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ms0milk · 1 year

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when you suddenly catch a nasty cold

gn!reader ft. todo, bkg, kiri, and (hearts in my eyes) shinsou

i am so ill and these are so silly, indulge me :,) 600ish words ea.

Todoroki starts to cry when you joke about dying.

He’s bought more flowers than can fit into your little apartment, picked up your prescriptions, tissues, juice, a heating pad, cleaned your kitchen, tucked you in– he paged the goddamned family physician– but watching you shiver under a heavy duvet surrounded by all the things that are supposed to help you get better ignites a fear he didn’t know that he had. They aren’t working. You’re still sick because of course you are, it’s only been a few hours, and still he can’t bring himself to move more than an arm’s length away from you because what if– if he leaves and–

“Shouto?”

“Yes,” his response is immediate when you pull him out of the ether. Always is.

I’m not going anywhere,” you croak, too conscious of how strange your voice sounds, “so you don’t have to stay with me all day.”

“I don’t mind.”

Todoroki is a wonderful boyfriend but when was the last time he went to the bathroom?

“You must be bored.”

He leans over you from his spot at the side of your bed and runs a blessedly too-cold hand across your forehead. Bored? Like he could calm down enough for that. “I can’t relax when you’re like this.”

You’d roll your eyes if they ached less, at your beautiful boyfriend and his cluelessly shoujo declarations of love framed by no fewer than two whole flower shops worth of camellias. He turns his hand over to palm your cheeks and wipe the water from your puffy eyes.

“Would you like me to leave?”

You shake your head, smiling under the weight of five thousand pounds of blankets and the heavy dip from his butt at the edge of your mattress. You’re inclined to reach a hand out to grab it, but you don’t have the energy to raise your head let alone fondle your boyfriend.

“There’s no one I’d rather be with in my final hours,” you rasp, joking, obviously joking.

This cold is something evil, chills, aches, snot– the works. But you couldn’t ask for a better nurse. A gentle, thoughtful, sexy, temperature controlled man, a man you would raze the city for, whose hand fits so perfectly in yours and who– whose trembling? You blink back up.

Todoroki’s features don’t shift or soften, his lip doesn’t quiver, but a tear does slip down his cheeks from those pool cool eyes– one after the next until his jaw is lined with them all patiently waiting to fall from his chin.

“Why, why why?” You panic and try to sit up but he comes to you. Todoroki cups your hand tightly in a hot and cold grip and bows over his own lap to rest his head in yours.

“You’re not going to die.”

“What?”

“I promise.”

“Sho, what– no of course I’m not. What’s wrong, baby?”

Your voice is so weak that he has no other choice than to sit back up and reach for the cold compress. He wipes his eyes with renewed determination when he turns back around, “I’ve got you.”

“I’ve got you, Sho. ’m not going anywhere, promise.”

And when the Todoroki family doctor lets himself in, he does consider coming back another time at the sight of you, finally comfortable under a mountain of fabric, and your love curled around you asleep on top of the blankets.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

It’s not until you genuinely collapse that Bakugou realizes something is wrong. He didn’t even hit you that hard.

“You’re wide open today!” The restless pro looms across the arena, grinning. You both come to the agency’s underground ring on Saturdays to train and he’s blasted you clear across the room like he’s actually working for a paycheck.

There wasn’t any amount of money you would have accepted to get out of bed this morning but Bakugou, a less than casual hookup from work, accidentally spent the night and the surprisingly sleep soft rumble of his voice and the gentle kneed of palms as he pulled you back against his body under dawn light– was, persuasive.

The sooner I go in, the sooner I can go home and nurse this headache.

Headache. Naive self-convincing circles your head as you pull yourself to your feet like spinning stars from a goddamned cartoon. This is not a headache. Standing was fine a second ago, and the floor was fine a second ago, but the move from floor to feet fills your sinuses with sudden pressure and immediately the arena starts to swirl.

“C’mon twinkle toes, you’re– Y/n– shit–”

You’re not interested in where that sentence ends today and blessedly you don’t have to hear it because your ears have filled with cotton and you’re sinking back down to your knees. You’ve been congested like this before– it’ll pass in a minute or two, you know how it goes and you’re only embarrassed by the fact you were down so bad for your teammate this morning that you didn’t realize how your body had started to feel.

The vertigo eases somewhat when you rest your head on the ground, but Bakugou has cleared the empty room and already has his domineering hands all over you.

“Y/n? Y/n– do not close your eyes.”

“‘m not concussed, Kats.” But you know the explosive hero’s first fear isn’t exactly a head trauma. “You didn’t hurt me,” you add.

“That doesn’t narrow it down shitforbrains, if I didn’t hurt you then what’s wrong?” His aggressive tone doesn’t match his anxious hold though, and you melt a little when he kneels and pulls you into his lap.

Bakugou definitely doesn’t like the way your head seems too heavy for your neck and tilts himself back just enough for you to lean it against his chest. You look so fucking uncomfortable, scowling, eyes pinched closed. “What hurts?” He rasps as he moves to feel your temperature but his palms are sweating hard from a few quirk ignitions so he stalls, and lowers his forehead to yours instead. You’re soft where he touches you, warm in his hands.

You just need to sit, you don't need the #2 hero to cradle you in his arms like a fallen comrade on the battlefield. Although you don't complain. Your eyes squeeze shut harder as a tiny wave rocks you in the dark and then suddenly one ear releases. “I think I’m getting sick,” you breathe. Carmel in and relief out. “It’s my head–”

“Head hurts?”

“I’m just stuffed up, I– ” the other ear releases, “– just dizzy.”

Bakugou sits on his heels, perched. Should he pick you up? Who just gets dizzy, are you a fucking Victorian child? It’s terrifying to watch– you, his teammate, a capable hero, suddenly unable to stand.

But as the pressure behind your eyes levels out you can lift your head without discomfort. You can bring your arms up around Bakugou’s shoulders and settle your fingers in his hair. Bring him back down from where he’s tried to pull away.

Your foreheads bump again, “I’m okay.”

He growls, “I don’t believe you.”

So the hero takes you home. He makes sure you’re horizontal and goddamned tucked in before he slips from your front door and scares the shit out of you an hour later with a vice grip on some grocery bags and your apartment keys slipped around his middle finger. It’s almost romantic, the way he snaps at you to hold still while he dabs antiseptic on your scratches from sparring, or glares venom from behind the stove when you hobble to the kitchen to see what smells so good.

‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

When Kirishima lets himself in and you’re asleep on the kitchen floor, worry overrides his confusion.

You won’t pick up his calls, but he’s never missed a movie night and he’s not about to start today! He throws your front door open with his copy of your apartment key still in it and kicks off his gym crocs as loudly as he can manage so you can hear him come in. The last thing he wants is to startle you.

But you’re the one who nearly kills him when he slips through the genkan, arms full of snacks and catches sight of your slippered foot stretched out on the ground behind the corner of the kitchen wall.

He’s on his hands and knees faster than he can even take a full step, dropping glass soda bottles and soft melon bread alike from his arms, as he scrambles to where you must be lying lifeless on the other side of the entrance.

“Y/n–! Ah, huh.”

And you are, in a way, lifeless on the ground, but you’re breathing. And smiling? Curled up on the white tiles in front of the sink cabinet.

“Y/n?” Kirishima doesn’t wait to ponder, instead placing a hand on the side of your head to begin the checks for a vertebral injury. But you coo, something completely unintelligible, and you’re much too warm. You tilt your face into his palm and every inch of you is hotter than the next.

“Y/n? C’mon on back to me Y/n, you gotta tell me what’s wrong.”

Maybe it’s the chill of the floor or the addition of his other hand cupping your cheek, but your lashes heft apart just enough to register who it is trying to resuscitate you in the kitchen.

“Ei?”

Kirishima, always handy in a fire, has every hospital route an EMT could ever need memorized from all his volunteer work with the fire department and mentally scrolls through every single one as you try to form a sentence.

“you shouldn’t be here, Eiji, m’sick.”

“What?”

“flu,” you murmur and pull your hands to your side to try and rise. Kirishima doesn’t register anything not directly related to whether or not you’re suffering from blunt force trauma– except for the fact he could recall the exact date and time your dream drowsy smile falls and perks back up again now for the next fifty years unprompted.

“–tried to text you,” you manage as the redhead helps you sit up. The sentence comes out in gasps instead of coughs as you try to spare the air of any extra germs, “I can’t watch the movie tonight."

He laughs with pent up anxiety and simultaneous relief– he’s taken that charming fireman’s knee at your side and you wish in your flu-addled state that you’d stayed unconscious long enough for him to hoist you into his arms. Instead Kirishima places both of his big soft hands back around your face to brush away the dust and crumbs.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“‘got hungry,” you admit openly because you know it’ll make him smile, and with his face this close to yours you’ll be able to watch the skin around his eyes crinkle up too. “Then tired. I just needed to sit for a bit.”

His eyes do crinkle up. And his teeth bit at his lip like he’s trying not to be amused.

“Y/n, you are very sick. And very sweaty.” And the sweetheart, the biggest crush you’ve ever had, your closest friend, the man you dreamed of on the kitchen floor, asks if he can carry you to the bath.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

Why are you breathing so hard? Shinsou is the only pro in the office that you can’t hide a goddamned thing from. Maybe it’s because he works primarily in the underground– observant, sneaky– that it’s obvious, they way you wobble on your feet when your eyes are closed too long, or the sudden effort it takes you just to climb the stairs.

Is he supposed to be able to focus on paperwork with you trying to catch your breath in a hallway when you think no one’s around? None of your sidekicks are brave enough to ask why you wore a mask to work today, but it’s summer and the air pollution gets bad enough that some of them have to too. Are they really all that stupid? Has he done the worst hiring job of any pro in the city?

“Shinsou,” you murmur across the now-empty end of day office and he whips around because god knows how many times you’ve tried to get his attention while he’s been off in space.

“Yeah boss?”

Your voice is rough with sick when you reply and it would be so fucking sexy if it didn’t remind him to be so anxious about your wellbeing. “I’ve told you not to call me that, you haven’t been my sidekick for years,” and then you’re smiling even as you hold back a cough, “makes me feel old.”

“You are older than me.”

“By a year!” You sputter and then your lungs take over, heaving and hacking so hard you have to double over your desk to steady your forehead against something. Shinsou’s on his feet immediately, navigating the office in sweats and his capture gear to get to you.

What happened? This morning it was just a tickle at the top of your throat but the aches sank from your head, down your spine, and flooded through your body just as quickly as the sun’s shadow crawls across a stone. Which is to say, all day long and all too slowly to realize you probably should have called in sick.

“Here.” A cool hand materializes on the back of your neck and you roll your head to the side to check what exactly has arrived for you. With his free hand Shinsou presses a paper water cup forward, which you’d love to take if you had the energy to pull your mask down.

“went to school together n’ everything,” you breathe.

“Boss, you should go home for the night, I’ll– I can finish this paperwork.”

By now the dark-eyed hero has sunk slowly into a crouch beside your chair and keeps a careful hand on your back to ensure you don’t slip to the floor sideways one way or the other. Thank god he sent the rookies home because stupid or otherwise, you'd have to be braindead not to notice this adoration that he can’t seem to get a handle on.

“Shinsou,” you murmur again, just as sexily as last time and he feels just as much if not more shame at how lovely it is to hear you call to him sweet and low, “I can’t get up.”

“What?”

That’s it though. There’s no trick or test. Shinsou has a fucked up sleep schedule from all his overnight patrols so he always stays in the office late, but you? You’ve been trying to rally for the last two hours and now you’ve used all your energy teasing a man whose eyes go bright every time you say his name. It serves you right, collapsing at your desk after using the last of your strength to squeeze as many Shinsous as you could into an evening.

“call me a taxi?”

He rises to his feet, “Will you even be able to get up your front steps?”

“sure hope so.”

“Do you feel nauseous?” He’s shuffling around the room now, plucking keys from hooks, and you watch him sideways with your head still resting in the day’s paperwork. “You gonna aspirate if I let you go home alone?”

“if god’s feeling extra silly”

He scoffs to hide the smile. Shinsou returns to your side to lay his faded denim jacket over your shoulders and then crouches again at eye level.

“Y/n,” he urges, and rests a hand to the back of your head to get your attention, “If I carry you downstairs, will you be able to hold onto me?”

Downstairs is a bluff. With you snug and mostly unconscious between his jacket and his back, Shinsou carries you home. Face full of your clothes, hair, quirk, whatever’s getting in his eyes, under the stars, and down back streets to avoid any publicity, the hero tries to walk gently enough that you don’t whimper from the impact of his steps.

“Thank you...Toshi,” you whisper just when he thinks you’ve finally fallen asleep and the big bad underground pro almost stumbles hard enough to fly.

#i think i probably need firefighter kirishima inside of me #shinsou wanting to fuck his pretty boss now has a gravitational pull that teeters on allconsuming #todoroki x reader #kirishima x reader #shinsou x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha drabble #mha drabble #does anyone spell it #shinso x reader #?#that feels psychotic

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moodyvoid · 6 months

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The League of Villains get interrogated.

Cop: “So, you’re the leader of this operation, huh? Tell me about your crimes.”

Tomura: “You first, pig.”

—

Cop, hasn’t even spoken yet—

Twice: “OKAY. I confess! I’ll tell you everything. In kindergarten I stole my classmates erasers. They were shaped like fruit and I just wanted to see how they tasted—“

—

Cop: “I wanna know about the arson.”

Dabi: “Which one?”

Cop: “The one that happened on Tuesday.”

Dabi: “Oh, that one… Was that the gas station around like 8pm?“

Cop: “Yes. That one.”

Dabi: “Wasn’t me.”

Cop: “The fire was blue—“

Dabi, lighting a cigarette with a blue flame: “Could have been anyone.”

Cop: “You’re on the security footage igniting the flames!”

Video of Dabi starting the fire then flipping off the security camera plays.

Dabi: “Not sure who that handsome bastard is, but all this useless talking isn’t going to unburn that building.”

—

Twice: “In middle school, I snuck into an R-rated movie, but I got the wrong room and had to sit through an entire documentary about the origins of yodeling—“

Cop, absolutely bewildered.

—

Cop: “Tell me about the crimes.”

Toga: “The only crimes here are your tacky uniform, your lopsided mustache, and my wasted Saturday night.”

Cop, lightly touching his mustache: “Lopsided?”

—

Twice, now crying: “—and then, I offered to walk this old man’s dog for some extra cash. The dog got off the leash. I chased him for four blocks, but he was too fast. I switched the dog out for an identical one and took the money. The old man never noticed. I still think about that dog every day. I’m so sorry, Porkchop—”

Cop, now surrounded by several other cops all bewildered at Twice’s stories.

—

Cop: “Confess your—“

Mr. Compress, holding out a deck of cards: “Pick a card!”

Cop, picking a card: “Uhh… okay.”

Mr. Compress: “Memorize it and return it to the deck.”

Cop, slipping the card back into the deck.

Mr. Compress: “Now close your eyes and focus on your card.”

Cop, closing his eyes.

Mr. Compress: “Open your eyes!”

Cop, opening his eyes to see Mr. Compress holding a gun, his gun missing from its holster: “What the fu—“

Mr. Compress, holding up a card: “Is this your card?”

Cop, smiling: “Oh shit, it is!”

—

Twice: “I went to the self checkout aisle at the grocery store. I had a bag full of bell peppers and one jalapeño. I rang up the bell peppers, but I didn’t ring up the jalapeño. I felt so bad, I broke into the store to put it back—“

The entire station is sitting around listening like a children’s story time.

—

Cop: “Get to talking.”

Spinner: “…”

Cop: “We can do this all night, kid. I suggest saying something.”

Spinner: “Wanna know what my favorite video game is?”

The cop looks away for one second, looking back to see Spinner gone. There’s an open vent on the ceiling.

A second cop enters the room: “Hey, so that Spinner guy punched-out the sheriff, stole his squad car, and yelled Grand Theft Auto?”

—

Twice: “—and that’s everything. I feel a lot better…What were we here to talk about again?”

All the cops asleep.

Twice, standing up and tip-toeing out of the room.

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carsthatnevermadeitetc · 28 days

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Lancia Montecarlo 2ª Serie, 1980. The second series Montecarlo arrived after an 18-month production hiatus. The Beta model name was dropped (previously it had been the Beta Montecarlo) and the flying buttresses now had perspex panels for improved rear visibility. The mid/rear transversally mounted DOHC 2.0 litre engine got a higher compression ratio and electronic ignition. In total 1,940 second series cars were built by Pininfarina including 817 targa roof spiders, before production ended in 1982. The Montecarlo was not replaced

#Lancia #Lancia Montecarlo #1980 #mid-rear engine #transverse engine #compact sports car #Pininfarina #DOHC #2nd series #end of the line #last of the line #coachbuilt

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astralnymphh · 7 months

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ellie trying on those pheromones perfumes ? like those sex ones 😭😭

thought abt this days ago.. guess I manifested this ask in a way!!! MDNI ✰ . . not a full smut but highly suggestive. could be a smut tho if someone asks, wink wonk.

ellie knowss she doesn't neeed a fancy elixir or a spell to woo you over any day, however. to rouse you up further than usual? now that's an experiment worth her adherence.

spritz, spritz– goes the pumps of a perfume bottle, the only perfume ellie will ever meet palm to plastic with. the only time her plender gap will ever taste the chemicals and hints of rosy luxury. now, intentionally forgetting she even puffed some of that shit on, she just relaxes. she waits. lounging upon your shared bed, attired in a tight ribbed tank that sports an eye–candy viewing of her muscles, mhh, and a pair of loose plaid boy shorts. forearms press arrant to her ribs, extending down to her pelvis– controller in hand. her eyes pore over that large television screen blaring with a multitude of hues, totally mind bent to the game she plays.

then, you roll in. languid after a full shift of working, you plop down. face to cotton, you take a whaff in of freshly washed sheets, nose smudged against the cushiony material. next, you scurry over like sludge and pulp into a sweat puddle atop your girlfriend– knee tucked between hers, crotch plane and dimpling against her firm thigh, nosedived into the angled nook of her scruff. you take another whiff, wait, where did the lovely scent of her perspiration go? all that buries a hole in your nose is something rosy, a sapid rose smell. a flare of sensations unlocks in your loins. for an aphrodisiac has aquilined your mind– and your cunt, to its rein. caught under a spell. you crisp your tone, "babe, why do you smell like a flower shop?" that, ignites the memory back in ellie. yet she fiddles innocence, husking with a chuckle, "huh, dunno' what you mean." you frown, brows declined, "m'not dumb, els, why the fuck do you smell so good. you legit never touched perfume in your life." tapping a small button, ellie pauses the game, veering her head slightly to gape at you. on comes a ridiculous question, "d'ya not like it?"

els knew what adventure she donned upon her skin the moment her knuckles bent on that perfume nozzle, she knew how it might having you purring wanton with both lips. might, cause she's definitely a tinge of skeptic. so it was no surprise when you rollicked your butt on the crests of her pelvis, forcing threadbare kisses on her gracious pink lips, flushing your knuckles of pigment as you press them into her hips– laughing like a whinnying unicorn when ellie dandles plushy volumes of your ass in her grippy digits, whacking her wrist back to land short–timed blows to ripple on the pigment plentiful cheek, no doubt sore. a playful makeout. her own hoarsey chuckles vibrate on your lips, her kisses sweeter than honeydew squeezing when she purses. you continue a giggle, struggling to peel the band of her shorts due to the applied friction pinning it down, "ellie! c'monn.. m'wanna take your shorts off–" she counters, "why baby? tell me why.." and breaks off into a chuckle as well, as her question was fraudulent. the answer lingers hard on her brain. you whine, "baaabee.. i wanna eat your pussy.." and she just muses, cooing, "ohh, you do? yeah? lick this pussy up n' make ellie cum? ohohohh~" a deeper laugh murks her melody, "think ellie really wants that baby, needs that slutty little tongue– mhmm.." she accentuates her own name with airy speech, ardent on your mid–face. her clammy hands imprinting a hot compress to your ass–crease slowly slide out and travel the rump, pressure tender as milk given when she cups your waist gently. antsy as a sex spell can make one, you slowly begin to mooch your hips down her thighs, only for her tender grip to turn– sharp, lodging you in place.

"excuse you, did i tell you t'go down there?" a picky grin pricks her cheeks, teeth bore. you reply bumbly, "but– you said– uh!" another slap enlists to your cheek, hitching a stone in your larynx. she reprimands, strictly in such a dewey smooth voice, "nuh–uh, gimme' a show first, show me how you'll play with my pussy, on yours."

(pic by me)

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xothatnerdykid · 7 months

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when you know, you know

You, a teaching assistant at UA, and Aizawa start a secret relationship that somehow turns into more than he imagined. Aizawa Shouta x gn!reader. Tooth-rotting fluff. SFW, 1.4k words. (Can be both a stand alone or a continuation to Say Yes to Heaven).

Aizawa’s not one for casual sex or casual relationships. He tried for a while, because his busy life didn’t leave room for much else and it just seemed like the most practical thing to do. But eventually, he realized that it’s just not worth it if it doesn’t lead to any meaningful connection. So he had sworn off relationships for a few years until he got his life all settled.

Or at least, that’s what he planned to do before he met you.

You, with your laughter that makes something inside him stir, a pleasant surprise that breaks apart the grey clouds of his perpetual gloominess. You shattered all his well-thought-out plans with your easy smile and disarming sweetness. Your presence brings an unexpected shift in his routine, one he's both unprepared for and secretly delighted by.

“Good morning, Aizawa-senpai.” You brush a lock of hair behind your ear, your eyes lingering on him a moment longer than necessary. But if anyone else in the room notices, they don’t say anything.

"Mhm, morning," He grumbles, barely glancing at you. His voice is rough and sleep-laden, his tone flippant as ever.

You offer him a seemingly sweet smile, but the two of you know there's something more lurking beneath it. "You seem tired. Rough night?"

He narrows his eyes at you for a fraction of a second before grunting. Then, under his breath, soft enough for only you to hear..."You’d know."

To anyone else, the gestures seem innocent enough — a polite greeting, a shared meal, a casual conversation in the teacher's lounge — but to him, it was almost agonizing having to pretend. To know that there’s a certain warmth in your eyes or a secret smile meant only for him.

A simple brush of your hands is enough to ignite him, a feeling he craves but constantly has to keep in check. After all, the other teachers have no inkling of the whirlwind of emotions brewing within him, and that’s precisely how he intends to keep it.

Still, the temptation is overwhelming. Every stolen moment, every subtle touch…

Aizawa had always prided himself on his unwavering focus, but your presence had a way of unraveling his professionalism and all his carefully constructed boundaries.

His mind, usually so sharp and perceptive, suddenly couldn’t be trusted in your presence. His eyes always sought you out, tracing your figure, the way you sit so gracefully, the gentle curves of your body and the smoothness of your skin. In a split second, his thoughts would turn inappropriate as he began to envision scenarios he knows he shouldn't be thinking about in the middle of a class.

It’s a constant struggle.

You’re the disruption he had never anticipated, the chink in his armor.

"Mmhm — remind me — again," you gulp in the air in between hurried kisses, "who thought — this was — a good — idea?"

You feel him smirk against your neck from where he'd been peppering kisses and soft licks. "You."

"Ah, right." You take a moment to catch your breath and fix your disheveled hair. "Well, in my defense, you really shouldn't wear something so scandalous at school if you expect me to behave.”

He looks down at his usual training clothes — a black compression shirt and baggy gray sweatpants — and chuckles. The low, raspy sound sends shivers down your spine.

"I'll keep that in mind." He cages you with both his arms against the wall and leans in, smirking. "But don't think you're entirely blameless either."

"Me?" Nervous laughter bubbles inside you as you try to tamper down the hammering of your heart against your ribcage. "What did I do?"

His lips graze your ear, and your skin turns to goosebumps under the warmth of his breath. "You just had to tease me in front of my students, didn’t you? You know how it affects me." He pulls you closer, hands sliding down your waist. “How you affect me.”

You bite your lower lip, a teasing glint in your eyes as you meet his gaze. “Oh? And here I thought we were just having a little fun.”

He grins, his lips leaving another trail of soft kisses by your collarbone. "I didn't say I didn't like it."

You let out a soft gasp as his lips find a particularly sensitive spot, and you tighten your grip on him.

"You're right about one thing, though," he whispers.

And despite the beautiful work he's doing with his tongue, you manage a breathless, "What's that?"

His lips find yours again in a searing kiss. It’s only when you finally break apart that he answers, "I can't resist you, even when I should."

Any further conversation is lost in the intensity of the moment, the thrill of being together, no matter the circumstances.

————————————————————————

He never planned to fall in love. At least not yet. Not with so many responsibilities on his shoulders. But life, it seems, cared very little for his best-laid plans.

So here he is, waiting for you after weeks of yearning and missing you like you’re two halves of a whole. The setting sun casts a warm, golden hue over the lush green grass of the park. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom, scattering delicate petals in the gentle breeze, and he watches as the sakura petals dance in the wind.

He spots you walking towards him, the soft light highlighting the sparkle in your eyes and the affectionate curve of your lips. You look beautiful, he thinks, standing beneath the blush-painted sky, enveloped in the soft glow of the setting sun.

"Shouta," you greet him, your voice filled with a familiar warmth and affection he adores.

Aizawa, usually so composed and sure-footed, falters in the face of his own desire. He almost stutters your name, the pounding in his chest drowning out every other sound. But he takes a steadying breath instead and musters the last remnants of his composure to look at you.

“I need to tell you something.”

You looked at him with curiosity and a touch of concern. "What is it?"

He meets your gaze with a steadiness he reserves for the most critical of moments, but you can see a flicker of vulnerability in his otherwise stoic demeanor. His hand moves up to gently cradle your face, his touch tender and reverent, as if he's afraid you might vanish if he's too rough.

His eyes search yours for permission, for that silent understanding that it’s more than just a moment of passion when he leans in, his lips softly meeting yours. He wants to bring to life all the things he feels for you he’s left unspoken, still trying to find words for.

"Shouta," you whisper breathlessly when your eyes flutter open, your hand holding his, cupping your cheek. Before you can ask him again, the confession comes tumbling out of his mouth.

“I love you," he finally whispers. And the world seems to slow to a stop for a moment as his words wash over you. “I’ve fallen in love with you, and I don’t want to hide anymore. You've turned my world upside down, and somehow, it's better this way."

The weight of his feelings, the honesty in his eyes, hangs in the air between you like a delicate promise. It's not overly dramatic or romantic, but it's real, and it's him.

You press your forehead against his, laughter bubbling up in you. “Shouta, I love you, too.”

Your confession sweeps through him like a warm breeze, casting aside the doubt and insecurities he's carried for far too long. A soft, genuine smile tugs at the corners of his lips. It's the first time you've seen him smile so openly, and an unexpected feeling of affection and endearment floods your chest.

You nestle into the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms around him. His fingers run through your hair as he holds you close and presses a feather light kiss on the top of your head. Shouta's heart swelled with warmth, a feeling he'd rarely allowed himself to experience.

It was terrifying to let someone in, to love so openly, but in that moment, he knew it was worth it. He felt lighter, as if he'd unburdened himself from a heavy weight he'd carried for years. With a sense of contentment he'd never known before, he held you a little tighter.

"If you'll have me," He whispers softly, his voice a gentle caress against your ear. He opens your hand with his, sliding his fingers between yours. "I promise to love and protect you. Always."

You beam up at him, your own voice tinged with happiness and affection. "Of course I'll have you, Shouta. With all my heart."

"Then it's a promise," he says, sealing the pact with a tender kiss, a promise made under the blush-painted sky and the falling sakura petals.

#aizawa shouta #bnha shouta aizawa #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa x reader #mha aizawa #bnha aizawa #aizawa sensei #eraserhead #aizawa imagine #aizawa shouta imagine #aizawa shouta x you #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta x y/n #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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fanaticsnail · 4 months

Text

When You Had The Chance

Masterlist Here.

Word Count: 3,830

Plot: Serving as first mate to the Buggy-Pirates, it was your job to keep your captain grounded and uplifted. When tempers flared, he decided to confront his childhood rival once and for all - pulling out all the stops to finally lay their feud to rest. Crew against crew, Captain against Captain, First-Mate against First-Mate - will you win, or lie at the mercy of the man you once loved. The man you will always love.

Themes: Angst, pining, war, fighting, guns, blades, blood, unrequitted love, age-gap (19-37, 23-41, 32-50: Maths made me work today) f!reader, pet-name used, enemies to friends to enemies to lovers.

Song Suggestions: Let Me Down Slowly, She Used to be Mine

Tag List: @sordidmusings, @writingmysanity, @gingernut1314, @feral-artistry,

Destruction, chaos, blood and bones litter the splintered hull of the ship. The air was tinted with the scent of cinders, flint and ignited powders. Another cannon struck the top-mast, this time severing the link and reducing it to shredded planks. Everything was happening both too fast and too slow. Buggy was flying through the air, untameable as the sea and as chaotic as the storm rocking the ship against the thrashing waves.

A clap of lightning cut the sky, the sound of rumbled beaten-drum thunder reverberated and shook against your rapidly reducing vessel. You shook your nerves away from your hands and leapt into the air, holding your breath as you propelled yourself onto the enemy vessel.

You had no idea that a night of drinking and reminiscing with your captain and crew would lead you here. It started with ale, pale to start and ending with stout. Then you switched to ports and honey-mead to cleanse the palate and continue the merriment. Music, lividity, gaiety was where you started - singing heartily to the shanties of old.

And then they brought out the ouzo.

Ouzo, your one weakness, had memories spiraling and your heart swelling in love-stricken grief. It started with each of you recounting your places at the time of Gol D Rogers execution. Buggy could barely choke back his tears, almost coherent with words he left unspoken as he witnessed his heart stop as a fifteen year old. You confessed you were in a place you knew you shouldn't, a child of barely eight witnessing the death of someone you had adored from afar as king of your kind.

From listening to the recounts of the crew, anger began to fester below the surface. Tales of how Captain Shanks ruined the life of your beloved clown had your heart beating heavier - swelling with the thinning blood infused with a high percentage of alcohol. You had only then begun to uproot the prior stifled feelings regarding the redheaded captain’s first mate.

You thought you repressed them enough, compartmentalized enough. But the bile began to form behind your lips as your heart jumped into your throat as the memories found themselves within the forefront of your eyes.

He had every right to turn you down. You respect him more for it now than you did back then, that was for certain. You were barely nineteen, making a name for yourself as one of the most nimble-footed, light fingered thieves in the east blue. “Get in, get on with it, get it done, and get out,” was your motto; and a motto you managed to execute with the highest amount of competency and skill.

Stealing from a red-haired captain? An easy task you were commissioned to do. Having your heart stolen from your chest, lungs compressed of all its oxygen as your eyes met with the steel gaze of the first mate? Not something you had ever accounted for. But you fell first, and you fell hard.

You disregarded your mission, bullied the captain immediately to take you under his wing aboard the red-force and served with them for little over four years. In those four years, your heart was longing, craving affection from the first mate. Yassop gave you hell for it. Lucky Roux attempted to join in on the teasing - only for you to teach them both a lesson by misplacing and claiming objects very near and dear to them.

Each time you set to dock at port, you witnessed the love of your life take another to his bed. You drew attention yourself, and easily took a fling here and there. But in doing so, you were always longing to be the one chosen good enough - special enough - to warm the sheets beside Benn Beckman. To be the face he’d lie next to in the night, and the smile he awoke to in the morning.

At twenty three, you confessed. A night not unlike the one here amongst the red-hair pirates had you singing, swaying and dancing to the fingerpicking of a guitar. Ouzo drove your words, an apprehensive and innocent smile dancing on your lips as the warm alcohol flushed your cheeks. You laid it all out for him; from the moment your eyes first met, to the way you altered your entire life for the opportunity to be by his side - you risked it all at the beachfront fireside with the crack of warm flames dancing in your eyes.

As you leant in to place a soft kiss against his lips: he turned away from you with his eyes tightly shut. His hand clapped over your shoulder, as he kept you an arms length away and reopened his eyes.

“Darlin’, I’m flattered,” His voice drawled, brows furrowed in a deep frown as he held his eyes away from yours, “But I’m a little old for someone like you.”

Someone like you.

That phrase had all thoughts sour, all emotions and tempers running high as you hastily sprung to your feet and marched back towards the Red Force. Knowing now what you knew then, he had every right to turn you down as you confessed to him. You were young, a fool only in love; never unsound in mind.

Was that how all of the crew thought of you? An infatuated, love-sick, and thieving child following blindly the orders of your captain, under the watchful eyes of a first mate you’d come to love? You gave up everything to be by his side; your career long since forgotten as you worked yourself to the bone for the chance to be on the receiving end of a small smile from him.

You hastily packed your belongings, leaving no trace nor whisper you had ever served among this crew, and crept back into the shadows where you once more found yourself again. Thriving in the reignition of your skillset, you had managed to acquire a fair amount of wealth for yourself. Feeling in a celebratory mood after a successful solo heist, your eyes met with the hunched over figure of a sad clown.

Feeling content and pleased with yourself, you decided to buy him a drink. And then another.

And then you decided to join him for one.

When you met Buggy, you knew this was the crew you were always meant to serve with. Your skills as a thief had you perform in his circus as his prized assistant. His coy volunteer within the stands, his enchanting assistant showcasing his grandeur, his leading lady in the ring - his loyal First-Mate as he made a name for himself through fame and fortune. Never once did you feel the desire to romance the clown, keeping the need to express such feelings for another hidden well below the surface, but you loved him as one ever could love an older sibling who acted like the younger.

After slamming down your upturned, empty shot glass for the umpteenth time; you lulled your head atop his shoulder and nonchalantly raised your voice in question.

“What if we just,” your speech slurred as you looked over the back of your nails, “killed him?”

“Killed who, Doll? Who we killing?” Your captain asked, looking over your head to nod in appreciation of your painted fingernails.

“Shanks. The Red-Hair pirates. All of them.”

Buggy leant down into your ear, holding his glazed over eyes and a rumbled growl of anxiety laden excitement purred against your skin.

“I love it when you talk dirty.”

And this is where your booze-filled suggestion had you. Rifles drawn, cutlasses brandished and fists meeting flesh as you tore each other into ribbons of littered and battered skin. Teeth gnashing, throats growling and brows furrowing; the tension was being cut with layers of destruction. Two crews you had served with, the former being on the winning side of the fight as the latter began to perish. Your current crew were being annihilated, only very few remaining now standing as the Big Top was slowly sinking beneath the icy-cold water.

As another cannonball was fired from the end of an iron circlet, you fell to a crouched position and barely managed to cover your ears to stifle the ringing within. As you withdrew your ears and turned, you opened your eyes to a sight you never thought you would see again.

Facing down the barrel of a rifle, your eyes first met with the cold circlet of doom pointing at your head. You smelt the warm familiarity of tobacco first, your heart pounding harder than it ever did within the battle prior.

Glancing up past the barrel, you met with the cold and calculated stare of the first-mate of the red hair pirates. His eyes were wide and wild, his lips curled back into a grimace with the grinding of teeth, before the cruel twist of fate had his eyes stagger under recognition.

The warm hot flush of angry tears began to sting at the corners of your eyes as they continued to bear into his - his own raw emotion being depicted on his own face.

Beckman’s heart stopped, his breath hitched and cigarette fell from his parted lips as his jaw fell slack. Never once had you reached out. Not after all this time did he know you were even alive, let alone serving amongst the rival crew of the one you had come to know prior. He never should’ve let you leave - not like that. Not knowing how he truly felt for you and choosing to restrain himself from your alcohol-induced confession.

He loved you. He loved you so desperately, he could not see his life complete without you. And when you severed from the crew and left no trace, Beckman became a shell of a man he once was. Faking smiles, forcing laughter, joining himself with pleasurable company no longer on his agenda as all he could picture was your face. Your eyes: filled with such sorrow at his rejection, that was all he came to see behind his closed eyes as he lay to sleep.

"You gonna shoot me, Becks? Is that what it all comes down to?" Your taunt broke him away from his looping thoughts, his battletorn face alert to the woman he had come to long for. Your sinister and malicious smile was never something he ever foresaw being on the receiving end of, and it startled him.

"I don't want to, Darlin'. But if it'll stop you from fightin’ us and leaving with the clown again, I'll see it done,” he responded, clicking back the ignition on his beloved pistol.

The roars of battle fleeing from the lips of your Captain, his malicious cackles of rage-filled laughter hurtling towards Red Haired Shanks. Echoes of taunts and insults hurled into the air regarding the betrayal of one captain against another, all of which were met by an uproar of apologies from your former captain as he blocked every assault thrown his way.

Although you were a faithful first-mate, knowing it was your role to serve and protect your captain, you were struck down by your own swollen emotions within your heart. No longer filled with the taste and hindrance of alcohol, your once hidden thoughts and emotions began to swell of their own accord in front of the silver-haired first-mate.

You couldn't tear your eyes from Beckman’s, unable to break the spell of longing you felt for him. After all these years, he was still the man your heart cried for in the lonely hours of the night, as you lay in crew quarters aboard the enemy’s ship. The first man you ever loved. The man you would always love. The man who still held the pointed tip of a gun at your head as you scowled into his face, masking the pain his absence had drawn to you.

His eyes, his hair, his soul: all once held secret and safe with your adoration for him protected and refused to be spoken. Those words turned to broken mirrors, refracting light away from your eyes as they held firm against his own.

"You going to cut me down just like that? I thought you were a man far more dignified than all that," you huffed with a humorless laugh. His jaw clenched tightly shut, his eyes narrowing at you as you snarled at him beneath the barrel of his gun.

"And I never thought I'd see you again, let alone blindly serving the enemy,” He growled, dragging his eyes over your war torn clothes and battleshaken face for any semblance of injury.

Another cry from the clown in rage had your ears pricking at the sound, but eyes fixed on the expressions the man in front of you were holding. You saw the masking emotions slip, his eyes begin to glaze as your own mask dropped completely.

After all this time, he was still the man you loved. You loved him so desperately, so deeply, that you almost forgot the reason you were here in the first place.

He dropped his gun from your head and fell to his knees in front of you, reaching down his left hand to seek out your chin and cradle it beneath his thumb and index finger. You keep your eyes fixed on his as you allow the luxury of a hot tear to roll down your cheek, gritting your teeth in wordlessly reprimanding yourself for such an action.

“Benn,” the whisper of his name from your mouth had his body surge towards you, taking your lips beneath his in a long, bruising kiss.

His left hand removed itself from your chin to take your cheek into it, his right hand circling your waist as he cradled you against himself. You whimpered against his lips, feeling everything you had once felt for him simmer and boil to the surface.

You clenched your eyes tightly shut, brows furrowing as he reflected everything you had tangibly felt in yearning for him for all of these years. You felt the stubble of his chin scrape against yours, the taste of his final cigarette on his tongue as he deepened the oscillation. He growled as you finally gave in, hooking your right arm over his shoulder and placing your left hand atop his right cheek. You felt the etchings of his healed over scar dancing beneath your fingertips, an angry whisper of a tear leaking down to press against your thumb.

"Please don't leave with him. I couldn't bear the thought. Stop all of this,” he whispered against your lips, “Please stay,” he uttered, breaking the kiss to brace you against his body, “Stay with me on the Red Force. Serve Shanks once more. Please . I'll do anything-."

At that, you circled your chin around, breaking the embrace while rotating your hips away from him. You danced your body around his, placing a firm kick to the side of his head; successfully knocking the first-mate of the Red-Hair pirates to the ground and rising to your feet in one swift movement.

Benn was on his side, staring up at you with a mixture of shock, fury and pride.

"Good bye, Benn. You should've shot me when you had the chance."

At that, you ran fast as your feet could carry you towards your blue-haired captain. You quickly sought him out as he lay punch after punch against the face and torso of red-haired Shanks, who looked to just be sitting there and taking them. He easily could defend himself and thwart the rage of the clown by pushing him backwards into the sea water, but he just stood and took everything Buggy was throwing at him.

Buggy, your beautiful captain, was crying. Hot and angry tears were pouring without any semblance of stopping, as fatigue from the fight slowed down his rage-filled hits. His white gloves were stained red with the blood of the man who betrayed him, a man who appeared to be whispering in a voice so low only Buggy could hear it.

Your sprint drew you close, just off to the side as the punches slowed to a lull; Buggy’s shoulders shaking as he continued to sob.

“It’s okay, Buggy,” Shanks whispered, allowing another hit to land against his chest, “It’s okay. Everything is okay.” Buggy’s head hung low, his knuckles pressed firmly against Shanks’ torso as he continued to cry into the air.

Shanks hooked an arm over his shoulders, pressing Buggy’s sweat-smeared forehead against his own, as he embraced him with his battered remaining arm. Shanks’ eyes were closed and a whisper of a boyish smile was stuck to his face as Buggy’s sobs began to shake violently under his arm.

“I’m sorry, Buggy. I’m so, so sorry,” Shanks whispered, nuzzling his head against Buggy’s as he drew his head into his chest. Buggy’s eyes continued to remain wide and unblinking as he stiffened in the embrace.

You felt the presence of both the Red-Hair and the Buggy-Pirates at your side; battered, bruised and broken as they watched their captains embrace against one another.

“You can keep hitting me if you want,” Shanks smiled, placing his chin atop the blue hair of the captain you serve, “But know I’ll never hate you. I’d rather die.”

You felt an overwhelming sense of both panic and relief as Buggy circled his arms around Shanks’ waist and buried his head into his chest. Sobs from the clown and laughter from the redhead began to echo against the deck of the ship, confusing all those surrounding.

“Lay down your arms, boys,” Beckman’s voice rumbled from your side, prompting you to freeze in place. To your surprise, the Red-Hair pirates sheathed their swords and disarmed their pistols. Silence aside from the whimpers from your captain in the arms of your former were the only sounds gracing your ears, until they met with the flick of a lighter and a deep inhale of a cigarette.

You looked over to the silver-haired man beside you, watching as he took the back of his hand and wiped the small trickle of blood from your prior kick from his lips.

“And bring out some Ouzo, would you, Roux?” Beckman’s eyes upturned. You watched as that smile you so desperately craved began to draw up onto the lips of the man you loved, causing your heart to swell.

“Me and this one got a lot to talk about,” he stooped down, resting his forehead against your own as his charming smile began to grow, “Don’t we, Darlin’?”

The battle died down, your current and former captains sitting together in the middle of a table of the tavern as the Red-Force tethered and chaperoned the Big-Top into port. You were sitting at the bar, refusing to acknowledge any member of your former crew, nor your current. Cabaji and Yasopp were heavily engaged in a dart-throwing competition at the far end of the tavern; Roux and Mohji were talking about food in heavy detail, with Richie curled up at their feet.

And Beckman was sitting atop the barstool beside you, patiently watching and waiting for you to engage him in conversation. You continued to sit in silence, sipping at the small glass of ouzo first before downing the liquid and signaling for another.

“Someone like you,” you mocked him, tutting out a venomous reprimand before throwing back another shot of the burning, liquorice-flavored liquid as soon as it was placed in front of you, “Darlin’ this, Darlin’ that.”

“Is that what this was about?” Beckman chuckled, leaning his elbow on the bar as he took his cheek beneath his fist, “After all this time, you think-.”

“-You know what, Benn? Fuck you,” you spat, turning from him and signalling for the bartender to leave the remainder of the bottle, “Fuck you and your stupid ‘someone like you’, Benn. You should be so lucky, you arrogant prick-.”

Your words were stifled by the firm grip pulling at the back of your hair, immediately molding his lips over your own in a long, passionate kiss. He circled his chin, parted his lips and claimed more of your heart with each brush-stroke of the portrait he painted against your mouth. He bullied you, bruised you with his intensity; cradling you against his body with each motion he made with his lips.

Wolf-whistles and cat-calls were thrust into the air by the two pirate crews once sworn in hatred, now allies. Benn smiled against your lips, continuing to press more of himself into you before he broke away from claiming you against his mouth.

“Someone like you,” Beckman whispered, his breath tickling your lips with the former memory, “Someone as young as you. Someone as stunning as you. Someone that could have any man they wanted fall on their knees and beg for you to send a single look their way.” Your breath hitched, eyes wide at his confession.

“Is that what you’re doing, Benn?” your eyes dropped to his lips, processing every word relayed onto you, “Begging?”

“Pleading,” he confessed further before he claimed another kiss from your lips that ended as briefly as it began. You allowed the small break of a smile chip and whittle away against your prior stoic and aggressive demeanor.

“Why didn’t you say so when you had the chance?” you asked him, shaking your head at him and drawing up your palm to cradle his cheek within its warmth. He closed his eyes, leaning into the small gesture and kissed your palm.

“I wanted you to have the chance to do better, Darlin’,” he uttered, placing his hand atop yours and withdrawing it from his face, “Better than me.” You sought out his meaning behind his gray orbs and clicked your tongue at him.

“Why would I ever have wanted anyone else?” you whispered, shaking your head at him. He chuckled, turning back and poured two glasses of the burning, translucent liquid into the shot glasses.

“A guy like me doesn’t get someone like you,” he sighed, his smile still present as he downed his ouzo, “Someone like you goes for someone like Shanks.” He poured himself another and danced his glass rim against yours remaining unclaimed atop the bar. You took the hint and raised your glass within your hand, rolling your eyes at his comment.

“Someone like me changed their life to follow someone like you,” you quipped in return, downing the liquid and placing your glass back atop the bar, prompting Benn to do the same. “I gave up everything I was for you, Benn. I wanted you,” you took the neck of the bottle and began pouring the liquid into both of the glasses, “And I still do.”

“After all that fighting?” he asked, nudging you with his shoulder, “You still want me, Darlin’?” You sighed, a smile dancing on your lips as the crew around continued their merriment and conversations.

“Of course I do.”

#one piece #opla #x reader #opla fic #one piece live action #buggy #shanks #benn beckman x reader #benn beckman #benn beckman op #benn x reader #beckman x reader

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eternalstretchofmuses · 9 months

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Happy rotation day!

#compressed beyond ~ ooc #eternal stretch ~ haruka #sky igniting fox of false dawn ~ aurora #peach river dweller ~ momoe #forgotten and directionless wanderer ~ Kimu #the question to never be answered ~ taemi #creator of all natural sculptures ~ daichi

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sadgi · 2 months

Text

compiling information about the kineema, because I'm normal

hi. you may remember me from this post talking about how the kineema doesn't have a hood. I've decided to compile all the *other* info I can get on the kineema and comment on it. hopefully this is okay to read

---

let's start with what I could find on fayde

INTERFACING - With its air-cooled, rear-mounted twelve cylinder compression ignition engine driving the rear wheels through a four-speed manual gearbox, the Kineema is able to reach 100 kilometres per hour in 13.5 seconds. And go on to a top speed of 180 kilometres an hour. YOU - Won't it roll over in the first sharp corner? INTERFACING - The high centre of balance is offset by a large battery bank mounted at the bottom of the cabin, feeding all the auxiliary systems and making the Kineema effectively a mobile power plant.

air-cooled: no radiator. I assume this is what those big heat-sink looking things on sides of the engine are for

compression ignition engine: diesel, no spark plugs (diesel engines are named after a guy, rudolph diesel, so I guess in elysium they didn't do that)

rear wheel drive: this is pretty obvious just looking at the thing

100 kilometres per hour in 13.5 seconds: not very fast acceleration compared to modern cars, but the history of cars in elysium is obviously very different to irl

battery bank: this is the only thing keeping the kineema from tipping backwards onto its ass as soon as you accelerate

YOU - "What's it packing there?" (Point to the engine.) KIM KITSURAGI - "Hundred-and-thirty." INTERFACING - I reckon that's a seven-litre V12 there. ENCYCLOPEDIA - Man, that's got to be a major advancement over the KR18GU engine on the old Coupris 40. YOU - "Wait, hundred-and-thirty what?" KIM KITSURAGI - "Kilowatts," the lieutenant replies laconically.

130 kilowatts: ~174 horsepower

YOU - "That's what..." (Rub your chin.) "... a seven-litre V12?" KIM KITSURAGI - "Seven-point-two. Supercharged." The lieutenant is trying to suppress a smug smile. Unsuccessfully. EMPATHY - Saying these words brings him immense joy.

7.2 litre engine: space inside the cylinders. 7.2L/12 = 600cc per cylinder

supercharged: has a supercharger. forces more air into the engine, powered by the crankshaft (as opposed to turbochargers which are powered by the exhaust)

YOU - Run your fingers over one of the steering levers. COUPRIS KINEEMA - The white suede feels luxurious under the touch and the metal clutch handle so very familiar in your palm... INTERFACING - Your fingers waste no time closing around the handle. Clutch disengaged. Release the handle -- clutch drops -- right foot yearns for the familiar touch of the accelerator pedal. You have synced with the machine's mechanical circulation.

YOU - "A *driver* would wear down their right shoe before the left -- the accelerator is on the right. And remember that abandoned lorry cabin we found?"

steering levers: instead of a steering wheel. not exactly sure how they'd work. I *really* don't want it to have differential steering like a zero-turn mower looking at this video of kim driving it looks like the front wheels are the ones steering

clutch handle: instead of a pedal, the clutch is a handle on one of the levers. seems that accelerator and (probably) brake are still pedals

accelerator is on the right: does everyone left-foot brake??? I guess if the clutch handle is standard then that would make sense

ABANDONED LORRY - The glass on the side windows is tinted and covered with dust. You can barely make out the shape of a seat and two steering levers. [...] YOU - Check the pedals. ABANDONED LORRY - You wedge yourself under the steering-wheel to get a better look. Seems like the few tools lying around here -- a hammer, a pair of pliers, a rusty wrench -- have been casually thrown there by the disorganized driver. ABANDONED LORRY - But one odd detail does catch your eye: A piece of sandpaper has been glued to the throttle.

STEERING WHEEL TYPO

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alright, let's actually take a look at this thing

two door: the kineema has a single driver's seat and two seats in the back. looks like you'd need to move the front seat forward to let anyone else in

suspension: the back wheels look like they have some sort of spring (the axle is connected to it, so how are the wheels being driven??? same with the coupris 40). I assume the front arms also act as a spring

rear view mirror: looks like there's no rear view mirror, since you wouldn't see shit

aerodynamics: bad

seat belts:

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#disco elysium #coupris kineema #de

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abibliophobiaa · 11 months

Note

I'm bad at giving prompts because I never know what authors would be inspired by, so I'm going to give you vague ideas and you can pick whatever parts suit your fancy. I know you'll write something cool no matter what :)

Soulmates, but only one party knows they're soulmates

Eddie insecure of his scars

Walking in the woods

"Don't you know I care about you?"

Some innocent cuddling or handholding

did you look for me?

i ended up going with eddie being insecure about his scars and the anniversary of one year post S4. eddie munson x f!reader. warnings: drinking to the point of intoxication; eddie becomes physically ill - throw up mention; wound description, scar mention; smut, but the vague, sort of poetic kind. formatting is also kind of weird because i did not use google docs and…it shows. (3.5k words)

He’d told you he’d be going out with Steve. Wanted to get out and spend time with him on the day Vecna almost took everything from you. He’d left with a kiss brushed against your forehead in the night, his hands lingering over the dip of your hip, cooing softly to ease the tiredness from your form as you shifted and raised yourself up onto your elbows in bed, palms brushing against your eyes to bring some life back into them.

“Just going out for a little while,” he promised, thumbing at the curve of your jaw. Wiggled your chin until you smiled. “You worked all day. Please get some sleep, okay?”

“I love you,” you’d mumbled, face pushing back into the endless comforters lining your shared bed.

“I love you too, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

And you should have known. Should have been more awake to argue with him to stay home. To stay here. Should have anticipated what an absolutely terrible idea that had been. Not when you’d known what he’d experienced. Not when you still remembered that day so vividly. The call from one of the kids—them crying that something had happened, just as the world beneath you had rocked endlessly.

An earthquake, you’d been told.

Eddie had been hurt. Badly. The kind of hurt that had you fumbling with your keys in the ignition of your car. Cursing and slamming your fist against the steering wheel when you’d lost grip of them and they clattered onto the floor to taunt you. The kind of hurt where you’d gotten a flash of him as he’d been thrown onto a gurney shortly after you’d arrived, someone already there balancing on the edge of the table doing chest compressions until they could get him into a room, because his heart had stopped.

A whole minute. For a minute, you’d lost him. All of you had.

For a minute, Eddie had left the world, lingering somewhere away from his body. Away from you. Nearly gone. And then…not. He’d come back and had been immediately hooked up to endless machines and taken in for surgery. Surgeries that had seemingly lasted for hours, your feet carrying you back and forth in an endless back and forth line you hardly cared about potentially leaving a burn mark in the carpet.

After that it had been days of touch and go. Months of healing, tending to his scars, watching him adjust to the way he looked in the aftermath of it all. He pretended to be okay. You knew that. Watched him hide behind smiles, behind a joke, behind doing the things he’d done before. Watched him strum away on his guitar at band practices, stand in front of rooms of people suddenly intrigued by the boy who had been cleared of rumored murder charges, the boy who had defeated death and came back.

A “Freak”—yet this time, one of their own making.

He carried on with the kids as usual, too. Started up Dungeons and Dragons meetings, began growing the group. Invited the girls, invited Robin, Steve and yourself. You always clung to the outskirts, watching him do what he did, watching him try and make sense of the world after the unimaginable. Putting his best foot and face forward, if only to protect those around him from the monsters who roamed his dreams at night, with endless teeth and flapping wings.

So no—no, it comes as no surprise when later at three in the morning you receive a phone call from Robin. The motherly figure of the small trio that had gathered that evening. She’s short and concise in speech, oddly enough for her, in her explanation of what’s gone on. Eddie drank…and quite a bit, from the way she describes it.

Exactly like a year ago, you fumble with your keys in your car, slam your palm against the steering wheel when they drop near your feet, and eventually peel out of the parking lot of your apartment complex.

He’s out on a lounge chair in Steve’s backyard when you find him. When Steve opens the door and apologizes. Says he didn’t realize Eddie must have drank before even arriving, and then offered him more on top of it. Your hand curls around Steve’s shoulder, grimace settling into place as you walk out onto the patio, eyes searching for the familiar form of the man who stole your heart two years ago now. The man who is lost now in his mind, swirling around a drain, staring up at a starry sky.

“Hey, handsome.”

Your chest flutters as he turns his head over the side of the chair, his flushed cheeks tugging upward with the silliest smile that spans his features, body gravitating to yours as it always does, flailing limbs and all. His dimples practically strain from it, though he nearly falls off the chair upon doing so, hand slapping against the ground to keep himself steady.

“Careful there,” you sigh, stepping closer into his proximity, gesturing to the small space on the chair near his hip. At his nod, you settle down, grimacing as he loops his arms around your waist and presses his forehead into your neck. Eddie on a normal day is a big fan of cuddling. Drunk Eddie’s favorite pastime is cuddling. “How about we get out of here? I’ll drive you home and we can get ready for bed?”

“I was just trying to forget.”

It’s like a hammer coming down to pulverize your heart. The quiet tremor of his voice, the sharp inhale of breath, the moisture on your collar bone. But you grant him that safety of your comfort, instead. Curl your hand around his ringed fingers and help him to his feet, quiet and careful as you lead him through Steve’s home, mindful of the sharp corners he bumps and sways into.

Steve’s there at the passenger door to help ease Eddie down inside, a sad frown set in place as he claps his friend on the shoulder and wishes you both a good night. Robin reminds you to call if you need anything else, and blows Eddie a kiss, both waving as you pull away from the Harrington home and head back to the place you share with Eddie, certain you have a long night still ahead.

—

The night is long, as you expect it to be. Getting Eddie into bed is one thing. His hands rest on your shoulders as you help him out of his jeans, his gangly thighs tangling in the material, nearly sending him careening backward into your shared mattress. He strips out of his shirt next, insistent that it’s too hot in the room. And for a spring day, with the windows already gently parted, you’ve needed to put on a hoodie to block out the chill in the air. But you watch him undress all the same, his back falling against the plush pillows beneath, a loud exhale spilling from his lips.

“I’m going to go get you some water and some pain relievers, okay?” Moving to make your way toward the bedroom door, Eddie’s fingers snatch yours before you can go any further. Chocolate brown eyes lift to meet your face, beckoning you back onto the mattress beside him, grunting as he throws himself on top of your chest, arms tangling in the fabric of your hoodie. “Eddie, you really need to drink some water. I’m serious.”

“I’m sorry for upsetting you,” he mumbles.

“Eddie, I’m not—”

“I can see it in your eyes. I know you.”

“I was worried, that’s all. I promise.”

“I’m sorry.” And there it is again. That lightning bolt to your chest. That feeling of anguish that rattles you deep within your bones. “I haven’t slept in days. I needed…”

Days. He’s gone days and you’ve been too busy with work to see it. Guilt drops like an anchor in the pit of your stomach, grief joining it there. Pity—for the man pressing close to your body, shame swallowing him whole, suffocating him. Fingers reach out to untangle the strands of dark curls on the back of his head, running through each coil, patting them into place. He sighs and sinks further into the mattress, and eventually stills, the sound of your heartbeat lulling him into sleep.

Hours later, you wake to the sound of retching in the adjoining bathroom. Eddie’s groans of displeasure echo off the tiled walls. Careful to not startle him, your feet drop down to hit the carpet beside your bed and carry you across the short distance between the bedroom and softly parted bathroom door where yellow light spills out into the hallway.

“Eddie?”

You catch him swishing mouthwash around puffy cheeks. He spits into the sink and glances your way. Eyes red-rimmed and tired. The sort of tired not even the best night of sleep could take away. No words are spoken as you step into the bathroom further, as you run your fingers along the side of his chest. Against the curve of his cheek, where new stubble has grown in since he’s last shaved.

“You been up long?” you ask, even though the fear of the answer has you weary. He nods, but at least he seems more aware of his surroundings now. More himself, despite his haggard form. “You should hop in the shower. It’ll make you feel better. While you do that I’ll make you the waffles you like. Strawberries and all.”

It’s a silent parting. You slip away from his side with a squeeze of his hip and a brush of your lips against the corner of his lips, making your way down the short hall to your shared living room and connecting kitchen. It’s small, but it’s yours. Has been for months now. After a serious conversation with Wayne, about how Eddie was struggling even if he hid it well, you’d all come to the agreed upon conclusion that he needed space away from the rest of the chaos of Hawkins. Away from those who still sneer at him in supermarkets, or shout out false accusations in parking lots.

Murderer. Freak. Killer. Psycho. Names thrown around, barbed wire and daggers, aimed at the man who had done nothing wrong.

It doesn’t matter Hopper had his name cleared shortly after the events that occurred that horrible week. Those who hated Eddie Munson hated him long ago. Chrissy and the other’s deaths were just further ammunition to leverage their ill intent.

Your apartment at least grants him the peace of safety and solace of quiet. On the edge of town, away from prying eyes, and close enough to both your jobs. The other renters in the complex leave you both be, despite a few noise complaints you’ve made about the rowdier tenants just above your bedroom, and it works for the time being. Until you can save up for something new; something you can grow in, grow old in.

Humming to yourself, you begin unloading the things you’ll need from the fridge. Pausing only to pet your presently purring orange kitten, dubbed Frodo by your boyfriend, when you notice that the apartment is still quiet.

There’s no water running.

The bathroom door is still open. Just as you left it. Slowly, so slowly, you walk over to the door, breath catching at the sight of Eddie standing in front of the mirror, fingers tracing over scars. Over the patch of skin over his heart, where it’s the worst, over grooves and ridges of what once was smooth flesh. Trails his fingers lower, to the marks along his abdomen, on his arms. The movements still along his cheek, over the divots you’ve kissed numerous times now. Remember the day you saw him when his eyes first opened in the hospital, and he’d asked you how bad it was.

“Still handsome as ever,” you’d promised, and you’d meant it.

Still mean it now as you knock on the doorframe, jolting him from his slow perusal of his frame. “Are you okay? Didn’t hear the water running.”

“‘M fine,” he says, kicking off his sweatpants for emphasis.

Turns then toward the knob in the shower and sets the water to run hot, fingers lingering under the stream to test the temperature. You open your mouth to speak but he slips out of the bathroom and into your bedroom for a moment. Out the corner of your eye, you watch him retrieve the tablets you left on the bedside table. He swallows them down with a swish of water from the glass laid out, and then returns to your side, where the water now steams up the bathroom mirror.

“Right…I’ll…uh,” you mumble, slipping out from around him into the hallway.

He slowly closes the door, leaving it only slightly open now, and you walk down the hallway. Frodo’s yellow eyes meet yours, and your resolve hardens, feet propelling you back from whence you came. Inhaling deeply, you shuffle inside, calling out into the open space that you’re coming in.

This part, you don’t think about. You strip off your leggings and hoodie with ease. Toss your underwear in a pile with his. He’s quiet as you enter. Those dark eyes of his roam your form, though their usual appreciative and amorous affection is replaced by a hollowness unfamiliar to Eddie’s usually spirited features.

“You’re far away from me right now,” you say softly.

Eddie lifts his head, tangles of wet curls falling loose around his shoulders, rivulets of water trailing down his cheeks like freshly fallen tears. “A lot on my mind, sweetheart. You know…sometimes I forget they’re there.” He gestures vaguely to his chest, waving a hand in front of himself. “And then I catch myself in a damn mirror, and it’s like I’m there all over again. In that fucking dimension, laying on the damn floor, waiting for it all to just…stop.”

“Eddie…”

“It’s hard to not believe you’re a monster like people think you are, when you look in the mirror and might as well be.”

Your hands cup his cheeks, forehead against his. Bodies slick with water, inches apart. More space than you like between you. “You are not a monster, Eddie Munson. You have never been. It’s not in your nature.”

Arms slowly twine around your form. A face against your shoulder, hair brushing your shoulders, his body flush with yours. That distance, that crevice, sews shut in an instant. Comfort comes in the form of his palm along your lower back, in the form of your lips against his shoulder, palms against the middle of his shoulders, holding him tight as the cries of a broken man fill your bathroom. As rain begins to splatter against the window, crystalline shards like diamonds rolling down the pane, the rumble of thunder drowning the blood racing in your ears.

He draws back with a deep exhale, the remnants of his tears visible in the red rims surrounding his eyes. In the shaky inhale, the hiccup that shudders in his chest. Fingers slide up across his chest, over his shoulders, the side of his neck, his cheek. He cradles your palm there, over the space you brush with your gentle thumb. Kisses the inside of your wrist, whispering how much he loves you.

An idea forms.

The hand resting on your face is lowered in the space between the two of you. Your hand flips his palm upward. The fingers on your opposite hand trail his callus scored palms. Tease at the yellowy skin there, at the marks that reveal countless hours of practices. Of time spent honing his craft, trying to make something of himself, trying to be the best at it.

“I love these hands,” you tell him idly. More to yourself, maybe. But he lifts his head all the same. Looks into your eyes as you meet his, the water warm against your back. “They make beautiful music. Music that I’m sure will change the world some day. They write songs. Beautiful songs that mean something. And they write stories. For those kids who absolutely love and look up to you.”

You trail your fingers up along the inside of his forearm. Over the tattoos there. Along his bicep, where you pause. “These arms are pretty great, too.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles at that, and you nod.

“They fix cars and…we know that’s helped me out of many tricky situations.”

Like last week, when you’d had an issue with your car starting and he’d been able to fix it before you were ever late for your shift.

“But they also give the best hugs,” you sigh, sliding up against his chest, relishing in the feeling of them caging you in close. Tight. “They feel like home. Safe. Like nothing could touch me, as long as I’m right here.”

He squeezes you tightly, and you know it’s his way of reassuring you that as long as he has breath in his lungs, you’ll always have somewhere to run to. The safe space in the cradle of his body, a place that he knows you fit perfectly into.

“Don’t even get me started on your cheeks,” you laugh, tipping your head back to press a loud kiss to both of them.

Eddie’s nose wrinkles. “My cheeks?”

“Don’t make fun. They’re adorable. Bite me,” you grumble, pinching at one of them for emphasis. “Really, the whole face is adorable.”

His forehead rests against yours, eyes dark in the dimly lit room, the room growing darker by the minute from the storm rolling in outside. They shift downward as you rest your palm over his abdomen, gliding upward slowly, along scarred flesh, over the parts of him he hates most, until you stop over his sternum.

Over the rapid thrum of his heart.

“I love this heart the most. Because despite everything, it’s kind and loving and warm. And for a minute that day it had stopped and I thought I’d lost everything.” He kisses your forehead as you heave a sob, as your breath chokes off at the memory of him lying on that hospital bed, eyes closed, swathed in bandages, uncertain if he’d ever wake up again even though the doctors reassured you he would. “But then you came back. You came back to us. To me.”

He sniffles, thumbing at your lower lash line as you continue, “And I know you hate this body some days. But I love it. I love it because it’s beautiful and it holds your soul, and…I-I—”

“I love you.” He cradles the back of your head and kisses you.

Once. Twice. Three times.

For each word. Each a promise. Each a swear.

Never to be parted again.

—

He lays against you in silence. His head on your chest, his thighs a tangle with yours, a hand around your hip to keep you close. Bare chests covered only by thin bedsheets. In white linen draped along thighs. You’re not sure what time it is, but time doesn’t exist here. Not right now. Not with him quietly slumbering at last after five days of running from the demons in his mind.

Safe, at last, in the circle of your arms.

Safe and sound, you tell him quietly, fingers combing through his hair.

Safe and sound with you. Here, in this apartment, in your home, where no one can touch you.

Vecna is gone. The kids are okay. Your friends are fine. The world is whole again. The monsters are gone.

He doesn’t have to run anymore.

There will be days like these. The hard ones. More to come in the years that will surely follow. But now, right now, there’s only peace.

And later—later he wakes and kisses you slowly. Softly.

Languid.

Perfect presses of plush lips against skin. He asks you a question. You nod, and he slides the blanket away from your form, baring you to him. Later there’s heat that builds and grows as he trails along the curve of your neck. Over the swell of your collar bone. The valley between your breasts. He divides his attention between your breasts, teasing nips and taunting brushes of tongue and teeth against sensitive skin. Quiet murmurs of praises from his softly parted lips, and peals of pleasure from yours. Fingers knot in hair as he trails lower, as the heat of his tongue glides through the honey of your center, as fingers pull you closer and closer to a precipice. Pulls you nearer as you plummet, planting a kiss against your forehead.

He’s quiet as he rolls over you. As your hand reaches down between the two of you and guides him to where you crave to feel him. Suddenly it’s the comfort of being so full of him that robs you of air. The familiar roll of his hips against yours, fingers bracing one of your thighs over his hips. The slow drag of him; in and out, in and out torturously so, stars bursting behind your vision with each breathless thrust.

Your fracture around him like dozens of stars visible through your bedroom window.

He holds you until sunrise. His chest rising and falling against yours, both of you content and sated.

Cheeks warm, skin warmer.

Tangled as two people could ever be.

And it’s a new day. One neither of you will take for granted.

——

xoxo love you all.

#lunaloveseddie #Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

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ilovenatasharomanoff2-0 · 10 months

Note

hey! if you're taking requests, i'd like to make one:

with the latest natasha you've written (nerdy!amab!nat) wearing a compression shirt and grey sweatpants 😩😭🥵 and reader obviously can't do anything else but give her head

In a trance

Warnings: oral (n receiving) sub! Natasha, fluff, deepthroating, That's it I think

Pairings: Intersex Beefy Natasha Romanoff (she has a dick) x fem reader.

An: Thank you for the request, please keep them coming innn

Word count: 1.7k

You were making your way to your girlfriend's house. She wanted to watch some movies with you and maybe take you to an ice skating rink. The frigid air nipped at your nose and cheeks. Despite the cold, you felt a warmth in my heart knowing that I would soon be spending some quality time with her. The snowflakes gently fell from the sky, adding to the atmosphere of the holiday season.

You knocked on her door a few times when you arrived at her doorstep, waiting a couple of minutes for her to answer the door. "Hi, Y/n! sorry it took me so long to get the door, Yelena was being annoying as usual and was blocking my way." She told you before bringing you into a hug. Your head buried in her chest.

"It's okay Nat, as long as I get to see you I'm fine." You tell her with a smile on your face, her face lighting up as you say that.

As you and Natasha talk, you catch a good glimpse of her outfit. Her glasses have fogged up slightly, She's dressed in a sleek Nike compression shirt, which highlights her toned muscles and defined abs. The black sleeves of the shirt hug her biceps snugly, accentuating her strength. It still shocks you that she has such a muscular build, she doesn't look like the type of person to work out.

Her sweatpants are loose, but you can still see the prominent bulge in her pants. She's totally oblivious to the fact that her outfit is so revealing.

"Is everything okay y/n? Are you gonna come in?" She asks you, her cheeks starting to become red from the chilling air.

"Mhm - I was just thinking about something sorry." You tell Natasha and walk into her house. As you enter, you notice that it is already adorned with festive decorations, indicative of the upcoming holiday. Upon glancing over to the side, you see Melina diligently preparing a meal in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Alexi sits comfortably at the island counter, engaged in conversation with her with a bottle of beer In his hand.

His head turning around when he heard the front door close.

"Oh hi Y/n. How are you?" He asks, a smile igniting his face as he talks to you.

"Y/n's here? Why didn't you tell me, Natalia? I would've already had dinner done. Hi, y/n!" Melina tells Natasha. She rolls her eyes a bit and waits for you to finish your conversation with her parents. Her arms snake up around your waist and hug it as she places her head in the crook of your neck.

"Natalia, don't roll your eyes at your mother. I saw that." Alexi told Natasha before looking back at you.

"Hi Alexi, Hi Melina, I'm fine just a little cold." You tell him, bringing your hands up to Natasha's arms and holding them in place.

"Well, it should warm up in a few minutes, Melina is cooking dinner if you wanna stay for that." He asks you before getting up to throw away the empty beer bottle in the trash can.

"Sure, thank you for letting me stay for dinner, Alexi." You tell him and he replies with a simple nod, turning his head back to talk with Melina.

"Can we go into my room nowww," Natasha whines in your ear, unwrapping her hand from your waist and turning you around so she could look at your face.

"Please?" You ask her, and Natasha immediately picks you up and brings you to her room, laughs come out of both of your mouths as she runs with you in her arms.

When she gets into her room she puts you down on the bed cautiously, and plops on the bed herself, rolling over to her side to look at you.

"You look so pretty right now y/n," Natasha tells you before sitting upright on the bed. You smile at her and give her a quick kiss. Blush making its way across Natasha's face.

"But you look so sexy in the outfit Nat, you should wear it more." You tell her before sitting on her lap and resting your head on her shoulder.

She lets out a small groan and grabs the Tv remote, trying hard to ignore how your little shifts on her lap caused her to get hard.

"What do you wanna watch?" She asked you, turning on the tv and scrolling through all of the channels she had on the device.

"Ummm, can we watch y/f/m?" You tell her and turn your head back a bit to see her face, shifting your lower body in the process. Natasha's breath became uneven and shaky as you moved your hips. Her head moves up and down avoiding contact with your eyes.

A smirk came upon your face as you felt something poke your back. You sat back in your original position and rested your head on her shoulder once more.

As the movie progressed, Natasha grew increasingly restless in her seat, letting out the occasional audible groans. She became more touchy at the moment too, her veiny hands inching higher and higher up to your breasts.

"What's wrong Natasha? You feeling okay." You ask her, trying to act oblivious to the fact that she had a raging hard-on right now.

"Yeah - I feel fine, thanks for asking y/n/n." Her words came out shaky as she spoke to you thrusting her hips slightly into your body.

"Are you sure you okay baby? Your face is turning all red." You tell her, turning your whole body around to face her, making sure your lower body grinds over her cock.

She lets out a low moan and her hands grab her bed sheets, squeezing the tightly as you move your body.

"Y-yes y/n. I promise you I feel fine." Her face starting become a deeper shade of red, embarrassment washing over her.

You slide your body down her legs a couple of inches and look down at her crotch. A tent appeared in her sweatpants, your hand coming up to meet her cock, slowly grabbing it and moving your hand.

Natasha let out a loud moan, your hand shot up to cover her mouth as she threw her head back against the pillows.

"What happened Nat? Though you said you were fine." You tell her before moving your hand away from her clothed cock. A muffled whine left her mouth when she felt the pleasure go away.

"You gotta be quiet Tasha, okay? Don't want your parents to hear you. You tell her before letting your hand that covered her mouth go. Moving both of your hands around her waistband, slowly pulling down her sweatpants.

"Please y/n, it's starting to hurt." Her hips move every time you touch her.

"I got you okay? Just gotta be quiet for me that's it."

She nodded her head and looked down to see what you were doing. Your hands were coming back up to the waistband of her Calvin Klein boxers, slowly pulling them down. Her cock sprang out and hit her shirt, covering it with her pre-cum.

You immediately go down on Natasha, kitten licking her tip for a few minutes, before taking her fully. She was so big and girthy, it was always hard to take her cock fully, but you were always determined to.

"Oh god y/n, y-your mouth feels so good." She moans out to you, her hands making their way up to your hair only to rest them. She was still too shy to push your head down to the base of her cock because she didn't want to hurt you.

Your head bobs up and down on her cock. You feel the throbbing veins in her cock as it hits the back of your throat. You look up at her with hollowed cheeks seeing her face contort in pleasure. Her moans got louder and louder the more you took her. Your hands come up to her thighs, stabilizing them as you sucked her off.

Natasha's hand shoots up to her mouth as groans leave her mouth, her eyes start to close and her hips buck up even with your hands holding them down, she still manages to move them. Her cock goes further into your throat your hands grip tighter around her thighs as you continue to take her. She watches you with hazy eyes, lips sealed around her, and takes her to the base.

The grip she had on your hair got tighter. Her breathing got faster as she trusted herself with you. Your eyes become glassy at her movements. One of your hands moving

"Fuck y/n i-"

With an attempt at a warning, Natasha cums into your mouth. Hot spurts of her cum fill your mouth, some spilling out on the side of your lips. You pull your head away from her cock as you swallow her cum, seeing that it's semi-hard.

"Thank you y/n. felt so good." She tells you before pulling her boxers and sweatpants back up. Her cheeks still being flushed with red from the humid air in her room.

"You're welcome, Nat. Anything for you baby, let's just hope your parents didn't hear you.

"Was I that loud?"

"Yes, you were that loud. But it was cute, I like it when you're that loud for me." You tell her with a smile on your face as you moved to sit next to her.

She let out a sigh before looking over at you and smiling, giving you a small peck on the lips. Natasha scoots closer to you and places one of her hands on your thigh.

"Wait, what about you? Can I repay the favor?" She asks you, a concerned look coming over her face.

"It's fine my love, plus I don't think your parents would be happy hearing us fuck right now." You say as you look up at her face.

She lets out a small laugh and brings you closer to her body.

"I'm just saying, Natasha! I think they already heard you."

"Well, we can't go back and change that, guess we are stuck up here for the whole night."

"I'm not mad about that." You tell her, burying your head into her shoulder as you focus back on the movie that was left running.

"Me either." She whispers into your ear while smiling and looking back up at the screen.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x female #natasha x y/n #natasha romanov #marvel #natasha x reader #marvel smut #wlw #lesbian #black widow

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talaok · 1 year

Note

Hi! No pressure at all but can you write some smut for Tyler Galphin please?

You're an awesome writer I absolutely loved your A Small Bed fic 😄

Pairing:Tyler Galpin x Fem!reader

summary: after you got arrested for having kidnapped Tyler and then released, he comes to visit you in your room, and well, all that anger has to end up somewhere...

warnings: SMUT(unprotected -angry-sex)

A/n: so here’s the thing I hated him the whole time except for the last episode. So I wrote about that.(sorry this took so long)

"The monster fucks well sweetheart"

“What does it feel like?” “What does what feel like?” “To lose” Your mouth gaped open and you felt your eyes fill with tears. You were right. You knew you had been right but hearing it felt diffrent. Seeing with your own two eyes all the liveliness in his pupils disappear was diffrent. You felt your heart slow down, like even he couldn’t believe what was going on. You had known. You know you had known. You had had the vision and then you had connected the dots. You knew you were right, as heartbreaking as it felt you knew he was the hyde, he had killed all those people, but a small part of you apparently still hoped that inside that monster, inside that creature who massacred so many innocent people there was still a good part, still Tyler. But you were wrong. There was no Tyler, only the hyde remained in the now empty body in front of you. Only the monster. He took a step towards you and you took a step back instinctively. "What, are you scared of me?" his mouth twitched into a sinister grin. Your breathing was getting labored, but you couldn't let him see it. Ordering your chest to expand at a normal velocity. "because of the things I did?" he took another step. This time you didn't move. You weren't scared. He wasn't scary. He was never gonna hurt you. Not now, not when he knew he had won. He wanted you to suffer. "because of the people I killed?" he tilted his head to the side, taking another step. The room felt empty, like he was annihilating every other object, killing them just like he had killed all those people. It was yours before. It was you. It was your room, where you had gone to after running out of the police station, just after you had been arrested for having kidnapped him. And then you had opened the door, and he had entered and it wasn't yours anymore. It was nothing. it was fear and delusion mixed with sorrow, but definitely, not the room you had slept in, laughed in and cried in for the past 2 months. He was in front of you. Lurking over you like the predator he actually was. "because of who I am ?" he raised his eyebrow You looked up at him, anger so extremely clear on your face that you wondered how he looked so incredibly unfazed by it. You could feel all your organs compressing, the rage for being beaten, the rage for being humiliated, and for having lost crushing your every bone. You wanted to punch him more than you wanted to breathe. "I'm not scared of you Tyler" you said "I'll never be" you hissed "you're nothing but a pet" you stepped closer to him this time " a very obedient pet who does anything their master wants" you chuckled "If anything, I pity you. You're pathetic" Not a single emotion trespassed him. Like he had heard nothing of what you had just said "y/n" he bent down to whisper in your ear "as much as I like seeing that pretty mouth of yours lie " he scoffed " we both know that's not true" his breath was so hot against your ear and throat, it was difficult to concentrate "You are scared of me" his fingers traced along your arm "scared of what I can do" you felt him smile "scared of who I am" his fingers hooked under your chin, bringing your eyes to his "you are scared of me y/n" You swallowed what felt like the densest piece of saliva you'd ever encountered. "and you should be" "You'd never hurt me" you spat out "you want to see me suffer" a sparkle ignited in his eyes, finally somewhat alive "you don't want to kill me" you said finally "you can't" "oh" he laughed bitterly "now, we both know that's not true" he said "but I appreciate you trying" a grin appeared on his lips "you're cute when you lie" "fuck you" you whispered "I'm not lying" his fingers under your chin traced your jawline. "aw" he cooed "you're angry" yeah, no shit sherlock "but I think you're looking at it the wrong way" "Oh am I now?" you gritted incredulously "because to me it seemed like being completely humiliated to the point everyone thinks I'm batshit crazy while I know I'm right and you are still free is a good enough reason to be angry" He smiled as he shook his head "but see" his thumb stroked your cheek and you pretended it didn't still make you melt"I think you're relieved it went this way" you scoffed, "Why? why on earth would I be?" His other hand found its way to your waist "because if I did go to jail" he inhaled "you wouldn't have been able to see me for a long time" he laughed "and we both know how you wouldn't want that" Fuck his hand on you felt like fire, even after all this time. Even after you discovered what he was. It was awful, you knew, but there wasn't anything you could do about it, anything other than pretending, other than faking your uncaringness. "Yeah right" you scoffed again "so you are saying you wouldn't have missed my mouth so close to yours?" he said, leaning closer to you" my hands on you?" he paused as his hand caressed your side" missed me inside of you?" now it was your turn to pause, You had no idea what to say. There was a part of you that knew, with an angry, hateful certainty that he was right, but there was also a side that was fighting, fighting to make common sense prevail, to make it win somehow in this earthquake of chaos. you didn't have enough brain capacity to respond at the moment. the only thing that got out of you was a shy exhale. He smirked "you know I'm right" he forced you to look up at him again with his fingers. No. You were not gonna let him win so easily. "You're not" you said, hoping to sound more sincere than you actually were. He laughed "so stubborn" he said with amusement "and yet so painfully wrong" He smiled as he bent down, pressing his lips on yours, his mouth feeling so soft while being so harsh on yours. He was right and he was determined to prove it. You damned yourself as you closed your eyes, inevitably parting your lips for his tongue. The hand on your side traveled to your back, forcing you ever so close to him. "so you wouldn't have missed that?" he leaned away way too soon. God, you hated him. Him and his stupid smugness and his stupid talented mouth. "no, I wouldn't have" you lied He smiled proudly, like he wanted you to say that, like he was just waiting for a challenge and you had just presented him with the best possible one. "Is that so?" "hm-hm" you agreed "so when I kiss you you don't feel anything?" "Exactly" "And when I touch you?" his hand went to the hem of your skirt, hooking his finger in it "nothing" you gulped "not even when I can feel how wet you are?" he asked, as his fingers cupped your clothed cunt. "no" you murmured He tsked "and what about when I move your panties aside?" he murmured against your lips while he did just that. "I-" you tried, but the words were stuck in your throat "still nothing huh? I'm gonna have to try harder it seems" he said as he passed his index between your folds, coating himself of your wetness before moving his attention to your clit. You bit your lip so as not to moan as he circled it. You didn't want to give him that, the satisfaction of knowing how good he was making you feel. he kept massaging your clit and you kept biting your own skin, seconds away from tasting blood. "still nothing?" he raised an eyebrow and you were gonna punch him if it wasn't for your knees feeling so weak. You shook your head as heavy breaths escaped your mouth. He chuckled "I thought you might say that" He retracted his hand, making you whimper at the loss of contact. "but you know" he stroked your lip with his thumb "there's one thing I have tried" he looked at you "and I have a feeling it might change your mind" You smiled “you think?” He laughed hoarsely “I do” he said taking a step, your back hitting the cold wall “And what makes you so sure?” “It has worked before” he moved his hands underneath your skirt, one on each side of you, feeling the fabric of your useless panties “And it’s only right to give it a shot, don’t you think?” “If you believe so” you murmured” but just so you know, I severely doubt you’re right” “We’ll see” his fingers gripped your underwear, pulling them down enough for them to fall at your feet "I have a feeling you might change your mind" he said, his hot breath against your cheek as you heard the zipper of his jeans being unzipped. He pulled them down just enough to get his dick out, his big stupid dick that had made you come times and times before. You swallowed nervously as you looked down, and he noticed, grinning. " changed your mind yet sweetheart?" "nope" your voice was pathetically trembling "and don't call me sweetheart" "Oh but why?" he asked as if he was actually hurt. he raised one of your legs to his waist "you seemed to like it not so long ago" he kissed you briefly "Actually" he let go of your leg "you loved it" "yeah well that was before" you said coldly. He hummed, contemplating perhaps "jump" he said, and you complied. Completely and utterly conscious of making a mistake, a really hot and stupid mistake. You were trapped between him and the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck. his eyes were burning through you and his cock was just against your clit. "you mean before you found out who I was?" one of his hands left your waist to position his dick at your entrance "who I am?" Really, he wanted to do this now? You didn't answer, you just scowled at him. "tell me" he said "or I'm not gonna do it" Fucking asshole "Yes Tyler. yes" you huffed "see, that was easy wasn't it?" he said smugly as he finally pushed his tip in. You sank down on him, as he stretched you out perfectly, little shocks of pleasure coursing through you with every inch added, until he bottomed out. "fuck" you sighed "Yeah," he pulled almost completely out just to thrust harshly inside of you, a gasp fled your mouth "The monster fucks well sweetheart" he said, as he did it again, this time not stopping, but developing a deadly rhythm. You tried to stop yourself, you really did, but you couldn't do anything to control the shameless, pathetic moans emerging from your throat and filling the empty room. "tell me again" he kept going "tell me that you don't miss me" he laughed through labored breaths, "tell me you don't miss this". "tell me sweetheart " he was hitting every single spot, you forced your eyes shut as he pushed into you again, even harder somehow "tell me I'm a monster, go on" he murmured against your ear "tell me how much you hate me" It was a weird feeling, being so turned on by someone while simultaneously hating them so deeply, so fondly that you kind of wished they would just drop dead right now. And what was even weirder, was having that same person, the one you wished dead, inside of you, splitting you in half so fucking well. "f-fuck you" you managed to get out. He smiled against your mouth before kissing it. It was a mess, a wet and moan-y mess, symbolizing your defeat and his triumph over you. there was no point in fighting him, he was gonna win, that's what he meant, that's what the kiss meant. "Feisty as ever" he smiled cockily "but a bit too smug for someone whose pussy I'm fully inside of right now" He said, not even letting you catch your breath before he brought his hand to your clit. "J-just shut up" you said exasperated "Oh no sweetheart" he circled your clit "you shut up" he kissed your cheek "I won" he kissed your jawline "I beat you Y/n" now your neck, never stopping his thrusts or fingers either "I get to talk" now the skin just below your ear "I get to say everything I want" he looked at you now "you on the other hand" he chuckled "well you can't" "Because you lost" there was such a tight knot in your belly that you felt like you were gonna explode, and as much as you wanted to tell him to fuck off, or that he was a crazy bastard, that stupid feeling distracted you, and only a series of high-peached groans lest your mouth, as you got closer and closer to your much-earned relief. "what you can't even talk?" he said, as his cock was wrapped tightly around your walls "You can't even answer me?" he defied you "can't even tell me how much I disgust you huh?" his fingers kept moving fast "If I had known this was all it took to shut you up, I would have done it a long time ago" There was sweat on his forehead and his eyes were cruising all over your face, examing and without a doubt enjoying every single expression, every single muscle contorting as he was fucking you hard. "You're coming" he breathed out, feeling your walls clenching around him "god you feel so fucking good when you squeeze me sweetheart" he mumbled, his thrusts getting sloppier "Come y/n, just give up baby" he groaned "You already fucking lost anyway". A fire exploded inside you, spreading through your whole body, you shouted his name and then other profanities as your body convulsed from the pleasure, abandoning yourself completely to the feeling, and then you felt him come too, his hot cum filling you up deeply. You both caught your breath silently as he put you down on the floor. Your legs weren't all that ready as they stumbled beneath your weight. " Well, shit" you exhaled, looking up at him in disbelief as he grinned "I still hate you you know?" "Oh, I know" he smiled " trust me I know"

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