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paradiseprincesss · 4 months

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Omg omggg I love having people to talk about our favorite supervillain!!!🥹🥹 I want to talk about this concept!! Hehe

Jonathan Crane would sooo love having an innocent gf, like just imagine Y/n being a family friend of Rachel’s, she’s a student teacher (studying to be a kindergarten teacher) and is living with Rachel through her collage years and meets Jon when some of Rachel’s court paperwork gets mixed up with Y/n’s teacher ones, like imagine she’s rushing to get them to Rachel and literally runs INTO Jonathan but gets knocked over and the papers go flying because he is a TALL man lmao. She’s profusely apologizing and Jonathan just has his eyebrows raised in confusion and a frown, which then turns into a smirk when she says she’s looking for her friend Rachel (Jonathan sees an opportunity to use Y/n to get to Rachel) Omggg but like imagine Y/n being oblivious to the danger and is just so sweet and adorable to Jonathan that he can’t go through with it🥹

His court look🔥🔥🔥

Who allowed him to be this gorgeous (and insane) WHO????

tattooed heart - jonathan crane x reader

masterlist

notes: i did not specify the readers major sorry sorry! but i had tattooed heart on repeat while writing this and i was like that song is jonathan cranes gf coded.

word count: 5.9k

summary: you're rachel dawes's college-aged childhood best friend and roommate, and one day your lecture notes get mixed up with her court documents. in a rush to bring the correct papers to her at the courthouse, you bump into none other than doctor jonathan crane.

warnings: smut 18+ mdni, swearing, kissing, p in v, creampie and general smut lol

as you were getting ready for the day, you applied your blush in the mirror, cheeks all rosy and pink, matching your soft pink nails. perfect, you thought to yourself as you added the final touches to your makeup, and looked through your closet for something to wear.

rummaging through your wardrobe, you settle on a white and pink floral print mini dress, perfect for summer, and pair it with some white stilettos. you did your hair up in your favourite hairstyle, and sprayed yourself with your favourite perfume.

you were getting ready to go to brunch with your girlfriends as it was a gorgeous day outside, and the girls from your college were planning to have a little get together. as you were grabbing your purse, your phone started to go off. looking at the screen, you notice it was your long time friend, rachel.

you were currently rooming with her since you were in college full-time, and the two of you were super close - inseparable, honestly. she had told you that you could move in with her, as she had a two bedroom home but she lived there alone.

the two of you go way back - she used to babysit you when you were younger, as her mother was best friends with yours. despite her being almost a decade older than you, you guys got along wonderfully. you had known each other ever since you were young, and the longstanding friendship between you two was something you both cherished deeply.

“hello?” you say, answering the phone.

“hey, so please don't hate me," she whines over the phone, "but i accidentally grabbed your papers instead of my court documents, i must've gotten them mixed up this morning."

"shoot - uh, okay. i'll be there in like twenty minutes and i'll bring them to you. where are they?" you ask her.

"the dining table, or somewhere in the kitchen - gotta go, see you in a bit. love you, your the best!" she says, hanging up.

sighing, you collect her stack of papers from the dining table, and grab your purse as you head out. the drive to the courthouse luckily wasn't too far off from where you were supposed to meet your friends, as the restaurant was only about a five minute drive from there.

putting your car into park, you grab her belongings along with yours, and step out your car, locking it behind you. as your high heels clicked against the ground, you looked around to see if maybe you could spot her. the inside of the courthouse was busy, and you were trying to find her as quick as possible since you knew this was a time sensitive matter.

you look through hallways and doorways, but didn't see rachel anywhere. you continue to pace up and down the halls, peering into empty rooms, trying to spot her. finally - you saw her standing at the end of a hallway near the back of the courthouse, and you rush over to her in your stilettos.

suddenly, with an "oof," you felt the wind get knocked out of you as the papers went flying. luckily, you didn't fall or anything, but every single sheet of paper did. as you glanced up, you noticed a very tall, (and very handsome) man in a suit and tie with glasses - and intoxicatingly blue eyes. the man stood at a good height of around six foot three, and managed to tower over you even with your high heels on.

"i-i'm so sorry." you say, flustered.

the handsome stranger raises a brow at you, seemingly irritated. he didn't appear to be too friendly, and he spoke sharply after you apologized. "you should really be more careful." he says to you, leaning down to help you grab your papers.

"o-of course," you stammer as he hands you the papers, "thank you, i'm sorry again. i was just in such a rush to get these to my friend, rachel, over there." you point to rachel, who finally noticed you, and ushered you over.

"miss dawes?" he asks, his tone shifting to something more curious, "you're a friend of hers?"

"she's known me ever since i was in elementary school. she mixed her papers up with my lecture notes this morning, so hence why i'm here bringing these to her." you say innocently, holding up the court documents. "i'm sorry, again."

he eyed you curiously for a moment, before smirking slightly. "that's quite alright. i never got your name, actually."

you tell him your name, and he responds to you once more, but his tone seemingly shifted into one much softer than before. "beautiful name, really."

before you had a chance to react, who you presumed to be another lawyer had rushed over to the two of you before speaking to jonathan.

"doctor crane, you're needed in the courtroom. mr. zsasz's legal team would like a word." he says in a hushed manner, before making his way back into the courtroom he came from.

"wait, you're jonathan crane?" you ask him with surprise.

you'd heard a lot about his work, it was phenomenal. he had made multiple headlines with his breakthroughs in psychology and psychopharmacology. his name was plastered on papers and articles, and he was very well-known in gotham for his achievements in his field, especially at only thirty-two years old.

"indeed i am." he says softly, and you could've sworn you saw fight back a smile.

"'i've heard about your work, it's incredible what you're doing." you tell him, to which he simply shakes his head.

"i respect the mind's power over the body," he says to you simply, "it's why i do what i do."

for a moment, you swore time stopped as the two of you locked eyes; his electrifyingly blue ones staring right into yours. however, that moment was cut short as a voice you recognized called out behind you.

"there you are!" rachels voice brings you out of your thoughts, causing you to turn around, "i told you to come over there, carl wanted to say hi." she points to carl finch, who was waving at you from a distance before returning to his conversation with someone else.

"right, sorry. i accidentally bumped into jonathan." you say with a smile, glancing at him, but rachel doesn't seem too happy to see him.

"doctor crane." she says as she acknowledges him unenthusiastically, clearly unimpressed with his presence.

"miss. dawes." he says back, just as annoyed, before changing his tone back to sweet and soft as he looks at you. "i'm afraid i have some matters to attend to, however, it was lovely meeting you. perhaps be a little more careful on your way out - don't want you bumping into anyone else." he said almost teasingly, before swiftly going back to where he was needed.

you smile to yourself, staring at the tall man as he walked away.

"don't tell me you bumped into jonathan crane of all people." rachel says, and you raise your brow.

"what? he seems nice, honestly." you tell her, but to that she scoffs.

"nice? god, no. i'm surprised he didn't rip you to shreds for bumping into him." she tells you, clearly irritated at just the thought of him. "i find it strange, you know. every time i try to get one of falcone's thugs locked up, he somehow gets the court to agree that their insane, and puts them into arkham."

as she was telling you this, it was going in one ear and right out the other, as your mind was too busy with the racing thoughts of doctor jonathan crane. his intoxicating smile, his baby blue eyes, everything about him was gorgeous - not to mention his height!

now, jonathan on the other hand, was thinking of you for an entirely different reason. yes, he found you to be pretty - beautiful, actually, he thought you were stunning, but that didn't stop him from seeing you as a means to get to rachel. jonathan crane was an opportunist, he was already plotting the second you told him you and rachel were practically sisters.

he figured that if he got close to you, he would get closer to rachel - meaning it would be easier to take her down and get her to stop sniffing around. he wasn't entirely sure how he was going to do it yet - though he had a few plans that he'd thought of. his first idea was to threaten you, scare you into giving information over about her, perhaps if he scared you enough, you would tell rachel to stop meddling with his plans.

but that didn't seem airtight enough. however...there was another idea that struck him - and it seemed to be the safer (and smarter) option. he would make you believe that he was falling for you, get you to trust him - and then once he had your heart in his hands, use you as leverage to get rachel to stay out of his way.

it was simple, really. he wasn't going to seriously harm you, just kidnap you once you let your guard down, then use you as ransom (hm, more like hostage) to persuade rachel to step down from any current and future cases where he had to act as an expert witness.

"are you listening?" rachels voice brought you back to reality, and you nod while she looks through her papers. "yeah - sorry, i'm late to this thing i have with my friends. i gotta go." you say, waving goodbye to her and checking your phone, realizing you needed to leave.

you swiftly drove over to brunch with your girlfriends, and the whole time, you found yourself fixated on the thought of jonathan. there was something about him, something that made your heart swell. perhaps it was his gorgeous eyes, or maybe it was that stunningly chiseled face - whatever it may be, he had a hold on your heart, that was for sure.

after saying your goodbyes to your friends after brunch, you headed off to the grocery store to run some errands. the sun was shining brightly, and the weather was gorgeous, so you decided to spend as much of your day outside as you could. as you were grabbing some apples from one of the produce bins, you turned around and-

ugh, not again!

you felt your body collide into someone else's, and you internally slapped yourself; why twice in one day?!

as you were about to start profusely apologizing, you noticed that you were eye level with a very familiar suit and tie - looking up, you see none other than jonathan crane; and this time, he's actually smiling.

"clumsy one, aren't you?" he teases, and you blush.

"i just can't seem to escape you, i guess," you say back, your pink blush accentuating the apples of your cheeks, "i didn't expect to literally bump into you again so soon."

"i had to run some errands, figured i'd do it after the whole court thing." he says. "actually, i never had the chance to ask you for your number."

when he said that, you started to actually blush profusely, and you managed to stammer out a response. "o-oh, yeah, right."

"yeah so, can i grab it from you?" he asked teasingly, with a small smile.

"o-oh, yes totally." you say, flustered, and he gives you his phone to put your contact information into. after taking it back from you, he asked you a question. "are you busy at all tonight? i know it's a long shot, but..."

"i'm not, actually," you say back, "i don't have any classes for the next few days, it's a reading break."

"well, in that case - how about you join me for dinner tonight?" he asks softly, and you could feel your heart racing.

"yeah, that works. just text me the details then?" you say.

"will do," he says, shamelessly checking you out once more, "try not to bump into anyone else, seriously." he playfully teases, and you laugh softly.

that same evening, you had finished getting ready for your date with jonathan. you opted for a classy, but sexy, look for tonight, and threw on your favourite heels. with your hair freshly done and your makeup on point, you felt pretty - you looked pretty.

spraying on a few spritz of your favourite perfume, you grab your purse and head outside of your place to meet jonathan, as he had texted you that he was here. you felt your stomach do little flips on your way to his car, and even though you were a grown woman, you still felt like a silly school girl with a crush around him.

you spotted his car parked outside your apartment building - a brand new, 3 series bmw with blackout tinting, and gun metal coloured paint. stepping to the passenger door, he reaches over and pushes it open for you, and you get in.

"wow," he says softly, "you look gorgeous, darling."

his tone (and words, duh) made you blush, and you notice he's still in a suit - just a slightly different one, and this time, no sweater vest. "thank you," you say sweetly, "you look really good, too."

"ah, i appreciate it, darling." he tells you, smiling as he speeds off onto the road, driving ever so recklessly - which you thought was hot.

the night went flawlessly, jonathans plan was definitely working out the way he had hoped. the two of you talked endlessly over multiple glasses of wine and dinner, really getting to know each other on a personal level.

he told you all about his time in college, and why he chose to work in the field of psychology, which you found fascinating. you had always liked a mature, well spoken, and intelligent man. you'd told him about your current major, the classes you were taking and your passion for it, which he found endearing. he thought you were absolutely intelligent and found you extremely well spoken for someone your age.

you were just so...sweet. so kind, affectionate, and innocent. again, even if you didn't look that innocent, your personality shone through your exterior - and my goodness did he think you were adorable. your kindness was unmatched.

now, jonathan had originally set this plan into motion to take rachel down (obviously), but he found himself getting slightly distracted with you. sure, he wanted nothing more than to get rachel dawes to stop sniffing around his rather illegal and criminal activities, however, you were far more interesting than he had originally thought. yes, he thought you were jaw-dropping, stunning, gorgeous, angelic (the list just goes on...) when he first met you, but he simply thought you were a pretty face and nothing more.

but boy, was he wrong. you were so much more than that, you were magnificent in his eyes. he was wondering how the hell you didn't already have a boyfriend, as it seemed someone like you would have men lining up just to have a chance with you.

you were thinking the same thing, unbeknownst to him. it was insane, really. he was undeniably handsome, and my goodness was he smart - a man dedicated to his job and passions, so brilliant and ambitious, but yet he didn't have a woman in his life. you thought surely the universe was on your side when it caused the two of you to cross paths.

it had been approximately a month since you and jonathan had gone on your first date - and many more followed. the two of you were enamoured with each other, unable to leave one another alone. he was a busy man, he worked a lot - but he made exceptions when it came to you. he'd never done that before.

he mentally cursed at himself for acting like a lovesick fool, but fuck, he couldn't stop himself if he tried. for a man with such self control; he lost all his inhibitions when it came to you. he was so cold, so calculated and cynical...was he not? well, not around you. his cold, frozen heart was melting, and he hated it - sort of.

he hated that you happened to be the one person he was going to use as a pawn in order to get to rachel - but on the other hand, he couldn't deny how he felt. he always thought love was a waste of time, why be in a relationship when there is no use for such a thing? hm, well - you changed his mind on that, too. he wanted so desperately to be your man, the one for you. the one who got to hold you at night, for you to be the one he came home to after a particularly stressful day at work, the one with his last name - ugh, he was turning soft! and of course it had to be with you of all people.

tonight, jonathan had been working late when suddenly, a guard had knocked on his office door.

"yes?" he asked curtly, "what is it?"

the officer sighed as he opened the office door, "miss dawes from the DA's office is here to see you. she has more questions."

"tell her that i do not have the time for any more silly questions-"

"she brought that girl you always talk about with her."

"...i will be there shortly." he says, sighing as he puts his glasses back on.

okay so, jonathan may have let it slip that he was going out with you to his coworker a few weeks ago. this one coworker had asked him if he could help file a report, but jonathan had a date with you that night, so he had casually said something along the lines of "no, i've got a date with this girl," and the coworker was shocked.

jonathan crane was going on a date? and he was telling people about it? that was huge news, and it soon turned into workplace gossip. jonathan was seething but i mean, he did it to himself, and this was the exact reason why he always kept his personal life separate from work.

jonathan made his way down from his office to go see rachel and you. he wasn't sure why you were here, but he didn't care. it didn't matter as long as he got to see you.

"miss dawes," he says, walking up to her, whilst softly smiling at you. however, once he looked back at her, his stone cold demeanour returned. "this is most irregular - i have nothing further to add to the report i've filed with the judge."

"i have questions about your report." she says nonchalantly, and you watch the interaction between the two of them.

you had driven her here, as her car was currently at the mechanics for maintenance, you had offered. that's what best friends do, after all. you'd insisted that you wait in the car for her, as you didn't want to come off as intruding on him at work, but she said it wasn't safe for you to wait all alone, in the dark, in gotham at an asylum parking lot. you couldn't lie - she had a point.

"uh, i'm just going to wait in the car, i think." you say to them both quietly, but rachel shakes her head. "nonsense, i'll only be a minute. like i said, i have questions, doctor crane."

"such as?" he asks.

"isn't it convenient for a fifty-two year old man who has no history of mental illness to suddenly have a complete psychotic breakdown just when he's about to be indicted?" she sneers, and he stares at her with a cold, emotionless stare.

"well, as you can see for yourself, there's nothing convenient about his symptoms." he says smoothly, and you notice behind the glass window, who appears to be carmine falcone is on a medical bed, incoherently mumbling to himself.

the two of them continue their little verbal quarrel, and you couldn't help but feel a little out of place, and perhaps, a little awkward as well as you watched the man you were falling in love with and your best friend argue over this.

eventually, rachel had threatened him saying she had paged another doctor at county general to go over falcones toxicology report, as she wanted to know exactly what crane had put him on. jonathan looked like he was holding his tongue, and you could tell he was getting irritated - you could see it in the way he was clenching his jaw silently.

he softly looked over at you, saying your name sweetly. "would you care to join me downstairs, darling?" he says, then turns back to rachel, looking annoyed. "perhaps we should discuss this another time, miss dawes."

"she is not going anywhere, especially with you." rachel sneered, and you huffed.

"okay, enough. i think we should all just take a breather, and just chill for a second. i'll be back, okay rachel? i told jonathan- er, doctor crane, that i was intrigued about his work here. he just wants to show me around; i asked the last time i saw him." you tell her, looking between her and jonathan.

rachel knew that you had been seeing him, and she was supportive (well, as best as she could be) since she adored you, but she despised him. she just couldn't wrap her around how someone as diabolical as him could get along with someone as sweet as you.

"fine, okay." she sighs, and jonathan softly takes your hand in his, leading you to an elevator that looked to be quite old and rigid, but you pushed it aside.

he took a key and turned it, as wherever he was taking you was clearly a restricted access area, and the two of you stood side by side, hand in hand as the elevator went downstairs.

yes - this was all part of jonathans plan to cut rachel out of the picture, to get her away from his criminal plans and secret toxins that he had been putting into gothams water supply. he was going to gas you next, as he knew rachel would come looking for you, then hold you for ransom (again, more like hostage), until rachel agreed to stop getting involved and dropped her involvement in any cases he worked all together.

as the elevator dinged, he stepped out first, leading the way with his hand resting gently on your back; the feeling was electrifying. his hands on you - it was driving you crazy. jonathan wasn't a very trusting person, so the two of you had gone on countless dates - but he didn't ask you out yet, ask you to be his, and you guys hadn't actually had sex yet, which you found a little endearing, if you were being honest. it seemed like he respected you and wanted more than just a quick hookup.

"this way, please." he says, his voice saccharine as he talks to you. as you follow his lead, he then takes your hand in his once more, and pushes a large, heavy, metal door open. you followed him, hand in hand, and continued to go along with whatever it was he was doing. you didn't think twice about it; you never felt a sense of danger near him.

glancing down from the top of a cascading staircase, you see what appeared to be inmates or patients of arkham asylum, in their jumpsuits, working with various chemicals and pouring them into some sort of water supply - a sewerage of some sort, maybe? you blink a few times, but eventually you look over at him with an innocent and adorably confused expression.

jonathan pauses for a moment, looking down at you and your small frame in comparison to his, and takes note of how cute you truly were. god, you were so pretty. sighing, he continued, trying his hardest not to let you affect him in any way. "this is where we make the medicine," he says, "perhaps you should..."

he trailed off before he could say "have some," unable to finish his sentence, and you look at him with that adorable pout that you had many times before.

he couldn't go through with it. this was the final part of his plan! he was supposed to hold you hostage! how else was he going to get rid of rachel dawes and stop her from meddling? you were like, his last resort, or something along those lines.

sighing, he shook his head. "no, i can't do this to you." he says, his voice soft, matching his expression.

"what are you talking about?" you ask innocently, as if you were oblivious to the scene around you. one thing about you was that you tended to see the good in people; even if others found them distasteful, you managed to see their best qualities.

therefore, when jonathan took you into some kind of illegal, criminal chemical distribution and production centre for his fear toxin, you innately looked past it - a typical you thing to do. they do say that ignorance is bliss, right?

jonathan eyed you curiously - were you serious? "do you know where you are right now?" he asked, tone still soft as he spoke to you.

"yeah, arkham asylum." you respond cutely, and he almost laughed. you were so adorable - so sweet.

"no- like, where we are right now, as in where we're standing." he clarifies, hoping you would understand.

"a lab?" you ask hopefully, and he nods, looking at you with a small smile.

"something like that, yes," he laughs softly, "you don't see the problem here?"

you tilt your head to the side to really emphasize your confusion, and jonathan feels this strange sensation in his chest - almost like there were butterflies flying around freely in there. "well, should i see a problem with this?" you ask innocently.

"yes," he says, "yes, you should. does this not bother you at all?"

"not really, no."

"but why?"

"cause i like you." you say, and he goes quiet.

you like him? you like him? you like him. for some reason, this makes his heart beat about a million miles a minute, and he gets flustered - nearly choked up. jonathan crane of all people wasn't one to ever be at a loss for words, but love changes us in ways we wouldn't dream of.

for a moment, you thought you'd really fucked up this time. he was quiet for so long, you thought perhaps you should take it back - save yourself before it was too late; confessing your feelings when they weren't mutual was one of the most embarrassing things that you felt could happen to you. but, before you could take back your little confession, his hands were on your waist, pulling you close to him.

his expression was something you'd never seen before, almost like he was searching your eyes for any trace of a lie, really trying to see if you were being honest with him. vulnerability didn't come easy to jonathan, and his walls were up so high - they were almost unbreakable.

almost.

as he pulled you close, his hands rested on your waist gently, pulling you flush against his body as he looked down at you. "you have feelings for me?" he asked quietly, and you nod.

"of course i do, i thought it was obvious..." you say just as quietly, your eyes trailing over his pink, plush lips.

suddenly, he was pulling you into a gentle kiss, which you immediately melted into, letting yourself fall into him. neither of you fought the fall this time, especially not jonathan.

"i need you," he whispered against your lips, "i think i-" he stopped himself, his heart skipping and his brain short circuiting from the thought of finishing his sentence.

"hm?" you ask cutely, pulling away from the kiss.

"i think i love you." he says quickly, and you smile sweetly at him. "i know i love you." you reassure him, and he smiles back at you. "darling, you truly are something else."

before you knew it, the two of you were sneaking away as if you were teenagers again. he took you through the staff only parts of the asylum, and eventually led you to the underground parking garage. the two of you were laughing amongst yourselves, acting like two high school students in love.

you had asked a security officer to hand the keys to your car to rachel, so that she could drive home, and shot her a text that simply read: "i owe u, pls dont hate me ok ily bye."

she sent back the following: "ughhh fine"

like jonathan, she also had a soft spot for you, even when you did things like this - you were like a baby sister to her, she adored you even if you were trying to sleep with the "enemy." well, her enemy anyways.

it was quite cold on this particular night, even though it was the middle of summer. as the two of you walked through the parkade, jonathan noticed that you were shivering slightly, and he quickly took off his suit jacket. wrapping it around your shoulders, he pulled you close, placing a few chaste kisses on your neck and behind your ear, as the two of you rushed to get into his car.

jonathan and you swiftly got in his car, his hand on your thigh as the two of you sped off to his place. the minute you two got out and stepped into his apartment building, the both of you were pressed up against each other. the two of you sharing sloppy kisses as you tried your best to hurry up and get into his apartment from the elevator, wanting nothing more than to get your hands on each other.

as he closed his apartment door and locked it behind him, you pounced on him, locking your lips with his in an instant. he needed you - and you needed him. both desperate and needy, you make out feverishly, hungry for more. it was meant to be - it must be. the way the moonlight shone through the big, glass window of his bedroom, illuminating you both as you made the moment yours.

you rush to help him out of his clothes; sloppy, hot kisses being shared between the both of you. he pushes you back onto his soft mattress, and he tugs your clothes off of you, pawing at your breasts through your lacy bra. once you were in just your lacy bra and matching lacy panties, he groaned at the sight.

"fuck, look at you, darling." he groans, and you feel your cheeks heat up from his words. "i've wanted you for so long."

his hands travel up your body, reaching for your bra clasp before undoing it, your perky breasts out for him to see. wasting absolutely no time, he slides your lacy panties down, too. you could see the tent in his boxers, and you smirked to yourself.

"please fuck me, jon. i wanna feel myself getting stretched out by your cock." you say to him, looking up at his face as he crawls onto you.

jonathan was almost at a loss for words - for someone so sweet and so innocent, your words were so filthy.

"yeah, is that what you want, darling?" he asked, pulling his boxers down to reveal is hard cock, dripping with pre cum. "d'you want me to fuck you stupid, hm? until you can't walk?"

his words made you moan, you were unbelievably turned on right now. you felt the tip of his cock line up with your drooling entrance, and you snake your hand down to your clit, teasingly playing with it while he watched. you moan, and he takes a hold of your hand. "you're fucking naughty, aren't you?" he asked, pinning both your wrists above your head as he forcefully thrusted his cock into your tight, warm cunt.

"jesus, you're fucking soaked." he groans, setting a fast and brutal pace as he fucked you. you arch your back at the feeling of his cock hitting your cervix already - so deep you couldn't decipher whether it actually hurt or not.

"f-fuck, so good, ugh-" you moan, the sound of your voice mixed with his cock sliding in and out of your dripping cunt filling up the room.

"y-yeah?" he asks, moaning your name, "darling, fuck. this cunt is all mine, understood?"

you nod frantically, feeling his thick, fat cock sliding in and out of your spongy walls, stretching your tight little cunt out. "mm, uh-huh. o-oh, jon..!"

he continued to fuck you mercilessly, pounding your pretty pussy with such force, you knew he wasn't kidding when he said you wouldn't be walking tomorrow. you were a mess under him, screaming his name at this point, and he loved it. oh, how he loved seeing you fall apart underneath him.

"j-jon, baby," you moan, "i-i'm gonna cum."

"drench my cock, darling," he says, still fucking your soaking cunt with his thick cock, "show me, fuck- show me who you fucking belong to."

his words sent you over the edge, your mind going blank as you screamed his name out over and over, your legs shaking as he fucked you into oblivion, your release crashing over you like a wave. your soft walls enveloping his fat cock even more, tightening up around him.

"god, you're unbelievably tight-" he moans, "m'gonna fill this pretty pussy up, darling."

you started to babble incoherently, lost in the moment. "mm, f-uck- i love you." you gasped, the words coming out of your mouth before you could stop them.

your saccharine, desperate voice sent jonathan into overdrive, and he was certainly starting to lose his composure. "i love you more." he groaned while painting your walls white with his cum.

he stayed on top of you for a moment, the both of you catching your breath and processing what just happened. eventually, he rolled off of you, and immediately pulled you into his embrace. you snuggled into his arms, your head laying on his chest; listening to his heartbeat as bliss consumed you.

jonathan subconsciously knew he couldn't go through with his plan as soon as he fabricated it, as you'd captured his heart instantaneously. you were so sweet, so oblivious to the fact that he was so imperfect, so dangerous. maybe you knew, he thought, or maybe you just chose to see the good in him, he wasn't entirely sure. he wasn't a saint, and he definitely wasn't a good man by any means, but for you; he would try to be better. he promised that to himself.

you'd dozed off while he was lost in his thoughts, and he looked over at you, snuggled up in his arms as you slept peacefully, and he held you a little closer - a little tighter. he never wanted to let you go.

your name had been tattooed onto his heart from the moment he had met you - permanent and forever there.

my taglist has been giving me issues so i apologize if it doesn't notify you when i've tagged you, as for some reason tumblr won't allow me to tag more than 5 blogs unless theres a space between them lol

my taglist (join here!):

@kpopgirlbtssvt @bloodandglitter207 @humbuginmybones @futurefamousdeadmusician @jonathancraneslittlepet

@abigailinterrupted @ll4n4 @ilovetoxicfictionalmen @the-buddy-things @ellebelleshelby

@aprilsfrog05

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x reader #cillian fic #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy imagine #cillian x fem!reader #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x f!reader #jonathan crane #jonathan crane x female reader #jonathan crane x y/n #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane fanfic #dr jonathan crane #jonathan crane x fem!reader

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itsawritblr · 5 months

Text

"Sex is biological fact, NHS declares."

Fuckin FINALLY.

The article's behind a paywall, so I had to grab a screenshot fast. It's not the clearest picture, and I may have cut some off.

Here's the article, if you can get around the paywall.

From BBC News via Yahoo News:

NHS England charter to stress biological sex when placing patients in wards

Transgender women should not be put on single-sex female NHS wards, the government is proposing.

The measure is part of a raft of changes to the NHS Constitution for England, the charter of rights for patients.

The proposals stress the importance of biological sex for the first time when it comes to same-sex accommodation and intimate care.

In both cases, the rights are available only where possible.

For example, same-sex accommodation rights, which have existed for years, can and are breached where there is a clinically urgent need to admit and treat a patient and do not extend to areas such as critical care or accident and emergency.

The guidance also means that trans men should not be housed on single-sex male wards.

Under the proposals:

transgender people, whose gender identity differs from their biological sex, may be provided single rooms, where appropriate

patients will have the right to request a person of the same biological sex delivers any intimate care

Health Secretary Victoria Atkins said it was about making it clear that "sex matters".

"We want to make it abundantly clear that if a patient wants same-sex care, they should have access to it wherever reasonably possible," she said.

"By putting this in the NHS Constitution, we're highlighting the importance of balancing the rights and needs of all patients, to make a healthcare system that is faster, simpler and fairer to all."

'Trampled over'

Maya Forstater, of the Sex Matters campaign group, said the changes were "excellent news".

"The confusion between 'sex' and 'gender' in official policies like the NHS Constitution is what has enabled women's rights to be trampled over in the name of transgender identities," she said.

But Cleo Madeleine, of Gendered Intelligence, said robust policies were already in place and the government had its priorities wrong.

"After 14 years of austerity, medical professionals are crying out for more funding, more resources, and better conditions for staff and patients," she said.

"The government seems hell-bent on pursuing its obsession with the transgender community instead of addressing these longstanding needs."

'Martha's rule'

The changes are part of a wider review of the NHS Constitution, which the government must complete every 10 years.

They also include a plan to embed patients and their loved ones' right to access a rapid review from outside the care team if the patient is deteriorating.

This is the right behind "Martha's rule", which is being introduced in the NHS, to ensure patients know they can ask for a second opinion, with the government providing funding to hospitals for posters and leaflets informing patients and their families.

Martha Mills died aged 13, after being admitted to King's College Hospital, south London, in 2021, having injured her pancreas slipping on to the handlebars of her bike while cycling.

She later developed sepsis - but with better care, could have survived, an inquest found.

All the changes will be consulted on over the next eight weeks, before the constitution is updated later this year.

Labour's shadow health secretary Wes Streeting said: "Rights on paper are worthless unless they are delivered in practice.

"The NHS constitution already pledges that no patient will have to share an overnight ward with patients of the opposite sex, but that is not the case for too many patients."

#sex is fact #sex not gender #Cass report #Cass review #WPATH #gender critical #NHS #the tide is turning #the telegraph #the daily telegraph #BBC news

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illyrianbitch · 2 months

Text

One Summer— Part Three

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.

Warnings: alcohol use, mention of drugs, mentions of scars (azs hands), slight Tamlin slander (lighthearted tbh), reader being observant, az being… well az :)

Word Count: 4.7k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Introduction to Philosophy was taught by professor Jeff Davids.

It was one of the smaller classes you’d taken in freshman year. Though many people took it to fulfill a General Education requirement, it was more significant for you. It marked the beginning of your Philosophy major and a longstanding obsession with the ideas of ancient thinkers.

It was the same for Morrigan and Feyre, both of whom you met in Professor Davids’ class. Like you, they were Pre-Law students. And while you’d sat with Feyre on the first day out of pure chance, you were sure that it was fate that pulled you both into an assigned group with Mor— and Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel. The three boys had chosen Intro to Philosophy because it had enough seats for all of them.

There were many things you remembered about your Intro to Philosophy class. Professor Davids was a rockclimber, the Allegory of the Cave was one of the most well-known philosophical concepts, Cassian always came ten minutes late, and Mor’s first major presentation was an in depth and perfectly executed criticism of Plato’s The Republic. You remembered it clearly. She argued against the idea of Plato being classified as the ‘first feminist’. Even if you hadn’t already shared Mor’s belief that Plato fell short of feminist ideals, her presentation would have won you over. Just two months into your friendship, Mor had already made a lasting impression. You remembered her eloquence, the way she commanded the room—a woman of honor and dignity.

It was strange, in an endlessly entertaining way, to see the same woman before you now down on one knee, chugging the last of her drink in the Summit Pulse parking lot.

She let out a belch as she stood and Cassian responded with an approving whistle, giving her a sloppy high five. “Fuck,” she said, gingerly dabbing at her smeared lipstick. “Can someone pass me my bag?”

Summit Pulse had officially begun twenty-five minutes ago, at 11:30 AM. You’d arrived at 11, found two open parking spots, and began your small, almost humble, tailgate— consisting of various seltzers, shooters, and beers for the boys.

You’d driven in two cars: Feyre and Rhys in one, and Az, you, Mor, and Cassian in the other. It was more economical to get two parking passes for the three days, so the boys had devised a plan. The idea was simple: whoever wasn’t driving in the morning would get heavily intoxicated right from the start, making full use of the tailgating privileges. Since the sets ended around 10 PM, by the end of the night one of them would be sober enough to drive. For today, Az was the designated driver, while Cassian would take over for the ride home.

Rhysand’s plan was far simpler. He would only drink modestly throughout the day— but no matter what, he was driving home. This was for two reasons. First, no one but him was allowed to drive his car anyway, and second, he didn’t want Feyre to be worried about her ride home.

When you’d asked the boys why they hadn’t included you, Feyre, or Mor into the shifts, they had shrugged and adamantly opposed. According to them, it was their job to take care of you, to let you have fun at a festival knowing you’d have three eyes watching over you. Not to mention that they knew their alcohol tolerances better than you three.

Rhys, with a sly smile, had also pointed out that your edibles made predicting sobriety a bit unreliable.

He was right, of course, so you didn’t argue— even if you hadn’t brought them today.

You handed Mor her bag. Her nimble, ring-clad fingers dug through it as you grabbed your phone, offering the camera screen to her as a makeshift mirror. She sung out a small thank you in response.

It was already hot out, a fact you’d prepared for but nonetheless hated, and the seltzers in your stomach gurgled in the heat. It suddenly crossed your mind that you should’ve had a heavier breakfast. But the morning had been chaotic, so you were now forced to rely on the festival food— food that was bound to cost three times as much as it would outside of festival grounds.

Two voices joined the sounds behind you and you cranked your head in time to watch Feyre bound over, a bounce in her step. She wore simple shorts and a flowy, linen tank that swayed with her movements. The look of it seemed to perfectly pair with the outfit Rhysand wore— white linen shorts and a short-sleeved button up, a few more buttons undone than necessary, of course. An image flashed into your mind of a very probable future: Feyre and Rhys married in this very city, white linens and salt-air breezes at their reception.

Cassian and Azriel would fight for best man, of course, and when they were both asked, they’d fight about which was number one and which was number two. Feyre’s maid of honor would be a much more nuanced choice, balanced between her two sisters and you and Mor.

At least, if you and Feyre were still friends by then.

You pushed the thought away— a silly, irrational, and anxious thought. They appeared a lot, especially when you weren’t as busy as you’d conditioned yourself to be these past few semesters. It was strange how those thoughts manifested when you were at your happiest. But there was no room for those this summer. You’d told yourself this over and over. One summer to just live, you repeated in your mind, one summer to exist.

Feyre wrapped her arms around your shoulder, tight enough to give you a welcome squeeze but tender and careful so as to not disrupt your mirror duties.

“You smell good,” you told her as the sweet smell of pear reached your nostrils. She met your eyes from the side as you grinned. “Look even better too.”

A small blush painted her cheeks and Feyre smiled. “You think?”

You nodded and Mor ran a gentle nail around her lips, picking up the excess red gloss with her nails. You watched as she struck a pose.

“And how do I look?”

There was a mischievous glint in her eyes that seemed to intensify by the second. Her excitement grew as the drink she chugged began making its way through her system.

“Good enough to get free drinks.”

You felt Feyre nod in agreement against your shoulder.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Summit Pulse had been going strong for hours and you were riding the high of it all. The sun was still glazing in the sky, your ears were still ringing, and the crowd's anticipation for the next set was almost tangible despite it not starting for another hour.

You guys had staked out a great spot near the front, close enough to give you a full view of the stage. Sadly, you hadn’t come early enough to get barricade, but you were more than content with the place you held in the growing crowd. Az and Cass had ventured off some time ago to grab more drinks and a small, worrying voice in the back of your mind began to worry that the two boys would struggle to rejoin the group.

You tried to pay it no mind, focusing on the game of Heads Up you were playing with Feyre and Mor. Feyre held her phone to her forehead and prompted the next word to come.

SPRING.

You and Mor exchanged a conspiratorial glance, gently pushing one another to create a space between your two bodies. A mirrored grin grew on your faces— ones with such childish glee and mischief that Feyre immediately picked up on the shared thought.

Her eyes widened as she shook her head. She dropped her hands to her side. "No," she whined, "Please don't."

You frowned in feign confusion, bringing a hand to cup your ear. "What?" you exclaimed, "I can't hear you." You looked back at Mor, watching as the face she formed mimicked yours. "Do you hear anything?"

Rhys fought to suppress a grin, wrapping his arms tighter around Feyre as she let out another helpless groan. He gave her a kiss to the temple as he leaned in further, eyes bouncing between you and Morrigan.

"I-" Mor stopped, bringing a hand to her chest as she exaggeratedly examined her surroundings. "I think it sounds like….like…"

Rhysand leaned into Feyre's ear. "Like Spring?"

"Oh god," Feyre whined. The sound fell on deaf ears. "Kill me."

Tamlin Spring was Feyre's boyfriend in freshman year, a first love so smitten with her that it bordered on slightly creepy— teetering across that fine line of obsession and adoration. You found Tamlin tolerable in small portions, but the others hated him with a passion. In truth, they hated a lot of people, your ex boyfriend included, and you just chalked that up to the reality of growing up in the same small city with the same people. You thanked eighteen-year old you everyday for choosing to attend college in a different state.

"Spring, you say?" you chimed in. Mor mimicked the motion of drawing a bow across a fiddle. She gave you a look and without missing a beat, you launched into a memorized dance, feet bouncing in an exaggerated jig while your hands moved as if playing invisible fiddles.

This abomination of a dance was one you and Mor had created one random drunken night—- a way to commemorate the infamous serenade Feyre had received from Tamlin post-breakup. At the beginning of their relationship, Tamlin's musical talent was impressive, even charming. But when he pulled out his fiddle and played what was meant to be a heartfelt apology, it left Feyre cringing and you unable to defend him anymore. Thus, the iconic dance was born.

For what it counted, the tradition to embarrass Feyre with your performance of it lasted longer than their relationship ever did.

Feyre's face was three shades redder by time you found yourselves unable to continue the dance any longer. She leaned her head back against Rhysand's chest as he laughed and hugged her tighter, apologizing for his own musical incapabilities. She tucked her phone tightly away in her pocket, muttering some off handed comment that she was never playing ever again.

You were still giggling and catching your breath as Azriel and Cassian returned, slowly making their way through the crowd— each holding a fresh, cold can of beer. Azriel's face was neutral as always, but a glint of amusement sparkled in his eyes as they met yours. Cassian, on the other hand, wore his usual broad grin. He murmured polite, flirty pleasantries to every pretty woman they brushed past.

"Damn," Cass said, filling in the space Mor had saved for him by proxy of a strange, wide-legged stance. You’d done the same for Az. "Did I miss you hitting the Tamlin?"

You and Mor let out another shared round of giggles and Feyre groaned into the sky once more. Cassian turned to Rhys with a grin.

"Do you two have no shame?" Az said, settling into the space between you and Feyre. He took notice of Mor's lingering gaze on his drink and offered his can to her eager hands.

You shook your head, a grin plastered on your face as Mor brought the drink to her lips. The two of you made eye contact, and maybe it was the buzz of the drinks you’d already had, the tiny high making everything funnier, but you couldn’t hold back a laugh. Mor followed suit, the sound coming out of her in a wet snort as Azriel's drink sprayed everywhere.

Once you both finally calmed down, Mor pushed Azriel's drink back to him with an extended hand, batting her eyelashes as she met his gaze. "Thanks, Az. I needed that."

"I'm good. That's all yours now." Azriel pushed the can back to Mor with a single finger, a look of playful disdain on his face. His eyes, however, shone with amusement—enough to show that he wasn't really angry, not even disgusted, despite his expression. "I'll get a new one later. Preferably with less spit."

Mor offered him a sheepish smile. "My bad."

She offered the can to you next. You narrowed your eyes at it for a moment, then shrugged with a resigned smile and raised it to your lips. You felt Azriel's gaze on you, noticing the amused, skeptical eyebrow he raised. You waited for him to say something, to speak in that low tone he often preferred in public, but he only shook his head, chuckling softly.

His eyes lit up a few seconds later.

"Wait a second,” he said.

Azriel's gaze flicked to Cassian, and without a word, he started patting him down. Cassian angled his head to the side, brows furrowed as Az’s hands wandered around his form. “Dude,” he said, “What's with the hands?”

Azriel didn’t respond, continuing his search with focused intent. He wrapped a palm around Cassian’s exposed biceps to face him further, finally reaching the fanny pack strapped to his broad chest.

“Got it,” Az declared. When he pulled away, you caught sight of the device in his hand. Cassian paused for a moment, and you could see an out-of-pocket response on the tip of his tongue, but he simply shrugged and rejoined the conversation he had left with Feyre and Rhys.

His camera was held securely in his hands as Azriel turned back to you and Mor. Your eyes drifted down to the way his palm held it. It looked so natural there, a perfect fit, and the glow of inspiration in his eyes sent a flutter through your body. You hadn’t realized that he had brought it— hadn’t seen when Cassian went through security with his bag.

Az lifted the camera in a silent invitation and Mor let out an excited squeal, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you in close. You smiled and your focus fell on Azriel. He held his camera with a careful, precise grip, ensuring you were perfectly in frame. With every movement he made, either a height adjustment or a turn of the camera, he sent a quick glance to his surroundings, quietly making sure that he refrained from accidentally bumping the people around him.

It was sweet how he managed to remain respectful in such a large crowd, how he cared enough to be aware of such things. The thought burrowed itself deeper into the area of your mind that had gained a heavy label this past week: Longings for Azriel, as you called it. An embarrassingly fitting title.

He took the picture with a satisfied smile and lowered his camera, the sunlight casting a warm, almost golden glow over his features. For a moment, your mouth felt dry at the sight of him. The harsh sun you’d been cursing for hours now seemed to soften, bathing his eyes in a molten blend of brown, gold, and green. Azriel had been in his element all of today. You saw it clearly— the ease in which he spoke with all of you, the way his eyes gleamed and the smile on his lips persisted. Every set you’d watched had been enjoyed through two ways: dancing with Mor, Feyre and Cassian, or admiring Az as he listened. Your grip tightened around the can you still held.

Mor leaned in to view the image on the camera’s screen and your surroundings poured into your consciousness once more, the loud sound of the crowd rising in level. You closed the gap Az had created when he stepped back and, in a moment of self-indulgence, brushed lightly against him to view the picture.

“This is so cute. I love it,” Mor fawned. She placed a hand on Az’s forearm and gave him a sweet smile. “This is such a great photo, Az.”

Azriel angled the screen towards you. You didn’t doubt her words, but Mor was indeed right. It was a great photo. You could see it all perfectly: the bustling crowd, the stage, the speakers in the background, and you and Mor glowing with happiness. It stirred something emotional within you, a perfect memory you could imagine showing future children to prove that their parent was once cool.

You looked up at him. “This is perfect.”

He smiled, almost timidly. “Yeah?”

“I guess you're back on track?”

Recognition sparked in his eyes. “I think I just found my mu—”

Just then, the crowd moved like a restless sea and a body pushed into you. You stumbled slightly and Azriel's hand instinctively reached out to steady you, his touch warm and firm against the exposed skin between your shirt and pants. A shiver ran through you at the contact.

You turned to look at the person. He looked to be around your age, if not a few years older, with green eyes and a strange mullet that almost gave him bangs. Mor glared at him, but it was Azriel who spoke.

“Watch it,” he growled.

“My bad man,” Mullet slurred, eyes shifting between you and Azriel. “Didn’t see you.”

Azriel’s glare followed him until his figure melted back into the crowd, muttering under his breath, “Cut that mop you call hair and maybe you’d see better.”

You suppress a laugh at Azriel’s irritation, a huge amused grin spreading across your face. You’d forgotten how protective Az could be, even if it wasn’t strictly necessary. His readiness to jump to the defense of those he cared about was endearing at its core, so you swallowed the small urge to make fun of his response.

Instead, it was Mor who broke the tension, her voice laced with mockery. “Damn, Az.” She raised an eyebrow and a small smirk grew on her lips. “If looks could kill, you’d be a serial killer.”

Az rolled his eyes but there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, betraying his true amusement despite his feigned annoyance.

You handed Mor the canned drink back and clapped your hands together. “Alright. I need my own drink, so I’ll be back.”

Az handed Cassian the camera and turned to you. “I’ll go with you.”

You shook your head. “No, its okay. You just got back.”

Az gestured to the drink Mor had swiped. “I could use another, too.” He looked around. “And I think you might need some help getting back.”

You scanned the crowd, noting how it thickened with every passing second. Having Azriel to help navigate through would be a relief. And the prospect of some alone time with him was just as appealing.

“Okay,” you smiled. “Thank you.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The line for drinks was manageable, with only about seven people ahead of you. The festival buzzed around you, the air thick with the scent of food and the distant hum of music from other stages.

Azriel stood next to you, head slowly scanning his surroundings, silver dagger earring glistening in the sun. Your eyes lingered on the slight curve of his lips, at the way a sense of ease hung from his resting features.

“You know, I knew you’d enjoy this,” you found yourself saying, voice carrying over the ambient noise. “The live music and all. But part of me is surprised.”

He looked at you, one eyebrow raised. “Why’s that?”

”I thought you weren’t a large gathering type of person.”

You held many memories of Azriel from over the years. The memories from the past two years were few and far between, but the ones from freshman year—- those you held in abundance. Azriel’s quietness was something you noticed before you knew him. He was content to watch, content to observe. It was why photography seemed so fitting for him, a hobby for someone who liked to collect moments, to enjoy them from a watcher's vantage point rather than that of a main actor.

Azriel chuckled softly. Despite the festival’s noise, you heard it in perfect clarity.

“I’m not. But that’s for gatherings where I’m expected to constantly engage. This is different. Everyone here is doing their own thing, no one is paying attention to me. I can just disappear into the crowd.”

You let the words settle and studied him more intently. It occurred to you how unrealistic his words felt to you, how silly it was to think that people’s eyes didn’t naturally gravitate towards him. And you thought that it was a bit silly too, then, that your eyes did.

You and Azriel were friends, maybe even in the lightest of terms. Friends that could’ve been more, could’ve had a deeper connection, platonically, had it not been for choices you made. And yet, your eyes always found him. All of this morning, all of this past week. Your gaze found him time and time again, like a magnet calling to you.

You shook your head and a small laugh left your lips. An amused, timid sound. Azriel nudged your shoulder.

”What? He asked, but you only shook your head again, letting the smile linger on your lips. “What is it?” Azriel asked again.

You met his gaze then, that surveying, intense gaze, and shrugged. “It’s just, you could never disappear into a crowd, Az.”

His brows furrowed and you held his gaze, watching as a flicker of confusion crossed his face—- or perhaps it was curiosity, instead. You felt a flutter of something deep and tender inside of you. You swallowed.

“At least not for me.”

The line moved forward and you sent a silent thank you to the sky, stepping ahead. Azriel lingered behind for a moment, eyes still trained on you. His brows were still slightly furrowed, but a smile tugged at his lips—-something tender, like your words touched him in a way he hadn’t expected.

You ordered your drink, offering a grateful smile to the girl behind the table, and stood to the side as Azriel stepped up to order. The girl’s demeanor changed almost immediately—- cheeks flushed slightly, a new timid smile playing on her lips as she drank in the sight of him. You resisted the urge to laugh at it, a desire born out of total understanding rather than mockery.

Azriel was a stunning kind of attractive, a cold type of handsome that made you shiver if you stared too long. And the girl, she was pretty too, you thought, in an angelic sort of way. Blonde hair like Mor, blue eyes like Feyre. It dawned on you that you might look at Azriel the same way, with the same childish awe and longing admiration. The thought made you blush in embarrassment and you took a sip of your drink.

Azriel seemed oblivious to the effect he was having, focused solely on the screen before him and paying for his drink. She turned around to face him, drink in hand, and leaned forward to offer it.

And then her eyes fell to his hands. She let out a small breath, a sound that seemed to surprise even her, and her eyes widened in response. Az’s drink was placed on the counter much harsher than she likely intended.

As strange as it sounded, sometimes you forgot about Azriel's hands— forgot that they weren't what were considered normal to the causal observer. You didn't know if this was a good thing, if it was something Azriel preferred or had no opinion on.

Like most people, you'd noticed them when you first met him. Azriel was a quiet observer, a motionless one at times. But in class, when you caught yourself staring at him more often than you'd ever admit, you'd catch sight of the way he'd anxiously crack his fingers with the pad of his thumb. It would bring your attention right back to his hands, to the ridges on his skin.

The scars that marred his hands were extreme, yes, and a certain sadness flowed through you when you looked at them long enough— when you thought about what pain he must've endured— but they were also beautiful. Something so entirely unique; unique enough to where you knew it was him whenever he touched you.

But as hauntingly beautiful as his hands were, eventually they simply became a part of him, something as mundane and expected as his right earlobe or the freckle on his cheek— the one that disappeared into his dimple when he smiled hard enough.

The girl tried her best to catch herself, quickly pushing forward Azriel's canned drink on the surface and giving him a timid, almost apologetic smile. But it was too late. You saw the switch clear as day, watched as something dark ran through Azriel's face— something parallel to childhood fear, to deep-seated embarrassment, to heated resentment, all in one. He pressed a button when prompted for a tip, his gaze steady on his finger as it moved across the screen.

You cleared your throat, leaning forward to grab his drink in your free hand and motioning him away from the growing line. Az seemed to snap out of the daze he'd fallen into, meeting your hurried motions with a furrowed brow. You nodded towards the crowd.

"C'mon," you said, offering the can to him. "We gotta head back."

The whine in your voice did its intended job, concealing your actions as ones driven out of an impatience to return rather than a desire to protect him. It wasn't that you thought it would bother him if he realized what you were trying to do, no, but you didn't want him to read it as something rooted in pity. You didn't want him to fall further back into his head than he already had.

When he didn't reply, you pushed his drink further towards him with an impatient hum. He raised a singular eyebrow for a fleeting second, the corners of his lips twitching upwards as he took the cold drink from you, fingers brushing against yours. Nothing flashed in his face at the contact— there was no twitch, no flicker of something darker in his features.

"They're not going on for another forty five minutes," he finally said.

You sighed, a dramatic and weariful sigh, and the curve of his lips blossomed into a smile.

"Az,” you began, “Some of the best moments are going to be found in that crowd while waiting."

For the second time, you beckoned towards the crowd. You ignored the flutter in your chest as you leaned forward to grab his hand, tugging him along behind you— ignored the tightening in your chest as Azriel held onto you tighter.

You made your way back through the dense crowd, struggling to move until you finally reached your friends. Feyre and Rhys were the first to spot you, offering a cheer of greeting as you and Az squeezed into the spaces they’d saved for you. Mor’s eyes traveled to Azriel, scanning his face quickly.

“Whats wro-“

You widened your eyes in warning, giving a small, subtle shake of your head that only she could pick up on. Mor mouthed a clarifying question and in response you brought your hand to the one that wrapped around the cold can of your drink, gently brushing your palm against the knuckles.

Her eyes widened in understanding and a small frown found her lips. She wiped it off within seconds, any trace of it perfectly concealed as she grabbed Azriel's attention with a large smile.

"Aren't you so excited? I'm so excited."

Azriel nodded, but his expression remained a bit guarded. Your stomach twisted and Mor shot you a worried glance. You looked at Az, nudging his arm with your shoulder, and his gaze dropped to you.

”Cheers?” You said, lifting your drink in invitation. “For good luck.”

Azriel’s face softened and the remaining edge washed away. His eyes glimmered as he lifted his drink.

“Cheers,” he replied, clinking his can against yours.

Thirty five minutes later, the crowd came to life as the band walked on stage.

They played for a total of forty-eight minutes.

Your eyes were on Az for around twenty-seven of them.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note: they notice each other 🥺🥺 they pay attention to each other 🥹🥹 god this makes me miss having a crush— noticing every small thing, those BUTTERFLIES!!! i love them your honor

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astroboots · 1 year

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Every You Every Me Issue #3

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You are determined to meet your Spider-benefactor face to face and you go to ever increasing extreme lengths to do so. Problem is, Miguel O'hara is very uncooperative to your plans.

Word count: 5,500 words.

Content: Slowest of the burn, so slow you wonder if it's even burning. Near death experiences, the state of the economy and how expensive it is to live in a big city, the emotional whiplash of Miguel O'Hara.

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

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You saw them in the window display of a bakery in Greenwich Village. Round sugar cookies with red frosting and white eyes, decorated as a tribute to everyone's favorite neighborhood Spiderman.

Before you had time to properly think things over (would he even like the cookies? Is he on a strict superhero diet and workout plan? What if he's gluten intolerant?) you were already standing in front of the cash register having a dozen of them wrapped up in fancy crinkly paper and were $72 dollars poorer.

Charging six dollars per cookie is practically highway robbery, but that's par for the course with New York bakeries. You wouldn’t be surprised if every bakery in New York was already a part of Wilson Fisk’s criminal empire.

As you push open the door, box in hand, you wonder wryly to yourself why Spiderman’s ruder alter ego isn't there to save you from that.

You wonder, for Superheroes, what classifies as an event worth intervening in and what everyday citizens need to be saved from?

Financial ailment doesn't quite seem to qualify from what you've been able to glean so far.

Tony Stark, for all the wealth he’s amassed (a large enough treasure hoard that he would be capable of buying the whole planet of Mars according to Forbes) isn't massively involved with charities. He only donates to the one: his own. And the Stark Foundation is really just Tony Stark paying reparations for the damage he and his buddies caused in the first place.

Thor is an actual deity, and you still remember that write-up in Esquire magazine, where local waiters in New Mexico had called him a terrible tipper and a habitual smasher of glassware.

Assault and battery is up in the air. There are accounts of Superheroes intervening; that Tiktok videos of She-Hulk breaking up a bar fight that went viral a few weeks back. But then equally, there are memes of Doctor Strange peeking out the window of Sanctum Sanctorum watching a street fight unfold,, utterly uninterested in getting involved. The internet labeled it as "mood".

As for murder and mayhem, there's a longstanding public debate as to whether Superheroes cause more than they prevent. Case in point: that Moon Knight guy that paints the streets of London red.

There is no rule book written to explain how Superheroes decides who is worth saving and who is not.

Does one have to be important and have a material effect on the state of the world?

If so, you fall pitifully short. The most world-changing decision you made as of late was deciding to opt out of utensils on your last GrubHub order to help save the environment.

So it makes you wonder: Why on earth has this non-costume accurate Spiderman saved you, not once, not twice, but 13 times to date?

That’s just the first of many questions you’d like to ask him. What does he know that you don’t? Does he know why the universe seems to be out to get you lately? Or why death itself is following you everywhere you go, nipping at your heels?

You haven’t had the chance to ask him anything, because despite all of your encounters, you haven't met him face to face since that very first time.

Inconveniently, you don't exactly have a way of contacting him. Superheroes aren't listed in the phone book.

With no other way to reach out, you go at it the old fashioned way. You write him a note from a page you've ripped out of your notebook:

‘Thank you for saving me. Can we meet? I have questions.’

You place the note on the window sill. Setting the plate with $72 dollars worth of Spiderman cookies on top of the left corner of the paper to make sure it doesn't get blown away in the wind. Then you leave the window open for the first time since you've moved into this apartment before heading to bed.

There's nothing else to do but to wait.

You wake to the spit and splatter of rain against your window. It's gray outside, and the cookies you set out the night before remain untouched. You frown at the sight, but you can't say you're surprised.

There was never any real indication that he was lurking around you. Superheroes are bound to have more interesting things on their schedule than stalking a random insurance employee.

You don't know why you thought this would work in the first place.

Getting out of bed, you walk up to your window to inspect the scene. The note is where you have left it, ink a little smeared from the rain, where the plate has kept it in place on the right corner.

That seems odd, now that you think about it. You stare at the note, eye drawn to the watermarks. Why are there water stains bleeding into the paper if your window was closed? As crappy as your rundown apartment can be, water damage is the one thing you haven't had issues with.

You draw your eyes to the closed window being smattered with the rain outside. Didn't you leave the window open last night? You're pretty sure you did, hoping that the open window would be seen as a gesture of invitation. You had left it open… right?

You did.

You're sure you did.

He must’ve been here.

Rude, not-costume-accurate Spiderman was here.

Right?

Your eyes flicker back to the window.

Or maybe you did close the window?

You close your eyes trying to recall your evening, packing the length of your apartment as you replay the memory. Suddenly, you're not so sure anymore. You always close your window, and even though you had every intention of keeping it open last night, who is to say you didn't close it out of sheer habit?

It's strange. Because if he was here, he would've spotted the note. But it's in the same spot you left it yesterday right under the plate on the left side of it...

You eye the undisturbed note tucked under the right corner of the plate.

Wait, wait. Didn't you put the note under the left side of the plate?

You did.

Yes, you definitely did.

Which means, he was here... Right?

You feel like you are going insane.

Are you seeing things that are not there? Was he actually here and if so why did he go to such lengths to pretend otherwise. Why would he passive-aggressively gaslight you into thinking he was never here?

You decide on a redo.

Because if you can't trust yourself and your questionable memory, you can trust a recording.

A teddy bear nanny cam sets you back $50. Not cheap, but not as outrageous as your stale-cardboard-tasting Spiderman cookies.

You set it up on your dresser opposite your window and link it to your phone as per the instructions.

As for the bait. After having tasted those brick cookies for yourself, putting it out for a second night for a man who has saved your life repeatedly didn't seem right. You decide to bake them yourself this time.

The added bonus is that you get to mix blue food coloring into the frosting for the decoration that goes on top. In retrospect, the red Spiderman cookies from last time might’ve implied that you’re calling him a knock-off Spiderman.

Besides, even with the cost of living crisis: a bag of flour, baking powder, unsalted butter, sugar and eggs cost a lot less than $72 dollars.

This time, you don't write him a sloppily put together note. You decide to write him a proper letter.

If he did visit your apartment, (and you're not just going insane) the fact that he moved the note meant that he must've read it.

This note didn’t work.

It must not have been compelling enough, you were kind of in a hurry…

You’ll have to write something better this time. Longer. More emotionally compelling. Surely if you take the time to really explain your plight, you can make him understand why it’s so important he talks to you!

The problem is that it’s hard to sound serious when it’s written on lined paper from your ruled notebook.

That won’t do. You go to the nearest stationery store in your neighborhood, a chain outlet of Paper Source to get yourself some decent looking stationary paper with a matching colored envelope to boot.

You immediately regret this part of your plan, because it ends up setting you back another $26 dollars. Why is 6 pieces of paper so damn expensive anyhow? Surely there’s a few trees left in the world to chop down?!

$102 dollars down in your bank balance, you sit down at your dining table that night, pen in hand and begin writing. You pour your heart onto the pages, setting out in as precise words as you can manage the effect your near death incidents have had on you.

How scared you are, how confused you are, but also how grateful you are that he's saved you, again and again and again. That you believe if you and him can just meet in person and talk, if you could ask questions and figure out why this is happening, then maybe you can find a way to stop it from happening again.

Then you fold the letter and tuck it neatly into the matching envelope and slide it under the left side of the cookie plate and go to sleep.

When you wake the next morning, nothing seems out of the ordinary.

The cookies are still neatly arranged on your plate. The letter snugly tucked underneath it.

On the left side this time, you note.

It doesn’t look like he came.

The only thing is that you swear that the envelope is now several inches further to the left than where you left it last night.

Again, maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

You pull up your phone, opening the app linked to the nanny cam and press play.

There is nothing but the still frame of your studio apartment, your bed to the right and your window square in the camera-view. You speed up the video, but the only thing that takes you by surprise is that you apparently toss a lot more in your sleep than you thought.

The camera footage goes well into 3am, and you’re resigning yourself to the fact that this was all down to your imagination.

He didn't come last night. Probably didn't come the night before. Most likely you woke up from the rain, closed the window and were too sleepy to remember.

You sigh, setting down your phone on the table, prepared to let this whole endeavor go.

On your screen, a smudged shadow appears in the corner of the window. You jump to your feet from your seat, knocking your chair over in the process with a raucous thud. The dark figure grows larger on your screen, dark navy blue and lines of stark red that perches itself onto your window sill.

YES! yes-yes-yes! You knew it. You fucking goddamn knew it!

You were right.

Adrenaline buzzes victoriously in your veins, and you grip your phone harder. Your heart is pounding so fast and hard in your chest you can hear the drumming beat of it in your ears.

He was here!

(You're not cuckoo for cocoa puffs).

You watch as his large figure sits on your window sill. He's still wearing his mask, and while you can't make out the expressions underneath, the outline where his eyes would have been, painted in dark blue, now narrow into a slit on your screen.

There's a hostility emanating from that glare that you are able to sense all the way from the opposite side of the screen. He stares down at the plate of cookies suspiciously. Then he just stays there, unmoving, having a staring competition with the cookies you baked in his image.

In the privacy of your living room, you have the luxury of taking the time to get a proper look at him without interruption. It's hard to ignore the fact of just how tightly fitted to his skin that suit is. The dark blue fabric clings to every line of muscles on his body and it makes your cheek prickle with heat when you look. It feels voyeuristic somehow, but you can't help but think that the more modest alternative would be if he had worn nothing at all.

He's absurdly ripped. Muscular doesn't even begin to describe it. Broad shoulders and a narrow tapered waist segueing into obscenely thick and defined thighs that have your eyes linger for far too long. You shake your head to snap yourself out of it, Jesus you are acting like a creep. This isn’t OnlyFans, though lord knows you paid for this privilege! $102 for a cam video!

On the footage, there is finally movement. He reaches for a cookie, bringing it to his mouth. The blue fabric dematerializes on his lower face until it reveals his tanned skin and that ridiculously cut jaw of his.

His mouth parts. Fangs protrude where his canine teeth are supposed to be and the sight makes you nearly drop your phone in shock.

Is this Spiderman a vampire? Or is he like a tarantula Spiderman with fangs to match?

You watch in suspended horror as he bites into the cookie, those sharp fangs of his are in plain view as he chews.

He leans over to reach for a second cookie and all your trepidation is forgotten for a second, because if he’s reaching for a second one, it must mean he likes them. You grin at your screen, culinary pride beating out any caution or fear you may have had.

Then he lifts up the plate, picking up the letter. The anticipation is too much. You press your face closer to the screen to try to get closer, because your screen is too small to pick up any possible nuances in his expression.

He's carefully opening the envelope as he starts to read. It's impossible to tell what he's thinking. There's no visible change of facial expressions in the outline of his masked eyes. His mouth, which is bared to you, doesn't so much as twitch.

It doesn’t take long for him to read it. When he's done, he tucks the letter back under the plate. Then he bends down over the plate of cookies, and for a moment you think he’s going in for a third. Instead his hand lingers on the plate, before he starts to slide the remaining cookies around the plate to your confusion. You watch in confusion as he picks up the cookies one by one to space them out more evenly. You don't quite understand what he's trying to do, wait… is Vampire spider man re-arranging the cookies to make it less obvious he’s eaten them?!

The bastard really was trying to gaslight you into thinking he was never here.

Once he’s seemingly satisfied with his work, he straightens up, turning until his back is against the camera preparing to leave.

To your surprise his face turns around to take one last look inside. The direction of his gaze settles on your bed where you're sleeping. His eyes lingers there for a handful of moments, inscrutable over the mask.

Is he sad? Angry? You can't tell.

He finally looks away and then he leaps off the window.

Politely asking him in writing is clearly not working out for you.

You decide the only recourse you have left is to try and physically catch him.

Such a simple sentiment that had sounded so easy in your head, but you quickly run into logistical issues when you try to put it into practice.

The man is built like a tank. Can leap off of skyscrapers (and the window of your sixth floor) without breaking a sweat. Potentially also a vampire.

You're not exactly sure how you're supposed to catch someone like that.

Your google research is off to a shaky start. Somehow you end up down a rabbit hole of tutorials for non-lethal mouse traps. It's not very useful inspiration. Because you can't exactly build a 7 foot large cage trap to catch him the next time he comes around to help himself to cookies.

But the concept of having a lure trap set with bait seemed transferable and so you decide to go for a classic spring trap that you’ll modify. No cage, instead you set up a DIY contraption with a sturdy string attached to a bell meant to quickly alert you to his presence next time he comes around.

The game plan is to wake up and corner him before he has a chance to abscond.

As for bait, you google things that vampires might like in a half-thought of plan it might be applicable. Unfortunately, there are no young virgin maidens you know of as far as the eye can see in New York (yourself included) so that was a no go.

So you default back to cookies (because hey, at least it worked last time).

Amazon has your whole set up shipped and delivered by the next day and you implement phase 3 of your rapidly escalating attempts to reach out to him.

Unfortunately, it doesn't work. For one he doesn’t show up that night. Or the night after. It takes him four whole days to show up again and when he does, he spots your trap a mile away. When you review the footage on the cam the next day, he avoids the rope and the whole mechanism effortlessly.

There's no sound on the nanny cam so you can't be sure of it. But you think from the way the line of his shoulders shake as he steps over the rope that he might be laughing at you. He’s definitely seen through few supervillain traps in his days so in hindsight the probability of success here was low.

He does however eat three of your cookies this time.

You get a little bit more desperate after that.

You decide that if a trigger trap to wake you won't work, then obviously, the next best thing is for you to simply stay awake.

The problem is that he doesn't show up every night. His visits are entirely random without an obvious pattern. Sometimes he shows up two nights in a row, sometimes he goes several days without making a guest appearance on your nanny cam footage.

It means you end up downing a whole carafe of coffee, and several energy drinks, every night for a week straight. Entirely unable to predict what night he's going to appear, you keep dooming your already tiny bladder to a dozen visits to the bathroom before the clock has even struck nine.

The saddest part of it is that despite being wired on enough coffee to power a nuclear power station by yourself, you never end up staying awake the whole night through.

More often than not you end up falling asleep sitting upright by the dining table waiting up for him. Then the next morning you wake with a wry neck, a sore back and your face pressing up uncomfortably against the wooden surface.

But you're nothing if not tenacious. Tonight makes it the sixth night in a row that you’re doing this. You stare down the can of red bull on your dining table as you pick it up and lift it to your mouth. You’re going to keep going, hardness of the wooden table be damned.

You're surprised to find yourself waking up feeling well rested without any aches. Surrounded by the softness of your quilt and your even softer memory foam pillow.

The luxurious comfort of it all is such a relief that you don't even question it at first. Don't question why you're in bed when the last thing you remember was nodding off against the palm of your hand and the hard discomfort of your dining chair.

In the sanctuary of your bed, you just dig your face deeper into your pillow and snooze for as long as you can. Ignoring the bright sun pouring in from your windows until it sears unforgivingly against your skin and you decide that it’s finally time to start your day.

By habit, the first thing you do as you get up from bed is to pull up the nanny cam app on your phone and press play on last night's recording.

There's nothing of interest. Seeing yourself read a book by the dining table and chugging down a series of Red Bull is hardly riveting television.

Yesterday you barely even make it until midnight because you can see yourself nod off at the table, head sliding off your palm and plonking down on the dining table. You flinch at the impact, vaguely impressed that the collision didn't wake you.

Your (maybe vampire) Spiderman turns up at 3 am.

Much like the times before, he perches himself on your window sill, peering inside (presumably to check for any new traps you might have laid out for him).

His broad frame stiffens, and then, with a smooth leap, he's inside your apartment.

Excitement rushes to your head, because this is the furthest he’s gone and the first time he's come all the way inside instead of just lurking on the window sill.

He goes over to your bed, flinging the quilt to the side. He seems stressed, the dark shape of his eyes wide as he stands over the empty bed when it dawns on you what’s happening on screen right now.

Oh, he's worried.

He looks over at you, hunched over the dining table, sound asleep and oh god, is that drool on your cheek?

The line of his shoulder relaxes. The broadness of his chest rises then dips with a heavy exhale. Something warm trickles in your stomach at his obvious concern for you.

The mystery is confounding. You don't know him. You've never met him, but for some unfathomable reason he cares enough about you to genuinely care about your safety and you want to know why.

He makes his way over to the table where you are. The mask slowly ebbs away, uncovering his familiar chin, cheeks and then finally his eyes. An other-worldly shade of crimson that has you spellbound and transfixed on the screen.

You find yourself raising your phone closer to your face, trying to get a better look at him. Cursing the crappy quality of the video. You don't know what to make of the way he's looking at you. It's intensely focused, almost sad, and… and… And you don't know what, but it makes your heart leap up into your throat, chest clenching tight.

He bends over, wrapping his broad arms under your knees. He’s careful in his movements, cupping your head as it lolls to the side until you’re comfortably resting against his shoulders. It’s a practiced movement, as if he’s done this a hundred times before as he picks you up and carries you bridal style to your bed. Gingerly tucking you under the quilt with something that looks a lot like tenderness.

It leaves you with more questions than ever.

Ever since you started your caffeine chugging marathon, work has become a new kind of hell.

You're already half-asleep and nodding off at your desk by 10.30. Eyes sore and strained as you stare at the bright screen and try to make sense of the endless columns that are all different and also all the same until your brain refuses to try to make sense of any of it anymore.

You need to go for a walk. Clear your head.

Maybe pop out for a coffee... smoothie. Definitely smoothie.

Outside, the heat is oppressive, far too hot for only being May. Definitely too hot when there are this many tourists around. The street is so crowded you can barely make an inch of headway, trapped behind a family with a stroller in front, trapped in front of a pushy businessman who keeps stepping on your heels every two steps, and trapped next to a guy who is really into his airpods.

With the excess of caffeine still trying to make its way out of your system and the unforgiving heat of the sun beating against your back, it all has the effect of making you feel like you’re hung over. Your breakfast is roiling in your stomach. Sweat plastered against every inch of clothing. You don't know why you do this to yourself.

Every morning you tell yourself never again, and yet every night, there you were, spending half of your disposable income on energy drinks.

Starting from today, you're going cold turkey on the stuff. You've finally given up on trying to stay awake long enough to catch your super-stalker in his cookie burglar routine. Endlessly chugging down caffeine every night is not working out for you. Neither are the DIY mouse traps.

You're running low on ideas of how to trap him. You have nothing else to go on anymore. No idea on how to summon the man. The only time you know he'll be there is the moment before each near-death when he's there to save you.

What are you supposed to do with that? Purposely throw yourself off another building to lure him out?

That's crazy!

…Right?

But maybe... No! Definitely crazy.

Someone screams, and you snap out of your thoughts. There's yelling and terrified shrieks all around you. You're caught in the throng of people, panicked bodies pushing and pressing up against you, all of them trying to run the other way.

You dig in your heels, bracing yourself against the stampede of people. They’re pushing in from every direction until it’s impossible to move an inch. It’s hard to turn your body, when second after second, someone is pummeling into your side, knocking into your bruising shoulder. You barely manage to crane your neck back far enough when you finally spot it.

A red-green truck with a gigantic taco on its roof is careening towards you across the pavement, no driver behind the wheel. The sea of bodies parts around the out-of-control vehicle, people running left, right and forward to escape being crushed under the wheels.

There’s no time to react. It’s too close. Too fast.

A hand clutches at your wrist and pulls you backwards, your vision obscured as your face is pressed up against a familiar solid warmth.

"Hold onto me," he tells you, and you do.

You're held firm against him as the ground underneath your feet disappears, and everything feels weightless. Then all you hear is a loud thunderous crash.

Your feet touch back down on the ground, and the strong protective hold on you unravels.

When you open your eyes he's already gone. You're left on the corner of Lexington Avenue, still trying to catch your breath. The mob of people is still there all around you, but the panic has passed now, everyone is standing still. Everyone is observing the wreckage of the run amok truck that is now flipped onto its side, rendered harmless.

Miraculously, somehow, nobody around you seems visibly injured.

From a distance, you can hear sirens approaching with a deafening wail.

But your mind is elsewhere, on the shade of the familiar dark blue and red as you were being saved seconds ago. On his gentle voice in your ear that still thrums pleasantly in your chest.

You want to see him again.

It's Friday, and you break half an hour early for your designated 40 minutes of lunch, taking the elevator directly to the 72nd floor, which is under construction to renovate it into an open observation deck for the public next year.

The thing with commercial skyscrapers is that nowadays most of them have safety glass panels on all outside spaces of the upper floors to ensure that it is impossible to climb up the buildings and jump.

It's a safety feature that became standard after the financial crisis of 2008.

Turns out that imposing an 80 hour work week on your employees, where they don't get to see their family or friends or have a life outside of work, and then stripping them of their financial security makes a lot of people miserable and suicidal (who knew?)

The elevator pings open, and you exit into the construction zone, carefully avoiding the various tools scattered across the half-finished deck. On Fridays, the construction workers on the site leave by lunchtime, and the space is empty of people.

Step by step, you walk up towards the edge of the terrasse, until you stand before the temporary safety rail, looking out over the sprawling city below you. Cars look like tiny moving pebbles and the people, a hive of ants scurrying from street to street.

It’s a dizzying view. Both beautiful and grotesque in its grandeur. The 72nd floor will be 28 more floors to fall from than the 44th was.

The air around you seems to thin, and your stomach wants to crawl down to your feet and hold on to steady ground.

Taking a deep breath, you lift the hem of your shirt, running your hand over the safety harness strapped around your waist, reassuring yourself it's still there. Then you feel along the attached cord, using the carabiner at the end to clip it around the rod of the safety rail.

Being impulsive and daring in your quest is one thing. Reckless and stupid is another.

It’s not a real climbing rope and harness. Turns out professional safety gear is shockingly expensive, but you found a knock-off resistance training set, complete with harness and stretchy bungee cord rope, on Amazon for a very reasonable $15. You’ve already spent $72 on cookies, $50 dollars for a nanny cam set, and an extortionate $26 for stationary paper in your never-ending quest to lure out Fake Spiderman. You figure a rope is a rope, and you're not paying $100 more to get ripped off by the big climbing corporations. But you’re also not willing to go without.

After all, you've already fallen from the Chrysler building once, and you're not angling for a repeat.

As intent as you are on seeing your Spider-benefactor eye to eye, you're not quite prepared to die for the privilege. Your plan is just to make it look like you are going to jump.

Any superhero worth his dime wouldn't actually let you fall before they would be willing to save you.

That would be a real dick move.

You give your impromptu safety rig one last tug to make sure it's secure, then straighten your posture. Grabbing a hold of the metal rail, you hoist yourself up. You clamber onto it, gripping tight with shaking hands as you swing a leg over, straddling the bar.

Left leg then the right, until all of you are on the other side of the railing.

Then you stay there.

One second. Then two. You close your eyes and try not to look down at the many, many floors below, and how one gust of strong wind could probably knock you over and have you falling down the building again. You count the seconds that pass you by.

Five. Six. Seven.

A strong gust of wind blows through your side, and your legs buckle at the strong resistance, hand gripping down on the metal railing to hold yourself steady so you don't fall off.

Eightnineten! Ok. Fuck. No. You're good. Fuck this! He's not going to come.

If he didn’t come when you climbed over, he's not going to turn up now.

You briefly let go of the railing with one hand, adjusting your grip so you can climb back to safety. The sun beating down on your back disappears and is eaten up by a large and looming shadow. Every hair on the back of your neck prickles in warning.

Your reaction is too slow, you don't even have time to turn around to see what caused it. Then all you hear is an angry booming voice right next to your ear.

"Have you lost your goddamned mind?!"

You panic, flinging out your hand to catch the bar, but the hard metal of the railings isn't there anymore.

There is a sharp metallic snap. The safety rope around your waist splits from the hasp.

He’s calling your name.

The world tilts and everything goes upside down along with it. Your stomach sinks with a sickening plummet, legs dropping through into zero gravity as you find yourself staring up at the blue and endless New York sky.

Then you're falling from the Chrysler building.

Again.

Fuck!

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: To my dearest @thirstworldproblemss who has to constantly listen to me jabber on about this day and night endlessly and forever. She is in every sense of the word a collaborator on this project. She brainstorms, she pitches in, she edits and she beta-reads. This and so many of my works would not exist without her, please send her all the love if you enjoyed this story.

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