#an old draft that i finally got around to post

[stargirlie-sharon]

old art dump post

hOLY MACARONI I STILL HAVE THIS

do you guys still remember my experimental origins au? yeah its been a long time since i updated it sorry, i'm more focused on other aus and projects, but maybe if i get interested in it again

but here's a drawing of one of the planned scenes i was going to add-

yeah. angsty scene. and it turns out, i have even more old rcp drawings i made when i was younger:

a short comic i did with amber, helly and poli

fun fact i literally just finished this comic because helly's body was still unfinished and i had to go draw up the rest of him so it wouldn't look strange lol

uhh helly does some shit to make amber angry and poli and helly are reasonably freaked out

and some of you guys may remember this as my first post here on tumblr! and completely by coincidence, the same thing is going on- helly does some shit to make amber angry and the rest of the team (this time including roy and jin) are reasonably terrified

OH YEAH and this was when i was new to drawing on laptop but i drew poli, roy, amber and helly! while it could definitely use improvement i'd say this was pretty good :3

[emberwings-last-wish]

also on ao3!

-

Joel was sixteen when he was crowned. When he was still waiting on a growth spurt to shoot him up past six feet, when the Mezalean palace still stood tall and proud, when the death of Mezalea’s old queen was still a sharp, piercing pain his his heart.

Some things have changed since then, since an uncertain prince struggled to don the mantle of monarchy. Joel wears the crown much more comfortably now, most of the time. He is still five foot five, but it bothers him much less than it used to. The palace is split down the middle, crumbling spires and shattered balconies a stark reminder of the destruction that struck every kingdom in the land. The grief at his mother’s death is still there, quiet and worn at the edges, and it’s been joined by grief for so many more. Rulers he didn’t know well, or even pretended to dislike, but whom he still mourns. His own people; while Mezalea was much better off than many other empires, there was still death and suffering as the land shook itself apart.

His wife.

Joel stands at the edge of what was once a glimmering sea. Waves should be lapping around his knees where he stands, tugging at the sand under his feet. Now there’s just a cliff down to the exposed sea floor, great expanses of dry sand stretching away. And off in the distance… well.

He can’t look at the once-a-palace for long. He wants to remember it how it was – magnificent, shining, perfect, prismarine and quartz and shell – and he doesn’t want to remember it at all, because it hurts. Because the goddess he loved more than life is gone.

He would have given up Mezalea for Lizzie.

He knows it makes him a selfish king. He should put his people before all else. But if he could have let his kingdom be destroyed and his life be taken in exchange for his wife’s, he would have agreed in a heartbeat.

Joel is far from perfect. He knows it. He knows he’s made many mistakes in his fairly short life. He’s not been the greatest king. But he’s done his best. And ever since he married Lizzie, she was his other half, she smoothed out his edges and filled in his cracks, she made him so much better than he ever could hope to be on his own. She was everything, and without her, he feels like nothing.

The rebuilding efforts in Mezalea are going well. The kingdom suffered a blow, but they’ll pick themselves up and continue without too much trouble. Not like the ocean kingdom, drained dry as a bone, ruler dead with her realm. Not like the Grimlands, their capitol and count blown to dust. Or Gilded Helianthia, consumed by bloodvines, the queen withered away. Or Rivendell, reeling in the aftermath of a godly battle and their king’s worldshaking sacrifice. The Codlands, dried and dead. Crystal Cliffs, magic gone amok and the head wizard missing. No, Mezalea is very well off, all things considered.

Joel looks out across the empty ocean, and wonders why it matters.

Being king is more exhausting than he’d ever imagined, when he was a boy. The physical weight of the crown is nothing compared to the mental and emotional burden. Joel’s survived six assassination attempts in his time as king, power-hungry people seeking to permakill him and take the throne for themselves. Joel didn’t think they’d be so eager for it if they knew the true weight of the crown.

But he bore it, and for all his shortcomings and failures, he thinks he bore it as well as could be expected. Mezalea was prospering. Coming into a new golden age of trade and international reach. It was glorious.

Then the world shook, and Joel’s world ended.

Now he turns away from the once-ocean, walking back toward his horse and, further off, his palace. No doubt there are plenty of people searching for him by now, seeking guidance, instruction, approval, mediation. Being king isn’t something that goes away just because he’s lost the love of his life.

It’s late one night, several weeks later, when he finally gets the chance to comb through the libraries deep under the palace. He’s been working himself to exhaustion and then well past it, throwing everything he had into the rebuilding efforts, into reaching out to other empires and organizing relief and aid efforts, into working himself so hard he didn’t have time or energy to dwell on the pain eating his heart from the inside out. Yet it wasn’t enough, was never enough-

Joel forces himself to focus on the task at hand. He’d told his advisors he was going to bed, and he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. They’d agreed immediately, grateful that he was finally getting some rest.

They probably wouldn’t be too happy if they knew he is creeping around in the Archives. He is king after all, he can do what he wants, but it isn’t worth the fuss they’d make if they knew he is still up. Ridiculous. Three hours of sleep in five days is all he needs, really. The palace archers can take care of the phantoms.

Joel combs through shelves as the hours pass, as his scratchy eyes droop and unfocus. But his grief and determination are stronger than the exhaustion clawing at his bones, and he forces himself onward, following a trail of meticulously and confusingly labeled scrolls and books farther into the depths of the Archives than he’s ever been before. His lantern is burning low, but he forces himself on

Finally, as above ground, the sun casts its first rays through the faintly ash-hazed air, Joel reads and rereads the ancient, archaic writing on a scroll held in his shaking hands. His reddened, bleary eyes scan the writing again and again, the words sinking into his mind; with a gasp of something between relief and agony, he clutches the paper to his chest.

Gods cannot die, it tells him. Gods cannot die. They are tied to their realms, and may suffer pain, loss of power, even failure of memory, if their realms are harmed; but they cannot die.

Lizzie. She’s still alive. She’s out there somewhere, she’s alive, he didn’t want to believe it because it would hurt too much but this is confirmation. His wife is alive, and she may not remember him and she may not be here and he’s going to find her no matter what it takes.

He keeps researching, after that, keeps searching as the weeks pass, spends long nights in the Archives piecing together a plan born of desperation and longing and love. A plan that will cost him his crown, his country, possibly his very self, yet he’s willing to sacrifice anything on the small chance that this will work. Because what is his life without her?

So that’s how he finds himself standing on a balcony outside his room one morning, as the sun is just rising. The air over Mezalea is clear, and each dome is painted brilliantly in the sunlight. King Joel looks out over his kingdom, and knows that this is the last day he’ll ever be able to call it his.

There’s a letter, sitting on his bed, held down with the Mezalean crown, explaining some things. It’ll never be adequate, he knows. He’s done his best to make this as easy as possible on his advisors and his people; he’s appointed an heir, he’s smoothed out most of the bumps in the road, he’s tried to do what’s right for his people. And yet what would be right would be to stay, to swallow his thoughts and his feelings and do his duty to his empire, but he’s too selfish for that. So he turns from the balcony, he passes through his room quickly and quietly. He’s wearing the simple white garb of a servant, and it’s enough to get him through the halls without attention. Down to the Archives, where he collects his small bag with the few scrolls essential to his plan. And down, farther through the tunnels, deep into the belly of the palace and out the other side, through the narrow tunnel that led into the streets of Mezalea’s capitol city. And away, through the city he’s lived in all his life, the buildings he’s grown up around, the streets he ran down as a boy, the people he’s spent his life serving, the empire he’s abandoning.

Because there’s only one way he could possibly chase a god. Only one way he could possibly follow his love into the divine realms and beyond, and that is to become a god himself.

He doesn’t even know if it’s truly possible for him, but he has to try, because he can’t give up, because no matter how slim his chances he will search for his wife into impossibility and beyond again.

“Hey, Lizzie,” Joel whispers to the air as he sets off, past the ocean that has puddles of possibility forming in the dips in the sand, past the crumbling prismarine palace in the distance. “I’m coming. I’m coming for you, I promise.”

Joel should have known better than to make a promise he couldn’t keep.

;=;=;=;=;

Joel has been a god for, oh, nine centuries? Ten? He’s not really sure. Doesn’t matter, though. Doesn’t matter that he can’t remember who he was Before. Doesn’t matter that his dreams for the last millennia have been the same, and that he has never been able to remember then when he wakes. Doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know who he is, just as long as no one else questions him.

Joel’s built himself an empire, floating above the clouds. He’s not their king, he tells himself with fierce certainty, he’ll never be their king. They can worship him, they can pray to him, but he’s not their ruler, never will be, don’t think about why he tells himself this so surely. He just wants to be respected for the god he is, okay? He’ll be happy, once he has all the respect and adulation he deserves, once he…

...once he…

There’s a child. He was in the fountain. He has golden hair and sky-kissed skin. His eyes are a shade of blue that Joel knows for a reason he doesn’t think about, same way he doesn’t think about how the child’s smile makes Joel’s heart break into a million pieces that he doesn’t understand.

He could never, never cast this child off.

He names him Hermes. He and Sausage adopt Hermes, make him their own. Give him love and life and homes to stay in. Hermes is happy.

Hermes loves the fountain. He plays in the water. He splashes in rivers and jumps in lakes. When Joel and Sausage took him to the beach the first time, Hermes looked out at the ocean with such wide, wondering eyes, with such clear awe on his face, it nearly broke Joel’s heart.

(why? did Joel once look at the ocean the same way? if he did, it was long ago. the ocean just makes him feel sad. maybe it’s because there’s so much emptiness and not enough praise for Joel. surely that’s why.)

There’s a cat. She talks with purrs underlying her words, she gets distracted by rays of sunshine, she builds with amethyst and speaks with animals. She wears a mask. Joel stays away from her. Something about her voice… her mask… it makes his insides go all funny and he hates it. It must be the strangeness about a talking cat, it puts Joel on edge, instinctively unsettles him. That’s all.

Joel builds, and laughs, and doesn’t think too hard about things. He pokes fun at some of the emperors around him. He raises his sunshine child. He cries in his sleep. Every now and then, he realizes there’s some hole in his thoughts, something he doesn’t remember, but. There’s always a sacrifice to be made for godhood. Whatever he lost in exchange for this power was surely worth it. For what mortal would have had something better than godhood?

;=;=;=;=;

Somewhere deep in a place out of reality, two figures roam.

One is tall, her skin the color where the sky meets the ocean, her hair hued coral and sunrise. The other is short, wearing a uniform of purple and green, and a crooked, colorful crown just a bit too big for his head.

They never meet. Their paths never cross. They wander, in a place where matter is nothing and time doesn’t exist, waiting meaninglessly for someone to remember who they used to be.

[kikizoshi]

An Example of Working Something Out in Real-Time (Thoughts on How Fyodor's Ability Interacts with Him)

I rarely get such good examples of my thought process, and I think this one is really cool (you can see my explanations form and change in real-time), so I'd like to share here. I'll add in some context in brackets (what I was looking at/watching/reading while thinking about a particular point), but mostly, I'll let it speak for itself.

I was trying to see if I could explain how Fyodor's Ability works (referred to as Curse in my notes) from an Orthodox Christian perspective, so here's how that went:

without shedding of blood there is no remission [I was searching for a reason that Fyodor's Ability would cause blood to spray, and all I ended up finding was some stuff about the shedding of blood being necessary for being saved, so I ended up concluding that it was another point of evidence towards Fyodor's Ability being focused on saving people.]

Fyodor's Curse exists to save those who can't save themselves, just like Fyodor himself does [that is, Fyodor himself believes he exists to save people]

Those who wish to be saved, but for some reason cannot [an answer to the question "who can Fyodor's Ability save?"]

So why does that manifest through death?

Because they can't be saved otherwise.

But then, that means that the Curse is saying that some people just can't change. Or that they can't change enough. That they have no hope in this life. I don't like that message. Maybe that's what Fyodor believes though. Maybe he even goes into finding out he's Cursed with this core belief. [Here, I begin to look up hand symbolism in Russian Orthodoxy, and come across these three posts (categorised in order that I read them): 1, 2, 3] Maybe he, himself doesn't know that he has another power in his right hand. In his left hand, he has "punishment", or the "law" (external power), such as written code and principles. In his right hand, then, he has "the influence of blessing and cursing". This "speaking and blessing" are tightly related, they work hand-in-hand. One doesn't exist without the other.

[While working, I'd pasted some significant quotes that stuck out to me from the webpages.]

"The explanation most often given is that Christ’s right represents his merciful side, while his left represents his rigorous side."

“When the soul of a man departs out of the body, a great mystery is there accomplished. If it is under the guilt of sins there come bands of devils, and angels of the left hand, and powers of darkness take over that soul, and hold it fast on their side.”

“Question: Why is the footboard of the Cross of Christ pointed with the right side up, and the left down, and the head of Christ is also inclined to the right? Answer: Christ makes His right foot light and lifts it above the foot board in order to lighten the sins of the ones who believe in Him. And His left foot He lowers on the foot board in order that those who do not believe in Him should be weighed down and descend into hell. His head is inclined to the right, that He might incline all the heathen to believe and to worship Him.”

"[...] it is nonetheless very important as it shows most strongly how Christ in his person unites these two opposites which are born from the very fall of man, which are born from the identification with duality, the knowledge of good and evil. [...] And in the icon of 6th century Sinai we find these aspects of duality brought together beautifully “without mixture” into the person of Christ ."

I kept thinking "If the left hand condemns, then why does Fyodor use it to kill?" But, Fyodor doesn't believe in a fire-and-brimstone Hell. He believes that Hell is made of the suffering brought about by the inability to love. So then, when he says "grant you the great silence", I think he means that he can cleanse someone of their troubles so that, while they don't go to Heaven, they don't suffer in Hell (which is the absolute best he can do for them).

[Here I go to look at Fyodor's "I am Crime, I am Punishment" scene in Dead Apple, which I continue to look at for the rest of the session.]

Fyodor is Crime, and his Curse is Punishment. Crime holds Shibusawa's skull in his left hand, stands on the left side. Punishment hold an apple in his right hand, stands on the right side. Crime appears in white clothes. Punishment appears in Fyodor's normal clothes. The gem is on the back of Punishment's right hand.

Does this mean that Punishment has the correlation with divine? That would mean Crime, who is Fyodor, has the correlation with earthly litigation? Is Fyodor the damned, and his Curse the righteous? And yet, we see Punishment holding an apple in its right hand, mirroring the scull in Crime's left. The apple appears whole, unbitten, but Punishment offers it to the viewer and says to let loose.

The scull represents Shibusawa's death, maybe. His earthly litigation is already over—Crime ended his physical form with the knife. So now, Punishment is finishing it. Yet, while Punishment should oversee the righteous, it seems to instead mirror Satan in the Garden of Eden.

Or perhaps it's framed as Crime and Punishment using Shibusawa to judge the world? It's possible, but I don't like this idea.

Maybe things being so twisted is the point? Just as Raskolnikov twisted facts to believe he was a Napoleon, maybe Fyodor has twisted his own Curse to be a Demon? Since Fyodor believes that he, himself is a demon, perhaps the manifestation of his Curse also follows that. And so, the right and left would both be corrupted.

Right becomes a connection to the unholy—rather than lift up the righteous, Punishment lifts up the damned. Left becomes an releaser of the damned from their burden through spilling their blood and releasing them from the yoke of sin.

Wouldn't it make more sense for Left to condemn the righteous? No, because that doesn't fit with what Fyodor believes.

But I can't get past that the right hand is used to cleanse, not the left [referring to how the right hand is used to cleanse in Orthodox tradition, while Fyodor uses his left hand to "cleanse" Karma]. Unless that's inversed too? So that Left is Right and Right is Left? That would mean that Crime, Left, is assigned to lifting, and Punishment, Right, is assigned to damning. That isn't right though, since Fyodor doesn't un-damn anyone. He just releases them from their sins, so that they won't suffer unduly in Hell. I suppose you could say that Left is helping people from the side of the damned, who, as said, can't help themselves.

So then what is right doing? If this isn't inverse, but just a different take. Right is supposed to lift up the righteous, to deal more with matters of the spiritual. Since Fyodor, a human, can't touch the soul of someone (especially once Crime works on them), how does Punishment interact with people?

Does Punishment guide Fyodor's actions the way that person was saying about the mystics guiding the lawmakers? Is Punishment the voice God speaks to Fyodor through? Is that what he meant by "praying"? [Referring to when Fyodor says something to Dazai like, "I simply sat here and prayed."]

Oh my God, I think that's it. And this voice would have been present for Fyodor's whole life, though for his childhood he thought it was how God spoke to him (and still does, but also understands that it's part of his Curse).

So then, how does this fit thematically? ...Shit. Well, I need to know my interpretation of this. How much of Punishment is Fyodor? They're practically the same person. Practically? Are they not completely? Punishment can't be the voice of God, since it guides him to do this evil. But it can't be the voice of Satan, because my story is based on flaws driving conflict. It's Fyodor's own voice, it always has been.

How does God guide people. Sometimes, he's a voice in their head. Other times, he speaks through the people around you. Maybe Fyodor's arrogance had him assume that God only spoke to him through himself. Maybe Fyodor ignores every other word from God, that didn't come from Punishment. And that makes it so easy for Satan to plant misdirections in Fyodor's mind.

All of this would be allegory for me, since I don't believe in that. [It's important to me here that I don't believe in God because I'm trying to write my story as realistic as possible (other than the whole Ability Users thing), and confirming the existence of God wouldn't be realism, from my worldview's perspective.] Though I suppose Misha [my Bulgakov OC] makes God and Satan canon characters, I don't like the idea of Satan literally interacting with Fyodor outside of Misha. Irl, though, it's always complex. People make mistakes because of their traumas, their flaws, whatever, and it can appear at times as though Satan is guiding them. I'll probably follow a similar concept with Fyodor.

But concretely? 'Crime and Punishment' is the name of Fyodor's Curse, and 'Punishment', or 'Right', is the inner, spiritual manifestation of it. It reflects him because, ultimately, it *is* him. It's not like DID, with a different personality in the same head—this is Fyodor, with his talking to himself a bit more complex than other people. It will, then, reflect what he's going through. Maybe it's a bit like talking to your subconscious. Since it's also him, maybe it can give perspectives at right angles—ones that still come from Fyodor, following a different line of inquiry. Essentially bouncing ideas off yourself, because yourself is capable of looking at the same thing from two different angles at the same time.

So, growing up Fyodor had this voice in his head, which was his own, and which he believed God spoke to him through. Then, at some point in my story, something happens to make Fyodor (and therefore Punishment as well) begin to spiral. I think it's possible for Fyodor and Punishment to enter a viscous spiral. Like when you think yourself into a pit, but far worse, since he can essentially double think himself into a pit. That could explain why he's gone so downhill so quickly. Both Fyodor and Punishment have failed to regulate themselves, and are spiralling.

So in my current story, something similar will happen. Some inciting incident causes something fundamental about Fyodor to shift or crack, and it begins a viscous spiral that somehow culminates in Punishment telling him to use Crime for the first time. Fyodor uses it, it solves the problem beautifully (from his perspective, but ultimately, this event has to culminate in something much worse farther down the line), and Fyodor has that experience to ground his belief that his Curse is for saving people.

[This post has been in my drafts for about while, and I now have come across something that may support my "Fyodor talks to his Ability" idea:

This could actually make a lot of sense. The Devil spoke to Ivan, reflecting Ivan's own thoughts and ideas back at him, but twisting them somehow to make them demonic. I wonder if Fyodor's Ability had a similar effect?]

[no-144444]

the oscars- o.piastri

꩜ summary: you bring your own oscar to the oscar's!

꩜ pairing: married! oscar piastri x actress! fem! reader

꩜ a/n: just realised i never posted this and it has been sitting in my drafts for over a month and a half ish lol

I want you to come with me. 

Those words had run through his head like a fucking jack-hammer for weeks. What did that even entail? Acquiring a tux, sure. He could do that. Learn all the names of the people he could potentially meet, any celebrities or old co-stars he’d probably met but didn’t remember. Again, he could do that. Sit beside you all night and let you be your wonderful self as he got a first class seat and bragging rights about the fact that he was yours, he did that all day everyday. 

So why did this feel so different? He’d been to award shows before. Not the award show, but motorsports ones. You’d come as his date. The world knew about you two. He’d gone to the BAFTAs with you one year. He should be fine. He knows he’s just there to hold your hand all night and make sure you don’t forget to eat something, but this just feels… different. This was the Oscars. The one night all of Hollywood steps out in their very best, hoping to get something back. And you were nominated in 3 categories. 

“Fix your bowtie,” Hattie fussed over him as he rolled his eyes. You’d even invited his whole family. You weren’t super close with yours and they hadn’t really supported your career, but the Piastri’s had. Nicole went to every premiere you offered her, sometimes flying last minute just to be there to support you. He remembered how touched you’d been when she showed up at your Cannes debut, you called him crying that night, not even knowing what to do with yourself because you thought it was just so nice. You were 14 then, but you were 24 now, and you weren’t just his girlfriend, you were his wife. You were officially part of the family, even though you had been from the moment he’d brought you home. He started playing with his ring, a nervous habit he’d picked up since getting married. 

“It is fixed,” he snapped back as she fiddled with it. “Mum said it looked fine-”

“I wasn’t looking at you when I said that!” she called from the other room. Oscar rolled his eyes again. 

“Your eyes are on swivels today,” Mae teased, looking up from her phone. Oscar fought back rolling them again, and instead went for a scoff. 

“I’m the only reason you guys are even coming,” he scoffed, Hattie still fixing his tie. Mae’s jaw dropped in offence. 

She gasped. “Excuse you! I think Y/n would still invite us even if you guys got a divorce.” 

A shiver went up his spine at that thought. Leaving you?  He couldn’t do it. He knew in his bones he’d adore you until he was old and grey, and probably a while after that too. 

“She definitely would,” Eddie added, walking in. “Plus, she’s dressed now, if you want to see her.”

Oscar tried to pull away from Hattie, but he just got choked by his bowtie, resulting in a fit of coughs and a gaggle of laughter from his sisters. 

He heard a chuckle he knew all too well and he turned his head. You were radiant. A burgundy formal gown, your hair exactly the way you loved it, and that wonderful look in your eyes. The one he saw when he woke up next to you. The one that made him blush no matter how long you’d been together. “You alright there?” you questioned.

He chuckled and Hattie finally finished with his bowtie, so he turned to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his lips to yours as he lifted you off the ground- just slightly. You grinned against his lips and he felt the panic that had been building completely subside. You pulled back as your feet reached the ground again, and chuckled. “Do I have lipstick?” he asked, a question he asked most days. You nodded, but Mae got up to take a photo, giggling at her brother with you. It didn’t bother him. You finally just wiped it off and smiled at him. 

“What do you think?” you asked, pulling back and giving him a spin. You showed off the low back and he knew he’d be ripping this dress off of you tonight. He swore the breath was knocked from his lungs every time you looked at him, but truly, you were breathtaking. 

“I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the entire world,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Oh yeah?” you smirked. He nodded. 

“Oh yeah.” 

The Red Carpet was as overwhelming as usual, but he enjoyed watching his sisters interact with the few fans of theirs that were there. He watched you with so much love and pride in his eyes, so much so that Tim had to nudge him to remember to walk on and not just stand in the back of your photos looking at you lovingly. When you finally finished up, you grabbed his hand as he led you into the auditorium. 

“You still have my speeches?’ you questioned. He tapped his chest, signalling that it was in his breast pocket. You smiled. “Thank you.”

“Always,” he smiled back. “Forever.” 

As soon as your moment began, it ended, because Nicole pulled you away to go talk to people and he fucked off to the dinner table. He watched as you worked the room, animatedly speaking to people as he watched on from his seat at the table, thoroughly enjoying his food. 

It was his dad who pulled him out of his daze, asking how he was feeling. 

“I’m fine,” he nodded, only slightly lying. 

Chris smiled. “She’s going to win ‘em, I bet you.” 

“She will,” Oscar nodded. “Her work has been incredible this year.”

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled. “I cried for three days over the Outrun.”

Oscar laughed out loud as his dad shook his head. “I know what you mean.”

Just then, Oscar caught your eye from the other side of the ballroom and you smiled at him, waving. He waved back. You were a vision in burgundy. He swore to go he was going to get heart palpitations from how beautiful you were. 

“Starting soon now,” Tim clapped his hands on Oscar’s shoulders. “Better be ready with those acceptance speeches.”

Chris smiled at Tim. “Took the words out of my mouth,” he chuckled. “Also have to practice your shocked face. Even though we all know she’s going to win every single one of them,” Chris tapped his leg. “Like how she pretends to be shocked when you win.” 

Oscar laughed, his cheeks going red. Why was he being embarrassed by his own father and step-father at the Oscars right now? He wanted you back, you could always calm them down, make them less… whatever they were. 

“Busy?” you asked, coming up to the table, your question directed at him. He stood up immediately. 

“Not at all,” he shook his head, the boys behind him chuckling like schoolgirls. He took your hand and you led him to the foot of the stage, squeezing his hand. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you whispered, leaning to his shoulder. “Thank you for coming.” 

“I'm so proud of you,” he smiled, his hand sneaking around your waist to pull you closer. He loved this. These quiet moments between all the hustle and bustle of your own lives. The room melted away behind you as you both stared at the stage you hoped you’d end up on tonight, but he knew you would. “I’ll always come.”

You chuckled. “You said cum.” 

He rolled his eyes, the soft moment between the two of you, now abruptly over due to his choice of words. He looked down at you and you laughed at his unimpressed stare. “I love you?” you offered, cupping his cheek. 

“I guess I love you too,” he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours gently, but quickly- as to not get lipstick all over his mouth. 

“And the nominees are; Anora, written by Sean Baker. The Brutalist, written by Brady Corbet, Mona Fastvold. A Real Pain, written by Jesse Eisenberg. , September 5, written by Moritz Binder, Tim Fehlbaum; co-written by Alex David. The Substance, written by Y/n Y/l/n,” the crowd cheered and he felt your hand squeeze his just a little tighter. “And the winner is… Anora, written by Sean Baker!” 

Despite the loss, you stood and clapped for him. Oscar joined you, though he thought you should’ve probably won. You both sat back down as his speech began and he took your hand again. “You alright?”

You nodded beside him, your eyes fixed to Sean and his speech. “There’s still like 4 hours left, don’t worry.”

He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to your hand. Ever the positive person. 

“And the nominees are; Anora, Sean Baker. The Brutalist, David Jancso. Conclave, Nick Emerson. The Outrun, Y/n Y/l/n. Wicked, Myron Kerstein,” you tensed beside him. “And the winner is… Y/n Y/l/n, The Outrun!” 

And the room stood for you. He felt like he was in slow motion. You both stood up at the same time, a bright smile on your face (he was sure he looked ridiculous), and you turned to him and you hugged him. 

“Holy shit,” you whispered. He smiled back, nodding. 

“You fucking did it,” he cheered as he pulled the speech out of his pocket. “Go accept it.” 

You nodded and started your descent down the stairs. The entirety of Hollywood was on their feet for you. You’d been working in the industry since you were a kid. Everyone knew how wonderful you were. Only he got to see it everyday. He watched, pride practically spilling from every pore as you stood up on that stage, taking the award in your hand, the sheet of paper in your hand. You looked up, a teary smile on your lips. “Wow,” you breathed out, looking at the room, but your eyes immediately met Oscar’s, and you both smiled again. “Hello, and thank you,” you started. “Umm… alright, speech- yes!” you unfolded the piece of paper in your hand and took a deep breath. “Well… first of all, I’d like to thank the academy, because this-” you held up your award. “Is incredible. And next, I’d like to thank my family. Nicole, Tim, Chris, Hattie, Eddie, Mae,” Oscar was already tearing up, and he was sure his mom was at the floodgates stage of it all. “You’ve been so incredibly kind to me over the past decade. You took me in when I was just a random 14 year old your son or brother was dating, and you gave me a family, and I'll always be grateful. Next, I’d like to thank my husband-” he felt a tear fall down his cheek and he knew there were about twenty cameras on him. There were a few cheers from the crowd. “- Oscar, you’ve made me insanely happy, and you’re my everything. But you’re also the only person I’ll ever let in my editing room. I love how curious you were at the start, and now, how effortlessly you help me. Truly, this is half yours-” you chuckled, and so did he. “No matter what. Whether you were coming in from a race weekend, totally exhausted, or just come back from a run, you’ll sit beside me in silence and help me make it all work. I don’t think you understand how much that means to me, so, thank you. I love you all, thank you!” you finished off, just wiping the small tear that had fallen away, as the crowd rose for you again. Oscar was a goner, tears falling freely as he tried to wipe them away. God, you were too kind. He adored you. 

The night ended at 3am, you walked away with two Oscar awards, and one Oscar. He was grinning the whole time, too. Couldn’t stop. You won Best Editing and Best Supporting Actress. His family were elated and you giggled on the way back tot he hotel as you watched videos of them react to you winning, since they weren't sitting beside you.

Both you and Oscar were exhausted, so you fell into bed, immediately tangling with each other and knocking out. 

He ran a hand through your hair as he lazily closed his eyes. "Y/n?"

You hummed against his skin, sign enough that you were slightly conscious.

"I adore you," he whispered, the silence of the room seeming even quieter in the dark. You looked up at him through tired eyes, a soft smile on your lips.

"I feel it," you smiled. "And I love you too."

Best night ever.

mclaren masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

[fortunxa]

streamer!Jinx (x reader) / modern AU (duh)

H E A D C A N O N S

—INCLUDES!

➤ x (fem!)reader

➤ x streamer!reader

contents: like one or two suggestive mentions, mentions of doxxing

author's note: chat!! @myrruwrites has officially motivated me to finish this draft, so PLEASE go check out their streamer!Jinx posts (more hcs here and fic here)!!! or really any post in general :P

── ⟢ streamer!Jinx in general

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who started streaming just for fun, not thinking much of it, and gets overwhelmed when her account starts gaining traction. She still doesn’t know if she likes it or not. Some days, she feels on top of the world; on others, it just makes her feel awkward.

⭑.ᐟ She mostly streams in her pajamas or other comfy clothes. On rare occasions, she’s wearing her rave outfit (smudged makeup, body paint, and all) because she didn’t change when she got back home and impulsively decided to stream. (rave girl!Jinx when?)

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who’s canceled every other week. She has no filter, nor does she care. She continues streaming, groaning loudly in annoyance if the chat brings up her latest controversy one too many times.

⭑.ᐟ Constantly arguing with kids if they annoy her. It was so over the moment Roblox added the mic feature. Her account almost got banned. She still does not care.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who gets hilariously pouty at hate comments. She’s offended and does a bad job at hiding it.

– “Okay, so like… what IS wrong with my pants? Just out of curiosity, not that I care or whatever.”

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who knows she’s pretty but gets annoyed if someone comments on her appearance. It weirds her out. On the other hand, she’s also oblivious to how attractive she looks doing mundane things. (*cough* manspreading *cough*)

⭑.ᐟ She bans people on the spot for causing her the smallest of inconveniences. She’s on a power trip.

– “This is MY kingdom.”

⭑.ᐟ Her monitors are surrounded by post-it notes with random doodles, unfinished cryptic to-do lists, and stream ideas she quickly jotted down.

find a duck. real 1 this time

paint the thing spray paint purple 1st

buy more spray paint (green, pink, PURPLE)

get snacks (for her + me) + wires bolts

scope out the alley

test run #3

finish gift hehe

don’t forget to

⭑.ᐟ Contrary to popular belief, Jinx is a Redbull kind of girl, and her desk is proof of that. She used to be a Monster Energy fan, but she drank so much of it throughout the years that it made her sick.

⭑.ᐟ She constantly “improves” or “upgrades” her streaming gear with scraps from old tech. Some of it will be homemade, too.

⭑.ᐟ Her webcam is cracked, which makes the quality so shit that it brings a tear to her viewers’ eyes, so they beg her to get a proper one. She finally relents.

– “Here, damn. You guys are so spoiled. Now pay up since y’all wanted it so bad.”

‘omg the world is healing’

‘feels like getting new glasses’

‘this is a moment in history’

⭑.ᐟ Her mic quality fluctuates. Sometimes, it’s crisp; sometimes, it picks up loud static due to her “improvements.” It also completely cuts off if she screams too loud.

⭑.ᐟ Any gear she buys will be automatically customized the Jinx way: doodles upon doodles and paint splatters.

⭑.ᐟ She has a soundboard that features sound effects like classic explosions, the vine boom sound, the Among Us role reveal, the FNAF hallway sound, “YIPPEEE!”, the snoring man, a laughing track, clown circus music, and the Samsung “Morning flower” alarm (cursed version) amongst many others.

⭑.ᐟ Her webcam is tilted at weird angles half the time because she keeps bumping it while moving around.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx whose wifi cuts out way too often, and she blames it on “the government trying to stop her chaos”.

⭑.ᐟ Her streams never start on time. She either doesn’t acknowledge it or gives an over-the-top excuse. Viewers think she’s lying when she says she had to diffuse the toaster (she’s not).

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who loves clickbait titles. Plot twist: no one knows if it’s actual clickbait or if she’s serious when she writes “strapping fireworks to my chair :D”.

⭑.ᐟ She either streams with every. single. one. of her neon lights on (flashbanging new viewers in the process) or have no light at all, with her monitor illuminating ONLY her face in a way that makes it look like a dark web livestream.

⭑.ᐟ She’s so inconsistent with her streaming that her viewers never know when and if she’ll stream again. She randomly stops updating on her socials, too.

‘guys i think this might be it for her’

‘ho is u dead???’

<livestream notification> “SURPRISE, LOSERS—I’m (a)live! Didn’t see that coming, huh?”

‘omg she’s back’

‘diva is alive!!!’

– “You doubted me? You DOUBTED ME?!”

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who jumps between topics, games, and rants with no warning, leaving her viewers dizzy but entertained. Fans with ADHD love her.

⭑.ᐟ IF (by miracle) she runs out of things to talk about or gets bored with a game, she turns to her viewers.

– “Entertain me, jesters.”

⭑.ᐟ Her streams (suddenly) switch from hyperactive fun, where she’s practically bouncing in her chair, to intense focus, where she just glares at her screen with determination.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who pranks her chat constantly. She’ll cut the video feed to show a jumpscare, laughing in the background while her viewers are freaking out.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who pranks other streamers by sending her viewers over for a raid.

– “You just got jinxed!”

⭑.ᐟ Occasionally refers to her chat as the “Boom Crew” or “Jinxlings”.

⭑.ᐟ She reads the chat at lightning speed (most of the time she’ll misread it, too), responds to every third comment, and gets distracted mid-sentence.

⭑.ᐟ Her community is riddled with inside jokes like “press F for Sharky”. Sharky being her shark plushie, of course.

⭑.ᐟ Her mods barely keep up with the chaos in her chat. Occasionally, Jinx disables moderation completely and declares “anarchy hours.”

⭑.ᐟ She creates characters to embody on stream. “Sergeant Boom”, a gruff explosives expert, or “Miss Mayhem”, a villain plotting world domination. She commits to the bit so hard that she confuses new viewers.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who’s a sore loser, and it doesn’t help when the chat is roasting the shit out of her after. 10000% rage quits and/or slams her keyboard. But she’s not above cheating to win, either—will call other cheaters out, though, genuinely crashing out.

– “Chat, what the FUCK, that’s not fair! It totally lagged!”

– “I’m literally never playing this shit again.” (spoiler: she plays this shit again).

⭑.ᐟ Her IRL streams would be infamous for their unpredictability. One moment, she’s exploring back alleys, and the next, she’s setting off fireworks in a parking lot. Don’t ask if it’s empty.

“Popular streamer arrested for destruction of property.”

⭑.ᐟ She once took her viewers to one of her graffiti sessions and encouraged the audience to vote on the designs.

“Popular streamer arrested for spray painting ‘obscene’ graffiti.”

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who disappears for a week after that, only to come back all pissy.

– “Chat, I’m on probation… I guess.”

⭑.ᐟ She has the most cursed keybinds imaginable. But hey, they work for her.

⭑.ᐟ “Jinx’s workshop”: a recurring segment where she tinkers with random gadgets on stream.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who sets off confetti after each bit/donation.

⭑.ᐟ She disappears mid-stream and comes back in a shark onesie. She doesn’t acknowledge it.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who puts her shark plushie in the middle of her chair if she has to take a break, leaving her headset on it.

– “Alright, Sharky’s taking over.” Sharky’s head is barely peeking out from under the desk, but he’s chill.

⭑.ᐟ For a girl as agile as her, she trips over her setup or falls off her chair a little too often. Yes, there is a compilation. Yes, she does react to it on stream and laughs so hard she tips her chair again.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who, every now and then, drops her chaotic persona to thank her viewers for their support only to laugh it off right after. Or she’ll surprise them with genuine insight/advice.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who starts venting in the middle of her stream. Sometimes, it’s pure angry nonsense; sometimes, she gets so emotional that she just suddenly ends the stream. She comes back some time later, acting like nothing happened and gaslighting her viewers into thinking it was part of a skit.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who announces every game dramatically. (yes, like that one scene with the monkey mic)

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who occasionally plays bootleg versions of popular games just to make her viewers suffer through them with her.

⭑.ᐟ She absolutely, 100%, modded her sims game. She also locked up sims in the basement and/or took the ladder from the pool.

⭑.ᐟ She plays Among Us just to leave the server if she doesn’t get impostor.

⭑.ᐟ Fortnite and Minecraft are her holy grail. Also enjoys Call of Duty, Overwatch, Apex Legends, Fall Guys, Garry’s Mod, and she’s an absolute menace in GTA V. Definitely a FNAF girl.

⭑.ᐟ Roblox?? Oh, she’s ON. Put her in the horror games. She’s screaming and laughing, bouncing on her chair (her energy’s infectious).

⭑.ᐟ She enjoys watching the fatalities in Mortal Kombat a little too much.

⭑.ᐟ She tried VR a few times and nearly took out her entire setup with how much she was flailing around.

⭑.ᐟ Don’t ask her to play choice-based games. She will intentionally choose the worst option possible just to watch it all burn.

⭑.ᐟ Absolutely hates narrative games (with few exceptions). She can’t keep up with the story (because she skips dialogues and cutscenes) and quits if the plot takes too long to develop. She never remembers the characters’ names either, so she’ll just rename them.

– “Blah, blah, blah… Boooooring. Next!” She then dramatically presses the skip button. “Wait, guys, who’s the dude again? I swear he looks sooo familiar.”

‘that’s the mc’s dad’

‘just put the fries in the bag…’

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who, despite the fact that she’s creative, has no official merch—only fan-made one with slogans like “I survived Jinx’s stream”.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who ends her streams by shooting finger guns at her webcam. The feed cuts off right after the “pew”.

BONUS: just gamer!Jinx who owns a Nintendo Switch and a Nintendo DS which she decorated with cute little stickers and charms. They’re her babies—she carries one or the other at all times.

── ⟢ streamer!Jinx x (fem!)reader

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who tried to keep your relationship private at first, but she just couldn’t contain her excitement. She wanted to show you off. She introduced you as her “partner in crime” and then corrected herself to “partner in love” (because she’s cheesy like that).

⭑.ᐟ She loves dragging you into her streams. It doesn’t matter what she’s doing. Bonus: the viewers adore your dynamic.

– “I’m just happier when she’s here.”

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx whose chat spams “SUMMON THE GF”. Sometimes it works.

⭑.ᐟ The viewers asked her about you so much the first time you didn’t appear on stream with her that she ended up jokingly saying, “I got dumped.” They rioted, and you walked in to smack her upside the head.

⭑.ᐟ You try to warn her against some of her ideas. Most of the time, she goes through with them anyway and is 100% surprised when they backfire.

‘JINX NO’

‘LISTEN TO HER’

‘JINX DON’T DO THAT’

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who genuinely starts tweaking if you get any hate comments (to the point of wanting to dox people) (she did dox people).

⭑.ᐟ You mute her mic mid-sentence if you feel like she’s about to say something controversial that will inevitably get her in trouble.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who gets a second webcam just to capture your reactions. This also becomes a compilation, and she keeps rewatching it, giggling to herself (kicking her feet).

⭑.ᐟ She also randomly giggles at something off-camera—chat instantly assumes it’s because of you.

⭑.ᐟ She constantly talks/brags about you even when you’re not there, and she visibly lights up when she does. She makes chat say thank you for every act of service.

– “She made me pancakes before the stream. Chocolate chip ones. Take that, losers.”

– “She’s keeping me hydrated like a little plant. Say thank you, Jinxlings.”

– “She’s making me dinner after this stream. Wifey or what?”

⭑.ᐟ She also “complains” when you care about her health. She says you’re bullying her into it.

– “She told me to actually sleep last night. Can you believe that?”

– “She cut me some fruits. Even the grapes, for fuck’s sake! What am I, a toddler?” ….. “They’re good… I guess…”

⭑.ᐟ Going back to her having a soundboard, she uses the “YIPPEEE!” sound effect whenever you enter the room.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who gets easily distracted when you’re doing something off-camera.

– “Chat, did you see that? She’s so perfect, ugh.”

– “I literally just made the bed.”

‘she’s down bad’

‘u guys make me sick’

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who notices that you fell asleep off-camera, so she shushes her chat and tries to whisper for the rest of the stream. Cue her raging/cheering silently, biting her fist so she won’t scream.

⭑.ᐟ She casually flirts with you on stream.

– “Who needs a win streak when I already won at life, huh?”

– “How am I supposed to focus when you’re sitting there looking like that?”

‘ew’

‘get a room’

– “We have one. Guess what happens in it,” she just replies with a smug grin.

⭑.ᐟ No shame, no filter 2.0.

– “Stream’s late ‘cause I was in pound town.”

– “JINX!”

– “What? They’re the ones all up in our business.”

⭑.ᐟ Physical affection also doesn’t end when she’s streaming. If anything, it makes it even better for her when people are watching. She has you in her lap whenever she can, and she melts at every little peck you give her.

⭑.ᐟ She claims that you’re her stream mascot (other than Sharky, of course).

⭑.ᐟ She calls you her lucky charm and demands a good luck kiss before each match or boss fight. If you don’t give it to her (why would you do that? give the pretty girl a kiss), she will (jokingly) blame you if she loses.

⭑.ᐟ You will sometimes pick out fun outfits to wear on stream together, like themed costumes, matching accessories, or cosplays (and Jinx refuses to break character the entirety of the stream). You once dressed up as each other.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who tries to do a cute “heart hands” moment, but she gets distracted and ends up making a weird shape instead.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who constantly forgets to unmute herself after ranting to you off-camera.

‘ho is u muted’

‘UNMUTE’

‘is she muted or just broke her mic fr this time’

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who tries to impress you with ridiculous in-game stunts.

– “Babe, watch this!” She then proceeds to set off some explosives, blowing up her character in the process. “…That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

⭑.ᐟ She immediately turns to you for comfort when she rage quits.

⭑.ᐟ You step in to calm her down during an intense or frustrating gameplay, usually by playing with her hair or tracing patterns on her back.

– “Alright, chaos queen, deep breath. You got this.”

⭑.ᐟ You once changed Jinx’s sub alert to say, “SUBSCRIBE SO JINX CAN AFFORD A FUNCTIONING BRAIN.”

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who made you one of her mods for a day. You nearly lost your mind. Safe to say you quit.

– “Babe, as much as I love you, this feels like running a daycare… if the daycare was on fire… and the kids had guns. Matter of fact, forget the daycare. This feels like the purge.”

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who, instead of upgrading her setup, spends the money she gains on her projects or on spoiling you. She got you a Nintendo that matches hers with games like Animal Crossing for you to unwind.

⭑.ᐟ She texts you updates like “broke my keyboard again. love you!!!!!!!!!! :p”

⭑.ᐟ She takes pride in teaching you how to play some of her favorite games. It’s even better when she sees you making actual progress and gaining skills.

⭑.ᐟ Sometimes, you both forget obvious things in the game, resulting in chat calling you ��dumb and dumber”.

‘birds of a feather flock together’

‘one brain cell between them’

‘i think they lost said brain cell’

⭑.ᐟ She loves it when you play competitive games together, but if you think she’s going easy on you, you’d be dead wrong. She will throw the blue shell at you in Mario Kart with no remorse.

⭑.ᐟ SOMETIMES, she lets you win but in the worst possible way (like jumping off the map dramatically).

⭑.ᐟ Playing It Takes Two together, and it’s an absolute shitshow (but at least it’s funny).

⭑.ᐟ You create in-game versions of each other in customization games, and she’s definitely made you both in The Sims. She even gave you cats.

⭑.ᐟ steamer!Jinx who once started a stream, forgetting you were in the other room waiting for her. You came in to get her, pouting.

‘L+ratio+forgotten gf’

‘jinx you’re a dick’

⭑.ᐟ Co-op cooking streams where Jinx inevitably burns something.

⭑.ᐟ Crafting stream!!! But Jinx accidentally glued her hand to something, so now you have to help her.

⭑.ᐟ Doing each other’s nails/makeup on stream or simply painting (on) one another.

⭑.ᐟ Chill streams (and by that I mean just sitting around and talking) are a rarity, and they only happen if you’re around. She dislikes personal questions during Q&A’s but absolutely loves answering those concerning your relationship (doesn’t necessarily answer truthfully, though. She loves making up crazy stories about how you both met; the audience is still unsure which version is true).

BONUS: the “do my hair and Q&A” hc by @myrruwrites lives in my head rent free. I repeat: go check out their post.

⭑.ᐟ She livestreams some of your road trips.

– “This is totally our couple adventure arc.”

⭑.ᐟ She once streamed her planning a surprise for you. You weren’t home when you got the stream notification, and you joined it, curious to see what she was up to. She was so lost in her own world that she didn’t notice you until the surprise was spoiled.

– “Hey, who snitched? Y’all suck.”

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who wakes you up in the middle of the night to share her stream content ideas.

⭑.ᐟ Or she wakes you up by playing too loudly, and you have to physically drag her to bed.

⭑.ᐟ She just lays across you like a cat on off-days while watching dumb videos.

⭑.ᐟ You both rewatch her funniest stream moments together before bed, laughing at all the dumb things she said and cheering loudly at her clutch wins.

⭑.ᐟ streamer!Jinx who signs off streams with a sly grin, saying, “Alright, I’m off to bother my girlfriend now”.

── ⟢ streamer!Jinx x streamer!reader

⭑.ᐟ Everyone knows you’re dating (no matter how much you tried to hide it at first), so you have a shared fanbase.

⭑.ᐟ Your streaming room is divided. It may seem like a bad idea considering the chaotic energy she brings to her streams, but she enjoys having you close by. You’re used to the noise anyway.

⭑.ᐟ Matching setups!!!!

⭑.ᐟ You make sure that Jinx has everything she needs before her stream, while she hypes you up before yours.

⭑.ᐟ Her crashing out in the background of your streams is such a recurring thing that it ends up becoming a meme.

⭑.ᐟ She once got caught humming softly to herself in the background of your stream which made the chat go absolutely wild.

‘JINX SOFT ARC’

‘i cannot believe my ears’

‘wait so she’s normal?’

⭑.ᐟ She frequently sends her viewers over to raid your stream with a message that says, “TELL HER I LOVE HER”.

⭑.ᐟ She takes over your stream when you take a bathroom break, or she’ll just lean into the mic and whisper, “Chat, she’s like SO pretty” before running away like a gremlin.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx once hacked into your stream settings just to change the title to something cursed or extra cheesy.

⭑.ᐟ She crashes your stream if she’s bored with hers.

⭑.ᐟ Reacting to fanfics together. It starts sickeningly sweet, only to crash and burn once Jinx starts picking the wilder ones.

⭑.ᐟ Sometimes you manage to have a chill, rainy-day stream together where you play cozy games.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx “accidentally” friendly fires you in shooters and then apologizes dramatically.

⭑.ᐟ She also “accidentally” finds you in online games. She swears she’s not stream-sniping, but no one believes her.

⭑.ᐟ She leaves heart-shaped patterns in Minecraft or Fortnite for you to find.

⭑.ᐟ Automatically teaming up against everyone else in multiplayer lobbies.

⭑.ᐟ You get assigned to opposite teams? It’s either cutthroat and tests your relationship, or you’re helping each other out (much to your teammates’ dismay).

⭑.ᐟ Although she’s known for streaming late herself, she whines if you do the same, claiming she can’t sleep without you (half-true).

⭑.ᐟ She wraps her arms around you from behind or drapes herself over your lap whenever she needs closeness or attention, watching you play.

⭑.ᐟ Or she’ll just unceremoniously end your stream to steal you away.

💙 art bonus by @ne0nspr1te !! + part 2 💙

entering Jinx’s stream:

[sknyuz]

I really like your works

If you are taking requests could you make one where you are bakus sister and dating baek jin secretly and then when he finds out all hell breaks loose but like w fluff and angst

#submission

still, i choose you | na baekjin

synopsis — the city’s colder now, but baekjin still looks at you like summer never ended. but when baku finds out, he’s ready to burn it all down.

pairing — baekjin x baku’s sister!reader

genre — alternate universe/non-canon, brother’s bestfriend, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, f2l, open ending-ish?

cw — violence && gang elements, protective older brother behavior (baku), mentions of past abandonment, angst, smoking (once, for the vibe)

wc — ~2.5k

note: this got wayyyy longer than i had anticipated... this originally at 1.2k words then before i realized it, i ended up with 1k+ more ToT this is another fic thats been in the drafts for a while that i couldnt get around to posting lol enjoy

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

you used to follow baekjin around like a second shadow.

back then, when things were simpler and summer days stretched too long to keep track, you, baekjin, and your brother were inseparable. a little trio of scraped knees and spare change joined to share a single serving of tteokbokki, and racing back home in your little uniforms, backpacks rattling with stationery. you always ended up at the park near your old apartment, the one with the broken jungle gym and weeds tall enough to hide in.

“let’s play house,” you’d announce, bossy even then.

baekjin would smile like he already knew his role. “i’ll be the dad.”

“i’m mom,” you’d grin, grabbing a stick and pretending it was a broom.

and baku would scowl, arms crossed. “why do i always have to be the dog?”

“because you bark the loudest,” baekjin teased, and you all laughed and played until the sun dipped low.

back then, baekjin still tried to protect you. even when his nose was bleeding or his eye already bruising, he’d shove you behind him with those tiny fists up like he was invincible. he gave you his sleeve to wipe your nose, even if his own was dripping. when kids teased you, he stood in front with shaky legs and that same proud tilt to his chin, like he dared them to try.

baku was the loud one—your shield and baekjin’s, yelling and swinging while baekjin threw himself in with blind punches and more heart than strength. the two of them were a mess of scraped knees and stubborn pride, and you were the kid sister they never let out of their sight.

and then, soon enough, baku couldn’t stand watching baekjin take hit after hit like that—so he taught him to fight. said he had to, if baekjin was gonna keep throwing himself at people twice his size. he refused to teach you, though, said it was "too dangerous" with a scrunched-up nose and crossed arms. but baekjin would sneak you little updates when it was just the two of you, whispering about the stances baku showed him or how he finally landed a clean hit. eventually, the two of them were unstoppable—baku loud and wild like a storm, and baekjin quiet but sharp, always backing him up without missing a beat. and you were still there, watching them grow into a force no one dared mess with.

until their momentum was stopped on the day that baekjin disappeared. one day he was walking home beside you, shoulder brushing yours, and the next, his desk was empty. like he’d been swallowed up by the world without a trace.

no explanation. no goodbye. just gone.

but somehow, you felt like your older brother knew more about baekjin’s sudden exit from your lives than he let on.

the next time you saw baekjin, it didn’t feel real at first. it felt more like a memory that hadn’t faded properly.

you saw him before he saw you—head low, hair longer than you remembered, standing across the street outside that run-down bowling alley where rumors always clung like smoke, grunts and cries of pain could be heard from inside. your heart stuttered. the world didn’t stop—but you did.

he looked different. older. meaner. like life had moved too fast for him to keep up.

but his eyes—when they finally lifted and locked with yours—were the same.

like no time had passed.

like you weren’t strangers again.

you didn’t speak the first time, you could only stare at the tall figure. and then, he looked away and broke the gaze you shared first, walking back inside like it hurt too much to hold.

you kept seeing him after that—in the background. behind buildings, in passing cars, once on the rooftop of the cram school across from your own, cigarette burning down to the filter, eyes fixed on nothing. it was like the city was trying to show you he still existed. still breathed.

and then came the underpass.

you hadn’t meant to take that route. it was just late, and you were tired, and it had been a long day. you thought you could handle it—you weren’t a kid anymore. you could fight. baku finally taught you. baekjin taught you, too, just by existing.

but those boys—the way they leered. the way they used baku’s suspension as leverage against you.

and then him.

he didn’t even raise his voice. just said “that’s enough,” and it was like gravity remembered what it was supposed to do. the boys scattered like dry leaves. and you—god, you didn’t even realize you were shaking, fists already up and your stance ready to throw them at the boys that surrounded you just a second ago, until he stepped closer, brow furrowed, voice low.

“y/n… you shouldn’t be here.”

you wanted to yell at him, hit him, maybe even hold him.

you did none of that.

you walked home in silence, his presence beside you heavy like a storm cloud. at your door, he paused—hands still buried in his hoodie, the lamplight softening his jaw.

“you grew up,” he murmured.

“you didn’t say goodbye,” you replied.

he winced like that hurt worse than any punch.

but when you hugged him tight and whispered “don’t disappear again,” the only thing baekjin could do was nod.

after that, it was slow, cautious. like learning to walk across glass barefoot.

he never touched you first or let his hand linger—except that one night it rained so hard the streets blurred into silver streaks, and you forgot your umbrella.

you were trying to wait it out under a bus stop, shivering, soaked halfway through—when he appeared beside you, quiet as ever. didn’t say anything, just pressed a black folding umbrella into your hand like it was obvious he’d been looking for you.

“you’ll get sick,” you said, blinking.

“i’ll be fine,” he replied, stepping back into the storm without waiting for a thank you.

and the way he looked at you before he left—like he couldn’t believe you were real, like this was some dream he didn’t want to wake from—that’s what really started it.

a glance turned into a habit.

a walk turned into a routine.

late nights turned into a secret.

one evening, you found him waiting on the rooftop of an old building near your school, knees drawn up, a book balanced across them. his hair windswept, and he was squinting against the wind to read.

you laughed. “you’re such a nerd.”

he looked up, brow raised. “you still let your heart do the stupid stuff first.”

“and you still act like you don’t have one,” you shot back, sitting beside him.

that night, he kissed you.

that was the first time baekjin kissed you, he said your name like it was the only thing holding him to this world.

you weren’t a kid anymore. and neither was he.

but neither of you were ready for baku to know. not after everything baekjin has been through and is tied to now. you knew it was dangerous, but it was a risk you were willing to take.

and after that—well, you stopped pretending there wasn’t something between you.

even if it meant keeping it from baku. even if it meant dodging questions, meeting in alleyways, changing contact names and never walking too close in daylight.

even if it meant lying.

because what you had with baekjin—it wasn’t just a childhood crush or some thrill in the shadows. it was real. and it felt like it was yours.

something worth protecting.

you thought you were careful.

you were careful.

no texting unless it was code. no eye contact when baekjin stopped by the café you worked part-time in after closing just to catch a glimpse of you. no lingering touches, no flinching when you saw each other when you would walk back home from your own cram schools. baku didn’t suspect a thing.

until he did.

you didn’t even know he’d seen baekjin’s text, didn’t know he’d followed you out that night. you thought it was just another quiet moment, the first few drops of rain starting to fall—baekjin waiting for you by the convenience store, back leaned against the wall, eyes flicking up like they always did when you arrived.

you smiled. he smiled back, barely there, soft and crooked, and only you got to see it.

and then he reached out, thumb brushing a raindrop from your cheek. his touch tender, familiar.

you didn’t even hear baku coming.

just the sharp sound of footsteps—fast, angry—and then crack.

baekjin’s head jerked to the side from the impact, the sound of the punch echoing off the concrete like thunder. he stumbled but didn’t fall, blood blooming at the corner of his mouth.

“baku!” you gasped, stepping forward in instinct.

but your brother’s hand was already on your arm.

“let go—!” you cried, trying to yank free, but he wasn’t listening.

his grip was tight—furious—and the next thing you knew, he was dragging you across the empty street, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt to speak.

“you’re coming home,” he snapped.

“baku—stop—” your voice caught in your throat as your shoes scraped against the asphalt. “you’re hurting me!”

he didn’t let go.

not because he wanted to hurt you—but because he didn’t know how else to stop you. everything in him was burning. you could feel it in his grip. his silence. the way his shoulders trembled with each step.

behind you, baekjin didn’t follow. he didn’t call after you. he just stood there as the rain started pouring heavier, watching.

you looked back only once.

he was holding his chest like it ached, blood smeared across his lip, eyes locked on you with something devastatingly soft.

but he didn’t move.

not even when you disappeared around the corner, your brother’s hand still wrapped around your wrist like a leash.

the walk home was silent—if silence could be loud, teeth-bared, vibrating with fury. baku didn’t look at you once. not when the rain soaked through your clothes, not when your breath hitched from trying not to cry. but the second the apartment door clicked shut behind you, something inside him snapped.

“what the fuck were you thinking?” he exploded, voice rough, cracked from holding it in too long. “are you out of your goddamn mind?”

you flinched. he didn’t notice. or maybe he did, but he was too far gone to stop.

“him? him?” he shouted, pacing now, hands raking through his hair like he needed something to tear. “after everything—after he left, after he ghosted both of us, after he joined them—you thought that was okay? to sneak around with baekjin?”

“baku—”

“don’t,” he snapped, pointing at you. “don’t even try. you don’t get to play stupid now.”

the apartment was too small for his anger. it filled every inch of it, clung to the walls like smoke. your father wasn’t around—was never around—but even if he had been, baku wouldn’t have cared. he was beyond reason, seeing red, heart pounding like it wanted to burst through his chest.

“he’s dangerous, y/n,” he shouted, voice breaking for real this time. “you think i don’t know what he’s capable of? you think this is some romance? it’s not—it’s not safe. it’s not right.”

his chest heaved, breath ragged. and when he looked at you—really looked—it wasn’t just rage in his eyes. it was fear. worry. the kind that ran deep, that made his voice crack not from anger, but from something more helpless. something more brotherly. out of love.

“you don’t know what you’re getting into,” he muttered, quieter now, but no less sharp.

you opened your mouth to speak—but he shut that down before you could.

his chest rose and fell like he couldn’t catch his breath. and when he looked at you, really looked, it wasn’t just fury etched into his face—it was fear. raw and rattling, buried beneath every word he couldn’t say right.

“baekjin isn’t the same kid we knew,”

your fingers tightened around your phone.

he noticed.

his eyes flicked down to it, then back up to you. and this time, his voice didn’t rise. it sank—low, tired, final.

“i’m not gonna force you,” he said. “but if you’re keeping him... if this is what you’re choosing—then choose. tonight.”

and then he turned, walked away, the air between you thick with everything he didn’t say.

and you just stood there—phone still in hand, your heart stuck in your throat—knowing, without him saying it, that whatever you chose tonight... would change everything.

not just with baekjin, but with your own brother.

and all you could do was stand there, dripping rain onto the floor, feeling like a kid again. like no matter how much you’d grown, you’d never be more than his little sister.

later that night, long after the door slammed behind you and baku locked himself in his room, you sat on your bed with your knees pulled tight to your chest. your phone buzzed once.

you stared at the message. your wrist still ached from how hard baku had pulled. but your heart ached more.

you didn’t answer right away.

but you opened your drawer, dug through old notebooks, and pulled out the umbrella—the same black one he gave you that night it rained.

you still hadn’t returned it.

your fingers brushed over the fabric, tracing the edges like they held answers.

you thought about the way he looked at you—always like he wasn’t sure you were real. like he didn’t believe he deserved to be near you but couldn’t stop coming back anyway.

you thought about the silence he kept between you, not because he didn’t care, but because he did too much.

you thought about how he never pushed. never asked for more than what you gave. never made promises he couldn’t keep—but still showed up when it mattered.

he was here now.

in his own quiet, stubborn way—he chose you.

and the thought of losing him again, of watching him disappear without fighting to keep him this time—it felt like a second heartbreak you weren’t sure you’d survive.

your thumb hovered over your screen.

a thousand ways to say i’m sorry, or this is too much, or i can’t.

but none of them were true.

so you typed back slowly, quietly.

you pressed send, watching the messages pile up, delivered. and for the first time all night, you breathed.

whatever came next—whatever fights, secrets, screaming matches waited—you weren’t gonna let baekjin fade away from your life.

not again.

you were willing to argue, to plead, to fight your brother if you had to—but you weren’t going to lose baekjin twice.

note: i edited this bc it wasnt proofread when i posted it lol, plz bare with me i fixed repeat paragraphs i forgot to edit 😭

𐔌 . ⋮ taglist .ᐟ weak hero class ֹ ₊ ꒱ @kstrucknet | @loserlvrss @nanamiswifesatorusgf @hateateez @slytherinshua @winnie-bunnie @rexxiiia @mrgzzarella @ilyhachii @youmeshii @actuallynarii @midnight--raine @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @trasshy-artist @crowneve @juicyjam @xh01bri @onyourlisa345 @triciawritesstuff @prettywhenicry4 @dripoftheseus @rosieparkk @gacktsa @sopitadearvejas @satorustorm @mirwors @sqacewalkr @l5byrinth @sarcastic-cookie @v3n0m35 @vitaminbtob @armani78 @bbangbies @snowflakemoon3 @kibtsuji @yuuuumii @slovesyouuu @f1-lh44 @hajunz @snowflakemoon3 @hoe4wonwoo @pluslandminun @bleedingwhiteroses222 @dahlia-blossom @reiofsuns2001 @yuuuumii @feralmaneater @fandomout @ilovethe141 (ask to be tagged or removed)

50 people on the taglist.. holy shit might need a pt 2 soon

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Sunburn

♥ masterlist | request rules | based on this request | part of my 1k event

♥ pairing: ollie bearman x fem!reader

♥ synopsis: due to your sister’s demanding job you babysit your niece very frequently. she’s taken a liking to your boyfriend ollie and fans have since become obsessed with their dynamic.

♥ smau - fc: women on pinterest - as always none of the pictures are mine <3

♥ warnings: swearing !!!

♥ a/n: i actually combined an old ollie draft of mine for this fic! i hope you like it!

-April 12, 2024-

liked by yoursister, lilyzneimer, alexandrasaintmleux, and 135,802 more

yourusername babysitting duty

tagged; @/olliebearman

view comments

user1 the little bear cookies 🥹

paularon_ I didn’t know you baked?!

yourusername just every now and then 🥰

paularon_ you should def bring me one of your treats to try next time you visit ☺️

yourusername i’ll consider it

paularon_ i’ll have a cupcake

kimi.antonelli i’ll take a bear cookie

yourusername apparently i’m a cater now ??

yoursister thanks for helping me out! love you <3

yourusername of course! she’s obsessed with ollie so i’m sure she’ll have a fun time lol. love you more 🫶

user2 loving the pink aesthetic

user10 she’s so cute right?

prema_team the paddock has missed you

yourusername tell the paddock i’ve missed it too 😽

olliebearman i’ll be over in 10 xx

charles_leclerc i thought i said no boys over ☝️

yourusername @/charles_leclerc try and stop me

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”Ollie!” your niece Laney shouted, dropping the toys out of her hands and sprinting over to your boyfriend.

He laughed, picked her up, and carried her on his hip back over to you.

“What’re you playing?” he asked, looking down at the scene.

On the floor was a cutout paper race track and a group of cars following along it.

She hopped out of his arms, “This one’s you,” she pointed to a red car. “You’re in the front because Lando and Max crashed into each other.”

An orange hot wheel was placed on its side next to a flipped over blue one. Ollie covered his mouth to laugh as she dragged him around the track.

He sat down on the floor with his knees up as she explained the rest of the race, “Here’s Charles, your teammate. He’s in the back though because the pit wasn’t good. They almost messed up yours but I stopped it.”

“What would I do without you?” he giggled.

“I dunno,” she responded with a shrug.

She grabbed the ‘Alpine’ to DNF it before her eyes narrowed, finally noticing a bag he placed by the door.

Ollie stood up and grabbed the gift, bringing it over to her with a smile, "I got you something in Japan."

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yourusername posted two stories

view story replies

user2 duffy!!

user8 ollie bear 🥺

user10 oh stop it they’re so cute

user3 omg I love them

user27 do you really think ollie likes your pink bed? 😐

yourusername @/user27 he more than likes it

olliebearman @/yourusername you can't say that 😭

kimi.antonelli 🫣

olliebearman @/yourusername I'm glad she liked the bear tho

liked by yourusername, kimi.antonelli, frederickvestiofficial, and 123,593 more

olliebearman monaco's just not the same without her

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yourusername I'm there in spirit 🥹🫶 I'll see you in a few weeks

♡ by olliebearman

user9 oh god they're so cute

arthur_leclerc so what I'm hearing is boys night??

olliebearman ...

kimi.antonelli well yes

charles_leclerc well no!

arthur_leclerc @/charles_leclerc club tonight, boys night tomorrow.

user21 ain't you a millionaire fly her out to Monaco !!!

olliebearman she's with the kids

frederickvestiofficial @/olliebearman kidS plural??? 😧

kimi.antonelli papa bear

user1 HELPPPP KIMI 😭

user7 @/kimi.antonelli LMAOOO

-

yourusername posted two stories

view story replies

charles_leclerc je t'aime xx wish you were here to celebrate with us

arthur_leclerc 🫂

olliebearman still can't believe I witnessed this in person

yourusername @/olliebearman you don't have to rub it in 🙄

user9 this is so important to me

user1 I have no one to talk to about this to

user8 oh I bet laney was so excited

user6 @/user8 aren't we all

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liked by olliebearman, landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 804,985 more

yourusername some much needed boyfriend time

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kimi.antonelli aw (ew)

yourusername @/kimi.antonelli ew you

kimi.antonelli a date without me is crazy 😔

user8 everyone needs ollie time

user38 where's Laney?

yourusername with her mother...?

user10 wish that was me in his hotel

yourusername real

user10 @/yourusername bitch

user7 what do I have to do to get an Italy date night

antoniogiovinazzi99 in my home country and you didn't even visit?

yourusername NOO :( I'm sorry I'll stop by soon

arthur_leclerc woww yn and I thought Ferrari was a family

-

liked by olliebearman, lewishamilton, georgerussell63, and 304,658 more

yourusername packing for the British Grand Prix <3 Good Luck to the Brit boys this week @/alex_albon, @/lewishamilton, @/landonorris, and @/georgerussell63

view comments

oscarpiastri erm 🤓☝️

yourusername are you 1/29th british

lilyzneimer cant wait to see you <3

yourusername can't wait to see you more

georgerussell63 don't worry I'll win the race for you

landonorris @/georgerussell63 be sooo serious

user2 shout-out british men guys

yourusername WE CAN GO BAND FOR BAND 🗣️🔥🇬🇧☕

user5 LOVING the red

user6 she has to rep the team !!

user7 you're so gorg

kimi.antonelli lewis fan club: meetings at isack's

yourusername I'll be there

user8 I could 100% see isack being the president of a Lewis fan club

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liked by frederickvestiofficial, haasf1team, francolapinto, and 593,972 more

yourusername I can't believe I had to keep this a secret! @/olliebearman this has been your dream since we were kids and you’ve finally done it 🥹 i couldn’t be prouder <3 I love you so much

view comments

olliebearman couldn't have done it without you

user1 and the cutest couple award goes to

estebanocon welcome him to the grid for me. can't wait to see you two in the garage

♡ by olliebearman

alexandrasaintmleux love you guys

yourusername love you alex xx

charles_leclerc @/yourusername do you love her more than me

yourusername @/charles_leclerc I love her more than ollie

olliebearman @/yourusername ???

olliebearman @/alexandrasaintmleux way to ruin our moment

user7 I'm so happy for him

yoursister laney is ecstatic

♡ by olliebearman

yourusername so proud of her uncle <3

user8 " her uncle" JUST KILL ME

user9 if they break up love is dead

user10 my parents

user6 she's so proud of him 😭🫶

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"There's a very special supporter in the Ferrari garage right now," Martin said on the pre-race broadcast as the camera zoomed into Laney with her bear.

"There is Oliver Bearman, joined by well—little Ollie Bearman," he said with a chuckle.

"Isn't that just adorable, Martin?" Crofty asked.

"It definitely is, I might need to snag me one of those bears myself," he laughed. "He could probably make a merch line out of that I'm sure it would sell."

"I'd buy it," Crofty added.

"Well, either way," the camera panned back to you and your niece. "Those are some great fans to have by your side."

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by yourusername, haasf1team, kimi.antonelli, and 1,903, 294 more

olliebearman my day ones 🫶

comments have been restricted

[theonottsbxtch]

SERVE | MV1

an: im finally posting all my flipping requests - im sorry ive taken so long but expect me to be more active in the next month ish. i was working on this novel and ive finally finished my first draft so ill be able to write more on here ehehe

wc: 2.2k

The air inside Rod Laver Arena buzzed with anticipation. The crowd roared as she raised her arms in victory, another match won with the kind of effortless dominance that had long cemented her as the best in the world. Cameras flashed, reporters murmured, but she barely heard any of it. Her eyes scanned the stands, searching—until she found him.

Max stood near the players’ box, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his posture casual but his eyes locked onto hers. He always watched her like that. Like she was the only thing in the world.

She barely remembered handing her racquet to the ball kid or shaking hands with her opponent. One minute she was on the baseline, and the next, she was pushing through the crowd, past the security barriers, straight to him.

"Didn’t think you’d make it," she murmured, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the noise.

Max smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Miss one of your matches? Not a chance.”

Up close, she saw the exhaustion in the lines around his mouth, the tension in his jaw. The media had been relentless again, and she knew how much he hated it—not for himself, but for the way it always seemed to drag her into the mess, too.

"Yeah?" She arched a brow, fingers sliding into the collar of his jacket, tugging him a fraction closer. "Even with half the press calling you a liability?"

His breath hitched for a second. Only she could do that to him. "Thought you liked liabilities."

"I do," she said, lips curling into the smirk that drove interviewers mad. "You’re my favourite one."

Max let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders loosening just enough for her to notice. He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Didn’t know I was in a ranking system.”

She hummed, fingertips brushing against the fine fabric of his jacket. “You’re the only one in it.”

The crowd was still buzzing around them, the cameras snapping relentlessly, but none of it mattered. Not when she was looking at him like that—sharp eyes softening, the mask she wore for the world slipping just enough for him to see the girl he’d loved since they were fifteen.

She gave his jacket one last tug before stepping back. “Come with me.”

Max followed without hesitation, slipping through the tunnels of the stadium with practiced ease. He’d done this a hundred times before, dodging reporters and staff, but this time, the weight of the last few weeks clung to him like a second skin.

She led him into the players’ lounge, where the air was thick with the scent of sweat and freshly cut fruit. The moment the door shut behind them, she turned to face him.

“What’s going on?” she asked, arms crossing over her chest. She wasn’t just talking about the press. She never had to spell it out for him—she always just knew.

Max exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Same old shit.”

She frowned. “Your dad again?”

His silence was answer enough.

She muttered something under her breath, a sharp curse that made him smirk despite himself. “How bad?”

Max leaned against the nearest table, arms bracing on the surface. “Bad enough that I had to turn off my phone for a few days.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “He’s got the press eating out of his hand. Telling them I’ll never be good enough, that I’m holding you back, that you—”

“Stop,” she said firmly, stepping between his legs. Her hands rested on his chest, grounding him. “You know none of that is true.”

He swallowed, the heat of her touch chasing away the cold grip of doubt. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

She studied him for a moment, then—without warning—took his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his jaw, right at the spot she knew made his breath hitch.

“Good,” she said against his skin. “Because I’m not wasting my time defending you to a bunch of idiots when I could be kissing you instead.”

Max let out a breathless laugh, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her in. “Now that,” he murmured, “is the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

She grinned, fingers threading through his hair. “Then shut up and let me keep talking.”

And for the first time in weeks, Max let himself forget everything else—because when he was with her, the rest of the world didn’t matter.

He barely had time to smirk before she pulled him down, her lips pressing against his with the kind of urgency that made his head spin.

It was always like this with them—sharp words and sharper minds for the cameras, but when they were alone, none of that mattered. She kissed him like she needed it, like he was the only thing keeping her grounded, and he clung to that feeling like a lifeline.

His hands slid to her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her tennis kit as he pulled her closer. She sighed against his mouth, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, and he felt it—the tension in his chest finally breaking, giving way to something softer, something that only existed between them.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and Max groaned low in his throat. “You’re going to kill me,” he murmured against her lips.

She smirked. “That’s the plan.”

She kissed him again, slower this time, like she wanted to take her time undoing him completely—

A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

“Hey! Media in five minutes,” a voice called through the wood.

Max exhaled heavily, forehead dropping against hers as she let out a quiet groan. “I hate media,” she muttered.

“I hate media more,” he said, brushing his nose against hers.

She pulled back slightly, giving him a look. “Yeah, well, you don’t have to sit in a room for half an hour pretending to care what they think.”

He smirked, thumb tracing slow circles against her hip. “True. But you could just skip it. Tell them you got caught up with something important.”

She arched a brow. “And what would that be?”

Max grinned. “Me.”

She huffed a laugh, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth before stepping back. “Tempting,” she said, smoothing her hair down. “But if I start skipping media obligations for you, they’ll start calling you a bad influence again.”

“They already do.”

She shot him a knowing look as she grabbed a water bottle from the nearby table. “Yeah, but if I do it, it’ll be true.”

Max shook his head, watching her with something caught between admiration and amusement. Even after all these years, she still had him completely wrapped around her finger.

As she reached for the door handle, she turned back to him, her expression softening just slightly. “You’ll be here when I get back?”

Max leaned back against the table, arms crossing over his chest. “Where else would I be?”

She held his gaze for a second longer before nodding. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

And just like that, the noise of the world came rushing back in.

The press room was packed, cameras flashing as she took her seat at the table. The moderator gave the usual spiel about keeping questions respectful—not that anyone ever listened.

She took a sip from her water bottle, already anticipating the first round of questions. It was the same every time—something about her form, something about her rivals, and, inevitably, something about Max.

"Rough start to the match today," one reporter said, leaning forward. "Do you think the outside distractions are finally catching up with you?"

She raised a brow. "What distractions?"

The reporter cleared his throat. "Well, there’s been a lot of talk about Max and the negative press surrounding him. Some would argue that having a partner in the spotlight—especially one facing so much criticism—might be… well, holding you back."

The room went quiet. She felt her jaw tighten, fingers curling around the bottle in her hands.

Slowly, she tilted her head. "And how many titles do you have?"

The reporter blinked, caught off guard. "Uh—what?"

She leaned forward slightly, voice smooth as silk. "How many Grand Slam titles do you have?"

The man stammered. "I—I don’t play tennis."

"Right," she said, nodding. "And how many Formula One World Championships do you have?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it.

She smiled. "That’s what I thought."

A few people in the room stifled laughs, and even the moderator looked like he was holding back a smirk.

"Next question," she said easily, taking another sip of water.

And just like that, the subject was closed.

Max was still in the players’ lounge, leaning back on the worn leather sofa, one arm slung over the back as he scrolled through his phone. The live stream of her press conference was playing on the screen, but he already knew where this was going the second some smug reporter brought him up.

The question was barely out of the guy’s mouth before Max’s jaw clenched.

He knew the narrative well—he was the distraction, the liability, the one holding her back. It didn’t matter that she was literally the best in the world, that she had more Grand Slams to her name than most players could dream of. Somehow, the press always found a way to twist things back to him.

But then she hit the guy with that line.

"And how many titles do you have?"

Max sat up a little straighter, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The poor bastard stammered.

"How many Formula One World Championships do you have?"

Max barked out a laugh, running a hand over his mouth. The entire room went silent, and then the barely contained amusement from some of the other journalists? Yeah, that was the cherry on top.

The guy had nothing. She knew it. The entire press room knew it.

And Max? He definitely knew it.

His phone started blowing up instantly—his teammate, a few other drivers, even his PR manager, all sending messages ranging from laughing emojis to "I owe her a drink for that one."

Max just shook his head, watching as she casually took a sip of her water, completely unbothered.

"That’s my girl," he muttered under his breath, grinning.

Because if the world wanted to come for him? Fine. He could take it. He always had.

But her? She was untouchable.

And she’d just reminded everyone exactly why.

The door swung open with a little too much force, slamming against the wall as she strode into the room. Max barely had a second to react before she was yanking her kit bag from the chair and stuffing things into it with sharp, irritated movements.

He smirked to himself, pushing off the couch. Oh, she was fuming.

"That good, huh?" he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

She shot him a glare before aggressively zipping up her bag. "They’re so annoying, Max. Every bloody time. Do I look like I need a press room full of middle-aged men questioning my priorities?"

Max bit back a laugh. He’d seen her mad before—at bad calls, at opponents, at losing a set she should’ve won—but this? This was entertaining.

He crossed the room in two strides, slipping behind her just as she reached for her jacket. His arms looped around her waist, pulling her back against his chest, right in front of the floor-length mirror.

"Baby, baby," he murmured, pressing his chin to her shoulder, "calm down."

She huffed, but her hands instinctively came to rest over his on her stomach. "Calm down?" she repeated, tilting her head slightly. "Do you know how much I want to throw a racquet at that guy’s face?"

Max grinned, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the side of her face. "I’d pay to see that."

She exhaled sharply, the tension in her body loosening just slightly. Max knew her too well—knew exactly how to disarm her with just a touch, a whisper, a perfectly timed kiss.

She caught his gaze in the mirror, and that sharp frustration softened into something playful. A wicked little idea flickered across her face.

"Give me your phone," she said suddenly.

Max raised a brow. "Why?"

She turned in his arms, holding out her hand expectantly. "Just give it."

He sighed dramatically but dug it out of his pocket, placing it in her palm. She unlocked it easily—of course she knew his passcode—and tapped into Instagram.

Max watched as she flipped the camera to the mirror, angling it so both of them were in frame. His arms were still around her, his face pressed into the side of hers, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

She snapped the picture, typed something quickly, then handed the phone back.

Max glanced at the screen. His feed refreshed. And there it was—his screen now showing her latest post:

"7 titles, 4 WDC & 2 WCC."

His brows lifted before a slow, proud smirk spread across his face.

"You little menace," he murmured, kissing the side of her head again.

She grinned. "Let’s see them try to talk shit now."

Max chuckled, slipping his phone back into his pocket before tightening his arms around her. "This is why I love you," he muttered.

She sighed, leaning into him. "Yeah, yeah. Now take me to dinner before I have to cuss someone out again."

Max just laughed, grabbing her bag and slinging an arm around her as they headed out—because that? That was the easiest request he’d had all day.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Heart shaped

pairing: lee felix x gn!reader

genre: fluff, roommates to lovers au

warning/s: just disgusting fluff

a/n: this is an old drabble that has been in my drafts for like half a year. i wanted to post dolly today but since i got delayed here's a little something, happy valentine's day my babies🩷

You're slowly waking up. Your eyes flutter before you finally open them and they land on the window.

It's still dark out. 3am. That's what it says on your clock.

Great. This is the third night in a row that your roommate woke you up with strange noises in the kitchen. The last two nights you tried to ignore it.

Felix isn't the type of person to do stuff like that on purpose, so you let him be. Whatever he's doing won't be long, right?

Well, here you are, proven to be wrong.

You sigh, deciding you really need to get up and check what he's doing.

"Felix?" your voice startles him and he turns from the stove abruptly. He looks like a deer caught in headlights.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Did I wake you up? I'm sorry!" he panics, scrambling around the kitchen and moving stuff.

But you can see what he's trying to hide. There is at least five trays of well- kind of heart shaped cookies, some of them are burnt, some were crushed into pieces, some had icing on them.

"Are you nervous baking?" you chuckle, coming closer and you can see redness forming on his freckled cheeks.

"Yeah, something like that." he nods, avoiding your eyes.

"Are you making heart shaped cookies?" you try again.

"I'm trying to make heart shaped cookies." he corrects you, finally looking up at you. "I accidentally burned the first batch. And the second one, they started falling apart. And then this third one just wasn't the right taste. And the fourth one, the icing looks weird. And-"

"Why don't you breathe?" you place your hands on his shoulders as he almost starts hyperventilating.

"Yeah, yeah, that's like important." Felix says and you chuckle at his 3am brain.

"Can you tell me why you're doing this?" you ask when you think he's calmed down a little.

"I'm..." he swallows, "I'm trying to confess to someone."

"Oh." you nod. "And you wanna bring them cookies?"

"Yeah, exactly." he says, biting on his lip nervously.

"Since I'm not sleeping anymore, I could help you?" you suggest and he chuckles.

"Now that would be ironic." he says.

"What? Why would it be ironic?" you ask.

"No, no reason." Felix smirks at your 3am brain.

"Okay, you can help me."

Both of you get to work, to make perfectly heart shaped cookies that are also delicious and don't crumble the moment you grab them.

You wonder who the recipient is, but you don't want to pry, if Felix wanted to tell you he would.

-

"Alright, let's do a taste test." you nod confidently once they're done.

The two of you grab a cookie each and count down to one before biting into it.

"Mm, these are perfect!" you exclaim, eyes wide.

"They're so good!" Felix matches your excitement.

"Hey, thanks for helping me." he adds, smiling at you fondly.

"No problem, good luck with your confession." you say.

"Thank you." Felix chuckles.

-

When you walk into the kitchen the next morning, you see something covered up on the table.

You walk over to it slowly and realize there's a little paper with your name on it.

Your brows furrow in confusion as you pick up the note and reveal what was covered up.

"Oh." you gasp when you see the cookies you worked hard on last night with Felix, all nicely rounded in a cute basket with decorative flowers.

You take a look at the note but there's nothing on it except your name.

"See, this is why I said it's ironic you're helping me." Felix's voice startles you and you turn around and look at him.

He's leaning on the fridge, arms crossed on his chest as he smirks at you.

"W-what?" you ask like you're dumbfounded because there is no way.

"They're for you. I'm confessing to you." his smirk turns into a shy smile, his demeanor changing into something softer.

"Oh."

"Is that a good 'oh'? Or a bad 'oh'?" he asks.

"It's a good 'oh'." you chuckle and Felix comes closer to you.

"I like you. I have for a while. And I was wondering if you feel the same. And if you do, maybe we can take this basket of cookies on a picnic date with us." Felix says and you chuckle at him, your heart rate picking up speed.

"I'd love to take the cookies on a picnic date."

Both of you laugh, and Felix is leaning closer into you.

"Does that mean you like me? Or you just like the cookies?" he asks, his breath hitting your cheek and making your heart flutter.

"Both." you whisper with a smile and Felix presses his lips on yours gently.

Your eyes flutter shut as you stay still for a few moments before both of you lean away sheepishly.

"You know..." you start and Felix looks at you expectantly.

"I would've said yes even if the cookies were burnt or crumbling into pieces." you say and he blushes, fidgeting with his hands.

"Good to know."

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @eastjonowhere @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts

[le-poofe]

Finally~

I wanted to make a little something to say "Thank you for reading" to cap off WYS! Excuse me while I get mushy for a second-

Y’all are the reason this was able to get done. Your enthusiasm for updates and how the story unfolded really means so much to me. It was the little things that kept me motivated, even during the long hiatus. Seeing you guys pick up and point out little details sprinkled throughout the comic always made my day and gave me a sense of validation. Reactions to things like the surprise of Sans’ nightmare or Grillby’s comfort all made me super happy. And you guys gave the finale pages the sweetest reception I could ask for. l'm so grateful that you stuck around for the whole thing!

Overall, I’m very pleased with how this turned out! Interestingly, the main thing I’d want to change if given the chance is how I wrote Sans and Grillby themselves. Especially Sans’ dialogue. My characterization of them has changed quite a bit over the years (hard to tell bc I don’t draw them a lot atm). But that can’t really be helped. Just like the way that my art style changed over time. Hindsight does that stuff all the time. Nitpicking aside, I stand by the creative decisions made by 2019 Me

The funny part is that the original comic was 17 pages and I got them all done before hand so I wouldn't run into the issue of falling into a hiatus between pages!!! If y'all are interested in a bts post, I’ll try to dig up those og pages from my old computer. And maybe I'll show the even rougher epilogue draft I threw together for shits and giggles to see if I could get the page count to 69

Sansby has already been super special to me for a long time, finally getting this done and seeing the response strengthened that. I’ve had so many people find me through WYS over the years, it blows my mind. The messages from people who hold it dear really means the world! Without you guys this comic wouldn’t be what it is now. Thanks for Staying~

[luxcuriousao3]

Bumblebees

Summary: Simon doesn’t want kids. Then he sees you with one. Suddenly, he's not so sure anymore. Word Count: 2759 Warnings: sfw for the most part but some dirty talk (no smut, Simon's just got a filthy mouth) near the end, fluff and feels, emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of canonical child death (Simon's nephew) Notes: This was supposed to be fluff and smut... then it turned into fluff and hurt/comfort lol. Oh well. I would've posted this for mother's day, but I completely forgot about it. So it's been sitting in my drafts for months. Just finished and polished it up today. No beta as usual. Hope y'all enjoy, remember that feedback is love, feedback is life. Also, would anyone be interested in a fic featuring single dad!Kyle and his daughter (who you'll meet if you read this)? Lmk. (Masterlist) (AO3)

Simon doesn’t want kids.

Simon doesn't want kids, and he’s made that more than clear to you. No amount of pouting, reassuring him he’ll make a great father, or cute baby videos changes his mind. For a while, you think about breaking up with him because of it. You want kids, and he doesn't—how can it ever work?

But after spending six long months talking about it with your therapist and asking Reddit for advice (big mistake, that last one) you come to the conclusion that you want Simon more than you want children.

It’s by no means an easy choice, but for you, it’s the right one. You can’t imagine your life without him. You don't want to imagine your life without him. It hurts you just to think about it. So quietly, and without telling Simon—who doesn’t know just how badly you want little ones of your own, because you haven’t told him—you let your dream of being a mother go.

If you expend all that unused maternal energy on any child you come across—well, Simon never has to know exactly why.

One of Simon’s teammates—Kyle, a nice bloke, handsome in a pretty boy way—has a five year old daughter. You've met them a few times before, and every time, you offer your services for babysitting. Kyle and his wife finally take you up on it one night, and little Amira is dropped off bright and early at the flat you share with Simon.

Your hulking boyfriend isn't exactly thrilled about it, you know, but he doesn’t complain, just makes breakfast—chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream smiles, Amira’s request—while you play “fairy princess” with the young girl, who had apparently insisted on wearing her ballet costume that morning.

After breakfast—which, according to Amira, is not nearly as good as her daddy’s pancakes—the three of you head to the nearby park. Amira walks between the two of you, one tiny hand in yours, and one Simon’s. He’s stiff the entire journey, uncomfortable as ever around kids, but he doesn’t pull away. As much as he seems to dislike children, he’s never, ever mean to them. Just… avoidant.

Sometimes, you wonder if there’s a story there. But Simon is an incredibly private man, and asking him questions about his past puts him on edge like nothing else. You try not to push, to simply make yourself available as a listening ear, ready to hear him out and comfort him whenever he’s finally ready to tell you. You’ve learned very few things so far, most gleaned more from his reactions and habits than confessions, but you’re patient. For Simon, you’d wait forever.

Once you arrive at the park, Amira promptly recognizes a friend from school, and takes off to go play with her. You and Simon settle on a bench, keeping her in your sights at all times. Simon is tense as a live wire, and you take his hand in both of yours, rubbing your thumb soothingly across his knuckles.

“It’s just for a few hours,” you murmur, leaning into his side. Slowly, slowly, the tension melts from his massive frame, letting you in. You sigh, beginning to feel bad for roping him into this. You can hear your therapist’s voice in your head, prompting you to examine why you were so eager for Simon to come along today. Do you think that deep down, you’re still trying to change his mind? You bite your lip, unsure what the answer is to that question, but still feeling guilty. What if it’s true? What if you’re forcing Simon to play an unwitting role in your fantasy of being a happy family—a fantasy he has no interest in being a part of? “You can go home if it’s too much. I won’t be upset.”

“Not leaving ya an’ the tyke here alone,” Simon grumbled, not looking at you, but squeezing your hand to let you know he’s not mad, just grumpy. “Ain’t safe.”

“It’s a public park, Si,” you reassure him, feeling bad enough to try and convince him to leave like he so clearly wants to, even though you’re desperate for him to stay. To indulge in your selfishness just a little bit longer. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

As if the universe itself is intent on proving you wrong, you hear an earth shattering scream.

You’re on your feet in a blink of an eye, but Simon is halfway across the park before you’re even fully standing. By the time you take two steps, he’s got a crying Amira in his thick arms, shushing her in a voice softer than you’ve ever heard him use. You rush over, and Simon deposits Amira in your arms immediately, despite doing an admirable job at calming her himself.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” You coo, settling the little girl on your hip and starting to sway back and forth. Amira has one chubby fist twisted in her halo of dark curls, as if clutching it for comfort, and the other is rubbing one wet eye, scrubbing away her tears.

“Th-there was a b-bee!” She yells, and you do your best not to wince at her volume. “It almost stinged me!”

“A bee?” You echo, rubbing Amira’s back as she lays her little head on your shoulder, sniffling. “You know, bees are our friends. I’m sure it didn’t want to sting you.”

“It did!” Amira argues, yelling right into your ear this time. It starts ringing faintly. You ignore it.

“If it tried to sting you, it must have been scared,” you say calmly. “Sometimes, we lash out when we get scared, don’t we? Bees are the same.”

Amira sniffles again, but she doesn’t protest this time. You smile slightly, knowing you’ve got her attention.

“The best thing to do when a bee buzzes by is stay very, very still,” you continue. Your eyes land on the bee that had terrified the baby in your arms, a few metres away. You carefully set Amira down next to Simon, and she immediately hugs one of his long legs. She barely reaches his mid thigh. You mentally apologize to your boyfriend, but important lessons need to be learned right now, so you hope he’ll forgive you for leaving him stuck like that. You smile encouragingly at Amira. “I’ll show you.”

Confidently, you walk towards the bee, watching as it flies over to you curiously. You’re not surprised—you’re wearing a pink sundress, and you know bees are attracted to bright colors.

“Be careful!” Amira’s little voice rings out as the bee gets closer. She looks incredibly nervous, like she’s sure she’s about to see you die. You valiantly hold in your laugh.

“Bees like flowers,” you tell Amira as the insect in question flies around you in circles. “So they’ll investigate anything colorful to see if it is one. Isn’t that nice? They think we’re flowers.”

Amira is clearly skeptical, but she’s still listening. At least until the bee lands on your glasses, crawling along the frame—which is pink on the inside. You aren’t phased, but her eyes go wide as saucers, and she whimpers in fear.

“Bloody hell!” She gasps, and you just know she learned that from Kyle. Simon coughs to cover his shocked laugh, and that only makes you grin wider, eyes crinkling up at the corners.

“Language,” he scolds her, voice gruff as always but uncharacteristically gentle. Amira sticks her tongue out at him briefly before looking back at you. As she does, the bee flutters its wings, tickling your eyelid, and launches off your glasses. You think it’s going to fly away, but it hooks a U-turn and bumps up against your lips before finally buzzing off towards the other side of the playground. You laugh, delighted.

“It gave me a kiss!” You say, turning your grin on Amira, whose wide eyes have turned from fearful to awed. “Did you see that? She was telling me that we’re friends.”

“Friends?” She asks tentatively, and you nod, walking back over to her and kneeling down to her height.

“Best friends,” you wink. “Just like you and me.”

Slowly, a smile spreads across her face again, and she throws her stubby arms around you in a hug before running off to join her schoolmates again. You watch her go longingly, heart aching at the knowledge that being best friends with a five year old is the closest you’ll get to having a child.

“You’re good wit’ tha li’l one,” Simon’s gravelly voice states, low enough that only you can hear it. You look up at him, still crouched on the ground, and shrug, trying not to show how his words affect you. You accept his outstretched hand, letting him haul you back to your feet. “I mean it. Always knew ya liked kids, tha’ they liked ya too, but…”

He trails off, and you give him a strained smile, eyes drawn back to Amira. The bee has found its way back to her and her little group, and while the other children start yelling and running around, Amira stands still as she repeats your words—”Bees are friends! It just thinks we’re flowers!”—and you suddenly cannot breathe from the pain in your chest, knowing you’ll never impart the same lesson onto a child of your own. Never get to feel the pride you feel for Amira right now directed at your own flesh and blood.

“You want ‘em.”

It’s not a question, and your broken heart skips a beat. You don’t look at Simon, you can’t look at him. You’ve managed to hide this from him for the entirety of the time you’ve been together, knowing he’ll leave you if he finds out. But that time has come, and you feel sick with fear.

“Yes,” you whisper, because there’s no lying to him, not anymore. He can read you like a book, and the only reason he hasn’t before is because you’ve danced around the topic your whole relationship. “I always have.”

Simon is quiet, the both of you staring at Amira as she plays with her friends, adorable and innocent in the way only children can be. The silence between you stretches on for so long, that you start to think he’s so pissed he won’t even speak. But then he does.

“You’d make a great mum.”

The words feel like a punch to the gut, and you gasp like you’ve been hit, turning away and covering your mouth to stifle the sob that escapes. Your eyes are watery, tears threatening to spill over, and you hunch your shoulders, trying to hide yourself from Simon, from what you know is coming.

But Simon doesn’t walk away, doesn’t utter the dreaded breakup speech. Phrase, really. He’s never been one for words.

Instead, he pulls you into his arms, resting his chin on the crown of your head, and lets you cry. He holds you together while you fall apart, the strength of his embrace keeping all your shattered pieces in place, no matter how jagged the edges.

“I had a family, once,” he says once your sobs have finally died down. Your eyes snap open in shock, though you can’t see anything, face buried in Simon’s chest. “A nephew. His name was Joseph. Loved ‘im like he was my own.”

You shudder at the grief in his voice, your arms tightening around his waist, trying to be the same steadying presence that he is for you. You don’t talk, not wanting to interrupt. Not when it feels like Simon is finally draining a wound that’s been left festering for far too long.

“I still see ‘is body whenever I look at a li’l one. Eyes blank an’ empty. Hole in the middle of ‘is fore’ead. He was scared when he died. Could tell from the look on ‘is face when I found him.”

You bite your lip to stifle the noise of horror threatening to escape. You’ve known for a while now that Simon’s parents were dead, but you didn’t know how, and you didn’t know that he’d had sibling, let alone a nephew. But now that you do, his wariness around children makes a painful amount of sense.

“An’ I’m— I’m scared, birdie,” he whispers, more vulnerable then you’ve ever seen him. “Joey died because o’ me. It’d destroy me all over again if we had a kid an’ somethin’ happened to ‘em. I wouldn’t survive it. Didn’t survive it last time, either. Was a dead man walkin’ til I met ya. You brought me back ta life… I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” you reassure Simon, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I’m not leaving you, Si, I— I can’t. I love you far too much to walk away.”

“You deserve to be a mum,” Simon said, voice low and pained. “Deserve more than I can give you.”

“You deserve to be a father,” you echo, staring into his glassy eyes, your own just as wet. He flinches at the words, but you take his face in your hand and make him look at you. “You do, baby. You would be such a wonderful Papa… I know you’re afraid. But since when have you let fear rule you, Simon Riley?”

The corner of Simon’s scarred lips quirk, a hint of a smile, and you lean forward to gently press your own to them.

“They’d want you to be happy,” you whisper, watching his eyes close in pained acceptance. “Just as much as I do. Don’t miss out on the future because you’re too busy running from the past.”

Simon doesn’t say anything to that, but he pulls you impossibly closer, holding you so tight it almost hurts. You don't dare to try and make him let go, though, not when that’s the last thing you want.

“Olright,” he rumbles, eyes still closed. When they open a long moment later, your breath catches in your throat. They’ve never been so unguarded before, and you realize that this has been weighing as heavily on him as it has been on you. “If ya want ta be a mum, I’ll make ya a mum, lovie. Christ knows I'd be robbing the world of the best one there ever was if I didn't.”

You laugh wetly, delighted and relieved beyond words, surging forward to capture Simon’s lips in a bruising kiss. His hands settle on your hips as he returns it, squeezing lightly.

“Can’t say m’not lookin’ forward ta seein’ these grow,” he murmurs when you pull apart. A smirk tugs at the edge of his scarred mouth, and his gaze drops down to your breasts. “Those, too. Think you’ll make enough milk f’me ta try some?”

“Simon!” You scold, smacking his chest, your face growing hot. But you can’t keep the big grin off your face, just like you can’t stop your core from tingling at his words. Like a bloodhound, he scents it, smirk growing as his eyes darken.

“Thinkin’ we should start tryin’ tonight,” he whispered in your ear before giving it a little nip. Your body trembles under his hands in anticipation, breaths coming fast. “Ya have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed about comin’ inside that sweet l’il cunt o’ yours…”

You hide your face in his chest to muffle the breathy moan his words pull from you, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. You try to collect yourself, but the deep chuckle he lets out sets your nerves alight all over again.

“Hug!”

The little voice startles you, and you pull back just in time to feel a chunky baby arm wrap around your legs. You look down to see Amira, hugging both you and Simon tightly. You coo, successfully distracted from your menace of a boyfriend's filthy mouth, and bend down to scoop her up, holding her between the two of you.

“Are you ready to go home, Miri?” You ask, and she nods, swinging her little legs. Her feet repeatedly hit Simon’s belly, but he’s unaffected, too busy staring at you and imagining what you’d look like with his child on your hip.

“Ice cream first,” Amira negotiates, the little businesswoman. You laugh, but give in quickly, too elated to try and be strict.

“I could go for some ice cream,” you say, then look at Simon with soft, happy eyes. “What about you, Si? In the mood for something sweet?”

“Whatever ya want, birdie,” he answers easily, and you know he’s not just talking about the ice cream. “Anything' f’my best girl.”

[inseobts]

Sketching Another Life

sabo x gn!reader

you keep sketching sabo even though he died in front of you years ago. but what happens when he appears again?

a/n: omg finally got the chance to post this akdjsj it was in my draft for months and months lmao

words count: 2.9k

tags: doesn’t follow the anime canon events, childhood friends, protective luffy

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

Luffy doesn’t hesitate when he sees Sabo again.

The moment his big brother stands before him, alive, real, breathing—he hugs him.

It’s not even a conscious thought. His body just moves, arms wrapping tightly around Sabo’s torso, pressing his forehead against his coat. He squeezes his eyes shut, because damn it, Sabo was supposed to be dead.

Sabo stiffens for only a second before his arms return the embrace just as fiercely “Luffy…” His voice is hoarse.

Luffy grips the back of Sabo’s coat tighter “You idiot,” he mutters “You—you were gone.”

“I know,” Sabo whispers, and there’s so much regret in those two words that it makes Luffy’s chest ache.

It takes a long time before Luffy finally pulls away. His eyes scan Sabo’s face, as if memorizing every inch of him. He’s older now, different, but still Sabo.

And then Sabo asks the question Luffy knew was coming.

“…What about y/n?”

Luffy’s stomach drops.

He knew Sabo would ask. He knew the moment his brother remembered everything, he’d remember you too.

Because how could he not?

You weren’t just a part of their childhood—you were one of them. The fourth member of ASL. The one who always trailed after them with a sketchbook tucked under your arm, the one who kept their memories alive on paper.

Luffy swallows hard, looking away. He remembers the way you shattered when Ace died. The way you curled into yourself, sketching their faces over and over like you were trying to bring them back.

The way you stopped smiling.

The way you stopped living.

You had lost both of them, and now Luffy refuses to let you break all over again.

So he lies, and for the first time ever he has to be good at lying, because now it's important and he can't do it wrong.

He forces a grin, rubbing the back of his head “Ah, y/n? Yeah, they’re—uh, they’re fine! Doing their own thing!”

Sabo frowns “Really?”

“Yep!” Luffy nods—too quickly “They’re not on the crew anymore. Just, y’know, off somewhere!”

Sabo stares at him “…You’re lying.”

Luffy freezes.

Sabo’s gaze sharpens “Where are they, Luffy?”

Luffy crosses his arms “Not tellin’ you.”

Sabo blinks, caught off guard “What?”

“You heard me,” Luffy says, suddenly serious “I’m not tellin’ you.”

Sabo stares, confusion flickering in his expression “Why not?”

Luffy looks him dead in the eye “Because you died.”

Sabo flinches.

“You died, and Ace died, and y/n almost didn’t make it through that.” Luffy’s voice is tight now, controlled but firm “I won’t let you hurt them again.”

Sabo feels like the wind has been knocked out of him.

You… suffered? Because of him?

“I just want to see them” Sabo says, softer now.

Luffy shakes his head “No.”

And that’s the end of it for now.

Sabo doesn’t push the subject.

He lets Luffy avoid it. He lets him steer the conversation elsewhere. But the thought of you lingers in his mind, heavy and unshakable.

Are you really okay?

Something doesn’t sit right, and then, by pure accident, Sabo finds it.

He’s wandering the Sunny, familiarizing himself with Luffy’s ship. The night breeze is cool, the ocean calm. He steps into a quieter part of the deck, where a small table sits against the railing.

There’s a notebook on top of it.

At first, he doesn’t think much of it. But then his eyes catch the open page—the sketch.

His breath stops.

It’s them. Him. Ace. Luffy. And you.

The four of you, standing side by side, grinning like you hadn’t a care in the world. Just like old times.

But that’s not what makes his chest tighten.

It’s the signature.

A dumb, childish sign that only one person ever used. A weird little mark that never made sense to anyone but you. The same signature you used when you were kids.

And right beneath it—a date.

Just a few days ago.

Sabo’s eyes widen.

Luffy lied.

You’re here.

Sabo grips the notebook, knuckles white. His heartbeat pounds in his ears as he stares at the date—just a few days ago.

He doesn’t know whether to be angry or just hurt. He knew right away that Luffy lied but now he has the confirmation.

Before he realizes it, his feet are already moving. He storms across the deck, gripping the notebook tight in his hand. He finds Luffy near the mast, shoving meat into his mouth like nothing’s wrong.

Like he didn’t just lie to his own brother.

Sabo doesn’t stop walking until he’s standing right in front of him “Luffy.”

Luffy looks up, still chewing “Hmm?”

Sabo holds up the notebook “Explain this.”

Luffy freezes.

His eyes flick to the sketch—to the signature. His chewing slows, and for the first time since reuniting, Sabo sees something rare in his little brother’s expression.

Guilt.

“Sabo…” Luffy swallows, setting his food down.

“You lied” Sabo says, voice controlled but firm.

Luffy doesn’t deny it. He just looks away.

Sabo tightens his grip on the notebook “Why are you doing all this?”

Luffy exhales through his nose, running a hand under his hat “Because you hurt them” he says simply.

Sabo’s stomach twists “I—what?”

“You heard me” Luffy says, looking back at him “Ace died. You were gone. Y/N lost both of you. And you wanna know what happened after that?”

Sabo doesn’t answer. He’s not sure he can.

Luffy’s jaw clenches “They stopped living, Sabo.” His voice isn’t loud, but it’s heavy, filled with something raw “They stopped smiling. They kept drawing, yeah, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t for fun anymore. It was like…” He hesitates, searching for the right words “Like they were trying to keep you guys from disappearing forever.”

Sabo’s fingers curl.

Luffy sighs “I thought I was gonna lose them too.” His voice drops to something dangerously soft “I almost did.”

Sabo’s breath catches.

He never thought about it. He never realized.

He had assumed you were strong. You always were. You were the one who stood beside them, laughing, teasing, drawing stupid little comics of them falling into ditches.

You had always been there but he left. Ace left. And you had to bear that weight with Luffy alone.

Sabo looks down at the sketch again, his own face staring back at him from the page. The way you had drawn him—older, smiling, standing beside his brothers. A version of himself that you had never even gotten to see.

And yet… you still imagined him there, growing up with all of you.

He swallows hard “I need to see them.”

Luffy frowns “No.”

Sabo’s head snaps up “Luffy—”

“I said no!” Luffy stands up, fists clenched “I just got you back, and I’m not letting you mess them up again!”

Sabo’s chest tightens “Luffy, I—”

“They’re happy now!” Luffy cuts him off “They started smiling again! They’re finally okay! What if seeing you ruins that?!…”

Silence.

Sabo stares at him, realization settling in.

Luffy isn’t just protecting you.

He’s terrified.

Terrified that seeing Sabo again will break you all over again.

Sabo takes a slow breath, his grip loosening on the notebook. His voice is softer this time “Luffy… you don’t get to decide that for them.”

Luffy flinches.

Sabo takes a step forward “You think they’ll fall apart if they see me?” He shakes his head “You don’t know that. Maybe it’ll hurt at first, yeah. But don’t you think… maybe they deserve to decide that for themselves?”

Luffy doesn’t respond. His jaw is tight, hands trembling slightly at his sides.

Sabo exhales “I need to see them, Luffy.”

Luffy clenches his teeth, eyes shadowed beneath his hat.

Then, finally—

“…They’re in the infirmary.”

Sabo’s breath catches.

Luffy doesn’t look at him “They got hurt on our last stop. Chopper said they just need rest and Sanji is there to keep an eye on them” He crosses his arms “If you wake them up and make them cry, I’m gonna punch you.”

Sabo huffs a small laugh “Fair deal.”

But Luffy doesn’t laugh. He just turns away “…Don’t hurt them again.”

Sabo watches him for a moment. Then, he nods “I won’t.”

With that, he heads toward the infirmary and then hesitates in front of the door.

For the first time since finding out you were here, uncertainty creeps in.

What if Luffy’s right?

What if seeing him just brings back all the pain you worked so hard to bury?

He exhales, pushing the thought aside. No—he has to see you. He has to make things right.

Slowly, he pushes the door open.

The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of a lantern. The air smells faintly of medicine, and the steady sound of breathing fills the silence.

His eyes land on you instantly.

You’re curled up on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, your expression peaceful. Even after all these years, even after everything, you still look like you.

Sanji is seated in a chair beside your bed, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette resting between his fingers. He doesn’t look surprised to see Sabo standing there. If anything, he looks… expecting.

Sanji exhales a slow stream of smoke “Took you long enough.”

Sabo tenses “You knew I was coming?”

Sanji leans back, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray on the table “Didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Luffy’s been acting weird ever since you showed up.” He tilts his head “You finding that drawing must’ve sped things up.”

Sabo doesn’t respond. His eyes flick back to you, his chest tightening.

Sanji notices “They’re okay,” he says, voice quieter now “Just exhausted and resting. Took a rough hit on our last island, but nothing Chopper couldn’t fix.”

Sabo clenches his fists. The idea of you being hurt—even now—doesn’t sit right with him.

Sanji watches him carefully “So? You gonna wake them up?”

Sabo hesitates “…I don’t know if I should.”

Sanji takes another drag of his cigarette, exhaling through his nose. “You really think you get to make that choice?”

Sabo looks at him, startled.

Sanji doesn’t break eye contact “You left them once already, didn’t you?” He taps his cigarette against the tray again “You don’t get to decide what’s best for them. Not anymore.”

Sabo’s breath catches.

Sanji sighs, standing up “I promised Luffy I’d keep an eye on them but I also know they’d kill me if they found out I let you walk away.” He gives Sabo a pointed look “So, what’s it gonna be?”

Sabo looks at you again.

His fingers twitch at his sides.

Then, finally—he moves.

He steps forward, slowly, quietly, until he’s right beside your bed. His breath is unsteady as he really takes you in.

You’re different now. Older. But still you.

And then, without thinking, he does something he hasn’t done in over a decade.

He reaches out—hesitates—then gently brushes his fingers against your hair.

Sanji raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

Sabo swallows hard. His voice, when he speaks, is barely above a whisper.

“…I’m sorry.”

For leaving.

For making you grieve.

For not finding you sooner.

For everything.

And then— you stir.

Sabo’s breath stills.

Your eyelids flutter slightly, brows furrowing as if resisting the pull of consciousness. He pulls his hand back quickly, heart pounding.

He’s not ready but he doesn’t have a choice.

Because then—your eyes open.

You blink a few times, adjusting to the dim light, and then your gaze lands on him.

And you freeze.

Sabo’s throat goes dry. He should say something. But he can’t. He can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t do anything except stare because you’re looking at him like he isn’t real.

Like he’s a ghost.

Your lips part slightly, but no sound comes out. Just wide, unblinking eyes, your body going stiff beneath the blanket.

Sabo finally forces himself to speak.

“Hey.”

It’s weak. Hoarse. Not nearly enough.

You don’t react. You don’t move. You just keep staring.

A thousand emotions flicker across your face—confusion, disbelief, shock—before suddenly, your expression shatters.

Your hands tremble as you clutch the blanket. Your breath hitches, quick and shallow, like you’re trying to hold something back.

“Sanji.”

Your voice is barely a whisper, but Sanji is at your side in an instant “I’m here.”

You don’t look away from Sabo, like if you blink, he’ll disappear “You see him too, right?”

Sabo’s chest tightens.

Sanji exhales, rubbing the back of his neck “Yeah, sweetheart. I see him.”

You inhale sharply “Oh.”

Sabo takes a cautious step forward “y/n, I—”

“Don’t.”

His stomach drops.

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut “Don’t talk.”

He stiffens.

Sanji places a hand on your shoulder “Breathe,” he murmurs “Nice and slow.”

You try—you really do—but it’s too much.

Because Sabo is standing right in front of you, looking older but still so much like the boy you lost.

And the worst part?

He’s looking at you like he’s sorry.

And that makes you angry.

Your hands curl into fists “You—” Your voice shakes, raw with something you can’t name “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Sabo flinches “I know.”

“Do you?” You snap your head up, eyes burning “Do you actually know what it was like? To lose you? To lose Ace?! I'm so happy to see you but what the hell? Why only now... I don't know how to feel...”

Sanji’s fingers tense against your shoulder, but he doesn’t stop you.

Sabo takes a breath, steady but guilty “I can’t take back what happened. I've lost my memory and got it back just after Ace... But I—”

“You what?” Your voice rises, throat tight “You just forgot about us?!”

Sabo’s expression twists “I didn’t—”

“You did!” The words rip out of you before you can stop them “You left, Sabo! You left me, and then Ace—!” Your voice breaks “And then Ace—!”

You can’t say it.

You can’t say it because if you do, it becomes real again.

The weight in your chest feels suffocating.

And then—a hand.

Not Sanji’s.

Sabo’s.

Warm, hesitant, but firm as it settles over yours.

You stiffen.

Sabo kneels beside the bed, meeting your gaze with something deep, something raw.

“y/n” he murmurs, voice almost pleading “I’m here now.”

Your breath hitches.

Because that’s the problem.

He’s here.

And you don’t know if you can handle it.

You don’t speak, don’t even move for a few seconds. Your heart is pounding in your chest, a chaos of emotions swirling in the pit of your stomach. But then, without warning, you pull him close.

It’s a sudden movement, urgent, like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you don’t hold onto him with everything you’ve got. Your arms are tight around his neck, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.

Sabo’s breath catches. He doesn’t know what to do, but he doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around you, careful and gentle, as though afraid that any sudden movement might shatter the fragile moment.

And it’s fragile.

Because in this hug, there’s tension. So much unspoken hurt in the way your body trembles against his, the way your breath hitches every time his fingers brush the back of your head. This doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t make up for the years, the pain, the void that has been left in the wake of his absence.

But it means you missed him. It means, despite everything, you’re still here. Still clinging to him.

He feels you pull away just a fraction, enough for him to meet your gaze. Your eyes are red and swollen, and the sight of it nearly breaks him.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand, trying to hold it together. And then, your voice comes out rough, raw, barely more than a whisper.

“Don’t expect me to forgive you right away.”

Sabo’s chest tightens. He wants to speak, to apologize, to explain himself, but the words are stuck in his throat. Instead, he just nods, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I know,” he says quietly, voice thick “I wouldn’t ask you to.”

You swallow, your breath still uneven, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence between you is heavy, but it’s not suffocating. It’s an understanding.

Then, without warning, you move again. You turn your back to him, walking slowly over to the window, the moonlight casting a soft glow over your features.

Sabo stays where he is, unsure of what to do, still unable to quite believe that he’s standing here, in front of you, after everything.

You take a deep breath and speak, your voice more controlled now, though the weight of everything still lingers.

“When Ace died… I thought I was gonna lose everything. But I didn’t, Sabo. I stayed. For Luffy. For… for us.” You pause, fingers curling into the fabric of your blanket “And I can’t—can’t—lose you again.”

Sabo’s heart aches. He doesn’t deserve that. You stayed. You stayed through the worst of it, even when he wasn’t there, even when Ace was gone.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, barely audible “I can’t take back what I did.”

You don’t look at him, but your voice trembles when you speak again.

“I know.”

It’s simple. But it’s all you need to say.

Sabo stands there for a long moment, the weight of your words sinking in. It isn’t enough to fix things. It won’t ever be enough. But it’s a start.

And he’ll take it.

For now.

[magikdarkholme]

ooohhh ok hear me out…what abt joaquin and reader at like a arcade or fair and they make a bet on how many tickets/prizes they can win. just fluff galore yknow!!

(ps this is tea—tumblr won’t let me ask on my other acct.😭😭)

— Ringpops and Clawmachines

pairing - Joaqín Torres x fem gf!reader

summary — Joaquin and gf!reader go on an arcade date. Maybe J lets her win, or maybe reader is just better at him (its the latter)

warnings - pure fluff!!!, established relationship,

notes — i forgot i had this in my drafts so im finally posting lolll!!! here you go tea :) hope this is what you wanted bb <3

masterlist

You barely stepped one foot onto the fairgrounds before Joaquín was tugging your hand, eyes sparkling like he was a kid again.

“Arcade first,” he said with mock urgency. “Before the cotton candy coma sets in.”

You laughed, fingers laced tightly with his. “Are you trying to distract me before I destroy you in ticket count again?”

“Destroy me?” he gasped. “Mi amor, you got lucky last time.”

“Lucky? I outscored you in Skee-Ball and beat your sorry butt at air hockey.”

“That was a technical glitch,” he muttered. “The puck had a vendetta.”

You leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Excuses, Torres. Just admit your defeat like a good boyfriend.”

He made a dramatic show of being wounded before shoving a game card into your hand. “Fine. Rematch. Same deal. Winner gets bragging rights and gets to pick the prize we take home.”

You squinted at him. “Loser buys snacks?”

“Obviously.”

You bumped shoulders. “Hope you brought your wallet, flyboy.”

The arcade glowed with neon lights, the air full of the beeps, buzzes, and explosions of pixelated warfare. You and Joaquín hit every game like a mission: Skee-Ball, Whack-a-Mole, hoops, racing sims. He tried to look all serious and tactical, squinting like he was on an actual op—but every time you glanced over, he was grinning.

He absolutely flopped at the claw machine. Again.

“Why is it always this one?” he asked, staring at the stuffed banana plushie that had slipped from the claw’s grip at the last second. “I had it.”

You giggled. “It knew you weren’t ready for the responsibility of banana parenthood.”

He snorted, bumping your hip with his. “One more try.”

He failed. Again.

“Babe, I think the claw hates me.”

“It’s okay,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I love you enough for both of us.”

He melted right there, smile softening as he kissed your forehead. “That’s not fair. You can’t say cute things in the middle of my emotional downfall.”

At the basketball hoops, he bounced back. Literally.

He landed every shot with precision, flexing like a goof and mouthing, “Get on my level,” while you booed dramatically and tried to sabotage him with a tickle to the ribs.

At Dance Dance Revolution, it was chaos.

He was all limbs, bouncing to the beat like a man possessed, while you tried to keep up through gasps of laughter. The machine awarded you a “C” and him a “D,” which sparked a very loud (and extremely incorrect) debate about the scoring algorithm.

“Clearly rigged,” he said, hands on his hips.

“You fell off the pad twice.”

“I was giving the crowd a show!”

“No one was watching except that four-year-old eating popcorn.”

“He was watching respectfully.”

Eventually, you both collapsed onto a bench near the prize booth, game cards drained, ticket stacks stuffed in your pockets, sleeves, and your tote bag.

Joaquín slumped beside you, leaning his head against your shoulder.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Tally time. You ready to admit defeat?”

You pulled out your ticket pile and laid it on your lap. “Count 'em, Torres.”

He stared. Then groaned. “Nooo.”

You grinned. “What’s the damage?”

He held up his smaller pile, dramatically tossing a few on the ground. “By like sixty! This is sabotage.”

“You picked the Dance Dance game.”

“And you picked my heart,” he sighed, collapsing sideways across your lap.

You laughed, brushing a hand through his hair. “Nice try, but that’s not getting you out of funnel cake duty.”

“Worth a shot,” he mumbled, turning just enough to kiss your stomach lightly before sitting up again. “Alright, what prize do we want, champ?”

You both ended up choosing a pair of matching plush dogs and some candy rings for the walk home. He made a whole thing out of fake-proposing to you with a ring pop in front of the booth attendant, who gave you both a slow clap and a sarcastic “congrats.”

“Next time, real ring,” Joaquín whispered to you as you walked away, slinging his arm over your shoulders. His voice was soft now, warmer than the summer breeze around you.

Your heart did a whole somersault, but all you said was, “Only if it comes with more cotton candy.”

“Done.”

[namelessgakusei]

EP 3.1 This is how you shoot

Devil May Cry x Reader Insert

Warnings: It's DMC. Based on the New Netflix Series. Spoiler warnings for the actual show. Not proofread. Slightly canon divergent. (Y/N) Lore. Posted out of spite?

Note: This was on my drafts but like lmao it got accidentally posted.

EP 2.3 Amen. (prev.)

EP 3.2 Take Aim (cont.)

Synopsis: Your capture made you dream about a past long gone.

The front sight of a Glock aligns perfectly with the target, a few feet away from a child no less than five as they barely wrap their hands around the gun's grip. "That's right, baby. Keep that little tip of the triangle aligned to the mark. If you do, you'll land the shot." An older man gently says as he supports your form, correcting your stance and giving tips on how to have a better grip.

"Bang." You muttered when you pulled the trigger, the gun clicking into place as it releases no bullets, but it didn't deter you from "shooting". Your determination for a five year old pleases your father, with your face scrunched up in an exaggerated frown, he smiled as he ruffled your hair and brought you up in his arms. "That's right. That's right. You would make a fine soldier, yeah?"

"Are you teaching them how to handle a gun, again?" Your mother sighs by the doorway, arms crossed as she raises a brow at the sight. "They won't learn anything if they can't experience the real thing. They should know about the drawback when it comes to shooting a gun."

"They're only five." Your father protests as you keep your attention on your mom, who had gone over to pick up the empty gun you used for practice. "This is too heavy for them, I bet they can't even lift this properly on one hand." She frowns as she examines the weapon, weighing it on her hand, cocking it before aiming at the target in a swift motion. Like what happened to you, the gun clicks itself due to the lack of ammo.

"I'm going to build their strength, of course!" Your father laughed heartily and grabbed your mother's waist in one hand while he carried you on the other. "Then they'll join the army, get promoted, and soon join my squad!"

"You mean DARKCOM?" You asked, tilting your head to the side, lacking excitement that your father wanted to see in his children whenever he gives them the push to join the army.

"Of course, baby." He grins and leaned his head over yours. "We'll eradicate this world of demons, you and I."

"They can't even finish their food." Your brother snickers from the inside of the house, face smug as he teases you. "How can you expect them to survive in the army, Dad?"

Your family laughed as you struggled against your father's grip, knowing that you'll chase your brother in retaliation once you break free.

"Listen 'kay? Mum doesn't have to know about this, okay?"

"Okay."

"You won't tell? Promise?"

"Promise." You nodded with excitement, barely six years old as you trail behind your older brother and his friends. You noticed him sneaking out at night in the past few weeks and insisted on coming with you when you finally caught up. He seems to think that you'll tattle to your parents but you're not a snitch! Besides, you've never snuck out like this! So you agreed, nonetheless.

You don't know where they're going, but you have a rough idea of what they're doing, having seen "clues" inside your brother's drawers. Bullets. But not the usual calibers, no, there's a vial of something green inside.

You tugged at your brother's hand as he held yours to keep you two from being separated. "Where are we going?" But he only grinned, telling you that this is just like the training your father gives the both of you. "Shooting?"

"But better, we'll be shooting real targets." His friends all donned a kind of smile that looked a bit too smug. You can't quite pinpoint why this feels wrong all of the sudden, maybe you should've told your parents about this before. But looking back, you can't exactly go back on your own, as you've been going through dark alleys and corners. Just where are you headed that permits going to an abandoned warehouse?

"There's our guy!" A man laughs upon seeing your group, greeting them with a handshake and a hug. There are a few older men around the area, each in possession of rifles or guns, before landing their eyes on you. "Is this the young master?" One of them crouched down to your eye level and grinned, trying to coax you out from hiding behind your brother.

"They insisted on coming." Your sibling laughs and pats your head, telling you that it's alright to meet the others. At his words, the men around nodded and smiled at each other, noting that it's better for them to start early so they get used to it soon. At that time, you had no idea what they were about to let you join in, but with how you are right now. You deeply regret asking to come.

Inside the warehouse are cages that contain a few green humanoid creatures, with tiny horns that protrude on their heads. The older, bigger ones, grimaced at your appearance, speaking in something you fail to understand, but they look more concerned than afraid. Their fear returned moments later when one of the men kicked their cage, rattling the demons inside. Your brother hands you a strange looking gun, a bit blocky compared to the usual firearms that your father makes you practice with, before helping you aim at a demon that they let out.

That demon was about your size, they looked at you with wide eyes, arms raised in surrender while pleading to you in a foreign language. It looks weak, hunger-stricken based on the dip on their body and the obvious marks that littered around their skin. One of the men with you kicked them down when they reached out to you, sensing your reluctance to hurt them, but they weren't the only ones who noticed. The people around you kept talking about how demons are the pests of the world, of how they are nothing more than insects meant to be crushed down, and that you shouldn't hesitate in killing them.

"Kill it!"

"Shoot it. (Y/N)!"

"Shoot!"

You woke up with a jolt, before immediately squinting your eyes due to the sudden brightness above, although something seemed to have blocked it the moment you closed your eyes. Your neck aches a bit due to how stiff your "pillow" is, making you groan and turn your head, but something keeps bugging you.

Why the hell do you smell Dante?

It's not even a whiff, you genuinely smell the guy like he's smushing you close to his chest whenever he needs to protect you. While it's comforting at times, it starts to reek. Not only that, you can't move your legs nor your arms, are you bound? With an exhale, you open your eyes.

And there he is, looking down at you with an uncharacteristic serious face, and speaking with a gruff tone. "Hey you, you’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right?"

"You walked right into that imperial ambus-"

"Are you seriously quoting Skyrim right now?" You squinted with a frown, making him shrug. Groaning, you squirmed as you recalled the events of last night. Right, you got caught. Damn it, this wasn't how you planned this out! ...It's alright, you can flip this out to your favor later. You tried sitting up but failed after a few attempts, the sleeping gas might still be in your system, and Dante's thighs weren't much of a cushion for your fall.

"No wonder the pillow was hard." You sighed with a deadpan tone, missing the glint on Dante's eyes upon your words.

"You know what else is hard?"

You never sat up so fast in your life, accidentally giving Dante a headbutt, granted, that wasn't your intention, but hey, at least you got to sit up!

taglist!: @mischiefmanaged71 @tamashithe2nd @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @96jnie @flwerie @deathrye

[rayesgenesis]

protector — b.f

who? ben florian x daughter of tiana and naveen! reader

summary: you and ben get tired of hiding your relationship

warnings: there might be some spelling mistakes or things like that, english is my third language soo yeah also there’s like one swear word

a/n: i was supposed to post a whole other oneshot but i couldn’t tie it all together to save my life— ANYWAYY reminder that my requests are OPEN 😭 this is just an oldie that’s been sitting in my other acc’s drafts for a while

wc: 2k-ish

you and ben had been successfully dating in secret for a little over four months now, with little people knowing about you two. of course, belle sniffed you both out. turns out, she’s an expert in body language too, amongst other things. when it came to telling adam though, her mouth was sealed shut— per her son’s wish. he didn’t feel like telling his dad just yet.

your boyfriend made sure to make his intentions clear with you from the start. his only desire was to be with you, whatever form that took. needless to say, it didn’t take much convincing for him to agree to keep your relationship a secret.

and you would have to squeeze it out of him— he would never admit it to you — but the idea pained him at times. he didn’t really like secrets. especially when it came to you, how could he keep you a secret?

still, sneaking around was fun. at least for you it was. the secret handholding, the foot nudges under tables, the secret makeout sessions in secret spots.. feelings of being limited on time aside, you liked it. though, after a while, it started to feel like you focused more on convincing yourself that stolen moments tasted better. and as time went on, ben noticed how you kept finding ways to make your situation enjoyable.

as if it was perfectly sustainable in the long run. as if you were forcing yourself to.

ben, on the other hand, found that it got old quick. he wanted the world to know that you were his, and he, yours. he kept going for your sake, but ben couldn’t wait to show you off any chance he’d get. in his opinion, you deserved nothing less. remind him why you had to keep it a secret again?

i mean sure, when you suggested that the two of you should date in secret, you mentioned how you were scared of your parents’ disapproval. not because they wouldn’t like him, who wouldn’t, but because they were cautious about bringing attention to their kingdom.

your parents and grandparents were careful to not ruff anyone’s feathers. a quality that naveen slowly acquired with age, even though there was always the occasional mishap. it was something that his parents lectured you about multiple times, not that you needed it. you understood how hard it was already, being one of the most recently established royal houses in auradon. they had enough drama when your daddy was prince.

if anything, you couldn’t blame ben for not being understanding about this. except now, even you had to admit that it got old. you would’ve told everyone all about the two of you by now, if it wasn’t for you lying to your parents for the past two months.

because yes, you and ben spent most of your summer together almost secretly. it was definitely hard to explain to your parents how come you went from basically being a homebody to going off to all types of places every other day, but they didn’t do much complaining in the end. you were almost eighteen, it was time you had some off-duty fun. either way they trusted you.

key word, trust.

somehow you blinked and summer was already over, which was the most freedom you had felt in months. as if you had finally gotten your head out of the water after so much time spent under it. while being careful, you both had found a way to enjoy yourselves. you could breathe again. guess you hadn’t even noticed how exhausting it felt to keep the secret up.

when the school year started though, you felt that the 'going back to normal' process was harder on you than you had expected. you started feeling suffocated all over again except you really felt it now that the excitement from sneaking around had gone over.

this probably would’ve been easier if you were with a guy that you liked half as much, you often thought. but this is ben we’re talking about. he constantly fulfilled every expectation you had and more. besides, he was so nice about the whole secret thing. you were pretty sure the boy would fold backwards if you asked him to.

it goes without saying that the opportunities for you and ben to hangout outside of school became rare, so you jumped on any and every excuse to spend some time together. hence the three lunchbreaks you had, this week, in the peaceful haven that was his office. which, looking back on it, might be a bit excessive — given what each of your schedules allowed. at least it helped the two of you keep your hands off of eachother in public.

either way, your time with ben was limited, and you were going to make the most of it.

for this third lunchdate, your boyfriend managed to get meals prepared for the both of you, instead of the burgers you were starting to get used to. it was a sweet gesture which you appreciated and you made sure to tell him all throughout your time together.

when you both had finished eating what was on your plates, you helped him clean around and place the plates back on the cart they came in. laid back, you were perched on the edge of the desk watching ben clean the last plate remaining, with a slight smile on your face.

after ben came back from washing his hands, he made his way over to you.

"come here, i feel like i haven't seen you in forever." he murmured, his voice a low whine. his arms snaked around your waist, as a way to bring you closer. you chuckled.

"ben, we just spent a whole hour together." you looked up at him, amused. your hands found their way on his shoulders. that boy didn’t have a serious bone in his body, you thought.

"not enough." he groaned, tightening his arms around your waist. you started to make some space in between your legs for him to stand in. then, you noticed ben becoming serious. his breathing slowed down. he felt like he was slowly boiling up inside and yet, could blow over any minute now.

"look," he began, all the while tracing small circles on your sides. he was anxious about having this conversation with you. "i’ve had a really hard time hiding us lately", he admitted.

you took a deep breath and your eyebrows slightly shot up. ben took it as a sign to continue.

"what if we stopped hiding? i’m tired of avoiding everyone's questions and trying to come up with excuses to spend more time with you." he looked in between your eyes. "i want to be able to call you my girlfriend in front of everyone. and to kiss you whenever i want, without having to hide away in here." his eyes were fixed on you, observing your facial features.

you sighed and suddenly you couldn’t look ben in the eye. you had been thinking about it a lot lately and the fact that he had to bring it up, told you something needed to change. problem was, you were torn between finally giving in or keeping up with the lie still which, clearly made you miserable. the more you thought about it, the more your chest tightened. you took another deep breath and closed your eyes, your head a bit more lowered.

"i’m tired of it too, believe me ben. now more than ever." you chuckled lightly but there was a strain to your voice, a sign that you had indeed been suffering as well. "but my parents…" your voice came out as a whine, not that you meant it to.

was it your parents? or rather the fact that you got caught up in a lie you can’t seem to get out of? because now you had to tell them the truth about why you were having so much fun all summer. and that was terrifying. besides, you could already hear them: it’s that auradon kid that got you lying to us like that? with beast’s son? sweetie, why? she’s not seeing him again- you’re not seeing him again. tell him whatever you got going on stops now.

they could force you to stop seeing him. they wouldn’t do that. they wouldn’t, right? after a prolonged lie like that, it’s the only way your mind could imagine how they’d react.

ben cut you off in your internal spiral, "i know, i know." he was well aware of how you felt about your parent’s reaction. but still, he couldn’t help but feel like you shouldn’t give up so easily. you had to try. because for him, this was torture.

the brunette searched for your gaze and when he found he had no success, he took a deep breath of his own. his hand came to rest on your forearm and he gently began to trace small circles on it with his tumb. "but, don’t you think it’s time?"

with this, you lifted your head up to look at him. you had to admit that he was right. it wasn’t fair to him and the situation was clearly taking a toll on you too. clearly, not telling your parents about dating ben wasn’t worth the trouble you went through anymore.

what cut through the silence was the piercing sound of the bell. you groaned, and both of your hands left your boyfriend’s shoulders to cover up your face as you thought about how stupid all of it was. it’s not like you were doing anything wrong. fuck all of this.

you let out a dry laugh, out of frustration, and ben looked at you with some surprise. it was sudden.

"ughhh", you shook your head still in your hands, "this is- you’re right. it is time, i don’t know what took me so long to realize that." ben removed your hands from your face to hold them in his. you looked in his eyes, a vibrant oak color. like one that would’ve been left in the sun for a minute too long. a smile spread across his face.

"hey," he added softly, "i’m right here with you. i know, it’s scary but we’ll get through this. together." he squeezed your hands, as a way to back up what he was saying. "we’ll talk to them together and, i’ll be here to defend us with you. you don’t have to worry."

you snorted softly. "you don’t need to protect me"

"i want to." he stated positively.

a soft smile appeared on your own face. you found it cute how ben got protective over you. turns out, he wasn’t much different from your parents. the thought made you smile. all of a sudden in a hurry, you picked up your bag and lunged for the door in a couple swift movements without telling him. you needed a break from the seriousness this conversation brought. besides, ben was starting to get used to your antics.

you were already out the door and in the hallway when ben held you back by the wrist.

"hey," he giggled as he closed his office’s door, "where do you think you’re going?" he was surprised at how quickly you ran out of his office.

"you didn’t hear the bell ring? we’re going to be late for first period, ben." ben chuckled again. you acted oblivious on purpose and he could tell.

"no i know, but you could at least kiss me goodbye." his hand slowly slid up your arm as he got closer.

"not in the hallway, people could walk by-"

"i don’t care" ben simply replied before he brought your lips to his. you initially gasped then relaxed into the kiss, and ben kept a hand over your curls to bring you closer, and another on your waist.

he barely even checked to see if there was anyone around you this time. your chest warmed up all over again when you thought about it later on.

a/n #2: i forgot who wanted to be tagged when this came out i’m sorry 🫣

[attleboy]

okay so it's been a bit... sorry about that??? ^-^; here's a quick doodle dump to make up for it with a brief (for me) explanation of where i've been at the end <3

some things that were meant as ask responses but i never felt like posting

scattered bits from a lore headcanon comic i have no plans of finishing... set when jax first joined and ragatha was still new, before shit happens (queenie abstracts) and things got worse for them...

idk i like thinking about the possibilities and i like it when characters start out hopeful and get it beaten out of them so i'm giving jax and ragatha that treatment in my head :)

here's the "behind the scenes" stuff i mentioned in the second of my raggedy ann tadc crossover posts

and here's me giving pomni varying levels of a hard time

old aggie board stuff

one of my first ragatha and pomni drawings on the left (nov 2023) and a lil redraw on the right.... (mar 2024) pls... don't mind my old ragatha design i didn't know what i was doing

and for those who like my sona, doodles inspired by the mafia roleplay/au(?) that's been around... not actually part of it, but i was part of a mafia roleplay myself back in 2020 so idk, consider it an acknowledgement of my roots :D

OKAY so where i've been... well at first it was a normal break, but then i figured i'd extend it until finals were over so i wouldn't get distracted! probably should've given some warning but ehhh i got busy fast and getting to go off grid for a bit was relaxing :)

anyway i'm all done so i'm back more or less??? still fatigued from studying for weeks straight so idk when i'll pick up the pen again but that'll be soon i hope... and bc i drafted this before it was posted YES i've seen the episode 2 trailer!!! very cool i'm very excited!! gonna try and get ep 2 hype art out before it drops!! :D