#I can smell something burning in the kitchen but I needed to finish this more than anything else. I feel a little faint

[outeremissary]

Oooh how about telling us a little about The Thousand Mile Fall? 👀

Thank you Ash and @bearvanhelsing for asking!

I want to begin by apologizing- I suspect you were looking for Tristian, but this is the single BG3 thing that was on the list. Jay, idk where you stand on discourse game of the year, but Ash, I know that you're not a fan and have been working on distance. I'm placing the rest under a cut. You can read it or not read it. Either thing is fine with me.

As compensation: the one actual Kingmaker ask I got on this (sorry it's not a flashy one), or a PF2e one about Kasander/Asperia.

Still with me? Thank you, I appreciate it!! Let's see to what degree I'm willing to bare my soul before I get too embarrassed and awkwardly trail off.

Ah: DUrge spoiler warning. And content warning: DUrgetash (sorry)

So! The Thousand Mile Fall, something which was only just starting to go beyond planning (and originally planning for a comic) when my laptop committed die. I was really interested in the concept of the Dark Urge as a character who was always framed as having fallen from grace, and who had also fallen from a state of divinity. The liminal state excited me, and we all know how I feel about a horrible someone who's a horrible failure of an angel. Horrible failure of a demigod occupies a similar space. I think the nature of that failure- that fall- began to occupy me quite a bit, since I had a strong concept for Asperia from very, very early on in my playthrough (long before I knew anything besides the DUrge plot besides that they were a Bhaalspawn, even before I had become convinced Kasander and Asperia existed simultaneously) and at the heart of Asperia was someone who was infallible and convinced of their invincibility- maybe rightly so.

So, this story is set only a bit before the game and is meant to unpick the loss of that perfect favor- in my mind, the loss of Asperia's "godhood," something which is stolen twice. The second and definitive loss is of course to Orin in a singular act of violence, but Orin's path to victory was opened by the slow and insidious poison of having known Enver Gortash. In a "the bar is in hell" turn of things, their... acquaintanceship is the closest thing Asperia has ever experienced to a normal relationship and a normal life. And that glimpse of the other side is what unmakes her. It's always been crucial to Asperia's role in the system to be the one who loves being Bhaal's beloved child, who can reconcile anything with belonging, who buys in so fully that it is unthinkable to be less than a god and it is unthinkable to have desires besides those of a god. Others hold the questions, the fear, the other desires- Kasander and Bride especially- but Asperia wants nothing else in life, and Asperia believes with painful, self-destructive fervor.

Asperia has already been acquainted with Gortash for some good while here, the wheels turning in the scheme of the Absolute. This is the longest positive relationship of any kind Asperia has ever had outside of whatever pseudo-parental thing he has with Scleritas, and it has been wonderful: novel, collaborative, a meeting with someone who resembles an equal despite being a mere mortal. Asperia has begun to see other facets of the world through this, to see the ways the world of the living comes together for purposes besides inevitable execution. It's all an act of devotion, all furthering the will of Bhaal, all what Asperia desires and wants to do. But the further it's gone the more it's started to be fun for its own sake too, and a certain fascination with a frenemy has begun to blossom into dangerous fantasies.

Asperia doesn't fantasize. Asperia can't fantasize. Asperia is a god, and he only wants things which are real and deserved. Bhaal's favor is proof of that: Orin's ugly, messy desires make her a worse worshiper, and she's never had their divine father's love. Asperia is Bhaal's beloved. Asperia is defined by her distance from those mistakes. And so too is Asperia the perfect disciple, a being beyond sin. If something is what Asperia wants, then it must be acceptable.

And this is how Asperia begins to lose Bhaal's favor.

Asperia starts the story at a personal high and only rising- with the world at her fingertips and Bhaal's love behind her, she's preparing for the victory lap and has taken an extra prize in becoming more intimately involved with Gortash. But you can't have your cake and eat it too- this impossible personal high the seed of Asperia's ruin, already sown, takes root and begins to grow. Bhaal's perfect killing machine doesn't play house with Bane's Chosen. And there are more than enough people who fucking hate Asperia already and are ready to take note- as well as Gortash himself, so much older and colder than young, sheltered Asperia. There may be some genuine affection there in some form, but calculation and power take precedent, as does the enjoyment of solving this Bhaalspawn puzzle by picking her apart.

Over time the increasingly clear dissonance between the impossible misalignment- the first Asperia has ever experienced- between what they want and what Bhaal allows them to desire and have drives them to spiral into a state of exceptional vulnerability that ultimately allows Orin to usurp them. The escalating stress causes them to lose time more and more frequently, beyond what they can explain away to themself and make disappear, and they begin to doubt themself. To fear what is happening, and to develop their own doubts about Bhaal- things that should live elsewhere, things that cause other parts to bubble up in ways they notice. Asperia is straying and rivals like Orin can see it, is becoming less dependable and reluctant allies like Ketheric can see it, is becoming a less than perfect disciple and that butler shepherd of Bhaal can see it (not that every part was always perfect- Scleritas has always known that "Asperia" is more than just Asperia, and has long pitted Asperia against themself). And Asperia is vulnerable and open and easier and easier to see- and Gortash, who has solved the part of this puzzle Asperia refuses to see quite well, sees it all and drives the spiral deeper. Pulls Asperia closer, and begins to learn the others without letting Asperia know (this is a piece of how Kasander knows Gortash, has known Gortash before anything).

So y'know. It's all heading for inevitable tragedy, heartbreak, ruin, bad feelings, and a tadpole in the head, as well as a shitty asshole boyfriend conspiring with one's sister who has been waiting for ages for the change to REALLY wreck one's shit. Yikes! Feel like not enough was spent on the family drama and that's sold Orin short, but she's played a damn active hand through it all. Sacrificial Orin, always underestimated, always overlooked, always surviving.

I dunno how to conclude this and I feel like I probably talked too long (half just to remember things I can't access until the new laptop arrives and is set up). All in all, just a fun little project to play with while I continue to fail to finish the last teeny bit of the actual goddamn game (I'm the worst at wrapping up the last little dregs of things after I've cleaned up the most fun stuff).

TLDR: Asperia, main character of life, starts to Lose the Plot and gets written out of the story for a little while

[eraserbread]

there's nothing your husband, nanami, oves more than watching you cook.

he enjoys the way you get into it, crinkling your brow as you multitask from nursing your sauce to peeling your vegetables. he just loves everything you love, including your stupid, smutty tv shows and perpetually sad music.

if you carved a hole in his chest, you'd probably just see... you. every part that encaptures your soul.

tonight, you're cooking for him again wearing a matching pajama set you know he loves. you're wearing it as he slugs back in from work, frustration brewing and rising above his head like a spell. his shoulders are so heavy that it's palpable. you drop the knife in your hands.

"oh, kento." you purr, approaching him with your arms outstretched. in a single move, he drops his glasses and loosens his tie, ready for you to dote on fully. "I'm sorry you had a bad day."

"you're making something good?" he puts on a millisecond smile for you, closing his big hands across your back. the air around you smells like home, and you feel like it. soft to the touch and packed full of comfort and ease. it's why nanami married you -- there's no pain or adversity within these four walls. that's only a work thing.

"your favorite, f-

he chuckles, cutting you off from the tangent he knows you'll take him on. "I don't see you laid out on that stove."

"-ken!" you slap both hands across the bottom of his pretty face, flustered and blushing red. you knew he has a mind to say something risque, but it always surprises you when he does. he's still not the easiest person to read. "jus- just sit down and I'll finish up."

"mm, okay. take your time." nanami has to peel himself away from you, and it takes all of his might. on the upside, he can watch your back as you fuss around in the kitchen. silently, you check the pot of rice, noting the remaining cooking time, stir and lower the flame on your meat and head back to continue cutting on your board. nanami studies all of it. he truly loves you so much.

so, he can't help the fact that the beautiful meal you'd been doting over got a bit too crispy.

your nanami just had to taste you for himself, already two fingers deep into your aching cunt, he leans down between your thighs to lap at your sweetness. he could die between these thighs -- make a home in the cushioned, comforting skin and stay forever.

he needed your pheromones in a cologne -- your taste on the back of his tongue forever, because you were so delelectible. you're always insanely fucking pretty when you're mewling his name; lovely, scattered renditions only you can call him tumbling out.

he's dragging the thickness of his tongue between your folds, focusing the tip against your swollen clit. he has you right where he wants you, knowing its not enough to make you cum immediately, but just enough to send you over the edge.

you're sliding back on the counter, its slickness from your body and nanami's spit not making it very suitable to eat off of. neither of you care, because it's just so sweet to be in this shared presence.

it's so lewd to hear your husband's fingers fucking you over the sound of your dinner sizzling and burning. but, that's just exactly what you signed up for when you agreed to become

mrs. nanami kento

[kousanosgf]

men, minors dni

councilor!sevika x housewife!reader

sevika comes home after another tiring day. gladly, she has a good way of reliving stress.

tags: domestic fluff, oral (reader receiving)

it was well past 12am but your kitchen was alive, filled with smells of spices and meat. sevika was still not home, and recently she took a very annoying habit of staying too late at work. you couldn't blame her. maybe you were staying home all day and having all the time to enjoy yourself and work around the house but you were knowledgeable enough to understand how hard politics can be. so there's definitely not even a thought to voice any of your complaints to sevika.

yet, you couldn't stop to feel disappointed and dissatisfied the whole day, ever since you woke up late in the morning, sevika already off to work. it was unfair that you are unable to meet her while living in the same house and sleeping in one bed. and that's the exact reason why you were staying up late, waiting for her to come home. "i will not go through the day without seeing my own wife." you told yourself as you put on the apron about an hour ago to spend some time cooking so you wouldn't fall asleep by accident.

finally you hear a key clicking in the lock and a door opening. you smile to yourself but don't move from your place to meet sevika, the pan demanding your full attention.

sevika moves around the house, taking off her boots and outwear, washing her hands in the bathroom, before coming into the kitchen.

"give me a sec-" you don't finish your sentence, sevika surprises you by basically attaching herself to your body, hugging from behind and nuzzling into the top of your head.

"sorry i'm late." she mummbles and it makes you smile.

"how was your day?" you ask as you stir the stew on the stove.

"i work with complete idiots."

you can't help but laugh at sevika's attitude. she sounds like a pouty child, the sleepiness in her voice definitely adding to overall cutness of her.

comfortable silence hangs between you as you continue to cook and sevika just tracks your hand movements. she gets restless, you guess, when you feel her palms cup your breasts. sevika presses more into you and kneads your chest, her mouth coming down to leave light kisses on your neck. it tickles and you flinch away slightly. sevika just presses harder, your frame now caught between her and the counter.

"aren't you hungry, babe?"

she humms in agreement but doesn't let you go. "my meal is right here." it's probably the cheesiest thing you heard from her but you're so in love it works, something twirls in your lower belly.

you nudge her to the side to turn off the stove so the food wouldn't burn and face her finally. there're dark circles under her eyes, she definitely needs a better sleep schedule. the sight makes you frown.

"i hope it's your day off tomorrow, like you promised." you look at her with a stern look but cup her cheek gently, rubbing circles with your thumb.

"it is." sevika grins, there's a mischievous glint in her eyes. "planned spending it without letting you out of my grip". her hands rise back to your waistline, toying with the ties of your sweatpants under the apron.

there's a lot you can tell her. it's been a long day for both of you, especially sevika. she probably only had quick snacks on her brakes. she needs to sleep more. but how can you when she grew basically professional at seducing you.

treating your silence as a permission to continue, sevika slides your pants and underwear swiftly. suddenly you're in the air, held by her, as she places you on the kitchen counter.

"made me nervous there, doll," she huffs and squats down to place herself perfectly between your legs. "thought, i'll have to beg."

she starts slow, taking her sweet time to get you hot and wet. she squeezes your thighs while telling how her day went. the end of the year is coming and it seems everyone demands annual reports on her every move.

you really try to be an attentive wife and listen carefully to her stories but it's basically impossible when sevika runs her hands up and down your inner thighs, the contrast of temperature between her arms makes you shiver. you can help but gasp as the finger of her metal arm dips softly in the crease where your hip connects to the crotch.

"no, baby. don't block the view." she teases when your legs twitch, trying to close from the unexpected contact.

"sorry," you sigh. "just... weren't you so eager for this?"

"i am." sevika laughs and puts her head on your hip. "but don't you want to be a good wife and listen to what i'v been up to?"

and you do. of course, you do. but that's not really the reaction she waits from you. recently sevika's been set on a mission. begging wouldn't help in this situation. what she really wanted is you demanding things from her. you were too nice and sweet, usually considering other's wishes first rather than yourself. sevika finds it cute and cherishes that part of you. it's one of the traits that was important for survival in zaun, people being empathetic towards each other, always ready to help the community. but everything had it's limits and by sevika's judgment you needed to be selfish sometimes, specifically with her, because either way she was willing and ready to serve your every wish.

"vika, please." you whine.

"try again." she turns her head to kiss your thigh.

"fuck- you need to eat me out!" you finally give up, leaning further back, your head presses against the wall, hips thrust up to get closer to her mouth.

she doesn't let you wait a second more as she basically leaps forward and puts her lips on your pussy. your apron is still on you, sevika dips under it, hiding herself. she chuckles as you whine displeased and doesn't let you drag the fabric up for a better view.

there's a pause that's followed by a bite on your inner thigh. "use your words."

"wanna see, vika. let me see." there's a smile against your skin. she lays her lips back on your dripping cunt and reaches for the laces of your apron.

the sight is magical, you think. her face rubbing against you, nose already coated in your slick as she was teasing your clit, sliding up and down. sevika holds your gaze, taking in your reaction, and then just dives deeper, closing her eyes. her tongue is inside of you now. you cry out with pleasure, you legs closing around her.

sevika is so so so good for you. she can't move her head now, so she can only use her mouth. the tongue disappears from your hole and she just sucks on your clit. her puppy grey eyes are back on you, drinking in your reaction.

the kitchen is filled with your quite moans when she holds you there for couple more minutes. then she decides something for herself. the tip of her tongue on your clit. it dances lightly without much rhythm.

sevika once told you, she needs to try to spell the whole alphabet on your pussy and maybe it's the time for it. and if it is, you're not sure you can last through the whole thing, already too worked up.

"vika-" she raises her brows in question. "need to cum."

as she hears it, the pressure hardens, her tongue now laying more flat, trying to cover as much skin as she can. the sounds of her mouth and your drenched cunt become louder. you have to hold onto her head, pushing fingers through her hair, to steady yourself.

sevika doesn't stop, doesn't slow down as you reach the climax. "need to clean up the mess." she usually jokes, guiding you through the feeling and then some, becoming delirious with need to overstimulate you till you actually tell her to stop.

you slide down the counter when you finally catch your breath, legs shakey. sevika has to steady you, grabbing your elbow.

"i'm not letting you out of the bed till monday." you say, brining yourself closer, kissing her wet lips.

"can't say i'll be disappointed." sevika grins. you scoff under your breath and tug at her arm out of the kitchen, stumbling like a baby deer on shaky legs.

[vrstual]

ᯓ .ᐟ ⊹ The Girlfriend Contract

- part one.

ᯓ Pairing: Popular!Karina (Yu Jimin) × Cheerleader!Fem! Reader

ᯓ | When Jimin lies to her mom about being in a serious relationship, the last person she expects to drag into her mess is Y/n–the campus cheerleader she’s spent the last two years arguing with across lecture halls and parties. But now, to keep up appearances over the holidays, they have to fake date through family dinners, long car rides and even in school.

ᯓ Genre: Rivals to fake-dating to lovers, slow burn, college AU, family drama, soft angst, eventual fluff

ᯓ Warning: swearing, argument, a little toxic, family pressure.

ᯓ Content: 7k of words

part one. part two.

Yu Jimin wasn’t in love.

She’d made that clear enough times.

The guy from last week still texted her sometimes — a dumb meme or a photo of his cat — and she hadn’t blocked him, but she hadn’t replied either. Not because he did anything wrong. He just wasn’t what she wanted. No one ever was.

Not that her mom would believe that.

Jimin leaned against the kitchen counter, phone in one hand, a cooling cup of black coffee in the other.

She never understood how her best friend could be so different from her. Where she overthought, Heeseung floated. Nothing seemed to stick to him — not stress, not pressure, not the constant need to prove something. He just existed, unbothered and perfectly content in his own lane.

Sometimes she envied that. Other times, it annoyed the hell out of her.

She scrolled through her texts — mostly her group chat with Heeseung and some old party invites she never answered.

Half a pizza box balanced precariously on a pile of textbooks, a soda can sweated onto the corner of a magazine she never finished reading. The air smelled faintly like old takeout and peppermint gum.

“I swear to god, if Meredith cries one more time…” Heeseung muttered.

Jimin didn’t answer. She was too focused on the vibration of her phone lighting up again. It was her mother

Jimin stared at it for a second.

“You gonna answer that?” Heeseung asked, glancing over.

“She’s just gonna ask when I’m coming home,” Jimin muttered, already standing up. “And why I’m still single. Can’t wait.��

She slipped into her bedroom and closed the door gently behind her, pressing accept as she sank down onto the edge of her bed.

“Hi, Mom.”

Her mom’s voice was warm but clipped. “Jimin-ah. I’ve been calling.”

“I was busy. Sorry."

“Too busy to talk to your mother?” she teased lightly. “Are you still planning to come home on the 23rd?”

“Yeah. I already finished my suitcases."

A pause.

“You know, I don’t like you driving alone. That highway gets dangerous in the winter.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve done it every time to come home.”

“Just… you know I worry.” Her mom sighed.

Jimin nodded, even though her mom couldn’t see it.

“You don’t have to come alone, you know,” her mom said. “Wonyoung is bringing her girlfriend. They’ve been together almost a year now. Very sweet girl. Thoughtful. Studying medicine.”

Jimin didn’t reply.

“And Giselle’s new boyfriend is coming too, he's American. Apparently he’s learning Korean just for her. Isn’t that romantic?”

Still, silence.

“I just think… maybe it’s time you stopped pretending this doesn’t matter to you.”

Jimin blinked. “What doesn’t?”

“This. Being with someone who cares about you. You’re always so… distant. I know you’re busy with school, but you don’t even talk about anyone.”

“It's nothing to worry about, mom." Jimin said quietly.

Her mom sighed again — soft, but full of meaning. “I just want to see you happy, Jimin. That’s all. Not just smart, not just successful. Happy. With someone who looks at you like you matter.

That was the part that stuck. Jimin sat frozen for a beat too long, the lump forming quietly in her throat.

So she did what she always did when emotions got too close.

She lied.

“I’m not alone,” she said suddenly. “I… I’ve been seeing someone.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and for once, her mom sounded surprised.

“Oh? Really?” Excitement was running through her mother voice, she could sense it.

Jimin’s brain stalled. And then, without thinking, she said it.

“It's uh... Y/n."

A pause.

Her mom’s tone changed instantly — from excited to genuine curiosity.

“Y/n? That girl from the cheer team? The one from last summer Giselle's gala? She’s very pretty. I didn’t know you two were close, I thought you hated her."

Jimin forced a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Neither did I.”

“Well, I’m glad,” her mom said gently. “I really am. You could bring her over to Christmas you know!"

Jimin didn’t know what to say. She mumbled something about studying and hung up as soon as she could without seeming suspicious.

She sat in the quiet of her room afterward, staring at the floor.

Y/n?

Out of everyone?

She was so screwed.

-

Heeseung bit back a laugh, but it slipped out anyway — low and sharp. He couldn’t help it. For two years now, it had been tradition: every time Y/n’s name came up, he and Jimin would roll their eyes in sync, trading sarcastic commentary like it was a sport.

She’d complain about Y/N’s perfect routines, and he’d mock her perfect smile. It was a shared hobby at this point — hating on Y/n from the sidelines. So when Jimin stood in the doorway, looking vaguely shell-shocked and muttered, “I told my mom I’m dating her,” Heeseung practically choked on his drink.

“You’re joking,” he said between wheezes. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not—stop laughing, it’s not funny, Heeseung!” Jimin whined, smacking his shoulder with the back of her hand.

Heeseung doubled over, laughter spilling out now, almost gasping. “No, it’s hilarious. You? Dating Y/n? You’ve literally called her a walking ego devil in a cheer skirt.”

“That was one time,” Jimin muttered, crossing her arms.

“You said she practices her fake angelic smile in the mirror like a villain!"

"Okay, two times.”

Heeseung just shook his head, still grinning. “How the hell are you gonna fake-date someone you can’t even make it through a room with?”

Jimin flopped onto the couch with a groan. “I don’t know. But now my mom thinks we’re soulmates or something.”

“Well, good luck with her."

-

Jimin had been waiting—maybe an hour, maybe two—just outside the gym, tucked under the edge of the overhang by the side door. Rain slid off the roof in steady sheets, cold and relentless, soaking the tips of her shoes.

She’d run out of things to scroll through on her phone half an hour ago. Now all she could do was stare at the wet pavement and rehearse what she’d say.

“Hey, so this is going to sound insane, but I need you to pretend to date me for the sake of my mom’s sanity.”

No. Too direct.

“I told my mom I’m dating you, and now I might need your help not getting disowned.”

Even worse.

She exhaled, breath fogging in the cold. Practice usually ran late — Jimin knew that. She’d walked past the gym enough times to hear music blasting well past dinner. But it was really starting to feel like Y/N wasn’t coming out at all.

Maybe this was stupid. Maybe Y/N would laugh in her face. Or worse — tell the whole squad. Jimin could already picture it: her name and the word desperate flying through the hallways by tomorrow.

Still, she stayed. Because this was the only way. And if she didn’t ask — if she didn’t try — she’d be walking into Busan with a lie and no backup. That wasn’t an option.

The gym door creaked open. Jimin’s breath hitched.

There she was. Hoodie pulled over her cheer uniform, earbuds in, completely oblivious.

Jimin stepped out from under the overhang, heart pounding.

It was now or never.

“Y/n!” Jimin called out, but her voice barely cut through the rain — or the music playing through the girl’s headphones. “Y/n!”

Still nothing.

Frustrated, Jimin jogged forward, slipping slightly on the wet concrete before reaching out and grabbing Y/n’s shoulder. The other girl flinched, startled, twisting around sharply.

Y/n pulled one earbud out, blinking. “What the hell—?”

Jimin let go immediately, a little breathless. “Sorry. I just— I’ve been waiting.”

Y/N looked her up and down, taking in the damp hoodie, the ruined sneakers, the obvious nerves. Her brows lifted slightly. "Are you okay?"

Y/n didn't cared, in fact she was just confused.

“No,” Jimin admitted, voice sharp and awkward. “I mean, yes. Kind of. Can I talk to you? It’s… important.”

Y/N crossed her arms, skeptical but curious. “Did you really wait out here in the rain for me?”

Jimin nodded.

A beat passed.

“This better be good,” Y/n muttered, stepping back under the cover of the overhang. “Talk.”

“I thought we could discuss this in a café, it’s pouring rain and it’s—uh—cold…” Jimin said, her voice trailing off awkwardly as she realized how lame it sounded.

Y/N rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed, but the edge of a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You’re gonna drag me out of the rain to talk in a café? What’s next? Do I get a flower and a soft jazz playlist too?”

Jimin rubbed the back of her neck, feeling the heat rise to her face. “No, it’s not like that. I just—It’s a lot to explain, okay?”

Y/N sighed but didn’t walk away. “Fine, whatever. Lead the way.”

Jimin exhaled in relief, hoping the warmth of a café would settle her nerves and that somehow, she could make this mess work.

-

“Okay, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” Y/N asked, her voice incredulous as they sat down in the café. She crossed her arms over her chest, still soaking wet but visibly irritated.

“It’s the first name that came to my mind, I swear!” she shot back, desperate to defend herself. “I panicked, okay?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Panic doesn’t usually make you pick someone you can’t stand and that can't stand you either!"

“I know, I know,” Jimin groaned, slumping in her seat. “But it just… happened. I thought I could get away with it. But then she—my mom—asked me to bring you home for Christmas.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, clearly thrown off. “What? Me? You want me to pretend we’re dating and then go home with you for Christmas? Unbelievable."

“Exactly,” Jimin muttered, looking anywhere but at her. “It’s not like I want to ask you, but… she’s really pushing it. And I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Y/N just stared at her, blinking slowly. “You’re asking me to fake-date you in front of your whole family… so your mom won’t be disappointed?”

“Please,” Jimin begged, her voice low. “I can’t go back home without some sort of backup. I can’t just let her think I’m this messed-up failure. You don’t know what she’s like.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment, then leaned back in her chair, still processing. “And what’s in it for me?”

Jimin bit her lip, her eyes flickering up to meet Y/n's. “I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Please.”

Y/n exhaled, a small smirk forming at the corner of her mouth. “Anything? Interesting…”

Jimin’s stomach dropped. “Yeah. I mean it.”

Y/N looked at her for a long, hard beat, and Jimin couldn’t tell if she was about to laugh in her face or agree. Finally, Y/n shrugged.

“Alright. I’ll help you out. But just so you know, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it because I broke up with Jeno weeks ago and this will make him furious.”

Jimin let out a relieved breath. “Deal.”

A long pause.

Then Y/n spoke again, casually stirring the straw in her iced drink.

“So… what’s the storyline?” she asked, eyes narrowing just a bit. “What exactly are we supposed to do? Am I supposed to sell Minjeong on the idea that I fell for you in a night?”

Jimin sank further into her seat, visibly cringing. “I mean… yeah. Basically.”

Y/n snorted. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I didn’t say it made sense!” Jimin shot back, flustered. “It was a heat-of-the-moment, life-flashing-before-my-eyes type of decision.”

Y/n leaned in a little, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Right. So what’s our epic love story, then? Did we bond over our mutual hatred for each other? A steamy hallway makeout after cheer competition?”

Jimin blinked. “…Wait, that’s not bad.”

Y/n raised a brow, deadpan. “You are so lucky I’m bored enough to play along." She sighed. "Let's at least make it romantic."

Jimin blinked at her. “Wait… you’re actually taking this seriously?”

“If I’m going to lie to your mom and sit through family dinners between your family members, yeah—might as well make it convincing.” Y/N shrugged, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. “Besides, if I have to pretend to like you, I deserve Oscar-worthy levels of drama.”

Jimin scoffed, but there was the tiniest smile threatening to break through. “Fine. Romance it is.”

Y/n eaned forward, mock-serious. “So? What’s our meet-cute? Something dramatic. I want tension. A little forbidden energy. Give me the enemies to lovers arc.”

Jimin stared at her. “You want me to plot out a fake fanfic?”

“Exactly,” Y/N said with a satisfied nod. “You started this. Now we’re doing it right."

Y/n grinned, resting her chin on her palm as she eyed Jimin across the table.

“Also,” she added, voice almost playful, “I’ve always liked K-dramas with the worst tropes. So please, get creative.”

Jimin narrowed her eyes. “Worst tropes?”

Y/n nodded, unfazed. “Give me a tragic backstory. I want a dramatic rooftop scene. A tension-filled rain fight. Maybe even my jealous ex. I want to suffer.”

Jimin blinked. “You’re unhinged.”

“No,” Y/n said with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’m committed to the bit.”

Jimin leaned forward, tapping her nails against her coffee cup. “Alright. New story. We met by accident. Late night. Campus convenience store.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“It’s pouring rain,” Jimin said, eyes distant like she was setting a scene in her head. “I was out of ramen. You were there for honey butter chips and cold brew.”

Y/n nodded slowly, already picturing it. “We reach for the same drink?”

“No,” Jimin smirked. “You drop your chips. I step on them. Instant tension.”

“Classic.”

“I apologize, kind of. You roll your eyes, say something smart. I snap back. But we’re both too tired to really argue. So we leave it there.”

Y/n sipped her drink, clearly invested now. “And then?”

“We run into each other again. Couple nights later. Same store. This time it’s late. Like, past midnight late. No one else around. You’re in sweats. I’m in my stupid hoodie. You ask if I always eat instant food this late.”

“And you say?”

"I say, 'Only when I can’t sleep.' And then you pause, just a second too long, and say, 'Same'"

Y/n smiled softly, leaning into the vibe. “So then what, we just keep running into each other?”

Jimin nodded. “Like fate. We never plan it, but somehow, we’re always there around the same time. We start sitting outside together. Talking. Bickering. You offer me your chips. I start bringing an extra drink.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Then something shifts.”

“Exactly,” Jimin said. “It’s three in the morning. We’re sitting on the curb, legs stretched out, talking about family and futures and shit we never tell anyone. You lean your head on my shoulder.”

Y/N blinked. “And that’s when we kiss?”

Jimin grinned. “Almost. But we don’t. Not yet. Just enough tension to make it hurt.”

“Oh, I love this one. It’s giving sad gay indie K-drama energy.”

“Right?” Jimin smirked. “Now we just have to convince my mom we’re emotionally intertwined and have a history that no one else could understand.”

Y/n smiled slowly. “She won’t stand a chance.”

-

The car ride to Busan started off in near silence. Rain tapped lazily against the windshield, and the highway stretched ahead like it was daring them to speak.

Jimin had one hand on the wheel, jaw tense. Y/n sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, headphones in — but the music was off. She just didn’t want to talk.

Until she did.

“You drive like you’re allergic to speed limits,” Y/n muttered, not even glancing over.

Jimin scoffed. “I’d rather get there fast than be stuck in this car with you for an extra hour.”

“Charming,” Y/n said dryly, turning to look at her. “Remind me again why I agreed to this?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jimin snapped, “maybe because you begged for a dramatic K-drama moment and I handed you one on a silver platter?”

“Right, because nothing says romance like you glaring at me every time I breathe too loud.”

“I’m driving,” Jimin bit back. “I need to focus.”

“You need to unclench.”

Jimin hit the signal light a little too aggressively and merged lanes. “If you hate this so much, you could’ve said no."

“If I said no, I wouldn’t get to witness you crash and burn in front of your family. That’s worth the ticket.”

They were quiet for a beat. Just the low hum of tires on wet road, the occasional flick of windshield wipers.

Then—

“You always think you’re so much better than everyone,” Jimin muttered, not looking at her.

Y/n blinked, taken off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You walk around like you own every hallway. Like no one can touch you. Even now, sitting in my car, doing me a favor, and still acting like you’re above it all.”

Y/n stared at her. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Maybe not,” Jimin shot back. “But you make it really easy to hate you.”

Another beat. The silence this time was heavier. Then Y/n laughed — just once. A dry, disbelieving sound.

“Well,” she said, settling back in her seat, “that makes two of us.”

Jimin’s fingers tightened on the wheel.

They didn’t speak for the next twenty minutes.

But their thoughts were loud.

“I don’t pretend anything,” Y/n said sharply, sitting up straighter. “You’re the one lying to your mom.”

“Oh my god,” Jimin muttered, eyes fixed on the road. “Are we really doing this right now?”

“You started it.”

“You agreed to this!”

“Because I thought it would be funny, not—this.” Y/n gestured vaguely, annoyed. “I thought we’d take a few fake couple pics, smile through some awkward dinners, go home. Not—argue like we’re married in your beat-up Hyundai on the highway to hell.”

“It’s a Kia,” Jimin snapped, glaring briefly. “And you made it personal.”

“I made it personal?” Y/N laughed, incredulous. “You’ve been picking fights with me since sophomore year.”

“Because you’re infuriating.”

“Because you take everything as a personal attack!”

They were both breathing hard now, voices raised, heat building fast.

Then—

“You’re exhausting,” Jimin muttered.

“So are you,” Y/n said, quieter this time, not quite looking at her.

A long stretch of silence settled between them again, except now their breathing had slowed, tension simmering instead of boiling.

Outside, the rain picked up. Inside, the heat from the vents started to fog the windows a little.

“…I didn’t mean to pick you,” Jimin said eventually, her voice low. “Your name just came out. I didn’t even think.”

Y/n looked at her out of the corner of her eye. “I know.”

“I guess,” Jimin continued, “if I’m honest, it’s because… you’re always there. Like, in my head. Whether I like it or not.”

Y/n's brows furrowed, confused. “So you hate me but I live rent-free in your mind?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Jimin groaned, but the corner of her mouth tugged upward anyway.

Y/n bit back a smirk, then looked away. “You’re still annoying.”

“You’re worse,” Jimin muttered.

A small pause.

Then Y/n spoke, softer. “Do I look okay?”

Jimin glanced over, confused. “What?”

“For your family,” she said. “Do I look like someone you’d… bring home?”

Jimin blinked at her, eyes flicking from her face to the slight slump of her shoulders.

And despite everything — the tension, the insults, the years of barely tolerating each other — she answered honestly.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “You do.”

Y/n didn’t say anything after that. But she smiled. Just a little.

And Jimin didn’t admit it, but she saw it in the reflection of the windshield.

That was the first time the silence between them felt almost peaceful.

-

Y/n was stressed.

She told herself she didn’t care — obviously she didn’t care — but the second Jimin put the car in park in front of the house, her chest tightened like it had something to prove.

It was just a stupid lie. A favor. One awkward week with Jimin’s polished Busan family, pretend to hold hands at dinner, maybe smile for a few photo. That was the plan.

So why did her palms feel clammy? Why did her heart jump into her throat the second Jimin looked over at her and said, quietly,

“We’re here.”

The house was bigger than she expected. Not mansion-big, but definitely expensive. Warm yellow lights glowed from the windows, laughter spilled faintly from inside, and the front door was already cracked open like they’d been watching the driveway all evening.

Jimin didn’t move to get out yet. She just sat there, keys still in the ignition, fingers twitching on her lap.

Y/n swallowed hard.

She was used to pretending.

It was her thing, actually.

Hide her true emotions. No one ever saw past it — not her teammates, not her classmates, not the girls she flirted with when she was bored and didn’t feel like going home.

And for the longest time, Y/n liked it that way.

But something about this felt different.

Maybe it was the way the front door swung open and warmth spilled out — real warmth.

Or maybe it was the fact that the second Jimin’s hand brushed against hers at the threshold — not even holding, just a touch — something inside her chest flinched.

Not in fear.

In recognition.

She was good at pretending. Always had been.

They stepped out of the car, the cold evening air biting at Y/n’s exposed skin. Jimin walked around to the trunk, popped it open, and pulled out the suitcases with a grunt. Y/n didn’t move to help—just stood there, arms crossed, watching with her usual unreadable expression.

Jimin rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

“What?” Y/n said, feigning innocence. “You looked like you had it handled.”

Jimin groaned under her breath, dragging the suitcase toward the walkway just as the front door burst open.

“Jimin, sweetie!” a voice called out, full of warmth and sugar and just a pinch of chaos.

A woman rushed out into the night, arms already stretched wide, face glowing. She wrapped Jimin into a hug so tight it made the younger girl lose her grip on one of the bags.

“I missed you!” she said into Jimin’s shoulder, then pulled back to look her over like a mom checking for battle wounds. “Why do you look skinnier? Have you been eating? I told you to stop drinking iced americanos for dinner!”

“Hi, Mom,” Jimin replied, almost shyly. Her smile softened the edges of her usual sarcasm. She bent to pick up the suitcase again.

Then the woman turned to Y/n.

“And you must be Y/n! I'm Taeyeon!"

Y/n froze like a deer in headlights for a second before schooling her features into something charming — the soft smile she used at cheer fundraisers, the kind that got her free coffees and made teachers forgive late assignments.

“That's me” she said, stepping forward and offering a hand, just a beat too stiff.

But Jimin’s mom didn’t shake it — she hugged her.

Y/n’s eyes widened as the woman pulled her in, warm and familiar, like she’d known her for years.

“You’re gorgeous, oh my god,” Jimin’s mom gushed, stepping back and holding her at arm’s length. “And tiny! Jimin always had a thing for tiny girls, didn’t you, honey?”

Jimin choked. “Mom.”

“What?” she grinned, waving it off. “I’m just saying! When she was younger—”

“Okay, inside, now,” Jimin interrupted, grabbing the last suitcase and brushing past them, ears turning red.

Y/n stood there for another second, a little smirk on her lips, before Jimin’s mom looped her arm through hers.

“Come on, dear. You’ll sit next to me at dinner. You’ll tell me everything about how you and Jimin met.”

Y/n glanced ahead, saw the slight panic in Jimin’s shoulders as she disappeared through the doorway.

She smiled.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

As soon as they stepped into the house, warmth wrapped around them — the kind of lived-in, cozy heat that smelled like soy sauce, steamed rice, and something baking in the oven.

And there were a lot of people.

“Well, well,” a voice called from the hallway, smooth and teasing. “Jimin didn’t tell us she was bringing someone this cute.”

Y/n looked up, caught off guard by the tall boy leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed. He looked familiar — must’ve been her brother.

“She did,” Y/n replied coolly, raising an eyebrow. “You probably weren’t listening.”

Sunghoon smirked, clearly amused. “Feisty. I like it.”

“She’s my girlfriend, Sunghoon.” Jimin cut in flatly as she dropped the suitcase by the stairs. “So stop being weird.”

Y/n fought a grin as Sunghoon dramatically clutched his chest. “Girlfriend? You didn’t say she was taken!”

“I said she was coming,” Jimin muttered. “And I said to behave.”

“Jimin,” her father said warmly, stepping forward to hug her. “You should’ve called when you were getting close.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” she mumbled, hugging him back, softer now.

Then he turned to Y/n and gave a polite, reserved bow. “You must be the girl we’ve heard so little about.”

Y/n smiled awkwardly and bowed in return. “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/n.”

“Well I'm Misook, Jimin's father." he said, stepping aside and motioning toward the living room, “Make yourself at home."

The house had already started filling with noise — the comforting kind. Plates clinking, someone laughing down the hall, a pot of stew boiling gently on the stove. Jimin and Y/n had barely finished setting the table when the front door swung open again, snow blowing in with the familiar chaos of family arrivals.

Jimin muttered under her breath, “And here comes the entire circus.”

Y/n looked up from folding napkins, eyebrows raised. “You weren’t joking.”

Aunt Haeun came in first, cheeks rosy from the cold, tugging off her scarf. “Where’s your mother? Oh, something smells amazing—”

Behind her, Uncle Hyunsoo carried two suitcases and a box of mandarin oranges like he was preparing to stay a month. “Why do we always pack like we’re moving in?”

Then came Wonyoung, tall and glowing even in the oversized coat she shrugged off effortlessly. Her girlfriend Yujin followed, already slipping out of her gloves and handing over a small gift bag with a shy smile.

Wonyoung’s eyes scanned the room — and landed on Y/n.

“Oh,” she said. “This must be her.”

Y/n stood a little straighter. “Hi, I'm Y/n.”

Yujin gave her a polite nod. “Nice to meet you.”

Wonyoung, however, looked her up and down without hiding it. Not rudely. Just… observantly. “You’re even prettier than your Instagram.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “Thanks… wait you stalked me– how?”

“Wanted to know who my cousin was dating, just saying” Wonyoung added, stepping inside. “Jimin usually likes chaos. You look a little too put-together for her.”

Jimin rolled her eyes. “Nice to see you too.”

Before anyone could dwell on that, the door flew open again and Giselle arrived with her usual flair, dropping her weekender bag dramatically in the hallway. Her boyfriend trailed behind, carrying a cake and visibly regretting not wearing thicker socks.

Giselle’s gaze found Y/n almost immediately.

“Wow. You’re the girlfriend?”

Y/n offered a polite smile. “Yes. I think that’s me.”

“You look like someone who gets invited to the cool rooftop parties and never shows up.” Her tone wasn’t exactly mocking — more amused, a little intrigued. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Y/n said, eyes steady. “I do get those invites.”

From the living room, someone called out, “Stop crowding the hallway!”

Soobin appeared then, towel slung over his shoulder like he’d just helped clean something — tall, soft-eyed, and entirely too charming for his own good.

He gave Jimin a quick hug before turning toward Y/n. “And you must be the famous girlfriend.”

Y/n shook his hand, noticing the dimpled smile right away. “Famous really?”

"Well it's been only a week since Jimin told aunt Taeyeon and she kept talking about you. Anyway, I’m Soobin. Jimin’s cousin — sadly still single, in case that wasn’t obvious.” He winked.

Jimin groaned. “Can you not.”

Mrs. Yu popped her head in from the kitchen, apron tied around her waist. “Everyone’s here? Good. Come help me set the soup, please!”

Y/n was about to follow, but Soobin cut in again. “You cook too?”

“I try,” she said.

“She does,” Jimin mumbled, grabbing the stack of bowls. “She’s basically Miss Perfect.” She says trying to show that she knew her–fake–girlfriend.

“Wow,” Giselle said under her breath, exchanging a look with Wonyoung. “So that’s new.”

Wonyoung smiled tightly. “Can’t wait to hear that story.”

And just like that, Y/n felt it — not hostility, not even dislike. Just curiosity. A little skepticism. Like they were all trying to figure out where she fit in the picture. If she was just a visitor in Jimin’s life — or something more.

Jimin passed her a bowl and gave her a look.

“You okay?”

Y/n nodded, quietly. “Yeah. It’s just… a lot.”

Jimin paused, then added, “It always is. But they’ll get used to you.”

-

The dinner had been… surprisingly pleasant. Y/n couldn’t deny it. The food had been delicious, and as much as she tried to stay neutral, she found herself laughing with Wonyoung and Giselle more than she’d expected. They’d shared funny anecdotes about Jimin’s childhood, embarrassing family moments that made her realize how normal Jimin’s life was outside of the walls of college, outside the walls they’d built up around each other.

Y/n had laughed, genuinely. It felt so… human. Like they were showing her parts of Jimin that she’d never even considered before. She found herself liking it, maybe too much.

But Jimin had been quiet through it all, picking at her food, her eyes darting between Y/n and the rest of the room. It was subtle, but it didn’t go unnoticed. Every time Y/n made a joke or spoke a little too easily with her cousins, Jimin’s smile seemed to falter, just for a split second.

It was like she didn’t want Y/n to get too comfortable. To become too familiar with her family.

To cross a line.

Home.

Y/n thought about that word as she sipped her drink, the weight of it settling in her chest. It wasn’t just where they were sitting right now, under laughter ringing in the background. It was the way Jimin’s face had softened just a little when talking about her mom earlier. Or how her brother, Sunghoon, had cracked a stupid joke and Jimin had genuinely laughed — not the sarcastic kind, but the real one that reached her eyes.

For a second, Y/n let herself consider it — maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I really fit in here. If I could stay a little longer, get used to them…

But then she glanced over at Jimin, who was still sitting at the edge of the table, half turned away from the conversation, looking like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite get the words out. The shift in her mood was palpable.

She didn’t want her to get close. That was obvious.

Maybe she didn’t want Y/n the warmth of home — it was too real. Too personal. And the thought of someone else, especially someone like Y/n, having access to it? That was too much for Jimin to handle right now.

Still, as Y/n looked across the table at her, she realized something else, too. Maybe Jimin wasn’t as cold as I thought. Maybe, just maybe, she didn’t hate the idea of being trusted with someone.

-

Y/n lay awake in Jimin’s old room, the one of her childhood — memories frozen in time. After a long and tiring Christmas dinner with Jimin’s family, everyone had finally retreated to their rooms. But something about the stillness in the air, the way everything seemed to breathe a different kind of quiet here, kept Y/n wide awake.

Her eyes wandered around the room, taking in the familiar yet unfamiliar sight. It was cozy, yet clearly a room from another time. There was a mix of things: an old, dusty teddy bear tucked in the corner, a few scattered school trophies on the shelf, and colorful plush pillows that had been there since Jimin’s middle school days. Her room, untouched by time, told the story of someone trying to hold onto childhood, even in the face of growing up.

Y/n rolled over and glanced at the photos hanging on the walls. There were a few frames of young Jimin, her face so different from the confident, polished woman Y/n had come to know. Here, Jimin was just a girl — a middle schooler, awkward and shy, posing for the camera with her family and friends, her eyes shining with innocence. There were pictures of her grinning with friends Y/n would probably never meet.

The one that caught Y/n’s attention the most was a picture of a much younger Jimin, standing beside a smiling boy who looked remarkably like her brother, Sunghoon. The two were at what appeared to be a family picnic, both holding ice cream cones. Jimin’s smile was wide, carefree — a stark contrast to the guarded look she wore now. Her eyes softened as she studied the picture.

She had never considered Jimin as someone with a life before everything — before the fierce exterior, before the social circle and the reputation. She wondered, briefly, what had shaped Jimin into the person she was now. Who was she before all of the expectations? Before her family’s high standards and the pressure of being in the spotlight?

Y/n reached up and gently traced the edge of one of the frames, her thoughts drifting to how little she actually knew about Jimin’s past. She felt a small pang of guilt, realizing how little she had ever really cared to know. She had always seen Jimin as a barrier, a target of her own insecurities and fears. She had never stopped to consider what Jimin had been through to become the person she was today.

The silence in the room grew thicker, and the weight of everything they had both been pretending began to settle over Y/n’s chest.

Suddenly, Jimin’s voice cut through her thoughts as she opened the door coming back from shower.

“You’re still up?”

Y/n snapped out of her thoughts, looking over at the doorway where Jimin stood, her face partially obscured by the dim light from the hallway. She was wearing a loose shirt and pajama pants, her hair slightly messy as she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“Yeah,” Y/n replied softly, her voice betraying a hint of surprise. “Just… looking around.”

Jimin walked into the room and sat down on the edge of her bed, glancing at the photos the cheerleader had been looking at. “I see you found my middle school pictures,”

Y/n gave a faint nod, feeling awkward for lingering over something so personal. “You were… really different.” Her voice was quiet, as if not wanting to intrude too much.

Jimin let out a small, dry laugh. “I guess. People change.”

Y/n paused for a moment, unsure whether to ask the next question. But her curiosity got the best of her. “Do you ever miss it? The… before?”

Jimin’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, her fingers tracing the edge of her blanket. There was a long pause before she answered, her tone surprisingly soft. “Sometimes,” she admitted quietly. “But I think I had to grow up too fast. I didn’t really have a choice. My mom… she wanted me to be perfect, and I guess… I tried.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. Y/n wasn’t sure what to say, not sure if she was crossing a line or not. But the vulnerability in Jimin’s voice felt different from anything she had ever heard from her.

“I think your mom wanted you to be happy, to build your future so you could be happy. She must have done it wrong.... It's a lot.” Y/n finally said, her voice quieter than before.

Jimin shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “It is what it is. You can’t change the past.”

They both sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation lingering in the room like an unspoken truth. It was the first time they had really opened up to each other, even if just a little. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

After a few more minutes of quiet, the two of them, still sitting in the dimly lit room, began to realize just how awkward the situation was.

Jimin shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting to the bed, and then to Y/n, before finally settling on the door as if it might suddenly offer an escape. But of course, there was no escaping the reality of the room. There was one bed. And they were both stuck here for the night.

Y/n, sensing the tension, turned to look at Jimin. Her gaze met Jimin’s for a split second before both of them awkwardly glanced away. It was strange, they were forced into an entirely new situation. They had been at each other’s throats for so long, but now, it felt like the walls were starting to crack.

“Uh,” Y/n began, breaking the silence with an awkward laugh. “I guess we’re supposed to… sleep here?”

Jimin, her arms crossed tightly in front of her, didn’t seem thrilled about the prospect. “Yeah, looks like it,” she muttered, eyes narrowing as she looked at the bed, as though it had personally offended her.

Y/n glanced at the single bed again, then back at Jimin. A thought occurred to her. “So… how do you usually do this? I mean, not like… ‘this’—but… you know…”

“Well,” Jimin started, her voice almost hesitant, “my family thinks we are a couple, one bed is actually normal…” She let out a deep breath, clearly at a loss for words. “This is beyond the usual.”

Y/n bit her lip, her mind racing for a solution. They couldn’t exactly sleep side by side in the same bed. That would be far too strange. The thought made her skin crawl a little, and she saw that Jimin was just as uncomfortable as she was. The idea of sharing such a small space for the night—close quarters like this—seemed impossible for two people who barely tolerated each other.

“Wait!” Y/n suddenly exclaimed, the idea coming to her as she looked around the room. “Pillows.”

Jimin blinked at her. “What?”

“No, hear me out,” Y/N said, her voice gaining confidence as she scanned the room. “We can make a pillow barrier, a—uh—‘fortress’ between us. We’ll each have our own side of the bed, and it’ll be like an invisible wall.” She motioned to the pillows on the bed and around the room.

Jimin paused, staring at her like she’d just suggested something absurd. “A pillow fortress?”

Y/n grinned. “Yeah, it’s genius, right? Just a row of pillows between us, and we’ll have our own little spaces. It’ll work.”

Jimin rolled her eyes but finally relented. “Fine. Let’s build your… fortress.”

Y/n wasted no time. She started pulling pillows from the bed and stacking them between them, creating a makeshift barrier down the middle. Jimin watched her for a second before grabbing the remaining pillows and joining in, her usual sarcasm temporarily forgotten.

When they were done, they stepped back and admired their work. The fortress of pillows between them was not exactly elegant, but it served its purpose—each side was now officially off-limits.

“Well,” Jimin said after a moment of silence, raising an eyebrow. “At least now I have some distance from you. It’s like a little… wall of peace.”

Y/N leaned back against her side of the bed, satisfied. “Exactly. Now we can both sleep peacefully without worrying about invading each other’s space.”

There was a pause. Then, a soft, unexpected chuckle escaped from Jimin. “This is ridiculous.”

Y/n grinned, unable to help herself. “It works, though.”

Jimin shook her head, though a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I don’t even want to know how long you’ve been plotting this.”

Y/n laughed. “You have no idea.”

And for the first time since they had started this whole fake dating charade, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, even if just for a moment. The fortress was still silly, still an odd solution to an odd problem, but it somehow brought a sense of lightness that neither of them had expected.

As they lay there in the dim room, the pillow wall between them, they both found it a little easier to breathe.

-

The apartment door clicked shut behind them, the hum of Seoul’s city noise instantly muffled. The silence between them wasn’t comfortable. It was tense, like a storm waiting to break.

Jimin kicked off her shoes and dropped her bag by the door, heading straight for the kitchen without saying a word. Y/n followed, arms crossed, scowl already forming on her face.

“Where's Heeseung?" Y/n asked earning only a small shrug from Jimin. "So, are you gonna tell me what your problem is?” she snapped.

Jimin scoffed as she opened the fridge, staring inside like it had answers. “My problem? You’re really asking me that?”

“Yeah, I am. You’ve been acting like a brat ever since we got off the car.”

Jimin shut the fridge a little too hard and turned around. “Because my mom wants to invite you to her spring birthday lunch. Because Wonyoung asked if you’d come for Chuseok. Because suddenly everyone loves you, Y/n.”

Y/n blinked. “Okay, and?”

“And now I have to explain why my so-called girlfriend disappears before my mom can start sewing you into the family tree.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault that your entire family likes me?” Y/n said, voice rising. “You dragged me into this lie and now you’re mad that it worked well?”

Jimin’s jaw tensed. “It was supposed to be a week. A performance. You were supposed to be a cold and indifferent cheer brat—like you usually are."

“Well, sorry for having manners,” Y/n bit back. “Maybe your family’s just desperate to see you with someone who isn’t a Tinder hookup.”

Jimin’s face snapped toward her. “Watch it.”

“No, you watch it. I helped you. I played the role. I met your weird aunt and sat through your cousin’s playlist of EXO dance covers. You’re mad because your lie worked too well.”

Jimin paced, dragging her hands through her hair. She wasn’t yelling anymore—she was spiraling. “They’re already talking about summer. Asking when I’m gonna bring you again. My mom was glowing.”

Y/n leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. “Then tell her we broke up.”

Jimin froze.

Y/n raised a brow. “Simple solution, no?”

“Yeah. Except she’ll want to know why. And how. And when. And then she’ll cry and say it’s because I don’t try hard enough with people and that I ruin everything.”

Silence.

Y/n let out a slow exhale. “Okay. So… what now?”

Jimin hesitated, then sighed. “We fake it a little longer.”

Y/n blinked. “How much longer?”

“Until May.”

“May!?”

Jimin shrugged, already sounding resigned. “That’s when your cheer nationals are, right? It makes sense. We break up after—‘distance’, ‘conflicting schedules’, whatever. Clean timeline.”

Y/n stared at her, baffled. “You really thought this through.”

“No, I’m thinking it through now, because my mom just texted me again asking what your favorite color is.”

Y/n stared. “What is wrong with her?”

“She’s a hopeless romantic. She thinks you’re the one.”

Y/n dragged a hand down her face. “Fine. We fake date until May. But you’re driving me to every practice and buying my coffee. Non-negotiable.”

Jimin rolled her eyes. “Deal. But you’re texting my mom on my behalf until she stops sending me couple bracelets on Instagram.”

They locked eyes, and for a split second, something like amusement flickered between them. But it passed as fast as it came.

The war was still on.

Only now… it had a timeline.

Jimin reached for her phone, already typing a reply to her mom, something about Y/n loving the color navy blue and tulips. Y/n watched her from the kitchen doorway, still not quite sure how the hell this became her life.

“This is so dumb,” she muttered.

Jimin didn’t look up. “You agreed.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t complain about it.”

They locked eyes again, this time without yelling, just the sharp simmer of something complicated brewing beneath the surface.

“Just survive until May,” Jimin said, voice flat.

Y/n nodded, grabbing her bag again and heading toward the spare room. “Easy,” she muttered under her breath.

Neither of them believed that.

-

[vyyper]

sugar-sweet smile

(or, sunday and his culinary troubles.)

genre: fluff, wc: 1.6k (...more than intended coughs can you tell i love him)

lace banners by @strangergraphics !

sunday doesn't know how to cook.

being raised in the environment that he was, it was never seen as needed by his adoptive father. being raised to take such a powerful position, with all the oak family's wealth and power, why would it ever be necessary? for most of his life, he had chefs prepare his meals. he'd eat them gratefully, and enjoy the flavors. of course, none of them could ever compare to your cooking.

his own, though? it leaves...much to be desired. he remembers the one time he tried something other than sandwiches, trying a filling and delicious seeming recipe to help get you up on your feet after being so sick for a while. unfortunately, something didn't go quite right. when he had lovingly handed you a tray in bed with a warm mug and a sandwich paired together, he watched your expression twist in displeasure at the taste. he felt awful, you having the taste of sickness in your mouth for so long, only to keep having unpleasant sensations invading your mouth.

to your credit, you tried to brush it off. being off guard from your sickness is probably what led to your face slipping so easily in the first place. but he knew, and his heart shattered just a tiny bit.

(it repaired itself, of course, when you waved him off and told him not to worry and kissed his cheek. he almost scolded you about the germs, but he missed the sensation so much he couldn't even bring himself to say the words. at least you finished your sandwich.)

sunday doesn't know how to cook. but sunday does know that he loves you, with his whole being. so he searches through your own recipes, reading your careful handwriting, what makes your lovingly crafted dishes so good, in your own words. he lets out a fond sigh when he sees the smiley face written next to the title: 'heart shaped sugar cookies'. it's in a different pen color than the rest of the recipe, this face, and he wonders if this addition came about when you started seeing him. you bake these fairly often, as if sharing the deepest parts of your heart through soft whispers and shared moments isn't enough, that you must give more to him. he's determined to give pieces of his own back to you. besides, maybe baking is more his style?

the directions are simple enough. he's a bit intimidated at this new task, but he's had his fair share of venturing the unknown by now, especially when it comes to you. so he pulls out the supplies and puts on your apron, rolling his eyes fondly at the 'kiss the cook' embroidered in cursive on it.

(you'd pushed a blank white apron to him when you found out he knew how to do embroidery, a skill he'd picked up out of obsessing over having perfect outfits. grinned widely at him when you asked that he add those words. he'd blushed a bit more than he'd have liked to, but he did it anyway, and you still give him that same playful grin whenever you put it on. wearing something of yours feels like home, as the garment reminds him of the domestic moments.)

so he gets to work, music playing softly in the background as he works. he hopes that you'll be pleasantly surprised, even if you've had this recipe plenty of times. by the time the cookies are in the oven and the frosting's made, the kitchen is in an... undesirable state. but no matter, he'll clean it. he does this often, returning the favor by cleaning the messes you make when you cook, though he still feels it's not enough to make it up to you. cleaning is something he easily gets absorbed in, wanting to be as organized as possible, and he gets so wrapped up in it and listening to the soft songs that he doesn't even realize the timer he set went off...until he smells burning.

panicking, he takes the cookies out of the oven...if you can even call them such. they've melted into one giant mess— is there not enough of something? too much of something?— and the edges are burnt. thankfully he caught on early, or they could have been burnt a lot worse. panic sets in, though. you'll be back any minute now and the smell of burning is all around and he has this mess on his hands—

"sunday!" you call from the hallway. oh, gods. "i'm back—" your words are cut off when you look in the kitchen and sniff the air. his wings curl around his face slightly, unable to hide his embarrassment. he still greets you so sweetly, as always.

"welcome home, dear." he says sheepishly.

"what...what happened here?" you ask, trying to hide your amusement. you'd hate to embarrass him further, and you're touched by whatever gesture he was planning, but it's so endearing to see him flustered over some food.

he smiles slightly at your question, as if recalling the fond emotions behind his reasoning. "i wanted to surprise you with that cookie recipe you're always using... suffice to say, it didn't go as well as i hoped it would." he sighs. "i'm sorry for making a mess, and wasting your baking supplies...i don't know why i thought—"

you break a piece off, take a bite, and grin at him. "these are great," you chirp, to his shock and dismay.

"you don't need to be dishonest to spare my feelings," he huffs, a bit amusedly.

"i'm not. wanna know why they're so good?" you ask him, making your way to his side.

"why?" he asks, confused. the problems are clear and ugly. even if he were to put the frosting on, he's not sure they'd be any better, perhaps even worse. how could you ever love something so flawed?

"because you made them. you made them because you're sweet,"— you pause with a wide smile at the pun. eyes flicking with victory when you manage to get an exasperated snicker out of him, right wing twitching— "and you made them with love. best taste in the world. thank you," you smile, no fake grin to spare his feelings, but genuine love in your eyes, even with all the flaws.

"let me help you next time, okay?" you add, elbowing him slightly. despite the tease, he brightens at this. "that sounds lovely. thank you," he nods. he feels the fluttering of his heartbeat in his chest when you give his shoulder a gentle squeeze before leaning in to give him a quick peck on the lips, and as brief as it is, he can clearly taste the love. burnt sugar and overwhelming adoration.

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sunday can't cook. or bake.

but he wants to try, especially if it means quality time with you.

"here, this is how you separate the eggs," you guide, as he follows with a nod. he gets back to the frosting— it was too sweet when he made those cookies, but he's determined to get it right this time. you slide over with a spoon and give it a taste, perking up after. "oh, that's good," you beam, and he lets himself feel proud for just a moment.

"i can show you how to frost the cake nicely, too. i think you'd like doing that."

"well, i can't burn anything doing that, so it works for me," he chuckles, going to stand next to you, leaning against the counter.

"nope, but you have to be careful," you hum, putting the tray in the oven. "that's not something i thought i'd hear from you" he muses. usually you try to help him with being overly worried, with his endless caution.

minutes pass by, songs softly sung as you wait for the results of your efforts in your shared kitchen. you teach sunday how to frost, and you were right, he enjoys it. the task puts a smile on his face as he does the work delicately, the carefulness being something he enjoys. whether it's playing a soft tune on the piano, fixing up a hole in your shirt with careful threads, or rubbing your tired shoulders after a long day, sunday enjoys being gentle. and as he cuts you a piece, giving it to you selflessly before taking his own, you can taste the tenderness in every bit of the frosting, the slightly messy rosette on your slice reminding you of the real roses he buys you once a week. he's no professional, and neither are you, but he did wonderfully for a beginner. the hints of an amatuer to their appearance gives it an extra charm, even. you'll have to ask him to frost another cake sometime.

"i was wondering," he starts, "why you wanted to make such an intricate desert..." he trails off, realizing he may come across as annoyed. "not to say i disliked it, of course. you know i adore any time spent with you, but i was wondering why you felt like putting in all of this effort over, say, some cookies? today isn't a special day."

you grin. "you know how cookies went last time you tried your hand at them." wings curl. "i'm just teasing you," you add, wiping stray frosting away from his cheek before giving the spot a playful flick, laughing when his expression is one of displeasure at first, before it melts into pure affection. "do you live to trouble me?" he asks, with the least troubled tone in the world.

you won't say it now, but he was sort of right. today isn't a special day, at least not currently. you consider correcting him, as he takes another bite and his golden eyes light with contentment. but you decide to hold off, wanting to hear the sweet song of his voice a little longer. after all, the small, velvet-lined box you have hidden carefully in your nightstand will surely stun him into silence.

a/n: making sunday do the frosting because admittedly i am horrible at it 😞 i can bake well enough but don't expect me to make it look super pretty...i really do think he'd like it though. also you can tell i had no clue what to title this lol

[paperultra]

back of house.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1,113 words Warnings: Mild swearing

If it weren’t for his principles regarding women, you’re fairly certain Sanji would’ve throttled and strung you up to dry by now.

“I … I’m impressed, sweetheart,” he says with a bright smile, though under the swinging lights of the kitchen it seems more out of pain than pleasure. “You managed to burn water.”

Your cheeks flame as you peer into the blackened pot with him, all traces of the water you’d been tasked with boiling completely gone. Vanished. You have no idea how or why.

“I’m sorry, Sanji.”

“No need to apologize. Everybody makes mistakes –”

“Sanji!” you hear Zeff before you see him round the corner. “Why the hell do I smell something burning in my kitchen?”

“None of your business, old man,” Sanji snaps immediately, murmuring a quiet excuse me, dear to you before taking the pot by the handle and heading to the sink. He twists the faucet open and running water roars like thunder in your ears as he thrusts the pot underneath. “I have it under control.”

“Under control, eh?" Zeff says. He suddenly turns his squinted gaze upon you, and you shrivel. “This your doing, missy?”

“I –”

“Leave her alone,” Sanji interrupts. “I didn’t give clear enough instructions. It was my fault.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that.” Eyeing your guilty and defeated figure next to the stove, Zeff shakes his head with a sigh and points you to the door. “[Y/n], go out and wait tables for the rest of your shift.”

Immediately, you make a move to remove your apron. “Oka –”

Sanji makes a noise of dissent and turns the faucet off. “Wait tables? She can still chop the vegetables and help me plate.”

“You’ll do that yourself. Front of house needs the extra person, anyway.”

“I’m her mentor.”

“And I’m the damn boss.”

The rest of the staff roll their eyes and carry on while the two men argue in the middle of the kitchen. You swallow and take your apron off, balling it up in your hands. This isn’t the first time they’ve butted heads over your incompetence, and watching them now cuts at your last shred of dignity.

Clearing your throat, you grimace when Sanji’s head whips around to look at you.

“Zeff’s right,” you tell him. “Dinner rush is coming up soon and I’ll just be in the way, anyway.”

Zeff grunts with satisfaction.

The expression on Sanji’s face reminds you of a kicked puppy. “But …” he begins to protest.

“Oi, you heard what she said. Get back to work! We have customers waiting!”

Sanji blusters about before heading back to his station, casting you one final, forlorn look as he does so. You imagine that your own face looks just the same when you turn to leave.

—

You take orders and serve customers for the remainder of the day, as promised, and help with cleanup after closing time. And then, long after the sun’s dipped below the horizon, Sanji joins you on the upper deck with a steaming bowl of seafood fried rice.

“For the madam,” he says with a smile, offering you the bowl.

You accept it silently and take a bite as he sits down next to you. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach. You’ve never known a home quite like Sanji’s cooking.

His eyes remain fixed on you as you eat all of the rice, scraping the bowl for every last grain and setting it down beside you once you’re finished.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. I figured it would cheer you up.”

“It did.”

It did, and yet, your lips tremble and your throat closes up. You clench your hands into fists in your lap.

Sanji’s hand immediately presses your shoulder as you sniffle. “Are you alright?” he questions worriedly.

(His attentiveness strikes you like a hot iron sometimes, even now.)

“Why haven’t you given up on me yet?” you whisper.

His brow furrows. As if it’s obvious, he answers, “You want to be a cook. A lady’s wish is my command.” Sanji pauses. “And I can’t call myself the greatest cook in the East Blue if I can’t teach others to be great cooks as well.”

“I think you’d be the greatest regardless.”

You glance at him through watery eyes in time to see his face flush a deep red. He looks away hastily, chuckling with feigned modesty. “I’m flattered that you think so highly of me.”

Your shoulders lift in a shrug as you look back down at your hands. You reach up to blot away your tears.

How could you not think the world of Sanji? Or the world of anyone at the Baratie, for that matter? When you were kicked off the merchant ship you’d stowed away on two years ago, you had been sure that you’d be banned from setting foot in such a fine-looking restaurant. Years of scorn and slammed doors had not given you the chance to think otherwise.

But Sanji spotted you on the docks, called you madam like you really were one, cooked you a meal in the kitchen and talked to you. Zeff gave you a job and a bed of your own. The staff gave you a family.

“We’ll try again tomorrow. I’ll figure out something that’ll make everything click for you, and you’ll be a proper cook in no time.” Sanji leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and winks up at you. “I promise.”

As always, your heart skips a beat.

“Okay.”

Maybe, you realize suddenly, you don’t necessarily want to be a cook so much as you want to love the way Sanji does.

“That’s my girl.” Standing up, Sanji takes your empty bowl in one hand and offers the other for you to take. “Now, shall I walk the madam to her room, or does she wish to stay out on the deck for a while?”

You allow yourself to grin, considering. “The madam wishes to stay out here and …” you hesitate but then decide to soldier on, “and possibly chat with a dear friend for a few more minutes?”

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

Sanji’s eyes widen a bit. Then he blinks, and then he smiles, drawing his hand back and quickly sitting down next to you once more.

“A lady’s wish is my command,” he says.

He takes out a cigarette, making a quip about Patty while he lights it, and your combined laughter rings out across the Baratie. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach.

Indeed, this is home.

[ihaznoclue]

Shadow fluff please I can’t do any more angst things today!!! I love your work🫶🏻you can ignore this

Hehe I know that feeling but fear not I have Fluff for you!

Pairings -> Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader

Warnings -> None

Note -> Reader cooking a nice meal and Shadow wants to taste test it

Genre -> Fluff

Shadow the Hedgehog

It was a chill evening, it was time for some dinner but you wanted to try something different this time

During the day you were searching up some meals that you could cook for tonight since you didn't really have a single clue on what to make

But finally you found a dish that looked really good to make and you hoped that Shadow was going to like it

You and Shadow have been living together, well it first started with you but then Shadow came around and you decided to take him in

Right now, you were in the kitchen getting everything you need to make this wonderful dish you found off the internet

Shadow was simply in your room, reading a book if you remembered. This dish was like a soup type, meaning that you had to get the taste just right

You were in the middle of the soup cooking, slightly boiling on low medium heat with the pan lid on to keep the heat trapped, you added some stuff in the soup as well

"What are you making?" A voice called out from behind you

You jumped a little as you wacked Shadow on the head with a spoon which caused him to jump and curl into a little ball, his quills sticking everywhere

"Oh Shadow I am so sorry, you scared me!" You put the spoon on the table beside you and you kneeled down, slightly petting him which caused him to come out

You smiled "I'm making a soup I found on the internet" You said, Shadow's ear flicked and then he started sniffing

"It does smell delicious" Shadow spoke as his nose wiggled which caused you to chuckled

"Wanna try a bit? See if you like it?" You asked as you grabbed the spoon, opening the lid off the pan making the steam go out, being carefully not to burn yourself

Scooping up some of the soup with some of the other stuff you put in as well to give it more flavour, you then blew on it making the steam go the other way

Then bending down for Shadow to take the spoonful of soup to try it, he sniffed it again and opened his mouth

He began to chew, taking in the flavour and the aroma, his eyes dilated a bit as he seemed to like it

You waited "So? Do you like it?" You asked him as he quickly nodded which caused you to laugh

"Well You're in luck, the soup is finished so I'll dish up your bowl and then you can eat it more" You said as you turned off the heat, stirring the soup a bit then putting some in the bowl for Shadow as you gave it to him

He thanked you and he grabbed himself a spoon and started to eat it quickly

"Woah slow down, you can have much as you like, there is plenty more when you're finished"

You were just glad that Shadow liked it

Okay I've did Hospitality for one year and I'm doing it for another year but I have my certificate and the soup that I made which I can't remember what it's called but It was soo good!

-A<3

[daenysx]

lovely Hii

Can i get poly!marauders x fem reader where maybe she has been exhausted and busy lately and maybe they’re giving her some space cause they dont know if she wants affection now but she sees them all lovey dovey with eachother all the time and she feels sad cause she wants to join but feels too shy to ask so she tries to discreetly slip back and one of them notices?

Im sorry if that is a bunch of gibberish but i have been awake for over a day now and my brain is fried (i hate uni)

thank you for requesting, i hope you enjoy <333

(comments are always appreciated and i literally need to see what you think to keep writing, angels. of course i can't force you to send me anything but it would be amazing if you take two seconds to tell me what you think. it's not always easy to keep doing something without getting any feedback about it ♡)

poly!marauders x fem!reader

the relationship between james and remus has always been somewhat chaotic.

they have huge chemistry, maybe something like opposites attract situation. remus is calm when james is bubbling with excitement, remus loves with silent kisses when james loses his breath as he makes love, remus likes rationality when james swims deep in his emotions.

you watch them flirt as they sit on the couch. you're at the table across them in the living room, staring at your laptop screen with exhausted eyes. it probably would be easier to complete what you've been writing if you could have more energy, but sadly you sit all tense and cold at your place. your arms get the chills, you avoid looking at your lovers.

if you leave the table to join them, james and remus would welcome you with open arms. the mere thought of james's lips against your forehead and remus's fingers rubbing your neck makes you want to cry loudly. it's just torturing yourself, but you don't think you're strong enough to ask for love. you need to get this done. you need to think about the classes you gotta pass.

james kisses a line on his boyfriend's cheek, so warm, remus practically loses his mind. "where's sirius?" james asks, remembering sirius leave for the kitchen minutes ago. "is he burning up our kitchen, do you think?"

"we would've notice."

"no, we wouldn't." james whispers. "you're too damn distracting."

remus melts. autumn always brings starvation for touch and loving, two things james is the best at giving. he looks at your way briefly, your droopy eyes worry him.

"she seems so tired." remus says, his lips kiss james's knuckles mindlessly. "should we say something to make her give a break?"

"she said the essay has a deadline, moons." james answers. "i mean, she clearly needs a break, but i'm not sure if we should interrupt her."

it's hard to decide because you get nervous with breaks sometimes. you complain about not controlling the time good enough when you're spending your free minutes with them and being unable to finish stuff at time. you say most of this teasingly, but the boys know there's always some truth in it.

sirius walks into the room with a big mug in his hands. he carries it carefully to your table. james and remus watch the scene, their hands together and legs tangled.

"here it is." sirius puts the mug on the table. "a perfect cup of hot chocolate for my gorgeous girl."

you look at him with the widest eyes. you can't cry. fuck, he's so sweet. he smiles, he looks so handsome with his old t-shirt and messed up hair. you close your laptop, curve your lips to stop yourself from crying.

"this is so nice, siri." you say to him, unshed tears clog your throat. "thank you."

"um- can i get a kiss? i spend fifteen minutes for this."

you nod with a smile, he leans down for you. you only mean to kiss his cheek, but he smells so good and he's so kind- your hand shakes as it touches his shoulder. it doesn't take sirius long to understand what's going on. he manages to hug you before you start crying.

"oh, baby, no-" he says with a sad voice. he attempts to make a joke. "you can't cry for hot chocolate- i'm sure it doesn't even taste that good."

james and remus sit straight with worry. "dove?" remus leaves the couch. "what's wrong?"

"are you okay?"

you nod, they probably won't believe it. you hold onto sirius, he lifts you up from the chair. it's a proper hug now, your skin tingles with the sensation. it feels so good to be touched.

"it's okay." sirius kisses your head. "you're just overwhelmed. you're okay."

you keep your head on sirius's chest. he's warm and his arms are strong, he supports your body to help you stay on your feet. remus brings his hand on your waist, his thumb gently draws a circle.

"can we go to bed?" you ask. separating yourself from sirius is hard, but it's harder to stay vertical. james extends a hand to you, you hold it greedily. they are all thinking the same thing, you'll calm down but you need to feel safe enough with your surroundings to do that. even though they'd like to keep you stuck in their arms, this might not be the best idea.

the bed is cold. it will pass in a few minutes. remus takes you under the blanket, james adjusts the pillows. sirius has a wrinkle between his eyebrows, he gets behind you on bed and wraps his arm around your shoulder. you sniffle softly, suddenly embarrassed by all the attention.

"sorry." you offer, your voice sounds sincerely sorry. "i don't know what came over me."

"i think we should be sorry." remus says. "jamie and i were talking about whether we should tell you to take a break but- we didn't wanna distract you. we should've distract you."

"it's not your fault that i can't manage my time doing stuff i've been doing for years." you say, weakly. "i'm just sick of being tired. i guess i- missed you."

sirius gives you a generous kiss on the side of your head. "you can jump on us any time you want, you know that, gorgeous."

"i think my head doesn't work like that when i'm exhausted."

"it doesn't have to." james says. his voice is like honey. "you don't have to ask for anything. we should be giving you everything before you even have to ask."

"he's right." remus agrees. "it should be like this for all of us, i think."

you nod. your eyes have a grateful look in them, they are undeniably tired, but still pretty to your boys. the bed is warmer. you force yourself to stop counting down the minutes for deadlines. james puts his head on your chest, hugs you as your back touches the bed, his arms are tight around you like you'll run away.

it's good to be touched. it's amazing to have contact with their hands, safe and secure, you can do anything you want if you always feel like this. remus kisses your fingers. his eyes are gentle. they are all so gentle, kind with you, you feel like you'll never break as long as you have them.

sirius's kisses help you fall asleep at the end. he's always bold with his affections, this time he manages to be softer with his lips and more tender with his hands. long fingers in your hair, chapped lips on your skin. he whispers how much he adores you, the tone of his voice hits your mind so well. you are okay. you think you'll be okay, and that's a nice beginning to get things done.

[rowdydevs]

Jerk - Rafe Cameron Blurb

+18 Minor DNI

Perv!Rafe x Sbf!Reader

⭐ republished ⭐

+18 Minor DNI

🪄 Warnings (contains spoilers): Rafe jacking off while the reader sleeps, cum play includes reader, language, non-consensual touching, idk pervert things

📖 based off an ask: Perv rafe jerking off while reader sleeps 🥺

✨ “Hey, sweetheart. Long time no see,” I smile, feeling my cheeks burn in embarrassment as my voice cracks with nervousness. The boys fight their laughter, giving me obnoxious looks, tormenting me further.✨

1k

Rafe’s POV:

You’re going to kill me, sweetheart. I watch as she saunters into the kitchen in her pink silky pajamas with low-cut sides and high-cut bottoms. The curve of her breast peeks through the side. She reaches up high, grabbing a glass, causing the silk to slip up. Just a taste.

Fuck me.

I can feel myself aching for her. She draws the handle up, filling her glass with water. Her lips look delicious, pink, and pouty. I can’t help but fantasize about how they’d look wrapped around my cock, drool seeping from her lips as she deepthroats my dick. Her eyes flash to mine; I quickly look away, running my fingers through my hair, returning my focus to the boys.

“Welcome back, Cameron,” Topper teases before finishing off his beer. Kelce snickers and shakes his head piling on.

“Fuck off,” I mumble as I crack open a beer for myself, watching her out of the corner of my eye as she makes herself a little snack.

“Yo, stalker. A simple ‘hello’ might work better,” Kelce mocks.

“Shut the fuck up,” I grunt, hurling a throw pillow at him, spilling his beer on his chest.

Kelce looks over my shoulder, smiling as he blots the liquid off his polo meaning only one thing… she’s behind me. Is she going to sit down with me? I scoot over slightly on the couch, giving her space just in case. She looks down at me, smiling as she steps even closer. “Hey, Rafey.”

“Hey, sweetheart. Long time no see,” I smile, feeling my cheeks burn in embarrassment as my voice cracks with nervousness. The boys fight their laughter, giving me obnoxious looks, tormenting me further.

“It’s been so long. It’s good to see you,” she coos.

“Good to see you,” I return, leveling my voice with a smoother delivery. Thank fuckin’ god. “So, what’s up? You come out here to hang out with me or…”

“Oh… umm. Sarah and I are just watchin’ a movie. I needed my charger ‘cause my phone’s gonna die. It’s in my purse.”

“Oh yeah? You need my help finding it?” I ask.

“Well… You’re sitting on it I think?” She gestures to my spot on the couch with a soft, sweet smile, making me bloom with humiliation yet again. Why would she hang out with me when she’s here with Sarah? Stop bein’ a fuckin’ idiot.

The guys can’t contain their laughter anymore, looking at me with exaggerated pity as I stand up, holding the pillow that was covers my hard-on from watching her get water alone. Kelce wheezes with laughter, catching my cover-up. I mouth to the boys to ‘shut the fuck up’, the crazed look in my eyes quieting them quick.

“Sorry about your purse,” I sigh.

“Oh. It’s all good, Rafey,” she smiles as she snags her bag. “It’s nice seeing you. We should catch up or something,” she bubbles, stepping closer for a hug. I give her a half-hug, unable to fully commit in my current state. Fuck she smells so damn good. My palm caresses the curve of her lower back making my cock press even rougher against my zipper. I look down at her in my arms, revving myself up again as I get a look straight down her slinky little tank top, the perfect view of her half-hidden tits. I swear to god I could cum untouched.

Fuck I need her.

She has always been pretty; her image has been seared into my mind since the first time I saw her, and I swear she gets even prettier every time. Even her voice is sexy. I can’t imagine what she sounds like when she speaks that filthy shit I dream she says. I want to make her cum more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my entire fuckin’ life… I want to listen to her scream my name, moan it, chant it like a fuckin’ prayer. Rafe, Rafe, Rafe. I’ve replayed that interaction in the living room all night since she left me. I can’t stop.

I had to kick the boys out early. It wasn’t enough to browse her IG; I needed to study it with my fist wrapped around my dick. I scrolled through her feed, each picture sending me further and further into the depths of my lust. She was only a few doors down, driving me insane. I cleaned up the mess on my phone, dick still hard in my hand like I had done nothing at all.

I needed the real thing.

A delicate light illuminates her skin; that silky tank top lying disheveled now, leaving hardly anything to my imagination, which up to this point has not done her justice. Clearly. She’s flawless. Her hair spills across the pillow, her pouty lips juicy, beautiful eyes shut tightly. Her chest gently rises and falls as she breathes rhythmically, hypnotic motion, so soothing to watch. I want to reach out and touch her wet pussy. Circle her pretty little clit and watch her breathing quicken.

The room is pretty loud still, the steady drone of the ceiling fan, and an old rerun of a reality show playing on the TV. The buzz fills the silence, just enough noise to cover the squelching of my hand pumping my cock through a mess of lube. What I wouldn’t do to have it be her slick, wet cunt bouncing on top of me.

I wrap both hands around my dick, pulling to the tip, biting my lip holding back my moans. My eyes roll to the back of my skull. I fight them open, not wanting to miss the chance to stroke myself this close to her. “Fuckkk princess,” I groan, moving my hands counterclockwise, rubbing my thumb over my tip, catching the precum leaking out. “Mmm… just like that, pretty. So, so fucking wet. Does that feel good?“ I breathe.

She lets out a little breath, knitting her brows cutely. She adjusts slightly, giving me a full view of her breast as one spills out. Without thinking I reach out, dusting the pad of my finger across her nipple, watching as it harden under my touch. She whimpers, goosebumps spreading across her bare arm. I do it again, circling softly this time, making her moan. Holy fucking shit.

I begin thrusting up into my fist, gripping my length, holding back every primal urge to wake her and beg for what I need. What do I need? I’ve only thought about it a million times over. My dick in her pussy. My hands on her throat. My cum flowing out of her tight hole just so I can stuff that shit back in. Fuck I want it all.

My thighs start to quake, cock throbbing, muscles clenching tight. ”I’m almost there...“ I grunt. ”Oh, f-fuck… Ugh… Mmm...“ I look down, watching as my climax spurts and spills onto my fist, pooling around her lace panties I stole when I snuck in. I finish myself off slowly, exhaling sharply as I milk out the last bits of my cum.

I lean over, kissing her forehead and then her lips gently as I slip the panties off my softening dick. I breathe a sigh of relief, finally feeling a release. She’s all I needed. I slide her used panties into my pocket, messy with my cum, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m in heaven. I wanna know what we taste like together. Round three bitch.

I swirl my fingers through what little bit of my cum remains, smudging it along her plump bottom lip. She licks it clean and I swear I can see the corner of her lips curl into a slight smile.

Dirty girl.

[andcars]

🍒 ✦ FUCK YOU LOVED

﹙ 55 ﹚ ─────── how can only you taste the world?

PREMISE " it's not the most conventional way. people who court don't often fuck the object of their affection. carlos was always the exception

RELATIONSHIP(S) " carlos sainz/you TAGS " porn with extreme feelings, non-traditional courting, sweet talking, light dom carlos sainz, bathtub sex, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, open-ending WC " 2.3k

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Love—the burning feeling that’s feasible only when your mouth has dried in the harsh desert. Except, the dessert is actually just beside a McDonald’s this day and age. It doesn’t have to make sense, you think. Love is just… love. People can’t choose who to love, same goes for how. It’s simply a feeling that is passed down from generation to generation.

The flowers sit at your desk, untouched. It’s not real flowers. The touch is plastic and faux, yet it smells just the same as any rose. Low effort love. Love that only shows it exists, doesn’t matter how. You think it’s sweet. Carlos must have just gotten it to you to spice up your grey desk.

When you come home, you know who to expect. It’s like the world revolves around seeing Carlos in your kitchen, cooking you a meal you never asked for. Knowingly, you open the door and greet him. His voice echoes from the kitchen.

“How do you feel about Japanese?” he asks, your bag carelessly thrown on top of the kitchen bar. “I thought that we should try something new.”

Every day with Carlos feels like something new.

“I don’t mind.” You play off your feelings and the looming voice that tells you—You’re only playing with Carlos Sainz’s fucking feelings! Say yes or no, god damn it! To that, you crack open a beer with a nasty sound. Carlos let out a laugh that sounded more like a huff of air.

He asks you, “Rough day?”

“Been rough. I don’t think I can catch a break in my own house.”

Carlos finished cooking—or, you think he has. He turns off the stove and approaches you who sits lonely at a stool. He closes in on you the same way a predator opens its mouth to a bunny. You think his uvulva is shaped like a heart.

The seat beside you doesn’t go occupied, “Should I leave?” asks the predator with the heart-shaped uvulva. “It’s okay if I leave.”

For a second, you think what it would be like if Carlos does leave. You will sit alone in the dining room, eating a meal that isn’t prepared by you, and smelling distinctly of fake flowers you brought home.

And you brought it home because it’s too beautiful to be left alone in such a dull space. It doesn’t deserve to be the only light—it deserves to be complementary to a beautiful room.

“Stay,” you smile at him, unknowing if it was forced. “I think I’m just tired. I don’t really want to be alone tonight.”

Carlos Sainz is a man who will never leave you alone. He’ll love you for the rest of his days, you think. So he takes the meal—Kakuni, accompanied with an egg sliced in half—and places it in front of you. “Aren’t you going to eat?” you ask. He tells you that he ate beforehand, and you’re not sure how much you believe it. He eats at your place after a few insisting arguments.

What would life be with Carlos? It would involve a lot of yearning. Yearning in a way that he needs to leave, go back to his own life, and then you have to see him through the lens of people who don’t know him. Yet, when he comes home, the spell breaks and the sun rises again. You’re enveloped in sunshine and—Jeez, the food tastes so good.

“You like it?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know the answer already.

You joke, because you test the waters, “I could marry you for this dish alone.”

He appreciates it. “If it were only that easy.”

If it were only.

Carlos is not allowed to clean the dishes and the counter. He sits prettily, watching you like he’s your husband. Anyone could walk in right now and think the same. It’s the thought that you two are dating, but you aren’t saying you are, that haunts you. A glass is almost broken at the thought of leading Carlos on.

Still, it doesn’t break. You invite Carlos to your bed, and he knows what you want. No other man would do this for anyone. Carlos is an angel because he does everything for you, and you’re still debating if cariño is a stereotypical nickname to give to a potential Spanish boyfriend. If, if you’re dating, he’d enjoy being called Chili Pepper more because Pepper is a metaphor for dick. 

Both of you lie on your sides. He’s kissing your face because he thinks it’s pretty. He’s devouring your mouth because he thinks every word that comes out of it is pretty. Moans slip between you interchangeably. Two of you melt against each other’s skin as his hands are careful to worship you, skin-to-skin.

“Carlos,” his name sounds distant from your ears. “Carlos—fuck,” his hands made its way to the smooth of your skin. If the two of you don’t stop, you’d think that he will hate the taste of your work-mudded skin. “Hold on, actually,” you pause, he follows, “I’m… a bit dirty. I think I should shower first.”

He smiles. Carlos wraps his arms around your waist and bares his teeth, “I don’t mind. If you think that I wouldn’t like it if I ate you out also, I really wouldn’t mind—”

“Woah there,” you laugh, pushing his chest. “Let’s not get all freaky that quick, okay? I feel sticky, and you should take a bath too. You smell like soy sauce.”

“Mmm,” he presses a kiss on your mouth, “just say I smell delicious enough to eat.”

A light push to his head gets him to snap out of it. Sort of. He’s laughing all the way to the bathroom, and he sets the water just right. Boldly, he watches you undress. Like the Mona Lisa, you are framed in his eyes.

He follows you only after you eye his clothed body. In silence, he understands you (like a lover does). His tanned skin gave a bronze highlight to the pale room. It reflects through the tiles, and your body feels like it's glowing from his beauty. The sun to your moon. The faux rose on a grey desk.

After pouring water on your face—ow, it did catch you off guard—he’s kissing you again. The water bubbles gleefully around you as his kisses turn almost feral. His chest compresses against yours, large hands trapping you on the edge of the tub. He’s kissing you like he hasn’t done so in aeons. He’s kissing you like he has done it for aeons.

His kiss comes to a halt as he moves underneath the shallow water. Carefully, he places you on his lap as your feet go above water. Carlos is proud to have you pressed up against him, only able to keep your eyes fixated on the way water droplets drip down from his hair.

“See something you like?” he asks, a bit cheesy. You splash him with water and he can’t fucking stop smiling.

“I’d like a Carlos who’s doing their job properly,” you tell him. It’s a commander’s prompt and he’s methodically obliging.

A hand comes down to cup your mound. It’s a bit wet and lightly soapy but it circles your clit in gentle strokes. The motion catches you lightly off guard, clenching onto nothing but the water. It’s a bit uncomfortable. So, you reach beneath you to pull the plug.

The sound of the water draining doesn’t drown your moans. He’s pulling you up against the bathtub until your head hits the tiled walls. Firmly, he pushes his thumb on your clit and rubs it in circular motions. Your head lolls to the side, and you accidentally turn the shower head on when you attempt to find grip on something.

His head is drenched. The perfect hair he’s curated sticks to his forehead, and somehow that’s even hotter than anything you’ve seen from it. Carlos has an expression on his face that mirrors yours, in some way. He’s acting like he’s the one being pleasured.

That being said, you can’t leave him alone. Reaching down, you find his cock—hard, ready to go—standing in salute. It thrives in new attention as you stroke it. Carlos adjusts the position so your cunt faces his cock and you reach in front of you to touch him.

“Feels good, mi amor.” You ache, hating that he calls you his love already. “Making me feel so good. I’m going to fuck you so good that you won’t need anything else but me.”

In a better world, that would be true.

A finger pushes inside of you, then another, and another. Carlos is fucking you earnestly in goal to stretch you out. You feel your insides opening to him quite nicely. It’s a nice, familiar feeling now. Carlos being inside you feels just right. It feels almost perfect (and that’s terrifying).

“Do you think you’re ready?” he asks, slow and steady. Consent is fucking hot. “I’m not sure if you can take me yet.”

“Fucking hell, Carlos,” you groan out, finding lewdity in his casual tone. “You… My God—yea, yeah. Just push in. I’ll tell you if I want you to stop.”

Another finger is pushed in, defiantly. You arch your back as he won’t stop rubbing your G-spot in quick flickers. “Sorry, just want to make sure.” He’s not sorry at all. He’s drinking up the way you bite your lips, your eyes stay hard to focus, and pussy quivering around his fingers like it’s a cock.

You don’t want to cum yet and you trash in his arms. He gets the point and pulls away softly, leaving your throbbing, edged pussy behind. It’s practically crying with the lack of his presence.

Thankfully, you don’t need to wait that long. Carlos has you by the hips as he guides you onto his awaiting cock. The stretch is so fucking thick each time. Carlos may seem average in length—from what you can eyeball, anyway—but he’s so fucking thick that it hurts almost everytime he pushes it in. Your toes curl, your body tenses, and you’re wet because you want it inside you so fucking bad.

“Open up for me,” he whispers, your name loose on his tongue and yet so loved, “gonna do so well for me. Just relax your pretty body, amor.”

Trying your best, you lean forward as you cling to his neck. You bury yourself in his shoulders as the new angle makes you push in deeper. The stretch is almost painful but you want it to fucking hurt. You want it to hurt because Carlos Sainz loves you and he’s fucking you right open because he doesn’t want you to be sad. Meanwhile, you enjoy his cock without telling him an ounce of affection.

“There we go,” he murmurs, sweetly and gently into your ear. “So good for me. Pussy so tight, hm? Just want to hold on to me. It’s okay. I have you.”

He really does.

After moments of trying, you take his cock to the hilt. You’re shaking and moaning and he’s fucking you up and down like a toy. Carlos overpowers you in so many ways and you want nothing else but to be on the other end. It’s rewarding. It’s punishing. It’s dizzying because Carlos Sainz is punching into you and splitting you in half.

“Fuck, fuck, Carlos—” you whine, a moan so gutteral vibrating through your body—”so good. Ohmago—... so f- fucking good. Just like that, baby.”

He groans. Your sounds spur him on as his hips meet yours harshly. The lewd melody of your skin slapping echoes through the bathroom tiles, and it jumps back at you at full speed. Your pussy is throbbing to the beat of his thrusts and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind. His back is scratched up with your mark,s and his shoulder slobbered over with drool. You think, loudly, that this is so fucking amazing that you feel like you’re going to die.

Carlos lets out a throaty laugh. “You won’t die, amor,” he breathes out, pausing just to catch you from slipping, “I’m not going to let you.”

You will, still. His cock is deep and you’re trying hard to accomodate the girth. He’s fucking you like a whore and kissing you like a lover. Not one part of you isn’t getting overstimulated with the contrast of his actions. Carlos grasps your hair as your nails dig in sharply to the shape of his back.

It’s not long until you feel it. The coiling in your stomach, the sharp feeling in your core. You need to release unintelligible words from your mouth quicker than you could think. “Yes, yes, yes, yes! Carlos, please. ‘m going to cum. ‘m gonna. Like that—like that—oh God—!”

A little scream dies in your throat as your body convulses. You feel yourself pulse as you cum all over his cock. His thrusts slow down to ease your orgasm. The feeling of it is a guide to the harsh waves flowing through your body.

Carlos pauses, slowly pulling out. His cock is covered in your juices and you’re sat on the edge of his tub, watching him as he strokes himself to completion. His eyes don’t leave you. You’re breathing heavily, watching him pleasure himself only at the sight of you.

It doesn’t take long until he points to the drain beneath you and cums there. Panting leaves his chest moving up and down. Both of you attempt to situate yourselves in the scene you two just made.

“We’re not clean again,” he jokes, a snort leaving you. “How about a proper shower, cariño?”Soon enough, the world is going to be perfect. It’s a few ‘yes’ at a time. Starting from now, is a yes to a proper fucking shower.

@Delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @yourmommyagone22 @nichmeddar @vannylen2144

FOOTNOTE ────── yessir, andi has changed theme once again. keeping the classic red tone but soon rebranding how the entire acc looks. i'm just too busy with my stuff to fully handle it all at once. hope this one was a good read cuz i def found a good playlist to write with this one

[sofiahchan]

Early morning snuggles

𝜗℘ feat. rafayel, xavier, zayne.

genre: fluff, fluff, fluff.

note: I'm sorry for disappearing so suddenly and being so busy, but now I'm back to write more!!

— 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

As the sunrise falls on your face, you can feel a warm presence keeping you in your place. Just like a warm pillow, the first thing you notice is how you can feel something nuzzling over your neck comfortably. It's almost as if it's asking for more of your company.

As you opened your eyes slowly, followed by a yawn, you could feel Rafayel's embrace tightening. Gripping onto your waist, as if you're just a high-prize plushie to him. Even while you're trying to move and push him aside, you could hear his low whines in the morning.

"Noooo," Rafayel complains as he pulls you back into bed. Even as strong as you are, you know this man will always be the stubborn one in the relationship. Not letting his bodyguard be far away from him.

"Rafayel, I need to go." Hearing your reasoning, Rafayel immediately shakes his head in disapproval as he buries his face on your shoulder to rest. Smelling the sweet sensation of the sunny morning, he wakes up next to his own lover. You could even feel the tight squeeze from his embrace, not wanting to let you go anytime soon.

"Rafayel, let me get up, huh?" You felt his head shaking on your shoulders, which meant no, and you knew that if you kept going like this, you would end up staying with him like this until the afternoon or evening. It seemed like he just couldn't get enough of you, always wanting to hold you like this.

“Rafayel…!!” Rafayel’s hands reach your waist, and he starts to tickle you. Meanwhile, you laugh a lot, trying to get away from his grasp. You two start a playful fight, and you won holding his hands making him stop his track of tickles on your waist and look at you.

“That’s not fair.” You whisper while he gives you a sly smile, and his hand approaches your cheeks and caresses them. “Not fair, huh? Well, aren't you cute?” He teases you, whispering close to your ear. You feel his grip loosening a bit.

Turning your head to Rafayel, you tease him back. “So what about getting out of bed? I'll make breakfast.” You see a pout forming on his lips while he hesitantly lets you go away from his arms. Standing up and walking to the kitchen, you can hear footsteps behind you.

Before you could turn your back, you felt a pair of strong arms hug you from behind. Rafayel rested his head on your shoulder and leaned in, kissing your cheek. “Rafayel!” He leans forward, kissing your cheek. “I will help you with breakfast.” After he said that everywhere you walked, he would follow you and cuddle with you, he was just so needy for you.

When you finished eating, Rafayel followed you, and in the end, you ended up cuddling more with him while watching movies on the couch.

— 𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

You wake up before Xavier, and, of course, as always, he is in his deep sleep. All you do is stare at him. He looks beautiful, even while sleeping. With the sunlight through the windows illuminating the room, his face looks pretty calm, which makes you think about how he’s always like that, saving you when you work together, fighting with wanderers, and more.

So you end up reaching out your hand and poking his cheek, but what you couldn’t expect was that, when your finger comes in contact with his cheek, he opens his eyes and grabs your hand. Looking at you, he brings the back of your palm towards his lips and kisses it. You just stare at his face. Oh, if you could wake up every morning with this view...

“Xavier?” Hearing you call his name, he stares at you and then presses your hand against his cheek, His hand slowly caresses yours. “If you wanted to touch my face, you could’ve asked... I wouldn’t decline that.” He says, nuzzling into your palm. You feel your cheeks start burning as you look at him.

“You... Were you pretending to sleep?” Xavier stares at you for a moment and turns his head away, closing his eyes again. You feel his hands slowly pulling you closer to him, and he yawns as he reaches to your waist, pulling you closer.

“I was sleeping until I felt your hand.” He murmurs while looking at you, moving your hand closer to his, softly stroking it, waiting for your response. Your hand starts moving, touching his cheek, and now you are reciprocating the gesture.

“Your hunter reflexes are as sharp as ever.” You can see the corners of Xavier's lips going up as he opens his eyes again, bringing you closer to him, making your face rest on his chest, and wrapping his arms around you. Trying to stare at his face while moving your head, he suddenly rests his chin on top of your head and caresses your back in slow motion with gentle movements.

“Xavier?” You hear him humming as he hugs you tightly, searching for the warmth of your embrace. “That’s comfortable… Can we cuddle a little more, please? We're on our day off today.” He whispers, holding your hand again and putting it on his chest, making you feel his heartbeat.

“Xavieeerrr…” You whined, trying to break away from his grasp, putting up a huge fight, but his grip on you was too strong. You fighting to get loose didn't even make him move an inch. Xavier brings you closer to him; you gasp, surprised, and you end up giving up, letting him hug you. 

“Ugh, fine... I’ll stay with you a little longer.” Listening to that, Xavier hums. “I'm glad you changed your mind; being with you like this makes me happy," he whispers as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

You found yourself wrapped in Xavier's arms, enjoying a cozy cuddle session that lasted into midday and a little longer wanting to cuddle more.

— 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 

Slowly waking up, you can see how Zayne looks so calm as he sleeps—a rare sight to see. He looks so peaceful; you could wake up like that every day just to see him. You decided to raise your hand and caress his cheek. 

You can feel him pressing you more against his chest in a cuddle. Hearing a loud thunder you lean more closer into Zayne, you feel something on your hair, a hand, caressing it slowly and looking up at him. “You’re okay?” He whispers, putting your hair behind your ear as he still caresses your head.

You nod slowly. “Can we cuddle a little more? I didn't expect thunder to come so early today.” It took him a moment before he slowly nodded to your request, “Yes. Are you feeling cold?” Zayne whispers as he slowly starts to cover you two with the blanket, and he caresses your back.

“You didn’t even let me say anything.” You giggle while you see Zayne's ears turning just a little red. Your hand reached out unconsciously to touch his cheek, and you caressed it. “I just want to make sure you’re feeling well. If you feel any discomfort, please tell me.” He leans into the touch of your hand and kisses it.

He sighs and leans forward, whispering close to your ear, trying to calm you down. “I'm here with you; there's nothing to fear.” Pressing a finger in Zayne's nose and booping it, you smile, and you see Zayne raising his eyebrow a little.

“Feeling mischievous…?” You giggle and put your fingers on his lips, trying to make him smile. The corner of his lips gets a little up for a second, then comes back to his serious face. “Why don't you sleep a little more? I'll be with you, cuddling.” He says caressing your head in slow motions.

“Promise me?” You stare at him, waiting for his answer. He slowly nods his head and pushes you closer to him. “I promise.” He pats your head, slowly stroking your hair. For a moment, you both fall silent, simply taking comfort in each other's company. You feel his heart beat in his chest and his breath on your forehead. You close your eyes, fully surrendering yourself to his warm embrace.

The rain pelts against the window as the harsh storm outside tries to make its way in, but the warmth and closeness of Zayne's arms serve as protection from it all. "The storm will pass," he remarks, sensing your worries as thunder strikes in the distance once more.

Checking your phone to see the weather, you say, "The forecast said it's going to last for a few hours. Plus, don't you need to go to work?" You reply. The doctor holds you closer, now resting his head on your shoulder, his breath hot against your neck.

"I took a day off; it's okay." He whispers, putting a strand of hair behind your ear, not loosening his arms around you. You nod, wanting to cuddle more with him. You and Zayne ended up cuddling all day, and he cooked for you a lot of food, spoiling you on his day off the best he could.

taglist: @starfly29 @orikomii @starreina @vanteandgrey

[princesseilish]

NO MATTER WHAT

Police!Officer!Paige Bueckers x Pregnant!Kidnapped!Wife!Reader

Warnings: Heavy angst, kidnapping, violence, emotional distress, pregnancy-related danger, injury, slow-burn rescue, and intense emotions.

7:08 AM

The morning was slow, easy. The kind of morning Paige always wanted more of but never got enough of.

Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, casting a golden hue over the countertops as the smell of fresh coffee filled the air. The radio played softly in the background—some old love song you liked humming to under your breath.

Paige sat at the table, still half-asleep, blinking slowly as she nursed her coffee. Her uniform was already on, badge clipped to her belt, gun holstered at her side. She looked the part of a cop—stoic, tough—but right now, with her hair still messy from sleep and a soft smile tugging at her lips, she just looked like your Paige.

You, on the other hand, moved around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, one hand pressing into your lower back as you packed her lunch. At eight months pregnant, even the smallest tasks felt heavier, but you’d be damned if you let Paige go to work without a decent meal.

“You know I can just grab something at the station,” Paige mumbled, watching you.

You rolled your eyes, setting the packed container in her bag. “And spend another day running on gas station coffee and half a granola bar? I don’t think so.”

Paige chuckled, leaning back in her chair. “You spoil me.”

You gave her a pointed look. “I take care of you.”

Paige smirked, taking another sip of coffee before gesturing toward your belly. “And who’s taking care of you?”

You shot her a glare, even as your lips twitched into a smile. “Don’t start.”

She held her hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying, you’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

“I am taking it easy,” you huffed, but the way your hand instinctively rested on your stomach betrayed you.

Paige stood up, crossing the kitchen in a few slow steps before wrapping her arms around you from behind. She rested her chin on your shoulder, hands gently pressing over your belly. “You’ve been on your feet all morning.”

You exhaled, leaning into her warmth. “I like taking care of you.”

“I like taking care of you,” she countered, pressing a slow kiss to your neck.

You sighed, melting just a little. “Maybe I’ll nap later.”

Paige hummed in approval. “Good.”

For a few moments, you just stood there, wrapped up in each other, the soft hum of the radio filling the space between you.

Then—

“Did you ever think of names yet?” Paige asked, her voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

You turned in her arms, raising an eyebrow. “For the baby?”

Paige nodded, running a hand over your stomach absentmindedly. “Yeah… I mean, I know we talked about it, but we never really decided.”

You bit your lip, considering. “I have a few I like.”

Paige’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah? Lay ‘em on me.”

You grinned, rubbing slow circles against her chest as you teased, “Not yet.”

She groaned, tilting her head back dramatically. “Come on, you can’t just—”

“Later,” you interrupted, pressing a kiss to her jaw. “You have work, and if I start now, we’ll be here all morning.”

Paige pouted but didn’t argue. “Fine. But we’re talking about this when I get home.”

You smiled, patting her chest. “Deal.”

8:45 AM

Paige finished breakfast, grabbed her things, and kissed you goodbye at the door.

It was soft, slow—like she didn’t want to leave. Her hands lingered on your waist, her lips brushing against yours once, twice before she finally stepped back with a sigh.

“Call me if you need anything,” she said.

“I always do,” you reassured her.

She gave you one last lingering look before heading out.

The apartment felt quieter after she was gone, but not in a bad way. You finished tidying up, made yourself a cup of tea, and curled up on the couch with a book. The baby kicked every now and then, and you smiled, rubbing your belly.

It was a normal day. A good day.

Until it wasn’t.

2:17 PM

The knock on the door wasn’t Paige.

You knew it the second you heard it.

Paige never knocked. She had a key. And even if she forgot it, she always called first.

This knock was different—sharp, insistent.

Your stomach twisted.

You hesitated, glancing at your phone. Maybe it was just a delivery, a neighbor—

Another knock. Louder.

You swallowed, standing slowly. The baby kicked again, almost like a warning.

Something was wrong.

You reached for your phone just as the door burst open.

2:42 PM

Paige was at her desk, halfway through writing up a report, when her radio crackled.

“Possible 10-15, domestic disturbance at—”

She barely heard the address before she was running.

Her chair slammed against the floor as she bolted out of the station, her heart in her throat.

She broke every traffic law getting home.

But by the time she got there—

You were gone.

Hour 80

Paige could hear them.

She could hear everything.

She wasn’t stupid—she knew how these cases went. She knew what 72 hours meant.

And so did they.

“We’re doing our best, but at this point…”

“With no leads, the odds are—”

“Sometimes, you have to accept—”

She slammed her fist against the desk. “Don’t fucking say it.”

The room went silent.

Officer Cruz, her partner, exhaled sharply. “Bueckers—”

“No.” Paige’s voice was raw. “I don’t wanna hear another damn word about ‘odds’ or ‘accepting’ anything.” She swallowed, her throat burning. “We keep looking. We don’t stop.”

Nobody argued.

But she could still feel it. The doubt. The hesitation.

It made her sick.

She pushed away from the table, ignoring the way her hands shook, and stormed out.

Hour 82

The house wasn’t a home anymore.

Paige stood in the doorway of the nursery, her chest tight.

The crib still sat in its box, untouched.

She was supposed to build it this weekend.

You had been so excited, talking about how you wanted it near the window, how you wanted to hang those little glow-in-the-dark stars above it.

“It’s gotta be perfect, P.”

Her hands curled into fists.

She couldn’t do this.

She turned away, stepping back into the bedroom, but it was worse there.

Your slippers were still by the bed.

Your robe still hung over the chair.

The mug you had left on the nightstand, half-empty from the last morning you spent together, sat untouched.

She should’ve washed it.

She should’ve—

Her phone rang.

Paige nearly dropped it in her scramble to grab it, her pulse hammering.

Unknown number.

Her stomach dropped.

She answered. “Hello?”

Static.

A second of silence.

Then—

“You listenin’, Officer?”

Paige froze.

The voice was low, distorted, like it was run through some kind of filter.

Her grip on the phone tightened. “Where is she?”

A chuckle. Slow. Amused.

“She’s here.”

Paige’s heart nearly stopped.

“You hurt her, and I swear—”

“You’re in no position to make threats.”

Her breath was shaky, but she forced herself to sound steady. “What do you want?”

Another pause.

Then, casually, “A few things.”

A list followed. Demands that didn’t make sense, requests that felt random, like they were playing a sick game just because they could.

And Paige could barely breathe.

Because in the background—faint, almost unnoticeable—

She heard you.

A muffled sound. A whimper. A sharp inhale.

It took everything in her not to break.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Prove she’s alive.”

Silence.

Then—

A shuffle. A rustle. And then—

“P-Paige—”

Her knees nearly buckled.

“Baby,” she choked out, stepping forward like she could somehow reach you through the phone. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Another shuffle. A muffled noise.

Then the voice returned.

“Now you know. Don’t make me regret calling.”

The line went dead.

Paige stood there, gripping the phone so hard her knuckles ached, her heart hammering against her ribs.

You were alive.

For now.

But she wasn’t going to wait until it was too late.

Her hands were already shaking as she grabbed her badge, her gun, her keys.

She was going to find you.

No matter what.

Hour 85

The FBI was in her precinct.

The FBI.

Paige had never thought she’d be on the other side of this—watching a team of federal agents take over her case, walking through her department like they belonged there.

But she didn’t care.

She couldn’t care.

Because this was for you.

Because if it meant getting you back, she’d let them do whatever the hell they needed to do.

Special Agent Thomas was leading the task force. He was seasoned, sharp, the kind of guy who didn’t waste time sugarcoating things.

“We’re running a full analysis on the call,” he said, flipping through a folder of information Paige hadn’t even seen yet. “Our digital forensics team is working on voice decryption. If there’s even a trace of a real vocal pattern, we’ll find it.”

Paige sat stiffly in her chair, arms crossed. “They used a voice modulator.”

“We’ve cracked those before.” Thomas nodded toward a man standing near the computer station, his eyes fixed on multiple monitors. “Agent Miller—our best in digital forensics. If there’s a way to extract even a syllable of the original voice, he’ll do it.”

Miller didn’t even look up, just muttered, “Already working on it.”

Paige’s eyes flickered toward the screen, where waves of audio data pulsed in real time. It meant nothing to her, but it meant everything to them.

A different agent—Lina Patel, information technology specialist—was working beside him. “We’re also tracking possible locations based on the call’s origin. They used scrambling software, but we’ve seen similar patterns before. Takes time, but not impossible.”

“Time isn’t something we have.” Paige’s voice was sharp.

Thomas sighed. “We know.”

The room went quiet for a beat.

Then Miller exhaled. “Got something.”

Paige’s heart leaped into her throat.

“What?” Thomas moved behind him. “Talk to me.”

Miller’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “It’s faint, but… there’s another sound in the background. Not just the victim. It’s like… a frequency. Low. Almost like—” He adjusted the sound levels, isolating the noise.

A faint whooshing filled the speakers.

Rhythmic. Steady.

Paige’s brow furrowed. “What the hell is that?”

Miller analyzed the waveform, his eyes narrowing.

Then he snapped his fingers. “That’s an air vent.”

“A what?”

“Industrial ventilation system,” Miller confirmed. “Not residential. That’s high-powered airflow. Could be a factory, a warehouse, some kind of industrial building.”

Thomas was already pulling out his phone. “I’ll get the search radius adjusted.”

Paige gritted her teeth. It wasn’t enough. Not yet.

She turned back to Miller. “Can you get more?”

He ran his hand through his hair. “I can try.”

Patel jumped in. “I’ll check city blueprints—see what kind of buildings use that type of system. If we narrow it down, we might get lucky.”

Paige hated the word lucky.

This wasn’t about luck.

This was about finding you before it was too late.

Hour 90

The news was everywhere.

Pregnant Woman Still Missing After 90 Hours—Wife a Police Officer

Possible Ransom? FBI Now Involved in the Search

Time Running Out? Experts Say Every Hour Lowers Chances of Recovery

Paige turned the TV off before she put her fist through it.

She sat in the dark, gripping her badge so tightly the edges bit into her palm.

The house was so empty it hurt.

She didn’t sleep. She didn’t eat. She barely breathed.

All she did was wait.

Wait for another call.

Wait for another lead.

Wait for something to bring her back to you.

Then, finally—

Her phone rang.

Unknown number.

Paige’s stomach lurched, her hands clammy as she answered. “Yeah?”

Silence.

Then—

“I see you’ve been busy, Officer.”

Her blood ran cold.

They knew.

They knew the FBI was involved.

“I told you not to waste my time.” The voice was calm. Amused, even.

Paige forced herself to stay steady. “Where is she?”

A low chuckle. “Ah, you don’t get to make demands. But since you’ve been such a good girl, I’ll give you something.”

A shuffle.

Then—

A whimper.

Your whimper.

Paige felt something in her break.

She gripped the phone. “Baby? Baby, I’m right here.”

Your voice was weak. “P—”

The line cut.

Paige shot up from her seat. “TRACE IT.”

Miller was already typing furiously. Patel was flipping through maps.

Thomas grabbed his radio. “All units, be ready.”

Paige clenched her jaw.

She didn’t know where you were.

But she knew one thing.

She was going to find you.

And God help the people who took you.

Because she wouldn’t.

Hour 91

Paige stood in the middle of the precinct, the phone still clenched in her fist, your voice echoing in her head like a ghost she couldn’t shake.

The way it wavered.

The way it barely even sounded like you.

They had you. And you were alive.

But for how much longer?

“Anything?” Paige’s voice was raw, her throat burning from lack of sleep, from screaming into the void of a case that felt endless.

Miller looked like he wanted to give her good news. But he didn’t have any. “They’re using some kind of signal scrambling. We got fragments, but no exact location yet.”

“How big is the radius?”

Patel sighed. “Too big. We’re looking at over fifty possible locations.”

Fifty.

Paige squeezed her eyes shut, exhaling sharply.

She didn’t have time for fifty.

She needed one.

She needed you.

Hour 94

The next call came quicker this time.

But it wasn’t from them.

It was from you.

Untraceable, of course. But Paige answered it so fast she barely registered her own voice saying your name.

The line crackled. Then—

“Paige.”

She nearly collapsed.

Her grip on the desk was the only thing keeping her standing.

“Baby. I’m here, I’m right here.” Her voice was hoarse, frantic. “Where are you? What do you see?”

There was rustling, heavy breathing. “I—I don’t know. It’s dark. I can’t—”

A sharp cry.

Paige’s whole body tensed. “What? What happened?”

Your breath hitched. “They—they’re getting impatient.”

Paige’s vision blurred. “I swear to God, I’m going to find you. Just hold on. Don’t—”

The sound of something shattering.

A door slamming.

Then—

The line went dead.

Hour 96

“Where’s the nearest abandoned factory with a ventilation system like the one we heard?” Paige demanded, pacing furiously.

Miller was already typing.

Patel snapped her fingers. “Here.”

A map popped up on the screen.

“Old manufacturing plant. Shut down three years ago. It has the exact ventilation system we identified, and it’s in the call radius.”

Paige was already reaching for her gear. “That’s it.”

Thomas hesitated. “Paige—”

“No.” Paige’s glare was deadly. “That’s it.”

She turned toward the SWAT team, her fellow officers, every damn person standing there watching her unravel.

“Get the vans.”

They didn’t argue.

Hour 97

The convoy moved in silence, a coordinated beast of flashing sirens and bulletproof vests.

Paige’s hands trembled over the steering wheel. Not from fear.

From rage.

From desperation.

From the thought of you, scared, alone, calling her with the last bit of hope you had left.

I’m coming, baby.

She repeated it in her head like a prayer.

I’m coming.

The building was a skeleton of rust and dust, hollowed out by time and decay.

But you were here.

She knew you were here.

Paige moved with trained precision, gun drawn, breath controlled. The SWAT team spread out, clearing each section methodically, voices murmuring through her earpiece.

Then—

A sound.

Muffled.

Strained.

Paige’s heart stopped.

She turned a corner.

And there you were.

Tied to a chair, gagged, your face streaked with tears.

A man stood beside you, gun pressed to your temple.

Time froze.

Paige’s entire world narrowed to the sight of you, the way your body flinched under his grip, the way your wide, terrified eyes met hers.

It was only a second.

But it felt like a lifetime.

Then—

The man jerked you up, pulling you as a shield. “Back up, or she dies.”

Paige didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

Her finger hovered over the trigger.

She could end this. Right now.

But your stomach—your baby.

The risk was too high.

The man’s grip tightened. “I swear to God—”

Then—

A shot.

Not from Paige.

From the side.

A sniper.

A single, clean bullet to the head.

The man crumpled.

Paige was moving before his body even hit the ground.

She dropped her gun, her hands already on you, untying the ropes, ripping the gag away. “Baby, baby—”

You collapsed into her arms, sobbing.

She held you so tight she thought she might break you. “I got you. I got you.”

You clung to her, hands fisting her uniform. “I—I was so scared—”

Paige pressed her lips to your forehead, to your cheeks, to every part of you she could reach. “I know, baby, I know. It’s over. You’re safe. I got you.”

Her hands slid over your stomach, feeling the soft swell beneath her palm.

A heartbeat.

A miracle.

You were alive.

You and the baby.

Paige’s whole body shook with relief, her forehead dropping against yours.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, over and over. “You’re okay.”

But the truth was—

She wasn’t.

Because she had almost lost everything.

And that thought alone?

It would haunt her forever.

The Aftermath

The house felt different when you came home.

It wasn’t the same place you had left.

Paige had left the crib half-built in the nursery.

She had spent days staring at it, wondering if she’d ever finish it.

Now, she sat beside you, watching as you traced your fingers over the tiny wooden frame.

“Can we finish it together?” you asked softly.

Paige swallowed, nodding. “Yeah, baby. Yeah, we can.”

Your hand covered hers, squeezing gently.

“I love you,” you whispered.

Paige’s throat tightened.

“I thought I’d never hear you say that again,” she admitted.

Your eyes filled with tears. “You will. Every day. I promise.”

Paige kissed you.

Slow. Deep.

A promise of its own.

That no matter what?

No matter how close to the edge she had come?

She would always find her way back to you.

[misscherry-26]

Valentine's day with CEO! John Price x reader

Author's Note: Valentine's over here but I just wanted to share this short story and also my first John Price fic!! Let me know your thoughts about it! Not edited. It may not make sense because I just let myself flow with the idea.

P.S. I'm so sleepy right now, so mistakes to be corrected later.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~

The smell of something burned invades John's nostrils, which is weird because there's no smoke or fire in the house — of course. Still, he rushes to the kitchen as soon as he closes the door.

It's a mess. Egg shells on the sink, flour sprawled on the floor, piles of bowls on the counter... His eyes stop on you. From head to toe you are a mess. Hair all over your face, your apron stained with milk, flour, oil...

His smile widens. "What happened here?"

You jump, hand in your heart as you look away from the oven. "Oh my God John!" You exhale at the sight of your partner.

He laughs. "This is a bloody mess, sweetheart."

He approaches and gives you a quick peck on your lips.

You chuckle, "I know...” Closing your eyes, you lay down on his chest, sad smile painting your face. " I wanted to surprise you with some cookies, but they burnt and so I switched and made s chocolate loaf instead but hallway through the recipe, the chocolate mix fell and so I had to do it again but realized I didn't have more chocolate, so I had to—" you start rambling.

"Sweetheart, breath." Your sweet, sexy husband places his hand on your shoulders, stopping you.

You inhale and exhale a few times, him being your guide. On the last exhale, you calmly finish your explanation.

"So I decided to make a lemon and blueberry loaf... Which is in the oven right now... Just wanted to surprise you for Valentine's."

John can't help but smile tenderly.

He couldn't spent the morning with you today, last minute meeting to close the deal with a new client took him away from you. Good thing he gave you his gift the night before...

Still, you reassured him that it didn't matter— you don't need this day in specific to show how much you love each other. You know his work can be demanding, but good thing he is the boss, oh that has its perks.

While he was out, you decided to surprise him with a very domestic and simple tea time, but the the baking had other plans today and what was supposed to be done three hours ago, ended up done now, close to dinner.

"Surprise me? Baby, there's no need. You are my gift and you know that" he reassured you.

"Still." You complain.

The timer interrupts the moment, you check the oven and take out the loaf, now done—after checking with a knife to see if it was— placing it on the counter.

"Surprise?" You try to sound cheerful but fail miserably. John hugs you and kisses you deeply.

"it's perfect sweetheart. Can't wait to try it."

"it's not ready to eat, let it cool down for a few minutes," You carefully take it and put it inside the fridge before continuing. "Besides, it's almost eight, should be making dinner instead."

"None of that."

You pause, " What?"

He smirks, "You go up, take a shower and put on your pajamas, I will clean this...mess" He looks around, almost laughing. "And make ourselves tea. We can put those cheesy movies you love so much and cuddle, there's no rush for dinner. Okay?"

You nod and peck his lips two times. "I love you, I'm so lucky to have you with me. Happy Valentine's."

He smiles. "Happy Valentine's, I love you more."

[kaivenom]

I just found your blog looking for Spencer white fics and yours are so good! I was wondering if you’d be willing to write something between spider and a gn reader who finds it really attractive when he speaks French (cause that scene did something to me-)

Thank you for feeding the small amount of hbh fics🙏🙏

French cuisine

Summary: you go to Spencer's house and found him cooking, you decide to help him and you discover he can speak french.

Pairing: Spencer "Spider" White x gn!reader

A/N: Sorry that this had taken so long, college is starting the final section before exams an i am going crazy. Words on cursive are the translation from french.

It was an ussual Friday, you were going to Spencer's house, see some movies and eat popcorn. When you entered the house with the keys you borrowed, a french song was playing on the background, that was strange you thought, it must be his mother. Following the song, you found Spencer in the kitchen with an apron full of flour and humming the song.

"Look what we have here, the perfect 50's housewife," you joked while you get to hugh him from behind.

"Bonjour." he asked with a smile.

"Bonjour."

"Comment allez-vous?" you didn't understand anything and that made you question things.

"Wait, don't tell me you know how to speak french?"

"Yeah, i know, but i don't have to do it everytime... it's awful when people ask me: can you say something in french? or things like that."

"But you could have told me, i am your girlfriend." you tightened your grip among his waist and made a pout.

"I don't like to brag about it, but now you know."

"Yeah, right. What you said to me before?"

"How are you?" he turned around and kissed your forehead.

"Good, you?"

"Bon." something on the form he said it, made you blush.

"I suppose that means good."

"Correct." he put a finger with fluor on your nose, painting it white.

"Can you say more to me?" you make puppy eyes and like always, he can't resist.

"Tu es très belle," your heart skipped a heartbeat, you didn't know what he said but hearing him talking in french was exciting you more every secon. "i said you are very beautiful."

"Yeah?" his hands went to your cheeks and kissed you.

"Tu es la meilleure personne du monde." his lips drain your soul with every word and every kiss in between. You are the best person in the world

"Tell me more, please."

"Je t'aime... tes lèvres... ton corps... tes sons." his kisses increased, in speed, in intensity and passion, he was starting to feel very aroused by your reaction. I love you... your lips... your body... your sounds.

"I don't know what you said but i do too." you both laughed inoccently, for a moment unaware from the steamy interaction you both were having.

"Je veux faire du sexe avec toi." a moan almost escaped your mouth, you only understood one word and that was enough.

Then you started to smell burnt but apparently Spider was so concentrated in kissing your lips and neck, that he had forgotten he was cooking and also that he had things on the pans... that now are burning.

"How do you say the kitchen is on fire?"

"La cuisine est en feu." only a second was needed before he understood your words.

You both had to run to turn off the fire and open the windows to vent the kitchen. Nothing was saved from the disaster so you decided to order some french food to honor the ocassion and finish what you both started.

[thatonesonicfanfictionwriter]

um- can we have shadow with a reader who gets chronic headaches- theg didnt tell shadow until they got one bad enough to cause tears because they are so used to headaches at that point- and shadow is a gentle fluffy bot there to help

“I’m Always Here to Help”

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader

Requested: Yes (by an anon).

Description: You always wound up with chronic headaches on the worst of days. Luckily you had your partner to help you out this time.

Notes: More fluff, more fluff, more fluff! I hope you enjoy, anon!

(Reader will be gender-neutral.)

(Not proof-read/beta-read.)

(TW for swearing, but only for one bit of dialogue.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

Blinking your eyes open, you take in your surroundings, groaning a bit as you rub your forehead with your pointer finger and thumb.

You woke up with one of your chronic headaches.

Great.

The room around you is a bit dark, but there’s sunlight peeking through your curtain.

…Unfortunately right onto your face.

You put your arm over your eyes, letting off a sigh.

It’s fine, you’ve dealt with your headaches before.

You sit up from your bed, uncovering your face, and trudge off of the bed with a small yawn.

You head out of your room, entering the kitchen, seeing your partner, Shadow, making breakfast. From what it smells like, he’s making bacon and eggs.

“Morning, [Name],” Shadow says. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, I did,” you mutter. “You?”

“It was decent,” Shadow replies. “Sleeping beside you always makes it better.”

You let off a smile at that.

“Could you put four pieces of bread in the toaster?” Shadow asks.

“Sure thing,” you say.

You open the bread and pop the four pieces into the toaster, pushing the button down.

…Only for it to come back up.

Confused, you look at the dial, and surely enough, it’s at its usual spot.

You then check if it’s plugged in, which it’s not.

You plug it in and push the button down again, and it works this time.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief. You didn’t want to have to buy a new toaster.

After about a minute, the toast is done, and you butter each piece, placing two each on a plate just as Shadow finishes the food.

The two of you eat your breakfast, chatting about whatever, and after eating, Shadow quickly does the dishes, and the two of you head off to the couch to watch something.

…Only for Shadow to get a call on his communicator.

Grumbling, Shadow answers the call.

“What do you-”

“Shads! Sorry for the sudden call, but we could really use some backup!” the voice of Sonic says.

“And you couldn’t call any of your friends?” Shadow asks.

“Yeahh, about that- They’re all already here,” Sonic says. “You’re the last one I could call.”

Shadow lets out a sigh.

“On my way,” Shadow says, ending the call. “I’ll be back.”

“Stay safe, okay?” you request.

Shadow nods before Chaos Controlling away.

You let off a sigh of your own. You would’ve hoped hanging out with your partner would get rid of your headache, but now that was cancelled.

So you have to find some other way to get rid of your headache. So be it.

You start off by drinking some water and taking two pain relievers, which unfortunately will take a while to kick in, so now you need to pass the time.

Maybe…you could go on a run? No, your headache would get worse from that.

You could…clean the house? No, Shadow does that during his spare time.

May…be…baking?

Yes! Baking would be great!

Baking isn’t stressful, surely?

Besides, you can make something nice for you and Shadow to enjoy!

Getting out the ingredients to make a chocolate cake, you get to work.

Eggs, baking powder, flour, sugar-

Oops.

A bit too much sugar.

That’s okay, you can deal with that much.

A bit of vanilla extract, chocolate, and…

Okay! All mixed!

Pouring the mixture into a baking pan, you set it in the oven and let it bake for the required time while you make the frosting.

You put on your oven mitts to take the cake out, and-

…Wait, why does it smell like something’s burning?!

You quickly open the oven, and black smoke comes out of it, causing you to cough, backing away from the smoke while waving the smoke away from your eyes.

Once the smoke subsides you fall to your knees.

The tears from not only the pain of your headache, but from losing the cake you worked hard on, start pouring out of your eyes, and you choke out a sob.

You feel a pair of arms quickly wrap around you, and you turn around almost as fast, burying your head into your partner’s chest as you let the tears fall.

“Shhh, I’m here,” Shadow says. “Let it out. I’m not going anywhere.”

He holds you in his arms until you stop crying, and you let out a sad sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Shadow asks.

“I…yeah,” you mutter. “I just…of course the day I want to do something nice for us is when I have a chronic headache…”

Shadow kisses your forehead before putting his hand on your cheek, rubbing it gently with his thumb.

“I’m sorry, sunshine,” Shadow says.

“Eh, it’s not your fault…The pain medicine finally decided to kick in, anyway, so it’s not as bad,” you tell him, leaning into his touch. “How did the fight go?”

“Kicked Eggman’s ass,” Shadow says nonchalantly. “Also got to see the Faker get his shit wrecked, so that was funny.”

You let out a chuckle at the mental image of this.

Even though you two had vastly different days, at least you could always come home to each other to make each other’s day.

[zepskies]

Strong as Blood - Part 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: After you accidentally break through a solid wood table, you know there’s something wrong with you. You begin to have your suspicions, but can you keep it from Ben long enough to find out? 

(In other words: This is the story of how you and Ben discover that you’re pregnant.)

AN: This two-part fic can be read as stand-alone, but it’s really a bonus sequel to Break Me Down!

Word Count: 4,500

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Angst, fluff, and a smutty ending. 

To find the chronological reading order for the series, check out the series masterlist. ⤵️

💚 Break Me Down

Part 1: “Probably Temporary”

Make no mistake. Ben was still a terrible cook.

He’d sort of gotten the hang of the grill though, even if he technically wasn’t supposed to be smoking meat on the apartment’s second-floor balcony. 

You peeked out at your boyfriend through the sliding glass door to make sure he was still doing okay. He caught you though, and shot you a wink.

He was very proud of his grill. 

We’re so gonna get in trouble with the homeowner’s association, you thought, but you couldn’t help a smile. You obliged him when he beckoned you over, and you slid the door open. 

“Almost done? I think our neighbors are going to complain again,” you said with a laugh. Ben rolled his eyes.

“It’s a bit of smoke, not a fucking forest fire,” he groused. “Let those uppity fucks complain. Bet’cha they won’t have the balls to say shit to my face if I go across the street for a little visit.” 

You soothed him with a hand along his shoulder. It also gave you an excuse to check on his progress. You considered this episode to be a success, considering the balcony wasn’t up in flames this time. And the steaks actually looked good. Not brittle pieces of charcoal, but not raw and bleeding either.  

“I think those are done,” you advised. Ben followed your gaze and nodded. He used his bare hands to turn the foil-wrapped potatoes, just because he could. 

“Why don’t you take ‘em in while I finish up these potatoes,” he said. “How’s the rest coming?”

“Good. I’m about to take the casserole out of the oven,” you said with a nod. Meanwhile, he placed the steaks in a glass dish that been sitting near the open grill. He handed it to you, but you almost dropped the steaks when the hot glass burned your hands. 

You hissed in pain, while Ben caught the dish with both hands. His brows furrowed, first in surprise, then in thinly veiled concern when he looked over at you. He reached out for your shoulder. 

“Damn,” he said. “Didn’t seem that hot…you okay?”

You looked up from your stinging hands and sighed at him in exasperation, but you couldn’t get that mad at him. He sometimes couldn’t gauge things like this when it came to what he could handle, versus what your normal human body could. 

“Yeah. I’ll just break out the aloe. First, let me get some oven mitts,” you replied, but your answering smile retained some good humor. Ben quirked an apologetic smile of his own. He decided to follow you into the kitchen, taking the steaks in himself. 

You grabbed your favorite green oven mitts and carefully took out the veggie casserole. It smelled delicious, but Ben still peered at it over your shoulder when you placed it on the counter. 

“Don’t you look at my casserole sideways,” you quipped. “You need to eat more veggies.”

He leveled you with a dry look. “You saying I’m getting out of shape?”

“God forbid,” you gasped, playfully jabbing at his firm abs with a mitt-covered hand. “I’m just saying, your super metabolism is compensating for a lot of booze and Taco Bell.”

Ben rose a brow at your cheekiness. He drew closer behind you, trapping you against the counter with one hand braced on the edge, and the other sliding up your jean-clad hip. 

“You’ve got some nerve. I don’t talk shit about the stash of Twix bars in your nightstand, do I?” he remarked. He nipped at your ear, making you flinch and giggle. His beard was also tickling your neck. 

“You’re peeping in my nightstand now? How dare you,” you teased. He snorted in response. 

“Please. Your purple vibrator isn’t exactly a fucking mystery to me,” he retorted. You felt his smirk growing against your neck. “Might wanna keep it away from the chocolate though. That could get messy…unless you want it to be.” 

Your body shook with the effort of containing your laughter. He was so fucking gross.

“Don’t you need to check on the potatoes?” you asked. “I don’t want to have to pressure wash the balcony again.”

Ben made a sound of agreement, but was sure to swat you on the ass before he went. You jolted, but you just shook your head with a blush and a smile. 

It had been over a year since you and Ben had moved in together. Already you’d had your first fight as a true couple, your first Christmas, and so many other challenges, large and small, that had all come to solidify one thing for you.

You were happy. Maybe for the first time in your life. 

It just came with some…small caveats, you reflected, as you reached into the fridge to find the jar of aloe vera. Before you slathered some onto your hands, you realized they were no longer red, and they didn’t even sting anymore.

“What the hell?” you muttered. You put back the jar and rested a hand on your hip. 

Well, maybe you hadn’t burned yourself as bad as you thought. 

With that oddity still in your mind, you pulled on your oven mitts again and took up the casserole with the intention of bringing it to the dining table. Admittedly, you were a bit distracted. You didn’t remember about the raised ledge in the doorway to the dining room until it was too late.

You tripped, and though you managed to make it to the table, you gasped when you broke right through the wood. 

The table just seemed to give up when you hit it, cracking in half, and sending you tumbling to the floor with hot casserole heaped on top. You were still stunned when Ben tore back inside. His green eyes were wide, his brows furrowed as he took in the state of you on the floor with the broken table.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, though he bent down to help you up. He checked you for injuries, but both of you found nothing. 

“I’m okay,” you said, a bit shakily. “I tripped, that’s all.”

Ben’s brows raised as he looked from you to the shards of the table. He knocked on the wood surface. 

“Cheap piece of shit. Where’d you get this thing?” he asked. 

You flickered at a smile and admitted, “IKEA.”

Ben shook his head. “We really need to broaden your palate.”

You insisted you were all right. But he insisted, without words, on checking you over again. His hands brushed down your shoulders and arms, your hands and neck.

He held your face in his hands, and he let out a deep sigh. You just smiled up at him, though inside, you were hiding a bit of worry yourself. 

That table hadn’t been cheap. It was solid pine wood. 

But Ben seemed to believe you. He also seemed a bit exasperated. 

“I should just layer you up in goddamn bubble wrap. The way you find ways to break yourself is beyond me,” he muttered. Your lips pursed. 

“I resent that—”

“I’m sure you fucking do.”

“Besides,” you said, a smirk pulling at the corner of your mouth. “What a pain in the ass would it be to unwrap me?” 

Ben huffed, even as his hands traveled down to wrap around your waist and pull you in close. 

“True,” he smirked. “You’re already a pain in the ass as it is.” 

You opened your mouth to mount an indignant protest, but he shut you up the only surefire way he knew how. His kiss was swift, deep, and left you humming into his mouth in surprise. 

But you soon pulled back, brushing a thumb along his chin. “We’ve got to clean up this mess. And…did you get the potatoes?”

Ben thought for a moment, but then his mouth firmed into a line. 

“Shit,” he muttered, and released you to run back to the grill. 

That night, you stood barefooted in your nightgown and took a moment alone in the bathroom to breathe. And to think. And to test the strength in your hands, by bending one of Ben’s metal wrenches like it was a useless paper straw. 

Okay, now you were panicking a bit. 

What the fuck? you thought. You had only ever experienced super strength when you were on V24 (which you had not taken, let alone the permanent stuff). 

But…if you thought about it, there had been one other time when you had felt this strong. And it had been when you were in the hospital, almost two years ago, after Vought Tower collapsed. You’d needed a surgery you might not have lived through. It was Ben’s actions that had saved you…after he donated his blood.

Unless he was somehow giving you transfusions without you knowing, there was only one other possibility you could think of for Ben’s DNA to somehow be in your system…

Holy shit, you thought. And you sat down on the closed toilet. Hard. Enough to dislodge a decorative dish that was perched on a shelf behind you. You gasped, but weren’t able to catch it before it hit the ground loudly. You winced and picked it up, even as you heard Ben’s steps approaching the bathroom. 

“You okay?” he asked predictably, through the closed door.

“Fine!” you said, your voice too high. You cleared your throat and tried to normalize your voice. “I’m fine, just dropped something.”

“Christ. You going for a record today?” he remarked. 

You rolled your eyes. 

A few minutes later, you finished in the bathroom and tried to act as normal as possible as you slid into bed next to your boyfriend. He was watching TV, but he glanced over at you. You knew he was silently assessing you, seeing if you were really okay. 

You gave him a smile and leaned over for a goodnight kiss. You attempted to be chaste, but he deepened it. He slid an arm around your waist and tilted his head, slipping his tongue between the seam of your lips. 

You welcomed him at first…but a tremor of warning flashed in your mind, along with the persistent thought that had followed you from the bathroom.

Should I tell him? 

You didn’t know why your inclination was to hold it in. There very well could be something wrong with you. But if your suspicions were true, then you wanted confirmation first. 

“What’s the matter?” Ben asked. He’d pulled back, sensing your distraction. You came back to yourself.

“Nothing, just tired,” you said, stroking his chest over his shirt. 

Ben looked into your eyes, his face more or less stoic. You saw the way he was trying to get a read on you though, like he didn’t quite believe you. You couldn’t blame him, but you could be very convincing when you needed to be.

He eventually nodded, letting you turn away from him to slip under the covers. Even though you felt the sting of your lie tingling unpleasantly down your spine. 

You met Dr. Tonya Baker at her office in the Supe Affairs building. She’d been Vought’s top scientist, up until last year. After Stan Edgar’s death and the company’s collapse, the CIA recruited Dr. Baker. 

You didn’t like her. Nor did you trust her, exactly, but she had assisted Dr. Vogelbaum when Becca Butcher came to him with a unique problem. Now, Dr. Baker was the only one left with the knowledge and resources to advise you.

And she was able to confirm your suspicions. She came back with lab results while you sat up on an examining table. 

“You’re eleven weeks pregnant,” she informed you. 

Even though you’d been somewhat expecting it, suspicion and knowing were very different things. You took in a shaking breath, and through your shock, you were smiling. Happy, and even relieved.

Until Dr. Baker spoke again. 

“The super strength is probably temporary. A side effect of the fetus’s genetics. But, it’s also advantageous for you,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “This makes it much more likely that you’ll survive the birth.”

Your breath ceased at that thought, not to mention her clinical delivery. 

“Always with that delightful bedside manner, Doctor,” you quipped. All of a sudden, you were feeling lightheaded. 

Or maybe you were just freaking the fuck out. 

When you got home that evening after work, Ben watched you. 

He knew something was off with you the second you walked through the door, pale and pensive. Still, you flashed him a greeting and a smile that didn’t reach your eyes on your way to the bedroom. 

So he followed you. And the fact that you didn’t even notice, even flinched when he dropped a hand on your shoulder, told him that you were more than just distracted. The last straw was when you walked into the dresser while glancing back at him. You hissed and shook out your sandle-clad foot. 

Now, you were injury prone at the best of times, but this was a bit much, Ben thought. 

“Geez, I didn’t even hear you,” you said, trying at a chuckle. “Normally you thud around in those combat boots like an elephant. We’re lucky no one lives below us—”

“What’s the matter with you?” Ben asked. He was never one to beat around the bush. 

Your eyes widened a fraction; unease crept down your spine, but you gave him a quirk of your brow. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You fucking heard me,” he said. His gaze was hunter green, serious, and focused down on you.

“I’m fine, Ben—”

“No,” he snapped. “There’s something off with you.” 

You bit your lower lip. It seemed your boyfriend knew you better than you thought. You’d had a plan though. You had wanted to wait until you had a moment to shake off your anxiety and focus on the good when you sat him down this evening.

But you should’ve known better. Ben was remarkably impatient, even when he didn’t know what he was in for. 

And he got tired of waiting for your answer. 

He changed tactics, reaching for your arms. His grip was firm, but gentle in brushing his thumbs back and forth across your skin. His mouth was in a line, and you caught the concern hiding under his furrowed brows. 

“What’s so bad you can’t tell me?” he asked. 

You looked up into his eyes. Despite yourself, you had to smile. I’m not playing fair, you realized. 

“Okay, come ‘ere,” you said. You took his hand and led him to sit with you on the bed. Pulling his hand between both of yours into your lap, you sighed and thought about how you were going to say this. 

After a moment, you got a burst of inspiration. You held up a waiting finger to him and went into the closet to pull out one of your 25-pound hand weights. It might as well have weighed a pound, for how light it felt. You brought it back to the bed, and Ben stared back at you quizzically. 

“So…I didn’t get that table from IKEA,” you confessed. “It was solid wood, and I really did break straight through it.”

He rose a brow. “All right…”

You then showed him your newfound strength, by breaking the hand weight in half with your bare hands. His eyes widened, making you giggle a bit. You deposited both metal heads into his hands. He considered them, then you. His brows were knitting together even tighter. 

“What the hell—”

“Remember when you donated blood for me, when I was laid up in the hospital a couple years ago?” you asked. “I got your super strength for a day or two afterwards.”

Ben nodded. You had been a bit more than laid up, but semantics, he guessed. He was getting more confused by the moment. 

“Well this time, I’m told it’s also temporary…for the next seven months or so,” you said with a playful smile. 

Ben considered your words. He turned them back and forth in his head… 

Finally, his gaze flicked from yours to the broken weights in his hands. And he tossed them to the floor with a heavy thud on the hard wood. 

You giggled in earnest when he reached for your face with both hands. His eyes searched yours for any hint of a joke, his jaw tight and working. 

“Are you fucking with me right now?” he asked. His voice was a hint unsteady. You smiled bright and covered his hands with your own as the beginnings of tears stung in your eyes. 

“Not this time,” you said. “Ben, I’m pregnant.” 

It took him a moment to register your words. You saw the moment it all finally set in, with new realization etching into his features.

Never once had you seen this man tear up. He turned his face away, but you still caught the edges of his emotion. 

You reached for his bearded cheek, turning him back to you. His eyes were red and starting to shine, even though he was fighting it. A muscle in his jaw clenched, and then eased.

After a beat, his hands moved down from your face to brush down your arms, down your sides and around your frame. He pulled you into his lap, for which you went willingly into his arms. And your tears fell in earnest when he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You knew what this meant to him, but you still couldn’t help but prod at him.

“Are you happy?” you teased, rubbing his back. Ben huffed and brushed a strand of hair out of your eyes. 

“What do you think?” he countered.  

Your hand moved down to slip under his shirt, gliding over the taut muscles in his back as they responded to your touch. You met him with a small smirk. 

“Show me,” you challenged. 

His lips quirked; that was all the encouragement he needed. Ben’s hands moved to tangle in your hair and squeeze the curve of your waist, bringing you flush against him when he kissed you. You inhaled deeply. Your nails dragged up his back, applying some pressure that made his shoulders twitch. 

You didn’t know what your newfound strength felt like to him, but for Ben, you felt solid in a way you hadn’t before. He could let go of some of his self-control and knead your hips with a force beyond bruising.

He could veer away from your lips and raze down your neck, and give your shoulder a love bite that would’ve drawn blood. Now it didn’t even break your skin. It did, however, earn him a pleased gasp. 

Maybe he’d just have to keep knocking you up, he thought. So you’d always be this strong.  

You started rucking up his shirt first, and had to push him back to even get it off him. After that, all bets were off.

It was a mad scramble to shed each other’s clothes, with Ben not being able to get away with his usual manhandling. Your smile grew, as you now had the strength to literally push back and make him work a bit harder for it.  

He smirked up at you when you managed to take him by surprise and push him back onto the bed. You’d successfully bared him for your gaze, but you still had your bra and panties on as you climbed over him and straddled his lap. 

Ben held himself up with a hand on the bed as the other slid around your waist and hooked you in. You took his face in your hands and gave him the full force of your passion.

Your lips claimed his in a devouring kiss, teeth clicking and tongues dueling for dominance. And you ground down your clothed core against his rising length, earning his groan of appreciation into your mouth.

With a flick of his wrist, your bra strap snapped off in the back. You huffed, knowing he’d probably broken the clasp.

Ah well, I’m about to need new ones soon enough.

The thought made you smile against his lips. You let him pull the bra down your arms and wherever he decided to fling it off to. You thought he might start traveling down between your breasts, as was a favorite path of his to map out.

But then, in one smooth motion Ben had you flipped over onto your back. He grinned at your yelp of surprise, but he didn’t give you a chance to recover. He latched onto your neck again, this time on the other side as he scraped his beard and teeth across your skin.

Meanwhile, you moaned encouragements in his ear while his heavy hand squeezed one of your breasts, rolled a thumb over a pert nipple. 

You trailed your hands down his chest, soothing over golden tan skin and freckles and sculpted muscle until you reached his hard length. You earned a straining grunt from your man as you teased the sensitive flesh, a thumb circling over its weeping head. 

Ben grabbed your wrist and gave you a warning look. “Can’t let me fucking concentrate, huh?”

You just grinned and took his hand instead. You dragged it down your body until you guided his fingers into your underwear, between your wet folds. 

“Ben, I need you,” you said. But your need was already in your eyes. Your skin was on fire wherever he touched, and deep inside, where you burned for him most. 

Ben felt it in your iron grip on his hand, now almost as strong as his own. Your legs curled up his thighs to wrap around his hips, teasing him with the soft promise between your inner thighs. So how could he do anything else but give you what you wanted? 

He teased between your folds with his fingers first. Gathering some of your wetness, he circled over your clit firmly. You whimpered as your back arched in response. 

“Gonna sing for me, baby doll?” he teased. Your breathing became more labored as his fingers continued to play with you, but you managed to offer a small smirk. 

“You gonna make me?” you asked. “Think you need to bring out the big guns for that one.”

Ben chuckled. As usual, you were being a little shit. 

So he brought you to the edge of your release, just with his fingers. You were starting to squeeze them tight with your inner walls, your moans getting more urgent. But he withdrew his digits at the last moment, leaving you panting and confused.

“What…”

He smirked down at you and wrapped his slick fingers around his cock, stroking himself a few times. You watched him with expectant, hungry eyes.  

“You want the big guns, I’ll fucking give ‘em to you,” he said. It made you huff, but you had to smile as he returned to you. He hooked his fingers on the hem of your panties and slowly, torturous, he pulled them down your legs.

Those same hands then traveled back up, gliding across your skin with purpose. Your breath shallowed in anticipation.

He eventually gripped your hips, pushing your thighs up a bit farther, and you lined his cock to your entrance. Your heels dug into his ass and added a bit of force when he pushed inside you. And your moans tangled together along with your bodies.

You fairly pulsed inside, and he felt it in your inner walls wrapped so fucking tight around him. His forehead briefly fell to your shoulder. Even though you were panting for breath, you still soothed him, carding your fingers through his hair. 

Normally he’d be going off at a relentless clip by now. But Ben started slow, rolling his hips back and forth into yours at a steady rhythm that managed to take your breath away and make your toes curl.

His name fell from your lips, reverent and pleased. You felt every part of him as he plunged inside you, and it was incredibly fucking hot.  

He took a moment to meet your eyes. He gave you a grin that softened the hard edges that so often lined his face in times like this. And you realized then what was happening.

Ben didn’t do slow. Not for long anyway. But it seemed like he’d taken your challenge to heart. In fact, you had a feeling he was showing you what he couldn’t quite put into words. 

When he reached a hand to part your folds and circle two insistent finger pads around your clit, you couldn’t help but grip his arms tight enough to bruise him. Your mouth opened on a keening moan.

Combined with his deep strokes starting to brush all the right spots inside you, it had you squeezing on him from the inside as you came hard, and made it known in his ear.

“Fuck—” Ben’s brows furrowed as your release finally triggered his own. And his voice joined yours, muffling in the pillow under your head. You shuddered as he spilled deep inside you. 

Your arms came around his back and held him to you for a moment afterwards, just stroking his back, his shoulders, his neck, whatever you could reach while you both caught your breath.

Eventually, Ben’s lips found your neck. You felt the shape of his smile grow there. 

“Too bad you’re already knocked up, or that could’ve been a great way to bring in our second kid,” he remarked.

This time, it took a second for his words to click together in your mind. As soon as they did, you uttered a laugh that shook both of your frames. You swatted his ass in reproach. He smirked down at you.

“I can't with you,” you said. Though you were still giggling. “You’re just gonna have to wait for the first one to come out of the oven.” 

Ben’s smirk evened out into a grin, his face almost boyish in his glee.

“Well, what can I say, baby? You’re a damn good cook.”  

AN: 😂 Well then. What did you think of how she broke the news? And Ben's reaction to finding out he's finally going to be a dad? 🥹

But of course, it's not going to be all sunshine and roses in Part 2. The reader and Ben reveal the good news to her family, and as we all know, he's hoping for a son...

Next Time:

“Hey,” she said. “You know how much I care about you, right?”

“And where’s this going?” you quipped. But you turned around and gave your little sister a half-smile. You knew what she was about to say.

“So what are you going to do about that?” she asked, gesturing to your man in the kitchen. “Mr. Macho wants his prized stud. What happens if he doesn’t get him?”

You sighed. “Ben’s wanted this for a long time. He’s got an idea in his head of what it’s going to be like, and…we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Keep reading: PART 2

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