#drabbles: time to sketch

[workshopofchalk]

Thoughts on the Unknown

(cut for length)

“...”

This is… new.

Albedo paces around the bizarre rift that had formed, each angle a new look into… somewhere. Somewhere he had not seen before. Or… not that he could recall, anyhow.

It was new. He had done endless research, of countless varieties but… each experiment had its place. A place he understood.

This? This was out of his expertise - but also, not out of his learning yet - not likely out of understanding, at least.

Each glimpse promises a shimmering glimpse… a reflection - a refraction? He could not tell.

It… makes him feel somewhat melancholic. He could paint this - this… aberration of the world, cut open and laid bare to… whatever laid beyond, but he didn’t know if it would last long enough.

Why it had formulated here, of all places, was also a question Albedo desired an answer to. His research camp was hardly a place of note, save for anyone but him and Sucrose, so this placement could have been for any sort of reason. Mere chance, some form of divine willing for him alone… he couldn’t possibly know. But what he did know was that this was something he could not ignore.

“...”

A snowflake falls, twirling, into the gaping maw of… everythingness and nothingness, before disappearing, fizzled out, robbed of whatever form of snow it would take as a collective, trekking into infinity on its own.

…The snowflake was like him, in a way. Cut away from most of society. Though he was by choice, not the happenstance that brought the snowflake through the aether. And unlike the snowflake, which would likely wither and melt away wherever it ended… he thrived in this way, separated. It let him focus on his works, it let him save energy for his experiments (or cleaning after whatever rubble Klee left behind,) and let him work on his final assignment. He… supposed it would be better if he had his Master back, that was the goal, but… also, his goal was to do this alone, to prove it to her. She claimed she had nothing left to teach him. He could do this alone - and, well, with his assistant. His life as it was now was good - to achieve his goal, he would always aspire, but… this was not as bad as it could be.

“...Hmm.”

The rift pulsates, pulling his attention, before lulling him back into melancholic thought.

It reminded him of a simpler past - before he was curious, before he studied, when it was him and his master, simply braving dungeons, and coming back out… before the world became so much more open. So much more for him to prove.

It had never been an easy past. But it made him strong. He may not have the same physical potency as others, but his strengths came in his whole self, body and mind. He had to be strong - she would never have let him stay, should he fail. He was made to be who he was, not by some genetic chance. Made.

And working as he did now only honed it. His blade was rarely tested as much, sure, but his mind was doubly sharp for it. He had honed alchemical skills that would put any other alive to shame. And, yet… he still was not at her level yet. Nor at the level to accomplish his last assignment.

“Perhaps I should test…”

His hand buries into the snow-caked soil beneath him, and the floral construct he had called on for a long, long time now came into being, a small distance from the rift. The central crystalline structure reflects the impossible shapes of the rift.

A small burst of Geo energy pulsates from within, and, like the snowflake, is pulled in, from the cusp of something, into nothing.

“Understood. Hmm…”

He quickly aims to dissipate the lotus, eyes drawn to the rift once more…

Each glimpse gave him a new cause to pause, to think. He really should draw it, if it lasts long enough…

Perhaps that would elicit the same effect. Would make it easier to focus on his research, if his thoughts would be left behind as such.

“...”

His thoughts wander, once more, as he stares into each fragment of… something, on the other side.

Would his art be all that he was known for? Albedo was unlikely to die - at least so far, his body had yet to falter, this far on. But his alchemical work was far from a field that many would recall, were his form to eventually waver. Sure, those in the field would recall it, study it in their own right, like he did those from even before his time…

But, if he could imagine, his art would be his legacy, more than his main work. That… was somewhat disappointing to think about, so Albedo refocuses himself.

He still needed to figure out what this even…

Wait.

“No!”

The rift begins to shrink, at a steady, constant pace. He couldn’t risk it left to become nothing, not when there was so much potential to it!

On an instinctual action, he sticks an arm within - his non-dominant one, in case it proved to sever it. Thankfully, the rift halted its state…

And began to grow once more. To its former size, then, even further. It nearly overtakes his arm in its entirety, before…

The world feels to draw far, then close again, then, in a quick barrage on his senses, sights and sounds he has never witnessed, tastes and smells unlike any before… he slowly comes to.

[mauvearts]

What a beautiful thing to feel this young again.

Maedhros closes his eyes as a wave of warmth rises through their shared bond. Doubts wash away, leaving him marvelling at the sensation. To see his memories, hear his thoughts, feel his emotions.

It casts the world in kaleidoscopic perspective. Gods, how he missed him. Missed this.

How effortlessly Fingon tears down his defences – the walls Maedhros built so carefully to shield his mind and cage his shadows. But to whom, if not Fingon, could he lay bare his scarred heart?

No constraints. No illusions. Just them. Just this, once again.

[emile-the-side-blog]

I HATE HIM I HATE-

[spotaus]

So i had another new age thought. Also yes hi i am back again and i just like sending you asks lmao.

Anyway. Remember how we agreed that once nightmare trusted and knighted killer he would be send on a mission to get more info/stuff/reminders of ccino's past life?

And how before we agreed he would find it boring?

Now with the whole crush and in love situation

Killer would be EXCITED for this mission

Finding stuff about ccino?! His family?! Sign him the fuck up- wait.what will you do with that information?

Nightmare: safeguard it obviously?

Killer: okay cool! When do i leave?

Because if nightmare was gonna destroy it killer would have 100% hidden the info away and reconsider those running away fantasies- I MEAN! plans again.

That was all. That was the thought lmao.

Ohoho- Killer would be SO pumped for it- I can't believe I forgot that with the crush plot line he'd be super curious... the him abd Ccino not getting along plotting is definitely more of a farce now, so ofc he'd be invested!

And... you can't tell me this man didn't immediately snoop. Like, he knows it's bad, he knows he shouldn't, but Ccino is one big mystery to him so of course he's going to try and find out more! And he gets a peek at the names of his parents, the old bakery they used to run, where he used to live, the whole nine yards. Do you think he found the death certificates of his parents and saw the cause of death was a housefire? He's pretty sure Ccino would've been really young when it happened, too. Do you think he went to the address out of curiosity and saw that the lot was still empty? (Taboo to rebuild atop the ashes of sonething burnt by the King, you know) Do you think he got a sense of what happened, even if he really doesn't know at all?

I think we've discussed it before, but Killer is all the more protective over Ccino and even more curious after this mission. He has no right, he knows that, but he can't help but try to look after him. Just!!! These guys!!!!

Also, I didn't get around to doodling them properly, but since I don't want to constantly draw Killer's armor? Here's his and Ccino's comfy/general clothes, as well as the front of Ccino's uniform! (Poorly sketched as always, haha-)

Killer likes to wear loose clothes, especially jackets. (I forgor to add the gold clasps on the jacket...) Tighter clothes feel like they confine him too much, almost like claustrophobia. For meta-story? The long jackets + oversized clothes are just a habit from his days in the temple, and then later when he and Chara had to steal clothes sizes too large so they could grow into them. I also think that Killer, later in the story, really only has his soul circular when he's in public/training, anytime he's comfy with his family (or ofc Ccino is near) it leans towards soul-shaped. His eyelight likes to pop into place when he's with Ccino :] (<- I WILL forget to draw/write like this. So like. Nbd.)

Ccino's casual fit is usually only for his days off, market shopping, and when he's alone in his cottage. He always keeps his apron and work shirt the same (honestly Nightmare wouldn't mind, but Ccino still worries about being punished for stuff like uniform screw-ups) and he wears a more casual pair of pants and a white shawl which fits him like a scarf now. (Maybe, if I wanted to be angsty, then it was given to him shortly after Nightmare came to power, and back then he was so stick thin it wrapped around his shoulders? Now he wears it as a sign of his healing <3) also!! Decided Ccino inherited hid mother's 'sleepy' eyeshape, where his sockets curve like he's sad, but that's just how he looks. Gives him a calm and gentle appearance.

Ignore that they're missing their shoes 🙏 I'm very close to convincing myself to let Ccino stay barefoot/sandals because tbh if I were him I'd be wearing the least shoes possible, but he's also very sensible so like. Probably sandals for him. Killer probably wears short boots or his sturdy armor boots? I couldn't see him taking the time to lace up any sort of complex sandals lmao-

[anabetel35]

getting ready — summer lovestruck edition

(Alt versions + close-ups below cut✨💜)

Text transcription:

Harumi — trying not to look like she really really really REALLY wants to kiss Vania

Vania — enjoying getting her make-up done (…and hoping for a kiss)

[caycanteven]

Some concept art of Mafia!Lex

[sharenaweek]

Reminder we're only 5 days away from the start of Sharena Week!

[daemonfish]

there are almost 500 of you!

[blog-sekai]

2/3 of my fan units' introposts (and introposts for their sekais) are done

one more to go...wish me luck!!! 💪

[maibluemen]

i was thinking last night that it's a shame there's no real writing equivalent to warmup sketches and then i remembered....the kinkmeme.....

[dabihaul666]

:hmm: i will type to them

[sysig]

Hi! I really adore your art, but I was wondering if you could maybe add transcripts on posts with writing? I’ve always found it hard to parse others handwriting and would love to be able to follow the dialogue! :]

Keep up the amazing work! 💜💜

I do have a few transcripted doodlesets (here, here, here, here) that, for some reason stick in my brain as not being received well, despite one of them getting a very nice comment about being a well-done transcript?? I think the rest just got the same reception as ones that I left alone, so they feel the same for more effort, which would leave me wondering why I would do more - not to say that that's a correct thought! Just how it feels in my head haha

I definitely don't blame you for not being able to read my handwriting! It's not an easy font to read lol, and I appreciate the interest!

As this is kind of a doodle-dumping ground, I tend to just kinda throw my sketches down and consider them Done Enough, not something to linger on if I can help it, kind of like an indulgent archive haha - if you point out a particularly scribbly set, I'd be happy to transcribe it but honestly, if you really want to see them typeset, direct me to a set you'd like to see Finished. Odds are, I do too

[mysteryoftwilight]

Shelby huffed a sigh as she sat on the ledge of the exterior wall of the old mansion. Another Valentine's Day alone. Not that it was anything new, but it was something that she desperately tried to not let bother her. Placing her sketchbook next to her, she took up a lying position. Even in the unlikely event someone decided to visit the mansion, they probably wouldn't notice her taking up space.

She twirled a ice cream stick in her hand absentmindedly, more so looking for something to occupy her hands as she enjoyed the late Winter breeze. She never really understood why Single Awareness Day bothered her. She was alone the rest of the year; why did this day drive a knife into her every year without fail? Was it all the decorations, or the idea that every pair of people she passed on her way in were happily engaging in the love of one beloved?

"What a load of shit..." she muttered to herself, allowing one of her feet to dangle off the ledge (into the mansion, she'd fallen on the other side once and the bushes there were designed to leave their thorns in you). She really didn't get it herself. She was better off alone, less chances of getting hurt. She'd given that whole 'personal friend' business pretty recently, they all abandoned her... not that any of them were 'significant other' material, anyway. She barely counted Hayner, Pence, and Olette. They were more like... acquaintances than anything else. Hayner was probably less than that. Pence was alright, but neither of them really knew how to talk about things other than their shared interests. Which considering they only really met in person with two others who didn't share those interests, meant there wasn't much chance to get closer on those grounds... Eh, maybe they were closer than she wanted to admit... but that was a very flimsy 'maybe'.

Her other 'friends', though....

'Fuck 'em,' came the cynical voice in her head, 'they've upped and left after you opened your heart about being left behind... though Nams probably just went along with it. She'll probably apologize if she ever shows up again.'

Throwing the stick up in the air, she sat up and caught it in the other hand. Dangling her feet off the edge, she scowled. They were always gassing up Sora. She saw him, both in and out of combat, and he looked like an idiot. Roxas (if she wanted to believe him) was only alive for like... a year, and he was able to fly around the battlefield and summon pillars of light. How do you look at the guy who can't handle a couple of Dusks without needing to be bailed out by the rat king and say 'yes, he's going to destroy a doomsday cult filled with super powerful beings'? Even Demyx probably had him dead to rights.

Not to mention his ugly outfit. Who dressed him, the rat king?

Roxas was way cooler. Saved her from more than a few Heartless and always so effortlessly. Sora kept tripping over his stupid clown shoes. He was also easier on the eyes, with that soft face that looked so—

"Where'd that come from?" she asked out loud, jumping from that train of thought. She shook her head and pocketed the ice cream stick, focusing on what she'd do once she was back in Twilight Town proper. She didn't want to hang around the more populated areas, so it was probably going to be headed back home by train. She wasn't naïve enough to believe no one was in the tunnels doing... unwholesome things, to say the least. With her things gathered, she walked across the wall until she reached the front, and then dropped down. She frowned a little when she saw a strange patch of grass that was still growing in after being burnt. There were quite a few scattered around, but she didn't know when they appeared... or who Axel was fighting when he did it.

"Oh well," she sighed, pushing down the nameless heartache. Pulling out her headphones from her pocket, she pressed shuffle and decided to just tune out the world for a bit.

'Happy V-day to me, I guess...' she took one last glance at the mansion before walking down the hill into the forest. She had wanted her life to go back to normal, so why did it feel so... lonely now?

[jinusajas]

01/31/25; 08:50pm

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ how they help you when you’re feeling overwhelmed and stressed ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

sylus can always tell when you’re about to go non-verbal, and instead of making you talk it out-

he’ll remain utterly patient with you.

sylus is a man who understands how challenging life can be sometimes, and all he wants to do is help you navigate through it, forever remaining by your side.

when he sees the defeated expression on your face, he’ll let out soft coos of your name before pulling you into his embrace. he’ll allow you to cling to him while basking in his warmth, not minding how you sought comfort from him during your time of need.

he would spend the day with you in your shared bedroom, canceling all of his meetings and duties for the day while making luke and kieran do the work for him.

he would spend the entire day in the comfort of your shared bedroom, allowing you to cling to him while ordering all of your favorite foods. his actions would forever remain oh so gentle with you as he helped with slowly rejuvenating your strength.

and as you fall asleep while in his embrace, sylus hopes that you would always see him as your safe haven in the future.

being a vastly intelligent man, zayne could always tell when you’re feeling overwhelmed. whimpers could be heard escaping from your parted lips as you curled up even further within the blankets.

and seeing you in such a state would make him take a sick day, wanting nothing more than to comfort you during your time of need. so after making the necessary calls, zayne would rejoin you in the comfort of your shared bed, making sure to keep the lights dimmed low.

when he removes the comforter away from your face, the doctor’s heart would inexplicably clench in response to your tear stained face, gently caressing at your damp skin with the back of his hand. he’ll call out your name in a loving manner, whispering words of encouragement to you while reassuring you that he’ll always remain by your side.

and when a tiny smile breaks through the melancholic haze of your expression, zayne knew that he was successful before proceeding to litter your face with gentle kisses, basking in your giggles of his name.

xavier will not leave your side for even a minute if he sees a single tear roll down your cheek. from seeing your pained expression, he knew that you weren’t quite ready to talk about what was bothering you.

so he remains steadfastly by your side, sharing the warmth of his body heat with you while keeping you wrapped up in his embrace. xavier will whisper sweet nothings in your ear, telling you that whatever it is, you could face it together-

never alone.

when xavier feels you slowly relax while in his embrace, he smiles, basking in your soft breathing and the way your chest rises and falls while sleeping within his embrace. true blue eyes would fill with love and adoration for you before he presses a kiss against your cheek, joining you in your peaceful slumber…

when he notices that you’ve become much quieter than usual, rafayel is usually the one to help with cheering you up. he’ll take a day off doing any commissions while placing you within his embrace.

he won’t take any offense with your silence, often keeping you on the comfort of his lap while feeding you all of your favorite candies and snacks. in order to get a few laughs from you, he’ll spend the day sketching all of your favorite plushies while giving them silly expressions.

as you laugh for him, rafayel would feel his heart go lighter, nearly soaring at the sound as he sought ways to further elicit such a joyous reaction from you-

needless to say, rafayel didn’t mind being your personal clown, as long as you felt better and he was the one making you smile.

caleb would be your staunch protector during moments where you feel overwhelmed and overstimulated. he’ll allow you a moment to cry and let out all of your sadness, never once judging you or pushing you away as he felt your tears staining at the front of his shirt.

he’ll pull you achingly closer to him, allowing you to bury your face within his chest as he listened to you rant about your frustrations and whatever was making you feel sad. even with his busy schedule, caleb would always find time for you, no matter what.

only after you finish your vent does he offer you to cook you all of the delicious meals you crave for. tell him anything that you want, and he’ll make it in an instant for you. for caleb, nothing is off the table when it comes to you, and he always want you to feel loved and cherished unconditionally by him-

something that the young colonel knows will never change.

end notes: i’ve been feeling a little down lately and wrote this as a comfort fic for me, and also anyone else who needs reassurance as well. i wrote this in thirty minutes, and i know it’s not much, but this was something i personally needed ♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[aleksatia]

Don't know if you will accept this one because not everyone is comfortable with writing for pregnancy trope. But i will try. 😭

Imagine the reader is pregnant, and for some reason, she can't get to the hospital or opted for giving birth at home, and the labor starts with just the reader and the boys, how would they react? (Zayne would go well, I guess lol)

Anyway, I gotta say I am obsessed with your writing ✍️ 🤤🥰

It honestly took me forever to get this request done, but here it is—finally! I ended up splitting it into two parts, including a bit of my own experience with childbirth.

The main challenge was that, even when extreme, birth tends to follow a similar pattern. I didn’t want to lean into unnecessary drama, so I approached it differently: wrote one complete mini-fic and turned the rest into short drabble-style sketches, which I’ll be posting here.

You can read more about Xavier/MC’s story here. I chose him simply because I hadn’t written anything focused on him in a while—and it just flowed (from pen... well, keyboard) that way.

CT/WT: birth scene, childbirth, emergency birth, home birth, water birth, airplane birth, snowstorm birth, intense emotional content, partner support, soft!men, vulnerable!men, protective partner, found family, twins, hurt/comfort, emotional intimacy, fatherhood, new dad energy, birth fic, drabble collection, first-time dad, emotional whump, soft smutless intimacy, love confession, trauma comfort, birth complications, raw vulnerability, medical emergency, no smut just feelings, domestic intensity. Headcanon!!!

🖤 SYLUS — The Moment He Realizes It’s Up to Him (Home Birth, Unprepared Conditions)

The Second It Clicks: You gasp. Double over. He’s at your side in a heartbeat. “Is it time?” You nod. Pain. Panic. Wet warmth. His blood freezes — then boils. No hospital. No doctor. No help. Just him.

His First Thought? “Fuck. No. Not like this. You deserve better.” Not chaos. Not uncertainty. Not cold floors and towels that aren’t sterile. He’s Sylus — he controls everything. But this? This is the one thing he can’t delay, buy, or dominate. It’s coming. Now.

Terror?Not for himself. For you. For the pain in your eyes, the grip of your hand, the sheer fragility of the moment. His entire being rallies like a war horn blaring inside his chest. “If the universe put this in my hands, then it’s getting the best fucking performance of my life.”

What he does first:He lowers you carefully to the bed. Kisses your knuckles, even as he’s barking quiet orders into a phone no one picks up. His voice is deep, steady. But his heart is galloping. He never lets you see it. Never lets his fear break through. You deserve certainty, and he’ll give it to you — even if he’s unraveling at the seams.

What He Says:“Kitten. Look at me.” You do. Eyes wide. Brave. Terrified. “You trust me?” You nod. “Then breathe. I’ve got this. I’ve got you. I always have.”

What He Feels:You’re vulnerable. And you’re still the strongest creature he’s ever seen. He wishes he could take the pain. Rip it from you and carry it in his own bones. But this is your war. And all he can do is be the sword and the shield. “Don’t you dare break on me, baby. You’re almost there. We’re almost there.”

And when you cry out —Something inside him shatters. Not weakness. Not panic. Love. The kind that could burn cities. The kind that makes gods kneel. He wipes your brow with trembling fingers, and for the first time in years, he whispers: “Please. Just let me do this right.”

The First Push:Your nails dig into his forearm. Hard. He doesn't flinch. He leans in, forehead almost touching yours. “That’s it. Breathe through it. I’ve got you.” Your body trembles. He sees it — the pain, the fear, the fight. And God, he’s never loved you more than in this bloody, imperfect, holy moment.

The Next Contractions Hit:They're relentless. And so is he. He’s on his knees beside the bed now, sleeves rolled, jaw locked, hands steady but heart breaking. “You're doing so good, kitten. So fucking good. I'm right here. Ride it. Ride it out. You're the strongest thing I've ever seen.” He keeps talking because your cries are the sound of his soul ripping open. He wants to scream with you — but he doesn’t. He can’t. You need him iron-clad.

When the Baby Crowns:For a split second, he freezes. The sight undoes him. It's real. His voice catches. He swallows hard. Then acts. Fast. He speaks softly but firmly. “Almost there. Just one more, baby. Give me everything you’ve got.”And when you do — when you scream and bear down and sob his name — the world shifts.

The Birth:The baby slips into his hands. Warm. Fragile. Alive. He catches it like it’s made of light. For a moment, he just stares. His lips part, but no words come. This. This is his child. His hands are shaking now. Bloody, trembling. But when the baby cries? He lets out the most ragged breath of his life. “You did it,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours. “You fucking did it.” He ties and cuts the cord. Precise. Careful. Reverent. Wraps the baby in a soft towel and places it in your arms. And then? He just watches. Like the world cracked open to show him something he never thought he was worthy of.

When the Medics Finally Arrive:He doesn’t move from your side. Doesn’t let go of your hand. The men in white bark questions. He answers in clipped growls, still on alert. They try to move in too fast, and he snaps, “She’s fine. You move when she says so.” The room is full now — but all he sees is you.

Afterward, When It’s Quiet Again:He sits beside you, one hand on your leg, the other gently stroking the baby's tiny back. His shirt is soaked, his knuckles still stained, his eyes rimmed red. He doesn’t speak for a long time. Just breathes in the shape of you. Watches you like you might disappear.

And then he says it, raw and low:“I’ve killed for less than the pain you just went through.”“You scare me,” he adds, almost smiling. “Because I didn’t think I could love you more than I already did.”A pause. His voice softens. “Turns out, I was wrong.”

How He Is With You After: He won’t leave the room for the first 24 hours. Won’t sleep unless you sleep. Won’t speak unless it’s to you. Every time you shift, he’s there. Water. Blankets. Warm palms. He touches you like you’re made of fire and stardust. And maybe you are. You brought life into the world — and now he’s a man who’s seen a goddess bleed and survive.

What’s Changed? Everything. You’re no longer just the woman he worships. You’re the mother of his child. And he’s never been more dangerous, more devoted, or more in awe. And when he finally holds the baby in his arms, whispering something in a voice only the stars can hear, you catch the look on his face — as if the king of the underworld just met the one soul that could make him believe in heaven.

🎨 RAFAYEL — Water Birth Gone Off-Script (But You're Still His Masterpiece)

The Second It Clicks:You gasp. A real one. Water shifts behind the door. He hears it — not the splash, but the silence that follows. Brush mid-stroke, he freezes in the studio. Palette still in hand. Then he hears you call his name. Soft. Urgent. Different. His heart misses a beat. Oh. Oh, fuck. It’s time.

His First Thought?“Cutie, not yet — where’s the damn midwife?” This was supposed to be smooth. Music, candles, soft towels, help. He practiced. Took notes. Learned everything. But you’re contracting, you’re gripping his arm like a lifeline, and that carefully prepared plan just drowned.

Terror?Only for a split second. Then? It turns into motion. His version of war. No armor. Just bare skin, water, and wild love. He tears off his silk shirt, drops to his knees beside the tub, and cups your face. Eyes blazing. Smile trembling. “You’ve got this. I’ve got you. Let’s be legends, sweetheart.”

What He Does First:Lights dimmed. Calm playlist turned off. That’s not helping. He speaks instead. Constant stream of velvet and madness — anything to keep you in your body. He checks your breath, strokes your arms, pours warm water down your back. He holds your thighs when the cramping gets too much. “Breathe, Cutie. Moan if you need to. Scream. I’ll scream with you.”

What He Says:“You’re the most divine creature I’ve ever painted and you’re not even trying right now.” “Do you know what it does to me — to see you bring life into the world? I’m ruined.” “I love you. You’re terrifying. It’s magnificent.” “I’m not ready, but I’m so ready. Are you ready, sweetheart?” He laughs and cries all at once. Classic Raf.

What He Feels:Absolute awe. Like watching a volcano give birth to the moon. You’re in pain, and he’d trade his soul to take it away —

But you’re also gorgeous. Power and surrender. Fury and grace. He watches you like a living epic, memorizing every second. And somewhere deep down: terror. Because he’s about to meet a little soul that already feels like the most important thing he’s ever waited for.

And When You Cry Out —He flinches like someone hit his body. Then kisses your forehead. Then your shoulder. Then your fingers. “I know, I know, my love. You can hate me right now. But when it’s over, you’re going to be a fucking goddess in my arms again.”

The First Push:He holds you. Literally. Behind you in the tub, your back pressed to his chest. Whispers in your ear like poetry, nonsense, love confessions. His hands steady your belly. His cheek presses to yours. “Push. With me. Right now. Pretend the stars are watching.”

The Next Contractions Hit:You sob. Scream. Curse. He laughs through tears. “That’s my girl. Go feral, baby.” He doesn't pretend it's easy. He matches the chaos. You scream louder? He screams louder. You sob? He hums a lullaby in broken Lemurian. And when you break? He stitches you back together with every ridiculous, poetic, stupidly beautiful word.

When the Baby Crowns:He feels it before he sees it — the shift in your breath, the way your body tenses like a storm breaking. “Cutie — he’s here. He’s really here.” He helps you lean forward, moves behind and then lower, one arm steadying you as he shifts to kneel in the water. And then he sees it — the beginning of everything. His voice is gone. His hands shake. But he stays.

The Birth:The baby slides into the water. Raf catches him like he’s catching a star falling into the sea. He brings him up gently, lets him cry, and then stares — completely undone. He places the baby on your chest with reverence. Then breaks. Just breaks. Weeps silently as he holds you both.

When the Medics Finally Arrive:He answers the door shirtless, soaked, with red-rimmed eyes and a feral look. “Too late,” he snaps. “She did it herself. I just got to be lucky enough to watch.” Then walks past them, back to the bathroom, because he’s not done looking at you.

Afterward, When It’s Quiet Again:You’re in bed. Baby asleep. Candles flickering low. Raf’s lying next to you, propped on an elbow, fingers lightly tracing invisible constellations on your arm. His voice is almost a whisper. “You made something I could never paint. Not with all the colors in the universe.”

Confession:“I used to think love was chaos. Fire. Tragedy.” He swallows. “But you — carrying him, birthing him — you made me believe in something bigger than all that. Something gentle.” Beat. “Still chaos. But now… now I want to live in it.”

How He Is With You After:He won’t stop touching you. Ever. Cheek pressed to your stomach. Hand around your ankle. Lips to your collarbone. He calls you his ocean, his cathedral, his everything. Gets jealous when the baby gets more attention, then sulks dramatically — only to melt the moment the baby yawns.

What’s Changed? He didn’t think he could love more than he already did. But now he’s ruined. Completely, gloriously yours. He paints you every day. He stares at the baby like a spell. And every night, he murmurs: “Cutie, I would live a thousand lifetimes just to land in this one with you.”

🛩️ CALEB — 35,000 Feet Up, When the World Falls Apart (And You’re the Only Thing That Matters)

The Second It Clicks:Your breath hitches. You shift. Then freeze. He knows your body too well — something is off. You whisper, "Caleb…" He looks at you. And in that one heartbeat, he knows. It’s happening. Here. Now. Too early.

His First Thought?“No.”Not like this. Not at cruising altitude. Not without equipment, backup, time. You were supposed to have two more weeks. He had a plan. A perfect one. And the baby just threw it out the emergency exit.

Terror?It brushes him. A ghost against the back of his mind. There’s a moment — sharp, almost blinding — where every instinct screams: get to the cockpit, take the controls, force the descent, get her to a hospital, make it stop. Not the birth — your pain. The helplessness. But Caleb is a fortress — fear doesn’t get through the walls. Not when you need him solid. Not when your breathing goes shallow and your fingers dig into his thigh. He shuts it out. Cold. Calculated. He stays. Right where you are. “Handle it.”

What He Does First: Turns to the nearest flight attendant — she’s pale, shaking. “Get blankets. Towels. Water. First aid kit. Everything. Now.”Then he takes your hand. Squeezes once. He shifts the cabin — clears seats, turns it into a command zone. Straps you in, kneels in front of you like you’re his entire mission.

What He Says:“Breathe.” “Look at me, not the chaos. Me.”“You're safe. I'm here. I’ll get you through this.”“No one’s going to touch you but me. You hear me?”Low, controlled. The voice of command — but laced with something raw. The kind of voice that means he’d rip this plane open and land it with his bare hands if he had to.

What He Feels:Failure. Because this wasn’t the plan. Because he let you on this plane, knowing the risks.  Because you’re in pain and there’s nothing he can shoot or order or carry to fix it.  But above that — something bigger. Something anchoring. You’re about to give him a child. His child. And he’s never been more terrified or more in love.

And When You Cry Out —He stops breathing. Just for a moment. Then grabs a wet cloth, wipes your forehead, presses his mouth to your knuckles. “It’s okay. I know. I know it hurts. Just hold on, love.” He doesn’t flinch when you scream. He braces for you. Becomes your wall.

The First Push: He helps you brace your legs. Talks you through it. Counts your breaths. His voice doesn’t shake. You’re gripping his shoulder like you want to break him — and if it helps, he wants you to. “Push. Right now. You can do it. I know you can.”

The Next Contractions Hit:They come fast. Brutal. You’re soaked in sweat, sobbing, slipping in and out of focus. He holds your gaze. Forces you to stay present. “Stay with me. Just me. Eyes on mine.” He’s not just commanding your body now. He’s anchoring your soul.

When the Baby Crowns:His jaw locks. There’s blood. Pain. A sound from you that breaks something in him forever. But then— “I see the head. One more. One big push, baby. Do it for me.”He’s never begged in his life. Until now.

The Birth:The baby slides into his hands — hot, wet, alive. He holds it like it’s a grenade and a prayer. He hesitates for a heartbeat, then moves on instinct drilled in from every medical video he obsessively watched in the weeks before. Wipes the face. Rubs the back. Hears that first cry. And his shoulders slump like he just survived a war. He lays the baby on your chest with military precision— But his hands are shaking. And his voice is gone.

When the Plane Lands:Paramedics are already waiting on the tarmac. The moment the wheels hit the ground, he’s on his feet, securing the baby, then lifting you into his arms — no hesitation, no discussion. Your body wrapped in his jacket, his grip unshakable. “She stays with me,” he tells them — low and final. He carries you down the stairs himself, eyes scanning every face like a soldier clearing a field. And when the medics move in, he doesn’t flinch — but he watches every hand. Every word. His eyes never leave you. He’s still on the battlefield.

Afterward, When It’s Quiet Again: The baby’s wrapped and asleep. You’re in a hospital bed now, monitors quiet, lights dim. Caleb sits beside you — still in his flight-worn clothes, hands resting on the edge of the mattress like he’s holding the line. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. Just watches you breathe. As if any second, the universe might try to take you again.

Confession:“I don’t know how to do this part.” Soft. Almost a whisper. “I know war. I know strategy. I know how to keep you alive.”A pause. “But you just gave me everything, thirty-five thousand feet above the world. And I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

How He Is With You After: Hypervigilant. Keeps you warm. Fed. Rested. Checks the baby’s breath every ten minutes. Doesn’t leave your side — not even to sleep. Carries you to the bathroom if he has to. Barely talks. Just does.

What’s Changed? He always thought his job was to protect you. Now he knows — you are the reason he fights. You made life, in midair, with nothing but pain and instinct. He’s seen you soft. He’s seen you in love. Now he’s seen you divine. And no enemy will ever get close again. Not even turbulence. And definitely not labor at 35,000 feet — because he’s never letting you board a plane pregnant again. He’s already planning the next birth. Controlled environment. Ground-level. Walls. Doctors. No sky. No chaos. Just you, safe — the way you were always supposed to be.

🧊 ZAYNE — Snowcrest Emergency (Twins, a Storm, and You in His Hands)

The Second It Clicks:You’re at the stove, stirring a pot of mulled wine, the scent of cloves and orange peel curling through the wooden walls of the chalet. Snow presses against the windows like a soft white fist. Then something shifts. You freeze. One hand goes to the edge of the counter, the other to your belly. Your breath catches — once. Twice. Too sharp. Zayne looks up from the hearth, where he was stacking firewood. Sees your face. Sees your hands. His mind clicks into motion before you can speak. Contractions. Strong. Rhythmic. A month early. Twins. It’s happening. Now.

His First Thought?“No hospital. No OR. No neonatal equipment. Two infants. High-risk environment.” His mind races: What’s missing? What can he improvise? What matters most? You. He recalibrates in milliseconds. The plan has changed. You’re the plan now.

Terror?He doesn’t let it register. But for the first time in a decade, he feels his pulse spike without choosing it. This is not a patient. Not a clinical environment. This is you. And his hands — hands that saved hundreds — suddenly feel too slow, too human.

What He Does First:Takes control. Quietly, precisely. “Lie down. Left side. Pillows under your knees.” Gets gloves. Clean cloths. Lantern light. Wipes the counter. Boils water. Checks your pupils, your breath rate, heart rate. Starts counting contractions. Voice — steady as marble. “Vitals are within threshold. We’ll manage.” He doesn’t say "I’m scared." He sets his jaw and becomes the machine you need.

What He Says:“Cut the noise. Focus on me.” “Deep breath in. Hold. Now exhale slowly.” “You’re safe. I have you. Nothing’s going wrong under my watch.” And softer, almost like it slips out against his control: “You’re not doing this alone. I’m here.”Then quieter still, barely audible over your breathing— “I don’t want you to be afraid. Not with me.”

What He Feels:A depth of protectiveness so massive it short-circuits logic. He can’t afford emotion — so it burns quietly behind his ribs. Every sound you make, every twitch of pain — he catalogs it, files it, calculates it. But somewhere behind the math, something whispers: “These are my children. And she’s the one I never deserved.”

And When You Cry Out—He doesn’t flinch. But his jaw locks, and he moves faster. More towels. More warmth. Calmer voice. He adjusts your position, murmurs into your hair: “I know. I know, love. It hurts. You’re strong. You’re going to get them here, and I’m going to catch them. I promise.”

The First Push:““Push with the contraction. Not before.”He watches your breath, cues your muscles, syncs with your rhythm like surgery. You scream. He doesn’t blink. Just steadies your knee, keeps his voice low and close. “You’re doing it. This is the part that ends it. The worst is behind you.”

The Next Contractions Hit:They come harder, closer. You’re shaking. Your body starts to give. Zayne grips your hands, brings your forehead to his. “You’re not breaking. You’re giving life. Do it. I’m right here.” He says it like a command. But his voice catches.

When the Baby Crowns:It’s fast. First twin is anterior. Textbook. Zayne’s gloves are slick, but his hold is perfect. The baby slips into his hands — screaming. He wraps, clears, breathes. Then glances up at you, and — for half a second — his breath stutters. One down. One more.

The Birth (Second Twin):This one’s trickier. Breech. Zayne’s hands move with silent grace, guiding you, shifting your hips, protecting you from the risk. It’s intense. It’s dangerous. But he handles it like a master. The second baby arrives blue. He doesn’t panic. Just acts. Clears airway. Stimulates. Waits — cry. Only then does his chest move again.

When the Medics Finally Arrive:He meets them at the door. Calm. Precise. These are his colleagues — people he trusts. He listens to every reading, watches every movement. They confirm what he already knows: vitals are steady. No signs of immediate risk. He should transfer you. He planned to. But then you look at him — raw, pleading, exhausted. And he recalculates. “We’ll monitor here. Twelve-hour window. I’ll oversee everything myself.” He’s already wrapping you and the twins in fresh blankets, resetting the monitors. His voice is steady. His posture sure. But his hand doesn’t leave yours. He’s not just responsible. He’s personally invested. In this. In you. In all three lives now resting in his hands.

Confession:He speaks only when you touch his wrist. “I’ve never been this scared.” A beat. “And I didn’t let myself feel it. Until now.” Another pause. “You and them — you’re the only variables I can’t solve. And I think I’m okay with that.”

How He Is With You After: Meticulous. Attentive. Understated. Charts feed schedules. Tracks sleeping patterns. Never wakes you if he can help it. Takes night shifts. Warms bottles. Still quiet. Still reserved. But touches you more often now — almost absently. A thumb to your wrist. A hand at your back. Like he can’t not.

What’s Changed? Something in him has shifted — quietly, irreversibly. He was a man of logic. Now he’s a man of you. He doesn’t smile often — but when he looks at the twins, something in his eyes softens in a way he can’t quite explain. And every time you cry — from exhaustion, or joy, or pain — he presses a kiss to your temple and says, “Tell me what to fix.” Even if he knows he never could. Because he’ll try anyway. For as long as you’ll let him.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Warmth (drabble)

pairing: hyunjin x gn!reader

genre: fluff, suggestive

a/n: hyunjin's room looks so comfy whenever he does his live there. he makes me so soft so i had to write this😭🫶🏻

It's raining hard outside, the droplets are hitting the window from every side, courtesy of the wind changing direction. They slide down the glass and disappear, melting away out of sight.

It's a raging tempest outside, but inside it is the complete opposite; peaceful, safe, warm.

Your body is tangled in Hyunjin's covers, one leg sticking out and the other wrapped up in the soft blanket, your face smushed against his pillow as you inhale his comforting scent, one of his shirt's is covering your frame as you drown in it all.

You were his the moment you laid eyes on him for the first time, you were his when he kissed you for the first time, you were his just fifteen minutes ago when the two of you fell into a passionate embrace, you are his now. Utterly his.

And the thought of that makes you smile in your half-asleep state. How can you not be sleepy?

He had tired you out, then held you close under the hot water in the shower and now you are resting in his comfortable bed, wrapped up in everything his, everything yours. The room smells like him, like you and the incense he burns. It's a comforting smell, lulling you further into dreamland.

Hyunjin is sitting in his chair, concentrated on a piece of paper as you listen to the gentle scratching of the pencil against the paper, and you know, he is probably sketching you. Again. And your heart flutters when you think about that.

Your eyes are barely opened when they find him, his profile is simply beautiful and you think he looks the best right now; after he loved you, now watching him concentrate on his art. His brows are slightly furrowed, he's biting on his lip as he tilts his head in concentration, his hand gliding over the paper with ease.

You can't help the flutter you feel in your heart, your stomach, your gut. Hyunjin always stirs up warmth and fire inside you, no matter how much of him you have, it's never enough. You always yearn for him even when he is wrapped around you.

His quiet breathing and the little sounds he makes, the sound of the pencil against paper, it's all so familiar. You continue watching him, feeling like you're floating away.

It goes on for a while, until Hyunjin turns slowly and looks at you. His eyes visibly soften, his cheeks become rosy and his lips are upturned in a small but blissful smile.

He is looking at you and you can't help the way your lips twitch as you almost start giggling. Hyunjin smirks a little, putting his pencil down and walking slowly towards the bed, in two big strides he is already hovering over your frame.

You shut your eyes, pretending to be sleeping and he reaches out and tickles your foot. You quickly retract your leg away from his wiggly fingers and hide it under the safety of the blanket.

"I knew you were awake." he says quietly, plopping down on the bed on his knees and palms, caging your body under his.

You smile but don't say anything.

"So that's how it's gonna be, huh?" he smirks and leans in closer, his warm breath hitting your cheek. "I don't think you can ignore me for too long, my flower." Hyunjin whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

Your heart is skipping beats already and he is just barely kissing your jawline and you cheek.

Your breath hitches when his hand finds it's way under the sheets, touching your soft thigh and running it up towards your hip. Butterflies start dancing in your stomach and you're about to melt just from that simple touch.

"Darling." Hyunjin sing-songs playfully, his fingertips ghosting under your his shirt.

You smile, trying not to burst out into giggles but he's done playing nice and his fingers start tickling you, attacking all the spots he knows will get you squirming the most.

And you're done for, your eyes flying open as you squeal and finally start giggling, your hands grabbing at his arms as he laughs and keeps attacking your sides.

"Stop! Stop!" you squeal through laughter and he chuckles, stopping finally when you looked at him.

"There you are." he coos at you, his hands coming up to cradle your face. You wrap your arms around him and bring him closer so that his body is on top of yours.

Hyunjin leans in and kisses you gently, slowly, savoring the moment as all his loving feelings pour out from his lips to yours.

"Were you watching me, hm?" he asks, his lips constantly covering your skin as he keeps leaving kisses everywhere on your face.

"I was." you admit.

"I like when you do that." he smiles, his dimples showing and you have to lean in and kiss them.

"Then I'll do it always." you whisper against his lips and he kisses you again, his arms wrapping around you as your bodies tangle together.

"Are you done sketching?" you ask, touching his head and face, your fingers mapping out his features.

He chuckles a little, scooting closer to you.

"I'll never be done sketching you." he says as he pulls you into his chest, a sigh of relief leaving his lips.

You shiver at his words and the closeness of his warm body, the safety and comfort his arms bring you.

Now, you can actually fall asleep.

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