#this might change but as of right now im not going to share much about it

[mygnolia]

to weave my love ⭒ n. riki

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Nope.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And they’re silenced immediately. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn't like it one bit. 

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

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

A spark. 

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

What the hell was that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That scared the shit out of him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake gawks. “You must really like her,”

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

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

“Gross.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s attracted to the power plant. 

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

Bam. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blurts, “He just got badly hurt.” 

Immediately, Jake knows he’s fucked up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RIKI'S TO-DO LIST BEFORE PROM

☐  talk to ____ regularly 

☐  don't make it awkward 

☐  be..cute? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You. He still needs to save you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Riki. Spark. Spider-Man. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What. The. Fuck. 

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

Until now. 

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

His blood runs cold. 

“You think this…why?” 

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

Riki was going to strangle his best friend. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for saving me tonight.”

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

“Goodnight, Spiderman.” 

—-

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing. 

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

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

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

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

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

The machine was scheduled to be completed tomorrow. 

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the solution hits him. Literally. 

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

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

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

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

Maybe this is where Spider-Man dies. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll understand after he explains everything, right? 

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

Do not say it’s true. 

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

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

“Holy shit.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pause. “For being Spider-Man?” 

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

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

“I really want to ask you to prom.” 

You simply stare at him, surprised. 

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

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

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

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

“Jake.” 

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

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

“For what?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d Jake find out?” 

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

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

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

“Not stupid. Keep going.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But first, he has to try something out. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought girls liked this.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED AND ALWAYS READ!

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

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

[autogyne-redacted]

Let's Talk About Security Culture: Why Keeping Secrets is Cool and Sexy

It's a natural impulse -- if you love crime -- to want to talk about how great it is. And if you hate America, it's only natural to want to share your dreams for its future with the rest of tumblr dot com. It can feel brave and transgressive. And there is a drive to share your soul with the world at the heart of social media. Surely I should be posting the most concrete implications of my politics, right? This is the poster's curse.

Security Culture refers to a set of "best practices" developed over the past several decades, largely (in a US context) coming out of radical environmental groups as they faced intense state repression, infiltration and entrapment. If you're not familiar, there's some fascinating crimethinc write ups to give you a window into that world:

Much of it boils down to: don't talk about crimes, past or forthcoming with people who don't need to know about them, and be mindful of the possibility of surveillance and infiltration. And, we can support each other as a community in minimizing risks, with an eye towards enabling bold action rather than getting bogged down in fears and anxieties. The guidelines that make sense for AG-based trouble-makers are different from the guidelines that make sense for posters, but plenty of common principles apply. To speak briefly to our position here as posters:

First, it bears saying that long term anonymity is nearly impossible to maintain. Unless you've never accessed Tumblr without a vpn, and avoided connections with other ppl who can be associated with you/your location, and never shared pictures without scrubbing metadata, and a bunch of other 100% consistent steps, it's trivial for the state to know who you are.

Second, just because something isn't actively being prosecuted now doesn't mean it can't be prosecuted later. The priorities of the state change and a shift in power towards the right or a growth in radical action from the left can suddenly make it a priority to destroy anarchist networks or just find a few ppl to prosecute as examples (who probably weren't that plugged into larger networks before getting arrested). Advocating for specific anti-government crimes or declarations of intent to commit such crimes are likely prosecutable, and even if charges don't stick, they're an easy vector for legal harassment.

Third, it's worth thinking about heat as separate from prosecutability. There are modes of engagement that may not be directly criminalized but signal that you are someone worth watching. Some people choose to be public in ways that make heat unavoidable. But it's worth noting that heat isn't strictly individualized, that it persists over time but also is going to shrink over time.

It's easy on here, ime, to see yourself as a proud member of the crime fandom but not much of a content creator. And it's easy to feel like you've generated an amount of heat where you're locked into that role. But heat you generated 10 years ago is probably pretty well gone. Heat you generated 5 years ago has faded substantially. It's worth thinking about how the world might shift in the coming years and what doors you want to keep open.

The non-individualized nature of heat also means that leaning into the spiciest of anti-state positions will make it a bad idea for people who are acting out those positions end up tied to you. Loudly talking about how "more people should be doing [X/Y/Z]" unfortunately sets you up to remain distant from people who might be doing or thinking about doing such things.

Which brings me back to: keeping secrets is sexy. Not spelling everything out builds intrigue. You can lay out a theoretical position and leave working out the practical implications of that as an exercise for the reader. There's value in opacity. The poster's curse and the drive to confess are extremely convenient for the state, but we can resist them. We can hold dreams in our hearts that we refuse to offer up to the posting spectacle.

[eli-writes-sometimes]

The more that I'm writing this Niko and Athena story that I've got going on, the more I've realised that I don't think it's ever going to actually go anywhere. I'm going to keep writing it because I love it, but I don't think that I'm going to do much tumblr stuff related to it. Maybe use them as ocs because I love them but not use it for writing excerpts or anything

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

ooh im glad!!! so, expanding on that then..

how about price with a civvi wife/gf, and when they’re talking over the phone while he’s gone, she’s being kinda cagey and definitely omitting something, but he doesn’t know what. so when he gets back home she tells him she’s pregnant? really just a lot of fluff (and maybe angst? 👀 like about how his job is super dangerous and he might not come home, so he has fears about it?? bc your angst is so good it makes me sob violently /pos)

ive never sent a request before, so if this is too specific or something, feel free to whittle it down or toss it, i don’t wanna bug you lol

have a good day hal, love u!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Our Remains

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: You disliked hiding things from John. Certainly something as big as this.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Pregnancy, allusions to breeding kink & unprotected seggsy time, morning sickness, angst, major fluff at the end

A/N: This was an adorable request, Anon!! Thanks so much for sending it in.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You disliked hiding things from John. It not only felt like a betrayal of his unlimited trust in you but also a slap in the face for what you had built with each other. The both of you were always honest to a fault when it came to your relationship—like how a bird was loyal to the sky. It was an unselfish principle; a promise of pure love and devotion that transcended touch or given gifts.

You told each other things. Everything. Down to how much you had spent on groceries that day just because it was something to talk about and share; something that made you closer to one another even when you were apart. You told the Brit what you planted in the back garden—what shirt you were wearing!

But now you hold the ringing phone in your hand and for the first time in your entire relationship, you consider lying. 

Your eyes bore into the icon of John’s smiling face, head covered by a black beanie and beard tilted up softly. Affectionately, his name on the device had been changed to ‘Grumpy St. Bernard,’ but now the title made your lips go thin instead of the usual giggling reaction. No heat spreads over your cheeks; no excitement.

Just an overwhelming sense of dread.

The week had started just as the last three had. A special form of hell. At nearly six o’clock you would whip back the covers with all the fervor of a terrified rabbit being chased by a hawk; the taste of bile immediately snapping you to attention as the toilet acts as your commanding officer. 

You imagined John would get a chuckle out of that comparison, but when you’re hurling up your guts in nothing more than a pair of your boyfriend’s boxers and a tank top it’s hard to think about all that. The taste of bile was still lickable from your lips as the bathroom tile digs into your knees, ringing phone still in your palm. 

The idea of a pregnancy test slid into your subconscious in the first week of John’s two-month deployment, the tantalizing thought that was like a hook to a fish. You had pulled on the string, of course, and had instantly drowned in air. But you hadn’t taken one until now. Too nervous, perhaps. Hesitant. 

In your other hand, opposite of the buzzing phone, you held three positive pregnancy tests in a shaking grip. Pink and white plastic mock you from the corner of your vision; two double lines. 

John’s icon dims. 

You press the green circle in your panic, mouth opening and closing yet no sounds escaping. Would you tell him now? Later? Was it right to tell him about this now—when he was halfway across the continent? Fear overtakes your heart for no apparent reason. You didn’t want him to act rashly, especially when John could act so stubborn when he wanted to. 

He was always so concerned about you when he was away but you were concerned just the same. That man was the one who was getting shot at constantly, not you.

“Took you a while to answer. Trying to give me the slip, then, Sweetheart?” John’s gravelly voice helped slightly, making your heart still, even if for a short moment. You close your eyes and tilt your head down, lips quivering at the soft chuckle over the line.

God, you loved him so much.

Blue eyes furrowed in confusion at the silence on the line, the chilled Switzerland air sneaking inside John’s compression shirt as he stood on the hotel balcony. The sounds of gentle conversation twitch his ears from inside the room—the voices of the One-Four-One a dull mumble behind the half-closed sliding door. They had been playing cards before the Captain had easily slipped away to check up on you. 

He tried to call as often as he could. 

John’s hips shift, one arm crossed over his chest as the other presses the phone harder to his ear. Lips pull to a frown, beard bristles going with them, before the lines on the Brit’s forehead grow larger.

“...Love?” Naturally, a sliver of concern wedges itself into his ribs but it subsides when your calming voice spreads honey over the call. John’s shoulders fall back down. 

You breathe deeply, hands dropping the tests onto the bathroom counter with a small clack of plastic. 

“John,” forcing away the hitch to your words, you stare at yourself in the mirror, free hand sliding up to lightly rest over your collarbone as a soothing method. Your eyes are so filled with shock that it throws you off. “I…I wasn’t expecting a call so soon.” 

“Hm, been up since 0500.” the man grunts, looking out over the city and seeing the rising sun before asking softly with a deep-set brow. There was something about your tone…lids narrow at nothing. “Did I wake you?” 

“No, no,” You force a chuckle, having to take a deep breath before ripping your sights from your own reflection. The disgust was settling at you trying to avoid this. But if your own brain could barely process this right now, what gave you the right to tell John when he wasn’t here? “I’ve been up for a few hours.”

Licking your lips, you run a hand over your hair, glancing out of the ajar door into the master bedroom, pushing out bland answers for only the fact that you couldn’t think clearly right now.

Jesus, this was actually happening. 

You study the thrown covers from your morning rush to the bathroom, seeing the pictures on the nightstand and feeling the delicate atmosphere that was sparking—electricity between atoms. A silent moment of realization that everything down to the bare bones of your relationship was about to change. Blinking back to the tests, you dwell in the strange fuzz that took residence in the back of your mind. 

“What’s been going on?” Your voice isn’t right. Too tight. Too…nervous. Why were you nervous? “Everyone good?” 

The Brit frowns stiffly, shifting his feet again and sending a look back into the hotel. Hunching forward, John’s large fingers fix the position of the phone as his voice lowers, ignoring your question entirely. He doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but there were pros and cons to his line of work. 

Above all, he knew when something was up with you.

“Are you alright over there, Sweetheart?” Blue eyes rove the street below, “Feelin’ okay? You sound a bit stuffed up.”

Your heart lurches, quickly stuttering through an explanation of, “O-oh, I think I just came down with something.” The irony wasn’t lost on you. “A stomach bug,” you cringe, “I’m sorry, was it that obvious?”

The laugh that exits is less convincing than you thought it would be, but it does the trick. John sighs in relief, chuckling as he shakes his head.

“No need to apologize, Love…anything bad, then? I can bring some meds from Base when I’m back if you need me to.” He was still concerned for you, but knowing that you’d never lied or withheld the truth from him before there was really no reason to believe that anything else was going on. John trusted you to the end of the earth. 

The Captain rubbed at the back of his neck, cracking his spine as he bent back. It was still early and waking up on a hotel bed without you beside him was torture. John longed for home. Longed for you.

Back at the house, your face scrunches together. 

Bad? You wonder, saying absentmindedly that some medication would be lovely. Was this…bad? 

John had always wanted to have a kid—or, at least, he’d told you as much when he was above you, filling you to the brim and then doing it again a second and third time. Thighs quivering and eyes fighting to stay open through layered bliss as sharp pants rung in your ears. 

“Gonna get you pregnant…watch you swell up…c’mon sweet thing, you can handle another one, can’t you? Need to watch it take.” 

…But was that a true feeling or just a kink? You blank and realize you’d never asked him. More than that, though, was this what you wanted? 

“When do you think you’ll be home, John?” You speak softly, palm flattening over your stomach as you exit the bathroom and sit on the end of the bed, gut swirling but not in a nauseous sort of way. “I…I really miss you, y’know? It would all be better if you were home.”

The brunette blinks softly, lids peeling back in shock for a moment before a thin thread of guilt worms its way into him. 

“Kate said two months, Love,” John speaks slowly, the grumble in his voice trying to convey his unease at your strange behavior, “You know that.”

He’d explained his job when you both had gotten serious, how he would be gone for long periods of time, and the somewhat uncomfortable situations you’d be put in because of it. You’d agreed and never brought it up when John would have to leave in the small hours of the morning and disappear for months on end. It shocked him, really, with how well you adjusted but that was just how you were. One of a kind. 

There was no one else with whom John could see himself building a life—being buried beside in some nice meadow grave plot and turning to dust together. Growing a family with. 

John cleared his throat, tilting his head down slightly before pulling himself back to the present. 

“It’s bothering you that much, eh?” His brows furrow, “Are you sure you’re alright? I can call hospital and—”

“No!” You slap a hand to your mouth, halting your outburst as blue eyes go somewhat wide, jaw slackening. Taking a breath over the shocked silence over the line, you dig your fingers into your cheek before letting your limb drop. “No, John…I-I’m sorry I just…” 

Your voice quivers.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…

Eyes burning and nose twitching, you breathe heavily, mouth closing shut because you knew that if you say another word you’ll explode. You were shivering with cold sweat, scared and confused, and wanting John to hold you in his arms; whispering that it would all be okay into the shell of your ear. 

You force through a sob, “I’m just really scared.”

John tenses, one hand going to grasp the balcony with white knuckles. His mind goes into overdrive. “Scared?” the Brit prods, muscles going stiff and mind running, “What in the hell is going on?” 

Authority leaks into his tone, serious and deep. It made him nervous that he couldn’t see you right now—couldn’t stop the sounds coming from your mouth. Why were you crying? Has something horrible happened to you? Were you in trouble but were unable to tell him? John runs over your conversation again, every word and sound, as his heart races. He was wound up like a spring. 

From behind him, the conversation in the hotel room halts. 

You force your eyes closed, now up on your feet and pacing. Tears lightly patter to the floor. 

“John, I can’t tell you over the phone,” you admit, shaking, “that wouldn’t be…wouldn’t be fair to you.” Swiping at your eyes, you spread the salty liquid away from your lashes, sniffling; praying that he would understand. “But I really need you home as soon as you’re able. I don’t want to break up what's going on over there, it’s just really important. I don’t think I can wait two months by myself. You know I would never ask this if I didn’t need to.”

John’s jaw clenches, legs unable to stay still as your anxiety leaks to him. He’s nodding before he realizes you can’t see him, taking a deep breath to fill his lungs. 

“...I’ll see what I can do, then.” The brunette runs his hand over his beard pulling at the strands aggressively. What was so crucial that you can’t tell him over the phone? It was a secure line, John always made sure it was; yet, at the same time, that fact didn’t matter at all. If you needed him home so fervently—then he was coming home. That was that. “How long can you wait for me, Love?” He spares a glance inside. “There are a few loose ends that need to be taken care of here. Might complicate things.” 

You blink around the bedroom, hand wrapped around your middle and trying to run soothing circles into your skin. 

“I…I don’t…” John’s face softens, closing his eyes.

“Breathe, Sweetheart,” he whispers, “I’m comin’ home to you. We’ll get whatever this is sorted, yeah? I need you to be brave for me until then.”

Listening, you let the words calm you down, sniffling one last time like a kid who had fallen off the monkey bars before you let out a chuckle. John instantly follows his own advice when that sound wafts over the line. His shoulders fall back once more, silent sigh exiting.

“You said that exact same thing to me when I ended up burning that loaf of bread I was making—two years ago, was it? ‘Breathe, Sweetheart.’” Blue glimmers with love, cheeky tone growing. 

“Hm, nearly set the kitchen on fire, didn’t you? So much smoke I swore someone had set off a charge in the oven.” John doesn’t push you to answer him, though he’s more questions than anything else at this point. You’d said you would tell him when he’s home and he believes you. “Please, Love, at least promise me you didn’t burn the bloody house down, yeah?” 

A laugh strikes his chest, and he’s chuckling slowly in retaliation. 

“I promise, John.”

“Good.” You’re smiling for the first in what seems like ages, tears drying as the flood down your chin stops. You lick away the water stuck in the corner of your mouth when John grunts lowly, “I’ll tell the boys and inform Laswell. But I can’t say it’ll be less than two weeks.”

Nodding to yourself, you say, quietly, “Okay.” Your eyes fall to the framed picture on the nightstand—the image of John and you smiling brightly on your third anniversary. You’d gone hiking, both sweaty and dirt marks on your cheeks, but happy…always happy. Your veins pump blood faster. “I love you, John.” 

The final comment is tender; the words are more silk and soft furs than vibrating vocal cords. 

He blinks away the blush that lights his pale cheeks. John huffs, an infectious smile flickering over his face as his chest wells with affection. Acting like a bird preening itself, he smirks and says, “Well, you’re lucky then…I love you too, Sweetheart.” An exhalation echoes over the call as his tone drops, “Keep safe for me, eh? I’ll call to update tomorrow.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

When the phone is set down on the bed, tossed down carefully, you try to think over this situation more rationally. You wouldn’t say you were against this—building a family with John. In fact, if not him, then you don’t believe it would be anyone else. 

The Brit was the only man for you. You both knew the risks of having unprotected sex and in reality, you think neither one of you cared about the consequences. 

Nodding to yourself, you wonder how to explain this to him when he comes home as you get to fixing the sheets, one hand always drifting back to your stomach with a growing appreciation.

—

John jogged to his car in the underground parking garage, unlocking it with his fob as his bags are slung over his shoulders. He wastes no time chucking his belongings into the back seat, swiftly sliding into the driver's seat and slamming the door shut as the engine starts. His dog tags bounce on his chest, but he’s half convinced they move from the rate that his heart is going alone.

All through traffic his fingers are tapping against the wheel, grunting stiffly at red lights and shifting his hips. 

It had been three and a half weeks of fixing loose ends. 

“Fuckin’ hell, c’mon,” John huffs, one elbow on the car frame as his hand flattens over his lower jaw. The light slowly snaps back to green after a long minute. 

Pressing on the gas, the vehicle moves forward and continues until the familiar home comes into view on that quiet street nearly twenty minutes later. 

John barely parks the car before he hops out, leaving his bags in the back, and rushes to the door. Taking the key from under the doormat, his mind is focused on only you. He had been unable to stop his worry about you and your unnamed fear, watching the phone with every free instance he could. It had only grown as the days got longer, and no matter how much you assured him that you would be okay until he got back, deep-seated apprehension grew. He didn’t like living under a shroud, especially when it came to your health.

The key in his hand was inserted with a firm wrist and twisted, shoving open the door with a heavy shoulder like there was a cloud over his head.

“Love?!” He calls, not bothering to shuck off his boots before looking around the visible living room and foyer. “Where are you?” 

Long legs move swiftly as an utterance calls from the kitchen, barely taking the time to close the door behind him in his anxiety, “John?” 

The Brit immediately backtracks, skidding to a stop and turning with blinking eyes. His ears twitch at the sounds of dishes being dropped back into water, as his heart steadily slows at the sound of your beautiful voice calling his name. 

He rushes around the doorframe, feet stomping and hand catching the wall as you come into view, staring wide-eyed. 

Your digits are around the fabric of a dish towel, fingers dripping as John finally presents himself to you. You hadn’t heard him until he had called out, too preoccupied with your own thoughts to hear the lock click. 

But now it was like every worry you had was wiped clean at the sight of that gruff face; the hitch in his large chest. A smile slashes your lips after a moment of shocked silence.

“John!” You laugh, rushing forward, and the man lets his face soften—bringing you close to him as you draw near and trapping you in his arms. 

His breath spread out over the top of your head in a great sigh, grumbled chuckles accented by the way John’s great hands wrap around your shoulders. Fingers press you into a solid chest, digging through hair to let your ear twitch at the sound of his heartbeat. 

John doesn't speak until he has held you in his arms for at least three minutes, just pressing his face into your scalp and feeling your warmth against him. You don’t pull away either, breathing in his musk as it instinctually leads to your muscles loosening. 

Minutes later, the Brit pulls back slowly, gripping you by the shoulders and looking down into your eyes. His gaze filters over yours, taking you in before his lips meet yours in a brief yet deep kiss. You melt into it, hands going to grip his cheeks and spread throughout his beard hair, soft strands leaving you shivering when John’s thumbs rub circles into your flesh. 

He pulls back and you fight the tears in your eyes as he connects his forehead with yours. His optics shine with love, bleeding out like trapped stars; silver flecks of devotion and a blue the color of sea storms.

“What’s going on, Love?” John whispers, concern alight and raving as his grip goes to your waist, squeezing comfortingly. “I’m here. Tell me.” 

You blink slowly, lips going thin with tight brows. Swallowing through a tight throat, you nod. 

“Can you go sit in the living room, please?” Speaking carefully, you tilt your head and watch John get confused—his nose scrunching and moving his lips together. You run your thumbs over his cheeks and smile slightly, obviously nervous again. “Trust me.”

Though it wasn’t a question, John replies under his breath, “Always.” 

But still, he holds you, studying your expression and the whites of your eyes with stiff lungs. You were making him fear that something horrible was coming—something he couldn’t control. His heart begins to hurt, but he backs away from you, brows tight as he exits the kitchen and disappears into the living room. 

Taking down a swift breath when he’s out of sight, you fiddle with your fingers above your abdomen, looking down at your still-flat stomach. You knew it was stupid to worry, but how could you not? It wasn’t every day you just told your Lover you were pregnant with his child…

“John loves me,” you mutter to yourself, nodding and getting ready to go through with the plan you’d formed over the three weeks you’d been alone. “And he’ll love the both of us. I know he will.” 

Hand flattening over your stomach, you open a drawer with the other, pulling out a small cardboard box no bigger than a book. Fingers shaking, you lick your lips and feel the slight pull of a nervous, yet giddy, smile. Turning, you exit the kitchen and see John sitting with his nose resting above the clench of his fists, foot tapping. His head immediately snaps over when you come into view, hands falling to hang off his legs as the couch under him dips from his weight. 

You steel yourself and raise the box. 

“Here.” Placing it on the coffee table, you sit across from John in an armchair. 

He blinks slowly, eyes going small with curiosity. The man sends you glances through his lashes as he stares down at the object but he says nothing. Rubbing his beard with one hand, he reaches and grabs it carefully. 

Testing the weight, John is genuinely confused, clenching his jaw and feeling the material in his palm. 

“...What’s this, then?” He asks lowly, glancing at you with a raised brow and lines on his forehead. 

You put your intertwined hands in your lap, prompting with a tilt of your shoulders. 

“Open it.” Off put by your cryptic answers, John nods firmly, grasping the top of the box and pulling lightly, careful not to disturb the contents. It was strange to think, but he was honestly quite perturbed. 

What exactly was inside this box, and why had he been called home for it? He loved being here, no doubt, but the circumstances….

Blue eyes glimmer. You didn’t look overly afraid as you shifted in your seat, just plain timid—like the inside object would change something fundamental about his and yours relationship. 

John pops the top off and looks as you start talking before your throat threatens to shut you up. “I…I know it’s not a life-threatening thing to call you home for,” the man stills as if he was made of stone; a statue as non-breathing and pulse-less as anything, “But I didn’t want to tell you over the phone because that seemed so—!” 

Your voice is drowned out as John’s shaking fingers delve into the box, ears ringing. His fingers flinch off of three positive pregnancy tests and the soft fabric of the plain army green baby onesie that surrounds them; skimming slowly. 

“I found out the day you called and I said I had come down with something.” Your laugh is strained when it exits you, and you stare at the Brit hard, seeing his features utterly halt all expression. Thumbs digging into your skin, your tone drops, speaking slowly, “...John? A-are you okay? Say something to me, Love.” 

It’s only in that long minute of nothingness that you really start to get an all-consuming tenseness to your bones like a rabbit. 

Why isn’t he saying anything? 

John clears his stiff throat, blinking rapidly as he brings out one of the tests, dropping the box lightly to the coffee table with a dull thump. The twin red lines are ingrained into the softness of his retinas as the sun would be if you were to stare directly at it. 

Pregnant. 

His heart swells to an almost painful degree, blue eyes moving to look at you across the table and then dipping to your stomach. The Brit stands up slowly. 

Your lungs are tight, lids moving quickly with wetness growing in your tear ducts. 

“Please, John, what are you thinking—?” Large hands capture your arms, bringing you up as lips meet yours in a passionate and heart-stopping kiss. 

John’s limbs wrap around your hips, bringing you up into the air as gently as a bird, face parting from yours with a series of loud and genuine laughs. You snap your arms around his neck, shocked but not at all complaining as he holds you up with ease, twirling you around in a firm but ever-gentle hold. 

“You’re pregnant?” His whispers meet you, airy and deep with awe. It was like he was in his teens again, running around Herefordshire with his mates—his eyes shone with happiness; pure unabashed love. “Oh, truly, Sweetheart?”

Tears dribble down your cheeks at the sight of him glowing, beard peeled back in a large smile with wet eyes. Hiccuped giggles leave your lips as you nuzzle your face into his neck, the sight of him like this overwhelming. All stress leaves you in a millisecond when your feet hit the ground again. 

“Yes, John,” you sob, overjoyed, pulling back so you both can stare into each other's teary eyes as the Brits’ fingers go to shakily wipe the waterworks from your under eyes. His orbs flicker quickly, looking you over in an entirely different light. “You’re going to be a father.” 

He fights through a scratchy voice, “Me?” The tone is amused, but he can’t articulate how exalted he feels to hear that. A father…him? It was more than he could have ever asked for, and, even better—John whispers out, “You’re going to be a mum.” 

You kiss him, multiple quick pecks that he returns through shared joyous chuckles.

“I didn’t want to tell you over the phone,” the confession meets the air as one of John’s hands travels to cup your flat abdomen, fingers flinching over the fabric of your shirt to sneak under. You laugh and shiver at his calluses, as his blue eyes are so soft they could be compared to butter. “And I couldn’t wait two months.”

“Christ, Love,” John lays a kiss on your forehead, needing to be as close to you as possible. You can feel his heart through his chest, and you know yours isn’t any better. This was far more than you could have hoped for. He mutters against your skin, “I’m so glad you didn’t. This is bloody amazing news—I want to be here for all of it.” 

Sea storms lock onto your face with a grunt, “You’re so lovely. Perfect, yeah?”

His warm hand still rests under your shirt, and you doubt it’s going to leave anytime soon.

You feel your cheeks heat and you smile bashfully, heart about to explode.

“You are.” John reiterates. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, Sweetheart. I’m so happy.” 

The air is ripe with tenderness, a soft state of being that just keeps getting better. John had silent tears dripping down his face, blinking to clear them and not letting you leave his hold for a second. 

“Oh, John,” you whisper, digging your fingers into the back of his shirt, looking up. “Me too, Love.” 

While the glee is nearly physical enough to grab, there is a moment of hesitancy in the Brit. He was gone more times than not for work; put into situations that could leave him going through bodily harm. You didn’t deserve that stress—didn’t deserve to sit at home with a swelling stomach just watching the door and wondering if you’d have to become a single mother. You had a child in your womb. His child. Both of yours’ child. 

A family that you both had made.

John swallows and says to you seriously, without an ounce of hesitation in his blood, “I’m telling Laswell to pull me out,” you blink up and listen, letting him continue as his press on your flesh gets even more prominent, nodding to you, “I’m not missing this—not putting you through that worry. Two years, then I’ll head back in. We have enough saved, I give you my word you’ll want for nothing.” 

Blue eyes flicker down, and a small mumble so tiny it nearly disappears hits your ears. You almost start sobbing again. “This is more important. You both are more important.” 

There were few moments in your life that you think you’ll remember when you are old, weathered and wrinkled, but this you tell yourself is one that you will carry to your grave. John and yours’ grave. 

What remains behind, you ask? Simple.

White bones entangled with an eternity of deathless worship, and the generations that will come to lay flowers on the headstone.

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@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @shoe1412,@jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet​, @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @nanialis, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @emerald-valkyrie, @michirulol, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @bespectacledhuman, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaunt2009, @shmaptin, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce,

[meansevika]

okay so very long thinkpiece about meljay and jayce' treatment of mel / the writers treatment of mel and how i think that all things considered she hasnt really won as much as we think she did

the thing about this that makes me so mad or rather sad (both, actually) is that we learn in season 1 how mel was brought up, that she didn't get to be soft and kind, that her surroundings were hard and rough just like her mother was, that love isn't a thing she knows like that especially not in relation to vulnerability. now if you think about media in general there is a pattern we know. the black woman is always the strong woman, the independent woman, the woman who doesnt get to be vulnerable bc of the first two points. so here comes this man she's trying to use not just for her own endeavors but for the good of piltover, clearly having a different mindset than her mother, and he cracks her open just like that. he's vulnerable with her and he lets her be vulnerable with him and it allows this woman this kind of vulnerability that she was never allowed to feel. she feels and she loves and there is someone who holds her and looks out for her when things go bad. he is his first thought after the bombing and hes so loving and endearing unlike her mother who is concerned, of course, but straight back to business too. and oh what a lovely thing that was to watch as a black woman who to this day still doesn't get to see this as often as we really should

so mel gets to experience something she hasnt before and you can tell it means something to her because when she gets back in act 3 the first reaction to him is an excited, hopeful one.

this is the man she cares deeply for and it is also the man who shes comforted before many times. something she needs in those very confusing times too. something she might be looking out for. something she might hope to get herself. some comforting after what shes been through for months. someone to share what is going on with her and how confusing it is to find out all those lies and secrets about herself.

until she notices how changed he is, how different he looks, so instantly she is worried. of course! who wouldnt be! she very likely didnt even know he was missing since its the first time we see her back in the city so she must've assumed he has been here and well for the whole time being (does she even know how long its been?) but it isnt fine as we know. she puts herself second! immediately! (and rewatching that scene now it actually makes me mad how she does that. and how anyone can question any of her feelings for him when shes immediately all jayce. or how in general people think shes only interested in her own goals) she asks this man who has shown her to be vulnerable around him and it BEING FINE, what happened, shes opening herself up to him, again, over and over, and he not only tells her it doesnt matter (what happened to him) but TURNS HIS BACK ON HER. he is literally shutting her off. he is saying with his body she does not get to do that. and for someone who has grown up like this, with a mother cutting off any kind of displays of weakness, this must be a familiar feeling, something that goes off like a bell

but she still tries! she still tries! she sees something is wrong but she tries to get comfort anyway, because this is jayce, right, this is the man she cares for deeply, the man who has opened this door for her and the door she's let herself through, the man who has always had compassion for her. of course she tries again. why wouldn't she? so she starts that something has happened to her but he doesn't even let her tell him what happened (actually it makes me so mad seeing this again and how crazy hostile he is towards her, its like im looking at the mel hating part of arcanetwt and him repeating beat for beat what theyve been saying for years) he doesnt give her room to speak, just takes it for himself, prioritizing himself and his own feelings. and, yes, figuring out the bombing thing and wanting to talk about it is valid and i think in general this could've been a great angsty way to deal with this topic IF they would've had the opportunity to talk this out properly but what happens instead is that the man that makes mel feel safe starts INTERROGATING her like she is a criminal that should be held for trial FOR SAVING HIM something she doesnt even undestand herself. and suddenly she is in a whole different position and i think by now she knows that this kind of compassion and understanding and room for vulnerability isn't part of their conversation anymore

she loses her composure and that of course isnt a first because she has started to be less put together around him, allowing her more room to "sway" but this kind of destruction is a different one because she feels at trial, feels cornered, feels like she has to explain herself but - and thats what is important - isnt heard. and i think that is something she knows very well, something shes grown up with, trying to explain herself and not being heard.

all of that happens while he is, mind you, still holding onto that hammer. something she surely notices too. the man who's usually quick to let down his defences around her, who isnt councilor talis or mister talis but just jayce around her, is holding onto that hammer like shes a threat. so he tells her he thinks shes lying and she asks him why he would think she'd do that, obviously, because her understanding of their relationship and their trust is a different one than his or at least this jayce that has come back from the arcane, because clearly this kind of understanding comes from somewhere and it comes from the times they've spent together alone throughout season 1 and a little in the beginning of season 2.

he throws at her that shes been using him, something that surprises her, because clearly she doesnt know what has happened, but she tries to explain anyway, because she doesnt know what has happened at least not in full (as you can tell by her reaction to viktor appearing, sensing the hostile mood between both, but also the way she reacts when viktor mentions the noxians intentions), and you can see that these thoughts of his are a result of months in the arcane alone with them and imagining conversations over conversations (although for me its still hard to understand how he grew that hostile towards her this quickly as if she were responsible for everything that happened but those are thoughts for a different post). he crashes out during that conversation, his face is warped with hatred and that is. all. for. her. to. see. and then BOOM goes the hammer off. mid conversation. a conversation that should feel safe with a man she should feel safe with but none of that is there. there is no space for her. (and yes i know hes aiming at viktors puppet but that isnt somethng mel is aware in that moment)

it all leads up to a fight and eventually they walk together and he apologizes, although very distantly and without much explanation, and despite it all, despite having good reasons to shut off and not share what she's feeling, she does. she talks to him about what is on her mind and they have a short, bittersweet exchange but it's just nowhere to what they've established in the first season. as a shipper of course that is super frustrating, but as a mel fan it's just sad to see that the person she felt safe enough to seek comfort in is just so closed off. but not only that, it's obvious they're parting ways and it's very obvious this is coming from his side and i think that is also why she so wilingly accepts it. she doesn't fight much back throughout their whole fight earlier either, she tries to explain herself, but doesnt demand that room for herself even though in this relationship she should be able to take just as much room for herself and her feelings as he does, but she doesn't. she just lets it happen and i understand it bc you have this man you trust and probably love and his first reaction to you is hostile when hostile has never been a response to her. he made a complete u-turn and of course that's off putting, maybe even scary, of course it shuts her down, makes someone who's so good with words and fighting just try to cause as little damage as possible because that is how she's grown up, isn't it?

and that is why i am sad about this. she learned that love doesnt have to look like her mothers and that being vulnerable isnt a weakness and its his doing but here she is met by this kind of hostility she only knows from noxus and it hurts even more that it COMES FROM HIM and over something as SAVING HIS LIFE when its clearly was an act out of love and not investment bc if i'd would've been just that than she would've saved viktor as well? but it wasnt about that. it was her subconscious making a decision and it was something her mother would describe as an act of weakness (theres a reason she gets renni to attack him bc she sees how fond mel of him is maybe even because shes been fond of a man herself once and she knows what itll do) and i think the worst part about it is that she doesnt ever get to truly articulate this or anything else and now that jayce is gone (dead? in a stone? who knows?) she won't get to ever probably. she won't get to say what she thinks and explain herself truly and she won't have anyone to confide in, to be comforted by or comfort. elora is dead, kino wasn't real and the real one is actually dead too, jayce is well whatever he is, and her mother died in her arms. yes, mel is a mage and that is fucking awesome and i was so happy to see her go off and get so many spotlights in battle, but shes also so fucking tragic actually. because here she is with a fuck ton of weight on her shoulders, the noxian army looking up to her, the whole name, not knowing who her father is or what any of her powers mean, the whole black rose thing, everything unresolved between her and jayce, the death of the people she loves, and shes all alone with it. shes all alone with it and she gets no one. man im just fucking sad that this woman got a glimpse of what it could be like to be loved and have someone to "come home to" just for her to have literally no one left like why do you hate black women so much why cant they get a fucking good ending and why cant they be fucking loved even when things get hard

also im lowkey mad that jayce got to find comfort in her lap so many times and not once did she get that in return, not even a squeeze of her shoulder, but dont let me get started on that....

[mattsturnioloz]

Then I lost you.

Part 2.

Summary: Matt's career as a youtuber takes a toll on his 4 year relationship with his girlfriend, putting it on hold. Will it ever be the same again?

Pairings: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Warnings: angst, mentions of anxiety, unresolved angst (maybe)

A/N: (guys this is my first fic so please bear with me😭 l would love some feedback or tips though!!)

I was sitting on the couch scrolling through my phone and channel surfing, waiting for my boyfriend, Matt, to get back from filming a car video with his brothers, Chris and Nick. But over the course of the last couple of months, Matt has been distant and there was a rather uncomfortable feeling sitting in my chest. He would make up excuses as to why he couldn't hang out with me like he was filming, editing or streaming. It made me overthink. Did I do something? Does he still love- No, of course he still loves me. Right?

It was all too much and it gave me anxiety. Sure, I understand his career as a Youtuber can be a handful but I can't help but feel a bit neglected and it makes me feel guilty.. I sit there thinking for a moment, taking in the cool autumn smell that roamed through the house, listening to the patter of the soft rain drops falling onto the windows, trying to think of a way that I could get Matt to spend time with me.

I decide to cook a nice dinner for matt and I or at least attempt to, so I stand up and I head to the kitchen and decide on some ravioli which takes me about an hour but I did it.

Flashback

"What are you gonna get to eat?" | asked Matt.

"I'm not sure.. you know for a fancy restaurant, you'd think they'd have a variety of options." He says before raising his eyebrow at me, showing me the menu and we both chuckle.

"Our first date and i'm already messing up huh?" He says with a nervous chuckle.

"What?? No! you're not messing up i'm having fun." I said with a smile, reaching over the table to hold his hand and he gave me a lighthearted smile.

"Ravioli is the only decent thing they got here, think i'll go with that." He says closing the menu. "See? It's not all that bad, I just so happen to love ravioli. I think I can go for some too.” I smile.

Present

I set up the table with bowls and utensils before making my way to the bathroom and realize that look a bummy mess so l spend the rest of the time I had left before he got back to make myself look at least a little presentable. I feel an overwhelming but nice sense of excitement to spend time with him again. I change into a casual but nice outfit and decide to do a simple and natural makeup look.

I soon hear the sound of the front door opening and chattering following behind it. I make my way out of the room to greet Matt who was laughing with chris and nick.

"Hey baby! How was filming??" | say almost too enthusiastically but I was too excited to keep my cool. "It was alright." He says nonchalantly, which makes me turn my happy demeanor down a notch.

Chris goes downstairs to get ready for something and Nick goes upstairs to do the same. Leaving matt and I alone which was perfect so I take the chance.

"I made-" before I could say anything Matt interrupted me. "Hey, me nick and chris are gonna go to top golf with madi, and nate so I might be home a little late." My heart sinks and i'm flushed with dread but I don't give up so easily.

"Well I actually made dinner for us.. I was hoping we could spend a little time together since we haven't in a while." | say fiddling with my necklace getting a bit anxious.

"I'm sure it's amazing baby but I should go get ready, Save me some yeah?" He says, placing a gentle kiss on my temple before he walks towards our shared bedroom to get ready.

I sit at the table where our food is now cold and I feel a lump in my throat followed by a cold sinking feeling in my chest.

658 words.

A/N: (This is sloppy and I kind of hate it, js wanted to try this out to see what yall think. if you guys like it, i'll keep writing, if not then im never writing again and since it's my first fic I kept it short but if you guys like it, i'll make the next parts longer 🫶🏼)

Taglist: @h3arts4harry @star-yawnznn @imwetforyourmom

[yourlittlebunnyy]

sleepy lucien x reader

main masterlist - lucien masterlist

summary: he needs you but you're asleep

warnings: smut, somnophilia

w/c: 1.1k

a/n: im ovulating and i got carried away so yes

lucien comes home late at night. he's so tired. all he wants is a warm bath and some good sleep. he doesn't find you waiting for him as usual, tho. it's weird. he's used to be climbed like a tree by you as soon as he step into the house, but tonight you are not there.

he searches for you everywhere only to find you asleep in your shared bed, wearing one of his shirts and hugging his pillow.

he basically falls in love with you all over again. you're the prettiest angel he has ever seen in his entire life. he can't tear his eyes off of you. he steps closer, careful not to wake you up. one of your legs is hooked around the pillow, exposing your skin.

he realizes you're not wearing anything underneath. your sex is exposed for him and him only. you had fallen asleep like a good girl, waiting for him to come back. his cock stiffens in his pants, begging to be freed.

lucien can't keep his hands to himself. the soft skin of your thighs and  ass just looks so inviting... he starts with gentle and innocent caress, just wanting to feel your warmth. but he wants more. you've been a good girl for him, and you deserve a reward. he is careful not to wake you up when he quickly gets up and undress himself.

he slowly pulls up the shirt just enough to discover your lower back. he quickly licks his lips, his throat suddenly dry at the view. he's exhausted, and you're probably too, but he cant bring himself to stop, his blood his boiling in his veins.

he needs to restrain. you are helpless, you didnt even notice him. he could take you right now without any problem, but it's not fair. but... that's exactly what is turning him on so much he has to unzip his pants to free his cock - you're defenceless, free for him to use. his little princess.

his hand moves between your folds, the touch of his fingertips barely there, just enough to cover your skin in goosebumps. but you dont seem to notice, and he goes on undisturbed. his fingers find with expert movements your little button, circling it slowly. his eyes are fixated on your face, looking for any sign that you might be awake. your breath fastens, but your still very asleep.

with his other hand he pumps his cock a few times, some droplets of precum already leaking from his red and angry looking tip. he gently moves you on your back, and the vision is ethereal. the shirt - his shirt, his so thin that he can see your nipples through the frabric. all he wants to do his putting his mouth over them and worship you like you deserve. but tonight it's not about you. its about him.

he opens your legs, your sex now exposed more than ever. if you were awake, you would probably complain with red cheeks, embarrassment filling your mind. but now... he can do whatever he wants. he is not ashamed to admit that this type of control makes him go crazy.

he change position. now he's between your legs, his nose just mere millimetres from your centre. lucien could feast on you like you were the last meal in the whole Prythian, but he doesnt. he wants to make this moment last for the entire eternity, thats why he licks your folds slowly, to taste the waters. to see how you would react. you let out a sigh, your face relax even more, but other than that - nothing.

his tongue naturally searches for your entrance, hungry for the sweet nectar you're the only one capable of providing for him. his pace quickens a bit, eager to feed himself. his cock is so hard its painful, but he couldn’t care less at the moment. this is like heaven, he thinks, maybe he's dead, maybe he's really in heaven.

but its all real, expecially when he hears your little moans. he forces himself to slow down and watch your pretty face that is scrunched in a pleasured expression. he uses his hands to keep you in place, massaging your skin with a softness that causes a dark contrast with the way he's eating you out. his thumb finds your clit. lucien is needy to hear you sing for him. a particularly loud whimper excape your lips the moment he starts to draw circles on the bundle of nerves, his tongue burning inside you, deeper and deeper.

"lucien..?" you're so confused on what's happening, a moment ago you were alone in your bed and now a red head is between your legs. you're about to ask for explanation, but lucien doesnt stop his movements and the feeling washes all the coherent thoughts in your mind. "shhh..." he groans, the vibration from the sound just adding to the pleasure. "just enjoy, pretty." it might sound like an invitation, but his hand locks you in the bed and you cant move or protest even you want. not that you want, tho.

his circles on you clit became tigher and tigher, just like the knot thats quickly forming in your stomach. you call his name so many times it sounds like a chanter, you're not sure if you're complaining or asking for more with your pleas, but hes not listening either. "i'm... I'm so close, lu." you cry out. you wish you could move to stand on your elbows and look at him, but you're too afraid he will stop. instead, you just lay there and take what he gives you. "let go, love. let go." he can feel your walls spasming around his tongue, your cunt begging for release.

you're lucky that its exactly what he wants to give you. with one last lick, you fall over the edge. its like fireworks exploding under your skin, a feeling you will never get used to. he helps you get through it, keeping you in place as you try to arch your back. his tongue and hus fingers dont stop until you're begging for him to do so.

he press one last kiss to your sex and quickly climbs you, positioning himself on top of you, between your legs. "hello there." he says softly, his nose brushes your neck, breathing your scent. you smile. your hands, that just moments ago were gripping the sheets, now find their place on his hair, giving him some comfort.

a hard presence presses on your belly, reminds you that tonight is not over. he smirks just like a fox and position himself so his tip brushes against your centre. "i hope you didnt think it was over, love." oh, you have a long, long night ahead of you.

hope you enjoyed! ♡

[darealsaltysam]

I JUST GOT BACK FROM SEEING DUNE PART 2 AND HOLY FUCK OH MY GOD HOLY SHIT HOLY FUUUUCK I NEED TO. I NEED TO. I NEED TO TALK SO BAD HOLY SHIT

below the cut because oh boy do i have a lot to say and i dont want my poor followers to suffer when i post this

oh my god okay okay where do i even start

opening with irulan's narration to mirror her notes in the openings of the chapters of the book. oh yeah baby. i ate that right up

watching paul get close with the fremen,,,,, fucking hell that hurts. dune really is a tragedy at the end of the day huh. they go from reluctant allies to friends but the whole time you know the switch will happen any moment now and they will be devotees and he will be messiah and that gap between them will never be as small as it is out in the sand. huddled in those tents. sharing drinks and laughs. im not doing ok

this especially hurts with chani. their love is so genuine and pure and she wears blue for him (which by the way sticks out so much more with how muted the colors of the rest of the movie are... i could talk about this all day) but she can see what he is becoming and he's trying to avoid it for her so hard but there's no avoiding fate. LORD ABOVE!!!!

i loveeee jessica being the manipulator thats pulling all the strings, urging paul towards becoming messiah. rebecca ferguson is such a talented actress she really understands the character so well. also as a hashtag certified alia atreides enjoyer her scheming with her unborn fetus might be the most unhinged thing ever but thats also so fucking funny aka its as dune as it gets. dune is WEIRD and im glad theyre not shying away from that. thank u denis

arrakis looks so much more beautiful in this movie like theres defo been some changes with how its framed and presented it feels so much grander and idk just ??? what it makes me think is that we're not seeing arrakis, we're finally seeing dune. we're seeing the land as the fremen see it as paul becomes one of them. i might be looking too much into it but who cares. god i love this movie

but yes more on the fremen in the first section of the movie. i like how there's this cluster of non-believers almost?? its a nice breath of fresh air. its hard to believe every single person would be just devoted to the prophecy and it adds some depth.

i will say the one thing i didnt like is the way stilgar is characterized?? i dont think he was so blindly devoted to paul in the books, and definitely not alia and leto ii after him as the atreides line went on. he's always been a source of small doubt towards paul but i think they're moving that element of him onto chani, so i think i can let it slide. i'd like to see him question alia more in the future though.

the scene where paul was named muad'dib and usul??? god it was so cute which made it so heart wrenching. all the fremen coming together and welcoming him into their lives. as a brother. as a friend. only for him to turn around and make them all bow before him. ohhhhh i cant do this

OH BOY THE WORMS THE WORMS AND THE WORM RIDING AND THE AHHHHHHHHH OH LORD

jesus christ. what the fuck. how is this allowed on cinema screens how is something so amazing allowed

the tension. the effects. the sound design. the sand rushing past the wind the worm moving forward paul struggling to hold on the fremen all watching and then cheering him on HOLY FUCKKKK HOLY FUCK I WAS HOLDING MY BREATH

all the worm riding scenes were so intense and so well done like. when i first read that stuff in the books i didnt think anything could ever capture how i imagined it exactly and yet. AND YET. DENIS!!!!!!!!

once more dune hits the idea of scale SO well everything is HUGE and they MAKE YOU FEEL IT. that shows especially with geidi prime but ill talk about that in a bit. but yes this applies to the worms too lord above them WORMSSSS ARE HUGEEEE AND I LOVE THEMMMM

rebecca ferguson put her heart and soul into that water of life scene and we all need to thank her for it

the way jessica is so quick to switch up and go all in on the prophecy. it makes me think of leto's "im not asking his mother, im asking the bene gesserit" like. the bene gesserit really come first for jessica and she takes her opportunity to fulfill her duties. to be the reverend mother. to rub it all in the faces of the other bene gesserit. she is the mother of the messiah and by god will she make everyone well aware of that

okay. okay okay. i think i said my peace on the early fremen stuff. i think. okay fuck okay SHIT fuck SHIT

FEYD FUCKING RAUTHA LADIES AND GENTLEMEN

oh my god okay. okay ill admit it. i doubted austin butler. i saw the cast list and i was unsure(tm). i saw him in the trailers and my faith was restored. and holy fucking shit did he DELIVER

stellan skarsgård's baron harkonnen is already such a threatening figure it feels like it would be impossible to make someone even more terrifying and yet. AND YET

just the way he's introduced. killing servants with zero remorse. LICKING THAT KNIFE THE WAY HE DID??? OKAY WHORE. I SEE YOU. GO RIGHT AHEAD. MAKE IT SLUTTY IN HOUSE HARKONNEN. I RESPECT IT

when the arena doors open and that loud ass fucking music BOOMS. makes the room fucking SHAKE. thats a PRESENCE right there. THATS how you introduce your antagonist.

the music playing as he fights being as fucking deranged as he is. chaotic and weird and unsettling. just. oh my god feyd had such a presence from the moment he showed up and he did not lose it for a single second. you could feel him LOOMING over the movie the whole time just as he looms over the whole book from his very first scene. oh my goddddd oh my godd

GEIDI PRIME. THE ARENA. THAT MASSIVE HARKONNEN PALACE. oh my god. once more. that sense of scale. the harkonnens love to flaunt their wealth so ofc they have huge fuck off arenas and castles where everything and everyone feels so SMALL in comparison.

dont even get me started on the black and white. the way it accents those coal black teeth and mouths. the way it makes everything look so much more inhuman and clinical and PERFECT because harkonnen power is so absolute and ruthless.

and the way the baron sits so so high above watching the fighting. literally impossible to picture his elevation above his people above the rest of the universe. the way feyd looks to him for approval after every movement. even as his uncle is trying to kill him they exchange those little looks and feyd knows hes getting his chance to show off while the baron gives him his "gift" what a fucked up family what the hell

speaking of fucked up family! wow! they are SO fucked up! there is something seriously strange being hinted at with feyd and the baron! feyd making his own brother bow and kiss his boot! those constant threats of death against rabban as if theyre nothing! this family is capital f FUCKED up. they hurt each other as much as they hurt everyone around them. theyre made of violence and blood and they could never show each other kindness because they dont know such a thing

what can i say about the feyd/margot scenes that hasnt been said already. like wow just unpack the boy's trauma like that. use him and then throw him to the wolves. once again the bene gesserit make it so clear this is THEIR empire and THEIR bloodlines and THEIR messiah. too bad jessica doesnt see that collective "ours" and instead settles for "mine" when it comes to the messiah

special shout out to dave bautista before i move on. just cause. his rabban doesnt get enough love. he really sells that balance of ruthless power but also incompetency compared to his brother so well. can you guys tell i REALLY like this cast

WE ACTUALLY GOT TO SEE GURNEY PLAYING THE BALISET WE FUCKING WIN Y'ALL

the paul/gurney reunion being the last shred of the old paul. how he gets so happy "i recognized your footsteps, old man" shoot me in the fucking brain stem it would HURT LESS

a bit off topic and it happened earlier (sorry my thoughts are so all over the place) but i like how they actually showed the process of how the water of life is made. it was actually exactly like how i imagined it when i read the books so thats neat !!

anyway. back to the horrors.

i already talked so much about feyd's presence so just another small note. that scene in sietch tabr. he is a MONSTER and i am EATING IT UP

i cant even begin to explain. how much it fucked me up. when paul took the water of life. i knew thats where we were going. i knew it was unavoidable. and yet still. when chani bent over him and screamed at everyone for making him follow this prophecy. when she was forced to shed tears to save his life. when she got him back only to realize she lost him and he wasnt the person she loved anymore. it broke me

chani's utter hatred for the prophecy and what paul is becoming added to it so much. i know some people are unhappy with how much shes been changed from the books but i think its elevated her character and all these scenes so much. and oh my god does zendaya DELIVER when the spotlight is on her. i never doubted her for a moment but all those changes to chani really allowed to let her shine. thats that euphoria acting coming out baby !!!!

SPEAKING OF GOOD ACTING

TIMOTHEE

FUCKING

CHALAMET

listen i hate the fact that he gets cast in everything these days as much as everyone but hes such a talented actor and i cant deny this anymore. the water of life scene really sold it for me.

he was such a perfect paul already in the first movie but this was the moment it really came out. the way he wakes up so calm and collected. lifeless. monotone. theres nothing theres literally nothing

paul atreides the boy who became duke far too young is dead usul who was the lover of chani is dead muad'dib the fedaykin fighter is dead only the kwisatz haderach remains and thats what the prophecy was always leading us to and yet the moment it happens its so haunting

like i cannot say this enough. that complete switch is so sudden but so subtle at the same time. its still paul technically but hes so different

what makes dune's weird concepts so easy to take in once you get into the book is all that internal monologue that really leads you through these complex concepts slowly. and yet in a few shots and a few lines of dialogue timothee chalamet somehow manages to express the idea of "i just learned the secrets of the fucking universe and im about to start a holy war" ???? HOW DO YOU EVEN DO THIS???? HOW ARE YOU THIS TALENTED???? OH MY GOD!!!!!!!! IT WAS A FEW LOOKS A FEW MOVENTS JUST THE RIGHT TONE OF VOICE AND THATS HIM!!! THATS HIM BABY!!!! THATS THE KWISATZ HADERACH AND THE UNIVERSE IS FUCKED !!!!!!!!!

also. anya taylor joy alia. we only had you for a split second but i cannot wait for you. im sure youre going to completely slay the third movie. give us our beloved tragic meow meow. alia is my fave character so i will be JUDGING HEAVILY. she better bring her a-game istg

when paul storms the war council and just completely takes control of the room so easily. thats the bene gesserit conditioning giving him his pedestal and he is making the most of it. he knows exactly what the fuck hes doing. and once more oh my goddddd all that shouting all that emotion and yet a complete lack of it. timothee spare a crumb of talent for the rest of us

also the way in that scene gurney is hesitant about it all until paul proclaims himself the duke of arrakis. and suddenly gurney has house atreides again and he doesnt care what chani does anymore. hes a follower to paul just as everyone else in that room. nothing changes. fuck me man i cant do this anymore

have i mentioned yet im so excited for chani in the next movie. her arc is so interesting. children of dune is defo not happening with the way chani has been set up so i doubt we'll see leto ii and ghanima but. lets hope we still get all the cool stuff wit alia at least. and maybe chani can be the one who leads the charge against her

okay i need to really fucking. get along with it im dragging this post on im so sorry this movie is eating my brain alive

chani still wearing blue during the final fight. im not saying more than that i might cry if i think about it too much

THAT. FINAL. FIGHT. OH MY GODDD OH MY GOD

IT ALL CAME TOGETHER SO SO WELL

THE WORMS

THE SENSE OF SCALE

THE FIGHT CHOREOGRAPHY

THE MUSIC HOLY FUCK THE MUSIC HANS ZIMMER YOU OUTDO YOURSELF EVERY TIME

THE SOUND

EVERYTHING FLOWING TOGETHER SO WELL

the way the fremen fight for their messiah but still fly the atreides banner. the way paul leads them as their messiah and as a "fremen" but always proclaims himself duke of house atreides first. oh lorddd im unwell

every time paul menacingly emerged from fog/sand/smoke my life was extended by like 10 years thank u denis

gurney killing rabban with as much ease as he did cleared my skin and watered my crops <3

the way the baron was literally dying and still crawling towards the throne.......... the way at the same time feyd ignored him completely and looked towards the doors reveling in the fight ahead..... if that doesnt tell u everything you need to know about house harkonnen idk what will yall

i also love how no one intervenes as paul walks in and kills the baron. not even feyd. feyd looks like he was a little TOO into it as paul killed him tbh. feyd u little freak. austin butler you talented talented man. im unwell

i AM sad we didnt get to see baby alia stab him but ah well. we got a bunch of other weird dune shit so ill let this one slide. the psychic toddler may be too much even for denis and everything he did give us. we'll always have our 1984 alia <3

OHOHOHOHOHOHOH. OH. HERE WE GO

HERE WE GO YALL

THE SCENE IVE BEEN WAITING FOR SINCE READING THE BOOK

THE SCENE THEY SHOWED BITS OF IN THE TRAILER AND THE SCENE IVE BEEN NON STOP YEARNING FOR SINCE!!!

THE DUEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

oh my god oh my god oh my goddddd where do i even start

okay so. the way theres no music. no fancy cuts no slow mo no over the top effects. its just the slashing of the blades and those BEAUTIFUL shadowed shots with the setting sun in the background. this really is the sun setting on the peaceful universe. just pain and suffering ahead marked with the blood spilled from the two who were meant to produce the messiah but who both got thrown off this path by the greed and selfishness of their forefathers. guys im normal about paul and feyd. definitely. i definitely have very normal thoughts about how they are foils and yet two sides of the same coin. yes guys

paul making the emperor kiss his ring is already such an insane fucking scene and it translated to the screen so well. amazing performances all around

i didnt talk much about florence pugh's irulan but she really didnt have much time to shine. im excited to see where she goes next and i definitely think shes a great fit but i need to see more of her to really be able to say more

i will say this. the way chani, irulan and jessica are the only ones who dont kneel for paul. the three most important women in his life who give him his power, everything he has. jessica made him and she made him the messiah. chani opened her life up to him, helped him become and in turn control the fremen, and she shed her tears for him and fulfilled her role in the prophecy against her wishes. irulan is his path to the throne, his key to being emperor. and none of them bow before him because why would they bow before a power they are responsible for, a power they own, a power they gave?

but for chani its different ofc. she also refuses to bow because she despises everything paul stands for.

oh my god i could say so much about the last scene being chani. not paul reveling in his victory. paul leaves for his next bloodshed and chani is left behind crying for the person she loves who she knows is gone. crying for her people, again enslaved. crying those same tears that brought the messiah back into this world.

theres a lot to be said about the role of gender in dune and how it hangs over every facet of this world but thats a whole separate analysis post to be had so ill just throw it down here in this little point

another thing chani does very well in the movies is she really makes paul's villainy explicitly clear. SO many people read dune and completely misunderstand it and walk away from it concluding its a "white savior narrative" and nothing more which. yes!! yes it is!!!! but thats not a good thing!!!! its never stated to be a good thing!!!!

this movie is not gonna let you misunderstand the message of the story no matter how blind you try to be to it. paul is not a good guy. hes never been the good guy. hes the protagonist, but hes not the hero. and chani allows that to translate from book to movie very well. have i mentioned yet i love movie chani

chani fills in the holes left behind by the narration and internal monologues of the book and, bonus points, she holds the people who dont understand what dune is about by the hand and tells them explicitly "PAUL IS A BAD GUY!!! DONT IDOLIZE PAUL!!!! DONT WALK AWAY FROM DUNE THINKING ITS PRAISING PAUL'S ACTIONS!!!"

i think thats pretty much all i had to say. i might reblog with additions as they hit me but yeah i. i enjoyed the movie. so so much. i think i might watch it again sometime soon while its still in cinemas.

sorry for being unhinged hope u enjoyed my rants. kiss kiss night night <3

[catatombi]

beware of fang

Hey, im gonna say it outright and state that this is a call out. people get called out for being dangerous. fangs nearly pushed 3 people to commit suicide(including myself) and i had to be hospitalized because of him, so this feels justified. Im sorry if you disagree, ill keep it short and to the point If you’ve been a long time follower of his im sure you’ve seen his vague posts about his ex friends, the cotl tumblr community and “fandom drama” with little to no context behind it, other than various people appearing on his DNI. his vague nature in the posts is intentional, he doesn't want to let on that he was abusing his friends. Ive tried time and time again to write something but it never seemed right, like what he’s done to me and my friends wasn’t severe enough to warrant something like this, but it is and i don't want to let this go any longer, esp not when he has my friends, their names, usernames and literal contact information in his DNI list Over the last year ive been friends with fang hes been horrible. Hes never changed and refuses to acknowledge what hes done to his friends and how horribly he has hurt them, to keep this short im keeping this bullet pointy Here is his carrd, he has everything neatly outlined for yall to block on every platform Dont harass, dont contact. all of this is public information so https://web.archive.org/web/20240713073710/https://fanged-info.carrd.co/#boundaries

https://fanged-info.carrd.co/ Twit: FFANGEDD / narilamb_ / mewhenimsilly Insta: ffangedd / narilamb Tumblr: ffangedd / fanged-cotl / fanged-xeno Cara: narilamb Blusky: fanged / narilamb Itaku: fanged Artfight: FANGED Toyhouse: FFANGEDD Sheezy: fanged Discord & telegram: narilamb All the people mentioned have given consent Cw !!! abuse, suicide, self harm https://drive.google.com/drive/u/2/folders/1MLMOT-qvgrX-9NnUEgpl4AkEPfixy2wG

The drive is a bit out of date, as I logged it all before april. Hes posted more awful shit and vented to me again since then Feel free to request the letter i wrote to him, i might share it anyway because it sums up my thoughts on the matter If you want any additional context feel free to ask

Fang uses suicide and self harm threats to control and manipulate his friends, hes begged me for assisted suicide and when i refused to help him commit he begged in groupchats. He begged on instagram stories as well as twitter, so much so that his twitter for suspended for 12 hours. He has admitted to wanting someone to commit suicide with him and has previously formed suicide pacts and nearly followed through on one with a friend. fang backed out first. he continues to redirect blame. refusing to take accountability for his actions. He still blames his previous medications, his ex psychiatrist, his self diagnosed BPD & OCD, psychosis, and states of beings from disorders he doesn't have (claiming to be manic or sociopathic whilst not having bipolar1 or ASPD) fang blames his (ex)friends, claiming they were projecting their mental illness onto him when they were just reacting to his abuse, that they the ones in the wrong and that how they treated him/cut him off was vile and unfair, and believes that he never got real closure when he did. it just wasn't what he wanted to hear and now feels entitled to an apology from these people when all he’s ever done is traumatize and terrorize them. He describes the amount in which he has cut over pavi, wart and kat because what they put him through and how they traumatized him. The traumatizing actions were: Kat asking for a content warning, pavi didn't want to walk on eggshells anymore and blocked him without an explanation & wart blocked him after being emotionally abused for months Hes described how he would carve their names into his thigh and told me that he will carve my name into his skin when i leave too. He demanded wart and surf choose their “real friends” and cut off their community for him because fang hated that they were being “two-faced” and hanging out with “people who hate him” He would spend hours venting relentlessly and graphically in his friends DMs, demanding their time and attention and expecting immediate replies. His friends are not professionals and shouldnt be expected to be an on-call DIY therapist for him, for hours, without consent. Fang has said he is completely unwilling to self censor for other peoples safety fang has vented to a 13 year old (they were not hiding their age) He referred to me (and our friends) as a phone person, a voice, icons. Concepts he can talk. Completely dehumanizing everyone that cared about him even to their faces. He blames his ex friends for his poor mental health and has said he wishes they watched him commit suicide, he wanted his friends to be traumatized from this (as if they werent already.) When a friend posted a screenshot of a gamenight to tumblr he had a breakdown so severe and so dangerous for so long that several of his friends has to mute the DM to keep themselves safe from his verbal abuse and suicide/SH threats He doesn't care about how triggering any of this can be for someone and will subject anyone (including people in danger) to his “venting” He didnt care about triggering me and contacted me at the worst of my suicidality in january and exasperated the danger i was in so severely I had to be hospitalized against my will before I could commit suicide. 

Im honestly not entirely sure what to even think. he knew the severity of my suicidality. he knew I had been hospitalized for an attempt in 2022, and still he chose me, probably the most vulnerable of his friends at the time to vent that heavily too back in janurary Hes a dangerous selfish person whos proven over and over that hes not getting better and isnt willing to change, i honestly had hope when he slowed down his graphic vent posts and victim blaming on twitter and insta but he decided to say fuck all and get right back into his shit train of shame and misery. Heres a link to all of the screenshot, damning ones are in important bitz if you’re not interested in going through them all https://drive.google.com/drive/u/2/folders/1MLMOT-qvgrX-9NnUEgpl4AkEPfixy2wG in these screens alone he: admits to sending his cuts to his friends, threatens to cut if i leave, admits that he was going to go through with a duel suicide and begged me for assisted suicide

warts screenshots v

full screenshots & complete context in the drive as for him claims that i was stalking him: i was scared, i was his friend. i tried so hard to be good enough and never was. the screens were a by product of confiding in my friends about what was happening and the drive was made to share w/ them i admit i prolly shouldve combed out some of it but, ykno also big phat apology for tagging cotl!!!!! only did bc fang has, please stay safe everyone, and thank you so much if you have read everything (the doc encase anyone was wanting it ! figured i;d just use tumblr regular posting method) https://docs.google.com/document/d/17QjXUEdQVd8c4GZS--vPo-xR3kgmoLl4ZmN3ROMutg0/edit?usp=sharing

edit as of 8:30pm 7/17/24 here is a link to pavi's response warts response and kats response

[pedge-page]

Candles

Part 5 to Best Man Series. follow Christmas Party.

Joel Miller x F!Reader, Tommy Miller x F!Reader

Summary: It's Tommy's birthday. So why are you still looking for Joel to celebrate it?

notes: Its been 4 months but here's the next part for those of you still waiting on since December! The next part will most likely be the finale.

Warnings: unprotected sex (with Tommy), infidelity / cheating, pregnant reader, toy usage, dildo riding, breeding kink, oral m!receiving (with Joel), m!masturbation, short voyeurism, vaginal fingering, cum eating, jealous!Joel, emotions are FLLYYINNGGG in this one

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous. 

He’s at home, drifting off in thought as his hands do poor work on wrapping paper around the new pair of shoes and watch that he picked out. When Sarah, who’s focus is on brushing her doll’s hair and changing her bathing suit, starts yapping about how Uncle Tommy's kid is gonna be her best friend since she doesn't have any siblings to play with right now, all Joel can think about is you and Tommy together right now on his special day. 

What would it be like, waking up to you in a shared bed every day? To be the first to kiss you, smell your morning breath and sift his fingers through your bed head? To see your eyes shine from the sun reflecting off of them, twinkling with the buildup of a tear after a yawn.

What would it be like, getting a birthday blow job from you first thing in the morning? Even if you aren’t his wife, he’s thought about getting to have you all the time, just for him. He doesn’t get jealous of Tommy very often, because Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous, but he tuts at the idea that your mouth wrapped around his cock is a sight he gets to behold more often than Joel ever will. 

What would it be like, to not have to sneak around? To just have you loudly, unashamed, sloppily, proudly, the way you deserve, without constantly checking behind your back? To capture your lips in front of everyone like it were normal, to hold your pregnant belly like it was his, because damnit it might as well be.

It drives him insane he can’t mark you up the way Tommy can, less the two of you be caught in your affair. All he can do is pound you better, ruin you some more, and fill you with his seed. 

As if the last one hadn’t already reared its consequences in your growing belly. You’re too beautiful, too full of something special to be kept to one guy.

Still. He’ll only ever be second to Tommy.

What would it be like … to call you his?

“Dad…Dad!”

“What!”

Joel looks down at Sarah who’s got her hands on her hips and a stern look about her face.

Jesus, she really does spend too much time with me.

“The door,” she repeats, pointing downstairs. On cue, the doorbell chimes again.

He grunts as he lifts himself to his feet, brushing her head messily with his big palm before hopping down to answer.

It’s his dad.

“How old ya gotta be to leave your old man standin’ outside in the cold?”

Joel rolls his eyes, shifting to allow his father through the front. “It’s 79 degrees out.”

“Cold for my old bones,” he groans, feinting a shiver. “Share-Bear!”

Sarah bulldozers straight to his abdomen and wraps her arms in a big hug. 

Joel lightly tugs on one of her curly strands and she yelps “ow!”

“Go upstairs and get changed.”

She barrels upstairs to her room, leaving Joel and Miller senior. 

Joel continues tossing a bunch of tape on to the sad excuse of a gift before crinkling all the paper up and tossing it. He moves to search for a gift bag in the closet instead.

His dad sighs loudly. “Tommy sure got a nice beat goin’ for ‘im.”

“Sure does,” Joel notes, his attention more on the shoving past the vacuum.

“Good house, good job, kid on the way. A pretty gal.”

Joel closes the closet and turns towards his dad. “What’s your point, pops?”

“You know my point. He’s got it all together. You...”

“Me what? You don’t think I ain’t doin good on my own?”

“You shouldn’t have to be on your own. Sarah’s mom wasn’t...we knew she wasn’t gonna stick around. Its tough havin’ a kid to raise by yourself—“

“I wouldn’t trade my babygirl in for anything else in the world,” Joel snaps quickly. His eyes dart upstairs briefly. Its a conversation he hates when his dad brings up, especially when Sarah could just be lurking around the corner.

“Im not sayin’ that but.” Grandpa Miller shakes his head and takes a seat at the island. “Kid needs a mom. You need a woman. Someone to hold and kiss and make promises to. Someone to love.”

Joel drops the now filled bag on the countertop. I have that already. It’s just—complicated. “There a reason you stopped by? Other than to lecture me?”

His father grunts apathetically. “Just came by for some wrapping paper, but by the looks of it—“ He glances at Joel’s empty tape roll and bunched up pile of ribboned paper—“Guess I’ll go down to the store to get some.”

“Well you know where the door is.”

His dad follows Joel to his open front door to show him out. One aging father and one rapidly aging eldest son look at each other with a sense of sadness.

“Joel—“

“I’ll see you at Tommy’s.”

-

If you weren’t so pregnant, waking up before Tommy would have been so much easier to give him a blow job.

Instead. It’s half past 9, and you’re just rousing to consciousness. Fully well knowing Tommy has probably been awake for at least an hour but faking it just so he can wake up with you.

“Good morning birthday boy,” you grumble groggily, a soft smile spreading across your cheeks as you pull him in for a peck.

He grins and wraps himself around you. “Mmm Good Morning, little Momma. Ya know what I want for my birthday?”

You did know. He dropped hints like crazy and you already had it ready to go by your nightstand.

The thing about Tommy is…Tommy likes watching. It’s something you figured out when you were already dating after a year. Something about watching you touch yourself, spreading your legs on the bed and fucking yourself with a dildo, or grinding on his pillow and moaning as he stroked his cock from across the room, has him leaking in his palm with dirty words of encouragement.

And even with a hefty baby in your belly, his view of you bouncing on top of the sizable dildo was no different.

“Fuck, fuck that’s it angel. Takin’ that dick so good. Bet it feels good, huh?” He grips his balls with his palm while the other fists over his dick. Sitting upright in your makeup chair, fully naked and facing the bed, he gets a view of everything. His hungry eyes never once leave your body.

You nod. Your knees hurt, but the sight of Tommy’’s heart shaped eyes watching your milky breasts bounce, your lips spread to accomodate the girth of the silicon cock has you smiling for your deserving husband.

“It’s—not as easy with the bump…” you say fretfully. You feel like shit, not being able to give him the show that he wanted on his birthday. It’s a lot more difficult to angel and thrust a stick into you when there’s a planet blocking your view.

Tommy hoists himself up quickly, jerking his cock as he approaches you. He tosses the dildo and crawls over you before veiny hands caress along your hips, over your belly and squeezing your tits. “S’okay, little Momma. ‘m’here now. Daddy’s gonna make it better.”

You grasp his face with both hands and grin, pulling his lips to yours. At the same time, he slides his leaking member into your folds, forcing a grunt in the back of both of your throats as he bottoms out.

“Happy fuckin’ birthday to me,” he growls, fucking you steadily with deep strokes. “I get my one birthday wish today. Thinking’ I’m gonna leave a little present in this pussy. Have ya walk around all day with a lil bit of me inside.”

You laugh and gently tap your belly. “There’s a bit more than a ‘little’ bit of you inside me already.”

His stomach rumbles with a a chuckle. “That’s for everyone else to know who ya belong to. Nah, I’m talkin something just between you n me.” His arm holds himself above you as he rocks his hips with shallow ruts. “Shit, shit, ya gonna take it f’me? Gonna take my present on my fuckin’ birthday?”

You let out a high pitched whine, neck convulsing backwards as your cunt starts tightening around his length. 

Tommy locks your lips to his, tongue’s messily rolling into one another’s mouth. A string of saliva connect between the two of you when he pulls away, only for him to rub it against your breast.

“Tommy,” you moan desperately. You’re close, you’re about to tell him so: “I—“

“I love you,” he rasps. His eyes are shut tight as he finds that sweet spot inside, sending you over the edge before you can finish your thought.

 He thrusts a few more times before stilling. His balls twitch with satisfaction, each grunt from his chest echoing the spurts of his seed inside you. He feels at peace when he can be this close to you, his hand warm against your tight tummy and his soon-to-be kids.

His soon to be complete family.

His words rattle in your ears. You feel the opposite of light and airy after an orgasm. No, everything is heavy. Your head feels like a boulder stuck to the pillow. Yet empty. Your body so full yet feeling incredibly hollow right now. 

Tommy kisses your lips once more, not noticing the way you don't return the vervor. He sits up, wipes the sweat from his brows and slaps your thigh.

“You okay? Fucked ya a little too hard, baby momma?” He snickers.

You fake a laugh, hoping he’ll see you’re feeling exhausted rather than suspect anything is wrong.

Your husband kisses your forehead with a whisper “Stay in bed, you rest as long as ya need,” before walking towards the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

I love you. It should have made you feel surrounded by him. Comforted, secure, proud, inseparable, sound, cherished, warm, fuzzy, happy, truthful, light. Your husband confessing his love to you. 

Instead, it only reminded you of the dream had about Joel again last night.

Joel in your house. Joel in your bed. Joel dropping Sarah off at school and feeding your newborn with her bottle. Joel cooking in your backyard, Joel’s hands entwined with yours on a walk. Joel rubbing your shoulders and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Joel kissing your cheek and telling you he lo—

You cover your face with the back of your hands. Tommy’s the one in your bed. Tommy holds your hand and kisses your cheek, and will be feeding and burping your baby, will be there for you forever and always because that’s what you promised to each other. 

You hold the ring on your finger up high in the air, its dazzling shimmer glints in your eyes. Your eternal promise, displayed on something so small yet so permanent, wrapped up in such a beautiful band.

The same ring that Best Man Joel carried in his pocket safely for months before you swore yourself to his brother. 

 You curse under your breath.

You’re still going to have to see him today.

-

He watches you crowd over Tommy seated at the head of the table, your hands lovingly on his shoulders. He thinks about his “one wish” for a while, but he only looks sideways towards you, holding your gaze for a moment before he confidently blows his candles. The room erupts in a rumble of cheers and clapping, but Tommy and you are only smiling at one another. He grabs your face and kisses you, smearing some icing on your nose. You laugh with him and rub it along his own, the two of you giddy and in your own world.

Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous.

And when you slice into the cake, nobody really understand why the cake is split between a blue and pink center. Everyones thinking the same thing--we already did the baby shower, it was going to be a girl!

“We might...have found out…there's gonna be another one,” you say sheepishly, your hands rollings over the heft of your larger than life belly that surprisingly has two little bubbas growing inside. 

Twins. you're having fucking twins. 

Tommy grasps your face and smears more icing on you, the two of you locking lips again and getting a little too pg-13 in a room full of raucous screeches that feel like nails on a chalkboard, shuffling chairs like a thunderous stampede. Everyone rushes to congratulate the two of you, how your lives are really starting, how exciting it must all be, what names you’ve been thinking of, its its everything you’d hoped it would be.

Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous.

Tommy knew, of course he did. Both of you planned it, to announce it like that. He’s got that smug look on his face, nothing of surprise. Just absolutely elated to share news that had been sitting on the two of you for who knows how long. Something Joel used to always get firsthand word from. You’re having twins. And he’s learning about it for the first time, same as everyone else. Tommy’s friends pat him on the back. Aunts kiss his cheek and even his dad smiles towards his youngest son’s success, all while the whole time, his ringed hand hasn’t left the curve of your swollen womb.

Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous.

He slips out the back of the room, everyone too engrossed in surrounding the happy couple. Nobody cared for Joel’s presence, not since the minute Tommy was born. Nobody would bat an eye for his absence today too.

…

You’re excited, you want to celebrate, and having everyone touching and surrounding you and asking questions wasn’t the way you wanted it. That’s why it was supposed to be during Tommy’s birthday, so there was something else to focus on.

But your body is on edge. It was attention from all that thrill. Jittery and warm under your palms.

Between your legs.

It’s hard to force Joel out of your mind whenever he’s in the same room. So when he dips out of the kitchen without making any gesture towards you, you didn’t hesitate to excuse yourself for a bathroom break. Nobody questions it, continuing their swarm around Tommy now who’s too eager for all the attention to really notice.

You don’t know what you expect from Joel. You don’t even know why you’re seeking him right now, and not standing by your husband’s side. You love Tommy. He’s everything to you. 

So why is there still this half of you that feels… like you need more?

Maybe your body is thinking on her own accord now, and that’s been a problem that needs to end. No. No you just wanted to talk. That’s all. He's your brother-in-law, for fucks sake. it’s natural you want to hear his thoughts. He’s gonna be a double uncle! He deserves a congratulations! Hope he’ll tell you congratulations too. Acknowledge it in some way. That its happening. That you and Tommy—are just you and Tommy. 

You wonder where the older Miller may have gone in such a small house. Sarah was still in the room, sneaking cake since nobody else seemed to care to slice it up, so where on earth—?

A callused palm wrap around your mouth and pulls you backwards into the dark bathroom, the door closing you inside with him warm and pressed tightly against your back.

“Shhhhhhhhh,” he whispers. The warmth of his breath makes you shiver, all the way down to the dampness spreading along your panties. Fuck. What was it about just ‘talking’ to him again? 

“J-Joel,” your voice wavers cautiously. “I—“ 

“You still gonna keep pretending you don’t want me?”

You face him as he turns the lights on and the two of you are caught in one another’s grasps. There’s a moment where you size him up, and he wonders if you’ll bluff his pass.

Instead, Like magnets that can’t resist their attractions, your instincts overwhelm you. Your eager fingers dig into the back of his neck and smash his lips against yours. The traces of icing still linger on your lips and tongue, the two of you devouring one another, fighting to get the last lick before coming apart to breathe.

Joel just smirks, his tongue swiping over his puffy lower lip. “Sweet,” he hums. His thumb brushes the bit of icing you didn’t know was still on your nose and puts it in his mouth. “How somethin’ so sweet come from someone so naughty?”

You quickly drop to a squat and roughly shove his hips back against the sink. Nimble fingers working swiftly to unbuckle his jeans and shove them down to his thighs.

You’re both panting through swollen lips, heart rate moving a lot quicker than the activities you’ve so far done would permit. He’s gorgeous like this—illuminated by the harsh florescent light above, his sincere, albeit sinful, smile and rosy cheeks watching you kiss his hardened length. 

He doesn’t force you. Doesn’t do anything to make you feel concerned. In fact, you’ve cornered him against the vanity, forcing yourself between his bent knees and inserting his tip to your wet mouth.

“Beautiful,” he whispers softly. His thumb strokes over your cheek as you guide more of his leaking cock into your mouth until it hits the back of your throat. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you, not even to blink. 

Your head bobs eagerly, swallowing around him. There’s just something about that huge dick of his that has you going feral. An itch you can’t scratch until his cum is either nested safely in your stomach or your womb. Maybe it’s because you’ll never be able to get rid of him. He’ll be around forever, and that means you can keep seeing him and his beefy horse cock forever. Forbidden yet yours for the taking. Every day if you wanted. 

The sounds of the party outside feel so remote compared to the events happening in such a little room right now. Just between you and Joel. 

The babies ain’t quite here yet so just you and Joel.

“Pretty pretty angel, sucking’ Daddy’s cock like that. What would your husband think? Suckin’ his big brother off in your house? I’d tell ‘im you got to your knees all by yourself. Little slut couldn’t wait for it. Second she saw me, needed my fat cock stretchin’ her throat, ain’t that right? Needed me to give ya something today too? Just that selfish, aren’t ya?”

You pull off his cock with a big gasp, smiling lazily. He slaps his cock against your open tongue with thick and wet patpatpats. 

He tsks you. “Pregnant gal, on her knees, takin’ cock like a slut. What a woman you are, little momma.”

You hum in approval, the drunken desire for Joel to fill your every senes clogging your brain.

Soft lips enclose around his tip again and he thrusts forward this time, holding his cock deep. You try to remember to breathe through your nose, even with his hairs tickling your lashes, but Joel pulls back enough to just his tip, and sets a gentle rhythm back and forth.

Joel’s head falls back against the mirror. His eyelids feel heavy each time he looks down to you. So full and rounded by a child—two children…if they're his, Joel’s having another daughter and his first son.

“Told ya you were made from breedin’. You’re gonna be like this the rest of ya life. Gonna put another baby in ya, then another—” he chuckles to himself, “N’another—havin’ ya suck cock not remember what number baby ya got growing’ in ya belly.”

He hisses through his teeth as you suck his member in and out, picking up pace. Your tongue works over his tip with each swipe, hand jerking off the base of his dick that you can’t fit. Any saliva and precum is immediately suckled and swallowed, leaving no evidence at the scene.

You’d gotten pretty good at that.

Joel’s beefy paw grasps the porcelain edge behind him as he hisses through his teeth. His stomach tenses, the veins in his v’line straining and you know he’s close. 

You alternate between sucking his balls and jacking off his cock above you. “What if I busted all over that pretty face? Have ya walk around your house with my cum on those lashes as everyone told ya what a cock hungry whore you are.”

You moan around him, your pussy so slicked between your thighs that it’s dripping down your pants. Its wrong. Fuck, you’re so wrong to want it. Want Tommy to see who’s marking you up, see how much you’d spread your pussy for Miller cock no matter if its your husbands his brothers.

His cock finds its way to your mouth again, and he starts thrusting lightly. 

“Swallow it, swallow it all. Want ya hesitatin’ to kiss Tommy after this. Knowin’ ya got my spunk in your mouth still. Fuck me babydoll, mouth’s a dream.”

His jaw drops low as he cums, and god what a sight. Your cunt throbs as he lets out pained breaths into the air, ready to cum if you were able to touch yourself right now.

You gulp down his salty load, lips suctioned to his tip and milking him clean to avoid any messes that might linger.

“That’s a good slutty wife,” he whispers down to you. Even on your knees, the heft of your pregnant belly is doing wonders to him. 

You lazily grin up to his smug grin. He knows you like showing him just how good you are at swallowing loads, like a good wife always does.

He pulls his softened cock out of your mouth, and you gasp a big breath of air, your hands still clinging to his thighs.

You feel his protective hands hoist you up to your feet. 

“Anything hurt?” He asks gently, holding your body flush against him as he rubs your tummy and hips. He feels much less tense than just moments ago when he pulled you in the bathroom with him. 

You shake your head. It’s not the first time you’ve gone down on a man while 30 pounds heavier with a baby. Your knees are a bit sore, but it’s nothing compared to the ache you’ve been feeling in your back for months now.

You try to pull away from Joel, but his arm is wrapped tightly around you. 

“Didn’t think you were pullin’ me in here just to suck me off. Why are you actin’ like this little snatch is happy from that?”

“I didn’t pull you—you pulled me,” you correct.

“You came lookin’ f’me. And you got on your knees all by yourself.”

His hands caress lower down your hip, gliding along your leggings towards your crotch. It should be wrong, the way your hand closes around his wrist to guide him closer, his digits dipping below the waistline and down your panties. 

He feels it: the soft squelch of your slick in your ruined underwear, pulsing madly. He grins and lets out a satisfied yet devious ‘ooooh there we go’ against your cheek. 

But there’s more. More dripping from here than he’s given you just from the thrill of sucking his cock.

He pushes his middle finger past your entrance and fingers out the glob of cum that had been deposited inside you earlier today.

“It’s —it’s Tommy’s birthday,” you moan, as if he needed an explanation as to why your husband’s seed is dripping out of your pussy. “Had—to give him—ooohhhhuugggg—his…gift—“

He continues to finger fuck you slowly, his younger brother’s cum practically pooling in your underwear. “Got one man’s cum in your mouth and a different one’s in ya pussy." He shakes his head. when he gets you like this, sometimes he would forget that you’re Tommy’s wife, after all. That Tommy gets you more than him. Gets to fill you whenever he pleases. Gets to hear your moans as loudly as he wants. That Tommy’s right to your pussy is his first and foremost, sacredly, forever and always.

That doesn’t stop Joel from seething at the thought of having to finger his brothers spent out of you.

"What, he didn’t make ya cum?” He taunts, picking up the pace. Even as you wreathe under his touch, your nails clench into his bicep, feeling the muscle work with each flick of his knuckle. “S’why you’re so desperate today? Wifey didn’t get her selfish little cunt pleased from your husband on his birthday?”

 "I did come …” you protest weakly. You squeeze your eyes shut, head tilted down as he works you open. It’s sloppy and sticky in your leggings, soaking the underside with your slick and Tommy’s cum being forced out by Joel’s big fingers relentlessly hitting the gummy spot inside.

His other hand grips your chin and forces you to look at him:

 “Then why you comin’ to me?”

There’s a prickle of a tear filling your eyes. You've been asking yourself the same thing for months. You don’t know from what; the brink of pleasure or guilt, but there’s a hefty stone that’s burrowed in your chest all day that you didn’t know needed to escape. The words are forced out of your chest with a pained gasp. 

"... I just want... more.”  

It should pain you to admit it, to be so selfish for these men, never feeling one is enough for you.

Normally He would kiss you right now, to hush your mind to reveal something so heavy, but instead, he holds your gaze, gritting his teeth with a snarl just barely poking along his lip. He wants to let your words sink into your bones, really grasp what you've been denying for too long. Suffer with it, even.

You hadn’t even realized he backed you up against the door, pressing his knee between your leg. You’ve become trapped and hadn’t even noticed. His fingers prod your entrance incessantly, reaching deep inside so there’s no way of you to wiggle out of his grasp. curling up and beating your g-spot better than Tommy can—at this point, its very possible you’ve had more sex with Joel than with your own husband.

And that makes the coil in your pussy snap.

Joel belittles you without any words while you fall apart against the wooden door holding you up. Working the heft of his palm against your clit until your brows are furrowing, mouth agape, walls clamping down tight around him as you cum. The door rattles with each little roll of your hips, and your moans aren’t hushed either. 

He watches, the way your eyes are glued to him, blown wide in guilt and in pleasure while little whines escape your lips. Unrelenting and stoic as he works you through your orgasm, granting no mercy nor even trying to shush your little cries from over stimulation. You don’t hesitate when he brings his fingers to your lips, swallowing them whole and sucking Tommy and your slick off Joel’s fingers. He wipes the rest off on your shirt.

Every emotion you feel with Tommy, you feel with Joel in moments like these. He holds you close to him as you breathe in his musky, minty scent. His shirt smells a bit like flowered softener and a hint of early morning sweat. Fumigated with the thick aroma of sex.

You're looking at the ring on your knuckle.

“I helped pick it out. Carried it for months. ’S practically my ring to you too.” He’s babbling now, getting lost in that hazy after-orgasm glow between two people who are connected by a strong, strange bond. “Sometimes …sometimes I think about stealing you away all to myself.”

He makes you two look in the mirror together, with him cradling your belly as you hold your ring hand to your chest. “Look,” he commands softly against your ear. “Kinda looks like our own little family.”

You hate that you kind of liked that idea. But then Tommy is in your mind, the man that you actually love, who fought for you, who you tied your vows to, and as far as you’re concerned, the father of your children. 

Angry, you try to break away and shove Joel, but he's used to it. Used to you closing him off right after these moments of pure insanity. He's not letting it happen today. This time he’s got a firm grip on you like a brick wall and steel wire melding you tight to him. He knows you don’t actually want to push him away. 

"You said you wanted more.”

It’s not a question: it’s a statement. A fact.

The very real thought, the one you tried to push away every time this happens, dawns on you: Joel is tired of sneaking around. Wants to have you when he wants. When everyone is watching. 

Not just sex. To be in your bed, making you dinner and watching movies, dropping Sarah off to school rubbing your back when you’re in pain, there for the babies when you deliver and every day after. 

You manage to push him off of you and shake your head. The chatter outside grows louder than the beats of your heart. Hoisting your pants back up into place, you go to grab the bathroom door, but Joels strong grip lays over top your and forces the door shut.

There’s a deadly, threatening finality to his tone. “I’m telling him.”

You turn back with a shocked expression, partially expecting him to be joking about it. Not that it’s funny. It’s not funny at all. 

But Joel hasn’t moved. Hasn’t cracked a smile. A man whose resolve has overcome his patience. His lips are tight, jaw tense as he watches you try to answer to that horrifying outcome. 

“Joel. No. Are you insane?”

“If its my kids you’re having, I have every right to be there for you—“

“But it’s NOT!”

“You know that? Tell me right know, you know it for sure. Say it ain’t mine, and I’ll never bring it up again.”

You go quiet, looking down at the belly that’s carrying your babies. You want to shrink away from your fears, from the men who’ve caught you between them with their words and their love and their touch. You’re Tommy’s wife. Yet here you are with Joel. Again. In your and Tommy’s house. And Joel’s hand on you, and on your finger is Tommy’s ring—Joel’s ring--TOMMY—

 It’s too much. Everything is closing around you, your lungs suffocating themselves under the pressure that you caused by seeking him out. Finding him and putting yourself in this exact situation ever. Single. Time. 

You yank the door again, desperate to escape, but Joel doesn’t budge. He refuses to let you walk away from the conversation. From him.

“You didn’t deny it,” he reminds you. he pulls your reluctant focus to him again. “Just say it: Tell me you want me. Tell me you lo—”

“I don’t.” You declare rigidly. Its too far. No, no, no,nonoNO. You expel those thoughts, his words, quick to cast them out before letting them enter your system. The next words rush out of your mouth with a deep ache seized in the pit of your stomach: “You’re just a good fuck.”

The air is thin around you. Something has dropped, a pin, a dime, a fucking boulder, between the two of you. Joel grits his teeth and removes his hand from the door, backing away from you with a scowl. He pulls it the knob open harshly and brushes past you quickly, not even taking a moment to check if anyone was nearby to see you emerging from the bathroom too.

He grabs his jacket and strides towards the living room. You can make out the commotion behind the wall; Sarah is having her own philosophy course to her personal audience, asking, "Whats the point of having so many candles if you can only make one wish!?"

Joel grabs her hand and dismisses them quickly. Her sad cries echo into the hall: “But why! It’s too early!”

Joel’s stern voice echoes in the hall as they make their way across the entryway.  “Because I said so. I’ve got work tomorrow. We’re leaving.”

She continues to complain, but Joel doesn’t have any heart to continue their conversation. Ushering her out of the house and slamming the front door behind them.

You stare at the door, having not moved from your place. 

The carpet beneath your socked-feet feels too shaggy. I hated this carpet. Its too fucking much for fucking Texas and every god damn person who sees it here.

You flinch when Tommy’s hand creeps along your belly. Disgusting your sniffle as a cough and wiping your nose. You worry he noticed, but he doesn’t do anything to push the matter further. “What’s up with him?”

You huff an annoyed sigh. “I don’t fucking know. He’s your brother. Just Leave me the fuck alone.”

Tommy observes  your face momentarily, the way you avoid his eyes. He pulls away. “I’m gonna let this one slide as a pregnancy hormonal thing,” he says lowly, a cold soberness to his tone. “Then you can tell me what’s botherin’ ya so much lately. Or not. I’ll let you decide.”

You cover your face with your hands, sinful hands that feel like dry leather and charred ashes. Hands that don’t feel like your own anymore.

It would be better if Tommy just walked away. So you can simmer in your guilt and pain, like any cheating wife would. Like a sensible man who doesn’t take that shit from his wife, no matter what her personal problems are. From a woman who’s secretly jeopardizing their marriage for… what exactly?

You wanted more…but…what did you want more of?

Instead, Tommy feels his lips quiver slightly. He brings your head to his chest, smothering you in his scent and his embrace, his love and comfort.

Your insides break down in a flood. Tears and hiccups suffocate you as you wrap your arms around your husband and sob into his denim jacket, the one you just gave him this morning as his first birthday gift from his new wife. 

Tommy’s never pushed you for anything. Maybe to his own detriment.

Deep down, you suspect, he knows it too.

Instead, he just holds you, swaying back and forth with gentle ‘shhh’ into your forehead. Never once faltering on the stretch of his hug, his arms holding you up and against him like a seatbelt built for a lifetime.

You feel like you just drove the car off a cliff.

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[dumbseee]

bro code. pt3.

part 1. part 2.

carlos sainz jr x reader.

fc: bruna marquezine.

note: sorry for the mistakes this might have, english isn’t my first language and this is the longest fic i’ve ever written :) btw this will be the last part.

liked by landonorris, y/n, charles_leclerc and 1 589 008 others.

carlossainz55: happy birthday to the person who owns my heart. you helped me experience true love, and for that i’ll forever be grateful. your heart is pure and you always want the best for people, i love every little detail about you, like the way you always count to three before jumping into the pool because you were afraid of it when you were younger, or the way you always kiss my forehead before every race because you say it’s my lucky charm. you are my lucky charm, mi cielito. i love you so much y/n, thank you for giving me the chance to show you how you deserved to be loved.

_

y/n: how dare you making me cry on my birthday carlos sainz :( i love you more <3

carlossainz55: @.y/n not possible, i’m bigger than you so i can hold more love for you.

fan1: I JUST FELL TO MY KNEES

fan2: WHEN IS IT MY DAMN TURN

fan3: god it’s me again…

fan4: im going to kms in front of them to change the trajectory of their lives istg

fan5: GOOOOOOSH CARLOS IS ABISDODLLD

landonorris: damn sainz, even i am tearing up

fan6: just get married already

fan7: after n*ymar, y/n deserved a man like that

liked by marquinhosm5, carolcabrino, neymarpai_ and 3 788 082 others.

neymarjr: my heart is empty without you, you’ve blocked me so i can’t wish you a happy birthday privately but please y/n come back to me. you succeeded, that stunt you pulled with that random driver hurt me, you can stop now. i know that you miss me and want to comeback so please y/n be reasonable. i made a huge mistake and i’ll never forgive myself for what i did to us.

_

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your day went terribly, it was your birthday and you were excited for it but your day was completely ruined with neymar’s post. because of course, you saw it the second he posted it. your agent called you, panicked and told you to avoid social media, but it was too late. you were home when you saw it and had a huge panic attack. you didn’t tell carlos and you prayed that he didn’t see the post which was very unlikely since neymar mentioned him. you were more mad at the fact that he disrespected carlos because he didn’t deserve it. even if your relationship was fake to the world, carlos was nothing but a sweetheart to you. you even hoped that the moments you shared with him were true.

carlos texted you to come at his house to have a small party with some friends but you almost had a heart attack when you entered the house and saw all those people screaming "happy birthday!" filming you to have your reaction. carlos had a very different definition of « small party ». you saw him walk towards you with a huge smile, he was breathtaking, wearing nude pants and a blue shirt, letting the top buttons open, showing a bit of his torso. you were completely mesmerised by him, that was the effect carlos had on you.

"surprise cielito." he said after kissing your cheek, he wrapped his arm around your waist and gave you a hug. you melted in his touch and smiled at him. "you didn’t need to do all that, carlos." you said. "nonsense, it’s your birthday after all." you smiled at him and kissed his cheek before some friends of yours came to greet you and wish you a happy birthday. carlos’ purpose was to make your birthday special, especially with what happened earlier with your ex. he knew how this whole situation affected you deeply, even if you tried to hide it from him, carlos saw right through you. he could tell if you were upset just by looking at your face.

"umm, carlos?" lando’s voice took him out of his thoughts, he looked at his friend but frowned when he saw the look on his face. "look who showed up." lando whispered as if the whole room didn’t see who came uninvited. you gotta be kidding me. carlos turned around to see where you were and his heart tightened when he saw the look on your face, pure sadness. anger took over him immediately, that son of a bitch made you sad on your special day. carlos wasn’t going to let that slide. the spaniard quickly made his way to neymar who was asking people about where you were. the driver roughly turned the brazilian around so he could face him. neymar was about to say something to the person who just interrupted him but he only rolled his eyes when he saw carlos.

"what do you want sainz? where is my girl?" he asked, looking over carlos’ shoulder. neymar looked very drunk. carlos could feel anger buildup inside of him. how dare he? "you’re in my house so, i’ll ask you once and once only, leave before i make you leave." carlos said through gritted teeth. neymar scoffed before taking a step closer to the spaniard, being almost forehead against forehead. "are you threatening me, hijo da puta?" carlos was about to respond when charles and lando quickly appeared to separate the two of them. "okay, it’s enough now boys." charles said trying to lighten the mood. "move! i’m not done with him!" neymar pushed charles away which made carlos even more mad. "listen here, little boy. first you steal my woman and then you disrespect me in front of all these people. you think i’ll let that slide, coño?" the brazilian added while pushing carlos with his finger. at this point there was nothing charles or lando could do to stop them. "let me clarify one thing, junior, she was never yours to begin with. and trust that now that she has tasted true love, she’s never leaving." carlos said with a smile, which made neymar go crazy. the footballer grabbed carlos’ collar. "you made her cry for weeks, you destroyed her completely, and now you dare to show your face and claiming her as your woman? how dare you call yourself a man and make the woman you’re supposed to love and cherish, cry?" the spaniard said before getting closer to neymar’s ear. "if you dare to even whisper her name in your sleep, i’ll come for you, neymar da silva santos junior."

neymar finally let go of carlos before leaving quickly. the driver was now concerned about where you were hiding. as he was looking at the crowd of people, who were still talking about what just happened, lando approached his friend. "she’s with luisa and charlotte, they’re on the balcony." carlos nodded before patting his friend’s shoulder as a thank you. he quickly made it to his balcony where the girls were talking, luisa noticed him and patted charlotte’s shoulder to tell her that they needed to go. carlos sent them a thankful smile before walking towards you. your back was facing him and you were too lost in your thoughts to even notice his presence. he gently hugged you from behind which made you jump before you recognised his fragrance. "carlos." you simply said. "yes, cielito, are you okay?" he asked, resting his chin on your shoulder. you sighed before looking up at the moon, shining on the both of you. "i guess? is he gone?" you asked with a small voice, feeling the tears threatening to fall again. "yes, for real this time." you frowned before turning around to face carlos.

you were still extremely close as his hands were on your waist and your hands on his chest. he looked ethereal under the moonlight. "carlos, what am i to you?" you finally asked the question you were scared to even ask yourself. carlos smiled before moving his face closer to you. "you’re the love of my life." and then he kissed your lips. he kissed you like you’ve always dreamed to be kissed. with love, respect and passion. carlos was the first one to break the kiss, he looked at you and replaced a wild strand of hair behind your ear. "none of this was fake to me, every word, every attention, everything was real to me."

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, charlottesiine and 1 789 007 others.

y/n: thank you everyone for all the birthdays wishes! and thanks to my amazing boyfriend for throwing this party for me. i love you to the moon and back, handsome and i thank god everyday for giving me the chance to be your girlfriend.

_

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_

taglist: @mjaudrey @champomiel @lorarri @watersquirtpewpewboomm @ndunad @shrimpyshrimp @gaviypedrisbride @little-angel-07 @ironmaiden1313 @leclerc16s @xjval @elijahslover @hearts4esmee @love4lando

thanks for the support 🤍🥹

[lil-annonie]

0UT LIKE A LIGHT. —SATORU GOJO.

SYNOPSIS. Realization truly hit you hard. Only a shame it didn't hit him to realize the damage he's done.

CW. Modern!au. CEO!Gojo.

WC. 1688

A/N. I need sleep. Why is there sigma in my maths. No actually, STATISTICS. wgat the fuck is taht n why am I looking for SIGMA. 😞 I might actually fail this quarter cause I've failed almost every quiz, though my performances are PEAK. But ugh im not gonna be an honor student oh god. Ion wanna get smacked n get my door n phone taken away ugh 😣 update. there is no phone to get cause..heh..i broke it

What good is a luxurious estate for two if he never comes home?

All you can do to feel closure is to lay on the king sized bed and reminisce what it feels like to lay and be with him again.

But reminiscing isn't the right word. You can't deny that the majority of times like these all you really try to do is to try and remember what it feels.

It's not like Gojo left you. You don't think he has plans on leaving you; after all, he does drain and drown himself with work for his family. For you.

But then again.

What good is spoiling you if he isn't even there to accompany you in buying things and having fun? You feel guilty for being so ungrateful.

Poor Gojo is only doing what he has to. He has heavier weights on his shoulders than you ever will! You should be happy you can go wherever you want whenever you want instead of having to balance a big corporation by a big clan and a relationship, unlike him.

But he himself isn't balancing it all too well.

.

..

...

You just miss your husband. You're not trying to be a brat. It's not your fault you think he needs to spend a little more time with you.

...

Whining about your problems in your own mind won't help. It'll probably make it worse.

You realize every problem would all just water down to the same question,

"What good?"

What good is spending countless date nights together surrounded by art materials, you and him work and make memories while making a love journal,

"Satoru, that's too much supplies!" You scold your partner. The sight of him carrying two bags full of art materials making you concerned about how much money he spent on such silly things. He laughs at your reaction, taking your hand and walking in your dorm and to your room, setting the bags down on the fluffy carpet beside your bed.

"Nothing to worry about, sweets. Money is the least of poor worries." Gojo assures you, sitting down and pulling you next to him. "C'mon now, let's start making the journal already! I've been waiting for this moment for ages! "

Only for him to never engage in any dates you, or even himself had planned?

"Evenin' Toru... Are you free for tonight? You know we have a date. Ev'n marked it on our calendar, you know." Another sent right to the voicemail. It's the 5th one by now. It's well past the time of your reservation yet you still hope. One last time. One more try before you give up and change out of your clothes and pull out wine.

"If you can't come it's.. Alright. I—.. We can still plan another one anytime, like you said the last time. And the last. Before that, too—.. Ah, forget it. I'm sorry for sounding mad. Uh, please just. Uhm. Don't drown yourself with work, Satoru. It's bad for you." For us. "Goodnight, 'Toru. Wake me up if you come back or uh.. Text me if you can't. Bye. I love you."

What good were the long early morning walks with your hands holding, fingers intertwined as you and him walk over to a café to grab coffee (Gojo gets hot chocolate instead, disliking the bitter taste of coffee.) And take a seat at the park yapping each other's ears off as you both make a bucket list, sharing a pen and writing down your dreams in the love journal both of you created,

After Gojo finishes writing down what he wants to do with you and adding it on the bucket list, you take the pen he was offering and write down yours. Your eyes scan the almost-filled bucket list and end up in the latest one Gojo wrote. "♡Start a family!♡" in bold letters with hearts and rainbows all around the words.

"Really planning ahead huh, 'Toru?" You huff out a laugh and look at him, the faint blush he has makes you want to attack his cheeks with kisses. "With all those hearts too!"

"You can't tell me you haven't thought of it." He fights back. But he's right..you really can't tell him that. "With you, I wouldn't mind starting a family." "Awh. Come on, sweets.. Give me a clear answer!" "Okay, okay! Yes. I do want to start a family with you, better?"

"Imagine what our child would look like, I wonder whose hair color they would get.. Can't I just br—" with already a blushing face, you get more red. "Satoru! We're in college and in public. You can't just blurt that out!"

If he doesn't even make time from the both of you to cross out at least one word in the list?

Though it's pathetic, you still hold the feeling of nostalgia. Your prime. Yours and his prime, when you were the couple of the campus. You hold those memories dearly.

You wouldn't mind rummaging through the old boxes on the very corners of the attic to find something to hold on to. No matter how much dust, insects, and heat tries to go to you, you will do it for the journal.

So you do.

After an hour or two did you finally find it. Old and dusty, but still in pretty good shape for a book that stayed in such a place for such a time.

You get jumped by the first page of the journal.

"Bucket list! <3"

the list went on. It filled the whole page. Front to back, even. From "Bahamas!" To "try every damn fast food restaurant fry."

Each word came with a good remembrance of the times you or him wrote the words down, each little memory having it's own adorable conversation between you two.

But each word forced you to remember each rejected and ignored plan you had and shared with your dear Satoru.

"They called me for a meeting. I'm busy."

"Please, sweets. You know how hard it is for me to get a day off."

"I'm tired."

Excuses on and on and on. He knows those excuses don't make you any less sad, yet he still does it. Does he do it to spite you and your pathetic attempts? Does he know how cruel he is? Trying to slip and dodge every piece of affection thrown at him. As if being neglected by your own lover isn't bad enough!

What good are passing those old crumpled papers the both of you passed to each other way back in highschool, old papers filled with little names for your future children, even a whole reason about the name,

Expecting Satoru to pass you the paper back with a reply, he instead puts it under his notebook and pulls out another piece of paper, scribbling something out with big letters before covering your view with another book of his. Huh, weeirrrddd.

A few minutes later, he grabs your attention by nudging his boot against your sandal under the table, sliding the paper to you when you give him a glance.

"NAMEZZ! 𖤐𖨆"

• nouitzki. Nowitzki?? Idk

➥ sounds rich asf. Matching name = status righhhtt?? keh heh. :p

You look at him again, and he looks at you. He looks genuine. The way Gojo looks while he waits for you to write something down, his body nearly facing yours as he rests his face on his palm. Mouthing out a "c'mon.." with a smile on his face.

if sleeping with him in the same room without his call ringtone disturbing him and you every three seconds is such a rare event?

Why does he keep prioritizing such useless calls from whoever the fuck politician, celebrity, or another nepo baby is calling?

"Satoru... r' they calling again? It looks so dark outside n' late.. Can't they take a break.." You groan as your eyes still try to get used to the light from the sudden open lamp, you feel your lover hug you tightly and kiss your forehead before he sighs. "Yes, sweets, they are.. M' sorry."

Gojo sounds like he dreads responding to the caller. He is. He keeps his arms tight around you and his lips on your skin, letting the ringtone go off for a few seconds before carefully sitting up and reaching for his vibrating phone.

You don't bother listening in the conversation after that and continue sleeping, only waking up when you feel his lips against your forehead again, whispering apologies before walking out the room.

You want to remind him about the words that came out of his lying little mouth just a few hours ago, about how he'll stay till sunrise, but you know he's also tired and telling him that will just make him feel like shit. So you don't. You still love him, after all.

..

... Yeah.

back then, people noticing his absence whenever you went to events or parties alone felt good, the thought of your acquaintances expecting you with him or vice versa gives you the feeling of bliss.

but now.. oh wow.

everywhere you go, questions bringing up your husband's absence would endlessly haunt you. sure hurts like a bitch.

how cruel it is to actually know by experience that bullshit as simple as a family corporation can break love you thought only death could break apart.

you cant do this anymore.

Gojo doesn't completely try to ignore you, but you realize the more you and him aren't together, the more the relationship feels like downgrading to a simple friendship.

its not just his ignorance, no.

As time passes by he becomes a complete stranger.

the mutual interests you both loved would fade, and he would pour his stress on you. though not screaming matches, fortunately, it was words that were equipped with armour and swords, aiming straight to the heart.

you make a plan instead.

if he loves leaving you behind without notice, you would to.

fuck a letter.

maybe someday he would get back to his senses, maybe one day you and him would meet again.

A/N. Chat I accidentally posted this twice instead of saving it as draft. Am I cooked 😞also im so sorry if there are any repeated like situations n stuff i do not beta read n i dont have time to see errors oh and the ending was rushed. i do not know how to end a story im sorry also ts ws started on oct 2. ive put all tears and sweat and blood to keep continuing

[mononijikayu]

together — gojo satoru.

“You already noticed I’m here, so why aren’t you saying anything?” you asked, breaking the silence. Satoru’s laughter filled the room, light and familiar, though he didn’t look up from his work. “If I make a mistake on the budget suggestion for this year, I’ll be paying for it.” You couldn’t help but snicker at his response. “You have too much money to be complaining about budget mistakes you can replace.” you shot back, your voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and fondness. “But I like getting it right.” he replied, his tone casual, as if he were talking about something as simple as picking the right dessert. “I like winning.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence

WARNING/S: angst, romance, break up, hurt/comfort, divorce, separation, hurt, humor, depictions of failing marriage, depiction of post-divorce grief, depiction of sexual content, usage of pet names and endearments, depiction of grief, mention of grief, mention of sexual content, mention of loneliness;

WORD COUNT: 5.5k words

NOTE: the poll winner from recently!!! this took a while. i wanted to write more but you might get bored of me doing longer stories. i should learn how to stop yapping and get straight to the point too,,,,, but im grateful you come and read it at all. i love you all so much!!! i'll be focusing on writing future projects to keep you entertained too <3 oh~ also the japanese text above is the ending text of the story <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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LIVING ALONE AGAIN WAS STRANGE. You would think that after spending most of your life living alone, solitude would have become a familiar companion, a constant that you’d grown accustomed to. Yet, the nearly decade-long interlude of marriage had fundamentally shifted your sense of normalcy. Your normal wasn’t your normal years ago. That normal was gone long ago. 

The absence of Satoru, though frequent, had always been counterbalanced by his presence at other times—his laughter, his warmth, the shared moments that punctuated the quiet of your home. Memories reverberated in your head often, almost like a broken record repeating over and over again. 

Even with his unpredictable schedule and the long stretches of time he spent away on missions, his mere existence had woven a thread of companionship into the fabric of your daily life. His absence, when it occurred, was never complete. It was always lingering, almost the feeling of the wind on your cheeks. Like the sunlight that doesn’t know where else to go. 

There was always a lingering echo of his presence in the small things: the way he left his favorite hot cocoa mug on the counter, the occasional stray articles of clothing, or the faint scent of his cologne that lingered in the air. You existed alone and yet never truly alone. You were stuck in the pandemonium of him. And you can’t escape it, not him. Not even if you wanted to. You loved him too much, you think to yourself. And perhaps that was the most dangerous, most painful reality. 

Now, facing the reality of your solitude once again, you felt a shift that was more profound than you had anticipated. The house was quieter, emptier, in a way that was starkly different from your pre-marriage solitude. The echoes of his laughter were replaced by a silence that felt heavier, more pronounced. The space that was once filled with the shared rituals and routines was now hollow, resonating with the absence of the life you had once built together.

You found yourself unexpectedly disoriented by this new kind of loneliness. It wasn’t just the absence of a physical presence; it was the loss of the rhythm of life that had come with living with someone else—the cadence of shared moments, the comfort of knowing someone would always be there to fill the void. You realized that nearly a decade of marriage had redefined what it meant to be alone. The silence you faced now was a different kind of solitude, one that bore the weight of change and loss.

As you adjusted to this new reality, you were confronted with a truth you hadn’t fully grasped before: the difference between being alone and being alone together. The former was an old friend that knows you too well. And the latter had become an ingrained part of your existence, transforming how you experienced and understood solitude. Even in his absence, the presence of Gojo Satoru had left a mark that made the return to your solitary life feel like a disorienting shift. It was a constant reminder, like an afterthought — that you were drowning in both of it. And you wish you weren’t.

The first few weeks after the divorce felt like wading through an endless fog, each step heavier than the last. You’d packed up your life and moved into a smaller apartment, a place devoid of the memories that once filled every corner of your shared space with Gojo Satoru. The silence was a constant reminder of what was lost, and you couldn’t help but notice the emptiness where his laughter once echoed. 

The day you took off your wedding ring, it felt like a final, quiet resignation to a reality you hadn’t fully accepted. You set it aside in a drawer, out of sight but never truly out of mind. And you cried, on and on, for hours that seemed to go on to infinity. Yet, the last name remained, a silent tribute to what once was, even if you weren’t entirely sure why you held on to it. Maybe it was the familiarity, maybe it was a part of you that couldn’t fully let go. But it remained. 

You know he’s changed too since the divorce. At least that’s what you’ve heard from people you know. He moved to a different apartment, a place that probably lacks the warmth you tried to bring into your home together. And you can’t blame him. It was filled with ghosts, your old home. Ghosts of you and him that he didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to relive. 

He still keeps his wedding ring, that’s what the whispers say. At times, you imagine him, still as tall and proud as ever, his uniform impeccable, with that wedding ring you thought he’d discard hanging around his neck, hidden beneath layers of fabric and bravado. It’s not that you expected him to wear it forever, but knowing he does fills you with a strange mix of pain and comfort. 

He deleted your contact from his phone, yet you’re certain he could still dial your number from memory, just as you’ve failed to erase him from yours. It was too bad, you can’t help but think. How silly it was for both of you, to still be this attached to ten numbers on your phone screen. That it is now etched in your heads. One way or another, still listed as the emergency number on the first listing of the contact list.

It’s ironic, you think. Almost a decade of marriage, years filled with love, laughter, and moments that felt like they could never end, all reduced to this—two people who still love each other deeply but grew too tired to fight for what they had. Not tired of each other, no. You’re sure he’ll always love you, just as you know that you’ll always love him. But the weight of it all became too much. You couldn’t carry it anymore, and neither could he.

And so here you are, in your separate spaces, living lives that feel incomplete without the other. It’s a strange kind of heartbreak, one where the love is still there, lingering like a ghost, but the life you once shared is gone. The divorce papers were just a formality, a first step made by a child born into this world; the real loss, the real step to living again is something neither of you has figured out how to let go of yet. And perhaps, you will never truly find it.

But at times, love wasn’t enough. Love couldn’t bridge the gaps that grew between you and Satoru. Keeping each other alive wasn’t enough either. Knowing that the other was out there, somewhere, breathing, wasn’t enough to fill the void that settled in your heart. Sometimes, you need more than that. And you certainly did.

You felt alone for most of your marriage to Satoru. Not unloved, but alone. There was a difference, you’re sure of it. Satoru loved you, a lot. You knew he did. If you could see it, you would think it would have been large enough to create a bigger sea than the Pacific Ocean. Perhaps it would engulf the whole planet too.

He chose you, above everything. At least at one point, when duty didn’t matter as much as it did now. When the world still spun in the way that made sense. You still remember how his eyes were as they bore against his family members, standing in front of you. He went against tradition, defying the expectations of those who believed he should marry someone with powerful connections, someone from a clan as prestigious as his own. 

Instead, he chose you, a sorcerer without ties to power or influence. Just you. Plain and ordinary you. He carved out Sundays to be with you, Megumi, and Tsumiki, a precious day reserved for just the four of you, away from the demands of the world you were all trapped in. He tried to be there, he really did. You knew that he did his best. Because he loved you.

Yet, despite all that, most days you didn’t see him as much. Duty outweighed that devotion, that love, that defiance.  He was always somewhere else, pulled in too many directions at once. His duties as the strongest, as a teacher, as a protector—those came first. And while you understood, while you knew that he was out there saving lives, it didn’t make the loneliness any easier to bear. Understanding doesn’t make it hurt any less. And he knew that too.

You were surrounded by love, yet it felt like you were living parallel lives, close but never truly touching. The days blurred together, filled with brief moments of connection followed by long stretches of absence. You grew used to missing him, to waiting for the rare moments when he’d be fully present, but it wore on you. The love you shared was real, but it wasn’t enough to keep the loneliness at bay.

That loneliness, the growing chasm between you, led to fights—fights that started small, sparked by little things but quickly ignited into full-blown arguments. Screaming matches that echoed through the apartment, tears that blurred your vision, and words that cut deep, words that should never have been said. 

You tried to make sure you never did that in front of Megumi or Tsumiki. But you think they knew. How could they not, when the silence was so loud? And you would rather stay in silence than let them see the tears, let Satoru see the tears. There were moments when the hurt became too much, and the pain spilled over into everything you did, even the intimacy that once brought you closer.

There were nights when the sex was intense, a desperate attempt to reconnect, to remember the love that once held you together. To feel something other than this emptiness, this grief, this pain. But even in those moments, pleasure was tinged with an ache so deep it brought you to tears. Tears that spilled from the heart of someone already grieving, someone who saw the end coming long before the final goodbye. You grieved for the marriage you had, the marriage that you didn’t have. The one that shouldn’t have ended this way but was unraveling regardless.

He lay on top of you, his body pressing you into the mattress as his lips traced a desperate path along your neck, each kiss laden with a quiet urgency, as if this was the last time he’d ever taste your skin. His breath was warm against your throat, and you could feel the tension in his muscles as he held you close, unwilling to let go just yet.

Your arms locked around the small of his back, pulling him even closer as you moaned against him, the sound trembling with the tears gathering in your eyes. The pressure of his body, the way he rocked against your core, flesh to flesh, was both comforting and excruciatingly bittersweet. Each movement, each whispered breath, felt like a silent plea for more time, a way to hold on to what was slipping through your fingers.

You didn’t want to let go, your heart clinging to the connection between you, desperate to keep him close for just a little longer. But even as you wrapped yourself around him, feeling the pulse of his heart against yours, you knew the truth. You knew that this would end, that this was just another fleeting moment before you’d have to let go, before the final goodbye.

Your tears mingled with the sweat on your skin, a physical manifestation of the heartbreak you were both too afraid to voice. He kissed your neck as if he could somehow imprint his love into your very soul, but deep down, you both knew it wouldn’t be enough. No matter how tightly you held on, no matter how deeply he loved you, this was a chapter that was closing, and nothing could stop that.

You felt both raw and exposed, you lay there beside him, your body still trembling from the aftermath, your heart feeling like it had been shattered into a thousand pieces. The air between you was thick with the unspoken, a silence so heavy it pressed down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. The ceiling above you blurred as tears welled up, but the words that clawed their way up your throat demanded to be spoken, even if they tore you both apart in the process.

“This isn’t working out anymore, Satoru.” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the quiet like a knife. The moment the words left your lips, you could feel the shift in the bed, his body tensing beside you as if bracing for a blow that had already landed. “You know it as much as I do.”

He didn’t respond right away, the silence between you stretching out into something almost unbearable. When he finally turned to look at you, his expression was a mixture of shock and guilt, as if he hadn’t expected to hear what you both knew was inevitable. 

His eyes, those vibrant blue eyes that once held so much joy and love, were now clouded, searching yours for something—anything—that could change what you had just said. Because he knew. He knew it even before you did, with those six eyes. That it was over. That there was nothing left to find. 

The love was still there, burning bright, but it wasn’t enough to hold together what had been breaking for so long. You watched as the realization settled over him, as the weight of your words began to sink in, and in that moment, you saw a part of him crumble. It was as if the strongest man you’d ever known had been brought to his knees, not by any curse or enemy, but by the simple truth that he couldn’t fix what was broken between you.

“I’m sorry, babe.” he whispered, the words trembling in the space between you, as if they carried the weight of all the things he couldn’t say. His voice cracked, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he looked vulnerable, lost in a way you had never seen before. “I’m really sorry.”

His apology hung in the air, a single thread connecting you to a past that had once been so full of promise, now unraveling before your eyes. You wanted to reach out, to hold him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that you both tried, but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you lay there, the distance between your bodies feeling like a chasm that neither of you could cross anymore, the reality of your situation settling in like a cold, unrelenting truth.

And in that moment, you knew it was over. Not just the marriage, but the fight to keep it alive. The love you had for each other was still there, but it had been worn down by the loneliness, the missed connections, the time spent apart. And now, as you lay beside him, you realized that love alone wasn’t enough to save what you had lost. And you were tired. You were tired of it all.

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ALL YOU WANTED TO DO WAS CRAWL INTO BED AND SLEEP. That mission really did a number on your energy, you think. But you were just desperate to get it done with. With the rise of cursed spirits doubling, you had to do more than what you usually do. And now that you were home, you wished for nothing more than to take a nice long shower and drink some beer before going off to bed. 

You yawned as you opened the door and took your keys away, the exhaustion settling into your bones as you slipped off your shoes and dropped your bag by the door.The familiar hum of your apartment greeted you, a moment of quiet before you could finally relax. You turned on your AC and put your coat away. But before you could even take a breath, your phone rang, its sharp tone cutting through the silence.

You glanced at the screen and saw Shoko’s name flashing. A small smile tugged at your lips as you answered, “Hey, Shoko—”

She didn’t let you finish. “You need to get to Jujutsu High. Immediately.”

Her voice was brisk, but there was an underlying edge to it that made your heart skip a beat. Your eyes shot a glance at the clock on the wall, noting the late hour with a sigh. You didn’t have to ask, but the question slipped out anyway, “Is it Satoru?”

Shoko’s snicker crackled through the phone, and you could almost see her rolling her eyes. “Who else would it be?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, rubbing the bridge of your nose as a wave of weariness washed over you. It always seemed to be him. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, Sho.” you replied, your voice resigned but determined. “Just let me have a shower first.”

There was a pause, and then Shoko’s tone softened just slightly. “Thanks.”

“Keep him entertained until I get there, okay?”

“I don’t really think I can keep promises like that.”

You hung up, the familiar mixture of concern and frustration stirring in your chest. You knew Satoru—how he pushed himself, how he always danced on the edge of danger, how he made everyone worry without ever seeming to care about the toll it took on those who loved him. And now, once again, you found yourself rushing to his side, the weight of your shared history pressing down on you as you prepared to face whatever mess he’d gotten himself into this time.

When you arrived at the familiar room, the sight that greeted you was almost surreal in its familiarity. It was exactly as you had left it weeks and weeks ago, as if time had frozen in this one small corner of the world. But you think in a way, that’s how sentimental your ex–husband was. You sighed. It was still something you have to get used to, thinking of Satoru as your ex–husband. But slowly but little, maybe you would.

Papers were stacked precariously on every available surface, threatening to topple over at any moment. Food containers were haphazardly piled in a corner, one after the other, all empty. Sweet soda cans lay scattered around, rolling slightly with each step you took. Dust had begun to settle on the scrolls and books that were abandoned on the desk and floor, evidence of a mind too occupied to care about the mess surrounding it.

And there, in the far corner of the room, was Gojo Satoru. His cerulean blue eyes, as bright and intense as ever, were glued to a pile of administrative paperwork, his brow furrowed in concentration. Concentration that you rarely see in him when you are at home. Well, when you still lived together. You stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in, before letting out a long, quiet sigh.

“You already noticed I’m here, so why aren’t you saying anything?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Satoru’s laughter filled the room, light and familiar, though he didn’t look up from his work. “If I make a mistake on the budget suggestion for this year, I’ll be paying for it.”

You couldn’t help but snicker at his response. “You have too much money to be complaining about budget mistakes you can replace.” you shot back, your voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and fondness.

“But I like getting it right.” he replied, his tone casual, as if he were talking about something as simple as picking the right dessert. “I like winning.”

You watched him for a moment longer, a twinge of something bittersweet tugging at your heart. Satoru had always been like this, meticulous in certain things, striving for perfection in the most mundane tasks. And for a fleeting second, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he had wanted to get more than just the budget right. Maybe he had wanted to get your marriage right, too. But like the paperwork in front of him, it had slipped through the cracks, and no amount of precision could fix what had already fallen apart.

You shook the thought from your mind, leaning against the doorframe. “So, what’s the crisis this time? Or did you just need me to come clean up your mess again?”

Satoru finally looked up, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. “Isn’t that why you’re here?” 

And as much as you wanted to deny it, to tell him you were done cleaning up after him, you couldn’t. Because deep down, you knew that some part of you would always show up for him, even now, even after everything.

“You haven’t slept yet, have you?”

He says nothing for a moment and smiles. “Is it that obvious?”

“I was your wife at one point, Satoru.” You smiled back at him. “I would know it all.”

You moved further into the room, your steps unhurried but purposeful as you waltzed toward him. Without a word, you took the seat directly in front of him, the old familiarity of the space wrapping around you like a well-worn coat. The paper bag in your hand crinkled softly as you set it down on the cluttered table between you. 

Finally, Satoru looked up from his paperwork, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes, always so piercing, softened just slightly as he took you in. “You getting worried for me, babes?” he teased, the nickname slipping out as naturally as ever.

You sighed, the weight of years shared between you pressing down on your shoulders. “When have I never been worried?” you replied, the words tinged with a quiet resignation. “Eat up before you die from hunger, you idiot.”

He chuckled, that easy, careless laugh of his that used to make your heart flutter. “I’ll be fine, you know?” he said, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. “I would have been home before 4 am.”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to the table for a moment. “I know… but I still worry.”

There was a pause, a beat where the air between you grew heavy with the things left unsaid. When you looked back up, his smile had shifted—still there, but tinged with something almost unbearably sad. 

“I hope you stop.” he murmured, the honesty in his voice cutting deeper than any argument or harsh word could have. “It’s not good for you. To worry about me.”

You knew he meant it. Satoru didn’t want you to be weighed down by him, didn’t want you caged like some delicate bird in a gilded cage. He had set you free so that you wouldn’t be in pain anymore, so that you could breathe without the constant worry that had come to define so much of your life together. And in his own way, he was just being honest, just trying to do right by you, even if it meant asking for something that neither of you really wanted. 

But the truth of it hurt all the same, a constant nagging that no matter how much love there was, sometimes that love wasn’t enough to hold you together. And as you sat there, watching him, you knew that letting go of that worry was going to be one of the hardest things you’d ever have to do.

"I heard you got the job at Fukuoka in a few weeks." Satoru whispered, his pearless blue gaze heavy on you. "Congratulations."

You don't know how he heard it, who he heard it from. But your ex-husband always had his six eyes on everything. He has ways. But maybe it didn't matter. You don't think it would have been easy to tell him anyway. You didn't have the heart to. In a way, you feel like you're leaving him behind. And you didn't want to. That was your biggest fear.

That your Satoru would truly be alone. That he would suffer everything the world gave him on his own. As he always has. Because when you think about Satoru, he wasn't the strongest. He was just the boy you fell in love with all those years ago. And now he's the man you loved—still do love. Yet he won't have your shoulder. Now more so than ever that you're leaving.

"Yaga recommended me." You whisper back at him with a tender, broken look. "He thought I would do well as a teacher there. And well, there was a spot opened since Inumaki-sensei retired."

"Inumaki's uncle, wasn't it?" He says, leaning against the back rest. "No, he's definitely older. He's the great-uncle."

"I think so, I'm not very sure." You confess. "I'm not into the clan matters."

He chuckles. "That's okay. Clan matters have always been boring."

Silence befell the two of you as you looked at your fumbling nails. You didn't know what to do now, you didn't think you can meet his eyes. Your grandmother told you that the window to the soul was the eyes. And so, you were hesitant. You were hesistant to see how much damage you could bring to his soul. How much grief you can inflict upon him by leaving.

You cleared your throat, shifting slightly in your seat, and decided to steer the conversation in a safer direction. “How’s Megumi?” you asked, your voice soft but steady, focusing on something you both still cared about.

You blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill over, refusing to let him see how much his words had shaken you. This was supposed to be a simple visit, just dropping off food, checking in on him like you always did. But nothing about being around Satoru was ever simple, not even now. 

"It's a five hour train ride." You whispered, your eyes still darted to your hands. "Thirteen hours by car and...and I'll stop by for reports and administrative meetings."

"You want me to visit you?" Satoru teased, crossing his arms.

You looked at him, finally. Your lips pursed tightly. "If you want. You know....you know my house is open to you. Wherever it is."

"And you're my home. You always will be." He mumbles lowly, a ghostly smile on his lips. "I'll come and see you, hm? Teleport even."

You could feel a lump gather at your throat. You didn't know what to say. It was overwhelming to hear. But maybe, just maybe — it would hurt less had he said it more often. Maybe it would have been common place. And maybe, your heart wouldn't be breaking over and over again.

"Just don't go on days you have work. Your kids need you too."

He smiles. "No promises."

Satoru’s expression softened further, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “He’s doing well, I suppose.” he said, leaning back in his chair as if the mere mention of Megumi eased some of the tension between you. “He’s been training hard, getting stronger every day. You know how he is—always pushing himself.”

You nodded, picturing the serious young boy who had become such a central part of both your lives. For a moment, your mind also crosses to Tsumiki. You dare not ask about Tsumiki. Not just yet. You weren’t prepared for the same answer he’d given you a while ago. 

“That sounds like him.” you murmured, a small smile finding its way to your lips despite everything. “He’s always been so determined, even when he was little. Likes proving himself and getting better.”

Satoru’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes searching your face as if he could read your thoughts. “He misses you, you know?” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something almost like regret. “He doesn’t say it, but I can tell.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, a fresh wave of emotion swelling in your chest. You swallowed hard, looking away for a moment to compose yourself. “I miss him too.” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Every day.”

Satoru reached out then, his hand hesitating for just a second before he placed it gently over yours, a rare moment of contact that spoke volumes. He gave you a small squeeze and then a faint smile, a smile that you wished wasn’t this broken, this sad.

“You should come see him. He’s already lodging here in the school.” he suggested, his thumb brushing against your skin in a soothing motion. “He’d like that, having a visit from you.”

You glanced down at his hand, the warmth of his touch both familiar and foreign at the same time. The simplicity of his suggestion made it all the more heartbreaking. As much as you wanted to see Megumi, to be there for him, it was the reminder of what you had lost—what you both had lost—that made it so difficult.

“I will.” you finally said, your voice thick with the emotion you were trying so hard to keep at bay. “I’ll see him soon.”

Satoru nodded, the understanding passing between you in the quiet that followed. It was a fragile peace, held together by shared memories and the unspoken love that still lingered between you. But it was enough for now, even if just for this moment.

You blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill over, refusing to let him see how much his words had shaken you. This was supposed to be a simple visit, just dropping off food, checking in on him like you always did. But nothing about being around Satoru was ever simple, not even now. 

As you prepared to leave, the weight of the moment pressed heavily on you, and you turned back toward Satoru, unable to shake the feeling of seeing him so sad. “It’s hard to see you like this, you know?” you said, your voice tinged with concern. “It hurts knowing how much you’re struggling.”

Satoru sighed, his gaze dropping to the papers strewn across his desk. “I have no one to blame but myself, babe.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a resignation that seemed almost like acceptance. “And that’s okay. I’ll figure it out. I always will. I have to.”

You shook your head, frustration and sadness mixing in your voice. “It’s not okay, Satoru. I don’t want you to keep punishing yourself over this. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to anyone.”

He looked up at you, his cerulean eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that he rarely showed. He squeezed your hand again, his grip firm but gentle. You feel like at any moment, you are going to break. He was so gentle, he always was.  When it came to you? He could never be someone that would let Infinity be between you. Gentleness, it's what you deserved. To be loved well, that too. That’s what you deserved most in the world.

“I want you to think of yourself first. You were and always will be my first priority.” he said softly. “You deserve to have a life too, one that isn’t just about me. You need to take care of yourself.”

The simple sincerity of his words broke the dam you had been trying so hard to hold back. The tears you had been fighting to keep at bay finally spilled over, streaming down your cheeks. He lets out a small breath as he takes his free hand and lets his fingers wipe them too. Just as gently as his other hand touches your own.

“I… I don’t know how to do that.” you admitted through your tears, your voice breaking. You bit your lower lip. “It’s hard to just walk away from everything we’ve been through. I keep thinking about how things could have been different.”

Satoru’s expression softened, and he reached out to gently brush away a tear from your cheek. “You don’t have to have all the answers, okay?” he said quietly. “Just take it one step at a time. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling, and it’s okay to not have it all figured out right now.”

The tenderness in his touch, the care in his voice, only made the tears flow more freely. You nodded, trying to steady your breath. “I just want you to be okay.” you said, your voice choked with emotion. “I want us both to be okay, even if it’s apart.”

Satoru nodded, his eyes reflecting a mixture of sadness and understanding. “We will be,” he said softly. “It’s just going to take time. But I believe we’ll find our way. You’ll find yours, and I’ll find mine. And we’ll both be okay.”

“Satoru,” you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of all the years you had shared. “You were… you still are the love of my life.”

The words hung in the air, and you could see them hit him like a tidal wave. His eyes widened as the realization crashed over him—memories of youth, of laughter, of love that once felt unbreakable. The years you had spent together, now mere dried ink on the pages of the book of your life, flashed before his eyes. You could almost see the emotional flood pouring over him, washing away the veneer of his usually unshakeable composure.

His laughter broke the silence, a harsh, choking sound that was as close to tears as he would allow himself to show. He takes a deep breath, trying to still himself. Trying to not let this hurt you even more than it already was.

“You already know the answer to that.” he managed, his voice thick with emotion. His laughter turned into a soft, almost pained smile, as if the truth of your words had cracked something open inside him. “Always. No matter what.”

You nodded, tears blurring your vision. “I do.” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “And I always will. I’ll always love you.”

The room felt colder now, the space between you feeling like an insurmountable distance. But there was a strange sense of peace in acknowledging what had been and what could never be again. As you turned back toward the door, you took one last look at him, holding on to the bittersweet memory of a love that had been both beautiful and painful. 

And with that, you stepped out into the world that awaited you, the horizon stretching out with possibilities as you carried with you the love that had once defined your past. Even as you embarked on this new beginning, the echoes of what you shared with Satoru would forever remain a part of you, an indelible mark on the canvas of your life.

As you moved away, Gojo Satoru watched you with a mix of sadness and resolve. He knew that this separation was not just a physical distance but a necessary step for both of you to find peace and stability. The sight of you walking toward your new life in Fukuoka, away from the familiar chaos and dangers of what's to come; it filled him with hope. It filled him with relief.

In his heart, Satoru found solace in the thought that you would be safe, shielded from the perilous world that had often intruded upon your lives together. The distance between you was painful, but it was for the best. You can’t be together anymore. He’d only hurt you. And no amount of love can bury that hurt. He knew that too well.

As you vanished from view, Satoru took a deep breath, accepting the weight of the decision and the emotions it carried. His eyes looked down at the picture of you and him, back in your wedding. He lets his finger linger against the glass, against the memory of your smiling face. It was better this way. He sighs and puts his blindfold against his eyes again. He takes a seat again. He looks at the meal you made him and he starts to eat again. Little by little, savoring the warmth that remained.

“You made it too spicy again.” He whispers into the empty room, smiling to himself. "That's cruel."

[nomazee]

Silly little thing I thought of

Like like imagine dazai and the reader have been friends for years like the reader knew him since his 15 goofer era... and they got used to eachother sm they usually sleep in eachothers beds n stuff :3

LIKE SOMETHING IS GOING ON BUT THEY STILL HAVE THE FRIENDSHIP LABEL.. 🐺🤞

this concept stuck itself in my head like a tapeworm and it has not escaped me for days IM ACTUALLY OBSESSED i wrote SO MUCH for this omfg i had so much fun writing this thank u for this wonderful idea pairing: dazai x gn reader word count: 2.5k content: fluff, vignette-style writing, friends-to-lovers unspoken label type of thing, soft dazai, domestic fluff without the marriage bit, banter, idiots in love im taking requests!

===

Dazai’s toes are still as frigid at night as they were seven years ago. You, of all people, would be the best person to measure this—not in a weird way, but you two have shared a bed at least once a week since your teenage years. You know all of Dazai’s annoying sleeping habits, including his ones of sleeping without socks and digging his feet into your shins for warmth. 

Annoying fucker. You sigh, batting his arm away from its loose hold around your waist. “Get your toes off of me,” you croak out, half-conscious and mind still addled with the remains of your once-deep sleep.

“What toes,” Dazai mutters back, smacking your intervening hand away and returning his arm to its rightful place around you. “I don’t have toes. I got rid of them after puberty, ‘member?” 

“I’m gonna kill you.” You won’t, not really, and the threats have lost their edge after all these years, but it’s fun to throw at him when he annoys you like this. “I know all your weaknesses, Osamu. One wrong move and you’ll be missing more than just your toes.” 

“I’m cold, dear. Would you really let me freeze like this? So mean.” 

You try not to choke up at the nickname. He’s been a fan of those recently, at least in the last year. You think it has something to do with your new places at the Agency. New workplace, new life, and new nicknames, apparently. If you overthink it you might puke on him and fall back asleep. 

“Not cruel. We have money now, you know. Go buy yourself socks. Wool, or something. Stupid ass cold ass toes.”

He goes quiet. Even in all these years of knowing him, half-living with him, you can’t tell if it’s a normal lull in the conversation or a calculated pause. It doesn’t unnerve you as much as it used to, but there’s still a cold chill at the nape of your neck that springs up at times like these. 

“Why would I do that when I have you?” 

Dazai has also been a fan of this recently—strange uncharacteristic moments of tenderness. He peels himself back for you and bares himself raw. The implications make you nauseous. Swathed in the darkness of the night, he can’t see your fingers twitch from where they lay next to your head, away from his sight; or the conflicted expression that crosses your face. 

Easing your breath out into a steady, deep rhythm, you pretend to be asleep. It’s not like he can’t tell, but the message is there. Let’s not talk about this until the morning. Let’s just sleep for the night. Let’s keep what we have and not change it for the worse. 

==

At age eighteen, shaken with the death of his friend and haunted by blood stains on his fingers, Dazai defects from the mafia. 

He doesn’t take you with him—at least, he doesn’t mean to. He expects to leave quietly, or as quietly as blowing up Chuuya’s car can be. He doesn’t expect you to drag yourself along kicking and screaming. 

Dazai doesn’t remember much about specifics, but he knows that one day he was alone in his underground apartment and the next day you were there. The kitchen smelled like melted marshmallows and rice krispies and his dingy counter was covered in sprinkles. 

“Hi, Dazai,” you’d greeted conversationally. “I’m making your favorite.” 

He doesn’t even like rice krispie treats. Hates them, actually. 

In truth, your presence is less the result of you “kicking and screaming” and more like an after-effect of your own quiet stubbornness. Your kicking-and-screaming was done in the passive aggressive way that you cleaned his dishes and made his bed and left big trays of rice krispie treats in his fridge for the next week. 

Neither of you talked about Chuuya. It was better for you that way. 

On the first night, Dazai remembers you holding him from behind, forehead pressed into the stretch of skin between his neck and shoulder. He’s sensitive there despite being wrapped in his stupid scratchy bandaids. His memories for the rest of the night are overrun by a feeling of want, an itch to feel your fingers on his bare skin, a craving for your hand on his stomach to slide beneath the hem of his shirt and press into the tender skin of his abdomen and keep him warm.  

===

“Leave me alone,” you grumble from behind the sleeve of your jacket. “I’m napping.” 

“It’s not napping if you’re still awake.” 

“I wouldn’t be awake if it wasn’t for your annoying ass.” Rotating your body to face the ceiling from your place on the Agency’s couch, you sigh when your view is blocked by Dazai’s ugly stupid face. He’s smiling in that conniving way that he does when he’s about to do something super annoying. Another sigh escapes you when he leans down close enough for the overgrown ends of his hair to brush against your nose. The puff of air from your verbal discontent makes the strands sway slightly. You try not to think about how mesmerizing he looks when he’s this close, with the light from the window casting a golden sheen on the crown of his head. 

Since when did you get this sappy? Must be Dazai rubbing off on you, obviously. 

“So tired already! It’s barely noon.” 

“You came into work an hour ago. I’ve been here since eight. Try being responsible for a change, might exhaust you just as much.” 

“Hmm.” He tilts his head, big stupid shiny brown eyes blinking down at you like he’s observing a specimen. “I think I’m more than responsible enough.” 

“Sure,” you relent, turning back around to shove your face into the corner of the couch and block out the incoming light. It’s the truth—you’re exhausted. A persistent weariness permeates your bones from how much you’ve been working these last few weeks. It’s not like it’s anyone’s fault in particular, not even Dazai’s despite how much he slacks on paperwork. But looming threats from enemy organizations hang over everyone’s heads and there’s no shortage of uncertainty in the Agency. It’s been mission after mission for you, and you’re taking every break you can get. 

Rustling sounds from above you, but you pay it no mind, busying yourself with nestling all of your body into the crevices of the couch and hopefully turning into a piece of furniture yourself. It might be a more peaceful life, really. The calm is short-lived when you feel fingers tap along your cheek—not in a rousing gesture, but something along the lines of placating. 

Dazai squeezes a hand beneath your head and cups the side of your face pressed against the couch, tilting it closer to him before you feel a warm press of lips against your cheek. He lingers. He always does. You can feel the gentle inhales and exhales breeze against your face before he breaks his kiss away. Your cheek is warm for more reasons than one. 

“Take care of yourself,” and oh, god, you’ll never get used to this, never get used to how tender and soft he’s become with you, never get used to how this Agency has fostered something like kindness in both of you. Your stomach stirs with something unnamed and if you were braver, you’d blink your eyes open and reach up and grab the sides of his face and pull him down to you. 

But you’re not brave, and there’s people still behind you in the office, and you wonder what led Dazai to be soft enough to kiss your face like that in front of everyone. You’re sure they’re watching you both. The Agency is full of gossips, whether they admit it or not. 

===

“Dazai,” Ango Sakaguchi grits out from behind the crackling reception of a burner phone. “They were not a part of the plan.” 

“You think I don’t know that, Ango?” Dazai replies, tone more playful than aggressive. “I know they’re not a part of the plan. They knew they weren’t part of the plan, too. But it’s too late to do anything about it. It’s just a minor change.” 

“A minor change?” Ango’s voice is strained with stress, no doubt pulling out strands of his hair as they speak. “I have to deal with not one, but now two members of the mafia defecting. Do you know how much work this was to begin with?” 

The thing is—of course Dazai knows. He knows everything. The minute he found you in his kitchen, his stomach dropped with the uncertainty of the future. Going underground with another person was nothing short of a burden, at least on paper. But, he couldn't find it in himself to think of you like that. Like a burden. 

“We’ll figure it out, Ango. If you don’t, then we will.” 

A gritty sigh sounds from the other side of the phone call. “I’m putting a lot of faith in you, Dazai. Don’t screw this up.” 

===

“Made you lunch. Since, obviously, you’re not gonna do that for yourself any time soon.” 

A closed plastic container is thrown on the counter in front of Dazai. He looks at it, then up at you, eyebrow raised as if he doesn’t have a clue what this could be about. He’s not that stupid, though. You of all people would know that. 

“How nice of you! Too bad I’m not hungry.” His lip juts out in a poor imitation of a pout, and he looks ugly with it. So ugly. Ugly enough to make you feel the need to kiss him all over and then slap him. An incredulous huff escapes you. 

“I don’t care if you’re hungry. Eat. It has crab in it, see, your favorite.” 

“I thought my favorite was rice krispies?” 

You freeze. It hadn’t occurred to you that he might remember that, after all this time. You don’t dwell, because that’s the worst thing to do with Osamu Dazai—dwell. 

“Don’t act stupid. Just eat it. Even if it’s not the whole thing, at least some of it. It would do you some good.” Getting serious with Dazai is one of the most awkward, unbearable things you could ever do. He has a way of making you feel stupid for worrying about him, with all his roundabout jokes and skills of evasion built up over years. You’ve found that being straightforward is the best way to avoid all those blank moments of silence. 

His fingers curl around the plastic lid and pop it open. The container is still warm, having cooked all its contents just half an hour before showing up at Dazai’s apartment with conviction in your eyes. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll have some.” 

You bring out a duplicate container with a serving for you, and treat yourself to a juice box from his fridge. You try not to launch into a lecture at the sight of his barren pantry—that’s best done by Kunikida. The both of you eat in silence, sitting across from each other at Dazai’s dusty kitchen island. 

He only gets through a few bites before pushing the container away and complaining about how full he is. You know it’s not the truth, but it’s the mixed-up signals that his body sends him. It’s not that he’s full, but his persistent lack of appetite has caused a lot of troubles for him in the past and you don’t doubt that it’ll keep causing troubles in the future, too. 

“Let’s get you to bed, then,” you tell him, dragging him up from his chair despite his whining protests. “I won’t make you shower, but you should probably do that tomorrow, ‘cause your hair’s about to get all greasy and disgusting.”

“So crude.” 

“I do my best.” 

You let him change on his own, but not before picking out a nice soft set of matching pajamas from deep inside his closet. You grumble a little in annoyance. The set was a birthday gift you got for him a year ago and that asshole pushed it to the back of his wardrobe and never touched it again. What a brat. You throw a pair of fuzzy socks at him to boot. 

Once he’s changed into proper sleep clothes, you can tell that the exhaustion is starting to hit him. He sways a little on his feet and his blinks last for a little too long, as if he’s chasing sleep every time his eyes shut. With another begrudging sigh, you set him down on the floor of the bathroom and dollop his toothbrush with fruity kid’s toothpaste—because of course that’s the only toothpaste he owns—and brush his teeth for him. 

Dazai dozes off in the middle of it, and you can’t bring yourself to wake him up in the most annoying way possible. You try really, really hard to not think about how soft you’ve gotten. You’re an ex-mafia member, past coated with dark stains and entrails and death, all of those dark things. Your blood is just as black as Dazai’s, if not more. And yet, being a part of this stupid Detective Agency with this stupid man has melted you down into something parallel to good.

Don’t dwell. It’ll do you no good. 

You use a gentle grip with the toothbrush, ensuring that his delicate gums don’t tear with the force of the bristles. A warm feeling stirs in your chest. It feels like you’ve proven something, like you’ve proven to the world that your coal-stained hands can be gentle, too. You can kill and you can nurture. You tap Dazai awake with a little more care, now. 

“Rinse your mouth,” you tell him in a whisper. “Then you can sleep.” And after a pause, you add, “I promise,” because now you’re in the business of making promises to people. 

Dazai rinses his mouth, and you wipe off the remaining droplets of water from his face with a paper towel that you leave on the counter for your future self to throw out. You lace your fingers with his as you walk to his bed. Not that he needs any guiding. Of course he doesn’t. It’s just a little extra insurance, you think. 

“Stay with me,” he mumbles out the minute you lay him down on the bed. It’s a sentence, and not a question, because he’d rather die than ask you something so vulnerable. He’s doing it again—peeling himself back and baring himself raw for you. Your head swims and your vision blurs with either a migraine or with tears, you can’t tell. But your lips quirk up into a stupid smile and he sees it despite his half-lidded eyes, and he smiles back like the stupid dope that he is. 

“Yeah, of course. I’m right here, Osamu. Go to sleep.” 

And he does. Of course, not before he feels you cup the opposite side of his face and plant a warm, lingering kiss on the swell of his cheek just as he did for you weeks before. The faint laugh that he lets out before he falls asleep is enough to tell you that he’ll be making fun of you for it in the morning. For now, though, he’s soft and pliant and warm between your hands, and you sleep.

[bias-secret]

My Plan/Rules ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

(these r rules i’m using as a guide to help me lose weight)

Mondays and Tuesdays: Fasting

I’m trying to get to where I can fast the whole 48 hours. This way my body will burn more fat cells and go through ketosis. I’m new to fasting, so that’s why I’m working on it.

Wednesday & Thursdays (500-800cal)

i just keep my calorie limit under 1000. I try to not get too harsh on myself because if I fail it normally just leads to me binging and hating myself after wards because I feel as thought since I already ate more than I shouldn’t have, might as well as keep going. i’m working to change this mentality. It normally ranges from 500-800 calories though, depending on how hungry I get and what I eat.

Fridays and Saturdays (<1400 cal)

Metabolism days. These days are normally when I go out with my friends, and none of them know about my eating disorder so I’m trying to keep it under wraps. Never go over 1400 though because I still want to remain in some sort of deficit.

Sunday (800 cal)

Sunday is my restart day. I do selfcare on this day, and I’m basically just cleaning, doing face masks, washing my hair, and prepping myself for the following week. My caloric limit is 800 calories, and I try to begin my fast early for the following week.

Drink A LOT of water (64 oz daily)

this is especially for when i fast. bloating is normally caused because your not drinking enough water during the fast (it makes your body cling to your water weight) and this makes it harder to see the results.

it also is just good for suppressing appetite (for me atleast), flushing your digestion system, and keeping your metabolism running.

Vitamins, vitamins, and vitamins

right now i mainly just take biotin gummies, so my hair and nails don’t get weaker but im going to start taking iron as well as vitamin D supplements as well because I feel like im deficient in that.

Get over 10k steps everyday

i do a lot of walking because i live on a college campus but i should make it a point to walk more. i don’t really work out (im gonna try to start soon) so walking is a good way for me to casually stay in shape.

No drinking calories

this is one i’m trying to work on because i love juice and dr. pepper, but most juices have way to many calories, and it’s just a waste. So instead i’ve been trying to drink more teas, as well as 0 sugar drinks.

No “Cheat Days”

cheat days just lead to binging. i have the metabolism days that way i can eat more without seeming suspicious to my friends. even on those days, i will still try to be healthy and eat healthy foods regardless of my caloric limit being higher.

that’s it for now <3

if you have any tips or advice feel free to share or comment them 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

much love and be safe!! ~bia

[2knightt]

IM SORRY, I KNOW U GOT A REQUEST ON THIS SO MUCH ALREADY BUT…

Your motherly!reader fics are so good 😭! can you pleasee do another? platonic with the gang!! no romance 🥰 thank youu ❤️❤️❤️ your work is amazing btw!

the gang x motherly!reader

!warnings!

1.i did headcanons i hope thats okay😭

2.fem!reader

3.swearing and a small mention of violence.

Johnny Cade ;

like i’ve said before in other fics, he loves you so much.

honestly, you might be one of his favourite people!

when he walks down the street and he just so happens to see a cute flower, he picks it and gives it to you!

when he first met you, he refused to see you when he was injured in anyway. he thought you’d think he was weak and never see him again.

but as time went on, and you showed that you genuinely cared for him, he showed more of his vulnerable side.

johnny likes it when you patch him up now!

he thinks it’s calming, relaxing, and a, ‘nice change of things rather than lettin’ mother nature cure it.’

when he unknowingly/accidentally vents to you about his home life, he does get embarrassed.

he didn’t want you knowing, but when you hugged him real tight and told him sweet nothings?? he teared up ngl.

johnny wishes you could’ve been his mom.

when or if you have kids, johnny wishes they don’t take the, ‘how was your day?’ and the, ‘how’s school going?’ for granted.

because to johnny cade, that would be his perfect fairytale.

having someone as sweet as you to turn his life around, makes him excited to see tomorrow.

Dallas Winston ;

another bitch with mommy issues who is glad to have you.

mrs.curtis was definitely the mother he never had but always wanted and when she died, he was devastated.

but when you came along and started being that mother he missed??? he was both annoyed and over the moon.

he didn’t like that every time you bailed him out of jail, he got an ear full. however, he did like to know verbally that someone cared about him

he doesn’t show you any sort of affection, but he will tell you how he feels when drunk.

“thank you, so much y/n. i-i don’t know where i’d be without you.”

for mothers day, he doesn’t do anything special.

BUT—you didn’t hear this from me, before the clock hits 12, expect to hear like a cute little knock at your door, and open it to see a single flower on the ground with a pack of cigarettes.

dally ran off before you or anyone else could see him.

even though he didn’t sign his name, you knew it was from him. so, next time you see him, say thank you.

Ponyboy Curtis ;

he’s like a toddler around you???

ponyboy definitely pretends to be like, your own bodyguard.

but really, who’s scared of ponyboy?

he tries though!

when he watches a movie and some character reminds him of you, expect that to be the first thing he tells you.

“ya know, when i went to the drive in, you really reminded of this one character.”

“oh? why’s that?”

“well because-“

and now you have to sit there and listen to him.

he’ll draw for you so much :(.

if you tell him your favourite flower, he WILL give you a drawing of it the next day. he’ll stay up all night if he has too!

Sodapop Curtis ;

he’s literally your #2 fan. first place goes to johnny.

he’s your biggest hypeman??? omg???

“gee, y/n! you’re lookin’ real fancy!! gonna get all the guys, eh?”

when ponyboy and darry argue and he just can’t take it anymore, he calls you and asks to come over.

and of course, you say yes everytime.

so please, PLEASE, just let him cry into your arms!!!!

when he’s done, he’ll try to go home but i’m begging you to tell him he’s welcomed to stay the night.

and if he does stay? ponyboy will be at your doorstep too.

he’ll share his famous chocolate cake with you!! he’ll make sure steve doesn’t touch it.

“STEVE THAT WAS FOR Y/N! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!”

“OH SHIT SHIT SHIT! WE MAKE MAKE ONE TOGETHER! THE MORE PEOPLE THE FASTER THE CAKE WILL BAKE RIGHT?!”

“DO I LOOK LIKE A SCIENTIST??”

Darry Curtis ;

he is so thankful for you i legit can’t stress that enough.

you keep the gang in check, you keep ponyboy happy, and you help him around the house. what more could he ask for?

you legit force darry to relax while you look after the gang to make sure nothing bad happens.

“we’ll be fine, darry. go to bed, your dark circles are gettin’ darker by the minute.”

“yeah super-man! we’ll be fine with y/n!”

“yeah!!”

“fine, but if she wakes me up to tell me about any of you, so god help me.”

if you welcome him home with a newspaper and his favourite cup of coffee after a long day at work, he might ask you to move in.

Steve Randle ;

steve pretends that he doesn’t like you that much.

but he really does. like, the second he hears some soc threaten or insult you? he’s after them.

shit, he might be chasin’ after them in two-bits car while two-bit yells at the person.

he will legit go to war for you if you asked him nicely.

he will rant to you about cars if you let him😭.

he’ll rant to you about anything, honestly.

“and then the old bastard asked for a refund! the ‘no refunds’ sign was right on the door! how could that old bat not see it?!”

“steve! don’t call people that, but yes, it was very rude of that man to do that too you.”

“RIGHT?!”

Two-bit Matthews ;

he forces you to relax and watch mickey mouse with him.

he says it’s for your own good but when really, he just wants to spend time with you without the gang interrupting.

“guys! you’re stressing her out with all your STUPID questions! c’mon, y/n, mickey mouse is calling our names. can’t you hear it?”

“or maybe its the booze you had at 10AM.”

“i will sock you in your fucking throat steve.”

he plays with your hair…he finds it fun!

please tell him how to do some styles so he can go home and impress his little sister :(.

he offers you beer every once and awhile just so he can say he got you to loosen up.

“so y/n…you want some?”

“oh! no thank you, two. you know i don’t drink.”

he calls you mom in a joking way, ya dig?

“momm! steve called me a dumbass!”

“steve, be nice! apologize.”

“what the fuck?!”

author notes ;

1. i like totally rushed near the end LMFAO.

2. i never thought you bitches would eat motherly!reader up like this??

3.are you guys okay??

4.THANK U SWEETHEART OMFG??

5.i think theres no romance??

may 15th, 2023. 6:39PM