#mostly for getting in fights and then fighting the cops when they show up

[holylulusworld]

Jerk next door (8) - Lies to tell

Summary: You move in next door to a jerk after a bad breakup.

Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, mostly investigations

Jerk next door (7) - Plans to make

Jerk next door masterlist

Sirens. All you remember are sirens, and the scent of blood creeping into your nose.

Andy tried to keep you away from the crime scene, but the detectives coming to his house to investigate your ex-husband’s death wouldn’t let him.

Now you’re sitting on a chair in his kitchen, feeding lies to the cops. You nod and agree to anything Andy says—lies, of course.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” the detective clears his throat to get your attention. “You spent the evening at Mr. Barber’s house, and later, you went upstairs to sleep.”

“Yes,” you sniffle. “I had a terrible headache. Andy wanted to join me later. He wanted to work some more after dinner.”

“Good, good,” the detective takes notes as you try not to show how scared you are. If you forget the things Sy and Andy instructed you to say before calling the cops. “What happened later.”

“After I finished work, I checked on Y/N. She was sleeping soundly, and I was about to use the bathroom when I heard noises coming from downstairs,” Andy continues. He takes your hand, pretending that you’re deeply in love. “I silently walked back into the bedroom to unlock the safe and get my gun out.”

The detective watches Andy, quirking a brow. “You’ve got a gun in your bedroom. Why?”

“I’m an attorney lawyer,” the lies easily come out of Andy’s mouth, “more than once I got angry calls, or received letters in which the person threatened my life. And I got an angry ex-wife.”

At that, the detective chuckles. “So, you heard a noise and got your gun.” He asks, watching you sniffle silently. “What then?”

“I wanted to walk down the stairs, the gun in my hand,” Andy is quick to reply. “I saw a shadow move quickly. He growled something at me that I didn’t understand.”

“What did you do?” You pray the detective believes Andy’s lies, if not, you are all doomed and will end up in jail. “Mr. Barber?”

“I-“ Andy sniffs. “He threatened my girlfriend and told me to go to the living room. I didn’t want to provoke him, so I followed his order.”

“Why didn’t he tell you to drop your gun?” You suck in a breath. The detective asks all the right questions, and you fear, Andy won’t be able to keep up the wall of lies for much longer.

“I pressed it close to my leg, and the lights were out,” Andy replies without missing a beat. “It was dark. Maybe he didn’t see the gun in my hand. I don’t know, though. Who knows what is going on in people’s minds when they try to kill you? We’d never thought my girlfriend’s ex-husband would break into my house to kill us.”

“Sure.” Watching the detective take notes, you wonder if he knows that Andy and you are lying. “You never know.” He nods now. “Please continue, Mr. Barber.”

“I tried to talk to him, telling him if he just leaves, there will be no consequences,” Andy licks his lips. He wrings his hands, pretending to be sad about what happened. “Or something like that. I don’t remember. It all happened so fast.”

“Do you need a moment, Mr. Barber?” The second detective joins you in the kitchen. “Water maybe, or something to eat?”

Andy must fight the smirk wanting to creep onto his face. He knows all the tricks. She tries to play the nice cop, offering food and water along with compassion.

“No, thank you. I should tell your partner what happened as long as my memory is still fresh,” Andy tries not to be too proud of the construct of lies he carefully fed the cops with. “Where were we?”

“You told the detective you tried to talk to him,” you murmur, and pat Andy’s hand.

“Oh, yes. Thank you,” he replies and lovingly looks at you. Andy Barber is a great actor; you give him that. “He…he didn’t want to hear anything. Before I could fathom what happened, he fired in my direction. One of the bullets hit the wall and I dropped to the ground, searching for cover behind the couch.”

“I woke from a loud bang,” you continue. “I believed Andy dropped something. When I moved downstairs, I saw someone turn toward me, a gun in his hands.”

“She screamed, and that was when I got back up from behind the couch. I yelled at the man, and he turned back around, wanting to shoot me, but…” Andy releases a shuddery breath, pretending to be sorry for your ex-husband’s death. “I was faster and fired at him.”

“How many bullets did you fire at him?” The second detective asks. “Mr. Barber?”

“I think I fired two or three times at him. I’m not sure.” Andy turns his head toward you, worriedly looking at you. “I could only think about Y/N, and that he’ll hurt her.”

“I think we are done here,” you nod as the first detective slowly gets up. “If we have further questions, we will contact you, Mr. Barber.”

You’re too shaken to even get up. Watching the detectives leave the kitchen, you exhale sharply. It’s all you're capable of.

You should be relieved. The man tormenting you is dead. He’ll never hurt you again, still, all you feel is dread.

“Mr. Barber, I’m afraid you must leave the house for tonight, and maybe tomorrow. This is still a crime scene,” the detective says.

“He can sleep at my house,” you jump in, smiling. The fake smile hurts your face, but you try to play your part. “No problem. We just go and leave you to your investigation. After what happened, I couldn’t sleep here.”

“Thank you for having me,” Andy murmurs while looking around your guestroom. “I know I’m the last person you want to have at your house.”

“What if,” you sniffle. “What if they find out what you did? We will all end up in jail!”

He carefully touches your shoulder and says, “No one will end up in jail. Your ex-husband broke into my house and tried to kill both of us. It’s called self-defense…”

Tags in reblog.

[jinxsleftmiddlefinger]

timebomb highschool au

(part 8)

(pt1) (pt2) (pt3) (pt4) (pt5) (pt6) (pt7) (read on ao3)

description: timebomb highschool au pretty much sums it up lol. there’s also canon storylines (vander death, vi conflict etc.) but translated into a modern context

note: sorry for any mistakes I’m exhausted lol

Ekko didn’t know what to think when he received the text. He wasn’t really apart of the high-school party crowd, but this wasn’t even a high school party, it was a college party. And Jinx wanted him to be there…

It really didn’t take much convincing. He had texted back almost immediately, and she had sent him a smiley face and the time she’d pick him up the next day.

Now, he’s getting ready, looking himself over in the mirror, trying to figure out what he’s supposed to wear to a party.

His phone buzzes on his desk, and he walks away from the desk to check it.

Jinx: I’m hereeeeee

Jinx: come outside !!

With one last quick glance in the mirror, Ekko left his house with a quick goodbye to Benzo over his shoulder. He hadn’t told Benzo exactly where he was going, not because he thought he wouldn’t be allowed, but because he would not enjoy the teasing about the girl he was going out with.

Not that this was a date or anything. This was a friendly hang out. As acquaintances.

Jinx’s car was pulled over on the road, and he could already hear the bass bumping all the way up the driveway. He knew Jinx was fond of music, especially loud music, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise.

He opens the passenger side door, pulling himself into the car and smiling at her.

“Hel-lo, Ekko!” She says over the song playing on the car speakers, a song about ‘bombs and bullets’ and getting jinxed. “You excited?”

“Yeah it, uh, sounds cool.” He hates how stupid he sounds, especially with having to raise his voice after the music Jinx seems insistent to let play, despite it interrupting their conversation.

“Sorry I was late, had to sneak out!” She yells over the song.

Ekko had been so preoccupied with checking his appearance, he hadn’t even noticed.

She starts driving, and the road is mostly empty except for them. Thankfully, Jinx turns the music down once that song ends, and Ekko is actually able to hear his thoughts again.

His relief is quickly ended when Jinx suddenly hits the gas and starts driving like she’s going to the damn hospital. She veers around every corner like she’s in a race car and he’s pretty sure she sped up when going over a speed bump.

“Are we in a rush?” He laughs nervously. “Why are we going so fast?”

“What do ya mean, boy saviour?” Jinx’s face clearly shows she takes pleasure in his new nickname and his discomfort. “We’re barely even going that fast. If there wasn’t so many damn cops out tonight, I’d show you some real speed.” She giggles.

Ekko should have known that this girl would drive as crazy as she is. He doubts his seatbelt would protect him from a crash with her driving, and he’ll be lucky if he even survives this car ride.

“I’m pretty sure you’re over the speed limit.” He reminds her.

She glances at him like he’s the insane one. “You check that shit?”

Ekko fights to keep his jaw from dropping. She thought it was weird to check the speed limit?

He had no idea how this girl had survived for so long.

Before he could remind her to be more careful on the road or inquire on how she even got a license, they arrived. The house house was a McMansion, a basic, whit hulking with bass louder than the one in the car had been.

“Let’s go!” Jinx turned off the car and hopped out, gesturing him to follow as she ran up the steps.

Ekko followed behind, putting his hands in his pockets and trying not to stand too awkwardly. 

The door swung inwards, revealing a very drunk boy, despite it only being around 8:40. He was staring off into space instead of really looking at them, and he simply laughed dreamily when Jinx pushed past him and opened the door wider for Ekko.

Being very drunk seemed a common theme here. Everyone in the room was either completely wasted or on their way there, and Jinx seems excited to see it. His face heats up when she grabs his wrist and starts pulling him towards the kitchen. 

“Do you want a drink?” She claps her hands together, looking at the bottles of liquor lining the counters, overwhelmed by the choices.

In truth, Ekko had only drunk once, and he had barely even drank anything. After that, he decided it wasn’t for him. He didn’t like the way it muddled his brain and dulled his memory. He understood that some people might drink it to forget stuff, but if anything, it just made him feel worse.

“Who’s going to drive?” He asked her.

Jinx looked thoughtful for a moment, like she hadn’t considered that before. “I will! I won’t drink that much.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Ekko said, a touch too fast.

If Sober Jinx was a scary driver, Tipsy Jinx driving was nightmare fuel. No way in hell was that happening.

“Trust me!” Jinx drawled, grabbing a red cup from the stack and filling it with a few juices and some random liquor from a bottle. Even that much was enough to concern him on how impaired her already perilous driving skills would become.

He sighed, grabbing a cup of his own and filling it with some liquids. He barely put any liquor, just enough for her to not call him a wimp.

The music was blasting behind them; house music that didn’t have a steady beat or a rhythm, just noise for people to move to. Out in the living room, people were dancing and jumping all around each other, surely spilling their drinks on other people in the crowd.

“Come on!” Jinx grabbed him with her free hand. “I need to find someone.”

Ekko felt his stomach drop. Find who? A boyfriend? A girlfriend?

He needed to stop. It’s not like he had thought this was a date anyway. Not technically.

They walked past two guys sitting close to each other on a couch, one who looked like a common high school fuckboy and the other who was a skinny dude with a cane and an accent. Ekko looked away, thinking he was interrupting some private moment by the way they were basically eyefucking.

Ekko hid his sigh of relief when he saw who it was that Jinx had to meet. An older girl with pink hair whose facial structure was practically the same as hers. This must be Jinx’s sister.

“Vi!” She said. “We made it!” He could the liquid in her cup sloshing around as she took another long drink.

“Is this your friend?” Vi was leaning against a wall, a canned drink in hand, looking at him up and down.

She must think he’s her boyfriend.

“Yeah! This is Ekko, he’s new to Zaun High, so I’m showing him around a bit, y’know?” Jinx put a light arm on his shoulder and Ekko prayed that the butterflies he felt in his stomach weren’t written all over his face.

Jinx practically chugs her drink and barely even makes a face when she finishes off the surely burning liquor. “Hold on, I’m going to get a little more to drink.” She slips past dancing bodies towards the kitchen, leaving Ekko completely alone with her sister.

“So, Ekko,” Vi is clearly not entirely sober. “How’s it going with my sister?”

Ekko clears his throat, his face burning even more. “We, uh- Well, good, but we’re just friends. I think you might have the wrong idea.”

She raises an eyebrow and he takes a nervous sip of his barely alcoholic drink. 

“Not, it’s really not like that.” He sounds like he somehow managed to get drunk off the little amount of alcohol in his cup. “Honestly.”

Vi leans closer, intimidatingly. “Listen, buddy, I don’t really care about the technical status of your little fling. I don’t care if you’re officially dating or not. If you hurt her, I swear to-“

“I’m ba-ack!” Jinx sing songs, walking towards them with a demeanour that suggests she’s already become tipsy. “What are-“ She cuts off, and Ekko watches as her eyes widen, turning from an expression of surprise to one of rage.

“What the fuck, Vi? Again?” She bursts out, looking at her sister.

Vi looks up and almost drops her cup. “No, it’s-“

The person that made Jinx so emotional approaches the pink haired girl Jinx is now glaring at. “Vi, I’m sorry, you forgot your phone back at the apartment and I-“ She gasps quietly, looking in the direction of the pissed off blue haired girl. “Oh. Shit.”

He can hear Jinx breathing heavily, and he sees her fingers gripping her cup so hard that they’re turning white.

Ekko starts to get the distinct feeling that he should not be here.

The next thing he knows, Jinx is lunging at the girl and Vi is pulling her away. There’s yelling and pushing and Ekko watches silently, not entirely sure what to do. The music is still so loud that the other people at the party barely even notice.

“Jinx!” Vi lets her go once she’s finally calmed down enough to not physically attack. “What the fuck was that?” All three of the women are breathing heavily.

“You brought Caitlyn here! What the fuck, Vi, again?” Jinx glares at her.

“I didn’t! I swear!” 

“I was just trying to bring her phone, I didn’t know-“ Caitlyn says meekly, gazing between the pink and blue haired girl.

“Shut up,” Jinx growls, her eyes never straying away from her sister. “I should have known. You’re always going to choose her over me. Always.”

“No!” Vi shakes her head, looking at her sister with glassy eyes. “That’s not fair!”

“What’s not fair is that my sister is a liar! A liar who left me!” Jinx yells, still drowned out by the house music.

Vi’s face hardens. “You’re not acting like my sister right now. I miss Powder, Jinx. What happened to her?”

Ekko thinks Jinx might kill her in that moment.

“She’s dead! You killed her!” Jinx backs up, no longer breathing heavy from adrenaline, but instead breathing heavy from her emotions. “Powder’s gone. And you’re right, Vi…Jinx and Vi aren’t sisters.”

Vi’s face falls, and he can see the regret swirling in her eyes, can practically hear her apologies, but Jinx is already done with her.

She starts to walk away, pushing through tipsy dancers, then stops and considers. She turns and grabs Ekko’s arm before pulling them together through the halls of the bustling McMansion. She takes him out on a balcony.

They’ve been sitting in silence for a few minutes, Ekko picking at his hands, when she finally speaks.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

He looks up quickly, looking at her just in the corner of his eye. “It’s fine.”

“Do you hate me now?” She looks out at the fading night sky. “Do you think I’m a crazy bitch?”

He crossed his arms over his knees, looking at her fully this time. “No, no, I….I understand. I mean, not fully, obviously, but I think I get it.”

She snorts. “So you don’t think I’m insane?”

“I didn’t say that,” He smiles faintly.

She giggles in a way that reminds him of her tipsiness, of the cup she’s still nursing. Nevertheless, it sounds beautiful.

She is beautiful.

God, he barely drank anything and his thoughts were already turning to things he definitely shouldn’t be thinking.

“You know,” Jinx leans her head back on the balcony railing. “You’re pretty cool, Ekko. Especially for a new kid.”

“You’re pretty cool too, Jinx. Especially for a crazy girl.” He responds in turn.

“Aw, come on. My craziness is part of my charm.” She winks, and Ekko thinks that he could spend hours thinking about that sparkle in her eye.

“Yeah,” He says, so quietly he’s not even sure she hears him. “It is.”

He tilts his head farther, to get a better look at her, and he sees her doing the same thing. They laugh in unison.

Then they’re getting closer, and closer, and he swears he can feel the tiny amount of alcohol he drank racing through his bloodstream, infiltrating his brain. He’s drunk on just that look on her face alone, anyway.

He’s so close that he can smell the sweet alcohol on her breath, can count the hardly visible freckles across her nose and cheeks, can see the flecks in her eyes.

Then he’s so close that their lips are touching.

She kisses him in the way you would expect a girl like her to kiss; fast, without hesitation, fearlessly, crazily, and all consumingly. He hopes the way he kisses her back is sufficient. 

The kiss deepens, and he forgets about everything around him. The thump of the house music fades into the sound of his heartbeat, the feel of the railing against his back unimportant compared to the feel of her lips on his.

He doesn’t care if she’s crazy or insane or hates her sister. He doesn’t care about any of it when she kisses him like this.

This girl he barely knew yet felt like he understood so well, this girl he felt like understood him. 

Jinx was a good kisser. When they finally broke apart to breathe, that was the only thing he could think. And then he thought about how badly he wanted to do that again.

Ekko ended up being the one having to drive them home that night, though one might say he was as drunk on Jinx’s lips as she was on alcohol. When they said their goodbyes, she kissed him again on his cheek, and he knew then he was a goner.

[racefortheironthrone]

Nobody is making anyone go into scriptwriting. No one is born in a Netflix company town where their dad takes them into the script mines at age 12. Fuck writers who want to get paid more than once for the same job. They should only get residuals AFTER all the people who do REAL WORK, like construction, grips, costume, makeup & animators etc. Most of them are much better at their jobs than writers especially for streaming services, and they are what screenwriters can lean on & novelists can't.

People need to realize that the unions for white collar people like WGA or SIEU or NEA (public sector unions are why cops who kill the people they were supposed to serve & protect remain employed get pensions) is not the AFL-CIO or any other historical union fighting for the lives of the people who built the country's industry and made it run, any more than the NRA are the Minutemen of 1775 New England.

First, go fuck yourself, you fucking scab. No, seriously - you don't come to my blog and spout off about what workers deserve unions and decent pay and what ones don't, like it's your fucking decision. The intellectual labor that writers perform is just as real as any other work done on a film set - "all who labor by hand or brain" is the inherent logic of industrial unionism for a reason.

Second, writers aren't asking to get paid more than once: residuals are deferred pay, you absolute moron. In Hollywood, whether it's writers or actors or voice talent or whatever, you get a small fraction up front - it's usually an ok check, depending on the union's day rates and so forth, but you can't make a living off stitching these together - and then most of your pay comes from monthly royalty checks that provide you with the income you need to live off when you're between jobs.

The problem is that, historically in Hollywood, residuals have been structured with a very long "tail" - the payments start out relatively low and then get more generous over time as the show has more seasons and (presumably) goes into syndication. This doesn't work with streaming's new business model, where increasingly shows are getting 2-3 seasons max and streaming services have become increasingly quick to not just cancel shows but yank them off their servers in order to avoid paying residuals.

So what WGA writers are fighting for is a system that ensures writers (but also actors and other creative workers, because the unions pattern bargain) get a fair share of the show's revenue, even if the show is only given 2-3 seasons.

Third, the U.S labor movement would not exist today if it wasn't for white collar workers and public sector workers. About half of the U.S labor movement - 7 million workers - is public sector, and those workers are overwhelmingly women of color, mostly working as either teachers or postal workers. Likewise, about half the U.S labor movement is made up of white collar workers, and we're graduate students and adjuncts and lab researchers, teachers and social workers, administrators and IT departments.

I'm both public sector and white collar, and I'm a member of an NEA union. I'm an adjunct professor who earns $6,000 a course and it's my job to get working adults with jobs and families who've never gone to college or who've been out of higher ed for a decade to graduate with a bachelor's or a master's. If you don't think that's real work, you're free to research and write all the lectures and powerpoints, deliver those in an entertaining and educational fashion, answer a flood of questions from students who need help navigating academia, and then grade all the midterms and finals and research papers.

[princessbrunette]

boxer!rafe had his anger mostly under control. thats what the boxing was for. but no one’s perfect. there were times he’d slip up.

he’d developed the knack for being able to ignore the other men in the locker room at the fighting grounds. he had his own upcoming fights to worry about, his own family to feed — whilst he used to be a sucker for a good argument, it had become the least of his concerns. they knew that about him, therefore they knew what would get under his skin.

“ayeee, it’s pretty boy!” one jeered as he stepped into the locker room — sore, toned body trudging over to his usual locker to retrieve his stuff so he could get out and go home to you. he was used to the nickname, infact it had even been self proclaimed at some points on the ring. girls held up ‘pretty boy’ signs during his fights, upon winning multiple fights and climbing the ranks he was gifted a chain with ‘pretty motherfucker’ engraved on the pendant. it was nothing new to him.

the chatter continues in the room amongst the men, and he figures he can let his guard down now, knowing they wouldn’t be testing him. they’d heard of his rage through stories, rumours that he’d been in jail for killing a cop in his past. it intrigued people, wanting to see how far they could push him. just as the cameron boy is getting his gym bag together to leave, he’s brought into the conversation once more.

“right? i wanna start seein’ some newer faces in the crowd i’m gettin’ tired of the regulars.” the same douche that addressed rafe when he entered speaks, eyes flickering over to the younger guy in amusement. “hey cameron, got anyone you can bring to spice things up around here? how ‘bout that pretty wife of yours? maybe she can motivate me before the fight—”

he doesn’t get to finish his taunt, before in a flash rafe had pinned him the locker with a crash, doors rippling and padlocks clattering. he presses his arm into the man’s neck, jaw clenched and vein popping out his neck.

“fuck you say? huh? nah, go ‘head repeat yourself.” rafe threatens, practically growling through bared teeth at the man. the other fighter goes to shove him back, but the cameron man is unmovable. if there’s one thing he doesn’t play about, it’s you.

rafe stumbles back slightly, but it’s only to wind up and slam his fist into the man’s face when he dared to smile. the other men start to get involved now, trying to pull rafe off but it only made him angrier. “think that’s funny? yeah?” he yells, and punches the man again, the time harder. his skin cracks and blood splashes onto his knuckles as he continues. he knew this was going to result in at least a week suspension from the gym, and that was with the gym owner being fond of rafe. he shoves himself off eventually, the man groaning on the floor in pain.

full of adrenaline, rafe picks up his bag and heads to leave, but not without spitting out a venomous “lemme hear you talk about my wife again. i’ll kill you. a’ight?”

he’s not proud of himself by the time he’s arrived home. it’s been a while since he’d gotten angry like that, violent outside of professional boxing. it’s so soft in your shared home when he arrives, and it makes him feel ashamed. it smelled like you’d been baking fresh cookies, the house clean just for him. it melts him, because sometimes he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still the monster he used to be. something that didn’t belong here.

he stops in the doorway to see you napping on the couch, looking delicate like a petal that had fallen off a flower, drifted in the wind and had just landed there perfectly. the small bump that had only just begun to show through your dress strains ever so slightly against the material and he scratches at his cheek. he shouldn’t be acting like this. not when fatherhood is approaching.

he busies himself off to the shower, hoping to wash the day from him. not long later, the sound of the water woke you — and you appear in the bathroom quietly, stripping yourself of your clothes and climbing in behind him. you press a soft kiss to the centre of his back because you could tell it’s tense, a telltale sign that he’d had a rough day. you don’t need to speak, not yet anyway as he relaxes slightly at your touch — feeling your tits press against him from behind and your swollen tummy when you lean forward. he lets out a long sigh, head running beneath the water.

hugging him from behind, you peer round to see his bruised knuckles. he hadn’t come home with those for a long time, he’d usually wrap them if he was going to spar or whatever.

“what happened?” you can’t help yourself, curiosity getting the better of you.

he presses his lips together, caught. he doesn’t wanna tell you what they said, make you uncomfortable. it’s not necessary and it would only make him mad all over again. he runs his knuckles under the water, ridding them of any of the left over dried blood that he wasn’t sure was his.

“ah i uh… i lost my temper… a little. s’not important.” he huffs, peeking briefly over his shoulder at you. you don’t question it, knowing it was potentially a sore subject. he feels another kiss on his back.

“s’okay.” you’re so nurturing, so gentle. your hands slide around his hip bones, caressing the veined skin on his lower stomach above his cock. the appendage jumps once realising what you were after. maybe it didn’t take long because of the soft kisses and your body pressing to his, paired with the day he’d had — but he’s hard in no time when you start palming at him.

he tips his head back under the water, the droplets racing down his toned back and shoulders as you slowly tug at him from behind, doing your best to relax him. “s’okay rafe.” you whisper once more. “you’re home now.”

he certainly was.

[asha-mage]

🌶️

The MCU's Spiderman is not a poor execution of Peter Parker's character concept. He's not even poor execution of Miles Morales's character concept.

He is a poor execution of Terry McGinnis's character concept.

Peter Parker and Miles Morales both have so many fundamental pieces to their characters that are just missing for the MCU's Spiderman. Familiar names are floating around him- Aunt May, Mary Jane, Ganke Lee- but the fundamental ideas that make up Peter or Miles arcs just are not there. Themes like Miles's family expectations, Peter's constant money struggles, and the balancing act of doing good vs trying to live your own life are all absent. Even the idea of power and responsibility isn't properly introduced until the THIRD MOVIE when that really should been the central theme from the beginning.

Rather the MCU Spiderman has way more parallels with Terry McGinnis. Both are young hot shot teenagers who end up being taken under the wing of established and experienced hero who is on their way out. Both have complex relationships with their mentor which in a lot of ways serves as the driving force of their character arcs. Both gain high tech suits which enable their heroism. Both are viewed (or at least supposed to be viewed in MCU Peter's case) as heirs to the legacy of this hero.

It falls apart when you get into how they are different. While Uncle Ben is implied to have existed and be dead by the time MCU Peter is introduced in Civil War it's never actually confirmed and never properly comes up. Meanwhile the death of Terry's father is essentially the inciting incident of Batman Beyond: it's what motivates and drives Terry and the murder and it's fallout are the main focus of the first two episodes of Batman Beyond.

What's more MCU Peter's relationship to Tony is grounded in the fact that Tony just shows up one day and essentially taps him to join the Avengers. Bruce by contrast initially tosses Terry out on his ear, and when Terry turns up seeking justice for his father Bruce can't offer him anything but 'go ask the cops for help', and when that goes exactly as poorly as Terry said it would, Terry breaks into the manor steals the Batsuit and goes to stop Powers himself. Terry has active agency in his own choice to be a hero, which helps define his relationship with Bruce and to heroism. While MCU Peter was doing his own superheroics prior to Tony showing up in Civil War (not that he ever does much of that in future movies) his relationship to Tony is defined by Peter's dependence on him and his quest for Tony(/the Avengers)'s approval. And because they don't even bother name drop Uncle Ben or flashback to him, we're left with the impression that the main thing driving MCU Peter is that quest for approval. His motivations are never more complexly explored, and we don't even really see him just running around Queens stopping muggings or car crashes or anything that hints he enjoys or feels the need to actually help people.

And I think that gets into the final and most important difference between the two. Gotham not only needs Batman, it visibly and obviously and terribly needs Batman. Batman Beyond leans into this because decades without a Batman have left Gotham a cyperbunk dystopian hellscape. The city needs someone to stand up to the darkness, to be a symbol of hope, to be aspirational. Terry taking up that mantel means fighting supervillains, yes- but mostly it means doing what the original Batman did. Solving murders, stopping muggings, rescuing people from burning buildings or fighting off street gangs like the Jokerz.

But even in the earliest MCU movies, New York only needs superheroes when the current world ending threat shows up. Otherwise the city is all bright shinny clean streets filled with haplessly content citizens. This is the only reason that Vision's position of 'Our very strength invites challenge' in Civil War makes any sense- because the only purpose of these Superheroes is usually to fight a threat they where somehow responsible for creating. And this problem hits 'friendly neighborhood Spiderman' the hardest because he only has a responsibility to use his great power to solve problems, if their are problems in need of solving. Most of Peter Parker's (and Miles Morales's, Gwen Stacy's, or any other Spiderperson's) day is not fighting alien armies or netherworld gods. It's stopping break ins, rescuing people from car crashes, or dealing with other small scale local threats, that none the less benefit from someone with his abilities to make them better. Either New York in the MCU is an ideal utopian city where the police have everything handled apparently (which ha!) or Peter is apparently not interested in stopping bad things from happening. He spends so much of the first movie basically begging Tony to give him superhero things to do, not realizing that he could go outside and find people that need help on his own.

In conclusion MCU Peter Parker isn't 'regular Peter Parker but not an underdog', or even 'Miles Morales but white'. He's 'Terry McGinnis but without any agency in his own heroism'.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Mom and Dad Are Still Fighting

Part 2 of The Bradfords

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!wife!reader

Summary: After a long night, you're grateful for Lucy and all she does for you. You continue protecting her from Tim's attitude, even though you're lying to them.

Warnings: mostly fluff, brief angst, threats and robbery. typical rookie stuff.

Word Count: 1.4k+ words

A/N: I love this dynamic!! Two Bradfords caring about Lucy in their own ways is so fun to write (and being married to Tim is a dream by itself). I will continue abusing Chenford gifs for this storyline lol.

“Good morning, Mom,” Lucy calls as she enters the bullpen. 

She passes you a cup of your favorite drink, and you look at Tim quickly. He tilts his chin to the side, and you nod once. You’ve been talking without speaking for years, and you’re more grateful than ever for your silent language.

“Thank you so much, Lucy,” you say.

You pull her into a hug that lasts longer than usual. She couldn’t know that you had a long night and needed this today: the drink and the hug. Hence, your shared ‘did you tell her?’ ‘no, she just cares’ look shared with Tim.

“Where’s mine?” Tim inquires with his brows raised.

“I, uh, I didn’t know your order,” Lucy says carefully. “Sorry.”

Angela calls for you, and you thank Lucy again as you walk away. Tim watches you go; he knows you aren’t feeling great and appreciates Lucy’s care on your behalf.

“Thanks, Chen,” he says.

“For what? I didn’t get you anything.”

“You should know that caring about her is the same as caring about me. At least as far as I’m concerned,” he answers. “Now get ready.”

Your long night catches up to you quickly. By your mid-morning break, you’re feeling tired and stressed. The worst part of what you’re feeling is that you haven’t told anyone why you’re feeling it. Tim stayed up with you most of the night and held you to comfort you, and while you appreciate it, it only upsets you more because he did it without asking why you needed it.

“7-Adam-19 requesting backup,” Chen calls over the radio. “11351; suspect in possession of heroin and oxycodone.”

“Dispatch, attach me to 7-Adam-19’s backup call,” you request.

You drive to the address dispatch provided and hope your day improves after seeing Tim again. When you arrive, the suspect is cuffed and in the back of Tim’s shop as they search his car for other drugs.

“Hey,” you call as you exit your car. “What do you need?”

Tim looks at you as Lucy says, “Suspect escort and search assistance.”

“I can do either. Let me know what you want me to do,” you offer.

“Suspect escort, please,” Tim answers. He tips his head to the side, and you walk to the sidewalk with him.

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

“Yeah. So, you just want me to get him to booking?” you reply, brushing off Tim's concern.

“Please. Will you tell me if you stop being okay?”

“Yes, Tim. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you at lunch.”

You turn away from Tim and move the driver in custody into your shop to take him back to the station. Tim and Lucy abandon their search to watch you leave.

“Is she alright?” Lucy asks.

You turn a corner, disappearing from Tim’s view, and his jaw tightens. He couldn’t get an answer from you, and now Lucy thinks he knows everything in your head. Tim refuses to show worry, so he lets his concern come out as anger and annoyance.

“That is not your business or an appropriate topic to discuss while we are on duty, Chen. Focus,” he replies.

Lucy nods and returns to the search of the car, but she’s beginning to feel just as stressed as you and Tim. You all care about each other and moving around in circles like this won’t help.

“Goodnight, Luce,” you call as you walk beside Tim to go home.

“Hey, do you want to go to dinner with me on Friday?” she asks. “Just to catch up, hang out?”

“Yeah, that sounds fun,” you answer with a smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Tim grumbles beside you, and you’re convinced it’s because he didn’t get an invite.

“We’ll have breakfast Saturday,” you promise him.

Lucy laughs behind you, and you wave over your shoulder as Tim spreads his hand across your back and leads you toward his truck. You know he’ll hold you close again all night, even if you don’t ask, because he comforts you without pushing you. When or if you want to talk about it, he’s ready to listen, but he knows what it is like to need room, and he’d never take that from you or force you to tell him anything before you’re ready. He’s amazing, and you wish you could share what is bothering you, but you can’t put any more people in danger.

When dispatch alerts you to a call in your area, you accept it, hoping to get your mind off everything. The officer reads Lucy’s apartment building address, and your stomach drops. You tell dispatch to attach Bradford and Chen to the call before hitting your lights and sirens to get there as fast as possible.

The apartment building, for the most part, has been ransacked. Doors are broken, windows broken and locks picked, and residents’ belongings are strewn through the halls, but nothing appears to be missing. Tim and Lucy arrive a few minutes after you do and meet you on Lucy’s floor. Her apartment is trashed, but she can’t see where anything has been stolen.

You lead Tim through the other side of her apartment before stopping suddenly.

���Tim,” you whisper. “Someone called me a few nights ago… They threatened to do something to Lucy, and I think this was it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

He looks over your shoulder to ensure no one is listening before giving you his complete attention.

“Wade knew, but he said that you and Lucy shouldn’t know because the threat was vague, and it would just put you on edge.”

“That should have been my decision!”

“Tim, I’m sorry.”

Tim’s eyes soften before he nods. “Is that what you’ve been so upset about? You were worried about Chen?”

“Yes,” you admit softly. “But this looks planned, intentional. They only went into certain apartments, and the stuff thrown everywhere was an afterthought.”

“Someone was looking for something,” Tim agrees.

“But what?”

Tim looks around before yelling, “Chen! Get in here!”

“Yes, sir?” she asks as she enters.

“What do you have in here that someone would be so desperate to get?” he asks.

“I don’t-“

“Don’t tell me that you don’t know. Think about it, Lucy. What would someone risk their freedom, their life for, and do this kind of damage to hide?”

Lucy taps her fingers against her thigh as she thinks. Your surprise phone call didn't provide information about what they wanted, so you stay quiet.

“Well?” Tim pushes.

“Give her a second to think,” you scold. “She didn’t ask for this, she’s not the criminal. Be nice.”

Tim clenches his jaw. In his mind, she may as well be the criminal. She led someone to her apartment, to you, and you’ve been worried because of her. His annoyance and need for answers is justified.

“Wait, I got a necklace at a police auction!” she says suddenly.

“You bought jewelry at a police auction?” Tim asks. “Last boyfriend really that cheap?”

You elbow Tim and shake your head. “Leave her alone.”

“Who buys a single necklace at a police auction?” he argues. “A car, a trailer, sure. But one necklace?”

“It was expensive,” Lucy defends.

“Which means whoever wants it is probably the one responsible for the police having it,” you deduce. “I’m going to go help them search the upper floors. Tim, be nice. Lucy, look for the necklace, please.”

You walk into the stairwell and find yourself face-to-face with a Humphrey Bogart wannabe in a ski mask. It takes less than thirty seconds to get the cuffs on him, and based on his surprise, he thought he had already outsmarted the cops with the widespread burglary distraction.

After you pass him off to another officer, you return to Lucy’s apartment and let them know he’s in custody.

“Bradford, why does my suspect have a black eye?” Wade asks over the radio.

“He threatened Lucy,” you answer quickly. “But, who knows, maybe he already had that. He was wearing a ski mask, after all.”

“You hit him for threatening your puppy, station kid, whatever you call her?” Tim asks with his brows raised.

“Thanks, Mom,” Lucy calls from her bedroom.

“We’re leaving,” Tim announces. “Good luck finding your criminal necklace.”

“It’s pretty!” Lucy yells as you walk out.

“I need a nap now,” you tell Tim.

He nods and says, “I always need one after working with Chen.”

[lynk-zee]

hey lynnie,

Ok so there's this tweet "(my gf can) dress slutty I can fight" by a guy right. I don't necessarily think he means dress slutty on purpose but like if his gf wants to express her fashion in a more sensual way, he supports and defends her right to do so. Could you do a scenario where MC/reader know she looks good and flaunts it and the lads don't mind? They're also willing to step in and remind any entitled creep to stay in their place. I'm really curious to see Rafayel's thoughts on this but all would be great.

“Dress Slutty, I Can Fight.”

Rafayel always wants you to feel good about yourself. He’ll buy you lavish jewelry, designer clothes, and ask you to give him a fashion show so he can see them on you. That being said, fashionable clothes sometimes is less about the type of fabric and more about the lack there of. And he’s here for it! He walks with you on his arm with pride, wearing whatever you want, flaunting your assets, and strutting your stuff. He thinks you’re gorgeous, like a work of art! And art is meant to be admired.

Though, when it comes to creeps checking you out longer than appropriate, he gets a bit protective. If he notices someone checking out your ass in that skimpy little outfit of yours, he cop a squeeze, smirking right at the perp. As if saying “look what I have that you don’t”

If his glare doesn’t deter the creep from looking at you, Rafayel will call him out in front of everyone.

“Do you mind? I know my partners hot as fuck but keep your eyes to yourself, damn!”

Usually it doesn’t escalate from there, the perp feeling thoroughly embarrassed from being called out like that in public. But if it does, Rafayel will handle it.

“It’s okay, babe. I can fight”

Zayne absolutely loves spoiling you with the money he makes as a surgeon. Which mostly consists of clothes! Whatever you want, just point and he’ll get you it every color. Absolutely loves when you dress however you want. His main goal in life is for you to live as comfortably as possible. So if looking all dolled up in pretty makes you happy, go for it!

When you’re dressed up, he’d always have his hand on the small of your back, guiding you this way and that under his careful watch. He’s gotta keep his baby safe. If someone is staring at you for two long, they’d be frozen solid by Zayne’s evol.

Just kidding. More like frozen solid by his icy glare. Much like Rafayel, Zayne would make it public because he knows that most people will get intimidated by a large crowd.

“Could you not stare at my partner? We are trying to enjoy our night out.”

If the creeps too persistent, he’ll clench his jaw and place his jacket on you.

“Sorry, dear— could you give me a moment? That man over there seems like he wants to talk.”

Zaddy

In all seriousness, Zayne really wouldn’t resort to violence because he has standards to uphold. But he definitely would stand his ground and tell the creep off. Your comfort is his utmost priority. He won’t let some filth make you feel self-conscious.

Xavier’s all for your slutty era. You look beautiful, he’s enjoying the view, it’s a win-win in his books. What he doesn’t enjoy is the amount of unwanted attention you garner when you dress up. Yes, it’s not your fault that you’re beautiful, he would never fault you for that. He’s just sick of the guys staring as if they have the right to. Absolutely not.

So, he marks the shit out of you. Your neck is covered in hickeys, branding you as his. They can look all they want, but with his arm around your waist and his marks on your neck, you’re his and his only. Wear less, he doesn’t care. He’ll just make sure his hand print on your ass peaks out from under your shorts.

If it gets too bad, we know Xavier would step in right away to stop it. He’s pretty blunt without meaning to, so when it’s intentional—sorry to any guy who even breathes in your direction. Sometimes you have to step in though because you know it’s game over if Xavier swings. But Xav will always protect you, so dress however you want. He just wants you to be happy.

“Ignore those creeps, my love. I’ll take care of it.

[mcdynamite]

Eddie always tries to be as quiet as he can when he gets home from late shifts at the bar – holding his keys tightly so they don’t jangle too much and avoiding turning on lights if he can help it. Steve is usually asleep by the time he makes it home smelling of greasy bar food and whatever beer blew its keg that evening all over his uniform tee, and Eddie hates waking him. His boyfriend doesn’t get much sleep as it is. The last thing he needs is for Eddie to come tumbling through the door and interrupting the precious few hours he gets every night.

So every time Eddie gets home from work in the earliest hours of the new day, he tries to be as quiet as possible.

And every time, Steve wakes up anyways.

Contrary to what most people might assume, it’s actually not Eddie’s fault that Steve can never sleep through his homecomings. (Years of living in a thin-walled trailer with a man who worked nights and slept during the days made him a master of moving stealthily through his home, after all.) It’s just that Steve Harrington is the lightest sleeper who’s ever lived.

According to Steve, he wasn’t always this way – he used to sleep through alarm clocks and his mother banging on his bedroom door to get him up for school, when he was younger. No, the light sleeper thing didn’t start until after Steve learned that monsters were real, and it only got worse after Upside Down Part 2: Electric Boogaloo, when suddenly he had a whole troupe of children to worry about all night. Every little creak of the floorboards could be a demogorgon, or a preteen in need of help fighting off a pack of demodogs. Faint police sirens in the distance could be headed to Steve’s house, where some uniformed cop would come knock on the door and tell him that something had happened to one of the kids.

It sounds like a nightmare, in Eddie’s opinion – not being able to sleep more than a handful of hours a night – but Steve always shrugs it off, like he’s already gotten so used to it that he hardly notices it anymore, and Eddie thinks that might be the case. It makes him feel horribly guilty (and maybe a little sad) whenever Eddie is the cause of Steve’s late-night wakefulness, but despite his desire for his boyfriend to get the sleep he needs, Eddie can never quite force himself to be too upset whenever Steve stirs as Eddie tiptoes into their shared bedroom.

Because sleepy Steve Harrington is, frankly, infuriatingly adorable, and tonight is no exception.

He hears, rather than sees, Steve wake up in the darkness of their room. It starts with a little snuffle, then a rustling of bedsheets, and finally – like always – a gravelly, endearingly hopeful, “Eds?”

Eddie’s heart warms in his chest, melting away the ice left there by a long shift dealing with drunk idiots and coworkers who would rather bitch about their jobs than actually do them. His job is exhausting at the best of times, and downright soul-sucking at the worst, but it’s okay, because at least at the end of the day, he gets to come home to this.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he sighs tiredly, ignoring the part of him that balks at being foiled again in his quest to let Steve get some sleep. Carefully, he toes off his shoes and makes his way to the edge of the bed so he can brush a few messy strands of hair from Steve’s forehead.

Steve instantly tilts his head to press into the touch, and Eddie can’t help but smile. “Wha’time s’it?” Steve slurs.

Eddie glances at the clock on their bedside table and nearly winces when he sees just how late it is. “Almost two,” he murmurs guiltily. He can see Steve’s mouth turn down into a frown now that his eyes have adjusted to the lack of light.

“S’late,” Steve mumbles. He rolls onto his side and reaches blindly for Eddie, hand eventually wrapping around Eddie’s bony wrist and squeezing gently in a mostly subconscious show of sympathy. His eyes blink open – bleary and unfocused – and scan over Eddie’s face. “Everything ‘kay?” Even half-asleep, he’s a worrier. Eddie finds it both endearing and a little heartbreaking.

He smiles, despite himself, and begins to card his fingers through Steve’s sleep-mussed hair, an unbearably fond feeling settling in his belly when Steve lets his eyes flutter shut again. “Yeah, sweetheart, everything’s fine,” he assures his tired boyfriend. “Just a long night. Pacers game a few blocks down, y’know? Spent a whole extra hour after close catching up on bar dishes.”

Steve furrows his brow and makes a discontented noise. “Gross,” he mutters, and Eddie huffs out a laugh. God, he is so stupidly in love with this beautiful, bitchy man.

“Very,” he hums in agreement.

“Y’should come to bed,” Steve says, and his voice is almost whiny, just like it always is when he tries to coax Eddie into their bed without a proper shower. He does it almost every night, and it almost never works. It’s certainly not going to work tonight, with Eddie smelling of shitty beer and grease.

“In a bit,” Eddie sighs, bending to press a kiss to Steve’s temple. “Gotta shower first.”

Steve properly whines at that, petulantly mumbling something incoherent.

“Baby, I’m covered in Miller and fryer grease. Do you really want me getting that shit all over our pillowcases?” Eddie says fondly.

“I want you to come cuddle with me,” Steve grumbles.

It takes more effort than is probably reasonable for Eddie to stifle the cackle threatening to burst from his chest. “In a few minutes, ‘kay? Just gonna go wash off real quick, and then I’ll come cuddle, you needy little bastard.”

“You’d better,” Steve says not at all threateningly. Eddie just laughs and kisses his forehead again before dragging himself away and into their little apartment bathroom for a quick shower. There’s a ninety percent chance Steve will be asleep again by the time Eddie makes it into bed, in ten minutes, so he can’t really bring himself to feel too guilty.

Still, true to his word, he showers quickly – rinsing all of the greasy smell out of his hair and scrubbing the spilled beer from his skin. He uses the bergamot soap Steve got him for Christmas, because he knows Steve likes it, and Eddie likes when Steve likes things. (And he’ll never admit this, but he doesn’t hate the smell of bergamot, either.)

When he’s finished, he quickly towels himself off and slips on the pair of plaid boxers Steve left out on the bathroom counter for him earlier (just one of those little, caring things that Steve does every day that make Eddie love him all the more). He plaits his wet curls so he doesn’t wake up with hair worse than Doc from Back to the Future, then he finally, finally, makes his way to bed.

Steve’s breathing is a slow, steady rhythm, but the way he instantly shifts closer to Eddie the moment he climbs into bed is a clear indicator that he hasn’t quite managed to fall back to sleep yet. Eddie has hardly had a chance to pull the covers up before Steve is pushing back into him, silently demanding the safety of his arms.

Eddie is all too happy to oblige.

It’s automatic and achingly familiar when Eddie rolls onto his side and wraps his arms around Steve, pulling his boyfriend close so Steve’s back is pressed to his front. Even then, it doesn’t seem to be close enough for Steve, who wiggles back even further until it nearly becomes impossible to tell where he ends and Eddie begins. It’s so disgustingly sweet that Eddie sort of wants to cry. Instead, he buries his nose in the crook of Steve’s neck and leaves a soft kiss just behind his ear.

“Hi, baby,” Eddie breathes as Steve rests one of his hands atop the one Eddie has tucked under his side and laces their fingers together. He leans forward slightly to kiss Steve’s cheek, just because he can, and before he can pull away to settle against the pillow, Steve turns his head to capture Eddie’s lips in a soft, barely-there kiss. The kind of kiss that instantly settles even the most frantic parts of Eddie’s soul.

“Hey,” Steve murmurs, lips still brushing together, and Eddie can both hear and feel the way his mouth has curved upwards into a smile. Eddie gives him one more peck on the lips before they both fall into their pillows again. “Missed you,” Steve whispers. It makes Eddie smile and shake his head with tired amusement.

“Missed you, too,” he whispers, even though it’s only been ten or so hours since they last saw each other. Christ, when did he become such a goddamn sap?

(He knows the answer to that question, obviously. Eddie “The Freak” became Eddie “The Sap” the first time Steve Harrington looked at him with that secret little smile on his face – the one he reserves for Eddie and Eddie alone, these days. The one that silently says, I love you.)

Steve hums contentedly and snuggles deeper into Eddie. God, he’s so fucking sweet like this. Eddie loves him so fucking much.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Eddie says softly, moving his free hand to run his fingers through Steve’s hair, because he knows it helps his baby sleep.

Steve’s voice is already sleepy again when he murmurs, “’kay,” and then, even softer: “Love you.”

Eddie smiles. Holds Steve just a little bit tighter. Gives Steve’s hand an extra little squeeze and marvels at the fact that after everything – after murder accusations and monsters and government payouts and three fucking years as a senior at Hawkins High – he gets to have this. And sure, maybe he’s feeling a little extra sappy because of the simple ring he’s got buried in his guitar case – the one Robin helped him pick out just a few days ago, even though they can’t technically get married in the state of Indiana. Maybe that’s why he smiles a bit wider tonight with Steve in his arms…why his heart thumps a bit harder at every sleepy snuffle his boyfriend makes…

But the sappiness stopped bothering him a long time ago, when his sharpest edges were sanded out by the presence of the little family he found in the aftermath of the Upside Down, so Eddie doesn’t mind. Soon, he’ll be able to fall asleep next to his fiancé, instead of his boyfriend. They’ll get to call all of their adoptive rugrats and tell them the news, and Steve will be beaming so brightly it might just blind him. And it’ll be perfect.

For now, Eddie just lets himself sink into the warmth of having Steve Harrington in his arms.

And he sleeps.

This is for @steddie-week Day 5: Established Relationship. Just a little ficlet that popped into my head at literally 2 in the morning. I hope y'all enjoy!

[letters-to-rosie]

random Ekko thoughts

so I'm trying to get a little fic writing in, and I was thinking of some timebomb takes I've seen recently. I realized that a lot of opinions people have on their relationship and how it's depicted center around Jinx, and I was wondering what care people give towards writing Ekko, so here are some things I like to include when writing him:

perfectionist. Ekko, at least in League canon, goes back and forth over and over to craft a perfect moment. I think he'd be observant, detail-oriented, probably a little neurotic, definitely the type to replay an awkward interaction over and over in his head in the shower or before falling asleep

emotionally guarded. first, I gotta say I don't think Ekko would want to be this way. but he's been through so much he finds it useful to have walls up. it's not like all the toughness is a defense mechanism—he fights for what he believes in and is clearly very brave (who else makes hoverboards ffs). he does miss, though, the times and people that allowed him to be more vulnerable, and he treasures it when he has it. his childhood ended way too soon

chronic overthinker. this goes back to the perfectionism, but I think he'd constantly be questioning everything. he's good on his feet, but he likes to have a plan, and he'd tends to think about those for a long time

charismatic as hell. this one I think is proven by the show, lol. Ekko seems very personable, likes to haggle (at least as a kid), and is liked enough to lead a resistance movement. I think he'd make good speeches and be good at convincing people. this would, of course, cause drama with Jinx, because he'd be like "all these people believe in me and my former best friend doesn't," ow

drama. I like to give him a pretty dramatic inner monologue, lol. I also like to think he's self-aware enough to realize he's being dramatic in the moment and to then continue the drama anyway

enjoyer of thrills. hoverboard. need I say more?

childish and playful side. didn't get to have a full childhood and cherishes getting to let that side out. cue fluff

fidgeter. it preceded the tinkering

player of mind games. this is mostly based on how he treats Caitlyn and Vi after kidnapping them, putting them through what essentially amounts to tests (for, imo, understandable reasons). he also goads Jinx into a game he knows he'll be able to win. I think he'd apply this thinking to other scenarios, be they big or small

too-big sense of responsibility. would feed into the drama for sure. he feels the weight of his community on his shoulders, and because he wants things to go well, and because they're counting on him, he takes on a lot that he maybe should not

self-righteous. he strikes me as filled with righteous anger. he's right, most of the time. on the occasion he isn't, this causes problems

proud. wouldn't be a real issue in most situations, but it's there

irreverent. he flips off cops as a kid. we love him for this

smart. this is obvious, but sometimes can be forgotten in the fandom. I'd see Ekko as book-smart and having street-smarts (or at least a lot more than Jayce, but that's a low bar). I think his verbal skills would also be a bit more polished than some of the other science-inclined characters (cough cough Jinx). I think it's also notable that among the others (Jayce, Viktor, Heimerdinger, Jinx), Ekko is the main science character who has no access to proper schooling at any point. sure, he has his job with Benzo, but it's unclear how much that would have taught him. Silco probably got at least books for Jinx, and the others had real teachers. there's an element of resourcefulness in Ekko's smarts which is laudable, imo

very dorky. we love a man with range. I feel like he would be able to operate on multiple levels, one in which he's this cool charismatic leader and another when you get to know him better, who makes science puns and has a lot of insecurities, which naturally leave him replaying awkward conversations in the shower. layers!

idealistic. you have to give people what they need to live

heart of gold. one thing that always strikes me is that Ekko is really the only member of the main cast concerned enough with the plight of the average person in Zaun to make it his whole business. he's tending to the crisis in a way that is simultaneously very grounded and (again) idealistic, where substance use recovery is very much needed in the setting but he's also (perhaps in contrast to Vander) throwing himself into battles that are unsustainable because he believes in his cause, even if the persecution is so bad he has to hide over it

disaster bi (this one is for me)

Ekko's a really layered and interesting character. I wanted to bring up some things I think about when writing him because of posts I've seen recently about him being reduced to "Jinx's boyfriend" (due to anti-black racism, of course) and posts just kinda about timebomb in general? I think because it's been canon that Ekko has a crush of Jinx for so long, it's easy to take that for granted and not give much thought to his side of the ship. we also spend a lot more time in Jinx's head than his in the show, even though the brief moment we do spend in his head introduces a whole new art style and the best song on the soundtrack (fight me)

obviously, I'm a shameless Ekko and Firelights stan. he's my favorite character in Arcane and one of my favorites in anything ever, so it was fun to flesh out my headcanons, things I think are extrapolatable from canon, and just some of the traits that go into writing him. if people have others (or just traits and things they think are interesting) I'd love to hear them! I love my brilliant and contradictory boy!

[rosytintedlights]

RZ!Micahel x Nurse!Reader Headcannons

- Michael and Reader met because Reader was the only nurse brave enough (or stupid enough) to work directly with Michael after the last nurse quit. Though Reader has other responsibilities (like helping chart for other patients or helping pass out medications with the other nurses), they always make sure to carve out time to at least sit next to Michael while he’s got free time.

- Michael refuses to acknowledge Reader if he’s having a bad day, like if Dr. Loomis was particularly pushy with him or if patients that were a little more absent in the head tried to touch his art supplies. But Reader will still take the time and effort to sit next to him, whether they just sit and work or provide small conversation for him.

- Dr. Loomis is consistently baffled and blown away that Michael has yet to lash out against Reader. He is especially baffled when Michael actually pays attention and listens to Reader’s suggestions and requests. There was definitely one time when Reader sat with Michael after they finished charting and asked to make a mask with him, and Michael not only agreed (He mostly just glared at their annoyingly bright and happy smile then passed over a couple of crayons and paper for them to start with), but he also would ‘assist’ (interfere when Reader did it wrong in his eyes) with making the mask.

- The two have an understanding that if Reader will sharpen his colored pencils (and blunt the tip because Michael definitely doesn’t need anything too sharp), then Michael will mostly behave for them.

(After Michael breaks out)

- Michael will absolutely follow Reader around when Laurie isn’t accessible

- He will break into Reader’s house when they aren’t home or while they’re sleeping to learn more about them outside of what he’d learned about them as a Nurse.

- Reader already had a feeling Michael was following them around, then they confirmed it when Michael had taken the biggest knife out of their knife block

- Dr. Loomis showed up on Readers doorstep insisting they were in danger and to take extra precaution when they were home alone. Reader was almost never home alone at this point because Michael was almost always planted on their couch staring at the tv.

- Reader covers for Michael’s ass all the time when cops come patrolling through the neighborhood. More often than not, Reader has to pretend they didn’t realize he hadn’t been caught yet.

- The two definitely fight over giving Michael a bath or shower. He doesn’t want to because he thinks there is a better use for his time. Michael finally relents after he gets a nasty rat in his hair. Reader gives him all the nice hair care products to use, including some real nice conditioner, and helps him brush out his hair so it’s nice and clean. Michael ends up with the nicest and softest hair, like he’s straight up has ‘maybe he’s born with it, maybe its Maybelinne’ hair

A/N: Tumblr formatting is so weird >_< anyway, I definitely have more headcannons, but i wanted to start small!

[sillystringpasta]

i would kill to see a Home Alone adjacent AU with tim drake. teeny tiny timmy drake, when jason is still robin.

the premise is this:

tim's still feral, still stalks the streets at night, and hasn't yet learned physical combat. but he has unlimited time, and the bats for neighbours, so he has mechanical knowhow already by sheer want of... idk, getting closer to the wayne family through buisiness? being a good heir to drake industry's RnD? being a freak?

he also has Jack Drake's shotgun at home, and a lot of money.

the drake parents bring something home from their most recent archaeological dig. this thing is maybe alien, maybe tech, maybe magic. they don't know that, but they do know it's old, so they add it to their manor's collection.

and then they, canon typically, leave.

so tim has this artefact in his manor's vault, and he studies it because his parents(!) brought it home(!!!). he doesn't figure it out at the start, and he quickly gets distracted, because some crooks come for it.

here is the story my brain has cooked so far:

it starts with the local mob groups' lowest goons who can be trusted not the drop The Artefact. maybe falcone?

tim calls the police on them as they break in, and lists the address as the drakes, the rich ones, so the cops actually help.

tim doesn't know why mobster goons just tried to break in, but he does know that the batman is his neighbour. tim knows that he has some sort of security system from the wayne manor galas (he has, after all, not managed to take pictures of where the batmobile is after investigating the garage).

so tim comes to the totally rational conclusion that he needs to trick out the manor. but, like, subtly, so his parents don't get mad when they come back.

as he's making the traps, for fun mostly, serious goons from falcone, and some guys from penguin show up. they fight each other, and tim, again, calls the cops. they take the unconcious (and shot) goons off the front lawn, and ask tim about being Home Alone.

after some gaslighting, tim builds serious traps.

and thank god he does, because black mask goons show up. and a bm enforcer. ruh-roh. they somehow get taken out by the traps, and tim chugs so much coffee making new ones that he blacks out and can't remember some of the new traps he makes (hello chekov! we've already seen you here :).

then comes the riddler himself, having heard about the puzzle traps, and wanting to just, y'know, play a game. after finding out it's a kid stepping on his toes, he's gonna go, but then tim offers to buy some trap components from the riddler. a lucrative allience is established.

riddler goes to try and find out what the other bosses are trying to steal. catwoman catches wind of the investigation from his questioning; that people are struggling to steal a valuable item from a rich mansion. (tim also learns this is about The Artefact from the riddler, when he drops off some... materials.)

catwoman interrupts a theft attempt from... idk, deadshot, or deathstroke, hired (by luthor?) to get the Artefact. after getting beat up by tim, both are horrified by tim's living situation, ironically the mercenary's more than catwoman because they are Dads tm.

so now tim has two gotham rogue's and a mercenary on his side, who help make more traps (and subtly make them lethal) and give him some shooting lessons with his dad's gun. which is good, because the moment they leave, the court of owls show up, having gotten word from the goons to the social elite about the drake family's new Artefact.

the talon's don't die from the new lethal traps, but they do get their zombie selves stuck in them. the league of assassins show up. the talons were given orders to not be seen. being unseen is standard LoA operating procedure. they kill each other unitl the only one left is a young pru. (from canon red robin's brucequest, if you don't remember her.)

the bodies are dumped outside, into the yard, by being trebucheted off a balcony. poison ivy turns around and leaves without even getting started. she takes the bodies with her. whatever is pumped into the talon's is great ferilizer, and the basic nitrogen in blood is pretty good too.

things escalate more.

the Artefact begins to glow in a lonely vault. a heavy hitter shows up, and so does Klarion, attracted to the chaos. they fight. batman is distracted from this by investigating what is happening in the lower levels of the gangs, and why the riddler is smuggling so much weird, random shit. no seriously, why is he smuggling silly string??? use it to start inefficiant fires? (fun fact, ss is highly flammable.) and the industrial amounts of glitter??? Riddle me this, Batman, who is the world's largest consumer of glitter?

miraculously, drake manor is undamaged by the fight.

tim wasn't at the manor that night, he was stalking batman again. he will never know that this happened either.

but pru was there, deciding if she should stay or return to the league. this makes her choose to stay. tim gets a sister, and he doesn't even have to date her first!

pru also helps tim get ready for school the next morning, and is at the manor during the rest of the day, scoping out the interior.

alfred pennyworth does notice the lightshow, and he goes over to talk to the neighbours himself that morning, because really, he can handle some noise disturbances, he handled young master bruce after all.

he knocks on the door.

the riddler is inside, setting up silly string streamers and glitter with a few other rogues, goons, mercenaries, a baby assassin, and some small children of deadshot/deathstroke.

it's tim's birthday.

alfred considers this situation very seriously, and decides to bring master jason Robin over, to moniter the situation (relax and socialize with other kids).

tim comes home to a surprise party, from people who are concerned about him, and care for him.

it's all he's ever wanted.

(the wish granting Artefact dissolves into shimmery dust.)

the party goes smashingly. it's great. there's a massive cake, and no clowns jump out of it.

tim has spent the last month being harassed by superpowered and unpowered crooks. he goes to another room to cry from happiness, when the distinctive sound of one of his traps goes off. it's not one he remembers making. he hears an adult man swearing.

he gets his dad's gun.

a large figure bursts into the party. tim reacts before anyone else.

he shoots.

it's batman.

tim shoots his shotgun at batman, who broke in thinking alfred had been abducted and used to sign jason out of school.

catwoman catches it on video.

tim is mortified. so is batman. everyone else thinks it's the best party ever.

the party continues. tim is presented with several adoption offers. he cries again, and says yes to all of them.

tim has a vigilante's happily ever after.

[probablyintensemuses]

Hey, Brother

Armando Aretas

🎧- Story of My Life: One Direction

summary: Armando’s your older brother, here’s how you meet, past and present.

themes: extreme angst and fluff. A bit of violence. But mostly found family and sibling love.

authors note: completely convinced he’d be an amazing older brother. There is a 8 year age gap between reader (20) and Armando (28). Also shout out to my older brother…I wuv you 💞😭 Also yes I know i switched a few things around. Just enjoy it. If you want a part two, lemme know!

Read Part two here

Four Years Ago

Miami Florida University

The night on campus was quiet, the only things to be heard were the comforting trill of crickets and the soft waves of the ocean, only three miles out from the college.

Armando sat idle on his motorcycle, twelve beats away from where he’d been told you, their next victim, worked.

This entire time he’d been killing people in the name of the Aretas family, he couldn’t understand why Mike Lowery, some beat cop came last. And why his mother was resorting to taking his daughter as bait.

What made Mike so important that he deserved a fight for his life, for your life?

“Mamá, no entiendo, ¿por qué ella?” Armando says through his phone.

Isabel sighs on the other end. “Con el tiempo, hijo mío.”

“She’s just a kid.” Armando sighs, pulling out his ipad and looking at your photos again.

From what he gathered, your were a first year nursing student here at MFU, you got great grades, danced for a kpop club, and worked part time at the cafe he was currently parked out side of.

But most importantly, you were Mike Lowery’s daughter.

Which, in the grand scheme of things, shouldn’t matter.

But for some reason, to his mother, it did.

“She's a pawn,’ Isabel hisses. “Mike necesita conocer el dolor de la pérdida; this will show him.”

Armando nods, taking a deep breath, feeling the same incorrigible anger rising up in his pit again at the sound of Mikes name.

This man had stolen everything from him: his family, his dynasty…his father.

Though his didn’t understand his mother’s methods, he’d never question her madness.

This man took everything from them, it’s time he learned that same pain, and as much as he didn’t enjoy hurting innocent… you were the key to getting even.

“Lo haré mamá.” Armando said, watching you finally exit the cafe.

“Muy bien.” Isabel said, hanging up.

Armando pushed off on his bike, riding a bit down the narrow street before hanging a right and turning back around.

Out of his pocket, he pulled out a needle. Whatever was in there was strong enough to knock out a bear, so it should have no problems sending you, a small college freshman, into a deep sleep.

Swiftly, he drives forward, accelerating until he just passes you before he makes an abrupt stop, cutting your path off.

You fall back and onto your ass.

You help as you hit the pavement, lifting your small hands to access the damage that had been caused by you cradling your fall.

You hiss at your bleeding palms before looking up at Armando in sheer disgust.

The heat of your gaze causes Armando to flip up the visor on his helmet, something in your eyes giving him pause.

He wasn’t a vain person in the slightest, but something about your eyes, when he looked in the mirror, they were so similar to his own that it nearly startled him. They were the same shade of chocolate brown covered by thick, dark lashes.

His observation of you quickly dries as your curse at him. “What the hell, dude! You could have killed me!”

Armando doesn’t say anything, instead he offers you a hand.

Reluctantly, you take it.

Just as your nearly up, Armando pricks you with the needle.

Your face drops as you snatch your hand away from him.

You look down at your palm, a single trail of blood dribbling down your wrist from the spot he pricked you at.

“What the fuck,’ you wobble, turning to run down an ally.

Armando watches as you attempt to flee, he knew it wouldn’t be long before you passed out.

And as he predicted, ten steps in and you were slumped against the moist ally ground.

He picks you up, slinging you across his shoulders, carrying you towards his bike and driving off into the night.

Later…

When you awoke, you found yourself bound to a chair in a large, abandoned house. You wiggle against the binds, only scathing your wrist even more.

You scream out, panic rising in your chest as your breaths shorten.

"Help!" You scream. "Someone help me!"

"Help is on the way, princessa.' A slick voice says.

You turn and see a beautiful woman taking slow, slutry steps down the staircase towards you.

"Who the hell are you?" You croak, scooting away from her the best you can in this damn chair.

The woman, grips your chair with one hand, while running another through your curls. "Your fathers la venganza.” She hissed.

“Don’t touch me,’ you bite. “And my father did nothing wrong, you’re lying.”

Isabel grips your chin, hard. You try and wiggle free but it’s no use as she pulls you close.

She turns your head from side to side, the warm evening sun causing a glint in your eyes.

“Always the eyes,’ she mumbles. “He gives all of his children his eyes.”

“What?” You question, breathlessly.

Isabel forcefully lets you go, leaving a sore spot on your chin.

Your mind reels around her words and the weight of them.

She was your father’s revenge, why? And had she been the one to shoot him all those months ago?

And all of his children. Your father only had one child, you.

Looking around the wear house and seeing all the sage and candles burnt, the circles and alters, you could tell that whoever this woman was, she was crazy and you wanted no parts.

The thought was enough to make a few screams come out of you.

You stamp your foot against the ground, “Let me go! Let me the fuck go!”

Isabel rolls her eyes at you, mumbling something in Spanish before she shouts, “Armando, ven a llevarla antes de que la mate yo mismo.”

Quickly, the man for the other night emerges.

“No,’ you scoot back in your chair as far as you could. “No.”

The man, Armando, grabs you out of your chair and drags you up the staircase.

At the top of the staircase, he slices your binds loose but still has a good hold on you.

Now, you by no means are a good fighter, but with your dad being police, you know a few things.

So as Armando unlocks a door, presumably to put you in, you stamp on his foot as hard as you can.

Armando yelps at the sensation, doubling over, giving you enough time to kick him in the legs and send him down on the ground.

As soon as he hits the floor you take off, running down the steps as fast as you can.

In the foyer, you check for the exit in front of you, but the door is locked.

Your head is buzzing, you didn’t have much time as Armando would be up soon, probably ready to kill you, and that Isabel, who knew what she’d do if she caught you.

You had to move fast, and the window behind you, seemed like your best bet.

You scurried over me to it, working frantically as you tore wooden planks off the window.

You about all got your face out the window before strong arms wrap around your waist living and pushing your back.

You scream as you hit the ground, coming face to face with a less than pleased Armando.

“Enough games!” He shouts.

You crawl backwards, afraid he’ll hit you…or worse.

“Okay!’ You whimper. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry.” You squeak as he towers over your shaking body.

You fully expect him to return the blows you’d given him earlier, but to your surprise he doesn’t. He just grabs you up again and takes you back to that same room.

Shoving you inside he gives you a parting word.

“Do that shit again, and I won’t save you.” He slams the door, leaving you alone in a windowless room, wondering how you’ll end up dead.

In all the enemies your father has had, none of them had mad it a personal mission to kidnap you…so why had they?

Fingers toiling with the dirt around you, it finally clicked.

This was a set up.

You were bait.

And just as fate would have it, you could hear what sounded like your father and Marcus crowding in the foyer downstairs.

You stood up, running towards the door and banging on it like a madwoman.

“Help! Dad! Uncle Marcus!” You shout, slamming your fist against the door.

When the door flies open, you expect to see one or both of them there, but you see Armando.

“Come on.” He grabs you. “Nice and easy.” He places a gun to your temple.

“Stop, why are you doing this?” You whimper, taking careful steps down the stairs.

“Why did your father start it, hm, princesa?” He questions, pulling you in front of your family.

“Dad!” You shout, tears pooling from your eyes.

“Let her go, Armando!’ He shouts, turning to Isabel who stands elated. “She’s a kid.”

“We were all kids once, Mike. It’s why she must have her turn.” Isabel says.

Mike shakes his head, drawing his gun at her, Marcus doing the same to Armando.

“You kill me, he kills her.” Isabel shrugs.

Marcus adds, “then I’ll kill him.”

“Then it’ll be a blood bath.”

You whimper, “please don’t hurt me.”

Armando tightens his grip on you. “Cállate.”

“I just want to go home, daddy.” You cry.

Mikes hand shakes as he hears your pleas. “I know, baby, and we will.”

Isabel smacks her lips. “Liar!” She shouts, lunging at Mike.

Mike dodges the hit, but Marcus’s gun going off starts a cataclysmic event.

Everyone who wants present before suddenly emerging from the darkness and letting off their weapons.

You scream, falling back into Armando, who lifted you off the ground with one hand while shooting with the other, as the chaos erupts around you.

“Marcus!’ Mike yells. “Get Isabel, I’ll get my daughter!”

Marcus sprints, to the best of his ability, after Isabel, while Mike makes full way towards Armando.

In a dark room, Armando drops you, pushing you into a corner.

“Don’t make a fucking sound.” He threatens.

You whimper in a comply.

You hear your father, Mike, burst through the doors, calling your name.

You do as Armando says, though, keeping quiet, afraid anything you do or say will get you and Mike hurt…or worse.

You watch from the dark corner as your father searches the room, only seconds later Armando jumps him, landing a blow.

You watch from the sidelines as they traded blows back and forth.

And it hurt to watch your father in a fight, it did, but what hurt most? The words slipping from his mouth.

“Armando,’ he said. “I’m your father.”

Your head was buzzing, spinning.

What the fuck did he mean this man was his son? How was that even possible?

Your heart raced as you watched Armando’s face fall, confusion lacing every corner.

“You’re lying,’ he said lading another blow, bending down and dragging your father out of the room and into the burning hallway.

You weren’t sure if it was adrenaline or curiosity, but you needed to see this through, hear it for yourself.

You push to stand and creep after them.

Armando has your father at the ledge, his shirt balled up working his hands.

“Last chance,’ he croaks, eyes searching. “Who are you?”

“I just told you.”

“Lie again.” Armando growled, wrapping his hand around your fathers neck, applying pressure.

You gasped, stepping forward, but a hand cautioned you to stay hidden.

You turn, finding Marcus’s comforting eyes as he mouths, “Don’t do it.”

"He needs us," you whisper in protest, Marcus's arm staying firm on yours.

"They need this, just wait."

You relax, only a little watching the scene unfold.

"Ask your mother if you don't believe me." Mike croaks.

Armando turns, loosening his grip on Mike, and in a turn of lightning, Isabel appears, mumbling in Spanish.

"Es verdad lo que dice?" Armando questions his mother.

Isabel shrugs. "No es importante. Mátalo.' her eyes drag over to where you and Marcus stand. "Entonces ellos."

Armando shakes his head in frustration. "Es mi papá?"

Isabel's eyes darken, her words fleeing her mouth more rapidly. "

"Is he my father!" Armando shouts.

Something in the way your father laid limp in Armando's graps, the fire and smoke building around you all, and the life you once knew just yesterday crumpling around you had you desperate for the truth.

"Tell him!" You shout.

Isabel pays you no mind when she says, "yes."

Three letters.

One word.

That was all it took for your world to shatter.

You had a brother you hadn't known about, a brother who drugged and kidnapped you.

all of his children have his eyes.

A brother your father had behind you and your mother's back.

The realization made your mind splinter, picking up in your chest with each shortened breath you took.

Tears pooled in your eyes, making the scene in front of you blur and sharpen, wax and wane.

It's not until a shout and commotion caused you to dial back in, where you find Isabel pointing the barrel of her gun directly at your chest.

You're too frozen to move and put your hands up to brace yourself for the pain, for death.

But it never comes.

only the sounds of four shots ringing out and blaring in your ears, that's the only sensation you get.

You move your hands from your eyes and find Isabel falling over the balcony to her death and Armando on the floor, his shirt filling with blood as Mike, Marcus, and Rita crowd around him.

It clicks then for you, he took that bullet for you, he stepped in for you against his mother.

This family was dysfunctional as hell.

"Get over here!' your father calls out to you. "Now!"

You scurry over, tearing off your flannel and placing it on Armando's wound.

"We need to get the hell out of here!" Rita shouts.

"Go with Rita!" Mike shouts towards you.

You nod, locking hands with Rita and rushing out of the burning building.

Once outside, you look behind yourself to find Mike and Marcus dragging Armando's body and placing him on the ground, applying pressure to his wounds.

The rain clouds your vision as you draw closer to the van waiting to take you away and back home.

"Is he going to be okay?" You ask, holding your wet and naked arms.

Rita sighs, ushering you into the car. "I don't think that's something you should have to worry about.' She smiles softly. "Get some rest, kid. Okay?"

You nod and shut the door, feeling the car jerk before it pulls off and away from the chaos.

You fasten your seatbelt and lean your head back against the headrest.

Perhaps Rita was right, maybe worrying about Armando wasn't such a good idea. Maybe it was best for you to shove it down and let your dad deal with it, like he did everything.

Because you didn't think your heart could handle any more than what it was already going through. Thinking about Armando, your father, and Isabel...it would only weigh you down more.

So you decided to leave them all at that building that night, to burn up in the flames.

At least you tried to...

Four Years Later

Miami Florida University

"Please tell me you're coming to this party tonight?" Your friend, Kiesha, asked over the phone.

You chuckle, climbing the last flight of stairs to your apartment. Your father, Mike, had got it for you as gift for being in your last year of college.

“I can’t, sorry.’ You place the key code to your apartment and the door unlocks. “Lots of studying to do.” You half-lie.

“Girl, all you do is study. You know college is not actually for school.” You can practically feel her rolling her eyes.

You drop your bags on the counter, pulling out a pack of ramen noodles and starting a pot of boiling water.

“That’s easy to say for someone who’s only half majoring in, what is it, communications?” You comment.

The line goes silent for a minute before Keisha comes back.

“Wow,’ she scoffs. “I get that you’re stressing out with finals and you know, your dad being a fucking fugitive and all, but you don’t have to take it out on me.”

You run a hand through your hair, it getting tangled within your curls towards the end.

“Kiesh,’ you groan.

“Save it. Have fun studying.” She grumbles before hanging up.

“Fuck!’ You shout, turning and tossing your phone down the hallway.

Your grip at your hair and tug slightly, shutting your eyes you feel a hot tear slip out.

It had been a whole week since your father and uncle Marcus were deemed fugitives and accused of doing God knows what. It had been hard for you and Christine.

Knowing your father, you knew the allegations weren’t true, but another cover up, same as Captain Howard.

Still, you know it was bullshit meant nothing to the “adults” in charge. They saw him as guilty, and that seemed to be the end of it.

You turn, wiping away your tears and placing your ramen into the boiling pot of water.

It wasn’t the best, but it was all you could stomach these days, the fear of your family's future causing your appetite to slim.

You twirling the noodles in the water with a pair of chopsticks, watching the five minute timer chime by. It all but captivated you into a trance until a creak against the floor caught your attention.

You turn your head, peering down the hallway you had just thrown your phone. Staring into the darkness, you see a figure moving towards you slowly.

You gasp, grabbing a large knife and holding it out in front of you with shaky hands.

You would call for help, but unfortunately your phone was in harms way.

“Don’t come any closer,’ you squeak.

The figure doesn’t respond, it just trudges closer and closer to you until it’s emerged into your kitchen lighting.

At first, you have to squint real hard to make out who it is, but then, when you catch a glimpse of his eyes, so hauntingly like your own, you know who exactly it is.

Your brother, Armando.

You don't drop the knife, keeping it held high as you slowly approach him. You'd seen how vicious he was, and you weren't taking any chances with him.

Closing the space between you two, you could see that he's in full tactical gear, covered in blood.

He takes another step towards you, you step back, before collapsing onto the ground and passing out.

You rush towards his side. “What the hell!” You rip open his vest, finding all kinds of stab wounds and lacerations littering his body. “Armando!” You shake him.

He doesn’t respond, you shake him again, harder this time, and a tiny black book falls out.

You open the book and find your address on one sheet and another sheet addressed to you.

Don’t hate me, babygirl. I’ll explain everything soon, until then, you two lay low.

Be strong for me.

Love, Dad.

You could scream, you could actually fucking scream right now.

No way this motherfucker sends this other motherfucker to your house for you to nurse back to health.

You crumple up your father’s note, chucking it across the room.

Looking down at Armando, you watch the slow rise and fall of his chest as he lay unconscious.

It was obvious he was loosing blood, and you could let him bleed out and pretend you tried everything.

But then again, he saved your life before…and he didn’t even know you.

Guilt tugged in your chest at the thought.

“Fuck.” You breathed, throwing your head back.

You knew what you had to do.

You figured lifting him would be hard, he was bigger than you by a long shot and was basically deadweight.

You tapped him, shook him, slapped him…hard, but nothing woke him up.

Looks like you’d be operating on the floor.

You stood, gathering your curls in a pineapple on your head, and headed to your bathroom.

You grabbed all the first aid kit supplies you could find, fresh clothes, a blanket and pillow, before heading back out to the main part of your apartment.

You slipped on some gloves, cut open his shirt, and began working on his wounds, dressing them and putting on bandages.

Thank God for nursing school and clinicals.

It took you two bowls of ramen, a Celsius, and a whole heck of a lot of bandages and gorilla glue, but you got Armando mostly patched up.

You wiped the sweat of your forehead grabbing the pillow and blankets you’d grabbed.

You gently lifted his head placing the pillow underneath and the blanket on top of him.

Next to his body you placed the fresh clothes, Gatorade, protein bars, and a bottle of water.

When you finally stood, you felt woozy and in need of a shower and sleep yourself.

But before you crept off to take your shower, you stood over Armando, taking in his features.

His dark hair, his smooth skin, his nose, and lips. He looked like a Spanish version of your father and it was freaking you the fuck out, sending a shiver down your spine.

You walked away hoping your father’s explanation was coming soon because, you may have just saved his life on the conscious fact that he’d done the same for you, but he was still dangerous…and who knows what would happen to you when he wakes up.

The next morning, when you wake up, you creep out of your bedroom, peaking to see if Armando had moved at all.

To your surprise, he hadn’t.

You release a heavy sigh, walking over towards his body.

You watch his chest rise and fall, faster than last night.

Good.

At least your dad couldn’t kill you for letting his son die.

You lean in a big closer to Armando, checking out his wounds from a far.

One wound had opened it seemed like.

You turn and grab the gorilla glue and a bandage of your counter.

Completely removing one bandage, you toss it to the side, pinching the skin of his chest while prepping the glue.

You’re just about to glue his would shut again, when his arm shoots up, gripping your wrist.

You scream, falling back on your ass.

Armando’s eyes shoot open and he sits up quick in a panic.

You crawl backwards, away from him, bumping into the cabinet .

Armando groans, rubbing his sore torso and arms.

His eyes skate across the room before they find yours.

He jumps back a little. “¿Qué diablos me hiciste?”

You swallow, holding your knees. “I don’t speak Spanish.”

Armandos eyes widen then narrow. “Did you do this to me?” He says, accessing his bandages.

You hesitate to tell him the truth…would he be mad and hurt you again?

Armando must sense the hesitation. “I’m not going to hurt you,’ he groans, slowly standing up. “It’s just a question.”

You nod, backing away from him. “Yes…I did.”

Armando swipes up the bottle of water, chugging it, tossing it aside, and then going for the Gatorade. “Gracias.” He grumbles, heading towards your bathroom.

You stand, slowly following after him, still keeping some distance between you two.

Armando peers over his should, eyebrow raised. “Mike sent me, if you’re wondering.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to be here as much as you don’t want me here.”

“I never said that.” You clarify, even though he’s not wrong.

“Don’t need to.”

You frown. “Armand—,”

He slams the door shut.

“Great.” You roll your eyes. “Just fucking great.”

You slam your head against the wall, thinking off all the ways you would tell your dad off when you saw him next. But until then, it seemed you and Armando would be roommates.

So you should try and be cordial, right?

[tanoraqui]

I watched the new Percy Jackson show and then I reread The Lightning Thief, and my takeaway is…Rick Riordan did some sort of bizarre reversal of the usual adaptation devil’s deal on this one, wherein the key themes of the book are maintained—hell, key themes of the book are amped up and forefronted! The books slowly escalate, not just in the original PJO books but from series to series through Heroes of Olympus and the Apollo books, the idea that this mythological family is fucked up, the parents are doing badly and they need to fix their shit instead of just putting it on the kids. Whereas the show is saying this from day 1! The show also captures the true friendship, the uncomfortable justification of Luke’s choices, the heroes’ sense of otherness from humanity…

But at the cost of so much of the zing of the books? The humor, the absurdist snaps between fantasy and reality like the Minotaur wearing Fruit-of-the-Looms, or the unending quips from Percy that aren’t just rebellious snark, they’re funny. (“…I am the Mother of Monsters, Echidna!” “You mean the thing from Australia??”) And the drama, the fantasy, the mythological stakes—in addition to the total lack of nighttime lighting, I spent half the show thinking everything should be 20% more color-saturated, at least when they’re in Camp Half-Blood or actively fighting monsters, and rereading the book tells me that I was right. Throughout the books, there’s a mounting thunderstorm all across the country, as warning and ambiance of the coming war! Percy only has 1 dream that’s just darkness and a voice; the others include him watching a golden eagle and a giant white horse fighting viciously on a beach! And every god stands out vividly, whereas in the show they mostly come off as Some Guy. In the book, Hades, Zeus and Poseidon are all 10 feet tall (until Poseidon shrinks to tall to Percy), and even Ares is,

vs this? This was the best they could do??

He’s not even throwing fireballs at cops and innocent bystanders in order to make them back the fuck off from his fight with this 12yo. SMH. This is bargain-brand. It’s like they didn’t have the budget for special effects and they didn’t even try.

I guess, as devil’s deals go, I would rather have the themes intact. But damn I wish they’d at least upped the color saturation, and maybe the speed of dialogue. These kids SHOULD spend half their conversations snarking like it’s Avengers (2012) actually. The perfect adaptation remains elusive, until we get both the crushing weight of familial trauma AND epic heroes and villains being fun.

[jjungkookislife]

Call Out My Name

pairing: hero!joon x villain!reader

genre: angst, hero au, 18+

summary: Local hero, RM, calls out your name, not your alias.

wc: 1k

warnings: crimes (mostly theft), fighting, violence, reader has fireballs that shoot from her hands, mention of death

date: September 12, 2024

Three years you’d been fighting the irksome RM, in his black hero costume that showed off his amazing pecs.

Three long years of fighting over your crimes, your desire for more, your desire to win.

Time after time RM had come to stop you. It seemed he’d find you at the drop of a dime, always there even before the cops were called or the alarms blared in annoyance to ruin your scheme.

You paid it no mind. Your eyes were set on sparkling jewels, loaded bank vaults, and the jets of the rich and famous. Stacks and stacks of cash fill one of your homes by the sea, a secret destination only you knew about. 

RM arrives at the rooftop as the blades from your acquired helicopter make it hard to hear anything except the blaring of the alarms from the bank store ten floors below. You’re so close to your escape, your sidekick sitting in the helicopter waiting for you before he takes off. Time is ticking, he won’t wait forever.

You toss the money bags toward him, ignoring RM’s shouts for you to cease. 

“That doesn’t belong to you!” He shouts and you barely make out the words over the helicopter blades. 

“Everything can belong to me if I take it, sweetheart,” you grin as you prepare to step into the helicopter to your escape.

RM throws his rope with the grappling hook at the end and catches your villain suit, tugging you toward him. 

What a fool.

You knew better than to turn your back on an enemy.

What a rookie mistake.

Your body soars through the air but you spin and catch yourself on your fingertips, much like a cat landing on its feet. You’re agile, able to slink unnoticed most of the time but RM is always at the right place at the wrong time. 

Something about him has always struck a chord inside you. That’s possibly why you did your best not to harm him too roughly. He had a strong physique but his heart seemed tender, especially when it came to you. He always softened his punches when it came to a fistfight. 

“You always have to ruin my plans, RM! This is the last time you do,” you announce as you rip the hook and toss it over the edge of the building. Your heels click as they cross the distance between you, your eyes locked on his. 

RM huffs, his arm blocking the punch you try to land. You curse, immediately going for another punch before the two of you fight and land blows against his concrete chest. 

“Is that the best you’ve got?” RM goads as he dodges a punch and then a kick to the shin. You growl, ducking and diving to avoid his hits. 

You flip back twice and then forward once. You need to distract him long enough to get into the air. 

RM approached you but you flipped forward as he took steps backward to avoid your kicks and the fireballs aimed at him. 

He teeters on the edge of the building, losing his balance and falling off the roof. 

You watch in horror, frozen in your spot. You never meant to kill him. 

Your name fills the air in a terrified shout. Not your villain alias, your real name. Your heart thunders in your ears as your name is called out once more. 

You approach the edge of the building. RM grips the edge, his body dangling as he looks up at you with a pleading look. His grip loosens, he looks down, his fingers slipping off the edge as he meets your gaze one last time. 

His hand lets go.

You catch him by the hand before he can plummet.

“You know my name,” You state as you pull him over the edge and onto the roof. The helicopter blades grow louder as your sidekick takes off leaving you behind, but you don’t give a damn as you stare at those deep brown eyes that make your heart flip.

“I’ve always known your name,” Namjoon responds as he removes his mask. “How could I not?”

Your childhood friend stands before you, his dark hair falling over his eyes. Those familiar dragon eyes that make your heart skip a beat.

“You knew,” you whisper as you fall to your knees. Your hands tremble as you place them on your lap. Your crimes had almost led to your best friend's death. 

Namjoon watches you intently, approaching you. He throws his mask as far away as possible. You can’t face him. You won’t.

You rise to your feet, running away from him.

Namjoon calls out your name, but you don’t stop running. You jump from one building to the next with him hot on your tail.

“Please,” he grips your arms when he finally catches you. “Don’t run from me.”

“You could have died!” you screech, tears rolling down your cheeks. “You almost died! I almost lost you, Joon!”

“But you didn’t! Okay?! You didn’t. I’m right here,” Namjoon holds you tighter, pulling you into his broad chest as you sob. Your arms wrap around him as he rubs your back. “I’m right here.”

“I’m sorry,” you cry. “I’m so, sorry.”

“Shh,” Namjoon hushes you as he holds you. 

“How long did you know?” you ask in between hiccups as you wipe your eyes.

“Since you first ran out of the house with your mask in your hand. You stole that black diamond from the museum downtown.” Namjoon shakes his head.

“Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Because I love you,” Namjoon answers honestly. “I’ve always loved you.”

You’re left speechless.

Namjoon doesn’t expect an answer from you as he takes a step back. 

“You can’t have your life of crime and me. It’s one or the other,” Namjoon states firmly as he heads to the edge of the building.

“Namjoon!” you shout, chasing after him.

Namjoon smiles, “Just call out my name when you’ve decided.”

“Don’t go!” You yell, new tears pooling in your eyes.

He doesn’t stop, instead he throws himself over the building. You scream his name as you race to the edge, your heart dropping to your feet before you see Namjoon land on his feet and take off down the road.

“Namjoon,” you whisper. “I choose you. I’ll always choose you.”

[joocomics]

LOSER(S)

read part two here

pairing: youtuber!theo x fem!reader

genre: smut — mdni! wc: 2.9k

summary: the charming guy running the youtube channel you enjoy watching mostly because of him, and not the games he’s playing, moves in the apartment across from yours, and turns out to be the biggest asshole you’ve encountered in years

contains: neighbours au, enemies to lovers trope, switch!reader, slight angry sex, unprotected sex, cussing, banter, dirty talk, choking (m!rec), oral sex (f!rec), orgasm denial (f!rec), name calling

[ p1harmony masterlist | general masterlist ]

“Wow, you’re an asshole in real life,” you keep talking bitterly with little flames in your eyes. “I’m actually impressed with your acting skills.”

A frustrated airy laugh slips through your lips while Taeyang’s, on the other hand, curl up at the corners, amused at how seriously you’re taking this whole situation.

“Sorry to ruin the little fantasy you had of me, sweetheart.”

“You should be glad that I prefer to spend my time doing anything else than dealing with you,” you turn to your front door and flip the key, “cause I can just call the cops.”

“Are you sure that’s what you really prefer?”

This is not the first time you’re fighting Choi Taeyang in the middle of the hallway, nor it’s the last unless you move buildings. His youtube channel is growing rapidly which calls for more content and less peace for you.

He's still leaning against the door frame with his headset hanging from his neck. The subtle mischievous spark in his eyes, the one you know so well from the multiple videos you’ve seen from him, is so different in real life - straight up mean, making you wonder how you used to find his channel fun and comforting despite the terrifying games he plays.

“You’re at my fucking door almost every single night,” he continues. “Maybe I should call them, you seem more of a stalker than a marketing manager.”

“Fuck off,” you spit out entering your apartment. “You’re a pathetic loser with no life.”

“Bitch.” Taeyang slams the door of his home the second you shut yours.

A month ago you couldn't wait to finish work and hop on the bus to head back home.

Now, you go home on foot so it can take you extra minutes to arrive.

The time you finish work is the time Taeyang comes back from the gym, and by the hour you're lounging in bed ready to relax with your new favorite show is the hour he turns on the usual scary games, and transforms your cozy time in a mirage. Today is going to be no different, because he has zero empathy for people’s feelings, so you take your time even with walking towards the elevator after you arrive at your apartment building.

“Wait!”

You make out the too familiar voice echoing in the hallway along with the stamping sound of his footsteps just when you press the button.

Taeyang runs through the open doors, and you walk in after him faking a smile. His ebony black hair is half wet and his outfit casual, consisting only of a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt under his unzipped hoodie. Judging by the bag with beer cans in his hand your guesses are correct - his workout is done and he's going to take his seat in front of the computer.

The unnerving silence fills the air the second the doors close in front of your eyes.

“Next time fill up your mouth with your panties or something,” Taeyang glances up at the changing neon numbers. “What if you accidentally scream my name? I don’t wanna hear that.”

He fakes a disgusted expression and shakes his shoulders as an attempt to get rid of the image in his head.

You knew putting your earphones in to blast music as you use your vibrator is risky since sometimes you tend to be more vocal than others, but what were you supposed to do when all of his exaggerated yelling and cussing comes through the wall exactly where your bed is?

You can’t touch yourself during the day because you’re at work, and now you can’t do it before sleep because of him.

Your fake chuckle rings hollow in the small space. You look away, but you cannot escape his face though. You both see each other in the reflecting glass that’s all around you; it’s a little blurry, but not enough to not be aware that you’re staring at each other.

“Good to know you take off that headset once in a while.” You raise your chin up. “Maybe I should touch myself more often if that’s gonna help a loser like you get a life.”

The doors slide open, and you walk out first, feeling Taeyang’s gaze all over your ass.

“Is your boring corporate job stressing you out, sweetheart?” He calls out behind you, as you walk down the corridor. “Is that why you’re taking your anger out on me since day one?”

“I love my job,” you say when he catches up your pace.

“And you hate mine.”

“Because of you,” you glare at him, stopping in front of your apartment. You don’t even realise when you started raising your voice. “It’s your lack of responsibility and consideration I have a problem with, not what you do.”

“Shh, you’re going to disturb the neighbours.” Taeyang puts a finger on his lips, and for the first time you feel the urge to slap a person.

He comes closer to you while staring at your cleavage. It’s flushed with a delicate reddish color that he could associate only with himself and the emotions he brings within you.

“Do you want me to help you out with that? I can help you relieve some of the pressure, doll… most of it.”

You breathe in once, looking in his eyes.

You breathe in twice… recognising the fresh earthy aroma coming from his skin and damp hair.

It’s not your voice that gives him an answer, but your lips that smash against his own.

That’s exactly what Taeyang hoped for, and his arms immediately go around your waist, pulling you close after he drops the bag of beer cans on the ground. His hands slide down to grip your ass cheeks through the linen fabric of your pants, that’s too thin and his cock already starts to gain pressure from how much it allows him to feel in his palms.

“My place or yours?” You pull back just to ask the question then kiss him again.

Taeyang’s hands go up, sneaking under your shirt.

“You already know what my room looks like, it’s time I see yours.”

“That’s fair.”

He doesn’t leave you out of sight as he gets rid of his clothes while you unbutton your shirt. Once you’re left in your lingerie he doesn’t give you a chance to remove it, because he pushes you onto the bed, covering your skin with wet kisses. You look gorgeous in it anyways, so he doesn’t mind if it stays on a little longer.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot,” he mutters against the flesh of your tummy before grinding his tongue up to your bellybutton. His hands are squishing your breasts harshly making you gasp. “Fuck, drives me crazy.”

His teeth bite the hem of your lace panties, pull and let it drop with a smack.

When he moves up to lock lips with yours again they seem to move even more eagerly than minutes before. His tongue invades your mouth almost with a frustration, leaving you out of breath and panting for more.

But you rather get that yourself.

“What the—“ He stumbles around his words surprised from suddenly finding himself on his back.

You swiftly succeed in straddling his hips as he didn’t have the chance to react in time to prevent you from getting on top.

“Shut up,” you say, unclipping your bra and rubbing your clit on his stiffened length at the same time. You still have your panties on and you see his gaze darkening from wanting to rip them off. “Mm, your cock is so hard...”

“Take it in your greedy mouth then.” He grips your hips forcing them to move quicker. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Yeah, but that would be too easy.”

Taeyang laughs before grabbing your arms to bring your face down into his.

You gasp through a smile creeping up on your face. You can’t hide the enjoyment from his rough responses to every single thing you do.

“These tricks don’t work on me, doll. Be a good girl and do as I say from now on.”

“You’re not the only player here, pretty boy.” You pull his bottom lip with your teeth, and his erection twitches against your clit, both from the bite and your attitude. “I will suck your dick when I decide you’ve earned it.”

Before you realise a thing, Taeyang flips you over and strips you from your panties pushing them inside your mouth. His hands bend your knees with fingers digging into your skin finally spreading you apart. As his mouth waters from the seductive sight of what’s between your thighs, yours spit out the underwear.

“Tsk,” Taeyang picks it up, and muffles your irritated whines by returning them back where they were. “What an ungrateful doll. I’m doing you a favor and this is how you say thank you?”

He holds his palm over your lips to keep the fabric in place while his other one gives your right boob a slap followed by a few more after he catches you make a muffled pleasant sound.

Eventually the grumpy look on your face dissipates into a rapture as the pleasure from his tongue comes in waves, each more powerful than the other. He alternates between sucking and lapping on your juices while also playing with the pacing of his licks over your bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, you taste too sweet for such an angry girl,” he groans before gliding his tongue through your sloppy folds only to swirl the tip of it around your clit again.

And you eat pussy too well for such a loser.

Your chin begins to leak from your drooling, slipping down your neck as your panties get soaked with your moans and spit. The fact you’re not able to be loud as you need to makes your jaw clench with frustration, but your pussy even more aroused under Taeyang’s tongue.

His grip on your thighs tighten painfully limiting your shakiness as he buries his coarse mouth even deeper, grazing his teeth against your intimate lips; tongue tracing stripes from your dripping hole up to your most sensitive point over and over again. He makes out with your entire cunt the same way he kisses you - mean with a desire to control.

“I can make it feel even better if you promise not to empty your filthy mouth,” he glances at you, giving you a nice view of all the glistening fluids all over his face.

You nod too quickly, you realise, but most of the stubbornness left you the moment his tongue touched you for the first time.

You grip the sheets cause your fingers are already tempted to pull out the underwear the more his swollen tip levels with your entrance.

You’ve never taken such big size before and your heart starts racing excitedly at the thought of the appealing girth sinking inside you.

“Shit,” Taeyang’s brows knit together while his length fills you up bit by bit, tightening the knot of pleasure in his core. “You’re too fuckin’ small and tight for me.”

He inserts it all the way slowly, wanting you to feel the way you suck in with ease every inch of him; wanting you to know just how bad you needed him. However, once it’s in, his patience dies down giving his hips the freedom to move as quickly as possible.

Taeyang runs a hand through his dark hair, then moves it over your lower tummy, pressing against his cock that’s reaching the desired spot over and over again. His sharp gaze follows your eyes fluttering in bliss, as the rush he creates invades your body.

Once he leans in to hang your right leg over his shoulder for a deeper thrust, your repressed mewls rise even higher; erotic heavy growls just like in the videos he watches to jerk off.

“We get along so much better when you have your mouth shut, don’t you think?” He fans your face while holding himself up on his hands.

A groan escapes his puffy lips before he could catch it after you bury fingers in his hair and tug on the roots, pulling him closer.

With one tilt of his head Taeyang drops your panties down after stealing them from your mouth with his teeth.

“Mind if I keep those?” He asks and receives the sound of the first real raw moans of yours as an answer.

It would be a foolish lie if he says he won’t be thinking about them after this.

“A souvenir from my biggest fan…” He whispers in your ear and you can feel the intoxicating effect that his voice alone has on you.

His hips slow down for the first time, moving slowly in circles while he catches his breath.

“Shit, Tae… Faster.” You pull his hair like you’re holding on for dear life, as you sense every inch of him making you more dizzy with those slow massaging motions.

“Faster?” He repeats with a sudden powerful slam from his hips, that catches you off guard. “Are you close?” He pulls out almost all the way only to shove himself again, stabbing your g-spot. “Wanna cum… is that it?”

“Yeah…” Your whimper gets lost from the lewd noises when he proceeds to pound into you, but this time rapidly without stopping for a second. The skin on skin slapping merges with Taeyang’s hitched heavy breathing, but he still manages to catch the little broken yes-es coming from underneath him. “Fuck—“

Your mouth remains open, but not because your awaited climax arrives, but because Taeyang pulls out just before it does.

The burning dissatisfaction from what was about to be your most intense orgasm being stolen from you forces you to turn over and wail in your pillow.

“Shhh,” Taeyang turns you back around, slapping your inner thigh with his drenched cock. Your squirmy lips bring a devilish smirk on his face. “It’s not that bad, doll. You can take it.”

A moment later his eyes watch you suspiciously raising up.

You grab the base of his dick determined to take charge.

“I wanted to cum so bad from this pretty cock,” you coo moving your fist up and down, as he rests on his knees in front of you with his unbelievably captivating plump lips and cold gaze.

His face begins to scrunch up from your quickening hand, and the way your playful thumb keeps going over his red tip like it knows just when is the perfect time to do it.

“I’ve never had such a big one in my pussy before…” You add on to his arousal. “Feels nice.”

“Shit,” Taeyang throws his head back. His chest rises heavily while his abs clench from the stimulation. “Just nice?” He lifts up to look at you challengingly. It drives him nuts how you always lit up a fire in his chest by irritating him, and turning him on at the same time.

“Go on…” You provoke him, squeezing the leaky shape of his head. “You’ve called me worse than that.”

Taeyang gulps when you drop his erection only to grip it with your aroused walls instead. You both sigh in sync as you get in contact with the electrifying warmth once again, that now feels ten times more intense.

Although it’s subtle, you don’t miss the change in his expression when you begin to bounce just like you wanted to in the beginning.

“Don’t.” You command the second you sense the presence of his hands on your waist, desperate to regain control. “You’re going to let me do this.”

You quicken your movements, watching him chew on his mouth from the overwhelming rush he desperately tries to keep under control.

“Why…” Taeyang’s voice comes out too breathless to continue his question. The fact your hand wraps around his throat to put pressure on the sides of his neck doesn’t help either. This is the first time he allows something like this, and it makes his heart flutter from an unfamiliar thrill.

“Why what, pretty boy?” You slow down, curious to know what he’s thinking right now.

Taeyang only shakes his head, turning his knuckles white from gripping the sheets. He wants to push you on your back, to cuss at you and fuck you until you’re sore, and can’t mutter a single word to him… but he’s captivated. It’s like every time you touch him you secretly cast a spell on him that he’s unable to break through.

The only thing he could say is…

“Just… keep going.”

You smile, tilting his chin higher to meet his eyes.

The speed of your lower body picks up when you begin to ride him chasing your high - with the head of his cock kissing right where you need it, and the most arousing sounds slipping from his lips that begin to pout with every next move.

“Holy s-shit—“ Taeyang chokes on his moan moving his hands on your waist, but not interrupting your movements. “Y/N…”

“Not yet,” you say, feeling shivers down your spine from the way he pants your name. “Wait for me.” You release his throat, trying your best to keep the rapid pace going.

Taeyang cusses in the crook of your neck where he starts biting harshly to distract himself from how bad he needs to cum, not caring at all that you keep hissing from his sucking.

“Can’t…” he grunts against the wet skin under your earlobe. “Fuck, come on, cream my cock you slut.” He grabs a handful of your hair, and that turns out to be just enough to snap the overwhelming knot in your tummy.

You rock your hips back and forth more slowly, panting as the ecstatic rush passes through your veins when suddenly Taeyang’s weak husky voice surprises you.

“You’re amazingly hot.”

Your two fingers slip through his lips and he allows that too.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise in advance for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[141trash]

Breaking Point pt 2

Read part one here

AN: Thank you so much for all the love on the first part! I had such a hard time writing this, mostly because I don't really know how to write scenes like this... So after multiple failed attempts I sort of copped out on the violence? I'm workin hard on part 3 pls let me know how you liked part 2

The first punch went straight into his gut, knocking the wind out of him. You let out a fearful squeak, squeezing your eyes shut and turning your head away.

"No, no." the man scolded mockingly, "Don't look away princess. Don't want you missing the show."

A hand grasped your hair roughly, pulling your head back sharply to an upright position and earning a startled yelp. He smirked, settling on the chair one of the other guards had brought in for him and forced you to sit at his feet, directly in front of Simon.

"Oi. Leave 'er alone. Your problem is with me yeah?" Simon lurched forward, but was yanked back by the guards and forced to his knees.

The grip on your hair tightened, causing you to whimper.

"Correct. My problem is with you." He leaned his face down next to yours, using his free hand to caress your cheek, "But this is a learning experience and we have to explore every angle."

You glowered at him, wrenching your jaw from his grip and in a brief moment of foolish bravery, spat in his face. Rage fluttered over his face, splotchy patches of red coloring his cheeks and neck.

"You would do well to watch yourself." he told you stiffly, "I might break my own rules, just to watch you suffer."

"You're a fucking freak!" you shouted back, "I don't know who you are! I don't know what you want. Just let me go."

Simon watched you thrash, trying desperately to get free. A flutter of protectiveness washed over him seeing the heavy set man looming over you. Even if you were working with them, which he was beginning to think you weren't, this sort of treatment wasn't something anyone deserved.

By the time they finally left, you'd screamed and cried yourself hoarse. Begging and pleading for them to s top as they forced you to watch the interrogation. Well it was less of an interrogation and more turning a man into a human punching bag.

All the while, the firm grip on your hair had forced you to continue watching, pulling you back every time you turned your head away. The slimy voice of the man who was clearly the boss, speaking directly in your ear, reminding you mockingly to keep your eyes open.

They left you shivering and cowering on the floor, not daring to move towards the lieutenant until the door had swung shut and the footsteps had faded away.

"I'm sorry." You whispered when the two of you were alone. Snot and tears dried on your face from having to endure watching a man get the life beaten out of him in front of you. He was slumped clutching his middle with one arm.

"S' not your fault." He grimaced, pushing himself up to lean against the wall for support.

He was hard to look at if you were being honest. One of his eyes would likely be swollen shut in a few hours, and there was a trickle of blood where one of the guards had split the skin just below his eyebrow. It wasn't like you'd never seen violence before. But action movies, and witnessing the occasional drunken street fight were nothing like this. The horrifying unrelenting sound of fists hitting skin, coupled with the muffled grunts of pain had left you nauseous.

"I know you from somewhere?" Simon broke you out of your thoughts. He was eyeing you again, studying you for any connection you two might have.

Unfortunately as unfamiliar as you were to him, he was to you as well.

Shaking your head you replied, "I don't think so. I don't recognize you."

He snorted a laugh, " 've usually got m' face covered up."

"What? Like. Like a mask?" Your face scrunched as you tried to picture it, "What are you some sort of superhero?"

Simon scoffed at the assumption and then let out a low groan, slumping further into himself. Fuck what were you supposed to do? The last time you'd taken first aid courses it'd been as a teenager so you could apply to be a camp counselor. You doubted those skills would be useful here anyways.

"I don't," you crawled over to sit next to him gulping nervously, "I don't know what to do. Please tell me how to help you."

"Save your strength. There's nothing either of us can do right now. My team will have noticed I'm gone by now. Likely they're on their way to find me."

You didn't know why, but the words were so reassuring. Especially considering he was a literal stranger. But looking him over, even though he was beaten bloody you felt hopeful. From his large muscular frame, to the faint scars that littered his visible skin, he felt like someone with experience.

"That man. He called you Lieutenant." You began hesitantly, "You're military?"

"I am. Can call me Ghost."

"Ghost." You repeated, raising your eyebrows. He took in your unimpressed expression and glared almost playfully at you.

"Yeah, Ghost."

"Whatever you say Lieutenant."

Taglist: @teehee-47, @bleuu-moon (cant remember if you wanted to be tagged so sorry if you didnt ^^;)