#sniffling. wailing. collapsing

[wormtime123]

it’s actually driving me so fucking insane that cleo’s extension of trust didn’t end in betrayal. they saw the guy with a reputation for running as soon as the going gets tough show up on their doorstep and they gave him a chance anyway. cleo’s goal was never to win all they wanted was to cherish whatever time they had left with the people they cared about. she would have done anything for etho to survive and she brought grian into that circle despite the risk and it didn’t end in betrayal. cleo joked about it and scott who she respects so highly called grian untrustworthy to her face and she just laughed it off and it COULD HAVE WORKED. they were just so clearly outnumbered. grian told her to move, fought tooth and nail to fend off three people for long enough and if scar hadn’t come around cleo might have actually had a chance of escaping. she never would have asked for any of it but it was through giving her allies that chance that they proved themselves when it mattered most both during the apocalypse and at the very end. are you kidding me

[remcadll]

I know the popular take is that Jason responds to familial affection by going ew fuck you gtf off me or whatever but to be honest I think if someone actually tried it he's ending up weeping wailing face red sniffling coughing collapsing to his knees in the rain type of reaction just completely sopping pathetic. his eyes are so swollen he can't see shit and falls off a cliff

[meowdei]

down the drain (literally) — ft. ryomen sukuna

female reader ; established relationship (engaged even!) ; modern bf sukuna ; slightly dramatic reader (she’s in shambles okay??) ; soft sukuna ; fluff

Sukuna is going to kill you.

For one, you’ve been in the bathroom for thirty minutes and he is clearly sick of it—the door handle rattling is proof enough. For another…well…your engagement ring is down the drain.

(Literally.)

You’re technically supposed to take it off when you wash your face just to be safe, but you get tired, and you forget here and there—mornings are always rough as it is. Sometimes, because you’re human, you forget. And it’s generally okay. Until it’s not.

Because your engagement ring is down the drain. (Literally.)

“God fuckin’ dammit woman,” he hisses, knocking on the door, “what are you doing in there? Open the damn door it’s been ages.”

“Just a second,” you call, panicking as you try to pull the drain plug out, but it doesn’t budge. Your fingers aren’t doing you any favors either—it feels like they’re the perfect size to not fit around anything to help you out here.

Your engagement ring is down the drain (literally) and there’s nothing to do but slowly bite your lip as tears collect at your lash line. So you open the door—and before Sukuna’s angry face can scold you any further, you’ve collapsed against his chest, soaking his bare chest with your tears.

“Wha—” he’s stunned. Stiff and standing there for a moment before he’s stuttering, “h-hey—I didn’t even yell at you that bad, what the fuck? Why’re you bein’ so—”

“I’m sorry, Kuna,” you sob, “please don’t be mad!”

“I’m mad but not that mad,” he says, bewildered. You sob harder at that, and his hands quickly find your hips and squeeze in panic at a poor attempt to reassure you. “Okay, okay! Not mad. Just…mildly annoyed. You’re…mildly annoying, better?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you wail.

“Okay! I got it! You’re havin’ a slow morning. Whatever, I waited. Can we just—”

“I didn’t think it’d slip off like that!”

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

“My ring,” you hiccup. He stills. You sniffle, pulling away and preparing yourself for his harsh, bitter anger as you whisper, “it fell down the drain.”

“What?” he looks at you, still confused. “What do you mean?”

“I w-was washing my face and then…and then—” you take a shuddering breath to try and work through your sobs before you continue, “it fell off and went down the drain! Now it’s in the sewers!”

“The sewers?”

“Yeah the pipes are gonna take it to the sewers!”

“I don’t think it’s in the sewers just yet—”

“And then the sewers will take it to the ocean and then I’ll never find it again!”

“The ocean is a long way from here—”

“I’m so, so, so sorry—”

“Oh my god, woman,” he grabs your cheeks, squeezing them together to shut you up as you stare up at him with wet, miserable, teary eyes. And he softens. Lets his shoulders fall a little as he sighs before rough thumbs are swiping at your cheeks less than gently, but more than in love. “’S just a ring.”

“It’s not just a ring,” you gasp, “it’s my engagement ring!”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs, “but we’re still engaged—”

“But now no one will know!”

“Then I’ll buy you a damn new one,” he groans, rubbing his temples as he clicks his teeth when a fresh new round of tears soak your cheeks. (He doesn’t like how it looks—wobbly lips and puffy eyes on you make him feel like he’s doing something wrong. He has enough mistakes to worry about as is.)

“But it’s expensive and—”

“And not your problem,” he grumbles, “I’ll buy you a ring. A nicer one, too, if you promise to quit your whining.”

“You’re not mad?” you sniffle, slumping against his chest as your arms circle his waist.

He melts. Because it’s you, and he always does when it’s you. His arms wrap tightly around you, and a large hand cups the back of your head as he presses a small kiss to your temple.

“You want me to be mad that bad?”

“No,” you whimper.

“Then ‘m not,” he snorts, chest vibrating under your cheek at his laugh, “so quit worryin’. You’ll get creases and everyone’ll think I married some old hag.”

You crack a small grin. He’s good at that—at pulling a soft smile onto your lips against your will as you let out a quiet giggle, gently swatting at his back with your hand as you huff. For a second, the ring is forgotten. For a second, it’s just you, it’s just Sukuna, and it’s just nothing else.

“Not a hag, you asshole,” you huff.

“You nag like one,” he mumbles.

“Do not,” you huff, “you just always piss me off.”

“You piss me off, too.”

“Are you pissed off about the ring?” you ask quietly.

“No,” he grunts. His arms squeeze you tighter, his lips kiss your head once more, and his body sways you side to side ever so slightly as he repeats, more seriously this time, “no. Forget the ring. I’ll get you a new one if I have to, so don’t cry.”

“Okay,” you murmur. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he hums.

He does. Ring or not, he does. And you can tell he does when he pulls away, gently pinches your nose and leans in to kiss the tears off your face as you can’t help but smile and giggle.

Your ring is down the drain (literally) and so is the hefty sum of money he spent on it, but everything else is still right here. Him and you and you and him and everything you’re ever built, nestled perfectly safe between the little space between your bodies.

“Done cryin’?” he asks gently.

You nod, kissing his jaw as he hums in content. “Yeah.”

“Great. Then get out—it’s my turn in the bathroom and I’ve waited long enough.”

—————— BONUS.

“Hand me the wrench.”

“Okay,” you hum. You hand him a tool, and he stares at you unimpressed as soon as he looks at it.

“That’s a screwdriver.”

“Oh. Which one’s the wrench?”

“Give me a fuckin’ break,” he groans, rubbing his temples.

Fifteen minutes later, and a good deal of bickering over what a wrench looks like and how his tools don’t all look the same, Sukuna has successfully retrieved your very shiny, and very pretty engagement ring. (It didn’t make it very far down the pipes—which is good. It didn’t make it to the sewers, and it most certainly didn’t make its way into the ocean.)

It’s no longer down the drain. (Literally.)

It’s now on your finger. (Literally.)

“Happy?” he raises a brow, watching as you grin at your finger, clearly pleased.

“Yeah,” you hum, sighing in relief. “Good thing you’re at least good at something.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you say innocently.

“I’m flushin’ that thing down the toilet next time! Sendin’ it straight into the ocean so you’ll never find it again!”

I’ll never forget when I was six years old and I dropped the small ring I got from a gumball machine down the drain when I was brushing my teeth and then I had such a severe meltdown my dad had to bust out his toolkit, open the damn bathroom sink pipes, and fish it out. Because six year old me could not FATHOM losing my 50 cent plastic ring no matter how many times he promised he’d buy me a new one 💀

Anyway. My dad and I were reminiscing about that on call and then I decided it would make a cute sukuna drabble so here you go.

Anyway peace ✌️

[chloeangelbaby]

You don’t love me

Crybaby! Reader x Rafe Cameron

———————————˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊————————————

It had been weeks of the same routine. Rafe was up early, gone all day, and by the time he got home, he was too exhausted to do anything but collapse into bed. You understood at first—Rafe worked hard, and running a company wasn’t easy. But as the days turned into weeks, his absence began to gnaw at you.

Tonight, you’d reached your limit.

You were sitting on the couch, scrolling aimlessly on your phone, when the craving hit. You wanted ice cream, something sweet and cold to take your mind off the void of Rafe’s company. You peeked into the kitchen but found nothing that would satisfy you.

“Rafe?” you called, walking into the bedroom where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Yeah?” His voice was tired, his eyes barely lifting to meet yours.

“I wanna go for a drive. We can stop and get ice cream or something,” you said, your tone hopeful.

Rafe sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Baby, I can’t tonight. I’m dead on my feet. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

The casual dismissal stung. “No, it can’t wait,” you snapped, your voice rising. “You’ve been saying that all week! Tomorrow, tomorrow—what about me, Rafe?”

“I’m doing this for us,” he said, his tone defensive. “I’m not saying no because I want to. I’m exhausted, okay?”

You stared at him, your emotions bubbling over. Before you knew it, you were crying, your chest heaving with sobs. “You don’t care! You don’t care about me anymore!”

Rafe frowned, standing up. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

“Fair?” you spat, your voice cracking as you stomped your foot. “What’s not fair is you ignoring me all the time! All I wanted was a stupid drive, and you can’t even give me that!”

“Dolly—”

“Don’t call me that!” you screamed, tears streaming down your face. Your words tumbled out in a jumble, barely making sense. “You don’t listen to me! You don’t care! You just… you just—”

You weakly shoved at his chest, your small fists thumping against him as you hiccupped and choked on your sobs. Rafe stood there, letting you vent, his hands hovering as if unsure whether to grab you or give you space.

“You’re mean! And, and… I hate you!” you wailed, though you didn’t mean it.

Finally, Rafe had enough. “Alright,” he said, his voice firm. He grabbed your wrists gently but firmly, holding them still. “That’s enough, baby. Stop.”

But you didn’t stop. “You don’t love me!” you blubbered, your head dropping forward as you sobbed uncontrollably.

Rafe sighed, pulling you into his chest despite your protests. “I love you more than anything,” he murmured, his arms wrapping around you tightly. “But you’ve got to calm down, okay? You’re working yourself up too much.”

“I-I can’t!” you hiccupped, your body shaking in his hold.

“Yes, you can,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Breathe, Dolly. Come on, with me. In and out.”

You tried, but the sobs kept breaking through, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. Rafe scooped you up and carried you to the bed, sitting down with you in his lap. He started rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles, his chin resting on top of your head.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I just… I just wanted…” you sniffled, unable to finish your sentence.

“I know,” he said softly. “I know, baby. I’ve been a terrible boyfriend lately, haven’t I?”

You nodded against his chest, your tears soaking his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice full of genuine regret. “You’re right—I haven’t been around enough. I’ll fix it, okay? Starting tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” you mumbled, your voice small and wobbly.

“Promise,” he said, lifting your chin so you could see the sincerity in his eyes. “And tonight, I’ll make it up to you. We’ll stay up and watch whatever you want, or I’ll run out and get ice cream. Anything you need, baby.”

You sniffled, wiping your face with your sleeve. “Just want you…”

“You’ve got me,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Always.”

Your sobs began to subside, your breathing evening out as Rafe continued to hold you close. You clung to him, your face buried in his neck, finally feeling the comfort you’d been craving.

“Love you,” you whispered.

“Love you more, Dolly,” he murmured, his voice a soft promise against your hair.

———————————˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊————————————-

[wileys-russo]

in the blink of an eye (2) II a.putellas

part one in the blink of an eye (2) II a.putellas

"it has been years, time to forgive yourself."

eli's words had been playing on your mind for much longer than you cared to admit, despite the chaotic dumpster fire mess that your life was that really should have meant you were at capacity for things to overthink about.

like your mind ever listened to you though, or missed a chance to play a wonderfully wickedly cruel trick.

"i wanna pick!" speaking of.

"vale. you can pick your clothes nena, but remember it is hot outside sí?" you smiled, honestly far too exhausted from yet another sleepless night dealing with the poor three year olds endless night terrors to have the energy to argue with her over what she wanted to wear.

you knew this coffee date was important but you also knew mariposa's needs came before anything, and building up her independence was surely not a bad thing?

"posie. no!" you laughed as the girl returned, rubbing your hands down your face and shaking your head as moments later the three year old toddled back out, wrestling furiously to try and pull her head through the leg hole of a pair of jean shorts.

"you look like a wrestler." you teased, tugging the shorts off and smiling at the annoyed scowl which painted her face. "don't laugh!" the girl huffed, smacking your leg with a scowl and crossing her arms.

"we need to leave soon princesa, can i pick por favor? you can pick tomorrow, promesa!" you squatted down and held up your pinky, the three year old giving in with a nod and a grunt, locking her pinky with yours as you both leaned in and kissed the others finger.

"can't break it." the girl huffed as you nodded, her surprised giggles filling the air as you snatched her up, carrying her back into her makeshift bedroom upside down by her ankles.

"down tia! down!" the girl demanded, collapsing into a fit of giggles as you dropped her on her bed, careful she didn't land on her neck as you did so.

you smiled as posie grabbed her favorite bear, starting to sing a little tune to him as you rummaged through her wardrobe picking out an outfit. but suddenly, the singing stopped, then you heard a little sniffle and your head whipped around, features softening as you watched her tiny hand wipe away a stray tear.

"hey hey hey bebita, qué pasa?" you were sat beside her in a flash, picking her up and sitting her on your lap as her face hid itself in your chest, one of your hands cradling her head and the other gently rubbing her back.

"mami's song." the girl managed out as your heart cracked and you squeezed your own eyes shut at the emotions which poured down on you like someone had cast a storm cloud above your head.

"oh." you managed out, her little body starting to shake with an awful broken sob, her tears staining your shirt and you adjusted your position slightly, squeezing her tightly and mumbling assurances over and over in her ear.

the same words you'd repeat to her every night you'd wake up to hear her screaming, horrid wailing filling the apartment as you'd fall out of bed and sprint to be by her side, taking her in your arms and gently shushing her.

by now it was routine she just slept by your side in your bed, tiny fist curled into your shirt, grip unrelenting and desperate, night terrors always lingering just over her head like a thundercloud waiting to burst with rain.

posie had always been in your life from the very moment hers began. you were her one and only tia, your older sister your only sibling and her husband an only child who was long estranged from his parents.

when posie was a baby she could be rocked in a singular arm, your mami cooing and fussing over her just like she had when both you and your sister natalia were her own babies.

these days your mami suffered from arthritis and could hardly lift the tv remote let alone a wiggling three year old, her fingers gnarled and wrists stiff, a result of working far too many hours for far too many years just to keep a roof over your head when your father left one day to get milk and never came back.

being a tia wasn't a job you took lightly, and despite the fact you'd moved away from barcelona years ago it never stopped you making as many trips over to see her once she was born, or your sister and brother in law bringing her to madrid to see you every few weeks once she was old enough to travel.

her cheeks were always rosy, never without a bright but gummy smile plastered on her face, always giggling and babbling, desperate for any sort of attention and your sister and her husband gave it to her by the bucket load.

but when the accident happened, your role in one another's life was changed forever.

"miss her. miss mami! and papi!" posie choked out once her sobs had turned to shallow gasps and her head rested on your shoulder, tiny little fists gripping your shirt as if one wrong move and you would disappear entirely right in front of her eyes.

"i know nena, i know. i miss your mami too." you whispered out with words barely audible, swallowing a sob of your own which started to claw its way up your throat, tears banking up in the corner of your eyes and threatening to spill over as you fought to pretend they weren't there.

lips lingering on the side of her head with a few gentle kisses, you were unable to stop the small smile curling into your lips as your niece wiped her nose on your shirt a few moments later as if you were a big human tissue.

"have to see the lady?" the girl asked quietly, grip on you loosening just slightly as she wiped her nose again this time on her bear which you made a mental note to wash later.

"sí, we have to see ana. but she is nice to you, no?" you rubbed the girls back who nodded. "and, you get cake nena." you poked at her stomach softly as her smile returned, pad of your thumb tenderly and carefully wiping away the tears which had begun to crust the corner of her eye.

"when we get home tonight we can do whatever you want. dress ups, fashion show, tea party, make cookies, watch tv, anything!" you promised, slowly moving her off of your lap and gently prying off her fingers which still gripped to the shirt you now needed to change.

"watch mami and papi's video?" posie asked hopefully as you tried not to let the way your heart twisted show on your face, nodding with a pained smile, bouncing her gently in your lap.

"sí bebita, we can watch mami and papi's video." you promised, the tape of your sisters wedding that posie had stumbled across a couple of weeks ago practically living on your tv screen since the day she'd first watched.

your own mami had urged against it, warning it might bring up some feelings which were far too big for a three year old to process. but you were still learning how to say no to the small girl and when she hit you with the puppy dog eye and pout combination, you were done for.

but to everyones surprise not a single tear was shed as posie sat and watched the ceremony which wed her mother and father, a genuine smile on her face for the first time in far too long as the moment it finished she was demanding you play it again and a routine of sorts fell into place.

really both you and your therapist were certain it was a coping mechanism, but theres no real way to explain that to a three year old who had lost both of her parents in the blink of an eye.

with posie finally dressed and ready you'd packed the same blue little backpack you now knew to take everywhere with you and hoisted her up on your hip, locking the front door after you.

you smiled kindly at the older woman who stepped into the elevator after you, who wiggled her fingers at posie in greeting as the three year old hid her face shyly in your neck and the woman gave you an amused smile.

"vale. this is not rocket science idiota, you can do this." you mumbled to yourself as you strapped posie into her car seat, tugging her thumb out of her mouth every few seconds as she settled for sucking on the ear of her teddy instead.

another coping mechanism.

you sighed in relief as finally you managed to slot the lock of the belt in, the stupid thing far too complicated for a seatbelt but at least you knew there wasn't a chance posie was getting it undone with how long it took you to get it locked in.

"listo?" "sí, vamos!"

~

"-and a job?" ana asked, firmly but not unkindly as you were quick to nod, pausing to wipe posie's face with a napkin where she'd decide to smush most of the cake around her mouth rather than in it.

you glanced up apologetically as you rummaged around in the little blue backpack for the wet wipes, ana too busy scribbling something down to notice as you grabbed out the pack and yanked one out.

"tastes good!"

"how can you taste the cake if you wear it and do not eat it?" you teased causing the three year old to giggle, gently holding her head still as you wiped away the chocolate smeared around her mouth.

"lo siento ana, what did you ask?" you grabbed out a little wooden puzzle for posie to play with, a happy squeal leaving her mouth as she sat herself down by your feet to fiddle around with it.

"oye! the ground is dirty posie." you scooted your chair back and slipped your arms under her elbows, pulling her up and onto your lap, settling the puzzle down on the table in front of her as she made no move to argue but rather slumped comfortably against you.

"a job, steady income." ana reminded with a small smile as you nodded.

"sí, at a little clothing shop not far from the apartment. i know it is not much but it is three days a week and that is as much as i can organise childcare for her until we've settled in a bit, found a routine." you nervously fiddled with your rings under the table.

"hey, a start is a start. i want to work with you so that this works for her, so that she is as best looked after as she can be and stays with family." ana assured quietly as you exhaled shakily, giving her a small but uncertain nod.

"i know these normally feel stressful, and i can see you are nervous chica. but that is why i asked we meet here and not in my office, so that it felt a little bit less formal." ana gave you a kind smile as the tension in your shoulders melted away a little.

now slightly more relaxed you answered her questions with a touch more confidence, nodding and taking down your own notes as she explained what else she'd need to see before she could sign off the papers and take everything to family court.

"you said you grew up here, sí? you have family here? friends?" ana questioned as you hesitated before nodding. "some, a lot i lost touch with when i...moved." you forced a smile as ana nodded and scribbled something down.

"do you know her? she has been looking over to us for the last ten minutes." ana tilted her chin behind you as you frowned curiously and turned your head to glance over your shoulder.

though as you did and you caught the eye of your assumed spectator, your blood ran cold and your body froze, rigid and tense all over again like you were made of scrap metal.

her hair was different, longer, blonder, and tied up in a neat ponytail. she looked like she'd just come from the gym in bike shorts and an oversized shirt, yet you didn't even need to see her figure hidden beneath it so be able to draw it from memory with your eyes closed.

her face was shadowed by a faded blue nike baseball cap which was tucked on her head, and though her eyes were covered by a pair of black expensive looking sunglasses, you could feel them peering right into your soul and it had your heart hammering in your chest.

"old friend?" just as suddenly as alexia had appeared it was as if you blinked and suddenly she was gone, merely a faceless figure in the back of your mind, haunting your most tender and endearing of memories like a ghost.

only you didn't need someone to pinch you to know you hadn't been dreaming, her gaze seared into your forehead as you caught a flash of blonde hair duck around the corner and you frowned.

"sí...something like that."

~

as alexia hurried around the corner, feet smacking the pavement with hollow thumps, cursing herself both for running away and for the fact she'd done so before her coffee was ready so the entire trip was now voided useless all together.

alexia was angry, burning and boiling and seething like a wave at its peak ready to come crashing and smashing down toward shore.

no, she was upset, agonizing over what could have been, what should have been, as if someone had just grabbed her heart in their fist and squeezed as if it were a stress ball.

no, she was disappointed. gut wrenchingly, soul crushingly, undeniably, disappointed. fixated on a scene she'd imagined a million times over in her head and yet the real thing couldn't have been more different if she tried.

or was it perhaps, that she was frustrated? heartbroken? torn up? hollow? numb? jealous?

emotional, alexia was overwhelmingly emotional.

which is how she found herself pulling into a driveway which was once hers but no longer, head covered by the hood of her jacket, baseball cap tilted downward masking her face.

with her heart hammering in her chest and stomach queasy with an apprehensive sense of heightened anxiety she hurried up the driveway as if you might jump out from the bushes at any second, ready to yelp and laugh like all of this just a cruel prank or a sick joke.

with knuckles tense and ready to pound themselves against the faded blue of the front door, alexias hand curled to form a fist, however before she could even lift her arm it was swinging open.

"hermana? what-" not letting her sister finish her sentence alexia was already barreling inside with a huff, leaving the younger girl to roll her eyes at her dramatics and close the door after her, grumbling something under her breath

"mami! mami? mami!" alexia called out, eyes flickering rapidly around the room trying to spot her, spinning around on her heels as a hum sounded, the older woman staring right back at her with a raised eyebrow.

"you will never guess who i have just seen." the blonde grunted with a shake of her head, alba taking a seat at the table watching on curiously. "your ex almost fiance?" the younger girl guessed, biting into an apple as apples head swiveled so fast it should have flown on.

"eh? cómo lo supo?" alexia managed to spit out in shock as her sister chuckled. "lucky guess hermana." alba smiled taking another bite of the apple, crunch echoing around the room and making alexias eye twitch.

"qué pasa hija?" eli gained her attention again, alexia spinning back around with another huff, shaking her head and starting to pace back and forth. "here we go again." alba mumbled under her breath with a roll of her eyes.

"so she says no to marrying me, no to a family, no to a future. but then i see her and-and-and-" alexia stuttered though it was one fueled by anger, not nerves.

"-and we break up. a few months goes by and she moves away to madrid, a year and she loses my number, time passes and i do not have to see her face in front of me for nearly three years and now-" alexia paused to scoff, throwing

"-now she has done all of that which she refused me, but with another woman! she has a baby, a family, maybe she is married? quién demonios sabe!" alexia laughed in shock, dragging her hands down her face and pausing for a moment, giving the threadbare rug beneath her feet a brief pause of respite before right away resuming her furious pacing back and forth across it.

"i thought you were over her? ale it has been four years since you broke up." alba sighed, immediately falling silent at the venomous glare sent her way by the older blonde across the room, holding her hands up in surrender.

"and the other woman? la nueva mujer? she is too old for her! parece una abuela." alexia spat, eyebrows furrowed angrily as she practically threw herself down in a chair, head resting on her chin and eyes moving slowly to glare at her younger sister who bit down on her apple with yet another obnoxious crunch.

"you are jumping to a fast conclusion hija, i thought i raised you to use your head." eli chimed in when it seemed her eldest daughters rant had come to a ceasefire, alexia instead seething silently in her seat and scowling off into the distance.

"i saw her mami. i saw her. y sé lo que vi!" alexia grunted, biting the inside of her cheek and wishing as she could yank her heart from her chest and toss it as far away as possible.

alexia loathed that alba was right.

it had been almost four years and yet you never quite left her mentally the way you'd run away physically, always and forever occupying a sliver of her mind, sometimes pushed right to the back and forgotten temporarily.

then she'd see something, smell something, ignite some sort of sense and every hair on her body would stand on end, flooded with a bitter nostalgia.

if it be something as simple as a bunch of brightly colored poppies in a storefront, the melodic chime of a bell that sounded horrendously close to your laughter.

sometimes when she was alone and her mind drifted to you alexia could near feel the ghost of your touch lingering at the back of her neck.

it was as if with her eyes closed she could still imagine your slender digits raking through her hair, nails scratching ever so lightly against her scalp, a soft hum reverberating around her head where you'd have heard the snippet of a song in the elevator not quite able to place what it was.

but then reality sunk in, you weren't there, you couldn't be, and then the phantom fingertips turned cold and haunting, mocking alexia for letting her guard down, allowing a thick fog of delusion to deceive her.

humiliation seeping into the footballers bones she was shaking her head and hands about as if to ward off a bad spirit, the apparition of your false touch burning her skin with a cruel brand of what once was, and seemingly never would be again.

"i saw her too hija." eli added, focused again on chopping the peppers in front of her with a methodical precision.

"perdón? you saw her? you knew she was back? i cannot-mami when!" alexia spluttered out in a state of shock, eli's eyes never raising to meet the hazel ones which raked over her accusingly.

"when we were at the store. mami called out to her, spoke with her." alba chimed in, apple finished now and core sat abandoned in a tissue in front of her as the girl leaned back in her seat with a sigh.

"mami? es esto verdad?" alexias head swiveled back to the older woman who nodded with a hum.

"sí, her hair has grown out. she suits the natural look more, but she has always been a pretty girl." eli spoke as if referring to an old family friend, and not the sore spot ex flame of her eldest daughter who danced through alexias subconscious more than she would ever dare to admit.

"mami!" was all the blonde could manage to splutter with a scoff of disbelief. "vimos al bebé. yours would have been cuter!" alba added in with a shrug, eli looking up this time and fixing the brunette with an evil look.

"no metas a esa niña en esto, lo sabes bien!" eli warned firmly pointing the knife in her daughters direction who mumbled an apology and suddenly excused herself to the bathroom.

"mami..." alexia sighed tiredly, dragging her hands down her face and struggling to process everything. "her eyes hija, they were sad. she looked as if she could use a friend, a real one." eli stated solemnly as alexia peeked out through her fingers with a frown.

though when the silence grew longer eli looked up again, the very slightest raise of her eyebrow all that was needed for alexia to catch onto where she was going with this.

"qué? a mí?" the blonde choked out in shock, arms falling limply by her side as eli shrugged. "an old friend." the woman turned and opened the fridge as alexias mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

"an old friend? mami i asked her to marry me and she said no!" alexias body shot up from the table as her fist thumped angrily against the wood, eli sighing as she returned with an armful of vegetables.

"sí. but that was four years ago nena, and how long are you going to keep that memory locked prisoner in your head? you have been wanting closure for a long time, no?" eli questioned and not untruthfully as alexias chest tightened, hackles up and a defensive quip loaded and ready to fly from the tip of her tongue.

but then there it was, the ever so slight beat of hesitation, the pause all she needed to let the dust settle for a moment, the noisy hustle in her mind quietening down for just a second.

"you are angry, upset, confused. you have questions mija, and she will have answers." "mami, i can't." "you can't hija, or you won't?"

~

"qué hago aquí? idiota."

alexia scolded herself and exhaled shakily as the car engine shut off, silence around her somehow even noisier than the traffic just a few feet away, her limbs operating with a mind of their own as her keys slipped into her pocket, one foot hitting the asphalt.

this was beyond a dumb idea, this was borderline psychotic.

and yet, alexia moved forward, one step, two steps, three steps and then four. her feet moved again of their own accord as her car flashed and locked behind her, the warm evening air engulfing her body which felt doused in an invisible cold sweat.

five steps, six steps, seven, eight, nine, she'd crossed the road now, stood outside your old apartment building with her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her hoodie.

this was a horrible idea. a terrible, no good, poorly timed, not at all thought out and overall unacceptable use of her time.

yet her feet continued on. ten steps, eleven, twelve, thirteen and fourteen and she'd reached the elevator.

her eyes darted around nervously as if she was under attack, looking for an enemy she couldn't see but knew lay in wait, silent and deadly, ready to strike the very moment a crack in her walls appeared big enough for it to slither through.

the elevator closed and suddenly so did alexia's ability to breathe. the small room grew tinier, walls closing in, a wicked voice in her head urging her forward, its much quieter more rational sibling slain and silent, corpse rotting away in the back of her head.

then, a ding, doors open, her lungs filled with air and she trembled, a cautious step forward, one more ever so slight beat of hesitation.

but then, off she went. fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, and by number twenty five she was in front of your door.

well, really it could be anyones door.

this was a shot in the dark, an idea fired from a rusty old pistol which no matter which way alexia pointed it always seemed to end up trained to her own head, finger on the trigger and whatever consequence to come from pulling it hers to suffer.

you hadn't lived here in years so why was alexia so sure you were there? a mere few feet away as her shoes suddenly felt made from stone, her body rooted to the ground in front of the door she used to hold the key to, a key she kept on a chain right next to the one for your heart.

alexia wasn't sure if she'd ever returned that key, or if you still had one to hers, an invisible string tugging her feet a few inches closer and now if alexia even breathed too loudly she was terrified you'd hear from the other side.

all it would take was one second of bravery, a glimpse of courage, or perhaps...a moment of utter utter stupidity.

and yet, her knuckles rapped against the door and though meek the noise echoed around alexia's head like a gunshot, her knees suddenly wobbling and the panic button smashed in her mind, alarms blaring and neurons firing into overdrive.

leave, go, turn around, run. leave, go, turn around, run. leave, go, turn around, run. leave, go, turn around, run.

but the very moment alexia exhaled, left foot pointed ever so slightly outward and ready to back away and leave this most horrendous idea behind her, the door swung open and every last gasp of breath was snatched from her lungs.

"alexia?"

[socialobligation]

hai!!! i love ur writing sm

can u write a hitoshi shinso x reader fic and they have a child or smth cuz i’m in LOVEEE with your dabi smau fic😣💞

it’s okay if not, ur writing is so good 💗💗💗

fatherhood looks good | h. shinso

shinso didn't plan on having a kid, but now there's a tiny version of him running around the house and yelling about the moon.

(fic/drabble under the cut!)

there's a crash from the living room, followed by the unmistakable sound of bare feet slapping frantically against hardwood. you don't even look up from your phone.

"he's running," you call.

shinso sighs from the kitchen. "is it a happy run or a 'he's about to break something' run?"

you pause, listening. a door slams. a tiny voice wails, "why did they turn off the moon?!"

"...meltdown," you say casually. "moon's out. emotionally spiraling."

shinso leans against the doorframe with a tired sort of grace, stirring a mug of hot chocolate like this is completely normal. which, unfortunately, it is.

"i told you not to say the moon was a night light," he says.

you shrug. "he was scared of the dark. i panicked. i gave it personality."

"well," shinso mutters, setting the mug down with a small clink, "now it's personal."

you both wander toward the noise—your son has collapsed dramatically on the floor by the window, clutching his stuffed cat, face pressed to the glass.

"they turned it off," he sniffles without turning around. "the moon's gone. my night light's broken forever."

shinso sits down beside him cross-legged, like he's done this a thousand times. because he has. you watch as your husband gently tilts his head to try and meet his son's eyes.

"it's just cloudy, kid," shinso says quietly. "the moon's still there. can't always see it, but it doesn't go away."

your son frowns. "are you sure?"

"yeah," shinso says, voice lower now. "same way i can't always see you when i'm at work, but i still know you're being a tiny menace at home."

"i'm not a menace," he protests immediately.

shinso raises an eyebrow. "you bit your mom over cookies."

your son pauses.

"...she deserved it."

"absolutely not," you say from the hallway, and both of them flinch in sync.

there's a beat of silence before your son lets out a very long, dramatic sigh. "okay," he whispers, still watching the sky. "but tell the moon to stop hiding. i don't like when it goes away."

shinso leans back on his hands, glancing toward you. his expression softens a little—less tired, more tired and in love.

"i get it," he murmurs. "i don't like when things go away, either."

you tilt your head. he doesn't look at you, but he doesn't need to. that's just how he is—quiet affection, full volume in everything except words.

later, when your son's asleep, curled between the two of you with his limbs spread out like he fought ghosts in his dreams, shinso kisses your shoulder and says:

"you made him weird."

you smile. "you made him soft."

shinso brushes a hand through your son's hair, voice barely audible.

"yeah," he says. "we did good."

[dollyswishingwell]

just reread your crybaby MC hcs and it made me feel sooo fluffy i need more plz plz plz i’m begging even just a part two 🥺💕

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ His crybaby P.2

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluffff, dramatic ness as always

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ He will always comfort you

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The moment it shattered, it was like the air was knocked from your lungs.

You stood there in the center of your gilded sea-view kitchen, frozen, staring down at the beautiful ivory-and-gold bowl now cracked tragically on the floor. Your favorite one from your Mariposa Rosé collection, the one Rafayel had custom-ordered from an eccentric island designer just because you said it looked “like a seashell that belonged to a princess.”

Your bottom lip quivered.

You didn’t even mean to drop it, you just got distracted scrolling through accessories for your new silk robe set, and then it slipped. One second, it was in your hands, and the next,

Snap. Crack. Shatter.

A sob bubbled up in your chest like a wounded little kitten.

You crouched beside the porcelain ruins with wide, glossy eyes, fingers trembling as you whispered,

“No… my bowl… it’s ruined… it’s all ruined… the whole set is ruined—”

And just like that, the tears welled up. Huge, glittering, spoiled tears spilling down your pretty cheeks.

By the time Rafayel appeared—drawn by your quiet, pathetic wail, he found you crouched on the floor in your frilly pink house robe, sobbing softly and pawing helplessly at the pieces like a princess mourning a fallen kingdom.

“Baby?” he blinked, dropping the novel he was reading. “What happened? Did something—did someone—hurt you—?”

You pointed dramatically at the broken bowl.

He followed your gaze. Then blinked again.

“…That’s it?” he said, baffled. “That’s what has my little pearlie crying like the world ended?”

“It’s not just a bowl,” you sniffled, crawling toward him on your hands and knees like a sulky little cat. “It was my favorite, Raffy. It’s from the seaside rose line, now the whole set is off. You can’t just have five bowls! It’s—it’s cursed now!”

He barely managed to suppress a grin, crouching to meet you and pulling you into his lap with a sigh.

“My dramatic little darling,” he cooed, rubbing your back with slow, soothing strokes. “You break a single dish and suddenly the whole home is haunted.”

You swatted his chest half-heartedly with your little fists. “Don’t tease me! I’m upset!”

“I know, I know,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your eye gently. “I can see you’re devastated. Absolutely tragic.”

You sniffled harder and collapsed into him. “Raffy… I really liked that one… It was so pretty. I was gonna make fruit salad in it for you tonight…”

“Oh, that I care about,” he teased, though his voice was already soft with guilt and fondness. “No fruit salad? That is a crime.”

You whimpered and buried your face into his neck, clinging to him with both arms like the big strong comfort plushie he always became when you were sad.

“Shhh,” he murmured into your hair, rocking you just slightly. “Don’t pout, little crybaby. I’ll call the designer in the morning, hmm? We’ll get another full set. Or two. One to use and one just to look pretty on the shelf.”

“Y-You promise?” you hiccupped.

Rafayel smiled, cradling your cheeks between his hands and kissing the tip of your nose.

“I’ll do one better,” he said smugly. “I’ll have him name the next set after you.”

Your eyes lit up through your tears. “Like… the wifey Collection?”

“Exactly,” he purred. “Inspired by the prettiest little housewife in the world. Comes in pink. Exclusive. Only one exists. No touching allowed unless you’re married to her.”

You blinked. Then flung your arms around his neck again with a squeaky, dramatic wail:

“You’re the only one who understands meee!”

He chuckled warmly, carrying you off the kitchen floor like you were fine china yourself.

“No more touching dishes, angel,” he murmured against your ear. “From now on, you’re banned from the kitchen. I’ll do all the cooking. Or we’ll just hire another chef. You can sit on the counter and look pretty while I feed you grapes.”

You sniffled. “…Okay.”

He grinned. “That’s my good little baby.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

It was supposed to be a peaceful evening. Zayne had just gotten home from the hospital, white coat off, sleeves rolled up, shirt half-unbuttoned as he moved around the estate’s sleek kitchen preparing tea for the two of you while you fussed with plating pastries on your beloved designer tea set.

The Porcelaine Blanche d’Étoile collection. Limited edition. You made him fly you to the private showroom in Italy to pick it out.

And then you dropped the plate.

It slipped right through your freshly moisturized fingers.

The crash echoed through the marble like a thunderclap.

Zayne’s head snapped around immediately, but you were already frozen, arms outstretched, eyes wide, looking down at the shattered porcelain with horror like you’d just witnessed a crime scene.

“Z-Zaynie,” you whispered in despair. “I broke it…”

He was already walking over, concern in his eyes, until he saw it was just a plate. Then he stopped short, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a small exhale.

“Angel. It’s just one dish—”

“No it’s not!” your voice cracked.

And then your lip trembled. Your cheeks flushed. And just like that, you were crying.

“Now the whole set’s ruined—” you hiccupped as fat tears began to trail down your cheeks. “It’s not complete anymore and I can’t look at it without seeing this stupid, ugly gap and, and the pattern won’t line up now and—I liked that one the most! It had the starburst mark right in the middle…”

Zayne blinked. Slowly.

Then sighed.

“Of course it did.”

You whimpered louder, kneeling dramatically beside the shattered remains in your silken robe like a weepy widow. “It’s not fair! That set was perfect… now it’s cursed, tainted, ruined—”

“Okay, come here.” He reached for you, scooping you up into his lap right there on the kitchen floor. “You’ll give yourself a nosebleed if you cry any harder over porcelain.”

“But Zaaaayne,” you sobbed, burying your face into his shirt. “I can’t just replace it, it’s limited edition!”

Zayne rubbed slow circles into your back, letting you sob into his chest as he cradled your tiny frame with the same steady gentleness he used in the OR. His voice was low, calm, but tinged with the smallest amused sigh, because this? This was classic you.

“Okay,” he murmured into your hair, “I’ll call the curator at the Milan showroom. You’re still on their private list, right?”

“I don’t know!” you wailed. “What if they’re sold out? What if they’re gone forever?!”

“Then I’ll find the original artist and commission a new one,” he said flatly, already mentally pulling strings. “A better one. With a reinforced edge. And your initials engraved.”

You peeked up at him through wet lashes. “Really?”

Zayne brushed your hair gently behind your ear and leaned in to kiss the tears from your cheeks.

“Of course,” he said softly. “I don’t care if you break every dish in this house. You’re still my spoiled little wife. I’ll replace them all ten times over if it keeps that pretty pout off your face.”

You sniffled. “…Ten times?”

He gave a low hum. “At least. Though if you break another one in the next 48 hours, I’m bubble-wrapping the entire kitchen.”

You let out a soft whine and pressed into his chest like a needy kitten, arms looping tightly around his waist.

“Cuddle me until I forget it happened.”

“You’re not moving until morning,” he muttered, already standing with you in his arms. “I’ll bring the pastries to bed. You can eat off my chest if you’re scared of plates now.”

You mumbled, sleepy and teary and spoiled:

“…You’re the best.”

He kissed your temple with a low exhale and whispered against your skin:

“I know, baby. I know.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The cup slipped from your fingers while you were showing it off.

You had just spent the whole morning twirling around the penthouse in your soft, lace-trimmed robe, gently rearranging the display cabinet Xavier had custom-built just for your Mythic Dream tea set. It was whimsical and elegant and sparkly and rare, hand-painted in shimmering moonlight hues with little dream creatures on every piece.

You were holding your favorite one, the lavender-and-blue cup with the little winged rabbit on it, and twirling as you told Xavier exactly what dessert you were planning to match it with.

And then it was gone.

One slip.

Clink. Crack. Shatter.

You froze. The smile dropped off your face.

Your heart sank with it.

“…Bunnycup,” you whispered, staring in disbelief at the porcelain wreckage on the polished marble. “I—I dropped my Bunnycup…”

From his place lounging on the couch with his datapad, Xavier looked up slowly, head tilted.

“…You dropped what?”

“My favorite one,” you said breathlessly, your voice wobbling. “It’s gone. It’s dead. She’s gone.”

“…Oh,” he said, blinking slowly.

You turned away from him abruptly, crouched in front of the shattered piece like a mourning widow. Your eyes brimmed with tears. You looked at it like you were at a funeral.

“I dropped her. She was the prettiest one. And now she’s dead and the whole cabinet is cursed and—” you sniffled, “I was gonna make violet cake for her…”

You let out the softest broken sob.

Xavier stared.

Then carefully set his datapad down.

“…Wait, are you crying?”

You didn’t answer. Your sniffles got louder.

“Starlight?”

You wailed louder and flopped down fully onto the rug beside the wreckage, tearfully hiding your face in your sleeves.

He was beside you in seconds, sliding down to his knees with furrowed brows and frantic hands.

“Did it cut you? Are you hurt?”

“No,” you hiccupped. “I’m emotional! That was my favorite cup and now she’s gone! Her little bunny face is in shards—I named her!”

Xavier stared at the broken porcelain. Then at you.

“…You named it?”

“Her name was Cloudia!” you cried.

He blinked again. Then let out a helpless little breath and pulled you fully into his lap, tucking your head under his chin.

“Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this was a funeral.”

“It is!”

“I’ll make arrangements.”

You sniffled.

He gently rocked you back and forth, eyes closing as he pressed soft kisses to the crown of your head.

“I’ll buy another,” he murmured. “A whole new set. No. Ten sets. All the bunnies. And wings. I’ll have someone make a sculpture of her. I’ll frame the shards. I’ll turn it into a shrine in the hallway.”

“R-Really?” you whimpered.

Xavier looked deadly serious. “I’ll build a moonlit garden in her honor.”

You hiccupped, peeking up at him through damp lashes.

“…I love you so much,” you whispered.

He cradled your cheeks in his hands, brushing away a tear with his thumb and kissing it.

“You are the most beautiful, sensitive, dramatic little thing I’ve ever loved,” he whispered back. “And I will mourn Bunnycup with you forever.”

You flopped into his chest again.

“Carry me to bed and feed me chocolate.”

He exhaled softly, lifting you with ease. “Consider it done, starlight.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

It happened during your ‘princess-core living room redecoration’ phase.

You’d decided one of the shelves needed to be “balanced” with something tall and whimsical, so Sylus (without question) had acquired an absolutely obnoxious but stunning vase: a slender rose-gold and opal heirloom piece from a royal estate, one of a kind, rumored to be enchanted. It had vines carved into the neck, subtle gold leafing, and shimmered like it had moonlight trapped in the glass.

You loved that vase.

And you shattered it trying to scoot the couch two inches to the left.

You didn’t even realize it was tipping over until it was already mid-air. Time slowed. You gasped, reaching for it like a damsel in a slow-motion tragedy,

CRASH.

You stood there frozen, socked feet on velvet rugs, clutching a throw pillow and staring at the sparkling ruin.

The shock hit first.

Then the guilt.

Then came the tears.

“Noooo…” you whispered, trembling as you dropped to your knees. “No, no, no… Sylus is gonna kill me, that was one of a kind!!”

Cue your dramatics. Full sobs. Teary gasps. Hiccupping into your hands as you wailed over the broken vase like it had been your childhood pet.

“I ruined it! It was so beautiful! It’s all my fault, now it’s goooone—!”

By the time Sylus entered the room, he found you on your knees, surrounded by glittering glass, hair slightly messy, cheeks wet, looking like a tragic little heiress from some tear-soaked opera scene.

He blinked.

Paused.

Then said, flatly:

“…You’re crying over the vase?”

You wailed harder.

Sylus sighed, unamused. “Darling. It’s a vase.”

“It was the prettiest one in the whole world!” you sobbed. “You said it was enchanted! I was gonna name it after us, put roses in it, now it’s gone forever and the whole room is unbalanced!!”

“Unbalanced,” he repeated, deadpan.

“I’m emotionally devastated,” you hiccupped.

A beat of silence.

And then his composure cracked.

He walked over in slow, deliberate steps, crouched in front of you, and tilted your chin up with his gloved fingers.

“Poor little thing,” he murmured, eyes glinting. “Is this how the world ends? Because your vase broke?”

You pouted at him with wet lashes and cried louder.

He chuckled darkly under his breath, kissed your pouty lips, then scooped you right off the floor like you were a little doll.

“You are the most dramatic creature I’ve ever loved,” he whispered, nuzzling your tear-streaked cheek. “You realize I could buy the entire estate that vase came from, yes?”

“But that vase is goooone—!”

“Then I’ll steal it back from the past,” he said, amused. “Or bribe the artist’s descendant to make you ten better ones. We’ll fill every corner of this house with glittering, gaudy glass. You’ll drown in roses and sparkle, my little crier.”

You sniffled against his chest.

He settled onto the settee with you curled in his lap, stroking your hair with idle fingers.

“Next time, call someone to move furniture,” he muttered, though there was no real bite in it. “You’re not allowed to cry unless you’re breaking someone else’s things. Understood?”

You looked up at him miserably. “…You’re not mad?”

He leaned in and kissed the corner of your mouth.

“No,” he said. “But only because watching you weep like some grief-stricken little princess might be the most entertaining thing I’ve seen all week.”

You whined, burying your face deeper into his expensive silk shirt.

“I want five vases. All pink.”

“Ten. And I’ll commission a painting of the broken one to hang above the fireplace. ‘The Fall of Opal,’ starring my very fragile little wife.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You were just trying to make him breakfast.

It was early. The Skyhaven penthouse was quiet, sunlight spilling across polished floors, and you, still in one of Caleb’s old black shirts with your bare legs peeking out, had just finished plating his favorite fruit on your favorite designer ceramic bowl. You were so proud. You were humming.

And then you bumped your elbow on the corner.

Crash.

The sound of shattering ceramic echoed like a gunshot.

You froze.

The bowl, the gorgeous, shimmering ceramic one from the exclusive Skyhaven artisan boutique, the one with tiny amethyst marbling, lay in pieces on the floor.

“No… no no no,” you gasped, hand flying to your mouth. “Not that one—please not that one…”

You sank slowly to your knees, devastated. The entire set had been your pride, your favorite for special mornings. And now the one with the prettiest veining was gone.

Your lip wobbled.

The tears were instant.

Caleb appeared in the doorway a few moments later, still in black sleep pants, chest bare, hair slightly tousled from bed, rubbing his eyes. “I heard something break.”

You whipped around with watery eyes, clutching your knees like a little girl.

“I broke it…”

He blinked.

“…You’re crying?”

You sniffled. “It was the prettiest bowl in the set. I was just trying to make you breakfast and now, now it’s ruined, and the rest will never look the same and I loved that bowl!”

Caleb’s entire expression changed in an instant.

The sleepy, casual look was gone.

He crossed the room fast, crouching in front of you and cupping your face.

“Did you cut yourself?”

“N-No…”

“Are you sure?” He grabbed your hands, inspecting them closely. “You’re trembling. You’re in shock. Breathe.”

You hiccupped. “I’m not in shock, I’m just, really really sad!! It was my favorite one, and now it’s shattered and ugly and the set is ruined!”

Caleb pulled you straight into his chest.

“That doesn’t matter,” he muttered, pressing a hand to the back of your head. “None of that matters. You’re okay. You’re okay. Don’t cry over something like that.”

“But I liked it,” you mumbled into his skin.

“Then I’ll buy you ten more.”

“It was limited edition.”

“I’ll commission a new set,” he said firmly. “Exactly the same. Better. Reinforced. I’ll put a standing order in with the artisan. You’ll never have to lift a hand again. You hear me, pips?”

You nodded weakly, sniffling.

He scooped you off the floor effortlessly, carried you to the couch, and wrapped you in one of the soft fleece blankets he always kept near in case you got cold. Then he sat beside you and gently tucked you into his lap like you were made of glass.

“I don’t ever want to see you cry over something like this again,” he murmured. “Things can be replaced. You can’t.”

You whimpered.

He wiped your cheek with his thumb.

“You’re not allowed to break down unless it’s me who breaks something,” he added, softer this time. “Understand?”

You nodded again, clinging to him like he was your whole planet.

“You’re not mad?”

He looked down at you, at your teary lashes, your pouty little lips, and shook his head once.

“No,” he whispered. “But I am upset.”

“Why…?”

“Because you thought I’d care more about a bowl than my wife’s tears.”

You sniffled, leaning up to kiss the side of his throat in apology

He stroked your hair slowly.

“I’ll clean it up. You stay here and cry it out in my lap. Let me take care of everything.”

[justarkive]

THE JEONS : 08

08: Father Of The Year Or Fairy Of The Year?

summary: a collection of chaotic family drabbles. thats it.

contents: family!au, non.idol jungkook, girl!dad jk, fluff, angst, sensitive topics sometimes!

• chapter contents: more family fluff, jungkook has been convinced to be the tooth fairy for hanas first tooth falling out… and it fails. hana is BETRAYED.

• taglist: @jenniebyrubies @lovingkoalaface @iamstilljk @elinaki92 @rpwprpwprpwprw @mafersame @parkinglot-nights @reallygenerouskoala @mimi1097 @aznstoner @jungshaking (cmnt to be added)

masterlist, series masterlist

Jungkook had many titles. The epitome of a dilf. Gym enthusiast. Certified wife guy. Ultimate girl dad.

( He made these all up )

But tonight, against his will and better judgment, he was—

The Tooth Fairy.

And he was fucking regretting it.

“Baby,” he whispered, shoving his phone in your face. “Is there any way out of this?”

You grinned, far too amused by his suffering. “Nope. You lost the bet, fairy boy.”

Jungkook groaned into his hands. But a promise was a promise, and he’d rather humiliate himself than disappoint his little princess.

Which is how he ended up standing outside Hana’s bedroom at 11:43 PM, wearing—

A child-sized tutu from her toy box that barely fit around his waist.

One of your old glittery crop tops (it looked so much better on you).

A plastic star headband sitting way too tight on his head.

A blonde, ratty, tangled wig (that he swore smelled like feet).

And the pièce de résistance: a single chopstick with a pom-pom Blu-Tacked to the end, doubling as his “magic wand.”

He looked ridiculous.

And his sweet, innocent daughter was about to suffer for it.

Taking a deep breath, he eased the door open—only to find Hana still very much awake, sitting up in bed with her tiny hands clutching the blanket.

Her eyes widened at the sight of him, pure wonder on her face.

“Toof faiwy?!” she gasped.

Jungkook winced at her excitement. He hadn’t expected her to be so invested in this.

Still, he tried to play the part, high-pitching his voice as he flapped his imaginary wings. “Uh—y-yes, sweet child! ‘Tis I, the T-Tooth Fairy!”

She giggled, bouncing on the mattress.

He felt a brief moment of pride. Maybe he could actually pull this off—

Until the fucking wig slipped.

And his very recognizable face peeked through.

Hana froze.

Her eyes squinted.

And then—

“DADA?!”

Jungkook panicked.

“NO, BABY, I—”

“WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

It was over.

His cover was blown.

Hana wailed, throwing herself back on the mattress like she had been betrayed by the gods.

Jungkook, still gripping his damn pom-pom wand, crouched beside her, scrambling for damage control. “H-Honey, no! I’m not Dada! I’m—uh—Tooth Fairy #2?”

Hana sobbed harder.

You, watching from the hallway, wheezed.

Desperate, Jungkook reached under the pillow and shoved the folded bill into her tiny hands.

But it only made things worse.

Hana sniffled, looking at the money in disbelief.

Then she gasped, wailing, “DADA STEAL!!!”

Jungkook froze.

You collapsed onto the floor, laughing so hard you saw stars.

“B-BABY, NO—”

Hana threw the money at his chest and howled, and Jungkook knew—

This was not the night he’d be winning Father of the Year.

[mzyjxu]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚⋆

It started with a toy mouse.

One sunny morning Chonky Baby made a very important decision. He had set his heart on playing with Lady Purrshia’s prized toy mouse, the one Satoru had bought when Purrshia was a kitten. Satoru used to hate that mouse; back then, the kitten would ignore him entirely, too enchanted by the squeaky little thing.

Now, with great determination in his chubby legs and his newly acquired walking skills, Baby strutted confidently toward Lady Purrshia’s bed like a toddler on a mission.

Satoru, lounging on the sofa, was watching the scene unfold with a smug grin, clearly enjoying the drama.

He plopped down beside the curled up cat, planting a sloppy wet kiss on her head.

“Koo… papapoo… gaaa” he babbled, as if asking for permission.

Lady Purrshia meowed—not in agreement, but because she was vaguely confused. He took it as a yes anyway.

Without hesitation, he reached out and clawed the mouse from beneath her paw, turning it around in his tiny fingers with great concentration while inspecting it with curiosity

Purrshia let out a low growl—not quite aggressive, but deeply offended.

Baby ignored her.

She batted the mouse back with a swift paw.

He let out a surprised little squeak, then reached for it again. This time, Purrshia wasn’t letting go.

Baby’s lip wobbled. “Mamaaaa,” he cried, calling you for backup.

You peeked from the book you were reading “Baby, that’s her toy—” you began gently.

But he wasn’t having it.

In a move of pure chaos, he stood up and plopped himself right on top of Lady Purrshia.

Offended beyond words, the elegant feline scrambled out from under him with a hiss. Baby tumbled over, quickly recovering with a glint in his eye and a new plan in mind: chomping her tail.

Purrshia, in true diva fashion, ignored him and began to walk away with a flick of her tail.

But Baby wasn’t done. He followed her relentlessly, whining with all the passion of a child wronged. He sat beside her again, sniffling, dramatically heartbroken over the doll he couldn’t have.

From the couch, you turned to Satoru.

“You gonna help him, Toru?”

Satoru didn’t even blink, ”Nah baby, this is premium entertainment,” he laughed, eyes still on the unfolding soap opera.

With a sigh, you announced “If you two are gonna fight like this, maybe it’s time to stop hanging out.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

Chonky Baby’s lower lip began to tremble, quivering like a violin string. Lady Purrshia, both embarrassed and deeply insulted, turned her back and slumped against the wall like a betrayed starlet in an old black and white film.

And then, it happened.

The sniffle came first. Then a slow, deliberate inhale. And finally, an ear splitting, heart shattering wail.

Lady Purrshia responded with a low, melancholic meow and dramatically collapsed against the wall, as if she, too, had lost everything that ever mattered.

Satoru burst out laughing. Full-on wheezing. Hands on his stomach. “I—I can’t—breathe,” he gasped between fits of laughter.

You blinked, halfway between concern and second-hand embarrassment. “Oh, do not cry like you’re not the one who started World War Mouse.”

Sniffling and hiccuping, Baby crawled over to Lady Purrshia and stretched out his chubby little arms. She hesitated for one beat… then leaned in and gently nuzzled against him, accepting the hug like a true diva making peace with her co-star.

With a soft purr, she nudged the toy mouse toward him, an olive branch. They began playing together, Baby’s red, tear streaked cheeks puffed with joy as he giggled from her ticklish licks, while Purrshia purred, curling protectively around him.

Satoru, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, announced like a film critic at Cannes: “Easily a 10/10 drama. Would binge watch again.”

You grinned, “This is why you two are my favorite people. Just look at you.”

“You said I was your favorite,” Satoru muttered, full pout engaged.

“You are my favorite after the toy mouse,” you tease him.

Satoru flopped dramatically onto your chest, sulking. “This stupid mouse is stealing my whole family.”

You ruffled his hair lovingly. “Well, to be fair, it’s got great screen presence.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⋆✴︎˚｡

[thesecondhandwoman]

may i request caitvi kid reader play fighting with her mama vi pls?

PLAY FIGHTING

Caitlyn x Vi x kid f!reader

Synopsis: Another day of chaos started with play fighting mama Vi, but when you didn’t win, it turned into a session of comforting a fussy kiddo.

Request: Anon 🤍

A/N: Part three of Motherly Love

The living room was a battleground, and you were determined to win. Pillows had been piled up like barricades, and blankets draped across the couch like strategic cover. You crouched behind one of your pillow fort walls, your small but mighty frame poised for action. Bunny, your ever-loyal companion, sat tucked into the pocket of your overalls, ready to observe the chaos.

Across the room, Vi stood tall, hands on her hips, a cocky grin on her face. She cracked her knuckles dramatically, her pink hair tousled and wild. “Alright, squirt. You think you can take on the champ?”

You puffed out your chest, fists on your hips in perfect imitation of her. “I’m not a squirt! I’m the Dragon Slayer, and I’m gonna win!”

Vi smirked, crouching slightly to meet your height, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh yeah? You got moves, Dragon Slayer? Let’s see ’em.”

“Vi, don’t break the furniture,” Caitlyn’s voice floated in from the kitchen, where she was sipping tea and watching the chaos unfold with thinly veiled amusement.

“Relax, cupcake. This is all under control,” Vi called back before turning her full attention to you. “Alright, kiddo. Give me your best shot.”

With a high-pitched battle cry, you launched yourself at Vi, tiny hands swiping at her in what could only be described as the most dramatic attack in history. Vi laughed, dodging and weaving like a prizefighter, her movements exaggerated to keep the game fun.

“You’re quick, I’ll give you that,” she teased, narrowly avoiding your swipes. “But you’re gonna have to do better than—”

Before she could finish, you managed to land a soft slap on her arm. Gasping, she stumbled back, clutching her chest like she’d been mortally wounded. “Oh no! The Dragon Slayer strikes again!”

You giggled, proud of yourself, while Vi dramatically collapsed onto the couch, her legs flopping over the armrest. “You got me, kid. I’m done for.”

“Victory!” you declared, climbing up onto the couch to strike a triumphant pose. Bunny peeked out of your pocket like he, too, was basking in the glory.

But just as you turned to Caitlyn to announce your win, Vi lunged, scooping you up into her arms. “Gotcha!” she laughed, tossing you lightly onto the pile of pillows.

“No fair, Mama!” you squealed, trying to scramble back up.

“All’s fair in love and play fights,” Vi quipped, pinning you gently with one hand.

“Vi, don’t gloat,” Caitlyn warned, though her tone was more amused than stern.

You squirmed and wiggled, trying to escape, but Vi’s hold was unrelenting. “Say ‘I tap out’,” she teased, grinning as she held you in place.

“Never!” you huffed, your bottom lip beginning to tremble.

At first, you didn’t even realize your frustration was building. Vi’s teasing grin, her effortless strength, and the fact that you couldn’t wiggle free all piled up until you felt the lump in your throat.

Your bottom lip wobbled, your cheeks puffing out in an attempt to hold back the flood. But it was no use. The tears came anyway, welling up in your eyes until they spilled over.

“M-Mama,” you sniffled, your voice breaking.

Vi froze instantly, her grin vanishing as panic set in. “Oh no, no, no, kiddo, don’t cry! I wasn’t— I didn’t mean— Aw, man.” She scooped you up, holding you close as you let out a wail.

Caitlyn appeared in the doorway, her brow furrowing as she crossed the room in long, quick strides. “Vi, what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Vi protested, looking genuinely distressed. “We were playing, and then—” She gestured helplessly at your tear-streaked face.

Caitlyn sighed, taking you gently from Vi’s arms. “Shh, darling. It’s alright,” she cooed, cradling you against her chest. She rocked you back and forth, her soft voice and warm embrace chasing away the sting of losing. “Mama can be a little too rough sometimes, can’t she?”

You sniffled, burying your face in Caitlyn’s shoulder. “She cheated,” you mumbled, your small voice muffled.

Vi gasped, clutching her chest again, but this time with real offense. “Cheated? Kiddo, I would never!”

Caitlyn shot her a look, though her lips twitched like she was trying not to smile. “Perhaps it’s time for a rematch. With a little assistance.”

You peeked up at her, your tears slowing. “Really?”

“Really,” Caitlyn said, her eyes sparkling with a promise.

With Caitlyn holding you securely in her arms, you felt invincible. Bunny had been moved to a place of honor on the couch, watching the proceedings like the referee of a great battle.

Vi stood across the room, hands on her hips, trying not to laugh. “Alright, alright. Two against one, huh? You think that’s fair?”

“Absolutely,” Caitlyn said primly, shifting you slightly so you had a better view of Vi. “Are you ready, darling?”

“Yeah!” you cheered, your confidence restored.

“Then let’s get her,” Caitlyn said, and with that, she charged.

Well, it was more of a dignified jog, but to you, it felt like a full-blown cavalry charge. You stretched your arms out toward Vi, your tiny hands aiming for her sides.

“Tickle attack!” you cried, Caitlyn guiding you as you latched onto Vi’s waist.

Vi yelped, doubling over in exaggerated defeat. “No fair, cupcake! You’re helping her cheat!”

“Consider it justice,” Caitlyn replied smoothly, her grip on you steady as you continued your assault.

Vi finally collapsed onto the pile of pillows, laughing uncontrollably as your tiny fingers poked and tickled her sides. “Alright, alright! I give up!” she wheezed, holding her hands up in surrender.

“Victory!” you shouted again, this time with Caitlyn’s support.

Caitlyn set you down gently, kneeling beside you as you climbed onto Vi’s chest, your small hands on your hips. “I win, Mama. Me and Mommy are the best team ever!”

Vi looked up at you, her smile soft and full of love despite her supposed defeat. “Yeah, yeah, you got me. Guess I’ll have to train harder if I want to beat the Dragon Slayer and her sidekick.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “Sidekick?”

“Uh, I mean, team captain,” Vi corrected quickly, winking at you.

You giggled, leaning down to press a kiss to Vi’s cheek. “I still love you, Mama. Even if you’re a bad guy.”

Vi’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a bear hug. “Love you too, squirt. Even if you’re a cheater.”

“She is not,” Caitlyn said, smoothing your hair as she stood. “Now, let’s clean up this battlefield before dinner, shall we?”

By the time dinner was ready, the living room was back to normal, and the three of you sat around the table, laughing and talking like always. Bunny had been returned to his rightful place by your side, his ears slightly more crumpled than before but no worse for wear.

As Caitlyn served dessert—your favorite cookies—you couldn’t help but smile, your heart full and warm.

“Best day ever,” you declared, holding Bunny up like he agreed.

Caitlyn leaned over to kiss the top of your head. “Every day with you is the best day ever, darling.”

Vi ruffled your hair, grinning. “Yeah, even when you kick my butt.”

You giggled, leaning into their love. In your little world, there was no better place to be.

A/N: Sorry this was so short, I tried to finish it up during Christmas (hope you guys had a good Christmas btw!)

[rottenk1sses]

Can u write more about leon please my queen... i miss him..

re2 leon calls you mommy while you’re having sex with him.

it just always manages to slip out when he’s begging for you to let him orgasm, or after he’s been fucked through at least four climaxes and his head is just a mess. when he can’t think—when he can hardly breathe.

like maybe you’ve got him sprawled out on the bedsheets, the fabric sticking to his back, while you fist his cock and roll your hips to push the strap deeper into him. his blues are already muddled with salty tears, and his body is so weak from having gone through six (and counting) releases that his hands can’t even grasp your wrist anymore. he’s just a puddle of trembling limbs, his moans spilling from his chest—choked and whiny, like he’s drunk and crying.

he’s so out of it, in fact, that you can tell he’s about to orgasm before he even gets a chance to. his dick—frothed up with the remnants of his previous ejaculations—throbs in your hand and you can feel it stiffen up further right as he’s getting close. when you feel that, you know it’s safe to begin pummeling into him like he’s just a toy to be broken. a pretty doll with his flushed cheeks and chiseled jaw and plasticky muscles.

“here comes another one, lee,” you coo, thumbing his frenulum before you begin pumping your touch over his tip, “you’re doin’ so good for me, baby, that’s it.. just like that..”

and all he can manage to yelp out is a loud “mommy, mommy, cumminghh” before his back arches up and he clenches around the toy and his length spasms in your hold as it dribbles out his pathetic excuse for a load.

he wailed his way through the first four, but after that he just became super quiet during his actual orgasms. all he does is tense up, shudder hard, maybe let out a tiny whine, and then collapse back down into the sheets as his chest heaves with exertion. he sobs when you don’t let up; his toes curling and his feet kicking out from the overstimulation.

“hang in there,” you hum lowly, slowing your hips and sparing his bruised prostate, “i want two more out of you before we’re done..”

he cries, sniffling and finally gathering some strength to paw at your fingers that are still playing with his swollen shaft, “mmn, ow—hurts, hurts, mommy, i can’t—“

but you just lean down over him, slide the strap all the way in, and kiss him. one long, tender, hungry kiss to shut him up and sedate him.

you pull back.

“how about one more then, hm? can you do one more for me, baby?”

he swallows down the taste of your spit over his tongue and keens. it takes a moment for his eyes to focus on yours, dirty blonde hair a mess over his forehead, but he nods. he loves you. he’ll do anything for you, even at the expense of his sanity.

“.. y-yes, mommy..”

[teenidlegirl]

꣖　 BEAUTY OF THIS MESS 　꣓　 ᤢ♥︎　 CHAPTER　.　13 　!

꒰⠀⠀⟡⠀.⠀military!miguel⠀𝓍⠀fem!neighbor!reader⠀.⠀⟡⠀⠀꒱

ᤢ　.　summary　♥︎　੭　with miguel’s disappearance and negligence, you’re left alone to deal with this gut-wrenching mess and your perception of him is gradually forever changed.

ᤢ　.　content　♥︎　੭　angst, pregnancy symptoms, mentions of throwing up (emetophobia warning), emotional distress, swearing, mentions of abortions, ultrasounds, no miguel yet

꣖　　previous　　⋅ ꪆৎ ⋅　　masterlist　　⋅ ꪆৎ ⋅　　next　　꣓

he just left…

miguel just left and never came back.

he walked out that door with a word and you felt like your whole world collapsed. he just left you, the man that you love and you thought who loved you back, left you alone to deal with this mess.

your heart into a million pieces.

rose-colored glass shattered and left on the floor, impossible to glue them back together. the pain was so severe that you actually felt your heart broken. so painfully because you truly loved the man.

the small four walls of your home concealed all of your sobs that night. they witness the tears, wails, swearing, all sounds of pain and heartbreak. you broke your personal record of crying that night. the painful was unbearable that you couldn’t sleep.

you weren’t quiet, it’s clear that the entire floor heard you that night yet none cared. not that you wanted neighbors banging on your door, asking you if you’re okay or been murdered or telling you to shut up. eventually the crying died down but there were sniffles here and there, silent tears down your face.

you knew miguel heard and he didn’t bother to run back and comfort you like you hoped. his strong arms wrapped around your trembling figure and holding you protectively as you sob your heart out. one hand rubbing your back and whispering soft words of comfort in your ear.

no, instead you were all alone. the cold air of the apartment hitting your skin, causing goosebumps to form which left an uncomfortable feeling. your own arms hugging yourself sheepishly. no whispers of comfort, only the sobs and whines from your lips.

miguel wasn’t there for you.

instead he was next door, listening to your painful sobs while doing whatever the fuck he was doing. it pissed you off so much, you wanted to scream.

a pathetic part of you believed miguel would come back. he needed some time to think about this. an unexpected pregnancy isn’t easy to process. everyone reacts differently and miguel wasn’t in the wrong. he was shocked and needed a moment.

except it was more than just a moment.

his reaction was reasonable but you didn’t expect him to walk out like that and abandoned you. miguel never returned, didn’t call or text you afterwards. as if he disappeared without a trace.

ever since that night, you never saw him again.

no matter what you do, miguel never answers. the amount of text messages you sent are proof. now matter how many texts, no answer back. not even left on read, they were never checked.

bebé 🌷: miguel, please answer me

bebé 🌷: i need you

bebé 🌷: i know you’re upset and have every right to be mad but please come back or answer me, i can’t do this alone please

bebé 🌷: PLEASE COME BACK I NEED YOU I MISS YOU PLEASE MIGUEL

you even try calling him.

“the number you’re trying to reach is unavailable, please leave a message after the—”

you threw your phone across the bed in frustration as tears begin streaming down your face. burying your teary face in your palms as you cry once again because your boyfriend isn’t answering you.

why won’t he answer?

why won’t he pick up his damn phone?

why did he never come back?

is he truly mad at you to the point that he disappeared and never answered you back?

since you couldn’t try yourself, you had to ask someone else. the only other person you know who has contact with miguel is peter. unfortunately, he didn’t have any answers for you either.

“he isn’t answering at all?”

“no, peter!” you say frustratingly, almost on the verge of crying. “he never answered my texts or calls. my texts aren’t even left on read!”

“shit…” you hear him curse under his breath. “okay… you said he’s not home, right?” you tell him yes. “do you have any idea of where he might’ve gone? has he ever mentioned a place or spot he would go?”

you shake your head, even if he can’t see. “no, he never did.” miguel truly never did mentioned anything but he must’ve have a spot now.

peter sighs heavily through the phones. “that son of a bitch, i’m gonna kill him.”

tears prickle in your eyes, lips trembling. “i’m so scared, peter. i’m scared because i’m alone and i don’t know where miguel is.”

“i know, i know and i’m so sorry. i promise mj and i will come over as soon as we both get off work. i promise i’ll find miguel and kill him.”

a soft sob escapes your lips. “d-don’t, the traffic will be terrible, you know that.”

peter said your name in a pleading manner. “please, it’s okay. you’re our friend and family, we’re not leaving you alone. you know mj won’t like that.”

you let out a small chuckle, knowing he’s telling the truth because mj would never leave anyone behind. true friends always support each other.

unlike miguel, your supposed lover.

“thank you, peter…”

“of course, we’ll be there soon.”

eventually, peter and mj arrive at your place with remorseful looks. embracing your tightly, providing you the comfort that you lacked from your boyfriend. you and mj sit on the couch, her hand holding yours as comfort while peter makes tea. mj would hand you tissues from box and have a hand on your back rubbing as a method of comfort.

you tell them everything. you watch multiple emotions flash across their faces. remorse, sympathy, disbelief, anger. if looks could kill, someone would be six feet under. that someone would be miguel. oh they both had the look of murder on their faces. if they were hired assassins, they would definitely hunt down miguel.

“when’s your doctor’s appointment?” mj changed the subject, containing her anger.

“monday, next week.”

“do you want one of us to come with you, as support so you wouldn’t be by yourself?”

you shake your head. “no, i wanna do this myself. i appreciate it though, thank you.”

“are you sure? i can call out.” mj suggests.

“no really it’s okay, mj.” you offer her a small smile. “i promise to text you and the girls right after.”

the redhead nods. “alright but know that we’re here for you, all of us.” you know she referring to herself, peter, anne, eddie, lyla, and harry. besides her and peter, the rest don’t know yet you plan to eventually.

you have a support group.

but you just wish you had support from a specific person, the person you thought who would help you. just like when he said he would help or fix anything for you. but suppose that was a lie.

perhaps it was all a lie.

the next thing you know it, it’s your OB-GYN appointment and you’ve never been so anxious. on usual visits they’re fine but this was a different case. a case concerning your well-being and possibly another. the thought caused you to shiver. on the drive there, your heart rate skyrocketed. you had to bite back the emotions of driving to the clinic by yourself without miguel, who still hasn’t answered. before you left the apartment, you sent him one last text and call telling him you’d be at the clinic. even though you knew he wouldn’t respond, it still hurt. still holding on the last bits of hope he would respond. might be a little pathetic at this point.

you arrive at the clinic 15 minutes early. your nerves skyrocket once again as you enter the building, the sliding glass doors open with a soft whoosh! and close behind you. not even the friendly smile the receptionist, an elderly lady, gives you eases your nerves but you flash her a fake one to conceal it. once you give your name, she hands over a clipboard with paperwork and kindly tells you to take a seat. thanking her with a small smile, you take a seat in the far corner of the room. your eyes scan over the paper and begin silently filling it out. the usual information such as any medical conditions, any prescribed medications, any past medical procedures, previous pregnancies. after filling out the papers, you hand the clipboard back to the receptionist and sit back down.

you glance around at the other visitors in the room. some silently filling out paperwork, some scrolling through their phones, some staring off into space. but what kills you are the couples are the room. some conversing with each other. one couple who the woman appears to be 8-9 months and her partner delicately rubbing her large baby bump. they seem to be very happy, smiling at each other.

the sight is a big stab to your already fragile heart. pathetically envisioning miguel here with you. an arm wrapped around your shoulders and a hand holding yours as he whispers gentle words of comfort to you. telling you that it’s gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay, and he will always be by your side.

but he’s not here and you’re alone.

he is god knows where and you’re attending your OB-GYN appointment alone, dealing with this situation without his love and support.

never have you felt utterly alone, abandoned.

the very same man who declared his love to you abandoned you when you needed him the most. nowhere in sight and completely off the radar, left you alone to deal with this mess. the same man who makes you cry as your feel tears forming-

you snap out of those depressive thoughts when your name is called. your eyes land on a nurse standing by the door waiting patiently for you to follow. your anxiety increases as you rise up from your seat and proceed to follow the nurse, not even her friendly smile could help. after leading you to your supposedly OB’s office, the nurse kindly tells you she will be here with you very soon before flashing one last smile and closing the door.

glancing around the small room, your anxiety increases as reality kicks in. here you are, in the office of your OB-GYN about to discuss and examine your pregnancy. an unexpected pregnancy that was caused by your irresponsibility. due to the pregnancy and your irresponsibility, miguel left you to deal with this alone. no love and support, only loneliness.

the sound of the door opening startled you a little, causing you to snap out of those sad thoughts. turning around, you finally meet your OB-GYN. a relatively tall woman with blonde shirt hair. a pair of glasses settled over her crystal blue eyes. she appears to be maybe 10 years older than you.

“hello,” the woman says your name with a friendly smile and hand to shake. “i’m dr. chelsea, your OB.”

you smile in return, gently shaking her hand before dr. chelsea offers you to take a seat near her desk. you do so, placing your purse in your lap. she takes her own and reads over the paperwork about you.

“alright, i understand correctly this is your first appointment?” you nod, little anxious to answer which she ultimately understands. “do you have any idea how many weeks you could be?”

you shake your head, pondering. “maybe 4 weeks but i’m still not really sure.”

“that’s okay, we can use a pregnancy wheel to calculate an estimated due date.”

“w-wait!” you panic a little at the mention of a due date. “i’m not sure if i want to keep it or not.”

dr. chelsea gives you a reassuring look. “i understand but we still need to at least estimate how many weeks since the earliest for termination is 4 weeks. if you’re beyond that then you still have the option.”

you can only nod and exhale deeply, the nerves causing your voice to not work properly.

after much discussion, turns out you’re 5 weeks pregnant. the tears wanted to burst out but you hold them back, not wanting to break down in public.

“may i ask your symptoms?”

“the usual, i guess.” you shrug. “throwing up, achy boobs, feeling like shit in general.”

the woman nods before taking off her glasses with a heavy sigh, looking at you with seriousness. “now, i understand your uncertainty about whether to keep it or not. based on the given data, you still have the option for termination. i also understand this is a complicated decision and i don’t want to sugarcoat it. may i remind you that no matter which decision you make, you’re making it for yourself and what’s best for you. you are not pressured to give an answer now, like i said it’s complicated.”

her words bring somewhat a sense of comfort and reassurance. you’re well aware that an abortion is a complex process which requires lots of thinking and courage. an abortion means you can’t be sorry for yourself and live with that decision. it’s indeed a complicated process like dr. chelsea said.

the question you have to ask yourself is: can you put up with this kind of decision?

she takes your silence to continue. “like i mentioned before, this is about you and your well-being. my job isn’t only to ask many questions and conduct examinations, i’m here to help you.” you can hear the sincerity in her tone. “when you’re ready, i’m here.”

you avert from her gaze, processing her words. in full honesty, you deeply appreciate her reassuring words. it’s true you don’t have a definite answer right now and will certainly need time to think. you’re still deeply conflicted about this situation, aren’t sure if you’re ready for a baby, unsure if you have the means to have one, if you are able to provide for another life. abortion still lingers in a big portion in your mind, however, deep down a small percentage of curiosity is buried in the back of your fragile mind.

do you want to see it?

do you want to do an ultrasound?

your mind jumps back and forth on the subject, like playing ping pong. the ball bouncing back and forth on the table, landing on one side then the other in a never-ending manner. unsure when it will stop.

but the small percentage of curiosity was gradually growing and it can’t stop. with a very deep breath, you decide to make one decision. not the ultimate decision but just a very small one.

“i think… i would like to see it…”

dr. chelsea offers a small smile. “alright.”

rising from the chair, dr. chelsea kindly guides you to the examination chair. you prepare yourself on it as she takes a dear beside you and sets up the monitor. your anxiety increases once again as reality hits you like a baseball bat. here you are about to do an ultrasound on the entity slowly developing inside you. an entity you’re still unsure of.

“it’s okay to be scared.” dr. chelsea flashed a reassuring smile, motioning you to lift your shirt. “i do have to warn you this will be cold.”

lifting your shirt just displaying your stomach, a gasp pass through your lips as the cool gel touches your skin. damn, she wasn’t lying. the cool sensation causes goosebumps over your skin. closing your eyes, anxiety and anticipation flows through your veins. holy shit, this was actually happening.

you’re about to get the first glimpse of your baby.

a baby that will be a combination of you and miguel.

your heart aches immensely at the thought of him. a reminder of his absence. oh how you wish he was here to witness and experience this moment with you. wishing he was there sitting the chair next to you on the opposite side that’s meant for the fathers. his big, calloused hand holding your smaller one as you await the first glimpse of your child.

but miguel isn’t here, no body beside you and no hand holding yours. just pure emptiness.

you blink away the sad thoughts once again and look over at the monitor. your eyes widen and lips agape in surprise. on the screen, there’s a tiny blurry blob.

oh my god… there it is.

the entity developing inside you.

a baby, your baby.

that tiny blob is supposedly the very entity growing in your body. that very entity that will eventually be a replica of you and miguel combined. it’s so… weird to actually see it, there moving and growing. like it’s just so… oddly fascinating to observe. part of you feels weirded out that an actual thing is growing inside you and you actually see it now. the other part of you is undeniably fascinating to see it.

now this is even more conflicting.

dr. chelsea notices your internal conflict and hesitantly asks if you wish to have pictures. you ponder for a good minute, wondering if you really want to have an ultrasound picture of the baby you’re still unsure about having. but yet again, your curiosity got the best of you. you agree to just have one, fiddling with your hands as she prints it. after she offers you wipes to clean off the gel from your belly and pull down your shirt, she hands you the picture.

your breath hitches at the photo, a tiny blob. this is just keeping getting real and real each day. breathing deeply, you hug the photograph to your chest and close your eyes for a moment. the conflict grows stronger, even more with this photo.

hopping off the examination table and grabbing your purse, you shove the photograph inside. just as your preparing to leave, dr. chelsea asks one more thing.

“this last question will be personal and you have every right to reject.” your furrowed brows were a sign to continue. “is the father involved?“

you ponder for what feels like forever. no word from miguel since the last time you saw him, leaving your apartment that unfortunate night. all the missed calls and texts were telling you he was avoiding you. he abandoned you and you never felt the same since.

“he’s not in the picture.”

not a trace of adoration in your tone expect dullness. dr. chelsea gives you a sympathetic look with a nod. she tells you that your next appointment will be in two weeks as a check up. you bid each other farewell before exiting the room and the clinic.

you exit that building feeling different in contrast when you first arrived. hollowed, not because of the baby but because of miguel’s absence and negligence. you felt scared shitless entering the clinic, worrying for your well-being and heavily conflicted about this baby and how it affects your life. without his support, you feel hollowed. never had you felt so abandoned and lonely today.

while you were preparing to leave the office, you checked your messages and still never received an answer from miguel, not that you were expecting yet still thought on the possibility.

he doesn’t care at all.

the pipeline about him is bizarre. from loving him with all your heart to feeling abandoned and hollow. as if the love you had vanished. tossed away into the trash and left completely abandoned.

perhaps miguel wasn’t the caring man you perceived him to be. it was all just a show, a fantasy. you really believed he was different, this love was different.

but you were proven wrong again.

you promised mj and the girls to text them after your appointment. pregnancy cravings got the best of you and force you to stop by the grocery store. that damn pickles and peanut butter craving is kicking your ass. suppose the baby really digs it, oddly thinking about it. after finding your two weird cravings, you walk down the ice cream aisle. not only pickles and peanut butter but also ice cream slowly kicking in there.

as your eyes wander over each flavor, you feel someone bumping into you. a frown settles on your face, prepared to tell off the idiot who bumped into you, only to realize it’s a little boy. dressed in an oversized basketball jersey with a black hoodie underneath and basketball shorts.

“oops! sorry, ma’am.” the kid meekly said.

“miles!” a feminine voice calls out. looking forward, you see a woman with brown hair in a red shirt and jeans approaching with a concern look. “ay dios, i’m so sorry. he ran off and wasn’t looking where he was going.” she gives you an apologetic look.

you wave it off, kindly smiling. “it’s okay, now worries. he apologized so don’t worry.”

“still, i’m sorry. kids and ice cream, right?”

that makes you silent for a moment. the topic of kids is still uncomfortable considering your situation. but you play it off with a chuckle and nod.

“can’t blame them, it’s delicious.”

the woman’s eyes land on the items in your hands. her brows furrowed just the slightest as if she recognizes that specific combination of food.

“miles, go pick out your favorite ice cream but don’t run off. come straight back to me, ¿entiendes?” the woman crouches down to her son’s level.

the little boy nods, smiling. “yes, mamá.”

“okay go, mijo.” she stands back up straight as her son runs off down the aisle in search for his favorite ice cream. she looks back at you. “the last thing i want is to pry and forgive me for asking such a question. is that your favorite craving?”

you didn’t realize how obvious it is carrying pickles and peanut butter. you can’t blame her though, it’s a common pregnancy craving.

“yeah, the ironic thing is that i absolutely hate pickles.” you let out a soft chuckle.

the woman chuckled as well. “the things pregnancy does to you, crave things you hate.”

“was this one of your cravings?” you gesture at the pickles and peanut butter in your hands.

“oh yeah, it was the best thing ever. could never fight against, the craving always win.”

“ain’t that the truth.” you two share a laugh.

you briefly introduce yourselves. the woman is named rio, her son miles is 8 years old.

“if you don’t mind me asking, how far along are you?”

you go quiet for a moment, realizing this is the first time someone has asked about your pregnancy, aside your OB. damn, this is getting real too fast.

“i’m uh- 5 weeks.”

“you doing okay? besides the cravings. i know how hard the first trimester is.”

“oh uh- it’s definitely a pain, the morning sickness and all. but today isn’t that awful…” your voice trails off at the end, which rio notices.

her brows furrowed. “you sure you’re okay, honey?”

“yeah, yeah. just the hormones and stuff.”

call yourself crazy but you’re sure this woman can tell your lying by that slight disbelief look on her face. well, it seems more concerning than disbelief.

“i understand pregnancy or a baby in general isn’t easy. i also understand it’s weird to be discussing something personal with a stranger.” she chuckled softly. “but telling you from experience, you’re gonna be okay.” rio gives you a sympathetic look.

for some reason, her words bring you a sense of comfort. knowing she’s a mom herself and obviously experienced the process of pregnancy, her words affect you more than others.

“thank you.” you say softly, gently smiling.

she mirrors your smile. “of course.”

after your mini conversation and miles finally returning with his favorite ice cream, you bid the two goodbye. you can’t help but observe them as they walk away. holding hands, signifying the bond between a mother and her son. observing them makes you envision yourself with your child. holding hands as you shop around, bonding together.

the thought makes your heart swell. for the first time, you envision a moment with your potential future child. the very same one growing in your belly. the one you finally got a glimpse of early today.

you’re more conflicted about this baby.

but you couldn’t lie the thought was very… heartwarming, to say the least.

꣖　𝓣ags. ♡ྀིྀི　꣓⠀⠀@reverieblondie @nina-from-317 @kavimoo @aly29a2001 @lazyjellyfish300 @tojishugetiddies @aphinthestars @novelaaaaaaaa @imamexican @obessgurlll @deputy-videogamer @lovehadlovelost @agoddoesnotplead @saintdiior @whoopwhoppghost @tomalymme @skadiloki @asterrrrose @glossygreene @youcantseem3 @resident-clown @kutsipie @zuevcs @totorotales-08 @meowgirl1 @sukunash0e @sirendyes @leahnicole1219 @lisa-takeshi @yehet-moi-ohorat @slowlyshycomputer @wasitforrevenge @webshoootrz @f1-hoff @chaeriescola @espressopatronum454 @trocaderoisyummy @totallygyomeiswife @mcmiracles @celestialgarden23 @tatatida @whdhjfjvjvjfjdhsj ( if you’re not tagged, age/age-range is require since this fic is 18+, context for reasons why )

©⠀TEENIDLEGIRL⠀♡⠀don’t plagiarize or repost my work

[subtlenighttribute]

Ours to Protect

Selkie AU | Love and Deepspace Boys x Reader

Boat accident | Panic | Seal rescue | Heavy emotions | Protective fluff | Reader almost drowns | No separation in stories: all in one

---

It was only supposed to be a quick trip.

Just out to the farther buoy to untangle a sensor line. The harbor guy had been too busy, and you were the only one free. A small rowboat, calm water, clear skies.

The seals didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Sylus barked once when he saw you with the oars, flippers slapping the water. Rafayel kept nosing the boat. Zayne surfaced behind them like a dark shadow, unmoving.

“I’ll be fine,” you promised, laughing. “I’m literally just checking a rope. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

Caleb gave a worried chirp.

Xavier sank beneath the waves without a sound.

---

The wind picked up.

Fast.

You were almost to the buoy when a low, choppy wave smacked the side of the boat.

Then another.

You turned the boat, but it was too late. The little vessel tipped—half-swamped—and you were in the water before you had time to shout.

Salt. Cold. A sharp crack to your arm as you hit the boat’s edge.

Then—

Silence.

---

They Felt It.

The moment you disappeared from view, the seals reacted.

Sylus dove hard, leaving a violent splash in his wake.

Zayne was right behind him, cutting through the water like a bullet.

Caleb screamed—an eerie, high-pitched cry—and flung himself off the rocks.

Rafayel’s flippers churned as he vanished beneath the surface.

Xavier, already underwater, twisted mid-swim and launched toward where the boat had been.

They couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t call your name.

But the air tasted wrong.

Your shape was gone.

And that was all it took.

---

You Didn’t Resurface.

Not until they found you, face down.

Floating like driftwood.

Rafayel reached you first.

He chirped, urgently, panicked, circling, nudging you upward. Caleb slammed into your side moments later, trying to tip you right—his squeaks sounding almost like sobs.

Sylus’s white shape darted around the group, pushing, lifting.

Xavier surfaced beside your head, silent, solid.

Zayne pushed from below, bracing your body against the current.

Together—no words, no coordination—they moved.

A tangle of seals, frantic and determined.

They brought you in.

---

You hit the sand with a soft thump.

Still.

Cold.

Your lips were blue.

They surrounded you, keening low and soft, nudging you, chirping, pressing their faces to your cheeks.

Caleb tried shaking you with his flippers. Rafayel wailed. Xavier stayed so still it looked like he’d stopped breathing himself.

Then—

You coughed.

Saltwater dribbled from your mouth. You groaned, barely moving.

Sylus let out a sound not like a seal. Something broken. Guttural.

He flopped closer and dropped his head against your chest like, “Mine. Still here. Don’t do that again.”

You reached a trembling hand to touch his fur.

“...hey...” you whispered.

Rafayel collapsed against your legs like a wet blanket.

Zayne nudged his nose under your hand.

Caleb curled beside your ribs like a shaking dog.

Xavier leaned close.

He pressed his forehead to yours—just once.

“You are ours.”

---

That Night

You didn’t go home.

You stayed curled up on the beach, surrounded by damp, sniffling seal-boys who refused to shift back to human.

Too scared.

Too shaken.

They piled around you—protective and silent. Zayne on guard. Caleb tucked into your side. Sylus half-on your chest again, like you’d float away if he didn’t hold you down.

You whispered into the thick, warm fur, “I’m okay. I’m really okay now.”

Five hearts pressed close.

You weren’t alone. You never would be again.

[httpvomitello]

The Day Everything Changed ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

Summary: Your twelve-year-old daughter gets her first period unexpectedly, throwing Sirius into a complete panic while you try to manage the chaos.

credits to: @uramakimochi (as inspiration for this fic)

The day had been perfectly normal. You were curled up on the couch, reading, while Sirius was stretched out beside you, lazily twirling his wand between his fingers. Your daughter, Cassie, was upstairs in her room, probably doodling on her homework instead of doing it.

And then came the scream.

It was loud. Bloodcurdling. The kind of scream that made you both jump to your feet in alarm.

“Cassie?” you called, already moving toward the stairs.

Before you could take a step, Sirius had bolted past you, taking the stairs three at a time. “CASSIOPEIA BLACK, WHAT HAPPENED? WHO HURT YOU?!”

He practically kicked down her door. You followed right behind him, only to find Cassie standing in the middle of her room, wide-eyed, pale as a ghost, and pointing at her pajama shorts. “I—I’m bleeding!” she stammered.

Sirius followed her gaze, saw the blood, and immediately paled. “Oh my God,” he whispered. Then, louder, “OH MY GOD.”

Cassie grabbed his arms, shaking him. “Dad, am I dying?! AM I DYING?!”

“NO! YES! I DON’T KNOW!” Sirius yelled back, looking wildly between you and Cassie like he was about to pass out. “Y/N, SHE’S BLEEDING! WHY IS SHE BLEEDING?!”

You took one look at the scene in front of you and sighed.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.”

Cassie let out another panicked sob. “Mum, HELP ME, PLEASE—”

You placed your hands on her shoulders. “Cassie, sweetheart, you’re not dying.”

Cassie sniffled. “I’m not?”

“No,” you said, rubbing her arms reassuringly. “You just got your first period.”

Silence.

Cassie blinked up at you. “My what?”

Sirius, still looking like he was about to faint, took a deep breath. “No. No, no, no, no. That’s not possible. She’s twelve.” He turned to you. “She’s twelve!”

“Yes, Sirius, I know how old our daughter is,” you said dryly.

Sirius was still frozen in place, eyes darting between Cassie and the bloodstain on her shorts. Then, suddenly, he let out a strangled noise and dramatically collapsed onto her bed, staring at the ceiling like he’d just lived through a war. “No. This isn’t happening. I’m not ready.”

Cassie frowned. “Dad, what do you mean you’re not ready? I’M the one bleeding!”

“I KNOW! THAT’S WHY I’M PANICKING!” Sirius flailed his arms. “MY LITTLE GIRL IS GROWING UP AND I CAN’T HANDLE IT!”

Cassie groaned, burying her face in her hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Alright, let’s all just take a deep breath—”

“I CAN’T, Y/N. I NEED TO DO SOMETHING. WE NEED—WE NEED—” Sirius suddenly gasped and shot up from the bed. “I’LL GO TO THE STORE!”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know what to buy?”

“I’LL BUY EVERYTHING!”

Cassie let out another groan, flopping onto her bed. “Oh my God, I hate this.”

Sirius turned back to her, expression suddenly heartbreakingly soft. “I know this is scary, pup, but I swear it’s nothing bad. It just means you’re getting older.”

“But I don’t wanna get older!” she wailed.

“I don’t want you to either!” Sirius said dramatically, clutching his chest like she’d just stabbed him. “You were just a baby yesterday, and now…” His voice cracked. “Oh, sweetheart.” He opened his arms. “Come give your old dad a hug.”

Cassie sniffled, hesitating for a second before launching herself into his arms.

Sirius hugged her tightly, resting his chin on top of her head. “It’s okay, love. You’ll always be my little pup, no matter what.”

Cassie let out a watery laugh. “Even when I’m, like, thirty?”

“Even when you’re ninety,” Sirius promised, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Then, he turned back to you. “Alright, love, be honest with me. On a scale from ‘mildly concerned’ to ‘full-on crisis,’ how badly did I handle this?”

You smirked. “Let’s just say it was exactly what I expected from you.”

Cassie giggled, and Sirius let out a dramatic groan. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” you said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Now, go to the store, Pads. And don’t buy everything.”

Sirius sighed. “Fine. But I’m getting chocolate too.”

Cassie brightened. “Okay, maybe this period thing isn’t so bad after all.”

[anything-pov]

okay so fic request

Emily and our future child decided that they want to make y/n breakfast in bed for their birthday

they tried making pancakes bacon toast eggs orange juice

somehow everything burnt y/n wakes up to the fire alarm blaring

y/n Goes downstairs to see Emily trying to fan smoke away from the smoke detector child is crying at burnt pancakes and bacon and eggs and ruined surprise

ihop was ordered after everything got cleaned up and everyone was calm

They made y/n pretend to be asleep to serve them the ihop in bed

had a great birthday at home with ur fav ppl

(tease Emily about this in the future)

Syrup Kisses 😘

As soon as I got your request, I got to working! Never in my life have I been so excited to write a quick fic! Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Y/N celebrates her birthday with breakfast, kisses, a fire alarm, and iHop!

You wake to the smell first. Unmistakable. Sharp. A scent that slams into your senses like a brick wall, burnt something.

Not just toast. Not just bacon. This is everything-is-on-fire kind of burnt. You blink hard, already halfway sitting up when the shrill screen of the fire alarm blares.

You don’t even bother with slippers. You bolt down the hallway, heart pounding, and when you round the corner into the kitchen, the sight makes you stop short.

Emily, your brilliant, expertly calm, terrifyingly sexy wife, is standing on a chair, frantically waving a flattened Princess doll cardboard box under the fire alarm.

Smoke curls from the stovetop behind her. A scorched pan rests in the sink, billowing what’s left of its dreams. But it’s your daughter, your sweet, earnest Lily, who breaks your heart wide open.

She’s crouched beside the kitchen island, her apron stained, her little face flushed with tears. Her lower lip quivering as she cries, fists clenched tightly at her sides.

“I ruined it!” She screams, voice breaking, “I ruined Mama’s birthday!” You rush to her instantly, dropping to your knees and pulling her into your arms.

She practically collapses against you, small and trembling and sticky with syrup.

“No… baby,” you whisper into her hair, “Hey, hey… look at me. You didn’t ruin anything.” Lily shakes her head, furiously, “I wanted to make you breakfast!”

Lily’s voice bordering on wail, “Eggs, a-and pancakes… and bacon and ju-juice and… coffee, and I-I dropped an egg on the cat… and the bacon caught on fire… and Mommy lied and said it w-was fine… but it wasn’t fine!”

You glance up. Emily looks like she’s aged and greyed ten years in the last ten chaotic minutes, still fanning the air like the fire department might show up.

“I didn’t lie,” Emily whines, climbing off the chair, “I said we could order pancakes if we needed to!” You give her a look, then kiss Lily’s curls.

“Sweetheart. You tried to make me breakfast. That’s the best birthday present in the world!” You confess, your hands gently holding her, “But it’s burnt!” She argues.

You pull her tighter, “So… we pivot. You know what Mama wants more than anything?”

Lily lifts her blotchy face, “What, Mama?”

“Pancakes. That don’t taste like smoke. Which is why… we’re ordering iHop. Right now…” Emily exhales dramatically, as if those two syllables, iHop, were her salvation. “Thank… god!”

You hand her your phone, “You order, I’ll calm our Michelin star chef down.” While Emily taps away on the screen, you rock Lily gently in your lap, her tears slowing, sniffling turning to quiet sighs.

You hum softly, rubbing her back, and she burrows into your neck with a whisper, “I just wanted to make you happy.”

“You don’t think this adorable face makes me happy everyday?” Your hand moves to gently pinch her red cheeks.

- - -

Fifteen minutes later, you’ve wiped down the counters, aired out the kitchen, lit a candle, and even managed to get Emily to laugh at her own morning misfortunes.

Lily sits at the table now, sipping on a plastic cup of apple juice with her head resting on her folded arms, still tired from the emotional whiplash of the morning.

You stretch and kiss Emily’s cheek. “Alright… I’m going back to bed.” Emily raises an eyebrow, “What?”

“I’m going to pretend none of this happened, so you two can try again. Bring me iHop. Act surprised. Got it?” You ask her with a smile.

Emily grins, “You’re such a little drama queen.” You nod, like it was common knowledge, “And you love me for it.”

“Every burnt piece of you.” You add.

- - -

You hear their footsteps before the door creaks slowly open. “Mama?” Lily whispers, careful, tiptoeing. You crack an eye, just enough to see her trying to balance a tray while Emily steadies it behind her.

You sit up, playing along, “Oh wow! Breakfast in bed? For me?!” Lily giggles, proudly setting the tray in your lap. “Happy birthday, Mama! We made this one better!”

You glance down, three golden pancakes, crispy bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs, and a little container of syrup. Everything you love, warm and perfect and not burnt.

Emily perches on the bed beside you, grinning, “You deserve it, hun.” You take a bite of pancake and groan happily, “This might be the best breakfast I’ve ever had.”

Lily beams. “It’s from iHop!” You laugh, mouth full, reaching to cup her cheek. “Still counts.”

She leans in and kisses your cheek, sticky, syrupy, and full of unconditional love. “Best Mama ever!” You sigh contentedly and wrap an arm around her, pulling Emily closer with your other hand.

“Best family ever!”

- - -

Months later…

You’re at the roundtable in the BAU bullpen. The case was hell. Everyone’s tired, weary and needing major sleep catchup.

Someone, probably Morgan, starts a round of “worst parenting fails,” and Hotch is halfway through telling a story about Jack and super glue when JJ turns to Emily.

“Didn’t you almost set your kitchen on fire trying to cook once?” The blonde questioned, Emily groaning as she sank into her chair, “It was a minor amount of smoke.”

You raise a brow. “Minor? The fire alarm woke the cat, and me. Lily cried. We had to order iHop to save my birthday.” Spencer’s eyes widen. “You ordered food and then pretended to be asleep so they could surprise you again?”

“Of course I did,” you say proudly, “I’m not going to miss a syrupy kiss from my daughter or my wife waving bacon in my face.”

Garcia practically squeals, “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard!” Emily squeezes your knee beneath the table, “She’s high maintenance, but she’s worth it.”

You grin. “You set off a fire alarm for me. That’s real love.”

Rossi chuckles, “You know it’s love when iHop saves the day!

[hyusun]

🌻 - 39.4 Degrees of Stupid - L.HC

Pairing: roommate!Haechan x yn

Genre: fluff, slow-burn ???

Warning : fever and snotty nose, rain/storm

Vibe : haechan ran through the rain after finals just to catch a game session , and ended up with a 39.4 degree fever and a blocked nose. yn, his unlucky roommate, spends her day off nursing him back to life and sanity. It’s chaotic, exhausting... and maybe a little bit sweet in the end.

The rain came down like grief-thick, endless, humming against windows and rooftops like the world was trying to cry out everything finals had wrung from your bones. You’d barely collapsed face-first into your bed, hoping to sleep away the academic carnage, when the front door slammed open like a thunderclap.

A soaked figure exploded into the apartment, trailing puddles and chaos in his wake, like some tragic Shakespearean fool who fought nature and lost.

And, of course, it was Haechan.

Your beloved, stupid housemate. Drenched to the bone. Hoodie plastered to his skin like betrayal, sneakers squelching with every dramatic step as he announced his arrival like a war hero returning from battle.

You didn't even lift your head from the couch.

“Why are you wet?” you called out, deadpan, too emotionally bankrupt to deal with his nonsense.

“I had to run!” he shouted, breathless, triumphant, utterly insane. “My ranked game session started in ten minutes!”

You rolled over just enough to glare. “You ran through a monsoon. For pixels.”

“They’re competitive pixels. It was my post-finals treat!”

“Your immune system is not going to treat you.”

But he waved you off, water still dripping from his sleeves, tracking a trail of regret all the way to his bedroom. You made a mental note to let natural selection do its thing.

But nature works fast.

By the next morning, your phone buzzed with a single dramatic message: “I’m dying. Bring water. And love. Mostly water.”

And when you dragged yourself out of bed and into the living room, what you found was not a man, but a melting popsicle of blankets and tissues. Haechan lay half-buried on the couch, nose red, cheeks flushed, fever blazing high enough you could feel the heat radiating from him like he was auditioning for the role of ‘Human Stove.’

He looked up at you with the wheezy pride of someone who made a dumb decision and refused to regret it. “It’s not that bad,” he said, voice sounding like a kazoo underwater. “I’m thriving.”

“You’re fermenting,” you corrected, crossing your arms. “Your fever could boil soup.”

He sniffled violently. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You ran through a thunderstorm to play League, Haechan.”

“It was a team game.”

He gasped, actually gasped—like you’d slapped him with a wet sock. “How dare—” But his righteous wail was immediately swallowed by a rapid-fire sneezing fit that sounded like a dying trumpet and shook the tissue box on his chest.

You didn’t even flinch. Just calmly handed him another tissue like this was your normal Thursday. A beat passes, and silence drapes over you both like a second comforter. Just as sleep begins to pull him under, you hear it—soft, barely audible.

“Thanks, yn... If I die, you get my gaming chair.”

You slapped a cold compress on his forehead, no gentleness spared, and when he whimpered, you rolled your eyes and adjusted the blanket around him. You were supposed to be doing nothing today. Catching up on sleep. Watching trashy variety shows. But no,your birdbrain roommate had turned your one peaceful day off into a medical emergency wrapped in fleece.

Still, when his hand twitched slightly and he shifted to lean into your touch, something inside you softened. Maybe it was the fever. Maybe it was the way his lashes fluttered every time you checked his temperature. Maybe it was because you were hopeless.

You spent the day beside him, nursing him like some reluctant Florence Nightingale with a grudge. You cooked him porridge while he dramatically insisted he was “withering.” You force-fed him vitamin C and wiped his sweat away while he tried to flirt between coughs.

At one point, you caught him staring at you with that hazy, fever-glazed look, quiet, almost reverent.

"You have nice hands," he murmured, like it was a secret.

You froze mid-spoon.

"And a nice heart," he added, lips chapped and clumsy. "And maybe a nice face, but I can’t really see you clearly.”

You blinked.

He blinked.

Then promptly sneezed into a tissue with the force of a hurricane.

“Moment ruined,” you muttered.

“I regret nothing,” he mumbled, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips like he hadn’t just nearly given himself pneumonia for a ranked match.

By early evening, he finally fell into a deep sleep. The rain outside had softened into a gentle hush, like the sky was finally letting go. You sat beside him beside the couch, half-dozing, your fingers still loosely wrapped around his wrist as if guarding him from any more of his own decisions. His fever had finally dipped. His breathing had slowed. And in that quiet, something delicate bloomed in the silence.

Later, just as the world was starting to settle into the night, you felt him stir. His eyes fluttered open, slow and dazed, landing on you with a softness that felt new. He looked at the blanket wrapped around him. By the way your head had tilted slightly off the couch. At your hand, still resting gently against his.

“Y/N,” he whispered, voice rough like sandpaper but gentler than you’d ever heard it. “Thanks for today.”

You didn’t answer,too tired, too close to falling asleep yourself.

But he kept speaking, his words barely above breath, fragile like paper.

“Stay close. Even when I’m not dying next time.”

You could’ve made a joke. Could’ve called him a dramatic little gremlin. Could’ve rolled your eyes.

Instead, you laced your fingers with his, and didn’t let go.

And outside, the rain finally stopped.

thank you so much for taking the time to read it. I’d love to hear your thoughts, so any feedback is welcome! - 🌻

All works are copyrighted © HyuSun, 2025. Please do not repost, rewrite, or distribute without explicit permission.