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raineandsky · 2 months

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#97

“[Villain].” The supervillain beckons them closer from around the door. “I think you might like this one.”

He’s in their little captive room; being a criminal organisation has made them improvise their spaces. A hero is tied to the rickety chair in the middle of the room, ignoring them both with their head bent. A rare sight, and a nice one at that. A sight that suggests a hint of winning.

“Wait,” the supervillain says softly.

They wait. Nothing happens. “[Supervillain], what—”

A sound breaks through their question. A sniffle. The villain ducks slightly to look at the hero’s face, catching the glistening trail of long-since shed tears on their cheeks. Catching heroes is rare enough, but having them cry about it? Gold.

The supervillain flashes them a quick grin. “Wait ‘til you hear their cover story.”

The villain steps forward and flops down in the seat in front of the hero. The hero keeps their head ducked, holding back shuddering breaths, and the villain simply waits for acknowledgement.

Waiting is in vain, it seems. The hero refuses to look up, even when they clear their throat expectantly.

“I thought heroes were meant to be made of steel,” they comment eventually.

The hero finally looks at them, and the villain only feels slightly bad about the miserable quiver of their mouth and the leaking of their eyes. “I’m not a hero,” they say shakily.

The villain raises their eyebrows. Denial’s a new one. “He must have told you that!” the hero continues, their gaze set on the supervillain at the door, and on the last word they break down into tears.

The villain glances back at the supervillain and he throws them another elated smirk. The slightly bad feeling they felt suddenly splits into painful worry.

They turn back to the hero and open their mouth to say something, but it occurs to them they don’t know who the hero is. They’ve never seen them before.

The worry becomes gnawing.

“You’re not a hero,” the villain reiterates slowly, and the hero’s head snaps up faster than the villain thought they could move.

“Yes!” they cry. Hours of tears scratch at their throat. “Thank god, yes. I’m– I’m not a hero. The agency they– they took me off the street, I’m not a hero or anything or– I’m not anything to do with them I swear please the agency is just–”

“Stop,” the villain snaps, and the hero's words cut off abruptly. “The agency took you off the street?”

The hero nods as they gulp down another sob. “I don’t know why. They threw me out in a hero costume and told me to distract the villains, I don’t– I don’t know anything—”

“Hey,” the villain says smoothly. They scoot their chair closer to the hero’s. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re all here because we hate the agency, right?” They glance back to the supervillain, who’s looking rather unimpressed by this turn of events. “You’re on our side now.”

The sob escapes the hero’s throat this time. Or whoever they are. “I just want to go home,” they manage through the tears.

The villain fishes a tissue from their pocket, tipping the hero’s head back to carefully wipe some of the tears from their face. “I know,” they say softly, “but the agency might be out searching for you right now. We’ll look after you until you can go home, okay?”

The hero hiccups their next breath. “T–Thank you.”

“I’ll get you back on your feet,” the villain says with a sigh. They glance back at the supervillain scowling from the door. “And [Supervillain] will go find whatever the hell the agency’s trying to distract us from.”

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #i am currently away friends #this is posting 2 hours from home #however im nothing if not on the GRIND #i brought my laptop lmao but only cause ive been SO burnt out so im hoping this trip will Fix Me #so far so good too ive written 2 lines in 4 hours. more than ive done the past week. success

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vilevvords · 2 years

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Test Drive — Ushijima Wakatoshi // NSFW

word count: 2.9k

content note: established relationship, car talk, driving and then sex, somehow. brief choking, vaginal sex & semi-public sex

a/n: saw a dodge, had some thoughts, et voila. also, happy birthday wakatoshi. love ya

visuals: one; two (wrong color but for front view)

mdni

Wakatoshi’s new car is a Dodge Challenger. He’s been driving a run-down Nissan god-knows-what for the longest time, never much of a car guy, but when it started rusting around the hubcaps, he knew it was time to say goodbye to the old thing.

He knows a thing or two about cars, changing both of your car’s tires by himself, checking on the oil, doing everything to prevent going to a car workshop if not absolutely necessary because although money isn’t tight for him, he prefers to not spend anything on things he can easily do himself.

And knowing this, it was even more surprising to find out just how much he had spent on his new car. You didn’t need to know cars to be able to tell it was expensive - sharp edges, polished body, sleek leather seats; a machine all muscle, sure to turn heads on the street. And while Wakatoshi never seemed like one to flaunt his possessions, he sure does cherish them.

Wakatoshi doesn’t have to, but he made it a habit to ask you first before making great purchases, partly to hear your opinion, partly because he feels like anything he owns is just as much yours as it is his. This one, however, is an exception. You knew he was going to buy a new car eventually but nothing could have prevented the way surprise painted your face when he came up to you sitting on the couch, dropping a shiny, brand-new car key into your hands followed by an “I have something to show you, baby.”

The key itself looks pricey, doing justice to the car you see standing in the car park of the apartment complex you two live in. Most of the vehicles parked there were already familiar to you, you had seen them plenty of times going and coming home from work, but even if that wasn’t the case, you didn’t need Wakatoshi to point it out. It stands out even in between your neighbor’s fancy sports cars, with a body rather angular than rounded, edges rugged compared to the flowy build and aquatic curves of most pricey cars. The burgundy is oddly reminiscent of the Shiratorizawa high school volleyball team colors and immediately overwhelmingly him.

He takes a few fast strides to get to the car door before you do, opening it and holding out his hand, signaling for you to sit in the driver’s seat. With how close the seats are to the ground, you almost fall into the red leather seat getting in, the brand-new factory smell wafting over you pleasantly and you make sure to take a few deep breaths, your eyes roaming over the sleek console.

You feel him shift beside you, moving to stand in between the opened car door and he puts one arm on the roof, leaning down slightly to see your expression.

“And? What do you say?” he asks and you find it uncharacteristic how his voice is dipped into what you think is a tinge of nervousness, almost like a little boy who forgot to get permission and is breaking the news to his parents.

For a moment, you don’t know what to say, overwhelmed by the luxury, intimidated by the power, and still not entirely done processing the surprise. You let your gaze wander over the interior once more, taking in more details this time. Your fingertips are grazing the leather center console as he leans in a bit further until he’s halfway into the car, his eyes still fixated on you because the silence has him growing restless and for a moment, he starts to already regret the decision.

It’s when you turn your head around and meet his expectant eyes that you remember you still haven’t given him an answer.

“It’s great, it suits you,” you say eventually, flashing him a smile, and you think you can see relief washing over his face as his features relax.

He explains to you how this type of car is called a muscle car - an American-made two-door sports car with a powerful engine - and it fits, you think. He starts babbling away on the details, about the sheer power of this car that manifests itself in 807 horsepower, making it the most powerful muscle car there is, and it’s clear he’s put about as much thought into this purchase as he does into everything else. And you can’t pretend you understand everything he’s saying, because it’s a lot, but you’re glad to listen nonetheless.

“Turn the motor on,” he says eventually, gesturing towards the start button. The rumble of the engine immediately creeps through your bones, even without acceleration, electrifying your veins. And it’s an exhilarating feeling, one so unlike what you felt in any other car you’ve ever been in. You look towards Wakatoshi and see him smiling at you.

“Let’s go for a ride.”

Apart from a few other cars passing by, traffic is light, and the motorway yours.

The fresh August breeze flowing in through the slightly opened passenger window hits your face, a welcome refreshment on an otherwise hot and humid day. Through the tinted windows, there are wide fields on one side, stretching out over the landscape and painting the scenery in hues of beige, the coastline on the other. The low roar of the engine mixed with the monotonous hiss of the tires rolling over smooth concrete is ambient, evoking an atmosphere that sets your mind at peace, and it is almost enough to make you want to close your eyes and have it lull you to sleep.

There’s a song playing on the radio, though anything beyond the steady rhythm of the bass is drowned out by the sounds of the car and the wind angrily swashing through the small gap of the opened car window to leave your hair tousled. It’s peaceful, relaxing your senses and at least for now, it feels like you’re able to leave all the stress of the last few weeks behind on the motorway.

You look over to Wakatoshi and feel a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth because it feels like a movie. The last few rays of the warm August sun encompass him, casting a warm halo around his silhouette, and he must notice you looking at him because the hand resting on your leg suddenly grasps you tighter, squeezing the flesh of your thigh.

And at that moment you think you will never be able to imagine Wakatoshi ever driving a different car again. Because sitting there in the driver’s seat, it looks like this car was made solely with him in mind.

You’re driving in silence for a little longer, though it feels like time passes in no time and it’s almost a shame, you think. Eventually, Wakatoshi lets the car come to a halt at a parking area of a sightseeing place you know well, though today, despite the great weather, you two are the only ones there. The view is nothing short of magnificent - vast skies stretching out over the vast expanse of the blue ocean, close to cloudless. Coming here is always nostalgic in a way, bringing back memories of past dates, stolen kisses in the setting sun, and heartfelt confessions. It is your place.

You reach to unbuckle your seatbelt but looking up again, Wakatoshi is already standing in front of the passenger door, opening it for you. He’s holding out a hand for you to take as you step out of the car, pushing the door shut behind you.

For a moment, you’re just standing there, taking in the view and basking in the last bit of sunlight for the day that soon threatens to disappear behind the horizon; because that’s all it takes. Because solitude with Wakatoshi isn’t of the suppressing kind; it’s reassuring, soothing, and altogether alleviating.

You wrap your arms around his waist, overcome with the sudden urge to be close to him and he lets you, reciprocating the affection by bringing an arm to rest around your shoulder.

He’s the first to break the silence.

“Thank you for being here with me.”

Instinctively, your hold on him tightens as you look up at him, smiling.

“Of course.”

He dips his head down to press a fleeting kiss on your forehead but the contact lingers, enough so to have you reaching up to cup his face, pulling him down to kiss him properly.

His hands fall to your waist and you can feel the warmth of his palms through the fabric of your dress. He’s using his body weight to gently, carefully guide you backward until your legs make contact with the car before closing the space left between you, his lips meeting yours once again. It’s sweet and unassuming, not necessarily meant to be an invitation to take things much further, you know, but when you feel his breath hitch as a soft sound escapes your throat, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your waist, you decide to test the waters.

The kiss becomes deeper, more breathless, and slowly grows into something that hints at the unmistakable, like a promise of passion.

You run your fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands and drawing a deep groan from him that you swallow. For a moment, he breaks the kiss, an action rather sudden as though he just came back to his senses, his chest heaving as he’s trying to catch his breath.

“Here?” he asks, cautiously; uncertainty deeply engrained in his features. “Now?”

You press a kiss to his jaw, another one just below and by his Adam’s apple, hoping it’s enough of an answer.

It seems to be because his hands hook under your thighs, lifting you on the wide hood of the car and you’re unsure whether it’s the cold aluminum prickling on your skin or the way Wakatoshi reaches up to tug on the straps of your dress that’s sending shivers down your spine. He pushes them off your shoulders, his fingers ghosting over your collarbones before he brings his hand to your throat, applying slight pressure. And even though your mind is clouded and the adrenaline rushing through your veins makes it difficult to think straight, you believe you can make out something unruly grazing his features. His other hand grazes the hem of your dress, teasing, before pulling down the fabric and cupping your breast, massaging the flesh.

He pushes you backward until your back makes contact with the aluminum, his free hand coming down to squeeze your hip. He’s hovering over you, his tall frame hiding the last rays of the setting sun still daring to peek over the horizon. There’s still a soft beat coming from the car’s speakers, setting the atmosphere and helping both of you to get lost in the moment.

It’s now that you take note of how worked up he really is, feeling the bulge of his erection through the layers of clothing separating you, and a gasp escapes past your lips as he presses himself a little further onto you, creating friction by gentle thrusts of his hips that feel ever so slightly restrained. And you know there’s a kind of impatience concealed within his actions, a kind of primitive urge threatening to burst through the closer he is to you, the longer he feels your fingers run through his hair, and the longer he tastes you, swallowing your sweet gasps and whines. His body curves around you, coming impossibly closer as his chest presses against yours, and yet something within his actions still appears restrained, like part of him can’t quite seem to let loose.

“’Toshi,” you manage to choke out, a breathless whimper, as he breaks the kiss, and it serves him as a reminder of how tight his pants are at that moment. He lets his head dip down onto your shoulder, his hands leaving your body to prop himself up on the hood, leaving you aching for his touch and warmth in the process.

“It’s okay, ‘Toshi. We’re alone,” you try persuading him carefully, though your hands are less restrained as you hook two fingers into his belt loop to tuck gently. “Please.”

His hips buck forward on instinct alone, chasing your touch, and it only has you growing more restless.

“Please,” you repeat, more imploring this time.

“Fuck, I don’t wanna dent it,” he breathes out, voice a deep grumble, and you think if you weren’t already lying on the hood, your legs would’ve given in.

“Bend me over the hood then.”

His brows are furrowed in thought like he’s suddenly contemplating how far he’s really willing to let his desires take him. He’s not the type to typically take sexual intimacies outside of the bedroom, not out of shame, but because he believes it to be something between only you and him, something he’s not quite willing to let anyone else in on.

And yet there’s something deeply lustful in his eyes as his hands wrap around your knees, pulling you forward and off the hood. Once your feet are planted on the ground, you’re being turned around, a hiss escaping from in between clenched teeth at the cool sensation of your chest coming into contact with the aluminum.

He hitches your dress up, leaving it bunched up at the dip of your waist, sighing as he catches sight of the darker spot where wetness seeps through your underwear. Your hips buck forward as he presses an index finger onto your clothed clit, gently circling. He hitches a finger under the fabric, pulling it aside at another whimper of his name, slipping a finger inside, soon another. His unoccupied hand massages the flesh of your hips as he pulls soft moans and pleads for more from your lips, patient despite the building pressure sitting deep in his abdomen.

Once he deems you ready to take him, he pulls away briefly, reaching to unbuckle his belt. He sighs as he frees his cock from the restriction of his pants, stroking himself, and his eyes fall shut briefly, needing to steady himself. One hand finds its place back on your waist while the other positions himself. A groan escapes his throat as the tip pushes inside and he takes his time bottoming out, although it’s less for him and more for you to be able to adjust to the stretch.

Wakatoshi leans forward, bracing an arm on the hood to further press his weight into you and you wrap a hand around his biceps, both in an attempt to be even closer to him and to brace yourself.

He starts slowly rocking into you, setting a pace that is deliberate and testing. It takes some time for him to grow bolder, for his careful thrusts to grow less restrained, faster and harder. You can feel the car moving slightly with every move of his hips against yours, the sound of skin against skin mixing in with the bass of the radio.

You’re trying your best to match his pace, attempting to meet his thrusts, but it’s too overwhelming, too overpowering that you find your muscles staggering, unable to keep up. Your nails dig into the muscle of his bicep, so hard it must sting, but he lets you. Because Wakatoshi lets you do whatever you want to him because he knows that ultimately the strain on your body is bigger. So he will take it, endure the sting, for you, and because he can.

Your vision starts to blur and your whimpers and soft moans mix with chants of his name falling from your tongue as you grow louder, but Wakatoshi shushes you, caressing the skin of your waist where he previously dug his fingers into.

He reaches to pull your upper body up from the hood as he feels your orgasm approaching, two fingers circling your clit to help push you over the edge. And he helps prolong your orgasm as you begin writhing in his hold, pleasure finally washing over you, and he presses sweet kisses to the nape of your neck until he feels your body loosen. Gently, he lays you back down on the hood, a few more strokes all it takes for his groans to stagger, for his own release to near. You purposefully tighten around him and feel his rhythm falter, a rare moan pushing itself past his lips as he cums, his cock throbbing inside of you with every wave of his climax.

His hands fall back on the hood as he halts to catch his breath. Fingers push back the strands of slightly damp hair that had fallen onto his forehead as he straightens himself up, pulling his softening cock out of you.

He helps you get back up, making sure you’re standing secure on the ground before he makes you turn around, cupping your face in both of his hands and catching your lips in another kiss. His lips move slowly, sensually, tasting like gratitude and a promise for more, for unrelenting loyalty, for love.

#man idk when i tell you i sat in front of my laptop with my head in my hands i mean it #you know you’re a writer when you’re thinking about all the ways to decribe a car for an hour straight #i don’t know shit about cars don’t comment on it #its late imma proof read this tomorrow if you find any mistakes no you didnt #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima smut #haikyuu ushijima #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq #hq x reader #hq smut #hq ushijima #vile nights #vile one shots

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