#heard nothing since

[selfconsumerofmywoes]

if people want to visit me i’m going to need at least a week’s warning

[plasticbag23457]

Dead poet society and Villainous cross-over nobody asked for 🫣

[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.

[anonimato2]

well intentioned as they are, i still personally think that every post saying that 'if anya had told swansea he'd have killed jimmy and solved the problem', and 'curly should've taken initiative and shoved jimmy into the cryopod' still misses the point of anya, which is that even in those scenarios never once do any of the men Ask Her what She Wants done to jimmy.

As relieving as it can be to be ridden of your rapist by someone you trust and confided on, i don't think the subconscious guilt of having someone be killed because of you* would settle well with a person, specially one training to be a medic. Before anyone on that ship takes up arms and axes to jimmy, i think they should all offer comfort, safety, and availability, not make the decision to kill jimmy for anya. Not assume and take this solution for her. Not do what they think is best for her. Even if it was the best, they should not do it themselves without her expressing that that is what she wants.

Jimmy or no Jimmy, Anya is still not allowed agency, not even in the fandom space.

(*in no way shape or form was jimmy killed because of anya, but victims often feel that whatever they went through was their fault. Killing Jimmy wouldn't be the instant healing journey some may think)

[spiderin-space]

They love playing Knucklebones together…

[seaofreverie]

Sparkstember Day 18: Balls (Bullet Train)

Sometimes (oftentimes) it's true that all you need are Balls. I personally absolutely love Balls. I'm a big fan! Ekhem. Today I'm using the help of (I mean, copying most of the passages from it) my earlier Balls rant that I have written down after my first listen of it back in January. I really love this album and I don't want to completely skip over saying a couple words on it at least but I really don't think I have the headspace to write anything very good for it today. I'll still try though!

So yeah, Balls. It's a great album, fun and chill (in my sense of what I call and consider chill anyway), consistent, as Sparks albums tend to be, and as I suspected / hoped it does fit this specific vibe of driving around at night somewhere city-like and illuminated. Or being on a train deep at night and looking at the world zooming by (if you'd even see much of it on a train at night anyway.....). And I do think that it's not so dissimilar to Gratsax (I'd say now that it's definitely darker and moodier than its predecessor...). So it's interesting to think about how it's considered to be one of the "weak" ones (by music reviewers at least) while Gratsax is so beloved in comparision.

I will admit, I don't really know what the big problem with this album could be. As I said, it's fun, it has the melodies, it has the energy, it has the theatricality (I like seeing how more and more orchestral instruments such as strings are being incorporated into the music, in a way the jump into Lil' Beethoven two years later doesn't come of as THAT much of a shock because of this. The evolution of sound here is fascinating!) I really like the intense beats, just as much as the more laid-back and moodier pieces. And there's lots of gold to be found in the lyrics department as always.

One more thing I wanna say is that at some point I wondered if this music sounds older than it is. Maybe it does? But then I remembered that this was 2000 and honestly when I think about it, there just IS something about this album that fits so well with the Y2K image and vibe and all. Sparks 2000 and all that.

Favourite songs (and other highlights):

Balls: I mean. It's Balls.

Scheherazade: absolutely LOVE this one and I had the strangest impression of it sounding very familiar when I first heard it. Months later I found out that it was just briefly featured in TSB so I think that explains it (I will talk more about my TSB viewings on TSB day. EVERYTHING has to be explained in excruciating detail, lmao)

The Calm Before The Storm: bugsonas 4ever. Song itself is amazing too

How To Get Your Ass Kicked: how can a song about getting your ass kicked be so pleasant and relaxing, it always keeps cracking me up, how perfect that is actually

Bullet Train: I love it how introducing the topic of the song with a "It's the [topic of the song]" is a reoccurring theme on this album. Thank you Sparks for this ode to technology and art (these lyrics always have me giggling). And also it just goes hard as heck

It's Educational: a perfect fusion of / sequel to I Thought I Told You To Wait In The Car and Progress (it's mostly the vocal delivery that reminds me of the latter)

The Angels: such an odd one here but I still like it a lot, I apparently said that it sounds "surprisingly mainstream for Sparks but somehow in a positive way". It's very sweet and I absolutely love how Russell sings here, it's so different from what we're used to but that only makes it hit you even more in the feels, lol. And I actually prefer the alternative version of this song that's featured as a bonus track, and I do think that's in big part because you can hear Russell better on it (or that was my first impression of it at least and it kind of stuck)

[flying-cat]

I can't imagine being anywhere near as insane as Trump supporters because my dad told me that he, earlier, drove past a guy putting a "Harris Walz 2024" sign outside his house and decided to yell out at him "TRUMP 2024 YOU COCKSUCKER" and flip him off. And he laughed when he told me because he thinks that yelling at a man (emphasized man because he thinks men should be "better" than women, and "better" would be voting for Trump in this case) who is voting for a "whore who slept her way to the top" (his exact words) is funny. And expected me to laugh with him. And got angry when I didn't and just stared at him in disbelief. Even though he already knows that I don't like Donald Trump. These people fully expect others to find their weird ass derogatory words and behavior FUNNY. Donald Trump is leading a cult of old people who he brainwashed into being delusional with him.

[booasaur]

From (2022) - 2x07

[angeart]

My brain keeps going back to the hhau rambles and Grian asking Scar about taking his wings off and just...how incredibly short-sighted that "fix" would be. Because like, even if he lost one/both his wings and lived through it....he'd still have his instincts. He'd still chirp...he'd still wanna be high up in nests but he'd have to climb now. He'd never be able to wrap himself in wings again... depending on when that earring of Scar's might be the last of his feathers... and oh gosh post rescue? The hermits seeing him without wings and all the questions and looks of pity. Some well meaning hermit maybe brings him an elytra which he's never needed before and oh that could cause a spiral

-🎀

oh gosh. oh okay. i see you're bringing angst to my doorstep.

grian definitely wasn't thinking clearly in that moment. he simply reached a point where he can't see any other solution. so much of his anguish is tied to his wings. he's in pain and scared and he desperately wants it to stop.

he's learned to despise his wings. they cause him so much turmoil and everything that was ever good about them—everything he loved—has been meticulously erased. they're not pretty. they are dirty and grimy and itchy. heavy, unwieldy, muscles locked up, clumsy and aching from disuse. they no longer feel like a proper part of him. he's not using them, he's just constantly fighting to tuck them away. to make the world believe they're not there.

well then... wouldn't it be easier? if that was the reality?

to him, it sounds like a long-term solution to an otherwise never-ending problem.

his wings are a beacon, and wouldn't him and scar be so much safer without them? if he didn't have them, there'd be no reason for people to madly hunt him. maybe then they could stop running and catch their breath. maybe then scar wouldn't be in constant danger just from being near him. maybe then the fear lodged into grian's spine and the endless string of triggered panic attacks would finally go away.

yes, he'd still have his instincts. but he's already grounded. he's already not using his wings for any sort of comfort at this point, and flight is not an option. he's craving nests and high places, but that doesn't mean he can get them, wings or no wings, and— he was fine without that on hermitcraft! surely if the pain and fear stop, his instincts will calm down? surely, he can get at least a semblance of control back?

and you need to realise. there was no thought spared to the hermits. at this point, scar and grian have given up and no longer expect or even hope to ever be rescued. in their minds, there's no one coming to save them. there's no home to go back to. it's just this.

it will always be this.

and this is painful, and grian is clawing at ideas of making it better somehow—anyhow—no matter how drastic or gruesome that option might seem.

that all being said... man. that big what if. what if he really lost them? what if, one way or another, he managed to get rid of his wings? what if that happened and he survived?

your point about how scar's earring would be the last of grian's feathers is so heartrending. that'd be so tragic and sad.

and then post-rescue, the hermits would have even more proof of the damage. even more questions, too. even more helplessness as how to help, when the damage done is long since unfixable </3

grian, having to wrangle with having a safe environment to fly again, but having no wings to fly with... especially if that was his own choice. if it was preventable. ouch.

[yardsards]

yet again thinking abt that entry in amity's diary that said "i called my teacher mom again"

and how that's not too unusual for little kids to do, but for a teenager to do that *multiple times* generally means there's something deeper going on there

and we learned that yeah, amity's definitely got plenty of mom-related issues

now what i'm really curious about is the exact reason

was it the more bittersweet reason that amity was so starving for parental affection that her brain immediately latched on to the teacher as a parental figure the minute they gave her positive attention/praise?

or was it the even sadder possibility, where the teacher was *scolding* her, and she automatically called them "mom" as a fear response?

[orfisheus]

good day, it has been almost exact 13 months since the last EW episode has been released.

[zykamiliah]

corporal punishment=/=abuse

corporal punishment=/=deliberately allowing a child to use a manual that would kill him in the long run

corporal punishment=/=allowing and enabling bullying in your own peak

corporal punishment=/=putting a child to sleep in a woodshed

corporal punishment=/=sending a child to fight against a demon elder

corporal punishment=/=pushing a child into literal hell

hope that helps ♥

[ltlemon]

question: do anyone else's feet turn red/purple in the shower ? like up to the ankle before it slowly starts fading into the regular coloration.

[strunmah-mah]

Rumor going around Zdarsky's killed Jason in the current Batman run. Please don't be true. I'm enough of a Jason fan that I won't just read that issue, but I'll back read the entire arc for context. And I REALLY don't want to read Zdarsky's Batman

[moeblob]

Erin, to her crush: You're a dick

Mason, the crush: I won't argue! But to clarify -

[puppyeared]

Atla live action 😐