#TW Infertility

[allthemeniveloved]

TW: infertility & miscarriage

I’ve rewritten this post 6 times but fuck it, I just need to tell someone: I’M PREGNANT! After a horrendously violent and traumatizing miscarriage and multiple rounds of blood work to try and make sense of my unexplained infertility, I’M PREGNANT! OH MY GOD!!!

[roosterforme]

Some Things Take Time | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: Bob is a man well known for his patience. He never rushes things in the air, and he tries to live by a similar philosophy on the ground. You and he are both on the same page about welcoming a child into your home through foster care, but it's hard for him to watch you try to bond with her unsuccessfully. He soon realizes that Avery is a lot like him, and that some things are worth the extra time.

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of infertility, mentions of foster care and adoption, Bob making all other men look like trash

Length: 5800 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x wife!reader

Happy birthday @wkndwlff! Check my masterlist for more!

You were laying on the couch with your head resting on your husband's lap, spinning his wedding band around on his finger while you tried to put your thoughts into words. You could tell he knew you were on the verge of speaking, sending you several expectant glances as you and he both pretended to watch the movie he started an hour ago. But Bob would never rush you, and you were thankful for that, because you wanted to make sure you got this right. 

"We've been trying for a long time," you whispered, and Bob's blue eyes met yours as you looked up at him. "Almost two years."

He nodded once and smiled softly. "We have," he murmured, squeezing your hand in his larger one. You pressed your lips together as tears stung your eyes. Bob never seemed upset that he was pushing forty years old and in spite of trying and trying, you'd never gotten pregnant. He never put pressure on you to keep trying or to stop. You were convinced he never would, but you wanted to know what he was really thinking.

"What if we... stopped. Stopped trying. And just went with an alternative?"

"Honey, I already told you I'm happy with things how they are. We can stop trying if you want to, or we can talk about alternatives if you want to do that. But there's nothing wrong with just you and me. In fact, I'm really quite enjoying myself."

You closed your eyes as his fingers drifted along the curves of your side. It would be delicious to get back into the habit of having sex when you wanted to instead of when your cycle demanded it. You and Bob sharing your undivided attention with each other was something you were craving, but you still wanted something else, too.

"What if I said I wanted to look into fostering and adoption again?" you asked softly as you started to sit up.

He pulled you closer so you were straddling his thigh. "Then I would say we can call our lawyer on Monday and get some answers."

You smiled as you nudged his glasses with your nose and kissed his cheek. "And what if I said I'm not fertile today, but I want you anyway?"

Bob reached for the remote and turned the movie off as a soft blush rose in his cheeks. "Then I would say it's time we got in bed, Honey."

---------------------

Bob was a man who was well known for his patience. He never rushed things in the air, and he tried to live by a similar philosophy on the ground. He knew he wanted to marry you about halfway through the first date. He also knew you would have looked at him like he was insane if he admitted that to you halfway through the first date. So instead of rushing things, he took the time to make sure you were on the same page he was and that you were comfortable. He always tried to do that.

When a baby just didn't seem to be happening, he was more than willing to keep trying, but he was also completely content with the idea of no kids at all. It wasn't worth rushing anything as long as he had you in his life. But you had recently convinced him of a third option, and his lawyer helped the two of you smooth out the details. 

And this is how Avery ended up at Bob's house on a random Monday evening. She was eight years old and in need of a foster family, and you were adamant when you answered the phone call that you and Bob were more than ready for her to be dropped off even on such short notice. 

"I'm so nervous," you whispered as you held Bob's hand and watched through the front window as a van pulled up. 

"I'm excited," he told you with a soft laugh. When he thought about having kids, he always pictured a little girl. For some reason, the idea of reading princess stories and painting a bedroom a putrid shade of purple really appealed to him. As he watched Avery being led up the walkway, he realized she didn't look one bit like you or him. He also realized that having a child who resembled him was actually never part of his dreams. 

As the doorbell rang, you bounced in place and whispered, "She's here. She's really here." 

Bob pulled you in for a kiss as his heart thudded. He realized he needed to tamp down his excitement a little bit. The two of you were merely fostering Avery. Nothing was set in stone even though you told the lawyer you wanted to eventually adopt a child. But right now your eyes were glittering with hope and anticipation, and Bob couldn't take that away from you. 

"Let's make her feel welcome," he said as you both headed for the door. 

Avery stood there with an unreadable expression on her adorable face, and Bob noticed right away how the case worker seemed to rush through everything. There were papers to sign and a schedule to keep, and even though all of it pertained to Avery, she ended up sitting quietly at the kitchen table while everyone else talked about her.

It was late by the time you and Bob were alone with her, and now her unreadable expression looked something like sadness. "Avery," Bob said softly. "Do you want to see your bedroom?"

She looked up at him and nodded without saying a word, and then you helped her down from the chair. You had taken the time to freshen up the extra bedroom and buy a pink glitter toothbrush and a pair of pajamas in her size. But Avery just sat down on the edge of the bed with her bag and asked, "Do I have to go to school tomorrow?"

"Yes," Bob replied with a smile. "I'll drop you off on my way to work, and then I'll pick you up in the afternoon."

When she didn't respond, you asked, "Is there anything you want? A bedtime snack or something to drink? I could make you some hot chocolate or get you a cookie. Bob makes the best oatmeal cookies, and there are a few left from the weekend. Maybe you can help Bob make the next batch." You were rambling now, and Bob reached out to squeeze your hand as you said, "We're just excited that you're here."

But Avery shook her head and told you, "I'll just read my book. Thanks." Then she untied her shoes and took a well worn copy of The Secret Garden from her bag, but she sat on the bed with rigid posture, not looking at either of you.

Bob wasn't quite sure what to do. You'd already shown the child where the bathroom was, and she seemed to have all of her essentials. He swallowed hard, deciding not to rush Avery even though he could feel your disappointment radiating off of you. He cleared his throat and said, "We'll leave our bedroom door open in case you need anything. And we'll get you up around seven for school. Good night, Avery."

She just nodded and squinted down at the tattered book cover like she was going to cry. Bob led you down the hallway, through your room and into the en suite bathroom where he gathered you in his arms as tears filled your eyes. "I don't think she likes us," you gasped before you buried your face against his neck.

Bob kissed the top of your head and whispered, "I just think she needs some time. Let's not rush anything." 

-------------------------

You cried yourself to sleep the first night. You knew that your response wasn't fair to Bob or Avery or even to yourself, but you'd imagined meeting a little girl who was at least a little bit more talkative if not upbeat. You had your hopes set on fostering a child who at least gave the impression that your home was better than another alternative. You'd been given a vague picture of where Avery had come from, and you wanted her to be comfortable here, but now you felt stupid for buying the glitter toothbrush and the Minnie Mouse pajamas. 

Bob's hand drew lazy circles on your back as you turned away from him and cried softly. "It's just the first night," he reminded you in that sweet, even tone that you loved so much.

"I know. I just wanted this so desperately," you admitted between shaky breaths. His hand on your body helped you eventually fall asleep, and the next morning, Bob was up before you, making breakfast. When you tapped on Avery's door which was ajar, you poked your head in to find her once again sitting on the bed reading.

"Did you sleep okay?" you asked, and she nodded in response. "That's great!" you said in a tone of forced excitement. "Do you need help getting ready for school?"

"No," she said softly, setting the book aside.

You took a deep breath and said, "Bob's making breakfast. Do you want to come downstairs and eat?"

"Yes."

That was the last word you heard her speak before Bob led her out to his car in his uniform. He smiled at you over his shoulder as he told you to have a good day working on your true crime novel, but you knew you weren't going to. You spend two hours trying to write, but you ended up with three and a half new sentences. Instead, you spent most of the day thinking you'd made a huge mistake and hating your own body. Avery would probably last two weeks tops with you and Bob before she was begging to go somewhere else. You didn't even know if you could stand to see her melancholy little expression when your husband brought her home from school today, but you didn't want to call her case worker for help yet.

In the afternoon, you bought everything you needed to make oatmeal cookies along with the rest of your usual groceries. You paused next to the checkout line where there was a display of children's books and grabbed a few of them. Avery appeared to like her book more than anything else, so maybe she would appreciate these ones, too.

But when Bob brought Avery home with him after school, she barely spoke. She didn't want to help make any cookies, and after dinner, she went back to her bedroom. Bob tried to help her with her homework, but she told him it was easy and she already finished it. When you dropped off the new books, she told you she already had a favorite. 

"Oh," you said, standing in the doorway with your hands full of the unwanted books. "That's good... that you have a favorite. I have a favorite book, too."

She looked up at you and nodded, but soon you were backing out of the room and trying to hide your tears from Bob. "It takes time," he reassured you as you balled your hands into fists and cried on him again.

You knew you needed to be as patient as he always was, but you just weren't like him. And you started talking before you could stop yourself. "If we could have gotten pregnant, we'd have our own child," you sobbed. "One that we raised from day one who would love us and bake cookies and read new books."

Bob kissed your ear and whispered, "Nothing is easy, Honey. But sometimes the harder something is at first, the more rewarding it is later on."

You cried yourself to sleep again.

------------------------

Bob tried his best for that first week. He watched you start to pull away and retreat into yourself the more Avery kept to her bedroom. Every day when he dropped her off and picked her up, she thanked him for the ride. When he asked if she would rather start taking the bus, she told him it didn't matter. When he asked if there was something special she wanted to eat for dinner, she said she wasn't picky. 

And all the while she just squinted down at her book. Just The Secret Garden even though you brought home some others. When he pulled up to the curb in front of her school one morning, he said, "Avery, would you like me to take you to the library one day? Or maybe a bookstore where you can pick out what you want?"

She looked at him as she grabbed her backpack in one hand and her book in the other. "Maybe." Then she climbed out of the car, and he waited to pull away until she was inside the school building. That was the most promising answer he'd received yet. He drove to work thinking about signing her up for a library card, and when he got there, he was in a much better mood.

Natasha was the only one who knew that Avery was under his care. He didn't want to give anyone too many details, but she sweetly asked him the same question every morning after they got to work. "How are you and the Mrs. making out with your houseguest?"

And this morning, he said, "Maybe a little better today, Nat. I'm just trying not to rush it."

She patted him on the chest and smiled. "You never do, Bob. You're a man of details."

She was right. He spent the day thinking about all of the details that he knew about Avery. She was eight years old and very quiet. She only wanted to read one book even though you offered her more. She seemed to find the most comfort when she was alone. She was honestly a lot like Bob.

When he picked Avery up from school, he watched as one of the teachers patted the top of her backpack and sent her on her way. She squinted toward his car before trudging over in his direction with a frown on her face. Bob sighed as she climbed into the backseat and buckled herself in. "How was your day, Avery?" he asked as he shifted into drive. But today he got no verbal response at all. Instead he heard her crying.

Without another word, Bob pulled his car around and into an empty parking spot before killing the engine. He opened his door and closed it before taking a few deep breaths, and then he climbed in the back door and settled in next to the crying child. He let one hand gently rest on her shoulder, giving her a small squeeze before asking, "Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"

She just shook her head as tears flowed down her cheeks, and she stared at her feet. "It's stupid."

Bob smiled slightly. "You might think so, but I'd probably find what you have to say fascinating."

She turned her head to look at him, examining his face to see if he was being honest. But of course he was. He just wanted her to tell him what was on her mind. It took a few minutes before she started to settle down, but eventually she said, "I failed my eye exam with the nurse today." She unzipped her bag and pulled out a yellow sheet of paper and handed it to him. "She told me my eyesight is terrible and that I need to get glasses."

Bob looked at the page and had to hide his alarm from her. Avery failed her eye exam spectacularly. It was a wonder to Bob that she was even able to see in her classroom. But now her squinting and her preference for one, well worn book were starting to make sense. As he filled in the blanks in his mind, he said, "Glasses aren't so bad," while he tapped his own silver frames. "They certainly make my day a lot easier."

She kind of rolled her eyes and said, "But you're an adult. People aren't going to make fun of you for wearing glasses."

"You think you'll get made fun of?" Bob asked softly, folding the yellow paper in half.

"Yes," she replied immediately as she wiped at her tears. "I already do. Glasses will make it so much worse."

Bob wanted to press her for more details, but he didn't think this was the right moment. Instead he asked, "Is that why you only like to read The Secret Garden? Because you already know most of the words by heart?"

Avery looked at him like she couldn't believe he solved a very complex riddle. "Yes."

He nodded and asked, "Would you like to be able to read other books, too? Because glasses would definitely help with that."

She shrugged and sniffed as she said, "I like books about gardens and flowers and fairies. I don't know of any other ones I would like anyway."

Bob patted her on the shoulder one more time and said, "I like those kinds of books, too. And I think I can help you get glasses that look cool and help you pick out more books. If you'll let me."

Another partial shrug was his only answer, but at least she wasn't telling him no. As he climbed back into the driver's seat, he sent you a quick text telling you that he and Avery were fine and to go ahead and have dinner on your own. Then he drove along to his optometrist's office, hoping they would squeeze an extra appointment into their schedule.

"You're in luck," the receptionist told him when they arrived. "There was a last minute cancellation. Have a seat, and we can take you back shortly."

The rack hanging on the wall was filled with books and magazines for people of all ages, but Bob watched Avery squint as she took a seat empty handed. He skimmed a magazine and offered to read an article to her, but she said no. When ten minutes had passed, Bob asked her, "Are the kids at school mean to you?" 

He was already considering other options that might make her feel more comfortable when she said, "I just don't fit in. Everyone else has parents or grandparents. Everyone else is loud, and I like it better when it's quiet. Everyone else already made friends."

Bob nodded his head. It was like she was living his own childhood in many ways. "I like it better when it's quiet, too. So does my wife. And making friends can be hard at any age. I still struggle with it."

"You do?" she asked him, eyes wide and interested.

"Absolutely. Sometimes I still get nervous and stumble over what I want to say, and I'm thirty-nine. And you know what?"

"What?"

"There's nothing wrong with that."

He watched Avery take a deep breath and look down at her hands before both of their names were called. Once they were in the exam room, Bob got to witness her fail the test for the second time in one day, and then her tears started up again. The crying was only made worse when the receptionist popped in and tried to quietly tell Bob that Avery wasn't approved for any vision insurance. 

The child was clearly smart as a whip, and if she was having a hard time fitting in at school, he didn't want to make it worse by making her feel like she didn't fit in with you and him either. "I was planning on paying out of pocket today," he told the receptionist who just nodded in response. Then he turned to Avery and said, "Looks like the nurse was right. How about we pick out some glasses?"

She looked at the displays while she wiped at her eyes with a tissue, but she wouldn't tell Bob which ones she wanted to try on. "Which ones are the cheapest?" she asked softly.

"I have no idea," Bob replied easily. "What's your favorite color?"

"Purple," she whispered, and Bob followed her squinting gaze to a purple frame sitting on a shelf above her head. 

"I like purple, too," he said as he reached them down and handed them to her. She held them for a couple minutes, and Bob decided not to rush her. She finally slipped them on and looked in the mirror, and he told her, "I think they look cool."

She nodded a little bit. "They're pretty good. But nobody else at school has purple glasses." 

As she removed them and tried to hand them back to him, Bob quickly looked at the adult sized frames. There was one pair that came in a deep purple, and he kind of liked them. "Just hang onto those for a minute. I need help picking out new glasses for myself, okay? What do you think about these?" 

When he removed his wire frames and replaced them with the purple plastic, it seemed like Avery couldn't help but smile. "I like them."

He nodded once. "Then I'll get them. That way we can match since we both like purple. Thanks for your help."

"You're welcome," she replied quietly, looking at the glasses she was still holding before handing them to Bob.

He took both pairs in his hand before nodding toward the door. "I'm feeling like it's a good day to get ice cream for dinner and look around the bookstore. I can think of at least two more books that you might like to read once your glasses are ready for you to wear. Sound good?"

"Yes."

--------------------------

You didn't know what to expect when Bob brought Avery home after seven o'clock on a school night, but you definitely weren't prepared to hear her laughter for the first time. You'd barely made any progress on your novel since Avery arrived a few weeks ago, merely existing in your own funk all day long. But the sound of Bob's voice followed by her light giggle as they walked inside left you feeling better than you had in ages.

"Hi," you said, your voice dripping with optimism as Bob headed your way with a shopping bag in his hand. 

"Hi, Honey," he replied, kissing your cheek while Avery took her shoes off.

"How was school?" you asked her. 

"Terrible," she told you with a smile aimed up at Bob. "I failed my eye exam."

"Oh," you gasped, already making a mental note to call the eye doctor first thing in the morning so she could get some glasses. "We can take care of it for you."

"Already did," Bob said as he squeezed your hand. "Stopped on the way home and picked them out. Should be ready next week."

"Really?" you asked in surprise as he pulled two books out of the bag. Both were covered in vines and flowers, but one was clearly a novel for an adult while the other was much slimmer and looked like it was for Avery's reading level.

"Yes," he replied softly. "Now, on the drive home, I told Avery that you're a writer, but that you're also really good at reading books out loud." When you nodded and looked at her, she was squinting up at you. Bob handed you the smaller book and said, "I didn't get to take a shower before I left work, so I need to go do that now. But I promised Avery that you'd read a chapter to her after she gets ready for bed." He patted her on the shoulder and then made his way upstairs.

Your head was swimming with information. New glasses and new books and a child who was looking up at you with hope in her eyes. A husband who set up some time for you to spend alone with her. Tears stung your eyes as you said, "I love reading books out loud. Do you want to change for bed and brush your teeth now?"

Ten minutes later, you were sitting next to Avery on the spare bed, reading to her about a magical garden filled with flowers that turned the characters into superheroes. You read all sixteen pages of the first chapter, and then she asked you to read more. 

It was a little bit past bedtime when you finished the third chapter, and she was yawning. "How about I go get you one of my bookmarks from my office? And we can read more tomorrow night?"

"Okay," she replied easily, and when you returned a minute later with a bookmark that had a purple tassel, she smiled. "I like this book so far, but I think I'd like it a lot better if there were fairies, too. Thank you for reading to me."

"You're very welcome," you told her, barely shutting off the light in time for a tear to slide down your cheek. "Goodnight, Avery."

When you rushed into your own bedroom, Bob was in bed reading the other new book. "How did you do it?" you asked him, quickly climbing under the covers with him. "How did you get her to open up a little bit?"

He set the book down with a soft smile. "She just needed some time, Honey. She's a lot like me. She can't be rushed."

"No," you said, pushing your fingers through his hair as you cried a little bit. "That's not it. I think you're actually magical."

"Maybe," he agreed. "But her vision is so bad. That's why I think she kept reading The Secret Garden. She probably has it memorized and didn't want to tell anyone she couldn't see."

"Poor thing," you whispered, realizing that most of Bob's magic came from his patience as you fell asleep in his arms.

-------------------------

A week later, Bob noticed you were exhausted, but you seemed a lot happier, because Avery seemed a lot happier. You had successfully read two books to her, and she was starting to become more vocal around the house. He was hoping she was having an easier time making friends at school now, too. But he was a little bit concerned with how late into the night you'd been working.

When he got a message around lunchtime letting him know both pairs of glasses were ready, he smiled. Pretty soon Avery would be able to attempt reading a new book on her own. He sent you a text letting you know that he'd be home with Avery after a quick stop back at the optometrist's office. And when he picked her up from school, she squinted at his car before climbing in the backseat. 

"Ready to go get our new glasses?" he asked before pulling out onto the road.

"Yes," she replied softly. "I've decided that wearing glasses is a better alternative than not being able to read new books. At least until I can get contacts."

Bob chuckled. "A wise choice."

A few seconds later, she asked, "Will you take me to the library this weekend? There have to be more books there that I'd like."

"Of course I'll take you to the library. We can ask the librarian to help you find you as many books as you want to read."

He hoped that would make the new glasses an even easier decision for her. He parked and led her inside where the eye doctor got them both fitted correctly before handing them a mirror. "What do you think?" Bob asked as he smiled at Avery. "I think they look cool on you."

She shrugged. "They're okay."

"Can you see better?"

"Yes," she whispered. On the way outside, she said, "Thanks for getting new glasses with me. I like yours, too."

Bob checked himself in the mirror before he backed out of the parking spot. "I think it's kind of my color."

You were waiting in the living room for them when Bob opened the front door. The house smelled like dinner cooking, and you had a stack of bound pages on the couch next to you. When you jumped to your feet, you said, "You both look great!" as you bounced in place a little bit.

"Purple is kind of our color," Avery said, making Bob laugh as you covered your massive smile with your fingertips. 

"It really is," you replied, wrapping Bob in a quick hug before cautiously placing your hand on Avery's shoulder for a beat. "I have something I wanted to show you. I was hoping to get your opinion."

"Me?" she asked, looking up at you, eyes wide behind her purple frames.

"Yes," you told her softly. "I've been working on a new story for the past week, and I really think you'll be able to help me with the ending."

"What kind of story?" she asked you, and Bob slowly made his way into the kitchen where he could still hear the two of you talking. 

"Well," you told her as she joined you on the couch, "it's about a fairy who gets invited to live in a magic garden. And she starts to learn how to use magic herself while a friendly witch and a kind wizard supervise her. And the garden is really pretty, and she loves it there and starts to make friends with the other creatures. Do you want to take a look at it?"

"Okay."

Bob hovered in the doorway and watched you hand the bound manuscript to the little girl next to you while you chewed nervously on your lip. He knew you wanted this to work out; he did too. He was also very surprised that you'd been working on this for the past week without sharing your secret even with him. But it truthfully wasn't really for him. It was for her. And you.

The child looked up at you and whispered, "You named the fairy Avery."

You just nodded and smiled. "Your name is so pretty, and you remind me of the kind of little girl who would have magic inside her."

Avery turned back to the page in front of her and snuggled in a little bit closer to you. She started reading out loud, and after a few pages, handed it over to you for a little bit. The two of you went back and forth like this for an hour before Bob carried in two plates of dinner and set them on the coffee table. 

"Even magic fairies get hungry," he said softly before leaving both of you to the story.

---------------------------

When you woke up a few weeks later on Avery's ninth birthday, you were beyond exhausted. The past few nights had been late ones for you as you tried to finish up and edit the story you'd been working on. The title that the two of you came up with was The Littlest Fairy in the Garden, and you were just as proud of this as your true crime releases. 

Then you realized that there was actually a reason why you woke up. You could hear Bob talking. It sounded like he was on the phone even though it was barely eight o'clock. You climbed out of bed and stretched before finding him sitting on the floor in the walk-in closet talking softly on the phone in his pajama pants, undershirt and purple glasses.

"I'm sure she's going to agree with me. We want to move forward if that's what Avery wants, but I'll call you back in an hour or two. Thank you so much."

He ended the call right when you asked, "Who was that?"

Bob jumped a bit as he looked up at you with a tentative smile. "Our lawyer," he whispered. 

"What did they say?" you whispered back as he got to his feet and wrapped his arms around you. 

When Bob's lips found your ear, you shivered at his words. "It was just a preliminary conversation, but they asked if we would be interested in pursuing adoption."

"With Avery?" you gasped, and he nodded against you. 

"Yes. With Avery."

Tears filled your eyes as you clung to him. You thought about all the books she'd been reading with you and the birthday cake waiting in the kitchen. You could practically still smell the oatmeal cookies she and Bob made a few days ago. You could picture her smile and imagine her laughter, both of which were coming more easily with each passing day. "I want to adopt her. She belongs here. With us."

"I think so, too," he replied immediately, and you could hear the unshed tears in her voice. "I think we should have a conversation with her about it today. The process could take a little time, but I want to be sure it's what she wants as well."

You nodded, a jerky motion against him as your heart pounded faster and faster. "Let's talk about it when she wakes up."

Bob led you downstairs to the kitchen, his fingers laced with yours, and he started to crack some eggs while you made coffee and fresh orange juice. Avery had picked the menu for each meal today for her birthday, and the plan was to take her to the zoo after lunch. There was currently a purple banner with flowers and fairies on it stretched across the kitchen along with a large assortment of balloons. You couldn't remember being this excited about something in such a long time.

"Good morning," came a soft voice from the bottom of the stairs, and you nearly dropped a mug on the floor as you turned to look at her.

"Happy birthday!" you and Bob replied in unison, and then all three of you started laughing. 

Without another word, Avery made her way into the kitchen in her Minnie Mouse pajamas and gave you a hug around the waist. You gasped softly as you hugged her back, her purple glasses pressing against you. Then she tucked herself against Bob's side and hugged him right after that. "Thanks for all the birthday stuff. And thanks for being so nice to me and getting me glasses and everything."

You and Bob shared a look over her head as he rubbed his hand along her shoulder. "It makes us happy that you're here, Avery," he said softly, and you had to swipe at your tears. "Let's have your breakfast, and maybe we can talk about making this permanent."

"Permanent? Like me staying here for a while?" she asked softly as she looked up at him.

"Like you staying here forever."

--------------------------

This is a little birthday treat for @wkndwlff! I hope you have a great day, Taylor! I set out to write a nice little story based on this mood board, but somehow it turned into this angsty thing instead. Thanks to @sylviebell @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[frownyalfred]

Can you please do headcanons for Martha Wayne? And Thomas too! I think it’s so sad that we don’t really know a lot about these two, especially Martha. She’s so underrated—I mean, she literally gave birth to Bruce/Batman! 🫶🏼

Jewish queen

struggled with infertility before having Bruce

no taller than 5'3, she's little

you know how people joke about breaking their husband's hand during birth? she broke Thomas's hand in two places during Bruce's birth

she has an advanced degree in something unexpected like library science or accounting, but never used it after getting married

naturally curly hair, she passed this down to Bruce

met Thomas on a bar crawl in downtown Gotham. he'd heard of her through their social circles, but it took him a second to put "Martha Kane" together with "that tiny woman shotgunning a beer over there"

had a beautiful singing voice (also where Bruce got it from)

didn't like Thomas when she first met him (and it took three marriage proposals for her to agree)

was horribly ill during her pregnancy with Bruce and had to be on bed rest the whole time, which is why they hired Alfred (to help with extra tasks when she couldn't run the house)

a mean cribbage player (played frequently with Alfred while on bedrest)

once got mugged and held open her purse to show the mugger she literally only had lipstick, Thomas decided to marry her on the spot

died trying to shield Bruce so a bullet went through her and grazed Bruce's shoulder, causing a scar he never put together until he came back from training and re-read his own medical records

[lexirosewrites]

Hello hello! I have an angsty slick Sunday submission for you today 👀

So I learned today via Instagram (because we all know what the American education system is like) that a pregnancy depends largely on the male partner’s health before the pregnancy.

Now… we all know Eddie’s diet consists largely of Spaghetti-o’s, Yoo-hoos, beer, and the like, to say nothing of the weed and the physical exercise he most likely does not do.

I think you can see where I’m going with this.

Alpha!Eddie meets the love of his life in omega!Steve, they bond, they go into heat/rut, and Steve gets pregnant. They’re thrilled.

Steve’s doing all the right things, he’s on all the right medicines and supplements, he’s (lightly) exercising, he’s hydrating… all the things.

No one knows why he loses the baby.

(Please hear me out- even if it was widely known in the 80s that the father’s health had an impact, Steve would never blame Eddie.)

No one knows why, but it happens, is the thing, and it hits Steve hard. He drops into depression, is nearly catatonic in his grief.

Eddie’s there for him throughout all of it. Of course he is. That’s his mate, he loves him, even through this. Of course he does. And Steve usually bounces back so easily… I mean, take a look at Starcourt, at the Upside Down. He wasn’t just hurt physically. In the case of Starcourt, he was literally tortured, and he pulled through just fine!

So of course he’ll pull through this.

And… he does. He pulls through. He’s not even just going through the motions any more; he’s genuinely enjoying life, Eddie can tell.

Still… it doesn’t stop the twinge of sadness he feels through the bond when Steve catches sight of a pup with their parents. He brings it up eventually, but Steve quickly shuts him down. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

So Eddie thinks, okay, he won’t talk, then maybe some direct action will work. So he tries.

Steve refuses to do anything unless Eddie’s got a condom on. Spirals halfway into an anxiety attack when Eddie doesn’t immediately understand.

They never do end up with those six little nuggets.

Steve never does lose that twinge of sadness when he sees a pup out with their parents.

He knows he can never have that.

convinced you guys hate me and want me to be sad all the time🥲

[tightjeansjavi]

My Dearest,

A/N: so, while I was in Galena for my girls trip this weekend…my friend and I went into a bookstore and that’s where the inspiration struck! Ulysses Grant wrote letters to his wife (My Dearest Julia) from June 4th, 1844 to February 2, 1854. Of course I immediately had to throw Joel into the narrative, with a twist ;) please have your tissue boxes at the ready for this one and remember, fiction can’t hurt you! Also, big thank you and kisses to @beardedjoel for sobbing along with me while I wrote these series of letters 💘 P.S I know California wasn’t founded as a state until 1850…but let’s just pretend!

~word count: 1.9k~

Summary: a series of letters written by Joel Miller, a hopeless romantic yearning for your embrace once more.

Pairing | forbidden love!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: angst, allusion to smut, infertility, pining, hopeless romantic, unrequited love, forbidden love, major character death, alcoholism, death by alcohol poisoning, yearning, no age gap, mentions of social status, somewhat historically accurate language, no happy ending, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is my dearest, +18 minors dni! (If I missed anything, please let me know!)

June 4th, 1844

My Dearest,

I am deeply remorseful for the events that transcribed three days ago. I know I have put you in an undesirable situation now with your father’s wishes for your arranged marriage to the rich banker's son. Forgive me, for I don’t care to remember his name. My dearest, do not put the blame upon yourself. If we had known that there were prying, hateful eyes watching us, I would have waited for you in the stables and not inside your chambers. Jealously drives even the sanest of people to do the unforgivable. The deep wounds your father has inflicted upon me will heal, but my heart? Oh, how it aches for you, my dearest. If I were not a coward, I would turn back and face the gallows just to see your face one last time, for what else is a man to do when he is in love? I’m heading west, like we planned in the gardens, in hopes that you will follow me and go against your father’s wishes. Please write to me soon, tell me that you are safe, and grace me with your sweet words.

Your devoted Joel.

-

July 13, 1844

My Dearest,

California is beautiful and my eyes are seeing the ocean for the very first time. I wonder what your view is? Last I heard you were moving to New York. Is it true? Please tell me it’s a lie. I would be naive to think that what is written in the papers to be false, but my heart is still holding on. Are you moving to New York because of me? I’m so sorry, my dearest. We should have been more careful. I can still smell your perfume, and feel the ghost of your lips on my skin. I am no poet, but if I was, perhaps your father would think highly of me.

I dream of you even in the daytime.

Please write to me, dearest.

J.M

-

September, 7th 1844

My Dearest,

There is a sweetness on my tongue that I have not felt the indulgence of for many moons and suns. I worried that I would never hear from you again, that I would become another distant memory fading into ash. I forbade this from happening, dearest. We are thousands of miles apart, and all I wish for is to see your face once more. Do you wish for the same, dearest? To see your Joel, to feel his warm embrace? Please don’t forget me, please. I know in your heart that you still feel for me. California calls your name as it did mine. Come back to me, dearest.

Yours most affectionately,

Joel

-

January 12th, 1845

My Dearest,

I have not heard from you in months and my heart cannot bare it any longer. Why do you not write to me, dearest? I’ve enrolled in classes, maybe I’ll even become the next great American author! Would your father accept me then, if I was no longer a penniless man? I think he would. Your father is a very simple man in those regards. If only my status in society didn’t matter. Do you lie awake in bed and think of me, dearest? Does your dream state float off to the thoughts of your Joel? My dearest, my love for you has not changed, only grown stronger. Has yours for me felt all the same?

Joel

-

July 11th, 1845

My Dearest,

I write to you with a heavy heart and an anger that has never once possessed me. Please tell me it isn’t true. That you have fallen for another, the rich banker's son? It cannot be true. The papers lie, dearest. Your heart belongs to me, does it not? It must. You promised! You said that no matter what happened, no matter the consequences, we would end up together. You spoke those words so sweetly upon my ear when I laid beneath your sheets, dearest. Back in Texas, in your abandoned home, the stench of me still lingers. When you receive this letter, close your eyes and imagine me there with you, wherever that may be. I’ll come to New York, I swear it. I’ll come find you!

Please, write to me soon, dearest. Do not allow this to be the end of our story, I beg of you.

Yours always,

Joel Miller

-

October, 1845

My Dearest,

This morning I write to you about the thoughts of reminiscing on our love. Something so sweet, fresh, ripened, but not yet spoiled. Do you remember the night we first met? We were just children then. All bright eyed and filled with curiosity. I remember the bows in your braided hair, your mother scolding you for them, slapping your cheek and yanking them from your braids. You wept with your face buried in your hands, and I comforted you. Your mother taught you how to curtsey, how to engage in small talk and forced you to wear those unbreathable garments that you hated so. I showed you how to run, to make mud pies and swim in the river. Do you remember the night of our first kiss? The first time our lips touched and my life held a meaning again? The foul mouthed, stable hand boy winning the affections of a girl such as you. If I bring my fingers to my lips now, I can feel your kiss there, too. I moved back to Texas, dearest. I wanted to feel closer to you. Write to me soon, and in your letter tell me that you wish for me to come to New York to be with you.

I am inconsolable without your presence at my side.

Yours devotedly,

Joel Miller

P.S. Every night I pray to the moon and stars that we will be in one another’s embrace very soon. I have never been a religious man by any means, but I find myself praying for you, my dearest.

-

March 29th, 1846

My Dearest,

It is spring once again, and everything is in bloom! A new family has moved into your abandoned home, and I am back to my roots. I have given up my dreams to be an author, but I write to you, still. I missed being around the horses more than you could possibly imagine. There’s a piece missing here, and that piece is you. The new family I work for has a daughter around your age. She’s pretty, beautiful even, but she’s not you, my dearest. She’ll never be you. Her hair isn’t the right length, her eyes the wrong shade, her laugh isn’t yours, her mannerisms are all wrong. She yearns for my affections, but my heart belongs to another. I will not commit adultery against you, my sweet. Even in my loneliest hours, I will not give into my sins against you. She would make a fine wife, and her parents are unlike your own, but she will never be you, and she will never possess my heart.

I yearn for you.

Your Joel

-

July 2nd, 1846

My Dearest,

I write to you with sweat dripping down my brow. I cannot sleep, the Texas heat has played a cruel trick upon my mind. I awoke to your voice, whispering my name through the billowing curtains. I taste your sweet kiss and the oncoming summer storm, but you are not here. Am I going insane? I fear that I am. What is the weather like in New York? Write to me soon, I beg of you.

Joel Miller

-

September 23rd, 1847

My Dearest,

I am facing my loneliest night yet, and I picture you laying beside me beneath my sheets. I have scrapped up enough money to finally buy you a ring! Isn’t that the most wonderful news? Tomorrow evening, after supper, I will head into town to the jewelers and buy you a ring that shines more brilliantly than the heavens above. You’ll wait for me, won’t you? Promise me that you will.

With love,

Your Joel

-

January, 1848

My Dearest,

Today is the day where I wish I never awoke. I wish to stay in a sweet slumber where my dreams are filled with you. You cannot marry him, please. Tell your father that you don’t accept the banker's son’s hand in marriage! He will never know you as I do, my dearest. He will never satisfy you the way that I can. He will turn his nose up at your politics, your drinking habits, your antics and wildness. But I love you as so. Come back to me, runaway with me. I can give you so much happiness if you only let me. How will your husband to-be react when he finds that you cannot bear him children? When the marriage is to be consummated, and he strips you of your skirts and touches you where only I have been, how will he feel? I worry for you, my dearest. I remember the night that we first became one. Do you still think of the way I moved in you? I still feel the phantom crescents of your nails in my back. I wish the marks left there were permanent, so I would always have a piece of you with me. Tell me that you remember the way that my kisses feel, my taste on your tongue, my voice, my body moving with yours. There was a time when you wanted to bear my children, and begged me to fill your womb with my seed. We waited and waited, but your womb never swelled with life no matter how many times we tried. You assumed my feelings for you would sour, but they only grew.

If you accept the banker's son's hand in marriage, I wish to never see the sunrise again.

Joel Miller

-

May 7th, 1848

My Dearest,

I have never wept more than I have this morn. I shredded the papers, I pounded my fists into the earth and spooked every horse in the stable. Even the heavens weep with me, my dearest. Can I even call you that any longer? You wear his ring upon your finger, awake beneath his sheets, smelling of him. I’m sorry, my dearest. I’m sorry I could never be enough for you. I have tried so hard, and have continued to fail. My heart aches, and I wish I could rip it from my chest and stab it till all movement ceases. I wish to not feel any longer. I have lost all hope, and I fear that my attempts to hear from you have been fruitless. My devoted letters are out there, somewhere. Or perhaps you have collected them. Perhaps you did not awaken in his sheets. Perhaps you are on your way back to me. I’ll wait for you, my dearest.

Undoubtedly yours,

Joel Miller

-

June 4th, 1848

My Dearest,

In my loneliest hour, I write to you. If you ever receive this letter, do not weep for me. You and I were cut from a separate cloth since birth. I was not born into wealth. I was not fed from silver spoons. My clothes are tattered, the soles of my boots are worn down. All I have to my name is my penmanship and my memories of you. Think of me sweetly, will you? I wish you only happiness and love. I have turned into a drunk, my dearest. Alcohol soothes my mind, woes, and ailments. I hear your voice so vividly when I am in this state. You’re here beside me now, watching as I write my final letter. I can reach out and touch your cheek, soft, supple. You smell of saccharine honey and lavender fields. Your laugh is my favorite tune, and I can hear it now. Sing me a lullaby, my darling as I close my eyes and dream of you for a final time. If another universe exists, I hope I am rich. I hope I am the wealthiest man who is adored by your mother and father. I hope that on the night we meet again, I present you with a ring forged from my heart, a piece of me that has forever belonged to you. I hope I am fed from a silver spoon, dressed in the finest garments, attend every gala with you on my arm as my lady, my wife, my reason to live. I hope to bless you with as many children as you so desire. I have always loved you, my dearest, from the moment we met, I have been yours.

Farewell,

Your Joel.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika-graphics 💖

Follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications

[winterprince601]

symbolically, dany (probably) not being able to have kids is very powerful. throughout the first book, her worth as a queen, threat as a conqueror and value as a body is determined by her ability to breed: the prospect of a son overshadows all her achievements and her body is used and abused as the vehicle of her brother's, her husband's and various other men's conquests. that is why it is so radical when instead of her barrenness being depicted as defective, she births the dragons all by herself, all of herself, without any real male intervention. SHE is the true dragon, it's in HER blood, HER power and she flips the terms of reproduction so that she is the one inscribing meaning into lifeless matter, animating clay. any marriage she now enters will be far more on her bodily terms. in fact, there doesn't have to be a husband or a son or even a legacy - she defines daenerys and she defines targaryen.

of course, personally this is still heartbreakingly sad for someone like dany who desperately wants a home and family. even as it potentially grants her more autonomy and forges a very important maternal bond with her dragons, daenerys is still left feeling isolated from and through her body.

[imagineurmom]

I saw these and knew what I need to do

Original images if anyone cares + goofy ass Wallace face

[afreakingdork]

Soft Spot - Chapter 3

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Spencer is here with something to say in this week's chapter art by @garbagemilkshake

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Villain Donatello (TMNT), Love, POV Second Person, Babies, Pregnancy, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Fertility Issues, Pregnant Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Reader-Insert, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Cum Eating, Turtle Noises (TMNT), I have a Biology Degree and I’m Using it

Synopsis: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the next step about as smooth as the others arrived. The baby-oriented sequel to Weak Spot.

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

“Donatello… Y/N…” Spencer, the Senior Demonstrations Advisor at Donnie’s lab, folded his hands in front of his mouth in pseudo prayer. “There is no good way to say this, but… there is no circumstance in which the two of you will be able to adopt.”

From where you were sitting in one chair and Donnie in another, you both stared at the man.

He wilted without pressure. “You know I’ve done everything for you for all these years and you’ve treated me…”

He snuck a look at Donnie who was steel faced.

“I’ll just say it: Cruelly on your best days and like trash on your worst, but you have made my career and that’s why I stayed. You pay me incredibly well. The government pays me their own stipend in watching you. I have contacts like you wouldn’t believe! With the stakes in this company alone I’m set for-!”

Donnie only tapped his finger on his chair's limb.

It barely made a noise.

Spencer clammed right up. “Right and you know I brokered it all. I’ve gone to the board for you. I’ve gone to the government for you. When have I ever gotten you a response you didn’t want? They know it. They know I’m a pathetic middle man and you’ll do what you want regardless of them, so they often cave within reason and…”

This time Spencer cut himself off and sighed.

He then leaned back in his chair and looked his age. “The point is, the moment you started publically researching this topic two months ago, your activity was logged. The decision was made then. When you got your first state level rejection and came to me, I went up the chain with the usual ideology. The one that’s worked for years.”

You checked on Donnie, but even you couldn’t read anything from him.

“It was… different. I can't even tell you! It was like they removed anyone from the decision making process who could be swayed. My contacts were all gone. People who have dedicated their lives to America. It was… unlike anything I had ever seen.”

Spencer raised a hand to mess his hair, but thought better of it.

He stared at the appendage. “They levied all you’ve been given against you.”

You heard Donnie inhale.

It wasn’t sharp.

It wasn’t distinct.

He only appeared to take a single breath where he had not.

You looked away.

“You’ve never been convicted of a crime, but you are considered one of, if not the most, dangerous assets. Any time there’s a change in leadership, they almost always evaluate if you are still worth it to keep alive. When I got you approval to travel internationally, your data was shared with the world. They wanted to make sure you came back. They may not know everything you’ve done. Hell, I don’t know and I don’t want to know, but they know enough.”

You felt Donnie look at you.

“You’re brilliant. You’re the smartest guy I’ve ever met and ever will meet. You are insane. You’re something totally new. You do things… I can’t…” Spencer had to blow out a long breath to steady himself. “I have no doubt that even if you retired, that even if a mutant eradicating lunatic took office, you would be safe to live out your natural life.”

You couldn’t return the gaze.

“But there’s no way they’ll let you have a kid. In that way, you’ll always be a monster to them. The thought of you of all people raising a young mind?” Spencer kicked back from his chair and his admonishment was palpable. “They’re idiots! Idiots, all of them! I don’t even like you, but this!?”

Donnie finally returned his attention to Spencer.

“You know from when the EPF tried to cage and the others that they studied at least part of mutated DNA. They’ve guessed a lot from a little. They don’t think you’ll have a child naturally. They won’t let you use a lab to do it artificially. You're not going to foster. Hell, there's no way they'll let you even babysit a kid that isn’t yours for more than a few minutes.”

“Spencer.” Donnie spoke as if he hadn’t listened to a borderline lecture.

“Yes?”

“We’re trying.”

Spencer rubbed his face and again tried to save his hairline. “I know. I’m trying too.”

Donnie clicked his tongue.

“To help you!” Spencer’s volume rose and he dipped horrified. “Not me trying have a kid! I have enough of those! I meant I know you are trying to have one! Both of you! You two! I’m saying I know what you meant.”

Donnie’s lids lowered.

“I’m assuming you crunched the numbers.” Spencer pivoted as you assumed most business men would.

Donnie’s leg bounced the slightest amount as he weighed his options before he relented. “We have a 1.73% chance of conception.”

Spencer nodded and each bob of his chin grew more weary. “Woof.”

“It’s not zero.” You added.

“It’s not zero.” Spencer held a hand up as if that had been a bone for him.

“So… are you saying that even if we conceived… They’ll take the baby-?” You had to stop because your voice shook.

Spencer struggled for a long moment before he finally raked his hand through his hair. “They are betting on it not happening.”

“But you said-?” You pressed.

“I know!” Spencer’s voice grew heated and he cut himself off with a fearful snap of his lips. “I’m sorry. It’s not you at all. You have every right to ask questions. I shouldn’t be the one answering them. They’ve dismissed this so much it’s a damn insult! They’re spitting in your faces!”

“You don’t know?” You asked.

“I asked the same thing!” Spencer pleaded with you.

You quieted at the man’s sorrowful face.

“When I pressed about the million and one chance that it happened, I got conflicting answers. There was more than one representative at the meeting.”

You finally looked at Donnie.

Spencer shook his head. “The answers all ranged the same! One man said it wasn’t an option so why bother. Another  acknowledged that mutants have been granted citizenship, but they’re all considered sterile with the implication they’ll be wiped out eventually.”

His jaw was set and he couldn’t return it.

“Point is, they don’t even want to consider it. That would mean drawing up new laws. They aren’t going to do extra work if they don’t have to. It’s a moot point.”

“Hacks.” Donnie sneered.

“This is going to be an ‘if it comes’ thing, if it comes at all! The certains are: you are banned from adoption. You’re not going to be able to sneak an abandoned drug den kid away with these rules, Donatello! This is as serious as serious gets.” Spencer set his hands on the table.

An unmistakable cowlick had broken free of his coif.

“They value my work, if I stop-” Donnie bore his gaze into Spencer.

“You are really, really useful to them alive. Genius Built is highly coveted and isn’t a company without you. It’s the place every graduate wants to work and every big brain hopes to walk through.”

Donnie waited for the other shoe to drop.

“They’ve finally drawn a line.” Spencer said with a pained expression. “Nothing you do is going to move the adoption thing. The baby situation…? That… If that existed, that might be something else, but that’s only a might.”

“What freedom-!?” Donnie seethed.

“Do you have!?” Spencer shot forward with his hands to his desk. “You have it all! You can walk about without police! You’re basically carte blanche! You get to live! You got to marry! You got to leave the country!! What do you have?! Is a kid that make it or break it!?”

Donnie rose in one fluid motion.

Spencer scrambled backwards so fast his chair squeaked. “I have kids! They’re nasty! They’re gross! The grossest! They’re draining little parasites! They’ll grow up to hate you! They despise me! Don’t get mad at me because you don’t know!!!”

You tore through your wedding band to demand Donnie sit.

Your mate tossed fury your way and seemed to ask why you weren’t this mad.

You let your sour show slow and leaked poison through your bond that you were.

An indignant wave hit him before he turned to Spencer. “They take away Y/N’s freedom.”

Spencer was still on high guard. “Y/N is on the same international list as you now.”

Donnie traded ire for horror.

“I’m what?” You blinked.

“Maybe not as a threat like Donatello, but you’re a person of interest. All your travel will be monitored.” Spencer explained warily.

“That’s…” Your head rolled and you stared at the ceiling.

“I thought you knew…” Spencer’s voice whined.

“How would we know?!” Donatello growled. “You said travel was clear!!”

“Y/N married you!” Spencer matched him without standing. “There was explicit danger there!”

“And now Y/N isn’t allowed to have a child!? They will be taken away!?” Donnie stormed forward.

Spencer tried to hold himself as the desk was between them.

You brought your chin down and into your hands while sending out a stop command to your mate.

He heeded it, but would not budge.

“You can’t adopt. You can’t use fertility options. They don't want you inventing ways around anything but au naturel. They're neutering you like that.” Spencer listed off.

Donnie loomed and you could almost see the miasma pour off his aura.

You thought over the conversation and then Spencer as a whole.

He was the man who sold Genius Built.

He was a man who has worked with Donnie for years.

He was a man who was as stereotypical white collar as they came.

“There’s no rule about me getting pregnant because they don't think I will.” You spoke.

Donnie didn’t turn.

Spencer tipped his body to see you. “Exactly.”

“What have you got for that?” You asked.

Spencer watched you for a beat before he smiled. “See this! Your spouse always gets it! They make you more palatable, but not great, you know?”

Donnie’s anger flared.

Spencer inched away from his desk and was clearly moving towards you. “I can’t guarantee your child will be safe.” 

You nodded.

Donnie’s head tipped back, but not enough for you to see.

“I can’t say they won’t be either. Donatello has always been a ‘ask for forgiveness instead of permission’ kind of guy. He was going to leave the country regardless of what I did. He was going to invent regardless of the label. He was going to fight the US government by himself regardless of whatever that was!”

You wondered how much Spencer really knew.

“What’s the gestation like if you get knocked up?”

You looked to Donnie.

“We aren’t sure, but hypothesize similar to human.”

“Nine months and that’s if you already got lucky…” Spencer ruminated.

Donnie didn’t correct him.

You guessed that made sense.

Donnie had only very recently entered the phase where he could test to see if his birth control was out of his system. He was meant to pick up some supplies from the lab today. There was no point prior to now. All that had been done is he’d started closely examining your body with your permission. It included daily wellness checks that supposedly charted your ovulation schedule. Your husband had made them tender periods instead of clinical ones so you hadn't considered them much.

“Are you two going to keep trying?” Spencer asked only you.

“Yes.” You answered.

“Are you going to break the adoption or fertility rules that have been set down?”

You met his eye harshly. “The first would endanger the child so I'm going to unilaterally say no. The second, what even counts? If I take a vitamin, is that wrong?”

Spencer lit up and went for his computer.

He tacked several things in before he apparently got a window he wanted.

Then, he mouthed out what you had asked as he wrote.

“If you conceived, how staunch are you on keeping the baby’s records secret?” Spencer finally asked something else.

Donnie took a threatening step.

“Sealed, heard.” Spencer nodded along with his notes. “What about you, Y/N? The pregnancy data will be something...”

Donnie meant to take another step, but you finally got to your feet and cut him off with a hand to his arm. “It depends. Are you looking for loopholes?”

“I work in sales.” Spencer stopped writing to look at you. “I sell Donatello. I do what I need to.”

There was a hefty confidence there that you felt was warranted.

Donnie had kept Spencer around after all.

“Don’t you guys have a crazy legal team?” You put yourself between Donnie and Spencer.

Spencer’s plastic smile shone bright. “We have the best damn legal team of sharks that ever roved US waters.”

“Can… we win?”

“We can try.” Spencer typed out one last thing before spinning to address you. “Here’s the pitch: you guys make a baby.”

Donnie shook his head at the absurdity.

Spencer ignored him. “While you break that hurdle, I will do everything in my power to protect the prodigal son. I’m gonna get the US decision saying what you can't do in formal writing and give it to the shark tank. We’ll shred the loopholes into doorways. We’ll walk all over them. They might want something though. We’ve got stuff in the in GB here that’s tasty and reserved to sweeten whatever pots we need. The EPF is gone and the loons were silenced, but the government can't pretend like they've really moved on from the mutant thing. Some people still see the advantages. There’s been real world change, especially environmental, that has stemmed directly from mutant cooperation! If it's got breakthrough written on it, they'll want it, especially pharmaceuticals. You have no idea how far this can go. If it can make money, that talks. Way louder than bureaucrats in Washington!”

You stared on.

Spencer’s lids lowered. “I'm saying we give up on trying to convince the US shit show. We get ourselves better backers, green ones, as in money green, Donatello green, and that's what's actually going to get you what you want. Like everything else.”

You nodded slowly.

“I’m gonna refine that speech, by the way.” Spencer told Donnie.

Donnie ignored him.

“Why… do all this…?”

“Pardon?” Spencer perked up.

“Why help us…? The travel thing was at least a wedding gift… This… this isn’t in your job description. None of it has been.”

Spencer stared at you dully for a moment before he leaned in like he had a secret. “So?”

You twitched at his apparent audacity.

He smiled a smarmy veneer. “You think it's in an assistant’s job description to get coffee?”

Your lips parted, but you weren’t sure with what.

Spencer answered for you. “No, but it’s implied you do it. Everyone does it. That and pick up dry cleaning. You maintain the boss's schedule, you push meetings when he’s hung over, and you work through the politics. It’s what you do! Have you ever heard me call Donnie an evil man? No and I never will. You know who gets called evil on a daily basis? Me, darling. I’ve been cussed out by more people than you can count. I’m hated by multi-international corporations because I’m good at what I do and what I do is sell him!”

Donnie looked down Spencer’s pointed finger with disinterest.

“I’m set for life because of it! I’m not going anywhere! I didn’t give you the travel voucher as a wedding gift! I would have been fine getting you a toaster that would break in six months. I got the travel ban lifted because I wanted my meal ticket to come back. If he wants a kid then I’m gonna move mountains because I know what he’s like when he doesn’t get what he wants and it’s bad.”

Spencer finally left the safety of his desk and openly approached Donnie.

“Do the screen thing. Projections I sent you in the email three days ago at 3:24pm.”

Donnie glowered, but brought his wrist up.

You saw a graph appear in one of Donnie’s screens that apparently showed Genius Built’s growth.

It had been on nothing but a rise in all the recent quarters.

“This-” Spencer pointed to a spot that marked right before the rapid incline. “-is when he disclosed his relationship with you, which I have only been able to guess is when you guys became official official.”

You looked between the data and him.

“You entered Donatello’s life and his creativity spiked. Not just any inventions, but one’s with mass-market appeal! All useful hit after hit. You rejuvenated our stocks. You’re the direct correlation. We’ve never tapped children’s markets! Do you have any idea how much potential there is!? How what you’ll make isn’t just some brat, but a kid’s revolution in general?! People won’t be able to think about popping out little shits without Genius Built!”

The man was manic enough that you inched away from him.

Donnie closed the screen and this time he used his body as a barrier.

Spencer cleared his throat and pushed out his hands in some sort of inspired breathing exercise.

“Point is, I’m not doing it to be a good person.”

You felt Donnie’s appreciation.

Your head pivoted toward your mate and you saw how his cold expression honed on Spencer.

Your brow wrinkled in confusion.

“I’d bet on what I'm doing over benevolence any day. I'm doing something that someone’s going to fight tooth and nail over.” Spencer added before he leaned back against his desk.

It was the honesty.

Donnie liked that Spencer was truthful.

Neither man bullshitted the other.

They were in the ultimate symbiotic relationship.

Something of only convenience.

The moment either party didn’t benefit, they would move on.

The fact they’d been at this for years said something too.

You heaved a sigh and guessed Spencer wasn’t wrong, though it didn’t feel great.

“I’ll think about the pregnancy stuff.” You relented.

“I’ll take it.” Spencer bobbed his body and looked at Donnie. “What do you think? Nothing moves without you, sir.”

Donnie let the moment simmer before he gave the barest nod. “Find me choices and security or find other employment.”

It didn’t sound like the threat Donnie hoped.

You tempered your grin.

Spencer took it the same way, but pretended to be alarmed by waffling away. “Understood! I’ll send my formal proposal in an hour.”

Donnie turned and, in passing, you shared a glance that said this meeting was over.

You said goodbye to Spencer where your mate didn’t and the man waved you off.

He started a phone call before his door shut closed.

Donnie continued to move, but you hung back by the office.

It was soundproofed and you heard nothing more after the door shut.

Donnie noticed your hindrance and turned back.

“Adoption… was our plan…” You spoke with burbling sadness. “Not a fallback, that’s what we-”

Donnie was at your side in an instant. “I know, but not here…”

“Not here…” You slipped away from your mate and held yourself as you walked.

He followed close behind.

There would be no adoption.

You were at the mercy of less than two percent chances.

You would have to give birth.

By all accounts, a child was now only a dream.

Donnie had told you.

Donnie would never be allowed to live freely.

He said he would live his entire life under some form of threat.

That would never end. 

It now extended to you. 

If you had a child with Donnie there was a chance they could be taken away. 

You squeezed your torso so tight that it felt like your ribs compressed.

Donnie touched your arm and you twitched in realizing that you were still in the labs proper.

Scientists busied themselves around you.

Not here.

Donnie needed supplies, you reminded yourself.

Not here.

You nodded for him to go ahead and slipped off toward where a pillar afforded you a place out of the way.

Not here.

It was unfair.

The injustice made you ill.

Your mate was loving.

Your mate was caring.

Your mate fostered a smile in spite of everything he had gone through.

Your mate was a murderer.

You blew out an air that allowed you to get just a little more of your body.

That was it and more.

Political enemy.

War criminal.

Weapons manufacturer.

Drug dealer.

There was no end to his crimes.

How had Spencer put it?

Something about Donnie shaping young minds.

Wasn’t that what he did now?

Donnie was the last step in the process granting all these scientists their projects.

He was allowed to do that because this benefited the world.

Would a child of his offer nothing?

Donnie was a weapon.

Donnie was a husband.

The swirl threatened to consume you.

Donnie was there, by your side once more.

You didn’t look at him as you moved for the elevator.

Your torso ached.

He got the button.

The elevator ride was a loaded one.

Every grievance filled the metal box until you thought you would suffocate.

Then the doors opened to the lobby and you darted out at freedom.

You stumbled as you crossed the clean floors.

You were outside and to where the car was parked.

It opened its doors, invitingly, and you accepted the offer.

Donnie moved to the trunk.

Its slam shook your body when it closed.

Donnie entered the vehicle.

The door closed.

The engine turned.

The moment you were in motion, your mate pulled you to him.

Your tiny body curled up in his.

It fell out of you.

“Why aren’t you allowed to add some good to this world?!”

“Don’t they see how you’ve changed?!”

“Haven’t they seen what you’ve done!?”

“How can we do this!?”

“How can we have a kid in good faith!?”

“How is trying to have a child under these circumstances not abuse!?”

“They did this! They put us in this position! How is that fair!?”

“I already thought it was so damn selfish! How can I add to that?!”

“We could do everything! We could do everything right and they could be taken from us!”

“We can’t even help another child like you!!”

“Another kid who was lost! We can’t save them!!”

“It’s ridiculous!!!”

“It’s not fair!!!”

“I HATE THIS!!!”

Donnie responded.

You knew he did.

To each and every sentence, he had something to say.

You heard none of it.

You were irrational.

You could feel how much.

Who was that person who had been in the room with Spencer?

How had they taken the news so coldly?

Donnie had been furious.

Donnie had thought you would be.

You thought you were.

You were now.

It was too late.

For what?

What good would it have done?

Spencer was nothing more than a messenger.

That was why the government talked through him and not to Donnie.

How many times had they tried to buy out Spencer?

There was no way they hadn’t tried to place a plant as close to Donnie as possible.

Spencer had good in him.

You didn’t care what he said.

There was good.

He wasn't evil.

Nothing was so black and white.

Just like this.

When you emerged from your stupor, you were bundled up on the couch.

Swaddled in your favorite blanket, you rubbed your cheek against the softness and looked further.

On the table were at least three drinks and two snacks.

All things you loved.

Running at a near silent volume was one of your favorite shows.

Donnie had done what he could and presumably realized you were unreachable.

He’d then set you up with creature comforts before giving you space.

Instead of looking for him through your wedding band, you withheld yourself to search.

It seemed comical to you that he would be anywhere other than at his desk.

He was standing and looking over a microscope.

He was examining the mobility of his sperm to see if they had recovered.

After all you had said was he still planning to move forward?

He must have felt the question because your mate looked up, attentively listening to those emotions that you could both hear before he turned to you.

You felt helplessness in your eyes, but tried to parboil them for him.

He held a faint scold for your cover-up as he approached.

“Nuzzle, please.” You told him.

He diverted course to meet you with the back of the couch as your safety net. He caught it and leaned over to scrub his beak against your cheek. You let the affection roll over you before you felt you could return it in earnest.

He solemnly accepted.

As soon as you stopped, he retreated and tucked his chin against a couch cushion to watch you.

“I… didn’t hear anything you said. I’m sorry.”

Donnie’s lip pursed nonchalantly. “Nothing of importance.”

“I doubt that.” You held a hand up to his.

He lifted his fingers.

You thread the digits. “Tell me. I bet you had some great points or plans.”

He stared at your entwined hands for a long moment. “No.”

Your lips parted, but you didn’t make a sound.

He looked sad. “Everything you said. You are right.”

Your heart had barely surfaced and was once again treading water.

“This was always a dream. The mechanisms were always stacked against us, in my name. We went to Spencer because the state of New York was never going to let us adopt. Regardless of my record, there is discrimination in the system at its purest form, let alone against a mutant. I am only sorry I could not have protected you more.”

“All you did was warn me! All you’ve ever done…”

“Then you’ll remember quite clearly that each time you dismissed me I insisted upon the matter.” 

He was right and you lowered your gaze.

“I do see one thing differently.”

You punished yourself for a few more seconds before meeting his eyes.

“You said we were denied a chance to make a child happy. Be it our own, foster, or more.”

Your head rose a little higher. “You can’t-”

He squeezed your hand lightly to stop you.

You felt a little protest bubble through your bond.

He kissed one of your knuckles. “I have lived my life in complete rejection of authority figures.”

You stalled.

“I watched time and time again as parental-aged adults passed me over. Those who did not ignore my existence used me for gain or saw to destroy me. I had no childhood, but there was little time to yearn. I had to survive.”

You leaned into him.

He gave you no leeway. “My dearest, I don’t think I’ll be a good parent. I don’t believe they exist. I know that as a fact. All children are disturbed by their parents in some shape or form.”

You moved to fight, but he caught a finger to your lips.

“You can argue otherwise, but there are already signs. You know my disposition. You've fought it. I’m obsessive which would translate to helicopter parenting. I have days where I can’t handle noise or bodily fluid, both of which are the general make-up of young children. I am stubborn. I am cold.”

You frowned deeply against his digit.

He pressed once there as a point before releasing you.

You started with the usual complaints, but you saw his gaze.

It was clear, open, and didn’t hold pain.

It was a fact that he accepted.

He wasn’t exactly wrong.

The only thing you could fight him with was scientific data which came in the form of his pathetic sample size.

You bet he already knew that.

He also hadn’t thought himself capable of love in general though.

Yet here you were.

The gentle current through his ring held an understanding of that as well.

“Why do this then?” You chose as your response.

“Why do anything?” His lips crinkled with bare amusement.

Its unguarded nature caused your chest to restrict.

He tipped closer. “I’m selfish. All signs told me not to entertain you, but I did. Even when my apocalyptic heralding came to be, I could not leave you because despite all the suffering I caused you, it was outweighed by my desire for you. I have the same desire for children. I know I will mess up. I believe you will as well, no matter how high a regard I have for you. That is what I know, but you are my stunning anomaly. You are my heart and why would I not want to concoct the ultimate combination of our forms? I adore creation and what is this if not its elevated form?”

“Donnie…”

“I am under no delusion as to how that sounds. It’s selfish. My only awareness lies in their personhood which I learned firsthand. I tried for too long to control S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. I have barely amended such. Our offspring may have our visage, hopefully more so yours…” He gave a calculated churr.

You tapped him with your nose.

He languished in the touch. “But they are not us and won’t be.”

You gave into a small sigh and thought for a moment. “Is there a line for too selfish?”

“You nearly lost your life. Yes, there is and I am ignorant of it.”

“Even if there’s a threat of taking our child away?”

“Nothing…” Donnie rose a little taller to show his might. “That I have even the most minute control over will take anything away from us, especially you. I have contingencies. I will resort to the lowest blows. We may go into hiding, but I will burn the entire population of the Earth down before a sentient being thinks it can separate me from my family.”

You stroked his shoulder in a downward motion to coax him off the ledge.

He dipped down to meet you with a butting of his head.

You kissed him.

“That is of course only if you want to continue. You bear the bodily burden. I can renew my birth control at a moment’s notice. However, I believe the risk outweighs the reward and that comes from the purple personification of peril.”

You were quiet for a moment.

Was that really okay?

You supposed you had long been your own form of selfish.

You often and willfully had ignored Donnie’s warnings.

You to this day downplayed his past transgressions.

All because you loved him and wanted to be with him.

A sudden reel of all your own emboldened activities spun through your mind’s eye.

You had really aggravated an armed assailant once.

You couldn’t help but smile a little.

What was the US government?

People gave it the middle finger on a daily basis.

They weren’t some be all and end all.

They weren’t going to take your child.

With Donnie, you were invincible.

Even though in practice that was patently not true, you were inclined to still believe it.

When you looked at Donnie, you found him waiting without judgment either way.

You reached into his being through your bond to explore how deep that went.

He allowed you full access to his emotion and he only seemed to further soften in your mystic grip.

He was all yours.

You pecked the tip of his beak and only felt a little bad for your display because it seemed like wasted energy.

You supposed you were allowed a meltdown.

It was a lot.

It would continue to be a lot.

You were going from peace to the fire.

You wanted it no other way.

You slipped from your wedding band and stared Donnie down.

His eyes glinted under the interest.

“You’ll need to… renew… the birth control?” You asked softly.

His lids lowered sultry. “While it is not completely out of my system, there has been marked bounce back in sperm motility.”

“No lasting side effects?”

“We have a few more days to see, but signs say no. I posit I will return to full virility.”

You tapped the couch once before chewing your lip.

He waited with bated breath.

“You don’t believe in fate.”

“I don’t.”

“With our odds, isn’t it kinda like that?”

“No.”

“No?”

“It will happen if it does. There is only probability.”

“Not very romantic.”

“What were you hoping I’d say?”

“Something about how you’d make it happen…”

“For you? I would. I would move mountains. I would level forests. I would topple whatever stood between us because I could. As frustrating as it is, my precious science bars me here and I cannot bend her rules.”

“Ah, your mistress.” You shook your head.

Donnie growled a little and feigned leaping over the couch at you.

You giggled and pulled him the rest of the way over.

He churred as he laid on top of you.

With it, you imagined the weight of a child. 

How it would fill out your body. 

All that entailed. 

The pain. 

The horror stories. 

Was your only option a one you should chance?

Donnie had said something about it.

About child birth and how time only cured so many of its dangers. 

Dangers you and Donnie faced regularly. 

Dangers that might not manifest. 

All more playing of odds with no way to know. 

“My health…” You worried aloud. 

“You will have care like no other should you so choose. You are not to be left to chance. You will be my choice in an instant. My priority.” 

You nodded before a rueful smile played on your lips. “Unbiased science husband… Do you think… I’ll be okay?” 

“Impossible terms to ask under, but I wouldn’t consider this otherwise.” 

“And the rest…?” 

“There is no fate. We dream.” Donnie responded.

You pulled him close and felt your worries melt away as you pictured three of you cuddled just like this. “Then let’s dream.”

(Check out behind the scenes for this fic and more on my Patreon. You can follow me there, here, or the tag #softspotfic for updates)

Thank you as always to my darling betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

[sukibenders]

The hate from, primarily, straight women in regards to Michael being turned into Michaela is disgusting because it really shows how poorly they, not only, treat wlw ships but also have internalized misogyny because the way they are also talking about Benedict and Sophie but so clearly in a way that's borderline fetishizing--- I can't, especially because what do you mean Francesca's infertility plot is erased now that she's in a sapphic relationship? Like, you don't think that wlw relationship can't struggle with this as well? Be so for real.

[roosterforme]

Can I humbly request some headcanons or a blurb about Bradley and Gorgeous and where you see them in say….. 5 years?? 😊

I could deny you nothing, Maddie. Sorry it took me a bit to get to this for you!

I'll give you a few hcs, and if anyone wants to know anything additional or request a specific blurb, let me know!

Spoilers ahead for Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw...

Gorgeous becomes the most legendary teacher at Mira Mesa Elementary. Every kid wants to have her for fourth grade, because of her cool Naval aviator husband who writes to them when he's deployed. Meanwhile, Bradley loves having a batch of pen pals each year, because it helps keep him entertained when he's away from his wife.

They casually try for a few years to get pregnant, but have no luck in that department. After they spend a few more months working at it with more focus, Bradley finally breaks the ice and says, "My life is actually perfect just the way it is." Gorgeous has overindulged him in so much love, he was always okay with no kids as long as he had her.

But....when his first batch of pen pals is ready to graduate from high school, Bradley and Gorgeous reconnect with two of them. Violet asks Bradley to write her a letter of recommendation when she applies to the Naval academy, which he of course is happy to do. But Jaden reaches out to his favorite teacher of all time, Mrs. Bradshaw, and asks if she could help him apply to college. He has been living with his elderly grandmother for a few months after his mom died unexpectedly, and he's not sure who else to turn to for support in getting into college.

Jayden becomes a staple in Gorgeous and Bradley's lives again after that. They check in with him after he makes it into UC Berkeley, and he sends them letters frequently. When he makes his way back to San Diego for holidays, he stops in to see them. When his grandmother passes away, they become his adoptive family of sorts, and he's always invited to spend holidays with them.

[4ssmallasad0ll]

uh oh! guess who has two thumbs and isn’t having babies!

👍 this guy 👍

[gurokiitty]

thinking about zeke pumping you full of cum, knowing that his virile seed will never take root within your barren womb.

he'd hilt deep and feel your walls clamp around him before releasing yet another heavy spurt against your cervix. excess semen would froth out around his cock, coating your vulva in a pretty opaline sheen.

"take it all, my barren bitch," he'd grunt, plunging into you with renewed vigour, stirring the churning pools of his seed within your belly. "let my cum flood this unyielding cunt, again and again, until it fucking drips out of you."

with your knees hooked over his elbows, he'd watch, entranced, as rivulets of pearly fluid trickle down your swollen folds and onto your ass. he'd pull out with a gush of frothing cum only to shove the mess back into your hungry, grasping hole.

[scaarletwiitch]

Epilogue: Snowed In

Agatha/Rio Rated E (chapter 6) TW: baby loss, fertility issues, stillbirth Summary: Agatha and Rio search for some closure 1 year on from their loss.

Read from the start here.

3 months later

Spring had come early to the cottage this year. Rio’s garden had suddenly erupted with tulips in every colour. The repairs necessitated by the snowstorm over Christmas were complete and Rio had already begun sprouting seedlings in the greenhouse. To his mothers’ relief, Nicholas had started to show an interest and was now spending more time with Rio in the greenhouse than with his hot wheels track. His interested had started from a desire to grow herbs for Señor Scratchy and was now keen to learn anything Rio would teach him. He had been busy with her the last few weeks as they dug into her seed stores and set about germinating the hardier varieties. The greenhouse shelves were now lined with tiny containers with little green shoots.

Read more on Ao3

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Enough

Rook sat with her legs dangling over the side of the balcony off the kitchen, swinging them idly. She looked out across the expanse of the Fade, the disjointed, cobbled nature of the Lighthouse, and imagined Treviso: the villa that was waiting for her, the family that would welcome her in. And she wept.

'Mi amor,' said Lucanis softly, drawn by the scent of tears. 'What troubles you?'

'Just,' she sniffled softly, not turning around. 'Life.'

'Mm. It is far more complicated than death.'

'I don't... know if I can do this. If the family can take-' she trailed off, tried to swallow down her tears, but they washed down her cheeks anyway.

'What is it?' He crouched next to her, a gentle hand on her shoulder. 'Talk to me.'

She took a deep breath. 'I know that legacy is important to your family,' she said. Keeping her voice measured and flat, it was easier to say the words that stuck like knives between her ribs. 'They will expect...' She sobbed, the force of it shaking her body, and though his hand tightened on her shoulder, Rook would not allow Lucanis to draw her closer.

'It pains me to see you like this. If this is about-'

'No. Let- let me finish, please.'

He stayed quiet, only settled next to her. 'Mm.'

'They will expect the Dellamorte line to continue,' she went on. 'And I don't want- I mean I can't have-'

'Do you think,' he murmured, 'that this is what the family expects from you? What I expect from you?' He turned her face to his. 'Doe. If you do not want that life, we will not live that life. Nobody will be disappointed in you. They would hardly live long enough to voice the opinion. You are a Dellamorte now. Or I am a de Riva. I... am sorry. If you wanted- but... you are no less for it. You are the one shining thing in my life. You saved me. I'd be a poor husband if I expected... but I don't. Of course not. Though I understand the grief.'

Doe allowed herself to be drawn in, her face buried in his neck. 'I was terrified. I thought you were going to leave me.'

'Mierda,' he said. 'Never. It is you and I against the whole of Thedas and the Fade, if it has to be. Against the gods and demons. That is enough.'

[x-divas-marvelau]

Part 5! Cat girls and trauma dump!

If this is too much then I might edit this post to take down the last two threads. But in my defense all of the things that happened to Angelica happened in the comics and if I had to witness mutant fetus in a jar then so do you…

That being said I am going to tag with trigger warnings.

[itsmariejanel]

74. overthinking

love is a drug but it never comes with a warning and if you cut me out, you'll never hear my side of the story

previous [.beginning.] next > transcript under the cut

Kiara - Okay it’s getting a bit chilly, sooo enough running for today-

Hm… No one’s home yet... But this is actually quite nice… I don’t remember the last time i was fully by myself-

[ scoffs ] What a smart move, going for a run and smoking a cigarette right after- [ sighs ]

I wonder if dad has some bath bombs somewhere? I could definitely go for a bath right now-

In a couple of days I’ll be in Glimmerbrook… Jace sent me some pictures and it looked so dreamy, I’m excited to visit. And excited to see Jace again, finally… [ sigh ] but also… I’m so overwhelmed though... I feel like my mind is going around and just going fast and I can’t concentrate- 

Alcohol and music will solve it babe, it will. At least for tonight, it will! 

I miss him… so so much. I’m afraid… [ sighs ] I’ll have to tell him, right? Yeah… YEAH. I’m infertile. It’s fine. I can’t give him a family, if he wants one…big deal!! Ugh… would he still want me? Fuuuuuuuckkkkkkkkkkk… How do I even start this conversation? 

[ chuckles ] Alcohol was a baaaaddd idea, really really bad. Oh man… I completely forgot about going shopping tomorrow… the hangover is gonna be nice, GREAT-