#like if i love you enough to EXPRESS it??? like damn i love you A LOT

[aajjks]

Broke Boy, Fake Girlfriend (m)

synopsis. Your annoying roommate, Jungkook’s shameless fake dating act goes hilariously wrong when he thinks he can charm you into paying for his café splurge, but you turn the tables with some dangerously sweet flirtation.

pairings: jungkook x fem!reader.

genre: 18+, crack, roommate au.

warnings: 18+, fâkë dätïng tròpë, châôtïc flïrtïng, brókë bøy Jûngkook, tëâsïng, ëmbârrássïng mômënts, önë-sïdëd crùsh, pûblïc hümïlïâtïön, pówër shïft, hëâvy tënsïön, tëâsïng bântër, spïcy flïrtâtïön, crïngë mômënts, slöw bûrn.

note. I can’t thank you guys enough for so much love on the both parts so I thought maybe I should give you another one. Also, I found this GIF on Pinterest so credits to owner And Let’s just hope you guys would like this as well and tell me what do you think of the chaos and y’all can talk to him whenever you want. ENJOY.

“My girlfriend will pay for this.”

How do you always end up in this situation?

You blink.

You’re standing in line at a café, hands casually tucked in your pockets, minding your own business when those words hit you like a freight train.

Jungkook’s standing at the counter, a devilish grin plastered across his face, watching you with those damn puppy dog eyes. His tattooed hand casually gestures to you, like this whole scenario is as normal as breathing.

The barista, the one who’s been shamelessly flirting with him this entire time, looks back and forth between you two, her cheeks flushed pink.

“Oh—;” she giggles, voice breathy. “That’s so sweet of you.”

Sweet.

Sweet would be not dragging you into his latest ridiculous plan just because he’s broke again after spending all his money on gaming skins and who knows what else.

You narrow your eyes at him. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Yeah, my baby’s got me,” Jungkook hums, stretching lazily against the counter, his hoodie pulling up just enough to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of toned abs. Intentional. “She takes such good care of me.”

You swear you could hear the little pitter-patter of his fan club forming in the background.

‘My baby?’

You grit your teeth, gripping your wallet like it might suddenly escape your clutches. “You—;” you inhale, trying to remain calm. “I’m paying?”

“Obviously.” Jungkook doesn’t even hesitate.

God, he’s insufferable.

“Since when are we dating?”

Jungkook gasps.

Gasped.

He puts his hand on his heart, pretending to be hurt and makes a dramatic expression that makes you almost cringe.

“Babe. What do you mean?” His voice cracks with that exaggerated hurt, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

The barista giggles again, and you can see the sparkles in her eyes as she watches this whole ridiculous exchange.

Jungkook still has that pleading look, trying to play it off like you’re the one at fault for not realizing you were in the middle of his latest fake-dating fantasy.

You both know he’s out of cash and desperate.

He can’t possibly pay for this.

You should say no. You should do the right thing.

You should humiliate him right here in front of the cute barista and walk away, satisfied in your moral high ground.

But then—

“I’d get her anything off the menu,” Jungkook sighs, voice dropping an octave, his gaze lingering on your lips like he’s about to pull the most dramatic move of the century.

“She’s my princess. My world.”

Oh no.

Oh, he thinks you won’t play along.

And that—that little shit—that’s when you realize.

Jungkook’s not just doing the broke, flirting for sympathy… act. No, he’s flipping the script. He’s going full-on fake boyfriend mode.

He’s giving you those eyes, the ones that usually make girls melt on the spot.

His voice is suddenly, smooth and heavy, like he actually wants this to be real.

And then? The barista is still watching.

Oh, you know exactly what he’s doing.

You step closer, fingers lightly brushing against his chest as you lean in, your lips barely a whisper from his ear.

He freezes, clearly not prepared for the full-on flirtation storm that’s coming his way.

“Kookieee,” you say, voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “Of course, I’m paying for my baby.”

Jungkook’s eyes go wide, and he makes this little sound—like he’s actually short-circuiting. He’s malfunctioning, visibly thrown off by how casually you’re playing along.

The barista is living for this. She’s practically sparkling now, too, and you know she’s ready to ship this fake couple straight to the moon.

But Jungkook? Jungkook’s dying.

He’s still standing there, mouth hanging slightly open, blinking rapidly like he needs to reset his brain, but you’re not done yet.

You lean in just a little bit more, hand still firmly placed against his chest, pressing your body close enough to feel the heat radiating from him.

His breathing gets heavier, a little shaky. And then you make your move.

You brush your fingers down his shirt, just enough to tease him, watching the way his whole body locks up, like he’s trying not to make a scene.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word. He just stands there like the world’s hottest, most embarrassed mess.

“Oh, you’re so cute when you’re all flustered,” you murmur, leaning back slightly to get a good look at him, your fingers brushing his jaw.

His skin is so warm, so soft, and it’s making your whole body heat up.

Fuck, he’s cute.

Jungkook doesn’t even try to respond— he’s too busy replaying every single moment you’ve touched him in the last few seconds, and he’s mentally begging for you to finish the job.

He’s literally so embarrassing, but for the first time in your life, you had fun embarrassing him.

You take a step back, giving him just a little space. He’s still staring at you like you’ve just turned his life upside down.

Good. You’ve won.

“Let’s play, babe,” you say with a smirk, voice lighter now. He’s completely melting.

You swipe your card, taking your drinks.

You turn toward the door, but before you leave, you lean in one last time, brushing past him just close enough for your lips to graze his ear.

Oh, this is fun.

“You owe me, babe,” you whisper.

And with that, you leave him there, dazed, red-faced, and completely undone, just standing there like a mess in front of the barista, who is looking at him like she’s just witnessed an angel descend from heaven.

You walk out of the café like you’ve just done your civic duty in the most chaotic, teasing way possible. The power is all yours.

Victory. And Jungkook? Well, he’s got a lot to think about.

And a raging boner to take care of.

[solxamber]

Leona, romantic, and “September” by James Arthur. Idk, I just always strongly associated this song with him.

"I'm gonna love you for the rest of my life" || Leona Kingscholar

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: September by James Arthur

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 580

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Fluff, Established Relationship

Leona remembers seeing you around back when you were both young. At first, he didn't think much of you—just another face in the sea of students, another voice in the endless chatter that he had no interest in.

But the more he saw you, the more you lingered in his mind, the more he felt like he had to talk to you.

Not that he'd ever admit it out loud.

So he does what any self-respecting, prideful man would do—he bribes Ruggie to drag you to the botanical gardens under some flimsy excuse, and just so happens to be there himself.

"What a coincidence," he drawls, feigning disinterest, stretching out on the grass like he owns the place. But when you plop down next to him, start talking about something mundane yet completely captivating, he knows.

It’s instant. The way he falls. The way you slip into his life so effortlessly, laughing at his sarcasm, stealing his fries, treating him like he’s just Leona and not the second prince of some far-off kingdom.

Even when he scoffs, even when he refuses to admit it at first, you are his friend. You are his.

And then, one day, you’re both sprawled across his bed in a way that feels so natural, as if you belong there. He’s half on top of you, lazy and heavy with the weight of an afternoon nap, and you’re giggling at something on your phone. The sound is warm, golden, wrapping around his heart like the sun after a storm. It’s infuriating.

He can’t let this go on. He can’t let another day pass without making you his.

So he grumbles out a question, as if he’s annoyed by his own need for you. “Go out with me.” His cheeks are flushed, his tail stiff and betraying him, and for a second, he almost takes it back—almost—but then you look at him like he hung the damn stars, and you say yes.

And when he kisses you for the first time, slow and deep and possessive, he thinks—maybe—he can finally look in the mirror and like who he is.

Every weekend, he waits for you. Waits for you to finish your errands, your work, your whatever so you can spend the whole day with him. Because he’s stronger with you, and weaker without you. You’re his soulmate, his lover, his home.

And when the weight of his title presses down on him, when the whispers of "never good enough" creep in, you’re there. Always. Holding him in the dark, chasing away his demons with nothing but a smile and the unshakable belief that he is yours.

Sometimes, he gets mad. He can’t help it. Sometimes, he snaps even at you. Sometimes, he’s too jaded, too bitter, too tired of the expectations forced onto him since birth.

But then you have the audacity to smile at him, that infuriatingly sweet smile, and he wants to drag you back to bed and keep you there until the world forgets both of you exist.

Until he can hear nothing but your laughter and the soft, whispered confessions you think he doesn’t catch when you think he’s asleep.

He’s going to love you for the rest of his life.

And as he lays beside you now, watching your peaceful expression as you sleep, his fingers ghost over the ring he keeps hidden in his bedside drawer.

He can’t wait to make you his family. And for you to make him yours.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[noyoucannotpushthevoid]

Okay, this is funny as fuck I like reading through all the previous entries in things like this and the fact that it started because of someone's birthday and I come back to tumblr now and do this now is really silly. Cause I turn 23 very soon. Which makes me a literal baby by comparison, but fuck it we ball Also funny to me is 12-13 is the only time in my life I've ever had long hair. I was growing it out on a dare at the time. Outside of those years my hair has never really gone that far past my shouders. Even now. Like I was just trying to grow it out cause I love braiding hair. Boom. Two days ago I caved and cut it lol

Damn, I took this waay too seriously i think lol. It took me forever lol Also, a) took some creative liberties with my current hair because seeing at least part of the eyebrows in order to get the full expression is vital lol b) Despite what it may look like from the picrews, I am so much happier now. So much more confident and willing to say what I want and be direct. Like not going to lie, I am by no means super mature or wise or whatever, but I'm just kinda happy to reflect on how much I've changed to get to this point? Like net positive in the growth and change department I guess lol, but that's enough sappiness cause I could go for fucking days

@queenwillow77 (kinda happy I got tagged here first so I could finally tag you in something lmao :,)))), @catth3w (yippeee)

It is my birthday in 2 days and as someone who is *ahem* maybe a little to old to still be on tumblr, I thought I’d make a lil tag game, I love lil picrews and it’s fun way to “face reveal” without showing my face

So as i reminisce over my bdays I made a side by side of how I looked 10 years ago vs now (and by god do I feel old)

Me in my teenage years vs me in my twenties.

From emo kid to weird goth mortician….

Link to Picrew but feel free to use whichever one you want or draw one yourself!

Feel free to add yours and don’t feel obligated if you get tagged

@pavlovianfuckery

@careless-with-your-heart

[melon-fodder]

tw: accidental edging (I guess?), mentioned ovulation, cunnilingus, allusions to squirting, basically shouta helps us unwind

~

You feel insane. Unhinged. Nauseous with desperation and ashamed of the tears that sting your eyes.

You should not be this upset—this angry and hopeless. It’s just an orgasm for fuck’s sake.

But god, you want it. You need it. You need the outlet, the release, the calm and clarity that follows. You need to get rid of the throb between your legs. It’s been driving you mad for the last two days, forcing you to hold a vibrator to your clit over and over again. Multiple times a day. Some orgasms are much easier to reach, but others are more like drawn out chases.

In this case, it’s not happening at all. You’ve gotten close a couple times, but as soon as you think you’ve found just the right angle, just the right amount of pressure, the sensation lessens, climax dancing away from you like a dirty little minx.

Fuck. Fuck.

You’ve been at it for an hour. You’d tried watching some of your favorite videos then, when that didn’t work, switched to reading erotica. Using your imagination was a last ditch effort, concocting your favorite fantasies.

You thought you had it that time, that familiar pulse in your pussy growing, fresh slick dripping from your hole, and then…

Your vibrator died.

It took a monumental effort to not throw it against the wall.

Fine. Fucking fine. You’ll just use your fingers. Back to basics, right?

The sun is starting to set, sky darkening behind the curtains in your bedroom. The blankets are in a heap on the floor, kicked away in frustration.

It’s just you in the middle of the bed, legs splayed, fingers working over your clit, somehow both overstimulated and desensitized at the same time.

It’s no use, though, and you let out an honest to god sob when you feel the previously swollen bud begin to shrink and soften under the pads of your fingers.

At this point your best option is a cold shower, but the thought alone makes you shiver as you glare at the ceiling. It probably wouldn’t even solve your problem, just hold it at bay until your body is able to warm back up.

“Stupid, so stupid, fuck—”

“Love?”

Shouta’s head suddenly appears in the doorway, home from work and looking pleasantly surprised by the sight of you. That is, until you hiccup out another sob, immediately throwing an arm over your face.

“Woah, hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

A few quick steps and then the bed dips and you feel him hovering over you. Even with your eyes covered you can see his concerned expression, all furrowed brow and parted lips—God, he’s so handsome and good and warm, and one of his knees is between your thighs, not touching but still close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from it.

It’s too much, and you’re too pent up, and Shouta actually startles when you suddenly shout, “I can’t fucking cum!”

Ever vigilant, his first thought is, “did you get hit with a Quirk?” Ready to track down a villain and beat them to a pulp. If only it was that easy.

“Nooo, I’m ovulating,” you whine, take an uneven breath before adding, “‘m so god damn horny I can’t think straight, and nothing is working, and my vibrator fucking died and my fingers aren’t enough and I’m about to swan dive off the roof!”

Another deep breath and then you lower your arm, immediately regretting it when you see the way Shouta is staring at you—eyebrows raised, lips just barely curled into an amused smile. It’s as infuriating as it is attractive, and you’re tempted to shove him off the bed.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you grit.

He doesn’t, just leans a little closer and coos, “my poor baby,” which makes everything so much worse, the heat in your gut flaring dangerously.

“Shouta, I swear to fuck—”

You don’t know what you’re about to threaten him with, but it doesn’t matter, not when he trails a hand between your legs to cup your mound.

You sigh—or maybe sing?—under the touch, whole body jerking when he starts stroking over your folds, hypersensitive from blood flow.

“Look at you,” he rumbles, clicking his tongue before he sits back on his heels. He runs his fingertips over your lips a few more times, thumbs soothing heated skin before spreading you open.

Shouta inhales sharply as if taken off guard, then his voice drops so, so low, rattling your bones.

“Fuck, you’re so…” Gently, like he’s afraid you’ll break, he ghosts over your clit. It punches a gasp straight from your lungs, eyes going wide as more tears form. “You look raw.” Shouta’s gaze flicks to your face, heated words curling from his mouth like smoke, “desperate little thing.”

All you can really do is nod in agreement, pitiful when you beg, “please, Sho… need your help.”

“I know, sweetheart. It’s okay, just relax.”

He moves slowly, but it isn’t due to apathy. It’s calm, reassuring, confident that he’s going to take care of you. After situating a pillow under your hips, Shouta lays between your legs and spreads you open again.

His tongue feels like Heaven—warm, wet, and soft. There’s no urgency, just slow, soothing strokes. He laves over your clit rather than flicking or sucking, lets saliva drip from his lips to help lubricate. His facial hair drags against your thighs, but he stays mindful, doing what he can to avoid rubbing against your sensitive skin.

It’s perfect, drawing a long moan out of you. Tears stream from the corners of your eyes, leaving sticky trails, but you don’t care. You don’t care about anything except for Shouta’s mouth.

He hums when your clit starts to swell under his tongue, and the subtle vibration makes you keen.

“Good, so good, so good thank you thankyouthankyou—”

He squeezes your thigh, an acknowledgement, a reminder, I’m right here, I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you.

And he does. Thoroughly. Tenderly. You melt into the sheets, body turning to a liquid state

Shouta drinks everything you give him. Then he slides two fingers into your heat, angles them just right, and ends up swallowing even more.

[fawnhart]

drew begs bambi to forgive him ! ˚ ᡣ𐭩. 𖥔 ๋࣭

They had just wrapped filming her final season on Outer Banks. The whole time, Bambi acted as if she wasn’t hurting inside and nailed every single take flawlessly. Drew, on the other hand, was a mess and everyone knew it.

He kept messing up his lines, forgetting his call times, and dozing off between takes. In a way, Bambi felt bad for him. But he had no right to her sympathy, at least not at the moment

Now, both back in New York, Drew for a photoshoot and Bambi back in her elementl she couldn’t help but look at him with disgust and anger.

How dare he show up?!

It was one of those nights where everything was happening all at once and nothing at all. Drew stood at Bambi’s townhome door, soaked from the rain, his hands trembling, his chest tight. His mullet was a mess, not giving a damn if paparazzi caught him. He just wanted her to listen. She stood there, arms crossed as her eyes burned with anger, hurt, maybe a little curiosity, but mostly just tired.

she had every right to be

“Please, Bambi. Please, let me in. I can’t” He cut himself off, his voice breaking just a little, the words too heavy in his chest. He couldn’t keep pretending to be fine. Not anymore.

She didn’t move, arms crossed, standing her ground. She was beautiful like that, even if her face was streaked with tears, even if her lip trembled slightly.

“You can’t just come in here after everything, Drew.” Her voice was quieter than he expected, but sharper. It made his heart twist “You think you can just say sorry and it all goes away!?”

“I’ve been a mess without you, baby. I’ve screwed everything up,” he said, his words coming out in a rush “I was… I was just scared. Scared of you and your reputation, of what people would say about us. i-” His voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat, trying to hold it together “I thought if I distanced myself, it would protect you.”

Bambi’s expression softened, just a little, but not enough for him to get comfortable. She was still holding that distance “You pushed me away because of what other people might think?” Her voice wavered just slightly on the word might. “And that’s supposed to be for my own good?”

He dropped his head, his eyes stinging “I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was..no, I am an idiot.

She didn’t say anything, but her gaze never wavered. After a long silence, she sighed, her breath shaky “And then there’s your friend” she said, almost too quietly for him to hear.

The words hit him like a punch in the stomach. He didn’t need to ask which friend she meant. That girl. The one who had spent more time telling Drew what a mess he was for being with her than actually being his “friend”. Drew had started to feel that insidious doubt creeping in, her words twisting around in his head like vines.

“She told you I wasn’t good enough, didn’t she?” Bambi asked, and there was a bitter edge to her voice.

“i-I didn’t believe her, baby,” Drew said quickly, his hands shaking again. He took a step forward, desperate “I never believed her. I-look, I shouldn’t have listened to her at all. I was so caught up in my own shit, and-”

“And what!? You let her tell you who I am!? Who we are!? But you were perfectly fine having sex with me?, right” she said feeling utterly and totally used

He swallowed hard, a heavy knot in his throat “I should’ve told her to back the fuck off. I should’ve told you sooner. I should’ve never let her put those thoughts in my mind. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The air in the apartment felt thick, too heavy to breathe. He finally dropped to his knees, his face flushed with the weight of it all “I love you, Bambi. Please... don’t shut me out. I need you. I can’t fix this without you.”

Her eyes flickered with pain as she stared down at him, her arms still crossed, but now her lips were pressed tightly together as she fought back more tears. She couldn’t let him see her break just yet. Not like this. Not when she was still trying to figure out whether or not she could believe him.

“You really hurt me, Drew. You have no idea how much.” Her voice cracked as she spoke, and she turned away, wiping at her eyes. She moved slowly, the silence between them stretching like a thin wire.

Drew stayed kneeling, helpless. “Please, Bambi. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what I need to do.”

She turned back to him, eyes red-rimmed but steady. “You have to prove it. You have to show me you’re not just talking. Words don’t mean anything anymore.” She paused, her gaze hardening. “And you need to cut her off. She’s clearly got it out for me, and for us, and you can’t keep her around if you want to make this right.”

He nodded immediately “I swear I will. I’ll cut her off. I’ll do anything. Just... please don’t leave me.” His voice was raw, the last of his pride crumbling.

Bambi stared at him for a long moment, and then she sighed “Fine,” she said quietly “But I’m not forgiving you tonight. I need to think about it.”

Drew’s heart sank, but he nodded, trying to be understanding, even if every fiber of him wanted to scream.

“Get up, you’re embarrassing me” He stood up slowly, and she led him into her townhome, but not without a sharp glance over her shoulder as she said, “And you’re sleeping outside tonight, With my cat.”

Drew blinked, startled. “What?”

“I’m serious. Outside. With Ms. Mocha. You can sleep on the balcony.” Her tone was final, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she walked past him into the closet, grabbing a blanket and tossing it in his direction.

Drew was about to protest, but the look on her face stopped him. The soft, determined way she held herself now was a reminder of why he loved her in the first place, because she never made anything easy for him. She knew her worth, even if he had forgotten for a while.

He grabbed the blanket, muttering, “I’m an idiot.”

Her lips quirked up at that, just a little. “Yeah. You are. But you’re still my idiot.” She softened then, her voice growing quieter. “you have to prove you deserve to be with me. Because I can’t go back to being second place.”

Drew nodded, his chest tight. “I swear I will. I swear.” He hesitated then added “can I atleast sleep on the couch?” he said with a weak smile

Bambi rolled her eyes, but it was playful now, the tension easing just enough for her to offer him a tiny truce. “Fine. I haven’t burned your clothes yet, consider yourself lucky.” She said heading to her room to grab some of his pajamas he had left there several times

He laughed softly, grateful for the small weird victory. He knew it was far from over, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

“missed you Mocha” he whispered as he curled up on her soft pink couch, Ms. Mocha curled up next to him with an irritated meow, Drew stared at the night sky view from her townhome, wondering how he could have been so fucking stupid. But maybe, he had a chance to make it right.

© 𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐓, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[sunflowerwinds]

sugar, sugar | v.a

summary: a week after isha’s birthday party, you tell vi it’s time to take the night on to make some blueberry cinnamon rolls. the two of you open up to one another in the midst of your baking session; your feelings for her somehow festering even more but maybe those feelings aren’t as one sided as you believe.

pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane

contains: modern!au, mila & jinx side-plot (that’s barely touched on), awkward and adorable tension, pining, fluff, talks of parental deaths on vi and reader’s end, possible incorrect depictions of baking (i love baking but im not an expert </3)

word count: 4.5K

a/n: i think i got one more part for you guys and i can’t wait for it :) i love love all of the overwhelming support for this little series; i cannot express it enough!! the reblogs & comments really help me keep going. i hope you guys enjoy this part!!

— THREE

“What are you doing?”

You hear from behind you as you were frantically wiping down the stone top island in the kitchen, making sure it was squeaky clean for Vi’s arrival.

After attending Isha’s birthday party, another week had flown by before you were able to have everything prepared. Okay, you had most of the materials at home already.

You felt you needed to mentally prepare to have Vi here in your childhood home; a place you go to for comfort at the end of a restless day. You had sent her messages with your address and what time she should make her way over to yours.

You hold back the eye-roll threatening your eyes at Mila’s judgemental tone. You were as ready as you could be, wearing a simple pair of striped sleeping pants and a dark gray sweatshirt that hung slightly off your shoulder with a back tank underneath. You were home so you wanted to be cozy yet cute. Your hair was up in a simple ponytail, a few flyaways escaping from your vigorous cleaning.

“Cleaning. What does it look like I’m doing?” You sarcastically respond to your sister, sucking in a deep breath as you move to another spot.

“I can see that but I mean, why are you scrubbing so damn hard? You’re going to carve the stone, dude.”

You close your eyes as you try not to snap at your sister. Your grandma had given you the day off so that you could spend as much time with Vi as you could. Even after insisting to her that it wasn’t necessary, she made sure you weren’t on the schedule and to not leave the house unless it was with Vi.

‘I need a daughter-in-law,’ were her words as she left the house to go to the bakery. She was very hopeful for you.

“I’m… a little anxious, okay?” You admit, ready to hear your sisters mocking.

She snorts at your words as she rounds the island to look at you. “Yeah, no shit.”

“Okay can you keep that to yourself, please? I-I don’t need this right now,” you wipe back some of the flyaways as you put the rag in the sink.

You wash your hands in silence, hearing your sister shifting behind you.

“Look, what I was going to say was that you are going to be fine. Clearly, she already likes you or else she wouldn’t have agreed to come over to help you,” Mila quietly tells you, tilting her head to try and find your eyes. “I know this doesn’t happen often for you but I don’t want you to screw it up.”

You take that in, ignoring the dig at your antisocial skills and lack of dating experience. You knew this was your sister's way of trying to comfort your scattered mind.

“Thanks… I think,” you squint your eyes at her, drying off your hands.

You hear your phone ding on the countertop, leaning over to check to see who it was. To your demise, it was Vi telling you that she had arrived at your house. You mutter a curse as you turn to your sister getting ready to tell her to go somewhere that wasn’t here. You hadn’t even heard the car rolling up the dirt driveway.

“You’re welcome. Now, I’ll be doing you a favor and leaving so you can have the house to yourselves.”

Your brows furrow at her words, questioning your sister’s whereabouts.

“Wait, where are you going?”

Mila grins at you before shrugging one of her shoulders, seeming sheepish. “Hanging out with a friend. I’ll see you. Have fun with Violet.”

She drags out Vi’s full name to tease you as she throws her brown suede purse over her shoulder. You practically shove her out of the house as you peek out the window once she shuts the front door. You knew your sister didn’t have a car, and she was not using yours, so you wanted to see who the hell was picking her up. Your eyes squint to see a streak of light blue hair in the driver’s seat and Vi walking up to your front door.

Vi passes your sister and gives her a slight nod and wave, telling her something that you couldn’t quite hear due to the fact that she was outside still. It took you way too long to realize that the head in the driver's seat was Jinx. Mila and Jinx were friends? And she just forgot to tell you?

Absolutely shocked by this news, you tug open your front to reveal Vi with her hand raising to knock but eyes widening at your confused expression as you look behind her at the car reversing and leaving the dirt driveway.

“Hey, uh,” Vi shoved her hands into the pockets of her zip-up, tilting her head at you, “is everything okay?”

You blink as your attention switches to Vi’s awaiting expression. You shake your head, an embarrassed chuckle leaving your lips.

“I’m sorry. Hi, Vi,” you grin at her before opening the door wider for her to step in.

“You’re okay. It’s Jinx and Mila, right?” Vi questions, an amused smile forms on her lips.

You nod slowly as you allow her to step further in, asking her to take off her shoes before nodding with a shocked expression as you shut the door and lock it.

“Yeah. They’re… friends?” You press, wanting to know your sister's business.

Vi pries off her shoes near the door and places them next to the small line-up of you, your sisters and your grandmother’s shoes.

“Yeah, I guess Jinx went to the bakery on her own and your sister was there and they started talking after that,” she breathed out a laugh.

“That’s crazy. I love my sister but she is cranky as hell at work,” you chuckle.

Vi shrugs her shoulders, her laughter fading to a small grin. Vi’s bright eyes dart around the interior of your grandmother's home, curiously examining every inch of the house you grew up in. You linger behind her as you try to compose yourself over the fact that she was here. You fiddle with your rings in an attempt to ease your bouncing mind.

“It’s so… cozy here,” she voices her thoughts as she smiles at a photo of you, your sister and your grandma when you were younger that was sitting on a shelf underneath the living room TV.

Her light gray zip up was slightly falling off her shoulders to reveal the inch strap of her black wife pleaser underneath. The sight distracts you for a moment before you cringe at your younger portrait but Vi merely admires how much you’ve grown yet somehow look the same.

Beautiful, nonetheless.

“Everyone says that when they come over. My grandpa actually helped build this place with his friends when they were younger. He really loved my grandma.” You explain softly, looking at the back of Vi’s head.

Vi turned her head to look at you, nodding as she glanced around the room wondering how long it must’ve taken to do this.

“It’s really beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you accept the compliment on your grandmother and grandfather's behalf. “Oh, and I did make the dough last night because it needs to rise overnight so it can be all light and fluffy.”

Vi slowly nods at your words, furrowing her brows as she motioned towards the kitchen area that was adjacent to the living room.

“So what more do we have to do other than, you know, assembling them?” Vi questions as she waits for your response.

You hold your hands behind your back as you tilt your head towards the fridge, an eager smile spreading onto your face.

“Do you want to listen to music while we bake?” You question.

Vi’s eyes flicker to your elated gaze and she can’t help but smile at your question. When you look at her like that, she thinks she would do anything for you. She watches your movements as you scurry over to a side table that was next to the living room couch to undo the clasp of a vinyl player that was disguised as a leather brown suitcase.

You kneel down to tug out a crate that held around 50 records, humming to yourself as you pick up a record that satisfied you. Vi couldn’t see from where she was standing but was hesitant to move forward. You carefully remove the vinyl from its paper shell to place on the spindle, moving the tonearm to rest it on the song of your desire.

“This is just a bunch of different blues and R&B songs,” you inform Vi, your back still turned to her. “I thought it was fitting.”

Vi nods in understanding even though you weren’t able to see her. You stand back up to your feet once adjusting the volume, walking back over to Vi’s awaiting figure. You take her hand in yours and motion for her to follow you into the kitchen.

“Is this going to be messy?” Vi asks, distracting herself from how much she loved feeling your hand in hers.

“Mmm, I would be lying if I said no so you either roll up your sleeves or take off your jacket so you don’t get it covered in anything,” you suggest as you release her hand to tug open the fridge to retrieve what you needed for the filling.

Vi, to your wonderful surprise, zips down her jacket and lets the cotton roll over her toned shoulders. You stand frozen near the fridge for a moment at the sight of her back nearly covered in ink. You had to thank whatever or whoever sent her to your grandma’s shop because how the hell is she real?

Standing here in your kitchen looking like that?

Vi sets her jacket aside on one of the chairs that was pulled up to the island, her hands finding their place on her hips as she awaits further instruction.

“Okay so, what you’re going to do is sprinkle a bit of flour onto the island. Just all over it,” you motion to the bag of flour and use one of your to make a spreading motion to the lengthy surface.

Vi nods in understanding at your instruction, clearing her throat as she reaches carefully into the paper bag to grab a good handful as does exactly as instructed. You hold back your glee as you watch her lean over a bit to even out the flour. She glances at you through her peripheral to make sure you seemed satisfied with how that looks.

“How’s it look?” She hums, dusting off her hands over the spread.

“Perfect. Now, take the dough and just give it a few kneads to press out the air bubbles.” You point to the metal bowl full of dough, stepping to the side to move out of her way.

Following your words once again, Vi takes the malleable tan dough into her palms to plop it down onto the surface. You turn your head to cough at the gust of powdery air that blew upwards. She, too, waves a hand in front of her face to brush the puff away from her nostrils.

When Vi had said you only wanted her there so she could do all the kneading, you didn’t expect to actually be gawking over her doing it. She digs her palms and fingers into the dough, leaning her chest forward to press it into the flour. Her triceps tightened at the motion, readjusting the blob to spread the flour evenly throughout. You swore you heard a grunt of struggle leave her lips as the dough was a bit thicker than she was expecting.

You raise a hand to your mouth to push back the infatuated smile that was tickling your lips, just watching her knead the dough.

“Is this good?” Vi asks through another press into the surface, another light grunt leaving her mouth.

“Yeah,” you say without thinking, lost in your lust-driven daze.

Vi looks up at you from her kneading as she stops with her hands still buried into the dough, no longer sticking to it as it was covered in flour. You dart your gaze away from her as you shake your head, chuckling and muttering ‘right’ to yourself.

“I’ll get the, uh, rolling pin so you can flatten it out.”

You suck in a deep breath as you turn your back to her, shutting your eyes as you internally scold yourself to pull it together. Had she noticed your lingering almost creepy stare at her arms?

If she did, she hid it very well.

“Do I need to wash my hands?” Vi questions from behind your back as you kneel down to retrieve the rolling pin from the cabinet.

“No, not yet. After rolling them, you can. I’ll put the filling and roll them if you want,” you offer from over your shoulder as you grab the wooden object.

“Okay. You’re the boss,” Vi chuckles.

You stand back up on your feet, blinking harshly from the sudden rush to your head. Change the subject, you begged internally as you handed her the rolling pin. As you flicker on the stove and try to think of something else to talk about, you can hear Vi humming along to the song currently playing as she rolled the dough as instructed.

You smile to yourself as you begin to make the filling as quickly as possible.

“You know this song?” You question the red-haired woman, turning to her slightly as you watch the filling simmer in the small pot.

Vi seems to be caught off guard at the fact that you could hear her humming to herself along with the song's lyrics, pausing her movements for a second.

“Uh, yeah,” she clears her throat as she takes one glance at you before looking away flustered. “My… mom would sing it all the time. She was obsessed with it.”

“You know, you’ve never talked about your mom,” you state carefully. “Not that you have to. It just hit me.”

Vi shook her head, muttering a ‘no, it’s okay.’

“I guess I never really had a reason to but I don’t mind,” she reassures you to glance at you once again with a small smile.

You send her one back as you stir the filling slowly, watching the ingredients dissolve over the heat.

“What was she like?” You question.

“She was… loving. She, uh, passed when I was 11 and Jinx was 6. She gave us home hair cuts that were just so terrible,” Vi shook her head with a chuckle as she recollected on her childhood. “I mean, seriously. I mean, it looked like we had cut them ourselves but my dad claimed that we loved the look. I think it was because it was the fact that it was her cutting our hair instead of some stranger.”

You can’t help but smile at her words. Her voice had softened the second she had brought up her mom, signaling to you that her mom was a gentle soul. You could feel how much that transpired within Vi.

“Were her and your dad together for a while before they had you and Jinx?” You hum.

“They were never together. They were actually friends but my mom got knocked up by some random guy twice that they never knew about and my dad kind of took that position of being, well, a dad.”

Vi explains as she sucks in a deep breath, seeming as though she was composing herself. You furrow your brows as you are afraid that you’ve pushed it too far with the questions.

“Well, when did Isha come in?” You ask in hopes to distract her.

This Vi freezes at, releasing the rolling pin to turn to you with a soft sigh.

“She came out of nowhere. My dad told us one day coming home from school that someone had left a baby on our doorstep. We thought that kind of stuff only happened in the movies so we thought it was a joke,” she leaned her back up against the counter top, folding her muscular arms across her chest. “But then we came into the living room and there she was wrapped up in a little blanket in a bassinet. Jinx was more excited than I was because she got her own little sister.”

“You have a very loving family. It’s obvious, honestly. I can tell you have a good heart, Vi,” you tilt your head to make eye contact with her to show the sincerity behind your words.

Vi’s eyes hold contact with your own, pupils dilating to the point where the blue of her eyes was a mere ring. She exhales a soft breath as she just stares at you.

“What about your parents? Are they…?” Vi blinks and reroutes the attention to you now.

“Uh, no. My mom and dad died when I was 6 or 7 and Mila was just 1. They weren’t the best parents from what my grandma has told me. They tried but they were… angry and overworked,” you shook your head as you turn down the heat on the stove lower before looking at Vi with a shrug to your shoulders. “I guess they thought having kids would bring them closer but it only seemed to push them further apart. They had dropped Mila and I here one day and just never came back. My grandparents found out a week later that they had gotten into a car accident and died on the way to the hospital.”

You wince to yourself at the silence that had fallen over the two of you. The soft crackle of the record switching songs and the soft bubbling of the blueberry filling in the pot were the only sounds in the house.

“But I’m okay. My grandparents raised me and my sister and I can guarantee it was the better choice,” you attempt to make a joke but Vi simply looks at you with a genuine expression.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

“I’m sorry too.”

You clear your throat, a strained chuckle leaving your lips as you clasp your hands together.

“Sorry, the filling’s ready. I didn’t mean to get all– Well, to bring that subject up.”

Vi shakes her head to reassure your frantic mind, reaching for your hand. You allow her to do so, heart leaping into your throat when her thumb wipes over the back of your hand.

“I said it was okay. I meant that,” she persists.

You look at her with a hesitant expression, opening your mouth about to apologize but she gives you a pointed look as if she was testing you to try it.

“Okay, okay, let’s roll these.”

Vi seems content with that and releases your hand to let you bring over the pot to the counter of rolled out dough. You ignore the bothersome want to grab her hand right back as carry it over and rest it on a crocheted pot holder so it wouldn’t burn the surface. You two stay in a comfortable silence as you take a wooden baking spoon to scoop it and carefully spread the blueberry-cinnamon filling across the flat dough. Once everything was properly rolled up and placed onto the baking sheet, you popped it in the oven for its designated time period.

About 20 minutes passed of sharing soft words to one another in the kitchen, the timer on your phone went off. With the rolls fresh out of the oven, you started to make the cream cheese frosting to wrap it all together. You could see Vi lingering over the delectable smelling pastries out of the corner of your eye, seeming to be examining them.

“You really do have a knack for this, cupcake. These look incredible,” Vi praises you as you plop the ingredients into the bowl.

You tuck a flyway piece of hair behind your ear as you bashfully smile in her direction.

“Well, you did all the kneading. They wouldn’t been made without your help,” you switch it around to the pink-haired girl.

“I knew you were staring,” she teased as she took a few steps forward so her shoulders were a few inches apart from your own.

The close proximity made your stomach flip but you simply continued to whisk in the bowl. You gradually add the milk, careful not to add too much or else it wouldn’t be thick enough.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie through your teeth. “I was making sure your technique was good. I’m the baker here.”

“If you say so,” Vi held her palms up in defense, that annoyingly attractive grin on her face.

You shake your head before vigorously whisking the frosting, watching it turn into the perfect texture. You sigh as you dip your finger into soft white glaze and hold it up to Vi’s mouth, wiping it on her bottom lip without thinking.

Your eyes widen as you realize what you’ve done, watching Vi’s eyes match yours. She licks her lips to taste the frosting regardless, raising her fingers to her lips when yours just was.

“I’m so sorry. I—When I bake at home with my grandma or my sister, we usually just do, well, that because we’re the only ones eating it,” you cover your mouth with both of your palms, shaking your head. “I’m sor-I’m so sorry.”

“No, no,” Vi raises her hand to wave you off, a weird chuckle leaving her lips. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

You sigh, the embarrassment still clinging to your skin as you replayed in your mind how easily you did that.

“It’s good, though,” Vi adds through the silence.

You can’t help but let out an amused laugh at the way she immediately tries to assure you that what you did was in fact very normal. You knew it wasn’t… by any means but she attempts to make you feel better regardless.

“What?” Vi asks through her own soft laughter.

You shake your head as you motion to the fresh cinnamon rolls.

“Can we frost these, please? I’m trying to save myself from embarrassment.”

Vi simply grins at you as she reaches two fingers into the glaze to gather a bit on her pointer and middle before sticking it in her mouth. You stare at her, unable to utter a word. What the hell is wrong with her?

“See? It’s good.”

Instead of humiliating yourself further, you shove her back with one arm as you scold: “Did you even wash your hands?”

“I did, actually.”

“Then get to it,” you point to the cinnamon rolls and hand her a spatula.

Vi glances down at the bowl of frosting and the wooden spatula with a soft blue rubber before taking it from her hands to do as you had asked. You watch her step around you to take a good scoop of the glaze to spread it over the warm treats. You spoke quietly to one another, asking her random questions to pick at her mind a bit more; to get to know her better.

“You think you could teach me how to kick box?” You question as you are now sitting in your living room.

Two small ceramic plates that were in the style of pool balls on the coffee table in front of you; Vi’s being the 6 green ball and yours being the 8. Cinnamon rolls sat on either one; yours being less eaten than Vi’s. She had mere crumbs left as she nodded into her last bite.

“Oh yeah. You can let me know and I’ll clear out some space for you.” Vi grins as she licks her lips to be rid of the cinnamon from her lips.

“I will definitely,” you chuckle as you take another bite.

“Hey, uh, speaking of that, I have this kickboxing tournament coming up in a few days. I… want you to be there,” Vi looks at you with an awaiting expression; hope glimmering over her eyes.

Your eyes meet hers as you chew your food, a hand hovering over your mouth so you don’t drop crumbs. I want you to be there, her voice rang through your mind.

“You’ll be competing?” You wonder.

“Yeah and a few of my older students,” she confirms.

You’d be an idiot to say no. A stupidly giddy smile spreads onto your face as you set the last quarter of your cinnamon roll back on the plate.

“I’d love to be there. I’ll cheer you on from a distance.”

Vi tilts her head from next to you, bumping her shoulder with yours.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. I’ll embarrass you with a huge sign that says ‘Go Vi’ in rainbow glitter,” you lean closer to her face as you tease her.

Vi eyes flicker down to your lips for a split-second as you lean in. You notice the action but brush it off as the closer proximity.

“You’ll be my cheerleader?” She questions, a smirk forming.

“Always,” you whisper, sucking in a deep breath as you shift yourself so that your body is facing hers.

Your answer sends a shiver down Vi’s spine, her heart leaping into her throat. She lifts her hand to take one of yours before she opens her mouth to say something. A loud knock fills the house causing the both of you to jump.

You mutter a curse to yourself as you excuse yourself to Vi to walk over to the door to unlock it to see your sister and Jinx standing on the welcome mat. They both held cheeky, suspicious grins.

“Hey guys,” you furrow your brows at the two. “Back so early?”

“Early? It’s been three hours,” Mila states with raised brows, stepping into the house.

Vi must’ve heard Mila’s voice and appeared behind you at the door, cursing to herself as she did not realize how much time had passed. She checked her own phone before looking at her sister.

“Shit, I gotta go. I promised I would take Isha to the park before it gets too dark,” Vi runs to grab her zip-up, sadly shielding her toned arms once again. When she walks back over to you, Mila and Jinx, she wraps her arms around you to give you a warm hug. “I’ll text you all the details, I promise. Thank you for letting me come over. I had a good time.”

You hold onto her tightly, discreetly inhaling the cinnamon-blueberry scent that was clinging to her skin.

“Yeah, me too. Let me know everything, Vi,” you pull away to see your sister and Jinx giving each other weird looks.

Okay, their friendship was going to drive you up the wall.

“See you, cupcake. Bye, Mila,” Vi grins at you and waves at your sister.

“Bye, Vi. Bye Jinx. Text me!” Mila calls after Jinx as they both walk away to the running car.

Jinx turns her head to send your sister a knowing smile, calling back: “I will, Mils!”

You and your sister watch the two open their designated sides of the car, leaning against the door with a long sigh.

“God, could you act like you’re not in love with her?” Mila teases before walking over to the kitchen to probably devour the pastries you had baked.

You shake your head to yourself as you think that no, you really can’t.

previous part -> next part

TAG-LIST: @strawberrykidneystone @lovinglynny @kylorey25 @loserbaby66 @eddiesdrummergf @jokermoonie @ranxiaolong @morphids @gayandcurious @oatmatchalatte @iamastar @saviourcomplexgf @vihxh7 @jinxjinxjinx12 @krilara @unear7hly @magical-rush @winchestergirlspn @naponiac @alex-thegiraffeboyy @fallingstarsburn @nombreuxx @16novvs @laviannasfanfics @kitty-kei

[dulcescorderitas]

it was late when you stumbled up the gravel driveway to the kent farmhouse, the cool night air doing nothing to sober the haze clouding your mind. the porch light was on, a soft yellow glow that made the house feel impossibly warm and inviting—just like clark. your clark. you could already picture him inside, probably reading or fixing something, being his usual annoyingly perfect self.

“claaaark,” you called, your voice dragging as you pushed the screen door open with more force than necessary. it banged against the frame, and you winced, giggling at your own clumsiness. “clark, where are you? i need youuuu.”

the sound of heavy, familiar footsteps thudded through the house, and a moment later, clark appeared in the doorway, his brows furrowed in confusion. “(y/n)? what are you… are you drunk?”

you flopped against the doorframe dramatically, looking up at him with what you were sure was the most pitiful expression you could muster. “maybe,” you said, dragging the word out. “but it’s not my fault, clark. it’s… it’s tequila’s fault. and also, you weren’t there, and i missed you.”

his frown softened immediately, replaced by something warmer, something that made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol. “you missed me?” he asked, stepping closer and gently taking your arm to steady you. his touch was so solid, so grounding, that you leaned into him instinctively.

“so much,” you whined, pressing your forehead against his chest. “you’re always off saving people or… lifting tractors or whatever it is you do, and i’m just… lonely.”

his arms came up around you, warm and secure, and he let out a soft chuckle. “first of all, i don’t just lift tractors,” he said, his voice full of that teasing affection that made your heart flutter. “and second, you could’ve called me. i’d have come running.”

you tilted your head back to look at him, pouting. “but i wanted to see you. and hug you. and…” your fingers fumbled with the buttons on his flannel shirt, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “and maybe do a little more than just kiss you.”

his blush deepened, spreading up his neck, but his hands stayed firmly on your waist, steadying you. “(y/n), you…” he trailed off, his voice soft but cautious. “you’re not exactly in a clear headspace right now.”

“but i’m so frustrated,” you whined, leaning up to nuzzle into his neck, your lips brushing against his skin. “you’re always running off, being all heroic and perfect, and i… i just want you, clark. right now. please? i want you to…” your voice dipped lower, a sultry edge creeping in despite the slur, “just take me upstairs and fuck me already.”

his breath hitched, and for a moment, you felt his hands tighten on your hips, his resolve wavering. the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on, but then he pulled back slightly, cradling your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “hey,” he said gently, his voice steady and full of warmth. “you know i want you too. you have no idea how much. but not like this, not when you’re like this. you’ll thank me tomorrow, i promise.”

“i won’t,” you grumbled, but your words lacked any real conviction. “you’re too good, you know that? too damn good.”

“and you’re tipsy,” he replied with a small smile, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “but we’ve got forever, remember? there’s no rush.”

“i hate when you’re right,” you muttered, but you let him guide you toward the couch, where he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“get some rest,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “and tomorrow, we’ll talk. properly.”

even in your hazy, frustrated state, you couldn’t help but smile at him. “fine,” you said, sinking into the couch and letting the warmth of the blanket and his presence lull you into a drowsy calm. “but you’re not getting out of this forever thing, kent.”

“wouldn’t dream of it,” he said softly, watching over you as you drifted off, his love for you shining in his eyes.

taglist: @legalmente-loca @soangelbaby

[prettylilyanime]

Our Blessing ♡ Prologue

♡ Pairing: Toji Zenin x reader

♡ Synopsis: in which your ex boyfriend left you with your biggest blessing in life, or- a bundle of a blessing. And he doesn’t even know it.

♡ tags/warnings: 18+, (explicit content in later chapters) angst, and drama, exes to lovers, hidden baby trope, Toji is an asshole (but we love him), Reader just wants to raise Megumi in peace, CEO Toji, possessive Toji, emotionally constipated Toji, Tension, misunderstandings, Flashbacks to past relationship, Heavy themes of abandonment, trust issues, and redemption, baby Megumi is a cutie, Megumi is a mama’s boy, reader works at a flower shop, Hidden Baby Trope

♡ Masterlist ♡ Next

⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖

"Shit!"

The curse slips out before you can stop it as you stumble against the narrow, overstuffed hallway leading to the backroom of your little shop.

The bulky cardboard box in your arms wobbles precariously, the scent of freshly delivered daffodils wafting up as you struggle to keep your balance. For a moment, you fear disaster—flowers crushed, stems snapped, your pride bruised—but you manage to steady yourself just in time.

"Mama, that’s a bad word."

The reprimand is calm, almost casual, but the unimpressed side-eye that follows is devastating.

Seated by the shop’s wide front window, Megumi barely spares you a glance, his small frame bathed in the golden morning light. The sun catches in his dark lashes, making his ever-serious little face all the more heartbreakingly adorable.

You groan, already rubbing a hand down your face. "Damn—Yes, Megumi, I’m sorry." You cut yourself off before another curse can slip out, exhaling as you set the box down with a dull thud. Any more near-disasters like that, and you might actually break a hip.

Some mornings, you wake up feeling twice your age, your body aching from years of hauling flower crates, bending over counters, and chasing after an endlessly curious toddler. The weariness settles into your bones, a quiet reminder of just how much you juggle between running a business and raising a child on your own.

But then you glance at Megumi.

He sits by the shop window, his small fingers tracing absentminded patterns against the glass, bathed in the golden morning light. The soft glow highlights the curve of his cheeks, the thoughtful furrow of his brows as he watches the world outside. Your exhaustion melts just a little. You’d do it all over again—every sleepless night, every aching muscle—without hesitation.

Outside, the city hums with life. A gentle breeze rustles through the trees lining the sidewalk, carrying the scent of fresh flowers and warm pavement.

People stroll past, their neutral expressions softening into fond smiles when they catch sight of Megumi. A few wave through the window, but true to his nature, he merely blinks at them—stoic as ever—before returning to his quiet observations.

"Say, Megumi, what do you want for lunch today, hm?"

He pauses, tilting his head slightly in thought. His emerald-green eyes flick up to meet yours, considering, before he declares with certainty: "Dino nuggets."

You blink. "Dino nuggets? Again? But we just had them yesterday."

"Yeah," he says simply, as if that should be enough to end the discussion.

"Megumi, we can’t eat chicken nuggets every day. That’s not a balanced diet."

He frowns, tiny arms crossing. "I balanced it with fries."

You press your lips together, fighting back a snort. "That’s not how it works, honey. If you eat too many, a stomach bug might get you before bedtime."

He huffs, brows knitting together in frustration. "But dino nuggets make me feel good. And stomach bugs aren’t real."

That does it—you actually snort this time, biting down a laugh. Megumi’s sharp little side-eye nearly makes you lose it again.

"Okay, okay. How about this? We get pizza next door instead." You know it’s not the healthiest swap, but hey, at least it’s better than microwaved dino nuggets… right?

Megumi doesn’t look convinced at first, his small fingers still resting on the window as if debating whether or not this betrayal is worth arguing over. Then, his gaze flickers to you, studying your expression.

"Hmm." He makes a show of thinking before relenting with a dramatic sigh. "Okay… but I want ice cream too."

You shake your head with a chuckle. 

With Megumi’s small hand tucked in yours, you push open the door to your store, the little bell above jingling softly as you step outside.

The late morning air greets you with a mix of warm sunshine and the faint scent of blooming flowers from your storefront display. The city hums around you—distant chatter, the occasional honk of a car horn, the rhythmic click of hurried footsteps on pavement.

Megumi stays close to your side as you walk the short distance next door, his tiny fingers gripping yours like second nature.

The pizzeria is a familiar comfort—Tano’s Pizza, a cozy little hole-in-the-wall with a chalkboard menu propped just outside.

The scent of fresh dough, bubbling cheese, and roasted garlic drifts through the slightly propped-open door, instantly making Megumi's stomach grumble.

You push inside, stepping onto worn wooden floors that creak softly underfoot. The walls are lined with framed newspaper clippings and faded photographs—snapshots of the restaurant through the decades.

At the front, a glass display case showcases bubbling slices fresh from the oven, the cheese still glistening under the heat lamps. Behind the counter stands a young employee, dressed in a slightly oversized apron and adjusting his cap as he notices the two of you walk in.

"Ah, it’s Megumi-kun!" the worker says, his voice light with familiarity. "Back again, huh? You’ve got good taste."

Megumi, naturally, doesn’t respond. He merely stares up at the man, then tilts his head ever so slightly.

The employee chuckles, undeterred. "Still not much of a talker, huh? No worries—let’s see if today’s pizza can win a word out of you."

You smile, ruffling Megumi’s hair. "He’s getting there. Slowly. Anyway, we’ll take two slices—one cheese, one pepperoni."

"And ice cream," Megumi adds, very seriously.

You sigh, shaking your head. "We’ll talk about that later."

The employee grins, already sliding two hot slices onto plates. You guide Megumi toward a corner booth by the window, the worn red leather seats creaking as you both settle in.

He swings his little legs beneath the table, fingers drumming idly against the surface as he watches the worker prepare the slices.

"Mama," he says after a moment, his voice quieter now, thoughtful.

"Hm?" You glance at him, mid-reach for a napkin.

"Pizza is better than dino nuggets."

You pause, blinking. Then, you huff a quiet laugh. "Oh? So all that fuss before was for nothing?"

Some days are exhausting. Some days, you wonder how you manage it all—balancing work, life, and motherhood like you’re walking a tightrope with no safety net.

But moments like this?

They make it all worth it.

The daytime sun streams through the wide windows, casting a soft glow over the checkered tile floor.

You take a sip of your drink, letting yourself relax, just for a moment.

Then the doorbell jingles.

It’s an unremarkable sound, the same chime that’s rung a dozen times since you sat down, but this time, when you naturally glance up, the air in your lungs turns to stone.

Two tall figures stroll in like they own the place. Crisp suits, easy smiles, and voices that haven’t changed a bit.

“God, Suguru, I’m starving,” the white-haired one groans, a hand resting lazily on his stomach as they walk toward the counter.

Satoru and Suguru.

Two ghosts from your past, standing just a few feet away, like time hadn’t torn a canyon between you.

It’s been five years. Five years since they dropped you as easily as an old habit. Five years since they picked a side that was never yours to begin with.

They were always Toji’s friends first, you knew that, but still—being discarded so effortlessly after your breakup stung in a way you’d never admit out loud.

Megumi notices the shift immediately.

“Mama? What’s wrong?” His voice is quiet, but his brows pinch, his little body instinctively leaning against yours. Then, as if sensing something deeper, he scoots closer, resting his head against your side. His small hand clutches your shirt.

You want to curse the gods for making Megumi such an incredibly perceptive child, but at the same time, you want to thank them for giving you the sweetest boy imaginable.

No, really—you could start crying at the way his tiny fingers grip your shirt, like he already knows you need the comfort more than he does.

You clear your throat, ducking your head as if looking away will make them disappear. “Nothing, honey,” you murmur, smoothing a hand over his hair. “Just thought I recognized someone.”

A white lie. A harmless one. But your pulse won’t settle, and your fingers curl against the tabletop.

Because you don’t just recognize them. You know them.

You remember the unanswered calls, the ignored texts—the way they never once gave you a way to reach Toji when you needed him most. They didn’t know you were pregnant, sure. But even now, after all these years, the resentment bubbles up like something toxic in your chest.

And worst of all? If they see Megumi, they’ll know.

It wouldn’t take a genius to put the pieces together.

The kid is practically a carbon copy of his father—God, if you hadn’t been in the delivery room, you might’ve thought Toji had just spawned him into existence himself.

Your anxiety spikes as your mind races ahead, spiraling through every worst-case scenario.

Those striking emerald eyes you love so much? They’re just a smaller, rounder version of the ones you used to get lost in years ago.

And their smiles—though rare—mirror each other’s perfectly, down to the sharp curve of their lips.Maybe, just maybe, Megumi inherited your nose.

It’s a weak thought, flimsy and desperate. Because deep down, you know that in a few years, as he grows, his resemblance to Toji will only become more undeniable.

You swallow hard and exhale through your nose, forcing yourself to stay calm.

You just have to get through this meal. Get Megumi home. And pray that today isn’t the day the past comes knocking.

⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖

To be continued, after the completion of Blooming Hearts !

[wendichester]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ happier²,

summary. sam's been in love with you for far too long for it to still be a secret!

pairing. sam winchester x reader ft. dean winchester ; angsty!

wordcount. 1051

notes. @hauntedrose555 @mostlymarvelgirl @daryls-luvrr ya'll encouraged this nonsense. don't come after me for writing this 😳

⋆.˚ ★— read part 1

Dean isn't looking for trouble. Really. And he doesn't mean to snoop. He just wants the damn book. It’s gotta be somewhere in the bunker.

The three of you had been going through lore all week for this case, and Dean swears he saw Sam with it last. So, when he finds himself in front of Sam’s half-open bedroom door, he doesn’t think twice before stepping inside.

His eyes skim over the desk first, scanning through the mess of papers and thick books. No luck. Huffing, he crouches to check the floor. Nothing. Then he spots it, half-buried under a stack of old notes—faded leather binding, gold lettering along the spine.

Bingo.

But as Dean grabs the book, his fingers brush against something else. A journal. Sam’s journal.

He doesn’t mean to look. He shouldn’t. He knows that. But the damn thing is open, and his name—your name—catches his eye.

Dean tells himself it’s just for a second. Just one glance. But the words jump out at him like a punch to the gut.

"She would be so much happier with me."

His stomach drops.

“What the hell?” he mutters under his breath, flipping back a page, then another. It’s all there. The lingering looks. The inside jokes. The little moments that Sam thinks mean something more. Pages filled with words Dean doesn’t want to read, because they confirm what his gut has been telling him for a while now.

Sam’s in love with you.

A sharp exhale sounds from the doorway.

“The hell are you doing?”

Dean looks up to find Sam standing there, shoulders tense, expression instantly guarded as he sees his journal in Dean’s hands.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean drawls, flipping the book shut. His jaw clenches. “Maybe just finding out my brother’s been in love with my girlfriend behind my back.”

Sam’s face darkens. “Give me that.”

Dean tosses the journal onto the desk, standing up. “I don’t need to read more, Sammy. That one sentence told me everything.” He lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ. How long?”

Sam’s lips press into a thin line. “Dean—”

“How. Long.”

Sam’s nostrils flare as he exhales. “It doesn’t matter.”

Dean scoffs, stepping closer. “Doesn’t matter? Doesn’t matter? You don’t think it matters that my own brother’s been sneaking around behind my back, watching my girl like—”

“I haven’t done anything,” Sam cuts in, his voice sharp. “You’re acting like I betrayed you, but I haven’t.”

Dean lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh, so I should be grateful? You’ve just been sitting on this, what, for months? Years? Jesus, Sam.”

Sam’s jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “You had no right to read my journal.”

Dean lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Oh, that’s rich. That’s what you’re focusing on? I invaded your privacy? I had all rights!” He shakes his head, stepping closer. “You know what, maybe if you weren’t writing about how my girlfriend should be with you, I wouldn’t have had to find out this way.”

“You shouldn’t have found out at all,” Sam snaps, voice low, dangerous.

Dean freezes.

And then it clicks.

“You weren’t gonna say a damn thing, were you?” Dean’s voice drops, something cold settling in his chest. “You were just gonna sit on this forever. Hope one day she woke up and realized she was in the wrong bed?”

Sam doesn’t answer.

That’s all the confirmation Dean needs.

Something ugly twists in his chest. He’s so caught up in it that he doesn’t hear the footsteps in the hall. Doesn’t realize you’re there until—

“What’s going on?”

Both of them snap their heads toward you.

You stand frozen in the doorway, brows furrowed in confusion. The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on.

Dean glances at Sam, expecting him to fold, to back off now that you’re here. But Sam doesn’t. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight, his eyes—

His eyes are already on you.

Something inside Dean cracks.

“Dean?” you try again, stepping forward slightly. “What’s happening?”

Dean lets out a slow breath, eyes flicking between you and his brother. He should lie. Brush it off. Keep the peace.

But he can’t.

“Ask Sam,” he says flatly. “Seems like he’s got a lot on his mind.”

Your brows pull together in confusion, gaze shifting to Sam. He hesitates, but then Dean sees it—the moment he decides to just go for it.

“I love you,” Sam blurts out.

The silence is deafening.

Your lips part slightly, eyes going wide. “What?”

Dean stares at Sam like he’s lost his mind. “Jesus Christ, dude.”

“I love you,” Sam says again, firmer this time, gaze locked on you. “I have for a long time.”

Dean runs a hand down his face, letting out a sharp breath. “Son of a bitch.”

You’re still frozen, staring at Sam like he’s just shattered the ground beneath you. “Sam, I—”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Sam continues, his voice raw, desperate. “But Dean found out, and now—” He swallows hard. “Now I can’t just keep pretending.”

Dean steps forward, his voice low and heated. “You can’t?” His lips curl in something that isn’t quite a smirk. “Let me get this straight, Sammy. You’ve been in love with my girl—my girl—for who knows how long, and now that you got caught, you think you get to lay it all out there? What, you think she’s just gonna drop everything and run into your arms?”

Sam’s expression hardens. “That’s not—”

“Because she’s with me,” Dean bites out. “She chose me.”

Sam’s breathing is heavy, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He doesn’t look at Dean. He only looks at you.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “She did.”

And then he walks out.

You’re left standing there, stunned into silence.

Dean’s chest rises and falls, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He glances at you, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“Are you—” He exhales sharply. “Are you in love with him?”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

Dean swallows hard. “Jesus,” he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. He shakes his head, lets out a bitter chuckle, and then turns to leave.

And just like that, you’re alone.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @funkenniffler

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES

You don't know the pleasure it is to be back!!! Well, is everyone here ready for this?

As always, today is just the prologue. And on Saturday (known as tomorrow) the first chapter will come out.

As I said previously, posts will decrease in frequency for reasons of: COLLEGE WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME? But I'll be here every Saturday and I'll wait for you

Enjoy it!

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio X Fem Reader

Warnings: Manipulation, corrupt kink, mommy kink, ageplay, degradation, age difference, power dynamics, submission and domination, psychological domination, dubcon, fluffy, spanking, bdsm, angst, strap-on, slow burn [...]

Hey! Now I've a masterlist.

PROLOGUE

The golden light of dusk spilled through the towering windows of the Victorian mansion, staining the shadows with hues of copper and scarlet.

The air was heavy with the woody aroma of expensive whisky in a forgotten crystal glass on the mahogany table, mingling with the scent of Agatha Harkness—something between jasmine and the electric charge of an impending storm.

Seated in a plush velvet armchair of deep purple, she watched the crimson liquid swirl in the glass between her pale fingers, though her mind was far away, caught in thoughts that flowed like a dark, boundless river.

Her expression was unreadable, shaped by years of impenetrable control. The woman who ruled Hollywood, who turned careers into legends or dust with a mere gesture, felt something she loathed to admit: emptiness.

The fire crackled in the hearth, but even its flames dared not fill the thick silence that dominated the room. The director, whose blue eyes could cut like razors, seemed fixed on the void, her thoughts a myriad of sparks hidden beneath the surface.

“Are you going to keep drowning in your thoughts, or will you finally talk to me?”

The deep, slightly husky voice sliced through the silence like a sharp blade. Leaning against the doorframe, Rio Vidal watched her wife with the intensity of someone who knew the full weight of their own love.

Arms crossed, her black dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, revealing the ink that snaked across her sun-kissed skin. Every line of her body exuded contained frustration and a devotion so fierce it bordered on destructive.

“I don’t see what there is to talk about,” Agatha replied dryly, not even turning her head. “You know how this works. I work. And you play with your watercolors. We’re functional this way.”

Rio let out a bitter laugh, striding into the room with firm steps. “Functional? We’re further apart than ever, Agatha. You don’t even bother pretending anymore.”

The younger woman stopped beside the armchair, leaning in just enough for the woody, citrus scent of her skin to envelop Agatha.

The height difference was negligible, but the energy between them was brutal. Rio had always been raw intensity, an insatiable hunger. And Agatha? An unattainable enigma.

“What do you want me to say?” Agatha finally lifted her eyes, cold as ancient ice. “That I’m sorry for being the woman the world expects me to be? That I apologize for not being shaped for the tenderness you insist on demanding?”

Rio clenched her jaw, her brown eyes glinting in the warm firelight. For years, she had fought against this wall, this chasm between them. But fighting Agatha was like playing chess against an opponent who had already planned ten moves ahead.

“I don’t want apologies, Agatha,” she murmured, her voice unexpectedly soft. “I want to know if there’s still something here. Anything real, something that isn’t part of this damn performance you put on all the time.”

The silence between them wasn’t just heavy—it was devastating.

Then Agatha looked away.

A small detail, almost insignificant. But to Rio, it felt like a punch to the gut.

“I don’t know,” Agatha said at last. And for the first time, the ice in her voice didn’t sound unbreakable.

The weariness in Rio deepened. She carried her obsession with Agatha like a curse, a sentence she had willingly accepted. But even the most devoted love has its limits.

It was then that fate decided to intervene.

Agatha’s phone buzzed on the table beside her. The sound made them both blink, as if a spell had been broken.

With a restrained sigh, Agatha swiped her finger across the screen. The notification was from her team of advisors. Tomorrow, she would give a special mentorship session at the local university.

An obligation she had initially despised, but now…

Now it seemed intriguing.

Rio raised an eyebrow. “A new project?”

Agatha merely smiled, tilting her head slightly. An enigmatic, lethal smile.

Rio didn’t trust that smile.

“And what exactly are you going to teach those students, hm? How to be a manipulative ice queen?”

“Perhaps.”

They exchanged a glance, a silent battle waged between desire and resentment. Neither of them knew that a seemingly mundane encounter was about to change everything.

The missing link. The force that could either destroy or save what remained between them.

You.

~*~

Are babies prepared to be corrupted?

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @trindad2k

@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp

@lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01

[petals2fish]

Shut Up (Make Me)

requested by @constancezin aka love of my life: One of them steal a kiss to the other (pre relationship for more drama😁) READ ON A03

"Shut up."

She didn’t mean it.

"Make me," he replied, his voice low and daring, just before she blasted him off his feet.

James’ ass skidded along the floor, his wand flying from his hand, its arc graceful and doomed, landing in a potted plant nearby. He lay there, grinning up at her like a lovestruck fool, sprawled out on the floor as if this was exactly where he belonged. Damn, she was a force.

Staring down the end of Lily Evans’ wand had quickly become one of James Potter’s favorite pastimes. There was something about the way her green eyes blazed with determination, something that made him feel both like he might combust and that he was the luckiest idiot alive. Every glare, every roll of her eyes, every sharp word was a thrill he couldn’t seem to shake. It was why he’d agreed to these late-night rendezvous to practice duelling in the first place. To see her in action, to spar with her, to feel that electricity crackling between them. The challenge, the banter, the way she looked at him with that mixture of exasperation and undeniably adorable scrunched nose—it was intoxicating.

Tonight, like all the others, was no different.

“Why the hell are you smiling?” she demanded, exasperation laced through her voice. The sharpness of it only made his grin widen. Her frustration was just another victory in his book.

"Damn," he laughed, letting his head fall back, his chest rising and falling with each huff. 

“I just knocked you off your feet,” she said, planting her stance as she loomed over him, her wand still pointed at his chest. “The least you could do is have the decency to look upset about it.”

James let out a breathless chuckle, still sprawled across the cool stone floor of the greenhouse where he had landed. “Sorry,” he said, though he wasn’t sorry in the slightest. If anything, he’d gladly take another hit just to keep her standing over him like this—her silhouette framed by the moonlight, her hair catching silver beams as they filtered through the warped glass panes. They’d been sneaking off to duel every Thursday now, but it wasn’t enough. He wished it were every night.

She looked ethereal.

And entirely unimpressed by his reaction to her clever charm work. 

“Yeah, yeah." She waved off his grins.

"Yeah?" He countered.

"Yeah, you’re not actually sorry.” Lily rolled her eyes, lowering her wand before extending a hand to help him up. “No need to rub it in that my wand work isn’t as good as yours.”

“I never said that” James countered, still sprawled on the stone floor, grinning up at her.

“You laughed like it was a joke.” Lily furiously brushed some of her hair back. “I’ve been practicing that charm all week to show you, it's rude to laugh.”

“It was quite charming.” James soothed. “And it did do it's job.”

Her furious expression fizzled and she tilted her head at him, "you think so?"

"You did knock me off my feet." James teased her so easily. 

There was a glint of humor in her eyes as she caught on to his pun. “I have that effect on most wizards.”

All wizards, especially James. 

James let out a quiet laugh, hesitating just long enough to make a show of it before finally clasping her hand in his. The second their fingers intertwined, that familiar, unspoken spark ignited between them—the same one that had been flickering at the edges of his interactions with her for years, never quite fading. He felt the charge travel up his arm, sharp and electric, and he knew from the way her breath caught, from the slight pink creeping up her neck, that she felt it too.

He could have let go.

Should have.

Instead, he used the momentum to pull himself up, closing the space between them and he didn’t release her hand.

Lily’s lips parted. “What are you—”

She didn’t get to finish. James silenced her with his mouth on hers, his fingers still wrapped around hers, refusing to break contact even as his other hand found her waist.

James had never known what it was like to have a girl completely melt into his arms when he kissed her—until Lily. The moment their lips met, her entire body swayed into his, as if holding herself up was no longer a priority. She wasn’t stiff or hesitant and wasn't pushing him away. Instead, she softened, leaned into him like she belonged there, like she had been waiting for this just as much as he had.

And Merlin help him, he never wanted to let her go.

He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and tugged at the same time that her wand clattered to the floor. She breathed in deep through her nose, then exhaled as James let go of his hold. Her fingers wound up in his hair, tilting his head down for a better angle as her mouth opened wider against his to deepen the kissing. He carefully swept them to the left, away from their dropped wands, while still meeting her kiss for kiss. 

James felt her hips lurch into a nearby tabletop that was holding their bag, the wooden feet scraping against the cobblestones loudly. Neither of them flinched when one of the bags fell to the ground, papers scattering. She was tasting the arch in his mouth with her tongue, urging the kiss into something hotter, less controlled. This was all he wanted, everything he needed, as he felt compelled to let the hand on her waist dip against the curve of her ass. She didn't shy away, didn't stop tracing his lower lip with her hungry tongue... 

Fuck. 

Was this a dream?

James had to jolt back, his heart hammering against his ribs as reality caught up with him. This wasn’t how he had pictured kissing Lily Evans for the first time—not even close. She was supposed to shove him away, spit out the word ‘friend’ and maybe even hex him into next week. 

She was supposed to be mad at him, not mad about him. 

But when he opened his eyes, she wasn’t fuming, and wasn't pushing him away with a scathing remark. Instead, she stared up at him, wide-eyed and breathless, lips still slightly parted as if she hadn’t quite processed the space he’d put between them. There was no anger, no sharp-edged retort—just quiet, stunned curiosity, like she was confused why he’d stopped so suddenly. 

“Shit,” he murmured, though he wasn’t sure what for. His breath hitched as he realized her hand was still tangled in his hair, fingernails ghosting over his scalp, sending little shivers down his spine.

“You didn't mean to kiss me tonight,” she whispered, her green eyes locked onto his, searching—like she was trying to find something hidden among the freckles and summer-worn tan of his face. "Did you?"

"Not really."

"I figured."

His heart was still racing. “But—” he started, the words catching in his throat. “I'm happy to do it."

"I should hope so." Her blunt answer was dripping with sarcasm, her usual humor.

"Why now?” He let the words tumble from his traitorous lips that could have been snogging her still if he hadn't stopped it. 

Lily exhaled sharply, like she’d been expecting the question but wasn’t sure how to answer it. Her fingers, still tangled in his hair, slid down to rest against the nape of his neck, warm and at home there. She felt so right, like she’d studied the book of James Potter and knew exactly what drove him mad. 

"You grew on me," Lily admitted, her green eyes flickering with something soft, something pure. "Slowly. Weirdly. Then one day I woke up and all at once, you were all I wanted." She huffed a small laugh, shaking her head as if exasperated with herself. "I don’t know why it happened, James. I just know that it did."

James stared at her, stunned into silence, his mind scrambling to catch up. Years—actual years—of fawning after her, of grand gestures and foolish antics, of hoping and failing and trying again. None of it had ever worked. And yet, here she was, looking at him like he was something worth falling for. 

His throat felt dry as he managed, "When?" He tightened his fingers in the fabric of her robes, needing to tether himself to this moment, to her.

Lily snorted, nostrils flaring at the demand in his tone. "I don’t know... last year, maybe?"

"Last year?" James groaned, releasing her only to clutch dramatically at his chest. "You mean to tell me that we could have been snogging this entire time?"

She couldn’t resist her laugh, crossing her arms as she smirked at his antics. "Well, maybe if you had realized that every time I asked you to hang out alone, it was because I fancy you something awful, then yes, we could have been snogging for quite some time now."

James froze. His head tilted, blinking at her as if she had just spoken in a language he didn’t understand. "Wait. Wait. Hold on. You were—? And I—? And you thought—?" His voice rose with each half-formed thought until he was practically sputtering.

Lily was clearly amused, the light was dancing in her eyes. "I wasn’t sure if you still felt that way about me," she admitted, slipping her wand into the curly bun at the nape of her neck, her expression soft-lined despite the teasing tilt of her lips.

James lunged forward, catching both of her hands in his. "Lily Evans," he said, breathless, his palms warm against hers, "I have fancied you since the moment you hexed me in first year for—well, actually, I can’t remember what I did, but I’m sure I deserved it."

"You absolutely deserved it," Lily murmured, slipping one hand from his grasp so she could hold onto the fold in the neck of his robes. 

“We’ll agree to disagree.” James grinned, undeterred. "But I have fancied you every single day since then," he continued, captivated. "Even when you yelled at me, even when you ignored me, even when you looked at me like I was the rag that washed the bottom of your freakish feet—"

She gasped, scandalized, and tugged his earlobe between two fingers pointedly. "You cannot talk about my feet when your ears could keep you aloft, James Potter!"

James threw his head back in laughter, the warmth of their jokes–their personal jokes–filling him. "Fair point," he conceded, closing the space between them. His voice dropped to something softer, something teasing but undeniably affectionate. "But I’d still massage your ugly feet, Evans. I’m a gentleman, after all."

Lily tilted her chin, unimpressed by his attempts at chivalry. "Have you ever considered getting your ears pierced? Maybe then they’d be too heavy to flap in the wind on your broomstick."

Her laughter twinkled between them, and he opened his mouth to retort, but then he caught the gleam of silver sparkle in her ears and stilled. "Speaking of earrings," he mused, reaching up to brush his thumb over the tiny studs nestled against her freckled skin, "I see you’re wearing the ones I got you last Christmas."

Lily blinked, as if she were suddenly aware of them in a way she hadn’t been moments before. "So?" she said, feigning nonchalance.

"I lied last Christmas," James murmured smugly. "Those are real diamonds."

Lily's jaw dropped. "James! We had a two-galleon spending limit! You promised me we’d stick to it!"

"What?" James grinned as if he hadn’t just casually admitted to gifting her actual diamonds. "I was spoiling my future snogging partner."

Lily gaped at him. "You didn’t know we’d start snogging until five minutes ago!"

James shrugged. "Fine. I was spoiling my future girlfriend."

Her eyes lit up like those diamonds in her ears. "You were that certain you'd date me?" she asked, half-surprised, half-impressed.

His tone was light but sincere. "I was that certain I cared about you enough, that I wanted to get you something nice." He gave her a look that was both cocky and soft. "I hoped for way longer than that, though," he added, winking as if he hadn’t just completely upended her perception of him with that admission. "I hoped you'd eventually see how badly I wanted--how much I--how stupid you've made me." 

She let out a sharp breath, shaking her head in disbelief. The fight in her was half-hearted at best, her lips betraying her with a smile that was far too easy. "I should’ve known," she muttered. "You were always staring at me with that stupidly adorable smile. Just like you were when I knocked you down a minute ago."

James appreciated the wrinkles in her nose as she scrunched it up. "That was an ambush, by the way."

"You had it coming for you." Lily' eyes flickered down to his mouth and then away just as quickly. "I was perfectly content with just being your friend. And then you smiled—this stupidly attractive, annoyingly charming smile—and I just... yeah."

His breath hitched. Yeah. He wanted to bottle up that single word, tuck it away in the corner of his heart where he kept all the times she had unknowingly set him alight. Lily probably didn’t know the implications behind her ‘yeah’ but to James it meant she was so infatuated with him that she couldn’t even find words. 

He left her speechless. 

His grin wrinkled his eyes, slow and triumphant, raw, and real. "So, what you’re saying," he mused, voice light but brimming with a quiet sort of wonder, "is that I finally wore you down because you like my smile."

Lily’s fingers—the loveliest things—were still curled loosely around his collar, holding him in place. "I suppose you could say that your smile knocked me off my feet." 

He pinched her through her robes. "I have that effect on most witches.”

"Shut up," she muttered, cheeks unmistakably rosy and eyes filled with emeralds.

His lips twitched upwards smugly, knowing it got to her. "Make me."

[afreakingdork]

Soft Spot - Chapter 27

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Everyone knows I will preach @garbagemilkshake 's talent until the end of time, but DAMN did she outdo herself this week!! Wah!

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, Menstruation, There WILL NOT be any Miscarriages

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

You were exhausted. The rapid contraction of muscles associated with shivering was wearing away your very being. From around you, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. pulled you closer to the dying flame of his warmth. In a gentle rev, he conjured up more of his heat, but it was an energy transfer. His lights became dimmer and his expression thinned out to its barest lines. You felt the dire forewarning of his weakening being and searched Donnie.

Your mate was only a few steps away and a shell of himself. Amongst the dark, his visage began to bleed where he was losing color. He tried in vain based on the pinched lines of his face to conjure his ninpo again, but it was just as depleted. He came out of the summoning with swirling pupils that he had to squeeze into line. He fluttered his lids open for consciousness and, without the metaphysical, he tried to reignite the tangible generator that had long run out of fuel.

Donnie could only muster enough energy to thump his hand against it. 

It was a far cry from banging an appliance in hopes of getting it running again. 

The machine stayed dormant. 

“D-D-D-D-Don?” You despised the chatting of your teeth.

“Dad…” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. added. “I’m sorry. I only have 15 minutes left at this rate.”

Since you were pressed to him, you felt something in your son power down.

Your shuddering attention turned to him. “S-S-Shell-ly…!”

“Scanning…” A synthetic version of his voice came out.

“No evacuation.” Donnie took his coat off.

Your protest warbled on cracked lips.

He draped it around you. “State of emergency. Shelters’ full. Turning away all else. Hospital running out of back-up power…”

You shook your head as it was within a withered movement.

“This blizzard...” Donnie murmured and glanced to where your kitchen window was frosted shut.

You reached for your husband despite the cocoon you were entrenched in. Donnie leaned into you and, through the many layers, his skin felt iced. You knew exactly how you got here, but the cold was freezing your neurons. You closed your eyes and Donnie added his warmth to the pile.

The weather had been average just a few days ago. On Tuesday, you were thriving in the late October temperatures. They were just cool enough that they helped soothe your all too warm body. Donnie still fussed about you taking a jacket, but you liked to lean against the kitchen window sill with the pane hiked up. It was positioned so you could perfectly enjoy the evening chill that occurred when the sun dipped out of sight. You had done your routine as usual and there was no sense of what was impending.

You had gone to bed, spent hours getting comfortable, slept, and were woken up in the wee hours of the morning with the ability to see your breath. Donnie was already sitting up beside you and looking out at the steam pouring from his nostrils. He moved immediately to the thermostat and you watched him try to activate it to no avail. You pulled your phone and saw the blackout alerts littering your screen. Over the course of three days, the city fell apart. Disinformation spread as the burroughs shut down. Trapped in a veritable snow globe, a trapped blizzard wreaked havoc, and took with it all power, safety, and transportation.

You hunkered down and were alright at first. Donnie made a few generators from what he had around the apartment. He fussed about emissions, but negating them helped to pass the time. You were both of the mindset that this freak storm would pass. It was on the second day that Donnie managed to conjure a fuel with his ninpo. He became the safest power source and easily fed the machines. The churning of fuchsia lights continued to make your apartment a safe haven.

After that, you invited any neighbors still in the building to join you. Food was communally shared and the others prided Donnie on his good work. Mrs. Kaczmarek had a slew of anecdotes to bend your ear until her grandson came by to get her. Emergency services came in waves. The first shelters that were temporarily set up failed in one way or another, but need meant restructuring birthed new ones. Millions of city residents poured into these buildings or found other ways to maintain themselves amidst the bizarre storm.

Your son showed up around the time your home was thinned out to its usual tenants. He had tried to come as fast as he could via his drone form, but the winds proved impossible. He was stuck on foot and the trip had taken him through a series of adventures. He stopped again and again to save those in need and used his sturdy body to help. He dug people out of where they were trapped and aided rescue efforts until he finally made it to you.

Donnie was growing weak. He found a new limit to his ninpo by constantly using it. The 24/7 brunt burned some metaphorical mystic candle at both ends until this very morning the generators sputtered and died out. He had almost collapsed in the process, but his drive to protect you superseded all else. You weren’t sure he had slept, as he had to be awake to fuel the generators. It just happened to be a terrible coincidence that he had hit his wall around the same time S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s battery was at its limit.

“No change.” Your son spoke with that voice that wasn’t quite him.

Donnie clicked his tongue. “Scan for suitable burnables.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. didn’t waste energy responding and must have done so because he went back to barely whirling.

“Our home is no longer suitable. Our first priority is warmth.” He adjusted your bundle. “We could start a fire here, but to what end? Destroy our home and others while risking smoke inhalation?”

You tucked your burning nose into a scarf.

He pulled your hood a little tighter. “All adjacent buildings are the same. Fires outside in barrels are infeasible with the winds. Trying to travel…”

His inhale quaked with the cold and you knew he was horrified by the thought of you slipping on the ice.

“The pipes have already burst and frozen.” He looked out weakly. “S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N., we require that update.”

“Dad…” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s eyes suddenly brightened to their usual hue.

Donnie looked at him.

“I’m noticing something… There’s this account called SHERLOCK_CORN. They’re flooding the area with this message. It’s going up over and over to every available board or public service account. I think… it’s for us.”

Donnie’s brow lowered.

“The account… There’s no data. I can’t trace it…” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s eyes dimmed and he shook his head a little. “So tired… I think it’s her. That quick lady… Encoded message… with coordinates…”

Your son’s arm limply rooted against you. You couldn’t see, but he dug against your layers to find the hem of your sleeve. With a few twitchy wipes, you felt something small and sharpened prick out of one of his finger tips. It was quickly followed by the gentle flow of what you identified as a pen. He quickly scrawled out a short message that you bet was the coordinates he spoke of.

“That’s… Go…” His head started to loll.

“Sh-Shelly?!” You tried to turn to him.

You watched him go limp.

It was a waste of your energy, but you shook him as best as you could.

He was a lifeless metal shell.

You sent a weepy gaze to Donnie.

He stared with a shuddering breath.

You scrambled to pull your arm free. “H-h-he…!”

Donnie tried to stop you.

“N-n-no!” You pushed back and he didn’t have the strength to fight it.

You pulled back your sleeve and showed him the scrawl.

Donnie stared at it for a moment before he moved.

You could feel how it was a last ditch effort. In stumbling desperation, he got your go-bag and tossed more into it. You heard a rustle from the bathroom of what you assumed was your vitamins, among other things. A few drawers opened and he appeared to you while zipping your bag shut. He paused only for one thoughtful moment before he dropped down and activated the mechanism for where his villain suit was hidden away.

You knew the secret drawer it was hidden in had some sort of electrical quality to it and you were surprised when it split open with its purple lights just how you remembered. You squirmed in the cocoon of blankets you were tucked in and watched Donnie pull the case out. Whatever hesitance he had, he left during his pause because he immediately cracked the lid to the case and dove into the fabric. With a speed that kicked in like muscle memory, he was zipping up the panel in seconds. He swapped out his current boots for the heavy lace up ones and he unceremoniously shoved each hand into their gloves. His only pause came when he stared at the mask, which he closed his eyes for before he put it on.

The final flick was putting his hood up into place and you knew the second his lids lifted because that fuchsia light broke into the room.

“Y/N.” His voice sounded like his own.

“Y-y-yeah?”

“We’re going.”

You tried to say ‘okay,’ but the word wouldn’t solidify so you shook into a nod.

Donnie came with tenderness and dimmed lights as he readjusted your bundle. You felt a little like an overdressed kid from a movie as you got onto your feet. You had to stand a certain width not just because of your pelvis, but because of the layers. It matched the way your arms stuck out to a certain degree and your husband checked you over before darting away one last time. While his body moved one direction, the mechanicals arms sprouted to do their own work. You watched one limb pick up your go-bag and tuck it safely into Donnie’s person for storage. It melded somewhere between where the arms sprang forth from the battle shell and you lost track of it when he returned to offer you some safety goggles.

You put them on and gave him the sturdiest look you could.

He nodded appropriately and one of the arms wrapped tightly around S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’S lifeless form before he picked you up. You knew he didn’t want you in the cold long and his hold made for the quickest travel. You both burst out into the hallway where the temperature dropped significantly. You thought your apartment had lost all heat, but the little hall in your building was a stark reminder that the two men in your life were trying to preserve your comfort. In increasing bounds, you flew down the stairs before hitting the ice of the lobby. The cold took your breath away and you hid into Donnie. He squeezed you with reassurance before you heard his boots crunch snow.

It made little sense as he hadn’t used the door, but you knew you were outside from the sudden blinding whites that seemed to pour from every angle.

“The storm stopped.” He spoke.

Against the scream of your body, you peeked over his shoulder.

Everything you could see was white.

There were barely shapes amongst the void. You had to squint against the fog in your goggles, but it was true that you couldn’t see any snow coming down. There was also an absence of that wind that seemed to always be howling. There was no sound at all outside your clothes brushing your mate’s. Donnie shook his head slightly before he moved.

He trudged forward first a few readying steps before the mechanical arms kicked in. They took you leagues above the many feet of snow and into the air. They felt no effects of the ice and moved with a steady crunch. Those razor tips dug in to grab whatever was necessary and you swung forward a few blocks before you reached the arch of what remained of a subway station sign. It barely peaked out from the packed snow and it was there that Donnie swept his body. It rocked you a little like a chilly breeze and you heard falling snow before you were set on your feet.

The moment you were sturdy, he let go. You took a shy moment, just in case, before you looked up. Buildings clipped the similarly white sky and continued that edgeless façade. You had heard the phrase ‘the calm before the storm,’ but there was something far more ominous about the silence after. It spoke of how gutted the blizzard had left the earth and you wished you could hear the endless dripping that accompanied melting snow. You sank down into your multiple coats and were about to wonder what came next when you saw a rush of black movement.

It was Donnie flinging his arms out to steady against a guardrail that appeared. In a thunderous roar, the mechanical arms had broken through some ice layer and revealed the tunnel down into the subway. They halted in a screeching swipe and the only one among the four that was still was the one that held S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. Your vibrant son was strung up limply like some sort of doll. It ached deep in your chest even though you knew he just needed a charge. You wondered about the uranium in his core. You bet some part of him might still be conscious, but it looked like a moot point.

Donnie tested how slippery the stairs were before he returned to you.  

“D-down t-there?”

He nodded.

You wanted to ask him if he could speak, but snow was clawing into the crevices of his suit. You had little dexterity under two layers of gloves, but still tried to swipe it away before it sank into his zipper. You saw it as a flaw in his suit and he waited until you were satisfied in your dusting before he scooped you up. You settled into his arms and he didn’t bother with walking himself. The mechanical arms traversed the icy cavern and you felt a little like descending into a cave.

Donnie’s light led the way and, down past where the storm could reach, the station was all but preserved. Darkness reached out, but otherwise this space was exactly how you expected. The arms stretched long to lift you over the turnstile and you approached the platform. Donnie scanned the ground with swipes of his light before he set you both down. You felt no ice underfoot and clung to your husband as he was the only source of light.

He looked down one tunnel before he turned toward the other. It was odd to see just the limit of his beams because they seemed unable to permeate the inky blackness. As if waiting would thaw the solid wall of darkness, Donnie continued to stare with intense focus. You blinked into him before following suit and the quiet thundered in your ears until you heard a soft sneeze.

You twitched and Donnie held you close. His head didn’t budge, but he clearly moved the light just enough to scan as far down the tunnel as he could. When no further sound leaked out, you saw fuchsia light reflect off one of the mechanical arms as it covertly slipped down to the tracks.

“Ahh….” You heard a weary groan.

Donnie reared slightly.

You turned your head to listen.

“Don’t know if they got the message. Can’t get a response... How long to wait…? How long…?”

“Mikey…?” You found yourself croaking.

The silence was oppressive.

Donnie shifted to push you behind him.

You held onto him and wove a hand into one of the loose straps of his suit.

“Hello…?” The voice sounded very much like Mikey.

Donnie squeezed you with the intention of keeping you quiet.

You checked with him once before looking back out.

You weren’t completely sure, but you were pretty confident that was Michelangelo.

“And I’m hearing things…” That had to be Mikey.

“Mikey!” You tried again against the tug of your mate.

“Wait…” There were a few clattered footsteps. “Y/N?!”

A walk turned into a run that echoed with a sinister edge in the tunnel. It thundered toward the platform and Donnie coiled around you. You had your own grip on him and it impeded this curl. It caused him to look away and toward you. You turned away from the light. He immediately looked back and, in a crack of your lids, you saw the beam shine up Mikey’s beaten form.

You and Donnie stalled out.

That cloak you had only seen Mikey in one other time was torn up around him. As he stood like a deer caught in purple headlights, you identified that this outfit wasn’t quite the same. Tufts of fleece flecked out around the hood of the cloak. The neckline sat far higher in what was probably an attempt to protect his face from the cold. It currently acted to further accentuate the pair of exhausted eyes that were underlined in bags so deep that they looked like they were stolen from your mate’s face.

Mikey animated with a shudder and the swish showed that the bottom of his cloak was in shreds. “Donatello, can you… not…? You’re here… so… you got the message…?”

You now knew why your mate had been suspicious.

While it was clear Mikey was in some sort of skirmish, he also wasn’t acting at all like you had ever seen him. He was a shell of himself and all playfulness was devoid of his tone. He appeared like a sort of shaved down version of the joyous man you knew. All delight had been surgically removed and what was left was a body snatched person of Michelangelo.

“Explain the contact.” Donnie eventually spoke.

“Turn down the lights.” Mikey spoke flatly.

There was a quiet stand off the likes of which you only ever saw reserved for Leo and Donnie.

Donnie waited out a moment before the lights from his gaze switched out for the glow of the inner part of his hood.

It shined softer, but carved out how weak Mikey looked.

“You’re okay…” Mikey saw you with the first bit of warmth you had seen from the man.

“C-cold…” You admitted.

“Right…” A wave of memories seemed to crash over him before he sent a plea toward Donnie. “We have power. Please come to the lair. I know you don’t like us helping, but…”

The mechanical arm down amongst the tracks shifted and you were brought closer.

“You have heat?” Donnie wondered simply.

Mikey nodded.

It moved his hair.

You saw a bandage tucked up underneath.

“You will take Y/N…?” Your husband asked in a quieter voice.

“Both of you.” Mikey tried taking a step closer.

Donnie didn’t flee or budge.

“It’s chaos, but we noticed you weren’t in any of the shelters. It didn’t seem like you evacuated and every second Raph wasn’t fighting, he was worried. He couldn’t reach you on the phone… but there was… There is still so much to do, but we’re…” Mikey’s steps loosened as he got closer.

More damage to his body became visible.

Angry red scratches weeped across his dark green skin.

A strange blue hue took his elbows in a way that spoke of frostbite.

The same color dripped down his knees where it disappeared into strangely shaped boots that carved out space between his two toes.

His eyes reminded you of the power-saving mode color that S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. had taken on right before he shut off.

“I got just enough juice to get you guys there. Ready?”

Donnie inhaled sharply. “Leonardo-”

“Portals are maxed out. We don’t even have the pin drops left. Long story. He’s not back yet. He’s still out there…” You watched a crack form and it split in Mikey’s pupil.

It looked to be anguish that dotted the corners of his eyes.

You pulled free from Donnie to reach out to him.

Mikey didn’t do the same.

It struck you with fear-induced adrenaline and you got hold of his cloak before you could think better of the move.

You yanked one side of it back and revealed one arm of his arms was crossed to hold the other which hung limply at his side.

It looked broken and you sent as much horror as you could up through your layers.

Mikey gave his weakest smile. “We need to hurry.”

“I’ll set that.” Donnie suddenly spoke.

It was a rushed response that reminded you of someone in some kind of debt.

Mikey managed a puff of laughter. “Who’da thought?”

“Don’t-!”

“I’d see the day…” Mikey swayed.

You immediately pushed up into him and Donnie appeared right behind you.

“You… bandaging… me… up…” Mikey’s eyes closed as his weight fell into you.

Orange fire engulfed you the moment his head hit your shoulder.

Donnie’s mechanical arms snapped around you like a cocoon and all gravity disappeared.

You were momentarily weightless in an orange bathed void before all weight doubled.

You collapsed in a heap with one man under you and one man on top.

Donnie’s mechanical arms immediately went into action and Mikey’s unconscious body was lifted away.

Another coiled around to help you sit on the floor and you stared out at the blurry glimpse of the lair.

Your hands shot to your face to pull your goggles off.

The moment they left your skin, you felt the testing lick of heat.

Of hot air blowing.

You searched the ceiling until you found the vent and crawled the few inches over so it was blowing directly on you.

You melted on the spot.

“He got them!” Splinter’s voice burst forth. “They’re here!”

You heard him stumble down the stairs before he appeared in the portal room.

He took one watery look at you both. “Donatello! Y/N!”

His eyes fell on his son and he scrambled forward on his hands and knees.

“He fainted.” Donnie supplied and brought the mechanical arm holding Mikey around to show Splinter.

“They have been fighting non-stop for days now…” Splinter’s hands hovered.

“Your medbay?” Donnie asked.

“Don’t bring him there! We’ve converted the living room! We have a fire! Come, come!” Splinter waved you all and headed back to the stairs.

You checked the vent one last time before you heaved your weight up to follow.

Donnie hovered just behind you and toted two lifeless bodies.

You emerged in the TV room and found the entire space changed. The only mainstay was Splinter’s recliner and almost everything else was a mountain of blankets. The projector had been replaced with a roaring fire that crackled in a huge bowl-like pit that was barely suspended off the ground. A safe distance away from it sat a collapsed pile of logs and a bucket that you guessed was the Hamato’s greatest form of safety. Another scan found Raph half reclined amongst one the linens. He had a few bandages littering him, but he looked peacefully asleep. You hobbled over to him to double check and watched the slow rise and fall of his huge chest.

“They’re all at their limits. I should have been out there helping…” Splinter moved some blankets. “Bring orange here!”

Donnie laid Mikey’s body down in the divot Splinter created and the man’s father tucked him in.

Once he was satisfied, Splinter turned to you. “Y/N, you next! You are wet. We have warm blankets. Come! The baby!”

You checked with Donnie and he nodded once.

It felt strange that he didn’t hesitate and you tried to reach any button on your outermost jacket, but couldn’t. Splinter softly offered to help and you agreed with slight embarrassment. He scoffed the sound away and freed up your hands. Shedding the many layers you had been wrapped in went on for what seemed like an eternity, but it was worth it. Eventually, you felt the lick of the fire. It pleasantly coated your back and soon your front after Splinter spun you around so he could throw a heavy robe over your shoulders. You bet this was the one he had once mentioned before and you shoved your arms through the bulky sleeves before you sank down in cozy bliss. 

 You should have been more worried about Raph.

You should have mentioned Mikey’s arm.

You should have made sure Splinter was okay.

Instead, for the first time in over 24 hours, you felt a taste of warmth and bent completely to its will.

“Donatello!” Splinter laid a blanket over your lap and folded it so it was doubled over your belly. “Take that off! There are dry clothes you can use!”

“My suit is resistant to all inclement weather.” Your husband responded. 

“I see the zipper!” Splinter huffed. 

“Purposeful. Interior storm guard.” 

Your head tipped and the flames tickled the ice on your cheeks.

“You’re dripping.” Splinter changed his tactic.

“Do you have an outlet?” Donnie asked without interest.

You heard Splinter grunt. “Yes. Over there.”

Donnie walked over and a clunk of metal moved.

He was just outside your periphery and it took a slight tilt of your head to see him propping up S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.

He clicked through a few panels on your son’s body and pulled out a plug, which he plugged in.

Your husband sat back on his haunches and waited.

A small battery icon appeared in S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s eyes and you watched your mate exhale some relief.

You smiled to yourself and let your lids fall shut.

“The storm…” Donnie spoke softly from that same spot. “The cause was yokai-related?”

“Not exactly.” Splinter sounded like he was behind you and fussing with Mikey’s form.

You heard Donnie turn and look.

“We do not know what activated it, but a mystic artifact was unleashed. The name roughly translates to ‘The Heart of Winter.’  Legends says it was created by the power of the ice dragon clan’s chiefs. It is meant to maintain their kingdom, but it showed up here and boom.” Splinter went on.

“The usual players…?” Donnie’s voice led for whatever person he was implying.

“No. Its container was opened somewhere in Manhattan. We believe it was a rich human collector. Maybe won in an auction. That is still being researched.”

Donnie made a noise and you heard him approach.

You spared him a sleepy look.

He softened as he leaned down to you.

“No!” Splinter intercepted with a towel that he shoved into Donnie. “You are cold and wet! You will not get them sick!!”

“You-!” Donnie snapped and yanked the towel away.

Splinter appeared on your other side and tucked your blanket under your legs. “You are warm? Do you feel sick? How long were you outside? Cold? I will make tea!”

He hopped away.

“Don’t get Y/N wet!!” He called as he disappeared.

Donnie exhaled with the wheeze of irritation.

You could feel your hands again and got his zipper for him.

He sighed softly as you undid his top down to his battle shell belt.

You reached up with care and removed his mask.

He appeared to you looking like a shriveled version of himself.

“Rest with me?” You asked, wanting to curl up with him in front of the fire.

“I need to examine Michelangelo.”

Little bubbles of worry surfaced. “His arm…”

“Broken.” Donnie said.

“How do you know?”

He took off his mask just enough that you could glimpse his expression. 

You knew it had an x-ray mode, so that made sense.

He gave you a quick chilly kiss before he put the mask back on and moved to said man. Your front was feeling particularly warm, so you rotated on the spit. It allowed you to watch as Donnie prepared by selecting a small blanket from the pile. He ripped and tied it off into a form of a sling before he freed Mikey’s injured arm. Your mate looked over him in slow study before he dug into his suit. A knife emerged which he used to cut the wraps on Mikey’s arm.

Donnie carefully laid Mikey’s limb down as he removed his glove. Reaching into his baggy sleeve, he removed one of his own wraps before he pulled his glove back on with a snap. He then double checked Mikey’s form before getting a firm grip on his elbow. His other hand caught the orange man’s wrist and he rotated it a few times before he snapped to pull both pieces.

Mikey screamed awake and his sclera oozed orange sparks.

Donnie stiffened in preparation.

Mikey’s gaze swirled, the orange fizzled out like a dying flashlight in blinks before he shut down and collapsed again. Donnie waited a few seconds before resuming his work. Whenever he had presumably set Mikey’s bones, he used his own bandages to wrap up the other’s arm. He then slipped the blanket sling around him and pressed Mikey’s limb akimbo across his body before he sat back.

Splinter returned with a tray full of cups and a teapot. “What was that?”

“Donnie fixed Mikey’s arm.” You spoke and readied yourself to get up.

“Please!” Splinter ushered and headed over. “What was it?”

“Broken ulna and radius fracture.” Donnie offered.

Splinter was oddly quiet as he set the tray beside you.

“You okay…?” You finally asked.

“We…” He got a cup ready and poured some tea to steady himself. “We have not had broken bones in this house for years.”

“Mikey does good bone work…”

Splinter gave you a wry glance and passed you a cup.

It stung your fingers, but you cradled it close.

“Donatello.” Splinter didn’t gesture as he poured another cup.

Donnie approached while removing his mask.

Instead of giving the cup to him, Splinter left it to pour another.

Donnie took the tea.

“Green tea, my favorite blend.” Splinter clarified before taking his own and a sip.

You joined him.

Donnie watched on and eventually brought the cup to his lips.

“The Heart of Winter is a force. When open, only those of the ice dragon clan are said to have the power to stand in its presence. All else will freeze within seconds.”

Donnie swirled the liquid he had.

“Not to mention the guardian deities housed within! Spirits to protect the immense power! The ice dragons have always been show-offs!” Splinter snorted.

You stifled a giggle.

“The cold allows the spirits to reform their bodies over and over.” Splinter looked at his two sleeping sons. “They fought with all they had. Saved everyone they could. The Heart of Winter was finally closed again as of last night. Instead of taking a moment of rest, my boys continued to help.”

Donnie turned his head to keep from rolling his eyes.

“Leonardo has not yet returned. Their powers are weak. Donatello, you…” Splinter eyed him.

Donnie snapped back to attention and his lips twitched around his teeth. “Don’t presume I would have aided your cause.”

Splinter blinked wide before he lowered his gaze to his cup. “I do not. Your power is similarly drained. I only wonder-”

“Used to protect my own.” Donnie spoke with a low pitched threat that dared Splinter to complain.

Splinter allowed a moment to pass and took another drink before he spoke again. “If I was in your place, I believe I would have done the same.”

Donnie stewed before something occurred to him. “You haven’t opened your doors to the masses.”

Splinter’s eyes narrowed with some guilt.

You drank more tea and felt it trickle internally to where your baby seemed to stretch and languish under the warmth.

You placed a hand on your stomach.

With all your shivering it had been hard to do any sort of kick count lately.

Donnie’s head pressed into yours before you realized he had moved.

Splinter’s ear flicked, but his mouth stayed a steady line.

“Why do you have electricity?” Donnie barely pulled away from you.

“I’m told we pull from a source other than the city.”

“Mystic in nature?”

“Both?” Splinter didn’t seem to know, but his eyes pivoted as if there was something else that he did.

Donnie saw it too, but dropped it. “I dislike debt. How are Raphael’s injuries?”

“You don’t-”

Donnie was up before Splinter could move.

He used his villain mask to examine the largest brother.

“His external temperature is reading below average. Dehydration?” Donnie surmised. “He has the same signs of frostbite. What sort of equipment do you have available? Where is the medbay proper?”

“Yes, well-!” Splinter hesitated.

“A bulb is out.” Donnie spied a lamp across the room and headed there.

Splinter looked furious for a moment before he breathed in deep as if to settle this was how it was going to be and stood. “Okay.”

Donnie had already extracted the light bulb.

“Drink up. Stay warm.” Splinter told you before chasing after Donnie.

You watched on as the two bickered. Donnie was staunch in needing to keep himself busy and, without the other Hamato to keep him in line, he shifted his attention to working with his hands. That meant repairing whatever was broken in his eyes and Splinter followed him with complaints. The older man didn’t dare protest outright for fear of putting off the younger that he saw with hope as his own. This was only offset by how possessive Splinter was of his belongings. He snatched things from Donnie and declared them well-loved instead of broken and Donnie had sharp words for the garbage.

Eventually the conversation veered to Splinter pleading with Donnie about how helping one another was not about paying debts or obligation. Donnie scoffed verbally at the insinuation and harshly spoke about how the double standard laced under their catchall well of family. Splinter did his best to explain otherwise, but the moment he brought up your baby, Donnie checked out. Your husband clung to the lamp, one that had a history of electrical shorts and one of the few objects Splinter allowed him, and set up on the other side of the room near S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. to toy with it.

Splinter stood sadly with a few old rusted things in his arms before he moved to put them back on shelves.

You watched, having finished your second cup of tea and your lids threatened to swallow up your vision.

You heard Donnie get closer.

You felt yourself only blink before he was around you and whispering in your ear. “Rest, my heart.”

“You need to too…” You slurred softly.

“Not here.”

“Donnie…”

He shushed you and scooped up the bundle of blankets with you in it.

You tried to complain but it came out as sleepy sounds as you were nestled into all the blankets.

The moment you touched down you smelled the faint scent of fire that had baked into them and cuddled up to the roast.

“Good.” Donnie churred into your ear before he kissed the side of your head. “I’ll be a step away.”

“M’kay…” Your lids refused to lift.

You felt Donnie press a few more kisses into you before you drifted off.

-

Your flickers of consciousness came with a squeeze to warm metal. You had drifted in and out with your son as a personal heater, so you were used to the feeling. How he was able to modulate his temperature  always astounded you. You held his hand tight and felt the shifting click of him returning the pressure. It was another of his wonderful marvels and you blinked away the last memory you had of watching your son disappear in real time.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. appeared across from you with a big fat smile projected across his beak.

The crescent of his eyes turned up before they switched over to an emoji of a small face holding a finger to their lips.

Be quiet.

You blinked at him a few times and let the memories flood you.

The storm.

The lair.

The Heart of Winter.

You sat up and tried to mitigate your groan the best you could.

Your baby seemed to sense the moment you were awake and was restless.

You had been so busy keeping warm, you hadn’t had much to eat.

You needed to get something.

That and your vitamins.

Donnie had brought a bag.

You meant to look for it, but the crevasse left from Raph distracted you.

He was no longer laying in the pile.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. rolled over to look where you were.

You rotated around because you knew Donnie had placed you between Mikey and Raph.

The youngest wasn’t in his spot either, but the remnants of where he had been were also carved out.

You studied the scene closely and felt your son sit up behind you.

There were dragged blankets, as if Mikey had been taken by his ankles and pulled.

You trailed them and found one of Mikey’s boots.

You hefted up your stomach, but weren’t able to lift, so you had to crawl over to get upright. It got you up on your knees where your lifting head made a large structure appear in your eyeline. On the far side of the room, near where a cable trailed from where S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was plugged into the wall, was what you could describe as a giant lamp.

It looked exactly like the small one Donnie had last been seen with, only it was now a hundred times its original size. It bent over on an adjustable hinge and its base had been widened out to that of the platform. A warm beam of honey light poured out of it and perfectly covered the space. It drenched its occupants, which you counted as exactly Raph, Mikey, and your husband.

You drifted to your feet.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. came with and draped a Sherpa blanket over your shoulders.

You held it closed to your chest and kept moving.

Raph had collapsed on his plastron as the largest mass in the dead center of the circle. His tail curled up around the edge of the platform and that’s where your mate was. Donnie was sitting within the groove created by Raph’s tail. His head lolled back where he was soaking up the rays. Mikey was less ceremoniously placed and indeed appeared to have been dragged over. You wondered by whom because Raph had an arm secured tightly around the youngest as a child might squeeze a teddy bear. If he were any other person, they might have been crushed, but Mikey was adjusted just so his injured arm was still in a safe position to heal.

Donnie built the contraption and you had a sense of how the events played out.

You vaguely remembered him saying something about body temperature. This whole lamp looked like something for heating reptiles in a pet store, but on an absurd scale. You bet Donnie roused Raph to get him under it for his health. Raph must have made the journey, but demanded Mikey join. You could see the larger man grabbing his brother like a blanket and letting him limply drag on the floor as he took him with him. Donnie was less inclined to help the youngest, but attended to his injury after Raph settled in. When both men fell asleep, your husband felt that same reptilian pull and found a spot where he could easily flee if necessary.

The perfect space for innocent culpability.

Your heart tugged and you turned watery eyes on S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.

Your son beamed in a way that said everything you thought was right.

You hugged him.

He smiled and had to rotate to show you he was still charging.

You minded his cord, but pulled it to accentuate how there was obviously a bunch of connected extension cords added to it.

He shrugged playfully and threw a thumb backwards.

Tucked into his chair, with his mouth open, and a fire poker loosely leaned beside him was a snoring Splinter.

You wished you could have seen their meeting and squeezed S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. tighter.

Your son bobbed with obvious, but silent laughter.

Your stomach growled and you were thankful it wasn’t very loud.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. generated a hologram of the time, along with your medication intake.

You nodded to him and signed about the bag Donnie had brought.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s head swiveled side to side in search before he pointed behind you.

The backpack was set by the mouth of the stairwell you had come up and you gestured for him to come with you as you went to get it. You crept as a comical pair with your waddling and his overplayed footsteps. You made it to the bag and S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. bent over to scoop it up before he froze mid-motion. You glanced at him once before turning your head to look into the stairwell where his gaze was trained.

Leo looked up at you where he was clearly ascending the steps.

Like the others, his entire being was creased with exhaustion, but he was a little different.

Instead of evidence of having been in a battle or out in the snow, he was wearing a pair of worn scrubs.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was slow and methodical as he moved to block you with an arm.

Leo glanced at him with little energy before his pupils darted to take in the scene.

You watched him bounce from your bag, to your son, and then beyond where he spied some part of the giant lamp. It took all his attention and he went incredulous. He walked sideways up the stairs with an opening jaw. As soon as he got a glimpse of the whole unit, its occupants, and his dad beyond by the fire, his vision went completely dull.

He threw you and S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. an emotionally absent glance and gestured for you to follow.

You checked with your son who shrugged as you both followed after Leo, who moved silently. He led you to the kitchen where he immediately went to wash his hands. He hissed at what you presumed was the icy temperature and leaned against the sink while the water ran to warm up. “You got my message. Good.”

He hadn’t left you space to respond.

“Bring food or need it?” He managed.

You checked with S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. and your son seemed to remember that had been your goal.

He set the bag on the counter and opened it up. “Inventory: wholegrain crackers, lentils, couscous, rice cakes, and trail mix.”

“Not enough protein…” Leo finally washed his hands, but was straining to look over his shoulder at the options. 

You nabbed the crackers and pulled one out to nibble on.

Leo eventually wandered over while drying his hands with a paper towel. “Let’s see… a warm veggie couscous salad could be…?” He deviated in his path to check the fridge. “Tinned fish is… safe…? Was that right…?”

You and S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. both stared at his carapace.

“Ah, we have that good Greek yogurt…” Leo reached in and pulled out a tub. “This’ll work.”

Without saying anything more, he grabbed a few more items until his arms were full. He laid a medley of vegetables for you to review and got a pot of water boiling. He dozed where he stood after he had the pot in place and shook himself awake.

“Gonna shower.”

He was in motion and walked away before anyone could say otherwise.

“Uh…” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. drawled before he immediately went for a knife block and yanked out a knife. “What was that!?”

You were reaching for another cracker and popped up. “Right?!”

“He did not insinuate that he was SHERLOCK_CORN!” He turned and acquired a cutting board with alarming accuracy considering he had never been in this kitchen before.

“How is that even possible?”

“It’s not!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. huffed and grabbed some veggies to cut up. “I don’t know, know, but I know that SHERLOCK_CORN is that lady! She’s my arch nemesis.”

“What?! You can’t just say something like that after Leo is also being insane!”

“It has to be her!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. cut with a blurring speed and at a pace that made his chops almost silent. “This is the first time I’ve ever gotten a screen name. There’s no other way to explain it.”

“Shelly…!”

“The lady!” He gestured up toward the ceiling.

You stared at where he pointed for a long moment before it hit you.

April.

That’s why he had said ‘fast.’

You hadn’t shared her name with him or Donnie.

She had unplugged when S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. had taken over the lair’s system all those years ago.

He said he never got a read on her.

“Here’s my conspiracy theory: she’s their ‘guy in the chair!’” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. went back to cutting vegetables. “I don’t have any evidence because gah, but it’s like her residue is sprinkled over everything. She’s a ghost in the Hidden City and up here! I think she’s the reason they have all those mystical wall bearings up. I voided the data-”

He shot you a sharp glance and it conjured guilt that you munched away in a cracker.

“-but I feel like I remember the ruins. The Hamato dummies don’t need to write spells. Who else would? Why would she know how to run by unplugging? You gotta know tech to know tech! The only people who need to write spells are those without inherent mysticism. That totally explains it. If she is combining mystic and tech, she’s the reason I’ve never been able to get dad down here or crack these guys’ network. It never made sense that they were able to keep me and dad out. They were not and are not that tech savvy.”

“Okay…” You shook your head as it was a lot to process. “That’s… something, but what’s with Leo?”

“He musta asked her to send it.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. pouted and finished cutting to pour over the board. “This meal…”

You were back on a track you recognized. “It’s totally balanced, right!? It sounds like something Donnie’s algorithm would come up with! And the thing he said about tinned fish?! Is he reading up on pregnancy stuff?!”

“Yeah!!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. came up to share your frustrations once again. “Why!? He was totally scary from what you told me about when he found out you were preggers!”

“Don’t!” You laughed. “Say it like that!”

“Pragnent!” He snickered.

You flicked cracker dust at him.

He pretended to protect the veggies.

“And the scrubs!” You gave him mercy.

“I mean, he has a medical degree.”

“He, what?!”

“Yeah, he’s registered with the state. Leonardo Hamato, he can add MD to his title… or doctor to the front duh, pfft. General practice, Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai. I think that’s why he wanted you to go to a Sinai hospital when you got hurt.”

You balked.

You also felt a weird sense of déjà vu.

It wasn’t exact, but you had an inkling you sort of knew this.

Like Leo had mentioned medical training, but not that he was a registered doctor.

“Does he have a practice?!”

“Not one that’s legit!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. shrugged as to him it was as simple as a fact.

You continued to stare.

“He’s probably helping out at the hospitals.” He looked at you earnestly.

“Y-yeah…” You wilted. “I guess…?”

“It’s still weird, for sure.” He glanced off to the side.

“Yeah…”

You scrubbed your face.

Leo being up to things was never new, but you wished he would stop being bizarre. He had all the room in the world to go back to being a mystery. You hadn’t needed to see him or talk to him in a long time. Maybe the status quo would return if you pretended all of his sleepy revelations hadn’t happened. You doubted he would have been so obvious if he wasn’t at the end of his rope. It was odd to think he seemingly had the most stamina outside of even Donnie.

You hoped your husband was still peacefully snoozing.

“The water’s about to boil. Where is he?” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. wondered.

“He did say he was going to shower…”

“Average length of dad’s showers are six minutes…” Your son’s head tipped. “Oh… Eugh… What if he fell asleep?”

“He wouldn’t-” The response was automatic, but the dull look on S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s face made you pause. “Seriously…?”

“With him?” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s digital tongue stuck out.

“Who’s gonna check?” You sighed.

“Rock, paper, scissors!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. cheered.

“No! I’m not falling for that again! You can read micro movements faster than me!”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. snapped his ‘drat.’

“You know how to cook this?” You gestured around the kitchen.

“Yeah! I scanned the room for inventory and looked up a recipe based on what Leo said. I think the yogurt is supposed to be the sauce! There’s tinned mackerel in that cabinet over there!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. pointed.

“I’ll pull his head out of the water so he doesn’t drown and come get you if we need to move him.” You shook your head.

“Sounds like a plan!” He got the yogurt and shook it.

You waved as you turned and headed back to the TV room. You had a vague idea of how to get to the closest bathroom from there and headed down the stairs. You clung to the wall since there wasn’t a railing and took the steps with care. Once you were flat on the next level, you took a breath for having made the journey and patted your belly before looking out and stopping.

Very clearly having jumped onto the top of the pile, was Leo sticking out like a sore thumb.

He was laying the opposite of Raph and had all his limbs spread out to get as much light as possible.

He was also clearly unconscious by the way a drip of drool hung down and threatened to go into his eye where his head was nearly upside-down.

You softened at him and the others.

You wanted to take a picture, but was sure it would wake them.

For this moment of peace, you decided to preserve it and turned to head back up the stairs to tell S.H.E.L.D.O.N. that everything was alright.

For once, Leo was far from drowning.

(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)

I will also thank my betas @tmntxthingstmntxthings and @unrestrainedhotsoup until my dying breath!

[everythingbridgertonbxm]

Then Another

Benedict Bridgerton can't seem to stop kissing his spouse.

A/N - All the kissies. 885 words.

💋

Benedict had always supported your love of writing, one of the many reasons you fell in love with the man and one of the many reasons the man fell in love with you. He usually happily sat with you as he did some simple sketches and you wrote.      

Tonight is different. Benedict appears to have given up his usual hobby of making charcoal meet his sketchbook, though you do not question it. Instead you take your usual place on the settee, leaning against the armrest and making quill meet paper. That’s when Benedict finds a different hobby for the evening.    

He slowly reaches for the hand which is holding your paper steady, and lifting it–lips meeting skin before he quickly glances up at you.     

Damn you Benedict Bridgerton for getting my heart racing so quickly. You look down at him as he glances up at you, a sweet, though mischievous smile which only has you blushing. You let out a smile as he kisses your hand again. “Ben, I have a few things I would like to write down. I had an idea that came to me on our promenade at an earlier hour,” you say to your husband.    

“My dear, don’t let me stop you,” he responds cheekily, not letting go of your hand. He places another kiss on your hand, and then another and then another before offering a smile reserved only for you.  

You are unsure how to respond to your husband, your heart thumping a bit quicker. “Ben, I will be needing my hand back,” you muster out, watching your husband place more kisses to the back of your hand. You blush profusely when he looks up at you for a moment, those stupid puppy-dog eyes.    

Moments later he places a kiss on your wrist, then another, before slowly making a trail of kisses up your arm, teasing your skin rendering you speechless. You find yourself in a place somewhere between wanting to giggle and gasp. You finally find your voice. “Ben, I truly wish to be able to express my words before they slip my mind and I do need both arms and hands for that.”   

He reluctantly nods, letting go of your arm and stepping back, before a smile breaks his face. “Then I shall find another place to kiss.” He leans in towards your face, one arm on the armrest behind your head and the other around your waist.   

You and Benedict had been married for nearly eight months and his hand finding your waist still had your heart beating like mad. You swear your face is entirely red, which the second-eldest Bridgerton seems to ignore.   

“Perhaps this is a good place.” He leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your lips, then another, then another, strategically not allowing you to speak. His lips then move along the side of your mouth before tracing up to your cheek, then another on your other cheek, then another on your forehead.     

You find your voice again. “Benedict, that is not–” You are cut off upon letting out a sharp breath when his kisses find the edge of your jaw. You lift your chin, as if on instinct inviting his lips to find your neck.  

He quickly obliges, trailing kisses along the side of your neck which is when you know you will not be doing any writing this evening. You find just enough time between kisses to place your paper and quill down which Benedict understands as a surrender to getting any work done.     

“Benedict,” you whisper when he finds a particularly sensitive spot. You can feel his breath, warm on your neck and you know he is smiling. Your heart is racing and you are amazed it hasn’t sprung forth from your chest.    

He places another kiss on the spot, then another, and another before finding the bit of skin behind your ear. You feel him remove his hand from the armrest and place it on your hip pulling you up from the settee, keeping you balanced as his lips find yours again. You smile as he places a soft kiss on your mouth, then again. The next one is a little bit more passionate, and he pulls you towards him, not leaving a single bit of space between the two of you.     

“Perhaps we should move this to the bedroom so we do not have to move ourselves,” you offer between kisses, and smiling. You laugh as he does not respond, instead hastening to grab your hand and pulling you down the hall of your home and towards the bedroom. He quickly pulls you in, shutting the door behind him before taking your face in his hands.   

Your heart is racing and you can’t help but smile as he places another kiss on your lips, then another, then another, and another before he slowly backs you up towards the bed. You let out a laugh as you fall onto your back, Benedict falling on top of you. Benedict continues to smile, kissing your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck, then another on your neck. You don’t stop giggling for the rest of the evening, as he finds every possible place for his lips to meet your skin. Always finding a place to kiss, and then another.

[swanqueenffprompter]

Emma wasn’t supposed to overhear it. She’d just stopped by the mayor’s office to pick up Henry when she heard muffled voices through the door—Regina’s voice, tight with restrained pain, and Robin’s, low and frustrated.

"Because of the potion, Robin! I made myself barren. I can’t have more children." Regina’s voice wavered, but she quickly regained control. "I told you this before we—before anything started."

Emma’s heart clenched. She’d known Regina had trouble conceiving, but she never knew why. The thought of Regina, young and desperate enough to believe she needed to sacrifice her own future for power, made something deep in her ache.

She should have left. It wasn’t her business. But when she heard Robin’s dismissive scoff, she lingered.

"You’re the most powerful sorceress in town, and you expect me to believe there’s no way to fix this?" Robin snapped.

"There isn’t. I’ve tried."

Silence followed, thick and heavy. Then Robin’s voice, quieter but no less sharp. "Then I suppose Henry will have to be enough."

Emma didn’t know what possessed her to step inside, but suddenly, she was there, and both Regina and Robin were staring at her in shock.

"Emma," Regina said, blinking rapidly. "What��"

"You could have another kid," Emma blurted. "I mean, with some help."

Regina’s brow furrowed, but Robin's glare darkened. "This isn’t your concern," he said coldly.

Emma ignored him. She looked at Regina, her heart pounding. "I could be your surrogate."

Silence. A long, stunned moment where Regina simply stared at her, lips parted, eyes wide.

Robin broke it. "Absolutely not!"

Emma barely heard him. She was too focused on the way Regina’s expression was changing—shock melting into something like awe, like she couldn’t believe Emma would offer something so selfless.

"You would—" Regina’s voice faltered. "You would do that?"

"In a heartbeat," Emma admitted, and damn it, there was a lump in her throat now. "You’re an amazing mom. And Henry would love a sibling." She swallowed. "I just—I want you to have that chance if you still want it."

Regina’s eyes shone suspiciously bright, and for a second, Emma thought she might cry. But before she could say anything, Robin stepped between them.

"This is ridiculous," he snapped. "Emma, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you are not carrying my child."

Emma squared her shoulders. "It wouldn’t be your child, Robin. It’d be Regina’s."

His expression twisted with anger. "Of course you’d say that. You’d love to tie yourself to her forever, wouldn’t you? Maybe even play house? You’re in love with her."

Emma’s breath hitched.

Regina inhaled sharply. "Robin—"

"Oh, come on, Regina," Robin scoffed. "You don’t see it? Or do you just pretend not to?"

Emma braced herself for Regina’s rejection, the inevitable of course she’s not in love with me, don’t be absurd.

But it never came.

Instead, Regina’s gaze flickered between Emma and Robin, something shifting behind her eyes. She took a slow step closer to Emma, searching her face.

"Emma," she said carefully. "Is that true?"

Emma's throat tightened. She could lie. She could walk away. But she’d already put her heart on the line in ways she hadn’t meant to today.

So she nodded. "Yeah. It is."

Regina inhaled sharply. Robin let out an incredulous laugh. "Well, then I suppose—"

"Leave," Regina said, her voice cool and commanding.

Robin froze. "What?"

"Leave." Regina’s eyes didn’t leave Emma’s. "I think we’re done here."

Emma’s heart pounded as Robin huffed, muttered something under his breath, and stormed out. But she barely noticed, because Regina was stepping even closer now, looking at her like she was something precious.

"You offered me a gift I never thought I could have," Regina murmured. "And now, you’ve given me another."

Emma swallowed. "What’s that?"

Regina smiled, warm and soft. "You."

And then, to Emma’s shock and sheer delight, Regina kissed her.

Henry got his sibling the following year....

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: No More Running (Part 4)

The first few days back with Marshall had been perfect.

He kept you close, always touching—fingers grazing your back when you passed by, arms wrapping around you when you sat next to him, pulling you into bed at night like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

But something shifted.

At first, it was subtle—his jaw tensing when you left the room, his grip tightening when you tried to pull away. Then it became obvious.

Marshall was pissed.

And tonight, he wasn’t hiding it.

You sat on the couch, curled up with a blanket, when he stormed into the room, standing in front of you with his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but the storm in his blue eyes told you everything.

You sighed. "What’s wrong, Marshall?"

He scoffed. "What’s wrong?" He ran a hand over his face before locking eyes with you. "Are you fucking serious?"

You swallowed, sitting up straighter. "I… thought we were okay."

Marshall let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, I thought so too. But the more I sit with it, the more I realize I’m not okay."

Your stomach twisted. "Marshall—"

"You fucking left me, [Y/N]," he interrupted, voice sharp. "And I let it slide because I was so fucking glad you came back. But now? Now, I can’t stop thinking about it. You just left."

Your breath hitched, guilt creeping in. "I thought—"

"I don’t care what you thought," he snapped, his voice raw. "You made that decision without me. You decided what was best for me like I didn’t get a fucking say in it."

Tears burned in your eyes. "I was scared."

"So am I," he admitted, his voice dropping to something more vulnerable. "I’m scared you’ll do it again. That one day I’ll wake up, and you’ll just… be gone."

You shook your head. "I wouldn’t—"

"How the fuck do I know that?" His jaw clenched. "You thought you were doing the right thing last time. Who’s to say you won’t think that again?"

You had no answer.

Marshall exhaled harshly, stepping closer, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

"I can’t live like this," he said, voice low. "Waiting for the next time you decide I’m better off without you. So I need you to prove you’re staying."

Your heart pounded. "What do you mean?"

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small box and flipping it open.

Your breath caught in your throat.

A ring.

A beautiful, simple ring—nothing flashy, just perfect.

Your eyes shot back to his, wide with shock. "Marshall—"

"Marry me," he said, no hesitation. "Or leave."

Your stomach flipped. "What?"

"You heard me," he said, his voice firm but laced with something desperate. "I’m not doing this halfway shit anymore. Either you’re in this completely, or we’re done. I need to know you’re not running again."

Your hands shook as you stared at him. "That’s an ultimatum."

"Damn right it is." His blue eyes burned into yours. "I’m not playing games, [Y/N]. I love you. But I won’t spend my life waiting for you to decide I’m not enough."

Tears welled in your eyes. "You are enough."

"Then prove it," he murmured, taking your hand and pressing the box into your palm. "Say yes."

Your breath shuddered. "Marshall…"

He didn’t speak. He just waited.

And suddenly, you knew—there was no other answer. No hesitation, no fear.

You loved him.

You didn’t want to run.

You wanted him.

Your fingers curled around the box, and you looked up at him, blinking back tears.

"Yes."

His breath hitched. "Yeah?"

You nodded, exhaling a shaky laugh. "Yeah."

Before you could blink, his lips were on yours, hands gripping your waist, pulling you against him in a kiss so deep it stole the air from your lungs.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing unsteady.

"You’re mine now," he murmured. "No more fucking running."

You smiled, fingers threading through his hair. "No more running."

And you meant it.

[fel-09]

You piss me off so much that I married you.

Jonathan Crane x reader

Brief plot: Jonathan Crane and his colleague compete for the position of chief psychiatrist. She teases him, calling him “my love,” and one day steals his glasses, running away. Nurses bet on when they’ll marry. Years later, at the wedding, Crane sees one of them collecting her winnings.

"I believe we’ll get along just fine," she said, extending her hand.

Jonathan Crane looked at her with cold indifference. He already knew who she was. The hospital had been abuzz with talk of the new psychiatrist—brilliant, ambitious, and determined. She had her sights set on the position of Chief of Psychiatry. The very same position he was after.

His fingers clasped around hers in a brief, almost reluctant handshake.

"We’ll see," he replied flatly.

She smiled—bright, confident, with not a single shred of doubt.

"Oh, there’s no need to wait and see, Dr. Crane. You might as well come to terms with the fact that I’ll be your superior soon enough."

Jonathan’s expression darkened slightly.

"Confidence is a commendable trait. Arrogance, however, often leads to disaster."

Her lips curved in a smirk. "Are you speaking from personal experience?"

His jaw tightened.

And just like that, their rivalry began.

For every success one of them had, the other sought to surpass it. Research papers, case studies, treatment innovations—it was an endless battle of intellect and ambition.

But while Jonathan remained cold, methodical, and composed, she chose a different tactic.

She teased him.

And the worst part?

She called him “my love.”

She knew it irritated him. And she used it every chance she got.

---

The morning started as it always did—with frustration.

Jonathan Crane strode into the psychiatric hospital, prepared for another day of work. But before he even reached his office, he spotted his eternal adversary—her.

She was standing at the reception desk, skimming through some files. The moment she noticed his presence, she looked up, a slow, devilish grin spreading across her lips.

"Ah, my love," she sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her chest. "So cold, as always. You wound me, Dr. Crane. How shall my poor heart endure such cruelty?"

Jonathan clenched his teeth.

"Spare me your theatrics," he said, voice as icy as ever.

"But why?" she pouted playfully. "I thought we had a passionate love affair."

His fingers twitched at his sides. Damn her. She knew exactly how to provoke him. She knew how much he hated this game of hers.

"You have a warped perception of love," he muttered, his glare unwavering.

She only laughed, flicking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Oh! I almost forgot!"

Before he could react, her hand darted forward, and in the next instant, the light weight of his glasses was gone.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?" he snapped.

She was already stepping away, slipping the glasses onto her own face.

"Oh, Dr. Crane, you look so serious," she mused, adjusting the frames. "I must say, this role of ‘relentless pursuer’ suits you quite well."

She took another step back. And then—of course—she ran.

"Give them back!" he barked, immediately chasing after her.

Her laughter rang through the hospital halls.

"Run faster, Dr. Crane!" she taunted, glancing over her shoulder. "Who knows? I might drop them… or worse, break them!"

"If you do, you’ll regret it!"

The hospital staff barely reacted to the spectacle. It wasn’t the first time.

Two nurses stood near the break room, watching the chaos unfold with detached amusement.

"One hundred bucks says they get married by the end of the year," one nurse murmured, crossing her arms.

"Two hundred says it takes two years," the other countered.

Jonathan slowed slightly, catching those words.

Absolutely not.

But then he saw her disappearing around a corner, and his irritation overpowered everything else.

He surged forward, determined to put an end to her nonsense.

Finally, in one swift motion, he cornered her inside an empty office, pressing her against the doorframe with one hand while snatching the glasses back with the other.

He slid them onto his face, exhaling sharply.

"Never. Do. That. Again," he said through gritted teeth.

She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Oh, Dr. Crane," she purred. "Are you threatening me?"

His gaze was piercing.

"No. I’m warning you."

She simply smirked.

---

The wedding was surreal.

The guests, the vows—Jonathan never thought he’d stand at the altar, let alone speak those words. And yet, here he was. Married.

He adjusted his tie, scanning the reception hall with vague disinterest. That was when he caught sight of something across the room.

Two familiar nurses.

One was smugly handing a wad of cash to the other.

Jonathan froze.

No. No, no, no.

They were right?

His fingers curled into a fist at his side.

She appeared beside him then, sliding her arm through his.

"Something wrong, my love?" she teased, voice full of amusement.

Jonathan inhaled deeply.

"Remind me to have those two reassigned," he muttered.

She laughed softly, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Admit it, Dr. Crane," she whispered. "You love me."

He didn’t respond.

But he also didn’t deny it.