boyfriend!steve babying you while you’re sick *.❤︎₊ ⊹
the world felt fuzzy as you laid in steve’s bed, the thick comforter on top of you becoming too hot for the fever blanketing your body.
“hey, sleepyhead” his voice was so soft as it came from the doorway, the usual sass and gentle teasing was completely absent. he sat down on the edge of the bed and began to softly brush the stray hairs from your forehead that had begun to stick from the faint sheen of sweat beginning to form. “how’s my girl?”
you shook your head, pale and dizzy “head.. hurts”
you could faintly see the frown of concern that immediately took over steve’s features “i know, sweetheart..” he picked up a mug from the side table with a strained smile, trying to sound hopeful “i made you tea, just the way you like. lots and lots of honey. sip f’me?”
“i’m not sure i can sit up, baby”
“don’t worry about a thing, i’ve got you.. just a few sips. okay?” he shifted closer and placed a hand on the back of your head to carefully support you while he brought the mug to your lips. you nodded as the warmth of the tea transferred to your tongue. “there you go… good girl” his thumb ran over the corner of your mouth to collect a drop of tea.
“thank you, stevie..” you shifted your head back down and closed your eyes as his hand stroked your cheekbone.
“anything for you, princess.. just focus on getting better, m’kay?” his voice was so tender. he began to lay down beside you, careful to not disturb the comfortable position you’ve found for yourself before arranging the pillows to nestle your head on his shoulder, his arm going around your back to hold you close as his fingers traced soothing lines up and down.
you found yourself instantly soothed by the rhythm of his heart and steady breathing. a fragile soft smile touching your lips as you nuzzled closer into his warmth.
“i’ve got you, honey” he began to hum a soft tune into your hair in between soft kisses against your temple. his hand was still drifting up and down your back soothingly as you began to fall back to sleep with the safety of your boyfriend holding onto you, knowing he’d do anything to make sure you were okay again.
— ♡
steve is such a softie. this was requested! requests are open. likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated. thank you ♡
So, I don’t really know like how your requests work, but I checked and saw that you took them, so id thought I’d ask.
What would the 141 do with a reader who’s kind of a crybaby? Like, not so much that they cry all the time, but like if they’re overly mad, overstimulated, or like basically any extreme of anything, they cry. They don’t like that they do it— they think it’s kind of weak and childish— but when the waterworks start, they can’t really stop it.
I apologize if this isn’t really a great prompt, but Ive just been thinking about it so I just wanted to see if you’d try it.
THANK YOUUUU !!!
To their credit they were very gracious.
You had always been a bit more inclined to shed tears. Whenever small instances started to build, one thing could just send you over the edge into crying territory.
Today, it was a casserole. The boys had just returned from a long period of deployment, finally coming back home to you. You had a whole plan in your head about the house being spotless, and you looking nice, and having a fancy dinner ready. But everything had been going wrong. You were having a bad hair day and the store had been out of the cream you needed and you had spilled something on the carpet and couldn’t get it up and you were so flustered about everything being perfect and how everything was going wrong that when you went to pull the casserole from the oven you completely forgot about the concept of oven mitts.
And so a yelp left you as your hand was met with the burning glass, followed shortly by a large crash of the dish shattering on the ground, another whine escaping you as a shard sliced you shin.
“Darling?” Came the concerned yell from the living room. That just made you want to cry more.
You didn’t want them to see you like this. You always wanted to be perfect for them, and most times you just weren’t. This being a prime example. You quickly grabbed a rag and found a home on the floor to start cleaning up. Tears were already falling by the time John rounded the corner.
John kneeled down beside you, gripped your chin between his finger and thumb to make you look at him. You knew he would have convinced the others to stay in the living room to not overwhelm you more. When he saw the tears starting to fall his tsk’d gently and wiped them away with his thumb. “Trying to take on too much again, eh sweetness?” When he spotted the blood slowly dripping from your shin, he hummed and looked closer, “You’ll be alright, sweetheart. Go find Simon and Kyle, they’ll fix you up. I’ll take care of this.” He grabs you under the arms and plops you back on your feet, which made you equal parts appreciative and angry for him treating you like you’d break. Though…you can’t say you didn’t feel fragile. He grabs the first aid kit from under the sink and hands it to you to take.
You listen, practically running back with your tail tucked between your legs to find Simon. He had been lounging on the couch next to Kyle reading a book (though you suspected he had been pretending to read again after the crash), but when you entered the room and they both looked up to see your little pout and wet cheeks, Simon immediately tucked the book away, opening his arms for you to crawl onto his lap. Kyle turned off the game he was watching with a, “honey…”
You sniffled pathetically and used your sleeves to wipe away some new tears before indulging and cuddling up to Simon, placing the first aid kit beside you.
“Now, what happened ‘ere, lovie?” He said softly in your ear, tucking your hair away.
More sniffles, you found it hard to talk when you cried, “…dropped the dish.”
“That’s alright, let’s get this cleaned up, hmm?” He handed the kit to Kyle, who pulled out some alcohol wipes, a bandaid, and some burn cream to treat you.
He kneeled down in front of the couch where you and Simon sat, gently grabbing your calf to stabilize it while he cleaned the cut. It stung. Which just made you more upset, you couldn’t help the small whimper when more tears came. You rung your uninjured hand in Simon’s sweatshirt.
Simon fitted his chin in the space between your shoulder and neck while Kyle just leaned down and kissed your knee above the cut, finishing cleaning and dressing it.
Johnny was a sympathy crier. So when he came back from the store and walked into the door to the sight of Simon and Kyle comforting you, he dropped the bags by the door and came over immediately. He kneeled down in front of you too, grabbing your hips and flinging himself onto your lap, letting out an incredibly high pitched “what happened?” Which kind of helped because seeing his eyes start to get blurry and his sniffing get more frequent all because you were crying made you giggle. They all lightened up a little at the noise.
Johnny insisted on taking over for Kyle, applying the burn cream with a feather-light touch, kissing your knuckles when he was done.
John strolled back into the living room from the kitchen, wiping his hands off on a rag before tossing it over his shoulder, “well…how’s pizza sound?”
Sometimes after moments like that, you’d think about their lives, and jobs, and the injuries they have endured and feel a bit like an idiot. Here you were, not even able to take a dish out of the oven without failing and then crying about it. But they never made you feel that way, never made you feel stupid or lesser. They just loved you the way you were and took care of you.
Stray Kids deserve to get babied, but for some reason, the thought never crossed their members' minds.
Find Chans here!
Minho
minho doesn’t complain when he gets hurt. he just goes quieter.
you notice because he sits a little too still on the couch after practice, shoulders slumped forward, eyes fixed on nothing. when you crouch in front of him, he looks up like he didn’t expect to be seen.
“what happened,” you ask.
he shrugs. “nothing.”
you take his hand anyway.
the scrape across his knuckles is shallow but angry, skin split and red. you click your tongue softly and stand without letting go of him.
“stay,” you say, already reaching for the first aid kit.
he does.
you sit close when you clean the cut, closer than necessary, your thumb steadying his hand while the other works. you scold him under your breath, not sharp, more like worried. minho watches your face instead of his injury.
“you don’t have to do this,” he says.
“i know,” you reply. “i want to.”
his fingers curl slowly around yours.
the door opens.
hyunjin freezes halfway inside the room.
you’re kneeling between minho’s knees, holding his hand like it belongs there. minho doesn’t move. doesn’t pull away. just looks at hyunjin and says, calm as anything, “close the door.”
hyunjin’s mouth opens. closes. he leaves.
you finish bandaging him carefully. when you’re done, minho doesn’t let go right away.
“thanks,” he says, quiet.
later, he sits closer to you than usual at dinner. no one comments.
Changbin
changbin pretends he doesn’t need reassurance.
he jokes, laughs, fills the room so no one looks too close. but you see it after practice when he lingers, rolling his shoulders like they still ache, expression tight.
you hand him a towel. then a bottle of water.
“drink,” you say.
he does. immediately.
you pack his post workout snacks into his bag while he talks, not really watching what you’re doing. when you tug his hoodie strings even and pull the hood up around his neck, he pauses.
“you baby me too much,” he says, fond.
“you like it,” you reply.
felix walks in right on cue.
he stops short at the sight of you adjusting changbin’s hoodie, pressing a protein bar into his palm, telling him to stretch later.
changbin flushes red instantly. “okay wait. don’t look at me like that.”
felix grins. “hyung. you’re being babied.”
changbin groans, embarrassed, but he doesn’t move away. doesn’t give anything back.
when felix leaves, changbin leans closer to you.
“you can keep doing that,” he says, softer. “just not when everyone’s watching.”
you smile. “sure.”
he finishes his snack anyway.
Hyunjin
he’s limping slightly when you find him backstage, one ankle wrapped in tape, sitting on the edge of the practice floor. his hands run absently over his hair, over the loose strands sticking out from the clip, but he’s tense—like he’s trying to hide it.
“you’re limping,” you say softly, kneeling down without asking. your hand hovers over his ankle first, careful, and then moves to brush a stray lock behind his ear.
hyunjin freezes. his head tilts toward you, eyes sharp but vulnerable. “i’m fine,” he mutters, but the corner of his lip twitches, betraying him.
you smile gently. “not fine enough to ignore.”
he lets you help him lie back on the mats. your fingers find the knot in his ankle wrap and work slowly, softly, loosening it just enough for him to relax. your other hand brushes against his hair again, smoothing it, and you murmur encouragements like it’s second nature.
“you… you don’t have to fuss over me,” he says quietly, almost ashamed.
“i’m not fussing,” you say, voice warm. “i’m taking care of you. you’ve taken care of everyone else long enough.”
he swallows. his chest rises and falls unevenly. you brush your thumb across the side of his face without thinking, brushing away a speck of sweat, a tiny instinct of comfort.
jisung walks in just as you lean your forehead against his shoulder to steady him.
he freezes. hyunjin freezes. you don’t move.
“i… uh…” jisung stammers.
hyunjin hides his face in your neck, voice muffled. “don’t look.”
jisung backs out, shutting the door softly, muttering, “didn’t see anything.”
when it’s just the two of you, hyunjin’s hands find yours, gripping lightly, holding on. “you’re too close,” he whispers.
“never,” you reply.
later, he leans against you completely on the couch, head on your shoulder, letting you braid the loose strands of hair. he’s quiet but his fingers braid yours into his, squeezing now and then, a silent thank you that doesn’t need words.
the first time he kisses your hand softly, brushing his lips across your knuckles, you realize neither of you wants to let go.
Jisung
he’s tense before practice, pacing the small studio like he’s trying to outrun the nerves building in his chest. you find him leaning against the wall, shoulders tight.
“hey,” you say, stepping closer. “look at me.”
he does. just barely. “i’m fine,” he mutters, but you can see the truth in the way his eyes flinch.
you reach for him, gently tugging him toward you. “no. look at me.”
he hesitates, then finally leans into your touch. you guide him to sit on the floor, back against your legs, and your hands find his shoulders, massaging slow circles.
“breathe with me,” you murmur. “in, out. in, out.”
he swallows, shoulders loosening just enough for his head to fall against your chest. you adjust so you can rub the tense knots along his spine, murmuring encouragements in between soft kisses on the top of his head.
seungmin walks in, eyes widening. “oh—uh…” he freezes, not moving.
han glances up at you, expression a mix of embarrassment and amusement. “did you see that?”
you shake your head, smiling. “he didn’t. it’s okay.”
han laughs quietly, breathless, before leaning back against you again. his arms curl around yours, holding on, not letting go.
later, when practice is over, he threads his fingers through yours. “you… you make me feel like i don’t have to do everything alone,” he says softly.
“because you don’t,” you reply, tilting your head so your lips brush his hairline.
he tilts his head back, eyes closing, and kisses your shoulder gently, a soft promise that he’ll never pull away when you’re like this with him.
he stays in your arms until the room empties completely, and even then, he doesn’t move. he just whispers your name like it’s a secret meant only for you.
Felix
he sits between your knees on the couch, eyes half-lidded, exhausted after practice, and you brush balm over his lips carefully. his lower lip trembles slightly under your fingers, and he lets out a quiet breath, leaning forward without realizing it.
“don’t,” you murmur softly, tracing the line of his jaw with the pad of your thumb. “let it sit.”
his fingers curl around yours, holding on just a little too tightly. “you don’t have to,” he whispers.
“i do,” you reply, tilting his chin up slightly to check his lips. your thumb lingers against the corner of his mouth, brushing lightly, and his head tilts into your palm without thinking.
changbin walks in.
he stops mid-step. his mouth opens, then closes. he doesn’t say anything. he sees the way you lean into felix, the way felix’s eyes close as you brush a stray strand of hair from his face, the way his hand presses lightly against yours.
felix’s eyes flutter open, cheeks flushed. “she… she cares,” he says softly, and you catch the hushed gratitude in his voice.
changbin groans and leaves, muttering about “gross baby stuff,” but felix doesn’t move away from you. he tilts his forehead to rest against yours, breath warm, fingers tightening slightly around your hand.
later, he leans into you on the couch, head on your shoulder, thumb brushing the back of your hand as if memorizing it. every small touch becomes a wordless conversation, an unspoken promise that he’s yours when you take care of him.
he closes his eyes, and you feel his lips press lightly to your shoulder, soft and steady. he murmurs your name almost reverently, and you press a kiss to his temple in return. he doesn’t pull back.
Seungmin
he’s sitting at the table, script in hand, jaw tight, fingers drumming absently. the weight of schedules and expectations sits on his shoulders like armor he can’t take off.
you come up behind him, hands brushing over his tense shoulders, down his back in slow circles. your fingers linger at the base of his neck, tracing tiny patterns as you murmur, “you don’t have to carry all of this alone.”
he exhales sharply, tilting his head back into your chest almost instinctively. your cheek rests lightly against his hairline, lips brushing the crown of his head in a small, reassuring press.
“i… i don’t know how to stop thinking about messing up,” he says quietly, voice muffled against your shirt.
“then stop worrying and let me help,” you reply, thumb brushing along his jawline. “you’re safe with me.”
his hands find yours on the table, fingers entwining. he leans forward slowly, pressing his forehead into your chest. you adjust your arms around him, one hand cradling his head, the other tracing his back. every movement is gentle, deliberate.
jisung walks in quietly and freezes in the doorway. seungmin stiffens for a moment, cheeks flushed, before he leans further into you, forehead pressing against your chest like he belongs there.
“don’t leave,” he whispers, and you press a small kiss to his temple, murmuring, “i’m right here.”
after practice, he sits close on the couch, head against your shoulder, hands holding yours, thumb brushing in small circles. your fingers cradle his jaw, brushing his hair back, and he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your collarbone, murmuring your name as he closes his eyes, trusting you completely.
even when the world is around him, when schedules and expectations return, he carries this closeness with him, a reminder that he doesn’t have to face anything alone.
Jeongin
he’s restless in the corner of the practice room, flipping through the script, voice low and distracted. you crouch down beside him, hand brushing along his forearm, fingers lingering where tension gathers.
“hey,” you whisper, tilting his face gently toward you. “look at me.”
he swallows, eyes softening, leaning into your touch. “i’m fine,” he murmurs, but his shoulder relaxes under your hand before he can stop himself.
you guide him onto the floor, sitting behind him so your chest presses lightly to his back. your arms wrap around his shoulders, tracing slow, soothing circles as you murmur encouragements. his head tilts back, brushing your chest lightly, and he sighs, letting himself melt against your warmth.
hyunjin walks in and freezes. jeongin stiffens but doesn’t move away. instead, he tilts his forehead to the side, brushing it against your shoulder almost shyly.
“don’t move,” you whisper, pressing your cheek to the crown of his head. your hands stroke down his arms, over his back, anchoring him without words. he hums softly, the sound vibrating through his chest, and leans further into your embrace.
later, he shifts slightly, tilting to press a gentle kiss along your collarbone, fingers squeezing your arms lightly, and you respond with soft presses of your lips to his hair and temple. every movement is quiet, intimate, patient, a conversation of trust without needing to speak.
even after the room empties, he rests there, head against your shoulder, hands holding yours, not wanting to let go. the closeness lingers long after, a reminder that it’s safe to lean on someone, and he chooses to lean on you.
summary: puppy reader is desperate for gee’s attention, he makes her tell him exactly what she wants, and fucks her in reward
warnings:18+, smut & fluff, daddy kink, pet play, pet names, dom/sub dynamic, p in v, spanking, degradation + praise.
an: feeding my children before i go revise, yes i am writing gerard way smut instead of english lit revision. i must do it now. anyways enjoy!!
___________________________________
you’d gotten so used to hiding discomfort that you barely noticed when you were doing it anymore, keeping everything bottled up inside while you sit there dumbly, waiting for his attention, toying with him to play with you.
that was the problem, you wouldn’t tell him.
but gerard noticed. always.
tonight it started small, too many people at once, too much noise in the apartment, everyone occupied in their own conversations, one of his friends talking over you without realizing it. nothing catastrophic, you just wanted to be alone with him and his attention, yet you were to afraid to ask for it.
but gerard saw the signs immediately.
you went all restless, clinging to his side.
hands fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie.
he glanced down at you, that pout.
“whats up puppy, hm?” he teased quietly, prodding at your bottom lip gently.
“i- mh.. n-nothing daddy-” you mutter under your breath.
lie.
gerard crouched slowly in front of you, forearms resting on his knees.
“puppy.”
that low calm voice made your throat tighten instantly.
“you gon’ cry? hm?, tell daddy what’s wrong, sat there all fidgety.”
you look down defeatedly at your legs, bouncing softly against the carpet. deciding wether or not you want to tell him what you want.
“whats goin’ on in that pretty little head?”
still, you felt the words get stuck in your throat, desperate for his attention, but you didnt know how to ask.
he leans in closer, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, whispering in a low voice “you want daddy? that it?”
gerard watched your cheeks flush excessively, carefully before reaching out and gently hooking two fingers beneath your chin.
“look at me.”
you obeyed automatically.
“there she is.”
his thumb brushed once across your cheek.
“you know what you do every time something’s wrong?”
tiny shake of your head.
“you sit there and suffer until you’re practically shaking.”
your chest tightened.
“d-dont know how to ask...dont wanna bother daddy.”
gerard’s expression changed instantly at that.
not angry. worse.
deeply unimpressed
“bother me,” he repeated slowly.
you shrank slightly under the stare.
“puppy.”
his hand settled more firmly against your jaw.
“you think needing comfort bothers me?”
you looked uncertain enough to answer the question, gerard exhaled quietly through his nose before standing up and guiding you gently to your feet.
“c’mere.”
you followed immediately. of course you did.
he pulled you through the hallway and into your bedroom, sitting you down on his lap on the edge of the bed.
one hand slid around your waist while the other stroked slowly through your hair.
your entire body softened on instinct.
gerard noticed.
“see that?”
you blinked sleepily at him.
“you relax the second somebody takes care of you.”
heat crept into your face.
gerard’s fingers lightly scratched against your scalp.
“but instead of asking for comfort, my puppy sits there like a dumb lil’ girl or hides in bathrooms.”
you let out a tiny embarrassed sound.
“d-didn’t know how to ask...”
his thumb brushed beneath your eye gently.
“then I’ll teach you.”
your stomach fluttered nervously, gerard tilted his head slightly, watching you carefully.
“when something feels wrong, what do you do?”
“…hide?” you ask, tilting your head to the side
“no.” calm. firm.
“you come to daddy.”
yoour chest tightened slightly.
“and then?” he asks.
hou hesitated.
gerard waited patiently, then quieter: “use your words, puppy.”
the praise in his tone made your brain feel fuzzy despite the embarrassment curling in your stomach.
“i don’t know what to say.”
“yes you do, come on, be a good girl.”
his fingers slid slowly through your hair again.
“you say… ‘I need help.’”
your throat tightened painfully around the words. gerard noticed immediately.
“there she is, good puppy.”
you looked down.
“now, tell me what you really want.”
your fingers twisted anxiously in the front of his shirt. gerard caught both hands gently.
“try for daddy.”
you looked horrified instantly.
“right now?”
“mhm.”
your face burned, gerard waited calmly while you struggled through the embarrassment.
Finally, barely above a whisper:
“…want you to play with me.”
the second the words left your mouth, gerard’s entire expression melted.
“i see, you just wanted daddy’s attention hm?, that right” he asks mockingly as he starts pulling at your knee socks teasingly.
you whine playfully, giggling a little, trying to crawl down the bed, but he grabs onto your ass and pulls you down again. “nuh- uh, where’d you think your going huh?” he taunts
you laugh excitedly as he pulls down at your socks, spanking your ass, causing you to make a muffled squeak into the bedsheets.
“ohh, she likes that, puppy just wants to be spanked.” he teases, pulling down your panties, your cunt glistening.
he gives it a little slap, rubbing at you a little.
with his other hand he undoes his belt calculatedly, the buckle and metal sound making your ears prick up in arousal.
he wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you onto the chaise lounge in the corner of the room, pressing you up against the wall. “tell daddy what you want.”
by now you were a mess, dumbly staring up at him, thighs trembling in uncontainable excitement. “w-want your dick d-daddy.. please!” you whine,
with no further warning, he pushes into you, setting a punishing pace, you scream out.
he pushes two fingers into your mouth, letting you soothe yourself on them, eyes rolling back with each thrust.
“such a good puppy, fucked stupid on daddy’s dick aren’t you?”
you nod dumbly, reaching your hand out for him.
he melts at that, grasping your hand in his, thumb brushing over your knuckle, leaning in to kiss your cheeks, jaw, neck.
he quickens his pace, making you cry, the pleasure all too much.
“ah-! d-daddy! c-can’t-” you whimper out, but he cuts you off.
“yes you can sweetheart, taking it like a good little puppy.” he praises as he feels you nearing the edge.
as he fucks into you with unrelenting speed, wiping your tears away, you start closing your legs around him, crying and moaning in pure pleasure.
“gonna cum puppy? yeah?”
you nod, eyebrows twisted and pouting dumbly still, beautiful, he thought.
you whimper out a broken sob as you start cumming on his cock.
he doesn’t let up, almost on his edge, fucking you through it at a punishing speed, making you whine in overstimulation, he soon reaches his peak.
“feel that sweetheart?” he taunts, fucking his cum into you, giving your cheek a light tap to get you to look at him
“dumb little pup’” he mumbles as he slows down, watching you relax now he’d fucked the energy out of you.
you cling onto him, pulling him in to hug you as you shake around his dick.
he strokes your hair, comforting you. “did such a good job sweetheart, such a good puppy for daddy.” he praises, admiring you.
“gonna pull out now yeah?” he warns softly, but you stop him with a whine, shaking your head in protest. “nuh-uh!”
he chuckles softly, proud that you’d told him what you wanted.
with that, he sat down on the chaise lounge, his dick never leaving you, resting you atop his lap, sinking further onto his cock, warm cum coating you inside.
after a short five minutes, you’d fallen asleep on his lap, dick still stuffed into your cunt, still all hyperactive and squeezing around him as you slept, his hand stroking up and down your back as you rest.
summary: it’s early and your husband’s too tired to do his morning routine
tone: sfw, babying, praise, hubby Higuruma
The morning after an excruciating day at work, Higuruma’s 13th reason why. There wasn’t much time between coming home and him in bed so he woke up disheveled and mindset in disarray.
You had a feeling this was one of those days so you made sure to call up his job and let them know he’d be getting there late in advance so he could have a couple more hours to sort his bearings.
Reluctant to even wake up the man sprawled out in bed, you shook Higuruma gently. His grumble, more like roar, was proof he wouldn’t be in much of a good mood; but you’re determined to prepare him well for work.
5 minutes of hesitant shakes and he’s finally sitting up but staring at the walls of you guys’s place.
“If you don’t wake up now, I won’t have time to buy Shipley’s before dropping you off.” was all you said for Higuruma to slowly arise and allow you to guide him to the restroom like a child.
You flicked on the lights, making his eyes strain and hit the faucet on. Staring at himself through the mirror, you peeked at him as well and saw that he was well due for a shave. Higuruma rubbed his eyes while you shuffled through the cabinets for his shaving cream and razor, failing to find the first item and leading to him having to grab it out the mirror cabinet himself.
Your fingers brushed over his when he handed it over, dozing off almost. “I can do this…” you mumbled closely when in reality you had a very vague idea of how a man shaves his beard. You guided him by his sides and sat him down on the toilet seat anyway and mentally prepared yourself. You stood between his manspread thighs while his head hung back against the wall behind him.
First, you got your hands a little moist and applied the water to his thin beard. You paved it down to make it straighter, easier to glide through with the razor.
Next, Higuruma’s eyes wondered until you began shaking the can well then applying it to the wet beard. He sat up to give you an easier time and gripped the back of your thighs, fingers digging into the squishy skin right below your ass to bring you closer. He was planning to let go but when his fingers started to fondle with them, he refrained and kept them there, simply caressing your legs up and down.
His actions made you strangely more confident. So you wore a brave face and continued.
Finally, it was time for the part that potentially tested your wifey skills. If you couldn’t shave your husband’s beard on a day he wasn’t capable, you’d be an imposter of a wife, you thought.
You pressed the cold, metal italic against his jawline, starting near his earlobe, then slowly glided the object down with ease and gathered the small hairs doing so.
You commenced a silent cheer but was more aghast with how smooth you could shave it all off. “Look, Higuruma; I’m doing it!” You whispered as loud as you could since he was still in a daze.
While you were finishing up, Higuruma was pretty much sober by now, and awake. His narrow eyes looked up at you fondly knowing you were doing all this out of your own free will and it brought a small smirk to his lips. Yes, as his wife, it wasn’t surprising that you were taking care of him, especially since occasions like this occurred a little less rarely.
Looking down at the man, he looked a little more like a kid right now, looking up to his mother in enamor. “What?” You asked, head tilted.
He signed knowing how little you knew of his love for you. “I’m so proud of you. As my wife, I’m glad you chose me to take care of.” He boasted earnestly despite him being the one that proposed to you. “What do you mean?” your question arose.
“All the trouble I cause, the complaining I do, you could call me a child and I wouldn’t object.” he paused to let out a long yawn. “I’m sure you had many options. Many men in line behind—or even ahead of me; but I’m the one you deal with instead. Thank you.” and he meant all that he said while having his beard half shaved and eyes heavy. Little did he know was that he was always your only option.
I need more Captain Marvel (Shazam) content where all the gods treat him like their baby nephew/baby cousin.
Like I’m talking pinched cheeks, hair ruffling, picking him up under his armpits like a cat, cooing, excessive gifts (but since they are all old as shit as well as literal gods it’s stuff like solid gold bars, little wooden toys, ceremonial daggers and a goat that one time).
It happens both when he’s Billy Batson and when he’s Captain Marvel.
So imagine the JL seeing their heaviest hitter and brick wall of a man having his cheeks pinched and him being swung and dangled around like a rag doll by these 10ft tall gods that came outta nowhere.
