#backyard lullaby | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rafeandonlyrafe · 7 months ago

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arsonist's lullaby

words: 3.3k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, female receiving oral pregnancy, proposal <3, established relationship, arson, lots of talk about fire lol, camping, mentions of rafes bad childhood

you watch as rafe strikes the match. he prefers it over a lighter, holding it between his finger as the flame inches lower, lower, until it gets too hot and he's tossing it into the fire pit, right on the bushel of kindling that instantly takes light.

rafe looks up at you, the fire sparking in the reflection of his eyes as you make your way towards him. he doesn't have to say a word, the way he sits back in the camping chair, silently telling you to take a seat.

you slide onto his lap, placing yourself sideways with your bum on his thigh. you look at rafe for a minute, just admiring his illuminated features as the orange flame flares up and down with the wind. you listen to the sound of rustling leaves, the distant lapping of waves on the nearby lake.

“are you having fun?” you ask rafe. he may be your boyfriend of two years, but it can still sometimes be hard to tell.

rafe nods, before grinning and leaning forward to press a kiss towards your lips. “i always have fun with you.”

you weren't sure that he would enjoy camping, especially tent camping it, but you always used to go every summer with your parents, and when you asked if he would be down to go, he didn't think twice before saying yes.

“you're sweet.” you giggle, leaning in to press the side of your head against his shoulder, tucking your nose into his neck, inhaling his scent after a long day of relaxing on the beach and taking strolls through the well trodden paths through the woods.

“you're probably the only person alive who would call me sweet.” rafe places his hand on your hip, squeezing it gently.

it's not that rafe puts on a scary demeanor with everyone else, it's more like that's his natural state and you bring out a side meant just for you.

you kiss his neck, it's not enough, but it's a thank you for his vulnerability, his willingness to please you.

you both sit in comfortable silence, your eyes closed as you recover from the day while rafe stares at the fire, the flames calling to him. he holds you tight to his side as he reaches and tosses another log into the fire, a spit of sparks shooting up.

“who taught you how to build fires?” you ask rafe, looking at the now smashed teepee of sticks he had built up.

“i guess i taught myself.” rafe shrugs. “i always used to build them in the fire pit in the backyard whenever my dad would take sarah to softball practice.

“mmm.” you hum, pressing another kiss to his neck, before moving to his jaw. “we should go into the tent.”

“yeah.” rafe nods, picking you up effortlessly, his pants already beginning to swell just from having your lips on him. he walks quickly to the tent, having to duck down to fit inside, placing you on the inflatable mattress.

you let out a giggle as rafe zips the tent closed before tugging his shirt off, opening your arms up as he sets himself over your body, one hand sneaking beneath your shirt to your waist while his other hand cups your jaw, holding you in place as he kisses you.

“i love you.” you whisper to rafe before picking your shoulders up off the bed, letting him pull your shirt off.

the windows of the tent are zipped mostly shut to protect your privacy from those camping nearby, but you left the top open to just a screen after double checking there was no rain forecasted.

you look up at the stars, your soft moans and rafes low grunts lost to the music of the forest as the wind moves through the trees.

“here, baby.” you hand a crumpled up newspaper to rafe. “we need it hot to roast our marshmallows.”

“mhm.” rafe finished building the fire, the embers still slightly warm from your fire last night before he places the newspaper at the center to get the fire going quicker.

“gosh, i can't wait.” you pat your stomach. “it's been so long since ive made s'mores.”

“i don't think ive had them in… ten years.” it may even be more than that. rafe hates the way it makes you pout. his lonely childhood hurts you as much as it hurts him. he fears sometimes even more from your reactions.

“come on.” rafe taps his knee. you really should have just packed one camping chair, it's not like you're sitting on your own as he pulls you into his lap, pressing kisses to your cheeks and jaw as you wait for the fire to grow.

“mmm, the s'mores…” you blink your eyes open, not even realizimg that you've relaxed so completely against rafe that you were almost asleep.

“ill make one for you.” rafe grabs the stick from the nearby table. “how burnt do you like your marshmallow?”

“just a bit.” you smile as rafe rolls his eyes.

“i like mine burnt.”

“oh im sooo surprised.” you joke as rafe sticks the marshmallow into the flames, just until it gets gooey before making your smore for you, adding extra chocolate for your sweet tooth.

“so good.” you moan when you take a bite, making rafe shift you slightly on his lap.

you eat s'mores as the moon rises, minutes ticking by until all of your graham crackers are used up.

you let out a yawn, eyes blinking the smoke out of your eyes as the wind momentarily shifts before blowing back in the same direction.

“gonna go put pajamas on.” you press a kiss to rafes forehead before moving to the tent, glad you went for a bigger size with enough room for you to get dressed and undressed. you sigh as you sit down to change your socks before laying back on the bed, not even realizing how exhausted you truly were as sleep takes you.

rafe checks on you after a few minutes, smiling when he realizes you're absolutely fine, just already in a deep sleep. he zips the tent back shut, keeping one eye on it as he goes back to the fire, building it up bigger and bigger as the flames grow, watching with excitement until he runs out of logs to add.

rafes fingers twitch. you've been home for two weeks from the camping trip. he wonders when is it an appropriate time to suggest going again. he longs to feel the heat of a blaze against his skin, to feel the ultimate power of building a fire to his will.

“hey.” your soft voice interrupts his thoughts, his face easily shifting from one of intensity to soft love.

“hi baby.” rafe presses his lips against yours in a greeting.

“missed you today.” you hum. you work two days a week at a local animal shelter, mainly just to keep busy and do something to feel accomplished, and they almost always coincide with rafes work, but today was a rare occasion where he was off and you were busy, leaving rafe to roam the house in boredom until you get home.

“missed you more.” he says, placing a hand on your waist to pull you into a more intense kiss, his lips smashing against yours. “how's casper?”

you blink, it takes you a second for your mind to start working after the passionate kiss before the corners of your lips turn down. “still no one wants to adopt him.”

you couldn't believe it at first when the adorable little white puppy came into the shelter, you thought for sure someone would snatch him up instantly, until you saw that he's missing his two hind legs. clearly people in the area don't want to take the initiative to have a dog with only two front legs.

“im sorry.” rafe sighs. he kisses you again, this time soft and comforting. “it's best he waits for the right family though, yeah?”

rafe echos the words you always say when a dog takes a little longer to get adopted. better to wait for a forever family than to wind up back in the shelter after a few weeks.

“yeah.” you nod. “so, what'd you get up to today?”

“nothing.” rafe says honestly.

“nothing?” you raise your eyebrow. “what are you gonna do when im gone next weekend?”

rafe let's out a curse. he forgot you were going on a girls trip. out of town to some spa that he has the address and phone number, along with any other information he might need to know, typed out in his notes when you first told him about it. just in case.

“shit, i was trying so hard not to think about it that i pushed it out of my mind completely.” he says with a light chuckle, but his face isn't one of happiness.

you swipe your hand through his hair, combing back the dark blond strands. “maybe we need to get you a hobby. you can build a lego set or do a paint by numbers.”

it's mostly a joke, but you do want rafe to enjoy himself while you're away. you make a mental note to yourself as you go into the kitchen to make dinner to find something to keep his mind occupied while you're separated for the first time for longer than a day since you began dating.

rafe looks at your contact on his phone. his finger twitches over the call button, despite you just getting off the phone after talking for an hour, skipping out on drinks with the girls to chat, but you didn't tell rafe that, telling him everyone was in their rooms and that you had plenty of free time to keep him occupied.

he sighs, clicking on your contact picture. you set it at the beginning of your relationship, a kissy face selfie and rafe hasn't changed it since.

“fuck.” he groans, heartbeat starting to rise as a bead of sweat forms on his forehead, anxiety building.

he walks out of the house, no set route in mind. rafe tells himself the walk will clear his head, but what he put in his pocket before leaving says different. he needs to get the feeling out somehow.

he walks and walks until it's dark outside, moving towards the run down side of town until he comes to a small shack, purposely taking mostly abandoned roads. rafe scopes out the area quickly, looking around to see if theres anyone nearby, close enough to see him.

when the coast is clear, rafe lets out a sigh of relief as he pulls the matchbox out of his pocket, a fresh one, having to repurchase after using an entire box camping.

rafe isn’t sure how easily the place will light up. the shed looks dry and old, and when he looks inside, its empty other than some old long forgotten gardening equipment. rafe strikes a match and sets it on the wooden window sill, watching as it burns out. rafe continues striking the matches and tossing them at the shack as sparks ignite the scraps of wood.

rafe steps back when he throws the last one, tossing the empty cardboard box into the flames as they slowly take over the structure. rafe smiles, the anxiety that was building up inside him blowing away with the smoke.

the flames eagerly ate up the wood, spreading quickly and before rafe knew it, the already unsturdy roof was collapsing in on itself, sparks adding to the stars in the sky.

he stands for a moment longer, the warm orange glow causing an odd comfort. rafe knows its wrong, but he can’t help that he feels better after setting the fire, walking away as the wood turns to ash, the shack long forgotten and reduced to nothing.

rafe paces, strikes a match and lets it burn to his fingertips before blowing it out, paces some more, then pulls out another match. he’s not anxious this time, doesn’t feel the itch to set a place ablaze as he did two nights ago, having to shower three times before he finally got the smell of smoke out of his hair.

now, he’s just impatient. the front door is open, letting in a cool breeze and giving him a view of the driveway as he walks around the foyer, waiting for your car to pull in, for you to finally return home.

rafe blows out a match right when he sees your car turn down the street, his eyes widening as he tosses the matchbox onto the hallway table, stepping out onto the porch, unable to keep himself farther away, moving down the steps as you pull into the driveway.

you barely put the car in park before you’re flying out the door, jumping into rafes arms as he spins you around.

“oh my god, ive missed you so fucking much.” rafes arms are wrapped firmly around your waist, not letting your feet touch the ground as he walks towards the door.

“wait, rafe-” you giggle.

“we can bring your bags in later.” rafe says. he has other priorities.

“no, the car is still on!” rafe sighs and sets you down. you quickly run to pull the keys out of the car and lock it, rushing inside with rafe quick behind you. you toss the keys on the table, noting the matchbox but you're too busy being swept off your feet and carried up the stairs by rafe.

he lays you on the bed, only now pausing to take a minute. you may have only been gone for three nights in total, but it felt like a lifetime to rafe. he leans forward, pressing your lips together before continuing to just stare at you.

“stop looking.” you tug at rafes collar. “do something.”

rafe listens to your command, moving quickly to sink down the bed, tossing the hem of your dress up, not even bothering to take your underwear all the way off, simply sliding them to the side and burying his tongue in your cunt.

“did you see a second shack burned down?” you look up from where you were mindlessly scrolling on social media.

of course rafe knows. but he certainly isn’t going to just admit that to you. he can’t have you leaving him, he’d probably burn the whole town down if that happened.

“oh really?” rafe says, keeping his voice level, disinterested.

“yeah.” you zoom in closer on the picture, nothing more than a pile of ashes and dust. “damn, i wish i could have seen it on fire.”

the fire department didn’t even get to it until it was completely burned to the ground with how isolated it was. just as rafe planned it.

“really?” his eyebrows raise.

“yeah.” you nod. “i love fire.” you give him a mischievous smile. you surely don’t mean it in the same way as rafe does, but he feels a little more at peace. if you somehow found out, maybe you wouldn’t leave him because of it, or at least hear him out.

“hmm.” rafe just hums.

“we should build a firepit in the backyard.” you mumble the suggestion, but rafe quickly nods. “yes.”

you giggle, setting your phone down to move off the armchair and onto the couch next to rafe. “you wanna keep practicing your fire setup for the next time we go camping?”

rafe smiles, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. “maybe.”

rafe tosses another log onto the flame, smiling at you as you rock gently in the hammock, set up precariously close to the fire so you can feel its warmth as you relax, the summer coming to an end.

“you look beautiful.” rafe says. the orange light illuminates your features, along with the twinkling fairy lights strung up along the back porch.

you just smile at him. you don’t need words, not anymore.

rafe pokes at the fire with a stick, opening up the center to allow more airflow into the bottom as the flame grows larger, but not too large, never when you’re around.

“come lay with me.” you open your arms to rafe, who moves with ease onto the hammock next to you, the fabric pushing you both close to each other, glad you opted for the larger size so you could sit together. “i love you, baby.” rafe kisses your head, looking around the yard, at the fire, then up at the stars. “i love this life.”

“i love this life too.” you press your hand to your stomach. there’s a surprise you’ve yet to tell rafe. its only a suspicion, partially confirmed by a stick test, but you want the doctors confirmation to be sure before you tell rafe. you look up at him, tilting your head to the side so you can see his face. “you’re happy?” “yes.” he says honestly. “when im with you, i am.”

“ill always be with you.” you grip rafes hand. you turned down opportunities for trips with your girlfriends. if they didn’t want rafe to come along, it was a no. you can’t blame them, but you refuse to leave him alone after putting the pieces together.

the first arson could have been a coincidence. but the second, on a night you were also away from rafe? you know its him. it’s why you suggested the fire pit in the backyard. why you won’t force him to spend another night without you, alone and anxious, having to face the demons of his past, his childhood. you know he’s not a bad man, not at heart, not deep inside.

you turn to rafe, tears brimming in your eyes, overwhelmed with your feelings for him. “i love you so much.”

“baby.” rafe coos, bringing a hand to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. your hands run all over each others bodies, the moon and fire illuminating you as you work bits of clothes off, just enough for you to sink down onto rafes cock, more grinding together than thrusting at risk of spilling out of the hammock.

“god, you feel so good.” rafe groans, hands gripping your waist as he pushes in before making a miniscule movement back.

“filling me up perfectly.” you undulate your hips. sex with rafe is often wild and intense, but moments like this, where you’re just indulging in each others bodies, relaxing and slow, just like the swinging of the hammock.

“yeah, gonna fill you up real good.” rafe smirks, the corner of his lip twerking up.

the words spill out of you. “i think im pregnant.” you immediately want to take them back when rafes eyes widen.

“rafe-” you lean back, a look of regret on your face, but rafe just pulls you back in, slamming his lips against yours, hips moving faster, hand gripping your ass, pulling you against him as he cums, cock swelling inside of you before releasing.

“if you're not pregnant, im gonna make sure you are.” he gasps out, chest rising and falling, keeping his cock pushed inside of you.

“you’re not worried?” you ask. clearly the couple glasses of wine you had at dinner are giving you a loose tongue.

“no.” rafe says honestly, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “i would be if this was anyone else. you know…” he swallows thickly. “you know how messed up my childhood was. how hard my dad was on me… i feel like this is a chance to heal that, to treat my kid better than i was ever treated. and i want this with you.”

“i want it too.” you coo, kissing him softly.

“oh, and i guess there’s no better time for this.” rafe chuckles, his softening cock still inside of you, fire dying to just embers as he reaches to his shorts, halfway down his thighs and pulled a small black velvet box out of his pocket, flipping it open with one skilled hand, turning the ring to glint in the orange light.

“will you marry me?”

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exactlymaximumgarden · 5 months ago

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what are your thoughts on dad!schlatt ??

he would be the sweetest dad EVER. full stop.

when your child is first born, he's ALL over them

and as they grow through infancy, he insists on taking care of them when you're exhausted

#1 stay at home dad

you know for a fact he is teaching the kid all about baseball as soon as possible

taking them into your backyard and coaching them on proper batting form, how to pitch, etc.

and then taking them to baseball games with him!!

buying them little yankees caps, sweatshirts, etc. so they can match with their dad <3

he'd also make a point to show them all of his favorite songs ("we can't raise 'em to have shitty music taste!")

i can just see him playing sooo much classic rock for his kid. all. the time. he wants them to learn the lyrics and sing along with him!

will gladly read them bedtime stories or (try to) sing them lullabies if they're having issues sleeping, but will put up a front as if he doesn't really want to

as the child grows up and starts figuring out their own interests, he's super supportive

ALSO!!! i can SO see the kid coming home from school every day and running to him, to which he'll respond by lifting them up and spinning them around in a giant bear hug paired with an enthusiastic exclamation of "heyyy, buddy!"

however, they are not safe from a little bit of light teasing as they navigate through their "cringe" phase

will try to act all big and tough, but will secretly get SO emotional with every big milestone his child reaches

#jschlatt #schlatt #chuckle sandwich #jschlatt x reader #schlatt x reader #jschlatt imagine #chuckle sandwich x reader #jschlatt fluff #schlatt fluff #anon ask

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abiiors · 8 months ago

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persephone - matty x reader ˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧💌˚.⋆🌿

a/n: this is kinda loosely based on the myth of persephone and also this is just one interpretation of it, obv several exists in the media :) and like matty's barely hades lmao, this is mostly just the connection of persephone, demeter and spring ♡ cw: this contains themes of parental neglect, dysfunctional families, emotional abuse/neglect and alcoholism, and they're very much PRESENT and DETAILED. this isn't angst but it's def bittersweet (emphasis on the bitter whoops) wc: 5.1k

the first word she learns is “mama”.

she has a faint memory of this—a woman with shining brown hair, smiling and cheering at her. everything is blurred around the edges and filtered in through a haze. everything has a foggy white quality to it but the woman’s eyes are crystal clear and looking at her, focused solely on her. she has a memory of others laughing and clapping along, encouraging her to say the word again and again.

mama.

the brown haired woman looks tired—she’s young and, looking back, barely even an adult. but the woman smiles at her and coos along. “mama,” the woman says in an exaggerated baby voice and points to herself.

“mama,” she babbles again at the woman she now recognises as her mother. the woman gives her a bland smile, playing with her almost absently. the woman even lets her grab onto her fingers and bite on them—not that it counts much as biting, she barely has teeth at this point.

the next memory she has is of an older man with a freckled happy face and salt-n-pepper hair. he throws her up in the air and catches her until she’s giggling and breathless and light as air. he's often at their dining table, peeling pomegranates.

mama says she can't eat them yet—they're of course a choking hazard for a baby her age. but the old man peals it for mama, because mama looks happy when she sits next to him and pops the seeds into her mouth, sighing at the sweetness.

“these are delicious, daddy,” mama says to him and he smiles at mama with all the tenderness in the world.

when mama needs a break from her, he takes her to the nearby pond, and lets her touch leaves and rocks. he points at the tiny things in the water and says a word she barely recognises.

fishies.

he clicks his tongue and waits for her to imitate the word, but she only claps her hands and says “mama” again.

the man laughs. “let’s get you home to mama then.”

the younger woman gets mad at him when they get home though. mama grabs all the treasure—their entire day’s hard work—and puts it away somewhere where she can never reach it again.

the man grumbles about it too but she’s far too young yet to understand words and tone, much less full blown fights. all she knows is a distinct sharp feeling of fear when mama snatches her away from the old man’s hands and puts her away in a room alone.

there are white bars around her that she can’t climb, even though she cries and cries and screams for mama. even when a pungent smell fills the room and she feels uncomfortable wetness in her onesie.

but mama doesn’t come. and the old man’s voice can’t reach her anymore. there’s only the sound of her cries and an eerie music box lullaby that plays on repeat as if it would ever be enough to pacify her.

mama doesn’t come for hours.

years later, she’d know why mama can’t be bothered.

the last time she calls her mother “mama” is when she’s seven years old.

it’s rained all night and the backyard is wet and muddy. mama grimaces the moment she looks out the window but for a seven year old girl, it’s the most fun thing to ever exist. mama makes a sound of disgust when she runs outside, whooping with joy and slipping and sliding in the mud.

all she wishes for is a companion now—a sibling or a dog or a cat, she’s not picky. a friend works too, but she’s not entirely sure where someone gets those.

“if you get mud on my carpets, i swear!” mama shakes her fist from the back door but she can’t care less.

she’s drenched in mud and having way more fun than she’s had in days. so much so that she doesn’t even realise when mama shakes her head and goes back inside.

the winter chill is almost gone, there’s even a few little saplings sprouting from the ground and she can’t wait for the whole backyard to be filled with weird little weeds and wallflowers. she can’t wait until it’s warm enough to sit outside in the afternoons and make her little witchy potions from mud and weeds and flowers and see if any butterflies would be curious enough to land near her. (or maybe even on her like they do in the movies she’s seen!)

she forgets the movies for a moment, though. today is the best day a girl could have.

her grampy—her grandpa—is supposed to visit too, and she knows he’s going to bring treats; sweet honey from the hive on their farm or tiny red strawberries that dribble juice down her chin. she knows he’ll sit in their kitchen and peel her a pomegranate (she can eat those now!) and tell her about the new calf on the farm. (she’s asked this story twice now but it only gets better each time) it’s all so exciting that she even forgets about her aversion to the kitchen for a bit, forgets how a pit opens in her stomach every time she has to be in the kitchen with mama.

she can’t wait for the after, but right now she runs through her backyard again, whooping and cheering and smiling.

she’s slipping and slipping, just like before. the fence comes closer, her little mind tries to calculate the distance, her feet try to slow down but the mud’s grown too slippery and she just can’t stop, can’t put her arms up in time.

her jaw collides with the fence with a sickening crunch. pain flares in her mouth along with the sharp coppery taste of blood. it almost makes her gag and she tries to spit it out. something white falls on the ground, covered in blood—her first tooth, the one that’s been loosening for days.

she stays curled on the ground, covered in mud, sobbing and spitting out more blood until her saliva runs clear, then she somehow shuffles inside, hoping mama would have a magic fix.

mama’s eyes widen the moment she walks in, dried mud crusted around her feet, blood on her chin.

“what the fuck?!” mama yells, the glass in her hand jostles dangerously and the dark liquid inside almost splashes out. mama’s words also have an unnerving, slurred quality to them but she’s too much in pain to care.

“what’s wrong with you?!” mama screeches again and gets up. through tears, she manages to splutter out what happened. she shows mama the tooth, (girls in school have told her about the tooth fairy) but mama only smacks her hand away.

“i told you not to get mud on my carpets. who’s going to clean them huh? not you, you’re useless. you’re all useless.”

more tears fall on her cheeks and she looks at mama, horrified. but mama slams the glass hard enough on the table that a crack goes through it. she’s worried mama’s going to yell at her more, but mama only yanks the mop from the corner and waits for her to move out the way.

she takes the hint, grateful it didn’t get worse. she tries not to get the mud onto anything else but a little gets on the bathroom tiles anyway.

under the hot water, she finally lets her sobs free and scrubs her little body until the skin is all red and raw and stings from the temperature of the water. until each stream of the showerhead feels like a bb bullet.

then she gets on her hands and knees and scrubs the bathroom floor clean, occasionally flicking her tongue over the now-empty spot where the tooth used to be. it tastes vaguely salty, and it still aches but not as much, definitely nothing in comparison to her jaw which is turning a nasty shade of purple. her tooth’s still safe on the counter, though—free of blood and mud now. gleaming white.

at least that’s the saving grace of the day. at least she’ll get a visit from the tooth fairy.

grampy cancels his visit—his knees hurt, mama says—but she tries not to be miffed about it. she’ll make sure to get grampy something nice with the money from the tooth fairy.

that night she gingerly places the tooth on the bed, carefully places the pillow on top so that the tooth is protected from all sides. nice and snug.

then she closes her eyes, dreaming of tiny fluttering wings and shiny pennies. but the tooth fairy never visits at all.

her mum ages rapidly in a decade. by the time she’s seventeen, her mum’s already gone grey—unravelling at the seams, fraying with each passing day. not that anyone’s seen her mum in days. or months even. her mum’s not coherent enough to hang out with people most of the time.

she’s started spending less and less time at home. it helps to have a part time job on top of school—a place that delivers chinese food. a couple guys from her school work there too, not that she really knows a lot of them. except one.

matty.

he’s the one person she’s ever considered a friend.

the one person who’s been worthy of that title.

matty’s all casual smiles and laughs—he flirts shamelessly and kisses people on the cheeks when he gets drunk. he offers her fags and spliffs even though she always denies them. he nicks leftover chinese so they can eat it in his car, giggling and laughing, way prouder of their heist than they should be.

the food tastes better when she’s with him. everything’s better when she’s with him—even the shitty, off-brand beer he keeps buying. with him it tastes like expensive champagne. not that she knows what champagne tastes like to begin with, but she imagines the bubbles settling on her tongue feel like his laugh spilling from his lips. she imagines it tastes like the sparkle in his eyes.

matty looks at her differently too—she’s not stupid, she knows what interest looks like.

she’s been the object of fascination since she turned thirteen and developed boobs seemingly overnight. she shies away from attention most of the time—wears t-shirts twice her size, keeps her hair a bland brown. she barely even looks at boys or men who tell her she looks mature for her age. but when matty looks at her, it’s different.

when matty looks at her, she wants to be seen.

“you sure it’s okay for us to be out so late?” he asks one night when they’re sat in his car. the world around them has already gone quiet—it is a school night after all, she should be in bed too. but she sees the cigarette dangling loosely between his lips and for a second she forgets to respond. matty quirks and eyebrow and she realises she’s been staring at his mouth.

“my mum won’t mind.” her response is a bit curt, but she leaves it at that. there’s no need to mention that her mum’s probably drowning in wine by now, tripping and spilling the liquid onto floors and sofas and carpet.

“she must be chill,” matty hums to himself and takes a drag of his cigarette. she watches him hold it into his lungs, some of it escapes through his nose and curls around his face.

she keeps quiet, unwilling to get into that topic of conversation.

“i’m thinking of dropping out,” matty says quietly once the cigarette turns into a tiny stub. his voice is carefully neutral, monotonous. she whirls to look at him, jaw practically dropping to the (dirty) floor of his car. matty stares straight ahead, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away.

images flash in front of her—walking the school corridors alone, eating lunch alone, doing her homework alone. working at her job alone.

alone, alone, alone. no one but her mum around her again. that wretched fucking woman occupying every atom of her existence.

“did you h—”

“i heard you.” her voice has gone quiet now but there’s an edge to it that doesn’t go unnoticed by matty.

“and?”

“and what? if i said no, would that convince you to stay?”

she doesn’t mean to sound so sharp, so bitter. certainly not so selfish. but an ugly feeling bubbles up so deep inside her that all the excitement from before just dies—all the butterflies from just a moment ago, now dead and rotten, making her feel nauseous.

“no but—”

“i don’t want to tell you why it’s irresponsible, matty. frankly, i don’t know if i believe that myself but… it’s… it’s big.”

his face falls further and further the more she speaks. with each word she wants to press a hand to her mouth, wrap it around her throat so it would strangle everything else that’s about to come out. with every word she wants him to tell her to just shut the fuck up, that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. but matty only looks at her and a different sort of quiet spreads around the car.

“you think this… this thing you’ve got going on. music. you think that’s enough?! you play for fucking retirement homes, matty! you play for old people who probably won’t even remember what they heard twenty minutes later. and you want to–what? you want to leave your education incomplete? you want to leave a-levels and school and your job? you just want to…leave?”

which is the real problem.

he gets the luxury of leaving.

she gets the misery of staying.

“thanks,” he says dryly, trying to roll his eyes. she catches the extra shine they now have, she catches the way his throat bobs. and suddenly the car is so stifling she can’t stand it anymore—can’t stand the taste of the nasty, cheap beer and the too-salty, too-greasy chinese they’re eating and she can’t stand the cliche, indie rock music playing at low volume.

she can’t stand him anymore.

“i need to go,” she says curtly, wiping her hands on her jeans and already halfway out the door when matty grabs her wrist.

“wait—”

“what.”

“n-nothing.” it’s the first time she’s heard him stutter, first time he’s ever said something without sounding completely sure of himself. “let me just drop you home.”

it’s also the first time he’s offered to do that.

“i have my bike.” besides there’s no need for you to see the state of the house right now, no need to come across that belligerent woman in case she’s still conscious.

“it’s late.”

she can’t really argue with that logic. it is almost 11 at night and she might not live in a very shady neighbourhood but it’s still not the safest at this time of the night. still, she doesn’t want matty driving her around and dropping her home. that feels too vulnerable. besides, she just wants to be away from him.

he’s leaving anyway, she might as well start practising that from now on.

“i’ll text you when you get home,” she mumbles and forces her wrist out of his hand.

she’s out of the car and slamming the door shut before he can even protest. she’s marching across the empty road and to her bike before the absence of his warmth registers, before her body realises that she can no longer feel his skin against hers.

before she really has a chance to let anything sink in.

matty honks and she hisses.

“what!”

“i’m following you home.” and then the little shit rolls up the window.

she has half a mind to stubbornly wait him out, see how long he stays if she just refused to move but that’s a stupid plan. like it or not, it’s happening. he’s following her home.

like it or not, she’s going to have to let him.

“i’ll only accept your apology on one condition.”

it’s two days later that they’re back in his car—her with a guilty conscience, matty with a smug smile.

“ugh, if you’re about to be a boy about it!”

“you haven’t even heard me out yet!”

the pit in her stomach shifts, the hollow cavity catching in her throat until she has to forcefully clear her throat and blink rapidly. it’s not that she’s completely forgiven him for wanting to leave, she hasn’t completely given up on that yet either. but she realises the way she went about it was perhaps…a bit shitty (okay it was definitely a lot shitty)

“spring dance”

“what?!”

the words jerk her out of her thoughts so violently that she almost forget about everything else for a second. the spring fucking dance.

matty healy, the boy who nicks chinese food and drinks cheap beer and wears ripped, skinny jeans wants to go to the spring dance.

“right don’t look at me like i’ve asked you out to a strip club—”

“that’d be more in character—”

“oi! just… let me speak!”

and so she shuts up, puts her hands under her thighs so she won’t impulsively chew on her nails while her crush is…trying to ask her out.

matty rolls his eyes at her and the fond smile on his face takes her breath away.

“i want to do it. i want one last cheesy school experience before i…” he trails off, maybe not wanting to finish that sentence for her sake. or maybe because it affects him more than she thinks. “and i want to do it with you.”

“me? ooh like i’m special or something.” she tries for it to be teasing and playful, but the words come out sounding so hopeful that it knocks the breath out of her.

“don’t pretend,” matty’s voice goes all quiet then. serious too, and suddenly he can’t meet her eyes. “don’t pretend like you don’t see it.”

“see what…”

there’s a lot in her life that she pretends not to see—half the things at home, sometimes her failing marks, sometimes the way other people look at her and whisper. but he is the one person she can’t pretend with. can’t pretend to not see the way he looks at her and acts around her. can’t pretend to not notice the way his touches linger and his smiles last longer.

even now, she can’t pretend like he’s not looking right at her lips, leaning in a smidge at a time. wishing she’d close the gap.

involuntarily, her eyes flutter shut. anticipating.

she wants to feel it so fucking bad—his hands on her waist, his fingers on her skin. she wants to feel his faint stubble against the palm of her hand, his lips on hers. most of all she just wants to feel him close, to feel his breath on her skin.

matty jerks away and a loud horn of a car breaks the spell.

“fucking dicks!” matty rolls the window down and yells at the retreating figure of teenagers in a car, one of them even flips him off and next to him she seethes.

fuck this, fuck everything. why can’t she just have nice things.

why must someone come and ruin it every time.

it takes them both a minute to breathe and settle down and meet each other’s eyes again. even then there’s a slight pink tinge on his face that makes him look adorable.

“sorry about that…” matty mumbles and taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “so…spring dance?”

“i’d love that.”

she hopes the smile she gives him is genuine. she hopes he sees it plain and simple all over her face—all the words she hasn’t said and cannot say.

matty smiles wide. “then i forgive you.”

and it’s like a weight gets lifted off her chest.

“you look pretty,” her mum’s eyes roam over her body, eyeing her from head to toe, flicking over certain places again and again until she almost feels naked—like the blush pink fabric doesn’t even exist. like her mum sees right through her.

years of this has taught her that it’s not a compliment. if anything, it’s just another trap, so she focuses on her reflection in the mirror and smiles with as much warmth as she can muster. “thanks!”

her mum reeks of wine already, maybe even a little weed but it’s nearly not enough today which is surprising. she would have expected her mum to be at some bar by now.

“i’ll be a bit late. don’t worry i have my keys though.”

then she scoffs to herself. when has her mum ever worried?

“who’s taking you? to the dance.”

“wha–? oh. uh, just a few friends. only met them recently.” she winces, trying to get the last of the curls in place, trying not to be too cagey in front of her mum. she doesn’t want her mum to think she’s hiding something—mostly because it never ends well, and she can’t be arsed to deal with another screaming match right now. not when there’s a ball of anxiety and anticipation in her chest, wound so tightly that it’s slowly choking the air out of her lungs.

she just wants to be outside. she just wants matty to see her, to call her pretty and maybe even kiss her.

she just wants this one night with him.

just one.

her mum huffs and stumbles into the room. everything about this woman wants to make her shrink away—the days old stink of sweat and alcohol and cigarettes, the grime under her fingernails, her beady stare…

even when her mum’s fingers twirl around her curl, she fights not to shrink back, to slap her mum’s hand away.

“you look pretty,” her mum repeats. “prettier than i did when i was your age.”

her stomach churns at the cruel edge to those words but her mum isn’t done yet. “huh–not so easy to be pretty with a seven month pregnant belly. like a fucking whale…”

and there it is.

her fault that her mum was robbed off having normal teenage experiences.

“right, mum,” she smiles shakily, “need to get going.”

it’s almost a miracle that her mum doesn’t say anything else. mum just backs away and lets her gather her things. she quickens her pace, heart beating in her throat, hands trembling when she picks up her small purse.

it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay

“don’t spread your legs for that boy.”

she freezes in place, almost out the door.

“wha—”

“act dumb again and i’ll make sure you never see that boy again.”

“mum…” she swallows harshly, prays that the tears pricking her eyes don’t spill down her cheeks. then she nods and books it out of there. better to go before her mum changes her mind.

better to go before leaving becomes impossible.

matty makes her forget all of it.

the moment she sees him, the shakiness in her limbs disappears, her heart thuds in her chest for all the right reasons. he’s in a suit. a fucking suit that makes him look all grown up and handsome but then his unruly curls go all over the place and suddenly she’s laughing with the boy she’s had a crush on.

no matter what he wears and what he looks like, he will always be that boy.

the school auditorium is full of flowers—some fake, some real. all the girls around her look stunning, dressed in colourful pretty gowns. it’s all spring incarnate.

all night he dances effortlessly, twirls so many people around him like he’s friends with everyone. and maybe he is—he’s certainly always been so much more popular than she has. she should be the one leaving.

but she also can’t help but stare. she wonders if he is a daydream, something her lonely mind conjured up during hours filled with boredom or after long, exhausting fights with her mum. and suddenly, he is looking right at her. sweat makes his white shirt stick to his body in the most flattering way possible, makes his sweaty curls fall into his eyes until he can barely see straight.

stop ogling!

“staring is rude, you know?” he walks—no, saunters—over to her. suddenly, there’s not enough air left in the giant school auditorium.

“you’ve been staring too,” she counters. and she’s right. all night she’s caught his long lingering glances that make her feel like she’s coming alive.

like a flower blooming in spring.

“you kinda make it hard not to stare.” so does he, she thinks. but everything, from his half smile to his relaxed posture, tells her not to inflate his ego further. she stifles the faint blush creeping up her face and shakes her head bashfully.

“come on,” he says.

at first, she doesn’t realise what’s happening. then he whisks her away to the dance floor and her shriek of surprise turns into one of delight. she has never danced like this before but that night they dance till her heart pounds in her ears, till she can’t stand straight anymore. then they sway softly, in spite of the rock and roll playing in the background.

“you’re beautiful,” matty smiles at her, sincere and real.

if she discovers anything about herself that early spring night, it would be her love for dancing. it’s a feeling she’s never felt before—something that almost feels like…freedom. it’s foreign at first, all the blood coursing through her body at the speed of lightning. she tries to keep track of how many times she shrieks and laughs and jumps in excitement. all of it until matty picks her up and twirls her around.

round and round until she’s breathless and light as air and fucking free.

somewhere after that, she loses count. at the end of the night, her dress clings to her and matty can’t stop staring. can’t stop letting his eyes roam all over her until he’s grinning himself. his smile is boyish. perfect. and just as she’s getting self-conscious, he pulls her closer.

“you’re fucking perfect, you know that?”

next thing she knows, matty is holding her softly against the wall and kissing her bare neck. he softly caresses her waist through her dress and she shivers against the warm spring breeze. she can feel him shaking too, almost like he’s…nervous to do anything more. to actually kiss her and shatter the moment. she can’t have that, can’t let this moment slip through her fingers.

“kiss me,” she pleads and matty moves in an instant, his warm mouth capturing hers. like he was only waiting for her permission.

his lips are a little chapped. far from perfect and yet electricity zings through her all at once. if it weren’t for the wall, her legs might have given out from under her. she might just be a heap on the floor, surrounded by all the spring flowers.

matty kisses with such reckless abandon that it steals her breath away. kisses her until her heart swells in her chest, ready to burst. her fingers tangle themselves into his hair and she kisses him back with everything in her. she can’t care less about how public this is, there’s only him in this moment.

only the two of them on a warm spring night suspended in this one moment.

she almost whines when matty pulls back. annoyed beyond belief that he’d pull away now.

“mat—”

“it’s late.”

“it’s not!”

“it is, love.” suddenly his voice has gone gentle, almost quiet. matty pulls his old phone out of his pocket (with the screen cracked and all) and holds it in front of her. the screen flashes with 11:17

shit where did all the time go?

matty makes no move to untangle himself from her arms, still pressed against her. in her ead she forms a childlike grudge against his phone. if it weren’t for it, they would have never known what time it was…

“i hate this.” her voice comes out thick with tears and something wet hits her nose. “i don’t want to go, i don’t want you to go. please.” but even then she knows how unfair it is to put him in this situation.

matty’s caresses her cheek, wiping away her tears, smiling at her like she’s the most gentle precious thing in the whole world.

and maybe she is. in his world.

“you’ll finish school too,” he says, voice a low murmur, “and then you have a uni to attend. so much shit to do. god, you’re brilliant enough to get everything you want.”

but it’s you i want. still she doesn’t say it. not just yet.

she nuzzles his palm instead, placing a soft kiss on it. “i hate spring. i wish it was autumn instead. i’d be starting uni at least.”

“and you will,” matty reassures again. “you’re going to do so many things.”

“you won’t be here to see them…”

and there it is, all the things she’s been holding deep inside laid bare. matty looks at her for a long time and smiles sadly. “who said that? i’d find you, we will keep in touch. isn’t spring meant to be about new beginnings and all that? so why don’t we start a pact?”

“that’s a silly idea,” she teases but even then she’s eager to know what he means.

matty ignores it. “stay here for spring and summer, finish school. i’ll find you when autumn comes.”

“you’d really do that?”

“who’s gonna help you move into uni halls huh?”

through tears she laughs. only matty could make it sound so exciting. only matty could make her hate it so much less.

she doesn’t trust herself to speak anymore so she kisses him instead. he tastes like peaches, mint and something sweet. the very first boy she’s ever loved. the boy she will always love.

he’s leaving soon, she knows it. who knows maybe she will wake up tomorrow and he will be gone. she feels all that passes between them and she tries to send all her longing and all her yearning down that bond. for a brief second she is determined to make matty stay through sheer willpower.

but that would be the most selfish thing she’s ever done. and so she smiles and lets him go.

matty might be leaving but she’ll always have this one warm spring night. even as the clock inches towards midnight and a new day threatens to arrive.

for a brief moment she wonders if she can make time stand still. this one moment stretched into eternity.

but the minutes tick by anyway. and tomorrow comes anyway.

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855@beachesgetpeaches, @you-muppet, @mcabister, @alexmarie29, @at-her-very-foreign, @hfkait, @squishysoupy @sierraeslaprincesa @harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet @thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername@celestcies @sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @thewaywewereinsaigon @daphnesutton @beliefandsayingsomething @ros3chu @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @zzzhealy @mattymybeloved @fck-off @indiaamars @sofaritsalrightt @k4tie75 @wondersecret @humptyhoran @indierockgirrl @hanbiior @moreyoulove-moreyouknow @rossgirly @if-my-heart-bleeds @little-lovely-darling @abriefnirvana @renitypoem @sinarainbows @lady-may-targaryen @love4agesss @angrylittlebaldman @oneluckygirl @sinarainbows @starvchaser @noacfapologyst @abouttofillhisshoes @tbhnotthatfunny

add yourself to the taglist

#spring fics #seasons #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #matty x reader #matty x you

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tinytalkingtina · 8 months ago

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Tater tot

Written for the @steddiemicrofic bonus challenge prompt "birthday". Happy birthday @steddieas-shegoes, hope you have a lovely day :)

290 words | rating: G

Tags: Parents Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson, fluff, parenthood

Ao3 link

Steve stared through the window at the tiny bundle wrapped up in front of them, tearing up only a little at the sound of another lullaby wafting through the hospital intercom. Robert Wayne Munson remained oblivious to anything in the bassinet. The tiny blue hat perched on his head almost completely covered his even tinier eyes. His nose is so small, can he even breathe okay through those mini nostrils? “He looks like a potato.” Startled out of his spiraling thoughts, Steve snorted a watery laugh and punched Eddie lightly in the shoulder. “Only 3 hours old and already facing the peanut gallery. Don’t be mean to our son on his birthday.” Eddie looked around before he briefly squeezed his hand, stroking his thumb over the band from their illegal backyard wedding five years ago. “I never said he was an ugly potato. But he’s an oval swaddled lump, they’ve spudified him! Our-” Eddie stopped for a moment, his eyes widening before choking out “Our son. Steve, oh my G-d, we’re parents now.” Steve had been a blubbering mess alongside Robin during the entire ride to the hospital and delivery, but Eddie had managed to keep it together. Now, it was as if the floodgates opened. By the time the nurses brought their infant — their son! — back into Robin’s room, Wayne had arrived and Eddie pulled himself together enough to take the baby into only slightly shaking hands. “Hey there, happy birthday little guy, I hope you know how much you’re going to be loved, always” he whispered softly as he ducked his head down to place a soft kiss on his son’s forehead. Steve stepped in to place a kiss in the same spot, his heart bursting.

#In my head this takes place in the late 90's in NYC or Chicago #Yes they named the baby after Robin #steddie #steddiemicrofic #bonus round #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #tinawrites

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mostly-marvel-musings · 4 months ago

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You made Tony sort of live out his dream in Where do we go from here and now I'm obsessed with that and these prompts reminded me of it: “Reality is even better than my dreams.” and “I have dreamed of this, but this is so much better.”. Whichever one you prefer, or both, you choose, I just need to see Tony living out his dreams/fantasies.

Better than any dream

A/N: An epilogue to Annoying Neighbour? A standalone fluff bomb? Take it any way you like!! Enjoy :)

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warnings: 18+ FLUFF TO THE VERY CORE.

Annoying Neighbour Series

It was raining.

Today of all days. You couldn’t complain though, given how perfect life was currently. Your two month old baby boy Noah was latched on to your breast, suckling away as you sat on your nursing chair overlooking the backyard, humming a soft lullaby.

You laughed as his tiny hand wrapped around your finger in an iron grip, his big brown eyes that he inherited from his Dada turning heavier by the second as your milk filled his little belly.

“Hey, save some for me, Noah Howard Stark.”

Your husband’s voice made you roll your eyes as he approached from behind, inevitably warming your cheeks as last night’s memories flooded your mind. Tony had been quite appreciative of your changing body throughout the pregnancy, however, post childbirth, he had simply been obsessed with your breasts, never missing a chance to help you express your milk, in a bottle or otherwise.

“I dreamed of this, you know. But this is just so much better.” Tony murmured, bending down to give you a soft kiss on your lips before doing the same to Noah’s little head, caressing his dark brown curls.

You heard Rhodey’s voice call out for Tony from the garden, making him sprint towards the source despite the downpour.

“She wants you to jump in puddles with her.” Rhodey smiled, holding Morgan’s hand in his before transferring it to Tony’s. The fact that Morgan had them both wrapped around her little finger brought you so much joy.

“You too, Uncle Rhodey. Come on!” Morgan squealed, making you grin as you witnessed your older child making two full grown adults - although that could be debatable - jump in puddles of muddy water.

An echo of carefree laughter and love wafting along with the petrichor as you let out a happy sigh, closing your eyes to take it all in.

Yes. Tony was right. Reality was definitely better than your dreams.

#tony stark x female reader #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark fluff #tony stark x reader #tony stark imagine #tony stark drabble #tony stark x y/n #tony stark fic #tony stark smut #the stark squad #marvel fanfiction #tony stark #mostly marvel musings #rhodey #morgan stark #annoying neighbour

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boobo13cambridge · 1 year ago

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A Mother's Remedy | Kylian Mbappé

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x f.Reader

Warnings: none just Papa Kylian fussing over his “perfect hattrick”

Summary: You fall asleep on Kylian after spending the whole day taking care of the triplets who had the flu.

A/N: Hello, everyone! I’ve been trying to get all my previous requests done. I hope you guys like this one, it was way too cute to write. My requests are open again if you guys want to send me more. As always, please leave me feedback and don’t forget to reblog. I would greatly appreciate it. Enjoy, lovelies ❣️

The room was filled with a soft glow, courtesy of the bedside lamp casting its warm light upon the scene. The day's exhaustion had finally caught up to you as you lay nestled in the comfort of Kylian's arms, your head resting against his broad chest. It had been a long and arduous day, one that tested your strength and patience as you cared for your three precious children who were struck down by the flu.

The abrupt shift in weather proved overwhelming for your spirited young boys, whose boundless energy knew no bounds. They loved playing football outside in your backyard, and wouldn't miss a match at the Santiago Bernabeu if they could help it. Watching their father play was their greatest joy, and you couldn't help but fall in love each time seeing your precious four-year-olds donning their father's jersey proudly, their voices joining in unison with the fervent chants reverberating throughout the stadium. Ali, being the eldest among the trio, would often lead his younger brothers, Zain and Ilyas, in a rendition of the French national anthem before playing their ‘friendlies’, as he liked to call them, in the yard. Kylian found it absolutely adorable, officially dubbing them his ‘favourite hat trick’.

Kylian's fingers gently caressed your hair, soothing away the remnants of stress that clung to your tired mind. His touch was a balm to your weary soul, bringing you a sense of peace and tranquillity. The rise and fall of his chest against your cheek served as a rhythmic lullaby, coaxing you slowly to sleep.

As your eyes fluttered closed, the image of your children flashed across your mind. Their little faces flushed with fever, their once lively eyes dimmed by illness. My poor babies, you thought as you snuggled closer to your husband. You had spent the entire day tending to their every need, feeding them medicine, wiping away tears, and comforting them through the long hours of discomfort.

A few hours earlier…

As the sun cast its golden rays across the room, you woke up with a sense of anticipation for the day ahead. Stretching lazily, you slowly tried to get out of your husband’s embrace, the latter’s arms tightening his hold not wanting to let you go.

"Bébé, stay just a few more minutes," he murmured softly, nestling deeper into the curve of your neck. Letting out a quiet giggle, you turned towards him, placing a tender kiss on his nose and gently caressing his cheek.

"Kyky, I have to go wake up the triplets and get them ready for school," you explained, a fond smile gracing your lips.

"Mmmhhh, d'accord. But give me a kiss first," he playfully whined, his lips puckering in an adorable pout. Shaking your head affectionately at his antics, you indulged his request, pressing a chaste kiss on his waiting lips, before deftly extricating yourself from his embrace and making your way towards the room where your precious cubs slept.

The triplets' room was conveniently situated just across the hall from your own, one of the many reasons you both decided on this house after Kylian signed with Real Madrid. As you opened the door to the bedroom and stepped in, the sound of faint whimpering halted your movements.

Alarm surged through your veins as you rushed towards the beds, the scene that greeted you shattered your heart into a million pieces. Lying in their beds, your little ones were flushed and perspiring, their small bodies consumed by fever. The sight of their usually bright and energetic faces now pale and tormented sent a wave of panic coursing through your veins.

Laying your hand on their sweaty foreheads, you felt how warm they were.

“Maman…” whimpered Ilyas the youngest of trio, slowly opening his eyes, “Je me sens pas bien.”

“Oh, mon pauvre petit chou. Maman’s here now,” you said, gently caressing his face.

As you continued to caress Ilyas's flushed face, offering him reassurance and comfort, the other two boys, Zain and Ali, began to stir from their sleep. Their delicate brows furrowed in response to the discomfort that plagued them, their faces contorted in the grip of illness. The sight was a poignant reminder of their vulnerability, igniting a fierce determination within you to ease their suffering.

With a heavy sigh, you braced yourself for the demanding day that lay ahead. Gathering your strength and summoning the resilience that only a mother possesses, you whispered soothing words to Ilyas, gently coaxing him to rest as you hear the distinct sound of Kylian’s footsteps approaching.

"Ils sont où mes petits footballeurs?" your husband boomed, entering the room with a wide smile that quickly faded upon witnessing the state of his babies. His expression transformed into one of deep concern, etching lines of worry across his handsome face. "Mon dieu, what happened?"

"They have a fever, Ky. They're burning up real bad," you replied, your voice laced with concern as you watched Kylian's eyes flicker with worry.

"Papa... Arrête de parler si fort, t’es pas un haut-parleur là," Zain weakly croaked, his voice barely audible, but still managing to convey his cheeky spirit, even in the midst of illness.

Kylian, ever the doting father, couldn't help but chuckle softly at Zain's response. "Roh là là, regarde le tit gamin," he remarked affectionately, a playful glimmer in his eyes. "Even while sick, he'll give his dad cheek, eh?"

Moving softly across the room, Kylian approached Zain's bed, his presence exuding a comforting warmth. His large hand gently rested upon Zain's fevered forehead, the contrast between his cool touch and the heat radiating from the young boy's skin sending a shiver of concern down his father's spine. Soft words of comfort and reassurance spilled from Kylian's lips, offering solace and a father's unwavering love.

After giving Ilyas a soft kiss on his cheek, you stood up, knowing you needed to make some food for your little ones and help them regain their strength. Your heart ached at the sight of Ali, still sleeping restlessly in his bed. You quickly made your way to his side, gently brushing his dark tousled hair away from his forehead, and placing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Ky, can you stay with them? Get them a wet towel for their foreheads. I'll make them some porridge and give them their medicine," you suggested, softly running your hand through your oldest’s hair.

"Sure, mon amour. You go ahead, I'll take care of them," Kylian reassured you, his voice filled with tenderness. With a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, you left the room, your mind racing with the urgency to prepare a comforting meal for your hungry little ones.

In the kitchen, you swiftly gathered the necessary ingredients, your hands moving with practised efficiency. As the porridge simmered, you took a moment to grab your phone and dial your mother's number.

With years of experience as a mother herself, she was a source of guidance and wisdom in times like these. You explained the situation and sought her advice on caring for your sick cubs, soaking in her comforting words and practical tips.

On the other end of the line, your mother's voice greeted you with warmth and concern. "Hello, my dear. What's going on? You sound worried."

"Hi, Mom," you replied, your voice tinged with a mixture of relief and anxiety. "The triplets are down with a high fever, and I'm not sure what to do. They're feeling really miserable."

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm sorry to hear that," your mother empathized. "First, make sure they stay hydrated. Offer them small sips of water frequently. And if they have any appetite, light, easily digestible foods like porridge would be good."

You nodded, taking mental notes. "Yes, I'm making them porridge now. It's almost ready."

"That's a good choice, my dear. Warm and comforting. It will help soothe their throats too," your mother advised. "And don't forget to give them their medicine. Keep a close eye on their temperature and monitor their symptoms. If things worsen or if you have any concerns, don't hesitate to call their paediatrician."

"I will, Mom. Thank you so much for your guidance," you expressed your gratitude, feeling a sense of reassurance wash over you.

"You're welcome, my love. Remember, you're a wonderful mother, and you'll get through this. Trust your instincts and remember the best remedy is a mother’s love," your mother encouraged.

As you hung up the phone, you turned off the stove and took a moment to collect yourself. The conversation with your mother had given you a boost of confidence, reminding you of the strength and resilience within you.

Carrying the tray of steaming porridge and Tylenol back to the bedroom, you found Kylian gently coaxing Ali to wake up from his restless slumber. Your heart ached as you saw the worry etched on Kylian's face, his focus solely on their oldest, who seemed to be more affected by the fever than the others.

"Ali, mon petit lion," Kylian murmured softly, his voice filled with tenderness. "Wake up, Maman is bringing some food. It will make you feel better, je te promets, mon coeur,"

Placing the tray on the table near Ali’s bed, you placed a hand on Ali's forehead, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. His eyelashes fluttered, and his drowsy eyes slowly opened, revealing a mixture of confusion and discomfort. His weak voice quivered as he tried to speak.

"Mama... Papa," Ali croaked, his voice barely audible.

"We're here, mon amour," you reassured him, your voice gentle and soothing. "You're going to be okay. Just take your time and try to eat a little. It will help you get better."

With Kylian's support, you lifted Ali into a sitting position, propping pillows behind him to provide comfort. The fragrant aroma of the porridge filled the room, its warmth wrapping around Ali like a healing embrace. Kylian scooped a spoonful and blew on it gently to cool it down before offering it to Ali.

"Open wide, Ali," Kylian encouraged, his voice laced with both concern and determination. "Just a little bite. It will give you strength."

Ali hesitated for a moment, his tired eyes meeting yours and Kylian's. The love and support shining in your gazes seemed to embolden him. With a deep breath, he parted his lips, allowing Kylian to feed him a small spoonful of porridge. The taste brought a flicker of renewed energy to his weary body, and he managed a faint smile.

"Good job, Ali," you praised him, your voice gentle. "You're doing great."

As Kylian took care of your eldest, you attended to your other two brave little boys, who patiently waited as you served them each a bowl of warm food. Zain and Ilyas were capable of eating on their own, but as the ever-doting mother, you couldn't help but worry, despite their constant reassurances that they could manage. You moved back and forth between your sons, gently wiping the sweat off their foreheads and assisting them in drinking water. Once all three boys finished their meal, you and Kylian administered fever medicine and gently coaxed them back to sleep, hoping they would recover soon.

Seeing them in such a state made you feel helpless. Usually lively boys, they now lay there, struggling with high fevers. Observing your worry, Kylian tenderly wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him and planting a kiss on your hair.

"Don't worry, my love. They'll be fine," he whispered softly as you sought solace by burying your head in his chest. "I can't help but worry, Ky. Especially Ali, I've never seen him like this before."

"Shh, he'll be alright," he soothed. "If you stress too much, you'll make yourself sick, and that's the last thing you want, right? The boys will be back to normal soon, my heart, okay?"

You nodded, releasing a faint sigh, as Kylian slowly closed the boys' room and led you to your shared bedroom. He was right; there was nothing more you could do but allow the fever to run its course and nurse your children back to health in the meantime. You felt grateful to have your caring husband by your side, knowing that despite being in the middle of a busy season, he always prioritized his family.

As you gently lay down, resting your head on Kylian's chest, you prayed for your family's well-being, filled with immense gratitude for your own mother, who had spent countless nights fussing over you to ensure your well-being. Your mother's words echoed in your mind, reminding you that a mother's love is the best remedy. With that thought, you allowed yourself to drift off to sleep, serenaded by the soothing rhythm of your lover's heartbeat.

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