Hypothetically
Chronically single, you suggest a pact with your best friend to start a family together when you turn forty.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x bau fem reader
Category: fluff/comfort
Warnings: marriage and baby talk, reader is insecure because she feels left out
A/n: This is my entry for the kid fic challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins! This was like a breath of fresh air from all the smut I’ve been writing
"Do you want to have a baby with me?"
The scalding coffee burned his tongue as your question lingered in the air. Spencer cleared his throat awkwardly and patted his chest, his eyes drifting towards you. "Uh... what?"
"Hypothetically," you replied, the tap of your pen echoing against the round table between you. "It's like a pact. If we're both still single in the future, we get married to one another and, well, start a family together."
Spencer felt the clamminess of his palms as he set his mug down, trying to steady himself. He considered you as one of the closest people in his life, if not his best friend, and he was accustomed to your random questions, but this sudden topic of conversation seemed to strike a nerve.
"Where..." he began, wiping his palm along his pants. "...where is this coming from?"
You shrugged casually, the tapping of your pen momentarily ceasing. "Just a thought. I mean, we're both at that age where these things start to cross our minds, right?"
Spencer swallowed, trying to push down the unease rising in his chest. "Yeah, I guess so," he muttered, but as he studied you, he noticed the tension in your shoulders. "Are you okay?"
Your gaze flickered away for a moment before you sighed, slumping against your chair.
"I have a wedding coming up this weekend." Spencer frowned, not understanding what you were trying to say. You continued, "And another one next week, and guess what? Two of my cousins are getting married next month."
"What does that have to do with...?" His voice trailed off as realization dawned on him. "Ah, I see."
But you weren't finished. Somehow, the thoughts that had lingered in your mind for the past few days spilled out right then and there, in the middle of broad daylight when you were supposed to be focusing on the case you were working on.
"And a close friend I went to high school with just gave birth while another friend from college announced she's two months pregnant. And look at me," you exclaimed, your arms flying around. "No wedding. No pregnancy. Spencer, I don't even have a boyfriend, heck, I forgot what it's like to go out on a date!"
He watched as your brow furrowed into a frown, and although your demeanor was all over the place, he couldn't help but notice how you still managed to look pretty.
"Spence?" You asked, nudging his leg with your foot under the table. "Are you listening to me?"
He blinked, momentarily pulled from his thoughts by your voice. "Sorry," he replied. "I'm listening."
You gave him a skeptical look, but the tension in your shoulders seemed to ease slightly as you leaned back in your chair.
"I just... I don't know, I feel like I'm left behind." You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I mean, I'm happy for my friends and all, but sometimes it feels like everyone's moving forward but me. Like I'm stuck in this... this rut."
Spencer wasn't sure how to respond. On one hand, he knew how it felt to want something that seemed out of reach, but on the other hand, he felt like it wasn't his place to offer advice when he wasn't even sure what the future held for him.
"I get it," he finally said, trying to gather his thoughts. The least he could do was try to offer some comfort. "But just because you haven't reached those milestones yet doesn't mean you won't get there eventually."
"But what if it doesn't happen? What if I'm still all alone and nobody loves me when I'm gray and old?"
He frowned at you. "I'd still love you when you're gray and old."
"Platonically. You love me as much as you love JJ. Or Emily. Or Penny, or even Morgan." You leaned over the table. "I want to be loved passionately by someone who is head over heels for me, who can't imagine a life without me. I want to feel that kind of happiness."
His frown deepened. "I don't think you should find happiness in another person."
"You're missing the point," you groaned, crossing your arms. "I'm not saying I want to depend on someone else for my happiness. But is it too much to ask for someone to share it with? To feel like I'm someone's everything and not just another friend in the group?"
His expression softened as he listened, a sense of familiarity washing over him. He remembered feeling the same thing once, or maybe more than once; he wasn't sure. He had lost count of the times he felt his life was falling short.
But he realized the more he thought about the why—why was he so different? why couldn't he find love?—the more he felt worthless, and he hated that. So what was the best thing he did to ignore those thoughts?
Bury himself in work, because to him, pushing those feelings aside was easier than confronting them. But now, as he looked at you, it felt like he was seeing his own reflection and your words hit him harder than he expected.
"No," he quietly agreed. "It's not too much to ask for."
"I guess what I'm trying to say is... I'm tired of waiting for life to happen to me." Your gaze slowly met his. "So I came up with a plan."
His throat felt dry as he recalled how this conversation started in the first place. "The... baby plan?"
You nodded enthusiastically, sliding into the seat next to him.
"Think about it. If we're both still single when we're..." You paused, furrowing your brow as you did a quick calculation. "Forty? Yeah, let's say we're both still single when we're forty, with no partners, or like, no friends with benefits?"
You shook your head.
“Just... with no one in our lives—we get married. You and me."
He blinked, trying to process your proposal. It was unexpected, to say the least, but there was a strange logic to it that he couldn't quite shake. The idea of marrying his best friend as a backup plan was both absurd and oddly comforting.
"But what about... love?" he asked cautiously. "Wasn't that what you wanted?"
You paused, considering his question before responding. "I mean, I don't think it's impossible," you said, leaning back in your seat. "Haven't you ever heard of the saying, 'Marry your best friend'?"
His gaze lingered on you, his heart beating hard against his chest. "You're saying that we can fall in love?"
Your eyes met his, and a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Who knows?" you replied softly. "Stranger things have happened."
Spencer shouldn't entertain the possibility. After all, who knew what could happen in the future? It seemed like an absurd thought, but as he stared at you, it was hard not to imagine a life with you as his wife.
He imagined you in a white dress, walking down the aisle towards him with a radiant smile on your face. He pictured you both in the house you had just bought, dancing joyfully around the empty rooms as you unpacked boxes together.
Then thoughts of you being pregnant with his child—or maybe even children—filled his mind, and he envisioned a future where your kids would run around in the backyard with a pet dog trailing behind.
And then he considered the prospect of growing old with you, watching as your children eventually started families of their own while you found comfort in each other's company. All of these possibilities didn't seem so bad, because if anyone could understand him on a deep level, it was definitely you.
Maybe this crazy plan of yours wasn't so crazy after all.
"I... I guess it's not impossible," he finally admitted. Then, not wanting to seem too eager, he added, "Hypothetically speaking."
"Of course," you replied with a smile. "Hypothetically speaking."
Suddenly feeling flustered by your gaze, Spencer looked away and focused on his coffee, bringing the mug to his lips. Then you heard laughter and footsteps drawing closer, and soon Derek and Emily entered the room. Their eyes immediately landed on the two of you, sitting closely together at the table.
"What are you children whispering about?" Derek's voice interrupted, his eyebrows raised curiously as he glanced between you.
You didn't miss a beat. “Spencer and I are having a baby together."
Spencer choked on his coffee, his eyes widening in shock as he coughed and sputtered. You quickly moved to pat his back.
"Well, we're gonna get married first, right, Spence?" you added with a grin, glancing at him expectantly.
Spencer finally managed to regain his composure, clearing his throat awkwardly as he shot you a sideways glance. "Um, yeah, of course," he stammered, his cheeks still tinged with embarrassment. "Hypothetically."
Derek and Emily exchanged bemused glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Emily's curiosity seemed to win out as she lifted a hand, turning her attention back to you. "Care to explain?"
"We were discussing our backup plan."
"Backup plan?" Derek echoed.
"Yeah," you replied with a nod. "In case neither of us finds the right person by the time we're, oh, I don't know, forty or so, we figured we'd marry each other and start a family."
Derek placed a hand over his chest, feigning hurt. "And you chose Pretty Boy over me?"
"I'm not going to compete with all your lady friends," you shot back, rising from your seat. "Come on, Spence, let's grab some lunch and brainstorm baby names."
He stood up, giving you a pointed look.
"Or do you want to discuss how we'd make those babies in the future?"
"Well, I was thinking of Amelia if it's a girl..."
You grinned, linking your arm through his before guiding him towards the door. Derek and Emily observed the natural closeness between you two, how you were practically clinging to him and how he seemed to be comfortable with it.
Derek turned to Emily as you disappeared down the hallway. "Do you think they'd actually get married when they hit forty?"
Emily shook her head. "Nope," she replied confidently. "I give it a year until he's already down on one knee."
He laughed, nodding in agreement. With the way Spencer's gaze lingered on you with unmistakable affection, it seemed like it was only a matter of time.
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skz + losing 3racha
(this is actually written by @keepswingin, who found out i was saving this for a nevermore oneshot and said 'not if i write it first' and kicked me out of my own house)
---
The door creaks as he pushes it open, the room beyond dark and unwelcoming in a way it's never been before. Minho's not used to this - the quiet, the lack of unopened snacks sprawled throughout the room, the absence of clothes, of beanies, of half-finished verses scribbled hastily on scraps of paper or napkin or an old thank you card from a sponsor.
The room used to be alive with his memory. Now it just sits, a void of their own making, because attempting to do anything otherwise was something Minho couldn't bring himself to do. Not then, not after, and certainly not now, even if it was the company forcing him to be in here after threatening of doing it themselves. And Minho would never let them do something like this themselves. Not now, not ever, not when it was something that concerned Jisung of all people.
"Is this it?" she asks, attempting to peer over his shoulder. She's a ball of energy wrapped with anxiety, he could tell from the moment he met her, and he had hated it. Hated how it reminded him of Jisung, hated how it reminded him that the world around him would keep spinning even if his own had stopped still.
"Yes," he whispers, willing his voice to stay steady.
He takes a step inside, and can't stop his chest from hitching, the soft exhale that leaves him breathless. The bed is made, stripped of old sheets. The shelves are empty, the desk pushed into the biggest corner wiped clean and prepared with a brand new laptop sitting on top.
She brushes past him gently and comes to a stop in the middle of the room, eyes flickering across what awaits her. Her hands squeeze into fists beside her, and Minho hears her chest hitch too, but when she turns to him, there is nothing but excitement glittering in her eyes.
"Thank you," she says, even taking the time to bow. Minho can't bring himself to react, at least not when he's frozen like this, unable to form anything close to words as the odd feeling in his chest tightens more. "I'm so grateful your company is providing me with this opportunity, and that you guys are being so welcoming."
She watches him for a long moment, and if she's waiting for Minho to say something, he can't, he can't, not when he's in Jisung's room with someone else and Jisung hasn't been here in months, and the last thing Minho ever said to him was something he never should have said at all, and then he was gone, they were all gone, and Minho and the rest of them were -
"Minho-ssi?"
- left behind.
Minho blinks. He feels like he wants to scream, or cry, or not speak for a long while. "I'm sorry," he whispers, turning towards the door. "Please let us know if you need anything." He closes the door behind him just breathes a for a moment, before pressing his forehead to the wood and closing his eyes.
He can pretend that it's Jisung shuffling around inside if he closes his eyes.
o
The room is a mess of wires and cameras as he sits off to the side in a lonesome chair, allowing a crew member of the channel they're interviewing for to clip a microphone onto the collar of his shirt. The man doesn't say much as he does, and Minho doesn't really pay attention as he leaves, his mind beginning to drift as he watches someone else struggle with fixing Seungmin's shirt in front of him.
He gets lost in a mind a lot these days, and sometimes he doesn't even realize he's lost until one of the members is gently tugging his attention back to the present, a soft look here, a gentle touch there. Too nice, for someone like Minho, who is the barbed wire thrown over a fence long forgotten. Sharp edges and a sharper tounge, once upon a time. Now, he feels like something lost in the wind, far from home.
"Okay, we're ready to start!" The director announces, walking into the middle of the set and clapping his hands together. "I'd like to go over a few things before we begin."
And then he waits, eyes scanning the room, like he's looking for someone in particular. He is, because he wants the leader of the group, the one in charge of Stray Kids as a whole, and Minho doesn't realize that he's talking about him until Hyunjin is beside him and gently tugging him up from the chair.
Minho turns to him, something hot prickling in his throat. He would spit an insult, before. Now, he simply presses his lips together and allows Hyunjin to walk him over to the director with a stiff smile.
The director waits patiently as Hyunjin apologizes on Minho's behalf, and then the older man launches into what he expects from the shoot, among some other things. Minho doesn't really listen, simply nodding his head when needed.
He forgets to speak up, sometimes. When they're filming or out at an event that is mostly spoken in a different language he doesn't care about enough to learn. But he's had to learn, and he's had to lead, and none of it ever makes sense in his head because all he wants to do is lock himself in Jisung's room and never come back out.
Sometimes he even goes as far as pretending that Chan is still around, only for that cavern in his chest to grow wider when he turns and finds he was never there to begin with.
"What do you think?" the director asks, curious tone cutting through Minho's thoughts. "You know your group best."
This isn't my group, he nearly corrects, mouth forming Chan's name like second nature. But Chan isn't here, and Chan isn't the leader of Stray Kids anymore. Lee Minho is the one in charge of the five original members, and the three new ones.
("To keep the name relevant," a higher up had said to Minho as soon as he had asked about two girls joining with only one new boy, instead of keeping them as an all boy group. "Sales are down, and the media has finally stopped talking about the other three. We need to send a positive message of acceptance in these trying times.")
There's a rope cutting into his chest. He can't breathe. Hyunjin squeezes his shoulder, thumb pressing against his skin hard enough to hurt. It keeps him from crying. He's thankful he doesn't cry. He's not supposed to cry.
Chan was never supposed to leave.
"Whatever you think works best."
o
The studio is cold and bare of the energy it used to have when Changbin would be there alongside the other two, spitting curses or lyrics or swatting at whoever had decided to make fun of him in the moment. Now it's home to a revolving door of producers that Minho never likes.
Some bring lyrics that are too disconnected for singles. Others merely want to pander to the girls, offering them notes that Seungmin and Jeongin were more than capable of nailing themselves. The b-sides don't flow like they used to, and far too many of them are disjointed and heavy in rapping that's too heavy for songs meant to be light.
The chorography is the only thing that stays the same after all this time, the one thing Minho can still throw himself into without having to think. He's given Hyunjin and Felix more work to do in having to train two girls with left feet, though the new guy wasn't too bad, but they never complained.
"Good," this producer tells him, waving a hand with a small smile. "That's all your lines."
Minho wants to say something, anything. He wants to record the whole thing, strain his letters less, hit that note like how he should be able to. But the words well up in his throat, and nothing comes out.
He nods, and murmurs his thanks as he pulls the headset off.
The booth is too quiet. The producer is too quiet.
Everything is too quiet without a voice to tie all of it together.
o
He stands on the bridge and watches the boats as they pass underneath him, the wind stinging at his cheeks. Every breath fills his chest with cold air, and it keeps him here, and awake, and alive, as he watches the lights of the city blink and flicker in the distance.
Minho had brought Jisung here, years ago. They had talked for hours, standing on the edge of the universe, even if it was nothing more than the pathway of a bridge. He had smiled so much that his cheeks had hurt, and Jisung's laughter had been the sweetest thing he had ever heard. Minho had hugged him - pulled him close and buried his face in the crook of his neck, stayed there until forever was something he thought possible.
"I'll never forget you," he whispers against the next breeze, hoping it will carry his words to wherever they were, wherever Jisung was. "I don't think I ever could." An exhale that rattles his bones. "I don't want to."
He closes his eyes. Listens to the wind, and the waves, and the beat of his own heart.
Something warm wraps around him, squeezing him tight. It feels like someone he knows. He doesn't open his eyes, afraid to shatter whatever illusion his mind has created this time. And then a hitch of breath, and a small, raspy voice, whispering close to his ear.
"You don't have to."
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babe i miss ur rants like crazy so if u have any rant that needs to be indulged this is me indulging u <3333
this actually made me so soft.. i didn't know there was someone who enjoyed my rants so much.. i always feel kinda annoying.. i'm giving u the biggest forehead kiss in the world nonnie YOU'RE THE BEST
this being said . well
lately i've been thinking a lot about this band au i don't know if i'll ever write or if it'll just stay in my head, bc when i first started reading fanfiction i was OBSESSED with band aus and even tho i'm not that into them anymore . they make me feel very nostalgic and happy so i was like u know what . i should come up with my own. AND THAT'S WHAT I DID!!
anyways it's a dual pov, james and lily's!! they used to date, and since james is the lead singer in a very popular band, they were the it couple back then, everyone was fucking obsessed with them, said they were Perfect, peak romance, they wanted what they had etc etc. lily even sang with him sometimes when the band went on tour, bc she has a beautiful voice and all the fans kept pushing for her to join the band and sing all the ballads with james etc
but then . all of a sudden . she disappeared . not literally, you know, she just fucking ran away, without telling a single soul. she didn't even leave a letter to james, or maybe remus, who was one of her best friends. james was devastated, the band was devastated, the whole world was devastated. they went on hiatus for a lil before coming back with a very different vibe and since then . well . no one talks about lily evans . reporters try to bring her up every now and again bc they're nosy fuckers but james goes all stiff and his replies become stilted (even if still perfectly professional)
flashforward to . when the story actually starts . a new band has just debuted and it's rising to fame concernigly quick and james remus sirius and peter are going Crazy bc they feel a bit threatened and also oh would u look at that?? if it isn't sirius' estranged brother in the flesh!! playing the drums for this stupid band who's trying to compete with them!!
and if that wasn't enough !! lily finally returns to their lives............... she's also making a debut but as a soloist.............. and she's very Different from the lily they remember................... her songs are loud and aggressive and filled with resentment and very obviously about james and their relationship and james' friends. she's mean and bold and witty and everyone is Wondering if there was more to her disappearance than what they thought
it'll be jegulus and bartylily <3 and one of the reasons why idk if i'll ever write it it's bc one of the reasons why lily left is that she got pregnant and she didn't want it so she aborted and . we all know how this fandom gets about lily and motherhood lmao
anyways one of the scenes that's been plaguing my mind is this one that happens after lily and barty have started sleeping together and spending more and more time in each other's presence!! they're in barty's flat and barty wakes up at some point in the middle of the night just to discover he's alone in bed. so he wakes up and finds lily sitting at the kitchen table, notebook open, pen in hand and humming under her breath. he hugs her from behind and sees she's writing something new and they talk a lil, bicker some and tease even more, and then barty tells her she should write a song about him and stop dissing that stupid ex bf of hers bc it's getting old. lily laughs and asks him if he wants a cheesy love song and barty cackles and shakes his head and says that he'd rather have one of her dissing songs, bc they're fun and likes it when she gets all mean. besides, the press wouldn't believe her if she wrote something nice or sweet about him bc barty is always getting into scandal after scandal
lily does end up writing a song about barty, dissing him (affectionately except ppl don't know that) and when she first performs it live, she does so while just wearing one of barty's shirts and barty laughs the whole time while sporting the biggest heart eyes known to mankind
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Various "Failures" From My Google Docs
Good morning! I'm at my usual coffee shop and got inspired by the troubles of a few friends to embarrass myself.
Sit down with me. I'm enjoying my usual blended chai. There's room on the couch if you'd like to join me.
So I've written thirteen novels. I think thirteen, I've actually lost count. Let's say, like, five full-length plays and twelve to fourteen finished novels. Impressive, right? Maybe. I'm realizing that I consider that not much of a brag, if only because I know the amount of trips and stumbles it took to get to one completed project.
I've ditched a lot of ideas. A lot. If I need to I can dig into my old hard drives to find all the doc files from my youth, but I also have the same Google Docs I've had since middle school.
It's mostly plays and ghostwriting assignments, but if you did you'll find some snippets from my constant attempts at growth.
Some stuff like this is okay. The line "hair slicked back/suit black silk" is pretty good, but a little too the writer thinks they're clever for me now. I don't really remember where I planned to go with this. I think the narrator was somehow going to be given the identity of Roy Fontaine. I was really fixated on the surname Fontaine at the time. I don't know why.
But then there's also a lot of stuff like this:
Hey look it's Fontaine again! I guess he's a doctor, too! Also I am astounded by how casually the main character just pulls out the Necronomicon. He pulls it out? From where? His pocket? Is it a zine?
I don't know why, but something about how suddenly this jumps in terms of dropping specifics makes me think that Sonic the Hedgehog is about to show up. I can't explain it.
This is the only thing in a Doc titled "Psychosis". I have zero memory of what I was planning on doing with this. What's kind of crazy though is that I wrote this in 2014, and six years later I'll use essentially this exact bit in a finished novel without even realizing it.
Another bit from 2014. No clue what I planned to do with this. It's hilarious to me that something stopped me from finishing the sentence. What am I, Franz Kafka writing The Tower? I didn't die. I wasn't raptured. I just apparently tried to think of something a large oak door would do and immediately gave up. It was 2014 I had finished, like, four novels. And this idea was fully stalled by what had to be a fucking huge oak door.
My favorite part of this radio play I tried to write is that somehow, believe it or not - when I wrote this I did not fully understand the Quantum Suicide thought experiment. And for along time I still kind of thought that this could be salvaged into a good idea, until last night when I asked my wife to put on a video describing the experiment and I immediately found it so dumb. Just ridiculously stupid. The only good thing about Quantum Mickey is that the title kicks ass and I'm definitely keeping it for something.
I've written a lot. A lot. I've earned the severity of carpal tunnel I currently have. If I had to put it into a statistic, I'd say maybe seventy percent ends up finished. fifty percent ends up polished to be read or published. Thirty percent actually ends up being read or published. I'm okay with this, because I enjoy the work. But for me, part of enjoying the work is not panicking when a project doing work.
If I need to end a project in the middle of a sentence, I do. I've clearly proven that I do. Sometimes I write for thirty pages and lose interest, other times I get a paragraph in and get distracted forever. That's okay.
That's okay. As long as you're doing something.
I could've included segments of Carnation, my first novella that was supposed to be a novel but I never finished it. But I fucking guess that's getting it's own post when I hit 150 followers so I hope you're prepared for what the type of stuff I enjoyed in middle school.
There's an Irish child that speaks exclusively in slang. You aren't ready.
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So glad you’re taking prompts again, I missed you! Can I just get some sweet, fluffy, later seasons Wincest cuddles? ❤️
"You sure you're okay?" Dean murmurs, running his fingers up and down Sam's bare back, mindful of where he's still bandaged from his gunshot wound.
"I'm fine," Sam sighs out, sleepy as he curls towards Dean. "Just a little sore." He closes his eyes, bone-deep exhausted.
"Sammy?"
"Y-Yeah?"
"I just - it's barely been a week since - y'know. You were shot. I just need you to take it easy out there." He moves his fingers from Sam's back, grazing them over Sam's belly - over the wound there.
Sam opens his eyes, tilting his chin up to look at Dean. "The pain's manageable, Dean. And I'm - I'm okay. Really. I survived. That's all that matters."
Dean pulls him closer, grip tightening. "Just checking. 'Cause if you need to talk to me about it...well, y'know. I'm here."
"I'm fine," Sam says again, "I swear." He goes quiet for a second. "That's nice. What you're doing on my skin."
Dean smiles. "Yeah?" He applies a little more pressure, letting his fingernails graze Sam's back and chest. He traces his name with his finger.
Sam grins. "What - you branding me, or something?"
There's a light snort. "You wish, sweetheart. 'Sides, I've already branded you six ways from Sunday." He gives Sam a little smirk.
"Perv."
"You love it."
It's quiet for a moment, and then Sam asks, "Dean - back there. Did something else happen?"
"No. No, Sam. Everything's fine."
They both know Dean's lying, but maybe that's a conversation for a different night.
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Hiya!!! I'm new and I really like your fics:)
Maybe a Hank, Deimos, and Sanford (separate) with a S/O who is a bit insecure about their weight or curves?
Hey there! Thank you, that's very kind of you! Here you go :-)
Hank, Sanford and Deimos with an Insecure!S/O
Hank: He’s probably one of the worst people to go to when you’re insecure about something, anything at all. If you have a problem with your weight, then just lose some, it’s not that hard. It would take some convincing on your behalf for him to even understand a little bit that it’s not that simple, that it takes time and dedication and is just a pain in general. It’s not that he doesn’t care, but he doesn’t really know how to show that he does. He doesn’t have a way with words, he’s not very cuddly either. But if he sees just how much your weight and your curves bother you, he’ll try a bit harder to cheer you up. Although his words may seem harsh, he means well when it comes to you. Besides, he can just pick you up still, he’s always benefitted from a naturally good physique, so I doubt he won’t be able to. Will sometimes pick you up to show you that it’s not that bad. He loves you, he just doesn’t know how to show it properly. While he won’t ever comment on your appearance, aside from you being cute, he’ll try to help you otherwise. If you ever mention to him how you feel unworthy of being loved, he’ll tell you that it really isn’t a big deal to him. Hank wouldn’t be with you if he didn’t love you beyond that. Might get annoyed if you’re too insecure too often, but he won’t let it out on you. At one point, he’ll likely tell you to shut up and tell you the reasons why he thinks you are beautiful. Again, he’s not very eloquent, but he tries. Anyone who dares to make a mean comment about you will wind up dead very quickly.
Sanford: He has a healthy layer of chub himself, but he’s not insecure about it in the slightest. However, if you show any signs of insecurity about anything, he’s probably the best person to go to. Sanford is a very understanding guy and would try his darndest to make you feel better. You’re gorgeous, you should know as much, but it’s okay if you’re not aware of that fact just yet, you’ll get there eventually. He’s not too eloquent either, but he’ll tell you just how beautiful you are. Your softness is something to be cherished in rough and harsh Nevada. Definitely not above picking you up, laying you down on the nearest soft surface and just holding you for the time being. His hand will be above your stomach so he can squeeze it every once in a while. It just feels nice to him. You’re warm, you’re soft, you’re safe and for once he doesn’t have to worry about getting killed by some no one. Will also use your tummy as the perfect pillow if he ever feels like it, all the while complimenting you on how cute you are and how comfortable he is in the moment. Doesn’t take too kindly to someone else being mean to you. In fact, he doesn’t take too kindly to you being mean to yourself either. If it’s someone else who is making you insecure, then they’ll either wind up dead or with a few broken bones. If you’re being a downer then he’ll cuddle you and nuzzle into you all the while listing all the things he loves about you. It’s his goal to either get you to smile again by the time he’s done, or maybe even hear you giggle a bit. You’re the most wonderful grunt in Nevada, he wants you to be doing well, mentally and physically.
Deimos: If you ever mention around him that you feel as though you’re not pretty enough due to being curvy, then he’ll tell you that that’s fucking bullshit. Not only do you have a lovely personality, you’re also smoking hot to him. That’s one of the reasons why Deimos ended up with you in the first place, you’re everything he was looking for. Since you’re always there for him whenever he needs it, he’ll do the same for you. Like Sanford, he’ll compliment you on your appearance. You’re sexy as fuck, you should be aware of that. You’re royalty, you should carry yourself as such and watch everyone around you go green with envy. Although he hugs you fairly often as it is, he’ll do so more often from now on, just so he can squeeze you in his arms and feel how soft you are. You’ve got the perfect body and Deimos couldn’t have asked for anyone better. Besides, food is scarce in Nevada, you being chubby just means that you’re eating well, another reason why all those other grunts should be jealous of you and worship you instead. Again, if someone ends up being rude towards you, then he’ll break their skull or shoot them. Deimos has his ways of making someone’s life a living hell and he’s not afraid to use them when it comes to you. He’ll hug you, he’ll cuddle you, he’ll compliment you in a vulgar way as well, but you really need to realise your worth. Although it’s hard for him to abstain from touching you, on some days he won’t give you a kiss until you’ve said something nice about your appearance, that’s just how it be then. However, once you’re being nicer to yourself, he’ll go back to his usual self and smother you in love.
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