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lila-lou · 2 days ago

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✨Little Soldier✨

Summary: Ben’s approach to parenting is all grit and discipline, just like the way his own father raised him. But with a little nudge from you, he starts to see that being a good dad is more than just teaching strength—it’s about showing love too.

-Christmas Special-

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, ANGST, Fluff, (Ben is mistreating your poor son)

Word Count: 9291

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. ❤️

It was one of those crisp winter mornings where the air bit at your skin, but the sunlight danced across the snow, making everything shimmer like a dream. The backyard stretched wide, blanketed in white, untouched except for the paths Ben and your son, Logan, had carved into the snow as they trained. Ben stood tall and imposing in the center, the green jacket of his suit open just enough to let the cold sting his chest. He didn’t seem to feel it. Soldier Boy never did.

Logan, just eight years old, was across from him, his small fists raised in a stance that mimicked his father’s. His breath came out in quick, visible bursts, more from effort than the cold. He kept glancing toward his feet, unsure of himself, while Ben paced a tight circle around him.

“Come on, kid”, Ben said, his deep voice cutting through the stillness. “You think anyone’s gonna wait for you to figure it out? Eyes up. Watch your opponent. Always”.

You knelt nearby in the snow, your four-year-old daughter, Lila, bundled up in her puffy coat and mittens, happily building the base of a snowman. Her little hands moved clumsily, her giggles breaking the quiet each time the snow didn’t quite cooperate. You helped her pack the snow tighter, gently guiding her hands and brushing her hair away from her flushed cheeks as you did.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Logan glancing over. Logan’s gaze lingered on you and Lila for just a heartbeat longer than it should have, his eyes filled with something unspoken. He wanted that—building a snowman, laughing, playing without a care in the world. He wanted to feel the warmth of your praise, the way you smiled at Lila when she held up a misshapen clump of snow as if it were a masterpiece. But he couldn’t. Not right now. Not when his dad was watching.

He straightened his stance, forcing the longing down into the pit of his stomach. He was a man, or at least, he was supposed to be. That’s what Dad always said. “You’re not a little kid anymore, Logan. You’ve got to be strong, got to take care of the people you love”. So even though his arms ached and the cold bit at his cheeks, Logan clenched his fists and focused on his father.

Ben noticed the hesitation, his sharp eyes narrowing. “What’s with the looking around, huh? You think your enemies are gonna stop because you’re distracted?”. He stepped forward and lightly tapped Logan on the forehead with two fingers. “This? This is your weapon. If you don’t keep it sharp, you’re dead, kid. Now, eyes on me”.

“Yes, sir”, Logan muttered, his small voice barely audible. He squared his shoulders, his knuckles raw from the cold.

Ben circled him again, his boots crunching against the snow. “Better. Now, hit me like you mean it. Don’t pull your punches just because I’m your old man”.

Logan hesitated for a split second, stealing one more glance at you and Lila. Lila was giggling again, her tiny voice ringing out like a bell as she held up two sticks she’d found for the snowman’s arms. You caught Logan’s glance once more, and your heart clenched. He looked so torn, so much older than his eight years in that moment.

But Logan turned back to his dad, his small frame trembling as he stepped forward and threw another punch. It landed on Ben’s open palm with a dull thud. Ben caught his wrist, holding him in place.

“That all you got?”, Ben asked, his voice calm but challenging.

Logan sighed quietly, his breath visible in the cold air. He hesitated, lowering his gaze to the snow before muttering, “I’ve got my laser eyes, Dad… do I really need to learn how to fight? I could just… laser an enemy”.

Ben froze for a moment, his grip still on Logan’s wrist. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t amusement. It was that half-smile he wore when he was about to make a point, the kind that sent a chill down your spine as much as the cold air did.

“Your laser eyes?”, Ben repeated, letting go of Logan’s wrist. He straightened to his full height, towering over the boy like a general over a recruit. “That’s what you’re gonna rely on? Some flashy power you barely know how to control?”.

Logan’s shoulders sank slightly under the weight of his father’s words, but Ben wasn’t done.

“Let me tell you something, kid”, Ben continued, stepping closer. “You think some bad guy’s gonna just stand there and let you zap him? Powers don’t mean squat if you don’t know how to fight. If you don’t have the guts to stand your ground when things get real. You run outta juice, you get caught off guard, and guess what? You’re toast”.

Logan flinched, his face turning red, though whether from the cold or his father’s words, it was hard to tell. He looked down at his fists, the little tremor in his hands betraying the frustration he was trying to hide.

“But—”, Logan started, only for Ben to cut him off.

“No buts, Logan”. Ben’s voice softened slightly, though the steel remained. “You’re my son. You fight, and you fight smart. Lasers or not, you’ve got to learn how to handle yourself. You’ve got to be ready for the worst. Because trust me, one day, someone’s gonna come at you, and they’re gonna be faster, smarter, and meaner than you ever thought possible”.

Ben crouched down now, meeting Logan’s eyes. His tone shifted, quieter but no less intense. “And when that day comes, you don’t want to be the kid who only knows how to hide behind a fancy power. You want to be the kid who looks them in the eye and says, ‘Come on, give me your best shot’. You hear me?”.

Logan stared at him, his small frame trembling not just from the cold but from the weight of what his father was saying. After a moment, he nodded. “Yes, sir”, he whispered, his voice steadier this time.

Ben clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder, a rare moment of affection. “Good. Now hit me again. Harder this time”.

You watched from where you knelt with Lila, your heart aching for your son. He was trying so hard, carrying a weight far too heavy for someone so young. But there was a flicker of something in his expression now—determination, maybe, or even pride.

Logan set his jaw, stepping forward again. His small fist swung upward, and this time, the impact against Ben’s hand was louder, sharper. Ben grinned, nodding approvingly.

“That’s my boy”, he said. “Now we’re getting somewhere".

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Lila tugging at your sleeve, her little hands holding a snowball. “Mommy, can we throw this at Daddy?”, she asked, her mischievous grin spreading wide across her face.

You watched for a few more minutes, letting Logan and Ben have their moment. Logan’s punches were getting stronger, his stance more confident. Ben’s rare but genuine nods of approval lit up Logan’s face, even as his small fists grew red and raw from the cold. It was a scene that tugged at your heart—intense, yes, but filled with love in its own complicated way.

But enough was enough. Everyone needed a break, even Soldier Boy.

You silently scooped up a handful of snow, packing it tightly in your gloved hands. Lila watched you with wide, sparkling eyes, her grin spreading as she realized what you were about to do. “Shh”, you whispered, pressing a finger to your lips. She mimicked the gesture, though her giggles threatened to give you away.

Ben’s back was turned as he adjusted Logan’s footing, his deep voice still carrying instructions. He had no idea what was coming. You took careful aim, pulled your arm back, and let the snowball fly.

It hit Ben squarely on the back of the head.

For a split second, the world froze. Logan’s mouth dropped open, his eyes darting to you in shock. Lila’s laughter erupted, high and bright, as she clapped her mittened hands together. Ben straightened slowly, turning to face you with an expression that was equal parts surprise and challenge. A few snowflakes clung to his hair, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the sight.

“Really?”, Ben said, his tone low and dangerous, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement. “You think you can take me on, sweetheart?”.

You shrugged innocently, already packing another snowball. “Well, someone had to remind you to have a little fun”.

Ben’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that”.

Before you could react, Ben scooped up a massive handful of snow and hurled it in your direction. You ducked, narrowly avoiding the incoming projectile, and tossed your snowball back, catching him on the shoulder. Logan burst into laughter, his previous tension melting away as he watched the two of you go at it.

“Oh, it’s on now!”, you shouted, grabbing another handful of snow.

“Logan!”, Ben called out, already forming another snowball. “You with me or her?”.

Logan hesitated for half a second before grinning mischievously. “Her!”, he declared, running toward you. Lila squealed with delight, abandoning the snowman to join your side, her tiny hands struggling to form a snowball of her own.

Ben feigned outrage, clutching his chest. “Fucking traitors! All of you!”.

What followed was pure chaos. Snowballs flew in every direction, laughter ringing out across the yard. Ben, true to form, didn’t hold back, though he made sure to go easy on the humans, meaning you. Logan and Lila worked together, pelting him relentlessly, while you managed to land a few well-aimed shots of your own.

By the time the battle ended, all of you were breathless and rosy-cheeked, the tension from earlier completely forgotten. Ben stood in the middle of the yard, dusting snow off his jacket, while Logan and Lila collapsed into the snow, giggling uncontrollably.

You started walking toward Ben, a triumphant smile on your face as you prepared to rub in the fact that you and the kids had clearly won the impromptu snowball fight. But before you could get too close, Ben’s grin shifted into something sly and mischievous—a look you recognized all too well.

“Don’t even think about it”, you warned, holding up your hands.

He didn’t say a word. Instead, with one quick, fluid motion Ben effortlessly pushed you backward into the towering pile of snow that had been stacked from the snow fort construction. You landed with a muffled thud in the cold, soft powder, your breath leaving you in a surprised gasp.

“Ben!”, you yelled, sitting up and brushing snow out of your hair, your cheeks flushing from the chill and the sheer audacity of the man. He stood over you, grinning like a smug teenager, his hands on his hips as he surveyed his handiwork.

“Never let your guard down. I thought I taught you better than that”, he drawled, shrugging one shoulder.

You narrowed your eyes, a mixture of irritation and amusement bubbling to the surface. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, Soldier Boy”.

“Big talk for someone sitting in a snowbank”, he teased, holding out a hand as if to help you up.

For a moment, you considered taking his offer. But then you saw the smirk on his face and knew better. Instead, you grabbed another handful of snow and flung it straight at his chest, catching him off guard. He stumbled back slightly, laughing as he brushed the snow off.

“That’s it”, Ben said, stepping forward with mock menace in his stride. “Now you´re done”.

Ben’s grin turned wicked as he shook the snow from his hair and stepped forward. Before you could even think to scramble away, he reached down, his strong hands gripping your waist with ease. “You started this”, he said, his voice low and teasing. “Now you’ve got to pay for it”.

“Ben, don’t you dare—”, you started, but the rest of your words were lost in a squeal as he hoisted you up and slung you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You pounded lightly on his back, laughter spilling out of you despite yourself.

“Too late for mercy now”, he said, his tone full of mock authority. “This is what happens when you challenge the champ”.

As you protested, he started toward the house, his boots crunching through the snow. Behind you, Logan and Lila dissolved into giggles, rolling in the snow as they started making snow angels, entirely unbothered by the fact that their parents were still in the middle of their antics.

“Ben, you’re getting me soaked!”, you protested, but your words were muffled by your laughter. Snow clung to your coat, melting quickly in the warmth of the house as he carried you through the door and kicked it shut behind him.

“That’s the least of your worries”, he shot back, his voice full of mischief.

He strode into the living room, his boots leaving a trail of melting snow, and without hesitation, he dropped you onto the couch. The plush cushions sank under your weight, and before you could react, he was hovering over you, bracing himself on his hands on either side of your head.

“See?”, he teased, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath despite the cold water dripping from both of you. “You can’t win against me. I’m unstoppable”.

You glared up at him, though the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth betrayed your true feelings. You reached up and grabbed his jacket, tugging him slightly forward. “You’re soaking the couch, genius”, you said, though the laughter in your voice was impossible to hide.

“So are you”, he shot back, leaning closer, droplets of melted snow falling from his collar and onto your skin.

The two of you were practically nose to nose now, water pooling under both of you.

Ben’s smirk softened into something more heated as his fingers toyed with the edge of your jacket. His voice dropped, rough and low, as he muttered, “You know, I fucking hate winter”.

You raised an eyebrow, still trying to catch your breath from laughing. “Oh yeah? Could’ve fooled me, the way you were having a field day out there”.

His hands slid to the edges of your jacket, slowly pushing it open as he hovered over you. “Nah”, he said, a big smirk on his face again. “I hate all these damn clothes. Hiding this”. His gaze raked over you as his fingers began to undo the buttons of your shirt, his touch confident and deliberate, yet surprisingly gentle. “Hiding your perfect little tits”.

Your breath caught, your cheeks flushing warmer than they already were from the snow. “Ben”, you started, half in protest, though your voice lacked conviction. His boldness always caught you off guard, even after all this time.

“What?”, he said, mock innocence dripping from his words as his hands worked their way lower. His green eyes locked with yours, full of mischief and intent. “You start a fight, sweetheart, you gotta be ready for the consequences”.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, even as you felt his calloused fingers graze your skin beneath your shirt. “Is this how you settle scores now?”.

Ben leaned closer, his lips brushing against your jawline, his breath warm against your chilled skin. “When it’s with you? Damn right it is”.

Before either of you could go further, the sound of the kids’ muffled giggles echoed through the window. Ben froze, glancing toward the frost-covered glass, then back at you, his grin faltering for just a moment before it returned full force.

“Saved by the brats”, he murmured, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. He leaned back, giving you space to sit up as he ran a hand through his damp hair. “Guess you get a pass this time”.

You laughed, buttoning your shirt back up as you pushed his chest playfully. “You’re impossible”.

Lila, hands pressed to the glass. “Eww, Mommy and Daddy you´re gross!”, she teased, sticking her tongue out dramatically, while Logan laughed and shook his head, clearly trying to act like he wasn’t entertained but failing miserably.

You couldn’t help but laugh at Lila’s exaggerated expression, her hands still pressed against the window as she made a show of grossing herself out. Logan, on the other hand, was doing his best to look serious, though the laughter that bubbled up from his chest betrayed his attempt to remain mature.

“Eww, Mommy and Daddy always kissing!”, Lila mumbled with a playful scrunch of her nose, her voice full of mock disgust. She stuck her tongue out again, clearly enjoying the attention.

Logan, trying his best to be the older, wiser sibling, crossed his arms and shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “You guys are so embarrassing”, he said, though the way his eyes sparkled showed he didn’t actually mind one bit.

Ben, standing beside you, glanced at you and then back at the kids. His grin softened, and he leaned down toward you, speaking in a voice only you could hear. “They don’t have a clue, do they?”, he said with a quiet chuckle.

You smiled, rolling your eyes playfully at the scene unfolding in front of you. “Not a single one”.

Lila, clearly not done yet, leaned closer to the window, still giving you both the dramatic “eww” face. “You’re gonna make us barf!”, she announced loudly, her face scrunching as though it was all just too much to bear.

Ben couldn’t help but laugh at his daughter’s antics. “What are you two up to, huh?”, he called through the window. “Making fun of your parents? You should be building that snowman”.

Lila, always the instigator, puffed out her chest proudly. “We already did!”, she declared. “But now we’re watching you guys because it’s funny!”.

As Lila stood there, still making faces at you and Ben, Logan saw the perfect opportunity to sneak away. Without warning, he grabbed his younger sister by the hand, pulling her away from the window with a quick tug.

“C’mon, Lila!”, Logan urged, his voice filled with excitement. “Let’s finish the snowman! Dad and Mom are being all gross again!”.

Lila let out a reluctant giggle but quickly followed, her mittens flapping as she tried to keep up with her brother. “Okay, okay, but only if we can give him a crown!”; she shouted, already planning the next addition to their snow creation.

Ben watched them go with a fond smile before his gaze shifted back to you. His grin softened as he stood beside you, his arms crossing in that familiar, relaxed way. “You okay?”, he asked, his voice quieter now, with an undercurrent of concern.

You sighed, keeping your eyes on the kids as they ran back into the snow, their laughter a welcome distraction from the heaviness of the moment. “I think you need to ease up with him, Ben”, you mumbled, your voice soft but steady. “You’re demanding too much from him. He’s just 8”.

Ben didn’t respond right away. His gaze followed Logan and Lila for a moment, his jaw working as though weighing your words. You could see him considering it, but you knew how hard it was for him to let go of the lessons, the expectations he had for Logan. It had been instilled in him—toughness, strength, independence. But Logan was still a child, and there was only so much he could handle before it became too much.

Ben turned to you, his expression slightly guarded but not entirely dismissive. “I’m not asking him to be something he’s not”, he said, his voice calm but firm. “I’m just trying to make sure he doesn’t get soft. The world isn’t gonna treat him like a kid forever”.

You crossed your arms, feeling a knot form in your stomach as you looked at him. “He is a kid, Ben”, you said, your voice rising a little, frustration creeping in. “Let him be one. You can’t push him to grow up this fast. You can’t always expect him to be your mini-me, a smaller version of you. He’s Logan, not Soldier Boy”.

“I’m just trying to prepare him. If he’s not tough enough, the world will eat him alive. You know that as well as I do”.

You shook your head, exhaling slowly, trying to rein in your emotions. “I know, but there’s a balance. You can teach him those things, Ben, but not at the cost of his childhood. He’s just 8”. You softened your tone, meeting his gaze directly. “I just… I just don’t want him to resent you. I don’t want him to think he has to be something he’s not to earn your approval”.

Ben was quiet for a moment, and you could see the internal battle in his eyes. He opened his mouth to respond but hesitated, chewing on the words for a second before letting out a long breath.

Ben’s silence lingered, his jaw tightening as your words sank in. You could see the tension ripple through him, the way his shoulders stiffened and his gaze faltered. You hesitated, carefully choosing your next words, not wanting to push him too far but needing him to understand.

“You should know it best, Ben”, you mumbled softly, almost afraid of how he’d react. Your voice wavered, but you held his gaze. “You know what it’s like to feel like you’re never enough, no matter how hard you try. You’ve told me… how your dad was with you”.

The words hit him like a physical blow, and you saw it immediately. His confident, almost cocky exterior faltered, replaced by a flicker of vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see. His mouth opened as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, he looked away, his eyes drifting toward the snow-covered yard where Logan and Lila were playing.

“Don’t”, he finally muttered, his voice rough, strained. “Don’t bring him into this”.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Ben”, you said gently, stepping closer and placing a hand on his arm. “I’m just saying… you know how it feels to grow up under that kind of pressure. Always trying to live up to someone else’s expectations, never feeling like you’re enough. You’ve told me you hated it. And I know you never want Logan to feel that way”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound filled with frustration—but not at you. At himself. His shoulders sagged slightly, and he finally looked back at you, his green eyes clouded with something between regret and resolve.

“I don’t”, he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want him to feel like that. Ever”.

“Then let him breathe, Ben”, you urged, your voice soft but steady. “He’s just a kid. He needs to know he’s enough as he is. That he doesn’t have to be the toughest or the strongest to make you proud. He just has to be Logan”.

Ben rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers dragging down to rest at his chin. He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders rising and falling as he processed your words. “You think I’m turning into him, don’t you?”, he asked quietly, almost to himself.

You shook your head firmly. “No, I don’t. You’re not your dad, Ben. You’re already so much more than he ever was. But sometimes… sometimes I think you’re carrying his shadow. And it’s time to let it go. For Logan. For you”.

Ben let out a slow exhale, his shoulders relaxing just slightly as your words settled between you. You leaned up and kissed his cheek gently, the warmth of the moment cutting through the tension that had lingered in the air. His eyes softened as he looked down at you, though he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. You could tell he was listening, really listening, and that was enough for now.

“I’m going to get the kids”, you said softly, brushing your hand along his arm before stepping toward the door.

He nodded once, his gaze following you for a moment before shifting back to the snowy yard, where Logan and Lila were laughing together as they finished up their snowman.

“Alright, you two!”, you called, standing in the door, your voice cutting through their laughter. “Time to come inside! Wash your hands, and then we’re going to bake some cookies”.

Lila’s face lit up, and she immediately clapped her mittened hands together. “Cookies!”, she squealed, already abandoning the snowman and running toward you with excitement. “Can we make the ones with the sprinkles?”.

“Of course, sweetheart”, you said, catching her as she barreled into you. “But first, upstairs. Wash up”.

Logan, however, lingered behind, his small figure standing just a few feet from the snowman. His expression shifted slightly, the bright enthusiasm dimming as he avoided your eyes. You could tell something was on his mind.

“Logan”, you called gently, holding the door open as Lila darted inside. “Come on, sweetie. Time to wash up”.

He trudged toward you slowly, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. When he finally reached you, he hesitated once more, his small boots crunching in the snow, but he kept his gaze low, his face unreadable. You crouched down to his level, brushing some of the snow off his coat. You tilted your head slightly, trying to meet his eyes.

“Logan, sweetie”, you said gently, “Do you not want to bake cookies? It’s okay if you don’t feel like it”.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours briefly before darting away again. This time, they landed where Ben still stood, his broad figure shadowed by the light from the living room. Ben had turned slightly, his gaze now fixed on the two of you at the door, his expression unreadable but clearly focused.

Logan shifted uncomfortably, his small hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Then, he shook his head firmly. “It’s… it’s women’s stuff”, he muttered, his tone wavering. Without waiting for your response, he turned abruptly, his small boots stomping against the hardwood floor as he headed for the stairs.

“Logan”, you called after him gently, but he didn’t stop. You caught a glimpse of his face before he disappeared up the staircase—the tight set of his jaw, the way his lips pressed together like he was fighting something back. And then you saw it: the tears gathering in his eyes.

Your heart sank as you realized what was really going on. Logan usually loved baking cookies, that much you knew. He had always lit up at the chance to mix dough, sprinkle sugar, and get his hands messy in the process. But he wouldn’t admit that in front of Ben, not after what he thought his dad believed about “women’s stuff”. And Logan sure as hell wasn’t going to let Ben see him cry.

You sighed, glancing back at Ben, his expression unreadable. He had been watching the entire exchange, his arms crossed, his jaw tight. For a moment, you thought he might come, might say something, but he stayed frozen in place, his eyes following Logan’s retreat.

Without saying a word, you stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you and heading upstairs. As much as you wanted to comfort Logan, you also knew that Ben needed to face this moment, to see the impact of his words—not just through your eyes, but his own.

You found Logan in his room, curled up on the edge of his bed, his back to the door. His small shoulders trembled slightly, though he tried to keep quiet. It broke your heart to see him like that, trying so hard to hold everything in.

“Logan?”, you said softly, stepping into the room. You sat down on the edge of the bed, careful to give him space. “It’s okay to be upset. You don’t have to hide it from me”.

“I’m not upset”, he muttered, his voice muffled. “I don’t care. I hate baking cookies”.

You reached out gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay if you do care. And it’s okay if you love baking cookies, Logan. That doesn’t make you less of anything”.

He didn’t respond at first, but after a long pause, he whispered, “Dad thinks it does”.

Those words hit you hard, and you had to take a moment to steady yourself. “Your dad doesn’t think that, sweetie. He just… sometimes he says things without thinking. But that doesn’t mean he’s right”.

Logan finally turned to look at you, his tear-streaked face breaking your heart all over again. “He’ll think I’m weak”, he said, his voice trembling. “I don’t want him to think I’m weak”.

You pulled him into a gentle hug, holding him close as his small frame shook against you. “Logan, you’re not weak”, you said firmly. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. And being strong doesn’t mean hiding the things you love. It means being brave enough to be yourself”.

At that moment, you heard footsteps approaching. The door creaked open slightly, and you looked up to see Ben standing in the doorway. He hesitated, his expression soft but conflicted as his eyes landed on Logan. He didn’t say anything right away, but the regret on his face was clear.

“Logan”, Ben finally said, his voice quieter than usual. He stepped into the room, his broad figure filling the small space as he crouched down next to the bed.

Logan’s reaction was immediate and almost frantic. He pulled away from your embrace, turning his back to both you and Ben as he roughly wiped at his face with his small fists. His movements were sharp and deliberate, as though he was trying to erase the evidence of his tears before anyone could say a word.

“I’m fine”, he muttered, his voice tight and trembling. “I wasn’t crying”.

You glanced at Ben, whose face tightened at the sight. You could see the regret and guilt pooling in his eyes, the weight of his own words and lessons crashing down on him as he watched his son fight so hard to suppress his emotions.

Ben cleared his throat, his voice softer than usual. “Logan, you don’t have to do that. It’s okay—”.

“I said I’m fine!”, Logan snapped, spinning around to glare at him. His eyes were red and glassy, but his jaw was set in defiance. “Women cry. That’s what you always say. So I’m not crying”.

Ben froze, visibly taken aback by the raw honesty in Logan’s voice. For a moment, he just stared, his mouth opening slightly as if to respond but no words coming out. It was like he was looking into a mirror of himself, the echoes of his father’s harsh lessons staring back at him in his own son’s tear-streaked face.

You saw the way Ben’s shoulders sagged, his defenses crumbling as Logan’s words hit him harder than any punch ever could. He finally sat down on the floor next to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, making sure he was on Logan’s level.

Your heart aching as you watched Logan’s small figure tremble with frustration, hurt, and confusion. You couldn’t take it anymore. Turning to Ben, your voice came sharp and firm, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.

“Fix this, Ben”, you said, your tone leaving no room for argument. Your eyes locked on his, stern and unwavering. “That’s my baby boy, and I will not let him feel like this because of something you’ve said”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He knew you were right, and the weight of the situation was already pressing down on him. You took a deep breath, your own emotions threatening to spill over, and with one last look at both of them, you turned on your heel and left the room. Your own eyes were glassy, tears threatening to fall as you closed the door softly behind you.

In the quiet of the hallway, you leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to your chest as you tried to steady your breathing. Hearing Logan say those words, seeing the pain etched on his small face—it was almost too much to bear. But you trusted Ben to handle it. He had to handle it.

Inside the room, Ben remained seated on the floor, his gaze fixed on Logan, who was still turned away from him. The boy’s small hands clenched into fists at his sides, his head bowed low as he tried to mask the occasional sniffle that escaped him.

“Logan”, Ben started softly, his voice steady but carrying a rare gentleness that was almost foreign. “Can I tell you something? Something about me?”.

Logan didn’t respond, but Ben noticed the slight twitch of his shoulders, the way his posture stiffened just enough to show he was listening. Ben took that as his cue to continue.

“When I was your age”, Ben began, leaning forward slightly, “My dad used to say the same things to me. He’d tell me that crying made me weak. That showing how I felt was… wrong. And I believed him. I thought if I ever let myself cry, or feel scared, or be anything other than ‘tough’, I was a failure”.

Logan shifted slightly but still didn’t turn around. Ben kept going, his voice growing heavier with emotion.

“And you know what? For a long time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t let myself feel anything, really. I just kept it all inside, like I was supposed to. But it didn’t make me stronger, Logan. It made me angry. It made me feel alone. Like I had to handle everything by myself, and no one else could ever understand”.

Finally, Logan turned, his tear-streaked face filled with a mix of confusion and curiosity. “You?”, he asked, his voice cracking. “You felt like that?”.

Ben nodded, his eyes meeting Logan’s with an honesty that he rarely let anyone see. “Yeah, kid. I did. And it wasn’t until I met your mom—until I had you and Lila—that I realized how wrong my dad was. Being tough doesn’t mean keeping everything inside. It doesn’t mean pretending you don’t care or don’t hurt. Being tough means letting yourself feel all of it and still finding the strength to keep going”.

Logan sniffled, his fists unclenching as he wiped at his eyes again. “But you said—”.

Ben let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair, his frustration with himself evident. “I know what I said”, he repeated, his voice carrying that gruff edge that always came with vulnerability. “And yeah, I messed up. I say a lot of dumb shit, Logan. Your mom would probably tell you I’ve got a talent for it”.

That earned a small, almost involuntary laugh from Logan, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. Ben’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, the faintest hint of relief flickering in his eyes.

“But here’s the thing”, Ben continued, his voice softening again as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I don’t want you to grow up thinking you’ve got to be me. Hell, I don’t even like half the crap I’ve done. You’re better than that. Better than me”.

Logan stared at him, his tear-streaked face a mix of surprise and confusion. “But you’re… you’re, like, the strongest guy ever. You’re not scared of anything”.

Ben chuckled, the sound low and rough as he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not scared of anything, huh?”. He smirked, shaking his head. “Kid, I’m scared as shit of your mom”.

Logan blinked, caught off guard by the sudden confession. “What? Mom?”.

“Yeah, your mom”, Ben said, his tone a mix of humor and honesty. “You think I’m out there facing down bad guys like it’s no big deal? That’s nothing compared to when she gives me the look”. He mimicked an exaggerated version of your stern glare, crossing his arms and tapping his foot, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Logan giggled, the tension melting further as he watched his dad pretend to shrink under an invisible scolding. “Really?”.

“Oh yeah”, Ben said, nodding seriously. “One time I forgot to take the trash out. She didn’t even yell—she just stood there, arms crossed, staring me down like I’d committed a fucking war crime”. He mock-shuddered. “I’d rather face supervillains".

Logan laughed harder this time, wiping his face again, though the tears were gone now, replaced by a small, genuine smile.

Ben leaned closer, his expression softening. “Look, kid, being scared isn’t a bad thing. It just means you care about something—or someone. Like how I’m scared of messing up with you and your sister. And yeah, I’m scared of your mom sometimes, but only because she’s got this way of making me want to be better, even when I screw up”.

Logan tilted his head, considering his dad’s words. “So… it’s okay to be scared?”.

Ben nodded firmly. “Scared, nervous, happy, mad—it’s all part of being human. What matters is what you do with it. And right now?”. He gave Logan a lopsided grin. “We’re gonna take those feelings, roll up our sleeves, and bake the best cookies this house has ever seen. You in?”.

Logan hesitated for a second before nodding, his smile growing. “I’m in”.

Ben stood, holding out a hand to help Logan up. “Good. But fair warning—your mom’s probably waiting outside that door to see if I fixed this. And if she’s still mad at me, I might need you to tell her I did a good job. Deal?”.

Logan laughed, taking his dad’s hand and standing up. “Deal”.

When the door opened, you were standing there in the hallway, arms crossed but a soft smile on your face. Ben gave you a sheepish grin, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, boss. Mission accomplished”.

You shook your head, stepping aside to let them pass. “For now”, you said teasingly, though the gratitude in your eyes said everything you didn’t.

As the three of you headed downstairs, Logan walked between you and Ben, his small hand brushing against yours.

An hour later, the kitchen was alive with laughter and the sweet smell of freshly baked cookies. Logan and Lila sat at the table, surrounded by bowls of frosting and sprinkles, each focused on decorating their creations. Logan was surprisingly precise, carefully piping designs onto a gingerbread man, while Lila was happily dumping an entire handful of rainbow sprinkles onto one cookie, creating a chaotic masterpiece.

You leaned against Ben, his warmth a steady comfort as you watched the kids. His arm slid lazily around your shoulders, and he let out a soft sigh, one that carried a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

“You did good today, Soldier Boy”, you murmured, grinning up at him. Standing on your tiptoes, you reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, your lips brushing the faint stubble there.

Ben smirked, a small chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Yeah, well”, he started, clearly about to respond with one of his usual witty comebacks, when—

“Ewww!”, Lila groaned dramatically from the table, dragging out the word as she scrunched her nose and waved her hands like she was fending off a swarm of bees. “Mommy and Daddy are being gross again!”.

Logan snickered, not looking up from his cookie but clearly amused by his sister’s reaction. “Told you they do that all the time”, he said with a teasing grin. “It’s so embarrassing”.

Ben raised an eyebrow, glancing down at you with an exaggerated look of mock offense. “Didn’t realize we were raising such critics”, he said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Ben shook his head, smirking as he turned toward the kids. “Alright, listen up, you two. You keep calling us gross, and I’m eating all these cookies myself. No sprinkles, no frosting, just plain cookies. How’s that for embarrassing?”.

“Daddy, nooo!”, Lila shrieked, clutching one of her sprinkle-covered cookies protectively to her chest. “You can’t! These are mine!”.

Ben’s smirk deepened as he took a deliberate step toward the table, his eyes locked on one of Lila’s chaotic sprinkle-covered cookies. “Oh, really?”, he drawled, his tone teasing and slow. “You think you can stop me, little miss sprinkle queen?”.

Lila gasped dramatically. “Daddy, no!”, she squealed, scooting back in her chair and holding up a hand to block him. “You can’t take this one! It’s perfect!”.

“Perfect, huh?”, Ben quirked an eyebrow, inching closer, his large frame towering over the table. “Let me see. Gotta make sure it’s up to regulation”.

“It’s mine!”, Lila shouted, jumping out of her chair and running around to the other side of the table, her plate wobbling in her hands. “Go eat Logan’s cookies instead!”.

“Hey!”, Logan said, finally looking up from his carefully decorated gingerbread man. “Don’t drag me into this! My cookies are art”.

Ben burst out laughing, glancing over at Logan with mock offense. “Art, huh? Let me be the judge of that”. He reached out as if to grab one of Logan’s cookies, but Logan quickly pulled his plate away, holding it up high.

“Back off, Dad!”, Logan said with a grin, using his other hand to block him. “These are for Mom!”.

Ben stopped, placing his hands on his hips, his grin turning into a smirk. “Oh, for Mom, huh? Well, in that case…”. He lunged toward Lila, pretending to swipe for her plate.

Lila let out a delighted shriek, ducking under the table and crawling to the other side. “You’ll never catch me!”, she declared, her giggles filling the kitchen.

You leaned against the counter, watching the chaos unfold with an amused smile. “Ben”, you said, crossing your arms and giving him a mock stern look, “if you don’t leave their cookies alone, you’re not getting any of… mine”.

Ben froze mid-step, his hand still outstretched toward Lila’s plate, as your words hung in the air. Slowly, he turned his head toward you, one eyebrow raised, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, is that right?”, he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Not getting any of… yours, huh?”.

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a sly smile. “That’s exactly what I said”, you replied, the double meaning clear in your tone.

Before Ben could respond with one of his usual cheeky comebacks, Logan groaned loudly from his seat, his hands slapping the table. “I know you guys aren’t talking about cookies”, he muttered, rolling his eyes dramatically. “And for the record, I don’t want another baby sister, okay? One is enough”.

Ben blinked, taken completely off guard by Logan’s blunt statement. He let out a bark of laughter, leaning against the table for support as he pointed at Logan. “Kid, what the hell—where did that even come from?”.

“Logan!”, you gasped, though you couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up in your chest. “What are you talking about?”.

Logan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as if he’d just solved a great mystery. “You guys are always giving each other those looks, and Dad’s always making those weird jokes”. He waved his hand in Ben’s direction. “It’s not rocket science”.

Ben, still chuckling, wiped a hand over his face as he shook his head. “The kid’s too smart for his own good”, he muttered, grinning at you. “He’s onto us”.

“Logan”, you said, trying to suppress your laughter and keep a straight face, “You are way too young to be worrying about this kind of thing”.

Logan kept his arms crossed, his gaze shifting between you and Ben as his face took on that serious, almost grown-up expression he liked to wear when he was deep in thought. “I’m just saying”, he said slowly, his voice losing some of its teasing edge, “you don’t need another kid. We’re good like this”,

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes slightly. There was something unspoken in his words, a flicker of uncertainty behind the bravado. He wasn’t just teasing—this was something else. But you knew better than to press him here, not in front of Ben, not when Logan was so guarded.

“Of course we’re good like this”, you said gently, leaning forward and resting your arms on the table. “But would another sibling be that bad?”.

Logan shrugged, his lips pressing together in that tight, nervous way he had when he didn’t want to say what he was really thinking. “I don’t know”m he mumbled, his eyes dropping to his cookie. “I just think… things are fine the way they are”.

Ben, still standing beside you, raised an eyebrow. He glanced down at you, clearly noticing the shift in Logan’s tone, but didn’t push either. Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned casually against the counter.

Logan’s words struck a chord, and you could see the layers of concern in his small face—concerns he didn’t know how to voice yet. You gave Logan a warm smile, reaching over to ruffle his hair gently.

“You’re right, buddy”, you said softly. “Things are perfect just the way they are”.

Logan relaxed slightly at your reassurance, nodding as he returned his attention to his cookie. Ben gave you a questioning look, his eyebrow raised as if he were silently asking, What’s that about? You shook your head slightly, a silent later passing between you.

Because there was something you hadn’t told him yet—something that had been tugging at the back of your mind. You were late. Only a few days, but still. You were never late.

You hadn’t said anything to Ben yet because you weren’t ready to make it real, not until you were sure. But as Logan’s words played over in your head, you felt a swirl of emotions: uncertainty, anticipation, and a hint of fear.

Ben’s voice broke into your thoughts. “Alright, Logan”, he said, his tone light but laced with curiosity. “You better not be hogging all the good cookies over there. I need to taste-test those”.

Logan rolled his eyes, his small smirk returning as he pushed one of his neatly decorated cookies toward his dad. “Here, take one. But don’t mess up my frosting”.

Ben grinned, plucking the cookie off the plate with exaggerated care. “Wouldn’t dream of it, champ”.

When the kitchen filled with laughter again, you let yourself lean into the moment, deciding to hold off on the conversation for now.

As the evening wore on, the warmth of the kitchen turned into the quiet hum of nighttime. Lila had curled up on the couch under a blanket, clutching a small stuffed animal in one hand and a half-eaten cookie in the other. Her eyelids had grown heavy, and eventually, she’d surrendered to sleep, her soft snores filling the cozy space.

Ben glanced over from where he was tidying up the counter, his face softening as he took in the sight of his little girl. “Looks like the Sprinkle Queen’s out for the count”, he said, his voice low.

You smiled, drying your hands on a towel. “She had a big day. All those sprinkles wore her out”.

Ben crossed the room, scooping Lila into his arms with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times before. She stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent, but settled quickly against his chest, her tiny hand clutching at his shirt.

“I’ll take her up”, he said, his voice quiet but firm, as though it wasn’t up for discussion. You nodded, watching as he carried her out of the room, the sight of his broad figure cradling her so gently always tugging at your heart.

Logan appeared in the doorway then, his steps hesitant as he glanced between you and the direction his dad had gone. He crossed his arms over his chest, standing a little taller as if to remind you—and himself—that he didn’t need the same kind of care his little sister did.

“I don’t need anyone to bring me to bed”, Logan said, his voice firm but lacking the usual bite of defiance. “I can do it myself”.

You gave him a small smile, stepping closer. “I know you can, sweetheart”, you said softly. “You’ve been doing great. But you let me help when Dad’s not here. Maybe you can let him help tonight?”.

Logan hesitated, his eyes darting to the floor before looking back up at you. “Dad’s never… he doesn’t usually…”. He trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought.

You crouched down, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. “Sometimes he doesn’t know how to ask”, you said gently. “But he’d love to, Logan. If you’re okay with it”.

Logan frowned, his small brows furrowing as he thought it over. Then he gave a small, almost reluctant nod. “Okay”, he mumbled, glancing toward the stairs. “But only if he doesn’t make a big deal about it”.

You smiled, brushing a hand through his hair. “Deal”.

By the time Ben returned, Logan was waiting at the foot of the stairs, his arms still crossed but his posture less tense.

Ben appeared at the top of the stairs, his heavy steps softening as he noticed Logan standing there, arms crossed in that telltale way that meant he was trying to appear tougher than he felt. Ben paused for a moment, taking in the sight of his son waiting for him, and his face softened in a way that only you seemed to notice.

“Looks like someone’s still up”, Ben said, his tone light but without the teasing edge he sometimes used. He walked down the last few steps, his movements slower, less hurried, as though giving Logan time to decide what he wanted.

Logan glanced at you briefly, then back at his dad. “I’m ready for bed”, he said, his voice neutral, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

Ben nodded, his hands settling on his hips as he studied his son for a moment. “Alright”, he said, his tone casual. “Let’s get you tucked in, then”.

Logan didn’t move at first, glancing at the floor like he was waiting for Ben to say more. When nothing else came, he gave a small nod and started up the stairs, his pace slower than usual. Ben followed closely behind, casting a quick glance at you as he passed. You gave him an encouraging smile, silently urging him to let this moment be what Logan needed.

When they reached Logan’s room, Ben paused in the doorway, watching as Logan climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up to his chest. Logan fidgeted with the edge of the fabric, his small hands gripping it tightly.

Ben stood in the doorway for a moment, watching as Logan burrowed into his bed, the blanket clutched tightly to his chest. He let out a quiet sigh, stepping forward and crouching down beside the bed, his movements uncharacteristically gentle.

“You all set, champ?”, Ben asked, his voice low and steady.

Logan nodded, but his hands still fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, the kind that Ben hadn’t seen in a while. Without thinking too much about it, Ben reached out and grabbed the blanket, pulling it up snugly around Logan’s shoulders.

“Gotta make sure you’re tucked in properly”, Ben said, his tone shifting to something lighter, almost teasing. “Don’t want you freezing in the middle of the night”.

Logan giggled softly, his small voice breaking the quiet of the room. “Dad, I’m not gonna freeze”.

“Oh, you think so?”, Ben said, raising an eyebrow as he tugged the blanket even tighter around Logan, practically swaddling him. “What if a snowstorm hits? What if you wake up and there’s frost on your nose? Gotta be prepared”.

Logan laughed harder now, his small hands pushing at the blanket as he squirmed. “Dad! Stop, it’s too tight!”.

“Nope”, Ben said with mock seriousness, sitting back to admire his handiwork. “Perfect. You’re like a little burrito now. Nothing’s getting to you”.

“Dad!”, Logan squealed, his laughter breaking through the last of his earlier hesitation. He wiggled under the tightly tucked blanket, his face lighting up with a joy that reminded Ben of when he was younger, back before Ben had decided he was too big for things like this.

Ben grinned, leaning forward and ruffling Logan’s hair. “There we go”, he said softly. “That’s better. Haven’t heard you laugh like that in a while”.

Logan’s giggles faded into a warm smile, his eyes meeting his dad’s with a rare openness. “Thanks, Dad”.

Ben’s expression softened, and he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair off Logan’s forehead. “Anytime, kiddo. You know that”.

He stood slowly and glanced toward the door before he turned back to Logan, his voice low and serious now.

“Alright, get some sleep. Sweet dreams, champ”.

“Goodnight, Dad”, Logan murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep.

Ben hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Logan’s head, something he hadn’t done in years. Logan didn’t pull away, instead letting his eyes flutter closed as he sank deeper into his blankets.

———————————

A/N: Not that much of Christmas, but it’s snowy and cold. So let’s just count it, lol. Please let me know what you think.🥰

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373

#jensen ackles #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #the boys #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys soldier boy #the boys fanart

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some-anonymity-preferred · 2 days ago

Text

First, I had to check that this creature is real. It is.

Then I got hung up on the scientific name for wild turkey, Meleagris gallopavo. Gallo meaning rooster, pavo meaning turkey.

But it’s Latin! Assigned by Linnaeus in the 18th century, but still Latin. The language of a culture that had no turkeys. So if “pavo” massively predates transatlantic contact, what in the world did it refer to originally?

Peafowl. Which, in Spanish, are now pavo real. Royal turkey.

The animal we now know in English as a turkey usurped “pavo” from peafowl, which then had to be distinguished as “pavo real.”

But what about the Melagris part of Meleagris gallopavo, Mr Linnaeus?

Guineafowl. Guineafowl chicken-peafowl.

I love how confused Europeans were about American foods for such a long time.

Why guineafowl? Is it just because they look kinda similar to turkeys?

Yes. And. Guineafowl (from Africa) got to Europe before turkeys did. And they got there through traders in the eastern Mediterranean. So they were originally called, in English, “turkeys.”

Along come turkeys from the Americas, following the same trade pattern, and they become “turkeys” in English, while the original turkeys became guineafowl.

Wiktionary proposes that Latin pavo, and the verb paupulō (to call like a peafowl), may be onomatopoeic. With one of the more warbling calls, not the shriek, obviously. It’s coincidentally onomatopoeic with a wild turkey’s gobble (which itself is probably partly onomatopoeic, partly a visual reference).

The Nahuatl (now Mesoamerican Spanish) word for turkey, huexólotl (guajolote), also seems pretty onomatopoeic to me.

All of this delighted me. And it took me down another side path, which is that the similarity between ocellated and ocelot is probably mostly spurious. I have a really hard time imagining that an early modern Spanish colonizer said, “The pattern on that pelt looks like ojitos, we shall call the creature ocelote.”

Ocelotl is the Nahuatl word for jaguar. Occam’s Razor says that’s the source for ocelot. If Spanish or Latin were involved at all, it was to mis-assign the existing word to the cat that has a spotted pelt, because it seemed right to Spanish-speaking minds.

(Oh, and a turkey’s snood in Spanish? That’s a moco—booger.)

Anyway, buen provecho and Land Back, y’all.

Meet the dazzling Ocellated Turkey (Meleagris ocellata). This bird is a flashier relative to the typical Wild Turkey (Meleagris gallopavo) often associated with Thanksgiving. It sports a lustrous coat of colorful feathers and a blue head dotted with vivid orange bumps. The word “ocellated” in its common name refers to the eye-like markings on this turkey’s tail, which are similar to those found on a peacock’s plumes.

While the Ocellated Turkey is closely related to its North American cousin, don’t expect them to sound the same. This spectacular bird's gobble begins with a series of low frequency thumps—similar to the sound of a starting engine!

Photo: David Creswell, CC BY-NC-SA 2.0, flickr

#science #nature #natural history #animals #birds #ornithology #thanksgiving #ocellated turkey #turkey #fun facts #linguistics #semantics #etymology #my word hoard #ocelot

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cece693 · 2 days ago

Note

Ok but like imagine both Billy and Stu with a big tiddy goth! male! reader as their roommate lol

Reader looks intimidating but is actually really nice lol

Looks Can Be Deceiving (Stu and Billy x M! Reader)

Hi! So I'm not really that well informed on the big tiddy slang (English is not my first language) but after a quick google search I think I got the idea????? If not, then I apologize, but I hope you enjoy this :)

tags: oblivious reader, realistic billy and stu (I think), pre-relationship, open ended, might be a part 2 coming

Billy Loomis and Stu Macher weren’t exactly looking for a new friend, let alone a roommate. They’d been fine on their own, thriving in the chaos of their twisted little partnership. But when the college housing office placed them in a three-bedroom rental with some random guy, they couldn’t exactly say no. Rent was cheap, the landlord didn’t ask questions, and besides, how bad could it be?

The first time they saw you, though, they realized this arrangement was going to be…interesting.

You were standing in the living room when they arrived, setting up a bookshelf filled with horror novels and occult knickknacks. At first glance, you looked like something straight out of one of their favorite slasher films—towering, dressed in all black, tattoos peeking out from under your sleeves, with silver jewelry glinting against your pale skin. Your undercut only made you look more dangerous. Stu, never one to keep his thoughts to himself, leaned close to Billy and whispered, “Dude, do you think he’s in, like, a death cult or something?”

Billy didn’t answer, but his sharp eyes lingered on you as you turned to greet them. “Hey,” you said, your voice deep and smooth. “I made brownies. Want some?”

Stu’s jaw dropped. Billy just narrowed his eyes. And just like that, their expectations were shattered.

Over the next few days, it became clear that you weren’t at all what they expected. Despite your intimidating looks, you were ridiculously nice—almost unnervingly so. You always smiled when you saw them, greeted them with “Good morning” even if they ignored you, and even asked if they wanted anything from the grocery store before you went out. When you weren’t at class or work, you were usually in the kitchen, baking cookies or meal-prepping while blasting Bauhaus or The Cure from a tiny speaker.

Stu was instantly smitten. He started following you around like a puppy, throwing his long arms around your shoulders and declaring you his “best goth buddy.” He loved pushing your buttons just to see you scowl—like the time he “borrowed” one of your necklaces and pretended he lost it, only to give it back with an over-the-top apology. “Don’t worry,” he said, grinning up at you. “I’ll make it up to you. Wanna watch a movie? I’ll even let you pick.”

Billy, on the other hand, was harder to read. He spent a lot of time watching you from across the room, his dark eyes following your every move. You caught him staring more than once, but he always looked away before you could say anything. Unlike Stu, who was all loud jokes and obvious flirting, Billy was subtle. He’d make sarcastic comments about your goth aesthetic, only to quietly leave a new horror novel on your desk after you mentioned liking the author. He never admitted it, but you had a feeling he stayed up with you that one night you were stressed about your midterms just because he didn’t want you to be alone.

Stu and Billy’s affections, however, reached a dangerous new peak the day they stumbled into your room at the worst—or best, depending on how you looked at it—possible moment. It started innocently enough, or at least as innocently as things ever got with those two. Stu had been whining about needing help finding a charger, and Billy, clearly annoyed, suggested he ask you. Of course, "asking" wasn’t Stu’s style.

“C’mon, Big Guy!” Stu called as he shoved your door open, Billy trailing behind him. “You seen my—oh my god.”

You froze mid-motion, one arm reaching for the fresh shirt you were about to pull on, the other holding a towel you were using to dry your hair. Time seemed to stop as both of them stood there in the doorway, their eyes glued to your bare chest. No shirt. No barriers. Just you, all soft curves and broad muscle, your big tits on full display.

“Holy shit,” Stu breathed, his voice tinged with awe. His jaw practically hit the floor as he stared, unblinking. “Are you kidding me? Those things are, like, illegal.”

Billy, meanwhile, was much quieter, but no less affected. His dark eyes drank you in, his usual mask of control slipping for a moment as his gaze flicked downward, then back to your face. He swallowed hard, shifting his weight like he was trying to keep himself from stepping closer. His voice, when he finally spoke, was lower than usual. “We didn’t know you were changing.”

“No shit,” you snapped, snatching the shirt and pulling it over your head as quickly as possible. “You ever heard of knocking?”

Stu groaned, flopping dramatically against the doorframe. “Aw, don’t cover up! I was just starting to enjoy the view!”

Billy shot him a glare but didn’t argue. He was still staring at you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You’re...built,” he said, his tone almost grudging, like the words were being dragged out of him against his will.

“Thanks, I guess?” you muttered, tugging the hem of your shirt down and crossing your arms over your chest. You could still feel their eyes on you, and it made your skin prickle with a mix of embarrassment and something you couldn’t quite name.

Stu leaned closer, his grin widening. “Dude, do you, like, know how big those are? Like, for real? You could probably drown someone with ‘em. You want to try it out?”

“Stu,” you growled, your patience wearing thin. “Get. Out.”

Billy finally stepped in, grabbing Stu by the back of his shirt and dragging him toward the door. “Come on, idiot. Let's leave him alone.”

“But Billy!” Stu whined, digging his heels in. “I wasn’t done appreciating the—”

The door slammed shut before he could finish, leaving you standing there in stunned silence. You could hear them bickering in the hallway, Stu’s voice loud and animated as always.

“I’m just saying, those are a work of art! It’s like the Mona Lisa, but, you know, better.” “You’re an idiot,” Billy muttered, but his voice was tight, like he was holding something back.

From the moment Billy and Stu got an eyeful of your assets, the dynamic in the house spiraled into utter chaos. You’d barely noticed it at first, chalking up their constant presence to boredom or a newfound interest in hanging out. But as weeks went on, their antics became harder to ignore. The snarky comments, the heated glares exchanged when you weren’t looking, the way they tripped over themselves trying to one-up each other—it was enough to make even the most oblivious person suspicious.

But not you.

Whether it was the gym incident, the pancake debacle, or the never-ending movie night arguments, you remained blissfully unaware of the brewing storm. You were too focused on your studies, your workouts, and making sure the house didn’t descend into complete disorder to notice the increasingly absurd lengths Billy and Stu were going to for your attention.

It all came to a head one particularly tense evening. You’d gone out to grab groceries, leaving Billy and Stu alone in the house. The moment the door closed behind you, the gloves came off.

“Just admit it,” Stu said, pacing the living room like a caged animal. “You’re obsessed with him.”

Billy leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression icy. “Says the guy who’s practically glued to his side 24/7.”

Stu spun around, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re just mad because he actually laughs at my jokes. When’s the last time he smiled at you?”

Billy’s jaw clenched. “Maybe he doesn’t need a fucking circus act to enjoy someone’s company.”

“Oh, right,” Stu sneered, throwing up his hands. “Because brooding in the corner like some wannabe vampire is so charming.”

“Better than acting like a hyperactive toddler,” Billy shot back, his voice dangerously low.

The argument escalated quickly, voices rising as they hurled insults back and forth. At one point, Stu picked up a couch pillow and launched it at Billy’s head, narrowly missing. Billy retaliated by shoving Stu into the wall, and for a moment, it seemed like things were about to get physical.

But then you walked in.

“Hey, guys—what the hell is going on!?” you asked, staring at the scene in front of you: Stu pinned against the wall, Billy’s hand fisted in his shirt, both of them glaring daggers at each other. They froze, turning to look at you like two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“Uh…nothing!” Stu said quickly, plastering on his trademark grin. “Just some light wrestling. Y’know, for fun.”

Billy let go of Stu and stepped back, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “Yeah. Just messing around.”

You raised an eyebrow but decided not to press the issue. “Okay...well, I got pizza. It'll be in the kitchen.”

As you disappeared into the other room, the tension between them simmered, but neither of them made another move. Not yet, anyway. It wasn't until later that night, after you'd gone to bed, that Billy and Stu returned to their conversation.

“This has to stop,” Billy hissed, his voice low and cold.

Stu crossed his arms, still bristling from their earlier fight. “You think I don’t know that? But what’s your solution, huh? Scare him off so neither of us gets him? Not happening, Billy Boy.”

Billy was silent for a long moment, his jaw working as he mulled over his options. He hated the idea of sharing you—hated it almost as much as he hated the thought of Stu winning. But the alternative was losing you completely, and that wasn’t something he was willing to risk. “Fine.”

Stu blinked, caught off guard. “Fine what?”

“We share him,” Billy ground out, his teeth clenched.

Stu stared at him, and then a slow grin spread across his face. “Well, well, well. Didn’t think you had it in you to play nice.”

“Don’t push it,” Billy warned, his voice sharp. “This doesn’t mean I like you. It just means I like him more.”

Stu snickered. “Whatever you say, buddy. But hey, at least now we’re on the same team, right?”

Billy didn’t answer, turning on his heel and stalking off. Stu watched him go, still grinning to himself.

From that day forward, things…changed.

You didn’t notice the difference at first. If anything, Billy and Stu seemed to get along better, their bickering replaced with an odd sort of pact. They started spending more time together, which you figured was just a natural byproduct of living in close quarters. What you didn’t realize was that they were coordinating their efforts.

Stu would distract you with jokes and games while Billy silently took note of what you liked, using that information to his advantage later. Billy would lure you into long, intense conversations about movies and books, giving Stu time to swoop in with grand gestures—like the time he surprised you with a ridiculously elaborate cake “just because.”

If you were confused by their sudden teamwork, you didn’t show it. You just kept being your usual, oblivious self, completely unaware of the quiet, unspoken truce between them—or the way they both watched you like wolves circling their prey.

It wasn’t perfect. Billy still bristled every time Stu got a little too handsy with you, and Stu couldn’t resist making snide comments whenever Billy monopolized your time. But for the most part, they made it work. Because at the end of the day, they both wanted the same thing.

You.

And if sharing was the only way to keep you close, then so be it.

For now.

173 notes · View notes

meleeyz · 15 hours ago

Text

୭ 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 𝗧𝗢 𝗙𝗜𝗫 ˚. ᵎᵎ

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I regret in advance if something reads weird or is misspelled

୨୧ Bro is going to fix the mess he made with his family from another dimension 🙏

୨୧ This is not exactly the result of what I wanted but it works ;)

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The sun dipped below the horizon, its last golden rays painting the sky in soft shades of pink and lavender. The walk back felt longer than usual, the weight of the day pressing on your shoulders. The afternoon had passed in a whirlwind of preparations for Violet’s birthday—small, meaningful plans to make tomorrow special.

But now, exhaustion clung to you like a second skin. Inside the house, the warmth of home embraced you. Dinner had been a blur—a simple meal shared with your children before they yawned and rubbed their eyes, ready for bed.

After clearing up, you found Wyeth in his room, the soft glow of his bedside lamp casting a gentle light over the space. He sat cross-legged on his bed, his broken rocket cradled in his small hands, and his silk bonnet already in place.

You paused in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sight. His furrowed brow and the way his little fingers traced over the toy’s worn edges tugged at your heart. Quietly, you stepped into the room and sat on the edge of his bed.

"Hey there, sweetheart," you said softly, brushing your hand over his cheek.

Wyeth looked up at you, his wide eyes searching your face for reassurance.

"Mommy," he began, his voice a small whisper. “Is Daddy mad at me?”

The question caught you off guard, but you schooled your features into a gentle smile.

“Mad at you?” you asked, feigning lightness. “Why would you think that?”

His shoulders slumped, and he set the rocket aside, its bent fin catching the lamplight.

“I’ve been bad lately,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “Maybe that’s why…”

“Sweetheart, no.” you interrupted, leaning in to cup his face in your hands. “Daddy isn’t mad at you. He’s just tired, that’s all. He’s been working really hard and sometimes when grown-ups work too much, they get a little grumpy. But it’s not your fault, okay?”

Wyeth hesitated, his small brow still creased, but eventually he nodded.

“Okay” he whispered.You smiled and kissed his forehead, lingering just long enough for him to feel the warmth of your love.

“Goodnight, my little rocket man. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, Mommy,” he murmured, burrowing under his sheets and clutching his blanket close.

You stood, dimming the lamp as you left the room, glancing back to see him already drifting off, the broken rocket abandoned beside him.

In your own room, the silence was heavier. You moved through the motions of preparing for bed, your body exhausted but your mind far from settled. As you pulled back the covers, your eyes flicked to the window. Outside, the night stretched endlessly, dark and quiet. Still, there was no sign of Ekko.

A sigh slipped from your lips as you turned to Violet’s crib. You smiled faintly. She slept soundly, her tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, her soft coos occasionally breaking the quiet.

Finally, you climbed into bed. The room felt emptier than it should, the absence of Ekko gnawing at you in ways you didn’t want to admit. Your thoughts lingered on him, on the tension from earlier, on the strange distance that had settled between you. As sleep began to pull you under, you found yourself hoping that, come morning, things would feel a little less heavy.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The house was quiet as Ekko slipped inside, the soft creak of the door barely audible over the hum of crickets outside. He paused in the entryway, his eyes adjusting to the dim light, his breath hitching as he looked around.

He had to ask Heimerdinger where his own house was. The thought stung, but as he stood there, surrounded by warm tones and small, comforting touches, a sense of belonging crept in. This was his home—at least, it was for the Ekko who lived here.

The garden outside had been beautiful, a serene patch of green dotted with soft, colorful flowers and lanterns. Inside, the air smelled faintly of lavender and something sweet, a scent that grounded him as he moved deeper into the house.

Pictures lined the walls and shelves, drawing his gaze. Each frame seemed to tell a story, a life lived in a world so far removed from his own. His steps slowed as he reached for one in particular: a photo of his wedding day.

The image stopped him cold, his stomach flipping in a way he hadn’t expected. You looked radiant, your smile wide and bright as you leaned into him, your hands entwined. Ekko—this Ekko—was grinning from ear to ear, his expression caught somewhere between elation and disbelief.

His fingers brushed over the ring on his finger. He could tell it was handmade—gold, with delicate carvings of fireflies and his hourglass symbol etched into its surface. Of course, he thought. He probably made it himself, ensuring it was worthy of the person he gave it to. You didn’t deserve anything less.

Ekko chuckled softly, shaking his head. He’d thought about his wedding day before, in fleeting moments between battles and responsibilities, but it always felt like a distant dream. Something he could never afford.

He moved to another photo, this one capturing the moment of Wyeth’s birth. You were in a bed, holding a tiny, wrapped in blankets, your face glowing with exhaustion and joy. Ekko stood beside you, his grin wobbly and his hair a mess, like he’d just finished pacing the room for hours. He could imagine exactly how that had gone—nervous energy radiating off him, snapping at anyone who told him to relax, only to apologize afterward.

Ekko swallowed hard and tore his gaze away, continuing up the stairs.

The walls of the staircase were covered with more pictures. Wyeth as a toddler, clutching a makeshift artifact in his hands; Violet giggling in a field of wildflowers, her chubby cheeks and wide eyes making her look like the cutest baby in the world.

His steps slowed as his chest tightened. The memory of what he’d said earlier came rushing back

Why did I say that?

It wasn’t true. He knew it wasn’t true. You were his wife, those were his babies, and he didn’t doubt that. Not for a second. But the words had spilled out of him, born from the confusion and guilt swirling in his mind.

He clenched his fists, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. He hated the thought of you thinking, even for a moment, that he didn’t want this. That he didn’t want you. He had to fix it. He had to make it right.

When he reached Wyeth’s room, he cracked the door open just enough to peek inside. The boy was sound asleep, curled under his blankets with the broken rocket still resting on the nightstand. Ekko exhaled softly, relief mingling with guilt. He hoped he hadn’t confused the kid too much with his words earlier. Wyeth deserved better.

And then, an idea struck him.

If he wanted to make things right, he couldn’t just apologize. He needed to show you—show all of you—that he was here, that he cared. That no matter how he got here, this was his family.

Ekko closed the door as quietly as he could, slipping back downstairs with a newfound determination. He paused only to glance at the pictures on the wall one more time, steeling himself. Then he slipped out the front door, heading toward Powder’s hideout.

The night air was cool against his skin as he moved through the streets, the city was quiet but alive. He didn’t care if Powder hated him for waking her up; this needed to happen. He couldn’t wait until morning.

By the time he reached the hideout, his heart was pounding—not from exertion, but from the resolve burning inside him. He knocked softly at first, then a little harder when there was no answer.

“Powder,” he called in an urgent cry. “I need your help.”

It didn’t matter how late it was. Ekko wasn’t leaving until he fixed things.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The morning light filtered through the curtains, warming the room with its golden glow. You stirred slowly, the weight of sleep still heavy on your body. Your hand reached out instinctively, seeking the comforting presence of your husband, but the bed beside you was empty.

The absence hit you harder than you expected. Memories of the previous day lingered in your mind, his words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. You sat up, running a hand through your head, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine.

It wasn’t until you glanced toward Violet’s crib that the unease turned to panic.

It was empty.

Your heart raced as you threw off the covers and bolted out of the room, your bare feet padding quickly down the hall. The first place you went was Wyeth’s room, pushing the door open with trembling hands.

“Wyeth?” you called, your voice shaking slightly. “Sweetheart, are you in here?”

But the bed was empty, his blankets neatly tucked at the edges.

Your chest tightened. Where were they?

“Violet?” you called, louder this time, your voice echoing through the house as you hurried down the stairs.

You rounded the corner into the dining room, your mind spinning with worst-case scenarios, and froze.

Ekko sat at the table, a knowing grin on his face. A bouquet of fresh flowers sat in the center of the table, their pastel hues soft and welcoming. Beside them was a spread of breakfast—pancakes, fresh fruit, and coffee—all laid out with surprising care.

“Morning,” Ekko said, his tone teasing, as though he hadn’t scared you half to death.

Your panic hadn’t completely subsided.

“Where are the kids?” you demanded, your voice sharp.

His grin widened, his dark eyes dancing with mischief.

“It’s a surprise,” he said simply, leaning back in his chair as if to emphasize how utterly unbothered he was.

Your brow furrowed, a mix of frustration and confusion bubbling to the surface.

“Ekko—”

“You’re cute when you’re worried,” His gaze swept over you, lingering on your sleepwear, and his grin turned decidedly more suggestive. “By the way, you look… incredible this morning.”

Your cheeks burned as his eyes trailed over you with that familiar, almost predatory glint you’d come to know all too well. It was the kind of look that once made your stomach flip in a good way, but now? It just left you reeling.

“Ekko, stop,” you muttered, looking away in an attempt to regain composure. But his playful chuckle made it clear he wasn’t about to let it go.

“Stop what?” he teased, his voice dropping slightly. “Admiring my wife?”

You shot him a sharp look, your emotions tangled in a confusing mess of frustration and something you couldn’t quite name.

“You’re confusing me so much,” you said finally, your voice quiet but firm.

His laugh was soft but rich, and it only made your frustration deepen.

“Good. I like keeping you on your toes,” he said with a wink, leaning forward slightly.

You exhaled, exasperated, wondering not for the first time, What is wrong with this man?

“I’m just trying to make things right,” he said as if he read your mind, his voice softening slightly.

The sincerity in his tone made your heart skip a beat. You wanted to be mad at him, to demand answers, but the warmth in his eyes made it difficult.

Ekko reached for the coffee pot, pouring you a cup with an easy grace that only confused you further.

“Eat first,” he said, sliding the plate of pancakes toward you. “Then I’ll tell you everything. Promise.”

You hesitated, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sight of his earnest smile made it hard to argue. You sighed, picking up your fork. Whatever he was up to, you’d get to the bottom of it soon enough.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

If you thought you were confused before, Ekko’s antics that morning had turned your head into a whirlwind of questions. After changing into a simple but comfortable outfit, you found yourself blindfolded by your husband, his hands gentle yet firm as he secured the cloth over your eyes.

"Ekko," you began, your tone edged with exasperation, "what are you doing? We don’t have time for this. We need to get to The Last Drop and finish setting up for Vi’s birthday."

"Relax," he said smoothly, the grin evident in his voice. "I already have it covered. Trust me."

You sighed, a grunt of disapproval slipping past your lips as he guided you forward with a hand on your arm.

"Trust you? Ekko, you’re lucky I love you."

"Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it," he teased, laughter bubbling in his throat.

You kept up a stream of complaints the entire way, though your protests were punctuated by the occasional chuckle or muttered threat. His laugh echoed through the space as he steered you with careful precision. After a while, you noticed something odd—your voice echoed more than usual.

"Wait," you said, your pace faltering.

"Are we in the sewers? Ekko, you better not—"

"Shh," he interrupted, and before you could finish your thought, he stopped you. His hands brushed your shoulders, and with one swift movement, he removed the blindfold.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The scene before you seemed to be pulled from the pages of a fairy tale. The air was alive with fireflies and butterflies flitting between the lush greenery. Birds chirped softly from branches above, and in the center of it all stood an enormous tree, its wide canopy casting dappled light over the ground below.

You turned to Ekko, your mouth slightly open in disbelief, but he simply smiled, gesturing for you to take it all in.

Before you could say a word, several silhouettes approached. The first to come bounding into view was Wyeth, his grin stretching from ear to ear. He ran straight to you, wrapping his arms around your legs.

"Mommy!" he exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement. "Look! Daddy fixed my rocket! He made it better, and now it can fly without breaking anything!” He held up the toy, his joy infectious.

You crouched down to admire the handiwork, running your fingers along the rocket’s smooth edges as Wyeth babbled on.

“And we climbed the tree, Mommy! It’s so tall! You should come see!”

A voice behind him interjected playfully.

“Let your mama breathe, rocket man.”

You looked up to see Powder striding toward you, her blue hair styled into two playful space buns. She carried Violet in a baby carrier strapped to her chest, the little girl now clad in the pastel green dress Powder had shown you the day before. A delicate butterfly charm nestled in her curls added the final touch to her outfit.

"Happy birthday, my sweet Violet," you cooed, leaning in to kiss your baby’s cheek. Violet giggled in response, her tiny hands reaching for you.

“She’s been in full princess mode all morning,” Powder said, rolling her eyes affectionately.

You smiled as you looked around again. Decorations were everywhere—streamers in bright, cheerful colors, balloons that bobbed gently in the breeze, and a large table set up beneath the tree, big enough to seat the whole family. Your heart swelled at the sight.

"Ekko," you began, standing and turning to your husband, "what is this all about?"

He stepped forward, taking your hand with an easy smile.

“What do you mean?” he said, his tone light. “It’s Vi’s birthday, isn’t it?”

You raised an eyebrow, suspicion tinging your voice.

“Right. And you did all of this?”

“Of course,” he said, leading you gently past the table and toward the other side of the massive tree. “Come on. There’s one more thing I want to show you.”

As you rounded the tree, your breath caught again.

There, painted across a wide section of the bark, was a stunning mural. Vibrant colors swirled together to create a picture of your family—Ekko, you, Wyeth, and Violet—all smiling and holding hands beneath the glowing canopy of the tree. The fireflies painted around the edges seemed to dance, their light giving the mural a soft, almost magical quality.

You stepped closer, your fingers brushing over the bark.

“Ekko…” you whispered, unable to find the words.

He smiled, his hand coming to rest lightly on your waist. “It’s us,” he said softly.

“My wife, our babies, and me. The people who mean everything to me.”

You turned to him, emotions swirling in your chest, but before you could respond, he took both of your hands in his. His expression turned serious, his eyes locking onto yours.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, his voice low but steady. “About yesterday. About everything. I don’t know why I said what I said—I felt so strange, so out of it—but I know that doesn’t excuse it.” His grip on your hands tightened slightly, as if anchoring himself to you. “I just want you to know how much I love you. You, Wyeth, Violet. You’re my whole world, and I’m going to make sure today is Violet’s best first birthday ever.”

His words were earnest, his gaze unflinching. He lifted your hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to each of them before leaning forward, aiming to kiss you properly.

Before his lips could meet yours, a familiar voice groaned from behind.

“Ewww!”

Wyeth’s loud protest made you both turn. He stood a few steps away, his face scrunched in exaggerated disgust.

Ekko laughed, scooping the boy up in one swift motion.

“What? You don’t want Mommy and Daddy kissing?”

“No!” Wyeth giggled, squirming as Ekko nuzzled him.

“Well, too bad, but don’t think you’re safe, buddy. I’ve got kisses for you too!”

Wyeth squealed as Ekko peppered his face with kisses, his laughter filling the air. You couldn’t help but join in, tickling his sides as he giggled uncontrollably.

“Okay, okay! Stop!” Wyeth cried, still laughing as he wriggled free.

At that moment, a familiar voice called from the distance.

“Well, look who we have here!”

Wyeth’s head snapped toward the entrance, his eyes lighting up.

“Grandpa Benzo!” he yelled, bolting toward the sound of his grandfather’s voice.

Ekko set his son down and watched him run off before turning back to you. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you close. His voice dropped to a low murmur, meant only for you.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet. I’ll leave it pending till tonight.” he said, his tone dripping with playful promise. He winked at you before turning to follow Wyeth, leaving you standing alone by the mural.

You exhaled deeply, hugging yourself as you looked up at the painting. It was vibrant, alive, full of hope and love.

You smiled softly. You chose well.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

tags: @bbybubbles @bookies16 @xelzaria @honeyfewr @bubblegupyy @iwasholic @chaeisbroke @emforjin @itszazouu @kriss-w @moonlight-dreamer04 @iloveavatar @sturngs

#ekko x reader #arcane x reader #arcane season two #ekko fluff #ekko imagines #arcane league of legends #ekko fics

174 notes · View notes

jaeyunluvbot · 2 days ago

Text

ilysm (i love you spider-man)

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 mark lee x fem!reader, spidermark, friends to lovers, high school au, spiderman!mark

word count 𝟅𝟈 11.2k

NOT PROOFREAD

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

High school wasn’t glamorous. It was 6:00 a.m. alarms, piles of homework, and gym class—a.k.a. your least favorite subject. So, when Coach called for volleyball that day, you sighed and shuffled towards the court like a prisoner headed for trial.

The gym smelled faintly of sweat and old rubber soles, the harsh lights making it hard to focus. You stood by the bleachers, tying your sneakers when Mark stumbled in, late as usual. His hair stuck up in odd places like he’d rolled out of bed and made a mad dash here. Classic.

“Lee!” Coach barked, tossing him a red jersey. “You’re on Team B. Let’s go!”

Mark jogged over, muttering apologies as he passed you. “Hey,” he said with a sheepish grin, his voice slightly breathless.

“Hey,” you replied, amused. “Rough morning?”

“You have no idea,” he mumbled, pulling the jersey over his head.

Mark was… Mark. Sweet, funny, always a little awkward. You’d known him since middle school, and while he wasn’t exactly the athletic type, you’d never really cared. You’d bonded over you bonded over your mutual interests, anyways, and volleyball was not on the list.

The game started, and you hung back like always, hoping to avoid the ball as much as possible. Mark, however, was front and center.

When the ball came his way, you winced, expecting it to bounce off his face or fly past him entirely. But instead, Mark jumped—higher than seemed possible—and spiked the ball with enough force to make it slam into the court.

Your jaw dropped.

“Whoa!” someone yelled.

Even Coach looked impressed. “Nice hit, Lee! Where’d you learn that?”

Mark shrugged, his face slightly flushed. “Lucky shot.”

As the game went on, Mark’s “luck” didn’t run out. He dove to the floor to save a ball, slid across the court with the grace of a pro, and even managed to block a spike that seemed way out of reach.

By the time the game ended, the entire class was buzzing.

“Did Mark join a secret volleyball league or something?”

You couldn’t help but grin, though your curiosity was starting to bubble over. Since when could he do any of this?

During a break, you found him leaning against the wall, gulping down water like he’d just run a marathon.

“Since when did you play volleyball like that?” you asked, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow.

He nearly choked, coughing and spluttering as his face turned red. “I—uh, I’ve been practicing?”

“Practicing?” you echoed, unimpressed. “Mark, the last time we played volleyball, you tripped over the net and nearly took me down with you.”

He let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… things change?”

You squinted at him, unconvinced. There was something different about him lately—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Before you could press him further, Coach’s whistle blew, calling everyone back to the court. Mark shot you a quick smile before jogging off, leaving you standing there, your curiosity growing by the second.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

As the day went on, you started noticing more little things about him. In English class, he caught a pen mid-air without even looking, like he had eyes in the back of his head.

“Nice reflexes, Spidey,” you joked, nudging him.

Mark laughed nervously, shoving the pen into his bag. “Just got lucky,” he said quickly, avoiding your gaze.

Then, in chemistry, he managed to grab a beaker you almost knocked off the table before it shattered on the floor. His hand shot out so fast you barely saw it.

“Whoa,” you said, staring at him. “How’d you do that?”

Mark shrugged, his cheeks turning red. “I dunno, instincts?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could say anything, the teacher called for everyone’s attention.

By lunchtime, you were keeping a closer eye on him, trying to figure out what was going on. He seemed more jittery than usual, like he was trying to avoid drawing attention to himself but failing miserably.

When someone dropped their tray in the cafeteria, sending food flying, Mark’s head snapped toward the commotion before anyone else had even noticed. He looked like he was about to jump out of his seat before he caught himself and forced a laugh.

“You good?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, totally,” he said, shoving a fry into his mouth. “Just… startled, that’s all.”

You didn’t believe him for a second, but you let it slide. For now.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of classes, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different about Mark. He’d clearly changed somehow, but you couldn’t put your finger on what exactly was different.

And as much as you wanted to ignore it, you couldn’t help but wonder: what was he hiding?

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

Your parents had been asleep for hours by the time Mark came over that night. It was one of those quiet, lazy Friday nights where the two of you didn’t need to talk much. Just snacks, a couple of blankets, and a well-worn stack of DVDs.

You weren’t supposed to have people over this late—especially not boys—but it was Mark. If your parents knew it was him, they’d probably be fine with it. Still, sneaking him in through your fire escape gave the night a little thrill.

The two of you were huddled on your bed, knees bumping each other as the movie played on the TV. It was some action flick Mark had picked out, but your attention was divided between the screen and him. He looked more relaxed now than he had at school, though every now and then, you caught him glancing toward the door, like he was expecting someone to barge in.

“You good?” you asked softly, nudging him with your elbow.

“Huh? Yeah, totally,” he said, flashing you a sheepish grin. “Just… didn’t expect him to survive that fall.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “It’s a superhero movie, Mark. No one ever dies unless it’s to make the hero angsty.”

He chuckled at that, leaning back into the couch. “Fair point.”

As the movie went on, the two of you started whispering back and forth, your voices barely louder than the hum of the TV.

“Okay, that was so fake,” you said, gesturing at the screen as the hero miraculously dodged a bullet.

Mark smirked. “You’re telling me this is where you draw the line?”

“I have standards!”

He shook his head, stifling a laugh, when suddenly his posture stiffened. His head tilted slightly, and his hand reached out, brushing your arm.

“Hey,” he whispered, his tone urgent. “Be quiet for a second.”

You blinked at him, confused. “What?”

“Shh,” he insisted, sitting up straighter. His eyes darted toward the hallway, and he moved to hide on the ground next to the bed, out of view of your doorway.

“What’s your problem?” you asked, a little too loudly.

Before he could answer, the door creaked open, and your mom peeked in, her expression equal parts annoyed and groggy.

“Y/N,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’s almost midnight. Keep it down, okay?”

Your eyes went wide. “Oh! Sorry, Mom. I’ll quiet down.”

She lingered for a moment, her gaze sweeping the room. You held your breath, praying she wouldn’t notice the second pair of sneakers tucked gently away next to your your bedside table. Thankfully, she just nodded and shuffled back down the hallway.

The second the coast was clear, you turned to Mark, your heart still racing.

“How the hell did you know she was coming?” you hissed, keeping your voice low this time.

Mark scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. “I, uh… I just… I don’t know, I guess I heard her footsteps?”

“Footsteps?” you repeated, narrowing your eyes at him. “Mark, I didn’t hear anything. How did you hear her through a closed door? And while we were talking, no less?”

He let out a nervous laugh, shrugging a little too casually. “Maybe I’ve just got good ears?”

“Good ears my ass,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “You’ve been weird all day. First in gym, then in class, and now this. What’s going on with you?”

Mark froze for a second, his expression flickering between panic and guilt. “Nothing! I swear, it’s—nothing. You’re imagining things.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Yeah, okay” you said sarcastically, not realizing how close you were to the truth.

Mark’s laugh came out a little too forced this time. “Anyways, we should probably finish the movie, it’s getting late.”

You didn’t push the issue—for now. But as the movie played on, you couldn’t help but glance at him, your curiosity growing stronger with every passing minute.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

After your slightly strange movie night, everything feels... normal. You’re at school with Mark again, cracking jokes about your teachers and helping each other survive the monotony of class.

After school, you walk home together as usual. Mark’s quiet, more so than usual, and you figure he’s just tired. He always seems tired these days.

"Are you okay?" you ask, nudging his arm.

He flinches slightly, then forces a smile. "Yeah, I’m good. Just didn’t sleep well last night."

You nod, though his answer doesn’t quite satisfy you.

Later that evening, you decide to take a quick walk to clear your head. The streets are quiet, the orange glow of the streetlights casting long shadows. You’re only a few blocks from your apartment when you hear shouting—a man yelling for help. Your heart pounds as you turn the corner and see a masked figure—Spider-Man—swinging into action.

It’s like watching a movie come to life. He moves with incredible speed and grace, disarming the attacker in seconds. The victim stumbles to safety, and Spider-Man barely pauses before disappearing into the night.

You stand frozen, your mind racing. Spider-Man isn’t supposed to be real—not in your world, not in your life. And yet, here he is, saving people in your neighborhood.

When you finally make it home, Mark texts you almost immediately:

Hey, you okay?

The timing feels weirdly coincidental.

Yeah... just saw something crazy on my walk. Spider-Man.

There’s a pause before he replies.

Mark: Whoa, no way. He’s around here?

You: Guess so. It was... surreal.

Mark: Sounds scary. You’re sure you’re okay?

Something about the way he asks makes you hesitate. He sounds so concerned, almost like he’s talking to himself.

You: Yeah. Are YOU okay?

Mark: Me? Of course. Just checking on you. I saw your location said you were outside.

You chastise yourself for not remembering he had your location. You’d have probably done the same thing if his location said he was outside in the middle of the night. Though, you’d never had the habit of checking his.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

Saturday nights are sacred.

Since middle school, you and Mark have had this unspoken rule: no matter what, Saturday nights are yours. Whether it’s binging your favorite show, building Legos, or debating which movie series is superior, it’s the highlight of your week.

You’ve been looking forward to tonight all day. After tossing a blanket over the couch and setting out snacks—chips for you, candy for him—you settle in, phone in hand, waiting for Mark’s familiar knock.

He’s usually punctual, arriving right when he says he will. But tonight, the minutes stretch into an hour, and he’s still not there.

You glance at your phone. No texts, no missed calls.

You: Where are you? I’m starting to think you forgot about me.

No response.

You frown but try not to overthink it. Maybe he got caught up with something. You wait another fifteen minutes, then send another text.

You: Mark?? You better not be ditching me for one of your dumb guy friends.

Still nothing. Anxiety begins to creep in, though you try to push it aside. He’s probably just running late.

An hour later, you’ve run out of chips and excuses for his absence.

You: I’m officially mad at you.

By the time midnight rolls around, you’ve all but given up. You leave one last text before tossing your phone onto the coffee table.

You: Hope you’re okay. Call me when you see this.

Sleep doesn’t come easily that night. Your mind races with possibilities—some silly, some serious. Is he okay? Did something happen? You brush them off as anxious thoughts running wild and try to fall asleep.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

The next morning, your phone buzzes with a message from Mark.

Mark: I’m so sorry, Y/N. I got sick out of nowhere last night. Took some medicine and completely passed out. I didn’t even see your texts until now.

You exhale, relieved but annoyed.

You: SICK? You ditched me because you were sick? I’m so offended.

Mark: I’m sorryyyyy. 😭 I’ll make it up to you, I swear.

You: You better be glad I didn’t watch our show without you.

Mark: You wouldn’t dare.

You: Guess you’ll never know.

His usual playfulness makes you smile, but the knot in your chest hasn’t completely loosened. You know it’s dumb, but a small part of you wonders if there’s more to the story. Mark never misses your hangouts. You’re always the first to know if something’s wrong. And as much as you want to believe his excuse, the insecurity that’s been gnawing at you for years whispers otherwise.

He’s your only real friend, and deep down, you’re terrified of losing him. You’re terrified that one day he’ll outgrow you, that he’ll find someone cooler, funnier, or just... better.

You shake your head, trying to push the thoughts away. Mark said he was sick, and you believe him. There’s no reason to think otherwise. But as you put your phone down and get ready for the day, you can’t help but feel like something isn’t adding up.

You stare at your phone, willing it to buzz with a new message from Mark, but it stays silent. You’ve already texted him a few times this afternoon, and while he usually responds by now, today it’s been almost two hours since your last message. Your thumb hovers over your screen, ready to send something, but you stop yourself. Maybe he’s busy. It’s fine. It’s not like you need him to text you back right away, right?

But you can’t shake the growing discomfort in your chest.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

Ever since his message about getting sick a few weeks ago, he’s been a little off. Sure, he’d apologized for missing your hangout, but now, it’s like nothing has changed. During the day, he’s the same—always goofy, friendly, and acting normal when you see him at school. But by the time night falls, he’s almost always gone—his responses slow, often one-word answers, and sometimes, he doesn’t respond at all. And this has gone on for almost a month now.

The more time passes, the more you can’t help but feel like he’s distancing himself from you, like you’ve somehow become a burden on him. You try to tell yourself you’re overthinking it. He’s probably just busy, right? But deep down, there’s a voice whispering that maybe he’s just getting tired of you. You wish you could ignore it, but the insecurity festers, eating away at your confidence with every minute he doesn’t reply.

By the time midnight rolls around, you’ve already sent him two more texts, no response. You try to sleep, but your mind is spinning. Is he with someone else? You hate that thought, but it keeps creeping in. Maybe he’s found new people to hang out with. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore.

You throw your phone aside, frustrated with yourself, with him, and with the situation. Why do I care so much? You’ve never been the type to need constant validation from someone else, but with Mark? It’s different. You’ve always been there for each other, always shared your time. You didn’t need anything more from him, but now… it feels like you’re losing him.

Then, you get a message.

It's from Mark. Your heart jumps into your throat as you open it. “Hey, sorry. I got totally wrapped up in homework, we still on for tomorrow?”

You read it over and over, but something feels off. It’s a good excuse—too good, maybe. You want to believe him, but part of you wonders if he’s just avoiding you now. He was so there for you, always texting and hanging out after school. But now? It feels like he’s just gone, like a ghost. You don’t know what to believe.

“Can’t, sorry. I have plans with Giselle.”

There’s a pause before his reply comes through. You can almost hear the indifference in his words, even though you know you’re probably reading into it too much.

“Ah, alright. Have fun.”

The message feels too short, too casual. You frown at your phone, biting your lip. The nagging feeling in your chest grows stronger. Has he really just become that indifferent?

You text him back quickly, trying to keep things light, trying to ignore the hurt that lingers in your words. “Yeah sorry, we’ll definitely hang out later this week though, haha.”

But even as you send the message, a part of you wonders if this week is going to be just like the last—another week of him acting normal at school, you trying to text him all night, waiting for responses that don’t come, waiting for a friendship that doesn’t feel the same anymore.

You let out a sigh, toss your phone aside, and climb into bed, your angsty playlist drifting through your ears as you struggle to sleep.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

The bass from the music thumps through your chest as you step into the crowded living room. The lights are dim, the room filled with a haze of colored neon and swirling bodies moving to the rhythm. It’s your first real party in a long time, and the unfamiliar atmosphere is slightly overwhelming. You spot Giselle across the room, her blonde hair shining under the strobe lights as she waves you over.

You smile, grateful for her invitation. The group of people she’s hanging with seems friendly enough, laughing and chatting as they pass drinks around. Giselle introduces you to a few of her friends, and you slip into the crowd easily enough, trying to shake off the tension that’s been building in you ever since Mark stopped replying to your texts.

You’ve been pushing it down all night, focusing on the fun of the party, but it’s hard to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. Is he really busy with homework? Or is he avoiding me? You try not to dwell on it. After all, he’s always been a little unpredictable—he’s probably just caught up with his own stuff.

As the night wears on, you find yourself getting along with Giselle’s friends. You chat with a girl named Ningning who shares a class with you, and you laugh at her sarcastic humor. It’s nice. It feels good to be out and talking with people who aren’t just classmates or distant acquaintances. But still, in the back of your mind, you’re aware of the emptiness Mark’s absence has left. Every few minutes, you glance at your phone, hoping to see a message from him, but there’s nothing.

You tell yourself it’s fine—he’s just busy. But every time you check, you feel a little more disappointed.

The music pulses louder, and you take a deep breath, shaking off the thoughts of your best friend. Giselle is pulling you toward the makeshift dance floor, laughing as she drags you into the crowd. You let yourself get swept up in the fun for a while, your body moving to the beat, the drinks in your system giving you a comfortable, carefree buzz.

You laugh, enjoy yourself, and even manage to pull out a few impressive dance moves—at least according to Giselle, who’s cheering you on. The night seems to go by in a blur of music and people, the few drinks you’d had adding to the fuzziness of the night’s events.

But as the night winds down, you find yourself standing near the door, chatting with Ningning again. You glance down at your phone for what feels like the hundredth time, a little embarrassed that you’re still hoping for a text from him.

You frown when you see the time: it’s late, and you still haven’t heard from him. You were starting to wonder if you should text him, maybe check in, when Giselle appears beside you. “Hey, you okay?” she asks, her eyes narrowing with a knowing look. You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just... thinking about stuff,” you say vaguely, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

She nods. “You know, it’s okay to have fun without him. Sometimes you gotta do your own thing, right?”

You nod along, but her words hit deeper than she probably intended. Why does it feel like I can’t? you think, but you don’t say it out loud. Instead, you force another smile. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Giselle offers to drive you home, but you shake your head. “I think I’ll walk. Get some fresh air. Plus, I’ve got pepper spray, just in case,” you joke, trying to ease the mood.

She laughs, but her eyes linger on you for a moment. “Alright, take care of yourself, okay?”

You wave her off as she heads toward the car with her friends. You linger by the door for a moment, a small hesitation gnawing at you, but then you push it aside. Walking will help clear your head.

As you step out into the cool night air, the city streets are alive with the usual hum of late-night activity. There’s a slight chill to the breeze, but you don’t mind it. You wrap your jacket tighter around your shoulders, feeling the effects of the alcohol beginning to wear off as the cold air helps sober you up. The walk is quiet, and for the first time tonight, you feel like you can breathe a little easier.

But even though the night is peaceful, your mind still drifts back to Mark. His silence feels like an anchor in your chest, something heavy and uncertain, and as you walk, you can’t stop wondering what’s going on. You’ve spent every Saturday night together for as long as you can remember. And now... now he’s just disappearing.

You try to shake off the feeling, telling yourself it's nothing. Maybe you’re just overthinking. Again. But the more you walk, the more your thoughts spiral, until you hear the footsteps behind you.

Before you can even react, a hand grabs your wrist, spinning you around so quickly that your heart jumps into your throat. Your breath catches in your chest, and for a split second, you can’t even process what’s happening. The streetlights cast long shadows on the sidewalk, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you can’t make out the guy’s face. All you feel is the cold, tight grip on your wrist.

Your heart starts pounding in your chest, panic surging through you. You try to pull away, but his hand tightens, and a sickening, familiar feeling spreads through you.

"Hey! Let go of me!" you shout, your voice shaking.

“Quiet, bitch,” the man growls, his breath hot against your neck. You struggle, but his grip tightens, and your pulse quickens.

Just as the fear begins to settle over you, you hear a soft whoosh, followed by a thud that’s too heavy to be anything but a person.

Without warning, the man’s grip on you loosens, and before you can even react, you're yanked off the ground and pulled up a nearby fire escape ladder, higher and higher until you’re standing on a rooftop. Your heart pounds in your chest as you try to steady your breath. You glance around, completely disoriented, when the voice of the masker figure breaks the silence.

You let out a breath, in awe of the Spiderman being right in front of you.

But before you can say anything, he speaks.

“Stay here,” he orders, his tone sharp as he drops you onto a crate by the edge of the roof. “I’ll handle it. Don’t move.”

You don’t even have time to ask him what’s going on before he’s gone, leaving you sitting there alone in the dark, your mind spinning. What the hell just happened? Is this... real? You glance around, still trying to process the fact that Spiderman—the very same guy you’d heard about in the news, the one everyone in the city seems to talk about—just saved you from some creep.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the sound of struggle below, muffled voices, and a distant thud as Spiderman confronts the man you were just seconds away from being attacked by. It’s all over within moments, and before you can fully grasp the situation, Spiderman returns, landing effortlessly on the roof beside you.

He glances at you, his mask giving nothing away, but you notice the way his chest rises and falls a little too fast for someone who should be used to fighting.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice softer now. You nod quickly, trying to push the terror away.

“Yeah,” you reply, swallowing hard. “Thanks for saving me.”

A long silence stretches between you before you, almost hesitantly, ask, “Did... did you... kill him?”

The question comes out before you can think better of it, but the moment you say it, his head whips toward you in complete shock.

“What?!” he exclaims, his voice full of disbelief. “No! I—no, I didn’t kill him! I just... I knocked him out. I’m not... I don’t... that’s not what I do.”

You blink, surprised at how horrified he sounds. Maybe you’ve underestimated him.

“Oh,” you murmur, feeling sheepish. “Sorry, I... I don’t know how these things work.”

Spiderman’s shoulders visibly relax, and he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s fine. Just... just stay safe, okay? I’ll get you home.”

You nod, your heart still beating erratically in your chest. Part of you is still processing everything, but another part of you is grateful. Grateful for Spiderman being here tonight, for protecting you when no one else would have been able to.

“Um, thank you again,” you say, your voice softer this time.

His eyes behind the mask seem to soften, but you’re not sure. “I can take you home,” he offers, voice low, almost too gentle, slightly familiar but you’re unable to place exactly where you’d heard it before.

You blink up at him, still in shock, and then remember where you are. “I’m almost home… I can walk the rest of the way.”

But the more you think about it, the more you realize you really don’t want to walk. Not after what just happened. Plus, his presence feels safe in a way you can’t explain.

Spiderman seems to notice the hesitation in your expression, and before you can change your mind, he’s already swooping down, his webbing attaching to a nearby building. “Hold on tight.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you barely process his words. Before you can question how he knows where you live, he shoots another web, pulling you along with him. Your feet leave the ground, and you’re soaring through the city. The wind rushes against your face, and everything is a blur of lights and rooftops.

The whole trip is a disorienting whirl, but it’s somehow comforting in its chaos. Spiderman moves like he’s done this a thousand times, his grip tight around your waist as he swings from one building to the next. The world below you is a distant hum, but your thoughts are still clouded with questions.

And then, as quickly as it began, you find yourself standing on the fire escape of your apartment building. Your legs are a little shaky, but it doesn’t matter. You’re safe.

“Here we are,” he says, glancing up at your window.

You stare at him, still slightly tipsy from the night’s events, but not questioning how he knows where you live. After all, it’s just one of those things that doesn’t make sense, and you don’t really care. All that matters is that you’re safe now.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, feeling oddly vulnerable under his watchful gaze.

He nods again, his hand slipping back to his side as he stands a little straighter. “Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t walk alone at night again. It’s... not safe. Especially for pretty girls like you.”

You nod, still too stunned to respond properly. You watch as he shoots a web up to the fire escape and swings back into the darkness. You stand there for a moment, your thoughts racing, wondering if the whole thing really just happened. It’s only when you step inside your apartment and hear the quiet of the night that it hits you. Spiderman just saved me, not only that but he’d called you pretty too.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

The next Monday morning at school, everything feels a little surreal. You’re walking through the hallways, mind still reeling from that night’s events. You still haven’t told anyone, and you feel like you’re about to burst. How in the world had Spiderman been so close to you? And you were actually talking to him, like... you know, a real conversation.

As you sit down next to Mark in homeroom, you can’t help but grin. You need to tell someone about the whole thing, and who better than your best friend? You tap his shoulder and lean in close, trying to act casual but failing miserably.

“Oh my God, Mark, you won’t believe what happened last night,” you blurt out, eyes wide with excitement.

He raises an eyebrow, a slight chuckle escaping him as he looks over at you. “What happened? You go to a party or something?”

You shake your head, not able to contain the grin that stretches across your face. “Worse. I got mugged.” You pause for dramatic effect, watching his eyes widen with concern. “But wait—before you freak out, I was saved. By Spiderman.”

Mark freezes for a second, blinking at you in disbelief. “Spiderman? You’re serious? Like, the Spiderman?”

You nod, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed as you recount the entire wild encounter, from the guy grabbing you to being yanked onto the roof and saved by Spiderman. You try to make it sound as casual as possible, but you can’t help but feel the thrill of telling someone about your personal brush with New York’s most famous hero.

“That’s insane,” Mark mutters, clearly processing the details. “Wait, so... what happened next?”

“Well, he saved me,” you say, leaning in like you’re sharing a secret. “But... I’m not gonna lie, Mark, he was lowkey hot.”

Mark splutters, his face twisting with confusion. “What? You don’t even know what he looks like.”

You shrug dramatically, twirling your pen between your fingers. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not about looks. It’s how he was so protective, you know? The way he grabbed me and made sure I was okay... it was hot.”

You watch Mark's face turn a shade of red as his expression shifts from surprise to something else entirely—discomfort, maybe? You can practically see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to hold it together.

“No way. You’re a freak, bro,” Mark says, shaking his head and trying to laugh it off. “Like, seriously? You’re crushing on a guy you don’t even know?”

You roll your eyes, letting out a short laugh. “I don’t judge your crushes, so don’t judge mine. It’s called appreciating someone for more than just their looks.”

Mark scowls, but there’s a nervous twitch in his eyes. “I’m not judging. But... I don’t know, it’s just a little weird. You’ve got a crush on Spiderman?”

You smile, feeling a little awkward. “I guess. He’s mysterious, heroic... and I mean, he was pretty hot for someone wearing a mask.” You nudge him playfully, watching the way he looks more and more flustered.

Mark shrugs, but you can see the slight hesitation in his eyes. “Whatever, man. You’re weird. But... I guess if he saved you... that’s... kinda cool.”

It’s hard to ignore the little spark of something else in his voice, even if he’s trying to mask it with humor. You grin to yourself, filing the moment away. You’re not sure why, but it feels like there’s a shift between you two—something you can’t quite put your finger on.

You press the issue no further, but the day goes on, and you can't stop thinking about Mark’s weird reaction. Sure, he’s your best friend, but the way he acted just now... it made you wonder. Could he possibly feel something more for you?

You find yourself entertaining the idea of Mark having a crush on you, before shaking your head and brushing the thought away. There’s no way Mark liked you, if he did, he would have told you.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

As the week drags on, you can't shake the thought of Spiderman. Sure, you were trying to move on, but it’s hard when you keep running into him every time you step out of the apartment at night. You’ll be walking home from the store, or maybe grabbing dinner with Giselle and Ninging, and bam—there he is, swinging between buildings or dropping down from some rooftop. It’s like he’s everywhere.

At first, you try to brush it off, telling yourself it’s just a coincidence. But then, it starts feeling a little too suspicious, almost like he’s... following you? Or looking out for you?

One night, you’re walking back from your favorite coffee shop, the crisp air of early fall making you hug your jacket tighter. You’ve been texting Mark, as usual, but his replies are slow—too slow. You roll your eyes at the screen, sighing. You swear, it’s like he’s avoiding you or something.

As you round the corner toward your apartment building, you feel that familiar shift in the air, that sensation of something just slightly off. You glance up and sure enough, you spot him—Spiderman—perched on a rooftop above you, his figure silhouetted against the dim streetlights.

You pause in your tracks, raising a brow. “Really? Again?”

Spiderman tilts his head, as if amused by your reaction. He crouches down and lands lightly in front of you, his movements fluid and graceful.

“You’re following me, huh?” you tease, crossing your arms over your chest. “I mean, I appreciate the protection and all, but you don’t have to babysit me.”

Spiderman straightens, a soft chuckle escaping from behind the mask. “I’m not babysitting,” he says with a playful edge. “Just making sure you don’t run into any... unsavory people.”

You roll your eyes, but there's a slight smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, well, I’m fine. Been walking these streets for years now.”

There’s a pause, as if he’s considering your words. “I’m still here. Just in case.” His voice is a little warmer than usual, though it’s hard to tell beneath the mask.

You feel a mix of amusement and frustration bubbling up. “You’re a real hero, huh?” you quip. “Just swinging in, saving the day. But honestly? I’m starting to get tired of it. I mean, you’re cute and all, but this whole ‘mysterious stranger’ act? It’s getting old.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, and as soon as they do, you realize—you’ve just said that to Spiderman.

You quickly recover, trying to act casual. “It’s fine, I guess. I’m just getting a little tired of feeling like I’m in some weird superhero movie, you know?”

Spiderman doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he steps a little closer, his posture still relaxed but with a certain intensity in his eyes—well, you imagine that’s what’s behind the mask.

“Maybe I should back off for a while then,” he says after a beat, his tone more thoughtful. “You’ve got it all under control, right?”

You scoff, crossing your arms in an attempt to cover up how your heart is suddenly beating a little faster. “Yeah, I’ve got it under control, obviously.”

“Really?” Spiderman says, his voice a little too calm for your liking. Before you can even process what’s happening, he webs your phone right out of your hand, and you gasp, stumbling back in surprise as it hovers in midair for a second before landing gently in his palm.

You blink up at him in disbelief, your mouth hanging open. “What the hell? Give that back!”

He shrugs, unfazed. “What if someone mugs you again? No offense, but your reflexes suck.”

Your jaw clenches at the jab, but you can’t help but laugh bitterly. “Thanks, I feel so much safer now. I wasn’t even worried about it.”

You reach for your phone, and he hands it back to you, but there’s a look in his eyes—concern, maybe? Or just frustration. “You might not worry, but I do. You seem like you’ve got your act together, but... I don’t know. Maybe I’m just looking out for you.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real heat in the gesture. "Fine," you say, a little too quickly. "I guess I can let you walk with me then. But just so you know, you’re not my personal bodyguard, alright?”

Spiderman grins behind his mask, a little triumphant, but he falls in step behind you. You try to ignore the way his presence feels different—more constant now, like it’s a part of the night itself. You walk for a few minutes, the quiet of the city streets pressing in on you. You try to focus on the rhythmic sound of your footsteps, but the weight of the past few days catches up with you, and you find your shoulders slumping a little more with each step.

Spiderman notices, of course. You can feel his eyes on your back, studying you, but he doesn’t say anything for a while.

Finally, he speaks up, his voice softer than usual. “You wanna talk about it? I mean, you’ve been acting a little... off tonight.”

You look over your shoulder at him, surprised that he even noticed. But you don’t hesitate. Maybe it’s the anonymity of the mask. Maybe it’s the strange comfort of having a stranger to vent to. But suddenly, you just want to unload.

“Yeah,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair, “I mean, I’ve been dealing with some... stuff lately.”

You kick a rock along the sidewalk as you walk, the soft scrape of it filling the silence. “I’ve got this friend, Mark, right? We’ve been close for years—like, best friends. We have this thing where every Saturday, no exceptions, we hang out. Watch movies, talk... whatever. We’re just... us. But lately? He’s been acting weird. Like, really weird.”

Spiderman doesn’t interrupt. He just walks beside you, giving you the space to talk.

“It’s like he’s avoiding me,” you continue, your words gaining momentum. “I get that people get busy, but he’s never like this. He’s slow to reply, sometimes doesn’t even respond at all, and when he does, it’s like he doesn’t care anymore. I don’t even know what happened. It’s just... really frustrating. And I don’t even know if I should ask him about it, because I don’t want to come off as desperate or clingy.”

You kick another rock, your frustration spilling over, and for a second, you feel a little ridiculous. Here you are, talking about Mark to a guy you don’t even know, someone who wears a mask and swings from rooftops. But the words come tumbling out anyway, all of your insecurities and confusion finding a strange kind of release in the cool air of the city.

Spiderman stays quiet for a moment, processing. When he finally speaks, his voice is calm, like he’s trying to make sense of your ramblings. “Sounds like he’s pulling away for some reason,” he says thoughtfully. “But I’m sure there’s a reason. Maybe he’s just going through something, you know?”

You shrug, feeling the weight of the uncertainty settle in your chest. “I don’t know. I just... I want things Spiderman listens quietly, his footsteps matching yours as you walk. You don’t notice the way his posture shifts, or the way his mask seems to obscure any hint of emotion—though somehow, you feel like he’s really paying attention.

After a few beats of silence, he finally speaks again, his voice thoughtful and a little gentler than before. “You know, I think you should just talk to him. Mark, I mean.”

You stop in your tracks, looking over at him in surprise. “What?”

Spiderman shrugs, his tone almost casual, but his words don’t match the nonchalance. “I get it. You’re frustrated, and you don’t want to be the one to chase him down. But sometimes, people just need a nudge. If you really want things to go back to the way they were... maybe you should just be honest with him. Ask him what’s up.”

You frown, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, suddenly feeling a little vulnerable. “But what if I look desperate? Or, I don’t know... what if he doesn’t care?”

Spiderman stops walking too, his voice quiet but steady when he answers. “He cares. I’m sure of it.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, surprised by how certain he sounds. “How could you possibly know that? You don’t even know him.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I don’t need to. I can tell from the way you talk about him. The way you light up when you mention him. You’re not the kind of person who just forgets someone you care about. And trust me, it’s obvious he doesn’t want to lose that either. Whatever’s going on, I’m sure it’s nothing personal.”

You let out a long sigh, leaning against the nearest streetlamp. His words stir something inside you—something you’ve been avoiding all week. The idea that Mark really does care makes your heart feel a little lighter, but the fear is still there. “But what if he doesn’t? What if I make things worse by trying to talk to him?”

Spiderman leans against the wall next to you, his posture relaxed. “Look, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But you know him. I’m sure you’ve been through rough patches before and you worked through them. You just need to give him the chance to explain himself. I think that’s all he needs—someone to really talk to. And if you don’t do it, you’ll always be wondering what could’ve happened.”

You chew on your lip, his words hanging in the air between you. There’s a weight to them, something that feels... true. Something that makes you want to listen to him, to take his advice. But still, there’s a stubborn part of you that wants to push it all aside. “I just... don’t want to get hurt. Again.”

Spiderman straightens up, his tone surprisingly gentle. “You won’t. Not if you’re honest. Trust me.”

You glance up at him, your gaze softening as you look into the mysterious eyes behind his mask. He sounds so sure of himself.

“Thanks,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him. “I’ll think about it.”

He nods once, giving you an almost encouraging smile beneath the mask. “I know you will.”

You both fall silent as you continue walking, but the weight in your chest doesn’t feel quite as heavy anymore. Maybe, just maybe, Spiderman is right. Maybe you do need to talk to Mark.

Maybe it won’t be as scary as you think.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

A few days after your conversation with Spiderman, things between you and Mark seem to settle down a bit. He’s still a little distant at times, but when he’s around, you notice he’s more present, his smiles more genuine, his conversations less distracted. It’s not the same as before—things can’t just magically go back to normal—but there’s something warmer there, something more honest.

One afternoon, as you’re sitting at your favorite spot in the courtyard, you catch him coming toward you, looking a little tired but still smiling like he’s actually glad to see you. You can’t help but feel a pang of relief. It’s been a while since you’ve had one of these simple, casual hangouts, and you’ve missed it more than you care to admit.

He sits beside you, just like old times, and you both start talking like you haven’t missed a beat. But the conversation isn’t just surface-level anymore. He seems more open, more real.

After a while, you can’t hold back anymore. The thought has been gnawing at the back of your mind for days, and it’s finally time to ask.

You clear your throat, trying to sound casual, though your heart is thumping in your chest. "Hey, Mark. Can I ask you something?"

He glances at you, his brow furrowing slightly, but he’s still listening. “Of course. What’s up?”

You take a deep breath, trying not to come off too confrontational. "Why did you ghost me before? I mean, I know you were busy, but... you weren’t even texting me back. I didn’t want to push, but it felt like you were avoiding me."

His expression hardens for just a moment, like he's bracing himself. He looks away for a second, running a hand through his hair. "I was... going through something. Something personal."

You wait, your heart rate picking up. The words hang between you two, waiting for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t.

You want to press him, ask for more details, but you don’t. There’s something about the way he said it—quiet, almost hesitant—that makes you feel like he’s not ready to share. You nod, leaning back against the bench. “Okay... But you know, you can always talk to me, right?”

Mark hesitates, eyes flicking back to you, a mix of gratitude and something else passing through his gaze. "I know," he says, his voice soft but firm. "But right now, I really can’t. I wish I could, but..." He lets out a sigh, his shoulders dropping. "It’s complicated, and I don’t want to drag you into it."

You feel the weight of his words, something about them striking you deeper than you expected. There’s an intensity there, a desperation almost, that you weren’t prepared for. You stare at him for a moment, your gaze softening as you consider his words.

"I trust you, Mark," you say quietly. "And I know you’re not lying to me. So... if you can’t tell me yet, it’s okay. Just know that I’m here, whenever you’re ready."

There’s a long pause as he looks at you, like he’s trying to read the sincerity in your eyes. Finally, he looks away, nodding slowly.

"Thanks. That... means a lot to me." His voice cracks a little, and you can tell how much he appreciates your understanding. "I really am sorry for pulling away, though. I never wanted to hurt you."

You smile softly, feeling the tension between you two finally start to ease. "I know you didn’t. But I’m here, okay? Just like you said—whenever you’re ready, I’m not going anywhere."

He gives a small, grateful smile, his eyes warmer than they’ve been in a while. "Thanks... I really mean it."

From that moment on, things slowly start to return to a sense of normalcy. Mark isn’t completely open with you yet—whatever is going on with him still seems like something he’s not ready to share—but there’s a shift. There’s no more distance. He’s trying, and you’re trying, and that’s enough for now.

And as you walk to class together the next day, you feel a little lighter. Maybe things aren’t perfect, and maybe they never will be, but you’re still here for each other. And somehow, that’s all you need for now.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

Things have started to settle into a new rhythm, one that’s almost comfortable. You and Mark are hanging out again, like before, laughing and joking and just enjoying each other’s company. But now, there's something different in the air—something lighter, maybe even flirtatious. It’s subtle, but it’s there. He'll tease you, throw out little compliments that make your heart race, and you’ve noticed the way he looks at you when you’re talking, his eyes softer than usual.

You can’t deny it—you’re starting to feel the spark again, that chemistry you thought you had maybe lost when things got weird. But you're also talking to Spiderman regularly now, and every time you do, you feel like you’re walking this tightrope between two worlds—one where everything feels so right with Mark, and one where he is a complete mystery. You don’t even realize it yet, but you're starting to fall for both of them in very different ways.

You hadn’t expected to run into him tonight, but here he is, perched on the fire escape across the street, casually leaning against the rail. It’s become a weird sort of routine lately—your nightly walks where you’d end up talking to Spiderman. It’s comforting in its own way, even if you still don’t know who’s behind the mask.

You slow your pace and look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re stalking me now?”

Spiderman chuckles, the sound muffled by the mask but still warm enough to make your chest flutter. “If I’m stalking you, then you’re stalking me, too,” he teases, swinging down lightly to land in front of you. “What’s up tonight?”

You shrug, adjusting the straps of your bag over your shoulder. “Not much. Just out to clear my head.”

The city feels quieter at night. The hum of the busy streets seems far away, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you standing there in the stillness. You’ve gotten used to his company in the past couple of weeks, and there’s a sense of comfort in the anonymity between you. A part of you almost wishes you could talk to him more. After everything with Mark, it’s nice to have someone to listen, someone who isn’t involved in the mess.

He notices the shift in your demeanor, and you can tell by the tilt of his head that he’s waiting for you to speak.

You let out a deep breath, gathering your courage. You hadn’t planned on telling him this, but somehow it just comes out. “I think I’m in love with Mark,” you say, voice quieter than usual, almost scared to even say it out loud.

His posture stiffens for a second, though you can’t see his expression under the mask. “Mark?” he repeats, sounding genuinely surprised. “Like, your best friend Mark?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Yeah. I mean... I don’t know. It’s confusing. We’ve been friends forever, and now it’s like I can’t get him out of my head. Lately, he’s been like flirting, I think?”

“Flirting?” he asks, his tone curious, almost teasing. “What do you mean?”

“Yeah,” you say, laughing nervously. “I don’t know, he’s just been way nicer lately? Texting me more, teasing me... It’s like he’s trying to get closer to me or something.”

You glance around, unsure of how to continue, suddenly feeling a little silly talking about your boy problems to Spiderman. You rub the back of your neck and look away, trying to gather your thoughts. “But I don’t know if I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m just reading into things. I mean, we’ve been friends for so long. He’s always been nice to me, but now it’s... different. It’s making me crazy. I don’t know what to think.”

Spiderman watches you quietly, his posture still, though there’s something in the way he holds himself that makes you feel like he’s really paying attention. “You deserve an answer,” he says after a pause, his voice low but certain. “You deserve to know how he feels, one way or the other.”

You look up at him, surprised by his words. “You think so?”

He gives a slight nod. “Yeah. You can’t keep guessing forever. I mean, I’m not saying it’s easy to talk about feelings, but it’s the only way to know for sure.”

You bite your lip, nodding slowly. You want to believe him, you want to believe that talking to Mark is the right thing to do, but the idea of being rejected still stings. “Yeah... I guess you're right. I’ve been avoiding talking to him about it. I’m scared of what might happen if I do.”

Spiderman steps closer, his voice soft and reassuring. “If he’s your friend, he’ll understand. And if he doesn’t... then at least you’ll know where you stand.”

You sigh deeply, feeling the weight of his words. He’s right, of course. You’ve been avoiding the conversation with Mark because you’re afraid of what might happen, but maybe it’s time to face it.

“Thanks,” you say, feeling a little lighter. “I’m not sure I’d have the courage to do it if you hadn’t said something.”

“No problem,” he replies, a teasing note in his voice. “I mean, I’m just a friendly neighborhood Spiderman. Helping people is kind of my thing.”

You laugh a little, but it’s a mix of relief and gratitude. “You’re way too nice to be a superhero.”

He shrugs, though you can’t see it through the mask. “I do what I can. But seriously, take my advice. Talk to him. He’s probably just as confused as you are.”

You smile, feeling a little more confident now. “I will. I promise.”

Spiderman gives you a nod of approval before his posture shifts, signaling that it’s time to go. “Alright. Go get some sleep. You’ve got this.”

You watch as he swings up to the rooftops, disappearing into the night, and for the first time in a while, you feel like maybe—just maybe—you can start figuring things out with Mark.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

You don’t even see it coming.

One moment, you’re walking back from the corner store with a bag of snacks, minding your own business. The next, someone grabs you, and your heart leaps into your throat. A rough voice snarls in your ear, “Where’s your friend Spiderman?”

Panic overtakes you, and all you can manage is a confused stammer. You’re shoved into the back of a van, heart racing as you piece together what’s happening. Someone must’ve seen you with him that night, or maybe they’ve been watching for longer than you realized.

Your captors don’t wait long to make their demands clear. “You tell him to show up, or things get messy,” one says, holding up your phone. They want you to call him. The problem is, you have no idea how.

You stutter, trying to explain that you literally don’t have his phone number.

“Don’t play dumb,” the second man snaps, holding up your phone. “We’ve seen him with you. Call him.”

“I can’t—”

Your words are cut off as the van jerks to a halt. The two men exchange alarmed glances, and then you hear it: a thud on the roof.

“What the hell was that?” one mutters, pulling out a weapon.

The next sound is unmistakable—the sharp thwip of a web. The van rocks violently as the door is ripped clean off, light flooding the cramped space.

And there he is.

Spiderman is a blur of red and blue, launching himself into the van with an acrobatic flip. He webs the first man’s weapon before the guy can react, yanking it away and tossing it aside. The second man lunges at him with a crowbar, but Spiderman ducks, the crowbar smashing into the wall behind him with a deafening clang.

“Stay down,” Spiderman warns, his voice firm but calm.

The first guy doesn’t listen. He charges at Spiderman, only to get a web shot to the face. Spiderman kicks him backward, sending him sprawling onto the van’s floor.

“Are you okay?” Spiderman asks, glancing at you briefly.

You nod, too stunned to speak.

The second guy doesn’t go down as easily. He’s bigger, meaner, and surprisingly agile. He swings the crowbar again, catching Spiderman in the side. The sickening sound of metal against his ribs makes your stomach turn.

Spiderman grunts in pain, stumbling but recovering quickly. He blocks the next swing with his forearm, webbing the crowbar and yanking it from the man’s grasp. “You really don’t learn, do you?” he quips, his voice strained.

Before he can finish, the first guy is back on his feet, armed with a knife. He slashes at Spiderman, who dodges narrowly but takes a glancing cut to his arm.

“Two against one,” Spiderman mutters, “that’s not very fair.”

He shoots a web at the knife, disarming the man, then uses a second web to yank him forward. Spiderman spins, using the man’s momentum against him, and sends him crashing into the wall of the van.

The second guy charges, tackling Spiderman to the ground. They grapple, fists flying, and you can see Spiderman slowing down, his movements less precise. Blood stains his suit where the knife grazed him, and he’s holding his side—likely from the earlier hit.

Your breath catches as the second guy pins him, but Spiderman surprises you, using his legs to flip the man over his head. He’s back on his feet in an instant, delivering a punch that knocks the guy out cold.

Spiderman turns to you, his breathing heavy, his posture slouched. “You’re safe now,” he says, but his voice wavers.

“Safe? You’re bleeding!” you exclaim, rushing to his side.

“It’s fine,” he says, trying to wave you off, but his movements are sluggish, and he’s gripping his ribs tightly.

“It’s not fine,” you argue, your voice rising. “You’re hurt. You need help. Come on, let’s go to my place.”

He hesitates, but when he stumbles slightly, he lets you guide him out of the van.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

You practically drag Spiderman up the fire escape to your bedroom. He’s limping, trying to downplay the extent of his injuries, but you can see the pain etched into his body language—even through the mask.

“Sit,” you order the moment you’re inside, gesturing to your bed. He hesitates, scanning the windows and doors like he’s expecting someone to burst in.

“Relax,” you add. “Nobody followed us.”

With a reluctant nod, he sinks into the couch, groaning softly. You rush to grab your first-aid kit, returning to find him still gripping his side, his masked head tilted back against the cushions.

“Alright,” you say, kneeling beside him. “I need to check your injuries. You’re gonna have to take off the mask.”

He tenses immediately, shaking his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Spiderman,” you say firmly, “you can’t breathe properly. I need to check if you’re okay. I swear, I won’t tell anyone.”

“No,” he says again, his voice edged with frustration. “I can’t. It’s... complicated.”

You sit back on your heels, crossing your arms. “Complicated? You just saved my life, and now I’m trying to save yours. What’s complicated about that?”

He looks at you for a long moment, the lenses of his mask narrowing slightly. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse.”

You huff, annoyed. “Fine. At least let me patch up what I can see.”

He allows you to clean the cut on his arm, wincing slightly as you dab antiseptic on it. You notice how quiet he’s gotten, his usual witty banter replaced by a tense silence.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” you say softly, glancing up at him.

“I do,” he replies immediately, his tone clipped.

The words hit harder than you expect. You lean back, giving him space, and he stands, wobbling slightly.

“Thanks for the help,” he says, moving toward the window.

“Wait—”

“I’ll be fine,” he cuts you off, stepping onto the ledge. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

And then he’s gone, leaving you staring at the empty space where he’d been, your chest tight with frustration and worry.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

It’s been days since you last saw Spiderman. Days of walking home late at night and feeling the eerie absence of the one person who always made you feel safe. You tell yourself it’s fine. That he’s busy saving the city or maybe just giving you space. But deep down, you feel the sting of being shut out.

Mark’s been acting strange too. Not like before, when he outright ignored you, but there’s something guarded about him again—like he’s keeping secrets. You don’t know how much more of this you can take.

One evening, as you’re walking home, the silence feels unbearable. The air feels colder, heavier, without the usual sense of someone watching your back. By the time you reach your apartment, your chest feels tight with frustration. You pull out your phone, scrolling through your recent conversations.

Nothing from Spiderman.

Mark’s last text was a brief, “Can’t hang tonight, sorry.”

You shove your phone in your pocket and head straight to Mark’s apartment

When Mark opens the door, he looks surprised—and maybe a little nervous—to see you.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks, trying for casual, but there’s a stiffness in his tone.

“Are you avoiding me again?” you blurt out, crossing your arms.

He blinks, clearly caught off guard. “What? No. Why would I—”

“Don’t lie to me, Mark,” you cut him off. “You’ve been weird. You’re barely texting back, and when you do, it’s like you’re walking on eggshells. What’s going on with you?”

He runs a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze. “I’m just... dealing with stuff, okay? It’s nothing to do with you.”

You step closer, lowering your voice. “You told me to trust you. To believe that you care about me. And I do, Mark. But it feels like you’re shutting me out again, and I can’t take that.”

He lets out a long sigh, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then make it simple!” you exclaim. “You’re my best friend, Mark. You don’t have to do everything alone.”

For a moment, he looks like he’s about to say something—something big. But then he stops himself, his jaw tightening.

“I can’t,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stare at him, heart sinking. “Why not?”

“Because if you knew...” He pauses, swallowing hard. “It would change everything. And I can’t risk that.”

Your mind races, frustration boiling over. “Do you even realize how hard it is for me to feel like I can’t talk to anyone? To feel like I’m losing you and—” You stop yourself, clenching your fists. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll stop asking.”

“Y/N...”

“No,” you say firmly, stepping back. “When you’re ready to actually be honest with me, let me know.”

Before he can respond, you turn and walk away, leaving him standing in the doorway, his expression conflicted.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

Mark can’t stop replaying the look on your face as you walked away. The hurt in your voice, the weight of your words—it gnaws at him. For the first time in his life, he’s truly afraid he might lose you.

He paces his room, running a hand through his hair. Every excuse he’s made to keep his identity a secret feels hollow now. You deserve the truth. And if it costs him everything? At least you’ll know how much you mean to him.

Grabbing a small bouquet of flowers—ones he spotted on the way home earlier—he suits up and swings toward your apartment. The city rushes by beneath him, but for once, he doesn’t revel in the thrill of it. His heart pounds in his chest as he lands on your fire escape, crouching just outside your bedroom window.

With a deep breath, he knocks.

You look up, confused at first, but then your heart skips a beat when you see the familiar figure crouched on the fire escape. Spiderman.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should even let him in after how things ended the last time. But then you sigh, walking over and unlocking the window.

“What are you doing here?” you ask flatly, crossing your arms as he steps inside.

He straightens, holding out the small bouquet of slightly squished flowers. “I, uh... I messed up,” he says, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “And I needed to make it right.”

You glance at the flowers, then back at him, skeptical. “You think flowers are gonna fix everything?”

“No,” he admits quickly, shaking his head. “Not at all. But I’m here because... I need to tell you the truth. The whole truth.”

You raise an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. “You’re finally ready to take off the mask?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, stepping closer. “But only if you promise not to freak out.”

“Why would I freak out?” you mutter, but your curiosity is piqued.

“Just—close your eyes,” he says, a nervous edge to his voice.

You hesitate for a second but do as he asks. You hear the faint rustle of fabric, the sound of him taking off his mask. Then, gently, he takes your hands in his and places them on his face. His skin is warm under your fingertips, and you can feel the slight tremor of his nerves.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Open your eyes.”

You do—and your breath catches in your throat.

“Mark?”

He winces, giving you a sheepish smile. “Surprise?”

Your hands fall from his face as you take a step back, staring at him in utter disbelief. “What the actual hell?! Mark, you’re Spiderman?!”

“Yeah...” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to tell you, I really did. But I couldn’t. Not until now.”

You blink at him, processing. Suddenly, all the weird behavior, the ditching, the injuries—it all makes sense. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time,” you say, your voice shaking slightly.

“I wasn’t lying,” he says quickly. “I was just... protecting you. I didn’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

You open your mouth to argue, but then you stop, taking a deep breath. “Why now, then? Why tell me now?”

“Because I couldn’t lose you,” he says, his voice raw with sincerity. “I know I’ve messed up a lot, and I’ve hurt you, and I hate myself for that. But you’re the most important person in my life, and if being honest is the only way to fix this, then... here I am. No more secrets.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his words. You take a step closer, searching his face. “You’re an idiot,” you say quietly.

He nods, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “I know.”

“But I guess... I can forgive you,” you add, your voice softening. “Eventually.”

The tension in his shoulders eases, and he lets out a breath of relief. “Thank you.”

There’s a pause, the air between you heavy with unspoken feelings.

“So...” you say, tilting your head. “What now?”

“Well,” he says, his smile growing, “I was kinda hoping we could start over. But, like, as more than friends this time.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now too. “I guess saving me from a mugger earns you some points.”

“Good,” he says, stepping closer. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you meet his gaze, the truth in his eyes making your knees feel weak.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think I’m in love with you too.”

Before either of you can overthink it, you close the distance between you, pulling him into a kiss that feels like it’s been years in the making. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, and for once, everything feels right.

Maybe for once Spiderman can have a happy ending.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

author's note 𝟅𝟈 this was a bitch to finish i'm ngl but i think i'm pretty happy with how it turned out so yay! i love spiderman sm so yk i love spidermark too. anyways leave suggestions for fics in the comments or my inbox pls.

masterlist.

#jaeyunluvbot #mark lee #mark #spidermark #spiderman #y/n #mark lee x reader #mark lee x y/n #mark x reader #mark x y/n #mark x you #nct 127 #nct dream #nct

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dorabellingham · 1 day ago

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Mini Bellingham

warning: none

characters: jude x fem!reader

summary: when after fans suspect, you actually find out you're pregnant

may contain spelling and translation errors!

A few weeks after the last wave of rumors that Jude Bellingham was going to be a father, you realized that something was really different. It wasn't just the slight swelling in your shirt, nor the symptoms that you attributed to the fast pace of travel and the crazy routine in Madrid. After a few days of feeling more tired than usual and having some morning sickness, you decided to put the doubt to rest once and for all.

The next morning, you took a pregnancy test from the bathroom, and a few minutes later, the two little lines appeared on the screen, confirming what you didn't even know you were expecting: you were pregnant. The emotion was intense and immediate. You laughed to yourself, tears welling up in surprise, and you stood there, absorbing the feeling of now having a precious and charming secret to share with Jude.

You knew he needed a surprise to match. After all, if the love of your life was going to find out he was going to be a father, it had to be in the most special way possible. You quickly planned a gesture that was symbolic and at the same time very much connected to the dream you both shared. In the following days, you sneaked out to organize everything: a mini-uniform of the English national team with the number ten and the name Bellingham on the back. You thought of every detail and, to make the surprise complete, you put together a kit with the uniform, the pregnancy test and a handwritten letter.

On the weekend, Jude arrived home after a hard training session, without thinking about anything. He was hungry and just wanted to rest. You smiled when you saw him come in distracted, already taking off his boots and adjusting his shirt. As soon as he sat down on the sofa, you approached him smiling and held out a small box with a red bow, which he accepted, confused.

—Is this… a present?

Jude asked, arching an eyebrow with a curious expression. You bit your lip, trying to contain your excitement, and shook your head.

—Go on, open it!

You said, with a smile that you could barely contain.

The eldest Bellingham opened the box and, when he pulled off the tissue paper, he came across the small uniform of the English national team. He looked at you with a surprised expression, not fully understanding, until he saw the pregnancy test. His eyes widened and his mouth opened in a smile of complete surprise and disbelief.

—Babe…? —He could barely speak, swallowing hard. —Are you… serious?

You nodded, smiling with your eyes full of tears.

—Congratulations, daddy!

You whispered, the words almost coming out like a melody.

He laughed, a surprised laugh, his face hidden in his hands as he processed the news. Emotion took over him, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight, long hug, laughing and crying at the same time.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Jude pulled away enough to look at you, his eyes brimming with happiness.

��A mini Bellingham… I can’t believe it! I’m already the luckiest man in the world just to have you, and now… Is this real?

You laughed, wiping a tear from his face.

—It’s real. And you know what’s funny? I think even your fans were already suspicious. But now, only the two of us know.

He looked at the mini-uniform in his hands, turning it over and getting lost in the details.

—I don’t even know how to thank you for giving me the greatest gift in the world, Y/n.

He kissed the top of your head, then brought his hand to your belly, still flat, but which would soon begin to show the first signs of this new phase.

You took the letter, handing it to him.

—There’s one more thing.

He opened the envelope carefully and read, still emotional:

"Dear Jude,

Thank you for being the best partner and the love of my life. I knew I wanted you to be the father of my children from the moment I realized I would do anything to be by your side. Today, I begin a new journey by your side, and I can only imagine how much we will love this baby. Our baby.

Thank you for everything, and thank you for being you. With all my love,

Y/n."

Jude could barely contain his emotion as he finished reading the letter. He looked at you, touched, and simply said.

—I love you more than anything in this world, love. More than I ever thought possible. And now... now there are three of us.

You snuggled into his arms, feeling completely at peace. From that moment on, your world was bigger, more complete, and the wait for that little Bellingham would be the sweetest of all.

#jude bellingham x fem!reader #jude bellingham x you #dorabellingham #jude bellingham #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x reader #football #football fanfic #real madrid #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham imagines #judebellingham #jb22 #jb5 x fem!reader #jb5 x reader #jb5 #football x y/n #football x reader

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iiotic · 3 days ago

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─── જ ‎` ‎𓂃 ‎ viktor sfw alphabet

𖦹 ‎quick disclaimer: generally fluff, platonic/romantic mix, gn reader mentioned, kisses, not proff read

english is not my first language, so i apologize for any grammar mistakes.

masterlist | nav.

A - Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Viktor isn't the most affectionate person that you'd meet. in fact he would be quite distant before getting to know you first, thinking that you don't deserve his time. However once he really gets to know you and start trusting you will he show his affection and appreciation through small acts of service.

B - Best friend (What are they like as a friend? How would the friendship start?)

Viktor is an amazing force to have on your team, however that might sound like. He's smart, loyal and trustworthy. I think that the friendship would develop a lot quicker if either A. you knew him since he was a child and still lived in zaun or B. you'd capture his attention and not the other way around.

as i said the friendship would start with Viktor being a little distant at first, but then he will start to appreciate you company and trust you a lot more. show him that you're trustworthy and really like him and he will warm up to you.

C - Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

In the beginning of the relationship Viktor was strictly against cuddles, it made him feel weak. However once you show him how good it feels, with him trusting you 100% he will change his opinion on cuddling. Viktor is slightly bony so hugging him wouldn't be the most comfortable thing, and yet it feels so warm and loving everytime you cuddle, you just can't complain!

D - Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I think that he'd like to settle down, if it comes to s1 Viktor, however there might be a little controversy. Viktor spends time at his lab 24/7 so he wouldn't be at home with you all the time. The times he is at home he is way too tired, exhausted even to help you cook and clean.

However if there would be a situation where either you or Jayce convince him to take a weekly break, with you, at home. so that he could relax and do domestic things with you, he would 100% try to help you with chores. (if his leg wouldn't hurt so much this day)

E - Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

I don't think that Viktor would ever want to break up with their partner, he will fall in love with one person so hard that he'd want to live with them his entire life. would be truly heartbroken if you'd break up with him.

F - Fiancé (How to they feel about commitment? How quickly would they want to get married?)

he would want to get married but wouldn't like to rush things, you know? he'd need to know all about you, whether it would be your weird quirks or just the specific shade of your favourite colour. about 4/6 years i think before he could propose, then the wedding in a year or three.

G - Gentle (How gentle are they? Both physically and emotionally?)

he always touches you as if you were a porcelain doll that would break under his fingers if he squeezed too hard. with you? he's the most gentle person in the entire piltover.

H - Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it and what is it like?)

Viktor hugs are warm, gentle and loving. they always make you feel heard and the way he holds you speak volumes, the unspoken words that could come out of his mouth don't need to be spoken anymore. despite that hugs with Viktor aren't often, yet he likes hugging you.

I - I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

you'd probably have to say it first, he'd say it back to you. it really depends when you will start saying it, trust me he will say it back every single time.

J - Jealous (How jealous do they get? What are they like when they're jealous?)

Viktor doesn't like the feeling of jealousy, he doesn't want to feel this way. Viktor is very insecure about himself, his leg, his disease and there you were talking to another men who's bigger than him, that you could easily replace him with, it makes his blood boil.

yet, he trusts you. he trusts you to not do something stupid. he will stay quiet, occasionally glaring at the person but not trying to make himself known.

K - Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

he loves being kissed on his forehead and nose. something about them is so romantic, yet domestic that makes him melt every time. he loves to kiss you anywhere really, he doesn't have a preference.

when it comes to kissing Viktor on the mouth, making out with him the kisses would be slow, slightly sloppy yet romantic enough for the both of you.

L - Little Ones (How are they around children?)

he's neutral about kids, he wouldn't like to have any children himself yet for some reasons kids always seem to like him

M - Mornings (How are morning spent with them?)

the rare mornings where you wake up not to an cold empty side of the bed, but with your beloved Viktor are truly an moments worth remembering. If there's no rush, mornings are slow, cuddling in the bed with the sun trying to get it in the room with the curtains closed, a few kisses shared here and there. domestic things.

N - Nights (How are nights spent with them?)

he sleeps a little stiff, cuddle him!! he's a little bony but its not usual for you to sleep together.

O - Openess (When will they start revealing things about themselves? Do they reveal things slowly over time or all at once?)

Viktor as i said before not once, not twice will be closed and distant at first yet once he starts trusting you more he might reveal a few of his traumas of his childhood, but you'd have to be deep into the relationship for that to happen. the moment would have to be right, almost fragile if you know what i mean.

P - Patience (How easily are they angered?)

he is not angered easily, quite the opposite actually. Viktor will be really patient with you and he'd like to recieve the same treatment from you in return. however if you'll insult his intelligence, work or make him feel bad because of his disability or diseases he will be mad. furious.

Q - Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail or do they forget the minor things?)

when this man is in true love he will remember every single detail that you mention, even accidentally. i don't like when people say that he will forget about important events for you two because he is a workaholic, i dont think he would. he will know what your favourite subject was in middle school, your favourite shade of your favourite color (the very specific one), your favourite flower, what zodiac sign you are, whats your favourite type of cake, what's your favourite ice cream flavour, the food that makes you gag when you see it, your least favourite season. you name it and he will know it.

R - Remember (What's their favourite memory of the relationship?)

probably the moment he realized he loves you or your first kiss. i don't want to dwell on it, but i might make a one shot or a drabble based on it.

S - Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

i hate when people say that he would need to be protected because he can't do shit himself, if you agree with this might as well block me. maybe he is disabled but he is totally capable of standing up for himself. when it comes to you? he will be protective, you're one of the few good things that happened in his life.

T - Try (How much effort do they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts and everyday tasks?)

listen, this man is tired so he won't put much efford into everyday tasks or such. But! he puts a lot of efford into the gifts or dates he organises for you two, might be so nervous that he forgets to give you the gift but praise him and give him his own kind of present and he will be over the moon if you know what i mean.

U - Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

he is a workaholic, overworking himself. sometimes forgets to do basic tasks like eating, drinking etc.

V - Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

he doesn't care about how he looks, i mean he cares but not to the point of trying to dye his hair or something. dresses neatly, sometimes his hair is a little out of place but that's okay!!

W - Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

if it would be really early into the relationship than absolutely not, but other than that. yes, yes he would.

X - Xtra (A random head cannon for them)

specific, hates jam.

Y - Yuck (What are some things they wouldn't like in a partner, or in general?)

someone who wouldn't support his dreams and ideas. someone sho would show absolutely 0 interest in his rambling. someone generally who is always negative and does not see anything good about anything.

Z - Zzz (What are some sleeping habits of theirs?)

snores, but like really quietly. wakes up late at night because of his nightmares sometimes.

#viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor arcane #viktor #viktor alphabet #sfw alphabet #x reader #arcane x reader #s1 viktor x reader

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willowpains · 2 days ago

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Hiii can u maybe do something like Drew surprising Latina actress! Reader to her home town and him meeting her family? 💕

méxico lindo

drew starkey x latina actress reader!

“Mami, ¿porque mi puerta está-(Mom, why is my door-)” you stopped yourself from shouting to your mom as you opened the door to your room, revealing Drew, your boyfriend, with a bouquet of flowers and a huge smile on his face.

Your hands flew to your mouth in surprise, as you gasped, truly in shock.

Drew had just called you this morning, telling you how much he missed you, and how busy he was with doing press for Queer, his new movie.

How was he here, with you, in your bedroom?

“Hi baby” he said laughing softly, looking at you with small eyes due to his big smile almost covering his entire face.

You slowly drop your hands from your mouth, still in shock, as you watch him approach.

With eyes moving between him and the flowers in front of him, you accept them, slightly shaking as he engulfs you in a hug.

He chuckles as he presses a soft kiss at the top of your head.

You lean back a little, enough to be able to look at him, the shock and surprise slowly dying, making room for the excitement and happiness of having him in front of you.

“Que, como…(What, how…)” you barely let out, your brain not even allowing you to speak in English to him.

Drew lets out a chuckle throwing his head back at your reaction, capturing your lips in a deep kiss before explaining.

“I’m glad you were really surprised” he says as you walk to your dresser to place the flowers, and walking back to him just to jump into his arms.

He sighs in content as he catches you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he walks you both to your bed, sitting down with you on his lap.

“I still can’t believe you’re here” you said with a smile, your eyes gleaming up at him. “You lied to me, you said you were doing press!” you playfully hit him on the chest.

A laugh escapes of him, as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling down at you.

“I have a few free days until the next round of press interviews” he explains, resting his hand on your leg. “And I missed you too much”.

You smile at him, reaching up to cradle his cheek as you press a kiss against his lips.

“I’m really happy you’re here” you say, breaking the kiss to look at him, softly caressing his cheek with your thumb.

He smiles, looking between your eyes and your lips.

“Me too” he lets out softly.

Your heart flutters as his eyes wander on your lips for a little longer.

“Was my mom behind all of this with you?” you ask, raising your brows up at him, as you throw your arms behind his neck, pulling him closer.

He chuckles, caressing your side.

“You know she loves me” he smirks playfully.

You push him fully on the bed until he falls back, smiling mischievously up at you.

“Oh yes, I know” you said as you leaned down, smiling dangerously at him.

Safe to say that was one of the best surprises he’s ever given you.

Drew had met your family back when you were filming season one.

Him and Madelyn had traveled with you to enjoy home for the few days of break you had.

And your family had absolutely loved him.

Your mom specifically.

Even when you still were just friends, she already treated him as if he was part of the family already.

And she never lets your forget how she always “felt” how you two were meant to be together.

Her instincts were always right, you had to give it to her.

“Ay Drew!” your mom shouts, standing up from the couch in excitement as she sees him, opening her arms ready to embrace him.

You giggle softly as he crouches down to hug your mom back.

“It’s nice to see you all again” he says, moving to greet your dad, who is happy to see him, but not as much as your mom.

Your dad shakes his hand after giving him a hug.

“Es bueno verte hijo (Is good to see you son)” he says as he pats him on the back.

A smile appears on your face as you hear your dad’s words.

He loved speaking spanish to him, he liked to feel a little in control with your boyfriend.

“Hey Drew” your younger brother lets out, walking out of the kitchen and greeting him happily.

They both get into a conversation about a video game Drew had recommended him, making you smile.

Your mom walks up to you, taking you in her arms, giving you a hug.

“You liked the surprise?” she asks, smiling brightly at you.

You nod happily, giving her a kiss on the cheek, making an exaggerated kiss sound.

“I loved it, thank you so much mami, I’m really happy” you say, giving her another hug.

She sighs, leaving a kiss on your temple, and leaning her head against yours.

The both of you watch Drew and your dad talking, while your brother listens attentively.

“Me encanta verte feliz mi niña (I love seeing you happy my girl)” she says, as she squeezes you a little between her arms.

You smile at her words.

“Sin presiones (No pressure)” she pauses, looking down at you. “Pero yo siento que el es el bueno (But I feel like he’s the one)” she lets out with a smile.

Your heart starts pounding harder in your chest at her words.

You had thought about that many times.

Him being it for you.

“Eso espero (I hope so)” you murmur, your eyes lost watching Drew smiling and laughing in your couch, with your family, in your space.

Being part of your life.

In your mind, you were already planning everything you were going to be doing while he visited.

All the new spots you had to show him, experiences you wanted to share, and all the time you would be spending together.

A smile appeared on your face.

Your family meant the world to you.

As well as Drew.

What would you do without them?

You were really grateful your family liked him.

Loved him, just as much as you did.

Because it just felt right every time you were all together.

He fitted right in, like he was always supposed to be part of you all.

And you couldn’t be more happy.

thank you so much for you request! I absolutely loved the ideaaa, and I hope you liked it<3

already working on a moodboard for this concept, I’m obsessed

I feel like I might start writing little blurbs and short concepts with different ideas, sometimes I feel like it needs to be this huge story for people to get into it, but short blurbs are also fun right?

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abbyclypsie · 3 days ago

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VOULEZ-VOUS! - 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐇 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍

WARNINGS: reader singer, a silly little thing made with love, english is not my first language!

It was a sunny morning in London, and Y/n and Leah Williamson's home was filled with an energy only a passionate singer could bring. Y/n, dressed in a sparkling outfit reminiscent of ABBA's iconic style, was bouncing around the room with a microphone in hand, belting out every note of "Voulez-Vous" with a passion that could ignite any stage.

"People everywhere, a sense of expectation hanging in the air!" Y/n sang, spinning in the middle of the room and dramatically pointing at Leah, who was sitting on the couch with her legs crossed, trying to read a book.

Leah, in her typical calm demeanor, sighed deeply and slowly closed her book. It was obvious her patience was wearing thin. She loved Y/n, but her love for ABBA was reaching its limit.

"Y/n..." Leah began in a calm but firm tone. "Yes, my love?" Y/n replied, still dancing as if she were at a live show. "Don't you think you've sung that song enough for today?"

Y/n stopped in the middle of a dramatic step, looking at Leah with eyes that sparkled with pure disbelief.

"Enough? Leah, it's Voulez-Vous! How can I stop when the spirit of the music lives within me?"

Leah rubbed her temples, trying to find the right words.

"Y/n, I love you and I support everything you do, but you've sung that song... like, ten times. Just today. I'm starting to dream about it." "That's great! It means you're feeling the magic of ABBA!"

Leah laughed humorlessly, throwing the book aside.

"No, it means I can't stand to hear 'Voulez-Vous' one more time. I was starting to like ABBA because of you, but now..."

Y/n put her hand on her heart, as if Leah had just stabbed a knife there.

"Are you saying I'm ruining ABBA for you? How is that possible? They're pure perfection, and I'm just spreading that perfection around the world!"

Leah stood up, walking over to Y/n, who was still holding the microphone like a weapon of defense.

"I don't want to ruin your passion, really. But... maybe you could sing something else? Anything else. Please."

Y/n narrowed her eyes, tilting her head dramatically.

"Are you suggesting I betray ABBA?" "No, I'm suggesting you give me a break. Just a break, Y/n. I need peace. I beg you."

Silence hung between the two for a moment, as S/n pondered. Finally, she lowered the microphone and sighed deeply.

"Alright, Leah. I won't sing ABBA... for now. But only because I love you."

Leah smiled, pulling Y/n into a tight hug.

"Thank you. And I love you too. Even when you're driving me crazy with Voulez-Vous."

Y/n laughed against Leah's shoulder but soon pulled away, raising an eyebrow with a mischievous smile.

"What if I sing Dancing Queen? It's softer." "Y/n!"

The two burst into laughter, with Leah shaking her head as Y/n took an exaggerated bow in the middle of the room. Despite their differences, that chaos was part of what made their relationship so unique. And Leah knew, deep down, that no matter how many times she heard ABBA, she could never stop loving Y/n... even if it was with earplugs.

#leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #arsenal x reader #arsenal

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profundcherrylady · 2 days ago

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SINGLE DAD!SAE ITOSHI

A/N: This isn't my usual content, but I was thinking about this scenario and I had huge baby fever so I couldn't NOT write it. I love Sae too much y'all. Also sorry for any spelling mistakes english ain't my first language.

Warnings: Mentions of death and grieving, Sae tries forcing his daughter to either eat her vegetables or go to school hungry (he doesn't go through with it)(this is a very brief scene but it could still be triggering to some people). STILL MOSTLY FLUFF I SWEAR.

Contents: Sae being a girl dad fr, y'all can't change my mind on this one, also Rin being an uncle. That's pretty much it. A little ooc (Rin mostly)

"Papaaaa" Mao complained, her voice echoing across the house and making Sae drop the dishes he was washing and walk across the house into her room to see what was going on... this time. Although he had a pretty good idea given her recent tantrums.

"Can't sleep?" he inquired, but he knew the answer as soon as she saw her curling up in her little bed and pouting, her doe teal eyes looking up to him as if to give him pity. "No, Mao, you cannot come sleep in my room."

"Why not?!"

"You've already been sleeping there all week... come on, you're a big girl, you can sleep on your own room."

"But I wanna be with you..." he sighed. It had seemed she had inherited his stubbornness, because sometimes it felt like there was just no way of making her change her mind when she was set on something. He leaned against the door a little, thinking about what to say that may change her mind.

"I know I was away for a while the last couple of weeks and I understand you missed me, but I can't have this conversation with you every single night."

"Why do you go away in the first place..."

"You know why, I have to for work." he countered, "And do not ask me why I can't bring you along, we've talked about this countless of times before. I don't go away for fun. If I bring you with me, you'll want to go everywhere with me and then you'll get fussy and mad because I'll be working all the time, or worse, you'll get bored to death in the hotel. Believe me, staying here is best for you when I go on business trips."

"But I just wanna be with you!!" his eye almost twitched in annoyance at the sight; he knew that tone of voice all too well. It was another tantrum coming his way, but still, he tried to remain calm for her sake.

"You're with me now."

"So can I sleep in your room?"

"No." then she threatened to start crying. He let out a low, defeated huff, holding back the urge to roll his eyes. She just wasn't giving up, was she? Pushing himself off the doorframe, he looked back at her before speaking. "Fine. Come on."

"This is the last time." he knew damn well that was a fat lie, but he still had to at least pretend to be firm. She would grow up to be a spoiled child otherwise, or at least that's what he was used to tell himself.

The little girl beamed, quickly jumping out of bed and running towards her father. She hopped with her arms up towards him asking to be carried, to which he complied. He wrapped his arms around her small frame and lifted her up, watching as she clung onto him as if he just came back from war or something. Could he really blame her, though? She had lost her mother and he was away all the time; it would be strange if she wasn't feeling lonely.

"Papa, sing me a song." Sae reconsidered his life decisions for a moment there, not gonna lie, but how could he honestly say no to those pleading eyes?

"Fine..." he sighed, his voice soft and low as he began humming whatever song he could think of on the top of his head. Still keeping a secure hold on her, Sae began rocking his daughter to further lure her to sleep. He held her with one arm so that he could close the door of her room, the soft click assuring him that everything was in order, and then started walking a few steps towards his.

By this point, little Mao was sound asleep on his arms, and he almost chuckled at the thought of his daughter refusing to sleep until she was with him. He carefully opened the door a few meters away and walked quitely to the bed, trying his best to not wake up the sleeping child on his arms, and set her down to rest. Once tucked in and comfortable, he let out a sigh of relief. Finally, the brat was asleep and he could be at peace. She could be so clingly and energetic sometimes... not that he cared that much, even though her restlessness was exhausting, it showed that she felt safe and loved enough to be her enthusiastic self around him without any regrets.

It was weird to him, like an unfamiliar sense of pride that surged at the sight of her young daughter bouncing around and playing endlessly. He would often look at her and think about how different her personality was from his, and how much it reminded him of her mother. Sae tried not to though, as he despised comparing his daughter to his late wife over and over again, but sometimes he just couldn't help it. From the way she smiled to the color of her hair... they were just so alike each other. He still kept all the memories from her close to his heart, which in a way made him feel guilty. Sae knew just how much his daughter yearned for a maternal figure; someone to talk to and educate her about girly stuff that he may not understand. He would watch her staring at the other kids with their moms and act like it really wasn't a big deal to avoid making him feel like he wasn't enough, but Sae knew better. It was obvious to him that his daughter absolutely adored him, and he was sure she thought he was enough, but he also knew that she missed having a mom. She missed her mom. He missed her mom too.

Normally he would avoid talking about it. It had been hard enough trying to explain to this small child that her mom wasn't coming home that night, or ever, let alone process his own grief at the loss of the only woman he once loved. If he cried, he had to do it when his daughter wasn't looking, because the last thing he needed to add to his worries was worrying his daughter to the point of avoiding everything that may set off a bad mood on him. It wasn't her fault, he just felt his heart break everytime he took her home and she pointed at a framed picture of her mom exclaiming 'Mama!' Or 'Hey mama', 'I'm back, mama', 'Miss you, mama'. He would hold back his tears and take a deep breath whenever she tried asking if she could visit her mom in the place she was at (as he initially had told her it was a place where she couldn't come back), having to explain carefully that she couldn't. She would get mad and ask why a bunch of times, but he didn't have the heart to tell her 'She's dead' straight up. He really tried to just give her an excuse like that she was sleeping forever or something, as if she was in the sleeping beauty, but then she just began asking if a true love kiss from him would wake her up. She was a child, after all, and she hadn't quite grassped the concept of death yet.

He let himself watch her sleep for a few moments, sinking in the stillness of the night. Taking care of a young child made this moments rare, and he treasured whatever rest he could get. He reached out to the nightstand and picked up the heater remote, pressing a couple of buttons to turn it on a bit; just enough to keep the room warm, as he knew nights at that time of the year could become fairly cold and he didn't want his daughter getting sick. And as expected, she got very evidently more comfortable as the room became warmer, falling into a deeper state of sleep. She had only carried her favorite bunny plushie from her room to hold onto and apparently that was all she needed to fall asleep. He plopped himself onto the bed as well and fell asleep almost instantly from the exhaustion of the day, not even caring about closing the door or the half-washed dishes he left on the sink or even the fact that he hadn't even changed his clothes. He was DONE for the day.

Although, the next day he most definitely regretted it.

He had to wake up early and finish cleaning all the mess his daughter had left throughout the day, plus now he had to make breakfast, wake her up and get her to school. Sae was a rather organized person and he would normally not find himself in this type of situation, but it seemed like ever since he became a father he was running short of time for everything no matter how much he tried to plan in advance.

"Morning." Sae greeted his still somewhat sleepy child as she yawned and climbed the chair infront of her to eat. "Slept well?"

"Mhm..." Mao mumbled, rubbing her eyes with one arm while she still clung to her favorite plushie with the other. He placed a plate on the table for her and then one for him, along with his usual morning coffee and the only damned brand of juice that she liked for some reason and that he had to drive for an hour to buy.

"Come on, eat. You have preschool today."

"Can't I skip? It's snowing so muuuuch." the kid dropped her head onto the table and sighed, clearly displeased about going to school.

"Apparently it's not snowing enough to cancel your classes. Now, please, eat."

He watched intently as his daughter took a close look at the food, pouting and feeling now rather down since she wasn't allowed to skip school. She took a couple of bites of her breakfast and she had a few sips of her juice, then she pushed her plate a little to indicate she was done.

"Thanks for the food." she was about to get off the table when she was interrupted by her father's stern voice.

"Not so fast. There is no way you're full with just that."

"Yeah I am..." such an obvious lie.

"Why aren't you eating? And I want the truth."

She pouted, AGAIN, before reluctantly giving an answer.

"It has green peppers on it..." and there you have it; this was the real challenge of Sae's day.

"I told you, they're good for you."

"But they're gross! Can I eat something else please?" this is Sae's life now. Even winning a soccer match was easier than getting his daughter to eat her vegetables.

"Mao, I spent a lot of time making breakfast for you, can you please finish your food? You still need to get ready to go to school. I don't have any time to make you more breakfeast; I have to go work."

"But... I really don't like them... please?" that was the last straw for him. He didn't mean to sound cruel, but he was tired and didn't know what else to say.

"Mao Itoshi, you're staying on this table until the last bite of food on your plate is GONE. If you don't, you'll go to school hungry and I'm not making you anything else after I pick you up. You are eating this one way or another." he almost instantly regretted the harsh tone of voice he had used, as he saw his kid's eyes begin watering. He passed his hands through his face in exasperation, took a deep breath, and walked around the table to pick her up. He exhaled, trying his best to remain calm before speaking to her again, as he could feel Mao's tears on his clothes and the little shudders she made at the effort to hold back tears. Sae patted and passed his fingers through his daughter's hair in a poor attempt to soothe her, but the damage was already done. She was holding thay bunny plush in her arms like a lifeline. "Sorry, okay? I didn't mean to be so hard on you. I woke up early to make your breakfast and you just took a few bites of it... I got frustrated, but that wasn't a reason to force you to eat something you don't like. I'm just saying, green peppers aren't the end of the world; they can be tasty."

"I guess I can eat them..." he sighed.

"No, you'll just be eating them out of guilt. You shouldn't do things you don't want to just because you're afraid of someone's bad mood." he thought for a moment. Mao eating the green peppers wasn't the ideal result now, she was hurt and vulnerable and that would only teach her that she should fear and comply which wouldn't end well on the long run... still, he did spend his time making her breakfast and didn't want it to go to waste. "Tell you what. I'll eat the green peppers for today, if you promise you'll at least try them next time, and I'll find another recipe to try to make them taste better. Sound good?" she nodded, still hiding her face from him by pressing it against his clothes. "Good. Now, I really don't have more time to make you more breakfast, so let's pick out the stuff you don't like just this once, and only this one time. I seriously need you to try to learn to eat your vegetables."

"...'kay."

"Let's hurry then; you still need to get ready for school."

Sae for sure was missing having some help on the raising of his daughter. He would never admit it though, he would try and pretend parenting was the easiest thing in the world when in reality he was fighting for his life everyday trying to shape this little human into a good person, and refraining from helping her while she failed at tying her shoe countless of times before admiting she didn't know how to do it (this is why he only buys her velcro).

He left the tiny sparkling pink shoes on the ground as he heard the doorbell, then looked at the clock hanging from the wall nearby. 8:14am, who in the world was it this early? Sae indicated his daughter to stay still on the couch before walking towards the door, and right after seeing the face on the other side he furrowed his eyebrows in surprise.

"Rin? What are you doing here?" his little brother then proceeded to push him aside and step inside as if it were his own house.

"Move, I didn't come here for you." his eyes traveled the room and eventually fell on the little girl sitting on the couch, and in a blink of an eye he had lifted the little girl up and hugged her tightly. Despite her surprise, she could obviously recognize her only favorite uncle.

To everyone's surprise, Rin absolutely adored his niece. Sure he had problems with his older brother but he didn't have to take it out on an innocent child that had done nothing to him. Besides, she was so adorable and bubbly and so NOT like Sae. Rin sometimes would stare at her in amazement, wondering how it was possible that this was truly Sae's spawn; yet the teal eyes and lower lashes were unmistakable. She was an Itoshi alright.

"Umclw Rwin!" her voice came out muffled, as she was currently being burried on his chest, but the sentiment was there.

"What are you doing here?" Sae was straight to the point, not caring about his cold tone of voice this time. And he says he doesn't have favorites.

"I just came back from my morning run." the younger Itoshi explained, still not looking at him in the eye. "Thought I'd stop by to say hello."

"To her."

"Yes, I didn't want to talk to your pathetic-"

"Language."

"Shut up."

"Don't hug her when you're still sweaty and gross, she just took a bath." he continued scolding Rin, earning a groan of frustration from him.

"Your dad is so annoying." his niece giggled at the obvious beef between his dad and uncle. She didn't really understand it but it was funny from her point of view. "Such lukewarm rules he has."

"Lukewarm!" she repeated.

"Rin, stop teaching her those words. Mao, say bye to your uncle; we have to get you to school."

"Awwwwww, can he come with?"

"Fine, whatever will get you to actually go to school. Rin, let's go."

"Don't boss me around." he complained, walking with his niece on his arms towards the door and setting her down. "Let's put on our shoes, shall we?" he took the shoes Sae had set down earlier and helped the kid put them on with ease. Of course, he had dealt with this countless of times before. Sae had the bad habit of using him as a free nanny for whenever he had to travel, which was often.

"Uncle Rin, how do you go running with all this snow? It's so cold!"

"When you run, you sweat and then it doesn't feel so cold." he finished tying the kid's shoelaces and took her by the hand, then Sae picked up a scarf wrapped it carefully around her neck.

"Don't take it off." he warned, watching as she began squirming to get away from the scratchy scarf. "It's cold out, I don't want you getting sick."

"Okay, papa." he gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before taking her free hand and not so subtly making Rin let go of her as he finally opened the front door. They were quickly hit by the cold winter air, and Mao shuddered a little at the sudden change in temperature.

Stil, Sae made sure his hand was holding hers tight and that she kept herself on his field of vision. There would be someday in the future where she wouldn't need him to hold her hand; he had to treasure these moments and not let her go while he still could.

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