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whydoeseveryonewanttobangchan · 1 year

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🥃 Guess I’ll have to find something else to do with my mouth… 🥃

✎ Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

✎ Genre: Smutty smut smut smut

✎ Summary: Chan did not want to go to karaoke night, but good god is he thankful he did.

✎ CW: !!!Sewerslide joke!!!, drinking, swearing, random hookup, public makeout, oral sex, unprotected sex (please don’t fuck a stranger without a condom), rough sex, nipple play, choking, teensy daddy kink

✎ Word count: 2,804

✩ The song is Lovesick by BANKS, listen if you’d like 😈 ✩

❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥

Ice meets upper lip when Chan throws his glass back to get the last drops of his drink. He hasn’t been working on this one long, but the whiskey’s been watered down by the melting cube — it may have come watered down from the bar, to be honest.

Regardless, it’s his fourth drink and he’s buzzed enough that it doesn’t matter. And on top of that, he’s bored.

“Want another?” Minho shouts over the loud backing track and off-key, wailing vocals.

“Naur, I’m about ready to head out, I think,” Chan yells back.

They swore karaoke night was Tuesday, but apparently, it’s Wednesday. Chan just wanted to go home; Minho convinced him to stick it out. But the lights are too bright and the singers are too drunk and he’s never been more ready to leave a bar in his life.

Minho’s still nursing drink #2 and scanning the room with his dark eyes. It’s the usual crowd, and Chan lost interest in meeting anyone new around the same time that one guy absolutely butchered Someone Like You by Adele. And this rendition of We Don’t Talk About Bruno has him ready to blow his brains out.

“Oi, I’m gonna get some air,” Chan says, gesturing toward the door with his thumb. “Meet me outside when you’re ready to go, yeah?”

Minho nods in reply and turns his attention back to a group of girls huddled by the stage.

Chan pats his friend on the shoulder and heads to the door — and sweet relief for his eyes and ears — skillfully weaving through the crowd as he goes. His hands meet the cold metal of the push bar but pause as soon as he hears it.

“Please call me your baby, baby, baby.”

It’s a new song, a new girl. Your velvety voice quite literally stops him in his tracks.

“Look how long that you have kept me waiting.”

He turns around, almost in a trance, and moves in the direction of that beautiful sound.

“Oh, I know your love before I kissed you.”

Chan joins the crowd circling the stage. He’s not the only one absolutely transfixed right now.

“And now you have only made me miss you.”

It’s not only the way you’re singing, it’s everything about you. The way your long hair drapes over your bare shoulders, the way your hips sway back and forth with the slow beat, the way you’re gripping that microphone…

“Come get me. Come love me, baby, come love me.”

The magnetic pull between you is impossible to fight, and Chan’s pushing through the crowd to get right up to the stage now. It’s not dense, but moving past bodies requires some effort and even more apologies, and he’s not nearly as smooth with it as he was just a minute earlier.

“Ooh, aah, cause I'm lovesick, and I ain't even ashamed.”

His dark eyes travel up your bare legs, and he’s not ashamed either. Any anxiety he would’ve felt in this moment of obvious adoration has been numbed by the alcohol.

Luckily for you, the lights are right in your eyes and you can’t see any of your audience, including the handsome stranger whose gaze is fixed on your thighs.

“And I'm hard up, for some time in your sheets.”

Warm blood rushes to Chan’s cock, filling it up and stretching his jeans in seconds. The thought of you in his sheets…

“Would you be down to spend all your time with me?”

He absolutely would. And he stands there, almost eerily still, for the rest of the song. Head entirely empty of everything but thoughts of the siren in front of him.

“Cause I'm lovesick.”

You finish the song smoothly, but you have no idea how your friends convinced you to get up there in the first place. You’re nowhere near drunk enough for this, and you have every intention of immediately booking it to the bathroom to hide.

Lights dim as you take a tiny bow and step off the platform. You set off on a clear path to the restrooms before a big, broad stranger cuts you off.

His coffee-flavored eyes are wide and his lower lip is clenched between his teeth, and he just stares at you. It’s so intense, and if he weren’t possibly the most beautiful human you’d ever laid eyes on, it would be incredibly unsettling.

“Uh, excuse me…” you say, attempting to walk around him. But he grabs your wrist.

“I’m sorry, I… uh,” he stutters, staring down at your hands. Even he’s surprised at his urgency. What the fuck is he doing?

“I’m so sorry. I’m Chan,” he says, his firm grip on your arm disappearing before he continues. “You were, you are… wow.”

Eyes meet again, and his cheeks are flushed. But after that performance — and whatever the hell this is — yours are, too.

“Oh, thanks. I’m y/n,” you reply, finishing just before the next singer starts his assault on your ear drums.

You both wince, and his big lips turn down into a scowl. But his expression softens again when he not-so-slyly glances down to your chest and back up.

“You’re really beautiful, you know?” he asks, his husky voice straining to be heard over the music. “You here alone?”

Chan’s trying his best to feign confidence, but his heart is pounding. He hasn’t done anything like this in so long and you’re so sexy and he’s so… dizzy.

“Wow, straightforward, huh? I’m with friends,” you say, gesturing over to the huddle of girls by the bar, ready to pounce at the slightest signal of distress. “Very protective friends, clearly.”

“I can see that,” Chan answers. He rotates his hand in a small wave, but their expressions don’t change. No points to be won there. He’ll have to charm you on his own. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I don’t think you need another, honestly,” you say with a smirk. And you’re right. He’s speeding down the highway, two miles past tipsy and about to get off at drunk. But he’s also at his most confident. And that means he can say something sober Chan would never.

“Hm, you may be right. Guess I’ll have to find something else to do with my mouth.”

Your eyes narrow at him. He has this dumb smug look on his face while he waits for your reaction. The smirk only depends as more seconds pass.

“I guess I can get that drink at yours?”

Bingo.

“Shall we?”

Three texts, two attempts at calling an Uber, and one sloppy backseat saliva-sharing grope session later, you’re stumbling over each other up the stairs to Chan’s apartment.

Your hands haven’t left his body since you got in that Uber, and the same goes for his. Now you’re pulling at his hair, his shirt, his neck — anything to keep your mouths attached and get closer to privacy, to a socially acceptable place to be this feral.

Feet finally reach flat flooring and you shuffle to Chan’s apartment door. He has no clue where his keys are right now but he doesn’t particularly care. He’s focused on trapping your body between the door and him, pressing his palms into the wood and pushing his thigh between your legs.

Lips are past swollen at this point, and he’s focusing on your neck now, sucking and biting any spots that aren’t already coated in his spit. However many hickeys he’s already left on the delicate skin there — it’s not enough. And there aren’t nearly enough on your chest.

So, he heads there next, fondling one breast over your dress and nipping at your collarbones. Even if you’re only his for tonight, he’ll make sure you remember him every time you glance at your reflection for the next week.

One of your hands runs through his dark curls and the other grips the doorknob, trying to will it open. Keys are still an afterthought, though. His unoccupied hand is headed under your dress, between your legs.

He presses four fingers flat against you, and your head tips back against the door with a thud. He’s happy to discover that your panties are soaked through, and he can’t wait much longer to taste you.

If you two don’t tumble through that doorway soon, he’ll just have to take you right here in the hallway. But he’d prefer to have you laid flat, spread open, and writhing on his kitchen table. Time to find those keys.

Fingers fumble through his pockets, and of course he finds everything but what he needs. Phone, ID, cards, receipts, a condom, and more fall to the floor in his frantic search. Then, finally, keys. Fuck it, he’ll get the other shit later.

He makes quick work of unlocking the door and twisting the knob. The weight of your body pushes it open, and his hands reflexively go to your waist to keep you upright as you make your way to the table.

Chan swipes the miscellaneous papers and dishes to the floor and lifts you onto the cold wood. Lips reattach and he reaches for your pussy, slipping his fingers under the wet fabric to feel your folds.

You relax into his touch and slide your hips closer to the edge of the table. He drops to his knees and pulls you forward that extra inch to yank your underwear down your legs and onto the floor.

He sloppily sucks on your inner thighs, leaving a trail of red, swollen flesh on his way to your cunt. Once he gets there, he spits on you and dives right in to taste the combination of liquids on your sensitive skin.

Chan’s plump, pink lips are slick and saliva runs down his chin while he spreads your folds and dips in and out of you, savoring the flavor on his taste buds.

He locates your clit and prods it with a pointed tongue before flitting up and down. He alternates between targeting the sensitive bud to elicit more nectar out of you and lapping at your folds to indulge in the results of his hard work.

Chan has every intention of making you come with just his mouth, and the way you’re gripping the table and trembling and moaning makes him think that’s happening soon. And like clockwork…

“Hey, I’m… gonna…” you pant, trying your best to speak between breaths.

He doesn’t reply. He only grips your ass cheeks harder and buries his face further into you, and that’s enough.

Walls flutter around his tongue as you hit your climax, and you cry out loud enough for the neighbors to hear. He suctions his mouth against you to catch any additional arousal you have to give. It’s so sweet and tart, and he truly cannot get enough.

Your supporting arms give out and you collapse onto the table, satisfied and twitching from the aftershocks. Oh, but he’s not done with you. Not by a long shot.

Chan unzips his pants and reaches under his boxers to play with his thick cock. This is exactly what he pictured when he first laid eyes on you. Head thrown back, chest rapidly rising and falling, thighs parted, cunt dripping. What a beautiful sight.

“You want my cock, baby?” he asks, still stroking himself behind the fabric. He loves the reveal, so he’ll keep his length hidden for now.

You lift your head and lock onto his eyes.

“Please, show me.”

“I don’t know if you can handle it,” he teases.

You scoff at that pretentious shit.

“Try me, daddy.”

“As you wish, baby girl.”

He drops his underwear and unveils his veiny erection. It is impressive, but it’s even better that he knows how to use it.

His hands grip your hips, and he pushes in slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size. He can’t hold back a throaty moan the first time his whole cock disappears inside you. It feels so fucking good, he forgets where he is for a second.

“Fuck me,” you hiss.

And then he’s back on Earth, pounding in and out of you at an unrelenting pace. Your legs wrap around his hips and your back arches off the table as you shudder beneath him.

Chan reaches for the straps of your dress, pulling one then the other down over your shoulders. He works the fabric down past your chest, freeing your breasts to bounce up and down with each thrust.

“Fuck…” he groans. How the hell are your tits perfect, too? The hardened peaks are just begging to be sucked, bitten, claimed.

He sacrifices a steady rhythm to put his lips on your skin again. His large frame descends so he can catch one taut nipple between his teeth. The bite isn’t too hard, but he’s pulling at the sensitive nub every time he rolls his hips.

You manage to pull enough air into your lungs to speak between moans, but he’s not sure if he heard you correctly.

“Say that again?” he urges.

“Ch-choke me.”

“Oh, fuck. Absolutely,” he growls.

His cock throbs inside you, and if he weren’t so excited about making you come again, he would’ve finished right then and there.

His huge hand engulfs your throat, pressing your neck down into the table.

“Smack me if I’m too rough, ok?” he says.

You respond with a half-hearted thumbs-up, too focused on the fire in your abdomen to think about much else.

He resumes those merciless thrusts in and out of your cunt, closing his hand around your neck just enough as he goes. He has no idea how he’s lasted this long and — as much as it pains him — he has to close his eyes in an effort to hold back his own orgasm until you find yours.

His field of vision is dark, but the sound of his balls slapping against wet flesh is hard to tune out. He can barely catch his breath and you’re whimpering and he can’t do this anymore. Good thing you can’t, either.

“Chan, I’m… don’t stop. Fuck, I’m, ohhh…” you cry.

“Me too. C-cum. Cum for me.”

He tightens his grip on your throat and jerks into you with one last powerful thrust. A choked sob escapes from your tortured throat and your walls clench around his cock, holding him there while he spills himself deep inside you. Your name is the only thing on his lips.

His fingers leave your neck and rest softly on your collarbones. His chest drops, and he lays his head on your breasts to try to catch his breath.

It takes a few minutes for the tremors to stop, but you both recover as best you can. Chan pulls out of you and disappears down the small hallway to get a towel for cleanup. You still haven’t moved when he returns, and a sly smile spreads across his lips.

“Oi, all good down there?” he chirps.

You respond with the same weak thumbs-up from earlier, making him giggle. God, he hopes this isn’t just a one-night stand.

He does his best to clean the mess, wiping his saliva from basically every inch of your skin. The towel can’t do anything for the tiny bruises, though.

Hickeys litter the flesh from your jawline all the way down to your inner thighs. And then there’s the thin outline of his long fingers on your throat. He really did a number on you, and he can only hope you won’t be too mad.

“So, still want that drink?” he asks.

“Hmm, maybe. If you’re up for it,” you mutter.

“Of course, what’s your poison? I have beer, whiskey, scotch, gin…” he says, padding over to his well-stocked alcohol cabinet.

You interrupt before he can reach the end of his list.

“I was thinking of something… else,” you purr.

He turns on his heels to re-route for the fridge, trying to remember what he has in there.

“Sure, like… watuh? Soft drink? Juice?”

He’ll run to the store for whatever it is if it’s not here. He’d do absolutely anything to get you to stay the night.

You don’t reply, and he turns again to meet your eyes. But your gaze is pointed down, aimed directly at his dick. He takes a second to process.

“Wait… you want…” he trails off and instead uses his pointer finger to gesture toward his crotch.

That same sly smile spreads across your lips this time. Jesus Christ.

Rehydration mission abandoned for the time being, he strides back to the table and climbs on top of you, propping himself up with palms placed on either side of your head.

“Ready when you are, baby.”

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sserpente · 6 months

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A/N: Can you believe that I couldn’t bring myself to watch the Loki Season 2 Finale more than once yet? Maybe this little piece of fluff will help us heal a little more!

Words: 837 Warnings: HEAVY SPOILERS FOR THE SEASON 2 FINALE, fluff

Christmas felt off. Yule felt off. You’d set up your tree, you’d decorated, you’d bought all the Christmassy food including half a dozen bottles of mulled wine and you were listening to Christmas music non-stop. None of it worked. Something was missing. Someone.

The promise that had hung from Loki’s lips remained heavy and it had clawed its way deep into your heart. You’d talked about it one night, resting after hunting down an actor-turned-TVA-agent. About your future together. About where you would go and what you would do once all of this was over.

That was before everything fell apart. Before Loki realised that the only way… no, stop.

Right now, you were baking Christmas biscuits—you were forcing yourself to. Christmas music was blasting from your phone in the background, the warm air in the kitchen smelled like vanilla and gingerbread and outside, it was snowing, making you appreciate the warm and flickering candlelight coming from the wreath on the dining table even more. You were supposed to be happy, you ought to be joyful, no? He had sacrificed everything, sacrificed himself in order to protect… to protect… it was all so complex it went above your head. All you knew was that thanks to the cheeky God of Mischief, the multiverse was free.

Thanks to him, you were alive and well, thanks to him you could live a life you’d always dreamed of having. And yet, it meant nothing without him. And yet, all you wanted to do was to break down, ram your fists into the ground over and over, and wail for the loss of your one true love.

Yule, Christmas, whatever you wanted to call it, wasn’t the same if the one person you wanted to spend it with was gone. But you knew he could see you. You knew he was watching over you. And it wouldn’t be fair to let him see your grief after what he’d done for you all.

So you swallowed it down, again and again, and, humming along to the Christmas songs, focused all of your attention on the cookie batter. It was his favourite kind. The only kind you’d be baking this year.

“Hmm… this does smell delicious. I do hope they’re all for me…”

Your heart dropped to your stomach as you flipped around, flour landing everywhere around you in the process like a smoke cloud.

For a moment, you simply stared at him, lips parted, eyes filling with tears. “Please… please tell me you’re real.”

Loki smirked, extending his arms—a smug invitation for you to hug him. “Why don’t you find out, love?”

It was all he needed to say. You all but flung yourself into his arms, face pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. No illusion. No duplicate. Him. He was actually here.

“Loki… oh gods, Loki…” The tears came before you could stop them. Worsening your sight and making you sob, you hugged him so tightly you feared to cut off his air supply. “But… how… how? How is this possible?”

“It appears that not only have I become the new temporal loom but… my powers have been feeding on the multiverse and vice versa. I became stronger and stronger until I realised I would be able to move around within it freely. I tested it, carefully, for what felt like an eternity until I was sure the threads of all the realities wouldn’t snap on me.”

“So… you’re saying the entirety of the multiverse is still flowing through you right now?”

“It is indeed. You just can’t see it.”

“You’re not going to… explode on me, right?”

“And turn into golden glitter?” He lifted your chin up, smirking and you chuckled but when his smile faltered, yours did too.

“W-what?”

“I’m sorry.”

You frowned. “For what?”

“For leaving you. For being the reason you cry yourself to sleep at night.”

Once again, your heart dropped to your stomach. “You… know?”

“Of course I do.”

“I was trying to hide it so hard…” Loki wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb, a gentle smile tugging on his thin lips.

“I know,” he said, pressing you close. “I came here as soon as I could to be sure it would be safe to do so.”

“You… haven’t seen anyone else yet? What about Mobius?”

“Mobius is with his family, setting up a Christmas tree with Jetski decorations.”

You giggled.

“No. You were the most important. And I want to spend Christmas with you just like I promised I would. And I see you have already made sure to set the mood.” He looked around, noting all the decorations around you.

Your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “There’s no Christmas mood without you.”

Loki pulled you back toward the door threshold leading to the living room. You looked up at him, gaze wandering up to where you’d put up the mistletoe. And as far as kisses went… this one was the most magical and wondrous yet.

A/N: I'm really bad at reposting my Insta and Clock App stuff on here too and it's a New Year's resolution to change that next year so that you guys will be up to date as well but basically... I've published too books in my absence in case you were wondering why it got so quiet, lol. Aaaand I'm currently working on an English (my first English series!) paranormal Dark Romance series with demons and witches so if that's something you're interested in, do follow along, yes? ♥♥♥ We're all mad here! :D

PS: Loki becoming the wireless battery of the multiverse is my headcanon, thank you.

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1-800-kami · 9 months

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agnes, just stop and think a minute

gojo satoru x reader (1.2k)

" you're gone but you're on my mind, i'm lost but i don't know why. ,,

warnings: CHAPTER 236 SPOILERS, reader and shoko r going THRU it, i wrote this during a mental breakdown, denial, semi-comfort at the end

a/n: when i found out about what happened i just spent 2 hours on social media just. watching everything gojo related and i kind of wanted to reflect my reaction through this word vomit of a drabble. i haven't cried at all but i just feel so devastated and oh my god it's been terrible. rest in peace to my bb </3

based off of one of my favorite glass animals songs (agnes) that i've always associated with gojo.

you like to think that grief in your life always comes and goes.

it’s a part of being a jujutsu sorcerer. each day, new people are trained to become one, and others die the same day. there are new beginnings, and people who meet their ends. you know sorcerers out there who have completely closed themselves off just so they don’t have to experience the soul crushing feeling of grief.

it’s like a bud, they say. a bud that forcefully plants itself in your heart, and you can do nothing but watch it grow as it takes hold of every part of your being. people describe the feeling in many ways: a weight on top of your chest that won’t cease, or a part of your heart that’s been ripped away, and nothing in your life seems to fill the remnants of it.

you’ve experienced grief in your life many times. loss is so normalized as a sorcerer that you’ve almost lost count at this point, but the ones that have hit you the hardest are the deaths of your closest friends: kento nanami, yu haibara, and geto suguru. they haunt your thoughts every day, up until the point where everything feels asphyxiating and you sometimes want to join your friends too.

you think that geto’s death hit you the hardest.

you remember geto’s disappearance and the night parade of a hundred demons like it was yesterday. the hardest pill to swallow about his death was the fact that it could’ve been prevented. geto’s lifeless eyes made you see parallels from the weeks leading up to his disappearance. he just needed a push in the right direction, but then you couldn’t even do that and you didn’t see all the signs of his deteriorating mental health. you just felt so guilty, even though your friends assured you that it wasn’t your fault.

seeing geto’s body for the first time after 10 years made you wail uncontrollably–and you had to be forcefully pried off of him despite your screams of protest. the most prominent thing about his body were his lifeless eyes–and guilt coursed through your veins as you knew that they were probably devoid of life even before his death.

that guilt stuck with you for a long time, and you felt it until you thought that it would consume you whole.

that’s why shoko was hesitant to show you gojo’s body.

she knows that you would have an emotional outburst again, like last time. actually, she knew this one would be worse, because geto was a best friend to you, but satoru was the light of your life. he was your lover. your soulmate, even. the reason why you were excited to come home everyday. he grieved about geto with you, and you held each other when you both cried… usually when december 24th was nearing again. you think that, without satoru, you don’t know what you would do. you kept each other sane and grounded.

so you don’t understand.

why is his body in front of you right now? why are all your students crying around you and mourning gojo’s loss? it’s all the sorcerers are talking about right now, and you just don’t get it.

he’s the strongest, so why did he fucking leave you behind like this? no, no. he wasn’t supposed to lose that fight. he said it himself. he said he’d win, right? he’d win, and he’d come home, albeit injured, but home nonetheless. he’d celebrate his victory with you, and life would go on. so why did he lie?

that’s the only word coursing through your head. why?

you tried not to think about anything right now… like how there was probably so much crimson red on that battlefield. if you saw it, you’d think that the red would leave an everlasting stain in your mind, to the point where you’ll never forget about it. no matter how many times you’d wash your hands, all that red would still be there, and you hate to think about it.

you like to think that grief in your life always comes and goes.

people describe the feeling in many ways, but if you had to describe how you felt right now, the only word you’d use is empty.

you feel so utterly empty and hollow, that you can’t even bring yourself to cry or scream.

shoko’s surprised at your reaction. when she told you what happened, you became eerily silent. your eyes and gojo’s were practically identical. both so devoid of life, that all she can bring herself to say is, “im sorry.”

what do you even say at a time like this? what do you say to someone who’s had their heart ripped apart again and again as they watch each of their friends die? for you and shoko, it’s happened four times now. four is too much. you can’t bring yourself to believe it anymore.

no. this isn’t real.

this isn’t happening right now.

you move for the first time in what seems like ages, and you place your hand in gojo’s open casket, tucking a stray pearl white strand behind his ear. you observe him for a minute. he looks so peaceful, now that he doesn’t have to worry about his infinity or constantly being on his guard anymore.

“shoko, i think he’s hungry.” you say, feeling the ice cold veins in your chest stilling.

your words catch shoko off guard. “huh?”

“he’s hungry,” you repeat simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. you look away from his body and turn to leave. “i’m going to go buy kikufuku for him.”

you suddenly remember all of the dates you’ve had with satoru, where you buy many sweets like kikufuku, but he always made sure to save you some. he’s known for his notorious sweet tooth—putting one too many sugar cubes in his drinks, but he’ll always share his sweets if it’s with you. even if it was kikufuku.

“it’s his favorite after all.”

you walk out of the funeral, leaving behind the confused and sympathetic looks of everyone there. shoko sighs at your reaction—she’ll let you go for now. everyone’s processing this in different ways, so she can’t blame you for how you’re dealing with satoru’s death. she’ll just hope you’ll learn to accept it soon.

on the way to get kikufuku, you spot a pet shop nearby. there’s a fish tank on display, and you notice that one of the tanks has a white betta fish inside. it’s the same shade as satoru’s hair, and you feel your feet moving on its own as you walk to the glass. you exhale with a shaky sob, placing a hand on it. i love you, satoru. i won’t say goodbye, though, cause i’ll be there eventually.

you make sure not to say “soon” because you knew that if you took your life with your own hands instead of letting fate choose your death, satoru would never let you hear the end of it. so you’ll keep living. you’ll keep living for yourself and satoru, even though you want to join them. every single day hurts and it also hurts to even breathe sometimes. though you know, somewhere out there, satoru and your friends are cheering you on with every step you take.

wait for me… okay?

the betta fish suddenly notices your presence, and swims up against the glass. so close, yet so far. you take that as satoru’s answer. it was like you could hear his voice directly speaking to you.

i’ll always wait for you, no matter how long it takes.

you smile for the first time today, even if it was barely a smile. you felt a familiar presence with you on the other side of that glass, even if it was just for a short moment, and it gave you what strength you had left to keep moving.

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk #gojo angst #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru comfort #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #jjk manga spoilers #jjk manga

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majorproblems77 · 3 months

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Hello LU fans! I'm back with another LU update analysis! :D

Are you ready cause there's so much to unpack I'm gonna be here a while. Like last time I'm gonna put a timer on lmao, see how long this takes me.

As always grab your popcorn and drink of choice, cause we need hydration in this life.

all art belongs to @linkeduniverse and Jojo, and if I pull panels from any other pages I'll let you know where it's from! :D

Obviously spoilers for Dawn 8 :D

And a note, I've not played TP or WW, you'll see why thats important later.

Let us begin, shall we!

Man, Poor wild, he's probably beating himself up like there's no tomorrow right now. He looks HORIFIED.

Probably because in technicality, he failed.

I love how he's holding his sword here too. Kinda acting as a shield to the conversation.

Same expression as wild. He also looks horrified. Infact the resemblance between these two in uncanny.

Man time really is the dad isnt he. Unimpressed dad look at 12'oclock. Jokes aside he doesn't look angry about it. He looks like he now gathering information from those who finished the fight. As we know once he left with Twilight he was the only other one to not make it back to the fight.

Thats a fair sentence, thinking about it, I think the only other game where Iron Knuckles appear is in one of Hyrule's games? I'm surprised he's not mentioned anything about it.

Most of the others do have armoured enemies though. So while the others dont have direct experience I assume they have the basics.

All but, Sky and Wars None of them fight armoured enemies like that in their games.

I assume because he's defeated this thing like it was a guardian (Stasis and then wailing on it cause that's what i would do lmao) He assumed it was defeated when it exploded into pieces. Like guardians are prone to do. tbh he was probably gonna go back to look for loot at some point.

You tell them Wind. The small hero, underestimated by everyone BUT Time. Was correct thank you.

Justice for the windy boy.

God Wild really is beating himself up about this. I love the fact that we see four's reaction to this statement. As to be honest. Over the last few nights, Four and Wild have had plenty of bonding moments. These guys are gonna become best friends.

And now we get Time.

The way he's looking over these panels. That look. He know's he's the leader of this group but something that Time isn't used to is making Permanent mistakes.

He has the Ocarina of Time, and when he was back in Termina every time something went wrong he could just play the song of Time and restart the three-day cycle with no trouble at all.

Time, as a person. Isnt technically used to failing.

This panel is stunning. It's what I assume is going on inside his head. It's so pretty. It's so detailed it's just oh man easily one of my favourite panels.

now you know i had to talk about panels with my beloved blorbo in.

first off he's so pretty. Jojo has really outdone herself with just how amazing these updates have looked. The lighting the shading its all just so incredible.

The first half of this panel with Sky's face. He, He is beating himself up about the injury. He had nothing to do with it but he cares so much about the rest of the group he feels bad. He kinda looks like he's thinking about it. Like he can see it. Like time did but we dont see inside Sky's head.

Makes me think about what exactly he saw.

And Twilight's face, he looks so sad. His little pout. Poor wolf boy, which we can now call you properly as the rest of them know now.

And to be honest I'm glad he's standing his ground. Mr, My injury isn't that bad before falling over. the stubborn ranch hand strikes again.

The parallels from this frame and the one from later have been mentioned elsewhere but I'm just gonna post the frame here as it's turned up. Run you coward lizard. Run.

Captain link is back. Poor warriors, he's still showing signs of being stressed. He's one of the only one's who hasn't been able to rest over the downtime that they've had. He's been busy being in charge of the group while Time was out.

I can only assume it's only a matter of time before this comes back to get him. Maybe he is next on the chopping block? (Pun kinda intended) Something could happen and he messes up and gets hurt of causes someone to get hurt.

oh and also

THE SCARF

THE SCARF THE SCARF

IT HAS RETURNED ALL HAIL THE BLUE EMOTIONAL SUPPORT BLANKET WARRIORS NEEDED YOU.

None of us did, Hyrule.

The boys ever, I'm glad they are talking about this like this. And that it's legend who's starting to throw ideas out there like this. As the one who's got the most experience in the group, it makes sense that he would be the one to start offering ideas as to Why not just how.

Because you pissed it off Sky. Because half of you pissed it off. In fact I do believe he had a bunch of panels in Shifting Shadows pt2 where you indeed pissed it off.

The entire reason it started running from you and Twilight had to track it was because of FI's reaction to his sword.

Wait... that explains the guilt. It is actually potentially Sky's fault. Or if he's anything like I think he is. He remembers that fight with the shadow and knows.

He knows.

Also, with clenched fist Sky is ready for a fight. Next time the shadow turns up I assume he's gonna go after it when it's inevitablebly goes after Twilight/Wild. Maybe he'll jump in after being told not too because the Master sword appears to be the only thing as of right now that can fight the red stuff that comes off the shadows sword.

did you hear Warriors shiver? I did.

And you'd know all about that wouldn't you Four. :D

Also

Mandatory Sky appreciation picture

Him's my beloved blorbo. He's wonderful. Such a lil guy. Bestest bean. My beloved. /pl

Anyway moving on

Oh yeah, the amount of power that the items list contains We've seen the arsenal that they have between them (in the December art).

We saw what just Time could do.

Now add the rest of them and the enemies dont stand a chance. They've just gotta figure out how to either avoid the weapons of each other or work as a team with the arsenal in hand to fight better.

Like imagine if Twilight used his gale boomerang to send Wild into the air.

(Writer brain go brr, gonna write that down)

It's basically Revalis Gale.

This man is so damn dramatic I love him

And here's the parallel frame

the shadow running towards Warriors vs running away from Twilight.

You know thinking about it... Shadow didn't shapeshift until Twilight did. The push towards Warriors was when shadow thought they were on level footing.

But when Twilight went after Dink, he was the one who had to flee because he lost his advantage.

ANGRY SKY ANGRY SKY ANGRY SKY

The man is pissed that Shadow hurt Twilight. He is so damn mad and I think that he is saying what he would assume Fi would. (With more emotion because well, Fi)

Also that last frame.

TIME AND SKY ANGST ON THE HORIZON?

time is looking towards the master sword. And he looks angry. This will absolutely have gone unnoticed by the others because if they saw he was angry it was probably just because of the conversation topic.

god I love the dynamic here and I'm excited to see if it goes anywhere

Him's I love his simple way of agreeing its wonderful.

I approve to wind let's go blow some stuff up!

Hyrule shows the group why he is called the traveller. The man just wants to go on his adventures let him go!

Sky is so proud of himself

this face says 'Look guys I didn't give it to the weird toilet hand! :D'

I love this man a healthy amount.

One last thing before I go

I love this update as a whole, seeing the group gear up and getting to see the layers of the armour and straps and fastenings being put on while they are having this discussion is amazing.

I'd give you a collection of pictures but Tumblr is being rude and I can't post more than 30. So you can have these as all four panels show what I'm talking about.

Twilight adjusting his gauntlets warriors adjusting his scarf.

Hyrule attaching his shield to his back and putting his sword strap on.

God, I love this update so much. It was amazing and I very much enjoyed it. Let me know what you think! :D

Thank you as ever for reading my rambles i appreciate you :D

Have a wonderful day and dont forget to hydrate! See you next time!

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tarjapearce · 13 days

Text

Bad Teachings (Pt. 19)

Older! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: ANGST ✨. Father daughter dynamics, relationship dynamics, canon character death, mentions of disease, grieving, reclusive behaviors, character study, no proofread, emotional distress.

Summary: Miguel's biggest failure as a father and geneticist.

A/N: Forgive me in advance, but my intention from now on in this fic is to make you cry ✨

Chapter's song:

There were many things that Miguel O'Hara regretted.

Not taking that extra cup of roasted coffee in the morning, taking the wrong turn in the street to head up straight for traffic, meeting that woman in that scientific symposium. Having a relationship with her and...

His baby cried in his strong arms. And it was his cue to feed her.

But this precious bundle of joy certainly didn't belong into that group of negatives. Her lovely strands of hair perched ontop of her tiny head, curious eyes staring at him, like if discovering who that loving voice she heard outside her mama's womb was.

It was love at first sight. Pure adoration a father could deliver to his new child. Her smell, her big brown eyes alike his, the soft cinnamon in her skin, her rich chocolate strands, everything about Gabriella was an absolute gift.

Gabriella O'Hara. The new owner of his heart and the best twenty eight birthday present someone had ever given him.

Her whole hand grabbed one of his fingers and it was enough to put him under her spell. His baby, his purpose and raison d'être of all his efforts, laid in his arms, curiously sleepy, and watching him. Making sure he had all the attention drawn to her with a single look.

Soon enough, time passed, morphing days into weeks and weeks into months, and each month his baby only grew prettier, more adorable and oh so sweet for him. Gabriella's mom was way too happy to not be that involved into the dynamics as she was too busy dealing with the baby blues and changes that kept coming and gave the couple no rest.

Hospital bills, house bills, broken car, pediatrician bills pilling up in the back of the counter, new projects ahead to supervise, the possible threat of being transferred to another unit in the Alchemax hierarchy and the already rocky and feeble relationship breaking even further.

Miguel was a gentleman enough to understand her condition and ease the apparent burden she always kept bringing into the sparse conversations they had, that somehow ended up in heated arguments. And he always made sure for her to understand that Gabriella was no burden. That being her father was an absolute pleasure, he could try and get her to also learn.

But her stubborn heart and mind did not accept nor wanted that. Things were bad as they were and trying to prove her otherwise only depleted his energies as usual, efforts he always preferred to waste on his baby. His Solecito.

Her laugh dissipated those grey and ominous clouds, made out of tension and harsh responsibilities over his head to go away, brightening his skies with endless laughs and hours of fun. Her love healed him.

Gabriella was that motor his life needed. The final push his mere existence craved ever since he got his priorities set.

And now that she was here to stay, there was nothing like loving her.

Miguel loved her scrunched up nose upon him feeding her something she thought smelled funky. Loved her happy wails when seeing him, adored her kicking feet when she was excited and the drooly kisses her baby always gave him before sleep. And adored beyond everything else, the smile she welcomed him with, whenever he came from work.

But he loved even more her smartness on little difficulties he purposely left her to solve. The scientist in him soared and thrived whenever his Solecito completed a puzzle perfectly, or mumbled syllables to stimulate her speak.

His baby was everything. Gabriella was the reason he kept up with her mother's antics. Sadly, the husband material on him wasn't as developed as his father skills.

He was stunted in matters of love, yet he didn't expect the woman's sudden decision to pack up her things and leaving him for someone that actually had time for her.

But in truth, the whole 'You didn't take care of me' excuse was just a ruse to cover her cheating, with a younger man that gave everything she craved and Miguel couldn't give her, as he was way too focused on Gabriella and her raising. It had been going on for a year and he recently had found out, in his thirty year old birthday.

To her surprise, her absence changed little to nothing in the already established dynamics between Miguel and Gabriella. Although the man had somehow gained the sympathies of the group, his reasoning somehow expected the blow.

Gabi's mother had grown quiet and reserved, she always grew silent whenever he got into the same room if she was speaking through her phone, and even though maternity leave had been great, her efforts for connecting with Gabriella had grown little to none.

Her role as a single father had been long assumed even before things grew evidently sour. Yet, for Miguel it was odd.

A good part of him was relieved to not carry the emotional toll since, love wasn't a thing used to describe the relationship. Sure, he had gotten the fellow scientist pregnant and was happy, but he didn't see her as anything else as the mother of his child. Love had taken a permanent vacation from their lives as soon as the pregnancy showed up.

Was it wrong of him to think that way? To see her as nothing but a true burden? Would the people he confided in be horrified to know that he was glad the woman had finally gathered up all the courage, to leave him and his daughter alone?

She wasn't precisely bad to Gabi, but didn't make an actual effort into engaging with her own baby's healthy development. The woman fed her when she was hungry, looked after her but merely out of obligation. But that only meant he could love her twice as much.

Love, food and fun was something Gabriella had at all times. Miguel made sure to be there, recording and creating all those memories that always gave him enough strength to keep going when life turned particularly picky and overwhelmed him.

He didn't trust nannies, except Peter and his back then girlfriend MJ. So he looked up into daycares that met all the requirements he needed to work without a hitch.

Things slowly fell into place, and it became Papa and Gabi against the world.

Many women tried their best to get him for themselves but none truly succeeded. None gave him that good click that he needed in order to let a stranger into his life and risk everything he had so diligently worked on. He wouldn't risk Gabi's uncomfortableness for a slip on selfish possibilities.

He had her already. Gabi didn't need anyone else. Neither did he. Until Tempest made honor to her name and waltzed in, shamelessly into their lives.

How dared she make him feel something? How dared that woman with crazy and odd hair make him fall for her? But oh how dared she making Gabriella love her too?

It all started in one of the few times that Miguel arrived late to pick up Gabi. Traffic always proved to be difficult, but that day was extremely hard to go by.

He found Gabriella giggling and drawing with a pink haired woman, dressed up in her cleaning uniform at school. Leisurely laying on the floor, painting one of the coloring books Gabriella always carried in her backpack.

His little girl wasn't for smiles to anyone, as he always instructed her to be careful with strangers, but the sweet smile in her was undeniable. It was natural, not forced or uncomfortable. Gabriella was having fun with this pretty stranger.

Then, the woman started greeting Gabi whenever she saw her as Miguel dropped her off. His Solecito would run to her, hug her and go to class to nurture her mind. And if he was late to pick her up, Miguel would find them both painting yet another coloring book or reading.

Gabi trusted her. He soon learned.

And he also learned how to give in, and let his guard down. Without realizing, he bad been refusing other women to avoid them hurting his beloved child again like her mother did. His heart still splintered in pain upon remembering the many times Gabriella fell asleep with tears in her eyes asking for her mama.

How could he explain to a three year old that her mother did not want her? That she had left them for good?

But this woman before him, challenged all those filters he had come up with in order to avoid the same heartache in his baby once again. His heart could bear it, but he wasn't putting Gabi's in the line.

Yet, the icy walls around his heart melted, once he found her with Gabi in her arms, cooing her to sleep as she cried.

"I'm sorry, I didn't have the heart to let her cry." Said Tempest in between hushed whispers as she gave Gabi back to Miguel.

His eyes engraved every single little detail of her. Specially on the way Tempest's fingers curled underneath Gabi's thighs to tighten her grip and avoid her falling, or the way her tanned hand rubbed in gentle circles on her little back.

Next thing he knew was him asking the woman for a date, only for her to refuse him. He knew the right to do was to leave her alone, but something inside him and Gabriella asking for her, told him to not give up on her.

---

He didn't. And now a hundred of dates and dinners later, and a year of officially dating, Tempest was living with them in their new place.

The pink haired woman had helped Gabi to paint a giant G on her door, to mark it as part of her room, Tempest also helped her to set up the bed, her space and little vanity for her to play makeup, decorating it with all the ideas she had childishly drawn and explained.

Her vivid imagination always put a smile on her Papa and new Mom. Gabriella loved calling her that since her name came out as a butchered jumble of words. So she settled for Mom.

And Tempest lived up to that name. Always making sure she was properly fed, clean and having her needs met, her homework done. She took Gabi shopping, pampered her, loved her like a mother should.

And his baby thrived in her love. Couldn't it be more perfect?

He proposed. And she accepted with the condition that she'll decide the wedding day. She wanted to enjoy him and his daughter first. Make the best out of it.

And what better way to support her new family than being attuned with what they enjoyed the most?

Tempest had learned the ways Miguel worked so whenever he was too overwhelmed, she'd help him out. She also learned how much Gabriella enjoyed playing soccer, so she got her a new pair of cleats and cheered on and recorded every game she assisted.

Anyone that looked their way would assume she was Gabriella's mother, and before Tempest say otherwise, Miguel always reaffirmed her position. She was Gabi's mom and neither of the O'Hara's would have it any other way.

The return home from that game proved a dream come true. Gabriella won her first game, there were cupcakes and then pizza. Sadly, the elevator in The building was up for repair. Gabi complained about her feet hurting and naturally, Miguel picked her up.

Long fun days would make his feet hurt as well.

He couldn't help but feel a little tinge of concern on the sudden complaint. Gabriella wasn't one for aches, but Tempest's reassuring words always kept him grounded. Anchored to reality with her kind words.

"Of course she'd be sore after playing the whole day, Miggy. She's growing up and almost five!"

Even if his future wife reassured him, his intuition screamed louder. Something within told him to prepare, to always be vigilant as usual. The father in him hoped her pain to go away, even if mild. Pain wasn't something he'd put in Gabriella's bag of feelings on purpose. Because as much as he wanted to protect her from the world, he couldn't do that completely. Some things were simply unavoidable and he wasn't a hero with superpowers.

He did his best, cause what else could he do but that?

"Miggy" Tempest called as she cupped his cheeks, making his gaze to lock on her. Tenderness, compassion and understanding were something he always saw in them. One of the many reasons he adored her. Her own way to say everything was alright.

----

But he knew. He knew those pains weren't normal. He knew the sudden clumsiness taking over Gabriella wasn't normal, her walking on her tiptoes, having troubles for walking up the stairs or even simple tasks as sitting weren't normal at all.

Something in his intuition had tried to warn him, screamed even that something was wrong. That something dern had taken over his five year old baby and he had ignored it.

Not deliberately, but he had ignored it and now he was rushing towards the doctor with her in arms.

Seeing his baby fall and cry in pain as she tried to get up was one of the most painful sights he, as a parent could witness. His heart broke into a million shards when Gabi called for him, scared, confused and pained.

His heart turned into dust upon finding her on the grass, hands curled and legs so rigid, he thought she'd break.

As carefully as he could, Miguel picked up her daughter, breath hitching at every whimper and little cry she exhaled.

"It's okay, Solecito. Papa's here okay?"

But he wasn't okay. This wasn't okay. And the diagnose had to be a mistake.

He wasn't sick. Maybe fucked up in the head as Conchata once told him, but definitely not sick. Not like this.

Duchene Muscular Dystrophy. How on earth did that defective gene reached his family? The data and the many tests done in Gabriella did not lie.

Tempest wasn't Gabi's biological mom, yet...

His heart once again gave such a doleful and angry quiver as soon as that woman came into mind.

How could not he realize sooner? How could he not realize that woman was the defective one? That she was the carrier of such fatal ailment, and had polluted the best thing he had done in his life?

Damn him and his lust. Damn him and his solitude that forced him to seek a companion to mitigate it's effects on his brain. And damn him for not paying attention to the subtle early signs Gabriella showed.

"Daddy?" His baby clung to him, confused as the doctor kept speaking and spilling medical jargon, her eyes watched him with concern, her small hands felt him tremble, despite the stoic facade he was doing his best to not break. His Adam's apple bobbed countless of times.

"It's alright, mi Sol. Don't worry ok?"

If he should've been more vigilant, this could've been avoided. Right?

His hands tightened, loosened, raked over his head, tried to pull some hairs away to see if he could match Gabriella's pain. Yet the doctor's words were little comfort. None of them offered a true solution, just little patches that did their best to cover a monster looming and following now, like a shadow, his little girl.

"We can delay the progress with corticosteroids. Some physical therapy and regular exercises."

The need to take the MD by his crisp white collar and shake him to try and make him understand that his daughter couldn't lead a normal life without feeling pain grew by thousand. Or was he the one unable to swallow that horrid pill?

How could he tell Gabriella that she was sick and she'll get worse overtime and there was no cure? How could he shatter that innocent hope that invested itself with the job of keeping him now afloat? He had to be strong, for her. Even if in his insides he was on his knees, begging and crying to however above to not let his baby go. To not take her away from him.

Tempest, bless her. She asked what they could do, what would happen next and what was the best course of action they could take, her questions were powerful, but her voice was anything but. It came out nervous and shaky. She didn't have to be a super genius to understand how bad it was. Her own journey through rare diseases had been anything but easy, yet she was the perfect pillar to hold a crumbling Miguel.

The doctor's response was the same.

That night, there wasn't the usual raucous and silly meal prepping they had for a ritual, rather solemn and hopeless faces, awash of fear and uncertainty. It didn't set right into Gabi's heart, but part of her little brain, told her to not push, since both of her parents looked at the verge of tears every time they looked her way.

Her Papa looked at her like he had done something bad, and wanted to apologize. And it confused her even more when Miguel held her in her arms like she'd slip away.

"Dad?"

And his throat only tightened even more if possible.

"I won't let you go, mi Sol."

She chuckled at the sillines of his words.

"But you have to, Papa. How am I gonna go to school? or My games then?"

His eyes turned bleary, but he couldn't break before her. The last thing his Solecito needed was another thing to worry about.

"You're right" his sob disguised as a chuckle, "I love you so much, princesita. You know that, right?"

Gabi nodded and stared at his face, wiping his eyes.

"Why are you sad, Papa?"

"I'm not, muñequita, just... grown up things that have me thinking. But I'm alright."

And they did have him thinking, he had sent a letter to every medical research facility he knew, waiting for a response. Waiting for a hopeful breakthrough that could lead him towards a clue on how to improve the medicines and slow even more the progress of the ailment.

In the meantime he could make Gabi's life as comfortable as possible even if that meant an extra effort. Even if that meant long and pricey bills from the hospital in his mailbox every month.

Money was a price he was willing to pay. Miguel would do everything in his power to make his daughter feel as normal as she could again. Even if that meant to be extra hours in the lab, sleepless nights by looking for the best treatments, even if he had to sell his old house to pay for the research.

He used Alchemax's resources to try and figure out a way to delay or stop the monster completely. Sure, the medicines Gabriella took helped her, and so did the physical therapy. Ironically, the five year old girl adored her therapy and the exercises done in them.

But the overachiever inside him had no rest. The perfectionist in his brain remained alert most of the time, even if his body begged him for a sleep.

Tempest had also her fair share of responsibilities, her job, her therapy schedules with Gabriella and her school assignments whenever she wasn't able to go due the intense pains that sometimes took over her legs.

Although the illness advanced slower and the symptoms were milder in females, that didn't mean it was equally devastating.

Gabriella could still go to school, play some bits before the pain started acting up, and neither did Miguel or Tempest or Gabriel, showed her pity. They all made sure to make her comfortable as possible.

Whenever Tempest was too busy with work, Miguel would ask for Gabriel to take his niece to the physical therapy sessions, and after every game, Miguel massaged her feet and sore little limbs to ease her discomfort. But even so, His Solecito never stopped smiling. Never stopped feeding him the hope she'd surpass the twenty five year life expectancy. That she would end up burying him.

They all put strong and brave faces in front of Gabi, but behind closed doors and away from her worried gaze, everything would crumble.

"She is doing fine, Miggy. We are doing our best and she is too."

"It's not enough. I..." He sighed, feeling his chest constricting in such a tight grip his voice came out broken, "I'm losing her, Tempest."

"You are not." Her gentle arms held him from behind as her chin rested ontop of his shoulder, "Remember what doctor said? It advances slower on girls. And who knows, we can go against all odds with it. We're doing a good job."

"If I could... I would find anything to cure her. Anything."

Tempest's heart bled and broke at her beloved's words. How she wished that thing had a cure, because seeing Miguel growing restless, more irritable and volatile before her very eyes, was everything but easy.

Was everything but good. His main focus was Gabriella, and that's something she understood to a perfect T. She had decided for the wedding to be next time Gabriella won another soccer match, but that rare disease attacked and took everyone by surprise. Ambushing the happiness and hope with the gut wrenching news.

Crushing all positive expectance to see her as the ring or flower maiden.

"We're trying, Miggy. Giving our best."

"It's. Not. Enough." He nearly hissed and it was the first crack that peeked over the relationship. Tempest could only sigh and watch him. If she could take it all those burdens from him, she undoubtedly would.

This new Miguel kept making longer appearances into their quivering home.

He barely slept, he barely ate, always in the dining room, figuring out ways to improve the medicines Gabriella received. Always holed up with his girl, telling her stories and spending time with her.

Tempest missed his gentle voice, his caresses in the morning to wake her up, the soft kisses in her cheeks when leaving the apartment and his pet names.

Hearing her own name in his lips made her spine crawl in something unpleasant. Gabriella was his sun and Tempest his moon. But now, none of those stars shone for him. If anything, their shining was dulling with each passing month.

-----

"Miguel," Tempest called, but he only had eyes for his laptop.

His fiancée exhaled and took her bag, ready to pick up Gabriella from yet another session.

"I... I was thinking in a dinner."

His face turned her way, unbelievably annoyed, as if making sure to have heard right.

"To celebrate she's gone through that crisis. We could go to her hospital room and eat there-"

"She needs to rest, not us bothering her right now."

"Please? Miggy?"

"No. Tempest.-"

"I havent seen her in almost two months Miguel! Gabriella is my child too! It's not fair for you to keep her all to yourself!"

" I'm trying to save her life!" His yell didn't make her recoil, but only added more dry bones to the resentment fire that had been slowly simmering between the both.

Unavoidable as it was, his reclusion and lack of communication had put a great strain between both. His need of control had ruined the remnants and traces of all that sweetness they had once shared. He didn't allow her to prepare her medicines, too scared she'd give less than the right dose.

Bit by bit she had been excluded from all those activities she engaged with in hopes to see her more as the illness had just advanced in an alarming rate, bringing with it new unwanted companions. Like cardiomyopathy and lung diseases.

It had been only a couple of weeks Gabi's heart had a crisis, tearing the little communication between both beyond repair. The golden bang in her ring had grown to suffocate her.

"You can only do so much for her, Miguel. That company with that CRISPR Program scammed you. Those people you trusted turned their back on you! But I'm here! I'm still here!. For nearly four years! I've been here!" Her chest rose erratically, violent with contained anger.

"Isn't that enough for you?! We've been struggling with this ever since it started, and I haven't left you or Gabriella!"

"This is not about us anymore, Tempest! My daughter-"

"Our daughter, mind you. I didn't give birth to her, true, and I fucking wish I did! But I've been taking care of that sweet child like it came from me, and it's not fair you don't allow me to see her!"

"It's not that." He seethed feeling the anger and anxiety rising up, the urge to hide in his shame growing exponentially tenfold once again.

"Then what is it?!"

"I don't want you to see her like that!" Miguel's voice broke, unable to hold the pain, frustration and tears. They had grown too big within him that looked for a way to escape.

"I'm a fucking failure, Tempest." He whimpered, broken, "All this fucking knowledge, my job, everything I've worked for is shit! Is useless! Like me, I... I thought that program would help her, would cure her..."

Tempest swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

"I don't want you to see her full of... needles and tubes. I don't..." His voice hung by a thread as fat tears rolled down his weary face, paving a path for the upcoming tears.

"Don't ask me to see her, please. You wouldn't... you couldn't stand it. I can't, but I have to-"

"You don't have to do this alone, Miguel. You don't."

"You think I don't wanna go and have a simple meal with her instead of pumping her body with-" he sobbed, "With so many vitamins that have her arms bruised cause the fucking nurses can't find her veins? No."

He sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve, "Or see the terror in her eyes whenever those fucking needles are close to her? My little girl is terrified of needles, Tempest. She's so scared of the doctors, she begs me to... let her come home. She fucking misses you too!"

Tempest cried along with him, unable to hold back anymore. The optimism leaving her body in a go, leaving her bare, powerless to keep up her serene upfront any longer. The news had devastated her completely, but she needed to be strong, for Gabi and Miguel. But now, all those cracks had caved in, exposing the raw pain that had them fighting for almost two years against something they were fool enough to believe they had a chance against.

" You think I don't wanna take her home and play with her?! But now I'm fucking lucky if she's conscious, lucid and yet... I'm losing her." His shoulders slumped and Tempest held him.

His trembling hands anchored to her, shaking and sobbing on her shoulder," I don't want to lose her, Tempest."

The words barely a whisper and half a sob. The man before her wept like a child, and held her as if she was the only thing that would prevent him from breaking even further. His emotions laid bare to her, and she didn't judge. Just held him and kept him together.

Until she was unable to.

----

"Princesita..." Miguel called but naturally, she wouldn't respond, too sedated to even open her eyes. But it didn't stop him from talking to her, even if the only reply was the constant beeping from the machine she was wired to. Reading her living signs.

"I... I know you can hear me, Solecito." He hoped with a faltering smile, "It's you and me against the world remember?"

Miguel gulped when the movement in her chest fell. The oxygen mask fogged in her mouth.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to see Mom, princesa, but I couldn't... let her see you like this."

Even if she ended up hating me and left.

His bottom lip quivered, and he trapped it in between his teeth to keep his voice steady, biting hard enough to make the pain recede for a bit.

"Do you remember when we got those cupcakes to celebrate?" He sniffed and removed the few strands off her sweet face. Although pale, his baby girl remained beautiful to his eyes.

"I've seen a new place I think you might like. They have these... macaroons and stuff you told me once you'd like to eat."

His hand reached for hers and held her with all the care he could muster as the other one wiped his tears.

The cream colored walls of the room made his mind to grow restless. At times, the room he had been into so many times felt like a prison. Like the extension of an asylum that required his presence on a daily basis.

Sometimes that room would be filled with laughter, other times, with his silent cries. The latter had been quite the acquaintance after the crisis that nearly made him rip his own heart and offer it to his baby.

His mind was often divided in preparing to see her like this, full of needles that fed her the enough nutrients as she was too tired and pained to eat for herself. And the other part still refused to imagine a life without her, even in perils of losing her at any moment.

Miguel had used his sick days to be at the hospital for the past weeks. Peter had taken over in some times, forcing him to rest as much as his berated mind allowed him to; visiting and hoping his presence left a smile on his new found niece. Gabi always received him with an effusive 'Uncle Peter!".

Effusiveness that slowly vanished overtime, as the illness advanced throughly. Leaving her with nothing but weakened and laborious smiles.

"You're the best thing I've done in my life, mi Sol." His mouth had the strength to mumble. "And... I wished I'd done better."

The beeping kept steady. Showing the vitals intermittently.

"You're such a wonderful girl, and..." He had to pause and let another quivering breath go before picking himself up again and speak. "I'm proud you chose me as your dad. I love you so much, Gabriella."

The never ending and monotone beep echoed in the walls. His eyes turned, unbelieving at the machine. His breath caught in his throat. Unable to swallow, unable to breath.

No.

How it dared to stop? How that machine dared to stop.

His heart hammered with such strength in his ribcage that he let out a whimper as eyes were full of tears again. Lots and lots of them that escaped without his permission as panic slowly spreaded through his senses.

"Gabriella?" He innocently called, trying to fool his brain into believing it was a simple malfunctioning, machines were defective after all.

But the alarm echoing sent a cold crawl to his spine. So cold he winced.

"You'll be fine, Mi Sol," He sobbed and panted, not willing to let her hand go, as he pushed the emergency button.

"C'mon!" He roared in between pained yelps. His baby girl, escaped through his fingers, and all he could do was to hold her against his chest, weeping and begging her to come back.

"Don't leave me too, please, I beg you. Don't leave me alone. I'll be better!"

He should've gone for the medical degree instead of genetics so he wouldn't have to rely on people. He should've had taken more time out from work, those shortcuts to come home faster and be with her.

"I promise to be a better dad, please open your eyes!"

He should've paid more attention to her complains of discomfort, he should've been better, he should've...

A flurry of doctors arrived, and pulled him out the room, nearly calling security as he refused to abandon again Gabriella's side. He screamed and begged for her, begged her to wake up, to look at him, but his world kept crumbling and all he could do was watch.

Everytime he left the hospital, he made sure to let her know how loved, amazing and a good daughter she was. Because part of him believed it was the last time he'd see her awake and alive. To still have something he could come back to.

But now, none of that mattered. As his baby was no more.

-----

"Miguel?" You called as your hands fiddled with the earrings.

The gala night had finally arrived, finally reached that peak in your agendas. Your hands stopped as soon as you watched him, sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped with his face in his hands.

"Amor?" Your voice called and he sighed, defeated but functional enough to do his tie, although the annoying piece of fabric constricted his neck, it kept him grounded.

"Hm?" He mumbled to then put his polished shoes on.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Just gimme a minute and we'll get going."

He didn't face you, but how could he?

His face was smeared with tears and showing weakness before you, wasn't an option. You didn't need your night ruined by his antics.

He'd find time to let his pain away later.

"Alright."

Despite your apparent calm, the concern had been gnawing your mind.

Like the weather, Miguel had turned colder, a bit more distant, he kept the spark alive, but something within told you it was off. He was off.

His pet names didn't sound as loving as they used to. At first you thought it was due the short three months you had now been living together, wading between you both.

Responsibilities were always a staple in your daily lives, leaving few room for you to connect beyond making love at two am and a couple of sweet words.

And this... gloominess had settled as soon as the coldest months settled in. The usual long after work talks were resumed into sparse conversations here and there before he poured in his work all over again.

And when you brought it up, his replies were always a

"This project is keeping me busy, mi niña. That's all."

But again, you didn't want to turn yourself in another stress factor. But you cared, and cared deeply. More than you should and allowed yourself to admit.

You wanted him to rely on you, like he did with you. You wanted to see him happy, cause you missed his smile. Missed his jerk-ish and loving self that got slowly replaced with this silent, cold and serious copy of the man you mumbled back a También te quiero every time he mumbled it after he emptied inside you and kissed you.

But those kisses felt strange. Like they were on automatic, like if they were given by someone else.

"You know you can-"

"I know." He cut in and put on his suit, "Go get your things, we shall leave soon."

And still, he refused to meet your eyes, too focused on tying his shoes and getting overall ready.

Your hands curled in, tightening in small fist to then breathe and leave.

His hands stopped, hearing your defeated steps echoing the hallway.

Fuck

Pushing you away wasn't something he did on purpose. In fact, it came to him like muscle memory. Yet it didn't mean he enjoyed as it only meant one thing.

It was happening again. His self destructive and sabotaging behavior had made a triumphal return to his life.

And this time, he welcomed it like an old friend.

-----

@miss-canon-event @amylasagna @rositabluemoon @lyrasdrawer @plumplum2099 @damhanallagorm @chibiiichann @incustellar @taeecups @vonev @kinkybandages @del-ightfulling @tatatida @queenofroses22 @orangemango7 @migueloharastruelove @ctizu1 @vyxvi

@yeyrpp2 @zaddyskye69 @gejo333 @bigbassbug @namjooningera @d1lf-loverr

@tsukkie-daisuke @brittney69 @emisprocrastinating @ednaaa-04 @cxmeiloorun7 @juneonhoth @sylveon-of-hearts

@maomaimao @m4dyy @miguelbaby @mrs-oharaxx @spiderpapi2099 @ryk-mt

#t writes✨#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #bad teachings #miguel ohara angst #Spotify

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matchingbatbites · 1 year

Text

you're the inspiration

@steddie-week Day 5: Established relationship This starts out kind of panicked, but it does have a happy ending!

Eddie knows he isn’t brave. He knows how to stand up to bullies, how to make himself seem big and untouchable, but actually having to face danger, something that could cost him his life? No, he’s a coward all the way. He’s spent the last few days more afraid than he’s ever been in his entire life, the only relief being the familiar faces around him, helping him navigate this nightmare.

Every single moment of fear from the last week is overshadowed when he hears Robin Buckley’s terrified, wailing “Steve!” from the Munson living room.

He moves without thinking, rushing to the living space from the bedroom with Dustin hot on his heels, and his heart stops when he sees Steve standing in the center of the room, eyes white and unseeing.

Robin is frantic, her hands hovering over him like she wants to grab him but is afraid to. "We- We need a tape! Springsteen or Tears For Fears or something!"

The others start digging around in their bags, trying to find an appropriate tape, but Eddie knows that even if they find one, none of them will work. He shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out the tape he had thankfully grabbed from the stereo in his van, and prays that it’s dry enough after his unexpected dip into Lover’s Lake as he crams it into the nearby cassette player.

The kids are talking over each other, almost unintelligible as Eddie lets the tape rewind as much as possible, trying to get back to the first song. When he presses play he’s flooded with relief as he hears the familiar sound of Peter Cetera.

And I know, yes, I know that it's plain to see

We're so in love when we're together

He cranks up the volume to it's max and shoves it as close to Steve as possible while leaving it plugged in, sending the rest of the group into silence.

Robin looks at him, and her fear thaws a little, hope taking its place as she realizes what song is playing.

Dustin’s eyes snap from Steve to the radio, to Eddie. “What are you doing? He doesn’t even listen to this stuff!”

Now I know (Now I know)

That I need you here with me

From tonight until the end of time

Eddie ignores everyone else as he steps closer. He can’t stop himself from reaching for Steve, he needs to touch him, needs to bring him back to them. He marvels again at how Steve’s face was made to fit in his hands, and Eddie finds that he wants nothing more than to hold it for the rest of his life.

He mutters a soft “Come back to me, baby,” that goes unheard over the sound of Chicago blaring from the nearby speaker.

You should know

(Yes, you need to know)

Everywhere I go

Steve starts to lift off the floor and one of Eddie's hands slides around to the back of his neck, trying to keep him grounded. He needs to break through the curse Steve is under, needs to stop it, and he barely notices Dustin grabbing onto one of Steve’s arms as he starts to sing along, trying to coax his boyfriend back to reality.

“You're always on my mind. You're in my heart, in my soul.”

He can't lose Steve. They haven't been dating long - fuck, they haven't even hit six months yet - but Eddie knows that Steve is it for him.

Dustin had opened his eyes to the change in Steve's heart, and after a few run-ins with the former jock he had seen it himself. He made a point to get to know this new Steve, away from prying eyes or people who might cause him to be anything less than his genuine self, and Eddie fell ass over tit in love with what he found.

“You're the meaning in my life, you're the inspiration."

The younger had eventually opened up to Eddie about his relationship failures, about how sometimes he feels completely unlovable, and Eddie took a risk. He made the leap, offered to be the one to love Steve if he would just give Eddie a chance.

Surprisingly, Steve had agreed, and Eddie followed through. He loved Steve recklessly, even as they kept it secret for their own safety, even though Steve didn't feel quite the same at first.

Now, they like to joke that Eddie fell fast, but Steve fell hard.

"You bring feeling to my life, you're the inspiration."

It was the smallest thing, in the end. Eddie made him a gift, a mix tape lovingly dubbed the Sunshine Mix, and Steve had cracked a joke about Eddie titling it like that to trick him into listening to metal.

"No tricks, angel. Just some songs that make me think of you."

They popped the tape in right then, and Steve had seemed pleasantly surprised when Chicago started flowing from the speakers of Eddie's van. Eddie grinned at Steve's wide-eyed expression as they sat through the first verse, and he couldn't help but join in with the chorus, singing directly to Steve.

"Wanna have you near me, I wanna have you hear me sayin'!"

And in that moment, three months into their unexpected friendship, one month after Eddie started to love Steve without abandon, Steve just- Kissed him. He reached over and took Eddie's face in his hands and kissed him, more gentle than anything Eddie had ever experienced.

When he pulled back he was looking at Eddie with stars in his eyes, and the older could feel his heart skip a beat as Steve sang to him softly.

"No one needs you more than I need you."

Steve blinks and white gives way to warm hazel, and Eddie barely catches him as he falls back to Earth with a gasp. Eddie holds him tight as they tumble to the ground, and Steve grabs him in turn as a sob rips through him.

“Eddie.”

“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’ve got you, I promise.”

He presses his face into Steve’s hair as he rocks them gently, eternally grateful when he hears Robin shooing the teenagers outside with a soft “He’s okay, just give them a minute.”

They’re going to owe everyone an explanation, and Eddie is already preparing himself for the menace that Dustin will be when he finds out that he's the reason Steve and Eddie even started talking.

For now he just holds Steve, fingers digging into the denim of Eddie's vest that Steve is still wearing because Eddie was supposed to be getting him a shirt to change into.

It takes a moment for Steve to calm down, for his breathing to return to normal. He laughs wetly as the song fades out and Toto starts to play over the speaker.

"Do you just keep this tape on you all the time?"

"Course I do. You never know when you might have to save your boyfriend from evil wizards from an alternate dimension."

Steve laughs again and pulls back enough to look at Eddie's face, and they shift a bit so they're sitting more comfortably.

"Hi," he mutters.

Eddie can't resist leaning in, nudging their noses together gently. "Hi yourself. You scared the shit outta me, baby."

"M'sorry," Steve replies quietly, and Eddie presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

A sharp “Henderson!” comes from outside, and Steve and Eddie both jump when the door slams open hard enough that it almost bounces off the interior wall. Dustin barrels inside and practically throws himself onto Steve, nearly in tears as he asks “Are you okay?!”

Steve laughs softly and pulls the kid into a tight hug. “Yeah, I’m okay. That bastard has nothing on Chicago."

Dustin grumbles something into Steve's shirt before he pulls away, and the others start filing back in as he looks between Steve and Eddie and says "Explain."

Edde glances at Steve, who shoots him a look. “How about we get through this, and we’ll tell you everything, top to bottom. Deal?”

The kid is hesitant, but eventually relents and allows Steve to pull him back into his arms, and Eddie is only a little uncomfortable when the other teens join the pile, each needing their own reassurance that steve is okay.

He just lets it happen, pulls the whole bundle of them closer as they take a moment to calm down before the real terror begins.

#steddieweek2023 #day 5 #LISTEN #i know the song of the day is hold the line #but I couldn't not do Chicago #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #joey writes #ficlet

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iisasarcasticlittleshite · 9 months

Text

Atsumu Miya said it!

(CW: Swearing)

The day's bullshit weighed heavy on your weary shoulders as you forced yourself to go buy groceries before running home to tuck yourself in for the night.

You loved your job, really you did, but dear fuckery did it occasionally smack you in the face with a day from hell, you could barely keep track of the essentials you needed while cursing yourself for not shopping in advance.

Your phone exploding with texts every two minutes does not help.

After six different texts came in, you relented, rubbing at your eyes as you pulled the damn thing out of you pocket.

10 new messages from:

Miya: The Blonde One.

You groaned, and didn't care about the funny looks you got from the cashier as you set your things down on the rolling carpet, hitting the call button as you couldn't be bothered to text him back.

He answered in seconds.

"Finally! I've been textin' ya forever!"

Rolling your eyes, you made sure the happy leap of your traitorous heart didn't show in your voice. 'I only just got off work, shithead.'

"That was a whole twenty minutes ago! Thought ye'd died'r somethin' asshole!'

You and Atsumu had met two years ago, and had somehow ended up with the kind of friendship where swear words have become pet names. He'd clicked into your life like he'd always been there, two years felt like ten.

Now if you're hopeless heart would stop summersaulting every time you thought of him, like would be great.

You held the phone to your shoulder as the cashier scanned your items so you could load them up. 'You can hold off on crying your eyes out over me, I'm fine. Just had to pick some stuff up on the way home.'

"Too late, already started grieving." You can just imagine him throwing his hand over his heart with "tears" in his eyes. "So when ya gettin' home?"

'I dunno, ten minutes?'

"Sounds like ya know."

'Piss off I'm tired.'

"Yeah yeah, gotta go, later!"

You frowned at the screen as the call cut off suddenly. That was by far the shortest phone call you'd ever had with the national setter. Atsumu could talk the ears off an elephant.

The cashier told you your told, utterly indifferent to your divided attention even as you smiled sheepishly in apology for not greeting her verbally.

As you hauled your things back to the car, you considered calling him back, instead sitting in your car and scrolling through ten lines of utter nonsense texts to try and get your attention. Emoji's, random factoids, just your name repeated several times.

Yup, Atsumu was bored.

Smiling to yourself, you started the car, only to be greeted by the playlist he made you. 90% of it is songs you like, but the rest is purely there to annoy you. Meaning at any one time there's a chance you'll start your engine to Baby Shark.

This time it was a good one, leaving you smiling as you drove yourself home.

Quietly tired, you trudged up to your front door, eyes down as you slid your keys into the door, throwing your keys on the table in the hall on your way in, sliding off your shoes.

You padded to the kitchen, set down your shopping, considered crawling straight into bed as you sluggishly trudged through the living room.

All fatigue flew out of you as you pushed open the bedroom door, and found yourself yelping in surprise at the sight of an Olympic setter on your fucking bed, spread out with a bowl of grapes beside him like the queen of Sheba.

'Holy fuck Atsumu!'

Smug menace didn't miss a beat. 'You could knock, ya know?'

'Bitch, it's my house!' You wailed, clutching your now racing heart as you slowly came to realise- 'Wait, you're not supposed to be here!'

'Yeah yeah it's your house I heard ya.' Atsumu drawled, casually tossing another grape into his mouth. 'Have some grapes, s'good.'

'Atsumu, you are supposed to be in a different country right now!'

He'd told you himself about the away game in this week, a very long flight away.

The setter shrugged, but his cheeks were starting to gain some colour, making you immediately suspicious. 'I came back early. Used your spare key to get in so don't go lookin' for any broken locks or anythin'.'

'Did something happen?' You wondered as he sat up on the edge of your bed and you moved to sit beside him, curious.

'Nah, just missed ya is all.'

You arched a brow at that. You'd like to think that you know exactly when Atsumu's bullshitting, you've developed a sixth sense for it.

That, did not sound like bullshit. His eyes had darted away from you as he said it, ears turning pink among the thick blonde tresses of his hair.

'Uh huh...' You murmured, looking for words.

'Uh huh? That's all ya gotta say?' He wailed, affronted.

'No! You just put me on the spot!'

'Well figure it out, Shakespeare! I'm pourin' mah heart out here!'

'You call saying you missed me pouring your heart out?'

'If it ain't ya outta show me how it's done!' He huffed, folding his arms across that broad chest, so damn sure you wouldn't call his bluff.

Little did he know, you were sleep deprived, your patience at its end, and your budget for giving a fuck well and truly depleted.

'I hate seeing you leave. Every time you go it feels like the world's turned grey.'

Atsumu did a double take, head snapping back to face you so fast you thought he'd get whiplash.

But you aren't done.

'No one's ever made my name sound as good as you do when you say it, even when you're using it to annoy the shit outta me. You could tell me you'd made the worst mistake ever and I'd still think you were perfect. That Shakespeare enough for you?'

Atsumu's mouth was agape, eyes wide, blinking helplessly at you. That doe-eyed look, it was as if you'd hung the stars in the sky as you said every word while never once tearing your gaze from his.

You smiled gently, taking your finger to his chin to close his mouth for him. 'I'm taking a shower. You figure out your head, Miya.'

'Oh no you don't!'

Before you could so much as lift yourself from the bed, Atsumu was tackling you back onto your own sheets, his athlete's frame engulfing you as he pinned you desperately searching out your eyes.

'Tell me you mean all that.' He pleaded, eyes searching yours for even the slightest hint that you were joking. 'Tell me...tell me you love me.'

You peered up at him, your heart now at a gallop as if it could run and crash through your ribs, reaching desperately for him. Your voice was soft, as if you'd shatter if you spoke your feelings too loudly. No going back now.

'I love you.'

All at once, Atsumu's face lit up with a grin to put the world to shame, but you barely got to enjoy basking in his joy as he was suddenly kissing you, kissing you like it was the first and last time he'd ever get the chance.

He stole the air from your lungs as you chased the softness of him again and again, burying your fingers in the bleached blonde waves, keeping him hopelessly close.

He sighed happily when you finally allowed him breath, but he didn't go far, gently bumping his nose against yours. 'You know this means I win, right?'

'Is that so?'

'Obviously. I made you say it first.'

'Asshole.'

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #miya atsumu #timeskip haikyuu #post timeskip #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader

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flyingspacewhale93 · 1 year

Text

Jing Yuan/AFAB!Reader pregnancy headcanon

CW: Pregnancy, childbirth, some spicy kissing but otherwise its sfw (Also might be a bit OOC but men crying is hot af)

No Beta I decided to yeet this out into the world

Word Count: 732

From the minute you announce your pregnancy to Jing Yuan he never leaves your side. His lips trail up and down your stomach. “My seed… your eggs...are creating new life.” He says in a reverent tone as tears fill his eyes. “It's a miracle.”

He is obsessed with the child growing inside of you. He reads pregnancy articles on his phone practically every night. “Look, from the minute our DNA joined cells have been growing and dividing inside you. They all joined together to create a little creature the size of a small berry.” He kisses your stomach. “Even human fetuses can briefly grow fur and tails while in the womb.”

When that little creature causes you morning sickness, Jing Yuan is right by your side. “Easy, sweetheart. This trial will help our child grow.” He brings you a cup of water and a damp cloth for your face afterwards. “Your body is so strong for being able to support two lives at once.”

“I don’t think I’m strong. I can barely smell food without puking most days.” You murmur weakly. “Just when will I be able to eat again?”

Jing Yuan is strict about your diet for the good of your baby. He has the medical staff recommend you the best prenatal vitamins and only cooks what would be healthy for them. Spicy foods are forbidden, a fact that makes you grumble. However when the pregnancy cravings arise, he lets you have whatever you wish within moderation. He constantly checks the list of safe foods every time you are hungry.

“For such a lazy general, you sure monitor our health better than I do!” You joke.

“It is the duty of a general to make sure that his army is prepared for the battle ahead.” He smiles.

“It’s a battle to convince you to let me eat unhealthy food once in a while.” Your hand rests on your baby bump. “Still, I can’t believe our child is growing so fast.”

When Jing Yuan sees your child on the ultrasound and hears their heartbeat for the first time, he cries. He goes to every medical appointment with you and listens intently. When you do your exercises to prepare for labour, he helps you through them. Sometimes birds land near you while you work out and Jing Yuan lets them perch on his hand.

One night, you wake up crying from a bad dream. He sleepily places his arms around you as you sob. “I-I dreamed I-I grew fat and ugly and you didn’t love me anymore! You had them give me the ‘husband stitch’ and now I woke you up and made you sad!” You wail, tears falling down your cheeks.

Jing Yuan shushes you. “Sweetheart, being able to enter you is both a privilege and an honour. You don’t need to be tight for me to enjoy you. As for your body, well,” His lips draw close to your ear. “I find it even more sexy by the day.”

He marvels at every new change your body goes through, making sure to kiss every mark that he finds each night. “These marks remind me of rivers.” He murmurs. “Indeed, it's like I’m staring at a topographical map of you.” A devious smirk crosses his face. “Where would be a good spot for the general to attack? Here, or here?” The noise you let out from his kiss proves to be a direct hit.

Your baby gets read to everyday by him, often when he’s busy babyproofing the house. He recites stories seemingly off the top of his head. He wants your baby to grow up well read and compassionate.

“I wonder what our baby would choose for their path.” You say.

“No matter what they choose, I’d love them all the same.” He says.

When the Big Day finally comes, Jing Yuan is all action. He grabs the overnight bag that you two made together and races off to the medical center with you in his arms. He holds your hand through every contraction, humming little songs as you prepare to push. Jing Yuan is used to long sieges so he’s always alert. He encourages you to push strong and hard for his family. Finally, the baby takes their first cry and he smiles serenely with tears in his eyes. Jing Yuan whispers “May you be a thoughtful, strong leader.”

#honkai star rail #jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail fanfic

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spidermanscientistsimp · 1 year

Text

goodbye yellow brick road

the spot x musician! gn! reader

author’s note: this is the cheesiest thing i have ever written and i apologize for the tooth rotting sweetness in here… also! it’s important to know what this song sounds like, so here you go! when you see orange text, it’s song lyrics, so go listen!

be like me and listen on LOOP ANYWAYS. also, please let me know if y’all want more spot fanfic (i can tone down the cheese if y’all want) 🫡❤️

“A BAGEL, HONEY. THE CHILD HIT ME WITH A BAGEL.”

“i know i know john, i saw- you’re so brave for enduring that, i would have NEVER survived.”

“oh, shut up.”

“make me.”

you and john always loved your flirty bickering after a long day at alchemax. every day at exactly 6:30, you and your husband would walk hand in hand down the gum covered sidewalk, talking about your day, your hopes, your dreams, the usual. your boyfriend was a busy, busy man, but he always made time for you. even if he had to stay late at the office, he would INSIST on walking you home, and returning to work after dinner with you. to put it quite frankly: his world revolved around you. he thought you were the most attractive person to ever grace the earth, and was constantly asking himself how he could end up with someone so perfect… and hot. you didn’t understand why, as you saw yourself as nothing more than a lowly secretary, doomed to be rushing papers back and forth to men for the rest of your days. it wasn’t your job of choice, but it payed well, and seeing john absolutely flourish at work made it all worth it.

this specific night, you went about your usual weekday routine with your boyfriend: order some takeout, make out on the couch for a while, discuss mortality, and then fall asleep. but, something was off.

10:30pm

“y/n, stop rolling around, please”

“sorry.”

11pm

“john? you awake?”

and as the clocks struck midnight, you got out of bed, trying to find a way to occupy yourself, tire yourself out enough to shut your eyes and actually fall asleep. it was at this moment you turned your eyes away from the kitchen pantry, looking to grab a midnight snack, and instead looked towards the small, spinet piano on the back wall. you usually tried to avoid this sight, as it reminded you of a life you never achieved, a goal you never reached… but tonight? you needed it. you needed to play this piano more than anything else. you sat down at the instrument, silently cursing yourself for doing this. you wondered what song to play, flipping through decisions in your head- but, that was all futile, as your hands and heart had a different idea, and you began to slowly play the opening notes to elton john’s “goodbye yellow brick road”.

when are you gonna come down?

when are you going to land?

against your usual better judgement, you started softly singing after the first verse, careful not to wake johnathan.

i should’ve stayed on the farm

i should have listened to my old man

“y/n?” jonathan called as he stirred awake, unaware that his partner was already lost in their own world.

you know you can’t hold me forever

i didn’t sign up with you

i’m not a present for your friends to open

this boy’s too young to be singing the blues

johnathan couldn’t believe his eyes. there you were, his partner, playing the piano and singing your heart out like your life depended on it. he was truly awestruck. he didn’t want to interrupt your beautiful moment, but he had to say something…

“y/n”-

he couldn’t even get through your whole name before you turned around, quicker than lightning, with a terrified look on your face.

“oh my word jonathan i am so SO so sorry i probably woke you up with all my damn wailing, and i just don’t know what happened this isn’t-“

he shut you up with a kiss before you could say another word. the two of you stayed there, enjoying each other’s embrace in the dead of night, when your husband pulls away, asking, “why didn’t you tell me you could sing and play like THAT?”

it was a touchy subject for you. you always wanted to be a musician, and a great one at that, but it just wasn’t financially feasible for you. you had bills to take care of, bills that music just wouldn’t pay.

“i- i don’t really play much any more. or sing. i always dreamed of becoming as great as bach or mozart or someone- but, it was a stupid, stupid dream. i mean… i’m happy where i am now.”

“are you though?” he questioned.

you thought about this for a minute. were you REALLY happy? well, you had a loving husband and a good paying job- you should be happy. but you didn’t have one thing- music. money didn’t matter when music was what got you through so many rough patches in life. seeing your internal battle, johnathon grabbed your chin with his hand, and quietly spoke,

“y/n. i love you. and i want you to be happy. and if music makes you as happy as i’ve seen you tonight, you need to pursue it. we’ll find a way to make ends meet, i promise you. just, live your life- live your dream.”

and in that moment, you smiled to yourself and knew, this was the man you were going to marry.

•

the time was six thirty, the very next day, and you were waiting for your johnny outside the alchemex building.

you waited.

and waited.

and he never came.

a few hours later, not a word came from him.

you paced around your apartment, fearing that he found someone else, fearing that he thought you might be a financial burden with a career change… but all those ideas were put to bed when you saw the notification from your news app pop up on your cellphone.

alchemex.

collider.

explosion.

body not found.

your johnny, was dead.

•

johnny was dead- but “the spot”, the remains of his human form, a dalmatian like amalgamation of spots and the man he used to be. the spot had been wandering around brooklyn for what felt like an eternity, in search of a home, a friend, just- anything. and in the back of his mind, there was always, you. talented, amazing, you… who didn’t need to be seen with a monster like himself (at least in the spot’s mind). he was a ghost, a man forgotten by the world- or so he thought.

he was walking by Jenna’s, a local coffee shop him and y/n always loved to visit, when he heard a familiar voice, ringing out from the inside of the café

it was you.

you, up there onstage, playing to a full house, all eyes on you and all smiles upon every person’s face. you did it. you really did it. spot ducked his head as you looked out the window, towards the sky, and made an announcement,

“this next song is for someone who once told me to live my dream, no matter what… and because of him- i’m doing it. wherever you are, thank you-”

you played those starting notes he remembered hearing all those months ago.

so goodbye yellow brick road

where the dogs of society howl

you can't plant me in your penthouse

i’m going back to my plough

you threw your head back, becoming so damn passionate about this song that meant so damn much to you

back to the howling, old owl in the woods

hunting the horny-back toad

oh, i’ve finally decided my future lies

beyond the yellow brick road

the spot completely lost his breath as you held out the final note of the chorus. my word, you were amazing- the heart and soul you sang with was unparalleled, and he wanted to just run up to you, and hold you in his arms, kissing you until neither of you could breathe. but, he couldn’t. he wasn’t jonathan anymore. that man died. and he could see y/n was still not over that fact as he saw them hold back tears as they finished the song- it broke the spot. it broke jonathan. he had to do something, do anything.

•

you woke with a jolt as you heard a crash come through your window.

“hello??” you called, half jokingly, thinking this was simply a branch or a bird- you didn’t expect to hear footsteps right in your kitchen.

you were TERRIFIED. grabbing a broom, you made your way out to this… thing, preparing to fight it, to get it out of your home. imagine your surprise when you saw

a spotted man

who called YOUR NAME

“y/n, please-“

you were NOT HAVING THIS, you threw your broom at the THING, screaming and yelling a pattern of

“go away”s

“i’ll call the police, i- i’ll call spiderman”s

and a few

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU”s

the spotty thing pleaded with you, on its knees, begging you to listen to it

you obliged. it skittered over to your piano, and started playing notes that sounded like a child attempting to play…

goodbye yellow brick road

and now that you thought about it, this thing did sound a lot like your lost lover…

it was your song. it was him. you didn’t know how, but it was,

“jonathan”, you yelled, throwing yourself into his dotted arms. you didn’t know how, and you didn’t know why, but you knew that this, thing, was your johnny. and in that moment, nothing else mattered. life would go on, and things would work out.

and as he held your head with his hands, your boyfriend said, after what felt like an eternity,

“i love you.”

#the spot x reader #the spot #johnathan ohnn #johnathan ohnn x reader #itsv #atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman #spiderman fanfic #spiderverse 2 #i really hope this is readable omg #Spotify

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writingfics-passingtime · 1 year

Note

Cry by cigarettes after sex + matt murdock x reader

Wait for Me to Stay

This drabble is part of JJ’s Mixtape - a mini series based on my followers’ favourite songs and characters. You can read more of them here!

Song Prompt: Cry

Pairing: Matt Murdock x reader (romantic, no pronouns used)

Word Count: 1200

CW: This is about grief and PTSD and how the body holds onto emotional pain. Depictions of the snap/mass death. This one’s a little heavier. Swearing.

Note: Thank you for your beautiful request, anon! I’ve been thinking about grief for a while, and I’ve been wanting to write something about Matt coming back from the Snap so this felt fitting. Hope you like it 💜

Your bed still felt like a graveyard.

The feeling wasn’t one that existed despite the years, but because of them.

Still, your bed was like a final resting place for the life you’d had.

For his life.

The memories would swarm you, a choking embrace, a melancholic fatigue whenever you'd lay down; it was like you could touch everything that wasn't there. No more warmth stored in the thread count, no steady rise and fall of Your Love on those rare night he'd slept so soundly.

Except now, the graveyard was haunted.

Because he was back. Everyone came back, and their return was like their departure: shrouded in chaos.

It was disorienting and messy and too much, just like that day all those years ago when Matt's hand had tightened around yours to pull you out of the way of a bus swerving off the road.

The driver had disappeared. Turned to dust.

By the time you recovered from the adrenaline spike of nearly being flattened by careening metal, you felt an eerie lightness in your hand and Matt was gone before you had the chance to hear him choke out his last breath.

There wouldn’t have been much chance to hear it over almost every car colliding with something, be it another car or a mail drop box, a lamppost, a person who hadn’t evaporated, the side of a building. You’d never seen a city-wide pileup before. Never heard one either.

After all these years, the only piece of solace you offered yourself was that Matt didn’t have to hear the carnage.

A little more than five years later you found yourself sinking to the floor of your local coffee shop -It's happening again, it's happening again, it's happening again- was the only thought running through your head. Except it wasn't a coherent thought. More of a feeling, a guttural reaction. You sank deeper, holding your head to your knees, palms glued to your ears because the screaming had been the worst part the first time - when the Ones Left Behind had collectively grieved, wailing and clawing at the ground, at the air, at the scraps of the people they loved.

It was a stranger who'd managed to pull you out of your cocoon. You only started crying when you felt the touch of another person because as far as you knew until that point, the whole world had disappeared this time.

Except it hadn't.

There was a different kind of reassurance in this person's voice. "It's… okay," he'd said to you. You couldn't respond, remaining still and quiet in your shelter from the war zone.

Everyone was shaken but he sat with you. You never caught his name, but he stayed on the floor beside you until you managed to unfurl enough to listen, to realise that the cars had crashed because people had appeared in the middle of the road. Out of nowhere. That the screams were from shock when the street suddenly doubled in population because people were materialising out of thin air. "Holy shit… they’re really back," the man had whispered.

He only left you when his phone rang and he broke down into the sobs of a destroyed man about to rebuild.

You weren’t even sure how you’d found your way back to the loft. There was no memory of moving through the streets, only the distinct feeling of a shell-shocked weightlessness. It didn’t feel real, even when he burst through the front door.

To him, it’d been nothing. No time had passed, no loss had taken root.

To you, it had been over five years since Matt had died, and two years since you lost hope in the Avengers. That kind of grief burrows into your bones.

“I’m trying Matt,” you whispered when you’d struggle to fall asleep next to him, because you’d grown accustomed to sleeping alone.

“I know you are,” he assured you, and didn’t fight any time you had to sleep on the couch.

It's a pain tattooed on the tips of your fingers, staining everything of his that you touched. Because, now, when he leaves his shoes by the front door it doesn't feel like he'll ever put them on and come and go again - it feels like that day, some day more three years after The Vanishing, some day right after you lost hope, when a new friend arrived at your door and helped you pack him away.

“What are you doing up here?” Matt’s voice came from behind your shoulder as you looked up at the towering skylines. It was four in the morning and you couldn’t sleep again.

You shrugged. “I come up here a lot now.” To see the lights in the windows, to try and remind yourself that life was still being lived.

It was so weird seeing his things around the loft again. It should feel like a happy memory, or like deja vu at the very least, but all you can see are the things you sealed away in boxes.

Truth be told, you hadn't held onto them out of sentiment or pain or hope. It had been pure brain fog. Every ounce of your cognitive capacity was firing on all cylinders to just get through every day of this new life, you couldn't think about the boxes in the hallway closet or taking them to Goodwill.

“What am I supposed to do?” Matt finally broke, almost three months after he came back. You were in tears, having panicked when you woke up nestled into a warm body.

“I’m sorry, Matt, I’m so fucking sorry,” you choked out, pulling your knees into your chest as your vision became hot and blurred. “I’m trying.”

He knew you were trying.

He could feel it in the way you’d cling to him when car horns blared, or when there was any commotion on the street, really. He’d hear it in the hesitation on your tongue when he asked if you were okay and it was one of the times you weren’t. He knew you knew you were overjoyed that he was back.

Your mind knew it. Your body was still catching up.

All of the people you lost, all that love, that security, all those years… that doesn’t go away overnight. Your heart had atrophied, your capacity for companionship had gone so unused that you’d adjusted to this new life. To open yourself up again, there would be growing pains. But you were trying.

“Please don’t leave,” you begged, wiping your tears on your sleeve as the couch sank with his weight next to you.

As he’d grown to do, Matt waited until you came to him. After a few minutes you turned and laid your weary head down on his lap. After a few more, he gently caressed his fingers through your hair.

He couldn’t promise he would never leave again because, as he learned, that might not be up to him.

So as you fell asleep on him for the first time in over five years, he made you a promise he could keep:

“Your pain will not push me away.”

#matt murdock #matt Murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #no y/n #marvel x reader #marvel reader insert #JJ’s Mixtape #matt murdock x reader #Marvel x you #matt murdock hurt/comfort #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you

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sunkissedlucida · 1 year

Text

beautiful boy

Miles Quaritch x baby! Miles Socorro x deceased! Reader

— Life has lost its color to Quaritch since your recent passing. He continues to mourn over the loss while raising his infant son. But one night and a John Lennon song later, he feels a little more hopeful for the future.

A/N: Been simping for this man longer than I knew what love was. Guess I'm adding another fandom to my list!

Miles wakes up in the middle of the night. Flood lights of the base peek through the slightly open curtains. The starry night sky of Pandora remains visible during early hours like this. He looks over to the crib beside the bed, where he sees his baby boy fussing and crying.

"Shh," says Miles, still half-awake. "You're okay."

He sits up with a grunt. He walks over to the crib and reaches out to hold his son. The baby squirms and wails under his hold, reaching for comfort.

You were always a light sleeper, so you would usually wake up before him when the baby cried. You'd comfort him better than the colonel could. But now you're gone, leaving your husband half of what he once was. One of the few people keeping Miles together is your one-year-old son, who is also his namesake. Your little miracle and greatest joy.

The baby's diaper needs changing, so Miles puts him back down to get a new pair. His hands are shaking from exhaustion, but he manages to change the diaper without much struggle. Afterward, his son's cries diminish to whimpers and sniffling. Miles carries him and walks over to the couch. He sits down, sighing at no sight of tissues on the coffee table. He moves his hand under his shirt and uses the fabric to wipe the snot off his son's nose. If you were here, you'd be complaining about how he couldn't just look for one in the cabinets you painstakingly organized. What he'd give to hear you again.

It's been months since your death, and nothing has changed for the better to him. The world stops turning whenever the baby cries, and he can barely bring himself to eat. With his wife gone, it feels like he's not doing anything right anymore. It's simply harder to get through the day.

Miles looks down at the little one. "What's wrong, Junior? Had a nightmare?"

He looks back at his son's wide, glassy eyes. His lip quivers like he can read his father's mind. The infant nuzzles his chest with a tiny fist gripping his shirt. The sight tears his heart to shreds, knowing things can't go back to the way it was. No form of revenge against who or what killed you can bring you back. It's a lesson he learned the hard way.

"I miss her too, kid." Miles holds Junior tighter, placing kisses on his forehead.

He whispers, eyes brimming with tears, "Mommy's gone now, but I'll never let anything happen to you. Stay strong, alright?"

The child calms down and snuggles into his shoulder. Miles strokes his soft curls, closing his eyes as the two sit in silence. His calloused hands envelops his son like a blanket. Later, soft snores put his mind to rest. As his body relaxes, the tears finally stop threatening to fall.

The silence haunts him. It reminds him of how you'd fill it by playing your favorite song before bed. It is old, but it is a classic, as you would say. Miles hums the tune to himself, trying to keep the memories alive even though you're not here to show him the right notes.

"Close your eyes,

Have no fear,

The monster's gone,

He's on the run, and your daddy's here."

As he rubs the infant's back, he wonders if his son will remember that song. Will he grow up to carry the same love for music as you? Maybe one day, when he's older, he'll tell his father that you were the reason why he fell asleep every night. That the melody made him feel safe and brought him comfort. A reminder of the love that he had, and one that would always be there.

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful

Beautiful boy

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful

Beautiful boy."

He's not sure how long he's been humming the song, but he realizes he's singing out loud. He hears the familiar lyrics coming from his throat.

The baby stirs in his arms, smiling as he snuggles closer. Miles smiles too, looking down at his son and crooning,

"Before you go to sleep

Say a little prayer

Every day in every way, it's getting better and better."

The world around him disappears. All that remains is the happiness he feels at being loved by someone he created with you. Something tells him that things are going to be okay, even if it's not now. Someday, both of them will be alright. For now and always, they have each other.

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful

Beautiful boy

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful

Beautiful boy."

#colonel quaritch #avatar quaritch #miles quaritch #quaritch x reader #avatar #avatar movie #miles socorro #spider socorro #spider avatar #sunny writes

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love-toxin · 2 years

Note

yandere fruity four reverse harem??? 🥺

YOU'RE GONNA JUST SAY THAT??? KNOWING IT'S GONNA CHANGE MY LIFE???? fuck. yandere fruity four.

Steve is such a big protector, choosing to physically put himself between you and whatever danger you might be facing, whether that danger is a swarm of demo-bats or just some creep that's trying to ask you out. he would quite literally die for you, and you often have to remind him not to go that far with tears and wailing when he gets hurt or has to be dragged into the trailer to have his wounds looked at. but, while he's a bit reckless and can be overbearing at times, he's also so completely in love with you that's it's honestly sickening--he's the one that will dance with you in the living room to a song on the radio, and stroke your hair with your head in his lap and refuse to move you if you fall asleep there. you're comfy, therefore you shall not be awoken, and god rest Eddie's soul if he knocks something over or gets feedback on his amp. you'll hear his shrieks and panicked laughter when Steve storms in and throttles him--or just tickles him to death. he's a sweetheart deep down, and he just loves to please you and his best friends, so he's just the perfect guy to watch over you and make sure you're both comfortable and happy.

Nancy is always on the lookout for you, if you sneak out for a brief respite from the four to go do something they think is too risky, she's the one that finds you and gives you a lecture or two about your safety. but she also includes you in so much of her life, you get to come with her on her top-secret journalism projects and hold her camera for her, and she always takes you out for a treat when you stay up all night with her to work on her latest story to submit to the newspaper office. she's so doting, so gentle, and very in tune with what you need and when you need it, whether it be physically or emotionally or both. she can pick up on your emotions so effortlessly that it's like she can read your mind, and all she has to do is suggest something to do that she knows will lift your spirits and you'll be whisked away to go do it. she's on the possessive side though, so you might wake up to one of your partners kicked off the bed and sleeping on the floor while she takes their place. usually that only happens if they manage to piss her off, but it still happens. and don't be surprised by her joining in on any of those more intimate times she might accidentally walk in on--even if she has something to do or somewhere to be, you can bet she'll put it off just long enough to get her hands on you.

Eddie is so soft and sweet on you. he's definitely overprotective but not in the way the others are--he likes to see you with your own freedoms, as long as he can take part of them in some way. he has so many nicknames for you and genuinely does treat you like royalty, but he also can get so attached to you that he can't be shaken off no matter how hard you try. he'll be there in the shower with you and cuddled up as close as he can get against you when you're sleeping together, and if you need some space then you usually have to get one of the other three to drag him away and busy him while you do something personal or just have some alone time. that's just one of those quirks you just kinda have to deal with, but he more than makes up for it with the kind of adoration one rarely finds in anyone, much less a sweet man like him. plus, he wouldn't ever judge you for anything--you don't ever have to fear about being yourself with him, because if anything he'll just want to take part in it so he can get to know you better. that weird hobby or stupid dance or song you want to sing terribly is like gold to him, he wants to see it and treasure it because it's what makes you you.

Robin is the one constantly vying for your attention, always on your heels with that hopeful expression that you'll stop whatever you're doing to talk to her or just shoot her a smile. she swears you're her main source of happiness, her sunshine, her whole world--she would do anything to have your eyes on her, even if it means sneaking you out from under the other three's noses to go do something fun without their supervision. she's the queen of holding hands and giggling as you hurry out of the trailer and duck out of sight, before hijacking Eddie's van and peeling off to go get icecream or see a late-night movie. she's by far the easiest one to talk to about the real stuff, to complain about Steve's stubbornness or Nancy's mother henning or Eddie's barging in while you're trying to pee in peace. and while she has a talent for making you laugh those annoyances off until they don't feel so frustrating, she also listens so intently that you can't help but feel seen and understood even if she doesn't always have the right words to say so. plus, there's something about driving home after a little impromptu outing and seeing Nancy and Steve standing on the porch with their arms crossed like disappointed parents that just brings you even closer together.

#yandere eddie munson #yandere steve harrington #yandere nancy wheeler #yandere robin buckley #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #nancy wheeler x reader #robin buckley x reader #st 4 #stranger things #fruity four #fruity four x reader #ellie writes #anons

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bitbybitwrites · 7 months

Note

For the au + trope + prompt game maybe:

12. babysitter!au + 4. meet messy + 27. “that was a very bad idea. 0/10 would not recommend.”

But no pressure!

OK, in true fashion, this one totally got away from me. I can't even try to pass it off as a super long drabble. It's mutated into a full blown ficlet. Ooooops.

But I guess the combination got me inspired. I kind of went literal for the meet messy trope - maybe it works? 😂

Anyway, here's 1,366 words for you, @annepi-blog

******

The last thing Blaine Anderson expected that night while delivering pizzas was to meet the love of his life.

He wasn’t expecting too much, to be honest. Most of his shift had gone as usual. But his final job for the evening found Blaine with his arms filled with a rather impressive food order when he knocked on the door to a swanky Upper West Side apartment building.

“B Side Pizza,” he announced loudly, though the apartment owner should have been aware of who he was. The imposing doorman in the lobby had called up to warn them.

The muffled sound of high-pitched shrieking, which then quickly changed to an ear-splitting loud high-pitched shrieking, assailed Blaine once the door was opened. Behind the other side of the door was a very exhausted-looking but ridiculously handsome man. His chestnut hair fell heavily over one eyebrow, apparently fallen out of some formerly impressive style that Blaine could kind of see the echos of. His clothes seemed on trend but were very rumpled, and Blaine thought he could spy a small handprint in neon green paint that grazed the right hip of some extremely tight skinny jeans. A smudge of the same paint was also on his chin. He doubted the man was even aware.

Blaine was in trouble.

One look at this man and Blaine was positive that he was in love.

“Thank god,” the disheveled angel said when he saw Blaine. “Pizza is here!” he yelled over his shoulder.

“Pizza!” A group of younger voices screamed in excitement. Apparently, the prospect of food was enough to stop the rest of the caterwauling.

The man ushered Blaine into a lavish apartment, directing Blaine towards a kitchen that could have been plucked right out of Architectural Digest. It was gorgeous to look at (not unlike the homeowner), but Blaine doubted it ever had any use.

“You can put everything out here.” The man waved his hand at a long marble-covered counter. Blaine nodded and began unpacking his delivery tote as he watched the man dash out into another part of the apartment and shout:

“Barbra!”

“Joan!”

“Streisand!”

“Yes, Uncle Kurt?” A trio of childish voices replied in a sing-song fashion.

Kurt sighed loudly. “Can you please clean up your mess, wash your hands, and come sit down to dinner. . .please?” the desperation in Kurt’s voice was so very clear.

“That’s two pleases, Uncle Kurt.”

“That’s me asking really, really, really nicely, Streisand.“ Kurt said back, a forced smile on his face, his voice sounding strained. “I ordered dinner from your favorite place, just like your parents told me to. Let’s get going, ok?”

Kurt returned to the room, where he promptly collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs surrounding the table and dropped his head into his folded arms. “I am never doing this again.” Blaine could sort of make out. Kurt’s voice was very muffled. “Or at least not without reinforcements.”

Blaine’s eyes softened. “Babysitting duties?” he asked.

Kurt raised his head and sighed. “This is seriously giving me doubts about my capability to be a father in the future.

Blaine laughed at Kurt’s forlorn expression. “I’m sorry. I felt the same way once I started watching my brother’s kids. Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it. I promise it gets loads better.”

“Triplets. My best friend had triplets, and I am nothing if not a pushover.” Kurt moaned.

A heartbreaking wail - or maybe it was another screech, Blaine wasn’t exactly sure, came from one of the other rooms. Kurt’s face dropped into an expression of utter horror and disbelief as three young children came barreling into the kitchen, covered head to toe in smears of neon pink, green, and yellow paint. One of the little girls had her hair covered in the paint, and she apparently was the one wailing the loudest. Her eyes were screwed shut as she blindly flailed her arms, sobbing, and crashed face-first into Blaine.

“Uncle Kurt! Streisand put paint in my hair!” The little girl continued to wail as she wrapped her arms around Blaine’s waist and buried her face into his stomach, subsequently smearing more paint all over him.

“Streisand!” Kurt cried out, whipping around to look at a not-so-apologetic 6-year-old boy who was still gripping a tube of neon pink paint. Streisand looked almost ready to squeeze the remainder of the tube onto his other sister’s hair but second-guessed himself once he caught Kurt’s stern glare. He dropped the tube like a hot potato and at least decided to look chagrined.

“Um, sorry, Uncle Kurt?”

Kurt continued giving the child a death glare.”That shouldn’t be a question, Streisand. And I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

“Sorry, Barbra,” Streisand said. “Really, really sorry. But you do look pretty with pink hair. You said you wanted pink hair.”

Barbra hiccuped loudly as she wiped her face onto Blaine’s shirt. “I like pink, but I wanted to do it myself.” Barbra then pulled back, surprised: “Wait, you’re not Uncle Kurt.”

The other little girl looked at Blaine suspiciously. “Who are you? Are you Uncle Kurt’s boyfriend?”

“Uncle Kurt, you’re not supposed to bring boyfriends over. Mommy said so.” Streisand said.

Kurt turned beet red, and Blaine had to smile again at the absurdity of the whole situation. “My name is Blaine. I’m not Uncle Kurt’s boyfriend . . .”

“Do you want to be? Do you like Uncle Kurt?”

‘He’s cute. I think he should be your boyfriend, Uncle Kurt.”

“He’s ok, Uncle Kurt. But if you like him, you should make him your boyfriend.”

Kurt groaned. “OK. No more talking about boyfriends or my lack thereof. This was supposed to be a nice, calm, quiet evening. ‘Why don’t we do some finger painting?’ I said. ‘It will be fun,’ I said. Who was I kidding?“ Kurt parroted himself from earlier in the evening and then rolled his eyes as he looked back to Blaine. “That was a very bad idea on my part. 0/10 would not recommend.”

Blaine chuckled. “Well, the paint is very . . it is bright and festive and fun . . and um, if you had a black light - it would glow in the dark.”

“What?!” screeched Kurt. “Where did you get that paint, Streisand?”

“Mommy and Daddy’s room. In the table by the bed.”

“Oh god,” Kurt mumbled. “I don’t want to think about why they have that in their bedroom.”

Blaine snickered. “Why don’t you get the kids cleaned up? I’ll keep the food warm in the oven for you.” he tossed Kurt a charming smile. “Consider it an extra perk of the delivery process.”

“Thank you so, so much. “ Kurt gasped as he began dragging Streisand and Joan out of the kitchen by their arms. “Barbra, come on. Leave Mr. Blaine alone, and let’s get this paint out of your hair.”

Barbra followed reluctantly. “Will you still be here when we come back?” she asked Blaine.

Blaine knew what he wanted to say, but he hated to intrude on their little evening.

“I don’t know. I think it depends on your Uncle Kurt.” Blaine confessed.

“Uncle Kurt, pleeeeeeeeease can Mr. Blaine stay?” Barbra whined.

“Yeah, can he? Uncle Kurt, can he?” Joan chimed in.

“Stay. Stay. Stay. Stay.” Streisand began to chant loudly.

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mr. Blaine can stay. We have to get him out of his clothes too.”

Blaine coughed and tried to suppress another laugh. “Well, I usually get a first date before that. . .”

Kurt sputtered and blushed again. Blaine was beginning to find it totally adorable. “I meant to change clothes,” Kurt tried to explain. “Because paint . . and . . there’s a washer and dryer in the apartment . . oh and fuck … I’m just going to go now before I say something else stupid.”

As Kurt pulled the two kids he had in hand down the hallway towards the bathroom, he could hear: “Ooooooh … you said a bad word, Uncle Kurt.”

A ton of giggling.

And then a small pink-haired covered face popped back into the kitchen doorway.

“So you’ll stay?” Barbra asked excitedly.

“I’ll stay. I promise.” Blaine told her.

Barbra squealed in joy and ran back down the hallway.

Oh yeah, Blaine was in so much trouble now.

*****

NOTE: If you haven't figured out yet, yes, these are Rachel's triplets😂

If anyone else wants to play - AU+Trope+Prompt Game.

#bitbybitwrites #ask game #au ask game #klaine fanfic #klaine fic #klaine fanfiction #klaine #kurt hummel #blaine anderson

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