#and maybe I need to sob and wail and cry and let it all out

[abyssyby]

Talking about wedding banner, could u imagine how the lil twins found out their parent wedding photo and sulking cause their papa and mama didn't invite them. I wanna know how they woud react cause I think it will be cute😭 thx uuu have a nice day

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: oh NOOOO they would be devastated ｡°(°¯᷄◠¯᷅°)°｡ this got away from me again lmaoo, i hope u enjoy!!

sylus & his family | sylus x reader | light hurt/comfort (littles have big feelings!), fluff fluff, dad!sylus, mom!reader, bigbrother!kieran&luke, itty bitty twins werent invited to the wedding! (•́ ᴖ •̀)

you asked lucian nicely not to climb too high when seeking his sensory need for heights and balancing.

"just the second shelf, and maybe the third if papa is around," you begged, squishing chubby little cheeks in your palms. the request honeyed with a kiss on his nose and a chocolate schmeetie (sweetie).

the primary concern is his safety, of course. so he doesn't get hurt—no matter how badly he believes his little belly is going to help him bounce off the floor like a bubble blobbu pal. "I softy, I bounce, mama!"

you laugh whenever he says it. a laugh that morphs into a sob as you press your nose to his hair and say hopelessly, "that's not how it works, my angel."

and motherhood has always been daunting. the magazines and articles, your friends and relatives always said that the instinct the wisdom will come to you, eventually, and the blessing of always being right and knowing best will develop in time. you didn't know it would develop in the most mysterious of ways.

wailing. there is a wailing in the distance as you haul yourself from the trenches of a dream. body moving before your mind catches up. you rise from the couch in a haze, a headache pinching at your nerves behind your eyes, a strange taste in your post-nap mouth. and through the bleariness, you cannot find your children. "Lucian? Kyros?!"

your feet move, carry you to the sound of crying—whoever's it was, you needed to get to them fast. now.

in your husband's study, there sits a tall bookcase. five columns, endless rows. heaven for a little boy with vestibular needs. the middle column is sparse in material and literature, giving way to sylus's favorite mementos. jewels and small artifacts, weapons, things that looked far too archaic for your liking. fire-hazards, choking-hazards, literal death traps.

it's only natural, the scream you let out, as you find the glass that protects the items from environmental harm, wide open. and not one but both your sons in a circle of trinkets and treasures on the floor, sobbing hysterically.

you call each of their names, falling to your knees as you take them in your embrace. kyros clings to your neck, lucian uses your sweater as a tissue to wipe his nose. "are you hurt? did you fall?"

"mama, mad! mad, mad!" lucian harrumphs loudly, pushing away from your embrace and stomping his feet. your brows knit together. you reach for him despite his protests and examine his arms and legs for any cuts or bruises. while he still tries to pull away, "mad!"

"no yell to mama." kyros pitches in, turning slightly from his embrace and swiping a hand that doesn't quite reach his brother. "no mean!"

"who is yelling at mama?" sylus enters then, walking into the room with quick, long strides at the sight of you all on the floor. he takes in your confusion, how lost you look, the toddler in your arms mediating.

then he zeros in on the fiery twin with puffed cheeks and arms crossed clumsily over his chest. "lucian?"

"mad papa too!" lucian whines, stomping his feet like an angry rabbit.

"woosian, 'top it!" kyros scolds.

"angel, what happened?" you ask, finally having come to your senses. there is no broken glass, the casing was just open. the trinkets on the floor— the veil, a small sampling of stained glass, dried flowers, a tiara, a bow tie, a set of ceremonial rings and—

"where me—woosian?" your son demands, using all his strength to drag the big wedding album out from under sylus's desk and into the light. for you to see, to realize, to know the absolute sin you committed against him. "and kee-ro? you leave!"

sylus snorts. you shoot him an angry glare at how drastic the whole thing truly is. a small problem to you, a monumental betrayal to your little ones.

tak-tak-tak lucian points to his father's face in the blown-up photo. the two-page spread of you and sylus in your ceremonial silks, reminding you of the very day in the cathedral a few years back.

kyros, just as hurt, murmurs. "no ee-bite us? we sleepin'?"

you melt. oh, your sweet boys. wondering why they were left out of such an important looking ceremony. they'd seen it in their storybooks—weddings of royals and knights and creatures, then the happily ever afters. they've raved on and on about wanting to see a white-puffy-cake dress with their own eyes.

and here you all are, standing around a photo of you and their father in the attire. and them having no memory of being there, of being invited. thinking you'd snuck out on a date as they slept and crept back into the house by morning.

oh, your sweet boys.

when lucian is effectively distracted with sylus's playful raspberries and kisses on his face (him personally acting on his cuteness aggression to the bunny-stomps), only then do you gather both of your children out of the study with the wedding album. you settle back on the couch with them, the pictures between you, and explain.

"we haven't met just yet in this picture," you tell them, placing each of their hands on the page. their eyes watch as you trace the outlines of their hands on your wedding photo with a silver marker. "you were both still sleeping somewhere, but we didn't know where. so we couldn't wake you up."

"ah!" kyros giggles as your get a bit of ink on his finger. lucian gasps and forces his hand to stay still. sylus helps him keep his hand sturdy.

"did you and papa find us?" lucian asks. he looks up at you with such hopeful eyes it's impossible not to fall more in love with his wonder. you brush silver-mist hair out of his eyes and nod, "of course we did, angel."

"we'd never stop until we find you," sylus assures him, curling an arm around his middle and nuzzling his temple.

"but—but the 'appy endin'?" kyros pouts. "we missing..."

sylus reaches out to him and squeezes his ink stained hand. his own heart swelling. "we can always have another one, kyros."

"we can?" lucian perks up, turning his head to look at his father.

you laugh, sharing a quick glance with sylus who has already made up his mind. and you wholeheartedly agree. "of course. that one wasn't as happy as it will be now that you're here."

"we ee-biting?" kyros jumps, hands clasped together as if to contain his excitement. sylus's laugh shakes mountains as he tugs onto his sons' cheeks. "yes, you're invited."

the pair cheers, clapping and whooping like they'd won the lottery. in much higher spirits than they were earlier. you continue to flip through the pages of the album. the littles enthusiastically pointing to your face and swooning over how pretty you looked. and then asking papa 'why he smiling 'ike that?'

sylus asking 'like what?" in borderline offense.

kyros laughs. "'ike a tiger." then screams when sylus lunges at him to show him his tiger teeth affectionately.

you watch lucian, whose eyes are soft and fond as he flips through your wedding photos like it's his favorite storybook, trumping any fairytale of oswald octopus in his collection.

and then it comes—the feeling of right, and what's best in that moment. and it's not about proving a point, but recognizing what feels right for your kids, and making decisions with them to arrive at the best possible outcome.

seeing the joy on their faces, you conclude—having them find the album was just right, and having a second wedding just for them is what's best.

you watch as his face brightens at the sillier photos, grins at blurry ones and upside-down ones (thanks, mephisto). but then the light vanishes, dark clouds loom once more on his then sunny face.

you don't get to ask before he's angrily tak-tak-taking on the page. his twin and father's attention turns to him as they halt their little game of chase. you groan at the photo he points at.

luke and kieran, unmasked and grinning from ear to ear in their nice tuxes. arm in arm, photobombing a perfectly romantic photo of you and sylus. but lucian doesn't care about the photo being ruined. It's the fact that—"biggies there too?!"

you wince. you hope brotherhood wisdom has developed in time too as you watch your toddlers drag the heavy album out of the living room to hunt down the convicts in the photo. angry-bunny stomps and all, the big twins are in for it.

✧˚ ⋆｡ read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

thank you for sending in & reading! ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ )

[waitingandwishing]

Previous Chapter - END

Word Count: 1k "𝖫𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌" ━━ Ever since you were a kid, all you wanted was to be cared for.

For the first time in your life, it felt like you were breathing again. Really breathing. The steam surrounded you like a memory, thick and warm, caressing your skin with soft fingers and sinking deep into your bones. You closed your eyes, letting the heat loosen the weight you didn’t realize you’d been carrying.

“This feels so good…” you mumbled, your voice half-lost in the hush of the bathhouse. Your eyelids drooped, heavy, as your body tried to give in to the sleep curling gently at the edges of your consciousness.

“We’ve been saying that for years,” Mira murmured, a blissful smile spreading across her face as she leaned her head back against the edge of the pool.

“Right?” Zoey chimed in,  “See what you guys have been missing?”

“Oh, yeah. I wanna come here every day of our three-month hiatus,” Rumi sighed, her arms floating lazily in the water like flower petals drifting downstream.

“Mhm…” You nodded lazily, your cheek pressed against the edge of the pool. It was the first time in a long while you weren’t bracing for something—no fights, no chaos, no fear. Just stillness. Just them.

“Y/N, I’m so happy you didn’t, like, die,” Zoey suddenly blurted, her eyes now wide with panic that had no place here but arrived anyway, like an aftershock.

“Wow, Zoey, way to be super literal,” Mira said with a raised brow and a smirk that tried to lighten the mood. “But same,” she added softly.

Zoey’s lips trembled as she tried to keep a brave face, but it cracked like glass under pressure. “I just…” Her voice broke, her breath hitching. “You guys mean so much to me. And I don’t really know what I’d do without you…”

You turned your head toward her, and your vision blurred. Your chin quivered, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes before you even realized you were crying. A painful, tender warmth rose in your chest.

Mira and Rumi soon followed, crying alongside you as well. “I love you guys so much!” you wailed, voice cracking like a child’s, raw and full of everything you couldn’t say before. Your hands covered your face, but it didn’t stop the tears. They just kept coming, pouring out of you like a flood held back too long.

Rumi’s arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind, squeezing tight. Mira nodded, her own eyes shining. Zoey cried just as loudly, just as ungracefully.

You all sobbed, shoulders shaking in tandem as the heat enveloped you like a cocoon. Nothing needed fixing right now. Nothing had to be fought. You just… loved them so much. And for once, it was okay to say it. To show it. To cry about it. Together. You sat there like that for what felt like forever. Breathing. Healing. Loving.

- - -

“Couch, couch, couch, couch, couch, couch, couch!” The four of you chanted in unison, voices growing louder and more chaotic with every step toward home. Fresh from the bathhouse, your skin still tingled from the steam.

You slowed when you turned the corner, spotting a small group of girls gathered under a lamppost just outside a store. They wore matching Huntrix merch and each of them had their phones out, whispering excitedly as they looked at something. Maybe a new post. Maybe a candid.

“Aww, look at them…” Zoey murmured with a dreamy smile, leaning her head onto Rumi’s shoulder. “They’re so cute.”

Your eyes caught the one girl who stood a little apart from the group, shifting her weight and hesitating. Until the others reached out, laughing, pulling her back in with them so they could all squeeze together around one phone. You crossed your arms, warmth blooming in your chest.

“They remind me of us,” you said softly, your voice carrying a fondness you didn’t need to explain.

“You know…” Rumi said after a pause, “I feel like we got a nice little break.”

“Yeah, I definitely feel recharged,” Mira added, stretching her arms above her head and letting out a content sigh.

“Me too,” Zoey agreed, glancing at the group again with a growing smile. “I thought I wanted couch, but… I think couch can wait.”

“I think so as well.” You nodded, that strange, full feeling still swelling in your chest. It wasn’t just rest. It was connection. Healing.

Without another word, the four of you veered off your route, approaching the fans. You raised a hand, waving. “Hi, everyone!” Rumi said brightly, her whole face lighting up.

The girls looked up—and then froze. Wide eyes. Gasps. Mouths hanging open. “Rumi?! Mira?!” one of them squeaked. “Oh my gosh, I love you guys so much!”

Another, the one who had hung back earlier, looked right at you. She beamed like you’d stepped out of a dream. “Y/N? Oh my gosh, I love your voice so much! You’re so cool!” Her whole body bounced slightly as she spoke.

“Aww, you’re so sweet,” you said, unable to hide your grin.

At that moment, something fluttered down from the sky. A magpie, wearing a tiny top hat perched slightly crooked on its head. It landed on your shoulder as naturally as if it had done it a hundred times. You tilted your head toward it with a knowing look and gave it a small, respectful nod.

It nodded back before flapping away to perch atop the large blue tiger lounging across the street. Derpy let out a delighted, slobbery bark and flopped his tongue out in a dopey wave. You chuckled and gave him a return wave before turning your attention back to the girls.

"So," you said, eyes sparkling, "who's ready for a photo?"

The four of them erupted into excited squeals, bouncing in place like the joy couldn’t quite stay inside their bodies. And in that moment, surrounded by your friends, your fans, you realized something: This… this was the dream. And you were living it.

taglist: @the-bookish-artist @nisarelle @iviorienne @justanindiangirl12 @t4naiis @usuallyunlikelyfox@livsh20@venommie@dprweganggang03@satansdaughter123 @yumekono @arkcitrus@ateezswonderland@chalahyung01@maryloudiaries@katzline@prettylittlelavvy@keiwiu @minkyungseokie@charlie-xo

[occasionallynotwatchingroger]

I have absolutely no idea what to do with my feelings

I don’t even know what feelings I am having

I’m not sure what’s real

And I can’t rely on myself… for anything really

I don’t know what to do with any of this except to ask myself what would a mentally well person do and then do that but with lots of breaks for being gentle to myself

[lazysoulwriter]

mourning through joel - pedro pascal.

I got a few requests for this same situation, so here it is! - for all of joel miller's widows.

---

You were not okay.

Tears streamed down your face, hot and aggressive, as you sat hunched under a blanket like a dramatic Victorian widow. The screen had gone dark a minute ago, credits rolling silently, and yet you hadn't moved. Not an inch.

Pedro’s voice came gently from behind the couch. “Bebita?”

You sniffled. “Don’t talk to me.”

He paused. “Is this about—?”

“Joel’s dead, Pedro. He’s dead,” you wailed, voice cracking like it was your own father who just got beaten to death by a golf club. “And it wasn’t even dignified!”

Pedro slowly came around, kneeling in front of you like he was approaching a wounded animal. “I know, cariño. It was rough.”

You stared at him, bottom lip trembling, tears pooling in your lashes. “He deserved a second chance.”

“I agree,” Pedro said, nodding solemnly.

You pushed the blanket off your face just enough to breathe dramatically. “Like—to have a family. A real one.”

“Yeah.”

“Kids.”

“Totally.”

“A dog. A retirement plan.”

Pedro smiled, soft and amused. “Sure.”

You inhaled like you were about to make a groundbreaking point. “To get laid, Pedro.”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

“To. Get. Laid.” You grabbed a tissue like it was a dagger, wiping at your snot with flair. “He was a sad, traumatized DILF with a heart of gold. And he never even got laid in peace!”

Pedro covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. “I mean—he and Tess—”

“She didn’t count! That wasn’t post-character development Joel! That was pre-tenderness Joel! The world owed him some cathartic post-trauma sex!”

Pedro lost it, finally letting out a laugh as he sank to sit on the floor beside your feet. “You’re really grieving, huh?”

“I’m inconsolable.”

He leaned his head on your knee and looked up at you, his hand finding yours under the blanket. “If it makes you feel better… I’m right here. Alive. Very real. And very, very down to fulfill any…uh, DILF-based fantasy needs.”

You hiccuped a laugh through your tears. “You’re so annoying.”

“Also, pretty sure Joel would want you to stop crying and maybe, like, make out with me a little in his honor.”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Pedro, I’m in mourning.”

“You said it yourself—he deserved to get laid.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “We could make it symbolic.”

You let out a short, choked giggle that turned into another sob. “God, I love you so much, it’s stupid.”

He brought your knuckles to his lips, kissing them gently. “I know, cariño. I love you too. Even when you're snot-crying over fictional versions of me.”

---

[rafekisser]

Had this idea about Rafe’s best friend! Reader who hasn’t been with anyone in like a year and is getting really worked up. Maybe she had a terrible week and there was a last straw and she’s yelling and yanking on her hair and throwing things and Rafe is kind of realizing she just needs to be totally dominated and taken care of so he does

rafe x bsf!reader

a/n: i totally love that idea anon !! first time writing ever i just didnt want to let sweet nonnie down, so apologies if its not that good !

cw: smut, swearing, drool.

rafe knew you haven’t had a hookup in ages. you would vaguely mention it, when it would be just the two of you in either one’s rooms. if he was being honest, he pitied you. he even wanted to be the one to help you…

you were pissed off the whole week. maybe it was your hormones, with the way you would get annoyed at everything.

whether it be traffic making you late to events, or people at the country club being rude, steam was coming out of your ears.

you were like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode anytime now. good thing your bestfriend kept you grounded whenever you were feeling overstimulated.

so there you were, in your room getting ready for dinner with your family and the camerons. rafe on your bed scrolling on his phone, patiently waiting for you.

you were quiet while doing your makeup on your vanity table, not your usual chatty self. normally you would go on and on about anything and everything under the sun, yapping for hours on end.

rafe knew something was up.

“something wrong bunny?” he asked, using the nickname he gave you referring to the time you dressed up as a bunny for halloween when you two were little.

“no,” you replied with a pout, voice barely above a whisper.

rafe knew better than to push you, so he just sighed and kept quiet.

a few moments have passed, and rafe hears a soft ‘oh fuck’, a thud, and heavy breathing from your vanity. he looks up from his phone and sees your head down, soft sobs coming from the table.

when he got up to come closer, you shot up. screaming, crying, wailing even. rafe could see your problem now: you smudged your mascara. you started yanking out your hair curlers, figuring they were useless if your makeup was ruined anyway.

“woah woah- hey bun!” he yelled, pulling you by your waist. he placed you on your bed, rubbing up and down your arms to soothe you.

rafe guided you gently so you were laying your head on your pillows. he was in between your legs, arms caging your frame.

“shh calm down baby,” he whispered, wiping your mascara stained eyes with his thumbs.

he petted your hair, large hands slowly making their way to your cheeks.

“i’m here, i’m here.” he cooed as your cries hushed, turning into soft hiccups.

in this position he could feel you wet through your bloomers. he looked at your eyes as if to ask for permission silently, before he cupped your mound through the frilly fabric.

“what d’you need bunny?”

“need you rafey,” you whined. he carefully pulled down your bloomers, a string of slick connecting your pussy to the fabric.

rafe grew hard at the sight, taking his thumb to run across your slit. his other thumb trailing to play with your nipples through your top.

you mewl at the simultaneous sensations, given you haven’t experienced them in a long while. he took that as a sign to circle your clit, causing your eyes to shut and your legs to close, only to be blocked by rafe’s broad figure.

he then plunged two fingers in and out of you, thick digits stretching your tight hole. rafe’s hand that was previously playing with your tits find their way to your mouth, muffling your lewd moans.

“let’s be quiet bunny. your parents might be downstairs” he shushed, deep voice making your pussy clamp down on his fingers.

fingers curling up to hit your sweet spot, rafe could feel you getting close.

“you can cum baby, go ‘head,” he signals, feeling you gush all over his hand. eyes rolling to the back of your head, you felt euphoria rush through you.

as you rode out your high, rafe removes his hand from your mouth, drool dripping from your mouth and his hand.

“sorry,” you squeaked. he didn’t mind anyway, just happy you probably had your first orgasm not from your own fingers in months.

it never occured to you that this was an option, to be touched by your own bestfriend. this wouldn’t be the last time it happens, you could tell.

“thank you rafey.” you smiled weakly at him, looking through your lashes. he didn’t say anything, just kissed your forehead.

“are we late to dinner?” you asked, suddenly remembering why you were getting ready.

“i drive fast, we’ll make it,” he smirks, grabbing your small hand to cup the bulge through his pants.

dinner could wait.

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated !! love, scarlet.

[sourle]

What if killer reader were visibly in pain after the whole transformation into a killer, as in limping or using their dominant arm less or somthing

Reader IS in pain. Mentally.

Though i think Taph's the one who felt the most guilt.

Watching you getting stunned by either Chance, Guest, Shedletsky, or Two time while screeching in pain. You're already hurt, but with the add on stunned you're hurting a lot worse.

When he's low and is at your mercy, he tries to comfort you. Holding you close, STILL trying to get sense into you.

I talk A LOT about Taph, let's get the other survival, shall we?

Injuries

I kiss the scar on her skin

WARNINGS: DESCRIPTION OF INJURIES, GORE(?), BLOOD, ETC.

Note:

Noob

They felt guilty

They think one of the reasons you become like that is because of them. Which is true.

Noob felt bad whenever you screech or whine in pain.

He tried to reassure you once.. didn't end well.

Elliot

He felt slightly guilty

Whenever you whine or screech in pain he holds the urge to throw his pizza at you. To try and heal you.

He regrets never healing you, maybe if he did you'll be alright.

Even so he relatively moves on from it quicker than the others.

Shedletsky

He felt bit guilty

He held back whenever stunning you, hearing you screech in pain and whine makes him do so.

He's the second to be quick on moving on.

He kept the doodle you made of him at all times

He tried reasoning with you. Didn't end well.

Builderman

He knows this will happen, he knows it's coming.

He moves on quickly and he has no remorse about your pain.

Call him heartless yes but he did try to reason with you.

Sometimes plan for Taph to distract you half of the round or use him to get to your sense.

Though if you show you have no interest in reasoning, he'll focus on helping the others survive.

Dusekkar

A little birdie told him it's gonna happen. Sooner or later.

He's the one comforting Taph in his grief the most.

He too grief about you. Though not as much as Taph.

Whenever you wail in pain or cry out he's the second to be brave enough and comfort you.

He almost successfully convinced you to stop in one round but thanks to Shedletsky thinking we're about to attack Dusekkar.. yeah.

(idk what else mb soups)

Two time

The spawn warned them about it.

They're not surprised, they become more manic thinking the others might also turn like you.

They would stare whenever you wail in pain after they backstabbed you. You remind them of someone dear that they hurt.

Chance

He would instantly sword to never use his gun on you again.

They felt bad, even worse when he's the main reason you switched up.

They shouldn't have left you, they should've helped you. Maybe then you would still be the same.

He did apologize once, he was spared with only 1 hp left.

They don't know if that is a forgive or not.

Guest 1337

He tried to ignore it.

He's quick to move on from you transforming into a killer.

Whenever you cry or wail he would pause, and held back to charge or punch you for a bit.

Only a bit though if he thinks you're dangerously close to killing someone he has no choice but to stun you.

Taph

Full on crashing out whenever you cry

He doesn't have the heart to hear you wail in pain

The moment you let out a sob he will appear and hug you

Bro fr gives you a Taph bean, he does not explain where he got it.

007n7

He felt bad and guilty, even as he's not in the round.

He wished he was, to help you.

The third to be brave enough to comfort you, he tried. He did but sometimes it doesn't work.

It almost once. Thanks to Builderman's turret nearby. Yeah, you can guess no one survived.

Note: urhrhuh KillerYFAT!Reader needs a hug

[daylighted]

HEY, JUDE ㅤ₊ ㅤ˚ ㅤ✧ ㅤ ﾟ ㅤ. ㅤ☾

☽ㅤdetails, or, dean never expected to have a family of his own, and his expectations hold true when all that becomes of it is a baby who looks identical to you.

☽ㅤincludes, single dad!dean, girl dad!dean, reader exists in mentions, self deprecation, grief, blood mentions, death mentions, i am so sorry

word count: 7.1k

 baby girl.

“hey, jude,” he murmurs softly into his baby girl’s ear, cradling the fussing, teary eyed infant to his chest. she was still so little — so fucking little — but he wasn’t sure when being little shifted from something to coo over to something to fuss over. and he doesn’t have much comparison to go off of, over what is too small, not when everything shrinks in the expanse of his biceps.

it is not the first time he wishes you were still around, but instead another tack on the growing list. 

he is so fucking useless without you. he really is. and it only hits him now, in the dead of night when his little girl won’t stop crying like something aches or something’s wrong, and he’s completely at a loss on how to fix it. 

he couldn’t fix losing you; and now he can’t fix her. he’s all she’s got left, and he’s failing her. 

those thoughts are a plague. they fester. they gnaw on his skin and feast on his blood and whittle his bones. and he is so sick, and he is so lost, that he couldn’t find his way to a cure if he tried. 

jude is wailing now, and he’s seconds from joining her. he doesn’t know, still, the difference in a baby’s cries. he did not nurse her for nine months in his belly, like you did; the internal guidebook on fatherhood was not automatically installed into him when she was brought out to be cradled by you that very first time. his was a manual installation, and it was still, seven months in, fucking lagging. 

“m’sorry, jude,” he whispers into the soft hair gracing the top of her head. it’s the same color as yours. the only thing she inherited from him was his eyes, and he hates looking into them and seeing every failure he’d made so far reflected back at him. 

all he can do is rock her, until she stops her fussing or she doesn’t, and then he can switch tactics. he doesn’t think often about the military-sort of childhood that he was raised in, but it comes up every time in times like this, when his methods of defense present themselves in tactics. 

the cradling tactic: for when jude wailed like she was grieving, like she’d sobbed so hard in her dreams that it broke into real life. there was no way that little girl remembered your face, but sometimes he thought that she missed your voice, with the way his never seemed to soothe her in times like this. 

the food tactic: for when it was clear that the cradling tactic didn’t work. sometimes her lips opened and closed like a fish’s, and he could skip the first step entirely and go to this one. maybe he wasn’t entirely useless as a father, after all, if he subconsciously knew this little tell of hers. he’d never let himself think so kindly of himself for long, though.

the diaper tactic: no explanation needed. this one he could always tell when was necessary. sometimes, it’d linger like the plague in his blood, and then he’d had to dive into, 

the bath tactic: which jude hated. god, she fucking hated baths, almost like she could tell that warmth was the thing that took you from the both of them. that’s why sometimes, even when it felt awful, he let her cry while he sat idly in the rocking chair beside her crib. didn’t want to stress her out more with his lack of coherency when it came to what she needed — and that little fact, that he thought it upset her more sometimes when he tried to be the thing to fill the missing, bleeding wound that was you. 

in his arms as he rocked her, jude’s little mouth opened and closed. her cries were still ear piercing and raw, but at least he could do something about it now. he nearly sighs in relief the moment that she gives him that little hint, like she can tell, in her infancy, that he was incapable of this on his own. 

she’d moved away from bottles long before, and upgraded to the wonderful world of mashed vegetables and fruits. though, she hated new flavors. he thought it was a game, in a way; always making him have the first tiny spoonful of pureed asparagus. he felt like a bodyguard in moments like those, testing if the princess’s food was poisoned before she got a taste.

but it was late, and she didn’t need any of the cereals that they’d been working on, too — though, he really would never have argued with stealing a couple or a couple dozen of those little strawberry banana things. 

and she was spoiled, despite all of his worries that he was failing her. she’d get to stay in his arms while she ate, instead of the high chair he should have been adjusting her to. 

oh well. add it to the tallied list on how he was fucking up his — your — little girl. he could take it.

“feelin’ midnight snacky, is that it?” he asks, so softly, always so softly like any increase to his volume will shatter her. honestly, he thought that she was the strongest person he’d ever met, and she wasn’t even a year old yet. she could only grow up to impress him — and ruin him, with how she was already turning into a mini you. 

she still cried, because she always cried until her problem was fixed in its entirety, but the sobs had broken and given way to sniffles and unintelligible noises that sounded too close to mama for his comfort. 

mama, mama, mama. shit— how did he tell her that he missed her, too? how does someone baby-talk down the fact that she was dead, and there was nothing, nothing, nothing left anymore without her? 

well, except for jude, of course. and what a stark reminder that is, that she’s all he has left of you. 

tonight’s snack was mashed carrots. the last one of that flavor, because it was jude’s favorite. had to be because it was such a stark color, the color of the deepest sunsets, one of the things that you loved the most. 

he pops the top with one hand, the other still cradling this tiny thing that was his daughter to his chest. the metal lid clatters to the ground, and he winces, thinking that the noise is only going to startle and break his daughter’s heart more. but to his surprise, as he dips his hand into the drawer of silverware, now mostly full of those baby sized spoons with zoo animals on the handles, jude is silent.

not just silent, but curious. dean knows the curious look, even if he doesn’t know how to differentiate most of her expressions still. it’s because it’s the same as yours used to be. lips parted, eyes wide, darting around. it’s more devastating on jude, though, because she has the longest eyelashes, and the smallest little lips, so small he can hear every breath she draws in as she searches for what captured her attention. 

dean smiles to himself. it’s these moments where he doesn’t feel quite so much like a terrible father; when his little girl has stopped wailing, and looks at him for every answer he might have.

maybe by the time she’s grown, he’ll have some of those answers.

 toddler.

“hey, jude,” dean snaps his fingers to capture jude’s attention, his expression flat and exasperated at once, “get the remote out of your chompers, alright? don’t know where all it’s been.” 

really, he doesn’t know. at one point or another: between the couch cushions, underneath the rocking chair cushion — every damn cushion, really, the dusty floor, the clean floor. hell, it’d probably been in his mouth before, when his hands were too occupied with a beer and a plate. wouldn’t put it past him. 

jude is becoming a sassy little thing. she does specifically what he tells her not to, even at her ripe age of four, when she’s just barely beginning to figure out she’s a person. 

you didn’t even back talk him this much, when you were around, which leaves the answers for his many internal, baffled questions to be that jude had gotten it from him.

karma always does get its kiss, eventually. its kiss was in the form of a toddler with his attitude, his eyes, and your face.

she looked so much like you now. 

her little button nose was filling out in the shape of yours, her eyes were as big as yours, and she was so little compared to him, just like you’d been. she was in the in-between stage of her growing, small chubby limbs that made her whine every night, thumb still in her mouth because he can’t, can’t, bring himself to stop that little habit.

if dean could keep her this little and innocent forever, he would. fuck, he would. it was selfish, to want to preserve this tiny little girl in a box and keep her on his shelves, but the thought of watching her grow into a version of you…

it was easier, now, that a few years had passed. never easy, and never simple, but easier. his feelings were still complex, still bottled up deep within him and ignored, where the oddest things sometimes could send him into a spiral. sam would come, pick up his pieces and keep him from doing something stupid, and the cycle of denial would repeat.

but every day, dean swore he saw more of you in her. if it wasn’t the fact she was a mini you, it was the way she acted. hence the attitude — which, realistically, was all his own, but why would he ever vocalize that out loud?

jude stomps her bare foot on the hardwood, her little face scrunched up with so much volition you’d think he beheaded all of her teddy bears, and she was coming to enact revenge on him for it. “why?” 

oh, you used to do that too. that angry why at him instead of just trusting that whatever he said was with good intentions, or to the best of his knowledge, fact. 

dean stands in front of her at his towering height, staring down at this knee-height little girl with bows in her hair, and a little sundress that she’d fought and fought him about putting on. it’s a battle of centuries. 

jude breaks first. another foot stomp. her hand holding the remote is raising suspiciously slowly back to her mouth. 

“juliet.” dean tries to make his voice sound stern and commanding but he can never quite manage it with his little girl. that’s his princess, alright? “don’t make me go get mr. bear bear.” 

that used to get her. it used to get her so bad that she’d cry, thinking he was going to send mr. bear bear packing. that’s probably why he has such a hard time scolding jude — because any time he did, she’d start bawling. it had to be a manipulation tactic. 

at least he was aware of it, even if he fell for it everytime. 

“mr. bear bear isn’t talkin’ t’you.” 

dean bristles. “and what does mr. bear bear think i did this time, huh? is he mad i made you brush your teeth?”

it’s ridiculous, standing in the middle of his living room, having a cowboy showdown with his four year old daughter about a stuffed animal named mr. bear bear. but that’s parenthood, he guesses.

her arms cross firmly over her chest. in this moment, and this moment alone, he sees himself in her. he’s standing just like that too. “he says,” she starts, interrupted by a hiccup that discredits all of his arguments, because he’s a goner. already wants to swoop her into his arms and apologize to her. “he says you make things up.” 

vague. and true. but how does mr. bear bear know this? frankly, none of his business, if you asked dean.

 “what’s he sayin’ i’m lyin’ about?” dean shoots back, his head tilting up in that cocky little sneer that jude loves. good cop, bad cop is her favorite game to play with him, even though her version of a good cop includes smashing her toy cars into his leg to make him confess. it works, though. his bruises prove it.

as if on cue, jude’s giggling up a storm, interrupted only by bursts of her hiccups. “lyin’ about mommy.” 

the floor drops out from beneath him. he feels nauseous. he feared this day coming and here it was. the first time she brought you up, too much intelligence in that little brain of hers, to know that it just wasn’t common to not have a mommy alongside your bad cop daddy.

he keeps a brave face, though. bad cops don’t break persona the first time something detrimental gets dropped into their lap. “go bring ‘im out here. lemme give him a talkin’ to, too.” 

she sprints off, so steady on her little feet now that it adds to the ache in his chest. she was getting so much bigger, and you weren’t here to see it. maybe you were looking down, watching as her tiny form grew taller and stronger. he could hope, couldn’t he? 

jude returns moments later, soft brown teddy bear in her arms. his little bowtie is a mockery of him, if what jude says that he says is true.

in his heart, he knows that all of the things that the bear tells her are her own thoughts, manifesting in a gentler form so that it doesn’t hurt her as badly when they do. it breaks his heart. so little, and she’s already gotten a defense mechanism in place.

dean kneels down to be eye level with jude, gingerly plucking mr. bear bear out of her small fingers. “a certain pretty princess told me you were mad at me, sir,” he says, voice lowered like it was just him and this fucking bear, ear forever wet from jude’s gnawing, even though he’d thought she’d gotten over that fixation. he’ll feel like an idiot for having a serious, talk-it-out conversation later with his daughter’s teddy bear, but for now, her feelings are more important to him. always. “i’ll be honest, bear bear, i have been keeping things from the pretty princess. your feelings are very valid.” 

he’s quoting things from his therapist, now. to a teddy bear. they don’t tell you a thing about parenthood before you get into it, but they certainly don’t tell you this.

“i just didn’t want her to think that it was her fault, not at all, about what happened to her mommy. surely you understand. you and i, we keep our pretty princess safe, don’t we?” he even pauses for an answer that won’t come, his eyes flicking over to his little girl, her folded hands in front of her as she patiently waits. she’s so sweet that it kills him. “mama didn’t go away on a business trip, you’re right. mama died, very tragically, while protecting our pretty princess. and it’s not her fault, and not our girl’s, either.” 

there’s a little sniffle from behind the bear in his hands, and he looks up to see jude, eyes welled and lip wobbly in that way that makes his heart ache. just like when she was a baby, when her screams shattered his heart to pieces, but worse, because her tears were silent now, like she was trying to soothe it all away herself.

she didn’t have to. that’s why he was there. dean hands her back the bear, and in that same movement, scoops her into his arms in a tight embrace. instantly, she falls apart at the seams, her shoulders shaking as the stuffing pours from the buttons of her eyes. 

“she would have loved you,” he whispers into the top of her head, smoothing out the tangly strands with his fingers. you really would have loved her, too. she humbled him — you humbled him. she broke his heart, you broke his heart. 

maybe she’d forgive him one day, for letting something happen to you when he promised he wouldn’t, when he swore up and down that you were it for him, that you wouldn’t—

it’s too much. even when dean feels like he’s getting better with this grief thing, he can’t move past it. not when there’s a smaller you attached to his hip, waiting for him to hang the world for her and protect her, too. 

he can only hope that he gets it right this time.

 child.

“hey! jude!” dean stands out on the sidewalk before the elementary school, seeing jude off on her first day of third grade. in his hands is her little lunchbox, ever forgotten in her excitement.

every single first day, dean cries. he’s not ashamed of it, either. it’s tough seeing his little girl run off into the real world on her own, and being the one to see her off, all on his lonesome. 

it wasn’t like the single moms didn’t try to catch his attention, either. they constantly did. it was that he preferred the isolation over the company every time. how could anyone hold a candle to you? 

jude glances over her shoulder, her long hair flipping in the process, catching in the wind. he has to bite back a sigh. the braid’s already loose, the strands already spilling out of it, tangling in the wind. 

her little feet stomp back toward him, splashing in the remnants of last night’s rain in the concrete,and dean wants to tell her to slow down. wants to tell her to stop time, stay exactly like this. young, small, forever protected by him. just to prove to himself that he could protect something, and that he’d never have to see her hurt. 

“thanks, daddy!” she lisps through her wide, toothy grin. she’s got the cutest gap tooth right now from losing one of her front teeth in a burger a few days ago, the pink gums peeking from between her middle teeth making him smile every single time he saw it. she was never embarrassed, or shy, about that smile, either. 

her hand is outstretched for the lunchbox. pink and purple and glittery, and one of the most expensive at the store. anything for his jude, though. 

dean keeps it back from her, his chin tilting up in mock sternness. “what do we do if people are mean to us?” he asks in a reminder of their rules. he had a couple of them that he never let up on. 

“kick their ass,” jude says, her fingers clapping against her palm in a gesture to get her box. “ass. ass?” each attempt comes out more lispy, her face contorting in her irritation. “kick their ass.” 

dean cackles, inching the lunchbox slightly closer. “very good, baby girl,” he says with a nod, “now what do we do if someone puts their hand on us?” 

“break their fuckin’ fingers,” jude grins, her eyes glimmering. ever since she found out that her dad’s rules had bad words in them, she was as mischievous as ever about saying them. 

dean’s eyebrows raise. “how?” 

her little hand — so big now, though, it makes his heart clench in his chest — grasps his fingers and pulls back, and once his hand is as bent as her strength can manage, she twists. 

dean lets out a nervous chuckle, tugging his hand free from her light grip. “whoa, princess. no breakin’ daddy’s fingers, alright?” he flexes his fingers, reaching out to grab her hand and kiss her tiny knuckles. 

she was nowhere near close to hurting him. but who was he to ever crush his little girl’s spirits? he couldn’t. he couldn’t. 

jude’s evil grin only widens, though. “maybe someone will try me t’day and i’ll get t’break their fingers!” 

“you should not be wishing for that,” dean says, even though his heart swells in the process. jude may have been an identical version of you, but the longer she spent around him, the more parts of him shined through. god, he loved her so much. “last rule?” 

jude’s expression softens. her milky green eyes glisten with unshed tears, and this is the part that always ruins him, that brings him to his knees. “hug my daddy goodbye, always.” 

“almost forgot this time,” he mumbles, his voice more strained than it should be after having done this four years now. he kneels, holding open his arms, the lunchbox still dangling in his fingers. 

she was growing up too fast. getting so independent so fast. jude practically jumps into his arms, his grip tight around her little frame as hers is around his neck. 

he doesn’t want to let go. letting go always feels like giving her away to someone else, and he can’t. she’s all that’s left of you, and he’s selfish, and he doesn’t want anyone else to love his little girl as much as he does. 

“can i tell you a secret?” she whispers in his ear, and he nods into her hair, taking the liberty to reach up and tug the hairtie out of the ends. it would get lost somewhere in that school if he didn’t now, and the purple ones were her favorite. couldn’t lose them on his watch. 

“i tell mommy goodbye, too,” jude says, lifting her head to look dean in the eyes. her look was so earnest, so warm and raw, that dean’s eyes got glassier than they already were. 

“yeah?” dean asks, clearing his throat. the last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of his kid. he was a tough guy, took all of the hits that life tried to deliver to her, was covered in bruises and scars all over the skin she loved to cling to. “mommy ever say anything back?” 

she nods, picking at a thread on her shirt. “she says she’s always watching.” 

how weak did it make him to nearly buckle under that quiet admission? how pathetic was he that any mention of you, even in his daughter’s big imagination, had him clinging to those thoughts, using them as ways to self soothe the aching hole that you left in his soul? 

dean reaches up to pinch her cheek between his two fingers, handing her the lunchbox, finally. “go on, pretty princess. don’t want you to be late.” 

didn’t want her to see him cry, either. he was clinging to the last shreds of his stability, losing grip by the second.

“bye bye, daddy!” jude hugs him one last time as he stands, clinging to his knee for a second before turning on her heel and sprinting away. 

he watches. watches as her little self disappears into the big front doors of lawrence elementary. watches until she’s long gone, and straggling parents running late drop off their kids that sprint away without a goodbye hug, or a promise that their mommy’s always watching them when dean can’t. 

dean’s eyes flick up to the sky, like maybe he can see you there in between the clouds. the sun looks a little brighter today. maybe it’s you, seeing jude off, too.

“thanks,” he whispers, nodding once to you. he watches, then, too. for any sign in the sky that you heard him — a twitch in the clouds, a flicker in the sunbeams pouring down on the concrete. but everything is still.

☽ ₊ ㅤ˚ ㅤ✧ ㅤ ﾟ ㅤ. ㅤ☾

“i’m serious, sam,” dean says into the phone, keeping it held to his ear with the press of his shoulder, “it could just be kid stuff, but—” 

“...but when is it ever actually just the imagination explanation, yeah,” sam finishes, voice scratchy through the speaker. both of them are silent for a second, dean shoveling fries into his mouth while he sits in the long ass pick-up line outside of the school. “and, you know, jude doesn’t seem like she’d make things up.” 

dean almost snorts. he’s talking about the little girl that still puts mr. bear bear at the kitchen table when they eat dinner, still makes dean make him a plate and everything. 

but he’s right, about this. jude had stopped asking her prying questions about you the moment dean told her the truth, so it didn’t make sense for her to suddenly tell him this, insisting that her mother talked to her—

“she died like mom did,” sam continues, his voice softer, more sincere. “which could mean—” 

“that she’s one of those chosen special kids like you were, yeah, i know.” dean shakes his head. the thought makes his stomach feel like it’s bottoming out. he shoves the fast food bag further into the passenger seat, appetite vanished. “m’not thinkin’ about that right now.” 

sam scoffs into the speaker. “you’ll have to. and if you don’t tell her now—” 

“do not fucking tell me, sammy,” he says through gritted teeth, moving the phone from his shoulder to properly hold it at his ear, “how to raise my kid.” 

“dean.” sam’s sincerity makes dean want to kill him, in this moment. “you can get cute little kid questions now, or you can get resentment later.” 

dean’s eyes flick up to the front entrance of the school, to the hundreds of kids piling out of the doors. in the midst is his kid, her tiny feet carrying her quickly to his car. “gotta go, sammy. good talk.” 

he hangs up before sammy can get another word in. realistically, he knows sam is right, but that doesn’t make him happy about it. what little kid doesn’t want to have superpowers? and what teenager wants to be outcasted? the choice was clear. just… uncomfortable. 

jude throws up the front passenger seat door, tossing her backpack onto the ground with a hard thump. “fun first day?” dean asks, automatically scanning over her. no injuries, hair still in the loose waves from the fallen out braid, dress still in tact, shoes both still on—

“boring.” she sighs, climbing up into the seat with practiced ease. her eyes light up at the greasy bag in her seat. “for me?”

“who else, pretty girl? i don’t see anyone else around.” dean waits until she’s nice and buckled up before he takes the car out of park and starts to — slowly — leave the school zone.

jude already has her fist shoved deeply into the bag, digging around. there’s half a box of fries left, half a burger — he got hungry, alright? it isn’t until her little fingers are shoving two fries in her mouth at once than dean asks it. 

“any new updates from mommy?” hurts to say, hurts to think, but he can’t imagine being jude, potentially having a direct hotline to you on the other side, and not ever getting to see you. not knowing how great you were, besides the fact that you were her mommy. 

jude shrugs her shoulders. “just a little one.” 

dean’s fingers tap idly on the steering wheel. “and? what was it?” 

jude’s chewing with her mouth open, half bitten fries hanging out of her hand. “she said, ‘always.’ but i dunno what the heck mommy was talking about.” 

dean knew. and maybe the sun was a little brighter now, and maybe the clouds looked a little bit more like you.

 teenager.

“hey, jude,” dean sighs, a frown already tugged deeply on his lips at the sight of his daughter standing on the stairs, still dressed in her pajamas. 

she’d been sadder lately. wouldn’t talk. wouldn’t open up. he’d pushed a little too hard, and now he was suffering the tail end of the silent treatment. tail end because he was certain that she was going to talk to him, now. even if it wasn’t to let him inside that angsty head of hers. 

jude had her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes full of a deep disappointment that no girl her age should know about, let alone replicate. “dad.” 

see? he knew she would talk. it was… a very poor start, but a start nonetheless. 

“m’sorry that i asked about…” he made a broad, vague gesture with his hand. “you know.” 

“about my abilities, or about mom?” she snaps back, her eyebrows raising. one of her arms unwind from herself and the hand leans on the stairs’ railing. “because i have a feeling that you’re only sorry for one thing.” 

damn it. dean has to close his eyes and count to ten. he’s had to do this a lot, recently. teenagers were not for the faint of heart, and jude was as sassy as they came, just like you’d been. 

god, she looked so much like you. it was more evident now than anything, as she approached the age that you were when you…

“jude,” he starts, his hand moving to his face, scrubbing at it. his face is scruffier than usual, not in the mood to clean it up when his little girl was seething and hurting in the other room. who could do that? who could go about their routine while their daughter suffered? “you know i don’t use you to hear from her, right? you know that?” 

jude bristles. another wrong thing to say. he wants to be frustrated, but wasn’t he just like this as a teenager too? expecting everyone to know what he was thinking and what he wanted? “well, you never ask about the others.” 

“the others?” 

“the others,” she echoes again, like he’s the stupidest guy that’s ever walked this planet. “you never ask about grandma—” 

“don’t wanna know about grandma,” he says instantly.

her eyes roll. “don’t ask about grandpa, either.” 

“especially don’t wanna know about him.” dean’s figured out, in his own way, at his own pace, that his father’s treatment toward him wasn’t kind. all of the expectations placed on him were not normal, and were entirely neglectful as they were harsh. 

it took having his own kid to figure that out, sure, but he did. it should count for something. 

“why are you talking to grandma and grandpa, anyways?” 

“because they’re telling me things!” she shouts, her lip starting to wobble. dean didn’t mean to break through to her like this, but he did, and he’s thankful, in a way, for the progress. “they’re saying—” 

dean waits. he knows better than to approach without warning, has learned just how mean a teenage girl can get if you try and comfort her in the ways that she liked as a kid. he also knows that asking will only push her away. that’s how they’d gotten here, after all. 

“they keep saying something bad is going to happen.” 

dean blinks in alarm. “what?” he takes a step forward anyways, and he can’t help but reach out now. his hand closes around her wrist lightly, waiting for her to pull back. she doesn’t. that’s how dean knows that she’s serious, that she’s afraid. “what are they saying, princess?” 

her free hand lifts to wipe at her eyes, the irises that match his own locking and holding his stare. he can almost see the little girl in them, again; the one that was so curious, had so many questions, that looked at him like he held them in his palms. 

“grandma says she’ll be here for me,” she whimpers, shaking her head, “grandpa says to stay strong. mom says…” 

dean holds his breath. as much as he hates jude thinking that he uses her to hear from you, each update on what you say sticks in his mind until the next comes. he’s selfish, selfish, selfish. 

“mama says she’s so, so sorry.” 

dean is floored. it’s all so vague, all of the messages that come through the veil and into jude’s heart are always so vague, like the energy it takes to reach her is too much, and so they try to condense it down, but it’s an unintelligible mess. 

he can only think that that means something is going to happen to him. if the ghosts of his past are comforting her, that means that something godawful is in the plans for him. 

he tries to keep up a strong appearance, but the thought of abandoning jude, his little girl, makes him want to be sick.

“that’s just ghost speak,” he tries to say lightheartedly, his thumb gently tracing circles on her inner wrist, trying to soothe her worries about his impending death. god, this was the worst update of them yet. he’d thought hearing your promise to watch over her always was hard, but this… “you know how they are. vague, unhelpful, stirrin’ the pot from the other side because they're bored…” 

“mama’s never done that to me.” jude is starting to close off now. how come all of his worst traits made it into her, mixed in with all of your best traits? every time he’d come to terms with the fact that the only thing jude got of his was his eyes, something else peeked out, rearing its ugly head.

stubborn. hot-headed. reserved. 

he couldn’t bear to see it all reflected back at him in her identical eyes. 

dean doesn’t want her to keep pulling away, disappearing into her mind, a mind so much older than it needed to be. jude was only sixteen. there was no reason for her to bear all of this, to wear it so blatantly on her face. 

“it’s little glimpses into the future,” he says instead of reassurances that don’t land, “right? you hear them speak to you when they can manage it, and it coincides with the—” 

“visions,” jude fills in, nodding. every time sammy came over, they talked about this shared connection they had. it makes dean a little more angry than it should, that sam had this one-up on him, when it came to connecting with his impossibly-reserved daughter. “the visions.” 

dean nods along with her, letting go of her wrist finally. “so what was the vision this time?” 

dean’s phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. he doesn’t answer it. sam usually calls a few times after dean’s initial lack of response, and he either picks up if he’s freed before the routine comes to a close, or he just calls back when he can. right now, he wasn’t abandoning his daughter for anything. 

the phone stops ringing. jude must have been waiting for it to, before she spoke, because her words are firm and confident. “you were there.” 

dean closes his eyes. he expected this, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt still. 

“you were there, and you had blood all over you—” her lip is trembling again. his phone is ringing again. “and you were screaming, your voice was nearly gone…” 

his mind cuts back to his time in hell, when all he could do was scream as he was tortured relentlessly. every piece added up. 

his phone stops for a few seconds, starts up again. dean pulls it out of his pocket to turn it off. “that it?” 

jude’s eyes snap back into focus. “that’s it.” 

he’s devastated. all sixteen years of jude’s life, he wished that you were here alongside him. now, more than anything, he wished it too. he’d be abandoning your daughter. leaving her to face the real world alone, by herself. he could have handled it — at least better than now — if he knew he’d be leaving jude with you, but— 

“we’ll figure it out, okay?” he says softly, and when he pulls jude into his arms, she doesn’t pull away. she buries her face into his chest like she used to when she was smaller, less broken on the inside. 

he wished you were here, too, with your ability to stop time. keep him and you and jude in this moment forever, before he was taken away from her.

 young adult.

“hey, hey, jude,” dean’s voice trembles, shock and adrenaline at war in his veins. he’d never moved so fast in his life, catching her before she could tumble to the ground. 

her body folds on itself anyways, blood staining her chin, pooled in the corners of her lips. her mouth opens and closes, and no words come out, only the sound of gurgles as her throat fills with blood. 

her chest is so red that it’s black, shining under the moonlight. there, beneath her shirt, was a gunshot wound, fabric torn open where the collision happened. 

this wasn’t supposed to happen. this wasn’t supposed to happen. jude asked for anything, and he gave it to her, even when she was twenty-one now, and a lot of parents would take that as meaning it was time for her to find her own footing.

how could she without trying the things that she wanted? she knew about how he used to hunt. was desperate to see what it was like, just once, at least, before he was stolen away. five years later, he was still kicking strong, and he thought — he thought it would be okay. just a lone vampire on the outskirts of kansas. 

the drive had been fun. easy. he let jude drive baby a little, let her pick the music for once, and somehow fell asleep to the lullaby that was metallica. being raised by him had embedded itself into her nature, it seemed. 

he didn’t anticipate that he was, maybe, out of practice. maybe a bit too old for this. it was no wonder that his dad was gone for long periods of time on hunts because it took a while to get things right, when your body was slowing and your defenses were weakening. 

he hadn’t seen the gun. he hadn’t seen the gun. he— 

“jude?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically small. “jude, baby, c’mon, open your eyes—” 

“dad?” her voice is barely even a breath, wet and thick and faint. “dad, what’s… what’s happening?” jude’s mouth is opening and closing again. she coughs, and blood splatters onto his shirt, onto the wetness seeping through hers. “i don’t feel good.” her grip on his hand is loosening. his tightens. 

dean’s phone rings in his pocket. sam. has to be sam. no one else ever calls him but sam, anymore, and jude. but jude was here bleeding out. sam, sam, sam, if he could spare a few seconds to answer it—

but his eyes dart away and in that moment, jude’s eyes start to roll back into her head, and he panics. he pulls her tighter to his chest with one arm, letting go of her hand to fumble for his phone. it stops ringing. 

“just keep talking, baby girl, c’mon,” he mumbles, and he wants to shake her, he wants to force her eyes open, to force every bit of his life force into her. it was on a time limit anyways, right? 

his heart stops. his phone starts ringing again, or maybe it’s just his ears. 

grandma says she’ll be here for me. 

grandpa says stay strong. 

mama says—

dean feels his stomach lurch, his throat full of bile and tight with the growing lump in it. it was never him that was going to die. it was never him. 

it took five years for her fate to reach her. fate was so fucking fickle like that; turning your brain into a worried muddle of mess all the while knowing and withholding the exact things that worried you. 

he looks down at himself, and he’s covered in blood. and he knows exactly when he’ll start screaming to the point of losing his voice. 

“dad, it’s so cold,” jude says through a small sob, tears prickled in the corners of her eyes. “it’s so—” 

dean isn’t going to tell her, that she saw her own death five years prior. that this was the moment they’d been dreading, but reversed. tears pool in his eyes and spill over like waterfalls, turning the blood on her face watery and pink. 

“it’s okay,” he promises, his voice shaking, tremoring. “it’s okay, baby girl.” 

it wasn’t okay. but he’d been keeping secrets and sparing her from the truth for years now, when he could. maybe she’d forgive him for it. but he was not strong enough to let her feel bad for his mistakes this time. 

“i’m sorry,” she chokes out, another coughing fit bursting from her blood-slickened mouth. “i’m s’sorry—” 

“nothing to apologize for, pretty princess,” he says, and his voice strains through his throat like it’s being cut by shards of glass. “you have always, always been the perfect little girl. even now, look at you. trying to apologize to me, when—” 

dean doesn’t finish. his lips pull into a forced, small smile. “do you remember when you were a little girl?” 

jude doesn’t react. doesn’t move. each moment between her chest rising and falling is growing longer. “you’d be scared of the shadows in your closet, or of the voices you heard that i didn’t,” he explains anyways, each breath of his own trembling, “and you’d make me sing to you. remember? like my mama — like grandma used to, with me.” 

her lips quirk ever so slightly, her eyes distant, foggy. “hey, jude.” 

he nods. his grip on her gets tighter, like he can hug the life back into her. but dean can’t. he’s not the son with the abilities, or the dad with the magic or the answers, or you, who could stop time in this moment and call someone while the clock stayed still. he’s just dean, and he’s losing the last piece of you he had left, and the pieces of his daughter that he loved so, so much. 

“i don’t want you scared right now,” he whispers, moving her carefully in his arms to cradle her. he used to wish that she’d stop growing, would always stay small enough to fit in his arms. it feels like a sick joke now. “so if you want me to sing, i’ll sing.” 

“okay,” jude says, and her eyes lock onto his for a brief second, before they start to fade again. 

the words fall from his mouth in shuddering, shaky gasps, his eyes locked on jude’s. jude’s, that are open and unmoving. jude’s, that have always matched his, the one thing that she got from him. 

his voice is raw, echoing in the abandoned den, screaming so loud that it would have woke the dead up, if it worked that way. but it didn’t, because jude didn’t move, and the world was silent and buzzing in his ears, or maybe it was his phone ringing again, again, again, and the only thing that played in his head was the song that used to comfort him.

hey jude, don't make it bad. take a sad song and make it better. remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better.

tags, @depressionbarbie2023 @jasvtsc @deanswidow @titsout4nicholas @cosmicanakin

@beausling @whyyouegg @ostaramoon @ultravi0lence14 @bombarda-babe

i fr don't know who esle to tag the more ppl i tag the more i will have to say sorry to

[itneverendshere]

the thought of rafe taking care of his newborn. maybe mama went to shower and she comes out and she hears the baby just hard crying and she checks on them, and rafes covered in spit up and he’s trying to sponge bath her in the kitchen sink softly talking to her

mini version of myself livin' in me - r.c

pairing: pogue!reader x rafe (bartender!reader universe) warnings: none.

the warm spray of water and the scent of lavender swarmed around you like a hug as you stood under the pressure shower.

it had been one of those long days—your baby girl's cries louder than usual, her needs more demanding, and your sleep-deprived body feeling drained.

but the thought of rafe taking care of her while you finally took a moment for yourself brought a giddy smile to your face.

once you were done, you turned off the water, wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel, and stepped out, only to still be welcomed by the sound of your daughter’s cries across the house, louder and more urgent.

your heart thudded as you reached the source, feet still damp against the wooden floor.

the sight in the kitchen made you stop.

rafe stood by the sink, his broad back slightly hunched as he leaned over your baby girl.

his shirt was splattered with spit-up, damp spots spreading across his chest and sleeves, a wet dishtowel in hand, and completely focused on autumn.

your baby was in the sink, squirming and red-faced, he cradled her with one arm while using the other to gently sponge her down with a damp cloth.

his hair, usually perfectly messy, stuck to his forehead in damp strands, and there was a smear of baby lotion on his cheek.

autumn's tiny fists waved in the air, her cries coming in shuddering gasps, his thumb tracing delicate circles on her belly, his expression infinitely tender.

“shh, i know. almost done. i promise,” he planted a soft kiss on her forehead before continuing to gently wash her.

she let out another hiccuped wail and his voice continued as a low, soothing hum.

“hey, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he cooed, running the cloth over her chubby arms. “daddy’s here.”

her cries came in hiccups now, and you watched, heart swelling twice in size, as rafe chuckled to himself despite the chaos around him.

“you’re tough, just like your mama."

you leaned against the doorway, a warm smile spreading across your face. there he was, the man you fell in love with, completely wrapped up in his role as a father, covered in spit-up and unfazed.

he must have sensed your presence, because he turned, his blue eyes lighting up with relief when they met yours.

“hey,” he said, a little sheepishly. “didn’t hear you come in.”

“looks like you two had fun,” you mused, moving closer.

your gaze fell on the little face that looked back at you, blue eyes wide and tear-streaked. the hiccupped sobs had quieted, and her tiny fingers now curled and uncurled, reaching for something familiar.

“yeah,” rafe said with a lopsided smile, running a hand through his hair, leaving it even messier. “but we’re good, right, little lady?” he leaned down and rubbed his nose lightly against hers, eliciting a soft, surprised coo from autumn.

you rested your hand on his damp arm and he shifted slightly so you could see her better.

you stroked her chubby cheek, your fingers tracing the perfect features that were a blend of both of you.

“she’s calmer now,” you said, the tension in your body unwinding as you looked at your husband.

“only because you’re here,” he replied, turning his head to plant a quick, affectionate kiss on your temple. the way his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes made you fall in love all over again.

“you’re soaked,” you laughed, brushing your thumb over the damp splotch on his shoulder.

“hazards of the job,” he said, smirking. “but she’s worth it.”

suddenly, the tiniest sound broke—a quick, unmistakable baby fart.

there was a second of silence as rafe’s eyes widened comically, and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up.

“did she just…” you started, your voice already filled with laughter.

rafe’s expression changed from disbelief to a look of exaggerated dread.

he shot you a pleading look, brows raised. “i don’t even wanna check. please, for the love of all that’s holy, tell me she didn’t shart on my hand again.”

you covered your mouth, failing to stop a giggle from spilling out, and took a step forward to peer at your daughter, who now seemed quite content, eyes wide and bright.

“oh, she definitely did,” you nodded.

he groaned, head tilting back as if appealing to the heavens.

“why me?” he asked, half-joking, half-resigned, though the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement.

“because you’re her dad,” you teased, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “and she already knows you’re wrapped around her little finger.”

rafe rolled his eyes, looking down at autumn, who gave a soft, innocent coo. “yeah, yeah. you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“she’s definitely yours,” you added, brushing your hand over her growing hair. “she farts just like you.”

his jaw dropped, eyes wide.

“excuse me?” he sputtered, hand on his chest as if you’d just hit him with the worst insult imaginable. “are you serious right now?”

you laughed, the sound coming out so naturally that even your baby seemed to sense the lightheartedness, letting out a warbling giggle of her own.

“i mean, the resemblance is uncanny,” you added, doubling down.

he leaned in closer. “for the record, my farts are silent,” he declared, trying to keep a straight face.

“...if you say so,” you drew out the words with mock skepticism.

rafe’s mouth fell open in playful indignation.

“hey! i barely fart in front of you!” he said, defensiveness in his voice as he pointed at you.

“sure, sweetheart,” you replied, giving him a patronizing pat on the arm. your grin widened when you saw his eyes narrow in faux irritation.

“no, really!” he protested, shaking his head and trying not to smile. “you make me sound like i’m just walking around the house, letting loose left and right.”

you leaned in, your voice low, “rafe, there was that one time on movie night—”

“oh, come on! that was once!” he said, throwing his hands up in exaggerated defeat.

his sudden movement made your daughter wiggle in his arms, and she let out a content gurgle as if agreeing with you.

“see? even she remembers,” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

“great. now i’m outnumbered in my own house,” he muttered, the corners of his mouth twitching up.

you pressed another kiss to his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin.

“don’t worry, daddy. we still love you, gas and all.”

rafe was already halfway through a shit-eating grin when you rolled your eyes so deep into the back of your skull.

“grow up,” you scoffed, arching an eyebrow. “you don’t have to smirk every time i call you ‘daddy.’”

rafe chuckled, entirely unapologetic, “what? it’s not my fault you say it in that voice!”

“i hope she shits on you again.”

he let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest in feigned betrayal. "wow. cursing me with more spit-up and sharts? you’re cruel.”

autumn let out a loud noise, drawing your attention back to her. she gazed up at rafe with wide, adoring eyes, her tiny fingers wrapping around his thumb.

his voice softened as he looked down at her, completely captivated.

“guess i wouldn’t mind a few more spit-ups,” he confessed, a look of pure love in his eyes.

you smiled as you watched them. “lucky for you, i don’t think she’s done with those anytime soon.”

i cannot confirm or deny if this was also inspired by mads fart video on ig

[nickeverdeen]

Ok so I have a request! Maybe it’s about when reader was pregnant with Felicia, her and Vi’s daughter, an Vi freaks out when the reader goes into labour. But as soon as Felicia is born, she absolutely adores her daughter already and tears up a little. Not only that but she loves and admires the reader even more for going through the whole birth. Maybe her and reader joke about not having another kid after Felicia due to how painful the birth was. Just some wholesome moment with the new parents.

Painful Love | Vi x pregnant!fem!reader

Pairings: Vi x reader (romantic), Felicia x reader (family), Felicia x Vi (family)

Type of fic: Comfort, Fluff

Warnings: Childbirth, Cussing

Summary: When you go into a labor over night Vi takes you to the hospital where you give birth to your daughter Felicia and it becomes just a small wholesome moment between the three of you.

——————————

The contractions started late at night.

At first, you thought it was just the usual discomfort that had been plaguing you these past few weeks. Being nine months pregnant was no joke, and your body ached in ways you never thought possible. But then the pain sharpened, spreading across your lower abdomen in a way that stole your breath.

Oh. Oh no.

You barely had time to register what was happening before another contraction hit, and you gasped, gripping the sheets.

Vi stirred beside you, groggy from sleep. “Huh? What’s—”

Then she saw your face.

And she panicked.

“Oh, shit. Oh, shit. It’s happening, isn’t it?” She shot up so fast she nearly fell out of bed. “Okay, uh—hospital. We need to—fuck, where are my boots? Do you have a bag packed? You do, right? Shit, I should’ve packed a bag. Why didn’t I pack a bag?!”

You let out a weak laugh between contractions. “Vi—”

She was already pacing, running a frantic hand through her hair. “Okay, okay. Breathe. We got this. You got this. I just—fuck!”

“Vi!”

She froze, looking at you with wide, terrified eyes.

You exhaled through the pain, reaching for her hand. “I need you to breathe.”

Vi swallowed hard, squeezing your fingers. “Right. Breathing. I can do that. I—” She blinked. “No, I can’t. We need to go.”

Despite the pain, you couldn’t help but laugh.

The next few hours were a blur.

You had always known childbirth would be painful, but this? This was something else entirely.

Vi stayed by your side the entire time, gripping your hand so tightly you were sure she’d cut off circulation. But she was there, murmuring encouragements between her anxious ramblings, kissing your forehead when she thought you needed it most.

And then, after what felt like an eternity-

A cry filled the room.

Felicia.

Your daughter.

The exhaustion in your body faded a bit the moment they placed her in your arms.

She was so small, wrapped in a soft white blanket, her tiny fingers curling instinctively. Her little nose was scrunched up as she let out another tiny wail, and your heart swelled.

You looked up at Vi, ready to see her usual cocky grin, but instead—

She was crying.

Not full-on sobbing, but her eyes were red and wet, her lips pressed together as if she was trying to hold it all in.

You smiled softly. “Vi?”

She let out a shaky breath, staring at your daughter like she was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. “She’s…” Vi trailed off, swallowing hard. “She’s perfect.”

Your chest ached, this time not from pain but from love.

Vi reached out hesitantly, as if afraid she’d somehow mess this up. But the second her fingers brushed over Felicia’s tiny hand, the baby’s fingers curled around them, holding tight.

Vi let out a breathless laugh. “She’s got one hell of a grip.”

You chuckled, leaning against the pillows. “Just like her mama.”

Vi tore her gaze away from Felicia just long enough to look at you, eyes shining with something indescribable.

And then, to your surprise, she leaned in and kissed your forehead so softly it nearly broke you.

“You’re incredible,” she whispered, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “I mean it. I don’t know how you did that.”

You sighed, already feeling the exhaustion creeping in. “I don’t know either. But I do know one thing.”

Vi raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

You glanced down at Felicia, then back at Vi with a tired smile. “We are never doing that again.”

Vi snorted. “Oh, hell no. One kid is plenty.”

Felicia let out another tiny noise, her little face scrunching up again, and Vi’s expression softened instantly.

“Still,” she murmured, tracing her finger over Felicia’s tiny hand, “if we were only gonna have one… I think we got the best one.”

You smiled, letting your eyes drift shut, your fingers brushing over Vi’s. “Yeah. We did.”

[torusadore]

toru taking care of his sweet girl on her period ^3^

—————————————————————————

“Satoruuuuuu!!!!” ah. He knew it was coming… The great evil… Your period.

How did he know? Well, Satoru knew you like the back of his hand. there was a slight whininess to your voice, and Satoru, always so observant, knew exactly what it meant. He rushed to the kitchen, grabbing supplies for his dearest.

“Baby! Your knight in shining armour is here-“ uh oh.. It was one of those moods. “Hey, hey, sweetheart, it’s okay. tell old ‘Toru what happened.” He got into bed with such gentleness, as if trying not to break you. You’re sniffling, immediately latching onto the 6’3 man, trying to merge with him.

“I-I saw a video of you when you were a baby! You were soooo cute!!!” What? Satoru chuckles, a little incredulously before patting your head and smirking,

“Well, baby, why does that make you wanna cry, hmm? We can always have a baby, yknow, my genes will totally dominate yours~” oops. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that..

“Whatttt?!!!?!?!? You wanna have a baby with me?” you’re on the verge of sobbing, hopeful tears glimmering in your waterline as you grip Satoru so hard. He smiles, cupping your cheeks and cooing,

“Of course I wanna have a baby with you, sweets,” god, Satoru needs to marry you now, get you pregnant, buy a house together, all of it. But maybe now isn’t the time.. “But, baby, we have ages before that,” he flicks your forehead gently, “Why are you crying over silly things like this?”

“Cos.. you were so cute.. and you’ll never be like that again… and I wanna look after you and keep you away from everything..” that makes Satoru laugh more, his eyes crinkling at your sweetness,

“Baby, that’s so silly!! It's my job to look after you. And don’t you worry about me, I'm the strongest.” ..and you’re crying again.

“You’re so sweet!!!! What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you let me take care of youuuuu?!!?!?” You’re wailing. You’re wailing about him. With every second, Satoru falls more in love with you.

“You’re so silly, you know. Come here, baby,” he presses a flurry of kisses all over your face, temple, hair, laughing softly, “My silly girl, you always take care of me, and I appreciate you so much, you know that? And why wouldn’t I be sweet to you? You’re my baby,” he’s grinning so hard, his cheeks hurt. How did he get so lucky?

“I’m not silly…” you pout, offended at the mere thought of you being anything less than sane and reasonable,

“Yeah… totallyyyy not silly.. You’re so cute, crying over all this, y’know? Little crybaby,” Satoru really can’t help it, it’s in his DNA to tease you. It’s also in his DNA to make you happy, so like the genius he is, he decides to try to make you laugh.

“Wait here, sweets, I forgot your stuff in the kitchen,” he gets up, walking towards the kitchen, and then he.. Slips..? Satoru falls to the ground, so convincingly that he almost fools you. Almost.

“‘Toru? Are you okay?” you ask in between your laughs,

“Arghhhhh!!!!!! Baby!!!!!! It hurts so much!!!!! I’m wounded!!!!!!!” Satoru whines dramatically, clutching his knee. You get out of the bed, sitting next to him.

“No, you’re not!!” you’re laughing so hard, Satoru loves it, he wants to savour that look on your face forever. The way your eyes crinkle, how big your grin is because of him. But Satoru isn’t that sweet, of course not (he is). But there’s always room for mischief. Large fingers find your ribcage, tickling you mercilessly, “SATORU! STOPPPP!!!!!” your laugh. Fuck, your beautiful laugh. Can Satoru stay in this moment forever? He stops eventually, of course, he isn’t that evil.

“You’re so ticklish~” he teases as he scoops you up and dumps you into the soft pillows and bedsheets, “Okay, seriously, I’ll be right back,” and he is, he brings the ultimate care package of everything you like - snacks, a hot water bottle, the fluffy blanket from the couch, and of course, unlimited cuddles.

Satoru’s so in love that he would take care of you forever, if you’d let him. No matter how bad it gets, Satoru will be there, supplies at the ready to make sure his sweet girl is given the comfort and care she deserves.

—————————————————————————

a/n: missing satoru hours.. my friend requested this!

[mywritersmind]

Hii babe, I have another little request if you’re taking them!

Could you write something Kimi Antonelli x fem!reader where she’s super stressed because she’s about to take her final exams (like the French bac) and she hasn’t started revising at all?? It’s literally in a month, and she feels completely overwhelmed and behind.Like she’s spiraling a bit, maybe crying over highlighters and making dramatic “I’m gonna fail” speeches while Kimi just tries to calm her down and support her. Maybe he helps her organize her revision or just stays with her through the stress, reminding her that she’s smart and capable even if she doesn’t feel like it.Basically soft academic panic + golden retriever boyfriend energy. Only if it inspires you of course!! But I’d love that dynamic.

OVERWHELMED IS

AN UNDERSTATEMENT - KA12

listen up : no warnings! thank you for the request this is super sweet! i hope you enjoy!

words : 514

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“I’m gonna fail!” Is the first thing Kimi hears when he walks into her room. She’s sat on her bed, surrounded by notebooks, two computers, an ipad, loose paper, and a million sticky notes.

There are tears streaming down her face. When she asked him to bring over some highlighters, he did not expect this. “Love, no you’re not.” He says calmly, clearing a path in the mess of study material so he can sit next to her.

Kimi takes her hand, rubbing her back at the same time he kisses her marker covered hand. “I’m so stupid- I haven’t studied at all! I’ve been so distracted and didn’t even see it coming even though it’s been on the calendar for months!” He wails, hurrying her face into his shoulder as he hums in understanding.

“Then we’ll study every day until the exam. You’re the smartest person I know, You literally single handedly got me through my last year of math.” This makes her laugh a bit, sitting up again and sniffling.

“You’ll be gone though.” This makes her get a second wind of her meltdown, reminded of Kimi’s busy schedule and how she doesn’t fit into it.

“We can facetime!” He rubs her arms methodically, “You do need to sleep after all… I'll be racing when you’re sleeping.”

“I have no time for sleep!” She groans, looking around her and letting her tears fall onto the paper.

He takes her face in his hands, “Baby…” Using his thumb, he gently wipes her cheeks as she pouts with wide teary eyes. “You can do this. You already know more than your class, you just need a couple extra study days.”

She sniffles again, a broken sob escaping her lips. Kimi frowns, his hands back on hers, “Breathe for me, yeah?”

She breathes in with him, then out. After a couple rounds, the only remnants of her tears are the drops on her shorts and papers. “I’ll be here all night, okay? I brought highlighters too!” He turns to the papers and when she sees the bright highlighters he pulls out of his pocket, she breaks down again.

“Baby…” She sobs as his soft words, “Hey- it’s gonna be okay.”

“Thank you.” She says, pushing back her hair that’s escaped her bun, “You’re the best ever.”

He smiles, tucking a particularly stubborn piece of hair behind her ear, “Show me where to start and you’ll be teaching this to me in no time.”

She smiles at her boyfriend, wondering how she got so lucky with the most comforting boy in the world. “I love you.” She kisses his cheek and leans into him again, “I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

“Never apologize for asking for help.” He kisses her softly on the lips, “And you’re not dragging me into this. I love you. Spending time with you is all I want. Especially if I can help you in any way.”

She almost cries again at his words, instead she wraps her arms around him for one last hug before the two get to work.

[cheralith]

hear me out… i feel like roommate!karasu is the type to walk in on you sobbing (lowk js pms) and immediately console you without question. he doesn’t bother to ask what’s wrong until you finally stop crying under his arms. to his surprise, when he finally asked, you let him know that you were crying over a movie…. (these boys would know know ANYTHING about these damn period hormones😭)

"hey, just wanted to let ya know that eita and i are—" karasu pauses momentarily, the sudden hiccup that sparks out of you making him freeze and tighten his grip on your doorknob. he squints , adjusts his eyes to the darkness of your room only lit up by your tv with a limp lamp in the corner and widens them when he sees you.

you're underneath the covers, sitting up with the duvet over your head and a wet river of tears flowing down your face with every blink. a stuttered breath pulls out of you, your voice tight and raw, a disposition that doesn't take karasu too long to deciper.

you turn towards him, revealing the full nature of your face. your eyes are red and heavy, a certain sadness swirling that makes karasu's chest tighten.

at his appearance, your lips tremble.

karasu is quick on his feet— going to quickly close the door to hide your state from yukimiya and otoya who sit outside the walls of your enclosure and sprint towards you, a magnetic pull bringing him to offer you comfort before anymore sorrow can wring more tears out of you.

"woah, woah, hey there," he mutters and lands on your bed, an arm wrapping around you to bring you warmth from other than your blanket. "what's goin' on? you alright?"

a dam bursts suddenly within you and you wail quietly, another stream of tears going to drip down from your swollen eyes. the words that you try to convey to him suddenly tangle in your throat and you can only reply in weak gibberish that karasu can't comprehend.

"talk to me when ya can," he murmurs with patience, you only hiccuping weakly in response.

one large hand goes to rub up and down your back soothingly, the other holding your head tenderly and letting you lean into his chest as another sob wracks your body, a mix of a cry and a cough echoing in your dark room. karasu doesn't know what's wrong, but based on your current state, something must have happened badly enough that it's blurred your voice of reason, so he doesn't need to. the way you leaned into him told him all he needed to know—that you just needed someone here with you.

part of him thinks that he shouldn't be doing this—being so close with you like this, especially in such an enclosed environment and touching you so delicately, fervently even maybe.

if anything, karasu thinks this is the closest you and him have ever been with each other since you started living here. your relationship has bloomed fruitfully, reaching new heights that he thought didn't even exist with you during the first few months, and karasu can't help the flutter in his chest when you give a bright smile or sing a giggle to him at his antics.

so to see you like this makes his heart ache heavily. he's seen you upset, but never in the manner where words are drowned by a sudden sadness. and while he's glad that you've grown comfortable around him to let you see this side of you, karasu doesn't like seeing you overwhelmed with a weeping melancholy.

he lets you cry it out for a moment more, letting his sweater be soaked with your tears as your body slowly settles back into a more composed state.

he swallows when he hears you no longer hiccuping, just soft sniffs here and there.

"ya ready to tell me what's wrong?" he asks.

he feels you nod your head and lets you take it away from his chest that he prays you don't hear the beating of his heart from.

you sigh out heavily, blinking bearily and looking up at him. he raises his brows, as if to let you continue on your behalf.

a finger suddenly points your television, where some ending credits are rolling from a movie.

"the dog died..." you whimper suddenly.

karasu blinks, finding your sentence strange.

"huh?"

you jut your finger again towards the tv.

"hachiko..." you mutter, "the dog... he died waiting for his owner for nine years..."

karasu whips his head at the tv suddenly, where the logo of the movie rolls onto the screen momentarily and finally revealing karasu all he needs to know.

“you were..." karasu clears his throat, "you were sobbing over... a movie?"

you nod feebly, eyes still glazed.

karasu lingers in his place for a moment, trying to make sense of the situation and sighing so heavily, his lungs nearly give out. then, he lets out a shaky chuckle, before it bursts into full-blown laughter.

"hey!" you shove him suddenly with a crease in your brow at his antics. "you can't laugh! why are you laughing at a dog's death?!"

he lets himself settle down for a bit, some leftover laughter still shaking his body every few moments or so. "darlin', ya nearly scared the wits outta me. i thought someone died or yer ex did somethin' to make you cry like that."

you frown. "god forbid someone cries over a sad movie every once in a while..."

"i can't lie t'ya," karasu shrugs, grin still on his face. "it's not that sad of a movie."

you scoff, reddened eyes widening. "it is too!"

"it's not."

"yes, it is!"

"it's really not."

your jaw grits, sadness now replaced with a slight aggravation. "how would you feel if your dog waited for you for nine years and you never returned?"

karasu shrugs, getting up and dusting himself off to prepare you a glass of water to clear up your senses with a relief that nothing too bad happened to you to cause you to cry.

"beats me," he quips, "i'm a cat person."

a/n: apartment 345 masterlist

[glossykissies]

in the mood to have a snotty nosed, thick-saliva, hot faced tantrum infront of anakin. ꒰꧞ ˃ 𛱊 ˂ ꒱ྀི

it was a long time coming, infact it had been brewing all week. you liked to remain poised around him — seeing as he seemed to keep his cool around you in that disciplined jedi way you knew too well, but as your week got harder and harder it got increasingly more challenging to keep your emotions in check.

infact, you’d even go as far as to say it had been the worst week ever, but atleast when the end of the week came, you’d have some time to recollect yourself and be taken care of by your loving boyfriend. right?

during the worst of your moods, he’s striding casually toward the door — barely having taken a moment to read your emotions and notice that you’re at your breaking point. he hadn’t sat down since he got to your apartment, ranting and raving about the council and obi wan and the likes of them. he hadn’t realised he was being, well— selfish.

“theyre calling me in for a briefing.” he places his holopad down with an exhausted sigh, rolling his shoulders in mental preparation. “i sense they’re going to send me on yet another trip to the outer rim.”

panic and fury soar through your chest so hard it makes you stumble, forcing your way toward him in the living room.

“no.” you breathe simply, following him to your hallway.

“ridiculous, i know. i just got back.” he grumbles, unhooking his cloak from the coat hanger contraption by the door. you crumple, covering your eyes with the heel of your hand, mouth turning downward into a devastated sob. this finally makes the man turn around, unravelling himself from his own thoughts to realise your overwhelming waves of negative emotion. “what’s the matter?” he steps towards you to embrace you, but you freak — smacking his chest and collapsing to the floor.

“no i’m— you can’t! you won’t! i need— you need to be here i can’t do it after this week i can’t —” you wail, releasing any sense of control over your emotions, and admittedly it felt kind of good. anakins brow frowns and his mouth sets in a straight line as he watches the tantrum unfold, your hands occasionally reaching out like you want to smack him again. he sighs, lowering himself to a squat next to you.

“you’re beside yourself. atleast let me hold you until you calm down.”

“no!” you whinge, too immersed in the tantrum to understand how embarrassed you’d be on a later date for acting like a complete youngling. in all honesty, you thought anakin would maybe scold you for all the ruckus when he’s already likely stressed too, and you thought perhaps a scolding would snap you out of it— putting things into perspective, but instead he perseveres, dodging your hands and yanking you to his chest, holding you even when you squirm.

“there. settle down.” he commands, but its gentle. you’re not yelling anymore atleast, more so just sobbing in utter despair, he even sensed confusion at your own emotions. his brows furrow in sympathy at this, rubbing your back in big circles. “baby, it’s just the way things are. i don’t have a say in the matter.” he explains, voice gentle if not a little exasperated.

you cry out at this, clutching his robes in frustration, wiping your snot into the lapel. “‘need you more than them.” you refer to war torn planets, species on deaths door, which sadistically anakin wanted to chuckle at due to how dramatic that statement was.

“you sell yourself short. you’re my strong girl, are you not?” he tilts his head, hoping to peel you away easily but you hold on. feeling you overheat, he uses a little more force to pull you off, cupping your warm, tepid cheek with a hand. you look wrecked, and he hates it.

“no.”

“i must disagree. now breathe. i wont be leaving tonight anyway.” anakin instructs and you mellow ever so slightly at this, guiltily sucking in a breath. “there you go. another big breath, that’s it. all that fuss and noise for nothing, hm?” he teases, but wipes your tears and snot affectionately with little judgement.

“i just don’t want you to go. i’m sorry.” you mutter dejectedly. anakin stares for a moment, unsure of what to say, so he scoops you onto his lap and lifts you as he stands, cuddling you like that.

“they wont keep me for too long. i’ll make sure of it.”

[gracie-eilish]

Hello! I loved your mom!Billie stories, and I kind of have an idea for that. Billie and her wife have to deal with their first temper tantrum from their daughter, and both of them are a mess of emotions after the situation is handled.

terrible twos2️⃣

It started as a great day. The kind of morning where your daughter was nothing but giggles, her little hands clapping as she wobbled around on her tiny legs. She had been a ray of sunshine—babbling to you and Billie, playing with her stuffed animals, and even giving you both sloppy kisses between bites of her breakfast.

And then, somewhere between lunch and nap time, everything changed.

It started with a tiny pout when you told her she couldn’t have more juice. Then an upset little whine when Billie gently stopped her from trying to climb onto the coffee table. A frustrated huff when her blocks wouldn’t stack the way she wanted.

You and Billie had exchanged a look.

It was coming.

The first real tantrum.

And sure enough, when you told her it was time to wind down for her nap, your sweet little girl erupted.

“No!” she shrieked, flopping onto the floor, dodging your arms, like a tiny, furious starfish.

Billie blinked. “Oh.”

You crouched down, keeping your voice calm. “Baby, I know you don’t want to, but your body needs rest.”

Another loud “NOOOO!” accompanied by kicking feet and balled-up fists.

Billie glanced at you. “Uh, should we, like… reason with her?”

You shot her a look. “She’s a toddler, Billie.”

Billie huffed. “Well, yeah, but—”

Your daughter’s wail rose in volume, her little body trembling with sheer, unfiltered rage.

Billie winced. “Okay. Wow. That’s, um—she’s really committing to this.”

You took a breath and tried again. “Lovebug, I know you’re upset, but—”

Your daughter dramatically threw herself onto her back, wailing, “Nooo nap!”

Billie ran a hand through her hair. “Jeez, baby, you act like we told you Santa isn’t real.”

The screaming continued.

Billie sighed, getting down onto the floor next to her. “Okay, what if we make nap time fun, huh? We can read a book first—maybe that one with the little duck you love?”

Your daughter let out a gasping, hiccupy sob, then screamed, “NO DUCKY!”

Billie put a hand over her heart, looking personally attacked. “Okay, ouch. You love Ducky.”

Another hiccupping wail.

Billie turned to you, looking panicked. “Babe. She just rejected Ducky.”

You sighed. “She’s gone rogue.”

Your daughter, still mid-meltdown, let out a high-pitched screech and rolled onto her stomach, kicking her little feet against the floor in sheer defiance of all things nap-related.

Billie pressed a hand to her forehead. “Okay, what if we—uh—ooh! What if we do a little dance first? Get the energy out?”

She started wiggling in place, snapping her fingers.

Your daughter shrieked, red-faced, “NO DANCE!”

Billie froze mid-wiggle. “Damn.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “We just have to let her ride it out.”

Billie groaned. “But it’s so loud.”

Your daughter, as if proving Billie’s point, let out another dramatic sob and threw her arms out like she was making a tantrum angel on the floor.

Billie gave you a look. “You sure she’s not auditioning for an Oscar?”

You bit back a laugh. “Let her have her moment, she’ll tire herself out.”

After a few more minutes of earth-shattering crying, her little body started slowing down, her sobs turning into exhausted sniffles.

You crouched down again, rubbing gentle circles on her back. “I know, love. It’s so hard being this little, huh?”

She sniffled, hiccuping.

Billie, now much softer, reached out and brushed damp curls away from her forehead. “We love you, baby girl.”

Your daughter let out a tired little whimper and reached for you with grabby hands.

Your heart melted instantly. You lifted her into your arms without hesitation, pressing a kiss to her damp, flushed cheek. Billie immediately wrapped her arms around both of you, pressing a soft kiss to your daughter’s forehead.

The tantrum was over.

She clung to you, her tiny body exhausted, her warm cheek pressing against your shoulder.

Billie let out a deep breath. “Holy shit.”

You exhaled. “Yeah.”

Billie pulled back slightly, wide-eyed. “Are we okay?”

You huffed a laugh. “I think so?”

Billie groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Dude. I am emotionally wrecked.”

You chuckled, shifting your daughter against your chest. “Tell me about it.”

Billie sighed, resting her forehead against yours. “I was not ready for that.”

You shook your head. “Me neither.”

Your daughter made a tiny, sleepy noise, her little hand curling into Billie’s hoodie.

You and Billie both melted on the spot.

Billie pressed another kiss to her temple, whispering, “You’re lucky you’re so cute, little miss drama queen.”

Your daughter’s tiny fingers clutched Billie’s hoodie tighter, her exhausted little face nuzzling further into your chest.

You and Billie both let out a long sigh.

“I love you guys,” Billie murmured.

You turned your head, pressing a kiss to her lips. “We love you too, superstar.”

Billie smiled against your mouth, then pulled back with wide eyes. “Babe.”

You hummed.

Billie whispered, “What if she does this again tomorrow?”

You groaned. “Don’t even say that.”

Billie chuckled, her arms wrapping around the both of you. “We’ll survive, babe.”

You smiled, squeezing her hand. “Yeah. Together.”

And as your daughter let out one last tiny sigh between you, you knew that no matter how many tantrums were in your future, you and Billie would always get through them the same way—together.

[chaoticnezz]

★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.· Glue ·.·`¯´·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★

You were never the first choice, but you were his.<3333 The reader is implied to be fem, I never state whether or not the reader is Yuu, that's up for you to decide .

♡angst/comfort.

♡For the sake of the story, Night Raven is an intersex school :p

★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·★.·´¯`·.·★.·´¯`·.·★

Frustrated, you felt utterly humiliated and frustrated. Everyone knew. They all saw how lovestruck you were. Hell, they even saw how much you followed him like a loyal dog. Maybe that's why you couldn't help but feel humiliated as you watched him and your best friend walk hand in hand down the hallway with a smile on their faces. You couldn't bring yourself to hate her. You knew that she didn't do this on purpose. But that doesn't mean that it still didn't sting.

I mean, in all honesty, you were never the first choice, not at home and now not even at night raven college. Perhaps you just lacked something compared to others. Was it looks, personality, charm? Whatever it was, you didn't know. Wincing you looked down, now recognizing the stinging sensation in your palms. "Damnit." You quickly looked away from the couple and started to speed walk towards Ramshackle. You were mostly going to Ramshackle to tend to your wounds, but too, also hide. After all, nobody visited you anyway.

As you approached Ramshackle, your eyes began to sting. You gave up on walking, and you broke out into a sprint. You didn't want to be seen by others. You slammed the door open, and you just couldn't hold it back anymore. Tears began to pour out of your eyes as your vision fully blurred. Running towards your room, you felt your chest getting heavy and legs starting to tremble. You weren't even able to make it to your bed before your legs gave out. Sitting on the floor, you just began to sob, your sobbing getting louder and louder with every passing second. Your wails echoed off the walls. Maybe that's why you didn't hear the door open.

Riddle Rosehearts, also known as the mad Tyrant of Heartslabyul. Maybe his Titles were why you avoided him. Maybe he intimidated you, or you just didn't like him. Whatever it was, he couldn't say the same about himself. Somehow, your paths always crossed. The one thing that you weren't expecting was for him to slam your dorm door open. "Y/n, it's not becoming of a Night Raven college student to skip cla- oh dear..."

Riddle had seen your speed walk off of campus. He thought that you were trying to skip, so he ran after you. However, when he opened your door in hopes of catching you skipping, he instead caught sight of you on the floor tears pouring out of your eyes like an endless waterfall. What on earth could have not only made you skip class but also cry this much. He felt his heart throb at the sight of your tears and red puffy eyes. He would make sure to punish those who hurt you for breaking a rule, of course. However, first, he needs to. He catches the sight of ruby red blood staining your hand.

At first, he didn't know what to do. He had never been comforted before. He most definitely knew nothing about how to comfort someone. However, after seeing the blood on your palms, he decided to tend to your wounds first. He grabbed your hand so gently that even you thought you were fragile. Since his mother wanted him to be a doctor , he wanted to be a doctor since that's what's best for him. Anyways he was very well versed in medical knowledge. Looking at your wound, he knows that it's not severe. However, he knows that you're still in pain.

ʚ˚«----------------------'୨ෆ୧'--------------------»˖ɞ

You were now sitting on the bed wearing your pajamas since Riddle said, "I suppose due to your mental disstress, I will allow you to stay at your dorm today." Odd, since Riddle isn't one to let rule breaking slide. You appreciate his tenderness. However, he was cleaning your palms as gently and dilligently as possible. The silence was soon broken by Riddle, "So my ro- I mean y/n. What has caused you so much distress?" You felt your eyes begin to water again as tears started to well up in your eyes once more. You didn't want to cry again, especially not in front of someone like Riddle.

You looked up to riddle. His confidence and authority were something you wished you had yourself. Maybe if you had a bit of riddles confidence you could've asked your crush out sooner. But would that even change the outcome. Even if you told him sooner, it didn't mean that he's going to automatically say yes. "Hey." You snapped out of your daze imedeantly, locking eyes with riddle before your thoughts could spiral any further. Riddle imedeantly broke eye contact before he began to speak again, "Whatever is troubling you can wait. You don't have to tell me immediately what's wrong right now. Just know that im always here to listen to if you need." You starred at him, Riddle isn't one to lie for someone's comfort. He meant it. He actually meant it. This is theres and first time you've heard such genuine words from well anyone. Especially being in a new world without a family of your own. It felt nice. Maybe "Its -------." Your voice came out hoarse and rough due to all the tears you've shed earlier.

"Hm? That's a pomefiore student, right?" Riddle talked almost talked like he didn't know the rumors that were currently circulating around the school. Maybe he didn't. After all riddles a housewarden, he wouldn't have time to indulge in such silly things like rumors. Perhaps that thought made you relax a bit. And soon, all the words came fumbling out. About how you really loved him and how cruel it felt for him to date your best friend. And how no matter who it is, they always seem to choose your friend over you. Except as you told him this, you didn't cry. You didn't feel sad anymore. Honestly, you didn't know what you felt, but it wasn't happy.

"Ah, so that's what this is about." He didn't sound disappointed he just sounded like he was listening and understood where you were coming from. You knew Riddle wasn't that good with emotions, especially after his overblot. But it was obvious that he was trying to make me feel better. You flopped backward onto your pillow and let your hand cover your eyes. "You know." Riddles' voice once again broke the silence this time softer. "You're wasting tears on him right now, but.. He's making her smile right now. That's a horrid thought, i know, but why continue to cry over someone who doesn't care or at least never cared about you. Im sorry. im horrible with words."

You let riddles' words sink in. As harsh as he was, he had a point. There was no reason for you to cry over him anymore. That was going to be easier said than done, however. You felt riddles hand grab yours, his hands intertwined in yours. "But you're not alone. I'll help through the healing journey and even after." Thanks to the hand covering your face, you couldn't see how red riddle was. He was fine not letting his feelings get acknowledged yet. Right now, his main priority was you. We'll it was always you, but that's not important right now. What's important is that Riddle is going to stay by your side for as long as possible. Hell, he'd even glue himself to you if he had to. He stared at you with hearts in eyes as you drifted off to sleep. He'd deal with that pomefiore student once you started to feel better.

[always-just-red]

hi rach ♡ for the christmas prompts, can i request zayne and 04? (and i hope you're having a good week! ♡)

Hiiii! Hope you're having a good week too, thanks for the request! 🥰💕 ALSO everyone say a big thank you to Rafayel, who had to physically restrain me throughout the writing of this fic for the safety of our dear doctor! No writing would have been done!!! 😇

A New Patient

Zayne x Reader ❄️

Prompt #014: on an ice rink, careful to dodge the bustling crowd that stumble and rush past.

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship, super minor injury, a lil bit of PDA and a pinch of suggestion at the end (Zayne can't help it-- look at you!!!)

| Word count: 1.2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Zayne! Zayne! Look, no hands!”

Mittened fingers wave in front of the doctor’s face, having finally— after a slow twenty minutes— left the ice rink’s railing. Clad in skates, your feet are still threatening to slip out from underneath you, even more so as you make your humble boast, and you wobble precariously.

Zayne chuckles, reaching to help steady your balance. “Impressive.”

“Right? Anyway, let go! I’ve so got this!”  

“You’re sure?”

“One hundred percent. Unhand me, sir.”

“As you command.”

His grip on you slips away as he takes an overtly confident step back. He’s sporting the same, enthralled smile of disbelief that lit-up the moment you set foot on the ice. The grace with which you evade and strike down Wanderers? Gone. The calm competence you employ when stitching a wound under his instruction? Gone.

The only thing you’ve managed to hold onto is sheer, near-delusional stubbornness, and Gods, he adores it. His silly, self-destructive Deepspace Hunter. He’s never been gladder to be a doctor; at this rate, you will be needing one.

A couple skate past you, giving you a wide berth, like the rest of the crowd on the rink. Zayne is acting as a sort of barrier, but he doesn’t really need to. You’re getting the same courtesy paid to you as the children here: space for mistakes. Space to slip over without taking anyone down with you.

Not far away, a man loses his footing, landing straight on his ass. He laughs unashamedly. You and Zayne both beam at him. See? It could be worse. Miraculously, you haven’t actually fallen o—

Something careens through your legs, and the next thing you know, you’ve crashed to the ice and you’re staring up at the sky, winded. Your breath aches as it comes back.

Zayne is saying your name: leaning over you, and— is he trying not to laugh?! His hand is over his mouth, but his eyes are creased so obviously. A single scrape in battle is worth making a fuss over, but this is funny? Nope. Nuh-uh. Get up, you have to kill him.

Just as you’re sitting up, rubbing your head, you spot the culprit of your fall. A little girl is slumped across from you, having similarly skittered down to the ice. Her eyes are wide with shock, and the second she meets your gaze she wails— sobs and cries stuttering out of her throat. Your blood goes cold.

“I’m so sorry!” exclaims a woman who has waddled frantically over to you, and the girl cries louder.

“It’s quite all right,” Zayne reassures, and is it? Is it really? “Accidents happen.”

The girl’s mother lowers herself, cooing and comforting, but the child is having none of it. Tears run down her puffy red cheeks. Snot leaks from her nose. Maybe you should start acting out too. I mean, you’re the victim here— hello?!

Zayne speaks from above you: “Here, allow me.”

Ever the angel on your shoulder, whispering into your ear; your valiant doctor stoops down beside you. He’s not even looking at you, but the sedative of his bedside manner still seeps through your aching body, inducing a sort of sleepiness.

The girl hasn’t stopped crying, and Zayne puts his hands together: ethereal, sparkling snowflakes emanating from between his palms. Still committed to the bit, the girl sniffles, but one eye is open, peeking: what is he—?

Zayne lifts one hand, and nestled in the other is a little, familiar snow seal. The girl gasps in delight.

“This is my friend,” Zayne smiles, indicating the creature. “Do you like him?”

The girl nods eagerly with another long sniff, captivated.

Zayne puts the seal to his ear. “Ah,” he nods, squinting thoughtfully as though he’s listening, “yes. I understand.” He turns back to the girl. “My friend would like to know if you are feeling all right. He asks—” he consults the seal again— “he asks if anything is broken?”

“I don’t think so,” the girl answers, shaking her head. Her voice wobbles with earnestness: she is very determined to not worry Mr Seal.

“Wonderful.” Zayne continues to translate: “Are you all in one piece? Do you have all your arms? Your legs?”

You think your heart is going to explode; the girl actually checks. “Yes!” she chirps.

“And your head?”

The girl’s hands fly up to her face. “Yes!” she confirms again.

Zayne nods, pleased. One last consultation with the seal, and... “My friend is very happy that you’re okay, but he’s still a little bit worried. Do you think he could stay with you? That you could look after him for me?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” the girl squeals, hands extended— reaching out. “Please!”

Her mother laughs, and Zayne chuckles too. Carefully, he sets the snow seal into the hands that are grasping towards him. The girl holds it like it’s the most precious thing in the world. Her eyes are twinkling with awe and adoration. “I love him!” she squeals again. “I love him, I love him, I love him!” The seal is lifted so she can stare directly into its eyes. “I’m going to call you… Mr Fluffykins!”

It’s no Clopidogrel.

“That’s a very good name,” Zayne grins. “I think he likes it a lot.”

The girl’s mother helps her daughter up from the ice, although she doesn’t get any thanks; the child is babbling away in conversation with Mr Fluffykins, thoroughly enamoured. “Thank you,” the woman smiles gratefully at Zayne.

“It was no trouble,” he assures.

Was it no trouble? Neglected, forgotten— you cross your arms as your attacker is escorted away. Crouched before you, Zayne finally returns your gaze with a soft and dazzling smile. You won’t be charmed by it. “So,” you huff, “you’re just making seals for anyone nowadays, huh?”

He chuckles fondly, regardless of your pouted lips and wounded, narrowed eyes. “Would you like one as well?”

“No.”

“Good.” Good? He has some nerve, and no wonder an open chest cavity doesn’t faze him, for he leans in daringly close to whisper: “I don’t like it when other doctors poach my patients.”

His fingers are brushing your forehead, smoothing back a stray hair. “Mr Fluffykins comes highly recommended,” you let out on a weighty breath.

“Mr Fluffykins is overworked. Inundated with patients, I hear. So tell me…” His lips peck your cheek. “Is anything broken?”

“Everything.”

“I see.” Another kiss, on the tip of your nose. “And your limbs... all still attached?”

Your eyes have closed so you can savour the not-knowing of where each touch might come next. You smile, tilting your head to nod backwards: “One of my legs are over there.”

Zayne is grinning too. You can’t see it, but you feel it as his lips graze yours, not quite a kiss this time.

“How about it, Doctor Zayne?” You open your eyes as he draws back, and your smile is as dangerous as a beating, still-bleeding heart, at the mercy of his hands. “Think you can save me?”

He gently rises to his feet, steady on his skates as he reaches towards you. “I think,” he says, as you grasp his hand and haul yourself up, only to be trapped in his arms, against his chest with his lips by your ear, “we both know I can.”