Chapter warnings: non-con sexual advances. It's mild, but still. Be safe. Also, this fic has diverged into some pretty heavy topics, so, like, a mature audience is advised.

Peter woke up to Dolly Parton's "9 to 5" and a severe case of back pain.

He groaned and sat up, one hand firmly on his back and the other covering an ear to stem the overflowing volume of Wade screaming the lyrics from the top of his lungs, pitch be damned, as he did sit-ups on the floor. The sight was strange to behold, given that he was still in his straitjacket, but the broken bliss of the morning made him too irritated to care. Peter groaned again, louder this time, and rolled over, clamping both hands over his ears.

"Why must you?" He demanded.

"Mornin'," Wade interrupted his screeching to chirp cheerily. "I assume the suns' shining and the ugly vultures are out looking for a meal. Don't worry, this is pretty routine, you'll get used to it."

Peter grumbled and turned over to give Wade the stink eye. "Kay," he emphasized, "But why, Wade? WHY?"

"Number 1 rule to prison life - stay fit. It's when you get all weak and sickly that they start to up the experiments. Not that it really matters for me. Side's, it gives me something to do other than dwell in the unspeakable horrors of the past," He laughed mirthfully at that, more toward himself than Peter, and quickened his sit-ups.

Using the wall, Peter pulled himself to his feet and stretched his back, long and hard, grimacing at the tight knot coiled in his shoulders and spine. "That doesn't even make any sense," he grumbled, "Upping the experiments when they're sick, I mean. It'll just kill them faster."

"Eh, they can always get more test-subjects. Besides, I'd say Weapon X isn't known for its loving hospitality. I don't think Francis even knows the meaning to "health" and "safety." He's always been a grab em' and scrap em' kinda dude."

Peter rubbed along his lower back, arched his spine, and stretched his arms over his head. "Sounds like you've known him a while. How long have you been here?"

Wade shrugged and got up to switch his sit-ups to squats. He was surprisingly good at doing them without his hands there to balance the weight, "You could say that. They got me, I escaped, they pursued, they got me again. It's kind of a little game we play."

"Some game," Peter bent down and touched his toes, sighing when his back popped. That was the most uncomfortable slab of concrete he's ever had the displeasure to sleep on. Which was saying something, cause he's passed out on a number of sidewalks and he didn't remember them ever being that rough. He sat down and stretched his legs, nearly bending himself in half to touch the floor by his toes.

"Are you a gymnast or something?" Wade asked, cocking his head. "Or an acrobat? You're pretty stretchy."

"Sure," Peter said, switching legs.

"Sure? That's what people say when they do something similar. Only that something is usually shady as fuck."

"Alright, fine. I'm actually a secret agent working for an undisclosed agency. I was found in the circus as a young boy and my raw talent inspired them to recruit me and train me for dastardly missions that decide the fate of the world."

Wade snorted, "Alright, I dig the backstory. Could use some work. Should've said you were the side-kick to some aloof, shadowy vigilante who's secretly a billionaire with a dad complex. Now that is something I'd go for."

Peter grimaced. That almost described his and Tony's relationship. Although, their relationship has always bordered more on mentor/mentee than father/son. But the dad-complex was spot on. "Agh, your right," he said, "Forgive me faulty story-telling."

"I'm a man of the people, Aaron."

Peter paused his lunge stretch and looked up, lips pursed and eyebrows quirked, "My name's not Aaron."

"Well, you never introduced yourself? So, I did it for you. You're now Aaron Applebottom, acrobat extraordinaire."

"Aaron was seriously the best you could do?"

"What's wrong with Uncle Aaron, he's a good guy?" Wade laughed at his own inside joke but conceded, "Alright, alright, how about..." he paused for thought, "Jaime? Ellis? Perez? Stan?"

"No, no, no, and maybe."

"Man you are picky."

Peter shrugged.

Wade paused his own leg stretches to think, "Then how about Jamel? Bennett? Marco?"

"Polo."

"Very funny."

"You're a man of the people, I'm a man of the comedians."

Wade looked like he was seriously about to challenge that when they're game of 'Pick a Name' was interrupted by the doors banging open and a coterie of alpha's filling the room. Their musky smell was like being next to a port-a-potty and Peter wrinkled his nose. Squaring his stance, he held his fists up, prepared to sock the first one that so much as looked at him funny.

Wade, on the other hand, whirled around with grace unbefitting of a man in a straitjacket. "AH! David! Earl! Carl! How are you chaps this fine morning?" To Peter, he said, "Don't worry, they're here for me. I always get a check-up around this time."

Sure enough, aside from an interested sniff in his direction - which Peter growled at - and a few passing glances, they ignored him in favor of grabbing Wade and roughly shoving him out the door.

"We'll see you later, Sherman!" Wade called over his shoulder before the door slammed shut and Peter was left alone.

He remained braced in his fixed spot for several more minutes before easing into a more relaxed stance. Well, as relaxed as one could be in the situation. He rubbed his hands anxiously on his pants and turned away from the door. The fact that Wade went to easily, and so cheerfully, probed at him with a likeness of getting poked with a fork. Had he really been here so long that he's just accepted his conditions? The way he acted, as though he was going in for a regular ol' checkup from a certified doctor, rather than potential torture. He literally called the guards "chaps."

It rubbed him the wrong way.

I'm not going to end up like that, he promised himself. Francis and all of Weapon X can go fuck themselves.

Shaking his head, Peter paced the length of the room, wringing his hands together. He seriously needed to come up with a gameplan. Getting tortured until he found an escape opportunity didn't sound very appealing. But he could've been carted to a different country, for all he knew. He had to be smart about this.

His head ached though, haunted with the remnants of the concussion Angel gave him. His eyes caught the mattress shoved in the corner and perked up, making a beeline for it. As soon as he was close though, he could prominently smell Wade's scent all over it. A rich, yet strange aroma that sat heavy in the nose. There was a bit more to it though. Something muskier and somewhat dirty.

The scent of an alpha post-rut.

It'd make sense that he'd have to work through his ruts on his own like this. He hadn't done anything to make Peter perceive him as a threat, but he obviously had a reputation if everyone gave him such a berth, even when leading him out of the cell. Like a bunch of trappers leading a strange beast out of a cage.

It was still gross though.

Wrinkling his nose, Peter turned the mattress over to the cleaner side and sniffed it there. The scent wasn't as strong now, more a shadow of what it was, so at least he might catch a couple of winks before Wade got back.

Collapsing on the mattress, Peter curled in on himself with his back to the wall and a clear view of the door. Just in case.

The mattress was hardly a step-up from the floor, but it was better than concrete at least.

He closed his eyes.

And was opening them sometime later, if his sleepy daze was anything to go by, as the door opened again. Peter blinked once, then jolted up on one arm with the other clenched into a fist, and watched as Wade was shoved back in the room. The door shut behind him just as quickly though and Peter 'humphed, falling back on the mattress, realizing there wasn't anything to worry about yet.

He felt, rather than heard, Wade hobble closer and jerked back up when the mattress was sharply kicked. "What. The. Fuck?!" Wade demanded and Peter squinted up at him. Dry blood mottled the fabric of his clothes in large, deep stains, and stained the skin of his face, but there were no other indications that he'd been hurt at all.

"You're here for 1 day and you're already taking over my bed? Get some class man!" Wade growled, kicking the mattress again.

Peter grumbled and lay back down, "Hey, I'm the freshman here, aren't? Isn't the upperclassman supposed to make the newbies feel welcome?"

"What middle school drama have you been watching? We all know the upperclassmen bully the freshmen into submission."

Peter glared up at him. "Nice," he snapped. "Submission. Brilliant choice of words. For that, you're not getting your mattress back for the rest of the day."

"Who died and made you my ex-girlfriend?"

Peter responded by curling back up on the mattress and closing his eyes. He didn't go back to sleep, too curious about what Wade would do? He had kind of taken over Wade's space, which wasn't exactly fair - he'd admit. Then again, he was gone and if they were sharing the cell, they may as well share the mattress too. Peter wasn't going to spend ALL his time on a hard floor.

Still, he was interested in how Wade would react. Would he force Peter off? Leave him be? Lay down with him? If it was the latter, Peter was gonna push him off.

He felt like a kid pushing the boundaries of a parent. Testing the waters to see how much they would take.

It was tense and quiet at his back and Peter held his breath.

Then, ever so softly, he heard a sigh and a scuffle as Wade retreated. Peter burrowed his head into the mattress. Okay, letting him keep it wasn't the one he was expecting.

He told himself not to look, but after a long minute, Peter glanced over his shoulder to see Wade huddled in a corner, head leaned against the wall with his eyes closed. He might've sensed Peter staring and opened an eye, asking a silent, 'What do you want now?'

Peter quickly looked away. Shit, now he felt bad. The guy did just go through some type of torture, and he hadn't forced him off like Peter expected. Man, why did his cellmate have to be such a softie? Peter thought he was going to have to establish his own dominance to keep the guy off his back, but he was hell-bent on breaking all of Peter's expectations.

Craaaaaaap.

Seriously though, the idea of giving the mattress up to him made his tongue sour. He's been taught throughout childhood to give things up for alpha's. His career, his time, his love, his efforts. Just the thought of bending and giving him the mattress bashed angry heads with Peter's pride.

But Wade hadn't proved to be one of the alpha's Peter grew up with. Kind of the opposite, in fact. As strange as that was.

Kind alpha's existed, of course. But Peter was sour to think that they were few and far between. MJ was a nice alpha. So was Natasha, Bucky, and Clint. Same with the nice guy who owned the sandwich shop close to Peter's apartment.

He groaned, then sighed, then groaned again, decision made. "Alright," Peter grit and got up, "You can take the mattress again. But as soon as you leave, it's mine. We'll take turns or something cause I'm not sleeping on the floor the whole time."

Wade cracked an eye open, looking between Peter and the mattress, before grinning, "Awww, who knew that snappy gymnast was secretly a softie."

"Take it before I claim it as my own."

"Fine, fine," Wade got up and shuffled over to the mattress. He bent, as if prepared to belly-flop, but stopped at the last second, sniffing the air. His nose wrinkled, "Dammit it, now it just smells like you! You've ruined a perfectly good mattress!"

"Oh fuck you!" Peter snapped, "Just turn the damn thing over and you won't smell anything."

Wade stopped his feet childishly, but slid his foot under the mattress and kicked it up, trying to turn the thing over. Instead of the desired outcome, it flopped back against the floor. He tried again, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, but his efforts proved futile once more.

Peter watched him attempt it a few more times before throwing his hands up in the air. "Oh shove over, I'll do it."

"No, I've got it," Wade said, trying to do some fancy footwork to hike the corner of the mattress up his leg.

"Just let me do it, man. I turned it over in the first place.

"Seriously, I got it. Go sit down or something."

"No! Just move your ass, and I'll do it."

"Back off!"

"Make me!"

"Damn you!"

"Damn you too!"

Despite Wade trying to kick him away, Peter grabbed the corner and threw the mattress over. After which, he grabbed Wade's shoulders and pushed him on top of it before sulking into the corner, knees to his chest. Wade sat there for a long moment, staring at Peter in surprise, before flopping back onto the mattress.

A few minutes passed before he whispered, "Thanks."

Peter didn't respond.

Peter was beginning to think Francis forgot about him. It's been a while since they took Wade, and no one had come for him yet.

Which wasn't too bad, he supposed. For all of Franci's talk of being intrigued with Peter's powers, he didn't live up to it much.

Wade's company was better than Francis's, at least.

Unfortunately, he had the curse of optimism in bad situations. Not too long after hoping they might've forgotten about him, the door slid open again to rip those dreams apart. Instead of heading for Wade, the alpha's locked eyes on Peter with twitchy fingers and greedy eyes.

"Whoa, hey, back up!" Peter snapped, pushing one of them off as they hauled him to his feet. "I can stand on my own, thank you very fucking much!"

"You give us any trouble omega, and we'll be forced to get aggressive," one of them said, but it sounded more like a suggestion than a warning.

Peter's lips curled. He could smell the want on all of them. It was a lusty odor that backed up his nose and promised a future headache. Why did they always smell like that? Could they not go one day without getting all creepy about being close to an omega.

"Give me any trouble and I'll be forced to kick your ass," Peter snapped back, jerking his arm out of one of the alpha's grips, "I said I can walk myself, dammit!"

She chuckled, as if the thought amused her, but gestured for comrades to let him go. "Okay, omega. Be good for us and you can walk yourself. Like a good little bitch."

Peter punched her and didn't regret it for a second. Not even when the rest of the guards swarmed him. As they tried wrestling him down, Wade whooped loudly from his corner. "Yeah, get em' roomie! Knock em' in the head!"

"Do you wanna help? Or are you just going to sit there?" Peter demanded, shooting him a glare as he tossed one of the alpha's to the side.

"Nah, I'm good. Looks like you've got it handled from here."

Something sharp pierced his arm and Peter froze, grimacing. "Nope. Not handled. Not handled." Damn Francis's sedative.

"You just couldn't be good," the alpha whispered in his ear, pinning his arms behind his back. "Just couldn't take the easy route."

"Easy isn't in my vocabulary," Peter said and shoved her away with his elbow. She tottered back with the force, even with the aided sedative carving a path through his system. "And back up, wouldja? Ever heard of personal space?"

"C'mon, let's just get him to Ajax," another one of the alpha's said. "He'll get what's coming to him."

As they led him out of the room, through Peter's swimming consciousness he heard Wade cheerily call, "Give em' hell for me, roomie!" then the door closed.

The journey from point A to point B was relatively quick, but then again Peter was finding it hard to pay attention. Eventually, he found himself in front of another door. Francis was there, looking as posh and jerk-ish as ever.

"Well, omega," he said, entering a code into the door, "I think it's about time you earned your keep and made yourself useful. Now go on in and do what you do best."

Peter didn't even have time to try and decipher that as the door opened and he was overcome with the thick smell of an alpha in rut. It was so pungent and strong, the sedative seemed like nothing but a dose of valium compared to it. "Hold on a damn second-" Peter started before he was shoved inside and the door locked behind him.

He slammed into it anyway, forming a dent where his shoulder hit. He hissed and clutched it when it did nothing. Every one of his senses were in overdrive now. He knew this smell enough to know what Francis meant.

"Now go in and do what you do best?"

"Fuck you!" Peter roared, kicking the door.

A noise from behind grabbed his attention and his spider-sense buzzed. Before he could even turn though, something body-slammed him into the ground. Hands were pulling at his clothes before he could react. Something was grinding down on top of him. Panting breaths blew on his face.

"Ngh, it's been forever," the alpha occupying this cell moaned in Peter's face. "So good, ahh. Goo - good omega," a pair of lips slopped against his own and Peter growled, a dark, menacing growl that made the alpha pause, if just for a second.

"Get. OFF!" Peter kicked him off and the guy hit the opposite wall with a loud, surprised grunt.

The alpha was naked. Stripped bare and almost dripping with sweat. Heats and ruts did that kind of thing to you. It was the result of your body storing up pheromones for months before filling itself to the max and releasing them to make room for more. The smell was designed to draw in potential mates and fire up the reproductive organs as a way to ensure the survival of their species.

It was the 21st century now, so it's not like they the human species was in danger of going extinct or anything, but biology was biology.

It made you crave sex, but that didn't mean you had no self-restraint. Which is something Peter wished someone would've told this guy. In fact, it's something he wished people would know in general. Social media outlets had long since romanticized the idea of heats/ruts into bouts of love and passion that neither participant had any control over. That just being in that state made them unable to help themselves to the person they "love."

But when you stripped it all to its bare essentials, it was the equivalent of being raped.

Forcing an alpha or an omega to have non-consensual sex with you during a heat/rut was similar to being forced into sex while drunk. It was manipulating them based on their mental and bodily state for your own pleasure. Society had believed for a while that it was okay for an alpha to share an omega's heat. That they were doing them a "favor" regardless of whether or not the omega wanted it.

And vice-versa for an omega. It was instilled into their heads that the best way to go through a heat was with an alpha. And if an alpha was in a rut, it was your duty to pay it back by helping them. But that just resulted in a lot of unplanned births and sexual assault. And whenever the omega reported it, they were turned into the perpetrators or brushed aside for being too dramatic.

There were even times when the alpha didn't want to help in a heat, or receive an omega in a rut, and they were forced with one anyway. Whenever they complained about it too, they went unheard.

And Peter hated it. He hated the blind-eye society put on these issues and the way they continued to push these ideas on children and teens. He despised the role they had grafted for him without his permission, and how they expected him to fit into it whether he wanted it or not.

The alpha in front of him bared his teeth, sending out a wave of pheromones that told him to submit, stop struggling, just take it.

Peter's pheromones were just as abrasive, full of back the fuck up, I'm gonna beat the shit out of you, and just try it bastard.

Which seemed to surprise the alpha.

"Stop," he growled, using that fucking awful alpha voice that grated on Peter's nerves. "Listen to me, omega."

"No," Peter said, stalking forward, fist clenched, "You listen!" He grabbed the alpha by the neck and slammed him into the wall, eyes ablaze and teeth bared. "You ever touch me again and I'll break your hands. If you try anything, I'll beat your ass. And I swear if you ever use that stupid voice again, I'm using your body as a battering ram to break the door down. You got it?"

The guy stared at him wide-eyed, surprised, and wholly terrified.

"Got it?" Peter snarled.

He nodded frantically, squeaking out a small, "Yes," and Peter shoved him down on the mattress. He kept his eyes on the guy as he sulked into the farthest corner with his body scrunched together tightly. Any time the alpha even looked in his direction, Peter glared at him. A few times he looked like he was going to try and force himself onto Peter again, and after he seemed to gather the courage, Peter slammed his fist into the wall, denting it heavily, and he decided better of it.

Eventually, he stopped trying to persuade Peter over with his pheromones and started handling his rut himself. Peter ignored the noises he made as he pleasured himself, and dug his fingers into his knees when the alpha starting panting out "Omega," with his eyes screwed up. He was probably fantasizing about doing things to Peter and it made him want to hurl.

But he kept himself in his corner, heart beating rapidly in his chest and arms trembling. Adrenaline coursed through his body but all he could do was sit in the corner, shaking so hard it was a wonder the walls weren't moving.

After a while, they must've come to the conclusion that Peter wasn't going to "make himself useful" and the door opened. The alpha from early stepped back in and Peter growled at him briskly when they tried to touch him. He's had enough alpha hands on him for one day.

Whatever they saw in his eyes was enough for them to keep their distance as they coerced him back outside. Francis was waiting out there. He looked Peter over and tsked, shaking his head, "Disappointing," he mumbled and Peter would've tackled him if he wasn't being shoved down the opposite hall.

Vaguely, he thought he could make a move to escape now, but he felt displaced. Like his soul had been picked up and moved to the side, off-kilter and out of balance. His brain was going a mile a minute but nothing was comprehensive. There were a few times in his life when he'd been threatened by an alpha like that, and each time never failed to make him feel the same way.

Disgusted. Angry. And Vulnerable.

Out of all three, vulnerability was the one he hated the most.

He's felt vulnerable for most of his life. It was only after the spider-bite did he feel like he could have some of that safety back. It was another reason why he worked so hard to be Spider-Man all the time. There were omega's out there everywhere being hurt or abused. Alpha's too. If no one else was going to listen to their cries for help, then Peter would.

He was just waiting for someone to listen to his.

Before he knew it he was back in Cell Block 10. He stood in place as the door shut behind him, staring at the floor, breathing heavily. His fists were clenched so tightly, he felt he might break his own knuckles.

Wade sat up on the mattress, eyebrows pinched, "Roomie?" He said. "Are you o-" he didn't finish. Are you okay? Of course he wasn't. What kind of question was that?

Peter reeked with the smell of a rutting alpha. If he could smell it on himself, Wade probably could too. Peter glared at the floor harder, anger filling him up. His brain was freaking out, his body still shaking.

Why can't I just fucking calm down?

He took a deep, rattling breath and ran a hand through his hair.

"Do you want the mattress?" Wade asked.

"No, I don't want the fucking mattress."

"Okay," he said it softly, understanding. But Wade didn't go back to how he was before. He moved away from Peter, as far as their room would allow and turned with his head facing the wall. It took Peter a moment to realize he was giving Peter his space. Wouldn't look at him so Peter didn't feel like he was being watched. His back turned to Peter so he didn't have to worry about someone sneaking up on him.

The gesture seemed small, but Peter felt a balloon of gratitude swells somewhere alongside his adrenaline-fueled rage, as well as a sliver of guilt for snapping at him. He slowly backed up, back hitting the wall, and slid down, head on his knees. "Thanks," Peter whispered.

Wade didn't respond, which Peter was perfectly okay with.

He wished he could take a shower to get the smell off him, but he doubted Francis would give him the privilege.

Hell, Francis acted as though feeding him to an alpha like that was a privilege. Like he, as an omega, should be grateful for the opportunity to help a rutting alpha. To submit to that low-life of a human-like he was "meant to."

Do what you do best.

Yeah fucking right.

Cause that's just how it was, huh. He got to live in this society of dominance and submission. He was born and raised to crawl under the "protection" of a high-horsed alpha who promised safety under a veiled illusion of sentiment and honor. When all it really was was a thirst for control.

Because of course, what kind of alpha were they if they didn't have a pretty little omega under their arm? What kind of alpha were they if that omega spoke of their own intentions and actions? If they were an alpha, it was their job to keep their omegas under control. To put their heel to the omega's head and push them into the dirt, because that was where they belonged, at the feet of an alpha.

And if the omega refused. If they pushed back and tried to stand, suddenly they were defective. They were worthless. How could such a selfish creature reject its "protector" and the shelter they provided? All they alpha's asked of an omega was to be their little prize. To sit on their lap, at their knees, to cuddle and flatter, and stroke their ego. All the alpha's wanted was to command, order, and demand of their little omega, to have every order listened and obeyed with a smile and eagerness to please.

That's what it was all about right? The codes of their existence burned into the structure of their biology. The alpha's with their instincts to protect and reproduce, and the omega's with their inborn desire to be protected and give back off-spring.

Well, fuck all that shit.

An omega wasn't created to appease the biology of an alpha. These white-washed, two-dimensional values constructed by their society only proved to brainwash both sides into an unhealthy relationship that pretended to be justified by human-purpose.

All his life Peter was told that his desire to be loved, appreciated, and safe were the effects of the omega inside searching for an alpha that could provide and that the only way of attracting such things was to be small, bow your head, and smile sweetly. Show them that you're pliable, innocent, and willing to obey. Alpha's were taught to be aggressive to protect. But that aggression fell back on omega's, too. That an omega that could withstand their aggression and violence was an omega worth keeping. As if they were an object to be observed and placed undervalue, based on their durability and looks, rather than a human being that just wanted a life where they could be happy.

He's gone through his childhood, high school, even adulthood, expected to keep to himself until an alpha swept him off his feet. He's been told how good and submissive he looked by strangers, who lick their lips and eyed him up and down like he's a delicacy, promising him that they'd be a good alpha to him. That they'd dominate him and make him beg as if any of that sounded appealing at all. It made him sick to the stomach.

He's come to hate the word "dominant" and "submissive." Two words that never failed to spark a fit of indignant anger inside. Why was he put under this label before he could decide which one he'd prefer? Why were these the only options to begin with? Why did there need to be a dominant and a submissive at all? What was wrong with just being themselves?

People couldn't be grouped into two categories. They were too many factors, emotions, and layers to human beings to be simplified in such a manner. But the simplest way he could put it. Alpha's could be "submissive." Omega's could be "dominant." In which case, the whole concept of dominant=alpha and submissive=omega was invalid. Which left it to its bare essentials and the real distinguishing factor that what really separated an alpha from an omega was that one had a knot and the other didn't. Simple as that. None of this, one secondary-gender is automatically more aggressive/gentle, violent/timid, dominant/submissive than the other.

And heats/ruts, don't even get him started on those. For eons, people have believed that an omega couldn't resist an alpha's touch during heat, and vice-versa for an alpha in ruts. It just wasn't true. They were all just brainwashed into believing that that was the case. It was just another integrated belief through rape-culture dolled up to look all pretty and romantic. The sheer number of trashy, rapey romance novels Peter had been introduced too was astounding.

That didn't mean the idea of BDSM was necessarily bad. As long as it was consensual between all parties, it was better. But, in all truth, the idea of dom and sub should only exist as a type of (consented) entertainment for all people involved in it, not as a way of life.

Well, the joke was on all of them, because Peter was going to show them. He's never liked the idea of bowing his head when things got too hard for an "omega." Flash bullied him all throughout his childhood, bent on making him submit, and he only got angrier when Peter refused.

Which was what he was going to keep on doing.

He was going to get out of this place and take Weapon X down.

He glanced over at Wade who was still turned away from him.

And he was going to help those who were stuck here. That was a promise that Francis could fucking bet on.

Well, there we go! :D Pete's pissed. Like I said, some heavy things going on in here.

Thank you, everyone, who supported the first chapter! Your comments literally made my day! :3 Love ya guys!