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thebunnednun · 5 months ago

Text

Still Human

★Pairing:Aged up!Pro Hero!Boyfriend!Tenya IIda x Secret Girlfriend!Reader

Synopsis: It's Valentines Day and what better way to celebrate with your uptight boyfriend than driving him crazy and knocking the self control out of him?

Warning: MDNI!!! Extreme Flirting/Fluff, suggestive themes, sexual nudity, touching and kissing, undressing together, preditor and prey, teasing Wc: long, No ageless blogs!

Make sure you read till the end! This is the 3rd installment of a Valentines day series. I also want to clarify that the pictures are to give inspo as to what your relationship looks like. They in no way shape or form are to indicate what you 'should' look like.

Taglist from both of my master lists because I need to feed the cats: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @the-dumpster-fire-of-life, @raendarkfaerie, @bunny-b34r, @icey-wonders, @adherethecomingofage, @karaartioli-blog, @meoweoeoeosme, @faithisxreading, @faithisidking, @oh-kayyy-stan-bts, @shortie-chocolate, @rosaline756. @sweetlike-sugarplum. @aespie, @dancingqueen276, @erensbbg, @lillizxzz, @1chaerry,

@valscodblog, @willnetries

The air in your office was thick with unspoken words, the dim glow of the city skyline casting long shadows across the mahogany desk where you sat, legs crossed, fingers lightly tapping against the polished surface. Iida stood before you, arms rigid at his sides, his jaw tight, eyes scanning your every movement like a detective analyzing a suspect.

“This ends tonight,” he declared, voice laced with authority, but you only tilted your head, watching him with cool, unreadable amusement.

“Does it now?”

You leaned back in your chair, the silk of your blouse catching the light as you regarded him with the kind of detached confidence that made even the most seasoned officials wary.

“Because from where I’m sitting, you look a lot more rattled than you’d like to admit.”

His lips parted slightly, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he caught himself, rolling his shoulders in a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation. Control that was slipping through his fingers like sand.

You’re always like this. Always two steps ahead, always so collected, always able to see through the cracks in his armor.

It’s infuriating.

"You think this is a game?" he asked, voice sharp.

You hummed, tilting your head as if considering. "Not at all, Turbo Hero Ingenium," you said smoothly, watching the way his brow twitched at the title. "I just find it fascinating how you always seem to end up here, in my office, at ungodly hours, demanding answers I have no obligation to provide.”

He inhaled sharply, hands balling into fists.

"You—"

But before he could finish, your mask cracked, the slightest quirk of your lips betraying you, and then—

He groaned. "You're doing it again."

You leaned forward, resting your chin in your palm, a slow, wicked grin stretching across your face.

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Toying with me," he grumbled, finally stepping out of his stance, the tension in his shoulders loosening as he pinched the bridge of his nose. You laughed, warm and full, the cold councilwoman persona dissolving into something far more teasing.

"I wasn't sure how long we were going to keep the act up, but you lasted a lot longer this time," you mused, pushing yourself up from your seat and stepping around the desk to meet him. He sighed, shaking his head as you smoothed down the lapels of his jacket with a little too much familiarity.

"This is the last time I let you talk me into roleplaying our first confrontation," he muttered, but you could hear the way his voice softened, the way he let you press close without a second thought.

"You say that, but I know you'll let me do it again."

"Only because I have no choice," he shot back, though the way his hands settled at your waist told a different story.

You smirked. "See? You're learning."

His jaw clenched, but it was less out of frustration now and more out of something else. Something that made you feel victorious every time you teased him past his limits.

"Are you going to be difficult all night, or will we actually pursue this date?"

You pretended to think. "Depends. How badly do you want to take me out?"

He exhaled sharply, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting off a smile.

"You drive me insane."

"And yet, here you are," you teased, running your fingers up his tie, straightening it with practiced ease before stepping back. Tenya looks at you for a long moment before sighing. "Fine. But if you so much as smirk at me at dinner—"

"You'll do what, exactly?"

He didn't have an answer. He never does when it comes to you.

And that was exactly how you liked it.~

Tenya, ever the gentleman, gathers your belongings with practiced efficiency, straightening the strap of your handbag and ensuring your coat is neatly draped over his arm before turning to you with that unwavering sincerity of his.

"Will you be taking your car, or shall I drive you this evening?" he asks, adjusting his glasses.

You glance up at him, amused by the formality, before shaking your head. "I took the subway this morning." His eyes narrow ever so slightly, just enough for you to know he’s displeased.

"You what?"

"You heard me."

"You should have called me," he says, voice tinged with mild frustration, but you can hear the concern beneath it. He shifts his weight, glancing at you like you’d personally offended his entire lineage.

"Tenya," you start, reaching to take your coat, but he keeps hold of it, waiting for a real answer.

You sigh, leaning against the desk. "I don’t feel like hard-launching our relationship just yet," you admit, watching the way his shoulders tense at your words. "The public’s opinion of us is fragile as it is. We are fragile in their eyes. If they found out I was dating you, I’d never hear the end of it. And if they found out about the other thing..." You trail off, leaving the weight of your past unspoken.

He exhales, adjusting his cuffs. "I understand," he says carefully, but you can tell he doesn’t like it.

"I only wish you’d allow me to make your life easier where I can."

"You already do," you assure him, reaching up to smooth the line of his tie, feeling the warmth of his chest beneath your fingertips.

Typically, the public eats the two of you up. The fights, the passionate arguments, the well-televised spats—it’s a miracle no one has figured out you’re dating yet. An even bigger miracle that no one has put together that you, the ‘quirkless’ city councilwoman who refuses to move up in politics because you love the public too much, are the very same Black Widow villain that keeps slipping through the cracks.

Nope.

To them, you’re just the sharp-witted politician who constantly butts heads with their beloved Ingenium, and he’s the perfect poster boy hero trying to put you in your place. If only they knew the truth—if only they knew that the hero commission had thought sending their most well-spoken hero against you would be their best bet at keeping you quiet.

They were wrong.

So very wrong.

Because from the moment you saw him—tall, broad, blue-eyed, built like an absolute dream—

You wanted to devour him.

Not in a metaphorical sense, not in a political sense, but in a very real, very inappropriate sense.

You wanted to knock those glasses off his face, mess up his neatly combed hair, tear his cute button up and sweater vest combo, and send him back out into the public looking like he had been utterly ruined by you.

And you will.

Eventually.

But for now, you settle for fixing his tie with an extra little tug, just to remind him that no matter how much he tries to maintain control, you will always be the one to throw him off balance. Tenya clears his throat.

"Then I’ll be taking you home to change," he says, finality in his tone, as if that somehow settles the matter. You smirk. "You’re awfully demanding for someone who just got roped into driving me around."

His fingers tighten slightly around your coat, jaw clenching as he exhales slowly. "You are insufferable."

"And yet again, here you are."

His glasses slip just slightly down his nose as he glares at you, and god, it takes everything in you not to reach up and finally bite him the way you so desperately wanting to all day.

"Come on, our reservation is at 8 sharp, and I am not rushing my bath again." You tug Iida toward the door, trying to keep him moving. "Getting sparked by electricity every time you sneeze because of wet hair is not as fun as your little Pokémon friend makes it seem."

He sighs, long-suffering, but still stops in his tracks to help you into your coat and scarf, pulling it up over your shoulders with practiced ease. His large hands smooth down the fabric of your shoulders, ever the gentleman, making sure you’re properly bundled up before gathering your things without a second thought. The small gestures don’t go unnoticed, even if you like to pretend they do.

With one last glance around your dimly lit office, you flick off the lights and lock the door, the sharp click echoing through the quiet hallway. The two of you take the back stairs down to the parking garage, heels tapping lightly against the concrete as the chill of the underground lot seeps in.

And then, with a sudden, mischievous glint in your eye, you tap his arm and bolt.

"Tag!"

You hear him exhale through his nose, fully expecting him to launch into a lecture about your ‘immature behavior’—but instead, there’s no sound of protest.

No scolding.

No stern reminder about the proper decorum of a public official and a hero.

You turn your head mid-step, only to see him already sprinting past you, heavy bags in hand, like the whole thing was effortless.

"Are you serious?" you yell, pushing your legs harder as you try to close the gap.

Iida, ever the show-off, doesn’t even break stride. "If you insist on playing, then you should at least know how to win!"

Oh, hell no.

You dig deep, pushing yourself forward, arms pumping, ignoring the way your heels weren’t exactly made for this. Just as Iida is about to reach his car, you lunge forward in one final burst of speed and—barely—make it to the door a fraction of a second before him.

"Ha!" you crow, slapping your hand against the side of the car as you catch your breath.

But victory isn’t enough. Oh no.

You want to rub it in.

So, before Iida can react, you quickly punch in his door's lock code—the one you’d memorized long ago despite his attempts to keep it from you—and hop straight into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut and immediately locking it.

Tenya skids to a stop, rolling his eyes as he watches you settle into the seat like you belong there. Because you do, he has several photos of you adorning the sun blockers in his car. A handmade charm bracelet you made him is draped around his rearview mirror. His expression is unimpressed as he exhales, shaking his head. He makes a show of patting his pockets, expecting to find his keys—

Only for his eyes to suddenly widen.

Slowly, he looks up at you, and you’re already grinning, dangling his keys between two fingers as you wave them teasingly.

"Looking for these?"

"Open the door, lady!" Tenya exclaims, exasperation dripping from every word. You lean back into the seat, tossing the keys into the air and catching them effortlessly.

"Hmm... I dunno, Tenya. I could... but where’s the fun in that?"

His brows furrow, lips pressing into a tight line as he crosses his arms, his entire stance radiating judgment.

"This is childish."

"You love it," you counter smoothly.

Tenya inhales deeply, clearly trying to summon patience.

"I swear to all things holy, if you do not unlock this car right now—"

"What? You gonna spank me?" You smirk. "Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I’m in your car. With your keys."

His glasses slip slightly down his nose as his eye twitches. You know you’re pushing him—teetering right on that very fine line of his patience.

And you love every second of it.

Tenya doesn’t argue. Doesn’t sigh. Doesn’t launch into a lecture about how this—of all things you do—is wildly inappropriate behavior for a woman of your stature.

No. Instead, he just… sits.

Right on the hood of his car.

And damn, if he doesn’t look good doing it.

The deep blue remodeled 1978 Cadillac Coupe DeVille gleams beneath the dim garage lighting, a beast of a car that suits him in an old-school, timeless way—elegant, powerful, built to last. And yet, despite how imposing the vehicle is, Iida perches himself on the hood with ease, crossing one ankle over the other, arms folded neatly across his broad chest.

Like he’s prepared to wait you out.

You narrow your eyes, huffing as you lean forward and honk the horn.

Nothing.

So, you push open the door, stepping out with dramatic flair before marching right up to him.

You poke his side. Then again. And when that earns you nothing but a quiet glance downward, you tilt your head with a pout.

"Tenyaa," you whine, dragging out his name like a spoiled child.

His brows twitch, lips pressing together to keep from smiling. But you see it—oh, you see the struggle in his eyes.

"You just want me to die so you can eat me," he accuses, voice laced with dry amusement.

"Well, yes," you say without hesitation,

"But not for a good long while!"

That earns you a deep, exasperated sigh. A small shake of his head.

Then, finally, finally, he moves—sitting up and properly turning to face you. You smile up at him, beaming, before pressing his keys into his palm.

"I promise to behave until we get home. How does that sound?"

Tenya exhales again, softer this time, before nodding.

"I trust your word."

It’s a simple statement.

Honest. Unwavering.

And damn if it doesn’t do something to you.

Before you can react, he’s already standing, already moving with that fluid grace of his, towering over you naturally as he escorts you toward the passenger side. He opens the door effortlessly, one hand resting protectively above the frame as you slide in.

"Careful," he murmurs, guiding you in like you’re made of something precious.

Oh, you really do want to eat him.

But not yet.

All in good time.

You’re a patient woman.

You can wait.

Tenya makes sure you’re settled, smoothing the coat over your lap, brushing his fingers over the hem with absentminded attentiveness before shutting the door gently behind you. You watch as he rounds the back, carefully placing your things into the back seat, his meticulous nature evident in every precise movement.

Finally, he slides into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors, starting the engine, rolling his shoulders like he’s unwinding himself from the games you play.

Poor thing.

He really doesn’t stand a chance.

The low hum of the Cadillac’s engine fills the space between you, a comforting sound against the quiet lull of the city outside. The streets blur past in streaks of neon and dim streetlights, and for a moment, it’s just you and Iida—Tenya, the man who was supposed to be your greatest thorn but somehow became the safest place you’d ever known.

You stretch your legs out before tucking them up beneath you, slipping off your heels and wiggling your toes in relief before shifting to face him.

"So," you begin, eyes flickering to the road ahead. "This new villain incident—let’s hear your thoughts."

Tenya glances at you from the corner of his eye, adjusting his grip on the wheel. "The details are inconsistent. The patterns don’t match. Every crime scene is staged differently, but there’s a thread tying them together—an underlying familiarity in execution."

His large hand would look really pretty on your thigh right now.

You hum, resting your head back against the seat. "Sounds like multiple people under one directive. A smaller group, maybe three or four. Not a gang—too clean. No wasted movement, no unnecessary violence. They’re professionals, trying to look like amateurs."

His fingers flex against the leather of the steering wheel. "That’s what I suspect as well." A pause.

"It amazes me, you know. How respected you are in both worlds."

You smirk, stretching a hand over to rub slow, lazy circles along his beefy forearm. He works out and it really pays off. "Well, it helps that I never got caught," you tease, watching as the tips of his ears burn red. "And helping the hero commission out with your little robbery-slash-murder charge gave me some brownie points."

Tenya stiffens, lips parting in reflexive protest before shutting again with a quiet exhale through his nose. His grip on the wheel tightens for just a moment before he forces himself to relax.

"Hey, it’s okay," you murmur, smoothing your palm down the length of his bicep. "I wouldn’t have believed that lie for a second."

A beat.

"Oh, really now?" he finally says, voice lighter but still carrying that edge—that stubborn little thread of indignation.

"Yeah," you nod, tilting your head.

"And why is that, my pearl?"

"I told you before," you reply, voice softening.

"You just aren’t that kind of guy. I can see it all in your eyes."

Tenya exhales through his nose, but there’s something softer in the way he holds himself now, in the slight curve of his lips. You grin, reaching up to comb your fingers through the dark strands of his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.

"Besides," you add,

"Who would be a cold-blooded killer with those eyebrows?"

Tenya lets out a breath that might have been a laugh if he wasn’t fighting so hard to keep his composure. But you see it, the way his eyes blink and his nose does that cute twitch thing when he’s trying not to laugh. His grip on the wheel tightens again—reflexive, instinctive—before he forcibly loosens his fingers.

"You are an impossible woman," he mutters, but he leans into your touch despite himself.

Your nails—long, sharp, painted the deepest red—drag gently against his scalp again, and he shivers before tilting his head ever so slightly into your touch. It’s a distraction, one he’s warned you about before.

But this time…

This time, he allows it.

He clears his throat, straightening in his seat before muttering,

"I love how sharp your nails are."

You glance down at them, flexing your fingers slightly, watching how the streetlights catch the glossy crimson polish. They’re wholly inappropriate for your workplace, long and pointed, an elegant danger at your fingertips.

"You used to hate them," you remark, amused. "I did," he admits, voice quieter now.

"But now I can’t help but love everything about you that I once found to be a pet peeve."

The car rolls to a stop at a red light, and without thinking, you shift, curling into his right side, cheek resting against the firm, warm muscle of his shoulder. Your arms wrap around his right arm, holding it hostage against your chest, and you peek up at him through your lashes.

Tenya exhales sharply through his nose, glancing down at you, his glasses fogging slightly from the heat of the car and the warmth of your body against his.

"Is that so?" you murmur, fingers lightly tracing circles over the fabric of his sleeve.

His jaw tightens for half a second before he nods.

"Yes," he says, voice steady, unwavering.

"Completely."

—

Your living room is a masterclass in careful arrangement, a space that doesn’t just exist—it flows.

Everything is connected, each piece guiding the eye seamlessly to the next, like an intricate web spun with intent.

Because it is.

At the very center of it all sits your couch—a deep, blood-merlot velvet piece with subtle curves that seem to invite rather than demand attention. It is the anchor, the heart of the room, and from it, everything extends outward in perfect balance. The coffee table, an oval of black glass, rests in front of it, its delicate golden legs branching out in twisted, spindly patterns. It holds scattered trinkets—an untouched glass of wine, a ring left abandoned beside it, a worn book edged in gold leaf with a spiderweb pressed into its cover.

From there, Tenya’s gaze is drawn to the shelves that frame the room, dark wood stretching upward in asymmetrical lines, bending around the space like the edges of a silken thread. The books stacked within them are placed with deliberate chaos, some upright, others lying flat, their spines a mix of deep, moody colors. Among them, small trinkets glint in the low light—brass figurines, a glass paperweight that holds a frozen crack of lightning inside, a single golden spider perched atop a candleholder.

The lighting is subtle, almost deceptive. A single, low-hanging chandelier with twisting, branching arms drapes from the ceiling, its glass teardrops refracting light like dewdrops caught in a web. The space is too fluid, too perfect in its asymmetry—it almost feels like an illusion. His eyes follow the lines, from the gold-threaded rug that sprawls beneath his feet to the marble side table that holds an unlit candle in a glass lantern.

Every element is positioned with intent, guiding the gaze in a way that makes it impossible to focus on just one thing for too long.

And yet, despite all of that, he only sees you.

You, standing in the very heart of it all, as if you had orchestrated this space to pull him in, to tangle him in your threads without him even noticing. Bookshelves line one wall, filled with literature spanning politics, law, and fiction that has no place among them but stays anyway. There are vinyl records stacked neatly beside a vintage turntable, the soft hum of jazz still crackling through the speakers from earlier, a song left unfinished.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city, their heavy black curtains drawn back just enough to reveal the neon-drenched skyline, the glow casting shifting shadows across the polished wooden floors, bending as if they are alive. A few steps away, your dining area is visible, set with antique wine glasses that sparkle like starlight over the circular table. A bar cart stands nearby, stocked with top-shelf liquors, everything organized yet effortlessly casual, as if a party could start at any given moment.

And then, there’s him.

Standing near your couch, Tenya’s fingers flex subtly at his sides, the sharp inhale of his breath barely audible. He has always been well-mannered, always collected.

But tonight?

You are testing him.

His hands had just been looking for your zipper, his touch careful and precise, the slight drag of metal against fabric going to fill the silence between you. It was routine, something he had done before, yet when he stepped forward, intending to settle his palm at the small of your back—he found nothing.

Nothing but warm, bare skin.

His throat tightens.

You glance at him over your shoulder, adjusting the fur shawl draped around your arms, the soft white contrasting the deep, ink-black of your dress. Deceptive in every way—a turtleneck, long sleeves, stopping mid-thigh, paired with opaque tights that promise just a hint of what’s beneath.

But the back?

Completely open.

A sinful scoop that leaves the whole curve of your spine exposed, down to the very arch where his hands ache to settle.

Tenya adjusts his glasses, a habit, a tell. He knows you notice.

Your lips match your heels, deep red and glossy, perfectly painted, perfectly smug. Your nails are still sharp, tapping idly against the clasp of your purse as you watch him, knowing.

He should say something—anything—but he can’t seem to find the words when your eyes, lined with a perfectly sharp cat-eye, flicker up at him through the dimness. A soft shimmer dusts your cheekbones, catching the dim light just enough to make you glow.

He should be focusing on the night ahead, on the reservation, on the politics of your relationship that dictate restraint.

But all he can think about is how easy it would be to pull you back into him, to trace the length of that backless dress with his fingertips, to dip his head down and press his lips to the delicate expanse of your skin. To press his face into that small curve and become well acquainted with the natural scent there.

You are going to be the death of him.

And he cannot wait.

You smooth your hands down your dress, a subtle invitation, and catch the way his gaze follows the motion— the way his jaw tenses just slightly, the way his fingers twitch like he’s restraining himself.

"Do you like it?" you ask, voice honey-sweet as you shift your weight onto one foot, the motion making your backless dress dip just enough to tease.

Tenya nods, but it isn’t enough for you.

With a playful smirk, you reach out, curling two fingers around the knot of his tie and tugging him down to your level. He barely stumbles, ever the perfect balance of poise and control, but the surprise in his eyes is unmistakable. You tip your head just slightly, brushing your lips featherlight against the corner of his mouth before murmuring,

"Don’t be shy… I only bite a little."

His breath catches—just for a second.

Then, before he can find his words, you cup his face between your palms, your thumbs dragging along his cheeks, nails just sharp enough to poke into the hidden dimples you know are there.

"You’re just too cute," you muse, and the warmth in your voice is almost too much for him. Tenya clears his throat, desperately grasping at control, but you can see it in his eyes—how dizzy you make him, how he’s barely holding back.

"Dinner," he states firmly, like an anchor, like something to ground himself. And you hum, tilting your head, letting your fingertips drift from his cheeks to trace along his jawline.

"Mmm, yes… I am very, very hungry," you admit, deliberately letting the words curl with meaning, just enough to make his breath hitch before you pull away. "I’m ready when you are."

You can tell he’s struggling to gather himself—his hands curling, relaxing, curling again at his sides—before he inhales deeply and squares his shoulders, standing tall. A true gentleman, even in the face of his undoing.

"You are stunning," he says, voice rich and smooth, every ounce of sincerity laced into his words.

"And you are handsome," you counter, stepping in close and pressing your ear against his chest, right over his racing heartbeat. Your lips curve as you listen, pressing your palm flat against him.

"I always did love the pretty little pattern your heart makes."

Tenya exhales sharply, and for a second—just a second—he imagines how easy it would be to hold you here forever. To fall back onto your couch with you in his arms, your face tucked beneath his chin, his hands tracing your form, not out of greed, but pure admiration.

You are unlike anyone he has ever known.

No one makes him feel the way you do. No one ever will.

So he’s going to hold on.

Very, very tight.

Even if you act like a bad girl. And maybe you are.

But he can handle it.

Before you can pull away completely, Tenya leans down, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. You blink, just slightly caught off guard, before he gently takes your hand and regains control of the moment, escorting you toward the door with quiet determination. He guides you down the steps, leading you toward his car.

Valentine’s Day is just beginning.

—

The click of glass against marble is the only sound in the kitchen as Tenya places two wine glasses on the counter, his movements slower than usual, almost calculated.

He’s loosened his tie, unbuttoned the first two buttons of his dress shirt, rolled his sleeves to his elbows, and abandoned his shoes and coat at the door— a sight that makes your lips curl in quiet satisfaction.

Poor baby.

All night at dinner, you played your game masterfully.

You spoke to him in that slow, mature voice, low and warm like silk sliding over bare skin. You brushed your foot against his ankle, just enough to make him stiffen—especially whenever the waiter came by, forcing him to act natural while you hid a smirk behind your wine glass.

Then there was the French.

“Mon cœur,” you had purred at one point, your voice dropping into something thick and saccharine. You leaned in close, your fingers teasing at the stem of your glass, whispering words far filthier than the fine dining atmosphere deserved.

And then—as if you hadn’t just threatened his entire career—you smiled sweetly, sipped your wine, and carried on like nothing happened.

Tenya had barely survived the night.

And now, here you are, perched at the kitchen counter with an air of false innocence, watching him fumble for a bottle of wine like you didn’t just spend the last two hours tearing his restraint to shreds. His tie is crooked, his shoulders are tense, and his breath has been uneven since the car ride home.

And you?

Oh, you’re enjoying every second of it.

With deliberate slowness, you slip off your fur shawl, draping it over the chair before sliding off the counter. Your heels click softly against the floor as you move toward him, steps light and smooth, a predator approaching its prey.

By the time you reach him, he’s bracing himself against the counter, his head tipped down, fingers curled like he’s trying to keep himself from shaking. You gently press yourself against his back, arms slipping around his waist, careful—so careful—not to smudge your lipstick on his pristine wait coat.

He goes rigid.

And then, slowly, he turns to face you, his expression a battlefield of emotions. You blink up at him, tilting your head ever so slightly.

"Are you okay, baby?"

‘Baby?’

Oh, you’re testing him now.

No— he realizes,

You’ve been testing him since the moment he met you.

Tenya lets out a shaky, unsteady breath, his chest rising and falling under your touch. He’s trying—trying so hard—to regulate himself, to keep control, but the second you start rubbing soft, soothing circles into his chest, his composure nearly shatters.

Any other time, he would have melted into you.

But now?

Now?

His hand moves before he can think. Gently, but firmly, he takes your smaller, dangerous hands in his own. He lifts them, brushing a delicate, reverent kiss across your knuckles, but his breathing only grows heavier.

"I'm sorry, cara mia," he murmurs, his voice strained, frayed at the edges. "I feel… strange."

Your eyes sparkle with mischief, but your smile is nothing but honey. "Oh, that might be the special chocolate I gave you earlier."

…

"WHAT!?!"

Tenya jerks upright, his entire body snapping to attention, eyes wide and alert like you just told him the building is on fire. You blink at him innocently, then lift your hands in mock defense.

"You were sooo tense," you drawl, tilting your head. "I just wanted you to loosen your tie a bit."

Oh.

Oh, it all makes sense now.

The warmth flooding his veins, the sluggish yet hyper-aware feeling humming beneath his skin, the way he hasn’t quite felt like himself since dessert—it wasn’t just you. Tenya swallows hard, then drags a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling just slightly.

Never take food offered by a spider woman.

His mind is whirring, piecing things together at full speed, but his eyes never leave you.

He stares at your sexy little, devious figure standing before him, taking in the curve of your lips, the sharpness of your nails, the glint of something dangerous yet intoxicating in your gaze.

And suddenly, he realizes—

He doesn’t want to run.

He wants to chase.

Your instincts fire off just a second too late.

The moment you take a small, cautious step backward, tilting your head just slightly, something in Tenya’s expression changes. You don’t know what it is exactly, but you feel it.

"Tenya…?"

Your voice is soft, questioning, but it doesn’t stop him.

Because he moves.

Fast.

You barely get a scream out before you’re bolting, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

He lunges, just missing you by a breath, and you take off so quickly that you nearly slip on the tile. Your heart is hammering, your laughter spilling into the air as you sprint into the dining room, dashing around the table like a panicked little rabbit.

But he’s right behind you.

You risk a glance back and regret it immediately.

Tenya isn’t surprised.

No, he’s grinning.

It’s not his usual measured, polite smile. This is something else. Something wilder.

Hungrier.

And you realize with a thrill of fear and excitement—

He likes this.

So you do the only thing you can—you run faster.

You dart out of the dining room, legs burning, nearly tripping as you tear through the hallway and up the stairs. Your chest is heaving, your heartbeat a frantic rhythm against your ribs, but he’s right there.

Too close.

You shove through your bedroom door, throw yourself inside, but—

He’s already there.

Your breath catches in your throat as you spin, wide-eyed, watching as Tenya steps forward.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Like he knows he’s already won.

And you?

You’re stepping back, step after step, breath after breath, until—

Your calves hit the edge of your mattress, and you fall. The second your back meets the sheets, you realize—

You lost a heel back there.

And judging by the way Tenya is looking at you, taking in your breathless state, the way your hair has fallen out of your bun over your shoulders, your legs still half-twisted from trying to escape—

He doesn’t care one bit.

The soft click of the bedroom door shutting is the only warning you get before Tenya turns to you, watching, waiting.

His movements are calculated, gentle, but the tension in his shoulders betrays him—he’s holding back.

Still, he kneels, reaching for your ankle, careful, as he helps you slip out of your remaining heel. His fingers graze the curve of your foot, tracing lightly before setting it aside. He exhales through his nose, shifting to take your hand, his own swallowing yours in warmth.

Then, he lifts it.

A kiss.

Soft, reverent.

Then another, a slow trail along your wrist, your forearm, his lips brushing along the delicate fabric covering your inner elbow before pressing against the crook of it. He does the same to your other arm, his mouth mapping out devotion along the path of your veins, his breath hot against your skin.

"Forgive me," he murmurs, low, rough, almost strained, before tilting your chin upward, his fingertips pressing just enough to angle your face where he wants it. You feel the drag of fabric as he tugs at your collar, exposing the line of your throat.

And then—

Another kiss.

Soft at first, featherlight.

Then another, deeper, lingering.

Then another, his lips parting just enough for his tongue to flick over your pulse point, teasing. His teeth press against your skin, not quite biting, just enough for you to feel the gentle scrape. You sigh, a sound so pleased, so sweet that he shudders against you.

His large, warm hands splay over your stomach, the fabric of your dress smoothing beneath his palms as he bends you backward, laying you out like something delicate and divine. Your lashes flutter as you look up at him, your room casting a soft, ambient glow over the space. The room is yours, but the moment?

The moment belongs to him.

Tenya kneels back, eyes raking over you with such intensity that you reach for him, fingers curling into his tie. You pull him closer, undoing the knot with slow, deliberate movements, but just as you reach for his glasses—

He stops you.

He shakes his head, readjusting them with a slight push along the bridge of his nose, breath unsteady.

"I want to see you," he admits, voice hushed.

You smile, thumb brushing against his jaw as you promise,

"I’ll be gentle with you."

His response? A sharp pinch to your hip. You yelp, laughing, breathless, utterly in love.

Your hands fist into the fabric of his dress shirt, fingers slipping beneath to press against the taut muscle of his waist. You pull him down, drawing him into your space, where he belongs. And he lets you.

For a moment, he hesitates.

But then his full weight shifts, pressing into you, enveloping you in warmth, security, want. A sigh escapes you, lashes dusting against your cheeks as your eyes flutter shut.

Tenya watches you, panting, unraveling, waiting.

You undo more of his buttons, fingers brushing over the heat of his skin.

But he pulls you closer, closer.

"May I touch you?"

His voice is hoarse, pleading, but his hands stay rooted where they are, waiting for your word.

"You have all my permission."

The groan he lets out is pure relief, a sound deep and rich, vibrating through his chest. His fingers tremble only slightly as they cup your cheek, his thumb dragging slow, soft, worshipful over the apple of it.

Then, finally, he kisses you.

Deeply.

Thoroughly.

Like a man who finally has what he's been chasing.

Tenya drinks you in, savoring the way your lips mold against his, the way you sigh into his mouth like you were meant to be here, with him, beneath him. His body is so warm, radiating heat through the crisp fabric of his dress shirt, the material still tucked neatly despite his tie being discarded somewhere behind you.

His hands are careful, reverent as they skim your jawline, one remaining at your cheek while the other finds the curve of your waist, splaying over the thin, form-fitting fabric of your dress. He’s breathing so hard, chest rising and falling with a rhythm you’ve never quite heard from him before, uneven, desperate.

He holds himself just above you, though his body is already pressing you into the plush bedding beneath you. He’s trying so hard to be respectful, to stay in control, but you feel the way his fingers flex, gripping the soft fabric of your dress just a little tighter like he's trying to ground himself.

You hum against his lips, one hand curling into his collar to bring him impossibly closer, the other brushing through his hair. His glasses are still in place, slightly crooked now from the way you’ve been touching him, and you reach up, fingertips lightly grazing the arm of the frame. He shudders, a quiet noise slipping from his throat, but he doesn’t stop you this time. Instead, he leans into your touch, eyes lidded, lips parted as he breathes you in.

He kisses you again, deeper this time, and you feel the full weight of him, his warmth pressing into every inch of you, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the room. You let your hands wander, trailing down the lines of his shoulders, over the broad planes of his back, fingertips slipping beneath the fabric again to feel the taut muscle beneath. His skin is hot to the touch, burning under your palms, and when you shift beneath him, he groans, barely holding himself together.

“You’re trembling baby,” you murmur, lips brushing against his as you speak, voice low and sweet, a whisper just for him. Tenya swallows, his grip at your waist tightening for a fleeting moment before relaxing.

“I…” He exhales sharply, eyes flickering over your face like he’s trying to memorize you in this exact moment. “I feel…” His words trail off, his brows knitting together as if he can’t quite find the right thing to say, but you know. You know because you feel it too.

Your fingers trace over the nape of his neck, nails just barely scraping over the short hairs there, and you feel the full-body shiver it sends through him. He exhales a ragged breath, his forehead dropping to rest against yours for just a moment before he shifts, pressing soft, lingering kisses to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the line of your throat. His lips are unbearably gentle, moving slow, deliberate, as though he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

“Tenya,” you breathe, tilting your head just enough to give him more room, encouraging, inviting.

His hand slips lower, the pads of his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip, trailing so slowly it makes you dizzy. He’s not rushing, not pushing, just taking his time, like he wants to worship you with every careful touch.

“I can’t help myself,” he admits, voice barely more than a whisper against your skin.

“You… you undo me.”

His confession sends warmth flooding through you, a soft ache blooming in your chest at how utterly wrecked he sounds, like he’s struggling to hold himself together, to remain the ever-composed, respectful man you know him to be. And yet, here he is, eyes dark and hungry, breath uneven, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thigh as he lets his mouth explore every part of you he can reach.

Your hands slide back up, cupping his cheeks, tilting his face toward yours once more. He meets your gaze, his expression so full of something raw and unspoken that it steals the breath from your lungs. You brush your thumb over his bottom lip, watching the way his eyes flutter shut at the touch, the way his lips part slightly as if craving more.

“You don’t have to hold back,” you whisper, pressing the words against his mouth in the barest ghost of a kiss.

“Not with me.”

Tenya lets out a shuddering breath, his resolve crumbling as he finally—finally—lets himself sink into you completely.

The heat between you is electric, palpable in the air as your hands glide over the girth Tenya’s body, his breath hitching with every touch. His waist coat is halfway undone now, hanging off his broad shoulders, and you take full advantage, slipping your nails over the fabric, your fingers scratching over the firm muscle that tenses under your touch. He’s so warm, so solid, and you relish the contrast between his gentlemanly restraint and the raw need you can feel simmering just beneath the surface.

Tenya watches you with hooded eyes, his lips slightly parted, his breathing uneven.

Your red lipstick is smudged now, streaked across your own mouth and staining his skin where you've kissed him. It's like modern art—messy, intimate, a declaration that you were here, touching him, marking him in a way that makes his head spin.

In a way that belongs to him only.

He’s always been fascinated by how you manage to keep your lipstick perfect, how even after a night of teasing and whispering sinful things in his ear, it remains flawless. But now, seeing it smeared, evidence of how much you’ve already taken from him, he wonders how much more of himself he’s willing to give.

Everything.

Tenya trembles as your fingers find his hair, tugging gently, messing it up the way you know he secretly loves but would never admit. He sighs into your touch, his body relaxing against you even as his grip on your waist tightens, his thumbs pressing into that spot on your hips that makes you gasp and arch into him, seeking more. His lips are hot against your throat, alternating between soft, reverent kisses and firm, lingering nips that send sparks down your spine.

His voice is rough when he finally speaks, barely above a whisper.

"How could you love someone like me?"

You tilt your head, fingers still threading through his hair, nails dragging lightly against his scalp.

"A man?"

He exhales sharply, shaking his head.

"No. A hero."

That word. That title. The one that sets him apart from you, from your past, from everything you've ever known. He says it like it’s a curse, like he’s unworthy of the love you so freely give.

You hum, letting the word roll off your tongue like silk, letting it sink into his skin the way your touch does.

"My Hero."

Tenya gasps, his whole body shuddering at the way you say it, the way you wield your voice like a weapon designed to break him. His fingers dig into your hips, a groan slipping from his lips as you work his dress shirt off completely, letting it drop somewhere beside the bed. You finally get your hands on him, all of him, the broad chest and sculpted muscles that he keeps hidden beneath his pristine clothes, the ones he hones every day as a Pro Hero.

He’s a perfect balance of strength and discipline, and yet, here, with you, he’s unraveling at the seams.

"You're so cute," you murmur, sighing contentedly as your fingers trace the dips and curves of his torso.

You giggle as his hands disappear beneath your dress, his touch firm yet possessive as he grips your hips like he owns them, like he’s memorizing the way you feel beneath his hands. His thumbs find that spot again, the one that sends white-hot pleasure pulsing through you, and you let your head fall back with a quiet moan, granting him full access to your neck.

He takes it, pressing his lips to your pulse point, then lower, dragging his teeth lightly over the delicate skin before soothing the spot with his tongue.

"Well," you pant, breathless from his touch, from the way he’s holding you so tightly like he never wants to let go. You grab his jaw, making him meet your gaze, your nails grazing the sharp angles of his face.

"How could you fall in love with a villain?"

Tenya groans, a sound so deep and desperate that it makes your stomach tighten with heat. His fingers find yours, entwining them together, his grip firm as he brings your left hand to the headboard, pressing a lingering kiss to your wrist before doing the same to your right. His glasses slip down his nose, and when he looks at you again, you’re met with those impossibly bright blue eyes, wide and trained solely on you, full of adoration and something deeper, something primal.

"You're not a villain anymore," he murmurs, voice thick with emotion.

You smirk, tilting your chin up.

"Mm, old habits die hard, my love."

His expression shifts, darkening with something intense, something authoritative, and you shiver at the way he leans in so close, his breath fanning against your lips. His presence alone commands your attention, and heat pools in your belly as you watch him study you like a puzzle he’s determined to solve.

"Then what am I?" you ask, your voice nothing more than a whisper as you slowly wrap one fine leg around his waist, pulling him closer.

Tenya’s gaze flickers down, taking in the way your leg hooks around him, the way your body curves into his as if you were molded for him. He exhales through his nose, then looks back up, his lips ghosting over yours, teasing.

"Once in a lifetime," he murmurs, his voice low and full of meaning.

Him and his mushy heart.

You whine, rolling your eyes playfully before clicking your tongue at him. Before he can react, you use your leg to yank him forward, making him fall onto you with a startled grunt. He props himself up on his forearms, his glasses slipping even further down his nose, and he gives you that scolding look—the one that drives you absolutely insane, the one that makes you want to irk him even more.

You smile wickedly, reaching up to push his glasses back into place.

"I didn’t put anything in the chocolate," you confess, voice full of amusement.

"But it’s always nice to play with you.~" You press your lips to his cheek, your lipstick leaving a harsh mark against his flushed skin.

"And I really do want you around for a long time."

Tenya stiffens, his whole body going rigid as the words sink in. His eyes widen, his lips parting slightly as he just stares at you, his face red, his expression utterly wrecked.

And then he kisses you, hard, like he’s trying to convey everything he can’t put into words. You melt into him, your hands roaming, helping him shed the rest of his clothes just as he helps you out of yours.

Soon, you’re bare beneath him, your breasts pressing into the mattress as he hovers above you. His lips trace along the expanse of your spine, his hands mapping every curve, every dip of your body as though committing you to memory. You steal his glasses, perching them on your own nose as you grin back at him, and he groans, utterly undone by the sight of you.

"You make me feel depraved," he murmurs, his voice hushed and strained as his fingers trail down your arms.

"Like the lowest possible form of human."

You roll onto your back, smiling slyly as you reach for him, your nails scratching down the length of his arms, making him shudder.

"You are still human, Tenya."

"Mon amour," he practically cries out before flipping you over again, pulling you into another desperate, searing kiss.

Neither of you notice the small ring box lying forgotten near the edge of the bed, the delicate script of your name etched onto its surface as it waits, watching, biding its time.

I DON'T OWN THE IMAGES!!!!

For Valentines day, I hosted a poll about the fic's I have cooking in the oven from my mha 'Fuck it, I got you,' series and this was the 2nd winner. As promised, some info about the relationship between you and Iida:

As a former villain turned councilwoman, your past is something the public never gets to see. Despite working tirelessly to improve the city, you're constantly at odds with pro-hero Ingenium, who sees you as a nuisance at best and a dangerous liability at worst. The two of you have a habit of arguing in the media, and your sharp tongue has knocked Iida down to the rank of Japan’s 8th top hero. But when a string of high-profile robberies sweeps through the city—each crime marked by a spider-like calling card—both of you find yourselves tangled in something bigger than political squabbles.

During an award ceremony, Iida notices something strange—your ring, an elegant but subtle piece of jewelry, looks suspiciously familiar. Slipping it off your finger in a moment of clever misdirection, he later has it analyzed by Momo, and Jirou, only to confirm his suspicions: It’s a stolen artifact, linking you directly to the Black Widow thief. Before he can act, the entire hero awards ceremony erupts into chaos. The police and hero commission storm the event, proclaiming Iida as the true culprit in front of the press. His career is on the line, his private life exposed, and suddenly, he has no one to trust.

And with nowhere else to turn, he calls you.

This fic takes place after all that, where You and Tenya have been secretly dating for a while, and tonight, you were testing out a scenario before heading out for an actual date. You live to get under Tenya's skin, matching him in wit and intellect, always pushing his buttons in a way that leaves him flustered yet drawn to you. Despite all his efforts, you always seem to be one step ahead, and deep down, he loves it.

For a man who thrives on structure and order, you are chaos incarnate.

And he wouldn’t have you any other way.

My master list is a work in progress but there's plenty more fic's and other characters if you request them. Ao3 is sexy too. I haven't posted the story yet because I need to Finish my Katsuki one first at least, but all the support and comments I receive help give me the motivation to finish!

You can also tip me a coffee if you want.

Remember: Comments and likes, really help. Don't be afraid to leave me a sexy little reblog too.

Stay tuned for the rest!! If you wanna be tagged, lemme know.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!! <33

-Angie (✿^‿^)

I do not own My Hero Academia or its characters. However, the original plot, storylines, and any original characters in this work are my own creation. Please do not copy, repost, or claim my work as your own. Respect the effort and creativity that went into this story—thank you!

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burgerrat · 11 months ago

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Ok so @king-crawler technically I finished your 2 hour Turbo documentary yesterday at 3 AM BUT regardless I have recentlt watched it and I have a LOT I'd like to say, clarify details or lil things you might have missed or could be interpreted differently when you look at them another way :3

With that last bit I am diving head first into the flashback scene since it's heavily referencing that.

First and foremost, keep in mind that it is being narrated from Felix's point of view- remember that he was in his game doing his job when the accident happened, it was while every person ever was inside their respective game being busy being used as avatars; also referencing back what you said on Felix- he's not exactly the most understanding of others' situations, he stays well within his comfort zone. Keep that in mind.

When Roadblasters is plugged in the flashback, you can see the two players using TurboTime immediately abandon the game to check out the new one, and the screen Turbo's pixelated image apoears on is completely dark, don't you think that is very reminiscent of a Game Over screen? 🙃 meaning, the two players abandoned Turbo in the middle of a race, likely causing him to crash and lose.

Remember King Candy's shock, and sudden change in behaviour as soon as he sees Vanellope sprinting past him? What follows is a volatile fit of rage and violence when things don't go his way, this sudden change of trajectory. Wouldn't you reckon this moment could mirror how Turbo felt in the flashback? He's being used as an avatar, and suddenly he loses control as he gets ditched and gets his race put to a halt. That initial shock of "what is going on. This wasn't supposed to happen!"

Following that, while I don't doubt he got jealous, he SPRINTED into Roadblasters the moment he lost... but not to try to take it over- to take petty revenge instead, interrupting the players' race and causing them to crash just like they did to him, preventing him from winning in his game. Picture it as a "if I can't have this, then you won't have it either" type mentality towards Roadblasters.

Going back to Felix and why his ignorance/remaining within his bubble could have possibility caused him to misread Turbo's intentions. Felix also is one to make assumptions in the beginning of the movie, like how for example when trying to calm the Nicelanders when Ralph goes missing: "Ralph probably fell asleep in Tapper's bathroom again!" Or some such. It makes sense he would make assumptions about Turbo as well, ESPECIALLY if he knew him personally and how self-obsessed he is. Doesn't take a genius to realize this guy does not like to lose.

Secondly, the final boss scene. King Candybug in general really. I disagree with your idea that Turbo has always been this hungry for power he'd want to take over the entire arcade. We both know that if that happened, if every game was infested by Cy-bugs, Litwak would be forced to close down his business because all of the games would be unplayable. His 'attention' wouldn't last very long if every game gets unplugged, his thought process to take over the arcade is purely manic and deranged for someone like him who has been well-known to be a master manipulator, able to keep a stable facade for over a decade without wanting to take over other racing games? That 'taking over the arcade' sounds very unlike him. It sounds more like... a cy-bug's programming. A cy-bug's programming that has gained enough conciousness to start plotting and planning. Because it now has the intelligence of a person, fused with him, learned what he knows.

Speaking of which, remember the cybug that ate King Candy?

Look at it's candy-pattern. Haven't we seen that somewhere before...?

Oh right! Right here, when the cybug eats some pepperming roots.

The same cybug that ended up there after falling into the taffy lake... after being ejected from a shuttle.

The same cybug that Ralph brought with himself.

What was the very first thing that King Candybug said to ralph when they see eachother again for the showdown?

"Because of you, Ralph, I'm now the most powerful virus in the arcade!"

I don't think, during this one moment at least, that this was Turbo speaking.

#wreck it ralph #king candy #turbo #my writing #infodump #aheem aheem i hope u enjoy my silly little ideas and observations smiles

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cars2-renaissance · 5 months ago

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Oh shit you guys I woke up this morning with another headcanon. Ughhhhhhhh this one really fucked me up. I’m gonna post it under a cut cause theres discussion about death and su*cidal ideation and it’s just super depressing. So please don’t read if you’re not in a good headspace.

I think this is the worst one yet. It's just pain.

So I always noticed that Finn is really quiet in Big Ben when they're tied up. Mater is talking back to the lemons and engaging with them but Finn is COMPLETELY silent.

Now maybe it's cause he's an experienced agent and knows not to open his big mouth. But when has Finn ever not been on the spot with these jokers? Why is he so quiet and resigned here?

He's resigned! He doesn't even try to escape. He's glad that Mater makes it out (maybe??) but after that, he's just like oh well guess I'll die?

Finn is incredibly crafty with cheating death. I mean just look at the oil rig scene. Even after the extreme shock of seeing Leland dead, he's still able to make split second decisions to save himself and make it out. And that was when it was just his life on the line! He doesn't even seem to care about Holley's life at all in this scene! And this is the same car who seemed genuinely gutted by seeing the wgp racers getting their engines blown in the second race, these random strangers he doesn't know. You can't tell me he doesn't care about others!

So what the FUCK did they do to him to break him that much??

Well. They had him prisoner and while they kept Mater gassed the whole time in between races, we don't know what happened to Finn or Holley. We don't know that they were unconscious the entire time. But we do know certain among the lemons are complete sadists. I've wondered for a while if they filmed what they did to Leland. Zündapp wasn't there for it and he seemed to take personal satisfaction in the aftermath. It's completely plausible that Grem recorded the whole thing even to just show the professor later.

But you know who they would take particular delight in showing a snuff tape of Leland Turbo to?

Finn.

And that would be enough to keep him quiet in Big Ben, to want nothing more than to die there, crushed to death just like Leland, because he deserved it after not getting there in time to save him. He wanted to die there so bad that even Holley's life didn't matter. And when he did get out of that situation (thanks to Holley), the only thing on his mind was going after Zündapp.

They just found out there is an actual bomb attached to Mater and he's heading for a highly populated civilian area IN LONDON FOR CRYING OUT LOUD; this is likely Finn's home town. You'd think he'd stop at nothing to go take care of that situation and not leave it to the total newbie.

But no. He is out for BLOOD against Zündapp. Holley can save London—who CARES about London or any of these cars he's gotten close to over the past two weeks—Zündapp is on the loose and Finn is not going to let that slide. He puts himself in deaths door yet again to catch this motherfucker. He barely flinches while getting heavy artillery shot at him. And his grand solution at the end is to blow them all the fuck up.

The size of that explosion SHOULD have killed them all. Finn was more than willing to kill himself if it meant Zündapp died with him, plus Tony Trihull who at this point he probably knows is the location of Leland's death. They can all just get blown to hell.

But he and Zündapp survive somehow—I don't think the same can be said for Trihull—and we see them later, finally pulling up to the races. We also see that Zündapp is completely tangled in Finn's grapple lines in ways that could only be possible if he was flipped around multiple times in all directions. Finn got him to the bomb site but not before beating the ever loving shit out of him. He is FURIOUS and doesn't bat an eye when Holley tases a car in full custody. Because it's Zündapp, and Finn only just stopped short of killing him.

Finn is a hot mess throughout the movie. He takes unbelievable risks and pulls ridiculous stunts. BUT he always has it pretty under control and above all, he shows genuine care for those around him. But there is a definite shift in his values and goals after Big Ben. There's a real possibility that it's because he had to watch Leland die in that window of time.

I hate this headcanon so much but I had to write it out this morning

This was all just off the top of my head a few minutes after waking up, haunted by this headcanon, so I’ll go back and rewatch the scene to see if anything sticks out to me. I’ve combed over the opening of the movie so many times to analyse it but I want to go over the Big Ben scene again to comb over it too cause it’s got a lot packed into it.

But yeah. Happy Valentine’s Day y’all!

#genuinely fucked up about this one #finnland #cars2renaissance #cars 2 (2011)#finn mcmissile #leland turbo #zündapp #horrific headcanons #cars 2 headcanons #miserable cars 2 headcanons #why does my brain keep doing this to me…..?#lies down #tries not to cry #cries a lot #😭😭😭😭I’m so sorry

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justinspoliticalcorner · 2 months ago

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Rachel Janfaza at Politico:

New data out of Yale’s Youth Poll broke the internet last week when it revealed a partisan split within Gen Z. Given a generic Democrat vs. Republican ballot for 2026, respondents ages 18-21 supported Republicans by nearly 12 points, while those ages 22-29 backed Democrats by about 6 points. It was a stunning gap that undermined the longstanding notion of younger voters always trending more liberal. On the contrary, today’s youngest eligible voters are more conservative than their older counterparts: According to the poll, they are less likely to support transgender athletes participating in sports, less likely to support sending aid to Ukraine and more likely to approve of President Donald Trump. Fifty-one percent of younger Gen Zers view him favorably, compared to 46 percent of older Gen Z. That split might seem surprising, but it’s only the latest example of an emerging dynamic I’ve noticed developing over the last few years: It’s increasingly clear that there are actually two different Gen Z’s, each with a particular political worldview.

Since just after the 2022 midterm elections, I’ve held listening sessions — open-forums for discussion — with teens and young adults across the country to find out how young people think and feel about politics. I’ve traveled to high school and college campuses, community centers and even homes. And as I’ve written before, these conversations with young people illuminated the distinctions between Gen Z 1.0 and Gen Z 2.0.

Gen Z 1.0, the older segment, graduated high school and tasted independence prior to the start of the Covid-19 pandemic. Their coming of age coincided with Trump’s first term in office and the rise of anti-Trump resistance movements for racial justice and gender equity. Social media apps like Instagram and Snapchat, with all their filters and made-for-social media aesthetics, were commonplace — but TikTok wasn’t yet the massively popular platform it is today. Fast forward to 2020 through today, and those in Gen Z 2.0 came of age under different circumstances. They graduated high school during or after the start of the pandemic, which disrupted their K-12 experience. When many in this cohort began college, it was largely on Zoom, or in a campus environment that barely resembled pre-pandemic times. The political situation was also starkly different: With President Joe Biden in office, Trump and his MAGA movement felt like the counterculture — especially for young men, who swung hard to the right.

Indeed, gender played a prominent role in shaping the youth vote in 2024. An analysis by Blue Rose Research found a 20-point gender gap in Democratic support between men and women ages 25 and younger — the largest such gender gap in any generation by far. “It’s normal to see women supporting Democratic candidates at like a five- to 10-point higher rate than men do,” said Ali Mortell, Blue Rose’s research director. “Among the youngest cohort of Gen Z, it’s north of 20 points. So this is really jarring, and I think, caught the Democratic Party somewhat flat-footed.”

That gender gap has attracted a lot of media attention, but the headlines gloss over some important nuances. While young men turbo-charged Trump’s success in November, they’re not the only Gen Zers shifting right. Despite the overall gender gap, the Yale poll found that, while women ages 22-29 have a net-negative favorability of Trump, those ages 18-21 are more supportive of him, roughly split between a favorable and unfavorable view of the president. Young white women in particular are trending more conservative. Data from Tufts University’s Center for Information & Research on Civic Learning and Engagement (CIRCLE) shows that, while women of color ages 18-29 overwhelmingly supported former Vice President Kamala Harris, young white women were split between Harris and Trump, 49 percent to 49 percent. That’s a huge jump from 2020, when, according to CIRCLE’s data, young white women voted for President Joe Biden over Trump by a 15-point margin.

That could be in part because some of the most formative experiences separating Gen Z 1.0 and 2.0 cut across gender — the most obvious being the pandemic. “We’ve definitely been cognizant that there feels like there’s a change between the kids who got through high school before and after Covid,” said Jack Dozier, the 19-year-old deputy director of the Yale survey. “There is a huge variation that came up between just the college-age young adults, and then the young adults who are over 22.”

In my own research, I started to hear about Covid’s impact in conversations with young Americans in 2022. Throughout history, young people haven’t liked being told what to do, and for many younger Gen Zers, the pandemic restrictions chafed against their youthful discomfort with authority. At first, they expressed annoyance with what they saw as prolonged social distancing on campuses that impacted the student experience. As one 20-year-old told me in a listening session at the end of March: “The adults don’t have it all together, and they don’t have my back.” When students finally went back to school, they complained about the policing of their behavior — not just regarding Covid protections like social distancing and masking, but also broader issues around language. Our national online discourse, these young people said, had adopted an overt political correctness and cancel culture – the tendency, particularly in online spaces, to denounce others for controversial statements or action. Many young people perceived this as promoted by Democrats — those in control, not just in D.C., but in pop-culture and on social media.

[...] “Young people are not only consuming digital media content, non-traditional sources at much higher rates than older generations, but they’re increasingly getting their news from non-political, non-traditional sources,” Mortell told me. But she took it one step farther: “We are seeing this very clear relationship between defection away from the Democratic Party and TikTok consumption.” The rapid onset of TikTok encapsulates the head-spinning pace of change younger Gen Zers have experienced. There are cleavages within every generation, but perhaps none more so than Gen Z, which has grown up amid the fastest speed of technological and political change in recent memory. When it comes to their politics, time will tell if the rightward shift sticks. Until then, anyone trying to understand this generation’s politics will need to figure out just which Gen Z they’re asking about.

The Yale Youth Poll confirms that there are two Gen Z’s, with the older Gen Z cohort tracking more liberal, and the younger Gen Z cohort, especially young Gen Z men, trending conservative.

We’ll see how this will hold up in a few years.

#Gen Z #Polling #Donald Trump #Yale Youth Poll #Democratic Party #TikTok

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cozzzynook · 1 year ago

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Hiii cozzzyyyy

What do we think about Rodimus adopting a lil human in secret on the LL, but Drift discovers it and tells Ratchet? And all three o them just look blankly at the human (that doesn't understand what's going on ofc ofc)?

Thank uuu <3

Hi Bee,

Hear me out.

The human he brings aboard the lost light that doesn’t know whats going on is actually cyberronian and a baby.

The found them crying next to their offline creators and couldn’t just leave them there. He was going to tell police officials but when he picked the fresh bitty up and they stopped crying. Reaching out and gripping his chassis and digit whimpering for him, he just couldn’t bare to part with them.

Sooo he snuck them on board and let the ship take off.

Of course he told officials about the bitty’s creators and told Prowl in secret what he’d done and that he wasn’t giving the bitty up. Prowl can honestly say he’s never actually heard Rodimus sound threatening and he admired it before putting official documents in stating Rodimus was the sparklings caregiver now before sending them to him and hanging up.

Rodimus was entirely pleased with himself and more than happy to get started on bathing the dirty bitty that wasn’t old enough to have plating on their exposed protoform. He learned the bitty was a little mecha and so as he had them wrapped in a soft warmer against his chassis he had to figure out a name and get a bitty berth installed.

He wasn’t entirely out of his league here since he used to caretake for orphanages on Nyon. He knew what sparklings needed and their development. So he knew this was a fresh spark that wouldn’t be able to be away from him for a long time since the connection with his creators was severed so early in life.

Of course..in all his plannings he forgot to tell his crew and co captain…who just so happened to walk into his hab with Minimus and stare at the sparkling with open jaws and he immediately had to explain the situation.

“So you weren’t carrying this whole time and popped out a sparkling on a dangerous mission?”

“No I’m not an idiot!”

He looked extremely offended and felt it too which upset the sparkling almost pulling them from recharge if it weren’t for him calming them down.

“I got the paperwork and everything. I got attached…don’t look at me like that Mins! I’m not popping out a sparkling!”

The smug look on the mini turbo fox face plates and his co captains was pissing him off.

Just because he was a carrier mech did not mean he would go following his coding and pop out bitlets.

He was destined for greater things than being a broodmare! He said as much too.

“Rodimus its not meant like that. Carriers just-”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he was genuinely upset but trying not to take it out on them since they didn’t do anything wrong. He was just sensitive about his coding and frame.

“I’d like some time off from being in public to get a better bond with them and get all the supplies I need. I’ll do all my paperwork here. I’ll keep my comm open as well.”

He ushered them out after letting Minimus hold his sparkling who began to fuss but didn’t cry.

“Lets get you some panel wraps and bottles annndd I’m gonna need to find you a crib…and a name.”

The bitty just kept sucking on their hand and he was off to find such things in the storage rooms while the dead shift was at its quietest time.

He managed to luck out on getting multiple blankets and an abundance of reusable panel wrappers. He’d brought those things back to his hab and set them on a gentle wash in his cleaning closet before heading back out to find a crib and clothes and some bottles.

He was yet again lucky in his search. Finding bottles, clothes and even a few pacifiers along with a stuffed fox that looked suspiciously like Minimus handy work made him smile. He’d have to thank his friend for leaving this here for him.

He was bummed he couldn’t find a crib but he had everything else he needed and he decided to enjoy the win. He’d gotten everything clean and settled when the bitty began to fuss and he knew immediately what time it was.

“I’m gonna fix a bottle. I know, I know. You’re hungry its okay,” he soothed to the upset sparkling.

He felt his chassis growing tight and he groaned looking down at the shifted plating to the still unfinished diluted energon meant for sparklings. He wasn’t about to make his sparkling wait an hour for fuel that wouldn’t be half as good as what his frame decided to make against his wishes.

So with a final groan and a hope for his luck to continue and his sparkling not getting attached to this form of feeding, he unclasped his chassis and let his breast mesh free. They were already filling with milk and he grimaced at how natural it all felt.

He didn’t like being a carrier but he wasn’t going to let that get in the way of feeding his sparkling.

With that line running through his mind, he held his sparkling up to his nozzle and allowed them to turn their helm crying until eventually they smelled him and the energon his frame was building before opening teary optics and latching on.

The first few suckles felt weird but eventually he felt the milk begin to release and his sparkling was greedily suckling blinking the tears from their optics.

Rodimus didn’t want to admit how close and connected he felt to the fresh bitty letting them drink from him.

He’d always had a problem with being a carrier and few mechs knew that he was and all that did knew by accident. It was something he liked pretending he wasn’t but that was extremely hard to do when a bitty was nursing from his mesh.

He sighed and looked to the bottles on the drying rack and figured he might as well try organizing his hab and bitty proofing it.

By the time he was done, the bitty was finished nursing and he was burping them. They’d fallen to recharge immediately and he smiled looking down at them. They were tiny, even for a new sparkling they were tiny. He was going to comm First aid to come to his hab in the morning so he could get them fully examined.

Carrier instincts would’ve alerted him if something was wrong with a sparkling even if they weren’t his own. But he wanted to be completely sure.

He laid the sparkling on his lap and began squeezing the rest of his milk into a bottle.

He’d have to find a crib and milk pump the next time he went to the storage rooms.

He stood and held the sparkling to his breast mesh that was still too tender to close his chassis over. He really hoped his bitty would take a bottle and not his nozzles and that his milk could be turned off when he called First aid.

He laid in his berth, nest fresh courtesy of Ratchet and Drift who were on took an extra, with a servo on the bitty thinking of possible names when he felt his optics almost slip closed until panic gripped him.

“Frag I didn’t tell them I adopted a bitty…”

Recharge was not exactly restful due to his nerves and waking a few hours later to the bitty whimpering wanting milk was something that stole his attention from Drift and Ratchets reactions.

He’d tried getting the bitty to take the sparkling fuel he’d put on earlier but the bitty hollered energon murder and he sighed lowering his helmet trying to suppress tears.

He’d lowered them to his nozzle and they immediately gripped on. He looked to the warm energon bottle and picked it up slipping it into the bitties mouth only for them to spit it out and spit up the milk.

It took over ten minutes to calm them down before deciding never to do that again and just accept he would have to feed from his nozzles.

The bitty gave a little glare at him with blue optics that looked so much like Drift and Ratchets when he did something to endanger himself he smiled a little making the bitty giggle.

It was spark warming and asserted that he made the right decision in keeping them.

“Your gonna be trouble aren’t ya lil mecha,” he cooed, cleaning himself and the bitty while allowing them to drink. He’d put the sparkling energon by the door and thought of how he was going to tell Drift and Ratchet.

He went through the motions of burping the bitty and soothing them to sleep before starting on paperwork. By the time he finished he leaned back in his chair and looked down at his breast mesh and the bitty sleeping on them.

He maneuvered the bitty and tried to put his breasts back into his chassis only to wince and hiss in pain.

‘That won’t work. Damnit. I’ll have to get a new chassis supporter.’

He looked down at the bitty and couldn’t find it in himself to blame them or really be upset. He was still pushing off the mental breakdown at succumbing to his carrier protocols. But looking down at the bitty he found it a tad easier.

Things didn’t feel so bad…until he heard the hab door open.

He stiffened in his seat and slowly turned his helm to see Drift and Ratchet staring at him and their hab.

He tried to smile but it came off wobbly and afraid and the sparkling made a whimpering noise that pulled his attention.

He shushed them gently with a small bounce and they nuzzled into him.

He looked back up to see the spot by the door empty with Drift and Ratchet right in front of Rodimus staring shocked at the fresh bitty in his arms recharging on swollen exposed breast mesh.

“Hehe. Surprise? Funny story here.”

“Roddy were you sparked and didn’t know it?! Did you emerge our sparkling on a mission?!”

Drift was seething with a myraid of emotions but not one was anger. He was thankfully whispering as he did so and was visibly checking him over before getting closer only to stop so Ratchet could begin scanning the sparkling and Rodimus.

“No I wasn’t sparked! And no I didn’t emerge a bitty! They don’t even look like us!”

He whispered venomously before pausing. They all stopped for a moment before Rodimus apologized.

“I’m not getting sparked. Ever,” he spoke, looking them in the optic before motioning for Ratchet to keep working.

The mech gave him a look he didn’t want to see so he turned his helm and let Ratchet work.

“The sparkling is fine,” he stood, looking at the fresh sparkling still sleeping on Rodimus who had an arm covering his nozzles.

He refused to move it because he didn’t want them seeing.

He knew they knew. They had since before they got together. He’d blown up almost saying some really nasty things when they revealed to him they knew by his scent, nest, clingy behavior he thought he shut down and the way he’d act around sparklings. Of course having this revealed made him all but destroy his carrying instincts and reject anything remotely like it.

It hurt. Physically and mentally to do so but he did it anyway and rejected any advice on not doing it. Of course he took it a step further and took preventative pills that kept him from going into heat and added an extra spark baffle. He really hated being a carrier and how it made him look to other mechs and femmes. He was not weak. He was not some birthing machine and he was not going to degrade himself by popping out sparklings and prove them all right. He was more than a carrier mech. He was a living being. He wouldn’t succumb to code.

Of course doing all this and having no heat put him in danger and made him sick but he truly would rather get sick than suffer another heat and possibly get sparked.

It took passing out after throwing up energon for his own medical right to be snatched away. He was taken off heat suppressants and his spark baffles were removed leaving him with just one.

He’d rode out his heat painfully by himself and left the medical center before they could try talking him into something he didn’t want. He ignored his teammates outside of battle planning for a long time. He ignored Ratchet and Drift, at the time Deadlock, for even longer since they just didn’t get it.

As much as he butted helms with Optimus the mech understood but still didn’t want him endangering his life. The only medic he really trusted was First Aid who admitted he didn’t understand but tried to give him the best option instead of getting snippy with him or pushing carrier scrap at him.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when he feels Ratchet put a servo on his breast mesh and feel around it. He knows he isn’t being a perv but he still hates it. He’d never exposed his breast mesh to them before and hadn’t ever planned to.

“Well?”

He was getting more impatient and uncomfortable by the moment and Ratchet gave him a look that he returned with the beginnings of a snarl that he restrained.

“Milk won’t stop till the kid doesn’t need it anymore. You’ll need a new chassis plating. I’ll get to working on one-”

“I’ll have First aid make me one. Its fine. You both should rest. I’ll explain everything when you wake up.”

He was standing before either could get a word in. Was it fair? Not at all. But he really didn’t want this conversation nor the carrier slag they’d throw his way.

“Kid, get back here. This is a conversation we’re having now.”

He glared but didn’t go any further.

“I didn’t purposely attach the sparkling. It just..happened. I saw them crying near their creators when I went down to the lab. They were already gone and gray.”

“I wasn’t even thinking when I took them and decided to keep them. I’m sorry I didn’t ask first or tell you. You don’t have to care for them, I can do that on my own.”

He’d done it with sparklings at the centers and they’d recovered until they found a proper home during the war. So he knew he could.

“I’m not asking either of you to do anything and if they are a crying sparkling I’m going back to my hab.”

“Rodimus!”

Drift had yelled his name a little too loud to stop him from spiraling and putting distance between them. The mech was holding his arms on both sides and he wasn’t aware he’d been venting hard.

“Stop,” Drift vented hard, looking at him with his finials back and fangs poking out.

“You’re not going to your old hab. You’re staying here with us, where you belong,” Drift told him. “We’re not angry and we don’t blame you for getting attached. We just..”

“We’re surprised kid. Shocked really,” Ratchet came close and he felt crowded. The sparkling was picking up on his emotions and while that made him happy because it meant a bond was in place, he didn’t want them exposed to painful emotions or his cluster of feelings so he vented and bounced them. Keeping his gaze on the sparkling, trying not to notice how their gazes stuck to him and the longing in their optics, he started speaking again.

“I have the papers that say he’s mine already..Megs and Minimus know already because they came by unannounced.”

“Only yours?”

Ratchet was the one to ask and he felt bad that he didn’t think they’d want their names on the papers as well.

“I didn’t think you’d want your names on it. I didn’t think about anything other than your reactions honestly and I wasn’t fair in those thoughts either. I’m sorry.”

He owed it to them to at least get their frustrations out so he looked them in the optics expecting glares only to feel sadness and that was so much worst.

“Roddy…we aren’t..give us the papers.”

He went over to his desk and situated the sparkling while covering his nozzles and pulled the papers out handing them over.

They both signed it.

And he was both relieved and guilt ridden.

Both wanted a sparkling and were even partners with a mech who could carry by tank and yet…

“Why isn’t his name on here?”

“I couldn’t think of one…so I guess..as his sires, you can name him. If you want.”

They looked at him as if he’d revealed the secrets of Cybertron and he might as well have. Naming was a huge deal in their culture and for a carrier to completely allow the sires full handle of it meant a lot.

He looked down at the sparkling and stood beside them, “here, hold him.”

It was Ratchet who gently took the sparkling which made the bitty wake up looking confused. Their optics nor senses were actually developed but they could tell the difference between stranger, carrier and sire. They could smell that he was near but couldn’t feel him. And yet the sparkling didn’t cry which was a good sign. They did sneeze and Ratchet melted at the sight with Drift not far behind and he hadn’t even held the bitty yet.

It made Rodimus smile but the guilt ate away at him.

Truth be told, he really did want sparklings, but he hated the stereotypes, prejudice and weakness being a carrier brought on. He never wanted to be weak or seen as weak and he hated how he would be viewed if he were to get sparked. So he denied and rejected it and in the process, he denied himself and his partners something they all wanted. Its one of the reasons he wasn’t conjunxed with them while the two were. It was usually a guarantee a carrier would get sparked once they conjunxed. His fears greatly outweighed the speak of what if he still felt.

He was also certain they would one day tire of him and leave when they realized they could do better.

‘I sprung a bitty on them that isn’t even ours by emergence and they still want me,’ he let a few tears fall silently. ‘I’ve been unfair to them…’

He watched as Ratchet gave the bitty to Drift and how the mech melted completely with tears in his optics. Their bitty still didn’t cry which was also a very good sign he felt a connection to the two. He quietly bent down and grabbed a blanket to cover his exposed nozzles. He should let Ratchet make him a new chassis cover.

The feelings were overwhelming and he felt less of a warrior and solider and more the code he tried to reject for millions of years.

He..hated the vulnerability still and tried to quietly shift into the other room for a moment to gather himself but the two held him on both sides of his arms.

“What? Is he hungry?”

He didn’t want to make optic contact and tried to play off his sniffle until Ratchet pulled him in. He tried to move back but neither mechs allowed it.

“Kid..for once..don’t fight it..it doesn’t make you any less and it’s not a bad thing. Just for now..let it out..don’t reject it. Don’t reject us.”

The dam burst and he was sobbing with his intake covered by his servos to keep from being too loud. He kept his face plates hidden and felt Drift hug his back with their sparkling secure in his hold. Their arms tightened around him. He felt all the things he never allowed himself.

Safe. Vulnerable. Secure. Open. Tender. Exposed and held together as he mended himself whole with their comfort.

It felt as good as it hurt and by the end of his tears he felt raw and their nest had never felt so good to slip inside. He felt Drift and Ratchet pressed on both sides of him after giving him their sparkling when he whined for him.

Their sparkling nuzzled into him and made cooing noises, trying to fight their sleep but Drift wouldn’t let them. His humming was infectious and it was hard for him to stay awake but the plating that remained on his upper frame left him so uncomfortable. He knew what that meant but he wasn’t sure he could handle accepting it.

“It’s okay, Roddy,” Drift whispered in his audial, slowly taking the locks off his tank and back strut plating with Rstchets help. He felt pure relief at the metal being removed allowing his belly and wide hips room to breathe.

Accepting the sparkling as his own, his frame producing milk and allowing his emotions freedom in the presence of his partners triggered his body to go into a pseudo heat that was brought on from denying his code all these years.

“Let us take care of you,” Ratchet kissed along his neck cables, servos rubbing the chub along his belly, sending butterflies bursting within him at the love and comfort freely given.

Drift rubbed his palms along his hips and bit into his neck, hands making their way up to his sensitive breasts where he tensed and Ratchet cooed at him, reassuring him as he too cupped Rodimus breast. Both slipping the blanket free and wrapping the sparkling inside it.

The bitty inhaled the pheromones in the air and began to fall into recharge. What smelled of heat to adult mechs smelled of sleep pheromones to sparklings.

They placed the bitty on the edge of the nest yet still within close servo and optic contact.

Laid out bare for them to see, Rodimus tried to cover his nozzles but the two stopped him. Both Drift and Ratchet pressed a kiss to his nozzles before licking the dark milk duct and kissing the tender mesh again.

They enjoyed the way they bounced heavily and how his belly followed suit.

“You make an amazing person and carrier, sweet spark,” it was Ratchet who always spoke sweet words while taking them apart in berth. The medic popped his panels open and let his spike free, Drift followed pressing kisses to Rodimus’s belly, servo rubbing the chub as he worshipped it with kisses making Rodimus array snap open and lock.

Drift placed a kiss on his soaking valve before moving to let Ratchet do the same.

“You’ll look even more beautiful growing, swelling full with our sparkling. You already look so beautiful caring for our first one,” Drift soothed into his audial. They both were lining up to meet at the entrance of his valve, both their spike heads bobbing together before slowly slipping inside.

They all groaned together in unison until Drift and Ratchet nipped at his nozzles pulling them. Their servos resting interlocked over his belly as they rubbed the soft flesh stimulating his nerves. Bobbing their throats to a wave beat as they drank from him while fully sheathing their spikes deep inside him.

They left him a silent screaming, back arched mess that could do nothing more than cry and whisper his begging for their soft loving touches that left him exposed emotionally and a soaking, valve squelching mess that tried to cycle and lock down on their raw spikes that were struggling to keep from bursting inside him.

He felt their grip on his belly tighten and they rubbed his flesh as if he were already accepting their loads for a new spark when he felt their chassis open and his spark thrum to life.

Three different hues of blue made the dark room glow. Spike and valve bio lights pulsed and grew vibrant while Drift and Ratchet lifted themselves to hover and look down at Rodimus who looked up at them.

“We aren’t letting you go, Roddy. Not now, not if we never got to conjunx and spark you,” he leaned down, kissing the sobbing mech who gazed up at him before Ratchet leaned down capturing plump lips that quivered at his bite. “But now that we have, no more running and hiding from us. We love you Rodimus and we know you love us too.”

Rodimus sobbed even harder.

Feeling their sparks glow and leave their chambers to meet between them and merge making them all conjunx and completing the connection.

They overloaded together, squeezing each other, Rodimus’s valve clamping down on their spikes that buried within his soft tank lining spilling into him. Their sparks dancing getting lost in each other until none could be distinguished and they all held a large piece of each other once their sparks returned to them.

Rodimus was enternally grateful to have Drift and Ratchets servos in his belly as he felt the flesh stretch and grow heavy at all the transfluid that sloshed and flowed inside him. He felt his valve and cheeks grow hot all over again and he moaned, rocking into them.

“Please,” he cried, feeling them rub his distended belly full of transfluid, valve throbbing hot as his tank wanted more. “Please,” he begged again, seeing the two smirk.

“We’ll give you everything you want and need, sweet spark,” his medic promised.

“We just hope you don’t mind carrying two or three by the time we’re done with you.”

“Although, it’d be nice to see you so round and full of three while feeding our first,” Ratchet chuckled.

“Maybe we aim for three next time?” Drift kissed along Rodimus’s face, nuzzling into his olfactory sensor when the mech needed the reassurance and care.

“We can discuss that later. For now,” Ratchet pulled Rodimus close, washing his em field over the mech who needed their affection they were more than happy to give, “lets focus on mending him. He needs our love first, we can think on that later.”

With a nod from Drift and a quick check on their sleeping sparkling, they made love to their conjunx.

My mind…went elsewhere..anyway if anyone wants to tip me the link to my kofi is on my pinned post.

#dratchrod #sparklings #mechpreg #hurt/comfort #angst/comfort #valveplug #drift #ratchet #rodimus #drift transformers #drift x rodimus x ratchet #ratchet transformers #Rodimus prime #transformers x reader

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sugar-crash · 9 months ago

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🏎️Turbo (Wreck-It Ralph) x (gn) Reader🏁

(Love Language Edition Pt. II!)

(Picture’s not mine!)

(This song brings me back to a time when things were less serious as they are now, melancholy🔑 is one hell of an emotion.)

His love language: Quality Time & Gift Receiving

Gift Receiving:

- This is a rather obvious one— Of course, someone like him would want things from his s/o as a way to show they love him, always expecting as such whenever he sees a situation that may warrant such a thing.

- As surprising as it is, I don’t think he would want the best of the best (but it is greatly appreciated, it’s just another thing to put on the growing list of things he won’t admit to)

- The thoughtfulness and effort into getting him something he likes or needs (ex: A racing kart part he needs for its next repair, or even some little “stupid knickknack” for his kart which he eventually puts in.) is enough to make him think about things.

- When you guys are still friends you’re the definition of that one Bob’s Burgers meme “Well, I made this friendship bracelet for you.” “Ah— You know I’m not really a jewelry person.” “You don’t have to wear it—“ “No I’m gonna wear it forever, back off.” But he’d be more reluctant to express his feelings for it.

- Being a receiver is something he’s most accustomed to, but I do see him eventually getting you something in return.

- But it’s far more subtle than the typical way, offering you a cigarette (no one can tell me that yellow-stained teeth having son of a bitch isn’t a chain smoker) mid-smoking break or some food he stole from another game.

- In general, it makes him feel appreciated on a far more personal level, which yields mixed results and feelings from the racer— It can be a real coin toss with him.

- I think surprising him with some stupid little trinket conveniently placed on the seat of his kart or some other place he’d notice is his favorite way of receiving things, it’s like a mini reward he can enjoy in private.

- If you write letters? He stashes them away (probably in his kart knowing him) so he can reread them whenever he needs a little emotional pick me up when things get tough and he can’t get ahold of you.

- The fact that you understand Turbo so much to the level where you understand what he likes besides his rightfully won trophies is baffling, bringing about a warm feeling in his chest whenever he looks back to the moment with a kind of fondness rarely seen from him.

(Fjrs sj sygn,

Ljisyitjtr lxlfnr,

Son lfjld vyff loygn,

Inunq niayih rkyqmf,

Qnknmsna sqmhnax jc son hnijlyamf,

Rtquyumf lmi jifx aj rj gtlo

Voni fyuyih yr sqnmsna mr rtlo)

#turbo wreck it ralph #king candy #wreck it ralph turbo #turbo #x reader #king candy x reader #turbotastic #turbo x reader #Spotify

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murdercide626 · 1 year ago

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So, hey, I recently found out that King Candy was added to the game Disney Magic Kingdoms! Not only that, but he actually has an unlockable skin of his Turbo form too!

But what really gets me is that they actually created a plot related explanation for King Candy's return, revealing how he survived his fate at the end of the first movie!!

Basically, it's revealed that King Candy's code wasn't deleted when he died, but laid dormant. When Litwak installed the replacement steering wheel onto the Sugar Rush arcade cabinet (at the end of RBTI), it somehow booted up King Candy's code and restored him!

From there, after King Candy assesses his situation, he attempts to take revenge on Ralph and Vanellope. There's even a plot related reason for him going back to his old Turbo form later on, too! I won't go into all the details, but you can look it up on the Disney Magic Kingdoms wiki >>here.<<

So as I was reading all this, I just kept thinking "should any of this be considered canon??" I mean, maybe not events specific to this game, but the detail of King Candy being dormant in Sugar Rush's code and possibly being revived somehow.

I mean, it would actually make a lot of sense that King Candy didn't really die at the end of the first movie, given that RBTI revealed characters could get around the "dying outside your game" rule by being programmed into a different one. Like, that's LITERALLY what King Candy did! We saw his code box integrated into Sugar Rush!

So don't you tell me that he's not still alive, damn it! (seriously, it just tickles me to think that RBTI's sloppy writing and disregard for continuity indirectly retconned King Candy's demise. XD)

Which brings me to my next point: WHY THE HELL IS NOBODY TALKING ABOUT THIS?? lmao

#disney magic kingdoms #king candy #turbo #turbotastic #wreck it ralph #wir #disney #video games #mobile games

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gaykarstaagforever · 1 month ago

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TAS "The Lorelei Signal"

Oh man. Oh my god. This is the greatest episode of Star Trek I've ever seen in my life!

Go find this and watch it before I spoil it for you. This is, unironically, one of the best Star Trek things ever. Uhura is forced to seize command of the Enterprise and shoot a bunch of blonde vampire women with a phaser. If you are in any way a TOS fan, this is everything your brain has ever wanted to see.

I'm serious. Go watch it. It's on Paramount+. I'll wait.

...Yeah? Yeah. Now let's talk about what we just witnessed.

Kirk and Co. are off in yet another mysterious region of Space, where ships keep disappearing at regular almost-30-year intervals. And despite this being the TOS era, Kirk tells us that the Federation has confirmed with both the Klingons AND Romulans that their ships have both disappeared around here, too, and they are also curious about it. Love the implication that there are political back-channels at work in this era for shared issues, despite all the open hostilities. It's one line. This is good writing.

(Kirk also calls the Federation the "Earth Federation," revealing that recurring TOS thing where they can't seem to agree on whether the Federation is the Space alliance of alien planets, the united Earth government, or both. Always love that. This franchise invented turbo-nerds noticing stuff like this. This was still early days.)

The Enterprise picks up a weird distress signal from a planet. All the men on the bridge (besides Arex, who the show often seems to forget is even here, and absolutely does in this episode) hear the signal as an alluring song in a woman's voice. Uhura and Chapel very much DO NOT, and are immediately concerned as the guys completely fall prey to whatever this is. Including Spock, who resists it better than the rest, but not enough to avoid getting captivated by it.

And you know that if even Spock is crumbling before the might of a Space siren's song, Kirk has already been sex-lobotomized by it.

He orders them to the planet and, telling Uhura to back off, takes an away team down.

They encounter a paradise, which means the usual great illustrations of a beautiful alien world.

They meet the aliens who sent the message, who are literally a race of Farrah Fawcetts in 1973 retro-future pants suits. There are clearly no men, and the women use an advanced computer to track ships in their region of Space and broadcast their signal. Instead of noticing all the red flags, Kirk, Spock and McCoy are so helplessly intoxicated by the signal and the situation that the women lure them to sleep, then put magic headbands on them. ...That they can't take off. ...That immediately begin draining their "life-energy," causing them to rapidly age.

When they finally notice this, they manage to flee the palace where they are being held, but only out into the courtyard before the women catch up. So Kirk and Spock and McCoy hide in a giant ornamental vase, that, fortunately for them, the women don't think to search.

After things settle down, Spock decides that, since he's a Vulcan, he is stronger and will live longer than the other two, so he should sacrifice himself to go back into the palace and try to get ahold of their phasers and communicators. He manages to, just before he gets caught, and tells the Enterprise to send a rescue party.

The Enterprise is currently being commanded by Scotty. But he and the other male crew members are still under the influence of the initial signal, so THIS happens:

youtube

This is simultaneously so goofy and so ominous. What a perfectly effective way to show this. TOS itself was rarely this artfully done. God, I love this.

By this point, Uhura has concluded that everyone is basically doomed unless she steps up and deals with this, so she DOES. She removes Scotty from command, and her and Chapel put together a rescue party of female (presumably straight) members of the crew. Then, in their miniskirts and armed with phasers, they head down to take care of this nonsense.

Uhura confronts the alien women and orders them to free the guys. They refuse.

So she...

Just...just look at this:

THEY SHOOT THEM. THEY JUST SHOOT ALL OF THEM.

They very specifically don't kill them, just stun them. Because you can do that in Star Trek. And should, way more often.

This might be the most effective landing party in the history of Star Trek. This is what every 12 year old who has ever yelled at their TV has been telling Starfleet personel to do since the late 60s. And Uhura does it.

I am so happy right now.

The leader of the women, immediately realizing she's dealing with actual qualified Space soldiers with guns, begs for mercy and gets their computer to show Uhura where the guys are hiding in that vase. It's been raining, so they're about to drown inside it as tired old men.

Needlessly to say, they're rescued and beamed back to the ship, where Chapel starts trying to restore them. The leader of the alien women also explains to Uhura that it's not their fault they're all She-Ra vampires. See, they were settlers, women AND men, who crash-landed on this planet hundreds of years ago. And it turned out the planet's ecosystem made men age and die rapidly. But for the women, it in fact extended their youth and lifespans. ...Sort of? But they also have a computer that uses the headband system to drain life-energy from men and channel it into the women, making them basically unaging and immortal? And I think they just found that, along with all the remains of an advanced civilization on the planet, so they didn't build any of this, they just realized they could take advantage of it? They don't go into this too much. Suffice it to say, they need to drain people (men) of life-energy once every almost-30 years, or they'll die. And since all of this also makes them infertile, they HAVE TO DO THIS, to survive.

Which strikes me as a load of bullshit. But Uhura is nicer than I am and believes them, and even decides to beam them all aboard the Enterprise, to take them to another, less weird planet, where they can finally become men's wives and have babies, as nature intended.

(Uhura doesn't say this, but the leader of the women basically does. ...Which is, honestly, the only time that this whole thing has gotten pointedly regressive about what is happening here. I give it credit for resisting the urge until the very end, at least.)

Back on the ship, Chapel's attempt to restore the guys isn't working. But Spock, who is rapidly becoming a living mummy but isn't incapacitated yet, suggests they use the transporter to re-beam everyone down and back up from the planet, restoring them to how they were when they first beamed down. Everyone acts like this is a risky thing, though I'm pretty sure TOS already did this like 3 times at this point? So they do it and it works, and everything is back to normal.

This plot is one of my favorite things in scifi, where someone takes a lame 1950s B-movie exploitation plot (in this case, sexy Space vampires kidnapping astronauts), but does it as a serious story with good character moments (specifically, here, for the women crewmembers). Uhura owns this story, and we see a side of her we have NEVER seen in any other canon story. She is suspicious and angry and dealing with things from the start, acting exactly like an officer on a starship should act. And Chapel and the other women crewmembers notice this and immediately fall in behind her. It's so goddamn good.

Can you imagine Gene Roddenberry trying to do a TOS episode where the Black lady takes control of the Enterprise and shoots a room full of blonde women on screen? They would have canceled the show then and there! And had him arrested.

I don't know if this is a 'great' episode, given how clearly trashy the core premise is. But I love it, and it's exactly the sort of thing only Star Trek can do, and do well, the way it is done here. It is thrilling and fun and satisfying, at any rate.

#star trek #tas #uhura #tos #Youtube

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fridgrave2-0 · 10 months ago

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Do you think Calhoun and Felix are endgame or Felix and Turbo? For example, if there was any kind of possibility Turbo could come back, would they get back together because of unresolved feelings or would or be an aggressive side eye situation? lol

if we take a situation where turbo is mostly forgiven by others and goes through his therapy arc, then actually think of poly

turbo would hate the idea of being around felix 'cause he still has to process the whole "he turned me into a boogeyman" thing, so he always reminds himself that he shouldn't be jealous bc of calhoun, he doesn't want this fixing piece of shit anymore (he does, but he lived with this anger on felix for 25 years so he can't just let go). turbo actually tries to interact with calhoun when felix isn't around and very soon he understands that she's actually very cool. he's been through some shit between roadblasters and sugar rush period, still feels a lot of regret and pain about turbo twins and can relate to calhoun's loss more than anyone else in the group. and, well, the whole cybug thing also adds to it. as much candybug felt excited about becoming this mutant, it was a lot from the bug perspective, and when turbo got the full control over his mind and body the terror did hit him like a bus. tamora was able to give him the understanding of cybugs, and he shared how he felt when he was eaten. "it wasn't painful or anything, at least i don't remember the pain. but i didn't feel like myself anymore, like i was under players control again, and any attempt of taking the control back just felt so wrong." it was something tamora needed, many years she lived with doubt. did her fiance even had a chance of being the man she loved after being eaten, or it would just be a monster with a familiar face. now this burden fell off her shoulders. she wasn't the one who killed him, the cybug was

turbo saw a lot of himself in calhoun. this need to keep the front all the time, to stay in control, to hide most of the emotions and do not look weak. and just like with him, she began to open up because of felix. turbo wanted to warn her, say that he already got burned by felix's light, got too close and paid for it. but keeping the distance with fix-it actually helped turbo see the whole picture, and felix seemed different now. and it shouldn't be surprising, people can change in 15 years of which he didn't see felix. maybe it was calhoun's job, or an experience of almost being unplugged, but fix-it looked almost sad everytime turbo was coming up with an excuse to avoid him. turbo learned his lesson. why did he felt so bad seeing an unspoken remorse in felix's eyes?

tamora was the one, who made them talk after too much time of walking around and playing hide and seek. in last months turbo taught himself to apologize and be genuine about it, and he was ready to do it, but with felix everything goes wrong, as always. this was exactly what fix-it wanted, it has always been like this. when turbo apologized, that was making felix in the right, no matter what was the reason. he knew felix saw the world in black in white, and that means always there's the one who's right, and the one who's wrong. and my any means turbo never was a perfect or even a decent person before, and he doesn't think so of himself now just because he realized his bad actions and said sorry couple of hundreds times. being eaten by a bug and burn in lava makes you reconsider a lot of things. but he knew he wasn't the only one who was wrong, and the idea hearing it again from felix was the worst. so turbo bit his tongue and kept his apologies

...only to hear felix saying "i'm sorry" for the first time in 30 long years. turbo didn't think it was possible, but here he was, sitting in niceland with silent but proud looking calhoun by his side while felix was pouring out his soul. apologies mixed up with tears - turbo knew that felix always cries when he gets too emotional - and felix just talked and talked for ten minutes straight, not seeing how the tension was leaving turbo's body. he relaxed, listening to felix not with a sense of triumph, but with a bit of fun. couple of times he turned to look at tamora only to see her sharing this look with him, and suddenly everything just became so simple and trivial that turbo made felix stop talking by pulling him into a hug. he wished for his apologies for 30 years, and now when he got them he didn't want to listen to it. because what was the point? turbo got the point in first two minutes, he knew felix was feeling sorry, and to list all their mistakes and bad choices would take too much of the time they had already lost

"i got the jist, big idiot, you didn't have to write a whole essay about how sorry you are", turbo said with a grin and heard felix chuckle. then he sighed and hid his face in felix's shoulder, still uncomfortable with being so open. "but thanks... i'm sorry too, y'know?"

turbo felt how felix relaxed in his arms

"yeah, i know, little idiot", felix replied, and for the first time in decades turbo felt like home. while he was keeping his face in felix's shoulder and breathing the familiar smell of pie and brick dust, felix looked at his wife, who seemed unusually soft, and uttered without a sound small "thank you". after all, without her they wouldn't ever try

#one day i won't write a fucking fanfic as a reply but damn i'm having a lot of thoughts #they are gaslight girlboss gamejump trio #turbo #turbotastic #sergeant calhoun #tamora calhoun #fix it felix jr #80s boyfriends #hammertastic #hero's cuties #idk how to call turbo and calhoun's duo #gimme your ideas #wreck it ralph #wir au

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viiennie · 10 months ago

Text

its my first time writing on tumblr and also my first time writing fluff pls b nice ):

content: streetracer!reader x obsessed!nervous!gojosatoru

- yuji and gojo almost die on a late night drive but thats okay because gojo thinks he just met the hottest woman in the world.

this is part one,,, probably??? idk

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

tw: car chase, curse words, small car accident, reader might be a little insane, GOJO IS A LITTLE AWKWARDS BUT ITS OKAY HES A CUTIE

“ne, sensei the car behind us is being weird…” itadori sweats, hands tight on the steering wheel as he winces at the way the lights from the suv car behind him reflect on the mirror.

gojo nods, “yeah, he’s being a real asshole.” he sighs, “it’s alright, the next left turns is ours. turn on your signal light.” he reassures his student, proud that he isnt panicking because of the blinding light and the close proximity between them.

yuji follows his teacher’s instructions, turning on his signal light and making his turn.

but he’s surprised when the car suddenly launches forward, accompanied by the sound of a loud thump from the back. “this dude is an ass!” he shouts, hitting the breaks as he stops on the side of the road behind the white lane. (thankfully not the sidewalk.)

“stay put first itadori, i’ll go–” before the blue eyes sorcerer could finish his sentence, they hear the car behind them accelerating away, followed by a loud shouting of, “WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING ASSHAT!”

gojo watches as you speed after the drunkard in a nissan skyline gtr r34, the flutters of your turbo sending chills down his spine.

he chuckles, finding the situation absolutely bewildering before turning back to focus on his dearest student….who was gone from the driver’s seat????????

“gojo sensei, the exhaust fell out!” yuji calls out from outside, staring defeatedly at the chunk of metal on the green grass.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

the next day, you were at the police station, getting your speeding ticket settled.

all you wanted to do was be a good person and help out your fellow citizens. i mean, what else were you supposed to do when you had witnessed a hit and run?

“um…call the police? miss y/n you cant just get into a high speed chase, you have to let the us do our jobs sometimes.”

the officer scolds you, a stern look on her face as you lower your head in shame. you felt like a highschool student being reprimanded by your adviser all over again.

after the long lecture, you were finally free to go, and the moment you step out of the station, you bump into the chest of a person, almost tripping and falling down if it wasnt for the hands that caught you before you lost your balance.

“ah, im sorry. i wasnt—”

“were you the person who chased a drunk driver last night by chance?”

you look up to see a man seemingly in his 20s, pale white hair, and very very tinted shades. his ears a slightly tainted red as he patiently awaits a reply, watching as you regain your balance and straighten out your windbreaker jacket.

“yes, i was. is there a problem?” you raise an eyebrow and cross your arms, shifting your weight to one foot.

“i just wanted to say thank you.. it was my student and i that got hit.”

gojo satoru doesnt know why he’s being so polite. he doesnt know why he cant keep eye contact. he doesnt know why his heart is about to beat out of his chest, and he doesnt know why he decided to search the nearby police stations despite his busy schedule, hoping to maybe bump into you, and he did.

“oh..” you uncross your arms, having thought you were about to receive another scolding from a person that you maybe somehow wronged in the streets. “uhh, its no problem really.” you smile before walking past him. you were hungry and wanted to have a feast.

“i..” gojo satoru, for the first time in his life, panics, “let me treat you out for dinner!” its five pm, you probably havent had dinner right? otherwise it’d be embarassing if you refused his offer.

you stop in your tracks, wondering if your actions really meant that much to this stranger before shrugging. this was a free meal that you would never pass up on. “sure.”

so now, here you were, in the beautiful cafe, with beautiful food, and a very nervous gojo satoru in front of you.

god this is so embarrassing! gojo screams in his head. he was usually good with women. he usually always knew what to say to ease the mood. and he was always smooth with his words. so why are all the letters of the alphabet suddenly stuck in his throat? why cant he find the right sentences to form?

“so..i never learned your name?” you begin, picking up your spoon and fork. “my name is y/n l/n.”

he clears his throat, “gojo satoru.” his voice almost breaks, his shaking hand reaching for the straw of his drink to guide to his lips. whatdoisay?whatdoisay?whatdoisay?whatdoisay?WHATDOISAY??????

“gojo, you need to relax. im scared you’ll start crying.” you honestly admit, hand reaching out for his shaking ones, “i dont think you can even eat look how much you’re trembling.” you sigh, watching as he turns completely red, steam erupting from his head.

“o-oh im sorry..” he mumbles, almost whispers. absolutely frozen as he just stares at the way your hand wraps around his.

“okay look, lets get the food for takeout and i’ll show you something, alright?” you hum, not really minding since you had already eating enough to quell your hunger.

gojo swears it happened too fast. the waiter took too fast to give the bill and the takeout, you walked too fast to your car, and he walked too fast, sat too fast into the passengers seat.

hell, he doesnt even know how he ended up telling you he had no ride home when he, in fact, had his bmw waiting for him on the other side of the parking lot. “so where do you live?” you hum, starting your car and smiling at the sound of the motor coming to life.

gojo says his address, eyes focused on the way your hands grip the steering wheel, the way you seem to fit into your seat like a puzzle. he loves the way your car smells, he loves the way its customized to fit your tastes. and he loves the way you look when you begin driving.

you looked so content.

“you look so beautiful, angel.” he unknowingly mutters, loud enough for you to hear.

“why thank you.” you giggle, “finally calming those nerves down?” you assumes he just had some type of social anxiety that made him nervous around other people, so you were glad he got to relax in the safety of your car.

as you drive, the view of the sunset over the sea comes into view, the orange and yellow hues casting a glow over the city. you slow down, “you wanna stop and admire the view first?”

“yea, i would love to.”

you nod, parking into a nearby open parking lot, and turn off the engine of the car.

you cant help but notice the way gojo stares at you through his long eyelashes, blue eyes boring holes into your soul. this is the first time you actually got to see his eyes, the black shades no longer in the way of them.

you notice his eyes, yes, but you dont notice the way you’re slowly leaning closer towards him until you’re only inches away from his face.

this is wrong, you both think.

i have a mountain load of missions to finish, i shouldnt be here.

i barely know this guy, should i be doing this?

but did all that really matter? what if this was a risk worth taking?

gojo satoru forgets his fears, raising his hand to cup your cheek, pulling you in closer to finally meet your soft lips.

you swear you could almost hear fireworks going off the moment you kiss this stranger whos name is the only thing you know about him, oh, and you also knew that he was cute too. the way he furrowed his eyebrows as the kiss deepened, the way his cheeks turned so red that you wondered if he would start overheating, the way his thumb on your cheek caressed your skin, it was all so adorable.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jjk x you #jjk fluff #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo fluff #satorugojo #jujutsu kaisen satoru #x reader #jjk fanfic #street racing

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sherewrytes · 1 month ago

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Love and Gunshots, Eren x Black Reader 15

Gang member Eren x Introvert black reader

Summary: In a dangerous urban landscape, y/n, an introverted Criminal Law student, finds herself drawn into the violent world of the Sixx Gang through her protective cousin, Onyankopon. When she locks eyes with Eren Yeager, a hot-headed gang member, a twisted game of desire and danger begins.

As Eren becomes obsessed with y/n, he threatens to unravel the fragile balance Ony has maintained to shield her from their brutal lifestyle. With loyalty tested and violence lurking at every turn, the lines between love and danger blur, leading to a dark climax where the heart proves just as lethal as a gun.

Genre: Dark Romance/Crime Modern au

Warnings: Graphic violence, drug use, smut, obsession

@msjaeger @hidd3nbimbo @vampimilikis @nova2kss @honeydrzzldpeaches @faerie-soirxx @topshotdivaa @prettypink-princesss @burpzz @niaizzy1623 @jcoleisbetter @vampimilikis @defnot-bri @uarmyhopeworldwide @naomiiily @bouquetoftulips6 @lovereren @universal-s1ut

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Masterlist

Of course, we were heading to the warehouse. I pulled up behind Jean and Connie, parking my Hellcat next to some old RX-6 that was tricked the fuck out—custom rims, blacked-out windows, and I could already tell by the way it sat that it had a turbo upgrade.

Didn’t recognize the car, but I had a feeling I’d find out soon enough.

Stepping inside, the energy in the room was tense. I immediately clocked who was there—YN’s father, Reggie, sitting back with his arms crossed, watching everything like he was piecing together a puzzle. Malik, her younger brother, was leaned up against the wall, phone in hand but eyes up, always watching. Then there was some other dude I ain’t recognize, but from the way he was posted up, looking just like Ony in the face, I already knew. Ony’s younger brother on his dad’s side.

I let my gaze cut to Nico, the 6ixx lawyer, who was standing by a table stacked with paperwork and files. He was talking, voice steady, filling us in on everything that was going down with Ony.

"Alright," Nico said, adjusting his glasses. "So, we got a situation. Ony’s looking at 20 years minimum if we don’t get ahead of this. Murder charges, trafficking, gun possession—it’s a fucking mess. But we got options."

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smirking slightly. "Let me guess. You got a loophole, Nico?"

Nico sighed, shaking his head. "I had a loophole, but they just hit him with more shit today. Someone’s feeding them evidence."

I felt the shift in the room instantly. Everyone was thinking the same thing. A rat was in the mix.

Jean clicked his tongue, annoyed. "So what’s the play now?"

Nico exhaled sharply. "We need to figure out who’s snitching and fast. And Ony…" He paused, flipping through a folder. "He wants to see you, Eren."

I grinned, exhaling through my nose. "Of course he does."

Nico’s words hit me like a ton of bricks. "I don’t mean Ony Jr. I mean Sr."

I froze. My mind immediately went into overdrive. When the fuck did he get out? Wasn't he serving life?

Then the door creaked open, and all the tension in the room shot up. Ony Sr. stepped inside, the room feeling smaller by the second. His presence was like a storm rolling in. The man was built like a fucking tank, his dark eyes cutting through everyone in the room as if he had already claimed the space before even walking in. He wasn't an imposing figure just because of his size—he had that vibe, like a predator, and you could feel it in your gut.

My heart dropped. It was hard to keep a straight face, but I could feel the weight of everything crashing down on me all at once. This wasn’t just a visit from some old gang leader—this was Ony’s father, someone with more pull than I’d ever have, someone who didn’t take lightly to disrespect.

"Surprised to see me?" Ony Sr. said, his voice low, smooth like he’d been waiting for this moment.

I stood there, trying to steady myself, fighting the instinct to step back. "I thought you were locked up for life," I managed to say, though it sounded more like an accusation than a question.

Ony Sr. smirked, shaking his head. "The system's got holes, son. Some people know how to find 'em."

I could feel everyone else in the room tense up. Reggie glanced over at me, and I caught the flicker of concern in his eyes, but he didn't speak. Malik didn’t even look up from his phone, but I could tell he was processing everything, too. Nico just stayed quiet, his face unreadable.

"Didn’t think I’d see you on this side of the bars, old man," I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the nerves crawling under my skin.

Ony Sr. chuckled darkly. "You really thought you could keep me out of the game forever?" He eyed me, and the air seemed to thicken. "You’re in my territory now, boy."

I felt the full weight of his words, the way they hung in the air like a threat, but I refused to show any weakness. If I wanted to survive, I had to stand my ground. "You’re out now, but I don’t see you running the streets the same way you used to," I shot back, trying to stay cool.

Ony Sr.'s smile faded, replaced by something colder. "That’s where you’re wrong, Eren. I’m not running the streets. I’m controlling them. And you..." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "You’re a long way from home. Don’t forget that."

The room was heavy with tension. No one moved, no one spoke. It was like we were all waiting for someone to make the first move, but nobody knew what the hell to do.

Finally, Ony Sr. broke the silence, his voice cutting through like a blade. "Nico," he said, turning toward the lawyer, "What’s the status on my son’s case?"

Nico cleared his throat. "We’re working on it. But right now, it’s about making sure we don’t lose him to the system. We can’t afford any more slip-ups."

Ony Sr. nodded, then turned to me. "I need you to do something for me, Eren. Get Ony out, or I’ll make sure you regret it."

The threat was clear. He wasn’t just playing games. This was about power, control, and whatever it took to win. And right then, I knew I was in deeper than I ever expected.

Ony Sr. took a seat next to Levi, giving him a nod and a subtle dap. Levi didn’t hesitate to return the gesture, though the look on his face was anything but friendly. It was like a mutual understanding that there was a history here—one that neither of them was too keen on diving into, but one that carried weight.

Erwin, who had just walked in, stopped in his tracks when he saw Ony Sr. sitting there. His expression flickered between surprise and confusion. "How the hell did you get out?" Erwin asked, his voice thick with disbelief.

Ony Sr. chuckled, the deep sound rumbling from his chest. "Jail’s boring, man," he said casually, like it was no big deal. "Plus, I got my other son out here." He nodded toward the younger man standing by Malik, his stance confident and slightly defiant. The kid had a look about him—something that made it clear he wasn’t new to this life.

The young man walked over to Ony Sr., his gait smooth, like he’d already taken his place in this world. He stopped in front of his father and gave him a small, but respectful nod. "You good, pops?" the kid asked, his voice a little gravelly, like he’d already seen too much for his age.

Ony Sr. slapped him on the shoulder, clearly proud of the boy. "Yeah, I’m good. You good?" he replied with a grin that showed he wasn’t playing around.

The young man gave a slight smirk, clearly holding his own weight in the room. "I’m straight."

I glanced over at the kid. He didn’t look too much older than me, maybe a year or two at most, but there was something in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t playing by the same rules everyone else was. He was part of the game, like his father, and like Ony Jr. And now, it seemed like he was part of my mess too.

Erwin exchanged a look with Levi, the two of them silently assessing the situation. "I take it you’ve got more up your sleeve than just walking in here and shaking hands?" Erwin asked, his tone sharper now.

Ony Sr. leaned back in his chair, his eyes moving slowly around the room. "Of course I do, Erwin," he said, his voice calm but with an edge. "I don’t come empty-handed."

I felt the tension in the room shift. The air was thick with unspoken threats, and I could feel the weight of every word as it was exchanged. It wasn’t just about Ony Sr. getting out of prison—it was about power being moved around the table. He was here for something, and whatever it was, it wasn’t gonna be pretty.

Levi glanced at me briefly before turning his attention back to Ony Sr. "What are you really here for, Ony?" he asked, cutting through the small talk.

Ony Sr. looked directly at Levi, his gaze hardening. "I’m here for my son. For my family. And I’m here to remind everyone that you don’t forget who your real allies are." His eyes flicked to me, then back to Levi. "You ever wonder why the streets are quiet? Because my name still holds weight. Don’t forget that."

The room went silent again, the gravity of his words settling over everyone. This was far from over. I could already feel the tension winding tighter, like a coil ready to snap.

I stood there, caught in the middle of a storm, trying to make sense of everything unraveling. The past was coming for all of us, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep pretending I wasn’t part of it.

Levi’s laugh broke the silence, but his expression quickly turned serious as he stared at Ony Sr. “I still don’t know why you took the rap for us,” he said, shaking his head. “You didn’t have to. You could’ve walked away.”

The room went still, everyone hanging on Ony Sr.’s next words. He didn’t rush, taking a moment to look around at everyone before locking eyes with Levi.

“It’s my job as the leader,” Ony Sr. said simply, but the weight of his words dropped like a hammer. The entire room seemed to freeze. His voice was steady, but there was a fire behind it—something unyielding that demanded respect. The kind of authority you couldn’t fake. “My family, my crew, my people... I protect them. No matter the cost.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed as he processed the statement. There was a flicker of something—maybe respect or maybe just the cold understanding that this man, for all his flaws, was a leader in his own right. But the tension between the two men was palpable. This wasn’t just some old rivalry or bad blood between them. This was something deeper.

Erwin, who’d been standing off to the side, cleared his throat. “We all have our reasons for what we do,” he said, his tone level but firm. “But let’s not act like we’re here for some noble cause. We all know why we’re really here.”

Ony Sr. glanced at Erwin, almost dismissively. “I’m not trying to be a hero, Erwin. I do what needs to be done. And right now, that means getting my son out of this mess. You can call it whatever you want.”

I could feel the weight of his gaze shift toward me again, like he was reminding me—this wasn’t about business or alliances anymore. This was personal. The whole room was caught up in the ripples of Ony Sr.’s words, and it was clear he wasn’t just back to lay low. He was back to take control.

Levi finally spoke again, his voice calm but with an edge. “We all protect what’s ours. But don’t forget, the game changes. You might think you have it all figured out, but things can turn on a dime.”

Ony Sr. chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. “You forget, Levi. I’ve been in this game longer than most. I know exactly how the board works. And I’m still standing.”

It wasn’t just about power anymore. It was about respect. Loyalty. Legacy. And I realized, in that moment, that I was in the middle of something much bigger than myself.

The silence hung in the air for what felt like an eternity, and then Ony Sr. stood up, his presence commanding the room even more. “Let’s get to business. We have work to do.” His eyes flicked toward me, and for a brief moment, I saw something in his gaze—something cold, calculating, like he was already planning his next move.

I took a deep breath, ready for whatever was coming next. It was clear now—Ony Sr. wasn’t just here to pick up the pieces. He was here to take back what was his. And we were all caught in the crossfire.

Malik’s voice cut through the tension in the room. “Yo, Unc,” he said, looking directly at Ony Sr. There was a note of curiosity and concern in his tone.

Ony Sr. turned his head slightly, his eyes sharp as ever. “What, boy…”

Malik hesitated for a moment, glancing around before asking, “Does auntie and the others know you’re out yet?”

Ony Sr. sighed, the weight of the question clearly settling on him. “Nope,” he answered flatly. “But they will. Because it seems…” He paused for a moment, his eyes shifting to meet mine across the room. A cold, calculating gaze that made my skin crawl. “One of my nieces has a problem that needs fixing.”

I couldn’t help but shift in my seat, the air growing thicker as Ony Sr.’s attention locked on me. His words hung in the air like a threat, and for the first time, I felt the full weight of his presence.

“She lucky I don’t post her ass to Trinidad for the shit she’s been getting herself into,” Ony Sr. added, his voice low but filled with that dangerous undertone. It wasn’t a joke. It was a warning. And it was aimed directly at me.

The room seemed to shrink as the tension mounted. The implications of his words were clear—this wasn’t just about family business or the past. This was about me, and whatever the hell I had been tangled up in recently. My mind raced, but I couldn’t show weakness.

I stood up from my chair, ignoring the way everyone’s eyes followed me. My jaw clenched, but I didn’t back down.

“You think you can control everything around here?” I shot back, my voice steady but tinged with defiance. “I’m not some pawn for you to move around. And if you think for one second you can intimidate me like that—”

“Watch your mouth,” Ony Sr. interrupted, his voice suddenly dark and commanding. “I’ve been in this game long enough to know what happens when people like you step out of line.”

The room went quiet again. The tension thickened, like the air itself was heavy with the threat of what might come next. Even Malik stood still, his earlier bravado fading as he seemed to recognize the weight of his uncle’s words.

I felt the eyes of everyone on me. Ony Sr. was serious. And for the first time in a long time, I realized I was up against something much bigger than just a family feud. This was about power. Control. And survival.

But I wasn’t backing down—not now, not ever. My jaw tightened, and I met Ony Sr.’s gaze head-on. “If you’re gonna do something about it, then do it,” I said, my voice unwavering. “But I’m not scared of you or your threats.”

The room was dead silent, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything was at a standstill.

Finally, Ony Sr. let out a low, almost amused chuckle. “You got guts, I’ll give you that,” he said, his eyes still cold. “But remember, boy… it’s not about guts. It’s about knowing when to back down and when to strike.”

I didn’t say anything more. I didn’t need to.

The tension in the room remained palpable, but I knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The sudden movement caught me off guard. Ony Sr. was on me before I could even react, his hand gripping my shirt so tightly that I could feel the pressure against my chest. His face was inches from mine, eyes burning with fury.

"Now tell me, boy," Ony Sr. growled, his grip tightening as his voice dropped low and menacing. "You gonna explain why the streets sayin' you got my son locked up for this shit?"

I could hear the hint of his Trini accent slipping through as his words turned sharper, more venomous. "You talkin' to the feds, Eren? You leakin' information?!" His voice hit a dangerous pitch, and I could feel his anger radiating off him. "Boy, yuh feel this is a play thing or a fly-by-night thing here?"

I stood there frozen for a moment, trying to keep my composure, but his grip was like iron. I could feel the pressure in my chest, the intensity of his eyes boring into me. I knew this wasn’t just a question—this was a test. A test of loyalty, of strength, of whether I could hold my ground in the face of this kind of power.

I swallowed, my throat dry, but I managed to speak, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

"I don’t know what the streets are saying, but I haven’t talked to the feds," I said, meeting his gaze without flinching. "If I’m involved in anything, it’s my own business. And as for your son... whatever’s going on with him, that’s on him, not me."

Ony Sr.’s face remained hard, his eyes narrowing as if trying to gauge if I was telling the truth or just trying to talk my way out of it. His hand stayed locked in my shirt, but I could tell he was listening—waiting for the crack, the slip in my words.

"You sure about that?" he asked, his tone still dangerously calm. "Cause right now, yuh lookin’ like a man who don’t know how deep he’s in it."

I didn’t flinch. "I’m sure," I said firmly. "And if I were you, I’d be worried about keeping your family in check instead of accusing me of something I didn’t do."

Ony Sr. stared at me for a long, tense moment, as if weighing my words. Then, with a sudden force, he shoved me back. My feet stumbled, but I regained my balance quickly, keeping my eyes locked on him.

"Yuh think you tough, huh?" he said, his voice almost a growl. "But remember this, Eren: You ain't untouchable. And your little game? It ain’t no different from the rest of ‘em."

He turned his back on me then, walking toward the rest of the room, his movements slow and deliberate. "I’m watchin’ you, boy. Don't think for one second you can play both sides. You’ll end up burnin' in the end."

I stood there, my chest still heaving from the encounter, but I knew one thing for sure—I had to be careful. Ony Sr. wasn’t just some big shot trying to intimidate me; he was someone who could destroy everything I thought I knew if I wasn’t careful.

And I wasn’t done with this yet. Not by a long shot.

The moment Ony Sr. tossed the keys at Malik, everything clicked into place. My heart sank as I watched him catch them easily, a smirk crossing his face as he turned to head out the door.

"Burn that shit now," Ony Sr. ordered, his tone cold and final. I hadn’t even noticed when he’d pulled the keys from my pocket, but the realization hit me hard. This was no longer about the game I was playing. This was about survival. And right now, I was the prey.

My mind raced, trying to find a way out of this, but I didn’t get the chance. Ony Sr.’s gaze snapped back to the rest of the room, and I could see the dangerous glint in his eyes. His next words came with a brutal finality.

"Chain Eren up to that chair over there," he commanded, his voice cutting through the tense silence. "Levi, you guys got a traitor, and yuh dancing around this shit too much."

The air in the room shifted, thick with tension, as the weight of his words sank in. I could feel the heat rise in my chest, the anger surging within me, but I knew better than to show it now. Ony Sr. was a seasoned player, a man who held far too much power for me to make any sudden moves.

Levi and Erwin exchanged a glance, and that was all the confirmation I needed. They weren’t in the mood for games, either. Without a word, Levi stepped forward, and I saw him reach into his coat. A small but sturdy pair of handcuffs dangled from his fingers, the metal glinting in the dim light.

I braced myself, knowing what was coming. There was no getting out of this. The game had changed.

"Come on, Eren," Levi said, his tone flat. "You’re not getting out of this one."

Before I could make any move, Levi was already grabbing my arm, pulling it behind me with expert precision. His grip tightened, and I realized there was no fight left in me. The fact that Ony Sr. had ordered me to be chained up told me everything I needed to know. This wasn’t just a warning. This was punishment.

As Levi moved me toward the chair in the corner, I saw Malik returning with the keys to my Hellcat in hand. The look on his face was one of satisfaction. The Hellcat didn’t matter anymore, though. What mattered now was getting out of this situation alive.

"Yuh better hope you know what yuh doin’, Eren," Ony Sr. said from across the room, his voice full of warning. "Cause I ain't got no patience for traitors."

The chains clinked as Levi shackled me to the chair. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, my mind scrambling for an escape, but I knew better than to make any moves. For now, all I could do was wait and listen, hoping this wasn't the end of my game.

"Don’t worry," Ony Sr. added, a cold grin creeping onto his face. "You’ll be alright… as long as yuh stay in line."

But I wasn’t convinced.

Hours passed, the pain in my ribs intensifying with every breath, every slight movement. They’d beaten me good, I could feel the bruises forming, but still, I kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction of hearing me beg or confess.

Ony Sr. was no fool, though. He knew I wasn’t just going to roll over that easy, but damn, he sure tried everything. He even had security cameras in his own room—right where Yn and her mom lived. That shit almost had me on film, almost caught me slipping. But, as much as I hated to admit it, Ony Sr. wasn’t about to let me go. His grip on everything, his control, was absolute.

Even after all the pain, I knew I had to keep playing this game, keep my poker face on. I wasn’t just up against Ony Sr. now, I was up against his entire network. Every move I made was being watched, every step calculated. The minute I made a mistake, it was over.

"You still ain't talking, huh?" Ony Sr. finally spoke up after what felt like forever. His voice was calm, almost disappointed, but I could see the fire burning behind his eyes. He was testing me, pushing me to crack. But I wasn’t going to break. Not this time.

I just gave him a cold stare, my breathing shallow, but defiant.

"You're a stubborn one, huh?" Ony Sr. smirked, walking closer to me. His eyes flicked to the security monitors, his fingers tracing the edge of the screen. "You think that can save you? You think your silence is gonna get you outta this?"

I didn’t respond, just kept staring at him, daring him to do his worst.

He laughed under his breath and shook his head. "Yuh know, it's funny," he continued. "Cause I got no real reason to keep you alive, but I ain’t no fool. I know you still got a part to play in this. Whether you want to or not."

There was a long silence as Ony Sr. just studied me, weighing his options, before he turned to the other guys in the room. They were all waiting for his next move.

"You ain’t talking now, but yuh will," he said, his voice low and threatening. "No one walks outta here without giving me something. But I’m patient. You’ll come around."

I clenched my teeth, trying not to show how much pain I was in. I wasn’t going to crack. Not yet. But I could feel the weight of the situation pushing down on me, and deep down, I knew this was far from over. Ony Sr. wasn’t done with me. And that meant my real fight had just begun.

The door opened, and I saw Reggie walk in, his expression unreadable. "You got him, huh?" he asked, eyeing me like a piece of meat.

"Yeah," Ony Sr. replied. "He thinks his silence is gonna save him. But it’s just a matter of time."

I shot a look at Reggie, then back at Ony Sr., but I didn’t say a word. Whatever came next, I had to be ready. Because if I showed weakness now, it was over.

I could see my Hellcat burning from the warehouse window. Flames licking up the hood, smoke curling into the sky like some sick funeral. That shit pissed me off. I grinded for that car. Every hustle, every sleepless night, every corner I risked my life on. And Ony? He helped me buy it.

That memory hit me hard.

Why the fuck was I doing all this? Hurting Y/N. Betraying Ony. For what?

My wrists ached against the metal. Chain links rattled as I shifted, but I didn’t try to fight it. What was the point?

I looked up at Ony Sr., finally speaking.

"I ain’t gon’ sit here and act like I’m innocent. I know what I did."

My voice was low, raw.

"I sent Ony to jail. I did that shit. I tipped off the cops about the weed. That’s on me. I wanted him out the way so I could get in her head—get in Y/N’s head—without him around."

I shook my head, jaw tightening.

"But them guns? The rest of that shit they found? I ain’t have nothing to do with that. I didn’t plant it. I ain’t even know about it ‘til they hit him with the charges."

I leaned forward as far as the chain would let me, looking Ony Sr. dead in the eyes.

"Take my phone. Go through it. You’ll see the proof. The weed? That’s mine to carry. But the rest? That ain’t me, OG. I swear to God."

The moment the words left my mouth, the tension in the room shifted. I could feel the weight of it settling around me, the confessions hanging in the air like smoke. Ony Sr. was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he processed what I said.

"You tipped the police on the weed?" Ony Sr. asked, his voice quiet but laced with a dangerous edge. "And you expect me to believe that’s all you did?"

I nodded, swallowing hard as the pain in my ribs flared up. "Yeah. The guns, the human trafficking, none of that was me. But the weed... I did that. I called the cops, tipped 'em off. I didn’t want him running around thinking he had it all. But the rest? That wasn’t me."

The room went still. Even the guys watching me seemed to be holding their breath. Ony Sr. slowly stepped closer, his gaze never leaving me. I couldn’t read his face, and that scared me more than the pain in my chest.

"You do realize what you’ve done, right?" Ony Sr. finally said, his voice low but filled with an eerie calm. "You don’t just tip off the police on one of my family members and walk away unscathed. You don’t just cross us like that. But you..." His eyes flicked over to the burning hellcat, and for a moment, I could see a flash of something almost like respect in his gaze.

"You had no right to bring this shit to my doorstep. And you really think I’m gonna let you off easy?"

I didn’t answer. There wasn’t much left to say, not right then. My actions were out in the open, and the consequences would come sooner or later.

Reggie stood silently by the door, his arms crossed, watching the whole exchange like he was waiting for something.

"You know what you did, Eren," Reggie spoke up, his voice smooth but firm. "But the problem is you brought it to the wrong family. Ony’s not gonna let this slide, and neither am I. What you did... it’s deeper than you think."

I met his gaze and nodded slowly. "I know."

Ony Sr. finally turned his back to me and walked over to a table full of papers, his mind clearly calculating what to do next. "You want to make up for this? You want to fix what you’ve done?" he said, glancing back at me. "You got two choices. You either put in work for us, show us that you’re loyal, or you take whatever comes with crossing us. And trust me, the second option won’t be pretty."

I knew what he was implying. I could either take the route of redemption, work off my betrayal, or I could pay the price for fucking with his family. The choice was on me now. And the path I took would define everything from here on out.

But before I could make a decision, I thought of Yn. I thought of everything I’d put her through, how I’d hurt her just to get to Ony, and the mess I’d created by playing this game. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it.

Ony Sr. wasn’t done with me, and I knew it. But now, I had to figure out how to make things right, not just with him, but with myself.

Authors Notes: I'm slowly coming off of hiatus fully the updates maybe mixed up until i build my schedule properly. I was intending on posting Sunday, but I fell asleep tbh and woke up 4 am to post this.

Love y'all :)

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inkedaway · 8 months ago

Text

Hot and Cold (Dandadan)

Title: Hot and Cold

Notes: I don't often post fanfiction but man, something about this show grabbed me, so here I go. This is just me having a lot of speculative thoughts about Okarun's Turbo form and me just wanting to put them down on paper. This is a what if scenario - what if it took time for him to calm down instead of returning back to normal immediately?

Pairing: Momo/Okarun romantic undertones, this is fluff

Rating: G

Summary: But the one thing she did remember from her several few ordeals with him so far in his new form, was the strange attitude shift, and the fact that he curiously, ran cold. Temperature wise. Temperament wise… everything, really, but specifically, to the touch. She clearly recalled the first time she'd gripped his hand, and he'd closed it around hers, and how the surprise had been only just glazing the shallow parts of her brain that oh, he was quite a few degrees colder than he'd been just a few moments ago, and wasn't that interesting? Ao3 link: Here Can also be read under the read more here.

Momo hadn't really realized that she hadn't spent a lot of time observing Okarun's newer form. Every single time he'd used it, she'd had, metaphorically speaking, much bigger fish to fry, and hadn't managed more than the cursory surprise the first time, and just plain acceptance that this was, indeed, just a thing now.

Not once had events slowed down enough for her to actually pause and process what she was seeing, or what he was really doing beyond the surface level. In her defense, it was quite hard to think on her feet, while running away from potentially life and death situations, and also take a moment to appreciate the changes her new friend had gone through. She could not be blamed for it, really, but the one thing she did remember from her several few ordeals with him so far, was the strange attitude shift, and the fact that he curiously, ran cold.

Temperature wise. Temperament wise... everything, really, but specifically, to the touch. She clearly recalled the first time she'd gripped his hand, and he'd closed it around hers, and how the surprise had been only just glazing the shallow parts of her brain that oh, he was quite a few degrees colder than he'd been just a few moments ago, and wasn't that interesting?

Still, like with everything in those situations, it had been swiftly and efficiently shoved to the back part of her brain, in favor of focusing on figuring out how they were both going to get the fuck out of their current situation with at least (most) of their parts still firmly attached.

This wasn't to say she hadn't thought of his form, or the boy in general. She had.

Unfortunately, it had become a common occurrence for her thoughts to stray to him throughout the day. Sometimes, she wouldn't even begin the moment by thinking about him, and then her train of thought would veer right and into a mountain side, as she got entirely distracted by some stray notion, landing back on Okarun.

Despite this, she hadn't really given that form... much thought outside the obvious. Which was, perhaps, why she was so surprised when the door to exit the school roof opened, and rather than the hunched over, geek boy she'd been expecting to join her for lunch, it was the other form that practically dragged itself over.

He looked tired.

But then, he always looked tired like this, and for a moment, she remain quiet as the boy walked over and then, just... allowed himself to flop on the ground near her feet, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, boneless, lifeless, "What happened to you, anyways?" she asked between bites of food as she angled her head to look down at him, "What's with all... this?" she gestured vaguely at him, from head to toe, waving the food she'd been holding on one hand at him.

For a moment, all she got was a grunt, or perhaps a sigh, it was hard to tell like this. His position remain flopped on the ground, both eyes having closed, before one opened and settled on her. Red, unblinking and strangely reminding her of a large cat, "Got mad," this explained absolutely nothing to her, and must have been obvious from the way she stared at him, because he let out a long, soul wrenching sigh as he closed his one eye again, "Can't change. No idea why. Not that it matters."

Granted, he wasn't entirely wrong; most students couldn't see the difference like she could. There was little danger in him being in that form at the current moment in time, "Uh...huh," she said as she ate, "You still mad?"

She got no response this time, just a small flick of a large hand that she interpreted as a vague negative, but otherwise he remain stretched on the floor, near her legs.

It was then the notion came to her; he reminded her of a sunning lion, too lazy to move in the heat of the day, but still dangerous enough that he could spring into action at any given moment, "Cool," another bite of food and soon enough, her sandwich was finished, and Momo scrunched the paper it'd come in within her hands, "So, just a thought but... every time to use your powers, you tend to go back to normal. That likely hasn't changed. Give it a go maybe?"

A whine exited his mouth, or... his mask, without it moving. Heavy, mournful, like she'd just asked him to give up his first born or something equally ridiculous, "I don't wanna move, Momo... I don't wanna do anything, just leave me here."

"For the love of-" Momo rolled her eyes and swiftly decided this just would not do, "Get up. C'mon, up, up, up!" her hand reached out and began to move him, pushing his shoulder several times, to no avail, "If we tire you out, you'll stop this downer bs thing you got going."

Despite her best efforts, the most she got out of him was another small sound, the one eye reopening to fix back on her, "Nooo... what if I need to use those full bursts later? I ain't gonna do that," and, well, he did have a point, not that she wanted to concede that to him. As such she continue shoving on his shoulder, until one of his hands shot out, lightning fast, grabbed her arm, destabilized her, and forced her to crash half on top of him awkwardly.

"Okarun!!" her first reaction was mild panic, swiftly followed by severe annoyance as she hovered over him. He was still looking at her, almost languidly, from that one open eye. And perhaps Momo had misrepresented him; less of a lion, more of an overgrown, lazy dog, flopped over, refusing to move. She lifted a hand, and gave his shoulder one last smack before she righted herself back so she was sitting beside him once more, instead of partially over him. A huff of breath escaped her lips before she looked at him out the corner of an eye, "Were you aware you run cold in this form?"

"Is that why you won't lay down with me, Momo?"

There was zero innuendo in the question, no sort of implication to the words, just curiosity, and perhaps, melancholy there. She turned her head fully to watch him then, "No, you idiot, of course not," rather than actually responding to his question and following that very dangerous train of thought to its inevitable conclusion, instead she frowned down at him, "You're cold, but not uncomfortable. Also, why do you only call me Momo while you're like this, anyways?"

Both his eyes opened then, and strangely enough did a full on blink, "Momo is Momo," as if this were any sort of explanation. When all the response he got out of her was a clearly confused look, he apparently gave up explaining himself and closed his eyes again, "I'm tired..."

"You've literally done nothing today, it's noon, Okarun. You can not be tired," The small huff of sound he made, like an upset, annoyed dog seemed to contradict her, but since he didn't really use his words, Momo let out a sigh and rolled her eyes at him, "You plan on returning to class like that?" another sound, this one sad almost melancholic, like he couldn't be arsed to even begin thinking about class at the current moment, nor any moment in the near future.

Lifting her phone out of her pocket, she looked at the time; there was a bit more than half hour before they'd have to leave, which gave them, hopefully, enough time to fix their current predicament, though Momo guessed it couldn't be that bad. Worst case he'd just flop on his desk and no one would pay him any mind.

Given her previous thoughts, she turned her head and simply watched him for a while, taking note of the way his spiritual energy merged with his hair and his clothes, specifically, making both look almost engulfed in flames. From her own experience when she'd held onto him, neither hair nor clothes were heated whatsoever, though then again, she hadn't really paid it that much mind, what with the killer crab chasing them at the time.

Before she even knew what she was doing, her hand had lifted and reached out towards his hair, curiosity taking her. Her own movement didn't register until he apparently sensed the hand and both eyes opened to settle on it, before they slowly moved to fix on her own, languid and unblinking, but a clear question there, "Oh, sorry, just..." there was zero judgement in his gaze, if anything, a vague curiosity there, "Your hair," his expression did not change, not even an eyebrow twitch, though he did offer her a very slow, once again, almost feline like blink, and given he did absolutely nothing to stop her, she moved her hand in the direction of his hair.

Momo wasn't someone that kept herself from doing or saying the things she wanted to often, and besides, she was more than well aware that had he wanted no contact, she would have never even been able to get close to him. He may have been still at the present moment, but he'd demonstrated twice already that he was more than cognizant of the world around him, "It looks like fire, Okarun. I was wondering why it also runs cold, is all. Do you mind?" her hand had stopped only a few scant inches away from his strands, and she waited for him to make a noncommittal sound before she lowered it into the white mass, sweeping her fingers like they were a brush.

She watched him close his eyes against her ministrations, and once again, the animal like comparison returned in her mind, "C'mere," she said after a few moments, and slowly moved herself and him, fully aware that the only reason she was managing to move him, was because he was allowing it. He remain mostly dead weight but he did nothing more than make a vaguely whine like sound at losing contact with her hand in his hair.

"Momoooooooo..."

She grabbed at his shoulders and he offered no resistance to her when she pulled his head on her lap, "Maybe if you fall asleep, you'll change back," no response other than a small huff, but his eyes didn't close again until one hand returned to sink in his hair, moving carefully through it. It felt, to the touch, much like normal hair would, and if she closed her eyes, and blocked out his looks, she was certain she would not have noticed the difference.

Idly, it made her wonder if she would ever manage to get the boy to lay down like this while not in this form, and would the texture of his hair be any different. She focused her attention on the phone she had clutched in her free hand, and as she petted him, her mind drifted, her thoughts discombobulated while she scrolled through her phone. On instinct, she knew it was still a while before the bell rung and they'd be forced to move anyways.

Her attention only returned back to him when she heard a soft snuffle like sound, her eyes tracking down to see her hand now moving through black, unruly hair, which interestingly enough, did indeed feel the same, the boy having actually managed to fall into a light sleep in place, his form having returned to normal.

Less of a dangerous predator in this form, more of a lap dog, cute and vulnerable, she thought, but her hand did not stop its movement.

She still had five or ten minutes left after all.

#momokarun #dandadan #ken takakura #momo ayase #fanfic #fic

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