'Crush x Reader's (kind of)

♧Birthday drabble

"There you go.” 

You looked at your husband with heavy lidded eyes, having just woken up. He'd handed you a glass of water and you drank it gratefully, glad you could start your day of hydrated. 

"Thank you, but please get under the blankets again. I'm an old woman now, I deserve some cuddling on my birthday."

He threw his head back in laughter, and you winced, hoping your youngest child wouldn't wake up from his dad's laughter. 

You watched as he lifted the blankets, and shivered as the cold air hit the part of your stomach that wasn't covered anymore because your pajama top had ridden up somewhere during the night, something that had started happening regularly since you had entered the second trimester of your pregnancy.

Your husband put an arm around you, gently pulling you closer to him, and you didn't complain, laying your head on his chest and throwing one of your legs over his. 

"How was your night?" 

You hummed incoherently, wanting him to fill the silence in your room. You loved his voice, loved listening to what he had to say. It was the sound of safety, of steadiness, of happiness and laughter. Of home.

"Hmm quite well, yours? Did I sleep talk? Tell me about your dreams." 

It wasn't only an excuse to hear him talk. You had the habit of telling each other about your dreams, both the actual sleeping ones and the ones you had about the future.

"Dreamed about my wife. And about the dog eating a full out English breakfast, for some reason." 

It was your time to snort, your colourful imagination immediately coming up with a detailed image, your pet stuffing his face with bacon and poached eggs, or something similar.  

"Speaking of, should I make something for you? I can make pancakes, it's only your birthday once a year." 

You smiled once again, you seemingly couldn't stop smiling today. You were just so happy, and not just because your husband wanted to make you pancakes.  It was the way he got a glass of water every day of your pregnancy first thing in the morning, and it was the way you, in return, always wrote him little notes that you put in random places, between the pages of his favourite book or somewhere in the middle of the kids' drawings that proudly decorated your fridge. There were some advantages to your kids not being able to read yet, and you planned on making full use of it. They already grew up way too fast as it was.  

"No, stay here. We can use the time making breakfast cuddling, and then just eat cornflakes. I like the new ones I bought last week."

You felt him nod, and his hand traveled from your hitched up leg to your stomach, drawing small circles on it with his thumb. Smile number 45, check. 

Silence fell over the room once more, and you dealt with it for approximately a minute before you started humming something. You didn't like silence. You were used to the constant noise a loving family with kids naturally made.
Your husband joined, and it sounded quite alright, until you attempted to make a harmony out of it and failed miserably, resulting in the two of you falling into a fit of giggles. Really, it was a blissful morning. You watched the first rays of sunshine dance with your curtains, creating beautiful shapes on your wooden floor. Your husband was the first one to break the silence this time. 

"How long until she wakes up?"

You craned your neck to look at the alarm beside him, nestling your head back on his chest, smirking slightly.

"6 minutes" 

"4" 

Your smile broadened. The two of you bet every morning on when your oldest daughter would come barging into your room, a habit she'd never really grown out of, no matter how good of an example she set for her younger siblings in every other aspect. The one losing the bet had to make the kids' lunches that day. It was - apart from the glass of water - the first thing you did in the morning, and it had never failed to put a smile on your face during those first moments of the day. 

You felt lips ghost over your hairline, kissing it a few times and then murmuring:

"Happy birthday, darling."

You closed your eyes, soaking in the last few moments of peaceful rest before it would be replaced by joyful chanting and ringing laughter. Your thumb stroked over the place where his heart lays, and you whispered:

"I love you, too.”

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A/N: my beta pointed out that American people reading this will think I'm talking about bland corn cereal. I'm not. Come to Belgium, you'll understand what I'm writing about.
This was inspired by my birthday mornings not going like this, and how I wish they will, one day ;)