#if i had my pick of every man in the world i would still choose him

[grandpeachpersona]

It's A Man's World Chapter 7 (Nice)

Warnings: Flirting slightly, no smut, slow burn, injury (nothing major or no injury to Joe) slight blood mentioned. Lots of Sports talk.

Word Count: 2,930 (Overboard)

A;N Have a Happy Thanksgiving! 🦃🧡

Today is a pivotal day—the last game of the season, and it’s a nail-biter. With a record of 90-75, the stakes couldn't be higher. If we lose, there's still a flicker of hope for a wild card spot. But a victory? That would catapult us straight into the Divisional Championship Game, a dream scenario for any player.

On top of that, I have the incredible opportunity to watch Mr. Joe Cool in action, whom Mia playfully calls my “Future Husband.” Back in college, I was a dedicated fan, never missing a game where he showcased his extraordinary talent. Every time he stepped onto the field, I was mesmerized and captivated by his grace, skill, and looks if you know what I mean.

As I enter Truist Park, an electric energy fills the air. There's a palpable buzz among the fans, an atmosphere that feels almost tangible like anticipation hanging thick and heavy. It's a feeling that's hard to articulate but ignites something deep within me.

Stepping into what could be one of the biggest games of my life, the weight of the moment hangs around me like a cloak. While many might crack under such intense pressure, I choose to thrive in it. The doubters, the naysayers—they only serve to fuel my determination. Their negativity pushes me to dig deeper, to push harder, to give everything I've got. Today is more than just a game; it’s a chance to shine.

The game began on a strong note, with both teams holding their ground during the first couple of innings. Now, we find ourselves at the bottom of the third, and I'm stepping up to bat.

As "Do I Do" by Stevie Wonder plays, I approach home plate with a focused demeanor, considering my options for this at-bat.

Mark Andrew, the pitcher for the Washington Nationals, prepares himself on the mound as my walkout song fades and I assume my batting stance.

He takes a deep breath and delivers his pitch. I notice it's outside the zone, so I refrain from swinging and let the ball pass.

“1 and 0 is the count,” the umpire calls from behind me.

I get myself ready again as he gears up for his next pitch. He winds up and throws once more.

I swing but miss as the curveball passes by.

“Strike!” the umpire shouts.

I nod in acknowledgment and take a step back. That was the pitch I had anticipated; he boasts one of the best curveballs in the league right now.

I step back into the box a raise my bat. ‘Come on, give me something to hit,’ I said in my head

He threw his next pitch, and it all happened so fast. One moment, I was watching the ball being thrown for me to hit, and the next, I found myself on the ground, holding the side of my head because I had just been hit by a baseball. My helmet absorbed most of the impact, but when a baseball comes at you at 95 miles an hour, you definitely feel it.

A gasp swept through the ballpark as the scene unfolded. The catcher immediately waved for a trainer from my dugout before leaning down and putting a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, can you hear me? Are you okay?” he asked.

For some reason, his voice sounded distant, and I couldn't respond. I just nodded, still holding the side of my head. I guess my helmet flew off when I hit the ground.

Soon, the trainer arrived with a towel. “That was a hard hit. Do you think you can roll over?” he asked, but again, his voice sounded muffled. So, I nodded once more, and they helped roll me over.

I groaned in pain as they rolled me onto my back. Finally opening my eyes, the ringing in my ears stopped, and my hearing returned to normal. “Fuck,” I groaned, hoping the microphones on the field didn’t pick it up.

Justin squatted down next to me. “Hey, we need to get you to the trainer's room. That ball got you pretty good.”

Taking in his words, I moved my hands from my face. “Shit,” I gasped as I noticed my glove was stained with more than just dirt; I was busted open.

I managed to sit up while the trainer pressed a towel against my head. Damn, I’d rather be hit with tennis balls than this—at least they had some cushion.

With their help, I slowly got to my feet as a round of applause filled the stadium. This was definitely not how I envisioned my day going.

Unfortunately, I found myself benched after that incident, nursing a fresh set of stitches on my forehead. While I was grateful there was no concussion or major head injury involved—just a wayward pitch that went terribly wrong—I couldn’t help but feel the sting of frustration. Mark was the pitcher, and I held no grudges against him; I knew it wasn’t intentional. Just hours earlier, we’d been laughing and joking around, sharing inside jokes and pre-game camaraderie. But that’s baseball for you; sometimes, in the heat of the moment, a pitcher loses their grip, and you end up taking a hit.

It was the bottom of the ninth inning, with the air crackling with tension. The scoreboard lit up with a nail-biting 3-3 tie. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation as two outs hung in the balance. Austin stepped up to the plate, a determined look on his face. My pinch replacement, Tommy Reese, was on deck, stretching and warming up, ready to step in if the situation called for it.

Over at first base, Ronald Acuña Jr. stood poised, his athletic frame ready to explode into action. All Austin needed to do was make solid contact with the ball and drive it into the outfield. With Ronald’s incredible speed, we all knew he could beat the throw home.

As the closer took his position on the mound, I felt my heart racing in sync with the crowd’s energy. He shot a quick glance back at Acuña before winding up to pitch to Austin.

Austin stood firm, carefully checking his swing as the first pitch sailed by—ball one. It was a good start, and my confidence began to build.

I leaned forward, elbows digging into my knees, every muscle in my body tense with expectation. This was it—the moment we had all been waiting for.

The pitcher glanced once more at Ronald, then took a deep breath and delivered the next pitch. It was as if everything slowed down for just a heartbeat. Austin, eyes locked on the ball, swung with ferocity and precision. The crack of the bat echoed like thunder as the ball soared into the air, arcing gracefully toward the outfield. It sailed further and further until it disappeared into the majestic waterfall display at the park.

A walk-off home run! Victory was ours!

The stadium erupted into a wild celebration, a thunderous roar that sent vibrations through the very ground beneath us. It felt as if the entire stands shook with joy and excitement. Everyone from the dugout charged the field, sprinting toward home plate, united in the thrill of triumph as Austin rounded the bases, his expression a blend of disbelief and exhilaration.

I stood just outside the circle, wise enough to be cautious with my stitches, but that didn’t stop me from celebrating with every ounce of energy I had. I cheered and clapped, sharing in the jubilant atmosphere that surrounded me.

We were heading to the NLDS, baby!

As I settled into my seat for the post-game press conference, I offered a soft but warm greeting to the room, a subtle “hello” that echoed in the anticipation-filled space.

One of the reporters, a familiar face I would later come to know as Dave, leaned forward and asked, “Riley, how are you feeling right now?”

I let out a light chuckle, a mix of relief and exhilaration washing over me. “Honestly, I’m feeling great! The adrenaline is really pumping through me right now, so I’m not even feeling this,” I said, gesturing lightly to my head. “But overall, I’m feeling good.”

From the back of the room, a voice rang out, filled with curiosity. “How proud are you of Austin?” A woman inquired, her tone sincere and warm.

A broad smile broke across my face as I thought about my brother. “I’m incredibly proud of him. That’s my twin right there,” I replied, injecting a bit of humor into the moment. It was a playful reference to the nickname we had given each other for our shared last name.

Laughter erupted around the room, lifting the spirits of everyone present. Just as the chuckles faded, another reporter asked, “When you got hurt earlier, the team looked visibly shaken, but they managed to pull themselves together. How do you all stay focused and regain your composure in such moments?”

I took a breath and nodded firmly.

I nodded firmly. “No matter how much I’m hurting or how tough things get for the team, we stand by each other, always. When you train with the same group through the spring and share the field with them through the summer. A strong bond forms. So whether we win or lose, when you underestimate us, we step onto that field and prove that we are just too nice for yall”

“Girl, you okay? I saw you got knocked upside the head,” Mia asked from the other side of the phone on her way home from work.

Leaning my head back against the headrest of the car as Kyle drove to Mercedes-Benz Stadium, I replied, “Sis, I’m cool. I got a few stitches. I'll be fine in a couple of days.”

“Alright, if you say so,” she sighed. “Are you still going to the game?”

“Pulling up to the stadium as we speak,” I responded, looking out the tinted window.

“Alright, be careful; tell Ja’marr and Joe I said hi,” she said.

“Yes, Mom,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “And I will.”

We hung up just as Kyle pulled into the private parking lot. He looked up in the rearview mirror and asked, “Ready?”

“Let’s get this show on the road,” I replied, putting on my shades. He nodded and got out to open the door for me. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” I offered.

He smiled and shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I’m a Cowboys fan anyway,” he said.

I feigned a shocked look. “Wow, I’m hurt, Kyle,” I said, shaking my head.

“Sorry, not sorry,” he replied, getting back into the driver's seat.

As I walked into the stadium, security guards escorted me to a private box. It was about thirty minutes until kickoff, and fans were filling the stands, ready for some Thursday night football.

When I entered the box, I noticed a few women already there. At first, I thought the guard had led me to the wrong room, but they reassured me that I was in the right place and welcomed me in. During our conversation, I quickly learned that they were WAGS.

“So, which one are you here for?” one of the women asked. I learned her name was Emma.

I shook my head. “Oh, I’m not dating anyone on the team. Joe, Ja’marr, and I all went to college together, so I'm just here to watch them.”

Speaking of the devils, there they were, taking the field for pregame warm-ups. My eyes drifted to Joe in his uniform. He really looked good in everything—the way his hair fell perfectly and how his tights gripped his thighs.

Girl, get ahold of yourself.

“You okay?” Lexi asked to my left with a slight chuckle.

“Yep... just great,” I responded, crossing my legs to calm myself down somewhat.

Joe started looking around the stadium until he finally found me. When he did, he tapped Ja’marr on the back, said something in his ear, and pointed up at me.

I waved at both of them, and they waved back before turning their attention back to their warm-ups.

God, help me.

The score was 27-27 in the 4 quarter with just 60 seconds left on the clock and the Bengals had the ball if I know Joe he does not want to take this thing into overtime at all.

I sat there holding my breath as the ball was snapped into Joe's hands he looked around the field before he threw a Hail Mary pass to the in-zone hoping someone would catch it and ill be dammed.

Tee Higgins caught that ball at what was the last possible second to give the Bengals the touchdown.

The stadium goes crazy, and so do I. The Bengals just won the game with that play. There was only time for the kick for the extra point.

As Joe made his way back to the sideline he pointed up to my box with a nod. I nod my head back with a smirk, something we did back in LSU as to say,y ‘Who they think they playing with’

The Bengals walked into Atlanta and got the dub 34-27.

After things calm down a bit, security takes me down to the field. I immediately spotted Ja'marr's back talking to Joe. They said Joe and I were thick as thieves. Every time you turned around, these two were together.

Deciding to mess with Ja'marr a bit I ran and jumped on his back.

“What the hell,” he said confused at first then he heard my giggles “Girl if you don't get off of me,” he said in this fake serious tone.

“You'll be okay,” I patted his chest. “Congrats on the dub, you two,” I said, hoping down.

“Thanks same to you, Divisional huh?” Ja’marr congrats me.

I nodded my head with a slight smile. “She's going to get a ring before us, Joe,” Ja’marr said with a fake cry.

I shook my head at him. “You sure he didn't get tackled too hard.”

Joe played along, “You know, been asking myself the same question all season.”

Ja’marr’s jaw drops dramatically. “You know what? I'm going to hit the showers 'cause yall doing too much.”

He walked through the tunnel before he disappeared. “Thought you weren't coming. saw you got hit earlier,” Joe said, turning his attention to me his eyes going straight to the bandage on my forehead.

Looking up at him even though I'm 5 '7 Joe still had a couple of couple inches on me. “I wasn't going to let a hit stop me from seeing you.”

He turned his head, and I could tell he was fighting a grin because the corners of his mouth twitched. “Just me?” he asked.

I pretend to think about it for a minute. “Well, you and Ja’marr if you want to throw him in there, but mostly you.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I won't tell him what you said,” he said, his eyes meeting mine.

I shrugged. “It's ok, he knows.”

Joe and I continued talking for a minute before his name was shouted out of the tunnel by a Bengals staff member

He turned his head, and I heard him slightly curse “You totally forgot you had a press conference didn't you” I asked trying not to giggle.

He nodded his head “Yep,” he said, popping the “P”

I shook my head. Joe had a one-track mind. He shouted to the person calling for him “I'll be there in a sec” then turned back to me.

“Duty Calls,” he opened his arms for a hug, and of course, I gave him one. Closing the gap, I hugged back despite the bulk of his gear.

It was like home, ignoring the sweat and the smell of grass and mud. I could smell the faint scent of his cologne it just felt all too familiar.

To my dislike we had to let go “Text me when you get home” he said releasing me. I didn't get a chance to respond before he was off toward the tunnel.

Yeah, I guess I will

After popping a Tylenol for my head, I climb into bed, ready to call it a night, but not before reaching for my phone and opening my text messages.

Me

I'm home.

Joe Burrr 🧡

Good. Started to get worried for a minute.

Me

Sorry after the game my head was screaming at me.

Joe Burrr 🧡

Did you take something for it?

Me

Took a Tylenol. Hasn't let me down yet.

Joe Burrr 🧡

Good..You're not going to miss any of your games right?

Me

Naw I'm too tough and got too much on the line to be benched now. I'll be ready come next week.

Joe Burrr 🧡

I know you will but just come out the next one without a hit to the face.

Me

I will try to avoid those the best I can 🫡

Joe Burrr 🧡

Please do. You have to pretty of a face for someone to be playing target practice.

Me

Watch it Joe

Joe Burrr 🧡

What! All I did was give my friend a compliment on her amazing looks.

Me

Well I thank you but now I wanna know what's your favorite look on me?

Joe Burrr 🧡

Any look you have on is my favorite. Ri.

Me

Ok, I'll give you that one

For now…

Joe Burrr 🧡

Maybe I'll have an answer for you in a couple weeks

[ginxyy]

Steps Towards Love

“You see how picky I am about my shoes and they only go on my feet.”

You know how meticulous you are when it comes to your shoes—the way you scrutinize every detail, from the heel's height to the impeccable alignment of the laces. They only go on your feet, after all, and your feet deserve nothing but the best. You remember the day Seungcheol first noticed this quirk of yours; how he watched you at the cafe, leaning against the wall, your arms crossed and eyes bright as you debated the merits of a pair of classic black pumps versus the daring red stilettos. You felt him watching, the warmth of his gaze enveloping you like a cocoon, and mentally, you added him to the list of things that occupied your thoughts that ever-growing list you never quite wanted to expand but couldn’t help but add to.

“Focused on them?” he asked with a teasing edge to his voice as he approached, a small smirk dancing on his lips. You had tried to mask your surprise, your cheeks betraying you as they flushed under his gaze. You hadn’t even noticed that he had walked in. “What’s wrong with these?” he gestured playfully to your feet, adorned with the current favorite pair, sleek black ankle boots that you had spent an hour picking from an array of options.

“Nothing!” you defended, perhaps too sharply. “Just making sure I don’t regret my choices. Shoes are a commitment, after all,” you added, pretending to shrug his playful distraction off. In truth, you loved the chaotic rhythm he brought into your world, an alluring contrast to your organized life.

Seungcheol had a way of enchanting you, effortlessly slipping in between the lines of your independence with each thoughtful conversation and gentle gesture. He never pushed, never chafed against your independence, but you could feel the determination in him, like a solid rock anchored deep beneath the surface. A month turned to two, and then four, and he was still there, a constant presence wrapped up in the tender possibilities of what could be.

“Okay, but really,” he said one day, seated across from you in your regular booth at the cafe, “you’ve got to give me a chance.” His voice was earnest, his eyes steady as they locked onto yours with a warmth that made your insides flutter. “I’ve put in the effort, haven’t I?” He gestured vaguely to the daily visits, to the elaborate jokes he told to make you laugh, to the way he would hold the door open and pull your chair out like you were the only woman in the world. “You can’t possibly be that picky about me too.”

You chuckled, fighting to contain the giddiness inside you. “I’m a woman of high standards,” you said playfully, even as you could feel your resolve waver. “My shoes are a reflection of my personality. They need to be perfect, just like the man I choose to go out with.”

He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling just a bit too adorably, and you had to look away to avoid losing your composure entirely. “I may not have all the perfect qualities you’re looking for... but I can make you laugh and smile more than anyone else. Isn’t that an important quality too?”

Your heart softened, caught in the warmth of his words. It was true; the way he made you feel was worth savoring. Yet you stubbornly clung to your independence, your headstrong stubbornness a shield against the vulnerability that came with love.

Days became weeks, and as winter crept in, the chill in the air was juxtaposed against the warmth that swelled in your chest at the thought of him. He was so patient, offering only sweet, lingering glances that felt like promises. Yet every time he broached the subject of a date, you deftly dodged.

But tonight, as darkness draped over the city and holiday lights twinkled like stars against the velvet sky, you found yourself hesitating. His voice floated over to you, mellifluous and hypnotic amidst the bustling sounds of the street as he said, “Let’s do something different this weekend. You bring your favorite shoes. I’ll plan a surprise, and we'll see where it takes us.”

The challenge settled heavily in the air between you, and you bit your lip, toes curling at the prospect of his plan. What if it turned out to be spectacular? What if it unraveled a world you had long kept neatly boxed away, out of reach? What if you didn’t want to return home after, your heart tethered too far from the independence you cherished?

You took a deep breath as your resolve tightened. “You know I’m picky,” you cautioned, though deep down, there was a hesitant flicker of excitement curling within you. It wasn’t just any shoes you had to choose, after all; they were an extension of yourself, the armor you wore as you navigated these risky new waters.

“Yes, and you know what? I’m entirely in love with your pickiness. You have exquisite taste but that doesn’t mean we can’t explore what lies beyond your comfort zone.” He leaned closer, a teasing glimmer in his eyes, “Besides, can’t we just see where the night leads us? Just like when you try new shoes?”

Something shifted in the air. You could feel the edges of your resolve softening. What if you let him peel back the layers, just this once? What if you decided to take a leap?

The weekend arrived, and as you stared at your reflection, you slid your feet into a new pair tantalizingly daring emerald heels that felt a bit too bold yet intoxicatingly freeing. They were a far cry from what you usually chose, and yet somehow, they filled you with an unsettling thrill. You were stepping out into the world, and tonight, maybe it would be more than just a night out.

When Seungcheol met you outside your apartment, his eyes lit up like fireworks at the sight of you. “Wow,” he breathed, taking a moment to drink in the vision before him, “you look stunning.” The sincerity in his voice melted any lingering apprehensions you had.

With each step you took beside him, the sharpness of the heels transformed into an exhilarating rhythm, reflective of the pounding of your heart. Each moment together felt sweeter than the last; his laughter mingled with the cool night air as you strolled through softly-lit streets, his hand brushing against yours before gently intertwining your fingers.

You didn’t know where the night was headed, but the possibilities seemed as endless as the stars above. You felt a shift maybe love could exist alongside independence, weaving itself through the fabric of your life rather than overpowering it.

And as you looked up into his eyes, seeing the affection etched there, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, allowing someone in wasn’t as frightening as you’d convinced yourself it was. After all, just like your shoes, love could be a commitment worth the careful selection a journey of its own, if only you dared to take that first step.

[wildsaltair]

put this man in the Louvre beside the Mona Lisa because he is a work of art 🤌🏻

[livbedum]

Maybank! Reader trying to get Rafe off of her as JJ is face timing her! I need to know how she'd react. I just know Rafe would be such a tease!!!

are you trying to kill me?

maybank!reader x rafe cameron

summary you’re spending time with your boyfriend while jj has been trying to get ahold of you

warnings profanity , jj almost catching you with rafe , secret relationship

a/n oh lord , just know this is not the only time this has happened

18+ minors dni

you were at rafe’s house for the weekend. initially , you were supposed to spend a couple of days in charleston ; there was a farmer’s market going on that you had wanted to go to , but rafe had a meeting in the morning. so instead of a weekend away , you both decided on a weekend at home.

no phones , no disruptions. just you and rafe. you had told jj that some touron was taking you to some place special , seeming unimpressed but still choosing to go. that got him off your back so he wasn’t checking your whereabouts all weekend. if he did , he’d see you were at tannyhill.

“i know you’re upset about not making it onto the mainland this weekend,” rafe apologized from his desk , looking at you as you lounged on his bed, “sorry.”

“baby , it’s fine,” you assured him , scrolling through tiktok on his phone while he finished up some paperwork. “you’re hot when you’re in business mode. i don’t exactly mind,” you added , getting up from bed and stalking over to him.

“yeah?” he smiled , spinning in the chair to face you and give you a seat in his lap, “well i’d hope you’d think so considering this deal will help us in the future.”

rafe was always talking about that. your future together. he constantly told you every move he makes is securing the life that you both wanted. a life away from your families ; a life that you could spend together without anyone else’s opinions.

“i like when you talk about our future,” you admitted , arms coming around rafe’s neck as you found purchase in his lap, “gets me excited. y’know , it’s nice to see how much you care about us.”

“i care about you more than most things,” rafe replied , planting kissing from your cheek down to your neck.

you sighed , really letting the feeling of his lips sink into your sink. “i’m sorry that everything is so difficult,” you sighed , letting your head fall to his shoulder as rafe’s hand rubbed your back, “i wish things were different , and you could be with me in front of everyone. i know it bothers you,” you continued , pressing kisses into the side of his neck and face.

“i would love if i could show you off to everyone. let the whole island know that you’re mine,” rafe agreed, “but i know that it’s not a plausible option until we have the ability to get away if need be.” he was right ; there was no world that you could be publicly dating rafe cameron. mostly because of the stigma around pogues dating kooks , but also because of your friend group’s history with rafe and his friends.

“i love you regardless,” you smiled , looking into his eyes gently. you loved this man more than anyone in your life— besides jj. rafe pressed a smiley kiss onto your lips , picking you up and moving to the bed. his body covered yours as he kissed up and down your neck , getting you to laugh and try to push him off “stop it! are you trying to kill me?!” you cackled , still trying to remove him.

“i think you’ll find your attempts to get me off of you aren’t going to work , babe,” he laughed into your neck , lifting for a second to kiss your face, “it’s cute though.”

“yeah well , it’s not my fault you’re gigantic,” you sighed , lungs not filling as much as usual because of rafe’s weight on you, “besides it’s not like i’m actually—“

your words were cut off when your phone started ringing. you knew it was your phone when you heard the ringtone. it was jj. “who is it? thought we agreed no contact with the outside world.” rafe grumbled , letting his head rest on your shoulder.

“get off of me,” you rushed out , actually trying to get him away now, “it’s jj,” you announced , reaching for your phone on the side table , but you couldn’t because rafe was keeping you in your spot.

“no , we agreed,” he shook his head , refusing to move.

“babe , it might be important,” you huffed , really , truly pushing at him as your phone rang one final time before going silent, “rafe! what if something’s wrong? i gotta call him back. get off , freak,” you were still laughing a little , but only because you could feel rafe chuckling to himself.

you were finally able to reach your phone , grabbing it just as jj called again. a facetime call now. “what could he possibly want that’s more important than me and you fucking?” rafe asked , thrusting his hips against yours jokingly.

“literally the possibilities are endless,” you sighed , accepting the facetime after telling rafe to ‘please shut the fuck up for once in your life’

“dude , i know you said you’re having your romantic getaway weekend with what’s his face , but you will not believe the swell i just dominated!” jj started talking as soon as you picked up , angling the phone so rafe’s head was out of frame.

“wow! that’s cool , bud,” you mused, “but i’m kinda busy , so…” you made a face , knowing jj could tell that you didn’t want to be on the phone with him at the moment.

“ew! i don’t care that you’re fucking some touron , i just had to tell— hey , where are you anyway?” jj asked , squinting his eyes in the sun to try and view his screen and your location a little better.

you glared at rafe when he stifled a giggle. “at some hotel with what’s his face,” you lied , rolling your eyes, “i gotta go , jacky!”

“okay , use protection. i love you. see you in a couple of da—” he rambled before you hung up on him and hit rafe.

“why would you laugh!” you couldn’t help yourself but join in , finally pushing rafe onto his back on the bed and getting on top of him, “you’re a bad influence , y’know.”

“you love it,” rafe smiled , hands finding purchase on your hips as he looked at you.

“debatable.”

rafe sat up , bringing you with him as he leaned against his headboard. “what can i do to swing your vote?” he wondered , pressing soft kisses all over your face, “i’ll do whatever.”

you laughed and grabbed his face , kissing him back. the kiss was practically teeth clashing because of your smiles. “consider me convinced already.”

taglist @maybankslover @annatartastic @maroonz @icaqttt @yootvi @inlovewithmorales

[peachyhalstead]

married man | j. halstead

request:Can you do a Jay Halstead x Reader. They are both married and have a child together. The child just started pre-k or kindergarten and since the reader is heavily pregnant Jay has been dropping off and picking up their kid. And maybe like the single moms are flirting with Jay since they think he might be a single dad but they get surprised when the reader picks the kid one day after giving birth.

pairing: established (married) fem!reader x jay halstead

word count: 1.75k

warnings: none??

a/n: dad!jay dad!jay dad!jay !!!!! they have a little boy (his name is dylan) and a newborn girlie (what should her name be)

------

Grumbling as the alarm went off, you blindly reached over and whacked Jay on the chest. “Why’s it have to be so loud?”

Jay chuckled, silencing his phone’s alarm. “It’s not even that loud, babe.”

You glared at him through narrow eyes. “If I wasn’t about to pop right now I’d give you a piece of my mind.”

Letting out a hearty laugh, Jay got out of bed and folded his portion of the comforter back up, trapping the heat for you. “Only a few more weeks, babe. Then you’ll be able to move without having to pee every two seconds.”

You slowly followed Jay, yawning and rubbing the nine-month bump as you headed into the kitchen to package your son’s lunch.

He had recently started kindergarten, and loved telling you and Jay about all his escapades with his classmates as he learned different things.

“I could’ve done that, you didn’t have to get up.” Jay said, popping a capsule into the coffee machine and starting it.

Shrugging, you zipped the lunchbox closed and set it next to the matching blue backpack, one hand going to rub at the sore spot on your back. “I knew I wasn’t going to be able to fall back to sleep.”

Jay noticed, and his hands slowly made their way to the exact spot that bothered you in your first pregnancy. “Who do you thinks going to ask me out today, hm?”

Laughing softly, you clicked your tongue at Jay. “You really enjoy that, don’t you? Miss getting hit on?”

Jay shook his head. “Don’t miss it one bit. Just enjoy seeing those soccer moms think their whispers are quiet.”

A few weeks ago Jay had mentioned that some of the moms at drop-off had been talking about Jay, commenting on his lack of wedding band and no significant other ever at drop off or pick up.

“Momma, when will you go to school with me?” Dylan asked, your son finally making his appearance in his pajamas.

“Soon, little bug. Once Little Sister is here, I’ll drop you off with Daddy some days.”

Dylan frowned. “Can Sissy come now?”

You huffed, wanting nothing more than to deliver the weight that seemed to be constantly on your bladder. “I wish, but I think she needs a few more weeks.”

Jay smiled into his coffee cup, phone chiming with a text from Hailey. “Come on, Dyl. Let’s get dressed so you can show your friends your new shoes.”

Dylan beamed at the thought, and followed Jay back to his room, leaving you alone in the warm kitchen. The aroma of coffee lingered as you found a chair to rest in, hand absently tracing circles over your distended belly.

A sigh of contentment escaped you; this was your world, and despite the groggy mornings and occasional aggravations - like trying to convince Dylan to brush his teeth properly - you wouldn’t change it for anything else. That was the beauty of family - it wasn’t always perfect, but it was yours. And that made all the imperfections precious in their own odd way.

The sound of Jay's voice pulled you from your thoughts as he asked Dylan to choose between two shirts. You smiled, knowing how seriously your little boy took these morning decisions. Sipping on some water and slowly standing up, you decided to start breakfast.

The scent of eggs and bacon soon filled the room, joining the still lingering coffee aroma. Dylan would be excited; he loved his simple morning breakfasts. As you were flipping an egg, Jay returned with Dylan in tow. Their matching grins caught your eye.

“What are you two up to?” You questioned playfully, adjusting your hold on your bump.

“Nothing,” they both chimed in unison, their grins growing even wider.

“Okay,” you drew out the first syllable, grabbing a plate and moving the eggs for Dylan to eat, blowing on them as you cut them into pieces.

“Eat, then Daddy will bring you to school.” You smiled, cracking a few more eggs and grabbing a tortilla and the toppings you knew Jay liked, quickly making a breakfast wrap for him.

Wrapping it in foil, you smiled to yourself as you heard Jay helping Dylan put on his sneakers.

“Ok, we gotta go, Little Man! Go give Momma a kiss.”

Dylan skipped over to you, wrapping his little arms around your legs, promising you he’d come home with a drawing to put in the nursery.

Thanking him, you smiled at Jay as he grabbed the wrap and his badge, stopping to press a kiss to your forehead. “Take it easy today, babe.”

“I will. Go break hearts and catch perps, Jay.”

——

Jay hid his eye roll as he followed Dylan to the drop off location, ignoring the looks from the few single mothers nearby.

“I mean, who in their right mind wouldn’t grab that ass? He’s such a good dad, too.”

Jay overheard one of the mothers and shook his head, stifling a laugh. He still found it amusing and somewhat flattering to know that he was the topic of their little gossip circle. But he also knew firmly where his heart lay - at home with you and Dylan, and soon, your new little girl.

As Dylan scampered off towards his classroom, he turned to Jay with a big grin. "Daddy, do you think I can tell Mrs. Johnson about Sissy coming soon?"

Jay bent down to his level, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Of course, buddy. I'm sure she will be thrilled to hear it."

At that moment, a pair of giggling women walked by, shooting him suggestive glances over their shoulders. He merely smiled politely before turning away.

Arriving back at the car, Jay pulled out his phone and saw a text from you: Feeling better now that the house is empty. How did drop off go?

He quickly typed back: Smooth as always. He's telling all his teachers about his soon-to-be little sister.

Satisfied, he started the vehicle and headed towards the precinct. His phone chimed again with your response: That's my boy! Take care at work, Jay.

He chuckled as he imagined you grinning at your phone, feet kicked up on the coffee table even though you often chided him for doing the same thing.

——

The routine didn’t shift for the next few weeks, but the gossiping mothers were surprised when Dylan was dropped off by Will one day, Jay at the hospital where you were currently resting with the newest addition to the family.

“Uncle Will, can we see Momma and Sissy after school?” Dylan asked, tugging on his uncle’s hand.

"Of course, buddy," Will replied with a soft smile, watching as Dylan's face lit up with joy. "I bet they can't wait to see you."

Once Dylan scampered off towards his classroom, Will indulged in a moment of silence. He was used to the emergency room's relentless noise and bustle, so the unfamiliar hush of the school yard in the early morning was a welcome respite. A group of mothers were huddled together, shooting glances his way. Perhaps he was becoming part of their gossip routine now too - he silently hoped otherwise.

Meanwhile, at the hospital, Jay could barely tear his gaze away from you sleeping peacefully, the tiny bundle in his arms a testament to your strength and love. His heart swelled in his chest at the sight; you looked more beautiful than ever, your face radiating an exhausted but blissful glow as your daughter, their daughter, clung onto his finger with her small hand.

Just then, she stirred awake and let out a soft whimper which turned into a loud wail. He quickly got up and started to gently rock her, not wanting her cries to disturb your much-needed rest.

“Hey there, little princess,” he cooed softly as he bounced her gently in his arms. “Let’s not wake Mommy up now.”

After a few minutes of gentle rocking and hushed lullabies - Jay trying his best to remember the ones you sung to Dylan when he was an infant, the baby quieted down, blue eyes peering up at her father.

“Hi, munchkin. You already have half of Chicago’s first responders wrapped around your finger.” He whispered, soft smile at his lips as he thought back to the replies from his team when he sent the photo of the baby in the group chat.

"The other half is itching to meet you. Just wait until Uncle Will gets a hold of you. You're going to be spoiled rotten." He laughed softly, mindlessly tracing a finger over his daughter's tiny forehead.

His phone buzzed where he had left it on the bedside table. It was a message from Will letting him know that Dylan had been dropped off at school and asking if they could come by after school to see the baby.

Jay's heart swelled, even more, knowing his son was equally excited about his little sister's arrival. Jay quickly typed a response, assuring Will they would be more than happy to have visitors later in the day.

——

The day passed in a flurry of nurses checking vitals and bringing meals, phone calls from family and friends, and quiet moments spent marveling over their newest addition. Dylan was bursting with energy when Will brought him by after school, his wide eyes taking in everything with an infectious excitement that had everyone in the room smiling.

"Momma, Sissy is really small!" Dylan whispered in awe as he approached the bed, carefully peering over the edge of the bassinet.

You chuckled at his innocent observation as Jay helped him climb up onto the bed to get a better look. "Yes, she is," you agreed with a fond smile. "You were that small, too, Little Man!”

Dylan looked at you with wide eyes, shaking his head. “Nuh-uh!”

“Mhmm!” You replied, fixing his shirt as he squirmed to get another look at his sister.

“When can you and Sissy come to school?” He asked, looking at you.

Jay laughed quietly, and you looked at your husband. “Soon, Dyl.”

——

Two weeks later, you consoled the crying baby as Jay helped Dylan put his backpack on. “Can Sissy come meet Mrs. Johnson?”

Shaking your head, you carefully strapped the little girl into her carrier, softly rubbing her cheek. “Not yet. Maybe during the spring concert, but she’s still too little.”

Jay stood up and grabbed his keys. “She can help Momma and Daddy drop you off, though. That sound good?”

Dylan’s face lit up at the thought. “Yeah! Everyone will get to see her!” He jumped excitedly before Jay guided him out the door.

Satisfied with your successful early morning, you carried the baby carrier to the car and buckled it in securely at the back seat. Moving around was still a little tough for you but you were slowly getting the hang of things. You climbed into the passenger side, glancing back at Dylan who was squirming in his seat with anticipation.

The drive to the school was filled with Dylan's non-stop chatter about what he was going to show his little sister. Jay had a soft smile on his face as he listened to his son, occasionally glancing at you in admiration and shared joy.

Once they arrived in front of the school, Dylan unbuckled himself and carefully opened your car door for you. “Be careful, Momma!” He cautioned, making Jay chuckle as he followed behind with his son’s backpack.

You smiled, letting Jay go ahead with Dylan so he wasn’t late, working to unstrap your daughter’s carrier so Dylan could see her one last time before he was in school.

“Jay, haven’t seen you the last few days. Is everything okay?” One of the mothers who had tried to hit on Jay asked, faux worry on her face.

Jay wore a smile as he turned to the woman, Dylan's hand tucked safely in his own as they made their way toward the school entrance. "Yeah, everything’s great, actually. My wife just gave birth to our second child," he responded casually, nodding his head towards the car where you were carefully lifting the baby carrier.

The woman blinked in surprise before offering a tight-lipped smile, "Oh, I didn’t know... congratulations."

"Thanks," Jay replied with a nod before turning his attention back to Dylan whose bundle of excitement was barely contained. As Jay opened the door for him to enter he looked into the bright eyes of his son and smiled reassuringly, "You ready?"

Dylan nodded eagerly, already tugging on his father's hand to drag him inside. Jay followed docilely, striding up the hallway towards Dylan's classroom.

Meanwhile, you were still out by the car, struggling slightly with the baby carrier that seemed to weigh even more than your now two-week-old daughter. A few mothers noticed and stepped forward to help you, their faces lighting up at the sight of the infant bundled up against the cold.

"Oh she's absolutely adorable!" One woman cooed, and you recognized her from when Jay was telling you how one of them started to wear low-cut tops after he started doing drop off duty.

You walked with them to the doors, smile brightening when you saw Jay and Dylan at the door, the young boy wanting to say goodbye to his sister.

“Bye, Sissy! Bye, Momma!” Dylan smiled, giving his sister a kiss and hugging your legs, unaware that his farewells caused the mothers who had walked with you to gasp lightly.

Jay’s smile widened at Dylan's display of affection, ruffling his son's hair gently, "Alright, champ. We’ll pick you up later. Have a great day at school."

Dylan nodded eagerly before disappearing into the bustling school building with his teacher. The remaining mothers turned to you, their surprised expressions replaced by warm, slender smiles as they admired your little girl.

Back in the car, you laughed as Jay started the ignition. “Think I felt the daggers from some of the moms when they found out you’re married.”

Jay snorted, turning back to the road to your house. “Well, that or when they found out we have great sex. Either way, watch your back, babe.”

You gawked at Jay’s remark, hitting him in the chest. “Jay! Your daughter is listening!”

“Oh, she’ll hear worse when Ruz babysits her." ------ a/n: send requests if you wanna!!

[nyashykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Jinwoo x Isekaid! Artist! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 044 ✦ ┆・

[Tw: I think this fall under depictions of depression and panic attacks. Please, if you're not in the headspace, do not read this. ]

╰┈➤ ❝ [ My Muse] ¡! ❞

Isekaing to Solo Leveling is one thing, but living in this world is just... Way too brutal for your poor heart.

Why is that? Anxiety is a major enemy.

What do you mean everyone else is living normally not having little paranoid moments that lead to panic attacks with overtaking at the possibility of a gate opening somewhere near you and monsters would come out?

Sung Jinah's school wasn't even safe. How are you gonna live?

Anyway.

You have a job to do.

Even though you just wanna spend all of your time crying in the corner of your room and praying to god to protect you when technically you aren't even religious.

But what are you to do?

It's not like Sung Jinwoo will swoop in and save you from misery.

...Hahah, if only.

You are one of his more delulu fans, like every other girl in this country— You are a big fan.

Well, except the fact that you know far more things about Jinwoo since you came from a world where he is fiction.

The flex you have is that you know how awfully adorable that petty bastard is when he was still an E-ranker. Those Jinwoo simps will never know the fact that Jinwoo has the fluffiest and softest looking cheeks ever.

Not to mention, you have all of his powers memorized to even the titles those powers have. You can name a lot of his shadows.

Of course the easiest to name are Beru, Igris, Bellion, Kaisel, Tank,.... And the easiest,... One, two, three, four.... Yeah, you get it.

But why are you being so smug? As if you 're not the same fool who secretly buys Jinwoo polaroids. Coming from this country full of fangirls is a haven for you since there is quite... The plethora of Jinwoo trinkets.

And you, being a lovestruck fool, went all in and took "Take all my money" to the next level even though the man you're obsessing over is 10x more richer than you.

But ah, this isn't the time to fawn over your Jinwoo merch paradise.

You have work.

Thankfully enough, this world has given you mercy. Despite it preying on your paranoid self, it gave you the blessing of living the life you've always wanted.

And that is to be a freelance artist.

Not doing your average 9-5, crying about the lack of fame you receive that hinders the pathway to making a successful art career, not having to listen to family members berating your love for art as low as a drug abuse.

In this world, no one is going off about your craft, no one is belittling your passion to something akin to a crime.

Like it's just a pathetic hobby and there's no meaning to all the hard work you put in the past years improving your skills, there's no value to being able to draw squares and circles more impressive than others, there's nothing note worthy of being able to pick and choose colours— There's none of that.

To be honest, there was even lots of moments where you wanted to give up, where you realized maybe they're right.

Even if you had starved yourself just to save up for your art materials, even if you work hard micro-analyzing your artstyle, even if you spent hours studying the algorithms, even if you shed blood sweat and tears just for the glimmer of hope that maybe you can turn your art into something more— It's all just delusions.

Like how you hope to be one of those big artists who inspire other people to create their own pieces. Like how you secretly hope that maybe your artworks can bring a smile to anyone's face if they come across it. Like how you silently pray to every single star that may your wish come true.

You wanted to keep hoping, for the slim chance of having a single magnus opus that will instantly put you in the limelight— You wanted to keep having your hand outstretched to that tiny light.

But everyday, with each piece, you start to realize that your dreams are all for nothing.

You had been so focused on art that it's the only thing you have that defines who you are as a person and as an individual.

Art is what made you human.

Slowly, your innocent dreams molded itself into a twisted and vile poison that ate you from the inside out. Your love for creating backfired and now it's a blur if your passion stems from adoration or you just ran with it because it's the only thing that made you feel relevant in this world.

Maybe you should give up.

Even if there is a drastic improvement in your art with each piece, what good is it if it can't guarantee that career you oh so desperately want? The big artists say that you should make art for yourself, well yeah, they're right. But what if even if you do that it doesn't work?

Colour theory, shape language, line language, composition— All of those improved out of sheer love to learn. You've seen other people around you get careers out of it so it will happen to you?

Right?...

Right?

You're not a problematic artist, you don't make trouble, you don't make enemies, you don't participate in drama, you stay humble and eloquent.

Surely it will work... Right?...

Hahah.

In that world?

No it didn't.

It did not.

You died in your deathbed after being involved in a hit and run.

And after a long period of slumber, you have awoken in this world where somehow you are a renowned artist.

It felt shallow, really.

Suddenly having all of that in a snap of a finger through death?

Hah.

It felt like it mirrors Jinwoo's life. Except he had rightfully earned the flory of his powers.

Truthfully, you love him because of that.

What was it?

Ah yes.

"Because I was rock bottom, I longed for the highest peak."

That was the line that made you love him.

As someone who had no future in your art career, it was that line that made your heart yearn for him.

Two unfortunate souls who struggle in the same thing in different dimensions, except one managed to create that dream into reality.

Sure, you have the glory now. And although it made you so happy, it still felt so shallow because you didn't achieve this through hardwork. You just had to die.

You had to be dead.

It took dying to be given the mercy of having your dreams be granted.

And that just made you feel so... So awful.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

With a canvas on one hand, your painting materials neatly arranged in a bag in the other hand— You take a deep breath and enter the party.

Brilliant golden lights twinkle above your head coming from the magnificent chandelier hanging above. Cameras flashing, the clinking of glasses as hunters and celebrities discussed amongst themselves dressed in luxurious outfits and blinging jewelry.

The sight made your stomach sink and a lump in your throat forming.

This is an entirely different world you knew from the lonely greys and blues.

You look around frantically, almost panicking at the overwhelming chatter and blinding lights.

"Ah, you're here" A voice snaps you out of it.

You turn to see your sponsor, Choi Jong-in flashing a polite and handsome smile. You bow your head politely.

"Please," Jong-in simply shakes his head, "No need to be so polite. I am pleased that you have arrived in time. Champagne?"

He extends a glass towards you and you shake your head, sheepishly saying "O-oh... I'm not really an alcohol enjoyer. I'm fine."

"Ah, I see" He nods apologetically before gesturing you to a clearer space.

Jong-in escorts you to a less crowded area of the ball, the lessened crowd and noise calming your accelerated heartbeat down.

"If there is anything you need, please feel free to call me or the waiters" He says kindly, "You are also free to eat food."

"Thank you, Mr. Choi" You bow politely.

Before he could even reply, Jong-in was called over by a beautiful blonde girl you knew all too well.

Cha Hae-in.

She's as lovely as she was in the manhwa panels, with that red dress and her neatly tied hair— She was a sight to behold.

But as soon as you see a tall man clad in black, you feel a distinct thump in your heart, a twisting kind of small pain that made you feel like it stopped beating along with the way your lungs stopped breathing— You knew who it was.

"A guest?..." He inquires, making your heart thump even harder at the sound of that deep voice you only heard through the speakers of your phone and laptop.

"Mr. Sung, I'm glad you could make it along with my vice master" Jong-in hums, "This is an artist I'm sponsoring, I thought it would be a good idea to commemorate this important event celebrating humanity's win against the gates"

"Ah, I see" Jinwoo's handsome grey eyes would sweep onto your anxious form who is fidgeting uncontrollably in her hands. "I'm Sung Jinwoo,"

He extends a hand, making you look up at him with an even nervous look. It took you a while to extend your hand, and the moment your palm touched his— You felt as of you're touching someone from a different species. Something too unreal and dovine.

You barely had even managed to speak your name out with how much of a nervous wreck you are. Shaking his hand didn't happen if it weren't for Jinwoo gently doing it and letting you pull your hand away.

Your palms may have been trembling, but now it's even more erratic as you step back, not meeting his gaze.

Thank gods Jong-in decided to start a conversation to pivot Jinwoo's attention away from you.

As you attempt to calm yourself with a persistent panic attack, you feel a soft tap on your hands.

"Thank you for coming, I-I hope you enjoy your time" Hae-in says in her hesitant voice.

And you, who cant mutter a single word after your very first encounter with Jinwoo— Only muster a polite nod at her as she turns away to join Jong-in and Jinwoo in their conversation.

You were on a trance for almost five minutes, before finally deciding to set up your easel and canvas. You took out two different mason jars and filling them up with water; the gouache paint you will be using as a medium; the ceramic palette you have been using for quite a while now; and finally gently arranging your brushes.

Jong-in didn't specify what you should be painting for this event. But decided to paint the stage. An hour into the event, Jinwoo would start giving his speech as he is the main hero of the war against the gates and monarchs—As well as the person this whole event is dedicated to.

You had to pause in your process of painting the canvas, just to give respect to Jinwoo.

Your idol.

Your role model.

The man of your dreams.

His words aren't even registering as you can't help but be lost in a trance as he continues with his speech. Unconsciously, your hand raised itself and started to paint carefully, your eyes fixated on the hunter as your hand moved with a mind on its own.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Jong-in was extremely worried for the artist he had hired, he could tell from earlier she was having a panic attack with the hesitance. And when Jinwoo came into the picture, it seemed to frighten her all the more. He quietly called for his secretary to add at least 40% more of the initial payment that was planned to compensate for the unintentional distress he had put her onto.

While Jinwoo was giving his speech, he couldn't help but check on her by glancing from the distance.

In that canvas, he saw the stage, and in that stage was Jinwoo.

The artist was carefully painting Jinwoo.

Delicate strokes despite her eyes not on the cloth and brush. She was just mindlessly moving her hand as she looks at Jinwoo.

"Ah... I see it now."

Jong-in quietly smiles to himself.

It wasn't that she was frightened of Jinwoo's intimidating presence. No way does someone scared of a person have that same intense look with such dilated pupils.

With a determined hum, Jong-in knew exactly what to do.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

It had been three days since that event, and Jinwoo was attending to paperwork when he was informed of Jong-in's visit.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with a bit of worry that his 'senior' might scold him for renting out gates in territory of Hunter's guild.

To his surprise, Jong-in entered carrying a rather large thing into his office.

"???" Jinwoo cocks up an eyebrow, silently inquiring Jong-in at what is the thing he brought in.

"Take a look, hunter Sung" Jong-in simply says and the hunter reluctantly stood up from his chair to approach the item his senior placed down.

When Jinwoo pulled off the protective cloth, he was met with a brilliant painting that felt like it was straight out of a renaissance era painting.

The red curtains were blood red and shaded softly. The wood is delicately painted, with even tiny specks that indicates the painter's exquisite attention to detail, but most importantly— His eyes were drawn to the middle, where a man stood center.

It was him.

His face was delicately painted, even his tousled black locks were intricately painted to imitate the way his strands behaved, his body language was painted in a relaxed but still managed to somehow translate the undertone of authority and power he held over the crowd that was purposely painted in a blurry manner to give more focus to him. Even the lighting of the stage was expertly imitated on the canvas.

The piece looked as if its goal was to put emphasis on his—the man who is standing in the golden limelight. As if it were trying to put him on a divine pedestal, to show him off as this some sort of god woth the painting.

"Who?..." Jinwoo finally manages to inquire.

"The artist chose you as her muse for the painting" Jong-in says, fixing his tie as he does so. "Quite the talent, no? Even us hunters who have quite the skill in the art of combat, are taken aback by such craft. It was as if she had magic on her very fingertips despite being just a civilian."

"Her muse," Jinwoo repeats, not knowing what to feel about it.

"It would be... Quite indecent of me to keep a portrait of a rival in my guild, no?" Jong-in coughs out, making Jinwoo awkwardly nod. "Consider it as a gift and a thank you for assisting my guild in jeju raid as well as your role in the war."

"I have quite the awards really, no need" He shakes his head.

"Yes," Jong-in glances back at the painting. "But I think that you, as the painter's muse, must see for yourself this piece created on your image."

"Mn...."

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Jinwoo quite frankly grew curious of the little painter he met and made him the centerpiece of her painting. He was honestly worried at first, she was so small compared to him and she was trembling at the sight of him. It didn't help that he noticed how she grew more shaken after they exchanged pleasantries.

Maybe he had gripped her hand a little too much.

Beru on the other hand, was visibly very pleased at the painting as well as the other shadows who wont shut up about it.

Throughout his monotonous days and hours, Jinwoo would often think of the painter.

It feels... Weird to be in someone's painting.

It's unreal even.

But ah... By chance, he met that pleasant little painter again.

She was in the bookstore, picking up several heavy books. When he approached her, she was flustered and nearly dropped the books she was purchasing if it weren't for him assisting her.

Just like their first meeting, she was clearly bashful and anxious. So Jinwoo made space between them and made small talk.

Somehow, their small talks would develop into long and meaningful ones with the days passing of them having frequent encounters.

There is this tiny, tiny warmth in Jinwoo's heart whenever he finds himself in the presence of his painter.

His heart whom he thought had lost its capability to harbor affection— Is beating fast whenever he crosses paths with her.

There is... Something about her.

Her little habits, her never ending curiosity, her childish habits and her love for everything beautiful. Somehow, everything in her eyes has the potential to be a piece of artwork.

Jinwoo was never a creative soul, he's only ever creative at insults maybe.

So to see someone so dedicated to her own craft, to see someone so full of love for something... It's like peering into a different world he never thought was there.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Go Gunhee decided to visit Jinwoo, it was to thank the hunter again with coffee beans and two— Just to visit Jinwoo.

"Ah, hunter Sung," Gunhee smiles as the person he waited for appears. "I hope you don't mind, I just wanted to pop in"

"Not at all, director" Jinwoo smiles politely.

"That piece," The old man's gaze drifts to a painting hun by Jinwoo's side. "What a magnificent work of art. I heard Hunter Choi gifted it to you after the artist he hired decided to put you as the centerpiece. Truly such remarkable talent by a younger lady."

"Yes, hahah" Jinwoo awkwardly rubs his nape.as he serves Gunhee a cup of tea.

"My father told me that artists have a special kind of love" Gunhee hums, reminiscing. "He told me that having an artist love you is different. A writer glorifies you into pleasant words, a musician translates your beauty into compelling music and a painter immortalises all of you in a single painting. A blank canvas is a tool by painters that they use to communicate. All the ugliness of the world can be put into ink, and all the beauty into wonderful pops of pleasant colors"

He continues, "And through my years, this is one of the few most magnificent pieces I've ever seen that shows the painter's love for it's muse"

"Her muse," Jinwoo repeats it, "I've been told the same thing."

"A lovely feeling, no?" Gunhee chuckles, "To be loved by a person so full of love."

"...So that's what it means"

"..."

The old man's face wrinkles into a happier smile.

Young love, truly beautiful, isn't it?

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

"That colour is really pretty" You mutter absentmindedly glance at the flowing water underneath, as if trying to ingrain the memory and behaviour of it.

"Thinking of a new artwork, again?" Jinwoo asks, glancing down at the direction you were staring at. "I can't wait to see what you'll make."

"Your pieces are always so beautiful"

It felt as if something struck an arrow at your heart, you glance at Jinwoo— Completely frozen in state.

When he noticed the heavy silence, his eyes would befall on you before his mouth going a little agape.

You're crying.

"Did... I say something wrong?..." Jinwoo asks and you panic, immediately tearing your gaze away.

"No, no, no" You shake your head, hiding your shameful tears from Jinwoo.

Compliments with your art were never really foreign, but you, being the insecure sad soppy excuse of a human being would always downplay it most of the time.

You were never truly satisfied with yourself and anything you ever made. Mostly because you came from a household where everything is never enough.

Ultimately, that system has been fully ingrained into your body that it became your personality.

Colors are muddy, the lines aren't steady or too thick or thin, the anatomy is off, the composition isn't fluid and the harmony is all over the place.

You were always, always, critical of yourself.

Nothing is ever enough.

Your works aren't beautiful enough, and you thought they never will be.

But when Jinwoo told you your art was beautiful, it caused something to crack inside and burst open.

Maybe it's because you loved him so much. Maybe it's because he is the person you admire the most in your sorry, lonely life.

It was always Jinwoo who was in your mind whenever you had those bad episodes of just having silent mental breakdowns.

It's his image that became your most beloved saviour.

Perhaps you're sobbing because you're finally able to hear the words you've imagined he would during the times you daydreamed about him.

Or maybe... Your body reacted because you knew deep down that Jinwoo was never a liar.

That he didn't say those words out of empty praise, that he said your crafts is beautiful because they simply are.

In your broken, shattered heart a heavy yet soft warmth swelled. Swelling so much that you felt so overwhelmed and couldn't control your emotions.

That kind of validation just felt like it washed away all the doubts that plagued you for years.

As you cried uncontrollably, Jinwoo would instinctively reach his hand out and pull you in for a searing kiss. His tongue gently nudges your lips before shoving itself into it.

One flick.

Two flicks

Three flicks,...

Until you yourself cant even count it anymore.

He pulls back slowly, but still not far enough for you not to feel his hot breath fanning over your cheeks.

"I only said your paintings are beautiful and yet you are crying like this, sarang?" He rubs his nose against yours, "Just what happened to you that you're this emotional, hm? Did you not think what you make is stunning? Did you never once think that your pieces are captivating? Why are you crying like this? How hurt have you been that it feels like you're crying out this kind of sorrow I can't seem to understand?"

"Why does your sobs feel like you've been dealing with such loneliness that a simple sincere compliment breaks you to this extend?"

"Everything about you is beautiful. All of you is beautiful." Jinwoo says in that ever so gentle voice of his, "Never doubt that for even a single second."

꒰ 🪼 A/N: what started as another simple fluffy idea turned into something more... Personal :'DD. Sorry guys hahahahsheshdg. Idk when I will have the free time to make the second half of the cai bots yet but please look out for when I do. ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ — All stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[puckinghischier]

Crowded

Luke Hughes x fem!reader

summary: reader gets nervous in the crowd, but luke is right there to help her out of it

notes: i’m once again throwing a luke fic out into the world. i saw this request in my inbox and immediately thought of the zach bryan concert the boys just went to. i would literally give anything to attend a concert with them. i just KNOW they’re great concert buddies. sorry it’s kinda short, i just didn’t know how to drag it out any longer. i hope you enjoy!! happy reading!! 🫶🏼

request: from my 400 follower celly - Character A can tell Character B is getting nervous in a big crowd, so A slips their hand into theirs to help them calm down.

[2.8k]

You had been looking forward to tonight for months. From the second Luke surprised you with the tickets for your birthday, you immediately started planning an outfit, making a playlist, and anticipating the trip.

When he told you his brothers and a few friends were tagging along, it only made you more excited, enjoying every moment you got to spend with your boyfriend’s brothers and their hockey friends.

After the concert, everyone was driving over to stay at the lake house for a few weeks, enjoying as much of the summer together as they can before pre-season training starts. You couldn’t wait to have a few weeks of fun on the water, but also wanted tonight to last as long as it could.

Your excitement grew even more when you found the perfect outfit for the occasion, even buying a matching light-up cowboy hat off of Etsy. You were especially excited for the chance to wear your boots again, not having many excuses to wear them in Jersey.

Luke had his hand planted firmly on the small of your back, making sure not to lose you as you weave through the crowd. You had bought Luke a new shirt for tonight, the orange t-shirt matching the burnt orange color of your dress.

He leads you over to the crowded merchandise stand, telling you to pick whatever you wanted. You struggled, loving every item tacked onto the display board. When you told him you couldn’t decided between a t-shirt and a hoodie, he bought you both before you could even open your mouth to protest, buying himself a hat and t-shirt as well.

“Luke, you just spent over $300 without even batting an eye,” you barked at him, crossing your arms to try and look menacing.

You know Luke could’ve afforded to buy you the entire stand and still not make a dent in his bank account, but you don’t like when he spends large amounts on you for no reason.

“Yeah, so?” he shrugs, taking your elbow and leading you away from the cloth covered table, slinging the clear bag of merchandise over his shoulder.

You roll your eyes and huff at him, unfolding your arms and taking his hand, letting him lead you through the sea of bodies.

“’So?’”, you mimicked his response. “You didn’t have to buy half of the merch stand just because it took me more than three seconds to choose which shirt I wanted.”

He glances back at you over his shoulder. “The fact that you didn’t have your mind made up the second you saw the options means you clearly wanted both, so I bought you both.”

You reach over and pinch his side, mildly annoyed with how well he understands the way your brain works.

“Quit pinching me you little gremlin,” Luke hisses out, the nickname being one he uses when you’re being stubborn or annoying.

“Quit spending all of your money on me, you giraffe-man,” you fire back.

You can see his shoulder’s shake, your impromptu nickname for him amusing him.

He doesn’t respond right away, the two of you having made it to the entrance to your seats, walking up to the worker standing under the numbered sign.

The usher instructs you to show your tickets to one of the workers at the bottom of the set of stairs.

When you walk into the arena, you notice how large the space feels, the open floor and mostly empty seats creating the illusion of size.

Luke has to nudge you a bit, reminding you to keep walking, too in awe of the fact you’re actually here.

“Not so unhappy with me spending my money on you now, huh?” he leans down to whisper into your ear, making sure you can hear him over the roaring chatter.

You hit him lightly in the chest, a smirk on his face as the two of you walk down, showing your tickets to the usher once you reach the bottom of the stairs, a bright colored wristband with bold letters spelling out VIP FLOOR printed on each one.

You make your way over to a small, sectioned off area near the main stage, seeing the rest of your group already waiting for the two of you.

Jack is the first one to notice you approaching, his eyes lighting up and arms being slung into the air.

“It’s about time! We were starting to worry the two of you got lost!” he calls out, causing the rest of the group to turn their heads and call out greetings.

You smile, having missed those in the group that didn’t live in New Jersey.

Walking over to Quinn first, you give him a long hug, the last time you saw him being when he played his brothers in Jersey months ago. The frequent facetime calls the two of you share not being enough to scratch your Quinn itch.

“Quinnifer! I missed you!” you squeal as you squeeze him as tight as you can.

You can feel his chuckle as he squeezes you back. “I missed you too, Munchkin” he leans back, ruffling your hair.

Although you see Jack nearly every day back home in Jersey, Quinn is the brother you’re closest to. You and Jack are literally two peas in a pod, but there’s something about Quinn that made you feel comfortable with him from the moment Luke introduced the two of you.

He’s like the big brother you never had, always calling him when you need advice or need to complain to someone about Luke.

Anytime you have a particularly nasty argument with Luke, Quinn is the one you call. He always allows you say whatever you need to get out of your system before breaking the problem down and agreeing that his brother is an idiot, but that he also loves you with everything he has in him.

At first you tried to go to Jack with problems surrounding your relationship with Luke, but he clearly didn’t know how to help you. He either told Luke about your conversations, causing the argument to grow worse because Luke claimed Jack had no business knowing about what’s happening in your relationship, or he would shrug his shoulders and say “just don’t yell at him when I’m trying to sleep. I need my beauty rest.”

You swat Quinn’s hand away, trying to smooth down your now tousled hair.

“I see you dressed the goon, tonight,” he points out Luke’s orange shirt.

You turn your head to see him talking with Cole.

“Believe it or not, it was his idea,” you think back to after you bought your dress, trying it on for Luke once you came home from shopping with your girls. He loved the way you looked in it, his eyes widening the second you emerged from your walk-in closet.

He swallowed thickly, his gravelly voice choking out a “Did they happen to have a matching shirt? Because if you’re wearing that, I’m going to need something to match so everyone knows you’re there with me, not up for grabs.”

You blush at the memory, looking back over to Quinn.

“I always knew he was whipped, but damn you’ve got him down bad, huh?” he shakes his head, smiling in amusement.

“Wrapped around my little finger,” you hold up your pinky, wiggling it at Quinn with a giggle.

You feel a pair of arms snake their way around your waist, a heavy object resting itself on top of your head.

“What’s wrapped around your little finger?” Luke asks, his chin bumping against your scalp as he talks.

“You, duh,” you reply, moving your head forward and craning your neck to look up at him.

He looks between you and his older brother before uttering out a “Oh one hundred percent. Couldn’t unravel myself if I even wanted to,” he lets go of you, stepping up to stand beside you.

Quinn just laughs, bringing Luke in for a hug.

After you make your way around to greet everyone, the lights are dimming and the atmosphere inside of the arena changes.

You love the hum of excitement in the air, finding Luke and standing in front of him. You hear the first notes of Overtime as Zach Bryan comes onto the stage, screaming as loud as you possibly can.

Luke has a content, amused smile on his face as you scream out the lyrics, jumping and dancing around as the beat allows.

As the concert goes on, you make the switch from dancing with Luke to dancing with Jack, attempt to get on Quinn’s shoulders to get Zach’s attention, and slinging your arm over Cole’s shoulder to sway back and forth with him during one of the slower songs.

When it comes time for Zach to sing Revival, your favorite song of his, you beg Luke to leave your secluded area to get closer to the stage, wanting to experience being in the crowd for this one particular song.

He looks at you apprehensively, eyeing the large sea of people on top of one another, barely any room between the bodies pressed together. He worries about losing you in the crowd, your small frame allowing you to get swept away easily.

You tug on his arm like a little kid, repeating “please, please, please,” over and over again, assuring him you’ll be fine.

Luke eventually gives in, letting his brothers know where you two are going, claiming you’ll meet back up with them after the concert.

Grabbing your hand, Luke leads you off of the small platform and into the crowd, pushing his way as far up to the front as his large body will allow him.

You stop just a row or two of people away from the stage where Zach had just climbed onto, adjusting his guitar and microphone before starting the song.

As the song rang out around you, you sang along to every word, joining the rowdy crowd as the chorus starts.

You start to jump around in the small space you have, enjoying every second, until Zach walks his way over to the small portion of stage in front of where you stand.

As soon as his figure stands over the crowd around you, bodies start pushing against one another, everyone trying to get as close to him as they can. You feel yourself being shifted towards the metal barricade, not being able to fight against the rush of people.

You start panicking, whipping your head from side to side to find Luke. All you can see around you are strangers, not being able to move your body to look behind you. You have absolutely no control over your own body anymore, being stuck in-between a girl slightly taller than you and a man that has at least a hundred pounds on you.

Squeaking out a “excuse me,” and “can you let me out please?” you try to make your exit from the suffocating situation. Your eyes turn frantic when you realize that no one can hear you or cares to hear you. Your breath picks up, heart pounding in your chest.

You can feel the tears pricking in your eyes, not being able to regulate your breathing anymore, gasping hot air into your lungs as fast as you can.

You’re about to let out a scream, begging someone to pay attention to you and let you out of the mess you’re in, when you feel a familiar hand slip its way into yours.

Whipping your head around, you catch a glimpse of curly hair behind you, not realizing that the body pressed against your back has been Luke this entire time. You figured you had lost him when you were surged forward, unable to see him anywhere around you.

Your breath starts to slow slightly, knowing you’re not alone in this crowd easing some of your nerves. The feeling of your heart pounding is still present, not wanting to be in this situation one second longer.

Luke attempts to tug your body back towards him, but the impenetrable wall of people around you prevents him from doing so.

You manage to wiggle your way in a circle somehow, now facing Luke.

He takes one look at your frightened face and knows he has to get you out of here, now.

Pulling you towards him, he cages you in with is arms, your cheek pressed to his chest. He starts walking backwards, his hockey roots coming in handy as he all but body checks people out of his way. The two of you finally make it to the back of the large crowd, Luke not letting go of you until you were back over in your original section.

Quinn was watching the whole thing from the small platform he was stood on, about to walk over and fish you out himself before he noticed Luke’s head slowly moving backwards, away from the stage.

He can see you’re still shaken, walking over to meet the two of you at the top of the ramp.

“Is she okay? Is she hurt?” Quinn asks, concerned about how frightened even Luke’s face looks right now.

“No, she’s fine. Just shaken up, I think. She got trapped between a random girl and some dude at least triple her size,” he tells Quinn, running his hand down your hair in soothing motions. Your hands were still clutching his t-shirt, not wanting to let go of him just yet.

Quinn stares at your trembling figure the whole time, knowing you don’t want to leave Luke’s embrace but wishing he could do something to help you.

“Let’s get her out of here and to the car, yeah?” Quinn suggests, picking up yours and Luke’s bag of merchandise off of the floor of the platform.

Luke just nods, leading you back down the ramp.

Quinn steps over and let’s everyone know to just meet them in the parking garage before following yours and Luke’s intertwined bodies towards the nearest exist.

Luke manages to get you up the stairs and out into the outer ring of the arena without letting you go. Both pairs of your feet moving in tandem, not once risking tripping over one another.

He leads you out of the doors and into the cool night air.

You finally allow yourself to leave his embrace, instantly feeling better in the openness of the outdoors. Never letting go of his hand, you continue to let him lead you to the large garage.

Luke’s BMW sits right where he parked it, the loud beep echoing in the dark garage as he unlocks it.

He opens the passenger door, lifting you slightly to sit you down on the leather seat. His hands come up to your cheeks, his thumbs wiping the stray hairs that were sticking to the damp skin under your eyes.

“All good now?” he asks you, the frantic look of your eyes now gone.

You nod, looking into his concerned eyes. “M’alright. Just got scared. Too many people,” you mumble out, leaning into Luke’s palm slightly. “Sorry I made us go out there. Just wanted to have fun.”

Luke leans his forehead against yours, shaking it back and forth slightly. “No, it’s not your fault. Just bad timing is all,” he assures you, knowing how upset you’re going to be when you realized you missed most of the last song.

He pulls his head back, standing back to his full height outside of the SUV.

You notice Quinn standing a few feet away, letting you and Luke have your space.

Frowning, you call out to the eldest Hughes. “You didn’t have to leave early too, Quinny.”

Quinn looks over when he hears you address him, walking closer to the vehicle.

“Ehh, show was almost over anyways,” he waves you off. “Had to make sure my favorite little munchkin was okay,” he shrugs, telling you its no big deal.

You smile at him, thankful you not only have your boyfriend to look out for you, but Quinn as well.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you. Both of you,” you look between the two brothers, only ever seeing how alike they look when they’re standing in front of you.

They both tell you it’s not necessary, the main priority being that you’re safe and sound outside of the arena.

“Fine, I guess that means neither of you want to stop for post-concert pancakes on the way to the lake, then?” you tease, watching both of their heads snap up. All three brothers’ secret love of sweets is something you use to your advantage, only ever having to mention how good ice creams sounds before Luke and Jack are ushering you out of the door and driving you to the nearest ice-cream shop.

“Well, I guess if you really just feel the need to do something nice for us…” Quinn trails off, making a smile break out on your face, unable to hide the laugh at the sudden switch up.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you continue to laugh at the pair, Luke leaning in to buckle your seatbelt for you as Quinn climbs in the backseat, sending a quick text to the rest of your group, telling them if they want to join in on the pancake outing, they need to be making their way out of the arena, and fast.

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

Chocolate Princess ♡

Willy Wonka x reader

Pt 2

Part One

Description - Y/n Ficklegruber can't help but become enamoured with the spectacularly peculiar man stood in the middle of the galleria.

Word count - 1.3k

Warnings - fluff, fluff and more fluff ♡

a/n - little NYE present for you all!

Masterlist

--♡--

At exactly 9:51, I excitedly leapt out of my bed already dressed and ready to go. It was a crisp night so I elected for one of my thicker dresses which reached my knees, wooly tights, my coat and matching small cape. Both fur lined with pom poms ending the ties of the cape. All of it a familiar shade of green, a shade which lined nearly every inch of my wardrobe. It seemed even the choosing of my fashions were up to my fathers input.

I crept out of my room and down the stairs, only feeling safe once my gloved hands had managed to lock the mansion’s ornate door.

I skipped through town, skidding to a stop at the fountain as the large clock struck the hour of 10. I peered all around, my smile beginning to droop at the emptiness all around. However, a crunching of ice beneath boots pricked up my ears. So I began to walk the circumference of the fountain. Unbeknownst to me, another on the opposing side of the water feature had begun to do the same. My pace picked up as it seemed the footsteps would retreat at the same speed I would follow. Until finally I managed a jog and practically lunged at the burgundy coat and took it in my grasp. Willy jumped around. But when our eyes met, everything became still once again.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

We spoke together in whispered breaths.

“Are you ready to begin?” I went to sit down on the fountains edge but was stopped by Willy. Who proceeded to produce a blanket from his briefcase which he then layed down upon the icy stone. He took my hand in his and allowed me to sit once again.

“You are a true gentleman.” I teased in my poshest voice.

“Nothing but the best for the finest lady in all the land.” He jumped up onto the fountain and announced to the unknowing night air.

“Sh.” I reprimanded through my own giggles as I tugged him back down, my smile betraying any semblance of sterness.

“You don’t want anyone to know you’re out here?” His eyes drooped as his smile faltered. “You don’t want to be seen with me.” I tightly clasped both his hands in mine so he would be forced to look at me.

“Even if the whole world was watching us right now, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Okay?” He softly nodded.

“Now lets begin.” I produced a piece of paper from my pocket. “I thought we should start with the alphabet.”

I handed it to him and would direct his finger to the letter in question each time I taught him a new one.

--♡--

It took a long time for Willy to even get the grasp of the alphabet and when the clock struck midnight, I wasn’t even sure he was there.

“How about we just try it out.” I turned the paper over and wrote down the word ‘CAT’. “Can you tell me how this word sounds?”

He took the paper and began to turn it upside down as if trying to determine in which way he could make it work. “Not a bit of it.”

I giggled but stopped when his face showed he thought I was laughing at him. I took the paper from him and used my pen to circle the A. “You see this one is a vowel.” And then I circled the C and the T. “And these are consonants.”

“All I’m hearing is owls and nonsenants.” I chuckled sweetly at his ability to turn anything round and make it sweeter for the world to swallow. Seeing his tired face I decided to set my teaching supplies down. I stroked my hand over his weathered skin feeling the weight of the days struggles plastered over his face. Although this was fun and exciting for me, the poor boy had been through enough and he didnt need some girl trying to live her fruitless dreams of adventure through him.

There was a silence between us until he broke it. “I’m never going to get it?”

“Don’t say that! Reading takes time, it isn’t something you learn overnight.”

“You mean, you were going to give me more lessons?” He looked at me in awe that oozed naivety. I couldn’t help how I continued to stroke his face.

“Of course.” I suddenly became aware of my hands and their minds of their own. I righted myself back to propriety. “Anyways, reading is more about exposure. The more you read the better you become. And the better you become, the more you can read. It’s quite beautiful really.”

He gently tapped the side of my head. “With the amount of smarts you’ve got crammed up in this little head, well I wouldn’t be surprised if you were able to read every book in the world!”

I giggled embarrassed. “I wouldn’t know.”

“What do you mean you wouldn’t know?”

“Father stopped my studies when I was only 18. And he won’t allow me to go further. He won’t even allow me to spend my days at the library. I’m forced to be in his chocolate shop every hour of every day.”

He thought to himself. “Doesn’t sound so bad–” I shot him a quick glare. “-If you’re me! But that’s because making chocolate is my dream.”

“All I ever dream about now is being able to go off and learn. I want to read every book ever written, see every study ever done. Cram my mind full till it hurts with every single thing in the world there is to know.” I had risen excitedly and began to flap my hands about animatedly. I realised how much I had let myself express and became embarrassed under invisible eyes.

Yet the pair transfixed on my figure, held nothing but love.

“I guess it’s quite a silly dream to have.”

He rose and joined me, attaching our hands once more.

“All great ideas started with a dream, that’s what mama used to say.”

“What a beautiful thought. She must be a spectacular woman.”

“She was.” My lips parted to offer something more to the moment we were having but I was rudely interrupted by the ominous stroke of one.

“I’m sorry, I must go. Daddy sleepwalks when he eats too much chocolate and I must be there to help him out.” I hurriedly collected my things and returned to where Willy stood, still locked in our previous stance. Looking up once more into his eyes, I decided my fate and pulled him into a soul crushing kiss that had the touch of a butterfly. We parted only slightly, each wanting to return.

“I’m sorry I truly must leave.”

“Wait.” He stopped my retreating form. “Please accept this.” He returned to his suitcase and began to rummage.

“Willy, don’t be ridiculous do not pay me!”

“I wouldn’t thank you with something as common as money. No, I must show my gratitude with the only thing I own with any worth. My recipes. Open.” He gestured to my mouth and I willingly obliged. He placed a dainty rose shaped chocolate onto my awaiting tongue and I eagerly consumed it.

“They just get better each time.” I spoke, rather unladylike, through a mouthful of melting chocolate. I gave him a final kiss on his cheek and began to lightly skip back home.

--♡--

A quiet melody joined my journey home.

For a moment, life has never tasted so sweet. For a moment, I’m enriched with possibility. He is exciting and new, But be careful and think it all through.

Home is where you’re secure, It’s safe and you’re pure. But how long can you ignore it. That your heart is melting like chocolate.

--♡--

[undiscovered-horizon]

Die Happy - Sanji x Reader

SUMMARY: Sanji is disillusioned about your lack of interest in him. Someone like you could pick and choose among princes, kings and emperors. What's a measly cook to you? Nevertheless, his lovesick heart continuously rejoices when you choose him to waste time with.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.3k

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi

Part 2 -> "Maelstrom"

Sanji has never believed in ghouls, witches, faeries and the like. However, when he met you his belief began to shatter:

Like a dark sorceress covering the whole world with a curse, you lured all the influential, important men like fire does moths. At first, Sanji fooled himself that all those generals, merchants and noblemen only wanted something pretty to hang onto their shoulders but reality destroyed his comforting illusion when the said men offered riches most people couldn’t even fathom. If you asked them for an armada to sail to the Grand Line, they’d only ask what type of wood you’d prefer. Despite something akin to world domination lying at your fingertips, you always laughed those offers off, telling your powerful suitors that you would think about their words and get back to them.

Sanji once asked whether you’re truly considering marrying one of the generals or kings. Some more naive part of him hoped you’d say no. Alas, the truth, once again, was his adversary:

“Obviously!” you giggled at his silly question. “But I won’t marry the first one that offers me wealth and whatnot. First, I’d like to see all of my options and the world…” your voice trailed away as you vaguely pointed around the two of you. “Well, it’s a big place. Many more kingdoms to visit.”

But to his own demise, the cook was a fool unlike any other. He had no chance at winning your heart, no matter how much he’d try. Still, his untamable desire egged him on, whispering sweet songs of your grace. Even if he could taste your lips only in his imagination, he could do his best for you to have a reason to keep him around like a dog that begs for scraps at his master’s table.

Sanji knows he’s only hurting himself, only furthering his desperation when he makes you smile or earns a speck of your affection. Every dawn, he promises to free himself from your sorcery but when dusk comes and his left with the Moon, his only confidant, he realizes that he could never possess enough power to cut himself free from you. You’ve pierced his heart right through and if he pulls your knife out of his chest, he’s bound to bleed out and die. It’s better if he lets you have complete control over his mind and soul - it’s the only way he will make it out alive.

He’s left cold and lonely on that night. Soft, silver moonlight washes over him through the small porthole in the wall of his room. The sea is almost black at this hour of the night but it becomes a mystical sapphire when the Moon’s glow washes over the lazy waves making them glisten like pure diamonds.

Diamonds… maybe if he had diamonds, you’d see him as a man and not just a shipmate.

Quiet knocking on his door wakes Sanji up from his thoughts. Before he has a chance to get up and open the door or tell the guest to come in, the mysterious visitor enters out of their own volition.

Your tired face makes Sanji think about painting in museums - the ones all connoisseurs consider “classics” and “timeless”. The silk shirt you’re wearing looks not only awfully expensive but, which is much worse, to be a men’s size. Its hem ends right underneath your buttcheeks, threatening to expose your body should you lift your hands. In the darkness of his cabin, you appear as nothing beyond a phantom, a hallucination born out of desperation. And just like a ghost, you’ve come to haunt and torment him in the sweetest of ways; in a way only you can.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asks in a raspy voice. Sanji is doing a great job at appearing unaffected by your rather scantily clad form.

Carefully, you close the door behind you and walk towards him. Your skin glows when you step into the rays of soft moonlight pouring in through the porthole. Dishevelled hair, half-closed eyes and a slightly puffy face - Sanji has imagined you this way countless times but never actually seen. He can feel his body burning up, telling him to seize the opportunity, to wash you in the most charming and suave words he can think of.

“Nami kicks while sleeping,” you say quietly. “I swear to god my whole side is bruised at this point. Can I sleep with you?”

Sanji has to remind himself to breathe and to do so calmly. He’s cool, completely in control of himself. His mouth feels unbearably dry.

“‘Course you can,” he answers casually. With a swift move of his arm, he lifts the duvet. “Come on in.”

The pure bliss that suddenly appears on your face forces Sanji to take in a sharp, ragged breath. It’s an expression he also imagined one too many times when his desperation poisons his mind - not that he’s willing to admit it even to himself. He knows it’s wrong to even entertain a scenario in which you would grace him with such an enraptured face. Still, his will is not as strong as he often makes it out to be.

“Sanji, you are my salvation,” you tell him while getting under the covers with him.

“I know, love.”

It’s both strange and natural, the way your body fits his. As though the two of you have done it so much the memory of your muscles twists and turns your limbs to rest in the most comfortable and intimate way. The odd familiarity makes Sanji think that maybe in another lifetime this is how he always sleeps. He wishes he could find himself in that reality even for a second. Alas, it’s too far out of his reach.

“Damn, you’re really comfortable,” you mumble against his chest. Your hot breath makes him shiver. “And warm. I don’t think I’ll be going back to my bed.” A small grin of cosiness appears on your face - one that Sanji will never forget.

His broad chest and strong arm normally go unnoticed by you but now they’re like a fortress. And just like high stone walls are an unspoken promise of security and happiness, his firm hold on your body is a silent oath of a good night's sleep.

“Stay as long as you want,” he whispers back to you. 

Maybe if you weren’t so exhausted, you’d notice that his words aren’t a statement but a plea. They’re the last thing you remember before drifting off to a restful slumber.

Your breathing slows down and gains a steady, shallow rhythm. Keeping you close to his chest, Sanji allows his hands to gently brush against your arm and back. His movements are feathery, almost fearful. He wouldn’t want you to wake up and change your mind about spending the night beside him - he can indulge in his heart’s desire but he must do so carefully.

“If you only gave me a chance,” he whispers into the night.

Knowing you’re asleep and bound to remain ignorant of his affections, Sanji kisses the top of your head. His lips linger against your hair while he takes in the scent that haunts him day and night. Unknowingly, his grip around your body tightens at that moment as though he has suddenly grown most terrified of having you disappear. Too many nights he’s dreamed of this exact scenario only to wake up to a cold, empty bed.

When the dawn arrives and you leave his arms, this little moment of affection won't mean anything to you. It means nothing now. Sanji knows this very well. He doesn't try to lie to himself that maybe you'll wake up a changed person and finally see him as more than a friendly comrade. Although tonight means nothing to you, it holds an unspeakable weight to Sanji, who will forever gloat about the fact that when you needed help, it was him you turned to. It was his arms that guarded your sleep for a few hours.

Fighting off sleep until he collapses, Sanji revels in the feeling of you against his body and pretends, even if for one night, that you’re his the same way he will always be yours. Watching you sleep cuddled into him, he swears he could die happy now.

[shookuna]

// HEATWAVE! // T FUSHIGURO

a/n: first post on tha new blog !!! eeee !!! this is dedicated to the lovely mickey @teddybeartoji <3 ty for being my FIRST OFFICIAL MOOT ! MY DAYONE ! take a lil soft!toji fic pls and thank u 🤲

wc: ~ 1k oops

summary: tired grumpy bf!toji is needy and annoying w/o cuddles. cw: nsf(w) ment, plus some tooth-rotting fluff <3

cuddling with toji was becoming a rare occurrence.

it was mid-july and swelteringly hot outside, even in the wee hours of the night. the a/c in your shared apartment was threatening to give out, and the shitty fan toji sloppily assembled did little to improve matters. so, deviating from your usual routine, you and toji fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed.

toji noticed the distance immediately, cracking one eye open to find you not curled into his side, like usual. the sight of you dead to the world, hair messily splayed across the pillow was enough to make his heart flutter. but even still, a frown tugged at the corner of his lips.

because goddammit, you did not get him used to this "cuddling" shit just to bail on him now.

you and toji met months ago at the dawn of fall, when the days were getting shorter and the nights were growing colder. your relationship was initially a fateful coincidence, a grocery store meet-cute that was as romantic as it was awkward. his series of brazen pick-up lines went right over your head (surely, you assumed, no one would tell you how good you'd look receiving backshots in the fucking frozen food aisle) but you still ended up giving toji your number that day.

and he's never been a religious man, but he was praising every god in the damn sky that you did.

one date was all it took for both of you to be locked in. he was a bad habit, an itch you couldn't help but scratch, irresistible. he was reckless, cocky at best and an asshole at worst, everything you weren't. needless to say, dating toji was against your better judgment. but for him, being with you was the first good decision he's made in a long time.

that's not to say things were perfect, or even easy. being with someone like you was so unfamiliar for someone like toji. loving you came as easy as breathing, but choosing you, choosing to work towards being a better version of himself... that was hard as shit. even small things took time, like physical intimacy. his body count was through the roof, so he had no issue when it came to having sex with you - but affection was a whole different story. it made him feel like he was in someone else's skin, someone weaker, someone who needed to be taken care of. it took til' mid-december, when the temperatures were practically sub-zero and frost crusted the ground, to get toji to warm up (no pun intended) to cuddling.

and now you'd gone and gotten him attached to this shit just to leave him high and dry?!

it didn't matter that your boyfriend was practically a walking furnace, heat radiating off of him in waves when he caged you in his strong arms. temperature be damned, toji thought, you started this, so you had to finish it.

"wake up." his gruff voice sounded out, a stark departure from the blanket of silence the night offered. when you only stirred slightly, he gave you a little shake. "oi, get y'r ass up. i'm talkin t' you."

at that firmer command, you rose your head, a displeased frown taking the place of your previous serene expression. "fushiguro, what in the ever-loving fuck are you doing waking me up at..." you paused, fumbling for your phone on the nightstand and checking the time. "...at three in the damn morning."

"don't gimme that shit. girl bye," toji grumbled, not sparing you so much as an apology for disturbing your sleep. you simply gave him a deadpan stare, making him scoff and roll over to his other side. "'s fine, not like i needed to hold ya to fall asleep anyway." he muttered bitterly into the pillow.

your eyes were already halfway closed when he turned around, but they immediately shot open when you heard his grumblings.

"what did you say? you need to cuddle me to fall asleep?" you perk up, pressing your hands on his shoulders to coax him into turning back around.

"i sure as hell didn't say 'cuddle'," he groused, but still turned around anyways. his voice might have sounded annoyed, but you knew your toji. the flicker of warmth in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

"heh, you said it just now, dummy." you grinned as you snuggled up to toji's chest, earning a flick to your forehead from the man in question. but you were unbothered, simply humming, "thought ya didn't like cuddling."

"y'r makin' assumptions," toji grumbled, the low, gravelly timbre of his voice sending shivers down your spine. "now quiet down so i can sleep."

at that, you scoffed in playful offense. "so you can sleep? you literally just woke me u-" you started, but he silenced effortlessly by pressing his lips against yours in a lazy, heated kiss.

when he pulled away, chest heaving with each hot puff of air, you were warm from way more than just the heat outside.

"go the fuck to sleep before i put you to sleep myself." he growled out, but there was no malice in his words - more of an invitation than a threat.

deciding to resist temptation this time, you settled back into his hold, your back flush against his chest. as you began to fade back into sleep, you heard toji whisper out, "meant what i said, y'know that? can't... can't sleep w' out you now."

the next words out of your mouth were simple, but they were all it took to put him at ease.

"i know, toji."

dawww <33 hope u like this fic everyone (esp mickey mwah mwah mwah) reblogs + comments appreciated !!

© shookuna ! toji header edited by me too tehe

[venusacrossthestars]

sharp or dull

pairing- Lando Norris x fem!reader

summary- Lando has begged you to stream with him, you will on one condition- it has to be an ASMR stream

wc- 1.7k

a/n: I wrote this in one sitting bc I cooked this up as a nighttime scenario, because I am an ASMR hoe, hope you enjoy! I also tried something a little new, I added the 'chat' section of the stream, you'll see what I mean. idk if I'm a fan of it or not.

f1 masterlist

Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response, or better yet known as ASMR, had taken TikTok, YouTube, and nearly every other social media platform by storm. To you, ASMR was a calming and relaxing way to unwind after a long day. And as an ASMR-artist you were constantly trying to find new ways to bring that experience to your viewers

Lando, however, could never understand the appeal of ASMR. He didn’t find it relaxing, calming, or anything of the sorts. He much preferred to fall asleep in pure silence, maybe the sound of a fan once in a while. While he didn’t understand it that didn’t mean he didn’t support you and your ‘art’. 

“Babeeee,” Lando whined. 

“What?” 

“Stream with me, pleaseeeee.” 

You rolled your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. Lando had been begging you for days to with him. Why? Well, when you asked him his exact words were, “Because I get lonely.”  And while you loved Lando, sitting there while he played whatever random game he could find just to keep him company, did not sound appealing. 

“Landoooo,” you draw out in response to his whining. 

“Baby please,” he begs again, “I’ll even let you choose what we do, I swear.” 

A lightbulb goes off in your head. “Anything?” 

“Yes?” He replies, curious to your response. 

Your face breaks out into a grin, “And you promise you’ll do it.” 

Lando takes a big gulp, “What are you planning woman?” 

“Promise?” You hold out your pinky and shake it at him, awaiting his answer. 

He takes your pinky in his, “Promise.” 

Its a week later when Lando is finally able to stream and you couldn’t be more excited. You still haven’t told your boyfriend of your plans. 

“Babe, what are we doing? I need to know so I can set up.” 

“Don’t worry about setting any of your games up. We are going to be doing something else,” You tell him. 

Lando shoots you a confused look, “Care to let me in that pretty head of yours.” 

You giggle, “Well since you said we can do anything of my choosing we will being doing an ASMR stream!” You throw out your hands excitedly. 

Lando looks less than thrilled, “No.” He says flatly. “I meant like you could pick out the game or a challenge. I am not doing ASMR.” 

“You should’ve specified the terms then Norris. And if I am remembering correctly you pinky promised on ‘anything’, can’t go back on that.” 

“Babe I'm not doing ASMR.” 

“Fine then you can stream by yourself.” You cross your arms across your chest and give Lando a pointed look, you were not backing down. 

“No.” 

“You wouldn’t even have to do anything! I would be doing all of it!” 

“No.” 

“Not even a head massage?” 

“No.” 

“Not even sharp or dull?” 

This is when you know you have him hooked. Lando can tell everyone that he doesn’t care for ASMR, that he doesn’t find it relaxing, all that jazz. But you know something they don’t. You know that this man is a sucker for the ‘sharp or dull’ genre of ASMR, and since Lando has sworn you to secrecy you were unable to share this juicy piece of information with the world. 

“... fine, I am only doing this because I love you.” 

As Lando was setting up the stream you were busy gathering your supplies that were spewed about Lando’s streaming room, which at times doubled as your recording studio when you filmed for your YouTube channel. 

Lando went live, muting his mic while being black-screened. You could see the comments flooding the chat:

landonorizzzzzzz- LANDO STREAMMMMMMM pizzaparty124003- about time!! we were in a drought! carlando4lifeeee- HE”S BACK FROM WARRRRR justaninchident- WE CAN”T SEE YOU papayaboyzzz- LANDOOOOOOOOO

Lando unmutes his mic, “I know you can’t see me chat.” 

You whack his arm, “Lando, be nice.” 

carlando4lifeeee- IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS???? landoandy/naremyparents- MOTHER IS HERE justaninchident- DEFEND ME MOTHER PLEASEEEEE sofishdicatedaf- OMG WE ARE GETTING A Y/N AND LANDO STREAM??

Lando finally turns on the camera and chat continues to lose their mind, “Yes chat, Y/N is here.” 

You wave at the camera, “Hiiiiiii!” 

“Do you want to tell them what we are doing today or do want me?” 

“I can tell them. Chat, today we are doing something I am a literal professional at.” Lando rolls his eyes, “Don’t roll your eyes at me mister, you begged me for a literal week to stream with you.” 

landoandy/naremyparents- HE BEGGED HER TO STREAM WITH HIM?!?!!  y/nismymotherfrfr- RELATIONSHIP GOALS papayaboyzzz- lol simppppppp

You glance at chat, laughing at their reaction, “Yes, he’s been begging for me to do this for a long time! I only agreed once he pinky promised that we could do whatever I want. And I chose,” you pause in suspense, “to do ASMR on my lovely boyfriend.” 

“Yay,” Lando says enthusiastically. 

“Stop. You are going to love it.” 

“If you insist.” 

You launch into explanation, “So as some of you know I run an ASMR account on YouTube and TikTok and today I’ll be doing a couple different ‘triggers’ on Lando.” 

“A couple? I only agreed to one,” he interrupts you. You shoot Lando a pleading look and it takes only a few seconds before he is admitting defeat. “Fine, only a couple though.” He glances at the screen where the chat is displayed, “Call me a simp all you want, at least I have a girlfriend to simp over.” 

“Chat, don’t mind him, he only found out what I wanted to do like 20 minutes ago. But as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted is that I’ll be doing a couple different ‘triggers’ that are pretty popular amongst my audience such as- sharp or dull, head massage, hair brushing.” 

After your explanation you get up from your seat and gather your supplies as Lando messes with the camera and mic. 

“Lan, can you scooch back just a tad?”

“Hmm? Oh, of course baby.” 

“Thank you,” you give him a small kiss on the crown of his head.

“So I am going to start of with the head massage and hair brushing first,” you explain to chat, moving to speak in your softer, slower tone that you use while filming, “Then for the grand finale I’ll do the sharp or dull.” 

Lando always turned to putty when you played with his hair, you weren’t expecting this to be any different, well minus the fact that a bunch of fans were watching. At first you weren’t sure if the mic was even picking up on any of noise but one quick glance at chat seemed that they were all enjoying it. For multiple reasons, you were sure of it. 

After five-or-so minutes of head scratching you decide to check in on your completely silent boyfriend. “Still doing okay baby?” You ask, voice nearly a whisper. 

“Yeah, I’m doing great,” Lando response at full Lando volume. 

papayaboyzzz- MY EARSSSSSS sofishdicatedaf- tell me why I had my volume all the way up and this man decided to talk FULL VOLUME WHAT THE HELL LANDO ass-mr- this man has no idea how to asmr asmrismycrack- no bc why? his gf is literally an asmr PRO

You chuckle at the comments, “Baby you have to be quiet.” 

“What? Why?” He turns around, looking at you confused. 

“Because having people talk loudly, or practically screaming in your case, isn’t really relaxing to listen to.” 

“Oh, sorry,” Lando drops his voice to a much quieter tone, giving you a sheepish smile. 

“That’s okay baby.”

You go move through a couple other triggers, and around the 20-minute mark you decided to wrap things up, “Ok, since I don’t want to bore all of you we are going to move onto the sharp or dull. Then, I don’t know, maybe a Q and A or something.” 

Once again you explain the sharp or dull concept to Lando and the chat, “By the way chat this is Lando’s favorite genre.” 

“Lies, I don’t watch ASMR.” 

“You’re the only one telling lies. You love sharp or dull ASMR, it’s the only one you watch.” 

“Babeeee,” Lando whines, “You were sworn to secrecy.” 

You shrug your shoulders, “Whoops.” 

“Now no one will think I’m cool.” 

“I don’t think you needed any help with that.” Lando looks at you offend that you would say such a thing, you grab his head and turn his face back to the camera. “Okay close your eyes and tell me if this is sharp or dull,” 

You alternate between poking Lando's face with the Q-tip or the toothpick that you have in your hand. Lando gets every guess correct but as you go on you can tell by how his voice gets quieter that he is getting more and more tired. Maybe doing this stream late at night wasn't the best idea. 

“Ok, I think that’s enough.” 

Lando groans at his cut off, “Chat I don’t think I’m gonna make it.” 

You giggle at his sleepiness, “Next time we can do something you want, but for now I think it’s time for bed.”

Lando hums in agreement, “Goodnight everyone! Thanks for tunning in!” 

You wave at the camera, “Goodnight!!” 

Lando shuts down the stream along with his PC and slumps in his chair, “What did you do to me. I’m ready to pass out.” 

“It’s the magic of ASMR.” 

“Fine, I guess it was the magic of ASMR,” Lando sighs out.

“Does that mean you like it now?” You ask, pulling him out of his chair. 

Lando collapses against you, his arms wrap around you as the two of you waddle towards the bathroom. “I only like it when you do it. That’s it.” 

“I’ll take it.” 

The two of you brush your teeth in silence, you watch as Lando can barely keep his eyes open. His sleepiness at your ASMR was a compliment in the highest regards. Lando reattaches himself to your back as you make your way into your shared bedroom. 

As you climb under the covers and reposition yourself in Lando’s arms you can feel his breathing steady out. 

“Babe?” He whispers. 

“Lan?” 

“You meant what you said?” 

“Meant what?” 

“That we could do whatever I want next time you come and stream with me?” 

“Well, anything within reason.” 

“Promise,” Lando wiggles his pinky.

“Promise,” you whisper back, interlocking his pinky with yours.

taglist- (crosses out names mean I couldn't tag you)

@arieslost @customsbyjcg-blog @gr1mes-cc @styl1shl1v @landoscardotcom @poppyflower-22 @blancastans @katiezdiarysblog @mrsstylez @jamieeboulos @xfuckoffx @motkanykodas @emi0358 @ab-127 @alrightysyaphrodite @sya-skies @liacoresstuff @leathersuitrry @travelingece1995 @kageyamas-milk @ugfuchvvvz @jupooo @alex0808 @caleysblog @jess-wither @cassymendezz164445 @rattiefattie69 @sadisticfries @lou-larcher5 @harrietstylinson7 @inlovewithdeadboys @rickyrivera11 @cleverpeachheropersona @loveyatopluto @elysyannemimi @arayofsunshineme @lilyevanswhore @slaygirlbossworld @jupooo @heyheyheyggg @eringaitskill

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

I apologize in advance, but the brainworms did a heckin screech and I felt the need to share the chaos.

Imagine, if you will, that our Creator let's it slip that they've interacted with other worlds before reaching Teyvat. (Played other video games) Imagine having to explain that in these other worlds, they may or may not have been interested in the denizens of those realms...sometimes in the romantic sense, which led to wedding bells and/or children.

Cue the uproar from the Genshin cast. The Creator, Blessed Maker of All...you have courted others? Have been married?? You have had children??? Their image of you being pure and untouchable, blown apart into tiny little pieces of confetti. 🎉

Though many loathe to admit it, they are curious...who are these people, what are they like? Is there a common factor in your selection of spouses? You would only pick the very best of a realm to choose as a potential partner, surely another being of creation...or perhaps a demigod?

It leads to the proverbial red string board getting made, the Archons trying to find out who is your most likely pick from their regions. It's all for your safety, your Benevolence! If you insist on having a partner, they must find the perfect match for you! You deserve only the best of the best, after all.

Bonus points if the Creator was a fan of games like the Harvest Moon/Rune Factory series. They're gonna need to make a list of all their partners, there are so many options to choose from. >>_>>

I'll admit I never played any of those games so I skimmed through the harvest moon wiki and chose one of the bachelors and chose some other game characters lol. Plus a game for all of you, guess the characters.

Though I do think that the reader having children before causes a bit of whiplash because it's totally unexpected, mostly because there were no records of you taking spouses or kids, even knowing you ‘have’ (play) other worlds is a surprise that causes a bit of a crisis. Either way here are some head cannons.

“I must admit, your grace is awfully attached to Qiqi” Zhongli hums as he blows on his white tea, a small cloud of steam leaving.

Qiqi doesn't pay him much mind, her head coddled under your chin like a little puppy, between her hands there is a small bird plushie “Well, I must admit she does kind of remind me of one of my little ones” Your hand softly pats her head, a few strands of hair moving as you do.

He stills as you spoke, eyes fixated on his cup “your… little ones?”

“Mhm?” Without looking up from the braid you were giving to the little girl you just nod “yep, she is quite soft spoken like Milenoe”

“... I wasn't aware your grace had sired children” there was never any mentions about holy spawns or spouses taken by you in any manuscript he got his hands on.

“Well, I never chose a couple from this world, so there wouldn't be any descendants” the comment slips airly from your lips as Qiqi slides off your lap towards baizhu who had finished checking the books from your bookshelf. “Do you want to see her? She started elementary school a few weeks ago” without waiting for an answer a screen appears displaying a tall man with black hair and horns standing regally behind you and a child with emerald eyes and horns.

“She looks rather shy”

You hum nodding “she is as shy as her father when he was her age. There aren't many children her age she can play with so she was pretty lonely her first 50 years”

“50 years?”

“her dad is a slow maturing species” so it should be 10 times the life expectancy than humans. Not that long for him but certainly longer than usual.

•°•°•

“It's a wonder to see how you manage to get Klee to change her mind about going fish blasting,” albedo scribbles some data half mindedly as he watches you hover next to Klee, who showed you a new drawings every few minutes “she is so stubborn even with Alice”

“Well I do have experience with headstrong children, Pardine is as focused on her goal as her father” one of your hands fall on her blonde hair, bright but still darker than Pardine’s almost champagne blonde and her red eyes polar opposite to her icy ones, a carbon copy to her dad. Even if your genetics rarely showed up on any of your kids it was uncanny how similar she looked to her dad and aunts “but I will admit she does annoy many guards asking to train her”

Albedo just laughs it off, listing the few loose characteristics of one of her spouses. Venti has been annoying him about his nation almost getting no information so he hopes a few spare tidbits and Klee’s rough drawing of a blond blue eyed man with a big shield works for whatever weird thing the archons have going on.

•°•°•

“Your Grace has married before?!” Ayaka gasps as you take a stroll around the nature surrounding her home. Her hand had swiftly unfolded her fan in front of her face.

“Mhm, I don't know why people get so surprised, after all it would be weirder if I spent so much time somewhere but took no lovers” you laugh at her slightly seeing her slightly flustered “it's almost a tradition at this point, to wed someone from each world. Want to see some family portraits?” She nods fervently looking at the tablet like thing that appeared on your hands, first a white haired cowboy like man is kneeling on the ground holding a baby by the armpits surrounded by three wolves ,seemingly playing with an older child, by the time the next imagine passes Ayaka is almost hanging by your shoulder, asking things about the siblings and begging to see more photos of your babies.

“And who did you take from teyvat?” Ayaka looks up sweetly at you, she has always held you in high regard and now that you are in Inazuma she can't help but get giddy thinking about how you decided to spend the stay in her state and most of your time with her.

Feigning surprise you tap your chin with your index finger “now that I think about it I didn't choose anyone yet... maybe it's about time”

“Then that means you could pick my brother!” She wraps her hand around your own, smiling as if she got the best idea ever “I could even call you older sibling!... If you wanted so of course”

“Big brother you remember how you told me you would find me a proper bachelor”

“If this is about wanting me to rush it won't work”

“It's not about it, I found you someone”

“Fine, as you please, need I remind you my standards are quite high”

“It's their grace!... Why are you choking on your tea!?”

•°•°•

“There isn't one damned coincidence…” Raiden slaps her head against the table with the rough drawings and some information about them “a king, a captain, a cowboy, a damned sorcerer…”

“Maybe there isn't supposed to be a coincidence” Nahida guesses “maybe they just look for someone who catches their eye”

“It doesn't help out as much as you think it does” the tsaritsa crosses her legs and leans against the back of the chair “if we are doing people with very clear characteristics maybe Ajax could fit nicely? Redheads aren't very common”

“Mhm, maybe but don't they have a liking for smart men? Then Alhaitham would be closer to their past couples”

“Well if we are going by that logic they should like the geo archon, as one of them has dragonic features” the tsaritsa side eyes Zhongli from the other side of the table.

Sighing deeply Furina, who came in place of Neuvillette, chimes in “It is their decision who they want to marry and even if they wanted to!”

"obviously you would be so calm, after all they are very close with your iudex. Don't get so cocky, I heard the commissioner Ayato is interested in the idea"

[bluebeary-jay]

Hold me close and hold me fast

Hi, my darling @always-andromeda!! I'm your secret santa from the space sisters server 🥰 I hope you're having a fantastic day and will enjoy what I wrote for you 💕 I tried to mix fluff and angst into your Joel prompt and it was tricker than I thought it'd be but hopefully I did it justice 😌 I wish you all that's best and happy holidays!!

Summary: It's been a long time since Joel was in any relationship and because of that he has absolutely no clue how to react to your affections. It culminates into an angsty conversation which he wanted to avoid at all costs.

Tags: tooth-rotting fluff, fluff and angst, soft and shy Joel, hurt/comfort, established relationship 💕

Word count: 3.3K

A/N: dividers by @saradika, beta read by @reddedmiller ❤️

Twenty years ago, when the apocalypse started and Joel Miller lost his only daughter, he was certain that he’d never feel happy again. Time didn’t heal his wounds – he still thought like that when he was fighting for survival with Tommy, then when he was doing side jobs with Tess in the QZ… It was never going to get better.

But somehow, as he looked up at the massive tree he just helped the others set up in the middle of the square in Jackson, he realized that it could. It did. Now Joel had a home here. He had his brother back, he had Ellie whom he cared for like his own kid and he had a community that welcomed him into Jackson, people who didn’t know about the horrible things he’d done and therefore didn’t hate him.

“Hi, handsome,” he heard from behind his back and turned around to the most beautiful face in the world – the main source of his newfound happiness. You. His girl. “Are you done with work?”

He nodded with a small smile gracing his lips. You were the newest addition to Joel’s life, but the most precious one in his eyes. Unlike everyone else in Jackson (excluding his brother), you knew all about the sins he’s committed. And yet, you still chose him. Every day you continued to choose him, to envelop him with the warmth of your love which Joel wasn’t sure he deserved.

He’d never tell you, though. Not as long as you kept him in your heart.

“Yeah, no, we’re done. M’pretty sure my back will blow if I have to pick up or carry one more damn thing.”

Right at that moment Tommy walked by with another box full of tree ornaments in his arms, and huffed a laugh when he heard his brother complaining.

“Jesus, Joel, you really are gettin’ old.” He put down the heavy box on the snow and sighed, propping his hands on his hips and nodding at you. “You sure you’ll be able to put up with this grump?”

“Positive.” You climbed onto your tip-toes to press a kiss to Joel’s cheek, and he felt his skin growing hot under your lips. He turned his head to hide the embarrassment evident on his face, missing the slight furrow of your brows, but not missing a hearty laugh his brother let out.

“Aww, is the big, scary man gettin’ all shy from a little kiss on the cheek?”

“Get lost, Tommy.”

Tommy chuckled and bent down to pick up the box again. “By the way, you two have any plans for today? We’re makin’ a screening of some Christmas movies for the kids, and after that the adults will head to the bar. You should come.”

“Well, if you want to?” you directed the careful question to Joel, but he shook his head just slightly, causing you to smile. “But we actually have other plans for tonight.”

That was true, and there was no way Joel would trade those precious hours spent in your company for having to sit – or worse, dance – in a loud room full of half-drunk people.

“Sounds like somethin’ I don’t wanna know about.”

“We’re just gonna bake some cookies for Ellie,” Joel murmured when you bumped his arm lightly with a giggle. The irritation at his brother lessened slightly when he heard the sound of your laughter. “But don’t tell ‘er.”

“My lips are sealed.” Tommy winked at Joel, then shifted his eyes to you. “Enjoy your evening, lovebirds.”

“That’s the plan.” You took Joel’s hand in both of yours, beaming up at him with excitement. “You’re ready?”

“Yeah.” He inconspicuously let go of your hands to brush the arm of your jacket lightly, and then nodded in the direction of his house. “C’mon, darlin’.”

He hoped he wasn’t coming off as too harsh as he hid his gloved hands in the pockets, intending to blame it on the cold in case you asked. But instead of saying anything, you just matched his step and slipped your hands around his arm. Joel went rigid when you leaned your head on his shoulder, the side of your body almost hugging his.

Joel loved you like no one before and until he met you, he hadn’t been this happy in years. But there was a problem, a major one, in your relationship that he didn’t at all know how to address.

Because Joel didn’t have any clue how to react to all your touches.

No matter if they were tender or needy, brief or lasting, he always felt out of his depth. It’s been so long since he actually wanted to be intimate with someone that when the chance arose… he was at loss. You were such an affectionate person and he loved that part of you, he cherished all touches and gestures you graced him with – craved them even – but…

He stole a glance at you, wondering if you could feel the stiffness of his body when you were so close, but it seemed that you were none the wiser. He tried to will his muscles to relax, but it didn’t work and he still felt an uncomfortable feeling crawling up his arm.

The problem wasn’t that he didn’t know what he was supposed to do as your partner, but ever since Sarah died, he hadn’t had an opportunity to show affection to someone. Everything he thought about seemed awkward and incongruous, but he really didn’t want you to think that he was an inexperienced old man who didn’t know how to please – and in your case, love – a woman.

He did. In theory.

So he tried his hardest to show you in other ways how much he cares about you. He brought you gifts, whether they were knickknacks scavenged during his patrols or wooden figurines he made for you. He did what he could to relieve you of your duties, helped around the house and out in the town. He found time during the day to spend with you or at least just talk in passing if you both were busy.

But that still wasn’t enough. He knew that wasn’t enough.

Every damn time you cuddled, every time you kissed him or did something as simple as lay your head on his shoulder, Joel never felt better. He never wanted those moments to end, but at the same time he just couldn’t reciprocate, and it was tearing him apart, because he could see how hurtful it was to you.

“You’re quiet.”

Joel snapped out of his thoughts and looked down at you, noting that you’re almost at his place. He breathed a little lighter when he realized that he managed to go all this way without the need of pulling his arm out of your grasp.

“Is everything alright?” you asked with concern in your beautiful eyes and squeezed his bicep slightly, causing Joel to clench his teeth. “Listen, if you’d prefer to go with Tommy, just tell me…”

“Hey, I’m okay, sweetheart,” he assured you quickly and even managed to smile as if the guilt of not being able to even kiss your forehead wasn’t eating him alive. “There’s no one else I’d rather be with right now.”

“Just right now?” you asked teasingly, and Joel couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him.

“Listen here, you little tease…”

A bright smile returned to your face and you tugged his arm down so your lips could reach his stubbly cheek – and (only a little) reluctantly, he let you kiss him with a huff.

But the guilt of not telling you the true reason of his worries was still swirling in his stomach, making him feel sick for the rest of the way.

An hour and a half later the cookies were already done, and somehow the attempt to clean each other off the flour and the colorful frosting you used to decorate them ended up with you sitting in Joel’s lap, kissing him softly.

Not that he minded.

There was nothing as wonderful as the feeling of your lips on his skin, Joel was sure of it. It’s been an embarrassingly long time since he was with someone that made him feel like a young boy in love again, but your every gesture, every sound coming out of your mouth and every day he got to spend with you was just a confirmation of how lucky he was to have you.

Even now, as you were kissing him slowly and without any rush, he felt butterflies fluttering in his stomach. But while they initially appeared from the happiness and giddiness you were causing in him, the longer your hands wandered – and the longer his stayed uselessly at his sides – the worse and more stressed he felt.

“You know you can touch me, right?” you asked playfully at last, and the pit in Joel’s stomach grew almost tenfold in size. “It’s highly encouraged, actually.”

There was an actual question in your voice, which made him feel even worse. He should’ve known you’d address it eventually – after all, nothing went past you – but it still felt so awfully embarrassing to admit it to you. He was an old man, but felt like an inexperienced teenager who didn’t know how to make a woman feel good.

You moved to kiss him again when he didn’t answer, too lost in his own thoughts, but on instinct Joel pulled back – actually ducked – out of your reach. Immediately regret painted his face at the rejected look in your eyes, and he started to rake his mind in search for something he could do to fix it, but nothing came to him. He knew what you’d want from him – you’d forgive him if he took your face in his hands, kissed you with all his strength, let you know that you did nothing wrong… but it made him nervous just thinking about it, let alone do it.

“Sorry,” he quickly muttered. “I didn’t– didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.”

“Hey, look at me… What’s wrong?” You brushed some hair out of his forehead and Joel exhaled shakily, feeling weak in the knees at your touch. “Talk to me, baby. Did I do something?” Joel shook his head and you pressed your lips together. “Did something happen, then?”

“No.” He shook his head quickly, but he avoided your eyes. “No. Nothin’.”

“Joel…”

The room got too stuffy all of the sudden, the shirt on his back too tight and your body too heavy on his lap. Joel knew he was panicking over nothing, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want you to see him like this, so unsure and embarrassed over his own insecurity and behavior… So he gently removed you from his lap and stood up from the couch.

“Sorry, I gotta… I need some air. I’ll be right back, alrigh’?”

“Joel.”

No ‘baby’. No ‘handsome’. The tone of your voice made him stop dead in his tracks, and he turned around to meet your sad, solemn eyes.

“Just tell me if you don’t want me anymore.”

Your voice, so small and weak, took him off-guard and for a couple of seconds Joel wasn’t sure if you really said that, or if it was just his imagination playing cruel tricks on him. He blinked several times, but you were still in front of him, sad and… oh, god, you were on the verge of tears.

“What?” He couldn’t help a curt, disbelieving chuckle that escaped him – which was a terrible reaction, he realized when you turned your head away from him. “I– I don’t understand.”

“You don’t ever want to touch me first.” You let out a shuddering breath and lifted your arm to wipe your eyes, and Joel realized with mortification that he fucking made you cry. “And when you do it’s only when I initiate it, but sometimes you just pull back and it… it makes me feel so unwanted. And I know I might come off as too clingy…”

“Hey, none of that.” Joel quickly made his way to you and sat back down, gazing at you with his brows furrowed in worry. Your face was tearstained already and you avoided looking at him, but didn’t pull back when he took your hand gently in his. “Darlin’...”

“Just tell me if it doesn’t work for you,” you breathed, your voice thick with tears which also welled up in your pretty eyes again. “I hate not knowing if I… if our relationship makes you happy.”

“Of course I’m happy, babygirl.” Joel lifted your hand as if to kiss it, but hesitated. He had half a mind to draw back, but you needed him now, and he needed to prove that he really loved you. So, tentatively, he pressed his inexperienced lips to your fingers, making you look up with suspicion dancing in your irises. “You make me the happiest I’ve ever felt.”

“You’re pretending.” The quiet accusation combined with you withdrawing your hand caused Joel’s heart to break and he opened his mouth to explain, but you didn’t give him a chance to. “I don’t want you to pretend now that I’m upset, I want– Joel, I need you to be honest and tell me if it isn’t working for you. You always move away when I try to hug you and during all this time we’ve been together I can count on one hand the number of times you kissed me first. I don’t…” you choked down a sob and a new wave of tears flew down your cheeks. “I don’t want to waste either of our time if that isn’t what you want. If I’m not what you want–”

“Sweetheart, you’re the only one I want,” Joel whispered with pain in his voice, moving so he could sit closer to you. “M’so very sorry that I wasn’t…” He searched for the right words, but everything felt flat on his tongue. “I’m sorry. For everythin’ I did that made you feel this way.”

“But why?” you asked pathetically, staring at him with defeat and sadness. “You never said anything and I wouldn’t try to touch you so much if you just told me you didn’t like it!”

“I do like it,” he cut you off with a firm tone, which caused you to stop abruptly. “I fuckin’– I love it when you touch me, darlin’. I’m dyin’ for you to keep doin’ it, but I…”

“You what?” you asked, softer this time, and Joel swallowed hard, nervous how you’ll react. But you had the right to know, so ultimately he pushed through his discomfort.

“I just don’t know what to do,” he finally settled on that. “I really, really love when you touch me, babygirl, no matter in what way.” He took another deep breath, bowing his head to look at his hands so that he didn’t have to face you. “But it’s been so long, damn decades, since I… since anyone touched me in the way you do. I never loved someone the way I love you. I’m very sorry, I just don’t know what I’m s’pposed to do… when someone…”

He trailed off, worried that he might break down and cry in front of you if he says another word, and he’d prefer to avoid it at all cost. The world outside was so harsh and cruel already, and you needed someone strong – a safe haven, a pillar you could lean on. He was that someone for everyone around him for the last twenty years, and even longer before the outbreak.

But it was so much different now. You made him feel safe and loved no matter what he could provide to you and it was almost scary how vulnerable he was becoming in your presence.

“...when someone cares for you?” you asked quietly. Joel nodded, and tears gathered in your eyes again, though now for a very different reason. “Oh, Joel…”

“M’sorry,” he whispered, his own vision also going misty. “I want to give you everythin’ you desire, darlin’. If you give me another chance, I promise I’ll try to…” He shook his head, defeated. “I don’t know. I’ll try to get past it.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” You scooted just a little closer and put your hand on his knee lightly. He looked up with anguish swimming in his brown eyes, not believing that you were still here and not already out of the door. You worried your lip between your teeth for a couple of seconds before inhaling deeply. “How about… I show you what to do? We can go as slow as you want.”

Joel slowly shook his head, not understanding. “...show me what?”

“You said you don’t really know what to do, right? So how about I show you exactly how… you know.” You smiled almost shyly, but it only caused Joel’s heart to beat even faster. “Where to put your hands.”

Joel was nodding before you even finished speaking.

It was embarrassing, really, how excited he got at this idea, but just the thought of your hands guiding his, demonstrating where and how to touch you, had him feeling weak in the knees and hot under his clothes. You smiled, almost with relief, and moved even closer until your thighs were touching.

“Here, just relax. We can stop at any time, just say a word,” you said soothingly, placing his palms on your hips and sending him a small smile. Joel wondered if you could see how red his face surely was, feel how sweaty his palms got. “Is this okay?”

“S’better than okay,” he breathed in something akin to wonder. “It’s easier… Everythin’ seems easier with you.” His chest was tight when he looked up at you. “Thank you.”

It wasn’t a lie. You did make it seem effortless, and though Joel could still feel the rigidness of his muscles and tendons, the tension was slowly melting away, replaced by a tingling warmth on his skin.

You gave him a reassuring smile and his eyes flickered to your lips almost involuntary. You noticed it, of course – Joel didn’t think he was exactly subtle with his staring – and cupped his jaw in your hands. His arm, practically instinctively, encircled your waist and pulled you closer before he could stop himself, but you didn’t berate him – in fact, you seemed delighted by his action.

“Now, are you going to kiss me or not?” you whispered coyly, brushing his cheekbones with the pads of your thumbs. Joel chuckled at your attempt to put him more at ease, but it worked and he leaned in to press – very, very carefully – his lips to yours. He felt you smiling against them and his eyes filled with tears from the overwhelming relief.

“I love you so much,” he murmured with his mouth only millimeters from yours. “So much, babygirl.”

You hummed a quiet love you, too, and moved your lips up to softly kiss his eyelids, then temple, then cheeks and nose. Joel almost wanted to cry when you started running your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp gently. It felt so good, your touch so nice and tender… He couldn’t remember when was the last time someone treated him with such care. Maybe never. “Next time it becomes too much, you tell me, got it? And I promise I’ll make you feel better.”

Your touch didn’t bother him now that he admitted what was weighing heavily on his chest for so long. Now, it felt soothing. Grounding.

So, so loving.

Joel held you closer, melting into your embrace, and claimed your lips in a soft – if not a bit shy – kiss.

There was nothing else he’d rather be doing tonight.

[bruciemilf]

I NEED more Poolverstorm content!

MY TIME HAS COME!

minute ororo shows up Wade is instantly obsessed. It’s not even romantic at first, — man’s saw how badass, caring, compassionate , patient, powerful, capable and brave she was and immediately went ‘new bestie acquired’

Will never stop bullying Logan for not choosing her since day one. Sir. If you think Wade’s gonna let him fumble the same bag twice you are MISTAKEN—-

Every interaction they have shortens Logan’s immortality (his bisexual senses are tingling and he needs 2-7 business days to recover)

One of Logan’s favorite memories from childhood is snowball fighting, sledding, — everything involving winter.

Wade likes autumn because it gets him one step closer to Halloween and he can finally order the pumpkin mega blast from Starbucks without feeling guilty. Ororo makes both happen specifically

WADE MAKES HER LAUGH!!! SO MUCH!!!!

Whenever someone asks Logan why he puts up with it, he just shrugs, “He makes her laugh.” (He’s so in love with Wade it makes him look stupid)

Wade had to plan an entire thing to ask Roro out. It was supposed to be extremely extravagant and complicated and grandiose, but, Logan went to Ororo instead, cheeks slightly flushed, and groaned something like, “Idiot’s just trying to impress you. Just…Don’t laugh too much? “

She already planned on accepting it, but she’ll indulge them.

Roro starts wearing Logan’s dog tags once they start going out. Wade basically steals everything from shirts to belt buckles, boots, tank tops, some of her necklaces, scarves, heels

Wade being slightly insecure about taking off his mask around them. At least at first. He tries to accept and adapt, — but it’s hard, when dating the prettiest people in the entire world! After Hugh Jackman, at least.

Ororo gently kissing his bare cheek one day, — maybe he lost his mask while trying to clean, or maybe Laura took it for her and Ellie’s play pretend games. She gets right and Logan gets left. “I like this face.”

“Yeah. Well.” He laughs because he’ll cry if he doesn’t, “you’ve always had a thing for weirdos.”

“Shut up, bub.”

“Okay, fine! Hot weirdos.”

Wade explaining how they call marry Roro legally if they kidnap the pope:

Logan is their GUARD DOG!!! Missions? One breath away from their neck. Claws out and ready. Shopping? Arms crossed, scowl on, daring someone to bother them while Wade tries to justify a 400 dollar Lego pruchase.

“My darling. No.”

“But it’s the WOLVERINE collection, Ro!”

Ororo sighs and gives Logan a Look. “Talk some sense into your husband, please?”

“When he’s annoying he’s YOUR husband.”

Blind Al and Ororo? Best of friends. Mother in law/awesome wife who loves her weird ass sons. Would test Ororo at first, like, “You can have everyone in this world and you pick those two? Why?”

“Wisdom has been chasing them but those two can run.”

“…Come sit next to me. You like cocaine?”

“Um—“

“OOOkay, — mushy introductions over, Laura, grab Mary, we’re LEAVING—“

LAURA ELLIE KITTY JUBILEE MOMMY DAUGHTER RELATIONSHIP WHEN!!!

Wade seeing how gentle Ororo is with the kids while still being firm, getting them in line when they don’t listen, but wrangling them expertly?

Ellie actually,,, ate her vegetables? Laura didn’t stab anyone over doing the dishes? Jubilee actually goes to sleep before 6 am?

“We have GOT to get her pregnant.”

Logan is so fucking tired. “I don’t think there’s a cure for whatever you’re on.”

“Alright, FINE. Get ME pregnant then.”

[weaselandfriends]

The Making Of: When I Win the World Ends

(For my previous Making Of post, see The Making Of: Cleveland Quixotic.)

I. 1999

It was the year of the cubicle movie. It was the year of Fight Club, of Office Space, of Being John Malkovich, of Three Kings, of The Matrix, and of American Beauty. It was the year of suburban malaise, of eternal sunshine, of ceaseless normality. A year of United States hegemony; a year whose chief terror was that THIS WAS IT.

Before the millennium turned and the towers fell, there was an initial challenge to this order, a completely inconsequential one made consequential by a newly minted 24/7 news media machine running out of noise to fill dead air now that people were sick to bursting of the Clinton impeachment. This challenge came not through war, revolution, or violence, but through entertainment. Children's entertainment.

And I was a child. Unaware of any cultural context, I knew only one thing: I loved Pokémon. I really, really loved Pokémon.

I owned Red Version, Blue Version, Yellow Version, Pokémon Pinball, Pokémon Stadium, Pokémon Snap, Hey You Pikachu, a Pokémon Tetris sort of puzzle game, even the Pokémon TCG game for Gameboy. I had ten to fifteen strategy guides for the games, an encyclopedia of the 151 Pokémon, a choose your own adventure book, an I Spy-style book. I had Pokémon figurines, Pokémon plushies, toy Poké Balls, toy Pokédexes. I had Pokémon stamps and Pokémon stickers and a deck of Pokémon cards. Not trading cards, just a standard 52-card deck with Pokémon pictures on it. Of course I also had the trading cards. A complete set of the first three runs, plus a special Mew card you could get from I dunno Toys R Us or something as part of some promotion. I had a guide for the card game that explained which cards were good or bad even though I didn't even play the card game. I had a Pokémon Tamagotchi and Pokémon pencils and Pokémon erasers and Ash Ketchum's hat and I dressed up as Ash Ketchum for Halloween. Of course I watched every episode of the anime, and in notebooks I drew doodles of existing Pokémon and came up with names for new Pokémon. My father had died that year.

My father was a sports fanatic. Traditional sports. He, too, collected. Sports memorabilia, baseball cards, figures of famous stars. When I was an infant, he drove me on a cross country road trip to Lambeau Field in Green Bay, Wisconsin, where I became a part owner of the Green Bay Packers. He had always wanted me to grow up and pursue professional sports. When I was born, the doctor apparently said to start looking for football colleges, a quote he saved in a scrapbook of baby photos. He had played sports himself, in college; he was a baseball catcher, until a hitter accidentally struck him in the head with a full force swing.

Almost everything I personally remember about him involves him dying. He was sick for a long time, and I remember hospitals and hospital beds and strange smells and gauze. And then one day my mother told me he died.

He was a charismatic man, very social and very popular. He had many friends and a lot of family, all of whom had constantly been around our house. Once he was gone, they stopped coming around. Then it was just me and my mother, who was not a fanatic for anything, except maybe her job as an elementary school teacher, which consumed her time as she assiduously prepared lesson plans and graded tests until late at night. When my father died, she got into some argument with his side of the family, the details of which I still don't fully understand, and afterward they no longer spoke. Her own family lived far away, out-of-state, seen only at Christmas. The house became quiet.

And I… played… Pokémon.

II. The Electric Tale of Pikachu

Toshihiro Ono was a mangaka primarily known for shotacon and futanari hentai. His credits such as Innyou Megami and Anal Justice made him a no-brainer pick for the officially licensed Pokémon manga, Electric Tale of Pikachu, as it too would feature a 10-year-old boy as the protagonist.

This manga would be the foundation for my conception of what Pokémon was, narratively. Though I also had the Pokémon Adventures manga that ran concurrently and which has by now long outlasted it, Electric Tale left a significantly deeper imprint on my memory.

In summary, Electric Tale is a retelling of the first two seasons of the anime. Ash Ketchum is the main character, he's accompanied by Misty and later Brock, his rival is Gary, and Team Rocket harangues him.

What sets Electric Tale apart is its tone, which is far more adult than Adventures and the anime. Obviously, part of this comes from the author's primary area of expertise being hentai. Even in the censored English version, there is a sense of sexual playfulness in how every single female character is an older woman who likes to tease Ash about his romantic interests.

But there are other elements that creep in unrelated to sex, due to the perspective of someone only used to speaking to adults who suddenly has to speak to children. Ono doesn't really get the childish fantasy of leaving at 10 being normal in society, so he introduces an element where Ash can only get a one year deferment from school and will have to return unless he hits it big. Team Rocket are former competitive hopefuls who flamed out and then, with no education or work experience to speak of, had no choice but to turn to crime. The Pokémon are depicted more realistically, often eschewing the toyetic mascot elements of their designs.

And the landscapes are often wistful, even apocalyptic in their presentation:

This more sedate, mature, realistic depiction of Pokémon became what I wanted Pokémon to be, what I projected onto an original Red and Blue version that left everything open to interpretation, and what would increasingly frustrate me with the series as it deviated more toward bombastic villain groups with goofy destroy-the-world plots. (Which was what put me off Pokémon Adventures.)

Amid all this, one panel stuck with me in particular. One panel I would think about ever since I first saw it as a child, that would turn around in my head and keep coming back. That panel would eventually—over two decades later—become the basis for When I Win the World Ends, the seed from which an entire story grew:

III. The Unkillable Demon King

But in the interim, the seed remained dormant. 1999 fell away. I grew up. I played later Pokémon games and increasingly lost interest by around Gen 4 and 5. Then I went to college.

That's when I started playing League of Legends.

I was something of a psychopath in college. I operated on a strict schedule and did not deviate. Wake up, read 50 pages of classic literature, write 2,000 words, go to classes, study, and then by about four in the afternoon all my obligations were done and it was League of Legends until midnight.

I wasn't actually interested in the League of Legends esports scene in its infancy. In 2012, I was actually invited to attend its World Championship in Los Angeles and refused. (When I received this invitation, I had just finished reading Homestuck for the first time, and was caught in a month-long haze in which I could do little but bask within what I considered the greatest artistic achievement I'd seen in my life. It was this month that inspired Modern Cannibals.) I only liked playing the game and watching Dunkey videos.

It wasn't until the next year, when a girl I was interested in recommended I watch, that I tuned in to my first professional League of Legends game, at the 2013 World Championship. It was there that I got to watch this new, hyped, upcoming Korean player who had apparently taken the pro scene by storm that season. That player was Faker.

It has seemingly become essential to the narrative of any sport that there is "the man who always wins." American football has Tom Brady, and the moment Brady retired, he was replaced by Patrick Mahomes. Basketball has LeBron James, picking up the mantle from Michael Jordan. It's as if someone being "the best" validates the skill-based promise of the sport, the fundamental top-down fairness of its premise, the idea that the person who wins is the best and deserved it. Faker would become the backbone of League of Legends esports and his ascendance correlated to that of the sport itself, from its humble roots at small-scale tournaments in places like Jönköping, Sweden, to max capacity arenas in the biggest cities in the world.

It's surprising, though, how the legend of Faker had already begun even before he won his first World Championship. League of Legends was designed as a clone of Defense of the Ancients (DotA), a popular mod for Warcraft III that emphasized competitive play. In its infancy, the competitive scene was mostly dominated by players who had migrated from DotA to League. They were older, winning thanks to a fundamental conceptual understanding of the game that was superior to everyone else, and frankly not very good in the aggregate. As League of Legends esports exploded in popularity from 2013 to 2015, these old pros would get filtered out swiftly, with even the biggest and most popular names retiring after only a couple of years in the scene.

Even once the new generation of League-grown talent ascended, though, careers were nasty, brutish, and short. The best players only remained on top for a season, as game patches dramatically changed viable strategies. Internationally the sport was dominated by Koreans, with the Korean regional league sometimes being seen as more difficult to win than the World Championship, where Koreans often breezed through uncompetitive Chinese, European, and North American squads.

This possibly affected the demographics of the professional scene. South Korea has mandatory military service, and leaving the pro scene to join the military was basically the end of a Korean player's career. This meant that it was rare to see a Korean player older than 25. Retiring in your early 20s was and remains common. Korean organizations, which had an infrastructural leg up on other regions due to the popularity of StarCraft 2 esports in the country, became adept at scouting promising players at 15 or 16, building them into top level competitive pros, wringing them dry for a few seasons with brutal training regimens, and spitting them out.

Faker was the exception. Though he had been discovered young by SK Telecom, a major Korean telecommunications company that did esports on the side, and gone through the training regimen, he refused to be spit out. He simply didn't stop. He won in 2013, then with a completely new four-man squad around him won again in 2015 and 2016 before narrowly losing the 2017 finals in a nail biter. Given League of Legends esports had only existed since 2011, he basically accounted for half of the championships up until that point. Nobody else, except for his teammates, had won more than once. And it was like it was known he would be this juggernaut the instant he manifested ex nihilo. Like it was known, even in 2013, that he would always win.

Then, Faker stopped winning.

By 2017, League of Legends esports was a titan. Venture capital firms, seeing the millions of eyeballs, thought that this was the next NBA in its infancy, and decided to get in on the ground floor. Multiple millions of dollars were pumped into the scene as even mediocre players in weak regions like North America pulled seven-digit salaries. In China, where League of Legends had become the national pastime, the nation's richest oligarchs ran teams for fun and vanity, outbidding Korean organizations for top Korean players in pursuit of a trophy that had gone to Korea every year since 2013. Riot, the studio developing the game, pumped tons of money into creating a professional sports product, with skilled announcers, dedicated arenas for regional leagues, live performances by musicians like Imagine Dragons and Lil Nas X, and all the other bells and whistles one might expect from a program watched on ESPN.

In this milieu, it seemed like Faker had finally reached his limit. He was still good, but not the best. Even as an individual, while everyone still considered him the "greatest of all time," he was considered outmatched by newer pros like Chovy and ShowMaker. 2018, 2019, 2020, and 2021 passed with no championships. In 2022, on a team of mostly rookies, he reached the world finals, but was ultimately beaten. Korea's stranglehold over the sport had been shaken by China, which had finally strung together some championships. People wondered if Faker would retire, although he had managed to avoid mandatory military service by representing Korea in the Olympics-esque Asian Games. He'd dealt with wrist injuries and his level of play dropped year over year. He just didn't seem to be that good anymore, potentially holding back his team of talented young players rather than leading them to victory.

Then, in 2023—

And in 2024—

In the end, never count out Touchdown Tom. 11 years of professional play, 5 world championships.

From this longwinded explanation, you might have realized that after watching that game in 2013, I became a League of Legends esports fanatic, fulfilling the prophecy set before me by my father though perhaps in not the way he would have expected.

And the things I become a fanatic about, I want to write a story about.

IV. Modern Cannibals

There's a deleted scene in Modern Cannibals, as Maximillion is driving Z. and her friends through the Utah desert. He starts to talk about Pokémon.

"I bring it up because my university thesis was about Pokemon in particular how Pokemon has basically trained an entire generation of children to think in a completely different way than preceding generations my generation for instance our fad was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles now I don't know how much you know about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles but from an educational standpoint we're talking absolute bankrupt complete and utter goose egg but Pokemon now Pokemon you see it's more like there's some substance to it you know that refrain Gotta Catch Em All right?" "..." "Well to most parents it looks like a marketing gimmick you make one hundred fifty-one characters and structure a game around collecting them the merchandising potential is astronomical kids buy one hundred fifty-one trading cards stickers coloring books figurines uh collectable lunchable toys I'm sure you've got some yourself."

He continues:

"But really you look at the game itself before the big toy explosion the game itself the focus is placed less on the collection and more on the catalogue you're given a blank encyclopedia to fill and you fill it by capturing one hundred fifty-one Pokemon but the goal is to create a complete database of each and every one and this is what I argue is the educational core of the Pokemon series." His hands left the wheel to conceive of his idea in the cool air of the car, which remained steady on its ever-forward path. "Our modern era is no longer one of singular isolated knowledge it is one of the catalogue the database which is most clearly personified in the advent of the internet because now all knowledge can be at the fingertips of any one human being all that is needed is someone to go and put the catalogue together and presto whiz bang it's there think about it Z. when you catch a bunch of Pokemon where do you store them?" Z. didn't need to think long to remember the game's mechanics. "In the PC." "Exactly now isn't that odd consider it in real life terms you have real life creatures made assumedly of flesh and bone and yet you store them in a computer how does that make sense you'd expect a farm or a holding pen but no it's the computer and that too prepares the budding portion of the millennial generation to become cognizant of the linkage between the computer the encyclopedia and the database structure of knowledge in a new era." "So," said Z. "So you're saying Pokemon taught kids how to think in the digital age?"

There's also a deleted character in Modern Cannibals. Well, mostly deleted—he still shows up, unnamed, in a couple of pages. He is Cole Coulter, Z.'s older brother, a popular League of Legends streamer. Before I deleted him, his role was to accompany Mrs. Roddlevan and Frederick in an attempt to bring Z. back home. He had POV scenes that gave insight into the weirdness of his cotravelers, but ultimately, I decided he didn't add anything to the story and removed him almost entirely.

Even then, though, I was already considering the future of Cole Coulter as the protagonist of a story about League of Legends esports. Playing under the ID MadKing, he would be a North American professional top laner, once known for his aggressive duelist style but recently forced into playing boring tanks as the esports metagame became more sophisticated and tactics-based.

The story would be simple, something I envisioned as a "sports story" only about esports instead of regular sports. It would start with Cole's team being relegated from the league, only for Cole to get a last chance signing to a new team with two promising Korean imports. One import, the mid laner, would be a charismatic and eccentric player in the mold of Doinb/Ganked By Mom/Huhi, while the other, an AD carry, would be introverted and pissy and elitist, in the mold of Piglet. The team would initially struggle, cultures would clash, then a mid-season replacement to sign a psychopathic Tyler1/Tarzaned style streamer as jungler would revitalize the team, put them on a major run, and get them to the World Championship. Though they would eventually fall after a miracle run, Cole would get a moment to truly shine on the biggest stage when he won a pivotal game by aggressive split pushing rather than tank play.

Thematically, the story would be about two things. First, a counterpoint to the idea of American exceptionalism, featuring a league where Americans are particularly bad compared to Korean or Chinese players. Second, an exploration of what it means to be exceptional at all. Cole would be an all-around mediocre person. Middling at school, at (real) sports, at the various popularity contests of being a teenager. League of Legends, this niche sub-sport, is the one thing he truly excelled at, the one place where he was good, better than 99.9 percent of all players, and yet even within that statistical greatness he wound up, ultimately, in a professional scene where he was once again mediocre, relegated to "tank duty," to facilitating other players to carry.

What does it mean to be the best? How can someone be so, so good, only to reach a level where they were still nothing special? Is there any way to win if you're not "the man who always wins"?

I remembered that panel from Electric Tale of Pikachu. The last people filtered before the final champion. It's certainly no walk in the zoo!

This idea was pretty detailed for a story I never wound up writing, something I mostly blame on the years 2018 and 2019, when a lot of bad things happened to me and in retrospect I consider it a minor miracle I managed to finish Chicago at all. As a human being, I would be decimated for the next three years, and so a lot of stories I might have written in that time never came to fruition.

Meanwhile, League of Legends esports reached a peak, then the venture capital bubble burst as investors realized there was no monetization scheme in place for any interested party except Riot Games. Money hemorrhaged out, Riot shifted resources to Valorant, and a sport that had been overinflated based on projected exponential growth in perpetuity fell back down to earth.

Also, Players came out.

Players was a 2022 mockumentary about a fictional League of Legends team competing in the North American league. Conceptually, it was doing a lot of what I had planned for my story: following a single team on a rags-to-riches run, focusing on the interpersonal drama of the team members, asking questions about greatness and its pursuit. It's a pretty good show if you're familiar with League of Legends esports at all, with a lot of on-the-ground fidelity that gives it an authentic feel, which is exactly what I had been hoping to use my esports fanaticism to accomplish. It completely took the wind out of my sails; it was like my idea had already been done.

So by 2022, the idea of a League of Legends esports story was dead. But there was still a drive to create something with that spirit, that would delve into those themes.

What remained after all these years of sifting the sieve, letting sand slip through, was that one panel from the manga. The number of people pursuing greatness slowly filtering until only one remained. And if I wasn't going to pursue that idea through League of Legends, maybe I could pursue it through another vehicle. Maybe the vehicle through which the idea had originally been exposed to me. Pokémon. It all came back to Pokémon.

V. Everything Evolving Into Crabs

I knew immediately that if I were to write a Pokémon fic, it would be a tournament arc. This was the natural evolution of my esports story idea. Also, if I were to write Pokémon, I wanted it to be a story about utopia, immersed within Pokémon's near-future ideal world, where everything is clean and healthy, where society is neat and ordered.

This idea caused me to remember the novel Eyeless in Gaza by Aldous Huxley, which I had read a few years back. A mostly autobiographical bildungsroman written on the precipice of World War II, the novel ends with the young protagonist on a journey to Central America, where he meets an idealistic doctor who believes sport to be a proper substitution for war. He tells the story of two tribes locked in internecine conflict through generations, able to replace that violence with soccer matches.

And wasn't that what the world of Pokémon was, a utopia revolving around neutralizing weapons of war by using them for competitive sport?

This tournament, I envisioned, would not simply be about deciding who was best, but an ideological battle for the future of the Pokémon world. To that end, I imagined a war between an entrenched trainer class, who competed as philosopher-warriors, intense individuals with deep connections to their Pokémon, and an upstart commercialization that sought to replace the ideological underpinnings that made their society so safe and prosperous with economic accumulation. It was from this kernel that the character who would become Aracely Sosa arose: charismatic, appealing, human-empathic, and propped up by a support staff who did all the hard work of teambuilding for her.

I imagined the story having an ensemble cast, focusing on nearly every competitor equally, with the Aracely character not having any especial focus until her improbable rise to the top. I imagined a final round where she faced off against "the man who always wins," and though she would lose to him, she would seem to have won the ideological battle, altering the course of society as major corporations scrambled to employ her formula for success at a much grander scale. The story would end with this realization of the earth-shattering importance behind her run, only for Aracely to sink in disappointment. Because in the end, all she really wanted was to win.

The more I thought about it, though, the less I liked the idea of an ensemble cast. The ensemble cast element of Chicago hadn't gone over very well (though I like it), and I figured it would wind up inflating the length of the story considerably. I was coming to the end of Cleveland Quixotic, after all, and once more wanted to write something smaller, tighter, and denser.

So I oriented my thinking to instead have the story revolve around Aracely and one major rival, to give an interpersonal mirror to the ideological war being waged. Thus, Toril came about as an antithesis to everything I had imagined Aracely to be: gruff, antisocial, independent. Their rivalry would culminate in a semifinals battle, before Aracely went on to fight "the man who always wins" in the finals.

I forget exactly when the gender theme came into the equation, but it evolved as an outgrowth of (once again) my competitive League of Legends expertise, where women are essentially nonexistent despite there seemingly being no biological blocks against them. This dovetailed nicely with Pokémon, a world where women seemingly could be powerful competitors, but where—in the anime at least—none ever are. For instance, look at this chart of every major tournament in the anime:

Every known winner is male. Every known finalist and semifinalist is male. Only a handful of female characters have reached the quarterfinals. What possible in-universe justification could there be for that?

This question was actually far more prominent in early planning and drafting than it wound up being in the final work. Initially, I had Aracely's personal motivation revolve around a drive to be the first female trainer to win; this would increase the ideological conflict between her and Toril, who attempted to ignore that she was female altogether. Over time, this theme would see diminished importance in face of the last piece of the thematic puzzle: cults.

It came from reading Underground by Haruki Murakami, a nonfiction journalistic account of the 1995 Tokyo sarin gas attacks carried out by the cult Aum Shinrikyo under the direction of its leader Shoko Asahara. Japan in the 90s was experiencing its own End of History, one taken literally by those disaffected with modern society's grand narrative. The prophecies of Nostradamus became fashionable among the young, who believed that 1999 would be the final year before the world was destroyed. Murakami interviewed both survivors of the gas attack and members of Aum Shinrikyo, collecting worldviews of people who simply thought they were "different" and who were willing to give everything in their lives to the one place that seemed to accept that difference.

The 1995 attacks were a watershed moment in Japanese culture. In their wake would come pivotal works of Japanese pop media, like the titan of otaku culture, Neon Genesis Evangelion:

(What's scary about Nostradamus' prophecy is that it might not come true. A year whose chief terror was that THIS WAS IT.)

Pokémon, whose first games released in Japan in 1996, also emerged within this post-Aum world where fixation on the minutiae of pop media was becoming a primary pillar of meaning for the youth, and it's hard not to see echoes of cultism in the evil teams that dot the series' landscape. Even Team Rocket, originally more modeled on organized crime than occultism, veers that direction in Gold and Silver, and afterward the organizations and their world-ending plots become increasingly absurd, to the point where it starts to become unclear why anyone would ever follow, say, Lysandre.

As I mentioned earlier, my personal interest in Pokémon was at odds with these clownish, Saturday morning cartoon villain organizations, but Murakami's account of the Aum attacks recontextualized them for me, made them make sense even within the framework of a "realistic" utopian world. The last elements snapped into place, and I knew my main character would be the member of one of these cults. A cult dedicated to, what else? Evolution. A core element of the Pokémon series, a perfect metaphor for the frustrating lack of movement of the End of History 90s. I imagined a cult leader as a surrogate mother figure for Aracely, who would have a strained relationship with both of her own parents, and deciding on that, the idea of making Pokémon's canon evil mother Lusamine the villain was a no-brainer. I imagined a post-SuMo Lusamine, unable to move on from her experience merged with Nihilego, languishing in Kanto after being sent there to consult with Bill, who had his own experience being merged with a Pokémon... It didn't take long to figure out how all these pieces connected.

The full form of the story had taken shape.

VI. Showdown

I knew immediately I would be following Showdown rules for the battles. No alternative even crossed my mind. I had dabbled in Showdown a few times over the years, first in Gen 3 OUs, then later in Gen 7 OUs, and I knew from experience that Pokémon is a monumentally more interesting competitive game when operating at a high level compared to either its depiction in the anime (shounen logic, mid-fight evolutions) or the general playing experience (spam your best move on your overleveled starter). I knew I would use competitive rulesets before I even considered the thematic or worldbuilding aspect I would eventually take in the story itself (i.e., that the specific rulesets prevent battles from becoming bloodsport and enforce order on the world). I simply thought doing battles this way would be far more entertaining.

To prepare, I started playing Gen 9 OUs under the guidance of a few friends who were into the competitive scene. I grinded the ladder for months, eventually getting a good enough grasp on the metagame to reach 1500 Elo on the Showdown ladder, which is not very good but generally higher than someone can reach with dumb luck.

Crafting the tournament format and rulesets used in the story wasn't difficult. I modeled the tournament format on the League of Legends World Championship, with region-based seeds (having been selected due to performance in regional tournaments) competing in four groups before the highest performers advanced to a single elimination bracket. Initially, I envisioned a 32-competitor bracket instead of the 16-competitor bracket that would appear in the final draft, but otherwise the format came quickly and easily.

In terms of the rulesets and available Pokémon, my considerations were made primarily in terms of what would be most entertaining to read. I decided to include Mega Evolutions and not include Z Moves, Dynamax, or Terastallization, because Mega Evolutions are cool and those other gimmicks are not. The bring-9-pick-6 format, while unusual in Showdown rulesets, is similar to the rules in Pokémon Stadium and VGC tournaments, and also adds a level of intrigue to which Pokémon each competitor uses. (It also enabled Red's Zapdos at the climax of the story, which was something I knew I would bring out from very early on.)

With the help of one of my friends who knew competitive Pokémon, I scripted out each battle assiduously before I wrote them. Every battle was tested using Showdown itself, with only a few turns mocked up to account for luck. For instance, in Aracely versus Jinjiao, Slowking is meant to stay asleep for three turns. Rather than rely on luck to ensure Slowking actually slept that long during the test, I could give Slowking a useless move and have him use that instead to simulate being asleep.

The only thing that couldn't be tested in Showdown was the 7 PP Kingambit trick Red uses at the end of the story, because it's impossible to set a Pokémon to have fewer than max PP in Showdown. This led to one of the bigger mistakes of the story, as it turns out that Encore would simply wear off if Kingambit ran out of PP, rather than forcing him to use Struggle like I assumed. Luckily, even if this were the case, it wouldn't change the outcome of the battle, so it's not an error I lose too much sleep over.

Character teams were chosen to thread the needle between a few considerations. The team needed to be competitively viable, reflect the character's personality in some way, and be distinct from other teams for the sake of variety. (Variety is somewhat unrealistic in real top-level competitive Pokémon, where you'll often see many almost identical teams in the top ranks. But that would be boring.) Some lack of optimization was allowed under the conceit that actually training these Pokémon to peak form would take a lot of time in the real world, compared to Showdown were optimization can be determined quickly due to the ability to immediately adjust stats and builds.

I also tried to give some preference for Pokémon that would be more familiar to layman fans, though this was difficult because Gen 8 and 9 have outrageous power creep and many popular early generation Pokémon have been completely phased out. (Using Megas helped with this issue.) It was this consideration that led to Azumarill being Aracely's ace. There was also an innate challenge to imagining what the competitive scene would look like without legendary Pokémon. Zapdos and Landorus-Therian have been inexorable staples of the competitive scene for generations. What happens in a world where they aren't used at all?

In the original 32-person bracket, I imagined Aracely competing against Jinjiao in the first round, then minor characters Adrian da Cunha and Jacq Ray Johnson in the next two rounds, before facing Toril in semifinals. I imagined Adrian da Cunha as a "hometown hero" whose team wasn't great but he was plucky with a lot of grit, and Jacq Ray Johnson as a self-aware heel who liked to use cheesy strategies and gimmicky Pokémon like Smeargle and Ditto. Condensing from 32 to 16 occurred around the same time I had settled on Lusamine as my villain/cult leader, which led to replacing those two with Gladion. I developed full brackets for both the 32-man and 16-man iterations, with character names and regions, just in case I ever needed to mention them.

All that was left to do was write the story.

VII. Unbroken Line of History

I began writing in September 2023 under the tentative title Unbroken Line of History, which I would later change to simply Lines. In the original drafts, I opened the story with a modified version of the panel from Electric Tale of Pikachu detailing how people are filtered over time in their pursuit of being the best, this time starting with all 8 billion people in the world until only one remains. The story then cut to Aracely's perspective in the restroom as she mentally prepared for her final group stage match.

At this point I was more set on Aracely being the clear protagonist of the story, so she had a few facets of her personality designed around that. First, as I mentioned before, there was a feminist angle where she was motivated specifically to be the first female trainer to win the championship. Secondly, I threw in some more generic nervousness/fear of failure. The other major difference is that I did not lead with the cult prophecy of the world ending. I originally envisioned the cult reveal to be a mid-story twist, and only obliquely hinted at it.

The scene still played out with Toril appearing and the two getting off to a bad start. Then, Cely's father tried to talk strategy with her while she ignored him, before the battle transpired in much the same form as it does in the final draft.

I showed this early draft to my friends and most disliked it. My girlfriend at the time told me Cely sounded like an edgy 13-year-old boy, while my neuroscientist friend whose aspirational idol is Bondrewd from Made in Abyss wanted to know more about the oblique hints of a cult, finding everything else boring. Another friend said it was stupid that there were 30 seconds between turns during the battle and that the Pokémon should just go at each other; nobody would actually want to watch a battle that was paced so slowly. (I vehemently disagreed with that take. Basically every popular sport balances between slow-paced moments of strategy and fast-paced moments of action and execution.) Some people I showed it to did enjoy it, though. Gazemaize, the author of Chili and the Chocolate Factory, was especially enamored by the Brittany/Gardevoir reveal and the Bud Light Analyst Desk, and implored me to keep both of those elements at all costs. 7th, one of my friends who helped me with the Showdown stuff, was so into it she drew fan art of all the characters (which I've posted before) and also wrote eight pornographic short stories about them.

I rewrote the same opening scene several times across October and November, though these were minor iterations without significant adjustments. Frustrated with the lack of progress, I decided to take a break from writing to simply think about the story for a few months.

During this time, to fix Aracely's edgy 13-year-old voice, I decided to lean into her being from Pokémon Los Angeles (with her native region, Visia, being a play on "visual" as a reference to Hollywood) and gave her a Valley Girl accent. To prepare for this, I listened to hours and hours of ASMR videos of people speaking like Valley Girls and took notes on their inflection and syntax. It was here where I decided on Aracely's underlining quirk, as a way of capturing the unique style of emphasis Valley Girls used.

This also made me realize I needed to adjust Aracely's personality. Despite the tone of her voice, she was still acting antisocially. She didn't want to talk to her father, she didn't want to talk to Lachlan Nguyen, she didn't even really want to talk to Toril. Toril herself was a lump of coal. My own misanthropy kept leaking into the characters, even when I conceptually didn't want them to have it. I thought back to Cleveland Quixotic, and how what made the Jay and Viviendre romance work was that they actually both liked each other, and figured—even though I didn't have explicitly romantic plans for Aracely and Toril—that I needed to do something similar to make their rivalry truly pop. Rather than avoid people, Aracely would lean into talking to them, even if they were annoying. Although Toril remained frigid, there would be a part of her yearning for emotional contact, a way to coax her out of her shell.

I also thought deeply about the structure of my stories in general, and my inability to come up with good hooks. It was around this time that someone I knew was reading Chicago. They pointed out that the plot of Chicago doesn't really start until Chapter 26; that I was "burying the lede." I considered this. My logic, when writing Chicago, was that the Empire moving to take over Washington would be a twist, something that would shock and excite people and change their perception of the entire story.

But did that make sense, when really the story was "about" that twist? Didn't that just make everything before the twist harder to get into for a reader? Chicago might look radically different if I revealed the Empire's goals immediately, but it would also probably be a more immediately engaging work. I'm a big fan of delayed gratification in storytelling, but had I taken it too far?

This was a major revelation for me, and immediately I understood what I needed to do for my Pokémon story: move up the cult plotline. Place it front and center. Name the whole story after it even. I decided on framing the opening scene from Toril's perspective, depicting Aracely initially more as an alien other, emphasizing the fact that she was in a cult rather than hide it behind foreshadowing. This could also lead to Aracely and Toril having more of a dual protagonist setup, which would make my planned two-half finale (one half where Aracely battled "the man who always wins," one half where Toril got involved in stopping the cult's doomsday plot) work even better.

Confidence resurged. At the end of January 2024, my girlfriend of seven years  and I broke up. A few days later, I started writing the sixth—and ultimately final—draft of When I Win the World Ends.

VIII. When I Win the World Ends

Now it's the part of the Making Of where I actually make the thing I'm supposed to be making, but there's a lot less to say about it. Once I have a plan, the actual writing of the story is the easy part, and most of what I wrote—with a few exceptions—looks similar to the story as it exists now.

There were some oddities. I wrote the first seven chapters (everything up to the end of the Jinjiao battle) and then had to take a two week break to write a short piece for a writing contest I had entered in December as part of an effort to stop overthinking WIW. After this interruption, I returned to WIW writing perhaps a bit more perfunctorily than I usually would, leading to an original version of Chapter 8 (the chapter where MOTHER makes her first real appearance) that was short and abbreviated. Later, in editing, I would rewrite most of this chapter.

A few ideas emerged while writing, like the motif of serendipity/Logos, which I felt tied nicely to the ideas of evolution and history. It was also in this draft that I introduced Cely's friends Haydn and Charlie, as a nod to an earlier work of mine also featuring a fashion-obsessed girl from Los Angeles. (Speaking of nods to earlier works, in the original 32-man bracket, Cole Coulter featured as one of the competitors, but he didn't make the 16-man cut.)

The process went smoothly. I finished the draft at the end of May, a little under four months after I started it. I had envisioned the full story as being about 70,000 words, but the draft ended up closer to 115,000. Underestimating story length is just an essential element of the trade, though.

A few days after finishing the draft I went on a four-day Oklahoma Darkness Retreat where I had access to zero electronics. The goal was to think about my story deeply and how it could be improved in the editing process.

In this time chamber, where I did nothing except complete crossword puzzles and read The Recognitions by William Gaddis, I came to a realization. There was one element the story needed that wasn't already there.

That element was Sabrina. In the original draft, Sabrina was not present during the scene where Aracely meets the Old Man. She was mentioned obliquely a couple of times in conjunction with Aracely's "psychic powers," but it never really built to anything. There was still a scene where Aracely was interrogated due to her relationship with MOTHER, but only by nameless goons, and the scene lacked tension as it was clear Aracely could talk circles around them.

When I returned from Oklahoma, I prepared for my conception of Sabrina as a character by writing an 8,000 word short story from her perspective, which hashed out an entire backstory for her. Then, I started editing the draft.

For me, a lot of editing is just polish. Usually, cutting out needless sentences and fixing clunky ones, as well as emphasizing a few of the more understated themes and motifs. For instance, during editing, I made slight additions to emphasize the thematic connection between Aracely's suicide attempt and the global war that almost destroyed the world, as well as the connection between the moon and cyclical insanity (lunacy, etymologically, being related to the moon). I made the Old Man more of a Walt Disney-esque figure (from my notes: "a dying Disney"), rewriting much of his dialogue to either be direct quotes or to evoke his ideals. I also expanded on several of the scenes where Toril and Aracely interact to make their relationship more complex and nuanced. I gave MOTHER some new dialogue, including her speech in Chapter 18 about loving a child for the potential it promises, while also paradoxically wanting it to remain a child forever.

The largest changes were in the three chapters I almost fully rewrote. The first was Chapter 8, which as I mentioned earlier was overly terse. In the original draft, it depicted MOTHER as more pathetic, more dependent on Aracely. I decided to make her a more threatening figure, and incorporated a few references to the Moloch sacrifice scene from Valle Verde to make her seem more like a false idol. Similarly, I rewrote Chapter 12, which was originally a very short chapter that focused solely on a conversation between MOTHER and Nilufer that ended with the order to kidnap Aracely. In rewriting the chapter to include Fiorella, I gave myself more opportunity to flesh out the respective philosophies of her and MOTHER (including some of the story's most salient discussions about why cults exist), as well as give more of an insight into the inner workings of RISE as an organization. And lastly, I fully rewrote Chapter 19 to include Sabrina.

The last changes I made in editing were to the final chapter. When I finished the final draft of the story, I sent it to several readers, many of whom had looked at the original drafts of the first chapter, as well as julirites, the author of a Fargo fan fiction called London. There was an immediate and minor backlash to the final chapter, which was originally much more pessimistic, from most people who read it. In the original version, Aracely and Toril were not still in communication. (Fiorella was also dying of cancer instead of jockeying to replace the Old Man.) The finale had a much more somber, sedate, tragic note. Juli and 7th disliked this sad ending, while Gazemaize wanted me to cut the final chapter altogether. I felt confident that the final chapter was necessary, though, and revised it to its current version, which was much better liked.

And then... the story was finished, near the end of July. I crunched the numbers and realized that if I posted two chapters to start and then did a twice-weekly posting schedule, I could end the story serendipitously on October 12. So I did.

IX. Names and Special Thanks

In my Making Of post for Cleveland Quixotic, I had a fairly extensive list of where I got all the character and place names from. The list is a lot less extensive here; most names I constructed for the purpose of sounding evocative, rather than taking them from someplace specific. For instance, I chose the name Aracely Sosa because it sounds like whistling with its repeated S sounds, compared to Toril Lund which is a lot harsher with its consonants. You can see a similar rationale behind names like Fiorella Fiorina, Yui Matsui, and even some of the background characters, like Jacq Ray Johnson, Jr., where there is a lot of emphasis on alliteration and rhyme.

There are a couple of exceptions. Jinjiao is the in-game ID of a longtime Chinese League of Legends pro of middling notability. He picked the name (which means "Golden Horn") as a reference to the Golden Horned King, a villain from Journey to the West.

Lutz, Fiorella's cameraman, was named after an extremely minor character from Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance, who is not playable and only appears in a singular cutscene before being killed. They are so irrelevant that despite naming a character after them, I actually forgot their name, which is Lotz, not Lutz.

Haydn is named after the famous classical composer.

Special thanks to 7th and Elick320 for helping me with the teams and battles. Thanks to Gazemaize and julirites, among others unnamed, for reading and providing feedback. And thank you all for enjoying the story.

[chaniceroses]

Bad Boys Ride or Die (Armando x Reader) Part FIVE

(Audio to listen to while reading. :)

Pulling into the driveway, there was a thick dreadful moment of tension in the car. “Would you like us to come in and check it out for you. "Mike asked, looking at you through his mirror. You shook your head and got out of the car, the world felt dark and every shadow that was near the trees reminded you of the guy in the van. It took you a while but eventually you were able to unlock your door. Once you turned around and gave Mike a small smile, they pulled out the driveway and left.

Grabbing your gun from the holster that was wrapped around your leg. You went inside to be met by multiple figures inside your living room. Before you could respond, you found yourself on the ground with a pounding feeling coming from the back of your head. Your vision was blurry and the room was spinning.

“What the fuck.”, you whispered trying to pull yourself off the ground. You watched as a man walked up to you and kneeled down to your level.

“You know I've missed you, right?”, he laughed, picking you up and setting you in a chair. You thought to yourself, maybe you should’ve asked Marcus and Mike to search your house, then again, someone still needs to be alive to prove Captain’s innocence. 

“What do you want?”, you sighed, holding the back of your head. You felt a warm substance on your head, and could feel chills move across your body. Blood.

“I hate it has to be this way. Especially between us.”, a hard rugged voice replied sitting right in front of you. You could see the lights being turned on, which made it hard for your eyes to be adjusted. Once your vision became clear, there he was. Sitting in front of you with a smile that could haunt you even in death.

“McGrath,”you muttered. Your eyes-widened in shock, what is he doing? Why was he doing all of this?

“You’ve finally recognized me. I was hoping you wouldn’t forget who I was or my name.”, he stated caressing his hand across your face. You threw your head back in rejection, which quickly made you regret doing that.

“I know you didn’t think I would forget about you and the things you did to me. Having me tortured…nearly killed years ago.”, he explained getting up from in front of you.

Memories started coming back from that night. Watching him and his team getting beaten by the Cartel. You had no choice, you were undercover and accidentally fell in love with him but had to choose your career. The only difference is, that you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place.

“McGrath, you know that I didn’t want to do that!”, you exhaustingly yelled. “I had no choice, they were my family too. I have no one now.”, you continued. 

“And whose fault is that?”

You threw your head back in defeat, he had a reason to feel that way. You put yourself first instead of him, the person you had loved. He had helped you get to where you are now and showed you the way. All you could do was stare at him, the way his short gray hair stood up and the way he caressed his goatee mustache while being deep in thought.

“I cared about you then…and still do now but that shit doesn’t even matter.”, he continued standing up and walking to the backroom. You watched as he went down your hallway, what was he doing. Suddenly you heard a loud cry from your room. 

“McGrath!”, you screamed in terror. The cries were getting louder and louder each step that was taken. You watched intensively to see who it was and when you saw him, your heart dropped. 

“LadyBug…”, you cried, feeling a tear come down your face. “McGrath, please.”, you pleaded slowly, trying to get up from your seat only to be pushed back down by one of McGrath’s workers.

“McGrath, kill me. Please!”, you begged. “Kill me, he’s done nothing.” You watched as McGrath’s face softened while looking at you. 

“I hate that in order for me to see you care for someone, is like this.”, he replied, keeping his grip tight on LadyBug while grabbing a pillow.

“The money is in his computer file, you know that already so why are you doing this.”, you replied hysterically. At this point your vision was blurry from crying and you forgot all about the pain on your side and neck. McGrath was sinister and believed in revenge. You knew that he would take LadyBug out because you cared about him. You had to figure something out.

“Let me help you.”, you sighed looking around at his workers then back to McGrath. “Please, I can help you. You know I can.” You slowly got up but before you could take a step, his assistants grabbed your shoulders.

“Let her come.”, McGrath demanded, holding the pillow behind LadyBug’s head. 

You walked up to LadyBug and stared at him. 

“Home. Late.”, he quietly replied,  pointing towards the clock. When you turn to look at the clock and then the window, that’s when you put two-and-two together. 

“You’ve been in my home the whole time?”, you sobbed looking at McGrath. There was anger and pure hatred in his eyes while he looked at you. You could feel it however, you felt the same. You grabbed LadyBug’s hand and started to caress it with your fingers. You knew if you were to tell him that everything was going to be okay, that would be a lie. So all you could do was wipe his tears.

“Mc…McGrath. Take me, kill me, torture me. Do whatever.”, you stuttered, swallowing a lump that you didn’t know that was developed in your throat. You watched as he searched your eyes for an answer.

“You look so beautiful when you cry y/n.”,he heckled, taking his other hand to hold up your chin.

You stared at each other for what felt like forever, until you felt your ears begin to  ring. You felt yourself holding onto something but afraid to look down to see what it was. No more tears could fall down, you felt empty.

“I still love you.”, McGrath smiled, kissing you on top of your forehead. For that kissing placement to be such a soft gesture, it felt hot, hard and evil. You stood there holding onto whatever was in your hands as McGrath grabbed his things and headed towards the door.

“I want Mike, Marcus and Armando. You have some decisions to be making so I'll be saving you for last.”, he continued opening up your front door and holding it for the others to walk out. You felt alone, for the very first time ever. First you had to make a decision when it came to your career however, now this is different.

“I won’t be coming home, so don’t wait up for me but make sure you clean up.”, he sarcastically said, looking at you one more time before closing the door. 

“LadyBug…I-”, you stuttered, holding his body up towards your chest. You could feel his body leaning against yours. You kneeled down until you were able to completely sit on the ground while holding his body to ensure that he wouldn’t get hurt.

“My badge…LadyBug, I can…my badge.”, you silently repeated. You were afraid to look down, to see his lifeless body being held in your arms. From the little boy that would come over your house, talk and eat with you everyday, and play in your yard to now being  dead is  in your arms. The boy who would stay up and hike out in a tall tree to be sure that you would make it home every night. The little boy with the sweetest spirit and the most soft spoken voice, was now dead while you held him ,lifeless.

You finally got the courage to look down to see that one of his lenses in his glasses was broken. He was covered in bruises and blood was coming from the top of his head.

“LadyBug, I’m so sorry LadyBug!! I’m so sorry!”, you screamed, grabbing his body and holding him tighter than before. Hours had passed since McGrath had killed LadyBug and you were still on the ground holding LadyBug close to your chest, until you heard a knock on the door.

“Help me!”, you loudly whispered, pushing LadyBug’s hair out of his face.

You watched as your door was kicked open and saw Marcus and Mike rush in. They stopped in their tracks and examined your living room until they saw you on the ground holding LadyBug.

“Y/N, WHAT THE HELL…”, Mike yelled running over towards him. 

“He came, he came…and he killed LadyBug, he killed him. He came! McGrath!”, you whispered repeatedly rocking LadyBug back and forth. 

“Y/n we have to call for help. Let us help-”

“NO! We leave him here! We have to kill him, we have to kill him before he kills us and Armando. We need Armando, I need him.”, you yelled looking at Marcus and Mike. They had a concerning look on their face.

“Why do you need Armando?”Marcus replied, coming closer to you. At first you were hesitant but now everything must go out on the table,

“It’s a long story.”, you sighed, sniffing the snot that was trying to come out of your nose. “We have to leave now, help me”, you pleaded, falling into Mike’s arm while holding LadyBug’s in yours. You watched as Marcus carefully picked up LadyBug’s body and carefully laid him on the couch and covered him. 

“Come here…”, Mike whispered, picking you softly bridal style. You winced in pain from the bruise on your side but soon found yourself comfortably in Mike’s arm.

“I couldn’t get my things, I couldn’t save him Mike.”, you cried as Mike carried you to his car.

“It’s not your fault, y/n. We will catch that son of a bitch. I promise you that.”, he replied, taking off his jacket and covering you with it.

You thought things would change and be different. If you would’ve known that McGrath would’ve come back and chased, you like a dog and caused all of these problems.  You would’ve killed him years ago, to avoid all of this, especially Ladybug’s death.  Your mind felt cold, and you wanted to be sure that McGrath saw the pits of hell. His death belonged to you, and you were sure you were going to get it. That was the last thing on your mind before you passed out.