#anyway that's the rough idea of the jerseys

[jaeyunluvbot]

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.

[lonewolflink]

Yeji (Captain): Home Jersey

Nayeon (Alternate Captain): Away Jersey

Ryujin: Third Jersey [for a special event, no spoilers]

[Home and Away inspiration] [Third Jersey inspiration]

[pure-smut]

pain and pleasure.

featuring: Coach Ukai x f!reader

contains: virgin!reader, college coach!Ukai, dubcon/noncon (reader is defo coerced), reader dumbification, power imbalance, missionary, groping, Ukai is not a good guy in this I'm sorry!!!

note: all characters are over 18!

MDNI | 18+ content

word count: 1.8k

masterlist

You can pinpoint the exact day Coach Ukai smiled at you differently than usual. His face remained as serious as always but there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. A hunger. You didn’t recognise it at the time but you flush regardless.

You haven’t been on the college volleyball team for long but you practiced four times a week, so you see Ukai often. His t-shirt is fitted against his broad chest and you would sometimes gaze at his forearms, not sure why you enjoy them so much but savouring them anyway. He’s the kind of coach that girls swoon over, giggling and whispering to each other, “He’s so hot!”. So, when you looks at you, hungry, you’re flattered and smile back.

“Y/N,” he calls as the team files out. “I need a word with you.”

“Oooh.” The rest of the team laugh as you blush furiously. “Y/N’s in trouble!”

It’s true you had missed a couple of spikes and you’re still working on your receive but nothing you think you’d get in trouble for. You linger awkwardly, tugging at the hem of your jersey as everyone leaves. Coach Ukai cocks his head.

“Relax, Y/N,” he says. “You’re not in trouble.”

He crosses his arms and trails his eyes over you. It’s not the first time you’ve seen that look in a man but it’s the first time it’s caused butterflies to break out in your stomach. You lower your eyes, wishing you could shake off your awkwardness. But you have to admit, you’re enjoying his laser-focussed attention, even if you don’t know what to do with it.

“However,” Ukai breaks the silence. “You haven’t been making the progress I expect from you.”

“Oh.” You glance up, crestfallen at the idea of disappointing him, but he doesn’t look overly displeased. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Ukai crosses the few steps between you. He’s close enough to make your heart start thumping.

“It’s nothing serious – I think you need to work on the theory more,” he explains, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m happy to tutor you in the evenings.”

You swallow, unsure what to say. Have you really been doing so badly you need extra tutoring. You manage to make yourself match his eye contact, aware of how much taller he is than you.

“Here’s my address,” he says, apparently unbothered by your uncertaintly, and passes you a piece of paper. “Come around at six.”

“Of course, sir.” You clutch the paper to your chest and leave quickly, breathless.

*

It’s a warm evening so you wear your sundress as you arrive at Coach Ukai’s house. He ushers you in quickly, showing you to his living room. When he offers you a glass of wine, you’re not sure but you want him to think you’re sophisticated so you agree.

You expect to sit at a desk but instead, he guides you to the couch where you both sit down. Ukai’s wearing an easy smile as he rests his arm on the back of the couch.

“You’re getting on well with the team,” he remarks as you take a small sip of wine.

“Yeah, I think so.” You nod, not sure what to do with your hands so taking another drink. “We’re friends.”

“And we’re friends too, right, Y/N?”

You nearly choke on the wine. Ukai smiles at you with that hunger in his eyes again. Not for the first time, you feel like prey under a predators’ gaze.

“Y-yeah. Of course.”

“I’d like to be more than friends.” He reaches out to brush a thumb across your cheek.

He’s so close you can smell his cologne. It’s intoxicating.

“More than friends?” you breathe. Your heart thumps against your ribcage.

“But it would need to be a secret,” he whispers, his face inches from yours. “Can you do that?”

“Yes.” You nod, closing your eyes. “I’d do anything for you, sir.”

Ukai’s lips are on yours, the roughness of his stubble at odds with the softness of his mouth. It warms every inch of you. He cups your face and pushes you back on the couch, putting both your glasses of wine to the side. You feel so small under his large form, so completely powerless under the weight of him.

Ukai kisses you deeply, hungrily, but with a slowness that suggests he’s savouring it. You arch your back, feeling so desired you want to close every inch between you.

“Good girl,” Ukai moans, moving from your mouth to your neck.

Thrilled, you raise your chin, allowing him better access to the delicate skin of your neck. He licks across your windpipe, leaving a trail of kisses down to your collarbone. His hand moves from your face down to the neckline of your dress, tugging it down. You only remember you’re braless when you feel the rough callouses of his hand as it closes over your breast.

“W-wait,” you gasp. “I’m not sure about this.”

You had never gone this far with anyone before, let alone someone fifteen years your senior. A stab of fear cuts through your excitement. But Ukai only continues to fondle you, his mouth on your neck.

“You wanted this,” he breathes against the shell of your ear. His fingers pinch your nipple in a way that sends a jolt through your body. “You came in here with no bra on, teasing me.”

Ukai’s words conflict you. Are you being a tease? Are you being unfair by flaunting your breasts and not allowing him to touch them?

Coach Ukai pays no mind to your hesitation, pulling down the neckline of your dress to expose both of your tits to him. You inhale sharply, the most exposed and vulnerable you’ve ever felt with someone. You automatically raise an arm to cover yourself but he grabs your wrist, pinning it above you. You struggle against him.

“Please, sir,” you beg.

“You’ve been throwing yourself at me.” He kisses your neck with a gentleness that contradicts with his rough words. “You want this so you can stop pretending and just enjoy it.”

You give one last struggle before giving up, deflated at his superior strength and his words. You had wanted this. How many girls would kill to be in this position with Ukai right now? He’s right. You teased him so it’s only fair you let him have his way.

Ukai feels you sag against him and kisses your lips again. You kiss him back.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs into your mouth. “Are you a virgin, baby?”

You nod, tears threatening to spill.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it feel good,” Ukai assures you.

He repositions himself between your legs, forcing them apart, your dress riding up to your hips. You can’t ignore the hardness presses against your mound and you’re thankful you kept your panties on, if not your bra.

Coach Ukai moves his mouth down to your nipples, capturing one in his mouth and sucking with his hand massages the soft flesh. Despite your fear, your body is getting aroused and you know you’re wet already. Your clit throbs and you find yourself grinding against his hardness, your hips moving on their own.

“You want it, baby?” Ukai pulls his mouth away and unbuckles his belt.

You nod, tears finally spilling. You hate yourself for it but you’re start to become desperate to orgasm. Ukai pulls down his jeans and boxers, just low enough for his cock to spring free. You look down but can’t see much in the semi-darkness and through your wet lashes. But you do feel it slap against your clit, causing you to involuntarily arch your back.

“Look at you spreading your legs for me,” Ukai groans, running a finger along my clothed pussy. “Look at how wet you are for your coach’s cock.”

Ukai hooks a finger under your panties and pulls them to the side, his eyes fixed on your glistening lips. A grin plays on his lips.

“You really want it.”

He doesn’t phrase it as a question but you nod anyway.

“Yes, sir. Please.”

You feel a pressure on your pussy as Ukai lines the fat head of his cock up with your entrance, keeping your panties pulled out of the way. He smears his precum against your lips, mixing with your arousal.

“If you want to stay on the team, you’re gonna have these tutoring sessions with me every week,” Ukai instructs you.

His thumb strokes your swollen clit, sending sparks through your body.

“Oh, god…” you moan, so close to cumming you can’t think straight.

“Understand?”

“Yes, sir. Yes. Please, sir.”

You buck your hips against his thumb but he uses his other hand to press your hips against the couch, keeping you still. He keeps up the steady circles on your clit, his thumb slick with your juices, and begins to push himself inside you.

You expected your first time to hurt but it doesn’t. You feel Ukai stretch you but you’re so wet, it only provides further stimulation. He pushes himself slightly further before pulling out and sliding back in again, going deeper each time. The combination of his cock stroking in and out of you and his rubbing your clit sends you over the edge.

Your body tenses as waves and waves of pleasure course through you. Coach Ukai keeps up his steady rhythm through your orgasm, keeping you pinned against the sofa. He groans as your slick, hot walls contract around his cock, squeezing him tight.

“Good girl,” he grunts, only removing his thumb when you start to whimper from overstimulation.

He leans forward, grabbing the armrest of the couch to leverage himself as he starts to pound at you. His hips snap against the back of your thighs as he buries himself as deep as he can go. Ukai’s previous measured tenderness has gone, replaced with animalistic desire.

His calloused hands grope your breasts roughly as they bounce under the force of his fucking. He slaps them and pinches your nipples, enjoying the feel of your firm flesh under his palm.

You let him do what he wants, still dazed from creaming on his cock, obediently keeping your legs spread for him.

“So fucking tight, fuck.”

Ukai’s breathing quickens, his cock throbbing inside you. You don’t have time to realise what’s happening, that he’s not wearing a condom, before he buries himself to the hilt and spills inside you. Your half-lidded eyes snap open as you feel him, hot and sticky as he coats your walls with a groan.

Ukai collapses on top of you, his face in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you, sir,” you whisper. “Thank you for fucking me.”

Ukai raises his head to kiss you, his softness returning.

“Every week, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

[zegrasdrysdale]

qh43 headcanons

fluff and smut

warning(s) : smut !

author's note : did i write 80% this while on my break at work ? absolutely (i was bored)

༺═──────────────═༻

fluff !!

you and Quinn were just friends at first

you both had crushes on one another for years though

then one summer you were both at the lake house in Michigan after you got an invitation from Jack and one thing led to another and by the time Quinn returned to Canada for the season, he was referring to you as "my girl"

Quinn keeping his captaincy a secret from you until it was officially announced by Vancouver and the NHL

you yelled at him about that

Quinn offered to get a C put on every one of his jerseys that you owned (which admittedly was a lot despite not being together for very long when he got the C)

you got tickets to the first Canucks home game to watch the captain's ceremony where Quinn got his new jersey

you surprise him after the game since he withheld getting the captaincy in the first place

he's a very big fan of kissing his girl. he'll steal kisses whenever he can, but especially when he comes back from a long roadie and you’re at his apartment

his love languages are very much physical touch and quality time. Quinn loves spending time with you and if it ends with cuddles, or a make out session, then he's very happy

you often visit him in Vancouver, most of those visits being surprises

you go to both Hughes Bowls even though Jack was hurt for the second one, and you wear one of your Quinn jerseys to both

you're very close with Luke and Jack and have been since you were all kids

you're also friends with some of the guys on the Canucks as well, notably Elias Pettersson and JT Miller

Quinn invites you to the All Star game in February and you accept. spending a weekend in Toronto with Quinn and Jack doesn’t sound like the worst idea in the world

you spend every summer at the lake house

Quinn gets you a necklace with a ‘Q’ on the chain for your first anniversary. you get him a chain with your name on it in return, and he wears it for every game

you beg him not to cut his hair or shave his beard and mustache after getting eliminated from the playoffs, but he does it anyway

Jack takes all the credit for your entire relationship since he is the one that invited you to the lake house the summer that you and Quinn got together

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

smut / nsfw !!

Quinn has a thing for you riding his thighs. he loves watching you get off using his thighs, and he’ll let you come as many times as you want

you think Quinn’s beard is hot so you never mind a little beard burn when he goes down on you, which is more often than not

he’s a giver. he’ll have you coming all over his tongue as many times as he wants. he’ll go down on you until your entire body shakes

you (not so) accidentally find out about his captain kink that neither of you knew he had. you had read about it somewhere and decided to give it a try one night …

and he made you come so much that you were in tears by the end it the night (oversensitivity is a thing that you wish didn’t exist)

Quinn loves when you use him to come. thighs, face, fingers, cock. it doesn’t matter to him

on the other hand, you completely give yourself to him if he has a bad game or a rough loss. he uses you to get off and blow off some steam, and you will let him

sneaking around the lake house to have sex is a big thing, especially at first. no one knew so the two of you would have to sneak off. then everyone knew so you were a little less discreet about it

there was boat sex on the lake once late at night one summer too. Quinn is not opposed to that happening again, but not when a bunch of people are at the house and notice when the boat is a mess

car sex is a big thing, especially when Quinn picks you up from the airport when he knows you’re coming to visit. he knows a bunch of spots to drive to so the two of you can hook up (he buys a bigger car and puts it to use in more ways than one)

lazy, morning sex !!

quickies !!

Quinn loves holding your hand during sex. he makes sure your fingers are laced together every. single. time.

༺═──────────────═༻

HC MASTERLIST

requests are currently CLOSED !!

wanna be added to the taglist ? fill out this form !

taglist : @dasiysthings @axaslee @ithinkimokeei @equallyshaw @dancerbailey3 @love4lando @prettyinsatiable @ivy-34 @bunbunbl0gs @marie7366 @naughty-box @memandi

[jasvtsc]

JASON TEAGUE HEADCANONS !!

warning! slight nsfw(?)

Jason has a soft spot for you and YOU ONLY !!!

he does not know French despite living there for some time and his accent is awful (he tries his best tho)

he’s absolutely addicted to pain au chocolat and it was his go to every morning in Pairs

he loves football and sometimes takes you out at night where he teaches you how to throw the ball on the field

he teases you at any given moment

his favorite nicknames for you are ‘baby’, ‘sweetheart’ and ‘honey’

Jason loves it when you call him a cringy nickname like ‘munchkin’ but he acts like he hates it

in bed he’s a F R E A K

rough kissing, manhandling, hickeys and bite barks? take your pick

you basically have to leave his place with very much visible and dark hickeys all over your neck to the point where you can’t cover them even if you want to

he goes down on you EVERY TIME — he loves it and he’s not ashamed

he gave you his old jersey and his jacket so you could proudly wear it wherever you go (he must stake his claim on you smh)

it absolutely turns him on when you wear his clothes — especially the combo of his jersey and boxers

hand on your thigh (sometimes between them) while driving is A MUST !!!

he’s a tiny little bit psychotic but he tries to be the best version of himself for you

he’s the jealous type — if he could he would absolutely go on a killing spree of all men that even looked at you

FLOWERS! ON! EVERY! DATE! you’re slowly running out of vases

he will NOT hesitate even for a second to spoil you whatever his sweetheart wants his sweetheart gets

role playing especially as strangers on some of your dates (he says it adds spice to your relationship)

his hand in the back pocket of your pants is a necessity — you can’t be further than a foot away from him

hii! so, i decided to try out something new (i have no idea what it is and tbh i don’t even know if i did it right lmao😭)

anyway, i might do this for other characters as well who knows

ily, bye bye <3

༄♡ tags: @internetitgirl17 @beausling @deanswidow @bluestrd @rubyvhs @aileenunfiltered @pearlzier

[lilgoblinbitch]

saw your post about rick and daryl, do you think you could write a rick TOWL smut with him angry that you left your post and got yourself injured and he takes out his frustration on you? idk why just had that idea after the recent episode😫

Grimes' Dominion 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

rick grimes x fem!reader

a/n: ahhh omg yes i actually had time to think abt this for a few nights. i added a bit of plot to this because i love me some backstory & descriptions. but anyway i made this pretty lengthy so if u wanna skip to the smut part just look for the '💋'. here is your plotty smut! lmk your thoughts ₊˚⊹♡

warnings: smut 18+, PinV, unprotected sex, oral/face fucking (male receiving), slight bondage, fingering, ass slapping, hair pulling, orgasm denial, degradation (use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’), language, mentions of blood and injury, angsty angsty angst!, reader is a mother, overall Rick is very rough so you have been warned

wc: 6k

MDNI

It was training day at your post. You had recently graduated from consignee and signed up to become a CRM soldier. It took you six whole years to get to this point. While your agility and militia knowledge were already unprecedented, the CRM didn't fuck around when it came to producing the world's most unrivalled soldiers. It was serious business.

Nearly eight years ago, you trekked a long journey down from your small community in southern New Jersey. You lost everything: your husband, your friends, and the people you lived with and grew stronger with through the grisly and dilapidated post-apocalyptic world. Terrible people – which were apparently becoming more and more common – destroyed your community, leaving very few survivors. It was you and your newborn child who managed to escape safely; you weren't able to go back to see if others had made it out. For almost two years you were alone, and your only hope left was keeping your baby boy alive...

Fast forward two years after the traumatic fallout you managed to escape, you discovered, or rather you were found by, a giant military in Pennsylvania, called the CRM. A military that bordered and protected a whole city of people – 200,000 of them. Out of desperation and maternal instinct, you bargained with the militia in hopes to give your two-year-old son a stable future. The CRM agreed to place your son in a 'nurturing fostering service' within the safe confines of the protected city – known as the Civic Republic of Philadelphia – so long as you swore to abide by the military's code and regulations by becoming a consignee.

Of course you agreed, because you were nonetheless terrified of what would happen to your baby boy if you didn't play it safe with this strong force. But for a while you lost it, you couldn't bear not seeing your child – they took him from you. You became defensive of your child, throwing yourself into dilemmas with whoever refused to listen to you. Except no one ever took notice of an angry and hurt mother because the CRM showed little mercy about their policies. And no matter how much force you put into finding hope about getting to your son, you'd always end up falling right back where you left off.

Soon enough you learned from acquiring an acquaintance that not only did the CRM take the only family you had left away from you, they were the ones responsible for destroying your home in the first place.

But now, six years later, you were predisposed to fight whoever and whatever got in your way in order to see your son again. You were a force to be reckoned with.

"No, you're doing it wrong. You gotta follow through, like this—" your sweaty hand maneuvered the heavy spear, sending it soaring through the air at high speed and finally piercing the bullseye of the target. You turned to the soldier beside you, who, to say the least, looked perplexed.

"What?" You huffed, blowing a loose strand of hair out of your face. "Ya give up? Need a break?"

"’Ey! Rogers, I'mma need ya to head back inside. We're gonna start sizing you all up for your new gear."

A brooding and strict man, Sergeant Major Rick Grimes, commanded the young man beside you. "Uh, yes sir," he saluted, then jogged toward the dome-shaped building.

Rick Grimes used to be a consignee like you were, and you even heard stories where he tried escaping at least four times. No one ever fled, or even attempted to, without failing. Escaping the hellhole was like trying to fit your right shoe on your left foot, it was entirely fruitless. But you heard all the stories about Rick, and how he got to become a leader. After the death of Lieutenant Colonel Donald Okafor, Rick was trained to replace his position by virtue of General Beale taking note of his loyalty to the military. Now, Rick was scaling further up the ranks. He was Sergeant Major, and in charge of the post you currently resided in.

You looked up to him, though, not because he was your leader, but because he understood you. He recognized how it felt to have your family ripped from your hands and not be able to do anything about it. You were able to bond with him. Most nights he would invite you to his apartment and the two of you'd spill your guts to one another over a glass or two of bourbon. That is how he got to know you, and see through your clouded demeanor that you kept in check. You were fierce and obstinate, because the place you were trapped in forced you to be that way, and truthfully Rick admired that about you. He was never able to relate with someone as well as he did with you.

Feedback echoed from Rick's receiver and he lifted it to his masked face, stating his position and whatnot. You crossed your arms, waiting for him to give you an order. "Well?"

He turned his attention to you, finally. "We need to talk." His one good hand snagged a hold of your arm and guided you toward a smaller brick-designed building, which you recognized to be the building that housed the high ranking officials like Rick himself.

"What do we need to talk about? And why is Rogers getting his gear but I'm not?" You struggled against his grip, a decision that ended with futility as his clutch tightened when you tried pulling away from him. You furrowed your brows and grunted in annoyance.

"Relax, sweetheart, you're not in trouble. Actually it's quite the opposite." Once again he faced you, stopping in his tracks as you both had reached the air-conditioned building. His grasp on your arm loosened and then reached for his matte black helmet detailed with red outlining. Your eyes darted across the room, taking in the essence of prestige and momentarily locking in on the various framed photos on the walls, which depicted a few recognizable CRM authoritative figures. One particular photo caught your attention, and you carefully examined it, discerning it to be Rick himself with a shiny black name plate decorating the bottom of the frame.

Your gaze finally diverted back to Rick, whose helmet popped off in a swift motion, freeing his slightly disheveled brown and gray curls, and his stern blue eyes – the spellbinding reflections to his enigmatic soul. And this man was undoubtedly a sight for sore eyes. 

The silence was disrupted by the shuffling of Rick’s boots, his curt footsteps leading him across the room. He pulled out a chair from the corner and without any trouble picked it up with one hand and set it down across from a dark wooden desk. “Sit.” He motioned to the chair, and then found a seat in the larger, more cushioned chair adjacent to it. Without a peep you sauntered over to the wooden chair and sat, folding your hands on the desk in front of you. 

“You gonna keep me on edge or are you gonna tell me why I’m here and not at training and getting my gear?”

His serious eyes bored into yours now, hinting that he wasn’t in the mood for your cynicism. “I brought you in here to tell you that you’re going to become Colonel under my order.”

You scoffed comically and dropped your hands to your sides, gripping the chair with force. “That’s ridiculous. Me – Colonel? Why?” 

Rick’s focus never left your unserious face – one that was twisted with amusement. With a slight tilt of his head, he spoke, “Because you’re one of the best fighters and you’re fit to start leading, I know it. And I trust you, so does Major General Beale. We both expect your habitual commitment from now on.”

While you were still preoccupied with processing this information, Rick reached into one of his sleeve pockets and pulled out a silver badge, decorated with ‘Col.’ followed by your full name. He slid it across the desk toward you and you scrutinized it before giving him a look of disapproval and sliding the badge back to him. You shook your head in defiance.

“No thanks.” 

He frowned and once again his frigid stare taunted you, something you’d undoubtedly gotten used to very much over the past few years that you'd known him. He leaned forward and for a second you could feel the steam emitting from his nose as he exhaled, eyes scanning your face for any signs of possible sarcasm. You were dead serious now, though.

“This isn’t an offer you can refuse. It’s an order,” the sergeant commanded, grabbing the badge reiteratively and this time placing it firmly into your hand. “So take it, and don’t lose it.” 

You remained perched in your spot, not stirring any muscle, just studying his face with the badge dancing across your fingertips. Rick was not going to take ‘no’ for an answer. “Now do as I say, and meet me in that meeting room over there, in 10 minutes.”

You snarled and swiftly rose, shoving the badge into your zipper pocket. Without even giving Rick another look you booked it out the door full tilt.

All throughout meeting with Grimes and Command Sergeant Major Thorne and overlooking your shared brigade of soldiers, your mind couldn’t escape the worry you had about your son, and how you were going to escape and find him. Your mind raced as you tried to recollect what the map of your base looked like, so that you could pinpoint which weak spots there were around the perimeter.

You recall a little while back which security took which shifts at each area of the southwest perimeter where your complex was, but it wasn’t all that simple since sometimes they’d switch shifts around. However, security officers periodically switched their attention to different areas at a time out along the walls, so you could use that as leverage to sneak your way around and cut a hole in one of the fences–

Nah. That would be too obvious, and dangerously stupid. You needed to really think this through – come up with a strategic plan. So that’s what you were prepared to do after your first night of training as Colonel. 

Sweaty and disheveled, you entered your sleeping quarters and kicked the door shut, immediately peeling off your bulky armor and tossing your heavy combat boots across the floor. With a satisfactory sigh, you trotted over to the shower and flipped the handle all the way to the left – you needed a steamy shower to filter out all the stress your body had been loaded with that day. Not only that, the steam would help you think, and you needed your head clear if you were going to figure out how to leave successfully that night. 

If you were going to escape – if. You needed to keep that thought in mind, because it sure as hell wasn’t going to be a piece of cake.

Frantically you shoved a handful of essentials into a black backpack – a lighter, duct tape, a pocket knife, flashlight, and a small glock you 'borrowed' from your trip with rick to the armory earlier. After zipping up the bag you threw on your combat boots and your gloves. You checked your watch for the time; 11:48 it read. The moon was scintillating in the sky and beaming with conviction. You took one last glimpse around the room to check if you had forgotten any extra tools or gadgets, and before you confirmed that you were ready to head out, you spotted something on the rusty gunmetal colored nightstand.

Inquisitively you wandered over to the table and examined a small, white folded paper. You unfolded it and inside it read, in urgent script:

“Meet me at my place at 11:30 tonight. Need to talk again.

-R.G.”

Too late now. Not happening. Besides, you were sure it was another booty call because for one, on busy task days like tonight, Rick often had a knack for ‘letting off steam,’ which meant fucking your brains out. Sorry, Rick, but my child is more important to me than easing your sexual frustration. And two, it was already reaching midnight…why else would he want to “talk” to you so late at night? Rick was just too obvious.

Speaking of Rick…

The man who shared his bourbon with you for the first time two years ago. That very night he had spilled to you CRM’s legacy and the nightmares behind it. The two of you bonded over your mutual grievance toward the antagonizing militia. Rick spurred hope in you finally leaving and finding your son; if anyone could help you escape it was him. But he changed – his interest in leaving the CRM no longer seemed to exist. After all, he was already climbing his way up the military rank. He was gaining power and respect, and that seemed to be more crucial to him then getting back to his own children. 

So, screw him. He had his chance to leave with you, and it already passed – because now you were tiptoeing out your apartment and being welcomed into the darkness of the night.

You were cautious of your surroundings, turning a few corners and eluding one or two officers. You noticed the southwest wall, which didn't look impossible to climb. You discovered a hefty pile of broken shipment container parts – bingo. And that's what you used to climb the wall. unfortunately your endeavor led to you stumbling and hitting both your knee and your arm against the metal object, then landing with your hands scraping against the unforgiving concrete. Fuck. What an idiot you were. Surely someone within about twenty feet of you heard you basically eat shit.

Gritting your teeth and whimpering from the twinge that shot through your knees and hands, you managed to put every fiber of your being to use and push yourself off the ground, only to end up on your ass with a humph. You winced as you peeked at your hands, using the flashlight from your bag to examine how badly cut they were. Blood leaked from multiple crevices in your palms, and you didn’t even bother paying much mind to your bruised knee or elbows because there was no time to dawdle.

“Shit. You need to get up now!” You scolded yourself, but as you tried standing up completely, your knees buckled. Well, at least behind this building it was dark enough for no one to see you, unless they heard you already…

Your alert ears picked up the sound of shoes marching upon the solid ground, and you cursed to yourself; someone was coming, but there was nothing you could do because they had already heard you most likely. “Just play dead, or pretend you passed out!” 

You heard your name being called out from somewhere behind you.

The pace of your heartbeat quickened drastically, causing your head to spin toward the voice. Well, shit. It was Rick Grimes himself. This time his helmet wasn’t on and he seemed to have abandoned his uniform. He was instead dressed in jeans and that black tee that always hugged his muscles so perfectly–

“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice boomed in your ears as he knelt down to your level, and you shivered.

You wheezed and resumed your pursuit of getting your ass off the wretched ground, to which you failed. Rick noticed the cuts and bruises decorating your injured body and his face softened. He sighed, gathering your belongings, and then in one swift motion he lifted you up off your feet, holding you bridal-style. You bit your lip to stop the tears forming in your eyes; your plan backfired, you got caught, and now everything was out of your control. You felt so stupid and useless.

Rick shifted around with you in his arms, taking one last glance at your injured figure. “Oh, honey. Let’s get ya cleaned up now.”

He had carried you all the way to his room without any hindrances, and the whole time you honestly thought about kicking out of his tight grasp, nailing him where the sun doesn't shine, and booking it out of there. But the way his strong arms cradled you made you melt into him.

Rick lay you onto his large – well, larger than your own – neatly made bed and pulled your shoes and socks off. Before he could reach your pant zipper to pull them down and examine your knee, you slapped his hand away, scowling at him.

“I can do it,” you promised, although of course your trembling hands reaching for the zipper illustrated a paradoxical story.

Not to mention, the stained blood and soreness reminded you that you needed to ease up on any further use of them. It felt like carpal tunnel. Damn, that concrete did some numbers on you. Your exasperated grunts caught Rick’s attention and he ignored your misleading comment, zipping your pants down and peeling them off himself. The look you gave him could have been detected as either annoyed or demoralized. Either way, your body was weary and your mind still raced with unrelenting thoughts. 

Rick brought back a wet cloth and a first aid kit he kept under his sink. Gingerly, he brushed the cloth over your battered hands and then bandaged them up. You let out a few pained huffs while he went to work on your scraped hands and busted knee with his doctor abilities. When finished, his eyes scanned your body, being certain he didn’t miss any other wounds or minor cuts.

You, however, were busy ogling him; his beautifully sculpted figure that was outlined by the black t-shirt he wore, and the scruff that layered his defined jaw, and the way his pink lips pursed as his rough hand prodded your exposed flesh – it sent you into a trance. 

He adjusted his gaze back to your face, and you snapped out of your trance promptly, painting that stern cast back on your expressive face. You recalled why you were irritated with him in the first place – he prevented you from escaping.

“Y’alright now? Gonna tell me why you were scurrying around past midnight with this bag on you?”

Your hard stare didn’t falter. He tsked at you and grabbed the backpack off the ground, unzipping it, and dumping its contents onto the bed. When he recognized the gun to be one from the armory, it was his turn to scowl at you.

“You better start talking before I get angry, sweetheart.” His body flexed as he folded his arms across his chest, eyes cornering you and making you feel small.

“I was–” you cleared your throat and sat up with your hands on your bare thighs, “I was going to escape, Rick. I… I need to see him…”

Rick lowered his head to the floor in disappointment, rubbing the bridge of his nose while his other arm rested on his hip. He paced the room. “You knew this was going to happen. We even planned it together, for fuck’s sake!” You pleaded with him, emotion spilling from your lips. You stared at his back, watching the way his muscles tensed. “I have a child I haven’t seen in years and I–”

“Yeah, so do I!” He interrupted, “But that life is over, there is no more escape plan pipe dream. Don’t you get it?!”

His pacing ceased, and he waited for your focus to meet him. When it did, he inched toward you daringly, almost wanting you to test his patience.

“I got you that ranking because I trusted you and expected you to be cooperative with me in this mission. I was planning on trying to convince Beale to let you visit your boy but that won’t be for a while. I need your trust in this,” Rick’s footsteps approached the bed, his towering figure intimidating you. “Do you understand? Look at me—” his rough hand pinched the sides of your chin to tilt your head up at him. 

Your lips cracked open to speak but truthfully nothing could be said in that moment. The tension in the air was heavy and laced with despondency. You choked trying to enunciate words as you felt your shoulders drop, and your heart chugging on. Soon you gathered yourself from breaking down in front of him, masking the persistent commotion going on inside the walls of your skull, and the unabated sense of dread pouring over your body. You nodded your head in compliance and Rick released your chin.

This was a confirmation that Rick was never going to let you get away. And if he did end up finding a way for you to see your boy, living under an unlawful and controlling military organization was not something you stood for. With or without Rick, you needed to escape with your son, using any proper chance that swung your way. But if it was going to be without Rick, you needed to be secretive. 

You batted your eyes at him, aiming to give him a reason to believe that you were officially yielding to him. The way you looked under him, all battered and desperate, made a spark ignite in his brain. You belonged in this position – underneath him, following his lead, and obeying his orders. He was going to need to show you how insistent he really was.

Your attention remained undivided. Rick stepped backwards a foot and took in the sight of you – your whole body and the way your thighs begged to be kissed and touched.

“I’m assuming you saw the note I left you, right?” His tone dripping with vehemence and his southern drawl rasping, relaying a yearning to your eager core, which you attempted to ease by clenching your thighs. He certainly did not miss that.

“So you were planning on not only ignoring my note, but being reckless and trying to leave this post and then, what? Risk getting caught and dying and never getting to see your son ever? You need to get your head on right, and I’m telling you this from experience, because it’s never going to work out the way you want it to, no matter how perfectly you think your plan will go.”

You gulped and studied your hands, which were thankfully stinging much less. You fiddled with the bandage, until Rick demanded your attention with his authoritative tone.

“This is the last time I’m gonna ask you to cooperate with me. Keep that in mind,” he warned.

Your front teeth bit into your pouty bottom lip as you struggled to make yourself look uncritical of his “plan.” Rick’s eyes targeted your every move as you, this time successfully, propped yourself up and off the bed, bending down to grab your pants which were sprawled out next to your feet. 

💋

“What were you gonna talk to me about, y’know….if I ended up showing up earlier?” You flipped the pant legs so that they were no longer inside out.

“I was gonna do this—” Your heart quickened as he neared you rapidly, his arms finding themselves exploring your body and causing goosebumps to multiply across your vulnerable skin. He dexterously greeted his lips to yours, catching you by surprise. The man was quick with it. 

You melted into the kiss while his hands continued to trace your curves, eliciting longing whimpers from your throat. You craved his touch.

Breaking away from the kiss, the Sergeant gave you no time to protest, spinning you around so that your back was facing him. Taking your jaw prisoner in the tight clutch of his hand, his hot breath fanned against your ear, making the hairs on the back of your neck come alive. “Originally I was going to fuck you gently, make you relax from your big day—” His hand slid to the middle of your back and he forcefully bent you over on the bed, scoring a small grunt from you. He took your pulled back hair into his hand and with a tantalizing tug of it, he pushed his clothed hips against your bare ass. “But now I’m not gonna be so easy on you, because you decided to go and put yourself in danger. Well, I’m gonna have to punish you instead of reporting you, hm? For your own sake…” 

Your heat practically leaked through your panties and down the inner part of your thighs. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you loved when he was rough with you. It stirred you up with the perfect concoction of salaciousness and angst.

Still, your alacrity temporarily repressed your aroused state and you barked back at him, “All I want is to see my son…you have no goddamn right to take that from me, Rick,” you cried, with your trembling hands supporting your upper body as he gripped your hips.

Rick delivered a firm slap to your ass cheek, then promptly straightened you up and turned you around to meet his sifting stare. You gulped, feeling submissive under his touch. You watched the way he contorted his face in vexation and you abruptly felt overpowered by him.

“In case you’ve forgotten you are under my command, and if you disobey me I have every right to correct you where I see fit,” he eyed your pout, huffing, “and I fucking told you already – you have to be patient, it’s gonna take a while.”

The hope you had was dwindling slowly, even though you really wanted to trust him. It almost felt like putting your full trust in him was equivalent to playing with fire. You couldn’t tell the difference between the two anymore. But ultimately Rick was right, you were under his command and the very least you could do at this moment was take his word.

His leer intensified. “Get on your knees.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and felt the command jolt through your body with a cogent nudge. You conformed to his request and scrunched your face in slight discomfort from your bruised knee making contact with the floor, but it was still tolerable. With urgency he unbuckled his belt and wasted no time in freeing his thick, throbbing length. The sight of his cock was not something foreign, as you’d slept with him many times; but the way he was so much more ambitious in getting his cock inside your mouth and feeling you gag around him, made you squirm.

The restless man bucked his hips forward, enjoying the way your soft pouty lips hugged his shaft so magnificently. You moaned softly, the vibration inciting a groan from Rick as he grabbed at your hair. “Gotta do more than tha’. I know you know how to be a good slut f’me.”

You took his whole length in your throat, feeling spit drip down your chin as you choked. You started to bob your head back and forth, becoming accustomed to the size of his dick and how it collided with the back of your throat incessantly. He took it upon himself to grasp your head and guide you up and down as his hips pushed against your needy mouth. Your tongue traced the veins that protruded across his length, as your head quickened its pace. His grunts echoed in your ears and you prepared for his sweet release when you apperceived the twitch of his cock against your tongue. 

“Fuck, yes…good slut,” Rick sung out as he thrusted thrice more, shooting his thick warm seed down your throat and riding out the remainder of his orgasm. He pulled out and stared intently at your lips licking up the remnants of his juices while panting. His hand patted your head in approval.

“You think you deserve to cum tonight?” He taunted, his hold on your hair taut.

You didn’t respond, but instead observed the way his muscles flexed when he lifted his shirt off his back, and how he flattened his hair back with the palm of his hand. You were getting wetter by the second, shifting your thighs in anticipation.

You stood up, tracing your hand over his bicep and fluttering your lashes at him enticingly. He smirked, recognizing that look to be your calling for him to fuck your brains out. Your hands reached down to lift your own shirt off, but he swatted them away in protest, throwing the shirt across the room hastily. All you desired was for him to make love to you, to comfort you and promise you that everything was going to work out, and frankly your sore muscles from training could use as much appreciation as they could obtain. But love-making wasn’t on the agenda for tonight.

Rick flopped you onto the bed, and effortlessly your panties were torn off and thrown next to your shirt. He kneaded your tits with his hand then bent over top of you to hungrily kiss your lips. Your fidgety hands stretched up to tussle through his hair but he broke from the kiss to pin both your hands above your head, rousing a dissatisfied whimper from you. The carnal man bent down diligently to grab his belt and release your hands for a moment, before grabbing your wrists and securing the belt around them.

Bondage wasn’t necessarily unfamiliar to you but you had never expected Rick to ever want to partake in it with you. Nonetheless, your core ached further for his touch. His hand went back to pinching your sensitive nipples, while keeping his ferocious eyes locked onto yours, and lowering his head down to your throbbing heat. The lewd mewls escaping your parted lips sent Rick into a frenzy. You bucked your hips up in an attempt to get him to do something, to give your desperate parts the treatment you longed for, except he just remained concentrated on the way you jerked and crumbled beneath him – he wasn’t even touching you anymore, and yet he had you folding already. How pathetic you looked.

“Rick, please do something!” Your pleas left him unphased. The only thought in his mind at that moment was how rough he was eventually going to fuck you. 

Finally, his finger swiped up your soaking folds and came into contact with your swollen clit, giving it a soft pinch, stimulating a ribald whimper from you and inducing your back to arch off the bed. “What d’you want, sweetheart?” His husky tone intimidated you.

“Need you, please. ‘M lonely,” You sniffed, overworked from all the teasing. He cooed in a mocking manner, and with two fingers he plunged into you, sending you into the clouds. 

“This sweet pussy needs attention, dun’it?” He curled his fingers upward, activating that sweet spot inside your squelching sex. With his thumb he circled around your sensitive bud, accelerating the speed of his thick fingers inside your tight, wet hole. Bliss clouded over you, and your head lulled to the side.

Rick hissed, dissenting your lack of eye contact. He yanked his fingers out all the way, giving a slight tap to your voracious cunt.

“Nuh-uh, eyes on me.” The glazed-over look you gave him was enough for him to give in and slide his digits back into your heat, this time being merciless by the way he finger fucked you with racking momentum. 

Your walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers, legs syncing with the rhythm of your swirling hips. Rick sensed your orgasm approaching – he ascertained that you didn't get to reach its peak by ceasing his thumb's labor and plucking his drenched digits out of your weeping center.

Your sensual clamors didn't go unnoticed; instead he hushed you, and bringing his mouth near your ear he rasped, "I decided that you don't get to cum yet. Not till I feel like it."

Rick really loved tossing you around, especially tonight. He arose, untying the belt around your wrists – almost as if he was showing mercy, but that thought was surpassed as he effortlessly flipped you around so your bandaged hands were gripping desperately onto the sheets, as if that'd prevent you from losing your grip on reality from what was about to go down.

Your begging hole cried for his further attention, causing you to become more agitated by the second. That is, until you felt his hard cock slap against your ass cheek, and his hips striking the back of your shaking thighs. The grumpy commander pressed his leather-sling gloved fist slightly against your upper neck, just enough pressure to ensure you stayed where he wanted you. You didn't plan on leaving, though – not until he fucked you to your heart's content.

He could take a picture right now, the way your ass pushed against his solid member so hysterically, as if your pussy lived to be stuffed by his cock. In that moment, it did. Rick grabbed his cock and lined it up with your welcoming entrance, collecting the condensation on his tip.

"God, just fuck me–"

One rigid thrust was all it took for you to fully engulf him. Your eyes rolled to the ceiling, stars eclipsing your vision while his thrust followed another one, this time much deeper.

Your whines bounced off the pale room's walls, alerting Rick, who hushed you with a growl, "Shutch'er mouth, the whole building's gonna hear ya."

A third thrust ensued, with the sound of his pelvic bone smacking against your backside and the echoing of your sodden cunt being governed by his greedy shaft. The wet squishy insides of your walls hugged Rick so magnetically, he almost gave in right there.

His pace picked up with each ram of his hips, and his assault to your clit. Your grip on the sheets tightened, bandages likely slipping off but that wasn't a concern. Shy whimpers were trapped inside your mouth as you gave it your all at keeping your lewd blubbers and cusses at bay. Your soft, muffled cries continued as he pounded into you strenuously and tirelessly.

"You're not gonna try to leave again, not ever." The thumping of his hips on your ass and him fucking you into the mattress was all too much for your brain. "I won't fucking let you."

You felt fuzzy. The dauntless rebel attitude you once had vanished, and now your were a blubbering hot mess under a relentless leader. His bulging biceps flexed as his leather arm continued pushing on your neck, the other hand groping your hip and then going back to flicking your clit as his cock rutted into your core. He fit you like a puzzle piece.

Your walls were pulsating and you sensed your climax approaching quickly. "Oh, fuck, Rick!"

"Don't you even think about it. So help me god, if you do..."

Rick's demands only filled you closer to the brim with pleasure, and you weren't assured how much longer you could hold it. His thrusts became sloppier and sloppier, indicating that he was probably close too.

"Mmmph–" You focused on grasping desperately at the sheets again, trying to fixate on the way the soft fabric felt against your hands and your face which was pushed into the bed.

Rick groaned out, whispering filthy affirmations as his pounding became more jagged and his grunts more urgent. "Wanna fill ya up, but you don'need another baby, not yet."

One last press against your clit and the band finally snapped, your juices releasing all over his cock, and his orgasm causing him to grasp your hips roughly as he used your dripping hole to help him ride out his own orgasm. He pulled out, releasing onto your back with a few strokes of his slippery member.

The bottom half of your body gave in finally, collapsing and being suffocated by the plush mattress. Your eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open. He truly fucked the energy out of you.

"You gonna try that shit again with me?"

With half-lidded eyes you simpered and muttered, "Not without you."

[coffeeghoulie]

you got some scrapes, but i'll piledrive you anyways

Ghostober Day #7: Hatesex

You are a prizefighter who is in love with a boxer. You say "It's a bad idea," and the boxer says, "It's only a bad idea if it gets in the way of our work," and you say, "Promise me you'll never pull any punches." The boxer swears they won't. But when you fight, the boxer always pulls their punches, and you never do. You're pretty sure this makes you a bad person. You're a prizefighter, and you do not love this boxer or anyone enough to pull punches.  -Gabrielle Zevin, ILYSFM Liner Notes

Dewdrop decides it then. He hates Swiss Truppe with every fucking fiber of his being.

He can feel Swiss's gaze burning into the side of his head through two thick layers of plexiglass. Pointedly ignores it. He knows what Swiss wants. Has bent over backwards and done this song and dance a dozen times. He just wants to get his dick wet.

Admittedly, Dew's been into it, but would rather die than admit it out loud. But after all of this? Swiss isn't going to get what he wants that easily.

Explicit, 6.1k. Contains rough oral sex/facefucking, fistfights, semi-public/shower sex, dry humping, degradation, biting, one slap, ruined orgasms, and no aftercare. Set in the hockey AU, but all you need to know is that Swiss and Dew are hockey players and they hate each other.

Much thanks to @kroas-adtam for arranging Ghostober, and also @askingforthesun for letting this live in their dms for two months <3. Tagging @forlorn-crows and @nocturnalghoul for more hockey shenanigans <3.

Title from Wonderful Nothing by Glass Animals.

Read under the cut or on AO3

It takes less than fifteen seconds for Dew to go from chasing the puck to beaten and face down on the ice with the air knocked from his lungs.

He's behind the Popestars' goalline between one of their defensemen and one of their right wingers five minutes into the first, scrabbling to get the puck out from where their three sticks are locked. They're bigger then him, but he's a lot defter, working the puck from between them and snapping a pass to Rain, who skates it in front of the net to try and shoot.

Following the puck, the defenseman chases after Rain. He doesn't matter though, because the right winger's still behind him, and Dew can feel him looming. He knows what's about to happen milliseconds before it does.

Swiss had leaned over the red line during warm ups, talking a big game about how Dew should be ready for anything tonight. Clearly, he's come to collect.

There's a hard shove, a hard line of fiberglass and carbon pressed into his back through his pads. He snarls before he can do anything else, gloves and stick already clattering to the ice by the time he wheels around. Swiss tosses his stick aside, dropping his gloves as he lunges in the same movement.

Swiss has a shit-eating grin on his face, hands curling into the collar of Dew's jersey as he pushes him towards the face off dot. Dew lunges, grabbing Swiss's jersey and shoving him back. The momentum of his skates gives him an attempt to struggle, to push him back.

He swings, the knuckles of his right hand colliding with Swiss's jaw. He takes it, head whipping with the blow. Dew snarls when it doesn't knock the grin from his face.

Swiss pulls harder at his jersey, swinging hard. Dew has just enough leverage to duck, throwing a punch to his side, where his jersey and the pads that cover there ride up, exposing warm brown skin. He can feel the way the breath gets knocked out of him, but Swiss keeps swinging.

He's angry now, lands two sharp right hooks downward across his cheekbone and jaw. Iron fills his mouth, something wet dripping down over his upper lip.

A third and fourth to the back of the head through his helmet. His blades slip just a little bit, his forehead pressed to the brown and gold of his jersey. He tries to fight back, he really does, but Swiss is a solid half a foot bigger than him, a fire burning in the dark of his eyes.

The next punch doesn't quite hit, hooking around his neck, and Dew shoves with the hand not pulling at the collar of Swiss's jersey. He snarls, snapping his teeth. He knows he probably looks insane, blood staining his teeth, dripping from his nose, something crazed in his eyes.

Dew swings as hard as he can, catching him straight across the face. He feels something give under his knuckles, probably soft tissue on the inside of his cheek catching on his teeth.

He barely has enough time to feel smug about it before his eyes go wide. His skates scrabble against the ice. Swiss grins, yanking hard at the black and teal mesh clenched in his fist, pulling him to the ice by the collar.

Dew can barely catch himself with his hands, the visor of his helmet smacking against the ice. His head rattles inside his helmet like he's taken a puck to the temple. He thinks he might end up with a shiner after this one. The chill radiating from the ice feels good against his throbbing cheekbone and nose.

It's only a momentary reprieve.

Swiss follows him down with the momentum of his swing, his last punch landing square between his shoulderblades. It knocks the breath from him, wheezing on the ice as the blow shoves him into it. His knee lands on the back of his as Swiss falls on top of him, and Dew can't bite back a yell as his joint is pressed further into the unforgiving surface of the ice.

Thankfully, the refs pull Swiss off of him then. As Dew hauls himself to his feet, legs still a little wobbly under him, he feels a big, ungloved hand rest on the small of his back through his pads and jersey. Concerned. Gentle.

The fire inside of him reignites. Because how fucking dare he? How fucking dare Swiss pretend to care after humiliating him and beating the shit out of him?

Dew's about ready to lunge back at him, threat of expulsion be damned, when the ref passes him over to Aether. He's still pissed, but just Aether's gloved hand on his arm is enough to temper the flames.

For now.

"You good?" Aether asks, grey eyes scanning over Dew's face with a look of real worry behind them. Dew won't get a good look at the damage until intermission, but with the way his face aches, he reckons he's well on his way to black and blue. Blood still trails down his upper lip, salty and metallic where it drips into his mouth. His nose doesn't feel broken, but he won't be sure until the physical trainer checks him out.

Dew nods, swallowing hard as one of the refs skates up to the two of them to escort Dew to the box. "Nothing I can't deal with."

He glances over his shoulder, glaring at Swiss. The right winger grins, smug and infuriating, and Dew sneers at him with reddened teeth. Swiss's bottom lip, to Dew's sick delight, is bloody too. There's some kind of look in his eyes, but Dew's too pissed off to pick it apart for some semblance of meaning.

He sits in the box, wiping sweat and blood from his face on the towel handed to him. Watches the replay on the big screen. How he fell to the ice in glorious, humiliating slo-mo.

Dewdrop decides it then. He hates Swiss Truppe with every fucking fiber of his being.

He can feel Swiss's gaze burning into the side of his head through two thick layers of plexiglass. Pointedly ignores it. He knows what Swiss wants. Has bent over backwards and done this song and dance a dozen times. He just wants to get his dick wet.

Admittedly, Dew's been into it, but would rather die than admit it out loud. But after all of this? Swiss isn't going to get what he wants that easily.

Dew fumes for the rest of the game, arms crossed over his chest during the first intermission. The physical trainer appraises him as good to keep playing, and that's all Dew really cares about. He tries to keep his anger in the back of his mind, save it for later and keep it from affecting his performance. He's a professional, for fuck's sake. Aether's voice reminding him for the seventeenth t he's a hockey player, not a boxer, echoes in his head. He can be level-headed. Cool, calm, and collected. Dew takes a deep breath.

Unfortunately for Dew, Swiss's smug, holier-than-thou expression is burned into his mind and it pisses him off.

When the buzzer calls the game, Dew's one of the last players off the ice. Aether claps him on the back in the tunnel as they make their way back to the locker rooms. "You did great tonight," he praises, but Dew barely hears it.

He has to bite his lip to keep from making a noise. Aether's hand landed right where Swiss's last punch did. Dew swallows hard, nudges his shoulder into Aether's. "So did you, that powerplay shutdown was great," he laughs, praying Aether doesn't hear the sharp edge in his voice.

Anticipation settles deep in his gut, mixing with the residual anger and frustration and turning into the low burn of arousal. Aether doesn't need to know about that.

Dew only gets in the shower after everyone else has left. He takes a deep breath as the pipes creak, slowly filling the space with steam as he strips down, piling his clothes on the shelf outside the shower stall. The water feels good on his sore muscles, the bruises certainly forming across his face.

He carefully washes off the rest of the blood crusted around his nostrils, hissing with sensitivity as the tender flesh stings. Dew knows the clock is ticking, quickly rinsing the rest of the sweat from his hair and skin.

Dew does not jump when he feels two big hands clamp onto his waist, thank you very much. They're so big that they nearly wrap all the way around, thumbs at the small of his back. He's shoved bodily towards the shower walls, and the anger banking in his gut rakes back up into roaring flames.

"Hey, spitfire," Swiss croons, and Dew twists to face him, snarling like something wild. He shoves hard again, Dew's back slamming against the cold tile wall. Dew at least has the satisfaction of seeing the mottled bruise forming across his left cheek, spilling down across his jaw.

"Fuck off," he spits, shoving back at Swiss's shoulders. He doesn't quite have the leverage he needs, and Swiss laughs as he's only pushed back a few inches into the spray. The water beats down on them, plastering Swiss's dark curls to his forehead.

"Thought I beat the fight out of you," he says, digging his fingers into pale skin. He presses painfully hard against Dew's hipbones, and he snarls again to cover the yelp of pain he wants to let out.

"Takes more than five punches to do that, jackass. You should fucking know better than that by now."

He shrugs, shoving Dew back against the ceramic and looming over him. He shoves a solid thigh between Dew's, nothing but cruel pressure. He flashes that stupid fucking infuriating grin, laughing in disbelief. "Putting up such a fight like you don't want this, and you're already hard," he mocks, digging into the metaphorical bruise as he presses his thigh harder. "Come on, spitfire, all you gotta do is say the word, and I'll make you feel so good."

Dew pants. The sensation already borders on too much too fast, despite the way his cock throbs against the solid muscle.

Any other night, exhausted and sore, he might be more likely to roll over and let Swiss have his way with the softness of his underbelly. Tonight though? After being beaten and dragged to the ice and pinned down in front of the entire arena? Dew's not feeling that submissive.

He shoots a hand up and grabs under Swiss's jaw, fingers digging into his bruised cheek. He shoves Swiss's head back and up. It shoves him back, easing the pressure between his legs. Dew almost mourns the loss.

Almost.

Dew's laughter echoes around the showers as Swiss sputters, water spraying him right in the face. It's cut off by Swiss's hand flying to his throat. He squeezes just hard enough to turn his laugh to a wheeze.

"Aww, peewee couldn't stay on his skates and now he's mad," Swiss mocks, voice childish and lips pursed with the force of Dew's grip. "Ice is swippery."

Dew sees red. He digs his blunt nails into the bruise on Swiss's cheek, pushing harder and harder on the outside of where he bit his cheek during the fight. The grunt the taller man lets out goes straight to his dick, but he ignores it. His other hand flies to Swiss's side, to where the other hit Dew had landed. He hopes it's tender. Dew didn't get a chance to see if that one had bruised before he had been shoved to the wall.

Swiss grunts. His eyes squeeze shut, Dew's fingers pressing dimples into his warm brown skin.

"Shut the fuck up, asshole," Dew hisses, eyes narrowing as Swiss lets go of his throat, hands up in surrender.

"Easy, spitfire," Swiss says, trying to look down at Dew from the angle he's forced his head back.

"Don't you dare 'easy, spitfire' me," Dew spits, squeezing harder. "I'm sick and fucking tired of you thinking that I'm just going to roll over like a fucking dog because you push me around. Newsflash, jackass, I can do that too."

Swiss tries to wrench his head free, but Dew pushes his head back until he can see the tendons straining with the stretch, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. Dew realizes with giddy delight that Swiss is nervous. "Let go of me and I'll make it real good for you," Swiss says, words still mumbled through pursed lips.

Dew laughs, pushing. Swiss steps back, foot slipping on the slick tile, some tacky teal pattern. His eyes flash wide and he scrabbles at Dew's shoulders seeking stability. "Yeah? You'll make it good for me?" Dew snaps, using Swiss's loss of balance to spin them around with ease.

Swiss skids on the tile, grunting as his back slams into the shower wall with a heavy thud. Dew doesn't relent his grip, glaring daggers at him.

"I don't need you to make it good for me. I can do that myself, my hand's just as good as you," Dew snaps, pushing harder and harder at Swiss's jaw, pinning his head to the tile. "Fucking better, even. What I need you to do, Swiss, is to fucking listen to me for once in your goddamn life. Kneel."

Swiss sputters, shoving wet curls off of his forehead and pushing forward into Dew's grip. He doesn't seem to care that he's choking himself. "Why the hell'd I listen to you?" he snaps, the fire coming back into his eyes.

Dew glances down lightning quick, smirking. "Because I'll make it good for you," he coos, throwing his words right back at him. "You're so hard, that looks like it hurts."

Swiss snarls, a big hand wrapping around Dew's wrist like he means to wrench himself free. Dew just smirks. His other hand presses hard into the mottled bruise forming on Swiss's side, something he'd noticed with glee when he'd glanced between his legs. Swiss's knees buckle, grunting angrily at the pain. It gives Dew enough leverage to shove him back against the wall. His head hits the wall a little harder than he meant to, but he's too angry to give a shit.

"You're fighting this like you don't want me to make you cum," Dew growls, the hand still grabbing Swiss's face pulling down. "Get on your knees."

"Fine. I'll indulge you." Swiss goes with it, glaring hard as he drops to one knee and then both, sinking below Dew's eye line. It's rare Dew gets to look down at him like this. It's nice. He could get used to this, even if the scowl on Swiss's face isn't quite the expression he wants to see.

"You're not going to indulge me," Dew says, finally letting go of Swiss's face. "You're going to behave for once in your fucking life."

Swiss sneers up at him, baring all of his too-white teeth. Dew doesn't have time to react before he's lunging forward. A burst of white-hot pain shoots through him.

"Fuck!" Dew yells, echoing around the showers. If any one of his teammates were still in the locker room, he's sure they'd have heard it. He grabs a handful of soaking wet curls and shoves Swiss's head back violently. He hits the wall, and he snarls at the impact.

Dew glances down at the bitemark on his hip, already red and angry and throbbing with his pulse. He swears he can count Swiss's fucking teeth embedded into his skin. "You piece of fucking shit! I was going to let you cum, but you went and fucked that up for yourself."

Swiss, for what it's worth, stays on his knees. There's a dazed, almost surprised look in his eyes, and Dew grins wildly. "How's it feel?" he sneers, tightening his grip in Swiss's hair. "Lookin' up at me for a change."

Swiss yanks back, pulling at the hand in his hair and hitting the tile wall with a thud. Clarity comes back to his eyes, steeling and turning dark. "Don't make a habit of this, spitfire. Think you're all high and mighty?"

Dew leans down, not loosening his grip in his curls. He gets so close that the bridges of their noses press together uncomfortably. "Oh, no, not at all. I just think you need to be put in your fucking place."

Swiss tries to lunge and bite again, but Dew intercepts him with a filthy kiss, licking at the roof of Swiss's mouth. He feels more than hears Swiss groan, the water still pouring down over them in a rush, the pipes protesting as steam floods the room.

"Here's the plan, spitfire," Dew snarls as he pulls back. "You're going to stay right here, and it's my turn. I've had a rough game. I deserve a little relief. And what'dya know? I got somebody fucking desperate for me right here. Now, if that's not true, the floor's yours. Speak up or hold your peace."

Dew's grin only twists wider as Swiss, for once in the entire time Dew has ever known him, stays quiet. He splutters, blinking water out of his eyes, but doesn't protest.

"Damn, if I had known you were this desperate to be a fucking slut, I would have gotten you on your knees ages ago," Dew says, shoving his wet hair out of his face. "Picks fights to turn himself on and doesn't care how he gets off, doesn't he? You'd fucking let me do anything I wanted to you as long as I made that dick cum."

Swiss spits out more water, growling as Dew yanks at his hair, twisting his head this way and that. "I'm playing nice, Dew," he snaps. "What do you want from me?"

"I think I should give you some rules," Dew says, leaning back and letting his gaze rake down Swiss's chest, the way droplets of water cling to his chest hair. "I mean. If you don't break them the way you break the rules out there. All of the cross checking and slashing and roughing. Tsk. Dunno how you're worth anything to your coach, you spend more time in the box than doing your job."

Swiss stares up at him, chest heaving as he pulls against Dew's unyielding grip in his hair. He snarls at the pain, panting even though he hasn't really been touched yet. His cock rests hard against one of his thick thighs, precum dripping and mixing with the water as it's washed away and down the drain. "I'll follow rules," he pants. "I promise I'll follow the rules."

Dew barks out a laugh, the sound bouncing around the tile.

"Don't talk. That's it. Just one rule," Dew snarls, leaning down until his forehead is pressed against Swiss's. "Do you think you can handle that much?"

"Yeah, I can handle that. I can be good. Please, I can be good," Swiss says, a pleading tone in his voice that Dew's never heard before. He wouldn't mind hearing it again. But-

"Damn, you really are a whore," Dew laughs. "All I need to do is pull you around a little bit and you're already fucking begging. Taste of your own medicine, huh? I just fucking told you the rule, dumbass. Don't fucking talk."

Swiss blinks, his jaw clenched tight as his eyes widen. Dew pulls at the fistful of curls and laughs as Swiss winces.

"Yeah, that's right, you dumb slut. One fucking rule, and you don't last five fucking seconds before you're running your big mouth." Dew crouches down, his other hand grabbing Swiss's jaw, digging into the bruised skin. "Don't worry, spitfire. I can help you. I'm a good guy, let me help you follow the one fucking rule I set. Your mouth's good for other things than talking, I'd bet that much."

Swiss's pupils blow dark and glassy, and he groans, leaning into Dew's hand. He nods. Dew grins, something glinting in the sharp blue of his eyes.

Swiss looks good on his knees. Dew can't deny it. Swiss looks even better when he's stunned.

He reels from the slap across his already bruised face, a sharp grunt escaping him, but he looks back at Dew, expectant. For what, Dew's not sure. Another slap? Another reprimand? Another order?

Dew stands, scoffing at the dumb look in Swiss's eye. "Open your mouth, Swiss."

Swiss finally breaks eye contact, gaze dropping to the sharp lines of Dew's hip, where his cock juts out proud and ruddy. He hesitates longer than Dew allows him. Dew reaches down and gives himself a few pumps.

"I said, open your fucking mouth."

Swiss shudders, letting his jaw fall open. He stares up at Dew, shifting on his knees. Tentatively, he reaches up and curls his hands around Dew's thighs, fingertips just barely dimpling the skin.

The room spins as Dew gets a glance of pink tongue. Shiny and wet with spit and the water running down his face. Dew takes himself in hand, squeezing the base. A bead of pre forms at the tip.

Dew pulls at Swiss's hair again, adjusting the angle of his head like he's just a toy for Dew to get off with. "Oh, one more thing."

Swiss blinks up at him, mouth open obediently. The tip of Dew's cock is mere inches away from his lips.

"If you even fucking think about touching yourself, I'm fucking leaving you here and getting off myself," Dew snaps. He doesn't give Swiss a moment to respond before he's shoving in.

Swiss gags, his eyes going wide at the intrusion. Dew pulls him further down until his nose is buried in sparse brown curls. Despite his shock, Swiss moans, lips sealed around the base of Dew's cock.

"Mmm, that's good," Dew groans, holding him down. Dew's a solid mouthful, though not as big as Swiss himself, but he's enough to struggle on. He squeezes his eyes shut, tipping his head back and letting the water wash over his face.

Swiss squeezes hard at his thighs, his throat working frantically around Dew's cock as he holds him down.

Dew pulls him off, and Swiss wheezes, coughing as oxygen rushes his system. "Fuck," he sputters, shifting on the wet tile. He tries to shake the water out of his face, the shower still pouring down over them.

Dew glances down, a wicked grin on his face as he sees Swiss get harder in his lap. "Damn, you're a whore," he taunts, nudging a bony shin between Swiss's thighs, nudging at his cock. He watches Swiss's too white teeth dig into his bottom lip at the touch. "Nope, nuh-uh, keep your mouth open."

It's addicting how quickly Swiss obeys. It makes Dew's head spin, or maybe it's just the hot water making his skin turn ruddy. Or is it just the heat of Swiss's mouth? Dew doesn't know, and he frankly couldn't care less.

He sets a fast pace, both of his hands settling on the sides of Swiss's head, fingers dug into his curls as he drags him up and down the length of his cock. Each pull punches a wet, choked noise from Swiss's throat.

The sound of the rushing water isn't close to enough to cover the obscene noises they're making. Dew groans each time the head of his cock pushes down Swiss's throat, the muscles working and squeezing around it.

"Fuck, that's it, just let me use you," Dew rambles as he shoves Swiss's head down. His lips seal around the base, tongue rubbing the vein along the underside as he finds out how Dew likes it.

Swiss groans, hollowing his cheeks and glancing up through thick, dark lashes. To Dew's delighted surprise, he's actually quite obedient with his mouth full. He hasn't made a single move to try and touch himself, hands still on Dew's thighs, squeezing the muscle as he tries to keep himself grounded.

"See, I knew you could behave," Dew snarls, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust. Swiss gags hard, brown eyes wide as blunt fingernails dig into Dew's skin. "Such a good boy with a cock in your throat, huh?"

Swiss can't answer. He groans, trying to suck harder as Dew manhandles him.

Dew throws his head back as the vibrations race up his spine, shorting out his nerves. "Dunno why I haven't done this before," he grunts, pulling Swiss back until only the tip is in his mouth. Dutifully, or a little drunk on it, Swiss sucks on it, tonguing at the slit like it's candy. "Your mouth is fucking sin, Swiss."

Swiss inhales wetly, struggling to keep his eyes open as the shower keeps pouring over them. The noise he makes when he tastes Dew's pre goes straight to his balls. As does the slick pop when he pulls out of Swiss's mouth completely.

Even as Swiss sucks in a breath, he almost whines, sharp and desperate. "What- No- Let me-"

"One fucking rule!" Dew roars, eyes burning like blue flame. "Shut your fucking mouth! It's not that fucking hard!"

Swiss's chest heaves as he leans back, letting the back of his head rest against the tile. Water washes over him, and he shuts his eyes.

Dew can't lie to himself. Swiss is a fucking vision, even disheveled and debauched. Still a little bit of blood crusted in the places the water hasn't hit. Bruised but with a light in his eyes that still refuses to be completely broken down.

"Do you know how many times you've made a mess of me, Swiss?" Dew asks, carding his spindly fingers through Swiss's soaked curls. Swiss almost preens into the touch.

He, very wisely, keeps his mouth shut, panting through his nose.

"I think I should return the favor, huh? Would you like that?" Dew taunts, keeping himself just out of range of Swiss's mouth. "For me to just use you the way you've been using me, and just leave you when I'm done? I think that's still too good for you. Open your mouth, tongue out."

It makes Dew's head spin to see how quickly Swiss obeys. Eyes glassy and tear filled, black instead of brown, tongue a shock of pink against his swollen bottom lip. Dew's quick to slap the tip of his cock against it. Both of them groan obscenely at the sound, Swiss's eyes fluttering shut before flying back open, his own cock kicking hard against his thigh.

The pang of lust that shoots through Dew at the sight makes him let go of himself, afraid he'll spill if he doesn't. He steadies himself for just a moment before he takes himself back in hand, squeezing the base hard before stroking himself furiously. He laughs when Swiss licks his swollen bottom lip and whines. A grown man, on his knees whining for cock. Dew makes sure to let him know just how fucking pathetic he's being.

Dew bites his lip hard enough to bleed, his other hand bracing himself against the shower wall. "You look so fucking good like this, fucking slut. What're you playing hockey for when this is clearly what you were meant for?"

Swiss's eyes flutter up, showing Dew the whites as he groans. His own dick visibly throbs against his thigh, and his hands loosen their grip on Dew.

"Good slut, following the rule," Dew coos sarcastically, twisting his wrist at the head of his dick and hissing through his teeth as the bolt of pleasure zips through him. "You want it? You gonna be good and make me cum?"

Swiss locks eyes with him, shifting on his undoubtedly sore knees with the slightest wince. He opens his mouth to speak but seems to remember himself; his jaw snaps shut with a click of teeth that must hurt. Swiss nods instead, shaking droplets of water from his hair with the franticness of it.

Dew laughs, hips stuttering into his own hand. The water is a poor lubricant, Swiss's spit and his own pre a little better. "I'll fight you every game if it means I get to have you like this after," Dew confesses, lust making his head spin in ways he's not sure if he likes or not. "Let you beat me into the ice if you get on your knees like a whore in penance."

Swiss doubles forward like he's been punched in the gut; Dew can feel the hot puffs of breath against his thigh, Swiss's forehead pressed to the bitemark he'd left on Dew's hip. It's still throbbing in time with his pulse. Dew bets it'll bruise. Just another mark Swiss has left on him.

Dew's knuckles brush past the bruise darkening Swiss's cheek, and he yelps as Dew speeds up his hand. "Oh, you poor thing," he coos, grunting as his hips buck forward into his own hand. It presses the line of his hipbone into him. "So fucking desperate, behaving so well for once in your life. If only you were like this out there, Swiss. Lower my fucking blood pressure."

Swiss bites his lip hard, eyes darting upward like he's looking for permission. For what, Dew's not sure. All he knows is that there's tension growing tighter and tighter at the very core of him, balls beginning to draw up closer to his body, and Swiss is at his feet begging wordlessly and it's doing something to his brain.

Dew shuts his eyes, grunting as he palms the head of his cock, ruddy and practically dripping pre onto Swiss's shoulder. The shower makes quick work of it, which is a complete and utter shame, considering what Dew wants to do to him.

His eyes fly open when he feels something hot and wet on his hip, right over where Swiss dug his teeth into him.

Staring down, Dew feels his stomach swoop as he locks eyes with Swiss, only a thin ring of brown visible around his pupils. He stares up through thick, dark lashes as he licks over the bite. If Dew didn't know any better, he'd say he almost looked apologetic.

The knot in his core tightens almost painfully, and Dew's eyes go wide. His hand never stops moving on his cock. "Fuck, shit, Swiss, gonna fucking make you look like the whore you are, lean back, look at me," Dew rambles, not caring about how desperation seeps into his tone, his hand moving slick over his cock.

Swiss doesn't react as quickly as Dew wants. Once again, his free hand grabs at his hair, wrenching him back from where he's laving attention over where he imprinted his own teeth into Dew's skin.

"Fucking- ugh- look at me, you asshole," Dew grunts as his balls draw up tight to his body, cock pulsing in his hand as he wrings an orgasm out of himself. Swiss flinches as the first rope of cum hits him right between the eyes.

Dew laughs, broken into a moan as he works himself through it, splattering as much mess as he can across Swiss's bruised face.

Swiss lets his mouth fall open, pink tongue lolling out. His eyes roll back when a rope of cum lands right on it, groaning loudly at the bitter, salty taste. Dew swears he feels his balls pulse at the sound.

Dew works himself through it until he starts to wince from oversensitivity, grunting and cursing the whole way through. Swiss doesn't stay as debauched as Dew'd like, even as he tries to maneuver Swiss's face out of the direct spray of the shower, the hot water finally starting to peter out.

They stare at each other, panting and chests heaving, for several long moments as Dew catches his breath. His eyes drag down Swiss's body, down the trail of coarse, dark hair that leads straight to his cock, leaking steadily onto his thigh.

Dew clicks his tongue and cocks his head. "Well, I have to admit you were a good boy," Dew shrugs, shifting his weight forward to toe absentmindedly at the head of Swiss's cock.

He yelps at the sudden stimulation, hips jerking forward instinctively. His mouth opens and closes like he wants to say something, but isn't quite sure if Dew's rule is still in place.

Dew pretends not to notice, staring down at him and feigning disinterest. "You've, for the most part, followed the rule, and you made me cum. I suppose I should let you get off too."

Swiss's eyes light up, breath hitching. He shakes the water fruitlessly out of his curls, and Dew rolls his eyes as his hands flex on his thighs, not sure of what to do with them.

Dew nudges his shin further between Swiss's thighs. "You wanna get off so bad?" Dew mocks as Swiss's hips rut forward once before he manages to keep them still. "You did sneak in here to get your dick wet." Dew glances up at the shower head and snorts at his own joke. "I know you can move those hips. Hump."

"O-oh, fuck," Swiss whispers, softly but trembling. Dew can't bring himself to call him out on his transgression. He rocks his hips forward with a groan, forehead pressing into Dew's hipbone as he finds a rhythm.

Dew feels drunk on power, watching the biggest source of his headaches over the last year and a half pathetically humping his leg like a dog. Swiss's big hands curl around his thigh just to hold on. His hips stutter, and he quickly loses the rhythm he'd set, going faster and faster as he grinds his cock against Dew's shin. Dew can feel Swiss's breaths panting against his skin.

"Look at me," Dew coos, sneering down at him. "Fucking pathetic, you know? Getting off like this?" He rolls his eyes when Swiss, a little too lost chasing his own pleasure, doesn't look up or respond in any way.

He pulls at a handful of curls, angling Swiss's head back until he can meet his eyes. "Speak. Beg for me to let you cum."

Dew didn't think it was physically possible for Swiss's pupils to dilate any further. He's proven wrong as he feels Swiss's dick blurt precum against his shin. The shower, getting a little too cold to be comfortable, washes it away.

"Oh fuck, Dew, p-please, Dew let me," Swiss starts. Heat blooms in Dew's chest when he hears just how raspy and used his voice sounds. "I did what you said, I made you cum, please let me cum. Tell me I can. Fuck, thank you for letting me."

Dew grins, a thought floating in the back of his mind. "Are you close?" He asks, cocking his head as he stares down at him.

Swiss pants, chest heaving. "I've been close since you started fucking my throat," Swiss admits. There's no hiding the valiant twitch that Dew's soft cock gives.

"You know what?" Dew says, disinterested. "I suppose you can cum. Just tell me when."

Swiss's eyes go wide, and his hips redouble. "'M really close," he pants, tongue licking at the corner of his mouth where a smear of Dew's cum hadn't been washed away yet.

Dew can feel his cock stiffen impossibly harder, his balls start to draw up against the top of his foot where his leg is shoved between his thighs. He locks eyes with Swiss, blue burning into brown. "Cum."

Swiss's eyes roll back into his head, a stuttering grunt falling from his lips as he falls over the edge. Dew's mouth quirks up as he wrenches his leg away, stepping back as he watches horrified realization fill Swiss's expression.

"Oh fuck, Dew, no!" Swiss tries to reach for himself, but Dew swats his hand away as his dick pulses, dripping cum pathetically, orgasm hitting but nowhere near satisfying.

"I said you could cum, not that I'd let it be good for you. Taste of your own medicine, you annoying son of a bitch," Dew scoffs, grinning. The water is ice cold.

Dew gives Swiss one more once over; shaking as the ruined orgasm courses through him, hand outstretched as Dew steps back, soaking wet and still covered with a little blood and cum despite the shower's best efforts to wash away all the evidence.

He turns to grab his clothes, giving Swiss one last glance. "Suppose I'll see you next game."

Dew vanishes out of the showers, leaving Swiss on his bruised knees staring after him.

[oatmealdaydreams]

Black Hole Fantasy: even in my fantasy, I keep the car running / in case I need to take off

Please let me know if ya wanna be added on or taken off the general taglist!

Part 2

Inspired By Works: the Shifter Stan AU made by @the-east-art! Check out her stuff, it's super good. Shout out to East!

Pairing: Stan Pines & Ford Pines, gen

Warnings: Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse

Summary: Back when he first leaves New Jersey, Stanley Pines discovers something new about himself on the streets. It’s dark, and there’s hardly anyone else on the road as he drives in the rough terrain of Mount Tammany. He figures out a little comfort when he can’t stop thinking about how his brother’s doing.

[Masterlist] | ao3 link

[read under the cut]

Midnight skies have always been beautiful with twinkling stars and darkened clouds, but Stan Pines does not have time for anything beautiful. 

The soft rumble of his car—the Stanleymobile, the El Diablo—helps keep him awake at the wheel. Various failed products are scattered in the back, alongside whatever spare clothes he has in his dufflebag. There’s even a spare suit for when he tries doing this door-to-door salesman gig over in Pennsylvania. He’s gotta keep a bright-colored winning smile for any potential customers, so he has a couple of makeshift suits to match it. This is the seventies, after all. Or is it the eighties? Whatever, doesn’t matter. He’s got this new idea for a cheap bandaid deal that’s sure to make some dough. Stan’s…starting to run low on gas again, nevermind the fact he’s not sure when his next meal will be. There’s probably some joint on the roadside he can steal some shit from. Pennsylvania is a new adventure. 

Banned from New Jersey, huh? Well, it isn’t like he has much to stay for. His Pa ain’t too fond of him. His Ma can only do so much with Pa still around. His brother…Stan shakes his head lightly as he turns a corner. In the dark of night, the shrubs and trees surrounding the roadside look more menacing. It doesn’t help the fact that there’s not really any railing out where he drives. Maybe there’s more of it up the mountainside or something. He hopes so, at least. Stan hates driving so high up like that. It feels as though he may plummet if he makes too sharp a turn. 

He tries the radio, having to smack it a few times to get it to work. Turning the dial, the stations flicker through bullshit talk shows and half-crackling static. He growls, shutting it off. Ain’t like he’d hear much of any music anyway, what, with the way his ears hurt from the pressure up in the mountains. Moses, he hates driving through Mount Tammany. He’s not doing this again. It’s not like he can come back to Jersey without some repercussions, anyhow. 

Something sad, empty, somber settles in his chest. He can’t return to Glass Shard Beach ever again. Not to his Pa’s face; he kicked him out. Not to his Ma’s face; he’ll disappoint her. Not to his brother’s face. Not…yeah. Maybe it’s best if he doesn’t return for a long while. At least, until he has a fortune to appease his Pa. He’s gotta make something of his sorry self, y’know. Make ‘em all proud and shit. Like a good son would. And, well, though he’s never claimed to be a good anything, there’s this stubborn hope that he can find a way to fix things. Make ‘em better. He can hide the less tasteful sides of himself if it means seeing his family again. 

Stan may be a dumbass, but he knows something’s wrong with him. Normal people can’t grow an extra finger at will. Normal people don’t shapeshift like they’re some weirdo from those books Sixer used ta read. 

Does he still read those? Or has he moved to all that college junk where he reads a bunch of nonsense textbooks? Y’know, with all those equations and nerd words and everything? 

Stan focuses on the road. 

It’s empty out here. Crickets and cicadas keep the ambience not so creepy-like. There’s no one out here. It’s just Stan and the Stanleymobile. Stan and Stan. Just…Stan. 

He doubts anyone’s gonna care if he neglects to use his blinker a few times. The brights on the car don’t work too well, so it ain’t like his lights will blind something. He swears they keep making brighter and brighter lights on cars these days. Someone’s oughta crash in a ditch from it eventually. 

Ford always complained about the lack of brights on the El Diablo. ‘What if it’s dark and you’re stranded, Stanley?’ he’d say, ‘What are you going to do if it comes down to you being on your own? What if there’s no one to help you?’ Kind of ironic, actually. Was he some future-seeing weirdo? Heh, imagine, his brother, some superhero who could see the future. Stan wonders if he’d have warned him if he saw what would happen. If he knew, would he’ve told him? Tried an’ helped him figure some shit out?

Ugh, he needs to stop thinkin’ about all this! 

Stan doesn’t need to glance down at his hands to know a sixth finger grows on them. 

Fuck, he thinks as he pulls over on a little lookout thing meant for resting travelers or sightseers. Fucking Christ almighty. 

He stops the car, not wanting to waste gas. Taking his hands off the wheel, Stan glances down at them with a huff. Yeah, he was right. A sixth finger on each hand, just the way it is on his brother’s. Maybe if Stan wore glasses on his face, they’d truly be hard to tell apart. He’d look all nerdy and…like Ford. He’d look like his brother. 

His throat’s dry. He has to swallow down whatever’s prickling his eyes. Stan isn’t gonna cry. That’s not—he’s not gonna get all weepy over hands. 

He’s not.

He’s not. 

He’s…

Shit.

Stan ignores the way a few stubborn tears glide down his face. He ignores the way his breath hitches at the thought of his brother. He ignores the thrumming, buzzing emptiness that grows a pit in his chest. It feels grey. It feels like static. It hurts in a way that doesn’t bleed. It hurts. He can feel that pit surge when he tries to take a fucking breath. It doesn’t help much. Stan just stares all teary-like down at his stupid hands as he clenches and unclenches them. He shifts one back to its typical five-fingered form. With shaking hands, he intertwines them. One six, one five—just like it used ta be. He grips his hands tighter as he lets out the first cry. Stan shuts his eyes and tips his hand back against the headrest. If he looks down at his hands for any longer, he’ll break. He can’t break. He can’t let himself break. 

Outside the car windows is a dark, starry sky that twinkles. 

Somewhere in a last-ditch-effort type of university, a six-fingered student watches the same stars.

Taglist: @lost-in-thought-20 @thegoldenduckie @not-sure-what-im-feeling

[apprenticestanheight]

heyy, i’m here requesting being loyal to my word lol, i have this little idea where adam is stalking/taking pics reader for a job and actually gets like obsessed ?? with them and tries to awkwardly make a move lmao, and obviously this happens before the bathroom events, idk if this idea sucks i just miss my pookie💔

Aldis- A.S x gn! reader

I love this idea so much and writing it was so fun!! Thank you so much for sending it in, writing for Adam is definitely a blast lol

Fic type- this is fluffy!!

Warnings- shitty bosses are implied, and the prices that are mentioned are inaccurate (I looked up aldi grocery prices and then adjusted for inflation by like, a dollar or two lol), stalk-ish behavior is mentioned (adam talks about trailing you going to and from work), cigarettes and smoking are mentioned a few times and Adam might be a little ooc

It started off as a job. Adam found himself hired by your employer to see what it was, exactly, that you did on the way to work and from it. Adam didn't want to know why your boss had wanted to know that of you and the money was good enough to not question it, so he went along with the words of your boss because the money, in the end, helped him pay rent on the shitty apartment he called home.

It started, apparently, because you'd come late to work a couple of mornings in a row with a variety of different excuses--the rain on a day of downpour, your car had broken down, your car was in the shop, your alarms weren't working--but Adam didn't bother to question that, either. He got his camera, he trailed you, he developed the photos and took them to your boss in exchange for cash that could be either devoted to making the rent or buying cigarettes.

Eventually, what was originally just a job became something a bit more for him. He caught himself genuinely caring about you, trailing you not because your boss asked but to make sure you got home without issue.

Care became infatuation, and infatuation got Adam Stanheight where he was--standing inside an Aldi Supermarket at six in the evening on a crisp day in late summer-early fall, having pretended to bump into you in the candle section, of all places, while he shopped Aldi for the deals that he could get on groceries as he needed them anyway.

"Shit!" Adam cursed, catching the candle you held before it could hit the ground on the basis of nothing but luck. "I am so sorry--I barely know my way around this area. I don't typically come down here, but the shop near my apartment is closed for renovations and I needed to grab groceries." Not entirely a lie--you lived in a different spot in New Jersey than he had, but only twenty minutes in a car, and the shop near his apartment where he could've grabbed groceries was closed, so it was Aldis and their bargain deals on any and everything both out of necessity and his minds desire to make a move.

"Oh, no worries!" You laughed. "Seriously--I don't know my way around here either, I typically shop somewhere else, but stuff has happened at work so I gotta do what I gotta do."

Adam had stopped taking photos of you only two days before, having been let go from the job after 'complications' according to your boss.

Adam was trying to flirt, but the flirting part of getting someone to give you their number was not quite his strong suit.

"So," you said. "There must've been another shop in your area. What brings you here?"

"You know that it's impossible to pass on ground beef at 99 cents a pound," Adam said, laughing. "Or a dozen eggs for $1.35, or milk for the low low price of $1.86--it's a rough economy and I am doing my best."

You laughed, and Adams heart gave a funny little flip. "$200 gets you a fuck ton more here than it does anywhere else. I've got candle money, which is nice to have again."

"Are things at work all right?" Adam asked, a feeble attempt at flirting that probably came off a bit too invasive. "Shit--there I go. Asking the way too personal questions. You don't have to answer that, we barely know each other and I don't mean to be invasive."

"My boss has cut my hours in half, is all," you said, shrugging. "I'll be looking for a new job next week, do you know anybody?"

"Nobody reputable," Adam said. "Not that I work with people who aren't, but--"

"What do you do, and what's your name? I'd like to put a name to a handsome face."

"My name is Adam Stanheight," he said. "I take photos."

"Subject matter?"

"PI stuff," Adam said. "I am a glorified snitch, basically, but the money is good."

"Well, glorified snitch," you said. "My name is Y/N and I work in marketing. You ever wanna make a career switch, give me a call."

You passed him your number, and Adam found himself in awe just a bit. He'd fumbled his way through flirting with you like it was the act of trying to share a cigarette and he was a first-time smoker, and you'd flirted like it was nothing.

"What if I don't want to make a career switch?"

"Call me anyway," you said. "We can shop at Aldis together and I can tell you all about the woes of my life in the frozen fruit aisle."

You walked away thereafter, and Adam was left to stand, his cart to his left, in awe.

[neptunianrefrain]

my real actual life got in the way, so it's time to play catch up! this post will be a compilation of all days missed.

OC-tober day 4 - underappreciated OC -skipped

sorry for skipping a mandatory day, but literally none of my ocs specifically come to mind. because like all of them are because i forget they exist, there's no one guy that specifically gets that title. and i'm not drawing all of them there's TOO MANY

OC-tober day 5 - redesigned OC - skipped

no specific redesign i want to talk about :P

OC-tober day 6 - past

not many of my ocs get backstories, since i don't often have them for long enough to care about those sorts of things... but all of the ocs i've spoken about so far do have at least something within their past! so let's talk about them!

gio was born in the philippines, to a family who didn't really want him. his original birth name was marikit. through some kind of program he was adopted out to a family in canada. this family adopted 3 other children due to fertility issues, though they did manage to have one biological child. they let him change his name to georgia. his life was pretty normal. in his teens, he started to figure out he was trans. by the time it started to click, his mom died. so that kind of got in the way of things. there's also an abusive ex somewhere in there but i haven't figured that bit out. anyways now he's an adult and looking into transitioning. now his name is giovanni. he really likes g names. he fully transitions over the course of several years. during this time, somewhere towards the end of his transition hes like late 20s or something, he meets and soon falls in love with a guy named michael (who belongs to my moirail @dialtone-town,) starting a long and loving relationship. eventually mike's sibling dies and mike fucks off to new jersey. this fucks gio up for a while! and eventually he has to go to new jersey for work shit. and he meets mike again. and theyre friends now yaaay

starlight has a vague backstory involving his development, as he was a custom order. there were several prototypes made of him, that still exist somewhere probably. they're more so an oc that exists to exist instead of an oc that exists for a story.

victor is still very new, but i did come up with the idea that her coding - that is to say the very makeup of her being - was intentionally messed with by another gem to create a reliable hitman, though they fucked up and victor immediately killed them, now continuing to kill as she lacks purpose beyond this.

chartreuse probably served the gempire at some point. eventually rebelled and had a bit of a turbulent life, had a best friend for a while but he fucked off and became a massive bitch. now she's part of a major rebel group, serving as the lead engineer.

OC-tober day 7 - likes

most of my ocs like similar things to me, or things that fit their sort of vibe. it's kind of hard for me to come up with likes and dislikes sometimes... but i try my best!

gio loves all kinds of video games, particularly liking ones with interesting stories or game mechanics. he also tends to enjoy science fiction, liking both sleek and elegant futuristic tech, and rough and war torn machinery. he watched some anime as a teen, and still finds new animanga to enjoy to this day.

starlight enjoys futuristic themes and styles, such as cyberpunk, and cassette futurism. he also enjoys fashion, especially alternative styles. and by god does he love playing weird indie video games. sometimes he does play more normal video games. sometimes. loves music, genre and language mattering not. he WOULD pass those "do you really listen to anything" tests. he also loves creation, making art and music and writing. he loves creating as much as he loves looking into what others have made.

uhh victor. victor likes killing people. chartreuse uhh. she likes something probably.

i have other ocs i cld maybe put here but i don't want to introduce them now. blehh

[8turn-xikers-galaxy]

Hunt Your Heart ❤💕✨💓

(🎀💖Xikers- Hunter x Fem! Reader 💖🎀)

Genre : Fluff, Non-idol AU

Tw : Reader is going through a rough time in the beginning, Reader is an orphan, Mentions of food, Absolute cringe, Kinda (very) cliché, grammatical and spelling mistakes, too many emojis ( Let me know if I missed anything)

Idols mentioned : Kyujin from Nmixx, Leeseo from IVE, Xikers members

Key : B/n - Book name

Note : This is my cousin's idea and my first time writing it as a oneshot so there might be a lot of cringe stuff and mistakes but I tried my best so I hope you like it! The credit goes to my cousin.

💙 Y/n's POV ❤

Student life has always been hard for me. No true friends to share my feelings with. No teachers who would actually understand me. No family.... It's always been this way. My parents abandoned me when I was 12. All of my friends are toxic and my teachers always take their anger on me. In the midst of all this inconvenience, I try my best to be optimistic and face my problems a little differently. As of now, I'm sat here in Math class Trying to solve the quadratic equation "Fuck... " I mutter under my breath once I mess up. "Hey Kyujin, Can you teach me how to solve this?" I've never been good enough at Math. I managed to pass 9th grade with just a fluke but I dunno How I'll survive this year. "Yeah sure, can you wait tho? I'm helping Leeseo with the third sum" She said without even turning to face me "It's fine, I'll do it myself" And that's how it goes every single time...

🍃🌺🎀✨ Timeskip ✨🎀🌺🍃

After working for a while, the bell finally rung and I waited for everyone to leave before packing my stuff. "Miss L/n, could you meet me in my office after lunch?" My teacher asked me on my way to the cafeteria. "Of course Mrs. Yoon" I didn't speak any further, knowing she gets angry easily at anything and everything (yikes) that's just how it's been. The teachers always get their way to get me to do their work for them. Oh, well. I went to the café to grab myself some Kimchi Mandu. Then, I went outside to the school field and sat down under my favorite blossom tree to eat. My eyes wandered to the tennis court where the senior grade summer campers were playing their hearts out. I saw a tall boy with black hair and beautiful brown eyes with a red jersey, hitting every ball with grace, with a cute gentle smile and ethereal Features. I didn't realize I was zoning out until I heard a male voice behind me snapping me out of my daydream. "You done checking him out?" I turned around to see a boy with messy brown hair, leaning against the tree "w-what? Do I know you?" I asked with a slight blush "I'm Choi Hyunwoo! Captain of the soccer team and Hunter's bestie, The guy you were staring at" He smiled and sat down beside me "Uhh, I wasn't staring" He chuckled And nudged my arm "Sure you weren't"

"Anyways, why are you out here alone? Don't you guys eat in the cafeteria?" Hearing him ask that, I visibly tensed up thinking he might see me as a weirdo. "I... Don't have any friends to eat with, so I prefer to eat out here. It brings some peace to me" He gave me another one of his infamous eye smile. "I can accompany you everyday if you don't mind! I love making friends"

And that's how me and Hyunwoo became best friends. Months passed, and Autumn finally rolled by. Me and Hyunwoo kept growing closer. One particular evening, Mr. Min called me to his office just when I was leaving. "Please sit" I did as I was told however I didn't have a good feeling about it. "Ms.L/n, you do notice you've not had any improvement in your math classes right?" He asked me somewhat softly "Yes sir, but I promise I'm trying my best to improve although nothing seems to work" He nodded. "Then how do you suppose passing your finals this year? Do you realise you're two months away from it?" I looked at my feet, not able to utter a word Knowing he would speak against me regardless of my protests. "I'll assign a tutor for you, starting today. He'll meet you at the school library at 6" I nodded. "Okay sir" He nodded, slightly cracking a smile "You may take your leave now" I got out of his room and heaved a deep sigh. A tutor? That's not too bad. It could've been worse tbh. I walked to the blossom tree where me and Hyunwoo usually meet up. I sat down and took out my sketchbook to doodle for a while. When I looked up from my book to look for an inspiration, my eyes wandered to the tennis court again. In the blink of an eye, A ball came flying out of the court and landed beside me. I picked it up and when I looked up again, I saw Hunter running towards me to get the ball. He stood in front of me and heck, I totally fell. He looked so... Perfect. I couldn't even make up words to describe him because nothing seemed good enough to me.

All the stories that Hyunwoo tells me about him make me want to get to know him better but I just couldn't get myself to budge when it came to him.

I snap out of my trance when he crouches down in front of me, gazing deep into my soul "Are you okay miss? You seem a little stressed"

I blushed hard with a small smile "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you. Here's your ball" He smiled the enchanting smile which gives me butterflies and sparks fireworks in my veins. "Thank you! I'll see you later?" He asked holding my hand. "Of course" And with that, he left with a wave. I looked down at my hand with the same smile and blush.

"What was that?" Hyunwoo asked, bouncing onto my shoulder out of nowhere. "Please don't tell me you saw all of that.." He grinned and ruffled my hair. "Of course I did! Even if you don't believe it, you two are meant for each other" I rolled my eyes "okay, Whatever. Can you get off of me now?" I smiled at my bestie. Even tho he is annoying, He's my only true friend and I love him for that but he could be a little pathetic sometimes. "Haha! Nope" Yeah.. Like that.

✨Third person POV ✨

After hanging out with Hyunwoo and telling him about your Tutoring session this evening, He shooed you away because it was already time for you to go. You bade farewell to him and left for the library. You waited there for your tutor to arrive. You decided to kill some time by reading one of your favorite novels/comics B/n given the fact that you were the only one in the library.

🧡Hunter's POV🧡

I changed my clothes and fixed my hair a bit before heading to the Library. I don't know who I'm Tutoring, Mr. Min was in a hurry so he didn't really do a good job in explaining the situation of the student who needs my guidance. Regardless, I entered the library, surprised to see it completely empty. Not even the Librarian was there. I walked further and saw the girl from earlier struggling to reach the higher shelf. I went behind her and grabbed the book she wanted and handed it to her. "That's a good one!" I complimented and she blushed 'god she's so cute'

"Are you the one who needs tutoring?" I asked her softly, hoping she'd be a little less shy. "Yeah, I'm Y/n" She held out her hand. I shook it with a smile "Hunter" She took me to the table where she kept her stuff and got to work right away. "There's an easier way to solve the quadratic equation. Here" She listened to me carefully and tried it herself. "That's right! You're a fast learner" She smiled and blushed 'gosh that smile' We continued doing the sums and I helped on the harder ones but for the most, she did great herself. After a while, I checked the time and it was 8 already. "I think that's enough for today, we should head home now" I said, holding her hand to get her attention. "O-okay, thanks for today" She said, lacing her fingers in mine leaving me shocked and making the butterflies in my chest go wild. I nodded and waved before taking my stuff and leaving.

I walked out with a mad smile on my face. "Mind to explain Mister?" A familiar voice called out from behind me. "Hyunwoo?!" Shit, I forgot about our sleepover tonight. "You were supposed to pick up Sumin, Yujun and Minjae about an hour ago! And you're wandering here with a lovey dovey smile, what's the matter dude?" He asked, bumping my shoulder. "Oh, Mr. Min Assigned me to tutor this really cute girl! Her name is Y/n and-" He cut me off right there. "And she's a junior struggling with math" That caught me off guard. "Yeah, How do you know?" I asked with a dumbfounded look. "She's my best friend that I always talk about! I've been meaning to introduce her to you but not like this" He said scratching his head. "Well, what's done is done, let's go pick up The others" I said walking ahead but he grabed me by my sleeve "and you expect me to let go of the fact that you think my bestie is cute?" From there on, I knew this would be a never ending saga of teasing in our squad....

🌛☄️✨🌿 Timeskip 🌿✨☄️🌛

💜 Y/n's POV💜

It's been two whole months of Hunter tutoring me and to be honest, I never felt so safe with anyone else. Not even Hyunwoo could care so much of me. He introduced me to the rest of his friends and let me join in on their fun time. I'm grateful and finally feel loved and wanted but the thing that worries me is the finals starting tomorrow. I am at Hunter's place studying hard. "Y/n.. Take a break, you've been studying for 7 hours straight since you arrived here" He said sitting next to me on his bed. Me being my stubborn self, I shook my head "And what if I fail tomorrow? I can't risk my score this year! Mr. Min has faith in me! Hyunwoo is looking forward to it too! And besides, I can't let you down..." I said, finally turning to face him. "You'll never let me down, unless you keep straining yourself like this! Please rest? For me?"

He said holding my cheek to stop me from looking away. He never failed to make me blush. "Okay, fine" I said, closing my eyes and smiling. I then listened to some music with him and got back to studying after an hour. He got take out for us, we ate and got ready for bed. When I got out of the bathroom after getting changed, I saw him lying on the bed already and holding his arms out for me. I snuggled up close to him. These kind of physical contacts had become very common in our friendship so it wasn't awkward. "Have a good sleep princess, I love you.. " To my dismay, I didn't hear his last sentence before I fell into a deep slumber, feeling safe and secure in his arms.

When I woke up in the morning, I didn't find him beside me on the bed. I went downstairs to see him making something in the Kitchen. I ruffled the bird's nest on my head and I went upto him. "Good morning princess" He turned around and pinched my nose. "Slept well?" I nodded and smiled, leaning against the counter. After having breakfast with him, he dropped me off at the exam hall. "I'm nervous" I turned to look at him. "Hello nervous, I'm Hunter" He laughed at me and I hit his arm slightly. "Okay, in all seriousness, I'm sure you'll be fine!" He said and ruffled my hair. "Alright, if you say so, I should get going now" I said after I fixed my hair and checked the time. "Okay, All the best love!" He said and gave me a handshake and a hwaiting sign before we both parted ways.

🌺🌺The day of the result🌺🌺

"Y/n-yah will you stop jumping around so much? The seatbelt might break!" Hyunwoo joked. "How can you expect me to calm down when my report card is literally here in my very god damned hands?!" I yelled in a limited voice. "Well, first of all, mind your language and second of all, you'll be fine!!" He shot back. "And besides, we're here already" After he pulled up at Sumin's porch, the guys came running out, asking about my results. "Guys, she hasn't seen it yet!" Hyunwoo shouted. "Okay, then how about we go inside and let her calm down for a bit first?" Just as Minjae said that, we got inside and sat down. "Kay, just rip it off like a band-aid on the count of three!" Yujun said.

"1"

"2"

"3"

I shut my eyes and opened the card and all of a sudden, the boys erupted into screams and cheers. I took a peek at my results... Only to see PERFECT SCORES IN EVERY SUBJECT INCLUDING MATH! I jumped up and leaped into Hunter arms.

"You did it!"

"I did it!"

Hyunwoo smirked, watching the scene unfold. "We'll give you guys some space" Minjae said and dragged out the rest of them. "Hunter, I want to tell you something" He nodded in a sign for me to continue. "Hunter, for the past two months, you've helped me a lot to get through my studies and my life. You made every moment feel better, safer and... Special. Without you, I wouldn't be where I've gotten today and I'm very grateful. From the moment I first saw you, I felt attached, safe and loved. I don't know if the nicknames that you call me are a joke or if they mean something, but I've always loved them. What I'm trying to say is...I love you. A lot. And it's totally okay if you don't feel the same, I-"

I felt warm lips press against mine. It all happened so quick that I couldn't process anything. I didn't even know if I was living in the reality.

"Y/n" He lifted my head by my cheek to make me look at him. "I love you too, that's why I've hunt your heart"

[shessoft]

So I don't forget. Here is that Academy Bros AU fic that I wrote years ago. Not proofread. Rough draft. Maybe like 8th draft idk it was years ago. Anyway, here ya go!

and the birth of Academy Bros AU

Depression wasn’t something the Sawyers spoke about. In fact, to them it was something rich white people made up to get drugs from their doctors. So, when Adelina entered high school she had to double down and force herself to get through the day. As far as she knew everyone felt hollow and petrified all the time too. Besides she had her big brother’s shoes to fill, grades to maintain, and a family reputation to uphold. By the time she was 16 she had a three year old niece, Maggie, who she was determined to be there for. As long as she was ‘good’ then she was okay.

While Maggie looked like her mother’s mini clone, it was her father she took after in personality. Stubborn and competitive, and in spite of him she was loyal to a fault. Sawyer blood must have been strong because she seemed to take after her aunt Adelina as well, much to the family’s dismay. Adelina couldn’t keep Maggie from this thanks to her parents not checking the stairwell or around corners before discussing such matters.

“She’s too much like Adelina, it's not right.”

“What’s so wrong with my sister? She’s a free babysitter. We don’t have to leave Maggie with strangers.”

“She’s a stranger to me!”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“She’s not right in the head, Berto, your parents have always said-”

“Now wait one minute-”

“Do you really want Maggie around that? She's taking the pills now. Did you know?”

Before Maggie knew it her grandma took over as her primary sitter and she only saw her aunt for the holidays. They said it was because Adelina was so busy with school but Maggie knew better, Adelina was in college since she was born and she was never too busy for her before.

Christmas Eve 

“Lina! You’re here!” As soon as she walked through the door and her voice was heard she had a tiny twelve year old in a dirty soccer jersey barreling towards her for a hug.

“Hey, Tink! I missed you, look how big you are! Gonna be taller than me soon.” She compares her height to her niece jokingly. If she grew any taller than Adelina it’d be a miracle.

“I missed you so so much! I have so much to tell you!”

“I bet you do! Let me guess, you...broke the world record for dirtiest child?”

“No, silly! I’m team Captain!”

“Ahh my little super star! I knew you would! Congrats, baby!” She sweeps her up into a great big bear hug.

“Thanks, Lina. I missed you.”

“Aw, my little Tinkerbell, what d’ya say we go sneak some of gram gram’s famous tiramisu to celebrate?”

“Yeah!” Maggie grabs her hand and leads her into the kitchen giggling the whole way. Effectively ruining the sneaking idea.

Maggie always knew she was different. When her parents used to talk about her possible future they always seemed more excited than her. Her Aunt Adelina, the youngest of the Sawyer family until Maggie came along, was ‘different’ too. Maybe that’s why they got along so well or maybe it's because Maggie’s mother was an only child and Adelina was the only extended family she had. Either way the two of them never truly fit into the polished family they were born into.

--

By the time Maggie was entering high school she saw her aunt less and less. In the words of her mother, “she refused to settle down and start a family. She’d rather live in sin with her boyfriend.” This seemed like a ludicrous reason to be angry with her but then again Adelina never did anything her family expected of her. She was even so bold as to decline her parents' dreams for her life and instead chose her own path. Maggie respected her aunt for living so fearlessly, in fact it's why she loved her so much. To her, Adelina was remarkable despite what her parents or grandparents said. She never treated Maggie like some stupid kid. She didn’t just love her niece, Maggie actually felt loved as she is. There was never any pretense with her aunt. She never felt she had to gain her approval or ask for her attention. With Adelina, it was all just given automatically and unconditionally.

So when Maggie’s dad caught her in the school parking lot with Wren, she called her aunt crying into the payphone.

“Hey, Tink! Sweetie, slow down I can barely hear you. What happened?”

“Dad-he-he said I’m gonna burn in hell.”

“Maggie, that’s not true. He’s just-”

“Lina, he kicked me out.”

“He what?”

“He gave me ten minutes to get my things and then he told me to get out of his house.”

“Where are you right now?”

“The bus station. I walked all the way here before I realized I left my wallet. Please tell me you’re still in town?”

“I’m on my way. Stay put, I’ll be there soon.”

She’s only been back to her parents house once. The same day Adelina picked her up at the bus station she drove her straight home. She was convinced her aunt was bringing her back to try to talk to her father into letting her stay. Instead she told Maggie to get the rest of her things, as much as she could pack. Maggie expected to hear her father and aunt yelling but it was eerily quiet. The silence that crept through the house broke her heart further. Her father had nothing to say. Didn’t even bother fighting his sister because he didn’t care about Maggie, not anymore. He just wanted her gone.

When she came down the stairs with her bag she found Adelina staring her father down as he stared out the back window.

“I’m taking her with me, Berto. If you come to your senses you know where we live.” Satisfied with her statement she turned sharply and stormed out the front door leaving Maggie standing in the kitchen doorway looking at her father.

“Dad?” Nothing. He didn’t even react as if he didn’t hear her. She knows he did, he just wants nothing to do with her.

“Please. I love you.” She chokes back a small sob watching him walk out of the room without looking back. She angrily wipes tears off her cheeks and secures her bag over her shoulder and walks out the front door. Adelina was waiting for her on the porch. She pretends she doesn’t hear her sniffling or see her puffy eyes as she takes the bag from her. Adelina wraps her arm around her niece’s shoulders and walks her to the car. As Maggie opens the passenger door her heart sinks again. 

This time it's due to her mother who just pulled into the driveway. Maggie barely had time to blink before her mom was practically leaping out of the car and walking straight inside.

“Come on, Tink let’s go.” At the sound of her voice Maggie’s eyes drift to her aunt and then down to her hand on the car door and she gasps. She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath, as if she could control her mother's actions. They both climb into the car and once buckled Adelina pulls away.

“She didn’t even look at me.”

“Do you want to talk-”

“No.” She didn’t mean to snap but just the mention of talking about...any of it. The idea of telling her aunt everything that happened. She’s not ready to relive it all. “Not yet.”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

The only solace Maggie had was the fact that it was almost summer. It didn’t take long for the news to spread through the small town of her disowning. Seeing as how her father all but dragged her away from Wren by her hair in front of half the school.

“You’re home early.”

“Well it's nice to see you too.”

“Don’t be fresh. I thought you’d be at practice.”

“I quit the team.”

“What? When?”

“Today.”

“What, Maggie, why? You love soccer?”

“No, dad loves soccer. He only enrolled me because when I was eight I kicked Travis in the balls.”

“Oh, I forgot about that. What the hell happened to that kid?”

“He’s somewhere happy probably.”

“Okay, Tink. Regardless of how you ended up playing, you love playing! Where is my little Tinkerbell who made captain three years in a row?”

“She’s in the picture frame on her parents mantle. Maybe even in the trash now.”

“Maggie, you can’t let them take something you love away from you.”

“Besides themselves you mean?”

“I’m-sorry that’s not-I know it fucking sucks. I wish I could fix it all, I do. I just don’t want you to give up everything.”

“You have to have something in order to give up something.”

“Please talk to me. Tell me what happened that day. It’s been months you can’t keep it in any more.”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m humiliated? That I feel disgusting? That it was all for nothing?”

“Oh, sweetie. Come here. Look at me.” She holds Maggie’s face in her hands. “If anyone should be humiliated, it's him! You are remarkable and loving and you are gonna do so much good in this world. Do you hear me?” 

“Lina, I’m gay.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“That’s the first time I said that.”

“I know.” She wipes away Maggie’s tears with her thumbs and pulls her into a hug. “Your love is not wrong. It's beautiful and real, and you will get to experience it one day the way that you deserve. Uninhibited and unconditional. I promise. Now, let's go have some dinner, yeah?”

Chuckling, “yeah.” Adelina stands up and physically shakes it out eliciting a giggle from her niece. 

Later that night after watching Rhoda reruns Maggie decides to tell her everything. She’s accepted the fact that this is her home now. That Adelina is her only family now.

“She’s on the team.”

“Who?”

“Wren. She was on the team with me.”

“Oh. And she’s the one-”

“My dad caught me kissing? Yeah that’s her.”

“So did you quit because she’s telling everyone you’re a bad kisser-” Just then she’s hit in the face with a pillow. 

“Shut up! No, I quit because I’m an idiot that misread everything and being around her physically hurts.”

“Ouch. I’ve been there.”

“Yeah right.”

“No, I have! Cross my heart. His name was Monty.”

“That fact alone is embarrassing. I guess I believe you.”

They ended up moving to Colorado at the start of Maggie’s Junior year when Adelina got offered  a nursing job she couldn’t pass up. The fact that it was a fresh start for both of them was a bonus. After accumulating credits at community college Maggie transferred to a University to complete her bachelor's.

“Are you sure?”

“Auntie, for the last time this is what I’m meant to do. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

“Ugh I know, I know. You’re gonna be amazing! California is just so far away.”

“It's not that far.”

She never got the full story out of Maggie until she was wasted on her 21st. If she was being honest she wishes she never knew. According to Maggie, that day started full of promise. Wren had taken to leaving soft kisses on Maggie’s cheeks every time they said goodbye a few months into the school year. When Wren leaned in to say goodnight Maggie returned the gesture for the first time. Unlike Wren, she kissed the girl on the lips and then the world fell out from under her feet. It felt as if the moment their lips touched her father’s voice erupted from the sky. Before she really knew what was happening his hand was wound tightly around her arm as he dragged her towards his car and forced her inside. Too frightened to speak up, they rode in a tense silence back to the house. She could see his knuckles turn white as he gripped the steering wheel avoiding her eyes. They pulled into the driveway and as he got out he slammed the door and stomped inside. Once out of sight she let out a garbled sob before opening the door and grabbing her bag.

“Dad?” She walked into the kitchen to see his back facing her.

“Ten minutes.”

“What?”

“You have ten minutes to get your things and then I want you out.”

“What? What do you mean? Dad what did I-”

“Don’t you dare! You have the audacity to live under my roof and carry on like that?”

“Daddy, please I don’t understand!”

“You disgust me. You are a disgrace to this family. I will not have my daughter running around being a deviant!”

“I never even did anything!”

“Do not raise your voice to me! I know what I saw! I knew you weren’t right but I never thought it’d come to this. Maggie you are going where I cannot follow. I will not follow! You are burning in hell already my child. I will not stand by and watch. You’re disgusting. Get your things and then get out of my house. You are not my daughter.”

“Dad, please!”

“GO. NOW.”

That was over eight years ago. Now? Now she was about to start at the police academy. With high hopes of moving up in rank she put all her focus and energy into this one thing.

-----

Fresh from his college graduation, James wasted no time before applying for the police academy, much to his family’s chagrin. His mom, though she means well, couldn’t understand why he spent all those years working towards his BA in journalism just to go into law enforcement. Daniella, his baby sister, thought it was a dumb idea but she’s just glad he was relocating to California.

He thought he was in peak physical condition until he started training. He was paired up to spar with a woman who was shorter than his 15 year old sister. He’s not usually one to underestimate and after this 5 foot nothing had his back to the mat for the fourth time he vowed to never do so again. He was impressed, a little turned on and definitely intrigued. He initially thought she was just trying to prove herself to everyone by taking down the tallest guy but he soon realized she was enjoying kicking his ass. The Captain called her Sawyer which could be her name but everyone got last named here so he had to do some digging. He could just ask her but she was intimidating and didn’t seem to give any of the guys the time of day. He figured she had a boyfriend already or wasn’t interested in dating cops. If you asked his sister though he was assuming too much.

“Shut up, Dani.”

“Jimmy, you don’t even know her first name. Have you even spoken to her yet? It's been a month.”

“She always disappears after training.”

“Oh my god suck it up man, you’re an embarrassment.”

That's pretty much how all his calls home ended lately. Even his mom was calling him out. He really needed to stop sharing everything with them, even though they made a good point. He was teamed up with Sawyer again the following week and he realized the captain thought they worked well together. Now was as good a time as any. He found her hanging around chatting with Stevens, another female trainee.

“Hey, Sawyer. Wait up.” When she turns around he notices a look of annoyance cross her face but it's quickly replaced with a dimpled smile. As if the realization of the voice’s owner brought it on. He takes this as a good sign.

“It's Maggie, actually.”

“James Olsen,” he extends his hand, noting her firm handshake.

“I know. What's up?”

“Some of us are going out for drinks and food. Interested? Or do you have to run off as usual?”

“You been stalking me, Olsen?”

She’s smirking but he still feels called out. “I just noticed you’re not really involved, which is cool I get it. Just here for the job and all that but it's more exciting working with friends in my experience.”

“Yeah I guess I’m just used to being solo most of the time.”

“So is that a yes?”

“Yeah sure.”

--

“Come on, smalls. It's Thanksgiving.”

“I told you to stop calling me that. I don’t want to impose on your family holiday.”

“And I told you my mom wants you to come. Also, I’m your best friend. I'm allowed a nickname.”

“You’re not my best friend.”

His hand goes up to rest on his chest, “ I’m hurt.”

“Shut up,” she exclaims, hitting his arm.

“No, who is it? I want to know who is stealing my best friend from me.”

“It's Ferguson.”

“You’re best friends with the jerk that caused my ass kicking? Literally kicked in the ass because of him.”

“No you deserved that all on your own.”

“I was trying to help. He wouldn’t stop harassing you.”

“I don’t need that kind of help. You can’t just out people like that.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize that's what I was doing.”

“You still never told me how you knew.”

“Smalls, we go out to bars together. I see who you check out because I’m looking too.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Too late, my family knows all.”

“You have the biggest mouth! You told them too?”

“I didn’t know! Ow!”

“What did they say?”

“They don’t care. They’re excited to meet you. Dani had a field day when she found out I was crushing on a lesbian.”

“You what?”

---

“Just consider it. I’m telling you, you’ll be thanking me.”

“You say that now but your track record for setting me up on dates is disastrous at best.”

“This time is different!”

“Because she’s your ex-fling's sister? Yeah, that is different. See also, messy.”

“You’re impossible, you know that? Just go on one date with her. I’m telling you Alex is a total catch.”

“Okay, gramps, what makes her a ‘catch’?”

“She’s brilliant and badass. Sexy and soulful and-”

“Then why don’t you date her?”

“Because I have Corrie, remember?”

“Shit! She didn’t dump you yet?”

“You’re hilarious. My little sister made the same joke already.”

“I know. We were making fun of you over skype last week.”

“Anyway! Alex is like family and also gay so I’m not really her type.”

“Just because I’m a lesbian doesn’t automatically make us a good match nor does it make me her type.”

“Technically no, but she thinks you’re gorgeous so…”

“Pfft gorgeous? Yeah, sure.”

“It's true! I showed her a picture of you and-”

“What picture?”

“The one from last Christmas...and others.”

“Jimmy! Christmas pictures are for family only! You know the rules!”

“Why do you care? You don’t even want to date her, remember?”

“I never said that.”

“I knew it! Trust me you won’t regret it.”

“You better hope I don’t.”

--

She hates this. She physically hates everything about what is happening and everyone in the room with her. She rolls her eyes at her aunt's smug face through Dani’s laptop, who has taken it upon herself to dress Maggie for her date with Alex.

“Stop sulking Tink! It’s just a date with a hot girl.”

“You don’t even know what she looks like, Lina.”

“But I do! James showed me her pic and I met her once, briefly. Trust me she’s hot.”

“Ugh will you two stop saying that. It’s unsettling.”

“Whatever. Here, try this on.”

“Dani this isn’t even mine it’s yours.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Nothing if I was also 15.”

“Sounds like our Maggie wants to make a good impression on this Alex.”

“You know what Adelina I think you’re right!”

“I hate both of you.”

—-

“Olsen, if this blows up in my face I’m gonna kill you with my bare hands and no one will find the body. Call me when you get this.”

She wouldn’t say she’s freaking out so much as her family forced her on this date. God even mama Olsen gave her a hard time. Why couldn’t they just let her be?

It’s not like Maggie was opposed to the set up. In fact she was kind of excited with all the hype everyone put into building this woman up! Which was also the problem. What if they were over compensating or worse, it’s a pity date. She seriously doubts James talked her up successfully. He’s not the greatest wingman. The thing is she’s never actually had a serious relationship. Her romantic history was littered with hookups and flings and very few actual dates.

“Maggie?”

Oh fuck. She’s here. How did she miss the fact that she was standing right in front of her?

“That’s me!” Olsen was not lying at all. This woman is gorgeous. “And I’m hoping you’re Alex?” Maggie makes a mental note to try and get that smile to appear as much as possible.

—

“So you and Jimmy work together?”

“Sometimes but he actually works with my sister so we cross paths a lot.”

“Right, he mentioned that. The boy talks so damn much it’s hard to retain it all.” New mental note, make Alex laugh more.

“So how do you know Jimmy? He said you’re his sister but the last names seem suspect.”

“Oh! Yeah we met at the academy and-“

“He was in the police academy? You’re kidding?”

“No he definitely was. Obviously  he didn’t follow through with it but he was decent.”

“I never would have guessed! He’s not very…”

“Authoritative? Yeah no he’s artsy and soft.”

“I see. And what about you? Are you authoritative or soft?”

How the fuck does she answer that?

“Both?”

“I bet.” Why did she say both? Now she has to somehow be both? Pull it together Sawyer, she’s just a woman.

“Anyway, we met in the Academy and the Olsens are very welcoming people, you could say. Mama unofficially adopted me and Lina.”

“Lina?”

“My aunt.”

Definitely not first date conversation but Alex seemed fine when Maggie skated over the subject of her past and family. So the date wasn’t awful. Actually, it was amazing and she’s seeing Alex again next week, but she’s gonna keep that info to herself for the time being. Her family is cocky enough as it is.

----

Text from Jman

I just met you

Smalls

NO

Jman

And this is crazy

Smalls

Yes you are crazy

Jman

But heres my number

Smalls

Its 8am olsen wtf

Jman

So call me maybe

Smalls

I rather eat glass

Jman

Before you came into my life i missed you so bad

Smalls

I’m not above murdering you

Jman

I MISSED YOU SO BAD

Smalls

OMG

I missed you so so bad

Jman

Mission accomplished

Smalls

I fucking hate you

Jman

You love me

And you LOV--LIKE Alex

Smalls

Ugh go away

Jman

Not until you say it

Smalls

That you’re a horrible man and you’re gonna die alone?

Jman

AND ALL THE OTHER BOYS

Smalls

PLEASE NO MORE

Jman

Then say it

Smalls

Thank you. You were right, ALL MIGHTY ONE. The date was good. I really liked her.

Happy?

Jman

SO CALL HER MAYBE

Smalls

I’m deleting you

She could hear his smug laughter from across town.

-----

Group chat Lina Dani Jman Smalls

Dani

GUESS WHO HAS A NEW GF

Lina

James?

Dani

BAHAHAHA yeah right

Lina

Our little Maggie?

James

I resent that

DING DING DING

Maggie is officially with Alex

Dani

I fucking called it!!

So which nerd do we think is gonna propose first?

I’m taking bets

Lina

Maggie

Jman

Smalls for sure

Smalls

I hate all of you

---

4 months later group chat

Smalls

I fucked up i fucked up i fucked up

Dani

Did you finally murder someone?

Smalls

NO little one

Worse

Jman

What's worse than homocide? Shit homicide

Smalls

Telling Alex i love her

Dani

OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Jman

Holy shit

Smalls

HELP ME

Jman

Well...do you love her?

Smalls

Wtf does that have to do with anything jimmy?

Dani

Auntie it's everything

Jman

Yeah smalls stop being so scared

Smalls

You two are useless

----

Alex

Are we still on for tonight?

Maggie

If i didn’t fuck everything up yeah haha

Alex

You’re an idiot

Maggie

Thank you. I try really hard.

Alex

Good. Can’t wait to see you xx

--

Smalls

I am the shit

Jman

The what now

Dani

I have finals stop putting me in these group texts

Find friends your own age!!

Smalls

You know morally it's wrong to fight a child but i will

Dani

Shut up you couldn’t even reach

Smalls

You know what fine i won’t tell you about my love life anymore

Jman

Ha what love life

Dani

Shut up jimmy !!

WHAT HAPPENED

Smalls

You guys were right okay

About Alex

And she loves me back and that's all the info you’re gonna get from now on

Goodbye

Dani

Wait

No

COME BACK

MORE DETAILS

Jman

Damn i’m happy for you smalls

Dani

Be quiet James i want to know how she told her

Maggie??

Hello??

Smalls

Go study little one

[puella-peanut]

Is kreese an air marshal because that would be perfect lmao. bet he shows favoritism to daniel. dollface this and primadonna that. doesn't he call him little danny in the show

Oooo! So I’m guessing this is in the Daniel-is-a-flight attendant-verse from here, right Anon? Okay, let’s take the Silverusso entirely out of the equation, and change it up to LaKreese. Now we’re talking!

Okay, so first off I’m kinda loving the idea of Kreese as an Air Marshal? He’d make an excellent one being ex-military; he's got that tough as steel demeanor (seriously, Kreese looks like he eats nails for breakfast and he's never been proven not to), and of course he’s more than physically capable, and would remain calm and cool under pressure. He’d probably also enjoy beating troublemakers into a Kreese-induced-pulp and then some. And he’d look damn good doing it too in that Marshal uniform

As for showing favoritism to Daniel—what ever do you mean, Anon? 

Like...making sure Daniel gets his favorite window seat in the Crew Cabin? If Kreese has gotta bully someone to get it he will—but only because he can’t stand sulkers and that Jersey brat is a master of sulking. What, he’s doing everyone a favor!

Or how Kreese pockets certain pastries from the dining cart that he knows the boy likes (kid’s got a sweet tooth and a half), and then gruffly offers them to Daniel by telling him he’s a scrawny punk, what, you want someone to take advantage of that Prima Donna? And he’ll hold them outta reach, enjoying Daniel’s struggle to grab ‘em, the way that pout looks on his annoying face, how he’s gotta rise up on his toes—

Maybe on a long flight Kreese accidentally-on-purpose places the best blankets and nicest pillows on Daniel’s bunk (glaring at anyone who dares remove them or questions his...motives), and when Daniel confronts him about this, he keeps a stoic, grumpy face and tells him to stop being a diva, kid. If you don’t get a good night’s rest, that’ll just mean extra work for the rest of us. Gotta pull your weight around here like I do and did when I was in the service—

And maybe Daniel rolls his eyes at the "reprimand" and cheekily salutes with a “yes Captain!”, and then innocently saunters away, leaving Kreese gritting his teeth together, and shoving his hands in his pockets before he does something stupid like push the tantalizing little brat against the nearest wall and—

...Anyway, of course he’s sweet on Daniel, Anon, but in typical Kreese fashion, he goes about it assbackwards, like that kid in elementary school that is mean to another kid simply because they kinda-sorta like the kid, okay! He eases up later on, but at the start especially he’s gruff and rough and mean. A crotchety bear (but Daniel’s never been afraid of the woods, or what resides in them and and he’s got plenty of honey anyways).

...Still, despite the honey, Daniel gives as good as he gets, and isn’t one to back down, sassy little shit that he is—and Kreese loves that about him, that sweet fire, that mouthy temperament. All that saucy brattiness that’s never really mean, but always ridiculously charming—and coupled with that pretty face? That floppy hair? That tight little body? Oh, it was over for Kreese the second that kid stumbled into his life.

Because that’s how they met, Anon, didn’t you know? 

Kreese had just gotten up from his seat, luggage in hand all ready to board—when he felt something hit his back, and heard the oomph as whatever it was fell down. Or would have, had Kreese not reached out quick as can be, grabbed a scrawny arm, and hauled a small figure upright again. He was gonna give the kid, the boy, a piece of his mind (who the fuck runs in the airport? you want people to think you’re up to something?), maybe frighten the little shit into a major attitude reset—(something modern society desperately needed, but let’s save that Kreese-complaint for another time okay).

Anyway:

But—the kid started babbling a I’m sorry, first day on the job, stuck in traffic, running late, couldn’t find my ticket can you believe that, Jeeze!, and I forgot which gate I had to go to, and god this airport is so big, not like the one back home that I had to drive twice past to see it, my name’s Daniel LaRusso by the way, hi, hello, and—

Kreese had been overwhelmed. Utterly. The rapid fire words, the East Coast accent (Jersey? Bronx?), the hands on the hips, the friendly demeanor. The way those big dark eyes looked up at him, how a dimple would appear near that generous mouth when certain words were said. He couldn’t have been much more than twenty, all small and sure of himself.

And then the kid—this Daniel—had apologized for the last time, and smiled up at him (fuck, that smile), and hurried away on surprisingly long legs to board the same flight that Kreese had been about to before getting hit by this unexpected Italian...thunderbolt.

And Kreese stood there like a damn fool, having not got a single word in whatsoever, not even his name (why’d that bother him so much anyway?). He’d stood there for so long that the last calls for boarding were already in full force before he made his way onboard, half-angry at himself, moreso at the kid. But he found his seat in the back, and shoved his carry-on in the compartment above, and had just buckled himself in when he saw a dark-head bobbing down the aisle like there were springs in his feet. 

And Daniel had checked on the passengers row by row with that easygoing friendliness, and then finally looked up from where he was helping an old lady nearby, and grinned John’s way, brushing his dark floppy bangs out of his face (god, the fucking eyes on this kid!) and—

—Kreese actually groaned to himself. 

Well. 

Fuck. 

...Anyway Anon, as for calling him Danny on the show, I can’t remember if he ever does? That’s such a Terry term of endearment, not a Kreese one. Let’s double check with @yenforfairytales just to be sure! What's your take, Yen?

Anyway, Kreese wouldn’t call him Danny in LaKreese land—but Prima Donna? Absolutely, it’s that perfect blend of condescending, teasing, and affectionate—and after Kreese gets over that toxic part of himself that is mean to Daniel because he can’t admit that he’s fallen for the kid—the condescending aspect is entirely removed. 

If Betsy is a part of Kreese’s past, then no Dollface, that’s her name and always will be. Names are important to Kreese, okay! But if not...maybe, on occasion. But I think Kreese much prefers Princess over that for Daniel. His bratty spitfire New Jersey boy. 

(And Daniel does slip and call him Captain—especially when he knows Kreese’ll rail him extra good for his sauciness.) That’s how Kreese finds he’s an unexpected member of the mile high club. Maybe a premium member too.

What?

It’s all the damn kid’s fault!

[ss-trashboat]

okay babes. new goal since jersey doesn't look plausible (it's okay we'll try next year maybe). but new goal (don't tell night shhhhhh). night has been having. a really rough year, between job searching and bad brain and i really, really want to have them enjoy something this year. and with all in being in london and closer to them to get to, i want to make this happen. so have a ko-fi goal set up to try and get them the tickets!! i do try to plan on getting them anyways, but as i have no idea how much they'll be, i'm looking to try and get a savings to get them there. i know it's a bit last minute as lol tickets go on sale next week, but i still want to try. if anything the goal will help me fund my bills after i buy the ticket lol. but please share around, tell your friends, let me do something special for my bestie since we can't meet up in person. let me get them to see their beloved kip wrestle <33

i have lots of stuff on my ko-fi ranging from stickers, art prints, premade drawings, as well as commissions for new things. i'm currently working on the backlog but will be working very hard on completing the other art to take on new things. all donations to the goal will come with an art of some kind depending on the amount. i appreciate y'all who share this around <33

[callipraxia]

calli what do you think of sherman pines. you have a lot of opinions about stuff so I would like to know. I think I might go around and ask everyone actually. actually yes I will… anyway. i really like him. he is very cool 2 me and I wanna know what you think of him. is he the baby? the older sibling? someone completely different? there is a correct answer /hj. i have him as the older brother—I have three fics with him as a titular character. you haven’t reached the chapter where shermie appears in The Search yet, but I think he is very delightful and that you would like him too. i have a lot of a headcanons and personality traits about him. like for one; he loves popcorn. he used to make it for his brothers back in new jersey. he loved them a lot and was always the normal brother, which was sometimes okay but left him out of the loop for many things like ford’s life and stan’s kick out. ksjjdhdidgrgr one post has triggered my love for shermie again and now I pester Everyone (this went on for a while. sorry!)

The fun things about my having lots of opinions on everyone is...I usually don’t even know what they are until I start typing. I usually make ‘em up, applying canon to justify or refute as needed, as I go along. So...this could get interesting!

As I begin typing, though, at least, I’m a true agnostic on the subject of Shermie. I’ve written him in as the older brother, the younger brother, and the Non-Specified. In the original very rough outlines for parts II and III of FWJB, it was a plot point that Shermie both did and didn’t exist at the same time without his age ever being specified.[1] I keep saying I’m going to do a proper time travel Shermie someday; time will tell if this is true. As for theories I might run with in a story, if I were writing one where I couldn’t leave him unspecified:

1) If I wrote Older Brother Shermie, he’d be, like, much older. Possibly actually only a half-brother, as Caryn (irrc) looks a fair bit younger than Filbrick (though even if I recall incorrectly, eh, I believe I read somewhere that it was Word of Hirsch that Stan made the infamous remark about how your life will fall apart if you get someone pregnant at the drive-in movie because he’d heard Filbrick complain along those lines in the past. Who knows – I’m making things up as I type here - maybe there was a first Mrs. Filbrick who got cheated on at the drive-in, resulting in Stan and Ford and the half-brother they are only vaguely familiar with the existence of. That’s the fun of Filbrick and Shermie, there’s very little you can’t do, except, like, make Filbrick a nice person outside of Anti-Mabel’s home dimension, I guess). In any case, this variant of Shermie had a motorbike as a teenager and had only the foggiest notion that he even had siblings, making it vaguely plausible, when they bonded after the parents’ deaths, for Stan to sell the idea that “nah, you got us mixed up, Stanley was the one with six fingers” in the unlikely event that this variant of Shermie even knew one of them had had six fingers.

2) Younger Brother Shermie works, in my opinion (or at least, my opinion as it stands right now), only in one of three ways. One: he’s a time traveler. Two: his life is an angstfest on par with Stan’s. Three, of course, is that both of the preceding are true, to one degree or another. But anyway. If he didn’t go time traveling, his life’s pretty definitely an angstfest, considering that it implies that at least one of Dipper and Mabel’s parents was the product of Adolescent Indiscretions (my second fic ran with that idea, actually – in that case, the “next thing you know, you gotta raise a kid, your life falls apart….” remark was Stan talking about his brother. Though that plotline could also work with an Older Brother Shermie as well, of course.[2])

But yes – even after writing all of this and its footnotes, I’m...still a Shermie agnostic, really. Heck, you could probably call him into existence with the Infinity Die and I’d just nod and proceed without hesitation, lol. I will say, though, that the only Shermies I have actually read and clearly remember are yours and another Old!Shermie, who was also relatively normal and was a functional enough brother to the Stan Twins back in the day. I quite liked both of them (I have got to see more of your Shermie attempting to converse with Fiddleford sometime...and just more of that guy in general) – I’m far too cruel to Stan to allow him a decent person in his young adulthood, but I apparently enjoy reading the results when other people show mercy. My apologies if this document is, due to all this failure to promote a single thesis and the way it was written, useless and/or incomprehensible; will attempt to clarify any incomprehensible bits when I get a chance tomorrow (I’m actually going to have to go to bed at a reasonable hour for once and...at least make a better-faith-than-usual effort not to give up on sleeping too soon and whip the phone out; I’m having brunch with some friends in 3D tomorrow morning, so gotta sleep tonight and then be occupied for a while tomorrow, but yeah, it’s inevitable I’ll be online at some point.)

(1) To vaguely explain that very long story, in the unlikely event anyone wants to know: the half-baked idea (I never put it through all the wringers that ideas which make it into print get, so it’s still quite rough) was that time broke due to Weirdmageddon, time travel antics, or both, and – to borrow a metaphor from Terry Pratchett – had to do the equivalent of being put back together with glue sticks; among other problems, this created Shroedinger’s Shermie. Therefore, Ford nearly caused the end of the world by being like “...who’s this guy?” when Shermie showed up to help save the day in the finale, which caused Stan to realize “...I don’t actually have a single childhood memory of this guy, but I keep thinking I do??” while meanwhile, Shermie is like, “can you guys debate my existential status later, this is giving me a literal headache.” In the end, though, FWJB Shermie ended up being a killed-off Not Specified.

(Though now that I think of it, if I combined the idea with the ideas that took its place...Dipper already had to deal with a fair bit of temporal displacement. Mix that with a grandfather who both does and doesn’t exist...existentially unstable Dipper leads to existentially unstable Mabel, Tracey, and Quattro (especially the latter two), which leads to issues with both halves of the split-by-the-town-limits timeline, which all defies the fact that yet: here all four of them are, just as prophecy demands...dang, I could have horrified y’all more, huh? Or at least confused and/or induced headaches more. Plus, the rest of the story got significantly darker and more serious than it originally was supposed to be between the first and second outlines, only to get darker and more serious still between the second outline and the final product because of reasons, so the scene as originally pictured would have likely gotten much too slapstick to fit where it would have gone. Eh, probably for the best, it really did get trippy enough as it was. )

(2) No matter which Shermie I use, I seem to saddle the Child of Shermie with a pretty dysfunctional family, too, now that I think of it – the most detailed one I’ve come up with involved his mom running off with some guy in the Navy when he was two, leaving him to be partially brought up by the dysfunctional trio of Filbrick, Caryn, and Shermie and later be brought up by a stepmother who was loving on one hand, but had a personality of cast iron on the other. She and Shermie had an only half-joking agreement that she would not try to murder Stan during Shermie’s lifetime. She was Not Amused to get back from a cruise and find that Mr. Pines had sent the twins to Gravity Falls while she was away; she was Even Less Amused by the explanations Mr. Pines and Stan attempted to give her for why there were suddenly two Stans around after she discovered Ford’s existence. I haven't developed the other potential backstories for other versions of Shermie I've touched on much, but ten to one they're equally fun. Why stop at Dysfunction Junction when you can take the whole family right on to Soap Opera Station, am I right? (jk; I haven't seen them done in much detail anywhere, including my own work, but I have no objection to the idea of Dipper and Mabel's parents being semi-normal humans. They're another set who are fun because there's very little that you can't do with them, if so inclined).

[therummonster]

*vibrating intensifies*

so. the monster debacle.

spoiler warning for episode 26 in the Multiverse Tales playlist Redemption of the Were-Jaguar. you've been warned!

from what i've seen all monsters they've become are also a slight reflection of their experiences and self.

EXHIBIT A!!! Vasilia Kuznet

Vasilia becomes a were-jaguar, which of course the obvious is her experience with hunting were-beasts. the second thing can be seen in the above image, she's very confident in just the air around her, but needed to change her own perspective on this other form.

also the finale of that episode was literally Gangadharan was finally trusting Vasilia despite the constant evasion of her fanged form.

EXHIBIT B!!! Astra [Redacted]

Astra becomes a skin walker. she has a tendency to change her identity when in a rough zone. examples: Diamos, Tatyana, and even the dragon form.

although i was a bit confused on why hyena specifically, because before i was researching for this, i mostly saw deer versions of the skin walkers. y'know, like how most people draw wendigos. so here's that info.

EXHIBIT C!!! Charlie/Mikayla Maciel

Bio-MeKayla became a sparking ghoul. the sparking part is obvious, Charlie is a machine based lifeform, and robotics tend to use some form of electricity.

but it's interesting to see that Charlie becomes this twisted version of his worst self, the part of him that's just like every other bio mech they're looking for.

the increased hostility and tendency to control their victims. that parasitic behavior near identical to a symbiote. examples of this behavior: Obi, Emerald Tyrannus, Terror Claw, Fin-Walker, Firecross Dragon.

the controlling part is easy to find in their meeting. he blindly takes control of Kayla and just asks her to try balancing. of course we can mark that up to being completely in a panic at the thought of getting cannibalized.

another fun detail, this corruption also seems to dissolve parts of Kayla to the bone. as you can see with Kayla's corrupt arm. could be a reminder of the slime drake, but without knowing what the leg looks like that is shooting into the dark.

EXHIBIT D!!! Champagne McGregor

champagne becomes a hybrid dinosaur/lizard man. i've already done my reasearch for him a while ago, there's nothing i can pull from mythology. what i can pull is his correspondence.

aka: his job and history. he created monsters of his own that were searching for their next chance of survival, be it food or safety.

heck he even lost his arm to a mutated freakshow of a tyrannosaurus.

exhibit e, the thing giving me the most trouble: Benny Sharp

Benny becomes a jersey swamp skulker. not much to refer to unless you want table top rpg ideas. and even if i do refer to other swamp lurking mythology, there's honestly nada. no fishy abominations i've found from movies are good references either... so we just gotta go off the THREE LINES that gangadharan gives.

this is a human that touched a cursed barnacle. they can propel themselves through the water at extremely quick speeds to the point the best way to hunt them down is to get them on dry land. they also have sharp blades on their forearms. wow. what help.

alrighty, time to bs my way through this... i'm probably gonna move around exhibits so we get me struggling to deal with this guy at the end.

literally what do i pull from???? the monster simply doesn't exist. it is there, it was created for one purpose: and that was a community redraw. hfffffffffff. i even finally tried to check out what swamp skulker is in the ttrpg. it's a sea roomba. with a vague appearence of an axolotl crustacean.

not even kidding. anyways, back to shooting in the dark with a leaf.

obviously the outer shell is there in place of the mech armor he was no doubt wearing. the ability to propel itself at high speeds as to avoid danger could be equal to his tendency to run in the past if things were getting too... dangerous for others.

but my main confusion is: why water? he's honestly never really interacted with it. literally one of his key sayings is basically "if a mech can't fly, it's not worth it." so maybe that shows that he doesn't have any worth in his eyes?????

the extra mouth like cover being of course kinda like a mask, maybe showing the fact he usually is counted as the positive "don't worry, we can win if we go fist fight god!" despite me staring at every trauma past christmas demons.