting your body and mind as the open rooftop of a ruined house ripped through your suit and flesh as you struck the ground, knowing nothing more than darkness.

“No…” Logan whispered, his entire world coming to an abrupt halt as you descended past his line of vision, a cloud of black dust rolling from the wreckage of a home. You weren’t dead. You couldn’t be dead. He was moving before he’d even registered it, racing across blackened bodies and charred remains of structures. His throat tore with repeated cries of your name, pushing past collapsed beams and splinters of wood, shoving aside wrecked furniture and broken decor before he saw you.

Lifeless.

In a pool of your own blood.

Your leg lay in an unnatural angle, your wings charred and broken, your wrist twisted in a way he knew it really shouldn’t be. His blood turned to ice in his veins, face blanching as he couldn’t see the rise and fall of your chest beneath the shrapnel and dust covering you. A jagged wooden spike protruded from the dip between your shoulder and your chest, the entry wound somewhere on your back.

He had to check if you were still alive, but he couldn't move, finding himself frozen in place. He couldn't lose you. Not when he was finally putting the foundations down for your relationship. He couldn't lose you now…

But seeing your body broken like this… there was no way you could have survived that fall, even with Ororo’s help. She tried to slow your descent too late, a gust of wind appearing from nowhere to catch you just a second after she should have. Maybe you’d still be alive if she'd succeeded. Maybe you’d still be here if he hadn't asked Scott to shoot those fucking drones.

Maybe…

“Fuck! Icarus! Icarus can you hear me?” Storm rushed past him, followed by a horrified Cyclops, and if Logan could focus on anything other than your twisted limbs, he'd see the overwhelming sense of guilt on his face.

Ororo pushes off the splinters of wood and debris from your body, her movements hurried yet careful, terrified of moving you too much. She placed two trembling fingers against the side of your neck and waited.

And waited.

And waited…

Logan thought the moment would never end, silence blanketing the ruined room as the three of them could do nothing but watch, Jean quietly placing a hand on Scott's shoulder.

“There's a pulse!” Storm cried, a sob of relief erupting from her throat as Jean rushed forward, her hands ghosting the top of your body.

You were alive. Alive. How the fuck had you survived that? There was no way you could have survived that. You fell from over two hundred feet, how the fuck–

“We need to stabilise her. She's lost a lot of blood and it hasn't stopped. Can you tell what the damage is?” Storm turned to Jean, hoping her telekinesis could find something, anything that would provide more information.

“Broken ribs, her lung is punctured, I think she's bleeding internally and we can’t remove this or she’ll bleed out… I can't do shit out here, we need to get her back to the school. Now.” Jean's voice took on a tone of authority, spurring Scott back into action, but Logan was still paralysed. It was only two nights ago you were sound asleep on his chest, only yesterday he couldn’t stand being further than two feet from you.

Logan…

You were alive, but how long for? Was he just given false hope, only to lose you on the way? On the operating table? How much longer did you have? How much longer did he have?

“Logan…”

He wanted to blame Scott. Fuck, he wished he could blame Scott. But the truth was, he asked him to take them out. He was the one who asked if he had a shot. He was the one who coerced him to take it. Would you have been okay? Would you have been able to shake them on your own? Had he single-handedly brought on your fall?

“LOGAN!”

Logan blinked rapidly, eyes burning from how long he was staring, unblinkingly, at your broken body. Numbly, he tore his gaze from you and over to Ororo, and though her brows were pinched in concern, her eyes were hard with determination.

“I know, but if we wait any longer, we’ll lose her. Think you can clear Jean a path?” She glanced pointedly to the rubble somewhat blocking the doorway, and it took him another second before forcing his body to move, nodding wordlessly to Ororo’s orders. He wasn’t usually one to just mindlessly obey, but he wasn’t able to think straight at the moment and was honestly thankful for the others taking charge.

He was strong at the best of times, but self-hatred fuelled his arms to work overtime, shoving away impossibly large beams and collapsed part of the wall before there was a clear path for Jean to levitate you through. Your smouldering wings dragged along the ground, tattered and torn, gathering dust and grime along the bloodied tips. Only now had could he get a glimpse of your back, the worst of the damage caking your shoulders and wing joints in blackened crimson. Feathers had burned away, leaving your mutation raw and weeping. You didn’t know what he was talking to Ororo about on the walk to the jet. You didn’t know he was asking her if you had a favourite food, or colour, or flower. You had no idea he’d planned to officially ask you out after the mission.

Now you might never know.

Scott slowly approached him, looking as if he were in a state of complete shock, replaying what went wrong over and over again in his head. All it took was one glance, and Logan didn’t even need to see his eyes to know they were buried in remorse. He wanted to be furious at him, but he couldn’t. He wanted to be beside himself with desperate anger, but there was nothing to be angry at him for. This wasn’t Scott’s fault…

It was his.

The ride back to the mansion took days and also five seconds, Jean doing her best to keep you stable whilst Ororo took the pilot’s seat, Scott being in no shape to fly anything. Logan found himself too terrified to touch you as if the slightest movement could worsen your condition. In the silence of the ship, he could hear your haunting, rasped breaths, slow and shallow. The stench of charred flesh and boiled blood made his stomach clench, but not as much as the wounds across your body. He forced himself to look at them. To look at what he’d done to you because of his choices. Forced himself to sear every weeping burn, every broken bone, every blood-soaked bandage into his memory. Your wings, which once held so much majesty and beauty, now lay in tatters, and he had no idea if they would grow back. Would you ever be able to fly again? Logan didn’t know if he’d be able to look himself in the mirror if he’d taken that from you too.

“She’s going to be okay, Logan. She’s stabilised for now and the Professor already knows the situation. Hank’s on standby and Charles has called in a favour from a surgeon. She’ll be in the best hands possible when we get there.” Jean attempted to comfort him, all the while focussed on keeping you stable from any turbulence and making sure your wounds didn’t worsen.

“I did this…” he whispered, uttering the first words since watching you fall. Speaking his thoughts into the thick silence, the rest of the team cast glances at each other, Scott running a hand through his hair.

“No… I should have trusted your judgment. I hesitated. Fired too late. You can’t blame yourself for this…” He hissed, dragging the hand from his hair down the side of his face.

“You both did what you could,” Ororo offered from the cockpit, her eyes still focused on the clouds ahead. “If you hadn’t done anything, she’d be dead by now. Those drones weren’t going to give up and she couldn’t shake them. She’s still here because of what happened, not despite it.”

Logan couldn’t find the self-compassion to believe her. His eyes still trained on the scattering of feathers beneath where Jean suspended you from the ground. He wearily raised his head when the redhead called his name, her features soft with understanding.

“Come here,” she gesture him over with a nod of her head, her hands still hovering over your body. Logan hesitated before rising from his seat, to stand by your side, across from Jean. “Place two fingers against the side of her neck,” she instructed, and his breath hitched, eyes darting from your unconscious face to Jean. “You won’t hurt her, just do it.”

Inhaling sharply, Logan softly brushed your hair back from your neck, gently placing two fingers against your pulse point. There he felt the slight, slow thump of your heart still beating. The realisation was enough to bring him to his knees, not caring about the sharp bark of pain as he struck the steel floor. He knew you were alive. Ororo had said as much, but to actually feel you, to feel the evidence of you’re still beating heart, broke through the dam of self-hatred.

His hand cautiously skirted up your jaw to rest against the side of your cheek as he pressed his forehead into your hair, his breath shuddering with the effort to keep himself from falling apart. He didn’t care that he could taste blood and dirt when he softly kissed the side of your head. Didn’t care that now everyone knew how he felt about you. His thumb lightly caressed your cheekbone, smoothing the grimy skin beneath your eye.

You hadn’t left him yet. You were still here.

“She’s alive, Logan. And we’re gonna keep her that way,” the conviction in Jean’s eyes was almost enough to settle his heart, but he knew the twisting worry wouldn’t loosen until he saw you open your eyes, your wounds healing, your wings bright again.

Everything ached. Everything. You felt as if you’d been hit by a bus, only for the bus to reverse back over your body, and hit you again. Your wrist barked with sharp pain when you tried to shift, your eyes still closed against the bright lights behind your lids. Something tight was almost cutting off the circulation to your left leg, and inhaling too deeply caused your chest to convulse in agony. The steady beep of a heart rate monitor helped you count roughly how many seconds you’d been conscious. You tried to think back to what could have happened, only to find the last thing you remembered was stooping in a low dive with three drones tailing you. There was an explosion at your back and–

You were falling.

You’d fallen.

So much for not living up to your name…

With a hissing wince, you cracked your eyes open, only to instantly screw them shut at the sharp burn of bright lights unfamiliar to your retinas. How long have you been out? How did the mission go? Was everybody okay? Was Logan okay?

With renewed determination, you attempted to open your eyes again, gritting your teeth as you blinked through the burn of adjustment. You knew this ceiling. You knew this table. From your first ever visit to the school, you’d been taken care of in this very room. You groaned slightly, exhaustion already taking its

toll on your weary bones. Any attempt to move yourself resulted in agony spiking up your spine, white-hot pain cresting through your shoulder blades. Panic gripped your heart as you attempted to move your wings, only to find resistance. Turning your head with a sharp gasp, your eyes welled up with new tears seeing your torn, tattered feathers bound in bandages, held suspended by a sling from the ceiling. They were still attached, so there was that, you supposed, but it had been a long, long time since you’d seen them in this condition.

You glanced down the bed to find your leg wrapped in a cast, held aloft from the mattress. Your wrist too seemed to be encased in white. You turned your neck to the other side with the intention of gauging the damage to your other wing, before your eyes widened at who you saw, head bowed asleep, in the chair next to your bed.

Despite yourself and your situation, you couldn’t stop your lips from pulling into a fond, soft smile as Logan snored lightly. He looked truly exhausted, his hair mussed from how many times he’d run his hands through it. You didn’t think it was possible to adore him any more than you already did, but here you were, finding your heart growing three sizes at the sight.

The doors opposite you slid open, Jean striding through with a clipboard and a thin pair of glasses perched on her nose. She stopped dead when she looked up from her notes, almost dropping her pen to the floor when she registered the fact you were awake. Silently, you placed a finger to your lips, before pointing over to the exhausted Logan in the chair. She smiled with a fond nod,

Keeping her footsteps light, she crossed the medical bay to take a look at the readings on the screen, before crouching down next to your bed, her eyes focusing on the bandages across the bend of your wing.

“He hasn’t slept since we got back. Storm had to force him to eat something yesterday. And he hasn’t stepped foot outside this room.” Jean explained, keeping her voice to a low whisper.

“How long’ve I been here…?” you asked, unable to raise your voice louder than a low whisper. Your throat scratched with every word, and you hadn’t realised just how thirsty you were until now.

“A week and three days. I’m going to slowly reintroduce food into your stomach before taking out the IV, okay?”

You barely heard the rest of her sentence. A week and three days? That was a little longer than you were expecting, to be honest.

“Wait… Logan hasn’t slept in over a week?” You managed to rasp a little louder, your chest lurching with concern. That wasn’t healthy for anyone, even someone who could regenerate as fast as he could. No wonder he was utterly spent.

And it was as if your voice were like an alarm clock. One moment your hushed tones were accompanied by the soft snores of the man in the chair, the next his eyes shot open, your whispered name the first words on his lips.

Turning your head back to him, your breath caught in your throat. There was a hurricane of emotions swirling in his hazel eyes. Relief, guilt, fear, joy, remorse. A cocktail of feelings clouded his eyes and you wished you had the energy to cup the side of his face and reassure him you were alright.

Logan’s exhausted haze cleared instantly upon hearing your voice, seeing your eyes open for the first time since he watched you plummet to the ground, and it took a moment for him to realise he wasn’t dreaming. Because he had dreams of this. In the rare moments he physically couldn’t keep his eyes open, his mind would either take him back to your fall or fabricate the moment you woke up. But wherever his dreams took him, he would always wake up with the tight ache of guilt constricting his chest. His waking moments he would spend thinking about what he would say to you if you woke up, planning out a meticulously crafted apology, but everything he wanted to say instantly flew out the window upon actually seeing you awake.

“Hi…” you whispered, voice still raspy from disuse. And it was your weary, worn smile that tore at the chains around his soul. He couldn’t respond, as if he were the one who’d been lying unconscious for the last two weeks.

Jean, sensing the tension in the room, stood from her crouched position by your wing, clearing her throat a little before tucking the clipboard flat against the crook of her elbow.

“I’ll be back in a bit to check up on you and bring you some food.” She murmured, but you barely acknowledged her exit, too fixated on Logan’s expression of disbelief.

The doors closed as Jean took her leave, blanketing the two of you in a charged silence, the both of you waiting for the other to talk first.

“Logan I–”

“I’m so sorry, it–”

So naturally, of course, you both spoke at the same time, before falling into another equally uncomfortable silence, once again stuck in the purgatory of waiting for the other. You held your tongue this time, nodding to him with the smallest movement of your head.

“You’re okay…” he breathed, almost to himself, as if having to remind himself again that this wasn’t in fact a dream. You were awake. You were talking. You weren’t lying lifeless with only the steady beeping of medical equipment to keep him company. Your eyes were open, looking at him with something he was struggling to discern through his addled mind.

“I’m okay,” you responded softly, watching his features morph from self-hatred to pure relief. He shifted in his seat, head hanging low between his shoulders as he took a shaky breath, and you could see the slight shudder of his shoulders.

“I–” he started, before cutting himself off with a sharp inhale, clamping his teeth together as he struggled to raise his head again. “I thought I lost you.”

Whilst it was nothing but the softest admission, you felt spiderwebs crack through your heart, wanting nothing more than to reach for him, if only your bones didn’t feel like lead. He continued to keep his head low, his hands wringing together between his knees. “It was ’my fault. I didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t shake em and they were closin’ in and Scott wasn’t fuckin’ listenin’ an’–”

“Logan,” you interrupted as loud as you could, your throat tearing at the sudden strain on your voice, causing you to wince slightly. Your hiss of discomfort finally prompted him to raise his head, half standing from his seat to instantly be by your side should you need anything. “I’m okay. Or, I will be. My wings’ve seen worse, and my body will heal with time. I’m okay.”

He searched your face for any sign of deception, any indication that you were just saying this to spare his feelings, or stop him from spiralling into the well of self-hatred once again. He knew it wasn’t the time to ask, but his mind subconsciously filed away that nugget of your past for a later conversation, too focused on the fact his search came up short of anything he was looking for.

“You’re okay…” he repeated, settling back into the chair by your bed. His eyes fell to your twitching hand, and with a gentleness only reserved for you, his fingers intertwined with yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “You’re okay.”

Your heart skipped a beat or several, and you were mildly concerned about setting off the heart rate monitor your abdomen was connected to. You don’t think you’d ever had this many wires connected to your body in your life, not even when Charles first found you. Nobody knows what had happened that day apart from him, and you refused to speak of it.

“What do you remember?” Logan asked, pressing the back of your hand against the scruff of his cheek, as if desperate to feel you. Your brows furrowed for a moment, your quick trip down trauma lane before you opened your eyes yielding nothing of much use.

“I remember the drones and the targeting dots. I remember one… fired, I think, and missed,” you struggled, screwing your eyes shut in a vain attempt to jog your own memory. “Uh– then there were two more? One missed and the other exploded before it hit me, but I was caught up in the blast radius. I remember falling and I remember the pain, but that’s about it…” You opened your eyes to find Logan’s expression have shifted once again back to remorse. He really thought it was his fault… didn’t he? “I couldn’t get them off me, Lo’.” You offered quietly.

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t be here if Scott hadn’t fired.”

“I… I know.”

“Logan, you saved my life.”

He placed your hand back on the bed, and you instantly missed the warmth of his palm. “I almost got you killed. I almost lost you. We could have worked somethin’ else out. Storm could’ve–”

“And what if she couldn’t?” You prompted gently, your brows creasing with empathy as you watched him try to wade through the implications of your question.

“That’s not– I almost–”

“Almost, Logan. Almost. But you didn’t. I’m here. So please stop acting like I’m dead because I might start believing you.” You tried to sound as stern as you could whilst being physically and emotionally drained, and whilst it may have sounded a little weak, Logan knew what you were trying to do.

He ran a hand through his messy hair which was in desperate need of a wash. Although so were you, you could only imagine. “I didn’t want our last conversation to be an argument.” He murmured, and you sighed as heavily as you could whilst not being able to inhale very deeply.

“So melodramatic,” you joked with a half-smile, and it took a moment of his eyes scanning your face before his shoulders slumped, huffing a singular laugh through crooked lips.

“Maybe a little…” he looked up at you through lidded eyes. “Fear doesn’t come naturally t’me. But I don’t think I’ve been more scared than when I was watchin’ you fall, knowin’ I could do nothin’.”

You finally mustered the strength to reach for him, and he clasped your outstretched hand between both of his like a prayer. You considered for a moment what you would have done had your roles been swapped. If you were so helpless to save him from almost certain death. If you were forced to watch in nearly slow motion as the object of your heart was being ripped away from you and you were powerless against it. Because this was something more than a crush, more than admiration. You loved him. It wasn’t a sudden lightbulb moment, but rather a slow realisation of admission. You loved him. Irrevocably. Possibly irresponsibly. But certainly undeniably.

“You don’t have to be scared anymore. I’m not dead. I’m not going to die. It’s gonna take time, but I’m okay. And I’m going to be okay.” You implored, and you could almost watch the cogs turning in his head, working on believing you and realising the truth of the situation.

You. Were. Alive.

He nodded silently, finally accepting what everyone had been trying to tell him for almost a week and a half now. His thumb grazed the tendons of your wrist, the delicate caress sending shivers down your scarred spine.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked though he couldn’t help thinking it was the most stupid question in the world.

“Like I just fell over two hundred feet after being blown up.” You responded dryly. Ask obvious questions, get obvious answers.

Obviously.

“That checks out.”

“Thank you, Doctor Wolverine.”

How you’d managed to almost die and yet maintain your humour was a mystery to Logan, but it simply added to all the reasons he was completely taken with you. You were easily one of the strongest people he knew, in spite of your own self-consciousness. The way you felt about your wings had already proven that. They were the greatest source of your diffidence, and yet you often said how incomplete you would feel without them. He saw how you battled, every day, between loving and hating them. Not many people did, but he did.

Perhaps that was because, to him, you were the focal point of every conversation. The spotlight in the room. The brightest star in the sky. Not only did he see you, but he saw you.

That was when he remembered your words from earlier. ‘My wings’ve seen worse…’

“What did you mean?”

“When?”

“When you said your wings have been worse. What did you mean?”

Logan knew he’d struck a nerve when your wry humour dissolved from your face, and he watched you withdraw back into your own mind, another silence creating a barrier between you. It was another mental battle. He could see it. And he could only hazard a guess that you were struggling between opening yourself up to whatever traumas you’d experienced in the past, or staying closed and comfortable.

“This world is cruel and cold to people like us…” your voice was barely audible, and despite his enhanced hearing, Logan found himself shifting closer, drawn in by your siren’s whisper. “I was always jealous of people who could hide their mutation. Or mutations that didn’t take on a physical appearance, anyway. Because hiding something like phasing or shapeshifting is easy. Hiding a pair of giant fucking wings? Get’s a little harder when not everyone around you is very accepting…” you were being vague on purpose. Taking yourself back to the day Charles found you was never easy, and it was this exact reason why you kept this to yourself. Only he knew what happened, and Jean was the only other one who’d seen your condition.

Logan fought the urge to run his fingers through your feathers, slightly worried it would hurt you more than it would soothe you, since most of your secondary feathers had been burned away or torn off, and the exposed ligaments had been covered in bandages. You took a breath before you continued. “The neighbourhood where I lived wasn’t exactly high-end, and less than welcoming to mutants. I used to listen to a lot of music when I left my apartment, it helped to drown out the insults and hatred but uh, it also prevented me from hearing anyone following me.

“It was stupid. I was tired and forgot to lock my fucking door before I fell asleep that night. Such an idiot. And I paid the price. I can’t really remember exactly when it happened, and it’s all sort of a blur to be honest. I never saw their faces either, and I only knew they were there when they shoved a gag between my teeth and held me down, jeering about me being a disgusting mutant, the usual bullshit…” you trailed off, your words sticking to your throat like molasses as you recounted possibly the most traumatic moment of your life. Narrowly holding the top spot after recent events. “They uh, tried to sever them. My wings. Used a carving knife or a paring knife, hell it could have been a butter knife for all I knew. But it hurt. And I couldn’t fight them off. I probably still have the scars. They were barely attached by the time they were startled by something and took off.”

Logan placed his hand against your cheek, gently smoothing away the stray tear sliding down the side of your face with the pad of his thumb.

“That’s why you don’t sleep on your front?”

“That’s why I don’t sleep on my front,” You affirmed with a timid nod, and Logan felt his heart clench painfully. He always wondered where your intense passion for making the world a safer place came from. “At least,” you continued quietly. “Until you.”

His eyes widened a fraction, and it wasn’t hard to piece together what you meant. The night, two days before the mission. That was the first time you’d slept on your front since Charles and Jean found you all those years ago. That was why you mentioned it. That was why you were so adamant about it.

Your vulnerability was taken advantage of and used to further the cycle of hatred and violence.

“Sweetheart…”

You couldn’t bear to hear the slight break in his voice, the horrified empathy creasing his brows. “So yeah. That’s what I meant. When I said they’ve been through worse. So actually, this really isn’t all that bad. They’ll recover. They did last time. Might be a while before I can fly again but I think I’m okay with that for a while, not sure I want to–” your rambling was cut short by the sudden decrease of proximity between the two of you. Was he always this close? Or had he shifted? Had you simply not noticed? Too lost in your second trip down trauma lane in the space of twenty minutes? You could feel his steady breaths fanning your cheeks.

“You’re safe. With me. An’ nothin’ like that will ever happen again. ‘M gonna look after you, angel. Promise.” His eyes flickered from your gaze, down to your lips, and back up in a silent request, and your body answered for you. Your eyes fluttered closed, heart igniting at the first graze of his soft lips against yours, the pain in your back forgotten as your skin prickled with shivers.

The moment he felt you lean up into him as much as you could, Logan gasped through his nose, his fingers skirting up the side of your neck, pausing to feel your pulse before continuing to brace his palm against your jaw. He wanted to feel you, in any way he could and in any way you would let him, your lips dancing with his languidly. And through the salves and disinfectant, through the blood and the grease, the smoke clinging to your hair, he could just smell you. Amber and wood oak swirled through his senses, and he didn’t think it fair that you smelled like a fucking autumnal forest.

You tried to push yourself up further toward him, a fresh wave of yearning hitting you like a fall from over two hundred feet, but your ribs barked in sharp protest, and you flinched back with a harsh hiss, your features scrunching in pain.

“Easy there, angel. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.” He breathed, and whilst you could detect genuine concern in his tone, there was also a hint of smug satisfaction.

“Sorry… got kinda carried away.” You clamped your lips together at his soft chuckle, finding immeasurable comfort in the way his thumb smoothed along your under-eye.”

“Been wantin’ to do that for a while…” He murmured against your lips, and you drew back as far as you could without jostling your back too much.

“Really? How long?”

“Round a year or so.”

You blanched. “A year!?”

“Give or take a few months,” he shrugged, unable to tame the delicious grin pulling at his lips.

“And you didn’t think to do anything?” You asked incredulously, eyes flicking between his, unable to decide just where they wanted to settle.

“Inappropriate in the workplace.” He shrugged nonchalantly, and your eyes widened further.

“We live under the same roof! This isn’t just a workplace.”

“Potato pot-ah-to.”

“No! Potato potato. It’s the same thing!”

He raised a sly brow. “Didn’t see ya pull back, angel. How long’ve you wanted this then?”

You clamped your lips shut, your face a picture of false irritation as he turned your own accusations back onto you, a triumphant glint dancing in his eye. “Thought s’much.”

A huff brushed his chin, though you couldn’t tame your guilty smile for long. Yes, he was absolutely right. You’d wanted to do that for far longer than you cared to admit. And the phrase ‘good things come to those who wait’ couldn’t ring more true. Though you couldn’t help thinking they should change the phrase slightly.

‘Good things come to those who nearly die’. Yeah, that sounded more accurate.

Your head lulled against his hand, a tugging wave of exhaustion pulling at your mind, your eyes feeling heavy with sleep. It was strange. Usually, you found it so difficult to find rest, tossing and turning until you simply couldn’t take it anymore. But not in his presence. Not when Logan was with you.

He hummed a soft, fond smile of understanding, pulling the chair closer to the bed so he could still be near you. Pressing his lips to your forehead, you sighed in contentment, your hand holding his arm in a soft grip, silently asking him not to go anywhere. But you didn’t need to. He had no plans on leaving you anytime soon.

“Sleep, angel. ‘M here. You’re safe.”

#wolverine x reader #logan x reader #logan howlett x reader #james logan howlett #logan howlett #x men logan #the wolverine x reader #the wolverine #logan x you #x men wolverine #wolverine x you #x men x reader #essa's works

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vivwritesfics · 10 months ago

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Padawan Learner

Mrs Vettel, ex Williams driver, current McLaren driver, can't drive while pregnant. Although she's contracted until 2026, she can't drive while she's with child. But she can't stay away from racing, and can't help but take the Williams rookie under her wing.

Sebastian Vettel x Reader, (Platonic) Logan Sargeant x Reader

Warnings: Brief description of smut

She wasn't supposed to retire at the same time as her husband. He felt as if he was at the end of his career and there was nothing more he could offer to the sport, so he retired. He'd had his glory years in Red Bull, moved to Ferrari, every racers dream, and ended things in Aston Martin, alongside his wife's old teammate.

She still had more race left in her. She'd been with Williams for years, racing alongside Valteri Bottas, Lance Stroll, George Russell, and, later, Alex Albon. But then she moved to McLaren, a team she felt would help her fight for wins.

Her husband very thoroughly celebrated the beginning of his retirement. She found herself stuffed full of cum almost every day of winter break.

It shouldn't have been a surprise when they got pregnant. But she wanted to murder Sebastian. For all of five seconds she wanted to drown him in their pool. But, after that five seconds passed, she was overjoyed, wrapping her arms around Sebastians neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

She told McLaren and they pulled Oscar Piastri in for the year. That was how he got his first drive in F1. All because Sebastian Vettel was incredibly horny, but he didn't need to know this.

She might not have been able to drive, but she still wanted to be trackside whenever she could. Her old team gave her this opportunity. She didn't hang around the McLaren garage, as she had half expected.

No, it was Williams and the new team Principle, James Vowles, who gave her somewhere to be during the season. Even in preseason testing, she was there, watching the Williams.

It was great to be in the garage with Lily again. She'd always liked Lily, thought she was great for Alex when they first met. After her move to McLaren she rarely got to see Lily, and as much as she hated sitting in the garage, it was nice to be sat in the garage with her.

Alex was a great driver. Any advice a veteran like her could have offered him, he already knew.

But then there was his teammate.

She watched Logan from his very first race weekend. She had known about the rookie for a couple of years now and had watched him succeed in Formula Two.

But now, in the Williams tractor, he was struggling. Week after week after week he was finishing outside of the points, or he wasn't finishing at all. She really felt for him.

"Hey," she said after the Hungarian Grand Prix.

Logan hadn't spoken to anybody since he got out of the car and did all that he needed to do. Clearly he was struggling. He didn't say anything, just looked up.

She stood beside him. At her stage of pregnancy she could have gotten down to the floor to sit with him, but she wouldn't have been able to get up without help. Her hand rested on her bump as she looked down at him.

"I still remember my first season in Formula One," she said as she looked at the retired car. "It was 2013 and Seb was set to win the championship. I was in my first year in Williams and I think I only finished maybe ten races," she said with a laugh.

"Wait, seriously?" Asked Logan as he looked up.

She nodded her head. "I crashed out of most, or the car fell apart on me. Most people wondered why I had a seat for the next year, but Williams saw potential in me. I know they see it in you, too."

Every time Logan didn't finish a race, every time he came dead last, she was there. Nobody could comfort her like she did. Sometimes Seb joked that they might as well adopt him, and Logan agreed. Most up and down paddock called Logan her padawan learner, which was very fitting.

Logan began being the person she spent the most time with when Sebastian wasn't there. He'd looked up to her for many years and having her support meant the world to him. He was there for her too, making sure she had somewhere to sit and something to drink whenever she needed it.

In September, a month before her due date, Sebastian begged her to stop travelling. Just in case he wanted her home with him, where he could take care of her. They still watched every race together and she made sure to send Logan a good luck text before every practice session, qualifying, and race.

When Logan got his first points, nobody celebrated more than Sebastian Vettels wife. She was so proud of him, even if those points were because of two disqualifications. She posted a picture of him and her from a previous race on Instagram like a proud mum. Funnily enough, Logan comments 'thanks mom' on the post.

Just two weeks after this, her water broke. Sebastian got her to the hospital. He stayed by her side, holding her hand through the hours of excruciating labour.

Leon Vettel didn't cry when he was born. He was so quiet, that it actually scared his mother. But the doctors and nurses assured the new parents that he was perfectly healthy.

He was their perfect little man.

She insisted on asking Logan to be Leons godfather. They had grown so close over the last few months that it seemed fitting.

Logan accepted. As soon as the Vettels could, they were taking Leon to races. Or, Sebastian took Leon to races, to watch his mother race. Of course he was wearing a Williams hat and McLaren shirt.

"Papa," Leon said at four years old after watching the Australian Grand Prix qualifying session.

"What is it, my little man?" Asked Sebastian as he sat Leon on his lap.

"I wanna be like mama and Uncle Logan," he said, and Sebastian couldn't stop himself from grinning.

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mochamadeleines · 2 months ago

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Sweethearts and Sweet Dreams <3

“Nothin’?”

“Mhm.”

“Whats behind your back then?”

You sway in place, trying to suppress a knowing smile. “I dont have anything behind my back.” (6.4k words)

tags!! - 18+ modern au! Husband! Joel Miller, Wife! Reader, you guys are happy and in love!, mutual obsession if u squint, lots of exposition im so freaking sorry, pervert Joel if u squint, praise kink joel if you squint, dumbification if you squint, written for those with daddy issues lowkeeyyyyy, written with game joel in mind but could be hbo joel no problem!, lowk i combined the two in my mind, mentions of shy old man joel, housewife! reader (by choice), unspecified age gap but reader is like. thirty? and joels Like...55??, talk about joel taking medication for his anxiety, p in v sex, dirty talk, public sex, outdoor sex, joel has a kink for dresses because i said so? service top joel if you squint, pet names, a pinch of jealousy and possessiveness for fun, playful banter, mentions of maria and tommy and their baby with a made up name Lol, mentions of ellie and sarah (rip), mentions of readers past abusive relationships, talk about joel struggling with substance abuse/addiction and being hospitalized.....Im sure u can theorize why </3, lots of lore ill get into in another fic MAYBE *smirks*, flip flop in perspective, sometimes showing what joel is thinking or what reader is thinking blah blah

authors notes!! - hi there!!! im mocha and this is my first joel fic ever + my first fic posted to tumblr!! im really nervous cuz i havent written anything in months and ive never written joel before so please let me know if you like it!! id love to write more of this au for u guys if theres a demand for it...Thank u for reading!! also barely proof read im ngl. ive been staring at this fic all day im sick of itttt. p.s i dont usually write smut i also kinda do idfk Is this bad or am i tweaking

You step out of the house, morning sun soaking into the roots of your hair and the driveway beneath your feet. Theres a package youve been waiting for.

You cant contain your grin as you wiggle it out of the hot prison that is your mailbox.

“What the hell are you doin’ out there barefoot?” Joel chastises you from the front door, leaning his elbow on the frame. Joel, your lovely husband of two years. Been together for five. And because of how hard he works, you have the privilege of being a stay at home wife. Some people think that sort of life is stifling, but youve never felt so free. No more jobs you hate, no more financial struggles. Just you, Joel, and your cat, Cement. He likes to pretend it isnt a totally hilarious name for a pet.

You were his first relationship in almost a decade, so it was a lot of work helping him unpack his anxieties about dating, and a lot of work for you to feel safe and unafraid. Honestly? Youve been mistreated by enough men to land you in the psychward.

But Joel never yells at you, he never breaks things when hes angry or threatens to hurt you. He might raise his voice every now and again, but its never because of something you did. Sometimes the stress of life is just too much.

He works hard, he loves his daughter- daughters- and he would do anything to keep you happy. Whatever you say goes, he says. Even now, you hardly argue. Of course you have disagreements, or off days thatd lead to one of you being especially moody, but the both of you do your best to communicate.

Behind that rough exterior, is someone who just wants to be needed.

You first met Joel at a youth center you volunteered at, he taught guitar, you taught arts and crafts. Joel says it was your smile and sense of humor that charmed him. It was his singing and southern accent for you.

Your favorite thing about Joel is how soft he gets around you. He says its because you make it easy to be soft.

Joel was a shy lover at first. He would get nervous just kissing you, or holding your hand. While most people become intimate very early on in their relationship, you and Joel didnt do anything sexual for the first five months of you dated. Sure, you almost did, plenty of times, but he would get so overwhelmed and cut things short. You broke two of your vibrators during this era of your relationship. Embarassing.

You remember your first time very vividly. Joel had worked back to back doubles trying to meet a deadline, and on the final day, after having barely spoken to you for almost a week, you had shown up to his house, unannounced. You were wringing water out of your jacket when he swung the door open.

“How-” Joel blinks a few times, stepping forward to examine the rainfall. “How long you been out here?”

“Not that long,” You lie and pick up the container you brought off the porch chair. Part of you had a hard time mustering up the courage to even knock on the door. Droplets of water cascade down your chin. “Hi, sorry. I know youre tired.”

He shakes his head, voice soft and warm. “S’fine. Now c’mon, youre gonna get sick.”

Youre seated at the little dining table next to the kitchen now, trying to let the sound of the rainfall ease your nerves.

Joel was quick to grab you a towel, and does the honors of drying your face and hair with it. “Why didnt you jus’ call me? Woulda gotten out of the shower faster if i knew you were gettin’ soaked out there like this.”

“I dunno, sorry.”

“An’ whatd i tell you about apologizin’ all the time?”

“Sor- Uh. Right. Okay.” You tighten your jaw. No more.

Joel moves behind you, now squeezing water out the ends of your hair. “Whas’ that?”

“Oh!-” You peel back the lid, showing it to him. “Old fashion cake donuts are your favorite right? I remember you saying you liked eating them with your coffee in the mornings so…I made these. Youve been working a lot lately and I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Joel gingerly grasps the container from your hands, looking into it. Theyre a warm golden brown, outside evenly fried, and the sweet scent of them hits his nose right away.

“I was just gonna leave them on the doorstep and call you to tell you they were there, but I wanted to see you.”

His adam's apple bobs as he swallows the dryness in his throat. Youre too good for him.

“Thank you very much.” He presses a kiss to your damp hair. “Now, lets get you into some dry clothes.”

Joel gives you a t-shirt and a pair of his boxers to keep you modest while your clothes wash and dry.

You wait patiently on his bed for the hot chocolate he promised you before you showered. Theres nothing to watch on the tv, so you just turn it off and reach for the lamp on his nightstand instead.

He comes in quietly, and sets the mug down beside the lamp. You finally come into focus, clear as day even under the low lighting.

“You uh.. You look nice.”

You blink. “I look nice?”

“In my shirt.”

That gets a smile out of you.

Joel tips his head towards the mug. “S’hot so, give it a few minutes. Dont want you burnin’ your mouth.”

You nod. “Okay.”

Hes sat beside you now and the two of you sit in silence for a while. Its not awkward, just the kind of silence where both of you want to say something but just.. Cant.

Joel unravels first. “Missed you, y’know. Just been tired.”

“I know.” Your voice wobbles, and Joels jaw tightens like hearing you sound so sad stings him. “I missed you, too.”

He slides his hand over yours, giving it a squeeze. Its okay.

“Hey Joel...Can I stay the night?”

“Sure. Id really like that.”

While you drink your hot chocolate, you and Joel catch up. You both talk about work, and about your new found interest in baking. Joel teases you about your lack of cooking skills, you do the same. Youre both useless.

When its time to climb into bed, neither of you can actually fall asleep. Joel rolls onto his side, away from you and the window. You follow, curling up like a little cat against his back. The sensation is nice for the both of you.

You speak up after a little while.

“Joel?”

“Mm.”

“Thank you for letting me stay.”

He scoffs, voice thick with exhaustion. “Like I'd force you to leave after you brought me such a nice present.”

You let out a little giggle, “So if i didnt, youd kick me out?”

“Id think ‘bout it.”

You gasp, gently shoving at his back. “Thats mean…!”

“S’really not.”

“Oh yeah? And what if I poisoned them?.”

“Then itd jus' be a regular day of your cookin’ then.” Joel reminds you, lighthearted. Too many times where you left the shells in your eggs or burnt toast or left the bacon on the pan for too long.

“You cant get mad at me for my dark past when you made a perfectly good sirloin taste like horse leather.”

“Ugh. Dont remind me. That was like putting a one-hundred dollar bill into a paper shredder. How do either of us stay alive again?”

“Uh. Digiorno?”

“Digiorno.”

After a few moments, Joels rolling over again, and hes guiding your head to settle against his chest. Your arms wrap around him, and his arms around you.

“Joel,” You whisper. He hums. “Im cold.”

“S’cause youre not wearin’ any pants.”

“And whos fault is that?”

“Still yours.”

“I was left out in the rain like a sad, sopping wet cat. One that was left in a box all alone with no family…” You pretend to sniffle. “Dont you feel bad for me?”

Joel sighs, not saying anything more except making sure the part of the comforter behind your back is tucked into your side so the cold air doesnt get in. When hes done, you do a little shimmy up his body, and throw your leg over his hip. Oh no.

Hes alert now. Very alert. Be normal. Joel hesitates, licking the dryness off his lips. “Uh. Feel better?”

“Mhm.” You push your face into his throat, cat-like, before settling down again. Hes like a radiator.

Actually scratch that, he cant be normal.

“Darlin’.” He rasps, patting your back to get your attention.

“Mm?”

“Your leg. Move it.”

A few beats pass. “Why?”

“Because…” Wow, he didnt think hed get this far. You shift forward and Joel lets out a quiet exhale through his nose, one that couldve been masked by the rain if you werent so close.

“Are you-”

“No! No. Its- Its not what you think-” He cant see your face in the darkness but he knows you feel the semi-hard struggling through the confines of his pants. Lame.

“Joel,” You say, soft. Your hands slide up his arm to cradle his jaw. Lightning flashes into the room, giving you a glimpse of Joels tight expression. He whispers your name back, just as soft.

“This is normal.”

Its normal, it is! Except for the fact that you guys havent had sex yet. The stress of being intimate is too much, kills his boner in a blink. The longer he waits the worse the anxiety gets.

“I-I know.”

You place a hand on his chest, feeling it pound away like crazy through all the soft muscle.

“Youve been taking your medication, right?”

Has he?

The silence of him thinking is proof enough. “Joel-”

He sighs, rubbing his eyes through the darkness .“I know, I know. Shoot, Im sorry. I just forget sometimes.”

“Its okay.” The pad of your thumb strokes the tops of his cheek, and you press a tender kiss to his mouth to soothe him. “...Want me to remind you?”

The softness of your lips has him a bit dazed. “Huh?”

“I said, do you want me to remind you? I can- You know, call you before you leave work. Make sure you take them.”

“You know I wake up at five-o-clock in the mornin’ , right?”

“I know.”

In a whisper, “Okay.”

Joels rough palms trail down your back and stop at the curve of your butt, finger tips delicately tracing the skin above your shorts. You shiver.

Barely above a whisper. “We dont have to go all the way.”

He says your name again, laced with worry. He doesnt want you to feel pressured.

You pull your leg off his hip and push yourself up, settling your hands on either side of Joels head.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yes-”

“-And you cant get all in your head about it. You stay here, with me. You stay present.”

“Okay, okay.” He nods, a bit defeated. “I will stay present.”

“When you...When you say you dont wanna have sex, what is it that youre thinking exactly? I know you said you just get really nervous but I feel like youre not being totally honest.”

Joel stays quiet, idly rubbing your sides. Maybe you are a cat. Just getting to feel any part of you is soothing. “I jus’ want you to feel good. ‘Fraid ill do somethin’ you dont like.”

“You cant assume how I feel, Joel. Being intimate.. It takes time to learn what the other person likes.”

He sighs. “I know.” Youre always right.

Adding on, “Like I said, we dont have to go all the way,” You lean further back, situating yourself on his hips. He lets out a shaky breath when he feels the pressure of your ass through his sweats.

“But, I want to start somewhere. I want to feel you.”

“Fuck- Um-” Hes shaking now, letting you grind your hips down onto him. Joel cant seem to control the way his hips instinctively push up to meet yours. Youre both becoming of a mess of little gasps and hot breaths and tiny whimpers already.

You hunch forward, guiding his hand under your your shirt- His shirt- letting him feel up the supple skin of your stomach, then the area where your ribs are, then your-

“And I want you to feel me,”

Surprisingly, you did actually go all the way that night.

Your sex life was a bit of a rocky start, but after Joel got over most of his anxiety, you learned quickly just how goddamn insatiable he was. Five years in and he still regularly makes you sore.

There are a couple things you learned about him and his sexual interests. He loves to take you in his truck, in your kitchen, in your bathroom, on your couch. Other, riskier places. Anywhere that isnt your bed apparently, not that he isnt fucking you there either.

Joel is handsy, so handsy infact it embarasses you to no end, especially when youre infront of others. Thats usually how it starts, too. First he kisses you, then gropes your hips and your ass, and the next thing you know, youre cumming on his fingers. Then hed bend you over, or get you on your back, or make you ride him. Is it really riding if hes just slamming up into you until your brain turns into mush?

He likes that too. Making you not think.

Youd be lying if you said its only ever him. Sleepy morning handjobs before work, whining to him over the phone and touching yourself to his voice, arching your back into him while you're washing dishes, sucking him off after hours in his office.

And while most men prefer lingerie or little costumes, Joel likes dresses. Dresses that are discreet so he can take you in the backyard when he comes home early and sees you gardening. Or when youre both at a friends house and hes had a little too much to drink and finds himself alone with you. Dresses that make it easy to play his favorite game with you. I touch you, and you make sure we dont get caught by being too loud. Joel really is the worst sometimes.

Now, you only ever wear pants when its cold, or to bed or sometimes when youre lounging, like today. Youre in some shorts and a tank top. Otherwise, its dresses all year round, usually retro styles or ones meant for spring. Joels not picky though, he loves any dress on you.

Even if you wear an extremely modest, white lacey sleep dress, looking like some kind of vintage ghost, the man would still keep you up all night. And he has. He said you looked like a princess. You guess you kind of did.

The entire thing is like an unspoken arrangement between you both. He doesnt tell you to wear them, you just do.

And he works hard to spoil you, so why not buy as many cute dresses as possible?

You got a cute dress today too, on the same day Joel has off. You think its going to be a new favorite of his.

The big polymailer stays hidden behind your back. Be casual. “Uh- Nothing!”

“Nothin’?”

“Mhm.”

“Whats behind your back then?”

You sway in place, trying to suppress a knowing smile. “I dont have anything behind my back.”

“Lemme see then. Show me your hands-”

“Hey, Mrs. Miller!”

Both you and Joel turn your heads to the voice, and only one of you has the energy to fake a a smile. Your neighbor is stopping in his driveway, having come back from a jog it looks.

“Hi, Lee.”

Joel really, really, really doesnt like Lee. You dont like him either, but youre not one to cause problems. Lee on the other hand, is. Hes a bit younger than you, and a lot younger than Joel. Hes one of those tech dudes with a massive ego, thinks that youll be swayed by his money and his “charm” and youth as if youre some sad housewife in need of saving. Gross.

And another thing, Lee doesnt even actually live here! Hes here ever so often to visit his dad between, you dont know, tech expos? You forget. Joel believes he started showing up more often to see you.

Youre walking towards the porch again. Joels looking especially unhappy to see him today, knuckles pulled taut into a fist. His lips stay pressed into a thin line, careful not to let anything slip out. He usually lets you do most of the talking, as much as it pains him.

Joels really not a fan of the way Lees eyes take a trip up your bare legs. Little shit.

“Out with no shoes again, Mrs. Miller?”

“You know me, Im uh- Im weird.”

“The weird ones do it best.” He smiles, all teeth. It gives you the creeps. His attention is on Joel now. Its like watching a puppy try to one up a wolf. “Right, Joel?”

“Uh huh.” Whatever that means.

“Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, Mrs. Miller.” Lee crosses into your driveway and you glance briefly at Joel, as if to make sure he isnt going to start growling at the other to stay away. Youre clutching the package to your chest now.

“Have you ever been to a support group for uh- you know, the spouses of addicts? I have a friend from work and shes really struggling.”

Lees tone is sugary sweet, but the fake kind you put in diet soda except that stuff is way better. Joel sighs from the door. You stand there, dumbfounded on the porch steps because what the fuck is he going on about.

You clear your throat, keeping your voice firm. “No. Ive never needed to.”

Joels voice cuts in like a knife. “Been clean for almost twenty years now.”

“Yeah but, you know,” He shrugs, squinting a bit under the morning sun. “Relapses happen.”

Joel and Lee are at a stand still, and the moment Joel lets the arm leaning on the frame drop to his side, you know youre in for a lot of trouble. You move quickly towards the door. “We have to get ready for a- uh- a thing? but Im sorry about your friend.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Miller. Im doing my best to support her.” And before he turns away, he just has to be slimy to you. “If you need someone to talk to, Im here for you.”

“No, that really wont be necess-”

Joels slinging a strong arm around you to yank you back inside before shutting the door.

“Motherfucker,” He hisses to himself, stomping through the walkway and into the kitchen.

“How-” You rub your eyes, letting them adjust to the light inside of the house. You put the package down onto the bar counter that opens up the kitchen and follow Joel to the fridge. “How does he know?? I thought-”

“Been living in this house for decades now,” His expression is tight, brows knitted together while he chugs a bottle of water. “People talk. ‘Specially if I'm being rolled into an ambulance on more than one occasion.” Joel frowns. “Fuck- I shoulda punched him in the fuckin’ face- Do you see how hard he tries so hard to flirt with you infront’a me?”

“I know, love. I was there.” You take the bottle from his hand and set it to the side, then wrap your arms around him. “Try not to let it get to you okay?”

Joel sighs into your hair, giving your body a squeeze. “I know, I know, but jus’ hearin’ him tryin’ta use my baggage to make a pass at you…S’fuckin’ evil.”

“I agree, but I dont want his blood on the driveway.”

“So get it on his driveway instead, got it.”

You giggle and tip your head up to kiss him. The tension eases from Joels shoulders, and he cups your cheeks, letting his worries melt away into your mouth. When the pads of his fingers start to slide under your tank top, youre leaning back. Youll be here for a while if this goes any further.

Joel mindlessly chases your lips, looking a bit pouty now that its over.

“Im gonna start getting ready for the barbecue, okay?”

“This early?”

“I like being punctual.”

“My brother wont give a damn if were late.” He noses your jaw, pressing a kiss here and there. Your knees are beginning to feel weak. The bastard is trying to distract you.

“But I do. The farmers market opened today, and I promised Maria I'd get her fresh strawberries before we got there, remember?”

“Alright, alright.” He grumbles into your shoulder.

Joel lets you go, watching you round the bar counter to get your package and disappear upstairs.

Ever since you came down to a freshly showered Joel, and got into the car with the gift bags you prepared for Maria and Tommy, Hes been staring at you. One wrong move and the drools gonna start pouring out of his mouth.

Your hair is in its relatively natural state, freshly washed and shiny from the oil you put in it. You put on some light makeup, and went a bit heavy handed on the blush to look sunkissed, and topped it off with a flavored lip gloss Joel especially enjoys.

Now, the dress. Its a pink floral mid-length dress, with a low cut sweetheart neckline and a corset style backing to cinch your waist and push out your chest. The material is thick and pretty, and there are two other layers under the skirt to keep its shape. You have on a pair of little pink pumps with little bows to match.

The drive to the farmers market is fairly peaceful, the windows are half down and theres music playing at low volume on the radio. You and Joel have different tastes in music, but one genre you can always agree on is alternative rock.

The weathers beautiful, sun high in the sky, and its not too hot or humid. The day really is perfect. Youre gonna soak up some sun when youre at the barbecue. Hopefully, they made lemonade again too.

Joel has been mostly quiet throughout your shopping. While it would worry some, youve been with him long enough to know that he just has a lot on his mind. What hes thinking about? Maybe youll learn when you make it back home at the end of the day.

You gasp, strolling through the grass to a stand with a mountain of apples. Granny smith, Macintosh, Pink Ladys, Honeycrisp, the works. He grunts, trying to keep the things that are already in your basket steady. You came for strawberries and are going to leave with much more than that.

Joel nudges you softly. “Remember, this is quality stuff, meaning itll go bad faster. Dont get too much.”

“Okay, got it.” You beam, and then begin inspecting the Pink Lady apples first, trying to find the ones with the best color. He keeps the basket within reach so you can drop your picks in.

"These were Sarahs favorites."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, it was funny 'cause we started arguin' over these or Red Delicious. I think Red Delicious is better."

"Thats so cute! Hmm. Should we get one for her? A Pink Lady?"

"Uh," He thinks on it for a moment, unsure, but the smile on your face helps him make a decision. "Sure, why not."

You drop two perfect Pink Ladys into the basket, moving onto the next pile.

“Hey, Joel.” You grin, holding out a wrinkled granny smith apple. “This one looks like you”

“Ha ha.” He deadpans, and grabs it from you to put back. In turn, hes reaching for the runt of the pile. A pathetically small one sitting near the bottom. “Now this one looks like you.”

“Does not!”

“Does too.”

The next stand has golden kiwis, and youre practically dragging Joel forward to try them. You ask for one, and the man at the stand slices it into halves, giving you a plastic spoon to go with.

You let Joel smell it first. “S’good.”

“Lets see if it tastes good.”

You sink your spoon into it, humming when you see how soft and easy it is to scoop out. In your mouth it goes!

Its tastes sweet, a bit mango-y and fucking delicious. You bounce in place, spoon feeding Joel next. “Oh yeah,” He smiles, smacking his lips a bit to really let the taste settle on his tongue. “Were takin’ some of these.”

You take one, then two, then three and four then five and as you reach for the sixth one, Joels stopping you with a gentle hand.

“Darlin’.”

“Right.”

For the next few stands its just you and Joel trying various kinds of fruit. Starfruit, blueberries, some mangos, and then youre going back to the truck.

“I think my favorites were the mangos and golden kiwis. I hope Maria and Tommy have enough space in their fridge for all of this.”

“They moved into a bigger house, I reckon their fridge s’probably bigger, too.”

“What time is it?”

You let go of Joels arm so he can switch the basket from one hand to the other.

“‘Bout…” Hes squinting at his watch. “12:34 in the afternoon.”

“Oh! Guess we got the shopping done sooner than I expected. Hmm. Should we stop somewhere in the mean time?-" You snap your finger when you remember something. "They opened up this cafe that has cats in it! We can drink coffee and play with them for bit! The next fourty-five minutes will go by super fast."

“Youre gonna make Cement jealous.”

You bat your hand dismissively. “Hes not gonna caaare.”

“Oh yes he will. And remind me again why we named our cat Cement?

“Uh, we were both drunk and had gotten him the day before without a name picked out?”

“A whole year later and we still kept it. Worst pet owners ever.” Joel chuckles, opening the passenger door for you like he always does.

“Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

The giant basket of fruit goes into the back seat next to the gift bags before Joel slots himself into the drivers seat.

You fumble with the radio a bit, trying to see what else is on but ultimately landing back on your preferred station. Theyve been playing a lot of Linkin Park recently. Hell yeah. Joel buckles himself in at last, and pulls out of the parking lot.

“Marias gonna teach me how to make baked chicken,” You hum, gazing outside the window.

“You sure youre not jus’ unteachable?”

“Ha ha,” You lightly shove his shoulder, making him smile. “I thought you loved the meat sauce pasta I learned how to make.”

He settles into his seat more comfortably at the stop light, elbow rested on the window. “Got me with that one. Think I like ground turkey over beef, though.”

“Yeah? Me too. The beef tastes better but the turkey is lighter. Stops me from feeling all sick.”

“Agreed.”

Youre looking out the windshield now. Where did all the buildings go? Youre out of the city.

“Uh, Joel?”

“Mm?”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere to kill time.”

“Yeah but where?”

“Youll see.”

Your brows pinch together. “I see a whole lot of nothing except for trees."

“Almost there.”

Joel makes a hasty left turn onto some campgrounds. Your stomach starts to twist into excited knots. Is he gonna show you a baby deer or something? Bunnies? He used to be a park ranger for this area, and would tell you stories about all sorts of baby animals hed run into.

The car comes to a stop, and he turns the engine off. Silence.

“So…Were out in the woods to kill time?”

“Mhm.” Joel unbuckles his seat belt and twists into the back to grab the spare jacket he usually keeps there, then gets out of the truck and comes around the back to open the door for you.

He holds your hand to help you get down from the passenger side, and as soon as both of your shoes hit the ground Joel is on you.

You dont know where your hands should go, youve kissed Joel a thousand times and yet you still get so flustered when he catches you by surprise. You keep your hands on his shoulders for now, letting him press wet kisses to your neck and shoulder.

“This is new right? The dress?” He gives your ass an appreciative squeeze through the fabric. “Thought you looked so pretty when you came down stairs in it.”

Your heads spinning. Something about your dress?

“Woulda been okay if you let me have you earlier.” He pulls away, examining your flushed face cradled by his hand. Every part of you just fits so well in his palms. “Then I thought, why not have you now? We got time to spare.”

“Joel- We- Someone could see us-” You sputter, and Joels already shaking his head with a knowing smirk. He pulls you around to the bed of the truck, popping it open, only pausing to spread open the jacket he grabbed, just having just thrown it in there when he came around to get you.

“No ones gonna come lookin’ for us.” He turns you around, pushing you down onto your front. “As long as youre quiet.”

Fuck. You really hate this game. At least, you like to tell yourself that.

Blood rushes to your ears while Joels rough palms lift up the skirt of your dress, exposing your ass and thighs to the cool air. He whistles from behind you.

“Red lace panties?” His fingers dont shy away from tracing along the fabric covering your cunt. “This new too?”

You crane your neck over your shoulder to look at his face. “Uh.. Surprise?”

Joels smiling now, fingers dipping under the lace. “Thas' awfully sweet of you.”

His touch slips and slides around your growing wetness, then trails down to your clit. Your voice wobbles a bit and fuck- fuck hes going too fast. “Joel- Ah-” You whimper and try to push yourself up to look at him but his hand is steady on your spine, keeping you down.

Smug, “Go on, sweetheart. Keep sayin’ my name. Jus’ like that.”

A whine escapes you when he pulls away, “Nooo.” You push your ass back, as if to entice him. You succeed, because hes skipped his usual routine of fucking you with his hands and is now unbuckling his belt.

Joel rolls you onto your back, and peels your underwear all the way off, bunching it up and shoving it into his back pocket. Your face burns just watching him.

“Think i'll hold onto these for a lil’ while.”

His hands push the back of your knees towards your chest, exposing your heat. Youll never get used to the way he just seems so interested just watching your cunt squeeze around nothing.

“Thats-” You swallow, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. "Joel.”

“Relax." He coos, "Seen it a thousand times already, and ill be seein' it a thousand more. Get used to it, honey.”

Your attention flickers down to where his dick is about to meet your entrance. Joels nudging you down onto your back again and pulling the top of your dress down to expose your chest. Its when youre distracted that he actually moves to push himself in.

Both of you groan together, and Joel could never get bored of fucking you, not when your cunt just pulses around him everytime hes inside you.

Joel wastes no time fucking you once he eases all the way inside. Youre trying your best to keep quiet. Shit is no easy task. Its like Joel is trying to get you guys arrested.

He props himself up with a hand near your head, and lets the other keep one of your legs pinned open. The moans start to claw out of your throat. “Joel- Joel-”

“Shh. Thas’ enough.” He growls through his teeth, fucking you harder. “Youre gonna- Gh- Get us caught-”

Something rustles between the trees, making you both freeze. You clasp your hands over your mouth, watching Joel straighten up to look around.

After a few seconds of squinting, Joel can see a few foxes moving about through the trees. Thank fuck. His shoulders visibly relax.

Hushed, “E-Everything okay?”

“Yeah, jus’ some animals.”

And like that, hes back to it. His dick is going to make your eyes permanently stay rolled into your head.

Joel is always just so handsome when hes pounding into you. His forehead gets shiny with sweat, and his jaw is tight from clenching his teeth, keeping himself quiet so he can focus on your moans. His face is noticeably redder against his usual farmers tan too. Really, hes just so attractive.

A flurry of yes and harder and fuck spills out of your mouth and into your palms. Not too loud, you try to remind yourself.

“Joel- S’too much-”

“Nah, thas’ not it.” He huffs, humorous. “You can take it. Y'always do. In fact, you love gettin’ your cunt bullied by me, aint that right?” As if to get his point across, he thrust in all the way to the hilt, making you keen. You forgot how to breathe, lungs drawing tight in your chest.

"Fuck," You manage to squeeze out.

Your palms push weakly at his shoulders, trying to ground yourself somehow. His head drops to the junction of your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply.

“You good?” He checks in, breath hot on your skin. As if your crying isnt enough.

“So g-good, Joel- Fuck- Youre so good.”

With a little nod, Joels pushing himself up, switching to slow and deep strokes, really digging himself into you, and trying to find that spot he likes to call home.

He massages your chest, then squeezes your sides and your hips and finally, his thumb finds your clit. Immediately, you jolt.

“Oh fuck-”

“Quiet.” And he says it to keep the charade going, even though his favorite thing is hearing your sobs.

His thumb rubbing incessantly against your that sweet little nub of yours. You choke, and Joels chuckling, watching the way you squirm, body not knowing whether it should lean into his touch because its too good or away because its too much.

It starts with this firey feeling under the pad of his thumb, then deep inside your stuffed cunt. Youre going to cum.

Your hands fly to your mouth again, and you get all wide eyed from the sensation. Its cute. Your muscles pull taut, legs locking around Joels hips. Youre wailing into your palm when it happens.

“Good girl,” His voice soothes you through it. “Very good.”

He pets away the fly aways sticking to your sweaty face when its over. Your eyes drop shut while you catch your breath.

Joels moving again now. He rolls his hips a few times, and thumb is building the foundation of another orgasm in you. Youre shaking badly.

Your words slur too, “Cant- Too soon- Joel- Joel-”

“Another one.” Joel says firmly, but breathless.

Youre gasping, not sure where to focus your eyes. The trees around you look like theyre spinning. Your attention is back on Joel, whos looking rather satisfied watching you squirm and cry. If thats how wants to play, then fine.

Your hands slide up Joels biceps, and rests on the nap of his neck to bring him down. “Juh-Joel,” You pant, cradling his face with both hands. “Youre so good- The best-”

Oh, Joel likes that one, you can tell by the way he looks away briefly. Shyness. Excitement runs up your spine. Joel loves being told hes doing well.

“You are- Nghh-” You swallow the drool in your mouth, trying to get the words out clearly. “The best husband I could ever ask for.”

Joel wheezes, head dropping into the curve of your shoulder. “Please.”

“S’true,” You nod rapidly, fingers curling into his hair. “Youre so good to me and-and youre mine and- Joel- Im yours.”

“Jesus-” He groans, soaking up the feeling of you pressing kisses to his face and up his jaw.

“Hhah- No one else can have me, okay? No one- Not even-”

The name doesnt even come out of your mouth before Joels coming to a stop to slip his arms all the way around your middle. With the new leverage he has on your body, hes drilling his way into you. You fucking squeal, rules now long forgotten. Youre a useless ragdoll in his arms and he wouldnt have it any other way.

Your lips are shiny with spit and left over lip gloss, and he can still taste the mintiness in his tongue. Every now and again your eyes drop shut, but his dick just punches into your guts a little harder. Look at me.

Your brain is mush, just the way he likes it, and youre perfectly pliant in his arms, babbling over how good you feel. Hes kisses along the valley of your breasts now, stopping to suck the flesh of your nipples.

Youre just so pretty. Even when you have bedhead, or youre snotty from a cold, or youre all dirty from working in the garden youre still so pretty. Including now, all sweaty with you lipgloss all smudged and your mascara starting to run. Youre perfect.

Joel grunts loud, jaw clenched tight as he gets lost in the feeling of your insides. His perfect little wife.

When he cums, hes doubling over with a loud grunt, getting a few last thrusts in before his spent floods your cunt.

Youre blinking away your tears, now watching the clouds inch along the sky. It really is a beautiful day. You pet Joels sweaty hair, and kiss the side of his temple. Your core throbs faintly. Jesus, he did a number on you.

“Love,” You say softly, patting his back.

“Mm?”

“Get up.” Another pat. “Youre squishing me.”

Joel backs off to buckle himself up, but you stay seated to catch your breath and adjust your dress. At least it didnt get ripped during all the… Commotion. Not like last time.

“I need my underwear back.”

“Nope,”

“Joel.”

He kisses the center of your forehead and helps you down from the bed and into the passenger seat instead. “Told you i'm keepin’ ‘em.”

You sputter, “I cant go to barbecue commando!”

“Sure you can.” He pops open the glove compartment and gets out some tissues, hand snaking under your dress again to clean you. You sigh softly at the sensation.

“Youre the worst.”

“I am indeed the worst.” Joel pulls the seatbelt over your chest and clicks it in. “You can tell me all about it on the way to Tommys.”

#joel miller #the last of us #hbo joel miller #the last of us part 1 #the last of us season one #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller x you #fanfic #mocha writes #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal #modern au #smut fic #might cross post to ao3 idk...#pleeaaaase tell me if u guys like this #glaze me glaze me glaze me #Lie 2 me and say u love it...

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itneverendshere · 3 months ago

Note

saw that jj is readers neighbor. and i see rafe absolutely hating him, until he realizes that you take care of him like he’s your baby brother, especially when things get a little rough at his house

omg yesssss! it's kinda funny that he's beefing with a teenager. thank you for the request! 🩵🫂 alsojj never met milo before bc he only showed up after the kid was already sleeping, cause luke had a tendency to get rowdier at night 😣.

you're on your own kid - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

There’s no way in hell JJ Maybank is sitting on your couch while you’re cooking away.

Rafe swears he’s lost his mind. Maybe he hit his head harder than he thought when he was out on the boat earlier because what he’s seeing doesn’t make any sense.

There’s no way JJ is sitting there, his legs propped up on your coffee table like he owns the place. Like he belongs here. In your place. Your sister's place.

For a second, he thinks he’s gotta be dreaming. But nope, it’s real. The smell of whatever you’re cooking from the kitchen hits him in the face, and JJ’s laughter echoes through the living room.

This is your house, your space, and somehow JJ’s sitting there like he’s been here a thousand times before. He’s gotta say something.

Rafe clears his throat, trying to keep his voice normal but it comes out tight, strained. “What the hell’s Maybank doing here?”

You don’t even look up from the stove, just wave a hand in his direction, like it’s no big deal.

Like he’s no big deal. “Relax, baby. He’s just having dinner.”

“Dinner?” Rafe practically chokes on the word.

JJ catches the look on his face and smirks, leaning back further into the couch cushions.

“What, never seen a guy eat before, Cameron?”

Rafe scoffs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Dinner? At your place? Since when are you and Maybank this close?”

His eyes narrow on JJ, sprawled out on the couch like he’s got nowhere better to be. The guy’s even wearing his boots, dirt probably all over your cushions, and Rafe’s practically grinding his teeth at the sight.

JJ just smirks, because of course he does. “Jealous or somethin’, Cameron? Didn’t think you’d care.”

But then you walk over with a plate and set it down in front of JJ, and Rafe watches in shock as you ruffle his hair, so casually it’s like second nature to you.

Like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

JJ’s eating like it’s the first meal he’s had in days, and Rafe’s brain is still trying to catch up with what the hell is happening here.

You and JJ? Since when? Rafe’s stomach twists at the thought, because why would you even care about a guy like JJ?

The guy’s got that scruffy look, bruises on his knuckles and faint ones on his arms. Rafe’s seen it before, the evidence of fights and bad nights. He knows what goes on at JJ’s house. He’s heard the stories. The arguments that spill out onto the streets late at night, the way JJ disappears for a while and comes back worse than before.

And then it hits him.

You’re not just letting him crash here.

You’re taking care of him. Looking out for him in ways that nobody else does, making sure he doesn’t completely spiral with a father like Luke Maybank.

JJ speaks up, grinning with his mouth full of food. “Her food’s so good, you gotta try it.”

“I’m her boyfriend, you think I haven’t tried her cooking?”

He’s being ridiculous, knows he’s not really jealous of a seventeen-year-old. It’s not that he’s threatened by JJ—hell no. It’s more that...he doesn’t like sharing you. Even if it’s just dinner.

He’s proud of you, though. Always has been. That big heart of yours, helping out some kid who clearly needs it.

Rafe crosses his arms, leaning against the doorway. “Since when did my girl become a goddamn soup kitchen?” The words come out harsher than he means them to, but you just glance over your shoulder and roll your eyes.

You know him too well by now.

“Baby, it’s just dinner. JJ’s had a rough day.”

“Yeah, well, so have I,” Rafe mutters under his breath, but he doesn’t push it. He can’t really.

He knows the guys has been through it, and yeah, his dad’s a piece of work. But that doesn’t make it easier to see him sitting here, all cozy in the life Rafe’s tried to build with you. Yeah, maybe you fucking spoiled him because know the mere thought of another guy being in your space makes his blood boil.

JJ wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “Chill, Cameron. You’re acting like I’m movin’ in or something.”

He remembers being that kid—lost, angry, with no place to feel safe. JJ might be annoying as fuck, a walking nightmare to be around, but Rafe can’t hate him for that. Not really.

“Yeah, well, don’t get too comfortable,” Rafe mutters. He looks at you, softening. “You’ve got a heart too big for your own good, y'know that?”

“I thought you loved that about me?” You tease, turning back to the stove.

“’Course I do.” Rafe crosses the room, sitting on the arm of the couch, close enough to you but still keeping an eye on JJ. He watches as you stir something on the stove, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth despite everything. Yeah, he gets annoyed, but fuck if he doesn’t love you for exactly this. You just have a way of making people feel safe, even the ones that don’t deserve it—or maybe need it most.

JJ leans back, letting out a satisfied groan. "God, that was good. She ever cook like this for you, Cameron?"

Rafe shoots him a look, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, maybe when you’re not eating all my food."

JJ just laughs, completely unfazed. “You’re lucky, man.”

Rafe doesn't answer, just stares at him, half of him wanting to tell him to get out and the other half knowing how good it must feel for the kid to have a moment where he doesn’t have to worry about anything. Rafe’s been there—different situation, same lost feeling. He looks at you again, knowing it’s you that pulled him out of that place. And now here you are, doing the same thing for JJ.

With a sigh, he slides off the couch and walks over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “You know you’re too good for him, right?”

You laugh, leaning back into him. “For him? Or for you?”

Rafe presses a kiss to your shoulder, smiling despite himself. “Both. Definitely both.”

His lips linger there for another second before JJ’s speaking again, “Alright, y’all don’t have to be disgusting while I’m sitting here trying to digest. Seriously, have some respect. I’m a guest.”

Rafe’s jaw tightens, but he can’t help but laugh under his breath, his forehead dropping against your back. “You gotta be kidding me.” He sighs dramatically, loosening his grip on you and stepping back, but he’s still got that smirk. “You hear that, baby? We’re offending the guest. Can’t have that.”

JJ rolls his eyes so hard Rafe’s sure he’s gonna get stuck that way. “Yeah, you two keep it up, and I’m gonna lose this amazing meal you just made. Not trying to see all that lovey-dovey shit.”

Rafe leans against the counter, arms crossed, shaking his head. “You know, most people would be grateful for a free dinner.”

You toss a dish towel at JJ, which he dodges with a snicker. “You’re welcome to leave, you know.”

“Nah, nah,” JJ says quickly, stuffing the bread in his mouth. “I’m good right here.” He stretches out again, clearly getting way too comfortable. “But if y’all could just tone down the romance while I’m around, that’d be great.”

Rafe’s still grinning, even though part of him wants to wipe that smirk right off JJ’s face. “You jealous, Maybank?”

JJ gives an exaggerated shrug. “Nah. I got my priorities straight.”

“Yeah? Like what? Getting on my last fucking nerve?” Rafe shoots back.

JJ lifts his hands in surrender, still grinning like a kid who knows exactly how make him lose his temper. “Hey, I’m just saying. Don’t go making me regret this free meal, alright?”

He glances over at you, and you’re shaking your head, smiling like this whole thing is the most entertaining show you’ve seen all week.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” Rafe mutters, still eyeing JJ. “This is a one-time thing.”

JJ chuckles, unfazed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Just remember, I’m your girl’s favorite.” He flashes you a wink, and Rafe’s this close to tossing the bread basket at his head and tossing him out on the street.

JJ’s annoying, no doubt, but he understand, or at least he's trying to, that you’re doing it for a reason—helping the kid out, making sure he’s got a safe place for at least one night.

No matter how much he pisses him off, Rafe respects that. For your sake.

“You keep running your mouth and you’re both sleeping on the porch.”

Rafe turns to you, offended, “The fuck did I do?”

“You know exactly what you did,” you say, shaking your head. “Always making things competitive.”

Rafe scoffs, standing a little straighter.

“Competitive? Baby, I’m just protecting what’s mine.” He throws a glance at JJ, who’s still lounging on the couch like he owns the place.

“Man, protectin’ what?” JJ pipes up, laughing through his words. “I’m just here for the food and the show.” He gestures between the two of you. “Y’all could make a fortune if you charged admission. People love drama.”

Rafe rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky they’re not charging you rent at this point.”

He’s about to tell him to shove off the couch and leave, but the front door swings open. Monica walks in arms full of grocery bags. Little Milo is trailing behind her, clutching a stuffed dinosaur in one hand and a juice box in the other. The moment he sees Rafe, his face lights up.

“Uncle Rafey!” Milo yells, charging toward him with all the energy of a four-year-old hyped up on apple juice.

He bends down and scoops Milo up, setting him on his hip. “Hey kid. What’s up?”

Milo grins and holds up his juice box. “I got juice!”

Rafe chuckles, “Juice, huh? Sounds like a big day.”

Meanwhile, Monica’s busy setting the groceries on the counter, glancing at JJ sprawled out on the couch. She shoots Rafe a look, half-exasperated, half-amused. “Looks like we have an extra child in the house today.”

JJ, clearly not catching the jab, raises a hand. “Hey, Monica. I’m just keeping the couch warm.”

Milo tugs on Rafe’s shirt, completely oblivious to the grown-up talk. “Uncle Rafe, can I have a cookie?”

“Maybe after dinner, bud,” Rafe says, setting him down gently. “Go help your mom, okay?”

Milo pouts for a second but quickly gets distracted by the sight of JJ. He stares at him curiously, tilting his head. “Who’s that?”

JJ leans over the back of the couch, grinning. “I’m JJ. You can call me… your favorite new friend.”

Milo looks at him like he’s deciding if JJ is cool or just weird. After a second, he grins back. “Okay, JJ. Can I sit with you?”

“Sure, kid. Hop on up.”

Rafe watches as Milo clambers onto the couch next to JJ, giggling when JJ pretends to steal his dinosaur. It’s almost funny—if he wasn’t so good at making himself at home.

Monica, catching the scene, sighs and shakes her head. “Great, now he’s corrupted Milo.”

Rafe crosses his arms, unable to suppress a smirk. “He’s already got enough bad influences in his life.”

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Yeah, starting with you.”

Rafe raises his hands in surrender, laughing. “Fair enough.”

You’re leaning against the counter, watching the whole scene unfold, and suddenly, it just hits you.

Rafe with Milo, the way he softens when your nephew runs up to him, lifting him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Milo’s giggles fill the room and then there’s Monica, half-smiling at Rafe’s attempts to wrangle Milo, even with JJ sprawled out on the couch, egging the kid on.

Your heart feels so full, you almost can’t stand it. It’s one of those moments where everything just… clicks. You try to keep it together, but there’s this warm feeling in your chest, and you blink back the unexpected tears. How could you feel anything but love for all of them in this moment?

Rafe catches you staring, his eyes softening when he sees the look on your face. He raises an eyebrow, but he’s already smiling at you, “What’s that look for?”

You shake your head, grinning despite the lump in your throat. “Nothing. Just... you guys. It’s... a lot.”

JJ, ever the clown, groans from the couch, “Oh God, please don’t get all mushy now."

But you can’t help it. You step closer to Rafe, wrapping your arms around his waist, laying your head against his chest. “I just love you. All of you.”

Rafe chuckles softly, kissing the top of your head. “Love you too.”

Monica glances over with a knowing look, shaking her head. “Alright, enough of this sentimental stuff. You’re gonna make me cry, and I just got home.”

You stay wrapped in Rafe’s arms for a moment, just soaking in the warmth around you. Monica’s pulling plates from the cabinet, setting them on the table with her usual no-nonsense efficiency. JJ’s somehow got Milo giggling uncontrollably, making goofy faces and pretending to steal his dinosaur every few seconds. The kid’s losing it, practically bouncing off the couch in fits of laughter.

Rafe leans down, his lips close to your ear. “You’re okay?” he murmurs against your hair.

You smile, nodding against his chest. “Yeah. Better than good, actually.”

He pulls back slightly to look at you, his blue eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to read every thought behind it. “You sure? You looked like you were about to cry a second ago.”

You laugh a little, wiping under your eye, even though the tears never really fell. “It’s just... this. All of this. It’s perfect, you know? I don’t know. It feels like family.”

“You really think so?” Rafe asks quietly.

You nod, feeling that same warmth flood your chest again. “Yeah, I do. I love it. I love us.”

He smiles, a little crooked but real, the kind of smile you don’t see too often, but when you do, it hits you in the heart. “I love us too.”

For a second, the noise around you fades, and it’s just you and Rafe, holding onto each other like you’re the only two people in the room.

Then, predictably, JJ ruins it. “Hey, lovebirds! Save that for later. You’re killing Milo’s vibe.”

You both turn to see JJ standing with his hands on his hips, looking dramatic as ever. Milo’s grinning, clutching his dinosaur to his chest like it’s his new best friend.

“Yeah, stop kissin'!” Milo chimes in, giggling.

You rolls your eyes but pull away from Rafe with a chuckle. “Alright, alright. No more kissing.”

Monica smirks as she finishes setting the last plate. “Don’t worry, Milo. They’ll be gross later when you’re in bed.”

Rafe gives your sister a mock glare. “You’re hilarious.”

She pats him on the back, grinning. “It’s what I’m here for.”

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nathaslosthershit · 3 months ago

Text

Some Bad, But a Whole Lot of Good (LS2)

Summary: To the fans, it wouldn't be unreasonable to assume the week after his replacement had been hell for newly dropped Logan Sargeant, but to the people who knew him, they weren't worried. Warning: James Vowles slander, a lot of it, I made Logan yell at him because I want to yell at him

Getting fired a week before your first child was born wasn't on anyone's bucket list. But here Logan was.

He was mad- no he was furious. Sure, the past few months with the team have been miserable, but this was the worst timing possible.

"Why now? Why not the two weeks we were off on break?" Logan asks yells. He doesn't lose his cool, at least not like this, not by yelling at his boss.

"Logan, you have to understand we are in between a rock and a hard place. I am truly sorry but it's a difficult time for us-" Vowles begins to explain.

"A difficult time for you? I am about to have a fucking baby, James. Next week! What the fuck am I supposed to do?" He got up and ran his hand through his hair. "You just had a baby a year ago, I would have thought you of all people would have thought this through more."

"Believe me, we have Logan, we have discussed this at length for a long time now."

"Oh fuck you! You have been thinking about this for a long time and choose now to do something about it? God, James, why do you hate me so much? I know I haven't met expectations, I know I have fucked up, but I still have given everything to this team and this is how you end it?" he finally met his boss'- ex boss' now, I guess, stare.

As Logan looked at his team principal, he tried to see any remorse or sincerity in his eyes but just as he had suspected, James' apology was bullshit, completely insincere. He knew this wasn't going anywhere, he didn't even know why he was fighting.

Formula 1 had been the dream for a while. Logan had let himself sacrifice everything he could to achieve it. He tried to tell himself that he had made it and that he was happy, but it wasn't true. He couldn't face the reality of the dream he worked so hard for not being everything he had imagined.

After meetings about contract termination and how they were to proceed, a sad little goodbye party filled with people that were probably thrilled to have him go, and an actually heartfelt apology and goodbye from his teammate and those he worked closely with, the American left the factory for the last time.

The most difficult part of this whole affair? Telling his very pregnant wife that he was now unemployed, a week until their first child's due date.

After tears, cursing a certain British boss' bloodline, and dissociative silence, Logan sat next to his wife as she suddenly burst into laughter.

He was stunned, she was practically doubling over, at least as much as she could in her current condition. The sight so ridiculous given the circumstances that he began to laugh too.

Several minutes were spent laughing until their stomachs hurt and then trying to catch their breath before either one of them could say another word.

"This is such terrible timing!" she said, wiping her eyes as she continued to giggle.

"Could not me a worse time" he replied as he started to laugh even harder.

"God, we shouldn't be laughing at this! We have officially lost our minds"

"Perfect timing too! Just like everything else"

It was ironic, this was the absolute worse scenario Logan could come up with but this was also the hardest he had laughed in a long time. When was the last time he actually laughed? The last time he actually felt joy about anything involving his job?

As if she could sense what he was thinking, she took a few deep breaths, finally calming down, as she said, "This is insane of me to say, but maybe this is a good thing?"

He knew where she was going, he thought the same, but he needed to hear her rationalize it before he agreed.

"I mean, honey, you were miserable. And I am sorry because I did love some of the people on your team but most of them were jackasses! It was such a time commitment and you have spent so long giving everything to them just for the team to spit in your face. Plus, with savings and such, we have enough to be fine for a while, even with the baby. You finally can put your family and yourself first"

She was right, it was time he admitted to himself how much he had hated his job in the past few months. How miserable it made him. How he could hardly enjoy anything in his life because he was always thinking of how to improve, how to show he still has potential even with the shitty car he was given.

"Im sorry. I- its not fair that I spent so long chasing a dead end dream that I couldn't actually enjoy what I do have. I mean, I could never race again and I would be 1000 times happier with out little family then I could ever be in F1. I will never not put you both first again." He said as he looked at her, held the bump, and genuinely got to relish in what was to come.

The first race weekend since Logan was replaced, he wasn't stewing in his misery, he was sitting in the hospital next to his wife, holding his first born, and the last thing on his mind was what was happening anywhere else in the world outside of the room his entire life was currently in.

logansargeant

liked by alexalbon, jensonbutton, and others

logansargeant New job

user1 hey! so this is insane

user2 unemployment has never looked better

alexalbon This is a crazy way to hard launch fatherhood but good on you, mate!

logansargeant got to keep them guessing

user4 dilf era yes please

oscarpiastri how long is the contract?

logansargeant full time for 18 years, then after there is a bit more leeway, but there is certainly no retirement in my future

user3 replaced right before he had a BABY?! oh that British fuck better watch out

jensonbutton Such a big moment! So happy to see where life takes you, I know it will be great!

A/N: Had to finish this right after the news he is testing for indycar in november dropped!!! U-S-A U-S-A!

#logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader

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restinslices · 4 months ago

Text

Believe Me

Gwayne Hightower X Female!Reader

Word Count: 2792

Summary: Gwayne bumps into an old flame and smut ensues (from his pov)

Content Warning: Smut (so minors dni), fingering, handjob, cheating, light hair pulling, light degrading and praising, vaginal sex, public sex (I hate this but we move on😭)

Gwayne Hightower was only human, and as a show of this, he had made plenty of mistakes in his lifetime. “It is not worth the stress to beat yourself over what could have been” he'd always remind himself. “What could've been if you chose the right card, woke up earlier, listened more, aimed a little to the left, ate breakfast…”.

The list went on and on because humans make mistakes all the time. He had vowed to himself that he would never stress over these mistakes. What good would it do? The mistake was already made.

That's the thought process he tried to keep as he made his way inside the Sept. He was not afraid of the gods deciding to punish him for the sins he was sure he had committed, or of the building crumbling down and burying him underneath. The current war going on wasn't even on his mind.

What was on his mind was a singular person. And as he got closer and closer to the room he knew they'd be in, the thick fog covering their face in his memories started to move to the side.

Further.

His steps began to falter when he finally saw them. When he finally saw you.

You were sitting on the bench, back to him, candles aplenty in front of you. Just as he thought about turning around and leaving, you took off your cloak and set it next to you, revealing the open back to your dress.

You were inviting him. Discarding your defenses and showing that you were open to being around him again. Or mayhaps he was delusional. Either way, he found himself sitting on the other side of you soon enough.

“Is that really a dress appropriate for the Sept?” he tried to joke with you as he lit a candle. If it was a different time, you would've lightly shoved him and said something like “oh fuck off” while laughing. Unfortunately, that time had been long forgotten.

You looked over at him at once, and he wondered if for a moment you thought all this was a dream. You looked him up and down, and must've realized this was all real. “Gwayne…” how could you say his name in such a delightful way?

The surprise from your eyes soon fell, and instead it filled with resentment. “Gwayne” you said more lifeless. “Anyone is welcome here. A common whore could come, wearing hardly any clothes and she'd be welcomed”.

“I'm sure common whores do lots of cumming”.

You simply rolled your eyes at him and looked in front of you. “A jest, dear friend-”

“We are not friends”.

He had known it, but fuck did it hurt to hear. It was said so coldly and cruel, like you wanted it to sting. It definitely had, though he wouldn't show it.

“We have not talked in some time” he said with his eyes still trained on you. How could you sit there and be so beautiful? Even with a scowl and pinched eyebrows, you looked marvelous. “When I heard my sister had summoned you here as well, I admit I was a bit surprised”.

“Why? Alicent is in need of a friend. And I am her friend”.

Well you really knew how to rub something in, didn't you? “I tried writing to you-”

“Years too late”

You snapped, eyes glancing over at him. Okay, mayhaps you were right. Mayhaps he should've wrote to you sooner, but he eventually did! That had to be worth something! “Why are you here?”.

“I thought anyone was allowed here”

“It is the gods you should be speaking to. Not I”

“It is not the gods I crave” he spoke honestly. You simply scoffed in return and looked away again, causing him to sigh. “I should have wrote to you sooner, but I did eventually. And I am here now-”

“To do your knightly duties” you said dismissively. “Not to speak with me”.

“I can do both!” his hand found your arm and he pulled you close to him, making your legs press against each other. He could hear how your breath hitched. He could see the way your chest rose and fell as a reaction to his touch.

His fingers inched closer to your chest. “What are you-” you began to say, but the words got caught in your throat when he wrapped his fingers around the long necklace that fell in the long V neck of your dress, right in between your breasts.

“You've kept this?”.

Years ago, Gwayne gifted you a necklace with a large green pendant, and while the chain was completely different, the pendant was still the same. “Did the chain break?”.

You shook your head. “No. My husband gave me a new chain. Said gold fit better”.

He frowned.

Your husband. Some boring guy with brown hair, brown eyes, patches in his beard and a voice that was far too high for a man. He had no real talents or skill, besides money and luck. That's how he landed you after all.

“It is best for both of us that you do your praying and then leave. I imagine I will not be ready to leave anytime soon”.

The moment his hand fell from your arm, he felt cold. He forced himself to look away from you and focus on the candle in front of him. So what was he to do now? Just let you go? Go off to war and accept that he'd likely never see you again? Accept you'd hate him forever?

“No” he answered himself out loud. “No. I am to just accept that your husband messed with a gift I gave you?”.

“I beg your pardon?” You asked in disbelief. “That is what you are focusing on? That your gift was ruined?” You scoffed again and rubbed your temples. “Selfish as always. Nevermind to ask how I feel or how I have been. No. It is just stupid jokes and being offended. Did my gift put a dent in your pocket? Here then!”. You unclipped the necklace, grabbed his hand and shoved the necklace on his palm. “Take it!”.

His chuckle afterwards was filled with bitterness. Here he was, trying to patch things up, and you kept making it difficult. “This resentment you hold towards me is ridiculous. I took too long to write to you after your marriage, but I'm here now. And this-” he set the necklace on the table. “This is a gift I gave to you”.

“My husband gives me plenty of gifts. I do not need anything from you”.

As if his gifts were anything special. Probably cheap and terrible material. You deserved more than that. You deserved more than some husband that probably couldn't even make you laugh the way Gwayne had.

“Husband this. Husband that. Does shoving him in my face excite you?”. Maybe he had no right to be angry, but he was anyway.

“I wouldn't be able to if you vied for my hand when you had the chance!” You snapped. For once, Gwayne had no response. No witty comeback or complaint. He just watched you as you realized what you said. You huffed, grabbed your cloak and got to your feet. “Good day Gwayne”.

You managed to make it a few feet away before he finally spoke. “I should have”. Regret had gnawed at him for years now. He let you slip away. Why? Because he wasn't sure he could be committed. Did he love you? Yes. Was he a young man that wasn't fond of becoming a husband and a father? Also yes.

“You have to understand,” he began as he rose to his feet. “Marriage was not something I wanted at the time”.

“And you think I did?” You asked in disbelief. “Marriage was not something I wanted either. It was forced upon me. Marriage terrified me, but I knew that if I was married to you, marriage wouldn't be that bad. You were my best friend and lover. And what did you do, Gwayne?”. He couldn't make the answer leave his lips. The words felt like they were stuck in his throat and refused to go anywhere. “You left me” you answered for him. “And once I was married, you avoided me. Then years later you decided you wanted to speak again. What were you too busy doing? Drinking and fucking whores?”.

That made him laugh. Drinking? Maybe a little. Fucking whores? It's not like he truly wanted to. It made time pass and got an orgasm out the way, but he didn't want painted whores. He wanted you to be under him. He wanted to feel your soft skin on his fingers. He wanted to hear his name pass your sweet lips over and over again until that was all he heard.

“I made mistakes-”

“Mistakes?!”

“I made terrible choices” he corrected. “Awful ones. But you and I both know that I have always wanted and will always want you”. Those words seem to catch you off guard, which he assumed because you didn't push him away when his hands found their way to your hips.

His face inched closer and closer to yours until your lips just barely brushed against each other. Unbeknownst to the both of you, your hearts beat as one in that moment. Both hearts erratic but somehow managing to be erratic together.

“I want you desperately. And I know you want me…”.

The remaining bit of space was broken and your lips finally met. Your lips responded to each other immediately and your arms wrapped around his neck. Finally… after so long you both were able to taste each other again.

Reality came crashing down faster than he wanted it to.

You shoved him away, making him stumble. You breathed heavily and wiped at your lips. “Won't change what happened” he said to your displeasure.

“You are selfish” you spoke through gritted teeth. “You are an asshole” you shoved him again. “And a liar” another shove.

Each insult you gave was followed by shove, and instead of feeling insulted, he felt something else.

Desire.

That desire is what led to him grabbing you, switching your positions and pushing you onto the table where no candles were.

Your expression was full of shock, but not disgust or fear. Good. He never wanted to frighten you. What frightened him a little bit though, was his growing erection. Something that made no sense since all you had done recently was insult him. Gods, he was way more desperate than he realized.

“Get all your insults out” he said as his thumb traced your lower lip, “tell me how much you hate me”.

A request you had no problem fulfilling.

“You are a vile man. Seducing a married woman in a Sept. Is there a line you're not willing to cross?”.

There it was. Just like that.

He began leaving open mouth kisses down your neck, eagerly awaiting what you'd say next.

“You are a defiler full of sin”

“I am, aren't I?”. He held you in place as he bit and sucked at a particular spot on your neck, and a small smirk formed on his face when he heard you moan in response. “It seems you enjoy my sins” he taunted.

“I hate you. No. I despise you. Even that word can't describe how I feel for you”.

Gwayne untied your dress strap and unbuttoned the buttons in the front, allowing him to free your breasts.

“I loathe you”.

“I'm sure” his words dripped in sarcasm. Loathe him yet you allow him to undress you. Loathe him, yet you allowed him to fondle your breasts, then lick and suck at one of your nipples. That's how your little game continued. You'd throw insults at him in between your gasps, and he'd lick and suck harder at each breast, showing them both proper attention. His erection pressed against his trousers, it becoming almost painful.

You lifted your leg up in response to him twisting your nipple, and your knee brushed right against his erection. He moaned around your breast before he even realized what had happened. His own eagerness being exposed only dawned on him when he felt your palm fully press against him.

Your other hand pulled his head back by his hair, causing a sharp but welcomed pain to burn at his roots. “I always knew you were pathetic Gwayne, but this?”, a soft breath slipped past his lips when you pressed harder against him. “You like when I insult you?”. He nodded. No point in lying. Still though, he didn't just wanna hand you all the power in your game.

He hiked the bottom of your dress up and kept eye contact with you as his fingers pushed your undergarments to the side and made contact with your soaked cunt for the first time tonight. He watched you try to keep a stone face, but you couldn't hide the sharp inhale you did. “Seems like you've enjoyed our little game too. What does that say about you?”.

“What does it say about you that you like being called pathetic?”.

Gwayne chuckled. He looked you over, watching as you tried not to react to his fingers sliding in between your folds. “You're marvelous…” he said almost as if in a dream.

You yanked on his hair again and pushed his trousers down, freeing his erection. “Is this when I say you're disgusting?” You taunted. Your hand wrapped around him and shamefully he almost came from that minor touch alone.

“If it pleases you”.

His middle and ring finger slowly but surely made their way inside you, all while he whispered praises in your ear.

“You're so pretty like this”

“You're taking my fingers so well”

“Open up for me. Just like that. Good girl”.

Your head fell on his shoulder and his fell on yours. The Sept filled with both of your noises as you both continued to pleasure each other with your hands. It was clear that that wouldn't be enough. The question was just who would bend first.

“I've got you” he whispered before placing a gentle kiss under your ear. You lifted your head off his shoulder to meet his eyes, and while there was still lust behind them, there was clearly something more.

Longing.

“Do you really?” You asked.

He answered at once, “yes. I swear to you on all the gods in every religion that I'm never leaving you again”.

You swiped at his hands and pulled him closer to you until his tip was lined up with your entrance. “And what about my husband?”.

Damn your husband. He'd cause an “accident” to happen if he had to. He wouldn't let a man like him keep him away from the one person who truly wanted in this whole world. “I will deal with your husband and I swear you will never be able to get rid of me. Do you believe me?”.

He asked his question as he began to push inside you. Your answer got stuck in your throat, so instead you nodded in response. Your nod wasn't enough for him, but he'd address that later. For now, he kept whispering encouraging words to you to soothe the stretching he knew you'd feel. He kept telling you that he had you, that you were okay, that you were safe with him and always would be.

When you finally seemed adjusted, he spoke again. “Do you believe me?”. You nodded. “Out loud”.

“I believe you”.

That was all he needed hear. Once he got confirmation, his lips found yours and he moved inside you. Was this an all around terrible idea? Absolutely. Was there a chance of getting caught? Yes. But neither of you could care less about that. How could that possibly be at the forefront of your minds when you were finally feeling each other in the way you both craved?

You both enjoyed each other, ultimately hitting your peaks while you were still connected, mouths swallowing each sound the other made, and foreheads pressed against each other so you could catch your breath.

His hands cupped your face and he pressed a softer kiss to your lips. Of course there was still that sexual desire there, but he wanted more than to just fuck and be rid of you. He wanted to hold you forever. He wanted to tell you about his tales of knighthood over dinner, and hold your hand as you went on walks in the garden.

“I swear-”

“I believe you”.

You believed him. That was all he needed.

For you to believe him and for you to give him another chance.

Bitch I hate this shit but I haven’t posted in awhile soooooo here we are😭😭. Also the way I forgot about that necklace-

#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd smut #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #gwayne hightower #gwayne hightower smut #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne x reader #gwayne x you #house of the dragon smut

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perlelune · 8 months ago

Text

Dollhouse | Rafe Cameron | i.

The moment your mother marries Ward Cameron should have been the moment your life changes for the better. A fresh start out of the Cut for the both of you. And for the first seven years of living with the Camerons, everything truly is perfect.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Pogue!Reader, Stepcest, Secret Relationship, Manipulation, Jealousy, Drugs, Drinking

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You peek from your hiding spot, beneath the lavishly decorated long table. Mom looks pretty. She’s wearing a fancy white dress that likely costs ten times the rent you used to pay. Perhaps more. The diamond earrings she dons, a wedding gift from your new dad, (Your new dad, your mind still cannot grapple with that reality-altering piece of information. You have a dad now, a stepfather), glimmer as they catch the glow of the fairy lights overhead.

She’s laughing. So loudly you can see all her teeth and her eyes are crinkly. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Mom laugh like that. No. You have never seen Mom laugh like that. Not ever. In the eleven years she’s raised you on her own. There have been sad times. Very sad times. Happy times too.

Still, she’s never looked as happy as she does today.

Like she’s on Cloud Ten. Not on Cloud Nine. Cloud Ten. Because there has to be a level above that fully captures how overjoyed Mom looks right now.

All because of this man. Your gaze swings to him. He’s wearing a suit, a white wedding suit, because Mom insisted they match and she always despised - despised not hated - bland wedding tuxedos. Bland anything really. So she picked his suit herself. Just like she did everything for the wedding. Her dream wedding. Something she’s constantly reminded you for the past month.

That this is her moment. Her big moment. One you shouldn’t ruin.

Which is why you’re hiding here. You can’t ruin anything from underneath a table. A silent observer. Quiet as a mouse.

That way Mom can have her moment while you bask in the shock that she’s a Cameron now. And so are you.

“Hey. Why are you hiding at your own mom’s wedding?”

You gasp, startled by the voice beside you. Your head turns. A blond-haired boy is crouched next to you, his neck crooked from having to fit his tall frame in the small space. His blue eyes are wide and curious as they rest on you.

“I-I’m not hiding,” you stammer, shocked that someone found your secret spot. Everyone’s focus is glued to the new Mr. And Mrs. Cameron. Even your new stepsisters are cheering from the circle around them. Sarah’s the loudest. Her thunderous clap and megawatt smile is a cheering squad all on its own.

This is their day.

So you figured your existence must have been forgotten by now. You tossed flower petals across the aisle, just like Mom asked. You smiled for the family pictures. You hugged him, that man, your new dad.

You awkwardly greeted your new siblings. Well, mostly waved from a safe distance.

You assumed your disappearance would go unnoticed amidst the bubble of joy keeping everyone trapped in its spell. But someone slipped away from it for a little while, it seems, broke the spell. Long enough to notice your absence.

He nods and says, “Really? Come out then, since you’re not hiding.” When you dig your pink ballet flats into the grassy dirt, refusing to move, the teenager chuckles.

He plops onto the floor.

“Or we can stay here.”

Your brows knit. We. It sounds strange. Alien to your ears. It’s always been you and Mom. The two of you against the world, jumping over every hurdle life stuck in your path together. There’s just so many kids now. And based on Mom’s recent announcement…there’ll be another one soon. The final knot binding your two families.

Thinking about it makes your mind spin. Overnight you went from being an only child to having three siblings. Well, four in some months.

Saying your world has been turned upside down is an understatement. Everything that used to be up is now down. And the house! Tannyhill is nothing like the tiny apartment you and Mom used to share. The one where the lights used to go out sometimes. It has all these big rooms. A gigantic yard. A pool.

JJ even made fun of you at school because he said you’re a Kook now.

A Kook. You wanted to punch him…and you did.

You will never be a Kook. It doesn’t matter if Mom makes you change schools, forcing you to attend the one on Figure 8, if she buys you new clothes, moves you to a new house.

You’ll always be a Pogue. A fact the kids at your new school make sure you never forget.

You tuck your knees against your chest.

“You don’t have to.”

“I do what I want,” he replies with a shrug.

He brings out a piece of cake from behind him.

“Do you want some?”

You make a face.

“Not hungry.”

He laughs and takes a spoonful of the three layered chocolate cake himself.

“What kind of kid refuses cake?”

“Why are you here?” you retaliate, growing more annoyed.

“Because you’re my new sister,” he states with a shrug. Your eyes round. “That’s what my dad says anyways.” He sighs. “Gotta look out for you and all that.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Well, little sisters are a pain in the ass. Didn’t ask for another one.” His brows furrow. “Didn’t ask for a new stepmom either but…here we are, princess.”

“Princess?”

“It’s what you look like, with your pink ribbons and all the bows,” he says, waving his hand in front of you.

You open your mouth then close it. Mom did go overboard with the pink and the bows. But she wanted you to look cute in the photos. She wanted all the girls to look cute. Adorable, as she said. So you and your stepsisters ended up with those big, embarrassing, fluffy pink dresses.

“Anyways. I’m your brother now. Deal with it, okay?” He scratches the back of his neck, placing the cake on the ground. “Pretty sure if I let anything bad happen to you my dad will kill me.”

You look ahead. Mom’s dancing with the girls now. She pauses momentarily, glancing around, but quickly returns to the dance. She, Wheezie and Sarah bounce in a circle, giggling as they tap their feet to the music.

Your eyes swell with tears.

This is how long it took Mom to replace you. A few seconds.

Rafe’s voice laces with irritation.

“Are you crying?” His harsh tone only drags more sobs out of you. You grip the hem of your fluffy dress to wipe the snot pouring from your nose.

The boy rolls his eyes.

“Girls are so annoying, always crying for no reason.” He plucks a tissue from the back pocket of his dress pants and dabs it against your eyes. He does it rather aggressively which startles you out of your meltdown. “Here, stop.” You blink at him. “I’m sorry, okay?” His blue eyes soften. “I promise, we’re not so bad.” He scrunches his nose. “Well, except for Sarah who’s a spoiled brat…but you get used to it too.”

You sniffle and duck your head. Almost as if reading your mind, he assures softly, “Your mom will always be your mom, so stop crying, okay?”

You raise your head, gaping at him.

“T-Thank you, Rafe,” you mumble between your abating sobs.

He shrugs. “Whatever.”

As he continues wiping your face, your tears slowly drying, you start pondering. Perhaps having a big brother won’t be so bad.

Cheers and applause explode around you as you blow the last of the sparkler candles. It took several tries before all the flames flickered out, plunging the room in total blackness. Your sisters giggle beside you and a contagious smile creeps onto your lips.

“Make a wish, make a wish!” your family chants around you.

You shush everyone which draws more laughs, especially from Mom and Dad. “Guys, quiet. I need to focus.”

You suck in a deep breath.

You close your eyes and make a silent wish. Your smile broadens. It’s easy. You wish for everyday moving forward to be as perfect as this one, as wonderful. A happiness untouched and crystallized like a butterfly in amber. Its paper-thin, delicate wings never shriveling. Its vibrant colors never dimming. Its beauty never waning, never yielding to the fickle whims of time. Every year onwards, you wish to be surrounded by the same love and support you’ve gotten to experience for the last eighteen years.

You wish to always be with family.

When your eyes open, you beam brightly. The fact that familiar faces stare back at you fills you with warmth and comfort. Sarah, your sister, offered to throw the flashiest, biggest party of the year for your birthday. She even made a vision board for it. It was quite impressive actually. She planned on making sure her little sister celebrated eighteen years on this earth with a bang. But you staunchly refused. Not only did you hope to avoid more organizing drama between Sarah and Kie, you wanted something discreet and casual this year. You had no desire to be surrounded by vague acquaintances from the Island Club or the snobbish classmates who only stopped calling you names once they realized Mom was more than Dad’s mid-life crisis.

Despite the twenty-year age gap between them, you’ve never witnessed two people more in sync than your mom and dad. You know every woman on that side of the island has wished for their marriage to fail. You wouldn’t flinch if you learnt there was a voodoo doll of your mom in one of those women’s closets. People figured they wouldn’t last. After all, they are so different. Mom used to be a cocktail waitress at the country club Dad is still a faithful member of to this day. His wife Rose had recently died and they bonded over fishing and sports. In many Kooks’ eyes, Mom will always be beneath them. You can see it in their eyes. Their pinched smiles. Their forced pleasantries. A veil of unbelonging will always cling to you and your mother. Deep down, despite living in this big beautiful house for seven years, you’ll always be Pogues. Not that you’ll ever tell Mom. She lives in a pink-colored bubble of her own making. One you wouldn’t dare pop lest she land in a cold puddle of harsh reality.

Still, you’re happy for your parents.

Even after all these years, they love each other deeply. They still find ways to surprise each other, to make the other feel special.

Alice and Ward Cameron are what true love looks like in your eyes. What it should look like. Unless you have what your parents have one day, you don’t see yourself tying the knot with anyone. Your dad set that standard by being the best man you’ve ever met.

Willa bounces in front of you, displaying her gummy grin. She recently turned seven and her front teeth have yet to come out. It never stops her from smiling all day however.

“What did you wish for?”

You don a cryptic expression.

“It’s a secret.”

Willa pouts, folding her arms dejectedly. Dad chuckles and picks her up. He rubs her back to comfort her, explaining, “She can’t tell you her wish, sweetheart. Otherwise it won’t come true.”

Your little sister gives a reluctant nod. Willa abhors the word ‘no’. Setting limits for her is a problem as she’s so accustomed to Dad surrendering to her every whim. Ward Cameron is what some would call a ‘girl dad’ through and through. It never takes much effort from you and your sisters to convince him and whoever would dare hurt any of you should probably count their days…as your dad would likely have already picked a date and funeral plot for them.

The time for the gifts comes. You sit in a chair at the head of the dinner table as everyone gathers around you to give you their gift.

Sarah got you a coupon for a tattoo. While Dad is livid, she winks at you. The two of you mentioned getting matching tattoos before you leave for college. You’re glad to learn that she hasn’t forgotten.

Wheezie hands you a Sephora gift card. She’s very solemn, adjusting her glasses while giving it to you, which tears a chuckle from you.

“You just always say you don’t want anything, then everyone gets you a super cool gift,” she laments. Mom squeezes her shoulder.

“It’s an amazing gift. I love it, Wheezie.”

Her face lights up at your response.

Willa’s gift draws the biggest smile from you. It’s a handcrafted wooden box covered in seashells, glitter and sand. It has a silver lock with a little key. It’s just so cute and you already picture yourself placing it above your bed or somewhere on your desk in your college dorm. It’ll be a much-welcome reminder of home.

Mom and Dad’s combined gift sits in a square velvet jewelry box. The breath hovers in your lungs, your fingers shaking with anticipation as you open the box.

Your jaw drops.

A gold necklace with a single diamond charm shaped like a teardrop lies on beige satin.

Your hand flies to your mouth. This must have cost a pretty penny.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whisper.

“Do you like it, sweetheart?” Dad asks.

“I love it.”

A bright grin unfurls on his face at your swift response. He moves forward, collecting the necklace from the box.

“Can I…”

“Of course,” you reply, shoving your hair aside so he can place the necklace on you.

When he’s done, he takes a moment to look at you, his hands clasping your shoulders. “It suits you. Your mom and I picked it out…” His voice falters, unspilled tears filling his blue eyes.

You wrap your arms around him. He hugs you tightly.

“Dad, it’s okay,” you say.

He unleashes a watery laugh. “It’s just…you girls are growing up so fast.” He steps back and hastily wipes the tears in his eyes. Dad loathes crying in front of you. Well, showing any sort of emotion really. You don’t remember seeing him shed a tear since the day you called him ‘dad’. It just slipped out of your mouth one time. It just felt natural after a while.

Ward is the only father you’ve ever known, your mother having divorced your biological father when you were just a few months old. You’ve never met this man, though you’ve heard he has another family on the mainland. You can’t deny you’ve been curious about him at times. But your mother’s lips are sealed when it comes to that man. She rarely talks about that time but you always gathered that his absence in your lives is somewhat of a blessing.

You hug Dad again.

“It’s okay. I promise to visit a lot. For every holiday. And you guys can come see me too.” You try to lighten the mood as you note the sour faces. “It’ll just be four years. Then I can come home and work on getting my real estate license while working with Dad at Cameron development.”

“That’s my girl. Eyes on the prize,” he praises.

“Always.”

He sweeps an icy glance over Rafe.

“If only a certain someone followed your example.”

Your brother flinches. He’s been a bit more withdrawn than everyone else during the party. Besides singing ‘Happy Birthday’, he hasn’t said a word to you. You surmise he’s not too eager to see you leave either. Out of all your siblings, you are the closest to Rafe.

While he was standoffish when you first met, he’s warmed up to you considerably over the years. He’s not just your brother. He’s also your confidant. You can count on one hand the things you don’t share with Rafe.

“Come on, dad. That’s not fair,” you say, trying your best to dissipate the tension in the air. “He’s just on his own path.”

Rafe bolts from his seat, stomping out of the room and heading to the balcony.

Your shoulders slump.

“Not everyone has to go to college to succeed. You know that. And so does Mom.”

“You’re right.” He heaves out a weary breath. “But I’m not mad that your brother dropped out of college. I’m mad he doesn’t care about anything he can’t shove up his nose or get high with.”

Concern scrunches your mother’s features.

“Honey,” she says.

“Alice, he’s twenty-two years old. It’s time for him to grow up.”

Bereft of arguments to defend Rafe, and with your dad being stubborn as ever, you elect to join him on the balcony. The cool night breeze seeps through your clothes. Goosebumps break out on your skin as you shiver by Rafe’s side.

You decide to crack his shell with a lighthearted joke.

“So I don’t get a gift from my big brother this year?”

A smile breaks out on Rafe’s face. He turns to you.

“But you always say you don’t want anything because you already have everything.”

You give him a harmless punch in the rib. He pretends to be deeply hurt by it and bursts out in laughter.

“I’m kidding,” he admits. “I'll give it to you later this week. It’s something you’ve wanted for a long time, promise. There was just a…temporary shortage.”

You acquiesce. You let a comfortable silence hang between you and him for a while before speaking again.

You take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry about Mom and Dad,” you blurt out.

Shrugging, he scoffs, “It’s fine. It’s not like Dad will stop riding my ass all the time. At least Alice doesn’t have her foot on my neck 24/7.”

You grip his arm.

“They’re just worried about you. About your future.” Rafe’s jaw clenches, his blue eyes set forward. “You know Dad loves you. He’s just not very good at showing it.” Hope laces your tone. “Maybe try to stop by the office more? I’m sure he’ll appreciate you showing interest in the family business.” You shift closer to him, whispering. “Even Sarah can’t be bothered, just so you know.” This makes his hard gaze fall on you. Talking about Sarah never fails to make Rafe’s blood pressure rise. Even after all that time, the two of them can’t seem to get along. “You’re always talking about being proactive and all that. Then be proactive, Rafe.”

He studies you for a while before a slow smirk unfans on his lips.

“You know…that is actually not a bad idea, princess.”

“Of course it’s a great idea. I had it,” you jest, drawing a hearty chuckle from him.

The buzzing of your phone shatters the moment. You startle. You hastily grab it from the pocket of your cardigan.

“Just give me a minute,” you utter apologetically. You step away for a bit. Rafe’s eyes on you are sharp as you check your phone. The message you receive has you fighting a smile. You feel giddy that he remembered your birthday. You don’t even remember telling him it was today. Suppressing the goofy grin threatening to take over the bottom of your face, you return to your spot next to Rafe.

“Who was that?” he asks.

You lie with ease. While you love Rafe, he can be so overprotective. To a suffocating degree at times. No guy will approach you because the mere knowledge that Rafe Cameron is your brother and will surely dole out a severe beating if any guy so much as stares at his sister too long makes most of them steer clear. Some of your suitors have tried, the brave, reckless ones, but Rafe would scare each of them away.

There’s been a boy lately. One who eluded your brother’s relentless scrutiny. Familiar, but also kind of new. Rafe would blow a fuse if he knew who it was. He can’t find out. Not yet anyways.

You slap on a mask of nonchalance.

“No one.”

He gives a nod, licking his lips. He seems to mull over something before narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“Are you hiding something?”

Your stomach knots. You try to keep an even, casual tone. You fail.

“I-I’m not. Why would you say that, Rafe?”

“I don’t know. You were acting shifty just then.”

“I’m allowed to have some privacy, Rafe. I’m not a kid anymore.”

His jaw ticks. He takes a small step back, as if your words hit him square in the face.

“But we never had any secrets for each other, haven’t we?”

“Yeah.”

His blue eyes trap yours.

“So who was it, princess?”

You shudder. Keeping things from him is near impossible. He knows you like a book he’s read every single page from. Again and again.

This is how you know your subterfuge can't be a complete success. Still, you stick to your story.

“Like I said, Rafe. No one,” you maintain.

He bends over you, seizing your hand and tucking it against his chest. Your heart skips a beat.

“You know I’m just trying to protect my little sister, right? That’s all I’ve ever tried to do, protect you.”

“I know,” you say, a small smile tugging your lips.

He rubs his thumb across your palm, squeezing your fingers more tightly than before. You wince at the pressure. It’s on the thin edge of pain.

“So…you’d tell me if there was anything new in your life, anyone?”

Your pulse quickens. The lie aches as it rises from your throat this time. Needles of deceit. You aren’t used to lying to your brother.

“Of course, Rafe. You’d be the first to know,” you chime, forcing a false, wobbly smile on your face.

He stares at you for so long that it grows unnerving. After an eternity, his grip on your hand slackens. You rub your pulsing fingers, a frown wrinkling your brow.

He crosses his arms over the railing, eyes fixated on the night as he mumbles under his breath, “Good.”

You don’t know how to answer that, a wave of unease, cooler than the night chill, passing through you somehow.

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