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mygnolia · 2 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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gotham-daydreams · 15 days ago

Text

Falling into Place

Day 2 {Challenge Masterlist}

It was a simple question, a simple conversation. However, this is obviously bigger than they think.

[Yandere Batfam × Gender Neutral! Cop Reader]

[Warnings: Mentions of suicide, cults, occult like activities, death, blood, poisoning, violence, brief descriptions of fighting, descriptions of suicide.] (Note: Unless otherwise specified, it's to be believed that actions involved with harming, hurting, or heavily injuring the self are not talking about the Batfamily or the reader. Still, you have been warned.)

Sorry for the huge delay! Got hit with a bit of burnout at the worst moment... whoops!

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

It was well into the morning when Bruce was just about finishing up whatever personal research he could gather. By the time Duke was heading out, Bruce was still by the batcomputer, trying to gather all he could on his own - and though he didn’t learn as much as he’d like, he knew enough to tell Duke to keep him posted on any activity he ran into during the day.

Again, Bruce wasn’t able to gather much, especially since the group themselves didn’t seem to have an official name, but based on what he was told the previous night, he had just enough to find what he could with a group that supposedly had no name. One thing he gathered is that they were more active in the day, but even then, they weren’t exactly known for grand or flashy displays - working and tampering in more odd and underground areas, which explains how they managed to slip past him for a while. Though, what he still couldn’t get was when, exactly, they arrived in Gotham, and when they seemed to leave Metropolis. That was one of the more important questions Bruce had wanted to answer, but, again, no luck.

It was then that Bruce had a choice. He could either keep going at this by himself, and risk spending more time than necessary on just trying to gather information when this cult was out there, doing god knows what in his city, and striving to achieve… well, whatever their end goal is - or he could ask for help, and potentially get things moving along faster so he can handle this quicker and much more efficiently.

There are countless reasons why Bruce didn’t want to make that call, a big one was that he didn’t want to involve more people into what was clearly a Gotham problem. These were people he was dealing with, humans, he’s supposed to be able to handle it on his own. That’s what he does. That’s what he’s supposed to be doing. Yet, if those in the manor with him now couldn’t sense anything… not even Cassandra and Damian… something was wrong. Not to mention that there was just a weird feeling Bruce was getting from all this. It all felt off in a way he didn’t know how to explain.

So, reluctantly, Bruce makes the call - but not after a few minutes of staring at his phone, and brooding.

In his defense, it was too early for something like this… for him, anyway, seeing as it was only ten o’clock.

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

When Clark came over, it was Alfred who greeted him, and let him in. The butler swiftly led the super to the batcave, and offered tea along with some biscuits and other things Alfred had prepared that morning as they walked. Of course, Clark took Alfred up on his offers, and when he reached the batcave, he had finished his tea, and had a few crackers in hand.

There, as usual, Bruce didn’t bother with greetings or formalities, and instead got straight to business.

“Tell me everything you know about this cult.”

Clark had to take a small moment to swallow down the cracker he had been chewing on just as he walked in, “Which one?”

Bruce exhaled heavily, “The one that came from your city, to mine.”

Now, that made Clark pause in his movements. Taking a breath, he took a few steps forward, and got more situated within the confines of the cave. “They came here? I mean- I heard them start to move, but I didn’t think they’d settle in Gotham too,” Clark admits, looking at Bruce, clearly concerned.

Bruce furrows his brows at the response, “‘too’? They went to other areas-?”

Just before the question could fully escape the detective, Duke’s commlink buzzes to life.

[“Uh, Signal, reporting in.”] Bruce looks over to the computer, shooting a glance at Clark before bringing his full attention to Duke.

“Anything come up?” He asks, hearing a short huff on the other end.

[Collecting his thoughts, Duke takes a moment before saying, “Beside the usual small fry, there’s nothing to report. Some guys just tried to vandalize the library and wreck the place, buuuuuut I don’t think that there’s much else-”]

“Have any bakeries or floral shops been attacked or stolen from? Maybe a grocery store, or something like that?” Clark suddenly chips in, now paying more attention to the screens too, “Something like a large pot, a whole shopping cart or basket of food items?”

[“Oh- okay, um, another flower shop was stolen from, and some guy was trying to steal another pot of, uh, what did the guy call them- irises? And someone was trying to break into the greenhouse- but even if I was able to stop them, someone must’ve snuck in during the night or earlier this morning before my patrol, since whatever virus that other place had got there too. And y’know how things are taken care of in the greenhouse, there’s no way something like that got there naturally and got so bad-”]

Clark’s brows furrowed, and he caressed his chin, deep in thought, but a strange detail was evident - he was nervous.

Noticing a change in the super’s demeanor quickly, Bruce asks, “What’s wrong, Clark?”

Not getting a response right away was suspicious enough, and the longer Clark took to say anything, the worse Bruce felt. Narrowing his eyes, the vigilante continues to inspect his friend - as if he could catch what was wrong before Clark could put it to words.

The super was tense and on edge, that much was obvious. Looking noticeably disturbed, almost pale - Bruce knew that whatever Clark was thinking about, obviously wasn’t helping - but that was the thing. Was Clark thinking about something, or did Duke’s response spark a memory of some kind? After all, from what Bruce could gather, he’s been dealing with this group for much longer, and if the earliest, possible headline he could find was anything to go off of - the super has been dealing with this group for a couple of months at the very least. About five if he had to give a specific number. It wasn’t a long time, but it was more time than Bruce, and that was the biggest difference. Clark knew the group, Bruce didn’t. Not yet.

Yet whatever the super was recalling now clearly disturbed him, and Clark was getting worse by the minute.

“Clark, talk to me-”

[“OH! Uh, Hi? [Last Name], right? What’re you doing here-?”]

That seemed to snap Clark out of whatever trance he was in, and draw Bruce’s focus away from Clark for the time being. The single mention of that name caught both of their attention - but for two different reasons. One out of familiarity, and the other out of slight suspicion.

“They’re awake at this time-?”

“Officer [Last Name] is with you, Signal?” Clark asks, tone a touch lighter now, his complexion becoming a bit better - and Bruce had to wonder if it was because Clark knew the officer, or something else was going on between the two for the super to act in such a way. Was it a matter of a simple, brief distraction? Or was there some history here that Bruce didn’t know about?

Something bubbled in Bruce’s gut, and he looked back to the screen once again. Nothing about this felt particularly good, and there was that sense again, of convenience. He wouldn’t call it easy per say, no, it just all felt too… simple. Like they were being led down some kind of path. Like he was being guided down a certain train of thought, or being purposefully put on some kind of path. By who, or why, Bruce doesn’t know yet, but he will. He always finds out.

Regardless, just sitting here and thinking wasn’t going to do him any favors, and frankly, he was wasting time - everyone was, and you seemed to be conveniently tied to this case too, so he might as well take this opportunity while it’s given to him. If this turned out to be some kind of play, or was another means to set him on a certain path… well, he has a few cards to play too. The house always wins, and Bruce practically owns this place. This is his territory, and no one can trick him while on his playing field. No one.

“Bring [Last Name] to the manor.” Bruce says, suddenly cutting into the conversation Clark and Duke were having.

[Duke is shocked into silence for a second, before he quickly recovers and utters a small, “Are you sure?” Which, yeah. While Bruce always seems to know what he’s doing, the young vigilante couldn’t help but hesitate and feel unsure. Was that the best idea? And even then, why did Bruce want to see you? Duke feels like he’s missing something here.]

“Yes, now, send them over, Duke.” After getting a reluctant ‘alright,’ in response, the connection is cut, and Bruce turns to look at the super standing beside him - who looks at him curiously and a bit confused.

Straightening out his posture, Bruce only says, “Clark, meet me out in front, and leave the glasses here.”

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

Arriving at Wayne Manor felt strange enough, but being guided there and given a ride by one of Bruce Wayne’s supposed adopted children felt weirder. The building practically loomed over you, and sure, you were used to the feeling since you came from the city, but something felt different about it now as compared to every other instance before. Like even the shadow it casted over you held a deep secret.

Honestly, something like this was bound to happen, but to be here now, and actually at the foot of the door leading into the manor? Well, you could certainly understand why so many people feared the Waynes just as much as others respected them. The building certainly reflected the people it housed incredibly well, almost unnervingly so.

Regardless, just as you didn’t think the situation could get any stranger, just as you were about to knock on the door, a gust of wind blew behind you, and you felt an all too familiar presence as the wind settled. It was only then that you decided to ring the doorbell instead, and straightened yourself out as you made small fixes to your attire and appearance.

“Didn’t expect to be seeing you here, Superman,” You greet, glancing over you shoulder to look at the superhero, who floated in the air beside you before deciding he had enough of the air, and touched the ground with practiced ease. One can’t help but wonder just how long it took him to land in such a way that didn’t shatter the earth beneath his feet upon impact, but, ah, those were questions for another day, perhaps.

Giving you that bright, charming smile he was known for, the hero nods, “Mr. Wayne gave me a call too, but honestly I’m a little surprised!” He chuckles casually, the gesture just as broad as his frame and smile, “It’s good to see you though, [Last Name], some of the officers miss you back in Metropolis - and some other folks too. You must be incredibly social to have so many friends!”

At that, you give a small shrug that matches the hero’s tone, “I have a big family, y’know? And it never hurts to be friendly, especially with so much trouble around, y’know?” You give a chuckle of your own, though it’s more light, and kept a touch low, “Though, it’s a little funny, honestly.”

Superman gives you a curious look, “What is?”

You give a smile of your own to the hero, “The fact that a man like him, can get someone like you to call him ‘Mr.Wayne’ instead of just ‘Bruce’.”

He raises his brows, and snickers a little himself, “Really? Well… I guess it is a little funny when you put it that way, but what makes you say that?”

“Hm, let’s just say I had the impression you two would be closer than that.”

Before Superman could ask you any more questions, the door is finally answered, and you’re greeted with the sight of a butler. Your attention immediately shifts to the older man, who you greet with a simple smile as you look away from the hero. ‘This must be Alfred Pennyworth. Honestly, he looks better than I thought - much healthier too.’ You think to yourself, and are subsequently proven right when he speaks.

“Sorry for the delay, Master Bruce is ready for you two now. Please, come in,” the words fell out of his mouth with a certain grace that couldn’t be ignored, and the voice he had just naturally commanded attention - holding elegance, authority, and yet in a way that none of it felt impolite or rude. All things that you didn’t see very often, and suddenly, you found yourself liking this ‘Alfred’ character more and more by the second, even if you had only met him today.

Still, you wave off his words, “Please, there’s no need to apologize, the wait wasn’t long at all,” and step inside while half way through your sentence. Superman follows in right after you, agreeing and saying something similar. It was small, subtle, but you could help but sense a feeling of familiarity between the two interacting, but brushed it off. Now wasn’t the time to focus on such things, and besides, you couldn’t waste this opportunity, could you? After all, it’s not every day someone is given the chance to just waltz into Wayne Manor - and you were lucky enough to be given such a chance. Really, you almost felt honored.

Moving on, Alfred led both you and the hero through the gigantic building, and eventually stopped just before a room. Once Alfred opened the door, you took a brief look around, and hummed, a bit impressed. For something that you assumed to be akin to a common room, or sitting room of sorts, it still looked very well furnished and taken care of - but having a lot of money certainly help with that, even if you’ve heard that Alfred is the only servant at the manor. He must be a very skilled and particular man, but still, it seems odd to see only one butler no matter how capable he is - that couldn’t be very efficient, could it? Hm.

Nevertheless, it took little effort at all to spot Bruce Wayne in all of his glory, and to your slight surprise, he didn’t look like he had just rolled out of bed - though, even for small, sudden invites like this, a celebrity must keep appearances, you suppose.

He gestures for you and Superman to take a seat, saying to “Make yourselves at home,” to which, you both promptly do so and take a seat to the couch opposite to Bruce with a comfortable amount of distance between the three of you.

You let Superman ask, “So, what did you need us for, Mr. Wayne?” since it seemed to make the most sense to have him ask instead of yourself. While he does so, you take the time to get a bit comfortable. Leaning back against the cushions, crossing one leg over the other, and taking the cup of tea that’s offered to you when Alfred comes up next to you with the tray.

As you take a sip of the tea while it’s still hot, Bruce simply replies, “Ah, I guess I should’ve offered some kind of explanation beforehand, my apologies .” Offering a carefree smile, and you had to give him some credit, for someone with a reputation like his, he does little to disprove any of the rumors you’ve heard. Though, maybe that’s a little rude - seeing as he’s only just spoken. “I’m also sorry for the short notice, but- you see, I’ve heard that something is going on in Gotham, and I’d like to hear all about it from those that seem to know the most about it!... From what I’ve heard, anyway.”

Now that makes you raise a brow, hm.

You’re plenty aware that Bruce Wayne may as well own the city, and it doesn’t surprise you in the slightest he likes to keep up to date on what’s going on, more so than him knowing to reach out to you and Superman. The group has been careful, and yes, while it makes sense for Bruce to have connections to people who could inform him of anything going on anywhere - and he certainly has the wealth to manage such a system - you still can’t help but be curious as to why he asked for you. Did he know the group came from Metropolis? That explains why you and Superman are here, but how did Bruce know that? How?

You pull the porcelain cup away from your lips. Now he’s really got your attention.

The most obvious question comes to mind first, “Where you’d hear that from, if you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Wayne?”

The wealthy man chuckles, a sort of naturally charming smirk growing on his face, “I have my ways,” of course someone like him would say that, “and, please, call me Bruce- ‘Mr. Wayne’ was my father.” With that, he took a sip of… what you assumed to be coffee by the faint smell. Curious.

“It’s fine, I insist,” your smile grows a bit before you move the conversation along, already getting a feel what was at play here, “anyway, what would you like to know, and about what, Mr. Wayne?” The huff that escapes him at your ‘insistence’ is incredibly amusing to hear, but you see he just brushes it off, and also decides to leave it be.

“Very well then, I’m sure you’ve seen it- or at least heard of it, officer, but…” Bruce goes onto explain the little he can, and though he is only able to vaguely describe what he means, you know what he’s talking about, and Superman seems to as well. Though, curiously enough, he asks you for details first.

Of course, you insist that Superman is more than suitable to give basic details, but when the hero himself insists, well, it doesn’t take much for you to relent.

When told to start from the beginning, you just say how originally there was a call about some loud and strange noises coming from someone’s neighbor, so, being the officer closest to the building, naturally you were put to the task to deal with the problem. The only thing was that, when you got there, well, the sight was gruesome, and when you finally got the door open thanks to a stray shot someone had taken - well, they were just about finishing up. You stated how originally you thought you had walked in a group suicide, and didn’t think anything else was going on until a similar instance popped up, and then another, and another. How, before you knew it, you were following a loose, bread crumb trail of similar situations that had the same outcome once an outsider arrived at the scene.

“Really, no one knows what it was, at first,” you try to explain, “but, again, before you know it, we’re trying to catch these guys before they even know we’re there, and find them doing these weird meetings, chanting, doing all sorts of rituals, and the like. They wouldn’t wear robes and do all of that cliche stuff- but they did all have some kind of marking somewhere on their person, nothing really seemed to connect the deaths besides the marking, and the most we could gather is that the place of the mark on a person’s body was symbolic to them. Though, that’s just a running theory. We haven’t had anyone able to actually confirm that yet.”

Bruce raises a brow, “Like… a similar injury or something? A symbol?”

You make a so-so gesture with your hand, “Yes, but it can differ from each person. It’s odd, but it’s like their way of showing some kind of connection, without making it too obvious that they’re all connected. Though, there are some similarities, like how the marking is carved into the skin, and represents a star or circle or eclipse of some kind.”

Superman agrees, adding, “I haven’t seen many of the symbols myself, but those I have did seem to show the sun in some way, but more often than not, it’s like they were trying to imply a blocked out sun.”

“Like a solar eclipse?” Bruce tries to confirm, brows furrowing.

“Yes,” Superman nods, though you notice how he starts to pale slightly. Hm.

From there, you go on and explain what you can - not going into full detail, but seemingly giving all the information you could provide, and to a civilian at that. With Superman chipping in every now and again, including some of what he’s seen and experienced on his own as well, which was… enlightening. More so than you thought when you originally saw him, but interesting all the same. Though, you do take note of just how little he’s giving as well. Most of his powers are no secret if you know who to ask, and just from that alone, you knew he wasn’t saying as much as he could, but didn’t press or even try to push. After all, you were just a police officer, weren’t you?

Regardless, the conversation goes on for a little longer. With you even mentioning how the group is normally separated, and each subdivision acts as their own entity despite reacting the same to being ‘caught’ and having very similar practices. Some will try to spread what they preach through acting as a church, and only letting in their most devout followers, to more lowkey approaches such as hiding what they’re really doing through parties, or college club activities, and so on. No official name is known about the group, and aside from the markings, similarities in practices, and whatever it is they preach, there is another thing that ties them together - and it’s arguably the biggest tie all the groups have to one another.

“It’s an event they keep mentioning, but no one knows what it really is. Considering their other… practices, everyones a little concerned to find out what it entails, but if you ask me, it could also be something they use to scare new followers- even if it sounds… well, for lack of a better term, ‘edgy’.” Bruce raises a brow at your words, and gestures for you to continue.

“Well… don’t leave me hanging, what’s the event called?”

“The Red Dawn.”

“... Do you have any idea what they even mean by that?”

“Not a clue, sorry, Mr. Wayne. Though, I doubt it’s anything to worry about. The only ones these people seem to be hurting is themselves, after all, and while I do intend to stop them and put an end to this, I doubt they’ll hurt anyone outside of their little ‘circle’.”

“Oh… alrighty, then.” Taking a sip of his cup, Bruce lets the information settle in before deciding to ask, “Do you think that could be the name of their group? Especially if they care about that ‘event’ so much, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to assume that, right? Not the most creative thing to do… but it makes some kind of sense, no?”

You offer a small smile, as if trying to reassure the man, “I highly doubt it. If that was their name, we would’ve known by now with the months that have passed, and besides, while that does seem to be an event they are focused on- I think it's only that. Just another small thing that just so happens to connect all the groups together or a name they go by as a collective, and even then it would suggest a kind of unity that we just don’t see in the group. As similar as they are, they are still divided. Well, from what we could gather, anyway.”

Bruce only gives a nod, “I see…”

With that, after a bit longer of conversing, you’re essentially let go. Bruce thanks you for the information, and sends you on your way, but not before mentioning a party he plans to host on Halloween with one last flash of a smile despite the conversation you just had, and Superman gives you a wave, saying he hopes to see you back in Metropolis soon, and to keep up the good work - but only when he’s essentially made to stay when Bruce says he has more questions to ask the hero. You don’t bother to question it, and just let Alfred lead you to the door - who wishes you the best of luck on the case, and to have a good day. Bruce Wayne was rich, you wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out he had some special relationship with half the heroes on Earth, but that wasn’t worth thinking about now.

Especially not when you noticed someone at the door.

“... Should I ask why a kid like you is trying to hide in his own bushes, or is it just some ‘teenager thing’ I don’t understand, Thomas?” At the sound of your voice, and the sudden call out, Duke tenses and practically springs to life all over again as he jumps and practically scrambles to keep himself straight. You raise a brow at the defensive stance he initially takes, but upon noticing you, the teenager eases, and lets out a sigh of relief.

Clearing his throat, he says, “Uh, hi, officer [Last Name]! I… didn’t realize it would be over so soon! Haha!” His nervous response gets a snicker out of you, which only seems to further his own embarrassment, and thus, makes you more amused.

Though, you spare him some of the torment and don’t openly laugh at him, and instead just ask, “What’re you doing out here, kid? Can’t you just head inside? Since, y’know, you live here?” You tease a little, resting your hands on your hips, “Or am I mistaken?”

Duke chuckles awkwardly at your words, straightening himself out, shifting in place a bit, “No- no, I just… wanted some air?” He didn’t sound too sure of himself, but you let the teenager be, and just gave a nod.

“Right. Well, enjoy the outdoors in the bushes, Thomas, I’ll see you soon.” With one last amused grin, you take your leave, and once again wave behind you.

Honestly, you thought you’d just walk off silently once again, but this time, a yell is heard from behind you after you hear some shuffling around and the sound of rustling leaves.

“Wait-! Uh- Thanks for the muffin and small snacks from yesterday! They were really good!” You hear Duke shout, “Have a good day!” He seems to mumble something under his breath, but you’re too far away to hear it.

Regardless, you just continue to walk, and soon shove both your hands in your pockets.

You walk away with a smile.

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

Back in the Manor, Bruce takes a long sip of his coffee, and looks over to Clark - who looks down at the cup of tea in his hands.

“So?”

The super runs a hand through his hair, taking a moment to respond, but even then he seems confused, almost distressed, “It lines up, but I’ll be honest, Bruce. I don’t remember half of what they mentioned. Even the half I did remember… some of it I could barely recall.”

The vigilante stops, becoming too still to pause, and yet not stiff enough to freeze as he just stares at Clark. It’s only after a few beats of silence, and setting his cup to the side that he’s able to ask the only sensible question to a response like that, “What do you mean?”

Clark takes another second, running his hand down from his hair, to his neck and rubbing the muscle there, as if trying to soothe himself before taking in a deep breath, “Y’know that church [Last Name] mentioned? Yeah, I tried to do some research of my own, and went in as a curious journalist who was just trying to see what the church was like, and so on- you know how it is. I got there for the first sermon, bright and early, but when the pastor started to talk… well, the next thing I know is that I’m outside of the church, the service ended, and it’s now night. I was there all day, but didn’t remember any of it. I even checked my notes and everything- nothing. Like all I did was just… sit there, and then leave after everything was done.” It’s then that he looks at Bruce, distress a little clearer now.

“Of course, I tried a few more times, but the same thing kept happening, and the only thing that changed was that I started to feel sick- just really… gross and horrible all over, like going to each service was literally draining the energy out of me- and I noticed it wasn’t just the church either. I’d try to help out with bigger cases that dealt with the group and sometimes I’d just suddenly end up somewhere totally different, with no memory of how I got there, or what I did during that time.” He takes a breath, caressing the fragile china in his hands, and he raises the cup to his lips, but doesn’t take a sip right away. Instead, he lets it sit there, barely an inch in front of his face. “It wasn’t so bad at first. Just a few seconds or minutes lost with nothing really being done- it was harmless, just a little disorientating at times, but nothing to really worry about. But then… then it got longer the more I tried to help and involved myself with solving the problem. I lost countless minutes, even hours, and ended up in areas with little to no memory of how I got there, and decided it was best to pull away when an entire week had passed, with me having no memory of what happened, what I did, or where I even was- which was hundreds of miles away from Metropolis.”

It’s only as Clark takes another sip of his tea, which is a little cold by now, does Bruce use that opportunity to speak. Not only to get to the bottom of this, but to help his friend with this as well - since it’s clearly distressing the super one way or another.

“Do you think it’s some form of mind control?” When Clark shakes his head, Bruce gives him time to gather his thoughts and explain.

“I’m… not sure. Naturally, I tried to not get as involved, but couldn’t let the group spread or- or let them do whatever they wanted freely, so I asked for some help and it had… varying results.” He takes a moment to sigh, finishing the tea as he sets it to the side, and tries to find a way to say what he was thinking, “Some of those who are nonhuman were like me- they’d start to feel horribly sick after a few days, and lose track of time, starting out in small amounts, and eventually jumping to days and weeks, the others… well, they were like our human allies.”

The vigilante’s brows crease at that, “... Which means?”

Clark scratches the back of his neck, looking away as he tries to gather his thoughts, “I don’t know how exactly to explain it- but after some time, they’d become… too interested in the case. Trying to get more involved with things then they needed to be, and basically became… well, I don’t know if there’s a better term to use, but they almost seemed obsessed with the group, Bruce. It was.. horrible to watch, and I guess I just want to say…” he drags on, not sure if he should add more or not, but his heart gets the best of him, and he sighs heavily. Looking back at Bruce, he continues, “Please, be careful with this. You and your family. I really mean it, please.”

Bruce takes a moment to look at his friend, and take in the concerned look on his face. This wasn’t the first time the super had expressed his concerns, but if there was ever a moment that felt like Clark would genuinely do something if Bruce didn’t listen, or really wanted him to take what he was saying seriously, since Clark himself knew how Bruce is and could be - this would be one of them. The super was always openly and naturally caring, even if he worried too much at times, but something felt different this time around, and that was saying something.

Still, Bruce could only nod after a sigh of his own, “We’ll try our best,” is the best he could give.

… A moment of silence passes. With Alfred taking the opportunity to refill Clark’s cup, and allowing Bruce to finish his. It’s a gesture, in a way, to let the super relax, and to remind him that if he needed a small break, then he was more than welcome to take it here - and Clark seemed to realize that as he let himself ease slightly. This whole thing had taken its toll on the super, that was obvious from how he’s been acting all day thus far, and the worst part of it all was that it wasn’t even over. However, there also wasn’t an immediate need to acknowledge that right now, and so, both men took in this little breather, knowing they’d have to get back to work once it ended - and when that happens, who knows when they’ll get a chance to breathe like this again?

It’s that very thought that makes it stretch on for just a little longer, lasting until Bruce is on his second cup, and Clark is nearly on his third - and only then is it broken when Bruce asks, “What were you talking about before, when you said you didn’t think they’d ‘settle’ in Gotham too?”

With one last small sip, Clark says, “A while ago, I heard some of the voices I recognized as members of the group were getting further away, almost spreading out. I couldn’t tell where they were headed exactly, but they just seemed to… disburse. Go their separate ways,” a brow of his furrows again as he adds, “I don’t know if anything caused them to move, or if the directions they went in and the cities they possibly went to, was some calculated move- but I do suspect it was an organized effort. For what? I couldn’t say, but more mentions of that ‘Red Dawn’ [Last Name] talked about earlier did pop up around the city for a day or two before anyone went anywhere.”

Bruce hums at the information, taking mental notes before asking, “Is it possible that some members might still be in Metropolis and other cities near there?”

The super thinks for a moment, but eventually nods, “I wouldn’t see why not, and I could check to find out as many groups as I can, and try to keep you updated on that end.”

“That’d be a big help, Clark. Thanks,” Bruce gives a nod of his own, and Clark smiles.

“Of course! Anything to help, Bruce.”

———————————————

Despite the morning that had transpired, the night was relatively normal - it was for Jason, anyway. If anything, it seemed to lack a little more action than it usually did, but hey, the night was still young, and in Gotham it was always too early to make that kind of call.

Regardless, Jason just went about his night. Taking out a few criminals he ran into here and there, staying out of sight of his old man and Cass, the usual. Nothing stood out, and honestly Jason was starting to think that nothing outside of the ordinary would actually happen. Though, that is until he notices some shady looking people sneak their way behind a building, and hears a garage door open from where he was standing. Now, what was going on there…?

“BOO!”

Just as Jason took a step forward, about to tail the shady figures, he felt a sudden weight on his head, shoulders - which caused him to stumble on his footing, and though he barely caught himself, the vigilante found himself irritated as he yelped out a, “WHAT THE HELL-?!”

Giggling could be heard above him, “Did I scare ya? Admit it! I got you that time!” The grin was even evident in her voice, and Jason didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

“Get the hell off of me, Steph!” Jason hissed out instead, completely ignoring the fact he had ‘caught’ her on instinct, not wanting her to fall off and risk hurting herself with her reckless behavior.

“Aw, c’mon! I totally got you!” Stephanie said loudly with a laugh, only to yelp when she was practically thrown off of Jason’s shoulders, and even if she swiftly caught herself she still looked at Jason and huffs, crossing her arms, “Why can’t you just admit it? There’s no need to be so rude about it, y’know!”

Jason just scoffs, “You didn’t get me, okay? Just leave me alone, squirt.”

Stephanie, of course, doesn’t and sticks around - and as annoyed as Jason acts, he does little to actually push her away. The banter continues, and for a moment they are more than just two vigilantes, but instead, family in their own simple yet messy way. Both of their definitions of such a thing skewed, warped, and changed as they’ve grown up and lived through their lives, along with their definition of love, but now, something like that didn’t seem to matter. It didn’t, and even as they went after the shady figures Jason had seen earlier, it only seemed to matter less as the banter continued.

Dealing with crime in Gotham was always the same, and growing up on the streets made it easier to adapt to the different locations criminals liked to tuck themselves into - so much so that each location almost felt the same. The routine was familiar, sneak into the place, try to pick up on whatever was going on, and put a stop to it. Smugglers were common, nothing new, but what was curious was seeing how much of their supplies they had - guys must’ve been stacking up for weeks, maybe longer, but that didn’t matter. A trade of some kind was clearly going on, and as always, it was their job to figure out what was going on and to stop it.

Sticking to the shadows was second nature for numerous reasons, and the conversation they overheard sounded like the same one they’ve heard time and time again - seriously, did anyone ever think of something new to say? Or any other way to say things?

“You’ve got it?” “The load of it that was designated to us, yes.” “Is it ready?” “Yes.” “Are you certain?” “You know we can’t stall. Just take the load, and take it to the next destination.”

“Right.”

Just as the other spokes person made a gesture for the people behind them to gather the goods, that’s when the first strike was dealt. Stephanie had snuck up on a guy, and got things started, and as usual, the people pulled their guns - so Jason got to work.

Yet, just as he fired the first shot at someone’s shoulder, and they fired their own, did the vigilantes realize where the guns were actually pointed.

The criminals had their guns pointed at one another.

The shot Jason fired hit its mark, but so did the other as in one instance, Stephanie had someone in a chokehold, and in the next - there was no brain to send air too anymore. No eyes to roll back, and while the body went limp, what remained of the head was splattered on the young vigilante, and the space behind her.

More went off, and it took Jason a second too late to spring into action, and Stephanie a few more as the gunshots kept going off - and yet not a single bullet got close to her direction, unlike that first one. There was always a body in the way, and god, all she felt was sick. Though, when practically shoved to the side by Jason did she snap out of it a little, and try to save whoever was left.

They worked in a frenzy, trying to do what they could - even if Jason found out very quickly that just getting them out of the way wasn’t enough, as he heard a weird crunch come from the mouth of the woman he just saved, only for her to give a twisted smile before she started to seize, foam at the mouth, and he could do nothing as he watched her eyes roll to the back of her head but curse.

“DON’T LET THEM CLOSE THEIR MOUTHS! THEY’RE POISONING THEMSELVES!”

Oh, but Jason said it too late, as Stephanie also had the vial pleasure of watching the body seize and subsequently die in her arms despite her own attempts. They still tried, of course, because what else could they really do? Yet, the result was the same. It was like watching a massacre, except… well, the very people who died caused it.

All wasn’t lost as they were able to save two people out of the handful they had run into in the storage space, but at least it was something, right?

One of the criminals didn’t speak, and only glared at the vigilantes, while the other laughed suddenly as the two tried to catch their breaths. The man’s gruff laugh cutting through the deafening silence, blood now coating the walls, bodies lying about… how could anyone laugh at a time like this? Especially when his supposed comrades have just died right in front of him?... Not that the person glaring at them looks any more distraught or distressed at all by this turn of events.

When the man starts to speak, that sickened feeling Stephanie felt before grows, and a similar seed is planted in Jason’s gut - and that really said something, since they’ve heard maniacs go on all kinds of long winded rants unprompted… but this felt different. It lacked the sick humor of Joker explaining his schemes, or the thought and linguists put behind Riddler’s verbal puzzles, and just felt misplaced. As a pair, as vigilantes they’ve heard plenty of talks just like this, and yet… something about it stopped Jason from pulling the trigger early, or from either of them doing something to stop the man, and to just shut him up. Perhaps the sight they just witnessed was taking its toll on them now, but that coupled with this? This wasn’t just some run of the mill thing. This was deliberate, but wasn’t a trap either.

Still, the man goes on, even when his voice becomes hoarse as his vocals fight against the restraint put in between his teeth - just enough space to make him unable to not poison himself with… whatever chemical he had that’d do him in like the others who still had their heads intact. They strain as he wheezes out a laugh, actions rough for someone tied down, and left sitting on his ass. Just as his nails bloody as he scratches at his restraints, his own words scratch at his throat the more he speaks. So much so that instead of spit, blood flies out as he continues, going on about some higher being, how they’ve helped him see the light, and how just their presence alone has made him understand what ‘needs to be done’. How he knows they will guide him to a better end, because he can feel it when he’s close, that he is doing the right thing, and that they have become so connected with… whoever he’s describing, that even being in the city now satisfies him enough, and makes him see sense even in the most vial of situations.

It’s all nonsense, it has to be, of course it is - yet they listen anyway, unwillingly, unable to move, and he doesn’t stop. Will he ever?

“This world will experience a new beginning! A chance to be reborn anew, to be remade! And only by the best, as they are the only one who can be trusted with such a task!” The man’s laugh almost sounds like a bowl coupled with a growl at this point, “The skies will turn red, the night will vanish and be replaced with a light never seen before as we are all accepted into paradise! The sun will encapsulate the sky in a way it never has before, and reveal the true colors that the world has kept away from us! It will be one! We will be one! It was always meant to be one!”

Red runs down from his lips, and yet he continues despite the strain in his voice as his shouts become louder, practically booming in the small space, “The waters will churn like acid in the stomach, eyes will be drawn to the vessel who will bring upon the awakening of the world, and everyone’s hearts will be taken ahold of as they all come to realize that we are in good hands! Everyone should just accept the end for it is already upon us!” A wheeze escaped instead of a chuckle, but what it is intended to be is not lost on anyone.

“Just a few more measly days remain! Just a little longer and we will all be blessed with the sight of a new day! A new life! A new purpose! The Red Dawn w-”

Finally, it all comes to an abrupt end with one last gun shot. A shot, which goes through the man’s head, and pierces through it so cleanly, that it goes into the other person who was beside him, and drills a similar hole in their head - only stopping when it digs enough to crawl out of that second head, and land on the ground. The gleam of its shine almost innocent, as if it hadn’t killed the last two people who remained of the self-massacre - and now, it is only that. A complete, and utter massacre.

The shot brought both Stephanie and Jason out of the strange trance they found themselves under and tried to recover as quickly as they could. Jason sprung to action and tried to rush out and find whoever killed the people they tried to save- with Stephanie reporting to Bruce.

She tried to explain everything that had happened as hurriedly as she could, feeling sicker than ever and having to force herself to look away from the bodies, along the two new additions to the pile. Honestly, she didn’t even realize she had been hyperventilating until Bruce had her try to calm down, and take deep breaths - and yet every breath she took, she could only smell blood, earth, and an odd hint of something sweet that settled on the back of her tongue. Everything about it made her want to throw up, but she managed and tried to compose herself as much as she could.

When asked what was being smuggled, Stephanie looked over to the sacks stacked on top of each other neatly against the wall. Stepping over a few of the bodies, and trying to not look down more than she needed to - she took down one of the sacks and… what?

“It’s- it’s soil?” Why had these people killed themselves over this? There’s no way that this dirt could be worth dying over, right? Maybe it was a cover up. It has to be. It has to.

So, she cuts the bag open and soil spills out, except it looks… weird, “It- it’s either dirt or some weird moss, because there is no way this stuff is supposed to look this red.”

That does it for Bruce, and on his end, he quietly glances at Cassandra before looking out to the city once again, “Bring some of it in if you can, and bring Jason with you.” His voice is firm, and leaves no room for argument… as always.

[“Right, talk to you in a bit, B.”] With that, the connection is temporarily disconnected, and Bruce switches the lines, and immediately talks to Barbara again. Something about how while Superman is doing his search, they have to cover their own bases, and Barbara offers to call Dick to see if he’s run into something similar, and if he’s willing to help out here so they can get everything figured out faster, and Bruce lets her get to it would a simple thanks.

Cassandra can’t help but simply observe, curious as to what’s really going on, but getting a feeling that it’s nothing good. She can see that in the posture of Bruce, but it’s not just him - it’s the commissioner, the officers at the station, and so on. Yet kept so underwraps, that only does actively searching for it can feel it, as the civilians remain unaware, and go on with their lives. Though, something does bother her a little.

She didn’t see you much tonight, but when she did, you seemed just as tired and drained as you did the other night, and yet, there was no evidence of distress. Yes, there was some form of stress there, but you weren’t overly tense or even panicked, and while Cassandra didn’t know much, she could gather enough that something big could be happening. So why weren’t you more concerned? More… paranoid and just generally showed more signs of some inner turmoil like her father? You’ve been involved in this case for longer than he has, and yet… you’re the calmest one compared to everyone else. Cassandra can’t help but wonder why.

… Perhaps it’s about time she helped out in whatever was going on.

#yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfam x reader #yandere dc x reader #yandere x gn reader #gn reader #yandere batfamily #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere duke thomas #the red dawn

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chrollogy · 3 months ago

Text

SIGNED: LOVESICK FOOL #03

iwaizumi hajime x f!reader

masterlist

synopsis: After reading the new confession during his lecture, it takes all of Iwaizumi’s sanity not to get up, and leave in the middle of class, especially after coming to a conclusion that these confessions are indeed written by you.

chapter content warning: college au, fluff :3, friends to lovers, iwa is an impatient man !!, they’re kinda awkward, kissing omg, not beta read.

word count: 2.7k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. weee last chapter ! thank u sm for showing love n interest to this hehe this was totally an unplanned series so apologies if the pacing is meh :3

Oikawa was just teasing, Iwaizumi knew it but why did the brunette’s words fuck him up so bad? Did he finally succumb to his delusions for his friend’s words to make him overthink this bad? If anything, Iwaizumi should be completely rational about the whole situation since one wrong move would cost the price of your friendship.

A couple of days had passed since the former had shown him the confession, he’s been trying to act very indifferent over it despite those words from Oikawa but nothing helps when most—if not all—students were talking about dimples which were mentioned on the post.

Now that the anonymous submitter had specified their best friend’s features, students were on the prowl for anyone with dimples—which was exactly what Oikawa had done during that night in their shared dorm.

It repeated in his mind like a broken record, taking up most of its space, and leaving no room to even think of anything else. What would he do? What would Iwaizumi do if these confessions were actually from you?

As far as he knows, it’s strictly fifty-fifty as of now—a fifty percent chance that they were from you because as vague as the first confession was, the second somewhat mirrored yesterday’s events with you. But also a fifty percent chance that this was all an uncanny coincidence, and Iwaizumi was just overthinking it. After all, he didn’t want to jump into any conclusions without a concrete reason.

For now, he ruled it as a mere coincidence. Waiting for another confession to confirm anything would probably be the best idea here, though, of course, that was if you—or the real person behind these submissions—were going to send in another.

Iwaizumi didn’t want to admit it—especially to Oikawa—but he was kind of looking forward to the next confession, even going as far as turning on the notifications for the page. Embarrassing, he knows but for one to underestimate a yearning man was like walking into a fight determined to lose. Though, Iwaizumi wouldn’t even know how to approach the situation if he were to get the confirmation he needed; would he confront you about it? That wasn’t really his style to do so, he could already imagine how awkward it was going to be—tripping over his words, and all crimson-cheeked.

Oddly enough, your words back at the study room last week equally bothered Iwaizumi, he couldn’t specify what about it made him feel this way.

Nevermind that, he needed to focus on the lecture material at hand. Or at least he tried to.

He sat inside the vast lecture hall filled with students, it wasn’t too packed nor was it too empty, just enough to freely give Iwaizumi the pleasure of choosing a seat where he could quietly take notes but also maybe slack a bit without their professor noticing—a few rows back from the middle. It was always like this whenever a new semester started, all students would attend their lectures for about a week straight before the numbers dwindled where a majority of them would rather watch their lectures at the comfort of their room, leaving a fair number of students who actually attended in-person.

The professor’s monotonous voice echoed throughout the lecture theatre—into Iwaizumi’s ear, and out. Despite his interest in the topic at hand, he couldn’t take his mind off you. He figured he might have to rewatch the recorded lecture once he’s back at his dorm to jot down important concepts.

Iwaizumi managed to force himself to actually listen in, even if it was half-assed, though this was only effective for five minutes or so due to his phone vibrating inside his pocket. As if on cue, his mind immediately wandered to the confessions page, what if it was another submission from that anonymous—from you. His hand itched to dip inside his pocket, and check the notification but at the same time, Iwaizumi didn’t want to be more distracted than he already was.

His mind chalked it up to a text from either Oikawa or you but that didn’t really do much—even just the thought of getting a text from you made him all the more curious about this random notification.

Oh fuck it.

Unceremoniously dropping his pen onto the desk, it rolled off to the edge, finding its comfort atop the carpeted floors just beside his foot. He’d get that later. Iwaizumi sank further into his seat as if doing so would somewhat shield him from the embarrassment that engulfed his body; acting this way over something so little, Oikawa wouldn’t let him see the end of it for sure.

A stutter bloomed inside Iwaizumi’s chest as his dark emerald eyes read the notification title—it was from the page. They had posted a new confession just a few minutes ago. Without wasting any more time, his thumb flew over to the notification. Iwaizumi didn’t know he had been holding his breath after releasing it once he was met with a loading screen.

There was nothing to be afraid of, really.

After a few seconds, the screen finally loaded, Iwaizumi’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the bottom of the post, checking to see if it was submitted by the same anonymous sender. It read,

Signed: Lovesick Fool

A wave of excitement washed over his body at those familiar words. Iwaizumi had to physically stop himself from smiling like a whole idiot over this, his free hand coming up to over the lower half of his face, hoping that his fellow classmates couldn’t see how silly he looked. Putting on the most stoic expression he could muster, Iwaizumi began reading,

‘I know you’ve seen the other confessions I’ve written, and you’ll most likely see this too.’

He sucked in a breath. The professor’s voice spilled from the lecture theatre’s speakers but it was muffled, and soft, it faded into a sweet, thumping melody—the melody of Iwaizumi’s heart; he could hear nothing but the pounding of the beast confined in his ribcage.

‘This sounds really really pathetic but fuck, everything you do just makes me hopelessly in love with you. The way your eyes light up every time you talk about your interests, the way you get kinda mad at me for being reckless at times only because you care—the list could go on and on. I hope you know that I love you with all my heart and soul and that I would gladly make you as much agedashi tofu as you want.’

Iwaizumi’s eyes fixated on two words, agedashi tofu.

To many, that may seem like an irrelevant, misplaced piece of information—completely random—but to Iwaizumi, it meant everything because not only was that his favourite but it also confirmed his suspicions, that you were the one behind these popular confessions, and you had just confessed how in love you were with him.

This was too much to even be deemed a coincidence. Dimples. His favourite food.

Warmth—no, a searing blaze. That was the only thing Iwaizumi could feel right now, not even the pounding of his chest, not even the tremble of his hands, not even the shortness of his breath but the burning of a thousand stars—fiery. As though an azure flame had been born in the depths of his chest.

Iwaizumi needed to see you now.

Twenty minutes. It had only been twenty minutes since the lecture started which meant Iwaizumi had to sit through another forty minutes before he could see you. Forty long minutes of squirming in his seat, and repeatedly glancing at the large digital clock on the wall. Forty long minutes of gnawing at the skin of his bottom lip, and impatiently bouncing his leg up, and down to ease the nerves eating him up.

If only Iwaizumi knew how to control time then he wouldn’t be facing this problem.

You might have fucked up. Maybe adding in a crucial piece of information—his favourite food—may have not been the smartest move; of course, others won’t bat an eye at it but the target audience, however—also known as one Iwaizumi Hajime—would immediately pick up on this. Though, what’s done was done, you just somehow wish that he wouldn’t come across this specific confession even though that’d be one-hundred percent unlikely.

Gnawing at your bottom lip, your eyes read through the paragraphs on your textbook, trying not to think of your most recent confession, and instead diverted your attention on the lecture material. It was going well ‘til your phone lit up, indicating a notification.

Wasting no time to check it, you sucked in a breath after seeing Iwaizumi’s name on the notification tab. It was a message from him, he must’ve just finished his afternoon lecture.

Okay. Okay. Having lunch together wasn’t foreign at all but you seemed even more nervous about it now, not to mention how Iwaizumi sounded so serious over text—well, maybe you were just being dramatic, that was how he normally texted. Though, the fact that he had to follow up with another message saying that only the two of you would be having lunch was a little odd. Iwaizumi was never one to specify these kinds of things.

It took Iwaizumi approximately seven minutes to walk from his lecture theatre to the library, three if he decided to do a light jog. As your figure came into view, sitting on a study desk amongst all the other students in the jam packed library floor, it reminded him of your confessions.

How had he been so oblivious to your feelings? Just the thought of you keeping all that to yourself gave Iwaizumi the urge to wrap his arms around you in a tight hug. Maybe later.

He greeted you with a small wave of his hand which you eagerly returned. The little gesture tugged at his heartstrings, and weakened his knees; now that Iwaizumi knew you reciprocated his feelings, he figured he deserved to let his guard down a little—this time, he won’t push them down like he used to do.

As you quietly packed things inside your bag, Iwaizumi took the pleasure of discretely watching you from the corner of his eyes. He stood by the study desk you sat on, thumb mindlessly scrolling on his phone while his gaze was on you.

The way the afternoon sun bounced off your glowing skin had him sucking in a breath. God, you looked effortlessly breathtaking as always. His eyes traced the outline of your features, gaze gently kissing every dip, and curve of your face, from the tint of your lips all the way to the length of your lashes. Iwaizumi looked off to the side, warmth bloomed from his chest, and crept up the column of his neck ‘til it cupped his cheeks.

“Let’s go?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, wary of fellow students studying. Iwaizumi returned a nod, and stiffly led the way.

He could feel everything wrong with his movements—the way his legs felt weird, the awkward stride in each step, how his arms felt heavy against his sides. It was as though Iwaizumi’s body wasn’t insynched, he was all over the place yet the only thing that remained constant was his yearning heart.

You fell into a step next to Iwaizumi, clearly aware of his silence. Usually, he’d be talking your ear off about today’s lecture despite not understanding a single thing from your end but all you got was nothing. Sneaking a glance to the side, you caught a glimpse of a slight scowl on his face, one that he usually put on when in deep thought.

The warmth of your body slowly seeped on to his own, your hand was centimetres away from his, and it beckoned him like a sweet, sweet temptation, an invisible string pulling, and pulling his hand closer to yours until—

Both of you flinched at the subtle contact, a slight brush of his knuckles against yours yet it was as though his skin burned like an azure blaze.

“Oh, sorry.” Iwaizumi gave you a sheepish look, rubbing his nape with the hand that touched yours. You shook your head, mumbling a small ‘it’s okay’ but was it really when the warmth of your cheeks, and the beating of your heart said otherwise?

The touch was momentarily yet it was as though you’ve caught a glimpse of great ecstasy, the feeling of Iwaizumi’s bare skin against your own had you yearning for more like a touch starved man. You couldn’t quite figure out why he’s been acting so foreign lately but you weren’t much better yourself.

Ever since last week, the air between you, and Iwaizumi has turned weird—as if the two of you danced around each other but took no further step to initiate anything; whatever that anything was, you didn’t know.

The abrupt sound of his shoes against the pavement reeled you away from your thoughts. Looking behind you, you’ve noticed that Iwaizumi had come to a stop, hands balled beside him, and a tinge of crimson on the tips of his ears.

Confusion clouded your mind, “You oka—” “The confessions.” Iwaizumi cut you off. Your heart violently stuttered.

“Those are from you, right? The ones signed with ‘lovesick fool’.”

Oh, how badly you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. Your nails dug into the hearts of your palms, words lodged inside your throat but didn’t dare come out, all you could really do was stare at Iwaizumi wide-eyed as embarrassment stuck to your body like a leech.

Two options: act like you don’t know anything or run away but seeing as how serious Iwaizumi was, you figured he didn’t have time for silly games.

“How did you—oh my god this is so embarrassing.” Just the thought of pouring your heart out into those confessions, and Iwaizumi fully aware that you were behind them was enough reason to crawl into a hole, and disappear forever. Not to mention how he most likely didn’t even reciprocate your feelings.

Iwaizumi took a few steps closer, a small smile danced on his lips. Oh, so he was finding this all funny, huh? But somehow it gave you a tinge of hope that rejection was out of the picture.

“If I’m being honest, you gave it away from the first confession,” Your eyes widened at his words, trying to rethink back on the first confession you submitted. What the hell. You were so sure to be careful, and vague about it. “Well, not the confession itself but what you said when Oikawa read it out loud,”

“You said something about how it was a long term friendship yet the confession never mentioned anything like that—”

Oh. So, in conclusion, you fucked up.

“—not to mention the dimples in the second confession, and agedashi tofu on the third.”

You buried your face in your palms, turning into putty—not the good kind—as the words came out of Iwaizumi’s mouth. Never mind rejection, this was more embarrassing, definitely a core memory for the books, one that you’d never read.

“Look at me.” He softly chuckled but you were stubborn, shaking your head behind your palms.

Iwaizumi let out a sigh before his hands came up to your own, gently guiding them away from your face to meet your gaze. He didn’t stop there, Iwaizumi held your hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze that matched his reassuring smile.

“Are you gonna reject me now?” “Close your eyes.”

Huffing at the way he ignored your question, you obliged anyway, fluttering your eyes shut. At least this was one step better than being rejected on the spot. All you could feel was the warmth of his hand, and the violent pounding of your heart against your chest.

What was he even up to?

Iwaizumi traced your features with his gaze, dropping down, down, down ‘til it found your lips.

After a heartbeat, you felt something warm press against your face—no, your lips. It was only for a brief moment yet you craved its softness, his softness more than anything. You opened your eyes to see a crimson-faced Iwaizumi, he was just as shell-shocked as you were by his own actions.

“Did that—did that answer your question?” “You’re absolutely unbelievable. Kiss me again.”

Iwaizumi didn’t have to be told twice. This time, he did so with more passion. He was going to kiss you as many times as you wished, maybe until all the air in his lungs ran out if it meant your happiness. Because now, he wasn’t going to let you go, not when the taste of this beginning was so, so sweet.

Maybe pouring your heart out to the university confessions page wasn’t a stupid move at all.

—

tags: @stunie @akumakitsune21 @boosyboo9206 @khfviq @avis-writeshq @elliesndg @1929sleepdeprived @wakashudou @lillycore @viscoolreal @lialia3945 @softpia @anqelkoz @tar0sw0rld @nwhaerin @kiyuwumi @seroh @eggyrocks @jellysupremacy @songofgratitude @gsyche @haikyuusunsalad @smellysluna @amoosarte @bbyxxm @fiannee @tiramisu4uu @hoshhhiiiii

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum & @the-all-stars-network !

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