#why i always need to adjust works with digital.

[mimirneh]

Some Walkthrough, from concept to finished work. The messy watercolor is on 100% cotton Arches Paper

[keeps-ache]

awkward way to have a convo but okay

[plain inks below cut]

[sirfrogsworth]

I think in this new age of A.I. the general public is going to need to increase their photography and lighting literacy. The response to this photo has just been a shit show.

There are people pointing out perfectly normal edge lighting and misunderstanding how reflections work.

First the plane is parked at an angle. The tail is farther back than the nose. But also that is a curved surface and it tapers. It's reflecting the area to the right of the photo.

And the bottom of the plane is reflecting what is directly underneath. Which is the tarmac, not the crowd.

It should also be noted that photo was shot with a very telephoto lens and everything is super compressed. The crowd appears much closer to the airplane than they actually are.

But then someone who should have good understanding of lighting said this...

And now I'm worried for her clients. Because that's very... wrong.

Well, wrong-ish.

First, let's try to understand why this photo is setting off some alarm bells.

The crowd toward the rear is in shadow, but they are still very well exposed. But then there is also a bright light source creating a strong edge light on them. Looking at this photo with just the context of what is in it, there are some things that seem uncanny.

The information we do not have is the people in the shadow area are inside a very brightly lit airplane hangar.

So they have artificial light blasting them from the top.

But that light is still much dimmer than the sunlit areas outside so they appear in shade. But we are used to shade being much darker than areas in direct sun. So the balance seems off in our brain. We expect the people to be darker because we don't have the context of the bright hangar lights above them.

But the other issue is that the photo was post processed. It wasn't manipulated. The pixels weren't changed. But the exposure balance was altered.

If I were to guess, the original photo looked more like this...

But newer digital cameras can have 13 to 15 stops of dynamic range. And if you shoot in RAW, you can easily lift shadows and bring down highlights. You can balance the exposure so the dark parts aren't as dark and the bright parts aren't as bright. This photographer might have overdone it a bit in this case, but this is a fairly standard edit used to bring balance to photos.

And lastly, where does the edge light come from?

Edge lighting or backlighting or rim lighting (all the same) should probably be called wrap-around lighting if you want to be more accurate.

It comes from a homogenous light source that is larger than the subject being lit. So with my knife photo, I placed it on a large LED panel light.

The light source was bigger than the subject so it wrapped around the edges.

And I'm afraid the airplane is not nearly large enough to create a light source to wrap around everyone in the crowd. It isn't even reflecting direct sunlight. So I'm sorry to say that lighting designer was mostly mistaken despite the confidence.

The light source is... everything.

That entire red area I highlighted is the light source.

As well as everything above and everything to the sides.

And the biggest aspect of that light source would be the sky above. I think people always forget the sky is a light source. If you are seeing blue, you are seeing light. And I guess the plane is included in that, but that entire highlighted red area is so bright, and so filled with sunlight bouncing around, that it creates basically a giant softbox. It becomes a huge single light source for the people in the hangar.

If you look at footage taken from way inside the hangar, you can see the camera adjusting exposure for the crowd inside, but look at what happens to the sunlit area outside.

What does that look like?

A giant softbox.

A single homogenous light source blasting light inside the hangar.

The sun is so incredibly bright that even when it is not directly lighting something, the light just bouncing around outside is enough to overpower the very bright hangar lights.

So, what have we learned from this?

Perhaps people should hire me to be their lighting designer.

Though I'm sure she is actually very talented. She seems to work with stage lights and this is more physics and photography.

Phystography.

[spatialwave]

pretty little thing.

➸ ask: “❛ i need you. please. i'll be quick. ❜ with Viktor and a usually bold reader, but who’s right now just so needy for Viktor 👉👈” – ➸ pairing: viktor x fem!reader ➸ word count: 1.2k ➸ tags: mdni! nsfw, fxm, shameless smut, porn w/o much plot, masturbation, oral sex, facials, submissive viktor, bold reader. ➸ notes: i genuinely never felt filthier writing something fjgnsdjfg–don’t LOOK AT ME. 😳 ask came from this prompt! askbox is temporarily open...currently taking a few modern au requests!!

Everything about Viktor drove you fucking crazy.

Those narrow eyes that pierced through you, sending cold shivers through your spine when they flickered up and down your figure. Slender, nimble hands that worked tirelessly to please you, fingers flitting between your legs, pushing inside you and curling against the bundle of nerves that had you crying out. His lips that praised you with words and left heady kisses along your skin and cunt, your thighs clenching on either side of his head as you rode the waves of pleasure coursing through you.

But–you drove him crazier.

A cocky smirk would creep to your lips when you sat idly next to Viktor, both silent as his free hand that wasn’t hastily writing notes over parchment danced along your thigh. Slow, meticulous movements that dipped between your legs, fingers running along the edge of your panties. He was good at silent asks, not much for words or begging, and you were always quick to indulge a man so deserving.

Bold enough to force him back on the bed, riding him until the early morning hours as the warm sun sprawled along your naked bodies and your hips ached and thighs cramped. Until he was a whimpering mess underneath you, strangled groans caught in his throat as he filled you.

You were much better with patience. You preferred waiting for his actions that indicated his desires, absent-minded touches that wouldn’t cease until you were on your knees blowing him. 

Viktor had been preoccupied all week, focusing his energy on the research with Jayce and leaving you to your own devices. The days blended into the next, and tonight, you were a pitiful mess. You hadn't felt this way in a long time. As you sank into the couch, book clutched tightly in your hands, you squeezed your thighs together, and you ached longingly—desperate.

You fixated on the words, but they danced along each page, twisting into an indecipherable mess and leaving your mind as quickly as they came. Pages and pages were left unread as frustration bubbled up in the back of your throat and a loud groan came through. 

Fuck this.

In a swift motion, the book was discarded to the floor and your hand slid between your legs, eyes falling shut as they slipped into the fabric of your underwear with familiarity. Tentative touches, gentle fingers circling your clit that was throbbing. Your other hand slipped into your shirt, fondling your breasts and pinching your nipple, wishing so badly that it was Viktor’s hands making you feel so good.

It was easy to fall into the rhythmic motions, an idyllic smile lifting the corners of your lips as your desires were met. Not in the way you would have preferred, but taken care of nonetheless.

Two fingers slipped inside easily, your cunt eagerly enveloping the digits. Not quite long enough to make the lasting impact Viktor could.

The click of a lock snapped your body upright.

Widened eyes shot to the door that creaked open, and your heart soared. A rare occurrence that Viktor would make it home before you had fallen asleep. Adjusting yourself, you pulled your hands from your body and stood up, the slick between your legs coating your panties and seeping through to the satin fabric of your sleep shorts.

“Hi, baby,” you chirped, voice laced with lust as hands haphazardly fixed your hair that knotted from your position on the couch. You were uncertain why physical presentation mattered when your lover’s face was covered in signs of exhaustion. Dark under eyes, tousled hair, and buttoned shirt untucked.

He looked far too good to remain casual. Fuck, you were feral.

Viktor locked the door behind him, a smile gracing his lips as soft eyes settled upon you and his weight shifted back to his cane, “Still up? I hope you weren’t waiting for me.”

Your eyes flickered to the clock, it was well past midnight.

“No,” you shook your head, wondering if your hot cheeks and heavy breaths hinted at your previous state. Surely, he noticed. “Just… couldn’t sleep,” you lied.

Oh, he noticed.

Interest flickered in his eyes, and a curiosity settled in his chest, but gods, he was tired. He couldn’t even think straight, surprised that he hadn’t fallen asleep at his desk in the lab like he had two nights before.

Viktor stepped forward, cane clicking along the wood, and he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, “I’m sorry, love,” his gentle words heavy on your heart, “I’m exhausted.”

Two impatient hands flew to his vest, fingers toying with the buttons eagerly.

“Viktor,” you whimpered, pulling your head back so you could look into his eyes, pleading.

It was an unusual act to see you standing before him with your knees quaking as you begged. His cock stirred in his slacks, hardening at the mere sight of you acting so pitifully, ready to do whatever you needed to earn his attention. 

“I need you,” you mewled, fingers beginning to undo the buttons of his vest. Shaky fingers expertly removed each one with practiced ease.

“I–shit,” he hissed, cheeks burning a deep red as you began to sink onto your knees once his vest popped open.

“–Please, I’ll be quick.”

Viktor didn’t make any moves to stop you, his free hand lifting to cover the bottom half of his face as you dug past his belt. A moan muffled behind his fingers when his cock sprung free from the layers of clothing that had felt far too restrictive, and he fell back against the closed door. Your eager hands stroked him, milking out the pre-cum that you lapped up greedily on your flattened tongue.

He whimpered, cane discarded to the floor as he worked hard to keep his knees from buckling beneath him. Your only response was to keep going, lips wrapping around his cock as you took him in as far as you could. A repetitive movement as you bobbed your head and swirled your tongue around him, and fuck, you loved his moans.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering as they rolled back, a hand reaching down to grab at your hair to coax you along him. Pushing himself down your throat, knowing very well you could take it.

You choked on him, the gags and whines from your throat sending heat right into his gut. The coil in his abdomen tightened as you swallowed around him, trying to milk out his cum that you were desperate to taste on your tongue. 

You were deserving of it, weren’t you?

Two hands pressed to his bare thighs, scratching at his pale skin as tears stung your eyes when he hit the back of your throat. You were greeted by a pleasantly hard tug in your hair, yanking your mouth from his cock just as he felt himself hit his release.

Groaning deep in his chest as he grabbed the base of his cock with his other hand, stroking as the splattering of hot cum decorated your face. He had been pent-up for so long that it didn’t seem to end, strings of it clinging to your tongue that you had cheekily stuck out, over your closed eyes and down your chin and jaw.

A pretty little painting.

Viktor was rendered breathless, his hand slowing as his cock twitched, and the remaining cum he pushed out dripped down to the floor between your knees.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, hardly able to make the words come to fruition through his heavy breaths.

Your eyes opened, smiling blissfully up at your lover.

“Let me fuck you, and I’ll forgive you.”

[burrowswomen]

❥ SO AMERICAN ━━━━━ JOE BURROW

: ̗̀➛ word count: 5.6k

: ̗̀➛ warnings: nothing

: ̗̀➛ noor speaks: this took me over a month to write.. so i hope you guys all enjoy!!! (i recommended reading this in ur best british accent to truly get in character)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

you moved from london to the bay area when you were seventeen.

back home, in london you had never thought much about your ‘accent’—it was just how you spoke, how the people in the uk spoke. but in high school, it became the first thing people noticed about you. the moment you opened your mouth, the teasing started. the way you pronounced words, the slight differences in your vocabulary—it was all fair game for mockery.

so you stopped talking as much. it was easier that way.

but in college, things changed. your accent had softened a bit by then, and instead of being something people laughed at, it became something they found interesting. you had decided to major in journalism, hoping to get a career in digital content creation. by the time you graduated, you landed a job with the los angeles chargers before applying with and getting the job with the cincinnati bengals’ social media team.

you thought you were past the days of people being caught off guard by how you spoke.

but california was one thing. ohio? the middle of basically nowhere? yeah, your accent stuck out again.

whenever you had to interview players for tiktok, there were always multiple takes—not because you messed up, but because the guys needed a second to adjust. they never meant anything by it, but it was obvious that your voice wasn’t what they expected. ja'marr and tee would always end up joking around, slipping into their own exaggerated british accents, making you roll your eyes but laugh anyway.

but joe?

he hated social media. he understood it was part of the job, but if he could avoid it, he would. he’d rather hide behind his helmet than have a mini mic shoved in his face. getting him to agree to even one short clip was nearly impossible.

but today, you had finally gotten him to say yes. just one question. ten seconds, max.

you weren’t about to waste the opportunity.

you hit record, holding up the mic as joe stood in front of you, hands on his hips, already looking like he regretted saying yes.

"so the question of the day is—"

you didn’t even get to finish before joe burst out laughing. 

you sighed. you were used to this by now.

“joe.”

“i’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “let’s try again.”

you gave him a look but restarted. “so, what is your favorite—”

before you could finish, joe stepped out of the frame, laughing again.

“joe!”

“i’m sorry!”

“my accent is barely there! i don’t know what you’re laughing at!”

joe shook his head, still grinning. “nope. it’s still very much there.”

you rolled your eyes. “joe, you’re literally the most american person ever, so don’t.”

he smirked. “yeah, whatever.”

-

after the tenth try, y/n didn’t even bother continuing. she just sighed, shaking her head as joe continued to smirk at her, clearly amused.

"i can't work under these conditions," you muttered, wrapping the mic cord as you stopped the video. "this is why i just stick to ja'marr and tee."

joe huffed out a laugh, still standing with his hands on his hips. "yeah, because they don’t make fun of you at all, right?"

you shot him a look. "oh, they absolutely do. but at least they answer the question before they start acting like i just walked out of a sherlock holmes novel."

joe grinned, but he was still trying to hide his laughter. she could tell.

she glanced down at her phone, debating if she should attempt one more take or just give up entirely. she was pretty sure if she tried again, joe would just find another excuse to laugh. it was rare to even get him in front of the camera like this, but now she was realizing that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as opposed to it as he let on.

"alright, burrow," you said, stuffing her phone into her pocket. "you win this round."

joe lifted an eyebrow. "i didn’t know this was a competition."

"everything is a competition," you shot back, before turning on your heel to leave.

"so you’re just gonna give up?"

you glanced back at him, smirking. "oh, i’ll get you on camera again. just you wait."

joe just shook his head, still grinning as he walked away.

but after that, something changed.

he stopped avoiding the social media team so much. he still wasn’t exactly eager to be in videos, but he didn’t disappear the moment he saw her coming towards him, either. he didn’t roll his eyes when she approached him with a mic. if anything, he almost seemed like he was waiting for it.

you noticed the way his teammates looked at him whenever you came around, smirking like they knew something you didn’t.

and maybe they did.

but it was safe to say, you did not get that ten-second clip.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

a few days passed before y/n attempted to interview joe again. she wasn’t in a rush—if there was one thing she had learned since working with the team, it was that patience was key.

so when she spotted him on the field during practice, standing near the sideline with his helmet tucked under his arm, she decided it was time.

"alright, burrow," she called as she approached, phone in hand, mic already clipped onto it. "rematch."

joe turned, squinting against the sunlight. "rematch?"

"last time, you didn’t even let me get the question out without laughing," she said, stopping in front of him. "so, we’re trying again."

he huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. "i didn’t laugh on purpose."

"yeah, yeah, tell that to the footage i have," she said, unlocking her phone. "so, can i get a serious answer this time?"

joe sighed, as if this was the biggest inconvenience of his day, but she could see the slight smirk pulling at his lips. "fine. one question."

y/n grinned, lifting her phone. "okay. If there were an alien on the team, who on the team would it be?" 

she barely got the words out before joe pressed his lips together, his shoulders shaking.

"joe," she warned.

he exhaled, trying to compose himself, nodding. "okay, okay. i got it."

"Who on the team might be an alie—"

joe broke again, tilting his head back as he laughed, completely stepping out of frame.

y/n groaned, stopping the recording. "you’re impossible."

joe wiped his hand down his face, still grinning. "i’m sorry, i really am. it’s just—i don’t know, it catches me off guard every time."

"my accent is barely even there anymore!" she argued, shoving her phone into her pocket.

joe raised an eyebrow. "it’s very much still there."

she rolled her eyes. "you’re just so american, that’s why."

"yeah, whatever," he muttered, shaking his head.

she let out a dramatic sigh. "safe to say, i’m never getting this done, huh?"

joe shrugged. "maybe next time."

"so there’s a next time?" she asked, tilting her head.

he paused for a second before smirking. "we’ll see."

as he walked away, y/n just stood there, watching him go.

and despite failing yet again, she couldn’t help but smile.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

it became a thing after that.

y/n wasn’t sure when exactly, but somehow, joe burrow—the man who avoided social media at all costs—had become her biggest challenge and, oddly, her most entertaining subject.

he never outright agreed to being filmed, but he also never walked away when she approached him, phone in hand, mic ready. instead, he’d give her the same exasperated look, like he was dealing with the biggest inconvenience of his life, before sighing and saying, “one question.”

and every single time, without fail, she never got her answer.

if it wasn’t joe laughing at her accent, it was him making some dry remark that threw her off completely, or worse, making her laugh instead.

one afternoon, after practice, she found him near the bench, towel slung over his shoulder, sweat still clinging to his skin. prime time for a quick interview.

"joe, what’s your go-to hype song before a game?" she asked, phone up, recording already rolling.

joe took a sip from his water bottle, considering. "hmm. probably something really good."

"like?"

"i don’t know, taylor swift or something."

she blinked putting her camera and mic down. "you’re lying."

he shrugged. "am i?"

y/n narrowed her eyes. "name one taylor swift song."

joe paused for a beat, then smirked. "that’s classified."

"oh, you so listen to her," she accused, pointing at him. "swiftie joe is real."

"never said that," he said, amused.

"never denied it either."

he just grinned before walking off, towel draped over his shoulder.

y/n sighed, but she wasn’t even annoyed.

she had a feeling their little game was just getting good.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

joe adjusted his helmet, ready to run the next play, when something in his peripheral caught his attention.

you.

you were standing on the sideline, laughing at something justin—one of the social media guys—was saying. the two of you were standing close, heads tilted toward each other as you scrolled through something on your phone. joe didn’t know why he was paying attention to it, but he was.

"what’s happening over there?" joe asked, nodding in your direction.

ja'marr followed his gaze, then snorted. "looks like they’re tryna decide which ugly picture of us to post."

joe glanced at him, then back at you. you were still laughing, your head tilting back slightly. justin was grinning, clearly proud of whatever he’d just said.

joe didn’t know why, but it bothered him. just a little.

"his name’s justin, right?" joe asked, keeping his tone casual.

"yeah," ja'marr said, stretching his arms over his head. "j something.."

joe hummed in response, eyes still on you. he wasn’t sure what it was—maybe it was how close you were standing. or the way justin kept leaning in slightly when he talked. or maybe it was the fact that he’d never seen you laugh like that at something he said.

"bro, why you acting like that?" ja'marr asked, smirking.

joe frowned. "acting like what?"

"like you care."

"i don’t," joe said quickly. too quickly.

ja'marr just laughed, jogging to his position. "yeah, aight."

joe rolled his eyes, shaking his head. he didn’t care. he really didn’t.

but when the next play started, his focus was slightly off. and he definitely wasn’t looking at the sideline again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

after practice wrapped up, you were still on the field, scrolling through clips on your phone while justin stood next to you, pointing out which ones would do best on tiktok.

"this one's solid," he said, tapping the screen. "ja’marr’s gonna hate you for it, though."

you rolled your eyes. "when does he not?"

justin chuckled before checking his watch. "i gotta go edit some stuff. you good here?"

you nodded. "yeah, i’ll be in shortly."

he jogged off, leaving you standing there, still reviewing footage. you were so focused you didn’t notice joe walking up until his shadow crossed over your screen.

"what’s so funny?"

you looked up, surprised to see him. "huh?"

"earlier. you and justin," joe said, nodding toward the facility where justin had disappeared. "what were you laughing at?"

you raised a brow, confused at the random question. "oh. he was just showing me some clips of ja’marr messing up his words. it was funny."

joe nodded slowly, like he was considering something. "you two seem close."

you blinked at him. was he… making conversation? joe burrow?

"i mean, we work together," you said, studying his expression. "same as me and you."

joe scoffed. "not the same."

your brows furrowed. "how is it not the same?"

joe shrugged, glancing away like he didn’t want to answer that.

you tilted your head slightly, then smirked. "wait a minute…"

his eyes snapped back to yours, slightly guarded. "what?"

"are you jealous?"

joe’s face stayed neutral, but his ears—clear as day—turned red. "no."

you grinned. "oh my god, you are jealous."

"i’m not," he insisted, but the way he shifted uncomfortably told you otherwise.

"joe," you teased, stepping just a little closer. "if you wanted me to laugh at your jokes, you could’ve just said that."

joe huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "i don’t care if you laugh at my jokes."

"mhmm."

"i don’t."

you stared at him for a second before sighing dramatically. "well, that’s a shame, ‘cause i was gonna say you’re actually kinda funny sometimes."

joe smirked. "only sometimes?"

"don’t push it, burrow."

he chuckled, shaking his head as he started walking off. "see you inside, london."

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that lingered even after he was gone.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

later that afternoon, you were back in the media room, editing clips from the day’s practice. the familiar sound of pads hitting the turf and players yelling filled your headphones as you sifted through footage, piecing together something that would do well hopefully.

justin leaned back in his chair next to you, watching over your shoulder. "so, you and burrow, huh?"

you froze for half a second before playing it off. "what about me and burrow?"

justin smirked. "you tell me."

you turned to give him a look. "there's nothing to tell."

"right," he said, dragging out the word. "so he wasn’t all weird earlier when he saw us talking?"

you scoffed. "he wasn’t weird."

justin shot you a knowing look. "so he was something."

you exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "i don't know what he was. probably just bored. or nosy. or both."

justin hummed, unconvinced. "uh-huh. i don’t think i’ve ever seen him ask about what you’re talking about before."

"maybe ‘cause we were laughing kinda loudly," you pointed out.

"i mean, he did call you ‘london’ on his way out," justin said, raising his eyebrows. "don’t act like that’s normal."

you rolled your eyes. "he's called me that before." lie

"he really hasn't."

you opened your mouth to argue but realized… justin was kinda right. joe didn’t really use nicknames for people, —especially for you.

justin grinned at your silence. "see? i knew it."

"there's nothing to know," you insisted, turning back to your laptop.

"mhmm. we’ll see about that," justin said, leaning back with a smug look on his face.

you ignored him and focused on your work, but the thought lingered—was joe acting different around you? and if he was… why did it make your heart race just a little?

you quickly composed yourself before, you shook your head, trying to shake off justin’s teasing. "either way, it doesn’t matter. staff and players aren’t even allowed to be involved with each other outside of work. it’s in the contract."

justin leaned forward, a smug look crossing his face. "ahh, see, that’s where you’re wrong."

your brows furrowed as you watched him click around on his computer. a few seconds later, he pulled up a digital copy of the social media team’s contract. he scrolled for a moment before stopping and turning the screen toward you. "go ahead. read it."

you hesitated before leaning in, eyes scanning the document carefully. you searched for the part you were sure existed—the rule that prohibited any kind of relationship between players and staff.

but it wasn’t there.

your eyes narrowed as you read the section over again, then a third time just to be sure.

"wait," you muttered, your finger tracing the lines of text. "so… there’s actually no rule against it?"

justin leaned back in his chair, arms crossed with a satisfied smirk. "nope. nowhere in the contract does it say staff and players can’t date. it just says you have to remain professional in the workplace."

you blinked, still rereading the section as if the words would suddenly change. "that… doesn’t make sense. i thought it was a rule."

"nah, it’s just an unspoken thing. probably to avoid drama or whatever. but technically? totally allowed," justin said, watching your reaction closely. "why? thinking about breaking a nonexistent rule, london?"

you immediately rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t ignore the way your heart had started beating a little faster. "no, i was just—i don’t know, i thought it was a thing."

justin grinned. "yeah, well, now you know it’s not."

you shook your head, sitting back in your chair. "well, doesn’t matter. not like it applies to me anyway."

justin raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "uh-huh. sure it doesn’t."

you ignored him, turning your focus back to your work. but now, the thought lingered. there’s no actual rule.

you weren’t sure why that information sat so heavily in your chest. maybe it shouldn’t have changed anything.

but somehow, it did.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

over the next couple of months, things started to shift—not in an obvious way, but in the little things. joe was still the same guy, still hated social media, still keeping his distance from the cameras when he could. but he didn’t avoid you anymore.

he was still a challenge to get on camera, but sometimes, if you caught him at the right moment, he’d answer a question. nothing long, nothing groundbreaking, but it was progress. and then there were the other moments.

like when you’d make a joke, and he’d actually laugh. not just a small chuckle, but an actual laugh, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. or when he’d linger a little longer after practice, standing just close enough to the media team that you knew he was listening, even if he pretended he wasn’t.

and then there was today.

you were standing on the sideline during practice, waiting for the right moment to grab a quick clip for social media. the team was running drills, and you were half-watching, half-scrolling through your phone when joe walked up beside you.

“you waiting for someone?” he asked, nodding toward your phone.

you looked up at him. “yeah, actually. waiting for you to agree to be in a tiktok longer then 15 seconds.”

he scoffed, shaking his head. “not happening.”

you smirked. “figured as much.”

there was a comfortable silence for a moment before joe glanced at you. “so… do british people really drive on the left side of the road?”

you looked at him, raising a brow. “no, joe, that’s just a myth. we actually drive upside down.”

he rolled his eyes, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitch like he was fighting a smile. “i’m serious.”

“yes, we drive on the left,” you said. “the same way you americans drive on the right.”

he gave you a look. “why do you say ‘americans’ like that?”

you blinked. “like what?”

“like—i don’t know,” he shrugged. “like you’re separating yourself from us.”

you tilted your head. “are you not american?”

“no, i am,” he said slowly.

you grinned. “exactly. you’re so american.”

joe frowned. “what does that even mean?”

“oh, you want a list?” you teased. “fine. one, you love football more than anything. two, you are from ohio. three, you’re obsessed with your—”

joe held up a hand, cutting you off. “first of all, i play football. i kinda have to love it.”

you laughed. “see? proving my point.”

he shook his head, but he was smiling now, and for a split second, you forgot this was the same guy who used to avoid you and the cameras at all costs.

“you’re ridiculous,” he muttered.

“and you’re american.”

he rolled his eyes again, but he didn’t walk away. and that? that made you feel something.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

as much as you loved your job, today had drained you. between filming, editing, and keeping up with the constant content demands, you were exhausted. so when practice finally wrapped up and most of the staff started heading home, you packed up your equipment as quickly as you could, ready to do the same.

the hallways were mostly empty as you walked toward the parking lot, the sounds of your footsteps echoing against the walls. the air smelled faintly of turf and sweat, a reminder of the hours spent on the field earlier.

your mind had already started drifting—thinking about how good it would feel to collapse into bed—when you heard footsteps behind you. you didn’t think much of it at first. plenty of people left around this time. but then—

“y/n.”

the familiar voice made you pause mid-step. you turned, your eyes landing on joe burrow a few feet away. he was out of his usual practice gear, now in a hoodie and sweats, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“you leaving?” he asked, nodding toward your bag.

you raised a brow. “no, i’m actually planning to sleep here tonight.”

joe’s face scrunched in confusion. “really? why?”

you stared at him.

his lips parted slightly, realization dawning on his face. “oh.”

“yeah, joe,” you said, amused. “i’m leaving.”

he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head at himself. “right.” he hesitated for a second, then shifted his weight. “i’ll, uh… i’ll walk you to—uhm, your car.”

you stopped, looking at him.

“okay…” you said slowly, trying to figure him out.

he just nodded, stepping into place beside you as you both started toward the parking lot.

for the first few moments, neither of you spoke. the air was cool, the last remnants of daylight stretching long shadows across the pavement.

“so,” you said, breaking the silence, “do you always offer to walk staff to their cars, or am i just special?”

joe huffed out a laugh. “nah. just you.”

you glanced at him. “hmm.”

another pause.

“you’re quieter than usual,” you observed.

he shrugged. “long day.”

“tell me about it.”

“yeah?” he asked, glancing at you.

“yeah,” you sighed. “i swear, i spent half my time just trying to get tee to answer one question without him messing around. and don’t even get me started on ja’marr.”

joe smirked. “sounds about right.”

you rolled your eyes. “sometimes i think you guys make our job harder just for fun.”

he didn’t even try to deny it.

by the time you reached your car, the parking lot was almost empty. you stopped beside your driver’s side door, unlocking the door with your keys, just as you were about to reach forward to open it, joe reached forward and pulled the handle open for you.

you hesitated, your eyes flicking up to him. “thanks.”

joe shifted slightly, his fingers tapping against the edge of his hoodie pocket. “uhm.”

you stilled, waiting.

he took a breath. “would you wanna get coffee someday?” he asked, then quickly added, “or tea. i know british people like tea.”

your brows raised slightly.

joe burrow was asking you to coffee. or tea.

you crossed your arms, leaning against the car. “you're asking me?”

his jaw tightened. “yeah.”

you let him sit in his lie for a moment before smiling.

“yeah, sure.”

his eyes met yours. “yeah?”

you nodded. “yeah.”

he exhaled, something almost like relief flashing across his face.

“alright,” he said, stepping back.

you slid into your car, still half in shock at what had just happened.

“goodnight, joe.”

“goodnight, y/n.”

he shut your door gently, gave you a small nod, and turned back toward the facility.

you sat there for a second, gripping the steering wheel. then, finally, you shook your head, a grin creeping across your face as you started the engine.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

you weren’t exactly sure what you were expecting when joe asked you to coffee, but it wasn’t this.

it wasn’t him actually following through with it, texting you the next morning with a time and place already picked out. it wasn’t him choosing a quiet, locally owned café instead of some big-name chain. and it definitely wasn’t you sitting across from him now, in a corner of the shop, feeling surprisingly… comfortable.

it had been a while since you’d been on anything that remotely resembled a date. not that this was a date. you didn’t think it was, anyway.

joe had been waiting for you when you arrived, standing outside with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, glancing down at his phone before looking up when he saw you approach. he gave you a small nod, the corners of his mouth twitching up into the hint of a smile.

“you actually showed up,” you said, half-joking, half-surprised.

joe let out a small chuckle. “you thought i was gonna bail?”

“i mean, you don’t even like social media. why would i think you’d voluntarily spend time with someone from the social media team?”

“touché,” he said, pulling the door open for you.

and now here you were, sitting across from him, your fingers wrapped around the warmth of your tea as you watched him take a sip of his coffee.

“so, do you always drink tea, or is that just something you have to do because you’re british?” joe asked, tilting his head slightly.

you rolled your eyes, setting your cup down. “yes, joe. it’s a legal requirement. we sign a contract at birth.”

his lips curled into a smirk. “figured as much.”

“but no,” you said. “i just like it. coffee’s fine, but tea’s better.”

joe scoffed. “wrong.”

you gave him a pointed look. “so american.”

joe raised an eyebrow. “you always say that. like it’s a bad thing.”

“it’s not bad,” you said. “you’re just… very american.”

joe leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “explain.”

a smirk played on your lips as you leaned forward slightly. “first of all, you guys think everything is better when it’s bigger. portions, cars, houses—”

“because it is,” joe interjected.

“second,” you continued, ignoring him, “you’re all obsessed with football. and no, before you say it, i don’t mean actual football. i mean whatever you guys are playing.”

joe scoffed. “whatever we’re playing?”

“yeah, the one where you barely use your foot,” you teased.

joe shook his head, taking another sip of his coffee. “anything else?”

“oh, plenty,” you said. “but i don’t wanna hurt your feelings.”

joe narrowed his eyes, shaking his head with an amused expression. “you talk a lot more when it’s just us.”

you paused for a moment. he wasn’t wrong.

for most of your life, you’d been the quiet one. the one who held back, who let other people lead the conversation while you carefully picked your moments to speak. but around joe? it was easy.

“guess i do,” you admitted, stirring your tea absentmindedly.

joe didn’t say anything right away. he just watched you, his blue eyes studying you in a way that made your face feel a little too warm.

you cleared your throat, shifting the conversation. “so, why’d you ask me to coffee?”

joe shrugged. “felt like it.”

you narrowed your eyes. “that’s not an answer.”

“sure it is.”

“joe.”

he exhaled through his nose, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. “i don’t know,” he finally said. “i just wanted to.”

for some reason, that answer felt more honest than anything else he could’ve said.

you held his gaze for a moment, then looked down at your cup, a small smile tugging at your lips.

maybe this was just coffee. maybe it was nothing more than two coworkers grabbing a drink.

but deep down, you had a feeling this wasn’t the last time you and joe burrow would be sitting across from each other like this.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

it all happened so naturally that you hadn’t even realized it was happening.

one coffee date turned into two. then three. then, one day, instead of coffee, joe texted:

"you eat dinner, right?"

you had laughed at the message, typing back: "no, i survive solely on tea and biscuits."

and that’s how coffee turned into dinner. dinner at small restaurants tucked away from the city, where the waitstaff knew joe by name but treated him like any other customer. dinner that turned into longer nights spent together, conversation flowing as easily as the wine you sometimes shared.

then, somehow, dinner at restaurants turned into dinner at his house. or yours.

at first, it was a casual suggestion. joe had an off day and didn’t feel like going out, so he said, "why don’t we just cook something?" and you agreed, not thinking much of it.

but one night, as you stood in his kitchen, chopping vegetables while he stood behind you, looking over your shoulder, something shifted.

"you’re doing that wrong," he muttered, reaching past you to grab the knife from your hand.

"oh, i’m sorry, gordon ramsay," you said, rolling your eyes. "by all means, enlighten me."

joe chuckled, shaking his head as he took over. "just watch."

you crossed your arms, leaning against the counter, watching as he cut the vegetables with precise, practiced movements. "you do this often?"

"cooking?" he asked, glancing at you. "yeah. gotta eat."

"right," you said, biting back a smile. "good observation."

he smirked, nudging you lightly with his elbow before continuing to chop.

you watched him in silence for a moment, taking in the way his jaw tensed in concentration, the way his hands moved with confidence.

and before you could even think twice about it, you said, "you know, i like this."

joe paused, glancing at you again. "like what?"

"this," you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. "cooking together. just… us."

for a split second, something flashed in joe’s eyes. something softer, something unreadable.

"yeah," he said after a moment. "me too."

then, before you could process it, he was leaning in.

his lips brushed against yours so lightly at first that you almost thought you imagined it. but then he kissed you, his hands settling on your waist as he pulled you closer.

your breath hitched, fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie as you kissed him back.

the knife clattered onto the cutting board, long forgotten.

dinner could wait.

—

one kiss turned into more.

more nights spent together. more stolen moments between work and practice, more teasing remarks that carried an undertone of something deeper.

until, one night, as you were curled up on his couch, your head resting against his chest while some movie played in the background, joe murmured, "be my girlfriend."

it wasn’t a question. it wasn’t even hesitant. it was just… fact. like he had already decided and was simply waiting for you to confirm it.

you tilted your head up, meeting his gaze. "was that your way of asking?"

joe smirked. "was i supposed to get down on one knee?"

"well, it would’ve been more romantic," you teased.

"next time," he said.

"next time?"

"yeah," he said, his fingers tracing absentminded circles on your arm. "like when i ask you to marry me."

your breath caught in your throat. "bold of you to assume i’d say yes."

joe just shrugged, completely unfazed. "you will."

and, well… yeah. he wasn’t wrong.

—

being joe burrow’s girlfriend came with a lot of things. attention, sure. but also late-night drives, laughter-filled mornings, and the kind of quiet moments that made you realize just how much you loved someone.

meeting his parents was another thing entirely.

you had been nervous, of course. but his mom had welcomed you with open arms, his dad had given joe a look that very clearly said, "you better not screw this up," and by the end of the night, his parents were treating you like you had always been a part of their family.

which led to now—where you basically lived at joe’s house.

you still had your own apartment, technically. but considering that the majority of your clothes, your toiletries, and even your favorite tea were now at joe’s place… yeah, you weren’t there very often.

"you know you live here now, right?" joe said one evening, as you stood in his bathroom, brushing your teeth with your toothbrush you had kept in his bathroom.

"i do not," you said, words muffled by the toothbrush.

"you do," he insisted.

"just because i spend a lot of time here doesn’t mean i live here."

joe gave you a look. "you have more clothes in my closet than i do."

you shrugged, spitting into the sink before looking at him. "so?"

"so," he said, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. "just move in already."

you stared at joe, toothbrush still in hand, as his words settled over you. "just move in already." like it was the easiest decision in the world. like he had already decided it was going to happen, and he was just waiting for you to catch up.

his eyes were steady, watching you for any sign of hesitation, but all you could do was laugh, shaking your head as you set the toothbrush down on the counter.

"what?" joe asked, his smirk turning into something softer, more curious.

you leaned against the sink, arms crossed. "you didn’t even ask. you just told me to move in."

joe tilted his head slightly, like he was thinking it over. then he shrugged. "so?"

"so," you repeated, mimicking his tone. "that’s not how it works."

"okay," he said, straightening up. "will you move in with me?"

you let the question linger for a second, enjoying the way joe was watching you like he already knew the answer. because of course he did.

finally, you sighed dramatically, shaking your head as you walked past him, brushing your fingers against his arm.

"gosh, you’re so american."

joe turned, following you as you headed toward the bedroom. "what does that even mean?"

you threw him a grin over your shoulder. "figure it out, burrow."

and, judging by the way he was smiling as he chased after you, he already had.

[starkeyisthelastname]

i just know trailer park rafe looooves making out for hours and eating you out until you can’t remember your name anymore. Do you think he would have a sp*tting kink?

oh yes absolutely all of it. 😩 god this man is nasty

He didn’t know how you did it, but he sure wasn’t complaining. Those delicate little mittens working all day to clean up his filthy trailer that he knew was just going to become a wreck for you to have to pick up again. Or that you had made him a full plate of food with a beer that sat on the banged up coffee table just waiting for him. You still looked so goddamn pretty too, his precious doll that waited on him hand and foot because you wanted to make him happy and show him you could be the perfect little trailer wife he needed.

His plate was cleared, a few beer cans now littered across the table that his long legs rested on. The small living room was dark except for a dim bulb and the static of the old tv playing some shitty old movie. He’d light a cigarette, taking a long drag as he watched you cleaning up the kitchen. He could see right through that little white sundress, still looking like a virgin despite proudly stripping you away from that title.

He was a pleased man that night and he felt like worshipping your sugary self after all you had done. His deep voice would echo off the thin walls, pulling you out of your thoughts as you scrubbed the counter. “C’’mere babydoll, why don’t you give those lil hands a rest?” He said, patting his thigh as an order to come sit in his lap.

He leaned back against the tattered couch, stained wife beater on and with a pair of torn jeans hanging low on his hips. His cigarette hung between his lips, rough hands grabbing your hips to pull you down between his thighs. “You been workin’ hard all day, haven’t ya sweet cheeks?” He would rasp near your ear, smelly nicotine blowing over your frame. You nodded, leaning into his touch his dirty hands ran up and down your body.

It started off with a few pecks, his scruff tickling your baby smooth face as lips teased yours while he still finished his cigarette in between. You’d feel giddy inside, Rafe being the first man your sheltered self had ever kissed. The more whiny you became though, the more possessive he got. Squeezing your ass cheek in his massive palm as he had adjusted you in his lap.

You’d be a couple hours in, tits spilled out of your dress and him shirtless. Your poor little self didn’t know what to do, just letting his tongue shove its way into your mouth over and over until your full lips were swollen. “Mmm.. that’s my pretty baby.” His voice raspy from the long make out session, eyes peering over you like prey. He was longing for a taste of something else, the thought of his tongue on your cunt now invading his mind.

“You wanna know what I really wanna do now?” He asked, thumb slipping between your lips as your desperate little self couldn’t help but rub your bare sex along the crotch of his jeans. You shrugged your shoulders gently, eyes lazy while you sucked on his digit. “I wanna lick your pretty cunt until you can’t take it anymore baby.” He told you, smirk on his face but eyes dark. “Say it. Tell me you want me to lick your cunt.” His words firmer this time.

You didn’t curse, always had been raised to never use foul language despite living in a trailer park. You just couldn’t help but to obey your favorite person, your small voice speaking the unknown words. “I… I want you to l-lick my c-cunt.” You said, voice quiet as you felt a little ashamed. It was enough for Rafe though, nearly growling at the dirty language he teaching you to speak. He’d really test how obedient you were, spitting in your mouth like a whore and closing your jaw shut. “You are so far gone, ain’t ya babydoll? Lettin’ me dirty up your mouth and just fuckin’ takin’ it.”

He’d pick you up with ease, his tall body easily navigating you through the cramped trailer and down the tiny hall to his room. He’d throw you old scratchy mattress, stance still looking huge as he kneeled down. He’d push your dress up, head eagerly finding its way between your plush thighs as he began to eat the sweetest cunt he’d ever been in. You tasted like sugar, leaking all over his tongue and dirty stache as he slurped your folds up messily. He’d watch you try and keep your eyes on him, your soft hand gripping one of the flat pillows he had for support only for your body to fall back with pleasure. You were experiencing a grown man’s mouth on your cunt for the first time and Rafe certainly didn’t play when it came to eating pussy.

“I know babydoll.. feels good don’t it? Keep serving me like a good lil’ trailer park whore and I’ll eat your sweet cunt out as much as you want.” He drawled out between licks, nose buried against your clit to leave you shuddering.

[quintessenceofdust88]

Inspiration Saturday

I was tagged by my darling @bidisasterevankinard (ily Diana 💖) and I decided to share the Prologue of a new fanfic I just started to write, inspired by one of my favorite telenovelas! Special thanks to @agentpeggycartering and @unhingedangstaddict who both heard me yap about this idea and helped me refine it! Ily both so much, thank you darlings!!! 💖 (Fair warning: it'll start as Buddie, but it will not be Buddie-friendly, nor particularly Eddie-friendly, so if that's problem, please feel free to skip this one, I totally understand! 💖)

Thomas Kinard doesn’t know what to expect from Howie’s brother-in-law. As much as he’s always willing to help Howie when needed—especially after what the man once did for him—Tommy is not a family lawyer. He deals with corporations, taxes, five-digit accounts, not custody battles or messy divorces or whatever this is.

He should have told Howie that over the phone, really, when his old friend called him and said his wife’s brother had a complicated family situation and needed some legal advice. But Tommy didn’t have the heart to say no to him. So, he’ll hear the man out, offer his condolences for whatever complicated family mess he’s stepped into, and then politely send him on his merry way, wishing him luck on his endeavors. There’s really nothing else Tommy can do.

Except. The moment Evan Buckley walks into his office, baby strapped to his chest, blue eyes wide and broken and clinging to hope like it’s the last thing he has… Tommy knows he’s not sending this man anywhere. Not a chance. At that moment, Tommy decides he’ll do whatever it takes to help him.

(Yes, he knows he’s being profoundly irrational, and no, he doesn’t want to think about that too hard.) 

Tommy gets up, unconsciously adjusting his suit jacket and fiddling with his cufflinks, a habit he thought he’d quit as soon as he graduated from Law school about six years ago. Apparently cute men with babies bring it back or something. 

“Mr. Buckley,” he greets, trying to keep a semblance of professionalism as he extends a hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Thomas Kinard.”

“Um, h-hi. Y-you can call me Buck. O-or Evan, I guess that’s more appropriate.” Evan answers, his voice hoarse and nervous, and he absent-mindedly shakes Tommy’s hand with his right one, the left protectively wrapped around the baby strapped to his chest. 

Admittedly, Tommy doesn’t know a lot about babies, but if he had to guess, he’d say this one is definitely young, probably around three or four months. He doesn’t like to assume, but by the clothing he’d say it’s a boy. He has rosy cheeks and blue sparkly eyes who are curiously looking around, his chubby legs kicking aimlessly from under the chest carrier. His feet are covered in the cutest pair of Converses, and Tommy didn’t even know they made such small ones. 

“Evan, then. And who is this handsome little fellow?” Tommy asks, giving the baby a tiny wave, and Evan looks down at him as if he wants to memorize his little face, gently stroking his few wisps of brown hair.

“This… this is my son, Noah. And… And he’s the reason why I’m here.”

Tommy gives him a curt nod, not exactly surprised. Even though he never worked family cases, every lawyer worth their degree knows that the brunt of them are custody cases. He wonders what’s the complicating factor in this one, though, and what could have caused a divorce with a baby so young. 

As he usually does, Tommy gestures to the armchair in front of his desk, but when Evan keeps standing, one hand still awkwardly wrapped around the baby carrier, he falters. 

“Um, sorry”, Tommy says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe the armchair isn’t the best choice with your little passenger”

Evan chuckles lightly, and it takes Tommy’s breath away, the way that smile lights up his face. It’s like sunshine itself has entered his office. However, it’s gone as soon as it comes, as if the problems weighing on Evan’s shoulders just won’t take a longer break. 

“No, I… I’m good standing”, he says, but Tommy is already pointing to the leather couch on the back of the office. It’s normally used only when he works overnight and needs to crash, but he supposes exceptions can always be made. 

“C’mon, I think you’ll be comfier over here. I promise I’m as professional on the couch as behind the desk”, he quips, and another small chuckle escapes Evan’s lips as he nods. It makes Tommy irrationally happy that he’s the one bringing it to him. 

They both move to the couch, Evan leaning back against it so the baby is laying down over his chest. He’s rubbing gentle circles on Noah’s back, and the baby keeps sucking on the pacifier in his mouth, his eyes half-lidded, the proper picture of contentment. Tommy can’t help but wonder who’s trying to disrupt this baby’s peace, trying to take him away from a father who clearly loves him dearly.

“Alright,” Tommy says, once they’re both sitting down, straightening his posture. He won’t open his notebook, not yet, he wants to listen to Evan first, but his voice is fully Attorney Kinard now, the one who can make sense of other people’s legal chaos. “You say you’re here because of Noah. Can you please elaborate?”

“My… my ex-boyfriend and the surrogate who’s had him. They want to take him away from me,” Evan says, despair clear in his voice, tears glimmering in his eyes, as if just saying it costs him everything. “They claim he’s their baby, and I’m afraid they’re right.”

Tommy falters. There’s clearly a story there. He’s known of cases involving surrogacy, of course, but usually it’s both parents suing the surrogate, or the other way around. This is… certainly new. 

“Okay”, he says, trying to sound as calm as possible, because that's what Evan needs. “Why don’t you tell me the story from the beginning?”

Np tagging @agentpeggycartering @unhingedangstaddict @fairytalegonewronga03 @moonydanny @trombonechurchill @laundryandtaxesworld and whoever else wants to play ♥

[lsunstreakerl]

ok this might be just for an audience of two, but I've got 1.4k of car brainfucking. if that didn't make sense, it will if you read it. this is, uh, max/rb20. max pov. mature.

The RB20 and Max have not been getting along. It was hard, going from Rocky last year to... this, but Max has been trying. He's been spending time in the car, trying not to force anything from it, but-

The car won't drive. Max needs to be able to get along with the RB20- needs it to be as passionate as he is, as dedicated as he is, as ferocious as they both need to be to beat the McLarens.

They need to be a unit.

Which is why he's here after hours, slipping into the garage. It's not technically against the rules, but it's not a guaranteed performance boost either- it works better for some drivers than others.

It's always worked for Max.

His socks are quiet against the cold floor as he makes his way over to the shipping container the RB20 is currently in. It gets warmer as he approaches, a discordant hum starting up under his skin.

The containers have digital keypads, so Max swings the large metal door shut, setting the lock outside to read BUSY.

He has to use his phone's flashlight to get closer, the buzz building up under his skin.

"I know, I know."

He turns the flashlight off, setting his phone on the ground away from the car. They get twitchy about other electronics- Rocky would lag Max's phone every time he tried to check it in the cockpit.

He slides into the drivers seat, metal cool against his skin as he settles in the seat. The mechanics had left the cocoon seat installed like he'd asked, so it's somewhat comfortable.

His legs extend out in front of him, bare calves brushing against carbon fiber as he tugs his shirt off, tossing it out of the car. Skin is good- the more of it in contact with the car, the stronger the connection.

It's not widely used, because most drivers can't handle it.

Max isn't most drivers.

He can feel the energy of the RB20 buzzing around him, pushing into his skin and his mind, heavy on the edge of his awareness. The RB20 wants to take, but it's graceless, and Max needs to find a balance.

The shell of the seat is cold against his bare skin, and he flinches, pushing through it to press against the seat, shivering as he adjusts.

The RB20 curls around his senses, pressing in on his brain in concern before he feels the car start to warm around him, raising the temperature until it's comfortable against his skin.

His fingers fumble for the seatbelt straps, carefully clicking them into place, and he gasps as they tighten, pushing him further into the seat.

There will be marks on his chest by the time he leaves, marks of the RB20's ownership.

Max sighs, head tilting back as he closes his eyes, trying to relax as much as possible.

He's no expert on the actual magical logistics behind opening up his mind for the car- F1 drivers operate off of instincts instead of education, and he tries to mentally envision his brain as a box, carefully opening the lid for the RB20-

Which is as graceless as always, smashing into Max's brain in an overwhelming rush, and he jerks against the straps, eyes snapping open wide. It's too much, carbon fiber and steel, bolts and screws and fragile human inside of him, and his fingers are digging into his metal casing, thrashing around, and he's so hungry, wants to understand-

The RB20 withdraws, and Max slumps back down, shivering. There's a thin layer of sweat chilling his skin, and he's rattled, confused and disoriented.

A small noise escapes his mouth, head falling back as he stares up at the dark ceiling. The straps relax across him briefly, the RB20 weaving apologetically against his mind, letting him piece himself back together.

It takes him a few minutes, panting raggedly in the car as he tries to remember who he is, what he's doing. He's still feeling wobbly when he tries again, but the RB20 is gentle this time, slinking inside his head, resting its heavy presence over his senses.

Max loses track of his physical body in the seat, too distracted by the endless press of the RB20. It's difficult to describe, to nonracers, but Senna had explained it best,

'There is room in the mind for only one, and when the car comes in... it becomes full quickly.'

Max is feeling it now, the overwhelming sensation creeping up on him as the RB20 pushes deeper, exploring what makes Max who he is- finding his motivation and his passions.

The RB20 pulls on his victory in '21, and Max thrashes against the belts as he feels it again, the rush of endorphins and the elation at winning, all in a few split seconds before the RB20 moves on.

His victory in '22- Max is straining in the seat, eyes wide as he stares at nothing, consumed by the memories- he can feel the cold champagne running down his skin, the alcohol in his veins.

The memory of his first win in '16 has his muscles tensing, the euphoric feeling, the way he'd truly synced with the RB12.

The RB20 sinks into his Silverstone crash, and Max's high plummets, tears beading at his eyes as he feels the pain again, the fear before he'd been encased in metal, shifting to protect him as he'd gone flying at the wall.

His fingers are scrabbling at the metal of the cockpit, slippery with sweat as his mouth drops open in a silent wail, limbs locking up.

The RB20 drops the Silverstone memory, curls around Max's feelings from his entire '23 season, the high from the dominance, Rocky-

It pauses on the memories of Rocky, and Max gasps as the RB20 peers deeper, pulling on all the times Max did this with Rocky, the way the car had liked to slowly peruse through his more explicit memories, always dropping them before they got good.

Rocky had been an asshole- it would wind Max up endlessly with his own memories, and then flash through every orgasm he's had, leaving him a drooling mess in the cockpit.

The RB20 is wrapping around these memories, curling curiously in Max's mind as he trembles, muscles still tense in the seat, fighting against the belts.

It's him and the RB20, him and every victory he's ever him, him and every crash, him and every championship- the RB20 shoves him headlong into his memories of the championship celebrations last year, letting Rocky have its time before the mechanics got their turn, the way Max had been useless by the end of it, face pressed against the side of the car.

The RB20 flashes Max through his memories of every orgasm from the night, and then does it again, and Max is wailing in the seat, fingers clutching at the metal as he comes, head tossed back, hair damp against his skin with sweat.

It feels like it goes on forever, the RB20 slinking through the rest of his mind carefully, letting Max recover.

He's panting, slumped back into the metal behind him. The RB20 curls around his mind again, presses against him. It feels more understanding, more determined.

It's not sure if it can give Max what he needs- but it's willing to try, if it means having the euphoric highs Max has had with his other cars.

He pats the side of the cockpit weakly.

"Thanks mate. I am going to stay for a minute, I think."

Max can't feel his legs- or any of him, really, he's more jelly than he is Max.

The straps unclip around him, zipping back into their spots as Max tries to get his breathing back in order, remember who he is.

When he finally staggers out of the RB20, he has to grip the sides so he doesn't fall, wobbling when he stands. He grabs his phone, crouches to press his lips to the nose of the car.

"We will win it. You and me, yes?"

The buzz of the RB20 feels more settled in his skin. It's an acknowledgment, an agreement- he and the RB20 will drag themselves to that championship by themselves if they have to.

The RB20 has its struggles, the kind most drivers wouldn't be able to get over, the kind that could end a championship run in its tracks.

Max is not most drivers.

He will not let the RB20 be most cars.

[quillsapere]

A Dream of Blue

“He used to love these, do you have them in your universe? Does your Optimus care to remember how you adore these flowers?” In which D-16 meets a familiar face in his dreams. For no matter how changed, he would always recognize his Orion Pax. And an Optimus Prime from another universe reminisces on the "conjunx" he lost.

Just a small little fic of SG IDW OP meeting SG TF1 D-16 as a little apology for the inconvenience of transferring accounts skskksks.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65466700

================================================

“You are similar to him in many ways.”

The voice echoed through the empty cavern, the deep tone sending shivers down D-16’s white frame as his blue optics adjusted to the heavy darkness. His HUD began to pop up with red warning signals, though none of them indicated what he needed to prepare for, merely flashing the word DANGER in bold red capitals. He turned his helm slightly, trying to find the source of the voice. He didn’t know why he was alone in the mines this late during the lunar cycle, having woken up on the dirty cave floor.

“Ah, pardon my manners. I thought it would be appropriate to have our first meeting in a place you recognized, but you have always hated the mines, haven’t you?”

As though to confirm the voice’s claim, the shadows began to fade away as if the entire mine system itself was melting before his very optics. Dee stumbled, his spark whirring wildly in his chassis as reality began to shift and transform around him. He felt himself land against a soft surface, and looking down, he realized the rough stone floor had turned into a large field of blue energon flowers.

“He used to love these, do you have them in your universe? Does your Optimus care to remember how you adore these flowers?”

Dee carefully glanced around, surprised to find that instead of the dreary walls of the mines, he was now staring at a blue sky. He had only ever glimpsed it through the small cracks that led up to the surface from Iacon. Yet even though this sky shared the same soft hue as the one he had seen before, he had a terrible feeling that this was not Cybertron - or, he was a long way from home.

“You have never seen the sky before, have you?”

The voice was clearer in his audials now, and he screamed as he turned his helm to find another bot standing over him. He scrambled away, blue petals upturned in the wind as he ended up crushing a few flowers in his haste to get away. Dee only stopped once he realized how… painfully familiar the strange bot’s paint colors were. He felt his intake open, his voice box crackling with static as he looked up to see the familiar face of his Amica… yet somehow this mech was not Orion.

“My Megatron has never been this small… and your lack of wings...” The strange mech who looked like his Orion knelt down beside him, and to Dee’s horror, he felt servos wrap tightly around the bottom of his frame, pressing him deeper into the ground of flowers. Dark red optics looked over him, narrowing slightly with each dent and scratch he found on Dee’s frame.

“Hey, wait—” His voice cut off into strangled static as the other mech used his free servo to lightly trace the rim of his coghole. A sense of uneasiness began to race through his spark.

“Interesting… You are clearly a miner like he was, I have scoured through your processor enough to know this, yet your transformation cog is missing. What a fascinating universe… I might have to look into this one a bit more.” The digits that poked and prodded at the coghole were gentle, though mostly cold as if the larger mech saw him more as a strange cybercreature than a bot like himself. “Tell me, is your Optimus Prime the same as you?” “I-I…” Dee stuttered out, ashamed when disappointment appeared in the other mech’s optics. “I’ve never heard that designation before.”

“Orion Pax?” The larger mech rolled his optics, the designation sounding like a curse on his glossa. Pressed as he was to the ground, Dee couldn’t help the protective anger that surged over him. That was a mistake, since the other mech quickly recognized the shift in his glare. “I see. He hasn’t received the Matrix yet.”

“What? He hasn’t what?” At that, Dee felt a cold chill run down his spine. Pax had always been interested in the Primes and Primus… he’s heard his Amica mention the Matrix many times in the past. “Matrix… like the Matrix of Leadership?”

At his question, the face drew away and he let out a small shriek as he was suddenly turned around. His servos grasped at the flowers, ripping out their petals as the other mech easily laid him on his front. There were digits tracing his back, and he had to bite his glossa as pain flashed in his processor. His back had always been a sensitive spot on his frame.

“This must hurt. You may not be my Megatron, but I cannot stand to watch a version of him in so much pain…” The other mech’s voice was strangely sad.

As quickly as he had been turned, the other mech quickly rose to his pedes, pulling Dee along with him. He took a few pedesteps away, still unsure of what he wanted. At that, the other merely chuckled.

“Skittish. That was a trait he never had.” His voice grew nostalgic. “He fought me until the bitter end, and only when I lost him did I…”

His voice trailed off as he reached an open servo towards Dee. Despite his better judgment, he took it and was surprised when the other pressed a tender kiss to the back of his servo.

“No, you are too different from the mech I love. You will not make a good replacement, even if you remind me of him in some ways.” At those words, he felt the world shift around him and the energon in his tanks roiled as a heavy haze began to overtake his processor. He felt as though the ground was caving beneath him, pulling him in until he couldn’t vent. All the while, those red optics did not tear away from his gaze. 

“Do not worry, I’ll ensure your Optimus knows to spoil you… and to never let you go.”

—

“Dee.”

Slowly, his blue optics turned online as his Amica’s familiar voice pierced through his recharge. He shook his helm, blearily glancing down as Pax stood in front of his berth, a small frown on his face.

“Pax? It’s deep into the lunar cycle. Did you just get back from the archives?” He rubbed a servo across his face, and in that brief moment where his optics weren’t on his Amica, he felt Pax suddenly press close to him. He felt his voice box stutter, his arms automatically wrapping around Pax who had joined him in his berth. “Wha— Pax?!”

“Let me stay.” Pax nuzzled closer to him, and Dee let him. 

He could never say no to Pax. 

As he tried to return to recharge, he heard Pax murmur softly against his neck cables.

“I love you so much. I promise, I won’t ever let you go.”

================================================

Author's Notes:

(1) Sorry if SG IDW OP is a freak, he just misses his wife and wishes he didn't kill Megatron (except no his Megatron isn't dead, he's just in the Red Rust Sea on self-exile but OP doesn't know that). So right now, SG IDW OP is just going around other universes (don't ask me how, he has scientists they probably found a way how to lmao) trying to look for a replacement.

(2) SG IDW OP doesn't actually have any feelings towards SG TF1 D-16. Like he manhandles him around in the fic but considers him as not really a good replacement. However, Dee does remind him a little bit of his Megatron, but a bit more skittish. Since he misses his own Megatron, he just decides to do SG TF1 OPMeg a favor by making sure they don't meet the same fate as him.

(3) While SG IDW OP and SG TF1 D-16 are having a good time (not really) talking, poor SG TF1 OP is having a nightmare of how SG IDW OP lost his Megatron (even though it was his fault and he literally attempted to kill Megatron lmao). That's why Pax is acting weird at the end of this fic because he got shown a universe where he did lose D-16/Megatron and it's essentially a warning to keep him closer.

[luvrxbunny]

Bunny I was randomly thinking about slow sex with Miguel with the !Cradle Sex Position! 🥺

i had to google what that was and omg the fucking fire that starting in my stomach AHHHHHH

also there were a bunch of diff photos so i hope this is the one you were talking about

warning 18+ - an animated photo of the position is below the cut

not proofread and probably some improper grammar CUS THIS WAS JUST SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB

wc: 1k

it'd be really emotional sex. like maybe you almost died on a mission, ohh- like andrew garfield's spider-man! you were falling like that and Miguel had seen that canon event for other spiders so many times that he thought this was it- that no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries, how quickly he shoots his web it wont reach you, he wont catch you, you're gonna die and it's his fault. but then his web reaches you and you're shaken up but completely safe.

he doesnt leave you alone for the rest of the day. he becomes worse than your shadow because at least your shadow can't insist your keep one part of your body on his at all times.

once you guys get home you ask him why he's so worked up and bent outta shape by what happened today and he breaks down. tears begin to stream down his face despite how aggressively he's trying to rub them away and you force him to sit down and explain himself to you.

you’re being so gentle as you comfort him, so caring and loving in a way he’s never felt before. so ofc he gets hard 🥳

he pulls you into his lap slowly and just stares at the shocked expression on your face once you feel that he’s hard. you’re sitting across his lap because of how he pulled you in. your legs run off the sides of his thighs as his legs stay planted on the ground.

he readjusts himself, slides down a bit and spreads his legs before wrapping a thick arm behind your thighs, one behind your back and slowly folding you up for him. he turns you so your back is to his chest but you can still hold the eye contact he’s kept this whole time.

the silence in the room is so fragile you’re afraid to breathe, not wanting to shatter the moment. his eyes flicker to your lips for a moment before coming back up with a pleasing look. his cheeks are still wet with tears, you can’t resist him. you lean in slowly and don’t close your eyes until your lips are locked with his. he moans and he reaches for your hand. he grabs your wrist and fidgets with buttons until your suit dissipates, one of his favorite things about having chosen to make you a digital suit.

he adjusts his watch to just dissipate the crotch, always needing that power imbalance between the two of you. his cock slaps against your pussy the moment it’s freed, eliciting a shocked, but desperate moan from the both of you.

miguel planned on taking his time with you but after his cock hit your plush, wet, lips— he can’t wait any longer. “putting it in, baby.” he grunts out into your ear as he lines himself up with your entrance. your hands reach back to caress his head, play with the curls at the base of his neck.

both your eyes roll back as he slides into you. it’s funny how in sync the two of you are, feeling the same things at the same time for the same reasons. the emotional exposure has left you both raw, sensitive for each other. you both are moaning louder and more frantically than you usually would, on edge already.

“m’not gonna last miguel. oh i love you so much, baby. you’re so good, keeping me safe at all times. my big protector.” your delirious, running your hand through his curls and grinding on his cock as you speak. your words affect him more than he ever could’ve expected. he’s cumming.

it’s worse than a punch to the gut. he lets out a yelp/moan of your name like a scolding and you can feel his warmth flooding your insides. his hands grip your thighs so hard you actually think they may pop, you have to dig your nails into his wrists for him to realize. his hands are shaking— his whole body is shaking so violently that you’re trembling along with him, causing an extra tightness over his cock as you start to cum.

he was on the tail end of his orgasm but now that you’re cumming around him… it’s been renewed. he lets out another shocked moan, closer to a whimper and a sob as he crosses the line into overstimulation. he’s still fucking into you though because you’re cumming. he wants you to cum so hard you’re nothing but jelly in his hands but it seems to be having the opposite affect.

your head is turned to his, you hand on the back of his head, in his curls to angle it towards you and you’re mumbling with a smirk against his lips. “oh- yeah. fill me up, miggy. you’re pumping me so full, baby. kee- keep going. miguel. keep filling me up, my love. m’all yours. make me yours- mark me. want everyone to know.” your words penetrate his brain like bullets. shooting through him and never leaving. mark you

he takes a bite before he can think. wanting to mark you in anyway he can and the sensitivity on his fangs as his eyes crossing as his cock shoves out another fat rope of cum into you. you’re squealing, trying to hold your sounds in as you flutter over his cock again, creating an obscene noise as his thrusts die into slow grinds. his teeth are still in your shoulder, feeling too good under the rush of your warm blood to pull out. his brows are furrowed as he tries to collect his thoughts again.

this never happens to him. you’re stroking the back of his head now and whispering loving words into the air, hoping he can hear them. you’re usually the one in this position, all fallen apart and gifting miguel the honor of putting you back together. but now he’s gifting the honor to you, giving himself you you completely, letting you clean him up and take the both of you to bed.

HOW THE FUCK DID THIS GET SO LONG OMFG 😭 THIS SHOULD COUNT AS TODAYS FIC

i literally burnt myself out from this and now today's fic is like 800 words

[beautysamour]

I’ve done the math, there’s no solution.

✧ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: miguel o’hara x reader

✧ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: miguel o’hara

✧ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in every universe you fall in love with miguel o’hara, and in every universe, it doesn’t end well.

✧ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst, implied suggestive moment, italicized words in paragraphs mean it’s a flashback

a/n: inspired by that one trend where someone lost who they consider their true love and they say “in another universe we’re (something emotional to them. ex: you have my picture in your wallet).”

Being associated with Spider-Man was a risk in of itself. Wherever Spider-Man went, death followed close by.

“Lyla, make sure to shut everything down before I leave.”

Miguel craned his neck to the side cracking it in the process, he glanced at the digital clock, 6:30. Right on time.

“Ok.”

All of the projectors Miguel was previously watching still surrounds him as the platform began to lower. When it’s a comfortable height from the ground, he jumps off adjusting the tie on his suit that now took place of where his spider suit was.

As he was about to fully exit the room, the sound of a familiar voice paralyzes all the muscle in his body. “Lyla,” he nearly yelled out causing the artificial intelligent being to pause in her movements.

“Not that one. Leave that one on.”

“Uh, ok,” Lyla teleported to another screen not thinking anything of Miguel’ order.

Miguel practically ran over to the screen of where the voice came from, his thoughts growing frantic, it’s you.

He watches as he listens to your laughter, a laughter that he wanted to put into one of his serums so he could inject it into his system, allowing you to take over all of his senses, caused by a version of himself.

“Miguel, stop,” you said in between laughs making no effort to actually push him away, only making an effort to splash him with water and soap.

“Uh, boss,” Lyla popped out from behind the screen, “You’re going to be late if you don’t get going now.”

Miguel blinked remembering what he had plans for. Clearing his throat he nodded to Lyla and continued his way out the building.

—

Miguel was never interested in flowers but he always made sure to buy them for you. On your first date, your favorite flowers were settled in a vase to the side of your table restaurant. He remembers the way you tried to keep your calm as you glanced at the flowers ever few seconds, the way your eyes lit up and the forced control over the corners of your lips that you tried to keep down when ever you looked at the vase.

He almost stole it when you two left the restaurant, and it was at that moment that he knew he fell deep, and there was no way he was going to reach the surface again.

“That’ll be $35.99.”

Miguel had no idea how much money he’s spent at this flower shop, all he knows was that it was your favorite and nothing else mattered after finding that out.

The sun was starting to set and Miguel had everything he needed for your anniversary date. Normally he would still be at the spider society, making sure everything was in check, no anomalies running around in any universe.

He remembers an argument you two got into during your first anniversary. It had been a while since Miguel was in a relationship and he forgot all about what it was like to prioritize himself over work, and in return ended up letting you down.

He wasn’t even sure why it even turned into an argument, it was obvious you were in the right.

“I was in that restaurant for four hours! Four, before it started raining and I come back to you injured?”

Your hair was drenched from the rain, you immediately ran back to your shared place after getting a call from Jess telling you that he refused to get medical treatment. While yes you were upset that he was late to your anniversary dinner, you couldn’t deny that what really set you off was that he got hurt and was planning on throwing on a suit to cover it up.

“Mi vida,” he groaned out not wanting to argue with you. Why couldn’t you understand that he had work?

You seemed to have only gotten more angry, and Miguel braced himself as he watched you come over to him with a cold bag of peas in your hand—ready to catch it only for you to avoid his eyes when you stand in front of him, the feeling of worry and hurt making itself known in your eyes.

You press the bag of peas to his biggest bruise, “Today is our anniversary for getting together. I don’t want it to also be an anniversary for me loosing you.”

Miguel was sure he felt his heart break at your words, guilt finally catching up to him. He took your chin in his hand, tilting it upwards to force you to look into his eyes.

“Perdóname, mi vida,” his eyes softened as they trailed down to your lips, “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Yeah? Well, you did,” your voice slightly wavered at the end of your sentence. It wasn’t that you thought him incapable of protecting himself, you just didn’t want to see the day where you would get a call revealing that his skills weren’t enough.

He caresses your check and presses a kiss against your forehead, “From now on, I’ll make sure to communicate a sudden change in plans before leaving, does that sound ok?”

When you gives him a deadpanned stare he forces himself to continue, “I will make sure to leave work early during any special occasions.”

“And not go on any life threatening mission that lead to your stubborn self refusing help before said special occasions? Of course there are exceptions, like if it’s really really bad, but in general.”

He huffed out a laugh, “Yes. That too.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you truly look into his eyes, giving you a wounded look that makes his heart clench, and an indication that you were really taking his words to heart, “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Miguel was never the best with words, he preferred actions above else so when he finds himself unable to tell you how sorry he is, he decides to show it to you.

“Miguel,” you brokenly moaned as the feeling of pleasure built up crumbled upon you, allowing you to reach your peak.

You shivered at the airy breath that hit the skin behind your ears, Miguel’ fingers trailing up your torso leaving a trail of your own doing behind as he littered kisses along the side of your neck.

Your eyes shot open as you felt his fingers trail down your body again, “Cariño,” he sweetly says into your ear, “Let me make it up to you.”

He presses his lips against yours when you try to tell him it’s ok; you forgive him; you don’t have to cum again, but all those thoughts go away when he tugs on your tongue and babbles out the word, “Please.”

Miguel leaves the memory before it becomes too much, the imagery of you in such a debauched manner being too much to handle in public. Luckily he was just a few more blocks before he’d arrive.

The first step is always the hardest, but the next step after the first always seemed a lot more difficult at a place like this.

The flowers by you looked well, of course they did— they were new. Miguel was just here two days ago. He placed the new bouquet of flowers in a vase he brought from your shared home, setting them on the opposite side of where the other bouquet was.

As he brought out a handkerchief from his left pocket he lowered himself down on his knees so he’d be fairly leveled with your gravestone. He looked up and down, left side, right side, behind and in front and dusted off any dust, dirt, and pollen he could find.

Not to his surprise, there was barely any on it—on you.

For a few moments the only thing that would be heard by a person walking by would be the breeze and the sound of tree leaves brushing along one another. It’s only when Miguel realizes something that he speaks.

“I know why all the visits usually reside in silence now, my vida.” He looks at the engraved letters in front of him forming your name, the concept of breathing suddenly feeling uncommon.

“Really? Why,” he could almost here in your voice.

“It’s because you always started the conversations.” He paused, as if waiting for a response— no he was hoping for one. Hoping that he’d suddenly hear your voice from behind him, but he knew it was an imbeciles dream.

That pause lasted for a minute, then five minutes, then forty minutes, then all of a sudden the sun was setting.

The first step is always the hardest, but to Miguel, these last steps of every visit put that very saying to shame.

He’d be back again in a week, and a month, and a year later, and will probably never stop coming back but the other universe he saw today— the one of you and his other self— he felt that he had to get it off his chest now.

“You know, in another universe you’re laughing and splashing me with water as I tickle you.”

He waits again, and only silence gives him a response.

Being associated with Spider-Man was a risk in of itself. Wherever Spider-Man went, death followed close by.

[delaware-lemme-smash]

If requests are open, can I get fatgum falling for an information broker/hacker whos a girlboss? Stay hydrated !!

I got really into writing this—it was so fun!

Characters: Toyomitsu Taishiro/Fatgum

Contents: f!reader, criminal underworld stuff

Toyomitsu Taishiro/Fatgum

Though he's now a high profile Pro Hero (trying saying that three times fast), Fatgum got his start working closely with the police to foil drug-trafficking gangs (both the regular and Quirk-enhancing kind). He's not an underground hero like Eraserhead, but he has connections with various useful elements of the underworld.

As an information broker and (suspected, never proven) hacker, you stand in a legal and moral grey area between law enforcement and the criminal element. Whether you sway toward one or the other depends on who is paying the most, or who has the best information or services to exchange.

Your life is a careful balancing act of not aiding or antagonising one side more than the other. You don't want to be arrested, and you also don't want to be murdered in a back alley. It's all a game of chess, thinking six moves ahead and carefully watching the board.

You are very, very good at what you do. Your hacking? Untraceable. You're a digital ghost. Your dealings with cops and criminals alike should be a study in psychological manipulation. They always end up giving you more intel than what they came for, usually without realising it. You have to weigh risk and probability, have to measure your clients' egos against their needs.

Naturally, you've built quite the catalogue of blackmail material against all the big players, stuff that's too juicy to sell unless someone crosses you. That gang member that threatened to kill you? Suddenly there was a file of all his dodgy crypto dealings on a police captain's desk. Wonder how that got there?

You've earned yourself quite the reputation as this shadowy figure, so it must come as quite a surprise when a walking fucking ball of sunshine with takoyaki crumbs on his costume gets in contact with you. He's not the grim, noir-style detectives you're used to dealing with on the legitimate side to your business.

"Hey, Madam Info Broker," he says, casual and almost cheerful, "I hear you might be able to find something out for me. If you don't know it already, of course. They say you're good, but are you that good?"

Despite his jovial personality, Fatgum is surprisingly shrewd. You've never dealt with him before, but it's apparent he's used to dealing with people like you. You swiftly adjust your opinion of him.

As it turns out, you do have the information he needs—a list of names and affiliations of a minor Yakuza branch—so you give it to him for a slight discount, all the while lying that it's a special offer for a new client. Fatgum laughs, and you know he doesn't believe you.

"Remember me next time you need something," you tell him. "As long as you've got something to give me in exchange."

"Damn right I will."

Things carry on that way for a while, giving each other strategic bits of information. It should be a simple, transactional relationship, but somehow you come away from the crime talk and rapid-fire banter feeling strangely warm.

You'd never consider allowing a client to become a friend. Of course not.

Then one day you get an unusual request—Fatgum asks you to look into a particularly dodgy landlord, without specifying why. Some digging turns up all kinds of shady dealings and fraud, all of which you turn over to Fatgum. He pays quickly this time, no jokes, no banter, no calling you "Madam Hacker".

A week later, a story hits the headlines about how a popular local family restaurant was saved from closure after it was exposed that their landlord was extorting them and dozens of other small businesses in buildings that weren't up to code.

"Really?" you ask Fatgum. "You could've got any local keyboard jockey to dig that stuff up. It'd be a lot cheaper, too."

He grins. "Yeah, but no one is as good at it as you are. Besides, they're friends and they have a baby on the way." He pats his stomach. "And they do really great takoyaki."

"You're such a bleeding heart."

"You should come by for dinner. They want to meet you."

For once, you're flabbergasted. "You told them about me?"

"They knew I had to get the info from someone. I'm the action guy, not the tech savvy guy. C'mon, what do you say? You'll get to feel like a hero for once. I'll even buy ya dinner."

Every instinct and lick of sense tells you to say no, to keep yourself apart from this big, yellow goofball.

"I'll judge their takoyaki for myself," you say. "You're biased."

Fatgum grins at your answer.

Things just keep going downhill from there.

[strwberrybils]

Hii. So I had this idea where it’s (e-1610) miles saving Reader from something and when he finally looks at her he immediately becomes attracted towards her (like love a first sight thing) and gets all shy and cute

love at first sight ft. miles morales

♡ pairings & aus: miles morales x fem!black!reader, college au, cafe au. ♡ summary: after getting hit on after walking home from work, your friendly neighborhood spiderman is here to save you-- and he‘s stunned when he sees you. ♡ warnings: none jus fluff! ♡ a/n: this is so extremely self indulgent because i wear glasses and i was just visualizing this the whole time LOLLL ♡ got a request? | masterlist ♡

YOUR SAGE-TINTED FINGERNAILS PINCH around the soft material of your apron, a broken sigh tumbling off of your reddened lips as you placed it on the coat rack in the back of your workplace. Another huff leaves you, this time of relief, eyes darting to the clock that resides on the wall. It reads, it digital numerals, '10:22.'

You should've closed twenty minutes ago, but of course, some of your avid regulars insisted that they needed a coffee or slide of banana bread right as you had grabbed the broom from the back, ready to shut the cafe down. But you couldn't complain because you were at least happy that you had the next couple of days off, so you let your worries roll off of your t-shirt clad shoulders, grabbing your purse and keys from your work cubbie and switching off the lights.

Keys jingling as you step outside, you stick a golden one into the hole that's below the door's handle, locking it and beginning your walk down the street.

A shiver courses through your veins, your body not quite adjusted to the sweet, yet wintry cold that summoned goosebumps on your bare forearms. You hugged yourself and tucked the sides of your coat in, throwing your Coach bag over your shoulders as the pretty lights of Brooklyn advocated for your lack of vision.

The cafe that you worked at was the only place you could earn money and also enjoy. Your boss was one the upperclassmen that you knew from your university, which really helped because she always gave you days off and flexible work hours. All your co-workers were just close friends or classmates-- plus, you loved to bake, so it really was a genuine place of interest.

You're humming one of your favorite songs down the block when you reach a strip of shops. There's a pub nearby and you always hold your breath when you pass it-- because it's not so much a bar, but more of a place where teenagers hang out and smoke or drink ill-tasting beer. Usually you're safe passing through, but that wasn't necessarily the case tonight.

A boy that you recognize from your university stumbles out of the place, eyes reddened and droopy as he stopped you in your tracks. He smirked at you, "Why're you walkin' all by yourself? Need some company?"

Pushing a curl back behind your ear, he beams a smile at you, one that makes your stomach feel uneasy as you slowly moved his hand back down to his side.

"No, Aaron, I don't. I...have a boyfriend." You lied through your teeth. You definitely didn't, but you needed a valid excuse as to why you didn't want this creep taking you home.

"I think you do need some company, though, pretty thing." He insists, pushing himself closer to you, a laugh sounding from his throat. "I don't see your boyfriend. What kind of man would leave his girl alone at night, walking down the streets of New York?" His hands find home on your waist and you let out a squeal, "Stop!"

Although it's no use. He continues, trying to learn into your lips as you fight his tight embrace. But he's stronger, and you genuinely think that you're a goner until a tall figure in a-

Spider-Man?

He comes literally out of nowhere, standing in front of Aaron as he grabbed both of his arms, removing his grip on you. The masked vigilante twists his hands behind his back and he screams, biting his lip, "This your pathetic boyfriend, huh? Some idiot playing around in a mask?"

Spider-Man says nothing to that, except he just shoots a web at Aaron's hands, pinning them behind his back. He then flips him around and webs his mouth, moving closer to him. He whispers against his skin, "Shut up."

Aaron's eventually pinned to the brickwork of the pub's walls, when Spider-Man finally turns to look at you. You're smiling, even though anxiety is still pumping through your blood, "Thank you, Spider...Spider-man?"

He just stares at you.

You're so pretty, curls tucked back in a ponytail with some loose ones hanging against your dark glasses frames. You're clad in a leather jacket and a pair of ankle-high boots, a pretty skirt resting on your thighs. The moonlight glows against your brown skin, and he finds his mouth dry because it's wide open.

You cock an eyebrow at him, "Spider-Man? Are you okay?"

And although he longs to say something, to get the words out, he can't help but give you one last glance as he finds himself webbing to a wall, swinging away without saying a word.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 ☻ thank you for reading!

𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓🕷️: @queenesther996 //@sukunas-slutty-bitch // @c3f21 // @wydney // @rinnyisnothere // @brieryann // @moisttowllet // @Dee-m-cee // @liliummz // @starhrtz // @daisydark // @randomhoex // @solanawrld // @whore4hobie // @tanakaslastbraincell // @simp4miguell // @nyrovi3 // @my3tumbles // @aziulsworld // @enchantingfoxsparkles // @mancerseedu // @cafehyunji // @personofyou // @mcdvsr // @kopiivie // @ellatienesuscosas // @venuswash3re // @calliarlerte // @pr0wlerpunk // @tzuyuzzs // @wisepoetrycheesecake // @clearskiiiess // @d3atht3hek1d // @vienreina // @pixqlsin // @caulifloweron // @aizawassimpblog // @stvrgrl // @zerosinterweb // @ishqani // @mookiebut // @urmotherswhor3 // @cumbermovels // @asmobeuses

𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ✎: @Dee-m-cee // @euphorichappiness10 // @adoree-kaelynn // @mhadnirb // @mmst4rz // @iris-theflower // @fleurrieerecs // @kenlani // @kala2022 // @ilyless // @milesmolasses // @laylasbunbunny // @all444miles // @thecoloredpages // @bl00dsuccker // @evacowan // @popeheywardssecretgf // @adoremvney // @anikaluv // @qtdenks

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @enj4i // @chrissytalia // @chaoticevilbakugo // @motheroffae // @luci1fer

[agirlandherkinks]

Controller Rumble (Breast Expansion)

Collab with @tabbycatpuppy, where we both wrote put our own spin on a story prompt :) Link to her story at the bottom of this Featuring: Characters I might not use again but tbh they're kinda fun (Lucy the human (she/her) and Cinnamon the anthro dog (also she/her))

Lucy and Cinnamon had always been close. They'd been practically inseparable since they met in high school, and when Lucy came out Cinnamon was there for her at every step of her transition. She taught her how to style her hair, despite having soft brown fur herself ("Trust meeee Lucy, I watched human girls like you do it all the time!"), dragged her to the shops for wardrobe makeovers, and discovered that baring her teeth worked amazingly at warding off weirdos. Neither of them were interested in dating, but they found each other sexy and were more than happy to hook-up (although all the fur occasionally made Lucy sneeze). And to celebrate 10 years of friendship, Lucy got her hands on something special.

"So, Cinn." Lucy stood between the TV and Cinnamon, who was reclining upside down on the lounge, ears perked. "We've known each other for a long time now, and I need to say I can't imagine anyone kinder, or sweeter, or more fun than you. I feel incredibly privileged to know you, and so I wanted to make today special." Clearing her voice and wiping moisture from her eyes, she pulled out a pair of game controllers from the front pocket of her cow-print dress. "You're still into breast expansion right?" Cinnamon's eyes widened to saucers, and she launched herself at Lucy with her tail wagging uncontrollably.

Half an hour later, after they managed to detach themselves, they had the controllers set up and were ready to play. Both controllers were solid black, contoured, and surprisingly comfortable to the touch. Cinnamon's however, connected to a collar around her neck of the same material, with a stylized little dog bone hanging off it. Lucy booted up the console, and Cinnamon's devices gave off a soft rumble and began glowing violet.

"If these things work like they say they will, every time you lose a game your collar will do... something, and your tits should grow."

"If I lose. You're gonna have to work for this one, cutie." Cinnamon gleefully navigated to Super Smash Bros, eliciting an eyebrow raise from Lucy at the name, followed by a groan as she remembered how bad she was at it. Most controllers weren't even made for paws, but from watching Cinnamon's furry digits pilot her character and grind Lucy's into the dust, you would have thought there was no difference. Cinnamon 1 - Lucy 0.

Cinnamon 2 - Lucy 0.

Cinnamon 3 - Lucy 0...

...

Cinnamon 9 - Lucy 1!

Lucy cheered while Cinnamon stared at the screen in disbelief, competitive pride having made her completely forget why they'd started playing in the first place. But then her collar tightened against her throat and began gently rumbling, sending strange sensations through her body. The vibrations settled in her nipples, causing her to gasp as it began sexually stimulating her. Then, she let out a startled "Yip" as her breasts expanded from B's to C's in a mere second, pushing against the cropped tube top she was wearing. Panting and trembling, she locked eyes with Lucy and grinned lopsidedly. "That was. So. Fucking cool."

Cinnamon 10 - Lucy 1.

Cinnamon 10 - Lucy 2!

Cinnamon was ready to change this time, although the rumbling was stronger than before. Her tongue lolled in pleasure as her tits exploded out again to D cups, feeling heavy and warm as she struggled to adjust to her new weight. She could see her nipples poking through her clothes, and let out an involuntary whine from how sensitive they were when she pawed at one. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Lucy trembling a little, and made sure to tease her by 'absentmindedly' squishing them. It was only to work Lucy up, but Cinnamon couldn't deny that it made herself hornier than expected.

Cinnamon 11 - Lucy 2. Cinnamon barely won, and that was only because Lucy was more distracted by her tits than she was.

Cinnamon 11 - Lucy 3.

Cinnamon whined loudly, as the collar rumbled more and more intensely. Not only was it literally making her boobs quiver and bounce into each other, but she could feel the pulsations spread to her pussy, pleasantly massaging every inch of her insides. She panted, pressing her back against the lounge as the vibrations suppressed all conscious thought, carrying her away on a wave of bliss. Lucy, eyes wide, slowly reached over and scratched Cinnamon behind her ears, eliciting a pleased growl from whatever primal part of her brain was currently in control. Cinnamon moaned as she grew once more, her top skintight around her burgeoning E-cups. It took much longer for her to calm down, and even then she felt much flightier, disorientated, and horny than before. The weight of her breasts, and the sensation of how the fabric streeeeeeeetched to contain them was... distracting to say the least.

"Hey, Lucy~?" she panted.

"What is it Cinn?" Lucy replied, clearly struggling to not stare at her friend's burgeoning chest.

"One more game? Aaah~" Cinnamon leaned forward and gasped, the motion having made her tits wobble and bounce and briefly shorting out her brain.

They picked up their controllers, but from the start it was obvious that the canine didn't have much fight left in her. Her boobs partially blocked her view of her controller, and every motion sent them bouncing and brought a low whine out of her. Lucy was struggling to focus too, next to such an erotic scene. She was hyper-aware of the sway of Cinnamon's breasts, the desperate noises echoing in her throat, and was she... rubbing herself through her booty shorts? It was too much. They had to finish now.

Cinnamon 11 - Lucy 4.

Cinnamon began quivering again as her collar activated, looking wide-eyed at Lucy as she loomed over her. Lucy bent down, and pulled up one of her friend's ears to whisper, "I need you."

Cinnamon's only response was a strangled "please~", awareness already fading from her eyes as her tits jiggled and cunt throbbed. Lucy moved her friend so that she laid on her back, then climbed onto the lounge with her. Rubbing Cinnamon's belly, she asked in a patronizing tone of voice "Who's a good girl? Is it you? Is it you?" The doggirl barked happily, feeling proud at the tone but not understanding the words in her haze. Lucy smiled lustfully as she hiked up her dress and pulled out her cock. Cinnamon moaned as Lucy pulled down her shorts, dispelling all thought of foreplay from the human as she unconsciously rammed into her pussy. She gasped, feeling how intense the rumbles coursing through Cinnamon were. She thrust, again and again, fondling her friend's tits, whispering encouragement in her ears, sending waves of pleasure into their already addled minds. And then, Lucy felt Cinnamon's pussy convulse and clamp around her dick, as the doggirl howled with pleasure. Her tits rocketed to F-cups, breaking her shirt, and soaked Lucy with juices from her orgasm as she mindlessly pawed her furry, heaving chest. Lucy slowed down, then disengaged, gently cupping Cinnamon's snout as consciousness returned to her eyes.

"Have fun?" Lucy asked.

Cinnamon giggled, turning over and reaching into her bag, "You didn't cum, did you?"

"Nope", she responded slightly ruefully, starting to settle her dress back over her legs.

"Good." The canine's eyes took on a predatory gleam, and her paws moved in a blur and fastened something around Lucy's neck.

Lucy jerked her head and stood up, and was surprised to hear a jingling follow her. She tentatively touched her neck, and found a cow bell and collar. Blushing a deep crimson, her eyes tracked to her controller, now held in Cinnamon's hands.

"I maaaaay have also bought one of these bad girls for you. Why else do you think I asked you to wear cow-print?" The doggirl licked her lips, then settled on the floor to watch the show, tail wagging.

The controller lit up.

Lucy gasped as her collar started rumbling, faster and faster and faster, until it felt like a constant buzz. She collapsed on all fours as sensations rushed through her faster than she could process, moaning loudly as her nipples and cock began to vibrate. Anxieties, worries, thoughts, all of them swept out of her brain under the sensations, and she gasped in amazement as a pressure mounted in her chest. With one, two, three sensual moans, the human's tits inflated from A-cups to D-cups, pressing against the fabric of her dress with nipples double their original size. The sheer joy of getting so big brought tears to her eyes, and she would have cried if the vibrating hadn't spread and distracted her. She felt rumbling on top of her head, and winced as it felt like something had pushed through it. The same thing happened above her ass, but she could... feel something there? Turn her head, out of the corner of her eye she saw a... tail? And bringing a hand to her head, she distinctly felt little horns. She sighed in delight as she willed her tail to give an experimental sway, and it obeyed.

Another wave of pleasure went through her body as her tits expanded again, and with only one arm to hold herself up she buckled onto her chest. The feeling of her nipples vibrating against the ground was euphoric, and she adjusted her legs so her cock could get the same treatment. It felt so good. Getting bigger was so nice. She needed to...

"Moooooooooooooo~"

Lucy let out a long, low, moo as her tits grew and smooshed into the ground, reveling in living out hucow fantasies she'd thought impossible. Her dress had finally shredded, revealing a pair of massive breasts that strained against a tiny cow-print bra. She mooed more as she grew to G's, then H's, gasping in delight as she saw milky spots leak onto the carpet. And it felt like her panties were getting tighter and tighter and tighter, like her dick was growing too...

She felt something pull her head up by the horns, and stared into a pair of beautiful big brown eyes. Cinnamon, her foggy brain said, the prettiest girl ever... Lucy smiled sleepily, tail flicking in content.

"Ok Lucy," the doggirl said with visibly false coolness, "You can't just writhe there all day and tease me like that. Do you wanna fu-" The hucow burst into motion, shoving her friend to the ground and going straight for her pussy. Cinnamon barked in surprise, then lapsed into a euphoric silence. It felt like a giant, meaty vibrator had been shoved inside her, relentlessly stimulating her clit and G-spot. Her eyes rolled in her head and she started moving unconsciously, twisting around to get to Lucy's tits. She grabbed one and started sucking on an engorged nipple, gulping spurts of fresh, clean milk. Each tug brought a moan and a thrust from her friend, until they settled into a hazy rhythm, surrendering control to their desperate bodies. The cock inside Cinnamon and the boobs she was suckling kept expanding, as the collar struggled to compensate for all the growth Lucy needed. And each time it would bring a scream of pleasure from one or both of them, sending them to greater highs and a greater frenzy, tails lashing against the ground and the air and their own bodies.

And then, in a moment that felt like it lasted forever, the collar rumbled one final time. And they came together, with a moo and howl of delight.

Huffing and weak from their exertions, Cinnamon managed to push her torso upright. She smiled tenderly at her friend, who clearly needed a while to come down from that experience, and nuzzled her cheek. Surveying the room, the shredded clothes, stains on the floor, couch that she hadn't even known they'd overturned, the canine giggled. Worth it, she thought. And when she read the controller manual, she laughed out loud.

Apparently you needed to win two games in a row to reverse the effect of one game's loss. And Cinnamon would make her hefty friend earn all 18. But looking at those sexy mountains of flesh spilling from Lucy's chest, she wondered if she'd be willing to keep a few cups...

Link to tabbycatpuppy's story :)

[ccscocoapuffs]

Late Again- Johnny Silverhand Smut (March Madness Winner 2024)

The sun shined bright through the window of my small apartment in night city, mornings like this are the ones I could never take for granted. The view of night city despite this shitty apartment was one I don't think i could bare ever being away from. As I roll over a view I enjoy much more greets me.

"Good morning, Johnny" "....what time is it?" "9:45" "fuck....if it double digits I ain't waking the fuck up yet" "come on sleepy head, rogue has work for us this morning remember? you know how she hates it when we run late" "yeah yeah....five more minutes." "Johnny...come on we gotta go" I picked up and pillow and flopped it down on his head as I giggled at his irritated groan.

"if you're gonna make me get up can I atleast taste that pussy first?" "JOHNNY!" "What?! shits like coffee to me" "you're an idiot" "I didn't hear a no". Johnny quickly grabbed my hips and flipped me underneath him while he kissed down my neck onto my collarbone.

"Johnny we gotta...oh fuck" Johnny always had a way of going directly for that sweet spot on my neck that he knew makes me fall apart. Yet right now he knew exactly what he was doing by making us late. "I gotta deal for ya kid" "What's that?" "give me 20 minutes to fuck you into the mattress then we can still make it in time to go see rogue sense your so concerned about her yelling at us" "Fine but if we are late I'm gonna tell her it was your fault" "Just shut up and let me fuck you already".

Johnny slide his boxers off and started to slowly stroke himself with his precum leaking from his tip. I couldn't help myself from nearly drooling at the mere size of it. Johnny has always been a very big boy down below yet it never fails to surprise me every time I see it. He reaches forward with his right hand and rubs soft circles on my clit while his left hand reaches up to my neck. Damn how i love the cold sting of the metal against my burning skin. "You're fuckin soaked.....that all for me?" "yes.." "yes what?" "yes sir" "good girl..." Johnny leaned down spreading both my legs and place them on my shoulders before shoving his tongue into my soaked hole.

"Fuck! johnny!", Johnny continued to eat my soaked pussy like it was his last meal adding in his fingers in the process was no surprise as he loved to give me a little extra while he got his fix. "Fuck sweetheart you taste like fucking candy..." "mmmm johnny!" "thats it scream my name let the whole fucking building know whose fingers are in your pussy" "FUCK! please...please just fuck me already" "You want this cock princess?" "yes...please" "deal".

Johnny quickly adjusted himself before slamming into me without warning. "OH fuck!" Johnny's thrusts were relentless as usual yet I knew exactly what he was trying to do when he reached down and started to rub fast circles on my aching clit. "you gonna squirt for me, princess? hmm? you gonna soak the fucking sheets for me" "Fuck yes please Johnny Faster!" "yeah you like that? you like being my messy slut?" I felt the strong churning in my stomach as Johnny continuously quickened his pace. "Johnny.... gonna....im gonna!" "cum for me princess"

I most certainly didn't need to be told twice as I felt myself soak the sheets below as my orgasm rushed through my entire body. The overwhelming release almost made me drown out the sounds of Johnny's deep moan as he came inside me. "fuck.....princess so good for me" "Mmm thank you" "no thank you, baby best way to start the morning is with a pussy in your face" "dear god.." Just as Johnny leaned down to kiss my head the phone rang on the bedside table signaling to us both we were indeed once more late again.

"guess we're late huh?" "you're telling her why we are late, mr. i need my morning pussy" "i don't regret shit!". Though we may be late with Rogue again I can't help but hope I can wake Johnny up more often.

A/N: super simple Johnny smut for the March Madness poll #3 winner lemme know if yall wanna see more of Johnny in the future K BYEEEEEEE

[coldsaturn]

I finished my reread of TSC in preparation for TGR, and I have thoughts

Jean's sassiness and the way he calls/insults everyone in his vicinity like they're an ant beneath his shoe

The starcrossed tragedy between him and Renee. They're the right people at the wrong time but there's no "in another universe" for them because this is the only one where Jean lives.

"Probably not,” Abby said. “My Foxes chose to fight back.” Yeah, fuck you too Abby. This is why you're not the counselor of the team.

"Loving something is not enough" book theme if I've ever seen one

Right on cue, the fact that rainbows aren't Jean's first little miracle.

The difference between a book centered on Jean and one centered on Neil is incredibly evident. Picking up on what I said about Neil being a protagonist full of agency, here we have the very opposite. For the entire book things happen to Jean and he is unmoored, swept left and right by the current, stubbornly stuck in that corner where he can only take and receive and submit. And again, it works so well because we've known him for two books already, and we get constant sparks of that righteous rage he feels inside that at some point has to explode. And when that happens, we'll get the turn we need to a character who starts exercising agency. But reality is never that sweet, because Jean is right, his cage is so much bigger than the one he had before, but it's a cage nonetheless.

Speaking of differences between Neil's and Jean's POVs, I know it's already been pointed out countless times in the fandom, but it will never stop being funny how Jean salivates while looking at beautiful people, whereas if you ask Neil to describe them he'll go "Huuuuuuh, 2 eyes, 4 limbs?"

"Oh, he thought. It’s so big." Guess where I still get teary eyed.

"Unsteady fingers put in the Raven digits over and over and over." GUESS WHERE I STILL GET TEARY EYED.

We meet Neil at a point in his life where he's hiding his real identity even from himself, and we don't get to see who he is when he's given the freedom to be confident in his own skin until the very end of TKM (even though it's only a little glimpse). At the end of TSC we finally see him crystal clear, and the guy is a mafioso through and through lmaooo People going "oh Palmetto recruited the son of a criminal" like no you don't get it, the father is not the problem here lol

The cultural disconnect between age of consent laws in California/S.Carolina and Italy slapping me out of the book (and fandom discourse)

Too much has already been said about Jeremy's mysterious past. What I will add is: Jean is clearly in dire need of proper, well-adjusted friends who can build a solid support network around and under him, but it's obvious Jean is extremely conflicted over the gap between them. He doesn't want to talk about his life, but there's also a real concern over the fact that these people cannot fully understand him because they come from a different world than his, and the result is that Jean wants to protect them from himself as well. For his character to grow he'll have to step away from his broken reality and into something healthier, of course, so he will get closer to how they live, but there's always going to be a gap between them because his life literally belongs to the yakuza. He has freedom, as Neil reminded him, but his life will be cut short if he fails to deliver what he was bought for. And that's something that the characters we have as of now can empathize with because they care, but cannot viscerally understand, and I'm not sure they will accept (see the mirror between Jean stopping them from calling the police, and Neil asking Jean not to involve the Moriyama). I'm not sure where the story is going, if Jerejean will always have this gap between them that they consciously cross for the sake of each other (which is a good love story in itself), or if Jeremy's mysterious past will somehow help Jean see him as someone closer to him, someone who can understand where he comes from. If the gap stays in place, we'll probably have the different kinds of love Jean can feel toward a romantic partner who deeply cares for him, and for partners like Kevin and Neil who got their hands bloody just like Jean did.