#the harder i think the more questions i have

[theamberparadise]

Stolen Goods | TICCI TOBY x READER SMUT DRABBLE | mdni!

SYNPOSIS; After Toby gets mocked by Jeff (who has fucked you before), Toby stomps his way to your room to give you the better– if not the best– sex you’ve had in your entire life. He wants to make you scream, to make you realize that he is the better choice for you, not Jeff. Him. Only him.

TW; c*ck1ng, ch0k1ng, m0ck1ng, d3gr4d4t10n, mentions of reader getting pr3gn4nt but not actually happening, toby's jealousy issues lmfao.

A/N; i was writing for toby's thirsts but i got a little sidetracked lmfao. consider this my first separately published drabble.

Jeff’s words rang in Toby’s head.

“You can’t fuck her as good as I can.”

“I doubt you’ll make her scream– or even make any sound at all.”

“What makes you think you’ll even get as close as to making her cum? Or even get her naked at all?”

Those words were injected in his brain like stinging venom.

And Toby was more than ready to prove him wrong.

And one night, Toby couldn’t take it anymore. He knocked on your door– three times, and the second your pretty face showed itself through the cracks, he shoved you back, making you stumble backwards, and when your questions came spilling out your mouth, he gripped your arms and pinned you down onto the stuffy sheets.

That was the only thing you remember before you were shrieking your brains out, your cunt fluttering around Toby’s meaty cock, his angry tip punching at your cervix.

You had no idea why he was doing this– or why you liked it. But from all the things he’s sputtering out of his mouth, you start to gain why he broke in.

“Why– why him of a-all people?” he muttered. “Why him? Why why why–” his words were almost static to your ears, the loud claps of your flesh and the thumping of your blood in your ears muffling out any other noise– or any other bit of your conscience telling you that you were still inside a mansion full of murderers and wanted convicts who might already have heard your wanton cries.

They only got louder when he lifted your hips with his, pushing the back of your knees toward the sides of your ears, forcing you into an aching mating press that only hit your spot even harsher than before.

“T-Tob-Toby–” your weak fingers clawed at him with the strength of a kitten. Toby didn’t budge. “What did h-he have that I d-didn’t?” he growled. “Did my dick n-not look big e-enough? Do m-my muscles not imp-impress y-you enough?” 

A silence consisting of your loud cries pursued for a moment, before his chest snapped and his hands went for your throat, leaving you to wrangle and squirm under him.

“Fucking answer me!” He roared, his cock ramming in your cunt even harder than before. The disgusting squelches of your juices turned filthy. And your moans? Turned unholy.

You were begging– begging for him to let go and give you some air. Begging for him to slow down, you can’t take it.

But all those pleas go unheard when Toby keeps on rambling about his questions– his delusions– his voice getting meaner and meaner from the start of him begging so sweetly to let him fuck you, a drastic change from sweet and yearning, to rough and intimidating.

You and Jeff only had a fling-- a one night stand that felt good, but you didn't think it would mean anything to Jeff. But not to Toby, no. He took it as an insult. An offense made by you. Despite him refusing to make a first move ever since the start of your stay here.

Toby knew this fact as well. And he admits, it's his fault, too. But the thought of you giving your pussy-- his pussy up for grabs to anyone in this damn mansion? Especially to someone Toby could break in half like a stick? Absolutely not.

“How did hi-his dick feel h-huh? Was it good? B-better? Better t-than me?” 

You shook your head. You didn’t want him to be even more rabid than he is now, if he was fueled by even a tad bit of anger any longer, he would kill you.

But clearly, your pathetic attempt didn’t work.

“Then what fucking business do you have with fucking Jeff? Huh?” he hissed. And when you don’t answer, he pulls out, leaving you wriggling on your mattress. You open your mouth to thank him and whoever is up in the clouds listening to you, but are interrupted by him lifting you up, twisting you towards the wall, pinning your poor face against it while your knees tremble against the cotton of the mattress. 

You shriek once again, louder, when Toby thrusts in once again without warning. 

Your poor, bruised wrists are pinned behind you now, the wall pressing against where the underlay of your skin meets his tip, making you feel him intensely more than ever before.

Your sobs are desperate, helpless. And that doesn’t stop Toby.

“Did he make you f-feel like t-this? L-like heaven?” he snickered, in pure pride. “He won’t ever f-fuck you like this. H-he won’t ever m-make you scream l-like this. He won’t even make y-you feel what y-you feel with m-me,” his words cut through like obsidian. “I’m better b-baby, so so much b-better…” Toby leans in and drags his tongue from your chin up to your ears. “He’s a fucking shrimp compared to me, but you d-don’t even seem to co-comprehend that.” he chuckles.

“Y-yknow who’s room this is?” he reaches up a free hand, balled into a fist before knocking against the hollow plywood with his knuckles. “It’s Jeff’s room,” he taunted, a sly grin plaguing his face. “And he’s in there, right now, l-listening to you being a who-whore for me.”

You can only do so much but to whimper like a poor animal, your orgasm being on the edge, like a string ready to be snapped.

“You wanna fuck him? F-fine, you can f-fuck him, date him if y-you want,” he rasped, his pace nothing short of relentless. “But not before I get y-you fucking pregnant,” your eyes widen. “Pregnant with my fucking babies, make h-him raise it,” he giggles. “Watch the life spill o-out of his eyes when he r-realizes it’s not his… fuck, baby, th-the things you m-make me want to do.”

You cringed, cheeks heating up like never before– Toby’s threats pushing you over the edge like a boulder.

The string inside you snapped like nylon, violently shaking your body with one last cry, nails scraping against the paint, eyes shooting open like sex-filled voids, the sound of his name bouncing off the walls.

A buzz from Toby’s very-cracked phone wakes you up. Your body feels… fresh. Relaxed. He must’ve bathed you when you passed out. 

Out of curiosity, you picked up his heavy cell, the bright screen almost blinding you when your eyes take focus.

------

JEFFREY

3 missed calls, 6 unread messages

12:46 AM what the fuck are you two doing

1:28 AM open the fucking door

1:31 AM toby i fucking swear

*2 missed calls*

1:58 AM im going to gouge your brains out OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR

2:01 AM youre gonna pay for this i swear ill leave you for dead you shitty little bitch

*1 missed call*

3:29 AM just you wait, twitch. just you fucking wait ill get her back.

---------

Thick fingers reached from behind you and gently take the phone out of your hands, the feeling of Toby’s stubble grazing on your neck like sandpaper makes you jump a little.

“Schlaf weiter, Engel. Er ist deine Zeit nicht wert. Ich schon. Nur ich. Er ist nicht halb so ein Mann wie ich.” his words sound foreign to you, but you have a mental guess on what it might mean. And one thing is for sure:

It would be evident that you won’t hang out with Jeff ever again.

[thecowboyfiles]

ok my mind has literally been rotted (for days mind you) about forcing bob (reynolds) to drink waaaaayyy to much water under the guise of hydrating him…

at first it’s soft and encouraging and he LOVES when you do that so he drinks as much water as he can but now it’s 2 pm and he’s gonna leak everywhere and you just pressing on his bladder encouraging him…. 😔😔😔

It starts off in the morning with you looking at the weather forecast. A record-breaking heatwave is about to make its way through the city, and instead of thinking about how high the air conditioning bill is about to be for who knows how long, you're mind is turning dirty, about how you can make this heatwave more fun.

The rouse is easy, Robert is already sweating even in his sleep, his hair is sticking to his forehead, and you can see the sheen layer of perspiration across the top of his body that isn't covered by the sheets. You run your fingers through his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp before you head to the kitchen and grab the biggest glass you can find, filling it with water.

By the time you get back, Robert is just waking, rolling over and rubbing at his tired eyes before sitting up in the bed. "Good morning sunshine," You smile, holding out the glass to him.

"Good morning," Robert rasps out before he clears his throat and takes the glass, gulping it down without question. He was always thirsty in the morning.

"It's gonna be hot today," You inform casually, "Heatwave apparently, but you'll need to stay hydrated."

His eyes flick up to yours, and there's a hint of recognition there. He knows, these sorts of play sessions always start with some variation of telling him how important his hydration is. "I need some more," He says, gently holding out the glass back to you.

You take the glass and raise your eyebrow at him.

"Please," He adds, dropping his gaze to the sheets.

***

That's how the day goes, with Robby politely asking for more water or you telling him that it's been too long since he's had a drink and passing him another glass. Now, you're sitting in the tower, something on the TV that neither of you is really watching. Robert is too busy trying not to squirm, and you're trying not to watch him— both of you are failing.

When Robert brings a hand down to squeeze his cock through his pants, you get up, refilling his glass and bring it back to him. It's the first time he hesitates. "I can't," He shakes his head. "I'm so full... m'gonna leak."

You hum softly, but don't pull the glass away. "It's so hot out. You don't wanna get dehydrated, do you, Bubba?" Your tone is light and caring, but there's a hardness in your eyes; this is non-negotiable.

With a shaky hand, he reaches out and takes the glass, bringing it to his lips. You watch him, just to make sure he actually swallows his sip, and then you bring your hand down to press against his distended bladder.

Of course, Robert whines and squirms, water sloshing in the glass. "Please, please, I can't—I have to go so bad I can't hold it," He begs, entire body tensing under your hand in an attempt to keep the flood inside. Both of you drop your chins to look down at the goofball-sized wet patch that was appearing on the crotch of his pants, and you can't help but tsk.

"Look at you. So desperate, you're making a mess of those pants." You press down a little harder, making him let out a choked sob. "Well, since you started, you might as well just go." You shrug, but the disappointment is evident in your voice, and Robert shakes his head quickly. You know he hates disappointing you.

"No, no, please. I can hold it, I can." He insists, even though you can see the wet patch get darker, he's leaking again.

"I don't think you can, baby, but it's okay, I want you to go now. You've been so good for me. I'll help you go." You lean in and press a kiss to his lips. "Be a good boy and let go for me, hm?" You press harder on his bladder still, steady pressure this time, not letting up even as his body's natural reaction is to fight against you.

When his bladder finally gives out, Robert sobs out, loud and broken, breathing heavily as the hot piss rushes out of him, soaking his lap and the seat underneath him before it drips in a steady stream onto the floor. "God, oh god, oh god," He pants out under his breath, chest heaving and body relaxing as he finally gets relief.

"Look at you, look how full you were," You muse, giving one last push to his bladder, just to be sure. "You're such a good boy." You smile, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

[batbetbitbotbut]

@solongandthanksforallthefish42:

Question... I'm a new weaver, and every throw I have to hold the thread to keep it from pulling too tightly and getting excessive draw-in, even when I have my tension cinched up TIGHT on the warp. You're able to throw without having to hold the end to keep it from pulling too tightly. Does it have to do with shuttle, pattern, or something else I'm doing? I know troubleshooting without video might not make much sense

Hi! That's a fantastic question and uhhhhh tricky to answer! I am pulling this out of replies so I can type more (uh, not that that is necessarily useful) and add photos. Disclaimer that I don't much like the current red weft, just seeing how it turns out for a couple inches.

On some projects I have to hold the thread to keep it from pulling in just like you do, on others I can just throw merrily along like in this video. I don't entirely know why it varies the way it does so I may not be able to help even if you share a video. Every project has a figuring-out period for its throwing and beating needs as I start at weaving. Some things that I think influence it to greater or lesser degrees:

Dense sett - here 24 ends per inch. I think when I've worked with thicker yarn (thus wider sett) I have had to be more careful, because the weft is pulling against fewer threads at the edge (thus pulling harder against each thread). A few people sley more densely at the edge for this reason, but I don't think this is common.

Inelastic yarn - this cotton barely moves if you try to stretch it between your fists, so when throwing the shuttle the weft unspools readily without putting itself under much tension. In a recent project with both a silk weft and a wool weft, I could throw the inelastic silk with no trouble but I had to hold the fabric and/or adjust the laying-in of every bouncy wool pick by hand, because it would stretch itself out in the shed.

Tensioned warp - as you're already doing, cranking the warp tension right up so the weft has something to pull against. Also as in the point above, inelastic warp yarn helps because the yarn holds more tension rather than stretching when pulled on by the weft. This warp is cotton like the weft.

Vigorous throwing - trust your shuttle and loom for a bit, throw confidently and see what happens! (It might not work! That's okay, this is a process!) When I fumble a throw and have to inch the shuttle through the shed, I think the bobbin doesn't unwind quite as readily. Strong throw -> bobbin spinning -> lots of slack in the weft both in this throw and ready for the next throw. But sometimes you get the opposite effect and the strong throw just pulls in far too much at the edge or whoops you throw the shuttle across the room.

Different shuttle - I'm using a normal boat shuttle with bobbin, but you could try going cheaper (stick shuttle, you unwind the yarn before you pass the shuttle through so the weft is never under tension) or more expensive (end feed shuttle, the yarn lifts off the end of the pirn rather than needing even the slight tension of unwinding a bobbin; some people swear by these for nice edges; I've never used one because £££). Sticking with boat shuttles, a lighter-weight shuttle might help as it takes less force to throw it quickly.

The sweet spot on your loom - I wish I understood why, but my loom is happiest when weaving quite near the beater. In the "weaving zone" between the breast beam and the beater, if I wind on too far then my tension goes to shit and I can't get a clean shed and beating pulls extra warp despite the brake and the weft won't lay in nicely and it's just awful. I either have to weave verrrrrry slowly for a while (with lots of gripping the fabric or weft) or get up and wind yarn back onto the warp beam. Try keeping the fell line in a different place than you usually do?

Beating on an open shed - for most projects, I find I have the easiest time weaving as follows:

Throw shuttle

Pull beater forward

Change shed while beater is at the fell

Push beater back

The weft is free to move around while being pushed by the beater - it isn't yet trapped between the warp threads. So more weft can unspool and the slack can spread out fully during beating, rather than the edge of the cloth being left with no slack and getting tighter and tighter.

Floating selvedges? - the cloth photos above show not using them, for reference; the arrows point to some weft picks which don't reach the outermost thread. The first diagram shows no FS, the second diagram has a FS in red.

Sometimes I use them and sometimes I don't, some people always use them, some people never do. I can do a full explanation if you don't know what they are. I think they can have both helpful and unhelpful effects and be used in several ways.

They create a single column of plain weave at the edge of the cloth. Thus if you have long weft floats (in my little diagram I only drew 3-end floats but imagine, like, 7+) they are useful to make the weft go the full width of the cloth all the time - the weft must wrap around the outermost thread even if the floats stack up to mean that it wouldn't otherwise do so (eg if the last few warp ends go under weft floats for several picks then they simply aren't being woven, there's no over-under action). Some people find this helps them make neater edges all the time and find it helps give them something to pull the weft against. Some of these people weight the floating selvedges at a high tension separately to the rest of the warp, some make them extra thick and strong (doubled or tripled yarn), some use very slippery yarn or even fishing line with the intention of pulling it out after the cloth is done.

So if you haven't tried floating selvedges, try them! But if you already use them all the time... I have a hypothesis, untested, that if your weft floats are quite short (as in this video) then the "weft doesn't always reach the edge" can be helpful because then the stress is not always on the same warp end, it is spread out over a few ends. Floating selvedges may not benefit after all. So try not using them!

Selection bias or sampling bias or whatever it is - I leave most errors in videos, but they're still taken when it's going well. I just don't film if it's going badly and taking too much concentration or frustration!

Acceptance - A small amount of draw-in is fine and expected. The width at the breast beam is rarely (never?) quite the width in the reed. Draw-in creates a dense, strong edge; I treat it as part of the nature of woven fabric.

Loom noises and the first few inches of a tea towel (or teal towel, if you will).

Verse (repeat at least 20 times): brrrrrrr shhh thnk TSCH-TSCH tsch

Chorus: creeeeeeeeeaaaaaaak cli-cli-click

Resume verse and repeat for approximately 40 minutes per towel.

[sixpennydame]

dark side of the moon⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ [chapter 3]

Pairing: Yakuza!Levi x F!reader

Word count: 6.9k

Levi returns to a place that haunts his memories. You meet Kenny Ackerman, who gives a command that neither you nor Levi can refuse.

Series Content/Warnings: mafia/yakuza AU, flashbacks, slow burn, mystery, cyberpunk, sci fi, non-binary Hange Zoe, eventual smut, dark content, graphic violence and sexual content

Chapter Content/Warnings: flashbacks, cursing, mentions of blood

Author's Note: And we're back! Thank you for your patience with this next chapter. I hope you'll enjoy returning to Neo Tokyo! Big thanks to my beta reader @bitchymanlet for getting back in the saddle and helping me out.

next chapter/masterlist/AO3

Historia whisks you away to the changing room faster than you can process what even happened to you. She sits you down in a chair and cups your face gently, moving it from side to side, assessing the damage.

There are voices around you, but you only hear bits and pieces of their conversation, as if you alone are in some kind of vacuum. If they’re talking to you or not, you can’t tell, so your mind drifts elsewhere.

Levi…

He’d barely said anything to you, but his eyes - those steely grey eyes - had felt so piercing. Even now, you can feel his gaze, as if it had somehow burned into your skin, imprinting onto you.

Who is he?

It isn’t until you feel a stinging sensation on your cheek that you jolt back to reality. You blink a few times, and feel Historia dabbing a cold compress on your cheek. She clicks her tongue.

”He hit you so hard. That jerk.” Historia presses a few more times and you take in a sharp breath. “It’s bleeding a bit, so I want to get it clean for you.”

You take the cloth from Historia and give her a weak smile. “It’s ok, I can do it. You should get back out there. I don’t want you missing any clients because of me.” 

Historia gives you a concerned look before backing away. 

“Alright. But don’t go anywhere, ok? Jaegers can hold a grudge and it’s not safe for you to be alone tonight. You’re staying with me.”

She smiles and it’s something like out of a fairytale. A true golden angel. You couldn’t say no to her if you tried. You doubt many people do.

You nod your head in acknowledgement and it seems to be enough to satisfy her. She walks away, dispersing the small crowd of girls that had gathered around. You hear their whispers loud and clear now, calling you a troublemaker and questioning why Hange even hired you.

So much for making a good impression, you think to yourself.

Turning around to face the dressing mirror, you evaluate the damage to your cheek. 

There’s a cut across your cheekbone, which seems to have stopped bleeding, thanks to Historia, but a purple bruise surrounds the cut and your face is swelling up. Even moving your jaw hurts.

You knew there’d be risks in this line of work. Hostess bars can attract dangerous men. It’s why your sister wouldn’t let you do it. 

If your sister were here, she’d scold your wrecklessness.

If your sister were here…

There’s a knock on the dressing room door and Hange’s head peeks through.

“How you feeling, Luna?”

“Oh, I’ve had worse,” you reply, attempting to smile but the swelling is making that harder with each passing minute.

Hange gives you a look that makes it seem as if they are wondering what you said was true. “Let me take a look.” They move closer, analyzing your cheek. “Shit, he really didn’t hold back did he?”

“I’m really sorry, Hange. When he started touching me like that I just…snapped. I promise I’ll behave better from now on.”

“What are you talking about? If anything, I’m impressed you stood up for yourself. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

You chuckle softly. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s underestimated you. 

“That prick had it coming for a long time,” Hange adds.

“Who is he, anyway?”

“Eren Jaeger. His brother is the head of the Jaeger clan, a yakuza organization in Neo Tokyo. They usually stay within their part of town, but lately, they’ve been causing havoc in Ackerman territory.”

“Ackerman?”

“Another yakuza clan. Neo Tokyo is basically split in two: one half ruled by the Jaegers and the other by the Ackermans. Although I assume yakuza prefer to be seen as protectors.”

When you give Hange a puzzled look, they continue. “The businesses around here pay a monthly protection fee to the Ackermans. They also invest in certain business pursuits. Clubs like mine, for example.”

“And the man who came and kicked the Jaegers out – he’s an Ackerman?”

”None other than Levi Ackerman himself.” A warm smile moves over Hange’s face. “Haven’t seen him in a while, but it seems he hasn’t changed a bit.”

Why hasn’t Hange seen him? Where has he been? You want to press further, but you figure you’ve asked enough questions. Sometimes your curiosity can get the best of you. 

Hange rummages through a bag they’d brought with them and pulls out a long, metal device.

“This is going to seal up the cut and accelerate the healing in your cheek. Just…stay still…”

There’s a warm sensation through the left side of your face as the small device hums quietly. After a few seconds, Hange turns it off and you already feel less pain.

“Where did you get such a thing?” you ask.

“Oh this? I was sort of a doctor for a while.”

“Sort of?”

“Well, more research than actual medicine, in another life,” they release a long sigh. “But that’s a long story.”

The device goes back into Hange’s bag and they take out a small baggie. “You’ll be amazed how fast you’ll heal tonight, but you’re going to have some residual pain for a while. This will take the edge off.”

“I…don’t take drugs. Of any kind. If I’m meant to feel the pain, then I’ll feel it.”

It startles you, how quickly you reply, regurgitating the dogma that had been forced into your head for so many years. 

“It’s just medicine, but suit yourself. It’s your body.” Hange begins to stand up, but you quickly take the bag from them.

“No, I’ll take it. Thank you.”

You’re not bound by those rules anymore.

Hange raises an eyebrow. “Anyway…you should be as good as new for work tomorrow.” There’s a quick glance down at their wristwatch. “Oh–speaking of which, I better get back out there and start closing up.”

You know it’ll be another hour or more until Historia returns to the dressing room, so while you wait, you take one of the pills Hange gave you. It doesn’t take long before you start to feel the effects of the medicine, a deep drowsiness that eventually puts you into a deep sleep. As you dream, fragments of memories begin to fill your mind.

.

.

.

“You have been chosen. It’s an honor!  Show a little gratitude!”

You’re pulled through a hallway, the chanting getting louder with each step.

.

.

.

“We can get out of here.”

“It’s too dangerous. They’ll punish us. Or worse, they’ll kill us.”

“He’ll kill us either way. Unless we get to him first…”

.

.

.

Blood…so much blood…

.

.

.

“Aurelia! No!”

.

.

.

“Luna!”

There’s a hand shaking your shoulder and you look up to see Historia’s blue eyes looking down at you. She’s no longer in her sparkling dress but her skin still shimmers underneath her simple t-shirt.

“Are you ok?” she asks.

You blink a few times, slowly coming back to reality as your heart rate begins to slow down. 

“You were saying someone’s name. Aure–”

That wakes you up like cold water to the face. You stand up hastily.

“--I’m fine,” you interject.  “Let’s…let’s get out of here.”

Historia takes your arm in hers, much like she did earlier in the evening, then stops abruptly.

“We need to wait for Ymir.”

“Ymir?”

You’ve met so many people tonight, you search your memory for any recollection of that name. 

“That’s right–Historia’s not leaving without me.”

A body forces their way between the two of you, then you see sharp teeth encased in a sly grin. She pulls Historia tighter against her chest as they walk ahead of you, out the back door of the club.

“Historia has a bleeding heart for strays,” Ymir replies, pulling Historia even closer. “You can take my old room. Haven’t used it for months,” 

You follow the couple as they walk hand in hand down the dark streets. Historia lights up when she talks with Ymir; Ymir, in return, speaks more softly. It doesn’t take a genius to see that these two are in some kind of relationship.

You’re happy for them, truly. No one should have to be alone in a world like this.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“Come on, Levi. It’s too early in the morning for this bullshit,” Farlan says as he pulls away from Levi’s apartment. “Forget about that girl and put your focus on where it needs to be right now.”

“And that would be?”

“Taking your rightful place as Kenny’s wakagashira.”

“So, you’re calling him Kenny now? What happened to respecting our Oyabun?” Levi’s voice drips with sarcasm.

Farlan doesn’t answer, but Levi notices he grips his steering wheel just a little bit tighter. 

“Listen, Levi. Kenny will never admit this to you, but he needs you now more than ever. What happened with the Jaegers last night wasn’t an isolated incident. They’ve been terrorizing our territory for months now. They’re testing our strength, seeing how much we’ll push back.”

“So… push back. They’ll cower back to their side of town.”

“Things are different now, Levi. Since you’ve been gone they have a new leader, and he seems intent on expanding Jaeger control. So I have a feeling there’s more to this than just the usual territory scuffles.”

"A new leader, huh?”

In the past, Levi had barely given the Jaegers a second thought. The rival clan was content with the west side of Neo Tokyo, controlling the clubs and bars in that area and a large part of the inter-planet shipping district. If Grisha was no longer their oyabun then that must mean leadership was handed over to his eldest son, Zeke.

Levi didn’t know much about Zeke, other than he was a few years younger than him. Before his incarceration, Levi was immersed in illegal fights and gambling, and hadn’t given much thought to groups or businesses that didn’t affect him directly. In the yakuza world, clans could live peacefully amongst each other as long as they kept to their territories; it was an unspoken rule that had kept the city at peace for as long as Levi could remember. But it seems that the new oyabun had different plans in mind.

"Besides disturbing our businesses, we’ve found a new drug being sold in some of our nightclubs,” Farlan continues. “Zeke Jaeger is a problem.”

The red sports car pulls up to the same back alley door as the day before. “I know you enjoy me escorting you around town, but I have work, and you’re probably eager to get your motorcycle. Isabel should have it ready for you by now.” Farlan presses a button and the door to his car opens automatically for Levi.  “I’ll see you later tonight.”

"What’s happening later tonight?”

"Kenny wants us all at Club Azure. Probably to show his authority as a way to calm any tensions.”

“So you’re Kenny’s lawyer and messenger boy now? Maybe you should be oyabun when the old man croaks.”

"Tease all you want, but I’m doing this for you, dumbass. The clan will be yours to lead someday.”

Levi clicks his tongue. He never wanted to be a part of this world, no matter what kind of expectations there were for him, or for the power genetically engineered in his blood. But Farlan always saw something in him that even now, he couldn’t see.

Farlan let out an exhausted sigh. “We can discuss this later. Go get your bike.”

With a wave, Levi watches his friend drive away. For as long as Levi has known him, Farlan’s hunches have been right; so if he says that the Jaeger Clan is a problem, then it’s probably not long before Levi will have to get involved. Hell, after last night, he supposes he already is. 

Levi could give two shits about the strength of the Jaeger clan, or its territories, just as long as he gets to bash some heads in, he’s content.

Well, almost content. There’s one more thing he wants. 

He walks through Isabel’s workshop, every wall covered in cords and screens, until he makes it to the back garage. He can hear her clinking away, a few curses escaping her lips that make him laugh as he enters.

"She giving you some trouble there?” Levi asks, crouching down beside her.

"I forgot how many security measures we’d put into this thing. I’m having to hack into my own systems,” the android laughs nervously before her fingers are shocked by a jolt of electricity.

"That’s because I built this part. Move over.”

Levi moves closer to the motorcycle and presses the comm button behind his ear. Immediately his brain is synced up with the vehicle.

"Password,” a voice resonates in his mind.

Levi and Isabel had built the password to be a word and image that only Levi could conjure. He thought of a woman’s face, her shy smile and grey blue eyes framed by long, black hair. The letters of her name materialize from the deepest part of his heart:

Kuchel

Instantly, the bike hums to life.

"Ha! You did it! Good thing you didn’t forget your passcode after all these years, Aniki,” the redheaded android exclaimed.

There’s no way Levi could ever forget that face or that name. 

Five years have passed since Levi last laid eyes on the motorcycle he and Isabel had built together, practically from scratch. Modeled after Earth motorcycles of a long forgotten era, the bike was jet black, except for a pair of wings etched in silver on either side of the fuel tank. It may have looked ancient on the outside, but the machine was anything but, with a modern, modified engine that purred under the titanium exterior. It was Levi’s pride and joy—a symbol of his freedom, despite his circumstances.

Levi ruffles Isabel’s hair before mounting the bike. 

“Thanks for taking such good care of it, Isabel. I owe you one.”

Isabel beams. “Come on, Aniki. You don’t owe me anything. I’m just glad you’re back.”

Levi revs the engine a few times and feels it roar beneath his leather seat. He pushes the kickstand up, then looks back at Isabel. He should stay a bit longer and catch up with an old friend, but the pull of the open road is strong.

“Go on, take her for a spin,” Isabel says, more than likely noticing his apprehension. “I know you wanna. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The garage door opens and Isabel steps back, wiping her hands on her coveralls.

"But bring her back soon. I’d like to do some upgrades and modifications,” she adds, throwing a silver ring his way. 

Levi catches the ring and it expands. He places it on his head like a crown and within seconds, his head is encased in a black motorcycle helmet. He nods at Isabel, in recognition of her request, and then speeds out of the garage and down the alley.

There was a lot that Levi missed while he was in prison–Farlan and Isabel, of course, and all those little things he took for granted, like a bed or a clean bathtub–but this absolute freedom Levi felt as he rode his motorcycle down the streets of Neo Tokyo, this was what he longed for most in his small cell.

A quick twist of the hand grip, and the bike accelerates, weaving seamlessly in and out of traffic. He knew these streets like the back of his hand, every twist and turn of the highway, every narrow back alley. He could spend hours riding through the city, but this wasn’t the time. He had somewhere he needed to be.

He continues on the highway until he is just outside Neo Tokyo city limits. The motorcycle passes through a pair of gates, which open to an expanse of Martian red earth. Levi has slowed down now as tall, upright stones surround him. 

The Forest of Eternity cemetery. It’s another place Levi knows by heart.

He stops in front of an obelisk made of white marble and reads the name engraved: Kuchel Ackerman.

Levi stands reverently in front of the stone.

“Mom…” he says in a quiet voice, “I’m sorry I haven’t been around for a while.”

Levi has given a million types of apologies to this tombstone throughout the years.

I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to save you.

I’m sorry I left you behind. 

I’m sorry I’ve turned out the way that I have.

I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…

His apologies were etched into the marble as deeply as her name.

At this time of day, the gravestone shone brightly, in contrast to the other metallic headstones. Kenny had insisted on importing marble from Earth. “Nothing else will do for my sister,” he’d said. 

It was one of the only times Levi agreed with him. 

Kuchel’s bones weren’t lying in the ground beneath, however. Levi had been torn away from her body as a child and shipped off to an orphanage before he could even process what had happened to his mother. But he liked to think that she could hear him, in this quiet place on another planet.

He sat there with his mother for a long while, reminiscing on their brief time together, more apologies escaping his lips, until the sun hung low in the afternoon sky.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You slept most of the day away in the comfort of Ymir’s bed. It was one of the deepest sleeps you remember ever having, and you wonder if the medicine Hange gave you might have been the reason for that. But there were no more strange dreams or nightmares–just a death-like sleep that left you disoriented in this new, unfamiliar space.

Ymir and Historia give you a look as you amble out of the bedroom and into the living area.

“Yikes. You look like you just rose from the dead,” Ymir remarks. Her words confirm that you must look just as bad as you feel.

Historia punches Ymir in the shoulder, giving her a pout that’s more cute than intimidating. 

“Don’t listen to her, Luna. You look…rested. And your injury looks so much better.”

Ah. That’s right. You were backhanded last night. It’s all coming back to you: the look of his green eyes flashing, the force of his hand against your cheek. You had hoped all of that had just been another bad dream, but the numbness in your face reminded you that it was very much a reality.

Suddenly, Historia’s attention is no longer on you. She looks into the air as if she’s reading something, and you assume it must be a comm device message. It seems like everyone in Neo Tokyo has their communication and media linked directly into their brains. It creeps you out, honestly, but you also can’t help but feel out of the loop, like everyone in this city is connected except for you.

“Luna, Hange wants me to remind you about your shift tonight,” Historia says. “Kenny Ackerman is coming to the club and he wants to meet you.”

For some reason the name brings shivers down your spine. “Who’s Kenny Ackerman?”

“The leader of the Ackerman clan,” Ymir comments from the kitchen. “Geez, you really are clueless, aren’t you?

“He probably just wants to know more about what happened last night,” Historia adds.

There’s a knot in the pit of your stomach. Suddenly the nerves you had from starting this job the previous night have returned. Your mind starts spiraling, wondering if he’s going to fire you, or if he’ll see you as a menace. You start to think about every possible situation and how you can get out of it. 

Then you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry!” Historia reassures. “Kenny may seem intimidating but he’s a man like any other. You’re clever–that was evident last night. You’ll have him figured out in no time and will have him eating out of the palm of your hand.”

That earns a laugh from Ymir.

“Good luck with that,” she replies with a sharp-toothed grin. 

The rest of the day goes by uneventfully as Historia practically forces you to stay at their place and sleep. You’re not used to work hours that have you going until the early morning hours, but she assures you that you’ll adjust to it soon enough. Once the three of you finish an early dinner, you all start your commute to Club Azure.

This is your first full night of work, and you marvel at the way all the hostesses prepare for the evening. Colorful and elegant dresses adorn bodies of every shape and size, while they decorate their chest, ears, and hands with sparkling jewels. Some have skin more lovely than the garments they wear, whether it’s the color of the skin itself or the tattoos swirling underneath it. 

You’d had little time before starting this job to realize how exceptionally plain you are, how much you don’t fit in. Before this, you were too busy trying to survive. 

This isn’t your world, you tell yourself, looking at the elegant and exotic bodies around you. You’re not even meant to be on this planet.

Then a face flashes in your mind. Your sister’s eyes looking back at you. 

I promise that I will protect you…we will protect each other…

Those words are like a slap in the face, forcing you out of your self pity.

Focus…

It may be a different world, but humans and humanoids are all basically the same. Everyone wants to be desired, to be loved, to be respected.

You can play this game. You’ve seen it played all your life.

“Where were those dresses again?” you ask Historia.

“Nanaba’s dresses? They’re over here, in her locker,” she replies.

You walk to the space filled with clothing once owned by another woman. The locker is full of casual and formal attire that you would never be able to afford.

“I’ll take them all,” you announce, as if asserting your right to be here.

Upon hearing this, a few women stop and stare, but then continue going about their business.

“Nobody cares, Luna,” Ymir replies, as she slinks into her skin-tight dress. “Take ‘em or leave ‘em–just do your job.”

That’s right. It’s time to work.

You put on a golden mini dress with an asymmetrical neckline, one of the straps falling tauntingly over your shoulder. This time, you insist on doing your own makeup and hair, but without your own tools you end up having Historia help you anyway. When she finishes, she audibly gasps.

“Luna, you look…amazing.”

Shyly, you push your hair behind one of your ears. Before you can respond to your newfound friend, Hange pushes through the doors and into the room. Their hair is pulled back into a low ponytail and they’re wearing a dark blue tuxedo. 

“Good evening, my beautiful ladies! As you work tonight, remember: the more bottles a gentleman buys, the more money you make. So get the conversation and alcohol flowing!”

Hange looks around and sees you sitting at one of the dressing room tables. They smile.

“You’re looking as good as new, Luna. I told you I knew what I was doing.” They wink, before looking out into the small crowd once more.

“Kenny Ackerman and his men will be visiting us tonight. Make sure they feel particularly welcome, ok?” They clap their hands loudly. “Now let’s get this party started!”

It’s not long before Club Azure is packed with women and men, drinking and flirting the night away. Your first client is an anxious, flighty man who barely looks you in the eye. But a gentle voice, a calm demeanor, and a few bottles of junmai sake has him relaxed and leaning into you within the hour. When he leaves, he asks if he can see you again.

Of course you say yes. You get a bigger commission from repeat customers who request your services.

You sit with another man, then a group, each time learning a bit more about what gets a man to open up his heart and his wallet. It’s a power you never really knew you could have, and it’s addicting. 

“You’re doing great tonight, Luna,” Hange praises, as you walk to the bar for a quick break after finishing with a client. “I knew you had it in you.”

You blush at the compliment. “Historia was a good teacher.”

“Yeah, but you have a knack for this. You’ll be my number one girl in no time.” Hange notices another figure walking towards the bar. “What do you think of Luna, Levi?”

The man Hange is talking to comes into focus as he moves into the lights above the bar. Raven black hair, which shows the slightest dark blue sheen  under the light, silver eyes, and a scowl that would scare off a stranger.

You remember this face from last night. 

Does he remember you?

For a brief moment, it seems as if his scowl softens when he sees you; his gaze starts at your legs, slowly moving up as if he is taking in every inch of you. It’s the slightest thing but it has your heart racing for some reason.

The instant his eyes meet yours, his face hardens once again and he looks away.

“She looks the part, I guess.”

Hange scoffs as they place a glass and a bottle in front of Levi. 

“Is that supposed to be a compliment? You need to work on your manners, Levi.”

Hange moves down the bar to help a customer and you expect Levi to leave as well. But he doesn’t. He sits down at the bar and pours himself a drink.

“You just gonna stand there?” he asks, staring into the amber glow of his whiskey. 

Is that an invitation to conversation? An annoyed observance? You’re not quite sure what to make of Levi Ackerman yet, but curiosity gets the better of you and you decide to sit in the chair next to him. Your action is met with complete silence, however, as the ravenette finishes his whiskey.

Looks like you have to make the first move.

“You’re back. I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Your greeting is met with a blank stare and more silence.

“I can’t thank you enough for what you did for me last night,” you continue.

“I didn’t do it for you. It’s my job to get rid of Jaegers who overstep their boundaries.”

“Right. Well at least let me pour you another drink and keep you company for a while.”

He doesn’t invite your presence, but he doesn’t tell you to leave. You take a glass and pour a drink of your own.

“My name is Luna, by the way.”

“I know.” He takes a drink without the slightest glance your way.

“Oh. Well, I know your name too, Levi Ackerman. Hange says you're kind of a big deal.”

You thought flattery might get you somewhere with him. 

It doesn’t. So you try another strategy.

“Hange also said you’ve been away for a while. Where were you? Off planet? Is that how you got that scar on your eyebrow?”

He puts his drink down. 

“If you think I’m a potential client, then you’re wasting your breath. I’m not interested in half-assed conversations with women trying to con me out of my money.”

“Ok.” His rudeness catches you off-guard, but something compels you to push further, to see what happens. “Well, what are you here for?” 

Levi’s body swivels the bar stool to look at you once more. His knee presses against your thigh and the slight touch has your heart pounding again. You shift closer, leaning your chin in your hand. 

The two of you share another long moment of silence, and you feel the entire bar fade away as you get lost in his eyes. 

“I was ordered to come here,” Levi finally answers. 

“Ordered? You don’t look like the kind of man who takes orders.”

The moment you thought the two of you were sharing is gone in an instant, replaced by a cold, stoic demeanor.

“And you don’t look like an annoying brat. I guess we both got it wrong.” He looks away. “Now get lost.”

Your heart drops at his words, but the disappointment is quickly replaced with frustration.

“Wow…you’re a rude bastard, you know that?”

“So I’m told,” he replies without even looking your way.

Without another word, you get up from the bar stool and walk back into the bustling energy of the club. You take a few deep breaths, attempting to push Levi out of your mind as you walk to a table to join a few of your fellow hostesses in the middle of entertaining a group of young businessmen. 

After a few drinks, you decide not to waste anymore time or energy on Levi Ackerman.

Not long after, you sense a shift in the energy of the club as a new group of customers arrive, all of them in dark suits befitting a much more subdued place than Neo Tokyo, where bright and bold colors are the norm. There are three younger men with them and a woman with blonde hair and piercing eyes; behind them a tall, older man enters. While the others in the group are alert, he moves casually, taking off his jacket and fedora hat and handing them to Historia, who has met them at the entrance with Hange. 

“That’s Kenny Ackerman,” a hostess next to you whispers.

The group of yakuza is led to a private room in the back, separated from the rest of the club by a pair of doors made of thick Japanese washi paper. As Hange directs them inside, you notice that Levi is also leaving his place at the bar and walking to the room.

Historia has collected three more hostesses by the time you join them. You hear laughter behind the doors before they slide open and Hange exits. Each one of you enters, but as you pass Hange, they whisper, “Don’t let Kenny intimidate you. His bark is worse than his bite.”

You nod in acknowledgement, but Hange grabs your arm. “Actually, his bite is worse. Just don’t piss him off and you’ll be fine.”

You wonder what kind of man this Kenny Ackerman is.

A deep breath in, then out, and you enter the washitsu–a room decorated in the classical Japanese style. A holographic koi fish swims across the wall, giving the room a beautiful mix of old and new. You take off your shoes and walk across the tatami floor, making your way to the long, low table in the center of the space. Kenny sits at the head, with his counterparts sitting between hostesses. The only place left is next to Levi. Wiping your sweaty hands on your dress, you sit in the empty spot.

“Nuh-uh, little miss, you’ll be sitting next to me,” Kenny says, gesturing for you to come closer, then looking at the blonde woman next to him. “Caven, move over.”

Everyone adjusts as a place is made next to the Ackerman oyabun. A part of you is relieved that you don’t have to sit next to Levi, but it seems that you’ve jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Ackerman.” You bow your head reverently. When you raise it, you notice that all eyes are on you, Kenny’s included. They’re the same grey hue as Levi’s, but more sly, like a fox watching its prey. 

“Aren’t you a pretty thing,” Kenny says, eyes narrowing. “Just as human as can be. Haven’t seen that in a while.”

“I’m told pure Earthlings are a rarity here in Neo Tokyo,” you reply, calmly pouring beer into his glass, despite the pounding in your heart. 

“Oh, you can find them here and there. We still get refugees every now and then. But Earthlings like you…well, it’s like finding a snowflake on Mars.”

“I hope you’ll find me acceptable for this fine establishment.”

Kenny smiles.

“I’m sure I will. But you got me distracted, little lady. I have some business to get to first.”

With just a clearing of his throat, the whole room goes silent. 

“I called you all here today for a few reasons,” Kenny starts, as drinks start to be poured. “First, let’s welcome our two new shatei who have recently joined our clan.” You pour a drink for Kenny and he raises the glass high. “Connie, Jean–I expect great things from you. Kanpai!”

Everyone else raises their glass and cheers, “kanpai” in response, before taking a quick drink. 

“And let’s not forget my little nephew, Levi…”

Kenny says this caustically, each word holding more sarcasm than the next.

“...just released from prison after five long years.” Kenny raises his glass again, a smirk on his face. “Let’s hope he learned a thing or two.”

Prison? So that’s what Hange was alluding to. What could Levi have done that would have sent him to prison for five years?

It seems that your curiosity over Levi has peaked once more.

Levi glares down the table towards Kenny; but instead of a pointed reply, he merely raises his glass with the others.

Kenny’s words are met with another, “kanpai!”

This time, Kenny takes a bigger swig of his beer, making a long exhale as the rest of the group finishes.

“But that’s not all I have for Levi. I’ve decided to give him a promotion, of sorts. A–” he stops, seeming to think of the next word to say, “--thank you–for your willingness to serve that time.”

You can practically cut the tension in the room with a knife, but it doesn’t bother Kenny in the least. He continues, “I’ve decided to make you Shateigashira. From now on, you’ll be in charge of all our younger brothers and a protector of our investments.”

One final “kanpai” seals the decision. 

“Now, let’s talk about last night. Levi, get down here.”

Kenny gestures to his nephew to sit next to him. He does so, and now mirrors you across the table. 

“But I’ve been rude, Little Miss. Let me introduce my…inner circle, as it were.”

Kenny points at the blonde woman seated next to you. 

“That’s Caven, my second in command. Across from her is Farlan, my lawyer and business advisor. And you’re already familiar with Levi,” he gestures with his beer mug, “my new captain.”

You acknowledge each of them as they’re introduced, your eyes meeting Levi’s before he glances away. 

“Levi tells me that you slapped Eren Jaeger last night. That true?”

“Yes. He was touching me inappropriately.”

“If you don’t want to be touched, then maybe this isn’t the job for you,” Kenny counters.

“Had Eren been a gentleman and asked for my consent, then it would have been different. He was disrespecting me, which inadvertently is disrespecting you, as I’m one of your employees. I couldn’t let that slide.”

Kenny’s eyes are on you the whole time you speak. He’s studying you, taking in each word you say and balancing it carefully. For a while he says nothing, then finally lets out a hearty laugh. 

“You’re a spitfire, I’ll give you that. Sounds like he got what he deserved then.”

Kenny’s attention then moves to the other side of the table. 

“Levi, I want you to find out what the Jaegers are up to. Trouble the waters a bit, and see what comes to the surface. Let’s remind the Jaegers who they’re dealing with.”

“Then you’ll let me deal with it my way?” Levi asks. 

To that, Kenny smirks. 

“Whatever way you see fit, dear nephew.”

Kenny puts down his empty beer mug and you immediately fill it. He seems to enjoy your attention, because after he and his officers finish discussing the Jaegers, he glances back at you. 

“And what are we going to do with you, little spitfire? If Eren is as loose a canon as you all say then he could have it out for you.”

“Mr. Ackerman, you don’t have to worry about me. I assure you, I can take care of myself.”

“But as an employee in one of my businesses, I have an obligation. Like you said, disrespecting you is disrespecting me, and I can’t have that.” 

Kenny’s words are sickeningly sweet, belying everything you’ve been told about this man. Maybe  it’s the alcohol or maybe he has some kind of scheme you can’t quite see. In any case, you’re beholden to this man’s whims. 

“Levi,” Kenny’s voice becomes harsh, “you’ll be escorting Little Miss here every night for the foreseeable future. Make sure she gets home safe.”

You expect Levi to object or talk back, but he merely nods his head. 

“Mr. Ackerman, it’s not—“

Kenny’s eyes flash toward you and you realize that his decisions are not up for debate. The rest of your reply gets stuck in your throat and you merely eek out a thank you. 

The group only stays for a few more drinks after that before Kenny decides it’s time to depart. As you and the other hostesses walk them out of the club, each one is relaxed and upbeat except for Levi, who always seems on alert. One of the younger ones with a buzz cut puts his arm around Levi.

“Aniki, can we call you Captain now?” he asks. 

“No,” Levi answers, shrugging the young man’s arm off him before they all divide into two different cars. 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You leave the club in the dark of the early morning, the bright signs slowly fading away, with only the light of Earth and the moon still visible in the sky. The alley is dark now, but there’s a figure in the distance. Your steps hasten and you look forward, fully intending to walk quickly by the person.

“Oi.”

You recognize that voice before you see his face.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

Levi leans against a motorcycle before standing up. “Are you deaf? Kenny told me to take you home. We don’t need the Jaegers damaging our products.” 

Product? That has you seeing red.

He zips up his leather jacket. If he picks up on your anger and annoyance, he doesn’t show it. 

“Don’t read anything into it – like I said before, I’m not interested in you. I’m just doing what I was told to do.”

“Always taking orders, huh?” you say with a sigh.  “I don’t need a babysitter, or guard dog, or…whatever you’re supposed to be. Let’s just pretend you did your job and I’ll walk home and we can both be on our way.”

You move to walk past him, but he grabs your arm. “That’s not an option. You’re coming with me.”

He meets your angered look with his stoic gaze, steely blue eyes once again looking right into you.

“Do you enjoy bossing people around?” you ask. When he doesn’t reply, you move closer, his hand getting even tighter around your arm. “Or do you just get off on telling women what to do?” You lean into him, your lips moving dangerously close to his ear. “Sorry,” you whisper, “I mean products.”

At that, he lets go of your arm and shoves a helmet into your chest. “Just get on the fucking bike and stop causing me trouble.”

Sounding more like a threat than a command, you give in and take the helmet. He mounts the motorcycle as you get on behind him, holding the sides of the seat as the engine rumbles underneath.

“Put your arms around me.” You hear his voice through an earpiece in the helmet. “I don’t need you flying off when I turn a corner.”

You adjust yourself closer to Levi’s back and wrap your arms around his torso. Levi’s body is warm, in contrast to the cold morning around you both, and it has you moving even closer to him. As if in acknowledgement of your actions, his stomach muscles flex underneath your arms. When the bike starts to move, you find yourself holding him even tighter as he moves swiftly and quietly through the streets. 

Holographic advertisements reflect against the high rise buildings, a never ending reminder that anything and everything you could ever want is for sale in Neo Tokyo. But you don’t want to think of that right now, you just want to go to bed; in fact, the hum of Levi’s motorcycle and the smooth ride have almost lulled you to sleep. But how embarrassing would that be—falling asleep on the shoulder of a man who so obviously despises you.

When he pulls up to your apartment, he doesn’t say a word, his body shifting to make room between the two of you.

“How do you know where I live? Nevermind,” you interject, getting off the bike, “I don’t wanna know. I just wanna go to sleep.”

You take a few steps, then turn back to see that Levi is watching you. Even through the dark glass of his helmet, you can feel his gaze on you.

“Well…anyway…thanks for the ride.”

“I’ve told you, don’t thank me for–”

“--doing your job,” you interrupt, “I know, I know.”

Levi continues to watch as you walk to your dingy apartment building and doesn’t leave until you shut the door behind you.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Glossary:

Washitsu - a Japanese style room, usually consisting of tatami floors and low tables where it's required to sit on the floor. Shateigashira - a mid-level position in the yakuza that is responsible for managing the younger members. A captain, of sorts. ;-)

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RULES & REGULATIONS

Pairing: Javier Peña x F. Reader

Summary: Lines have been crossed, and you don’t know where this leaves you and Javier.

AN: Not sure why I start with sleepy bedroom fluff whenever I write for a new Pedro character, but here it is. 😂 I wrote this before putting out my 5K Followers Celebration, but the next Javi drabble will be a request from that event.~

Posted on Patreon: 6/22/2025

Word Count: 600

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Smut, fluff, angst

It’s that kind of sleep that you don’t get very often.

Deep, boneless, languid limbs slowly shifting under the covers. But it’s like your body registers the alarm before your brain has the chance. The clock beeps loud and persistent on your nightstand, blaring red digits.

He groans in your ear, rough and deep. It makes you smile.

“Hmm?” you question.

“Early,” Javi mutters. “Too fucking early.”

His arm slithers around your waist after you lean over to turn off the alarm. It’s the first time he’s stayed the night. The first time you’ve let him, or the first time he’s allowed himself to cross that boundary—you’re not sure which anymore.

All you know is, you want him here. It feels too good, however foreign, not to wake up alone. He feels good, sliding in closer behind you, warm breath on your neck, his knee bumping the back of your thigh. He’s almost tentative, like he’s testing dangerous waters. You’ve never known Javier Peña to be unsure of himself.

The thought brings doubts into your own mind, even though you hold his arm where it’s tucked under your breasts, warm against your skin. A sense of security, but also a proverbial door creaking open, one you didn’t think would ever open.

You sigh. “What’re we gonna do, Javi? We have to be in the office in two hours.”

He leans in and presses a tantalizing kiss into your neck.

“We could use our time wisely,” he muses, licking and nibbling the skin just under your ear. You hum in response, tilting your head back to give him more access. You bite your lip against a frown.

“You know what I mean,” you say. Your tone might be chiding, but your legs fall open on reflex when his hand travels down under the blankets, molding to your every curve, and dipping under the hem of your panties. Your breath hitches. “We…we’re breaking a lot of rules. This could get so fucking messy.”

Javi smirks into your skin. His fingers wander between your legs, finding your slick folds with ease. “That’s what I’m counting on, cariño.”

You huff in response, tempted to swat him on the head. The urge dies when he begins to roll your clit between nimble fingers. Your mouth falls open with a needy sound, one that almost embarrasses you. His free hand slides around your throat, applying just enough pressure for you to give in—to his touch, his familiar sense of control, and his safety too.

He fucks you with his fingers until you can’t help but gush over his hand, your inner walls pulsing, clenching tight. Javi groans at the feeling. He knows what you feel like throbbing around him, gripping him like a vice.

It’s more addictive than the shit he’s trying to purge out of the streets of Colombia (or at least, the ones that supply its veins like poison).

What’re we gonna do?

He drowns out that question, the hint of vulnerability in your voice, with the whimpers and moans he draws from you. He turns you onto your back and sinks between your legs, where you welcome him with warm hands sliding up his shoulders, and then nails digging into his back.

Javi knew what you were really asking before. He just doesn’t want to untangle complicated webs before he’s even had his coffee.

He wants to spend a little more time like this, even though it’s getting harder to maintain the fantasy that this is just stress relief.

Just a captured moment where he doesn’t feel like a failure—at his job, at his life. 

Just another moment with you.

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[formulafanfics13]

Another day, A New Plot Twist - Toto Wolff 🔥

Masterlist || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7

She hated how beautiful his Monaco apartment was. The penthouse was glass and stone and staggering views. Private lift. Soft floor-to-ceiling drapes that danced in the breeze. An infinity-edge balcony that looked out over the marina like something from a goddamn Bond movie.

But right now, she couldn’t enjoy any of it. She was curled into the balcony chair, knees pulled up, hair scraped into a messy bun, one of his linen shirts draped over her shoulders. She felt exhausted. And not the “slept shit” exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that made her bones ache. That made her see stars every time she stood up too fast. That made food smell different. That made everything feel like too much.

And he didn’t know. Toto sat beside her. Calm, steady, coffee cup resting on his thigh, reading something on his tablet with his glasses perched low on his nose. His other arm was flung lazily across the back of her chair.

And she was venting. Quietly. Rapidly.

Not her usual style, no drama, no exaggeration, just a steady stream of tired complaints about the travel, the deadlines, the clients, the pressure, the noise.

“I just feel like I’m always ten seconds from snapping,” she muttered, voice small. “Like I can’t breathe properly. I keep getting dizzy, I’m hungry all the time, and everything smells weird. I cried yesterday because someone moved my lens bag.”

Toto glanced at her.

Eyebrow raised slightly.

Then, like it was obvious, he said, “Take a break then.”

She looked over, startled. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because-because I can’t.”

Toto’s gaze held steady. “You can.”

“No,” she said, more firm now. “I need to work. I need the money.”

Toto chuckled, slow and soft. “I have money,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “For both of us. You don’t need to work. And when we finally have a family, I wouldn’t expect you to be working anyway. Not unless you wanted to.”

She went still. That word. Family. It landed in her chest like an explosion.

Toto had said it so casually. So easily. Like it was just fact. Like of course they would have one. Like it was already part of his plan. Of their plan.

She blinked. Looked down at the ring on her hand. Then closed her eyes. Took a long, careful breath. “Toto-”

He looked over again. Her voice was quiet. Almost too quiet. “I’m pregnant.”

Everything stilled. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even breathe for a second. Just looked at her. Long and hard. Like he was trying to decipher whether she was joking, or having a breakdown, or-

She looked up. Met his eyes. And nodded once. “I’m pregnant,” she said again. Firmer this time.

Toto’s expression didn’t change at first. Then, slowly, he set the tablet down. Placed his coffee cup on the table beside him. Shifted in his chair to fully face her. And said, carefully, “You’re sure?”

She nodded again.

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“Yeah. A few days ago. I told Kimi first.”

That actually made him smile for a second. The absurdity of it. Of course Kimi knew before him. That little fucker. “And… you’re okay?”

She blinked. That question, so simple, hit harder than she expected. She nodded. “Yeah. I think I am.”

Toto stared at her. Then leaned forward, slow and deliberate. His hand moved to her knee, anchoring her. The other reached up to her cheek. And he kissed her. No rush. No panic. No shock.

Just a kiss. One that meant everything.

When he pulled back, his voice was softer than she’d ever heard it. “Thank you for telling me.”

Her eyes stung. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” His brow furrowed. “Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know. I just… didn’t know how you’d react.”

Toto exhaled. Then smiled, really smiled. And said, “I meant what I said. I want a family. With you. This just means it’s starting a little sooner.”

She laughed. Soft. Teary. He pulled her into his lap. Held her. One hand on her back. One over her stomach. Protective already.

She was still in his lap when the panic started creeping in. Not the full-bodied, cold-sweat kind. Just the whisper of it. The familiar flicker of what the fuck do I do now that clawed into her chest when things got real. Her head was resting against Toto’s collarbone, her palm lightly covering the back of his hand where it was still spread across her stomach, but she couldn’t sit still.

Toto felt the shift immediately. He tilted his head and pressed a kiss to her temple. Then murmured, “Have you told anyone else?”

She shook her head. “Just Kimi.”

“No friends?”

“No.”

He was quiet a second. Then, gentle, “Your parents?”

She exhaled through her nose. “No.”

Toto didn’t pressure her. He just kissed her temple again and said, “You should.”

She didn’t speak. He glanced down. His voice softened more. “They’ll want to know. They’ll want to support you. You’re not doing this alone.”

She swallowed hard. “I know.”

“Do you want me to sit with you?”

“I want you to stay right where you are.”

He smiled at that. She shifted slightly, reached for her phone on the table beside them, and pulled her legs across Toto’s lap like a child balancing a secret. Her fingers hovered for a second, then she opened FaceTime.

She added her parents. Then hit Kimi’s name.

They both answered within seconds.

The screen filled with two windows: one of the family kitchen back in Italy, her mama still drying her hands on a tea towel, her papa squinting at the camera like he didn’t fully trust it, and the other of Kimi on his bed, messy curls and a Diet Coke already in hand.

“Ciao, tesoro,” her mum beamed. “You look tired, amore.”

Kimi snorted. “She looks wrecked.”

“Kimi,” she snapped.

“You said I could tell them.”

“I HAVEN’T EVEN SAID HELLO-”

Her mother blinked. “Tell us what?”

Kimi grinned, too proud of himself. “You’re about to be grandparents.”

Dead silence. Her dad frowned. “…Did you say grandparents?”

Her mum’s hand flew to her chest.

Kimi lifted his can and took a dramatic sip.

She stared into the screen and sighed. Then held up her left hand. Showed them the ring. And said, “I’m pregnant.”

The scream that came from her mother’s mouth was inhuman. Her papa leaned out of frame completely. Then returned with a full espresso cup and slammed it down on the counter like it was tequila.

Her mother was now in tears, babbling a mix of Italian prayers and shocked joy.

Kimi raised a fist in the corner of his screen. “Told you I’d do the hard bit.”

Toto, still silently behind her, reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her parents hadn’t even noticed he was there yet, not until her mother leaned closer to the camera and gasped. “Toto?!”

He leaned forward, entirely unbothered. Calm as ever. “Ciao,” he said with a small smile.

Her father stared. Her mother started crying again.

Kimi clutched his face in both hands. “We are never going to hear the end of this.”

“I think I’m having a stroke,” her dad muttered.

“Babbo,” she warned.

“I’m fine. Just need another espresso.”

“You’re gonna need three,” Kimi mumbled.

Her mum, still sniffling, asked, “How long?”

“Ten weeks,” she replied.

“And you’re happy?”

She looked sideways at Toto. He was still staring at her like she hung the sun. She smiled. “Yeah. I’m really happy.”

Her mother exhaled like a breath she’d been holding for twenty years. Her father nodded slowly, still clearly processing. “Then we are happy too.”

It was mid-afternoon when the buzzer rang.

The Monaco sun was throwing light in strange gold streaks across the living room floor, and she was halfway through re-folding Toto’s terrifyingly crisp napkin drawer for no reason other than pregnancy hormones were a bitch. Toto glanced up from his laptop on the dining table, adjusted his glasses, and said, “That’ll be George.”

She blinked. “George?”

“He wanted to introduce Carmen properly.”

“Oh,” she said. Then, quieter, “…now?”

Toto stood, buttoned the top of his shirt as he walked, and dropped a kiss to her forehead on the way past. “You look beautiful.”

“I’m literally in one of your t-shirts and no bra.”

“Exactly.”

She rolled her eyes, still smoothing her hair with one hand and trying not to overthink the absolutely enormous engagement ring catching every shaft of Monaco sunlight like a lighthouse flare. This is fine. This is so fine. This is...

“Toto!” George’s voice echoed from the hall as the door opened. And then: “Carmen, be nice, this man controls my career-”

They stepped in like a goddamn Pinterest ad, George in loafers and a linen shirt, Carmen in sunglasses and gold hoops, both tanned and disgustingly gorgeous. Toto welcomed them with a handshake and a calm smile, then guided them straight into the kitchen where she was pretending not to panic-wipe invisible dust from the countertop.

George lit up when he saw her. “There she is!” he grinned. “The Mercedes scandal.”

She laughed, stepping forward to hug him, then Carmen. “Welcome to chaos.”

After some warm small talk, Monaco, the off-season, the horror of George’s new hair product, the four of them settled loosely in the kitchen: Toto leaning against the fridge, George and Carmen perched on barstools, and her half-sitting on the island edge, fingers curled under her thighs like she was definitely not about to change the entire vibe of this gathering.

Then Toto, like the bastard he was, casually said: “We have news.”

George made a face. “She’s not working for the team, is she?”

She snorted. “No,” Toto said smoothly. “Not quite.”

She lifted her left hand. Held it out. Let the light do the talking.

Carmen gasped audibly. George blinked once. Twice. And then said, “No. No. Don’t tell me you proposed.”

Toto just smiled.

George’s eyes darted between the ring and his team principal’s face like he was trying to spot a prank camera crew. “When? HOW? Did Kimi let you live? Was there a weapon involved?!”

“Two weeks ago,” she said sweetly. “And yes, Kimi knows.”

Carmen grabbed her hand. “This is STUNNING. Oh my god, Toto, how the fuck did you pick this?!”

Toto looked entirely unbothered. “Someone helped.”

“Who?!”

“You'll never know.”

Carmen clutched her heart like she’d been struck. George was still sputtering. Then, before the chaos could settle, Toto glanced sideways at her, smirked, and added, just loud enough to cut through the noise:

“We’re also going to have a Mercedes baby in less than seven months.”

Silence. Like, real silence. The kind that made her want to disappear into the tile floor. George’s jaw physically dropped. Carmen’s hand flew back to her chest.

Toto took a sip of sparkling water like he’d just read out the fucking weather report.

“You’re-” George blinked at her. “You’re pregnant?”

She nodded.

“Mercedes baby?” Carmen whispered.

“Yes,” Toto said calmly. “Born into dominance.”

“I-” George looked at her. “Does Kimi know?!”

“Obviously.”

“Is he okay?”

“No.”

“Oh my god, I need to sit down-wait, I’m already sitting down.”

Carmen still hadn’t closed her mouth. Then, softly: “This is the most unhinged and beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

Toto just slid his arm around her waist. And smiled. Because yeah — it really fucking was.

[cloud9dreamer]

hiii how are you ^^)/ could I ask for headphone jacks for pomefiore (separately ^^) with a female reader who is very good at dancing tango~ since it is a dance from her country :')) thanks in advance<3

Great how are you bb! I didn't really understand what you meant by headphone jacks but I got the pomfiore part. Hope you like it!

Edit: I literally finished this and went to publish it and it got deleted. Kill me.

🍎 Epel Felmier

🥧The first time he sees you dance, he’s shocked. Epel wasn't expecting much when you told him you can tango thinking you where tooting your own horn. But when he gets hit with pure dance power, sensuality, and body control his jaw genuinely drops.

🥧Blushes like crazy. Tango is intimate, and you’re bold with it. The way your body moves confidently as you slowly inch closer makes him redder than a freshly picked apple. He tries to play it all cool and bad, but the tips of his ears betray him.

🥧Eventually seeing you dance made him want to learn tango for himself under the condition that he does it "his way" not Vil’s dainty schmainty version. He wants to be the masculine lead, full of grounded steps, strength, and presence. Or as much presence you can have when you look like the tooth fairy and a bunny had a baby(LMFAOO) . He’ll stomp and grumble through practices until he finds his rhythm—then suddenly, he’s magnetic.

🥧Expect him to get competitive. If another guy tries to dance with you, Epel will sulk. Maybe even throw a tantrum like a real bunny if he's feeling sour enough. “Tch. Bet he don’t even know how to pivot right.” He’ll work even harder just to prove he’s the only one worthy of your trust on the floor.

👑 Vil Schoenheit

🪞Instant Approval. That's it, youre one Vil’s good graces from now onwards. Albeit it doesnt show on his face. To the untrained eye he seems indifferent maybe even bored. But all the pomfiore students can clearly see the look of silent reverence on his face. Grace, discipline, tension, flair? You check every box. “Flawless,” he murmurs, already envisioning you in custom couture for a spotlight gala. You don't know, he might even get you a gig.

🪞As a dance partner he is strict but passionate. He will critique your footwork if it slips even slightly (bitch). He’s not cruel—he just knows you’re capable of perfection. “Again, but this time... feel it in your spine.” he rasps into your ear as his hands glide down to the small of your back almost like they belong there.

🪞Publicly showcases you, he wants the entire world to see you. He'll choreograph a duet where both of you embody elegance and dominance in equal measure—like twin flames circling each other on stage. Every step is deliberate. Every glance is art.

🪞Oh he'll FREAK OUT over every detail of your dress, down to the very thread color and rhinestone arrangement. He’ll custom commission your tango outfits, Think slit skirts, silk gloves, Swarovski crystal accents. “Your movement deserves couture.” And he means it.

🏹 Rook Hunt

🌳Absolutely enchanted by you. Mutters “Merveilleux...” The first time he sees you tango, even gasps as you dance. Not just because you’re good—but because your movement speaks of danger, desire, and a hunter’s focus. To Rook, that's the most poetic form of seduction.

🌳He'll analyze every step you take, asking questions like, “Why did you flick your leg just then? Was it instinct or strategy?” Rook isn’t trying to be annoying—he’s just utterly fascinated by how your soul speaks through motion.

🌳Constantly challenging you. He’ll appear behind you stalker out of nowhere, hand extended: “Shall we dance, belle chasseresse?” He keeps you on your toes, literally and figuratively. He tests your speed, balance, instincts—he lives for the tension between you.

🌳Whispers in your ear during the dance. As your bodies glide close, he’ll lean in and murmur, “Your heartbeat is racing. How exquisite.” He thrives in the heat between you—to him it's more thrilling than any hunt.

[megumismyhusband]

you’ve always looked up to nagi.

back when you were just a wide eyed kid sweeping ash off your coat in rainy alleyways, you’d sneak copies of the morning paper from the butcher’s stand. every front page that bore his name had a circle around it. seishiro nagi cracks arson case in under three hours. detective nagi solves string of disappearances no one else would touch. you’d read them so many times they stayed burned behind your eyelids, reappearing in the haze of sleep or when the night shift dragged too long. he was brilliant. always just a few steps ahead. a soft-spoken, disheveled genius who couldn’t be bothered to comb his hair or tie his shoes but could find a missing person by staring at a map for five minutes.

that’s why you’re here. well. partly.

you’d worked hard. harder than anyone else in your unit. took all the cases no one wanted. talked your way into witness interviews, stayed up all night dusting glass for prints, memorized floorplans. you earned your name. and lately, you’ve been hearing that name more and more. some say you’re the next nagi, except less lazy. some don’t even mention him at all anymore.

and now you’ve been asked to work a case with him. a real collaboration. two detectives, one mystery, a high profile locked room murder with too many suspects and not enough time. it’s the kind of thing you would’ve dreamed about back when you were young. so imagine how you feel when you first meet him and find out he’s a lazy piece of shit.

he shows up to the crime scene half an hour late, dragging his feet like someone’s forcing him to walk. his coat is only halfway on. there’s a coffee stain on his shirt. he yawns through the introductions and leans against the doorway of the drawing room like he’s about to fall asleep standing up.

“hey,” he says. that’s it. no handshake. no nod. just hey.

“detective nagi,” you say, trying to sound like your lungs haven’t turned to ice. “i’ve read all your—”

“can you tell me what happened so i don’t have to read the file?” he interrupts, blinking at you like you’re the boring part of his dream.

you clench your jaw. give him the rundown. short, professional, clipped. he doesn’t write anything down. he doesn’t even pretend to be listening. just stares past your shoulder, then down at his own hand like he forgot it was attached to him.

“huh,” he says at the end of it. “sounds annoying.”

you think he’s going to follow that up with a question. or a theory. or anything. he doesn’t.

the other officers exchange looks. this isn’t new to them. but you? you’re spiraling. is this really him? the man who’s solved killings in a single night? the one who once found a body buried beneath a well just by the texture of the dirt? is this what he’s become?

you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. you’re the one with the sharp mind now. the one who doesn’t sleep, who gets results. he’s a relic. an old headline. and it doesn’t matter if he slumps in chairs or gets distracted by moths or starts eating licorice halfway through your suspect interview.

except it does matter. because even when he’s doing nothing, somehow he still gets it right. he’ll mumble something under his breath, and it’ll be the one detail you missed. he’ll ask a question that sounds stupid, but it’ll turn the whole case on its head. and you hate how fast your heart starts beating when that happens. like it used to when you saw his name in bold ink.

you admire him. you still do. but now it’s quiet. like a secret you keep in your coat pocket. you tell yourself it’s just curiosity. maybe pity. maybe professional interest.

it’s not. and every time he yawns through your theories or scratches his head and accidentally gives you the final piece of the puzzle, you feel it settling in your chest.

this is going to be a long case.

you end up in the study with him after hours. two cups of lukewarm tea between you. crime scene’s cleared out, but neither of you’s left. you’re sketching out timelines on a napkin and he’s lying sideways on the settee like he’s at home.

“you don’t have to be here,” you tell him. “i can finish the layout.”

“i’m bored,” he says, like that’s a perfectly reasonable excuse to insert himself into your perfectly structured logic map. “besides. you missed the bit where the maid took her break ten minutes early.”

you blink. “how do you know that?”

“she smoked. matches in the flowerpot outside. old ones and one fresh.” he shrugs. “people always hide them in the dumbest places.”

you stare at him. “you never mentioned that.”

“you didn’t ask.” he yawns. “you’re really intense, huh?”

you bristle. “i work hard.”

“i know,” he says, almost too casually. “it’s kind of interesting. haven’t seen someone work this hard since… well. ever, really.”

you try not to let that register. not out loud, anyway. “i grew up reading about your cases.”

he rolls onto his back, arms behind his head. “ew. don’t say it like that. makes me sound old.”

“you are old.”

he huffs, but you catch the small smirk he tries to hide under his sleeve.

the weird thing is… you kind of start liking talking to him. once you stop expecting him to act like a proper detective, it gets easier. he’s easy to talk to when he’s not being a pain. he doesn’t judge your theories. he doesn’t interrupt you unless he has something important to say. and when he does say something, it’s usually helpful. like, annoyingly helpful.

you start bringing extra pens and snacks. he starts showing up on time. not all the time. but enough to notice. one day he actually ties his shoes.

“you’re rubbing off on me,” he mutters, like it’s some kind of disease. “i stayed awake all of yesterday. didn’t even nap.”

you arch a brow. “want a medal?”

“yes. but also a nap.”

you roll your eyes. but you hand him the spare coffee anyway.

you don’t say it out loud, but there’s a rhythm now. you work better together than you’d expected. and maybe you don’t look at the papers anymore. maybe you don’t circle his name. maybe now you look up when yours is next to his.

maybe that means something.

tags: @kaidostwin @levihanmyotp @ohagiyoo @oorosiidinmotive @wonubby @xoxojisu @yvanilaa @sevarchive @thetwinkims

join taglist here!

[houndofllove]

SAY YOU WILL — lessons

cw. simon riley x f!reader. situationship.

#05 guilty pleasure | masterlist | #07

You’re in bed when Simon finally asks.

The anticipated question, both curious and confused all the same. You figure for him it means something different to how others ask it, a want to understand you and the patterns of your life. Maybe even entirely selfless as he asks, waiting there, looking up at the ceiling as you do the same and not pressing or demanding or turning to try and gouge every wrinkle and twitch of your face. 

It’s what compels you to give him that explanation, sighing deeply next to him, dragging a hand over your face as you figure out where to begin.

“It was the first guy,” you smile to yourself, bittersweet. “You know he was great, first love kind of thing. Thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. We had everything planned out, the house and kids and careers. Even what pets. I loved him and sometimes I think that I still do, but we outgrew each other. I’d known him since we were teenagers, and that time we spent together was good but by the end we were different people. We needed space to grow.”

You hear the faint sound of the pillow rustling next to you, feeling the way Simon nods and then hums after a few seconds in acknowledgement.

“And then, you know, after that it’s never really been the same as the first time.”

“Yeah,” he whispers.

He doesn’t ask for more from you, the air thin as he remains still, mimicking your body language as though to make you feel safer. You get the sense that he’s still mulling over your words, piecing together fragments of your life like a puzzle and working out why the pieces connect the way they do. Always calculated in that sense and somehow it makes you more curious about him.

Simon’s like a clamshell that you can’t pry open no matter how you try. Shoving a knife between the slips in his facade has nudged him slightly, only for the faintest sign of weakness to clamp him shut again. You’ve tried, God knows you have, and although you respect his space you can’t conceal your own curiosity. Spending nights without him savouring little details he’s given you. Warm smiles, cups of tea, a chain around his neck that disappears somewhere a few minutes after you’ve seen it, the scars, God. The scars all over his body. The muscle. The turmoil. The bulk of him.

“How about you?” A shot made in the dark.

“Oh,” he exhales. It’s quiet for a long while, something you expected yet can’t bear to deal with. An urge to crane your head and watch him: just the way you’ve despised others doing to you in anticipation of their judgement. You wonder what you’d see if you did give in. The colours of longing written over his features or maybe a glint of hope, sparkling so bright in his eyes.

“There was someone,” it comes out breathy, followed by a small laugh. “Long ago. But her parents didn’t really see me in their daughter's future.”

Your heart sinks and thumps that much harder against your ribcage all the same. “I’m sorry, Simon.”

“Don’t be,” you can sense his smile in the words. “Learned a lot of lessons from that. You know, we tried so ‘ard to make it work. Both of us sneaking out at night. She thought she could convince them, y’know. That I was good enough. Not that I ever mistreated her.”

“Mhm.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get carried away.”

“No, it’s okay. I want to listen.”

“There’s not much else to say really.” He sighs. “One night I was helpin’ her back into the house through the window and her dad was waiting for us. Never thought there’d be a day where I’d run as fast as I did that night.”

You huff, amused, your hand on your chest rising and falling with your heavier breaths: more aware of the way your body’s reacting to his stories.

“Got a phone call the next day and it was over. Parents sent her off, can’t even remember where anymore. Never spoke to her again.” A pause, him shifting, then repeating your own sentiment: “It’s never been the same as that first time.”

Smiling you reach for his hand across the bed, fingertips brushing over cotton until they reach his forearm, working down until you find the roughness of his knuckles. He twists his palm and then makes space for your fingers to link together, hand hot and heavy in yours but grounding.

“It’s easier like this,” you say, turning to face Simon, the long profile of his face darkened. There’s stubble dotted along his jaw that you know he’ll shave away before he gets in the shower; the purple trace of the scar that he’s yet to tell you about. Your gaze must disturb him, his head falling to the side so his cheek presses into his pillow, amber irises burning through you.

You watch with strange happiness the way his face moves when he speaks.

“Without the labels?”

“Yeah,” you nod slowly. “Yeah, I mean. I don’t want to go on a tangent but it’s like, all these guys I’ve been on dates with, they don’t see value in themselves if I don’t say I love you. It’s like I could give them everything they want, but if I don’t mention love they can’t understand why or how I do these things. I don’t know….I just get frustrated with them after a while because they expect it from me like it’s a requirement for a relationship. But I don’t think they even understand what love is, you know?”

He rolls his lips together, says: “I think so.”

The room falls quiet and you notice your heartbeat in your ears, how warm you feel now even though it’s cold outside. You watching Simon. Simon watching you. An unrecognisable force telling you to move closer towards him: so you do. Shuffling closer and closer until your body is pressed against him, not a single protest made against it.

“I like this,” you murmur.

“Yeah?” Simon smiles.

“I do, really. You’re really nice, Simon. And cool.”

He chuckles then, squeezing your hand in his, folding it upwards so your hands are close to his lips, wet breath over skin. “I dunno about cool.”

“Cooler than any other guys I know.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Clearly don't kno’ a lot of guys then.”

Faking exasperation you roll your eyes. “I know enough, trust me.”

He brings your connected hands up to his mouth, placing a kiss on the back of yours, cracked lips somehow so soft against your skin. You sigh, content, closing your eyes. Then you feel his lips brush over each eyelid and you melt into the bed.

In your ear he whispers I trust you.

[fightingthetoxicallegations]

OPEN STARTER

I find it strange, this shape you mold me into...

TW: internalized transphobia, tranphobia in general, transmedicalist views, body dysmorphia, etc.

Ah, the last day of pride month. The last day to be able to openly celebrate people's identities and have an actual, valid excuse to do it. The last day of the time where people could try and be themselves openly with... well, with loved ones and such. A beautiful time indeed.

...except not everyone was feeling happy during this time.

Theo has been acting strange for the last couple days, talking less, wearing way more baggy clothes, way more layers- like he was dressing himself for the winter, meanwhile on the inside he's been melting because of it. Yeah, he's not been hiding his presence around the palace as much, but that doesn't mean he hasn't been feeling like absolute shit. Ever since somewhat announcing himself, he's been met with warm welcomes, tears, hugs, worries... And he didn't feel like he deserved any of it.

And now, to add onto the ever-growing pile of problems, Edan happened. Started saying things and- yeah, he claimed he was trying to understand but... it didn't stop the questions and assumptions and theories from hurting deep within Theo's very soul. It didn't stop certain thoughts from resurfacing.

He started watching out for the sound of his own voice. It was too girly. Too high pitched. And he couldn't voice train because of his throat injury. He started paying attention to his chest more. It was always too visible. Stood out too much. Even when he put on binders two or three sizes too small, even when he could feel them injuring him — squeezing his ribs, and therefore his lungs, making it harder to breathe — it was still not enough to cover the fact he wasn't cis. Even when he put on two binders at once. Even when in addition to that he wore layers upon layers of baggy clothes. Nothing ever worked.

Sometimes he'd stare at himself in the mirror and point out to himself the ways in which he was different from all the other boys. In which he wasn't a boy. Because why would he be one- yeah, he feels like one, but he doesn't look like one. Not at all. He started thinking about getting surgeries again. About how much better his life is probably going to be when he finally looks like a boy- like a real boy. Because right now he's a mockery of what it means to be a boy. He's just a girl pretending she's a boy, isn't she?

He was half considering taking the pride flags that he got from Lucas off of his wall, because it didn't feel like he was any of those at this point- or at least not a real one. He wasn't a boy, so how could he be gay? How could he be poly if he wasn't a boy and therefore his gay boyfriend has been in a relationship with a girl this entire time and should just break up with him? How could he be trans if he didn't even know if he wanted the surgeries to make him look like a boy?

He was... wherever. In his room in the palace or the woods in his usual spot, or anywhere else, in a shitton of clothing, overbinding by a lot and just... probably just staring at himself, whether it be in the mirror or just simply by looking down, and probably putting his hands over his chest, resisting the urge to claw at his own skin.

Taglist (ask to be added or deleted!!!): @the-great-emperor-commodus @another-argo @literally-tinker-bell @roryandthethorns @reyno-solis-real @glitchyk @judas-of-eris @notaeoluschild @the-little-tadpole @daughter-of-thanatoss @the-tickle-anon @defect-child-of-eros @kiaradaughterofselene

[isuggestforcefem]

4, 14, 16, 17, 19, 20

4. If, hypothetically, you somehow managed to steal all of, lets say, Elon Musk's weath in a way that could not be tracked, what would be the first thing you would do with it?

I could get bottom surgery, live with my wife. I'd do that. I'd give money to my friends, enough to erase their worries. Then comes the question. How do you change the world, how do you enact change towards a marxist future with cash? I don't have that answer. If I had, I would seek people who do. Who are better informed than me

14. If you were to get permanently stranded on a desert island, where hunger and thirst didn't exist and the only way to die was old age, with no chance for escape, but you could bring along any amount of people to be stranded with you, who would you bring along to your fate?

My wife. I'm sorry dear, but- Who am I kidding. You'd want it that way. Aside from it, it's harder to say. One cheat-y answer might be "all billionaires". Get fucked.

16. Would you rather have a very powerful super power for yourself? or gift everyone but yourself in a collective you're a part of a weaker but still powerful power? if the latter, which collective?

It's too easy. It was made for me. All trans girls can double jump now.

17. Which scares you more? Infinity, or Finality?

Finality. I think, foolishly, that I could keep reinventing myself.

19. Unknown change, or unhappy mundanity?

Change.

20. Did you like these questions?

I did!

[alethialia]

Hi, hello, I'm a frequent reader and commenter on your Rabbot fics! While I'm over here twisting in the wind with longing for the next chapter of your current WIP (for which I very lovingly shake my fist at you) I decided to reread all your other fics and I noticed a sort of general trend. And so I thought I would come and bother you about it.

It's about the yearning. Excellent job on making some of the tastiest yearning I've ever read for this pairing. But I did notice a sort of... difference? Between how you write Abbot yearning vs Robby yearning.

Okay. So Abbot POV is like: <hi I'm Jack Abbot I'm a doctor and a veteran and Robby's best friend. I'm in love with him. It's fine.> He's more settled about it. Like, it aches but he's accepted it and his primary driving desire is to be around Robby and to take care of him in whatever way he'll allow. In one fic (the one where Abbot gets offered a Colorado job) he's so certain about Robby's friendship being enough for him that he doesn't even clock it at first when Robby asks about them having "more." When Abbot gets a clue that Robby might want what he wants, he grabs hold with both hands, pushes past all hesitance, but he's generally not on the lookout.

Meanwhile, Robby seems... constantly on fire? I mean the man Suffers beautifully and you've really brought that out in your writing. Even when it's Abbot's POV with Robby pining (the one where Jack speedruns a sexuality crisis) I can just *sense it* that Robby over there has NOT been having a good time, with a couple of failed relationships as collateral damage. In the current fic, he tries so earnestly to be "it is what it is" but he keeps crashing up against Jack's... everything, in close proximity. This is HARD, for Robby.

This all makes instinctive sense to me, it feels right for your versions of Robby and Abbot, and I have my reasonings for why this difference feels so satisfying to read. But maybe my own characterizations are influencing my reading? So do tell me if I'm (generally! broadly speaking!!) on the mark, dear writer, and please spill your authorial thoughts on why you've written them this way.

And thank you, as always, for the soft places to land 💕💕💕

Hi there! Thank you so much for this incredible question. (And I hope you enjoyed the end of the story!) You are spot on here! In my head, Abbot and Robby do yearn differently. Let us discuss...

As I see it, Abbot's already had a great love. With his spouse, whom he lost. So he knows both the joy of it and the agony of a love ripped away. Because of that, he's careful about minimizing loss. He knows he and Robby could have something great, but the friendship itself is also a special thing that he values on its own. He's careful not to push too hard, lest he break that. (Sometimes this is even to his detriment because if he did push a little harder he could get what he wants; but there's a risk in that.)

When Abbot says their friendship is enough, he's telling the truth. Their connection is a rare and special thing; he'd be content leaving it there. He wants, of course, but he wants not to lose Robby even more. And this is a man who knows loss. He will do what he can to avoid inviting it in. He's also deeply aware of all Robby's issues, he's watched Robby's relationships crash and burn, he knows this guy's MO. He recognizes that he already has something amazing, and there could be something more to it, but he can be patient and wait until the time is right, if that time ever comes.

Robby, otoh, has not had a great love and oh, how he wants it. His yearning is hungry. He knows the connection with Jack is special and he wants nothing more to grab hold and burn with him...while at the same time being terrified that he's going to fuck it up. Convinced he's going to fuck it up. He always fucks it up. With an added dash of Robby being so hard on himself for his failures, thinking Jack should really be with someone Better because that's what he deserves.

Robby knows he's flawed and his need to protect his partners from himself puts a wall between them. He doesn't do that with Jack, though, and that instinctive trust and sense of safety makes him ravenous - for more, for all of it. He knows Jack could handle his shit and that idea is just...intoxicating. When Robby says the friendship is enough...well, he thinks he's telling the truth. But the desire plagues him, always there, this thing he's never had, and shouldn't he get to? But because he hasn't done the work, he doesn't have the tools to handle it well, so he just stews in the agony of it.

These aren't set in stone, btw. When I start writing a story, I first figure out where they're at emotionally. So sometimes I play Robby's desire for Abbot as a thing that messes up his other relationships, other times it's his inability to be vulnerable, sometimes they go hand-in-hand, it really depends. But in every version, they're well-matched - equals who deeply respect each other, with perfect trust and instinctive understanding of the other on a fundamental level. Which is why it will always work out. Because, at the end of it all, they're willing to do the work for each other. <3

[only-lonely-star]

hi there, i hope you’re having a good day! i love your work and you seem like the sweetest! i was wondering if i could request something? all good if not, but i was wondering if you would do headcannons with the greasers (the main 7, seperate tho if that makes sense 🫨) with reader that has a stutter/speech issues (like sometimes doesn’t pronounce stuff correctly, might get stuck on words/stutter and repeat words etc) (definitely not self projecting here)…it could either be platonic or romantic, i don’t mind!! thank you and have a good day 💌💌💌

Curtis Gang x speech difficulty!reader

Curtis gang x gn!reader

Warnings: I don’t think there are any :)

Author’s Note: Hi!! This was a very fun post to make. I hope you enjoy, my lovesss 🫶🏼

✦ . 　⁺ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ⁠♡ ✦ . 　⁺ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Ponyboy

Pony would take his time with you. Without a doubt. I can see him raising his eyebrows a bit and staring right at you until you’re able to finish what you wanted to say.

I don’t think he’d ever tease you. Playfully or not, I just don’t see him as the type. He’s too emotionally intelligent to the point he assumes teasing in any way could come off as hurtful.

Honestly, he might avoid bringing it up at all costs to prevent unwanted tension.

If you’re struggling to finish a word, he’d lock in and try to figure out what that word is before you can. He’d rather help you find the word you’re looking for rather than allowing you to struggle and feet a bit embarrassed afterwards. Also, it’s probably a little fun on his part because he gets to flex his vocabulary . He’ll purposefully say a big word nobody even KNOWS besides himself, and then pull a 🤔 face when you shake your head. “Idiosyncratic-?! No…? Oh, um… IDIOM?!”

I don’t see him ever getting really frustrated with you. Even if you’re arguing or ‘having a disagreement’, he’d be patient and let you finish. He just knows better.

Remember when Ponyboy snapped at Johnny and said, “An’ you can shut your trap, Johnny Cade, ‘cause we all know you ain’t wanted at home, either.” I think he’d have the same reaction if anyone tried to belittle you for your speech impediment. It doesn’t matter if that person was a total stranger or someone he cared for; he’d snap on them for it.

Johnny

He would be the most patient of all. I think he’s naturally be more quiet than most, so there’s no rush when you’re with him.

If you’re trying to tell a joke and end up stuttering a bunch, he’d probably giggle just a bit. Not in a mean way, of course.

He would probably never even address your speech impediment. It literally has no affect on your conversations since you carry majority of them.

Johnny actually likes talking with you the most. You’re like a breath of fresh air compared to the people that ramble and ramble. You take the time to say what’s important instead of talking his poor ears off.

He remembers certain ‘struggle words’ that are harder for you to say than other words. He’d intentionally use a substitute word to make it easier for you if possible.

Dallas

He’s a little hot-headed. Most of the time he’s chill about it, your speech impediment doesn’t really bother him. But if he’s asking you a pressing question or arguing with you, he’d get frustrated very fast.

If you’re in a situation where you keep repeating the same word again and again, I think he might say it and nod his head, urging you to continue. Is it a bit rude? Yes, but this is Dally we’re talking about. He’s a jerk either way.

When he’s not being a jerk (for once), Dally would keep quiet until you finished. He’d blink a lot as if it would help him hear you better.

I can picture him in that one scene from the movie where he’s like “What? 🧏” when Johnny says he’s going to turn himself in. He’d do that leaning in thing with his finger to his ear if you’re really struggling with a word. When you finally get it out, he’d pull away and think for a moment before replying.

If ANYONE teased you about the way you speak, he’d be after them in no time. I don’t think he would, but in his mind, he’s the only one with ‘rights to tease you’. Again, I don’t think he’d actually joke about your speech like that, but if he were, it would be in a playful way only. Anyone else… helllll to the no.

This is more of a romantic one, but I can totally see him trying to give you a little reassuring touch if you’re trying to speak to someone else and you’re struggling. Any little nudge or pat on your shoulder to let you know he’s there and won’t let anyone interrupt you. He’ll be on their ass if they try.

Sodapop

He’s really understanding. I can see him whispering a little “You’re fine, no rush,” if you’re stammering a lot.

Similar to Pony, he might try to help you find the word you’re struggling to say. Does he usually find it before you do? No. But that’s okay by you, at least he’s trying.

He doesn’t find you to be a burden at all. In fact, he thinks the way you speak is sort of cute/unique. It’s like a special way to remember you by. If he ever catches himself stuttering, he smiles and thinks of you.

Again with the reassuring touch, I think Soda would 100% do something similar. He’d nod along and smile softly as a way of showing he’s present and paying attention.

If you’re ever apologizing for it and feeling like a burden he’ll immediately snap you out of it. “No, no, no, YOU don’t apologize, you ain’t did nothing wrong.”

He disregards it mid-conversation. (As he should.) Especially if there’s a third party listening, he wouldn’t mention your impediment in case they have something smart to say about it. Ignoring = bringing no attention to possible teasing.

Steve

He teases you in the most playful way ever. You know it too, but it grates on your nerves at times. ESPECIALLY if you’re trying to have a serious conversation and he’s over here laughing at you. “St-st-,” “Steve-? Yes, right here. Present. In the flesh, 🤓”

If anyone else tries to tease you he’ll call them out for being rude. To him, they all have evil intent behind it.

If he sees you’re genuinely getting frustrated with yourself he’ll downplay your impediment as a way of comforting you. (That sounds so mean, but I have no idea how to word it better 😭) “So? Everyone stutters, it don’t matter.”

By reminding you that everyone has their moments, it’s like his way to show you that you’re not different or annoying for something everyone has done before.

If you mix two words together trying to spit everything out so fast, he’ll make that word a new one. It’s an inside joke, if you will. No one else understands the context behind the ‘new slang’.

The teasing doesn’t happen around anyone else. He doesn’t want to give the impression that others are allowed to do so.

Darrel

He’s super patient with you, and never dismisses you. No matter how busy he is, or how much of a time crunch he’s on, he’s never going to shut your conversation down.

Nicknames you “Speedy” for trying to say everything so quickly. Since you’re trying to get it out ASAP, you sometimes slur your words altogether. He’ll simply smile, stick his hand out and say, “Slow down, Speedy. The words ain’t going anywhere. I’ve got time.” He MAKES time for you, even if he’s got only seconds to spare☹️🫶🏼

He’s too mature for the teasing. “He’s still young! He’s only 20!!” I know, but he’s more mature than the other boys. He’s a grown man, he doesn’t find it funny. If anyone tries to point out your stutter or make a joke about it at your expense, he’d shut that down real fast. Big, scary Darry is someone you don’t want to tick off like that.

He also does the cute ‘lean in’ thing to hear you better.

He’ll close his eyes and nod along, acting 10x more attentive then he would for anyone else. It makes him think he’s doing a good job of making you feel heard.

Darry never tries to finish your thoughts for you. While it isn’t necessarily rude, or bad to try and help, he just doesn’t like it. He’d rather you take your time to express your OWN feelings rather him force you to align with what he thinks you’re on about.

Two-Bit

Actually, I think Two might have a little stutter of his own too. It’s not very frequent, but he’ll get a little disoriented and repeat himself a few times just in case.

I can see him forcing a little stutter to make you feel better about it at times. If you’re specifically struggling to finish a word, he’ll let you finish and reply with one of his own. No hard feelings, he makes sure you know he’s only teasing.

Sometimes he’ll interject and try to finish your thoughts. BUT- he straight up puts words in your mouth. He can’t resist it. “You said you’re buyin’ me a case of beer? Well, hell, why didn’t you say so earlier?”

If he sees you getting visibly tense or nervous he’ll reach a hand out towards your side or your neck to tickle you. It gets rid of the stress and breaks that tension so that you can speak clearer. Lightened mood = easier speech.

When he’s tipsy, his cheeks get all red from smiling so much. Similar to what I said for Soda, Two-Bit loves how you speak. He’s used to it, too; it shocks him every time someone mentions your impediment.

Honestly, I can see him absolutely locking tf in when someone cuts you off. He’ll say something witty, but it’s clear he’s warning them to leave you alone about your speech. This man will defend you with his life.

THANK YOU ALL FOR READING!! 💋💋

-Sophia 🫶🏼

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Honestly, I feel every time the show and its creator attempt to explain away a plothole or issue it only makes things worse. The time Astruc tried to explain why Gabriel completely dropped going after all the exposed temps after Optigami.

According to him, Gabriel doesn't do the same plan twice, and when people brought up Mr. Pigeon, Astruc claimed that Gabriel came up with 72 unique plans involving that akuma... which like if he's able to come up with that many "unique" plans for mr pigeon of all things, then surely Gabriel could have come up with at least five different plans involving the exposed temps or hell attempt to rework the plans that he nearly succeeded with or the ones that only failed due to outside factors

That's one of my favorite quotes from the writers because it's just so absurd. Dude, don't try to justify it in universe! Just say, "It's an episodic kids show and we want to keep the plots interesting while also having them stand alone, so we don't repeat ideas even if the character would probably do that in the real world."

Like it or not, the show's format is a reasonable explanation for why the show works the way it does. There are times when it makes sense to prioritize story format over lore. That's especially true when it comes to episodic content as the overarching story isn't supposed to be the main draw in episodic content. It's supposed to be a bonus feature if it even exists! That's one of Miraculous' big problems as your ask shows.

Because the show keeps including these big dramatic ideas, a lot of people are here for the story first and not to have fun with the akuma of the week even though the show's format means that it's only going to be satisfying at the episodic level. The overarching plots the writers have chosen just don't work in this format which is why the fandom is dying off. People are realizing that they're never going to get a satisfying ending to this mess because the format won't allow it.

The temp hero reveal is a perfect example of this. That's too big a thing to just forget about! It's going to make people question the format in a way other almost-wins don't! Gabriel not repeating Scarlet Moth or Style Queen doesn't feel like an insane move because those akumas weren't anything all that special. They were just more epic versions of his usual akumas. On the other hand, Gabriel giving up on going after the temp heroes after one try seems insane because that's not his standard plan! It's something new with much higher stakes so it makes no sense for him to give up so easily. He keeps trying to get the ladybug and the black cat, why wouldn't he keep trying to use the temp heroes? That makes no sense for his character!

The reason he stops is because the show's format isn't suited to it. It's much harder to write standalone episodes that deal with the temp hero issue. It's too serialized and too complex. That's why it was dropped like it was your standard one-off akuma even though it's not your standard one-off akuma. It's also why Gabriel learning about Marichat was dropped and why the teachers forgot about Lila's lying disease and why the class collectively gained amnesia about Lila being Ladybug's bff when Alya learned Ladybug's identity. All of these things were introduced to make individual episodes epic, not because the writers could actually tell the kind of story that owned these epic moments.

All of this is why I'd actually agree that Gabriel "not repeating plans" is a genuine flaw even though it's an inherent part of how an episodic formula show works. Not repeating plans makes perfect sense for the show's format, but it doesn't make sense for the stakes and plot beats the show included. If the show hadn't chosen the plots it did, then I'd call this a nitpick. Because the show chose more serious plots, it's a flaw. The fix is to either change the show's format or to stop having plot points that require serialization. I don't think the show is going to do either of those things any time soon.

As a quick final note, sometime the best response to a criticism is to just own that the criticism is fair, but that addressing it would completely destroy the show's structure, so the person needs to either accept the flaw or watch a different show. If it weren't for Miraculous' chosen plot beats, then that would be my response to this criticism. I'm only going hard on this one because the show set itself up to fail. This is why you can't just throw cool shit into your story if you want to tell a good story. You have to think this stuff through, but Miraculous' writers don't seem interested in doing that.

[gimmethatagustd]

streets | jjk

Jungkook was the prettiest when he looked up at you with his face twisted in fear.

Relationship: Jungkook x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Tags: Yandere, Blood, Torture, Non-Consensual Bondage, Exes, Stalking

Word Count: 800

A/N: Based on Streets by Doja Cat.

Jungkook was pretty. 

He was pretty when he smiled and showed you his wide, innocent eyes that shone like galaxies condensed into a single soul. 

He was pretty when he draped over you with his mouth open and his body tense as he came. 

But you realized Jungkook was the prettiest when he looked up at you with his face twisted in fear. 

“Are you comfortable, baby?” you cooed as you lifted your hand to trail your index finger along his jaw. The gag in his mouth added to his beauty, and the way his muscles bulged beneath the black ropes tied around his chest, waist, and thighs made him downright intoxicating. 

You gave him a soft smile when he attempted to answer you - to complain, no doubt. He’d always been so ungrateful. Jungkook expected everything every boyfriend did: power in the relationship, sex whenever he wanted it, someone to care for him, unconditional love… and all for free!

It was cute, in the beginning. 

Cute, like the way Jungkook mumbled around the gag. You ran your finger from his jaw to his lips. Such soft, pretty pink lips stretched over the ball shoved into his mouth. You’d found the gag in his bedroom. That part was funny because you were under the impression your boyfriend’s interests were completely vanilla. 

“Can you speak up? I can’t hear you very well, baby.” 

Jungkook strained against the rope that tied him to his kitchen chair. His new apartment was nice, you had to admit. Not as nice as the apartment the two of you shared before he walked out on you, but still nice. You wondered how he could afford it on his own. 

With a sigh, you sat down across from Jungkook at the kitchen table. His dark eyes followed you, never once looking away even when you stared directly at him. 

“Oh, Jungkookie.” You held your chin in your palm and propped your elbow onto the table’s surface. “I guess I need to take that cute little gag off of you if I’m going to ask you who the fuck this is.” 

You tossed his phone onto the table and watched it flip a few times before landing in front of him, face up. A beautiful woman stared back at him. It was one of those selfies you knew girls like her could take one snap of and be satisfied with it. So flawless. So irresistible.

“That your new girlfriend, baby?” 

Jungkook narrowed his eyes but didn’t make a sound. For months he’d paraded around like he didn’t give a shit. Like he was untouchable. Nothing you did was enough. Oh, but you had changed that, hadn’t you? He looked up at you with his face twisted in fear and you felt heat spread up your chest. He’d wanted to act like he didn’t feel but here he was, feeling. Because of you. He had cried and groveled and begged when you held the knife to his throat and forced him to strip. He cooperated because it was you. 

“If you want to think with your dick, that’s fine, baby boy.” You reached over to unclasp the gag. The sound of it clattering to the floor rang out through the apartment, but you were more concerned with Jungkook’s ragged breathing. “But you have to suffer the consequences. Didn’t we talk about that? We all make choices in life.”

“What the fuck, Y/N!” Jungkook strained against his restraints even harder. “What the fuck are you doing!” 

You rolled your eyes. It was his first chance to speak, and this is what he chose to say? You ripped the knife from where the tip was buried in the wooden table. 

“I asked you a fucking question. More than one, actually.” Your smile was the odd one out when you pointed the knife in your boyfriend’s face and hissed. 

“I already told you, me and Destiny are just friends. You’re being fucking psychotic right now.” 

Destiny was such a funny name for the girl you knew Jungkook was fucking behind your back. 

You tied Jungkook up so his hands were splayed out on top of the kitchen table, their palms flush against the surface. With the tip of the knife, you lightly traced over his ring finger with enough pressure to raise goosebumps across his forearms but not enough to break skin. 

“I’m going to give you another opportunity to tell me the truth.” 

Jungkook jerked back slightly, his eyes trained on the knife. “I’ve never lied to you.” 

“Wrong,” you murmured quietly and brought the knife down to slice the skin between his index and ring fingers. You ignored his screams to focus on the drop of blood falling from your knife when you held it up. “Want to try again?”

[macabro]

JFURBRIEUEJ YOUR HECTOR ART IS AMAZING. PLEASE RANT TO ME ABOUT IT. ITS SO CUTEEFIRHIFYEIFR *Peter Griffen death pose*-🏳️‍⚧️🌡

Don't do this to me man... The only thing stopping me from yapping about my art process is that no one asked me to lmaoo.

So-

I just love Hector's face so much, I love faces with round features. Also I struggle a lot with more conventional attractiveness (Think Eddie and Volt, not that there's anything wrong with them) It's harder for me to make that symmetry and sharp edges look expressive with out looking cartoony or insincere.

And about expression- Hector in particular has very expressive hands (also the prettiest). Oddly enough going by sprites he doesn't have any more or less hand poses than most other characters, but because they aren't obscured by his body or face they do stand out a bit.

They do get quite stiff when we finally get to see him in full though (understandably) I also noticed that when he doesnt have his grate covering his face he stil mimics it with his fingers (aw).

So then I had the idea to see this in motion? if that makes sense? He is still trying to cover up but I didnt want him looking sorry for himself. I love love love drawing people when they are caught up in the moment, not calculating or rationalizing why they emote the way they do, just doing what comes natural to them and in Hector's case that would be going back to being behind something.

That's how I came up with that 3 drawing sequence intially.

I was also inspired by Gustavo Ceratti's Bocanada Album cover (this man was allergic to making bad music, so worth a listen if only just the song with the album title)

(also thanks for the question anon I had so much fun answering.)