#LEVI THOMAS

[agender-wolfie]

Y’all need to understand what gender neutral actually means. Saying “This fic is gender neutral and there are no pronouns or descriptors used” then using “pretty girl” or “that’s my girl” immediately after is NOT gender neutral! Stay out of our spaces if you can’t respect us.

[inkedtension]

The moment he stumbles into the apartment, you can tell he’s completely, utterly wasted. His shirt is wrinkled, one side untucked, and his dark hair is an absolute mess, strands sticking to his forehead. and there's a lazy, lascivious grin on his face as he sways toward you.

“Baaaaby,” he drags out the word as if it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever said, arms already reaching for you before he even makes it across the room. “You’re so pretty. So, so pretty.”

You barely have time to respond before he crashes into you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, his weight forcing you a step back. He noses at your neck, warm breath fanning over your skin before he presses a messy, lingering kiss just under your jaw.

“I missed you,” he mumbles, voice thick with intoxication. His lips trail sloppily along your jaw, missing his mark more than once. “I was thinking about you the whole time. Didn’t wanna drink, didn’t wanna talk—just wanted you.”

You exhale, half amused, half overwhelmed by how affectionate he gets when he’s like this. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m in love,” he corrects, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. His eyes are dark, half-lidded, pupils blown out as he drinks you in. “So, so in love with you.”

“I thought about you the whole time. Even when they were talking about boring stuff, I was just thinking about you, and your pretty face, and your hair, and—and—” He hiccups, giggles, then kisses your cheek sloppily, missing his target entirely.

And then he kisses your lips, like he’s trying to make up for all the time he spent away. His lips are warm, a little sloppy, a little desperate, and when his tongue swipes against yours, you can taste the faint burn of whiskey.

“Mm, I love kissing you,” he mumbles against your skin. His hands slip down to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. “Like, so much. I could do this forever.”

“You’ll regret it in the morning,” you tease, but he shakes his head wildly, pressing more kisses wherever he can reach.

“Nuh-uh,” he insists. “I’d regret not kissing you. That’s way worse.”

He groans into the kiss, fingers tangling into your hair as he backs you toward the bedroom. He’s trying so hard to be in control, to take the lead—pressing you up against the wall, hands gripping your waist as his mouth moves hungrily against yours. But he’s a mess. A beautiful, intoxicating mess. His lips miss their mark, his teeth graze too hard, and he keeps mumbling your name between kisses like he can’t bear to stop.

When you finally reach the bedroom, he tries to spin you around, guiding you onto the bed—but the second he pulls away to do so, he loses balance. His legs give out beneath him, and he stumbles backward onto the mattress with a dazed look on his face.

You can’t help but laugh. “Smooth.”

“Shh, c’mere,” he slurs, arms reaching for you like a needy child. And you do—crawling over him, straddling his hips as he lets out a breathy moan at the contact. His hands slide down your back, gripping your waistband, and with a drunken sort of determination, he tries to guide your hips against his. He rocks his hips up harshly once, making you fall onto him, kissing you.

“Feel that?” he murmurs against your lips, eyes dark and heavy. “S’all for you.”

You do feel it—the hard press of his arousal beneath you. He rocks your hips against him, slow and lazy, groaning softly at the friction. His fingers dig into your waist, gripping, guiding, needy. His kisses turn even sloppier, missing your lips entirely at times, trailing down your chin, your jaw, your neck.

But then, just as the heat between you starts to build, his movements slow. His grip loosens. His kisses falter. And before you even realize what’s happening, his head falls back against the pillows, breath steadying, lips slightly parted in sleep.

You blink down at him, still straddling his hips, your body burning from the half-finished tension he just left you with.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

A soft snore is his only response.

For a moment, you just stare. Then you sigh, running a hand through your hair before shaking your head with a quiet laugh. You should be frustrated. You should be annoyed. But looking at him like this—his lips still pink and swollen from kissing you, his brows slightly furrowed even in sleep, his arms still loosely resting around your waist—you can’t bring yourself to be mad.

Instead, you press a soft kiss to his temple before carefully shifting off of him, pulling the blankets up over both of you.

“Idiot” you murmur, but the fondness in your voice betrays you.

And despite the ache he left you with, you fall asleep smiling, tangled up in the warmth of him.

[yakii-m0chi]

he hates you.

he absolutely despises you.

he hates how you're weaker than him, he hates your smile, he hates your laugh - he just hates you.

but more importantly... he hates his need. his need for you.

he hates how he wants to protect you, to shield you from the cruel world around you. you didn't deserve to see the disgusting side of life.

he hates your smile, he hates how he wants to be the reason for it. how innocent and pure your smile is. he hates how blissful it is... positivity is so infectious that it feels like liquid sunshine.

how could you smile when the world was so bleak? he had no idea, and maybe he'd never know - bewilderment is the best way to describe his feelings.

but all he did know was that he would lay down his life to protect that smile of yours.

he hates your laugh. he calls it "ugly" or "annoying", but it's the sound he wishes he had saved as his alarm. something about it was so addicting, something that he couldn't seem to shake. it was like an infectious melody, one that was stuck like a catchy radio song on loop.

but... maybe that's why people say love and hate are parallels.

because at the end of the day, he can't seem to truly hate you.

scaramouche, capitano, xiao, katsuki bakugou, itachi uchiha, levi ackerman, giyu tomioka, sanemi shinazugawa, simon riley

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he makes it known that he loves you.

there's no guessing game on your end. he doesn't need to make you to stay up all night trying to read between the lines of words he says to you, gossiping on the phone to the people you hold dear to see if you're delulu or not.

because that's not his style.

instead, the phone calls you make to your friends are filled with highschool-like flustered laughs and squeals of joy as you discuss how he helped you with something, walked with you so he made sure you got to your destination safe, how he held the door open for you on your way out.

that's his style.

and you know damn well he's head over heels for you, no matter the "flaw".

thoma, venti, ga-ming, freminet, aether, eijiro kirishima, midoriya izuku, tanjiro kamado, kyojuro rengoku

[oldshowbiz]

American broadcast version of SCTV versus the Canadian broadcast version of SCTV

[autolykiss]

the crop tops!!!

[thefugitivesaint]

'SCTV', ''Playboy'', May 5 1982 Clockwise from top: (one of my favs) Catherine O'Hara, Eugene Levy, Andrea Martin, Joe Flaherty, John Candy. On the TV: Dave Thomas (left) and Rick Moranis (right) Thomas and Moranis are seen in the tv as their characters of Bob and Doug McKenzie, hosts of the fictional show 'The Great White North'. They would go on to play these brothers in the 1983 movie 'Strange Brew'.

[salv12dexter]

Tagging

Y'all need start tagging y'all fanfics correctly. I don't want to read y'all sucking dick. Y'all be doing that on purpose.

You giving head while they used to chop off yours.

It's not feminist if you're attacking women for being uncomfortable with something. Fiction or not.

[coolthingsguyslike]

[harveyguillensource]

Harvey looking sharp in Christian Siriano to receive his Impact Award for Outstanding Performance in a Series at the 2024 NHMC Gala!

[isabelleneville]

[agender-wolfie]

When you’re reading a fic that says it’s gender neutral but then “You wore a short skirt and tied up your hair”

[inkedtension]

The car ride is silent—dangerously so. His hands grip the steering wheel tight, jaw set, eyes locked on the road, but you can feel the heat rolling off him in waves. You push your luck, shifting in your seat, letting the hem of your dress ride up just a little more, just enough for him to notice.

He does.

His knuckles turn white, and that muscle in his jaw ticks. His possessiveness always simmers beneath the surface, but tonight, you poured gasoline over it. Letting another man get too close, laughing a little too sweetly at a joke that wasn’t even funny, brushing your fingers over someone’s arm like you didn’t already belong to him.

So now he says nothing. And somehow, that’s even better.

“Are you mad?” you ask, tilting your head, voice teasing, knowing exactly what you’re doing.

He doesn’t answer. Just flicks his eyes toward you.

That’s fine. You like a challenge.

Your gaze drops, tracing the shape of him beneath his slacks, the way his pants strained left little to the imagination, and you bit your lip, heat pooling low in your stomach. He catches you looking, and his breath comes out sharper, hands tightening on the wheel.

“Stop” he mutters, but there’s no real authority behind it.

You bite your lip. “What?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s debating whether to punish you with silence or pull over and make you regret every second of your little game. His patience snaps first.

The car jerks to the side, tires skidding slightly as he pulls into a secluded area off the road. The moment the engine shuts off, he’s turning to you, fingers curling around your thigh, thumb pressing in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You think it’s funny, teasing me like that?” His voice is rough, thick with barely restrained control.

“You’re hot when you’re mad.” You say it without shame, letting your eyes drag down the length of him again, lingering on his lap.

Something in him breaks.

He tugs you forward with ease, pulling you onto his lap, your knees pressing into the seat on either side of him. His hands grip your hips, rough and demanding, dragging you down so you can feel all of him, thick and heavy beneath you.

Your dress rides up, pooling around your thighs, and his hands waste no time slipping beneath it, fingers pressing into your skin, possessive, claiming. You barely have a second to process the shift before his lips are on your throat, teeth grazing, breath fanning, sucking a mark too close to your chin and low from your face that will be impossible to hide.

You shudder, fingers threading through his hair, but he isn’t done.

A hand slides up your back, tugging at the zipper of your dress, he pulled the fabric down your shoulders, exposing more skin to his hungry gaze.

His palms cupped your breasts, fingers teasing over sensitive peaks before his lips replaced them, warm and wet, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. you arch into him, pressing yourself closer, chasing more.

His teeth scrape against your collarbone, and before you can let out a full whimper, a sharp smack lands on your ass.

You jolt, a soft gasp leaving your lips, and his smirk is nothing short of sinful. “Now is when you want to behave?” he asks, voice teasing.

Your only answer is the way your hips roll against him, feeling how hard he is beneath you. Oh, how much he wants to wreck you for every second you made him jealous tonight. He grips your hips, guiding you, forcing you to move just how he wants, shifting your weight, he maneuvered you onto one of his thighs, pressing his hands against your hips.

The pressure against your core made you whimper, and he guided you, slow and deliberate, making you move against him.

The windows fog. The air turns thick.

And the way he looks at you? Like he’s going to leave proof of his name on every inch of your skin?

You think maybe, riling him up was the best decision you’ve ever made.

[justineportraits]

Thomas Levy-Lasne Laetitia au lit 2012

[kumatajdg]

A flat colour commission for Twitter user @TheTexanTrain of their OC Levi, a Texas & Pacific 10-wheeler locomotive :)

[oldshowbiz]

1982.

Rick Moranis live from the SCTV charity softball tournament in Edmonton.

[autolykiss]

sctv - harold ramis, eugene levy, joe flaherty

a bonus pie in the face gif at the end. enjoy :-)