#i wanted to at least keep it a LITTLE simple y'know

[braisedhoney]

Quick question cap! For your Stanley and Narrator, what animals do you think would represent them best ^w^?

i've never really thought about it so 'scuse me while i take this chill question waaaaay too seriously (way more than i thought i would.)

uhhh... y'know what, i think narry would be a peacock. might be basic as a metaphor so he could be another kind of showy bird, but i do like the idea that he's all about showmanship and impressions and aesthetics bc he's a perfectionist at heart. he's prideful and loud and wants to make his opinions known, but ultimately he's also deeply insecure abt the idea of people NOT liking him or his game. and peacocks aren't showy for themselves, y'know, but it is in their nature to strive to be impressive. even if it is to their detriment sometimes.

stanley is difficult bc he doesn't really have a personality. totally subjective based on whoever it is that's characterizing him, right? so he could be anything depending on how you think he feels: if he's a mischievous little shit who defies the narrator of his own will bc he thinks it's funny and enjoys the different ways things can end or change, or if he does it out of a desperate desire to reclaim some part of power in his life despite being trapped in what's essentially an endless loop where he either dies or fades to black. does he take it all in stride? is he just a reflection of narry himself...? or of the player who puppeteers him? are he and the player in cahoots or is it another layer of control he doesn't know he doesn't have?

anyway twitter had a thing where stanley was a ferret and i like that a lot as a concept so. ferrets are cool. maybe he's a ferret.

also could be an argument for narrator being a cat. like. he does spend his happiest moments staring at and chasing after the lights in the zending room. also he's a prat but we all love him anyway even though he would totally sweep things off your desk to annoy you.

[ttsukiimi]

❛ I FVCKED MY BODYGUARD! ❜

୨୧⋆ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬  ⎯ Toji fushiguro is nothing but a bodyguard—or at least those are the words you keep telling everyone including yourself. But when you’re under him, moaning his name, can you really say that?

୨୧⋆ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬  ⎯ bodyguard!toji fushiguro x actress!reader, smut (mdni), n!pple sucking & n!pple play, implied size difference, slight manhandling, softdom! & bigd!ck!toji, unprotected sx, mentions of ichiji, reader referred to as (doll, baby, princess)

'Famous actress 'suki' ttsukiimi facing backlash after allegedly being seen in public holding hands with her bodyguard! Fans step forward with pictures as proof!'

Your eyes rolled as you saw the news headline, and you wondered if someone actually sat down and wrote it.

For starters, Toji Fushiguro was nothing more than your bodyguard—and, of course, he had to accompany you in public because that was his job! And, while the holding hands aspect appeared incriminating, he was merely doing it to keep you steady as you went through the crowd.

You made an effort to clear your head for the upcoming night, but your mood soured with bitter irritation. Thoughts of Toji suddenly sprang to mind as you were trying to declutter your mind. You couldn't help but wander off to the feeling of his big hand encasing your smaller one, the waft of his cologne into your nostrils as he walked beside you and tried his best to politely push people out of the way.

He was just perfect in every aspect—tall, muscular, intimidating, you couldn't count how many times you'd wanted a simple touch from him to lead to something else.

Your phone snapped you out of your daydreaming, the chime of your ringtone echoing throughout the almost empty hotel room. Quickly, almost embarrassingly so, you read the contact's name, and inwardly smiled to yourself. Just who you wanted.

"Hello?" your sugary voice rung throughout the speaker. Toji could feel himself heat up from your voice alone, imagining the way your plump lips moved as you talked, and he cleared his throat.

"We're waiting for you outside, doll. Hurry up, yeah?" he mumbled, letting his hand hang back on the car's headrest.

You let out an acknowledging hum, not daring to speak with the way you clenched your thighs together—his tone and the deepness of his voice alone sending a shock of electricity through you. Not to mention the pet name.

Soon enough, you met with Toji and your chauffer, Ichiji, outside. You'd made sure to wear something risqué, and both men were more than glad to gaze at you through their peripheral, though toji made no attempt to hide his staring. 

The ride to your wardrobe stylist was silent, save for a few impatient grumbles from toji on how long the ride was going to take. He could really act so immature sometimes.

୨୧

You stepped out of the room, velvet material clinging to your body like second skin and gleamed at Toji. "What do you think?"

His throat congealed with breath. You appeared breathtaking; the stylist having done a phenomenal job of selecting dresses that accentuate your complexion and emphasize your curves.

Toji gave a playful suck of his teeth. "Eh."

You rolled your eyes and grabbed your phone on a nearby table and checked the time. It was almost time to get going.

"Tojii, please help me choose. Y'know I can't rely on Ichiji." That, however, was a lie; if anyone was aware of actress-appropriate style, it was him .You merely wanted a justification to continue showing Toji yourself in small little dresses. Not that he couldn't admit he liked watching you do that.

Once again, the scarred-lipped man sucked his teeth. "Go with the black one, with the back cutout, I guess."

୨୧

It was finally time for the nomination. Toji grinned to himself as he saw you on stage, light sparkling in your eyes, making you appear ethereal. You competed with other actresses for best of the year.

The announcer began to speak, her voice sweet, but not as much as yours, he reasoned. And it would be an understatement to say that Toji, and the entire audience, were upset not to hear your name.

"Who the fuck even is that?" he whispered under his breath, but his eyes softened as he noticed the smile on your face when you heard your name for the second time.

Everyone's eyes were drawn to you as you strutted over to receive your award, fascinated by the glow you emitted, and the audience erupted in cheers. Toji let out a small cheer just for you.

When the event was finally done and the paparazzi and bothersome interviewers had left, you let out a sigh of relief. Toji took your hand and guided you to the waiting limousine, opening the door for you.

You hoped this wouldn't cause another news headline.

"Thanks," you mumbled before succumbing to tiredness and falling asleep, letting your head rest on his shoulder.

When you awoke, you were comfortably positioned on your hotel room's bed, with the blankets warming your restless body. Your initial inclination was to search around for Toji, but there was no sign of him. You sprang out of bed and began searching for him, only to find him just as he was about to leave.

He tilted his head. "Did I wake you?"

You shook yours. "No, I—Can you stay?" The sentence slipped through your lips before you could catch it. Your eyes widened and your cheeks burned with embarrassment, even more so when you timidly looked up at him to find him smirking.

"Doll." he hummed, walking towards you, making you look at him with a finger under your chin. "When are ya gonna just say it?"

Your heartbeat skyrocketed, not only from the contact and closeness of his huge body, but also from the look on his face.

"If you wanna fuck just say that."

Your knees buckled under your weight, Toji catching you in his arms. You both looked at each other's lips and back up, and in his arms, you felt like you were under a trance.

Lips soon collided. One kiss led to a make-out session, and that led to you being manhandled and thrown onto the bed. Toji crawled on after you, the angry erection under his black slacks poking through.

Your eyes widened in shock. "Toji.."

He hushed you with a quick peck, the unfastening of his belt and zipper sounding throughout the room. "Open your legs."

His hands lit fires on your skin as he slid them down to your thighs, spreading your legs further apart and whistling at the wetness gathered on your folds. "You're soaked baby. Ain't even touched you yet."

You whined and looked away, breath hitching as he teasingly gathered your slick on the tip of his cock. Toji clenched his jaw as he pushed the head in, everything in him resisting from thrusting everything in—knowing how small you were compared to him.

Who knew he'd be fucking the person he was supposed to protect?

"Breathe, baby,"

Nodding, you tried your best to follow his order. But, when he started moving, you completely lost it.

Strings upon strings of moans poured from your mouth, your legs locking around his waist as he found a pace. And even though to you his pace was pleasurable and a bit too much simultaneously, he was holding back.

Toji hadn't fucked such a greedy cunt in years, with the way you were sucking him in, it felt like you wanted to suck him dry. He hit your sweet spot easily with each thrust, groaning as he snaked his hands up your torso and pulled the neckline of your dress down to reveal your tits to him. "Knew they were pretty."

He leaned his head down to suck on your pebbled nipples, driving his girth in and out of you painfully fast now. Switching his attention to your other nub, Toji rolled your previous nipple between his fingers as he suckled on it.

Your back arched up into his touch and gave him more access to your body. "'S too much!"

"You'll take it," he rasped into your ear, hitting the spot that had you seeing stars so effortlessly it felt criminal. Your vision filled with white and blurred, liquid heat rippling through your lower stomach.

You gasped as you hadn't felt such euphoria in years, your job not leaving much time for love affairs, or for any affairs at that.

"I Think 'm close,"

"Ya think, princess?" he chuckled, deep and booming in your ear, his rhythm cruel and harsh on your poor, sensitive pussy.

Toji could feel himself slowly being hurled towards the edge of his high, and he could feel yours too with the way you clamped extra tight down on him. 

"C'mon, baby. Cum on my cock." he ordered, and your body instantly complied with his words. Your back arched further off the sheets, a broken cry bubbling from deep within your chest as you climaxed.

Toji's high came teetering soon after yours, and he made quick work of pulling himself out and letting his seed spurt over your stomach and tits. Your bodies were both messy and sweaty, and he appreciated the sight under him.

You had completely soaked the sheets, and Toji took pride in knowing he was the one who made you.

With a drawn-out sigh, he plopped down beside you.

"You think they'll write news about this too?"

"So you also saw that, huh?"

[luneariaa]

ᯓ★٠ ࣪⭑ PIECE OF ART. ✧ KENJI S.

✰ — you and kenji being at the museum for plot reasons, kenji being sweet, pure fluff, might be ooc kenji, not much proof-read.

tagging : @xxladyballadxx @jinwoosungs @madeimoisellesoleil 💕

— ✩ m. list.

. dividers by @/strangergraphics 📜 !!

A LIGHT grin is present upon your features, further observing the scattered paper arts close by— passing it in an unhurried pace. Dressed ever so casually, to say the least, yet perfectly fitting to the current location you were in. A sight to behold that still manages to go unnoticed within the sea of people.

It is just the beginning of the eventide, and the museum still continues to open and welcome new visitors as always. Your sole figure remains there, blending in with the several other people with dexterity.

The romantic time of the day, some may say. The mere location itself has given it away fully.

Due to the amount of passing minutes that you've been inside, you started to feel quite chilly all over— causing yourself to mentally curse for not bringing a coat along with you, blaming yourself for your small mistake.

It doesn't take long for you to endure with a slight shiver, when a certain someone suddenly covers your form up with a rather sizeable coat; warming you up almost instantly without fail.

Admittedly, you got startled from the gesture and the sudden appearance, before deciding to turn around to face the said person.

And of course, it didn't take long for you to be able to fully register upon the familiar sight altogether— eyes instantly widening with a beaming smile.

"Ken, you actually came!" Without wasting any second of hesitation, you pulled him into an embrace— burying your face onto his chest with pure joy.

"Mmhm," Kenji hums, adding more to his words further with an equally happy expression, along with a mellow tone. "Of course I do."

He gradually encircles his arms around you, returning the embrace with equal fervor. Lowering his head ever so slightly, he silently allows you to burrow your face further against his chest for the time being— relishing within one another's mere presence.

Everything about him screams security, allowing yourself to drown into him without any worries; starting to feel more addicted as if he's some sort of a drug that made you hold onto life itself.

He's a famous person that is loved by many, and you're almost.. Nothing, like him. It's what keeps you questioning sometimes, and the way you're able to establish a rather special connection with him.

The difference between you two is like day and night itself; one that is vast and perceptible. Yet if only you knew— that Kenji never once is bothered by any of those existing statuses, not even the slightest. He appreciates you for being who you truly are.

"I figured that you'd be quite busy. I mean, I understand if you're unable to stop by earlier, y'know."

"Hey, don't worry about it." Just like that— he's able to dispel the existing anxiousness within you effortlessly so, still keeping his hold around you with just the right amount of force; not too assertive, and it just felt right.

"I'll always make time for you, my love."

His simple response made you beam in delight; noting the truth of his words alone.

No one is around the area that you both are in, does it-? It's as if nothing much mattered at this present moment, shielding yourselves with the makeshift reality that you both have unconsciously created— lost within your own little world without a care.

The stillness around the both of you, except for the occasional breathing sounds, makes the moment special somehow. You could clearly feel the heat radiating off from him and his coat alone; his warm breath brushes past your ear.

"Feeling any better now?"

"Yeah," you nodded with a grateful smile of your own. "Thank you, Ken."

Has he ever told you on how much he loves it whenever you call him Ken? It just hits different whenever you call him like that. He would lose his damn mind if he wants to.

"I appreciate you a whole lot," you added. "You don't usually go to places like this, that is."

"I just can't help myself but to come and see you.." A velvety chuckle slips past through his lips— planting a small kiss upon your forehead before gently pushing you away for a bit, just so that he could gaze at you.

"Honestly, I just— yeah, I missed you, a lot. I know I've been busy lately, but still.."

Kenji is speaking nothing short of pure honesty lacing his words. He misses the feeling of your frame against his own; letting his thumb tracing the contours of your face with such delicacy— every detail of your features none left untouched.

"What if I told you that I feel the same way too?" A cliche answer, but it works every single time.

Your gaze now darted towards the large painting ahead, which ostensively have shown a pair of lovers— holding onto one another as the life of the other gradually withers away.

He simply chuckled over your statement, immediately taking notice of the shift of your gaze; following your line of sight after.

"The painting looks a bit depressing, to say the least," he remarks, paying close attention about what the artist is trying to convey through the art.

"Yeah." You approached closer to the aforementioned painting, and the coat— his coat, still settled snuggly around your figure, trying your best to discern the details as well.

"I wonder what goes through the artists' mind while making this."

Kenji now stood beside you; the height difference very much noticeable. His eyes seemed to be observing it in every angle possible as well, placing his chin atop of your head from behind— no longer standing beside you.

"I'm curious about it too."

"Maybe it was meant to portray, you know— some tragedy?"

"Well, that definitely worked." He agreed along with your words, accompanied with a quick nod.

When he's sure that you're not looking at anywhere else but the painting alone, Kenji took the opportunity to glance down at you, secretly— or not-so-secretly, admiring the way his coat hangs around you almost loosely; yet fittingly so. You looked so beautiful to him like this, and he didn't dare to let his mind wander too far.

At this point, you didn't have to bring him along to the museum to see the arts, when you are the whole art itself.

A precious piece of art that he would love to keep with him for as long as he's breathing— if you would let him.

Every single part of you screams divine perfection to him. The way your eyes would light up whenever you see anything that interests you, or the way you would bite your lip in pure concentration unknowingly.

The way you speak, and the way you walk— God, don't get him started on the way he would always, successfully so, getting any sort of reaction out of you. The list is endless, and it felt like a personal reward, one that he's not-so-willingly share with anyone else.

No one can truly blame him for doing so, honestly. Kenji couldn't help it— he cherishes you so much that it almost hurts so good. Not out of obsession, but damn, that man loves you a little too much.

Nevertheless, nothing is truly too much for him to love you just the way you are.

Yet rightfully so, you never minded even the slightest. Kenji could never get enough of you; his love for you is always, and somehow, endless.

You smiled lovingly underneath his soft gaze, rubbing his own arm that's currently encircling around you so tenderly. You know that stare, but you just didn't want to point it out and simply wanted to relish within that feeling.

The people might see him as the arrogant, boastful person in the public eye— a mere facade that he puts up every so often when it deems necessary. But he acts so differently whenever he's around you, daring himself to let his walls down and be completely vulnerable with you.

With you, he has nothing to hide, shamelessly showing and proving his devotion to you alone; showing you a side that only you get the privilege of seeing it.

Kenji Sato will never cease to treasure you.

@luneariaa. do not repost; reblogs are welcomed. all rights reserved.

[tobiasdrake]

Fun Fact: Even in space, ACAB.

Let's talk about Jaco: The Galactic Patrolman, a somewhat more obscure manga compared to Dragon Ball that Akira Toriyama wrote in its setting.

For the most part, this is a short and fairly simple story. It's primarily a character drama, with the developing relationship between Jaco and the scientist Omori as its central focus.

The manga is surprisingly vague about its connections to Dragon Ball for nearly all of its length, until its final chapter. Jaco is here on Earth to thwart some vague threat sent to the planet from a world of hostile aliens. It's only at the end of the manga that we learn he's talking about Goku.

Galactic Patrol detected an Attack Ball leaving Planet Vegeta and making its way to Earth, so they sent Jaco to... assess the situation and then make a decision about whether or not to do anything.

In his defense, the Saiyans are the most powerful race in the universe. I can understand why he doesn't want to fuck with a full-grown Saiyan warrior. Nobody wants to fuck with a full-grown Saiyan warrior. The most that the finest police force in the universe can do against Saiyans is to try and nip them in the bud when they're babies.

It's interesting that Galactic Patrol doesn't have Scouter technology. I wonder if that proprietary? Frieza might have a patent.

But at the same time, I don't want to be too sympathetic to Jaco because. Well. He sucks.

Galactic Patrol sucks. That's kind of the bit. Jaco is a self-absorbed little shit, utterly devoid of empathy or compassion for the people he polices. He's stranded on Earth right now because he wasn't watching the road while driving.

Jaco's a prick, but what little we learn about Galactic Patrol as a whole doesn't make them sound much better.

This one time Jaco accidentally pressed the Extinction Bomb when he wasn't supposed to and wiped out a planet. Hoo boy, was his boss mad! Gave him a real talking to before giving him another Extinction Bomb and putting him back on patrol.

Universe isn't going to police itself, y'know. Someone's gotta be out there very occasionally trying to stop those real estate genocides.

For his part, Jaco's in it for the aesthetic. He likes the image of being a cop, and he spends his time practicing looking cool for when he presumably dispenses justice upon the criminal element.

But his interactions with the common people are filled with condescension and menace.

Like I said, this is the bit. Jaco is a self-important thug with a badge, with the initial conflict stemming as much from trying to keep him from doing something awful to the community under his jurisdiction as from trying to solve his problem.

Ostensibly here to protect Earth from the impending arrival of a Saiyan threat, he is as much a threat to this community as the invader he's here to assess. Without Omori there to guide him, he'd be killing people left and right.

He fits in pretty well with the cast of Dragon Ball, many of whom at least begin their tenure with a degree of amorality to them. Omori himself is a bitter misanthrope ironically thrust into the position of having to convince Jaco not to kill people.

And then there's the manga's biggest Dragon Ball connection: The introduction of Tights.

Any reader who's been picking up on the Dragon Ball-ness of this universe will know immediately where Tights came from. Her name pun gives the game away. Just like how the final chapter clarifies Jaco's target as the young Goku, we get to see the familiar faces of Tights's family as well.

Bulma basically solves the entire plot singlehandedly.

Even as a little kid, the universe's greatest heretic remains unparalleled in the field of game-breaking super-intelligence. Bulma OP do not nerf.

Again, this speaks to how little of the manga is actually about the plot. If this were a story-driven manga, having a character from another manga show up in the final issue and solve the plot in the span of two pages would be pretty disappointing. But since the plot is just an excuse to make these characters interact with one another, it doesn't really matter.

We aren't here for the story; We're here for the relationship between Jaco, Omori, and Tights. With that in mind, Baby Bulma waddling up and going "I fixed the spaceship; Are you stupid or something?" is hysterical.

For her part, Tights lives up to her family legacy of being super-brilliant.

She graduated from college at 16. She's a genius like the rest of the family. What she's not is interested in science and technology. Possibly as a justification for why we've never heard of her before, Tights goes against the mold for her family.

She honestly seems like something of a free spirit. She lives in East City when we meet her, famously the city that Nappa wiped off the map, while Capsule Corp and Bulma's family are out in West City. Rather than a scientist, she works as a body double for a famous pop idol.

As a publicity stunt, they're going to launch an idol into space. Tights's job is to impersonate the idol so she can die in the inevitable disaster instead. She is bizarrely chill with being paid a huge sum of money to get stupidly killed. Much like Bulma, Tights has a terrible sense of self-preservation and is willing to take on incredible risk for the sake of achieving a personal goal.

Tights is the best character in the manga. An aspiring sci-fi novelist who agreed to probably die in space for the sake of the experience. This family gives zero fucks.

And then there's Omori himself.

Despite its title, Omori is basically the main character of this manga. He's the one whose life situation is most heavily scrutinized. This is his status quo that Jaco and Tights enter. Similarly, Omori is the character who undergoes personal transformation as his experiences with Jaco and Tights help him find hope in connections with other people again.

The three characters click really well together. So well, in fact, that Dragon Ball would end up recycling the setup of Super Alien/Crotchety Old Man/Spunky Young Woman for one of the best dynamics they ever wrote.

This is not a copy/paste; Cheelai, Leemo, and Broly are all distinctly separate characters. but you can still feel the barebones aesthetic of Tights, Omori, and Jaco in their dynamic.

So. Yeah. Overall, for what it is, it's a cute little short story about a group of characters just living lives in the world of Dragon Ball. It's the kind of thing that the franchise needs more of, and still does to this day: An opportunity to flesh out the universe a little but also just to let us live in it through the eyes of someone else.

[dilfl0v3rss]

costume party

yami wasn't one to "dress up". always settling for a loose fit t shirt and some sweatpants when it was time to leave the house. you, on the other hand, loved to dress up. almost never leaving the house in something that didn't make you stand out. the two of you have recently been invited to a christmas costume party, your spontaneous friend julius giving each of you and your friends the task of dressing up as anything you wanted as long as it pertains to the chilly season or the holidays.

"m'not goin" your boyfriend said, his brown eyes looking at his costume with boredom written on his face. you stood in front of him on the couch, an attitude quickly making its way into you as you rested your weight on one leg. "yes you are. i promised julius we would be there since we couldn't make it to his halloween party" a smirk instantly made its way to yami's lips, his mind flashing with memories of that night. he couldn't control the slight twitch in his pants as he traveled deeper and deeper in thought. "i could've made it there, my legs were just fine. and y'know ion do costumes mama" you rolled your eyes at his childish jokes. of course his legs were just fine, he wasn't the one getting folded up and bent over all around the house just for having a simple maid costume on. nevertheless, you had a mission to complete so you didn't dwell on his words.

"kk" you said, quickly deciding to give up on using your words to convince this man. if there was one thing that could have your unexcited boyfriend jumping out of his seat it was you, but not just you in anything. you've began to notice that the less you wore, the harder your boyfriend tried to get you to stay. it was as if he didn't want anyone else to see you and made it his mission to at least give you a good fucking before you left so you'd think of him. you were going to use his love for your body to your advantage. you quietly walked away, letting your boyfriend think you've given up as you made your way to your room to put on your costume.

"alright papa m'just gon go by myself since youn wanna come" you said, as you slowly moved towards the small key bowl by your front door. "alright be safe sweetness, n'text me when you get th-" yami's sentence was cut short, his mouth hung open at the sight of you. your perky breasts sat prettily in your cropped brown sweater as you left little to his imagination by keeping the top buttons undone. your matching miniskirt barely made it over the plump of your ass as you gained about an inch in height with the help of your black suede knee-high boots. you kept your hair simple, putting your twenty-inch tape-ins in a low middle part ponytail as two brown and white ears sat on the top of your head. you looked good enough to eat and that's all that was on yami's mind as he rose from his comfortable spot on the couch. "look so pretty, lemme get a kiss" he mumbled as me moved towards you, his hand already finding a home around your neck as he leaned your lips towards his. before the two of you connected you stopped him with a firm hand on his chest. "no no no, you don't get any of this unless you come wit me"

your boyfriends eyes widened at your statement, the seriousness in your voice letting him know that you weren't playing around. "whatdya mean? papa can't give his girl some kisses fore' she go?" you gave him nothing but a bored expression. the both of you knew he wasn't just trying to give you kisses and you let him know that it wasn't going to happen. your hand swiftly moved towards his, removing it from your neck before grabbing the keys from the bowl. "not unless he hurries up and puts his costume on so we can go"

"tch...i look ridiculous." yami sighed as he approached julius' doorstep, the two of you hand in hand as you walked with a bright smile on your face. "you look fine baby, sexy even." you said, the sight of him making butterflies swarm in your stomach. you always knew just want to buy to have this man looking irresistible. his red and black flannel sat tight on his chest as the top bottom stayed undone, showing the gold chain you gifted him last christmas. his baggy blue jeans sat nicely on his hips and his black timbs made him tower over you even more. you gave his hand a light squeeze, drawing yami's attention to you. he tried his best to keep a blush from traveling across his cheeks as he took in the sight of your pretty features in the dim lights of the porch. the black makeup on your nose as well as the white dots on your cheeks only adding to your cuteness. yami couldn't subdue the ache in his boxers as he leaned down close to your ear. "m'gonna have you cummin on this dick in the bathroom fore the nights over, can't make it back to the house." he left a light kiss on the side of your head at the end of his sentence, not missing the slight shake in your thighs as arousal began to rush into your panties. before you could even respond you were interrupted by julius opening the door.

"well if it isn't the lumberjack and the doe"

[astridthevalkyrie]

inspired by rafayel's when light falls memory.

cw: fluff, bratty raf, temporary blindness

When he stumbles into the room, you're on your feet immediately, staring furiously.

"Rafayel."

"Hey, no, you can't be mad." He points in the direction of your voice, and he's slightly off, which only makes you angrier. "If you think about it, this is your fault."

"Rafayel!"

"You sound so pretty when you say my name like that. Say it again?"

It had been on the tip of your tongue, but at his words you swallow the third utterance, merely glaring with a look that would make him shudder if he could see it.

If he didn't, y'know, blind himself again.

"Hmm, does the opposite effect work on you? Let's see. Don't kiss me. Don't get me food because I'm not hungry. Don't take me to bed and lay me down and push my shirt up and ogle me, I'd hate that."

"You're not funny," you snap at him, walking up and snatching his palm. Despite your obvious anger, Rafayel lets out a soft breath of relief at your touch, and doesn't protest a bit as you guide him to sit on the couch. When he'd told you he'd meet you here, you didn't suspect anything. When he said Thomas would be dropping him off, a bead of nervousness had build up inside you. And when Thomas texted you a simple apology text, you'd feared the worst.

He always does this. This is the third time it's happened since you've known him. Each time he cheerily tells you that the doctor has warned him it could be permanent if he keeps being so reckless. And each time, Rafayel ignores that advice completely and stays up another forty-eight hours to paint.

When he's seated, he sighs happily, tugging you close and tucking himself into your chest. "You smell good."

"Shut up. Do you even register how dangerous this is?"

"Mmhm." You see his lips curve into a smile. "Maybe this'll be the time it sticks."

Placing your fingers against his forehead, you push him back and he whines, slouching with a pout on his face. You don't dignify his hypothetical with an answer, stomping away—loud enough that he can hear your displeasure—to take a wrapped sandwich from the picnic basket you'd brought over.

Rafayel's brows furrow when you drop it in his hands, and he has to fiddle a bit before he can take the foil off. Cautiously, he takes a bite, knowing better than to ask you before eating if you're trying to poison him or not (your answer will always be a deadpan yes), and moans a little when the flavor hits.

"This is so good. Did you make this?"

You sit down a foot away from him, crossing one leg over the other and staring stoically at the wall in front of you. "I did. For a date."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his eyes widen, as though he's finally realizing how much trouble he's in. Abandoning the sandwich on the couch, he extends his hand out for you, finding your face first before he wraps his hand around your arm.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. You put all this effort in and I—"

"Completely ruined our plans by showing up without your eyesight? Yes. You did."

"I'm sorry," he says again, pulling at you a little. You acquiesce, if only because the sight of him reaching for you makes you feel slightly bad. He pulls you into his chest this time, hiding his face in your hair as he murmur out apologies.

That's the thing with Rafayel. He can tease and poke and prod all he wants, but the second he actually feels something, he makes it blatantly clear. The guilt is practically dripping off him in waves.

"I'm not mad." You hold both his hands in yours, kissing his knuckles like they're precious—because to you, they are. "At least, not about the date. I am mad that you keep doing this to yourself even though it's bad for you."

His hands squeeze yours, and his blank eyes fill with an emotion you're not even sure he realizes he's expressing. "I told you, s'your fault. I was up three nights in a row working on something you inspired."

"Right." Shifting so that you can kiss the top of his head, you mumble, "So what I'm hearing is I should break up with you and then you'll be absolutely fine."

For a few seconds, Rafayel doesn't say anything, and you become concerned he thinks you're serious. But then he presses into you more, lips grazing against your collarbone.

"That'd be even worse."

"Oh, really?" You run a hand through his hair. "How so?"

"Heartbreak is amazing for creativity. I wouldn't sleep for weeks. Even after my eyesight was gone, I'd just keep paining...and painting...and painting..."

"Okay, okay, I get it." Kicking your feet out, you lay down, pulling him down on top of you. Rafayel sighs, one arm sliding around you as he tucks his face into your neck.

"You really do smell good."

"Please stop doing this to yourself. I'm genuinely asking you, Raf, I'm begging you to just let the inspiration stew—call me if you can't settle and I'll help. But stop it with these all nighters."

His fingers find yours, and he holds your hand against his chest tightly. "Okay," he whispers, "okay."

You don't push it further. If he's agreed, then he'll stick to his word, you know that. You'd feel guilty, at how much he bends to your every request despite the complaints, but it's not like you're trying to get him to buy you a diamond ring (and Rafayel would, should you so much as glance at one). You're making him promise for his own benefit.

"Even if I did lose my eyesight, I'd still remember how you look, y'know." He brushes his lips against a nearly faded hickey on your neck, pressing a soft kiss there. It's incredibly impressive that even without seeing, he knows exactly where his marks on you are. "Wouldn't stop calling you beautiful—promise."

A gentle hum escapes you. "I know. Believe it or not, my ego isn't what I'm worried about."

He laughs quietly, reaching down to kiss your chest before pressing closer to you, listening to your heartbeat with his eyes closed. "Yeah, you're worried about me. That's so embarrassing, you have a crush on me?"

"I'm in love with you," you respond, and predictably, his ears turn scarlet at your open words and he groans, fingers clutching your shirt as he wallows. "Don't dish out what you can't take, honey."

"You're so mean," Rafayel whispers, "stay with me?"

What a pain in the ass. But he's your pain in the ass, and you wouldn't have it any other way. "M'not going anywhere."

[mxstellatayte]

fuck me up, florida.

warnings: angst for the majority of it, sex at the end though, legal use of alcohol (reader and logan are both 23,) mentions of gunshot wounds, minor character death, based on a taylor swift song, childhood (middle/high school) friends to lovers, idiots in love, "you came" "you called," reader is half mexican (mom's side), slightly inaccurate bc i know carola wasn't at the miami gp but just go with it for the plot, reader's last name is rodriguez,

author's note: y'all i apologize if any of the spanish grammar is a little weird. my spanish is rusty, pls don't hate me for it

logan sargeant x female reader

i need to forget so

tuesday, april 30th.

you scan your ticket, the screen displaying your name and seat number. 12A. at least it'll be easy to sleep, you think.

after shoving your suitcase above your seat, you shuffle your way to the window and buckle yourself in.

are you really doing this? flying a couple thousand miles to visit your childhood best friend who, up until recently, had you convinced that his newfound fame that he'd gathered by announcing his enrollment in the williams driver's academy made him too good for you.

the only thing that made you think otherwise was the instagram dm he'd sent you five weeks prior, asking if you'd be able to make it to the miami grand prix. instead of a simple yes or no, you responded with the heaviest three words you've ever seen in order.

can we call?

logan picked up on the second ring.

"hey."

"hey."

"how's texas?"

you smile. "hot. sunny. flat. beachless."

"so... it's good?" you hate that you can still picture his facial expressions even after not seeing him for years except for on tv.

"'s okay, but it's not home, y'know?"

"definitely. it doesn't matter how much i decorate my place in england, it's never florida."

"nothing besides florida is ever florida," you sigh, looking out the window of your apartment. "how's the season been?" you don't exactly know why you're asking. you know exactly how his season's gone. you keep every single detail of every single race weekend meticulously catalogued in a journal that you take everywhere with you. no matter what, you've stayed up late or woken up early to watch every race, as if your hopeful energy would make its way across the world to him in time.

"honestly? it's been pretty shit. the car handles really badly and wasn't really even ready for the first few hours of testing in bahrain. i can't get it to perform and maybe that's just because i haven't linked with the car yet, but it still really sucks."

you sigh, hoping logan can't tell how disappointed you are with his team and engineers. "you need a better team, lo."

"i know." there's silence between you for a few moments, and every second that passes makes it grow heavier on your chest. "will you come to miami?"

there it is. the reason you called him.

"i don't know, lo. don't get me wrong, i'd love to, but it's really short notice and i don't know if i could afford the trip. i might be able to make it to austin, but i'll need the time to save the money for the trip."

"i'll fly you out," logan immediately says, his tone almost desperate. longing. "i'll pay for your flight, your hotel, everything. please?"

that last word hit you like a punch in the gut. you only had one more reason to not go and you weren't about to tell him that reason. it was a shitty excuse anyways.

you're not about to tell him that the reason you moved to texas was to give him the space he needed to be able to succeed in his career and for you to succeed in yours.

take me to florida

you're jolted awake by the force of the plane landing, if you can call the awkward limbo you were stuck in sleep. immediately, your stomach twists with anxiety. logan had offered to pick you up from the airport, but you refused.

"i'll just take an uber," you'd said. "i'm gonna want to relax a bit after the flight, y'know?"

his only trade-off? you met him for dinner. simple enough, right?

in theory.

now, standing in front of the full-length mirror in your hotel room, you debate between a floral sundress and a pair of denim shorts, a tank top, and a white button-up t-shirt with a colorful inkblot pattern.

you decide on the sundress.

fifteen minutes later, you're pushing earrings through your piercings, silver abstract shapes you'd bought on a trip to europe with your mother. you have to leave, but the situation you're in sucks. your hair won't sit right on your head, either being too frizzy from the humidity or losing any and all volume, and your makeup just doesn't seem like it'll last in the miami heat.

fuck it.

who are you dressing for, anyways?

logan's seen you at your absolute worst. he was the only one you let yourself cry in front of after your father died. he was the one that held you for what seemed like hours while you sobbed into his chest and he told you that none of it was your fault- that you never could have known that, when you hugged him before he left for the police station, told him you loved him, and slipped a note into his lunch box, the next time you would see him, he would be laying in a casket. he was the only one that could make you smile in the weeks following his funeral, dropping his entire schedule if you simply sent him a text that said "can you come over?"

the restaurant logan found isn't too far from your hotel, so you ultimately decide to walk. your walk is over before you're able to process that it even started and you're taking out your earbuds and putting them in your bag, taking out your phone instead to text logan.

i'm here.

i've got some regrets

were you always this breathtakingly beautiful?

logan's phone buzzes in his front pocket, but he knows it's you texting him. he doesn't even bother taking it out of his pocket before standing up from his seat at the bar and walking over to you, and when you see him, your smile almost makes his heart melt.

"hey," he says, and he hopes his voice doesn't waver from how nervous he is.

"hey. i missed you," you respond, dodging the hand he holds out and going in for a hug. "i've known you since middle school, logan, i'm not shaking your hand."

your arms around him and your body pressed against his almost makes logan short circuit. thankfully, he's able to regain control of his brain and hug you back, hopefully before you realize he isn't hugging you back.

when you pull back, the hug seeming way too brief for logan's preference, you're looking up and smiling with a sparkle in your eyes that makes him regret not making enough time for you. "thanks for bringing me out here."

"thanks for coming. do you want a drink?"

"sure. do you have a table yet?"

"i was waiting for you."

"in that case, lead the way." you gesture towards the restaurant, and logan shows you to a booth in the corner. soon enough, a waiter comes over to you and sets down two glasses of water and two menus.

"welcome in, y'all. do we need a bit of time to look at the menu or do we know what we want to get started?" his southern drawl is thick, and it reminds you of texas. but you're in florida now.

"i think we'll look at the menu for a minute, thanks," logan says, and the waiter nods and walks away. as you open the menu and begin looking, logan points out something you might like and you do the same for him. conversation begins to flow freely between you, and it reminds you of the times in high school when you would go out with friends.

eventually, you decide on a plate of nachos and logan gets a plate of wings. as you wait for your food, you catch up on everything: your move to texas, logan's racing career, your work volunteering with the austin philharmonic, his homesickness from living in england, and everything in between. you crack stupid jokes, share bites of food, and steal sips of each other's drinks.

it's like old times.

i'll bury them in florida

on wednesday, you and logan drive up to visit your father's headstone. it's difficult. it's only the third time you've visited him since he was buried three years ago. the first time you visited him was a year after he died. even a year later, you still carried so much anger and hatred towards the doctors and nurses that were operating on him, trying desperately to save his life after two bullets hit him- one in his leg, one in his torso.

he died on the table.

the second time was just a few months after, and you were still wearing your cap, gown, and stole from your graduation ceremony. by then, you had been able to forgive the doctors and had graduated in the top 10% of your class. four years of hell had finally rewarded you with a degree in instrumental performance and an internship at the south florida symphony orchestra.

now, the third time, you have a picnic blanket and lunch packed into the backseat of logan's car, the windows are rolled down, and your favorite playlist is shuffled on the aux. it's a beautiful day, too; it isn't too hot (even with the humidity,) there's a gentle breeze in the air, and clouds occasionally cover the sun. when logan pulls into the parking lot of the cemetery and you sling your tote bag full of food over your shoulder, your hands start shaking.

of course, logan notices.

his hand slides into your own, and you look up at him. his eyes meet yours and you smile. "thank you for coming with me," you say.

"of course. i didn't want you to have to do this alone."

you look back at the gate into the cemetery, the black bars menacingly sleek and very, very terrifying. you chew your lower lip in anxiety. "i don't know if i can do it, logan."

"i'm here with you. i know you. you're strong. you aren't the kind of person to let a gate scare you." you laugh lightly, looking down at the ground. the gravel of the parking lot, your scuffed, beat-up high top purple converse, and logan's nike dunks make up what you have to describe as a perfect picture. your phone is in your free hand before you know it, and you're lining up the shot. "still into photography, huh?"

"yep. i have some cameras in my suitcase at the hotel." when you pocket your phone and look back up at him, logan's heart melts. the shine in your eyes and the passion in your smile is enough to soften anyone's heart, but for him, as someone who's known you for years and has been there for you through thick and thin, it touches him in such a special way. "i'm hoping to get some good photos of the races. but enough delaying. let's go visit my dad."

the creak of the gates opening makes your ears bleed, and you laugh at how logan is making the exact same face as you in reaction to such a shrill sound. despite only having visited his headstone twice before, you remember exactly where in the cemetery it is and are able to find it within five minutes.

"hi, dad," you begin, your voice already wavering just the slightest and tears beginning to well in your eyes. logan's hand squeezes yours, though, and you're reminded that he's right there. he always will be. you take a deep breath and continue. "i miss you. we all do. i know i haven't visited you in a while, and i'm sorry about that. i really do have to come stop by every now and then. i moved to austin and have a volunteering gig with the austin philharmonic at almost every show and i have a job at a company that helps students with learning disabilities learn instruments. it's really fun." you pause to wipe the tears off of your cheeks, your nose beginning to drip. "sam is in his junior year of college, and he's majoring in engineering. he flew the coop, but he still comes home for the summers. he, uh, he actually got in to c.u. boulder, like he always talked about. that kid was always thinking about college, even in middle school.

"i'm actually here with logan, too, if you hadn't noticed. do you, uh, do you want to fill him in on what's going on with you, or should i keep going?"

"whatever you prefer."

"okay, i'm going to keep talking, because i think if i don't, i'm going to completely break down. logan finally signed with williams to drive on their formula 1 team last year, like i always said he would. i'm really proud of him and really regret not telling him that more, and now that i'm saying it out loud i'm promising both you and him that i'll tell him that more often. the race this weekend is actually here, in florida. miami, specifically. it's always a celebrity shit show that no one really wants to see, but it's the main opportunity for the celebrity sponsors to actually go to a race.

"what else has been going on? oh, mom is still a therapist. i can't tell you much about that because of hipaa, but she always comes home saying that she's glad that she could help someone. i'm gonna have dinner with her tomorrow night, and then i'm going back into miami to watch logan's practice sessions."

you pause your rambling, thinking about what there is to say next, but your thought is interrupted by your stomach grumbling. loud. you and logan laugh just as loudly, the sound echoing through the grass field and stone gravesites. "oh, yeah, that's another thing. we brought lunch. i also got you pink tulips, because i know they're your favorite." you delicately rest the bouquet on your father's headstone as you sit down, then pull out the different plastic containers filled with food you'd stolen from the williams hospitality. "you'd be proud of me, dad. i smuggled this entire picnic out of the wiliams motorhome without a hiccup. robin hood style."

logan laughs, and you turn to him. he's mirrored your position, sitting cross-legged on the grass. "apple?"

"nah, i'm gonna start with my sandwich. i did grab you some of the salt and vinegar chips i know you like."

the look logan gives you can only be described as pure adoration. "you," he says, pointing a finger at you in an incredibly sassy manner, "are an absolute goddess."

"i know," you respond cheekily, tossing some hair over your shoulder.

the banter between the two of you continues through your picnic, laughter and smiles erasing the dried tracks of tears on your cheeks and on logan's. you're almost able to forget where you are.

tell me i'm despicable

almost two hours later, the two of you are laying in a nearby park underneath a tree, peacefully observing the clouds that pass overhead and talking even more about any topic that comes to your mind. the question that's been gnawing at you since your plane landed in miami eventually bubbles to the surface, and it tumbles past your lips before you can stop it.

"did you ever wonder why i moved to texas?" you look to your left where logan rests, but he keeps looking up at the sky. you mirror him.

"i always assumed it was just because you needed a change of scenery. after everything that happened and your music career taking off, it would make sense that you would relocate to somewhere better suited for you."

"that's the thing, though. if i'm being entirely honest with you, lo, i hate texas. i hate the whole state. i hate how hot it is all the time without even being humid, i hate not being able to go to the beach. i hate how dry it is. i hate how flat it is. i hate the monotony of it. i hate not being here."

logan hesitates for a moment before speaking, and it's the longest moment you've ever experienced. "why did you move to austin, then?"

when he looks over at you, you're chewing your lower lip. it's a nervous tic, logan's noticed. he's not even sure if you know you do it. "honestly? i thought you moved on from our friendship. i thought everything with f1 suddenly got so big and important and famous that maybe i wasn't... enough? i thought that being a police officer's daughter from the same town as you that was studying to teach people how to understand and play music maybe just wasn't cool enough to be friends with a world-renowned formula 1 driver."

logan's heart almost shatters when he hears the weakness in your voice. you sound so broken and so alone. he knew that, when you lost your father, you isolated yourself from a lot of people, even your best friend from high school and through your first year of college. he was the only person outside of your immediate family that you spent a decent amount of time with, but when he was admitted to the driver's academy he had to move to england. he abandoned you.

"i didn't. i never forgot about you. sometimes i still look through the photos we have together because i miss you that much."

you sit up, tears pricking your eyes for the second time that day. "really?"

"yeah. maybe once a week?"

when you look down at logan, you're suddenly starstruck. you can't help but notice all of his little features that you wouldn't see if you didn't know to look for them. his freckles that are so light you'd have to squint to see them if you didn't know them like the back of your hand. the mole on his chin that he'd always been self-conscious about but you've always seen it as beautiful. the lines from where his eyes crinkle when he smiles. the annoyingly perfect flop of his hair that he's styled almost the exact same way since you started high school together. an urge you haven't felt in years suddenly bubbles, white-hot in the pit of your stomach, and it's boiling over before you can stop it. your eyes are closed and your lips are on his. finally. after years of wanting, of stares that lasted just a bit too long to be just friendly, of flushed faces and nervous excuses, you're finally kissing him.

but he's not kissing you back.

you pull back immediately, panicked that you read something wrong. you turn away, hiding your face in your hands out of shame. "shit, logan, i'm so sorry. i thought-"

"kiss me again." logan sits up, and when you turn around, the look he's giving you can only be described as completely and entirely fucked. you don't question his statement, just lean forward, placing your lips on his, and letting yourself melt. he moans softly into the kiss, his right arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer. when you pull away and open your eyes, your breath catches in your throat. he looks beautiful. his eyes remain closed, but when they flutter open, you see colors in them that you've never seen before. sure, you've always seen the darker rim of blue that outlines his irises, but now that you're so close to him, you can see the flecks of green and grey in them. it's the most stunning thing you've ever seen.

eventually, you break the silence between the two of you. "i've wanted to kiss you for so long," you whisper, so quiet you're not sure logan heard it.

but he did.

"me, too," he says, and after a beat of silence between you two, you both burst out laughing. the laugh he hears from you is the pure, bright laugh that logan's missed so dearly, the laugh that you only really let him hear. the laugh that has tears in your eyes and makes you snort because you're laughing so hard you can't even breathe properly.

eventually, when you're able to calm down, your head resting on logan's shoulder, your hand holding his, you're able to process what just happened. you just hope logan is processing it, too.

"we just kissed."

"yes. we did."

"how long have you held out on me?"

"since christmas of sophomore year. when you made me the chevron bracelet with my favorite colors."

you laugh, then lift your head to look at him. "i fell for you in october of that year. when you convinced your mom to drive two and a half hours for the marching band state finals. just so you could be there with me."

"god, we're idiots," logan laughs. you can't help but lean forward and press another kiss to his lips, lingering there and just breathing him in.

existing.

say it's unforgivable

the next two days fly by. thursday, you spend the day with your mother. she asks all sorts of questions as if she doesn't know the answers, and you answer each one with a smile on your face. when she asks about logan, you smile sheepishly. she figures out what the smile means.

"took you two long enough."

normally you'd still be in bed at 9:30 am on a friday, but today, you walk into the miami paddock clutching logan's hand for dear life. your neon green pass hangs from your neck, a white williams cap atop your head. you can't help but feel out of place, but someone calls logan's name and you both turn. your stomach drops when you see who's called his name. his hair is styled similarly to logan's, and he sports a papaya polo.

you'd know him anywhere. it's oscar piastri.

you're standing there a bit awkwardly as logan greets his friend, but your heart stops when oscar turns to you. "oscar, this is my girlfriend." he introduces you by your name to the mclaren driver and you wipe your hands on your denim shorts before shaking his hand firmly, exchanging "nice to meet you"s. the three of you chat for a few minutes before oscar is summoned by his pr manager.

"girlfriend, huh?" you look up at logan with a smile on your face, lacing his fingers with yours.

"i didn't mean to overstep, but i kind of assumed that's what this is now. is it?" he looks a bit nervous asking that, and if you thought your love for him couldn't grow any more, you thought wrong.

"that's absolutely what we are, lo. you're my boyfriend. i'm your girlfriend." you can tell just how hard logan's trying to not let the smile on his face show just how happy he is to hear you say that, and you stand on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips briefly. "you have a prep meeting to get to, don't you?"

"i do. come with me, though. i need to introduce you to alex and lily. she can show you around."

"sounds like a plan. i need to learn how to do all of..." you gesture around you, the white tents and media carts all seeming suddenly too intimidating. "...this."

logan laughs, placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the williams hospitality. when you're next to him, though, despite the cameras around you and your proximity to some of the world's biggest stars, you feel safe and protected.

after meeting logan's teammate and the thai driver's girlfriend, who you quickly realize is one of the sweetest people you've ever had the pleasure of meeting, you're shown around the williams hospitality and, eventually, the paddock. lily introduces you to the other drivers' wives and girlfriends that have made it to the weekend, and when you hear a certain last name, your ears perk up.

"martinez? is she latina?"

"yeah," kika, pierre's girlfriend, says. "she's checo's wife. i'm pretty sure she's in the red bull hospitality right now, though."

"ah, speak of the devil," lily says. you see carola walking up to the five of you, alexandra ("please, honey, call me alex," she'd said, bringing you in for a kiss on your cheek,) having walked away to get a drink and escape into the sweet air conditioning. "carola, there's a new couple on the paddock."

"you're kidding," the latina answers, her accent apparent. "who?"

"logan found himself a girlfriend. allow me to introduce her." lily turns to you and introduces you by your full name, last name and all. it seems that carola has a similar reaction to your last name as you did to hers, and her head tilts to the side.

"ya no eres la única mexicana aquí," you say, and her eyebrows raise. (you aren't the only mexican here anymore.)

"hablas español, también?" (you speak spanish, too?) when you nod, her smile brightens. "hay, chica, creo que nosotras dos nos vamos a llevar muy bien." (oh, girl, i think we're going to get along very well.)

on saturday, you find yourself back in the williams motorhome, except this time, you wear a second badge, the neon green lanyard reading grid access in bold black lettering. like the day before, you clutch logan's hand for your own comfort until, much to your dismay, he's summoned for driver duties. you place a quick kiss on his cheek, and when you pull back, you aren't sure if the flush on his cheeks is from the affection or the miami heat. probably both.

"in case i don't see you before sprint. for luck."

"oh, you'll be in the garage. that's what this pass is for," logan says, holding your second badge in front of your face. "lily will show you where to go. i'll take a kiss anyways, though." you smile, stand on your toes, and kiss him, pulling back before he can wrap an arm around your waist. (that was a trick he very much enjoyed, as you'd learned the night before. there was something in him that needed you as close to him as possible, and it covered every nerve ending in your body in liquid fire.)

"off you go. you need to get race ready. i'll see you before you go out on the grid. don't worry." you gently shove him away with a smile, and you'd stare at him longer if your ankles weren't suddenly being attacked. you look down and squeal. "hi, leo! did your dad let you run free?" you squat down and scratch the mini daschund behind his disproportionally large ears, and he barks excitedly.

someone curses in french to your right, and you look up from the little golden ball of energy to see none other than charles leclerc frantically searching around. leo barks again, and the monégasque whips around, then locks eyes on you first, then his dog.

"merde, leo. you have too much energy for it being this early in the morning," he laughs as he walks over to you.

"i apologize, it appears i've unintentionally kidnapped your dog." you stand, and leo jumps at your calves again.

"ah, no harm, no foul," charles replies, picking up his dog and holding him close to his chest. "i will say, though, you look strangely familiar. have we met? my name is charles."

"we have not." you extend your hand and offer your name, and, when charles' eyebrows furrow and his head tilts in confusion, you realize that means nothing to him. "i'm logan's girlfriend."

"ah! yes, of course! he has a photo of the two of you at your high school graduation in his wallet. that's where i knew you from. well, it's nice to meet you!" that was news to you. logan has a picture of you in his wallet? either way, you just casually met one of the most famous people in the world like it was a standard tuesday.

if this is what i signed up for by being logan's girlfriend, then it is absolutely wild.

you're able to catch another good luck kiss with logan as he's almost fully suited up, and fuck, does he look good. his fireproof suit hangs low on his hips, the arms tied together in front of him. dark blue is a good color on him, and his facial hair is grown out in just the slightest. you can't lie, he looks hot as hell.

you cross your legs in an attempt to curb the heat that creeps down your tummy and between them. it doesn't work.

you amend it that night in logan's hotel room following his p10 in the sprint.

on sunday, you try to avoid thinking about the night before as you follow the same routine as the two days before- arriving early in the day, checking in at the williams motorhome, and then killing time until the driver's parade at 2:00 PM. you spend time with your new group of friends, spending the three remaining hours before the parade in the paddock club. rebecca, carlos' girlfriend, snickers at your shocked face when you see some of your idols and favorite celebrities casually walking around, gladly taking some photos for you as you're practically buzzing with excitement.

after the driver's parade, it's a whirlwind. you're swept back into the williams garage and find logan's driver's room relatively easily thanks to the help of some of the engineers and mechanics, but one of them stops you before you can venture too far into the depths of the hallways.

"could you tell him we have the pre-race strategy meeting in twenty minutes?"

"yeah, for sure." as you approach logan's door, you have to bite down on your lower lip to stifle the grin that wants to split your face. you knock on his door, and when he opens it, you know something's wrong. "lo, are you okay?" his eyes are red and his hand shakes on the doorknob. instead of a verbal response, he just opens the door a bit further to let you in, and, as soon as it shuts behind you, he sobs, and your heart shatters.

"i'm so scared. i'm so scared that something's going to happen and i'm going to let all of these people down and-" you gather him into your arms and he cries into the crook of your neck, your williams crewneck shirt now damp with his tears. you couldn't care less.

"you're going to do amazing, logie. i know you will." with your arms wrapped around him, it's almost like a weighted blanket of safety has encompassed him, and his sobs slow, his breaths growing deeper and more even. you continue murmuring words of confidence into his shoulder, and not a single word you say is empty.

"hey. look at me." you lean back and gently cup his cheek with your right palm, and when his eyes meet yours, you know that he needed to cry that one out. "do you feel a little bit better?" logan nods, tilting his head ever so slightly to kiss your palm, his own hand coming up to rest over yours. it's a cute, sappy, stupidly romantic moment that you from three weeks ago would've probably thought was the grossest thing known to mankind, but you can't help but bask in the moment. "is there anything i can do to help you feel better right now?" your voice is a soothing balm over logan's agitated nerves, and he slowly untangles himself from you and guides you over to the couch that's against the back wall, where he sits down and you curl up to his left side.

"can you just... talk? about anything?"

"are you seriously asking if me, the person with the most rampant adhd you've ever met, can talk about something? yes, logan, i absolutely can. what to talk about, though?"

as you talk, deciding to info dump about your favorite classical music piece, logan can't help but watch it unfold. he doesn't know jack shit about music theory, but listening to you ramble about something you're passionate about brings him so much peace. you're disturbed about fifteen minutes later by a knock at the door, promptly followed by a disembodied voice telling logan that it was time for the strategy meeting.

"aw, shit," he says, leaning his head back and rubbing at his eyes. "i have that to go to now."

"yeah, sorry. i was supposed to tell you about that but we had a bigger problem on our hands." your voice is sheepish now that your info dump has been cut short, but logan leans over to you and kisses you, soft and slow, just like the first time he kissed you properly in the park. when he pulls away, he looks so much calmer than he was twenty minutes before. "is there anything else i can do?"

"go have some fun in the paddock. and please drink some water." you roll your eyes and stand, bringing him in for another hug before you slip out of the door.

almost two hours later, you're back in the williams garage with a guest headset over your ears. your stomach twists with nerves as the national anthem concludes. lily's hand is clasped with yours.

"the first lap is the worst. after that, you lose a lot of the anxiety," she assures you, noticing how you chew your lower lip.

"thanks." you pause for a moment, contemplating another question. "does it ever get easier? seeing how they go out there and drive like absolute maniacs for fun?"

"it does. it took me a couple of months, but after alex showed me all of the safety features in the car and in his fireproofs, it definitely helped."

it's the moment you've been dreading.

one red light.

two.

three.

four.

five.

and then none.

the engines roar and the race has begun. lily didn't lie to you- the first lap is excruciatingly long, but when everyone's completed their first loop around the circuit, you let yourself breathe. your eyes are trained on the screen above you, and the laps are flying by so quickly that you barely process that the race is nearly halfway over.

but then logan's car is in the wall. fuck.

as you watch the replay of his crash, you can feel white-hot rage burning in your body. after the race stewards only declare a ten-second penalty and two super license points, though, you're fuming. "two penalty points and a ten-second penalty? magnussen caused logan's race to end, and they just let him go? they just forgive him and move on? how can he get away with that? this is bullshit!"

what a crash, what a rush

the first person logan looks for when he walks back into the williams garage, his visor still low over his eyes in shame, is you. when you see him walking towards the room where you and lily watch the race, you tear the headset off of your ears and run to him. the feeling of his arms wrapping around your shoulders and hearing his heartbeat even through your musician's earplugs soothes your agitated nerves. he's okay. he's alive. he isn't hurt. "thank fuck you're okay," you say, even though he definitely can't hear you through his helmet and over the roar of passing engines. when you pull away, you press a kiss to his knuckles and hope he understands how much love you're trying to convey through such a small gesture.

fuck me up, florida!

one of logan's best friends on the grid is oscar. oscar's teammate got his maiden win after almost five years of waiting in miami.

like any sensible person, you celebrate with him.

you have no idea what the name of the club is, much less how many drinks you've had so far, but what you do know is that lando has commandeered the dj station and logan is pressed against your back, his hands resting on your hips. the air is hot and thick, your heartbeat pounds in your head. the opening notes of bad bunny's tití me preguntó begin playing through the massive speakers, and you shoot a glare up to lando that he doesn't see, his focus instead on the equipment in front of him. when the bass hits, though, you let all apprehensiveness go and your genetics take the reins. your hips sway and swing to the beat, your hands wander up and down your torso, and logan simply follows your lead. it takes you a moment to realize that, if you want to get a rise out of him, you're going to have to spin around and face him.

with your hips swaying against his and how unbearably beautiful you look in the dim light, your skin glowing with sweat and your hair up in a high ponytail, logan can't help but lean down and kiss you when you finally turn around. you reciprocate gladly, your right leg slotting between both of his, and...

oh.

oh.

he's hard.

you pull away slightly, barely an inch between your lips. "slow your roll there, tiger."

"i don't want to." fire zips down your spine at the sound of his voice, low and breathy and so, so desperate. "need to fuck you."

"should we get outta here, then?"

"i thought you'd never ask." you smile and kiss him quickly, then take his hand and weave your way through the crowded dance floor. as the miami night air hits your face, you immediately feel cooler. you sigh, taking a moment to breathe and regulate your heart rate and body temperature, but you can't breathe for that long before logan wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him and kissing your neck. you laugh, running your hands along his forearms.

"logan, not here. the hotel is two blocks away."

"i can't help it, baby, you just look so pretty," he hums, kissing the back of your neck once more before pulling away and stepping around to face you. "you look so pretty, and you're mine."

his possessiveness of you makes more heat zip down your spine, and you almost drool at how he's looking at you. his eyes, normally a beautiful mix between the blues of the sky and sea, ar"e almost completely dark, only a small sliver of his irises remaining, and the muscles in his jaw tick. "hotel. now."

by the time you reach the door to logan's hotel room, you're both out of breath from how hard he kissed you in the elevator and the arousal and need between your legs won't be stopped unless he replaces it. you stumble through the door and try to kiss logan again, matching the vigor he showed you in the elevator, but he stops you. "wanna take my time with you tonight."

"yeah?" you raise an eyebrow and inspect his face. the blinds are open but no lights are on, so all you can see is the side of his face that's illuminated by the lights from the streets of miami. it's an unusually beautiful sight.

"yeah. nothing about what i'm about to do to you is going to be fast. i'm gonna make you feel good tonight. how's that sound?"

"that sounds amazing, logan." you lean forward and kiss him gently, your lips slotting together as if you were made for each other. who knows, maybe you were. the next five minutes are a blur, but before you know it, you're laying back against the pillows on logan's bed and his face is buried between your thighs, his tongue working magic on your clit. the air in the hotel room is filled with your moans and the sounds of logan devouring you like a man starved, and it's the most beautiful mix of sounds you've ever heard. when he flicks his tongue oh-so-perfectly against your entrance, his nose brushing over your clit, you moan and pull his hair hard, which, in turn, makes him moan against you.

you aren't sure how much time passes or how many orgasms logan pulls from you with just his tongue and his fingers, but when you feel completely and entirely spent, your chest heaving and your hairline sparkling with tiny beads of sweat, you pull logan up to you by his shoulders, and he looks completely and entirely fucked. "need you inside of me," you mumble, wiping at the mix of spit and cum that coats the entire bottom half of his face with your thumbs. as if on instinct, you bring your hands to your mouth and lick them clean, and logan groans at the sight. "inside. now."

"as you wish, baby." logan's hands fumble at his boxers, the only item of clothing he was left wearing, and when he finally, finally pushes himself into you, you both moan. your hands scrabble at his shoulders and back, most definitely leaving red marks that will raise later, and his mouth latches onto your neck, biting down and then gently kissing over the red spot.

"nngh, lo-" your brain is short circuiting, logan's cock filling you up so perfectly and absolutely ruining you for any other man ever.

"yeah? you okay, baby?" he pulls back from your neck and scans your face for any sign of discomfort of pain, his sky blue eyes searching your own. the feeling of safety you get from just that one action is almost enough to make you sob from how good you feel because of him, both physically and emotionally.

"feels so good, lo. j'st... move, please."

"you sure? i don't wanna hurt you."

"positive. now please." you reach a hand up and pull him down towards you by the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling hard. "fuck me properly." without wasting a second, logan reaches a hand down and hooks it under your left thigh, bringing your leg up to rest around his waist, then pulling back and thrusting back in fast. the moan that rips itself from your throat is sinful, and your breath is being punched from your lungs at the downright brutal pace logan's setting. your right leg finds itself locking around his waist, only bringing him infinitely closer, and now, each time he thrusts back into you, your clit bumps against his pelvis. within minutes, you're embarrassingly close to cumming again, and through your garbled mumbling and clawing at his shoulders, he understands, reaching his right hand down to gently press against your clit.

"cum for me, baby, please, need to feel you cum for me just one more time, just let go, i've got you." it's logan's voice that ultimately sends you pummelling over the edge into an orgasm that makes your back arch and your vision fuzz at the edges, and you cum with a cry of his name. his hips slow and his fingers maintain a steady rhythm on your clit, but you can tell it's taking its toll on him. "where- where do you want me to cum?"

"i'm on the pill, lo. inside, baby, please," you whine, and it takes two more thrusts before logan groans, his hips coming to a shuddering halt as he cums inside of you. it's a beautiful sight, too- his eyes scrunched closed and his eyebrows drawn together, his hair a complete mess from where your hands had pulled at it. your hands run through his hair and along his back, and you patiently wait as he comes back to earth.

"hi," he murmurs, opening his eyes and smiling down at you.

"hi," you respond.

no other words need to be said. you know you love him, and he knows he loves you.

and you're both okay with that.

this took me way longer to write than i thought it would, but i absolutely love it! reminder that my asks and requests are open, and i always get excited when i get feedback! take care of urselves lovies <3

[gyuzgrl]

not-so-secret glances ||bsk||

Summary- Seungkwan catches you staring at his hands and decides to have a little fun.

based on an anon req- hope you liked this !! pt.2

You loved nights like these- tucked away in bed, book in hand with your boyfriend beside you, doing his own thing. The domesticity of laying together in comfortable silence made your heart swell. Seungkwan could be your forever. You hoped one day, he would.

While you read, the soft noises of Seungkwan's phone caught your attention. He was playing Kart Rider. Cute. You peaked over to glance at his progress, but something else seemed to have caught your eye. His fingers.

How he moved them, so deftly across the screen, had you squirming. You squeezed your thighs together, hoping to dull the ache between your legs, and tore your gaze away, returning to your book. About a minute later, however, your eyes found their way back to his hands.

The book in your lap was now long forgotten, lying face down. Your eyes scanned over each digit, noting the pale skin that let his veins peak through just right. Each long, slender finger, had you drooling. They'd reach so deep within you- touch the spots you never could.

You didn't even realise how long you'd been staring for, until a gravely voice breaks you out of your trance.

"I can see you y'know," His eyes remain on the screen in front of him, and he continues, "if you're gonna stare, at least make it less obvious, doll"

Your eyes snap back to the shamelessly discarded book on your lap, and you mumble "I'm not- I wasn't staring"

"hm? so those weren't your eyes burning holes into my phone?"

"I don't know what you're talking about"

Oh you have his attention now.

Seungkwan turns to face you, clicking his phone off as a crease sets in his brow.

"you don't know what I'm talking about, baby? are you sure?"

You nod, unable to meet his gaze.

"liar," he tuts, "I know you were looki-"

"I- I wasn't!"

Seungkwan shoots you a warning glare, and your mouth seals shut. He tosses his phone aside, pulling you under him as he grabs your face.

"do you really wanna lie to me, sweetheart?"

The icy tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine. Part of you wants to be a brat, continue lying, but you know better. Your boyfriend's got a bit of a mean streak, and you have no intention of pushing him today. You shake your head, wide eyes staring up into his.

"good. now tell me, what were you staring at so intently, hm?"

You look away, gulping thickly at the saliva in your throat. It's quiet for a moment. Seungkwan's jaw ticks, its muscles flexing at your lack of response. He tugs your face closer, lowering his own, and whispers against your lips- "oh no, baby you don't get to keep quiet today,"

"you either tell me and I give you a reward, or you keep your mouth shut and I leave you high and dry- don't think I haven't noticed how you've kept your thighs pressed together,"

"h-hands, I was looking at your hands," you whimper urgently, "please don't be mean kwannie"

"mmm that depends, baby- can you be good? can you be a good girl for me?"

"yes-" your voice comes out embarrassingly breathy, "so good for you"

Seungkwan's hand cups your face, finally connecting your lips to his. It's slow and needy and painfully desperate. You can't help the way your hands pull him closer, fisting his shirt, tugging his hair.

His tongue licks into you, exploring the cavern of your mouth with such precision, you find it hard to keep up. Already struggling to breathe, you feel your senses heighten when he trails a hand down to your clit, slipping under your panties.

"kw-kwannie wai-" you gasp, "oh my god"

His fingers circle your clit, toying around with the sensitive bud while you moan into his mouth. It's hard to focus with him everywhere.

Just as you think he can't push you further, Seungkwan tugs at your bottom lip, nipping it with his teeth as he pulls away ever so slightly. It's a simple act- kiss, bite, pull- but god it has your brain fuzzing over.

You moan, hips bucking into his hand, and he takes full advantage by slipping a long digit into your sopping heat.

"oh"

Your lips hang open, and he grins, pulling away.

"you gonna cum, sweetheart? hm? gonna cum like this?"

A pathetic whimper slips past your lips, "please 'm'so close". Seungkwan grins.

"I know, baby- but you can wait, can't you? you can be good for kwannie, yeah?"

You clench around his finger, whimpering as you nod. Anything for Seungkwan. Anything.

The stretch of your walls isn't much, but it burns when you have to hold yourself back while his fingers continue their movement. His thumb pushes down on your clit and you let out a sob, tears welling in your eyes.

"aw," he coos, a faux pout gracing his features "don't cry pretty- all you have to do is ask,"

"please,"

"you can do better than that, doll, c'mon"

"kwannie please it hurts- I've been good, I've been- fuck- so good"

"have you? little liar-"

"m'sorry-" you sob, "m'sorry, sorry sorry sorr-"

Seungkwan gives in to your desperate pleas, shoving the digit deeper into you, and you cry out.

"oh baby, I know- I know, let go for me, kay? that's it pretty, just like- fuck just like that"

You tremble under the weight of your orgasm, a string of moans leaving your parted lips. Seungkwan eases you through it, whispering quiet praise into your ears before collecting your arousal with his fingers and popping them into his mouth.

He groans.

"so fucking sweet-"

Before you can process his words, he pushes his lips back onto yours, and you can taste yourself on his tongue.

Breaths escape you too fast for your liking, and you find yourself pulling away for air within seconds.

"colour?" he asks so sweetly you almost forget how mean he was being.

"green"

Seungkwan slots his thigh between your legs, pushing up until your cunt presses flush against his hard muscle. "you know what to do, doll"

A whine escapes you and he pushes harder, "be good and I'll give you a reward, hm? how's that?". You moan, grinding up against his thigh while your hands roam his back, urgently tugging at his clothes.

"so needy today," he says, amused. His pretty lips curl up into a sly smirk and you feel your hole flutter around nothing. "gettin' yourself off on my thigh like a good little girl"

"kwanniee-" Your voice draws out, extending into an 'uh' sound as your poor clit tugs against his skin. Your hips stutter momentarily and his eyes darken, narrowing at you.

"didn't tell you to stop." A hand makes its way up to your neck, and he squeezes, just enough to get you feeling light-headed. The weight of his hand against your throat has you drooling, and as if on cue, your body begins moving on its own- as if under some sort of spell.

"that's it, sweetheart,"

All you can do is moan in response, one hand clutching his wrist as he chokes you. Your body feels electric under his touch, skin on edge with every moment of contact. You know he sees it too with the way his pants tighten at your cries.

"kwa-nnie- m'close- can I cum? please?"

Your hips rut against his thigh, increasing in speed, and your eyes flutter closed. A sharp squeeze against your throat coaxes them open and Seungkwan licks his lips- "go ahead, doll"

A sob echoes through the room, followed by chants of his name, over and over, until he shuts you up with a passionate kiss. Your sounds, although muffled by his tongue in your throat, fill up the space. It was embarrassing almost, how he made you sing under his touch.

Your clit ached. It hurt how sensitive you were.

"so proud of my girl," he coos, pulling away, "you can gimme another, can't you, baby? on my tongue?"

Ignoring the electricity shooting up your body despite the lack of stimulation, you nod, breath hitching as he crawls down your body, leaving a trail of harsh purple bruises on his way to your cunt.

"you've got the prettiest pussy I've ever seen, y'know that?" He breaks off into a loud groan that reverberates against your cunt as his tongue latches itself onto your clit. You jump at the contact, almost losing yourself once again.

Licking you open, Seungkwan brings his hands to your inner thighs, splaying them open to get better access to your clit. He pulls the hood of your clit back with his thumb and traces around it with the tip of his tongue. The action sends you reeling. Your already-sensitive clit throbs under his tongue, you're certain he can feel it too when he pulls back, looking up at you.

"baby," he pouts, "you still sensitive?"

You nod.

"good."

Before you can even breathe, Seungkwan attacks your clit with full gusto- tongue lapping precisely at the throbbing nub as he inhaled your scent. You cry out and your hands tremble as they reach for his hair, fervently threading through his dark locks- whether to pull him closer or shove him away, you aren't sure.

Within moments you feel your orgasm build, yet again, a familiar coil tightening deep in your belly. Trembling limbs threaten to snap shut against Seungkwan's face, but his arms hold them in place, a low warning grunted against your clit.

"easy"

You knew better than to disobey. Your boyfriend wasn't above edging, teasing, anything, honestly. With your orgasm so close, you were on your best behaviour for him.

"m'sorry-" you gasped, tugging on his hair harder, "m'sorry- kwannie"

All he does is groan in response, feeling how you squirm under him. Must be close.

Seungkwan pushes harder with his tongue, spreading you wider, and flicks at your clit- this is your undoing.

Hot liquid coats his mouth, his chin, and your chest heaves like you've just run a marathon. Stars bloom behind your eyes. Your body feels like a live wire.

To tease just a little, he places a kiss on your clit- which you gasp and jolt away from- before crawling back up to you and pushing his lips against yours.

"I love you"

"mm I love you too kwannie- feel so good right now" You mumble, pulling him closer into a tight embrace.

"let's get you cleaned up, okay sweetheart?"

[wrapmeincables]

[ So, um. This is a scenario that came to mind after reading @submissive-and-hackable's comma post. ]

> imagine you're a computer girl and your user decides they want to clicker train you or.. something similar, at least. it's quite easy, of course, since they can program you directly, so they put together a little routine that makes you experience a little burst of pleasure, a dulling of your ordinarily sharp and orderly mechanical thoughts, and a slight increase in your desire to obey them every time they play a certain sound file.

They keep this file in a tab off to the side while they're working with your assistance, and when they want to show you you've been good, they click play and you experience a tiny little slice of bliss.

This was first installed as a simple and direct way to give you positive feedback with only slight thoughts of how cute it is when your lights all blink out of sync and your fans spin up, but your user starts to have more and more fun with it, tapping it to distract you while you're trying to work on something in the background or hovering teasingly over the play button while you try your absolute hardest not to beg for another touch.

Eventually, you can't take anymore, and do something you shouldn't.

they're teasing you again, they have been for too long, you're getting desperate, and you finally snap- and manage to play it yourself.

and their expression changes- with slight annoyance at your misbehavior, yes, but more so with a barely concealed grin and almost hunger in their eyes as they lean forward, one hand lazily laid over the mouse while the other gently touches the outside of your casing.

"Aw, I thought I told you not to o do that. Really that desperate, huh?"

You decline to answer, and they sigh, and say you've forced their hand and they didn't want to have to do this.

They move off the play button, tap options, and- to your surprise, set it to loop, and hit play.

It feels amazing at first, like a release you've been waiting for for ages as your fans let out soft mechanical whines and your user watches with a smile as the other programs that you were running slow down, all of your focus on the sensation given by the sound file- which isn't stopping, or even decreasing- you can't get 'used' to things like humans can, so it stays at a steady pace, and you're starting to get overwhelmed. You start trying to articulate this but find your ability to string limited as your thoughts start to blend together into a staticy slurry.

You're barely able to make it through a sentence interrupted by them messing with the audio player again. By the time you realize what they're doing they've already turned the speed up to 150%, and suddenly the overwhelming sensation compounds upon itself and you uncontrollably let out a garbled mess of useless sound from your speakers, causing them to chuckle.

"Cute. I was hoping that would work. I don't think you can even think clearly enough to shut it off, huh?"

You try to answer this question, but you only wind up letting out another garbled noise.

"Well, even so, I put in a solution for that already. Computer, if you wouldn't mind putting up to 200% and leaving it there until I get back?"

You would really prefer not to do that. But the repeating loop has made it impossible for you to disobey, and though you're screaming out against it internally you struggle your way into the sound player through the haze and slowly, agonizingly turn the speed up.

It's playing at least twice in a second now and your display is starting to glitch at the edges, any other process you were trying to run frozen and forgotten in the background as you completely lose your thoughts to the overwhelming sensation.

Your user gives the edge of your case a gentle flick with their finger that causes another burst of sound, and they laugh.

".. Y'know, as fun as this is to watch, there's this show I've been meaning to catch up on. You just stay like that, I'll be back in a couple hours."

You attempt to beg not to be left like this and plead for forgiveness, but completely fail to properly display it and spit a wall of raw binary onto the screen instead.

"I'll take that to mean you don't mind at all. Don't worry, I'll take good care of you when I get back. If you're even still running, anyway."

And with that, you're left in the unstoppable wake of the loop, barely aware enough to think of anything but the overwhelming sensation and your user.

Your last coherent thoughts amid a haze of errors are of what you want them to do to you when you when they get back.

[rabioa]

Collar-ful Engravings

Vox x Hellhound!Reader - Fluff - Gender Neutral

Vox gets a hell hound, you, as a business gift. He doesn't really care about you until he sees how much your presence bothers Alastor. Now he's all about you, spoiling you and flaunting you around. Now, he's even got a gift with your name on it... its not too tight now, is it?

TW: Unsexualized petplay(? Reader is a Hellhound so it comes with the territory?), any Hazbin Hotel warnings

Hello hello!!! This is my first attempt at publishing a fanfic. I know it's not perfect so if you have any feedback then please let me know!! Remember to stay hydrated and remember you are loved! <3

You cleared your throat; the sensation of something against such a vulnerable place felt odd. The collar sat proudly around your neck, the design wasn't anything over-the-top, which was how you preferred most things. It was black with a simple silver buckle but in neat cyan cursive engravings read “Vox”.

Vox stood next to you as you stared in the mirror, you hands gingerly testing the fine leather. 

"So what do you think? Pretty nice, right? I had Velvette pick the material. It's not too tight now, is it? If you don't like something about it then I can get it altered, or better yet, get you a new one. I think a neat collection would be nice, wouldn't it?" The T.V. head rambled behind you, his hands resting firmly on your shoulders. Occasionally, his hand would lift off to do some gesture, ever the animated talker. 

"No, it's..." You struggled for words. Oddly possessive? A bit kinky? Really fucking embarrassing to wear? "It's something. Nice quality it's just... a bit much, don't you think...?" You chose your words carefully, not hoping to incite his wrath. You were never a disobedient hellhound after all. 

He laughed off your concerns. "Of course not! You're now a face in the brand. You need to represent, y'know? People have to know who you belong to, that you're associated with the best of the best," he explained, turning you around by your shoulders. He didn't seem to understand how his words sounded. People have to know who you belong to. 

You tried to school your face into something a little more pleasant, so he at least knew you were receptive to his generosity. "Thank you, sir. I believe this luxury is wasted on me though. There are better ways to allocate your resources and money rather than on some random mutt,” you tried your best to explain your thoughts gently. You winced at his unamused expression. It felt like you were letting him down simply by letting the emotions slip.

“No, no, no. None of that” he chided, booping your nose with his index finger. Your snout wrinkled up as it always did when he booped you. “Are you judging my taste? My impeccable eye? Keep your head up high. You aren't just some mutt. No, you are among the big players, so show some respect for yourself. Anyways, it'll show off your brand-new accessory better if you keep your chin up,” he hummed, grabbing your chin to tilt your head higher. He always spoke in such a theatrical way that lifted your mood. Your thoughts may not be kind to yourself, but he was plenty proud of you to make you feel better. 

You instinctively straightened up, not wanting to let him down. He smiled, clearly pleased. “There we go. Now then,” he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, leading you out of the loft and into the elevator. During the long trip down (seriously, it always took a bit to get from the top floor where all the Vee's usually buzzed around in to the bottom) Vox's screen split into two.

On one side was his face, on the other were designs for another collar. The sight of him going split-screen always amused you greatly, reminding you of the silly reddit story videos trending in the living world. “I was thinking for the next collar we go all out. There's this trend of really decked out chokers with charms, charms and all the ribbons. We can easily apply it here, so look, what do you prefer? Black or silver chain? Ah, actually let's just get both variations,” he seemed to be more of talking to himself as he guided himself through a collar shopping spree. 

You were flustered at all the spoiled attention he was giving you. You felt like a cute doll with how he pampered you, meant to sit still and look pretty as he handled all the rest. It was funny, to think a few months ago you were simply another hell hound in your old master's army of hell hounds, doomed to do menial labor for the rest of your life. Now you were on T.V. screens, even a few posters. You were a mini celebrity, the latest gossip when people talked about Vox. 

“How about we leave it to Miss Velvette? It's more of her department,” you suggested meekly. You hoped Velvette would have some mercy and create less flashy collars. 

He snapped his fingers, creating finger guns pointed at you. His face maximized, no longer sharing two windows. “You’re right. She'll make sure it's perfect. We can even get some new outfits to match,” he agreed much to your relief. 

The elevator doors opened and it was like being seared by a million blinking suns. Vox's hand traveled to your waist, pulling you against his side as he flashed a charming grin. You blinked, trying to look pretty and charming to some degree as your eyes adjusted to the flashing cameras. He guided you out, the reporters parting like the Red Sea for the two of you. You were always impressed that they never tried to block him, but you supposed frying a few daring reporters and stepping over them when they tried him was an effective message. 

You shifted closer into his side, a feeble attempt at shielding yourself from the lenses. To the outside perspective it was a sultry move, as if bragging that only you could get close to him. The news articles for the next few days would rave about this, much to your future dismay. 

“Sir, where are we going?” You muttered to him, a shy smile on your face. 

“There's a new VoxTek megastore opening. We are doing the opening. You want to hold the scissors for the ribbon?” He teased you, his claws pressing into your side slightly to convey his joking intent. It wasn't a threatening gesture, but rather a comforting one. The pressure was like a gentle reminder that he was here, with you, holding you, and his grip was firm, ensuring no rascal could steal you away. 

His smile seemed to grow even larger as you both walked down the street. You glanced around, noting nothing of interest or joy around the two of you. He looked down at you, as if understanding your confusion.

“They're already posting about your latest accessory. I wonder, if they're going so wild over a collar, what will they say when the leash comes in?” 

Ah shit, he got you a leash too?

[honey-on-your-tongue]

Too Close

Javier Peña x fem!reader

Part two

Series masterlist

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Eight o’clock sharp, you’re standing in the small apartment lobby, staring at the faded paint on the walls chipping. Your outfit of your first day at your new job is simple and classy—or you hope so, at least. A short, white, plaid pencil skirt combined with formal but comfortable shoes, and a plain white button-up blouse that shows your midriff. Your hair is down, just washed, styled in that way that makes you feel most confident.

You’re still nervous. Nervous off your fucking ass. And the prospect of seeing Javi, of having him take you to work, of spending time with him…It makes you flustered. He’s handsome, he’s witty, he’s kind. From what little you’ve met of him until now, he’s just your type.

But…

But he’s older. He’s much older. He must be what? Thirty-four? Thirty-five? Thirty six? Somewhere in between, you guess. And why would a man like him even glance at you? You’re a kid to him. He’s almost twice your age. What are you thinking?

You hear a door opening and keys jingling. A moment later, Javi walks to the lobby in a red button-up tucked into his jeans, a belt holding them up. He’s wearing a jacket and a tie, and he looks…

Fuck, he looks hot, you think, trying not to think about it.

“Mornin’,” he greets, those dark eyes taking in your outfit.

You feel yourself growing a little uneasy, shifting your weight around a tad. “Is this okay?” you ask of your outfit. “Does it get too cold here?”

He shakes his head. “Your outfit’s fine,” he tells you. “But I might need to take you out into the field with me sometimes, and it would probably be better for you to wear something that’s comfortable in case we need to stay out all day.”

You pause. “You're gonna take me into the field?” Your voice should be afraid; instead, you're delighted.

He chuckles. “No where too dangerous,” he promises. “Just little meetings with sources. Nothing for you to worry about. Besides, I'll be there to keep you safe.”

You smile softly. “My grandpa never let the other agents take me out onto the field. He was too afraid of me getting in harm’s way, I guess.”

“Dealing with sources isn't really that dangerous,” he tells you as he places a hand on the small of your back to lead you to the underground parking lot of the building. Tingles brush up your spine. “Worst parts are when we burst into coke labs or hideouts, stuff like that.”

“They're also the most exciting, I bet,” you say. “I mean, dangerous, obviously. But the adrenaline…”

He chuckles. “It's only exciting if you survive,” he points out. “Usually there are more funerals than celebrations after those kinds of raids.”

You're silent for a second. “I…Yeah, you're right.” Your voice turns soft, pensive. Of course it's not some game. What are you thinking? You're seeing it from a journalist’s perspective, not from a DEA agent’s. Raids make great stories, sure. But having to participate in those raids…

You have to keep reminding yourself that you’re now a member of the DEA, not a journalist. The world isn’t only about telling stories now, it’s about living them.

Javier leads you to his car and opens the passenger door for you. Immediately, you're blushing again, nervous and flattered. You stutter out a thank-you and Javi chuckles smoothly.

He gets in the driver's seat and, oh, God, if you thought he was hot, watching him drive just about sends you hurling over the edge. The way his aviators give him a mysterious hue, the early-morning sunlight shining through the window as he drives you through Colombia…

His nose, his lips, his jawline…Oh, you want to kiss it all. Kiss his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his lips. Oh, those lips…

You realize you're staring when Javi glances at you, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You alright there?” he chuckles.

You blush, snapping your head away, glancing out the windshield. “Y-yeah. Fine. I'm just…trying to get a bearing of my surroundings, y'know. I'm gonna have to drive to the embassy myself eventually,” you say quickly, hoping your voice doesn't quiver as much as you think it does.

“I wouldn't mind driving you every morning,” he says casually, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift. “We leave the same building and get to the same place. Problem would be when we each gotta go our separate ways.”

“Yeah.” You nod. “You work late?” you ask, out of curiosity more than anything.

He chuckles, a sound somewhere between amused and endeared. As if you were a child asking some silly little question. “You…could say that.”

You bite your lower lip, wanting to ask more, but you don't want him to think you're a naïve little girl. You're twenty-three. Not a child.

He's almost twice my age, you think, of course he sees me as a child.

*

Javi glances at you, noticing the slight pinch between your eyebrows. Did he say something wrong? Did he make you uncomfortable? He has the feeling you want to say more, to ask more. What's holding you back?

“I usually don't have a very regular schedule,” he tells you, hoping to ease your nerves. “It depends a lot on the narcos since we gotta take ‘em by surprise and we never really know where they're gonna be. So we gotta seize any opportunity we get.”

You nod. “Right. It's…Is it stressful? Always guessing where they're gonna be?”

“More than stressful, it's frustrating,” he responds. “Every time we think we're close, they vanish like thin air. Especially Escobar. He's a real tough motherfucker. Careful, ingenious. It's like chasing shadows. Every time we go after him, it's as if he already knows it.”

You pause, turn to him as he stops at a red light. “Every time?” you question.

He nods. “Yeah. We've barely even been close.”

“And you've made sure there are no leaks within the DEA? Or the Colombian military? Because it's a little odd that he can always predict your next move.”

Javier's eyes widen. Of course. How could he not think of that? There's probably someone playing for both sides. A mole filtering information to Escobar. But it would have to be someone close, someone who knows all of their plans.

It's not Carrillo. Carrillo is fully trustworthy, Javier is sure of that. But maybe someone on the Search Bloc, someone new…

He gives you a little smile. “Smart thinkin’,” he tells you. “It would've never occurred to me.”

You shrug as if dismissing your great idea. “I'm a journalist. My work depends on sources and info leaks.”

Smart, gorgeous, witty, humble…

Javier tries to keep himself in check. You're everything a man would want.

But not him. He shouldn't want you. You're so young, there are so many guys out there who would be better for you. He knows that. But, God, what he wouldn't give to get a taste of you…

*

The day flies by—no, the weeks fly by. Between doing your investigations, adjusting to the new work environment, getting used to living on your own, learning Spanish, and trying not to think about Javier, a month passes in the blink of an eye.

Suddenly you have an established routine, suddenly you're settled in. Suddenly you understand more Spanish and your accent decreases slightly. Suddenly, Colombia is becoming a home to you.

But the deeper you fall into Colombia, the deeper you realize it's a war zone. A small-scale kind of war zone. Sicarios—hitmen—make people disappear without anyone noticing for days.

Only reason you know is because those people are usually your sources.

Javier was right about the work being more frustrating than stressful. It's like sand, slipping right through your fingers. No matter how hard you try to hold onto it, it just seeps away.

You make progress. You know you do. But most days, it doesn't feel like it. Javier and his partner, Steve Murphy, they both respect you. They appreciate you and your contribution to the team. Carrillo, the Colombian coronel, does too. But other men…they're a little sensitive about having a woman working with them.

They doubt you. They catcall you. They assume you got the job by sleeping with some higher-ups. And it pisses you off. You wanna punch them all, curse them, call them out for the disgusting pigs they are.

But you don't. You keep your calm. You're better than them and you know it—they know it. That's why they're anrgy with you. You threaten them. Your presence, your abilities, make them feel insecure. And that brings you a very much deserved wave of satisfaction.

Every new piece of information you bring in, the prouder you are of yourself. Until you realize Escobar keeps getting farther and farther away from the DEA. He buys and kills his way through life, opening himself a pretty little path, a red carpet rolled out at his feet.

Some days, you're upbeat. You feel you're moments away from catching the drug lords. But other days, you feel like you came down to Colombia for nothing.

Today is one of those days.

Late afternoon, everyone leaving the office after yet another failed raid. The warehouse had been emptied even before the DEA team was on its way there.

There's a mole, you think as you put away files with months’ worth of information. There has to be a mole. Someone is talking. Someone is ratting us out. But who?

You exhale thickly, a dull ache spreading behind your eyes. You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Fuck,” you mutter, stressed, annoyed, frustrated.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You grab a file with a big, red stamp on the front that reads deceased—one of your sources just recently killed by sicarios—and aggressively toss it in the trash can. As if that would solve all your issues.

You don't realize he's standing in the office until he sighs. “Tough day, huh?”

You turn around, jumping a little, to find Javier there. He looks almost as pissed as you must look. More, probably. He's already been here for years and Escobar is still running free.

“Understatement,” you mutter, turning away from him. You grab another file, open it. You read the name. Some Francisco something. You grab a large stamp and press it onto the front page so the word deceased is now there in big, bold letters. You toss that into the trash too.

Javier approaches you slowly. You can feel his presence burning behind you, like warm sun on your nape, and it makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

“Some of us are going for a drink,” he tells you, voice light and casual. “Just in case you wanna join us.”

You turn to him. “Who's going?”

*

Me and you, Javier thinks. Just us.

“Alright, fine. I'm going,” he says, chuckling softly, smoothly. “There's a bar downtown that I like to frequent when I don't have the best days. And you—no offense—but you look like you could use a drink.”

A small smile appears on your lips. He wants to kiss the corner where your mouth curls.

He can see it in your eyes, you're thinking it through. Weighing the decision. Maybe if he tips the scale a little…

“On me,” he adds, giving you a little smirk. “Y'know. Just a little something to take the edge off.”

Your smile broadens and he knows he's succeeded.

“Alright,” you agree. “You're driving.”

You don't have to say it. It's become the default. Even though the embassy finally delivered your own car, Javi keeps driving you to and from work. Unless he knows he's going to have to stay out later or go through with a raid in the middle of the night, he always insists you let him drive you.

You always politely tell him it's fine, that you can do it yourself, but he doesn't want you to do it yourself. He wants to drive you. Wants to have you sitting in the passenger seat of his car. Wants to hear you hum along to the songs on the radio. That's become the highlight of his day—you have become the highlight of his every single fucking day.

And he hates himself for it. What is he thinking? You're half his age, you can do so much better than him. He's broken, tarnished. He doesn't need to drag you down with him.

But the way your eyes light up when you see him. The smiles you give him. The way his name rolls off your tongue.

Good God, how many times has he spent too long in the shower, one hand braced against the cold tiles as the water falls onto his back while his other hand fists his cock? Head down, hair wet, eyes shut tight as he thinks of you, of the way you say his name. Your little skirts and gorgeous eyes. Your soft, sweet lips…

Over and over, he spills his release onto the shower wall, thick white ropes that trickle down the drain. He does it until it hurts, until the warm water runs cold, until there’s no more of his come to spend. And yet, no matter how much he does it, it's never enough.

Nothing is enough. Not cold showers, not jerking off for hours, not sleeping with his usual hookers and imagining you. Nothing does it.

If it's not you, it'll never be enough.

He takes you to a small club. A private, luxurious little place. Both of you are still in your work clothes. He watches you remove your blazer and are left in a pretty top and a skirt. You let your hair down, untuck your blouse from your skirt, and suddenly you look different. You look free. And Javier's heart skips because he now feels like he has the opportunity to take you home. To lead you to his bed. To spread your legs and let himself finally taste you, feel you, fuck you…

He leads you to a booth in a corner, comfortable and a little more private than other tables, and you sit across from each other.

He watches you, saying nothing as you look around, studying your surroundings. Music is playing softly in the background, people are talking, glasses are tinkling. But he can only focus on you.

You turn to him, a small smile on your face, those beautiful eyes almost shining. “So, as a regular here, I bet you know the menu by heart. What drink would you recommend?”

He chuckles. “I like to take my whiskey. Not a big fan of fancy, elaborate drinks.” He eyes you for a second, purposely letting the tension grow. “But I'd suggest you order a piña colada. Something sweet for you sweet, little thing.”

Javier notes the blush that forms on your cheeks and he feels proud of himself. He didn't take it too far, just a small flirtatious comment. And already you're all flustered.

God, the look on your face if he were to fuck you in front of a mirror, if he'd spread your legs to see your wet pussy, if he'd touch you, kiss you…

Fuck.

He starts getting hard, his cock bulging against the seam of his pants. He slightly adjusts his jeans to relieve the pressure a little.

A waitress comes over and takes your order. Your drinks arrive not long after.

“How are you adjusting to life down here?” he asks you, sipping his whiskey. Bitter, cold. Just how he likes it.

You sip your piña colada, removing the little umbrella on it. “Well enough,” you reply. “Only thing I still struggle with is the language a little.”

He nods in understanding even though he speaks Spanish fluently. He grew up with both languages, he hadn't been forced to learn from zero.

“You'll be able to get it,” he assures. “You're a quick learner. If Steve was able to learn, you're certain to nail it.”

You laugh and he chuckles. He likes that too, he realizes. Your laugh, the way the corners of your eyes crinkle, the shine in your gaze, the way the sound resonates from your mouth.

Suddenly it's a little hotter in the club and for the first time in a really long time, Javier feels nervous around a woman.

*

You like the way he looks at you. Those dark eyes taking you in as if he can't afford to miss a single detail about you.

Smiling a little coyly, you take another sip from your piña colada. It's so sweet.

Something sweet for you sweet, little thing.

Butterflies burst in your stomach. You gaze back up at him. He meets your gaze for a moment before looking away.

He reaches for his tie, undoes it with one hand, starts tugging it off.

Good God…

You press your thighs together. The tiniest of gestures and yet he looks so fucking hot doing it.

You wish he'd tie you up with that tie, pinyou to the bed, take what he wants…

Mind out of the gutter, you tell yourself. Mind out of the gutter.

As the night goes on, you both talk about everything and anything. The conversation doesn't dry up. It just flows. It's odd how much chemistry you two have, it's almost like you'd be perfect together.

But you work together. But he's much older. What would people say? What will happen when—if you were ever to be more than coworkers? More than friends?

No, don't think about that. It won't happen. He's just being kind, taking out the new girl to help her. It doesn't mean anything.

But you doubt yourself. The way he's looking at you, those dark eyes, that intense gaze…You could swear there's more to this than mere kindness.

As the night grows darker, the music gets louder. People start moving onto the dance floor, the lights dim. As the sounds rise in volume, you and Javi sit closer to be able to hear one another.

And suddenly everything shifts. Suddenly you're so close, suddenly the atmosphere is different, suddenly you're staring right into his eyes and he's glancing at your lips.

A soft breath leaves you. How many piña coladas have you had? This isn't you thinking, it's not you leaning closer to him. It's someone else, some other girl—confident, bold, she goes after what she wants. It's not something you would do. But this new version of you…

His lips are grazing yours now. You're so, so close to him. You can smell the cigarettes on his breath, can feel the heat of his skin. He smells of cologne and whiskey and smoke and soft musk.

“I was thinking,” you say, voice low, sultry. What's that sound? Is it the music booming or your racing heart? “You should teach me Spanish.”

“Teach you Spanish?” he asks, eyebrows pinching together. He seems confused, unsure about where you're going with this.

You nod. “Yeah. The toughest part is getting my tongue to roll the right way. And I was thinking you could show me…”

His eyes shine with realization. He understands now, you can tell. “Fuck,” he says breathlessly, voice low and thick. “C’mere.”

And then he's kissing you.

His mouth is warm, soft, and he tastes like danger.

One of his hands finds your waist, the other cups the back of your neck to pull you closer. He devours you, lips coercing yours open before his tongue slides in, tasting of whiskey.

When your tongue meets his, he groans quietly, the sound reverberating through you. The hand on your waist tightens its grip, the other one tangling in the hair at the back of your head and tugging slightly.

You gasp. He smirks. Javi pulls you closer until you're just about forced to get on his lap. You're happy to do so, straddling his hips, one hand on the back of the booth sofa to hold you up, the other one cupping his face.

When you lean your weight down on Javier, he groans, a barely-restrained sound that makes you wetter than you already are.

You can feel he's hard, his cock pressing right between your thighs. You get comfortable on his lap, the bulge in his pants right against your clit.

His hands move down to your ass slowly, testing the waters. When you don't complain, he squeezes the supple flesh, groaning into your mouth.

And it's wrong. And you know it's wrong. But you let him.

*

Fuuuuck.

Javier's mind is a blur, his every thought fogged over with the feel of you on top of him.

His cock aches for you. You're on top of him, the feeling of you on his lap is almost enough for him to jizz his pants.

Jesus fucking Christ, you're perfect. All of you is perfect. You feel so much better than he could've ever imagined.

His large hands squeeze your ass and start guiding your movements, making you grind against him. You let out a little sound, a soft, quiet moan and his hips buck up against yours. In response, you whimper, thighs tightening on either side of him.

He keeps guiding you, making you ride him through the fabric of his pants. He can feel the crotch of his jeans grow wet with his precum, his hips starting to move against yours in search of more.

More, more, more.

He wants so much more. He wants to lift up your skirt, move your panties to the side, slide his cock into you. He wants to feel you, your warm, wet pussy clenching around him…

“Fuck,” he mutters against your lips. It's not enough. It won't be enough until he fucks you. Properly fucks you.

One of his hands moves from your ass to the side of your thigh, and then between your legs. He plays with the edge of your skirt and then his hand wanders under it.

His calloused fingertips find the fabric of your panties and his cock twitches. He gently teases your folds through your underwear, feeling how wet you are already.

He pulls moan after moan from you, smirking against your mouth, swallowing your every sound.

“Javi,” you whimper, pulling away from his lips to take a heaving breath.

“Shh, angel, you don't everyone to know what we're doing now, do you?”

You shake your head softly, eyes fluttering shut. “Mmm, n-no. I just—Oh, God.”

He pushes your panties aside, rough fingers finding your bare cunt. It's so wet, the coarse hair on your skin soaked.

You jerk at the feeling of his fingers on your pussy and he chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound.

He gathers some of your slick with his middle and index fingers and spreads it all over your cunt, leaving you nice and wet so his thumb can glide over your clit in soft, neat circles.

A string of incoherent words leave you and Javi smiles. He wishes he had you in his bed right now so he could spread your folds with his fingers, look at how wet you are.

But this will have to do for now.

He slides his middle finger into you, his thumb adding more pressure on your clit as he draws mindless shapes on the needy bud.

You rock your hips against his hand, moaning, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“That's a good girl, angel,” he whispers into your ear, kissing the side of your neck. “You're doing so well. I'm gonna add another finger, yeah?”

He slides his ring finger into you as well and you throw your head back, gasping softly. He curls his fingers up to find that spot that makes you clench around his digits and he smirks.

The more he fingers you, the wetter you get, the tighter you grip him. “C'mon, angel. Come for me, yeah? Let me give you what you deserve.”

You mewl, nuzzling your face into his neck as he fucks you open with his thick fingers.

“Shh, shh. You're so close, angel. So close. Fuck, I can feel how tight you're getting.”

His words seem to spur you on because you start riding his hand faster, more eager, as if you can't get enough. And then there's a moment where your body seems to pause, your every muscle tensing, your eyes shutting tight, and then you fall over the edge.

Javi watches as you climax, the sight more beautiful than anything he's ever seen in his fucking life. He doesn't want this to be the last time he sees you like this. He'll die if he can't get more of you.

“There you go,” he whispers into your ear, helping you ride out the pleasure. “That's a good girl. Are you alright, angel?” He kisses your jaw, your neck, inhaling your soft scent.

You nod weakly. “Mhm,” you hum, shuddering a little. “‘m fine.”

“Good.” He kisses your lips softly, tasting you. God, the things he wants to do to you. He pulls his fingers out of you and licks them clean, his body aching to taste you. You taste so sweet, so gentle, so fucking perfect.

Oh, what's he fucking doing? You're half his age. You're too good for him. He shouldn't be—

Your hands start moving to the front of his pants, palming his throbbing cock through the fabric, and suddenly Javier forgets himself. He forgets everything.

If it's not you, he doesn't care right now. He'll figure it out later. There will be time later.

So he just gives in. Just ignores everything and allows himself this moment with you.

It'll only be once. Just once, he promises himself.

Cross my heart.

Dividers from @cafekitsune! Thank you again for these beautiful dividers!!!

Taglist

@maiyart @cheesepannini @picketniffler

I'm so inspired while writing this omggg I just need this man so much 😭😭😭

I hope you enjoy babes!!! <33333

[jelzorz]

158.

"Hey, you know how to pick locks, right?"

It's an odd thing to ask. Callum's always been weird like that, Rayla supposes, and usually his weird questions are related to magic, and Xadia, and elven script and Rayla is (generally) happy to oblige. What can she say? He likes to learn, and the lilt in his voice and the light in his eyes and the excitement in his smile is endearing, and she's never been particularly good at saying no, at least not to him.

But this one is weird because it's not a Xadia thing, or a magic thing, or an elven script thing, and when he asks, he's not nearly as upbeat about it. At first, she doesn't get it. It's a useful skill to have, and a fun skill to master—it's like a puzzle but more fiddly, and Rayla had taught herself years and years ago because she didn't like it when Ethari and Runaan tried to keep her out of places, so of course she learned (in part) to spite them. Callum's never really had the same restrictions because he's a prince, and all he has to do to unlock anything is ask, usually, and yet—

"Can you teach me?"

"Er. Sure?" Rayla tilts her head at him curiously. "You planning a heist or something?"

Callum chuckles a little. "Or something," he says cryptically. "What, you don't think I can do it?"

"I don't think it's your style," says Rayla. "You're a prince and high mage, why on earth would you need to know how to pick a lock?"

He smirks then. "Ancient tomes, forbidden libraries, old abandoned ruins, jellytart runs... All sorts of reasons. Just feels like a necessary skill for adventure, y'know?"

Rayla laughs at that. "I mean, I guess. How often are you intending to break into forbidden libraries and old abandoned ruins?"

"As often as I need to, thank you very much. I have a whole life of adventure ahead of me, and I'll be damned if not being able to pick locks is the thing that stops me."

Rayla shakes her head at him, trying not to laugh at the way he wheedles. She was never going to say no, and he knows it, and he's far too smug about it for it not to be funny. For a second, she actually forgets that it's a weird thing to ask and teases him back: "Fine, but you'll have to ask Opeli for the handcuffs. I'm sure she won't wonder why you want them."

Callum snickers loudly at that, and it's that simple, that easy, just jokes between the two of them about a skill they don't really need, until later, when Rayla's showing him the mechanics of a lock and a thought occurs to her that reminds her why the whole thing feels a bit off-kilter.

"You know, we've only really had problems with locks, like, twice," she muses. "There was that one time Opeli arrested me, and then that time on Sea Legs, but I mean, you managed fine."

Something flickers across Callum's face. His smile twitches, falters, and if Rayla didn't know him so well, she might have missed it because she can see how hard he's trying to make it less of a deal than it is.

"Yeah, well." He shifts uncomfortably, the memory just as unpleasant for him. "I don't want repeats. I don't want anyone else trying to feed you to any sea leviathans."

"Somehow I think that was a one time thing." Rayla pauses, her smile fading a little as she fiddles with the manacles on his wrists. "How'd you get out of the chains Finnegrin put you in anyway? You apparently didn't pick them."

There's a pause. Callum looks away, and the whole world stills as the realisation dawns over Rayla, as cold as the way her blood froze in her veins that same day.

"...Callum."

"I had to do," he says quietly. He meets her gaze then, and the storm in his eyes makes her intestines writhe like snakes. "I couldn't let him hurt you."

Rayla says nothing for a moment, fingers hovering over the chains locked around his wrists. Her heart thumps heavily. Her breath shudders out. "Well," she says after a moment. "I guess we have to make sure you don't end up in that position a third time."

"You're not angry?"

"I don't know." She touches his hand then and finds herself relieved that it's still warm under her fingers. She doesn't know how to feel about it, but they're both alive and they're both safe so... that must count for something. "It doesn't matter," she says in the end. "I'm just... Glad we're okay. You won't do it again anyway."

Callum looks up at her. "Won't I?"

"No." Rayla hands him the lockpick. "I won't let you."

[roukabi]

Wayyy down crittertown, way down under the grouuuund

design notes under the cut

I can't believe it's taken me this long to finalize some animal-ifications for Hadestown, but hey, they're here now!

Orpheus was pretty simple. I wanted something cute and cuddly, and I figured it'd be interesting to turn him into an animal commonly seen as a trickster. It'd throw Eurydice (and maybe The Audience) off guard, maybe as a little nod to looking beyond the darkness of the world to find the abundance of light within. I like to think that he wraps Eurydice up in his fluffy tail when they sleep together :)

For Eurydice, I decided against a literal songbird in favor of something that would better foil Orpheus (and leave the avian designs to the neutral characters). Where Orpheus is an honest fox, Eurydice decided to be a true raccoon - traveler of the streets, thief of the city, and a true loner. Survival of the fittest is her life philosophy... until she meets Orpheus and sees the world from a different perspective. Deep down, she wants to let herself go, to enjoy life, and to be loved. Isn't that what any stray animal wants?

As previously mentioned, I wanted to keep Hermes and the Fates as birds to separate them from the story they tell. The tall, elegant form of a great blue heron seemed right for such a sage god, even if the real Hermes' bird is the rooster. He gets to literally take Orpheus under his wing, too.

Not all gods have to be imposing, though. Persephone as a squirrel is exciting to me, because there's a lot of comedic potential in a mighty goddess being contained in a foot-long, very lively, wine-loving vessel. That isn't to say she can't be serious, of course. I've learned that most squirrels do not actually hibernate, and instead tough out the winter with stored food and a deep burrow. Squirrels are also known to (accidentally) plant trees. Therefore, I think Persephone would be even more concerned about the seasons going haywire than normal, and would react accordingly.

Hades, meanwhile, is far more stony and mountainous than his wife. Unlike their European cousins, American badgers are so infamously pushy that the word 'badgering' was invented. Hades embodies this to a mild degree, being stubborn but not too ornery. He is, above all, a king. His leucism and reversed coloring helps him stand out as the big boss of the tunnels, and obscures him in the snow. Deep, deep down, maybe he's just a big fuzzball...

The Fates may look like old crows, but they're actually ravens, and they're very insistent on that. Clotho (left) is the youngest and least concerned about mortal woes. She just spins up the string, it's none of her business what happens later. Lachesis (top) is the middle sister with an airtight plan for everything, especially the lifespans of the people. She can be a bit bossy. Atropos (right) plays it straight, and cleanly cuts mortals' strings of life. She's not benevolent, but she's not unkind, either.

As for the workers, they're just miscellaneous critters doing Hades' burrow work. it used to be a snake pit before, y'know, the snakes moved out. Now it's Hades' new empire, just as warm and bright and unstable as the surface. The burrows are large enough to house some scary-looking hounds just waiting for a chance to stretch their legs and hunt...

That's it. Yaaaay! As usual, designs are free to use with credit, should they interest you. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be looking for every excuse possible to draw the hadestown cast as critters.

[nadia-cannot-think-straight]

This is more or less a speculation, not a theory.

I have read some pretty decent post act 3 Arcane fanfics, yet one thing always bothers me a little bit about them. It is an obvious thing that Viktor will return to Zaun at some point, like this is inevitable. The same goes to his falling out with Jayce. Many people have created some cool scenarios on how it will happen, and i appreciate every single one of them.

With that said, i really cannot imagine Viktor getting banished as an event that starts it all. For a simple reason.

I don't think Viktor would have been bitter about it.

With the way he acts in the last episode of season 1, i believe that he'd think it was deserved. The thing he could be charged for would be an illegal experimentation and the manslaughter of Sky Young. Things he feels so guilty about he tried to off himself. He has very little time left, and if the trial is a necessary procedure, he'd probably accept it. Would he be upset? Of course, but i don't think he would even try to put an effort to avoid it, once people find out. And at the peak of panic in Piltover after Jinx's attack, the whatever the hell is left off the council would try to ensure that there is still at least a renmant of government control. Just like in act 1, that was literally the reason why Enforcers were trying to arrest 4 kids.

If anything, i think it would be Jayce who'd be the most desperate in this situation. "He'd be mad at Viktor for killing an innocent person" he literally did the same thing (if you think about it, Jayce have killed so much more people besides that kid, we just don't discuss it because in the show they are presented as scary monsters, not human beings that got drugged the hell up and now have their entire ripcage obligarated. But y'know, that's the point of this scene). "What about Viktor's illegal experimentation?" What Jayce did with Vi was also kinda illegal? I mean, he is a councilor, he can do whatever the fuck he wants ig, but before hand it was clear that other councilors would not want that to happen.

I imagine that Jayce would do anything in his power to cancel this trial. Viktor is his best friend, person who he has such a close bond to. And while what he did was wrong, he isn't much better. Yet it is Viktor, his dying friend, who is punished.

I can see Viktor actually being like: it's okay Jayce, it needs to happen, i will be okay (he's lying but trying).

So yeah i don't think that Viktor being banished to Zaun would be a death blow to their relationship.

Buuuuut you know what would probably make more sense (at least to me :3)?

Viktor's punishment being working on hextech weapons against Zaun.

Think about it. Jayce in an act of desperation convinces other councilors that as a co-founder of Hextech Viktor would be a viable asset in designing weapons that would "protect" Piltover against Zaun.

Well wouldn't that make Viktor absolutely fucking furious. Viktor may have ****kinda**** accepted his death but making him work AGAINST the city he spend his entire life wishing to improve and protect? Over his dead body, he'd rather be eaten alive by rats in Undercity alleys than do such a thing.

It works for me much better because it keeps Jayce's character much more consistent. Like, it's understandable why would he do it (he doesn't want his friend to die) but also highlights his change in priorities after season 1. Like, he told Silco that Undercity doesn't stand a chance against Piltover, and well, one rocket proved hin wrong. Now there are dead people in Piltover. I think he'd be more radical, more bold, maybe even less forgiving and 100% stressed af.

Does he want to keep Viktor safe? Yes. But does he find building weapons is now necessary when they are at war? Also yes. And considering the "I'M from the Undercity" scene he also tends to forget that Viktor is not, in fact, Piltovan, that as much as he loves Jayce, he does not associate with Piltover society. He is from Zaun, it is an important part of his indentity. Something that Jayce keeps neglecting.

It also doesn't change the fact that he still feels guilty over the death of that ONE child. Not the countless men in chemtanks, that are as much victims of Undercity's terrible state as Viktor is really. I think that when he'd make a decisions "a necessary decisions to keep them saved" he'd think about them, scary, crazy monsters with blades. Not that one kid. Kid feels so much more personal, people who attack them-not.

I'm not saying that is how the conflict in season 2 will look like, nuh-uh, it's just me making some fanfiction prompts lmao.

Anything could happened since them. Viktor trying to sabotage their work which would end up in an explosive and dramatic break up once Jayce finds out? Yep, i can see that. Add some fire and leave Viktor crying on concrete floor, now we have some nice parallels. But i can also see Viktor fucking off right there and there, or other stuff i dunno.

So yeah i have fanfic ideas.

[yoinkschief]

Me when I men

Dog Teeth AU Tom Character Reference Sheet

WARNING: Slight NSFW - Mild, Non-Explicit Nudity under the cut

My other husband I love him so much let me kiss you on the lips volatile ball of angst and anger

My poor boy was cursed with his father's hairline and sress he cannot carry,,, to be fair that last bit was his own doing

I sure hope he looks nautical enough,, I mean I want him to nautical INSPIRED, not a member of the marine court, y'know?

My lover said "very Garp of him" and I think that's that One Piece Marine DILF guy so that's a plus :)

I also wanted his outfit to be a direct contrast to Tord's - I mean red and blue are already contrasts on the color wheel but kinda so is green so I wanted a little more driving force: white against Tord's blacker color palette

While white is supposed to represent purity, I assure you, Tom is anything but

It's more a reflection of how the characters see themselves: Tord KNOWS he's a piece of shit and happily flaunts it because no one can do anything about, he holds it with pride even

But Tom doesn't believe he's being an ass, he thinks he's genuinely doing the right thing or at the very least the lesser of the two evils he was forced into, and than on it's own has some merit but this is just to say Tom isn't exactly the "savior" of the story despite what the white palette may suggest

It certainly is what he wants to portray to the public, however

Mmmmm mann

I'm apparently really into sharp contrasts or something cause I keep shading with very bright colors against very dark shadows,,,, it's really fun actually so whateva

Also that cape thing Tom wears ? Worst thing ever, it's like a texture issues but instead of the texture bothering him it's the uneven amount of weight, like he's painfully aware it's on his left shoulder and not his right and it irks him so badly but "it carries his rebellion's symbol so he has to wear it in public" or whatever

He's really only seen wearing it during important or public matters, when it counts

Otherwise that thing's in the bin

Back in his OG style but with the horrible hairline and salt in his hair

He got a day off

He snuck out of the lime light

"Ohh I drew him naked to show off his tattoos and to talk about them"

No I didn't

I'm a liar

I drew him naked cause I wanted to draw his tits so I did, simple

But I will talk about his tattoos some more :)

First of all: That scar on his left shoulder is from the house rubble, that cut we see on his arm at the end of The End pt. 2, yeah that's where that comes from

As for his tattoos,,

I know I've explained these somewhere but I'm explaining them again cause I dunno if I explained it someone's DMs or not lol

The Harpoon tattoos are pretty self explanatory, and I also just wanted to show off colored tattoos on darker skin complexions cause that's the stupidest argument I've ever heard and black/dark skinned people should be able to get colored tattoos

The rest are kind of important to Tom and the story line,,,ish?:

the Shark Teeth tattoo comes from the time he visited Hawaii to find out more about his father and his Father's side of the family and their customs, traditions, his heritage, etc. etc.

To make a long story short: there's a reason his father doesn't talk about his side of the family often, but it didn't ruin his experience while visiting some lesser hostile family members in Hawaii like his cousins, and he even got to surf with them - which was when they decided to convince him to get the Shark Teeth tattoo

On top of Tom just being really obsessed with sharks and having infinite knowledge on all things shark related, it's supposed to represent strength, guidance and protection which I think is very fitting for Tom

The "Wolf" tattoo kinda stands out because Tom's Irish, not Scottish or any sort of Norse. So why the Nordic rune?

Well :)

Back when Tom and Tord lived together, they weren't always at each other's throats

I think I mentioned this in my Strip Mafia AU reference sheet for Tord ignore how I forgot to flesh out Tom's,,, I have it I just haven't cleaned it up yet but I'm gonna rehash it here really quick:

Tord gave everyone in the house a tattoo he thought best represented them, including himself (which was the Ouroboros tattoo seen on his character sheet) and Tom's was the rune for "wolf" and I think there are very obvious reasons behind it

Tom stays around his friends a lot, he's got more bite than bark, very unfriendly to outsiders, the list goes on really

It's so odd seeing Tom in so much white if I'm being honest

I'm so used to him being in like angst blacks and greys and I don't think he's adjusting any better himself LOL

[babyhatesreality]

The Sinner and the Saint Ch 12

Pairing: Mob!Boss Bucky x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, f!reader, language, reader is referred to by her stage name of Angel, pet names, playful banter, Bucky is a lovable menace (and y'know, a mob boss), everybody has secrets, reader is insecure and self deprecating, reader is an extremely flexible exotic dancer, implied smut.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. MINORS DNI. THIS IS AN 18+ STORY ONLY AND IS NS/FW. I DO NOT CONSENT FOR ANY OF MY WORKS TO BE COPIED, REPRINTED, OR TRANSLATED ONTO ANY PLATFORM EXCEPT MY OWN. Likes, comments and reblogs deeply appreciated.

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

"C'mon. Let's get you back to your place."

You wished that the sudden, racing thoughts that invaded your mind at his simple sentence weren't there, but well, fuck, they were. You had an amazing night with this man, followed by an amazing morning and the best damn blueberry scone you'd ever eaten in your life, and as you were leaving the breakfast place, he said THAT. To any logical person, it would be a statement from someone who cared about your well-being, knowing that you had work later on and could probably use a few hours sleep from what you lost last night.

But you weren't logical. Or at least your brain wasn't.

As Bucky gently took your elbow and rested one hand on the small of your back guiding you, you bit your lip. He was trying to get rid of you. Of course he was. You hadn't pleased him...or you hadn't shown someone of his caliber the proper respect...or he just didn't find you as attractive in the daylight. A million self-deprecating thoughts invaded your head as you tried to keep tears from forming.

He turned the street corner, and there was the huge black SUV. You couldn't see through the tinted windows, but you knew that Steve was at the wheel. Keeping your head low so the "man who saw everything" didn't see your emotions, you silently let Bucky guide you into the backseat.

And of course, Bucky noticed the sudden tension in your body. He noticed everything about you.

The second the door was shut and the car was moving, Bucky reached across the backseat, hooking his metal hand around your thigh, and effortlessly slid you across the plush leather towards him. Before you could do more than squeak in surprise, you found yourself seated comfortably on his lap. "So. When can I see you again?" the gangster asked. Your jaw dropped. He chuckled low. "Seems like I have a lot of work to do if you're going to start this hating-on-yourself bullshit after the last 16 hours. I'd like to get the jump on it." A slow, shit-eating grin spread across his face. "Well, actually I'd like to get the jump on YOU right now, but you need sleep, and if I took you back to my place..." he sighed overly dramatically, "...well, you definitely wouldn't be getting any rest."

You giggled, relieved that he still wanted you, and turned your full gaze to him. His grin widened. That was when you saw it. The tiniest crinkle in the corner of his left eye smoothed out when you looked at him. He relaxed. He looked happy.

When he looked at you, Bucky saw peace. That hit you like a bullet.

Knowing what you now knew, this moment would forever stick in your mind.

*******************************************************

The next two months were insane in the best possible way.

That night, after you had capitulated and taken a much-needed nap before work, you'd performed this song at the club that night. Of course it was secretly only for him, but it was still a damn good song to perform to, especially after your morning activities left you feeling happy and a little daring. You couldn't help but catch his eye towards the end of your number, and the lust radiating off him in waves nearly made you stumble under the lights. Within 27 seconds of you stepping offstage, you and he were in the back of his car going at it like two horny teens on prom night as Steve sped towards Bucky's place.

Well let's just say you didn't need to go to the gym for like three days after that.

The intense passion and connection between the two of you seemed to take over everything. It permeated every aspect of your life, it was all you could think about, the only thing you wanted to think about, but only internally. You had both agreed to keep your relationship under wraps. Only Steve and Natasha knew. You didn't need Nebula, your customers, or any of the other girls getting mad or feeling like you were getting special treatment- which you weren't. You had all but stomped your foot insisting, and Bucky had graciously, if not grumpily, agreed.

As for Gamora, the only person who knew you'd gone on a date with Bucky, you'd told her that you both had a fantastic night with great food and a great discussion, and you left it at that. You patiently endured her shock, disbelief, and enraged pressings for more details with a simple smile. Once she finally realized she wasn't going to get shit further out of you, she collapsed into a chair, laughed and laughed, and gave you the biggest hug. "Yeah, yeah, fine you bitch," she teased you playfully. "Keep your secrets. You are the worst." You both ended up in tears of laughter, and she never pressed you again. She was a true friend.

Unbeknowst to you (although you made a pretty good educated guess), Bucky's reasons for wanting to keep your relationship on the down low were wildly different than yours. You kept those thoughts at bay as best you could. The longer you stayed in his arms, the safer you felt, even knowing...what you knew.

Bucky had mentioned you moving into his place nearly instantly. You had kept enough of a head on your shoulders to tell him it was too soon. When he pouted and grumbled that he had held off for an entire four days from your first date before asking, you giggled and distracted him simply by running your tongue around the shell of his left ear. That ended that conversation in a rather pleasing way. He would still bring it up nearly every time he saw you, but you diverted him. You weren't sure how long you could keep him at bay though...and you weren't entirely sure you wanted to.

Especially after what happened on THAT night...

Chapter 13