#she seems to pamper him like a baby a lot

[dusty-fat-boy]

I didn't get to show you guys any thing at the time due to no access to the internet, but I recived a text from my grandmother once I was in Florida with an update on my boy and I damn near laughed myself to death.

Grandma, on voice note: in this picture, he is wondering if he should eat it or not.

Grandma, sending another picture with a voice note attached: in this one he decided, yes im going to eat this! Tasty!

[harunayuuka2060]

*Imagine #1*

Silver: *patiently waiting*

Yuurin: *is pregnant with their first child* *peeling oranges for Silver to eat*

Silver: Can't I help you?

Yuurin: No. I'll be upset.

Silver: ...

Malleus and Lilia: *watching*

Lilia: Oh this is so cute.

Malleus: She seems to pamper Silver a lot now that she's pregnant.

Lilia: Ah, if I'm not mistaken, she's doing this because she wants her baby to be like Silver.

Malleus: Oh.

Silver: *eating the oranges*

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: You don't have to eat them all.

Silver: No. Since you took the time to peel them, I'll make sure to eat each one.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: *smiles* *pinches his cheek gently*

Silver: *blushes*

Malleus: *had to cover Lilia's mouth to stop him from squealing*

Lilia: *muffled squeals*

[cozymoko]

Wild, Wild West 𐚁

Introduction fic for my cowboy OC idea. I hope you guys like this. This was in my drafts for at least half a year, haha.

Pairing: Yandere Cowboy x City Girl! Reader

Format: Short fic; 1.4k words

WARNING(S): Yandere themes, possessive, minor insecurity from reader.

Synopsis: Jealousy, Jealousy, read all about it! When in a new environment, insecurities are bound to surface. Why don't you go get you a drink to simmer down a bit?

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

The old Texas sun was relentless, harsher than usual, beating down on the skin of those poor townspeople just going about their day. Its temper reminded you of your late grandmother, always nagging and pestering like there was no tomorrow.

You found refuge near the large clumps of hay by the stables. The smell was familiar—unpleasant, sure, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

Why the hell were you out here? Damn you for wanting to tag along, keeping that big oaf company. He couldn’t stop poking fun at you, pushing you past your limits. It was like he knew you inside and out, from the surface of your pampered skin to the depths of your fluttering heart. For a man who wasn’t too fond of school, he sure seemed to study you a lot.

And speak of the devil. He wiped dirt and grime off the worn denim that hung low at his waist. “What’s the matter, darlin’?” he called out, glancing over his shoulder to meet your eyes. “You don’t look too hot.”

Hell, that was an understatement.

He sauntered over, slipping his hat off his head. His long strides had him at your side in moments, staring down at your seated position. Pushing his deep auburn hair from his damp skin, he squatted next to you. “What’s the matter?” he asked, placing the hat back on his head.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, torn between telling him and keeping your annoyance to yourself. You weren’t even doing any heavy lifting, just spectating, but somehow, that made the heat even worse.

“It’s hot,” you mumbled, swallowing your pride.

“Then take your shirt off.” He grinned, raising a brow. “It’s just you ‘n me today, and it’s not like I haven’t seen you without it anyhow—”

“Stop!” you shouted, hugging your knees to your chest. If not for the heat, you’d have flushed even redder.

“Alright, suit yourself.” Jamie smirked, planting a kiss on your temple before rising to his feet in one swift motion. He turned back to his polished truck, the one he treated like gold. Sometimes, you swore he loved that hunk of metal more than anything, but you’d soon learn that his world revolved around you.

Your eyes followed his back, tracing the way his muscles moved with each twist of the wrench. Jamie was a tease, but damn if he wasn’t easy on the eyes. Your gaze drifted to the tattoos scattered across his tanned skin, lingering on the intricate, slightly faded markings near his jugular—your name, carved right there. The sight of it made you hot all over, and you found yourself popping open a few buttons.

You had told that stubborn fool not to get it, warning him that tattoos were permanent and took hours of pain to remove.

“Why’re you sayin’ something like that?” he’d chuckled back then. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I get this baby removed, sugarplum.”

The memory made you want to laugh. Jamie was as stubborn as a bull—and as big as one too. Too bad all that stubbornness would be the death of him. Not literally, of course.

“You wanna help me with the cattle? Think they need some lovin’, too.”

You tilted your head, a spark of hope flaring up. Maybe he was serious about wanting your help, about spending time together—maybe he was letting you be part of this place, tending to your shared home. But then he shrugged.

“Or I could get Mary Anne to come by. She’s always good with ’em—knows her way around horses like she was born with ’em.”

Mary Anne. Just the mention of her name made your blood boil. You’d seen her—all soft curls and sweet smiles, the kind of girl who fit right in here. Unlike you.

Your lips thinned, the jealousy rising like a rattlesnake. “Oh, is that so?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even despite the bitterness creeping in. “Mary Anne this, Mary Anne that—why don’t you just go on and ask her, then, since she’s not a ‘city girl’?”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Hey now, what’s got you so riled up, sugar?”

“What’s got me riled up?” you snapped, rising to your feet. “You know damn well, Jamie. You think I don’t notice how you bring her up every time it’s my turn to help?”

You took a deep breath. “I know I’m not as capable as the others, but this is my home too. I’ve been here for over a year, and you still don’t ask me to help.”

He rolled his eyes, sighing as he straightened up, towering over you. “Aw, hell, [Name]. You actin’ like this ’cause you’re on the rag or somethin’? Ain’t no need to get all hot ’n bothered over nothin’.”

The words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, disbelief turning into a wave of fury. “You think that’s what this is about?” you hissed, your voice sharp as a knife. “You think that just because I’m upset, it’s gotta be because of that?”

Jamie shrugged, unfazed, and that was the last straw. You spun on your heel, the dusty ground kicking up beneath your boots as you stormed off. “Go on and call her, then!” you shouted over your shoulder. “I’m sure she’s just itching to help you!”

You didn’t wait for his response. You marched across the sunbaked field, fists clenched tight. You needed to get away—somewhere he wasn’t. The barn blurred into blobs of red as tears stung at the corners of your eyes. But you weren’t about to let him see you cry. Not now, not ever.

This is not where you wanted to end up. An old, run-of-the-mill saloon on a Friday night, surrounded by drunkards and divorcees, the air thick with the stench of stale tobacco. Voices murmur, glasses clink, and the laughter around you is harsh and grating. To hell with it all. To hell with them.

The whiskey settles in your veins, warm and familiar as you lean against the sticky bar. Neon lights flicker, casting a red glow across your half-empty glass, and you blink to clear your vision. You know you’ve had too much, but the night’s long, and the noise makes it easy to drown out everything.

"Fuck," you mutter, rubbing your temples.

You’ve never been much of a drinker. After moving to the countryside to be with Jamie, life on the ranch demanded your focus. Jamie hated liquor, practically despised it.

Dammit, [Name], forget about him. You shake the thought away.

“Now, darlin’, looks like your glass is ‘bout empty,” a smooth, slow drawl cuts through your thoughts. The man tilts the brim of his hat back just enough for you to catch a glint in his eyes—cold, calculating, like a snake. “Why don’t you let me get you another?”

Oh, right. You weren’t exactly alone.

“Sound good?” he asks again, his voice dripping with intentions you’re too drunk to untangle, coaxing you with the rough pad of his thumb tracing over your knuckles.

You hum. “Thank you.”

For a moment, you try to recall his name—Michael? Richard? Ashton? Danny? None of them sound right. Nothing about him feels familiar. Just another face in the blur. You decide he’s irrelevant.

"You don’t want it to get cold now, do ya?"

A voice in your head tells you to stop, to head home before you cross a line. Something about him makes your stomach churn, but you blame it on the alcohol. It doesn’t take much persuasion before you reach for the glass.

The liquor is bitter but good. But once it slips down your throat, the room spins. You blink hard, trying to steady yourself.

The barstool creaks as you sway, gripping the counter for balance. The stranger’s grin stretches wider, eyes watching you like a hawk. You know you shouldn’t have taken that drink, but it’s too late. The world starts tilting.

You turn, ready to brush off the man beside you, when you hear the heavy boots. They echo on the old floorboards, slow and deliberate, each step sending a chill down your spine. Then, a hand rests on your shoulder, the grip firm, possessive.

“Takin’ drinks from strangers now, sugar?” His voice is low, a whisper against your ear. “Why’d you go and do that for? You know better.”

Jamie.

His breath is warm, almost too close, as his fingers dig into your shoulder just enough to keep you anchored. The stranger’s hand pulls back, and you catch the flicker of fear in his eyes.

Jamie’s fingers tighten, not enough to hurt, but enough to warn. “Ain’t polite to drink without me, darlin’.” His tone is calm, but there’s a tension in it, like a leash pulled too tight.

You look up at him, the soft light catching the curve of his grin. The cowboy hat sits low, loose curls brushing the nape of his neck, his button-up shirt hugging the broad stretch of his shoulders. His forearms, tanned and strong, are exposed as his sleeves are rolled up. His eyes, though—dark and unreadable—pin you in place. There’s a hunger in them, one that makes your skin prickle.

He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, wiping off the smudge of your lipstick. His grin widens, revealing sharp canines that peek between his lips. It’s friendly enough—too friendly. Like the way foxes smile when they’re circling prey.

“Mm, you’re drunk.” He says it like it’s a fact he’s already known for hours. “How much you had tonight, sugarplum?”

You stare at your glass, pretending you don’t know. You don’t want to admit to your carelessness.

Jamie chuckles, a low, knowing sound. “So, quite a bit, huh?”

His laugh is loud, and it feels like a warning. He leans in, his hand settling on your hip, fingers curling possessively. “And flirtin’ with some nobody at the bar. That’s new.” His eyes narrow. “So, you gonna tell me who he is?”

The stranger shifts uneasily, glancing between you and Jamie. His bravado fades, and he mumbles, “Look, I didn’t mean no harm. Just thought she could use some company.”

Jamie doesn’t even look at him. His eyes are locked on yours, sharp and unyielding. “Ain’t that sweet?” he says, his voice soft, but his grip on your hip tightens, like he’s claiming a prize. “But I think she’s got all the company she needs.”

The man hesitates, looks like he’s weighing his options, then backs off with a muttered apology, disappearing into the crowd.

The world tilts again, and you’re struggling to stay upright. The bar fades around you, the noise drowning in the back of your mind. The room swims, and your vision blurs, the faces blending into nothing but shadows.

Jamie’s presence feels suffocating. His eyes linger on you, dark and intent, like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s testing you. And you know, deep down, that he doesn’t just hate you drinking—he hates you here, surrounded by people who aren’t him.

“Let’s get you home, darlin’.” His tone is almost gentle, but there’s an edge beneath it, something possessive and unyielding.

Before you can protest—before the room spins again—he’s there, pulling you into him, lifting you off your feet like you weigh nothing. His arms wrap around your waist, and the world blurs as you’re hoisted over his shoulder, carried out the bar like a prize he’s claimed.

The night air bites at your cheeks as he strides through the darkness, the cold wind cutting through the haze in your mind. You can feel his heartbeat, steady and sure beneath you, and his fingers grip your thigh, possessive and unyielding. He’s not letting you go.

Everything in you says to fight back, to push away, but he smells like home—like honey and oak. The world narrows down to him, the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his touch.

“Man, you’re gettin’ heavy. Eating too much pumpkin pie, huh, sugarplum?”

“Fuck you,” you manage, but it’s weak, and the smile he gives you is sharp and satisfied.

You close your eyes, the world tilting again, and for a moment, you let yourself sink into it. Maybe this isn’t so bad.

Maybe this is just how it’s meant to be.

⠀⠀𐚁

⠀. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

©CozyMoko, all rights reserved. Don't repost my work on other platforms.

[moonstruckme]

hi lovely!! if you're comfortable writing something like this, could I maybe request poly!marauders where reader who is normally very independent but gets submissive at times, but not in a sexual way? like she just gets overwhelmed and wants the boys to be in charge for a while, but maybe the relationship is still new and she feels too needy and can't bring herself to tell them and eventually they realize?

again, no worries if you're not comfortable writing this, just thought I'd ask <3

Thank you for requesting gorgeous !

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“This is deeply, atrociously unjust,” Sirius says as James sits down in front of you, him on the floor and you on the couch. He’s wet and fresh-smelling from the shower. “You never let me do your hair.” 

“Because you always act like you’re trying to tear it out as some sort of twisted revenge plot,” says James, passing you a brush and the curl cream you and Sirius had found for him. Normally, you adore this routine, the chance to run your fingers through James’ hair and the way his eyes close blissfully while you do it. You love to pamper him. But tonight you’re not really in the mood. You do it because he expects you to, coating his curls in product with your usual tenderness but wishing you were on the receiving end of it instead. “She’s got the touch of an angel.” 

Sirius crosses his arms. He’s leaned against the side of the couch, leering over you like a vulture. Remus is reading in the armchair, and though he’s pretending to ignore all of you, the corner of his mouth tilts up. 

“Beauty is pain,” Sirius grouses.

“We should start a hair train,” James decides. “She’ll do mine, you can do hers, Remus will do yours, and I’ll do his.” 

Sirius seems to be considering this. You lean down towards James’ ear. “You’re throwing me to the wolves,” you stage-whisper. 

“It’s you or me, sweetheart.” 

Actually, the idea of Sirius playing with your hair—even at the risk of losing a good amount of it—doesn’t sound so awful. 

“I can get in the shower right now,” you offer, only half joking. 

Sirius lets a grin slip loose, sitting next to you to plant a smacker on your cheek. “Thank you, darling, but that’s alright. You shouldn’t have to atone for his mistakes.” 

You return his smile, doing your best to bury your disappointment.

“I didn’t consent to the hair train either,” Remus says without looking up from his book. “There’s a reason James doesn’t do his own hair.” 

“Oi,” James objects. “I’ve got admirers fighting over the opportunity to do my hair, why would I do it myself?” 

Remus marks his page, flipping the book closed. “What are we having for dinner?” he asks. 

“I don’t know, but I’m famished.” James doesn’t miss a beat, latching onto the new topic eagerly. “We could order takeaway?” 

“Or just cut out the middleman and go out,” Sirius says. “Unless someone feels like cooking? Which I don’t.” 

“We know,” Remus teases. “I don’t either, not tonight.” 

“I could if I needed to,” James says, “but I’m alright with whatever gets food in me the fastest.” 

They all look to you. “I don’t much feel like cooking,” you add your piece. Your voice comes out quieter than you’d intended.

“Alright,” Remus says. “Then let’s not cook tonight. What do you want to do, love? Go out or stay in?” 

You comb the brush slowly through James’ hair, twisting to define his curls. “I don’t know,” you say. 

Sirius turns to you, frowning. “Come on, baby.” He bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “What do you feel like having?” 

“I don’t know.” You try not to sigh. “Um, can you pick?”

You don’t look up from the top of James’ head, but you can feel them exchanging looks. They’ve all been a little extra gentle with you lately. They know you’re dealing with a lot. Anytime you try to tally it all up and make sense of it in your head, you start feeling like you could cry. Your exhaustion has sunk so deeply within you that it’s seeped into your bloodstream. You think by now there’s got to be traces of it in the marrow of your bones. 

“Hey,” Sirius says softly. “Look at me.” 

You do, pausing with the brush held aloft over James’ head. He’s got his eyebrows drawn together like he’s trying to figure you out. “I’m sorry,” you say. It’s not your boyfriends’ faults that you’re feeling overwhelmed; you don’t mean to drag them down with you. 

“What for, sweetness?” He sets a hand on your thigh, rings biting into your skin as he gives the flesh a loving squeeze. “Just tell us what you need.” 

You try to give him a smile. You really do love him. “I want…I don’t know, I guess I’m just tired. I want to not think for a little while.” 

Sirius’ eyebrows come up a bit in the middle, and James turns around from below you. 

“Aw, sweetheart.” His tone is as gooey and sweet as raw honey. “Do you just want us to take care of you, angel?” He sets his hands on your knees, pushing himself up to kiss your chin. “You should���ve said something.” 

“We can stay in,” Remus suggests whilst James worms his way underneath you, getting you in his lap. “Order takeaway from that Thai place you like.” 

“That sounds nice,” you say meekly, face growing warm. James presses rapid-fire kisses to your cheek. One-two-three. 

“You wanna have a shower, baby?” Sirius asks you. He looks heart-wrenchingly concerned. It’s not like you to want to give away control like this. “I could do your hair when you get out.” 

“Don’t do it,” James cautions you. “He steals our hair to make tiny dolls of us, I’m sure of it.” 

Sirius sends him a withering look. “I’ll be gentle.” 

“I’d like that,” you tell Sirius, and he softens. 

“Yeah?” He brushes a piece of hair away from your face and presses his hand to your cheek. Squishy fond. “Okay, baby, we’ll pamper you to hell and back.” 

“I’m going to find the menu for takeaway,” Remus says, prying himself up from his chair. 

“James,” Sirius says, not particularly kindly, “you will have to let her go for her to shower.” 

“Never. Not on my life. Not at gunpoint.” You shrink as James makes his face at home in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, nose nudging at a ticklish spot. “She’s my darling sweetheart angel.” 

“She’s our darling sweetheart angel,” Remus corrects him from the kitchen. You think your face could melt titanium. 

“James, please,” you complain. “I’m never telling you all anything again.”

“Careful.” Sirius raises an eyebrow at you, mock stern. “That sounded dangerously close to a thought, and those won’t be allowed until at least tomorrow morning.”

[princessbrunette]

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … TASTE ♡

track one of the short n’sweet series. pairing: bunny!reader x puppy!reader — based loosely off the song taste by sabrina carpenter. disclaimer: this story is based in a separate universe to the usual pogue!puppy / bunny!reader universe! enjoy ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა

sometimes, relationships just don’t work out.

it wasn’t totally surprising — and looking back on it, to pup — it seemed as though it were doomed from the start. they were from totally different worlds, rafe being a kook and pup being a pogue and at first, truly she found it kind of romantic. the whole montagues versus capulet type of vibe that made her only wanna pin herself harder to rafe cameron’s side.

what made her love him was ultimately their downfall. he was downright mean most days, from the way he’d tug her about to the way he’d shake her head anytime she did anything he deemed too pogue-ish. rafe cameron is one of those few men that are so gorgeous that they could get away with murder, quite literally — so it wasn’t to anyone’s surprise that she put up with him for so long. that cruelty that she allowed was a reflection of how she truly felt about herself on the inside. undeserving of respect. each time he’d fuck her into the mattress with her face planted into a pillow, creaming uncontrollably around his base — she’d be revelling in the physical affection no matter how rough and violating it came across— even more so when he’d hold her at the end of it. always short lived, always fleeting, always made her feel better.

she’d escaped that relationship to learn how to love herself. with experience now under her belt gained from the kook himself, she was free to navigate the world and search for someone that just might touch her with a gentle hand. gone were the days she craved a strike to the cheek or blunt fingernails gripping into her ass. softness was what she needed, and by god she’d find it.

she didn’t actually think she’d care to think about him much more down the line a few months later— he was merely a thing of the past and honestly puppy was doing a lot better because of it. but unsurprisingly, old feelings were surely drug up when the kook boy who she forgot to unfollow all but jumpscared her on her instagram feed. not his usual self worshipping post of him on a yacht, no— it was her old rafe, with a girl on his arm. clinging to him just like pup did.

the girl was tagged, and puppy didn’t hesitate to press. it was just curiosity, she told herself as she scrolled down the sea of pink feed this mystery girl had created— a couple of pictures with rafe already posted. she was jaw dropping, a kook no doubt from the looks of her bedroom in the background of her mirror selfies. a prom queen, as titled in one of her posts with a tiara from a good few years ago at the bottom of her feed and an ex beauty pageant baby judging by the throwback thursday pinned in her highlights. there was this gentle yet pampered and spoiled energy around her like the world fell at her feet. a fluffed up, well fed bunny rabbit in a hutch of gold.

pup started to see bunny around more and more since finding her instagram. the pogue girl would find herself ever so slightly ducking out of vision upon spotting the two of them loading up onto rafes boat as she sailed past. her skin seemed to glow in the sunlight and pup wondered if rafe was the one to massage the sunscreen oil into her skin, taking extra time to massage it into the plush skin of her ass, even smirking when she squealed and told him to watch his hands in public. as they stand at the pier, rafe has a gentle hand on her lower back, fingers tucked ever so slightly into the waistband of her bikini. he looks… soft, and non threatening. touching her like she was made of glass, touching her gentler than he ever touched puppy.

puppy’s heart all but stopped in her chest when she served bunny at the checkout of the store she worked in. she supposed rafe couldn’t have been far, sending bunny in alone as to not have an awkward run in with her knowing she worked there. a part of pup wanted bun to be rude. she was a kook after all — and aren’t exes supposed to hate the new girl? of course, she was nothing of the type. sweet and patient, with good eye contact and a perfect smile. it should have made pup’s blood run cold. should have.

instead, pup buried herself in the weird guilt that sat on her chest when she’d find herself typing bunny’s instagram handle into the search bar and sliding a hand down her shorts a few nights later, in need of quick relief. she told herself it was purely physical, a strange bodily reaction to jealousy and comparison — and the fact that bun had her tits hanging out her top in every picture, and pup could distinctly remember the way her ass cheeks jiggled as they hung beneath her short hemline when she exit the store she works at. nothing more than a quick, weird orgasm.

bunny had heard whisperings of the girl rafe was with before she arrived in kildare. a pogue, not that it mattered but she was simply surprised. by the way rafe spoke so ill of those from the other side of the island, bun couldn’t help but wonder what that relationship looked like, why it ended, how. she tried to be subtle in asking around of course, purely out of curiosity — but words to quell a non existent insecurity were thrown vaguely her way instead, quick to put down the other woman. “you’re so much better with rafe. it just makes sense, you know? that girl before you… sheesh, i don’t know. pretty girl, but a real scruffball. i don’t know what rafe was thinking.”

the same thing carried through when she even tried to ask rafe, who simply scoffed and shrugged her off with a “why? who— who cares about that bitch.” before continuing on with his heavy petting, moving in to kiss her jaw. bunny turned her head away in thought.

bun’s heart rate picked up a bunch when they started to kiss. she must’ve been a sick perv for feeling curious, because each time rafes tongue passed over hers she could only imagine how many times the same wet muscle would glide through the pretty pogues folds to land up near her clit. she wondered if he ever treat her that well. she wondered if you deserved it.

when puppy heard that rafe had been speaking ill of her at the country club once more, she didn’t think — just immediately marched to tanny hill to confront him. perhaps it was unwise of her to think rafe cameron could be mature enough to handle a breakup without talking down on her — but regardless, she had done too much healing and growing to let things slide.

with blood pumping in her ears and anger thrumming in her gut she marched right into the open doors of tanny hill, figuring he’d be home. but after calling his name a good few times, demanding his presence in the foyer — she decided to go looking for him herself, mary-jane converse plodding up the stairs in the direction of his bedroom. a chill settles over her skin at not only the eerie silence, but the fact it had been a long time since she’d taken this oddly familiar journey.

swinging open the doors, pup is met with a gut wrenching sight. it wasn’t him stood before her, but bunny— and she’s clad in a stupid little pink silk robe.

“oh i’m not — i was coming to find rafe because— he’s — he is being an asshole.”

bunny looks nothing close to surprised. infact, she moves slow— blinking her dolly eyelashes as she takes it all in. pup was the last person she’d expected to see, and yet it was not unwelcomed. she wondered why she wasn’t shocked regarding an acquaintance barging angrily into the house. why she’d felt her presence from a block away.

“i know.” she breathes, and it’s all she says.

twenty seven minutes later, and pup finds herself on her back in rafe cameron’s bed once more— months after she told herself it was the last time. though it wasn’t rafe that had her throwing her head back and digging her pastel-painted nails into the sheets, it was the glittering cloud of woman between her thighs, lapping up each drop of juice that seeps from the peak.

bunny is hungry— she’d never eaten a girl out before but god does she know what she likes, twirling her tongue like a tiny ballet dancer in circles around pups poor swollen clit. the pogue is beside herself, feet pressed flat to the bed so she could raise her hips and hump against the girls mouth. she’s sure she’d had a dream like this once that she tried to erase from her mind.

knocked back by the force of puppy’s humps, bun pulls back to look at the girl all bleary eyed and fucked out, lips glossy despite her makeup being wiped off a while ago from their frantic, confused and desperate kisses.

“s’it your first time? rafe never…” she whispers, like saying his name made it more likely they’d get caught.

pup shakes her head, broken out of her trance with a wobbling bottom lip. “n—no. never. he said— said i wasn’t — he just wouldn’t—”

“oh gosh.” bunny sighs in disappointment. “literally can’t imagine why not.” her manicured fingers spread pups puffy folds, and she whimpers in arousal as she watches the pogues pretty clit twitching in desperation to be sucked on again. “i jus’ dont know what it is…” her hot breath kisses pups clit anyways. “but ever since i knew who you were… jus’ wanted to know what it was like…” she smears her lips around the area pup needed her the most, if there was any lipgloss left over it would have transferred to her skin. “to taste you.”

pup had to say, the feeling was mutual.

[takamiwife]

keigo as a daddy 🐣

not that kind of daddy, everyone get ur minds out of the gutters (same)

ANYWAYYY

- keigo had always thought about having kids of course, but reality always hit him quick. he was too busy, and his life was far too dangerous for a partner, let alone a child

- then he met you

- so one became two, and he was happy. truly happy for the first time since he could remember. but guilt and fear wracked him everyday. what if someone came after you? what if, god forbid, he died while on the job, leaving you alone? he couldn’t bear the thought. he dreamed of retiring, taking you, all his money, and buying a big, beautiful house out in the country where you’d grow old together with lots of kids and grandbabies.

- but it was just a fleeting thought. reality always hit. it wouldn’t be fair to anyone for him to have kids

- and then the war came

- and everything changed

- for a while, it seemed like things had changed for the worse

- but things got stable

- things got better

- heroes weren’t needed as much

- the day keigo took his position of president of the hero commission, he proposed to you

- he did it in front of nearly all of japan on live tv. not for his ego, not to get attention or fame, but because he wanted everyone to know how much he adored you

- his life was changing, and he wanted you to be in the rest of the chapters of it

- the two of you quickly settled in to married life. it was just as romantic and passionate as it had been when the two of you were dating; and better yet, you got to spend more time together with keigos new job

- of course he had you quit your job as soon as you got married, and you didn’t mind. you spent your days filled with philanthropy and finding ways to fulfill yourself and your community

- after being two for so long, imagine your surprise when one little stick told you that you’d be becoming three

- things were finally normal, finally stable, especially for keigo. you knew he’d be thrilled. he had always talked about having little ones, but the two of you figured it’d be a “if it happens, it happens” kind of deal

- and you were right, he was thrilled

- the man nearly burst into tears when he opened the small box at the dinner table containing an ultrasound and a onesie

- immediately he began looking at homes outside of the city. “this apartment isn’t big enough for a baby” (it was, but you weren’t going to tell him that)

- the man pampered you throughout your whole pregnancy. he was at every doctors appointment, got your every craving no matter the time of day or night, and made sure you never lifted a finger, especially during your move (much to your chagrin)

- though he hired movers and decorators, he designed and built everything in the nursery

- when he found out you were having a girl, he was even happier. tell me that man isn’t meant to be a girl dad, like cmon

- yea he cried when the baby was born. multiple times. she looks just like you, after all!

- not once did he make you get up to check on the baby at night. he would always do it. he adored her from the moment he laid eyes on her. he was going to be different than his parents. he was going to be better.

- one night, at nearly 2 am, you woke up, and when you went down the hallway, you saw him sitting beside the crib, gently stroking the little hair atop her head. you never told him you saw it

- keigo shows his two favorite girls in the world off wherever he goes. pictures of you and the baby are all over his office, and it’s a rarity to see him in public without you and the baby by his side

- as the baby grows, he only continues to spoil her, giving her all the love and affection he never received. he wasn’t certain of everything, but he knew that she would never question where her next meal was coming from, or ever doubt if she was loved

- her toys would be scattered across his office, he loves bringing her to work

- you two are double trouble for keigo. he can barely say no to you, let alone her. that man’s salary gets put to use, trust me

- bum ass dad? never heard of it. keigo is there for every possible event, from doctors appointments to recitals. he’s there.

- and don’t think he’s forgotten about you. that man lets you know how much he utterly adores you everyday. not just because you made him a father. no, because before all of that, you made him feel loved, and he could never repay you for what you’ve done for him

[wittlesissyb4by]

I don’t know who the hell she thinks she is. I’m a grown man, and she’s just my Step-Mother. Sure, I still have to live with her and my Dad since I flunked out of college and lost my job, but that doesn’t mean she gets to put me in fucking diapers and treat me like a baby!

“Are we learning how to be a big boy today?” She asks as she fastens the tape of my fresh pamper, “or are we still acting like a little toddler that can’t take care of himself?”

God I hate the way she talks to me. I can take care of myself, she doesn’t have to treat me this way. I would have gone to apply for jobs today if I’d just felt like it.

“You still haven’t cleaned your room like I told you to. Do you need to take another trip over my knee again?”

Oh god no! My ass is still sore from the beating she gave it with her hairbrush the other day. I don’t know why Dad stands by and lets it happen but, then again, I did hear some smacks and high pitched wails coming from their room the other day. It almost sounded like he was crying, saying sorry and that he’ll be a “good sissy bitch from now on.” She must have him under her thumb as well. She has a lot of “friends” over, but they always seem to be black males. The next day Dad always complains about his throat hurting and he walks a little funny.

“If you don’t have a job by the end of the week, you won’t be a diaper boy anymore either.” She told me. When i looked confused, she spelled it out for me. “Your father has some extra dresses you can wear. Maybe if you’re having to prance around in a little maid outfit it will motivate you to keep the this place clean and get a real job.”

When I opened my mouth to protest, she shoved a pacifier in it. “Hush,” she said, pointing a finger at me, “I don’t want to hear any arguments. I expect that diaper to be wet and messy by noon. Now get up and make yourself useful. Come get me once you’ve pooped your pampers so step-mommy can change you!”

[fleuraimer]

i NEED to hear your thoughts on reader's arguments with boxer!carmy. what's their first argument about? who usually caves first?

you, anon, are a hero and a scholar and are about to receive the greatest blurb in the history of the the tumblr industry (pls someone understand this reference 😭😭)

BUT IT ALL SERIOUSNESS, this is fucking gold; i love you for sending this.

tw!! ooooohh they get into it yall. carmen being a man (ik, i’m sorry). some suggestive content. happy ending.

bf boxer!carmy and reader fighting!!

concept 1. concept 2. bf boxer!carmy hcs.

ok, so, me thinks bf boxer!carmy and his pretty broad actually argue a lot. so often it teeters just on the edge of being unhealthy. but, they also know each other and realize they’re two petty asf ppl (😭😭). so, even though they argue often, it’s usually over stupid shit, or their little fears (like who was supposed to wash the dishes that night, or how carmy’s profession holds a great deal of power over his life, enough to take it away—

she tries hard not to think about it too much; that argument is a losing game).

if carmy’s being frank, it’s half the reason he’s so fucking obsessed in love with her. she’s feisty—she’s trouble, and carmy’s never been good at staying out of it, even before he was the one starting the fights.

however…

when they fight—oh boy! do they fight.

i’d like to think bf boxer!carmy has a hugeeeee jealousy problem (lil insecure loser ☹️🫶🏽), and so that’s usually how their more heated fights begin.

i think their very first BIG fight has to do with a mix of his jealousy issue and the nature of how their relationship came to be.

allow me to set the scene:

so carmy wins the fight against timmy boy (surprise??) and starts talking to his pretty broad, finds out her and timmy aren’t exclusive, just messing around, and takes the green light.

a few weeks go by and everything is going smoothly—you know, the usual, extravagant dates and expensive gifts, lots of pampering and affection from both ends; the rose-hued, honeymoon stage—and carmy invites her as his plus one to some big party/event for his job.

he knocks on the front door of her apartment at 7:15 pm on the dot with a stunning bouquet—baby’s breath and lilies and anemones—of flowers in his right hand. he’s dressed to the nines; a fitted black tux—double breasted, with peak lapels, and slightly high-waisted trousers—and a brown dress-shirt, first thee to four buttons undone (whore 🥸) with a black chiffon, nearly iridescent slip over it that makes that same brown look an earthy, rich green at a swift glance. one gold bracelet, one gold ring for each hand (middle and pinky fingers), his unnecessarily attractive little gold hoop earrings, and a simple gold crucifix hangin’ ‘round his neck.

he raps his busted knuckles against the door with his left hand, and then patiently leans against the frame and awaits the telltale sign of her heels against the hardwood floors.

he counts to seventeen before her front door is swinging open.

the first thing he notices is that smile (that smile, the one she only ever gives to him—not eddie (god forbid), or nacho, or benny, or fucking timmy—just him). pearly whites, with bow and cherry gems (i loveeee teeth gems if my pfp didn’t make that clear), on display, framed by those plump, painted lips—brown liner, blackberry pink lipstick, and a nice, shiny gloss—that never seem to leave his head; burned into his memory, melded to his mind.

his eyes drop to the baby pink toes he’s become far too fond of, the white strap and silver chain of her dior heels placed prettily over top. flits his appraising gaze up to her ankles, the left one wrapped in the anklet he gifted her on their fourth date, a (boxing) glove charm hanging from the gold link. up—up, up, up—they go, trailing the soft ruffles and tedious buttons lining her long sleeve knit dress, hem hitting just at her shin, tight fitting—cinched to her figure—with a swoop neckline that shows off just the right amount of cleavage.

he stops when his eyes find hers again, brown sugar and saccharine.

he pushes off the door frame and steps through, ‘til they’re standing toe to toe and her head is awkwardly bent backward so she can keep eye contact.

“hi, bear,” she chirps, soft and taunting. grins at him while her jewel adorned hands slide up the smooth lapels of his tux.

the left corner of his mouth kicks up into a smirk as he snakes his left arm around her waist, dragging her closer.

his head spins with the scent of cinnamon and evergreen, and he wants to nuzzle in her neck because of it.

“hey, cub,” he rumbles back, and neither of them acknowledge the way she practically melts into her, she just curls her fingers into his lapels, and he tightens his hold on her waist.

she looks at the flowers in his right hand, “those for me?”

carmy turns his head to look at the flowers, lifts his hand with a noisy crinkle to present ‘em to her.

still, he shakes his head, puts on his best poker face and huffs, “nah, i’m taking that real pretty broad down the hall on a date tonight. just dropping in to say ‘hi’.”

her grin drops, face flat, eyes narrowed.

she unfurls her fists from his jacket, starts pushing him away, out from where he came.

“well, since we’ve finished swapping pleasantries—”

this time when he huffs, he’s huffing out a laugh, “i’m kidding. hey, baby, i’m kidding. swear.” he drops the flowers (unimportant; he can get more if she really wants them) to the ground at the side of their feet and wraps his other arm around her waist, crowding her space, barely giving her room to breathe, let alone slip from his grasp.

she wriggles in his hold, still shoving uselessly at his firm chest. “carmen, let go—”

and, well he’s definitely in trouble, but there’s not much to be done about that now, is there?

he takes both her tiny, pounding fists and locks them behind her back in one fell swoop “never. now look at me.”

she looks into the hallway, just over his shoulder, to piss him off.

his eye threatens to twitch.

“look at me, cub. don’t make me say it again.”

she rolls her brown sugar eyes, but does thereafter shift her gaze to look at him. raises an impatient brow.

“i’m sorry for saying that. it was a shitty joke—”

“it wasn’t fucking funny, carm.”

he grunts, “all right. wasn’t funny, i’m sorry, baby.”

she continues to glare at him for another 30 to 45 seconds, but then her shoulders are slumping and her face is scrunching in that cute little pout and she’s whining like a sweet little baby.

“wasn’t funny, bear,” she grumbles, and carmy snickers.

“y’already said that; gimme a kiss.”

she shakes her head, fussy, and now it’s carmy’s turn to raise an impatient brow.

“what was that? speak up, baby.”

“no,” she groans, stomping her foot, trying to free her hands from behind her back, but there’s no way she’s getting out now, not if she wants to act like a brat.

“try again.”

“n—”

he yanks her into his chest, “try the fuck again.”

but when has she ever just willingly rolled over?

“let me go, carmen.”

“give me a fucking kiss, cub.”

—

they show up to carmy’s work gathering an hour and a half late, but who’s fucking fault is that (this, too, is a losing game)?

when they step into the venue together, all eyes immediately fall on them. how could they not?

carmen ‘carmy’ berzatto, the bear, and his new girl.

timothy ‘timmy’ grayson’s ex girl.

they don’t let it phase them, the side eye and poorly disguised whispering, just find their way to their way to the open bar and mingle with their inner circle.

the night quickly descends from business to casual, but that could just be because they were so late. as the older patrons slip out, the inconsequential jazz humming in the background is shut off, and then the ceiling is shaking with the bass of keep it g by asap rocky.

somehow, carmy’s on his second glass of bourbon and his girl just finished her third glass of wine and they’re…tipsy.

it’s not even like the song playing is inherently sexual, at all, really, but carmy’s lips are trailing over the back of her neck, uncoordinated—messy—and his fingers are digging into her hips because the way she’s fucking grinding on him should not be legal.

“god, cub,” he grunts in her ear, rolling his hips back into her.

“mhmm,” she moans in the back of her throat, subdued, swallowed down, and places her hands over his that grip at her like a lifeline. she lets her head fall back, settle in the crook of his neck so she can nose at the hinge of his jaw and suck a pretty hickey there, too.

he fully thrusts into her, the bass of the speakers muffling the too audible slap of their bodies connecting.

she squirms and squeaks, “bear!”

he growls, “what?”

she giggles in the shell of his ear. “down, boy. i gotta hit the restroom.”

carmy, very reluctantly, lets her slip from his grasp and venture to find the woman’s room. he nurses on another drink—whiskey, this time—but paces himself as he waits for his girl’s return.

that is, until he sees his girl in question talking with timothy fucking grayson. then, he downs the rest of his drink like water and calmly—calmly—walks up to them.

now, if (and this is a very big fucking if) carmen wasn’t being a complete a***** ******* ****** ***** *****, then maybe he would’ve noticed the rather unkempt state of his pretty broad, her soured expression and guarded body language.

he was being a complete redacted though, so he just steps behind her with his chest puffed and his jaw set, just itching for timmy to say something fucking stupid.

and that stupid fucking smirk on his stupid fucking face might scratch that itch just enough to satiate him.

“what’re y’doin’ with my girl, timmy?”

he doesn’t register the way she bristles against him at the term.

my girl.

“just makin’ friendly conversation,” he shrugs, still smirking, and carmy has never wanted his knuckles to split so fucking bad.

“friendly conversation?” he nearly coos back, the condescending, possessive prick. “why don’t y’find someone else to go make friendly conversation with, yeah? fuck off.”

he walks away before timmy boy gets the chance to respond, dragging his girl behind him.

when they make it back to the bar, he finally has the decency to assess his pretty broad. or, hound her, more like.

"what was he sayin' to you? and what the hell were you doin' with him in the fuckin' first place? if he bothers you again you come straight to me, understood?"

he's met with silence.

he frowns, looks down at his girl to find the same expression on her face, and goes to repeat himself. "i said, underst—"

"take me home, carmen."

his frown deepens. he bends in the knee to try and catch her eyes, but she turns her head away as soon as he glimpses her brown sugar irises.

"cub—"

"take me home, carmen. now."

and they've fought, all right? small tiffs here and there, "pick your fucking shoes up, carmen!", "stop fucking touching shit, carm!", "god, carmen, just leave me alone!" but this is different. deeper.

he's still frowning as he nods, mutters "okay," softly, as to not upset her any further, and places his hand on the small of her back to guide out of the venue doors and out to the valet.

usually, after a date, carmen will pull in to a parking space and get out first to open the passenger door for his girl and walk her up to her apartment, before either getting sent off with a goodnight kiss or getting tugged through her front door to continue where they'd left off.

this time, though, she out the door before the cars even full parked.

carmen rushes to keep up with her takes the stairs to her apartment two at a time.

"cub, wait up!"

she does no such thing.

in fact, she only seems to move faster in lieu of his request (brat).

he nearly misses his window to at least say goodnight to her, with the way she quickly keys into her home and tries to slam the door in his face, but a foot in the frame easily rectifies that.

"hey!" he barks at her, shoving the door open and slamming it shut after him.

"don't slam my damn door, carmen!"

"don't try to slam your damn door in my damn face, then!"

she frustratedly groans, arms flailing in exclamation. he watches her cautiously as she looks frantically for something—something, anything—before she's bending down to take off her dior heels.

clearly, something has pent up—boiled, festered—within her, because she chucks a shoe at his head (and for someone so unassuming, she has a damn good arm).

he ducks just before it can hit him, instead banging into the wall.

"what the fu— ow!"

she doesn't miss the second time.

"fuck you, carmen!" she screams at him.

"fuck you! you just threw your fucking shoe at my head! twice!"

"and you fucking deserved it," she cries, taking a step closer to him, pointing an accusatory finger. "you dick!"

"what the fuck did i do?" he shouts back, taking a step forward himself, brows furrowed in frustrated confusion.

"you— y-you—"

he takes another step toward her, "huh? i what? spit it the fuck out, baby."

not for the first time, she pouts like a kicked puppy, and her hands brace on his sturdy shoulders, and she pushes at him, angry. but, certainly for the first, carmy actually loses his balance. nearly trips over his feet with the way he stumbles backward.

"ugh, asshole! you made a bet!"

he frowns, bewildered. "what?"

"don't fucking lie to me, carm—"

"baby, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"stop fucking calling me that!" she screams, "with timothy! you made a bet with him before the fight, a bet on me!"

carmy's mouth hangs open, forming to phantom explanations that all fall too short or get too intimate—personal; she doesn't need to know the backstory, the why in his road to success. she can't, not yet. not so soon.

she shoves him again at his lack of response, and, for the second time, carmy stumbles back.

"fuck you, carmy!" she screams, eyes brimming and— fuck, she was not supposed to find out this way (well, ever, really, but surely not in this way). he racks his brain for sufficient a justification.

"fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! is that how you fucking see me? i'm just another belt you meatheads pass around and compete for? fucking kill yourselves over?"

"that's not true, baby—"

"i'm not your fucking baby!" she goes to shove him again, but he's ready this time, steeled. she throws her weight into each nudge and push and shove she gives to him, grunts and grumbles through the exertion of it, but he's stock-still like a statue now, and immovable force to be reckoned with.

"you done?" he mutters when she's huffin' and puffin' too hard to keep going.

her eyes snap from his chest to his baby blues, glaring. "fuck—!"

"—me? yeah, you've already said that, several times actually. now are you gonna let me explain, or do you wanna keep screamin'?"

her eyes, somehow, narrow further, teeth barred.

carmy prepares himself.

"do i wanna keep screamin'? well, since you fucking offered," she gripes, pounding her fists into his chest again. and he lets her. "you don't fucking think, do you? just puff your chest and fucking take it if you want it, right? god, carmen, i'm not some fucking toy—"

"i never implied that you were—"

"so you didn't bet you could fuck me better than timothy at the weigh-in?"

he snaps his mouth shut.

she scoffs, shakes her head. "un-fucking-believable," she mutters under her breath.

she sighs, and the (arguably) worst is over. but it's not like he necessarily welcomes the tears, either.

she sniffles, red-rimmed eyes sparkling in a pool of saltwater, and weakly shoves at his chest again.

"f-fuck you, bear," she weeps softly, voice cracking, head hanging, and carmy's never wanted to fix something so badly in his whole goddamn life. more than mikey. "i thought you fucking liked me—

"i do—!"

"stop lying—!"

and suddenly, carmen's had enough.

"be quiet," he barks.

the room falls silent.

he sighs, grips hers arms to keep her close and up right. drops his head to rest on hers, eye-to-eye, and she's too tuckered out to fight it.

his adams apple bobs, "i'm sorry, y/n," he whispers, and she doesn't think she's ever heard him so earnest before, so sad. "i'm sorry i made a bet on you, and hurt your feelings because of it. you're not a toy, or a belt, or any other prize, boxing or not; you're a human fucking being. and i'm sorry."

she sniffles again, and he takes her lack of shoving and yelling as clearance to continue.

"i'm not fucking sorry it worked, though." he can feel her tense, so he hurries on before she gets the wrong idea. "i'm not fucking sorry i saw you in that damn pink dress, in your damn pink heels, with you fucking pink toes. i'm not sorry that i talked to you after the match, and made good on my promise to timmy."

"carmen—"

he squeezes the sides of her shoulders, "i'm not sorry 'cause i do like you, cub, so fucking much."

she lifts her head, teary eyes blearily finding his, and she frowns up at him, like she doesn't believe him.

"why're lying?" she whimpers, all watery and sad sounding, and carmy just wants to swaddle her in a blanket and kiss her tears away.

he smiles gently at her, "m'not lyin', baby. do you think i'd still be here if all i wanted was a fuck and duck? that's what the ring girls are for, cub."

she makes a face at him, "ew! g-ross, carmy, don't—!"

he bites back a smirk. "you drive me insane," cuts her off, sliding his hands from her arms to her shea butter smooth palms. "you drive me up the fuckin' wall, actually. but i love that about you. i love that you don't take anyone's shit, including mine. love that you put me in my place, and tell me off when i step out of line." his tongue peaks out to lick his chapped bottom lip before he continues. "i love the way you curl up in a ball every night before bed because you can't sleep any other way, and i love the way you bitch and moan about your bones feelin' too stiff in the morning because of it." he regards her fondly, eyes flitting over every feature. “i love your teeth gems, and your long ass nails. i love it when you’re bare-faced and bushy-tailed, or when you’ve got a— what is it?”

she chokes on a snotty laugh, “a full beat?”

“a full beat!” he repeats, enthusiastic and beaming. they both take a moment to giggle, carmy’s hands finding purchase on her hips to draw her in, chest to chest. “i am sorry i hurt your feelings, cub, so fucking sorry. but i would make that bet ten fuckin’ thousand times over if it meant i’d end up anywhere with you.”

and now she’s crying for a whole different, much sweeter reason.

she pouts at him cutely, “bearrr!”

and it’s like nothing even happened.

“whaaat?” he groans, feigning annoyance. “snotty girl, look at those tears,” he tuts, “such a crybaby.”

“that’s not fair—!”

“hush,” he muses, walking them back toward her bedroom, deft fingers working to unfasten the many buttons of her dress. “you talk too much, anyone ever told you that? whatever, you should let me fuck you.”

“what?”

“you should let me fuck you.”

“you literally ate me out for an hour before we left, that’s why we were so fucking late. and who says you fuckin’ deserve it?”

carmy smirks, that’s his girl.

fuckin’ trouble.

he quirks a brow at her, fingers pausing their decent.

“you gonna let me earn it?”

—

a/n: hope u like it babies bc getting this done made me SICK (im serious i can’t fucking breathe right or swallow properly anymore 🙂‍↔️🫶🏽)

not proofread!!

[kaydens-agere]

caregiver logan little wade headcanons im actually begging

Caregiver Logan Howlett/Wolverine and Regressing Wade Wilson/Deadpool Headcanons!!

Headcanons below the cut!! Thank you so much for the request, I had sm fun writing these :D This does have a bit of swearing so if you're uncomfortable with that, please proceed with caution or don't read!!

⚔️-Wade was surprisingly open about it with him when they first met, he didn't go into too much detail, but he just kinda said "yeah I regress sometimes when bad shit happens." and left it at that. Logan didn't push it because he knows it can be a sensitive topic (as a secret little himself)

❤️-It first happened with Logan after the party after saving their universe. After everyone left, he ended up dropping from the exhaustion. Logan immediately fell into "dad mode" as Wade likes to call it, pampering him constantly and keeping him safe.

⚔️-Logan was very surprised by Wade's... colourful language while he's little. Logan half expected him to act the complete opposite of how he normally does. But no, he's still Wade. And he still has quite the mouth.

❤️-Logan is extremely gentle while Wade is small, often scooping him up and peppering him with kisses. Wade absolutely loves it, it always sends him into a fit of giggles.

⚔️-Logan has an abundance of nicknames he likes using for Wade. Some of them include bub (obviously), kid/kiddo, baby, his kit, etc. Sometimes he'll call him a little shit, but it's said playfully and Wade knows he's joking (that's nothing compared to the insults that Wade can throw at him).

❤️-Wade starts inviting him to his tea parties. They spend a lot of time on the living room floor with his many tea sets, talking about the latest gossip among Wade's plushies. Al will join in when she's home.

⚔️-Heres how the tea parties normally go: "Mary started yelling at Chrissy the other day." "Oh yeah, bub? Whys that?" "Because Chrissy was cheating on her boyfriend!" "Oh, motherfucker. I knew something was up with her."

❤️-Logan often takes Wade to the park, or just big open areas to run around in, he either starts dragging Logan around with him or forces him to play tag. He has a lot of energy that he needs to get out, and it's hard to do that when he's cramped up in the small apartment. They always take Mary Puppins with them.

⚔️-Sometimes Wade will struggle with his scars when he's small, physically and mentally. Sometimes they'll burn and itch and it's a lot harder to deal with when he's tiny, so all he can do is curl up and cry. However, Logan always seems to know what to do, he'll always run him a nice warm bubble bath to ease the pain. If he's struggling mentally, it's usually him thinking that he's too ugly or scary to be loveable. Once again, Logan is there. This time, he'll offer lots of reassurance, cuddles and kisses all over his scars, which will usually make him feel a bit better.

❤️-Wade is an absolute spoiled brat, and Logan definitely feeds into it, no matter how hard he tries not to. If they're at a toy store, Wade will show him a toy he really likes, and if Logan says no, you best believe that Wade will throw a tantrum until he gets it (He always does. Logan's not proud of it, but he hates seeing his baby cry).

⚔️-Wade calls Logan "Papa" whenever he's small. It shocked him when it first happened, he didn't think he was worthy of that title. Logan definitely did not have to have a cry in the bathroom after that. /s

❤️-Logan can have doubts sometimes about whether he's doing a good enough job or whether he's even worthy enough to be trusted that much by someone. Whenever Wade senses this, he'll draw him a bunch of pictures and give him plenty of kisses and tell him that he's the best papa in the world, which makes Logan feel all warm and fuzzy.

⚔️-Logan rubs his head on Wade's a lot, it's his way of "scenting" him. He wants everyone to know that Wade is his baby, no one else's. It's comforting for Wade as well, he likes the sensation of his papa's fluffy cat hair rubbing against his face.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I can see konig being a total perv when his wife is pregnant. 😭

Like, he has his eyes on her chest like 24/7 and is amazed by how much her breast grew. And be turned on by her hips growing too.

Since he's territorial, just the thought of the reader carrying his child would make him go wild. Like them making a child together and joining bloodlines? Her body is going through all these changes because of him? I know he's heavy breathing just thinking abt it 😭.

Mm-hmm 😳 *nodding furiously*

König is a boobs man, I fear, and seeing her breasts getting bigger and heavier makes him feel dizzy in the head. And he's been through a lot, raged on the battlefield while bullets scrape his flesh and hit his vest and he has never ever gotten dizzy. Not even when they pumped him full of morphine after somebody shot him in the ass.

He vaguely knew that his woman would go through some changes but this… this is like Christmas and all his birthdays combined.

He has trouble concentrating on what she's saying because those plump things are right there and his hands are twitching from the urge to paw them. Just admire them all day, perhaps fall asleep on them...

And hell yes he was heavy breathing at the thought and now it's actually happening. She's carrying his child, getting bigger with it every day. The baby must be big and strong, has his genes, it seems! It’s probably a boy. A girl would be much more adorable, though... Either way, König is going to be so proud.

And he's so proud of his wife, too. König gets odd satisfaction when she has trouble rising from the bed or a chair when she's in the late stages of her pregnancy. He's only pleased when she complains about back pains and is starting to get hella grumpy. He admires her for going through all that suffering to give birth to his child. Things are just as they should be! He’s doing his duty on the battlefield while his angel is carrying his child.

He pampers her, of course, for being so good for him. König tries to ensure that his wife has everything she needs and asks about the baby and her health every time he sees her. When she's given birth and is ready for him again, perhaps he will put another one inside her ❤️

[silantryoo]

BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — normal girl.

l/n y/n, first year high school.

WARNINGS ; misogyny, classism, multiple one-sided relationships, mentions of death threats, mentions of toxic fandoms, hints of imposter syndrome, sexual innuendos, sexualization, objectification, incel behaviour, slut shaming (5.4k)

l/n y/n was born a pretty baby.

her family members - cousins, aunties, uncles, grandparents - gathered around her medical crib hours after she was born, basking in her beauty.

to the l/n's, y/n was a sight to behold. her small smile and her soft cooing ignited a fire within them, one that urged them to pamper the newborn with as much love they could muster.

it was safe to say that y/n was always surrounded with love, a plethora of it.

there wasn't a single time in her childhood that she didn't feel love.

y/n loved her parents, just as much, if not more, than they love her.

they did everything that they could to make her happy and healthy, enrolling her in whatever she wanted at the time. whether that be her attending hanlim (which they could barely afford) or a simple latte at the nearest café, the l/n's first priority was their daughter.

y/n knew that she wasn't as well off as the other kids in her school. her parents were decently well off but not enough to put them in the upper tax bracket that many of seoul seemed to be in, or at least pretended to. she had nice clothes, not designer, but just enough to not be bullied by her peers. her house was a fair bit away from the more booming areas of the city; a cozy, two bedroom house an hour away from gangnam.

she was content, making sure to never take her things for granted, always making sure her clothes were neat, her shoes were clean, and helping out with the chores as much as she could.

y/n didn't need much. she didn't want much, actually. as long as her parents were there with her, she was happy.

y/n just wanted to be happy.

she knew she was pretty.

being pampered all her life does a few things to her ego, but even then, it was only her family members telling her. there was only so much you hear from your family until it started sounding like each compliment was because you were family. y/n had a slight ego, sure, but didn't have a big head. she knew she didn't hold the attention of the general public that her parents were so sure she held.

at least, she didn't think so.

"i've liked you for so long!"

y/n stared at the note in his hands, the upperclassman's hands trembling. she couldn't understand why he was so nervous. they had hung out a few times beforehand, surely he wasn't actually in love with her.

y/n was only thirteen, and this guy - han hyeongjun - had spoken to her less than ten times her entire life.

as his hands continued to shake, y/n gently pushed his arms down, giving a soft smile.

he was in no means ugly. a lot of girls would die for a chance with him, both older and younger that y/n herself. hyeongjun was nice, even funny at times when y/n had spoken to him.

y/n simply didn't know him enough, and currently, her priorities weren't dating.

"i'm sorry..." y/n watched as his face fell apart, hyeongjun's eyes wide with hurt and shock. "i'm not looking for a boyfriend right now."

"i'll wait!" his voice tore through her eardrums, a desperateness lying underneath his shaky breath. hyeongjun swallowed back what seemed to be tears. "please... give me a chance."

y/n frowned. was she hurting someone? she never wanted to hurt anyone.

"hyeongjun-oppa, i'm really not interested." she could feel herself wavering, her guilt slowly starting to outweigh her stance. "i'm sorry..."

hyeongjun crumpled the love letter in his hand, tears streaming down his face. he would never want to force the girl he liked into a relationship with him, even though he so desperately wanted to, even though it tore through him like a pain his fourteen year old self could barely comprehend.

"i understand." his tears poured violently, hyeongjun's head pounding from holding back sobs. "i just... really like you."

y/n knew she was pretty, but she didn't think she was pretty enough to cause someone pain, especially someone she barely met.

"i'm sor-"

he left without a word, bumping into the younger girl's shoulder, his face tear-stained and etched with pain.

why did it hurt y/n too?

it was a one off thing, y/n decided.

han hyeongjun was a sweet, soft hearted boy. it was most likely a crush that he had, and not the emotions he claimed them to be. even if it was, there was no way it could actually happen again.

especially not in hanlim, where idols and future actors wandered the halls, all wearing some kind of designer shoes and expensive makeup.

here, y/n was just another face, just like she always was, despite her parents' preaching.

"what's your name?"

y/n's head shot up, her eyes wide. the girl that stood before her was tall and pretty, her loafers polished as if it was spit shined. her hair was dark, her skin pale in comparison, and y/n could see the faint twinkling of her necklace.

she suddenly felt so out of place.

"me?"

"yeah, you." the girl sat beside her, a scoff threatening to escape from her pink stained lips. "i don't think i've seen you before. what's your last name?"

it was an odd question to ask, at least for y/n. she knew last names held a significance, but only the adults in her life bothered to ask, never people her age.

the girl's eyes bore into hers, as if anticipating her question, ready to jump at the chance to compare herself with y/n.

"it's l/n."

"l/n?" she rested her chin on her palm, gazing at the girl with a predatory gaze. y/n couldn't place what it was, but it felt familiar enough to make her feel uncomfortable. "i don't think i know any l/n's. are you from gangnam? seocho?"

y/n could feel her eyes bug out. gangnam? seocho? there was no way her parents could ever afford an apartment, much less rent in those areas.

"uh, no." y/n didn't know why, but she felt so cold all of a sudden. "i live in nowon."

the girl sat up, her interest piqued. there was something about her eyes that shifted.

"oh." she twirled her blonde hair (probably an idol trainee, y/n thought) in between her fingers, eyeing y/n with a curiosity that seemed less than innocent. "i see..."

she could feel her intentions, how her puppy-like eyes held more than innocence. y/n felt like a zoo animal, being observed from a close distance, and this girl, although outwardly sweet, had ravenous intentions.

the girl smiled kindly, throwing y/n off guard. "what do your parents do for a living?"

y/n blinked. maybe she was wrong.

"um..." y/n's parents made a good amount, more than the rest of her relatives. even her high school friends said that she was rich, at least in comparison to them. "my dad's an electrician and my mom's a factory worker."

there was a pause in the air, heavy and suffocating. y/n was sure she said something wrong, but she wasn't sure.

"well..." the girl leaned back, deciding not to attack the poor girl in front of her (for now), and y/n sighed a breath of fresh air. "at least you're pretty."

"oh." y/n was pretty sure it wasn't a complement, but she'd take what she can get, especially since she was the black sheep in a class full of freshly groomed ones. "thank you..."

the girl smiled, resting her hand on her chin, her long, expensive looking acrylic nails slightly digging into her cheek. y/n glances her nails, dull and plain.

"my name's shim hyewon, daughter of shim sin. y'know, the politician?"

"oh." y/n had no idea about the world of politics, much less their names. all she knew was that the girl in front of her must've been rich. "i'm l/n y/n..."

just l/n y/n.

shim hyewon led a life that y/n hadn't been used to.

her parents were busy people, working as much as they could to provide for y/n, and she couldn't be more grateful for them. she rarely saw them in the mornings, her dad having an early start to his day, and her mom usually coming home an hour after she already left for school.

her commute wasn't bad, longer than it was during high school, but that was a given. her place horribly far from hanlim. her ten minute walked turned into an hour commute (give or take a couple minutes it takes to actually walk to the station).

it was a pain, honestly, but this was what she wished for. y/n wasn't gonna let an inconvenience like this get in the way of dreams, not when her parents poured blood, sweat and tears into it.

still, y/n couldn't help but envy hyewon.

the girl had been nice to her these past couple months, and though y/n felt uncomfortable with her constant classist remarks, hyewon was sweet.

she'd wait for y/n at the entrance of the school, scrolling through the latest model of her phone (the case differing week to week, sometimes day to day), barely fatigued from the twenty minute drive with her chauffer.

she shouldn't feel jealous at the wealth, y/n was already rich with the love and support from her parents. she genuinely couldn't ask for more, but perhaps if she had just a little bit of that money...

"took you long enough."

y/n fiddled with her black blazer, shifting around. hyewon's eyes dropped to her legs for a brief moment, and once again, y/n felt like a prize to be won.

she didn't dwell on it longer, as hyewon's face shifted into an expression y/n was used to; amusement.

y/n cleared her throat, rubbing her knuckles. at times, standing face to face with her friend felt more like a job interview than two peers talking about class.

"how long were you waiting for?"

"five minutes." hyewon shrugged, standing up from her leaning position. "i thought you weren't gonna show today."

y/n woke up late, too busy studying for their history exam to sleep. she needed high grades, and there was no time to study, especially since she managed to book some auditions a week before the test.

luckily, she caught the train, but the trek up on the way to school was slower due to her drowsiness.

"i always show up to class."

the two began to walk to class, finally entering school grounds. y/n could already feel eyes on them, more specifically on her.

it was a common occurrence after her first month in school, and she found a lot of the students (mostly boys, but a girl here and there) stealing glances, some of which even handing her confession letters.

maybe they weren't used to people like her walking around, someone who was slightly less well off, and not acclimated to their tightknit social circles.

it didn't make her feel any better though.

"you shouldn't." hyewon sighed, taking in the shorter girl's side profile. "this place is boring."

hanlim wasn't boring, not to y/n. school was school, and although it was tough and monotonous, she was on the path of doing something she loved.

y/n loved the spotlight like it loved her, but sometimes, she wished that people saw her less like a trophy and more like a human being.

hyewon glanced at her as they entered the building, her eyes raking over her with an untold emotion.

she was never a patient person, and her father always scolded her for it. perhaps now was a good time to practice it. hyewon could already tell that y/n was going to be tough to crack.

reaching the room, y/n could feel the cold air on her sweat soaked back, and she couldn't wait to finally sit down. the train was packed earlier, and y/n's legs ached from standing up the entire ride. she needed a breather, sooner than later.

"hey."

oh.

"ew." hyewon scrunched up her nose before playing innocent. she looked up at the older guy, smiling with her teeth. "oops! sorry, sunbaenim. it slipped out before i realized."

jay chang.

two years y/n's senior, and son of some popular american singer that y/n couldn't remember the name of. all she knew was that girls quite literally fell for him with a simple smile, and that jay was nothing but persistant.

"it's a good thing i wasn't talking to you, then." his smile was charming, and y/n was nearly fooled by it the first time they spoke. "you look nice today, y/n."

she nodded slightly, not wanting to give him too much. "thank you, sunbaenim."

"still a no?"

hyewon rolled her eyes. "kinda obvious, don't you think?"

"what?" he smirked, dusting his shoulder. "eventually, she'll need someone like me to take care of her."

y/n didn't think she'd ever need anyone, especially someone as big headed as jay chang.

what she needed was her desk, and her seat cushion... and a cold glass of water.

"i can take care of her just fine."

"whatever." jay frowned. hyewon always seemed to get what she wanted, despite probably being the youngest in the school. everyone treated her like royalty, and it pissed him off, knowing how she truly was deep down. "besides, y/n can't expect me to hold back when she looks like that everyday."

she was no better than him.

"that's all for me, i'm guessing?"

y/n felt a firm grip around her midsection, hyewon's arm anchoring her body against hers. it felt as if she was being claimed in broad daylight, and y/n did everything in her power to push down the discomfort threatening to make itself known.

"yeah." hyewon looked up at jay. "we're leaving."

"it's just a joke!" jay put his hands up, smiling as if he did nothing wrong. "unless you wanna make it a reality, y/n-ah."

y/n shook her head, the unsettling feeling getting worse as jay continued to hover over them.

"c'mon, don't be like that." he teased softly, a hint of frustration underneath. "at the very least, go on a date with your oppa."

hyewon pushed him aside, slamming the classroom door in his face. everyday, it was the same thing; the boy showing up in front of the classroom, loud and annoying, only there to harass y/n.

it was funny, honestly, and hyewon didn't mind that it helped y/n get closer to her.

"you okay, y/n?"

"yeah." y/n pulled away from her, hyewon's arms falling from her side. the younger girl clenched her jaw. "are all the guys here like that?"

"no." she hummed as the two made their way to the lockers. hyewon glanced at y/n once more. "almost everyone here is like that."

y/n couldn't get the icky feeling off her.

she felt an item for auction.

"it makes me feel gross." y/n confided softly, the feeling never leaving her, even when it was just her and her friend talking.

hyewon paused, and y/n felt the air shift into a thick cloud, filled with something similar to smugness.

"do i make you feel gross, y/n?"

she didn't want to upset her only friend.

"no."

but that was the exact answer hyewon was looking for.

"good."

the seasons passed, and so did y/n history exam.

getting her score back wasn't the nerve wracking part.

her grades were what she expected, and although it wasn't enough to be the top of her class (because y/n wasn't gonna slave over a one hundred and go to night school and cram school), she was satisfied.

it was the auditions she was worried about, her very first (and if it went wrong, her very last). she had managed to get a callback a week ago, and like before, it all went smoothly.

until she got to the HYBE building, of course.

"mom?" y/n's feet hit the cold floor, the air conditioning blasting. both her parents must've been home. "dad?"

she wandered into the kitchen, some dishes piled up, and the table freshly wiped. on the stove was a pot of kimchi stew, her mom's favorite meal and her dad's go-to dish.

she trudged to the living room, excited at the signs of her parents finally being home. y/n knew it wasn't normal for a fifteen year old to want to hang out with her parents, but she didn't care.

y/n loved her parents.

she heard the tv and walked faster, stopping as she stood in front of her parents' view, laptop in hand.

"need something, baby?" her mom, l/n eunji, pulled away from her dad's arms, causing him to pout slightly. he was always so clingy. it was cute. "come here."

y/n raced to sit in between them, rushing to open her email.

"can i tell you something?"

"what is it?" her dad, l/n junsang, leaned over her shoulder, snooping like he usually did. "you have a boyfriend? girlfriend?"

y/n glanced at junsang, shaking her head at his over enthusiasm to her getting a girlfriend or boyfriend (which she knew deep down he detested the though of).

"what?" he shrugged. "when i was your age, girls were throwing themselves at me. boys, too."

eunji rolled her eyes. her husband never changed. "girls were running away from you, actually."

y/n, not minding their usual antics, sifted through her open tabs, closing at least eight of them (for her paper due next month).

"but you ran towards me." junsang scrunched his nose, the mole dead center wrinkling along with his skin.

eunji shook her head. after twenty years together, she assumed her husband's ego would deflate just a tad bit. somehow, it worsened when y/n was born, their young daughter resembling him in both her smile and her beauty marks.

"you were the only one who caught my attention, though." he confessed like he always did, declaring his love on a random afternoon. "i could never say no to you and your pretty eyes."

y/n could gag, but it was nice to see her parents in love, even if it made her cringe.

"um..." she shifted the attention to her, hovering over the sketchy email she got. "are you guys done flirting?"

"sorry, baby." eunji looked at her daughter, her cat-like eyes gleaming. "what's up?"

"so..." the email in front of y/n made her heart beat out of her chest. "i had a callback, right?"

"yeah...?"

"i just got the email." y/n whispered. she knew it was her first audition, and there were much prettier and more talented girls that were at the audition, but she couldn't help but hope. "i was hoping to open it with you?"

junsang smiled. he was always so grateful that his daughter was open to sharing her achievements with him and his wife. being so involved in her life, regardless of its gravity, made him happy.

all he ever wanted, ever since he was young, was to watch his kid blossom.

the two older l/n's leaned closer, watching as their daughter opened the message.

y/n's eyes widened, reading the words over and over again, but she could only focus on one thing.

We look forward to working with you in the next coming weeks.

she got it? her first audition, and she got it?

y/n didn't know how to feel, a mix of gratitude and guilt coursing through her. it didn't seem fair to the others, the ones who strived for months, years.

"i knew it." junsang puffed out his chest. "no way can they deny our baby's pretty face."

her pretty face.

was that the only reason she got in? did they chose her for her face, just like everyone did in hanlim? her hardwork was glazed over, the spotlight on her features instead of her feats.

eunji flicked her husband's ear, her head lowering to meet her daughter's gaze.

"obviously, it's not just your face, y/n." her daughter was talented, and sometimes, she needed a reminder, just like everyone in her position would. "your dad and i know how talented you are. he just likes to say your face is pretty because people say you look like him."

"what?" junsang frowned. "am i not pretty?"

"junsang."

"you're very talented." he smiled, ruffling y/n's hair. "and smart too. all of which you got from m-"

"junsang."

"anyway," he waved his wife off, looking at his daughter. "you deserve it. you've worked so hard for it, and we're so proud of you. not only do we have a good daughter, but a talented one."

her parents were always her anchor, but sometimes she wished that she had the friend groups in the shows she had watched.

y/n wanted to belong both in her home and in society, where people saw passed her face.

"thank you." she whispered, earning a kiss on her temple from her mom. "i love you both."

"we love you too." eunji rubbed her back. "and don't listen to your dad about the boyfriend thing. i was the one that was getting hit on."

junsang paused, a frown suddenly on his face.

"you were?" his eyes landed on his wife, y/n deciding that now was a good time to hop off the couch and let her father and mother sort this one out. "wait, why didn't i know about this?"

eunji shrugged, standing up.

"i never told you."

eunji followed her daughter, not to her room, but to the end of the hall, her and her husband's door wide open.

"wait, what?" junsang heard y/n's door click shut, rushing to his feet to chase after his wife. "eunji, what?"

y/n met bts.

no, she worked with them, staring in multiple of their music videos, more than she expected to feature in (all at the cost of privating her social media accounts for a while. her success came with death threats, as expected).

it did wonders to her popularity in the industry, and she was amazed at how much more her peers both avoided and fawned over her. y/n always thought that it couldn't get much worse, but it did.

hyewon seemed to hover over her, watching as her locker was filled with threats from some of the older girls in hanlim. mixed into the pile were confessions, a few of which came from different schools. how they got in her locker, y/n would never know.

all she knew was that the attention was immense.

somehow, she avoided it today, waiting a couple minutes after the class president left to get cleaning supplies. there were a fair amount of students still in the class, but y/n knew they were all respectful enough to not but her.

she dusted herself off, walking outside the room and down the staircase. hyewon was somewhere nearby, either the roof where she usually sat (smelling like smoke) or in the girl's washroom close to the entrance.

"so..." jay? he never stayed after school, even if clubs were going on. "you can do a video with some older men but not go on a date with me?"

y/n's blood ran cold.

"sunbaenim." trying to not show her nerves, she lowered her head slightly, hoping that the sign of respect was enough for him to cool down.

it wasn't.

"do you like older men?" his arms crossed, his usually ironed blazer now wrinkling in his grip. "am i not old enough for you?"

y/n didn't like older men, she didn't even consider older anyone at all. she didn't wanna focus on that stuff, her sights on her dream university unwavering.

"i just don't want a boyfriend." her voice, soft and soothing, was strong with honesty.

"why not?" jay shot up, his dark eyes hard against y/n's features. "all girls want a boyfriend. you know i'll be good to you. i won't even force you to do anything."

y/n was sure his words meant to be reassuring, but it made her feel worse if anything, now knowing that jay saw her more like a toy than a human.

"i'm really not interested." she felt her voice go weaker, her legs frozen.

she wanted to leave, yet her legs stayed glued to the floor. there was a deep, unsettling feeling like her chest had been weighed down by something and she wasn't sure what.

"i don't believe you." the sinking feeling in y/n's chest was overwhelming. "don't tell me one of those bts oppas got to you first."

the staircase turned quiet, the soft whirling of the cooling units pushing through the vents. the green grass reflected the now setting sun through the window, birds chirping in the distance.

it should've been a beautiful day.

y/n felt a sense of shame she didn't understand. dirty and used, yet not even having her first kiss yet. she hadn't even held hands with anyone, yet somehow, everyone saw her as more.

she just wanted connection, love in both friendship and relationship.

jay was annoying, uncomfortable at times, but he wasn't cruel. she must've heard wrong. she had to have heard wrong.

y/n's voice came out in a soft squeak.

"i don't understand..."

she didn't, honestly.

she knew the industry came with it's consequences, but everything started even before then. it amplified, but it had always been like this in one way or another. she was always seen as something to get, something to possess, but never to connect with.

y/n was a want, but she was never a need.

"c'mon, y/n. quit playing dumb." jay was up to his wits end, and y/n could feel it in the air, a heavy smog filling her lungs. "there's another guy, isn't it?"

everyone assumed it was someone else, but it never was.

it was just her.

"are you playing hard to get or something?" his voice got louder, drowning out the birds and replacing it with a shroud of rage that concentrated around y/n. "you know how many girls would kill to have me tripping over them? and you're just here rejecting me over and over again?"

over the past few months, y/n learned to steel herself from the influx of confessions, always slightly in pain at the thought of breaking someone's heart.

it felt real, their 'love' for her.

but she knew this wasn't real, yet it hurt by the tenfold.

"it hurts, y'know." jay didn't seem hurt, and y/n was glad that his major was applied music and not broadcasting and entertainment. "you're not even giving me a chance. is it cause of the rumors you heard? are you that shallow? or are you just trying to hurt me?"

y/n didn't want to hurt anyone. she'd rather hurt herself.

"i didn't mean to-"

"but you did!" jay was fed up, nothing ever going his way. "do you like the attention or something? acting like a fucking tease all the time."

she could feel anger bursting through her chest, sick and tired of the names everyone threw her way. a thin veil frustration started to well up in her eyes, and behind, a seed of disappointment in others and in herself.

calming herself down, y/n spoke. "i don't understand why you keep calling me that."

"because you are!" jay whined, his eyebrows furrowing. y/n could basically see him stomping his foot. "you walk around with that face and expect me not to do anything."

a shiver ran through her spine.

"it's just my face..."

y/n didn't want to be seen as a trophy if it meant attracting attention like this.

did anyone even see her as human at this point?

"just shut up!" jay pushed his hair slick back, his voice echoing through the stairwell. "just fucking leave."

as if by his instructions, y/n's legs finally moved, her frame a blur as she rushed down to the main floor. she could feel her chest heaving, her eyes trained onto her feet. they carried her to the washroom, and she opened the door with a loud bang.

hyewon.

she was safe. her friend was here.

"woah," hyewon hummed, looking at y/n through the mirror. "you look crazy as fuck."

she felt crazy, her mind racing. she couldn't fathom how people saw her in that light, as if she was a medal incased in a collection of glory, plastered for the world to see.

"hyewon."

y/n rushed to her friend. she needed comfort, solace in the storm that happened mere minutes ago.

today should've been a good day.

"oh shit." hyewon pulled y/n in, her hands resting on her lower back. "hey... it's okay."

she could confide here, in between the porcelain walls, where she stood in the arms of someone she trusted. for once, she had someone to lean on, someone her age (or close to it) that listened.

y/n just wanted someone to listen.

"i don't understand why everyone thinks i want them or something." the emotions in her chest whirled with fervor, yet her voice was meek.

"i don't understand either." hyewon pull her closer, rubbing her back. "people here are fucked in the head."

y/n didn't want to believe that. she knew somewhere out there, there had to be people who were pure hearted, with pure intentions. somewhere, there were people who were just like her and her parents.

y/n wouldn't find them until after high school.

"i just wanted to make friends." she didn't mean to whine, but she was tired. "even the girls here think that i'm trying to do something. i can't even go near them without them thinking i'm trying to sabotage them."

hyewon pulled back slightly, looking at the shorter girl with vague intent. "i know you aren't, y/n."

"did i do something?" y/n was careful, never crossing the line of friendship (and most times, acquaintanceship) with anyone. she never wanted her words to be twisted, her actions perceived with an underlying meaning. "do i seem like the people they assume i am?"

she wanted to be seen for her, not for their ideals.

"no." hyewon brushed the tears off her cheek. "no, you're perfect."

"i just want people to understand." y/n was worried she'll never find anyone who cared enough about her. "i need someone to understand, or at least try. is that so much to ask for? for someone to actually care about me?"

"i know, baby." the taller girl whispered, y/n suddenly aware of how her breath hit her face. "i know."

y/n's first kiss happened on a beautiful day, in a porcelain school bathroom, the soft hum of the school's ac whirling through the vents, the sun setting through the windows.

(she always wished her first kiss happened with wonyoung, but wonyoung didn't need to know about this. y/n would rather die.)

she pulled back, bile threatening to release in her throat.

"i'm sorry"

"hey..." hyewon reached for her arm, and the predatory gaze was back. "it's okay."

it wasn't.

y/n rushed out, her legs carrying her as far from that school as they could. her lungs burned, her ears rang, and the humid air clung to her skin, refusing to release her.

sweat dripped down her back, tears poured from her eyes and betrayal suffocated her.

it hurt. everything hurt. the way jay's words stuck onto her like cheap perfume, and the actions of hyewon - of someone she knew she shouldn't have trusted - clawed into her.

she was battered, ripped to shreds, and never had she so desperately yearned for someone to hold her, to tell her that everything would be okay.

y/n wanted the comfort of a close friend, one she trusted with her gut. she wanted to hear the soothing words, the advice they'd give her. y/n longed for someone in her corner.

y/n just wanted to hear that it wasn't her fault.

(it wasn't, and it never was, and it never will be.)

(and two weeks later, y/n sported a new yellow blazer, assigned to a new seat and her commute lengthened to an extra thirty minutes.)

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[bippot]

Kiss And Make Up

Story Summary -> On the outside, it seems as if Reid and his girlfriend have the perfect relationship. They never fight. She lavishes him with affection whenever he's feeling low. And she gets along with his friends.

But when their first argument finally comes, will they be able to get through it, or will this one bump be too much to handle?

Tags -> Arguing, Body Worship, Sad Spencer Reid, Body insecurity, Self Confidence Issues

Would you prefer to read this on AO3? Click here!

Previous Chapter -> Magic Hands and Biological Warfare

Throughout his life, Spencer had been called a lot of things, but there was one name that had always stuck in his head: pipe cleaner with eyes. It had been a fairly accurate descriptor, he knew that. He was tall and thin and gangly like a pipe cleaner and, yeah, he had eyes.

Spencer’s lankiness was a mix of genetics and the fact that he wasn't the best at remembering to eat lunch, even though he had an eidetic memory. He'd never been good at looking after himself despite the fact he'd been doing since he was a child.

Maybe that was why. When he was cooking his own meals at 10 years old, that was so advanced for a kid his age, but he never evolved from that. Sure, he went to college and grew - in that order - and got his own place and job, yet he still struggled to juggle all these new life responsibilities and maintain a healthy home life.

Then came Y/N.

Not only did she pamper him and provide a sense of security that he hadn't felt in decades, she taught him to take time for himself. He could take a mental health day off work to just read and relax. That's okay. It's natural to need some time away, especially with his job.

She also gave him whatever sweet treats and pastries whenever he wanted. That paired with this new domestic comfort ensured that he was less of a pipe cleaner these days. He still had the eyes, of course.

But that pipe cleaner was a little less pipey in his older age.

Even Derek had mentioned it. His buddy had exclaimed, "Damn, you fill out his shirt these days, pretty boy. Have you been hitting the gym?" and in typical Derek fashion, he got Spencer in a headlock and poked him in the side. Spencer had tried to take the compliment as his friend had intended.

He couldn't, though.

"Hey, lovely, are you still working?" Y/N opened the door to their home office a smidge and only widened it when she heard him hum.

The fresh coffee she was holding was placed on the empty coaster on his desk, and as soon as her hands were free, they were massaging his shoulders, kneading them until he sighed and his head fell backwards onto her chest. He craned his neck back, his dark curls falling slightly out of place as he sought her gaze, and Y/N knew exactly what he needed. It was as if they shared a language that transcended words.

So, she moved her hand to the back of his head and scratched at the scalp behind his ear, just above where his hairline began. The sound she elicited from him was almost animalistic. Y/N kissed his cheek as he closed his eyes and let himself sink into the touch.

"You've been working too hard," she mumbled against his cheek. "Is this the first break you've taken today?"

"Uh-huh."

"You ate the lunch I left for you in the refrigerator, though?"

He had been so hyper focused on his work that he'd completely forgotten, and his lack of response was an answer in itself. It wasn't his fault. Sometimes when his brain honed in one particular area of something, he didn't notice any other stimuli.

"I'll go get it for you, baby."

With a kiss on the forehead, Y/N disappeared into the kitchen. During her departure, Spencer brought his coffee to his lips and completely misjudged the distance between the cup and his face, spilling hot liquid down his chin and chest.

The shock hit him like a freight train; the scorching coffee seeped through the fabric of his shirt, scalding his skin and sending jolts of heat radiating across his chest. A squeal escaped his lips, all high-pitched, and he leapt from his chair. He hastily began undoing the buttons of his shirt, fingers fumbling in a frantic attempt to rid himself of the damp fabric that clung to his skin.

In his shirtless state, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror out of the corner of his eye.

The reflection staring back at him wasn't the youthful, lean guy he was accustomed to. He studied the definition of the muscles that had begun to soften, and his brow furrowed as he turned, noticing the way his waist curved slightly more than it used to.

Spencer’s fingers grazed over his stomach and couldn't help but pinch the flesh there, feeling the blubber that had developed over time. The truth settled in the pit of his stomach: he no longer was that gangly boy, untouched by time and its consequences. How could he be? He'd changed so much over the past years, and now...

Now his body looked completely different and he didn't know how to react.

Body insecurity is second nature to women, so when Y/N came back to find her boyfriend scrutinising his appearance, she knew what was happening immediately. Her brows pinched together, an "oh baby" slipped past her lips, and once she'd placed his food on the desk, her hands guided his away from his hips.

"Are you okay?" She placed a delicate kiss on the back of his bare shoulder. "I heard your scream."

"I didn't scream."

"Sure, yea. Okay, baby."

Thanks to her sarcasm, a huff of amusement escaped Spencer’s lips. His eyes returned to his body in the mirror and any trace of levity fled him instantly.

"Are you still attracted to me?"

Y/N froze for a moment. She thought about what to say, it was essential. The only answer was yes, but it was more than that. She wanted to quell his worries and, based on her own insecurities, she knew that a simple yes wasn't an effective balm for them.

"Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?" She said softly, her eyes boring into his own in the mirror. He shook his head but remained silent, waiting for her to continue. "I thought, 'Now I can't get my mail in my pj's anymore, what if the hot guy from next door sees me and thinks I'm a slob?'"

"I love your pj's. They're cute," said Spencer without missing a beat, which made Y/N giggle. "That was back then, though. I don't look like that anymore."

"Do I look exactly like I used to?"

Her question caused his expression to turn thoughtful, a crease forming between his eyebrows. He bit his lip, glanced towards the ceiling, and took a deep breath before answering.

"I guess not."

"We have that in common then," she replied lightly, and her smile softened her voice a little. "And, baby, you're still a stud, and if you wanted to fill out some more, I wouldn't be opposed to it."

"What?" He turned to be chest to chest with her, a sly smile growing on his face. "You'd be into it if I went full dad bod, huh?"

Blush bloomed upon her cheeks and her heart rate sped up a little. "I worship every inch of you, and I think my brain would explode if I had more of you to fantasise about," Y/N admitted, her honesty laid out bare on the table.

There was no point hiding it, and it would help brighten his mood so she let her thoughts flow freely.

"I love your arms, all fleshy and biteable."

She did exactly as she said and playfully sunk her teeth into the flesh of his bicep, causing him to yelp. It didn't hurt at all, but he did gently push her head away with a laugh.

"Ow, you piranha!"

"Let me kiss it better," Y/N said, and this time she pressed her lips firmly against the bite mark she'd just made before he'd even responded. Her kisses travelled to his shoulder. "Love how broad these shoulders are, love just wrapping my arms around them and pulling you close—"

Spencer cut her off by catching her lips with his. He kissed her deeply and lovingly, pouring every ounce of appreciation he had ever felt for her into each press of his lips against hers. Y/N responded by slithering her arms onto his shoulders - just as she'd just mentioned - and she kissed him back with equal intensity.

If she'd said one more compliment, he probably would've melted on the spot, and Y/N was determined to find out how quickly she could get that reaction.

His chest was warm, and the gentle rise and fall of it invited her touch. "Love how soft you feel," Y/N whispered against his skin, trailing her tongue along the line of his collarbone and up his neck, sucking on his pulse point as soon as she reached it. "Your chest is a lot more comfortable to rest my head against with a bit of padding."

Spencer groaned. His knees felt weak as she nuzzled further into his skin, leaving wet marks wherever her mouth touched. "Baby, I need to get back to work…" he warned, although the tone of his voice was anything but threatening.

"You're taking a break," Y/N said in return, her voice low as she spoke against his neck. "I gotta show you how hot you are with a quick make out sesh."

Her words sent chills through his veins, and he tried to control his breathing, to slow it down, to ease his body back so he could return to the rhythm of his tasks. He sat back down in his chair as if that would help get his mind back on track, but Y/N plopped herself onto his lap, straddling his thighs and bringing her knees to either side of his hips.

"I'm gonna kiss every inch of your face. Every freckle, every scar, every wrinkle, every crevice." Her fingertips brushed his stubbled jawline. "Every part of you I can reach. I'm going to kiss it all until you beg me to stop."

Y/N's fingers trailed down to the tip of his chin, and slowly, slowly, she pulled his face up to meet hers, her lips barely brushing against his as she continued to talk. "Until you realise how much restraint I use every day to keep myself from doing this whenever I get the chance."

Then, she did exactly as she said.

Y/N placed an uncountable amount of cute, wet pecks all over his face and neck, and Spencer could do nothing more than succumb to her ministrations, to allow her to do whatever she pleased while she continued to stroke his hair and kiss him senseless. He was bright red within seconds.

And it was almost embarrassing how giggly he became.

"I think I missed a spot," Y/N smiled as she covered a spot on his cheek with her lips, then did it again and again and again and again. The more she peppered kisses over his face, the harder it was for him to keep himself composed.

"Baby..." he breathed, closing his eyes in pleasure as his fingers ran up Y/N's arms and rested gripped onto her biceps. "I think if any more blood rushes to my cheeks, my head will pop."

She giggled into his skin, and Spencer found himself smiling at the sound. That sweet sound filled his ears and spread throughout his whole being, and he sighed. This was far too addicting to quit, and he never had any intention of letting go. His stomach bloomed more and more butterflies with each smooch, and he wanted more. More touches, more kisses, more Y/N all to himself.

"Derek is right. He's always been right. Dr Spencer Reid is a pretty boy," she mumbled against his skin. "So handsome, sexy, and kind. He has a nice ass, too…" she trailed off and chuckled before pressing another few kisses over his jaw.

With a dopey sweet smile, she leant back and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, nudging her nose into his as she added, "And he's all mine," in a voice that was covered in pure adoration.

"All yours?"

"Uh-huh. All mine." She brought a hand up to cup his cheek. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"I'm all yours. Every last inch of me," she said proudly, lowering her gaze. "You're stuck with me. Forever."

For all his intellect, Spencer couldn't work that out. He was overjoyed, obviously, but she'd made it sound so simple. Life this far hadn't been simple, far from it. Was this an impossible puzzle to solve and get his head around, or was the answer just as she said?

Maybe it could be. He hoped it was.

"I really, really like the sound of forever with you," he admitted, placing his palm over top of hers on his cheek. "Obviously, I know you know the limitations of human mortality and that forever is an unquantifiable amount of time that is impossible to grasp with our limited knowledge -"

She silenced him with a kiss because he was going to begin a rant that would send them both spiralling about death and the inevitable passage of time. Spencer's reaction was immediate and enthusiastic, and he kissed her back in earnest, cupping her jaw in both hands and deepening their kiss.

The kiss was slow. It was one that was both lazy and sweet, and they both melted deeper under the influence of it, their lips moving against each other with a sensual, yet tender care, and they were lost in each other. They kissed without a thought or worry or concern for anything else in the world; only focused on kissing each other to the fullest extent of their abilities.

Like always, Spencer kissed as if he wanted to consume her, to devour her utterly. Even when there was no intention of currently going any further than a smooch, he was giving it his all. His hands slid down from her jaw to hold the back of her neck before tangling themselves in her hair, and her arms wound tighter around him, tugging him closer.

It would've gone on for so long if Spencer's phone hadn't buzzed. At first, he ignored it. But Y/N tried her best to move away but he kept chasing her lips, desperate to keep their embrace going. When she finally managed to peel him off of her, she grabbed his phone, held it out to him, and in the 5 seconds it took her to do that, it began vibrating again.

"Penny's calling you."

"Don't care."

He attempted to steal another kiss. All it took was one stern look and he was picking up Garcia's call. As the work call commenced, Y/N cuddled into her boyfriend's side, resting her head in the crook of his neck while his free hand was brushing up and down her spine.

Penelope's usual chirpy tone spilled through the phone and, even though Y/N wasn't really paying attention to the words she heard, there was no doubt that Penny's typical speech patterns were as entertaining as ever to listen to.

From the snippets her brain had comprehended, the FBI was cracking down on Reid's anachronistic ways and was forcing him to modernise. Penelope, in an effort to ease this new transition for him, was offering to give him beginners lessons at using the company's software.

The conversation between the old friends wasn't a long one, and once it was nearing its end Spencer happened to mention, "Y/N's with me right now-" and an ear splitting screech came from the other end of the line.

"Y/N!? Hand the phone over! I haven't spoken to her in years - well, we got drinks last weekend but that's not the case - let me speak to her!"

Spencer winced at how loud she was speaking and did as she said, handing the phone over to Y/N and leaning back in his seat, watching as his girl pressed the phone to the ear that wasn't against his shirt.

"Hiya Pen, how are you doing, lovely?"

"Don't yell at me but I saw this top online that I thought you'd love, and I may have bought it, and it should arrive at your apartment within 2-3 business days," Penelope rattled off without stopping for a breath. She laughed nervously, as if anticipating a negative response, but it never came.

"That's so sweet. Thank you! I'll get Spencer to bring in a box of treats for you tomorrow. What kind do you like?" Y/N replied, her tone becoming excited as she talked to Penelope.

The two women talked about their favourite pastries for a little while longer, with Spencer occasionally chiming in and adding his own opinion and suggestions whenever he wanted to be included. He watched as the women interacted with each other like they'd known each other from birth instead of meeting just a couple months prior.

It made sense though. Both Penelope and Y/N were absolute sweethearts, they both were a little on the weird side, and both had changed Spencer’s life for the better. He was grateful and loved every second of it (even when they began to tease him) so he was a smidge bit disappointed when they said their goodbyes.

"Bye Y/N, love you," he heard Penelope coo and Y/N immediately reciprocated the notion, which was just insane. It took years of Spencer's life for him to gather enough courage to drop the L bomb to Y/N. It was almost a decade.

But, Penelope said it so casually in no time at all.

Obviously, the situation was different. As far as Reid knew, Garcia wasn't 'in love' with Y/N like he was. Their relationship was purely platonic. It wasn't the double sided 'unrequited' love kind of friendship that Spencer had with her back in the days before they were a couple.

Still, a weird sense of jealousy stirred in him at that revelation.

If he had a fraction of the confidence Penelope had, maybe Y/N would've known sooner about their true feelings towards one another. She would've known he worships the ground she walks on a handful of years ago. How different would his life look if he'd been more like Penelope?

Whatever the case, the pair ordered Thai food, Y/N fell asleep cwtched into Spencer’s side halfway through an episode of Doctor Who, and he carried her to bed (and maybe he did knock her head on the doorframe and woke her up) like they did every Saturday evening. It was a routine of pure comfort that he cherished.

It seemed perfect. His team often said that too. Whenever their relationship was brought up in conversation, the team often pointed out that from the outside, it seemed like they never argued, never fought, never had problems, and that was mostly the truth.

Spencer knew couples fight and that's okay. A healthy amount of conflict can be beneficial to understand the other person's perspective more clearly. But, Spencer and Y/N didn't fight. Obviously, they had differing opinions on some things and Spencer knew he had the tendency to snap if he had a headache - even then, he always apologised directly after he'd made that comment - yet they hadn't had an actual argument.

Not even once.

Until...

A case in Nebraska then another straight after that in Birmingham had caused Spencer to be away from home for just under a month and a half. Both of those had been grisly, drawn out, and tiring, but to top it all off, the flight back home arrived at 2am in the morning and Spencer hadn't managed to get a nap in on the plane.

By the time he got home, all he was thinking about was getting into bed, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend, and being completely comatose for far too many hours. The moment he stepped foot into the apartment, however, his plans were cut short.

Y/N was still awake. She was sitting on the sofa with a coffee in one hand, a book in the other, and a blanket across her lap. As soon as she heard his arrival, she greeted, "Hi, lovely, how was your trip?"

As much as he would like to tell her everything that had transpired during his absence, he couldn't. Spencer could barely keep his eyes open. All he managed was, "Why aren't you asleep?"

"I wanted to wait up for you."

"You didn't need to."

He hadn't intended to sound so cold and indifferent, but he didn't have control over his vocal cords right at that moment. He was feeling exhausted - physically, mentally, emotionally, and verbally drained - which meant the last thing he wanted was someone fussing over him.

If Y/N had been in a good mood, that comment would've rolled right off. If he'd said that on a non monthly monster day, she probably wouldn't have replied with a snarky, "No, guess I didn't."

"Can we do this in the morning?"

"Do what?"

"I don’t need you interrogating me right now.”

“Interrogating?” she repeated, eyes narrowing. “I asked how your trip was, Spencer. I’m not shining a light in your face asking for confessions.”

Spencer let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he explained himself, and his angst increased with each syllable he said, "I'm too drained to deal with you annoying me right now! I don't want to tell you how my trip was! People were murdered, Y/N. It wasn't some holiday. That's my job and I have to have the space to handle it. Can't you just let me be?"

When the words left Spencer's mouth, the atmosphere inside the room had gone from a sluggish haze to tense silence. Y/N blinked and her face hardened.

"Let you be?" she repeated, her voice dangerously quiet. "I haven't seen you in over a month, Spencer. I get that your job is horrible sometimes, but I missed you and I thought you’d want someone to come home to talk to."

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. His exhaustion had swallowed any rational thoughts, and he was too tired to pick through the mess of emotions boiling inside him. He shook his head.

Then, he said something he really didn't mean to. If he could take it back, he would in a heartbeat.

"This isn’t about you, Y/N. Not everything is about you."

Silence fell between them again, thick and heavy. Spencer could feel the weight of his words sinking in. He wanted to say something, to soothe the wound, but it felt like the damage was done.

"Go to bed, Spencer," she finally said, her voice resigned.

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Fine, stand there and glare daggers at me then."

"I'm not glaring."

"Are too."

"Am not."

They stared each other down, neither willing to concede their point. Until, eventually, Spencer broke eye contact with an aggravated huff, threw his bag to the ground, and stomped into their bedroom.

From her place on the couch, Y/N heard through the wall as showered in their en-suite and flopped down on the bed, the springs creaking and groaning as he adjusted herself. She laid on the couch for a few moments, debating with herself whether she ought to follow him into the bedroom or not. The blanket didn’t feel as warm and cosy as it had 10 mins ago, and the coffee tasted far more bitter.

Ultimately, she decided against it. He needed space and sleep, and she could give him that much. Besides, the coffee she'd drunk to stay up for him was still flowing through her veins so going to bed right now was out of the question. So, with a sigh, she got up off the sofa, picked up Spencer's abandoned bag, and stuffed his dirty laundry into the washing machine.

She sat on the floor and read as she waited for the clothes to finish the cycle, and though she tried to keep them at bay, tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, and she quickly wiped at them before they splotched against the page.

Then, when they were finally done and had been moved to the dryer, Y/N prepared herself for bed. Two aspirins and a fully filled heated hot water bottle later, she retreated to Spencer’s office and pulled down the Murphy bed as quietly as she could. It was a little creaky and the mattress wasn't the most comfortable without the topper on it, but she couldn't be bothered to search for it.

The pillow and duvet that was kept in the cupboard beside the bed was enough for the night.

So, she went to bed. Alone, which wasn't unusual since Spencer was always across the country with the BAU, but this was the first night slept by herself while he was home since they got together. It was weird, but she eventually fell asleep.

Spencer, on the other hand, hadn't managed to doze off. His big brain was whirring with everything he thought he should've said instead of being an asshole. He should've answered her initial question with a weary but understanding, "Sorry, baby, but I'm really tired and I just want to use your chest as my pillow. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow, okay?"

He didn't say that, though, and now he couldn't sleep.

His socks made a soft shuffling sound as he made his way into the living room in search of his girlfriend, expecting to find her dozing on the couch. Obviously, he didn't find that, yet he did hear the beep of the dryer.

Even during a fight, she'd done his washing for him. That caused him to feel even more guilty about how he'd treated her because, fuck, he knew she loved him. This was empirical proof of that. On any other night, that would've brought a dopey lovesick smile to his face and a fluttering in his stomach; but, as it currently was, it only made him feel nauseous.

Maybe part of that was the sleep deprivation, yet the memory of Y/N's sad little face was enough to send a pang of regret ricocheting around the insides of Spencer's ribcage.

He was a big, gun wielding FBI man who'd put himself in front of serial killers on a weekly basis, but the thought of upsetting his girlfriend scared the hell out of him. What if Y/N wanted nothing to do with him anymore?

No more kisses, no more cuddles, no more mornings spent wrapped tightly in her embrace, no more late night conversations about random topics that would lead nowhere while they were watching TV, no more shared smiles and quiet giggles, no more love.

That thought alone felt as if someone had dropped an ice cube down the back of his pj shirt, and the only way to soothe that was to feel Y/N's warmth pressed against him.

As quietly as he could, Spencer slipped into the spare room and settled under the covers behind Y/N. He tried not to wake her, but as he wrapped an arm around her waist, his palm came upon something unnaturally warm and plastic resting against her lower stomach, and he kept poking it to work out what the hell it was.

"Hot water bottle," she grumbled. "For cramps."

Shit. He was usually aware of her biological schedule, but given the circumstances, he'd completely forgotten that mother nature had decided to damn his lovely girlfriend with cramps and pains and irritability and literal bleeding just because she was a woman. He'd been a dick to her while she was going through that?

"Oh, baby," he cooed, pulling her so she was lying down on her back. He nudged the bottle out of the way so he could tenderly rub circles on her stomach. "I'm so sorry, honey. I didn't mean to -"

"Shhhh... Tomorrow."

"But, I can't if you're mad at me and -"

"Spencer, baby." She pressed a barely awake kiss to his cheek. "I'm not mad at you, I promise. Just tired, is all."

She sounded half asleep, the words slurring slightly, so Spencer nodded in acknowledgement and followed her lead into slumber. He would apologise to her properly in the morning. For now, he was content to drift off listening to her breathing and feeling her heartbeat in time with his own, until sleep took over entirely.

And when he woke in the afternoon, Spencer was ordering them lunch in the hopes it would arrive ready for her as she woke. He was ready to plead and grovel and get down on his knees if necessary to make things go right. It was the least he could do to apologise to the woman he loved.

When Y/N finally did wake up, she was greeted with new but familiar surroundings. She was 100% sure that she'd fallen asleep in the spare room. As she looked around the room with a half hidden lidded gaze, she saw her phone plugged charging on the bedside table, the perfume bottles that she kept on the vanity opposite the bed, and the kangaroo teddy Spencer had gotten her as a gift on the chair beside that.

She was in her room. He must've carried her to their bed when he woke up.

"Stay there, baby!" he urged, sounding as if he was somewhere near the front door. There was some muffled conversation, then Spencer appeared in the bedroom doorway with a paper bag of sweet smelling food.

He shuffled into the room, his steps a little nervous, and held the food towards her.

"Are you trying to bribe me, Spencer Reid?"

"...Maybe."

His smile was sheepish and apologetic and beautiful all at once. He was dressed down in sweats and an old tshirt, hair sticking up every direction, and he sat down at the edge of the bed as if he was waiting for permission to get any closer.

"I'm gonna need one more thing to forgive you."

"Anything."

Y/N urged him closer with one beckoning forefinger and Spencer obediently scooted forward, closing the gap between them.

"Gonna need a kiss."

"That, I can do."

His lips landed softly upon hers in an instant. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as she kissed him, and when she was satisfied with his apology smooch, she broke away from it and leaned her forehead against his. They stayed like that for a moment, their breaths mingling and foreheads touching, their noses lightly brushing each other's.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "Talking to you when I get home from work really helps me calm down, but I was so exhausted last night that I couldn't stop myself from snapping at you. And, Y/N, I didn't realise…" His palm made its way back to her stomach. "How bad are your cramps today?"

"They're not so bad. It's okay." That wasn't entirely true, and he knew she was downplaying it for his sake. "Completely devouring whatever treat you ordered would probably help."

Chuckling, he pecked her temple and their feast of pancakes, waffles, and French toast commenced. As the two ate, he watched her carefully, noting the way the corners of her mouth turned upwards at his silly jokes, the way her nose wrinkled adorably, and the way her tongue peeked out from between her lips to lick whipped cream off of her fingers.

The idea of losing this, losing her, losing them, was unthinkable. And in order to prevent that from happening, Spencer knew what he had to do.

He was going to go ring shopping at the earliest convenience.

*Click here for my Spencer Reid masterlist, or here for the entire masterlist*

Wanna be added to a taglist? Either comment on this post or send me a message!

[matchaelette]

GIF from pinterest

when exhausted jungkook is equal to a cranky jungkook but you’re just a simple girl

summary: idol!jk and oc!ash, established relationship, both ash and jungkook are working very hard and they’re exhausted to the point where it feels like they might drop dead soon. kook gets frustrated because ash won’t pay him enough attention but soon she ends up pampering his majesty’s ass anyways. also, there’s a backdrop on ash’s life; she is a musician and a part of iu’s band.

genre: pure fluff.

warning: none. go crazy children

word count: 4.5k

notes: I know I know, like, a part of iu’s band? isn’t that a bit too much? nah it’s not. I have enough reality chasing me irl, let me have my fun here. also, I hope ya’ll are doing okay. a new year comes with a lot of expectations and responsibilities so don’t be too hard on yourselves <3 happy 2024 peeps :D

“what. do you want. jeon jungkook.”

“ooh she used the full name, have I been a bad boy?”, the words tumble down your boyfriend’s lips with a dramatic flare, followed by a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, unfazed by the sheer force of your previous sentence, “what do you mean what do I want? attention and affection, of course.”

not that you’re counting, but what you assume to be the nineteenth sigh tonight, leaves your lips. your eyelids were so heavy that you doubted if even a fire in the building could wake you up. exhaustion tore at your limbs and you didn’t have the power to lift your eyelids to shoot a glare at your golden retriever boyfriend, let alone muster enough energy to face him and provide him... what did he say again? attention and affection.

you’ve been tirelessly working throughout the week, barely having time to eat or sleep. almost every day you’re coming back home at four in the morning, when jungkook is sound asleep, and leaving again in three hours, when he is yet to wake up. it’s the first time in quite a few days that you came home at a reasonable hour and were tangled in the bed with a very much awake jungkook. but as much as you want to entertain him, your body does not seem willing to cooperate.

you’re a musician, and boy when you pursued a music career, you never thought it could ever make you tired. music has been your love and your life since you could remember and a very fundamental part of your life. whether it was humming random strings of sounds while having your diaper changed as a baby (your parents’ word) or singing meaningless lyrics to any tune you heard when you started talking (again, your parents’ word), your love for music has always just grown. you’re now a full-blown musician, having the privilege to work with all the a-rated musicians of the world. you are pretty much a regular member of iu’s band— iu being the living legend of korea and the forever-long crush of jungkook’s life— but you still worked with other artists from time to time, sometimes as a producer, sometimes as a composer.

throughout your high school years, you developed a reputation as the person who would randomly start humming during examinations, writing lyrics on her exam papers, and always playing instruments or plainly singing in every single school function. and if that wasn’t a wake-up call, getting scouted as a musician through your personal instagram was certainly one. it happened right during the end of high school when you were preparing for uni, and the single event changed everything in your life. you were scouted by an agency called bighit, and they convinced you to audition, intriguing you enough to skip school one day and show up in a rusty building in the gangnam district of seoul with a guitar hanging on your shoulder. impressed by your skills, they signed you up as a trainee.

it was one of the best things that happened in your life.

ironically, it was also where you met your boyfriend for the first time.

saying your parents weren’t happy when you decided to completely backtrack from uni and focus solely on music would be an understatement. you were always an exceptional student— part of the reason your teachers would always overlook you humming in class or using your projects as a canvas for your musical colors— and were supposed to major in business studies as your parents’ wishes. while it was never something you hated— in fact, you always thought that you’d rather be a super successful businesswoman if you couldn’t be a musician— but having your first choice being handed to you on a silver platter, you'd be a fool not to take it. your parents were enraged, they cut you off from the family entirely, but you were nothing if not stubborn. determined to make it, alone if you have to, you've worked your ass off for all these years to get into the position you’re in now, a place where your name is gold-plated in the music industry.

but success was never truly your goal. your goal was to simply stay immersed in a world of music and you can’t help but take pride of how far all alone. but working like your life depended on it became sort of a habit, sometimes to the point where a singular musical note could make you groan. you don’t sing as much as you used to back in high school, instead, you use up all your time to compose music and play the guitars for iu.

said idol is supposed to be having a comeback very soon, somewhere your boyfriend’s bandmate was also going to star— kim taehyung— and so work has been extra draining lately, with everyone trying to master every single detail and point.

“kook, stoooop”, you whine, burying your face in the soft pillow, waterfalls of hair obscuring your vision as you make a feeble attempt to wriggle out of jungkook’s grasp. but he is relentless. he rolls his eyes and manhandles you back into his arms, causing you to let out a small yelp as your back presses against his chest.

jungkook, himself, was tired as hell. while you were coming back at four in the morning, he was coming back at three, working equally hard as you. jungkook is always driven by his passions and he never hesitates to work hard for it, but despite that fact, this week has been particularly challenging, especially with the pressure of working on his own solo album. the lack of food and sleep was almost getting to him, leaving him irritable to the point where he almost snapped at the choreographer. although he apologized quickly, he noticed that he was in the mood where people pick up fights for no reason. he decided to just come back home and get some rest before something else could provoke him, but when he discovered you were at home as well, he couldn’t help but get clingy. after all, you guys haven’t properly talked for weeks.

and he missed you.

“c’mon, I can’t even see your face”, jungkook props himself up on his elbow, his breath gently fanning your face.

“we’ve already established the fact i’m pretty. let me sleep, kook.”

“aren’t pretty faces meant to be looked at?”

jungkook furrows his brows when he gets no answer from you. he blinks furiously to keep his own exhaustion at bay and studies your face to see if you’ve already drifted off to sleep. your eyes are closed, and he can feel the steady rhythm of your heart inside the hoodie of his that you’re wearing. he can also sense you’re not asleep though. not yet anyway.

“babeee”, jungkook lets out a high-pitched whimper and immediately yelps when you elbow him in the ribs but he isn’t sure which one strikes a nerve, the elbow or the words that follow.

“dude, would you please let me sleep? I am tired as fuck and I have to wake up early”, you grit your teeth in clear annoyance, not even bothering to open your eyes, “unlike some people”

jungkook feels a twinge of guilt, but he can also feel a surge of a new emotion. anger? before he can fully comprehend what is going on, inconsiderate words escape his mouth.

“so am I. but you don't see me complaining all the time.”

your eyes fly open. before you can fully discern their meaning of jungkook’s words, he moves away from you, retreating completely to his side of the bed and putting as much space between your bodies as possible. you use your last fragments of remaining energy to prop yourself up into a half-seated position to face him, but jungkook has already turned his back on you.

“what is that supposed to mean?”

silence.

“jungkook, what the hell was that supposed to mean?”

“go to sleep, okay?”, his quiet voice makes you falter and you immediately understand that he is angry. though for what, you don’t quite understand.

“jungkook, i’m sleepy, okay? and—”

“then sleep! no one’s stopping you now.”

“but you’re mad at me for being tired! how is that fair? i’ve been working like crazy—”

“geez, sorry for being unfair, ash”, sarcasm drips from jungkook’s voice and you don’t like that in the slightest, “I also have to wake up early, earlier than you in fact, so please let me sleep.”

an uncomfortable silence follows his sentence.

“alright”, you sigh and drop it after staring at his back for a few seconds. you don’t want to get into an argument now, not when both of you are on the verge of collapsing, prone to say things you don’t mean at all. you’d rather sleep and deal with it in the morning when both of you are well rested and not running on two hours of sleep and a shit ton of caffeine.

it’s not always you get to see this side of jungkook. anyone who knows him knows that the boy is crafted from starry skies and honeyed galaxies alone, always smiling a bit too easily and lighting everyone around him as bright as the evening star.

however, every time you see a crack at his easy, carefree demeanor, you can’t help but feel a sense of helplessness within. jungkook doesn’t get irritated often and certainly not easily, but when he does, his behavior takes a different turn. he doesn’t shout or scream or take his anger out on inanimate objects as you tend to do. instead, he completely shuts himself out of the world. every curt answer feels like a form of silent treatment, every word spoken laces itself with sarcasm, always hitting where it hurts the most. even though he never takes his anger out on you, you don’t like seeing him like this.

if you knew he would react like this, you would have given a little more effort to remain awake in his company. jungkook may be childish but he rarely behaves like this. and you’re just a simple girl, hopelessly in love with the boy who has his back turned to you.

“goodnight”, you draw closer to him and drape an arm around his waist hesitantly. when he doesn’t stir or reply, a dejected sigh escapes your lips. nonetheless, you tenderly wrap the blanket around him and nestle your face at the nape of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of fresh linen and mint.

despite the fatigue draping your limbs, despite jungkook starting to softly snore within minutes, it takes you an entire hour to fall asleep.

you let out yet another groan as memories from last night come flooding back into your mind. it has been like that all day, the memories coming and going as they pleased, striking you with a sense of disappointment every time they do. jungkook was already gone when you woke up in the morning and despite knowing he had an early schedule, you couldn't help but feel downhearted.

you immediately checked your phone back then, hoping to find a message from him but much to your disappointment, there was none. both you and jungkook had quite hectic schedules, but it became an unspoken agreement in the house to update each other about your days ever since you moved in together. jungkook would always leave little neon post-its on the fridge with messages— reminder to eat something before you get coffee!!! and call me after you wake up, let’s get lunch together??? — whenever he left the house before you were up and vice versa. soon, the post-its turned into text messages because it was always easier in the rush of the mornings. jungkook would always wake up to texts from you— before you get mad, I did kiss you before leaving but you wouldn’t budge— and he would instantly call you to check if your schedules aligned and if he could pick you up after work.

but having no text from jungkook this morning could mean only one thing.

he is still mad.

despite being agitated because of your lack of basic human activities, you pushed aside those emotions and called him immediately. you got more worried when jungkook didn’t pick the phone up because you knew he wasn’t one to hold petty grudges. you reluctantly dragged yourself out of bed then, brushing and getting ready to face the day. now that you’ve had gained a few hours of rest, you realized how tired jungkook looked last night. you could almost hear the constant grumbles from his stomach that pointed out how hungry he was. But he kept saying that he didn’t have the energy to eat. you could see the swollen eyelids and the purple hue outlining it more clearly, how he walked unsteadily as if he was drunk.

jungkook called you back while you were on your way to work. you weren’t really surprised but it still dissipated some of your nerves. he explained that his phone was on silent and he didn’t see your call but his voice still sounded distant and his responses were short. he also mentioned that he might not come home tonight, hoping to squeeze in some extra practice hours.

he didn’t call you once for the rest of the day.

very un-jungkook of him.

and you were too busy to call him.

it is nearly midnight now. you find yourself inside your car, driving through the dimly lit streets of seoul. despite the hour, the city is bustling, alive with people and emotions. driving through the city always puts you at ease; you hated crowds but you loved observing people, the multitudes of emotions they go through every moment, making every one so much different than another but still intricately woven within love and life.

after the long day, you yearned for the warmth and comfort of your bed, considering skipping the shower part because that’s how drained you were. you didn’t eat anything all day, something that has become a routine now, save for the apple you grabbed while leaving the house in the morning. minus the seven-something cups of coffee.

yet you find yourself driving in the direction of the hybe studios.

you’re almost near the building when a sudden realization makes you click your tongue in annoyance. should have gotten some flowers. why did I not think of that before?

you park your car and make your way inside the extravagant building. the staff knew you well by now, both from your days as a trainee and your frequent visits to your boyfriend and his bandmates. you ascend to the top floor of the establishment, going straight toward one of the empty practice rooms jungkook loves to use whenever he is rehearsing on his own.

pushing the door open, you enter the room. the space is slightly dark, only illuminated with neon purple lights, ridiculously confirming your boyfriend’s presence to you. call it jungkook being jungkook, but your boyfriend hates harsh lights. you don’t doubt that he would happily reside in the darkness for the rest of his life if he was asked to.

you spot jungkook in the farthest corner of the room— hybe practice rooms are scarily huge— a blur of black sweats and bobbing hair, vigorously throwing hooks and uppercuts at the gray punching bag hanging in front of him. even from a distance you can see that he is completely absorbed in his own world, a side of him that you have come to know well over the years. this jungkook is full of energy and passion. this jungkook is the golden maknae of bts, putting his heart and soul into whatever he was working on, squeezing every last drop of capability, and surpassing every single one of his limits every minute. this is the boy who keeps on giving birth to beauty, elegance, and unparalleled talent.

you didn’t like to disrupt jungkook’s concentration when he was working so you decide to sit silently until he noticed your himself. however, concern washes over you when you see the lack of gloves in his hand. instead, his hands are wrapped with gauze and tape as he mercilessly throws jabs at the punching bag, and you can notice the blood seeping through the rips of the cloth around his knuckles.

“are you trying to piss me off on purpose?”, you hiss softly, walking towards him and putting your palm on his shoulder so as not to scare him. but jungkook yelps in shock anyways, bambi eyes wide and startled like a deer caught in front of headlights.

“ash?”

“why are you not wearing gloves?”, you take his hands into your own, flinching when you get a good look at it. his knuckles were visible through the torn cloth, red and angry, blood seeping through the gashes on his skin.

“sorry—”, jungkook throws you a sheepish glance, recovering from the initial shock, “—when did you come here? wait, why are you here?”

“to kick your ass”, you say, exasperated, “seriously jungkook, how hard is it to wear a glove? you just take the damn thing and squeeze your hand insi—”

“I did! but then it tore somehow”

you scowled.

“it’s true! look! I threw it on the ground when it ripped. it’s still there!”

“then don’t punch so hard!”

“but I have to train!”, jungkook pouted, hoping his cute facial expression would calm you down. you scowled more.

you huff, releasing his hands and making your way toward the line of closets in the back of the room. it’s where the first aid kits are usually kept. you know every practice room in the entire building has one or two of these because this is where most of the accidents happens. you can sense jungkook’s gaze following you but he remains mute.

getting what you need, you take a seat on the furnished floor and pat it, urging jungkook to do the same. he falls silent once again, any surprise from your unexpected arrival which urged him to talk normally wore off and the tension was back.

jungkook complies and sits down in front of you. he takes a good few seconds to stare at your outstretched palms before sighing in defeat and offering you his hands when he notices your enraged glare. He doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of your rage. and doesn’t matter he says, he would be lying if he said his hands didn’t throb from the pain.

you carefully remove the white gauges from his hands, wincing when more blood oozes out. looking at red cuts and bruises across his skin almost physically pains you, but jungkook stays completely silent, eyes drinking you in. he recalls being mad at you but he can’t quite recall the reason. it’s not because he can't remember now, especially with you here, tending to his wounds in such a delicate manner that you fear you would hurt him. as if something as gentle as your touch could ever cause him harm. not because you look like you were put on this earth to solely heal his hands. and not because you showed up here unannounced. because he genuinely can’t remember what made him so mad at you last night, literally out of thin air, and now he feels embarrassed at his own immaturity.

he just couldn’t figure out how to approach you after being a total jerk.

weird how humans tend to hurt the ones they love the most, almost always for no particular reason at all.

you finish your work wordlessly, putting band-aids around his knuckles and ointment on the cuts peppering his fingers. letting his hands fall onto his lap, you gather the bloodied materials from the floor and rise up to throw them in the waste paper box. jungkook follows your suit, standing up cluelessly.

“you’re gonna start throwing punches again?”

“hmm? uh no— I think I will practice the choreographies now”

“okay”, you sigh.

jungkook looks like hell, you realize. his messy hair is messier than usual, sticking out wildly at all angles, eyes droopy and rimmed with circles darker than you remember seeing last night. sweat glistened on his hunched figure tired from the physical exertion, soaking his sweatshirt.

you know you look just as worn out as him. you can feel it by the way he looks at you.

“uh so— are you gonna drive ho—”

“come with me.”

jungkook’s eyes widen as you wrap your arms around his torso, hiding your head on his chest. while a sweaty jungkook usually makes you giggle out a gross and maneuver far away, you hug him with gentle ardor, more so than usual.

you just want him to come home tonight.

“ash, sweetheart, i’m sweating”, jungkook tries to pry himself away from you but you just hold him tighter.

“don’t care. please come home.”

jungkook goes limp in your clutch for a few seconds before he’s softly hugging you back. of course, he would go home if you wanted him to, you didn’t need to ask him twice. who the heck is he to deny you? always a prisoner to your wishes, always prisoner to your love, and gladly so. how could he not? he rests his chin on your head and sways your body from side to side in a rhythm.

“okay”

“really?”

“really.”

the drive back home was short.

you drove, as jungkook was all out of it. he didn’t have the physical and mental coordination to walk down the building to the car, how the boy was gonna rehearse overnight, you had no idea.

“whoops, babe how were you gonna dance?” you supported his weight leaning down on you while you were walking, steading yourself before both of you fell on the ground, one arm wrapped around his torso, his figure hunched and head resting on your neck.

“I can walk. I am just choosing not to since you’re here”, he flashed you a grin with his eyes closed.

after arriving home, jungkook went straight to the shower and for a few seconds, you contemplated joining him. however, recalling how jungkook’s grumbling tummy throughout the whole ride, made you change your decision. he mentioned that he didn’t eat anything fulfilling all day. that is why you told him to freshen up and made a beeline towards the kitchen to make some instant ramen, not very healthy but quick and easy, and always gratifying.

so here you are now, serving ramen into two bowls with the leftover kimchi you guys had in the fridge. sleepiness makes your eyelids droop and you feel like prying them open with scotch tapes.

like tom, you snort to yourself, from tom and jerry.

man, you loved that cartoon during your childhood.

after all these years, you still don’t know if you’re team tom or team jerry.

hearing a faint clicking sound, you turn around and see jungkook approaching you, shirtless and clad in sweatpants. the shower had done marvels because he looks as attractive as he always does, with the water dripping down his damp hair onto the well-defined muscles in his chest. feeling a blush creep in, you quickly avert your eyes.

both of you are tired enough without resorting to er— any other activities for the night.

“what are you doing in the kitchen?” jungkook stares at you with confused doe eyes.

“putting food on the table like the dutiful girlfriend I am.”

“pretty sure that’s wife material”, jungkook whispers as he works his way into your arms, tugging your waist flushed with his.

“kook, you need to dry your hair properly! you’ll catch a cold”, you scold him softly, feeling greasy when you see him so fresh and glowy. you card a hand through his locks, feeling it to be more sopping than it seemed. you break free from his grasp to grab a towel from the washroom, ignoring the loud protests.

“sit”, you command, gesturing for jungkook to sit on one of the stools lining the kitchen island. when he complies, you gently massage his head with the towel, squeezing every last drop of remaining water from his hair. jungkook prefers to air dry his hair when he is at home, allowing it to get some rest from all the heat and styling he has to do on a regular basis, but he also religiously manages to forget at least soaking the water out.

he grabs you closer by pulling your waist. you stand between his thighs and continue massaging his scalp while he muffles his face on your chest, desperately seeking your warmth and comfort. a smile stretches across your face watching jungkook moan in satisfaction.

“how are the hands?”

“mmm good. need to put more band-aids”, his voice comes out hoarse being squished in your chest, “you didn’t need to cook. I know you are tired.”

“but i’m hungry too”

“oh. let’s eat then! it smells so fucking good!”

and jungkook’s sudden burst of enthusiasm prompts a hearty laugh from you, endeared to your core, just as you always find yourself enamored by his every action.

“what. do you want. jeon jungkook.”

jungkook’s soft laughter echoes inside the room in response to the aggression in your tone. he pulls you closer to himself, wrapping an arm tightly around your torso once your back is secured against his chest. after finishing your meal, jungkook volunteered to clean the dishes while we waited for you to take a shower. now that both of you are clean and full, you find yourselves tangled together in bed once again; your usual routine, you trying to sleep and jungkook trying to keep you awake.

“I want you to eat well. I want you to sleep well. you. I want you. always you”, he presses his face in your hair, taking in the aroma of wood and wild berries.

“and I am sorry”, he adds quietly.

you stir when you hear his words, turning around in his hold to face him. you know what he is apologizing for.

“well, you should be.”

“I really am.”

“i'm kidding, kook. you don’t need to be sorry. you were tired and—”

“but see, that’s the thing! every time I tell you that i’m tired and just want to sleep, you make damn sure I get some actual rest but I—”, he gestures at himself, looking at you with utmost concentration, “start acting like a spoiled child when I don’t get absolutely one hundred percent of your attention.”

“can't really disagree with that.”

“hey!”

“your words, not mine!”, you let out a squeal as jungkook tries to tickle you, holding him tighter in an attempt to make him stop, “love, that’s a part of you. and I adore that. that you feel comfortable enough to get mad at me for nothing. I don’t want you all smiley and cheery, without the bad things. I love you. and I want you as... you.”

“however annoying you may be”, you add as an afterthought.

jungkook scrunches his nose, “I am pretty annoying from time to time, aren’t I?”

“oh boy, you have no idea.”

“wow. am I imagining things or does everyone feel like you’re in a mood to constantly attack me tonight?”, he hugs you tighter if possible, shrugging, “my fault for loving you so much, I guess.”

“well, I am very lovable.”

“...oh boy, you have no idea.”

[arcane-vagabond]

Ok so I just saw a TikTok about a woman who found out she was pregnant with their first child a few weeks after her husband left for deployment and she’s like 8 months pregnant now and he’s coming home from deployment finally. I was wondering about Jake in that situation. Like how would he react? I know he’s be devastated to miss most of the pregnancy and not being able to give you a hug when you guys found out. He would have been so attentive and doting during the pregnancy normally, but now he would be SUPER doting to try to make up for lost time. What do you think?

(Feel free to ignore this💕)

Pffffft as if I'd ignore this gold mine.

But like, imagine though.

You waited anxiously in the parking lot, leaning up against your car in a futile effort to ease some of the comfort. It wasn't easy being eight months pregnant. And it wasn't easy having to go through it alone while your husband had been shipped off to god only knows where just before you had found out. And it certainly wasn't easy keeping it a secret from him for that entire time.

You still weren't sure you had done the right thing by not telling him. On one hand, you hadn't wanted him to worry while he was an ocean away, and you definitely didn't want him to worry about you when he was operating a multi-ton machine thousands of feet up in the air. No, the very thought made you sick with worry of your own.

On the other hand...

You opened up the passenger side door, carefully dipping down to grab your water bottle that you had flung in the seat and some Tums for your heartburn. You had just found the bottle of Tums when a pair of strong legs stopped in your peripheral.

"Well, hi there gorgeous."

You jumped, turning to face the man beside you.

"Jake!" you cried, smiling reflexively at the sight of your husband. He beamed down at you as you straightened, tummy still hidden by the car door. Jake leaned in to plant a long, slow kiss to your lips. One turned into two. Two turned into three. Finally, you pulled away from him with a hum, and a pout settled on his lips. "Missed you, baby."

Your heart stuttered. "I missed you too," you replied, cursing at the nerves that made their way into your tone. Jake's brow furrowed.

"You okay, darlin'?" he asked. You shifted your weight as you tried to figure out the best way to tell him. Before you could, Jake rounded the door, stopping when he finally took in your full form. His eyes widened, and his jaw nearly fell to the ground. "What?" he trailed off.

"I wanted to tell you," you rushed out, feeling tears prickle at your eyes. Damn hormones. "I just didn't know how, and it didn't seem like the kind of thing you say over the phone, and I didn't want to worry you, and it's not like you could just up and leave, and-"

Jake didn't seem to be paying attention to your rambling as he stared down your stomach, his gaze full of quiet awe. Slowly, he reached a hand out to place it on your stomach.

"We're having a baby?" he asked quietly. You felt the tears roll down your cheeks before you could stop them.

"Yes," you sobbed. "Oh, Jake. I'm so sorry."

That caught his attention. His eyes snapped up to meet yours. A confused frown tugging at his lips. "What on earth do you have to be sorry for, sweetheart?"

"I should have told you before now," you cried. Jake shook his head, reaching up to cradle your head to his chest as much as your stomach would allow.

"None of that, mama," he cooed, rocking you gently from side to side. "It's me who should be sorry for leaving you here to do this all by yourself."

"It's not like you had a choice," you muttered, nuzzling into his chest. Jake ran a soothing hand over your hair.

"Doesn't matter now," he hummed, pulling away just far enough to see you. "I'm here, and I plan on making up for lost time. Now, let's get home so I can pamper and spoil my beautiful wife that's carrying my baby."

Jake helped you into the passenger seat, making sure you were buckled in securely before jogging over to the other side.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" he asked excitedly as he drove the speed limit home, something completely out of character for your husband.

"A boy," you smiled, rubbing your stomach affectionately.

Jake grinned. "A boy," he breathed with a shake of his head. You were sure his cheeks were sore from how hard he was smiling. "Have you decided on a name?"

You shook your head. "Wanted to wait until you came home so we could decide together."

"What about Jake Junior?"

"Absolutely not," you snort. Jake's smile never faltered as he let out a chuckle.

"That's okay, mama. I've still got a whole month to get you to come around."

[legomonkiefics]

LMK Characters As Queerplatonic Partners (GN Reader, Pt 1)

Genres: Platonic || They/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

A/N: not all the characters in the below image will be used, it's just a good image to display the whole cast

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚｡⋆୨🌈୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

MK:

- MK seems like the type to be very physically affectionate with everyone, including his friends (if you're alright with that) so he'll likely always have an arm around you or keep contact with you in some way

- You get invited to every hangout he has with Mei and you quickly become a solid member of their chaotic dynamic. MK even offers to get you a similar jacket to theirs with whatever design you want

- You've got complete free range to MK's room, snacks, and all his collectibles. He trusts you enough to give you slightly more privileges than Mei (like infinite sleepovers)

- He might whine about it from time to time, but he genuinely appreciates if you make sure he's taking care of himself while being a hero

- He brings MOUNTAINS of snacks for movie nights or marathon binges and always tries to retrain himself from eating too many of your favorites

Mei:

- She hypes you up so much. Almost everything you do she gives full enthusiastic support on, and even offers to livestream whenever you wanna do something particularly cool

- She offers to give you lessons on her motorcycle with a customized helmet for you

- She tries to make sure you're always having fun, but she knows how to dial it back when things seem to be getting out of hand and will get protective of you in an instant

- She gets less worried when you visit her home than she does with others cause she trusts you to be careful and respectful. Her parents really like you as well and are supportive of you two

Red Son:

- The best way to sum it up is he's really trying. Affection in general isn't something he's used to, so receiving support and understanding from you is something he might not seem to appreciate initially

- With time, he learns to relax around you and see you as a big pillar of support in his life. Truth be told, he was always a little worried that his temper would drive others away. Having you around means a lot to him

- His frustration is nowadays directed at others, being protective on your behalf and commanding others to respect you

- Always offers to do things for you, uses pampering as a form of affection and will indulge you within reason

Wukong:

- He honestly hadn't ever heard of the term before, but he's glad to try it out with you

- He's really missed his Journey companions, so having someone he's so close with and can feel vulnerable around fills a long-lingering need

- He let's you touch or play with basically any artifact you can find around his home, though he might occasionally plop a baby monkey on your lap to keep you from getting bored

- He wants you to go basically everywhere with him and be a travel buddy whenever you're both out together, it reminds him of the Pilgrims and brings him comfort

Macaque:

- It takes him a really long time to feel comfortable enough to warm up to the idea, but once he gets used to you, he's realizing just how much he missed being this close to someone

- He's surprisingly clingy, even if he'll never admit it or try to act like he's too independent to need contact. In reality he really likes if you're always close by him

- He can get a little wary of you at times due to past experiences, but at the end of the day he's learning to trust again, and your support means the world to him

- Usually gives you a sort of starring role in some of his shadow plays, but he'll try to be coy and say it's just a character inspired off of you or a coincidence

Chang'e:

- Loves absolutely every second that you visit. She tries to show you all around the moon, everywhere she's made a home for herself during her time up there

- Generally very sweet and supportive, but she will gently sit you down and talk to you if she feels like you're maybe getting ahead of yourself

- Takes a lot of care into making sure you're taking care of yourself, she insists a lot on making your every meal, which are usually made extra special

- Sometimes pushes back working on her show if it means spending more time with you. The moon is rather lonely, so even if she seems happy and upbeat, there's an undeniable relief at having you around

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Grew in my Heart

It's finally done you guys!!!! This is my take on a foster Pony au, loosely based on this idea from @freak-l0rd-certifed. It's currently unedited but I'll post it here anyways, and then cross post an edited version on my ao3. @pepsicurtis asked to be tagged when it was done based on a snippet I posted earlier, so here you go. This is part 1, part 2 is fully written and will be up tomorrow.

***************

The lady on the other side of the room is watching him.

That’s okay though. Ponyboy is used to people watching him. Social workers, foster parents, group home staff, police. Everyone watches him all the time but nobody cares, cares for him or about him, so Ponyboy doesn’t mind this lady joining in. He knows he looks weird, with his sticky out ears and the patchy haircut Mr. Fuller gave him and the bruise around his eye. So he understands why this lady is watching him, and doesn't begrudge her for it.  Besides, she looks like a nice lady. Nice ladies don’t usually watch him. If they do they don’t usually look at him with the kindness glowing in the woman’s shining green eyes.

The lady smiles at him and he ducks back into his book, ears burning. She wasn’t supposed to catch him looking.

When he peeks over the top of his copy of Great Expectation a minute later, she’s still watching him, smiling in a way Ponyboy would call amusement if he didn’t know better. He quickly hides again, cursing himself for drawing notice. It’s never a good thing. Never. Better he stay quiet, stay invisible. Invisible kids didn’t get hurt.

He hopes Ms. Summers will come back soon and take him to wherever he’ll be staying next, if only so that he can leave the waiting room, escape from where this nice lady and her nice family are no doubt waiting for them to bring a brand new baby to adopt. Probably one only a few days old, something sweet and cute and new they could love and pamper. Nice people only ever came to the child services offices to pick up babies. Anyone who came to pick up kids was usually about as nice as the people who dropped them off. 

He goes back to his book. Usually it’s easy to escape into the story where he can pretend to be a knight or a hero or anything but stupid, small, unwanted Ponyboy Hewitt, but he can’t seem to concentrate today. It’s not just because of the nice looking lady with the green eyes who keeps watching him, keeping an eye on him the same way she’s been keeping an eye on the three boys who came in with her. His head is also aching something fierce. That last knock from Mr. Fuller was kind of hard. 

Hard enough Ms.Summers thought he should move again anyway.

“Quit fidgeting, Soda,” an authoritative voice from the other side of the room says, and Ponyboy can’t help but glance over. He tells himself it’s because the speaker was kind of loud, but he knows deep down that’s not the case. It’s not because the boy is loud, it’s because he’s cool. He’s a lot bigger than Pony is, and older too, with wavy brown hair and broad shoulders. He could probably look Mr.Fuller square in the face and never be scared, not ever. “We have to show we’re the perfect family or they won’t let us keep Johnny.”

“Really?” The boy who answers has golden blond hair and rosy cheeks with a dimple high in one corner. Pony never really understood what books meant when they talked about eyes twinkling until the boy had pranced into the office a few minutes before, looking like a prince straight from a fairytale. His eyes aren’t twinkling now though: instead, they’re shining with worry. His shadow, a smaller boy with jet black hair and tan skin, looks the same, eyes wide and terrified in his peaked face. “They can’t do that just ‘cause I’m sittin’ wrong, can they mom?”

He turns anxiously to the nice lady who smiles and smooths down his hair.

“Of course not honey,” she soothes, “we don’t gotta prove we’re perfect to keep Johnny, we just gotta prove we love him. And we do.”

She turns her smile on the dark haired boy who flushes and ducks his head shyly, looking unfathomably pleased. Ponyboy swallows hard and looks away, his own ears reddening. It’s not fair for him to hate the dark haired boy, he knows it isn’t, but it doesn’t matter. In that moment, he kind of hates him anyway. 

The woman’s gentle smile has confirmed what he suspected all along. She’s a nice mom, the kind he’s only ever read about in storybooks. She probably kisses those boys goodnight- even the big one, even if he pretended it wasn’t cool- and probably smells like cinnamon and bakes birthday cakes sometimes, puts bandages on cuts, and never slaps them, not ever. 

He wants Ms. Summers to come back. He wants to leave. He doesn’t want to sit here and watch a boy his own age get adopted by the kind of family he wishes he could have more than anything in the world. 

The blonde boy sticks his tongue out at the cool one and makes a fart noise.

“See Darry? They ain’t gonna take Johnny! You’re stupid and wrong!”

“Sodapop Patrick Curtis!” A man Ponyboy assumed must be the nice lady’s husband and the boys’ father boomed, “What have I told you about using that kind of language towards your brother?”

“That it's not how we speak to our family,” the blonde boy, Sodapop, says like he was reading off a teleprompter. Clearly, this was not the first time he’d heard that particular reprimand, “but dad, I was only defending my other brother.”

“Be that as it may,” Mr.Curtis said, “I don’t want to hear that language from you any more.” He sounded stern, but his eyes were still glinting proudly and there was a smile hiding somewhere near the corner of his mouth. Not a scary dad then. A good one.

“Yeah Soda,” the older boy, Darry, grinned, seeming unperturbed by the insult. He was real handsome, Pony thought. If he was Sodapop he’d never call that Darry boy stupid, not ever. “Save that language for socs. Or Two-bit when he’s playin’ poker against Dally.”

Sodapop laughed then, any traces of animosity disappearing, Johnny grinning quietly beside him. 

Ponyboy decides he’s done watching them be happy, and goes to the washroom.

He does his business, standing on tiptoe to reach the sink when he’s done because it’s meant for adults not for kids and there's no footstool. He can’t reach the soap, even when he jumps, so he just settles for rinsing extra long. The paper towel dispenser is also too high to reach so he dries his hands on his pants and goes back to the waiting room. 

“Oh honey, wait,” he doesn’t realize the nice lady is speaking to him until she’s kneeling in front of him, tugging his shirt from where he hadn’t noticed it had gotten twisted and tucked into his pants, pulling it out and smoothing it down nicely, “there you go. All handsome again.”

She smiles, looking like sunshine incarnate, and Ponyboy kind of wants to die.

“Thank you.” He mumbles, sure he must be redder than a tomato, then flees back to his chair on the other side of the waiting room. They’re all watching him now, the nice lady and her nice husband, and the three boys who are now all sitting in a circle on the floor, playing a game of cards. 

He opens Great Expectations to a random page and stares at it hard, trying very hard not to cry. He’s almost seven years old, he’s not a baby anymore. He will not cry just because one lady was nice to him and now her perfect family is staring at him. He won't. 

“Hi!” Suddenly, blonde, beautiful Sodapop is in front of him, grinning like Ponyboy is the best thing he’s ever seen ever, “I’m Soda. Wanna play cards with us?”

He wants to, more than anything, but he knows if he does it’ll just feel worse when they leave and he doesn’t go with them , or when Ms. Summers comes to drag him away to whoever will bother keeping him for the next few weeks, so he can’t.

He shakes his head, unable to actually say no, and Soda deflates, eager grin melting into an unhappy pout, shoulders curling forward, and the twinkle in his eye dimming. He looks like Pony just ruined his whole day with one shake of his head. 

“Ok,” he sighs, dramatic and world weary, and it would seem like an act if his eyes weren’t entirely genuine, “if you change your mind, you can c’mon over anytime. It would be so much more fun with another person.”

He rejoins the other two boys who shoot curious looks Pony’s way, but he ignores them, looking back at his book. He’s not reading though. He can’t. Instead he’s listening to the boys playing cards, wishing more than anything that he could join them.

“I win.” Dark haired Johnny proclaims for the third time and Soda throws down his cards with a dramatic groan, while Darry just laughs. He seems real nice, not like the big boys at the group homes who liked to steal Pony’s books and shove him around. He hadn’t gotten mad at Soda or Johnny even once, not even when they were playing Go Fish and Soda cheated by peeking at his cards. 

“You little shark,” Darry ruffled Johnny's dark hair, the smaller boy flinching a little before leaning into the touch, “how do you keep doin’ that, huh?”

Johnny shrugged. “It’s a secret.”

“You’re cheatin’!” Soda accused.

“Am not!”

“Are too! No one wins as much as you.”

“I’m just good at cards without cheatin’.”

Soda huffed. “You’re lucky you’re my brother now or I’d fight you.”

“I’d win.” Johnny boasts, and suddenly he looks fierce, chin jutting and eyes fiery, like every kid in every home who fought grownups and just ended up beaten down worse. 

“That’s enough,” Darry pulls the two apart, practically picking them each up with one hand, “quit arguin' or I’m putin’ the cards away.”

“No!” Soda throws himself to the ground, arm draped dramatically across his forehead, “I’ll die of boredom!”

“Then sit up and be good,” Darry tells him, and Soda scrambles to do as he’s told. Pony feels his own spine straightening. It’s just because he’s tired, he tells himself.  It has nothing to do with wanting Darry to look at him with the same approval he looks at Soda and Johnny with. He needs to stretch out a bit, that’s all.

“Y’know,” Darry says, disarmingly casual, easily shuffling the cards the way Pony always wanted to but could never manage, the movement too deft for his clumsy fingers, “there's so many more games we could play with four players.” 

If he didn’t know better Pony would swear Darry was looking at him sideways as he said it, grinning conspiratorially like they were sharing a joke. 

“Euchre…gin rummy…spades…signals…”

Pony’s heart jumped. He loved signals. 

It was practically another invitation right? And Soda had said he could join anytime if he changed his mind…surely one game wouldn’t hurt. 

He scoots forward a bit on the chair, considering. 

“Well?” Suddenly Darry- handsome, cool Darry- is grinning right at him, one eyebrow raised, “You in or not?”

And well….that was an actual invitation. From a big boy no less! Usually boys like Darry wanted nothing to do with him.

Pony could feel what was surely a far too eager grin spreading over his face and he nodded, quickly taking a spot on the floor in between Soda and Johnny. Darry’s grin turned triumphant, like he was the one who’d just been invited to play cards by a cool stranger. 

“Nice. What’s your name kiddo?”

“Ponyboy.” He mumbles, bracing himself for laughter that never comes. Instead Darry just nods, starting to deal cards with ease. 

“Tuff name. I’m Darry, and this here’s Johnny.” 

Pony offered a shy smile in response to Johnny’s friendly nod, earlier vitriol forgotten. It wasn’t Johnny’s fault he was lucky. Pony shouldn’t hate him for it. 

“You already met Soda.”

Darry gives Soda a fondly exasperated look, and Pony focuses very hard on the cards being dealt so he won’t have to look at their faces.

Unsure of what to say, he just nods. Luckily, Darry keeps talking.

“Well Ponyboy, I reckon since you just joined you get to pick the game.”

“R-really?”

“Sure.” Darry smiled kindly. Golly he was nice. “We’ll play a few rounds and then switch it up if any of us are getting bored.”

“Can-” Ponyboy hesitated. Darry nods, encouraging him to continue, “can we play signals?”

“Sure. You okay to be on a team with me?”

“Yes,” Pony could hardly believe his luck. Not only were they playing his favourite game, but Darry wanted to be on a team with him!

“Ok,” Soda chirped, “me’n Johnny are going over there so you don’t listen to us pick our signals like cheaters!”

“Soda!” Mr Curtis warned.

“I’m bein’ nice!”

Pony giggled. 

“Ignore him,” Darry advised, scooting over to sit beside him, “I wish I could say he’s just bein’ crazy ‘cause he’s excited, but the truth is he’s always like that. He ain’t really mean though, just has too much energy.”

“I know,” Pony tells him, “I seen mean before. He ain’t it. If he was mean he’d have taken my book or followed me to the bathroom and put my head in the toilet.”

A horrified gasp makes him jump. He’d momentarily forgotten all about sunshiney Mrs.Curtis, but now she’s staring at him in horror, eyes filled with rage. 

What did he do? Did she not want him to be telling her nice golden sons about stuff like that? 

“I-I’m sorry I-” he can feel his ears burning and wishes more than anything he’d stayed on that hard plastic chair where he was safe instead of getting drawn in by the light of the family in front of him. 

“Whoa, hey,” Darry catches him by the arm before he can scramble to his feet, grip not bruising like he’s used to but gentle, reassuring, “where are you going? We haven’t picked a signal yet.”

His smile is so hopeful. Hesitantly, Pony settles back down. 

“Ok.”

“Well?” Darry nudges him gently, carefully. It seems to Ponyboy that someone so big shouldn’t be able to do that and not hurt him just a little bit, but somehow Darry manages it. “What signal do you think we should do?”

Pony glances across the room at where Soda is gesturing exaggeratedly and talking at Johnny a mile a minute.

“Something small,” he decides, “something they won’t notice.”

“Good thinking,” Darry’s approval feels like sitting in the sunshine and eating ice cream and reading a book all at once, “how about…rubbing our noses?”

He demonstrates, rubbing a finger under his nose like he’s scratching an itch and Ponyboy nods, copying the action. 

“Perfect.”

He raises his left hand then. Taps his ear. Waits a few seconds. Taps his ear again.

“What are you doing?” Darry wonders. 

“I have a trick,” Ponyboy informs him.

“Oh?” Darry’s raising a single eyebrow again, looking intrigued. A swell of unearned pride starts in Ponyboy’s chest. 

“Yep,” Pony nods, “they’re watching us right now.”

Darry follows his gaze across the room to where Johnny is watching them out of the corner of his eye, while acting for all the world like he’s still focused on Sodapop. 

“So,” Ponyboy continues. He taps his ear again, “if we do a fake signal now, like we’re practicing, and then do it while we’re playing they’ll call signal and get themselves disqualified and we’ll win.”

“Huh,” Darry reaches up and taps his own ear, “good thinkin’ kid.”

Pony glows.

“We’re ready,” Soda announces a second later, dragging Johnny behind him, “and we have the best signal ever. You’ll never guess it.”

“We’ll see.” Darry challenges, flipping the first card off the deck, and the game begins.

Pony checks his own hand. Two jacks, a two, and a seven. Deciding to go for jacks he passes the two facedown and slides it left to Johnny, picking up the ten Soda placed down for him on the other side.

He passes and trades cards for a few seconds, managing to pick up a third jack on the way. When it’s been long enough it’s not suspicious, he reaches up and taps his ear, trying to make it seem like he’s scratching an itch.

The trick works. 

“Block!” Johnny cries triumphantly, pointing at him and Pony grins, shaking his head. 

“Nope!”

“What?” That’s Sodapop, “We’re out? But-but I’m with Johnny! Johnny always wins!”

“Guess not this time,” Darry grins, raising a hand. It takes a second for Pony to realize he’s reaching out for a high five instead of to cuff him, but when he does he reaches out eagerly, tapping Darry’s palm with his own.

“How did you do that?” Johnny wonders, head tilted in confusion, “I saw you tapping your ear earlier when you were making your signal.”

“It was a trick!” Pony grins. Darry is pleased, and they just won a card game, and no one here has gotten properly mad at him at all. 

Johnny shakes his head, grinning ruefully. “Well it was a good one.”

Soda declared he wanted a rematch, so they played a few more rounds, until Johnny figured out their trick and then both teams had so many fake signals and everyone was too scared to block anyone and could hardly remember their real signals from their fake ones. Darry was just proposing they switch to playing crazy eights when Ms. Summers hurried out of the office, looking harried as usual.

“Oh! Ponyboy,” She looks surprised to see him sitting on the floor, “don’t go botherin’ these nice folks now. I know you’ve had a long day, and I promise I’m workin’ as hard as I can to figure things out so just sit tight and be good a few minutes longer. I just got a few more calls to make and I’ll get you some lunch, alright? C’mon and sit properly now, that’s a good boy.” 

She pulls him to his feet, not roughly exactly, but carelessly, the way he’s used to, and he ducks his head, shoulders curling automatically as she frog marches him back to the plastic chair in the corner of the waiting room she’d parked him in at seven o'clock this morning.

“He ain’t botherin’ us!” Suddenly Soda is on his feet, glaring at Ms. Summers. “We invited him to play. We’re havin’ fun.”

“He’s really no trouble,” Mrs. Curtis smiles, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder. Her voice is as sugar sweet as ever but there’s something hard in her eyes nevertheless as she stares Ms. Summers down, “the boys are all havin’ fun playing together and I have no problem keepin’ an eye on him for you. He’s a good boy, like you said.”

She turns the full force of her smile on him, her eyes suddenly all softness, and Ponyboy finds himself wondering what it would be like if somebody looked at him like that every day, like he was something instead of nothing.

“Well, if you’re sure, I suppose that's fine. You be good Pony,” Ms. Summers says, and then she’s gone again, back into the office, back to making phone calls to find someone, anyone, willing to take him in.

Pony stands where she left him, half dragged across the room, lost in the waiting room he’d spend what felt like half his life in.

“That lady,” Soda says, “was a bitch.”

Darry’s eyebrows shoot up, and Soda grins cheekily over his shoulder in a way that says he fully expects a reprimand, but to Ponyboy’s surprise Mr.Curtis just nods slowly.

“Y'know son, I think in this case you might be right.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Mrs. Curtis says, but it’s so half-hearted even Ponyboy can tell. Her eyes are fixed on Ms.Summers’ door, lips pressed into a thin line, and Pony gets the feeling she’s real mad but hiding it real well.

“She don’t know what to do with me,” Pony finds himself defending his social worker. She ain’t mean really, ain't even a bad person. She’s just busy. Too busy to really care. “It ain’t her fault. I cause her a lotta problems.”

“I have a very hard time believing that,” Mrs. Curtis says, “I don’t think you could cause problems if you tried.”

He could. He wasn’t like Curly from the group home, who did everything he possibly could and then some to cause problems, but Pony did create them sometimes. One time he’d burned Mrs.Delvine’s sheets when he was ironing because she hadn’t given him dinner the night before. And he’d put half a shaker of salt in Mr.Fuller’s soup after he gave him this stupid haircut. But he never tried to cause problems for Ms. Summers and he still caused them anyway.

He shrugs. “No one wants me. It’s her job to find someone who’ll put up with me. I can’t blame her for bein’ tired.”

“You’re still a little boy,” Mrs.Curtis shakes her head, and usually Ponyboy hates being called little but he finds he doesn’t mind too much when she says it, “she shouldn’t be takin’ any of her frustrations out on you.”

Pony wants to tell her that his own mother didn’t want to be stuck with him so he can hardly blame his social worker for feeling the same way. He wants to tell her about how tired he is and how much his head hurts and how hungry he is. He wants to tell her a lot of things. He doesn’t.

“Oh honey,” he doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he’s wrapped in a warm hug, held protectively against Mrs. Curtis’ chest, his sobs muffled against the stretched collar of her pretty yellow dress. He’s sure he must be getting snot on her, but she doesn’t seem to mind, holding him closer when he starts to squirm away and apologize, cooing to him until he settles down, “oh honey.”

She scoops him up then, because she’s a grown up and he’s still pretty small for six years old, and she sets him on her knee and kisses his forehead, and even if it won’t last and he will never feel this again after today, for once he knows what it’s like to be comforted and loved by a mother. 

Golly he’s tired.

“You just have a sleep now,” she pulls his head down to rest against her shoulder, running a gentle hand through his shorn off hair, “you just have a good sleep and don’t worry about a thing.” 

He feels his eyelids drooping. She drops a soft kiss on his forehead, her fingers never ceasing their soothing motions in his hair.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, baby,” he hears her say as he drifts off, “I promise. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

He sleeps.