#ANYWHERE ELSE... HE'D BE A TEN...

[1m0g3n09]

💅🏻💅🏻

☆ - ̗̀✨ He's just Ken ✨ ̖́- ☆

[naldoreth]

I'm just Ken but instead of Ken is Legolas singing about the reader/YN/fem OC

[shannonsketches]

id like to hear your thoughts on ganon's feelings/experience with gender, wrt his own and/or gerudo in general

Ooo thank you for asking!!

So I mentioned before that I hc that gender is Different in Gerudo Valley than how we/Hyrule would perceive it. Because it's (an almost entirely) mono-sexed meritocracy, gender presentation isn't really named in such a way, it's just. You. That's who you are. Maybe you have tiddies and a vajeej but you aren't boiled down to Woman(tm) except in comparison to an intruding Hylian or a once-in-a-century King that may or may not live past infancy, or if you're interested in bearing a child then you learn about Femininity(tm) as Hylians understand and expect it.

So Ganondorf like. He knows he's a male, and he identifies as a male, but he doesn't identify as Man (Hylian/Human), he identifies as Male (Gerudo/Divine) because that's what his culture offers. And he doesn't see himself as a god(tm), except maybe out of spite in comparison to Hylians, but he also understands that there is No Other Being Like Him in any country in any land anywhere in the world except in legends, so it's difficult not to attribute something distinctly Othering about himself, even though he is Gerudo.

So in the same way that a Gerudo might kind of align her gender idea/presentation with her interests and specialties rather than a more traditional route, so does Ganondorf. His gender is Gerudo King. His gender is Born of the Sun. His gender is Better Than You. He's just Ganondorf and he's more than Kenough.

[starshine-valley]

"oh no, they're (the children) singing again..." - Taiga about vivid bad squad /j

[poisoned-fruit-prose]

𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐥.

synop: viktor is upset with you. the walls are closing in on your identity. you have nowhere to turn but away.

wc: 2.4k.

request from anon: Your Viktor X mage reader is so GOOD!!! It made me so happy considering that my oc is a mage and works with Viktor and Jayce! If you have time, could you maybe write something in the same scenario (reader being a mage, working with the boys on Hextech + dating Viktor) but where the reader had been hiding that they're a mage and now they have to confess it to the boys and explain why they understand the arcane so unusually well? So sorry if this is worded badly, and if you don't want to write it that's perfectly fine! Have a great day/night!! -🦖

includes: hurt/comfort. happy (?) ending.

author's note: i do apologize that i couldn't fit jayce into here, but i think we all know he'd just wag his tail and perk his ears up and love you all the same. (...puppy-coded jayce x reader fic, anyone?)

“It’s almost as if you already know how this all works.”

Viktor’s words made you freeze.

Hextech was beginning to reek with magic. There were jumps in logic that were far too great for science; it was you, mucking up information, crafting runes, testing things that made no sense to a non-magical mind, one that didn’t possess your internal compass. Viktor and Jayce were along for the ride at the beginning, but the explosive success of the Hexgates and the novelty of the technology’s potential was fading into careful study—a form of work that would expose your abilities and leave you vulnerable to accusations like Viktor’s.

But you didn’t already know how it all worked. Magic was an unknowable thing; it was a plane above you, surging through you in ways you’d never fully understand, not within your lifetime. You were working merely off these fleeting moments where magic, instead of your mind or even your heart, guided you. Magic told you where to step—it didn’t tell you why, it didn’t bother to explain, and it most certainly didn’t care how it appeared to the rest of the world.

It was only a matter of time before your “genius” was seen more as prescience. You no longer had a simple knack for the arcane. You were now a hostile guard of secrets that would otherwise better the world. It just broke your heart that it was Viktor who saw through it first. That he’d have to be the first to be bear your burden.

His words bit with little subtlety. It was late. Desk lamps glowed a harsh white, washing out his already pallor skin and exacerbating the bags hanging beneath his eyes. You didn’t know if he already suspected your abilities, but you now knew he most certainly noticed how you stumbled through every technicality yet were still, always, ten steps ahead of him.

Maybe it was jealousy, maybe it was sleep deprivation, maybe you were looking too far into it all. But you could only respond with nothing. Your mouth hung agape for a moment before snapping shut. You fled the lab. He didn’t follow.

You retreated to the university’s sprawling library; it was too cold for the garden and too late for anywhere else. You buried yourself in books and words when the world became unbearable but, tonight, fatigue and despair clouded your ability to focus. You found yourself crying in a study nook instead.

Somehow, in your attempt to protect the one you loved most, you found yourself driving a wedge between you instead. It sickened you.

“My, this isn’t what the library is for!”

You weren't sure how much time had passed before Heimerdinger’s cheerful voice chirped out beside your chair; a moment later, you heard him scuttle into the chaise beside you. You didn’t bother to look.

“Whatever is the matter, dear?”

You took a shaky breath as more tears escaped you. The Yordle clicked his tongue and reached into his coat pocket. After retrieving the handkerchief folded neatly inside, he reached out and passed it to you. You gave him a grateful look as you used it to dry your face.

You sniffled. He waited patiently.

“I… I fear I may not be able to work on Hextech anymore.”

“Oh, my—I understand your upset now. Why do you think that?”

“I just…” Your breath fluttered. “I think I’m causing an impasse. And I would rather Viktor and Jayce work on it alone instead of it being abandoned altogether.”

“You three are inseparable,” Heimerdinger insisted. “What in the world could you be doing that would call for such a drastic measure?”

You sobbed. “I… I can’t explain.”

“Surely it’s not your relationship with Viktor.”

“No, absolutely not,” you insisted firmly. “This… This would be a decision I’d make to save that. He and Hextech mean more to me than anything. Even my own participation.”

A quiet fell over you two—not uncomfortable, yet not devoid of thought either.

“...May I be honest with you, my dear?”

You nodded, finally looking over at him.

“I know you’re a mage.”

The blood drained from your body and the world shuddered upside down. You gaped at him in dread. The Yordle merely chuckled.

“Don’t be so worried—if I believed you were a threat, I would’ve turned you in long ago. But I have no reason to, nor any desire to.”

You allowed yourself to calm. A Council Member knowing was the worst possible scenario—but Heimerdinger had a soft spot for you in addition to thousands of years of experience. Fate graced you, of all people in all possible times, with magic. You were benevolent, incredibly sharp, and ambitious—and if there was anyone the Yordle believed should wield the arcane, it would be someone like you.

“...How did you find out?”

“Viktor and Jayce are not the only ones who have noticed the leaps you make in your studies.”

You nodded weakly. “...What’s going to happen to me?”

“Nothing at all, dear. I’ll admit, I was quite fearful when I put the pieces together. After all, magic is a very dangerous thing—even an inexperienced or feeble mage holds far more power than any non-user. Yet I cannot deny the work you have done for the world through Hextech. You have proven your worth, your passion, and your goodness. I don’t believe the public should know you’re a mage, for obvious reasons, but I do believe you have a duty to continue your research. Your abilities give you an invaluable advantage.”

You sniffled. “But Viktor… I fear he’s building up resentment because of that. I can’t… I can’t keep doing that to him, sir.”

“I have lived a very, very long life—trust me when I say a relationship such as yours is a true marvel. His resentment is understandable, but it is a drop of water in the ocean of adoration he has for you. Severing your ties to Hextech will only summon a storm. You must tell him the truth.”

“What if he hates me for it?”

“My dear, he leaves the lab when you merely ask him to. He’s going to marry you.”

You were exhausted, but you still ran back to the lab. The moon yawned from behind the windows over an empty chair and a desk in disarray. Viktor was upset with you, so you knew he wouldn’t be home—which left a single place he could possibly be.

Viktor sat on the ledge of the maintenance shaft. His eyes hung heavy but his mind whirred as he played the way you left the lab, defeated, over and over against his skull. He knew he shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. You were the love of his life, his irreplaceable partner in Hextech, and his closest friend. He had frustrations, naturally, but he allowed them to escape their leash and lash out at you. Then, once they had finished with you, they turned and began to gnaw on him.

Your hand was warm on his shoulder. He knew it was you immediately. He turned to meet your gaze, expression somber, hand jumping to yours.

“Miláčku,” he breathed, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured as you settled beside him. You squeezed his hand, rested your head on his shoulder. A wave of relief washed over him. “I’m sorry too.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“No, I have. I’ve been keeping something important from you.”

You opened your free hand. A single rune nestled in your palm. Viktor gave you a confused look.

“A rune? I don’t understand—”

Without so much as the utterance of a word, the wave of a gesture, or any visible exertion of effort whatsoever, the stone began to glow a familiar blue as it lifted itself from your skin. It levitated, revolving slowly, as Viktor finally grasped what was happening.

“...You’re a mage,” he whispered. The truth shifted the air. You nodded as your hand began to shake. Your fear cleaved your connection with the arcane and the rune fell, lifeless, back into your hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His words were clipped. Panic made you defensive. Disagreements were common in science, but you and Viktor rarely had them outside the lab doors. The irregularity of this, compounded with the danger of magic and fatigue, made you both a little more upset than you should’ve been.

“If it wasn’t obvious, my kind isn’t exactly skipping through meadows hand-in-hand with non-users, Viktor.”

“The three of us are trying to change the world’s view on magic. You should’ve told Jayce and I much sooner—think of what we could’ve done if we knew this!"

Your head ripped off his shoulder to glare at him. “Telling you would’ve done nothing but put you in danger!”

“We could’ve made progress ten times faster!”

"This isn't about morals or philosophy, Viktor—this is life and death! That progress would be meaningless if it meant I had even a chance of losing you!"

Viktor always feared if he did not charge forward with perfect efficiency he would wither away, his life unimportant and impactless. But your words rung out in the night, struck Viktor and resonated through his body. Instantaneously, his world shifted. He saw the way you regarded him, how you held him as the pinnacle of your life. Even above Hextech. Above progress. You were scared. You cared about Hextech just as greatly as him; but what terrified you enough to conceal a crucial face of your own identity, to endure his acerbic comments, to consider abandoning your greatest passion, was not the discovery of your abilities or the destruction of your work.

It was the potential loss of him that came with it.

He finally understood. He saw the world through your eyes. He had been picking evolution over you, chasing importance and impact when he already had it cradled in his hands. He had become spiteful of the person he loved most dearly because you were making more progress. In that moment, he chose the path of his life.

He chose you. For what was progress to an empty man?

“...You would be worth dying for.”

The softness of Viktor’s voice made the anger in your shoulders and face immediately fall away; the actual statement made your heart tear apart. He would keep your secret even if it meant death upon discovery. He would forever share your burden.

You both immediately reached for each other. Viktor's hands took your face, pulling you to him with urgency as he kissed you fiercely. Your hands immediately ran up his chest, the sides of his neck, into the short hair at the nape, then fully into his locks. He snaked an arm around your middle to pull you flush against him; the mention of death only served to burn this moment in his memory. Should the worst happen, should you get caught and he lost you, he’d always remember the way your skin felt against his, how you kissed him like he mattered, how you felt like a well-loved puzzle piece against his own. There was no knowing where he ended and you began, and it terrified him how much he loved it, how he squeezed you closer to exacerbate it.

You only parted when your lungs burned. Panting, you shared breaths and atoms. Viktor bumped his forehead against yours and looked up at you with that gorgeous amber gaze. You were tearing up.

"I meant it," he murmured. Hands still on your cheeks, he thumbed the corners of your eyes, wanting to take the pain before it even started. He held you with more care than his runes, his inventions, his life's work. He held you in the way a priest cradled his scripture.

“Please don’t go doing that,” you murmured.

“Only if you don’t either.”

"I promise."

A quiet tension still scintillated in the air. “...I’m sorry for raising my voice at you. And for the back-handed comments. And accusing you of slowing down our progress.”

You couldn't help but laugh softly. “With a rap sheet like that I should quit anyways.”

“...You were going to quit?”

“Vik, I… The danger of being a mage—you were days from finding out. You were frustrated all the time and I was only dividing us further.”

“No, no more thinking like that.” He grabbed your arms, squeezed them. “You were not the reason for any of this. Hextech is our life’s work, and I can only hope that we continue on it until we die hunched over our papers; but I would give it all up to keep you at my side.”

“You don’t mean that, V.”

“What in the world makes you believe I don’t?” he asked incredulously, leaning in to catch your eyes again. His expression was earnest, adoring, nearly puppy-like from the sheer intensity of his concern.

“I—that’s just a very romantic statement.”

“You believe I’d die for you, but not that I’d give up Hextech for you? Surely you aren’t jealous of our creation.”

A beat. You both smiled. The tension broke with it, and the two of you devolved into laughter. The sound of it made Viktor’s heart just soar. The catharsis of an invention that finally worked, finishing a long book, understanding some complex idea—none of it compared to the way your voice rang out like bells when he made you laugh. Viktor nuzzled his nose beside yours. You reached up, thumbing his bottom lip.

“I'm not jealous. I just know neither of us could survive without Hextech in our lives.”

“Mm, I'm sure we’d find a way to pass the time.”

Viktor closed the gap between your lips again. You both smiled, kissing each other sleepily, unaware of just how prescient your words knelled.

dividers used: sparkles • star

[webism]

KINKTOBER DAY SEVEN: edging with sub!higuruma

kinktober masterlist

“I think I hate you.”

You have to laugh at the tortured way in which Hiromi speaks. He’s a mess, hair strewn over his forehead, skin glossed with sweat, cock angry with need.

“That’s not very nice,” you hum, languidly stroking at his cock. You don’t want to go too fast, ruin the awful buildup you’ve been working at. “You should be kinder to the person with your dick in hand.”

Hiromi bites the inside of his cheek. You’ve brought him to the edge three times now just to let his orgasm die the moment it starts to crest. He’d prefer a ruined orgasm at this point—anything other than the torture of denial. He's a hard worked man, stressed, and this is no way to wind down after a particularly hard case.

But god do you feel good; even just your hand, though Hiromi knows he'll be begging for more of you by the end of the night. Your fist squeezes around his cock in a way much like you would if you were riding him instead, soaking him in the mess he makes of you... he can't handle the imagery, his fourth potential orgasm starts to rise in his chest.

Maybe if he doesn't tell you he's going to cum, you won't realise. He thinks on it, focuses on the sweet coos of praise that slip from your lips and enhance his pleasure ten-fold, and groans. God, he wants to be good for you, to experience the sweet reward for doing so. He doesn't want to disappoint, doesn't want to do anything other than please you.

"I'm close," he bites, hating himself for giving in so easy. His chest heaves with each buck of his hips into your hand, he's really chasing a release, and it brings a smile to your lips.

"I know," you say, and Hiromi can feel the god-awful twitch in your hand as you start to slow down your movements.

"No, please—"

"Don't beg," you hum and release his cock entirely; he has half a mind to reach down and stroke himself through a mediocre orgasm to stunt the awful wait. "You're going to cum when I let you cum, baby, begging won't sway me. Just enjoy it."

Enjoy it? Hiromi could laugh, how can he enjoy repeat denial? Even if your hands on him are godlike and he'd rather be here with you than anywhere else in the world. Even if he doesn't pick up on how loud he's being, how much he's writhing, how fucking good it really feels. Your Hiromi has a habit of getting stuck in his own head.

That's why he hardly registers it when you're climbing over him and sinking down onto his cock with a sharp gasp. When Hiromi finally catches up to your movements, and he's able to untangle his grip from the sheets to rest on your hips instead, he thinks he's seen heaven.

He's so fucking sensitive, and you feel so good around him—warm and wet and sensual in so many ways your hand just can't compare with. Suddenly, as you roll your hips against him and lean down to kiss at his jaw, he gets it.

"Holy shit." "Told you."

He's barely just come down from his last potential orgasm when he feels another one bubbling in his lower abdomen. He feels ashamed, almost, of how quick he's going to cum now that he's finally inside of you—that is if you let him finish, of course. He knows you told him not to beg but he can't help the string of 'please baby please' that falls from his trembling lips.

You smile against his jaw, press a delicate kiss to his freshly-shaved skin and whisper something in his ear that he'd argue in front of a court is on par with a heavenly commandment. "Cum for me, 'Romi."

Fuck seeing stars, Hiromi's vision is lost on him completely as your words force the most intense orgasm of his life to wrack through him. He feels it in his bones, in his fingertips that dig into your waist, in his lungs that empty themselves of air as he cries a sweet release. He's never cum this hard. He's never cum this much—he's still balls-deep inside of you can can feel his cum being forced out of you and down his thighs.

What could have been a painful five orgasms tonight is rolled into one, and Hiromi is left gasping for air and struggling to keep his thoughts in check as you roll your hips and help him ride out the overbearing pleasure.

"Say it," you tease, and though Hiromi is fucked stupid, he still manages to roll his eyes.

"You were right, I was wrong."

"Good," you hum, and bring your hips up a little just to drop back down on his aching length. "Because you're going to keep still until I cum too."

[luveline]

Could I request stripper reader and post prison Spencer being all domestic? I just think Spencer deserved to have someone take care of him after that

thank you for requesting! ♡ fem

cw spencer makes a weight related joke about reader but he is one hundred percent kidding/is talking about carrying the reader and not her actual body weight, pls don't read if it will upset you

“How's it feel now?” you ask. 

Spencer glances down at you from the TV. If he had his way since being released from prison, you would spend the majority of time in his lap, and the TV would not be on, but you're trying not to smother him and he's content to let you do what you want, so long as you're in arm's reach. 

“How does what feel?” he asks, frowning. 

“Your leg? You know, the one you stabbed yourself in?” 

“Fine. Surface wound. Hey, are you almost done?” 

“No. I'm making you a mug cosy.” 

“Could you not come up here and make me cosy?” 

You put your little crochet hook and yarn ball on the floor near the paper pattern you're following. “That's way too cheesy a thing to say for a felon.” You grin at him. “Good for you, I'm awful at this,” —you climb onto your knees, arms out to him as he grabs you and pulls you onto the couch— “and I don't want to do it anymore.” 

“Then don't.” He smiles as you settle against him, half on top of him, your pyjamas soft against his bare arms and legs. “I'm not a felon.” 

“I'm kidding,” you say gently. 

He puts his hand against the top of your head and forces you backwards a touch to meet his eyes. “I know.” 

You glare at him. He decides he'd like to play too and glares back. 

“Crochet is very difficult.” 

Spencer lets you drop back into his chest. “You're good at enough things already,” he says. “Like not going to prison, and being heavy.” 

You bear down on him with more weight, a laugh slipping from you unbidden. He loves how startled you sound to have laughed, and how nice you smell as you push your arm under his back to hug him. “That's sick,” you mumble, your free hand toying with the soft neck of his shirt. You pull it down, kissing the skin between his collarbone. “You can't call me heavy. That's so mean.” 

“I love you,” he says. 

You smile into his chest. “I love you too, even though you said I'm heavy.” 

“Relatively, when you're making me carry you to bed at night–” 

“I don't do that,” you laugh guiltily. “No, you've got me mixed up with someone else.” 

“Well, let's just stay here tonight.” Your phone beeps. “Or not.” 

You press yourself into his neck and talk warmth into the curve. “I'm not going anywhere, Spencer. I'm staying right here, forever. And in ten years you'll have huge muscles from carrying me to bed.” 

“And your thigh muscles will have atrophied.” 

“Like those, do you?” 

“As much as I like every part of you. You're the most beautiful girl in the world.” 

You snore. Spencer laughs, jostling you on his chest, and you drop the facade to kiss his throat in slow, meandering presses of the lips, no one place in mind, just warm half moons turned a little wider as you go. He breathes out slowly. Kisses like this are the ones that plagued him late at night, when the mind ran out of worry and turned to missing you instead. He would've given anything two weeks ago to have you laying on him like this, and now he has it for nothing. Just ‘cos you love him. 

“Are you gonna go back?” he asks quietly. 

“To the club?” You draw a short line into his neck with your nose. “Sure, once you're feeling better.” 

“I'm alright. I am.” 

“Until I'm feeling better, then,” you say, putting your hand on his cheek. You have slightly longer nails than when he went away, and the tips of them tickle his freshly shaven cheek as you turn his face to yours. “I'll go back just as soon as I stop missing you when you're in the bathroom. Or I run out of money.” 

“Don't be childish,” he says.

“I'm not, I'm being realistic.” 

“Realistically, I'll take care of you.” 

You sigh happily and kiss him. That happiness passes between you in shivers, until Spencer's hot under the collar and you're giggling. “What's funny?” he asks. 

“Maybe I'll get a job at the grocery store.” 

Spencer doesn't know what you'll do, but he'll be there for you like you were there for him. “Good idea. You can be a checkout girl and I'll stay home, looking at pictures of you and crying while you're gone.” 

You nudge him. “Don't make fun of me for that! It was a long month and a half without you, Spencer.” 

He closes his eyes and rests his forehead on yours. “I'm not making fun of you. It was the same for me, you know? Just didn't have a picture of you.” 

[sidekick-hero]

when all you are is a weapon

written for @steddieangstyaugust day 6, prompt: "Who did this?"

Tags: canon divergence, Post-S3, drug dealer Eddie sells weed to Steve and Steve falls in love, protective Steve and his nail-bat

words: 1.5k | AO3 | rated teen

After Starcourt, after Billy, after too many concussions and more trauma than anyone should endure, Steve found himself relying on weed to calm his nerves and help him sleep. It had become a routine, something that felt almost normal. He didn't see the need to tell anyone, especially not Robin.

Robin's strong stance against smoking made it clear she wouldn't approve of his weed habit either. Steve told himself he kept it from her to avoid adding to her worries. But deep down, he knew the real reason: he wasn't sure he could stop if she asked him to.

Weed dulled the relentless pain, both in his body and mind, like nothing else could. But there was another reason he didn't want to quit: without it, he'd have no reason to see Eddie again.

Steve never imagined he'd have more than a few words to say to Eddie "The Freak" Munson. Liking him was never part of the plan. Yet, out of nowhere, he found himself effortlessly joking and bantering with the guy. What started as quick transactions of money and weed gradually stretched into five minutes, then ten, then thirty. Soon enough, it wasn't just about the weed anymore—it was about spending time together.

Sure, the weed was always part of it, but it quickly became clear that it was no longer the main reason Steve kept coming back. Not by a long shot.

When Steve knocked on the trailer door, he was already smiling, but that smile vanished the moment he saw Eddie.

“Oh my God,” Steve gasped, unable to contain his shock.

Eddie's lip was split, and his right eye was already swelling and turning purple.

“Hey, Stevie,” Eddie greeted him with a forced cheerfulness that sounded more hollow than the mocking tone of their first encounters.

Ignoring the greeting, Steve stepped forward, gently reaching out to touch the bruised flesh.

“Who did this?” he demanded, surprised by the anger in his own voice. There was a violence there, a violence he usually reserved for monsters from another dimension.

Eddie flinched slightly at Steve's touch but didn't pull away. "It's nothing, just a misunderstanding," he said, attempting a casual shrug, though it was clear he was in pain.

Steve’s jaw tightened. “A misunderstanding doesn’t leave you looking like this. Who did it?”

Eddie shook his head. “Drop it, Harrington. I’m your dealer, not your charity case. It’s not worth getting worked up over.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself. He could see the stubborn set of Eddie’s jaw, the way his eyes flicked away, avoiding any chance of connection. Pushing now wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“Fine,” Steve said, though the word tasted bitter. He let his hand fall away and took a step back. “But this isn’t over. I’m going to find out who did this.”

Eddie sighed, looking both relieved and exasperated. “You’re like a dog with a bone, you know that?”

Steve didn’t respond. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the cash, handing it to Eddie without another word. The exchange felt different this time—heavier, more loaded. Eddie took the money, their fingers brushing momentarily, a silent acknowledgment of something unspoken between them.

“Take care of yourself, Eddie,” Steve said quietly, turning to leave. As he walked away, he silently vowed to uncover the truth and make whoever did this pay.

Because for reasons he couldn’t fully understand, seeing Eddie hurt felt like a personal attack. And Steve Harrington wasn’t about to let that slide.

Steve's determination didn't waver as he dug for information. It didn't take long before he heard whispers that Jason Carver and his goonies were behind Eddie’s beating. Rage bubbled beneath his calm exterior, and he knew what he had to do.

Armed with his trusty nail-studded bat, Steve tracked them down to the parking lot behind the high school. Jason and his gang were lounging by their cars, laughing about something that immediately died down when they saw Steve approaching.

Jason sneered, stepping forward. "Well, if it isn't the King himself. What do you want, Harrington?"

Steve didn't waste any time. He swung the bat onto his shoulder, making it clear he wasn't here for a friendly chat. "I know what you did to Eddie."

Jason's smirk faltered, but he quickly recovered. "So what if we did? That freak had it coming."

Steve's grip tightened on the bat, his eyes blazing with anger. "You listen to me, and you listen good," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "If any of you lay a single finger on Eddie again, you'll have to deal with me. And trust me, you don't want to pay that price."

One of Jason’s goons stepped forward, trying to look tough. "You think you can take all of us, Harrington?"

Steve swung the bat in a wide arc, the nails catching the light menacingly. "Try me," he said coldly. "I’ve fought things a hell of a lot scarier than you."

Jason held up a hand, signaling his friends to back down. He eyed Steve warily, recognizing the dangerous resolve in his eyes. "Fine. We'll leave Munson alone. But this isn't over."

Steve stepped closer, his voice a deadly whisper. "Oh, it is over. You stay away from him, or next time, it won’t just be a warning."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Jason and his gang in stunned silence. As he left, Steve felt a sense of grim satisfaction. He had protected Eddie, and for now, that was enough. Steve may be a disappointment as a son, he may have failed as a boyfriend, but he can be a weapon. He can protect the people he cares about - and he begins to realize that he cares about Eddie.

The next time Steve visits the trailer for their bi-weekly exchange, Eddie's bruises have already started to fade. But as Eddie swings open the door, it’s not the fading bruises that catch Steve’s attention—it's the anger blazing in Eddie's eyes.

“What the fuck do you think you were doing, Harrington?” Eddie spits out, his voice trembling with rage. “I told you I’m not your fucking charity case. Did you get hit in the head so many times your hearing is gone or what? I told you to stay the fuck out of this, not threaten Carver and the other meatheads with a baseball bat. I mean, what were you thinking?”

Steve remains calm, letting Eddie’s words wash over him. “Actually, it started to, yeah.”

Eddie stops mid-rant, confusion replacing his anger. “What?”

“My hearing. The concussions caused this annoying high whining tone in my left ear, so sometimes I don’t hear as well. But I heard you, Munson. You’re not a charity case.”

Eddie blinks, the fire in his eyes dimming slightly. “Then why’d you do it?”

Steve takes a deep breath, stepping closer. “Because you don’t deserve to be treated like that. No one does. And because… I care about you, Eddie. More than I thought I would.”

Eddie's anger deflates entirely, leaving him staring at Steve with a mixture of frustration and something else—something softer. “You’re a real piece of work, Harrington.”

“Yeah, well, someone’s got to look out for you. Might as well be me.” Steve’s voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument.

Eddie shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” Steve says, his own smile breaking through. “But you’re stuck with me now. Whether you want it or not. You can send me away, but I’ll still look out for you. So, better get used to having me around.”

Eddie steps forward and pulls Steve inside the trailer, closing the door behind them.

“And what if I want you to stick around? What do I have to do?”

Tugging Eddie closer by the hem of his threadbare t-shirt, Steve locks eyes with him. “A kiss would be a good start. Breakfast in bed. Attention whenever I want it. I’m high-maintenance, Munson. Gotta treat me right.”

Eddie nudges Steve’s nose with his own. “I think that can all be arranged.” His voice turns serious. “I’m not sure this isn’t all some really weird, weed-induced dream, man. Can you… I know this sounds insane, but can you pinch me, please?”

Steve leans forward and slots their lips together, kissing Eddie for the first time. It’s slow and sweet, and just when they’re about to break apart, Steve bites his lower lip.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“Seemed like more fun than pinching you. Convinced it’s not a dream?”

Eddie grins, the last of his uncertainty melting away. “Not sure yet. You should kiss me again.”

Steve laughs softly and happily obliges, pulling Eddie even closer as their lips meet once more.

[certifiedmaidenlessblog]

Okay now that we know that wayv q4 album is real I'm positive that the company is trying to wring them out to make up for the nct losses before their contacts expire because I don't think they'll be able to retain everyone after contract renewal which is kinda likely because ww has already booked it

If the news about another mini from wayv in q4 is real then I have many things to say

[kookslastbutton]

Lovin' You Right ༓ jjk (m)

✑ Summary: Your new badass neighbor won't leave you alone. You know the type, the guy your mama wouldn't want you bringing home. He'd break your heart as quick as he'd take it.

Pairing: new neighbor!jungkook x fem!reader

AU/genre: angst, fluff, smut, e2l, neighbors, oneshot/drabble

Word Count: 2,031

Warnings: cussing, dom!jungkook, sub!reader, missionary, praising, rough s*x, d*rty talk, sp*nking overst*mulation, reader's first-time, sl*t calling once, oc a bit of an uptight b at first, little manhandling, jk rides a motorcylce, jk giving it to oc straight, a very wet date bc MV made me do it

Now Playing: seven by jjk

A/N: no explanation, this is just what i thought of when i listened to jungkook's song 'seven'. Hope you enjoy! 💞

He looked like a real hard ass with all the black leather he wore, arms covered in ink, and chains hanging from his neck. You know the type, the guy your mama wouldn't want you bringing home.

He was your next-door neighbor and he rode a mean motorcycle. It was loud as fuck and woke you up about ten times during the night. And every time he saw you in the hallway? He'd have this shit-eating grin on, like he wanted to devour you whole.

"Think our mail got switched up again," he said, handing you a pile of letters. "Gonna need to talk to the mail man or somethin'."

"Oh geez," you replied, doing your best to avoid eye contact of more than three seconds–his eyes were just a little too piercing. "Thanks." You shoved the letters under your arm and carried on your way. It was laundry day and you desperately needed to have clean clothes.

"Hey wait," he kept on your trail. "How's your day goin'?" He rushed ahead to open the laundry room door, allowing you to go first.

Look at him trying to be a gentleman, hmph. You held your head high and walked through the door. He'd break your heart as quick as he'd take it.

.

Like an itch that won't go away, Jungkook followed you as much as he could. No matter how much you scratched, he'd be right there, burning holes in the back of your neck. He'd watch you dump your clothes in the washer, walk you to your car whenever you needed to go anywhere, hell he even helped you carry in groceries when given the chance.

"What do you want Jeon?" You finally popped the question. He didn't look like he was simply "being generous" or "doing his part to make the world better". He was bumming around for something, he had to be.

"Go out with me," he simply quipped, knocking the air out of your lungs.

"Excuse me?"

He rolled his eyes, he was too old for beating around the bush and he was fed up with you giving him the silent finger. Not once have you told him to beat it straight to his face so he's gonna shoot his shot. "Yes or no __? You know I like you, why else would I be bugging the crap out of you?"

"'Cause you want to fuck me then leave me for your other neighbor, the one who lives on the other side of your door." You crossed your arms against your chest. "Tell me I'm wrong."

He narrowed his eyes, tiniest of smirks on his overly gorgeous, no good, lying face. " No you're right. I do wanna fuck that pretentious attitude you got. It's been pissing me off for weeks."

He took a step towards you, caging you between himself and your kitchen island. "What gives you the right to be this bitchy huh? You act like you know everything there is to know about me, but you're too damn stubborn to open your eyes and see it's all a complete farce." He leaned his head forward to graze his lips along the edge of your ear. "I don't know what little girl fairytales you've been taught but I'm not the monster you need to watch out for....and prince charmings don't exist, princess."

You shoved your hands against his chest but he grips them tight in his own. "We don't have to go out anymore. I see what you really think of me."

He released your wrist and headed for the door. "It's really a shame," he hollered before leaving. "You're really beautiful."

God you hated him.

.

For the next week, Jungkook was no where in sight. He didn't come see you, he didn't bring you anything, he went completely M.I.A. It was a breath of fresh air but by the second week, you wondered where he was and if he was okay. He did drive a motocylce afterall, maybe he got in an accident and you didn't know.

You stared at his door, hesistant to knock in fear if him actually being in there. He'd likely laugh you off when he saw you, so you purposefully picked a time he'd most likely be out and about anyway. You hated that you kinda knew his schedule.

Jungkook quirked an amused brow at you when he finally cranked his door open. He was wearing light washed jeans and no under shirt, his pecs were on full display. "What can I do for you princess?"

"Nothing," you spat, definitely not looking below his thick neck. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't do anything stupid yet."

"Checking up on me huh?" He put an elbow on the door frame, eyes darkening. "That's sweet."

"Fuck off. You're healthy it seems so I'm gonna go check up on the other neighbors now. I think Mrs. Baker set the fire alrms off the other day so I need to make sure she's oka—"

You're arm was yanked back as soon as you moved to turn around. "Fuck you're bullshit __. You missed me didn't ya?"

"Not much to miss Jeon." You're such a liar, Jungkook muttered to himself. The whole world could see you were having a conversation with his pecs this whole time—too damn timid to look him in the eyes.

"Shut up and say you'll go out with me already. I'm tired of waiting for your ass to come around."

.

You swallowed your pride and there you were, watching Jungkook splash in every single puddle. He just had to propose going out the one day it was storming out.

"Wipe that sour look off your face!" He stomped in the water, drenching you entirely.

You shrieked at the sudden coldness. Big droplets of water soaked your face, clothes, shoes, everything. "You're such a child Jungkook!"

He ignored you and wrapped his muscular arms around you. The white tank he wore was drenched as well. "You're having fun, admit it."

You scoffed. The only reason you agreed to go out was to show him how ridiculous it would be for the two of you to go out. You and Jungkook were likely the most incompatible people for each other. While he was out riding his bike with heavy metal blasting, you were watching the latest law drama in you're pajamas. It was only a matter of time before this expirament of his would show him the true results of your intermingling.

"C'mon," he took you by the hand and dragged you through the rain. "Just be in the moment __. Let the rain shower over you and be free!" He grabbed your other hand and began spinning you both in circles.

"I'm going to get dizzy."

"Then only look at me. Look at me and don't worry about what's around us. Focus on a single subject and you won't get dizzy." He pulled you by the waist, forcing you to stare straight at him.

He was right. The dizziness went away but your knees feel like jelly.

"What's holding you back?" Jungkook smiled and it was the most genuine smile you'd ever seen. "Look at me __. Look at us. What do you see?"

As you stood there in the pouring rain, a pair of deep, boy-like eyes locked with yours. This was him, the thought dawned on you, a soft-hearted guy who wasn't afraid to open himself up.

You felt a pang of guilty settle in your gut–you weren't the better person like you so believed. You're closed off, comfortable in your space. Skeptical of anyone and everyone. You were wrong to see Jungkook as a careless, arrogant, motorcycle thug and it was a hard pill for you to swallow.

"I don't know." You replied softly, shivering at the faintest touch of his fingers supporting on your back. "I'm sorry, I don't know Jungkook."

"Well I see something worth sticking around for, rain or shine. I think I've become an idiot for you and I don't think that bothers you as much as you let on. You sought me out after I gave you space and I've literally been playing in the puddles this whole date and you haven't ditched me yet. So if you want some more of this, I'll give it to you with open hands, open heart, and I'll make sure to be loving you right." He winked before finishing. "As many days as you'd like."

Jungkook didn't give you much time to respond before he pressed his lips against your own. He made sure to go gentle, barely brushing them over your lips.

You understood immediately–if you wanted this, you were going to have to be the one to seal the deal.

And you did, kissing him with full force. You hoped you wouldn't regret this in the morning.

.

Ever since that night, you and Jungkook had started going out. It was slow at first but six months later, you and he finally made your relationship official.

"Shh," he cooed above you. He was a bit of a blur due to the pitch darkness of the room but you felt him everywhere. He was straddling your naked sides, praising your body like it was art. "Doing so good for me baby, making me so hard–fuck."

It was your first real-time being with a man and being your new boyfriend, Jungkook made sure to be extra attentive. "Kook," you moaned, back arching and pussy throbbing from where he had recently entered you.

He dragged his thick length out of you before slamming back in, a little rougher than the previous thrust. "That's it," he said through gritted teeth. "Let me hear those pretty moans. Been dying to hear them since I first saw you in those cute little sweat shorts you like walking to the laundry room in."

"Faster Kook, please." You gripped his muscular back, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. You needed him lodged so far in your gut that you'd literally see stars. "Plea–please."

"Shit baby, if you start begging this early I can't promise you I won't go completely feral and I don't want to hurt you."

"I want all of you Jungkook," you said. "You said you'd love me right, so do it." And that's all it took for your boyfriend to lock down on your waist with firm hands, pounding into you with all he had.

You tried looking up at him, wanting to look him dead in the eye as he fucked into you but you couldn't handle it. He was dripping with sweat, his muscles were tense, veins were protruding out of neck, and his teeth were clamped shut. He was focused and he knew what he was doing. You on the other hand were a complete opposite story.

"Jung-Jungkook, oh god, fuck!" You screamed incoherently. His big cock reached every inch inside you, stretching you out with every snap of his hips. Never in your life had you had so much pleasure in a short amount of time. And embarrasing it may be, you were definitely going to come far before the usual.

"Look at you fucking falling apart already. Too much for your tight little pussy to handle isn't it? Well you begged for this, and now you're gonna take this cock like a big girl aren't ya," he barked, landing a sharp slap to your ass.

"Shit!" You yelped, clenching around him automatically. "Gonna come Kook...please-please. It's my first time I-"

You came without finishing the plead, sticky white substance ran down your thighs and onto the sheets. Jungkook's wet length continues to move in you, pushing some of your cum back in. The erotic squelching makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"Mhm yeah." He planted a trail of rough kisses up your neck, teeth nipping at the delicate skin. "And now you're gonna come again, and again, and again til you're dripping with my cum. I'm gonna then eat you out while my fingers play with your clit. But congrats on your first-time baby, because from here on out, you're gonna become my slut , and I'll be fucking you seven days a week."

A/N: written a little different than usual but yeah...haha idk. Tysm for reading and lmk your thoughts 💞

Masterlist

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[inbabylontheywept]

The Condom Bomber

The crux of the story is Brother Dean. Brother Dean was…is…a hate preacher. Red or blue, everyone agreed on that. His origins and his motivations, those were a little more mysterious. Different groups had their own legends. I had a class with a guy that was part of the campus pro-life movement, and the tale he gave me is the one that I give the most credence to. According to him, Brother Dean had started out as a “normal” pro-life preacher. He’d gone around campus, led parades, given speeches… And then he’d gotten punched in the face.

This led to a lawsuit against the school. Something about failing to provide adequate protection? The main result was that he got something like half a mil. Half a mil is an incredible amount if you’re still working, but he’d tried to use the money to fund a sort of pro-life career, and it had just… trickled down. Ten years later he was running dead low on funds, and had taken to the particularly dumb strategy of trying to get punched in the face again. You know. For economic reasons. It had become kind of a vicious cycle: He’d started off saying some objectionable shit to try and goad someone into taking the punch. The worse the shit he said was, the harder it became for him to find work doing anything else, and the harder it became for him to find work doing anything else, the less he had to lose by saying really objectionable shit. Throw in two years of living on ramen, and he was so desperate to get punched that he was quoting the Westboro Baptists. If you know, you know. The pro-life group, to their credit, hated him the most out of anyone. They viewed him as the ultimate sellout, someone who was actively making their positions and beliefs look worse by the day, solely for his own enrichment. The other conservative groups held him in the same regard. The rest of the campus hated him for simpler reasons. It would be difficult to find anyone more detested anywhere else on site. Brother Dean’s antithesis was the Trojan Warrior. TW was a normal student by day, but maybe once a month or so he’d don his hoplite armor and roam around, handing out free condoms. Trojan condoms. It was kind of his shtick. Between the costume, and the whole character that he had going on, most people didn’t really recognize his alter ego. I myself am pretty good with faces, so one day I noticed he was behind me in the foodcourt and decided to thank him by paying for his smoothie. Small tangent, but if you’re looking to get good stories, buying lunches for interesting people works like magic. TW decided that he was going to thank me for thanking him by giving me something like 10 feet of condom roll. I was mortified, aggressively single, and on SSRI’s. He was not sure how many of those were permanent. I wasn’t either. He wound up giving me just a handful, and said that if nothing else, they could probably be used as water balloons. I accepted. Who doesn’t like water balloons?

I finished my lunch with the warrior and left, considering targets for the "balloons". I passed by Brother Dean near the main commons and had my lightbulb moment. I spent a few minutes watching him from a distance, trying to find the optimal angle to get him without getting caught on camera (he always had someone filing in the background, it was a necessary thing for his hopeful future lawsuit). The time delay was useful for helping me realize that it really wasn't worth it. The sun had been bearing down so hard that the glue in my shoes had melted, and getting him wet would be a favor that day. 

So, mildly disappointed, I shelved my dream and left. 

A week later the monsoons hit. I left one class and ran to a campus computer commons to try and get some shelter and study between classes. Just before I got through the door, I saw Brother Dean, umbrella in hand, setting up his speaker and mic. He wasn't technically allowed this far into campus (the commons were owned by the city) but he'd gone to where his audience was and security was probably holed up somewhere cozy. I could hardly blame them. 

I made it up to the second floor and started studying when the mic picked up. All glass buildings are not very soundproof. He was loud, and he was annoying, and he was outside a library, under a balcony, and-

And I had condoms. Water balloon condoms. 

And he was under a balcony. 

I put my laptop away, pulled out my condom roll, and went to the bathroom. I wasn’t sure how big a condom could actually stretch, so I just kept filling it until it was about the size of basketball. Maybe a smaller watermelon? And thus armed, I waddled my way out into the halls. I cannot emphasize enough just how unsubtle this was. I was cradling this big, overfilled condom like some sort of phallic ghost baby, and it was so heavy that I sort of had to squat as I went. People saw me. Lots of people saw me. I passed by one room full of computer science students, all learning C++, and three of them waved at me. And I waved back in that my-arms-are-full-but-I’m-excited-to-see-you-too way, where you jut your wrist up a little bit and flap your hand around excitedly. I did, eventually, make it to the balcony. The building’s high ceilings made the second-floor thing kind of a misnomer: I was easily forty feet up. I scooched my way to the edge, and the view I had… it was perfect. Brother Dean was directly underneath, thank God. If he’d been even seven or eight feet out, I’m not sure if I could’ve shotput the condom-bomb far enough to hit him directly. Better yet his cameraman was only a few feet away from him, far too close to catch any action going up 40 feet above. I managed to wrestle the payload onto the balcony, and with a gentle push, I sent it and Dean to destiny. I realized that I’d made a mistake almost as soon as the condom began to fall. You know that sound that bombs make in cartoons, that long drawn out whistle? The condom made that sound. I had a second education in the seriousness of my mistake when the condom hit Dean’s umbrella. It did not pop. Of course it didn’t pop. I had no experience with condoms, I swear to you, I promise, I did not know how much they could stretch. You can fit your whole leg into them. You can fit them over whole park benches. A gallon and a half of water was nothing compared to that. It broke Dean’s umbrella. It hit the top, and it snapped the stem like a twig, and then-

Violence. Unspeakable violence. It clipped Dean’s shoulder and stretched down to his knees before recoiling back to its original shoulder height. It did not bounce. It floated in space, no wasted energy in the collision. One hundred percent of the kinetic energy, all 3300 Joules of it, were discharged into this sad wretch of a man. He did not collapse. There was no time for that. He rotated on his axis. It was as if the hand of God had reached down and grabbed him about his waist, only to twist. In a fraction of a second, his head filled the space where his ass had been and his ass filled the space where his head had been, and then his cheek, carried by the shuriken motion of his body, slammed into the pavement with a noise like Shaq slam dunking a porkchop. Maybe wetter.

He did not move.

I panicked.

I want to make it clear: I did not mean to assault this man. I meant to get him wet and embarrassed. But I also have to confess that this was a beating. Mike Tyson himself can only put about 1600 Joules into one of his punches, and if he hit me I would bounce off five walls before I fell. I would not wish 3300 Joules upon anyone.

I walked into the building and sat myself in the back of the C++ class. The people next to, to my immense and eternal gratitude, did not question why I was wet.

A minute later, Brother Dean stormed into the building with his microphone.

He yelled. He screamed. He hollered. He informed the entire world that he had been assaulted, with a condom, by someone on the second floor. I was ecstatic that he was alive. 

Every person in that class knew who had brought this hell upon them. Every single one of them knew it was me. And if I’d done this to someone else, some Steven Crowder, some Ben Shapiro, someone would’ve thrown me to the wolves. It would have only taken one person in that room of sixty. But Brother Dean was hated by everyone, literally everyone, and so the entire class sat in silence.

Some of that silence was gleeful, and some of it was bored, and some of it, a very small amount, was directly disapproving, but even the disapproving silence carried an understanding. A note of, “Yes, yes, that was very irresponsible, and you should not do that again, but who could blame you? Something needed to happen. Not that something, but…something.”

Security could be given grace to ignore the man when it was raining, and he was just outside the building, but they were not given such grace when he was inside with a microphone. Just a few short minutes later, a golfcart pulled up, and he was summarily marched out. There was maybe a minute of silence after that before the professor announced that his class was not open to visitors.

I left. He’d made his point.

It was a few weeks before I saw Brother Dean again, and his black eye still hadn’t healed all the way when I did. He was, however, still preaching the same old things as always. Percussive maintenance works better on vacuum tubes than human brains. I will say that he definitely made a point to stay away from balconies after that. And the next time it rained, I actually went out to watch him put his speaker and his mic into the back of a wagon and wheel it off the campus.

It appeared that he’d developed some opinions about the kind of weather he was willing to preach hate in.

[thevoidstaredback]

An hour after sunrise and all trails had been dead ends. Well, all but one.

Superman and The Flash had regrouped outside of Amity Park, both reporting their lack of findings. No one was thrilled and frustrations were only heightened. Constantine and Zatanna had reported much the same, though they only increased their efforts to find the ghosts.

Cyborg was looking into Amity Park's Mayor, but he wasn't expected to have any results for another ten minutes at the soonest. Robin and his team didn't have any headway on the Missing Person's case.

Everyone was anxious.

Batman's first course of action was to send The Flash and Superman out again, though he wanted Kid Flash and Impulse to go with Flash while Superboy went with Superman. That would leave Robin, Wonder Girl, and Red Huntress in Amity Park. They'd have to make due.

"Flash, take Kid Flash and Impulse and to another run of the country. Superman, you and Superboy are gonna search everywhere else again. Be meticulous."

The Flash groaned, crumpling up the empty wrapper he now held in his hand before stashing it in Batman's utility belt. "We were meticulous before," he said. He was quick the call both of the speedsters before running off to start again, going from Washington State and moving East.

Superman was quick to do the same, though he didn't like the idea of working with Superboy, he'd do so for the sake of the world. The feeling was mutual. Superman started his search in Asia while Superboy started in South America.

Batman quietly wished he had his bike with him to make the trip faster, but he didn't complain as he walked the few miles to Amity Park. Robin and his team hadn't been able to get to the Fenton Portal, as he was now calling it, so he was going to get there himself. Hopefully, Cyborg will have information about the Mayor ready for him so that he can hit two bats with one stone.

***

Barry was even more meticulous as he ran back across the USA. He had taken Alaska, the Western and Southwestern States; Wally was checking the Midwestern and Southern States; and Bart was in the Mid Atlantic and New England States.

He didn't know their time limit, but he knew there was one. They all knew it, they just didn't know what it was.

Turning over every stone he could find in the West and Alaska took up the entire first half of the day. There was so much empty space everywhere, but the cities were packed tightly together and overflowing. It wa hard to find any one specific thing, especially while trying not to tip off civilians about the crisis.

He had yet to see any ghosts anywhere. He'd even spend some time in places that were rumored to be haunted, but those all seemed baren of anything other than dust. Though, there were signs of something having been there recently, but no signs of anything being there currently. It freaked him out.

High Noon was an ironic time to end up in the Southwestern United States.

If Barry thought the West was full of space, the Southwest had it topped by barrels. Cities were far apart, but closely packed with people. The space between cities was dotted with towns and ranches an animals. He decided to needed a very detailed map of the US because this was just ridiculous.

Again, Barry took time to check places that were supposed to house ghosts, but they all came up empty. Every ghost town was very lacking in ghosts! If he hadn't seen swarms of them- hell, if he didn't occasionally work with a ghost, he'd think he was wasting his time. As it was, however, the haunts he was visiting were so much more eerie now that he knew they were empty when they weren't supposed to be.

His mind wandered back to what Deadman had said. The US Government had taken a child. A ghost child, but a child all the same. They'd been operating under the nose of the Justice League for who knows how long! And they were only just nowhearing about it.

It made him feel horrible.

Not for the first time, he wondered how people could be so cruel.

Anything could be happening to that ghost child and they'd have no clue about it until they found him. Hell, if Deadman hadn't brought it to the JLD, who brought it to the JL, then none of them would've had a clue at all!

It made him sick.

Focus! He needs to focus on the task at hand. He can dwell later when the kid is safe with his people- safe away from the government that hurt him.

Had the kid been a US Citizen before he died? Probably, right? It would make sense. Phantom - that was his name, right? - had probably been a citizen of Amity Park before he died. How long had he been dead? How had he died? Who would be careless enough to let a child die? Had it been an accident? Had it been on purpose? If so, who could be heartless enough to murder a child in cold blood?

Barry isn't religious, not like some of the other heroes, but he knows that most religions view children as pure; incapable of committing wrongs. Hell, almost everyone in the world holds those same views! So how could someone, in clear conscious, hurt a child in any way?

His eyes blurred slightly at the thought.

Focus, Barry! You need to focus!

He forced his mind to stop wandering, not allowing himself to stray anymore from his objective. He was almost to the border of Texas and Louisiana. He'd double back as many times as it took to find Phantom.

The sun set over Illinois, USA.

Tick Tock...

Part 5 Part 7

[logictoinsanity]

Do you ever think about Logan being terrified of thunder and fireworks (too proud to ever ever admit it, of course he's not scared of shit) both because of PTSD from the wars and also because his enhanced hearing makes those sounds 100x louder for him than anyone else.

And how he's always been shut out and alone so it was easy to hide it and hide away until it's gone but now he's living in a tiny apartment with Wade so there's no way to keep avoiding it

WELL NOW I HAVE

And you're so fucking right, he'd never want to admit that he's scared of thunder storms and fireworks of all things, he's the fucking wolverine, he's seen things regular people can't even imagine, and he's scared by the fucking weather??

He tries so god damn hard every time to just be okay and power through it, he knows it can't hurt him, but every time no matter how prepared he is and how hard he tries, with the first crash hes spiralling, it feels like someone shot a gun right next to his face, his ears are ringing and his head starts hurting and he looks around and all he can see are trenches and guns and the dead bodies of his fellow soldiers. Before Wade, he'd always just find somewhere to hunker down and wait it out, pretty much in a constant state of flashbacks and panic attacks until it finally stopped.

This is just me projecting but I feel like Logan would feel safest in small spaces where he can shove himself into a corner, so he knows no one can sneak up on him, so he spent a lot of stormy nights and fourth of Julys shoved into the closest of a shitty motel.

I also think that it reminds him of the night the X-Men died, like most things do. He'd run off to go drink himself into a coma at a nearby bar, and a storm picked up while he was there. He didn't think anything of it at the time, but later realized that it had probably been Orroro's last attempts to save herself and her friends. He blames himself for not thinking of that at the time, just one more reason to hate himself.

But then he moves in with Wade, and it doesn't occur to him at first to even worry about it, so much happened so fast, storms and fireworks were pretty low on his list of concerns with a whole new universe.

Luckily, Wade isn't home when the storm hits, neither is Althea. Unluckily, Wade returns about 30 minutes after. He almost thinks Logan went out, since he isn't in his usual spot on the couch, or anywhere else for that matter, until Wade goes into the bedroom and hears the tiniest shifting sound coming from the closet.

Logan freezes when the door opens. He'd been hoping Wade would stay out until after the storm, but when did Logan ever get a lucky break? For a solid ten seconds, it's silent, Wade staring down at Logan, Logan remaining squished in the back corner of the closet, knees to his chest, looking like he can't decide whether he wants to stab Wade through the skull or bolt out of the apartment into the rain.

Wade opens his mouth to say..something, he hadn't actually figured out what yet but it didn't matter because before he got the chance there was another crack of thunder, and Logan jolted like the lightening had hit him square on his head. His eyes went distant and dark like they did when he just woke up from a nightmare and he slammed his hands over his ears, pressing his face into his knees. Wade felt kind of stupid, once he realized what was going on, of course Mr. Logan every-war-ever Howlett would have a problem with noises like that.

Wade panics, for a second, because scared of not, this is still Logan, and he's well aware of how Logan tends to feel about being caught in a vulnerable position, but then he sees Logan's hand shaking, and hears a sound that if he didn't know any better (he doesn't) he'd call a whimper (it was), and his heart just shatters, he can't stand seeing Logan this afraid, so he quickly steps into the closet and closes the door behind him. The closet is hardly big enough for one grown man to crouch in, much less two, but Logan is clearly in no state to leave, so Wade shoves himself into the corner between Logan and the door, careful not to lress up against him incase the touch is to overwhelming.

At this point, Logan has recovered slightly from the most recent crash of thunder, and he lifts his head, though he still won't look at Wade. He wants to be angry, mad at Wade for catching him like this, he wants to scowl and tell him to fuck off and leave him alone, but he's been panicking for thirty minutes now, flashing back with every clap of thunder, slowly starting to calm down only to be yanked right back into his own mind when it happens again, he's exhausted and just doesn't have the energy, so he just sighs, swallowing thickly to try and stop his voice from shaking and grumbling something about how he's fine, it's just loud, Wade can go about his day and he'll be out in a bit.

Wade honestly only understands about half of what he says, between the mumbling and the shaky voice and the storm outside, but he's sure as hell not gonna leave Logan to deal with this alone, and besides, the closet isn't to bad, kinda cozy once you give it a chance, and hey what're the odds they have a closet big enough for this in such a shitty apartment anyway? pretty plot convenient if you ask him. He ends up telling Logan all of this, partly to reassure him he doesn't mind but mostly to buy time while he figures out what to do. After a moment he lets out a quiet gasp and stands up, assuring Logan he'll be right back. Logan just nods and puts his head back on his knees, resigned to his fate of riding out his PTSD episode stuffed into a closet with fucking Deadpool.

Wade comes back a minute later with a small assortment of items in his arms, shuffling to sit back down. First, he sets down a small electric candle that he had laying around for some reason, because even if Logan can see in the dark closet, he can't, and he explains as much as he turns it on and the soft, warm light fills the space. Wade's heart breaks just a little more now that he can see Logan better, the way his whole body is shaking with every breath, the tear tracks covering his face, some dry, some fresh, but he does his best not to make to big a deal out of it and moves on.

I'm gonna put something on your head now, Peanut. You trust me? Wade asks, trying to keep his voice low and even.

No. Logan grumbles in response, but he leans towards Wade just slightly, and Wade places his gaming headset over Logan's ears. Logan pauses, evaluating, before giving a small nod and relaxing ever so slightly. He can still hear the storm, but it's better. Wade grins, trying desperately to keep his cool as he shows Logan the rest of his items. He brought a bag of Logan's favorite chips, a water bottle, and a bottle of whiskey.

They spend the next hour and a half in that closet together, alternating between Wade talking (much more quiet and restrained than usual) and Logan nodding occasionally in response, to out of it to say much but appreciating the distraction nonetheless and, with every crack of thunder, Logan panicking, and Wade doing his best to keep him tethered to reality.

It still sucks, storms probably always will for Logan, but it's better, and when the storm finally ends Wade leads him out of the closet, and he doesn't make a big deal out if it (like Logan feared), He doesn't make fun of him or think less of him, he gets it. And damn it if that doesn't make Logan feel more cared for and understood than he has in years, maybe ever, even if that fact alone pisses him off to no end.

[chatsukimi]

POV. STREETRACER!TOJI asks to borrow your last name.

.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･

“What do you mean you don’t want your last name printed on your uniform?”

Toji, your trust fund racer and favourite bet, shrugs. “Already said, I won’t race with the name Zen’in.”

You sit down at your desk. It’s after school, and you and the spoiled soon-to-be college reject are sitting in the classroom.

You throw your hands up. “But why? What’s bad about Zen’in?”

“Everything,” he deadpans.

Staring at the guy for a flat five seconds, you realise he won’t change his mind, or explain himself, which you should have expected from a guy going broke despite his millionaire family.

Toji props himself up on the desk beside yours, leaning on his knees as though thinking. A few seconds pass.

He offers, “why don’t I use yours?”

“My what?”

“Your last name,” he suggests, breezing through the prospect at horrifying speed. “It works. You’re sponsoring me anyways.”

You blink twice. Delayed reaction.

“What?!” you squeak out.

Toji smirks, leaning on his palm watching you. “What?” he repeats, playing innocent. He sports a smug look in his green eyes and even bothers to scan your notebook splayed out on your desk, reading your last name out loud to himself. “Nice.”

No. Not nice. They’ll assume you're- you're- your cheeks heat up.

He looks at you, bearing a smile that's all teeth. 'We could be cousins.'

The guy even dares to pat you on the shoulder at that. You shake him off. No one at the race would believe you two are related.

"No."

'No?' he echoes, cocking his head, tempting you to speak. 'What could we be then?'

"We can be... can be..." you think to yourself, before noticing his hands landing on your shoulder, massaging them like a habit. He's sauntered over from his chair.

Comforting, but still...

Bad habit.

Your heart stutters.

Baaad habit.

"Hm?" He chuckles when he sees you realise. "What would we be?"

You swallow, the small proximity between the two of you taking your mind on a field trip; him standing behind your seat and you, fidgeting your hands under the desk like crazy.

"Nothing."

He raises an eyebrow.

"I don't think taking your last name means nothing," he presses, serious.

How is he saying this with such a straight face? You're looking anywhere in the classroom but Toji, hoping he might just drop the subject. What's wrong with his last name anyways? What is he even insinuating? Does he really-

"I don't think I'll get tired of that face in ten years' time," he states.

Toji Zen'in is a blunt guy. When he said he hates his last name, he meant it. When he says he wants yours, well, no one's calling this guy a liar, are they?

It's been a while since you started sponsoring his races, and he's grown accustomed to your face in the stands. Always too far away, though. You always have on that dispassionate expression as a gambler, as though he's one of the rest.

For once, he cannot be just one of the rest.

“I'm... not sure what you mean." Your eyes move to the sunset outside, ignoring the way you bite your lip.

He studies your face for a minute before smirking again. "You're dabbling in illegal motorsports and can't look me in the eye."

You wince.

You murmur, "well then maybe you should say directly what you mean then."

You're so cute like this, pretending you don't like him too.

He walks around the table to face you properly. All of a sudden you can imagine your name on his back as he gets into the vehicle to race, as the stands to hear the cheers of the crowd. He'd wear it well. He coughs to get your attention.

“I’m saying.” He places his hands on his hips, shrugging as he goes. “Maybe let's be married. Just one day.”

Only, he doesn't intend for it to be one day. He wants you to remember your last name on him, keep the moment in your head; he'll wear it better than anyone else.

…

It is at that moment when the times come out and the trophies are awarded that he drapes his arm around your waist. The wink he throws your way, accomplice. Spectators ask what's his name.

And this is the moment you become more than his financier or the bets you place on him to win.

He speaks it into the microphone, proud for the stadium, the world. to hear.

And this is the moment you glance up at him with more than just a shallow smile, saying 'congrats'.

The word reverberates over the race track in a powerful wave.

He spoke into the microphone and the name is yours.

pt. 1

[loveephia]

how some of the HQ boys react when you have a cute sneeze. (suna, kuroo, bokuto, sakusa, and ushijma.)

content: (🦷) tooth-rotting fluff, suna is a buttwad, kuroo momentarily becomes a scientist, bokuto thinks your sneeze came from a kitten, sakusa is a meanie.

⚠ warning/s: none.

SUNA RINTARŌ

when he first heard it, his face was straight and stoic as always

but his mind is all like, "that was the cutest thing ever."

so now, whenever you wind up to sneeze, he pulls out his phone, ready to record you

THEN IT UNSATISFYINGLY CUTS OFF YOUR SNEEZE.

you glare at suna and mumble a, "this is all your fault."

suna only sticks his tongue out

one day, he will GET that video.

KUROO TETSURŌ

did that sneeze??? come from YOU????

is it even scientifically possible for it to sound THAT CUTE

"can you do it again?" he asks

and you stare at him with nothing but confusion behind your eyes because how.

"why?"

"i'm conducting an experiment." he insists

you fake a sneeze for his satisfaction, and kuroo's face drops

"that's not a sneeze."

"sHUT UP, TETSU!!! I'M TRYING."

BOKUTO KŌTARŌ

"huh? was that a kitten?" bokuto asks dumbfoundedly

and tHAT ALONE EMBARASSED YOU SO MUCH.

you just nod along to his question, and he starts looking around for the kitten

YOU CAN'T CORRECT HIM NOW.

HE FULLY BELIEVES THAT THERE'S A HIDDEN KITTEN IN THE FUKURODANI GYMNASIUM.

when you sneeze and you happen to be with bokuto OUTSIDE the gym, HE THINKS THE KITTEN FOLLOWED YOU TWO.

"pspsps, where are you, little kitten?!"

you want to dig yourself a hole and lie there.

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

have you guys ever read that one chapter in the haikyū-bu!! manga where sakusa goes absolutely manic over that one roach in his room

bro was willing to burn his belongings and room DOWN TO THE GROUND.

this man loves you,

just clearly not enough to be near you or your sneezes right now.

"ten feet apart or else."

"but i want kisses.. D:"

despite him blushing over how cute it sounded, he's not going anywhere REMOTELY close to you until you've been diagnosed as a HEALTHY HUMAN BEING BY SEVERAL OF JAPAN'S BEST DOCTORS.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

he probably shows the least emotion from everyone else

but he'd be lying if he said it didn't make his heart flutter

just a little bit

he hands you a tissue and asks if you need water as well

HE'S?@(#?# TAKING CARE(@?#( OF YOU!?(#? RAAAAAAAHHHGHGGHHHH

useful for the future

when you two get married, yakno LOL

© lowercase intended | loveephia

[webslingingslasher]

if trouble needed peter during the breakup do you think she’d still be able to call?

yes. and i will now expand, thank u.

peter stares down at his phone, it's not that he's against answering, it's that he doesn't think you meant to call him. or maybe you're drunk and want to berate him.

either way he'd hear your voice and that would be really nice.

'hello?'

'hey.'

okay, you meant to call him. you don't sound drunk, you sound sad.

'everything okay?'

a slight muffle, you switch ears. 'no, not really. i'm lost.'

'on what?' you breathe out a laugh, peter smiles.

'no, actually lost. i was... i'm sorry, i don't mean to hit you where it hurts but i was out with this guy and he ditched me and i have no fucking idea where i am and my phone's about to die.'

peter's quiet, he's all you have right now.

'you're my only hope, obi-wan.' a cheap shot at help, peter appreciates the effort.

'it's- help me, obi-wan kenobi, you're my only hope.'

your turn to smile. 'close enough.'

peter slowly moves around, patting down his pockets to make sure he has everything. 'it's late, trouble. why were you ditched?'

you laugh, but it's not funny. 'you know, it sucks to say that you're the only guy that never threw a temper tantrum when i didn't wanna fuck.'

ouch, a slight sting. it feels better to know it didn't happen, painful to think it could. 'at least i was good at something.'

'well... you weren't terrible at the sex either. you were good enough you scared me from getting it anywhere else, don't know if you can say the same.'

peter closes his eyes when he breathes in, you haven't hooked up with anyone else either. 'if you're asking, no, i haven't hooked up with anyone.'

'i didn't ask.' ah, that's what peter was waiting for. the bait of a question, to turn around and pretend you didn't care what the answer was. peter knows you're just as relieved that he hasn't either.

'where am i going, trouble?' you give him street names, his heart stutters. it's far, it's late, and it's definitely not safe.

'you're outside? nowhere for you to go?'

'when i say ditched, i mean it. if it wasn't so weird i'd ask you to kick his ass.' peter kind of wants you to ask, he'd do it gladly. and half of it wouldn't even be because he left you hanging.

'how much battery do you have left?' a brief pause, you're checking.

'three percent.'

peter hates what he's about to say, but hates the idea of you with a dead phone even more. 'okay, hang up and i'll come find you.' for a second he thinks you did, until you push out the real reason you called him.

'i'm scared.' so you called him, your protector, your safety blanket.

'i'm coming, i promise.' he's already out of the house, walking one half of the way and he'll cut his time in half by swinging the rest. 'ten minutes, maybe less. i might even break out a light jog for you.'

you look around, there's no one. it feels even more eerie, you're still on three percent. 'do i really have to hang up?' leaving out the 'i need to hear your voice to make everything okay.'

'i want you to save what you have, just in case.'

'okay.' it's not, you can feel your chest tighten and the urge to cry. everything sucks and you just really want peter which somehow makes things simultaneously worse and better.

'hey, peter?' you think you'll regret it.

'yeah?'

'can i spend the night?' you count the seconds. two.

'yeah, of course. always. anytime, you know that.'

you smile, he's still your peter. 'thank you. and thanks for coming to save me.'

'it's kind of my job, some even call me a hero.'

'okay, obi-wan.'

'more like spider-man.'

'oh, you're so full of yourself. you wish you were spider-man.'

peter kisses his teeth, 'no, i really am.'

'then spider-man better come save me in five minutes, otherwise what's the point?'

'oh? is that the way i win you back?'

it's not so jokey anymore, in fact peter thinks your phone died. but no, still connected. before he can say that he wasn't thinking and that he's sorry and he was joking you answer him.

'i don't think it would hurt.'