#CRASH TEST REPORT

[motogadi]

Maruti Suzuki Alto और Wagen R का क्रेश टेस्ट में मिली है 0 Saftey रेटिंग ,जाने क्या कहा कंपनी ने

🚗🌟BREAKING NEWS🌟�� Maruti Suzuki responds to the Global NCAP crash test rating for the Alto K10 and WagonR. While the cars did not receive a perfect rating, #MarutiSuzuki #AltoK10 #WagonR #GlobalNCAP #crashtest #safety #India

Maruti Suzuki Alto and Wagen R Safety Rating: एक समय था जब Maruti suzuki की कार को लोग आँख बंद करके खरीद लेते थे और कंपनी का भारतीय बाज़ार में दबदबा था , लेकिन जब से Global NCAP ने अपनी क्रेश टेस्ट रिपोर्ट्स को रिलीज़ करना शुरू किया है ,सेफ्टी के मामलो में मारुती के कारो की पहचान कमजोर कार के रूप में हो गयी है | Global NCAP ने अभी हाल ही में मारुति सुजुकी की दो पॉपुलर कार ‘Alto K10’ और ‘Wagen R’…

[vamptastic]

now that i know abt my blood sugar problems i'm thinking back to times as a kid (post-puberty cos it's from the pcos) and it's like ohh this may have been a problem for years. i used to throw up every time i drank an artificial cherry flavored drink and thinking back it wasn't actually every time and i'm guessing it may have been just that i rarely drank or ate things high in sugar so the few cherry-related incidents were hypoglycemia that i formed a false correlation around. i also get sick every time i take a plane ride, like almost immediately upon arriving at my destination or towards the end of the flight, and i think while some of it has just been genuinely being ill from my ass immune system it definitely could also be hypoglycemia from not sleeping or eating enough in advance of or when traveling. i also got into the habit of drinking something with ginger when nauseous which is usually ginger ale bc it's easier than brewing tes and while ginger does just generally help for nausea those bouts of random nausea could definitely be blood sugar and the soda would obviously help with that.

idk it's tough bc i only got tested for this once when i was 13, and they were mostly looking for thyroid problems and only incidentally tested for diabetes/insulin resistance markers, until my shit started getting bad around 17 and i finally got thorough testing. i also wonder if it was worse a year or so before the testing because i went on birth control the year before and with the PCOS being the main cause that could've helped with my blood sugar levels. i don't have enough data and what i do have i don't really know what it means other than that i probably will get diabetes if i don't actively try not to.

just looking back i started getting random spells of dizziness and nausea and hot flashes around age 11 with it progressively getting worse till i started dealing with it around 16 and i wonder if a lot of that illness wasn't from the underlying issue ive had the whole time. some of it was definitely hormones but i think i may have basically just been attributing it all to anything But hypoglycemia because the thought that i could have something as serious as diabetes wasn't even on my radar and i wasn't tracking anything in relation to when i was eating.

like diabetes is a slow process of the pancreas failing, right? i'm oversimplifying but like over time your body stops responding to and/or producing insulin properly. and mine already doesn't respond to insulin properly but just not to an extent where my body is fully incapable of producing and using insulin without external insulin pills/injections. and idk where that puts me in terms of am i or am i not diabetic and should i be dieting like a diabetic person and trying to manage my blood sugar like one or will that just make it worse.

[phagodyke]

hope my dr gets back to me abt the change to private service I messaged her last night saying it Should be okay and asking for info abt fees n any changes.. so painful communication is now gonna cost £360 per hour/£6 per min 😬🤕

[changes]

A new way to navigate Tumblr

If you use Tumblr on a web browser, you might have noticed us testing a brand new navigation on your dashboard in the last month. Now, after some extensive tweaks, we’ve begun rolling out this new dashboard navigation to everyone using a web browser. Welcome to the new world. It’s very like the old world, just in a different layout.

Why are we doing this? We want it to be as easy as possible for everyone to understand and explore what’s happening on Tumblr—newbies and seasoned travelers alike.

Labels over icons: When adding something new to Tumblr in the past, we’d simply add a new icon to our navigation with little further explanation. Turns out no one likes to press a button when they don’t know what it does. So now, where there’s space, the navigation includes text labels. Since adding these, we’ve noticed more of you venturing to previously unexplored corners of Tumblr. Intrepid!

What’s already been fixed? Thanks to feedback from folks during the testing phase, we’ve been able to make some improvements right out of the gate. Those include returning settings subpages (Account, Dashboard, etc.) to the right of the settings page instead of having them in an expandable item in the navigation on the left; fixing some issues with messaging windows on smaller screens; and streamlining the Account section to make it easier to get to your blogs.

What’s next? We’re looking into making a collapsible version of this navigation and improving the use of screen space for those of you with enormous screens. We’re also working on improving access to your account and sideblogs.

That’s all for now, folks. For questions and suggestions, contact Support using the “Feedback” category. Please select the “Report a bug or crash” category on the support form for technical issues. And keep an eye out for more updates here on @changes.

[m0llygunn]

a job well done (eddie munson x fem!reader one-shot)

summary: long-term admirer, recent tutor — you find out eddie's failing gym. in an ode to help him, your expertise expands beyond just textbooks — to your fortune, he teaches you something you've been dying to learn too

contents: 18+, smut!!!, porn with plot, lots of ball action <3, oral (m receiving, mentions of f receiving), pet names and praise (baby, good girl), somewhat-inexperienced!eddie, tutor!reader an: i made an $8k mistake irl so heres 8k words that i wrote to forget about it (just kidding (not abt the mistake, that's very real) i started writing this in july 2023 but recently rewrote most of it to make it into a big ol' one shot-ish thing) wc: 8.5k

“You’re failing gym?” you gasp, jaw dropping as your eyes scan over his report.

“No!” he replies, trying to steal the envelope and its contents from your hands. You turn your body just in time for him to grasp at nothing but air. 

You started tutoring Eddie about a month into the semester. He’s been a willing participant for the most part and that’s why when he kept coming up with excuse after excuse for why he didn’t have his midterm report you knew something was up. 

You took it upon yourself to do some investigating. Nothing invasive, just when you got to his place for a regular tutoring session, you decided to look through his bag while he was in the bathroom. On his bedroom floor, filing through the bags endless messy contents, you eventually came across the familiarly coloured yellow envelope and helped yourself to a peek at what he was keeping a secret from you. 

Mere moments later, he was back. He immediately noticed what you had in your hands and crashed to the floor trying to get it away from you. Evidently, a failed attempt. 

“You have a — oh god, not just a D, a D minus, Eddie.” 

“That’s not failing,” he mumbles under his breath. You wave him off before dropping his report to the floor in front of you. He grabs it, crumples it into a ball, and petulantly tosses it to the other side of his room. 

“You never even told me you were taking gym.”

“Cause how’re you supposed to help with gym?”

“The tests! There’s a whole health portion, I could’ve been helping you with that,” you say, getting worked up over it. Eddie’s been doing so well, this was truly blindsiding.

“Yeah… cause I really want help from you with the health portion,” he grumbles sarcastically. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what it sounds like it means,” he shrugs. 

If you weren’t paying attention, you might think he was angry — maybe even being mean. Luckily, you’re always paying attention to Eddie Munson, and you see the way his face flushes to a bright, crimson red. His annoyance is actually just embarrassment — which is good — at least he has some level of remorse for his failing grade. You can work with that. You take a breath, exhaling it slowly, forcing yourself to calm down. 

“Show me what you’re working on.”

“No,” he shakes his head, reaching into his bag, shuffling around some papers before tossing a heavy textbook your way. “Let’s just do math.”

“No, you have a B minus in math now, that doesn’t need help. You need help in gym.” you reply, tossing the textbook back at him. 

“I don’t.”

“Eddie, you do.”

Sitting up to your knees, you reach into his bag once more, taking out his binder and dropping it to the floor in a pointed thump. He mumbles some kind of disagreement, spine going stiff with his hesitancy to let you go through his stuff some more, but he doesn’t make any attempts to physically stop you. 

You flip through the disorganization that you’ve told him countless times to organize until you come across a diagram of a penis and a vagina. Bingo.

“Told you,” he mumbles, scoffing to himself. 

“Told me what?”

“Why would you want to help me study that?” 

“Uh— cause it’s part of your class and I don’t want you to fail,” you say matter of factly. “Believe it or not, Eddie, I like you, and your success translates to my happiness.” 

Bright red continues to flourish across his skin, affecting the apples of his cheeks all the way down to his throat. He turns bashful, eyes locking down on the carpet. 

Eddie’s shy — not often, but he is. You wouldn’t think so from the way he acts at school and in most public atmospheres, but get him in a room, one-on-one, and he’s all blushed cheeks and shy touches. It’s sweet and it’s one of your favourite things about him — but you don’t have time for sweet shyness right now. He’s failing gym for christ sake — gym.

“So, how do you want to do this?” you ask, slapping your hands to your thighs. Eddie startles, jolting before his wide eyes find yours. 

“Do what?”

“Study this,” you motion to the diagram on the floor separating the two of you.

“I— I’m not… we’re not—“

His eye contact goes rogue again, diverting anywhere else — everywhere else that isn’t you. Shy, shy, shy. Too shy. More shy than normal. And you have an inkling that it has to do with the subject of the conversation at hand. 

“Oh my god, Eddie. This is basic human anatomy. I think we’re grown up enough to handle a little penis and vagina,” you state, tacking on a laugh. 

You get a hint of Eddie's true personality beyond his shyness — it emerges through a quirk of his lip, the corner of it tweaking upwards into the hint of a smirk. 

“A little penis?” He parrots, his smirk fully emerging now. This boy.

“Cue cards? Should we do cue cards?”

He groans, body deflating. “You know I hate cue cards.”

“Okay, so let’s just go over the parts for now, then we can move on and do something else.”

You clear out a bigger area on the floor, making space for your study session. Eddie helps by kicking back stray articles of clothing and then picking out what looks like spilled weed from the carpet and collecting it in the palm of his hand. You’re a touch more productive, taping little pieces of paper over the diagram labels. When you’re done, you sit up admiring your work. Eddie stands, dropping his little handful of greenery onto his desk before sitting down on his bed. 

“Do you want to do it up there or down here?” You ask. 

The slight double entendre isn’t lost on you, you heard it before you even said it. Now knowing how shy Eddie is about this stuff, you couldn’t help but push your luck, and the blush that spreads across his cheeks makes it entirely worth it, especially while you deadpan and pretend you have no clue. 

“I’ll come down there—“ He says and you watch him physically recoil as his words set in. You resist your laughter. 

“Come, Eddie. Faster,” you tease, laughter starting to bubble up. A smile breaks through his embarrassment.

“Jesus Christ, you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You like seeing me suffer?”

“Me? Teasing you on purpose? Never.”

With a shake of his head, he joins you on the floor, leaving a large gap between the two of you. “Can we not do this, I already know this stuff.”

“Oh yeah? Eddie Munson is well versed in human anatomy?”

“I’m — I’m not going to answer that,” he crosses his arms. 

With a clap of your hands, you ignore his pouty demeanor. “Okay! Let’s just do this, the quicker you memorize everything the quicker we can not do this.”

With both of the diagrams set up, you give him the option of starting with the penis or vagina first. He chooses the easy answer, opting to go with the penis. 

One by one you point out each part of the penis, asking him for the anatomically correct name. You quickly understand why he’s failing. 

“Okay, and this one is…?”

“The head,” he states. 

“I mean… sure,” you nod hesitantly — “but the little arrow is pointing there — the glans. This one?”

You continue going through the chart, teaching Eddie the proper names for everything. When you finally graduate to the diagram of the vagina, Eddie is physically squirming in his spot. 

“Eddie, relax. Seriously. We’ve all seen a vagina before.”

“It’s so fucking hot in here, are you hot?” He groans, standing up and tripping his way to the window, slamming it open with a grunt. 

He’s barely made his way back before you have a thought.

“You’ve seen a vagina before, right?” 

He freezes — just for a moment, but you catch it. On his way to return to his spot on the floor he pauses, then continues moving as if you haven’t asked him a question. When he sits, you quirk a brow. 

“Yeah!” He answers. His voice tunes so high, it begs to crack.

You nod skeptically. You wouldn’t say he’s lying per se, but something seems off. Something that you’re interested in getting to the bottom of. 

“Let’s take a break, okay?” You offer.

“Yeah, a break’s, uh — good.” He exhales, letting out a breath of relief. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, fanning it in and out, getting some air flow on his skin. It’s very suspicious and you have to assume —

“So, you’ve never seen a vagina,” you say.

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “I have! I’m not a virgin.”

“You’re squirming like one.”

“I’m not!”

“There’s nothing wrong —”

“I’m not!” He says much louder, cutting you off. 

You believe him, seeing the full depth of sincerity in his amusedly large, and overly serious eyes. 

“Okay,” you nod.

“I’m not,” he insists once more, tone leaning towards stern. 

“I believe you, Eddie.”

The two of you sit quietly in your respective spots. You could busy yourself with getting some more studying stuff ready, but somehow — even though there was some verbal finality — this conversation doesn’t seem over. 

And with an inhale from Eddie, it’s not.

“I’ve just never been like…” he pauses, thinking, “I’ve just never been all up in there.” He makes a crude motion with his hands, both palms splayed out flat in your direction, moving outwards like he’s spreading something out. 

“You’ve never eaten a girl out before?”

“What are we doing?” He says, dropping his head into his hands, scrubbing at his cheeks with both palms. 

“You don’t have to answer. Seriously, if I’m really making you uncomfortable, I’ll stop. Swear.”

His chest inflates with a deep breath, then his head pops up. “I have but only for like a minute, in the dark, parked outside of the hideout after a gig,” he confesses. You raise your brows, surprised.

“You work quickly. A minute, that’s impressive.”

“No… Jesus, no,” he winces. “I fucking wish. We got interrupted and… yeah she never wanted to hang out after.”

“Oh,” you hum. “That sucks.” You tilt your head at him, frowning apologetically. 

“Yeah. She, uh, I’m pretty sure she had a boyfriend but I didn’t know when we… yeah.” He concludes his confession with a shrug before sitting back to lean against the side of his bed. 

“That really sucks. Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, tacking on a laugh. It’s not a nervous laugh. It’s genuine and you take his lack of nervousness as permission to continue the conversation. 

“So… Do you have a tactic?”

“Tactic?”

“Yeah. Like, most guys use the alphabet on the clit thing, which is awful by the way, don’t do that.”

“I think…” he raises his brows. “I think, maybe, just being overzealous is my thing. I don’t really know — I haven't done it enough to have a tactic.”

“Overzealous is good…” you nod, “as long as it’s strategic.”

Eddie meets your gaze. He’s intrigued — “Elaborate?” he asks. 

“Like, sure if you want to go to town and eat the pussy, go for it, but the only place it really counts is the clit — of course everything else is nice too, but the clit is definitely where it matters,” you nod to yourself, punctuating your statement. “And—” you add on, raising your hand, bringing together two of your fingers to mime the curling motions of getting fingered. “I like when they use their fingers too. It's a lot better like that.”

Eddie goes silent. He looks like he’s thinking, maybe even committing your words to memory— but it’s an odd look he has on his face. One you’ve never seen before from him.

“Sorry, did I say too much?” You laugh, trying to diffuse. Eddie looks at you, shaking his head in amused disbelief.

“Why the fuck are you tutoring me in going down on a girl right now?” He laughs. 

You smile, appreciating his amusement. Tilting your head boastfully, you accept his comment like a compliment. “Just a natural born teacher, I guess,” you tease. 

He nods, humming agreeingly. He doesn’t say anything more but you’ve got a handful of curiosities burning through your back pocket, and when in rome…

“Are we done with this conversation,” you ask, “or can we keep going ‘cause I might have a few questions for you?”

“Hasn't this whole conversation already been an interrogation of my experiences?”

“But this might be your only opportunity to teach me something, Edward.” You jet out your lower lip, pouting it, rounding your eyes at him — trying your best to keep this going. 

He rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance. 

“Are you about to ask me if I can move my dick without my hands, because the answer is yes but it’s not full control.”

“That’s not what I was gonna ask, but very cool.”

“Sorry. That’s usually what girls ask.”

That has been a curiosity but your questions… your questions are much more… sophisticated? 

“So can I?” you ask. 

“Can you?”

“Ask you questions?”

He bites his lip, pointedly making you sweat it out. With a dramatic sigh, he gives in. “Go for it.”

You sit up straighter, very pleased with his answer. 

“Balls,” you state. Eddie’s eyes widen immediately — you ignore the regret that flashes across his face. “Do you like them being touched? Every time I’ve done anything with them, the guy kind of, like, recoils and it feels like I did something wrong.” 

“Jesus…” he clears his throat with an awkward laugh. “You’re really going for the big questions, huh?” 

“The big questions?” You raise your eyebrows suggestively. 

“No, Jesus I’m not implying my balls are — holy shit. My balls are normal sized, that’s not what I meant.” He continues to laugh through his embarrassment, cheeks heating right back up to that very cute, bright, red colour. 

“I’m just teasing you, Eddie. I’m sure your balls are lovely and perfectly normal sized.”

He hums appreciatively but it gets stuck in his throat, coming out as a high pitched croak. He clears his voice, nodding as he raises a hand to the back of his neck, wringing it nervously.

“You don’t have to answer, but I would appreciate knowing,” you say, softly, sympathetic — leaning into apologetic. He nods again, and you can tell the gears are spinning in his head as he thinks over his answer. 

“They’re just… sensitive,” he swallows. “But… I do like them being played with, or sucked, or licked… or whatever.” 

His eyes focus on the far wall, not out of nervousness or shyness this time, but more like he’s giving his words some real thought. You appreciate it and wait patiently for him to continue. 

“I guess I would have to say that it’s personal preference, so ask?” he continues unsurely, eyes still focusing elsewhere. “I mean, no guy is ever gonna be mad if you ask to put their balls in your mouth — or… whatever you want to do with them.” He looks at you with wide eyes as he suddenly gets nervous again. You wave him off, letting him silently know that ‘balls in your mouth’ is not an offense to you.

“Could you cum from someone playing with your balls?”

“Holy shit,” he gasps, laughing. His hand that was wringing his neck drops to his lap in a heavy thud. At the same time, he brings up both knees, hugging them halfways to his chest as he mulls over his answer. “Um? Maybe? But, I think a big part of it is a visual thing — like, it adds to the hotness when they’re into the balls?” He finishes, adding an unsure inflection to the end of his remark. You nod, narrowing your eyes into a squint as you absorb what he’s saying. 

“So it doesn’t feel good?”

“It does,” he quickly corrects, “just anything on the head feels way better.” 

“Okay… good to know.” You nod, moving on. “And dirty talk. You really like that? Like, when the girl’s going on and on about your ‘big cock in her tight little pussy’, is it not weird?”

“Jesus, you really aren’t holding back with these questions.” He smiles through the blotchy redness growing down his neck all the way to the collar of his shirt.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” you promise, dipping your face lower to catch Eddie’s gaze. He holds it for a second, before letting his eyes roam the room. 

“Dirty talk is hot, obviously, but… it’s not when it’s rehearsed shit like that. It makes it feel like they’re performing — and maybe I’m just doing a piss poor job and they are performing — I don’t know, but I’d rather hear about what you actually like that I’m doing. Even if you’re telling me to go faster or harder or whatever. That’s fucking hot.”

“Alright, so be genuine. Cool,” you nod. 

“You done with questions?” He meets your gaze with raised brows for a fraction of a brave second before quickly looking away. 

The thing is, you’re not done. 

“So, hypothetically, if someone you didn’t like played with only your balls, and it wasn’t hot— like nothing about it was hot, would you still cum?”

He doesn’t give you the same surprised initial shock as he did with all the other questions. This time he just lets out a long, evenly staggered breath through puffed out cheeks. 

“I think…” He hugs his knees closer to his chest, rubbing both his palms along his shins quickly, filling the silence with the sounds of skin on denim. 

You can see the edge of his words in his expression, like he wants to say something but is holding it back. Whatever it is, you wait patiently — you do sit up a little straighter though, eagerly leaning inwards, listening with baited breath to his quiet, pensive hum.

His lips twitch, mouth opening then closing. With a loud exhale, he lets go of his shins, letting his knees drop from their upright position, and with that, his resolve breaks.  

“Fuck it” he curses — “Probably. Sometimes I think that the wind blowing the wrong way could make me cum. Like, I’m fighting for my fucking life to not get hard right now.”

He ends his speed-run confession with a pant, chest shallowly heaving with each breath. Excited wings beat inside your chest, dipping down to your belly as you absorb what he's just said to you. 

“Really?” you ask, blinking wide eyes at him. His breathing evens out, and he meets your gaze.

“Yeah,” he shrugs shyly — cutely.

“You know I like you, right?” 

His face falls. “What?” His brows press together, furrowing with confusion and you really don’t know how you could have been clearer about this whole ordeal.

“Eddie,” you smile. “I’ve told you like a million times that I like you — like earlier, I told you barely an hour ago before we got started.”

You said it quite plainly too; ‘Believe it or not, Eddie, I like you, and your success translates to my happiness.’ 

“Yeah, but I thought you meant as a… a person? Or a friend?”

You can’t help but laugh — not at him… well, a little bit at him, but this is just so ridiculous, how could he be so clueless. 

“I love my friends but I don’t think I would fill all my free time teaching them math and all the anatomical correct names of the different parts of the penis.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, they’re good people but that’s not exactly my idea of fun,” you tease. “Of course I’m serious, Eddie. So if you wanted to make a move… I wouldn’t be opposed.” 

At this point, after a confession as straightforward as that, you’d hope for movement — anything — even him getting closer to you, moving in for a kiss at the very least… but he stays sat in his opposite spot, his binder with the vagina diagram laid out flat, separating the both of you. 

Maybe you read this wrong — backpedal. 

“Did I just make this weird? Should I have not said that? I like tutoring you too, I don’t want you to think I’m expecting something from you just because I’ve been helping you.” You ramble apologetically, shrinking into yourself as you feel your whole body start to flush with icky embarrassment.

Eddie’s spine goes rigid as he sits up pin-straight, shaking his head emphatically.

“No! I like you too,” he interjects, leaning towards you, putting a hand on your knee. “Even before you started tutoring me.” 

“You do?” You sigh a breath of relief. Meeting his eyes, you smile sweetly, ignoring the whiplash that still has your stomach pinched in a half knot.

His voice gets soft with his confession — “Why do you think I didn’t want to sit around looking at penises and vaginas with you?” he laughs quietly,  “I was terrified of getting hard and scaring you away.”

The mention of him getting hard has your eyes flickering downwards for a split second. You can’t tell, but you tease him anyway — “And how’s that working out for you?”

“If you’re asking if I’m hard…” He trails off, smiling nervously, leaving you with a confirmed suspicion. 

“Should I make a move?” 

“Well, I’m not opposed.” He says it like it’s a joke — you know he’s being funny, breaking tension or whatever, but you don’t laugh. You perk up, tummy filling with fluttery feelings because that’s permission.

Permission to crawl the short distance between the two of you.

Permission to help yourself to his lap — pulling your skirt up high enough to straddle his upper thighs.

Permission to let your hands feel from his shoulders, down to his pecks. 

Permission to be this close to him — close enough that you can see every shy detail, every cute freckle, every nervous flutter of his lashes. 

Best of all — it’s permission for an intimacy you’ve been waiting for — longing for.

You sink yourself against him and — “Oh,” you gasp, “you weren’t kidding.” 

Through the thin cotton of your underwear, you feel the hard curve behind the zip of his jeans. It has you biting your lip, holding back your grin. 

His eyes coast your features, narrowing in on the tweaked up corners of your lips. He ghosts a quiet ‘yeah’, dipping his face downwards, hiding his own coy smile. 

You just won’t have that — you bring your hands to his cheeks, tilting his chin upwards, encouraging him to look at you. He lets you guide him, lets you wash your gaze over his features — lets you rake your eyes over every detail, even when his skin grows pink and you know he wants you to be looking anywhere else.

But you can’t help it. The rosy tint to his cheeks looks too warm, too inviting. His lips are just too pink, too bitten. And most of all, his eyes have become too deep, too capturing, especially when the usual gold in his brown has resolved to being just the thinnest ring, glinting and shimmering around absorbing black orbs.

“Your eyes are really dark right now,” you observe aloud. 

“Yeah?” He asks and you nod your head. You watch him as he lets his own gaze search your face. He swallows, coming to his own conclusion. “You just looked amused.”

You smile. You are amused but — “I’m not just amused.”

“No?” 

“I’m also really turned on.” You feel it in your belly, multitudes of warm winged flutters, sitting low, radiating heat throughout your whole body. You lean in closer, watching intently as his brows rise, moving to hide beneath his bangs as he processes your second confession of the evening.

“You are?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Want to know what I’m thinking about?”

He swallows thickly, and that golden ring in his eyes gets the faintest bit thinner.

“I do.”

You sit more comfortably, bringing your hands back to his chest and letting your bum press fully to his thighs. He lets out a near silent groan as your front sinks to his and when you adjust your hips, his hands dart to your sides, holding you tightly. 

“First,” you smile, batting your lashes at him. “I’m thinking about kissing you.” A soft swoon washes over Eddie's face, eyes turning soft for you. His eyes blink down to your lips, but you have more to say. “I’m also thinking about your balls in my mouth.”

The softness steps back, shock taking over. “Jesus christ,” he curses yet again, drawing out each syllable in a low groan. 

“And since I’ve been sitting here, I can’t help but think about how your cock would feel inside of me.”

“Fuck.” He meets your gaze, eyes rounding, jaw going slack. His chest begins to rise more rapidly, his breathing growing heavier. 

The feeling of him between your legs is undeniable now — he’s hard, very hard, uncomfortably hard. You let your hands slide up his chest, to his shoulders, letting your fingertips graze along the warm skin of his neck. He blinks heavily, eyelids growing weighted, swarming with evident lust. It makes you excited, makes you want more. 

You lower your voice to a breathy whisper, leaning in closer, letting your lips graze the shell of his ear.  “How’s the dirty talk, Eddie? Am I doing good?” You purr. His fingers pinch into the flesh at your sides as you shift once again, rolling your hips just enough to feel that hint of pleasure between your thighs. 

Eddie stifles his moan. “S– so good. You’re doing so g-good,” he stutters. His breath hitches as you press a kiss to the edge of his jaw, and then another, moving downwards to his neck. 

“What are you thinking about?” You pull away, looking at him through your lashes. You barely have a second to react before his hands are on your jaw, tugging you into him. 

It catches you off guard at first as his lips mash to yours. It’s entirely overzealous, bidding his earlier statement true by multiple definitions. It’s not terrible, but it is desperate. 

Flattening a heeding palm to his chest, you pull away just the slightest bit, letting your lips faintly graze his. 

“Slowly, Eddie.” you whisper. 

His interrupted desperation manifests as a quiet huff against your lips. Regardless of how hard he is beneath you, and how badly he wants to mash his mouth to yours, he nods, noses bumping together as he does.

This time you lean in. You guide the kiss, moving slowly, tenderly, and he follows your lead, moving gently, catching on quickly. Your upper lip presses between both of his and it's so delicate, so earnest, that it makes your heart thrum. It's exactly what you needed, and you reward Eddie with a quiet hum, letting your hands wrap behind his neck, pressing your chests together. 

His breath fans over your skin as he hums back, letting his hands glide to your lower back, hugging you closer. His lips massage yours, slowly, and he takes his time, letting you melt into him entirely. 

When you feel the pressure of his tongue licking across your lower lip your anticipation really sets in. You open your mouth, rolling your hips upwards as you move in closer to him. With a huffed, eager grunt, and with fingers kneading bruises into your skin, he licks into your mouth completely contradictory to it all, still giving you softness in the kiss. You’re elated by it all, swept up, enraptured by him being so sweet to you.

You sigh breathily as you have to pull away. 

“That was really good,” you fawn, dropping your head to rest against his shoulder. You let out another sigh, smiling contently to yourself. You’ve been wanting to do that for a long time — really too long, if you’re being honest. 

Eddie hums an agreement. You intend to go further than just a kiss, but you give yourself a moment to bask in it all. Just a moment, that’s all you need. 

And in the next moment, with your wits gathered, you wiggle your hips. Eddie’s palms press tightly against your back and he lets out a sharp gasp that melds into a whimper. You giggle a quiet apology. 

“Too much for you?” you tease.

“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head, his warm cheek pressing to yours. “M’just really hard right now.”

He is — you can feel it, and you can feel the mess growing between your own thighs. 

A simple solution; you hint at rolling your hips another time. It’s hardly any friction, just testing the waters. You’re surprised when Eddie pulls you inwards, guiding your hips, encouraging you to move. He lets out a low groan as the squish of your thighs pass over his length, one that you hardly register over your own gasp as you get your first real hint of pleasure.

With his help, you build a slow rhythm, grinding to the curve in his denim, one that has your eyes fluttering shut and Eddie tensing, letting out meak whimpers and low moans. It's nice, it really is, but as nice as it feels for you, you weave a hand between the two of you, suggestively placing it on the buckle of his belt.  

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Yes,” his voice comes out as a heaved breath. Very eager to continue.

“After you cum, how long does it take for you to get hard again?”

“Sh-shit — it depends. Sometimes —” he swallows thickly and you hear the gulp in his throat — “sometimes it’s barely a few minutes.”

“I want to try out what you taught me, but I want you to fuck me too.”

“We can — yeah we can do that.” His voice wavers as he bites back his excitement, trying to play it cool. Despite that, you feel the overzealousness in his pants, twitching with enthusiasm. 

You press a chaste kiss to his lips before scooting back on his legs, weaving your hands between the two of you to pop open his belt. Just as you unweave the leather and toss the heavy buckle to the side, holding the button under your thumb, Eddie’s hand meets your waist — not stopping you, just getting your attention. 

“Can I…” he starts. You look up at him, pausing your movement. He continues, “can I try what you told me too?” His eyes barely meet yours, growing bashful all over again. 

“Of course you can,” you say sincerely. You finish unbuttoning his pants, tugging the zipper down while leaning in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You don’t gotta be shy, Eddie. I like you already, a lot.” 

He nods, but you can still see a hint of cautiousness in his expression. 

“I’m serious, Eddie. I want you to be comfortable with me. Anything you need, anything you want, you can tell me.” 

He nods. His mouth mulls for a moment, but he nods a second time, assumedly coming to a conclusion. “Can we move up to the bed?” he asks. 

“I’d like that,” you smile and he smiles back.

Just as you lift your leg to get off him, you let out a surprised yelp as he does the bravest thing he’s done yet, both hands grabbing firmly at your bottom, tugging you into him and up as he pushes himself off the floor. He moves the both of you up to the edge of the bed with one strong flex of his legs and your stomach swirls with the rush of it all. 

From there, it's a giggling tussle of limbs, him pulling you up the bed, you pulling his pants off. Eventually, you both settle, him pantless, sitting with his back to the wall where his headboard should be, and you, by his side, knees pressing to his thigh. Your fingers wiggle with excitement as you take the thin cotton of his boxers, lacing them just under the waistband. 

You shimmy in your spot, shaking your hips, letting out a happy hum as you begin to pull them down. Your belly fills with good nerves, butterflies, and your mouth salivates. When you get them down as far as you can without his help, he silently chimes in, lifting his hips, hooking his own thumbs into the material. With a quiet humph, the fabric passes his length, freeing it to bob against his shirt-covered belly. 

Tempestuously red. Furiously flushed. Severely erect. Poor Eddie. Happy you. His tip is blushed to a deep crimson, glistening with the pearlescent sheen of precum. It has your body flushing hot everywhere — from your cheeks all the way south to where you grind yourself down onto the backs of your heels just to feel a pinch of salvation. 

Somewhere between where your ogling started and where you had to physically swallow the gathering saliva in your mouth, his boxers got discarded entirely, your own shirt disappearing along with them — because it is just so hot all of a sudden.  

If you weren’t completely blinded by your impeding tunnel vision, you would have seen the way Eddie gawked at your newly revealed skin, absorbing every inch, taking in every feature to your body. You would have seen the way his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and the fresh cherry red blush spread to his cheeks. You would have seen the way he had to forcefully peel his eyes away from your chest when he felt your fingers press into his bare thighs as you situated yourself between his legs. But you didn’t have a chance to notice all of those details, not when you felt the thrilling thrum of anticipation bubbling up in your bloodstream. 

“You ready, Eddie?” You ask, grinning at him. He blinks slowly at you, no answer, making your smile falter.

“You look pretty,” he blurts out, much to your delight. “Really pretty. All the time — not just now because you're about to — you’re just beautiful, s’what I want to say.”

“Thank you,” you say, pleasantly surprised. Eddie on the other hand, cringes at his own rambling, face scrunching in defeat. You like him even more for it — “I think you’re beautiful too, Eddie,” you smile. “And not just because I have your pretty cock in front of me.” 

Eddie huffs a soft laugh and you gleam, pleased with yourself. 

With actual consent, you take him in your hand. Gentle at first, easing him into your touch. Just barely grazing your thumb over the tip, you smear the slick precum around, before sinking your fist to his base. He lets out a tensed moan, exhaling — exhilarating. That quiet, throaty noise has you lighting up, already feening for more.

Leaning down further, arching your back, you gather your saliva in your mouth before letting it spill out in a single string over the tip of his needy head, falling down just to be caught by the upwards rise of your fist. This time he sucks in a sharp breath and you live for it. 

Closing the distance between your mouth and his cock, you lick the tip gently, pressing your tongue to the river of precum that sits in the curves of his slit, relishing in the saltiness that makes your mouth water effortlessly. You hum, feeling the pulse between your legs grow deeper, more intense. You push your hips back, angling them, searching for any sort of relief. 

While it doesn’t satiate the need between your thighs, Eddie notices your squirm, and brings a splayed palm to your side, letting it curve to your skin. It settles in, warming you, encouraging you to distract yourself in such a beautiful way by taking him into your mouth. 

You let your tongue swirl. Flick. Caress. Your lips graze before closing, and you suck. Cheeks hardly hollowing, the noise he lets out makes you want to keep being gentle — draw this out, make this last. 

But like a devil on your shoulder, you want to skip forward. You want his balls in your mouth, that’s the guise of this whole encounter, isn’t it? To practice what he’s taught you.

Jumping right to the chase, abandoning his desperately swollen cock, doesn’t strike you as the way to go about this, so you continue to be gentle. Pulling off the tip, kissing him up and down his length. Pressing your lips where needed and drawing circles and lovey hearts across his skin with the pointed angle of your tongue.

It's not fruitless. Every noise, every groan, every heavy breath, pleading whimper, fills you up. It fills you up until it has you leaning your body into his hand on your rib cage, needing to feel him wherever you can, while taking him fully into your mouth. Swallowing him down, deeply hollowing your cheeks, gliding your lips and flattening your tongue until your nose presses to the wispy patch of coarse hair at his base. 

“Fuck— fuck.” Eddie groans through a strangled breath. 

His hand leaves your ribs and you whimper at the loss, only to be reunited with the physical contact as he takes hold of your head with both of his hands, pulling you up. You whine, chest collapsing with defeat. You pout as soon as his cock leaves your mouth. Looking up at him, he looks worked up and frayed — all a shivered mess — but eyes sincerely apologetic as he catches your disappointment. 

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that.” He pants heavily, catching his breath while you catch your own. Your pout lessens, and instead, your pride sets in. You did that to him. 

Wiping your gathered tears, you place a tentative hand on his length, watching him for any protests. His head knocks back into the hard wall, but he never loses sight of you, now looking down the angular slope of his nose, watching with amorous, lusting eyes. 

You dip down, reapproach, but this time you give into your own desire, indulging yourself.

Lifting his cock, you nose down his length. His eyes turn wide, but still, no protests.

“Can I put your balls in my mouth?” You ask, doing just as he told you to do, embellishing your simple sentence with pleading, fluttery lashes and persuasive, pinched together brows. 

His lips press into a purse as he swallows, and then they part with approval. “Yes,” he says. You watch as his tongue swipes along his plump bottom lip, and you can’t help but smile up at him. 

Appreciation sits on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t say it, you show it. Bowing your face low, you lick up the centre of his sack, flattening your slow moving tongue with an oath of sincerity — this makes you burn. For a moment, you believe that you’d be content if this was for you and you only, but then you meet his gaze, and you see the way he burns too.

His eyes devour you — your hand wrapped around his cock, thumb barely touching index, your chin settled deep between his thighs. You burn identically and it makes the swirl of butterflies in your stomach rise high, beating heavily in your chest. You get lost for a moment, but a thumb on your cheek, sweetly swiping softly against your skin, brings you right back.

“Pretty girl,” he hums. 

You tilt your head, nuzzling into his grip, humming a tender thank you. His thumb swipes again, just under your eye before settling behind your ear, sitting there with no intention but to be tethered to you.

It’s sweet, and you return the gesture, pressing two kisses, one to each side. You shift your focus, returning back to the moment.

Head still partially in the clouds, you do something daring without thinking, and you suck one of his balls into your mouth. Eddie lunges forward, bending at the waist, nearly folding in half as his stomach tenses harshly. He whimpers, and you pull back immediately.

“Sorry!” You shift, looking at his contorted expression. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

He quickly relaxes himself, patting your cheek as he settles, unclenching his thighs that had tightened at your sides.

“No — no.” He shakes his head, catching his breath “Do it again.” He gently guides you back down. “I was just distracted, caught me off guard,” he explains.

Distracted like you were. You understand, and you let him guide your face back down. 

This time you’re careful. With his eyes on you, you start again, licking, feeling the silky skin with your tongue as you gauge his reaction, peering up at him through your lashes. He nods, and you carefully take him into your mouth, letting your tongue roll cautiously along the velvet skin. 

You’re careful not to do too much, but you grow more confident when you see the way his mouth falls open with his own appreciation. 

“Fuck,” he exhales. “Just like that. Good girl,” he praises, groaning as you suckle delicately. His cock jumps in your loose fist, reminding you just how long it's been since you’ve paid it any attention. Tightening your grip, you run your fist up, then down languidly, multitasking in a way that has Eddie gaping, jaw slack, mouth parted wide, eyes owlish and filled to the brim with heated astonishment. 

With your mouth, you switch to his other side, doing the same, rolling your tongue exploringly, seeing what has his stomach tensing and noises pulling from his lungs. 

As you let your thumb run over his leaking head, he lets out a throaty groan. His thighs tense around you once more, but instead of backing away, you lean into it, embracing the new-found way to make him squirm. 

His breathing quickly becomes rapid as you take more of him into your mouth, sucking more confidently, and pulling away every now and again to press deserved kisses. Your fist moves quicker, focusing on the tip — purposeful, as you remember what he taught you. 

You suck, and glide your hand in smooth strokes, over and over, showing him just how much you like him. If he didn’t believe you before, he has to now. 

With a strong, devoted rhythm built, the skin against your tongue eventually begins to pull taut. He throbs in your hand. You know before he says anything, even before his hand can flex its grip on your cheek. You pull away, letting him fall from your mouth with a quiet pop. He lets out a worn sigh of relief as you sever the threads of spit from your mouth to his balls and shift, moving back to his wired-up cock, twitching at just the sensation of your breath on his over-flushed tip.

Rearranging yourself, you sink your fist, moving it low to his base, and then you adjust, moving your hand to cradle his balls in your palm. His stomach flexes and he lets out a pitiful whimper — he's so close, even while you're barely touching him.

“Please,” he rasps through a strained breath. 

You have nothing but appreciation for the man in front of you, reduced to pleading. You want nothing more than to satisfy him.

Gentle, a thing of the past. You take his cock in your mouth deeply. Swallowing his thickness down, taking him as far as he fits, pressing him to the very back of your throat. Your eyes water, and you breathe heavily through your nose, never once forgetting to massage him in your hand.

His chest heaves, and his fingers weave their way into the hairs at the base of your neck, tugging — communicating. His helpless moans draw out, getting longer and deeper, drawing out each and every flutter in your belly, adding to your fire. 

You can’t believe you’ve been sitting around, tutoring him, teaching him math when you could have been doing this. This is much better — much, much more fulfilling. 

You rise and fall, bobbing quickly, and he encourages you, helping you find the pace that brings him to his edge. He swells in your mouth, and draws upwards in your hand. You hum, encouraging him to let go.

“I’m gonna —” he tries to speak, but a rogue whine cuts him off. He sucks in a sharp breath — “I’m cumming, I’m —” Panic invades his voice as his grip in your hair turns harsh, pulling, stinging your scalp. You hum again, and then you feel the spill. 

The warmth of his cum invades the back of your throat, loading your senses with the distinctly musky taste and a bitter-flavoured swell of sweetness in your chest. Pleased, you swallow it down, and ask for more with the purse of your lips on his overworked tip. His hips buck up into you as you happily swallow everything you can, lapping it up with your appeasing tongue. 

His body relaxes until you don’t stop. Then he’s flexing again, sucking in harsh, gasp-like breaths, using his hands in your hair to guide you away from his over-sensitive cock. 

Both his palms cup your cheeks and you rise, straightening out your spine, walking your knees up the mattress to be closer to him. His hand falls to your knee, encouraging a bend, welcoming you back into his lap. You happily take a careful seat on his thighs. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Eddie gushes unapologetically. 

His body slouches into the mattress, but he continues to beakon you forward. You follow his weak, weary pull and he guides you to his lips, attaching his mouth to yours in a lazy kiss. His beholden tongue greets yours, unaffected by the lingering flavour of his seed that coats your lips and mixes with your spit. He devours it gratefully. 

“That was —” he starts, pulling away just to peck your lips again — “So, so— I don’t even have words.” His hand slides loosely across the expanse of your bare waist as he presses a frenzy of chaste kisses to your lips, making you giggle.

“I did good? I thought I hurt you for a minute.”

“No— shit, you did so good, baby.” Eddie hums, fondly pressing his cheek to yours as he hugs you closer.

You feel his praises blaze at something inside of you, thrumming through your bloodstream, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t highlight your own neediness, the one left abandoned between your thighs. 

Despite the restlessness that grows in your twitching hips, you try to relax, focusing on the sentimental feeling of the rise and fall of his chest, letting your body slink into his, fitting seamlessly against him until his breathing returns to a steady rate. You patiently wait for him to make the next move — especially after him letting you lead most of this evening. 

Just as you’ve let your eyes flutter shut, resting them for a peaceful moment, a kiss to your shoulder has your excitement kicking up in your lower belly, waking up those warm, winged creatures once again. He presses another kiss, and then another, following the slope of your shoulder. Down the curve, to your collarbone, high on your chest, kiss after kiss until his lips meet the plumpness of your breast that spills over the cups of your bra.

The swell of your breast, across, to the centre, his lips find your sternum, and you keen into it, unafraid of coming off as desperate. 

It’s barely anything, just innocent pecks, but it has you impatient, tilting your head back, curving your body to offer up more skin to him. He hums a warm tone, affectionately following the path of your sternum, nosing his way down your cleavage, sighing a deep, warm breath against your skin, adding a few extra heated degrees to your body temperature — you thank him with a breathy moan.

His hands move to your sides, tickling along your flesh, leaving goosebumped skin in their path as he traces along the band of your bra, fingertips gliding until they meet the clasp.

“Please,” you whisper, biting your lip as he finger paints small swirls along your spine. You push yourself closer, needing more.

And he gives you more. The band tightens around your ribs as he finds the edge, and you hold your breath.

One clip comes undone easily, granting you a hint of relief. Two follows, leaving just the third hook stuck standing between you and the promise of pleasure.

Then he stops — worse actually — he doesn’t just stop, he completely abandons the clasp on your bra as his head pops up, nearly clipping the edge of your jaw. He pulls you flush to his chest, tucking your head to his shoulder.

It surprises you, making your heart pound for an entirely different reason.

“What—” you begin, but his heedful palm spreads across the plain of your upper back, halting your question, making you pause. Unsure and curious, you turn your face, pushing against his grip on you, trying to see what’s wrong.

His face is contorted into a flat, focused look as his eyes fixate on the closed door of his room. You’re totally confused by what has pulled his attention, but then you hear a clatter from the living room of his trailer. You turn to look at Eddie. 

His eyes pinch shut with disappointment. “No,” he groans, dropping his head to your shoulder in defeat. 

“Is that —”

“My fucking uncle,” he mumbles into your skin.

“Oh,” you say quietly, trying to fight the unresolved neediness of your body from turning you into a slouching ball of disappointment.

“He's not supposed to be home yet,” he groans, and it comes out huffed, like he's annoyed, but you know it's not directed at you. Part of you is relieved to hear that upset edge in his voice, because you know how easy it would be for most boys to shrug it off when they already got what they needed.

His palm swipes across your back, rubbing it in a soothing way before he pulls away, finding your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. 

You shrug, it's not like this is his fault. “It’s okay,” you promise. 

“It’s not.”

You smile. “It is,” you say, delighted by his sincerity. “This just means we’ll have to pick up where we left off another day.”

“But you didn’t get to cum.”

True but — “I still had fun.”

He dips his face, chin bowing downward, bitten lips jetting out with his generous empathy. “I’m sorry,” he says again, and you giggle at his niceness. He might be more upset than you are, and you love it.

“Eddie, you know me,” you grin. “You said I did a good job, and there’s nothing better than the satisfaction of a job well done,” you beam, and you’re very pleased when you get a good chuckle from Eddie.

“Next time?” He proposes with a raised brow.

“Next time,” you agree.

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merci buckets hope you liked if you did make sure to hit! that subscribe button and leave a like down below (aka comment and reblog <33333)

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[gwydionmisha]

It's an ethics AND a safety issue. Trump is planning to stop crash/safety reporting Musk's cars.

A more graphic explanation of why we need to monitor this. (Shows crashed cars, but not the bodies). It's from that time Tesla did deadly beta testing that killed and injured a bunch of people.

Some of these are mostly focused on the national security implications of Musk, SpaceX, and Starlink, but the conflict of interest over things like Self driving cars matter too. It's a fundamental problem that Trump is basically letting Elon Musk make so many decisions for his own benefit.

[traveler-at-heart]

Movie Afternoon

Nerd!Natasha has been on my mind so much lately and this post was just so perfect I had to be horny on main, so there's that.

Warnings: Smut, G!P Natasha

The weekend was finally here. Exams had been a drag all week and as much as you loved the school paper, there was only so much reporting one could do about the new production of Wizard of Oz.

As usual, your brother’s friends were throwing a party and you were invited, but going to your girlfriend’s house for a movie marathon was the best plan.

You knocked on the Romanoff residence, waiting for Melina or Alexei to open up. Instead, Natasha herself was at the door, wearing grey sweatpants and a hoodie.

“Hi” she said, smiling as soon as she saw you.

“Hi, love” you stood up on your toes to peck her lips. “Where’s your fam? You never open the door”

“They went to get some groceries. I think mom’s making lasagna toni…” she explained, mumbling against your lips when you leaned forward again, this time your tongue asking for permission to enter.

Natasha let you deepen the kiss with a sigh, her hands holding on to your waist for dear life.

“Can we… go to my room?”

“For a movie, or something more?” you said, kissing down her neck and biting the skin.

“Mo-vie. I’m sorry, I’d love to, but they’ll be back any minute”

“That’s ok, baby” you said against her ear, pulling apart. You were a little evil, always testing how much you could tease Natasha. Shy, bashful and beautiful Natasha.

You reached for her hand and led her up the stairs, knowing the way to her room.

“What do you want to watch?” she said, as you laid in her bed and she got her computer.

“Anything you want”

“What about the new Dungeons and Dragons movie?”

“Sure” you agreed, remembering Natasha had missed it on the theater because she was ill.

“Ok, here we go” she placed the computer at your feet, and you made yourself at home in her arms, leaning on her chest.

She smelled so nice, as usual. As the movie progressed, you ran your hands up and down her abdomen, in what you thought was a soothing manner.

That is, until you heard Natasha stiffle what sounded like a groan.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you straightened up, looking at her. “Sorry, did your arm fall asleep,? I’ll move”

“No, it’s not that” she said, her eyes on the ceiling.

“Well, then, what is…” your eyes scanned the rest of her body, and you finally saw the tent at her pants. “Oh, baby”

“It’s ok, it’ll come down in a minute” she said, more to herself than to you. Your girlfriend was about to grab a pillow to cover her erection when you intercepted her hand.

“Let me…”

“Y/N…”

“What? I caused this. I should be the one to fix it… don’t you think?”

“If they come back and see us” she was trying to come up with excuses not to do it and you smiled, straddling her lap.

“Honey, your mom already knows. Didn’t you catch the look she gave us the other day when we were late from the library?”

Of course, you had left the library on time, but an intense make out session led to you sucking Natasha’s dick on the school parking lot. What a shame your car was too small to fit you both on the backseat.

“You don’t have to”

“Of course I don’t have to. I want to, Natasha”

Those words seemed to have a magic effect on her, erasing any other objections. Her hands came to hold your waist as you kissed her passionately, grinding against her hard dick.

You mentally congratulated yourself for wearing a skirt, that would give her easy access to your pussy.

“Where are the condoms?” you said against her lips and her hand reached for the nighstand drawer. “Let me”

You leaned forward, still straddling her. The position made your chest go up to her face and Natasha wasn’t able to resist the temptation of squeezing your breasts, hardened nipples showing through the fabric of your shirt.

“Like what you see?” you teased and the girl nodded dumbly. “Maybe you can cum on them later”

The words made her jolt her hips forward, her dick crashing against your clothed pussy. You couldn’t resist the moan that left your lips and you moved down, fighting with the waistband of her pants.

“Here” she lifted her hips and you were able to take off her pants and briefs, her cock springing free in all its 9 inch glory.

“So big” you muttered, your mouth watering.  You were supposed to only put on the condom… but who could resist? Your tongue licked her entire shaft, starting from the balls all the way to the tip. Natasha let out a loud moan, buckling her hips in the air. You let her move, while your mouth covered her tip and inch by inch, you took all of her.

“Baby, you feel so fucking good…” she said, her mind a haze of pleasure and lust. The curse word only fueled the fire in your belly, knowing Natasha never said anything like that. You took as much as you could, until it hit the back of your throat, and then you began to move, up and down, strings of saliva running down the corners of your mouth.

Natasha fisted the comforter of her bed, and once her hips began an erratic rythm you knew she was close.

To her dismay, you didn’t let her finish, her cock leaving your mouth, still standing painfully hard.

“What… why...” she practically whined, desperate for release.

“Wouldn’t be fair if you had all the fun, now would it, baby?” you teased, and your hands placing the condom distracted her enough. Feeling your touch was the only way to relieve the coil in her stomach.

You went back up, allowing her to taste herself on your lips. She moaned against your tongue, and knowing she was distracted by the kiss, you grabbed her dick and lined it up with your pussy.

You were sure the neighbours had heard her moan as soon as she entered you, breaking the kiss apart.

“Y/N” she begged, and you weren’t sure if she wanted you to move or hold still.

“Talk to me, baby”

“Can you… move? Yes, just like that”

You began grinding your hips, up and down, feeling her cock almost hit your cervix. You really ought to get on birth control, imagining how amazing it would feel to have Natasha fill you with her cum.

“What did you…?”

Oh. You were probably thinking out loud.

“I want you… to fill my pussy with all your cum, Natasha” you said between breaths, bouncing harder on her dick. “God, your cock is so fucking big, it ruined me, no one can fuck me as good as you, baby”

You moved your hips faster and Natasha tried to match your pace, but you could tell she was close.

Two things happened at once.

You heard her family pull up the driveway and the next minute, Natasha was coming hard. You had to cover her mouth to stiffle her moan.

“Did you…?” she asked after a second, her breath still laboured.

“It’s ok, baby” you said, kissing her softly. “Come on, clean up, they’ll come check on us any minute now”

The redhead nodded, getting up to discard the condom and put on her boxers and pants. For your part, you fixed your hair as best as you could, as well as your shirt, that had ridden up all the way to your midsection.

Sure enough, Natasha’s mother came up minutes later. By that time, you were both leaning against the headboard, pretending to watch the movie.

“Y/N, how were exams this week?”

“All good, Mrs. Romanoff. Just have to practice my Spanish a bit” you smiled, sounding as composed as you could.

The woman nodded and turned to her daughter.

Natasha was… well, she looked flustered, to be honest. Melina said something in Russian, making her daughter blush madly.

“You’re welcome to stay over for dinner” Melina said, this time to you and you nodded.

“Thank you”

As soon as the door was shut, you turned to Natasha.

“You were right. She knows” Natasha mumbled, turning red.

You let out a laugh at that.

“Told ya”

“You’re gonna kill me one day”

“Preferably while we’re fucking hard” you said, unable to help yourself around your girlfriend. Without caring about her family downstairs, you began to kiss her once again, and you felt strong hands holding your waist and traveling down to squeeze your ass.

“Hey, Natasha… ah!!” Yelena walked in, covering her eyes and exiting dramatically.

“Knock next time!” Natasha yelled after her. “She’s so gonna snitch on me”

“My house is free tomorrow” you said against her ear and she shivered. “So, drink lots of fluids and come ready. We’re leveling the score, baby”

[ventique18]

🐉 being a ridiculously old-fashioned guy whose romantic advancements would be considered today as creepy and a 🌸 who's a very modern person. Warning: may be mildly uncomfortable.

Scenario 1

🐉, throwing rocks at their window: "Beautiful child of man! I've come to see you!"

🌸: "What the fuck?! It's 12 am!!"

CRASH!!

🌸: "YOU BROKE THE WINDOW! I'M GONNA REPORT YOU TO THE HEADMAGE FFOR DESTRUCTION OF PROPERTY--"

The headmage praises Draconia for his tenacity and dedication.

Scenario 2

🐉: "Oh dear, there's a puddle on the floor."

He shrugs off his coat, drapes it over the puddle, and with a smug face, flourishes his arms to encourage 🌸 to walk on the coat.

🌸 stares at him dead in the eyes, mouth agape as they sidestep the coat altogether.

Scenario 3

🐦‍⬛: "Alright, first years. Our fieldtrip location doesn't have a magic mirror installed, so we will be flying on a plane instead. Line up now~"

🐉, thundering across the airport, frightening the guards who attempted to do their job and stop this menace but backing out after a step: "BELOVED! I shall wait for you, no matter how long it takes for us to reunite! A month, a year, a decade! A century! I will be patient and my love for you will be the same as you left it, rest assured."

🌸, hiding their face and trying to hide behind the curious crowd: "Oh my god, oh my god, kill me--"

🐦‍⬛: "My! What an admirable profession of love! Rest assured however, that the students will only be gone for three days."

🐉: "Lovely. Then I will wait at this place for your arrival--"

🌸: "GO HOME!"

Back at the dorm

🐉: "Lilia Vanrouge! It is not working! Every single one of the romantic advancements you taught me did not work at all!"

🦇: "Really? How odd. I mean, it was your mother who did those to your father and he seemed to ignore all of her advances too, but they got married in the end, didn't they?"

🦇: "I'm sure you'll win in the end too! It's tried and tested. Just keep at it!"

Or alternatively, a 🌸 who absolutely loves his courting techniques because their type is a pathetic wet cat type of a man and his actions are the pinnacle of desperate and pathetic.

[irisintheafterglow]

angst/fluff. minor injuries and swearing

there you are. c'mon, baby. claw your way out.

war is tearing across katsuki's mind, his head telling him that you were an adversary while the rest of him says he needs to get you out of danger. all according to plan, just as his friends predicted.

"i thought he was supposed to be undercover, radio silent until he reported back to the office." your eyelid is sore from twitching in pure irritation; one, that this was happening in the first place, and two, that you were brought to katsuki's work at some unholy hour of the morning. "how the hell did you guys lose someone that loud?"

"that's your boyfriend we're talking about," kaminari points out and you give him an impatient frown.

"i know," you say slowly. "he's also received more noise complaints than property damage reports. you're telling me you lost track of the noisiest pro since present mic retired?"

"we didn't lose track of him," kirishima corrects carefully. "some villain's quirk messed with his head, and now we're not getting any responses for check-ins. he should have been back a week ago, but attempts to send in exfil have been encountering...obstacles." you can tell he's trying to be delicate with you, but if there was one thing you and katsuki had in common, it was a low tolerance for beating around the bush.

"i just don't understand what i'm doing here, eiji," you admit tiredly. of all the people in this room, mostly katsuki's classmates from back in high school, it was hard to direct your anger at your boyfriend's redheaded best friend. kirishima was practically your brother in law considering how many times he'd crashed at your house after a night out with katsuki. "what am i supposed to do except be the worried-sick partner?"

"about that," begins sero, another one of kats' friends from UA. he's the last pro that was sent in to attempt to grab katsuki, and remnants of that battle are still littered across his taped-up limbs. "we want you to test a hunch."

"a hunch," you echo in disbelief. "i'm here at three in the morning on a hunch?"

"from what we've gathered about the villain who captured bakugo, their quirk rewrites brain signals to name everyone but the 'boss' as an enemy, and whoever's in charge has to specify which people they don't want to be annihilated." kirishima's confidence wavers for the first time since you'd met him. "we think that...maybe you can get through to him."

"a villain kidnapped my boyfriend and you want me to bait him out of its spell?"

"basically, yeah," kaminari shrugs a little too nonchalantly and mina elbows him in the sternum.

"i'm sorry, where the hell are you getting this information from?"

"the man himself," kaminari replies with his palms up and you settle back into your seat, not realizing that you'd stood from your swivel chair in your outburst. "there are brief moments when the exfil agents seemed to get through to him, and all he'd talk about is you and how the only thing he remembers is you."

"look, we know this is scary." mina is still in her nightgown, having been summoned at the same time as you, yet she kneels down next to your chair anyways. "we wouldn't be asking you to go in if we had any other choices."

"it's not only us who need you," sero states. "he needs you to get him out, too."

right, and that's how you ended up in a rundown castle in the middle of the mountains with a henchman's knife pressing against your throat.

following the plan, you allowed yourself to be caught by the perimeter guards under the pretense of demanding a meeting with 'the puppet king,' the villain who could subject anyone to become his bodyguard if he touched their body. once captured, you would first be taken to the new second-in-command, your mind-controlled boyfriend.

when you first arrived to the wing of the castle where katsuki was stationed, you knew you needed to grab his attention. before he could address you, you forced the sharp end of the guard's blade to rest precariously against your jugular. his reaction was instinctive, like his body was moving faster than his brain. katsuki threw his arm up fired off a single blast that, at the last moment, curved to the right of the guard's head, leaving your captor paralyzed in fear with his weapon still against your skin. he was in there, but he was still under some kind of mind-control.

because the attack wouldn't have missed otherwise.

"that's it, kats. fight back," you murmur and the henchman's grip on you tightens.

"quiet, you. what are you doing to him?" you make a noise somewhere between a groan and a wince, and katsuki notices. "move again, and i swear i'll--"

"i wouldn't do that if i were you," you warn quietly at the same moment katsuki fixes the guard with a withering glare. his mind may be distant, but his body remembers exactly what it needs to do. "this isn't between us and him right now. it's between him and himself, and i'm going to make sure he wins."

"make him stop or i'll kill you right now," the guard hisses in your ear.

"i'd love to see you try," you counter without taking your eyes off of him. his hands clutch the stone bricks of the castle walls while his neck twists from side to side, desperately trying to choose what unheard voice of reason to listen to. "i know you're in there. come and get me."

"oi, dynamight. you know what to do. take care of them," your captor orders. "shut them up for good."

"you gonna let him talk to me like that, katsuki?" any further encouragement is cut short by the hitch in your throat, feeling the sharp edge ever so slightly start to sink into your flesh. you gasp as a single warm drop trickles down your neck and onto your collarbone.

"open your mouth one more time and i'll make sure you never do it again--fuck!" before he can finish his threat, the guard is abruptly knocked backward by one precise shot to his shoulder. freed, you kick his torso into the bricks behind you and he slumps to the ground, unconscious.

"eiji, i've got him," you announce with your pointer finger to the transmitter in your ear. "go ahead and move to phase two."

in less than a blink, katsuki's expression of concern is all you can see after he tears off his gloves to cautiously take your face in his hands. his gaze blinks rapidly all over your face, scanning and absorbing and assessing whatever it was he missed while he wasn't himself.

"baby," he breathes, practically in shambles when he sees the cut on your neck. "baby, what are you--why are--what are you doing here?"

"i'm getting you out," you whisper back. he swallows thickly, his face more broken than you'd ever seen him. "now we've gotta go before you somehow get put back under. eiji and your friends are taking care of the villain. for now, we've just gotta get out of here."

"did i--did i do this?" his face is pale and he can't stop staring at your neck. "did i hurt you?"

"no, no, no. never," you insist. "i know you wouldn't. you made sure that this wasn't any worse." you tilt his chin so he can meet your eyes. "i wouldn't be here if i didn't trust you entirely, katsuki."

"you're here." you can't tell if he's grounding you or himself. maybe it's both.

"mhmm. i'm right here." explosions shake the foundation of the castle in what you can only assume to be the beginnings of the infiltration. katsuki snarls and tightens his grip around your waist.

"i'm going to kill them for sending you in here in the first place," he declares, a familiar scowl finally making its way back onto his handsome face. "what the fuck were they thinking, sending my damn partner in to save me? those shitwipes and their stupid ideas." there he is.

"ask them that yourself," you reply with a small smile, feeling a little lighter than you had been in a week. "for now, please get me out of here. i never wanna be on one of your missions ever again."

"that makes two of us."

according to the press, there was hell to pay back at the agency when dynamight finally got a hold of cellophane, red riot, and chargebolt, the pros who led the team to extract him. rumors of your involvement never became widespread, but katsuki made sure to keep a picture of you in his toolbelt in the event that he was taken from you again.

[papaya-twinks]

mauve - l.n - p.2

Warnings: Swearing, angst, crash, sexism, banter, insulting(?)

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Taglist: @cheriiepies @jan1on @sagestack @fall-bambi @meglouise00 @eclipsedcherry @suzzie105 @rebelatbay @fly-me-away @cabbyhabs @djoenthusiast @georgeparisole @justcharlotte @cutieln4 @amz824 @coff33andb00ks @yoruse @neferaskingdom @dramaticpiratellamas @leonie404 @awritingtree @lolzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz @easy4 @ironmaiden1313

A/N - I’m so happy y’all like it! Remember, message in the comments if you wanna be on the tag list! Also, remember, at this stage of the fic, Lando has 0 wins!

other parts 💜💜

Thankfully for both you and Lando, he didn’t have to see your face for the next few days, not until pre-season testing anyways. You looked great in your suit, the Williams suited you so well, you drove impeccably, your car nowhere as slow as it had been the year before, and Alex had been a healthy 15th.

Hey, could’ve been worse. As you got into your car, your helmet a sweet purple with oil splashes along the side, your number emblazoned on the top, you readied yourself for your first ever drive as part of the Formula One World Championship. Fuck.

You turned sharply right, ready to warm your tyres, checking your mirror and responding to radio messages. “So, Lando’s done a 28.8 for sector one, that’s a 28.8, Y/N,” your engineer said you responded with a simple ‘copy’.

Once your tyres were up and ready you began your lap, sliding through the corners with just the right amount of balance, your concentration unwavering, the places you put the car just perfect. Yes, it was just practise, but it seemed like you’d been doing it for years.

And then, as you began your next lap, heading down the main straight, you caught a flash of orange in your rear-view mirrors, the almost blindingly neon helmet of Lando Norris shimmering behind you. What the fuck was he doing?

No one ever raced during pre-season testing. It was testing. After all. But you were on a hot lap, and you weren’t one to back down, which greatly surprise Lando, as he saw you continue, not letting off a single second. Two could play at that game.

He dove down the inside, his wheel tapping into the side of yours, sending your car onto the rumble strip, your body bouncing in the car. “What’s he playing at?!” you shrieked into the radio. “We’re on it, Y/N,” your engineer reassured.

“So, uh, Y/N, what do you make of the situation with Lando on track?” one of the reporters asked, as you lifted your microphone. You let out a breath of air, a mix of a scoff and sigh as you shrugged. “I’m not responsible nor do I know what he was thinking,” you said simply.

“Maybe if she can look. She’d have seen me,” Lando said, a harsh, hostile laugh on his lips as he rolled his eyes, “this sport would be better off without people who can’t see others on track,”. You didn’t say anything, blinking for a second.

“If you want a change of scenery, F1 Academy’s always open,” you said, moving the straw of your drink to your lips to hide the smug smirk on your lips as you pulled your Williams cap down low on your forehead, your hair smooth, albeit sweaty.

And Lando? He was taken aback. The new girl had bite, huh? Well, so did he. He was Lando fucking Norris after all, not some push over. But neither were you, it supposed. Lando didn’t say anything, he wasn’t one to stroke the fire when he knew how much of a field day the media would have with it.

But that didn’t mean he’d let you get away with it, oh no. He’d make you pay. And pay for it you would, tenfold for what you had done. How you’d insulted him. To Lando, you’d have been a better grid girl than a driver.

You didn’t say anything as you sat in your motor home, now changing into a comfy pair of sweats and a t-shirt, the cold air of a February in Bahrain filing in through your window. You didn’t understand why Lando was even being such a jerk to you.

You hadn’t done anything wrong, you’d only given him what he’d given you first. But if it was gonna be like that, then fine. You could dish it out and if Lando wasn’t okay to take it, so be it. Anyways, testing? It had gone reasonably well, but almost as if to add salt to the wound, mclaren were looking stronger than usual.

Lando would have a field day with that one.

It was half-refreshing to come out of your second FP1 session to see that there were, fortunately, some people who did think Lando was being mean to you. Whilst at the same time, there were people who shipped you? What the hell? That would never happen. And you only did come 13th, and in a car as slow as Williams? That was an achievement and a half.

[yourimagines]

Believing in you

* English is not my first language I apologise

* Triggers: bullying, online hate, swearing and fluff

Summary: Y/N is Lando’s girlfriend, she’s been there for him since the F2 and believes in him, even when it looks like he’s never going to achieve the things he really wants, becoming a race winner in the formula one.

Lando POV

It was an amazing feeling to win my first race in formula one. Everyone was cheering and chanting my name. “Lando, congratulations on your first win. How do you feel.” One of the reporters asks me as I walked back to my car. “It feels good, I don’t have words for it to be honest. I just want to smile.” I flashed them a smile and got in my car. “First stop the hotel, then the after party.” I said to myself as I drove away from the circuit. My mind wandered off to my girlfriend y/n, who was back in Monaco. “She’s probably screaming.” I smiled about that thought, her in my hoodie, screaming at the tv in happiness. Maybe a few tears involving as well. ‘She’s been here since the beginning….’

Flashback to 2018

“Come on Lando, just be positive about it. Maybe they want you to be their next driver, you’re already their reserve driver.” I just had a talk with McLaren about me being their reserve driver and test driver. They didn’t said anything about me actually driving for them, only about testing the car and being available during the race weekends. “They probably want George, just like Mercedes…” I sighed and sat down defeated. “Lan…I know it seems like the whole world is against you but I promise it’s not the case. Just don’t bring yourself down.” She wrapped her arms around my neck and sweetly gave me a peck on my lips. “I believe in you Norris.”

End of the flashback

I stopped the car in front of the hotel and got out, people were screaming at me and singing that song about me. “Thank you guys.” I waved at them and went inside. I quickly went to my room and sat down on my bed and took a look at my phone. She had texted me about how proud she was of me and that she knew today would be that day. ‘God….she’s perfect.’ I quickly send her a text message back and sent her the same picture I sent to my parents, me smiling happily at my phone while holding the trophy.

Flashback to 2019

I was nervous for my first race for McLaren. My girlfriend y/n was here to support me and so were my parents. “I believe in you Norris.” She says as she placed a soft kiss on my cheek. “Don’t get your hopes up, I’m never this good as my teammate Carlos.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Stop talking like this…it’s your first race of course you probably won’t defeat him but that doesn’t mean you are a bad driver Lando.” She gently brushed my shoulders before letting me go to the race track. “I’m always supporting you, no matter what.”

End of the flashback

The team picked me up from the hotel and went to one of the most popular clubs in Miami. “It’s going to be a hell of a party, I heard max is also coming.” I nodded and looked outside the car window, seeing the buildings passing us by. “Maybe Pierre as well…” they were talking about everything, the clubs, the drivers. I can’t blame them, they are just excited about my win.

Flashback to 2020

“You’re going to be on the podium today, I just know it.” She says through the phone. “I don’t know, maybe I crash and die…” I joked but she didn’t find it funny at all. “Lando! Don’t say that…it’s not funny.” She was a bit upset about the little joke I just made. “Okay okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” She only shook her head at me. “You’re on the podium today Norris, don’t be an asshole to me, you know I miss you right now.” She looked a bit sad at the camera. “I know you are, I miss you too.”

End of the flashback

I did get on the podium that weekend, my maiden third place. I was over the moon with that one but of course I wanted more. “You want an other one?” A young girl asked me as she raised her empty cup. “No thanks.” I said politely as I didn’t want her to think I’m available. “You sure? It’s free.” She gave me a wink and a broad smile. “Yeah I’m sure.” Before something weird could happen, max showed up with two drinks in his hands. “One for you.” He handed me a drink and smiled at the girl. “You okay?” She nods and disappears. “Weird, what did she want from you?” “Everything, I guess.” I joked as I took a sip from my drink. Max laughed and patted my shoulder. “Ladies man.”

Flashback to 2021

Rumours were spreading around the paddock that I was cheating on y/n with some other girl. Of course it’s not true but it did made a scar in our relationship. All the hate to me on the internet, being a shitty driver and a cheater. “I believe in you Norris, I trust you.” She says as she was helping me to pack my bags. “I know, it’s just frustrating that others see me differently.” I sighed and rubbed my face. “I’m not a cheater, you know her she’s a friend of max.” I shook my head and sat down, feeling worthless. “Hey, I know you didn’t cheat on me.” She sat down next to me, laying her hand on mine. “We’ll get through this, I love you Lando even with those shitty rumours.” I looked up at her and tried to smile at her. “I know.” I whispered as my voice faded. “Come here.” She opened her arms for me to hug her. “You’re not alone in this Lan.”

End of the flashback

It was very late when I arrived at the airport, Zak and the rest were there as well. Ready to board the plane. “I’m so dead.” I said as I sat down in my chair. “Me too buddy.” Zak said as he sat down in front of me. “What are your plans back in London? Visiting some family or friends?” I nodded tiredly as I checked the time. “Yeah, my parents first, maybe some friends.” He nods and gives me a pat on my shoulder. “You doing fine Lando, we’re all happy to have you in our team.” I smiled tiredly and looked outside the window. “Yeah…I’m happy too.”

Flashback to 2022

“Let’s move in together.” I said to her as we were building some legos together on my apartment floor. “Your serious?” She looked surprised at me as I just asked her to move in with me. “Yeah, why not?” I shrugged and went further with our build. “Omg you’re actually serious.” She throws her arms around my neck and pushes us down on the ground. “Love, of course I’m serious. You basically live here already.” My arms snaked around her body as she started to give me a few kisses. “I’m so excited to live with you, I need a job here and learn some more French.” She was rambling about everything, when she should move to Monaco and how to plan her days. “You’re going to be fine, you don’t need a job. You’re dating this muppet remember.” She giggles and shook her head. “I can’t do that, but thank you for your offer.”

End of the flashback

I landed in London and went immediately to my parents house, feeling happy but also drained by all the attention and stress. “Hello honey! I’m so proud of you.” My mom said as she greeted me with a hug. “Hi mom, thank you.” She guided me inside their house and saw my dad and my siblings waiting for me. “Hey guys.” “Congratulations son.” My dad immediately pulled me into his embrace. “Thanks dad.”

Flashback to 2023

She was there as I stood on the podium again, she was smiling happily at me. I was feeling proud to make her that happy and she made me happy too. “I’m so proud of you Lan.” She hugged me as soon she got the chance. “Thank you my love.” She placed a kiss on my cheek and smiled happily at me. “I knew you would be on the podium today.” It always feels bittersweet, being on the podium but not as the race winner. “Yeah, I’m still Lando Nowins.” She stopped smiling and slightly slapped my chest. “No, don’t listen to that crap. They are haters Lando, there are enough people like me that are supporting you.” I shrugged and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “Whatever, let’s just go back to the hotel and celebrate.”

End of the flashback

I was a few days in London before I traveled back to Monaco, back to my girl who was waiting for me. I opened the door and before I could step one foot inside she flew into my arms. “Lan!” I almost fell as I catches her, holding her tightly. “I’m so proud of you, I knew it.” She buried her face in my neck and I carried her back inside, closing the door behind me with my foot. “I know, I knew it too baby.” She had tears in her eyes, looking so proud at me. “No more Lando Nowins.” She said with a giggle and I joined her. “You know that makes me even more proud, proving them wrong.” She nods and kisses me. “You were never Lando Nowins to me.” I smiled at her and sat her down on our kitchen counter. “I know, I’m your muppet.” She laughs and nods. “I freaking love you.” I said to her as she looked so beautiful to me, that proud feeling was there again. “I love you too Lan.”

[carelessflower]

On Testing and Qualifying Magnus Lightwood-Bane's Sugar Daddy Behaviors - An Analysis

Multiple arguments have been made against the current High Warlock of Brooklyn, superficially regarding whether this gentleman's reputation as the current Consul of the Clave's sugar daddy is underappreciated or exaggerated. This study aims to dissect the argument with the support of textual evidence throughout the couple's appearances in the series

Paying for their first date

Taking care of the bill like a gentleman. From this instance, one can assume he takes his gentlemanly courting ritual very seriously, as he also reached for the meal cheques in other occassions

Conjuring and pelping to pick fine clothes for Alec

On their famous Europe vacation, it is shown Magnus has a habit of magicking tuxedoes, suits, and well-made sweaters for Alec. Now, if he could upgrade that GAP scarf to a Burberry one, it would be much appreciated

Gentleman behavior

Even though his boyfriend is supernaturally strong with biceps to bite for days and hunts bloodthirsty demons for a living, Magnus would still rather pay someone to carry the heavy luggage than his darling

Luxurious accommodation only

There has been a previously published study on the expenses for all these places here, so this article will be repeating the same key points:

one night at Istanbul Grand Suite on the Orient Express: $26,000

suite in Belmond Hotel Cipriani: $1,056

suite in Palazzo Manfredi, Rome: $729

It is understandably relatable when one pulls Alec Lightwood and wants to do everything in their power to woo him. For Magnus, it apparently includes never letting Alec stay in any place less than five stars

Letting Alec drive the Maserati

It costs around $10,860 to rent a red Maserati 3500 GT Vignale Spider for one day. Therefore, it speaks volumes to Magnus's affection for his boyfriend that Alec almost crashes them and the expensive car off a cliff is just a "tiny accident". It is also very likely he buys this type of car later, seeing his husband's fascination with them

Living together in Brooklyn

Months into the relationship Alec has already possessed a literal key to Magnus's home and proceeds to move in after weeks of getting back together. For other poor souls who are looking for a 3-bedroom brownstone in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, the rent would be estimated at around $5000 per month. For the Consul, it certainly would involve a different type of payment method

Alec's magically money-full pocket

The consul carrying energy bars in his duffle bag instead of using the 15000$ in his pocket guarantees the funniest mental images one could possibly imagine

Enchanting Izzy's whip for Alec's birthday

Knowing Alec's top wish is to keep his family safe, Magnus chooses to tip his boyfriend's sister's whip in a prized potion to help her on the battlefield. Loving someone to the point you want to protect what else they love

Assisting shadowhunter without payment

This element may prove to be the strongest supporter of Magnus's claim as THE sugar daddy of the shadowhunter chronicles universe title, seeing how he used to overcharge shadowhunter on their business (deservingly so), and now he is willing to do all kinds of crazy shenanigans without an ounce of money. Whoever's in charge of the Clave's budget better send Alec the biggest, freshest, most expensive fruit basket

Final note

In conclusion, this research paper does not provide a definitive answer to the argument but encourages readers to draw their own perspectives. Nevertheless, it is a great possibility that in his report, the consul stated he used 10-20 dollars each week while he was traveling across the world, going to Japan when he craved sushi and staying in the finest places, all thanks to his generous husband

tag list: @magnus-the-maqnificent @literallytypogod @hoezier-than-thou @sociallyineptbibliophile @queenlilith43

@khaleesiofalicante @wandererbyheart @raziyekroos @onetimetwotimesthreetimess @alexandergideonslightwood @andrwminward

@noah-herondale-lightwood @elettralightwood @dustandducks @deliciousdetectivestranger @delightfullyterrible

@letsgofortacos

@kita-no @thelightofthebane @secrettryst @goldendreams3 @cityofdownwardspirals

@stupidfuckindinosaur

@i-have-not-slept @rinadragomir @potato-jem @kasper-tag @cam-ryt

@banesapothecary

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Drop the mask (drop your clothes)

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 10 & the 12 Days of Christmas bonus card of the @steddiebingo

Prompts: Shopping & Daddy Kink

Rated: E

Tags: Modern AU; Rockstar Eddie; Nepo baby Steve; Bratty Steve; Fake relationship; Sexually explicit language; Sexual tension; Dry humping; Groping; Degradation kink; Daddy kink

Notes: Set in the same universe as this one

“Stevie, honey,” Eddie croons. “Which would your dad prefer? I like the charcoal one, but maybe it's a bit loud for his taste? Help me out here, I want my first Christmas present for him to be perfect.” 

The curtain of the changing room whips open, revealing a glowering Steve. Eddie’s mouth goes dry, because God fucking damnit. Eddie loathes suits and ties on himself - always felt like being forced into a straightjacket on the rare occasions that he had to squeeze into one - and thinks that most other men look frankly ridiculous in them, but Steve? Steve sure knows how to pull them off. Speaking of pulling things off, Eddie would like to tear the damn thing off him with his teeth. He files that thought for later as Steve strides towards him, eyes blazing. For a second, Eddie thinks he's gonna make a scene in the middle of this ridiculously high-priced men's outfitters, and his heart jumps in giddy anticipation. But the employees have all gone silent and are gawking at them, and there’s still a flock of paparazzi waiting outside with their cameras, trying to get a decent shot through the clothes racks. Steve’s mouth snaps shut again. The bitchy scowl melts into a saccharine smile.

“Don't be silly,” he says, swaying closer into Eddie’s space and taking the tie from his hands. His next words are a low murmur against the shell of Eddie’s ear. “There's no way you're spending Christmas with us and you know it.” 

Of course Eddie knows. Hell, he never even expected their little farce of a relationship to last this long. But Senator Harrington's poll results are skyrocketing, and people are ripping Eddie’s new album off the shelves, and the PR people thought it would be a good idea to continue this into the new year. Take walks in the snow, do winter sports together, go Christmas shopping - all conveniently in front of the cameras. 

Not like Eddie minds. On the contrary, he’s come to find that he rather enjoys it. Not the fake flirting and the pet names and putting up with the pack of reporters trailing them at every step, no. What fills him with a perverse glee is pushing Steve’s buttons, testing how far he can go before that smooth, icy facade shatters into a million sharp-edged shards. What does it matter if he cuts himself. It's well worth it if he gets to see Steve without the mask for a short while. 

“Shame,” he purrs, reaching out under the pretense of straightening Steve's tie, reveling in the choked-out little gasp he gets when his fingers settle against that long throat. He wonders if the marks and bruises he left there are fading already. Maybe he ought to touch up on them. “You'll be awfully bored over the holidays, won't you? I mean, if you'll have to put up with Daddy calling you a whore and a slut, you should at least get some decent cock for your trouble.” 

Steve's smile goes a little less sweet, a little more sharp. 

“Aw, and you think I need you for that? Don't give yourself too much credit, Munson.”

They trade a look. Eddie’s eyes flick towards the back exit of the store.

“Can you ring up the suit, please?” Steve asks the employee standing nearest to them. “I'll leave it on, thank you.” 

*

They crash into the wall of the alley with a force that has Eddie seeing stars. Steve doesn’t leave him any time to catch his breath, crowding him against the wall and shoving his tongue past his teeth with a greedy moan. Eddie lets him have his way for a second or two, just enough to lull him into a false sense of control, before he grabs him by the lapels of the new suit to haul him around and switch their positions. Steve’s eyes are glassy with arousal, lips pink and full from their kiss, parted around a wordless gasp. 

“Look at you,” Eddie whispers, leaning in to press the words right against Steve’s throat, grinning when he feels the racing heartbeat under his teeth. One of his hands reaches down, finding the shape of Steve’s straining cock through the expensive fabric of his pants. Steve shudders and bucks in his hold, rolling his hips forward to seek friction. “Look at how greedy you are for it. You can deny it all you want, baby, but at the end of the day? You’re desperate for my cock, and we both know it.” 

“Shut up,” Steve rasps, grinding himself into Eddie’s hand. His fingers fist into Eddie’s hair, yanking him down to keep his mouth on his neck. Eddie laughs, biting down on the fading bruise just below the line of Steve’s slipping collar. 

“I’ve been wondering,” he says. “D’you think your father knows? You think he’d let this continue if he knew how much you’re actually enjoying this? How every single one of these little outings ends with you riding my cock until you scream? How the only one you’ve been calling daddy lately is-”

Steve makes a raw, wrecked sound that's somewhere between rage and lust, crushing their lips together for another bruising kiss. 

“God, you're annoying,” he pants against Eddie’s mouth, hands finding the zipper of his pants. “How about you stop talking about fucking me and actually-” 

“Look, there they are!” 

They flinch apart, disheveled and breathing heavily, to see the first paparazzi sprint around the corner. 

“Aw, shit,” Eddie swears. A quick sweep of the alley reveals a wire fence at its end, with a dumpster just low enough to climb in front of it. “Wanna ditch these fine people? I know a guy who has a club nearby, I'm sure he'd let us hide there.” 

Steve’s shocked expression morphs into a wicked little grin and Eddie’s heart kicks in his chest. 

“I'd love that,” Steve says, and takes his offered hand. “C'mon, let's get outta here.” 

More holiday drabbles

My Steddie Bingo fills

[iammissdistress]

Payneland Alive AU fic recs. Part 8

match, candle by Ingi

Rating: Explicit

Words: 19,271

Charles' five minute breaks have never, not once, lasted five minutes. Or: Six places that St Hilarion’s students Charles Rowland and Edwin Payne try to have sex in, with varying results. (Six first times.)

Stay The Night by @e-payne

Rating: Explicit

Words: 21,262

“Okay.” Charles laughs, breathy, and his eyes twinkle when he says, “I’ll be good.” A heat rises below the collar of Edwin’s shirt. Behind the tinted windshield, the waves crash on the shore. (Charles becomes a constant in Edwin's life.)

love’s so strange (so real in the dark) by @tumblerislovetumblerislife

Rating: Explicit

Words: 11,348

To illustrate his point, he gave Charles’ necklace a sharp tug. Charles did not answer the question, because Charles’ eyes were slipping shut and his lips were parting around a pretty gasp, the necklace slackening under Edwin’s finger as Charles followed the motion down – “Charles…” Edwin whispered, and it was not quite a question and not quite a warning. If he were to be brutally honest with himself – something he rarely allowed – it was simply to feel the shape of it in his mouth. “Tell me to stop,” Charles said at last, breaking the charged silence between them. His voice was hoarse. Edwin swallowed with difficulty. Charles’ eyes dipped down, and his ridiculously long lashes accenting the motion, until there could be no doubt that he was staring at Edwin’s mouth. “Tell me to stop, and I will.” Or: In another universe, the doorbell doesn’t ring.

In The Name Of The Law by @thenyoumaykissthebride

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Words: 22,323

DS Charles Rowland is 35, and loves being a copper. He finally found something he was good at after nearly 30 years of achieving nothing. He wants to help people, wants to make a difference and thought he was going to be able to do that in London. But now he's been moved to a new patch, and given a new boss to report to. DI Payne is a genius. At 34, he's the youngest person to make DI in 50 years. He's the best of the best, everyone will tell you that. Unfortunately that'll probably be the second thing they tell you. First they'll tell you he's rude, unapproachable and thinks he's better than everyone else. They might even tell you about the colleagues he's supposedly made cry, and definitely made request a transfer. But he doesn't care if you know that. All he cares about is finding Becky Aspen, before it's too late and she becomes another girl who's death he hasn't been able to solve.

i can keep a secret if you can keep me guessin' by @edwinspaynes

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Words: 4,691

Life is hard for an Oxford student, but coffee makes Edwin's a little bit easier. Especially because Charles, the barista at his local coffee shop, is breathtakingly handsome. And, what's more, Charles seems to take a liking to him, too - Enough to make small pictures in the milk of his daily Cafe au Lait. Will they fall in love in time for the holidays? (Spoiler alert: the answer is yes.)

above all I want you to be warm by @shadowquill17

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Words: 2,996

Charles has a maths test tomorrow morning. Which is why he’s in his boyfriend’s room on a Thursday evening, two days before the holidays, with said boyfriend looking dead fit in his neat but cozy-looking jumper. And Charles should currently be snogging him into oblivion, but what is he doing instead? He’s studying up on functions. In which there is studying, kissing, gifts, and more kissing.

[inbabylontheywept]

Following back on the recent fusionposting to run a very technically unqualified intuition I have by you

When talking about baseload power generation, the conversation inevitably turns to nuclear, with a common narrative that certain countries are irrationally afraid of nuclear for not copying the successful policies of their neighbours (usually it's about Germany or Austria needing to emulate France)

What I've wanted to run by you is this viewpoint I've had for a while - that the economics of nuclear power are different from other sources, and that that may better explain the choices of policymakers:

The procurement of nuclear power seems much closer to military procurement in my eyes, with costs stemming from the management of standards, supply chains being inflexible and project/nation-dependent, and the costs of maintaining regional expertise overshadowing the costs that build physical capital.

Can you confirm/disconfirm any of these impressions?

I'm only slightly more qualified than you, unfortunately. I haven't work in the nuclear power sector. I have coworkers that have, and their stories do seem to check out with your descriptions.

Like, in a military style contract, parts might cost 4 times as much as a civilian part, because the military tests the parts much, much more stringently. You don't test the screws at home depot to make sure they match the metal composition, or that their sheer strength matches X, or on and on. You have a baseline level of trust that comes from market forces. But military supplies don't have market forces to work with - there isn't exactly a market for, say, F-35s. So they have to try and catch this manually instead of via crowdsourcing, and the results are painful.

That's military procurement, and I work with that enough to know why it exists. Even if it hurts.

Now, that sound very similar to nuclear power, which also analyzes everything to the T because the cost of failure is so ridiculously high. The coworker I mentioned before that worked for reactor said her first year learn-the-ropes project was doing a report on the safety consequences of swapping the lights from fluorescent to LED in the main office buildings. It was a 200+ page thing going over how the new lights would affect the backup power duration stats, hazards of the new lights vs the old ones (LEDs are less tolereant of undervoltage than fluorescents), things like that. I would imagine that in that case, they probably spent at least 4 or 5 times as much analyzing the impact of the lighting than they actually spent on the lighting.

This drives efficiency oriented people kind of crazy, but the whole point of these systems is not to be efficient. It is to be extremely resistant to failure. Ludicrously, insanely, painfully resistant. Because in the military case, a bad batch of bolts normally worth $40 could make a $35 million plane crash, and in the nuclear case, a meltdown could literally cause trillions of dollars of damage. The Fukushima meltdown is estimated to have caused $200 billion worth of damage, and it was not even close to a worst case scenario.

Anyway, I'm rambling a little, but your intuition seems good to me. I love nuclear power, but people suggesting that we "slash all the red tape around it" scare the shit out of me. They have no idea what they're fucking with, and if we're all very, very lucky, they never will.

[moog-rt]

Man or Monster

[Frankenstein’s Monster!Shigaraki x Reader]

♡ ♡ ♡

The moon is full, but the village below is none the wiser as black clouds blanket the sky, moonlight replaced by lightning, streaking and cracking endlessly through the night. Beyond the village is a steep, rocky hill, and atop that hill sits a lonely stone tower, teetering on the edge of collapse.

Metal rods protrude from the rooftop, creaking and groaning as they’re thrashed by the harsh winds, and they lead to a large complex machine within. At its center is a glass tank filled to the brim with pigmented fluid, which, occasionally, spills over the rim as gusts slip through gaps in the stone walls. It produces a subtle glow, illuminating the room just enough to see the Doctor’s expression–lips taught, creases between his brows, lower eyelids squinting slightly, framing his intense stare.

It mirrors your own but for very different reasons, you’re sure. The Doctor is leaning forward, propping himself up with a splintering wooden chair. His grip on it is tight, but his fingers continue to fidget. Then there’s you, slightly shrinking into yourself, holding your writing paper to your chest as if it's a shield. Your pounding heart is intensifying by the second.

This isn’t the first time this experiment has been conducted, and at this rate, you’re fairly certain it won’t be the last. Every attempt so far has failed. You’re used to that being the case by now, but it’s those few times…those few times where a ‘failure’ gets a little further than the others. That is the outcome you stress over most.

That outcome means you won’t be leaving the laboratory unscathed.

The silence between the two of you is filled with the howling and rumbling of the storm outside. Each bolt of lightning lights up the chamber, and your heads jerk up to stare intently at the murky tank. Each time, you’re plunged back into the dark with only the slightest bit of light emanating from the vat of chemicals.

There’s a flash and crack so loud you feel it in your bones. The floor is shaking beneath your feet and you barely catch the jagged streaks of electricity coursing through the metal rods and into the machine. It fully illuminates the tank to reveal the silhouette of a man suspended within, back arching as the lightning rushes through it.

The machine groans as metal grinds against metal and smoke puffs from the joints in the piping. The various parts appear to slump as they make one last creak before going quiet.

The tension in your body dissipates–another failed test.

Your back straightens, and you release a shaky breath as you look down at your papers. You’ll have to write up a report identical to a dozen others. You think you prefer it that way. Slouching, the Doctor slowly lets go of the chair and mutters curses as he turns around to go back to his work desk.

The silence returns, this time filled with both disappointment and relief.

The next few days will be filled with repairs. You walk forward to disengage some of the mechanical components, releasing some of the built up pressure within the pipes. The rusted knobs are cold and rough, and they squeak loud and unpleasantly as you turn them.

Maybe that’s why you don’t notice the massive glass tank judder behind you.

You’re walking back to the Doctor when you hear a deep pop followed by a crack from behind you. You spin around just in time to see the tub falling from its metal frame. The pipes that were previously attached to it are showering the room with chemicals, filling it with a pungent odor–sulfuric.

Alarmed, you shout for the Doctor as you rush forward in an attempt to stabilize the tank, an absurd decision on your part. The only way that ends is with you being crushed beneath it.

It crashes against the floor before you can even reach it. The liquid spills over the rim just before the glass shatters. You step on the pieces and slip. The ground is hard and cold when you collide with it. Your head is spinning, and you get to your hands and knees just to be knocked onto your back by the body–the failed Nomu.

You’re sprawled out, clothes and hair thoroughly saturated as the body lays across your lap and lower abdomen. As you prop yourself up a harsh chill racks through your body from the feeling of the naked hodge podge of corpses on top of you; it’s cold and stiff. You hesitantly reach out to push it away but pause before running your thumb across the deep stitched up incisions that wrap around its arm. You remember how it felt to weave a needle through the tough, dead skin, much more difficult than working with something still alive.

A low moan emits from the Nomu, your hand freezes, then it shifts in your lap, head rolling to the side to face you. Its eyes blink open to reveal blood-red irises, a slight haze of white film making them appear cloudy. You get the sense its looking through you until they flicker up to meet your gaze, and you go tense.

Then it winces and curls in on itself, releasing an even louder, strained groan. Your heart is battering against your ribs, but you gentle rub the creature’s arm in an attempt to soothe it. Its arm lifts to grasp onto your shirt.

You hear loud footsteps splashing over to you, and the Nomu is yanked off and away from you.

“It’s–I–I think it’s–”

“It’s alive…” the Doctor finishes your sentence for you, face alight with excitement.

You don’t get even a moment of reprieve as he ushers you into action, ordering you to take his place as the Nomu’s crutch. Eyebrows pinched, those red eyes never leave you, even as soaked powder-blue hair falls in front of them. You find your place against its side, arms wrapped around its waist to keep it from teetering. It’s shivering.

The Doctor is talking to himself, boasting about his success and how eager he is to report the good news. He examines the Nomu as you keep it from collapsing, and you startle when you feel its arm press against your back. You get the sense that it’s trying to mimic the way you’re holding it, and your eyebrows twitch.

You’re too focused on the creature to realize the exam is complete and the Doctor is taking his leave. You only snap back when he orders you to move his new creation somewhere it can be contained.

He also gives it a name. Tomura.

You do as you’re told, carefully shuffling the weak Nomu–Tomura–out of the lab and down the narrow staircase. The first few steps are challenging to coordinate, and your bodies bump against each other as you struggle to stay in sync. Gaps in the wall meant to let in light during the day now allow gusts of wind to blow through, whipping your hair against your face.

Gradually, you make your way down to one of the few unoccupied chambers that isn’t actively crumbling away. It’s cold and damp from the gaps in the stone wall that fail to separate indoor and outdoor conditions. There’s a constant whistle from the wind sweeping across the exterior of the tower.

You don’t recall a time when this room was in use, so it is no surprise that there are no lamps or candles to shed light across these dingy walls. The only things you in here with you are a wooden bedfram and a secretary desk, both rotting away.

You lead Tomura to the bed for him to sit, and as you bend over to make the transition a little easier, he becomes off balance. He stumbles and, because of the way you’re latched onto each other, so do you. The wood creaks, giving way slightly as you collapse onto it together in a heap.

Tomura releases a soft groan as you attempt to clamber off of him, careful of your hand placement as you do so. You adjust him so he’s sitting up, albeit a bit slumped, and watch him for a moment.

His skin is a mosaic of stitched-up incisions, each piece a slightly different shade, but everything about him contains a sickly undertone. His head hangs but his eyes are open and staring back at you. You feel small and vulnerable under his gaze, and your breathing is shaky as you shift closer to move him so he’s lying down instead.

You’ve done as you were told, so there’s no reason for you to linger–part of you is eager to leave and let this night be over with–but you decide to sit with him for a while longer, for observation purposes. At first, you feared he would be hostile, but from what you’ve seen thus far, he appears to be docile.

You brush his wet bangs out of his face to look closer at his eyes. At some point the white film faded, leaving his irises more vivid than you imagined. You’re disappointed and confused when he shuts them. You notice your hand is still entangled in his hair and quickly draw back. Tomura grunts, and his eyebrows slowly press together. It almost looks like he’s frowning.

The room is cold. You can’t imagine how Tomura must feel without any clothes, and you wonder just how much he’s capable of processing external stimuli. You should get him something to cover up and stay warm with, just in case he’s cold, too.

Opening his eyes, Tomura finds the strength to push himself up and groans out when you stand up and walk to the door. It’s hard not to notice the way the rise and fall of his chest quickens the further away you get. He starts shifting to the edge of the bed.

“No,” you say quickly, and he pauses. “I need to go.”

His eyebrows knit together, and he makes a disgruntled noise in response before sliding a leg off the bed frame.

“No,” you repeat and walk over to move him back. “I’ll be back.”

You wait for any sort of response from him, but he’s silent and still even as you leave the room. You hurry further down the tower, your footsteps echoing through the staircase, until you reach the room the Doctor has lent out to you as you help him with his research. It’s smaller than the one you found for Tomura, but you don’t mind much. You pull a basket holding a stack of extra linens out from underneath your bed and gather them into your arms.

You try to be swift as you ascend back up the tower to return to Tomura’s chamber, but the sound of clattering urges you to go even quicker. You come to a clumsy halt when you see Tomura stumbling past his doorway. His eyes are wide and his facial features have contorted into something harsh and unpleasant. A shiver crawls its way down your spine.

You’re hesitant to call out. “Tomura.” His eyes dart over to look down at you, and you frown. “You need to go back inside.” You’re not sure how much he truly understands, but you try to reason with him anyway.

His hunched shoulders heave as he sucks in a deep breath and takes an unsteady step in your direction. His legs buckle, and he crumbles against the stone wall but continues to inch in your direction. The hairs on the back of your neck rise, partly due to the cold that creeps its way through the halls of the tower and partly due to your nerves.

Tomura huffs as he reaches the first step leading down to you, and you urge yourself to do something other than just stand there. Your quick steps echo off the stone as you rush to him before he stumbles closer.

He pauses when you stop just in front of him, reaching out as far as you can without letting the linens drop to the damp floor. He copies you, hand hovering in the space between the two of you. You stare at it then look up at him. At some point, his expression softened, eyelids more relaxed and lips lifted from their earlier grimace, the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen from him.

You take his outstretched hand and move around him to give a gentle tug towards his room. He doesn’t put up a fight and lets you direct him back inside. You let him go to close the heavy wooden door behind you and place the stack of blankets on top of the desk, giving them a soft pat to flatten them out.

You don’t need to hear him to know Tomura is looming behind you, his presence thick and potent. Taking a sheet from the top of the stack, you face Tomura and hold it out, offering it to him. He looks down then back at you.

You raise your hands a little higher and say in a soft tone, “These are for you.”

He raises his arms up in a way that makes you think he’s mirroring you rather than understanding what you want from him. Still, you place the sheet in his hands and grab another for yourself, walking over to lay it across the bed frame for cushioning. Tomura follows you over and drops his sheet onto the bed in a crumpled ball on top of the one you neatly laid out.

You cover your mouth to stifle a surprised laugh and glance up at him with crescent eyes. He looks back at you, and the corners of his mouth twitch into an unnatural grin. His lips are dry and look as though they might crack if he smiles any wider.

You continue to make him a bed to the best of your ability, handing him a few more blankets as you go just for him to toss them like he did with the first one. You wonder if it’s to get a reaction out of you like before, but last you checked, the Nomu aren’t supposed to have that much cognitive freedom. The Doctor is creating them to take orders, and that’s it.

As the wind continues to whistle across the exterior of the tower, you can’t help but think it might be nice to have another person to talk to. It’s only you, the Doctor, and whoever the Doctor reports to here. Socializing is a foreign thing within these walls.

It’s lonely.

“Tomura,” you say as you lay out the final thick blanket across the rest, “Do you want to sit down and try it out?”

He looks at you, then the bed, then you again. You sit down to show him what you mean, and he follows suit, the bed creaking under his weight.

“How do you like it? Comfier now, isn’t it?” You smile at him, even though it’s likely you’re just talking to a wall. You can still see goosebumps across his forearms and decide you’ll wrap him up next. It’s a little awkward being around a naked man anyways, regardless of his condition.

“To—To—” his voice comes out as an unsteady rasp. His vocal chords were stripped from a corpse, so that doesn’t come as much of a surprise. What does, however, is that he can talk at all.

“Tomura,” you finish hesitantly, assuming that’s what he’s trying to say. You stay quiet for him to respond, but he doesn’t.

You breathe out a soft sigh and grab one of the wadded blankets he dropped earlier. As you rise to your knees to wrap it around him, you feel heat radiating from his body. As you adjust it, his skin gives, no longer stiff with rigor mortis.

Your brows furrow, and you don’t miss the way he does the same. You purse your lips before sitting back, earning a huff from Tomura. He frowns, bottom lip pouting, subtle enough for you to miss.

There are a few uncomfortable moments of silence where the two of you stare at each other and do nothing else. You’re each waiting for the other to act first, and eventually, you give.

“Tomura,” you repeat, glancing to the side. He takes in a sharp breath, and when you look back at him, his features have relaxed some. You release a shaky exhale and reach towards him to adjust the blanket so it covers his lap for modesty. Your hands linger as you elaborate, “That’s you.”

His chest swells beneath your fingertips. “You.”

You lean back again, and his eyes narrow. It’s unnerving, and you retract a hand but leave the other to press firmly against him—against his chest, where his beating heart hides behind skin, bone, and muscle.

“You—” Your fingers give a gentle tap. “—You are Tomura.”

He frowns again, and this time, you copy him, hand slowly pulling away.

“You,” he says again with a voice that puts the wind and thunder to shame. Your heart lurches when he throws a hand into your chest, knocking you backwards onto your palms.

You figure the moment of peace is over and begin scooting away. The Nomu before him, the ones who also had brief moments of life, were mellow at first, too.

Until they weren’t.

He leans forward to grab you by the shoulder and pull you back to him as if you weighed nothing. Your breathing is rapid and your heart pounds in your ears as you clutch to his arm with trembling hands. You’re trying to pry him away, but he doesn’t so much as budge. He glowers down at you through his tangled bangs, eyes wavering between yours.

“You.” There’s nuance behind his voice, a demand, maybe even curiosity. Your eyes widen and lips part. He does understand.

He does…

Your vice-like grip on him loosens as your body relaxes. You tell him your name, and his eyebrows rise.

Then, he says it back. His hand releases you and glides down to hold your arm so gently you almost can’t feel it. His breathing slows in sync with yours as his rough thumb brushes against your skin. He repeats your name once more under his breath, eyelids lowered and a ghost of a smile on his lips.