#Adorable gifts for newborns

[noisycowboyglitter]

Make Christmas Merry with a Funny Candy Cane: "It’s Not Going to Lick Itself"

"Funny Candy Cane It's Not Going To Lick Itself Christmas" is a playful and slightly cheeky twist on traditional holiday humor. This concept combines the iconic Christmas candy cane with a humorous double entendre, creating a memorable and amusing holiday theme.

Buy now:19.95$

The phrase "It's not going to lick itself" applied to a candy cane creates a clever wordplay. It literally refers to the act of licking a candy cane, a common way to enjoy the treat, while also hinting at a mildly suggestive joke. This combination of innocence and mischief captures the spirit of adult-oriented holiday humor.

Typically, this phrase would be featured on various Christmas-themed items such as t-shirts, mugs, ornaments, or novelty signs. The design often includes a graphic of a candy cane, perhaps with googly eyes or a cartoon face, adding to the whimsical nature of the joke.

Buy now

This type of humor appeals to those who enjoy a bit of sass in their holiday celebrations. It's perfect for office parties, gatherings with friends, or as a gift for someone with a good sense of humor. The phrase serves as an icebreaker, often eliciting chuckles and starting conversations.

While not suitable for all audiences, particularly children or more conservative settings, this funny take on candy canes adds a touch of grown-up playfulness to the holiday season. It reminds us that even as adults, we can find joy and laughter in the simple pleasures of Christmas, including the classic candy cane.

This humorous concept exemplifies how traditional holiday symbols can be reimagined with a modern, witty twist, keeping the spirit of Christmas fun and fresh for all ages.

Buy now

Newborn Christmas Gifts celebrate a baby's first holiday season with thoughtful and practical presents. Soft, festive clothing like Christmas-themed onesies, tiny Santa hats, or reindeer booties are popular choices that make for adorable holiday photos. Cozy blankets or plush toys in holiday designs provide comfort and seasonal cheer.

For sentimental value, personalized items such as engraved silver rattles, custom photo frames, or "Baby's First Christmas" ornaments create lasting mementos. Board books with Christmas stories introduce holiday traditions early.

Buy now

Practical gifts like diaper bags with holiday prints, baby care essentials in gift sets, or growth charts with festive themes blend functionality with the spirit of the season. For tech-savvy parents, smart baby monitors or white noise machines with lullaby features can be appreciated.

Consider the parents too – gift cards for baby stores or meal delivery services can be invaluable during those busy first months. Ultimately, the best newborn Christmas gifts combine practicality, sentimentality, and holiday spirit.

[trendcraze-emporium693]

Adorable Newborn Baby – New T-Shirt Design for Proud Parents

Celebrate the arrival of your little one with this charming newborn baby t-shirt design. Perfect for new parents, this cute and heartwarming design is ideal for showing love for your newborn.

[beloveds-embrace]

can we get Duchess reader yearning for a baby of her own 🥺 imagine there was a Ball in the neighboring kingdom and Duchess!Reader and Duke!Price was invited, celebrating the birth of the Kingdom’s new heir, a baby boy on her fellow Duchess’s arms.

And reader coos at the baby while masking the deep ache in her heart thinking that it’ll be so impossible to have a baby with her husband due to him and his lovers 😢

cue to Duchess!Reader having a heavy heart through out the entire event and even the days after that, until one of our boys asks her what wrong.

(And John having to hold Johnny back bc that nasty dog has been waiting to get his paws on her since forever)

Oh my god yes??? Anon i could smooch your brain right now yes??? This is so good i love it. Sorry for the abrupt ending though, had no idea how to finish it off 😔

Original Post

“Such an adorable little one,” you coo softly, the newborn held delicately and carefully in your arms, swaddled in the baby blue blankets you and John had bought among your other gifts for your fellow Duke and Duchess. “He looks so much like you, I’m in awe.”

Your friend laughs lightly, sipping on her drink. With a soft sigh, she leans closer towards you. The party is in full swing, so many other nobles mingling and networking, but thankfully you and your friend have your own little corner for now and everyone has already congratulated her and her husband.

“So,” she begins, her eyes flickering towards where both of you two’s husbands are speaking. The smiles on their faces are clearly happy, though you aren’t surprised; John had mentioned that he’s already friends with the Duke during the carriage ride. “So. What about you and Duke Price, hm? Any surprises we should prepare for?”

Ah. You had been dreading this.

You sigh, shaking your head. Though the smile returns as you gaze at the napping baby, so small and precious in your arms. With you friend’s permission, you gently kiss his tiny little fists. “Not at all. We are happy as we are.”

And it’s not as if you are lying by any means, oh no. You are happy. Life as Duchess was far, far much better than you had expected it’d be, a lot less restrictive than you had prepared for it to be.

But…

You can’t lie to yourself. You’ve been feeling a sense of discontent from the very second you stepped into the gala venue. Perhaps for even longer, though it hadn’t been especially felt until this moment. Not until you held this baby in your arms.

You want a baby, too, you had realized. Motherhood. A child all yours, calling you momma and toddling into your arms. You had been unable to stop yourself from feeling the little bud of jealousy towards your friend, because you knew you’d likely never experience such a thing due to your unique situation.

John has his own partners whom he loves. You weren’t among that list, and you didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of having sex with another man with the potential risk of your parents, or anyone else, asking for a paternity test because you know someone would ask. Your mother, probably; she was always warning you not to whore yourself out, and your father didn’t even need to say anything-

“My dear?”

John’s concerned voice pulls you out of your thoughts, his hand gentle on your elbow, and it’s only then you realize you had been staring down at the baby with such sadness, so not befitting of such a beautiful gala. So you shake your head, clearing your thoughts, and turn to him and your friend's husband.

When the baby squirms, you coo softly and hand him back to your friends, gentle and careful. That's when you turn to John, giving him a simple smile. "Yes, Your Grace?"

The worry remains on his face, less visible however, and his eyes look over you carefully. Your friends are too busy with their son and showing him off to care about what you two are saying in the corner he’s led you to. "Are you alright?”

As if you’d ever tell him what the issue is. You don’t want to make John feel pressured into this, of all things. You’d rather be divorced than do so, and that should speak volumes on its own.

It’s a silly want, anyways. You have everything you could possible need right now, married and stable. You aren’t about to ruin it with your own two hands.

So you nod your head, and brush away all thoughts of a little baby cradled in your arms. “Yes, I am. I was just lost in thought. Shall we return to the party?”

John observes you for a few seconds more, and then he sighs and nods. “Very well. Would you do me the honor of this dance, my dear Duchess?”

Between the dazzling lights and John’s arms, you can almost forget the lingering desire.

But over the next few days after the gala, it becomes clear to John- to all your the men that something is terribly bothering you. There is a lingering sadness around you so profound even your maids have sensed it, wondering if perhaps you and the Duke have finally had your first fight… but he looks even more more worried and confused than them. You weren’t mad at anyone, that much he could tell, but he didn’t understand the heartache plaguing you.

“…are you sick, my lady?” Kyle asks you one day, placing down a tray of fresh desserts. Your favorites, all made by Johnny himself, yet you barely flick a look towards it.

“Not at all. Thank you, Kyle, but I’m afraid I can’t eat anything at the moment.” Your reply is soft, patient, as it always is, but the furrow in your brows remain and your frown deepens. Kyle hates it. He hates it so, so much. You’ve even stopped taking your usual break-walks, staying inside your room and asking for nothing in particular.

“My lady,” he presses on, voice softer. Comes to stand close to you, and holds his elbow out. “Maybe a walk, then? You look tired. Some sun might do you good- or a picnic? I can pack the desserts and-”

You avoid his eyes and look away, shaking your head. “Thank you, but my answer’s the same, Kyle. I’d just… like to be left alone, please. Could I trouble you to also inform John I won’t be joining him for dinner tonight?”

You are simply glad you managed to hide the little paper you’d been writing on before he came in. Baby names, for the babies you’d never have. It certainly didn’t help make your mood better, but you couldn’t help yourself. Looking at John, or any of them, also made you feel guilty anew.

“…not a problem, my lady. I’ll leave the desserts here for you just in case.”

Several days later, it’s Johnny who comes to you. You are alone in the conservatory, trying hard to get over this stupid, lingering feeling. It’s silly, you know it is, but… ugh.

Johnny says nothing even when you call his name out with a questioning tone, and much to your shock, he kneels down to take your hands in his. It’s so wholly inappropriate, and you look around in fear of anyone seeing.

“No one’s around, m’lady,” Johnny shakes his head, not letting your hands go yet.

“Johnny-“

“No one’s around.” He repeats, firmly, and his eyes gaze at you. “M’lady. Have we made ye angry? Has anyone made you upset? Is my food not to your liking?”

“Johnny…” you sigh, shaking your head. Inwardly, you scold yourself for bothering everyone like this. This should have been your issue alone to solve and hide. “No, no. Nothing like that. I just need some time alone, in general.”

“But why-“

“No particular reason.” You quickly cut him off, gently pulling your hands away. “Please, Johnny. I’ll get better soon, promise. But I just… need time.”

But the desire, the longing, still remains. You can’t even confide in anyone, so you also feel painfully lonely on top of everything else. John is still searching, still trying to find what or who’s made you like this, but not even your closest maids are of help.

Still, while you wished to wallow your misery away in your rooms and office, you didn’t have much choice when you’d received an invitation to the opera troupe funded by the Price duchy; making an appearance was a must, and unfortunately John had a very important meeting that day so Simon is the one to accompany you.

“You’ve been sad lately.” Simon doesn’t beat around the bush, all the lights focused on the stage so you are both draped in shadows, hidden from sight.

You turn to him, a refusal on your lips already-

“No.” He shakes his head. “You aren’t just tired, Duchess. You are sad. Everyone can see it, and it’s making us worried. All of us.” He adds, not letting you latch onto your usual excuse. Performance ignored, his entire attention is on you.

And you are just- too tired. Ashamed of yourself, you sigh.

“It’s awful of me…” your whisper, bottom lip quivering. “I-… I want a baby, Simon.” You admit, so softly and quietly you don’t look at his reaction to see if he’d even heard you in the first place. You shouldn’t be telling him of all people your issues, but- you can’t help yourself. “A child. I want to experience motherhood, but- I don’t, I refuse to put such a burden on John, or get in the way between all of you again-“

You ramble on, not meeting his eyes. Your hands are tembling around the mask you’d taken off, holding it in your lap.

Simon?

Simon can’t take his eyes off your stomach. You. You, pregnant; swollen and glowing with a child. Maybe children, even. Their children. His. He can’t believe this is what has had you so upset for so long; did you think they- John- would say no to you?

“Darling, ” The nickname slips out; he couldn’t help himself. He is glad the no one is paying attention to them, in the higher rows. Simon laces your pinkies together, raising your hand to kiss your knuckles, silencing your worried rambling. “Darling. Let us return home. Staying here isn’t doing you any good. Tonight, I want you to let Kyle spoil you with a warm bath, and for you to eat and then sleep. Rest. Tomorrow, we’ll speak. I’ll inform the troupe leader you weren’t feeling too well.”

“I- I… speak about what? What?”

Simon simply ushers you out, to the awaiting carriage. He doesn’t answer any of your questions, even when you pout and the it makes your lipstick glisten to prettily, though if you can feel that his hands are inappropriately tight around your waist, you simply blame it on your tightened corset.

At home, you are still confused. Simon is acting off, staring at you with a look that makes you all flustered, but you don’t protest when Kyle gently leads you away.

You’ll get your answers tomorrow, you are sure. But in the meantime…

“She wants a baby, John,” Simon groans, repeating the words again. His jacket is thrown off to the side, sleeves rolled up his elbows. Even from here, he can see how John eyes them appreciatively. “A baby, John. Seeing her pregnant-“

Another groan, but the one comes from between John’s thighs. Johnny, hands tied behind his back with Simon’s belt because the second he found out what the issue he was so, so ready to go and beg you to let him fix it. A bairn is what you want, a bairn is what he’ll give you- chunky, adorable, and hopefully looking like you.

John had to hold him back, though. He wants nothing more than to do the same, kiss you breathless and promise he’ll give you as many as you want, but he also knows you need a clear, rested head before he speaks with you.

The thought of seeing your pregnant, though, has his fist tightening in Johnny’s hair.

“I know. Fuck, I know, Si. Tomorrow, I’ll speak to her.”

[marvelstan0905]

"She's so tiny!"

Kenji Sato X Wife!Reader [afab] (short oneshot)

DadAU!

TW: newborn/fluff/Emi referneces/new dad au/cheesy dad moments

©all rights reserved. the modification, translation, and plagiarism of my work is strictly prohibited.

This is really just came to my head. It's kinda short. I'm sorry! 😙

Here she was Kenji's little baby. An actual human this time. The baby was beautiful. The apple in Kenji's eyes. She was perfect, his little Emiko. His thoughts drifted off to Emi, his first baby. He wonders what she'd do when she saw an a human baby or if she'd grown alot since the last he'd seen her.

As he stood by the balcony of his home admiring his newborn as he held the sleeping infant. Kenji couldn't help but reflect the long journey he's had. No doubt it was unique and crazy but here he was. A father once again. This time around more permanent but Emi would always be in his heart. Kenji glanced at his sleeping wife as he walked back into the house. God, he was so grateful to her. She brought him, his greatest blessing and his greatest gift. His tiny, Emiko.

"You know..I didn't think I'd be able to handle you. I thought that human babies would be alot harder than kaiju babies. "Kenji murmured as he spoke to his little princess. His pure copy. Those mauve, blue eyes. Those dark raven locks and a nose just like his. His little twin. "Looking at you now..after 9 long months..I think I worried too much. You're such a sweetheart and you're so perfect and tiny. I promise-no, I ultra promise I'll be strong enough for you"

The baby cooed as she woke up. A cute little yawn escaped Emiko's lips as she fidgets in her swaddle.

"Good evening, princess Emiko. Ready to eat, tiny girl? I wonder if you'll like fish" Kenji joked before pecking his child's face and walking into the kitchen. Kenji placed a breastmilk filled bottle into the microwave and waited for it to cool after taking it out. Kenji took the time to gently remove the swaddle from his daughter chasing her to do the cutest little stretch "Adorable" Kenji whispered whiles gently tickling his daughter's tummy.

"You know..Emi used to vomit if I did that. She puked all the time" Kenji chuckled to himself and his little daughter as fond memories of Emi clustered through his mind. "I wish you could meet her"

The baby cooed and since she was a calm and sweet baby, she didn't fuss too much as Kenji swiftly changed her diaper whiles singing softly. "B-I-N-G-O..B-I-N-G-O..and Bingo was his name-o"

Kenji grabbed the bottle and checked the temperature before he started feeding his daughter whispering sweet promises.

"I promise that you'll never go near a boy or girl romantically when I'm around"

"I promise I'll never ever neglect you and I'll take excellent care of you and mom"

"I promise I'll be the best dad and I'll teach you all the baseball skills so you'll be better than me"

"I promise to love you forever and ever"

[little-jana]

"The Baby Glimmer"

Pairing: husband!Aaron Hotchner x wife!reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, wanting a baby, heated/romantic fade-to-black intimacy, kissing

Summary: Where Aaron gets baby fever.

a/n: Well, since most of you voted for 2nd person writing, I'll try that from now on.

The first time you noticed it, you didn’t think much of it.

Aaron and you were walking through the mall one rainy Saturday afternoon, grabbing a few things for Jack’s school project. He’d been in need of some craft supplies and, as usual, Aaron wanted everything to be perfect.

You were strolling past a baby boutique on the way to the bookstore when Aaron slowed to a stop. He glanced at the window display—a collection of tiny onesies and soft teddy bears arranged artfully—and a soft, almost wistful smile crept across his face.

You stopped beside him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

He gestured to a fluffy teddy bear in the center of the display, its bowtie slightly askew. “That’s cute,” he said simply. “Babies would love it.”

You blinked. Aaron Hotchner, notorious for his stoic demeanor, commenting on teddy bears?

“Yeah,” you replied, eyeing him suspiciously. “It’s… adorable.”

Aaron nodded, his hand briefly brushing against yours before he turned back toward the bookstore. “Come on,” he said over his shoulder, his voice calm and measured as always.

You stared after him for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips. Maybe he was just in a good mood.

---

Then there was JJ’s baby shower.

Aaron had insisted on going. “She’s family,” he’d said when you asked him about it. “It’s important to support her.”

And support her he did.

He spent the entire afternoon helping set up decorations, arranging tiny cupcakes on trays, and offering to hold the baby while JJ unwrapped gifts. It was… unexpected, to say the least.

At one point, you caught him holding JJ’s newborn, his expression so soft it made your chest ache. He was cooing gently, his deep voice low and soothing as he rocked the baby in his arms.

You tried not to stare. You really did. But the sight of Aaron Hotchner—gruff, protective, usually all-business—cradling a baby like it was the most natural thing in the world was enough to make anyone’s heart skip a beat.

“Wow,” Emily whispered, nudging you with her elbow. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Hotch has baby fever.”

You laughed, brushing off the comment. “Please. He’s just being nice.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach fluttered when Aaron caught your eye across the room and smiled.

---

It wasn’t just JJ’s baby. It was everywhere.

You were at the grocery store one evening when it happened again. You had split up to cover more ground, and found him standing in the baby aisle when you came to find him.

“Aaron?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you approached.

He looked up, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he held up a tiny pair of baby shoes. “Look at these,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “They’re so small.”

You stared at him, your heart doing that annoying fluttering thing again. “Uh… yeah,” you said slowly. “Babies tend to have small feet.”

Aaron chuckled, setting the shoes back on the shelf. “Right. Of course.”

You watched him for a moment, suspicion creeping in. Something was definitely up.

---

The team noticed it, too.

“He’s acting weird,” Derek said one afternoon, leaning back in his chair as he sipped his coffee.

“Weirder than usual?” Emily quipped, smirking.

“No, like… softer,” Derek replied, gesturing toward Aaron’s office. “Have you seen the way he’s been with JJ’s baby? Or how he’s been staring off into space lately? It’s like he’s distracted by something.”

Emily glanced at you, her eyebrows raised. “Any idea what’s going on with him?”

You shrugged, playing dumb. “No clue. Maybe he’s just tired.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the way Aaron had been looking at you lately—the way his eyes lingered just a little longer than usual, the way he reached for your hand more often, the way his touch was softer, more deliberate.

---

It all came to a head one quiet evening at home.

Jack was asleep, and Aaron and you were curled up on the couch, a movie playing in the background. You’d been watching him out of the corner of your eye all night, trying to piece together what was going on in that brilliant, complicated mind of his.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Aaron,” you said, turning to face him.

He looked down at you, his dark eyes warm and attentive. “Yes?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’ve been… different lately. Distracted. Is everything okay?”

Aaron’s brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment, you thought he was going to brush it off. But then he sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he reached for your hand.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” he admitted, his voice low and steady.

You nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“It’s just… seeing JJ with her baby, and watching Jack grow up… It’s made me think about us. About our future.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a blush creeping up your neck. “What about our future?”

Aaron’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, his touch warm and comforting. “I’ve been thinking about having another baby. With you.”

His words hung in the air between us, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak.

“A baby?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He nodded, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. “I know it’s a big decision, and I don’t want to pressure you. But I can’t stop thinking about it. About what it would be like to build a family with you.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you felt a lump forming in your throat.

“Aaron,” you began, your voice trembling. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

He cupped my face in his hands, his gaze filled with love and hope. “You don’t have to say anything right now. Just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch as tears spilled down your cheeks. You loved this man so much.

---

Over the next few days, you couldn’t stop thinking about Aaron’s words.

You watched him more closely than ever, noticing the way he doted on Jack, the way he smiled whenever you passed by a baby in the park, the way he held you just a little tighter at night.

And the more you thought about it, the more the idea began to take root in your heart.

It was a week later, during a quiet evening at home, that you finally found the courage to bring it up again.

You were sitting at the dining table, finishing the last of your dinner, when you set your fork down and looked at him.

“Aaron,” you said softly.

He glanced up, his expression instantly attentive. “Yes?”

You took a deep breath, your fingers nervously twisting the hem of your shirt. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About having a baby.”

His eyes softened, and you saw the faintest glimmer of hope in his gaze. “And?”

You smiled, your heart pounding as you reached for his hand. “And… I think I want that, too. With you.”

Aaron’s face lit up, a smile spreading across his lips as he squeezed your hand.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he murmured, his deep voice warm and full of unspoken emotion.

You laughed through the tears welling in your eyes, unable to look away from the sheer adoration in his gaze. “I think I do,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his knuckles.

Aaron’s other hand reached up, his fingertips tenderly brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You’re really ready for this?” he asked, his tone quiet and reverent, like he didn’t want to break the fragile bubble of this moment.

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “With you? Yes. A thousand times yes.”

His dark eyes softened even further, the kind of look that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world to him. He kissed you then—slow and deliberate, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude into the motion.

When he finally pulled back, you noticed the faintest mischievous glint in his eye, something you rarely saw but secretly adored. His lips quirked into a small, almost playful smile.

“Well,” he said, his voice dropping just slightly, “if we’re going to have a baby… shouldn’t we start practicing?”

You blinked at him, stunned for half a second before a breathless laugh escaped your lips. “Oh, really?” you teased, tilting your head as you looked at him. “You don’t waste any time, do you?"

His grin widened just a fraction as he leaned closer, his thumb tracing slow circles over the back of your hand. “Why would I, when we could make this moment count?” His voice was a low rumble now, filled with a heated edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

The air between you shifted—charged and electric, crackling with the kind of tension that made your pulse race.

“Aaron…” You whispered, your voice catching in your throat as he cupped your cheek, his touch so gentle yet so deliberate.

“Yes?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth, teasing you with just the faintest ghost of a kiss.

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips, your hands sliding up to rest against his chest. “You’re not playing fair.”

He hummed low in his throat, his other hand settling on your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “I don’t plan to.”

The next kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was full of unspoken promises and barely contained need, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak.

You gasped as he shifted, lifting you effortlessly into his arms as though you weighed nothing. Your hands tangled in his shirt as he carried you toward the bedroom, his lips never straying far from yours.

[dante-mightdie]

Duke!Ghost and wifey unexpectedly have a son a little after having their daughter. Like she ain’t just sick, she’s pregnant. I’d like to see the ugly face of her mom and sis after knowing that hahaha

within the next twenty-four hours, the whole ton has been made aware of the newest introduction to the family. dozens of gifts and best wishes making their way to your home before the end of the following day

it can all wait, though. for you and simon would much prefer to spend the day together, your baby daughter cradled in your husbands arms whilst you dote on your newborn

and when the night falls, it’s just you and simon awake in the whole estate. your children fast asleep in their respective cribs side by side next to your bed. whispered praises in simon’s deep timbre soothing you to sleep. sweet nothings falling from his lips as all he can do is adore you, his lovely duchess who has given what he thought he would never deserve, a family <3

[hoe4sports]

Our two little girls

Leah Williamson x reader

A/N: My first fic in ??? Idk, please go gentle on me as ease back into this whole world

Warning: mentions of substance abuse.

Summary: Finally getting to pick up you daughter Gracie from the adoption agency; you are met with a surprise.

-

“Well, hello little Gracie. Was someone too excited to take her nap?” you cooed, lifting Gracie up from the stroller. Gracie immediately smiled as you held her towards your frame, facing Leah. “Hello, my little girl” Leah said, tapping her nose.

Your social worker, Anita, was finishing up the last paperwork you needed in order to bring her home. Gracie was your soon to be adopted daughter, at only 2 months old; she was the biggest sunshine, always being happy and smiley. “Isn’t she just adorable, baby?” Leah said, touching your back softly. You nodded along, busy admiring her little toothless grin with the biggest bluest eyes and her full head of dark brown hair.

Gracie had been removed from her birth mom immediately upon delivery. She was a 25 year old woman struggling with extensive substance abuse. This was why it was decided by the court that she wouldn’t have her any maternal rights over little Gracie, even before the birth. On the other side of the case, were you and Leah. You had been introduced to the adoption process a year ago, and had just a few months ago been added to the list of approved parents. The match between you, Leah and Gracie had been immediate. A few visits with Gracie, and the social workers were convinced that this was the right fit for her.

“Alright mommies, this is sadly the only things she owns. Most of her clothes belonged to her foster parents, and they didn’t want to let the clothes go. Something about being ready for the next placement” Anita shrugged, clearly feeling a combination of annoyance and embarrassment. She handed the backpack to Leah, who gave Anita a sad smile.

“We have plenty of clothes at home for her. The family, they are so excited to meet her. Gifts has been delivered daily since we announced that we were hopefully adding a little girl to our family. My mom was practically swooning over her pictures because she only has grandsons” Leah said, trying her best to fill emptiness of the air. Anita smiled as she nodded and let out a relieved sigh. Leah reached for the diaper bag you had brought along with the stroller, pulling out a little pink fleece suit with bears printed on them. The suit was handed over to you, and you started putting her feet into the outfit making her look even more adorable than before.

“Have you gotten her room in place yet? It must feel exciting to finally bring her home” Anita smiled, looking over at you who had just managed to get Gracie’s suit on. “Yes, Leah painted two room just in case the newborn voices her opinion about the interior design” you giggled, teasing Leah.

Leah playfully rolled her eyes at you before shaking her head. She couldn’t believe how soft she had gotten even before Gracie was yours.

“Actually, I painted two rooms in case she has an opinion about the layout of our home” Leah corrected, making you let out a few laughs.

“Mama is being silly isn’t she?” You cooed at your daughter who by now was ready to leave, all dressed up as a tiny yawn escaped her lips. Anita smiled at you, admiration sparkling in her eyes. This was the part of her job that she loved.

“So, are we set to leave once we sign the papers? The car is parked next to the closes parking lot, so it’s gonna be a little walk. But we love being outside, so you will learn to love it ” Leah said, smiling at Gracie.

-

A few months ago, you had gotten the call on a random Wednesday. Initially, you hadn’t answered your phone as you were in the middle of a workout with you and Leah’s team. It seemed rather unlikely that you would receive a call only a few weeks after being officially approved as adoption parents. Your phone had kept ringing for an extended period, for so long that when Leah went to the locker room to change her shoes; she heard your phone buzzing in your cubby. Initially she hadn’t thought much of it, assuming that it was your mother or brother’s girlfriend that wanted a chat, but for once; her curiosity sparked.

That lead to Leah sprinting out of the locker room across the stadium in a frantic attempt to locate you. “Y/N! Your phone! It’s ringing!”’she shouted out across the gym earning a few odd looks for her teammates.

She made her way over to you even jumping over a few pieces of equipment before handing the phone over to you. “Hello, Y/N Williamson speaking” you said, moving away from the crowd. The woman on the other end was a social worker, Anita, who was letting you know that just in a few weeks; a little girl would be needing parents, and you seemed to be a good fit.

That day, you and Leah were excused out of training early. It had been a discussion, a short one, but a discussion about the timing in the whole of this. It was summer, and the baby’s arrival was to be scheduled around September. Initially, you wanted an older child. Ideally around 3-4 years old, but a call to your parents was all that was needed before you felt confident that this was right for you; both your moms promised to help out on game days until she was a little older.

After the decision had been made, you rang up Anita who made arrangements for you to be notified of the birth. The plan was for you to meet Gracie just a few days past delivery before she would go into foster care for a few weeks until most of the paperwork had been processed through.

Leah had immediately taken to nesting after the call was over, and made an executive decision to pick a paint for your daughter‘s room. 2 hours later, you walked out of the store with everything you needed in terms of painting and preparation with a mission to paint Gracie’s room soft pink.

The following day, Leah had the day off while you had some partnership meetings to attend. When you arrived home that evening, instead of one pink room; you had two. “I didn’t know if she’d like the room upstairs better than the downstairs” Leah shrugged, paint on her nose. “You are spoiling her already, darling” you said, wiping her nose. “Oh, our daughter is gonna be spoiled in all the right ways love” Leah followed up, kissing your cheek.

-

“Actually, there is just one thing I wanted to discuss with you” Anita said, as she sighed visibly upset. “There is someone that wants to say goodbye to her, and I understand if you don’t want that”. Leah shook her head “of course she can say goodbye, it must be hard for a mother to let go of her child no matter the circumstances”.

Anita shifted in her chair, as you held Gracie close feeling worried about what would happen if her mother wanted her back. The adoption hadn’t gotten through just yet, but you had gotten temporary guardianship over her. “Well, it’s just that it’s not her mother, it’s her sis-“ Anita’s sentence was cut short by a loud bang and a little girl tumbling into the room.

“No, I need to say bye to my sissy before she’s gone forever and then she will never remember me!” The little girl yelled, working to get back up on her feet. A young woman followed behind her, looking stressed.

“Paisley, I told you we have to wait. Please come back here” she huffed, immediately grabbing the toddler who broke out a pout. You and Leah shared a look, both feeling rather confused on the situation. Gracie who was still in your arms, was lifted over to Leah before you slowly walked towards the little girl. The little girl almost instantly hid behind the woman’s legs, feeling scared.

“Hi Paisley, do you want to came and say goodbye to your sister?” You asked squatting down infront of her. Paisley nodded slowly, chewing on her pointing finger. She looked up at the woman who gave her a nod, and Paisley practically threw herself onto you. Your arms wrapped around her as you stood up, carrying her over to Leah who was now situated in the couch.

“Are you her new mommy?” Paisley asked, peaking over at her sister. Leah nodded slowly, holding Gracie so that Paisley could see her. “Yes, we are both her new mommies. My name is y/n and this with Gracie is Leah ” you introduced, sitting down next to Leah with Paisley in your lap.

“Is her name still gonna be Gracie? My social worker said that often new families give you a new name” Paisley asked, gently reaching forward to touch her sister cheek. “Yes, she’s still gonna be named Gracie” you confirmed, feeling sad about how kids get their names stripped from them.

“Woah, she’s lucky! When Anita find someone that wants me, then she says I’ll maybe have to get a new name. I hope someone will want me one day too. Do you have parents?” Paisley asked curiously, now feeling more relaxed in your arms. “Yes, I do”, you confirmed.

Paisley’s eyes widened, “Woah! So Gracie will have a grandma and a grandpa?” She asked, touching her sister’s hair. “Yes, she’ll even have nephews, aunts and uncles” you expressed, the warmth of you family filling your heart.

“Gracie, you are lucky” Paisley sighed, withdrawing her arm back. She scooted down to the floor again, moving to stand in front of Leah. “She’s so cute” Paisley squealed.

You and Leah shared a sad look. A night with a few glasses of wine and a sad movie about siblings losing each other had led to a promise of never spilling a pair of siblings, ever.

“Hey Paisley, how about I put Gracie on the playmat and you can play with her for a little while” Leah suggested, urging for you to get up with her. Paisley nodded eagerly, sitting down nicely on the mat before Leah placed Gracie next to her.

Anita stood by her desk, slightly reddish in the face clearly embarrassed. Leah looked at you, and you nodded thinking exactly what she was thinking. The pair of you moved to Anita’s desk.

“Anita, we cant just spilt a pair of siblings”’Leah sighed, looking over Paisley who was playing gently with Gracie making her giggle. Anita looked at you with sad eyes. “I understand” she said, reaching out of the backpack that had Gracie’s belongings in it. “I’ll see if I can find a foster family that wants to take in Paisley, she’s been rejected multiple times and families has sent her back because she’s a handful. I cannot imagine finding a family who wants her and a baby.” Anita said, sitting behind her desk. Her hands moved toward her face, before rubbing her face in distress.

You looked over at Leah, who stood admiring the two siblings. Guilt crept up on in a way that made it feel like she was being eaten alive.

“Leah, we can’t let this happen. We already have two already painted rooms” you whispered to her, “look at them, they need each other” you pleaded.

Leah looked like she was on edge about the idea, close to boarding the ship. “Buy baby, it’s a big responsibility. What if it’s too much?” Leah whispered, reaching for you hand. “It won’t be, we have our families and our teammates that we can lean on for support”. Leah still didn’t seem on board with the idea, but by the look of her face; you could see how she by every smile and giggle that Paisley pulled out of Gracie, she was one more thought away from agreeing with you.

“Mrs.Williamson, it’s full understandable that you won’t go through with this adoption. I will find someone to care for the pair of them this evening, that’s why Paisley came here regardless.” Anita apologetically said and that shot a spark in Leah.

“Wait, Paisley doesn’t have anywhere to go? No fosters?” Leah urged, suddenly seeming more onboard with the idea.

Anita sighed again, “no, sadly not. I got a call last night to pick her up asap, but I begged them to give me until today”.

Leah bit her teeth together thinking of the little blonde begin shuffled around between families for ages.

“You know what? We’ll take her” Leah spat out, looking at them. Anita broke out in a relieved smile.

“Wonderful, you can bring Gracie home now. Bianca, please take Paisley out to the playroom” Anita asked, making you and Leah feel confused.

Paisley looked up at Anita and Binca. Her whole body shifted, suddenly seeming like the smallest most unwanted being on the planet. Her eyes started filling with tears, slowly moving to where Bianca was situated.

“No, we are cleared to both foster and adopt, right? Is there any way we can bring Paisley with us too? As a fosterhome?” You suggested, hoping that Leah wouldn’t protest it and that you had read her correctly.

“Foster with the intent to adopt” Leah corrected, instantly grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze. You flashed her a shy smile, hoping that this wasn’t something you would regret.

“Mrs.Williamson, she’s a handful. Lots of energy, and she has caused several homes to quit fostering” Anita ushered, trying to keep her voice down.

“Respectfully, we both work as professional footballers. I’m sure there is a way to make her energy work in her favour.” Leah expressed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well,if you are sure; that settles it. Would you like to break the news to her while I make some quick calls?” Anita asked, pulling up her phone. You nodded eagerly, excited to go from a two person family to potentially being four.

You looked over at Leah while Anita excused herself out of the room with Bianca. The two girls were back on the playing mat together. Leah grabbed your hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Last chance to pull out, baby” you whispered, Leah shook her head. “My two little girls, our two daughters” she whispered, familiarising herself with the phrase.

“Hey Paisley” Leah said squatting down in front of her. “Yes? Is it time to go already? I’ve barely said goodbye!” Paisley complained, standing up before crossing her arms with a big pout on her face.

“How would you feel about coming home with us and Gracie?” Leah asked, awaiting the young blondes response. Paisley looked up at Leah as she tilted her head to the right, her facial expression confused.

“Like coming to visit? Like a sleepover?” Paisley asked, clearly thinking about what it would mean. Leah smiled again, brushing Paisley’s hair out of her face. “Like coming to stay at our home with your own room, and then we can see if we are able to make it forever” Leah confirmed, awaiting the girls response.

Paisley’s eyes widened, eyes becoming glossier by the second before she shot up and launched herself around Leah’s neck. “Like, I can call you mommy just like Gracie can? Or is that just for Gracie? That’s okay, I don’t mind calling you Leah and Y/N” Paisley urged, bouncing on the ground. Leah looked over at you, still holding the young girls frame. There was a gaze shared between the two of you. Life was about to take an unexpected turn, but perhaps that unexpected turn was just what you needed. Perhaps Paisley was gonna be the missing piece to your puzzle.

“You could call us whatever you like, P”

[suksatoru]

one shots and drabbles.

a gentle madman you ask sukuna for a hug. fortunately, he tolerates you enough to grant the wish.

newborn love sukuna being the best girl dad ever.

missed marks you decide to play a harmless little prank on sukuna by dodging his kisses!

period pains sukuna taking care of you when you get your period!

mornings and kisses early mornings with sukuna and his little family. beware he's giving off such daddy energy here heheheh

softness amongst the sorrow just sukuna being a big softie for you

sick n sweet you fall ill - and the king of curses takes care of you.

kitty kan! you bring home an adorable kitten in dire need of some love - and sukuna is surprisingly jealous of the little feline.

carved with love sukuna's son has a talent for wood carving.

cookies n him! baby sitter au! babysitting yuji for choso and running into his very hot, older brother was not what you had expected!

sweet temptations ┈➤ part two! part three! you'd gone to bed the previous night with yuji, and unknowingly found yourself cuddling the king of curses when you wake up.

babies baby babe sukuna loves you and his daughter to death. you two were his all - so what does he do when his little girl tells him she has a boyfriend?

'judas is the demon i cling to' ryomen sukuna's most devoted follower gives him a gift that sets his frozen heart alight.

i love you how sukuna says "i love you".... ࣪

his majesty's gaze sukuna finds out that his personal servant has a crush on him, the king of curses.

mama's girl sukuna on mothers day means you get absolutely spoiled - you did give him a brat, didn't you?

halloween! ft; yuuji itadori halloween with baby yuuji was always a little hectic with your boyfriend, sukuna....

be gentle with my heart, lover sukuna and you got into a fight after you had a near death experience. when you're in need of comfort—he's hostile and enraged. you're hurt tenfold and overcome with sadness after his outburst. going to bed after fighting with sukuna is a war all in itself–but one day, you'll be able to see just how hard he works to be a good lover to you.

thoughts and headcanons.

lovey dovey sukuna thinks you're loco for loving him :3

kiddos! (multiple) jjk men and how they'd be with their kids!

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO x FEM READER

Gojo Satoru likes his girls clingy. 

wc — 1k

tags — confident reader 

He lets you loop your arms around his neck and whine for kisses, gifts, everything he has. With an unlimited budget and the deep pockets of a man in love, he spoils you rotten. 

Here’s the problem with being the strongest: you will always be the strongest. From the day he was born, there was no competition. Gojo didn’t even have to begin to outstrip his peers. He was simply born better than them. 

But eventually, even that level of talent grew exponentially until he went from being simply unbeatable to untouchable. His growth was incomparable, leaving him a lonely god on his own plane of existence. 

That’s why he needs you: sweet and soft and demanding. Everyone else had it all wrong. 

The Gojo clan spoiled their young head rotten. Knowing that he would bear the burden of the world from the moment he was born and those blue eyes opened, his mother demanded her child grow up in peace. Nothing was asked of him, no demands, no pleas for help. 

The outside world relied on Gojo as their saviour, but within the Gojo compound, he was just a spoiled little boy whose mother adored him. 

The way he acts within the walls of the Gojo stronghold is a carefully kept secret. He’s as soft as a newborn kitten, hair carefully washed by his childhood nurses and left out to sun in a patch of light. He’s sleepy and warm and mellow, hardly the strongest anymore. Without knowing any of this, you somehow bring that back out in him years later. 

An auxiliary manager in training, you first met him when you were tagging along with Ijichi on one of Gojo’s missions. Ijichi was flustered, even more so than usual, at the thought of having to care for a mentee when he could hardly take care of himself.

It only made matters worse that your first mission would be with Gojo. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach, despairing at how he would inevitably fail to shield you from his barbed comments and wicked teasing. 

In the end, he needn’t have worried. The two of you turn the tables on him. 

Poor Ijichi. 

It started off as a way to bully him more, because Gojo could be such a little tyrant. 

“Come on, Ijichi. Let her tag along, what’s the harm!” 

“You heard him,” you had announced self-importantly, and thrown yourself promptly into the passenger seat. 

That was usually Gojo’s seat, but he was willing to give it up for some amusement. 

You hadn’t been given permission to go on this mission, but you had insisted. First you wheedled, then you whined, finally you outright demanded. You wanted see the powerful Satoru Gojo in action. 

He leans forward, arms draped over the back of your seat. He pokes your cheek playfully as he says, “Oh, are you a fan?” 

“As if!” You scoff. “I don’t care about you, I care about your cursed technique.” 

Gojo takes your bluntness in stride. Maybe it’s the way your eyes sparkle when you talk about his technique (he caught you demanding details on Hollow Purple from Ijichi once) or maybe it’s the way your cheeks puff out when you pout. He knows you’re lying. Part of your assignment to Ijichi is because you begged Masamichi to be placed where you could watch Gojo work. 

It’s easy work for him. The curse is vaporized in seconds. He makes it look so weak you wonder why they even bothered with it at all until you remember that this curse had been failed to be exorcised by a first grade sorcerer who had come back licking his wounds. It’s not that it’s weak, it’s that he’s too strong. 

“Anyone up for lunch? My treat,” Gojo says, still immaculate as ever. 

Ijichi, who had been standing so close he got covered in some strange muck, not even from the curse but from Hollow Purple cutting through the mud, looks at him suspiciously. Gojo is never this nice. 

You have no such reservations. Ijichi yelps and protests when Gojo brings you to a luxurious restaurant in the heart of Tokyo without a reservation, relying on the strength of his name alone. He doesn’t even eat much, content to watch you order whatever you like on his dime. It amuses him, the way you’re so confident about it, as if you know he won’t refuse you. 

He won’t. 

By the time you order dessert - for you and Gojo, telling him he’ll like whatever you choose for him - he can’t bear the burning question that’s been lurking in the back of his mind anymore. 

“Smoke break!” He demands cheerfully. 

“You don’t even smoke!” Ijichi says, terrified, as if Gojo is some high school bully dragging him out under another pretense to shake him down for cash. He might, just for fun. 

You smile and wave them off. You wouldn’t let Gojo do that seriously, but Ijichi is just so fun to tease. You’ll come rescue him later if it looks like he’s really miserable. 

“Alright, spill the beans,” Gojo says, leaning against the doorframe and blockading Ijichi from going back inside. “What’s her deal?” 

Ijichi just stares at him slack jawed, open mouthed, terrified, clearly still waiting for some kind of attack. 

“Oh, come on! I’m not that mean to you, am I?” Even Gojo can’t resist a twitchy smile at what he’s saying. “Who is she? Where’s she from?” 

Ijichi blinks. “She’s just some girl. Masamichi hired her.” 

“She’s a right little princess,” Gojo murmured. “What, is she the daughter of a clan head or something? Maybe even the Three Clans?” 

Ijichi sighs. “You would think so with that attitude, but she just comes from a normal non-sorcerer family.” 

“Her?” Gojo asks disbelievingly. “A girl like that? Impossible.” 

“It’s true,” Ijichi says. “I don’t even know where Masamichi picked her up.” 

Gojo returns to his seat with a overly sweet parfait waiting for him. You’re right, he does like it. Or maybe he likes it because you’re finally giving him your full attention, waiting with rapt delight to see if he’ll give it full stars. 

He thinks he might take you out to dinner more, if it gets you to look at him like that. You might not be a clan princess yet, but he can’t wait to make you one.

[hubbvrd]

first night at home | JB9

summary — It's the first night at home with your newborn daughter. When you wake up in the middle of the night and Joe is no longer lying next to you in bed, you find Joe and your newborn daughter in their baby room and what you see there melts your heart

pairing — joe burrow x reader

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Your eyes filled with tears again as you followed Joe carrying the baby carrier with your newborn daughter into your home for the first time.

Two days ago, Amelia Grace Burrow had seen the light of day, making you and Joe the happiest of people and your family complete for the time being.

Amelia was almost a one-to-one copy of your boyfriend, she had even inherited his tangled, almost curly hair, which was clearly visible from birth as she had been born with an incredible amount of hair.

The living-dining room was adorned with colorful decorations. There were countless helium balloons in the shape of a baby bottle, a teddy bear, a princess and Amelia's name.

There was also a garland with 'Welcome home, baby & mommy' written on it. The dining table was heaped with presents and food so that you could only just make out the wooden top of the table.

"Wow," you marveled as you blinked hard at the tears that were already filling your eyes and making their way down your cheeks.

You had thought that your hormones would settle down quickly after the birth, as you had already been quite waterlogged during the pregnancy - but no way. Your hormones had been going crazy almost non-stop since the birth of your little girl, so you had already used up countless tissues and there seemed to be no end in sight.

"Did you do all that?" you looked over at Joe, who carefully placed the baby carrier on the couch and squatted down in front of it.

Amelia had slept all the way from the hospital to your home, which you were quite grateful for - because you had been terrified of the first car journey.

It probably hadn't been the best idea to read the experiences of other mothers on various websites, as most of them had described the first car journey with a newborn as the 'horror ride'.

But Amelia seemed to have been a calm and contented baby not only in the hospital, but also on the car journey and even now, as she continued to slumber soundly in her seat.

"The decoration? Yes. The gifts and food are from a few neighbors, but most of the things are from my teammates - most of them really went overboard with the gifts. I'm sure one or two of them will spoil Amelia as she gets older," he laughed, whereupon you joined in with his laughter.

Because you could imagine all too well how much Joe's team colleagues would spoil your daughter.

Ja'Marr, Tee and Sam in particular had adored the little one ever since they had known you were having a daughter.

The three of them had even been on hand to help set up the baby's room and had already bought countless cute outfits for Mini Burrow (including, of course, a Mini Burrow jersey from each of them so that she could - according to the boys - support her favorite uncle).

As you laughed, you began to feel your abdomen tighten slightly in pain. Even though the birth had not brought any complications, you had a painful pulling sensation in your abdomen from time to time, which was normal according to the doctors at the hospital, so you lay down on the soft cushions of the sofa next to the baby seat.

Joe carefully undid the baby seat belt and then took out your daughter, who was quite tiny, and sat down on the sofa next to you with her in his arms.

Amelia's eyes were closed and there was a pacifier in her mouth that was almost bigger than her face.

A Bengals cap sat on her head - how could it be any different, of course, because according to Joe she had to be taken directly to her favorite team.

"She's so tiny," you gushed quietly as a tear began to roll down your cheek.

You still couldn't believe your happiness about your little family, which you had wished for since you were little - it would certainly take some time before it happened.

"And so beautiful, like her mommy," Joe added, causing a soft sob to leave your lips.

"I love you so much," Joe breathed, as seconds later he carefully put his free arm around you so that your head found its place on his shoulder, where you had an even better view of the sweet little creature lying perfectly in Joe's arm, sucking on her pacifier and leaning.

"We love you too. So much," you whispered softly before your eyes drifted shut from sheer exhaustion and you too fell into a peaceful sleep.

—

You were startled out of your sleep by a scream, so that you sat up straight in bed and looked around in the dark bedroom, which was only lit by a faint ray of light from the street lamp.

You could still remember falling asleep next to Joe on the sofa. But you couldn't remember getting into bed on your own, so Joe must have carried you up and put you to bed.

But before you could turn the covers aside and swing your feet on the bed, Joe was already jumping out of bed.

"I'm going, go back to sleep," he breathed softly to you and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before pushing you back onto the mattress and putting the covers back over you.

And the moment your head touched the pillow, you were already asleep again.

It was crazy how little you slept with a newborn and how quickly you fell asleep once you'd taken care of the baby or your partner took over.

But you wouldn't trade anything for the chance to sleep through the night again.

—

The next time you woke up and looked to your left, Joe still wasn't back.

A glance at your cell phone, which was lying next to you on the bedside table, told you that it was only 4:55am.

Carefully, your hand touched the empty side of the bed next to you, which was quite cold, so you knew that Joe must have been with your daughter for some time.

Even though you couldn't hear a sound - not even Amelia's crying - you decided to check and relieve Joe, because maybe Amelia needed her mommy now.

The wooden floor creaked softly under your bare feet as you followed the source of light coming from Amelia's nursery.

The closer you got to the baby's room, which was by far the most loving room and your favorite room in the whole house, you heard Joe's soft voice.

So as not to elicit another creak from the floor, you tiptoed the last few meters over to the bright room with the flowery wallpaper, where you leaned slightly against the door frame and took a look inside the room.

On the cozy armchair in the middle of the baby's room, Joe sat with Amelia in his arms and handed her the bottle, from which Amelia drank greedily.

Joe gently rocked the two of them back and forth while his hand held the bottle and his index finger stroked your daughter's tiny hand.

This sight made your heart warm up and your heart skip a little. It really was a beautiful view that almost brought new tears to your eyes - but only almost.

"You're really hungry, huh?" he asked softly as a smile spread across his lips.

"That's good, you'll be a big and strong girl. But do you know what you already are? My sweet girl. My sweet girl, who I will always protect. Come what may. I will also make sure that no boy will ever break your heart and if he hurts you because of Uncle Ja'Marr, I will make sure that he suffers. But also the whole team will always make sure that you don't get hurt. Because they are family. They are your uncles. You'll never be alone..I promise you that,A."

The quarterback leaned in slightly to kiss your daughter's little forehead, causing Amelia to let out a soft sweet sound.

A wide smile crept onto your lips and you couldn't stand there any longer, just watching the two of them.

You crossed a few steps before you reached Joe and Amelia, who had just finished the last of the bottle and now had a wide grin on her lips, which seemed to grow twice as big when she spotted you.

"You've discovered mommy. She probably couldn't sleep anymore because I wasn't there and you've completely taken over me" Joe grinned as he gently tickled your daughter's tummy and then put her over his shoulder for a burp and patted her gently on the back.

"How long have you been awake?" you asked Joe as you carefully adjusted the burp cloth lying on his shoulder.

"I don't know, half an hour?"

"Why didn't you wake me up? I would have done it already. You got up earlier..."

You were slightly plagued by guilt, because before you went home, you had both agreed that you would take turns whenever Amelia cried or was hungry so that you both got enough sleep.

"Hey, babe..." his voice sounded soft as he reached for your hand and stroked the back of it. "You slept so deeply and I wanted you to get some sleep after the exhausting birth two days ago. I'm fine, really. My tiredness has been blown away. I mean look at her, she's mesmerizing me."

Joe's gushing caused him to start yawning softly and it was only now that you saw clearly how deep the circles under his eyes actually looked.

"Come back to bed. Let's cuddle up in our bed as a family. And when you fall asleep, you'll sleep through the night" you promised your boyfriend and together you made your way back to the bedroom, where the three of you snuggled into bed.

Joe lying on his back, with Amelia curled up on his chest, who already seemed to be in a milk coma, with your head in the crook of his neck.

And it wasn't long before the two of you drifted back to sleep overjoyed and you could hardly wait to start the next day together as a family.

[modernquackfare]

How about Simon having a wife that is a toymaker and makes plushies. Wife!reader comes to the base and gives each of the tf 141 a plushie that looks like them. All of them gets one… except Ghost

Needles to say, he’s very upset, all day, that he didn’t get one.

Only when he gets home, he sees plushies of himself and the reader on the bed

A/N: okay omg i'm so so sorry this has taken forever but I've lost my draft three times 😭 luckily i wasn't TOO far along writing/had it copied but HERE U GO <33

Ghost x Fem!Reader - Toymaker Wife

For such a special day, you come prepared. It's the first time you're setting foot on Spec Gru's European base, thanks to your husband's insistence on security and containment—whatever that means. After much begging and many strategically missed video calls, Simon finally extends an invitation.

It's a cold, concrete world, Simon tells you. Nothing like you, love, or so he says. Does he think being a toymaker for work is synonymous with an inability to handle a few more military men than you already have? It's hard to believe that anyone on base could be more threatening or deadly than Simon himself.

Or Ghost, as they call him here. It's a little funny—reminiscent of middle schoolers that roleplay wolves named Luna or Rebel, but he'd have your head if you ever say such a thing, regardless of how true it might be. You've considered making him a wolf-ear headband just to prove a point and laugh at his furrowed expression. You're sure that his friends, those large men and women in the photo he let you keep, would find it equally funny.

"Sergeant Gaz, Captain Price, Sergeant Soap…” You count, knocking each handheld plush into your bag. It feels just a little childish, showing up to a military base with a pack full of toys-but in your defense, they're the product of your profession and adorable. Each is handmade to recreate the likeness of every member of Task Force 141. They'll probably like the gifts, if Simon's description of each's personality is accurate. Soap's boyish charm, Gaz's calm demeanor, and Price's warm, but dry sense of humor—that's something you can work with.

***

"It's—is this a mini me? This is braw, you've nailed it, lass." Soap lifts his plush into the air, as if holding a newborn babe to the sun. "Down to the scars. I'll be."

You can't help the ripple of a laugh when beside him, Gaz similarly examines his miniature self. "Not bad," he breathes, wiggling the doll's arms as if to make it dance. "Not bad at all. What a handsome fellow."

Soap lifts his doll, moving its head as if it were speaking for him in a poor attempt at ventriloquism "Finely crafted, maybe. Handsome? Well, that's up for—"

"Well, pass yours on over then, let's see that Yule log you call a mohawk," Gaz sneers back, matching Soap's doll's movements with his own.

It's a successful introduction, you think! Simon watches on in silence, loving warmth evident in his eyes as he does. He's not dragging you away and shipping you back home, so things must be going well—as silent and distant as he's being.

"Do you like them?” You ask, hands folded in your lap.

Price fidgets with his, admiring the tiny boonie hat that you've included, small strips of Velcro lining the bottom to adhere the hat to the head. "Never thought I'd ever be the owner of my own doll," he murmurs. "Got the hat just right, didn't you? Spot on."

"Aye, but don't leave it lying about," Soap grins, making his doll trot on over and speak in pitched up tones. “That hat of yours might just disappear. I've got hair too, Cap'."

"Yeah, hair that needs covering."

"Oh, bolt, ya dobber."

Amidst the light chatter of your newfound friends in Simon's comrades, you glance over at the man. There your husband stands, arms crossed tight against his chest. He's got that look—definitely pouting under that mask of his, as much as he protests, saying that it isn't pouting, it's brooding. The others seem to take notice of your wandering gaze, though, and suddenly all eyes are on Simon and his very obvious lack of a personalized doll.

"Don't look so solemn, Ghost," Gaz grins cheekily. "You've almost got me feeling bad for you. You're the one with the dollmaker for a wife, mate.

Simon doesn't respond. His dark gaze, gentle brown eyes hardened into rocks, finds Gaz. Shut it, he seems to say without even opening his mouth.

That grey cloud seems to follow him throughout the day. Convivial conversation with his other friends on base falls flat when the spotlight falls on him, his responses limited to a scant "Hmm," or "Uh-huh," or even a quiet look that verges on a glare. He'll pull away when you reach for his hand, casually enough to pass off as an accident or fault of imperceptibility. As if you didn't know him better—that his reflexes and peripheral vision weren't as sharp as blades.

"Stupid anyway," he mumbles to himself, catching your ears. "Stupid toys."

You frown. He knows better than to speak this way—you've discussed it before, about how much you treasured your work and hated having it dismissed by words like stupid and childish. “I don't think they're stupid," you interrupt, never too intimidated to speak up against him.

Simon immediately softens upon realizing that you've heard him. “It's not—that's not what I meant. You know I don't think they're stupid."

Right, but he's acting strange all day. Still, you can't find it within yourself to probe. "Something is, though. Right?"

"The way they play with them,” Simon immediately speaks, shoulders stiff. "Just…grown men, playing like children."

"Ah," you hum. Somehow, you can't bring yourself to believe it��but you don't ask. It's not as if it's even remotely big enough of an issue to need addressing, after all. You just hate to see Simon so withdrawn. At least, more so than usual.

***

Simon is absent from dinner in the mess hall later on, after giving you an extensive tour and dropping you off at one of the on-base cafes. That's how you know something's off. He would never normally give up an opportunity to share a meal with you, even in a noisy, crowded cafeteria like the one on base.

"Wasn't hungry," he only shrugs when you find him in his on-base unit, boots kicked up as he nurses a neat whiskey. Oh, he's pouting.

You can't help yourself. "Aww, baby," you coo, lingering closer. "Are you feeling alright? You've been gloomy all day…"

"Mmph," he shrugs, gaze flickering up to yours—and he can't help how he all but melts at the love in your eyes. "Just…tired. Go'n and get your shower done. Wanna snuggle."

And how could you say no to that? Your growing suspicion had been that Simon was feeling left out, or forgotten, not receiving a doll of his own. Little does he know, you giggle to yourself.

***

You're in the shower when Simon emerges from his brooding, lurching off the couch and trudging towards the room, where he'd made his bed with clean sheets and set up fluffy pillows for his wife's arrival. The bitterness of being left out of her sweet benevolence has largely faded. She is his wife, after all.

He nudges open his bedroom door, set on his dresser to shed the heavy layers of the day, the mask, and finally exist as Simon for the rest of the night. With you. No doll could ever distract him from you.

He's pulling a hoodie over his head when tiny figures catch in the corner of his vision. A hallucination? No. Dolls.

You and him, smiling and snuggled together. You in your favorite sundress, rosy cheeks and cute face. Him in his mask—which is removable, he discovers on closer inspection. Simon gently tugs off the cloth skull mask, curious to see his own likeness rendered in doll form.

"Handsome bugger," he mutters, thumb brushing over his doll's small face. Blond with stern brown eyes, but smiling. Soap was right about the scars—each placed with perfect accuracy. The one extending from the left corner of his lip up his cheek. The one across his eyebrow. You even got the one under his chin, tucked under the plushie's soft, round face.

On the right hands of both dolls, he realizes, there is a hidden circle of Velcro. So they can hold hands in any orientation. It's such a you thing to do that it hurts.

When you emerge from your shower, all three are gathered in the living room, watching TV. Simon with his legs up on the coffee table, and your miniatures holding hands in his lap. It's hard to help the beam that curls up on your lips—and why would you want to?

"Looks like someone's found the kids," you coo, swaying over and plopping down beside him. “I'm glad you like 'em. Did I do you justice?"

"More than," Simon rasps, scooting close, flush against your side. "They're better than that git, Soap's, that's for sure."

His words coax laughter out of you as you press your head to his chest and scoop up the two little toys into your arms. "Careful, Si. They might hear what you said and tell him.”

"They can go on and tell the whole base, for all I care. Your skill went as far as it could go, it's his face that's the problem." Simon snorts, tugging you close and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Better believe I'm showing this one off tomorrow. Might have to keep it in here, though. I'm not risking a theft."

"You say that every time," you laugh, snuggling close and shutting your eyes for the night as he wraps an arm around you—warm, solid, and safely his.

Request Archive

[cosycafune]

FIRST TIME PARENT

Satoru’s a little confused with taking care of his daughter, but it’s his first time as a parent, so scrutiny isn’t something he’ll allow on himself. after all, everything’s a learning experience.

synopsis of acts: vomiting, cuddling, fluff, postpartum, first-time parents. satoru gojo, father au.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Satoru’s curious. Curious at the little, crying girl that’s biologically his own. Sure, he’s married to you, supported you through your pregnancy, but seeing the aftermath of your pregnancy left him with a whirlwind of thoughts. Protecting his little Aiko flooded his mind, as how can a little baby so precious adorn this flawed world.

Naturally, he couldn’t help put gently watch his slumbering newborn — before glancing back at a sleeping you in never ending awe. Awe he had once been too afraid to muster up before he had met and fallen in love with you. An irreversible fondness that continues to guide and coddles him consistently; Satoru loves you with all the might he takes to breathe.

However, he turns his gaze towards a crying Aiko — longing to soothe her to not wake you up. After all, you had just given birth and you’re awfully sore. Sore in a way Satoru doesn’t want to interrupt, even if it meant sacrificing everything of his willpower to put Aiko back to sleep again.

To him, all she had done was be adorable, be fed, go back to sleep and throw up on him. That’s all, but she’s still his precious first born daughter.

“‘Ko, let’s not wake mummy up,” Satoru softly murmurs, contrasting the erraticness of his daughter.

“Okay, I’ll pick you up,” Panicking, Satoru gently picks up Aiko — fitting her into the home of his arms.

Even as she harshly cried, Satoru couldn’t help but sit down within the fresh rocking chair. Within the rocking chair and placing her against his heartbeat, just so she would calm and be adjusted to his heartbeat.

After all, Satoru had consistently been doing skin-to-skin — paving a subtle path of familiarity for Aiko. If rendered exhausted, Satoru grew unwilling to care — prioritising you and Aiko’s beauty sleep over his own. As, to him, the two of you are the only perfect necessity to him.

You’re both angels, who deserve to be pampered effortlessly.

“Papa’s here now,” Satoru listens to Aiko begin to lighten, her tiny fist lazily propped against his peck.

Careful with his large hands, Satoru uses his free hand to comb through Aiko’s ivory and brown wisps of hair. Seeing her with his ivory hair warmed his eyes as she carried one of his rare characteristics, leaving a future thing for the two of them to bode over in the future.

“You look just like me, with a lot of mummy,” Treasuring the moment, Satoru slips into a smile, “Aiko Gojo, you’re just your daddy.” Tearing up, Satoru observes Aiko’s gentle cooing.

“Look how tiny you are,” In awe, Satoru’s heart is plentiful — completely adorned with everything he ever needs in life.

“Your first words will be papa!” Enthralled, Satoru’s enthusiastic shouts are followed up with Aiko throwing up milk on his chest.

“That’s what you get for scheming, Sato’,” Chuckling, you capture the blown kiss that Satoru gifts you.

“Now I get to spend a little less time with her and you,” Pouting, Satoru’s whiny point are soothed by an exhausted you — who groggily glimpses at him.

“If you get here in less than five minutes, we can cuddle!” Exhilarant, you propose your arrangement — only for Satoru to be gone before you could blink again.

Well, at least he had cleaned Aiko up and settled her comfortably down.

Satoru’s a good first time parent, even if there was still so much to learn.

What isn’t he good at?

do not copy, modify or post my work as your own on other platforms. all rights reserved, as my work is written by me: cosycafune. 2024.

[ckret2]

Bill's getting a makeover from Pacifica!! Yaaay

And what good will it do him?

Here's chapter 83 of human Bill Cipher being more of a prisoner in his body than in the Mystery Shack by this point: the shack's decided that the only possible thing that can save them from certain doom is getting Bill to flirt with a government agent, and Pacifica's recruited to help.

She does NOT know who her customer is.

####

"Folks, I'm not exaggerating when I say that out of all my duties as mayor, there's no greater honor than getting to host the county's annual Best Baby Ever Pageant and meeting all your beautiful and talented children. When I look in each young shape's bright little eye, and know that in this room are this county's future priests, police officers, teachers, doctors, entrepreneurs, maybe even the mayor of tomorrow... It gives me hope for the future." The mayor lowered his voice conspiratorially, "And it doesn't hurt that I get to declare it a city holiday and lock town hall's door for the day, either."

The parents in the audience chuckled appreciatively. Their children, who would have had the day off anyway and frankly found this a whole lot more work, mostly didn't.

"But all good things must come to an end, and we've reached the end of this year's competition." The mayor gestured to the contestants behind him, lined up in front of a temporary backdrop with a cheapy, shiny curtain. Most of the contestants were being held by a parent, but a few were old enough to fidget in front of the crowd all alone. "We've awarded all the individual prizes for each age bracket—which have gone to kids with any number of sides, with ages ranging everywhere from five years old to five hours old—and now all we have left is this year's grand prize!"

An enormous trophy waited to the mayor's side. It was plastic and hollow, but it was painted gold and taller than most of the children.

The mayor said, "And the winner of this year's Best Baby Ever award is... " Someone at the back of the hall played a pre-recorded drumroll through a tinny speaker. "The overall winner from the Age 0-6 Months category—Billy Cipher!"

Scalene let out a squeal of excitement that was audible over the applause. Bill startled awake in her arm and blinked sleepily around the room.

Several of the other parents on stage surreptitiously shot Scalene dirty looks—of course her kid had won, who could deny a newborn a prize on his birthday? It would be adorable. The judges had probably leaped at the opportunity.

Scalene shifted Bill in front of herself so the audience could see him better and so she could flash a hidden razor-sharp grin to a couple of her defeated rivals. That was exactly why she'd brought him today.

"Congratulations," the mayor said, placing a very tiny crown atop Bill. Bill endured this with patient, sleepy befuddlement. "Billy will be going home with the grand prize trophy and cash prize—as well as a full set of cutlery from our sponser, Knifeco Knives! But of course we'll hand that to mama to handle," he chuckled. "And the top winners from the other brackets will receive four-piece cutlery gift sets from Knifeco, which include—"

Scalene snatched the microphone from the mayor, jabbed him aside with one corner, and gushed to the crowd, "Thank you so much! I'm sure I'm speaking for my little Billy when I say just how grateful and honored he'll be when he's old enough to understand what a gift you've given him." She beamed out at the crowd, her flashy candy apple red makeup (she'd hastily slathered herself in side liner on her way to the pageant) drowning out every other shape on the stage—except for the naturally neon yellow infant in her arm. "As some of the pageant regulars—"

The mayor said, "Scalene, we didn't actually schedule time for the winners to make speeches—"

She sweetly whispered, "No one wants to hear about the sponsor, Otto," and pushed him aside. "As some of the pageant regulars here already know—I see you out there, hello!—I'm a pageant queen myself—(Miss Teen Curvy Strait three separate years!)—so, as a new mother, I'm so pleased that my little golden child is following in the family footsteps. I..."

The spotlights were blazing hot. She didn't understand how Bill—now wide awake again—could stare straight into the piercing lights without even blinking. Maybe he was blind; it would figure, considering what the afterbirth looked like.

Her knees were weak. Her sides screamed in pain. She shifted her grip to hold Bill more securely and to try to coax the sharpest spot of pain on that side to migrate to a fresh spot, shook off a wave of dizziness, and went on, "I hope that this is just the first of many future crowns for me—myyy sweet little Billy, ahem. I can promise you'll be seeing a lot of him in... in the..."

With a thud, she passed out and collapsed against the theater backdrop.

A nearby child squeaked in alarm.

"Scalene?!" Euclid was at the back of the audience, having snuck in during the closing ceremonies and hovered near the door where he could at least hear as the winners were announced. Now, as the mayor and several other pageant parents rushed to Scalene's side, he shoved his way through the crowd. "Move, that's my wife! Dang it, I told you to use your cane!"

One of the other mothers pulled out a copy of the program and fanned Scalene's eye. The mayor scooped up Bill and checked him for injuries. "Are you alright, little tri?"

Still too small to move himself, his eye darted in a panic to his mother's face, to the bright bright spotlights, to his mother again, to the blurry blue of his father buried deep in a sea of other shapes, to the mayor and the many strange faces crowded around him—and then he swallowed back his oversized eye to open his mouth and wail.

Which was the exact moment the stage curtain caught fire.

####

A bearded man with his hair done up in black liberty spikes and a spider web tattoo climbing up his left arm watched as Pacifica dumped several shopping bags of makeup onto her desk. "This visitor must be really important. You never pass up doing these guys' weekly grooming." He was sitting on the barn floor, brushing an alpaca with long, silky white hair.

"You have no idea." Pacifica stuffed the shopping bags in the wastebasket surreptitiously hidden under her far-too-big U-shaped executive desk, and quickly sorted the beauty supplies into their proper order of operations.

"Didn't you say it's Mabel and one of her friends? Mabel's here all the time."

"It's not just any friend, Spiderwebs!" Pacifica pulled a locket out of a desk drawer, ran over to Spiderwebs, and popped it open. "It's this friend! I've never met him before, all I know is that he has the most gorgeous hair I've ever seen. I have got to make a good first impression."

Spiderwebs and the alpaca inspected the locket's contents. He said, "You've never met him and you've got some of his hair in a locket?"

Pacifica flushed. "Th— Shut up!" She snapped the locket shut and stuffed it in a pocket. "I had the locket just lying around anyway, it's whatever."

At the sound of voices outside, Pacifica gasped. "They're here! Do I look okay?!"

Spiderwebs—whose entire outfit cost less than Pacifica's left sock and who quite frankly found the amount of makeup Pacifica wore concerning for a child her age—said, "Sure, fine."

"Great!" Pacifica bounced on the balls of her feet, squealed in excitement, and ran outside to greet Mabel and her friend. "Heyyy there! I'm Pacifica Northwest, it's so nice to meet—" She froze, "you..."

Before her stood a person with the most beautiful golden hair she'd ever seen.

Which was attached to a lady in a t-shirt, an eyepatch, a bedsheet, and cheap novelty slippers that look like fish. 

On top of that, the lady was mildly sunburned (obviously no moisturizer), wasn't wearing a bra, was leaning on an umbrella like a cane, clearly hadn't shaved in a while, had a very obvious fake tooth, had a weird bulgy eye, sort of smelled like fish (please don't let it be the slippers), and, to cap it all off, was fat.

Pacifica was working on herself. She was trying to unlearn the lessons about beauty she'd learned from her mom, and from the child pageant circuit, and from all her judgy friends, and from the modeling industry. She was slowly getting comfortable with the idea that physical beauty wasn't everything.

However. So far, that meant she'd been working on accepting ideas like it's okay if sometimes I'm an 8/10 instead of a 10/10. She had not yet tackled the far more daunting proposition of internalizing concepts like it's okay if sometimes other people are ugly.

Which was a problem, if she was going to give this person a makeover.

She swallowed hard and rearranged her expectations for the afternoon.

"Hey Pacifica!" Mabel beamed at her. "Thanks sooo much helping! This is Goldie, he's your customer. Goldie, this is Pacifica." Mabel gasped. "Giorgio, you're lookin' so fiiiine!" She ran into the barn to greet the alpaca Spiderwebs was grooming.

Leaving Pacifica outside with a stranger with a very creepy smile. Pacifica said, "Ummm..."

"The feeling's mutual, haha." On top of everything else, Goldie had a weird, nasally voice.

He, Mabel had said. "Hey, um," said Pacifica, who had never actually been in this position before and wasn't quite sure the polite way to handle it, "not to be rude, but... are you a guy, orrr...?"

"I'm whatever makes this conversation easiest. Don't overthink it!" He swept around Pacifica, hands clasped behind his back and around his umbrella, and sauntered into the barn. Which was kind of impressive, because fish-shaped slippers didn't seem designed for sauntering.

"So... guy?" Pacifica tried.

"For you? Sure," Goldie said indulgently. "Our target's expecting a lady, though, so—" Without turning toward Pacifica, he gestured up-and-down at his body. "Expect to femme this thing up."

Pacifica bit her lips as she swallowed down the most profound disappointment of her life so far, readjusted her expectations for the evening, and figured out what to say. She may not have unlearned the instinct to be shallowly judgmental, but she'd at least made progress on learning to keep it in her head. Most of it. Some—some of it. She'd keep some of it to herself. "Oh-kay. I don't know what Mabel told you, but—just so you know, I'm not running some charity barbershop for the homeless, all right? I'm a professional. I take looks seriously. I'm not going to soften the truth just because you're Mabel's friend, so—if you're not okay with that, you should just go home now."

He turned to glance at her, his trajectory curving to the side as he did; and suddenly she felt like a very small fish being circled by a hungry stingray. "Wow! You and Mabel both had to warn me! At this point, I'll be disappointed if you're polite." Goldie laughed. "Don't worry, I wasn't expecting a barbershop." He used his umbrella to gesture around at the barn, "A barbershop would smell less like farm animals." He flipped up his eyepatch (he had a whole second eye under there?) so he could shoot Pacifica a sly sideways glance. "Maybe personality can make up for looks. Right?"

Pacifica's face flushed red. Personality can make up for looks was what Pacifica's mom said other moms told their ugly daughters when they entered pageants they had no shot of winning. "Hey, how dare you! Maybe this barn is an ugly salon—but it's a beautiful ranch!" She huffed, "Anyway, I didn't have a choice! I couldn't bring you home in front of my parents. You're better suited to the barn."

She regretted it the moment the words were out of her mouth—that was the kind of thing she was trying not to say to people as often—but Goldie's grin only widened. "Just do what you can with this flesh scarecrow I'm wearing, Alpaca. I know what beauty standards around here are like, I know what I look like, and I'm more apathetic about this body than you could possibly imagine. You won't hurt my feelings!" He flipped his eyepatch back down and glanced away from her, eye roving around the barn ceiling like a searchlight trying to find a stray bat. "Nobody goes to a coach because they're expecting to be told 'you're beautiful just the way you are'!"

A coach—like a pageant coach? He was making an awful lot of allusions to the pageant world. Just to make fun of her, or...? "You're lucky I'm not a coach. You couldn't afford my rates."

Goldie laughed. "You'd overcharge!" And then he ignored her, turning his attention to her one full-time employee. "Hey, Spiderwebs! So this is where you ended up! Workin' hard or hardly workin'?"

Spiderwebs looked up from the aplaca he was tending to to frown at Goldie. "Do I know you?"

"Know me? You picked a fight with me once!"

"Oh. Who won?"

"By the time I was finished with you, you were stone-cold unconscious!"

"That's probably why I don't remember it."

While Goldie was distracted talking to Spiderwebs, Pacifica knelt by Mabel—who was crouched to wrap her arms around Giorgio's neck and nuzzle him—and muttered, "Your friend's a major creep."

"What did he do," Mabel asked.

Pacifica thought. What did he do? Say he wouldn't be offended by brutal honesty? Tell her her barn smelled like a barn? "Nothing, it's just—the way he did it."

"Yeah," Mabel sighed. "We're working on his people skills." At least she didn't think Pacifica was crazy.

"Hey, does Goldie have any, like... beauty industry experience, that you know of?"

"His mom was a model," Mabel said. "And he did some stuff with beauty pageants?"

"Yeah? What kind of stuff?"

"Ummm..." Mabel grimaced uncertainly. "Tech... stuff...?" Okay, she clearly didn't have a clue. But that was what she'd wanted to know: yes, he was familiar with the pageant scene. She readjusted her expectations for the afternoon for the second time in as many minutes.

Apparently finished with Spiderwebs, Goldie called, "Anyway, I'm not trying to win ay supreme crowns!" Make that familiar with the pageant scene and wanted to make sure Pacifica knew that. "Just seduce some government agent who already thinks this is hot. You're lucky, we have an easy target!"

Mabel said, "This guy!" She unwrapped one arm from around Giorgio's neck to hold her phone out.

Pacifica took it. It was displaying a distinguished-looking middle-aged gentleman with a no-nonsense frown in a classy black suit. Her eyebrows went up. Ooh. The suit was kind of cheap, but it was well-tailored, which made a world of difference. Looked like he took care of himself, too. Definitely worked out. Too bad about the hair, but hey, Pacifica happened to know a great product that could help with that.

She put a hand on Mabel's arm. "I will help Goldie win his heart."

####

Bill hardly glanced around as Pacifica led them into her office; he was familiar with the space. By daylight, it looked less "rustic" and more "cutesy overpriced modern farmhouse." 

"I've got everything set up in my office," Pacifica said, coming in with Mabel behind her. There was indeed a wide variety of makeup supplies spread out on her desk. "But the makeup has to wait, we've got to start with your hair."

Bill fought back a cringe. "Don't want to save the best for last?"

"Always do your hair first," Pacifica said firmly. She ducked through a door into a bathroom connected to her office. "That's your first fashion lesson. You can't wash your hair with a face full of makeup. And trying to use a blow dryer or hair iron around your makeup makes you look like a melting wax figure."

"I've seen those in person," Mabel said. "Pacifica's right, that's not a cute look. Especially when the eyeballs start rolling out! Apparently, wax figures' eyeballs are made out of glass?"

Bill made a beeline for the corner where he knew Pacifica kept a folding chair and asked, "Hey, what happened to all those eyes, anyway?" Mabel always needed new arts and crafts supplies, and he bet those would be great for jewelry.

"We stuck them in a big jar." Mabel was lurking in the bathroom door, watching Pacifica. "They're still cursed, though. They turn to look at you when you walk by."

"Even better."

"I can see why the Pines family likes you," Pacifica grumbled.

Bill could think of three Pines who would heartily disagree with that claim. "Oh, please! They can only wish they were half as weird as me." He set up the folding chair in the open space in front of Pacifica's desk—then froze. Huh.

Bill knew lots of things. He had trillions of eyes. He was used to walking into rooms and just knowing what was in them.

Except this room hadn't existed when he'd had all his eyes. It had been built after his death. So why did he already know what it looked like? How had he known where to find a folding chair?

He shut his eyes, trying to work through the déjà vu to picture what angle he'd seen the room at before, and where his eye must have been in order for him to see it; and then he looked at the wall beside the desk. There were several flat glass cases against the wall with alpaca wool goods sealed inside—a scarf, a sweater... He stared at his own face in the middle of a tapestry of his zodiac, preserved like a hunting trophy in a case labeled "First Blanket." Huh. It wasn't some local hick's den after all. Just a local rich girl roleplaying at being a hick.

He studied his true face for a long moment—and then cast a resentful look at the desk covered in makeup, in shades of beige and red. What would any of this sludge do for him? He'd be just as ugly at the end of it.

But Bill wasn't getting a makeover to look beautiful. He was getting it to seduce a human. And those were two diametrically opposed goals.

He missed his face so much.

"It's not illegal," Pacifica said.

Bill gave her a baffled look. "What?"

She pointed at the blanket, "It's not illegal to display a picture of the triangle guy as long as it's got that ring of symbols around it. It, like, repels him or something."

"Oh, does it," Bill said dryly. "It takes the evil eye to avert the evil eye, huh? Hey, maybe I should get one of these! Whaddaya think, Mabel?"

"I already told you I'm not making another!"

"But how am I gonna repel the triangle guy?" he asked, grinning impishly. "What if I'm in danger! The triangle guy could get me! Wouldn't that be terrible?"

"Knock it off! You already stole Soos's."

He expected Pacifica to come back from the bathroom with a brush or something; instead, she held up a spray bottle and said, "Okay, come in—and bring the chair." Bill's heart sank. "We're gonna have to rinse your hair in my sink, sorry."

Bill suppressed a sigh. "It's not the worst thing I've ever done to this hair!" He picked up the chair to carry into the next room.

"All I can do for now is rinse your hair. I don't have any shampoo for your hair texture because I did not think the situation was going to be this dire. No offense," Pacifica said. "You'll have to shampoo at home. You got the hair product samples I sent to the Mystery Shack, right? Were you able to order the full products? I don't know what your budget looks like."

"Don't worry about it, I still have the leftovers from the samples."

He watched in glee as Pacifica died a little on the inside. "Th— Those were one use sample sizes. It's been a month, how do you still have leftovers."

In truth, Pacifica severely overestimated the amount of hair product needed to keep hair clean; but on the other hand Bill was deliberately showering as little as he thought he could get away with and making up the difference in the downstairs half bath sink, so he didn't think smugly flaunting that he technically knew more about minimum human hygiene requirements than she did would make him look as cool and knowledgable as he wanted it to. "Don't worry about it!"

Bill cast one last longing look toward his true face; and then he followed the humans into the restroom to let them reorganize his stupid human hair.

####

"This is just a temporary measure," Pacifica warned as she dunked a few more of Goldie's curls in the sink. "You have got to take a real shower before your date. You literally smell like fish."

"What kind of fish?" Goldie immediately asked. "Is it salmon? If it's salmon I can work with that."

Sitting on the closed toilet lid, Mabel let out a long-suffering sigh; and Pacifica got the horrifying impression that this was an ongoing conversation.

"It... I don't... know what kind of fish."

Mabel said, "It's probably just the trout guts from yesterday." What the heck was life like in poor people's homes?

In Pacifica's opinion, Goldie's hair was both his biggest asset and his worst disaster area. It was that beautiful, natural, curly gold, like something out of a fairy tale; but it was nightmarishly tangled and there was literal sand in it, and he'd clearly used conditioner at some point in the last few days but he hadn't fully washed it out and it just made more sand stick.

Goldie was sitting in the folding chair with one arm rested on the lip of the sink and his cheek resting on his arm. Pacifica had to alternate between soaking his hair under the faucet and trying to gently untangle it, inch by inch, with a comb. To his credit, he patiently endured it without making a word of complaint, even though both the positioning and the manhandling had to be uncomfortable. 

But he'd turned his face away from Pacifica and Mabel as much as he could from his awkward position; and whenever Pacifica moved to an angle that let her glimpse a bit of his face, his eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth was pressed thin in a grimace. The hand resting on the sink's lip had clenched into a fist, and his other hand was digging its (badly painted) fingernails into his thigh through his bedsheet skirt.

Hesitantly, she asked, "Are you comfortable?"

"I'll give it three out of five stars," Goldie said, "but if you want a lower score, I can try to find a worse angle for my neck!" He kept as much tension out of his voice as he could; but now that Pacifica had noticed it, she could tell his voice was a bit flattened.

"Never mind," she said. "No offense, but—when's the last time you combed this?" She'd been saying no offense a lot.

Mabel asked, "Have you done it since I brushed your hair at the sleepover?" He had Mabel doing his hair?

Goldie made a noncommittal noise. "I've washed it since then." 

"That's not the same," Mabel said.

"You've washed it?" Pacifica asked skeptically. "Because you look like you've been sleeping in mud." She'd found a few flecks deep in his thick curls.

"Okay, in my defense," Goldie said, "it was just garden-variety heavy metal-enriched local dirt when I went to sleep. It only turned into mud while I was unconscious."

Pacifica stopped combing and leaned over to stare at Goldie, speechless.

With an air of affronted dignity, he said, "It wasn't my idea. I wanted to be indoors."

"Goldie's been having a really bad week," Mabel said.

"I've been having a really bad month," Goldie said.

Mabel asked, "Haven't you had a shower since you got home, though?"

There was a pause. Goldie muttered, "Yeah, but—it's hard to get through all that hair." (The worst part was, Pacifica thought he was telling the truth. The fact that she'd found mud so deep meant he must have washed the majority off the outer layers of his hair.) "I—I've been—tired, okay?"

He had that air of impatient irritation that suggested he was embarrassed, but trying to hide it because he was embarrassed of being embarrassed. Strange from Mr. Apathetic About His Body to be self-conscious. Why? Did he not know how to take care of his hair? (Maybe if he'd properly used the samples she'd sent him...)

But Pacifica thought back to Mabel showing her a lock of his hair at the beginning of summer—and the liquified roots, melted off. That wasn't an accident. Whatever depilatory cream he'd used had to sit there on the roots, it wasn't like he'd just grabbed the wrong product by accident. There was something more than ignorance going on here. Self-sabotage? But if it was intentional, why would he be embarrassed?

She could call him out, interrogate him for it—hey, she was supposed to be his style consultant, she needed to know what was going on—but if he was already getting defensive, he'd just clam up if he thought he was really under attack. Her mom got the same way when she was getting cagey about something and Pacifica was trying to figure out why. So she switched her focus. "Mabel—did you say you brushed his hair?"

"Yeah?"

"You meant 'combed his hair,' right?"

"No, I brushed it," Mabel said.

Pacifica stared at her. "Why."

Mabel stared back. "Because... combs are for short guy hair and for parting your hair? And Goldie doesn't have a part?"

Pacifica looked down at the big ball of frizzy curls that made up the bottom half of Mabel's hair and suddenly understood so much. "Oh, hon." What were her parents like. What did their hair look like. "You're supposed to comb natural curls. And only when they're wet, if you can help it."

"What. Why."

"It keeps the curls together," Goldie said, "instead of separating them all into separate strands."

Mabel's eyes widened. "Wait, that's the secret?! I thought that's what expensive shampoos are for!"

"The expensive shampoos make it worse," he cheerfully informed her. He'd brushed Pacifica off and sat up, chin in hand and hair dripping over his shoulders, so he could talk to Mabel. "It strips off the grease your pores naturally excrete to lube up your hair and replaces it with manmade grease! Which is why your hair dries out when you stop using the fancy shampoo. It's a big scam!"

Mabel stared at him in shock; then asked, hesitantly, "My strawberry shampoo?"

"A dirty traitor," Goldie said. "It's one of those toxic friends that manipulates you into depending on them and then tells you you're nothing without their help! There's half a dozen chemicals you wanna avoid in shampoo—I don't remember all their names but I can draw their chemical structures, Sixer can translate 'em into English for you."

"What else am I doing wrong?"

"You shampoo your hair too often," Goldie said. "And blow dry it. Which is fine if you want to keep that dry frizz! But somehow I don't think you do!"

Okay—so he clearly did understand curly hair care. (Or at least, he understood it as much as Pacifica, whose knowledge came entirely from reading magazine articles that technically weren't aimed at her.) Then why didn't he do it?

Mabel dragged her hands down her face. "So all this time, I've been messing up your hair too? Goldiiie, why didn't you say anything!"

"I didn't really care!"

Pacifica said, "Okay no, I am not standing for this. Goldie, out. Mabel, sink. It's some kind of crime for me to know more about curly hair than you do. I'm showing you how to do this the right way."

Goldie sighed in relief and escaped as Pacifica subjected Mabel's hair to the faucet and comb.

####

(Here's this week's What Was Edited Due To TBOB summary: the pageant scene itself was already planned, but obviously, all the details—it's the day he was born, the mayor's there handing out knives and declaring it a holiday—came from the info we get on Bill's history via TBOB. Finding a way to make the knives make sense was fun. Nothing major in the rest of the chapter was changed.

Hope you enjoyed! Next week is more Pacifica!)

[leviismybby]

Headcanoning that the vets make a basket for yours and Levi's newborn. They put some diapers, shampoo, toys, a blanket, and even a little survey corps cloak for the baby. "Look at that." Levi says as he reads the note that was left on the basket. "What is it?" You ask, holding your newborn in your hands. "It's from Hange, Erwin, Miche, Nanaba, and Moblit." You smile looking at the basket. "Oh my word look at this!" The little cloak was adorable, you can't wait for your baby to grow enough to wear it. "Little scout huh?" Levi's eyes dart over at the baby, he reaches out and gently rubs the baby's head.

Meanwhile...

"Did they decide?" Erwin whispers as Hange listens through the door. "No they are talking about how cute the basket is." They whisper back at Erwin. "I'll still be the godfather." He says smugly and Hange glares at him. "Like hell you will! You'll drop the poor thing on its head. Besides I gave thier baby the balnket and the books!" Miche and Nanaba sigh beside them, Erwin and Hange have been at this the whole day, arguing about who the godparents of the baby will be. "Me? You'll try to feed it to a titan and babies cant read. The cloak was expensive, my gift is better." Erwin leans his head near the door too when....Levi open the door making both Hange and Erwin stand back up. "Ahh we were just about knock-" "Don't bullshit me. Thanks for the basket but me and name still haven't decided on who the godparents will be. Now excuse me i would like some fucking privacy with my wife and child." With that Levi closes the door in thier face. "Can't you just tell them that they are both the godparents?" It wasn't hard, Hange and Erwin were the best option. "Nope. I'll leave them to argue just a bit more. I enjoy it way too much."

[farfromstrange]

Pink Eye | Matt Murdock x Reader

Matt Murdock Masterlist

Summary: You start the new year with a bad case of conjunctivitis and a cold. As annoyed as you are about it, fortunately for you, you have a very doting boyfriend to take care of you.

Warnings: Cursing, sickness, fluff.

WC: 1.2k

A/n: This is totally self-indulgent, and my first fic after a month (or so)! Don't worry, you're still getting those other Fictober prompts, this is just something that came to my mind yesterday and I had to write it. I wish I had a Matt Murdock to take care of me, so I wrote this. I hope I'm not too rusty.

Read Me On AO3!

The cold compress seeps into the swollen skin of your eyelids, though it offers only a small reprieve from the ache and itchiness that make you want to claw your eyes out like a feral cat under attack.

Tissues lay strewn around the coffee table, each one soaked in tears and whatever else came out when you wiped them dry. The apartment reminds you more of the set of a bad chick-flick rather than a home. Most of the time it resembles a crime scene or a poorly supplied hospital when your risk-friendly boyfriend decides he just has to get himself into another fight for the greater good, but this New Year’s, the only casualty that came out of the holidays is you—defeated by your own immune system. 

You haven’t been properly sick in a year. For 366 days, you’ve been free of any viral or bacterial infections, and the one time you decide to have dinner with your family you end up with a nasty infection: conjunctivitis. Yes, you started the new year with fucking pink eye and a cold, and now you’re stuck at home for your last few days off work, feeling miserably sorry for yourself.

“Here,” Matt appears in your one functioning line of sight with a bowl of soup in hand, “You need to eat something.”

“Thank you,” you say through a congested nose, and he can’t help but smile at how adorable that sounds.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like I want to put a finger into my eye and scratch it out.”

He raises his eyebrows. “So, not good?”

You shake your head. “I’m annoyed. And in pain. And I can’t fucking breathe!” As if to underline your frustration, your lungs constrict and you cough up a not-so-delicious ball of phlegm. 

Matt’s hand instantly moves to your back, rubbing gentle circles until the oxygen returns to where it needs to be. Your breathing becomes rapid before it slows down again, and you swallow.

“Fuck me,” you mumble.

“When you’re feeling better,” he retorts almost cheekily, but the joke doesn’t get much of a response. He knows how miserable you are. He can hear it in the way you breathe, your elevated heartbeat, and the pulsing of the skin around the infected eye. You wear your discomfort on your very sleeves. He doesn’t want to imagine what it feels like for you.

Instead of joking any more, Matt gently removes the compress from your eye. “Let me get you a new one,” he offers. Your first instinct is to cover up. It baffles him; you haven’t hidden from him in a very long time.

Matt takes your hand and places it back down in your lap, a worried frown creasing his forehead. “Don’t do that.” 

“I look like I got into a fight,” you say.

At that, he reaches out, fingers gently brushing just above your brow, down your temple, and over the apple of your cheek. He can feel the heat radiating from your skin, the inflammation that’s causing your eye to swell, but the picture his fingertips paint is a stark contrast to your own description. 

“No, you don’t,” he says. And Matt knows better than anyone what one might look like after a fight.

His touch is so gentle, far away from where you’re hurting but close enough to feel his need to fix you. To heal you. To take your pain away and make it his own just so you wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. Your heart flutters like a newborn butterfly. You look into his hazel eyes, how soft they are, and it makes you melt. If you could only see yourself the way he sees you... The way he loves you seems like a gift from God himself. 

His touch disappears, and you bite back a pathetic whimper. “Be right back,” he says.

You watch as he rises to his feet and heads back to the kitchen, grabbing another cool compress from the fridge before returning to your side.

“There you go.” He places it against your eye and holds it there. “So you can eat.”

You want to say, ‘You’re doing too much’, but then you realize that you’re with the kind of man who would shoulder the world for you even when he’s already drowning to make sure life is just a little easier for you. And while that feels like entirely too much, more than you deserve, you can’t find it in yourself to tell him to stop. Not that he would do so, anyway. 

Every bone in your body aches, but the pain blurs in comparison to what he makes you feel. 

You take the bowl of soup he prepared and dig in. It’s your favorite, yet scarcely seasoned to not irritate your throat any further. When your stomach is finally full and he’s satisfied, he reaches for the bottle of eyedrops standing tall amongst the graveyard of tissues. He knows to think about everything when you can’t. 

“Lean back,” he instructs softly. 

“I don’t want you to get sick,” you protest. 

“I won’t. I know you hate doing this yourself. Now lean back.”

He’s even more stubborn when you’re sick, but only because you’re stubborn, too. You don’t protest further, simply leaning your head back to give him better access. 

Matt gently searches for your lower lid with his fingers, pulling it back ever so gently before squeezing the first drop in. Then, he moves on to the second eye. Your eyes instinctively squeeze shut at the sudden intrusion. It burns. Will it ever stop, you wonder? 

“I’m sorry,” he wipes away any excess tears threatening to escape, “it’ll get better in a second.” 

You huff a breath of disapproval, but not at his words. “I’m never visiting my family again unless they give me a detailed list of who’s sick,” you say. 

Matt stutters for a moment, then bursts out laughing.

“I’m serious! Small children are little Petri dishes, carrying viruses and bacteria that continue to mutate into God knows what. Petri dishes, Matthew!” 

You sound so beside yourself, he can’t help himself. He adds the used tissue to the coffee table pile and pulls you into his arms, his laugh rumbling against the top of your head as he presses his lips against your heated scalp. “This is New York, sweetheart,” he says, “the entire city is a Petri dish.”

“And I will avoid it like the plague if I have to.”

He chuckles. “Okay.” A pause, and then, “You’re so much moodier when you’re sick.”

If you had the strength you would smack his pretty face for that statement alone, but you really, really don’t. You can barely sit up on your own. So, you nudge him with your elbow and grumble, “Shut up.”

With a bright smile on his face, he gives you another squeeze. “I love you too,” he says.

You squeeze his bicep three times to assure him that yes, you do love him, and you can’t help but think that perhaps being coddled in Matt Murdock’s arms while recovering from a little infection isn’t so bad, after all. It certainly could be worse. 

fluff tag list: @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @ethereal-blaze @littleagxs @ravenclaw617 @lucienofthelakes @steve-chandler @mochie-is-a-librarian

[writing-fanics]

a star is born

Astarion x Reader

Astarion planted a kiss on your forehead as he held the newborn in his arms. His undead heart swelled with joy staring at the infant; cradled in his arms. Why was he being blessed with such gift of a newborn a family. He didn’t deserve something like this after everything he’s done in his past.

He held in his arms a gift that has been bestowed upon him. He lost his family centuries ago and now, has a new one with his lover. Beginning a new chapter in both their lives, he continued to walk around the room quietly. Letting you rest after the eight hours it took for you to give birth.

Astarion gently rocked the infant in his arms, “Look at you so adorable.” He cooed, gently rubbing the infant’s cheek with his finger. She cooed in response, “Seems you’ve got your daddy’s hair.” He said smiling, looking down at his daughter.

His heart wouldn’t stop swelling with joy, whenever she did something or moved. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take, “My you’re cuter than a owlbear,” He remarked, and he didn’t notice how a faint smile grew across your lips in your sleep.

“I never once thought that I’d end up a father,” He whispered to the infant, and he turned towards you still fast asleep in bed.

Turning back to his daughter he continued, “I wasn’t the best person in my past. I’ve done things now that I regret.” He said to her. He couldn’t help but smile softly as she slowly opened her eyes for the first time, a faint smile growing on her face as she took in her surroundings and looked up at her father.

“I don’t know how this gift of being a father was bestowed upon me despite my past deeds.” He said letting out a sigh, and the baby cooed. He giggled, planting a kiss on his daughter forehead and cooed as he looked down at her smiling joyfully.

“You’re melting my heart little star.” He said cooing, as he waved a finger in front of his daughter face. She grabbed it with her tiny hand, he froze seeing how small her hand was around his finger.

His voice cracked as tears brimmed his eyes, “Such a beautiful gift you’re my little one.” He said to her.

“My little Estel,” He whispered, as he sat in the chair beside your bed. Waiting for you to wake up as he cradled his daughter in his arms. Excited for what was next.