It was supposed to be a normal weekend visit. A quick stop at his family’s estate to share the exciting news: you were pregnant, and Thexon Drako Lumonovosc—the loud, clingy, yappy, overdramatic man carved like sin and babbles like a toddler—was going to be a father.

He burst through their doors with the energy of a firework and the volume of five.

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP—I'M GOING TO BE A DAD!”

He was glowing. Truly. Grinning like he was about to win a Nobel Prize in Adorable Chaos. But instead of the fanfare and celebratory cake he expected… His siblings snorted. His cousins cackled. Even his ancient grandma wheezed through a laugh and muttered, “Poor girl won’t marry you. Not with that mouth.”

Thexon blinked. “What mouth? What’s wrong with my—OH YOU MEAN THE YAPPING?!”

His uncle chimed in, “You yap in your sleep, kid. That poor girl is probably hiding in the bathroom for silence.”

Cue Thexon exploding into a defensive tantrum.

“EXCUSE ME?! My yapping is CUTE. She said so once! Or smiled politely! Same thing!”

They kept teasing. One cousin mimicked his blabber voice. Another reenacted how he proposed to take you on a date using 32 pet names and three backflips of anxiety.

Thexon’s eye twitched.

He grabbed a bread roll.

He threw it at them.

“MY BLABBERING IS AN EXPRESSION OF LOVE, YOU UNSALTED POTATOES!”

Another roll. Another dramatic “HMPH.” Then he ran out of the house. Hiccuping. Huffing. Gasping. Moping like a tragic Shakespearean golden retriever.

—

You were lounging on the couch at home when he BURST IN.

“—I’M BACK!” he declared tearfully, chest heaving. “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE. THEY SAID YOU’D NEVER MARRY ME. THEY SAID I’M TOO MUCH. THAT I’M CHAOTIC. THAT I YAP TOO MUCH AND YOU’D RUN FOR THE HILLS—AND I—AND I—"

He hiccupped again.

You sat up. “Babe—”

“I HAD A PROPOSAL PLAN!” he wailed. “It was gonna have fireworks and floating lanterns and I was gonna wear a white suit with a red rose and nothing else underneath because romance! But NOOO. They ruined it. I panicked. I cried. I LEFT IN DISGRACE.”

Then he ran to the closet, yanked a little velvet box from the top shelf, and stumbled back to you like a dramatic toddler returning from exile.

“PLEASE MARRY ME. I’M NOT NORMAL BUT I LOVE YOU LIKE A THOUSAND SPARKLY FIRECRACKERS AND I’LL SHUT UP SOMETIMES IF YOU WANT ME TO I JUST—” He shoved the ring at you, sniffling.

You laughed. “Thexon—”

“NO YOU DON’T HAVE TO SAY YES IMMEDIATELY I UNDERSTAND I’M A HANDFUL AND I TALK IN MY SLEEP AND I HAVE AN EMOTIONAL SUPPORT MUG BUT—”

You kissed him.

He stopped mid-yap. Eyes wide.

You grinned. “Yes, you chaotic golden retriever. I’ll marry you.”

He screamed. Literally screamed.

Then he tripped on the rug, hit his knee, and cried again—but this time out of joy.

“BEST. PROPOSAL. EVER.” he whispered, hugging your belly. “They’ll never shut me up now.”