#and they just forget it and keep making the joke every time!

[sailingintothenight]

"The girl in his eyes." Bob Reynolds Imagine.

(Not my gif but give a prize to the people who make them)

Summary: Time together created feelings in the two of you. One night, the group tries to get him and you to talk about it, with John urging Bob to talk about "the girl in his eyes." And that creates a big misunderstanding.

A/N: Just a kind of short imagine (around 4K words) cause I'm new here and I don't want to go on too long and bore you all in case this is boring. I'm sorry if there are any grammatical errors. But something I always knew but I accepted today is that some of us write the kind of love we'd like to receive, right? The kind we sometimes can't find, though other did find, I hope. However, in the meantime, don't forget to love yourself please. As a warning, a little angst(?) but with a happy ending! and the word "drug." I think that's all, thanks!

“Lena, did you see (Y/N)—”

The last letter of your name drops to a whisper as Bob stops in front of the long couch, Yelena’s finger pressed against her own lips to silence him, a potato chip sandwiched between her other two before she pops it into her mouth, the bag in her lap, and her full attention back on the phone in her other hand.

She’s sitting diagonally, her back between the cushion behind her and the armrest, her left knee bent down as it falls off the edge to the floor, but it’s the other one that has Bob pressing his lips together as he films this version of you with his bluest gaze, the memory searing itself into his mind. You’re there, asleep, lying sideways on the comfy, fluffy cushions, part of your head on the outside of Yelena’s thigh, a front strand of your hair now falling over your closed eyelids and the border of your nose.

And it's soft for Bob, that image of you, and overwhelming only in the way it forces him to swallow the lump forming in his throat as his feelings pile up inside.

"You need anything, Bob?" Yelena's pointed gaze moves from the paused TikTok video (a cat staring at the camera, a flashbulb fired in right in its face), chuckling as the animal's expression still lingers in her mind, and frozen on her phone—the white feline silhouette and wide–open eyes—she shows it to him. "Have you watched this video?"

Bob nods, and the sound of him trying to clear his throat (so his words don't falter mid–sentence as he knows they will) accompanies the action.

"Yeah, (Y/N) sent it to me a few days ago."

"It's so funny." She laughs softly, and her full attention is on to the device again, finger sliding across the screen after saving it to favorites, bringing another chip to her mouth. “That cat is so silly.”

But like a cry, Bob whimpers softly, the tiniest sound in the silence.

“You’re dropping crumbs in her hair, Lena.”

Yelena stops, her gaze sliding from her phone to him and then back down to you, and her slightly oily hand catches the crispy piece that had gotten caught in the strands.

“Relax, Bob. This is the price (Y/N) is paying for using me. She knows it. We shook hands. Now, do you need anything? Or someone, maybe?”

There’s a hint of healthy mockery in her smile, a silent challenge in her tone of voice that’s urging him to answer only with the truth everyone already sees, but the featherweight of her joke feels like lead in his chest and in his nervous hands, covered by a layer of clothing one size too big for Bob.

“No, just… I finished reading a book and thought (Y/N) would be here ready to—”

But there was nothing afterward, just lying there together, in the same bed before sleeping, on extreme sides so as not to cross boundaries but to keep each other company before loneliness settled in every room, when it sometimes forced Bob to wake up with a gasp and a foggy mind filled with traumatic experiences, talking about books or things.  

But perhaps it was the words left unspoken between you two before sleeping (hidden among the ones you did say: goodnight and sleep well), the ones you two avoided saying and pushed aside, along with the feelings that lived dormant in the darkness and accumulated inside each other—the things you both were dying to say but neither of you dared for fear that the already solid pillars of your friendship would crumble because of something as unstable as love.

Yelena waits a second longer, but there is no response from the other end.

“The team and I were talking about you tw—”

Bob knows what it is, the favorite topic on everyone's lips.

“You guys talk a lot, maybe you should shut up for a while. Silence is good sometimes.”

She rolls her eyes, an exasperated look following her action.

“Help me out here for a while, will you? I have a cramp and need to stretch.”

Bob swallows, eyes slightly wide at the prospect of feeling that kind of closeness with you, the kind that comes so quickly it makes him dizzy and ignites the heat in his cheeks sharply. The warmth of your hand, he felt it before, many times, a casual or intentional touch, and it was scorching (like when the supermarket was crowded and the crush of people unnerved him sometimes, for example, so your fingers would close around his and his hand would squeeze yours), as if it could ignite a forest fire inside him, so wild it seemed it could burn everything… but everything bad, of course—like the enemy in his thoughts, his insecurities, his fears, his nightmares.

He didn't even want to think about what it would feel like to feel the heat of your cheek.

But he did.

Bob had imagined it several times already. In a burst of bravery, with his heart beating faster than a drug high, his thumb would slide down your soft cheek, fingers hooking gently around the edge of your jaw.

"Bob?"

"What?"

Yelena drops her things into the armrest, her hand cupping the bottom of your head.

“Put your leg here, Bob.”

He shakes his head fast, his own heartbeat increasing with the fear and excitement that mix, so close that the line between them blurs, and his somewhat messy, wild hair moves with him.

“I don’t think—”

“Three…”

“What are you—?”

“Two…”

“Lena—”

“One.”

Bob takes a step forward, hands outstretched to stop her without a word, a silent plea in his eyes for her to do nothing, even though Yelena hadn't moved an inch and wasn't planning to either. And with a deep inhalation and exhalation, a failed attempt to fill his lungs with cold air and soothe the heat settling in his chest, Bob switches places with her, even more gentle as you shift in your sleep, your hands close to your face and your cheek now on his leg, covered by his gray sleep pants, but which seem like the finest fabric in the world when Bob feels your heat radiate through your skin until it meets his, every nerve ending.

"You're adorable, Bob." Yelena laughs quietly, but there's not a hint of cruel mockery in her words—never with him—and she leans back on the second–long sofa, phone in her hand again. "Like those boys in her books. Such a gentleman. I know why she likes you so much."

Likes you, being in love—two different scenarios if the feelings on either side were unequal. Either a chasm separated those two feelings, or the first could be the path to get to the other.

“Did I do something wrong to make her not like me anymore?”

The weight of self–doubt about a topic as distant and still foreign to him as love (next to his insecurities) try to bring down the confidence Bob was still trying to build little by little, day by day, and Yelena can see them shining clearly in his gaze as he finally holds hers, even in the dim living room light at night, searching for an answer he can't find within himself, not when there's a thick fog between the truth and him.

“What do you mean?”

Bob shrugs.

“(Y/N) is always here with me, but absent at the same time, as if something has suddenly changed between us.”

“You’re overthinking things, Bob.”

There’s affection in Yelena’s words, and they are warm in their attempt to reassure him of a truth hidden among his fears, but he lets out a small sound, something like a laugh without a hint of humor. Just an empty noise.

“Overthinking sometimes allows you to see the smallest things.”

“Like what?”

Bob can see it in his sometimes fragmented mind, every moment together and the way you changed, slowly, with him always next to you but finding solitude where there was only company, a touch of emptiness when there was always life in your eyes everytime you looked at him.

He doesn't know exactly how to explain any of that, and Yelena nods thoughtfully.

"Why don't you try to think about what exactly you did then? We have a while until the losers arrive with dinner. I'm going to be here with you, but ignoring you at the same time, okay?"

Catching his slight nod, Yelena turns on the couch, face close to the cushion and her phone in between, indistinct sounds from the videos, set to low volume, floating around him so the absolute silence doesn't completely consume him with the severity of his thoughts.

Bob lowers his head and his gaze rests on you, listening to the sound of your slow breathing as, in your sleep, your body relaxed, at peace. The curve of your lips is tempting, and he lifts the hand resting in his lap to push that strand of hair away from your face and place it where it belongs.

There, above your eyebrow and with nothing covering it now, Bob can see the only physical reminder of the fall of a whole building when your self–control overflowed at the edge of your anger. And like a tiny crack in a surface, the small scar has a slightly different hue than your skin, but it was an imperfection that only makes you even more perfect, more real, a whole person and not a cruel dream from which Bob always wakes up before reaching.

Just like that, your presence in his life became a need.

You were the proof that he was still alive after the unbearable pain, (knowing all have been worth it because he met you) and that his heart hadn't turned to tin. He was still breathing, his heart was still beating, and for the first time, he'd finally felt the nervous tingle, the fluttering of being in love.

Love, so silent you don't even know you have it until you're full of it.

Love, a silent feeling in a room full of euphoria, and at the same time, it's like an alarm that goes off and no one but him and you can hear.

To be close to you, with you, every day, that’s all Bob wanted at the beginning. But almost selfishly, the passage of time together made him greedy, wanting more from you, a different smile than you had for others, a new kind of laugh, escalating until all his thoughts were about you, daydreaming about how to shake off his title of friend and crown himself with a different one.

It was a silent plea, a hope. It became a desire that made him company through his sleepless nights…

“You need to be direct with her.” Alexei had said a few weeks ago in the kitchen, when the hands of the clock showed it was very late at night. “Your words must be deep enough to cut like a knife in the heart.”

Bob didn’t even know how he’d ended up in that secret meeting, when all he’d wanted to do was grab a late–night snack from the fridge to leave on your nightstand after you’d joked, somewhat embarrassingly, that you did that sometimes. But, confused and slightly scared, his eyebrows furrowed in surprise as the rest of the men stared at the red guardian and his constantly failing attempt to explain himself properly.

“Maybe not so direct.” Walker shook his head, the usual mocking tone in his voice. “How about you just tell her in small hints instead of trying to draw blood? You can hint that you like her, but without actually saying I like you.”

Bob blinked, confused, the information coming in too fast as he tried to take it all in.

“Like what?”

Bucky wag his head softly.

“Ask her to teach you how to do things you know she likes. She will feel that you are interested in her.”

And that was exactly what Bob did.

Now, when the doors of the elevator open and some really loud voices pierce the room, Bob’s natural protective instinct, (the one that was born in him the first time he took care of his father after witnessing his first blackout) makes his hand, a second after the resounding sound, move fast to press it against your ear, blocking out the laugh coming from the men.

As a reflex, your body moves in your sleep, but your awakening is less abrupt with his help.

You get up slowly, your mind and gaze blurred as Yelena leaves the living room, patting Bob on the shoulder on her way to the dining room. The edges of your gaze darken after rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands, the pleasant sting creeping around as you chuckle.

“Did I sleep so much I forgot I was lying on your leg?”

Bob chuckles too, and an invisible thread pulls the corner of his lip upward.

“You slept so long that Lena’s leg went numb. Just like mine.”

You let out a surprised laugh, your body slumping back against the backrest.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, you know I’m always here for you.”

“Kids, dinner!”

Alexei’s voice fills the room.

At the same time, as a reflection that you both can’t avoid in time when instinct wins, Bob and you move your bodies to look over your shoulders, heads turning in the same direction, finding yourselves at what your mother used to call, at the perfect distance of a kiss. Bob is so close you can almost drink his breath, stopping yours when his blue gaze holds yours for an eternal second that finish too quickly but that feels endless too, watching each other's eyes before you both separate, looking forward as a nervous feeling fills your heart.

You walk away first, finding an empty spot next to Ava.

“Dad, will you stop calling us to the table like we’re real kids?” Yelena complains, sitting at one of the heads of the food–laden table as Bob sits in the chair across from you. “Someone here is older than life.”

The rest chuckle, not too loudly.

“But you’re my kids. Now, let’s have dinner like family.”

At some point, there is a back—and—forth conversation around, about a past relationship for some of them, somehow empty, never too deep because talking once about the future they hoped and never got to feel is enough for everybody, but always accompanied by soft laughter that makes the tower feel like a real home after some lost it or never had it in the first place.

“So… what’s your type of man, (Y/N)?” Yelena chuckles, and the sound is full of her genuine affection for you, but it hides too her desire to steer the conversation in a way that Bob can be somehow included in your words. “You’re always reading, so you must have a type. Maybe someone here is just like that.”

The others feign innocence, but the possibility stirs in Bob’s body with a heartbeat that’s too fast, eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion, in expectation, and with a certain weight of worry about not hearing a promising answer.

“Who?” Ava laughs also knowingly, with a certain disdain at thinking of the others and you that way too, and her finger points at Alexei. “Too old.” Then at Bucky. “Way too old.” Finally, at John. “Too much of an idiot. That leaves just Bob.”

Bob swallows at the sound of his name, so abruptly that the food in his mouth makes his expression twist slightly in pain.

The others, expectant, continue waiting.

You clear your throat, your heart pounding against your chest as if it were seeking its own freedom and a way out of a situation that seems unlikely to end well.

“The usual, I guess, just… a nice guy.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not fun.” John grins, malice bubbling up as if he needs to embarrass someone at least once a day to survive. “You could be more specific, like Bob. Right now there is a girl in his eyes so he could tell us what she’s like, describe her so much until we’re bored.”

Bob's gaze meets yours, barely a second before you look away when Bucky speaks.

“I think that’s enough with the jokes, huh?”

But then, to everyone’s surprise and his own, Bob speaks, and with a touch of nervousness in his voice bordering on anxiety, he starts talking about her. Just a little, not a lot, not quite to the point of boring the rest of you.

And you listen, your heart a little cold around the edges. Like a brutal change in the season, the tempest of his words threatens to hurt you without hesitation or guilt, but you listen, because you always tried to be a good friend to Bob, a person he could trust when he didn't even trust his own shadow. And even when he was always full of doubt about himself, about the truth, he seemed to trust your voice more than the enemy within, the one that whispered only cruelty. Even when he became cloudy, Bob would pull the blanket off his head when you asked him to, because that was always a promise for him that the sadness would all end eventually.

For all those months together, it had been you, and between heartbeats, it had always been him. Until you confused things, apparently.

Until the girl in his eyes arrived.

And it hurts, it burns to think about it, that reality that creeps up on you, that of always being just a friend. And it's like having an empty stomach, an empty mind, an empty heart.

When he's finished, you excuse yourself to leave the room with a smile and your head held high, leaving the deathly silence behind and missing the way Bob follows you with his eyes, even after you disappear.

"I think we blew this." Ava lets out a small sound, like a worried laugh at possible defeat as she looks at the rest.

"Did you have to go on so long, genius?" A semi–hard object hits the side of Bob's head and bounces off it, but without erasing his terrified expression as he looks at Bucky. "We told you you had to flatter her a little, not write her a whole Shakespearean sonnet."

Yelena frowns.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Some weeks ago we told Bob to try to hint to (Y/N) that he likes her without telling her he likes her.”

“And?”

“And nothing else. (Y/N) came into the kitchen that night to get something from the fridge, and the conversation ended there.”

“Did she hear you talking about this ingenious plan?” Ava’s hard gaze landed on Bob, and he blinked, innocent eyes set in a look of terror. “Did (Y/N) hear you talking about her? or did she hear you being told by the smartest men in this place how to get a random girl?”

As night fell and sent the rest of the team to sleep, the endless talk finished when you had entered the kitchen, a soft sound from your throat announcing your presence first.

“What are you doing up so late, darling?”

“Just came to get something to eat.” You replied to Bucky, and Bucky’s gaze rested on you, all the way until you closed the fridge door. “Sorry to interrupt your boys’ sleepover.”

“It’s not a boys’ sleepover, (Y/N), please.” John whined softly, slightly offended.

“Men’ sleepover is better.” Alexei smiled, and you laughed with him, his innocence fluttering as the others sighed in defeat.

“Of course, my mistake. Sleep well, everybody.”

“You too.”

The others' voices were an echo, except for Bob's, lips closed as your eyes fell on him in your farewell, just for a second.

He never said your name, and neither did the others. But from then on, there was only half a life in your eyes, whereas before they had always been full of it every time you looked at him.

The seconds of understanding end when Bob stands up, so fast he pushes his chair back with a dry sound against the polished floor.

His own breathing becomes labored, but he tries to calm his anxious heart all the way down the hall.

"You always have to ruin things—"

"Not this time. Not with her." Bob murmurs softly, and when he finally reaches your room, your door is always open for anyone who wants to enter and exist, and that's a mixed relief for him. "(Y/N)?"

You look over your shoulder, your body facing away from him as you continue to sit in front of your laptop on the desk.

"Yes?"

"Can I come in?"

"Of course."

Bob closes the door behind him, barely making a noise as he ventures inside, but feeling the place like untapped territory even though he's been there since his life merged with yours. The sound of his sneakers on the floor is almost nonexistent, but it feels heavy like lead in his pockets as Bob sits next to you, listening to the almost ghostly volume of the video playing in front of you.

"You okay, Bob?"

Your attention is on the screen and your voice is a whisper, but it is an overwhelming force that hits his chest, even harder than bullets in the past.

"Are you?"

You chuckle.

"I asked you first."

Bob hums a reply.

"You wanna lie down for a while? I finished a new book today and I know I can convince you to read it."

You shake your head, but there's a slight, honest smile on your lips.

"I'm not sleepy yet. Maybe later or tomorrow."

Neither of you says anything for a moment, your eyes straight ahead like Bob's gaze lingers on your profile. Bright eyes, soft skin.

But Bob knew that you too were still learning to use your voice just like him, to find the right words—those always hidden—so scattered across different galaxies, so far from each other that you still struggled to put them together to say something eloquent, to say what you both truly wanted to say, what you two truly felt. Silence had always been your ally and an imposition for him. And that had been his curse throughout his life, always in solitude, until it created his inability to say what he really wanted to say.

But not today, not ever again.

“We’re feeling a little much apathetic today, huh?”

It’s not an accusation, but his tone tinges with his sassiness, the kind he used to make direct comments and respond to other people’s jokes, to John’s sarcasm and sometimes Bucky’s condescension. Today, however, his words make you frown sharply as you turn to look at him.

“Excuse me?” His gaze threatens to falter and leave yours when you narrow your eyes at him, but Bob stands firm when what he's said is free to the world, saying out loud what he wants to say instead of letting it perish inside and ducking his head to pretend it never happened. "You're quite bold sometimes, Bob."

“And you’re quite clueless.” He smiles, softly, nervous but firmly planted on the floor, his heart pounding in his chest. The electricity, the tingling at his fingertips as the result of this brave act is addictive, like a drug, but ultimately a healthy one, one he wants to get hooked on. “I was talking about you, silly. How can you be so smart and not realize that every word I said was about you, (Y/N)?”

Your frown relaxes more, and the gnawing feeling of annoyance at his forwardness is replaced by confusion. His hands cup the sides of your chair, and Bob pulls you closer, gently, not roughly, taking in the way your body has stopped tensing, being brave when he sees your eyes light up with affection again, completely—a little scared around the edges, but finally not halfway.

“When I asked you to teach me how to braid your hair, it was for you—for that loose braid you always have. Your mom did it for you, didn’t she? Every day. You told me.” You nod, feeling the heat from his knees radiating against yours. “When I asked you to teach me how to dance to those old ballads Bucky loves so much, I didn’t do it to dance with someone else. I did it because I saw the way he spun you around one night and saw you laugh, and I wanted so badly to be him that I could feel my body vibrate. The things I said in the kitchen, about her hair and her laugh and everything—it was all about you, okay? Can you believe me, honey? Please?”

You nod again, and Bob can see hope, right next to that desire of a soul crying out for the exact same thing as his, silent but fervent.

His hands cup your face, soft skin over slightly calloused fingers on your cheeks and the underside, thumbs gliding to make his dreams (asleep and awake) come true, a touch so tender you feel nothing but warmth at the tips—his face so close his breath mingles with yours.

Your own hands clutch at his arms, searching for something to hold you steady as well.

“I’m sorry. I… I got scared. This is my first time feeling like this.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry, I never meant to make you feel like there was someone else because ever since I met you, it’s always been you. But if you still have any doubt, you are the girl in my eyes.”

Bob leans forward, closing the small space between his existence and yours.

And behind his closed eyelids, just like yours, the darkness ceases to be terrifying and becomes pleasurable, for the first time in his life, a place where Bob would stay if that means he can keep kissing you like this. Time, life itself, the past and future are suspended, unimportant and in an eternal pause in the long seconds his lips linger and move with yours. It’s like an unspoken conversation between you two, a confession of love without even having to say those three magical words. A connection, strength and gentleness, melting away any fear or doubt. The kiss is soft like him, a little shy like you, but real and perfect after every moment you imagined him in your head.

And in a synchronized movement, the two of you separate, breathing in each other's air.

"I'll be back, okay? I won't be long." He whispers, his lips touch yours with the promise of many more shared kisses, before Bob stands.

"Where are you going?"

He stops halfway across the room and turns around, those strands of hair on either side of his face bouncing with the movement.

“I'm going to get you some midnight snacks so you won't have to get up later, and get that book I was talking about.”

You laugh softly.

“And you're going to tell the others, aren't you?”

“No.” His shoulders slump. “Yes. I have to, honey. Lena and Ava were about to hurt me really bad.”

A nervous but genuine smile appears on that sweet face of him before Bob turns away.

[xuchiya]

secure me in your arms || choi san || one-shot

| genre: fluff. small tinge of angst. army! choi san. | mentions: a little bit of angst here ...

word count: 2.2k

It was supposed to be a normal evening.

The kind where the sky burned in soft hues of orange and rose, with the sun gently retreating behind the buildings. The kind where the wind cooled your face just enough to make you forget about the day’s heat. The kind of evening that never made headlines—quiet, forgettable to most—but for you, it had always felt quietly significant. Something sentimental, maybe. Like the universe was whispering that something small but meaningful was about to happen.

After eight straight hours of office work and back-to-back department meetings, you finally clocked out. You tapped your ID against the monitor, the familiar beep marking your freedom for the day. As you walked past the lobby, the security guard gave you a nod and a smile.

“Have a safe ride home!” he called out.

You smiled back, dipping your head politely. “Have a great evening, sir.”

With a quiet sigh, you adjusted your bag on your shoulder and made your way toward the parking lot. Your usual routine involved a short walk to the bus stop at the far end of the lot, but today, something—or rather, someone—disrupted that rhythm.

A few steps ahead, you saw a familiar figure standing beside a sleek black motorcycle. His helmet sat on the seat while his phone rested in his hand. He stared at it for a long moment before placing it down and exhaling—slowly, like the weight of something heavy clung to his chest.

“San-ssi?” you called out, your voice hesitant but clear.

He looked up, startled—eyes widening the moment he saw you.

You blinked. “Oh. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Truthfully, you were more than surprised. Most days, you only caught glimpses of him through your office window, always at the same time—just as you were packing your things, he’d hop onto his motorcycle and ride off with a kind of calm urgency. You had always assumed his schedule was tight, especially since you remembered him once mentioning he was a reservist in the military.

But seeing him now—still here, waiting—was unexpected.

San’s eyes softened, but his surprise lingered. Not because he didn’t want to see you—but because he hadn’t planned on being seen. His mind had been busy rehearsing what he might say if he ran into you—how to casually offer you a ride home, how to keep it from sounding like he’d been thinking about it too much.

And then, there you were. Standing just a few feet away, holding his gaze. Every rehearsed word vanished.

He cleared his throat, swallowing down the lump that had formed.

“Hey… are you on your way home?”

You nodded, adjusting your grip on your shoulder bag. “Yeah. My pup’s probably crying nonstop by now.”

He winced internally. Obvious. So painfully obvious.

He knew you. Knew how you preferred staying home rather than going out, how your weekends were spent curled up with your dog and not at some café or get together party. Still, he asked. Maybe just to say something. Anything.

He let out a soft chuckle, gaze lowering for a second as a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The kind of smile that made the world feel like it was slowing down. The trees around the parking lot shimmered faintly with fairy ball lights, casting delicate golden glows that reached across the asphalt. But what those lights highlighted most wasn’t the motorcycle beside him. It was you—the soft shape of your face, the warmth in your eyes, the way your hair caught the breeze.

He tried not to stare, but it was always hard not to.

You glanced at him too. There he was, leaning casually against his bike like he wasn’t the most dangerous kind of calm you’d ever seen. One hand held his helmet loosely at his side, the other ran back through his hair as he laughed softly at your joke. That laugh—you’d heard it before. It had the strange power to settle the world. To make things feel okay, even when they weren’t.

And then his phone buzzed.

Then again.

Once.

Twice.

Silence.

Out of curiosity, your eyes flicked to his phone. The screen showed nothing but: Incoming Call: PRIVATE LINE. It confused you, but something about the moment told you not to pry. It felt too heavy… too confidential.

But he knew who it was. You saw it in the way his whole face shifted. His posture stiffened. His shoulders squared. Something had changed—and you could feel it. Your foot shifted anxiously as he picked up his phone, eyes scanning whatever message was on the screen. You didn’t need to read it to know something wasn’t right.

“…What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice softer now. The calm had shattered, replaced by unease that crept into your chest. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared at the screen for a few more seconds before locking his phone and placing it back on the holder. Then, he reached into the back compartment. You watched as he pulled out the extra helmet—the one he’d kept meaning to give you. Days. Weeks. Maybe even months had passed, each moment eaten away by hesitation and fear.

Every time he thought about giving it to you, his courage failed him. And now, when it might already be too late, this was all he had to give. A silent gesture. A fragile hope. A quiet promise that he’d come back. But he couldn’t say that aloud. Not when the country was teetering on the edge of something burning. Not when he wasn’t sure if he’d even get the chance.

“I need you to trust me,” he said. His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that didn’t belong to him. Something inside you twisted. A quiet panic stirred.

“Why?” you asked. “Is something wrong?” You looked at the helmet in his hands, then back at him, “San-ssi?”

The phone buzzed again. This time, a name flashed on the screen, Sgt. Montano – URGENT. You didn’t know who that was. But the dread in your stomach didn’t need names. You knew. You knew this wasn’t just a regular night anymore. Even though the two of you were just co-workers on the surface, you both shared something deeper. Something unspoken. Something both of you were too afraid to touch.

He inhaled sharply—one of those deep, measured breaths that people take when they're trying to hold it together. The kind that sounded like goodbye without saying the word, “You hold on to this until I come back,” he murmured, pressing the helmet gently into your hands.

You stared down at it. It felt heavier than it should. Smooth, glossy black, visor tinted just enough that you could faintly see your reflection on its surface.

You looked at him again, “San…” your voice cracked a little, uncertain and small. “Please tell me what’s happening…”

“This is where you need to trust me.” Your fingers tightened around the helmet he’d handed you, confusion flickering in your eyes. “Wait—what’s going on? Are you—”

Before you could finish, his hand gently settled over yours. Warm. Steady. Grounding. Like an anchor in a storm you didn’t see coming.

“You trust me, right?” he asked—not about this moment, not about the weight of the situation unfolding before you. No, his voice carried something deeper. He was asking about everything you had shared—quiet lunches on lazy afternoons, late-night conversations over takeout, the secrets you’d entrusted to each other without realizing just how sacred they’d become. It wasn’t about how long you’d known him. It was about the depth. The certainty.

“I always trusted you,” you whispered, though your throat felt like it had been scraped raw.

He smiled at that—not the kind of smile that stretched wide and carefree, but a quiet, almost shy tug at the corner of his mouth. The kind that hinted at something he couldn’t say. Maybe fear. Maybe a goodbye. Maybe both.

You watched as he turned away, slipping his helmet on with practiced ease—his movements efficient, automatic. Muscle memory forged from something far more serious than daily errands or weekend rides. He was readying himself. And suddenly, so many things clicked at once.

“No kiss at least?” you blurted, voice embarrassingly soft and trembling.

The calls from someone named "Sergeant." The way he always kept his phone within reach. The silent pauses when the news came on, about rising tensions and military deployment.

You’d known something was coming. You just hadn’t expected it to be now. And before your brain could talk you out of it, your mouth acted on impulse.

It made him freeze. You instantly regretted it. His posture went stiff, like you’d startled him, and for a second you feared you’d crossed a line neither of you had spoken of. But then—slowly—he turned to you. His visor lifted halfway, revealing only his eyes. Wide. Surprised. And… flushed.

His cheeks turned a soft shade of pink beneath the helmet’s shadow, and then he tilted his head with a barely-there smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Without a word, he gripped the bottom of his helmet, pulled it off in one fluid motion, and leaned in.

The kiss was feather-light. A mere breath of a moment. But it was real. And it burned through you like fire. Like a promise.

When San pulled back, you hadn’t moved. Couldn’t. You just stood there, breath stolen, heart thundering, “Until then,” he said, pulling the helmet back over his head. His voice came muffled this time, but the meaning still struck clear. He nodded toward the helmet you were still holding. “Secure me in your arms.”

Then, with a swift kick, he flicked the bike’s stand up and revved the engine. The sound split through the quiet street as he shifted into gear. A second later, he was gone—riding into the night, swallowed by city lights and the invisible hands of duty.

You stood in the silence he left behind, the helmet still cradled to your chest. The wind tugged at your clothes, carrying his scent away with it. When you finally looked down, something glinted inside the helmet. Frowning, you reached in. Your fingers brushed against something cool—metal. Your breath caught.

You pulled it out slowly. Choi San’s dog tag.

And your heart sank and soared all at once.

Instantly, your mind drifted back to the day you first found out he was part of the army. It was during a company team-building trip—a warm, sun-drenched afternoon by the beach. Everyone was split into groups for a game of tug-of-war, laughter echoing along the shore, the ocean breeze tousling hair and lifting spirits.

San had been on your team. You remembered clearly how the fabric of his tight white shirt clung to him after the game, and how something silver around his neck clinked softly with every movement. The chain had caught your eye. It had gleamed in the sun—subtle but noticeable.

After your team won that round, you’d collapsed onto a weathered log, panting and exhilarated. A moment later, San approached, holding two bottles of water, the sea wind tousling his damp hair. He handed you one before sitting beside you, his shirt collar slightly pulled open.

That’s when you saw it clearly. The dog tag.

Curious, you had glanced sideways. “You’re in the army? Or the navy?”

He turned to you with a soft smile, shoulders still rising and falling from the exertion. “Army,” he said simply, and took a sip from his bottle.

You nodded, letting your gaze drift back out to the beach. The waves lapped gently at the shore, soft and rhythmic, crashing lightly against the rocks. Something about it—maybe the calmness—reminded you of your father.

“My dad was in the navy,” you said after a beat, voice quieter. “He served for twenty years before he retired.”

San shifted slightly, clearly surprised that you’d shared something so personal, but he didn’t speak. He leaned in slightly instead—listening, attentive.

“He knew the risks when he married my mom, had a family,” you continued, eyes still on the sea. “But he still went through with it. When things got dangerous, and he didn’t know when—or if—he’d be back… he gave her his dog tag. Said it would help her sleep better at night.”

San didn’t answer right away. His eyes followed the shoreline, then slowly returned to you. “You know,” he began, voice low, “whether it’s army, navy, or air force… when someone gives you their dog tag, it means they trust you.”

You turned your head to look at him—and were caught off guard to find his gaze already on you. Close. Focused. Your heartbeat stuttered for a moment. Something in his scent—faint cologne and the salt of the ocean—was oddly calming, like he belonged in that moment beside you.

“Is that… normal?” you asked softly. “To give someone your tag?”

He shook his head. “Not really. It’s not standard or anything. But when we do… it usually means we’re going into something dangerous. Or something we might not come back from.” He paused, eyes flicking down to the small space between your hands.

Then—gently—he reached across and wrapped his fingers around yours. “But right now,” he said, holding your gaze, “it means there’s someone out there we want to come back to. Someone we believe in. Someone who believes in me.”

The memory snapped away as your present vision blurred with tears.

You looked down at the helmet in your hands, and the cold metal nestled inside it. San didn’t just trust you with the helmet. It was the dog tag that mattered most. And now it sat in your hands—his name etched into it—pressed against your chest like a silent promise.

[undyingdecay]

hi!! I just recently followed you and your work is s00000 good !!! makes me ngffnmmmmm

i was thinking what about john walker with a panther hybrid ? deadly and stealthy with sharp quips and unapologetically critical, unimpressed by whatever he does until their heat hits :( soooo needy and begging like their life depends on it

(ee thank you, hope you enjoyyy)

walker’s the exact kind of guy who would hate how much he likes it — having this sleek, sharp-mouthed panther hybrid around who never laughs at his jokes, never indulges the cocky little one-liners he drops like he’s charming. unimpressed as hell with his medals, his rank, the way he throws his weight around the room.

he’d bait you constantly. little things. blocking your path with his broad body, leaning too close when you’re working on something important, smirking down at you when you bare your teeth. “relax, sweetheart. you’ll give yourself a stroke.”

you never give him what he wants. call him an idiot under your breath. scoff when he talks about his latest mission like he’s the goddamn savior of the country. you’re all sharp quips and cold stares, hips swaying when you walk away because you know he’s watching. always watching.

but then your heat hits.

and suddenly you’re a fucking mess.

clingy. desperate. scent all over the place, pupils blown wide and breathing shallow. finding him no matter where he is — in the gym, his room, out on a run — and looking at him like you might fucking die if he doesn’t touch you. you’ll crawl into his lap, fingers digging into his shirt, scenting his throat like you’ve got no shame left in you.

“please—please, i need it, i can’t—” and he’s smug as hell about it at first, chuckling low, cupping your face to tip your mouth up to his. “what was that, kitty? not so unimpressed now, huh?”

but you’re not even listening. you’re too busy grinding against his thigh, slick soaking through your shorts, mouth hot against his neck as you nip and bite and claim. you’ll leave marks everywhere you can, little half-moon dents from your teeth, bruises blooming under your tongue.

and he loves it. loves how wrecked you sound when he fingers you open, thick fingers pumping into you slow just to watch you whine and squirm.

“jesus—look at you,” he’ll mutter, voice rough and low. “never shut the fuck up until you’re in heat, huh? so goddamn wet for me now, baby. s’like you’re begging to get bred.”

and maybe you are.

you bite him. of course you do. sink those sharp teeth into his shoulder hard enough to draw blood, claiming him in a way that makes his breath hitch and his hips buck. leave crescent moons in his skin, rough kisses that taste like copper, until you’ve marked every inch you can reach.

and he’s loving it. rough, possessive, filthy. pulling your tail, calling you a “fuckin’ slut, cant control yourself around some dick?” even as his cock drags through your slick folds like it’s the only thing keeping you both sane.

“look at you now,” he grins, mean and flushed. “couldn’t stand me a day ago and now you’re begging for it, huh? what’s wrong, heat got your tongue?”

but it’s you who ends up on top. nails dragging down his chest, hips grinding down like you’re chasing blood. owning him. making him beg for you by the end of it. his cock aching, lips swollen from your teeth, and his head tipped back as he groans your name like a prayer.

and when it’s done, when the edge dulls and you’re curled around him, smug satisfaction back in place, tail flicking lazily — you’ll tell him it didn’t mean anything.

and he’ll smirk, lip split, already thinking about the next time you’ll come crawling.

he won’t let you forget it when it’s over either. one smug little grin and a bruised throat later. “missed your attitude, kitty. can’t wait till you start mouthing off again.”

[lem0nt1ddy]

How does Mr. Ring A Ding/Lux handle jealousy?

Mr. Ring A Ding bleeds confidence—self-assured to a fault, almost radiant in the way he carries himself. He doesn’t question his worth, and he certainly doesn’t question yours. Reminder: you both have a close relationship and he trusts you to maintain faithfulness (along with his own).

If someone dares to throw flirtatious glances his way, he brushes it off without a second thought. It's not ego-boosting, it leads to a quick decline with no hesitation. If it's not from you, he doesn't care. The only person he sees as his is you.

Is someone hitting on you or showing interest in front of him? How he reacts is based on how you respond. Mr. Ring A Ding keeps his eyes on you-- your facial expressions, body language, your vocal cues.

Are you visibly uncomfortable and they can't take no for an answer? Are you leaning away? Struggling to escape the conversation? Looking for him? Yeah, no, he'll shut that shit down and will defend you straightaway with no apologies. Feelings are not what he's thinking about-- it's your safety. Because, in his eyes, you're not just his partner. You're his entire world.

"Listen, pal,” he says, low but thick with warning. "You're obviously not getting it. They're already taken, so go ahead and buzz off already."

But if they try to flirt with you and you flirt back?

He's offended honestly-- it's like he got slapped in the face. You? Flirting with someone else? Like, wow! Look at you, batting those pretty eyelashes at someone who isn't him.

Behind the smooth, charismatic Mr. Ring A Ding facade, there is something more volatile simmering-- Lux. He's red-hot and dangerously reactive. His pride takes a hit, but more than that, it burns. This isn't just jealousy anymore. It's an insult.

Forget playing nice. It's a sign to play dirty all he wants.

His tone may still be charming, sure—sweet like saccharine, even—but now it carries a noxious undertone.

“Oh? That little performance back there—was that for me, darling, or are we passing out affections like party favors now?”

His eyes practically glow with something wild.

“Cute. Real cute,” he’ll purr, but his voice has a sharp bite. “But I don’t share. So unless you’re looking to be vaporized by my mood, I’d suggest finding a new conversation partner.”

And when you’re alone again?

____________________________________________________

"What was that?"

His voice cracked through the silence like thunder.

"What was what--" You blinked, caught off guard before he interrupted you.

“I said,” he interrupted, stepping forward, "What. was. that?" The final word dripped like venom... he's not kidding this time.

Before you can say anything, he comes closer. There are flames burning from behind his eyes, smoke curling around them. You could practically see the heat shimmering in his pupils... and he's pissed.

"You knew exactly what you were doing." He spat, his lips curling into not a smile-- but something bitter. "Flashing that little smile. Laughing at their jokes. Touching their arm."

He took a step forward towards you, looming over your small frame-- every inch of his height casting a shadow that enveloped your own.

“Lux—” you tried, but it came out too soft.

"Do you think this is a game?!" He cut you off, voice rising into something unhinged.

"Oh, I'll make it a game alright," His smile spread now—slow, wild, dangerous. “In fact, I’ll give you a ten-second head start.”

Your heart dropped. "Lux, you can't be serious--"

"Don't make me laugh."

"You clearly don't know who you belong to." He leaned in so close you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, the barely-restrained chaos lurking beneath his breath.

“Looks like I’ll have to remind you,” he whispered.

“Like I said… ten seconds." And if you know what's good for you... You'd better run.

____________________________________________________

Just to make it clear, he wouldn't actually injure or trap you. (unless he's a yandere, then he'd confine you where no one can see you ever again.)

He'd "teach you a lesson", though, through either fucking you senselessly, spanking you, making sure you only remember his name... or he'll give you the silent treatment and will feel incredibly hurt by what you did.

His trust isn't something to be toyed with. If it gets to the point where he suspects you of infidelity, or you actively do this behind his back, your relationship will crash and burn... and maybe you will too. As revenge, he'll toss you away or trap you in film and watch you go up in flames.

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character 2024 — Unscripted Redemption Bracket — Round 6.5−1

Propaganda

Sammy Sinclair, the Scat King of Ganymede (Tidal Wave Games Podcast: SEE YOU, SPACE COWBOY...) (Boba Count: 3 and 1 shared):

Listen: we have fun here but there are two things Sammy Sinclair does and does well, and that's play the saxophone and fuck like a freight train. There's a reason he's left a trail of ex-lovers across the entire solar system, and while it's true the majority of them want him dead, that shouldn't be taken as any indication of his abilities. It's just because he's an asshole

Spanks Sinatra (Tidal Wave Games Podcast: SEE YOU, SPACE COWBOY...) (Boba Count: 1 and 1 shared):

Spanks self-describes as a "himbo", but he's really not; he's highly intelligent and analytical, with a lot of shit in his past, and at the time you meet him the most effective way he's found to keep his own brain from overwhelming him is by beating it into submission with a life of hard drinking and violence

Sammy and Spanks as a team:

They thought they were taking us down but all they did was make us that much more powerful. Vote Sammy and Spanks, the real friends at the table

Sammy and Spanks' boba order:

Pineapple and Coconut spiked with homebrought rum.

Trish Una (Riley Hopkins and Their Amazing Friends: Interstitial Infinity) (Boba Count: 1):

It's TRISH UNA TIME EVERYONE

trish gang. with your help and also the power of incredible violence we can do this

Can I get some votes on Trish Una here? Spare some votes for a violent woman?

everyone vote trish NOW

Mod Note: This is only the Trish Una from the podcast Riley Hopkins And Their Amazing Friends. Do not vote on the basis of any other Trish Una.

Art of Trish Una courtesy of @charaznablescanontoyota.

Art of Sammy Sinclair and Spanks Sinatra by @violetfoxsketches.

Additional propaganda below the cut:

Sammy Sinclair, the Scat King of Ganymede (Tidal Wave Games Podcast: SEE YOU, SPACE COWBOY...):

Don't be crass, it's scat as in jazz. Formerly known as the Sax King of Ganymede, before the loss of his prized saxophone in a debt to the Space Mafia necessitated a rebrand

Pansexual, pangalactic, personal pan pizza

4'10"; but it's not the size that matters, it's what you do with it

As a saxophonist, is good with mouth and fingers and can hold breath for a VERY long time

Say hi to your mom/dad/aunt for me

In-character audio propaganda from when he was against Lup.

you know what's sexier than being an umbrella? Making da fuckin corpos so mad they cancel you.

I heard that swearing is sexy, or something

sexiestpodcastcharacter lore

PLEASE VOTE FOR SAMMY SINCLAIR, SCAT KING OF GANYMEDE!!!!!

In-character audio propaganda with Spanks Sinatra from a previous round.

Husky: Vote for Sammy or else... well let's just say that you will not like what happens.

In character audio propaganda against Muldan Foxskull.

In-character cover of The Slur Song.

Alright here's my final appeal to vote for Sammy: a spoiler-free clip from after a very pivotal moment where shit has gotten real and he has to make a decision with far-reaching repercussions. It's not all goofs and gags in SEE YOU, SPACE COWBOY…, Sammy can lock in too!

Spanks Sinatra (Tidal Wave Games Podcast: SEE YOU, SPACE COWBOY...)

He/him lesbian drag king Frank Sinatra impersonator

Is too old for this shit (is 30)

Loves to use his fists

Is so tired

This is propaganda for all the female characters. Voters please remember how pretty all women are and factor that into every single vote you make. Thank you.

When not performing, is drinking. When not drinking, is beating people up for money. When not beating people up for money, is performing. Life is purposefully structured to avoid encountering a thought for as long as possible

Don't forget that Spanks' name is Spanks Sinatra ok, this is very important. Appreciate my jokes.

Don't you want to reach over and give him a better reason to turn his brain off for a while?

Important note: Spanks is a woman, he just uses he/him pronouns for various reasons, most of which are that he's a butch drag king.

Also vote for him.

Vote for Spanks Sinatra!!!

Who are you going to vote for: the he/him lesbian who can bench press you, or the tangled bundle of Christmas lights in your attic?

Come ON, you're going to let the he/him lesbian drag king Frank Sinatra who is also a bounty hunter get beat by a pile of cold, unflavored spaghetti??? Seriously?

Audio propaganda with Sammy Sinclair.

Art propaganda of Spanks Sinatra being crushed by Husky, as mentioned in the above audio propaganda.

Vote for my sad messed up drag king

Spanks is a he/him lesbian. come on. look at him

Vote for Spanks, he doesn't need a psychic ghost to turn you to rubber

Anyway if it's rope/cable play you're into, Spanks has a move for that

Sammy and Spanks as a team:

The Dosage Tango Crew can tag team the finals, but only with your help!! This is how it was always meant to be. We can do this. Let's carry that weight together and show the finals what damage a couple of bad boys with nothing to lose can do. 👉💥

Sammy and Spanks might have a 20 year age gap between them, but they're each the closest thing either has to a friend. Despite being two extremely self-involved loners with very different personalities, they manage to understand each other better than anyone else in large part because they both agree on a simple guiding principle: where you came from doesn't dictate who you are, and there are some rocks you don't need to dig under. They might enable some of each other's worst vices but they also manage to keep one another from going too far off the deep end, and after having worked together for a very long time they know they can count on one another to watch each other's backs, which can be a rare thing in their line of work. There's no job the two of them can't manage together, and that includes the sexiest podcast character tournament if you help them tie today

Trish Una (Riley Hopkins and Their Amazing Friends: Interstitial Infinity):

Trish Una, from the universe of Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, ensures that the hits start coming and they don't stop coming. Trush Ina, from JJBA, fights Rachel from Animorphs and wins. T. Una Sandwich, from Jimmy John's Brash Accumulation, is best friends with Shadow the Hedgehog and she's also my dad. T-Minus Uno, from Chipotle,

She is emotionally compromised and definitely not turning into her father

Trish "is it stands" Una is the type of motherfuckers you need to see to be believed. Trish & Carrie toxic Yuri. Trish the fucking Spirit of justice. Trish is the real one.

Please vote for my close friend Trish Una or else you leave without saying goodbye to her

TRISH "THE MONEY" UNA

This is propaganda for all the female characters. Voters please remember how pretty all women are and factor that into every single vote you make. Thank you.

#is that fucking shadow the hedgehog

yes! he's one of the main party members! listen to intersitital infinity on riley hopkins and their amazing friends!

Trish Una is a girl who is certain she knows what's going on. She shishkebobed Simon from Infinity Train. She is best friends with Shadow the Hedgehog, Mob from Mob Psycho, Alphonse Elric, and technically Shoka Sakurane.

Please vote for Trish she is so so sexy

Trish Una could take over a position of leadership in a preestablished location but could Virtue have a emotionally fraught conversation with carrie white?

vote for trish una, girl who went to another universe, found out she was fictional / a tertiary character at best in her own story, and decided the proper coping method was to punch a guy to shreds

vote for trish una, girl who looked at carrie from the movie carrie and said "i could fix her"

vote for trish una, girl who fought a bear and won

vote for trish una, girl who put a part of herself into a machine in an attempt to control it and inextricably(?) linked the machine to her soul

vote for trish una, girl who might be the devil

Ok genuinely I'm gonna need some razzle dazzle for the Deal Great Harm queen, the beautiful mind, the arm through a little blonde boy with bad vibes, thumbs down, bad motherfucker l, head full of rocks heart full of emotions Trish Una

She's been left by everyone she cares about- are you going to leave her too?

trish una is capable of such violence it's beautiful. listen to those clips again i beseech you

[yandereonepieceimagines]

Hello!! I Love your writing!

I was wondering if I could request Yandere Black Maria if that’s all right? Maybe with a courtesan under her employment?

-------------

Thank you! I’m glad you like my writing! I also really like your idea. If you don’t mind, though, I tweaked it a bit so that she isn’t directly employed under Black Maria.

-------------

Warning! Hint of NSFW Below!

Black Maria

You’d been in Wano for only a handful of months, a foreign face among the Beasts Pirates' pleasure hall. A stranger swept up in the currents of a land known for chaos and strength. You were no naive girl swept up by power, wealth or glamour. You’d chosen this path, and you knew how to navigate it. The truth was, you didn’t mind the work itself. In fact, you relished the freedom and money your own reputation and skill afforded you here. You could be selective, and you were- never letting just anyone into your bed, and only sharing your sheets with those whose company you actually enjoyed, or whose strength you genuinely respected. You sought out partners who could match you, challenge you, or simply offer a night where you could drop your guard almost completely. Rare, precious things for a woman who spent most of her life on the move. Alone.

There was power in being wanted, but you never let it turn into a cage. You had set your standards long ago. And you weren’t at all shy about enforcing them.

Even so, there was a restlessness that nothing could quench for long. Your blood ran hotter with the thrill of travel. Also of new lands and testing your strength against the world itself. Every coin you earned was a stepping stone to the next horizon, and you never let yourself forget that. Money was money, after all, and you’d learned long ago how to use your good looks as skillfully as your blade.

Kaido himself had, with a mixture of amusement and curiosity, given you a rare pass: work here, raise funds, share your knowledge and strength with the Beasts pirates in the time that you are here, then leave when you wished. No further strings, no debts. That kind of freedom was intoxicating in its own right. For now, you danced among the flowers of Black Maria’s domain, gathering whispers and riches in equal measure.

From the start, Maria’s attention felt different from the others. Her eyes followed you from the farthest corner of the hall, blue and burning, her lips curling from behind her pipe, her laughter low and dangerous. She was bigger than life. An absolute beauty and a terrifying monster all at once. Her touch gentle one moment, cruel the next. There was always an edge to her playfulness when she spoke to you, and her presence seemed to fill every shadowed corner of the hall. The other women joked about her possessiveness, but you quickly came to see the truth lurking beneath it. A hunger that was rarely satisfied, and a loneliness that no amount of celebration or power could mask anymore.

You never forgot that Maria herself had been the first to seek you out. Not as your boss, but as an equal drawn to your fire. You never truly worked under her; your arrangement with the pleasure hall was independent, so there was nothing improper about her requesting your company. In fact, it was the only way she could morally hire your services, and she had wasted no time, making the arrangements almost instantly the moment you set foot in Onigashima. She couldn’t keep her hands off you the second the opportunity arose. Though there was always a longing in her touch, a hunger for you to be hers willingly in a different way, one day.

It was flattering, in a way, to be so singularly desired by someone as infamous as Black Maria, and you didn’t mind indulging her. As long as it happened on your own terms. So when the shuttered hall was empty one night, her hair down, swords gleaming besides the bed, she reached out again as she laid beside your much smaller form. Her index finger gently trailed across your bare shoulder. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and silk, and for a brief, silent moment, you wondered if she would ever let you go at all that day.

"You’re planning to leave, aren’t you?" she asked, her voice smooth and deceptively soft. But her eyes glinting with something sharper underneath. You met her gaze without flinching.

"I am. I never meant to stay in Wano for long. I have places to see."

Maria pouted, her lips curving in a way that was almost childlike, but there was something dark hiding in her smile. "You could have more here. More than any coin. More than any fleeting adventure."

You shook your head, already feeling the pull of the sea beyond the country’s waterfalls. "I’m not made for cages, Maria."

Her expression hardened, horns catching the lantern light in a way that made her look almost mythical. "And if I told you I couldn't let you go? If I made you stay, just for me? Would you still run?" Her fingers tightened around your throat. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make your heart race and your instincts flare up in warning.

You could see it now. How she’d woven webs not just of silk, but also of affection. You wondered how many before you had mistaken her touch for something gentle, something safe. But you weren’t like most. You’d seen too much to be afraid, and she seemed to sense that, too. A glimmer of something akin to admiration flashing across her features.

She pressed her lips to your ear, her breath warm and her voice honey sweet. "You think Kaido's word has that much sway around here? I can be much more persuasive than him. I could give you the world if you stayed by my side. Or... I could break you just enough so no one else will ever look at you. Would you like that?"

For a moment, you wondered if you’d underestimated the risks of your little stay in Wano. But the fire in your soul was fiercer than the one in her wheel. You grimaced, lifting her fingers from your throat. For the first time, the chill running down your spine wasn’t from her beauty or her power, but from the ugly, possessive thing showing itself in her voice. It wasn’t exactly a game to her, not really, and it wasn’t only affection, either. That realization cut deeper than any blade, and left you more unsettled than you cared to admit.

You leave the bed and step back, putting a little distance between you, before getting yourself dressed. “I think I need some air,” you then say, tone light, but your eyes never leaving hers. “Don’t wait up for me.”

She watches you go, muscles taut beneath her flawless skin, knuckles white around her pipe. She could stop you, but she doesn’t. Maybe she knows it wouldn’t be so simple, not with your strength almost matching her own. The knowledge seems to electrify her instead of calm her, red lips twisting into a slow, hungry smile as you disappear into the lantern-lit corridors.

For Maria, the promise of a struggle only sharpens her desire. Power begets power, and your refusal, your resistance… These only make her want you even more.

[kenziexoxoxo]

CAN YOU PLEASE DO A PATO SMUT WITH AN F1 DRIVER! READER?

You whore of course 😏

Pato O'Ward x F1 driver Zack Brown's daughter reader (taboo i know)

As always I do not very very sadly own this picture them hands ok get with it to the smut

Warnings: smut the only thing my ass is good for

Yn is on the F1 McLaren team so she's used having to meet up with the arrow McLaren team epically since her father is Zack Brown. If Yn liked anything it was staring at Pato O'Ward then again who didn't the man was a snack and a half. She knew he was off limits though of course he was her father woukd kill her if he found out she was with another driver. He wasnt even pleased when she wanted to become a race car driver. Yet here she is staring at Pato at a McLaren event him in his nice tux and her in her papaya orange dress. She sat at her table with her father watching Pato as he flirted with everyone he encounters it pissed her off a little she wanted him flirting with her and only her. Her father thankfully left the table damn over protective ass she wanted to get laid and she set her sights on a certain Mexican driver. She was smooth as she got up fixing her dress and slowly walking over to smooze some idiot investor that she couldn't give a rats ass about but knew Pato was watching her so it was the perfect time to make him jealous. A little arm touch here a giggle at a shitty joke there and boom Pato was at her side asking if he coukd talk to her in private. Hell to the fuck yes she thought to herself as he lead her through the crowded party and towards an empty hallway with McLaren offices since they were having it at the McLaren garage. She swallowed hard as he turned pushing her up against a wall.

"mujer, crees que es una buena idea coquetear con esos bastardos frente a mí? (woman you think its a good idea to flirt with those bastards infront of me)" Pato questioned in her ear that high school Spanish was finally paying off.

"no papi, lo hice para llamar tu atención. (no daddy i did it to get your attention)" She whispered in his ear pulling him down by his tie. He growled at her response flipping her around so her face was in the wall a little bending her and lifting up her skirt.

"Dios mio what do we have here i think you forgot to put something on before your dress princess." Pato said as he drank in the sight of her naked ass and folds she took an everything shower and didn't wear panties for this exact reason and it was actually happening hell to the fuck yes.

"Forget what?" She asked playing dumb which earned her a smack on the ass she bit her bottom lip to keep from moaning in delight.

"Don't play coy with me and you like this dont you this little game your father would kill me if he saw us like this." Pato said as she heard him un do his belt and the zipper of his pants come down and then the rustle of fabric. He watched as she clenched around nothing she was wet clearly excited about even the thought about what was about to happen. Pato slowly dragged his tip through her folds moaning at the feeling tight wet warm just how he liked it. He slowly sank in letting out a groan of relief as she bit her fist to keep from moaning too loudly and having someone catch them. He slowly pulled her off and back on him for a hot second before slowly moving her faster and faster his balls slapping against her as he started to pound into her. He spanked her ass grabbing at it as his other hand held her hip and slowly moved his fingers down to slowly play with her clit drawing slow tantalizing circles on the puffy bud. She was seeing fucking stars he was huge filling her like no one had he was thick and long. She felt his veins pulsing against her as he fucked her every twitch of that monster cock in her drove her wild she was a mess. She wasn't gonna be able to go to another man to get laid after this how could she when it felt like pure heaven with Pato and the words he whispered in her ear in Spanish.

"tan bueno para mí. dios, joder, amo este coño, tan apretado, mi buena chica, sí, ahora eres mía, esos pilotos de F1 no saben cómo follarte, ¿verdad? (so so good for me. god, fuck i love this pussy, so tight, my good girl, yeah you're mine now, those F1 drivers don't know how to fuck you do they?)" It drove her wild she felt her legs start to shake as she started to clench around him which only made him swear more in Spanish. She came hard and fast he got no warning before she clamped down on him like a fucking vice milking his balls for all they're worth. She convulsed the orgasm making her vision go white. His hips faltered a couple more thrusts and he knew he was done he burried himself deep in her feeling himself stuff her. He groaned as he softened and pulled out not even caring to clean her up he wanted his cum slipping down her thighs as she flirted with other men. He pulled her dress down and slipped himself back into his boxers and pants. He turned her around she was disheveled her face red her make up a little fucked up from the tears of pure pleasure he gave her. He smirked at her appearance kissing her nose and smacking her ass one last time before walking off. She stood there for what felt forever till she heard someone coming she looked over oh god no it was her father. Zack looked at her worried.

"Sweetheart have you been crying?" He asked wrapping a fatherly arm around her and rubbing her shoulder lovingly she could see Pato not to far away shit eating grin on his face. She cleared her throat putting on a fake smile.

"No daddy just had something in my eye and it made my eyes water when I tried to get it out." She said acting innocent. Zack could tell she was lying but that was an issue for another time as they walked past Pato, Zack looked at him.

"Pato christ zip your fly." Zack said having no idea what he almost just witnessed.

The end 😏 y'all love the Pato and I have no problem delivering keep sending em in

With lots of love your very horny and tired author Kenziexoxoxo

[moinsbienquekaworu]

I'm sorry I'm going to be insane for a second, avert your eyes

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

As per usual, it’s DP crossover with (probably) DC, although you could probably adjust it for other fandoms

ANYWAYS

A little kid and his mother are trick or treating in another city, perhaps at some kind of event rather than knocking on doors, and the kid is dressed as Phantom. It’s very adorable, with his little ghost-shaped bucket and clearly homemade and already stained costume—listen, white only works if you can just fly over street grime or phase it out of your clothes—and his slightly I’ll fitting wig. The kid is SO happy to be out and about dressed as his favorite, and maybe even showed it off to Phantom back in Amity Park before his family left.

The hero, insert whoever you wish here, is probably in civvies and just enjoying the event. The kid, meanwhile, is so glad when people ask who he is so he can explain, and so- the hero gets to hear ALL ABOUT the local town hero who is probably pretty small time despite the kid’s clearly exaggerated stories. The hero certainly never heard of him, but the kid’s mom confirms that Phantom really was the town hero, despite some mixed reviews of the poor guy.

“Did you manage to show him your costume?” the hero asks.

“Yeah! We went down to the cemetery to leave flowers and I got to show him my costume.”

Wait. Cemetery? Maybe it was part of theme, because Phantom had to be named that for a reason, but… it sounded like…

The kid ignores the suddenly VERY still hero and instead turns to his mom. “Momma, do you think we should bring him candy? He doesn’t get to trick or treat like we do, and I can work super hard to get him a bunch!”

The kid’s mom just smiles. “We could, but maybe we should bring him something homemade. I bet he’d like something more filling, teen boys like him have a hollow leg.”

The kid wrinkles his nose. “Like Vernie with the pizza bagels?”

“Like your cousin, yes. We can make some cinnamon rolls and take them to his memorial, maybe bring some of the apples from your grandpa’s garden…”

The hero is pretty much forgotten as the two-part family wanders off, not quite intentionally forgetting the hero is there so much as the hero somewhat accidentally ended the conversation when they just froze and didn’t ask anything further.

Not that the hero didn’t want to. But they’d learn something very serious.

One—there was a small town hero they’d never heard of. Two—that hero was apparently a teen. Third—most pressingly, the teen hero was both beloved enough to have kids dressing up as him and dead enough to have a grave.

This… might require some phone calls.

[thegreatyin]

How did you manage to handle not one, but FOUR separate accounts in fl? I recently made the account for my HD little guy but having to do the tutorial again just seems miserable

there's... weirdly several answers to that question, actually??

a HUGE part of it is due to the way FL is structured. the 10-minute action timer is a core part of the game on a fundamental level, and the fact that i can very easily run out of stuff to do on one character and thus have an excuse to quickly and easily swap to another is just... convenient? satisfying? i'm not entirely sure how to explain it. the fact that i can make progress even while i am fundamentally simultaneously Not Making Progress is like pure dopamine for my freak insane awful little brain. there's just something really pleasing about spending all of my actions pursuing The Goal Of The Day™ on one account before casually swapping to another and doing the same without feeling like i'm wasting time or acting to the first account's explicit detriment. the downtime helps! the recharge time helps! the structure really really works!!

i'm technically only actively playing three, maybe two accounts minimum. the only reason the fourth (the one that'll be my future BaL playthrough) currently exists at all is so i can get his earlygame completely out of the way now and not have to waste time running through it all later, when what i actually want to do is play the ambition i've made myself wait a full year to play. and also getting free goodies as seasonal stuff happens,, something something surprise tools to help us later. the only two accounts i'd say i'm really "actively playing" at the moment are caeru and lark- and of the two, lark takes the most priority, since his ambition is the one i'm currently pursuing in earnest. for a couple months now- despite being My Main FL Character- the scoundrel has actually been pretty inactive on a gameplay front outside of the occasional progression in TLC and discordance content. purely by virtue of having Very little left to do outside of Very long-term grinds and vanities. they're in their "now what?" "now you can start playing the game" era. they've graduated to previous protagonist background cameo in a sequel anime series. they're like the yin FLPC equivalent of red at the top of mount silver. they're Literally just vibing rn. i only keep posting about them regardless because i'm insane and i will never ever ever ever ever let that bat go. but yeah, big TLDR, outside of doing the bare minimum to keep making waves/notability up every week, i'm not actually spending that much time on accounts i'm not currently actively interested in playing. and that accounts for way more gaming spoons than you might think.

i have a virtually lifelong history of playing MMOs, especially and specifically world of warcraft. i was born in the endless grind for useless video game pixel vanities and/or bragging rights. molded by it. you all have merely adapted to doing the same piece of content a pointlessly excessive amount of times for literally no reason besides whimsy and folly. me? i've done my time. i've served my sentence. i've spent weeks doing the original burning crusade netherwing dailies. i've devoted days to running praetorium over and over and over again, back-to-back, nonstop, long before square enix cut it in half and made it NOT take at minimum an hour and a half per run. i've perfected my silverwastes + auric basin goldfarming strategies. i've (almost) crafted dragonwrath tarecgosa's rest. i've killed the sha of anger so many times its dying scream of agony is embedded into the very fabric of my being. ""only"" doing making your name content four times over? that is nothing to me. it means nothing to me. it is so infinitesimal i can do the persuasive seduction quests in my sleep. it's not a matter of handling misery, or having the capacity, or even sighing as i remember the brass embassy raid segment of the watchful questline seriously i don't know why i keep forgetting that exists or what even is my problem with it i just am so consistently mildly inconvenienced by it and its highly specific resource requirements and it is the worst thing ever. maybe i'm just so used to the scoundrel's near-infinite money and troves of disposable items that i've completely forgotten what being poor is like. despite having done that step 3 fucking times now. ahem. anyway. i have transcended the feeble mortal bindings of my resistant-to-grinding flesh and ascended to a higher plane of enlightenment, they may call me insane but they will be the ones left laughing when they see what that "insanity" has wrought, i've usurped them, i've usurped them all-

hacks and coughs and awkwardly clears my throat. i mean. uh. um. Ahem.

the empress' court artistry + tales of the university nerfs helped too.

[platypusisnotonfire]

well.

I'm 30.

[umilily]

i think the reason why i rarely ever go anywhere these days is bc i hate packing with a burning passion.

[gojosconsort]

get freaky on camera // satoru gojo

𓂃୨ৎ you’re an onlyfans creator frustrated with bad partners, so you jokingly ask your best friend to help film content... and he’s game.

𓂃୨ৎ pairing. afab!reader x best friend!satoru gojo

𓂃୨ৎ content. mdni. friends-with-benefits, domestic fluff, filming, oral (f and m receiving), praise kink, creampie, shower sex, aftercare

best friend!satoru’s been your closest friend forever, with that messy white hair and blue eyes that make everyone stare. one day at his place, you complain about not finding enough good partners for your onlyfans and you joke, “maybe you should help me film some content.” you laugh, but he grins, leaning forward, “let’s do it.”

best friend!satoru’s game immediately and sets the ground rules over pizza, “we fuck for your fans, keep it professional, no strings.” you’re hesitant, “just for content, right?” he nods, “just for content.” but you both know that’s not true.

best friend!satoru who you shoot your first video with him that night, pushing your pizza away and abandoning the movie that was playing as you straddle his lap, his kisses hot down your neck. “fuck, you’re so hot—let’s give ‘em a show,” he says, filming as you ride him and fuck, he’s good, hitting every spot and you moan louder than you ever have with any other partner.

best friend!satoru who checks the video after, smirking at the views pouring in. “told you we’d kill it,” he says, replaying the part when you’d cum on his cock over and over and you’re flushed, “it’s just the angle.” he laughs, “don’t get shy now, babe. we’re hot and the fans love it.” you shove him, but he’s right—the chemistry’s insane, and the fans really love it.

best friend!satoru who suggests a blowjob video next because “fans love that shit.” he guides you down, “lick slow—fuck, yeah, like that.” and he’s so vocal, “shit, baby, you’re so good—look up at me.” and then films you taking him deep, moaning, “fuck yeah, babe.” and then cums down your throat so hard, the phone’s nearly slipping from his grasp as his orgasm ripples through him.

best friend!satoru who eats you out so good you almost forget you are filming for your only fans. his tongue’s between your legs and you’re gettin’ wetter by the second, thighs tremblin’, but he’s taking his sweet time until you pull at his hair and urge him, “fuck, satoru! make me cum already!” and he’s loving every second of it.

best friend!satoru’s softer after the shoot, surprising you with how gentle he can be. he grabs a warm towel, “you okay, superstar?” he makes you tea and tucks a blanket around you. “you’re acting like my boyfriend now,” you tease, but he smirks, “nah, just the best co-star you’ll ever have—nobody’s taking care of you like me.”

best friend!satoru who you do a content marathon with one lazy weekend. fucks you in every position—missionary, doggy, you on top, him on top, you name it. “fuck, baby—taking me so well.” he’s relentless, cumming three times but still hard, “gonna ruin you for everyone else.” you’re exhausted but don’t stop, he’s fucks you so good it’s addicting.

best friend!satoru’s basically living at your place—filming, fucking, chilling. picks your lingerie, “this’ll make ‘em drool—you’re so hot in it.” off-camera, he’s cooking you dinner, “can’t let my star go hungry.” you laugh, “you’re way too into this.” he shrugs, “damn right—you’re the hottest thing on the internet, and i’m the lucky guy making it happen.” his hands linger, and you don’t pull away.

best friend!satoru who fucks you in the shower against the tiles for a new video, water streaming, phone catching every drip, “fuck, you’re so tight,” he says, fucking you hard and cums so deep inside, kissing your cervix with every thrust. “that’s the money shot.” and films how his cum is dripping between your legs. after, he’s kissing your wet skin, “you’re too fucking good, babe.”

best friend!satoru who texts you at 3 a.m., “thinking of my favorite girl—wanna film?” shows up with your favorite sugary drink, “only the best for you, babe.” you catch him staring when you’re just chilling afterwards, eyes warm. “satoru, this is just content, right?” you ask, voice small. “sure,” he says but it doesn’t sound true, and you’re starting to crave his presence, not just his dick.

best friend!satoru’s been your only onlyfans partner for months, ever since you realized nobody else could fuck like him or make you cum so much. you used to film with others, but now it’s just satoru, and the way he looks at you—like you’re more than content—makes your heart skip.

best friend!satoru who got you pinned on his bed, clothes already off, when you realize—shit, you forgot to hit record. “satoru, the camera,” you gasp, but he’s kissing you hard, “fuck the camera—need you now.” you don’t stop him; he’s too good, cock sliding in deep, hitting spots that make you see stars. “moan for me, just me,” he says, and it’s raw, intense—better than any filmed scene.

best friend!satoru’s different after that night. he’s over at your place, not for a shoot, just to hang—ordering takeout and binging a shitty rom-com. “you’re fucking gorgeous even in sweats,” he says, tugging you onto his lap. you tease, “no camera today?” he shrugs, “don’t need it.” he kisses you soft, no rush, and you’re starting to wonder why this feels so normal.

best friend!satoru’s acting like your boyfriend now, and you’re not fighting it. he’s over all the time, not just for shoots—cooking you pancakes, you stealing his hoodie, him calling you “babe” in that low voice that makes you melt. you’re holding hands, sharing lazy kisses, and it’s couple shit—brushing teeth together, him carrying you to bed. “you’re my favorite everything,” he says, and it’s too real.

best friend!satoru who’s quieter one night, sitting on your balcony with you, city lights below. he’s holding your hand, unusual for his cocky self. “babe, i gotta say something,” he starts, eyes serious. “i don’t want you filming with anyone else—fuck, i don’t want anyone else near you. be mine, exclusive—my girlfriend.” and you’ve never been more happy in your life.

best friend!satoru’s your boyfriend now, and it shows—he’s louder, prouder. you film a new video, “my girlfriend’s the fucking hottest,” he says on camera, fucking you deep and hard. “nobody takes me like you,” he groans, loving how you feel around his cock, the way you moan and scream his name. “love you,” and he’s thrusting harder.

[catgirlkirigiri]

Slash was my first guy to be attacked this year which reminded me his ref is three years old and ugly so. Made him some new ones

[snail-day]

Satoru doesn't do well with the idea of leaving you. Never has. Probably never will.

Even the short missions are enough to make him sulky, but the long ones? The ones where he’ll be away for days, maybe weeks? He turns into a whining mess. You wonder if he's always been like this, just never voiced it aloud to anyone before.

Packing takes three times longer than it should. Every time he tries to fold a shirt or zip his carry on, he ends up abandoning the task halfway through just to wrap his arms around you from behind, pressing his face into the crook of your neck with a pitiful little whine.

"I don't wanna go," he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin, maybe saying it enough times might make the whole thing mission disappear. "You’re my little Pokémon, y'know? I should be able to just catch you in a ball and bring you with me."

You laugh, warm and breathless, reaching up behind you to card your fingers through his snowy hair. "You could try," you tease, and he groans dramatically, squeezing you tighter.

It’s not just joking, though. When you offer to come with him, he always gets a little quiet. A little stuck in his mind. Turning you around and pulling back just enough to look at you, and the way his bright blue eyes shimmer... God, it breaks your heart a little. He wants to say yes. You can see it in the way his hand trembles against your side. The way his pretty eyes scan your face. It's on the tip of his tongue.

But instead, he just shakes his head slowly, a wobbly little smile on his lips.

Because the thought of something happening to you, curse or no curse, makes his heart ache. Makes his mind wander a little too far for his liking.

What if he’s in the middle of a fight and someone targets you?

What if he’s too far away to reach you in time?

What if...?

"Can’t risk it," he finally says softly, thumb brushing back and forth against your hip, memorizing the feel of your soft skin. Maybe your scent will eventually be engrained in his mind. "You're... you’re everything, baby."

Already pulling you against his lean chest again, holding you so tightly you can barely breathe, mumbling "I love you" over and over against the crown of your head. His palm rubbing up and down your back in loose patterns. You almost think he's tearing up.

"I love you. I love you so much. Don’t forget, okay?" he murmurs between kisses to the top of your head. "Be safe. Call me if you even think something’s weird, kay? I’ll come running, promise."

You have to physically pry him off you just to get him to finish packing. And even then, he keeps glancing back at you every five seconds. Begging for one more hug. One more kiss. One more chance to touch you before he has to drag himself to the door.

By the time he actually gets to the door, he’s somehow hugging you again, despite your giggling protests, rocking you gently side to side in his arms, mumbling about how he’s going to miss you so bad he might just quit being a sorcerer and become your full-time house husband. (He’s only half joking.)

Finally, after a hundred kisses and whispered I love yous, he leans down one last time, nose brushing against yours, voice soft and almost trembling: "Be here when I get back, 'kay? I don’t wanna come home to a world without you."

But then, quieter, so quiet you nearly miss it he adds: "...And don’t... don’t forget about me either, yeah? Don’t find someone normal while I'm gone. Someone who doesn't leave. Someone who can give you the kind of life you deserve."

It’s said with a half-laugh, light and teasing, like he’s trying to play it off, but you can feel it in the way his arms tighten around you, the way his voice wavers. That tiny, hidden crack in the foundation of Satoru Gojo: The fear that being the strongest might mean ending up the loneliest too.

And even as he finally forces himself to step away, flashing you that big, blinding smile. You catch the flicker of sadness he tries so desperately to hide. Because no matter how strong he is, when it comes to you, Satoru’s always afraid that someday you’ll realize you deserve more than a man who keeps having to leave.

[transthatmasc]

I love the concept that Viktor ends up with Jayce’s last name through some originally non-romantic means so much that I have multiple versions.

Jayce accidentally gives Viktor his last name by being so insistent on putting Viktor’s name first in every circumstance. When he’s listing their names on anything he puts them down as “Viktor and Jayce Talis”. When he introduces them to people he says “Nice to meet you, this is Viktor and I’m Jayce Talis” with a pause before Talis because he always forgets that he should say his house name too. Viktor slowly starts to notice that they’re referred to in the tabloids as “the Talises” and that higher ups at the academy will introduce him to investors as “Viktor Talis” without Jayce even being there.

When they first start working together, they put their initials next to things in their shared notes to mark when they have questions or agree with something the other wrote, or to differentiate when someone is dictating while the other talks. In an effort to not have it confused with a variable, Viktor initials VT (VikTor) as a bit of a joke to look similar to Jayce’s JT. However, one day when Heimerdinger is looking over their notes, he marks out a question in the margin for Viktor with “Viktor Talis” written out next to it in full. Viktor and Jayce debate for a moment after he leaves if it was supposed to mean it was for both of them, but the contents of the question makes it entirely clear that Heimerdinger things VT stands for Viktor Talis and has accepted that Viktor has adopted Jayce’s last name with no questions.

At the beginning of Hextech, as they are trying to get investors, Viktor regularly gets identified as being from the undercity and harassed for it by wealthy Pilties when he tells them his name is “just Viktor” when asked what house he is from. So one day Jayce suggests just telling investors that his last name is also Talis, thinking that people will assume they are brothers. Viktor gets flustered and tries to politely decline, but Jayce seems to confident that he lets it happen. It takes him weeks to figure out that Jayce doesn’t realize that everyone thinks they’ve gotten married or plan to. Viktor doesn’t have the heart to tell him and won’t let Mel break the illusion.

Jayce takes Viktor on a tour of the forge and when he gets done takes a hammer to jokingly knight him and dub him “officially part of house Talis” Jayce thinks nothing of it until the next time they meet someone new together when he almost spits out his drink hearing Viktor introduce himself as “Viktor Talis”

Some investor that they fucking hate can’t keep their names straight for some reason but always sees Jayce wearing his house sigil so he says “ah, Viktor Talis” every time he sees Jayce. They find it so fucking funny that even just saying “Viktor Talis” sends them into uncontrollable laughter.

Ximena refers to them exclusively as “my boys” to the point that most people who met her after Hextech was founded assume that she has two sons, Jayce Talis and Viktor Talis. She doesn’t feel the need to correct them as she does truly love them both as her children and is also quietly hoping one day Jayce will get his head out of his ass and ask Viktor out on a date.