#or maybe you thought that was all private and no one would see?

[frownyalfred]

Genuinely I’ve had so many adult doctor damian thoughts and so much of them are just “he tries to have a completely normal life but opens up his own practice and ends up being that doctor that every vigilante or goon goes to for suspicious injuries” like he doesn’t even notice it’s consistently happening until one day it registers that he’s become that guy that gets called up at all hours of the day for anything hero related because somehow he earned the entire Gotham vigilante sphere’s trust as a doctor with his honest and blunt demeanor and empathetic nature to cover costs for people who can’t afford his care. It just happened completely on accident and now he has his brothers and all of their new sidekick kids and villains and goons all showing up to get treated at his regular legitimate medical practice. Especially funny if he’s a paediatrician but a lot of his patients are just random 40 year old dudes bc of that. He basically becomes a Leslie-esque figure being there for all of the hero’s in Gotham who need him, and never getting involved with the “real” side of stuff. Maybe a lot of goons who go to him don’t even know he was ever a hero, just that he’s a wayne kid and is a good guy to go to. But he can still take care of himself and his innocent patients whenever anything goes bad because you KNOW he kept up his personal training and skills even in private/occasional practices with his older siblings.

But that’s even sadder if, a La your last post, he actually just completely distanced himself from the hero side of his family and hasn’t seen some of his siblings in YEARS the first time they show up in need of his care,, my god,, especially if it’s dick or Tim and he hasnt talked to them in so long and they’re on the verge of death but he brings them back and the first thing they see when they wake up is their little brother all big and grown and frowning down at them in concern with that little furrow in his brow that makes him look so angry and- god, he looks just like DAD.

I think if I was one of the Batkids and woke up from near death experience #83 and there was a younger version of Bruce (Damian) sitting on the edge of my bed after not seeing Damian for 10 years or so I would actually lose it. Biblically.

[imagine-horizons]

pairing: law x gn!reader

Warning: none - just fluff, and a bit of jealousy from the reader

—————

In the quiet of the Polar Tang library, that was where you found solace. Your fingers lightly brushed against the spine of each book, your eyes scanning each title and its author.

Most of the books that Law kept were medical and history, but there was a small collection of fictional classics. You scrunched your nose as you stopped briefly on “Romeo and Juliet.”

Seriously? You did not pen the Surgeon of Death as a hopeless romantic. You preferred novels with a bit of self -realization and romance, like Northanger Abbey. But Still, you pulled it off the shelf and flipped through the first few pages. It was worn at the edges with creases in its spine. It had definitely been well-read at one point. On the title page, a faded handwritten message had been scribbled. You stepped into a more lit area of the library to see what it said, and you felt your heart stop.

To my beloved Doctor:

Even if the world rejects our love, I will never deny our love , even in the face of death. When the day comes, may it rest forever in the City of Flowers.

You snapped the book shut, and quickly placed it back in its place. You felt like you had uncovered something private and intimate. The message must have been written to Law, but from who? Was it a secret lover that he met on his journeys?

You had never heard anyone from his crew mention anything , so either this mystery lover was a well kept crew secret, or no one knew. You glared at the book, and moved onto the next few books on the shelf. But you could barely focus, your thoughts still on the secret message. You glared at all the fictional classics - maybe you were better off reading non-fiction. You pulled a herbology book off the shelf, grabbed a pack of sticky notes and a pen , and headed towards one of the open tables.

“Y/N! What are you reading?” Ikkaku slid into the seat next to you. She was holding a novel in her hand that you unfortunately recognized.

“THat’s…” you started, and Ikkaku stared at the book.

“Oh yeah, I overheard some women during our last town visit chatting about romance novels,” she shrugged. “Our captain doesn’t exactly keep and extensive romance novel section, so I was surprised to see this.” She flipped to the first page and her eyes narrowed at the message.

“What are you two doing?” The sound of their Captain’s deep voice made the both of you jump out of your seats. Law was standing there, his one eyebrow raised at the response. “Why do you two look suspicious?” Before you could say anything, Ikkaku shoved the book at him.

“What’s this? Are you hiding a girlfriend from us?” Ikkaku teased.

“Girlfriend?!” Suddenly Penguin , Shachi and Bepo materialized out of nowhere next to Law.

“Where - let me see!” Penguin said , completely flabbergasted.

“Omigosh it’s a love letter!” Bepo gasped staring at the text. “It’s addressed to you, Captain.”

“You guys - “ Law said tersely. At that moment you stood up abruptly, startling all of them.

“You guys are so loud,” you managed to say. “I can’t focus.” And with that, you snatched your book up, and quickly left.

Why on earth did it bother you?

You and the Captain were not together. But there were moments were you felt your heart beat a little faster, with the attention he directed at you.

He would make you a cup of tea at night, while you took night watch, blanket in hand.

He would patiently explain some of the medical terminology , and procedures that he would perform. Which he would never take the time to explain to others, except you.

He was really good at following the stars as a map, and he had a weird knowledge of the Greek mythology behind its patterns.

You headed into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. You stared at the herbology book and the notes that you don’t remember taking , as you waited for the kettle to boil.

You were being petty, over a message.

“Y/N.” Your head shot up to see Law standing there, with the annoying book in his hand. “No books in the kitchen,” he scolded.

“Sorry,” you muttered. Law sat down next to you and you could feel him staring at you as you poured hot water into your cup of tea.

“That message was written for my father.” You felt your face turn red.

He knew it bothered you.

“My mother was a bit of a hopeless romantic,” he chuckled dryly. “But my father loved her for it, and she would read passages of it to him. When my sister and I were growing up in Flevance, she would read it to us.”

“Oh,” you managed to say. Law sighed.

“This was one of the only books I recovered from my home when I went back. I don’t remember the last time I read it, but it helps me to remember them.”

“And here I thought you were a hopeless romantic,” you joked, trying to break the awkwardness. Law set the book down in front of you and leaned forward to study you closer. You could feel your face heat up even more but you couldn’t pull your gaze away.

“I’m definitely not a romantic, and I’ve been in near hopeless situations,” Law said slowly. “But if there’s one thing I know, is I will fight for what means the most to me.” You didn’t know what to say, as the words sunk in. “What about you?”

“To death,” you said without hesitation. Law smirked and pulled back.

“You really are a Heart Pirate, aren’t you?” He said, with a hint of pride in his voice. With that , he left the room leaving you a little stunned at your interaction.

When your eyes turned back to the table, you realized that the novel was still sitting there. But there was something tucked into its pages - a note with writing that there was no mistaking , it was written by Law.

“There is nothing I would not do for [you]. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.”

You felt your heart stop , and you clutched the note in your hands, in awe and disbelief.

Contrary to his partial words, the Surgeon of Death was definitely a romantic, and you were falling deeper for him with every passing day.

End

A/N: That last quote is not mine - but I give you a cookie / part 2 to this if you guess where that quote is from hehe

[bucketgetter535]

No Margin for Error: Chapter Nine

WC: 5.9k

CW: None

Notes: Long time no seeeeee. Send thoughts to my anons plz it’s my fav part of the day… might even motivate me to get ch 10 out sooner

The hum of the plane engine had become background noise an hour ago, steady and hypnotic, like the rhythm of breath. Paige had her legs folded beneath her on the cream leather seat, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her knuckles, a half-empty bottle of water rolling gently near her ankle every time the jet shifted altitude. She didn’t bother to catch it. Just watched it drift like it had somewhere better to be.

The cabin was dim except for the soft blue glow of the windows and the yellow-white reading light Azzi had on across from her, illuminating the pages of whatever novel she was pretending to focus on. Her socked feet were propped up on the seat in front of her, posture lazy in the way only someone completely at home in this kind of space could manage.

Azzi’s jet was nice. Quiet. Private. Which made it all the more jarring when Paige’s phone buzzed in her lap with three back-to-back notifications. First from ESPN. Then The Race. Then a push alert from her own F1 app.

Her stomach dropped a little when she read the headline.

“BREAKING: Red Bull’s Top Driver to Retire at End of Season.”

She blinked, tapped into the article without thinking, skimming the lines about “tenure” and “graceful exit” and “opening the door for a new generation.” The typical send-off language. But that wasn’t what her brain stuck on.

It stuck on the last sentence of the third paragraph.

“…likely to spark immediate interest from top-tier drivers currently in contract negotiations.”

“Azzi,” Paige said, too casually.

Azzi didn’t look up from her book. “Hm?”

“You see the Red Bull thing?”

Azzi’s eyes flicked up now, sharp and curious. “What thing?”

Paige angled her phone screen toward her. “He’s retiring.”

That got Azzi’s attention. She leaned forward, taking the phone from Paige’s hand and squinting down at the headline like maybe she hadn’t read it right the first time. She exhaled low through her nose. “Damn.”

“Right?”

“Didn’t see that coming.”

“Neither did I.”

Paige took her phone back, but before she could lock it again, a new email appeared — top of the inbox, urgent flag marked red.

Subject: Meeting Inquiry: Red Bull Racing

Her mouth went dry.

She clicked into it.

Hi Paige,

Hope you’re well. We’d like to schedule a brief conversation this week, if possible, no pressure, of course, but we’re evaluating options and would love to hear your thoughts.

Best,

Helmut Marko.

Driver Development, Red Bull Racing

She stared at it a little longer than necessary. Not because she didn’t know what it meant, but because some part of her — the part that had started all of this at nineteen, when she didn’t know better — still couldn’t believe this was her life.

Azzi was watching her now. The quiet kind of watching. The “I know something just changed” kind.

Paige closed her phone slowly and didn’t look up. “I just got an email.”

“From who?”

“…Red Bull.”

Azzi sat still for a beat.

And then: “Do they want a meeting?”

Paige nodded.

There was a silence between them now, not awkward exactly, but heavy. The kind that made your ears ring just a little.

Azzi set her book down on the armrest. “Do you want to go to Red Bull?”

The question was simple. Too simple. It hit Paige harder than she expected.

She looked at her lap, hands twisting the hem of her hoodie, heart knocking a little too fast against her ribs. She wasn’t supposed to say it out loud. She hadn’t even decided anything yet. But some part of her deep down (the unguarded part, the one she only seemed to access around Azzi) wanted to let her in anyway.

“I don’t know,” Paige said.

She meant it.

Azzi waited.

“They’d probably offer more money,” Paige added after a second. “And they’re Red Bull. The car’s always fast. Always evolving. They’re ruthless about it.”

Azzi’s voice was quiet. “But?”

Paige hesitated. “I’m used to the Ferrari car. The handling. The engineers. Luka. You. I know how to win in this car.”

Azzi didn’t smile. She didn’t tease or joke or pretend it wasn’t a big deal. She just nodded once, like she’d already played out this entire conversation in her head and was waiting for Paige to catch up.

Paige exhaled. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I’m glad you did.”

That surprised her.

Azzi leaned her head back against the seat, gaze shifting to the ceiling like she was talking more to herself now. “I’d rather know than guess.”

Paige didn’t answer. She didn’t trust her voice enough.

The plane continued east across the Atlantic, clouds scattered below them like pieces of some forgotten quilt. The air up here felt cleaner. Lighter. But no altitude in the world could stop Paige’s stomach from twisting into the shape of a question mark.

She stared out the window for a long time.

She was headed to New York first. Then Minnesota. Then probably Italy again, or Japan, or wherever the hell the next GP was. Her life, as always, was measured in terminals and tire compounds.

But somewhere between the breaking news and the unread email and Azzi’s eyes on her, Paige realized she was standing on the edge of something. Something big. Something she hadn’t planned for.

And maybe the part that scared her most was how badly she wanted to take Azzi with her, wherever she went.

–

The landing was smooth, quieter than Paige expected for a private jet touching down at JFK. She blinked against the sunlight as it streamed through the windows, golden and warm despite the haze of city smog. Azzi was already halfway through her phone the second the wheels hit the runway, thumb scrolling through emails like they’d never left Europe. Her focus, as always, moved faster than the plane.

The car waiting for them outside was black and sleek and forgettable in that New York way that screamed wealth through silence. Paige climbed in after Azzi and let her head fall back against the leather, eyes half-lidded as the skyline began to unfold in front of them. Azzi’s driver knew where to go without being told — straight to the penthouse.

Azzi’s place was exactly what Paige remembered and also somehow not at all. High ceilings. Cold marble. A wall of windows framing the city like a movie still. Everything smelled faintly like vanilla and something expensive Paige couldn’t name.

She dropped her bag by the couch and stretched her arms up toward the ceiling with a groan. “I’m starving.”

Azzi glanced up from where she was unlacing her shoes. “Me too. Let’s go eat.”

Paige blinked at her. “Right now?”

“Yes,” Azzi said. Then she paused, surveyed Paige’s wrinkled hoodie and sweatpants. “But, like, get real clothes on.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “These are real clothes.”

Azzi smirked, already heading for her closet. “Not dinner-in-Manhattan clothes.”

Paige made a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh but followed her toward the guest room anyway. Fifteen minutes later, they emerged from their rooms. Paige was in dark slacks and a crisp navy button-up. Her hair was tied back in a low bun, collar open just enough to pass as effortless.

Azzi grinned when she saw her. “Wow. You’re actually wearing something real tonight?”

Paige rolled her eyes. “You went full outfit. I’m just balancing it out.”

“Sure you are.”

The restaurant was a few blocks from the penthouse, upscale but quiet, one of those places you only knew if you knew. Inside, the lights were low and warm, the air perfumed citrus something. A waiter led them to a booth in the corner, just private enough to feel separate from the rest of the world.

The menus were handed out and barely touched. Azzi knew what she wanted before she sat down.

As the drinks arrived, sparkling water for Paige and some fruity mocktail for Azzi, the conversation shifted. It wasn’t about racing. Or sponsors. Or media days. It was light and slow, looping through stories they hadn’t had time to tell all season. Paige noticed it in the small things — the way Azzi tilted toward her slightly when she spoke, the way their knees brushed under the table, the way neither of them checked their phones unless they were mid-laugh or reaching for their drinks.

Halfway through the main course, Paige caught a flash of something near the window, the glint of a camera lens in the hands of a man sitting alone at a neighboring table.

She didn’t make a show of it. Just leaned in slightly and murmured, “Don’t look now, but camera guy, two tables down.”

Azzi didn’t flinch. Just reached for her fork and smiled like Paige had said something funny. “Got it.”

For a few minutes, they talked around it. Then the food arrived: steak for Paige, some complicated pasta dish for Azzi that smelled like heaven.

“This is so good,” Azzi said around a mouthful. “I’m never eating airport food again.”

“Liar,” Paige said.

“Okay, fine. But I’m dreaming of this next time we’re stuck in Belgium.”

They were laughing again by the time the waiter came back. “Any dessert for the table?” he asked, poised with his little notepad.

Azzi lit up instantly. “Yes. Absolutely.”

Paige gave her a look. “You���re still hungry?”

“I have a sweet tooth,” Azzi said, unapologetic.

“I’m good,” Paige said to the waiter, who nodded and turned to Azzi expectantly.

Azzi tilted her head, mock-betrayed. “Wow. So you’re calling me fat.”

“What?” Paige blinked. “No—”

“I just said I want dessert and you said I’m good, which is code for I don’t need dessert, which is code for some people do, which is code for—”

“Oh my god, Azzi.” Paige ran a hand down her face, laughing now. “You’re impossible.”

Azzi grinned, victorious. “I’ll have the chocolate thing. And she’ll have one too.”

The waiter nodded, utterly unfazed, and disappeared.

Paige gave her a look. “I said I didn’t want dessert.”

“You said it. But you didn’t mean it.”

Paige shook her head, but when the plate arrived, she picked up her spoon without another word. The chocolate was warm and rich and exactly what she hadn’t realized she wanted.

Azzi leaned her chin on her hand and watched her take the first bite.

“Told you.”

And Paige, in spite of everything, couldn’t stop smiling.

–

Back at Azzi’s apartment, the lights were low, and the sounds of the city were muffled through thick glass. Paige dropped her jacket by the couch again and toed off her shoes with a quiet sigh, already feeling the warm hush of late-night softness settle over the penthouse. Azzi disappeared into the kitchen, the refrigerator door opening and closing with the easy rhythm of someone at home. Paige didn’t follow right away. She just stood there for a second, absorbing it. The quiet. The casualness. The fact that she could walk in like this and not ask permission.

Azzi came back with two waters and handed one over wordlessly. Paige took it with a small smile, brushing her fingers against Azzi’s for a moment longer than necessary.

“Hey,” Azzi said, leaning against the counter. “When’s your flight to Minnesota?”

Paige twisted the cap off the bottle. “Whenever I want.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Right. Millionaire life.”

Paige shrugged, sipping her water. “Perks.”

Azzi held her gaze for a beat. “So… is that you saying you don’t have to leave tonight?”

Paige blinked, then smiled faintly. “Is that you asking me to stay the night?”

“Yes,” Azzi said, without missing a beat.

Paige’s smile curved wider. “Then okay.”

Azzi’s shoulders loosened, just a little. She nodded toward the hallway. “Fair warning though. My parents are coming over tomorrow.”

Paige stilled. Just a second. Barely noticeable. But something tightened behind her ribs.

“Oh. Nice,” she said, setting the bottle down.

Azzi didn’t catch it — or if she did, she let it slide. She was already halfway to the couch, flopping down with a sigh, her long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. “They want to see me before we head out to Azerbaijan. I figured we’d do brunch or something.”

“Cool,” Paige said, easing down beside her. “Sounds chill.”

It did not sound chill.

Azzi’s parents. Tomorrow morning. Paige let her head tip back on the cushion and stared at the ceiling. She shouldn’t care. They weren’t dating. They hadn’t talked about it like that. There was no label, no pressure, no anything. But still.

She felt it again — that quiet, rising panic in her chest. Not the kind she felt before a race. Not adrenaline. This was different. Deeper. Harder to explain.

The idea of meeting Azzi’s parents didn’t scare her because she thought they’d dislike her.

It scared her because somewhere in the back of her mind, Paige was starting to realize she wanted them to like her.

And that was… not a casual thought.

They’d been orbiting this not-quite-friends, not-quite-something-else thing for months now. Neither of them naming it. Both of them pretending that the in-between space was enough. And maybe it was — for Azzi. She was so effortlessly open, so fine with just being seen, being known. She didn’t flinch when her friends asked if she and Paige were something. She didn’t hesitate when she put her hand on Paige’s back in public, or wore her hoodie that no one knows is her hoodie because it’s just a Ferrari team sweatshirt.

And Paige wasn’t like that.

Not with anyone but her dad and Drew. They knew. But no one else. Not really. Not the media, not her extended family, not even most of her friends back in Minnesota. She hadn’t meant for it to be a secret. It just hadn’t come up, and then it kept not coming up, and then it got harder to bring up at all.

But now she was here, about to stay the night again, and tomorrow she’d sit across from Azzi’s parents and pretend this was nothing. Or maybe not pretend. Maybe just exist in the weird space between pretending and hoping.

Azzi turned to look at her, her eyes soft in the lamplight.

“You okay?”

Paige nodded, a little too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Azzi leaned her head gently against Paige’s shoulder. Paige didn’t move.

She just sat there, suddenly feeling the weight of something unspoken pressing into her ribs. Wanting to say something, anything, and knowing she wouldn’t. Not tonight.

So instead, she leaned her cheek against Azzi’s hair and closed her eyes.

And let herself stay.

–

Brunch was at a small corner spot that smelled like lavender and espresso and fresh bread. It was the kind of place Azzi didn’t even need to look up directions to, she just knew it by heart, like half of New York. Paige followed her through the glass doors, head slightly ducked, even though it didn’t matter anymore. They’d already been seen. Photographed. Edited into slow-motion montages over TikTok sounds. She could hide her face, but a lot of damage had been done a long time ago.

Inside, the place buzzed with quiet conversation and the sound of cutlery tapping plates. Paige spotted Azzi’s parents right away. Katie and Tim Fudd were at a corner table, both standing halfway as Azzi approached, arms open, smiles already on.

Paige braced herself.

She’d never said it out loud — not to Azzi, not even to her dad who she texted this morning — but some part of her had expected this to go poorly. Not dramatic, just… off. The stiff politeness of people trying not to say what they really thought. The overcorrection of guarded approval. The silent evaluation of her outfit or her championship standings or her carefully ambiguous Instagram captions.

Instead, Tim gave her a warm nod and said, “Nice to see you again, Paige,” like they’d had brunch last week instead of never. And Katie pulled her into a brief, not-overbearing hug before they all sat down.

And then it was just… easy.

Not fake-easy, not tension-smoothed easy. Just real.

They ordered quickly. Pancakes for Azzi, a veggie omelet for Katie, black coffee for Tim, and whatever sounded least like food for Paige, which turned out to be eggs and toast. Then the conversation started, and to Paige’s surprise, it didn’t revolve around racing. Not at first.

Katie asked about Minnesota, about Paige’s dad, about what it was like to grow up with “so much snow and so little coffee.” Tim wanted to know what books she’d been reading lately, and Paige fumbled, caught off-guard, before muttering something about having started some novel and then abandoning it halfway through a flight to Monaco. That got a laugh out of Tim. Not a mocking one, just understanding. Then somehow they were all talking about bad travel reads and books people lied about finishing.

It was bizarre. In a good way.

Then the talk drifted back to F1. Not in the press conference kind of way, but more curious. Tim asked if Ferrari felt different this year. Katie asked Azzi if the pink helmet had been a branding move or just because she liked it. Paige waited for the tension to return, for the questions to circle back to contracts or media coverage or what it was like to be twenty-two and under a microscope.

But it didn’t. They just… talked.

And Paige found herself liking them.

Katie had Azzi’s calm, watchful energy. The kind that made you feel seen even if she hadn’t said a word. And Tim was like a low-stakes ESPN commentator, the kind of person who probably had opinions on your golf swing but would keep them to himself unless you asked. They loved Azzi. That was obvious. But it wasn’t overbearing. It was a quiet kind of pride, the kind that didn’t need to be stated.

And Paige… Paige didn’t feel tested.

She felt included.

At one point, while Azzi was busy explaining tire degradation to a very amused Tim, Katie leaned slightly toward Paige and said, “You’re different in person. More relaxed.”

Paige blinked. “Uh. Good different?”

Katie smiled, sipping her tea. “Very.”

There was no follow-up. No pointed glances or motherly warnings. Just that.

Later, Paige excused herself to the bathroom, more out of needing a breath than anything else. She leaned on the marble sink, staring at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and she looked tired, maybe. Or just unguarded.

Azzi had made it look easy. Paige wasn’t sure if that was a skill or just who she was. But somehow this had gone… well. Better than well.

When she came back out, Azzi had stolen a bite of everyone’s food and was grinning unapologetically while Katie fake-scolded her. Paige slid back into her seat and caught Azzi’s eye.

And Azzi — completely relaxed, pancake syrup on the side of her mouth — leaned in close enough that only Paige could hear.

“They like you,” she said softly, like it was just a neutral truth.

Paige picked up her toast and replied without thinking, “I think I like them too.”

And when she looked up again, Azzi was already smiling.

–

Paige hadn’t intended to go to Montana.

Not really. Not officially. The flight was booked late at night on a whim, sometime after Azzi had fallen asleep beside her in the apartment and Paige had watched the skyline for hours, wide awake and heavy with something she couldn’t name. The car met her at JFK just before sunrise, no public post, no press to catch it. She arrived under low clouds and quieter thoughts, and she didn’t text her mom until the wheels hit the tarmac.

Paige: u home?

Amy called two minutes later. Paige answered before the first ring ended.

She hadn’t seen her mom since the off-season. Since before testing. Before Ferrari. Before Azzi. Before everything got loud again like last time. Like F3. The driveway looked the same. It was cracked in the same corner it always had been, gravel spitting up under the tires of the rental SUV. The mountains hovered in the distance like they’d been waiting.

Amy opened the front door the moment Paige’s feet hit the porch. And Paige, despite being twenty-two years old and leading the F1 world championship, dropped her bags and just let herself be hugged.

It didn’t fix anything. But it helped.

They made tea and sat at the kitchen island like nothing had changed. Like Paige hadn’t just flown across the country on a Tuesday with nothing but a carry-on and a handful of feelings she didn’t understand.

“So,” Amy said eventually, one eyebrow raised, “you wanna tell me what’s going on, or should I guess?”

Paige gave her a lopsided smile. “You’d guess right.”

Amy took a sip from her mug. “Try me anyway.”

And Paige did.

It came out slower than she meant, with a lot of pauses and not a lot of eye contact. But Amy didn’t rush her, didn’t fill the silences. Paige talked about Ferrari. About Monza. About what it felt like to lose by less than a second to someone you might actually be in love with and not even know it. She talked about the Red Bull thing—how they wanted a meeting, how her name was suddenly in headlines again like she didn’t still have a season to finish.

And then she talked about Azzi.

Not like gossip. Not even like a crush. Just… truthfully.

“She’s the best driver I’ve ever raced,” Paige said quietly. “And also the best person I’ve ever been around. And that’s… complicated.”

Amy didn’t speak, just pressed her hand lightly against Paige’s back. Paige kept going.

“She’s so comfortable. With herself. With people. She doesn’t even think about it, and I… I’m still hiding everything from half the world. I’m hiding what I have with her, I guess.” A pause. “And that’s not her fault.”

Amy just nodded.

Then Paige mentioned the concussion. The one from July. The one she brushed off because the team cleared her after a week and she didn’t want to miss Silverstone. She told Amy about the headaches that still came sometimes, about the way light sometimes made her flinch in the garage, about how her balance felt slightly off on stairs when she was tired.

Amy’s silence was different then. Sharper.

“Paige Madison.”

“Yeah,” Paige muttered, sheepish.

“That was two months ago.”

“I know.”

“You don’t wait two months to say something like that.”

“I didn’t wait,” Paige argued half-heartedly. “I just… didn’t bring it up.”

Amy gave her a look, one Paige remembered from middle school when she forgot to ice her knees. Then she stood behind her and placed both hands gently on Paige’s neck.

Paige didn’t protest.

Amy’s thumbs worked over the knots at the base of her skull, exactly like she used to when Paige was twelve and spent too long karting after dark. There was something about it. About being home, about being touched with that kind of care that made something in her eyes sting. But she blinked it away.

“I didn’t want to sit alone at my house.” she said softly.

Amy didn’t stop massaging. “I know. That’s why you came here.”

“Yeah.”

“You staying long?”

Paige shrugged. “Just a couple days. Then I’m back to New York. Or Maranello. Or wherever.”

Amy pressed into her shoulder blade, then eased up. “You ever think about slowing down?”

“All the time.”

“And?”

“I don’t know how.”

Amy kissed the top of her head. “You don’t have to know. But maybe try.”

Paige let herself close her eyes. Just for a minute.

It didn’t solve anything. Not the Azzi situation. Not the Red Bull meeting. Not the press or the performance pressure or the concussion symptoms she should’ve told her team about weeks ago. But sitting there, with her mother’s hands on her shoulders and the smell of home in her hair, it felt like something was okay. Even if just for now.

–

Baku.

There was something about the city circuit in Azerbaijan that Paige liked more than she meant to. It wasn’t just the long straights or the tricky, blind corners. It was the way the city felt alive around her when she was strapped in. Like she was flying through a place still moving, still breathing, the world flashing by in colored lights and old stone.

The castle walls came up faster than she remembered. That tight left-right-left flick through the medieval section always made her nervous her first year in Formula One. Now, it just made her grin.

“Okay, that’s green in Sector Two,” Luka’s voice crackled in her ear, all calm efficiency. “Car’s responding well.”

“Feels good,” she replied, flicking her wrist lightly on exit. “Bit of understeer if I push into that uphill right, but otherwise nice.”

Another pause on the line. “Copy. Tyre temps?”

“Stable. Tell Fred I’m better at managing now.”

“You say that every weekend,” Luka deadpanned.

Paige smirked. “Yeah, but this time it’s true.”

Luka’s laugh was a little more real this time, brief in her ears. “We’ll see in twenty laps.”

Practice was going smooth. No heavy traffic, no weird bumps, and the Ferrari was humming through the corners like it wanted to run. They’d done a good job on the setup this week, she could tell already. Braking felt crisp. Rear traction was right there. No wobble.

Azzi was already on track ahead of her, a few laps into her first run of the evening. Paige glanced down the straight and caught a flash of her teammate’s car disappearing around the turn. Same red livery as hers, low under the lights, moving like it was skating on rails.

She didn’t mean to say anything. It just kind of came out.

“Where’s Azzi on the delta?”

And it was the way she said it.

The tone. The way her voice dipped around the name , softer, quieter, like she was asking about someone she knew from before all this. Luka didn’t answer right away, and Paige knew she’d just told on herself in the dumbest possible way.

“Oh,” Luka finally said, casual and unbothered in that dangerous way. “Now you care where Azzi’s running?”

Paige huffed, fake annoyed but not exactly denying anything. “I always care.”

“Mmhmm. She’s P4 right now. Two-tenths behind you.”

“Okay.” She clicked a paddle shift with unnecessary force. “Copy.”

“McLaren’s ahead of both of you. Gotta keep it tight.”

“Yeah, I saw. They’re on a tear.”

She adjusted her line on the next corner, just to shave off a tenth, maybe two. It worked. The Ferrari responded like it had something to prove, the kind of balance she hadn’t felt since Monza. Still, the McLarens looked quick — maybe too quick for comfort. Paige didn’t mind, not really. It made things interesting.

And besides, she was leading the world championship.

And Ferrari was running away with the constructors’.

She didn’t need to dominate every weekend. She just needed to finish higher than Azzi.

And that was becoming harder.

“She’s closing in,” Luka said a few laps later, a mild warning in his tone.

Paige didn’t answer. Just opened the throttle on exit and pushed.

–

Dr. Liao’s office was always cold, no matter what country they were racing in. Paige knew better than to complain when the doctor liked it that way. “Keeps the brain alert,” she always said, which didn’t make a ton of sense to Paige, but she wasn’t the one with two medical degrees and a license to ground drivers.

So she just sat still on the edge of the padded exam table, hoodie sleeves pushed to her elbows, waiting for the light to turn green on the retinal scan.

“Still a little photophobic?” Dr. Liao asked gently, tapping something into her tablet without looking up.

“Less than I was,” Paige said. “More when I’m tired. Or if I forget my tinted visor.”

“You haven’t forgotten it, though.”

“No,” Paige smirked. “Scared of you.”

Dr. Liao smiled. “Good. I like that you’re scared of me.”

They moved through the rest of the checkup, reflexes, balance, peripheral tests. It was routine by now. Paige knew the drill and the doctor knew her, enough to know when something small was off. This time, there wasn’t. Paige passed clean.

“You rested well during the break?” Dr. Liao asked, her tone lighter now.

Paige shrugged, stretching her neck as the doctor wrote a final note. “Montana for a bit. With my mom.”

Dr. Liao raised a brow, but not unkindly. “That’s new.”

“Yeah, I know,” Paige said. “Just… wanted to see her.”

“How was it?”

“Nice. Cold. My mom gave me a lecture.”

“As she should,” Dr. Liao replied, smiling. “You’re good to go. Try not to hit anything hard.”

“Only curbs.”

“That’s a lie.”

Paige laughed.

–

The meeting room smelled faintly of engine grease and lemon cleaner. Azzi’s engineer, Mateo, always brought a bottle of something citrus-scented and sprayed the corners like a dad preparing for houseguests. Luka was already seated, coffee in hand, and Azzi had her legs kicked up on the chair next to hers, scrolling through data on her iPad.

Fred was running point on the strategy discussion. Calm, clipped French-English, all business. The McLarens had shown top-line speed in practice — more than expected — but both cars had struggled with degradation. Tire wear was going to matter, and the engineers knew it.

“It’s a long-game race,” Mateo said. “We don’t win this in the first fifteen laps.”

Luka nodded. “We can take them. They’ll push early, try to break you. Let them. Make them overheat.”

Paige watched Azzi glance at her then, just once, like they were both already thinking the same thing. They’d done this dance before. Managed races better than anyone else on the grid. The Ferrari wasn’t just fast now. It was smart. Smooth. Balanced.

Paige felt it in her ribs already. They could win this.

The meeting wrapped and most of the engineers filtered out. Some off to brief the mechanics, others to check real-time sims. Azzi lingered, eyes still scanning her tablet. Paige had her AirPods in, low but clear. A beat-heavy R&B track hummed gently in her ears.

Azzi looked up. “What do you listen to before meetings?”

Paige blinked, pulling out one bud. “Music.”

Azzi deadpanned. “No kidding.”

Paige smirked. “Mostly R&B. Sometimes gospel.”

Azzi gave her a look — a curious one, not mocking. “Gospel?”

“Yeah,” Paige shrugged. “When I’m stressed. Or if the flights are bad. Just… helps.”

Azzi nodded slowly, like she was adding it to some invisible file in her head.

“You in the gym a lot?” she asked after a beat.

Paige tilted her head, amused by the sudden pivot. “Between seasons, yeah. Like…five, six days a week. During the season? Less. I try to get a lift in when we’re not traveling but…”

“But you’re always traveling.”

“Exactly.”

Azzi nodded. “You can tell, though.”

Paige blinked. “Tell what?”

“That you lift,” Azzi said plainly. “Your arms.”

Paige looked at her, unsure if that was meant to be neutral or not, and Azzi didn’t elaborate. Just turned her attention back to her screen like she hadn’t just said something that made Paige hyper-aware of how close they were standing.

It hung there a second, unsaid, before Azzi stood and brushed her hoodie sleeves down.

“I’ll see you at briefing.”

“Yeah,” Paige said, still holding the AirPod in her hand. “See you.”

–

This might be the worst (or best) decision of Paige’s life.

It was late, but not late enough for the world to sleep. The streets below were still awake with the hum of Baku’s nightlife, headlights catching on wet cobblestones and music spilling from narrow windows. The hotel hallway was quieter, carpeted and still, muffled enough that Paige could hear the small knock of her own heartbeat in her ears as she lifted her hand and knocked gently on the door.

She didn’t wait long.

The door swung open and there was Azzi, barefoot in black sweatshorts and a threadbare Georgetown hoodie, curls pulled back and eyes soft like she’d been half expecting this.

“Hey, P,” she said, voice low.

Paige stepped inside without a word, just nodded, lips pressed tight together in a way she knew would betray her nerves. Azzi let the door fall shut behind them and leaned her back against it, folding her arms loosely across her chest.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The hotel room smelled faintly of vanilla lotion and whatever tea Azzi had brewed earlier. The scent was warm, lived-in, hers.

Paige didn’t sit down. She stood there like she had to say it on her feet.

“I don’t know what we are,” she said finally, quietly. “I think I want to. Know, I mean.”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

Paige swallowed. “I didn’t come here for anything casual. Not tonight. Not anymore.”

Azzi’s mouth twitched, not into a smile, but something close. “You don’t have to say it P. I know.”

“Well… I did,” Paige said. “Because I’ve been… holding back. From you. And I think you’ve known it. And I think you let me.”

Azzi nodded slowly. “I didn’t want you to have to tell anyone anything you weren’t ready to say out loud. Especially not about being gay.”

Paige looked down, thumb brushing the inside of her palm. “I told my mom… About us, I mean.”

Azzi’s eyebrows lifted, just slightly. “Yeah?”

“She might’ve… nudged me.”

Now Azzi did laugh, soft and warm and familiar. “I figured.”

There was a pause, the kind that only made sense when two people had lived in the same small tension for months. Azzi pushed off the door finally, walked closer — not fast, not slow — and stopped in front of Paige, close enough that Paige could smell her shampoo. Close enough that her fingers itched to touch her.

“You came to me,” Azzi said, searching her face. “I waited for that. I’m proud of you for that..”

“I know.”

“I want to be with you,” Azzi said simply. “Not for anyone else. Not for the media. Just for me and you.”

“I want that too,” Paige said, and her voice cracked just slightly on the last word. “Even if I’m still… you know..”

“I know that too.”

They stood there, barely apart, the city still humming outside but far, far away from this room.

“It’s better to be private anyway,” Azzi said. “Cleaner. Easier. And we don’t have to care what anyone else thinks. I just want… you.”

Paige let her breath go — shaky, but full. She took one step forward and Azzi didn’t move, just let her. Their foreheads touched, then Azzi’s hand slid to Paige’s wrist.

Then her gaze dipped.

“Alright,” Azzi said with a little smirk. “Now I wanna see those biceps without the sweatshirt in the way.”

Paige let out a laugh, shaky but real.

“You’ve been thinking about my arms?”

Azzi didn’t blink. “They haunt me.”

Paige grinned, finally, and reached down to peel off the hoodie. Her t-shirt underneath clung to her skin. Warm from nerves and night and maybe from how hard her heart was still pounding.

Azzi’s eyes lingered.

Paige flushed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m sincere,” Azzi said. “And sincere people deserve front row seats.”

“Is that so?”

Azzi’s fingers curled into the hem of Paige’s shirt. “You’re the one who came over at midnight babe.”

Paige exhaled. “Yeah. I did.”

And she didn’t regret it.

Not even for a second.

[that-smallinjured-bowylamb]

Just finished reading this and I LOVED IT!!!

May I ask for another part but with Jade, Kalim, and Silver??? Pwetty pwease??? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

If you read this, thank you for taking the time to do so and please have a nice timezone!!!

A/n: Hihi!! Srry I just woke up a few minutes ago!!! And sure I can! Thank you for the request, @onegianthotmess !!! And thank you for the kind request!!! Love your pfp btw!

💋🪽Wifey material, but can still kick ass💋🪽

Characters: Jade Leech, Kalim Al-Asim, Silver Vanrouge (omg I'm so terrible at writing Silver-)

Warning ⚠️: fem!mc is the warning itself, OOC(cuz I'm not sure if I wrote it right.. I mean, hc, yes?), I'm terrible at describing fights (help), maybe slight cussy as well??, Reader takes a random brick somewhere (Jade's part), violence(?), <-idk it's just the guy bleeding, Jade is a warning bc I said so (and his stupid gorgeous face), idk what else is in here, amazing Grammer/j, it is not accurate since it's future 🫶, idk what else to add.

Fem!Mc [<-but the kid calls you momma bc u give off those vibes.]

The last part here <-💋🪽

Jade Leech (When was the last time hisui-dreamer was active on Tumblr??)

You and Jade were a very happy couple, a bit too perfect (ahem). You are a very sweet and dedicated wife, yet you tend to forget things. Oh, no worries, my dear~ sit back and relax, he'll do it for you. He insists. But, of course, in the end, you'll give him a nice reward. The two of you are just lovey-dovey behind closed doors or subtly outside until both of you had [insert name]. [Insert name] was almost like a Jade 2.0 (when will there be a timeline your kid gets most of your genes? Idk), but had the same fcking compassion for mushrooms as your husband... oh dear heavenly fathers... but it's okay, you still loved them. [Insert name] was kind of like you, having the same hair color and that distinctively obvious black hair strand from Jade's [If your hair is black or dark, just pretend the strand is longer than the rest of the hair, and tends to stick out]. So, your kid was sweet... And cunning asf. Floyd liked calling the kid 'sea bunny' but since the kid was a half-mer (<-eel), it was an inside joke... now, how would you feel if your man/kid got hit/kidnap?

Your man gets hit:

•Idk how that happened. But, let's say he got caught off-guard for once and didn't expect the weak looking client to jump him like that.

•Well, isn't that interesting? And, to think that this client was capable of packing a punch-

•Oya?~ who's that- *A brick being thrown at the assailant with sound effects.*

•Ah... Well, if it isn't his lovely wife coming to the rescue!~ and, to think that you had this wonderfully fierce side of you? How delightful. It felt like he was at the courting stage all over again.

•So fiery, so protective... How come you haven't shown this behavior in a while? He'd love to see more of it. Come, after this, let us go to a private dinner, yes?

•So Cue to weeks later from the incident, he's here just spoiling you, oh. Don't mistaken him for being afraid of you, no, no, what a silly thought. He's just... a bit more infatuated than usual...

Kalim Al-Asim

•No, he isn't planning anything (other than torturing the poor soul that you had to deal with) he just wants to spoil you.

•And keep you to himself, making sure you wouldn't have to deal with 'those' anymore.

When your child gets kidnapped:

Your child isn't really going to get kidnapped. Rather, it was the opposite. It was the kidnapper getting kidnapped. No, your child isn't weird, they're doing the right thing, momma! Look! Aren't you happy?

So your child gets hit instead.

•Jade is enraged. No one should be touching his family. Not his kid, nor his wife.

•So imagine he masked all that, but then you bolted in again.

•With an aluminum bat with spikes. (Club? Bludgeon?) Sprinting toward the assailant with the speed equivalent to a horror movie chase.

•Oh, my. You're wearing the formal dress he gave you when you two were attending an important event! How interesting it is, seeing you wear it now. And in that state of anger as well. Ah, and look at his child, giving you words of encouragement. He beams, revealing all razor-sharp teeth he has. His co-workers trembling, because WTF? WHY IS THAT FMAILY FILLED WITH PSYCHOS?? They really thought you were the normal one (but comparably saying, you ARE the normal one in the family of Leech).

•Then you went back to normal (and no, let your imagination go wild with whatever happened to the guy you hit with the bat..), oh, it's playtime! C'mon [insert name] let's go to your favorite location! Yayayay!

•Yes, a normal family...

Your man gets endangered (<-yes):

So, you were doomed by the narrative bc you're being married to a merchant's son. Not only that, he's the HEIR to a massive FORTUNE. So, what I'm saying in short is... you're cooked. Especially your child. But you two can watch out anyway (maybe not Kalim, but you). But Kalim is emotionally intelligent (hc), so, he's not entirely dumb about his situation either. He's worried you'll be next, getting poisoned, assassinated, kidnapped for ransom, blah, blah, blah... yeah, you had to shut him up for that. And you two eventually had a kid. [Insert name]. Or more, depends. But, nonetheless, what's happen is your man/kid gets hit/kidnapped?

•He knew this would come, but he didn't know exactly WHEN. But it did anyway, so as he was preparing- what?

Silver Vanrouge

•You were there, tackling armed men. Throwing one assassin to the other (<-accidentally kissed), threw the other one downstairs(<-broke his spine and more), another one was hanging on the ceiling (<-doesn't know how to get down bc equipment broke), the rest was being whooped by you.

•Oh...guess he didn't need it anymore! (<-what was it? Don't ask me.) Haha! Whoa! You can fight!??! Hey, teach him! Or both our child! Haha! That being said, the family said no (bc Kalim doesn't need too, the next heir as well. But, shh you snuck the kid out to practice), so let's not tell anyone what you and your child do at night, okay? You totally weren't teaching the kid how to swiftly attack your beloved archenemy. Haha, never.

•Okay, maybeee a little. But hey, never too careful in this family, right?

When your kid gets kidnapped:

•Fuck no. The kidnapper should've heard about the motherly beast of Al-Asim (whom, is you),and they should know. NOT to touch your child, right? But...money... well then they die like [dumbass] men.

•So que to you snapping one of their necks, choking some of them, half of them killed themselves bc they didn't wanna deal with you, most of them pissed their pants seeing you, then getting crushed by a big-ass pillar (dk where you got that from), and using one of their men as a weapon itself.

•Uhm, well...nvm they're letting your child go now... IS THAT A BLINKY- *POW POW POW POW*

•Kalim arrived just in time to see his wife and kid safe. Phew!- wait. Huh?

•How are you guys- nvm. He remembered now, you probably pulled the gun on them. Well, uh... now he knows his wife is fully capable of protecting his family! No, he does not want you to be an servant. You are his wife, not maid. Get back here, and cuddle with him.

You and Silver lived happily ever after. A simple life, a simple house, Silver financially supporting you, and the cycle of love (between his parents) happens all over again. With you being his sweet and dedicated wife, although tending to forget important things, you know you'll never forget to wake up your important Silver, and [insert name]. Actually, [insert name] looks a bit like you, and has the eyes of their father. They have your dedication and tendency to forget, while they also have the determination, soft-spokenness, humility, and kindness from their father (And sweetness from you). So what happens if your man/kid gets hit/kidnapped?

Your man gets hit:

•Ain't no way.

•huh. You really think you could be slick with all that? No. Don't touch Silver dumbass.

•Though, personally thinking, I don't think he needs much protection so let's say you and Silver team up and jump the guy (Silver was doing the talking, he was holding his feral wife back...) but when he couldn't get the message? Oh no, all of a sudden. His hand slipped. Oh, and if they hit Silver's wife? Wallah. That guy asked to meet God.

•So after the entire conflict was over (personal crash-outs, BBW-ing the guy, doing a sumo stance, literally every martial art mechanism) the guy (crawled) ran away.

•Safe to say no one messed with you or him.

•Never.

Your kid getting kidnapped:

Okay so maybe your child was sleeping (like Silver), and unfortunately, Silver was sleeping. He didn't know there was a stranger coming in to take his kid away, thankfully you were awake. You heard the scream, Silver woke up to a very normal morning of you beating the shit of an intruder...

•Ah...What a fresh start in the morning. Really. *Watching you throw hands with somebody while spitting bars of insults.*

•What? You said that [insert name] almost got kidnapped? Ah, well it can't be helped when he felt the feeling of uselessness in him. Because he couldn't protect his child. What kind of father is he?- "Silver! A little help here!" Yes, he's on it.

•*Unsheathes sword.* No Silver, not like that/j

•But anyways, after this, the child was safe, "Momma!" [Insert name] cried out. The child was safe, you were safe, and lastly, Silver's family is unharmed.

•But he must be vigilant from now on, though.

The End

A/n: OMG IM SO SRRY FOR POSTING THIS IT WAS MEANT TO STAY IN DRAFTS??? BUT ITS OKAY ITS DONE ALREADY

[scoupsakakitty]

I’ve been seeing engagement proposals all through my fyp, news feed, yt reels, even vlogs and I’ve been keeping this on my mind for a while, my request is: how would Seventeen members propose to their S/O? Like the location, would their families be present? Will it be a funny disaster? Or a romantic moment? I’m dying to know, please do it. . I am willing to wait, don't worry.

How SVT would propose

S.Coups

Cheol would make it deeply emotional and meaningful. He’s the type who values stability, love, and family more than anything. He plans a quiet rooftop dinner, filled with soft lights, a playlist of your favorite songs, and maybe even a few old photos of the two of you placed around. He holds your hands, his voice slightly shaking, and tells you how much he wants to be by your side for the rest of your life. You can tell he’s been rehearsing it in his head for days but in the moment, it’s all heart. After the proposal, he surprises you by having both families waiting nearby to celebrate together. He probably tears up before you do.

Jeonghan

Jeonghan’s proposal would be full of playful mischief but end with sincere emotion. He pretends to forget an important date maybe your anniversary or birthday just to keep you off track. He acts completely casual, even a little distracted. But by the end of the day, he takes you to a quiet spot, maybe a park or a place filled with shared memories, and suddenly pulls out the ring like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He says something like, “I could joke around forever, but I’m serious about this will you marry me?” It’s funny, confusing, and heart-melting all at once.

Joshua

Joshua goes for classic, timeless romance. He picks a beach at sunset, maybe somewhere in California close to his roots. It’s quiet just the sound of waves and the glow of fairy lights strung around a private little setup. He sits with you, plays a song on his guitar that he wrote just for you, and right as the last chord rings out, he kneels down. His words are calm, thoughtful, and poetic. He talks about love, faith, and choosing each other over and over again. Your families aren’t there right away but he makes sure they’re the first ones to know, probably through a sweet group video call or dinner afterward.

Jun

Jun’s proposal would be a little offbeat, but incredibly heartfelt. He plans something that feels like an inside joke between the two of you maybe a scavenger hunt through your favorite places, or a date that includes all your shared hobbies. He’s a little nervous, trying to play it cool, but you can tell he’s been thinking about this for a long time. When the moment comes, it’s quiet, personal, and soft. He says something unexpectedly poetic in a mix of Chinese and Korean, then slips the ring out with the shyest smile. It’s not grand or flashy but it’s perfectly, unforgettably Jun.

Hoshi

Hoshi’s proposal would be an adorable mess in the best way. He tries so hard to plan the perfect day maybe a flashmob, a dance-themed surprise, or a performance just for you but something inevitably goes a little wrong. He forgets the cue, gets overly excited, or starts crying halfway through his speech. But that’s what makes it perfect. He probably ends up blurting out “Will you marry me?!” earlier than he meant to, holding the ring upside down, while grinning with tears in his eyes. It’s chaotic, emotional, and 100% Soonyoung. You’ll both laugh and cry the entire time.

Wonwoo

Wonwoo keeps things incredibly simple and intimate. He chooses a quiet place a bookstore, a café, maybe even your shared living room on a rainy day. He doesn’t do anything flashy, but you’ll feel the weight of every word he says. He holds your hand gently, looks you right in the eyes, and says something like, “I want to spend all my quiet days and loud ones with you. Will you marry me?” There’s no audience, no performance just you, him, and a moment you’ll remember forever.

Woozi

Jihoon would stress about it for months. He’d want it to be perfect but not obvious, romantic but not cliché. In the end, he composes a song just for you one that says everything he can’t quite say aloud. He plays it in a studio or a private space, just the two of you, and as the final note rings out, he turns to you with a nervous smile and says, “I meant every word. Will you marry me?” His voice cracks a little, but his eyes are so full of love you’ll melt on the spot.

DK

Seokmin’s proposal would be full of sunshine and joy. He plans something with lots of laughter maybe a picnic in a field, or a goofy day at an amusement park. He tries to keep it casual at first, but when the moment comes, he suddenly turns serious in the softest way. He looks at you like you’re the only person in the world and says, “You make every day brighter. Will you let me be the reason you smile forever?” He probably sings after the proposal, just because he’s overflowing with happiness.

Mingyu

Mingyu goes all out. Think fairy lights, fireworks (if he can get them), a chef-made dinner under the stars, the whole works. He wants everything to look like a movie set, because he wants you to feel like the star of one. He’s nervous, though you’ll notice him fumbling with the ring box, trying to keep cool while his heart is racing. When he finally kneels down, he says something like, “You’re the most beautiful part of my life. Let’s make every day beautiful together.” After the proposal, he hugs you so tight it’s like he never wants to let go.

The8

Minghao’s proposal would be artistic, intentional, and very him. He probably plans it during a trip abroad, maybe somewhere with quiet scenery or meaningful art Kyoto, Venice, or a peaceful mountain village. He leads you to a spot he picked just for this moment. He doesn’t say too much just looks into your eyes with a calm smile and tells you that being with you feels like peace. Then he brings out a ring he might’ve designed himself. It’s elegant, thoughtful, and unforgettable like something out of a dream.

Seungkwan

Seungkwan’s proposal is pure emotion. He tries to keep it cool, maybe even cracks a few jokes at first to cover up his nerves but the second he starts talking about how much you mean to him, his voice starts shaking. It might be at a quiet dinner or your favorite place from a past trip together. He pours his whole heart out probably tearing up and making you cry too. His words are warm, sincere, and filled with love: “You’re my best friend, my home, my everything. Marry me?” It’s deeply personal, and no one could love you louder than him.

Vernon

Vernon keeps it low-key, but meaningful. He plans something super personal like taking you to a place that means a lot to both of you, maybe where you had your first real heart-to-heart. He doesn’t overthink the words he just says exactly what he feels, probably something like, “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.” He might have a song playing in the background that you both love, or something he made himself. There’s no pressure, just quiet love and a strong, steady promise.

Dino

Dino goes the thoughtful, young-romantic route. He choreographs a short dance for you something sweet and full of love, with little references to your story together. He pretends it’s just for fun, but at the end of the routine, he turns serious, takes your hands, and gets down on one knee. His voice is full of hope and pride when he says, “I want to grow up and grow old with you. Will you marry me?” It’s creative, full of heart, and totally unforgettable.

[psformybss]

hiii! i saw your post saying to send drew asks so i thought i would send one! feel free to not do this it's just an idea :) anyways my idea was angsty with a fluffy ending and drew and reader have been dating privately for about a year and hes been getting more distant lately, and you see a lot of paparazzi posts about him and odessa hanging out together and everyone online is shipping them because they are unaware of his gf. as drew pulls away more reader starts to really second guess their relationship and she breaks down one night when he says hes going out and then he apologizes and comforts her and then he hard launches their relationship :) dont worry if you dont want to do it!

Just Say Something

drew starkey x reader

warnings: angst, miscommunication, emotional breakdown, jealousy, secret relationship, comfort, fluff ending

an: hiii, i absolutely loved this idea! sorry it took me so long to post i had something like this written for my hidden vows series and couldn’t remember if i posted it or not (still not sure about it) but i decided to post this anyway because i loved it.

You always knew dating Drew wouldn’t be simple. Not in the everyday kind of way where you fight over what to watch on Netflix or argue about which coffee beans to buy. There was never going to be quiet normalcy. Not when his life moved under a spotlight that only seemed to get brighter.

But what you have—had—was yours. Quietly, privately, entirely yours.

Until it started to feel like maybe it wasn’t anymore.

It wasn’t one big thing. It was small things. The first time he didn’t call when he said he would. The unread messages. The short replies. The way he came home and kissed your cheek like a habit, not a choice.

You let it go. People get busy. People get tired.

But the distance didn’t fade. It grew, slow and steady, and it settled between you like fog—hard to see through, harder to name.

And then the pictures started.

You weren’t even looking for them. They just showed up. Pushed onto your feed, trending under his name. Drew and Odessa on a sidewalk in Silver Lake, coffees in hand, smiling at something only they could hear. Her hand on his arm. Him leaning in like no one else was there.

The next day, it was Melrose. Different clothes. Same closeness.

The comments were the worst part.

People shipping them like it was written in the stars. TikToks to soft indie music. Edits that made it look like they’d been together forever. Everyone falling for the idea of them. The chemistry. The “meant to be.”

Not one person asked who he might actually be with.

Not one mention of you.

And Drew? He didn’t bring it up. Didn’t joke about the headlines. Didn’t reassure you. He just walked through the door each night and acted like nothing had changed.

But it had.

It had changed, and you could feel it in the space between his hands and your waist, in the way he looked at you like he was somewhere else.

You tried to push it down. You really tried.

But the longer he stayed quiet, the louder the doubt got. It kept you up at night. It followed you through your days. And eventually, it started to sink into your bones like cold water.

The night it all broke, it was raining hard. One of those loud, relentless storms that makes the windows rattle and the air feel heavy. You were sitting on the edge of the bed in his hoodie, sleeves pulled down over your hands, staring at the floor like it might offer answers. Your phone was face-down on the nightstand. You already knew what was on it.

He walked in, already grabbing his jacket, keys clinking in his hand.

“I’m heading out,” he said without looking at you.

You blinked slowly. “Where?”

He shrugged. “Wes called. Might be some people out. I don’t know.”

You stood up before you even realized you were moving.

“Is Odessa gonna be there?”

He looked up then, finally meeting your eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice tight. “Maybe.”

Your heart sank. Not because of the answer. But because he didn’t even flinch giving it.

“Do you know what it feels like,” you asked, each word quiet and sharp, “to watch the whole world think you’re with someone else while you act like I don’t even exist?”

He didn’t speak.

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, forcing the next words out before they dissolved.

“I see the pictures. Everyone does. I see how people talk about you two. I see how you let them.”

His brow furrowed. “You think I’m doing this on purpose?”

“I think you stopped choosing me a while ago,” you said, voice shaking now. “And I think I’ve been pretending not to notice because I didn’t want to lose you.”

Something in your chest cracked open, and it all came pouring out before you could stop it.

“I’m tired, Drew. I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one who remembers what we have. You don’t tell me what’s going on anymore. You come home late and kiss my forehead like a chore. You don’t look at me like you used to.”

His face softened, the edges of his frustration fading. He opened his mouth, but you kept going.

“I’ve been holding it together, trying not to seem insecure, trying not to ask for too much. But this? This is killing me.”

The tears came fast after that. No slow build. Just a sudden wave you couldn’t stop.

“I’m not some secret you keep in your back pocket,” you whispered. “I’m not a placeholder.”

He stepped forward, then hesitated, his hand hovering just above your arm. “Hey. Look at me.”

You didn’t want to. But you did.

His eyes were glassy. His voice dropped.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was making you feel like this.”

You pulled back a little. “Then what were you doing?”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, exhaling slowly.

“I thought I was protecting us. Keeping you away from all of… this. The noise. The press. The comments. I wanted us to stay ours.”

You shook your head. “But you didn’t protect anything. You just left me out in the cold.”

He stepped closer again, slower this time, and when you didn’t move away, he reached for your face. His fingers were gentle, tentative, like he wasn’t sure you’d let him touch you anymore.

“I got scared,” he said quietly. “Scared that if I showed the world what we have, they’d ruin it. They’d pick it apart. I’ve seen it happen. But I didn’t see what it was doing to you. That’s on me.”

You closed your eyes. The storm outside felt like it had moved into your chest.

“I don’t care about their opinions. I just care about you being honest with me.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I’ve been a coward. I thought I could keep you safe by hiding us, but that just made you feel invisible. And I hate that I did that to you.”

You opened your eyes. “So now what?”

He was so close you could feel his breath against your skin. He didn’t hesitate this time. His hands framed your face, steady and warm.

“Now I show up,” he said. “Now I stop hiding.”

And then he kissed you.

Not to fix it. Not to shut you up.

It was slow and full of everything he hadn’t said until now. His fingers slid into your hair. Your hands curled into the front of his shirt. The kiss wasn’t perfect. It was messy and wet with the salt of your tears, and it hurt a little, in the way healing does.

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours, neither of you spoke. You just stood there, breathing each other in, letting the silence fill with something softer.

That night, you fell asleep in his arms. His chest was warm against your back, and his hand stayed wrapped around yours like a promise he wouldn’t let go.

You didn’t talk about what came next. You just let yourself rest.

Two mornings later, you wake up to your phone buzzing off the nightstand.

Drew’s already up, standing by the kitchen window in an old shirt, coffee mug in hand. He looks calm. Steady. Like the man you fell for.

“Morning,” he says when he sees you, soft and simple.

“Why is my phone exploding?”

He smiles, a little sheepishly.

You unlock it, scroll instinctively to Instagram, and freeze.

It’s the two of you. A blurry photo, definitely from his phone. You’re tugging him down mid-laugh, half cut off by the frame, hoodie sleeve bunched around your fist where it clutches his shirt. He’s looking at you like you hung the damn stars.

Caption:

Not my co-star. My whole world.

You’re tagged.

You sit down slowly on the couch, phone still in your hand.

“You okay?” he asks.

You look up at him. “You posted this?”

“I meant what I said. I’m done hiding.”

The notification count is ridiculous. Your DMs are a mess. You don’t even want to look at Twitter.

But you don’t care.

Because he’s looking at you the way he used to. The way he always should have. And he didn’t just say it this time. He meant it.

You set your phone down and cross the room to him. He sets his mug aside as you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your cheek against his chest. His arms fold around you like they were always meant to.

“I love you,” he says, quiet against your hair.

You close your eyes.

“I love you too.”

And for the first time in a long time, it feels safe to say it.

[iloveyoongi4321]

Drawn To You ᯓPt. Ⅱ ᯓpairing. artist! shouto todoroki x afab! reader ᯓwc. 1.2k

Shouto Todoroki has never done a nude figure drawing.

Sure, he’s referenced poses from magazines, the occasional Pinterest board when desperate—but any time a live model session was scheduled, he’d find a way to skip class. A doctor’s note. A fake emergency. Once, he simply didn’t show. Tells himself he's repulsed by things like that.

But now, it’s his second semester of sophomore year, and there’s no more dodging. The professors expect more. They’ve moved past fundamentals into studies of light on skin, the subtle shifts of muscle, the delicate curves and tension that only a live model can offer. It's gotten to a point where he's currently behind his classmates and couldn't have put this off without damaging his grades. 

Which is how he found himself surfing your patreon late one night. Figure studies. Self-portraits. The occasional experimental pose that left little to the imagination. Tells himself it was just for reference. Without realising it, you've become something of a muse to him. He'd book special poses whenever he was out of ideas—his excuse for why he kept coming back. Always tipped like he was made of money.

You don't usually do live sessions. Too big an invasion of privacy. Too personal. But for him? You said yes with little hesitation. Of course you'd make an exception for your favourite client. He booked you privately, one hour. No specific pose—just “whatever you’re comfortable with.” His message is brief. Polite. 

Icy-Hot: Hi, I’d like to schedule a video call. I’m working on lighting studies. Let me know your availability.

He rewrites the message twice before sending it. Not because he cares what you think. He just... doesn’t want to sound weird. Or demanding. That’s all.

No rush, no emotion, just business. Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You've seen his art. None of your other clients had ever bothered to share their work with you, except Icy-Hot. You've got to find out his real name. His sketches were... breath-taking. Seeing yourself on paper, captured in his style had you fanning your face and cranking up the AC.

You: Of course! I’m available tomorrow evening at 8. If that works for you, we can go over setups and get started.

The reply comes swiftly.

Icy-Hot: Sounds good. See you then.

You lean back in your chair, staring at the message a beat too long. The screen glows softly, and for some reason, your cheeks burn with the ghost of a smile. You push the thought aside, focusing on preparing for tomorrow evening.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

When the time comes, your heart beats way too loud for how casual this is supposed to be. You check your gear for the third time, choosing to ignore the sweat that has collected on the palm of your hand. Would it be weird to just strip before the call and flash him straight away, or would it be weirder to strip during the call? 

The screen lights up with his face for the first time, and—by the gods—is he fucking hot. You were half-expecting an old creep with too much time and money on his hands—but you weren't complaining. He's got white-and-red ruffled hair, like he'd been running fingers through it all day, a sharp jaw, hoodie slightly slouched off one shoulder—he's the kind of beautiful that shouldn’t be real. And his scar, running brutal over one eye, doesn’t mar his beauty—it enhances it. Like a signature. And when he greets you, voice low and even, there’s something else there. Shyness. Huh.

“Thanks for doing this,” he says, eyes flicking downward like he’s checking something—maybe the paper, maybe himself. “I’ll try not to waste your time.”

He sketches quietly, occasionally gnawing at the bottom of his pencil. Cute. He draws like he’s listening for something. Quiet, precise, all his attention pressed into the page. But it’s not just the lines he’s following—it’s you. The way you breathe, tilt your head, hold still and then don’t. You feel his focus like warmth. Not invasive, just... present. He draws. You breathe. The silence stretches—comfortable, and not.

His brows knit in quiet focus, pencil gliding in smooth, practiced strokes. He glances up now and then, not to assess, but to absorb. It’s not ogling. It’s softer than that. Focused. Like he’s memorising you.

And you—god—you’re trying not to look too long. But it’s impossible. His face is all clean lines and quiet fire, eyes narrowed, lips parted just slightly like he’s too immersed to notice the effect he’s having. The light from his desk lamp carves shadows across his cheekbone, and you’re struck with the strangest thought: you want to draw him, too.

It’s distracting. Intimate, even, this act of being studied by someone so careful. So silent. He doesn’t need to say a word, and yet you feel bared.

Maybe it’s the warmth in your studio, or maybe it’s how tranquil he looks when he's deep in focus—but your skin prickles, your breath catches, and you find yourself wondering if he notices. The way your mouth twists when you’re trying not to fidget. The way your arms tuck closer to your body. The unevenness of your skin in this lighting, the faint scar on your thigh you haven't payed mind to until now. You wonder what he sees—if he sees all of that. If he cares.

Then his pencil stops.

He’s just... assessing the composition. Right. That’s it. His gaze dips briefly. Comes back up. Damn it. He’s a professional. He’s done nothing wrong.

For a moment, it’s like he forgets what he’s supposed to be doing. You’d barely moved—but something about it pulls his gaze in and holds it there. He tells himself it’s just part of the process. Observation. Study. Art. You look like something delicate and faraway, and the longer he looks, the more he realises he’s not thinking in lines or lighting anymore. He lets it cross his mind.

Fuck. You’re gorgeous.

It’s stupid—unprofessional, even—but for a split second, his mind flickers somewhere it shouldn’t. Forces his eyes back to the page. Tries to breathe through it. He adjusts in his seat, subtle, practiced. He feels like a pervert.

"Thank you," he says, voice still calm but with a softer edge. "I got more than I thought I would tonight." You bite your tongue, unsure whether to lean into that fleeting moment or keep your distance.

He pauses, glancing up at you briefly, his fingers fiddling with the edge of his hoodie sleeve. “I didn’t expect to feel so... comfortable, I guess,” his hand tightens on the pencil, “Not that it’s weird. I mean, it’s a normal session. Just... better than usual.” He clears his throat. “Anyway. Thanks.”

As the screen fades to black, you’re left with the feeling that this, whatever this is, has only just begun.

[aspenmissing]

hey, could you please write the arcane characters, especially jayvik and maybe mel, with a reader who almost always wears a face mask?

they just prefer to keep their face hidden, so it's a huuuge deal when they take off their mask in front of the characters for the first time. it's like, the biggest sign that they trust them.

thank you so much and i hope you have a great day💜

ᴜɴᴍᴀꜱᴋᴇᴅ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 6666 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴ/ᴀ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴍᴀᴢɪɴɢ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀɴ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜰᴜɴ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴛ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴅᴀʏ!! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ

JAYCE

Jayce had grown used to seeing you with a mask.

At first, he assumed it was for medical reasons—Piltover had no shortage of airborne chemicals and industrial smog. He didn’t question it. Didn’t press. People wore masks for all kinds of reasons in the city. But when he realized that you never took it off—not even when the rest of the council sat breathing in filtered air, not even when the labs were cleaned top to bottom, not even when it was just the two of you working long hours alone—he started to wonder.

Maybe it was a fashion thing, he thought once. A personal style. You did have a certain presence about you. Sharp. Reserved. Private. Your mask, plain and black or occasionally reinforced with a small metal seam across the bridge of your nose, had become so closely tied to you in his mind that he couldn’t picture you without it. It had become a part of your silhouette, like your steady gait, your tucked-in collar, the way you always carried yourself with quiet precision.

But over time, Jayce realized it wasn’t a fashion choice, and it wasn’t just a quirk.

It was armour.

Not in the literal sense—not hextech, not defensive. But the way you adjusted it before entering a room. The way your eyes would harden a little behind it, your shoulders squaring like you were bracing for something invisible. It wasn’t about aesthetics. It wasn’t about illness. It was about distance. Privacy. Safety. And Jayce respected that more than anything.

Still, he couldn’t lie to himself—he was curious. Not in a shallow way. Not out of some entitled need to see. But because he cared. Because he wondered what your laugh really sounded like, unfiltered by fabric. Because sometimes he caught himself looking a second too long when your eyes crinkled with amusement. Because he thought, more than once, that he’d like to see you smile. Really smile.

But he never said any of that.

Jayce knew the weight of expectation. He knew what it meant to have people reach toward you with open hands that weren’t asking—they were taking. So he kept his questions to himself and simply made space for you.

And despite the mask—because of the way he never asked—you opened up to him in other ways.

You challenged him. Not rudely, not loudly, but with this clever, sharp-eyed calm that made him rethink entire arguments in council meetings. You didn’t flatter him. You didn’t let him off easy. And you never tried to win favor. That, perhaps, was what Jayce admired most—your quiet refusal to play politics.

But more than that, you stayed.

You were still there when the long nights dragged past midnight and even Viktor had gone home. Still there when his thoughts got tangled in pressure and doubt. Still there in the steady passing of time, like a constant he hadn’t known he needed.

And then—on a night like any other—it happened.

=

It was raining. A steady, soft rain that tapped at the tall glass windows of the workshop like a lullaby. You were both seated at the wide central table, surrounded by scattered tools, open notebooks, a few coffee-stained blueprints. The lamps were dimmed low, casting honey-colored light over the space. Jayce sat across from you, carefully disassembling one of his gauntlets for maintenance.

You were quiet, as usual, scribbling something in a side notebook, your gloved fingers steady. But there was something… softer about you tonight. Slower. Jayce couldn’t quite place it.

He glanced up, just in time to see you pause mid-note. Your hand stilled. Your shoulders rose in a slow breath, then settled.

And then, casually—so casually—you reached up and hooked two fingers under the edge of your mask.

Jayce froze.

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t say anything. You just tugged the mask down in one smooth motion and set it aside on the table like it was nothing. Like it didn’t matter. Like the air hadn’t shifted completely around him.

It was the first time he’d seen your face.

The moment stretched.

Jayce didn’t speak, afraid that any sound might shatter it. His eyes traced the shape of your face—your lips, slightly dry, the subtle curve of your cheekbones, the faint scar that cut along your jaw like a forgotten story. And your eyes. Maker, your eyes. Without the mask, they were… softer. Clearer. Still sharp, still intelligent, but open in a way he hadn’t seen before.

You didn’t smile. You didn’t fidget. You just kept writing in your notebook like nothing had changed.

But everything had.

Jayce felt his chest tighten with something he couldn’t name. He swallowed thickly, setting his gauntlet down with slow, deliberate care, not wanting to startle you.

“Y/N…” he said quietly, voice low. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” you replied, still not looking up.

Your voice. Unfiltered. It was… richer than he expected. Smooth, calm, deliberate. It warmed the air between you.

Jayce exhaled slowly. “Then… why?” You lifted your gaze at last.

“I trust you.”

The words were simple. No flourish. No dramatics. But Jayce felt them like a weight dropping in his chest.

You trusted him.

And you’d trusted him so quietly, without preamble, without explanation—just done it, like the trust had been building piece by piece over countless small moments. Like this was just the final one that tipped the balance.

Jayce reached across the table, hand palm-up, slow enough that you could ignore it if you wanted.

You didn’t.

Your hand slid into his without hesitation. No gloves. Just skin. Warm, real, steady.

Jayce didn’t squeeze. Didn’t speak. He just held it, reverently, grounding himself in the feel of you.

The rain kept tapping on the glass.

The lamps hummed softly.

And in the hush of the moment, Jayce realized he’d never seen anything more beautiful than the quiet, unremarkable way you let yourself be seen.

VIKTOR

The steady hum of Hextech cores echoed through the dimly lit lab, a rhythm so familiar it had become part of the walls. Pale blue light spilled from a suspended crystal embedded in the ceiling, casting fractured shadows across blueprints and brass instruments scattered in organized chaos. The scent of machine oil and parchment lingered in the air—comforting, in a strange way.

Viktor sat hunched at his desk, one hand scribbling neat, deliberate notes into his journal. His other rested idly near his cane, the worn handle within easy reach. He was murmuring to himself in Zuanite, half-conversing with an idea that wouldn’t fully form.

He didn’t hear you enter—not at first. You moved like a whisper, your footsteps soft and practiced, weight balanced on the balls of your feet, a quiet presence amidst the pulse of innovation. The long coat you wore fluttered faintly at your sides, its hem brushing against the cool stone floor.

You always moved quietly.

Always masked.

A black face covering clung to your skin like second nature. You wore it not out of fashion, nor illness, nor even paranoia—but habit. A shield. An identity. A barrier against being known too deeply. People speculated, of course—they always do. But they learned quickly not to ask. Not after the first warning. You carried silence like a weapon, and you were good at it.

But Viktor never asked.

He simply saw you—never pressed, never tried to read beyond what you chose to show. As if the mask didn’t obscure you at all. As if he could see you clearly anyway.

Tonight was different, though.

"You came," he said, not looking up right away, but the corners of his mouth tugged into a smile. A soft one. The kind that hinted at weariness, but also at something warmer beneath it. "I wasn’t sure you would."

You stepped a little closer, your hands tugging at the hem of your sleeves. A nervous tic. “You asked.”

He finally turned his head to face you, and there it was—that look again. The one that made you feel like you were being heard, even when you hadn’t spoken yet.

“You never ask,” you added, quieter now.

Viktor blinked, caught by the truth of that. His eyes, warm brown like aged oak, narrowed just slightly—not in suspicion, but introspection. “I suppose… I don’t,” he murmured, like he was surprised by himself. “Old habits.”

“You didn’t have to,” you said. “But I came anyway. Because I wanted to.”

Something flickered in his expression then—unreadable, but not unfamiliar. Maybe surprise. Maybe gratitude. Maybe something far more delicate, like hope.

He stood slowly, carefully, bracing himself with one hand against the desk. You could hear the subtle creak of his joints as he rose, the stiff way his leg moved as he brought himself upright. The tip of his cane clicked softly against the stone as he adjusted his balance. You never flinched at the sound. To you, it was Viktor’s rhythm. As familiar as his voice.

“I wanted to show you something,” he said, gesturing toward the far balcony. “It’s a clear night. Rare, lately. You can see the shimmer of the water from here—if you squint past the haze.”

You hesitated. Balconies were open. Exposed. Unforgiving. But… this was Viktor. And if he was inviting you into the open, then maybe it was safe. So you followed.

The air outside was crisp, biting at your cheeks through the fabric of your mask. Piltover sprawled beneath you in a thousand pinpricks of gold and blue, winding streets glowing like veins, steam rising in lazy tendrils from the lower districts. The ocean was a shadow on the horizon, its surface kissed with faint moonlight.

Viktor leaned against the railing, both hands braced on his cane. His profile was cut from light and darkness—sharp nose, high cheekbones, tired eyes beneath windswept strands of hair that refused to lie flat. He looked older tonight. Or maybe you just noticed more.

You came to stand beside him, folding your arms across your chest to brace against the wind. You said nothing at first. Neither did he.

And then—slowly—you reached up.

Your fingers hovered just beneath your chin, trembling slightly. The knot behind your ear, one you had tied a thousand times without thought, suddenly felt like a chain.

You undid it. The cloth fell away in your hands with a whisper-soft sigh. You didn’t let it drop—you held it. Clutched it.

Your face—hidden for years, hidden from everyone—was exposed to open air.

The chill hit your skin like ice water, a sharp sting after years of barrier and distance. You felt naked. More than that, you felt seen—whether Viktor looked or not.

But you didn’t look at the city. You looked at him.

"I want you to see me," you said. Your voice was soft—roughened at the edges like paper torn too slowly. Viktor turned toward you fully now.

His expression didn’t shift into shock. There was no sharp inhale, no wide-eyed surprise. He looked at you the same way he always had—with gentleness. Curiosity. Respect.

As if he had known this face even before he ever saw it.

He stepped closer, careful with his footing, the quiet tap of his cane anchoring him in space. He raised a hand, paused midair.

“May I?”

You nodded once.

He didn’t reach for your face.

Instead, his fingers brushed lightly along the edge of your jaw, and then to the side of your neck, resting there with all the delicacy of a snowflake landing on glass. Warm. Grounding. You closed your eyes. The touch wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t romantic, even—not yet. It was reverent.

“Thank you,” he whispered, as if he were afraid any louder and the moment might shatter. “I know what this means.” You opened your eyes again, glassy with unshed tears.

“I trust you,” you breathed, and your voice broke halfway through.

Viktor didn’t flinch at the crack. He only smiled—small and tired and impossibly kind. Like someone who’d just been handed something sacred.

“I will keep that trust,” he said, like a vow. And you believed him.

For a long time, you stood there—unmasked beneath the stars, heart pressed into the quiet space between you both. For the first time in years, the air didn’t feel hostile. It felt… like freedom.

And Viktor?

He felt like home

JAYVIK

The lab was quieter than usual, the hum of the Hexcore dimmed to a low purr in the background, more like a cat napping beside a warm hearth than the living engine of invention it usually was. The storm outside — distant thunder grumbling behind the glass — only made the lab feel more insulated, like their own little corner of the world had pressed pause.

Viktor sat on one end of the worn couch, one leg tucked beneath the other, his cane leaning against the coffee table within easy reach. The firelight from the wall sconce flickered soft gold across his sharp features, highlighting the quiet alertness behind his eyes.

Jayce, by contrast, sprawled out on the floor with all the casual elegance of someone who had absolutely no bones in his body. A cluttered spread of takeout boxes surrounded him like a nest — dumplings, noodles, some skewers of questionable safety — his sleeves rolled up, shirt a little wrinkled, hair tousled from rubbing at it in frustration over a blueprint earlier that day.

And Y/N… Y/N sat cross-legged between them both, quiet as ever, back straight, hands resting on their knees. Mask on, as always — a soft cloth, navy blue, slightly faded at the seams. It had become part of them, like a second skin. Something they wore not to be mysterious, not to be aloof, but because it made them feel safer. Less seen. Less vulnerable.

Jayce was halfway through lamenting the chicken skewer — “I swear it was still clucking when I bit into it, Viktor, I’m telling you—” when Viktor cut him off with a dry chuckle.

“You ate the whole thing, Jayce.”

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Jayce countered, licking sauce from his fingers with a grin.

Y/N huffed a soft laugh. Muffled, but genuine. Their shoulders shook slightly, their head tilting down the way it always did when they smiled behind the mask.

Viktor’s smile was smaller, but lingered longer. That laugh… it always caught him off guard. Like sunlight through dusty glass — rare, and all the more precious for it. They didn’t laugh often. And when they did, he held onto the sound like a secret.

It wasn’t often the three of them got nights like this. No council meetings. No malfunctioning prototypes. No impossible deadlines. Just greasy food, quiet company, and the shared warmth of a friendship that had started in a place of invention and grown into something far softer.

Jayce dug through the boxes. “Alright, alright. Which one’s yours again, Y/N?”

“That one.” Y/N gestured to the container near Viktor’s knee — fingers quick, graceful, calloused from hours of careful work. They always pointed instead of reaching.

Viktor tapped the box forward with his cane, nudging it within arm’s reach for them. “I still don’t understand how you eat with the mask on,” he mused, tone curious but never prying. “Do you... blend everything?”

Jayce snorted. “That’s dark, man.”

Y/N gave no reply. Not verbally. Instead, they reached up with both hands — steady, practiced — and, in one smooth motion, tugged the mask down to rest just under their chin.

No announcement. No fanfare. Just… time to eat.

Viktor stilled. Jayce choked slightly on his drink. Y/N, completely unfazed, opened the takeout box and picked up a dumpling with their chopsticks. Blew lightly on it. Took a bite. Chewed slowly. As if nothing had changed.

But everything had.

Viktor’s gaze, uncharacteristically unguarded, tracked every movement. It wasn’t about seeing them. It wasn’t about beauty — though there was plenty of it. It was about what the gesture meant. That Y/N had let their walls down. Here, in the low light of the lab, with sauce-stained paper boxes and the quiet crackle of rain on glass.

Jayce blinked rapidly, eyes darting between them and Viktor. “Wait—did you just—?”

“You took it off,” Viktor murmured, as if afraid speaking it aloud might undo it.

Y/N didn’t look up, still chewing. “I was hungry,” they said plainly, and licked a streak of dumpling sauce from the corner of their lip without a second thought.

Jayce made a quiet strangled sound.

Viktor’s breath caught softly, like a violin string being plucked too hard. His fingers twitched against his cane.

He knew — both of them did — how rare this was. How carefully Y/N guarded their face, their expression, their self. Viktor had never asked why. Jayce had asked once and been waved off with a shrug and an "I just prefer it." That had been enough. They never pushed.

But now, here they were. Mask down. Face bare. Expression open in the gentle quiet.

Viktor saw more than features. He saw trust.

And Jayce, for once, didn’t speak right away. He looked like he wanted to — like the words were there, bouncing off the back of his teeth — but he kept them in.

Until finally, he blurted, “You’re really—um—”

“Beautiful,” Viktor said softly, cutting him off. Not possessive. Not lustful. Just… true. Y/N’s hand froze halfway to their mouth. Their eyes lifted. Viktor didn’t flinch. “Not because we can see you now. But because you let us.”

There was a beat of stillness.

Then Y/N nodded — a slow, faint incline of their head. Their lips curved ever so slightly. “I trust you,” they said simply, the softness in their voice like worn velvet. “That’s all.”

They popped the rest of the dumpling into their mouth and resumed eating like nothing had happened.

Jayce turned to Viktor, cupping his mouth with one hand to whisper, “Don’t ruin this. She’s eating peacefully. Don’t ruin it.”

“I’m not,” Viktor whispered back, a rare lightness in his voice. “I’m memorizing it.”

The lab settled into gentle silence again, broken only by the sound of chopsticks tapping plastic and Jayce mumbling about how he told them the skewer was cursed.

Outside, the thunder rolled, but inside… everything was calm. It wasn’t the meal that mattered. It wasn’t even the mask.

It was the ease of it — the quiet moment where three people, strange and brilliant and broken in their own ways, found something whole.

Each other.

VANDER

The mask had always been part of you—sewn into your silhouette, second only to your shadow. In Zaun, people didn’t ask questions when you kept your face hidden. Privacy wasn’t a luxury in the Undercity; it was armor. And you wore yours well—sleek black cloth with reinforced seams, high enough to hide your mouth, nose, and sometimes even the softness in your voice.

People assumed all sorts of things about why you wore it. Scars. A Hextech accident. Shyness. Maybe a bit of all three.

But only Vander had dared to ask—once.

It had been early on, when you'd first started running odd jobs for him. You’d caught him looking, brow furrowed, curiosity dancing behind the warmth in his eyes. And when he’d finally asked—gruff but gentle—you’d tilted your head, a smile in your eyes and a teasing lilt in your voice as you replied, “Some things are better left covered.”

He hadn’t pushed. Just gave a small nod, like he understood that there were walls in Zaun built out of more than brick and smoke.

Didn’t mean he didn’t wonder.

=

It happened on a quiet day, rare and precious in the Undercity.

You were in the back room of the Last Drop, tucked away in a patch of sunlight that spilled through a grimy skylight above. The floor was dusty and scattered with old books, half-broken toys, and a few patched-up cushions. Powder sat curled in your lap, humming as she played with a small metal puzzle you’d brought her. Vi was beside you, brow furrowed as she braided the long ribbon threaded through your jacket sleeve, her tongue poking out in concentration. Across the room, Mylo was trying—and failing—to do a handstand while Claggor tried to coach him, both of them laughing and yelling over each other.

You sat in the middle of it all, cross-legged and relaxed, like the eye of a storm. You weren’t exactly maternal—but you were steady. Present. The kind of calm that made children feel like they could breathe a little easier. They clung to you like you were warmth itself, a hearth flame in the cold.

From the doorway, Vander stood watching.

He leaned against the frame, arms folded across his chest, eyes half-lidded but keen. You hadn’t noticed him right away. He looked like he didn’t want to break the spell—like he couldn’t decide whether to step in or just stay frozen there, memorizing every second of you like this. Loose. Unmasked in spirit, if not in body. Laughing, gentle, utterly unaware of the light you gave off.

Then Powder looked up at you with wide, wondering eyes.

“C’mon,” she said quietly. “Take it off. Just once? Please?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Your mask,” she whispered like it was a secret between just the two of you. “Just once.”

Vi straightened, curiosity sparking in her blue eyes. “Yeah! We’ve never seen your whole face! That’s not fair, is it?”

Mylo, now sprawled on the floor in a tangle of limbs, added from the ground, “Bet she’s got a mustache. A huge one.”

Claggor snorted and gave him a half-hearted nudge with his foot. “Don’t be a jerk, Mylo.”

You were caught off guard—not because it was rude, but because of how gently they'd asked. There was no mockery, no pressure in their voices. Just… curiosity. The kind that only came from affection.

Slowly, your eyes lifted—and met Vander’s across the room. He hadn’t moved. Didn’t say a word. Just stood there, watching. Not expecting. Not demanding. Just waiting.

Open. Patient. There.

The kind of presence that didn’t demand your trust, but offered you a space to give it freely.

Your fingers moved before you realized they had, reaching for the seam beneath your jaw. The cloth was soft from use, the inner lining warm from your breath. You hesitated, heart a heavy beat behind your ribs.

No one had ever asked you like this. No one had ever deserved the truth. Until now.

You pulled the mask down slowly, feeling the cool air of the room kiss the skin beneath as it slid from your cheeks, your nose, your lips.

Silence blanketed the room.

Powder stared, her little mouth falling open in awe. “You’re… pretty,” she whispered, like she’d just seen a star up close.

Vi blinked fast, then grinned. “Told you she didn’t have a mustache.”

Mylo groaned, flopping dramatically onto his back. “Ugh! I owe Claggor three coins now!”

Claggor just shrugged, smiling. “Worth it.”

Their laughter broke the stillness, and you found yourself smiling too—unmasked, and yet somehow… more you than ever.

You didn’t reach to pull the mask back up.

Across the room, Vander still hadn’t moved. But his eyes—gods, his eyes—they were soft and full of something you couldn’t name. Something that made your breath catch and your stomach twist.

You stood slowly, stepping over scattered cushions and toys until you were just in front of him.

Closer now, you could see the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes scanned every inch of your newly exposed face—not in judgment, but like he was trying to commit it to memory.

He stepped forward, hesitating for a breath, then reached out—callused fingers brushing lightly over your arms, grounding you.

“You didn’t have to,” he said, voice low and rough with feeling. “But… thank you.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “I know,” you murmured. “That’s why I did.”

There was a beat.

And then he lifted one hand, slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. You didn’t.

His fingers touched your cheek—warm, solid, gentle in a way that made your eyes sting. His thumb traced along your cheekbone, brushing the soft skin there like he couldn’t believe it was real.

You leaned into it, just slightly. Just enough.

The laughter behind you faded into a comforting hum. The dust danced in the slant of golden light overhead. And in that moment—bare-faced and open, with Vander looking at you like you hung the stars—

You felt safe. Seen.

Loved.

SILCO

The restaurant was silent save for the soft clinking of silverware and the low, grainy hum of a record spinning somewhere behind the velvet-draped bar. A sultry jazz melody drifted from the dusty phonograph, old but well-maintained — like everything Silco chose to keep close. It wasn’t open to the public tonight. It never was when you came.

Your table was nestled in the farthest corner of the dimly lit dining room, beneath a brass chandelier dulled by time and smoke. Heavy crimson curtains shielded the windows from prying eyes, and the door had been locked the moment you entered. As far as the rest of Zaun was concerned, this place didn’t exist tonight.

Silco sat across from you, posture relaxed but gaze razor-sharp. He looked out of place among the velvet and lace — all sharp edges and war-weathered flesh, dressed in his signature black coat, a crimson handkerchief tucked into the breast pocket like a splash of fresh blood. The flickering candlelight exaggerated the angles of his face, casting deep shadows under his cheekbones and along the jagged scar that split through the corrupted red of his left eye.

You were cloaked, as always. A long black coat draped over your shoulders, gloves hiding the curve of your wrists, and most importantly — your mask. Smooth, matte, featureless. It concealed everything below your eyes, wrapped snugly behind your ears, muffling your voice just slightly. You had worn it the day Silco first met you, and every day since. In the streets of Zaun, where everyone wore pain on their sleeves and betrayal in their eyes, you wore armor instead — and your mask was your strongest piece.

You lifted your glass of wine, taking a small, careful sip. The rich notes of dark plum and oak swirled across your tongue, but your focus wasn’t on the taste. Your eyes flicked over the restaurant floor. The servers moved like ghosts, heads bowed, steps soft. Trained to exist without being seen.

Silco’s orders had been crystal clear: No one is to look at her. No one.

You hadn’t asked him to say that. Hadn’t even hinted. But he had. The moment the first waiter glanced at you for too long, Silco had pinned him with a look that promised a slow death and growled, “If anyone so much as raises their eyes to her again, I’ll gut them at the door.”

And no one ever did again.

You didn’t like drawing attention. You didn’t like the idea of being known. But Silco… he never asked to see more than you gave. He waited. Patient in a way that no one else had ever been with you.

And yet, he always watched.

=

Now, his eyes studied you like he was reading scripture. Reverent, unblinking, yet soft in that strange way he reserved only for you. He was the warlord of Zaun, a man who had once slit a man’s throat for raising a toast in the wrong tone — but across the table from you, he looked almost gentle.

“Everything to your liking?” he asked, his voice gravel thick with cigarette smoke and exhaustion. There was warmth beneath it, though. That rare tone he only ever used when it was just the two of you.

You nodded. “The wine is good tonight.”

He smirked, barely a twitch at the corner of his scarred mouth. “Of course it is. It’s from the same bottle you liked three months ago.” He paused, lifting his own glass, swirling it with idle grace. “I bought the vineyard.”

Your brow lifted above the edge of your mask. “You what?”

“I bought the vineyard,” he repeated smoothly, as though it were the most mundane thing in the world. “Quiet place, on the border of the Entresol. Nothing special — until you liked the wine. Now it’s mine.”

You looked down at your plate, hiding the slow flush that bloomed across your cheeks.

It wasn’t the first time Silco had done something excessive and borderline insane just to please you. But each time, it caught you off guard. You weren’t used to being… valued. Let alone treasured.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured.

Silco’s voice was low, steady. “I wanted to.”

You swallowed hard. Your gloved fingers fidgeted at the edge of your plate. The food sat barely touched — not because it wasn’t good, but because something else had begun to churn beneath your skin. Restlessness. Anxiety. Hope.

=

It had been months since the incident — the one time Silco had seen your face. You had been in the privacy of his office, the windows covered, just finishing a report when you turned your head too quickly, forgetting. Your mask had been off, hanging from one ear. And he had seen.

He hadn’t gasped. Hadn’t made a remark. He had only gone still, eye drinking in the sight of you like he wasn’t sure if you were real. Then he blinked and simply offered you tea.

You’d expected questions. Curiosity. Maybe even admiration or judgment. But he gave you none of that. Only silence. And respect.

He never brought it up again.

=

But tonight… tonight, something in your chest burned.

You could feel the weight of it, pressing at your ribs. A longing to be known. To choose him the way he’d been choosing you over and over again without asking for anything back.

You reached up, fingertips hovering at the seam of your mask. You felt his attention spike instantly, but he said nothing.

You hesitated. Breathed in. Out.

Then slowly, deliberately, you peeled the fabric down. First over your nose, then your mouth, until the entire mask came free. You folded it once and placed it gently on the table beside your wineglass.

Silco didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

The room was frozen in time.

Around you, the staff moved with robotic obedience — no one dared lift their gaze. Silco’s wrath was more than a rumour in Zaun. It was gospel.

Your face, hidden from the world for years, now lay bare in the hush of candlelight. Pale lips, the soft curve of your jaw, a faint scar beneath your chin — details no one else alive had seen in ages. Not willingly.

But Silco had. And now you offered it again, willingly.

You met his eyes, breath caught in your throat. Every second felt like an eternity.

He stared at you, his face unreadable. Then, slowly, something shifted. His jaw relaxed. His good eye — that sharp, storm-coloured eye — softened into something achingly tender.

“Y/N…” he whispered, as if saying your name for the first time.

“This is for you,” you said, voice quiet but steady. “Just you.”

A beat of silence. Then he reached across the table, his gloved hand finding yours with purpose. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t cling — he simply held. Firm. Present. Grounding.

His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles. “I won’t forget this,” he said. His voice didn’t tremble, but you could hear it in the undertone — reverence, awe, something bordering on devotion. “Ever.”

You smiled. The first real smile you’d let free in years. Small, genuine, soft enough to burn.

“I know,” you said.

And just like that, the world outside ceased to exist. There was no Zaun, no Piltover, no revolution or ruin. There was only a quiet table in a hidden restaurant, the whisper of candlelight, and two souls — known now, truly, completely — in the stillness of something rare.

MEL

Mel had always admired masks.

Not the physical ones, necessarily—though she could appreciate the artistry in them—but the metaphorical ones people wore. The poised faces in council chambers, the false smiles at galas, the veils of civility that cloaked a hundred private wars. She was raised among masks, taught to recognize their seams, and taught never to trust anyone who didn’t wear one. Those without masks were reckless. Dangerous.

She wore a mask of her own, though hers was finely crafted—a reflection of her heritage and intellect. It was necessary for survival in Piltover, in her world. In politics, in power, in a life constantly under the watchful eyes of allies and enemies alike.

And yet, Y/N wore a real one.

Always.

A simple face covering, its material changing from day to day, sometimes fabric, sometimes metal, but always present. It wasn’t about fashion. It wasn’t a statement about class or status. It wasn’t even a political move, as far as Mel could tell. It was just… there. A constant, silent barrier between them and the rest of the world.

When Mel had once, gently, asked why, Y/N had shrugged and said, “I just prefer it this way.”

No explanation beyond that. No further details. No embellishment.

It became part of who they were. Part of their mystery. It was as if the mask had been woven into their identity just as much as their clothes or their words. Mel had gotten used to it. To them. To the way their voice would float toward her, muffled and soft behind the cloth or metal. How their eyes, always piercing and intense, would be the only thing visible. How she had learned to read everything in the minute shifts of their gaze, the subtle play of emotions in their hands or the slight change in their posture when they were nervous, or when they were deeply passionate about something. She learned to crave their company, their thoughts, their sharp intellect.

But above all else, she craved the mystery. The unknown. The mask.

And still, it stayed. Day after day, night after night. Y/N would sit beside her at council meetings, discuss plans over wine, argue over city politics—but the mask never wavered.

=

Until one quiet evening, when the last light of the day filtered through the windows of Mel’s private suite, painting the room in soft golds and rich reds. The air was heavy with the scent of jasmine from the gardens below, the peace of dusk settling over them both.

Y/N stood by the fireplace, the embers flickering in their gaze. Their posture was different tonight—tense, unsure. Their usually fluid movements were stiff, as if a weight they couldn’t shake had settled into their bones. They hadn’t said much all evening, and Mel had noticed. Her hand instinctively gripped the stem of her untouched glass of wine, its deep red liquid swirling slightly as she leaned forward.

“You’ve been staring into the fire for a while,” Mel said, her voice soft, almost teasing. She knew the silence between them spoke volumes, but she didn’t want to push. Not yet.

Y/N glanced toward her, their eyes momentarily locked before they broke the contact. “No. Just… something I’ve been thinking about doing.”

Mel tilted her head slightly, the silken robe around her shoulders shifting with the movement. “Should I be worried?”

There was a pause—one that felt like it stretched for much longer than it actually did. Y/N looked at their hands, folding and unfolding nervously before them, their jaw tightening as if they were summoning the courage to do something monumental. “I think… I think I’ve been hiding behind it long enough.”

It took a moment for Mel to realize what they meant, and when it clicked, her breath caught in her throat.

Without another word, Y/N raised their hands slowly, their movements deliberate. Their fingers trembled ever so slightly as they reached up to their face, untying the delicate strings that held the mask in place. There was no flourish, no grand gesture. Just a quiet, almost meditative unfastening.

Mel’s pulse raced, her breath becoming shallow. She watched as the mask—the mask—began to come off. She had never seen Y/N without it. Not once in the time they’d known each other. It was as if, with each small tug and release, a hidden part of Y/N was being uncovered. It wasn’t just a physical mask being removed. It was a layer of their soul, of their identity, something far more intimate than Mel had ever dared to hope for.

The mask was set aside carefully, as if it was something sacred. And then Y/N turned fully toward her.

And there they were.

Unmasked.

Real.

Vulnerable.

For a long, stunned moment, Mel simply stood there, unable to find her words. She couldn’t stop looking at them. Y/N’s features were even more breathtaking without the mask, not because of symmetry or beauty, but because they were finally… whole. This was the person they had been hiding from the world—and from her—for so long. And Mel realized, with a wave of emotion so strong it almost took her breath away, that this was the truest thing she’d ever seen.

Y/N’s eyes, so familiar and yet new, met hers. “I trust you,” they said, their voice softer, unguarded. “That’s all I wanted you to know.”

The weight of those words settled heavily in the room, wrapping itself around Mel like a warm embrace. The silence stretched between them, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with meaning. With promise. With something real.

Mel swallowed thickly, her fingers tightening on the edge of the chair as she stood up slowly. There was something raw in their gaze, something that made her chest ache in a way she couldn’t name. She stepped forward, the air between them charged with every unspoken thought, every fragile feeling that had been buried deep inside her for months. Her hand, trembling slightly, reached up toward Y/N’s face.

Her fingers barely brushed their jaw, as if testing the warmth of their skin. She had never thought she’d be this close to them—not like this, without the barrier. The feel of their skin beneath her fingertips was grounding. It was real.

“You have no idea what this means to me,” Mel whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of her emotions. She had spent so long building walls around her heart, believing that masks were the only way to stay safe, to protect herself. But Y/N had just shown her a truth she hadn’t known she was ready to face. They had given her something no one else ever had—complete vulnerability. Complete trust.

Y/N smiled then—a real, unguarded smile, one that made Mel’s heart race in a way she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just a smile. It was the kind of smile that lit up the room, that made everything seem possible.

And then, before Mel could even think, she leaned in, closing the distance between them, her lips brushing against theirs.

It wasn’t a kiss of hunger or need. It wasn’t rushed, as if either of them feared the moment would slip away. No. It was a kiss of reverence. Of awe. Of two people—two souls—finally seeing each other for what they truly were.

When their lips parted, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, and they leaned their forehead gently against Mel’s, a smile still tugging at the corners of their mouth.

“Unmasked,” Mel whispered, her voice full of wonder.

Y/N nodded, a quiet laugh escaping them. “Unmasked.”

And in that moment, Mel understood. She had always known how to wear a mask. But Y/N had shown her what it meant to live without one.

[krirebr]

Lips Like Sugar 2

Pairing: sugar baby Ransom x late 40s female reader

Word Count: ~3.4k

Summary: Finally cut off by his mother and grandfather, Ransom has to find a new way to access the lifestyle he's accustomed to. He figures it won't be too hard to find some rich old lady willing to bankroll him in exchange for sex. You aren't exactly what he expected.

Warnings: sugar baby au, sex work, d/s relationship, power imbalance, explicit language—All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: I'm having too much fun with this one! Where did all the angst go????????

Huge thanks to @bigtreefest for talking through so much of this with me. Thanks for being so fun to riff with, Essie!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Ransom checked his hair in the mirror for the fifth time, rolling his eyes at himself. It was fine, he looked hot. Why was he so nervous? Probably because he was down to thirty-three days before he had to be moved into somewhere new. He didn’t think he’d ever felt this kind of pressure before. 

He was going to be meeting you for the first time in—he checked his watch—twenty-six minutes. You had asked him if he’d like to meet for dinner two days ago. Well, no, that wasn’t quite right. You’d sent him a message that said, “Let me take you to dinner,” and when he’d said he’d like that, you followed up with, “Great. My assistant will be in touch with the details.”  There wasn’t really much asking involved.

And that seemed to be par for the course with you. When you wanted to stop communicating through the app, you’d said, “We should take this conversation to texts.” When you wanted to know something, you’d say, “Tell me about…” And when you wanted to see more of him, you said, “I bet you have such a pretty cock, send me a picture.” Thank god, he’d already had a bunch of dick pics locked and loaded.

It was uncommon for him to feel like he was on his back foot so much. He rationalized that it was because all of the communicating so far had been over texts. It would be better in person. He would be better. More in control. More in his element.

He looked in the mirror a sixth time. He looked fucking good. He was wearing a crisp, long-sleeve button-down in a dusty shade of blue that matched his eyes. He had it unbuttoned lower than necessary, but not so much that it’d be too slutty for an upscale restaurant. He paired it with his tightest gray slacks and finished the look with his Italian loafers. Fuck, yeah, he looked good. He looked expensive.

He drove himself to the restaurant your assistant had made a reservation at and handed the keys over to the valet. Maybe he should be saving the little money he had right now, but if everything went to plan tonight, he wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore. It was a show of confidence, he thought, as he handed the folded bills over to the kid parking his car. 

Just as he made his way inside and gave his name to the hostess, his phone buzzed with another text from your personal assistant, Julia.

Hi, Ransom. Her last meeting of the day went long, so she’s going to be a little late for dinner. She wanted me to tell you to go ahead and order whatever appetizers and drinks you want. She should only be about fifteen minutes.”

Damn it, the one time he tried to be ontime, he was left waiting. This was why he was always late. But no, tonight he’d wanted to make a good impression. And of course, it bit him in the ass. So, fuck yeah, he’d order whatever he wanted.

The hostess led him to a lone table in a private room. That’s what he was fucking talking about. This was the treatment he deserved. Private dining, special menus, special treatment. He couldn’t wait to get used to this.

But first, he needed to close the deal. He needed to convince you that you needed him, that he was worth taking care of. He’d never had a job interview before, but if there was one thing he could do, it was turn up the charm. He was gonna flirt like his life depended on it. Because it did.

So he ordered a Macallan and the carpaccio and decided to use this extra time to strategize.

Later, Ransom would deny it, but he felt the air still when you finally walked into the room twenty minutes later. It was clear you’d come straight from the office, your belted shirtdress reeking professionalism. But it was also obviously designer and had been tailored to fit your curves perfectly. And there was an elegance too that wasn’t out of place here. Combined with the obviously high-quality jewelry you wore, it was clear you belonged in rooms like this. He could see it immediately, you were dripping not just money but sophistication. 

He’d only seen you in bits and pieces in your profile. Carefully cropped photos, so as not to give away the whole of you. He’d assumed that meant you’d been hiding something. He hadn’t put much thought to what, only focused on the dollar signs. Figuring he could make anything work as long as it came with enough money. But now, seeing you, all of you, in person, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why you would want to hide any of it. His worries of how much he’d need to rely on little blue pills completely disappeared.

You strode toward him quickly, and he stood up to greet you. “Ransom,” you said, your voice warm. “It’s so lovely to see you in person.” You gave him a brief embrace accompanied by a soft peck to his cheek. He felt your touch linger even after you’d sat down in your seat. 

He sat down as well. “It’s lovely to see you, too,” he said, his voice pitched low in the way that so many women he’d been with liked. “You’re even more beautiful than I was expecting.” He let his eyes rove over you for a moment, a predator’s smile on his face. It was a move that had worked for him countless times.

So he was surprised when your response was to snort derisively. “Ah, I see I’m in for the hard sell tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

“Listen,” you leaned forward, “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t already mostly made up my mind. But it’s been a long day, and I’d rather not talk business on an empty stomach, alright?”

Ransom felt his jaw tick, but he tried to school his expression, not let you see how much that irritated him. “And what are we supposed to do instead?” He may not have been completely successful.

You gave a careless shrug. “Try talking to each other like real people?”

Ransom opened his mouth to respond when the waitress approached the table, carrying a bottle of wine. “Welcome back,” she said to you as she poured you both a glass. 

“Jen,” you said, smiling broadly, “how are you?”

“I’m doing well. I was happy to hear you and your guest would be joining us tonight. The chef has prepared a tasting menu for you. I’ll be out with the first course shortly.”

“That sounds lovely, thank you. And pass my thanks on to Antonio as well.” 

Jen nodded and smiled in response, then left the bottle on the table and exited the small room.

When you turned back to Ransom, he raised an eyebrow. “They know me here,” you said casually.

Yeah, clearly. His thoughts couldn’t help but flit to his mother. How she would kill for this type of treatment. To have her wine brought out to her without ordering. A special menu created just for her. To be on a first-name basis with a five-star chef. He might not be so eager to never see her again if it gave him the chance to tell her about this. To rub her face in it.

His thoughts returned to you when he felt your gaze on him, an expectant look in your eye. You were obviously waiting for him to do something. Shit. What had you said before the waitress came in? That you wanted to talk to each other like real people. Fuck, did he even know how to do that? He cleared his throat, searching for something, and finally asked, “What made your day so long?”

A satisfied smirk passed over your face before transforming into a genuine smile. “Thank you for asking.” You sighed, and he saw it, just for a split second before it was gone again. You were exhausted. “I have many board members with many opinions. Some more informed than others, but I have to listen to them all. Those days can be draining.”

“What kind of company is it?” he asked. You’d been fairly cagey with personal information over texts. He wondered if you might be more forthcoming in person.

“Medical technology,” you said, somewhat dismissively. “Primarily portable scanners for things like MRIs. I won’t bore you with the details.” 

Ransom hoped you couldn’t see the dollar signs in his eyes at that. Shit, proprietary tech? You must be loaded. No wonder this restaurant was bending over backwards for you. He would, too, if this night went to plan.

As he was trying to formulate a follow-up question, you switched gears. “What about you? What do you do with your days?”

For one terrifying moment, Ransom’s brain went completely blank. What did he do with his days? Absolutely nothing, if he could help it. He went shopping, he went drinking, he went sunbathing, he read, he watched TV, and he went to the gym. It all added up to a big fat zero and that was the goal; that was why he was doing this now. But that wasn’t what you wanted to hear, was it? No, you wanted him to say that he was putting himself through law school, or caring for a sick parent, or that he wanted to quit the three jobs he hated. There was no way to explain how he’d been able to do absolutely nothing up until this point and why he wasn’t able to continue that way now without getting into who his family was or what they’d done to him. No, thank you. You didn’t need to know any of that.

As a stalling technique, he swirled his wine glass and then took a sip. A little hum escaped him at the taste. Your lips curled up into a smirk. “You like it?” you asked. “Jen brought us one of my favorite bottles. They always have it on hand for me here.”

“It’s excellent,” he said with a nod, which earned him a pleased look from you that he felt in his chest.

Jen chose that moment to come back in, bearing the first course. By the time she’d finished telling you both what was being served, your question to Ransom had been thankfully forgotten.

You took one last bite of your entree, then set your silverware down on your plate decisively. You looked Ransom in the eye. Having your full attention on him was almost disconcerting. “Alright,” you said. “I’d very much like to enter into an arrangement with you. High level, I’ll support you in exchange for you being available to me. What are your initial thoughts on that?”

Fuck. Yes. Finally. He nodded slowly. “Yes, I think I’d like that,” he said, trying to keep his tone even so as not to betray his eagerness.

You smiled like you'd won something. “Excellent. That makes me very happy. Now, what I'm offering: I'll cover all of your living expenses. Rent, utilities, bills–”

He cleared his throat, and you paused, giving him a questioning look. “I need to be out of my current place soon. Very soon. I’ll need a new place to live.”

You took out your phone and immediately started typing. “That’s right, you mentioned that on your profile. I’ll set up a few showings for us in the coming weeks. When do you need to be out of your current place?”

“Thirty-three days,” he said, too quickly.

There was a hint of something in your eyes, recognition, maybe, or– Ransom didn’t know, but whatever it was sat uncomfortably in his chest.

But after looking at him like that for too long, even if it was just a nanosecond, you nodded and made a note in your phone. “I’ll tell my real estate agent to prioritize listings that are available immediately. But, if it takes some time to find one we like or it isn’t available right away, I want you to know that I’ll get you somewhere to stay in the meantime.” You reached over and gently laid your hand over his. “I don't want you to worry about that.”

He swallowed, trying not to show his relief, and nodded.

You waited a beat and then said, “Say ‘thank you,’ Ransom.”

These fucking women. “Thank you,” he gritted out, realizing much too late that he hadn't managed to suppress his accompanying eyeroll. 

Luckily, you just chuckled in response. “Oh, I’m gonna have to teach you some manners, aren’t I?”

“Yeah?” he asked, starting to get a read on you. “Is that what you think I need?”

You leaned forward, your voice dropping an octave. “I think you’re begging for someone to put you in your place.”

He matched your posture. “I don’t beg.”

A smirk bloomed on your face. “But you’ll do it for me, won’t you? I’ll teach you how to beg so pretty.”

Ransom cleared his throat as heat engulfed his whole body. That picture of your legs in leather boots that went up to your thighs flashed in his mind. “So that’s your thing? Control?”

You leaned back in your chair. “That’s one of my things,” you said evenly. “But it’s one of yours, too, isn’t it? You marked an interest in submission on your kink list.”

Oh. Well, he must have, amongst all the others he hadn’t really read. And it’d done the trick. He was here, so close to his end goal. He couldn’t back out now. “Yeah.”

You nodded once, seemingly pleased. “And have you been in a relationship like that before?”

“I have,” he lied, adding his own smirk. He was so fucking close.

Your eyes narrowed as you looked at him. You were silent for too long. Then, “I’m going to have a lot of rules for you. We’ll go over them later, but the first one is that you don’t lie to me. Not ever.”

“What–”

“Have you been in a relationship like that before?” Your voice was firm this time, demanding. It almost made him want to–

He swallowed, but didn’t let himself look down. “No,” he said, “I guess I haven’t.”

Your posture relaxed some, but you didn’t let go of his gaze. “Thank you, Ransom, for telling me the truth.” There was a beat of silence that he wondered how to fill, but then you spoke again. “Good boy.”

Suddenly, Ransom could hear his heart beating in his ears. He swallowed dryly. Your expression had turned smug.  The irritation that caused in him helped him to shake himself out of whatever had just happened. “Rules, huh?” he asked, trying desperately to regain his defiant air.

The smirk from earlier returned, got wider. It reminded him of that other picture from your profile. The one he’d looked at too many times. It was even better when he could see your whole face. “Yeah, rules. What I want you to wear, where I want you to be, how I want you to speak to me,” you paused, making sure you had his full attention, something sparkling in your eyes, “when and how you’re allowed to cum.”

Heat flooded his face, he wasn’t able to stop it. He felt it travel to the tips of his ears. And by the way the sparkle in your eyes got even more intense, he knew it was visible to you.

You leaned forward again, your voice a little rough, “I was fucking hoping you’d blush pretty for me. Even better than I imagined.”

He didn’t have a response for that, so he looked away for a moment, to the corner of the room. Your gaze was too intense to hold. He cleared his throat again, then looked back at you. “Well,” he said, slow but determined, “for all that I’m going to need a monthly allowance. In addition to everything else.”

You nodded. “I’m prepared to offer $3,000.”

He leaned back in his chair. He had something you wanted. He could see it now. He’d press this advantage. “Seven.”

One corner of your mouth twitched and your eyebrow raised almost imperceptibly. Or it would have been if he hadn’t been watching you so closely. “Greedy boy.”

He shrugged casually. “You wouldn’t respect me if I just blindly accepted your first offer, would you?”

The twitch in your lips turned into a small grin. “Five thousand,” you said, ignoring his question. “Final offer. For now.”

He sat up straight. “For now?”

You nodded. “For now. If we need to look at these things again in a few months, once we’re settled, then we can. Adjust if we need to.”

“Alright. I can accept that.”

“Excellent,” you said, making a few more notes in your phone. “I’ll have the financial elements drawn up and sent over for you to review and sign tomorrow.” With that, you put your phone away, and smiled at him, genuinely. He couldn’t help but smile back.

The shortest moment later, Jen was back with dessert—a chocolate torte dusted with gold, a collection of red berries artfully pressed into its center. She placed it between you and you immediately dismissed her with a sincere, “Thank you, Jen,” without ever moving your gaze from Ransom.

When she was gone, Ransom picked up his dessert fork to have a taste, but you stilled his hand with a quiet, “No,” and picked up your own fork. He struggled to repress his eye roll at whatever power play this was. But you surprised him when, after effortlessly sliding your fork through the cake to collect a small bite, instead of taking it for yourself, you held it over the center of the table. For him.

He reached out to take the fork from you when you admonished him again. “No, Ransom.” He looked at you questioningly, but you just stared back, unblinking, challenging. Finally, he leaned forward and opened his mouth to accept the bite. His eyes slipped shut as he closed his lips around your fork and you slowly pulled it back. As he savored the bittersweet chocolate, he felt the tips of his ears go red again. His eyes snapped back open when he heard you breathe out, “So fucking pretty.”   

You gaze was on him, drilling into him and he couldn’t look away. At least until the screen on your designer smart watch flashed. You quickly pressed a button to dismiss the alert, but then it happened again. And again. You sighed as you actually looked at the messages coming in.

“Shit,” you muttered, then gave him an apologetic smile. “I need to go take care of this.” You sighed again, heavily. “I’m sorry to cut our evening short, but please stay as long as you’d like and enjoy the dessert. Everything’s been taken care of. Julia will reach out with the details of the apartment showings.”

 He stood up as you did, still a little dazed from you fucking feeding him that cake. You took the few short steps to join him on his side of the table. You wordlessly placed your hand on his cheek and brushed your thumb over his bottom lip. Then you grasped the back of his neck with your other hand and pulled him into a kiss. 

It was– It was fucking dirty. Wet and hot and demanding. He kept trying to gain control of it, but you wouldn’t let him. You wouldn’t give up anything. It was the closest he’d ever felt to being consumed.

Too soon, you pulled away, leaving him a little breathless. Your hand was still on his cheek. “I will see you so soon,” you said, softly. Then you pulled away, and left. You were already on the phone demanding details by the time you’d made it to the door.

Ransom just stood there for a moment, trying to let his mind catch up. Then he let out a breath. He’d done it. He’d gotten everything he wanted. He sat back down in his chair and picked up his fork. This cake seemed like the perfect way to celebrate.

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[brf-rumortrackinganon]

"I think what throws a lot of people (especially non-Americans) off about this is that Americans get really casual in our downtime, more than a lot of other cultures and people expect."

Yeah definitely that but i think there is an added layers because their parents chose titles for the kids and like it or not, every work on Charles or Elizabeth or the general royal lineage will include them and their titles and it's certainly new having only very casual pictures of a prince and princess and not one polished one

That's very true. I hadn't thought of it in that context.

But more than the casual outfits, I think it's also that we're seeing the Sussexes in far more casual places than we see/have seen any other royal family, which is also a pretty jarring contrast.

Take the People article, for example. Meghan talks about working from bed with Archie laying next to her, and/or maybe the People writer was there in the bedroom too. No other royal or royal married-in would ever invite a reporter into their bedroom, much less acknowledge working from their bedroom with their kid asleep next to them.

Much less tell us that their freezers are full of chicken nuggets and french fries.

Much less record themselves cooking and dancing in the kitchen with their dog or hanging out with their mom.

Much less reacting to PR packages in the mail and namedropping other celebrities.

Much less being filmed during a dress fitting with people all up in her private business.

Much less recording themselves while still wet/toweled from a shower.

Could you imagine Kate doing an unboxing video? Queen Mary publishing footage of her coronation/inauguration dress fittings? Queen Letizia giving an interview with her hair wrapped in a towel? Crown Princess Victoria talking about her glam routine on a podcast and namedropping the Skarsgård family?

In other words, Meghan invites us into some incredibly intimate spaces via her social media, spaces that completely erase any and every perception of the royal mystique. She violates her own privacy with such frank casualness that it makes you wonder...maybe it's not William who's celebritifying the monarchy. Maybe it's Harry and Meghan celebritifying the titles by being so casual about where, how, and when we see them and their children.

edit: a word

[frownyalfred]

Idk how much of these ur planning to explore outright in the fic since we haven’t really had dans pov at all so I’m gonna ask some questions I’ve been really wondering about and would love to hear ur thoughts on

1) is he the kind of alpha who wants pups pretty soon? Or is it like with lex, where it’s something he’d like but didn’t really consider it to be in the cards for him because of his past

2) does he have any particular insecurities that have been affecting the specific choices he’s been making when it comes to lex and this situation? I’d love to hear a bit more of the reasoning behind his personal goals here. I know he’s chill and and ready to handle anything he’s needed for by someone he cares about, but it’s so interesting that he became committed to caring about lex so quickly, and I think that says a lot about the kind of person he is in the idea of “needing to be needed” or needing to have some important task to focus on in order to be fulfilled.

3) is he a lifelong gothamite, or does he originate from metropolis or somewhere else?

4) did he have any expectations for who this mysterious pack he was helping lex to protect are? Was he thinking about a really young pup and that’s why he was so ready to help? Does he have any sort of internal “what the hell” when he realizes the “pup” is actually very clearly a grown adult, and of course he doesn’t really have the context or understanding yet of who Jason is or the ways he was “stunted” by his life.

5) does he like vigilantes and hero’s at all? Was his goon/Merc lifestyle simply because it was something he was good at, or did he have some other particular interest that got him into that field.

I don’t expect you to answer all of these I just had some questions I’d love to hear your thoughts on if you have time!

I think he wasn't against the idea but it didn't come up until now as a possibility. He's a bit of a wilder alpha so I think deep down in his instincts he really wanted an omega who could keep up with him to have pups with. Lex makes Dan keep up with him so that helps.

He's very deferential to the existing pack hierarchy and admires it. We see this several times with him - he respects Clark's boundaries as Pack Alpha, he doesn't go into territory he's not invited onto, etc. He respects that Lex belongs to the Pack before Dan has any claim on him. I think an insecurity for him will be accepting that he has a place in that hierarchy and didn't just barge his way in. He's a bit of a solo alpha but deep down I think he really likes the older fashioned Pack dynamics. He never imagined settling down with just a mate, a house, and 1-2 pups. He does best when he's helping, and in the context of multiple alphas even. He doesn't need to be the top alpha in any situation, and maybe even deep down being in a pack is a relief for him because he doesn't want to be the one in charge setting rules all the time. He's a bit more independent than that.

Lifetime Gothamite, but my personal hc after some asks on here is that he did a brief stint in the military or some service organization where he traveled for a bit

He really respects Alfred ("Mr. Pennyworth") and was always under the assumption that his client was wealthy and private and that that was none of his business. Lex told him eventually that the pup was an adult but Dan still got it, that's the pack pup, it's different. He might be presented but he's still the youngest and the most vulnerable, esp as an omega. I think by this point in TNW he's put together who his client is (Bruce Wayne's pack) and that Clark is Superman (kind of hard not to after that rescue) but not the Batman part (yet).

I think Dan did some questionable jobs but mostly stayed out of that world. I like the Merc/former henchman idea but not sure it fits the main TNW storyline. Heroes and villains aren't his business, but we do see his disgust for Joker and anyone who helps him hurt people. He's got a strong sense of justice when it comes to protecting the vulnerable, like omegas and pups.

[gwenyn28]

Since I was talking about to someone privately... some ideas concerning 817 and 818. About leaks and theories and what we can expect to come.

First. About 817. WE had three main leaks: the conversation with Father Brian, the fight and the Eddie "joy/juice = Buck" realization. First I thought that just the first two were true and the thirdn one hasn't happened yet and might be pushed to 818. But then I thought some more about it. And I think this third one was real in this episode as well. The Buckley-Diaz family moment. That was the joy Eddie found. To bring Chris back to be with Buck. To not have to choose between the two most important people in his life. To be happy and at home.

We know from before that he was not willing or able to choose between Buck and Chris. HE said that he would always choose Chris but we saw how much it hurt him to leave Buck. So now he is finally back together with him AND Chris at the same place. At the place where he feels at home for real.

And about the joy? I think that Eddie and Chris had a talk. Because just jumping on a plane without having a real clue in the middle of the week while having school? Eddie investing a few hundred dollars for a flight while being short of money just to send Chris back to Texas again after a day or two? And we know that he is supposed to start working at the El Paso FD on Friday. This doesn't add up for me.

It feels like Eddie and Chris had a talk about coming back already, hence the look they exchanged that was so full of warmth and happiness and joy and understanding. That they both understood in that moment that "yes, this is the right decision." Because this is the place and the person they belong to the most.

They might not have told Buck yet, maybe they want it to be a surprise. That after the first happiness has died down and Buck asks about "When will you go back?" Eddie and Chris exchange a look and grin and ask "what about never?" That this is another surprise for Buck. Not only having Chris there to cheer him up for a day or two. But to have them back forever. Because we all know how happy this would make him. To have two of his favorite people, his family back in LA with him.

Unfortunately, this surprise won't get revealed at first because the earthquake/house crumbling down happens. And Buck has to go to work. And then he gets trapped. Is in a dangerous situation, probably NDE or sth. Eddie finds out about it. And he thinks "Shit, I wanted to stay with Chris. For Buck and for us." Seeing Buck in danger now? He freaks out like he did with the lightning strike. And this might lead to the THE thought. His realization.

Because why is he so out of it that he might loose Buck, again? He wanted to come back. And then he gets it. It is not just because they have just lost Bobby. No. Because losing Buck would mean so much more. He wanted to come back for Buck. To Buck. Not only because of his friends and family, the 118. Mainly because of Buck. This could bring a lot of clarity for Eddie. That he realizes it because of the situation Buck is in.

This leads him to go to the emergency site. Because... why the hell does this happen just now? The moment he realizes that there's more to their friendship than he has thought before. So he goes there, wanting to help. And he doesn't care that he is not a part of the LAFD anymore. They are happy because all hands on deck, this is a huge desaster and they can use everyone that is willing to help. They need every help they can get. (It would also be a callback to "MayDay" when Eddie was not a part of the 118 but joined again after.)

It really think that this will be the moment when Eddie realizes his feelings. How devastated he is that Buck is in danger. Trapped. And close to death maybe (or they don't know because there is no radio connection to Buck).

The audience will know that there is something going on. But the characters themselves won't. We will watch them in season 9 when they try to figure things out. Their feelings for each other who are mutual without them knowing. The audience is already aware of it. That there could be something on Buck's side after 811. After it is brought up by Buck himself that he could be "in love with Eddie". And with 818 the audience could be now aware that this is a mutual feeling. Because we see Eddie's side.

While the characters don't know though. And the "will they/won't they" can be the beginning of season 9.

Eddie is probably able to save Buck.- And he might not confess his feelings, that he is in love with him. Maybe he is not fully there yet to really use these words, to understand it completely. But he says it in different ways. That he will not leave again. That he will stay for and with Buck. That both him and Chris will stay in LA.

For Eddie it might be clear that this is close to a confession. And Buck might think about it being one as well because... nobody ever stayed for him. Everone left and he got dumped by his former partners. And Eddie says he wants to stay? That has to mean something, right?

So the audience can see them at the beginning of season 9, trying this "we confessed but didn't really confess and where are we in our relationship now?" This would lead to an interesting dynamic and story of "what does it take that they get that this is really mutual and means what they think it does?"

The audience would be left at the end of season 8 with the knowledge that Eddie and Buck are set up as the next couple while the characters still have to work through it. Win-win because people will start watching or definitely tune in to see that. And it will be a good pr move because the newer fans can still be there for the "finally!" moment, be a part of this huge thing of a mlm slow burn becoming canon and not just tune in after everything important has already happened.

So, I think that we get the obvious "they both know but they don't know that the other knows" moment this last episode and then the obvious "getting together" will happen in season 9. Old and new fans will be satisfied then. The ratings and viewership will rise during hiatus and before season 9 starts. Because people want to catch up before the new season airs. To be a part of this groundbreaking ship finally becoming canon.

I am not sure if they are going to kiss in this last episode but honestly? It wouldn't change the theory itself. A kiss could happen as a spur of the moment thing when Eddie is finally able to save Buck, to get through to him. And he is just glad that Buck is alive and that he could get him out of this dangerous situation. This would just add up a bit to the awkward situation afterwards and the "does this really mean what I think it does or was it just an accident?"

I have no clue if this is true and if this is what happens but it seems kind of possible to me. That we will get a huge hint for Buddie canon. Also, why else would we get a press tour with Ryan and Oliver and joint interviews? That is no damage control. Press is pre-planned and usually just happens when something big happens to the actor or character. Bringing them to outlets that are for the GA, bringing the topic of a possible romance between Eddie and Buck up and to the forefront of the GA's minds? Yeah, no damage control. That is all a calculated PR move.

So, I think there will a huge hint in this last episode that gives it away that there is something going on and that Buddie canon will happen. And then season 9 will start with their relationship changing to more. We wouldn't need many episodes for that. One or two, maybe throughout the opening disaster, there is some awkwardness. And then it gets resolved and it is offical.

[oh-yes-i-did-not]

Today is the day for people not to forget that vegetarianism exists. Maybe they’re not as “morally pure” as you want them to be, only shunning meat as is, or varying degrees of animal products including or excluding milk, eggs, even fish to some, depending on what your meat avoidance is (red meat, mammals, etc), but vegetarians are still a thing and they’re here. And it’s still a very viable option for people who want to be more aware, but don’t want to throw everything they already have away for containing a small amount of milk or fish product. Like most sauces you might find in your cabinet. Fish sauce is an ingredient in a lot of Asian cuisine sauces, just fyi.

And fuck those people who go “vegan or nothing!” They’re the exact same people who go “NO PAIN NO GAIN” on you on gym, when you can’t perform to perfection. They’re impossible, they expect impossible, they don’t exist in real life and thus they lack empathy, and they lack any awareness of you as a person, living in a situation.

If you want to lessen your consumption of meat or animal products without going scorched earth on them, you can do so. And it’s okay, too. One less piece of any meat consumed is better than none. It doesn’t matter if you can’t keep up with it or lapse once in a while. You as a singular consumer don’t matter quite that much as to bring down a movement with one or two mistakes. That’s actually a lie compounded on by THE industry, trying to shift the blame away from them and it’s not quite as black and white. But if it lessens your guilt then YES, you are not responsible for industries and your lone consumption will not change anything. You just need more people on your side.

...which is where vegeterianism and not being so fucking stubborn hardline comes in. Vegans I’ve seen have done nothing to encourage doing less with meat. They just say YOU NEED TO, NOW. And sharing recipes with fellow vegans, going “oooh, aaah” don’t count.

IN fact, I don’t care who the person who got their vegan lox recipe with carrots and salt shared on a national media is, or if they deserve even more accolades than they got, I’m just saying that anyone who spray painted “go vegan!” on a side of a building did less. They did something alright, some markings on a stuff. Which mostly annoys people in general. And then they think that annoyance or emotional reaction from non-vegans means anything (oooh they feeling guilty oooooh feeling so bad oooooh) and that they did something huge.

IN FACT, anyone just quietly sharing vegan recipes that look and taste good, and maybe even ways to do traditionally meat things as vegan, have done more to their cause than any-single-motherfucker who has ever spray painted shit, or yelled about their cause online, gotten angry at strangers online for their cause, or tried to gatekeep people like vegetarians or less meat people from their cause.

...just saying o.O

[loderlied]

sharing some thoughts about deactivating here because it’s been difficult pondering idk.

[screampied]

VENOMIZED?! t. fushiguro

❤︎ sum. your ex-fiancé needs a favor from you — just one more, he swears! apparently, he’s got some weird “parasite” that for some reason is very attracted to your sweet, sweet scent..

wc. 9.2k

warnings. fem! reader, venom! toji, modern au, pre-established relationship, pining, some spoilers + movie references, reader's a doctor (allegedly), unprotected, venom's dialogue is in bold, venom's tendrils, long tongues, brief bj's, manhandling, getting pounded silly in venom’s suit, choking, size kinks, L bombs, cunnīlingus, twice the stamina, marathons, fīngering, riding toji ‘till he cries, venom's kinda unserious, dīck slipping, cęrvix mentions, spitting on it, bręeding, squīrting, tummy bulges.

an. i’m ovulating and rewatched all three venom movies hear me OUT-

“pussy.”

“venom, man- please.”

“what.”

furrowing your brows, you stared at toji, the man who you were originally supposed to marry just six months ago. in the flesh, he stands tall behind the door of your office with a sheepish expression. he looks tired, ruffled hair buried underneath a sideways baseball cap while wearing some dingy sweats. “are you talking to yourself?”

“eheh- well,” toji gruffs, darting lime eyes toward your teal scrubs. he’s missed you. to think if he hadn’t been stupid enough to snoop through your life foundation files to expose confidential information regarding their private business practices. his silly little mistake ended up getting you both fired, but fate loved playing in your face because you almost forgot that you were still toji’s doctor at your other job. clearing his scratchy throat, toji sighs. “i’m dyin’ here, doc. need a checkup.”

“she smells good.”

“yeah, she does smell good.”

“what?” you eyed toji, wondering just who the hell he was even talking to.

toji looks at you, scratching behind his neck. “ah- sorry,” and you notice how he’s a lot veinier than usual. toji did a quick scan around the spacious, empty doctor’s office before he slightly tilted his head down. “long story short, sugar, i got a … parasite.”

“PARASITE!?”

“parasite?” you repeated with a deadpan, grabbing your clipboard near your desk.

oh for the love of . .

you thought you’d never see toji again. letting off a sigh of your own, you pat the cerulean-blue hospital bed. “sit.”

hoarsely scoffing, toji makes his way toward the bed before flopping on it with a loud ‘oof.’ scratching his head, he turns toward you as he sees you writing something down—probably information regarding his chart. “so… how ya been?”

“toji, let’s just make sure you’re alright.”

“fine, fine,” he grumbles, getting smacked face first with the thick tension swarming the air that could be cut with a knife.

there was obvious tension between the two of you, and toji was still head over heels in love with you. in fact—he’s never stopped, and he regrets every day choosing his career over his relationship.

if he could start over, hell - he would.

the two of you had plans and everything after getting married. settle down, maybe move out of san francisco, maybe even live near the countryside. you both even had a brief small talk about children too, but seeing you again just reminded him of how much he screwed up.

“what’s . . the problem, exactly? you said you have a what- parasite?”

your sweet tone snaps him out of his thoughts and his droopy, grassy eyes flick down to meet your gaze. “oh- uh, yeah. you’re the only person i thought of comin’ to. last doctor, i went to called me crazy and uh … called a swat team…. ha.”

“ooookay…” you curl a brow inward, hoping the last part was just another one of his unfunny jokes. “and does this ‘parasite’ make you talk to yourself or is that just toji being toji?”

“she’s sassy.”

toji rolls his eyes, disregarding venom’s instigating comments in his head before shrugging. “sometimes. he’s annoying.”

“he?”

“my uh- parasite. he hates being called ‘it.’ goes by venom ‘n everything,” toji explains, his hands still buried deep into the pockets of his cottony sweats. as you glance up to get a good look at him, he’s sweating bullets—all from the sides of his forehead too. “oh, ‘m fine. ‘s just a bit hot in here.”

“the a/c’s on.”

“oh..” toji murmurs, slouching a bit on the bed. to say he’s feeling hot is an understatement. it’s like the more he stared at you, the more he started to feel the unsteady beats of his heart pick up.

ba-dump after ba-dump after ba-dump! and he could even start to hear each pulse through his ears, traveling through his veins.

toji clenches his tense jaw as he tries to listen to you. you’re rambling a bunch of medical terminology about checking his vitals and blood pressure and he’s replying with uninterested head nods.

oh fuck.

venom’s getting excited.

it’s probably been about five months since the little ‘incident’ occurred where he ended up getting venom.

long story short—toji was snooping around the headquarters of the life foundation where he found actual test subjects. not animals, not insects but people. live, living, and breathing people, and before he could even think of pulling out his phone to record the things he saw - bam!

one of the test subjects—a girl, sneaks up from behind and attacks toji.

little did he know that a ‘parasite’ that was once inside her ended up slipping inside of him. the parasite is known as ‘venom.’ to sum it all up toji was a perfect match, the perfect host.

“toji, are you even listening to me?”

“yeah, toji. our wife’s talking to us.”

“shut up.” he grumbles, shaking his head.

“excuse me?”

“not you- ah, fuck,” toji takes off his ball cap, running a hand through his greasy darkened strands.

he’s been so kept in his thoughts that he didn’t feel you checking his vitals and blood pressure which was oddly higher than a usual human.

toji sits on the sheet-covered bed, the blood pressure cuff still wrapped ‘round his beefy bicep before he sighs deeply again. “i don’t.. wanna waste yer time. i doubt you’ll find what’s wrong, er- medically. it’s … hah- hard to explain.”

as you switched the sphygmomanometer off, you concluded with toji’s chart for now before thinking for a moment. “well, if it’s internal and is causing you to behave strangely, maybe an MRI will help-”

“NO.”

toji grows sheepish again. “heh- no, no.. MRI.”

“and why not?”

“sound… uh- sound hurts him. him and me.”

dropping your shoulders with impatience, you tap your foot with a grumble. “look, toji, i’m really trying here but i’m not sure how else i can help you. i don’t even know what this ‘parasite’ thing even is.”

“it’s.. better if i show ya.”

right at his words, your brows raised. show you?

at that moment—question marks were popping up all through your brain, and you were the epitome of confusion. toji sighed, sitting up straight before glancing down at you. “don’t get scared, alright? i won’t hurt’cha, promise.”

“um, okay..” you murmur, crossing your arms as your wrist bristles against your doctor identification badge. the anticipation’s nearly killing you, and you remain quiet as you try to study toji’s next move.

“alright-” toji inhales deeply, and right before your very eyes - he’s changing forms.

he’s still wearing sweats, but within seconds, his body’s starting to get covered with black. it looks like some sort of dark villain suit. he’s waaaay bigger now, and his face’s just halfway covered. as you raise your head, you’re met with the face. the slit, blinking eyes. there’s large, curving eyes that longly curl further up near the back of his head and the teeth-

half of toji’s mouth was now replaced with probably dozens of sharp, honed teeth and an obnoxiously long tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth.

what ….

the ….

fuck.

“pretty little girl.”

the voice sounded far different than toji’s. it’s more pitchy and low, it's screaming with smoky bass and it nearly makes you shudder. toji - or whoever that was, did a quick walk around you and you’re silently gulping.

it’s venom now, and the more he’s in your presence, the more he’s getting a louder smell of your signature sweet scent.

so this is the girl toji’s been whining about non-stop. interesting.

“i- um.. take it you’re the parasite?”

you heard an annoyed growl leave from his mouth before he replies, cocking its head.

“watch it, now. it’s venom, sweet thing.”

“venom, poison, toxin- whatever.” you rolled your eyes, your slight fear subsiding. toji told venom how you were sassy but you, you were intriguing. you didn’t seem the least bit scared and he liked that.

as you took in his massive appearance though, he was just so big, towering over toji entirely even with his head tilted down. venom’s very burly, and you could just see him drooling from his lips from your peripherals. in a tiny frail voice, you murmured. “where’s toji? is he-”

“still here, unfortunately. he’s my shitty host-”

right on cue, they swap back and toji’s back in his body. he rubs behind his neck, looking down at your cute appalled expression. “heh- see?”

“toji, what the hell did i just see.”

“i don’t know- but look, he’s a part of me now and he’s hell-bent on makin’ my life a livin’ hell for as long as i’m alive,” toji let off an exhale. “i didn’t . . just come here for a checkup though.”

your eyes meet his and toji’s demeanor turns more serious now - he’s starting to sweat again, and raven bangs that slit down his forehead nearly shield his eyes. “i- i missed you, sugar. seriously.”

“toji-”

“no, listen,” he grumbles, slowly closing the awkward distance between the two of you. the room grew dead quiet, and the only sounds that could be heard were from the outside of the hospital.

endless chatter and machines along with occasional beeps from the staticky hospital’s intercom. intently, you stare deep into his eyes and his hand softly goes on your cheek. toji’s patiently waiting - waiting for the moment for you to push his hand away, but you don’t.

instead, your body’s first response was to lean into his touch and you could see his eyes slowly widening as he continued to caress your cheek. he didn’t expect that.

“god, i- i’m so… horny-”

…..

“nice one. no wonder why you struggle to get laid.”

you blink thrice, staring at toji and oh- he’s starting to sweat even more. his eye seems to be twitching from venom’s insult and you’re wondering what’s going on through his brain - or who.

he’s not sitting on the bed anymore, he’s standing now, and again, toji towers over you completely.

if you squinted just enough, you’d see the dark bags indenting underneath his eyes. “you look .. really pretty today.”

“i’m wearing scrubs, toji.”

“idiot.”

toji grumbles, trying to disregard venom’s snarky side comments. “i know- i know, i just-” he pauses, his eyes trailing up and down your body. “wait- i think i know how you can help with my parasite.”

“how?”

“heh- do you uh- mind if we go back to your place? ‘m kinda starved-”

♡ ♡ ♡

“o- oh my.. god!” you’d squeal, yet another pretty primal ripping its way out of your throat. one minute, you’re having a heart-to-heart with your ex-fiancé and the next, his tongue’s swirlin’ left and right in between the cracks and crevices of your open thighs. you’d be lying through your teeth if you didn’t miss his tongue.

but fuck it.

you’re whimpering, swollen-glossed lips trembling as you’re hunched over your damn sofa. you’re bent over the arm of the couch as toji’s positioned behind you, using one hand to roughly grip the right cheek of your ass.

like always - he’s just nasty, sliding his tongue in and out of your syrupy cunt, savoring the candy-sweet taste. toji’s all in there—puckering his plump glossy lips as your hips refused to stay still on his tongue.

“hngh- sweeter than ever for me, pretty hah- mama,” toji groans, feeling you writhe again at the shuddering response your body gives him.

leisurely, his scarred lips tickle their way against the outer part of your pussy and you’re already fighting back fat tears. tears of straight pleasure, and he could hear those sweet ‘lil sobs getting caught in the back of your throat every time.

“fuck- dreamt ‘bout tastin’ you again for so long,” and as you’re continuing to fill the room with your repeated, wailing whimpers, toji brings a sticky, wet kiss to your labia that’s just constantly twitching. “mhm, i missed you too, wet girl.”

“ngh- toji,” a soft, gasping moan snatches away from your lungs as your thighs gradually grow shaky. you’re unstable—struggling desperately to cling onto the armrest of the sofa. toji’s tongue was just brutal - its pace was simply relentless, barely giving you any time to get out a single breath.

“fuck- fuuuuck,” and your chest dips inward, hearing that familiar slosh sound sob from between your legs. your tummy nearly does flips, cartwheels, and somersaults, feeling that thick, big stretch of one of toji’s fingers trying to insert its way inside you.

immediately, you’re clamping around him, presenting his stocky fat middle finger with your dripping, slick warmth. you heard a cooing, husky ‘ooooh’ rumble away from toji’s throat as he stared in awe.

“your fingers are sooo- fuck-” you’re cut off by his tongue that’s wetly slurping against your pussy. it’s so loud too, a carnal sound you’d probably never get used to.

toji’s a sloppy man - proud ‘n entirely unashamed, especially when it came to you.

his long, ravened lashes were closed the entire time whilst he was trying to barrel thick fingers inside of your drooling core. you’re just so wet, dampening his fingers within each overwhelming inch that sinks inside your pussy. “baby-” he breathily rasps, hearing the hurried huffs depart from your throat once he starts scissoring his digits inside of you. his fingertips were even bigger, and your toes were just pathetically curling up.

“toji, i want a taste too.”

toji grumbles, nearly forgetting about venom’s presence. already - you had a good portion of his chin dripping with your essence. as toji’s starting to create a decent, sloppy thrusting pace of his fingers, he spits on your clit.

“don’t be greedy. besides my tongue’s longer.”

“fine.” toji rolls his eyes, glancing at the glittery glob of spit that’s straightly cascading down the slit of your cunt.

venom did have a point though -

he could stretch it out to be several feet long. toji’s fingers continued to loudly thrust in and out of your sobbing, wet cunt before he nibbles against your nub. “mmch- sugar, can i try somethin’ with my tongue?”

“o.. okaay-” your voice cutely cracks, and you’re already starting to feel the irregular beats of your heart pick up at a much more frantic speed.

“hah- i’ll have ‘ta take my fingers out for it. might stretch you a bit,” and right as he says that you hear the drenched ‘pop’ sound splash away from between your trembly legs.

you’re damn near hysterical - temporarily pouting once you’re clenching around nothing but air once he pulls his fingers out.

down to his rounded, pointy knuckles — both fat fingers were glossed from top to bottom with streams of your gluey slick.

you heard a ‘whoosh’ from behind you, and your eyes slightly bulged once you felt a bit of drool splatter onto your back. you’re completely bare, and the only thing you currently had on was panties that toji lazily shoved to the side with his teeth earlier.

“bend.”

it’s venom’s voice this time, and the bass gruffly screaming in his tone had you already arching up. you whined, still feeling him shamelessly drooling on your bare backside.

you could hear him snarling quietly, hearing the slopping sound of his tongue rolling straight out of his hanging maw. curled, white eyes stare at your pretty pussy just on display, and venom’s tongue stretched out even farther.

“eyes… lungs… pancreas…” his venomous, deep voice bellows after each word that leaves his dropping, wet lips. the chiseled, sharp teeth that decorated the inside of venom’s mouth were just so shiny.

you felt yourself throbbing at every second he spent widely staring at your body, admiring your nude physique.

large, blinking eyes finally flicker down between your thighs and you moan once he hungrily licks his long tongue across his salivating lips. once he teasingly brings the tip of his tongue to lick between the wet crevice of your leg, you whimpered as he finished his sentence. “—pussy.”

“o- oh.. my goood-” you’d croak, eyes instantly rolling back once the slimy tip of his tongue slaps its way against your hole.

slooowly, it slithers its way down until it reaches your opening. it was so long, the tip already reaching near your navel within half a second. it’s just huuuge, longer than toji’s tongue by a mile. he’s just as ruthless too, dipping his way inside of your inviting cunt without muttering a single word.

you’re holding onto the edge of the couch for dear life, gnawing at the inside of your cheek as his tongue sloppily flops its way in and out of your throbbing pussy. venom’s a tease too, and every few seconds he’d purposely stretch the tip of his tongue even longer just to hear those pretty cries of yours pitch higher.

“uuugh.. s- so long, fuck-” you’d whine, gasping once you felt his flicking tongue occasionally slap against the sprawled arc of your thighs. unapologetically, venom creates a slimy, wet trail and he’s just straight-up licking you everywhere.

he’s not only licking your pussy, he’s gliding his tongue down your legs, around your legs, and of course -

he tends attention to his new favorite spot, your hole.

every time he’d lave the reddened, curly tip of his tongue at that particular spot - you’d let off the prettiest squeal. your eyes nearly popped out of their poor sockets as you’re left a stammering, babbling mess. messily, he swirls his extended tongue around your puckering hole before slithering it back down between the puffed folds of your pussy.

“ ‘m not.. hah- not gonna last, toji-”

venom scoffs, but he could feel toji trying to take over. as you remained awkwardly hunched over the fluffy armrest of your sofa, you just couldn’t get over how long venom’s tongue was.

just thinking about how many feet it was had you fluttering, and not just the kind of fluttering that occurs inside your stomach.

it’s wet, dripping everywhere down your legs as it continues to glissade up, down, ‘n around. you were impatiently spasming on his tongue the entire time as you were still arched over, chasing each incoming breath until your release decided to present itself.

venom’s tongue was widely thick too, and it just couldn’t help but roll its way against the bare left cheek of your ass. you’re practically gasping for air at this point, on the verge of collapsing from the length of his tongue before he delves it in wholly.

“fuck- fuuuuck-” you’d squeak, drool moistly seeping from each corner of your lips.

steamy, hot breath tickles against your thigh as his tongue continued to drag its way through your sloppy cunt. every smacking slosh that you heard from between your yelping legs only grew louder, and you’re just gnawing on the bars of your fuckin’ enclosure.

you’re starting to cutely crawl forward, at least you’re trying to, but you gasp—feeling one of venom’s long black tendrils curl its way around your torso.

“stay, girl.”

you’re moaning, eyes bulging wider once the tip of his tongue occasionally reaches near your pulsating g-spot. he’s so sloppy with it too, purposely diving his tongue at that same spot to make you cross-eyed.

your sweet melodic ‘ooooh’ ‘s only pitched higher, and as his tongue continued to thrust in and out of your throbbing cunt, you felt his tendril delicately caressing down your skin. “ ‘m gonna cummm-” you’d whine out, feeling the pathetic surrendering quake of your legs.

his tongue was just sooo vast ‘n wide - thickly stretching inside of your cunt before flicking the tip of his flat tongue all against your drenched, wet thighs.

within a blink of an eye, you hear a ‘swoof’ sound and toji ends up switching back to his original form. your kaleidoscope-like vision had you seeing bleary white splotches of pleasure. as each lively vein and axon located in your body gets harshly interrupted with a euphoric wave of elation, your high’s finally making its longly awaited appearance.

venom’s tongue which is now toji’s tongue shrinks a bit, and the entire time—you feel it all inside of you. pulse after pulse after pulse . .

the scar that slit down the right side of his lip smeared against your pussy as he takes one big sluuuuurp.

toji groans, grabbing ahold of your rickety thighs before snickering lowly. “c’mon, pretty girl. give it t ‘me. hah- ‘m so thirsty,” he murmurs against your folds, his lips wetly gluing together with the help of your slick cascading down his stubbled chin.

you’re just shaking - your jaw dropped with your toes cutely curled together. toji softly slides another finger inside you and this time, it's his index finger.

your lips spread wide - parting into a cute, surprised ‘o’ once you feel a brief cold band of what feels like a ring. it’s his engagement ring, and after all this time he still wore it.

“f- fuck, tojiiiii-” you’d sob out, furrowed brows contorting as he’s trying to slide in each thick inch of his digit.

you’re drooling, and not just from your mouth.

“never .. hngh- stopped lovin’ you, sweetheart,” toji grumbles, a smoky groan ripping out of his throat once he feels his dick twitching in his sweats.

toji’s hard too, and you could even hear him let off a soft raspy whine once he started to roll his hips against the cushioned couch. “fuuuck- gonna make me cum too, ugh-”

the wet silver band of his engagement ring tickles against the inside of your core, and as he repeatedly pistons his thick digit in and out of your pussy, he kept flicking his tongue at the same time.

you’re shivering, feeling your hips dramatically stutter before the coil buried deep in your fluttering tummy finally snaps.

“fu- fuck!” you’d squall out a pretty near battle cry, purring off little shaky ‘ah’ ‘s once you hear his final, repeating slurps.

toji’s free hand already snuck underneath his sweats, and he was angrily pumping his veiny cock that hid underneath his boxers.

the white stripes of his underwear had ‘lethal protector’ decorated around the upper strip of his boxers in bold white and purple — (venom’s idea of course)

as toji’s kiss-stung lips practically glued against your pulsating clit, he drinks all of your slick juices. the top row of his teeth playfully snags against your nub as his long, dark lashes flutter shut.

but as you’re creaming on his tongue, toji grunts loudly.

his bare shaft that’s hugged around his palm ends up releasing too from the tip, and he grumbles, feeling the inside of his stomach frantically tighten.

toji ends up cumming merely nanoseconds after you, and white splotches end up spraying over his stomach and on the burgundy cushion below you both.

“hah- fuck,” toji growls through honed, gritted teeth. he’s drenched with sweat, and he’s letting off guttural moans against your sweet cunt as his animalistic hips humped against the sofa. “made a fuckin’ mess outta me, pretty girl. just like . . ya always do-”

as you’re still getting over your own teeth-shatter release, you end up sitting up. toji brings his slick-covered ring finger towards his scarred lips, giving it a teasing ‘lil suck before humming in content. “my wife’s always had the sweetest taste.”

“ex-fiancée.” you corrected him, still feeling your thighs quake.

“oh, boo. same thing, sweetheart,” toji pants, and he saw how your eyes immediately dropped further down.

it starts near his chest. toji’s chest was puffed out, and fuck was he buff. his arms were oh-so swole, and your gaze was entirely stuck to his body as he started to take off his sweater.

after that - came his tank top.

it’s dingy, a dirty color of white and you could even see a few curly black strands of chest hair poke near the center part.

as you were openly gawking - you didn’t even realize you were crawling closer and closer toward him..

this probably wasn’t a good idea.

you’d probably regret this tomorrow.

but, again - fuck it.

one more last time with your ex-fiance couldn’t hurt that bad, right . . ?

“heh- come closer,” toji sits manspread, sprawling his beefy vein-covered arms over the edge of your sofa. “i don’t bite but venom might.”

“shut up-” you mumbled, and toji inhaled a sharp breath at the familiar feeling of your touch.

as always - you’re just so gentle, tenderly tender with one of your palms wrapping over his sensitive erect length. it’s like he grew the last time you saw him, and from all the tannish-pink sides, it was overwhelmed with veins.

prodding, lightning-shaped veins.

toji’s rounded tip was a pretty color of pink with splotches of glittery white where a few remnants of cum remained.

grunting—toji’s eyes briefly flap shut and you could see the core muscles in his stomach tightly flexing. a single vein throbs down the left side of his shaft as he feels your tongue flick against his frenulum.

speaking of - his poor, rosy-colored cockhead’s just tearing with glossy globules of pre-cum. you swirl your tongue around, hearing each low growling ‘o- oh fuck,’ leave from toji’s scarred lips.

if it was anything he missed more than you, it was your mouth. you always knew how to wrap your lips around his cock. ardently, toji bites his lip before he sees you reaching between your legs.

humming, he raises a brow as your hot throat starts to finally lower itself against his weighty cock. “mngh- poor baby. need a hand?”

“ ‘m fine,” you grumbled through full lips, almost remembering just how big toji’s dick really was.

seconds later and your lips were feeling tender just from the subtle gaping stretching it created. you’re letting off a symphony of muffled moans left and right as you’re trying to get his mushroomy tip to hit the roof of your mouth. as toji ogles at your bobbling head, he playfully pinches your nose.

“fuck- thaaat’s it, breathe.” he released the grip from your nostrils, hearing a faint noise of a gag.

he was just so thick, and your fingers weren’t helping your impatient fervor at all. you weren’t just throbbing anymore from between your legs you were twitching too.

a lustrous strand of saliva dribbles from the corner of your lips as you moan again - pretty, bleary eyes glancing back up at toji before you huff. with a sloppy, wet ‘pop!’ noise, your drooling lips left his veiny cock.

“hm?” toji lets out a smoky exhale, a wide palm still softly placed on top of your head. he sees the needy little pout gradually spreading against your face before he smears his fat tip against your lips. “impatient, wifey?”

“toji-” you grumbled, not even caring anymore. your body knew all too well what it wanted. “just fuck me.”

you wanted him - maybe even needed him.

toji knew what you wanted too, and god- you just wanted to wipe the smirk right off his face.

it’s like he could read you like a book. after saying just his name though—you let off another gasp once he suddenly lifts you.

“hah- well then. upsie’ fuckin daisey, girl. i gotcha.”

strenuous, hefty arms carry you as he’s stomping down your hallway. emerald-green eyes occasionally leer at the few hung paintings and wall decorations that are displayed on your wall.

of course, toji knew where your bedroom was because that’s exactly where he was taking you.

never before had your jaw dropped wider.

once toji’s aligning his blushing, plump tip against your already sobbing pussy you knew it was game over. toji had you in one of his favorite positions - prone bone.

almost like before, your face was down with your pretty, wriggling ass raised. a long, rectangular mirror was propped up in front of you and toji was just silently drinking in every lewd expression that contorted against your face.

his sweats - his boxers, everything seemed to disappear and all he wore was that same black suit with a carved ‘spider’ looking symbol on his chest.

“mhm- look at how wet she is for me, fuck-” toji grumbles, carnally admiring how your clit was just fluttering with a jumble of aroused pulses.

“you mean us.”

“us, right.” toji rolls his eyes at venom’s remark, forgetting how you couldn’t hear him at all.

you were just drenched, and as he ran a swollen thumb down your slivering slit, he hummed.

if he squinted just enough, your pussy would’ve easily resembled a flower - so so pretty.

toji groans, and you hear a bit of a faint whoosh sound.

right before your eyes as you’re arched over, you watched how he was now wearing all black. like from before — it was the suit, the suit whenever he transformed into venom but toji was still there.

ruffled, black strands nearly blocked both of his eyes before he damply smacks his mushroomy tip against your weeping cunt.

“ngh- toji, don’t tease me-”

“patience, sweetheart-” he grumbles through gritted teeth, and your lips part into an even wider ‘o’ once he’s sliding the head of his cock back and forth against your puffed folds.

your thighs were eagerly trembling - direly waiting for him to just go inside.

toji’s cock was so ridiculously fat - each slap against your pussy with just his tip alone had you dizzy. the minuscule, sizzling buds in your mouth made the entirety of your tongue water as you were just babbling those same whimpers.

“dunno who’s louder.” he licks his lips, still tasting remnants of your cloyingly sweet juices on his tongue. as he’s still toying with you, you moaned once you heard that familiar welcoming squeeelch.

toji’s starting to ease his way inside - already creating a huge, gaping stretch with just his tip alone.

the sweet ‘o- oh shit’ that pours from your syrupy lips was mere music to his ears. tenderly, a hand wraps around your throat from behind, making you look at yourself through the mirror.

his shadow alone, you saw it - venom’s eerily presence, his silhouette shadowing behind toji, and he was even bigger. you gulped, feeling your tummy take a few resists and turns as he’s still trying to make his way inside.

“make her arch more.”

toji brings a hand toward your back, gently pressing down to make you sit upright. he’s just so big, and your brows were already compressing and curling all from his thick size.

he was barely even a few inches in and yet it felt like he was stuffing you to the brim. unsteady, wobbly arms remained pierced into the cushioned mattress as you could just feel toji’s cunning grin from behind you.

“fuck- so fuckin’ big, tojiii-”

“nice ‘n big just for you, wifey,” he purrs, and you’re whimpering once he rubs the frigid band of his wedding ring against your pussy again. the sloshes started to grow more wet after each barreling stretch, and you’re just gasping for air at this point. “c’mon big girl, let's make it fit like old times. gimme that pretty biiiig stretch- fuck.”

toji’s halfway in when he groans, feeling your heart-shaped insides instinctively clench around him. it’s almost cute, and he’s leaning against your ass to where his weight’s just hovering on top of you. the same hand that was holding onto your throat softens its grip, and he gives you a teasing kiss on the side of your mouth.

as your neck raised a little, you tried to wiggle your hips. fuck, you tried something, anything so he could just move.

toji lowly chortles at your cute agitation before gifting the right cheek of your ass with a rude spank.

“ohhh, what’s all this? want me to move, yeah?”

“pleaseplease-”

your words were a soft-spoken mumble, and toji’s just about all the way in now. after he’s bottomed out, his cock stiffens inside of you as you tried to writhe against his hips.

your dripping cunt was still as loud as ever, squelching with numerous pretty sloshing sounds. kissing near the back of your neck, toji whispers hoarsely, “heh- shame, y’er pussy’s speakin’ up for you, pretty mama. but i need ‘ta hear you,” and you moaned, eyes nearly rolling back at the sheer warmth of toji’s chiseled frame laid flat against your flesh. “please what?”

“f- fuuuck me, toji. please- just fuck me.”

within every swallowing inch—you felt toji’s thick, heavy cock trying to squeeze itself in. you’re whimpering, staring ahead with bleary, lust-like eyes as he’s taking you from behind.

he’s so obnoxiously big, but from the inside, he was even bigger.

his sharpened pelvis presents one thrust to you - just a single, vigorous thrust and you feel like you are gonna break.

fall over like you were just some fragile, porcelain doll on the verge of shattering into smithereens. all because of his damn hips. “ugh-” toji grumbles, a small hiss leaving his lips at the sticky contact your sharply slapping ass makes against his lower half.

“i wanna taste her more.”

“knock y’erself out, pal.” toji huffs at another one of venom’s whines, sucking his teeth at how your insides just clamped around him.

your half-open eyes were just wandering everywhere with white flickering through your sockets as your mouth remained agape. the crown of his cock reaches a deep, deep, deep area, and the thing that made you whine was feeling venom’s long tongue.

again.

it’s slick ‘n sticky, slithering out of his dropped jaw as the wet tip licks down the path of your arched spine. he feels you shiver, and toji groans as he’s still ruthlessly pounding you into the creeping mattress. your mind still couldn’t wrap around how abnormally loooong venom’s tongue was, it was so long that he could curl it around your waist if he wanted.

“good .. girl.”

you couldn’t hear him—but you felt his presence, his eerie presence behind you as toji’s heavy weight leans riiiight up against your ass.

your slick was dripping down his cock as he was sloppily sliding his way in and out, each papping sound of thighs causing your ears to ring like bells. fuzzed cotton stuffs your ears as you’re even starting to drool yourself, clawing at the sheets as toji’s fucking you senseless.

“hah- such a pretty girl, that’s it- fuck-” he groans, biting his tongue once he’s met with the sticky sensation of your cunt noisily slapping back against his sharpened pelvis.

hit after hit after hit - and you could just about taste every beat of your heart. his hips were mean, just slamming into you after each filth of a millisecond.

delicately - toji’s thumb caresses the middle part of your throat before he makes you meet his dirty gaze in the mirror. “look,” he huskily purrs, slowing his thrusts down purposely to match your delayed, drawn-out pants.

you shuddered underneath him—moaning once you felt the tip of venom’s tongue snake its way around your trembling thighs. though bleary, droopy eyes and a tongue fully lolled out of your spit-glittery lips, you glanced at yourself in the mirror.

the image of yourself being rammed from behind by toji in his jet-black ‘venom’ whatever you'd call it suit would now constantly be etched in your brain.

as toji’s behind you, his other hand brings your waist up for a better angle. you whined, feeling a bit of his chest hair softly tickle against your spine as he grinds against your ass. he’s thick inside, molding your clammy insides after every primal, eye-rolling thrust.

“there she is, heyy sweetheart,” and his voice drops. it’s a low, guttural low with the right amount of breath that makes you shamefully throb. leaning in, toji playfully licks the side of your cheek before whispering airily. “what happened to all that attitude earlier, hm?”

“ngh, fuck you-” you moaned, gasping once you felt venom’s tendril crawl its way between your legs. it’s so slimy, creating glossy trails of wetness against your already wet thighs before it wraps around one of your legs.

“no, fuck you.” toji grumbles, creating an invisible trail of kisses down your neck.

“make me c- cum then.” you tried to talk back but you’re instantly silenced by the feeling of toji’s heavy, fat cock dipping near your g-spot.

the ridges of his cock that’s got more of a lean curve were enough to have you collapse right there. he’s hitting you good from the inside, massaging through your clingy walls as the two of you both grunt in carnal unison. “oh! fuuuck- fuck, right there, hngh-”

toji brings a hand over your mouth—a palm that muffles your reoccurring whines ‘n whimpers before he hits that same spot again..

he treats your cute ‘lil g-spot like a target, his accuracy is precise every single time. your legs quavered as he felt you twitching - so so close that your orgasm was just like the edge of your strawberry-colored tongue.

“yeah, right - fuuuckin’, there?” and even toji’s voice was starting to tremble.

he’s just about there too - the more he’s whacking his achingly, swollen tip against your tender spot the more he’s feeling his base start to grow more and more full.

you’re whimpering, the syrupy taste of your saliva pouring past the cracks of your lips whilst gluing against his palm. venom’s ravened tendrils remained curled around your thighs too, a tight enough grip to where the hold wouldn't loosen so easily.

“there, toji- pleaaaase,” you’re damn near begging now, sweet pretty pleads of mercy sliding from your lips as the bed groans in the background. he’s deep, massaging your walls as your pussy relaxed squelch after sobbing squelch.

toji’s tip was a blushing, hot red - and each time he pistons his hips, he delves his way even further against your pretty g-spot.

stringently, it prods prods prods until it just can’t anymore and you’re left with your jaw goofily hung open, agape and all as you’re staring at the cross-eyed expression that’s mirrored right in front of you.

your reflection was practically mocking you it seemed, and once you came on his cock again, you let out the most harmonic squeal.

“mhn- there we go, sugar. sloooow, hah- nice ‘n slow, fuck-” his voice pitches hoarsely as he’s gripping both of your swerving hips. as your back’s still laid flat against the plump sheets of your mattress—toji flops right against you.

he’s just close - so so close that you felt the smooth, latex-like material of his suit grind against your skin.

his abs - so naturally sharped and carved, every single row of his chiseled pecs rubbed against your sweat-glossed back and you’re just whimpering out those same pretty babbles for more more more..

with a black quirked brow, toji grunts in your ear whilst venom’s tendrils mindlessly wrap around your waist.

tenderly, his scarred, callused lift your hips just a bit more to get a deeper angle - and fuck, that’s when toji’s just about at his inevitable peak too.

“hngh- cum . . cum insiiide-” you whined, sheeny pouty lips of yours curving into a disappointed frown once you hear and feel the wet, sloppy pop. heavy, ragged breaths collided down your spine as you felt toji’s rough chest lay flat against your back.

his shaft slipped out of you, and you couldn’t help the small ‘lil moan that pried its way from your raw chords. you’re clenching around nothing now, and you even tried to sneak a hand down between your legs.

with a soft whack - you pull your hand back, feeling the brief millisecond feeling of venom’s tendril giving your impatient hand a tiny spank.

“silly little woman.”

“our wife’s always been impatient,” toji snickers lowly, wrapping his palm around his veiny, thick cock. he takes two deep breaths before plap after plap, and he’s just smacking his mushroomy tip against your slobbering cunt.

again.

“toji, tojiiiii-” you’d moan at the occasional tender stings from each playful hit. his tip’s so perfectly round ‘n plump, just gifting your pretty pussy with various hits. “breed me, fuuuck- don’t miss, pleaseplease-”

in his head, he’s counting each sloppy slap of his creamy tip tapping against your folds. he could just hear the sheer neediness in your voice, and that’s when toji starts to align himself again.

you’re throbbing ridiculously - muttering out faint, inaudible whimpers of ‘please’ and ‘fuck’ ‘s as he’s sliding his ruby-red crownhead up and down the drooling slope of your pussy.

“mhm, needy ‘lil thing. can’t go a second without throbbing,” toji groans, watching as your right thigh starts to twitch. as his ripped abdomen presses further into yours, he brings a wet kiss toward your left shoulder blade. “ ‘s that what you really want, sweetheart? for me to finish ins- oh, fuck.”

with a sharp, three-second hiss - toji feels his hips shudder. it’s a warning, a warning that he was about to erupt and fuck, you felt every prominent vein on his ramming cock pulse through your core.

vehemently, his rhythm turns from sprightly to sloppy within seconds and he’s raising your leg slightly. “ ‘m cumming, sugar. better.. hah- pussy better swallow it all like a good girl, ugh-”

with your squished chin resting on top of your arm, you stared at the lewd reflected image of yourself and toji through the mirror that hung across the two of you.

like a madman - he’s drilling into your very being with venom’s dark silhouette hovering over you both.

he’s reaching such deep, tender areas and you’re whimpering after each slapping thrust.

“toji- uuuh- toji, mgh-” you’d whimper, his hits against your ass with his pelvis being so vicious that you could almost taste it.

it’s so powerful - each direct hit that he flawlessly slams into with his cock has your cute, dilated pupils spiraling into permanent cartoony circles. with the help of venom, toji ends up stretching his dick just a few more inches inside of you, and your mouth drops.

his tip swirls its way around your gripping pussy before it’s finally coming to its risqué end.

you’re laid flat on your mattress as nothing but a tiny, inaudible gasp-like ‘fuck’ drags its way from your lips. toji’s cock that stretch stretch stretched just a little bit more ended up gifting the lower part of your tummy with a protruding bump.

he finishes in the rawest, lecherous manner, flooding every corner ‘n crevice of your gripping walls with syrupy, white cum. your thighs that glued together perfectly were greeted with a few welcoming dewdrops of toji’s slick mess. rough, callused fingertips ran ahold of your waist and you could feel him writhing behind you.

hooded, olive eyes zero down your body, and the natural sheet of sweat that decorated a path down your arched back.

god.

“heh- that’s my gi-”

“we aren’t finished,” you uttered, grabbing toji’s bulky shoulders and lightly shoving him on his back. with a surprised yet amused ‘uuf’ he lands as his half-opened eyes stare at the dripping, creamy mess streaming from between your legs. “lie back.”

venom, being toji’s conscious once more, snickers at your audacity as he watches the scene of you straddling his host.

“tojo buddy, if you won’t re-marry her, i will.”

“dude, i told you, it’s toji, and shut the hell u- fuuuck.”

♡ ♡ ♡

position after position after position and you gave toji an absolute run for his money. he didn’t expect at all for you to have as much stamina competing with him and venom combined. you even lost count of how many mind-boggling, eye-rolling, tear-jerking orgasms you’ve got snatched out of you. it’s probably been hours, and you and toji were merely both at your inevitable limits.

he’s stuffed you full with sooo many seconds and thirds and fourths and even fifths of sweltering cum that you felt like you were about to burst.

toji’s entirely milked out - or at least, he thinks he is, and now, you’re straddling him.

you’re straddling him, but from behind.

with lazy, droopy eyes, toji slides the tip of his tongue across the seam of his scarred lips as he watches you move. “mhm, gonna go reverse on me, yeah pretty girl?” he huffs, already feeling the slickly torrid mess stick against his thighs.

you’re reaaaal slow - a torturous type of slow that nearly does toji’s head in. he’s peering at your ass moving, but you’re not bouncing.

you’re not bouncing because he and you both knew that not only were you close again but he was too.

toji’s entire body felt hot, preparing lava. the humid, scorching temperature sizzles and arises after each bestial-like slam of your hips and he grunts. “god, y’er a… hah- little brat, arentcha.”

“aw, do you need a break, toji?”

“yes he does-” venom tried to chime in.

“no- no, i don’t,” toji breathes gruffly, beads and beads of sweat tearing down each side of his face. his hair’s all ruffled and unkempt, black strands nearly blocking his vision as his thick neck tosses itself back. “atta girl, ride it then. ride it like it’s fuckin’ yours, baby.”

slap one - and you moaned, hearing and feeling toji’s harsh palm swat against your right left ass cheek.

slap two - and you gasped, his hand smacking against the right.

and the third and final slap - it’s from venom, and one of his tendrils that sloppily slides from between your thighs noisily slaps against your already full, cum-dripping pussy.

toji’s jaw significantly tightens as he just watches in awe, silently gawking at the familiar sight he’s always loved seeing — his pretty ‘lil wife straddling him, he’s missed it, he’s missed you.

“fuck-” you held in a whine by giving the flat of your tongue a soft nibbles.

his cock from all girthy sides was just so fat, and the curve that stretches through your core every time you spring back down against his lap drives you both up the first street of insanity.

this reversing angle—it’s so intimate, and it’s always been one of toji’s weaknesses.

as you’re winding your hips ‘round in a hypnotic, perfect figure eight, venom’s just nagging all in toji’s ear.

the symbiote’s bored, and by the second he’s only getting more and more aroused. with a low grumble, toji told him to just wait then he’d get his turn. hopefully.

you almost did forget about the whole ‘parasite’ thing, but who were you to complain, let alone ask questions?

your legs sprawled nice and wide, and you’re nearly squatting as your cunt continued to swallow every inch of his cock. it’s so wide too, deeply prodding inside ‘till it reaches that pretty cervix of yours.

the curly, black hairs that stuck beneath toji’s slick-covered shaft tickled you, and you’re just panting continuously like a greyhound.

“sugar, fuck- bring those hips back to me like that, mhm. right there, right fuckin’ there . . please-”

please.

oh, he’s begging.

as you maintained a secure grip on his shaky knees with your hands, you heard the wanton tremor in toji’s voice.

by now, he’s reclined allll the way back against your plush pillows with his legs feeling like complete mush. fuck, you’ve probably rode him to death, because he could barely hold onto your hips anymore.

“toji… hah- cum with me, baby-” you mumbled, feeling his clammy fingertips slither down the sides of your waist.

like a wooden chair—you’re just rocking and rocking, not even minding the constant grunts and bellowing groans of your outdated boxspring that sits beneath your mattress.

it’s just so slick - your pussy, it’s sliding up ‘n down toji’s cock and he heard every clamoring, wet splat. he’s just almost mesmerized at how well you knew how to take him every time. his mouth’s as dry as it’s ever been, and you’re starting to feel that oh-so-familiar fluttering pool of butterflies stir in the lower pits of your tummy.

“heh, you called me baby-”

“shut up.”

“make m- ngh-”

blinking thrice, toji grunts once he feels your hand wrap around his neck. you’re still facing forward—riding him in reverse with your arm extended from behind you.

his neck was just so thick that you could barely bring all five fingers to squeeze his neck. “cute-” toji slyly titters, but his brattiness fatally comes to an end once he’s starting to feel his dick twitch.

his body - it’s rumbling, and your cunt’s pulsing increases after each slapping thrust. the stimulation always knew how to make your head spin, and for a second, it just felt like time indefinitely paused.

torrid, cloud breaths draw away straight from toji’s puffed-out chest and he groans. he’s riiight there, he’s right there and he could feel his creamy tip that’s messily poking around your insides trying to cling around your warmth.

as you’re just vigorously slapping your ass against his lap now, he’s left speechless.

“o- oh, oh sugar- your fuckin’ hips, yeahyeaaah-” and he’s whimpering now, long black lashes sticking together with what appears to be tears.

toji’s holding onto your rotating waist tightly, breathing through his nose as he hears each popping slosh of your cunt preparing to wring him dry for the nth time.

“toji, something’s about to-” you’d blurt, pausing mid-sentence, keeping both hands on his knees. toji’s tearing up at the sloppy, vicious strings of cum that threatens to depart from both pairs of slapping thighs that slap louder after each violent pound.

his dick’s all red ‘n swollen, from top to bottom as it’s covered with veins that paint the shriveling sides. your legs were about to give out at any second and so was his.

toji’s tip which was oh-so round ends up massaging your tightening walls perfectly, smothering your sensitive g-spot with a plethora of sweet french kisses.

“ah-” you squeal, your eyes widening as you’re coming to your end again. your throat - it feels so hot, so parched and you’re just gradually being led to your release. the adequate force of your brutal, tossing hips makes toji’s leafy irises reel further back.

glittery, wet lashes stick together piercing both pads of thumbprints into your ridden flesh — and oh, he’s cumming for what’s probably the umpteenth time now.

you both succumb to pleasure and you’re each hit with rippling waves and waves of swelling pleasure. finally, your legs end up collapsing and your jaw’s left goofily hanging.

you end up gushing, clenching internally as your labored breaths get tangled in your full lungs. it’s so wet, and as toji’s cock remained buried idly past the taut ring of your entrance, he’s pouring yet another milky wad of cum inside of you. it’s thick and smooth like honey, stickily melting inside of you like butter.

“mhm, f.. fuck-” you kissed your teeth, hearing toji’s heavy, defeated breaths exhale from behind you.

the air in the room felt so intoxicating - cloudy. as you sat still on his lap with his leaking cock still lodged inside of you, that same aroma of pure filth and intimacy smacks your nostrils right in the face.

its citrusy with a hint of sweetness, and your thighs couldn’t help but shudder above his.

“good girl, heh- think ya cured me just f- fine.” toji hoarsely murmurs, taking every few seconds to breathe.

two rough hands gingerly raise your hips, widely peering at the frothy, white ring that coats around his tan base. pearly, clear slick of your own mess stuck against your thighs as you let off muffled moans.

everything felt so tender - and in every millisecond that passed, you felt all ropes of toji’s cum plug you to the very fullest. “c’mere, girl-” he groggily murmured, and you gasped, feeling one of venom’s tendrils wrap around your waist.

with a swift movement — you’re pulled closer, breaking the distance between the two of you. toji smashes his scarred lips against yours, slipping off occasional husky whimpers in your mouth as he felt your fingers wrap around his flaccid cock. his whines pitch higher, and your thumb runs down a prodding vein that twitches from your touch.

it’s an intense, breath-snatching kiss that leaves you both gasping for air after each smack of departure from lips. as you moaned in his mouth, you could still taste remnants of your treacly arousal on his tongue.

“i love-” he whispers between kisses, and you slide out a whine once you feel venom’s tendrils swirl around your waist.

heartbeats pulsed rapidly, matching tempos of each other as your tongue disappeared inside toji’s mouth.he grunts, bringing his crimson kiss-bitten lips toward the crack of your jaw as your mouth remains agape.

“-you. s ‘much, f- fuck, you sure know how to milk me, sugar. reminds me of our . . hah- honeymoon.”

“just . . stop talking,” you roll your eyes—still feeling the after-effects of your body’s sensitive convulsions. you still felt so stuffed, still feeling the gooey remnants of cum trickle out of your dewy pussy. as toji’s eyes remained hooded and drooped, he flashes you that same smug grin. “i still- love you too-”

“there’s my girl,” toji huskily whispers against your lips, circling a thumb over the line that curves above the top of your mouth. you moaned, watching as he brought your hand up to his before kissing it -

repeatedly, before he brought your empty ring finger up toward his lips and kissed it. “mwah,” and you felt your pulse pick up before feeling toji’s broad arms pick you up. “up and at ‘em, wifey.”

but once you’re positioned to lay flat on your back, that’s when venom switches with toji again. you’re met with the same overly tall, massive ‘parasite’ with a dozen rows of whetted, white teeth.

venom slowly opens his jaw — showcasing his long, dripping pink tongue that dampens even more once he sees your filled pussy twitching solely at the sound of his venomous, deep voice.

all over his body, he’s covered with veins, and as your eyes trail ‘n trail way down, you land at his abs and stop just below his waistline.

your eyes widened as you felt hands softly grab your hips, and he brought one of his tendrils to make you face the other way.

a sultry-sounding moan escapes out of your raw throat as your face plants against your pillow.

“mmgh-” and you let off a surprised breathy gasp, feeling not one but a pair of two rockhard things slapping against the entrance of your bare cunt.

“toji- ngh, venom- i… is that-”

“now bend for me, sweet thing. my turn.”

[lovefms]

beau  liked  that  tj  couldn’t  resist  him.  maybe  it  was  selfish?  maybe  it  said  more  about  his  own  ego  than  anything  else.  but  there  was  something  deeply  satisfying  about  how  easy  it  was.  how  tj  would  always  cave,  always  answer  his  messages,  always  meet  him  with  that  knowing  grin  like  he  could  read  beau's  thoughts.  he  liked  how  tj  kept  agreeing  to  hang  out  with  him,  even  at  the  strangest  hours,  even  when  it  was  too  late  or  too  cold  or  too  out  of  the  way.  they’d  been  spending  a  lot  of  time  together  lately.  more  than  usual  and  enough  for  things  to  start  slipping  out  of  place...  or  maybe  into  place,  depending  on  how  you  looked  at  it.  the  line  between  we’re  just  friends  and  we’re  something  more  had  started  to  blur  like  watercolour  soaking  into  paper.  beau  tried  not  to  overthink  it.  tried  not  to  press  too  hard  on  the  ambiguity  of  it  all.  he  didn't  want  to  name  something  just  to  watch  it  go  away.  so  he  let  it  be  what  it  was:  undefined.  all  beau  knew,  all  he  was  sure  of,  was  that  he  loved  being  with  tj.  loved  kissing  him,  touching  him,  loved  waking  up  tangled  in  sheets  still  warm  with  the  imprint  of  their  bare  bodies.  loved  seeing  marks  bloom  on  places  only  he  and  tj  could  see.  he  loved  the  sleepy  sighs  and  the  lazy  mornings.  but  he  loved  the  other  stuff  too—things  that  friends  did.  the  mundanities.  smoking  in  backalleys  until  their  fingers  smelled,  talking  shit  about  the  weather  or  people  they  saw  pass  by.

and  what  he  loved  best,  maybe,  were  the  moments  that  sat  somewhere  in  between.  like  when  they  left  the  city  behind  and  drove  out  just  the  two  of  them  with  no  destination  and  no  plan.  just  roads  unfolding  endlessly  ahead  and  time  that  belonged  to  no  one  else  but  them.  beau  could  lean  over  the  console,  press  a  kiss  to  tj’s  shoulder,  or  take  his  hand  when  no  one  was  looking.  the  pretending,  the  almosts.  the  this-could-be-more  if  only  someone  said  it  out  loud.

he  especially  liked  this.

tj  leaned  in.  beau  barely  moved,  watched  with  his  lips  parted.  let  tj  exhale,  smoke  wisping  into  his  mouth  like  a  gift.  his  eyes  fluttered  shut.  he  took  it  in,  mouth  catching  tj’s  with  more  than  just  instinct.  he  licked  into  the  kiss,  tasting  nicotine  and  something  distinctly  tj,  something  almost  sweet,  like  all  his  nerve  endings  lit  up  just  from  this.  his  arms  found  their  way  around  tj’s  waist,  tugging  him  closer.  they  kept  kissing—hungry  and  slow,  like  they  weren’t  in  a  backalley  behind  a  bar  but  somewhere  far  more  private,  somewhere  made  for  this  kind  of  thing.  beau  clung  a  little  tighter,  chasing  the  taste.

he  didn’t  say  anything  when  tj  pulled  away.  instead,  he  flicked  the  dying  stub  of  his  cigarette  to  the  ground,  crushed  it  beneath  the  heel  of  his  shoe,  and  smiled.  beau  reached  out,  took  tj’s  hand  in  his  own.  laced  their  fingers  together  like  it  was  second  nature.  it  always  had  been—but  only  ever  when  no  one  was  around.  just  them.  maybe  it  was  the  buzz  of  the  alcohol  or  the  sheer  electric  current  running  between  them,  but  beau  didn’t  feel  like  hiding  tonight.  he  didn’t  care  much  if  someone  who  knew  them  happened  to  look.

he  pulled  tj  along,  nodding  toward  the  lot.  “mine?”  he  offered  as  he  slipped  the  half-empty  box  of  cigarettes  back  into  his  pocket.  “mas  malapit  unit  ko.  you're  sober  enough  to  drive?”

tj   doesn’t   answer   right   away.   he   just   watches   beau   like   he’s   the   only   thing   worth   looking   at.   his   eyes   settle   on   the   slope   of   his   cheek,   the   soft   shadows   cast   by   streetlight,   the   way   his   lips   part   to   exhale   smoke   that   curls   slow   and   lazy   between   them.   tj   focuses   on   that—   on   his   mouth,   on   the   faint   flush   still   blooming   on   beau’s   cheeks,   and   he   wonders   if   it’s   from   the   cold   or   from   their   kiss.   his   heart   is   thudding   in   a   way   that   feels   fucking   ridiculous,   loud   and   hard   like   it’s   trying   to   punch   through   his   chest.   none   of   ian’s   songs   could   capture   this.   not   the   heartbreak,   not   the   aching   lyrics—   this   isn’t   some   quiet   longing   or   sad   confession.   this   is   something   sweet   and   sensual,   warm   like   honey   on   the   tongue.   and   all   he   can   think   about   is   beau.   beau,   in   his   arms.   beau,   under   his   touch.   beau,   gasping   into   his   mouth   as   he   fucks   him   slow   and   deep,   taking   his   time,   making   sure   he   feels   every   second   of   it.   he   wants   him.   wants   to   press   him   into   the   sheets   and   keep   him   there   all   night.   wants   to   taste   him   again,   feel   his   fingers   tangled   in   his   hair.   he   also   wants   the   rest   of   him—   the   parts   he   only   gives   away   in   pieces.   wants   the   flirting   with   strangers   to   stop.   wants   to   be   the   only   one.   he   knows   it’s   selfish.   he   knows   it’s   more   than   he   has   the   right   to   want.   but   tj   still   wants   it.   and   maybe   he’s   stupid   for   it,   but   he   feels   lucky   anyway.   lucky   just   to   be   kissed   by   him.   lucky   to   even   be   his   friend.

he   doesn’t   want   to   hear   ian’s   set.   doesn’t   want   to   stand   shoulder   to   shoulder   with   people   singing   about   being   left   behind   when   he   has   this—   when   he   has   beau’s   attention,   beau’s   lips,   beau   pressed   close   and   looking   at   him   like   he’s   something   worth   staying   out   here   for.   he’s   not   ian’s   audience.   those   songs   weren’t   written   for   people   like   him.   they’re   about   unrequited   love,   missed   chances,   being   invisible.   he’s   not   invisible   to   beau.   not   tonight.   still,   he   knows   where   he   stands—   somewhere   between   a   friend   and   a   habit,   a   place   without   definition.   but   here   in   the   cool   night   air,   in   the   hush   between   city   noise   and   muffled   basslines,   tj   feels   something   sharp   and   real   settle   in   his   chest.   he   doesn’t   want   to   share   this.   not   with   anyone.   not   with   ian’s   lyrics,   not   with   the   people   inside,   not   with   anyone   else   beau   might   call   up   when   he’s   drunk   and   lonely.   he   just   wants   this.   this   moment.   this   man.   he   doesn’t   say   it,   but   the   need   in   him   thrums   just   under   his   skin.

a   slow   smile   pulls   at   tj’s   lips   as   beau   feigns   innocence,   repeating   the   same   excuse   they’ve   both   used   before,   and   it   hits   him   just   how   easy   it   would   be   to   leave.   “   well,   ”   he   murmurs,   dragging   slow   from   his   cigarette,   “   you’re   such   a   good   kisser.   how   can   i   resist   you?   ”   he   leans   in,   their   faces   barely   apart,   then   exhales   deliberately—   smoke   slipping   past   his   lips   and   into   beau’s   mouth   with   a   warm,   intimate   drag   that   lingers   between   them.   he   follows   it   with   a   kiss,   tender   but   charged,   tasting   the   smoke   and   beau   at   once.   his   hand   finds   the   curve   of   beau’s   jaw,   thumb   brushing   gently   against   skin   that   still   feels   hot   from   earlier.   he   kisses   him   again,   slower   this   time,   like   he’s   savoring   it.   when   he   finally   pulls   back,   his   voice   is   soft   but   laced   with   mischief.   “   text   ko   nalang   sila.   sabihin   ko   nalang   nahihilo   ka   na   at   hindi   mo   na   kayang   bumalik   sa   loob   dahil   sa   init.   ”   he   holds   his   cigarette   off   to   the   side,   eyes   never   leaving   beau’s.   “   your   place   or   mine?   ”   and   god,   he   wants   to   leave   now.   wants   to   get   beau   alone,   with   no   lights,   no   crowd,   no   pretending.   just   skin,   breath,   and   the   way   beau   looks   at   him   like   he   already   knows   what   tj’s   thinking.