#that he convinced them to follow along with his plan

[marjoch]

do you think about me

In an established relationship, Viktor has been engrossed in work while Jayce is feeling neglected. Jayce dares Viktor to follow him along for a day as a councilor. Jayce only wants to spend time with him, and Viktor is learning that Councilor Talis is a big turn on.

[18+]

Mid-summer, sometime closer to fall than spring.

Jayce Talis was hard at work, devising plans to keep his project on track and his city in order. Two jobs were more difficult than one, as anyone would imagine. Anyone apart from Viktor, that was.

On the other hand, Jayce’s partner Viktor spent every moment of his “free” time on their research. “Free” didn’t include typical work, sleeping, or playing. This meant that every moment he wasn’t sleeping or playing (on the rare occasion when both he and Jayce had time), he was ruminating over theories or mathematical equations.

Viktor was every bit of Jayce’s. He was not only a partner in science but a partner in life: the pair of them bonded over their shared passion for science, and continued their relationship depths further to love one another. Jayce had fallen first and Viktor had fallen harder, a dynamic that defined them well. They were partners in every sense of the word. Years prior, when Viktor stopped Jayce from an attempt on his life, the pair of them found themselves intertwined. Concepts led to research, which led from longing to something more official. Nearly everyone they knew were aware of the relationship, including Jayce’s mother, whom Viktor had met several times.

These days, Viktor spent nearly every waking second in their lab. He was withering away as a result of his childhood in the fissures, and Jayce was ever-aware. When he wasn’t preoccupied attending meetings as a councilor, he was by Viktor’s side. Apart from Jayce, no one seemed to care about Viktor’s illness or where it stemmed from. Viktor, however, was determined to keep this from happening to other children. It would be a positive side effect to benefit his own survival, but even now he feared the answer wouldn’t rid him of his ailments.

There was no time. Viktor was fearing a finish line coming into sight, and Jayce was fearing not being respected by his peers. The lab was busy all times of day, with Viktor dedicating the majority of his time to it and Jayce showing up in evenings to pull double shifts (one as a councilor, the other a scientist).

Viktor was dying as a result of his chronic illness. Jayce was dying because of Viktor’s lack of care: his lover even took to sleeping in the lab, something Jayce had a hard time keeping up with due to his rigorous schedule.

On one particular late evening, Jayce put Viktor between a wall and a hard place. Viktor had been working until Jayce convinced him into a make-out session, something spurred between science and boyfriendism. It didn’t last very long, as Viktor was intent on returning to work. Jayce happened to mention his hard day, to which Viktor responded detailing his scientific difficulties.

“It seems you’ve had a productive evening,” said Jayce, in response to Viktor’s seemingly spiraling thoughts pertaining their shared discoveries.

“It seems you don’t care about this as much as your day job,” was Viktor’s response. He meant it genuinely: Jayce had hardly been in the lab recently, focused on his position as a councilor.

“I doubt you could survive a day as a councilor,” returned Jayce, almost a joke, but something serious behind his tone.

Viktor wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge. “You doubt,” he said, “that I could do an easy job.” Science was one thing; diplomacy another.

Jayce seemed intrigued. Viktor wasn’t sure why — meetings and paperwork were easy to him. He could solo a day of controversy and critique, unfazed. He found the concept of political debate to be boring, even rote. It was always the same at the end.

“Are you accepting the challenge?” Jayce questioned, wanting confirmation. He was good to do so, as he’d lost a bet earlier this year, solely because Viktor lost but they had not locked in their bets prior (and Viktor was better at debate).

Viktor shrugged. “What time do you start tomorrow?”

Jayce informed him the first meeting was shortly after sunrise, and Viktor was not alarmed. He had been expecting something early, and he didn’t particularly care either which way. He was only prepared to defeat his opponent, said opponent being his lover.

Jayce, on the other hand, was missing Viktor. Their jobs kept them separate as much as their work drove them together. It had been weeks since the pair of them had spent a continuous shift in the lab together because Jayce preferred early mornings while Viktor lived and breathed by late nights. Jayce frequently arrived to work around sunrise, and Viktor was fast asleep at the desk, having dozed off in his attempt to stay up. The workload was slowly killing Viktor beyond his illness, and Jayce knew it.

“We’ll rise at sunup,” Jayce said. “Then I’ll show you the routine.”

Viktor was hardly focused on Jayce, consumed by the current problem at hand. Jayce was tired of it, but he knew Viktor was working towards a greater goal, and he extended him the same grace he’d want if he were in that position.

Jayce broke through being practically ignored. “Okay. Tomorrow morning, then.”

“Tomorrow morning,” repeated Viktor, still distracted.

Even despite the frustrations, Jayce still thought the world of his partner. He gave Viktor another kiss, the only time he’d successfully drawn Viktor’s full attention during the course of their conversation.

They shared a residence at this point. Or, rather, they shared two, each belonging to either of them. Jayce’s was “theirs” in every sense, which was founded on the fact that Jayce was often home before Viktor. Jayce liked to change out of the clothes he had to wear as a councilor before heading to the lab. The garb was different: as a councilor, his clothes were crisp and clean-pressed. As Viktor’s partner, however, his clothes were allowed to be wrinkled or worn, whatever was remaining out of the closet.

Jayce went home, and did his nightly routine. He missed when Viktor had been here for it, talking to him and corresponding their lifestyles. Now, he was alone, and he could imagine how Viktor would be lethargic in the morning from a lack of sleep.

When Jayce went to bed, he fully expected to have to walk to back to the lab the next morning and wake Viktor up. He was pleasantly surprised, finding that Viktor had actually come home instead of passing out when he could go no further.

Jayce always set his alarms early. Therefore, he was prepared to stay in bed a little longer, pulling Viktor close and holding him. Viktor slowly awakened, complaining about the warmth (entirely radiating from Jayce) and the hour (which he had agreed to wake upon). Jayce let him go eventually, only to get situated for the day. Viktor remained in bed, completely passed out. Once he was cleaned up and ready to go, Jayce sat on the bed, his hand finding Viktor’s shoulder.

“Come on,” Jayce prompted, in the sweetest tone he could manage. “I’ve got a meeting in thirty minutes. It’s a ten minute walk.”

Viktor awakened quickly, sitting up. Jayce rose to bring his crutch to him, and assisted him up. At the start of their relationship, Viktor would insist he didn’t need help. Nowadays, slowly falling into decline, he took advantage of Jayce’s strength.

Viktor was nonverbal in the mornings, and Jayce could usually appreciate it. He liked the quiet just as much, so it was no trouble when Viktor didn’t have much to say. Today was different, though, because Viktor was completely silent as Jayce was counting the minutes until he would be late. The moment Viktor was ready, Jayce whisked him out the door, considering how much this challenge could possibly bite him in the ass.

“Where are we going?” Viktor finally spoke.

“First meeting,” Jayce responded. “Representatives from Demacia came all this way to meet with us.”

“Who’s included in ‘us’?” Viktor inquired. Jayce could define this as Viktor Has Awakened Phase 2: Too Many Questions. In a different setting, this curious Viktor could appear in moments of sleep deprivation. Jayce knew which version he was signing up for today.

“It’s just Mel and I. She’s familiar with their trade arrangements. We’re finding a middle ground, a transversal way to skip over Noxus completely since we brought the Hexgates into play.”

So many words, not enough energy. Viktor was wilting from the minute he woke up, but he wasn’t going to back out this soon. The words Jayce spoke went in one ear and out the other.

Viktor wasn’t going to let him speak to empty air. “That sounds interesting,” he said, and his tone came across more sarcastically than intended.

This resulted in a response from Jayce. “You don’t have to come with me, really. You can go back to bed. It’s not a huge deal, I know you’ve had a lot on your plate.”

Such a good partner, as always. Jayce’s care was one thing Viktor admired the most. It’s what drew Viktor to him in the first place: the way Jayce latched onto any hopes and dreams, any ways to get his point across. When Viktor met him, he was on the brink of death as a result of losing sight of the goal he’d been working towards all his life. Viktor could relate to that.

“I’m alright,” Viktor shook his head. He kissed Jayce’s lips ever so briefly, indicative of their closeness, and acting as a reassurance. “Carry on.”

Dragged along to the first meeting of the day, Viktor took advantage of this chance to see the sunrise. The outdoors were faintly illuminated, shades of orange and pink framing the eastern landscape. Viktor expectantly awaited the sun’s arrival, hoping it would wake him up.

As they neared the building in which the council hosted their meetings, Jayce checked in with Viktor again. “You can go back to sleep if you want. Just know that once I engage with these people, it’s not something I can turn off. There’s no bailing beyond now, until we get to a break.”

Viktor shrugged. “And? I can handle it. I’m right behind you.”

Shadowing Jayce seemed like an easy feat. He wasn’t intimidated in the slightest, just exhausted from the work he’d done the night before. Viktor couldn’t count on one hand the nights he’d gotten necessary sleep, focused on equations every waking moment apart from now. While this was a nice break for his brain, he was itching to get back to the lab. He’d left a problem hanging, as he always did, and it led to a desire to return.

Jayce went into the first meeting with poise. Viktor had never seen Councilor Talis live in action, but it was clear that this man was someone different than the man he slept next to. For starters, Councilor Talis was polished. He had no hesitations about political indifferences; in fact, he encouraged them. Debate was commonplace, and he was an active participant. Viktor was intrigued by the subject of their discussions with Demacia: classism, inequality, recklessness on behalf of the leaders.

The conversation continued on. Jayce spoke to a military man, someone in charge of Demacia’s extensive forces. Viktor found himself confused, trying to piece together this puzzle. Jayce hadn’t spoken of battle intentions, but this almost read as such. He did not ask any questions, committed to his dare to shadow Jayce and doing him a favor by not stirring up any possible trouble.

Once finished with his first meeting, Jayce shook hands with whomever he was corresponding with. Viktor watched from his side, and found a hand extended in his direction directly after. He obliged with a handshake, almost grateful to be acknowledged.

They moved on, something about picking up new equipment for the transcribers that dedicated their lives to documenting each conversation that occurred within the council. They found their way down to a public square, somewhere Viktor didn’t go often, as he didn’t have much of a reason to. Any equipment he needed, he acquired from Zaun or requested Jayce to bring it by (which Jayce always did, happily).

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jayce almost seemed concerned. The behavior flew over Viktor’s head, solely because he was intrigued by certain booths as they passed through a section of town consisting of resellers. These folks purchased important product and upsold the general public. Viktor knew it was legal, but was annoyed it was even a possibility.

“It could have been worse,” Viktor admitted. “What’s next?”

“We’re just making a quick stop, then I’m visiting the secondary school. The students are studying government, so I’m making an appearance and answering some questions.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t what he’d imagined, but it wasn’t the worst thing to do. Before he could say anything, Jayce continued.

“Mel suggested it. We were planning to do the event together but there was a last minute schedule change.” He looked down to Viktor with a smile. “I’m happy you’re going with me. I’m excited to show them the potential in connecting science and policy.”

Jayce seemed enthusiastic, which make Viktor smile. Jayce noticed, and Viktor caught a glimpse of that familiar sparkle in his eyes.

When they arrived at the secondary school, the students were still in class. Jayce and Viktor were introduced to the principal and lead teachers, and given a brief tour before being led into an auditorium.

The principal explained the format of this appearance, and Jayce listened attentively, asking relevant questions. Within the half-hour, the seats were filling with teenagers who chatted amongst themselves. The principal addressed the crowd first, and then stepped down for Jayce to take over.

Jayce began by introducing himself and Viktor, who chose to remain sitting offstage. (Being in the spotlight did not count as shadowing Jayce’s job.) He went on to explain his role as a council member, what responsibilities it entailed, and how he made it to this position. All in all, he spoke for some five minutes, deciding against pushing the limits of the class’s attention span.

Following his short speech, he informed the teenagers that he would be answering questions. Viktor missed the explanation of how he would interact with the students, completely lost in experiencing this Councilor Talis.

Seeing Jayce in this setting was causing Viktor’s thoughts to ruminate. At the start of the day, he’d been overthinking the same equation he left off on the night before, but now he was focused on the moment.

Jayce was currently being asked several different questions at once. He laughed, good-natured about the chaos, and raised his voice. “Okay, okay, one at a time. Let’s start up here in the front and work our way back.” He motioned to student in the front who had a notebook with him, pen at the ready.

The student was primed. “What advice do you have for someone wanting to pursue a political career?”

Jayce thought for a moment. Viktor was focused on him more than anyone else in the room. “Be prepared for anything. There are a lot of moving parts, and you have to be adaptable.” Jayce made eye contact with the owner of the next hand in the air, and nodded, encouraging speech.

Viktor lost the conversation at that point, too focused on Jayce to process anything being said. At some point he was brought back down to earth by a nudge on his arm.

He turned to see a red-haired teenage girl, dressed in all black. “Sorry,” she said. “I just wanted to ask you something, if that’s okay.” In waiting, she fidgeted with the hem of the sleeve on her jacket.

Viktor nodded. “Go ahead. I’m no politician, though, only a scientist.”

She smiled. “I know. I’ve heard about your work, although it’s hard to find any information about you.” She stopped messing with the cuff of the jacket and pulled it up slightly, raising her arm. Underneath the jacket was a brace of silver metal, fitted to her skin. “I had an accident when I was a kid. I’ve been trying to figure out the mobility on this, I thought you might know what to do.”

Viktor met her eyes again before looking at the brace closer. He raised his hand, hovering near. “May I?” She nodded. With permission, Viktor touched the brace, turning her forearm around ever-so-slightly to see it from an angle. “You did this on your own?”

Another nod from the girl, who remained silent as he examined the work.

“It’s very impressive, Miss…”

“Sienna,” she introduced. “And you’re Viktor.”

He smiled, happy to be recognized. “That I am.” He continued looking at the brace, and nodded. “I think this is a good start. I can see where you’re having trouble. I think it’s all about the measurements. See how it extends over the wrist just slightly?” He pointed to the metal piece. “It restricts. You want to feel aided, not hindered.”

Sienna’s eyes lit up. Viktor let go of the brace, and she twisted her arm to feel the resistance he spoke of. “Oh, that’s genius! Thank you so much. You’ve really helped, you have no idea.”

Satisfied with her answer, she began to drift back into the now-dispersing crowd of teens. “Anytime,” Viktor said, giving her a little wave as she went.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, then and turned to see Jayce, who had caught the end of the conversation and hadn’t dared interrupt. Jayce’s hand lingered even as Viktor turned, and then made its way down his arm and to his hand, holding it tight. His expression was one of admiration. “Ready to go?”

Viktor wanted Jayce alone, but he knew that wasn’t happening anytime soon. “Where to next?”

“Back into another meeting, this time with the council. It may get heated. We’ll find out.” Jayce motioned towards the door, letting Viktor lead them back out of the building. He was always close behind.

Once outside, Jayce remained by Viktor’s side. Due to the distance between the future meeting room and the school, they opted to take transportation. They both took a moment to sit and breathe in silence, resting from how busy it had been. Jayce was revisiting possible topics to bring up at the meeting. Viktor was imagining him breathing heavy on the council bathroom counter.

“How are you doing?” Jayce checked in again. Viktor was in another world. “Viktor?” Even that didn’t work. Jayce put his hand up and waved. “Hello? Viktor?”

Back to earth. “Sorry,” Viktor said. “There’s… a lot on my mind.”

Jayce’s face fell, assuming Viktor was talking about work. He knew it was important, because he thought it held the same importance to him.

Viktor noticed the shift, and reached out to touch Jayce’s knee. “I’m here, Jayce,” he said. “I’m on the job with you. Just tell me what to do.”

Jayce was pleased to hear that Viktor was willing to keep following him around. Viktor was internally screaming at Jayce for being right — this was a busy job. It was also entertaining, as long as he got to witness Councilor Talis in action.

Their arrival at the council meeting kicked off another spur of important events: Jayce negotiating with the rest of the members about economic stability, lines of defense, even future changes to their own scheduling.

Viktor remained in a chair beside Jayce, attempting to keep up with the quick conversation. He was glad he didn’t have to remember any of this. He was also starting to see why Jayce was so tired when he came in after a full day of meetings.

“It would be a poor use of our resources,” Jayce was saying, and Viktor was lost on the subject entirely. “There’s no reason for us to spend beyond our means when we own the means of production.”

“Production that is executed better by an outside source, mind you,” Salo argued. “What persuades anyone to choose our method over something that delivers faster?”

Another eruption of back-and-forth. All the while, Viktor became more focused on his partner. This longing had been overtaking him all day, and he was nearly at his wits end. He found himself daydreaming about where this specific scene could take them: the meeting concluding, everyone else leaving the room, him convincing Jayce to stay behind. He could imagine the feeling of Jayce’s hands on him, the cold surface of the table, the acoustics in a space this large…

The meeting continued on. Minutes passed, and half an hour, and then a full hour… which extended into another. Viktor was itching to get home, and for once, it wasn’t work-related. When the council finally came to an agreement on the last topic, Jayce seemed relieved. Everyone dispersed, and Jayce turned to Viktor for unprompted approval.

“You’re very well-spoken,” Viktor affirmed.

Jayce smiled, confidence refreshed. “Thank you.” He picked up the pages he’d been referring to during the meeting, and stood. “I just have to stop by the lab, and then we can head back.”

The lab! An excellent place for the things that were on Viktor’s mind. It wouldn’t be the first time they utilized the space, and surely it wouldn’t be the last. Viktor followed Jayce out, falling behind with the intent purpose of watching Jayce as he led the way. His partner was far too attentive, slowing just the slightest so Viktor could catch up. Therefore Viktor forfeited the view he’d worked for, and they travelled side-by-side.

At the lab, Jayce moved quickly. He dropped off the notes he’d referred to at the meeting, and searched around for other notes he planned to look over with his morning coffee the following day. When he found them, Viktor was standing nearby, completely lost to his imagination.

Jayce was surprised Viktor wasn’t rushing to finish any of his equations. In all honesty, he’d expected for this lab visit to be more of a drop-off for Viktor to inevitably spend the night working. It was a way for Jayce to guarantee he could say goodnight.

Viktor, on the other hand, was exercising self-control. He’d made it to this point so Jayce couldn’t say anything about him distracting from the work day, and this felt like the home stretch. Forget the moments they could share here and now: he was going to get Jayce home, and he was going to tire him out. “Ready?” Viktor asked.

Jayce was visibly excited to go home together. He nodded, smiling faintly, and leaned down to give Viktor a brief kiss. He had no clue of the effect it had on Viktor, making it infinitely harder to continue waiting until they were home. Viktor remained where he was as Jayce began to exit, and Jayce seemed concerned when he looked back, as if Viktor may change his mind about returning home.

Meanwhile, Viktor was once again lost in thought. Jayce still had no clue. Viktor caught up, his longing guiding the way home. He was getting closer to abandoning all sense of decency and jumping Jayce in the street. As he genuinely considered the consequences of a detour, their final destination came into sight.

Jayce, unaware of Viktor’s thoughts, approached the door. He reached in his pocket for his keys, and found the one corresponding to the door. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I told you I could handle it,” Viktor remarked.

“You proved me wrong,” Jayce said, unlocking the door. Viktor watched him intently, counting each second it took him to let them inside. The moment the door was open, Viktor pushed Jayce inside. “Hey,” Jayce protested.

Viktor didn’t have a thing to say in response. He blindly pushed the door shut and reached for the crisp jacket Jayce only wore as councilor, pulling him right into a kiss. It was immediately intense, catching Jayce off guard. He easily adjusted, giving into the rush. Viktor threw Jayce’s jacket somewhere near the door.

Jayce was backing up, then, with Viktor’s guidance. Viktor continued kissing him, slowly moving them to the bedroom, fingers working at Jayce’s shirt, kicking off his own shoes. Jayce did the same, leading Viktor to trip on them, which caused him to accidentally overestimate the door in their blind travel. Jayce’s back hit the door frame, halting their motion.

“Are you okay?” Viktor immediately asked, pausing the action of undressing Jayce.

Now that Viktor had started things off, Jayce was equally into it. He didn’t speak a verbal confirmation of his wellbeing, he just moved himself into the actual doorframe, put his hands on Viktor’s hips, and kept moving backwards to bring them further into the room. Viktor finished getting rid of Jayce’s shirt, and threw it wherever they were now, reaching for his belt. Jayce was matching the energy, unbuttoning Viktor’s shirt.

Viktor pushed Jayce to sit down on the bed as they got close enough, but he remained standing for a moment, staring down at his lover. He shook his head. “You looked good in that outfit.” He moved closer, reaching for Jayce’s chin and angling his face upwards, looking down at a very attentive councilor. “You don’t know what I went through today, watching you walk around in it, having to wait to take it off.”

Jayce remained where Viktor directed him, expectant. “I was elated to have you with me. You know I would do whatever you asked.”

“I know,” Viktor said in a low tone. He leaned down, kissing Jayce gently. Jayce followed his lead. It was gentle for all of a minute, before Viktor changed up the mood. He sank into Jayce’s lap, giving himself a better angle. He reached down to finish undoing Jayce’s belt, settling to undo his pants and pushing Jayce backwards onto the bed.

Viktor wasn’t wasting any time. Shirt still hanging from his shoulders, completely unbuttoned, he kissed Jayce’s neck and down to his chest before returning to his lips. He took control, reaching down and playing with Jayce to rile him up before taking all of him in. He sighed heavily upon the initial contact, and Jayce reached up to touch his cheek.

Viktor moved his head to kiss Jayce’s palm, and worked on the pacing. Jayce let him have control, taken by Viktor’s forwardness this time around. The last times they’d engaged in this sort of activity, Jayce had been the one taking the lead. Jayce had even gotten the impression he wanted it more. Now was completely the opposite: Jayce was captivated by Viktor’s desire.

Another sigh from Viktor, this one louder and followed by a sound of pleasure. His hands found Jayce’s chest, and Jayce’s rested on Viktor’s hips. Jayce was having a good time, satisfaction increased by his perception of Viktor’s need. A slight change in the pace, and Viktor became increasingly more verbal until he muttered a quiet “Oh my god, Jayce.” He stopped, then, collapsing onto Jayce’s chest, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry.”

The smallest laugh from a very amused Jayce. “Already?”

Still catching his breath, Viktor nodded against Jayce’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“What for?” returned Jayce, running his hands through Viktor’s hair.

Viktor’s mood never faltered. “I’ve needed you all day, more than you know.” He kissed Jayce’s neck before propping himself up again, meeting his lips hard.

Impressed with the order of events, Jayce continued following Viktor’s lead during the increasingly intense make-out. He reached up and finally got rid of Viktor’s shirt. Within a few minutes, Jayce gripped Viktor’s hips and flipped them so he could look downwards at his lover. Viktor hardly broke the kiss during the switch.

“Let me take care of you,” Jayce interrupted. Viktor pulled him back into another kiss, seemingly unwilling to let them part. Jayce had another idea, moving from Viktor’s lips down to his neck, trailing to his chest and his stomach, and then even lower, territory he’d claimed as his own. He finished undressing Viktor, and moved to give him another kiss on the lips. “Yeah?”

Viktor nodded, and Jayce returned to tracing his way down Viktor’s body. The very moment he set to work at his destination, Viktor inhaled sharply and exhaled deep.

Jayce should have received an award for his skill with his tongue. Viktor had seen him as Councilor Talis, delivering well-worded speeches and getting his point across. This was a different use of his ability, something reserved for his partner.

Viktor admired how the feeling took him to another place. This moment was a world all its own, somewhere with endless clear skies and just enough light, lush forests surrounding the beautiful isolation they lived in. Jayce took him on a journey through the trees, up to a mountain that both of them were intent on climbing.

Jayce took the longest path up the mountain, guiding Viktor through the landscape. When Viktor noticed a shortcut, Jayce kept him walking down the same winding road, leaving Viktor aching to find the summit and see the view. It came into sight, now, and Jayce gave him the nudge he needed to finally reach the top.

Viktor’s hands were tangled in Jayce’s hair. Jayce returned to his lips by taking the long way home: trailing gentle kisses up Viktor’s body. Viktor met him halfway, eager. Jayce was determined to keep the control for a little longer, and Viktor pushed back on it.

The intensity of Jayce’s desire caused him to nonverbally emphasize his desire to lead. Viktor deferred, wanting Jayce to find satisfaction as he had before. Jayce wanted it concurrently with his partner, which led him to position Viktor on the edge of the bed. When he moved himself inside, Viktor thought the sound was heavenly. Jayce’s hands drifted from Viktor’s hands to his waist, his chosen place of rest.

Loving Jayce was all there was for Viktor. Jayce was kind to him, and caring in every way. Even now, he made Viktor his priority, looking down at him with an indescribable glint in his eye: a reflection of fascination, passion, and adoration. Viktor caught each meaning, cherishing the fact that he could feel this understood. Jayce was the only person who’d ever made Viktor aware of the fact that there was beauty beyond his flaws.

In a similar sense, loving Viktor was everything to Jayce. Viktor was intelligent, something that had initially drawn his interest. It served him well in the way he remembered all of the details about Jayce: his preferences, his deepest thoughts, the expressions he made to himself when he was focused. Jayce only ever desired to be near him, most comfortable in his presence. These private nights meant more to him than any achievement.

Jayce was setting the pace this time around, and Viktor was incapable of keeping himself together. It had been a long time since Jayce had seen him like this: visibly sweating, craving closeness until they could go no further, only desiring more despite fulfillment. Viktor was, in every sense of the word, desperate. Jayce was, in every sense of the role, a people-pleaser.

“Hang in there,” Jayce muttered, in response to Viktor speaking up. Viktor responded in breaths, heavy and hitched. “Wait for me.”

Viktor nodded, unable to say anything through the intense satisfaction. He would shadow Jayce a hundred more shifts if this was the outcome. He always wanted his lover in this way, but it was magnified in this circumstance.

“Fuck,” Jayce was barely audible. He was working now, keeping Viktor from tipping over the edge. He gripped Viktor’s hips, more focused on maintaining the pacing and the consistency and less so on the possibility of bruises in the morning. Viktor agreed with the decision.

Viktor shifted, then, causing Jayce to slow his rhythm. “You’re almost there,” Jayce encouraged. “Wait for me.”

“I can’t,” Viktor breathed, hands finding Jayce’s on his own hips.

“You can,” Jayce groaned. “I’m almost there.”

Viktor found a grip on the sheets, and Jayce reveled at the sight. He considered it an honor to be this person for Viktor, who he believed to be the most important figure in his life. Without Viktor, he wouldn’t be here today. Without Viktor…

“Okay,” Jayce murmured, breathing heavily from the exertion.

Finally, they finished together. Viktor grasped at Jayce’s arm, holding onto him tight, even as Jayce laid down next to him. Jayce searched Viktor’s eyes for any nonverbal communication. Once he’d barely caught his breath, Viktor kissed him again.

When the kissing continued longer than expected, Jayce laughed against Viktor’s lips. “You want to go again?”

“Mmhm,” Viktor affirmed as he kissed Jayce, forgoing language and instead running his hands through his lover’s hair. Jayce obliged to continue on, wrapping his arms around Viktor’s waist. Almost as if in sync, they each reached down with the intention of pleasing the other. And so it became a sort of game as they continued to kiss, tongues exploring familiar territory.

This wasn’t new for them. They’d been dating long enough to understand each other well enough, so well that they knew precisely how the other wanted it. All parts of their bodies were useful to one another, especially their hands, which they utilized now. Jayce gasped against Viktor’s lips, and Viktor smirked.

“Wait for me,” Viktor whispered, teasing Jayce with his own words from before.

This was the first time since they started that Jayce was truly at Viktor’s mercy. Viktor knew exactly what to do, how to make him feel just right. It was harder to focus since Jayce was doing the same to him, but he was determined to win.

For Jayce, the experience was more like crossing an ocean. There was an island off in the distance, and Viktor was rowing the boat that drew them closer, perfect clouds dotting the sky above the horizon. Viktor knew how to cross the sea directly, but he seemed intent on weaving through the waves, slow and steady.

There was no sense of Viktor’s plan to reach the island, only that he was guiding Jayce just as Jayce had before. While Viktor was patient along his previous journey up the mountain, Jayce didn’t care if he jumped overboard. He decided to swim to shore.

Jayce took control again, switching the tides. Viktor found himself staring up into his eyes, which spoke of his hunger. Viktor was equally approving of the change, feeling as if he was knowing Councilor Talis as opposed to his research partner.

Crossing this ocean on his own accord required more effort, but yielded better results. Jayce was a voyager, and he carried them both. He catered to each of their needs, finding his way inside Viktor once again and verbally appreciating this new position. Viktor wrapped his arm’s around Jayce’s neck to keep him close, needing the symphony of Jayce’s approving breaths in his ear.

“You’re everything to me,” Jayce said, tone low, barely a whisper.

“Show me,” Viktor returned, just as quiet.

Jayce didn’t have to be told twice. He focused, the faintest noises finding their way from his throat to Viktor’s ear. A barely audible murmur of Viktor’s name, a heavy exhale, all of it made his partner spiral. As they reached the island from the initial journey, Jayce looked to see if Viktor was close behind. Viktor sensed this inquiry, and nodded, his cheek brushing Jayce’s.

“Go on,” he said, speaking of the shore they neared. Jayce listened, and Viktor was thinking of any mathematic formula that would allow him to bottle up this moment for future reference. At a loss for any ways to immortalize the feeling, he followed Jayce’s lead as he made it to the beach. The sun shone brighter than ever from this place in the landscape, and the relief of arrival washed over both of them.

Exhausted from his efforts, Jayce collapsed onto Viktor. Both of them were breathing heavily, out of sync but in a way that still sounded symphonic: rounds, harmonizing. They remained there until Viktor tapped Jayce’s arm. “You’re heavy,” he said.

“Sorry,” was Jayce’s response as he lifted himself back up, kissing Viktor. He then rolled to lay next to him, staring up at the ceiling. “Fuck,” he murmured. “You wanted me that bad, all day?”

“I want you that bad, all the time,” Viktor turned to face him, laying on his side. “We’ve been busy, but I miss you.”

Jayce just smiled, and Viktor could see his cheeks flush. It made Viktor smile in return, and he touched Jayce’s cheek, a gentle gesture.

Viktor continued before Jayce could speak, tracing his fingers across his partner’s skin. “I wish we could be here forever. I wish I could stop the flow of time, just to stay with you.”

It was a somber shift of topic, a reminder that Viktor had limited time. Jayce hated to talk about it, but he gently caught Viktor’s hand and kissed the back of it. “We’ll find a way,” he said.

Viktor smiled again, but it was sad. He nodded in affirmation, falling quiet. Jayce knew where his thoughts had wandered to, because he knew Viktor.

Jayce gave him a kiss on the forehead. “You go take a shower,” he said, combing through Viktor’s hair with his fingers. “I’ll change the bedding, and I’ll be right there.”

Viktor nodded again, listening to Jayce and heading towards the door directly off of the bedroom. It was a large bathroom, one they’d spent plenty of time in together, getting ready or discovering new ways to explore each other. Viktor’s mood shifts were not atypical, especially in the moments where he was able to grasp all that he would miss when he did reach the end of the road. He tried not to think about it, turning the shower on and waiting for the water to warm up.

Jayce was right behind him, as promised. It only took him a few minutes to get their room ready for sleep, and when he wandered to the bathroom, he found Viktor sitting and staring. The dissociation wasn’t uncommon, and Jayce knew how to bring him back to earth. He walked to Viktor and put a hand on his back, a gesture that spoke of his care for Viktor and his own love language of physical touch.

“Hey,” Jayce said, voice quiet, easy to break through Viktor’s trance. He successfully drew Viktor’s attention, and his lover looked up at him, sighing.

“Sorry,” Viktor said. He shook his head, as if it would expel the thoughts. He hated feeling like this, especially after he spent all day wallowing in longing and reaching for a moment that already occurred. The previous experiences felt futile, some heartbreaking resolve that he assumed it would be the last time. Many moments felt like the last time, even if they weren’t. It felt impossible to overcome.

His partner was understanding. “For what?” Jayce said, hand still on Viktor’s back, tracing circles that grounded his racing thoughts. “Let me help with your brace.”

Viktor nodded, still nearly nonverbal, a position he was only in upon waking and nearing bedtime. Jayce could sense his exhaustion, and did all of the work to unfasten the bolts and screws that kept Viktor’s leg in working condition. Free of the brace for once, Viktor sighed, hand rubbing his upper thigh.

“Is it still causing resistance?” Jayce asked, looking up at Viktor from where he knelt in front of him. “I can adjust it to be more comfortable.”

“It’s perfect,” Viktor said. It was hard to be in this state. Jayce had known him prior, and he almost felt burdensome for needing this much attention. He meant his words, though: the brace was as comfortable as it could be. Even with the odd pressure points and occasional blisters, it was better than living without it.

The steam from the hot water running in the shower was starting to cloud the room, and Jayce offered support to Viktor, who took it. Together, they stepped into the shower, something Jayce was hoping to have replaced soon so Viktor would have a place to sit during the rare moments he wasn’t in the brace.

Where Viktor had taken the lead in kicking off events, Jayce took the lead in the interim between the action and falling asleep. He took care of Viktor, washing his hair, giving him gentle kisses under the showerhead. Viktor was grateful, albeit lost in his pre-sleep nonverbal exhaustive state.

Jayce was aware, taking care of him and sitting him down once they were finished, wrapping a towel around Viktor’s shoulders and singlehandedly focusing on reinstalling Viktor’s brace before he dressed himself. Viktor reached down to help, and Jayce stopped him, shaking his head.

“I got you,” Jayce said, a guarantee that he was willing to take care of his partner. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this for Viktor, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Thank you,” Viktor responded, looking at Jayce with affection. He didn’t have much energy to speak paragraphs of admiration, but it was understood between them. Jayce knew everything about Viktor, from the way he communicated when he wasn’t able to speak to the way he preferred to sleep in the brace to prevent twisting and turning during the night. Jayce had been there when he’d woken up in pain in the middle of the night. Jayce had been there when he was unable to speak for days after a temporary illness. Jayce had been there when he thought no one was.

He helped walk Viktor back to their room, and put the crutch by his side of the bed. Viktor was grateful beyond words, and Jayce understood beyond language.

When Jayce settled into bed, Viktor was already asleep. Jayce watched him until he could stay awake no longer, drifting off with peace knowing that his partner was comfortable. He had to get up early in the morning, but every opportunity he was given to be with him was taken. Viktor knew of his love, but Jayce's was deeper than perception: care within his very bones, something Viktor could not see without ripping him apart. Settled next to Viktor, Jayce found it easy to sleep, remaining close enough to feel his partner’s warmth without the complaints of his own body heat.

In the early morning, Jayce pulled Viktor close before his departure. Despite feeling overheated from his partner’s closeness, Viktor refrained from complaint, recognizing that this sort of care only came around once in a lifetime. In all timelines, he would search for this Jayce, desiring any semblance of what they had experienced together.

[potatoplace]

We Can Do This Together

Poly!Feysand x Reader

We Can Do This (part 1) | We Can Fix This (part 2)

Poly!ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist

Story Summary: As you near the end of your pregnancy, your doctor puts you on strict bed rest. Your doting partners make sure that you still get everything you want: your wedding, baby shower, and honeymoon.

Warnings: lots of pregnancy talk, labor (nothing graphic), light smut

Words: ~9.6k

Author's Note: AHHHHH I'm so excited to post this one!!! It is 100% fueled by how baby crazy I would be for Feysand, and also by just how damn CUTE it is (plus some unexpected spiciness, I did not plan on that lol). So enjoy it! I hope you all like this one.c I know I love it 🫶 p.s. this was supposed to be like... 3k long. This got uhhhhh a lil out of hand hehe 🤭 @icey--stars here's the extra part 💖

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Cold gel was smoothed over your massive bump as the doctor worked, one of your hands clutching at Feyre's as she did.

"Sorry, I know it's cold," Madja said as she got a better image, smiling softly down at you.

"It's okay..." you replied, craning your head to try and see the image. "Are they okay?"

Madja squinted at the screen for a moment, before raising a hand to the screen. "All three of the babies seem to be doing just fine, their heartbeats are strong and they're all doing well weight-wise. The main thing I'm concerned about-"

"Don't tell us the cord is wrapped around one of them or one of them doesn't have lungs or-" Rhys panicked, his eyes frantic as he looked at her. She fought back a smile, while you and Feyre both rolled your eyes.

"Neither of those are reality, Rhysand, I am simply worried about Y/N," Madja said with a pointed stare at you, her eyes serious. "Carrying three babies is no easy feat, especially with you still working and being 28 weeks along with triplets. And given that you came in after a fainting spell... I am recommending complete bed rest, and if you must leave the house, you need to be in a wheelchair whenever possible. And I'm going to prescribe some extra vitamins, just so we can keep the little girls inside as long as possible. Understood?" Madja asked you, and as much as you wanted to yell 'no' at the idea of bed rest... You wanted your babies healthier more.

"Okay..." you said poutily.

"We'll make sure she follows your orders, Madja," Feyre said, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

"Good! I'd also recommend massage to help with your circulation, the added benefit is that it will help with some of the aches and pains I'm sure you're feeling. Now, I'll go write those prescriptions, you three sit tight for another moment." Madja left the room, leaving you alone with your two fiancés.

You may not be able to get married in the traditional sense, but Feyre and Rhys had insisted upon a ceremony, as they wanted you to feel just as important in the relationship. You, of course, had agreed immediately, wanting nothing more than to be bound to the two in whatever way you could be. That, and the promise of a week long honeymoon of just the three of you would have been more than enough to convince you.

That had been before you discovered you were carrying triplets, though. You had to be the most fertile woman on the planet, to not only get pregnant after having sex with a condom, but for that to result in triplets. That exciting and terrifying appointment had been just a few weeks after you'd had that horrid haircut...

And now you certainly weren't getting your honeymoon, as it had been planned for three weeks from now, your wedding ceremony the day before you were to leave. With you on bed rest, their might not even be a ceremony at all...

Tears came to your eyes unbidden at the thought, and you tried to blink them away before either Feyre or Rhys saw them. But you were unsuccessful, only causing them to fall faster as disappointment swept over you.

"Oh, little love, what is it?" Rhys asked, one of his hands coming to cup your face and swipe away the tears with his thumb.

His gentle touch only spurred on more tears, a sob ripping through your chest. You covered your face with your hands, rubbing your palms into your eyes to try and stop the tears.

"Y/N, you need to tell us what's wrong so we can fix it, darling," Feyre said softly, her hand moving from your hand up to wrap around you, taking you into her arms as much as she could while you were on the exam table.

"I just- our- our wedding!" You cried, sobbing harder. "Our perfect honeymoon, and the ceremony and the baby shower!"

"Oh, love, we'll still have all of those," Rhys reassured you as he pried your hands off of your face. "The ceremony will be easy enough to do, you'll just need to sit as much as you can. We can do the baby shower at home, or even on the day of our wedding, and the honeymoon we can move to somewhere close by, a cottage by a lake, just the three of us, hmm?" Rhys asked as he cradled your face, keeping your eyes on him.

"See, little love? We can still have all of those things, you'll just be resting as much as possible. Okay?"

You stuck your lip out in a pout, which Rhys immediately caught between his thumb and forefinger.

"What do you say, baby? Will you let us take care of you?"

When he talked to you like that... Even with the hormones raging through you, you couldn't say no.

So you nodded your head.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

"I'm going crazy!" You complained from the couch as Feyre and Rhys bustled around the kitchen, delicious scents wafting over to where you had been banished to.

"You're not going crazy, Y/N, you're just bored!" Feyre called out. "Watch something or play a game, love!"

"But I'm tired of playing games and watching things," you whined, throwing the blanket off of your lap. Your bump made it harder and harder to get up without help, but you managed to push yourself off of the couch.

Over the past three weeks, you had moved into Rhys and Feyre's penthouse for good, your own personal effects now strewn across every room, and your clothes in their closet.

Getting to sleep with them every night had been heavenly, or as heavenly as sleeping at almost eight months pregnant with triplets could be. Their arms around you and soft touches helped lull you to sleep without fail, and waking up next to them and not leaving? Perfection.

The only problem? You'd been put on maternity leave at work! When you could very easily work from home on your laptop, but no. No. Your work had decided that you continuing to work with such a high risk pregnancy was a no-go, so now you were stuck in the loveliest apartment you had never been in, completely and totally bored.

You padded over to the kitchen, fluffy pink bunny slippers on your feet, this pair one that Feyre had gotten after you moved in. Your old slippers no longer fit your widened feet and ankles, and when you had cried over the fact, Feyre had run out and purchased three different pairs of slippers for you, all varying shades of adorable bunnies.

"What are you doing in here?" Rhys scolded, wrapping his arms around you when he turned around. "You're not supposed to be walking around, little love."

Feyre had turned around too, and both of their very mildly disappointed stares on you made you wish you hadn't gotten up. But still...

"I'm bored, I'm so tired of sitting on the couch or laying in bed," you whined into his chest, hands clutching at his shirt.

"There's only one more night that you're going to be this bored, darling, and that's tonight," Feyre said as she took the spot behind you, winding her arms around your middle and stroking your gigantic stomach.

"Because what's tomorrow?" She asked in your ear, sending a small shiver down your spine.

"Our wedding and baby shower," you answered, a big grin on your face as you thought about it.

"That's right, sweet girl," Feyre said, placing a kiss along your neck with every word. "Tomorrow we're getting married, and getting lots of cute gifts while we spend time with our friends, and then the day after?"

"The day after we're going to a lake cabin," you giggled, absolutely giddy at the idea. It wasn't the oceanside resort you had planned to go to, but it was nearly the same, just much closer. After all, the main thing you were excited for was spending every second of every day with your Feyre and your Rhys, celebrating the life you'd all started together eight months ago.

"That's right, Y/N, and you get us for one hundred and twenty uninterrupted hours," Rhys purred, sending a thrill to your core.

The one area you hadn't been bored in? Lovemaking. While Rhys had been too afraid to fuck you roughly, especially in the last three weeks, he and Feyre had made it their personal goal to find every other way there was to make you climax.

"Mm, and I can't wait," you said happily, craning your head to steal a kiss from him.

"Not fair," Feyre whined from behind you, even as she herself stole a kiss from Rhys. "I want one too." You twisted yourself in their arms, a grin on your face as you placed a kiss on Feyre's lips. "Good. Now that we've all gotten our smooches, you can go sit back down on the couch." You went to protest, but Feyre cut you off, "If you're a good girl and only walk when you have to tonight, you'll get a good night surprise from me."

A flush spread over your cheeks at the idea- Feyre's surprises were always the best. "I'll go sit down and be good, if you come with me. Let Rhys finish dinner."

"Hey, I want to come snuggle too," Rhys complained.

"But you're the better cook, Rhysie," Feyre said, already tugging you from his arms and over to the couch. "Besides, we need Y/N to eat soon, and if I stayed alone in the kitchen we'd have to order in!"

Rhys groaned but continued cooking, though you could tell he was doing it with a pout, even if you couldn't see it.

Feyre settled you into the couch, pulling your blue throw blanket that matched her eyes back onto your lap, but left your feet and lower legs uncovered.

"How have you ankles felt?" She asked as she settled down in front of you, grabbing the bottle of lotion that they kept nearby now.

"They've been fine," you said, a hint of a lie in your voice even as you tried to hide it. Feyre caught it, staring at you sternly. "Okay, fine, they've been sore and puffy..."

"That's what I thought, I think we need to start giving you massages twice a day now to keep your circulation going more," Feyre said gently as she started working the lotion into your skin, your head falling back onto the couch pillow. Feyre chuckled at your reaction. "Feel nice, baby?"

You managed to nod, but couldn't find it in yourself to speak. Before you'd been bored and restless, now you were just... tired. Calm. Especially with Feyre's hands on you.

You drifted off quickly, awoken by Rhys's deep laugh. "Did she fall asleep in the ten minutes it took me to finish dinner?"

"She did, I think she was just lonely," Feyre said gently, and you could still feel her hands massaging your ankles with such care.

"I was bored," you mumbled, still not fully awake.

Rhys laughed again, softer this time. "Of course you were, darling. Are you ready for dinner?" His hand stroked over your hair, his touch bringing you back to awareness.

"Dinner?" You asked sleepily, blinking to clear your eyes.

"That's right, dinner. You should eat something before you take your vitamins."

You made a face at the idea of vitamins, so many tiny little pills to swallow. But dinner...

"Dinner sounds good."

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Tears were pouring down your face as you stood in front of a floor length mirror, taking in how you looked.

"Oh, Y/N, don't cry! You look absolutely beautiful!" Emerie said, dabbing the tears off your face with a tissue.

"I know, I just-" you cried. "I just love them so much!"

"Oh, I know you do! Which is why you're getting married to them! So no more happy tears until you see them at the end of the aisle, hmm?"

You sniffled but nodded your head, doing your best to stop your tears as Emerie wiped the remaining ones from your already made up face. "Okay. I can try."

"Good. Now, does everything with your dress look right? And the veil? And your hair?"

You looked yourself over again, fighting back more tears- happy ones, thankfully, but tears nonetheless. Your soft, silk white dress had a Queen Anne neckline with cap sleeves and a flowing waistline that hung prettily over your bump, more flattering and pretty than you'd thought possible with how massive you were now. It met the floor, just barely dragging over it as you walked, and your feet were clad in comfortable ballet slippers, with an extra support stuffed inside that Feyre had insisted upon.

Your hair was lovely, having grown back out a bit, laying in soft curls and your bangs styled. Your veil was beautiful, attached to your head with a small tiara and flowing down to the backs of your knees, made of a delicate white lace.

"Everything is perfect," you breathed, fingering the necklace that Rhys and Feyre had gifted you four months ago, tiny starbursts of diamonds surrounding three square sapphires, one for each of your daughters.

Emerie smiled at you in the mirror, then began guiding you back to the couch against the wall of the dressing room. "Good, because you should be getting your cue to walk out any minute now!"

True enough, the moment after you sat down, Mor knocked on the dressing room door and opened it, peeking inside. "Oh good, you're ready, come along now!" She squealed, helping Emerie pull you back to your feet.

The two of them helped walk you to the double doors that separated you from your future. Emerie fluffed out the short train of your dress while Mor pulled the doors open, and the both of them stepped aside to let you pass through on your own.

The moment you saw them standing there, Rhys and Feyre, you thought you might faint.

Rhys looked fantastic in his fine black suit with silver stitching, his blue-black hair styled into the soft curls that you loved so much, a slight blush on his cheeks when he met your eyes across the hall, his signature smirk softened into something even lovelier. His dark purple tie brought a smile to your own lips, the dare that you and Feyre had made him take after teasing him about not only wearing black at the wedding.

And Feyre... Feyre took your breath away, her golden brown hair styled into pretty ringlets, her own veil carefully pinned onto the crown of her head. Her dress was beautiful, clinging to her curves before flowing out at her hips, with tiny spaghetti straps holding the bodice to her chest. A flush spread over her cheeks and chest when she looked at you, a smile taking up her whole face.

You finally remembered to start moving when Feyre wiggled her fingers at you, your face turning bright red as you slowly made your way down the aisle, giggling when you met Feyre and Rhys at the end, who both immediately wrapped an arm around you to help take the pressure off of your feet.

The ceremony flew by, with you hardly remembering a single word of what had been said, your mind more preoccupied with how loved and cherished the two people you were now bonded to made you feel.

Your first kiss married to the two of them was from Feyre, Rhys having muttered something like "Ladies first," to Feyre.

It was magical, getting to kiss your wife and husband, and Rhys had you giggling when he immediately scooped you into his arms, careful not to squish the babies. He carried you from the wedding hall to the attached reception hall, a large couch in the center of it with chairs, tables, and a few other, smaller couches set up as well. He gently set you onto the couch in the center before settling beside you, Feyre taking up the spot on your other side.

That was something he loved doing- literally sweeping you off of your feet whenever he had the chance, especially over the past three weeks. You didn't mind one bit, not when it meant snuggling into his chest while he carried you up a set of stairs, or being held the entire duration of the elevator ride when you could suck little marks on his neck, enjoying the pleasured hiss he would let out.

You let out a contented sigh as you leaned your head on Rhys, letting it sink in.

You're married.

Emerie quickly began taking charge of the festivities, ordering for the food to be set out and music to be played, even bossing Mor into dancing with her before they'd had a bite to eat.

Rhys had gone to get a plate for the three of you, coming back with it piled high with beef pot roast, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, and green beans- it had been your idea after seeing the fancy displays the caterer had made, your stomach rolling at the sight even though you knew it would taste just fine.

The babies had had a different, less logical idea.

So pot roast it was, the other dishes suggestions from Feyre and Rhys.

Rhys took great pride in feeding both you and Feyre, only taking his own bites when the two of you decided to steal the fork from him and feed him yourselves. Rhys would steal back the fork and continue feeding you as much as you could handle, rubbing your back as you chewed each bite. Which of course only spurred you on to eat more, wanting more of his soft smiles and gentle touch.

You could only eat so much, though, before you collapsed back against the couch cushions, rubbing at your tummy and delighting in the little kicks that your hands were met with.

They were happy too.

The ceremony had been small, no more than 30 people that the three of you had trusted to share this experience with. Your own family had declined to attend, which had stung at first, before you realized that you had a new family, one that would support you unconditionally.

And that was all that you needed, all that your babies needed.

After an hour or so, Emerie decided that it was time to open presents- likely sensing the inevitable lag in your energy that would happen sooner or later.

Presents were piled around the couch you and your spouses were sat on, far too many in your opinion. But truly? You were touched that people wanted to spoil your babies so thoroughly, when they hadn't even arrived yet.

The combined wedding reception and baby shower went by quickly at first, but your energy began to lag after the second hour, your head resting against Feyre's shoulder between presents. After a while you stopped opening them, preferring to react sleepily while your partners tore apart wrapping paper and peeked into bags.

So many baby clothes, all of the outfits coming in three matching sets and each one getting you closer and closer to tears as you thought about your babies snuggled up in cute onesies, or in the little fox outfits that Lucien and Elain had gifted you.

You gained a small second wind after the cake was cut, strawberry with a lemon filling a pretty strawberry icing, your favorite since you had grown pregnant.

Feyre and Rhys had both offered you the first bite, which had made you laugh, both of them waving forks in front of your face to try and sway you to choose theirs. Instead, you directed Rhys's fork to Feyre, and Feyre's to Rhys, only taking a bite from each of them after they'd had their own.

Soon enough, though, you were out of energy again, dozing off against Rhys's shoulder while Feyre went to the restroom. He had you sit up for a moment which had made you grumble, before pulling you back against him after draping his suit jacket over your arms and back.

"Thank you, husband," you murmured against him.

"You're welcome, sweet wife," he cooed, placing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head.

The clicking of heels just barely alerted you to Feyre's presence before she spoke. "Awe, is she all tuckered out?"

Rhys chuckled quietly. "I think so, darling. Should we get her home?"

You mumbled against his chest.

"What was that?"

You sighed but moved your face away from him a bit. "We haven't danced yet," you whined.

"Oh, love, I don't know if-"

"Madja said I could dance to one song, maybe two if I rest for a bit between them. Please?" You begged, using your best puppy dog eyes on the two of them.

Feyre sighed, but you knew she was going to give in. "Alright, since Madja said it was okay. But if you get tired you need to tell us, yeah?"

You nodded. "Of course, my pretty wifey," you said, and shrugged off Rhys's jacket. Feyre's blush was delightful, and you let her and Rhys help you stand, immediately clinging to her once you were. "I really just want to sway with you..."

"We can sway," Feyre said, wrapping her arms around you.

"Can I join or are we doing separate dances?" Rhys asked cheekily from behind you, already winding his arms around both of you, sandwiching you between them.

Just how you loved to be.

"Dances together, of course," you insisted, squeezing one of his hands. "Everything together, I think." You rested your head on Feyre's shoulder, smiling when you heard the sound of their lips meeting.

This was right where you needed to be, for the rest of time.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

The party had wound down early, with you falling asleep on Feyre's shoulder while she and Rhys talked to their close friends, their conversations garnering the occasional sleepy giggle from you when you managed to pay attention long enough.

Mostly, it was Cassian and Mor teasing Rhys about having two wives that were far prettier than he would ever be, and Rhys adamantly agreeing with it, to which Cassian and Mor would reiterate how he is not the prettiest person in his relationship. They were obviously trying to rile him up, but it seemed Rhys's overwhelming love for how you and Feyre look overrode any need of his to proclaim himself the most gorgeous person in the room.

It was only once you had drooled the tiniest bit on Feyre's shoulder that your husband and wife declared the festivities over, at least for the three of you. Rhys had scooped you into his arms once more, this time carrying you to the town car waiting to take the three of you home.

You dozed between the two of them on the way home, feeling safe and content. The drive was short, no more than ten minutes, but by the time you arrived, you were more than ready to stay in the car and sleep there until the morning.

Thankfully for you, Rhys pulled you gently into his arms and carried you all the way up to the penthouse, Feyre opening and closing the doors. You blinked yourself awake when you felt your dress being unzipped and tugged from your body, watching Feyre put it on a hanger and store it in the closet before Rhys helped her remove her own dress.

You sighed dreamily at the sight of her, clad in white lace lingerie like the perfect, pretty present that she was.

"Like what you see, darling?" She asked teasingly as she undressed Rhys slowly, grinning when she saw your eyes catch on his muscled torso.

"Mmhm," you hummed. "Come over here and I'll show you just ho-" the rest of your sentence was cut off by a wide yawn, drawing a chuckle from Rhys.

"I think you can wait to show her until tomorrow, little love," Rhys said, crossing the room once he was down to his boxers.

Also purple, like his tie.

"But I want to-"

"I would much rather help you take a bath, darling," Feyre said softly, already taking both of your hands in hers to help you up. "We can celebrate tomorrow, when we're all feeling refreshed and at the cabin. Doesn't that sound nice?"

You pouted at her for a half a second before giving in- after all, a bath did sound heavenly right now...

"Okay, as long as both of you take one with me."

"We wouldn't dream of doing it any other way, love," Rhys murmured in your ear, picking you up a moment later. "Now let's get us all warm and clean and cozy."

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

You woke tangled in the blankets the next morning, somehow having stolen nearly the entirety of it from your wife and husband, leaving them curled up close to you, half covered.

Not a bad view, you thought to yourself, drinking in the way the sunlight hit their skin, the curves of their bodies.

But still, the thought that had woken you needed to be tended to.

Though getting out of bed without waking either Rhys or Feyre... Would be tricky, seeing as you were nestled between them, their arms looped over you.

You started with Rhys first, he was always a bit of a heavier sleeper than Feyre. His arm was carefully placed over his side, though it immediately started creeping forward in its search for warmth.

The moment you moved Feyre's arm though, her eyes fluttered open, gorgeous blue meeting your own. The sleepy smile she gave you made you wish you had a camera in your hands, it was so soft and cute and sweet... Just like her.

You couldn't help it, you leaned forward to steal a sweet kiss from her, which she gladly gave, her arm tightening around your middle, pressing your bump to her tummy.

"Why are you up so early, love?" She whispered. "Did you need the bathroom?"

Well... "Yes, but I need to do something in the nursery too..."

Feyre's eyes narrowed briefly, likely having guessed what you wanted to do after relieving yourself.

"Okay, let's get you up, sweetheart," she whispered, getting out of bed herself before helping you swing your legs over the side, then pulling you to your feet. Her eyes lingered over your exposed bump and breasts, and you could sense that she was resisting pinching you somewhere.

Once you had used the bathroom, Feyre helped you get dressed in a comfortable lilac wrap dress and your purple bunny slippers before getting dressed herself. She slipped on a pair of light blue jean shorts with a forest green tshirt, looking even lovelier than ever.

Of course, that's what you thought every time you saw her, but it was still true.

"Let's get you to the nursery, love," Feyre said softly, letting one of your arms wrap around her while she did the same, helping support you as you walked the short distance to the nursery, only a door down from the master bedroom.

Inside of the pastel pink nursery, three cribs had already been set up, little mobiles dangling over them. There were already three pastel dressers that had been half filled with tiny baby clothes, carefully arranged by you into age groups, and three matching changing tables lined up against one wall, already stocked with all you would need to change the babies.

There was also a large couch against the back wall, a nursing chair positioned next to it in the corner. Both were heavenly to sit in, and remembering how long it had taken you to pick them out made you smile. Feyre and Rhys had been insistent on you getting only the most comfortable furniture for you, as you would be the one using them the most while breastfeeding.

In the middle of the room, covering most of the area rug with little animals on it, were the gifts from yesterday. None of them had been put away- good, you thought. You would only have arranged them all over again by yourself, needing them to be organized just how you liked.

Nesting, as it turned out, was very much you being overly needy about how things looked in the bedroom and nursery, but especially the nursery.

"I'll go make us some tea and be back in a few moments, alright love?" Feyre asked, waving a hand in front of your face when you didn't respond, only stared at the large pile. "Sit down, Y/N, I'll be back in a minute to help you sort it all out, don't worry."

She left the room, and you could hear how quickly she moved down the hallway. Maybe she was anxious about leaving you alone...

You sighed and sat down on the floor on your knees, not sure how better to position yourself. Picking through the pile, you started to sort the clothes out into their different age ranges, starting from newborn and going up to two years.

It was only five minutes later when Feyre returned, a tray with a pot of tea and three cups resting on it in her hands. "What are you doing on the floor?"

You blinked at her for a moment. "Uh... Sitting?"

"I can see that, silly, I meant for you to sit on the couch!" Feyre tsked, setting down the tray and holding her hands out for you to take. "Come on, little love, it's not good for you to be sitting like that."

You sighed and scrunched your face, but took Feyre's hands and let her help you onto the couch.

"Don't worry, I'll help you sort everything out exactly how you want. Now... How were you organizing this?" Feyre asked, kneeling in front of the pile.

"Well..."

It was maybe an hour later when you and Feyre had finished sorting all of the clothing that Rhys burst through the nursery door, a panicked look on his face.

"Are you okay? Are the babies okay?" He asked frantically, already by your side, assessing you with his hands and eyes.

You slapped his hands away gently when he tried to take your pulse, giggling at his antics. "I am just fine, darling. Are you okay?"

Rhys let out a breath of relief. "Of course, I was just worried when I woke up and both of you were gone..."

Feyre laughed and wrapped her arms around Rhys's shoulders. "You're such a mother hen, Rhysie. We just wanted you to sleep in a little bit, and Y/N wanted to organize all the new baby clothes we were given yesterday," she explained, rolling her eyes over his shoulder at you.

"I'm no mother hen, if anyone is a mother hen, then it's you, my dear Feyre."

"Oh, that's bull and you know it Rhys. You barely let Y/N take a step these days!"

It was Rhys's turn to roll his eyes. "Like you wouldn't also be carrying her everywhere if you could?" Feyre was silent, looking away with a smile growing on her face. "That's what I thought, darling. Now, if all the clothes are sorted, I thought we could get on the road soon," Rhys suggested, smiling when he saw your eyes light up.

"Yes, let's hit the road!" You exclaimed, and started to push yourself off the couch. Rhys and Feyre chuckled at your enthusiasm and helped you up, the three of you heading into the bedroom together.

"I think we have everything packed already, besides the blankets and pillows," Rhys said as he pulled the four duffel bags he had packed two days ago onto the bed, three stuffed full of the clothing you would be needing for the next five days, the other stuffed with toiletries, your vitamins, books, and a couple of canvases for Feyre. She would also be bringing her travel easel, packed tightly with the brushes and paints she would need to paint you in the water, as she had declared she would be doing.

And, of course, the go bag. Stuffed full of anything you would need should you go into labor, it was a must to take with you. It had the first onesies you wanted the babies to wear, lilac with a customized saying on it: 'Mommy's and Daddy's and Mommy's girl'.

You had cried when you opened them, a surprise from Feyre and Rhys two months ago.

Also inside was a Polaroid camera, a digital camera, a film camera - you wanted everything documented, and you wanted it done right... though, not the birth... That could stay off film for good.

"Is there anything else you can think of?" Feyre asked you, her pretty eyes distracting you from the question.

"Uhm... No?" You answered, your mind not coming up with anything.

"Then I do believe that we are ready to go!" Feyre said cheerily, guiding you to sit down on the bed so that she could change your shoes.

"I'll take the bags down, do not let her leave the apartment until I come back up," Rhys demanded, fixing you with a stern eye. You blushed but nodded, not wanting a repeat of your fainting spell three weeks ago.

Less than ten minutes later you were bundled into the car, your favorite pillow clutched in your lap, along with Feyre's hands. She played with your fingers the whole car ride, even when she was kissing you.

Which was nearly the entire time, both of you deciding that you didn't really need air anyways to live, you'd much rather breathe each other in.

You could hear Rhys's longing, quiet groans whenever he glanced at the two of you in the rear view mirror, and whenever you looked at him he had a slight flush to his face and neck, which only made both of you more enthusiastic.

"Oh mother, you two will be the death of me," Rhys grumbled, and you saw his right hand lower to his lap and heard the rustle of fabric.

"Hey, hands on the wheel, Rhysie," you said between kisses, tilting your neck to give Feyre access.

"Easier said than done..." He sighed, but moved his hand back to the steering wheel.

"You'll get your turn once we arrive, don't you worry husband," Feyre said against your skin, sending a shudder through you.

By the time you arrived you were a needy wreck, putty in Feyre's capable hands where they had slid below your dress, playing with your breasts.

"Alright, girls, my turn," Rhys growled as he pulled you from the car, entering the cottage once Feyre had unlocked the door and making a beeline for the bedroom. He set you down carefully, so gently that it brought tears to your eyes. "None of that sweet love, unless it's from too much pleasure," Rhys said quietly against the skin of your neck, just below your ear.

Feyre dipped onto the bed a moment later, her hand sneakily undoing the tie of your dress, which fell open easily, baring you to both of them.

"Too much pleasure? I think she can handle it," Feyre purred, her hand already snaking down your tummy and to your cunt, chuckling lowly when she felt the wetness that she'd created. "Don't you, sweet girl?"

You nodded your agreement, mouth falling slightly open when she dipped a finger inside of you.

Oh yes. You could handle this.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

An hour of their hands exploring every inch of you and another hour peacefully dozing in their embrace later, and Rhys was disentangling himself from the pile of limbs the three of you had made.

"Where are you going?" Feyre asked sleepily from your left, her breath warm against your chest.

"I'm going to go get food for our time here," Rhys replied, and you hear the shuffle of fabrics and jingle of his belt.

"I wanna go," you yawned, stretching your legs out and sighing at how lovely it felt.

Rhys kneeled on the mattress and over you, a thumb stroking over your cheek prompting your eyes to open. "If you go to the store, you know you have to be in a wheelchair the whole time, right darling?"

You scrunched your face up for a second. You hated using the wheelchair. But...

"I want to pick out snacks and drinks," you insisted, raising your own hand to cup his face. "You're so preeetty."

Rhys smiled, a toothy, adorable thing. "Okay, okay, so long as you stay in the wheelchair you can come shopping. I take it you'll want to come as well, Fey?"

"Of course, I'm not going to be left alone here while my wife and husband go shopping," Feyre said cheerily, already pulling herself into a sitting position. Rhys helped you do the same, and then to stand.

You all finished getting redressed before Rhys scooped you into his arms again and depositing you gently into the backseat, even buckling you up and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

The trip into the lakeside town was short, no more than ten minutes, and you were relieved to see it had a small hospital, just as Rhys and Feyre had reassured you.

The local grocery store was cute and fairly large, and hopefully housing all of the items that you were hoping to get. You were wheeled inside, your cheeks flaming red as you saw people stare at your large baby bump and the two gorgeous people with you.

You never had liked being stared at... Unless it was Feyre and Rhys doing the staring.

Feyre pushed a cart while Rhys pushed you along, all of you picking out ingredients for dinner, breakfast, and the occasional snack, that was until you reached the candy aisle.

Recently you'd been craving chocolate- chocolate bars, chocolate cookies, chocolate covered fruit, chocolate anything.

And today was no different.

"Okay, Y/N, you can pick out five different candies if you'd like, and we'll all share them," Feyre said, obviously having noticed how your eyes were flitting over the choices.

"Five? Really?" You asked, surprised. One item a day, even if you were sharing, seemed like a lot.

"Yes, five," Feyre chuckled. "You don't have to pick out that many if you don't want to, but I thought since it's our honeymoon and all, that you could have some extra sweetness to go with you... extra sweetness," she said, wiggling her eyebrows at the last two words.

You only flushed further, though this time was from anticipation. Still, you made yourself take your time to pick out your items, not wanting to regret not choosing something later when the cravings struck.

With everything picked out, Feyre went to the cash register while Rhys took you back to the car, gently lifting you inside and buckling you in once more, this time with a heated kiss press to your lips.

You were breathless when he pulled away, your heart fluttering. "I love you," you whispered against his lips, smiling widely when he said the words back to you.

Feyre returned a moment later with the groceries, and once everything was unloaded and they were both buckled in, you were headed back to the cottage.

Rhys carried you inside once again, this time sitting you on the couch that faced a window, overlooking the lake that was right there.

"Can we go swimming soon?" You asked once both of them were seated beside you, groceries put away.

"Of course, love," Feyre said as she nuzzled into your shoulder.

"After you've eaten something, and rested for a bit," Rhys added, already up from the couch in search of something for you to have for lunch.

"Mother hen," you muttered, drawing a laugh from Feyre.

"I told him so," she giggled into your shoulder.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Swimming had been lovely, the three of you floating in the shallow end- or rather, you floating in the shallow end as Rhys and Feyre fought with tiny squirt guns while keeping a close eye on you.

After a bit they had called on you to play referee, but you kept forgetting how many points they had and eventually called it a tie, with the winners both receiving big smooches from you.

Rhys had insisted upon carrying you out of the water and back into the cottage without even drying off, leaving a trail of water behind you as he carried you to the bedroom and into the massive bathroom, taken up by a bathing pool that could easily fit five people.

He stripped both of you out of your bathing suits and lowered you into the water, grinning when you let out a pleased sigh at the warmth. He shifted so he was behind you, your back resting against his chest and sat between his legs, his hands stroking over your belly as the babies kicked softly.

Feyre came in a moment later, clad in only a towel, though not for long. She joined you in the tub, settling in to the right of you after pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

The water was warm, but not so warm that you couldn't soak with them for a while. You were already drifting off in Rhys's embrace, the warmth of the water and excitement from the day tugging you into the place between sleep and awareness, drifting through it as you felt Feyre and Rhys's soft hands, heard them kissing above you.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

The next morning you had demanded to go swimming after breakfast, not caring that the water was still somewhat cool in the morning sun.

Feyre had decided that she very much cared, choosing to stay on the patio and paint you swimming.

Rhys was happy to swim, and even happier to have you float in his arms as he slowly tugged you through the water, completely relaxed in his hold.

Eventually, though, your skin was pruned and your stomach grumbling for a snack, and Rhys had to drag you out of the water, a pout on your face while he carried you to the patio.

"You can go back in after you've let your stomach rest a bit, love," Feyre reassured you as she patted you dry with a towel, then tied your swim dress around you.

"I know..." You pouted. "Will you join us next time?"

Feyre glanced over at her easel, a half finished painting still on it. "I suppose the rest of the painting can wait until tomorrow, if you'll be swimming then too?"

You nodded vigorously. "Oh, I plan to swim as much as I can while we're here. Once the babies come, it'll be even harder to find the time, and I think they really like it when I'm swimming," you smiled, rubbing a hand over your tummy, a small kick being enough to convince you that you were right.

Feyre placed her hand over yours, smiling when she also felt a kick, this one stronger, like she was showing off for her second mom.

"Well, let's go get you lunch then, so we can get you back in the water," Feyre said, leading you back into the cottage and to the dining table.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

When you had finished swimming that evening, Rhys and Feyre both helped you bathe again- which really meant that they washed you twice, both of them running their hands over every inch of skin, with Feyre's fingers dipping between your thighs, Rhys's mouth swallowing your cries when you came under her touch.

You watched them bathe each other, which was somehow more erotic than doing it yourself, your own hands reaching up to cup your breasts while you stared at them hungrily.

You were fixed with identical feline smirks after you let a gasp slip loose, the look in their eyes promising you nothing but trouble.

"Does our sweet girl like watching us?" Feyre crooned as she kneeled over you, your gaze locked on hers.

"Mhmm..." You nodded, biting your lip, a question on the tip of your tongue. "Would.. Rhys?"

"Yes, darling?" Rhys asked lowly from behind Feyre.

"Would you..." You blushed heavily even at the thought. "Would you fuck Feyre? Hard," you said. "I... I want to watch you fuck her until she screams," you whispered, your blush intensifying under their gazes.

"Are you asking me to fuck my pretty wife while my other pretty wife watches?" Rhys asked teasingly, and you nodded. "What do you say, Feyre?" He asked her, pulling her hair aside and kissing along the expanse of her neck.

"Mm, I say yes- as long as I get to eat Y/N's sweet cunt while you do," Feyre said, a wicked glint in her eyes as she looked you over.

"I'm sure that can be arranged," Rhys said lowly. "I do think it requires a change of scenery, though."

A moment later Rhys had hoisted a squealing Feyre over his shoulder, and you heard the bounce of a mattress as he deposited her on it, only moments later returning for you, a hungry look in his eyes.

"Once Feyre is done eating you, it'll be my turn, little love," he whispered in your ear as he brought you into the bedroom. Your eyes caught on Feyre, already on her knees and forearms on the bed.

You giggled with anticipation, more than ready for whatever the night would bring the three of you.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

The next morning, you were awoken by a dull ache in your abdomen. You tried to disentangle yourself from Rhys and Feyre's arms, but they both stirred awake before you made much progress.

"Bathroom?" Rhys asked sleepily in your ear, his hand rubbing over your stomach in a soothing pattern.

"Mm... I think so," you whispered, wiggling your hips against him, delighting in the soft moan he let out.

"Wicked girl... Come on, let's get you up."

You relieved yourself quickly and exited the bathroom, finding Rhys and Feyre sitting in bed together, both yawning.

"I'm sorry I woke you up..." you said quietly, padding back to the bed and plopping yourself back down between them.

"Oh, nonsense Y/N," Feyre said softly, carding her fingers through your hair. "Don't ever feel bad about waking us up. Especially when you come back to bed for snuggles."

You hummed in agreement, but winced when another pain went through you.

"Are you okay, love?" Rhys asked, pressing a hand to your forehead.

"Mhm, just... a little pain happening."

Feyre frowned above you. "Pain? Where?"

Your expression matched her own as you placed your hand over your lower abdomen, at the bottom of your baby bump. "And a little in my back, too," you said, just before you realized.

Oh shit.

"I'm going into labor," you said, fear creeping over you.

"You're going into labor!" Both Rhys and Feyre exclaimed at the same time you spoke, all three of you exchanging looks before you all laughed for a moment, until it sunk in.

"Oh fuck, you're going into labor!" Rhys yelled, jumping up from the bed. "Quick, we need to get dressed and get the go bag and get in the car!"

You and Feyre shared a look, both of you still on the bed.

"Uhm... Rhys?" You asked, watching as he flew around the room, picking out a dress for you and Feyre and grabbing his own clothes, throwing them on quickly.

He paused for a moment, looking over to see the two of you, still relatively calm. "What? Why aren't you moving? Get up, get up!"

Feyre laughed from beside you. "Rhysie, she's not having contractions very close together, and her water hasn't broken yet. We don't have to rush quite so much."

He blinked at her for a moment, considering her words. "Nope, nope, get dressed. I'll make us some breakfast and pack everything up, but after that, it's the hospital for all of us!" Rhys exclaimed, breezing out of the room with his shirt unbuttoned and belt unbuckled.

You and Feyre shared a laugh together, muttering about him being a mother hen to each other, but you could tell that Feyre was nervous. Not that you weren't.

After all... You could very well be pushing three little humans out of you today, and if not today, then tomorrow.

Talk about scary...

Feyre helped dress you, the soft pink wrap dress that Rhys picked out comfortable and loose against your skin, soft slippers secured on your feet.

When you entered the main room, Rhys was already in a flurry of activity, switching between stirring the oatmeal he was cooking on the stove and packing up whatever he could get his hands on.

Feyre made sure you were sat at the table before disappearing into the bedroom, likely packing up all of your clothing and possessions to keep Rhys from having a heart attack at how much there was to do, and how little time he thought he had.

"I've already called Madja, she's going to meet us at the hospital in town in no more than two hours," Rhys informed you as he set a bowl of oatmeal in front of you. "How are you feeling? Any more contractions?" He asked with a gentle hand on your cheek.

"I'm doing fine so far, Rhysie. No more contractions yet."

"Good. Good," Rhys said, placing a kiss to the crown of your head. "Eat up, little love." He started to leave the table, but you caught your hand around his wrist.

"Wait," you pleaded. "Eat with me? Please?"

Rhys's expression softened at your tone, some of his panic ebbing away. "Of course, Y/N. I'll go get Feyre, and we can all eat together."

You smiled brightly at him, pleased that you would have one last meal as a family of three, rather than a family of six.

It was peaceful, once you had gotten both Rhys and Feyre to sit down and eat, both of them keeping a soothing hand on some part of you at all times.

The babies were kicking like crazy, obviously sensing that their time inside you was coming to an end, and seeming very excited to meet the world.

The calm ended once your face pinched with another contraction, though, Rhys immediately springing up to get the dishes washed and finish packing the rest of your things and lugging them out to the car.

Feyre sat with you while he bustled about, her hand resting over yours on your stomach while she talked about everything and nothing to distract you.

But soon Rhys had hoisted you into his arms once again and strapped you into the backseat, a sweet kiss pressed to your temple before he shut the door.

Feyre buckled in beside you, and you rested your head on her shoulder during the drive, soaking in the love she was giving you as she held you and stroked your hair.

By the time you reached the hospital, the contractions were coming closer together and lasting longer, a sure sign that you were nearing full-on labor.

Rhys settled you into a wheelchair before quickly leaving to park the car, promising that he would bring the go bag and for you and Feyre to head inside.

You and Feyre did just that, Feyre pushing you in to the front desk.

"Hello, what can I help you with?" The nurse asked, her eyes glued to the paperwork on her desk.

"Hi, uh, my wife is going into labor," Feyre replied, a hand running through your hair.

"Your wi-" The woman began to ask before she looked at the two of you, eyes sticking on the large bump of your belly. "Oh. I'll page OB right away, here's some paperwork for you to fill out."

"Thank you," Feyre said, grabbing the clipboard and pen from her and settling it in your lap before wheeling you over to the waiting area.

You had nearly finished filling out the paperwork together when Rhys flew through the doors, looking around frantically before his eyes landed on the two of you, immediately crossing the room to sit by you.

"Oh, good, you didn't get taken up yet. Well... Not good, but you know what I mean," Rhys rambled.

...

"This is the first time I've seen you nervous," you remarked, smiling when he looked offended.

"I am not nervous, I am appropriately aware of everything that is happening."

"Nervous," Feyre said, earning a light swat on the thigh from Rhys. "It's okay, Rhysie, I'm nervous too."

"Me too," you admitted, rubbing your belly absently.

"Well... Good, we're all nervous, we can all be nervous together," Rhys said, bobbing his head up and down.

You giggled at him, but was cut off by another contraction taking you off guard.

"Man... These things are annoying..."

"Y/N Night?" A nurse called from across the room, her eyes already locked on the three of you. Or, more specifically, the bump you possessed.

You were taken up to the second floor and given a nice room with a good view out the window, not that you could see it with all the doctors in the room.

As you were being transferred from a wheelchair to your bed, your water had broken, spilling down your legs and onto your feet.

The sensation had brought tears to your eyes, and your loving partners had so kindly cleaned you up without even a word of complaint, instead choosing to press loving kisses to your forehead and cheeks and hands as often as they could.

Madja had arrived only a half an hour after the three of you had, entering the room and parting the sea of doctors with her presence alone. Immediately she had given you steroids to help the babies' lungs develop as much as they could before you went into full labor, and had given you an epidural.

The feeling of your lower half being numb? Not your favorite. But you supposed it was better than feeling every contraction moving through you.

Rhys was pacing in the room, not able to stay still for a moment unless he was touching you in some way, but the fleet of doctors that had come to witness a birth of triplets had made that more and more difficult as the day wore on, to the point that you were beginning to feel a bit touch starved.

Feyre had stayed calmer, sitting in a chair that had a direct line of sight to you, but you saw her legs bouncing up and down, growing faster whenever a new doctor would touch and examine you.

After three hours of waiting to be left alone with your husband and wife, you were feeling fed up. Madja had just reentered the room after giving a short briefing to Rhys and Feyre, the two of them trailing behind her.

You made a pouty face, hoping that you looked as sad as you felt, not having enough access to your spouses.

Thankfully for you, Madja knew almost every one of you looks at this point, having seen you at least once a week for the past six months.

"Alright, that's enough exams for now, let's let the mother rest a bit," Madja commanded, the sea of white coats filtering out the door, taking their mumbled words with them.

You had a feeling that more than a few of them would have said choice words about the parenting situation of the babies.

But that didn't matter. Because when you looked at Feyre and Rhys, now by your sides, each holding one of your hands? You knew that you had everything you would ever need.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Eight more hours later, and you were blessed with three beautiful, healthy baby girls. They were all small, yes, and were nearly swimming in their first onesies, but they were healthy.

They were healthy, and you had made it through labor safely, thanks to Madja's expertise.

And, of course, the parents of your children, who had stuck by you throughout the entire labor, offering their hands to squeeze and dabbing away your sweat and fanning you when you felt too hot.

They were perfect.

Your babies were perfect.

Life was perfect.

Little Astra, Aurora, and Ayla had already lit up your life with their presences, their tiny coos and cries music to your ears.

Rhys and Feyre had managed to squeeze themselves onto your hospital bed, each of you holding one of your precious little nuggets.

You had Ayla in your arms, the smallest of the triplets, but the loudest. Rhys had Astra, who had been born with a thick tuft of blue-black hair, her violet eyes wide as she surveyed the room. And Feyre was holding Aurora, the largest and most mobile of the three, her little hand already grasping at your fingers when you offered them to her.

You were exhausted, of course, but before you went to sleep for the first time as a mother, you wanted to snuggle and feed your babies, and spend some quiet time with your lovers.

"They're so..." You sighed, unable to even finish the thought.

"Perfect?" Rhys asked.

"Amazingly adorable?" Feyre suggested.

"Yes and yes. I just know... I know that they will own me forever," you said softly, taking in a deep huff of baby smell.

Fresh, sweet baby.

You could hardly believe that a one night stand, no matter how fantastic, had lead to this.

You had a family now, made up of two loving spouses and three perfect little babies.

And even if things got hard, which they surely would... You knew that everything would be alright.

Because the three of you? You can do this, together.

🤍🩵💖💜🤍

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao @twismare

[alstroemerian-dragon]

(okay so this is the part where i add a disclaimer that i Have Not watched the anime and all information i know about events within it are through secondary information like the wiki. and also that personally i regard the anime as Dubiously Canon because i dont like some of the story decisions team dr made and i make the choices now because im Selfish. my city now angel_emoji.jpg)

see when i heard abt the memory erasure thing it always confused me because i. could never figure out if it was supposed to be ‘at some point during the tragedy he had the despair’s memories of him as hajime erased to. avoid complications?’ or ‘before the events of the simulation, he had their memories of ever interacting with izuru erased to. purify the data set?’ either one is pretty weird in my opinion, because wasnt the idea that izuru’s memories of being hajime were repressed? why would he even know what needed to be erased? did he scour the school for information during the tragedy? that would only have been possible after the events of the first game when it was actually abandoned, and by that point why would there even be a reason to? and as for the second option…

something i think people dont remember is that there is a HEAVY implication that izuru is the reason the remnants turned themselves into the foundation. during the last arc of the game, if you actually read and analyze all the emails found throughout the school and read between the lines, the implication is that izuru anonymously sent the foundation information on a group of disparate ‘survivors’ of HPA’s fall, and that when the foundation found them, they turned themselves in willingly as scared, maybe even amnesiac teenagers!! the foundation notes that the survivors ‘can’t tell them anything yet’ which, to me, means they pretended not to know anything about the fall of the academy. only after research, and, of course, because class 78 would have recognized them, did makoto and the others realize who they actually were and squirrel them away to jabberwock.

if that’s true, then. why the hell would he want their memories of him erased. that would mess up his whole plan. why would any of them listen to him and follow along if they didnt know who he was?????

this isnt me arguing with you (hi alda i respect u soooooo much), this is mostly me pointing out how absolutely ridiculous some of the ideas team dr comes up with are fjshdjsfjshdj like. why would he do that. what would even be the point of it. the only person we ever see izuru actually interact with in game canon is nagito in chapter 0, but you could just make an argument for him never interacting specifically with nagito, which to me would make sense!! nagito to me is the kind of person who just wandered around sort of ambiently causing destruction, and izuru (if he played the role he does in my head), as junkos basically. mouth piece i guess? would probably never be capable of getting in contact with him fishdjsksk

anyway. all this to say that even if any memories were erased, i doubt it was permanent, and the neo world program most likely would have made them resurface anyway. which. to be honest, has the added bonus of the people waking up going ‘what the fuck… who… oh. oh its izuru. wait. who the fuck… no thats hajime. but no that cant be hajime. what the fuck? who is that????’

the thing about. okay so when i first got into dr i was like ‘i think i prefer an outcome where they ultimately cant wake the other ten members of their class and its just the five survivors because then the deaths meant something yknow’ and while i still think that that kind of thing has. yknow. merit and value. i have actually come around to preferring them being able to do it. with one massive caveat.

it takes forever.

it takes at least a year and a half, two years maybe, before they (lets be real, hajime) even gain the knowledge of the system, work out its quirks, beef up its security and tech, connect it to enough power, and build the proper technology to manage something like this, and even then, each person is going to need a unique plan of action. its going to take ages. i think its best if they start from the first death through the last, which has the added benefit of waking the impostor first and gaining a good moral compass and grounding presence. but… i mean. its almost two years before they even manage the first dive into their brain. two years of living alone, just the five of them, of building each other up of building a dynamic, one that works, and of changing and growing because they have no other choice.

so when it comes down to them actually attempting to wake the first person… theres some anxiety. theres some worry. theres a lot of ‘this is going to radically alter how we relate to each other and everyone else’. theres a lot of ‘this is going to make things weird’. theres a lot of ‘theyre not going to understand a lot of things at first not only because its been two years since we all went under and everything has changed in that time but also because the five of us have a fundamentally different relationship now with each other than we will have with anyone else we wake up. thats going to cause conflict’.

and i dont even necessarily mean that in a romantic relationship sense (though if you know me you know im deeply unwell about kuzuhina and also an absolute sucker for polycule shit so yeah i do also kinda mean it in that way), but just that their bond is so strong. living alone on an island in the middle of nowhere for two years with just four other people will do that. they know each other in fundamental ways that the others may never manage. fuyuhiko may get peko back, but her relationship with him will never be the one he has with hajime, or akane, or kazuichi or sonia. sonia will get gundham back, but despite them definitely regaining their romantic relationship (after an adjustment period, of course), there will be an odd dissonance in how well hajime and akane know her in ways gundham doesnt. akane will get nekomaru back in her life. but he will never be the person she goes to with the things she goes to hajime with.

this isnt necessarily entirely negative, of course. relationships are always going to be different with different people because theyre. yknow. different people. but i think theres going to be a period of time, maybe even the rest of their lives, where the ten sleepers in the vault will understand, intrinsically, that the relationship the five survivors has is never going to be fully understood, and will always be special and different from what they all have as a group.

hajime, fuyuhiko, kazuichi, akane, and sonia all faced arguably the hardest parts of the healing process, the stumbling blindly with no hand to hold except the others with an equal lack of sight, together, and that. does things. to a relationship.

they will all manage the healing process, and they will all struggle through it. but never in the same way those five did.

[flwrkid14]

Famous streamer Danny and his secret boyfriend:

Okay, but picture this: Danny Fenton is this massive streamer—like, he’s the guy everyone watches for chill vibes, chaotic gaming, and somehow getting sidetracked talking about conspiracy theories in the middle of a speedrun. His streams are a mess of ghost jokes, random facts about space, and way too much energy for someone running on three hours of sleep and coffee.

And then there’s his boyfriend—who the fans only know exists because Danny’s way too in love to not talk about him. Like, every stream, without fail, Danny’s casually dropping hints. “Oh yeah, my boyfriend brought me coffee, isn’t he the best?” or “I was playing this game with him last night, and he kept getting us killed, but he’s cute so I let it slide.”

The thing is, no one has ever seen this boyfriend. Not once. No name, no face, nothing. And at this point, it’s basically part of Danny’s brand. His fans are in the chat, spamming questions like, “Who is he?” “Is he another streamer?” “What’s his name?” and Danny’s just laughing it off every time, like, “Eh, maybe I’ll introduce you guys one day.”

The fan theories are wild. People have made entire reddit threads trying to piece together clues about who this mystery guy is. Some think Danny’s boyfriend is a celebrity. Others are convinced it’s someone famous in the gaming world, but no one has any proof. It’s like the internet’s biggest mystery, and Danny’s just sitting there, fully aware of it, leaning into the chaos without giving away a single detail.

Meanwhile, Tim Drake—yes, that Tim Drake, Gotham’s resident CEO of WE and vigilante—is just chilling in the background. He’s the boyfriend, obviously. The one who makes sure Danny actually eats between streams and sometimes joins him off-camera to play co-op games. But Tim’s got no intention of revealing himself. He likes the anonymity, the whole “mysterious boyfriend” thing. Plus, with his whole double life as a vigilante, staying out of the public eye (more than he already is) isn’t exactly a bad idea.

But the best part—Danny’s fans? They’re convinced his boyfriend is some kind of superhero or vigilante. The way Danny talks about him—like he’s always busy, never around during certain hours (because, you know, Tim’s out patrolling Gotham), and the fact that he’s never once shown up on camera? It’s practically begging for wild speculation. And Danny? He’s just letting them run with it, saying stuff like, “Oh yeah, he’s totally saving the world right now, can’t make it to stream today.”

So now Danny’s got this massive online following, all obsessed with his mystery boyfriend, while Tim’s just quietly in the background, living his double life and probably smirking every time Danny plays along with the fans’ theories. It’s lowkey hilarious, and neither of them is ever planning to set the record straight. They’re just having way too much fun with it.

[novelistwriter]

Phantom Owl

The Nightingale Family, a family of old money in Gotham, so much older than the Wayne's, their fortune lies in wait, as the ones living in Gotham have died. The Fentons are part of the Nightingale family, the Fentonightingale's were a branch of the family that were part of the magical side of the world, while the regular Nightingale's handled the scientific part of the world.

Jazz found out about the Nightingale's when doing some research for a school project, she told Danny and his friends about it and convinced them that it would be a good idea to have that as a contingency for if their Parents don't take kindly to Danny being Phantom.

Danny ended up having to use that plan, he just didn't expect to do it alone. His parents did attack him when he told them about him being Phantom, but he didn't expect GIW Agents to be hiding in their home. It took the lives of Jazz and his best friends for Danny to escape Amity and make it to Gotham.

Danny had solid evidence of him being a Nightingale, thanks to Jazz and Tucker, and was welcomed into the Manor that belonged to the Nightingale's. A Gala was planned for Danny to welcome him, and to celebrate that the Nightingale Family still lives. It's a good thing Vlad had drilled it into him about proper etiquette for Galas whenever the Fruitloop took him to one (He still can't believe that he's become a Fruitloop himself as he too has a basement lab in his Manor).

At the Gala, one of the Wayne Boys catches his eye, he spends time with him during the Gala and manages to get his number. Running the company he inherited, Nightingale Pharmaceuticals, is so much easier than his Ghost King duties, he's also got a replica portal in his basement, something he took from the Fentons along with the rest of their blueprints, that takes him to the Ghost Zone.

The Court of Owls had reached out to Danny, requesting him to he part of their organization. Danny had agreed, but mainly to gather information on them, who they are and what they've done, so he could reveal their crimes to the world, plus the many Talons that were forced to follow their rule is against a few rules the Infinite Realms has in place, and the Court need to pay.

One day, when Danny was doing something in his Manor, he could feel some people enter it. He left a duplicate in his place and went to the see who had entered his haunt without permission. What he didn't expect to find was Mr. Wayne and a few of his kids sneaking around, including the Wayne Boy he got close to, he also learned that the Wayne's are Gothams Vigilante Family this way.

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference] with a s/o with a mental issues pt.2 (the big sad)

Requests with sensitive themes are reposted with names that hint at the topic but aren’t explicit, to avoid censorship. On another note, I’m taking advantage of this post to promote myself and let you know I’m working on a mini-series of Arcane posters. Right below the "read more" line, you’ll find the link to two drawings and my other socials if you’d like to follow me elsewhere! Enjoy!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky |

poster: | Jayce poster | | Silco poster | | Steb poster |

Jayce:

- The panic man, but not in this scenario.  

- He usually notices a crisis brewing before it’s too late, and when he picks up on the signs, he intervenes immediately.  

- He’ll take you out for a walk to get some fresh air, clean the house thoroughly, and make sure to open the windows to keep everything well-ventilated.  

- Breakfast? In bed. Lunch? Strategically either at your favorite spots or something he cooks himself—things he knows you can’t resist.  

- If the crisis worsens, he’ll help you with dressing, making the bed, and even brushing your teeth if necessary, without making you feel bad about it.  

- He refuses to let you languish and is convinced that fresh air, a refreshed you, and clean, fragrant clothes will help you feel better much faster.  

- Get ready for some storytelling from any fairytale book he can get his hands on.  

Viktor:  

- He completely understands what you’re going through and notices it fairly quickly.  

- Viktor will be the first to personally help you while also suggesting someone who could support you—not because you’re a burden but because he genuinely wants you to feel better.  

- There’s no shame in asking for a little help.  

- Whether you’re up for it or not, he won’t push you, but he’ll try to stay as close as possible.  

- He insists on boundaries, though. Not hungry? At least two full meals a day.  

- Struggling with hygiene? He’ll buy you wipes, and if needed, he’ll assist you with washing.  

- He doesn’t want you to neglect your tasks, self-care, or well-being for fear that it might worsen the crisis or weaken you over time.  

- If you don’t want to go out, it means you’ll watch a series together—or maybe two. He’ll work on his projects at night, but you’ll never know about it.  

Ekko:  

- Ekko notices it less quickly than the others, not because he’s emotionally clueless but because in Zaun, feeling unwell is both common and a part of daily life.  

- He’ll pick up on it when you become less communicative, when he doesn’t see you around, and when he finds you lying in bed all the time.  

- He’s the least likely to push you. Don’t feel like eating? He’ll bring a plate along with some treats he’s managed to scavenge and leave them in your room so that if you change your mind, you won’t have to get up.  

- Really hungry? He’ll cook for you personally before you even ask, as soon as your stomach growls.  

- Can’t bring yourself to wash? You’ll do it when you feel better—there’s no rush, no pressure. No matter how messy your room gets or how much you stay confined to that tiny space, he won’t make you feel bad about it. He’ll ask if you want to take a walk, visit the kids, or suggest plans to stimulate you.  

Vander:  

- The man who managed the entire Undercity, four criminal kids, the mines of Zaun, and the enforcers doesn’t back down from this challenge either.  

- His approach is to never leave you alone.  

- In the morning, he’ll dress you, comb your hair, and carry you to the bar. If he has to visit Benzo or go elsewhere, he won’t leave you alone for even five minutes.  

- His reasoning isn’t fear that you’ll get worse but rather the belief that having stimulation without exhausting yourself will help distract you a bit.  

- If possible, he’ll take you to the bridge, maybe for a picnic.  

- You’ll always have a smoothie to drink so that, even if you don’t feel like eating, you can still get nutrients. At the same time, there will always be a plate of food on the table.  

- Breakfast? Wherever you want. The other meals? In the living room or at the Last Drop, so the air in your room can be refreshed.  

Silco:

- Before you even realize you’re having a crisis, he’ll leave some pills on your bedside table with a note explaining how to take them.  

- His goons—at least the younger ones—are almost like his children, so he’s used to this kind of situation and already has everything prepared.  

- If you lock yourself in your room, he’ll respect that; you need your space. But if it goes on for too long, he’ll feel compelled to intervene, if only to make sure you’re not wasting away.  

- He’ll ask Sevika to take care of you when he can’t—though she won’t be thrilled about it. Still, the kingpin doesn’t want you to feel neglected or entrust you to someone unreliable or incompetent.  

- He’ll adjust his work schedule to spend more time with you, though his requests will often feel more like polite orders.  

- In Zaun, there aren’t good doctors to turn to, so if the choice is between letting you get a rash, an infection, or washing you himself, he won’t think twice about doing it.  

- On the other side, he becomes much more affectionate. He’ll have you sit on his lap while he’s in his office and keep physical contact constant when you’re together, so you always know he’s there for you.  

Jinx:  

- “You’ve got the Big Sad,” as she calls it, speaking as someone with plenty of problems and few diagnoses.  

- Her approach is also a way of exorcising the illness, making it less scary.  

- Her main method of helping is cleaning and decorating her lair to make it brighter and more colorful, with cheerful music playing in the background and colorful lights stolen from Piltover.  

- If you feel up to going out, she’ll take you to Piltover, where the air is cleaner, there’s more sunlight, and you can soak up some oxygen and vitamin D. If not, she’ll steal anything she can—fruit, toys—so you have something to engage with.  

- When it comes to meals, she’s not great at managing herself. She often forgets to eat, and it’s her father who forces her to have complete meals. As a result, most of the edible things she’ll bring you are cookies, chips, pizza—tasty but not necessarily nutritious.  

- The important thing is that you eat.  

- She’ll try to negotiate with her father to skip missions for a while to stay close to you or go on them at night so you won’t notice her absence.  

Vi:  

- She doesn’t catch on too early but notices just before things worsen. She becomes very protective and more careful and kind in her actions, simply to avoid upsetting you.  

- Out of personal guilt, she won’t let you know if she gets hurt, to prevent you from worrying or feeling bad about receiving help.  

- If you drop something, she’ll immediately stop whatever she’s doing and come to you. First, she’ll reassure you that it’s okay—it happens to everyone—then she’ll help you clean up the mess.  

- She doesn’t care if you don’t wash or dress yourself; coming from prison, she’s used to such things. If you want to but can’t, she’ll help. But if you don’t want to because it’s your favorite hoodie, she won’t push.  

- When it comes to eating, though, she’s more insistent. She eats a lot, and Vander raised her with the idea that eating well is necessary to feel well. She’ll negotiate to get you to eat something—at least three times a day.  

- It doesn’t matter if it’s a small amount, not very nutritious, or not a complete meal. You need energy.  

- If you crave something specific, she’ll buy it—or steal it, depending on the cost—but she’ll make sure you get it.  

Caitlyn:  

- She’ll set up the guest room for you so you can stay at her place while still having complete independence.  

- With her job keeping her busy, she can’t take full days off to be with you, so she instructs the house staff to have your meals ready at specific times, change your sheets, and clean your room to ensure you’re as comfortable as possible.  

- To make up for her absence, she brings you pastries, slices of cake, or anything else she thinks you might enjoy.  

- If she notices you’re not eating, she’ll simply sit with you and talk about how you need to eat at least a little, asking about your preferences so she can make sure you get the meals you want.  

- In the evening, she’ll take a bath with you, washing your hair and massaging your back—both to make you feel better and to ensure you go to bed completely comfortable.  

Mel:  

- She struggles to notice something’s wrong until it’s too late or you tell her outright.  

- Her work consumes so much of her time and energy that when she’s with you, she doesn’t immediately pick up on any issues.  

- Her priority is keeping you in the light, which is why she moves you into her room with large windows to let the sunlight work its magic.  

- In the mornings, she’ll prepare a coffee, a pastry from the best bakery, and a glass of water with an effervescent vitamin C tablet for you.  

- Being a woman of science, she believes in medication, but if you’re not ready to seek professional help, she’ll at least ensure you take vitamins so your body doesn’t suffer as much as your mind.  

- The deal is that you can do what you want during the day, but someone will bring you meals (and you’ll need to eat at least half), and all hygiene routines are moved to the evening so you can do them together with her help.  

- Bath, shower, teeth, skincare, hair—you do everything together while chatting (as staff change the sheets and tidy the bed so you don’t feel burdened).  

- She’ll try to skip the least important meetings to have meals or at least coffee with you, making sure you’re not left alone too much.  

- At least three times a week, she gives you small errands to run, knowing that getting outside, walking, and fresh air will do you good.  

Sevika:  

- It might not seem like it, but despite her gruff exterior, she has a very soft heart. Surrounded by people with problems, she quickly notices when something’s wrong.  

- She won’t bring it up first; instead, she’ll ask how you’re feeling, and if you hint that something’s off, her response is, “Do you want to talk about it?”  

- If you break down while talking, she’ll hold you close, not interrupting or offering opinions. She just listens, lets you vent, and gives you something to wipe your tears. It’s not coldness—she simply wants you to process the pain at your own pace.  

- She’ll mention it to Silco, at least to arrange more regular or reduced hours, ensuring you’re not left alone for too long.  

- When she returns from a mission, she always tries to bring you something nice or that reminds her of you—a vulnerable gesture she wouldn’t usually make so lightly but does willingly when you need it.  

- She’s unbothered by smells; if you don’t wash, she won’t push you. She just wants you to feel okay. At least once a week, if you can’t manage it, she’ll wash you herself to lighten your load, turning the moment into an act of care.  

- If she has to leave at night, she’ll tuck you in, whisper that she’s heading out, and leave a glass of clean, fresh water and a sweet treat on your nightstand to reassure you that she didn’t want to leave but had no choice.  

[ssahotchnerr]

Mom!friend reader bringing everyone cute lunches at the bau with personalized little notes for each person 😭 maybe hotch doesn’t even know that you do this for the others too so when someone mentions readers cooking, he’s like “wat”

personalized

ADORABLE cw; bau!fem!reader, established relationship, mentions of food, fluff and aaron being cute <3

the pace at which aaron was moving must've been more intense than he intended and realized; as he hurried past jj's desk, the small draft that followed caused a small piece of paper to flutter to the ground.

uttering an apology, aaron immediately reached down to pick it up. however it had landed face up, and his eyebrows furrowed in small confusion as he caught a glimpse of its contents.

your familiar handwriting kept his eyes, instead of peering away as he normally would - 'my sweet jj! thank you so much for your help on the arizona case file, you're a total lifesaver and your expertise is always appreciated, hope you know that. enjoy <3 ps - your new lavender sweater is the cutest. must plan a shopping day w/ pen soon!'

aaron's eyebrows stayed in that confused line, his eyes shifting up to jj's in a silent question.

"came with the cookies." jj answered for him, pointing her head towards the tupperware container perched on her desktop.

instantly aaron's mind made the connection - so that's why you were up late baking. that made more sense; the time you had spent baking was much too long for the small plateful quantity he had found reserved for him and jack this morning.

"pretty girl sure knows how to cook." derek added into the conversation as he approached the cluster of desks, raising his hand to pat aaron on the back but stopped himself halfway - aaron shot him a pointed look, hiding his own amusement, while jj attempted to conceal her smile with her palm.

another eyebrow furrow. "and when have you had her cooking?"

"here and there. always comes with a note too. i could just about fill a desk drawer with how many i have." derek admitted, with his signature, vivid grin. "she may be yours, we get special treatment too, y'know."

a bit later, you strolled into aaron's office, juggling numerous files in your hands.

"as requested," you started, dropping them firmly onto aaron's desk. "five action reports, minus dave's. he told me when you're as experienced and italian as he is, you can slack off and kinda get away with it. but i think that's his fancy way of admitting he's old." you joked with a eye roll.

"thank you," aaron flashed you a smile, sorting through his current papers. assuming that was all, you spun on your heel to head out and return to the everlasting joy of paperwork, but, aaron's voice stopped you.

"hey hold it, c'mere a sec."

you pulled back one of the chairs in front of hiss desk, the legs producing a scraping noise against the floorboards, but aaron gestured for you to come around. your eyes darted in the direction of his open blinds, then back at him. 'you sure?'

aaron nodded in confirmation. and if you needed any more convincing, once in reach you were pulled onto his lap, his hold on you tight.

if he wasn't being a stickler on the open affection, neither were you; you relaxed yourself against him just as you would normally, your body melting into his and throwing your arms loosely around his neck. "what's up?"

"i didn't know you wrote the team notes."

"oh," you laughed softly, with a light shake of your head. by habit your fingers ran along the skin of aaron's neck, scratching the nape of his hair gently. "yeah, if i bring in lunch or a treat or something. or both. or sometimes just because. an appreciation reminder."

aaron nodded, his fingers drumming against your hip comfortably.

"that's not a problem, is it?"

"well," aaron pretended to think, his hand changing motions and sliding up and down your side, "yes."

"actually?" you blurted as your own fingers paused. that wasn't the answer you expected, and it caused a rush of nervous heat to pool within you. until, you saw the feigned, solemn expression on his face.

aaron peered down at you, his playful eyes canceling out the forced pout on his lips. under his breath, he mumbled humorously, "i thought i was the only one getting notes."

you laughed brightly, the joy within the sound immediately bringing a smile to aaron's lips. "oh don't worry, they don't get the lipstick smooch on theirs. that's reserved for you and you only."

"i would hope not."

"or the, occasional... explicitness."

"again, i would hope not." aaron laughed again. his lips graced your temple, lingering gently as he spoke, "you're sweet."

"a very wise, very attractive person once said, 'people need to know they're important'." your lips quirked into a loving smile, a glint in your eyes. "thought this would be an easy way - i learned from the best."

[diamonddaze01]

14 “You broke what?!” With Coupsie where reader kind of distracts him with kisses and 😏😏😏 because she broke something thank you your drabbles are so cute!

uh oh

pairing: csc x f!reader | wc: 1.0k au: billionaire!cheol, suggestive | warnings: none a/n: hello nonie ur so sweet i hope u love this

The warm, golden light of the bedroom bathed you in a soft glow as you danced around to a song playing faintly from your phone. The hem of your satin slip fluttered with each sway of your hips, brushing against your thighs. It was late, the kind of late where everything felt dreamlike and lighthearted, and the weight of the day had melted away into a pocket of joy that you carried in the privacy of your home.

You twirled, your arms outstretched, pretending the bedroom was a stage meant just for you. The outside world didn’t exist. It was just the music, the warmth of the room, and the giddy anticipation of Seungcheol coming home. You hummed along to the melody, the sound barely audible over the soft shuffle of your bare feet against the rug.

But in your enthusiasm, your elbow caught something solid. A sharp thud followed. Then, a sound that sent dread shooting straight to your core: glass shattering. 

You froze mid-spin, the music still humming in the background as your gaze darted to the nightstand. Your heart plummeted.

Seungcheol’s newest luxury watch—his favorite one, the newest De Bethune—lay face down on the floor, shards of its crystal face scattered around like delicate, broken stars.

“Oh no, no, no, no…” you whispered, crouching down to assess the damage. The face was cracked beyond repair, the delicate hands of the watch bent at awkward angles. It looked as though it had been run over by a truck.

Panic swelled in your chest as you frantically gathered the pieces, as though somehow assembling them would undo everything. "He’s going to kill me," you muttered under your breath, your mind racing for a plan.

And then, as if fate wanted to twist the knife further, you heard the front door open downstairs.

"Fuck," you breathed, glancing at the shards still on the nightstand. A wild panic took over as you swept them behind a picture frame and stood abruptly, smoothing down the satin slip and wiping your clammy hands on your thighs. You plastered on what you hoped was a convincing smile just as his footsteps began ascending the stairs.

The bedroom door swung open, and there he was.

Seungcheol stood in the doorway, his suit slightly rumpled from a long day, his tie loosened just enough to make your heart skip a beat. He ran a hand through his dark hair, his sharp gaze softening the instant it landed on you.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice warm and gravelly, "what are you still doing up?"

Without thinking, you launched yourself into his arms, wrapping him in a tight embrace before pulling back just enough to capture his lips in a kiss. His surprised grunt melted into a low chuckle as his hands found their home on your waist.

"Welcome home," you murmured against his lips, tugging lightly at the knot in his tie.

His brow arched, and a teasing grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "What’s with the sudden enthusiasm? Miss me that much?"

You hummed noncommittally, pushing his jacket off his broad shoulders. It hit the floor with a soft thud as you leaned in to kiss him again, your fingers deftly working to undo the first button of his shirt.

It was working. He seemed utterly distracted, his attention fixed on you and not the broken watch hidden on the nightstand.

But Seungcheol wasn’t the type to miss details. As you tilted your head to kiss the corner of his mouth, his sharp eyes caught the faint glint of shattered glass on the floor. His gaze flicked to the nightstand, then to the guilt practically painted across your face.

“What are you hiding from me, troublemaker?” he breathed against your lips, his tone low and teasing.

Damn it.

You tried to cover your panic with another kiss, pulling him closer by his tie. "I, uh—" You punctuated each word with a quick kiss, hoping to stall him long enough for an escape plan to form. But then it all tumbled out in a breathless rush. "IwasdancingandthenIaccidentallyknockedoveryourwatchI'msosorry!"

His brows shot up. "You broke what?!"

You froze, your lips still parted mid-breath, caught like a deer in headlights. "I—uh—it was an accident?"

His hands slid from your waist to your thighs in one fluid motion, and before you could process it, he was lifting you into his arms.

"Cheol!" you shrieked, clinging to his shoulders as he carried you to the bed with that signature grin of his, somewhere between exasperated and utterly smitten.

He set you down on the mattress, hovering over you as you tried to bury your face in your hands. "I’m sorry about the watch," you mumbled sheepishly, peeking at him through your fingers.

He laughed, the sound rich and low as he gently pried your hands away from your face. "Sweetheart, what’s money for," he teased, leaning in close, "if I can’t buy a new watch?"

Still, guilt nagged at you. "It was your favorite one," you argued softly, your fingers finding his loosened tie again. "You kept showing it off to everyone."

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. "And now I’ll have a reason to get an even nicer one," he said, his voice dipping lower.

You rolled your eyes, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed you. "You’re ridiculous," you muttered.

"And you’re lucky I can’t be mad at you," he quipped, his lips brushing against yours as he pinned you to the bed. His tie slipped free, forgotten somewhere near the floor. "Especially not when you’re in this little number, looking at me like that."

Your laughter mingled with his as the tension melted away. Whatever guilt you’d felt about the watch was long gone as his lips traveled from your mouth to your jaw, to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

"Guess I’ll be extra careful next time I’m dancing," you murmured, your breath hitching as his hands explored the soft fabric of your slip.

"Next time," he replied between kisses, "I’ll dance with you."

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[wtfaniii]

I can do it alone, but he can also save me

Fem reader x Hwang In-ho / Fem reader x Hwang Jun-ho

Part 1 Part 2

●Summary: Jun-ho's girlfriend was a decorated policegirl, strong and brave, she, along with Gi-hun were taken to the games to stop them, however, there was a setback in between

●Note: Thank you for welcoming me so well on this platform! I'm still learning how to use it, sorry, Wattpad is my thing LOL But I'm understanding it more now

●Warning: Maybe some drama? Some violence and discreet flirting

The reader doesn't know who is In-ho, Jun-ho refused to talk about his past with her, so she is engrossed in the true identity of this handsome man.

Well, the plan hadn't worked out the way they wanted.

They had taken away their trackers and any object, even the smallest, that they could use to defend themselves.

—Now what do we do... —Gi-hun muttered more to himself but audible to the girl in front him.

—I think the best thing to do now would be not to die —she answered seriously, the vows had been made and unfortunately, despite Gi-hun's attempts to persuade the players to withdraw, staying had been the final decision —For now we must eat if we want to win the next game —She added holding out in front of him the food the guards were giving them, but he refused to take it, he looked so lost in his own mind that she had no choice but to sigh and sit down next to him.

—Come on, open your mouth, belly full and heart happy —Jung-bae, Gi-hun's friend sitting on his right side, spoke while holding a spoon with the egg in front of his face.

—Last time I was here, many innocent people died —Gi-hun said, looking at his friend seriously. He wanted to convince him that everything he said was true and that they should leave there as soon as possible.

—Help us then.

There was a third voice that caught the girl's attention, it was number 001, the one who had the decisive vote and preferred to stay, whoever had the blue circle was a suicidal person from her perspective.

The rest of the players surrounded them waiting for some advice or positive words from the previous winner.

The girl just listened attentively to each of them, but the most interested was 001. He asked him more concise questions and spoke confidently, as if these games were not very different from the ones they played at recess when they were little.

Something that seemed curious to her.

He felt her gaze so turned it towards her so he could look the police in the eye.

Of course he had investigated her, from the moment she searched for her boyfriend on land and sea, he wouldn't say it out loud but his brother was lucky because if it hadn't been for her him would be dead under water.

Her eyes looked at him with caution and analysis, like a cat looking at a dog with distrust but ready to scratch if the situation arose.

He found it interesting.

After the rest of the players left, 001 stayed with them to continue talking until the conversation increased in tension, Gi-hun complained to him, if he hadn't voted for the circle they would have left there.

—Fine, let's stop this conversation now, there's no point in blaming each other —Jung-bae said to avoid any upcoming fight.

—That's right, now what we have to do is be prepared for the next game —She said —We have a bit of an advantage —added, looking at Gi-hun.

—I would like to join too —said number 388 jumping out of his bed.

He introduced himself as Dae-ho and the conversation changed from the winning player to the navy and the fact that both he and Jung-bae had been members.

It seemed like they would get along well and be a good team, however, the atmosphere became tense again when the purple-haired boy with the number 230 threw player 333 to the ground, being followed by 124, who kicked him in the face.

—¿Shouldn't we tell them to stop? — Jung-bae asked.

—Yes...

Seeing that neither of the two men was going to intervene, the girl stood up and walked towards them.

—That's enough, two against one isn't fair.

—You better stay out of this —Thanos pointed at her angrily, but after looking at her closely, he let out a laugh and clapped his hands, which echoed throughout the room and caught everyone's attention —I know you, you... policegirl, you arrested me a month ago.

Now she remembered it too, of course, that snobby rapper who tried to bribe her after she caught him buying and transporting drugs but she decided to ignore him and walked to 333 to shake his hand. —Get up

Before he could accept her kind gesture, Thanos pushed her back failing to knock down.

—This is not your playground, policegirl, I can do whatever the fuck I want here.

She remained silent, still with head held high, she was not afraid of him at all, she could easily defeat him but did not have time to do or say anything when 001 intervened.

—That's no way to talk to a lady.

She could defend herself, she didn't need any man to speak for her, however, that sentence seemed quite chivalrous, Jun-ho also intervened for her from time to time and that was a gesture that inevitably made her smile.

A smile that In-ho noticed.

—Is she your girlfriend? Or do you just fuck her? —As soon as he finished the word, In-ho already had him firmly held by the hair.

124 ran towards them with the intention of helping the purple-haired boy but in the blink of an eye he was already on the ground, the girl had knocked down with a kick.

With just three blows, In-ho subdued Thanos and pinned to the ground.

She silently analyzed him again, those movements were too precise to be from someone without experience, he could have been part of the police or even the navy.

They were congratulated with applause when the 230 began to gasp for air and forgiveness. As returned to their place, they both formally introduced themselves by giving respective names, a sign of trust.

Once again In-ho confirmed what thought, she was a respectable and valuable woman, one he would like to challenge more than should have for having gotten into these games.

N/A: I wanted to make a fic with a theme like that HAHA

[hisfavegirl]

The Rouge Prince - Daemon Targaryen x Reader.

summary : As the only daughter in your family, you are required to marry someone with dignity and honor, that's what your father thinks and when he heard that the king wanted to find a bride for his grandson, your father and mother did something that required you to sacrifice your future.

You sit in the carriage, your eyes fixed on your parents, who are deep in conversation. The rhythmic sound of the horses’ hooves on the road fills the air, but your mind is elsewhere. You glance at your father, his brow furrowed in thought, and your mother, her eyes scanning the horizon as if lost in her own plans.

“Why are we going to King’s Landing, Mother?” you ask again, trying to break through their focused discussion.

Your father, glances at you briefly before returning his attention to your mother. “You’ll find out when we arrive, child. It’s not something for you to worry about right now.”

“But I want to know now!” you protest, frustration bubbling up inside you. “Why do you keep talking in secrets? What are you planning?”

your mother, turns her head slightly toward you, her face calm but distant. “Enough questions, dear. It’s for your own good.”

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes in suspicion. You look out the window, trying to ignore their conversation, but curiosity gnaws at you. What are they planning? What could be so important that they won’t share with you?

“Mother,” you ask quietly, your tone softer now. “Please. I just want to understand.”

Your mother sighs, her gaze softening for a moment. “In time, you will, my love. But for now, you must trust that we are doing what is best.”

You turn back to the window, still not entirely convinced. The trees pass by in a blur as your mind races with possibilities. What is waiting for you in King’s Landing? What role do you play in this unknown plan?

The carriage rumbles to a stop, and the clatter of hooves fades into the bustling noise of the Red Keep’s courtyard. Your eyes scan the scene before you — guards marching in tight formations, their armor clinking with every step, and servants rushing about, their arms full of crates and baskets of food, wine, and decorations. The air hums with activity, the scent of fresh bread and sweet fruits mixing with the sharp tang of metal.

“Out,” your father’s voice cuts through the noise as he steps down from the carriage, offering a hand to your mother. You follow after them, your eyes darting around, taking in every detail.

“What’s all this for?” you ask, noticing the banners being unfurled from the high towers. The sigil of House Targaryen — the three-headed dragon — looms over the courtyard like a watchful beast.

“The feast,” your mother replies, her gaze sharp as she glances at a group of servants struggling with a large cask of wine. “There will be many important guests tonight. You will behave accordingly.” Her tone is gentle but firm, the kind that leaves little room for argument.

“A feast for whom?” you press, stepping closer to her. “What’s the occasion?”

A flicker of something — hesitation, perhaps — crosses her face. She looks at your father, who gives her a short nod. “The King has decided it is time to strengthen bonds between houses,” your mother says carefully. “There will be dancing, music, and… alliances to be made.”

“Alliances,” you mutter under your breath, frowning. The meaning behind that word is never as simple as it sounds.

The three of you walk into the Red Keep, and the warmth of the sun is quickly replaced by the cool, shadowed halls. The once-quiet corridors are now alive with movement. Servants hang garlands of flowers along the walls, and tables are being set with silver plates and goblets of polished gold. You have to step aside as a pair of kitchen boys hurry past, balancing platters of fruit and roasted meats.

“Stay close,” your father says, glancing back at you. “The halls are crowded, and I will not have you wandering off.”

You nod but your eyes remain on the scene before you. The smell of spiced wine drifts past your nose, and the distant sound of musicians tuning their instruments echoes through the stone corridors. Everywhere you look, people are moving with purpose, as if the whole keep is holding its breath for something grand to begin.

You glance up at your mother, your brow furrowed in suspicion. “Are you sure this is just a feast, Mother? It feels like something more.”

Your mother doesn’t answer immediately. Her gaze is fixed straight ahead, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Keep your eyes open tonight, my dear,” she finally says, her tone low but pointed. “There is more to see than what is being shown.”

Her words stay with you as you walk deeper into the Red Keep, the echoes of footsteps and distant music filling your ears. The air feels heavier now, like a storm about to break.

You walk through the grand corridors of the Red Keep, the distant hum of preparations for the feast slowly fading behind you. The air grows colder, heavier with the weight of expectation. The echo of footsteps bounces off the high stone walls, each step feeling louder than the last.

As you approach the large, looming doors of the throne room, two guards push them open with a low, rumbling creak. The chamber beyond is vast and dimly lit, the narrow beams of sunlight streaming through high windows casting sharp rays upon the stone floor.

At the far end of the room, atop the Iron Throne, sits King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, his presence as commanding as the throne itself. His silver hair gleams in the fractured light, and his sharp, thoughtful eyes watch every movement like a dragon surveying its domain. Beside him stands Prince Baelon Targaryen, his son, tall and broad-shouldered, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. His gaze is sharper, more direct, and it lingers on you just a moment too long.

“Lady Tyrell, Lord Tyrell,” King Jaehaerys’s voice echoes across the hall, steady but worn with age. His gaze shifts to you, eyes narrowing with faint curiosity. “And you have brought another with you.”

“This is my daughter,” your mother replies with a polite bow of her head. “She has come to learn, as all must in time.” Her voice is steady, but there is a careful calculation in her words, as if each syllable has been weighed before it was spoken.

“Ah, the young one,” Baelon says, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “She looks sharper than most. I wonder if she listens as well as she watches.” His eyes meet yours, a spark of challenge in them.

You lift your chin, refusing to look away. “I listen when there’s something worth hearing,” you reply, your voice cool but clear.

Baelon raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “A tongue as sharp as her gaze. She’ll need both if she means to walk these halls.”

Jaehaerys raises a hand, and the room falls silent. His eyes settle on you, more curious now than before. “Tell me, child,” he says slowly, his voice like distant thunder, “what do you see when you look upon this throne room?”

You glance around the room, your gaze moving from the cold stone walls to the guards stationed along the edges, to the light catching on the jagged edges of the Iron Throne. Your eyes linger on the throne itself — a twisted mass of blades, swords of conquered kings melted together. You feel a weight in the air, not just from the presence of those before you, but from the very history embedded in the metal.

“I see power,” you answer carefully, your voice unwavering. “But power that cuts as easily as it commands.”

For a moment, there is only silence. Jaehaerys’s eyes remain on you, and you can feel him weighing your words. Slowly, a faint smile touches his lips.

“Wise beyond your years,” he says, leaning back on the throne. “Perhaps too wise.” His gaze flicks to your father, then to your mother, his eyes sharp with meaning. “Keep her close, my child. Wisdom is both a gift and a danger in these halls.”

Your mother dips her head in acknowledgment. “She will be guided well, Your Grace.”

Baelon chuckles softly, his eyes still on you. “If she’s as clever as she seems, I doubt she’ll need much guidance.”

You glance at him again, your heart steady despite the weight of so many eyes upon you. The Iron Throne looms larger than ever, and in this moment, you realize that every gaze in this room carries its own weight of expectation. Something about this meeting feels heavier than it should.

As the king begins speaking with your mother and father, you remain silent, but your mind is far from still. What had your mother said before? “There is more to see than what is being shown.”

You watch them all — the king, the prince, the guards, even the way the light falls on the Iron Throne — and you wonder what lies beneath their words.

The heavy groan of the great doors behind you draws your attention. Slowly, they swing open, and for a moment, the light from the corridor frames the figure in the doorway like a portrait.

Prince Daemon Targaryen steps inside with the confidence of a man who has never questioned his place in the world. His silver hair, so much like his father’s and grandfather’s, falls just past his waist, but it is the sharpness in his eyes that catches your attention. Mischief and danger swirl in his gaze like fire and smoke. His lips curve into a crooked grin, as if he already knows something no one else does.

“The Rogue Prince arrives,” Baelon mutters, glancing toward his son with a mix of pride and exasperation. “Late, as usual.”

“Better to arrive late than to wait on others, Father,” Daemon replies smoothly, his voice rich with amusement. His boots echo as he strides forward, his cloak swishing behind him like a dragon’s tail. He spares a glance at his grandfather, King Jaehaerys, and gives a short, almost lazy bow. “Your Grace.”

“Daemon,” Jaehaerys says his name like a warning, though his gaze is steady. “You walk these halls like they belong to you.”

“Do they not, grandfather?” Daemon’s grin widens, his eyes flicking briefly to the Iron Throne. “One day, they will.”

A strained silence falls over the room, heavy as storm clouds. You glance at your mother, and see her eyes narrow, her lips pressed tightly together. Your father, shifts his stance, his gaze fixed on Daemon like a hawk watching prey.

“Ambition is a dangerous thing, nephew,” your mother says softly, her voice calm but pointed. “It burns hot but fades quickly if not tempered.”

Daemon’s eyes flick to her, his grin unfaltering. “Then it’s a good thing I prefer wildfire, my lady. Burns hotter, lasts longer.” His gaze moves to you next, his eyes sharp and assessing. “And who do we have here?”

You meet his stare without flinching, your eyes steady on his. “Someone who knows better than to be charmed by wildfire, Prince Daemon.”

Baelon barks a laugh, his eyes lighting up with surprise. “She has your tongue, Daemon. Careful, or she’ll cut you with it.”

Daemon’s grin only widens, his eyes gleaming with interest now. He takes a step closer, tilting his head as he examines you like one might examine a puzzle with missing pieces. “A sharp tongue, a sharp gaze. Dangerous tools for one so young.”

“And yet,” you reply smoothly, “dangerous tools tend to be the most useful.”

His eyes narrow, but there’s no malice in them — only curiosity and something else you can’t quite name. He chuckles softly, his eyes flicking to your mother. “This one’s yours, I take it?”

“She is mine,” your mother replies firmly, stepping slightly forward, as if to place herself between you and Daemon. Her tone leaves no room for doubt. “And she is not a tool for anyone to use.”

“Everyone’s a tool, my lady,” Daemon replies with mock sweetness, stepping back with his hands raised in mock surrender. “Some just don’t know it yet.”

“That will be enough, Daemon,” King Jaehaerys’s voice cuts through the room like a blade, sharp and absolute. “We are here to prepare for the feast, not to play games of wit and pride.”

Daemon lowers his head slightly, his grin fading but not disappearing. “Of course, Your Grace.” He steps aside, letting his gaze linger on you for a moment longer before turning toward his father, Baelon.

You release a slow breath, realizing only then how tense you’d been. Your gaze flicks to your mother, who places a hand on your shoulder, her fingers firm but reassuring.

“Remember what I told you,” she says quietly, her eyes locked on Daemon as he walks away. “There is more to see than what is being shown.”

Her words echo in your mind as you watch the Rogue Prince disappear deeper into the throne room, his laughter still hanging in the air like smoke after a fire.

The king rises from his throne, and the room falls into a hushed silence. His presence alone commands attention, but as he begins to speak, the weight of his words settles over the room like a heavy fog.

“Now that Prince Daemon has arrived,” King Jaehaerys’s voice rings clear and firm, “I am pleased to announce the engagement of my grandson, Prince Daemon, to Lady Tyrell, the daughter of Lord and Lady Tyrell. The marriage will take place in one month’s time.”

The room seems to hold its breath. You feel your heart stop in your chest, and for a moment, the world around you seems to blur. Your eyes flick to your parents, and everything falls into place.

You had wondered why your father had so stubbornly rejected every suitor you had been offered, why he had pushed back against every potential match, no matter how prestigious. It wasn’t that they didn’t care for your happiness—no, it was something far more intricate, far more political. The realization strikes you like a thunderclap.

The match with Daemon. This is what your father had been maneuvering toward all along. A marriage that would tie your House to the Targaryens in a way that could not be undone. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? This is a power play—a way to gain influence in the court, to strengthen your family’s position, to secure your place among the highest powers in the realm.

You feel a cold shiver run down your spine as you look at Daemon. His eyes meet yours across the room, his expression unreadable, but there’s a glint of something in his gaze. Recognition? Amusement? Or something far more dangerous?

Daemon, the Rogue Prince—the one who had walked into the room with such defiance and charm. The one who had stirred the pot, who had pushed every boundary. And now, he is your fiancé. Your blood runs cold, and yet, you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

“Is this truly necessary?” you hear yourself ask, the words slipping from your mouth before you can stop them. Your voice rings out in the room, breaking the silence like glass shattering.

King Jaehaerys’s eyes flick to you, sharp and unyielding. “It is done, child. The decision has been made.”

Your mother, Lady Tyrell, steps forward, her expression neutral but tight with control. “It is for the good of House Tyrell,” she says, her voice calm but with an edge. “A union with House Targaryen will strengthen our position. We must all think beyond our desires, for the future of the realm.”

The weight of her words crashes down on you, and for a moment, you feel as if the room is closing in. You glance at your father, Lord Tyrell, who watches the exchange with a cold, calculating gaze.

“So this is why,” you say softly, more to yourself than to anyone else. “This was the reason behind all the rejections… All those men who came to court me, only to be sent away with little more than a polite refusal. You had this planned all along.”

Your father does not deny it. “Sometimes, the right choice is not the one that makes us happy,” he says quietly. “But it is the one that secures our future.”

Daemon’s voice cuts through the tension. “Don’t look so disappointed, Lady Tyrell. You may find our union more… thrilling than you think.” His grin is sly, but there’s something behind it that you can’t quite place.

You take a steadying breath. You don’t have to like this arrangement, but it seems you have little choice in the matter now. Daemon is your fiancé, and the course has already been set.

As the room shifts back into its previous rhythm, the whispers of the courtiers beginning again, you feel a chill settle in your bones. The power dynamics have shifted in ways you couldn’t have predicted, and now you are at the center of it all.

Your life, and your future, are no longer entirely your own.

You stand in the newly prepared chamber, its walls draped in fine silks and the soft glow of candlelight flickering across the polished stone floor. The room feels both grand and foreign to you, filled with the weight of the Targaryen legacy, yet it is still undeniably your own—at least for now. The heavy, regal scent of incense fills the air, and everything in the room seems meticulously arranged for your new life.

Your mother, Lady Tyrell, stands near the window, her gaze fixed on the far-off horizon, as if she is contemplating something far beyond the stone walls of this keep. The silence between you is thick with unspoken words, but you can feel her eyes shift toward you, sensing your presence without turning.

“Mother,” you begin, your voice steady but tinged with a mixture of confusion and something deeper. “You are part of House Targaryen by blood, yet now you’re asking me to bind myself to them through marriage. Is this truly the best course for our House?”

She finally turns to face you, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp. For a moment, there’s a flicker of something, a vulnerability, before it is quickly masked.

“It is not just about bloodlines, my dear,” she says softly, her voice carrying the weight of experience. “The strength of our House is not in our name alone but in the alliances we forge. House Targaryen is the most powerful in the realm. A marriage to Daemon… well, it solidifies our position in ways that words alone cannot.”

You stare at her, trying to make sense of her cold pragmatism, yet beneath it, there is something you almost cannot place. She speaks with such certainty, such authority, as if her entire life has been leading up to this moment.

“But what of me?” you ask, a thread of frustration slipping into your tone. “What of my future? My happiness?”

Lady Tyrell steps closer to you, her gaze softening just slightly, though her resolve remains strong. “You are not the first woman to be wed for the good of her family. And you will not be the last. But remember this, child: House Tyrell will endure, and so will you. You are not just a pawn, but a queen in the making. Your sacrifices will carry our name far and wide, and that is something that will outlast any personal longing.”

You want to argue, to voice the doubts and fears that have been swirling in your mind ever since the announcement. But there’s something in her voice—something both comforting and chilling—that silences you.

You look down at the fine silks draped over the bed, the delicate embroidery woven with care, and for the first time, you realize the cost of this union. It’s not just about power. It’s about the future of House Tyrell. And you, whether you like it or not, have become its instrument.

“Will I ever truly have a choice in any of this?” you ask, the words barely escaping your lips before you can stop them.

Your mother steps forward and places a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm, almost too firm. “You always have a choice,” she says quietly. “But know this: sometimes the right choice isn’t the one that will bring you immediate joy. It’s the one that will ensure survival, legacy, and honor.”

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of her words settle into your bones. There is no turning back now. You are bound to this marriage, to Daemon, to a future that will not be of your choosing.

But as you meet your mother’s gaze, something inside you stirs—determination, perhaps, or the beginning of a plan of your own. This life might not be the one you imagined, but that doesn’t mean you have to accept it without shaping it in your own way.

And with that thought, you look at your mother one last time. “I will make sure House Tyrell does not just survive, but thrives,” you say, your voice quiet but resolute.

She gives you a nod, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. “I know you will.”

Your words hang in the air, heavy with doubt and defiance. “Becoming a queen? Even Daemon is just the second son,” you say, your voice tinged with frustration. You didn’t mean to speak so openly, but the realization of your situation is too much to bear. How could you possibly be married to someone like Daemon, the second son of House Targaryen, whose ambitions and wild nature are known across the realm?

At the sound of your words, a sharp silence fills the room, and in an instant, you feel the change in the atmosphere. Your father, Lord Tyrell, who had been so composed, now stands rigid, his eyes narrowed with a cold, burning fury.

“Do not question my decisions,” he says, his voice low but firm, each word biting through the air like a blade. The heat of his anger is palpable, and his gaze hardens as he steps closer, his presence towering over you. “Daemon is not just any second son. He is a Targaryen. And his blood is powerful enough to change the course of this realm.”

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as his words sink in. This is no longer a family discussion; it’s an assertion of power, of authority. Your father’s hand tightens into a fist, and you know that questioning him now is not a luxury you can afford.

“I have done what is necessary,” he continues, his voice steady, though there is an edge to it now. “House Tyrell’s future is secured by this union. It is not a matter of titles or birth order. It is a matter of survival, of influence. And you will marry Daemon, whether you like it or not.”

You swallow hard, the tension in the room thickening. The implications of his words are clear—there is no room for rebellion in this decision. Your personal desires, your future hopes, they mean nothing in the face of what your father believes is best for the family. You can see the finality in his eyes.

“But father,” you protest, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to remain strong. “This is not the life I wanted. This is not the future I dreamed of.”

Your father’s expression softens only slightly, but there is no trace of remorse in his eyes. “Dreams are for children,” he replies, his tone hardening again. “The realm is ruled by power, not dreams. You will adapt. And in time, you will understand.”

Your mother, Lady Tyrell, steps forward now, her presence steady and calm as always, but her eyes meet yours with an expression that speaks volumes. She says nothing at first, allowing your father’s words to settle. Then, her gaze softens, and she places a hand gently on your arm, her touch warm but firm.

“I know this is difficult,” she says quietly, her voice carrying the weight of years of experience. “But your father is right. This is not just a marriage. It is the future of our House. And your role in this is not one to be taken lightly. You must think beyond yourself for the good of everyone you love.”

You want to fight back, to argue that your happiness should matter, but the reality of your situation presses in. This is the life you will have now—the life your parents have chosen for you.

With a heavy sigh, you turn away from them, facing the window, your eyes tracing the distant horizon, where the sun is setting. You are trapped in a life you didn’t choose, and for the first time, you feel the full weight of that reality.

You freeze as you hear the soft rustling of fabric and the faint sound of footsteps. Turning swiftly, you spot Daemon emerging from the shadows at the far end of your chamber, his presence as commanding as ever. He moves with a fluid grace, almost as if he’s accustomed to walking unnoticed, and before you can fully react, he’s already standing close, his piercing eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your heart race.

Daemon reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, and you can feel the warmth of his touch, despite the coldness in the room. The gesture is unexpected, and for a moment, you’re caught off guard—unsure of whether to push him away or allow the contact.

“Did you think I wouldn’t come?” he asks, his voice low, his smirk barely concealed. There’s something almost mocking in the way he says it, as if the idea of you being alone, contemplating your future, amuses him. “You are not the first bride-to-be to feel lost in this place, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure you aren’t alone for long.”

You pull back slightly, trying to regain your composure. His presence fills the room in a way that’s both unsettling and undeniably magnetic. He seems to relish the power he holds over the situation, over you. It’s clear that he’s not here just for casual conversation.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” you say, your voice sharp despite the uncertainty creeping in. “This is my room, not a place for you to wander in whenever you please.”

Daemon’s smile widens, though there’s a darkness lurking beneath it. He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Expectations can be… limiting,” he murmurs, his hand still lingering on your cheek. “I’m here because I want to be. And I’m not known for following the rules.”

The way he speaks, the confident, almost predatory manner in which he carries himself, unsettles you. Yet there’s an undeniable pull—his presence is commanding, and you can’t help but feel as though you’re caught in his web, whether you like it or not.

“Why are you here?” you ask, your voice quieter now, more cautious. “Is this another game to you, Daemon?”

He tilts his head, studying you as if trying to read the very thoughts behind your eyes. “Games?” His voice is low, almost a whisper. “Perhaps. But I’m not a fool, and neither are you. We both know what this marriage is about. It’s not about love, or even companionship. It’s about power, survival, and what we can make of it.”

His fingers trace your jawline, sending a shiver through your body, but this time, you don’t flinch. “So, yes,” he continues, his voice a little softer, though the intensity still lingers. “It’s a game. But it’s also something more. And you… you have a role to play, whether you accept it or not.”

You stand still, caught between the impulse to push him away and the dawning realization that you must, somehow, find a way to navigate this union, this game, in a way that serves you. Daemon Targaryen may be a powerful figure, but that doesn’t mean you have to submit to him blindly.

“Don’t think you can control me,” you say, your voice firmer now, your eyes locking with his.

Daemon’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a flicker of approval in his eyes. “Control?” he repeats, as if savoring the word. “I never said anything about control. But don’t mistake me for a man who will be ignored, either.”

He steps back slightly, his hand falling from your face, but his gaze remains fixed on you—intense, unreadable, and as unpredictable as the storm clouds gathering in the distance. You can feel the tension thick in the air between you, the unspoken challenge hanging heavy.

“Remember,” Daemon adds softly, “this marriage may not be of your choosing, but it will be a union of power, of influence. And how you wield it will be up to you.”

With that, he turns, his cloak swirling behind him as he disappears back into the shadows from where he came, leaving you alone once more, the weight of his words settling in your mind.

You remain standing there for a long moment, your heart still racing, trying to make sense of the encounter. Daemon’s touch, his words, his presence—they all felt like a warning, a challenge, and a promise wrapped into one.

This marriage, this union… it will not be as simple as they want you to believe.

You watch as Daemon slowly fades into the shadows, his presence still lingering in the room, as if he has left behind more than just his physical form. A cold shiver runs down your spine, a mix of unease and something deeper—something you can’t quite name. You remain rooted in place for a long moment, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of his touch, his words, but they refuse to leave you.

With a deep, steadying breath, you turn away from the dark corner of the room, trying to collect your thoughts. You had expected your life to change, but not like this. Not with Daemon, not with the weight of House Targaryen looming over you. Yet, here you are, standing at the precipice of a future you never asked for, and there’s no turning back now.

Just as you’re lost in thought, the door creaks open, and several servants step inside, moving briskly toward you. They are efficient and polite, with no hint of judgment or curiosity in their eyes—just the practiced grace of those accustomed to serving in the Red Keep.

“My lady, it is time to prepare for the evening’s festivities,” one of them announces softly, her voice respectful but gentle. “your father requests that you be ready soon.”

You nod, taking a deep breath, and allow yourself to be guided toward the preparations. The weight of your thoughts shifts to the evening ahead. The grand dance, the ceremonial waltz of power and politics that you are now an integral part of. It’s strange to think of yourself as a player in this grand court, a mere pawn in a game that stretches far beyond your reach.

The servants begin to undress you with practiced care, replacing your simple clothes with the intricate, heavy gown that has been prepared for you. The fabric feels foreign against your skin—rich, cold, and undeniably royal. They twist your hair into an elegant updo, tucking every strand into place as if to remind you that tonight, you are not just yourself—you are a symbol of House Tyrell’s power, a future princess.

As they work, you find your mind drifting back to Daemon. His words replay in your head, his touch lingering on your skin. Despite everything, despite the storm of thoughts in your mind, you know one thing for certain: this night is only the beginning. The beginning of a journey you cannot avoid, no matter how hard you try.

Once they finish, the final touches are made, and you look at your reflection in the mirror. You are ready—at least, outwardly. Inside, the battle between your duty and your desires rages on. But there’s no time to dwell on that now. The evening awaits, and your role in it is clear.

As the final servant leaves, you take a deep breath and turn toward the door. Tonight, you will step into the world of the Targaryens, the world that Daemon has invited you into, and you will have to play the part. There will be no room for hesitation or doubt.

With one last glance at your reflection, you leave the room, walking toward the unknown that awaits you in the grand hall.

You gaze at your reflection in the mirror, the red gown clinging to your body in all the right places, the intricate design and fabric of the dress making you look like something both regal and untouchable. The deep crimson hue mirrors the fiery determination and turmoil churning inside you. Your hair is styled flawlessly, and you feel a strange mixture of power and vulnerability in the reflection staring back at you.

Just as you’re about to turn away, one of the servants steps forward, holding a small, velvet-lined box in her hands. She approaches quietly, her eyes respectful as she presents it to you. “My lady,” she says softly, “Prince Daemon has sent this for you to wear tonight.”

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of Daemon, and a wave of unease floods over you. The box is opened, revealing the most beautiful piece of jewelry you’ve ever seen. Nestled within the box is a stunning ruby necklace, its deep red color rich and intense, like the blood of kings. It glistens in the light, its intricate design made of gold and delicate filigree, catching the light in such a way that it almost seems to pulse with life.

“His Grace requested that you wear this tonight,” the servant continues, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she knows the weight this piece of jewelry carries. “It is a gift for the evening’s festivities.”

Your fingers hover over the necklace, and for a moment, you feel the weight of Daemon’s gaze upon you. His presence, his influence, it is all around you now—through his words, through his gift. The necklace, while beautiful, feels more like a symbol than an ornament. It feels like a chain, a reminder of the role you’re about to play in the world of Targaryen politics.

You take the necklace from the box, and the servant helps you place it around your neck, fastening the clasp with careful hands. The cool weight of the ruby against your skin sends a shiver through you, but you force yourself to remain still, to remain composed. You are no longer just a Tyrell. You are now something more, something that belongs to the Targaryens—whether you like it or not.

As the servant steps back, you take a deep breath and adjust the necklace, staring at your reflection once more. You look every bit the part of a princess, of someone who belongs in the Targaryen court. But inside, the questions still linger. What does Daemon want from you with this gift? What does it mean? Is this a sign of favor—or something more insidious?

With a final glance at the servant, you nod to yourself. This night is inevitable, and you will walk into it with your head held high, no matter what Daemon’s intentions may be. The game is on, and whether you like it or not, you are a player now.

You leave your chamber, stepping into the hallway where the sound of music and laughter grows louder, and you move toward your fate. The ruby around your neck feels heavier with each step, as if it carries the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

As you approach the grand doors of the throne room, your parents stand waiting, the regal elegance of their presence undeniable. Your father, Lord Tyrell, stands tall, his face a mask of calm authority, while your mother, Lady Tyrell, gazes at you with an expression of quiet admiration. Her eyes soften as they trace the delicate ruby necklace around your neck, and for a brief moment, you feel the weight of her approval. It’s a look that says so much more than words ever could, as if she understands the path you are being forced to walk, and yet, she is proud of how you carry yourself.

Your heart races as you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the moment ahead. This is it. This is the night where everything changes, and you step into a new world—a world of power, influence, and uncertainty. The weight of your new reality presses down on you like a mantle, but you hold your head high as you walk toward the doors.

The sound of the guards’ footsteps echoes in the hall, and as you reach the entrance, the heavy doors swing open. The loud voice of a herald announces your arrival.

“Presenting Lord and Lady Tyrell, and their daughter, Lady Tyrell, betrothed to Prince Daemon Targaryen!”

The words ring out across the vast chamber, and the eyes of everyone in the room fall on you. The grand hall of the Red Keep is filled with nobles, courtiers, and various dignitaries, all gathered for the night’s festivities. But it feels as if all eyes are on you now, studying you, measuring you. Your pulse quickens as you step forward, every movement deliberate and graceful, despite the storm of emotions swirling within.

The throne room is resplendent, with golden chandeliers casting a soft light over the gathered crowd. The walls are adorned with tapestries depicting the history of House Targaryen, their dragons roaring and flying in intricate detail. The air is thick with the scent of fine wine, rich perfumes, and the soft murmurs of conversation. But in this moment, everything seems to slow down as you walk toward the center of the room, where the royal family awaits.

As you approach the royal table, your gaze meets King Jaehaerys, who is seated with an air of quiet power. His eyes flicker over you, an unreadable expression crossing his features before he nods in acknowledgment. Beside him, Prince Baelon stands with his usual stern demeanor, his gaze cool but respectful. And then, of course, there is Daemon. His eyes catch yours the moment you enter, and despite the crowd around him, it feels as though the rest of the world disappears for just a second. His lips curve into a knowing smile, one that sends a mix of unease and curiosity rippling through you.

The moment feels charged, as if everything is hanging in the balance. You are no longer just a Tyrell; you are now a part of the Targaryen story, and tonight will set the stage for everything that follows.

Your parents move to the side, and you step forward, your heart pounding in your chest. This is the moment you must embrace the future, no matter how uncertain it may be. You lower your gaze to the floor, curtsying in respect, before raising your head to meet the eyes of King Jaehaerys, Daemon, and the others.

The crowd watches in silence, the tension thick as the evening unfolds, and the weight of your decision, of this engagement, settles over you like a cloak you cannot cast off.

As you stand before the royal family, your eyes catch a glimpse of the serene and graceful figure of Princess Aemma, the wife of Prince Viserys. Her gentle smile is directed towards you, a silent acknowledgment that, despite everything, you are not alone in this court. Her delicate hand rests on her round belly, the life within her a reminder of the future of House Targaryen. You return her smile with a nod, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you like a heavy cloak.

But your attention is swiftly drawn back to Daemon as he rises from his seat, his movements fluid and confident. The eyes of the room seem to follow him, but he pays them no mind, his gaze fixed entirely on you. His presence is overwhelming, and for a brief moment, the air seems to thicken between you both, the tension palpable.

Daemon approaches you with that same predatory grace, and before you can react, he takes your hand in his. The coolness of his fingers against your skin sends an unexpected chill through you, but you don’t pull away. His touch is firm, commanding, as he raises your hand to his lips, brushing them against your skin in a manner both intimate and public.

The soft rustling of the crowd falls away, and his voice, low and almost a whisper, reaches your ear. “You wear it well,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “The ruby. You used it… just as I intended.”

You freeze for a moment, his words striking a chord deep within you. You hadn’t expected him to notice, to connect the necklace to something more than just a simple gift. But there is something in his voice—something that hints at a deeper understanding of the game you are now both playing.

Daemon pulls away slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a flicker of something unreadable. “The Targaryen blood runs thick, but your Tyrell strength… I can see it in you,” he says, his words both a compliment and a challenge. “Tonight, we show them who we are.”

Before you can fully process what he means, Daemon straightens up, his hand still lingering for just a moment before he releases yours. The world around you feels suddenly more real, the weight of this engagement, this court, this night—everything—is no longer just a distant concept. It is here, in this room, in this moment, and Daemon has just marked you in a way that you can’t ignore.

As he steps back, the music in the hall swells, and the courtiers begin to resume their conversations, the tension in the room slowly dissipating. But you are left with the echo of Daemon’s words in your mind, and the unsettling realization that this night is only the beginning of a journey you have little control over. You straighten your posture, your thoughts racing, but your gaze remains steady.

Daemon may have whispered those words, but you know that the game has just begun, and you will have to play it carefully, whether you’re ready or not.

The music swells, and Daemon steps closer, his gaze never leaving yours. The moment feels charged, the entire room seemingly holding its breath as he places a hand firmly on your waist. You can feel the warmth of his touch through the fabric of your gown, his fingers pressing gently but assertively. The dance has begun.

He leads you onto the floor with the grace of a man who has danced this many times before. His movements are confident, his body guiding you effortlessly through the steps. Despite the eyes of the entire room on you both, the closeness of your bodies feels intimate, almost private, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if anyone else can see the tension building between you and Daemon.

As you move in rhythm with the music, the world around you blurs, the noise of the court fading into the background. Your focus narrows to Daemon—his steady hand at your waist, the slight tension in his jaw, the way his gaze occasionally flickers to yours, as though testing you. The red ruby around your neck glints under the soft candlelight, and you can’t help but feel the weight of both the necklace and his gaze.

He leans in slightly, his lips just inches from your ear. “You dance beautifully,” he whispers, his voice a velvet caress against your skin, but there’s something dark behind the compliment. “But this… this is just the beginning.”

You meet his gaze, a mix of defiance and uncertainty bubbling inside you. “What do you mean?” you ask, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them.

Daemon smiles, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Everything here is a dance, my dear. You’ve only just started learning the steps. But we will both master it in time.”

The sound of the courtiers around you begins to fade back in as they join the dance, filling the floor with elegant figures twirling in harmony. Your moment with Daemon becomes a shared performance—everyone around you moving, their eyes trained on you both as you sway together. The music is sweet and slow, but beneath the surface, there’s an undercurrent of something far more dangerous, something unspoken that pulses between you and him.

Your movements grow more synchronized as the dance continues, and soon, the entire room is swept up in the rhythm, the energy of the event building. You can feel the weight of the room’s attention on you, but your thoughts remain fixated on Daemon, his hand never leaving your waist, his presence never wavering.

The dance floor becomes a stage, and in this moment, you and Daemon are the stars of the show, bound by an invisible thread that neither of you can fully unravel.

You make your way toward the royal table, offering a polite but hurried excuse to the courtiers around you. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling well,” you say, your voice laced with just enough feigned fatigue to seem believable. “The journey has left me rather drained.” Your gaze flickers to your parents, who, though surprised, offer a brief nod of understanding. The polite murmurs of the crowd fade as you slip away from the bustling celebration.

The corridors of the Red Keep are quieter now, a welcome contrast to the din of the ballroom. Your steps echo as you move through the familiar halls, each footfall a reminder of the weight on your shoulders, of the whispers and the secrets that hang heavy in the air.

You reach your room, the door creaking softly as you push it open. The room is dimly lit by the flickering glow of the candlelight, and the comforting solitude washes over you. You close the door behind you with a soft click, the world outside suddenly feeling distant and muted.

The weight of the evening’s events settles upon you like a physical burden. You approach the mirror, taking a deep breath. The reflection staring back at you seems foreign, like someone you barely recognize. Slowly, you begin to undo the intricate braids that hold your hair, the strands slipping free with each gentle tug. The weight of the ruby necklace feels heavier now, its once dazzling allure now a symbol of the very thing that has begun to change everything for you. You set it down on the vanity with a quiet finality.

Next, you begin to unlace the tight corset beneath your gown, the fabric finally loosening around your body, allowing you to breathe more freely. The delicate layers of your dress slip away, leaving you in the simpler, more comforting layers of your undergarments. You stand for a moment, letting your body relax, the tension of the evening melting away.

But as the final layer of your gown falls to the floor, leaving you standing in the solitude of your room, the silence feels oppressive. The weight of the words Daemon spoke earlier, the whispers of the court, the uncertainty of your future—all of it feels like a storm waiting to break.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, your mind racing. What had Daemon meant by his words? The future? Power? Survival? Did he truly see this marriage as a partnership, or was it merely another chess piece in a game neither of you had fully agreed to play?

The questions linger, unanswered, as you finally lean back against the pillows. The soft rustling of the fabric around you offers no comfort, no answer to the storm swirling inside you. With a deep breath, you close your eyes, knowing that the days ahead will only grow more complicated.

But for now, at least, you are alone with your thoughts. And that, for just this moment, is all you can bear.

The days have slipped by faster than you could have imagined. One moment, you were standing in the great hall, Daemon’s hand in yours, and now, it feels as though time has run away from you. Tomorrow marks the day that will change everything—the day you will marry Daemon. The realization is both exhilarating and terrifying, and as you sit in your room, your heart beats with a mixture of anticipation and dread.

You stand before a large mirror, the soft candlelight casting gentle shadows on your face. Your mother stands beside you, her hands gently smoothing the fabric of the wedding gown that rests over your body. The dress is a masterpiece, elegant and simple, with intricate lace and delicate pearls woven into the fabric, creating an aura of timeless beauty. The gown feels heavy, as if it carries the weight of the future with it.

“How does it feel, my dear?” your mother asks, her voice soft and warm. There’s a tenderness in her eyes, but also a flicker of something else—concern, perhaps, or fear. She’s seen the way you’ve carried yourself these past few days, the quiet distance in your eyes, the hesitation that lingers in your every movement. She knows how you’re feeling, even if you haven’t spoken the words aloud.

You take a deep breath, looking at your reflection. “It’s… beautiful,” you say, your voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty. “But I can’t help but wonder if I’m ready for this.”

Your mother steps closer, her hands resting gently on your shoulders as she looks at you in the mirror. “You are more than ready, my darling. You’ve always been strong—just like your father, just like me. And tomorrow, you will take the next step in ensuring the future of our house. Daemon… he is a man of power. You know that.”

Her words hang in the air, a reminder of the path that you’ve been set upon. Your mind drifts to Daemon—his presence, his words, the way he made you feel both desired and distant. You still don’t fully understand what he wants from this marriage, or what your role will truly be. But one thing is certain: this union will define your future, for better or worse.

“You know, you don’t have to go through with this if you truly feel it’s not right,” your mother continues, her voice soft, as if sensing the turmoil inside you. “But remember, sometimes the choices we make are for the greater good. For our family. For our legacy.”

You look up at her then, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “I know,” you say quietly, the weight of her words sinking in. “I just wish I knew what I was getting myself into.”

Your mother smiles gently, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “No one ever truly knows what lies ahead. But you’re not alone in this. You have the strength of the Tyrells and the wisdom of the Targaryens in your blood. You will find your way.”

Her reassurance brings you a measure of comfort, but a knot of uncertainty still lingers in your chest. As you stand there in the gown, the future seems both distant and frighteningly close. Tomorrow, you will walk down the aisle, and your life with Daemon will begin.

You glance at your reflection once more, your heart heavy but resolute. No matter what comes next, you will face it with the strength and grace that your family expects of you. The time for hesitation is over. Tomorrow, you will step into your new life, whatever that may bring.

You freeze for a moment, the sudden sound of Daemon’s voice breaking the quiet of your room. You hadn’t heard him approach, but the smooth, confident tone of his voice tells you he’s been there for longer than you realize. A feeling of both surprise and tension rises in your chest as you glance toward the direction of the sound, your gaze following the faint rustling of the curtains.

Daemon steps into the soft moonlight, his presence as commanding as ever, even in the stillness of your chamber. In his hand, he holds a glass of wine, the ruby liquid catching the light as he approaches you. His gaze is steady, watching you with that same intensity that both unnerves and draws you in.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You just stand there, silently observing each other. His eyes travel over you—the gown you wear, the way the moonlight seems to soften your features, but it’s hard to tell what’s in his mind. You can feel the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air between you, a sense of anticipation that seems to fill the room.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Daemon finally says, his voice low, almost amused. “But I thought you might need something to help ease your nerves.” He holds out the glass toward you, the offering an unexpected gesture. The deep red wine glows softly in the dim light, tempting you with its warmth.

You study him for a moment, wondering why he’s here, why he’s come so late. Is it simply to check on you before tomorrow, or is there something more? A flicker of uncertainty tugs at your chest, but you quickly push it away. You’ve already made your choice.

You walk toward him, your steps quiet on the stone floor, and reach for the glass. His fingers brush yours briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through your body. His touch lingers for just a heartbeat longer than necessary before he releases the glass into your hand.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice a little softer than you intended, your eyes briefly meeting his. For a moment, you think you see a flash of something deeper in his gaze—an unreadable emotion that quickly disappears behind his usual guarded expression.

Daemon leans against the wall, his posture relaxed but his eyes never leaving you. “Tomorrow,” he begins, his voice now lower, “changes everything. You know that, don’t you?"

You nod, your fingers tightening around the stem of the glass as the weight of his words settles in. “I do,” you reply quietly, unsure of how much more to say.

“Good,” he murmurs, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Because it’s not just the kingdom that will change tomorrow. You will, too. And there’s no turning back.”

The finality of his words hangs in the air, a reminder that once you step into tomorrow, there is no going back to the life you once knew. You can feel the tension rising between you both, a complex mix of emotions that neither of you has fully expressed yet.

Daemon steps closer again, his presence filling the space between you. His voice drops to a whisper, just low enough that it feels like an intimate confession. “But I think you already know that. And perhaps… you’re ready for it.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, wondering what he truly means by that.

Your breath catches in your throat as you feel Daemon’s lips brush against yours. The kiss is brief but electric, sending a shiver through your entire body. It’s soft, almost tender, yet laced with an undeniable intensity. Before you can fully process what’s happening, Daemon pulls back, his lips curling into that familiar, enigmatic smile.

Without saying a word, he turns, his movements graceful and confident, and steps back into the shadows. The room seems to grow even quieter as he fades into the darkness, leaving you alone with a lingering warmth on your lips and a rush of confusion swirling in your chest.

You stand frozen for a moment, the kiss echoing in your mind, its meaning elusive. You lift a trembling hand to your lips, feeling the faint trace of his touch still there. What was that? What did it mean? And why did he leave without another word?

The silence in the room feels deafening now. The wine in your hand, once a source of comfort, suddenly feels heavy. You don’t know if you’re ready for the emotional storm that’s brewing inside you, the mixture of desire, fear, and uncertainty that Daemon has stirred within you with a single, fleeting kiss.

Your mind races, and for a long moment, you just stand there, trying to collect yourself. His words, his actions—they’re a mystery you don’t yet have the answers to. And as the last traces of his presence fade into the night, you’re left with more questions than before.

What do you truly want from this marriage? From him? And how much of yourself are you willing to give away in the pursuit of a future that is no longer entirely yours to shape?

The night feels heavier now, the weight of everything pressing down on you as you stand alone, still feeling the warmth of his touch on your lips.

The day has finally arrived. The weight of it presses down on you as you sit in front of the large mirror in your chamber. The room is alive with movement—your mother directing the servants, Aemma offering quiet words of encouragement, and your handmaidens working carefully to perfect every detail of your appearance.

Your wedding gown is a masterpiece. The fabric shimmers faintly with every movement, a blend of white and pale gold, symbolizing both your Tyrell roots and the union with House Targaryen. The lacework is intricate, delicate flowers and vines winding along the sleeves and bodice. Around your waist, a small belt of golden roses serves as a subtle nod to your house. The long, flowing train trails behind you like a river of silk, and the soft veil drapes over your head, light as air, yet it feels heavier with each passing second.

Your hair has been braided in the traditional Targaryen style, an acknowledgment of the house you will now be tied to. The braids are adorned with tiny pearl pins that catch the light as you move, and strands of your hair frame your face softly. One of your handmaidens carefully places the final flower—a pale blue lily—among the braids, a finishing touch that makes you look almost ethereal.

“Look at you,” your mother says, her voice filled with pride as she stands behind you. Her hands rest gently on your shoulders, and you see her reflection in the mirror. Her gaze is soft, though there’s something more in her eyes—a mixture of pride, sadness, and perhaps a hint of worry. “You look every bit the queen you were always meant to be.”

“Not a queen,” you reply softly, your gaze fixed on your reflection. “A princess, a wife.”

“A princess today,” Aemma interjects gently, stepping forward. She places a hand on your cheek, her smile kind and knowing. “But tomorrow, who knows what fate will bring? Queens are not born, child. They are made.” Her words linger, filling you with something you can’t quite name—hope, perhaps, or warning.

You take a slow breath, glancing at your reflection. For a moment, you barely recognize yourself. You look regal, untouchable, like one of the porcelain figures you used to play with as a child. But beneath all the silk, pearls, and flowers, it is still you—just a girl about to face something far greater than she ever imagined.

“Does it feel right?” Aemma asks, tilting her head as she studies you closely. “The gown, the flowers, all of it?”

You glance at your mother, who looks at you with quiet encouragement, and then back at Aemma. “It feels… heavier than I expected,” you admit, your fingers brushing the fabric of your dress. “But I suppose that’s how it’s meant to be, isn’t it? Every choice we make feels heavier when it becomes permanent.”

“Wise words,” Aemma says with a soft smile. “But know this—you may feel bound by duty, by house and family, but you are not without power. Do not forget that.”

Her words offer you a brief sense of reassurance, though they also stir something deeper inside you. Power. It is a word that has followed you like a shadow ever since your betrothal was announced.

The servants step back, their work complete. One of them hands you your bouquet—a carefully arranged bundle of white roses, blue lilies, and soft green leaves. The floral scent is fresh, clean, and grounding.

“Take one last look,” your mother says as she steps aside. “Because the next time you see yourself like this, you’ll be walking down that aisle.”

You glance once more at your reflection, taking in every detail. The girl you see is no longer the same person she was yesterday. She is poised, elegant, and strong. But beneath it all, she is still you.

With a deep breath, you rise from your seat, the weight of the gown settling around you like armor. Your mother adjusts your veil one last time, letting it fall perfectly behind you. Aemma offers you a reassuring smile, her gaze firm and steady.

“It’s time,” your mother says softly, her voice filled with emotion she tries to hide. “Are you ready?”

Your heart beats steadily in your chest, a steady rhythm that echoes through your entire being. You grip the bouquet tightly, feeling its thorns pressing faintly against your fingers.

“I am,” you say, your voice clear and certain. “I’m ready.”

With that, you turn toward the door, your veil trailing behind you like a river of light. The world outside awaits—the noble houses, the court, and Daemon himself. Each step you take will lead you closer to a future you can no longer escape, but one that, perhaps, you can still shape.

The rhythmic creaking of the carriage wheels fills the air as you sit beside your mother and father, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on your chest. Your fingers twist anxiously around the fabric of your gown, the silk smooth and cool beneath your fingertips. Despite the grandeur of the occasion, your heart beats loudly in your ears, drowning out the soft murmurs of your parents.

Your mother notices your fidgeting and places a gentle hand over yours. Her touch is warm, grounding you as she gazes at you with that calm, steady look she always gives you in moments of doubt. “Breathe, sweetling,” she says softly, her voice barely audible over the clatter of the carriage. “You look perfect. Every eye will be on you, but they will see only your grace and beauty.”

Her words are meant to reassure you, but they only make the weight in your chest feel heavier. Every eye will be on you. Not as yourself, but as a symbol of something greater — a marriage that would bind House Tyrell and House Targaryen forever.

Your father sits across from you, his hands resting on the head of his cane, his gaze fixed firmly out the window. He has been unusually quiet since you left the Red Keep, his expression unreadable. His sharp eyes flicker toward you for a brief moment, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“You’re doing what’s expected of you,” he says suddenly, his tone firm but not unkind. “This marriage is your duty, and you will fulfill it with dignity and strength.” His words are as sharp as ever, but there is a strange sort of pride beneath them. He has always spoken to you this way, as if molding you into something unbreakable. Today is no different.

You nod, though his words leave a hollow ache in your chest. Duty. Dignity. Strength. You’ve heard them all your life. They have guided you, shaped you, and now, they are about to define you.

The light filtering through the carriage window shifts as the carriage begins to slow. You glance out and feel your breath catch in your throat. The Great Sept of Baelor rises before you, its grand domes and stained glass windows glistening in the morning sun like a crown of jewels. People line the streets, their voices a mixture of cheers, gasps, and murmured prayers. Flowers are scattered on the ground, a soft path of white petals leading to the steps of the Sept.

The sight is breathtaking — and overwhelming. You feel the full weight of every gaze upon you. They are here for the spectacle, to witness history in the making. They do not see you. They see a bride, a symbol, a promise of power and legacy.

The carriage comes to a slow stop, the clattering of wheels replaced by the distant hum of the crowd. Your heart beats faster. This is it. No turning back. No running away.

“Stand tall,” your father says as he steps down from the carriage first, offering his hand to help you descend. “Show them who you are.”

Your mother exits next, giving you one last glance filled with quiet encouragement. Her eyes glisten, though she blinks away whatever emotion threatens to show.

Finally, it is your turn. The carriage door swings open, and the soft breeze of the open air greets you. Your eyes catch the first glimmers of sunlight reflecting off the stained glass of the Sept, casting colors of blue, red, and green across the stone steps. You take a breath, slow and steady, letting it fill your lungs. Show them who you are.

You place your hand in your father’s, his grip strong and steady, and step out of the carriage. The crowd erupts into cheers. The air is filled with the scent of flowers and incense, the warmth of the sun on your skin making everything feel surreal. Every eye is on you. Just as your mother said.

Your gaze remains forward as you ascend the steps, the long train of your gown flowing behind you like a river of silk and lace. The Great Sept’s bells ring in the distance, their deep, resounding chimes echoing across King’s Landing. It is a sound that makes the air feel heavier, more sacred.

At the top of the steps, waiting for you at the grand entrance, is Daemon. His silver hair gleams like molten silver in the sun, his armor polished to perfection, but it’s his eyes that catch you. He is watching you with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. His gaze is not like the crowd’s. It is sharper, more deliberate, like he sees you and no one else.

He stands tall in his Targaryen armor, the three-headed dragon emblazoned on his chest. There is no crown on his head, but he looks every bit a prince. His smirk is subtle, barely there, but you see it. That quiet confidence, that knowing look that tells you he is fully aware of the spectacle before him — and he enjoys it.

As you approach, his eyes remain on you, unwavering, unreadable. The steps seem longer than they should be, each one a reminder of how far you’ve come. Finally, you reach him, and for a brief moment, it is just the two of you. The world fades away — the crowd, the bells, the weight of duty — and all that remains is him.

Daemon steps forward, his gaze never leaving yours. He extends a hand to you, and for a heartbeat, you hesitate. Is this truly what you want? you wonder. But then you remember Aemma’s words. Queens are not born. They are made.

With steady resolve, you place your hand in his. His fingers curl around yours, firm and warm. He leans in, close enough that only you can hear him.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement. “Nervous, little flower?”

You lift your head slightly, meeting his gaze with all the strength you can summon. “No,” you reply firmly, though your heart betrays you with its quickened pace. “I am simply ready.”

His smirk widens just a fraction, a glimmer of something playful, perhaps even impressed. He turns, leading you inside the Great Sept. The light from the stained glass windows paints the stone floor in brilliant hues of red, blue, and green. Each step echoes softly as you walk together, hand in hand, toward the altar where the High Septon awaits.

The nobles of Westeros line the aisles, all eyes on you once more. You see familiar faces among them—lords and ladies from noble houses, your family, and even Aemma, watching you with quiet pride. Whispers follow your every move, but you do not falter.

As you approach the altar, the High Septon raises his hands, calling for silence. The Sept grows still. You can hear every breath, every faint shift of cloth. Daemon stands beside you, his hand still holding yours. You glance at him briefly, and for the first time, he is not looking at the crowd, the Septon, or the nobles. He is looking at you.

“Let us begin,” the High Septon declares, his voice echoing through the hall.

The ceremony is a blur of words, oaths, and promises. You speak them all clearly, every vow falling from your lips with certainty. Daemon’s voice is steady as he repeats the words, his eyes never leaving yours. The world feels smaller now, like it’s only the two of you standing there.

When it is done, the High Septon raises his hands. “By the light of the Seven, I declare them husband and wife. May their union be strong, their line unbroken, and their love enduring.”

The Sept erupts in applause. The sound crashes over you like a wave, and for a moment, you are breathless. The High Septon turns to Daemon with a nod.

“You may kiss your bride, Prince Daemon.”

Daemon steps closer, his eyes narrowing in that familiar, wicked way. Slowly, he lifts your veil, his fingers brushing your cheek as he pushes it back. The crowd fades once more, the sound of their cheers dull and distant.

He tilts his head slightly, eyes locked on yours, as if daring you to look away. But you don’t. You meet his gaze, unwavering, unafraid.

“Here we are,” he murmurs, his voice just for you.

“Here we are,” you reply, and before you can say anything more, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is firm, claiming, and yet somehow soft. The world seems to hold its breath as Daemon Targaryen, your husband, pulls you closer. His hand rests at the small of your back, grounding you, anchoring you to this moment. The cheers of the crowd grow louder, but you hardly hear them.

The cheers of the crowd still echo in your ears as you sit beside Daemon in the carriage. The air is thick with the sweet scent of flowers from the Great Sept, and the faint clattering of hooves on cobblestone fills the silence between you. Your gown feels heavier than it did before, the weight of everything — the vows, the kiss, the future — pressing down on you.

Daemon sits beside you, one leg crossed over the other, his arm draped casually along the edge of the seat. His silver hair catches the faint glow of sunlight that seeps through the window, making him look like something out of legend. He tilts his head toward you, his eyes sharp, watchful, and filled with something you can’t quite name.

“You’re quiet,” he says, his voice smooth as silk. His gaze flickers to your hands, which rest neatly in your lap, fingers still clutching the edge of your gown. “Nervous, little flower?”

You turn your head to meet his gaze, your expression calm despite the storm of thoughts in your mind. “I have no reason to be,” you reply, your voice steady, though a hint of weariness slips through. “I did as was expected of me. And now, so have you.”

His eyes narrow, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. “Expected of me?” He shifts, leaning forward, his face closer to yours now. His voice drops to a low murmur, carrying the weight of something more dangerous. “You think I wed you out of duty alone?”

You hold his gaze, refusing to look away. “Isn’t that what marriage is for people like us? Duty and power. Nothing more.”

There is a pause — a flicker of something that could be surprise or intrigue in his eyes. Then, he lets out a soft, short laugh, leaning back into his seat. “Perhaps. But power comes in many forms, little wife. And duty… well, it tastes sweeter when shared with someone clever.”

His words linger in the air like smoke, curling around your thoughts. You glance at him, studying his face for any sign of sincerity or mockery, but, as always, he is impossible to read.

“You sound as though you plan to enjoy it,” you say cautiously, tilting your head ever so slightly.

His grin widens, wicked and knowing. “I always enjoy what is mine.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, though you do not show it. What is mine. There it is again — that sense of possession, of control. You are his now, by law, by faith, and by the eyes of every noble in Westeros. But just as he has claimed you, you have claimed him.

The carriage jostles slightly as it moves over uneven ground, and the sound of the crowd begins to fade into the distance. Your gaze shifts to the window, watching as the familiar towers of the Red Keep draw closer. The sun glints off the red stone walls, and you feel a strange mix of relief and dread.

The feast awaits. Another spectacle, another performance. More eyes, more whispers, more judgment. It would not end, not today, not ever.

“Are you afraid of them?” Daemon asks suddenly, his eyes still fixed on you. “The nobles. The lords and ladies who will watch your every move tonight.”

You glance at him, your brows furrowing just slightly. “Should I be?”

He hums thoughtfully, his eyes dancing with mischief. “No. They are like hounds, sniffing for weakness. But if you show them none, they will kneel.” He leans closer, his voice soft but sharp as a blade. “Show them the rose, but never the thorn. That is how you win.”

His words echo something your father once told you. It is a lesson you have heard all your life, but hearing it from Daemon makes it feel different. He is not like your father. He is wild flame, not tempered steel.

“Wise words, husband,” you reply, turning to face him fully. Your eyes meet his, unwavering. “But I am not just a rose. I have thorns, and I know when to use them.”

His eyes darken with something you can’t name. Amusement? Respect? Perhaps both. He leans back once more, his grin widening as he taps a finger against his knee.

“Good,” he says, his voice like a purr. “I would hate to have a boring wife.”

Silence settles over the carriage once more, but it is different now. The tension is still there, but it has shifted — no longer suffocating, but sharp and aware. You feel it in the way Daemon watches you, like a cat watching a bird just out of reach. He is testing you, just as you are testing him.

The gates of the Red Keep loom ahead. The sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the courtyard. The clatter of the carriage wheels begins to slow, the gentle pull of momentum drawing to a stop. Outside, you hear the distant calls of guards and the sound of footsteps.

Your heart tightens for a moment, knowing what comes next. Another performance, another step toward a future you cannot escape.

Daemon is already on his feet before the carriage door is even opened. The guards outside pull it wide, and the light spills in, illuminating his figure as he steps out first, his black and red cloak sweeping behind him like wings. He turns back, his hand outstretched toward you.

You hesitate, but only for a heartbeat. With a deep breath, you place your hand in his, letting him guide you down from the carriage. The crowd within the Red Keep courtyard is smaller but no less watchful. Nobles, servants, and guards alike pause in their tasks to turn and watch. You feel their stares like pinpricks on your skin.

Daemon’s grip on your hand tightens just slightly as you walk together, side by side. His head is held high, his posture that of a dragon who knows he is feared. You mirror him, lifting your chin as you walk with steady grace, every step measured, deliberate, queenly.

The nobles bow as you pass, some low, some shallow, but all respectful. Whispers follow you like the rustle of leaves in the wind. You catch snatches of their words — “beautiful,” “Tyrell,” “Targaryen bride.” The names of houses swirl around you like a storm, but you do not react. You are stone, unyielding, unbreakable.

As you approach the entrance to the Keep, Daemon leans in, his voice low and teasing by your ear. “They’ll be watching you all night, little flower. Waiting to see if you wilt.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Then let them watch. A rose does not wilt in the eyes of lesser flowers.”

Daemon laughs, a genuine, full laugh that echoes off the stone walls. The sound draws more stares, but neither of you care. His eyes gleam with something dangerous and delighted as he gazes at you, his bride, his wife.

“I knew it would be you,” he says softly, just for you. “From the moment I saw you in the Sept. No one else would have suited me.”

You glance up at him, brow raised. “I wonder, husband, if that is meant as a compliment or a warning.”

“Both,” he says, his grin sharp as a blade.

He guides you inside the Red Keep, where the torches burn brighter than the sun outside. The air is filled with the distant hum of music, the clinking of goblets, and the scent of roasted meat and sweetwine. The wedding feast awaits. Lords and ladies will gather, faces hidden behind smiles and masks of courtesy. There will be toasts, jests, and glances filled with envy and doubt.

But you are not afraid.

Daemon’s words echo in your mind. Show them the rose, but never the thorn.

No. You will show them both.

With each step deeper into the Red Keep, you feel the weight of your new role settle on your shoulders. You glance once more at Daemon, his eyes forward, his confidence as unshakable as the stones of Dragonstone itself.

Your grip on his hand tightens.

He glances down at you, eyes sharp and curious.

“You and I,” you murmur, low and certain, “will be more than they ever expected.”

Daemon tilts his head, his eyes narrowing with interest, his smirk returning in full force. “Yes,” he says, his voice filled with dangerous promise. “We will.”

And as you enter the grand hall where your wedding feast awaits, you feel it — the power in every glance, every step, every breath. This is your night. Your house may have offered you up as a rose, but you will bloom as something far more dangerous.

They will see your beauty.

But soon, they will know your thorns.

The grand doors to the throne room swing open with a low, resonating creak. The light of a hundred flickering torches dances on the polished stone floor, illuminating the space with a warm, golden glow. The cold, commanding aura of the Iron Throne is softened by the vibrant colors of the decorations. Rich red and gold banners hang from the high ceilings, sigils of House Targaryen and House Tyrell displayed side by side. Flower arrangements — red roses for your house, and dragonfire lilies for his — fill the room with a heady, sweet fragrance.

Daemon’s hand rests firmly on yours as he guides you inside, his grip steady and possessive. Your gown sweeps behind you like a river of white and gold, the delicate embroidery shimmering with every step. The room is filled with nobles from every corner of Westeros, their eyes fixed on you. Lords and ladies bow their heads as you pass, their gazes sharp with curiosity, envy, and judgment.

“All eyes on us, little flower,” Daemon murmurs lowly, his voice laced with amusement. “They’ll be watching to see if the rose wilts under the weight of the dragon.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, tilting your head slightly as you whisper back, “Let them watch. I’ll show them how a rose blooms under fire.”

His grin widens, sharp and wolfish, and his grip on your hand tightens for a moment in approval.

At the far end of the hall, King Jaehaerys sits on the Iron Throne, regal as ever despite his years. His white beard flows down his chest, and his eyes, though kind, are watchful. At his side stands Prince Baelon, his posture straight and proud, and next to him is Princess Alyssa, who offers you a warm smile. Beside them, Prince Viserys stands with his pregnant wife, Aemma, her hands gently cradling her growing belly.

As you and Daemon approach the royal table, the herald steps forward, his voice booming across the hall.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Tyrell, now husband and wife!”

Applause erupts from the crowd, a sea of clapping hands and murmurs of approval. You feel the weight of the moment settle on your shoulders, but you do not falter. With your head held high, you meet the gaze of every noble brave enough to stare for too long.

Daemon leads you to the head table, where two seats have been prepared beside the king. The chair feels larger than it should, its grandeur meant to emphasize the significance of the place you now hold. Daemon sits beside you, his posture relaxed, as though this is where he was always meant to be. He leans back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over the crowd like a dragon surveying its domain.

King Jaehaerys rises from his seat, his golden cloak draped heavily over his shoulders. The room falls silent at once. All eyes turn to the king, and even the faintest whisper dies in the air. He raises a hand, his voice clear and commanding despite his age.

“Today, we bear witness to a union of fire and bloom,” he proclaims, his voice echoing through the hall. “House Targaryen and House Tyrell, bound together in strength, in unity, and in purpose.” He turns his gaze to you and Daemon, his eyes filled with wisdom and authority. “May this marriage be as enduring as the roots of Highgarden and as unyielding as the flames of our dragons.”

Another round of applause fills the hall, and you bow your head in respect. Jaehaerys raises his goblet, and the hall follows, their goblets raised high in the air. “To Prince Daemon and his bride!” he declares.

“To Prince Daemon and his bride!” the crowd echoes, their voices like a chorus of thunder.

Daemon raises his own goblet, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. He leans toward you, his eyes flickering with mischief as he murmurs, “Drink, little flower. They’re watching.”

You glance at him, your eyes narrowing slightly in defiance, but you do as he says. Lifting your goblet, you meet his gaze as you drink, letting the sweet tang of wine linger on your tongue. He watches you closely, his eyes never leaving yours, and for a moment, it feels as though there are only the two of you in the hall, locked in a silent battle of wills.

The music begins to play, the gentle strumming of lutes and the deep hum of drums filling the air. All eyes shift toward the center of the room, where the space has been cleared for the first dance. Daemon rises from his chair, offering his hand to you once more.

“Shall we, wife?” he says with a teasing grin, tilting his head just slightly.

You glance at his hand, then meet his gaze with quiet resolve. Slowly, you place your hand in his, letting him pull you to your feet. The hall watches with anticipation as you step onto the dance floor together. The music shifts, growing louder and more rhythmic, the steady beat of the drums like the thundering of a heartbeat.

Daemon’s hand rests lightly on your waist, his fingers curling ever so slightly as he draws you closer. His other hand takes yours, his grip firm but not forceful. Your free hand settles on his shoulder, fingers lightly grazing the fabric of his tunic. For a moment, the world narrows down to the space between you and him. His eyes lock onto yours, sharp as Valyrian steel, and you feel the hum of energy between you.

“Don’t look down,” he says softly, his voice so close to your ear that it sends a shiver down your spine. “They’re watching.”

You tilt your head, lips curving into a faint smile. “Then let them watch.”

The dance begins.

The two of you move with the music, each step practiced but not without grace. Your movements are precise, every turn and spin guided by his hands. The room blurs around you, faces melding into indistinct shapes as you focus on Daemon — on his eyes, his smirk, the way he moves with the confidence of a man who has never doubted himself.

He twirls you, and your gown flares out like petals in bloom. Gasps and murmurs of admiration rise from the crowd. When he pulls you back to him, his hand presses firmly against your back, his eyes dark with something more intense than pride.

“You’re doing well,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth. “But I expected no less from you.”

“Careful, husband,” you reply, your breath even despite the pace of the dance. “Compliments from you sound dangerously close to affection.”

His grin is quick, wicked. “Perhaps I’m feeling generous tonight.”

The final note of the music echoes through the hall, and the two of you come to a stop. You’re so close that you can see every flicker of firelight reflected in his violet eyes. Your heart pounds in your chest, but not from the dance alone. His gaze holds you in place, unrelenting and unwavering.

The room erupts into applause, loud and thunderous. Lords and ladies rise from their seats, clapping and cheering. Daemon releases you slowly, his fingers trailing down your arm as if reluctant to let you go. His eyes linger on you for just a moment longer before he turns to the crowd, his grin sharper than ever.

He raises a hand, silencing the applause. “Eat, drink, and be merry,” he calls out, his voice cutting through the noise. “For tonight, we celebrate not just a union, but a conquest.” His eyes flick to you, his grin curling into something more dangerous. “A victory for us both.”

The lords cheer, raising their goblets high, and the servants begin to bring forth trays of food and pitchers of wine. The hall fills with music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets.

Daemon turns back to you, offering his arm. “Shall we, little flower?”

You place your hand on his arm, your gaze steady, your chin lifted high. “Yes, husband,” you say softly, your voice carrying all the quiet power you’ve kept hidden. “Let them see what victory looks like.”

The two of you return to your place at the head table, side by side, facing the hall of nobles and onlookers. You feel the weight of their stares, their whispers, but none of it matters. Not tonight.

Daemon sits with the ease of a man born to rule, his hand idly resting on the arm of his chair. You sit beside him, as regal and steady as the roots of Highgarden.

The feast continues, but you know one thing for certain.

They may call you a rose, but tonight, they will see your thorns.

As the feast continues, the lively clamor of laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets fills the grand hall. Despite the noise, your world feels quieter as you turn to face Daemon. His gaze is sharp as ever, his features carved with the confidence of a man who knows his worth. Yet, tonight, you notice something different — a subtle shift in his eyes when he looks at you, something softer than the sharp edge he shows the world.

You sip your wine, letting the warmth settle in your chest before speaking. “You’re not what I expected, Daemon.”

He raises a brow, his smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And what did you expect, little flower? A monster with sharp teeth and claws?”

“Perhaps,” you reply, tilting your head as you study him. “They call you the Rogue Prince, after all. A man ruled by impulse, driven by chaos and ambition.”

He chuckles, low and rich like a purr. “Ah, titles are like cloaks. Useful when worn, but beneath them, we’re all just flesh and bone.” He leans in slightly, his violet eyes fixed on yours. “Tell me, do you think I’m a monster?”

You meet his gaze, unflinching. “No. Monsters don’t get nervous.”

His grin falters for just a heartbeat — so quick that most would miss it. But you see it. His eyes flicker briefly, a crack in the mask he wears so well. He leans back in his chair, swirling the wine in his goblet as if to distract himself.

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” he admits, his eyes still on the wine.

“You’re better at hiding it than most,” you reply, a small smile playing on your lips. “But not from me.”

He glances at you then, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Silence stretches between you for a moment, comfortable but charged with unspoken meaning. Finally, you decide to ask the question that has lingered in your mind since the day you learned of the betrothal.

“Why did you agree to this marriage, Daemon?” you ask, your voice quiet but firm. “You could have refused. You have always been known to defy expectations.”

He goes still, his fingers pausing on the stem of his goblet. His eyes shift to yours, and for a moment, he seems to weigh his answer. His smirk is gone, replaced by something far more genuine — something raw.

“I agreed,” he says slowly, his voice quieter now, “because I wanted it.” His eyes hold yours, steady and unwavering. “Years ago, when I accompanied my grandfather to Highgarden, I saw you in the gardens.” He exhales through his nose, his gaze distant as if seeing the memory play out before him. “You were surrounded by roses, and you were laughing with your maids. You had dirt on your hands from planting flowers, but you didn’t care. You looked… free.”

You blink, surprise washing over you like a sudden breeze. “You remember that?”

“Of course, I do,” he replies, his voice steady but his eyes carrying a weight of something long kept hidden. “I stood there longer than I should have, watching you laugh. It was the first time I’d seen something so simple yet so… whole.” He breathes deeply and turns to you, his eyes piercing. “I told myself then that if I ever had to marry, I would marry you.”

His words hit you harder than you expect. You feel the warmth rise to your cheeks, but you keep your composure. “And yet, you said nothing until now,” you say softly, tilting your head. “Why not speak of it before?”

“Because I’m a fool,” he admits, his grin returning, but it’s smaller, softer. “Or maybe because I didn’t think fate would be so kind to me.” His gaze shifts, watching you closely. “And now here you are, seated beside me, not as a dream, but as my wife.”

You don’t look away, and for the first time, the weight of the feast, the eyes of the lords and ladies, and the whispers of onlookers all seem to fade into nothing. The only thing that matters is this moment.

“I suppose fate can be cruel,” you murmur, lips curling into a knowing smile, “but tonight, it seems she has been kind.”

Daemon’s gaze narrows slightly, his grin returning in full force. “Careful, little flower. Say too many sweet things, and I might think you’ve fallen for me.”

You arch a brow, lifting your goblet to your lips as you take a slow, deliberate sip of wine. “Maybe I have,” you say lightly, setting the goblet down and looking at him from beneath your lashes. “But I suppose you’ll have to wait and see.”

His eyes darken with that familiar fire, and his grin becomes something more — a promise of trouble and devotion all at once. “I can be patient, wife,” he says, his voice low and rough like a storm brewing on the horizon. “But not for too long.”

The music shifts, another lively tune filling the hall, but the two of you remain still, locked in a silent understanding that words could never fully capture.

Tonight, fate has been kind indeed.

You laugh softly at Daemon’s story, his wit sharper than any blade. But your laughter fades as the sound of approaching footsteps echoes behind you. You glance over your shoulder and see Otto Hightower, your father’s kin and the Hand of the King. His face is as composed as ever, a mask of politeness with eyes that see far too much.

“Congratulations on your union,” Otto says smoothly, his voice calm yet purposeful. His gaze shifts between you and Daemon, lingering on your husband for a moment too long. “A fine match, one that will no doubt strengthen the ties between our houses.”

You nod politely, offering a small smile. “Thank you, Lord Hightower. Your words are most kind.”

But you can feel the shift in the air. Daemon stiffens beside you, his grip tightening ever so slightly on his goblet. His eyes narrow, fixed on Otto like a predator watching prey. The playful warmth he had while speaking with you is gone, replaced by a sharp, simmering edge.

“How gracious of you to offer your blessing, Otto,” Daemon drawls, his tone dripping with mockery. He tilts his head, his smile sharp like the edge of a dagger. “Though I wonder if it pains you to see me gain something you could not control.”

Otto’s jaw tightens, but his smile remains. “I only seek the prosperity of the realm, Prince Daemon. Your marriage serves that purpose well enough.” His gaze flickers to you for the briefest moment. “It is always wise to guide wild flames before they burn out of control.”

Daemon lets out a low, humorless laugh. “Careful, Otto. You speak as though you’ve forgotten who commands fire in this realm.” His voice drops lower, more dangerous. “And who is merely ash beneath it.”

The tension coils tight between them, sharp and ready to snap. You place a hand lightly on Daemon’s arm, feeling the taut muscle beneath his sleeve. He glances at you, his hard gaze softening just enough to acknowledge your presence.

“Perhaps tonight is not the time for old rivalries,” you say firmly, looking between them both. “It is a night of celebration, not division.”

Otto’s eyes meet yours, calculating and assessing. For a moment, he says nothing, then bows his head. “Of course, Lady Tyrell. Forgive me. I meant no offense.”

You can feel the tension between them, as sharp and volatile as wildfire. For a moment, it seems as though Otto might push back, but he only tilts his head in mock understanding. “She is no longer ‘Lady Tyrell’ to you.”

Otto’s brows lift just a fraction, his eyes flicking briefly to you before settling back on Daemon. “My apologies, Prince Daemon,” he says, his tone polite but firm. “Old habits, you understand.”

Daemon’s lips curve into a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Old habits can be broken,” he replies coldly, his eyes narrowing. He gestures toward you with a sweeping motion, his gaze never leaving Otto. “She is Princess now. Best you remember it, lest your tongue slip again.”

“Of course,” Otto says slowly, folding his hands behind his back. His eyes meet yours for a brief moment, calculating and watchful. “Princess,” he adds with an exaggerated formality, bowing just enough to follow decorum but not a step further.

Daemon’s eyes follow him like a hawk tracking prey. His jaw is set, his fingers tapping the rim of his goblet with restless precision. “That man poisons every room he enters,” he mutters, his eyes still locked on Otto.

You lean in just a little, tilting your head toward him. “Then let him choke on his own venom, husband,” you whisper, your voice laced with quiet defiance.

Daemon blinks, then slowly turns his gaze back to you. A grin spreads across his face, wild and dangerous, but there’s pride in it too. He raises his goblet toward you in a silent toast. “To clever wives,” he says, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“And to husbands who know when to listen,” you reply, clinking your goblet lightly against his.

The fire in his eyes burns brighter. “You and I, little flower,” he says softly, his voice low like a secret shared in the dark, “will burn this world brighter than they can ever imagine.”

The joyful hum of music and clinking goblets fills the hall, but all you can hear is the rapid beat of your heart. The bedding ceremony. The very mention of it had lingered in your mind all night, and now, as the hour draws near, a subtle unease creeps in.

Your gaze flickers to Daemon, who is seated beside you. His posture is as relaxed as ever, leaning back in his chair like a king on his throne. His sharp eyes scan the room, half-lidded with boredom, but there’s a flicker of awareness in them. He knows. He always knows.

Your fingers tighten slightly around the edge of your goblet, your knuckles pale beneath the soft glow of the firelight. You feel your mother’s gaze on you, steady and supportive, but even she cannot help you now. Tradition is tradition, and the eyes of the realm are watching.

A loud voice echoes through the hall — one of the lords, his cheeks flushed from too much wine. “It is time for the bedding!” he shouts, his voice met with a chorus of drunken laughter and cheers. The call is picked up by others, nobles and knights alike, their voices chanting in unison.

“To the bedding! To the bedding!”

You glance at Daemon, unsure of what to expect. He turns to you, his gaze steady and unyielding. Slowly, he reaches for your hand, his touch firm and warm. His thumb brushes lightly against your knuckles, a silent reassurance.

“They will not touch you,” he says softly, his voice low enough that only you can hear. His eyes, sharp as dragonfire, meet yours with unwavering certainty. “Not if I am standing here.”

Your breath catches in your chest, surprise flickering in your eyes. It is a small promise, but it feels like the weight of the world has been lifted from your shoulders.

The chants continue, louder now, as the guests begin to rise from their seats, some already moving toward you. Daemon stands first, his presence commanding enough to make even the most brazen of lords hesitate. He extends a hand toward you, his expression one of quiet defiance.

“Shall we, wife?” he asks, his lips curving into a sly, knowing smile.

You take his hand, your heart still racing, but the panic that once clawed at you has dulled. You rise with him, head held high, and the crowd erupts into a sea of laughter, cheers, and jeering calls. Lords and ladies step forward, but before any of them can reach you, Daemon’s gaze turns to them — hard as dragonstone, sharp as steel.

“Touch her,” Daemon says coldly, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “And I’ll take your hand as payment.”

The hall stills. The drunken grins falter, the more sensible lords stepping back as if scalded. The boldest of them mutter curses under their breath but make no further move.

“That’s what I thought,” Daemon mutters, his grin returning, sharp and predatory. With his hand on the small of your back, he guides you toward the doors leading to your chambers. The crowd follows, but from a distance now, the earlier fervor tempered by Daemon’s words.

Your steps are slow but steady, each one more certain than the last. You are not alone. Your hand is held firmly in Daemon’s grasp, his presence at your side a shield stronger than any wall.

When you finally reach the heavy wooden doors of your chamber, the crowd begins to cheer again, but none dare approach. Daemon opens the door himself, holding it for you like a king for his queen.

“Inside, Princess,” he says, his voice softer now, meant only for you.

You step in, glancing over your shoulder at the crowd one last time. Their eyes are filled with expectation, mischief, and far too much wine. But none of them matter now. The door closes behind you with a resounding thud, silencing the world beyond.

The chamber is warm, lit by the soft glow of the hearth. The distant sounds of revelry echo faintly through the stone walls, but here, it is quiet. Your heart is still racing, but it is not from fear.

Daemon turns to face you, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His smirk is gone, replaced by something far more honest. He steps toward you slowly, his movements deliberate, giving you time to step back if you choose. But you don’t.

“You handled that well,” he says, his gaze flickering with approval. “They expected you to shrink. But you didn’t.”

“Should I have?” you ask, your voice quiet but steady.

Daemon tilts his head, his eyes filled with something akin to admiration. “Never.”

Silence hangs between you, but it is not uncomfortable. Slowly, he reaches for you, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. His touch is careful, deliberate — nothing like the wild prince the songs describe.

“If you wish to rest,” he says quietly, his eyes never leaving yours, “then rest. I’ll stay if you want me to, or I’ll leave if you don’t.”

For a moment, you are stunned. All the stories, all the rumors of Daemon Targaryen — bold, brash, uncontrollable — and here he is, offering you control in a world that rarely grants it.

“What do you want, Daemon?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

He smiles at that, a slow, wolfish grin. “I want what’s already mine,” he says, his eyes dark but steady. “But I am not so foolish as to take it by force. A king can command fear, but only a fool ignores respect.”

His words linger in the air, carrying more weight than any vow spoken at the sept. You search his face, looking for deception, but all you find is truth — a truth that you had not expected.

“You think me wise enough to be respected, then?” you ask, one brow raised.

“I think you’re wise enough to be feared,” he replies, stepping closer until there is only a breath between you. His eyes lower to your lips, but he doesn’t move, letting you decide. “And that, wife, is far more dangerous.”

The choice is yours now. In a world where choice is often stolen, he offers it freely. No songs will be sung of this moment. No maester will write it down. But this moment is yours.

The warmth of the firelight flickers softly against the stone walls of your chamber, casting long, shifting shadows. The air is thick with unspoken tension—not the kind born of fear, but of expectation. The weight of tradition presses down on you like an invisible cloak, suffocating in its silence.

Daemon stands before you, his violet eyes sharp but calm, as if this moment is nothing more than another game he’s mastered. His fingers reach for the intricate braids woven into your hair, undoing them with slow, deliberate care. He works in silence, never rushing, never fumbling. His fingertips brush against your scalp, and the warmth of his touch is startling in its tenderness.

You feel the weight of your hair slowly falling free, the braids unraveling strand by strand, until your hair spills over your shoulders like a golden cascade. Daemon steps back for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with quiet intensity. There is no mockery in his gaze. No jest or smirk. Only focus.

“Still with me, Princess?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, your throat too dry to answer aloud. His lips twitch into the faintest smile before he steps closer once more. His fingers move to the clasps at your shoulders, the ones holding the delicate fabric of your wedding gown in place. For a moment, he hesitates, his fingers brushing against the embroidered flowers that line the edge of the fabric.

“You are beautiful,” he says suddenly, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. There is something raw in his voice — not a compliment to charm you, but a statement of fact.

“Flattery, husband?” you reply softly, your eyes narrowing in playful suspicion.

He chuckles under his breath, his gaze never leaving yours. “No, just truth. I may lie to kings and councils, but not to you.”

His hands resume their task, and slowly, he unclasps the gown, letting it loosen around your shoulders. The fabric slips, slow as silk, pooling at your feet in a sea of red and white. You stand before him, vulnerable but unafraid.

But then — a sound.

A rustle. A shift of fabric behind the heavy curtain at the far end of the room. You freeze, your eyes darting toward it. The faintest outline of movement is visible through the dim light. Your heart tightens in your chest, heat rising to your face.

“They’re watching, aren’t they?” you murmur, your voice laced with unease.

Daemon doesn’t even glance at the curtain. His gaze remains fixed on you. “Yes,” he replies bluntly, his tone neither ashamed nor apologetic. “The king. The council. They’ll want to see it done properly.” His eyes flicker with a glint of something darker. “Fools with nothing better to do than spy on a husband and wife.”

You clench your jaw, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “It’s humiliating,” you mutter, your eyes narrowing at the veil of fabric separating you from them.

“It is tradition,” he replies, his tone sharp but not unkind. He steps closer, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. His voice softens, the fire in him dimming to embers. “But they are only men, little flower. Let them watch.” He tilts your chin up with a single finger, his gaze hard but reassuring. “Let them see that you belong to no one but me.”

His words linger in the air like a spark set to kindling. The fire of it spreads, steady and slow, filling the hollow space that doubt had left behind. Daemon is not afraid. He stands as if he is untouchable, unbothered by their eyes, and for a moment, you think perhaps you can do the same.

“Do they always watch like this?” you ask, your voice quieter now, but steadier.

“Not always,” he replies with a small grin. “But sometimes. They call it ‘assurance of consummation.’ As if it matters to the realm what happens between husband and wife.” He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “If it bothers you, I can send them away.”

You glance at him, your eyes searching his for any sign of deceit. But he looks at you like you are his equal, his partner in all things. Not a pawn to be used. Not a flower to be plucked.

“You would?” you ask, testing him.

He nods slowly. “One word from you, and they’ll leave. I promise you that.” His hand rests lightly on your waist, his touch grounding you, steady as stone. “But if you wish to see this through, I will make it quick.”

The choice is yours. His words echo in your mind, and you think of all the choices you’ve never been allowed to make before this. But this one is yours.

You take a slow, steady breath, glancing at the curtain once more. You see them there, shadows behind fabric. Fools. Spies. Men who think they have power. But none of them are in this room with you. None of them are Daemon.

You turn back to him, lifting your chin. “Let them watch,” you say, your voice sharp as a blade. Your heart still races, but there is a new resolve in it now. “If they want proof, they’ll have it.”

Daemon’s eyes widen just slightly, his grin returning in full force. He laughs softly, the sound like the low rumble of thunder. “That’s my wife,” he says, his voice filled with pride and something far more dangerous — affection.

“Then let’s give them something to remember.”

He reaches for the laces of his tunic, pulling them loose with practiced ease. His eyes remain on yours the entire time, a silent promise in his gaze. No mockery. No cruelty. Only certainty.

The fabric of his tunic falls away, revealing the pale expanse of his chest, littered with faint scars like constellations across his skin. His silver hair gleams faintly in the firelight, a halo of shadow and flame.

You take a step forward, your breath steady now. The weight of their eyes no longer feels so heavy. Let them watch, you think. Let them see that you are not afraid.

Daemon sees it too. He sees the shift in you. A dragon recognizing another dragon. His grin fades into something more solemn, more reverent. His hand cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing the curve of your cheek.

“You are more than they deserve to see,” he says quietly, his voice so soft that it feels like a secret. His eyes lower to your lips, then back up to your eyes. “But let them see you anyway.”

And so you do.

The air grows warmer as the fire crackles behind you. Daemon moves with purpose, each gesture slow but sure, as if you are something sacred. There is no rush, no frenzy. Only patience. Only reverence.

The sounds of the council behind the curtain fade from your mind. You barely hear them anymore. It is only you and him now.

Daemon’s hands move over you, each touch as careful as a man handling dragon eggs. The weight of tradition still hangs in the air, but it no longer feels suffocating. You have claimed it. Turned it into something of your own making.

Daemon led you towards the bed and laid you down there, you stared at his face as he started to climb on top of you. "Are you ready little flower?" you just nodded and that's when he started kissing you, his kiss was very gentle and also demanding.

Your hands moved to his neck, you played with his long hair and heard him moan softly in between your kisses. he then started kissing your neck. You heard the voice behind the curtain again, "don't mind them, just focus on me" the daemon whispered in your neck, you moan softly as a result.

Daemon's hands didn't stay still, he traced the curves of your body which made you close your eyes. when his fingers touched your core which was starting to get wet you moaned. He started by inserting one finger and looking at you, your body started to heat up. he then added another finger and his rhythm became faster, you moaned because of his treatment. "i have to prepare you first little flower"

After Daemon felt enough, Daemon started to take off his pants. He looked back at you and kissed your forehead, "This might hurt."

You looked at his face and smiled, "i'll hold it in" he smiled and started kissing you. you felt his cock start to enter your core slowly. You squeezed his hair as you felt him start to enter and fill you, you both moaned and after that daemon slammed his cock hard which made you scream in pain in the kiss.

You could feel your blood rushing out, he growled softly as he felt you squeeze him tightly. He wiped away the tears that were in the corner of your eyes, he didn't move yet to make sure you were enjoying and accepting his size.

"Are you comfortable?" he whispered and stroked your cheek gently, you nodded and that's when he started to move his hips slowly. The pain you felt begore slowly turned into a pleasure you had never felt before.

"like that, oh god. you're so tight" he growled and started to speed up the rhythm of his hips. you could only moan under him,

He doesn’t hold back, his hand found yours and he intertwined his fingers with yours. Something hot and heavy settles on the pit of your guts then rises from every thrust of Daemon’ hips, a spark flowing down from the top of your head to toes. Back arches up when the head of his member prods against your sensitive spot.

“You take me so well, sweetling.” You let go of his grip and pulled his face to kiss him again, your legs automatically wrapped around his waist making him go deeper inside you.

Daemons can go crazy because the way your walls are clenching tightly around his length. He then splays his palm on one of your boobs and squeezes the flesh there, keenly studying as the skin turns pink. he broke the kiss and pressed your foreheads together, your breaths mingled and he continued to growl.

"Daemon please g-go faster, please.." you mumbled. He smirked, before going fast and hard. You gasped at the sudden change of pace, holding down at the bed to get some sort of grounding. You threw your head back as he kept on pounding into her.

You shut your eyes as the knot inside your stomach grew tighter, signaling that you was about to come. he chuckled. "Is my little flower about to come?" He teased. you nodded. "P-please let me come..." you rasped. He groaned, he was near his orgasm too. "Shit love, I'm close too.." He said. He thrusted a few more times before finally coming inside you, filling you with his seed, he growled softly before kissing you and lying down next to you.

And when it is done — when the silence behind the curtain is replaced by the rustle of cloaks and the soft, satisfied murmurs of councilmen walking away — you do not feel shame. You do not feel small.

Daemon lies beside you, his eyes on the ceiling for a moment, his breathing steady. Then he turns his head to look at you, his silver hair tangled, his expression calm but sharp with awareness.

“You did well,” he says softly, his eyes watching you with quiet pride. “They’ll remember this night, but not for the reason they think.”

You glance at him, raising a brow. “And what reason will they remember it for?”

Daemon’s eyes narrow slightly, a glint of mischief in them as he tilts his head to look at you fully. “Because they’ll realize they made the mistake of thinking you could be broken.”

His words hit you harder than any vow spoken before the sept. You breathe in deeply, letting them settle in your chest like a flame that will never burn out.

“Let them remember,” you say, your voice stronger than it has ever been. “Let them remember I am not so easily broken.”

Daemon’s grin widens, his eyes glowing like embers in the dark. “No, you are not.”

The warmth of the fire has dimmed to a soft glow, shadows dancing gently across the chamber walls. The weight of exhaustion presses down on you, your limbs heavy and your breathing slow. Without thinking, you turn toward Daemon, seeking the warmth of another presence.

You rest your head against his chest, your arms wrapping around him. His skin is warm, the slow rise and fall of his breath lulling you into calm. For a moment, everything feels still. The noise of the world outside — the lords, the council, the weight of duty — fades into the background.

Daemon doesn’t move at first, his body tense like he isn’t used to this kind of closeness. But then, slowly, you feel his arms come around you, his hands settling on your back. One hand moves up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair.

His chin rests lightly atop your head, and you hear him sigh — a long, quiet breath as if releasing something he’d been holding for too long. His lips press softly against your forehead, warm and deliberate. No words are spoken, but the meaning is clear. You feel it in the tenderness of his touch, the weight of his hand holding you steady.

Your eyes grow heavier with each heartbeat, the steady thump of his heart beneath your ear a rhythm you cannot resist. Your breathing evens out, matching his, and before long, sleep pulls you under. Your last thought is that, for the first time in a long while, you feel safe.

Daemon tilts his head slightly, gazing down at you. His sharp eyes, so often filled with mischief or calculation, have softened into something quieter, something unguarded. He watches you in silence, as if memorizing every line of your face. His thumb traces a small circle against your back, a motion so subtle it might as well be instinct.

He watches you for a moment longer, eyes narrowing slightly as if puzzled by the depth of his own thoughts. Then, with a quiet huff of breath — not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh — he rests his head back on the pillow. His eyes remain on you until, slowly, his lashes lower, and sleep takes him too.

In the quiet of the chamber, there is no crown, no council, no eyes watching. Only two people, entwined in warmth and stillness, finding peace in the comfort of each other.

tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd

[hottiesforhockey]

mutual pining ⎜n.hischier

pairings: nico hischier x afab!midsized!reader genre: romance ⎜fuff ⎜ slow burn? ⎜ warnings: pure cuteness ⎜ nico is literally so sweet ⎜ p in v ⎜ body worship?⎜ slight overstimulation ⎜oral (f receiving) ⎜fingering ⎜ nico is a giver ⎜ reader goes by bee (its a nickname)⎜midsized!reader ⎜ reader is a little insecure sometimes ⎜ mentions of previous shitty ex ⎜ sad nico? ⎜confused reader constantly⎜ apologies in advance for the ending ⎜ synopsis: your sister convinces you to tag along on her trip to Switzerland to visit her long distance boyfriend - you didn't expect his younger brother to be there let alone just your type. word count: 12.6k authors note:  this is my first nico story ever and it's a doozy! it was the clear winner of my poll so I hope those of you who voted will enjoy! also just incase you didn't see in the warnings but the reader will go by the nickname bee!(barely) but I tried to keep her descriptions to a minimum

(unedited)

“He said he would be waiting at the baggage claim for us.” You sister says as she glances down at her phone, confirming her statement with the message her boyfriend had sent earlier. 

“I still don’t know how you ended up in a long distance relationship with a professional athlete.” You retort, pulling your backpack higher on your shoulders before adding, “Just kind of a wild situation, you know.” You sister just nods in agreement, having stated herself how strange the relationship had come about. 

“What can I say? I must just be that addictive.” She coos, at you, her face lighting up as the doors to the baggage claim slide open. She leaves you in the dust as she rushes forwards dropping her bag before leaping into the arms of her admittedly much larger boyfriend, who looks equally as excited to see her - whispering in her ear as she digs her face into his shoulder. 

Your sister had met the Swiss Hockey Player while on a short vacation around Europe stopping in Switzerland for about a week before planning to move on to Italy - she had called you the night she met the large Swiss man already head over heels for the charming brunette after one, slightly tipsy, night together. 

And as it stands the large Swiss man was equally as obsessed with her - the two immediately starting a long distance relationship after spending another week together in Italy, where he had followed her refusing to let their time together finish so soon. 

Judging by the goo goo eyes they are already making at each other it was going to be a long three weeks. 

“Hurry up.” You sister shouts as you dawdle over to the couple, trying to give them some time out of earshot to greet each other properly. “Luca, this is my little sister, Bee.” You sister introduces you quickly, Luca turning to you with a beaming smile, and a friendly hand extended. 

“Nice to meet you, Luca.” You say quietly as you join your hands giving it a firm shake before letting your hand fall back to your side. “Sorry I’m not as energetic as Mia but it’s been a long trip.” You laugh softly, pushing some loose hair off your forehead before shooting your sister a look. 

“Oh yes, we better get you two back to the house.” Luca says quickly, his hand firm on your sisters waist as he guides her to the baggage carousel. “Just let us know which bags are yours.” Luca says quietly, leaning over your sister to make sure you heard him. 

“Us?” You question in confusion. 

“My little brother Nico is staying with us too.” Luca notes casually, your eyes shooting over to your sister who’s already mouthing a silent apology. When you had agreed to come on this trip, your sister had promised it would mainly be you and her and the beautiful summer mountains of Switzerland - it wasn’t until two days ago that she informed you, you would be staying with her boyfriend. 

You had no issues with your sister wanting to spend some time with her boyfriend who she hadn’t seen in months but the idea of forced socialisation was not high on your vacation wishlist - and now another stranger would be thrown into the mix. “Suck it up.” Your sister hisses through her teeth as she leans towards you. “Nico is really nice, I think you two will get along.” She adds, motioning her head to the broad brunette now standing besides her boyfriend. 

“Nico this is Mia’s little sister, the one I was telling you about.” Luca says quickly, his hand guiding his brothers attention in your direction. You don’t miss the pointed look Luca gives his brother, his reminder obviously sparking something inside Nico who quickly turns his full attention to you - his big brown eyes stealing every thought you’d ever had in your life. 

You give Nico a quick nod of acknowledgment before spotting your baby blue suitcase coming around the corner, avoiding anymore stunted silence by moving forwards to grab hold of it. “Here, let me get that for you.” Nico says softly as he follows behind you, grabbing hold of the suitcase before you can, pulling it off the carousel with ease. “Which one is your sisters?” He asks, not looking away from the baggage as you point out the soft pink suitcase following closely behind yours. 

Nico does the same for your sister’s bag, gently pulling it from the track and setting it beside yours. As you reach out to take your suitcase back, Nico pulls it just out of reach, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I’ve got it. Don’t worry.” He says with a playful grin. “It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, right?”

You can’t help but smile at the teasing tone, though inwardly, you curse your body’s reaction to men you barely know. “I guess so,” you reply, trying to sound casual as you meet his gaze.

Luca and Mia are already a few steps ahead, engaged in a quiet conversation. Nico is right beside you now, still holding your suitcase with an effortless air, as though it’s no more than a feather in his large hands.

“So,” you start, trying to fill the awkward space with something, “What’s it like being a professional hockey player?” The question feels a bit dull, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. You remember your sister mentioning how despite Luca being a professional Swiss hockey player the families true pride was in the youngest, Nico, being selected to play in the NHL. 

“It’s not all glitz and glamour,” Nico replies with a casual shrug, his voice easy and unbothered. “Early mornings, long practices, and constant travel. It’s hard being away from home, but hockey’s my life. I wouldn’t trade it.”

You nod, impressed by how down-to-earth he is despite his career. It’s a side of athletes you don’t often see on TV.

“That sounds… challenging.”

“Yeah, but the game is worth it,” he says, glancing over at you with a quiet smile. “Plus, there’s always Bern to come back to. The city’s never too far from my mind.” You both walk out into the warm Bern summer afternoon, the sun still high in the sky, the city alive with activity. Luca locates the car quickly - ushering your sister into the passenger seat as he pulls the trunk open, helping his younger brother lift both suitcases inside before shutting it, sliding into the drivers side besides your sister. 

Nico’s eyes flicker to you again, his smile widening. “Ladies first.” He comments as he opens the back door for you, watching as you slide into the seat, shuffling across to the far side of the car - Nico joining you shortly after. 

The car hums to life, and Nico leans back in his seat, one arm casually resting on the door as the vehicle pulls away from the airport. You settle into the plush interior, your hands neatly folded in your lap, though your mind is anything but calm. The way Nico speaks, his deep voice a contrast to the soft, warm tone, it lingers with you, a subtle undercurrent beneath the otherwise normal conversation happening in the front seats.

Mia is already chatting away with Luca, the two of them laughing about something you didn’t quite catch. You find yourself glancing at Nico once more, his posture relaxed but somehow still commanding in the space of the car.

“Are you excited to be in Switzerland for the summer?” Nico’s voice breaks through your thoughts, and you blink, realising he’s been waiting for you to respond.

“Yeah, I think it’s going to be nice. It’s a lot different than where I’m from, but it’s peaceful, you know?” You hesitate, wondering if he’s even interested in hearing about your home, but Nico’s focused attention encourages you to continue.

“It is a bit of a change,” Nico comments. His voice seems warm, as though he’s trying to put you at ease, despite the subtle tension hanging in the air. “I’ve never been to Australia, but I’ve heard good things.”

“You should visit,” you say before you can stop yourself. You immediately feel a flush creep up your neck, the way his eyes lock with yours making your words feel too forward, too personal.

Nico smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Maybe someday.” He seems to be considering it, and something in your chest tightens, like an unspoken promise hanging in the air between you.

Mia and Luca continue their conversation in the front seats, but you’re no longer focused on them. Nico is still looking at you, his gaze soft, as though he’s waiting for you to say something more, something deeper. But what could you possibly say to someone like him?

“You and Mia seem... close,” you finally say, choosing something safe, but it’s enough to break the tension.

Nico’s smile widens, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something that makes you feel like you’ve just scratched the surface of who he is. “Yeah, she’s like a sister to me. We hung out a lot last time she came to see Luca,” he says, laughing softly. “She’s just... a force of nature. I know she’s happy with Luca, though, and that’s all that matters.”

You nod, feeling a little more at ease now that the conversation is off of you. The drive continues for a few minutes in silence, save for the soft hum of the car and the occasional laugh from the front seats. You can’t help but steal glances at Nico every now and then, though, wondering what else lies beneath that easygoing exterior of his.

The city of Bern slowly gives way to the lush, green landscapes of the countryside, the picturesque mountains rising in the distance. Your thoughts keep drifting back to Nico’s calm demeanour, his gentle teasing, and that fleeting moment when it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

The car takes a turn off the main road, winding through smaller paths that lead to a beautiful chalet nestled among towering trees. The house looks like something out of a magazine—modern yet rustic, with wide glass windows framing the serene mountain view. You’re just about to comment on how stunning it is when Nico speaks again, breaking your thoughts.

“You’ll like it here,” he says, his voice quieter now, more assured. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

The words are simple, but they carry an unspoken weight that makes you feel, for a moment, like you’ve been let in on a secret. You give him a small smile, unsure of how to respond to that, but grateful for his reassurance.

Luca parks the car in front of the house, turning off the engine. He leans back in his seat, glancing at the two of you in the back. “Well, welcome to Bern,” he says with a grin. “Let’s get inside before the jet lag hits you two.”

Mia opens her door first, quickly followed by Luca. Nico hesitates for a moment before stepping out of the car and rushing around to the other side of the car offering you a hand, which you take gratefully, feeling the weight of his hand in yours for a second longer than necessary.

“You head inside, look around - I’ll grab your bags.” Nico says his voice quieter as he slowly pulls his hand away from yours, his other hand holding the car door open as you slip further away from the car. You hesitate for a moment, Nico nodding for you to go ahead, your feet not wasting any more time in following after the couple who just went inside - hoping to god you find a bed soon. 

“You can sleep in here, there is a bathroom through that door and a closet if you want to unpack anything - we’ll be just down the hall and Nico’s room is right across there.” Your sister explains pointing in different directions as she goes, her eyebrows raising briefly as she points to the door to Nico’s room. 

“Don’t even start with that.” You sneer, your sister throwing her hands up in defence. 

“I’m just saying he’s not a bad dude, and after what happened with Joh—” 

“Don’t please.” 

“He’s a good guy, Bee. Give him a shot to worm his way into that cold dead heart of yours.” Your sister continues, ignoring the glare you send her way, patting your head lightly before making her way down the hall to her shared bedroom with Luca, the door closing softly behind her. 

You let out a long sigh, pinching your nose before retreating into the bedroom - closing the door behind you before flopping onto the mattress, melting into the plush blankets as sleep overwhelms you. 

+

+

The room is bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun when you finally stir, a sense of disorientation tugging at you. For a moment, you forget where you are—the unfamiliar warmth of the air, the faint hum of nature outside, and the plush comfort of the bed beneath you all feel dreamlike. It isn’t until you turn your head and notice the neatly folded blanket draped over you that the pieces begin to fall into place.

Sitting up slowly, you glance around the room. Your suitcase sits neatly in the corner, its zipper slightly ajar as if someone had checked to ensure it made the journey unscathed. The thought pulls a soft smile to your lips; you already have a suspicion about who might have taken the time to do that.

Stretching out, you catch the faint sound of laughter drifting through the open window, voices carrying from somewhere outside. Curious, you pad over to the window, pushing aside the sheer curtain to peer out. Below, you spot Mia and Luca sitting on the edge of the deck, their legs dangling over the side as they sip what looks like glasses of wine. Nico is standing a few feet away from them, leaning casually against the railing with a beer in hand, his posture as relaxed as ever. You watch as he says something to your sister - her head nodding before he turns to make his way back into the house, your steps leading you over to your bed to refold the blanket and place it at the end of the bed where it was when you arrived. 

A gentle knock on the door pulls your attention away, and you turn just in time to see it crack open. Nico's head appears, his dark eyes meeting yours with a soft, apologetic smile.

"Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you," he says quietly. "Mia said you might still be out, but I wanted to check if you’re hungry. Dinner’s ready if you want to join us."You hesitate, still shaking off the remnants of sleep, but there’s something in his tone—gentle, patient—that makes you nod.

"Yeah, give me a minute," you say, your voice still a little groggy.

Nico steps back, nodding. "Take your time. We’re on the back deck."

As the door clicks shut, you take a deep breath, smoothing down your hair and glancing in the mirror. The sleep lines on your face are a stark reminder of how exhausted you were, but there’s no undoing that now. Besides, the promise of food—and maybe a little fresh air—sounds too good to pass up.

When you finally step outside onto the patio, the warm, golden light of the sunset greets you, casting long shadows over the wooden floorboards. The air is cool but pleasant, carrying the scent of pine and something delicious wafting from the small grill set up nearby.

"There she is!" Mia beams, waving you over enthusiastically. "Thought we’d lost you to the jet lag forever."

"Almost," you admit with a sheepish grin, taking a seat at the table where a spread of grilled vegetables, fresh bread, and what looks like marinated chicken is waiting. Nico moves to set another plate down in front of you, his movements quiet but purposeful.

"Hope you like simple meals," he says as he straightens up, his expression unreadable but not unkind.

"Looks amazing," you reply, meaning it. The sight of the food is enough to make your stomach rumble audibly, earning a laugh from Mia. Dinner is lively, Mia and Luca carrying most of the conversation with stories and jokes, their chemistry palpable. Nico chimes in every so often, his dry humor catching you off guard but making you laugh nonetheless. You find yourself stealing glances at him when you think he’s not looking, curious about the subtle shifts in his expressions as he listens to the others.

As the evening deepens, the conversation begins to quiet, the group falling into a comfortable lull. The stars begin to appear overhead, and you find your gaze wandering upward, the beauty of the glowing night sky pulling a soft sigh from your lips.

"Pretty different from the city, huh?" Nico’s voice is quiet, meant just for you. You glance at him, finding his eyes already on you, reflecting the faint light of the stars. For a moment, you forget to breathe, caught off guard by the way he looks at you—steady and intent, like he’s truly seeing you.

"Yeah," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. "It’s… peaceful." Nico’s lips curve into a small, thoughtful smile, and he leans back in his chair, his gaze lifting to the stars above. 

"You get used to it. But it’s nice, seeing someone appreciate it for the first time." You don’t know what to say to that, so you let the silence settle between you, a strange but not unwelcome tension hanging in the air. It’s not uncomfortable—it’s something else entirely, something you can’t quite name but don’t want to push away. For the first time since you arrived, you feel a flicker of something unexpected—an unfamiliar warmth that has nothing to do with the summer air. 

The warmth lingers as the night deepens, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. The gentle murmur of crickets rises, filling the silence between the sporadic bursts of conversation around the table. You watch as Luca pours another glass of wine for Mia, his hand brushing hers in a way that seems unconscious yet deliberate. There's something soothing about their easy familiarity, the way they move around each other like pieces of a puzzle that have always fit.

Your gaze drifts back to Nico. He's leaned back in his chair now, one arm draped casually over the backrest, his beer long forgotten on the table. There's an ease to him, but it’s clear he’s observing, soaking in the atmosphere in a way that feels distinctly different from the others. It makes you wonder what he's thinking, what stories he keeps locked behind that quiet demeanor.

"Hey," Mia calls, pulling you out of your thoughts. "We were just saying we should go for a hike tomorrow. There’s a great trail not far from here. You up for it?"

You blink, caught off guard. Hiking wasn’t exactly on your agenda when you arrived, but Mia’s enthusiasm is contagious. Before you can answer, Nico speaks up, his voice calm but firm.

"Let her settle in first. She just got here." He glances at you, his brow lifting slightly as if to gauge your reaction. "You don’t have to feel pressured."

Mia rolls her eyes but laughs. "Fine, fine. You can play tour guide when she’s ready."

You chuckle softly, appreciating the out Nico has given you, even if you don’t take it. "A hike actually sounds nice. Maybe not anything too intense, though."

"Deal," Mia says, grinning. "We’ll start with the easy trail. It’s mostly flat, but the view at the end is worth it."

The conversation shifts again, and you let yourself fade into the background, content to listen. The laughter and camaraderie feel grounding, a stark contrast to the chaos of the life you left behind, if only temporarily. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this relaxed, this… present.

When the gathering finally winds down, Nico is the first to rise, collecting plates and stacking them with quiet efficiency. You stand as well, reaching for the empty glass in front of you, but he shakes his head.

"I’ve got it," he says simply, his tone leaving little room for argument.

"You sure? I don’t mind helping," you offer, unsure why you feel compelled to insist.

He pauses, meeting your gaze again with that same steady look. "I’m sure. Go enjoy the stars while you can."

There’s something in his voice that makes you obey, though you linger just a moment longer, watching as he carries the dishes inside. It’s a small thing, but the gesture feels significant in a way you can’t quite explain.

You step to the edge of the deck, leaning against the railing as your eyes lift to the heavens. The stars are brighter than you remember, each one like a tiny pinprick of light in the velvet sky. It’s breathtaking in its simplicity, the kind of beauty that makes you feel both small and infinite all at once.

Footsteps approach behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to see Nico returning, his hands stuffed casually into his pockets. He stops a few feet away, his expression wondering.

"Thanks for dinner," you say quietly, feeling the need to fill the space between you. "It was really nice."

He nods, his lips curving into that faint smile again. "Glad you enjoyed it."

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence stretching like a thin thread between you. Then, almost imperceptibly, Nico shifts closer, resting his forearms on the railing beside you. His shoulder brushes yours lightly, and the warmth of the contact sends a faint shiver down your spine.

"You planning to stay out here all night?" he asks, his tone teasing but gentle.

“I guess it is getting a little cold.” You agree, finally pushing yourself off the railing, crossing your arms over your chest as you rub the bare skin - Nico falling into steps besides you as you both climb the small hill towards the house. The silence is comfortable, the two of you sinking into your own thoughts as you make your way up the stairs and to you respective doors, Nico glancing once over his shoulder as he watches you enter your bedroom and slowly close the door, a small smile on his face. 

He knew what his brother was doing when he suggest Nico stay in the room opposite yours - and he knew what his brother and your sister were doing by insisting he come spend the summer at the lake house instead of at the family home closer to the city. 

And yet a large part of him was thankful for their meddling, cause without them he wouldn’t have met you. 

A girl who looks at the stars as if she’d never seen them before. 

+

+

“Luca said it’s probably a good idea to wearing a bathing suit under your clothes.” You sister says as she swings open your bedroom door, your shirt just being pulled over your head. “He said there’s a small waterfall near the top and it’s nice to go for a swim.” She adds, looking down at your outfit before shaking her head. 

“Nope, you can do better then that.” She dismisses, walking over to your suitcase starting to dig around before you even get a chance to respond. “This one is perfect.” She says pulling out the black high cut one piece from your suitcase, throwing it across the room to you. 

“What? No, I can’t hike with that on underneath my clothes.” You exclaim, looking at the swim suit in shock, you forgot you even packed that. 

“Why not - it’ll make your ass look fantastic.” 

“Umm, maybe because it offers no support and it’s essentially a thong.” You respond, turning it around to show her the barely there strip of fabric that was suppose to cover your ass. 

“Yeah well not everything is about functionality.” She snorts, insisting you wear it before leaving you to change. You hesitantly pull on the one piece swimsuit, already feeling the fabric riding up your ass, before pulling on your shorts and oversized t-shirt. 

“At least I thought to pack hiking boots.” You mumble to yourself as you tighten the shoes on your feet, thankful that you at least could try to avoid some blisters if your sister was determined to give your butt crack a rash. You stomp your way downstairs, glaring at your sister as you watch the two brothers fill two hiking packs with snacks and water - Nico shoving a few towels in a third pack. 

“I can take that.” You say quickly, snatching the bag off the counter as he zips it shut - shooting him a smile and turning to follow the couple out of the house before he has any room to argue. 

The morning air is crisp and cool as the four of you set off down the dirt path leading away from the house. The forest is alive with the sounds of chirping birds and the distant rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. Despite the awkward start to your day, you’re beginning to feel the excitement building. The idea of a hike—complete with a hidden waterfall—feels like the kind of adventure you hadn’t realised you were craving.

Mia and Luca lead the way, their hands brushing occasionally as they walk side by side. You trail behind them with Nico a step or two behind you, his presence quiet but grounding. The pack on your back isn’t meant to be heavy, but you can feel the straps digging in slightly, a reminder of the towels you insisted on carrying.

It’s just towels how the hell does it feel so heavy? 

"Sure you don’t want me to take that?" Nico’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He’s looking at you with a raised eyebrow, his hands shoved casually into his pockets.

"I’ve got it," you insist, your tone light but firm. You’re not about to let him think you can’t handle carrying a simple bag.

He nods, his expression unreadable but faintly amused. "Alright. Just say the word if you change your mind."

The trail begins to incline, the terrain growing rockier as you ascend. Sweat beads on your brow despite the coolness of the morning, and you focus on your footing, determined not to trip over a loose stone or stray root. Mia and Luca are chatting animatedly ahead, their voices carrying back to you in bursts, but you’re too distracted by the strain in your thighs and the increasing awareness of the swimsuit under your clothes to pay attention.

"You okay up there?" Nico’s voice comes again, closer this time. You glance over your shoulder to see him just behind you, his dark eyes scanning you with mild concern.

"Fine," you say quickly, though your breathlessness betrays you. "Just… haven’t done this in a while." He smirks, his pace matching yours effortlessly. 

"You’re doing fine. Mia usually drags people up here faster. Guess she’s going easy on you."

You snort softly at that, grateful for the distraction of his dry humor. "I’ll have to thank her later."

The trees begin to thin as you approach a clearing, and the sound of rushing water grows louder, the promise of the waterfall spurring you on. When you finally break through the last of the foliage, the sight takes your breath away. The waterfall cascades down a rocky ledge, its water glistening in the sunlight as it spills into a crystal-clear pool below. The air is cooler here, misting faintly around you as if the scene itself is enchanted.

"Wow," you breathe, pausing at the edge of the clearing.

Mia grins, already kicking off her shoes. "Told you it was worth it!" She turns to Luca, who’s already peeling off his shirt, revealing a tan, athletic frame.

You hesitate, your gaze flicking to the pool and then to Nico, who’s unzipping his pack and pulling out a bottle of water. His movement is efficient, and there’s something about the way his shirt clings to his back that has your mouth going dry. You shake the thought away quickly, reminding yourself to stay focused.

"Well," Mia says, turning to you with a mischievous grin. "Time to test out that swimsuit."

You groan, your cheeks heating as she waves you toward the water. "Don’t make it weird," you mutter, kicking off your boots and socks. You push you shorts down your legs glad for the oversized shirt still covering your ass that’s hanging out, hoping no one’s paying attention as you take a deep breath stripping off your shit down to the swimsuit. The high cut and minimal coverage feeling more scandalous out in the open, and you resist the urge to tug at the fabric as you step to the edge of the pool.

“Wowza my little sister has tits.” You sister whistles from the water, Luca glancing over his shoulder as he shoots you a teasing grin, letting out a low whistle. 

“If I wasn’t dating your sister, you’d be top of my list little bee.” He coos, letting out a grunt as your sister slams her elbow into his side. He whispers a soft apology kissing her cheek gently before paddling away from her. 

"Looks good," Nico says offhandedly, his tone neutral but enough to make you pause. You glance at him sharply, but he’s already looking away, his focus seemingly on the towels he’s laying out on a flat rock.

Your sister giggles, shooting you a knowing look, but you refuse to acknowledge it. Instead, you take a deep breath and step into the water, the coolness wrapping around your legs and immediately refreshing your overheated skin.

"Cold?" Nico asks as he steps up beside you, his voice low enough that Mia and Luca don’t hear.

"A little," you admit, glancing at him. He smirks again, his eyes glinting with amusement, raking slowly down your body before snapping up to your face, his expression now stone cold as he takes another step towards the water. 

"You’ll get used to it." And with that, he wades in farther, the water lapping at his waist before he ducks under completely. When he surfaces, his hair slicked back and water streaming down his face, you feel your breath catch—not from the cold, but from the way he seems utterly at ease, like he belongs here.

You shake the thought away, diving in after him. The water envelopes you, cool and invigorating, and when you resurface, you feel lighter—freer. 

“Want to climb up there?” Mia’s voice interrupts your thoughts, and you turn to find her pointing to a ledge halfway up the waterfall. You squint at the spot, the cascading water making it look more slippery than inviting.

“What, so I can slip and break my neck?”

“No, so you can jump off!” Mia exclaims, her eyes lighting up. “It’s not that high, and the pool’s deep enough. Luca’s done it a million times.” Luca, now fully sprawled on his precarious rock, overhears and shoots a thumbs-up.

“Highly recommend! Best adrenaline rush you’ll get around here.”

You hesitate, glancing toward Nico as if for a second opinion. He doesn’t say anything, but the faintest hint of a smile tugs at his lips as he raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at him,” Mia chides, grabbing your arm. “You’re doing this.”

With no room to argue, you let her drag you toward the rocks along the edge of the pool. The climb isn’t as treacherous as it first seemed, though your heart pounds with each step closer to the top. When you finally reach the ledge, the view takes your breath away—a panoramic glimpse of the forest stretching out beyond the pool below, sunlight glinting off the water’s surface like diamonds.

“Okay, now just jump!” Mia says, beaming as if this is the simplest thing in the world. You glance down, your stomach flipping at the height. It’s not exactly terrifying, but it’s far enough to make you hesitate. “What if I land wrong?”

“You won’t,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Just aim for the middle and tuck your legs if you’re scared. Easy.”

“Easy for you to say,” you mutter, peering over the edge again. From below, Luca hollers encouragement, and Nico’s gaze is locked on you, calm and steady.

“You’ve got this,” Nico calls, his voice cutting through the rush of the falls. It’s not loud, but it carries enough conviction to steady your nerves.

Taking a deep breath, you step to the edge and count silently. One, two—

And then you leap.

The fall is exhilarating, a brief moment of weightlessness that sends a rush of adrenaline through your veins. The water greets you with a cool, refreshing embrace, and when you resurface, the sheer thrill of it has you laughing out loud. Mia cheers from the ledge above before cannonballing in after you, her splash sending ripples through the pool. Luca hoots his approval, and even Nico offers a nod of acknowledgment as you float on the surface, still grinning.

“See? Told you it was worth it,” Mia says, shaking water from her hair as she paddles closer.

“Okay, you were right,” you admit, your heart still racing. “But I’m never doing that again.”

“Liar,” she shoots back with a wink.

You glance at Nico, who’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite place—something between amusement and quiet admiration. For a moment, the world feels smaller, quieter, the sounds of laughter and rushing water fading into the background.

And then, just as quickly, he breaks eye contact, slipping back into the water and disappearing beneath the surface. You watch the water where he disappeared, waiting for him to pop back up with no luck - is he aqua man how is he holding his breath for so long? 

You tread water, watching as Luca and Mia exit the water, setting up camp on two towels right under the sun, a harsh tug on your ankle ripping a squeal from your as you’re pulled under the water.  Firm hands land on your waist as Nico hauls you back to the surface, his laugh echoing in the space as you both surface, his dimples digging into his cheeks as you swat at his chest. 

“Not funny, Nico.” You hiss, frowning at him as he lets out another round of laughter, the sound so unlike anything you’d heard from him before - sounding so similar to that of a giggle then the manly voice that usually escapes him. 

“Okay, I’m sorry.” He apologises quickly adding, “It was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.” His hands are still firm on your waist as his laughter dies away his expression serious for a moment as he leans in whispering softly. 

“They’re right you know.” He says, his gaze flicking to your siblings before back to you, “the swimsuit looks incredible on you.” Nico leaves you sputtering his hands gently grazing down to your hips before releasing you, and making the short swim back to shore, your brain taking a moment to catch up before you swim after him. 

You follow Nico back to the shore, your heart pounding—not just from the exertion of swimming but from the lingering sensation of his hands on your waist and the low timbre of his voice. Did he really just say that? Your cheeks burn as you replay his words, and you’re grateful for the water concealing any hint of your flustered state.

Mia and Luca are sprawled on their towels, already engrossed in some lighthearted argument about what to cook for dinner. Nico grabs another towel from the pile, running it over his hair before draping it around his neck. He doesn’t glance your way, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if he knows exactly what kind of chaos he’s left in his wake.

You sit down on your own towel, keeping your gaze fixed firmly on the horizon as you attempt to gather your thoughts. The warmth of the sun on your skin and the gentle rustle of the forest around you should be calming, but your mind is spinning. 

What did he mean by that? Was he teasing, or…?

Mia interrupts your internal spiral by nudging you with her foot. "So, when’s the next jump?" she teases, her grin wide and mischievous.

"Never," you reply quickly, grabbing the towel and wrapping it tighter around yourself. “I’m retiring from cliff diving.”

“Sure you are,” Luca says with a laugh, tossing a granola bar your way. “You’ll be back up there before the day’s over.”

You roll your eyes but catch the granola bar, peeling it open and taking a bite as you sneak a glance at Nico. He’s leaning back on his elbows now, his gaze fixed on the sky as if he hasn’t a care in the world. 

As the sun begins to dip lower, painting the clearing in hues of gold and orange, the group starts packing up to head home. Nico’s quiet for most of the walk back, but you can feel his presence behind you, steady and grounding. Every now and then, you catch him glancing your way, his expression unreadable but leaving you wondering what’s going on in his head.

When you finally reach the house, the familiar smell of fresh air and pine clinging to your skin, you’re met with a new challenge: pretending everything is normal. Mia and Luca immediately collapse onto the couch, talking animatedly about their plans to make pasta for dinner. You excuse yourself, heading upstairs for a much-needed shower.

Under the hot water, you replay the day’s events—the jump, the laughter, the way Nico looked at you. His words echo in your mind, and you find yourself smiling despite your confusion. By the time you finish and step out of the bathroom, you’ve convinced yourself it was all just playful teasing.

But when you head back downstairs, Nico’s the first to look up from his spot at the kitchen counter. His gaze locks on yours for a heartbeat longer than it should, and the faintest smile tugs at his lips.

Maybe it wasn’t teasing after all.

+

+

Two weeks moved by quickly - your days often starting with a hearty home cooked breakfast and lounging by the lake - more often then not your time spent sprawled on a beach towel, watching your sister and her boyfriend fall deeper in love with each other. Luca had pulled you aside early on Sunday morning, your final week in Switzerland quickly approaching. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something, really quickly.” He says quietly, his gaze shooting over to your sister who is sprawled across the couch, fast asleep. You nod, letting Luca lead the way out of the house, his eyes glancing over his shoulder every now and then to make sure no one follows you out of the house. When you reach a spot a safe distance away Luca finally stops, taking in a deep breath before blurting out. 

“I want to marry your sister.” 

Your breath catches for a moment, not out of shock but at the suddenness of his confession. Luca's face is flushed, his usually calm and collected demeanour replaced by an almost boyish nervousness. He quickly continues, his words tumbling out in a rush, as if afraid you'd interrupt.

"I know it might seem fast, and I get that. But I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life. She’s… she’s everything to me. And I wanted to come to you first because I respect you, and I know how close you two are."

He shifts his weight, running a hand through his hair, his usual confidence wavering. "I’ve been carrying the ring around for weeks, waiting for the right moment. But I need to know you’re okay with it. That we have your blessing too."

You’re silent for a beat, the gravity of his words settling over you. It’s not as though you hadn’t noticed the way Luca looked at your sister—like she was the sun and he’d never tire of basking in her warmth. But hearing his intentions laid out so plainly catches you off guard.

"What if I said no?" you ask, your tone light, testing.

Luca’s eyes widen slightly, but to his credit, he doesn’t falter. "Then I’d keep trying. I’d keep proving myself until you saw what I see. But I hope you won’t say no."

A small smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. His sincerity is disarming, and as much as the thought of your sister marrying someone might make you protective, you can’t deny the truth in his words. They’re good together—good for each other.

"You’re sure about this?" you ask, tilting your head. "Because it’s not just about loving her, you know. It’s about being patient when she’s stubborn, supporting her when she’s feeling lost, and—"

"—And reminding her every day how incredible she is," Luca finishes, his voice steady now. "Yes. I’m sure."

For a moment, you study him, searching for any cracks in his resolve. But there are none. What you find instead is a man who loves your sister with his whole heart. And in that moment, you know you can’t deny him.

"Alright," you finally say, crossing your arms with a small smirk. "But if you ever hurt her, you’ll have to answer to me."

Luca exhales, relief washing over his features, and he nods earnestly. "Deal."

The two of you start walking back to the house, the tension from earlier replaced with an easy camaraderie. As you step onto the porch, Luca pauses, looking at you one last time.

“Thank you," he says softly. "It means a lot."

You nod, glancing toward the window where your sister is still asleep, oblivious to the conversation that just took place. "Just make her happy, Luca. That’s all I ask." Luca nods once with determination, turning back to you quickly with an apologetic look on his face. 

“Um, there’s a chance we might not be home tonight.” He warns, a wide eyed look on your face as he bounds up the stairs, the small square box more obvious in his pant pocket as he walks. 

“I take it he finally told you?” Nico’s voice makes you jump, his body radiating heat as he steps up besides you, a small smile on his face as he looks up to where his brother just disappeared. 

“You knew?” 

“I knew since the first time he told me about her.” Nico admits, his smile growing as the memory of his brothers immediate infatuation hits him. “I guess it’s just you and I tonight then.” He adds, his grin changing from soft to teasing, his eyes dropping to yours for a moment before glancing back up the stairs. 

“I suppose I better make it worth your while.” He says, his voice barely above a whisper as he leans forwards, his breath ghosting over your lips - his finger tip ever so gently pushing a piece of hair away from your face. 

Your heart skips a beat as Nico's words hang in the air, the playful glint in his eyes offset by the way his gaze lingers on you, filled with something deeper. You’re caught between his closeness and the sudden intimacy of the moment, unsure whether to lean into it or laugh it off. 

Before you can decide, the front door creaks open behind you, and both of you instinctively step apart. The interruption feels jarring, pulling you back to reality. It’s just the wind, you realize, but the moment has shifted.

Nico chuckles softly, scratching the back of his neck. "Sorry, I couldn’t help myself," he murmurs, though there’s no real regret in his voice. Instead, there’s a teasing warmth, a sense of waiting to see how you’ll respond.

You give him a playful nudge, breaking the tension with a small laugh. "Smooth, Hischier."

Nico grins, his dimples on full display, and the sight makes your stomach flip. Turning back toward the house before he can see the blush creeping up your neck. "I’m not as easy to impress as my sister, you’ll have to work hard to gain my favour."

"Challenge accepted," Nico calls after you, his laughter chasing you through the house.

+

+

The evening comes quietly, the house settling into a tranquil lull without Luca and your sister around. True to his word, Nico sticks by your side, his easy humour keeping the night light as the two of you make dinner together.

You find yourself watching him as he moves around the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, his focus shifting between the chopping board and the stovetop. There’s a comfort in his presence, an ease that you hadn’t realised you’d grown to enjoy over the past two weeks.

At some point, Nico catches you staring, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. "What?" he asks, his voice soft but curious.

"Nothing," you say quickly, looking away, but the warmth in his gaze makes it hard to hide your smile.

Later, after the dishes are cleared and the sun has set, the two of you find yourselves on the couch , a bottle of wine between you. All the windows in the house are open, the cooling breeze just barely easing the burning in your skin, Nico’s gaze heating you up from the inside. 

"You know," Nico begins, breaking the silence, "I think this is the first time I’ve had my brother to thank for something like this."

"Like what?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He tilts his head toward you, his expression soft but intent. "For meeting you."

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re unsure how to respond. But as you meet his gaze, the guarded part of your heart begins to crack, just a little, under the weight of his honesty.

"I guess I’ll have to thank him too," you say softly, and Nico’s smile grows, quiet and full of promise. 

The stars above seem impossibly bright outside, their reflection on the lake shimmering like liquid silver in the quiet night. The air feels thick with unspoken words, the kind that settle into comfortable silence but beg to be released. You steal a glance at Nico, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the low lights in the house. His eyes are fixed on the lake, but there’s something contemplative about his expression, like he’s wrestling with whether to speak.

Finally, he turns to you, his voice low, intimate. "You ever have one of those moments where you feel like everything’s exactly as it’s meant to be?"

His question catches you off guard, but the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the answer to that very thought—leaves you breathless.

"Maybe," you reply, your voice just above a whisper. "I think I’m starting to understand what that feels like."

Nico’s lips curve into a soft smile, the kind that’s both tender and sure. He leans a little closer, his elbows resting on his knees as his gaze stays locked on yours. 

"Good," he says simply, his voice carrying more meaning than the single word could hold.

"You don’t make this easy, you know," he murmurs, his thumb tracing gentle circles along the front of your thigh.

"Don’t make what easy?" you ask, your voice trembling slightly, though you already know the answer.

"Not wanting to kiss you," he admits, his tone both teasing and earnest. His words send a jolt through you, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of everything: the warmth of his hand, the faint scent of cologne clinging to him, the way his breath hitches slightly as he waits for your response.

"You don’t have to not want to," you say, barely recognising your own voice. It’s an invitation, one he doesn’t hesitate to accept.

Nico leans in slowly, his free hand reaching up to gently cup your face, his touch featherlight as if he’s afraid to break the moment. His big brown eyes search yours one last time, giving you the chance to pull away.

 But you don’t.

 Instead, you lean in too, meeting him halfway.

When his lips finally press against yours, it’s soft, tentative at first, as though he’s savouring the moment. But as you respond, your hands finding their way to his chest, gripping his shirt and pulling him closer towards you, his kiss deepens, growing more confident, more certain. There’s a warmth in it, a mix of passion and tenderness that leaves you dizzy, the world around you fading until it’s just the two of you.

When you break apart, your chests are heaving the two of your looking at each other for a moment, Nico’s hands finding purchase on the back of your thighs, lifting them to manoeuvre you more comfortably on the couch, your back leaning against the arm rest, your legs bent at the knees, falling open slightly to make room for Nico’s broad build. 

Nico takes the invitation, slipping into the gap between your legs before lowering his mouth back to yours, your hands lifting to cup his jaw as his hand sit firmly against the back of your thighs, lifting them to circle around his waist, as his mouth leaves yours, his lips finding the tender curve of your jaw, just below the ear, his kisses firmer on the underside of your jaw. 

“Nico?” You speak in a whisper, Nico humming his response against your skin, his lips never stopping their movements.  “I don’t know if this is a good idea.” You add, your hands dropping to his shoulders, digging into his corded muscles as he sucks a particularly sensitive spot. 

“You want me to stop?” He asks, pulling his face away from your neck to look down at you, his brows furrowed in concern, his eyes trying to read yours. 

“No, I just…” You start, your teeth catching your bottom lip as you fumble for what to say. 

“You’re overthinking it.” Nico guesses, his head nodding quickly as he begins to understand the situation. “Come.” He says, pulling himself off the lounger, your brain having to fight your body to let him go. He offers you hand to help you stand, watching as your adjust your shorts and run your fingers through your hair. 

“Where are we going?” You ask, as Nico keeps his hand in yours slowly guiding you towards the stairs. 

“To my room.” He explains, sending you a reassuring smile as he adds, “Do all the thinking you want, but if you step through the door with me then you need to turn your brain off.” He walks slowly up the stairs, his fingers still locked with yours as you trail behind him, your mind racing at a million miles an hours as the two of your silently make you way to his bedroom, stopping just outside the closed door. 

Nico pauses, his eyes locked with yours as he watches you for a moment. He always thought you were so hard to read - keeping yourself closed off from most of the world, but right now, in this moment Nico can see everything. 

“Let me take care of you, Schatz.” He whispers, the term on endearment slipping off his tongue with no concern in the world. The term something you had heard his older brother call your sister countless times. The playful ease was gone from Nico’s face, his expression only holding a soft patience, his eyes refusing to break contact with yours. 

“Okay.” You nod softly, eye contact never breaking as Nico turns the door handle the door swinging open, the large man taking a few steps inside before pausing to wait. 

You pause at the threshold, your fingers still curled around Nico’s, your heart thundering in your chest. The room beyond feels impossibly intimate, softly lit by a single lamp on the nightstand. The air carries the faint scent of his cologne, mingled with the warmth of the day that still lingers in the walls.

Nico doesn’t rush you. He stands just inside, his gaze steady, his patience unwavering. His thumb brushes lightly against the back of your hand, a gentle anchor in the storm of your thoughts.

"You don’t have to," he murmurs, his voice low and careful. "But if you do… I promise I’ll take care of you. No pressure. No expectations."

There’s something disarming in his honesty, in the way he’s offering you the choice without pushing for a particular outcome. It makes your chest ache, that guarded part of you cracking just a little more.

You take a step forward, your breath hitching as you cross the threshold. The door clicks softly shut behind you, the sound somehow final and freeing all at once. Nico lets go of your hand only to reach up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His touch lingers, his palm warm against your cheek.

"You’re sure?" he asks, his gaze searching yours one last time.

Instead of answering, you close the distance between you, rising on your toes to kiss him. It’s slower this time, deliberate, your hands settling on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. Nico exhales softly against your lips, his arms circling your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

When the kiss breaks, you’re breathless, your forehead resting against his as you try to steady yourself. His hands trail down your back, stopping at the curve of your hips.

“Follow my lead,” he murmurs, guiding you toward the bed. He sits first, his legs spreading slightly as he pulls you between them. His hands find your waist again, holding you steady as he looks up at you, his expression open and full of unspoken promises.

You settle into his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs, your hands tentatively tracing the line of his jaw. His stubble is rough beneath your fingertips, a grounding contrast to the tenderness in his eyes.

Nico tilts his head, catching your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm before placing it over his heart. "Whatever you need, however far you want to go—just tell me."

The weight of his sincerity leaves you speechless for a moment. You nod, unable to do much else, and Nico smiles, that same soft, patient curve of his lips that always seems to put you at ease. "Good," he says, his voice a soothing rumble. "Now, let’s take this one moment at a time." And as his lips find yours again, slow and steady, you let yourself sink into the moment, the rest of the world falling away.

All of Nico’s movements are slow and purposeful, his large hands smoothing down from your hips and under the hem of your shorts, grabbing fistfuls of your ass, a grin growing on his face as your grind forwards against his lap. Nico rolls the two of you your back landing against the mattress with a bounce as he rolls on top of you, his hands teasing the edges of your panties before he pulls them away. 

“I think your ass is the best thing I’ve ever touched in my life.” Nico mumbles, his pupils blown as he sits back on his knees, his hands smoothing up the front of your thighs, watching as you gasp a little and his hands dip underneath your shirt, tracing the underwire of your bra. “But all I can think about is getting a taste of you.” His voice is gravely, a devilish grin on his face as his hands make their way back down to the waist band of your pants. 

“Wait.” You cut in, your hands gripping his wrists as his hands pause their movements on your shorts, his eyes shooting up to yours in concern, a raised brow as he waits for you to explain. “I’ve just never…” You start hesitating as you realise how stupid you’re about to sound. 

Nico reels back a little in surprise, his brows pinching in a frown as he thinks for a moment before spitting out, “But you’ve had a boyfriend, no?” He seems to reconsider his words for a moment before adding, “Mia told me you’ve dated before.” 

“I’ve had a boyfriend.” You explain, “But he never saw the importance of…that.” You try to get out the words but they seem stuck in your throat, your head nodding down to where Nico has his hands as if that will explain everything. 

“Well then he sounds like a bad boyfriend.” Nico cuts in, his smile back on his face as he slowly inches your shorts down, both of you silent as he slips them down and off your legs, throwing them to the side. “This.” He says giving you a pointed look, “Is the bare minimum.” Nico slowly shuffles back on the mattress until he has no choice but to lift himself up and onto the floor, perching on his knees as he reaches for your thighs again. 

His grip is firm on your legs, his hands splayed against the plush flesh as he shoots you a quick smirk before tugging your roughly down the bed, until your throbbing cunt is level with his face. “I want to hear every pretty sound that I can pull out of you.” Nico warns, his fingers looping over the sides of your panties before pulling them off as well. 

“I want you to do whatever feels right…” He looks up at your in anticipation, as you lift yourself onto your elbows, watching as he places soft kisses against the inside of your thighs, “Mainly I want you to feel good, so use your words.” He gives you one more look, your head nodding at his instructions as he leans forwards. 

The first swipe of his hot tongue has your arms collapsing out from under you, your back hitting the mattress roughly as you feel Nico smile against you, going in for more. Nico’s tongue works wonders with long slow swipes against you, his arms looping around your thighs to hold them steady, his grin never leaving his face as you let out a soft moan, your hands leaving the mattress to tangle in his long locks. 

It’s when his mouth closes over you, sucking that your back arches off the bed. “Holy shit.” You whine, your fingers tugging lightly on Nico’s hair, a rough grunt leaving him as his efforts double. You can feel his muscles straining as your hips buck against his face, his arms still holding you in place as his fingers tickle soft circles against your skin. 

“Nico, please.” You cry, yours hips bucking again as you feel your pleasure climb. How you’d never experience something like this before was insane to you. 

“Nico what?” He asks, leaving your wet pussy for a moment while he waits for you to respond, his stubble scraping up the inside of your thighs as he catches his breath, your hand still tangled in his hair. 

“Fingers.” You pant, “Please use your fingers.” You beg, Nico kissing your thigh once more before diving back in, one of his hands leaving it’s spot against your thigh, slowly dipping to your entrance, gathering a mixture of spit and arousal before plunging inside you, your hands releasing Nico’s hair in favour of gripping the bed sheets. 

“Fuck, Nico.” You curse, letting out a harsh pant before adding. “Another one.” Nico happily obliges, his second finger joining the party as his rubs them against the soft spots inside of you. Nico lifts his face away from you, his fingers doing all the works as he takes you in. 

You hands tangled in the sheets, grounding you for dear life as his fingers pump in and out of you. Soft whimpers leaving your mouth as you bite down on your lower lip, your eyes squeezed shut as tight as they can go, your cunt squeezing his fingers desperately trying to keep them inside. 

“I’m so close.” You hiss, the feeling borderline painful as you try to hold on. 

“I know, Shatz.” He whispers, his hot breath caressing over your wetness, “Just relax into it.” He whispers before his mouth descends on you again, your orgasm ripped from you, as your legs shiver besides his head, trying their hardest to squeeze shut around his head. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You swear, as Nico pulls his fingers from you, his tongue not finished as you try to wiggle your pelvis away from his face. 

“No.” Nico growls, his hands moving faster then you can, gripping your thighs and pulling you straight back to him, his tongue lapping up every drop until he’s certain he didn’t miss anything. Nico’s grip on you loosens as he feels your body relax, almost melting into the mattress. “Good girl.” He coos as he dips his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean before climbing back onto the mattress, his body hovering over yours. 

“Was it too much?” He asks softly, leaning down to press a chaste kiss against your lips, your eyes finally popping open, the colour in your eyes almost completely disappearing behind your dilated pupils. Nico’s breath catches, your eyes shining like the night when you first saw the stars. 

Nico knew then that he was a goner. 

“I want more.” Your voice is quiet, almost ashamed of the request but you can feel the flutter in your chest as Nico nods with determination, pushing himself off the bed once more as he starts to strip himself of his clothes. 

“Shirt off.” He says quickly to you, your mouth falling open at his authoritative tone, “I want to see all of you.” He adds as he notices your hesitation, your throat bobbing as you lift yourself into a sitting position to pull of your shirt, throwing it to join the rest of the pile on the floor, your hands reaching behind you to release the clasp on your bra. You cross an arm over your chest as you drop the bra to the floor, your hand only dropping once you see the scolding in Nico’s eyes. 

“Fuck me.” It’s Nico’s turn to curse as he takes you in. “Stay right there, I need to commit this to memory.” He groans as his eyes skim over every inch of your body, your skin flushing as you watch him take you in. 

“The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He whispers to himself, palming himself through his boxers to release some of the tension. “I’ve never been with anyone like you.” He admits, your eyes rolling as he finally strips himself of his underwear, his rock hard cock springing free, he leans forwards sliding open a bedside table drawer, pulling out a foil package. 

“Yeah, you’ve only ever been with perfect model types.” You laugh, watching as Nico rips open the package, slowly rolling the condom onto his dick before climbing onto the mattress, sitting with his back against the headboard. “Typical NHL player.” You joke, your laugh faltering as you notice Nico’s continued expression of awe. 

“You are perfection.” He cuts through your silence, his hand reaching out for you to join him. “You are like a gift from Aphrodite.” He adds, your heart thumping heavier at his praise.  

Nico watches you climb on top of him, your thighs straddling his, your hands bracing against his shoulders. Nico tilts his head back against the headboard wanting to be able to look directly into your eyes as often as he can. 

He looks at you like you’ve hung to moon, because in his opinion — you have. 

Nico watches - like he always does - as you softly grab hold of his cock, pumping it a few time, a soft hiss of air escaping him as you line him up with your cunt. Nico’s patient as you slide down him, pausing to adjust every few moments until your sitting comfortably in his lap - your pussy fuller then it’s ever been. 

Everything is in your control. 

Everything revolves around you. 

Nico’s head falls into the crook of your neck, soft curses leaving him as his arms wrap around you tightly, pulling your body against his, your hips slowly rolling forwards and back, forwards and back.

“You’re a goddess.” He whispers against your skin, his arms holding you steady as your movements speed up, a soft creak of the bed filling the room. 

“I would give you anything and everything.” He continues, the words almost falling out of him like a prayer, as he presses featherlight kisses against your bare skin, your breasts pressed firmly against his chest. You let out a whine as he bucks his hips to meet your movements. 

He lifts one thumb to his mouth, briefly dipping it inside before dropping it your where your hips meet, his thumb slowly putting pressure on your throbbing clit - rubbing in soft circles. He can’t help but smile as your hips stutter and your pussy clenches around his cock, the signs of your incoming orgasm relieving him as the feeling builds in the pit of his stomach. 

The two of you finish one after the other, Nico coming first with a curse his hands gripping your hips to keep them moving as he feels your orgasm wash over you, your body almost collapsing against him as you let him continue to guide your hips, riding both of you through the orgasms. 

Nico finally lets your hips go, your movements stopping as you both take in deep breaths of air - the room silent other than your breathing.

“I think you’ve ruined me.” Nico whispers against your skin, placing one more kiss to your shoulder before pulling his head away from you, his hands raising to push your hair out of your face as he helps you sit back up, your eyes dazed as you look down at him. 

“Ditto.” Is all you manage out, a soft chuckle leaving you as you try to pull yourself away from Nico, his dick sliding out of you at an excruciating place. “Do you have a shower in here by any chance?” You question as you finally make it off the bed, the sticky, sweaty feeling finally hitting you. 

Nico nods quickly, shuffling off the bed to walk around you, grabbing a towel from his closet and showing you into the bathroom, your arms covering your chest as he turns the shower to a mildly scalding temperature for you. “I’ll wait outside.” He says quickly, making his way to the door before hesitating. 

He turns back around, stepping forwards to pull you in for one more breath stealing kiss, his smile lighting up his face as he mumbles a quick “sorry,” before leaving you alone in the bathroom, your legs shaking from everything that had happened. 

The two of you ended up tangled together in Nico’s bed - the man having the decency to change his sheets before almost begging you to join him - his arms opened wide and inviting as you step out of the bathroom - his shirt hanging over the foot of the bed in offering of some modesty. 

“I really really like you.” Nico whispers against your hair as he wraps his arms around your middle, pulling your back tight against his chest, his breathing lulling you both to sleep, your bodies both depleted. 

It isn’t lost on Nico that you don’t respond, but he can feel the way your fingers squeeze his and he knows, you feel the same too. 

The early rising of the sun guides you as you slowly slip out of Nico’s arms, tugging his shirt down to cover as much of you as possible as you bend to pick up your clothes off the floor. You’re almost at the door when you hear Nico sit up in the bed, his hand pushing his hair off his forehead as he squints at you. 

“Where are you going?” He questions, a small pout growing on his face, “Why are you leaving?” He adds, his expression so genuinely distraught you falter, rushing towards the bed to press a soft kiss against his mouth. 

“Back to my room - Luca and Mia will be home soon.” You respond, pressing a second kiss to his mouth before fulfilling your original plan of escaping back to the bright sun lighting up your bedroom. 

+

+

By midweek, something had shifted. Nico couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the ease that had settled between you both after that night now seemed... off. He’d catch you pulling away when he leaned in too close, or your smile would falter just a second too soon when he said something meant to make you laugh.

It wasn’t dramatic, not really. Nothing explicit had been said or done, but Nico could feel it like a weight on his chest. You still smiled at him, still reached out for him when you thought no one was looking, but there was a distance now—something unspoken and sharp.

Wednesday evening found Nico sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the floor. His fingers itched to call you, text you, something, but he didn’t want to come across as needy. He ruffled his hair with both hands, frustrated with himself for feeling so thrown off.

“What did I do wrong?” he muttered under his breath.

The question had been swirling in his head all day. Everything had seemed so perfect that morning—your soft kisses, the way you lingered just long enough to make it feel like you didn’t really want to leave. But now, it was like the world had tilted slightly, throwing everything off balance.

By Thursday, Nico couldn’t take it anymore. He cornered you in the hallway, gently grabbing your wrist as you tried to brush past him.

“Can we talk?” he said softly, his dark eyes scanning your face for any sign of what was going on. You hesitated, your lips parting like you might brush him off, but something in his expression stopped you. His hand on your wrist wasn’t demanding; it was desperate.

“Okay,” you said, barely above a whisper.

He led you outside, the cool evening air biting at your skin as you stepped onto the patio. Nico let go of your wrist but didn’t move far, his hands now shoved deep into his pockets.

“Did I do something?” he asked, his voice barely steady. “I just... it feels like something’s changed, and I don’t know what. If I messed up, I need you to tell me, Bee. I can’t—” He broke off, looking down as his jaw tightened.

You stared at him, your heart sinking at the vulnerability in his voice. He wasn’t just confused; he was hurt.

“It’s not you,” you said quickly, stepping closer, though your arms stayed wrapped around yourself. “Nico, it’s not you. I just... I’m scared, okay? About what this is, about how fast everything’s moving. It’s not that I don’t care—” You stopped yourself, biting your lip. “I do care. That’s the problem.”

Nico’s eyes softened as he looked at you. “You don’t have to be scared,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I’m not going anywhere, Bee. I just need to know where we stand. You can tell me anything.”

Your throat tightened at his words, the sincerity in his gaze almost overwhelming. You reached out hesitantly, your fingers brushing his.

“I’m trying,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I just... I need time to figure this out. Can you give me that?”He nodded quickly, his relief evident even as his expression remained serious. 

“Yeah, of course,” he said. “I’ll wait. Just—just don’t shut me out, okay? I can’t handle that.”

You nodded, squeezing his hand. “I won’t,” you promised.

Saturday morning hit everyone like a train - your sister had decided to stay in Switzerland for a few more weeks, wanting to spend some time making rough plans with her new fiancé, which left you catching the almost twenty four hour flight home, alone. 

“You’ve got everything?” Your sister asks as you put your suitcase in the back of the car — Nico standing by the drivers door with the keys in his hand. 

“Yep, thank you guys for everything - I think this was the best holiday I’ve ever had.” You say softly, leaning forwards to pull your older sister into a tight hug before turning towards Luca and pulling him in for one too. 

“We’re family now, you can come back anytime.” Luca says cheerfully, patting your head softly before turning to wrap his arms around his now sobbing fiancé. “No need to cry, she’ll be okay.” He coos at your sister, his words only making her sob harder. You chuckle at your sisters dramatics, waving a final goodbye to Luca before slipping into the passenger seat of the car, Nico sliding in besides you. 

The drive to the airport is quiet, the morning sun casting a golden glow over the mountains. Nico keeps his hands on the wheel, his jaw tight as though he’s holding back something he doesn’t want to say. You glance over at him, studying the curve of his brow and the tension in his lips.

You want to memorise as much of him as you can, before you go. 

Finally, as the airport looms into view, he pulls the car into an empty space and cuts the engine. The silence stretches between you, heavy and loaded. Then he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t want you to leave.” He takes a deep breath before adding “Please stay.” The words hang in the air, and your heart tightens painfully in your chest. You want to say yes, to give into the magnetic pull between you and stay in this dreamlike moment forever. 

But reality is relentless.

“We have our lives to return to, Nico,” you say softly, looking down at your hands. “We can’t just stay here trapped in time, forever.”

He turns to face you, his eyes filled with a vulnerability that makes your resolve waver. “Will we see each other again?” he asks, his voice trembling just enough to reveal the weight of the question.

You pause, the enormity of your feelings crashing over you like a wave. “Someday,” you say, meeting his gaze and offering a faint smile.

“Someday,” he repeats, the word a lifeline he’s choosing to cling to. Then, as if convincing himself, he nods. “I can live with someday.”

You reach over, placing a hand over his. For a moment, the world feels frozen, just the two of you in this car, this fleeting moment that feels both heartbreaking and hopeful. Then, with a deep breath, you pull away, opening the door and stepping out.

As you grab your suitcase from the trunk, Nico stays by the car, watching you with an expression you know will haunt you for a long time. You wave one last time before heading into the airport, your heart heavy but filled with a quiet determination.

Someday.

You can live with someday too.

[majinbangus]

Deeply curious about the conversation Soap and Ghost had before introducing Ghost as your guard dog. is this a regular part of their dynamic and they both missed it after soap got with you? Was it a forgone conclusion? Did one of them have to talk the other around to it? Lowkey (highkey) obsessed with this concept

i really love this ask -> more here

So before Soap brought Ghost home to you, Soap and Ghost didn't really have that 'owner/pet' dynamic, but the behavior was still there, kinda, if that makes sense?

Like, Ghost is always watching Soap's back and protecting him from something or someone, or he's standing back as the 'scary one' until Soap hands him the reigns while they're interrogating someone. Ghost is willing to follow Soap's lead, trusting the sergeant's judgments/plans/decisions, and he'll be there to 'save his arse' when he needs saving. That's a tacit understanding between them, and Soap knows that he can always count on Ghost to back him up.

This behavior does eventually leak into their day to day lives once they get more comfortable with each other, but it's not fully realized until much later. The epiphany only hits while he's on a mission. The one right before Soap was planning on telling you he'll compromise on getting a dog. He'd been thinking about how much you wanted one, and thought getting one of the retired military dogs would be a good compromise, albeit he was still extremely on the fence, even though he's worked alongside those dogs and the trainers before.

But while that was in the back of his head during the mission, Ghost told Soap to tell him when he had a clear shot of an enemy because he was in a shit position, and when Soap told Ghost to 'wait' and when to 'drop, 'em', that's when the lightbulb went off and Soap began reminiscing and noting every time Ghost behaved similarly to a dog, protective yet ready to defend- to bite. He listened to Soap's cues and body language, stepping in whenever needed.

Soap couldn't stop thinking about it. Ghost and his sweet lass. He didn't mind sharing, the match would be perfect. Ghost fit all the qualities Soap wanted your guard dog to have, and you would have a dog just like you wanted!

When he brought it up to Ghost, it doesn't take much to convince him to get on board with it. The man's interest was piqued. Soap was asking him to be a dog. Your dog. He already liked you, thought you were a pretty thing, and he was always willing to go along with what Soap wanted. He didn't mind embracing an owner/pet dynamic with you and to another extent, Soap. You wanted a dog and that's what Soap was asking him to be, so that's what he would do.

He'd have to figure things out with his military service, but that could be settled later. Soap told him he still had to tell you about the compromise, but once that was done, he'd be taking Ghost home with him. And once he did, as expected, Ghost took to the role as your guard dog swimmingly.

(Soap knew he made the right decision when Ghost barked for you, the new collar hanging prettily on his neck. He knew this wasn't what you were expecting, but you would learn to love your new dog, and Soap would be there to teach you everything you needed to know how to care for him too.)

[persicipen]

𑑛 “TOUCHY” ﾉ ALBEDO, DILUC, KAEYA. GENSHIN IMPACT

gn reader ﾉ words 1.4k ᯽ making out in public. diluc’s office in dawn winery, so not that public. slight exhibitionism. touching them under the table. jerking them off. pouty and pleading reader ﾉ rewritten ᯽ ADULT CONTENT ﾉ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ᯽

ALBEDO ﾉ

Perhaps he knew your intentions beforehand. He doesn’t mention it or give you any indication, and yet you keep glancing his way when you get comfortable in the chair and expect him to follow your lead.

“Could you tell me why am I even bothering with giving you special potions when even without them you’re so needy, hm?” Albedo smiles into your flushed cheek, letting go of your wrist.

He turns to the side, focusing on the sketchbook before him. One would think that he’s just sulking over the newest research and scribbling ideas on the paper; that’s why he’s hiding his face behind the golden curtain of his hair. Precisely, that was his intention, and he’s happy to know that no one would suspect him of allowing you into your perverse desires.

You look up at him with a pout on your lips, whispering in a muted voice, “I promise I’ll be good! Please…”

After a moment of consideration, the alchemist shrugs nonchalantly, as if he couldn’t care less. Oh, but he does, especially when it comes to his laboratory at the knights’ headquarters and how you manage to convince him to allow such activities there. He’ll never admit it out loud, though, not even if it means keeping your desperate moans from the other knights.

“Fine,” he murmurs after pretending that he’s lost in his work again. “You can touch me.”

That is all you need to hear — hands already working on his belt unabashedly. Before anyone who could notice what was going on, your hand sneaks under the cloth. Ah, judging by the way Albedo sighs as you wrap your palm around the hardening cock, maybe it’s not that difficult to get caught after all.

With slow strokes, you continue pleasing him as well as you can without attracting unwanted attention. Smearing the delicate precum around his tip, lubricating his shaft just to make your moves dulcet to his senses. Though it may take some time, there’s nothing better than edging him gently until he loses his cool right here and then.

As expected, it doesn’t take too long before he whispers a ragged warning.

“We should stop, I need to focus on—”

Your hand stops moving along with his words; you simply keep your palm wrapped around his cock, squeezing it tighter. Ah, that seems to do the trick, as you notice the growing smile on his face.

“Ah, well,” he swallows back another moan, threatening to leave his lips. “I suppose five more minutes will be enough.”

The smirk he shows you sends a pleasant shiver down your spine, just like his own hand does when it rests on your knee, making his fingers brush up and down your thigh teasingly.

DILUC ﾉ

The request that has been hanging in the air between you two left him utterly shocked and embarrassed. Battling with the thoughts of what’s proper and the fever taking over his senses as you keep looking at him with your sweetest pleading eyes, he grunts heavily. You two are alone in his office upstairs; there’s no way someone could walk in on you. Unless Adelinde comes in without a reason.

“We shouldn’t…” He breathes out, barely audible even to himself when the blood is rushing through his ears — and somewhere else too, but it’s such a shame to admit it. “Why do you always d-demand such things from me? It’s highly unbecoming for— oh!”

Just as you planned, the very moment he says those words, you kneel before him, eyes focused solely on his expression that contorts in pain from the restraint.

“Are you sure?” you ask, blinking innocently at him.

Even if he wants to reply, he has no strength to do it; he’s just opening and closing his mouth as his cock keeps pulsing in the tight embrace of his trousers. Archons, he knows he can’t win against you! You’re just too dear, too beautiful, too kind. He so easily gives in to your sweet manipulation, but only because he associates your touch with love.

Despite his apprehension, he is the first one to groan in defeat, “Alright, please…”

What makes him regret his decision almost instantly — and makes him melt right away all over again — is the bright smile that blooms on your lips. Just as innocent as it always was.

“Of course I’ll take care of you,” you whisper back, quickly undoing his belt with skillful fingers.

As his cock springs free, warm and heavy on his stomach, the tip already smeared in pearly precum, he cannot help but look at you with tenderness. Despite knowing how naughty you are, how perverse your ideas may be sometimes, he’s still gentle towards you. He loves you for that as much as he does for anything else.

When he reaches out to you and caresses your cheek, you lean into the touch, looking at him from your position right in front of his erection. You decide to torture him further, licking the pad of your thumb to wipe pearlescent droplets off his tip, relishing in the way he bites his lower lip to muffle the moans.

His hand moves to your hair, pushing them aside so he can watch your every move as you swallow his cock into your wet mouth.

KAEYA ﾉ

The tavern at this hour was a busy place, almost too busy for your liking, though the chatter and the cheerful singing created an intimate setting, one where no one was really looking at you despite being in the crowd. Perhaps Kaeya wanted it like that, not really interested in taking you home straight away, not when you have had the idea of touching him now.

Not yet, though, because in this moment, he was happily nursing his drink. The usual one, as he would often tell you that simply nothing else beats its taste, and enjoying himself while watching you from behind the glass.

After a moment of staring at you intently, he says in a smooth voice, “If you want me, why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking about, sweetheart?”

And you’re the one left to blush at his suggestion. He wasn’t exactly wrong. So what if you wanted to get him aroused right here and now? That shouldn’t be something to feel embarrassed about! Even if there were a few people sitting not too far from you, minding their own business.

With newfound determination, you glance at your partner for the night and give him your best attempt at pouting.

“Please? Pretty please? We’ve been here for nearly an hour already and…”

It works. He must be really into that. And into you, but of course. Usually, he would tease you for a while longer, making you say in detail what you wanted from him — all before giving in, of course — but maybe he felt generous today, or maybe he was excited, too, as evident by the darkening blue of his eyes.

Soon, you reach out under the table, sliding your hand up his thigh slowly but surely. At last, you are cupping the bulge through his pants, feeling him twitch and stiffen. Kaeya lets out a shuddering sigh, keeping his gaze glued to your face, lovingly eyeing how you bite your lower lip in concentration.

He wraps his fingers around yours, moving your hand just like he would when he took care of you. Oh, what a pleasure that was. You realise you missed his touch more than you thought. It shows how desperate you were to hear his low groans right by your ear — or rather, to watch his lips part slightly and listen to his breath hitching in his throat.

To let you sneak inside his tight pants, he puts the half-full glass on the table just to focus more on the warmth of your palm. You stroke his heated cock properly, spreading leaking pre around its tip like a glaze, tapping at the slit when it produces more. His chest rises and falls, faster and faster as he leans down closer to you, enough to make his forehead rest against the side of your head.

“You’re making me go crazy, dear…”

[bluejutdae]

• best friend Stray Kids saving you (or being saved by you) from a bad date | Jisung x you

Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

genre: friends to lovers, romance

warnings: none

The guy is boring, misogynistic and keeps talking about his job like it’s the best thing in the world. He’s a banker, for fuck’s sake. How exciting can it be?

What did Hannie mean with “play along”? You smile thinking about your best friend. You have been friends for years now, and you’re convinced he’s your soulmate. Maybe he feels the same, but he’s unyielding in his idea of needing to be alone, to only focus on his career and not let romance distract him. You love him, but who are you to try to convince him he’s wrong? So you keep your feelings in line and don’t let them overflow.

“Oh, my love, please forgive me! I know I made a mistake but take me back!” A loud voice interrupts the umpteenth story about bankers. Jisung is in the restaurant now, hands clasping over his heart and his big boba eyes on you. “I can’t lose you, you’re the best thing in my life.”

Oh, so this is what he meant by “play along”?

“Sung”, you start. In a very dramatic manner, he interrupts you, a finger on your lips and unshed tears in his eyes.

“No, don’t talk. Hear me for a moment, I have to ask you this, even if it’s the last thing I get to say to you”.

You repress the instinct to roll your eyes. To your right you can hear a confused “what the fuck is happening?”. Jisung’s voice is loud again, tho, and he’s suddenly on his knee, looking up at you with a teary smile. “My love, would you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?” He has a ring in his hand. Where the fuck did he find a ring? Does he go around with an engagement ring in his pockets? Well, this is your best friend. And he’s fucking crazy.

You almost throw the napkin on the plate and get on your knees in front of Jisung. “Yes, yes, of course!” The smile on your lips is one of amusement, but for everyone is the smile of a newly engaged girl.

A round of applause fills the room and soon there’s a chanting of ‘kiss, kiss, kiss’.

The thing is: Han didn’t think this through. Did he stop at a street vendor's stall to buy the prettiest (fake) ring for this? Yes. Did he plan this whole farce in his head to have fun? Also yes. Did he put his fingers in his eyes so he would tear up? Sadly, yes. Did he stop for a second thinking about the fact that newly engaged couples kiss? No.

Jisung looks at you with comically large eyes and his mouth slightly agape and you take pity on him. Suppressing your laughter, you cradle his face into your hand and kiss him. It’s just a simple peck: your lips on his soft, pretty lips; your hand covers the most of the kiss from the guy you had a date with, but it’s the least of your worries now.

It’s just a simple kiss, chaste and functional to the farce, but it’s something you’ve dreamt for a while. The minutes following are a blur in your mind: you left your share of money on the table, apologized quickly to your date and grabbed your coat, leaving the restaurant hand in hand with Jisung.

You’re running on the empty sidewalk, still holding hands, laughing loudly when it starts to snow. It’s so intense and so beautiful, you both go quiet and stop. You love the snow falling: it’s so peaceful and beautiful, the snowflakes dancing in the hair, light and frozen. Seen from the outside, you’re just another couple holding hands in the streets, looking at the snow falling. For a moment alone, you let yourself daydream.

You let yourself imagine it’s real, that you’re a couple holding hands and walking home where you’ll get cozy on the couch, under a blanket, to watch the snow from the window. You’ll kiss again, you’ll make love, you’ll live your lives together and you’ll love each other forever. God, you’re so dumb. Why are you hurting yourself like this, now? It was just a fake kiss.

“So… we kissed.” Han says in a low voice. You can sense he’s looking at you, but you’re not ready yet to look at him and break the calm bubble you created around yourself.

“It wasn’t a real kiss.” It can’t be. Otherwise you kissed your best friend, who you’re in love with, and if it’s true then you can already see the floodgates crack under the pressure.

“It was for me.” The air is cold and it’s freezing your nose, but the shock of his words makes you forget all that.

“Uh- what?”

“The kiss. It was real for me. I know it wasn’t a big kiss but it was real. And I’ve thought about kissing you millions of times but this time it wasn’t a dream and it was real and I don’t think I can go back to when we hadn’t kiss and I don’t wanna ruin our friendship but now I know how your lips feel on mine and-“ he stops and takes a deep breath, looking down at his shoes.

“I’m sorry. I- I don’t really know what to say.”

“Do you really think it wasn't a real kiss? Does it… does it really mean nothing to you?” He asks, and you’re not sure why but you can feel your heart aching. Why does it feel like you’re rejecting him? He’s the one who doesn’t want a relationship, he’s the one who banned love from his life. And you tell him so.

“You said there was no place for anything that wasn’t work in your life.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

He turns completely towards you and you can barely see the redness on his round cheeks, but it’s there. “Before you kissed me and suddenly I realized how stupid I’ve been all this time. I know you’re the perfect girl for me, but I was too convinced I couldn’t handle a relationship. But why do I have to deprive myself of something I know would be good?”

“Don’t do that, Hannie. Don’t say this if you’re gonna change your mind later. You’ve repeated the same thing for years, and now suddenly you want more?” You can endure the idea of just being friends even if you’re in love with him, but you won’t let yourself get too hurt. And you’ll get hurt if he wants something now that he’ll change his mind about later.

“I’ve always wanted more. But I didn’t realize exactly how much I was giving up!”

“Tomorrow, you’ll change your mind.”

“I won’t.” Jisung lounges and grabs your hand. When did you let go of each other’s hand?

“You say that now, but tomorrow or in a week, you’ll be tired and stressed over work and you’ll decide you don’t want another commitment…” You feel like an asshole, but you’re just trying to protect yourself from an even worse heartbreak. His face shifts, and you remember that it’s your best friend the one you’re talking to, that no matter what he’ll always love and protect you from harm.

“Do you trust me?” You nod, fingers squeezing his.

“Then trust me I won’t change my mind. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” You bite the inside of your cheek, considering his words.

“I want more. I want to be able to kiss you everyday, I want to be able to call you my girlfriend. I want to be by your side on the days I’m stressed and on those I’m happy. I want to be by your side anytime you’ll let me.”

“Promise me you won’t regret it.” How can you say no to him? You’re scared he’ll break your heart, but it’s true he never broke a promise.

“I won’t regret it.” Again, it’s you who kisses him. This kiss is nothing like the previous: it’s hot and his lips are immediately moving under yours. You can feel his breath on your lips and it’s a heady feeling and you want more and more and more.

You want to know what he tastes like and how his tongue feels on yours, so you’re quick to prod at his lips, demanding entrance and licking into his mouth. The sounds Jisung makes are the best sounds you’ve ever heard, and all your worries dissipate.

Kissing your best friend under the snow wasn’t how you expected the night to go, but you’re not gonna complain…

[sturnmeovr]

You Like Me? - Matt Sturniolo

Part Two Pairings; bsf!Matt x bsf!Reader Summary; After Chris & Nick convince Matt to go to a party with them, he overdoes it and has to carried home. The night ends in a silly drunken confession. Wc; 1458 Warnings; fluff 🥰 strong language, mentions of alcohol use, vomitting, A.n; This is my first imagine & third post. Check out my Matt & Chris hc!! All reactions are highly appreciated ❤️ Current Matt series - City of Love

"Chris, you have to hold him up," Nick complains to his brother. You guys were coming in from a fun night out, after finally convincing their introverted brother to tag along, with the help of yourself of course.

You fumbled with the key, trying to put it in the keyhole but failing once again.

"C'mon Y/n, this man is fucking dead weight back here," Chris groans. You look over your shoulder to see a flustered, yet aggravated expression etched across his face. Poor guy.

Matt overdid it and had way too many shots tonight which was odd because you'd think he would've been completely out of his comfort zone, making him not want to drink at all but it did the complete opposite. Little did you know the only reason he even came out tonight was because you were going to be there and he couldn't bear the thought of sitting at home alone, not knowing if another guy was flirting with you or not. That and he had plans to let the liquid courage help him confess his feelings for you tonight. The feelings he had been dying to tell you since the third month of your friendship, when he actually figured it out it wasn't just attraction he had towards you.

You felt bad seeing the boys struggle to hold him up, each one of Matt's arms draped over their shoulders as he lets all of his weight hang at his feet. You quickly mumble a sorry before successfully sticking the key in the keyhole and unlocking the door. You push it open, stepping aside so you aren't in the way, going in behind them and closing it.

"Birds of a feather, we should stick together," you hear your best friend sing as his brothers drag him down the hall to his room. You throw your head back laughing as you stumble out of your heels. Matt already threw up twice - once at the party and another time in the car. It was in serious need of a detailing this week.

"Oh my fucking-," you hear Nick shout from Matt’s bedroom, "gross!" His voice is quickly followed by gut wrenching gags from Matt, or maybe it was one of his brothers. All you knew is that someone was puking so you raced down the hall, your own drunken haze wearing you down causing you to go slower, stumbling over your own two feet.

You turn the corner of Matt's bedroom, seeing him slumped over his bedside trash bin, emptying his stomach, for the third time tonight. Your motherly instincts kick in and you make your way to him, rubbing his back as he continues to throw up. His body wasn't used to that much alcohol, he wasn't a drinker at all.

"Oh Matt," you coo, attempting to soothe him as he hurls. You look over at his brothers, both covered in Matt's throw up with disgusted looks on their faces. "Has he eaten anything?" concern laced through your voice, "his stomach can't handle all the alcohol he had to tonight. Go get a couple pieces of bread for him to eat," you order, hoping one of them will do as you say so you don't have to leave Matt's side. You had been through the exact same thing he was going through one too many times, so you knew exactly what he needed.

Nick rushes out of the room, coming back with a couple pieces of bread and a bottle of water. He sets it down on the nightstand and takes a few steps back, clearly concerned about Matt because he's not worried about being covered in puke.

You look over at him, "you should go get changed. I got him, he'll be okay," reassuring him. Chris stood in the doorway, "are you sure?" He takes a few steps forward and looks at Matt, "what if he has alcohol poisoning?"

"Alco-whaa?" Matt grumbles, lifting his head from the trashcan and falling back on the bed.

"He'd be way worse if he had that," you tell him, "trust me," before sitting Matt up and wiping his mouth. To no avail, he slumps over and hits his head on the headboard, groaning and throwing a hand up to cover the goose egg that's more than likely forming. You sigh, pulling him up again, this time propping him up with pillows. "Here," cracking the water bottle open and bringing it to his lips, "drink."

Matt takes a sip from the water bottle, looking at you with his eyes bleary from the inoperative state the alcohol had him in. You smile at him, taking the water bottle away and replacing it with a piece of bread, "eat it," nodding him on. He takes a big bite and chomps on it, making you giggle. You look at Chris and Nick, kind of like you're reassuring them he'd be just fine. It works and they go on their way to clean themselves up.

You watch has Matt still chomps on his bread, staring at you with ogle eyes, "you're so fucking pretty," his speech is still slurred but a lot clearer than before. 

A blush creeps up on your face, "shut up, Matt. You're drunk."

"S'what," he slurs, a kool-aid smile stretched across his smile, "you're still gorgeous." 

Over the last year and a half, you and Matt had been friends, and he never flirted with you. So, your immediate thought was it had to be caused by his intoxicated state.

"Shut up and eat your bread," you mumbled a bit embarrassed. Thank God Chris and Nick weren't in the room, they'd never let the two of you live it down. Standing up to set the water on his nightstand, Matt reaches his hands out to your thighs, pulling you towards him.

You squeal at the sudden contact, "Matt, what are you doing?!"

"Cuddle with me," he whines, making sure to keep a tight grip on the backs of your thighs, pressing his head to your stomach. You look down at him, pushing a piece of hair out of his face. Matt looks up with the biggest puppy dog eyes, "please."

How could you say no to that face? Yeah, you found Matt attractive, who didn't? But you never thought he'd have his arms wrapped around your waist, begging you to cuddle with him. After debating with your inner conscious for a second, you convince yourself the outcome couldn't be that bad. Nodding to Matt, "fine," pushing him back and crawling up next to him.

His arm snakes around your shoulder and you lay your head on his chest. The two of you stay frozen in time for a while and he finally looks down at you, "I really like you, Y/n."

You snicker, "go to sleep, Matt." You were definitely giving him shit about this in the morning.

"I'm not that drunk anymore," he tells you in a defensive tone before sitting up, making you sit up with him. What was this kid getting at? Confusion spreads across your face and your eyes search the room, almost like you’re for hidden cameras. "The water helped," you hear him say.

"So, what are you trying to say, Matt," you keep your tone quiet. Was he implying he had feelings for you? You two have been friends for a little a year and a half so this sudden confession had you struck for words. Matt had never indicated he liked you or even looked at you as anything more than friends. There were no signs. This was out of the blue for you.

"I like you," he hums, obviously still drunk but not as drunk as before. He was sobering up by the minute now that the bread was absorbing all the leftover alcohol in his stomach. He looks at you, leaning in, "just told you that, silly goose," and bops your nose with his index finger.

"Y-you like me?" you stutter, trying not to overreact, "since when?"

"Since forever, duh," he laughs. Usually Matt would be embarrassed to no end having confessed his feelings to you but his intoxicated state put him at ease, "ask anyone. They all know," he nods proudly.

You ran your finger through your hair, not believing what you're hearing. "You're gonna regret this in the morning, Matthew," you tell him, using his full government name so he knows you're serious.

"Nuh-uh," he argues, "that's the only reason I got this wasted tonight, so I'd finally tell you." His final confession leaves your jaw hanging wide open, "ask my brothers. They knew the plan," he giggles before falling back onto his bed and letting the liquor take over his system, sending him into a deep sleep.

Not my photos for dividers. All credit is due to original creators! ❤️

Wrote this while taking a hot bubble bath. 10/10 recommend.

First imagine so let me know what you think!! 💚

My requests are always open!

[hyomaslut]

──★ ˙🌟 ̟ !! gold star redemption program. 18+!

☆⌒(ゝ。∂).ᐟ ᴛᴇᴀᴍ ʙʟᴜᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋ's ғᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴍᴀɴᴀɢᴇʀ

✿ ─ synopsis: you are the new manager for team blue lock and you have a great idea to make the players get along better. after all, positive reinforcement worked really well on dogs, why not men? ✿ ─ characters: isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, shidou ryusei, itoshi rin, chigiri hyoma + kunigami rensuke referenced ✿ ─ cw: smut, fem!reader, she/her pronouns used, aged-up!characters(18+), pet names, kissing, penetrative sex, oral receiving/giving, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling, overstimulation, rough sex, deepthroating/face-fucking, non-exclusive relationships, lots of jealousy, pda, use of foul language, suggestive themes, shidou is an asshole, rin threatens murder, somewhat proofread ✿ ─ notes: okay so every is going to ignore the logistics and mental gymnastics done to put all these guys on the same team and have any of this go on, right? cool. this work was requested by @anastasiablossomlove pls enjoy!

managing team blue lock was no task for a person of average conviction. anyone with less of a spine would be easily trampled and consumed by the members, all with big personalities and even bigger egos. you took to the role with exceptional organizational skills and a positive attitude that didn’t falter, even under the cold glares of the less compliant men of the team (cough cough itoshi rin cough cough barou shouei). before the end of your first week you had drafted up detailed and individualized meal plans, unique to each of them. by the second you had worked with the coach to create special training regimes that works towards their fitness goals while providing challenge and variety. right under their noses you dug your pretty fingers into every part of team blue lock, finding every issue and soothing every conflict, turning a group of somewhat wild animals into a well functioning machine with you at its core.

and not a detail slipped your eye. you could always tell when kunigami had pushed himself too hard in the gym by the stiffness in his shoulders. honestly you doubt you would’ve been able to convince him to let you help him if he wasn’t just as sore as you predicted. but the minute your palms were pressing into his back he was groaning in relief, “you’re an angel” grumbled under his breath. he’s a bit less embarrassed the next time around, blushing while asking you to fix him like you did last time.

you quickly took responsibility for doing chigiri’s hair before every practice and game. after seeing it fall out of its style and flap wildly in his face whenever he reached top speed on the field, you decided he needed something a little more reliable to keep it out the way so his eyes could stay on the ball. though when his hair was this soft, who could blame you for taking a bit longer than necessary, brushing through the knots and gently scratching at his scalp. plus, he didn’t seem to mind all that much, always red faced and all smiles, leaning into your touch. the thank you kiss he plants on your cheek lingers long enough to leave a matching blush on your face as a token of his appreciation.

being the backbone of their system earned you respect, acknowledgement, even affection from the overly friendly members of the team (cough cough bachira meguru cough cough shidou ryusei). no one could deny the benefits of having you around, always offering all kinds of helpful advice and showed not a shred of judgment when listening to their problems. and you weren’t exactly ignorant to the fact that your constant support was causing some of your new friends to become especially attached to you. maybe to someone else it would be a bigger concern, but in your eyes, this was only another opportunity to do more for your team.

that’s why you implemented the gold star redemption program to help motivate them. it was quite simple to follow, you had a chart with all of their names along with cute, slightly wonky doodles of them, and a list of ways to earn gold stars. from goals and assists to being on good behavior, whatever way they earn their stars, team members can then cash them in for certain prizes from you. the list had looked something like this…

2 ☆ = snack or drink of your choice 4 ☆ = a home cooked meal 5 ☆ = a kiss <3 7 ☆ = a massage <33 10 ☆ = private training session <333

the objective was to give incentives towards cooperation. not to mention, it’s always good to strengthen bonds with your team members. it seems, however, that you underestimated how much of your time this new system would take up. or maybe you just overestimated how easy it would be to keep up with the greedy desires of so many egoists at once.

ever since your arrival, anyone with eyes could see that isagi yoichi carried a torch for you. you let him talk your ear off for hours about tactics and players, never tired of his company or too busy for his rambles. it gets his heart thumping obnoxiously loud in his chest. so yoichi makes it his objective to dote on you as much as possible to try to make up for all the time you spend fussing over everybody else. always staying after practice to help you or walking you home. so when you start handing out stars for that kind of stuff, isagi is already making a steady income. he considers himself a gentleman, so at first he spends his stars on meals. and he’s more than happy to eat your cooking, stirring up all kinds of wifey fantasies in his head and enjoying his lunches with you. but at night, when he’s lying in bed, the big ticket item at the bottom of the prize board haunts him. and when he can’t take it anymore, he slips into your tiny little office that you share with the coach, a self-satisfied smile on his face when he lets you know that he just finished the stat sheets you asked him to fill out, earning him his tenth gold star. enough for one private training session.

in all the times you thought about sex with isagi, you’re not sure you ever pictured it to be like this. bent over your own desk, tennis skirt bunched up around your waist, your star player too eager to sink into your pussy to even push down your underwear. they stayed tugged to the side, thoroughly soaked from the way his hips meet yours in sloppy desperate thrusts. “i knew i needed to fuck you when i saw this skirt,” he confesses, eyes fixed to the point where you connect, mesmerized by the way his cock disappears inside you, “you’ve been tempting me all day, so be a good girl and take my cock, okay?” before you can respond he hooks a finger into the elastic of your panties to let it snap back against your skin, drawing a small yelp from you. he changs the angle to fuck you harder, deeper. you wonder if this could be the same sweet yoichi that carries your things and bashfully tells you your outfit looks good.

apparently that yoichi doesn’t exist once he’s balls deep inside you, all that’s left is the side of him you’ve only caught glimpses of when he’s dominating his opponents on the field. and if you thought that it was a chance encounter, you’re sorely mistaken as week after week isagi makes sure he earns his ten stars and you get to know just how mean he can be. his grip is always tight around your hair, whether it’s pulling and steering you into the position he wants or guiding your head down to take more of his dick. god forbid he asks you nicely for something like he always does when you’re not ‘training’. one time you even had the gall to suggest the idea to him and lived to regret it as now if you want anything from him, isagi is only accepting the most convincing of your begs. “c'mon princess, mind your manners, if you wanna cum then you’re gonna have to ask really nicely.” and no teary eyed puppy dog look will get you what you want, even when he makes getting your words out so difficult. truthfully, he never intends to be so hard on you, but having you crying and begging for his cock is the only way to soothe the devil on his shoulder that tries to tell him to take you for himself. in the aftermath, you start to recognize your yoichi again, sheepish in his apologies for how rough he was with you, kissing away the tears that run down your face. he’s lucky you’re too fucked out to charge him for them.

there’s not a world where you offer bachira meguru sexual favors in exchange for playing soccer and he says no. he was already gonna do that anyway, and now not only does he get to make even more of a game out of it, but his reward for winning is the cute little manager he’s had his eyes on for far too long? consider him sold. bachira knows it would be most fun for him to save up and have sex with you as soon as possible, but all of a sudden he has five and he’s itching for a kiss. one he decides to give you right before practice starts… in front of the whole team. but can you blame him? he’s already been waiting forever to feel those pretty glossed lips on his, you couldn’t really expect him to make it through the next few hours when he’s so close to getting what he wants. and you could maybe understand that, but was it really necessary to go for a full open-mouthed wet almost make out that left you panting when everyone’s eyes were already on you? you suspect not, but bachira doubles down, telling you it was of upmost importance that he got it in, else he wouldn’t be able to focus. he neglects to tell you that he overheard reo in the locker room talking about what he was gonna do now that he had five stars. shidou already made it very clear that he would be first to ten, so bachira had to be crafty in order to secure at least one first from you.

meguru was certainly one of the more needy players, right under nagi that required some form of encouragement every step of the way to get anything done. bachira usually does what you tell him to, but not without whining about deserving a prize for being good. quite frankly, you dread having to ask anything of him, because he is determined to be fully compensated for even the smallest of requests. even a task as easy as grabbing something on a high shelf was met with a cheeky smirk and a request for a kiss. and don’t think he’ll budge either, holding the item hostage if he thinks he can squeeze two out of you. it didn’t make it any easier that bachira didn’t possess a shy bone in his whole body, openly showering you in affection when the others were around, holding your hand and nuzzling his face into your collar. it was enough to make even a professional like you blush. he acted as if he was oblivious to the jealous stares of his friends, but the smug cat-like smirk he sends them and the way he only holds you tighter when you try to shyly brush him off gives him away. it may come as a surprise considering his reputation for being a bit delusional, but bachira tries to root himself in reality for once. he frequently reminds himself of the nature of your relationship and tries his best not let his imagination run wild with anything that would be beyond the boundaries you’ve clearly set. things like picturing himself taking you on dates, coming home to you at night, introducing you to his mom. they were all too dangerous to let his mind settle on them for too long.

and what better distraction than burying his face between your thighs. it’s hard to think of much when he hasn’t bothered to stop lapping at your cunt long enough to take a breath in a couple minutes. suffocating was the least of his concerns when the clench around his fingers lets him know your orgasm is just around the corner. meguru swears that your pathetic little whimpers and the slick dripping down his chin are like a straight hit of dopamine to his brain and he’s at real risk of addiction at this point. lidded amber eyes travel up to watch your expression twist into one of pleasure as you gasp out his name. now that catches his interest. when your vision clears and your brain is functioning again after that intense high, you search for his comfort as if you had done any of the hard work. but all you’re met with is that signature wild look that he gets when he brushing past the enemy team’s defense straight towards his goal. it’s your only warning that he’s far from tired and even farther from sated. “if i can keep going, so can you baby. i know you have more for me. jus’ need t’see you make that face one more time.” you have no room to protest, his tongue already finding your clit and working towards bringing you to the edge once again. by your fourth time cumming, you’re sobbing for a break and debating whether you should charge him four times over or give him a star for each one.

someone who was on board with your system from the second that you explained how it worked, was shidou ryusei. what better way to celebrate another one of his blood pumping, heart stopping performances than racing to the locker room to blow a load in his favorite girl while his teammates debrief with the coach? to him it was simple, you fuck him, you feed him, you take care of him, you spend time with him. shidou is, by all of his definitions, dating you. while some might be turned off by the idea of dating someone who isn’t offering exclusivity, he didn’t see it as much of an obstacle. not when he spent star stickers like a gambler on a slot machine, having you multiple times a week if the economy allowed it. and if he’s short a few, no worries, ryusei is quite the negotiator. it starts one week when he’s only missing a star or two, promising he’ll pay back the difference, you know he’s a good customer. it’s probably not a good idea to give in to him though, as the next time he wants a private training session, he’ll insist they’re only nine stars for him. he has made all kinds of fake coupons from 50% Off! to Buy One Get One Free! to even a homemade punch card in his own terrible handwriting. shidou was the first one to ever get a star taken away when he tried to give you an arby’s gift card in exchange for a blowjob. he didn’t try that tactic again.

the worst is when he tries to haggle in the middle of sex. your legs are thrown over his shoulders and his tip is kissing your cervix when he chooses to whine about not being able to kiss you because he has no stars left. he worked too hard to get good star credit, he can’t go into star debt!! “ and with his lips just hovering over yours, his hot breath fanning across your face, how could you say no? in a moment of weakness, you have unfortunately given an inch to shidou, infamous mile taker, and now it’s hard to get him to pay for any of his kisses, especially while he’s fucking you. you thank god that at the very least no one knows he’s been getting them for free… if only shidou would allow your life to be that easy. even worse than giving him an inch, you expected shidou to keep a secret. and you thought his big mouth was something you liked about him. until he’s using it to brag to everyone that he’s your favorite, practically your boyfriend, all because you let him get away with a smooch here and there. let’s just say you had to give out a lot of free kisses to smooth over the problem his bragging habits created.

honestly ryusei was starting to cause a lot of confusion outside of the team with his antics. what with his always hanging off your arm, giving you as much affection as you’d tolerate, calling you sweet nicknames. the people in your life were actually starting to believe you two were dating. not that shidou does anything to discourage such rumors, only grinning and agreeing every time someone mistakes you as a couple. hell, he was starting to get you confused, saying things during your training sessions that certainly didn’t fit the transactional nature of the act. “holy shit you’re so tight- love this pussy, l-love you so much. say my name. c’mon baby, say you love me and i’ll make you feel so fucking good.” and only because ryusei always makes good on his promises do you allow yourself another moment of weakness.

itoshi rin didn’t have much interest or faith in you upon first introduction. he sized you up as some nobody doing this whole manager thing as a fun extracurricular, so as long as you stayed out of his way he didn’t care what you did. with his luck, he shouldn’t be surprised that you were immediately in his way, extremely often, rambling to him about ideas and strategies that he had no intention on listening to. although even he could admit, he understood why the others were so easily charmed by you. he was wrong about how seriously you took your job. not that it changed anything. at least that’s what rin tells himself, but in reality your relentless efforts and endless dedication to supporting all of them was something that spoke to him, made him a bit soft for you. it didn’t help that you were his type in every sense of the word, your attractiveness doing nothing but make feigning indifference a lot harder for rin. your seemingly endless patience didn’t help either. you always responded in kind to all of rin’s harsh words and cold stares, never let his sour attitude deter your subtle acts of service like getting grass stains out of his uniform and making sure he stays unbothered during his yoga. against his will, he was slowly warming up to you, but you were still caught off guard when rin started cashing in his stars, even if it was just a meal. he had lots of them sitting idle on the chart waiting to be used, so you supposed it was only natural for him to get some free food out of it. but you were even more taken aback when a couple days later he requested a massage from you with insistence that he only asks because he’s been extremely tense as of late. which wasn’t entirely untrue. rin had been very tense. just not from anything soccer related like he’d like you to believe. he was tense from the stress of his budding feelings for you combined with the dread of knowing he probably will never have you all to himself. at least not with this stupid reward system in place.

he despises it. he absolutely hates going about his day knowing there are other guys, his shithead teammates, that are getting your time, attention, and affection for the price of a couple of stupid fucking stickers. he misses the days when shidou’s incessant bragging about how many times he was able to make you cum or bachira’s unnecessary details of what your pussy tastes like didn’t bother him. now his blood boils to hear them talk about you like that. that kind of anger makes it clear to him that being your friend was simply not an option anymore. which is how he settled on getting a massage from you. he would satisfy this overwhelming craving he has for you and go back to normal and be able to focus solely on becoming best in the world again without thoughts of you plaguing his mind. that was his hope going into it, but feeling your warm touch on his bare back, melting away years of untreated knots and neglected aches in his body, he could almost blush at the intimacy he feels. especially when that foreign kindness he loves so much is on display as you reassure him that there’s nothing to be embarrassed about and that you’re proud he finally put his pride aside long enough to let you help him. you’ve got him, hook, line, and sinker now. no use in struggling so hard, he supposes, as some part of him knows he’s doomed to fall sooner or later. perhaps it’s time to surrender. he fought a good fight, but his greed for you was candidly too tough of an opponent.

and to rin, surrender looked like asking you when’s the soonest he could book a private training session. you don’t think you could look any more shocked. rin had a quick turn around from someone you doubted even liked you, to someone reserving as much of your time as his stars could buy. the more often he was with you, the less time you spent giving those lukewarm brats the treatment he wants reserved for him. and he wishes he gave in a lot sooner when he feels the wet heat of your mouth around his cock for the first time. how fast he would’ve folded if he knew how pretty you would look on your knees for him. rin tried to be gentle and let you set the pace, but between hissing out curses and barely biting back moans, that same greed to get more from you has his hand twisting itself in your hair and pushing down on the back of your head. he couldn’t help it. and it was so worth it to watch you choke and sputter around his length but never pull away. he knew you weren’t a quitter. “shit, feels good… don’t stop,” he all but gasps, hips instinctively jumping to reach further down your throat, grip tightening when you try to come up for air. after a long moment of breathing through your nose you relax enough to let him ease himself the rest of the way in. rin sighs in relief when your nose finally presses against his pelvis. the way you look up at him starry-eyed and full of adoration made his chest feel heavy with desire to be the only one you ever look at. it drives him crazy that any guy on the team can see you like this, and that heartache has rin fucking your face to forget it. “fuckkk. don’t look away, eyes on me, g’nna cum in that pretty mouth.”

you couldn’t deny that your new attempt at encouraging the team had its kinks. while overall the amount of arguments that broke out between players lessened to keep on good star-earning behavior, you could tell that it came with its own set of tension creating problems. you also couldn’t deny that being pulled in every direction by men vying for your attention was both very time consuming and extremely gratifying, but you think you manage it well. save for when they were already pumped up with adrenaline from a game, that is when real issues arise. especially when a player from the enemy team thinks it’s a good idea to try and hit on the cute little lady holding the clipboard. fatal mistake.

it starts with your favorite pot stirrer, bachira, calling out from his position, making everyone else on the team aware of the situation. “no shot dude, she don’t want you! focus on losing!” you’re confident you can diffuse whatever is about to go down before you notice rin leaving the ball alone in centerfield to beeline straight towards you. threats are flying from his lips on approach, quick to get in the guy’s face, planting his hands on his shoulders to shove him back. “what the fuck do you think you’re doing? i’ll kill you if you don’t get the fuck away from her.” you think maybe you have a shot of getting rin under control if you just- your eyes widen in horror as a flash moves in from your peripheral. there are no words, just shidou drop kicking this poor stranger at top speed. you cringe as you watch shidou knocks this guy off his feet, cleats first, taking rin down with him. what a way to earn a red card.

this was a fun project and request tysm!!! i just went about it in the interpretation i found most interesting, i really hope it was to your liking!!!

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