#i had to stick prior in this universe

[n0isy-gh0st]

Neon Cross

[fionnaskyborn]

I hit Tumblr's thirty tag limit while reblogging that last post. Goodness. I need to be put down (I say, as if I would ever let anyone do that)

[chahnniesroom]

coming up roses

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: most of the time, you're grateful to have such a good relationship with your older brother, minho. but when you find yourself falling for his best friend, chan, you can't help but be worried how he'll react when he finds out. you soon find yourself struggling with the unexpected consequences of keeping your feelings a secret.

word count: 10.2k

tags/warnings: hanahaki!au (read a/n), brother's best friend!au, hurt/comfort, angst, lots of fluffy sibling dynamics between minho and y/n, bad communication by the reader, mentions of: coughing, blood, and vomiting

read it on ao3 | masterlist

a/n: i have finally written my hanahaki au!!! this took me ages, but i really really wanted to write a fic based on how this post describes hanahaki because i love this interpretation (hanahaki is from supressing feelings instead of unrequited love) a lot more than how it's usually written (not that that version is bad!). i actually wish i could have drawn this out more, but didn't have it in me haha

the phrase "it's all coming up roses" means that everything is going well with someone and i thought it was so perfectly ironic for a hanahaki fic where a character actually has roses coming up in the literal sense.

Minho has always been protective. You had felt cool and invincible as a child, having an older brother that was willing to have your back and scare away anybody that teased you. 

You’re grateful that he cares enough to be so involved in your life, but now that you’re in university, you can’t help but feel a little stifled. Minho takes his role as an older brother very seriously, especially since the two of you have moved out of your family home and are sharing an apartment closer to campus. It's a mixture of doting and enough teasing to drive you crazy.

Growing up, your family home had been the regular haunt of Minho and his friends. It was more common than not to get home from cram school and find the boys either lingering in the nearest convenience store or hanging out in your apartment. You wouldn't say that you were friends with the boys, but you were at least familiar enough that you would say hi to them if you saw them in the hallways and they would offer to walk home with you if you were ever leaving school at the same time.

Starting university had been hard for you, most of your friends had ended up moving to other cities or even going abroad. You, however, had decided to stick closer to home. Your program had a good reputation and your parents had promised that they would help you and Minho get an apartment close to campus as long as you lived together. Minho had readily agreed, he had commuted for his first year and had always complained about how long it took.

It was a difficult adjustment, moving out of your family home, balancing your course load, and making friends. Unlike Minho, who had used dance to find his close group of friends, you didn't have any hobbies that you were particularly passionate about and you weren't naturally outgoing or charismatic.

Especially in the first few weeks of classes, it feels like such a relief whenever you see one of Minho's friends that you latch onto them. It’s kind of awkward at first, especially because you don’t know his friends well enough to speak with them casually, but they get used to your presence. You would even consider some of them to be your friend, especially Seungmin, who shares a class with you, and Chan who usually has his lunch break at the same time as you.

You make your own friends eventually, slowly getting to know some of the people that share your program, but you’re definitely a lot closer to the boys than you were prior to university. While you spent most of your childhood calling Minho and his friends lame, you can now admit that you enjoy spending time with them, although you’d never say it to Minho’s face.

Still, Minho doesn’t always approve of who or where you hang out. Sometimes he’s even nosier than your parents were, always asking you about your schedule and calling when you’re out late. He warns you about spending time one-on-one with men and makes sure that you always have your location shared with him. You tolerate it for the most part, knowing that it’s his way of showing that he cares about you, but sometimes you just find him overbearing.

—

“I’m going out next Saturday,” Minho tells you one evening as you step out of your room to get a glass of water. “You’ll have to figure out something for dinner on your own.”

“Oh,” you say, suddenly a little nervous. “I uh- I also have plans that night.”

“Sure,” he agrees easily. “What are you going to be doing?”

“There’s a party that I was invited to,” you say, biting your lip when you see Minho freeze. You turn your gaze to the ground, but you can still feel Minho's stare intensify. 

“What party,” he demands, not even bothering to frame it as a question.

“Does it matter?” you whine, annoyed by how protective Minho is. It’s even worse that you have an audience, Chan is over and you can see out of the corner of your eye that he’s watching your conversation curiously.

“Yes.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

“I think it's at Taehoon's,” your voice is barely a whisper. Minho hears you anyway.

“Taehoon?” He repeats in disbelief. You glance up briefly. Minho's ears are flushed bright red and the tendons in his neck are standing out. He's furious. “Taehoon, who is four years older than you? Taehoon, who holds off-campus parties?”

You grimace and don't respond. There’s no way that he’s going to let you go, you resign yourself to a weekend stuck in your room watching dramas while your friends enjoy themselves. 

It’s bad enough that you had to mention Taehoon, who doesn’t have the best reputation, but you’ve forgotten that Minho would easily be able to recognize the type of party that he throws. You haven’t been to many university parties, but even you know that without the dorm restrictions, off-campus parties are often the wildest and were harder to get invited to. It’s not that you particularly care to attend this party in specific, you just don’t want to miss out since all of your friends will be there.

“Minho,” Chan steps in, clasping a heavy hand on your brother's shoulder.

“Who invited you,” Minho seethes, shaking Chan off.

“Just one of my friends,” you deflect.

“Minho,” Chan says again, this time jostling Minho enough that he turns his attention away from you finally. Your body sags in relief. “Chill, we're going to Taehoon's next weekend. It's just a party.”

“Yes, we are going. Not my baby sister! Y/n-ah, the answer is no.”

“Oppa!” you complain. “I'm not a baby anymore!”

“You don't know anything,” Minho hisses at you. 

“We were going to way crazier parties when we were Y/n's age,” Chan interrupts one more time. “Come on, at least we'd be able to keep an eye on her.”

Minho is about to reply when he stops and tilts his head in thought.

“Okay,” he says slowly, turning back to you with a gleam in his eye. “You can go, Y/n.”

“Really?” you brighten instantly even though you’re a little bit suspicious of his sudden change in heart.

Your breath catches in your throat as you excitedly make eye contact with Chan. He winks at you teasingly before turning his full attention back to Minho, who thankfully hadn’t noticed.

“You're coming with us,” Minho says, nodding decisively.

“Are you kidding me,” you reply flatly, all enthusiasm vanishing instantly.

“Yes. I'll make sure that everybody knows not to mess with you and you still can have fun with your silly little friends. Unless you don't want to go anymore?” Minho raises an eyebrow at you.

“Fine, I'll go with you,” you grumble.

“It'll be fun, Y/n! I promise that I won’t let Minho embarrass you,” Chan says, slinging an arm around your shoulder. You try not to shiver as he leans in to whisper to you, close enough that you can almost feel his lips touching your ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to find something or someone to distract him enough that he’ll forget you’re even there.”

“Okay,” you breathe shakily.

“Hey!” Minho pulls Chan off of you and into a headlock. “Whatever you’re scheming, cut it out. Y/nnie, don’t listen to a single thing this idiot tells you.”

“I try not to listen to idiots,” you say. “That’s why I never follow any of the advice that you give me!”

“Y/n-ah-” Minho starts.

You stick out your tongue at him childishly then dart to your room, slamming the door and locking it behind you so that Minho can’t follow you. The sound of Chan’s resulting laugh echoes through your head for the rest of the day.

—

By the time the weekend rolls around, you're a little worried that you’ve caught a cold. Your throat is achy and talking too much makes you cough, but you're not feeling any other symptoms so you don't think you're actually sick. Minho wasn't exactly pleased when you told him you were still planning on going, but he kept his word and didn't try to convince you otherwise.

Your friends are all getting ready together at one of their dorms, but your brother was adamant that he wanted you to go to the party with him and his friends. You're more comfortable getting changed and doing your makeup at home anyway, so it's not a big deal, but it's still not the same. 

Conversation pauses when you finally exit your room. Only Chan, Hyunjin, and Minho are still in the living area since most of Minho's friends are crowded around your apartment's entryway, shuffling to get their jackets and put on their shoes.. Their eyes widen and you see Hyunjin choke on the drink he had just taken a sip of. You tug at the hem of your skirt slightly, suddenly feeling self conscious. 

You've worn this outfit before with friends and while it's definitely not the most conservative option in your closet, it's nowhere near as revealing as what you expect other girls will be wearing. It's just that you're not used to being around Minho's friends when you've put so much effort into your appearance and are showing off a bit of skin. They’ve seen you at your worst and are most familiar with the comfortable sweats and hoodies that you usually wear around your home.

Minho recovers the fastest. In a flash, he's made his way to you and has a death grip on your arm, trying to drag you back into your room. You resist, digging your heels in to try and make it harder for him, but it barely even slows him down.

“Oppa!”

“You are not leaving looking like this,” Minho huffs through gritted teeth.

“Minho-ya, come on. We're going to be late if you make her change,” Chan calls out. It draws the attention of the rest of the boys, who turn to look at the commotion. You hear Jisung wolf-whistle teasingly which only makes things worse. Minho's hand tightens even more around you, hard enough that you're sure it's going to bruise, and he whips around to glare at Jisung.

“Hyung, it's fine. Y/n-ah looks good,” Seungmin chimes in, before winking at you. You groan internally, knowing from the look in his eye that you're not going to like what he says next. “Is there a boy that you're trying to impress tonight?”

“No!” you deny immediately, still trying to pull your arm from your brother's grip to no avail. Your chest tightens at the idea of being forced to stay at home. Minho immediately latches onto the idea that Seungmin has thrown out, his expression darkening even further.

“Is it true?” he questions you.

“Oppa, I promise, I'm just matching with my friends. Which you would know if we actually go to the party!”

“If there is, you better tell me,” he warns.

“Yes, yes,” you groan. “If there was, which there isn't! You're just wasting time now.”

“At least put on a jacket, you’re going to be cold.”

“Fine.” You wrench your arm out of Minho's grasp and stalk to your room. You grab the first jacket you see, intent on ditching it the second that you get to the party, then head straight to the door, breezing past Minho on your way. “Happy now?”

“Thrilled,” he says in a flat voice that says he is anything but.

—

Your apartment is not too far away from the party, so it’s not long before everyone is unloading from their cars and approaching the party. You can hear the bass pounding even from outside the building and you’re sure that there will be a number of neighbours that file noise complaints by the end of the night.

When you make it in, your friends greet you enthusiastically, but are all a little bit weird, fixing their hair more than usual and giggling nervously. You’re not close with all of the girls that are in the group, some of them you can’t even recall if you’ve met before, but you can still tell that everyone is acting strangely. 

It's not until you turn around that you realise that Minho has practically stationed himself behind you and is glowering at anybody who looks your way too long. After years of being on the receiving end of his glares, you’ve grown immune, but everybody else is clearly at least a little intimidated.

“Oppa,” you hiss. He barely spares you a glance. “You're not seriously going to babysit me all night, are you?”

“I'm letting you do what you want so you should let me do whatever I want,” he replies primly. 

You know there's no convincing him on your own. From across the room, you manage to catch Chan's eye and nod your head in Minho's direction. Luckily, he knows exactly what you're trying to say and makes his way over quickly to stand beside Minho.

“Minho-ya, you don't have a drink yet?” he asks, before pointedly taking a sip of his own cup.

“I asked Yongbokkie and Seungmin to make me one,” he replies, unphased.

“And you trust them that much?”

At the same time, the two of them glance over to the kitchen. You follow their gaze to find Felix, Seungmin, as well as Jisung mixing together a concoction that looks not only toxic, but also disgusting. You want to gag when you see them add in soju, hot sauce, milk, and maraschino cherries in quick succession. That’s not even considering whatever they’ve already put into the cup before you looked over. There's no way they actually think the combination could taste good and Minho must agree because he stands up and starts stalking towards them, swearing to himself the whole time.

After Minho leaves, Chan wanders a bit closer to you and brushes a hand against your shoulder lightly. You have to fight the urge to lean into his touch.

“I told you, I got you tonight. Don't worry about your brother breathing down your neck,” he says lowly. Just like when he first promised to distract your brother, Chan winks at you, then follows after Minho.

You force yourself not to stare after him, cheeks flushing as the rest of the girls squeal. Some of your friends have met Minho in passing a couple times, but not any of his friends. Your brother's dance crew has become wildly popular this year, but luckily it's not widely known that you are close with them. You prefer to keep it that way, but it seems like revealing your relation to them is unavoidable tonight. It's just your luck that some of these girls are among the ‘fans’ that your brother has somehow amassed.

“Y/nnie,” a girl beside you pouts. “How come you've never mentioned you know Lee Minho and Bang Chan before? I can't believe you've never introduced him to us!”

“I-” you splutter, still flustered by how close Chan was to you.

“I saw you show up with all eight of them,” another girl interupts. Someone else gasps as if you've committed a serious crime. “You actually know them?”

“Well, yeah-”

“I heard that you called Minho oppa, are you two dating?” the first girl asks.

“What? No!” you quickly deny, disgusted by the very thought of that.

“Oh come on, you don't think that they're ridiculously attractive?” someone else chimes in. The whole group murmurs in agreement. They have more and more questions for you and start to talk over each other.

“Minho's my brother! As in, we share the same parents, that’s why I call him oppa.” you exclaim, before things can spiral further. “And ew, he is definitely not attractive!”

The group is stunned into silence for a moment before exploding in noise. There are girls offended on Minho’s behalf, some asking what him and his friends are like, and others who beg you to introduce them.

Your best friend chooses that moment to speak up, reminding you why she is one of your favourite people in the world.

“Let’s play a drinking game!” she exclaims loudly. She holds up a couple bottles of soju that you’re not sure where she’s been hiding and starts filling up everyone’s cup. Luckily the girls are easily distracted by alcohol, enough that the topic is changed without too much of a fuss. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

—

After a few drinks, you eventually excuse yourself to the bathroom. You’re definitely on your way to being tipsy, but not enough that you feel unsteady on your feet. The loud music makes it a bit difficult to focus and people have filled every corner of the house, but you’re somehow able to find an unoccupied bathroom.

You take an extra moment to splash yourself with water before you leave, you’re feeling a bit sticky from sweating and when one of your friends spilled a bit of their drink on you. When you finish, you swing open the door and immediately apologise when you narrowly miss hitting a guy who has been waiting in the hall. He waves it off, but doesn’t make a move to enter the bathroom, instead stepping a bit closer to you. 

“What’s a pretty little girl like you doing here all on her own?” he slurs, crowding further into your personal space. It’s dark, but you can still tell that his eyes are red and unfocused and hair is matted to his forehead. He's drunk. 

You swallow hard, trying not to panic. You have to treat this situation delicately and somehow make your disinterest clear without provoking or offending him.

“I’m not alone.” You can’t help but laugh nervously, taking a step back. Your stomach churns when your shoulder knocks into the wall behind you and you realise you have nowhere else to go. “My friends are actually probably wondering what’s taking me so long, I’ll just-”

“S’okay, I’m sure they wouldn’t notice if you were gone a little longer.” He leans in until he’s close enough that you can smell the sourness of his sweat and the alcohol on his breath. “I just wanna get t’know you a bit better.”

He smiles down at you in a way that he must think is attractive. It makes you want to vomit.

“No thanks, I’m just going to head-” Your voice is shrill with panic, you can barely recognize it.

You try to shuffle to the side, but the guy slaps his hand against the wall, trapping you even more. Your heartbeat pounds in your chest. He reaches out and traces one of your cheeks with a clumsy hand, ignoring the way that you cringe away.

“Aww c’mon darling, don’t be like that. I can promise you a good time.”

You know a bit of self defense, but this is far from a fair fight. This guy is significantly taller than you and probably double your weight. Even drunk, he can likely overpower you without even trying.

Before you can make a move, an arm slings around the drunk guy’s shoulder, jostling him to the side. Your heart sinks. There was a small chance that you’d have been able to escape, but not if you’re outnumbered.

“Hey mate,” the new person says. Your head shoots up at the familiar voice. Chan. “You seem pretty sloshed.”

Chan nudges the guy again, this time creating a little space that makes you feel less trapped. His body language is loose and relaxed, but the expression on his face is another story. His gaze is intense as he scans you, softening by a fraction when you nod that you’re fine.

“M’not,” the guy argues. He squints up at Chan. “Do I even know you? Get lost, I’m busy right now.”

“Why don’t you go outside and get some air? It’s gotten pretty stuffy in here.” It’s not a suggestion. Chan’s words are friendly, but the tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine.

The guy opens his mouth, likely to protest, but promptly shuts it when he sees the look on Chan’s face. The two of you watch as he stumbles away without a fight, bumping into a few other people in his haste to leave. Now that you’re alone, Chan backs up, giving you more space to breathe.

“Sorry about that,” Chan says, hand scratching at the back of his neck nervously. “Didn't want to be too aggressive. It just- you looked like you needed some help.”

“Some people just don’t know how to take no for an answer,” you say quietly. It’s just another thing to be grateful for when Chan doesn’t comment on the shakiness of your voice. Instead, his expression darkens further before he composes himself.

“Are you okay?” he asks tentatively. 

“Yeah, you came at just the right time.” You look away, a bit embarrassed that he had to step in and rescue you, but he puts a finger under your chin and uses it to turn your face back to him. It feels so different from when the drunk guy touched you that you don’t want him to stop. His eyes search yours for a moment and whatever he finds must satisfy him.

“You should probably rejoin your friends.” Chan starts to step away, but you reach out and snag his sleeve before he can go. 

“Chan-oppa.”

He pauses, turning back to look at you again.

“Yeah?” There’s a hopeful lilt to his voice, although you’re not sure what he’s hoping you say.

“Please don’t tell my brother about this,” you plead. Chan’s expression drops a little, clearly that’s not what he wanted to hear, but he’s still quick to reassure you.

“No, yeah, of course. I won’t say anything.”

“I don’t want him to worry about me.”

“Of course,” Chan repeats.

“And… thank you.” You rise up on your toes and kiss his cheek quickly, then slip away towards where your friends are before you can see what his reaction is. 

—

It takes a few days for you to recover from the party. You hadn’t drunk enough to be hungover, but just remembering your interaction with Chan makes you want to bury yourself in your bed and never leave. Luckily Minho hasn't questioned your change in behaviour much, but you can tell that he's getting sick of your wallowing, even if he doesn't know the reason behind it. 

“Yah, Y/n-ah!” Minho bangs on your door. “We’re heading out for gukbap in 5 minutes, are you coming?”

He doesn’t specify who the ‘we’ is, you know who to expect. Of course, Chan is included. It’s easy to make a decision.

“Go without me!” you yell back.

“Eh? Open up.”

“Just come in, it’s unlocked.”

You hear the door open and Minho approaches. He prods at your prone form with one of his feet.

“What’s up with you? You never say no to gukbap.”

“Nothing!” you groan.

“You’ve been acting strange since that stupid party, what are you hiding?” He pokes at you again, this time a bit harder.

“Oppa,” you complain, lifting yourself out of your blankets to swat at his foot. “I promise that I have nothing to hide, I just don’t feel like hanging out with your friends today.”

“They haven’t done anything, have they?” Minho asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Channie-hyung asked me if you were doing okay.”

“No! I-” you choke on your spit in your haste to answer, leading to a coughing fit that leaves you with tears gathering in your eyes. You clear your throat roughly then continue. “No, Chan-oppa and the rest of your friends have all been nice to me.”

“Oppa?” 

Whoops, you hadn’t meant for that to slip out.

“What?” you whine. “You’re the one who forces me to hang out with them all the time! You told me to stop being so formal around them. They kept telling me too, it got really annoying.”

“Hmm,” Minho huffs, not quite convinced.

“Really,” you insist. “I just don’t want to go out today, I promise.”

“Okay,” Minho says reluctantly before he gets uncharacteristically serious. “But you know, you're my little sister, you can always come to me if something or someone is bothering you right?”

“I- yeah of course, oppa.” You feel kind of touched, not used to Minho openly showing that he cares about you, even though you know he does. It's enough that your throat feels tight with emotion, but you force yourself to speak through it. “Thank you. I always know that I can count on you.”

“I'm the only one allowed to mess with you,” he says sweetly, ruffling your hair so that it sticks up the way he knows you hate. “If anyone else does, I'll make sure that they regret the day that they were born.”

You try to ignore the guilt that curls in your stomach as you watch Minho leave. You hate hiding things from him, but you're still confused by your own emotions and you're worried by how he'll react.  Minho has always been your biggest supporter in everything except for your love life, which he is strictly against no matter how much you try to reason with him. 

You can’t imagine how much worse it would be if he found out that the person you’re interested in is one of his friends. You’ve heard him warn the whole group that you were off limits. He’d use a joking tone, but everyone knew that he was actually serious about it.

In the end, it doesn’t even matter because you’re almost certain that nothing will ever come of your feelings, Chan is way out of your league so there’s no point in even imagining a relationship together.

—

Unsurprisingly, your attempts to avoid Chan fail pretty much instantly. You're not sure how the stars aligned exactly opposite to what you were hoping, but the studio that Minho's (and therefore Chan's) dance crew uses had a schedule conflict that ended up shifting their practice times.

To your dismay, it works out so that multiple times a week, you're leaving campus at the exact same time as your brother. That in itself is not much of an issue, it's the fact that Chan lives close enough to you that the three of you commute back together. To make matters worse, Minho always invites Chan over to have dinner and Chan always accepts.

You can't fault Minho though, you know that he invites him over partly because he wants to hang out with Chan and partly because he knows that Chan might end up working throughout the night in an empty apartment and completely forget to eat. It does also bring you comfort, knowing that Chan is being cared for, that he's eating well and taking time in his day to not worry about school or dance. It's also nice for you, you've grown so used to preparing and eating dinner on your own that it's started to feel more like a chore than something to look forward to.

It's just hard. You haven't had a private conversation with Chan since the party, but you know that he wants to talk to you. 

You were so sure that he would never reciprocate your feelings, but now, you're starting to doubt yourself.

While you're on the bus home, listening to your music, you sometimes glance over to find Chan staring at you, though he's quick to look away. When the three of you are cooking in the kitchen, he's more affectionate, resting a light hand on your waist or back when he passes behind you or nudging your shoulder playfully after he makes a joke. During dinner, he makes sure that you're also engaged in conversation, asking about your classes or the few clubs that you're involved in. He sometimes brings you and Minho little treats from the convenience store and they're always in your favourite flavours.

The thing is, Chan is friendly and generous to everyone that he meets. It's hard to tell if you're reading too much into your interactions with him or if he's actually paying you more interest than usual. You've never heard of Chan dating, actually you can't recall if any of the boys in Minho's dance crew have ever had partners, but it's not for a lack of interested parties.

At times, it feels so impossible that you're embarrassed to even admit to yourself how much you like Chan. You're not blind, you know that there's a fair share of girls who are just as delusional as you are, giggling when he looks over and insisting to their friends that he's interested in them because he helped open the door for them or waved as he walked past.

In fact, some of the very moments that you keep closest to your heart sound so similar to experiences that you've heard other girls gushing about that you hate yourself for having hope that Chan would be interested in you of all people.

It's easier to pretend that there's nothing going on between the two of you. You know that if you were to confess your feelings to Chan, something you would never do, that he would be nice about it. You can almost imagine it, how flustered he would be, making up some kind of excuse about not being interested in dating because he was too devoted to school and dance. He would promise not to tell your brother about it and assure you that it wouldn't change the way that he treats you.

You've run through this hypothetical situation so many times that not only have you experienced enough mortification for a lifetime, but you've convinced yourself even further to lock your feelings up inside of you. There's no point in confessing when you're so sure that nothing will ever come from it.

—

One day, Chan is over as usual and the three of you are cooking in your tiny kitchen, elbows bumping and arms reaching over as everyone tries to make do with the small space available. 

The food is almost ready when Minho's phone rings, the special song that he has saved for Jisung. He picks it up instantly, shoving the pair of chopsticks that he's using into your hands in his haste. You can't hear what Jisung says, but Minho rolls his eyes and leaves to his bedroom, lecturing Jisung about something the whole way there.

“Hey,” Chan says softly. You try to keep yourself busy, picking up dishes and putting them into the sink for washing, but he tugs at your wrist lightly so that you face him. “Is everything good with you?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding quickly. 

“You just seem, I don't know, distracted or something these days.”

“No, it's-” You take a deep breath to collect yourself. “Thank you for asking, really. But I'm fine.”

“Okay,” Chan says, still looking concerned. “Listen, I know we haven't-”

You've never been so glad to hear Minho re-enter the room. 

“Eh? You guys haven't even finished with the food?” he complains in a whiny voice that he only really uses around Chan. “What have you guys been doing this whole time? Come on, Y/n-ah, go set the table. Hyung, I know you can't cook to save your life, but at least scoop out the rice into our bowls. I'm hungry!”

Chan drops the subject for the rest of the night, but you know that you’ve only delayed the conversation. 

—

The next day, you wake up to a dry and achy throat. This isn’t that unusual, you suffer from seasonal allergies that sometimes block your nose and force you to breathe through your mouth as you sleep. This time, it feels different. Your throat has been bothering you more than usual the past couple of weeks and while drinking a glass of water does help you wake up, it doesn’t dull the pain that persists. 

You shuffle out of bed to wash up, then head straight to the kitchen, brewing yourself a steaming mug of yuja tea. The taste is comforting, but doesn't help as much as you hoped it would. 

You get ready for school quickly, hoping to leave before Minho wakes up. You know that your classes start before him today, but he's always been an early riser, preferring to work out or spend time in the dance studio before it gets too busy.

“Y/n-ah,” Minho calls out, right as you're starting to put on your shoes. “You were going to leave without saying bye?”

“I didn’t know if you were awake,” you say, wincing when your voice still sounds rough.

“You didn’t even check.” Minho steps out of his room and unlocks the front door for you as you pull on your backpack.

“I was in a rush-” you start to say, but the rest of your sentence doesn’t manage to make its way out. Clearing your throat only irritates it further, triggering a cough that you can’t contain.

“Y/n,” Minho says, genuine concern shining in his eyes. “Are you feeling okay?”

He raises a hand to your forehead, but you slap it away weakly before he can check your temperature.

“I'm fine, I just have this stupid sore throat that won’t go away,” you reassure him. “I don’t think I’m sick though. The air has been so dry lately, I think I need a humidifier in my room while I sleep.”

“Aww.” Minho pinches your cheek and goes straight back to teasing you. “My delicate baby sister.”

“Ugh, forget I said anything.” You push your brother away. “Now let me go, I'm going to be late for class.”

Minho doesn't say anything in response, but the next night when you go to sleep, a new humidifier has been installed on your bedside table. 

—

In the next few weeks you find that the discomfort in your throat that has been plaguing you has evolved into something else. There’s a persistent feeling of something caught in your throat and you find yourself with a lingering dry cough that no amount of tea or medication can relieve.

One night, you wake up feeling like you can't breathe. In a panic, you untangle yourself from your sheets and get yourself into a sitting position. The change in position allows a deep cough to rattle through you, enough that you’re finally able to suck in a breath. 

Instead of phlegm or maybe a piece of food that could have been stuck in your throat, you feel something velvety in your mouth. You blindly reach for your bedside table to turn on your lamp and wonder if you’re still asleep when you find a single, dark red rose petal in the palm of your hand.

You squeeze your eyes shut and pinch yourself, hard, but when your eyes open, nothing has changed.

Suddenly, you’re wide awake and a cold sweat starts to form, making your pyjamas stick to your back.

You’ve heard of hanahaki disease, of course you have, but you’ve never known someone who has suffered from it. 

It makes sense, you’ve had a sore, scratchy throat and dry cough for weeks now with no other cold symptoms.

You can’t believe it though. 

Hanahaki disease was almost like an urban legend at this point, having been exaggerated and twisted so much in media that you’ve almost forgotten the reality of it. While most of the shows and books that cover this have a somewhat romantic take on it, declaring that it's caused by unrequited love, you know the real cause is your refusal to admit your feelings.

You knew that lying, to Chan, to your brother, to yourself, would have consequences. You had heard stories about how people who kept their feelings a secret were slowly choked by them, petals and leaves representing every time you had held yourself back. 

You just never thought it would happen to you.

Sure, you were interested in Chan. You found him kind, hard-working, funny, and attractive, but it's not like you were in love with him.

You crumple the petal in your hand and throw it into your garbage can. If this is your first time finding petals, you still have months until things progress to be more serious. A part of you hopes that this was some sort of one-off, that this would be the first and last time your body creates any flowers.

You turn off the light and pull the covers tightly over your body, praying that you'll wake up in the morning and find that this was all some crazy stress-related dream.

You don’t fall asleep for the rest of the night.

—

You had thought that you were pretty good at covering up your tracks, but it doesn’t take long before Minho starts piecing things together. It doesn't help over the past few days, your symptoms have steadily worsened. You’ve found yourself coughing up petals every day, enough that you're starting to grow concerned about how quickly things are progressing.

It starts when he calls you into your shared bathroom one evening. You don’t think much of it, until you find him staring at something on the ground.

“What’s this?” he asks. 

“It’s a rose petal,” you say easily, stooping down to pinch it between two fingers and dangle it in front of his face. “You’ve never seen one before?”

Minho rolls his eyes at that, swatting at you half-heartedly. You manage to dodge out of the way, but lose your grip on the petal. It flutters to the floor, but Minho swipes it out of the air.

“What’s it from? Is a boy giving you flowers?” he asks warningly, crushing the petal in his grip.

“Oppa, stop jumping to conclusions!” you groan. “It’s from a bath bomb that I tried out, I guess I missed this one when I was cleaning up.”

“Since when do you take baths?” 

“Since I got a bunch of bath bombs on sale. I thought it would be relaxing.” This time you’re the one rolling your eyes. “But if I knew that it would lead to you interrogating me, I wouldn’t have bothered buying them in the first place.”

“Fine, sorry, just- just clean up next time you’re going to make a mess in the bathroom,” Minho says, before throwing the petal at you and leaving you alone.

You watch as the petal falls onto the tiles, crumpled into a little ball from being in Minho’s fist. When you reach out to pick it up, your fingers are trembling. You’ve never been a good liar, but it seems that at least this time, your acting skills have been good enough to fool Minho.

You hear the front door close and you finally give in to the cough that you've been trying to suppress the whole conversation. 

Tears spring to your eyes, but you can't stop the coughs that wrack your body. This time, even after you spit out a couple of petals, it still feels like there’s something stuck in your throat. After what feels like forever, that something dislodges and you find yourself holding a tiny rosebud complete with a short stem.

You stare at it in horror, you haven’t had more than petals until now. There’s a deep sense of dread that fills you. You thought that you’d have more time, it hasn’t even been a month since you had started coughing up anything.

You throw the flower into the toilet, flushing quickly so that the red petals swirl out of sight. Even after you rinse your mouth, there’s a tinge of iron that lingers.

—

You don't often visit the boys when they're at dance practice, in fact you actively avoid going to the studio. It's one thing to know that their dance crew is quite popular and another to experience it yourself.

But today you don't have much of a choice, in your rush to leave for an early lab, you completely forgot to pack an assignment that was due the same morning and had begged Minho to bring it to campus for you. You were lucky that he hadn't left the apartment yet, but he only brought it on the condition that you brought him coffee and picked your assignment up from him directly. 

It's just before 10am when you head over, which means that there's a lot of students waiting for their dance class to start, but it still surprises you to find a fairly significant crowd outside of the studio that Minho had texted you to go to. You can hear music faintly from the closed door and, as you push your way closer, find that there's a large horizontal window that has caught everyone's attention.

You get more than a fair share of dirty looks as you squeeze through the crowd and one girl even stops you as you move to open the door. 

“Sorry, excuse me,” you say politely.

“You're not allowed in,” she says in a haughty voice. Her acrylic nails bite into your arm, surprisingly strong for how thin she is. “Their practice isn't over.”

“You're not allowed in, I don’t need an invitation,” you say under your breath, rolling your eyes. You must not have said it quietly enough because she gasps dramatically.

“Please, you think you're special?” She looks you up and down dismissively. “You wish any of the boys would talk to someone like you.”

“You must be referring to yourself, they would never want to have to associate with someone as desperate and pathetic as you,” you snap, shouldering your way past her. She squeals, but finally lets go of you, maybe hoping that you'll get in trouble for interrupting.

You open the door just enough to slide through and carefully close it behind you so that you don’t disturb them. It’s mesmerizing, watching them all dance. They’ve been together for so long that it looks so natural for them to move in sync, although you know it’s more to do with long hours of practice and Minho’s eagle eyes pointing out any mistakes. 

None of the boys notice you at first, caught up in the chorus of the song that they're practicing, but Jeongin catches sight of you after a moment.

“Noona!” he says excitedly, abandoning the dance to run over to you. “Is that coffee for me?”

“Innie if you drink that coffee you will not survive long enough for the caffeine to make it into your bloodstream,” your brother warns from across the room. 

Jeongin falters at that, but when you shake the cup enticingly in front of him, he throws caution to the wind and takes a sip.

“Yah! What did I say, Yang Jeongin?” Is the only warning Jeongin gets before he’s chased around the room by an angry Minho. The familiar chaos is almost enough to lift your mood and make you forget about the terrible interaction you had outside.

“You look annoyed, did something happen?” Chan asks, approaching you from where he had gone to turn off the music on his laptop. You curse how observant he is, you thought you had done a pretty good job of hiding how you felt.

“Nothing, just had a weird encounter with a defensive fan out there. It's like you guys are idols or something” you joke, nodding your head towards the window where people are watching curiously. You can still feel the sting from the girl’s nails digging into your wrist and when you lift it up to examine it more closely, see a little bit of blood beading at the deepest crescents.

“They’re not fans,” Chan says in disgust, before he does a double take. “I- you’re bleeding?”

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, wiping at the wounds but only succeeding at smudging the blood so that it looks even worse. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

“Come here, we have a first aid kit somewhere. We don’t want it to get infected.” 

Chan takes your hand delicately, making sure to avoid the inflamed areas, and leads you over to the bench closest to where all their bags are piled up. You sneak a glance over to the girl that stopped you and can’t help but feel smug when you find her, pale and slack-jawed. Chan sits you down, only leaving your side to pull the blinds down on the window and dig around until he finds the first aid kit.

“Sorry, it might sting a bit,” Chan apologises as he pulls out the disinfectant wipes.

You peek at Chan and your breath catches in your throat at how concentrated he looks, brows slightly furrowed as he tries to gently dab at the scratches. Most of his hair is hidden under a baseball cap, but you can see a little duck tail forming at the base of his neck which draws attention to the trails of sweat that disappear under the collar of his shirt. You must make some kind of noise, because Chan looks up, eyes wide with concern.

“Sorry, does it hurt a lot?”

“No, you're good,” you say, cheeks flushing.

“I’m almost done,” he says, searching around for a bandage. He’s just finished applying it, tongue sticking out in concentration, when you hear someone else approach.

“What's going on here?” Minho asks.

“Nothing!” you say at the same time that Chan says, “I was just helping Y/n put on a bandage.”

“Did you hurt yourself?” Minho's eyes widen and he reaches out to take a look at your wrist, even though he won't be able to see anything under the bandage. You pull your sleeve down and stand up in a rush.

“It’s nothing, really oppa! I'm sorry, I have to go, my class is starting soon!” you call out, lying through your teeth as you run out of the room, clutching your assignment. “Thank you, Channie-oppa!”

You rush into the nearest bathroom, not even caring that there are people in the other stalls, and throw up an explosion of petals. By the time that you finally make it to class, just in time, your throat stings more than the wound on your wrist.

—

You start trying to avoid Minho and well, you never really stopped in your attempts to avoid Chan.

You leave early in the morning, only come back well after the sun has set, and do everything in your power to contain your cough when you're at home.

You know you're not solving the problem, only prolonging it, but every conversation, every lie, seems to accelerate the growth of the roses that have taken up residence in your lungs. You know that it's not helping, that keeping this secret is just strengthening the flowers that are slowly choking you. It's just that no matter how many conversations you've rehearsed in your head or text that you've drafted, something seems to stop you.

You're just so so scared that waking up with a mouthful of petals and thorns, bloody coughing fits that you can't prevent, and the raspy tone of your voice that has developed is preferrable. 

As much as you hate him sometimes, you've looked up to your brother for your whole life. You don't know what you would do without him that the thought of losing him terrifies you beyond belief.

You don't always get what you want, though. It's not long until Minho confronts you again.

It's not really a surprise, when you look in the mirror these days, you're shocked by your appearance. Your face is pale and drawn, you have deep bags from not being able to sleep at night, and you've lost weight since most solid food irritates your throat enough to trigger a coughing fit. Add that to the fact that you know your apartment's walls are paper thin which means it's impossible that your brother can't hear you coughing at all hours of the day.

“Y/n-ah. I know that you're not doing well right now. Don't even try to deny it,” Minho says. He closes his eyes for a moment before seemingly deciding something. “I- you don't have to tell me what it is. I would prefer it if you did, but just- what can I do to help?”

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to reassure him that you're fine, but regret it when you start choking instead. You lurch upright and head directly to the bathroom, Minho trailing behind you worriedly. 

“I-” Trying to talk just makes it worse. You're used to it now, the way that the thorns seem to claw at your throat on their way up, how even the brush of soft petals against the raw flesh hurts, the metallic taste that you can't seem to get rid of no matter how many times you wash your mouth. Still, it doesn't make it easier.

Minho watches in silence as you heave over the toilet. He puts a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles to try and soothe some of your pain. Your eyes water, partially from coughing and partly because you're mortified that your brother is finally witnessing this.

You throw up finally, mostly petals and blood, which is a relief. The stems have been the most painful by far, each thorn digging into the already abused flesh of your throat.

When you finally finish rinsing your mouth, he's holding out a tissue which you accept gratefully. Minho doesn't comment until you've finally caught your breath.

“Y/n-ah-”

“Yeah,” you say miserably, tearing at the leftover tissue in your hand. Your voice both sounds and feels like you've been swallowing gravel. “Hanahaki, who would have guessed that I'd be a romantic at heart?”

You laugh weakly. Minho doesn't.

“I knew it. All those times you locked yourself in the bathroom with the water running… That stupid bath bomb story you told me… I hear you up at all hours, coughing your lungs out… You’ve been hiding it this whole time, haven’t you?” he accuses you.

“I can explain-”

“Go on then,” Minho says impatiently.

“I- It's-” You bury your face in your hands, unable to get the words out. “It's stupid.”

“Y/n-ah, it's obviously not stupid. Whatever it is, it's bothering you enough that it's hurting you physically.”

“I like someone,” you say in a small voice. “Okay? That's it.”

“Why won't you tell them?” Minho demands. “Why won't you tell me who it is?”

“No, I can't. There’s no point, it wouldn't work out,” you insist, shaking your head.

“What are you talking about? No point? Y/n, can't you see it's killing you.” You've never heard Minho sound so desperate. He's angry, he's frustrated, but most of all, he's scared, you realise.

“Oppa-” you say cautiously, but you're interrupted by yet another coughing fit. You can't hide it from your brother when the tissue that you've used to cover your mouth is tinged red by the time you're done. You can feel there's still something lodged in your throat, it takes everything in you to ignore the urge to continue coughing to try and get it out.

“I can't lose you, Y/n,” he whispers. Your eyes widen when you realise his are filled with tears. You don't think you've ever seen Minho cry. “I can't let you do this to yourself, please.”

“I need more time-”

“You don’t have time!” Minho interrupts frantically. “Have you even seen a doctor about this?”

You look away guiltily at the question.

“No, but-”

“Are you kidding me?” Minho says exasperatedly. “We’re booking you an appointment right now.”

“Is it going to make a difference? I know what’s wrong-” As if to prove your point, you can’t stop yourself from coughing again. “It's not that bad yet, oppa,” you lie, the croakiness of your voice giving you away.

“Y/n-”

“I promise! I promise that I am trying my best. I- if it doesn't get better, I'll see a doctor in two weeks.” 

“Not good enough, Y/n-ah. If you can't tell me, at least talk to whoever you like,” he pleads. 

“Fine,” you say. “I- I'll talk to him in the next few days. And if the flowers don't go away, then I will see a doctor.”

Minho lets out a heavy sigh of relief, pulling you into his arms for a tight hug. You try your best to sink into his embrace, but just can't ignore the guilt that seems to consume you.

—

Chan catches you outside your last lecture that night. You're not sure how exactly he found out your schedule, but you exit the lecture hall to find him leaning against the wall directly across from the doors.

It could just be that he knows someone else taking this course or that he has a class in the same room, but somehow you know that he's waiting for you. Not ready for this conversation, you try to keep your head down to pass by unnoticed, but you know that he's spotted you when he calls out your name.

“Hey.” Chan reaches out, tugging on your sleeve without actually touching you. You turn around, stomach sinking slightly. Yes, you had promised your brother that you'd confess to Chan, but you didn't think it would happen so soon. “You're heading home right?”

“Yeah,” you say warily. “What's up?”

“I'm going back too, can we walk together?”

“Sure,” you agree slowly, not able to think of a way to get out of this situation. 

The two of you walk in silence towards your bus stop. Chan's being uncharacteristically awkward and you're not sure what to expect.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he says suddenly.

“Okay?”

Chan stays quiet for so long that you’re about to ask if he’s okay.

“I like you,” he blurts out, right as you open your mouth to speak.

“What?” Of everything he could have said, this is what you're expecting the least. There’s no way that you heard him correctly, you must need to get your ears checked.

“I like you,” Chan repeats. You blink up at him, stunned. “But if you don't feel the same way, it's- don't worry about it. I promise that I'll respect it. I'll back off and everything will stay the same. I just wanted to get it off my chest. And maybe, I don't know if I was just making things up, but I thought that you liked me too?”

“You can't,” is all that escapes your mouth.

“I… can't like you?” Chan asks, baffled.

“No, it's- you can't- we can't,” you stammer. “My brother-"

“What, you think I'm afraid of Minho-ya?” Chan asks cockily, raising an eyebrow in a way that you can't help but find attractive.

“I just- he always said-”

“Y/n-ah,” Chan says gently. “I like you and I don't care what your dumb brother thinks. He can complain all he wants, but as long as you're happy, I'm happy. And-”

“You actually like me?” you interrupt.

“Yes, is it really so hard to believe?”

“I just always thought, you only saw me as Minho-oppa's baby sister,” you say glumly, kicking at the ground.

“I did when you were younger for sure,” Chan laughs. “But since university, I feel like I've actually gotten to know the real you, to see how funny, talented, kind, and thoughtful you are. I like you for you, not because I'm friends with your brother.” 

“But there's so many other girls you could choose from that are much prettier or smarter than me,” you argue, still not wanting to get your hopes up.

“Y/n-ah, are you actually trying to convince me not to like you?” Chan pouts. “If you don't feel the same way, just say so, it's okay.”

“No! I-” you trail off, suddenly feeling incredibly shy.

“You what?” Chan prompts you gently.

“I like you too.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but you know that he's heard you from the smile that grows on his face.

“What was that?” Chan asks cheekily.

“I said I like you too!” you say louder this time, before hiding your face in your hands so that you don't have to look at Chan. 

Even though you're beyond embarrassed, you feel better than you have in a long time, giddy with the idea that Chan actually reciprocates your feelings.

But when you breathe in, instead of relief, there's still that familiar tightness in your chest. 

You have to talk to Minho, you realise. As much as you've been keeping it a secret from Chan, you know that a majority of your inner turmoil stems from hiding our feelings from the closest person in your life. You had hoped that talking to Chan would instantly cure your hanahaki, but clearly you were wrong.

—

For the first time in weeks, you purposely seek out Minho. Luckily, you don't have to look far, when you get home, Minho is stretched out on the couch watching anime.

“I told him,” you say. Minho immediately sits upright, turning his attention to you. “The guy I like. But it didn’t help, the flowers are still-”

“And he feels the same way?” Minho interrupts you.

“I- yes, he’s the one that confessed first.”

“Wow,” Minho whistles. “Who’s crazy enough to have feelings for you?”

You had already made up your mind that you had to tell your brother, but his reaction makes you even more confident in your decision. Maybe it's the way that Minho is treating this so lightly, but you’re no longer nervous to say it out loud.

“It's Chan-oppa,” you say, bracing yourself. 

“Chan?” Minho repeats, shell shocked.

“Channie-hyung? Like-” he takes out his phone and pulls up the photo he has of Chan in his contacts.

Chan has the craziest bedhead and his face is puffy from sleep in the photo. He's squinting up at the camera, a hand coming up to try and block his face. He looks adorable.

Minho watches your face carefully as you visibly melt a bit looking at the picture.

“You really do like him, huh,” he says in a quiet voice, no longer joking around. “This whole time?”

“Yeah.” You look down. “I'm sorry.”

“That's it? That's the person you've been so scared of telling me that you liked?"

“I- yes? You don't think it's weird?” you ask tentatively, looking back up at your brother. “The two of us being together? He's one of your best friends.”

“Oh no, it’s definitely weird.” Minho laughs. “I do not understand it at all. But Y/n, Channie-hyung is one of the few people in my life that I trust. Do I want him to be dating my baby sister? Of course not! I don't want you to be dating anyone. Do I think he’s out of his mind for being interested in you? Definitely.”

“Hey!” you interject. Minho carries on like he can’t hear you.

“Do I think he fully understands that if he hurts you in any way, directly or indirectly, on purpose or on accident, that I will hunt him down and make him regret the fact that he ever existed in the first place? Yes, I think he knows.”

“Oppa,” you say in horror. “You will not give your best friend the shovel talk.”

“I don’t have to.” Minho smiles brightly, a picture of innocence if you didn’t know him. “My reputation precedes me. Channie-hyung's one of my closest friends, he would never expect anything less from me.”

“Oppa-”

“Y/n-ah,” Minho softens his voice. “I also know that of all the people that I've ever met, Channie-hyung is one that is least likely to ever hurt you. I trust him, but I also want you to know that I trust your judgement.”

You look away, sniffing. You never could have imagined that Minho would accept your relationship so easily that it's making you feel emotional.

“Aigoo, Y/nnie,” Minho coos. He pulls you into a tight hug, ignoring the way that tears finally escape from you and stain his shirt. “You were really worried about this, weren't you?”

You nod into his shoulder, unable to provide a verbal response.

“I'm sorry that I made you feel like you couldn't tell me about this. It's definitely going to take a bit of time to get used to it, but I'm happy for you, really. I know I can seem overbearing sometimes, but I just worry.”

“I didn't want you to be upset at Channie-oppa or me,” you murmur. “I didn't want to do anything to hurt your friendship. I didn't want to hurt our relationship.”

“Y/n-ah,” Minho says gently, but firmly. “I want you to know that there is nothing that could hurt our relationship. You're my baby sister, I'm always going to love you.”

After months of keeping all your feelings bottled up, of denying your feelings for Chan, of dreading Minho’s reaction, you’ve felt a constant dread, guilt filling your insides. Now, you’re just filled with an overwhelming sense of relief. It’s as if an enormous weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

It feels like you can breathe again.

read it on ao3 | masterlist

[astralis-ortus]

spoiled

✱ boyfriend!bc x gn!reader

— it really is in the little things he does.

w.count → 0.5k genre → slice of life, fluff notes → chan referred to as chris, reader referred to as babe, teeny weenie kith a.n → been feeling sappy whenever i see chan, and what’s the best cure if not to write about it♡ ⋆ if you're enjoying my stories, do send me a ko-fi ⋆ see masterlist

growing up, you never really thought much about relationships.

well, it's not like you had the breathing room to do so anyway—with your parents' strained relationship and the way education had taken over the role as your safe space, the thought about crushes, falling in love, and jumping from one relationship to another like people around your age had resembled more like some faint, annoying whispers from the nether world rather than something you needed to experience as a young adult. instead, your goal revolves simply around graduating, getting a good job, and sticking with that—nothing more, nothing less.

well, that's exactly what you've managed to do so far…

with some minor adjustments.

"babe, do you want—oh, you're about to shower?"

you stopped a few steps from the door of the bathroom, eyes finding your boyfriend's curious pair just beyond the bedroom door while your arms hugged the fresh pair of pyjamas and a fluffy towel chris had bought for you a few months prior, right before your first sleepover at his place.

it still feels wild to you, the way chris just popped into your life one day and somehow managed to stay. the fact that you let him? even wilder. never in a million years would you ever thought you'd walk into your first and somewhat of a serious relationship not long after landing your first actual job, fresh out of university.

"yeah," you nodded, repeatedly blinking your eyes out of habit, "do you need to go? i might take a while since i'm gonna wash my hair."

"no no, i'm good," he replied, no longer looking at you when he turned busy, fumbling away at the cabinet under his kitchen sink, "but wait, there's something i want—found it!"

the curiosity in your eyes turned into sparkles of surprise when you noticed the rather familiar bottle in chris' hand as he heads over in your direction, sweet pair of dimples decorating his proud, cheeky smile.

"i got that body wash you said you wanted to try," handing the green colored bottle, chris lightly scrunched his nose alongside the click of his tongue, "kinda unfortunate—i was going to surprise you with it, but you beat me to the shower."

it's at times like this when you feel like your life in the past year has merely been a series of lucid dreams—when he looked at you with so much tenderness in his eyes, when he treats you like you're his entire world and more, when chris went out of his way just to prove that he meant everything he whispered in your ears between the ungodly hours of the night as he held you close when nightmares crept its long and sharp nails around your neck.

chris' affection still feels like a fever dream, and you don't know if you deserve to be at the receiving end of it at all.

"you're seriously spoiling me way too much, christopher," you finally chirped a response, mirroring your boyfriend's nose scrunch whilst keeping your unspoken worries locked away, "but thank you. i promise i'll use it well."

"i know you will," the dimpled smile made its way back to your boyfriend's features, igniting the familiar fuzzy feeling in the depths of your chest, and its rumble only grew louder when chris leaned in, faint scent of vanilla greeted you as he stole a peck from your lips,

"you know that's why i love spoiling you, right?"

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[justagalwhowrites]

Fucksgiving 2k24: Growing Family

You and Joel try to patch things up with your father while starting a family of your own. A Thanksgiving oneshot in the Stranger in a Bar universe.

^This is how I pictured this Joel as I was writing, with his lil tie on. Sorry not sorry.

Pairing: DBF!Joel x Female Reader (from Stranger in a Bar)

Length: 3.8k

CW: BREEDING KINK. Unprotected P in V for obvious reasons. Planning for pregnancy. Age gap (Joel is 20 years older, reader is 35 and Joel is 55.) Reader's dad is kind of a dick. No outbreak AU. Can be read as a stand alone fic with the understanding that Joel was reader's dad's bestie and he and reader are living together after dating years prior. No use of Y/N, minors DNI 18+ only.

A/N: Here's something to read while you navigate your own Thanksgiving dinner situations which are, hopefully, less awkward than this one. Happy Thanksgiving!!

“I mean it,” you said, clutching the casserole dish of mashed potatoes tightly to your stomach. “Best. Behavior.” 

“When am I ever not on my best behavior?” Joel asked, his hand on the small of your back possessively. 

You stopped in the middle of the drive on the mercifully long walk to your parents’ front door to stare at him, incredulous. 

“When are you?” You asked, brows raised. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you behave yourself, not once, especially not where my dad is involved…” 

“Alright,” he chuckled good naturedly. “I’ll do my best.” 

“You’d better,” you said. “He’s just coming around to this, OK? I’d rather not blow it.” 

“I know, baby,” he said, kissing your temple. “I’ll be good. Promise.” 

“Thank you,” you said, continuing up to the front door.

“Your dad needs to behave too, though,” Joel said, sticking close to you. “Because I’m not gonna just let him say the same shit he always does, I don’t care.” 

“Please try,” you said, ringing the doorbell. “If you do, I’ll make it worth your while.” 

“Really?” He asked, his voice husky. “Dyin’ to know what you mean by that.” 

“I mean,” you said, keeping your voice low. “Given how much I want to fuck your brains out, I’m pretty sure I’m ovulating and I can think of all kinds of ways you can try to knock me up - hey Mom!” 

“Hey, honey!” Your mom opened the door and pulled you in for a hug. You just caught Joel’s expression out of the corner of your eye, his mouth slightly agape as he stared at you. “Oh, it’s so good to see you.” 

“It’s good to see you, too,” you gave her a squeeze, carefully angling the casserole dish away from her before stepping back. “We come bearing potatoes.” 

“So you do!” She said, taking the dish before turning to your boyfriend and taking a deep breath. “Joel. Always good to see you.” 

You looked to Joel and saw him collect himself for half a second before smiling to your mom. 

“Good to see you, too,” he said. “Been a while.” 

“Yeah,” she smiled a little bigger and reached out to give his arm a squeeze. “It has.” 

You gave Joel an encouraging smile as the two of you followed your mother into a kitchen that was overflowing with dishes. 

“Can I help?” You asked, laughing a little as you looked around. 

“Oh…” she sighed, looking around before she laughed, too. “Yes, yes please. Your father has been utterly useless, just wandering around, muttering to himself. Not that he’s the most helpful in the kitchen but he’s not completely incompetent…”

“He’s good on the grill,” you said. “Kitchen… eh.” 

“Well, yes,” she giggled conspiratorially. “But I try to give him credit where it’s due. Usually I’m not on my own for a holiday but this year he’s been… something.” 

You just hummed in agreement and started in on the green beans because you were pretty sure you knew the reason why your dad was acting strange and that reason was currently asking your mom how she wanted the cucumber cut for the salad. 

Joel and your father had barely spoken in the six months since you’d moved back to Austin and gotten back together with Joel. 

Not that you were too surprised about that. He was, after all, one of your dad’s closest friends and was much closer to his age than your own. You hadn’t exactly expected the news of your relationship to go over well but it had been even worse than you’d anticipated. 

You’d arranged to talk to your parents in public when you decided to tell them. Neutral ground, as it were. Plus, you were pretty sure your father would be less likely to punch Joel in the face if you were in public. 

It ended up not making much of a difference. 

“You’re what!” Your father stood up so fast that his chair fell over, the sharp clatter of the wood on the tile restaurant floor and violence of his tone plunging the once bustling room into silence. 

“Dad,” you said gently. “It’s not a big deal…” 

“The hell it’s not!” He yelled, looking between the two of you. “When the fuck did this start, hm? When the hell did you start fucking my daughter!” 

“Why don’t you sit down and…” Joel began, but your dad didn’t let him finish. 

“Don’t you dare tell me what to do,” he put his finger inches from Joel’s face. “She is a child!” 

“I’m 35!” You gaped at him. “Dad, you’re being ridiculous!” 

“You’re already in hot water,” he snapped at you. “So keep your damn mouth shut while…” 

“Don’t talk to her that way,” Joel said, standing up with too much force, his voice hot. “You got a problem with me, handle it with me, don’t take it out on her.” 

“Don’t you tell me how to treat my own fucking kid!” Your dad yelled. “I’ll handle her however I damn well please!” 

You weren’t sure who threw the first punch but it devolved quickly then, your mother pulling your father away while you dragged Joel back, both men bloody and panting for breath. 

You kept your distance from your father after that. You talked to your mom regularly - she was smart enough to give up on trying to talk you out of your relationship quickly and, eventually, was even happy for you - but your father took some time. 

After a while, he was willing to talk to you. Your mother must have given him strict rules - he didn’t try to talk you out of your relationship or question Joel’s integrity - but it was stiff and awkward. 

Thanksgiving had been your mom’s idea. Joel was hesitant but - after you conspired with Sarah (you and Joel’s daughter becoming fast friends once you moved past the awkwardness of your closeness in age) so she would stay in Dallas to go to have dinner with her boyfriend’s family - he’d agreed eventually. 

“If this don’t prove how much I love you, woman,” he’d grumbled as he tied his tie that morning. 

“You? Love me?” You asked, adjusting the knot under his chin. “News to me…” 

“Uh huh,” he smiled a little, just enough to make his cheek dimple. 

“Never said it,” you had to fight to hold your smirk back. “Definitely not 20 times while you were inside me last night…” 

“That don’t sound like me at all,” he teased back before going to kiss your cheek. “You look beautiful, baby.” 

“Well, I do have a hot date.” 

“Really? When’s he showing up?” 

You glared at him and he laughed before giving you another kiss. 

“Let’s go before I lose my damn nerve,” he said. “Gonna be the most awkward Thanksgiving ever.” 

For a little while, there in the kitchen with just Joel and your mother, you almost forgot how awkward this was supposed to be. 

You and Joel moved around each other in tandem now. You’d been living together for months and you’d fallen into sync so fast it was almost strange when you stopped to think about it. When you’d moved in with your ex, it took what felt like a small eternity to really understand the flow of his life, to subconsciously recognize where he was going in the kitchen when you were cooking side by side, to remember to consider him when making decisions big and small. With Joel, it was almost instantaneous. There had been no odd fumbling around each other as you went through your lives under one roof, no putting one brand of peanut butter back to pick up the one you suddenly remembered he preferred, no confusion or frustration when you came home from the office to find him not back yet. It all clicked, like you’d been built to do this alongside each other all along. Even in the unfamiliar space of your parents’ kitchen, his hand found the small of your back as he moved behind you to get a serving bowl and you just knew which knife to pass him from the block beside you when he went to reach for it. 

Things shifted when your sister showed up about an hour and a half before dinner, her arrival finally coaxing your father out from wherever he’d been hiding since you and Joel had gotten there. 

“Hey Dad,” you smiled at him after he finished greeting your sister and he stood, hovering awkwardly in the kitchen. “Good to see you.” 

“Good to see you, too, princess,” he said pulling you in for a quick hug. 

He turned his attention to Joel then, looking him up and down like he would an adversary. 

“Joel,” he said, nodding once. 

“Hey man,” Joel said, holding his hand out. Your father’s jaw twitched but he shook Joel’s hand all the same. “Good to see you.” 

Your father just grunted before going to the fridge and getting out a beer. Joel followed him and you and your mother exchanged worried glances. 

“Think the Cowboys are gonna pull out a win this year?” Joel asked. 

Your dad held his beer for a moment, looking like he was considering just not responding but then seemed to think better of it. 

“We’ll see,” he said. “With their record, I’d settle for not getting our asses handed to us.” 

Things were easier after that. Your father and Joel disappeared to the living room and you heard the telltale sounds of football follow immediately after.

“I still can’t believe you’re fucking Dad’s weirdly hot friend!” Your sister said, just quiet enough that your mother was out of earshot. “Or that you were for years, forever ago! Seriously, there are rules about holding back to your sister like that.” 

“You don’t need to know everything I do, you know,” you said. 

“No but I need to know everyone you do,” she said. You snorted. “So… you think it’s going to last?” 

“Well, we’re trying for kids,” you said, putting the last of the shredded cheese on the mac and cheese. “So it’d better.” 

“What!” She yelped. 

“What?” Your mom ran over. “Everyone OK? Did you burn yourself?” 

“We’re good,” you smiled. “Just catching up. Sister shit, you know.” 

“Yeah,” your sister said. “Sister shit.” 

Your mother went back to the other side of the kitchen and your sister mouthed oh my God at you and you fought the urge to laugh. Your dad might hate your boyfriend but at least you could count on your sister to be your sister. 

Eventually, the rest of the family came over, too, and everyone settled around the overly full dining room table, Joel sitting beside you with a reassuring hand on your knee as he made small talk with one of your uncles. 

Dinner went surprisingly well, at least until everyone was a few glasses of wine deep and your father decided to pick a fight. 

“So, Joel,” he said, setting his wine glass down with a little too much force. “Not sure if I should thank you for getting my daughter to move back home or if I should blame you for her obsession with being a failed musician for a living.” 

“Dad!” Your sister gaped at him. “What the fuck!” 

“Language, please!” Your mother said. 

“Just seems to be real clear to me now,” he said. “Doubt she’d be so stuck on playing that damn guitar all the time if it weren’t for your bad influence.” 

“Bad influence?” You laughed. “Dad, I’m almost middle aged, I’m not some impressionable teenager. I love my work, I don’t consider myself to be a failure just because I do music therapy instead of being a rock star, I…” 

“You could have actually done something with yourself, you know,” he cut you off. “Instead, you decided to drive your life into the ground with this man and some bullshit career path…” 

“Watch it,” Joel said sharply. “Not gonna let you talk to her that way. You will treat her with respect or I will make you treat her with respect.” 

“Respect?” Your dad asked, his eyebrows raised. “You’re gonna sit there, in my house, at my table and lecture me about respect when you decided to take up with my daughter?” 

“Stop it!” You shoved your chair back, throwing your napkin on your gravy smeared plate. “Both of you! Dad, stop acting like your my keeper and that I don’t have any goddamn agency because you raised me! Joel, stop acting like I need you to defend my honor! Just… fucking stop it!” 

“Baby,” Joel said but you ignored him, stalking off to the guest room at the back of your parents’ house, needing some space from everyone. 

You let yourself cry for a minute, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at an old family photo of you with your parents and sister, back when you were just 10 years old. Your hand drifted to your lower stomach. You weren’t pregnant yet - at least, not that you knew - but you couldn’t imagine your child doing anything that would make you as mad at them as your father seemed to be at you loving Joel. 

There was a soft knock at the door and you wiped your eyes on the backs of your wrists. 

“Yeah?” 

“S’me,” Joel said quietly. “Can I come in?” 

“Yeah,” you sniffed. 

He came in, closing the door gently behind him before sitting next to you. 

“You OK?” He asked after a moment. 

“I will be,” you sniffed again. 

“I’m sorry baby,” he said, reaching out and cupping your face, his thumb tracing the arch of your cheekbone. “Know I promised to be on my best behavior but… Look, him being a dick to me is fine, I can handle that. I just can’t watch him say that shit to you. But that don’t mean I should get… aggressive and…” 

“It’s not your fault,” you said. “I’d do the same thing if I were you, I can’t really blame you for it. And I appreciate that you care about me…” 

“I love you,” he smiled a little. “More than just about anything else. But that means I need to take care of you in the way you want me to, not just the way I want to do it.” 

You smiled tightly before leaning in to kiss him. Joel kissed you back, gentle at first but, before long, something shifted, the kiss becoming hot and needy. 

“Baby,” Joel said, his voice low. “Should… should probably get back out there…” 

“They can wait,” you said, panting a little. “I want you.” 

He groaned, nipping at your lower lip but still hesitating. 

“Please, Joel,” you breathed, pressing yourself closer to him. “I need you. Let’s make a baby.” 

“Fuck,” he said, his tone shifting, and then he was on you. His tongue plunged into your mouth as he lay you back on the bed. 

He didn’t bother taking your panties off, just tucking them to the side and tugging the low v-neck of your sweater down to expose your cleavage. 

“Christ, you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he groaned, cupping your sex with one hand and tugging your breasts free of your bra with the other. He mouthed at your nipple, licking and sucking over your breasts as he ground his palm against your clit, one thick finger slipping inside your seam to your already dripping entrance. “Don’t deserve you, baby.” 

“Yes you do,” you whispered. “You deserve the world.” 

He just moaned in response, kissing you again, one large hand cupping your breast, his thumb brushing your nipple. 

It wasn’t long before he shoved his pants and underwear down just enough to free his cock and he jerked himself a few times with the hand that had become coated in your wetness. He notched himself at your entrance, his head thick and large and swollen, and pressed inside, a moment of resistance before your channel stretched over him and he buried himself within you. 

He pulled his lips from yours, his head falling to the bed over your shoulder as he panted for breath. 

“Goddamn you feel good,” he said, voice tight and hot in your ear. You rolled your hips up against him, making him moan. 

“Good,” you said. “Love making you feel good, sometimes that’s all I want to do.” 

“Fuck, you think your daddy hates me now,” he said. “If he knew what you do to me he’d shoot me.” 

He started to fuck into you then, keeping his chest pressed tight to yours while his cock worked you hard and fast inside, his head finding that soft and tender place within you that built your orgasm fast with every stroke. He ground his cock against you there, his hips on your clit, making every ounce of need inside yourself gather tight and low. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you panted. “I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come, I…” 

“Good,” he growled. “Come for me, come while I get you pregnant, c’mon baby and come all over me.” 

You had to bury your face in his shoulder to keep quiet, your orgasm hitting you hard and fast, your center fluttering over his thick length as he held himself inside you. 

“Oh you like hearin’ that, huh?” He asked, breathless, starting to move again, already building your next orgasm as he did. “Like hearing how I’m gonna put a baby in my baby, that it?” 

“Yes,” you groaned, your second climax growing quickly. “Yes, please, please, please, please…” 

“You don’t gotta beg for it baby,” he said, pulling back from you enough to look you in the eyes as he spoke. “I’ll give you everything, as many babies as you want, fuck, gonna give you my baby right now, gonna make you pregnant, fuck!” 

He buried his face in your neck and pressed himself so deep inside you as he came, the heat of him spilling into you in thick, heavy pulses. 

“Fuck,” he said after he finished, kissing your neck before pulling back from you to kiss your lips, too. “Didn’t mean to come that quick, wanted to get you off one more time first.” 

“It’s OK,” you said, panting, even though it was kind of a lie. You’d been so close to coming again that you felt tight inside your skin, an energy rippling over you that you knew you wouldn’t be able to shake until you came again once you got home. 

“No, it’s not,” he said, sitting up and slowly, carefully pulling his softening cock from you. “Got you all worked up, not taking care of you the way you deserve if I don’t finish the job.” 

You felt some of his come slip out of you but he caught it with the tip of his cock, pressing it back inside before tucking himself away in his underwear and cupping your swollen, aching sex. 

“I’ll take care of you,” he said quietly. “Take care of you the rest of my life.” 

He worked your clit, slow and gentle circles at first before his touch grew firmer, drawing your orgasm back to the surface in the way that only Joel seemed to know how to do. You came to his touch, feeling his thick come inside you as you did, like your body was trying to pull him even deeper inside. 

“There you go,” he said, his eyes locked on your dripping pussy. “Fuck, so pretty, every damn inch of you.” 

You panted for breath, relaxing down into the bed before suddenly remembering that your entire family was down the hall. 

“Fuck,” you sighed. “We should get back.” 

“We should,” Joel said, tugging your panties back in place and helping you cover your chest again before chuckling. “Think your daddy really might shoot me if he found us like this.” 

You laughed and sat up, looking at Joel for a moment. You trailed your fingers through his hair and he smiled a little, his eyes crinkling at the edges. 

“Really not sure why you think I’m worth all this trouble,” he said. “But I sure am thankful I have you.” 

You smiled back. 

“I’m thankful for you, too.” 

You kissed him and he helped make sure your hair and makeup didn’t look like you just got fucked within an inch of your life before you emerged, the party having moved to the living room, your mom and aunts on one side of the room, your dad and uncles on the other, an uncomfortable silence falling when the two of you walked in. 

“Joel,” your dad said, getting up and walking over with a sigh. “Look… not sure I’ll ever really be OK with this but… my daughter could do worse than a man seems to adore her and is willing to stand up for her.” 

“I do adore her,” Joel said. “I love her. I want to do everything I can for here as long as she’ll let me.” 

Your dad nodded slowly. 

“Think I can live with that,” he said. “But you hurt her? I will kill you.” 

Joel laughed a little. 

“I expect nothing less.” 

Joel and your dad seemed a little more like the friends they’d started out as after that, laughing and talking and watching football. When the two of you left for home, your father and mother walked you out, containers of leftovers in hand. 

“It was so good to see you both,” your mom smiled, giving you a squeeze. “We’ll have to do this again. Soon.” 

“We will,” you kissed her cheek before turning to your dad. “It’ll be nice.” 

“It will,” he said before looking to Joel and holding out his hand. “Welcome to the family.” 

Joel smiled a little, taking his hand and shaking it. 

“Thanks for letting me in it.” 

You smiled the whole drive home, Joel’s hand on your knee. 

“So,” he said, looking at you conspiratorially as he pulled into the drive way. “Think the family will be even bigger next Thanksgiving?” 

“I sure hope so,” you smiled. “But I think we’ll have fun trying either way.” 

“Think we should try again now?” He asked, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles. “Because, you know… if you’re ovulating, should probably do it again. Seems like the smart move.” 

You laughed, already adding pregnancy tests to your mental shopping list.

“Well we can’t start out our lives as parents doing the dumb thing,” you said and he laughed before the two of you went inside to try again to grow your family.

[shorthaltsjester]

i could talk a lot about the reasons that i think vox machina as pcs is actually a perfect insertion into the c3 narrative right now but the one that’s really sticking out to me is the diversity in the opinions on the gods that the party has and the lack of influence their individual opinions have on their commitment to save the world. because with bh they’re all pretty ambivalent or anti-god with fcg and now braius being outliers, but both of those cases are still very unique and particular ones: fcg had his cleric powers prior to his religiosity and so it was largely just about the personal meaning he found in the changebringer but he still ended up having divine exchanges with her and braius is in the fjord stone school of being a willing child of god divorce. and with those of bh who dislike the gods it’s for completely valid reasons with completely invalid application of their personal woes to a universal scale. but in vox machina we see the way that experience with people that the gods matter to beyond just the magical exchange and experience with the weight that denying the rise of a new betrayer left on the shoulders of the gods they aided. i have to say that beyond the fact that i am just fond of vox machina as a party, it is also incredibly refreshing to see people who have diverse opinions about the gods but also actually engaged with opinions (a word which here refers to taking seriously, and not using confirmation bias) beyond those of their insular party.

a while ago ashton with his insistently short sight said he’d like to see the gods pray to mortals — something they’ve always been doing and is in fact a definitive part of their established metaphysical status in exandria — and vox machina is taking on the role in the c3 narrative of proving (once again) that has been the case, but they differ from bh because where bh (as a group) tends to deny the pleas from the gods unless it already serves or proves what they’ve assumed to be true about the world and the gods, vm (as a gorup) took seriously that the gods might have something new to introduce to them. i mean that’s obvious in scanlan and vex, both of whom became champions of gods they hadn’t really even considered in a serious vein prior to speaking to them. and scanlan very much takes on the label of ioun’s champion as a job to be fulfilled in the specific battle, but with vex being pelor’s champion has more significant weight tied to whitestone becoming her home and the fact that she belongs to a community that does, very much, take seriously the symbolic and literal power of the dawn, and she admits she hadn’t really realized the people-ness of the gods themselves until she met the everlight and the dawnfather.

but from the very same community, with a more historical basis in it, we get percy, who is very much uninterested in gods, until of course he might find value in an exchange with them. or, in one of my favourite moments from percy, until he is given hope that his family still exists somewhere beyond his memory of them, even if bound in the divine books of a god that calls him out on his selfish habits. vox machina also has keyleth who is pretty anti-god, not to the degree of ‘let’s kill them’ that we’ve seen in bh, but even when facing them directly, she wasn’t subtle about how little she cares for them, especially when offset by the people that matter much more to her. vm has pike who is the spearhead of the everlight’s return to power, they have grog who fucks with the stormlord’s teachings even if he doesn’t deal with the god part all that much. there’s a multiplicity of god-to-mortal relationships in vox machina that is diverse in a way that bh certainly isn’t, and i think that allows a really interesting deepening of what’s at stake. because, of course, their focus is getting vax out of the orb, but there’s a weight they all carry regarding what happens to the world if it loses the gods, especially if the way they go is through the machinations of a ancient elven jackass.

and i mean it’s a jokey moment but i think an exchange that’s really illustrative of why it’s so nice to get vm who are certain about their stances about the gods and who don’t have to discuss the philosophical implications of their actual lived and material reality is the one between vex and keyleth where they’re discussing stopping predathos and vex jokes that ‘hey maybe predathos gets out and just eats the matron, surely that’d be fine’ and keyleth laughs with her but then they both kind of step out of that and are still committed to fighting predathos. because as keyleth emphasizes in her speech, exandria belongs to a collective, one made up of people who both hate and love the gods and though vex and keyleth both hate one god in particular, they have the awareness to treat that as their own issue, not one worth risking exandria to solve. anyway. this isn’t super well put and maybe i’ll elaborate some other time but i’ve seen a lot of people being bitter about vox machina showing up (which is their right!) but saying they’re only there in ways that detract from the narrative (i obviously disagree) so i just wanted to put into words why i think that’s wrong (though to be clear i don’t doubt that the fact that vm is cr’s personal blorbos plays a significant hand in the fact that vm showed up, they just also are succeeding (to me) at having a narrative purpose as well)

[fandomnerd9602]

Scarlet Delivery

a Scarlet Webs story

Wanda Maximoff x Spider-Man!Reader

Wanda was hyperventilating. Her cell phone was buzzing just waiting for you to pick it up.

“Hello?” You manage to answer.

“Detka, where are you?!” She managed to say in between her hyperventilating breaths.

“Currently…rush hour” you said sticking to the front of a police car. The perp was Mac Gargan. “You shouldn’t worry, baby. I’ll be there.”

“Promise?” Wanda said, tears streaming down her cheek.

“I promise.” A gunshot went off. You narrowly dodged a bullet, “gotta go. Hey! Can’t you see I was taking a phone call!?”

And with that you had to hang up and jump back into the fray. You hated having to do patrol without Wanda. But circumstances had changed the flow and now you were solo again. Nothing changes when you’re the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Meanwhile, Wanda’s tears were still flowing as a portal opened behind her. And out of the portal comes this universe’s Doctor Stephen Strange.

“It’s time,” he says gesturing for your lovey witch to follow. She does so, all the while hoping that you’d keep your promise.

You land on the hood of Mac Gargan’s stolen vehicle. “License and registration, sir?”

Blam! Another shot goes off, you jump onto the roof of the car. A couple more shots ring out. You dodge each bullet flawlessly.

“Can we wrap this up?” You mockingly whine, “I have prior engagements!”

You web up Mac and yank him out the car, webbing him to a nearby streetlight. The car barrels towards a nearby crosswalk where a little old lady with a Walker is currently trying to cross.

“Of all the times!” You jump onto the hood and spray it with various webs before jumping onto the back and yanking the car back with all your might, bringing the car to a dead halt mere inches from the elderly lady.

You give a quick salute and swing off. You knew the location. You knew where Wanda was gonna be. It was all a piece of cake right?

Well then came the Vulture. He tries to slice at you once, twice. “Not now Toomes! I have some place to be.”

“Yes. The morgue!” He tries slicing at you again. You swing thru Times Square and web the winged foe in a giant spider web.

“Yo! Spidey!” A citizen calls out to you.

“Yeah?”

“Where’s your lady? The Witch?”

“I’m trying to get to her now!” You call out before swinging off again into the city. Why did it have to be on the other end of New York?

You land on a rooftop. You quickly web a couple silk lines to your suit, forming a makeshift pair of wings.

“I’m coming Wanda,” you shoot out two web lines and slingshot yourself across the city. Catching a wind current, you sail thru the open air of the city.

You see your destination: the Sanctum Sanctorum. You dive bomb and land right in front of the building. Wong quickly answers the door.

“How far?” You ask.

“You made it just in time.” He smiles and leads the way. You nearly run the way to the little room.

You run in to find Wanda in a relaxed position, still hyperventilating. Nine months pregnant and she still looked beautiful as ever. Dr Strange was readying his medical scrubs.

“Detka!” Wanda exclaims, tears of joy streaming down her face. You run up to her, kissing her gently.

“I promised I’d be here, right?” You ask with a little smirk. Wanda giggles and kisses you again.

“Okay Wanda,” Strange intones, “it’s time. Now push.”

“Sure you got this, Doc?” You ask.

“It’s not surgery. I’m just catching the babies. I won’t drop them.”

“Drop them and I will kill you” Wanda say through gritted teeth.

“I believe you” Strange answers back. “Now focus and push.”

It ended up taking the rest of the day and into the night but Wanda delivered two healthy baby boys. You and her were so excited.

“My boys,” Wanda said with fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. “Billy. Tommy.”

“They’re amazing,” you kiss the top of Wanda’s head, “thank you baby.”

“Thank you. I love them so much already,” Wanda let out a little tired laugh. She actually had her boys in her arms. This wasn’t some conjured up version of them. This wasn’t some other universe’s version of them. This was them, flesh and blood. She had a loving spouse, two handsome little babies, a nice little home in Queens.

Wanda finally had the life she always wanted. And best yet, she got to have it with you, her Spider Monkey.

Tags: @tokufighter @ma1egamer @jacelion @lifespectator @aloneodi @holiday-house-of-m @family-house-of-m @multi-fandom-enjoyer @iamnicodemus @rroyale-109 @scarletquake-n7 @moonpheus

[yeo-hee]

— i don’t even know your name • lee heeseung

“then the crowd came, and pulled you away.”

— meeting each other at a party after a small mistake causing you to splash your drink over your white dress, you find yourself attracted to the stranger — lost in conversation with him. only, you’re pulled away by your best friend before you get to know each others names.

warnings: slightly strong language, mentions of alcohol & nicotine, reader is mad at first.

wc: 3.8k.

not proofread.

“COME on, Y/N, it’ll be fun! And I’ll be right there with you the whole time.” Was what your best friend said two hours prior to dragging you into the frat house. Only, now you were standing alone, lost in the mix of unfamiliar faces as you recalled the moment your friend got swept away by the likes of a guy she deemed cute enough to flirt with.

The smell of alcohol lingered in the air, sweaty bodies mixed together in the center of the room, jumping around and singing screaming along to the lyrics of whatever popular, upbeat song blared through the large speakers set up against a wall.

You felt suffocated, first and foremost, as you tugged the skirt to your dress down — one you had long tucked away into the depths of your rather messy closet only to be rediscovered in a hurry of choosing something to wear for the night.

Parties were not everything they seemed to be, nothing like the typical college party you’d see on screen. Unfortunately, your dreams of living a romanticized university life were long crushed as you were faced with the unbearing reality of being drowned in studies and such.

You clutched the can of cheap beer to your chest, a hand covering the top of it as you pushed through a sea of people, brows subconsciously curved inward until you pushed the doors to a balcony open — a rush of the chilly, autumn night air spreading goosebumps over your exposed skin before you quickly adapted to the change of temperature.

The balcony was lonesome, if not for the couple that was making out before shooting you a dirty look and leaving you by yourself. Not that you were complaining, of course.

A light breeze from the few trees that lined the streets brushed through your hair, blowing it behind your shoulders as you leaned up against the railing. You held your can of beer in your hand loosely, occasionally bringing it to your lips to take small sips.

Behind you, interrupting the muffled music through the thick glass of the balcony door, the song playing inside became clearer to your ears as you could hear a rush of footsteps stumble.

At the abrupt commotion, you turned around only to collide with a hard chest as the remainder of your beer jumped out of the can, staining the white color of your dress. A gasp fell from your lips, surprise evident in your widened eyes and your jaw hung slightly ajar upon the cold feeling of the liquid sticking the fabric of your dress to your skin.

“What the hell?” You let out naturally, as a string of curses filled your ears — whoever you had bumped into backing up as your eyes landed on his bowing figure.

As he lifted his head, you met his gaze. His cheeks were flushed in embarrassment, doe eyes open wide as he stared at you apologetically.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. Are you alright? I didn’t mean to.” He rushed out; frantic, flustered hands waving nervously around in the air in front of you.

Masked with frustration especially because you didn’t even want to come to the party tonight in the first place, you paid no mind to him as you peered down at the wet fabric that clung to your body around your neckline. It was uncomfortable, and sticky. Now reeking of the intoxicating smell of alcohol.

“Listen, I’m really sorry. My friends and I were messing around, and they thought it’d be funny to push me out here and I kinda stumbled and then.. boom. I bumped into you. It was a mistake, really.” The boy pleaded his case, as your gaze shifted up.

“Imaginary friends?” You huffed, referring to the fact that you were the only two left outside, making it to be as if he was a liar. “Whatever, man.” You sighed out, shaking your head as you furrowed your brows, setting the now empty can of beer on the top of the thick wood railing.

Heeseung peered over his shoulder, muttering a string of curses to himself as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I know this doesn’t help my case that my friends ditched me. But, you’ve gotta believe me. That’s really what happened.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, crossing your arms tightly over your chest as you stared at him with boredom evident in your eyes.

“I’m sorry about your drink. Can I get you another one?” He asked hesitantly, as you shot him a look. One filled with mild annoyance and disgust.

“Did you seriously pull this shit just to get me a drink?” You inquired, watching as he panicked, a groan slipping past his lips as he ran a hand over his face, shaking his head frantically.

“God, no, I’m not an asshole. I understand this whole thing looks really, really bad on my part. And I can also understand why you don’t believe me. But I swear on my life, I’m telling the truth and I would never do anything like that on purpose.” The boy expressed deeply, hands together in a pleading motion.

You watched him curiously, eyes narrowed before you nodded your head, simply going along with his story. Only due to the fact that he seemed to be genuinely apologetic. “Okay. Sure.” You let out, giving in as you maintained distance from him.

“I don’t want another drink, anyway.” You added on, answering his prior question. He blinked, and nodded his head in understanding, letting out a hum that you couldn’t even hear over the muffled noise coming from inside.

“Okay. That’s fine. Can you at least let me get you something to dry up?” Heeseung requested, as you paused momentarily, thinking for a moment.

“I’ll be quick. I promise.” He added on quietly, clearing his throat. With a sigh, you muttered a reply in agreement as you felt uncomfortable with the feeling of the wet fabric.

With that, the unfamiliar boy hurried back inside. To be quite honest, you didn’t exactly expect him to return. Not too trusting in a stranger at all, so you assumed that he would just disappear into the party without much care for the disturbance caused partially by him. It wasn’t very often at all that you’d meet someone with decency in the late hours of a college party of all places.

In fact, you never had before.

Instead of anticipating his return, you spun back around to face the view of the streets — staring down at the shine of the wet pavement as it had rained earlier on in the night.

You propped your chin up in the palm of your hand, listening to the muffled lyrics of another random song made in the early 2000’s, familiarity found within the lyrics as you huffed out a small laugh.

Almost ten minutes passed, before the balcony doors behind you creaked open. You turned to glance over your shoulder, pleasantly surprised that the same boy from before did in fact return.

“Sorry it took so long. Was hard to find a bathroom that wasn’t occupied.” He claimed with a chuckle. He stood a short distance from you, not growing too close in hopes to not make you uncomfortable — especially given you two had started on the wrong foot already.

Heeseung extended his hand out to you, one that held a hand towel he had stolen from the drawers of a random bathroom he had stumbled upon as he wandered lostly through the house.

With a bit of reluctance, you accepted the piece of cloth into your hands, propping yourself back up against the railing. “Thank you.” You muttered, expression having relaxed along with your tone of voice.

He nodded quietly in return, wandered to the other side of the balcony as he leaned up against it, a distance away from you to give you your space as he spoke up in response. “No problem. It’s the least I could do.”

You hummed quietly, a gentle noise only you could hear. You dabbed the towel along your skin, squeezing the fabric of your dress between it to hopefully dry out the liquid that soaked into it. As you let out a sigh, the boy peered over at you, guilt etched across his features and in his eyes.

“I’m sorry about your dress.” Heeseung apologized for the nth time that night, referring to the light beige stain that settled into the originally white fabric. Made from the beer that had splashed up and onto you upon the collision you made with him.

You looked over at him, settling the hand towel onto the railing next to your empty can. You had managed to dry it as much as possible, no longer feeling that icky sensation of wet clothing over your skin.

“I don’t know how much a dress like that would be, and I only brought fifty dollars with me tonight. Didn’t wanna accidentally lose my wallet and end up losing everything, you know? But if fifty dollars can help with the cost, I will gladly give it to you.” The boy offered, fishing into the pocket of the trousers he wore to pull out his wallet.

“Or, I mean, I also have Apple Pay. So we can do that, too.” He continued on, remembering the useful digital service. You breathed out a small laugh, shaking your head off to the side as you gazed down at your hands, clasped together on top of the railing.

“I don’t want your money. I’m fine.” You declined, waving it off as you gestured for him to put his wallet away. However, he didn’t at first, hesitant as he knew that declining was just the polite thing to do. Clearly, still insistent on replacing it.

“Are you sure? Because I really don’t mind—“

“Positive. Put your money away, please, this is awkward.” You said, shaking your head as you looked back at him. Heeseung smiled sheepishly, chuckling as he nodded reluctantly and shoved the leather wallet back into his pocket.

“I never even wear this thing anyway.” You reasoned calmly, brushing your fingers through your hair as the wind caused it to be slightly disheveled. The boy tilted his head, silently admiring you from a short distance.

“Why not? You look pretty in it.” He complimented, albeit a bit shy as his tone grew softer. You raised a brow, unable to deny the light flutter in your heart as your cheeks flushed pink—causing you to turn your head away.

“Because,” you began, clearing your throat to regain composure. “I bought it at the start of this semester for a party. Ended up going to one, and I hated it. So, I never really cared to wear it again.”

Heeseung nodded his head in understanding, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he pursed his lips. “So, you’re not the party type, then?”

“Not really.” You confessed.

“May I ask why you’re here then?”

“My friend convinced me to go with her since she didn’t wanna go alone. I thought maybe I just had a bad experience the first time around, but now I just remembered why I hated it in the first place.” You voiced out, a light grimace on your face as he smiled and nodded. “And why is that?”

“I don’t even know where to start.” You admitted, a smile crept up onto your lips as you rubbed your temples, finding the whole ordeal to be ridiculous.

“For one, it’s really loud. I can’t think, and it makes my head hurt. It also smells like shit—from the sweat and alcohol and sometimes, nicotine. And don’t even get me started on the couples.” You grumbled, nose scrunched up in annoyance at the end of your sentence.

“Oh, god, yeah. The couples are the absolute worst.” Heeseung agreed, rolling his eyes at the thought. “Most of them have no decency or respect for others. They’re too engrossed with each other to care.” He continued on, shaking his head.

“Exactly. They’re so annoying, right?” You let out a laugh, your eyes brightened slightly as you had subconsciously taken a step closer to the boy, tensed muscles from before relaxing a bit as you grew more and more comfortable in his presence.

Perhaps it was the alcohol you had consumed, settled into a pit of warmth in your stomach, or maybe the dim lighting the moon provided over his features, but he was cute—attractive. And, he seemed like a nice guy. Given, you’d only known him for a few minutes at best. But you couldn’t help but want to get to know him even more.

“You know, one time—I think it was back in high school,” Heeseung began, recalling old memories as he shifted his body to face you, now paying you his full attention as he thought back to a certain time in his life.

“My parents were out of town for the weekend, and my birthday was that same week. So, I stupidly decided to throw a party at my house with the help of my friends. It got out of control, so I stepped upstairs to go into my room to get away from it for a little while.” He explained, pausing as he took a second to take another breath.

“I opened my door and there was some random couple on my bed. Luckily, I got there before they got too far into anything. But it was awkward, because they were making out and didn’t notice me at first. I asked them to leave, and they got all mad and refused. In my own house, at my own party.” He told you, as you snickered and grimaced.

“God, that’d piss me off so bad. At your own party too is insane.” You expressed, voicing your own opinion as he laughed and nodded, brows raised.

“Oh, trust me, I was.” Heeseung smiled softly, arms folded over his chest comfortably. “Never threw a party of my own after that. Only small get-togethers with some trusted friends.”

“I’d imagine. I don’t think I would, either.” You hummed, as he chuckled and only nodded silently. His eyes drifted off to the side, landing on two outdoor chairs set up, a small round table in between.

“Would you like to sit down?” He asked, gesturing with a nod of his head towards the outdoor furniture set up on the balcony. You agreed, joining him as you sat down on the cushioned seats, giving your feet relief from standing in heels for however many hours you’d been there already.

Another hour flew by, and you seemed to really like this boy. You shared laughter together, outcasts to the lovely party happening only a few feet away. Yet, the company you two provided each other was much better than some lousy college party. In both of your opinions, at the very least.

Mind conversation, the balcony doors pushed open, catching your attention as you turned your head over to catch sight of whoever cared to join you. Surprisingly, you were greeted with the sight of your friend—who you had come here with.

As she met your gaze, her eyes relaxed and she let out a sigh of relief, seemingly frantic and excited as she trotted towards you, hands reaching out for you to take as you took them wordlessly, a bit confused.

“There you are! I’ve been calling you for like twenty minutes!” Your friend pointed out, as you flashed an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. I think it’s on silent mode in my purse.” You said, as she pulled you up from your seat. “Is something wrong?” You questioned, to which she shook her head with a bright smile.

“No. But you’ll never guess who I just ran into!” She exclaimed happily, squeezing your hands as she informed you of the old mutual friend of yours, one you hadn’t seen in a year or two now.

Beckoning you on with her to say hi, you had no other choice as you quickly swept your purse up from the ground, tugging the strap over your shoulder as she pulled you along with her.

You turned your head back over your shoulder to meet his gaze, as he waved you goodbye, a soft laugh falling from his lips as you shouted out a goodbye.

“Bye! It was nice talking to you!” You called out, before you focused on the path ahead of you as you held onto your friend's hand, not wanting to lose each other in the crowds inside.

“What happened to your dress? And who was that?” Your friend asked you curiously, to which you promised to explain later when in a quieter place.

___________________________________________

A week had passed, and you two never saw each other since. The night was a blur, yet the memory of you was clear to Lee Heeseung.

It was driving him insane; how he knew so much about you from the tipsy conversation you both shared on the balcony. Yet, he didn’t even know your name. You were quite literally the prettiest and funniest person he’d ever met, your company the best he’s ever had. And to think he possibly screwed that up by forgetting to ask something as basic as your name, or any contact information at all was driving him nuts.

He could almost laugh each time he thought back to you, how embarrassed he was when he had bumped into you. How nervous he was, because you were just so pretty—yet thanks to the foolish nature of his friends, he screwed up and accidentally made you upset.

He was thankful, yet surprised when you began to warm up to him. Sharing a casual exchange of words after he had retrieved that towel for you. Soon enough, mere words turned into a full blown conversation. Discussing the most random things, and telling each other dumb stories from childhood, or some that occurred more recently.

Heeseung wondered, did you remember him? Were you as stuck on him as he was with you? Did you think about him often, too? Regretting the wasted chances at becoming something more, becoming something outside the party.

Currently, he stood on one of the pathways on campus, AirPods in as he stared down at his phone — checking his schedule for the day, having already forgotten which class he’d have to be in next.

Only, his arm jolted to the side, nearly dropping his phone in the process. He spun around, turning to address whoever had bumped into him. Only, his eyes widened in surprise as he met your familiar gaze, relief and nerves rushed over him as a smile subconsciously spread across his features.

In a flash, he had taken out his AirPods, shoving them into his pockets. Dangerous, considering how often he lost them. In fact, he was on his seventh pair. Crazy, he knew, but he couldn’t help but to misplace them. They were just too small not to lose.

“It’s you again!” He exclaimed, blinking repeatedly as if to wake up from a dream. As if he was imagining your figure standing in front of him, just as embarrassed to bump into him as he was that night.

“Sorry about that. Wasn’t looking where I was going.” You apologized with a laugh, your eyes brightened as the rays of the afternoon sun shined down on you, casting a golden hue over your skin.

“We’ve gotta stop bumping into each other like this.” You added on, to which his smile only grew bigger—if even possible. He laughed, doe eyes curved into two small crescents as he nodded.

“Right.” He let out in agreement, relieved to be able to see you again. “So you do remember me?”

“Of course I do.” You hummed, arms folded over your chest as you looked back at him curiously. “How could I forget? We shared some pretty deep conversations that night, you know. Especially since we had only just met.” You chuckled.

“True, true.” Heeseung accepted, threading his fingers through his hair. “How’s your dress?”

“Oh! The dress, right. The stain came out after a wash and a soak in some oxiclean. I didn’t need a replacement at all.” You informed him, as he smiled and sighed in relief, nodding.

“Oh, thank god. I know you told me it was okay, but I still felt bad. I mean, I was the reason you stained it in the first place.” He expressed sheepishly, as you simply shrugged it off.

“Even if the stain didn’t come out, like I said before, I never wear the dress anyway. If anything, it’s just kinda been taking up my closet space. You know how crammed these dorms are.” You murmured honestly.

“Fair point.” He said, nodding his head as he pressed his lips together in a thin line. A moment of silence passed between the two of you, though not uncomfortable. His eyes skimmed over your features, a gentle smile spread across his lips.

“You know,” he began, tilting his head. “I don’t even know your name.” He pointed out, to which you came to a realization.

In all honesty, the fact that you never learned his name was driving you crazy over the past week as well. When you told your friend about everything, she felt guilty that she had pulled you away before you had the chance to ask—too lost in excitement and hurry.

“Y/N.” You introduced yourself, as his heart skipped a beat, his gaze softening as a hum of content sounded from the back of his throat.

“Y/N,” he repeated in a soft mumble, testing the name on his tongue as he smiled at the sound, finding it to be fitting. Pretty, much like yourself.

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Y/N.” He responded, giving you a small nod. “I’m Heeseung.” He greeted you, holding his hand out for you to take.

Once you did, he shook it politely, as you let out a soft sounding laugh. “You know, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to see you again. It’s pretty hard finding people on campus—especially if you take different courses.” You expressed with a small tilt to your head.

“I understand. I felt the same way, too. So I’m glad to have bumped into you again today.” Heeseung said, taking a deep breath before continuing on.

“So, whilst you are here in front of me and before you get swept away again, I was wondering.. would you maybe like to grab some coffee? Maybe lunch together one of these days?” He asked, a bit nervous, but still keeping his composure as he rocked back and forth on his feet.

You smiled, nodding your head in agreement. “You know, I’d really like that.” You admitted, a pink hue to your cheeks.

__________________________________________

i had this idea in the drafts for a while now, so whilst i work on a couple of requests, i thought i’d publish this in the meantime lol

thank you all so much for reading! i appreciate it so much. once again, if you have any requests, feel free to leave them in my asks because i am currently taking them ^^

okay okay, bye! love you all. take care 🤍

[mrm0rgansw0man]

Hii can I please have a scene with Arthur Morgan and his fem s/o in an alternate universe where Arthur never got TB and he is happily married living with his wife on a cosy farm similar to the marstons. They have just had a newborn daughter and she is only a few days old and Arthur sees his wife picking up their newborn, still in shock from giving birth just days prior. She is cuddling and sweet talking her baby, gently kissing her head and loving her. She coos and gently but sweetly whispers good morning to her baby girl. I just want Arthur’s reaction to this and how he reacts to all the fluff plus him being a new father. Can you please end it with fem reader putting their child back in the crib and making their way to the living room, relaxing on the sofa together and talking about how they should visit the marstons soon. Thank you 💞💞💞💞💞💞

The Life a Good Man Deserves

Has it really been only a week since I watched her walk along the tree line of the forest near our home, soaking in the sun, glowing like a god damn angel? She was pregnant as could be, but she wanted to take one last walk before we took our first walk with our baby girl.

And a few days later, she was here. God was it hard, watchin' my wife hurt like that. Her screams and all the blood... it left me shakin' like a leaf. I've never felt so scared in my life I don't think. We didn't have a doctor or a nurse or anythin', but we had Charles and a forest only a few yards away. Thank whatever lord there was above that he had stopped by that morning, and right as he was about to leave I heard my wife screamin' for me from our bedroom. We both came running, and that was the start of the longest night of my life.

Charles made a million different remedies on the stove of our kitchen. For pain, for infection, any complications my wife or our little girl could have after birth. All the while I was holding my wife's hand as she brought our baby-girl into the world, how crazy life is sometimes.

We named her 'Briar-Rose.' Right after she was born, my wife looked out the window and saw the ones we had planted had finally bloomed. We'd have horrible luck with them before, so it seemed perfect.

I ought to go find them now, instead of just sittin' her day dreaming about the family that I finally have. God, I love them so much.

• • • • • • •

Arthur set his leather journal down on his bedside table, the matching ones he made for the two of you for your first anniversary you spent together in your home. The one he had built for you, with the help of Charles and John. Oh and little Jack of course, he did so much!

Arthur got up and slipped on a pair of worn old jeans and his favorite blue button up shirt. How it had survived all these years, he didn't know.

How he had survived all these years, he didn't know either.

Arthur quietly made his way to the nursery. It was right next to the bedroom the two of you shared, and the door was cracked open. There was no other place you could be. Arthur was about to walk in, but he stopped when he heard you talking to your daughter. He watched through the crack of the door, completely mesmerized.

Your hair was in a messy braid down your back, and you wore a long flowing white nightgown. It was long sleeved, and the strings around your bosom area were tied into a pretty bow. The sleeves, which had forever been too long for your arms but you refused to mend time, rested around your whole hand, only leaving your fingers sticking out. Arthur could see them sticking out under your coat and laughed to himself. He loved these little things about you, and he had them all written down in his journal.

Your coat, which was actually the brown plaid one that belonged to Abigail, also hung loosely around you with your nightgown. He smiled as he remembered both you and Abigail trading your favorite coats. John and Arthur had both been talking and they decided it was time to leave the gang, it wasn't an easy decision but a necessary one. You and Abigail were two peas in a pod, like sisters almost. You had both decided you needed to do something to always stay together now that you wouldn't be able to see each other everyday.

A small cry from your daughter pulled him from his thoughts.

"Oh my sweet girl, shh shh." You cooed softly, you picked up your daughter from her crib and cradled her in your arms. Holding her close and tight. You pressed a gentle kiss on your daughters head, and she calmed. You rocked her back and fourth and started talking to her.

"How'd my baby sleep? Did you sleep well?" You asked, your tone so gentle and full of love Arthur thought he could cry. You were the perfect mother. "I love you, so much my sweet girl. Your so beautiful. You've got your daddy in you, those stunning blue eyes and that hair of yours. I can't wait to watch you grow up."

Arthur couldn't take it, tears fell freely from his eyes and he opened the door of his daughters room and actually ran to you. He held you close to him, careful to not hurt your stomach.

"Oh Arthur, are you alright?" You said with a light laugh, though your voice was laced with concern.

"Honey, I have never been more alright in my life." He said shakily. His quiet voice held so much emotion it broke your heart.

When Arthur first found out you were pregnant, he was angry. Not at you, and certainly not at your unborn child. He was angry at himself, how could he be so stupid? Getting another woman pregnant, while still being in the gang? Which was definitely going to shit, by the way. Arthur could feel it happening. His heart actually hurt when he thought about Eliza and Issac, how his stupidity had gotten them killed. His little boy, and the woman he never married but god damn he should've, both dead over 10 dollars. 10. Fucking. Dollars. If he had been there, those bastards would've been dead in a second! He was a gunslinger for fucks sake! He could've saved them if he had just done right. But he was so scared to be a father, especially to a son. He didn't want to turn into his own father. He wouldn't wish that on anyone. But once a certain Karen Jones dragged him by the ear to the hiding spot you had found to cry in telling him to "fix it" he knew what he had to do. And it wasn't easy.

He held you in his arms, and apologized for every second he made you think or feel like he didn't want you or the child growing inside you. He said he had a plan, and it was the first time since joining the gang that you were relieved to hear those words.

"Arthur?"

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts. Arthur pulled away from you so he could get a better look

"Would you like to hold your daughter Mr. Morgan?" You asked with a smile just as sweet as your southern drawl.

"Yes I would, Mrs. Morgan." He said with a smile, quickly wiping the tears from his eyes. He ever so carefully took his daughter into his arms. She fussed for a moment, before quickly settling back down again.

"I can't believe I'm a daddy..." Arthur said softly. "Look at my sweet girl... Both of my sweet girls."

You stood on your tip toes and kissed Arthur on the cheek, and you bent back down to kiss your daughter. You winced straightening back up.

"Sit down, please honey." Arthur said gently. "You just had a baby after all."

"'M fine sweetheart." You dismissed. "I need to get the best view possible of this.."

A sudden sharp cry erupted from your daughter, causing both you and Arthur to laugh.

"Still a view I want to see." You said with a smile. Arthur passed Briar off to you, and she quieted down a bit.

"Ain't nothin' like the touch of a mother." Arthur said softly, gently wrapping his arms around your stomach. With your body flush against his, he rested his chin on top of your head. You chuckled.

"You should sing her a lullaby. Arthur suggested. You chuckled, knowing he'd use any excuse to hear you sing. You took a breathe, and began a gentle lullaby:

Down in the valley, valley so low Hang your head over, hear the wind blow Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

Roses love sunshine, violets love dew Angels in heaven know I love you Know I love you, dear, know I love you Angels in heaven, know I love you.

Writing this letter, containing three lines Answer my question, "Will you be mine?" "Will you be mine, dear, will you be mine?" Answer my question, "Will you be mine?"

Down in the valley, valley so low Hang your head over, hear the wind blow Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

You finished the song, and were now left with a sleeping daughter and a husband who was weeping. The sight of it brought tears to your own eyes.

"I just watched my wife sing my daughter to sleep for the first time.." Arthur wept. "Look at me, I'm a god damn mess. God I love you so much, I love her so much- (Name), this is real. This is our life."

"I can't belive it either!" You said with a sniffle. "Let me put her in her cradle before we wake her up."

Arthur nodded, sneaking a quick kiss to your forehead before heading to the door. Arthur was about to leave, but something told him to stay a moment longer. He turned just in time to see you tenderly set your daughter down in her crib and cover her up with her blanket which you had sewn by hand for her. You kissed your daughter one last time before joining Arthur.

As soon as you were in arms reach, Arthur scooped you up and carried you bridal style right into the living room. You giggled like some lovesick schoolgirl, causing Arthur to giggle too.

"Nothin but laughter and tears of joy in this house." You said happily. "That's exactly how I wanna be livin'!"

"Me too darlin!" Arthur said, gently setting you down on the sofa. He sat down right next to you and opened his arms, which you gladly crawled into. With your head resting in the crook of his neck and your legs curled up in his lap, you felt so safe. And so loved, you swore Arthur Morgan was sent from the lord above just for you.

"When do you think you'll be up for a trip to go see Abigail?" Arthur said, a sly smile on his face.

You gasped in excitment. "Oh goodness, is the house done already!? Did John invite you?"

"Yes ma'am! And guess what else darlin'?" Arthur said with a laugh. Your excitement was contagious, anyone could agree to that. "They made us a nursery for Briar-Rose."

Your eyes welled up with tears and you covered your mouth with your hand.

"Your kiddin' me..." You said softly, a smile slowly forming on your face.

"They really did honey." Arthur said and smiled softly at you. "Abigail wrote to me. I got the letter the night I went to town right before you had Briar. Said the house is done and we need to come visit as soon as you feel up to it after you have the baby."

"I don't know how soon, but I can't wait to go! Oh Arthur I miss her so much.." You said sadly. "I'm gonna write her back! We'll plan a visit next month...." You said, but your words trailed off into a yawn.

"Sounds good t'me baby." Arthur said, his hand natrually finding your hair to begin running his fingers through it. It put you to sleep faster then you'd like to admit.

Arthur let out a content sigh. He had never dared even daydream of a life like this for too long, yet here he was. Actually living the life of his dreams. With his wife, daughter, and even his 'brother'.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

authors note: I HOPE YOU ENJOYED CAUSE I LITERALLY HAD THE BEST TIME WRITING THISSS Xx

[dfortrafalgar]

Bring Your Daughter(s) To Work Day

Law x Fem Reader (kinda)

When the babysitter cancels last minute, Law is forced to bring his daughters to work with him, and deal with the emotions they unknowingly make him feel.

A/N: SURPRISE- BONUS CHAPTER FOR IMLY!!! this came to me suddenly and i hammered it out. this can be read as a standalone, but i wrote it with the intention of it being directly connected to the universe of my long form fic "I'm Losing You"

Warnings: nothing but pure fluff here, folks. established relationship, third person POV, reader is only present in the beginning and end of the story, some suggestive language sprinkled throughout but nothing explicit

[IMLY Masterlist]

Law watched with dejected eyes as his wife dropped her head into her hands, a harsh groan leaving her lips.  Under her breath, quiet enough so her kids couldn’t hear her profanity, she uttered, “Fuck.”

“Let me guess,” Law mumbled.  “She canceled?”

“This is the last time we use this babysitter,” she growled, turning off her phone and flipping it upside down so the screen faced the table, ignoring whatever incoming messages might appear.  “It’s going to be too late to find any sitters now, and their school doesn’t start for another week.  It’s not like we can just drop them off somewhere or leave them here alone.”  She picked up her gaze, her eyebrows furrowed in deep concern.  “Law… I can’t miss this interview.”

“I know, baby,” he whispered back, reaching his hand across the kitchen table to stroke her clenched fist.  “You’re not going to.”

“Do you have a plan, then?”

Law bit the inside of his cheek as he searched his mind for any feasible solution.  One of the biggest interviews of his wife’s career was on the following day, ever since she cordially parted with her last job after having their twins.  She spent the first year of their life physically recovering from the birth, as well as having her tubes tied to prevent any more reproductive issues, the couple happily deciding that they were fine with two children.  The following toddler years were spent at home with Cora and Rose, his wife being assisted by Uncle Shachi, Uncle Penguin, and Auntie Ikkaku whenever they were free.  On days where Law was out of work, he made sure his wife was completely hands-off, taking his daughters out so his wife could spend some much needed time alone or out with her own friends.  The two had a comfortable balance, allowing for ample time spent with each other, their daughters, as well as valuing their personal lives.  Law’s cardiothoracic surgeon salary was more than enough to afford comfortable living in their small house filled with two six-year-old girls and a dog, but he could tell his wife was desperate to get back to a working schedule again.  There was never an issue with having more income, after all, and the doctor knew his wife was never one for the stay-at-home lifestyle for the long-term.

“I’ll bring them with me,” he stated suddenly.  His face remained completely neutral.

“What?” she yelped, standing from her chair.  “Law, you can’t.  You’re a doctor.”

“I don’t have any operations tomorrow, and I’m only working 12 hours.  I’ll bring them with me when I leave at 9, and you can pick them up after your interview,” he explained.  “I have plenty of staff, and there’s a children’s room in the cardiac ward.  They’ll have things to do and people to talk to.”

His wife frantically searched her husband’s face for any sign of indifference or reluctance to his own claim.  Finding none, she slowly sank back into her chair.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You’re absolutely positive?”

“I am.”

“And you promise to not traumatize them?”

Law pursed his lips.  The week prior, he found his girls in the backyard poking a dead, gutted rabbit with a stick.  He didn’t think he had much to worry about.  “I promise.”

Finally letting her shoulders relax, his wife slumped over and rested her forearms on the kitchen table, plopping her head against them and shielding her face from the world.  A small chuckle exited Law’s lips as he stood and rounded the furniture, coming to rest behind his wife and placing his deft hands on her shoulders, massaging the knots out of her tired muscles.  She visibly relaxed even more from his touch, almost as if she was melting from the motions of his hands.

“You always know exactly what to do to make me feel better,” she sighed, tossing a glance at her smirking husband from over her shoulder.

“Everything’s going to work out.  You’ll do amazing at your interview, the girls will behave themselves at work, and we’ll all live happily ever after,” he hummed, leaning down to plant a tender kiss on the back of her head.

“Can you bring home ice cream tomorrow?” she asked, her voice finally regaining its light and airy demeanor as her sullen mood finally lifted.

“Of course.”

—

“Girls.”

Law’s stern golden eyes looked in the rear-view mirror, watching as Cora and Rose immediately snapped their attention to their father from the backseat.  Rose clenched a book in her small hands, well above her age’s reading level, while Cora fiddled around with the broken arm of a Stealth Black action figure.

“Remember to be on your absolute best behavior today, alright?” he stated firmly.  “I’ll be around to check on you both for most of the day, but when I’m not there, you need to be good for the nurses.”

“We know, daddy,” Cora chirped.  “Mama told us you’d be coming home with ice cream if we were good.”

“I’ll be coming home with ice cream regardless,” he replied, a small smile growing on his lips.  “But if you’re not good, you won’t be getting any.  It’ll just be for Mommy and I.”

He laughed as his daughters screeched from the backseat, flabbergasted at the mere insinuation that they might not get a share of any delectable treats.  Fondness welled in his heart as he listened to the twins bicker over their shared behavior.  Through their short six years on Earth, they had already grown into strong, individualistic young ladies who were practically inseparable.  Law cried on every single birthday.  They had turned him into quite a softie.

His foot gently depressed the break of his car as he turned into the sprawling hospital’s parking garage, driving up the ramps to the third floor and slipping into a parking space reserved for staff.  He diligently grabbed the large childcare bag from the passenger seat, slinging it over his shoulder before proceeding to free Rose from her restrictive (but very safe) car seat, followed by Cora, who clambered to get out of the car and holler into the echoing abyss of the parking garage, giggling at the way her voice bounced off the concrete pillars and walls surrounding her.  Rose held her hands over her ears, cringing at the sound.

“Get it out of your system now, baby, you can’t be yelling like that in the hospital,” Law uttered, grabbing each girl by the hand and slowly walking with them toward the hospital’s entrance connected to the parking garage by a small hallway and two elevator shafts.

Rose firmly gripped her father’s hand in her right, clutching her book in her left.  Cora skipped along, tripping over her feet, and sang into the air.  “Gather up all of the crew!  It’s time to ship out Binks’ brew!  Sea wind blows, to where?  Who knows!  The waves will be our guide!”

Rose mumbled, her small voice whiny and irritated.  “Cora, you’ve been singing that all day.”

“I love that song!” the younger girl retorted, almost stepping on Law’s foot.  “Uncle Luffy taught it to me.”

Law bit back a smirk, yet rolled his eyes in mock annoyance.  Leave it to that boisterous man to introduce his daughters to the life of high-stakes maritime activity.  He’d be lying if he said playing pirates with his girls wasn’t some of the most fun he’d had recently, however.  It only took a bit of a negative turn when Cora, pretending to be the infamous Blackbeard, landed a punch against Law’s groin so harsh it made him double over.  It wasn’t like she knew any better, but amidst his wife’s worried yet hysterical laughter, he wondered if that blow was enough to make him infertile.

He shrugged the thought into the back of his head, releasing Rose’s gentle hand to press the elevator button, leading his girls into the small space and watching in silence as the doors closed in front of them, carrying them down two levels to the cardiac ward.

“Daddy?” Rose asked, looking up at him.  “What do you do all day?”

Law pondered briefly.  “On days where I don’t have operations, I usually do rounds for patients.”

“What are rounds?” asked the curly-haired girl.  

“I go from room-to-room and assess each person’s health and how they’re doing,” he explained.

“Can we join you?” Cora suddenly asked, staring up at her father with her own large, golden eyes.

“I’m afraid not, sweetpea.”

The younger twin pouted before suddenly growing frazzled out of nowhere.  “I LEFT MY ACTION FIGURE IN THE CAR!!!”

Rose quickly covered her ears again at her sister’s shrill scream.

“We’ll get it later, baby,” Law tried to console.  He nervously glanced at the LCD screen above the button panel, about to reach the first floor.  “I can get it for you on my lunch break.  Can you wait until then?”

Cora’s face was growing flushed as she puffed out her cheeks, her eyes welling with heavy crocodile tears.  “But I want him now!  He’s going to die in the car!”

Law rubbed a hand over her hair.  “He won’t die.”

“He will!”

“I’ll save him before he does,” he said back.  “Shhh, keep your voice down, baby.”

Rose removed her hands from her ears with an audible, relieved sigh.  Cora was appeased… for now.  She’d have to deal with profound, inescapable boredom until noon, or at least until her mom came to pick the two up and save them from the children’s room at the hospital.

All things considered, the girls were fantastically behaved.  They watched on quietly as Law scanned his badge to enter the high-security corridors leading to the cardiothoracic ward, nodding a wordless hello to the various nurses and doctors who passed by, each offering fond, excited smiles to the young girls.  The long, winding hallways of the hospital were ginormous in comparison to the twins, who were used to the much smaller hallways of their kindergarten building, but they kept their hands in their father’s as he led them to his ward.

“Can you remember what I said in the car?” the surgeon asked, scanning his badge over one last electronic box on the wall, the click of the door’s lock signaling its opening.

“We’ll be on our best behavior,” Rose obediently replied, more excited to be able to get back to her reading in peace.

“We promise,” Cora added.  She opened her small mouth one more time, as if to add a second thought, but quickly shut her jaw and stared straight ahead.  Law cocked an eyebrow at the display, but didn’t question it further.  If the little girl had an issue, she would immediately let him know.

There was a children’s room, which was really just a small space situated behind one of the nurses stations, used primarily for families with very small children.  When a person would be admitted to the cardiac ward, any potential juvenile visitors were welcome to use the children’s area to remove them from the otherwise clinical, scary environment of the hospital.  The entire space was stocked with coloring books, light reading for ages 4-10, building blocks, and other miscellaneous playthings, all thoroughly sanitized before and after each visit.

When Law rounded the corner into the doorway of the children’s area, Rebecca was crouched down on the floor, diligently wiping down a set of large plastic building blocks with a sanitizing wipe.  Her large, brown eyes glimmered as she saw Cora and Rose, having not seen them in quite some time.  It wasn’t like Law brought them to work often.

“There are the guests of honor!” sang the pink-haired woman, discarding the wipe into a nearby trash receptacle and hurrying toward her superior and his two excited daughters.  The girls pulled away from their dad and hugged Rebecca’s legs, instantly remembering the warm smile and bright laughter of the nurse who happily knelt to their level and pulled them to her chest.  “It’s so wonderful to see you two again!”

“Let me know if they give you any trouble, Rebecca,” Law sighed, smiling at the sight albeit scrunching his eyebrows at the potential his children had for causing petty issues.  They were their mother’s daughters, after all.  Their well-behaved exterior made room for some very sinister six-year-old schemes.

“How could these sweet angels cause any trouble at all?” Rebecca giggled, ruffling Rose’s head of thick, curly black hair.  “I will, though, sir.  No problem at all.”

“I’ll be back in about two hours for my short break.  Cora, Rose…” the surgeon called their names, alerting their attention once more.

The silence in the room was palpable as Law brought two of his fingers to his eyes, gesturing his hand toward their faces as if giving a silent threat that he had his eye on them, even if not in the same room.  He had a playful smirk on his face as he did so, leading Cora to stick her tongue out at her dad.  Rose gave her sister a light shove, harshly whispering about the ice cream reward still looming over their heads.

—

Two hours and far too many patient rounds finally came and went before Law was able to take a short break, proceeding to the children’s room with his ample amount of paperwork in an accordion binder held in his arms.  He’d be able to get some time to work on it while sitting on the floor at the squatted table while he gave his nurse a much needed reprieve from his daughters.  While marching through the long hallways of the cardiac ward, the surgeon pulled out his phone and smiled at the text that had come in from his wife, about 30 minutes prior.

Mama What do you think of this fit???  I mean, im going with it, but do i look hot and professional?

Mama [1 Image Attachment]

Mama Right answers only.  Also, are the girls behaving alright???

His wife did indeed look stunning.  Her curves fit elegantly into a sharp, black pencil skirt that flared slightly below her knees.  Sheer tights complimented her supple skin, and sophisticated yet casual wedge heels boosted her height by a good inch or so.  She was posing in the mirror of their bedroom, one hip jutted out propping up her free hand that she graced over her waist.  A trendy blouse was tucked into the skirt, the top few buttons still undone.  Grinning down at his phone and holding his folder tighter against his abdomen, he fumbled to type out a response while walking.

You know you look stunning, baby.  Absolutely gorgeous.  You’re going to do up those top buttons, though, right?

He watched the incoming message bubble appear and disappear a few times before her response came in.

Mama Duh, i was just hoping that showing off some cleavage would give me extra points with you <3

Law fought to bite down the chuckle that rose in his throat, not wanting to attract attention. As long as I get to undo those buttons later.  He was feeling bold today.

Mama Ice cream first, sex later.  Love you baby <333

Law quickly shoved his phone into his pocket after thumbing out a quick good luck message for her upcoming interview, which she was surely traveling to at that very moment.  He pushed open the door to the children’s room, quickly pushing back any inappropriate thoughts of his beautiful wife and smiling at the sight of his daughters.

Cora was in the middle of utilizing every single building block the room had to build a convoluted structure that took a plethora of odd shapes.  She was being assisted by another young girl who’s curious violet eyes watched inquisitively at each new block added to the structure.  Rose was in the adult-sized chair across the room, her nose buried in a new book.  Judging by her original book on the floor by the legs of the chair, she had finished that one after only two days.  A new literary record.  Rebecca was absent from the room, most likely having left to continue her own duties, but judging by the faint smell of light cleaning alcohol in the room, she hadn’t been gone long.

With a smile, Law sat on the floor across from his daughter’s, and the new girl’s, strange structure.  “What are you building?”

“A submarine.  Can’t you tell?” Cora replied, placing a pink-colored block on top of an ominously leaning stack.

The new girl, who’s hair was a deep shade of purple, stared at Law with huge, curious eyes before a cheeky grin broke out on her face.  “Are you the doctor taking care of my papa?” she asked.

Law grinned.  “Could be.  Who’s your papa?”

“Tenguyama Hitetsu,” she confirmed cheerily.  “Well, he’s not actually my papa, but he also is.”

A lightbulb clicked on in his head.  He had just been in Mr. Tanguyama’s room, and had no idea that the elderly man had any child under his care.  It was then he remembered that the man had described a young girl as his ‘student’ rather than ‘daughter,’ but he still spoke about her with such fond language.  Kurozumi Tama.

“Tama’s been helping me build,” blurted Cora, bringing herself to her feet to place another block on the tower attached to what was supposed to be a submarine.

“You two make a good team,” Law replied fondly as he turned his attention to his oldest daughter.  “Rose, what are you reading?”

Her new book was substantially thicker than the one she brought with her.  There were no pictures on the cover.  She tilted the object down only slightly to speak with her father.  “Rebecca brought it for me when I asked.  It’s a book about common heart conditions in adults.”

Somehow, Law was not surprised.  He didn’t even question it, watching as the black-haired girl turned her attention back to her book, disregarding any potential response from her father.  Without another word, and without wanting to distract the kids from their intense focus, he scooted across the floor to the squatted table and opened his accordion folder, flipping through his paperwork to pass his two hour break, counting his blessings that he had such easy, albeit… strange, children.

He couldn’t stay focused long enough to begin filling out his patient charts, however.  Especially not when he was swarmed with thoughts about his family.  As he picked his gaze up and glanced across the room at his daughters immersed in their own little worlds, happy as clams in their special ways, he couldn’t fight the swelling in his heart.  His wife, after worlds of difficulty, had given him two of the greatest gifts of his life.  Those gifts were now six years old, about to start first grade, reading above their level, building and drawing, holding conversations, and were filled with boundless love.  They hadn’t yet reached the age where they were embarrassed to hold hands with their dad in public, and they were still too young to fully understand the world around them, but it was clear as day to the surgeon that his little girls were bound to learn the tough realities of their lives sooner rather than later.  It made his chest pang thinking of how quickly they had grown up.  It felt like just yesterday that Law was by his wife’s side in the delivery room, finally holding his babies after they were allowed to leave the NICU, happy, healthy, and already beginning to babble and whine for their next feeding.  He remembered looking at his wife, the woman of his dreams, who had gone through far more than any human should in bringing these girls into the world, kissing her lips and thanking her, thanking whatever deity was in the heavens that she was still alive and well.

“Daddy?”

Rose’s voice broke Law from his trance, his sharp golden eyes darting up to meet hers.  The book was folded in her lap, her hands tracing the embossed letters on the hard cover.  

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice small and concerned.

A lump developed at the base of Law’s throat.  His girls looked so much like his wife.  He forced the rock down his esophagus and smiled at his little girl.

“I’m just fine, sweetpea.”

—

Law had needed to stay for an extra hour and a half after his shift was supposed to end, much to his distaste.  After his close-call to an emotional outburst that afternoon, he wanted nothing more than to run home, embrace his wife in a hug, and cuddle with her on the couch with the ice cream that he had promised her.  When he was finally able to slip into his car, the backseats empty (save for the Stealth Black action figure that was completely forgotten about by noon) with Cora and Rose having been picked up by their mom, he pulled out his phone to send his wife a text only to find that she had sent him one first.

Mama Look how tuckered out they are!!!

Mama [1 Image Attachment]

Mama What did you do to them???  LOL

The image was immediately saved to Law’s camera app.  Cora and Rose were curled up on the plush carpet in their living room on both sides of Bepo who was sprawled out on his back.  Their little arms wrapped around the dog’s torso, their faces squished into his warm, white fur as they snoozed in one conjoined unit.  He quickly tapped out a text that he was coming home, placing his phone in his bag and proceeding out of the parking garage as quickly as he could.  With the only places still open at that hour being the gas station, he stopped at the nicest one in town and picked up three pints of ice cream, as well as a few extra treats to surprise the girls with when their new friend, Tama, came over for a playdate in a few days.

When Law finally entered his house, the only light still on was the lamp beside the couch.  All the curtains were drawn, shrouding the living room in a pleasant, dim warmth.  His wife was on the couch, laying back with her phone in her hand.  She quickly stood up when Law entered, excitedly yet quietly closing the gap between them and capturing her husband’s lips in a tender kiss.  He cheekily took the freezing bag containing the ice cream and pressed it against the thin cotton t-shirt she wore to bed, cooling her skin and making her suppress a surprised yelp.  She giggled as she playfully batted Law’s chest.

“You tease!” she whispered.  “I don’t wanna wake the girls.”

“With the way they were sleeping in that picture, I doubt we’ll wake them up,” he replied, his voice low as his lips stole another kiss, lingering a few moments longer.  His heart fluttered at the feeling of his wife smiling into his gesture, her hands trailing over his chest, shoulders, and up into his fluffy black hair.

When she pulled away, he finally noticed the blouse she still wore, all the buttons done up.  “Good, because you still have to take this off of me.  I’m uncomfortable.”  She snatched the bag out of his hands, procuring her own pint of ice cream.  “After this, obviously.”

“Of course, of course.”  Law followed her lead, grabbing his own treat after placing his other goods into the freezer and following his wife to the couch with two spoons in hand.  Bepo was on his dog bed snoring up a storm, which he had been doing much more often in his older age.

“How did your interview go?” he finally asked, smiling as his wife snuggled into his size, using a blanket to grip her ice cream without freezing her hand.

“I think it went well, I was so nervous, though.  I had to apply an extra layer of deodorant in the car because I was sweating so much,” she explained.  “But the manager seemed pleased with my resume.  And she knew Ms. Boa, so hopefully that means my recommendations will be worth it.”

Law held her close while opening his own ice cream.  “I’m sure it will be.  You’re a shoe in for that position.”

“You’re just saying that,” she mumbled, taking a spoonful of the frozen treat.

“You like when I say things,” Law replied with a smirk on his lips.

She sunk further into his chest, letting his warmth embrace her.  Her mind swirled with images of the man, when they started dating, when he proposed, on their wedding night, in the hospital multiple times, holding his daughters… the woman blinked away fond tears and swallowed her emotions with another hefty spoonful of ice cream.

“What are you thinking about, gorgeous?” asked the man behind her, his voice gruff and tired from a long day in the hospital.

“Nothing…” she mumbled back, hiding her face in his neck.  “Just how lucky I am to have you.”

[fatehbaz]

hello fatehbaz dot tumblr dot com, I seem to recall that years ago you posted an article or articles about the construction of canals in Arizona & the threat it posed to desert cienegas. I tried finding it on your archive to no avail. I did find research about similar circumstances in chihuahua, but not specifically what you posted. i seem to recall that the specific canal was the CAP. does this ring any bells?

Thank you for sticking around and tolerating me for such a long time. Glad you're here. And thank you for remembering the posts (from August 2020) about Cuatro Cienegas in the Chihuahuan Desert.

---

Thinking of Arizona specifically, what you described sounds similar to an August 2022 post about ephemeral intermittent streams of the Agua Fria and canals to service Prescott/Phoenix? (Briefly describes progression from early water diversion to grow alfalfa for cattle; then the damming of Agua Fria to make reservoir in 1930s; then the construction of 16 copper mines. Cites an article from Rachel Howard at Edge Effects: "The history of the Agua Fria can be read not so much as a warning but rather a symbol of what happens to small bodies of water in Arizona. This is the state of the five Cs: cotton, copper, cattle, citrus, and climate.")

---

From August 2020, might be thinking of this post about the unique endemic Yaqui catfish, an icon of the desert; post described the drying of cienegas (and how the fish is functionally extinct in the US) due to progression of cattle rangeland, farms, and canal diversion? (About how despite popular conception of the desert as dry, "prior to European colonization, the region supported rich waterways and aquatic communities." Post described how, by the 1880s, to service agriculture, "meandering cienegas" were strongly channelized and became deep-etched arroyos. And by 1960s, the pumping of water had meant most cienegas were gone. And by 2016 it was estimated that maybe only 30 of the fish remained in Arizona, a fish sometimes described as the "only catfish native to US west of the Rockies." Which also brings to mind, for me, the 2016 edition of Inland Fishes of the Greater Southwest: Chronicles of a Vanishing Biota from University of Arizona Press.)

---

Also sounds similar to this one from July 2020? That one was about cienegas in Arizona, specifically the corridor of riparian habitat (cottonwood, mesquite, etc.) along the San Pedro. Post made criticism of Arizona agencies which managed surface water and groundwater separately despite their physical/ecological interconnectivity. Post made mention of Arizona eryngo (Eryngium sparganophyllum), which only survives at three-ish sites specifically at cienegas within borders of Arizona and one site in New Mexico; couple of years after that post, the US federal government formally recognized it as endangered.

---

But in 2020, I also made a series of several posts about Quitobaquito Springs (at Arizona-Mexico border, in the Sonoran Desert) and Indigenous efforts to protect it? (The springs are a rare freshwater ecosystem at Organ Pipe Cactus area. US border wall construction was extracting and pumping vast amounts of water every day. In 2020, major demonstrations were held by Akimel O'odha, Tohono O'odham, and Hia-Ced O'odham. Brings to mind how, in the same area in 2019, Indigenous people brought more widespread attention to how a major global surveillance tech company collaborated with US border security agencies to field-test new a surveillance "command and control center" on Tohono O'odham communities, like a laboratory; the "virtual wall" functions with multiple towers which continuously surveil personal devices, sound, physical movement, etc. In those posts, I also mentioned that the springs at Quitobaquito are also pretty much the only home within US borders to the endangered Sonoyta mud turtle and endangered Sonoyta pupfish. The entire subspecies/lineage of the turtle only lives in maybe 5 sites total.)

---

Somewhat related, also made many posts from 2019 to 2023 about Indigenous protection of Oak Flat Chi-chil Bildagoteel in Arizona?

Regarding more recent irrigation and water loss in Arizona, I've posted about Natalie Koch's work in Arid Empire on the impact of diverting water for alfalfa farms and how current Arizona agencies facilitate the "colonial technologies" and market "the desert as a narrative resource"; she also describes how, in 1940s/1950s, the US State Department had a hand in encouraging international petroleum investors to invest in hundreds of thousands of cattle for dairy farms, a network which still influences much water diversion today. Aside from the Sonoyta mud turtle, also brings to mind threatened amphibians in Arizona related to cienegas, like Sonoran tiger salamander (likes permanent or standing water, estimated to survive in about 50 ponds in Cochise and Santa Cruz counties) and Chiricahua leopard frog (also likes the standing water, which is often diverted for agriculture or overtaken by non-native bullfrogs, estimated to survive in maybe 80 to 100 ponds). (Vaguely related but fun: There were a couple of long effort-posts I did about historical distribution range of American crocodiles in mangroves and coastal marshes on far southern edge of the Sonoran Desert general ecoregion before lower Yaqui river was depleted by agriculture.)

---

Shout-out to Cuatro Cienegas in the Chihuahuan Desert.

An oasis. A "bacterial lost world." About 300 pools. More than 90% dried-up in historic record; agricultural canals drain tens of millions of gallons of water a year. Home to 38-ish endemic animal species. Not one, not two, but three endemic species of turtles: A slider, a softshell (I love softshells), and the planet's only "aquatic" species of box turtle (I also love box turtles). Home to some of planet's only terrestrial or freshwater populations of stromatolites (bacterial mats composing structures reminiscent of Precambrian era; usually found in deep-sea hydrothermal vents, but here have been isolated from the sea for millions of years). Also home to some of planet's highest diversity of Archaea (taxonomic order of lifeforms potentially "older than bacteria"?).

[coolbeesbro]

TGOFC Leshy Facts (Chapter 6 Spoilers)

There's so much that goes into each character in my au, and the last chapter I dropped had a bunch of lore for Leshy's character, and I just felt like compiling the minute facts that might be overlooked in light of the story that genuinely bring me joy.

Unlike the other siblings, Leshy was just a regular chaser worm who was evolved into something more human (even though humans aren't a thing in this universe, I can't think of a term that would convey the same thing here) through the power of the Green Crown. The others were like regular people already capable of complex thinking, bipedal etc., who came to find their crown one way or another (I'll go into them more in their own posts), so in comparison Leshy is more unpredictable and overall feral in his actions and mannerisms. He also still has a strong connection with the worms and can communicate with them perfectly fine, giving him an advantage over prior gods of Chaos who couldn't control them at all.

Some examples of him being more animalistic is the fact that he's being prone to biting just because, and still having urges like burrowing underground being more comfortable for him than sleeping in an actual bed, and randomly making strange little noises. He also thinks nothing about eating through and ripping up the floorboards in his house, and has Heket bring him spare lumber to store as a "little snack" when he's too lazy to get up and go to the dining hall and raid the kitchen. Every sibling's homes are reflective of their personalities, and where Heket, Kallamar, Narinder and Shamura have furniture and decor, Leshy's home, though normal looking from the outside, is literally just an empty room with the majority of the floorboards ripped up or gnawed through, looking like a storm ripped through the inside of his home. He has no furniture or decor outside of a few potted plants gifted to him by Tebryn (au yellow cat).

Another thing, and this might be controversial, is that he's actually terrible when it comes to taking care of plants. Almost every plant he owns is either dead, or on the brink of death, but he doesn't really know it since he can't see for himself that they are. He use to be good at it, but that ended up being 100% the Green Crown's power. Having not been capable of thinking past basic animal instincts prior to becoming a god, he can't fathom that he might not actually know what he's doing. Tebryn teases him lightly about it, but also doesn't have the heart to tell him that the plants in his window died months ago. There's one plant that's hanging on by a thread, an overwatered camellia bonsai that's now really just a stick in dirt with 3 leaves, and it only stays alive because Tebryn repots and tends to it when Leshy isn't paying attention. That doesn't stop Leshy from attempting to unintentionally over-trim the tree, much to Tebryn's dismay.

When he was still just a baby up until his toddler years, he would often just run around naked (only covered by leaves) and Heket would struggle to just get him to keep at least his cloak on (there'll be a flashback to a scene like that later on). One second he would be fully clothed, she would look away for just a moment, then look back to see Leshy running away on all fours with his clothes in a trail behind him. Now, if not for the fact that he'd get a lecture from the others on why he needs to stay clothed out in public, he would probably be in the nude 24/7.

As a product of his rapid evolution, his appearance from what chaser worms are in present day is drastically different; since while they evolved over time, he was like a preservation of their past. Like how he burrows into dirt, where they no longer have to due to evolution giving them large horns and a larger/tougher build for protection. Instinctually, he still attaches sticks to his head, which was both a defense mechanism of sorts along with helping with hunting. Being partly burrowed in the ground helped him feel vibrations of things walking near him; and with his head sticking up past the dirt, he looked more shrub-like so predators wouldn't go after him, and also prey would be more inclined to walk near him or use him as shelter, making for easier meals.

I also decided to make him a trans man, because why does Shamura get to be the only trans one (also as a youngest child who's a trans man I decided that my comfort character WILL be trans as well.)? With the help of Kallamar he's able to transition with HRT and other surgeries. Nobody but his siblings know he's trans, and is 100% passing as cis to everyone else. He's also the shortest of all the siblings, followed by Shamura, then Narinder, Heket and Kallamar.

There's definitely more than this, but my god I realized just how long this was getting so I'll end it here unless people want me to make a continuation.

[crustyfloor]

So many people were genuinely surprised Ivan was placed so high on Till's relationship chart, just below Mizi. Till never showed he hated Ivan though, annoyance on occasion? yeah. The way he acts sometimes appears like he merely tolerates Ivan, but they are each other's closest friends. (maybe even best friends if I want to stretch it a bit)

Ivan is confusing and reserved and does things without prior explanation, and it throws Till off and annoys the fuck out of him too because it makes him uncomfortable not understanding why this boy who constantly picks on him and is always sticking to him, and doing weird things, what's his problem? the confusion unnerves him.

Closeness does eventually make the heart grow fond in a relationship, back to the point that they are each other's closest friends, Ivan is always there for him even if just a shoulder to cry on, he doesn't say everything is okay when it's not. But he's there for Till in other meaningful ways, and they care about each other. But even with that fact without Ivan’s intentions made clear to Till there was ultimately a distance between them, and it's a testament to Till's self-deprecation that this was almost intentional on his part for Ivan's own good, but still, it’s endearing to know that despite this Ivan was still regarded quite highly in Till’s head even as a "nuisance"

Also want to mention how much of a poet Till is, "Mizi, you are the most gorgeous, beautiful woman in the universe. When you smiled at me for the first time, I felt like my heart was reborn." what a way with words, he should've been at the club.

But that writing really is beautiful, as he was an isolated and miserable child for his life before meeting Mizi, being in her presence and feeling her positivity was so impactful for him, he felt like a completely different (and happier) person when he was around her, even though he couldn't approach her. It's a sad thing, considering Mizi did want to get closer to him, too, as a friend, but he was held back by his own doubt and deprecation, there had been many opportunities for him to get closer to his friends.

[makethosenarratorsfight]

UNRELIABLE NARRATORS; THE FINAL FINAL

Shen Qingqiu Propaganda:

The entire series is told from his POV and the story seems like a comedy. The side stories from other characters POVs make the story sound like a tragedy. He thought that Luo Binghe hated him and wanted him dead while everyone else knew that Binghe was in love with him.

the whole book he’s using his OWN interpretation of the world to explain literally everything, not knowing that his introduction into the world changed it so fundamentally that his prior knowledge of it is less than useless. he’s like “binghe is being sweet to me because binghe is sweet to people that wronged him before repaying their slight a thousandfold, and he only adds their acceptance of his sweetness to his tally of their sins!! i have to run away forever or he’ll tear my arms and legs off!!!!!!” and binghe in reality is like “wow the love of my life my beloved shizun is scared of me still :( i should act sweet and nonthreatening so he’s not scared of me :(“ and he literally doesn’t have this corrected until the end of the book. but even when that one thing is corrected he still is like “haha okay but these other six things-“ bro……. cucumber bro………….. you homosexualized the world just accept it

He examines the entire reality he's isekai-ed into as if it's still fictional and his inner monologue ignores any "character trait" of the people around him that doesn't fit into his perception of "canon" despite everything he's done to change reality from the canon of the novel he first read. He routinely mislabels his own emotions as well as making heteronormative assumptions about himself and the people around him before he finally realises he's in reciprocated gay love with a man. It's a book that benefits being read twice, so the second time around you can focus on the implications Shen Qingqiu blatantly misses.

Transmigrates into a novel he “hates,” assumes he’s doing a good job pretending to be the character whose body he got stuck in, assumes other characters will stick to their original paths. Lotta assumptions, lots of rationalizing, lots of incredible feats of misunderstanding/misinterpreting things. His internal narration is also hysterical.

Lemony Snicket Propaganda:

(I would like to preface this by saying that Lemony Snicket is the author's pen name, not a real person, and he exists as a character in-universe as well as being the one in-universe who writes the books!) I'd say he's unreliable because he spent time collecting information about the Baudelaire kids and then... wrote books about it. He has no idea what any of their dialogue actually was, what they were thinking, or even the whole plot, he's just doing research into the incidents and then filling in the gaps to make it a story. What ACTUALLY happened to the Baudelaires? Nobody really knows for sure

While the Baudelaire siblings are in potentially life threatening danger, he will randomly start talking about his own life and just leave the siblings hanging. For example, once Count Olaf was threatening to kill Violet, and then Lemony randomly began talking about how he met the love of his life at a costume party. This man CANNOT stay on topic. Usually when a new character is introduced, Lemony tells us right at the start that they’re either going to die or that the Baudelaire siblings will never see them again. Foreshadowing is not subtle in these books. CONSTANTLY emphasizes how miserable he feels while writing these books. At one point he admits that he had to put his pencil down and go cry for a while because of how sad it made him. Once he filled an entire page with nothing but the word “ever” to emphasize how dangerous it is to put forks in electrical outlets. He also repeated a paragraph about deja vu later on in the book to give the reader deja vu.

[cherry-velvet-skies]

Please Don't Be Long

George Harrison × GN!Reader

Genre: Fluffyyy hehe

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol

Words: 2.7k

Summary: 1968-69 era; The universe has a unique way of continuously bringing Geo and Reader together, and it’s time they finally accept the invitation (featuring a brief appearance by Ringo The Wingman lmao)

A/N: The idea for this fic was requested by the wonderful @leia-saveourskins (thank you so much for the request! 🥰)

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The moderately loud music flowing through the stereo speakers was all that could be heard in your ears as you made your way around the room, trying your best to mingle with the other guests. You enjoyed your fair share of house parties, as they were a great way to get to know new people, as well as reconnecting and maintaining previously established friendships.

You and George had met before. Granted, it was only briefly, but you remembered enough to recognize his face in the crowd on the other side of the room. George was the reserved type, preferring to stick around the people he knew best and enjoy the good music and tasty snacks. Parties weren't exactly his scene, but he knew how to make the best of them.

You attended this particular event with a few of your other friends, who, at this moment, were nowhere to be found. You shrugged your shoulders, assuming they would come find you when they wanted, or rather needed, to call it a night and head home, as you elected to be the designated driver for the evening.

Worming your way through the room of dancing people to where George was, you felt a smile growing on your face the closer you got to him. He had this wonderful energy that could be felt from a mile away, not to mention he was certainly quite handsome.

He was sitting on a sofa in the far corner of the room, holding a less than half-full glass of what appeared to be white wine. There were several other people sitting around him, one of which seemed to be telling a rather interesting story, with the other guests listening with rapt attention. You didn't recognize all of these people, only a few in passing, but one of which you knew quite well, immediately recognizing the array of dazzling rings scattered across his fingers.

Ringo had actually been the one to introduce you to George. You met him at a party similar to this one a few weeks prior, and after chatting for several minutes, he seemed to get the impression that you two would hit it off, promptly bringing you over to say hello. It was nice to see him again as well, seeing as the only people you knew here were off on their own adventures. You sighed in relief, your worry that you would be left awkwardly alone for the evening gradually fading away. 

The interesting campfire sofa story seemed to come to an end, and a gap opened up in the small crowd. You strode forward, seizing the opportunity, making your way to a cozy little spot next to him on the sofa. Before you could even sit down and reintroduce yourself, George looked up at you, smiling brightly, playfully pointing a finger in your direction.

“Ah, I remember you.” He said cheerily, and although he did not attempt to raise his voice to be heard over the music, somehow you could hear him just fine. “Always nice to see another familiar face.”

“Hi George.” You giggled, feeling your hands fidget slightly at your sides, but you tried your best to not let it show. Somewhere between your starting location and here, all the confidence of speaking to George had blown away, and all that was left was your increasingly shy tone and a small blush creeping up your cheeks.

Before continuing the conversation with you, George looked to the other side of him and tapped his friend on the shoulder. “What do you know, Rich? I guess you do have a gift. We meet again!” Ringo turned to face you, his bright blue eyes lighting up despite the slightly dim lighting in the room.

“And here you are!” He said happily, standing from the couch to pull you into a warm hug. A surprised laugh left your throat, but you hugged him back, feeling him pull away almost as quickly to let you sit down next to George. “I'll let you two lovebirds get to chatting.” He mused as he disappeared into the next room.

You returned your gaze to George and felt the blush on your face get stronger. He didn't seem to notice, or rather, he didn't point it out, instead twisting his torso to reach behind him for a bottle of wine. “Fancy a drink?” He asked, pausing to top off his own glass.

“I really shouldn't, but thank you anyway.” You replied politely. “I'd rather be more alert when I have to round up my friends and drive them home later tonight.” George nodded understandingly, a small chuckle leaving his lips. He cleared his throat before taking another sip.

“Responsibility is quite uncommon these days. Much like common sense.” He laughed at his own joke, and you laughed too, remembering that his sense of humor was something you immediately liked about him when you first met. He may have been on the quiet side, but he could crack a mean joke. Listen close, or you just might miss it.

George wasn't one for small talk. He found it boring and mundane, which you actually appreciated, as you found it awkward and uncomfortable. You loved that he dove right in when talking to people, asking the deeper, more interesting questions. Questions about life and the wonder of it all, and everything we could be learning about the world and ourselves if we just got out of our brains all the time and back into our bodies, feeling and seeing the world as it was meant to be experienced. You were absolutely enthralled, listening closely and chiming in where you could relate or feel your curiosity piqued. Just as you felt yourself wanting to rest your head on his shoulder, becoming captivated by a campfire sofa story of your own, you felt someone bump into the sofa cushion behind you, mumbling your name.

You turned around to see one of your friends, with the other two standing a bit further behind her. You could barely understand her slurry of unintelligible words, and judging by her smudged makeup, you weren't sure if she had been crying, or just plainly drunk and possibly high out of her mind. Either way, the three had clearly tracked you down because they wanted to go home.

You sighed, turning back to George, grimacing slightly, annoyed that you had to leave just when the conversation was starting to get good. George didn't seem bothered, still offering a warm smile. “They've come for their cab.” He said cheekily. “Go on ahead, I'll see ya ‘round.”

You couldn't help but laugh at his comment, an instant mood booster despite being upset at your untimely departure. Pausing to give George a modest peck on the cheek, you stood from your spot on the sofa, collected your now rather disoriented looking friends, and shuffled out the door.

About two weeks later, you received a phone call from Ringo, inviting you to another party, this time of his own creation. In any other case, you would have declined, not feeling very social as of late, but no sooner did you open your mouth to object, a thought entered your brain. If Ringo was hosting the party, there’s a pretty good chance George was going to be there as well. 

George.

Ever since your last encounter with him at the previous party, he had been a lingering thought in all areas of your mind. The first time you met him, there was no room to have a meaningful chat as the awkward silence had taken up most if not all of the conversation. And last time appeared to be promising until your evening was cut short by your petulant plus-ones. But this time, there would be no distractions, and you were gonna make sure of it. This was the third time the great universe had given you another shot at making a connection with George, and there was no way you were going to pass it up. This time, you would be going solo. Having mentally finalized your decision, you graciously accepted Ringo’s invitation, and hung up the phone.

By the time the party rolled around, you were practically buzzing with excitement. All previous antisocial feelings had gone out the window, since now, you knew there was going to be something at this party that could spark your interest. When you arrived at the party, via cab of course, as now there was no need to play designated driver, you were immediately greeted by Ringo, who promptly offered you a drink and gently encouraged you to go mingle. 

This party was quite different from the last one. It was by no means a fancy gathering, but it felt much more sophisticated. There were less people than last time, greatly lowering the level of potential chaos. Despite the decreased number of guests, it was the most reserved form of the word ‘wild’ and it was still clear that everyone was having a great time. There was a record playing gentle dance music from one of the rooms. You weren’t sure if it was instrumental or you just couldn’t make out the lyrics, but you enjoyed it either way. You searched for the source of the music to hopefully catch the title of the record when you bumped into someone on the way out, nearly spilling your drink on their shirt. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” You shrieked, eyes still facing towards the floor in both confusion and embarrassment. You looked up to deliver another heartfelt apology and instead you froze, your eyes widening.

“Better watch where you’re headed, love.” George teased, punctuating his statement by brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. You already felt yourself blushing, feeling the need to apologize even more fervently now that you knew your encounter had not been with a random stranger. 

“George!” You shrieked again, not sure why you said his name as you didn’t have anything to say after that, but followed it up with the best thing you could think of. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Following me, eh?” He mused, playfully poking you in the arm. You blushed harder, your free hand fidgeting with the bottom of your drink glass, the fingers on your other hand tapping the side awkwardly. 

“Perhaps it’s fate.” You blurted out, the thought sounding more confident in your head. But you felt yourself breathe a sigh of relief when George chuckled at your statement. 

“Divine timing.” he nodded knowingly.

“The universe wants us to keep meeting at these parties.” You giggled, trying to keep your composure while also ecstatic that George shared your theory. “It would be a shame to not accept the invitation. And besides, we never finished our conversation from last time.”

“I s’pose you make a point.” He grinned, flashing that ever-gorgeous fang-toothed smile. 

“So…shall we dance?” You offered, gesturing to the surrounding area between the two of you. George looked around, eyes following your hands at your silent gestures. 

“I don’t have the best moves, love, but I’ll try.” He laughed nervously. As if on cue, you heard the random instrumental record change, and a soft romantic melody began to play. You felt a large beaming smile spread across your face, silently thanking the universe yet again for its ‘divine timing’. “Ah,” George said softly, “now, slow dancing, I might be fair at.” He held his hand out for you to hold, which you happily accepted, assuming the slow dance positions.

George moved your hand that he was holding onto his shoulder, and you moved your other hand to his other shoulder. You felt like electricity was going to start buzzing out of you when George repositioned his hands to softly rest against your waist, but you tried your best to be calm. You let out an excited giggle that sounded more like a shriek, but George’s expression proved he found it rather endearing.

“Well…” he whispered, his voice vibrating as you rested your head on his chest, “you said you wanted to continue our other conversation?” You had gotten so comfortable with the current situation, your body filled with tranquility instead of nervousness, that you forgot you had even said that.

“Oh…” you trailed off, picking your head up from his chest to stare into his eyes, a warm deep brown you found yourself getting lost in, “right, I did say that. But for now I only have one question.” George continued to stare at you, gently nodding in wait for your question, the corners of his lips twitching upwards into a brief yet heartwarming grin. “Does divine timing work for romance as well?”

The second the sentence left your lips, the anxious part of you immediately wanted to take it back, but George didn’t mind. He smiled again, keeping his usual calm demeanor as he had done the whole time. “Well,” he began, same as how he usually started any of his philosophical observations, “if that is true, there would also have to be some sort of sign to confirm or deny it. Something to suggest if it is the right time, or something to interrupt it if the time isn’t right.” You listened intently, feeling yourself unconsciously smiling as he spoke, completely captivated by his perspective. You moved one of your hands higher on his shoulders to rest just above the collar of his shirt, brushing your fingers against the soft skin of his neck.

“Well how do we know if the time is right?” You asked, not even realizing you had already picked up his habit of putting that word at the beginning of sentences. But just as you posed the question, you felt time begin to slow down around you. Suddenly, all the other guests felt a million miles away, the music felt louder, and now, in that moment, it was just you and George, and nothing else mattered. It felt incredible, as your brain was able to block out all the other worldly noise, and just concentrate on the here and now, something you found yourself unable to do so effectively before.

George thought about it for a second, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, the edges of his mustache stretching out as a knowing smirk appeared on his face. “Well, let’s find out then, shall we?”

You thought he was going to do some sudden movement as if to attract the attention of the universe for any objections, or send a cheeky statement sailing out into the ether, but nothing could have prepared you for the moment he leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on your lips.

Your eyes widened in shock, feeling your fingers involuntarily grip at his shoulder, but that was soon replaced by an overwhelming joy spreading through your body. George placed his hand under your jaw, his fingers cupping your chin to deepen the kiss. You sighed happily, closing your eyes again and wrapping your arms around him, resting your wrists on the back of his neck. 

It was a purely heavenly sensation. You found yourself softly giggling against his lips, pulling away for a mere second to look in his eyes again. George smiled back at you, briefly looking around and boastfully shrugging his shoulders. “I guess the universe had no problem with that.” He quipped.

He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped, his eyes fixated on something in another room through one of the open doors as he let out an adorable little giggle. “In fact, I think we may have actually had a little help.” He turned back to you, pointing in the direction of whatever had caught his eye. You turned around to see Ringo standing over by the record player, proudly swirling his drink glass in one hand, his other hand holding the decorative album sleeve for the romantic record that was currently playing. He raised his glass to toast the happy couple from afar, sealing his stamp of accomplishment with a supportive, bright-blue-eyed wink. You and George laughed in stereo, your smile growing wider as you gave Ringo a grateful two thumbs up before turning back to George.

“I guess the universe did have a plan for us.” You joked, not sure if you felt yourself release a dreamy sigh or it was all in your mind. 

George nodded agreeingly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear as he stared into your eyes. “I guess it did.” He laughed before pulling you closer for another loving kiss.

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AAAAA I'm so happy with how this one turned out! I did go a little rogue off the request by adding Ringo in the mix lol but I think it still works well and I hope y'all think so too 🥰 Taglist: @little-bit-of-mystery @nosegoes @cocteautwiny @queen-of-stars @thatgoesinthere-misshapes @harrisongslimited @hyasynth1

If you would like to be added to this list, comment on this post or send me an ask!

[submattenthusiast]

introducing.. basketball player!matt

basketball player!matt - who started out playing just with his brothers when at the neighborhood court. only started taking it seriously once he hit puberty and with encouragement from others. in high school he tried out and successfully made the team, starting with junior varisty then varisty once junior year rolled around.

basketball player!matt - who can play any position in the sport, but sticks to point guard nine times out of ten.

basketball player!matt - who plays his best always but played a little better when he knew college scouts were in the bleachers.

basketball player!matt - that had the best grades, so he could apply for basketball scholarships. has spent hours researching schools with the best basketball programs.

basketball player!matt - who had scholarships lined up before he graduated, full ride! but most of them being out of state.

basketball player!matt - who took a big leap after graduating and chose the school farthest from home. the school had the best program and after taking a tour of the school he fell in love. before even choosing the university fully, he was awarded a full ride scholarship, that sealed the deal for him.

basketball player!matt- who has a goal of playing professionally, full time. specifically for the boston celtics. it's been a dream of his ever since he started taking the sport seriously. yes it's clichè, but boston is home to him and so is that team.

basketball player!matt - spent the summer before his freshman year practicing nonstop, though his position on the team was already set in stone. before that summer he spent any free time he had in the neighborhood court, and the schools court after school.

basketball player!matt - who worries constantly about his future — failure is his biggest fear. so hard to break out of his shell, always coming off as mean or uptight. refusing to party and drink or smoke heavily, and always watching his diet.

big authors note — credits to anyone who has written about basketball player matt prior to this. i am not claiming it as mine or claiming to be the first person to do so. this is 100% my take on it. i honestly didn't plan on making this an au or anything further than a blurb but feel free to send requests and asks about him. there may be a specific reader to go with him later on but for now enjoy basketball matt! i got really lazy with this but i'll post head cannons and add on to this as i go.