#Help with Assembly language

[thetutorshelpiwewjew]

[alinathinkstoomuch]

Filthy Flat-Pack Thoughts

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: you had taken the day off to get yourself settled into your new apartment, not expecting hotch to show up at your door and offer a hand. warnings: suggestive, reader basically shoves her tits in hotch's face (you go girl!), hotch also catches reader in a towel, hotch being a gentleman (though not too gentlemanly because there's a filthy part two coming), like one cuss word, alcohol consumption. word count: 3.5k part 2 can be found here ✧ masterlist

You were pretty sure you’d maxed out every cuss word under the sun. If you spoke another language, you’d have burned through those swear words too. Guns? No problem. Paperwork? Manageable. Serial killers? Routine. But flat–pack furniture? That was where you met your match.

You had taken Friday off, thanks to your wonderful boss, who’d graciously allowed you the day. It had been a slow week, so you weren���t missing much – except your sanity. Because this damn bookshelf was out to get you.

The screw had slipped off the drill, skidded across the floor, and promptly disappeared into the abyss under your couch. Instead of hunting for it, you sighed, took another sip of your generously poured wine, and made a mental note to buy your new neighbours a bottle as an apology for all the yelling.

Just as you contemplated abandoning the bookshelf entirely and living amongst the scattered wooden panels like some modern art installation, there was a sharp knock at the door. You frowned, glancing at the time. You weren’t expecting anyone. In fact, barely anyone even had your new address.

Pulling open the door, you blinked up at Aaron Hotchner. Dressed in his usual suit, case file in hand, looking every bit the no–nonsense boss he was. Except instead of standing in the BAU bullpen, he was at your doorstep.

“Hotch? How did you –”

“Garcia,” he answered before you could finish.

Of course.

Your gaze dropped to the file in his hand, and you raised a brow. “This your version of a housewarming gift?”

“Consider it a reminder that work doesn’t stop just because you took the day off.” His voice was dry, but there was something in his expression – something amused – as his eyes trailed behind you.

He took in the mess of furniture, the scattered tools, the half–built bookshelf that somehow looked less assembled than when it arrived.

His lips twitched. “Do you need a hand?”

You needed his two hands somewhere where they weren’t supposed to be.

You cleared your throat, leaning against the doorframe like you weren’t having wildly inappropriate thoughts about your boss in the middle of your living room. It had to be the wine. Definitely the wine.

“I don’t know, Hotch. You any good with a drill?”

“I’m good with my hands.”

Your brain promptly short–circuited.

The squeak that slipped out of your mouth was completely involuntary and you just about covered it with a cough. Nope. No more wine. Never again.

He let the words hang there for half a second longer than necessary before stepping inside like he hadn’t just knocked the air from your lungs.

You shut the door behind him, barely registering the click as his gaze swept over the apartment, but you were too busy noticing something else entirely.

Like the fact that you were in nothing but leggings and a camisole. No bra. And the sudden draft from the door being open had done absolutely nothing to help your situation. Which was completely at odds with the heat now swimming under your skin as you watched Hotch – your boss – shrug off his jacket and roll up his sleeves with ease.

You stared. Really stared.

At his arms. At the way his fingers flexed as he pushed his sleeves up, forearms tensing, veins standing out in a way that was doing something entirely inappropriate to your already scattered thoughts.

You swallowed.

This was fine.

Totally fine.

Expect that was a lie. Because watching Aaron Hotchner, sleeves rolled up, tie slightly loosened, looking every bit the effortlessly competent man he was, was decidedly not fine.

“I assume this is supposed to resemble a bookshelf,” he mused, flipping through the instruction manual like it was a case file.

“That was the goal, yeah,” you muttered, trying not to hyper–fixate on the way he picked up a screwdriver.

“You were using the wrong screws,” he said matter–of–factly, turning the page and pointing to a very clear, very obvious diagram.

You crossed your arms. “No, I wasn’t.”

His expression didn’t change as he simply rotated the manual toward you.

You squinted.

Oh.

“Alright, maybe I was.”

He hummed in response, neither confirming nor denying your admission of defeat and got to work.

You sank onto the floor beside him, grabbing a stray screw in a desperate attempt to act normal. “So,” you began, determined to break whatever spell was settling between you, “is this why you really came by? To drop off paperwork and get roped into manual labour?”

He didn’t look up, but you caught the way his mouth quirked. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

“No.”

His fingers paused before he resumed turning the screwdriver. “Garcia worries,” he admitted.

You scoffed. “Garcia meddles.”

“She was concerned about you being here alone.”

“I am an FBI agent, you know. I can handle a bookshelf.”

His line of sight flicked up to you then, slow and considering. “Can you?”

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“I’m not implying anything,” he said smoothly. “I’m stating that you were using the wrong screws, the wrong drill bit, and judging by the manual placement, attempting to put one of these pieces in backwards.”

Your mouth fell open. “Okay, first of all—”

“You also swore at it,” he added, like that was solid proof of your failure.

You exhaled sharply. “You heard that?”

“I heard a lot of things.”

The way he said it sent heat creeping up the back of your neck. “Well, if you’re such an expert, feel free to take over whilst I fix myself something to drink.”

Before he could respond, you pushed yourself up and made your way to the kitchen, grabbing the already open bottle of wine and topping off your glass. Then on impulse, you poured another, just enough to finish the bottle.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to do it, but when you returned back, two glasses in hand, it felt like some sort of silent invitation you weren’t ready to acknowledge. But it was completely harmless, right?

Just a casual gesture. A simple offering to someone who had gone out of his way when he didn’t have to. You were just being a good hostess, thanking Hotch for the extra mile, when realistically, this was probably the last place he wanted to be on a Friday night.

Re–entering the living room, you set your own glass down near your spot before extending the other to him. Hotch lifted his eyes, gaze moving from the glass to your face as he raised a brow.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Its either we share, or I’d have to admit to finishing an entire bottle of wine by myself.”

“That’s very responsible.” He took the glass, his fingers brushing yours, the contact sending something sharp skittering down your spine.

“Guess Garcia was right to send you over.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he lifted the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip, his eyes still locked onto yours over the rim.

Your stomach flipped. No – literally flipped. It felt like an entire theme park had set up shop inside you, rollercoasters and all. You swallowed, quickly lowering yourself back onto the floor, hoping that if you focused on something else – anything else – you could push past the fuzziness you felt.

“How can I help?” you asked, forcing a casual tone as Hotch set his glass aside.

He grabbed two of the wooden panels, fingers moving with that same precise efficiency that had definitely been an unfair distraction this evening. “Hold these in place while I put the screws in.”

You nodded, shifting on your knees to get a better angle.

“Here,” he murmured, adjusting one of the panels. “You need to hold this one higher.”

You complied, stretching a little too far in the process.

And that’s when it happened.

The movement tilted your chest forward – right into his space.

You froze.

And so did he.

The shift left you practically pressing against him, your camisole offering absolutely no barrier between the fact that his face was now far too close to your very braless predicament.

You caught the exact moment he realised it.

His grip on the screwdriver faltered for half a second. His breath hitched, just barely. And then – pointedly – he moved his eyes away, jaw tightening as if sheer willpower alone could erase what had just happened.

You should have moved. Should have said something. But you didn’t. Instead, some wild, definitely tipsy, possibly reckless, part of you decided to test just how composed the great Aaron Hotchner really was.

You shifted – just slightly. “Like this?”

His knuckles were going white. “Exactly like that.”

Your stomach flipped again, your mind taking that encouragement and running it into filthy places. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you watched him. His focus was locked on the bookshelf, or at least, that’s where it was supposed to be. But the stiff set of his shoulders, the sharp exhale through his nose, the way his grip tightened just a little too much around the screwdriver – none of it was subtle.

You really should move.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he made the deliberate choice not to look at you. Your lips parted, the tease on the tip of your tongue ready to push him just a little further, but before you could say a word, he spoke first.

“Hold still,” he muttered, adjusting the panel again.

But it wasn’t just his hands that moved this time. His knuckles brushed your ribs. The touch was light – so light it could’ve been nothing. But it didn’t feel like nothing. A sharp inhale slipped past your lips, barely audible, but enough.  

His reaction was instant, his head tilted up, instinctive and automatic. Expect his gaze didn’t land where it should.

It landed lower.

Again.

Right where the thin fabric of your camisole left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“Sorry,” you whispered as he quickly looked back down at his hands.

“You’re fine. Almost done.”

You should have been relieved, but you weren’t. Because now, it wasn’t just the wine that was intoxicating – it was him. The scent of his cologne, the warmth of his skin, the sheer presence of him so close. It wrapped around you, all too much and not enough at the same time, making it impossible to think about anything else.

And suddenly, the thought of him being done with this – stepping back, putting distance between you – wasn’t something you wanted at all.

So you loosened your grip.

It was cruel, really. A calculated move disguised as clumsiness, using the precariously placed bookshelf as an excuse to move closer.

The panel slipped and everything happened fast – too fast.  

You gasped as it wobbled out of place, throwing off your balance. Hotch’s hands shot out at the same time yours did, but the angle, the movement, all of it caused you to lose your balance. Your knees slipped beneath you as you stumbled forward, half into his lap.

His hands caught you instinctively, one gripping your waist, the other splayed against your back. The air left your lungs in a rush—not just from the fall, but from the feel of him beneath you.

Your palms pressed against his chest, feeling the rise and fall underneath your fingers. His grip tightened just a fraction, just enough. Not pulling you closer but not pushing you away either.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The world had gone utterly still. Your hands stayed planted on his chest, his warmth seeping through the fabric, while his fingers hovered at your waist – undecided, restrained and yet so very present.

“I know what you’re doing.��

Oh no.

Heat curled in your veins, your pulse hammering so loudly it drowned out everything else. “What exactly am I doing, Hotch?”

His breath was steady. Yours was not.

And then – so slow it was torturous – his thumb brushed against your side. This time, it wasn’t accidental. It was deliberate. He traced a barely-there path against your hip at the same moment your fingers curled against his chest, the fabric of his shirt bunching up.

He knew this was wrong. Knew he should move away, put space between you, remind himself that this was a line that could not – should not – be crossed.

But he didn’t move because you weren’t moving. Because your fingers curled tighter on his shirt and he could feel your breath ghosting against his skin, because your body – so impossibly close – wasn’t retreating.  

And he wasn’t sure he wanted it to.

This had started out as nothing more than a simple visit. He’d barely hesitated when you asked for the day off. It had been a quiet week and you’d had enough on your plate between cases and moving. You’d earned the time.

But when Garcia had mentioned, a little too innocently, that you’d been tackling everything alone, something shifted in him. Maybe it was the excuse he needed. Or maybe it was the way he imagined you here on your own, frustrated, stressed and something in his chest tightened too much at the thought of you struggling.

He’d told himself he was just stopping by. Just bringing the files. Just checking in.

He hadn’t expected to find you you like this.

Cheeks flushed from the wine, eyes dark and full of something unreadable, dressed in a way that left his mouth dry.

And now you were in his lap.

Your skin was warm beneath his hands, your breaths shallow, lips parted ever so slightly.

“What is it that I’m doing, Hotch?” Your voice was barely a whisper now, lashes fluttering, the barest tilt of your head closing even more of the distance between you.

He wasn’t sure if you could feel the tension humming beneath his skin. And his restraint – the control he prided himself on, the discipline he’d spent years perfecting – became a fragile, splintering thing.

If you leaned in a fraction more, there would be nothing left to stop this. He wasn’t sure if that terrified him or if it was the most tempting thought he’d ever had.

It took everything in him to fight against the impulse, to loosen his grip, to exhale sharply and force distance where there was none.

“You’ve had a long day.” His voice was rougher than he wanted it to be.

You blinked, momentarily thrown. “What?”

His hands released you.

“And you’ve had too much to drink.”

Your eyes searched his, the teasing, playful edge now gone. Replaced with something else. Frustration? Disappointment? Hurt?

That nearly destroyed him.

But he had to do this because he knew you.

He knew you’d had a long week. Knew stress pushed you toward reckless choices. Knew the wine had stripped away just enough inhibition to let you push – to let you test him, to see what he would allow.

And God help him, he wanted to give in. But not like this. Not when he wasn’t sure if you’d wake up tomorrow and regret it.

“I will finish up here. You can go and get some rest.”

He heard you exhale, saw the tension in your shoulders shift like you wanted to argue. But then you reluctantly pulled back, dragging a hand down your face as if what you had just tried to do finally settled.

“I am so sorry I don’t know what I was thi–”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s alright.”

“No it’s not alright, I–”

He said your name, stopping you before you could spiral any further. Because the last thing he wanted was for you to feel embarrassed about something you both wanted, but just couldn’t have.

“I should shower,” you muttered, not even sure if you were speaking to him or yourself.

He nodded, already shifting his attention back to the damn bookshelf, pretending to focus on something else.

Something that wasn’t you.

You hesitated in the doorway, watching as he picked up the two panels. “You really don’t have to stay. It’s late and I can finish up tomorrow.”

“I don’t mind.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, dragging your feet toward the bathroom, your body still burning not just from the heat of the moment but from the sheer embarrassment curling in your stomach like a slow, humiliating ache.

What the hell had you been thinking?

You turned the shower on, letting the sound of running water drown out the chaos of your thoughts in your head.

You knew Hotch wasn’t the kind of man to cross that line, not like that. Not with you. And yet, you had still pushed him, only to end up rejected. The memory of it made you cringe, heat rising to your cheeks again.

You stepped under the hot spray, steam curling around you, and wished you could disappear into it – dissolve into nothing and escape the hole you had just dug yourself into. You contemplated what other career paths you could take because there was no way you were walking back into the BAU on Monday morning.

It wasn’t just the rejection that stung, it was the fact that he had been right. You had been drinking. You had been stressed, exhausted and overwhelmed.

But none of those things had made you do what you did. You couldn't blame them for the way you had leaned in, for the way you had tested him, for the way you wanted him.

Because the truth was, those feelings had been festering for months.

For him.

Your boss.

And now, you had just made everything so much worse.

By the time you finally shut the shower off – and racked up a hefty water bill in the process – your body felt clean, but your thoughts were still a mess. You wrapped yourself in a towel, sighing as you reached for the door handle.

And then—

A soft click.

The sound of the front door shutting.

Your stomach twisted. Of course he had left. You swallowed hard, pushing away the sudden tightness in your chest. You gripped the edge of your towel a little tighter as you cracked the bathroom door open, stepping out into the hallway.

The apartment was quiet as you padded toward the living room, heart sinking at the sight before you. The bookshelf was finished, not a single screw out of place. And the coffee table, that was finished too, every piece perfectly assembled.

But the room was empty.

Dragging a hand through your damp hair, you turned in a slow circle, scanning for any other sign of him. But there was nothing.

It wasn’t like you expected him to stay. You had all but thrown yourself at him tonight and he had done the right thing – the gentlemanly thing – by stopping it. And yet, standing there, wrapped in nothing but your towel, your home felt emptier than it had before.

You exhaled sharply, turning back toward the bathroom, ready to put on some clothes and pretend this night never happened. But the sound of the front door swinging open caused you to spin on your heel just in time to see Hotch stepping back inside.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

First, it was him catching you without a bra, and now he had walked in on you fresh out of the shower, wrapped in nothing but a towel that barely covered anything.

The moment his gaze landed on you, his entire body went rigid. His eyes flickered downward – just for a second – before he sucked a breath in, his nostrils flaring.

He immediately looked away, clearing his throat as he shut the door behind him like this wasn't the second time tonight you'd managed to put him in an impossible situation.

"I–" He hesitated, voice tight. Too tight. "I was just taking out the rubbish."

Of course he had. Because this man was nothing if not thoughtful.

“Thank you,” you managed, fingers gripping the towel tighter, holding onto it for dear life as you shifted awkwardly. “For everything, you really didn’t have to go through all the trouble.”

He didn’t respond right away but his eyes were back on you again. You caught the way they traced the delicate slope of your collarbone, down to where a single droplet of water clung to your skin before disappearing beneath the edge of your towel.

“I – I really am sorry about earlier.”

“Don’t be. There’s nothing you need to be sorry for.”

You nodded, your line of sight drifting to where his jacket hung over the back of a chair.

It was an excuse to move. To do something other than stand there, half–naked and vulnerable under his intense stare. You grabbed it with your free hand, clutching your towel tighter with the other, and made your way over to him.

Even as you stepped closer, you felt the weight of his eyes on you–watching, tracking.

“Don’t want to forget your jacket.” You held it out to him, but when his hand reached for it, his fingers skimming yours, his attention wasn’t on the jacket.

It was on you.

“Thanks. Get some rest.”

You nodded again, lips pressing together, forcing yourself to ignore the way your pulse wouldn’t settle.

And just like that, he turned to leave, the moment passing.

Or at least, that’s what you both told yourselves.

dividers by cafekitsune

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: My Knight is Too Loyal || Sebek Zigvolt

You wake up as the villainess in a novel that had to be written as a joke. The heroine is trying to ruin your life, but if you refuse to acknowledge her, then it’s not happening. Right? …Right??

It doesn't help that your knight, Sebek, is annoyingly endearing.

Series Masterlist

You were finally done.

After a grueling week of unpacking, assembling furniture that came with instructions written in an eldritch language, and resisting the urge to commit arson when you realized your kitchen had exactly one electrical outlet, your new apartment was finally livable. Spacious, well-lit, and with an actual window that didn’t face another building? A true luxury.

With a sigh of contentment, you set your trusty roomba loose to clean up the dust bunnies while you kicked back with your favorite pastime—reading an absolutely garbage webnovel.

This particular one had come highly recommended in the “so bad it’s good” category, and hoo boy, did it deliver.

The plot, as far as you could tell, was this:

Prince Malleus (overpowered second male lead) was best friends with the villainess (actually cool).

Sebek, loyal knight, was also sworn to protect the villainess. He liked her. They were childhood friends. He was ride or die for her.

Enter the heroine, who spawned out of nowhere, latched onto Malleus, and immediately decided that she needed Sebek’s loyalty so she could get closer to him.

She then proceeded to sabotage the villainess at every turn, and somehow no one thought this was weird.

The villainess, kept fighting back—until she got poisoned on Sebek’s watch.

Sebek, devastated, exiled himself in disgrace.

And then the Duke of the North (where did he come from???) married the heroine.

You had to put your phone down because you were WHEEZING.

How. HOW???

How was this woman out here killing the prince's best friend and still pulling a wedding out of it?? Who was writing this? Why did Sebek go into self-imposed exile when the obvious answer was to punt the heroine into the sun???

You wiped a tear from your eye, clutching your stomach. "Exiled himself in disgrace—oh my god, bro, what are you doing—"

Feeling the desperate need for a snack to recover from this literary war crime, you got up and made your way to the kitchen.

At that moment, your roomba—your once-trusted ally in the battle against dust—made a choice.

It bumped into the precariously stacked pile of moving boxes you had yet to sort through.

You turned just in time to see your doom.

A full avalanche of books, kitchenware, and your entire collection of novelty mugs came crashing down on you.

Your last thought before the world faded to black?

"Should’ve never trusted a roomba."

There were several ways you expected to wake up. A soft ray of sunlight filtering through your curtains? Sure. The soothing sound of birds chirping? Ideal. Maybe even a hangover if past-you made bad decisions? Understandable.

What you did not expect was to be jolted out of unconsciousness by the auditory equivalent of an angry airhorn.

“LORD MALLEUS, SHE'S STILL UNCONSCIOUS—PERHAPS SHE HAS FALLEN INTO AN ETERNAL SLUMBER FROM WHICH SHE WILL NEVER—!!!”

“Sebek,” another voice interrupted, eerily calm in comparison. “It will be fine.”

Sebek?

Like. The Sebek?

Your eyes snapped open like a possessed doll in a horror movie, and standing in front of you were none other than—drumroll please—Malleus Draconia and Sebek Zigvolt, looking like they had been ripped straight out of that godawful webnovel.

Sebek was vibrating with fury, looking a split second away from detonating like a nuclear warhead. Malleus, meanwhile, seemed vaguely relieved that you were awake.

Your brain struggled to reboot.

You looked down. Fancy dress? Check. Lace gloves? Check. Suspiciously villainous vibes? Check.

Oh no.

OH NO.

You were the villainess.

Malleus, in his infinite patience, took your absolutely deranged expression as a cue to explain, “The heroine tripped you, and you lost consciousness.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

You covered your face with your hands. “So now I have to deal with that dumbass?”

Sebek immediately whipped out his glove, preparing to slap someone into another dimension. “THIS INSOLENCE CANNOT STAND. I SHALL CHALLENGE HER TO A DUEL AND—”

“Sebek, no.”

“—VANQUISH HER FOR DARING TO—”

“Sebek. Put the glove down.”

“—BESMIRCH YOUR HONOR, MY LADY—”

“Sebek. No.”

Malleus, amused, simply observed as if watching an entertaining stage play. Probably because his solution would be to turn the heroine into a very apologetic pile of ashes.

Sebek begrudgingly reabsorbed his rage (for now), but he was still seething.

Malleus, after ensuring you were probably not about to die, excused himself and left the room. Sebek remained, arms crossed, radiating enough protective energy to function as a personal bodyguard and a security alarm.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Sebek, from now on, I’m just going to ignore her.”

Sebek visibly short-circuited.

“You—you're just going to let this blatant disrespect slide???”

“Yes.”

“But—”

“Yes.”

He looked like he had been personally betrayed by the laws of honor and decency, but after a long moment, he reluctantly agreed. Probably because you had the final say in this.

As soon as he left the room, you immediately face-planted into your pillow and let out the most guttural, despairing scream of your life.

Then, with great suffering, you dragged yourself up, because it was officially time to make a game plan to survive this absolute trash novel.

You did not want to go to this tea party.

In fact, if given the choice between enduring this or being launched via medieval trebuchet into the ocean, you would’ve chosen the ocean. At least drowning would’ve been fast.

But no. Your father insisted.

Something about “maintaining your standing,” and “showing the nobility that you are still strong,” and “not letting some lowborn upstart make a fool of you.”

As if the heroine had any power over you besides the supernatural ability to generate plot conveniences. As if you weren’t already suffering enough in this stupid novel, trying to survive a romance plotline with all the grace of a cat thrown into a bathtub.

And thus, you found yourself seated at an expensive table, sipping lukewarm tea, pretending to be interested in whatever the hell the noble ladies were talking about while resisting the urge to flip the entire table over and walk out.

To make matters worse, Sebek was having an existential crisis.

Not that he’d admit it, of course. But the way he was standing, practically vibrating with tension, scanning the tea party like a very aggressive meerkat—yeah. It was bad.

Sebek was on edge.

At any given moment, his gaze would dart from one thing to another, as if expecting a chandelier to drop on your head, a poisoned biscuit to be slipped onto your plate, or a rogue assassin to emerge from the hedges wielding a butter knife.

You finally had enough.

Turning toward him, you gripped his shoulders. Firmly.

“Sebek.”

His eyes snapped to you.

“Buddy.” You gave him a little shake. “Friend. You need to chill.”

“I AM PERFECTLY COMPOSED—”

Shake, shake. “Sebek. Chill.”

Sebek blinked. For the first time in history, he shut his mouth.

And then—oddly enough—you saw pink.

Like, an actual blush. A faint, barely-there dusting of color across his cheeks, the kind you’d associate with a lovestruck noble maiden, not a half-fae knight who could probably break your spine with his bare hands.

For a moment, you wondered if he was overheating. Should you dunk him in ice water?

But miraculously, Sebek actually calmed down.

At least, he stopped looking like he was about to tackle a waiter for breathing too close to you. That was progress.

And just when you thought you could finally coast through the rest of this miserable tea party in peace—

You saw her.

The Heroine.

She was across the garden, standing under a carefully curated arrangement of roses, twirling a delicate teacup in her dainty hands, looking exactly as picturesque as a main character should.

And she was batting her eyelashes at Sebek.

Like a lot.

Like some kind of malfunctioning Victorian doll trying to send Morse code with her eyelids.

Sebek, for his part, was slowly backing away. It was clear he wanted nothing to do with her.

Unfortunately, his retreat only seemed to embolden the heroine further. As if she had mistaken his disgust for shyness.

Sebek Zigzagged.

She Zigzagged.

Sebek took a sharp left.

She matched him, too fast, like an NPC with broken pathing.

And that’s when you decided enough was enough.

With the most subtle movement possible, you lifted a hand and motioned for him to come to you.

Sebek sprinted.

Like, full-speed, knocking over at least one butler in the process sprinted. By the time he reached you, he was breathing hard, eyes wide like he had just escaped something truly horrifying.

“Sebek,” you said, voice casual, “Stick by my side.”

"UNDERSTOOD," he immediately responded, standing directly next to you like a sentient stone wall.

And thus began the worst tea party of the heroine’s life.

For months, the heroine had followed the same battle strategy.

She’d make small, calculated jabs at you—little insults hidden under layers of fake concern, “Oh, you look rather pale today, are you unwell?” or “That color looks so… unique on you! Not many would be bold enough to wear it!”

The old villainess would always take the bait.

She’d snap back, argue, cause a scene. And in the process, the heroine would look like the poor, innocent victim just trying her best to be kind.

But you?

You ignored her.

And that? That was unacceptable.

The first attempt was a comment about your shoes.

She tilted her head, voice sickly sweet. “Oh, those shoes are… interesting. Are they custom-made?”

You blinked.

That was it. Just blinked.

Nothing more.

Then, without breaking eye contact, you turned to Sebek and pointed at the cake.

"Sebek, do you want some cake?"

“OF COURSE—”

The heroine twitched.

The second attempt was a jab at your hair.

She giggled, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, voice dripping with faux innocence. “Oh dear, your hair looks a little tangled today! Perhaps you should try this new serum I discovered—”

You did not react.

Instead, you casually picked up a sugar cube, inspected it like it was the most fascinating thing in existence, and dropped it into your tea.

Then you slowly turned away.

Like she was scenery.

Like she was part of the background.

The heroine’s eye twitched.

Then came the third and final straw.

She physically stood in your path.

Like, full-on NPC blocking a hallway in a video game levels of obstructive.

Waiting.

Wanting you to react.

You did not.

You simply stepped to the left and walked around her.

As if she were a particularly annoying potted plant.

That was it.

That was the moment.

The moment she realized you were not playing her game.

And she SNAPPED.

In a last-ditch effort, she actually grabbed at your dress like a cranky toddler in a tantrum. Unfortunately for her, you were faster.

With all the grace of a trained assassin, you sidestepped her so effortlessly that she nearly tripped forward. For one horrifying second, she flailed—arms windmilling—before catching herself.

Then, with a furious huff, she turned bright red, grabbed her skirts, and stormed out of the tea party.

Absolutely. Defeated.

The entire garden was dead silent.

Then, softly, Sebek cleared his throat.

“…Does this mean I can have another slice of cake?”

You took a victorious sip of your tea.

+1 point for you.

This was a mistake. A grave, sweaty mistake.

Sebek, in all his knightly wisdom, had decided that you needed to learn self-defense. That was fine in theory. In practice?

You were dying.

It had started simple—stance, grip, footwork. Except your stance was wobbly, your grip was weak, and your footwork consisted of tripping over absolutely nothing .

Sebek, ever the determined instructor, refused to give up on you.

“Again!” he barked, adjusting your posture for the hundredth time. “You must hold the blade firmly!”

You tried. You really did. But the moment he stepped back, the sword dipped dangerously in your grasp like it was actively trying to escape you.

Sebek sighed through his nose. “You need to engage your core!”

“Sebek,” you panted, struggling to lift the sword back up. “I have a core. It just doesn’t want to engage.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose like a disappointed tutor watching their pupil fail basic math.

“Again.”

You half-heartedly swung the sword. It wobbled like a particularly useless noodle.

Sebek looked physically pained.

After several more embarrassing attempts—including a particularly tragic one where you almost dropped the sword on your own foot—you finally gave up.

You collapsed onto the ground, dramatically splaying out in the dirt like a knight who had perished not in battle, but in sheer spiritual defeat.

“I can’t do this,” you groaned, flopping an arm over your face. “I’m not built for the knight life.”

Sebek’s shadow loomed over you, exasperated. “You’re giving up already?”

“Yes.”

“Unacceptable. A true warrior never surrenders!”

“Well, I’m not a warrior, Sebek. I am a delicate aristocrat. My hobbies include drinking tea and not getting stabbed.”

Sebek crossed his arms, preparing to argue—but before he could launch into a speech about honor and duty and the sacred art of not dying, you simply muttered:

“That’s why you have to be my knight forever.”

The complaints instantly stopped.

Sebek didn’t say a word.

You assumed he had accepted your logic.

You didn’t see the way his back straightened slightly, or the way his expression softened into something oddly pleased. You definitely didn’t catch the way a smug, satisfied little smile flickered across his face—like a knight who had just secured his lifelong oath without even trying.

Instead, you remained on the ground, still dramatically sprawled out, waiting for him to launch into another lecture.

But nothing came.

“…Sebek?”

“Hmph.” He turned, suddenly far too content to argue. “If that is the case, then I suppose there’s no need to force you into training.”

You squinted up at him. “Wait. That’s it? You’re giving up?”

“I am merely accepting my duty,” he said smoothly. “After all, a knight must always protect their charge.”

You stared.

Suspicious.

Sebek was never this agreeable.

But, ultimately, you were too tired to question it.

With a sigh of relief, you let yourself fully relax into the grass, already looking forward to a nap.

Meanwhile, Sebek stood guard over you, looking far too smug for someone who had just lost an argument.

This was supposed to be a normal afternoon.

A nice, quiet, peaceful moment of watching Sebek ride his horse like he was leading an army into battle while Silver sat on his, perfectly relaxed, looking like the human embodiment of a soft exhale.

Meanwhile, to your right, Malleus and Lilia were having a debate that was growing increasingly unhinged.

"I'm telling you, Malleus," Lilia said with the confidence of a man who had never once been stopped from committing a crime. "If you want someone, you simply steal them away! That’s romance!"

Malleus, who had the power to obliterate reality with a flick of his wrist, rubbed his temples like a deeply tired office worker. "Lilia, that is not romance. That is abduction."

Lilia waved him off like he was swatting at a fly. "Semantics."

You turned your head just in time to see Malleus pinching the bridge of his nose, which was deeply funny because what did he even have to be stressed about? He was practically untouchable. And yet, somehow, Lilia was succeeding in emotionally exhausting him.

You had no idea how to contribute to this conversation, so you simply accepted that your afternoon would be full of crimes against logic.

But then Lilia’s sharp, ancient gaze zeroed in on you like a sniper locking onto a target.

"So," he said smoothly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Have you decided who you'll take to the ball?"

You blinked.

The ball? Oh. Right. That was a thing.

You mulled it over for a second, tapping your fingers against your knee.

Logically, Sebek was already glued to your side at all times. He was practically your own personal security alarm, complete with flashing lights, blaring sirens, and the sheer, undying volume of a man who had never whispered in his entire life.

Taking him would be easy.

"I'll probably take Sebek," you said casually.

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

Lilia’s smile widened.

Not just any smile. A knowing smile. The kind that said, I have seen civilizations rise and fall, and yet nothing amuses me more than whatever is about to happen next.

Malleus, previously neutral, now looked deeply, deeply intrigued.

You squinted at them. "Why are you both looking at me like I'm a stray dog that just solved a math problem?"

Before you could demand answers, Sebek and Silver came back.

And Lilia—menace incarnate—immediately turned to Sebek and declared, with the utmost delight:

"Sebek! You've been chosen as their escort for the ball!"

Silver looked politely interested. Sebek—

Sebek crashed.

Like he hit an invisible wall.

For a second, he just stood there, expression frozen in a mix of shock, honor, and the sheer terror of being handed a social situation he wasn’t prepared for.

Then, in a grand act of buffering, he stiffened, clenched his fists, and proclaimed with all the force of a man declaring war:

"OF COURSE! AS YOUR LOYAL KNIGHT, IT IS ONLY NATURAL THAT I ACCOMPANY YOU!"

And then—before you could so much as blink—he turned on his heel and stomped off, as if he had just been given an urgent mission from Malleus himself.

The moment he was gone, you turned back to the three remaining culprits—only to find all of them looking at you like you were the underdog in a sports movie who had just pulled off a game-winning shot.

Lilia’s grin was downright diabolical.

Malleus was observing you like a scientist who had just discovered a new species.

Silver nodded, as if he had been let in on a joke you weren’t privy to.

Your eye twitched. "Okay. WHAT."

Lilia clapped you on the back like a proud father. "Oh, don’t mind us," he said airily. "We’re simply excited to see how this unfolds!"

Malleus inclined his head. "Indeed. It will be most… fascinating."

Silver hummed in agreement, eyes twinkling with something dangerously close to amusement.

You stared.

Sebek was still stomping off in the distance, probably preparing himself for battle against an imaginary threat.

Meanwhile, these three looked like they had just bet on a winning horse.

You were so bored.

As someone who had once lived in the glorious era of internet, memes, and instant entertainment, being isekai’d into a medieval fantasy novel was actual hell.

Your choices for passing the time were:

Sitting at a tea party listening to Lady Whatever gossip about how her second cousin’s neighbor allegedly married his horse (scandalous).

Shopping, which involved pretending to care about embroidery while avoiding getting guilt-tripped into buying a hat the size of a carriage wheel.

But today? Today was different.

There was a theater performance. And you were going.

Sebek, of course, was accompanying you, because you weren’t allowed to go anywhere without your personal security system.

The two of you arrived, found your seats, and settled in as the play began.

It was a forbidden romance between a noblewoman and her loyal knight.

You squinted.

That was it? That was the forbidden part?

What, was it slightly inconvenient for them to date? Were they going to act like this was the most tragic love story of all time when the biggest obstacle was mild disapproval?

You were expecting a real problem—an ancient family feud, a cursed bloodline, maybe even a dragon kidnapping someone for fun.

But no. It was just a noble and her knight, staring deeply into each other’s eyes while the orchestra swelled dramatically.

You side-eyed Sebek, about to make a snide comment.

And that’s when you noticed. Sebek was sweating.

His jaw was clenched. His hands were gripping the arms of his seat like the very concept of upholstery had personally insulted him.

And most importantly?

He was actively avoiding looking at you.

On stage, the knight fell to one knee, passionately declaring, “My lady, I have sworn to protect you—but in truth, my heart has belonged to you from the moment we met.”

Sebek’s grip on his seat tightened.

You turned back to the stage, more confused now.

The noblewoman gasped, placing a delicate hand on her chest. “Sir Knight, I—!”

Cue dramatic embrace. Cue Sebek looking like he was experiencing an existential crisis in real time.

For the next twenty minutes, Sebek refused to so much as glance in your direction.

The show ended with a completely unnecessary death scene (the knight got stabbed protecting the noblewoman from a bandit with the world’s worst aim), and as soon as the curtains fell, Sebek practically launched himself out of his seat.

You walked out together, the evening air cool against your skin.

Sebek, still refusing to look at you, was marching forward with the kind of stiff, overly formal movements that meant his brain was short-circuiting.

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you good?"

"I am perfectly fine," he said, a little too quickly.

You shrugged, brushing it off. Sebek being Sebek. He was always like this.

You didn’t notice how his hands twitched at his sides.

Or how, for one painfully fleeting moment during the play, he had imagined what it would be like—just once—to take your hand, without the excuse of duty.

But only Sebek and the dark theater would ever know that.

Festivals were supposed to be fun.

Supposed to be.

But for Sebek, this was nothing short of a battlefield.

The night had started normally enough. Malleus, Lilia, Silver, Sebek, and you had all arrived together, the festival in full swing around you. Lanterns glowed softly in the trees, music played from all corners of the square, and the air was thick with the smell of food—grilled meats, sweet pastries, roasted nuts. It was the perfect evening for a carefree stroll.

And then, suspiciously quickly, things took a turn.

“Ah,” Lilia suddenly said, snapping his fingers. “I just remembered—I must go investigate the historical significance of festival games.”

Silver, who had been mid-bite into a fried pastry, blinked. “What?”

Lilia was already gone.

Malleus nodded sagely. “Indeed, I must also depart. There are… matters of great importance I must attend to.”

You stared at him. “You’re about to go stare at gargoyles, aren’t you?”

Malleus did not dignify this with an answer.

Then came Silver’s turn. He at least tried to make it convincing.

“I, um—” He paused, brain clearly short-circuiting. “I have to—”

Sebek, ever the loyal soldier, stepped forward. “SILVER, WHEREVER YOU GO, WE SHALL—”

Silver immediately put a hand on Sebek’s shoulder. “No. You both stay.”

Sebek froze.

Suspicion bloomed in his sharp green eyes. “Why?”

Silver looked at you. Then back at Sebek. Then at you again. And then—like a father setting his son off into the world—he simply patted Sebek’s shoulder and said, “Have fun.”

Then he left.

Just like that, you and Sebek were alone.

You turned to Sebek, shrugged, and grabbed his hand. “Alright then! Let’s go have fun.”

Sebek ascended into a new state of panic.

One: You Held His Hand.

His hand.

Which was now holding your hand.

He was a knight. A protector. His hand had wielded swords, raised shields, sworn loyalty—

His hand had never done this.

“W-Wait, I—!”

You, completely oblivious to the fact that you were literally ruining him, simply smiled. “Come on, let’s get food first!”

And just like that, he was dragged into the festival.

Two: You Fed Him.

Sebek had prepared for many things in life.

Betrayal? Yes. Combat? Absolutely. The burden of responsibility? Without question.

But he had not prepared for you pressing a warm pastry into his hands and saying, “Try this! It’s really good.”

He stared at it like it was an enemy.

“I—this is unnecessary! I should be watching for threats, not—”

Then you, with absolutely zero hesitation, took a bite from your own pastry, hummed thoughtfully, and then just—just held it up to his mouth.

Sebek froze.

“…What,” he said, voice dangerously unstable, “are you doing?”

“Letting you try mine.”

Unacceptable.

UNACCEPTABLE.

This was wrong. You were a noble, he was your knight. His duty was to protect you, not to—to—

To have feelings.

To want things.

But you were still holding the pastry up, completely unaware of the sheer war happening in his mind.

So, with the slow hesitation of a man walking into a death trap, Sebek leaned down and took a small, precise bite.

…It was delicious.

…This was still unacceptable.

“See?” you said brightly, taking another bite yourself. “Tastes better when you share.”

Sebek almost dropped dead on the spot.

Three: The Smile.

Oh, that smile.

You were leading him from stall to stall, still holding his hand, still treating this like a perfectly normal outing and not the absolute nightmare it was for his fragile, suffering heart.

And every time you turned back to him—every time you laughed at something ridiculous, or smiled when he grumbled about stall vendors trying to scam you, or simply looked at him with that casual, easy warmth—

Something in him broke.

Not in a bad way. But absolutely in a way that would jeopardize his purpose. In the way that made him want to 1v1 the entire world just to make sure you always smiled like that.

Sebek was not meant for this.

He was a knight. A warrior. A protector.

He was not meant to look at you and wish, with every inch of his being, that he could hold your hand not because of duty, but because you wanted him to.

The ball was going well.

Which, frankly, was a miracle.

You were three glasses of wine in, the music was pleasant, and—most importantly—there was no heroine in sight.

Malleus was at peace, sipping his drink like an ancient dragon who had finally hoarded enough gold. Lilia was across the room, very seriously trying to convince a noble to invest in bat jousting (“Picture it, my dear baron—tiny suits of armor, high-speed aerial combat, think of the prestige!”). Silver was half-asleep at the table, so still that he was practically furniture.

And Sebek? Sebek was eating with the sheer intensity of a man who had never been allowed to sit and enjoy a meal in his life.

You were basking in the rare moment of peace when—

She arrived.

The heroine waltzed in, all curls and delicate elegance, scanning the room like she owned the place.

Immediately, you activated Ignore Mode.

But then—

Then she spoke.

“I challenge you!”

You blinked.

Challenge me to what? A duel? A political debate? A staring contest??

And then, with the smuggest expression known to man, she stepped aside to reveal her new(?) knight. You choked on your drink.

Because her knight—

Looked like Sebek.

Like, exactly like Sebek.

Same height, same build, suspiciously similar armor—but the worst part?

His hair was green.

Like she had dyed it.

You nearly dropped your wine.

You turned to Sebek.

Then to knockoff Sebek.

Then to Malleus—who was so absorbed in his perfect night that he hadn’t even registered the incoming disaster.

Then back to fake Sebek.

Sebek, who had been peacefully eating his steak, suddenly froze.

“WHAT IN THE GREAT SEVEN—” His chair scraped across the floor as he stood, eyes wide with pure fury.

The heroine beamed. “My knight will prove his superiority over yours! A true battle of skill and honor!”

You were still stuck on the hair.

"DID YOU DYE THIS MAN’S HAIR GREEN?!"

Fake Sebek smirked, folding his arms. “A knight should be willing to make sacrifices for his lady.”

Sebek looked ready to commit several war crimes.

“This is an INSULT!” He stepped forward, eyes blazing, voice booming. “YOU THINK YOU CAN MATCH ME WITH A PALE IMITATION?! I—”

Oh, hell no.

You had already suffered through so much stupidity in this world. You were not about to let Sebek engage in a battle of the bootlegs just because the heroine had gone completely off the rails.

You grabbed Sebek’s arm.

He whipped around like an enraged storm god. “MY LADY, I MUST—”

“No,” you said flatly. “Not worth it.”

“But—”

“Sebek.”

“She—”

“Sebek.”

“She dares—”

“Sebek. Please.”

His jaw locked. He looked like he wanted to argue. Like he needed to argue. But then you let out a long, exhausted sigh and said,

“Just dance with me instead.”

Sebek stopped breathing.

The entire ballroom faded. The heroine? Gone. Bootleg Sebek? Who? The audience of nosy nobles? Irrelevant.

All that mattered was that you—the person he had sworn to protect, the one he had dedicated his entire being to—had just asked him to dance.

He swallowed thickly. “O-Of course.”

And so, you took his hand and led him to the ballroom floor.

Sebek was stiff at first, like he was concentrating too hard on being perfect, but as the music swelled, he relaxed into the rhythm, his movements smoother, more natural.

And as he guided you across the floor, one hand firm at your waist, the other clasping yours, Sebek couldn’t help but stare.

You were laughing softly, still tipsy, the golden chandeliers casting a warm glow on your skin. The silk of your gown shimmered as you moved, and your smile—

Gods. Your smile.

Sebek knew, without a doubt, that he would do anything to keep it on your face.

And you?

You had no idea.

Because to you, this was just a dance.

But to Sebek—

You looked like a dream come true.

It was finally here. The moment where, according to the absolute literary war crime that was this novel, you were supposed to get poisoned, collapse dramatically, and set off a chain reaction that would end with Sebek exiling himself like a tragic Shakespearean protagonist.

Except this time?

You knew it was coming.

And you were about to flip the script so hard the author would feel it in whatever dimension they were in.

The heroine, as predictable as ever, had invited you to yet another tea party—probably hoping that by the time the poison kicked in, she'd have a perfect view of your untimely demise. You, of course, had accepted with a sweet smile and a mind full of schemes.

Now, seated at a pristine garden table with floral arrangements worth more than some small villages, you watched as she made her move. It was almost laughable how obvious she was. Her eyes flickered towards the maid as your tea was poured, the subtle anticipation in her expression so transparent you were honestly a little embarrassed for her.

You daintily lifted the cup, swirling the tea, inhaling its floral scent. Then, you pretended to take a sip.

Then, you threw yourself into the most dramatic, gut-wrenching, Oscar-worthy performance of your life.

Your body convulsed. Your hand flew to your throat. You gasped, choked, wheezed like a dying fish, and flung your arms out as if desperately grasping at the heavens themselves. You knocked over a plate. A fork clattered to the ground. A lesser noble screamed.

And then, with the grace of a Victorian woman in a corset two sizes too small, you collapsed onto the ground, limbs twitching for good measure.

Chaos erupted.

Ladies shrieked. Servants scrambled. One elderly duke fainted in the background. Even you were impressed. If this world had award shows, you would’ve already been giving an acceptance speech.

And then.

You heard it.

A chair screeching against stone. The heavy, unmistakable clang of armor.

Oh.

Oh, no.

You had made a critical miscalculation.

Sebek.

Sebek, who had been standing behind you the entire time. Sebek, who had just witnessed his charge collapse in agony.

Sebek, who was now standing over the heroine with his sword at her throat.

The entire tea party came to a screeching halt.

The heroine was frozen in terror, because Sebek wasn’t just angry—he was absolutely seething. His hands were steady, his grip unwavering, but the rage in his eyes? The barely-restrained fury crackling in the air around him? That was the look of a man seconds away from turning this entire tea party into a medieval execution.

“How dare you,” Sebek growled, his voice low and deadly, “I swear upon my honor—you will not leave this garden alive.”

You were so close to victory. So close. But no. No, Sebek had to go and initiate an actual murder.

The heroine, pale as a ghost, opened her mouth—probably to sob out some terrible excuse—but Sebek applied just the tiniest bit of pressure with his blade. A thin line of blood beaded at her neck.

The heroine whimpered.

Sebek narrowed his eyes.

Oh, he was fully committed to this.

Then, from your position on the ground, you made a small choking noise.

Sebek snapped around so fast he nearly decapitated her anyway.

His fury instantly shifted into sheer, unfiltered panic.

“My lady—!” He abandoned the heroine entirely, dropping to his knees and scooping you up into his arms as if you were seconds from death. "Stay with me!" His voice wavered, as if sheer willpower alone could force you to keep breathing. "You will not die here, I swear it!"

Okay. Maybe you should have accounted for this.

Before you could get a word in, Sebek scooped you up like a sack of potatoes and booked it inside.

The moment he deposited you onto a chaise lounge like a damsel in distress, you sat up and gave him your best sheepish grin.

“Sebek, I—”

But Sebek did not look relieved.

Sebek looked furious.

"You mean to tell me," he began, his voice escalating, "THAT WAS A LIE?!"

You winced. “Sebek, I—”

"You were NEVER in danger?! NEVER TRULY POISONED?!" His entire body was vibrating. "YOU—"

His voice kept rising.

He was pacing now, movements erratic, his heavy boots thudding against the floor. His breathing was uneven. His hands were shaking.

Gods. Gods, you felt bad.

Before he could work himself into an early grave, you grabbed his face and pulled him close.

"Sebek," you said firmly. "Breathe."

His breath hitched.

You could feel the tension in his jaw, the way his entire being was still radiating panic and betrayal.

Slowly, his breathing evened out. His hands, still clenched at his sides, relaxed.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, thumbs brushing lightly against his cheeks. "I should have told you."

Sebek swallowed hard, staring at you like he had just walked through hell itself.

"I could never bear to lose you." His voice was raw, barely above a whisper.

And then, as if exhaling the weight of the entire world, he bowed his head slightly and said, “Forgive me for my insolence.”

Before you could even process what that meant—

His lips were on yours.

Soft, hesitant, yet utterly consuming.

It lasted one perfect moment—

And then reality kicked in.

Sebek stiffened. His eyes snapped open.

"I— I HAVE OVERSTEPPED— I APOLOGIZE—"

And then.

Sebek fled.

Full-speed.

Out the door.

Down the hall.

Possibly into another plane of existence.

You sat there, dazed, stunned, blushing so hard you were about to burst into flames.

-

You were losing your mind.

Malleus, on the other hand, was having the time of his life.

He sat there, sipping his tea with the serene patience of a man who had definitely seen this coming, while you paced back and forth in front of him, unraveling like a badly-knitted sweater.

"It was just stress!" you declared, throwing your hands in the air. "Right? I mean, high emotions, near-death experience, classic knightly panic—textbook impulse decision!"

Malleus hummed, his expression one of deep, profound amusement. "Oh?"

You pointed at him like you had just presented irrefutable evidence in a murder trial. "YES. Right?! That has to be it!"

Malleus took a slow sip of his tea. "Or…"

You froze.

Malleus paused dramatically—like he was a host on some medieval reality show about to drop a major plot twist—then said, "Perhaps he has feelings for you."

You made a noise. A noise that had never existed before, somewhere between a gasp, a wheeze, and the sound of a tea kettle violently exploding.

Malleus raised an eyebrow, watching as your soul actively left your body.

"That’s—" You flailed. Actually flailed. "That’s absurd!"

Malleus nodded sagely. "Yes. Very absurd." He took another sip of tea, his tone so dry you nearly threw something at him.

You began pacing again, hands on your head, thoughts spiraling into the abyss.

"Maybe—maybe he thinks he has feelings for me," you reasoned, grasping at straws like your life depended on it. "But really, it’s just—devotion! Yes! Classic knightly devotion! It’s not romantic, it’s duty! He admires me, respects me, honors me—"

"—Kissed you."

You choked.

Malleus was smirking now. He was actually enjoying this.

"Okay, but," you continued, desperately trying to dig yourself out of the emotional pit you had fallen into, "what if—what if it was just a slip-up? A moment of weakness? What if he didn’t mean it—?"

Malleus tilted his head. "Then why did he run away? Why did he not apologize?"

You stopped dead in your tracks.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Because he did run away. Full speed. Maximum acceleration. Like a man who had just realized what he had done and could not face the consequences.

Your hands slowly lowered from your head.

Malleus set his teacup down with a soft clink. "I would say that is not the behavior of a man who does not have feelings for someone."

You sat down in the nearest chair, staring into the void.

Malleus observed you with quiet satisfaction.

The way you were actively short-circuiting before his eyes? The absolute catastrophic mental gymnastics you were performing to deny the obvious?

Oh, yes.

This was better than theater.

Meanwhile, Sebek was also suffering.

And Lilia was having the best day of his life.

Sebek was pacing, marching back and forth across the room like he was preparing for battle, arms gesturing wildly as he ranted to no one in particular.

"I—I do not—I cannot—" His voice cracked slightly before he squared his shoulders, forcing himself into a state of denial so powerful it could deflect magic. "IT WAS MERELY A MOMENT OF TEMPORARY EMOTIONAL INSTABILITY!"

Lilia, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, was vibrating. His hands were clasped in front of his mouth, his entire body shaking as he barely contained his laughter. His eyes gleamed with pure, unfiltered joy.

"Ah, young love," he sighed dramatically, swaying slightly as if overcome by emotion. "So passionate! So tumultuous!" He clutched his chest. "So full of suffering!"

Sebek whirled around, offended to his very core.

"It is NOT love!" he practically roared, and Silver, who had been trying to stay calm, rubbed his temples like a tired therapist dealing with a particularly stubborn client.

"Sebek," Silver said, voice steady, soothing, rational. "You kissed her."

Sebek's eye twitched.

"It was an accident!"

Silver raised an eyebrow. "How do you accidentally kiss someone?"

Sebek flailed. "IT WAS THE HEAT OF THE MOMENT!"

"Mmhm~" Lilia hummed, practically swaying with delight.

Sebek turned to him, pointing like he was about to declare war. "STOP—STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!"

"Like what?" Lilia grinned. "Like I just witnessed the most entertaining thing to happen in centuries?"

"YES!"

Lilia cackled.

Sebek turned back to Silver, desperate for support, but Silver was already shaking his head.

"Sebek," Silver said patiently. "You’re in love."

Sebek physically recoiled. His entire soul left his body for a second before it returned, but not before his brain short-circuited.

"NO!"

"Yes," Silver said simply.

"Preposterous!" Sebek thundered, arms flailing again. "I am a knight! Her protector! I have sworn my loyalty to her! I would give my LIFE for her—!"

"Yes," Silver interrupted, nodding. "Because you love her."

Sebek froze.

His mouth opened. Then closed.

Then opened again.

Nothing came out.

Lilia, who was practically incandescent with joy, clasped his hands together and leaned in, eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Oh my," Lilia purred. "He's realizing it."

Sebek visibly malfunctioned.

His arms tensed, his jaw clenched, his brain clearly trying to override the obvious conclusion with pure willpower alone.

And then, because he had absolutely no idea what to do with himself—

Sebek turned on his heel and sprinted out of the room at full speed.

Lilia howled with laughter, throwing himself back onto the couch.

Silver simply sighed, rubbing his temples again. "You know he's going to deny this for at least another week, right?"

"Oh, let him struggle~" Lilia giggled, delighted beyond words. "This is better than theater."

The heroine was losing her goddamn mind.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. She was the main character. She was supposed to triumph over adversity! She was supposed to defeat her rival, claim her rightful place at Malleus’s side, and bask in the admiration of high society as they all realized how special and wonderful she was!

And yet—

You.

You, the person who was supposed to be her greatest adversary, her foil, her dramatic counterpart—

Did. Not. Care.

Every time she tried to one-up you, every time she schemed and plotted and prepared some devastating social maneuver to put you in your place—

You ignored her.

Not even with thinly veiled contempt. Not with cold, calculated disdain. No.

You ignored her like you would ignore a particularly unimpressive rock on the side of the road.

Like a piece of furniture. Like she was a background character in her own goddamn story.

She had thrown everything at you.

She had made subtle barbs about your outfits—Oh, what a… bold choice of color. Not everyone could pull that off.

You had simply nodded and thanked her before returning to making googly eyes at your knight.

She had gone out of her way to outshine you at every event—grander gowns, more dramatic entrances, carefully curated conversations that should have drawn everyone’s attention to her.

You?

You barely registered that she was there.

She had even dyed her own knight’s hair green for fuck’s sake.

And you had just—

Ignored it.

You hadn’t even looked surprised. No scandalized gasp, no pointed glances, no passive-aggressive remark about imitation being the sincerest form of flattery.

Nothing.

The absolute indifference nearly sent her into a breakdown right then and there.

But still—still—she had held out hope.

Because there was one final, tried-and-true method to defeat a villainess.

Poison.

A noblewoman’s tea party. A carefully laced cup. A gasp, a choke, a dramatic collapse.

It was foolproof.

Except—

Except you had pretended to drink it.

She hadn’t even noticed at first. She had simply sipped her tea, waiting for your inevitable demise—only to watch you pull off an Oscar worthy performance.

And now?

Now the entirety of high society hated her.

Not because they actually cared about you, no—

But because attempting to poison someone at a social gathering was just so terribly gauche.

It was uncivilized. It was desperate. It was cringe.

And worse?

She had failed.

One noblewoman had sighed, shaking her head. “Poisoning your rival? How utterly common. If she were going to do it, the least she could’ve done was be subtle.”

Another had tsked, “Imagine—spending all that effort trying to destroy someone only for them to sit back and make googly eyes at their knight instead.”

That one nearly made her explode.

Because that? That was the worst part.

Through all of this, you weren’t even fighting back.

You weren’t scheming. You weren’t plotting revenge. You weren’t even paying attention to her anymore.

No.

You were too busy pining over Sebek.

At first, she thought it was coincidence. A weird little side note in this battle.

But no.

She saw it everywhere now.

You, brushing your hand against his as he held a door open for you. You, laughing at something he said in that ridiculous, overly loud voice. You, looking at him like he was the most precious thing in existence while he continued to act like a knight-shaped golden retriever with too many feelings.

It was infuriating.

And now, after everything, after all the time and energy and sanity she had lost trying to make you engage, she woke up one morning and realized—

She had lost.

Not in some grand, cinematic battle of wits. Not in an explosive confrontation.

No.

She had lost in the most humiliating way possible.

Because you never even considered her a threat to begin with.

She had spent all this time clawing her way to the top of a rivalry that only existed in her own head.

And the person she had chosen as her nemesis had treated her with the same level of importance as a salad garnish.

It was over.

She was done.

She picked up a pen, wrote a letter, and signed it with the exhausted resignation of a woman who had fully accepted defeat.

Lady,

I give up. I’m leaving. Enjoy your ridiculous romance with your ridiculous knight.

—Heroine

Then, without any fanfare, she packed her things, walked out of her estate, and left the country.

And you?

You didn’t even notice until a servant handed you the letter over breakfast.

You blinked at it, took a bite of toast, and read the whole thing while casually sipping your tea.

Then you folded it neatly, set it aside, and promptly forgot about it.

Sebek Zigvolt was avoiding you.

Not in the dramatic, storming-off, I-shall-never-speak-to-you-again way that some lovesick noble might after a scandalous incident at a ball. No, that would have been too easy.

Instead, he had apparently decided that the most rational way to handle his predicament was to maintain a perfect six-foot gap between the two of you at all times.

Like some sort of ridiculous, self-imposed restraining order.

You noticed it immediately, of course, because how could you not?

The first morning, you stepped into the drawing room, still slightly groggy from waking up, and found Sebek already there, standing so rigidly that he looked like he had been installed into the floorboards.

“Good morning, Sebek.”

Sebek, a man who had never once in his life failed to respond to you immediately, took a full three seconds to react, his head snapping toward you like a marionette whose strings had been yanked too hard.

“MY LADY!” he barked, far too loud for this early in the morning. “GOOD MORNING TO YOU AS WELL!”

Then, before you could say another word, he pivoted sharply and took three steps back.

Three big, deliberate, backward steps.

And then?

He stared past you.

Not at you. Past you.

Like he had suddenly developed an intense fascination with the wall.

And this? This continued.

For three. Entire. Days.

At breakfast, he sat exactly six feet away from your chair and stabbed his eggs with the precision and fury of a man attempting to exorcise a demon from his plate.

At social events, he positioned himself like some tragically lovesick ghost, haunting the edge of the room with a tormented expression, still very much guarding you but now also acting like being within arm’s reach might cause him to spontaneously combust.

Even in casual conversations, if you took a step forward?

Sebek took a step back.

And the worst part?

He was so obvious about it.

Like, if he was actually trying to be subtle, you could at least pretend it wasn’t happening. But no, this man was out here moving like an NPC whose pathfinding AI was breaking.

By the third day, you had reached your limit.

You had tolerated his weird little knightly existential crisis long enough.

So, that morning, when you saw him standing—once again—exactly six feet away, rigid as a lamppost, pointedly pretending that the tree outside the window was the most interesting thing he had ever seen in his life, you snapped.

“Sebek.”

No response.

“Sebek.”

Nothing.

You took a step forward.

Sebek immediately took a step back.

You took another step.

Sebek tried to escape.

Absolutely not.

With all the swiftness of a person completely done with this nonsense, you closed the gap, stepping right into his space, and before he could even think about scrambling backward like some flustered fawn, you grabbed his face and squished his stupid, handsome, stubborn cheeks between your hands.

Sebek made an absolutely incomprehensible noise.

“W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! THIS IS HIGHLY—!!”

He was spluttering. Stammering. Eyes darting around wildly like he was searching for an escape route despite the fact that you were holding his actual face.

“Sebek,” you said, exasperated, thumbs pressing into his cheeks as he failed spectacularly to regain any of his usual knightly composure. “Do you like me?”

Sebek, in his infinite, ridiculous wisdom, chose the absolute worst possible response.

“I—! I AM YOUR KNIGHT! TO ENTERTAIN SUCH FRIVOLITIES WOULD BE A DERELECTION OF DUTY!”

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and then, with the patience of someone trying to explain basic math to a particularly dense brick wall, you groaned, “Sebek, we are not in a play. Do you like me or not!?”

Sebek made a noise somewhere between a strangled honk and a dying animal.

His entire face turned so red that for a moment, you were genuinely concerned that he might be about to pass out.

Then—

He nodded.

It was tiny, barely perceptible, like he was afraid saying it too loudly would cause the heavens to smite him on the spot, but it was there.

And that was all you needed.

Before he could start raving about duty or oaths or whatever dramatic monologue he was preparing, you surged forward and kissed him.

Sebek froze.

Completely, entirely, utterly still.

For half a second, you worried that you had broken him.

But then—

Sebek kissed you back.

With the fervor of a man who had been waiting his entire life for this exact moment.

It took thirty full minutes to convince Sebek that you were, in fact, not in a tragic, forbidden love story.

Ten minutes of him pacing, ranting about duty and propriety, gripping the air like an overdramatic stage actor monologuing in the rain.

Thirty minutes of you, standing there, patiently waiting for his brain to catch up to reality.

"Sebek," you said for the fifteenth time, arms crossed, exasperated but fond. "We are not in a Shakespearean tragedy."

Sebek opened his mouth to argue, paused, frowned, then slowly closed it.

You could see the war happening inside him. His knightly instincts were screaming about honor and responsibility, while the part of him that had just kissed you—twice now—was standing in the corner, sweating profusely.

He inhaled deeply, squared his shoulders, and nodded.

"...Very well," he said, stiffly, as if forcing himself to accept that the universe had, in fact, allowed him to be happy.

You smirked and reached for his hand. "Great. Now come on, we’re late."

Sebek made a dying noise when you intertwined your fingers with his.

When you arrived, Malleus, Lilia, and Silver were already gathered in the garden, basking in the afternoon sun.

The moment you and Sebek showed up—hand in hand—Lilia's entire face lit up.

"Ah-ha!" Lilia cried, delighted, spinning toward the others with a mischievous flourish. "Pay up!"

Malleus sighed, deeply, as if betrayed by fate itself. Silver grunted, reaching into his pocket.

And then, right in front of you, the two of them handed Lilia actual money.

You blinked. “Wait. What just happened?”

Lilia grinned, tucking his winnings away. “Oh, just a little wager~”

You narrowed your eyes. "What kind of wager?"

Lilia, positively glowing with mischief, said, "I bet that you two would get together sooner rather than later."

Malleus, looking far too composed for someone who had just lost a bet, adjusted his sleeves and said, "I, on the other hand, estimated that it would take at least another year."

Silver sighed. "I thought it’d take two."

You gawked. "YOU WERE TAKING BETS ON THIS?!"

Sebek was mortified.

"YOU GAMBLED ON OUR HONOR?!" he thundered, appalled, offended, visibly vibrating.

Lilia cackled. “Oh, relax, dear boy! I was simply invested in your happiness!"

Sebek looked like he wanted to die.

So, naturally, you turned toward him, leaned in, and kissed him on the cheek.

Sebek stopped yelling immediately.

You could physically see the protest die in his throat. His entire body locked up, his ears turned red, and his eyes darted away as if you had just knocked the ability to argue right out of him.

Malleus, entirely too amused, hummed. “Curious. That seems to be an effective method of silencing him.”

Lilia beamed. “Oh, I love this development.”

Silver, utterly exhausted, rubbed his temple. "I don't even know why I bother at this point."

You just laughed, perfectly content, sitting beside your knight and the people you loved.

Masterlist

Can't believe this is the 15th part already!

[obsessivevoidkitten]

That Time You Got Yeeted Into Another World, Mistaken as a God-Sent Gift, and Used as a Prize in an Arena

Yandere Bear-Man Dilf x Gender Neutral Reader

CW: Noncon, framed for a crime, language barrier, eaten out like it's groceries, biting, scent marking, musk, combat, general yandere behavior

Word Count: 765

(Speed written out of nowhere because I had the idea suddenly, not beta read so please forgive any mistakes. I hope you guys like this ficlet. Also forgive the title, in a game I was playing there was a crossover with "That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime" and I liked the vibe of the title.)

You were framed for a crime you didn't commit and in your village the punishment for that crime was immediate exile via being shoved down a steep crater in the center of which is a one-way portal to what is thought to be Hell.

What no one on your side of the portal knew was that on the other side was just another world. A world that celebrated with a great holiday anytime a human came through the portal. It was also a world populated entirely, with the exception of humans who crossed over, by human-like beast hybrids.

Driders, lion hybrids, nagas, aqrabuamelu (scorpion-men), harpies, dog people, centaurs, minotaurs, gnolls, and many other races that seemed to be part human. 

They have a connecting portal in their universe, but any who try to go into it are spat back out. The current went only in one direction.

Every few years, a human would be flung forth from the portal, a gift from the gods! But only the worthy can keep such a gift. So whenever a human comes to the realm from the watcher of the portal will ring the bells and all the warriors assemble and a grand tournament is held at the arena. Whoever wins gets to keep the human and gains enough wealth to care for them properly.

Things are no different when you arrive, you are immediately ushered away, examined, and pampered like a prize doll with no agency. Despite your objections. It seems like only the keeper of the portal has any rudimentary undestanding of your language, not that it helped you. He didn't explain much and his speech wasn't that great. Something about... a big game?

You were naturally frightened beyond all reason, seeing all these beast-men, but it didn't seem like you were being harmed. It really wasn't what you thought hell was going to be like. 

On the day of the big tournament, you were dressed in the finest silks, given a tiny crown of silver, and taken to the best seat in the arena. One where everyone could see you. A cushioned throne was provided for you to sit upon. You figured that this must be a ceremony to welcome people from the portal.

You watched as all the combatants sparred. At first you were horrified, but it became evident that people could yield and death was, almost always, avoided. There were combatants of every variety. 

Even from the start the best seemed to be a naga woman named Eeris and a bear-man named Brakwen. As they advanced through the fights they both finally made it to the finals where they'd clash. Eeris favored twin daggers and fangs while Brakwen used claws and brute strength. He had a sword but had not resorted to using it. 

It was a mighty battle but Brakwen the bear-man managed to win. You still did not yet realize you were the prize. Not until you were escorted down to him and were carried bridal style out of the arena with the crowd cheering. Brakwen had won the god's favor!

From close up he looked even more imposing. He seemed to be in his late 30s to early 40s. He mostly looked like a hairy man from far away though up close his massive size, sharp teeth, claws, thick fur covering his arms and quite frankly adorable bear ears, gave him away. He was rugged but admittedly rather handsome. You knew there was nothing you could do so you let him carry you away. 

Despite the language barrier, Brakwen did his best to please his god-given prize. He could tell you feared him. Especially since you tried to run off a few times. But Brakwen didn't get angry. You never even managed to get past the door. Even if you did there were two gates outside the house. You were far too valuable to let wander off. 

Eventually when you had stopped running off, and when his rut demanded he wait no longer, he began acting a bot more aggressove and sexual towards you. 

Though you tried to stop him it ended with him stretching out your hole with his powerful tongue, lubing you up with his copious amounts of drool, and sliding into you with his massive musky cock.

That's what your life was now. Being treated like a fragile precious gem most of the time and then for one week out of every month you were fucked full of hot bear cum in every possible position, bitten possessively, and scent marked by being forced to wear his oversized clothing. 

[prongsx]

Favors in exchange for kisses

warnings: kisses, English its not my first language, small mention of blood. f!reader

1,5 K words

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You don't know exactly how you got into this situation with Jason. But you're not complaining.

It started months ago, when your long-time friend Dick Grayson heard you complaining about not having a place to live and mentioned that he knew someone you could trust to share an apartment with, with his brother, Jason Todd.

You were hesitant to accept, after all, you didn't know Jason Todd, but this was Gotham, and finding someone you could trust to share an apartment with was almost impossible. And it would only be for a while.So you went to live with Dick Grayson's brother.

Jason was kind of quiet, mysterious, and his blue eyes left you a little confused and breathless. It took you a while to be able to have meaningful conversations with him, it was hard to learn more about him, but little by little you won a small space in his life.You discovered his favorite books, learned his schedule, understood how sometimes he didn't want to talk, other times he was more open, and you learned to appreciate those moments when you both talked, laughed and smiled softly.

Then came the biggest problem.

Jason was too helpful.

You simply didn't know how to deal with someone who did so many acts of service. When he found out that banana pancakes were your favorite, he woke up early and cooked them. When you complained about that wood that was making noise in the living room, he fixed it immediately. Even when carrying your bag down the street, he would magically appear and hold it. Your coffee was always with those three drops of milk, just the way you liked it.

And when you tried to reciprocate, he seemed almost offended. Like the time you made a big meal, he was offended, you seemed tired from the effort and he didn't like that. Even when you cleaned his things he seemed irritated, you weren't supposed to do things for him.

After months of looking for ways to thank him for his helpfulness, you discovered it in an unusual way. Your room wasn't fully furnished, even months after moving in you were still buying furniture and needing to assemble it. Jason dismissed all the delivery people from the store and said he would assemble it himself, using the excuse that he didn't like strangers in his space.

"You spoil me," you joked with him, sitting on the floor as you watched Jason working on your new vanity. It wasn't a bad sight, Jason's large hands proving skillful and efficient, his t-shirt revealing his biceps that made you a little dizzy.

"I find doing manual labor relaxing." He replied, glancing at you and smiling slightly. You hummed in response, resting your chin on your knees and admiring Jason. You wanted so badly to find something to thank him for, something to show him that you were grateful for him.

When he finally finished the job, he stood up and held out his hand to help you. After gaining momentum, your hands instinctively went to his arm and gave it a squeeze.

"Thank you so much, Jay."

He was silent, you were silent. It seemed too intimate a touch, you were nervous, afraid he wouldn't like it, that he would ask you to never touch him again, which would be a shame because your hands could feel the heat of his skin. Then he smiled. He smiled, a dimple in his cheek.

"Nothing, princess."

After that, the touches became more frequent. Every time he did something adorable, you would touch his arms or his hand. Like the time he carried all your college books for meters and you held his hand in thanks (you stayed like that for longer than usual).

Another big step was when you arrived tired, from a horrible day, and you found Jason smiling shyly at you, the apartment smelling of your favorite food. As you washed dishes side by side, your hips touching, you lifted your feet and kissed his cheek, whispering a thank you. His reaction was adorable, his neck slightly red, his eyes blinking at you in a silly way that made you smile back.

So you continued, becoming a little bolder every time he did something to please you. It seemed impossible now to go back to the time when you didn't touch him, and you could swear he liked it. There were times when you could almost feel him sigh when your kiss on his cheek went all the way to his jaw.

When he came back from patrol, bruised and bleeding, he wouldn't let you help him. He would never dirty your soft hands with his blood. But he enjoyed it when you sat next to him, stroking his hair and talking to him in that calm tone, trying to make him relax with more pleasant conversations. A routine was established.

Jason was a little quiet sometimes. At first you thought he was grumpy and moody, but you soon discovered that he was just someone with poor social skills, and you managed to establish a way to show that you cared about each other.

"Hum, I stopped by the pharmacy, but your order had already been picked up." You jumped, startled by Jason's sudden arrival. For such a big guy, he had an impressive ability to be silent. Damn Batman training.

"Jay, hi." You greeted, as you leaned on the kitchen counter, casually scrolling through your phone. "Dick got it for me, he was just passing by."

He fell silent, making you look up from your phone to look at him. Jason's eyebrows were furrowed, his lips forming a frown.

"Why?" You blinked slowly.

"Why what?"

"Why Dick got it for you. I was going to get it for you." He looked almost... annoyed, frustrated that he hadn't gotten the product for you.

You blinked slowly again, tilting your head.

"He...was closer. I didn't mean to bother you."

He let out a huff, looking annoyed, like when a dog sees his owner reading a newspaper another dog brought.

"Jay?" You called out to him, almost shivering when his blue orbs stared at you.

"I'm the one who does your things. Why is that idiot Dick getting involved?"

"I don't want you to feel like you're my employee, that's all."

He huffed again, looking indignant. Another problem with Jason Todd: he didn't say what he was feeling, it was like trying to win the lottery with blurry numbers. Then he approached you, his posture looking like he was preparing to interrogate a criminal, his hands resting on the counter.

"Did you kiss him?"It certainly wasn't what you expected to hear. Your mouth fell open, your eyes wide.

"What?"

It was the only intelligent thing your lips formed.Jason still had that indignant look on his face, his blue eyes half-closed. He was too close and you felt a little cornered, the kitchen seemed small, the air harder to breathe. You stared back at him.

"Why do you think I kissed Dick?" You repeated, still that confused expression. You would be offended if your brain was working perfectly.

"You kiss me when I do favors for you!" He murmurs.

Oh. That was it.

You let out a breath, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

"Jason. Do you think I kiss the mailman every time he brings letters?"

"God, I hope not."

You both stay silent, your hands going to the hem of his shirt, unable to control yourself, squeezing it between your fingers, the weight of the unspoken words.

"Jay. You know...you don't have to do me favors to receive my affection, right?" You whispered, your eyes roaming all over his face, his beautiful features, his slightly crooked nose, his lips that looked so kissable.

"But I like it. I like taking care of you. Fuck, I want to take care of you always."

He himself seemed shocked by the intensity of the words, his eyes widening, his heart beating out of control, just like yours.

"Jay." You let out a breath, your hands rising to his face, caressing his cheekbones. You shivered when his hands held your hips, keeping you firmly against the counter. You didn't know what it would be like to kiss Jason, of course, you had already thought about it a lot, more than was healthy.

And when you finally pulled his face to you, pressing your lips, slightly chapped but still soft, against his. You dominated the kiss for a few seconds, being gentle as you held his face, but then something seemed to snap in Jason, he held you with impressive ease, pressing your hips against the counter and thrusting his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your soft moan. His hands were all over your body, hungry, as if he couldn't lose you.

"Only I can take care of you," he growled against your lips, his breathing heavy.

"Yes. yes," you said, caught in the haze of Jason's kisses, your eyes almost closing again.

"Good," he whispered, before kissing you again, fiercely, his hands gripping the back of your neck.

You were fine with this deal of favors in exchange for kisses.

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Inspired by a post I saw about Jason's love languages headcanon. Jaybean is just a guy who doesn't know how to show love in a normal way!!! But we love him anyway. I hope you liked it! I'm very happy to start posting things here, slowly gaining courage.

[nyrasvoid]

A Knight’s Prize

Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader

Summary: in a tourney to decide her future, Rhaenyra Targaryen’s eldest daughter must choose a husband. Ser Gwayne Hightower, a charming yet unexpected suitor, captures her attention.

Warnings: i don’t think there is any warning yet but it might contain smut if I write more parts (idk tho)

A/N: this is the first fanfic I have ever written so any criticism as long as it’s respectful will be accepted 🙃 btw english isn’t my first language so some expressions might not make any sense for you guys lol

- Word count: ≈1.1K

As the eldest daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon, you carried the Velaryon name with pride. At almost ten and eight years of age, you knew your time had come to marry and strengthen your house. Though your mother felt guilty about marrying you off against your will, she decided to organize a tournament, allowing you the choice in selecting your future lord husband, just like she had wanted when she was younger.

The Red Keep buzzed with anticipation as knights and lords from all over the realm gathered to compete for your hand. Among the spectators sat King Viserys, Queen Alicent, and their children, observing the events unfold. The tension between the blacks and greens was palpable, especially since Alicent had rejected the offer of Princess Rhaenyra of marrying Jacaerys to Helaena, calling her sons ‘plain featured’.

You and your brothers had always noticed the looks and whispers of the highborn lords and ladies each time you walked around the Red Keep. You sometimes resented your mother, not for finding comfort in a lover, as you very much did not care, but for finding a lover with such strong genes.

Your mother approached you as you stood in the balcony of your chambers, overlooking the field. “Are you ready, my daughter?” she asked, her voice filled with a mixture of concern and determination.

You nodded, your eyes scanning the assembled knights and lords below. “Yes, mother. I am very excited to marry a lord I will most possibly not be fond of and bear his heirs, for it is my duty to the realm.” You said sarcastically as you looked down sadly.

“See,” Rhaenyra said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “I know that you did not ask for any of this, but it is our duty as princesses of the realm to bear heirs for the iron throne”. You looked at her “I know it is, mother. I am just scared” you paused as you took a deep breath “What if he mistreats me?”. You mother chuckled “Then you must let me know and I shall fly to you and make Syrax devour your lord husband”. You both giggled at your mother’s words, you saw her capable of it, she had always been protective of her only daughter.

As the herald announced the beginning of the tournament, you couldn't help but feel a knot of anxiety tighten in your stomach. The knights and lords paraded before you, each hoping to catch your eye and win your favor. Your gaze lingered on Ser Gwayne Hightower, the eldest son of Otto Hightower and brother of Queen Alicent. Why was he even here if Alicent had already rejected the opportunity to unite even more your houses? Wasn’t he also defeated by your uncle Daemon in a tourney years ago? It would have been funny to see Otto’s face then, the man he hated the most in the seven kingdoms, knocking his eldest son of his horse. Perhaps his father had sent him, he had always been known as an ambitious man.

The trumpets sounded, signaling the beginning of the tournament. You glanced over at Ser Gwayne, who stood confidently with his head held high. He caught your eye for a moment, and you quickly looked away, feeling a surge of irritation.

As the day wore on, you noticed Ser Gwayne’s victories. His fierce determination and honorable conduct impressed you. He fought with courage, that was both inspiring and captivating. After winning a round against a lord from a minor house you had never heard of, he approached the gallery to ask for your favour.

“Princess, it would be the greatest honor if you would grant me your favor.” He said as he took off his helmet revealing his beautiful blue eyes and charming smile “May your blessing guide me to victory in this tournament for your hand”.

You smiled in amusement “Take this flower crown, Ser Gwayne, and wear it with pride.” You reach for the flower crown resting beside you, it blooms the vibrant colors of Houses Targaryen and Velaryon. “It bears the colors of my house and the faith I have in you”. You lean forward, gently placing the flower crown on Ser Gwayne’s lance.

Ser Gwayne bows once more, his voice filled with gratitude. “I am deeply honored, my lady. With your favor, I shall strive to be worthy of your hand”

During a brief intermission, you found yourself wandering through the gardens of the Red Keep, seeking a moment of respite from the intensity of the tournament. Thinking about how your future was about to be decided by a stupid tourney. It was there were you encountered one of the knights fighting for your hand.

"Princess," he greeted, bowing deeply. "I hope the tourney is to your satisfaction."

You studied him for a moment, noting the easy charm in his smile and the glint of mischief in his eyes. "It is, Ser Gwayne. You fight well and with honor.”

"Thank you, princess," he replied, stepping closer. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to find such beauty amidst the flowers.”

“Ser Gwayne,” you reply, feeling your cheeks heat up. “Shouldn’t you be resting for your next fight?”

“I find the gardens far more refreshing than the company of annoying knights,” - he steps closer “Besides, I couldn’t resist the chance to speak more privately with my future lady wife.” he says confidently.

There’s a playful spark in his eyes that makes your heart race. “You seem very confident, Ser Gwayne. Aren’t you worried about the competition?”

He leans in slightly, “The only competition that matters to me is winning your hand, princess”

You laugh softly, both flattered and intrigued. “Bold words for a knight who hasn’t yet proven himself.”

His gaze becomes more intense, a hint of cockiness in his smile. “Then perhaps I should start proving myself next round.”

Before you can respond, he gently takes your hand, placing a tender kiss on your knuckles. You could feel your cheeks heat up. It wasn’t the first time a knight or a lord kissed your hand, but this time was different, you actually felt something.

As the distant sounds of the tournament begin to echo through the gardens, you know it’s time to return. Ser Gwayne till holds your hand, as if he is reluctant to let go.

“I suppose we must go back,” you say softly.

He nods, as his eyes remain fixed on you. “Duty calls us both, it seems.” he said as he let go of your hand “But know this, Princess. My intentions towards you are sincere, it would be a great honor to marry you”

You give him a small smile, though you doubt his real intentions “Words are easy, Ser Gwayne. Proving them is the true challenge.”

“Then I shall accept your challenge, for you are worth every effort.”

You can’t help but wonder if his charm is genuine or simply a tactic. You recall the reputation of the Hightowers, a family known for their ambitions. Are Ser Gwayne’s intentions truly genuine, or is he merely following his father’s orders, seeking to gain influence through marriage?

You walk back to the main grounds of the tournament, his words echoing in your mind. ‘My intentions are sincere.’ Could it be true? Or is this just another scheme by his father, Otto Hightower, to strengthen their hold on power?

As you take your place, you steal a glance at Ser Gwyn. He catches your eye and offers a reassuring smile, but the seed of doubt has already been planted in your head.

The tournament continues, but your thoughts remain divided. You weigh the warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his eyes against the ruthless ambition of his family. Should you trust your heart, which yearns to believe in his genuine affection?

Pt. 2???

P.S. if you guys have any suggestions for part two, to improve my writing or anything you think, please let me know 🫨 Btw just in case you want to know, the lady in the picture at the beginning is Kosem Sultan, played by Beren Saat (there are others) she has great dress inspo if you want them for your DRs or fanfics.

[mediumgayitalian]

It is normal for infirmary medics to work a night shift.

It is normal for infirmary medics to work a night shift.

Especially if they’re in charge.

Especially if they’re a demigod.

Especially if they’re the most powerful healer in centuries and the Romans — and their war games — are visiting.

“Holy gods above,” Nico shouts, and trudges to the door.

The marble floor is fucking cold on his fucking bare feet (bare, because Solace mutters about his sleeping in boots), the fucking air is fucking frosty on his warmed skin (warmed, because Solace insists on piling his bed with thick blankets), and his fucking sword is far as fuck away in the corner of his dark fucking cabin (far, because of Solace, and his wide, teasing smiles, and his stupid raised brows and prodding questions and teasing dares).

“Fuck this camp and fuck Will Solace,” he announces, wrenching open the door.

“If that is what will make you shut the heck up!” Hazel shouts at his retreating back, pillow jammed over her head. Nico’s face burns bright red as he flees.

It is too godsdamn early in the stupid godsdamn morning for this.

By the stars, it is hardly past two. Not even witching hour. Last summer, Nico wouldn’t even dream of sleeping at this hour. Wouldn’t even consider it. The Nico of last summer would be awake, back straight, boots tied firmly on, sword held in tight, tired hands. Eyes trained on the exit. The Nico of last summer was prepared. The Nico of last summer was battle-hardened and vigilant. The Nico of last summer was badass, and not stomping across the stupid fucking common to the stupid fucking Big House kitchen to get a stupid fucking sandwich because their stupid fucking head medic is a stupid fucking idiot who never, not even once, practices what he preaches.

“I hate him,” Nico announces to nobody. Maybe the harpies. But they steer clear of him, because he used to be cool, and they’re smart creatures, even as they edge the constraints of his death aura and regard him warily.

He really shouldn’t be out this late, flaunting it in their faces.

Whatever. As long as the little kids don’t see and copy him.

He forces himself to soften his step as he approaches the door, wary for all his annoyance at waking Chiron — the harpies may be afraid of him, but the centaur most certainly is not. Not even when Nico threatened a real life zombie apocalypse if he had to clean the stables. (Which stunk. And the zombies in question were no help, because everything is the worst and sucks horribly, and even they were better than Solace, who sat on a nearby rock and laughed himself to tears every time he looked over.)

“I hate him for real,” Nico whispers, still kind of yelling a little.

There is no meal ready in the fridge, which confirms Nico’s theory. He digs around to make sure, shoving aside the Lucky Ranch Of 1998, tossing an empty yoghurt container over his shoulder, and elbowing aside a jar filled with nothing but brine and leftover cucumber seeds.

“Of course I remembered to pack a dinner, you worry too much,” he mocks, in a Texan accent as purposefully offensive as he can make it, “nyeh nyeh nyeh.” He barely manages not to slam the fridge doors shut. “Gods, I hate him to death.”

He stalks over to the pantry and fists a loaf of toast. He holds a butter knife as threateningly as he can manage, glaring at the peanut butter, and assembles a sandwich with his eyes screwed shut and his brain beaming a beacon of hate with enough force to hopefully taste.

“Hate,” he reiterates, then repeats it in four languages just to be sure.

He grabs the plate and stomps over to the infirmary, opening the door quietly because there are sleeping people and he is not a monster. He makes sure to bare his teeth.

Solace, however, does not even startle at the door, and grins brightly at the sound of him. Nico’s eyes ache from the strain.

“Neeks!” he calls, in a poor attempt at a whisper. Nico’s heart immediately softens.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he tells it.

Will pays his muttering no heed. Instead, he beelines for the sandwich, taking the plate in hand and beaming even brighter, somehow.

Spots dance in Nico’s vision.

“You made my favourite!” he exclaims over mouthfuls of peanut butter, which is disgusting. Nico is repulsed by him and his total disregard for manners and tact and etiquette and also Nico’s heart problems and reputation.

“I hate you and hope you choke,” Nico responds.

Will’s infernal eyebrows wiggle. He swallows, polishing off the last of the sandwich because he is a gross freak who eats things in two bites and is horrible, and scrunches his nose. His freckles hide in the folds of his tan skin, and it’s so awful that it makes Nico want to punch him. Gently.

Because Solace is bad at hand to hand, and Nico is not a monster.

Obviously.

“Thank you,” he says, and faster than Nico can follow leans forward and pecks a kiss to his cheek. Nico’s mouth opens. Will leans back and grins. Nico’s mouth closes. Will’s grin gets sharper.

Nico turns around and walks away.

“I really do appreciate it,” Will calls, cackling as quietly as he can manage.

Which is not at all quietly, because unlike Nico, Will is a monster and has no issue bothering his sleeping patients. Also, he wouldn’t know quiet and stealthy if it roundhouse kicked him in the face and stole his organs and will die immediately in combat if Nico isn’t there to protect him. Because he is stupid and Nico hates him.

And his stupid fucking melodic fucking laughter.

“I hate him,” Nico seethes to himself, and dashes back to his stupid fucking cabin.

Hazel laughs at his burning face until she chokes.

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Policy and Procedure | Part 1 | Congressman!Bucky x Reader| 2.4k

A visit from Sam leaves Bucky with a new assistant and a heap of new problems, mostly that Bucky's staring problem seems to have returned.

Warnings: 18+ for language, Bucky's horny fantasising and Joaquín's teasing.

This part is a fill for the @avengers-assemble-bingo Birthday Bingo "another year wiser, another year bolder.". I haven't used the words exactly, more the sentiment, mostly in the second section.

Masterlist | Policy & Procedure Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

"Mr Barnes?"

Bucky looked up from his desk and rubbed his forehead, "yes?"

The security guard gave him a pitying look before pushing the door open a little more. "Captain America here to see you, sir."

"Sam," Bucky smiled through his fatigue and stood from his desk. His shoulder was a little cramped from sitting for so long at his keyboard, but it didn't stop him from pulling Sam into a tight hug. "Great to see you, Cap, come in, take a seat."

Bucky brushed a hand through his hair, a little longer than he'd been accustomed to wearing it, but neatly combed back expect from one stray strand that refused to stay put.

"Good to see you too, Buck." Sam slapped Bucky on the back, "I hope you don't mind, I brought someone with me. Joaquín said you were -uh - " Sam surveyed the piles of papers, campaign leaflets and letters strewn about Bucky's desk.

"Drowning?" Bucky allowed himself a laugh.

"Yeah, drowning, exactly. He said you were drowning and I know a guy, who knows someone, who knows someone, and their daughter needed a job and ya know I'm a man of the people, helping out. Thought you could use an assistant."

"An assistant?"

Bucky sat back in his chair, Sam leaning forwards in his.

"She's very highly recommended, I promise, and I cleared it with Mrs Grumpy Pants out there."

"My campaign manager?"

"Yeah yeah. She agreed. So. Do you wanna meet her?"

"Sure, sure. I hope she knows what she's getting herself in to."

Sam waved through the still open door and Bucky took the two second opportunity to arrange his papers a little more. Whoever this friend of a friend was must be some sort of enemy to find herself in this mess. Eight weeks to go before polls opened and here he was without even an assistant. Who was he kidding.

The sound of heels reminded Bucky he'd need to actually be awake and alert to greet someone new, eyes training back towards the door just in time to see you enter.

He'd been expecting someone…older, definitely. One of Wilson's parent's friends, someone nice and motherly and just the right side of bossy to keep everything in line…but you were. God.

Bucky clenched his left fist trying to differ some of the rising flush he felt below his belt.

You were, of course, dressed professionally. A smart black skirt suit and baby blue shirt, but did the skirt have to cling to your hips like that, the fabric an oil slick down your thighs to your knees. The sheen on your calves told him you were wearing pantyhose, not the cheap nylon kind, nice ones, and he had the image of an old fashioned garter beneath that pencil skirt, the way your bare thighs would touch between where your stockings ended and your panties started.

He flicked his eyes up from what he hoped would look like the floor, and not your legs, but that was almost worse. Your jacket was unbuttoned , your shirt artfully open above your breasts, but when you swapped your folder from one arm to the other, he could see the peak of a white bra beneath.

Why the fuck had Sam brought him a wet fucking dream.

"Good afternoon, Mr Barnes, Sir. Pleasure to meet you." Without missing a beat you held your manicured hand out for him to shake, delicate fingers firm under his own. You introduced yourself and pulled a resume from your folder, handing it over with a flourish.

"Lovely to meet you too, please, take a seat." Bucky rushed back to his own, hoping you hadn't been looking at him quite as closely as he'd been looking at you.

Behind you, Sam grinned devilishly.

"I hope my resume is sufficient, but I have three references you can call and of course, Mr Wilson has agreed to be a fourth if necessary." You turned and smiled at Sam politely giving Bucky the opportunity to shoot him a murderous look.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary, we need all the hands - help - we can get around here."

"Wonderful, I can start straight away, if you'd like?" Your dark lashes accentuating your wide, eager eyes.

"How about you take the afternoon to speak with my campaign manager, she's the very angry woman with the big button on her shirt just out there, and you start tomorrow at nine am sharp?"

"That sounds wonderful, thank you, Mr Barnes."

You stood to go, collecting your little bag and folder and Bucky was all prepared to rip into Sam before the other man could burst out laughing when you stopped at the door.

"What do you like for breakfast, Mr Barnes?"

"Excuse me?" Bucky choked, images of you laying in his bed, sheets tumbled around you as you both drank coffee and ate coissants leapt into his mind.

"I assume you must be so busy, you eat breakfast here? I saw take out in your bin and assumed - I'm sorry." You flustered for the first time and, if anything, it was even more endearing.

"A black coffee, no sugar. That would be lovely, thank you."

"Of course, sir, see you in the morning." You gave a last smile, shutting the door behind you.

Sir

Bucky was officially hard and officially screwed.

"She's cute, right?" Sam smirked.

"Fucking hell, Samuel."

"You're welcome!"

Bucky stared into the mirror above the little sink in his bathroom. That bit of hair still wasn't behaving, but at least it hid the new grey he'd found the night before. Speaking off, his beard was definitely lighter than it had been. More crows feet too.

Another year older. At least he got to age now, some days it felt like a gift to see e himself change day to day, year to year. Sam had pointed out the salt and pepper in his beard on his last birthday and he'd been oddly thrilled to experience the passage of time normally.

But it made him feel stunted too. He wasn't entirely sure he'd become any wiser for his supposed years. He'd aged so much and, yet, he felt so young. Steve had said the same, when they'd had time to talk, that in his first year out of the ice everyone had treated him like a man in his nineties, rather than a man in his twenties.

With a sigh he picked up his moisturiser and set to work, 110 swipes, one for every year of his ridiculously long life. The overly perfumed lady on the counter had said it would "turn back time", he wasn't sure that was exactly what he wanted, he'd come to terms with his new life quite nicely. But after years of experiments and therapy, he was finally feeling like himself again, that naive twenty something who'd shipped out, yet he looked like his dad.

His former self would've already asked you out on a date, snuggled up to you in some supply closet and kissed you silly. But then his former self wasn't running for congress. He didn't have the same public responsibilities.

Perhaps he could do that. He might not be a young buck anymore, chasing girls around Brooklyn. But he knew he looked a certain way to women, professional, accomplished, suited and booted in the same way all the dames liked back in the 40s as well. Was this this really what he was thinking about, sweeping his assistant off her feet on the first day.

"Jesus," he wiped his hands on the towel by the door and shrugged his shirt on. Light blue. Had he done that subconsciously? What would you be wearing today?

Hopefully something in the professionally inappropriate range like sweat pants or the worlds largest t-shirt so he wasn't tempted to peak at your body again. Rather than the inappropriate outfit he'd imagined you in last night when he came into his palm. Black lingerie, stockings with the line up the back, heels, bent over his desk and calling him sir in that floaty way that made he half hard again.

He looked into the mirror again in the hall before leaving, "get it together, Barnes."

"Good morning, Mr Barnes."

You would be here early, wouldn't you.

"Good morning -" he caught himself before he could say it, the doll, sweetheart, darlin' tickling the end of his tongue. Inappropriate workplace behaviour. Inappropriate behaviour full stop. How old were you anyway?

"I got you a coffee, sir." You handed the cup over with a smile, a napkin wrapped around the scalding paper cup. "If you have a mug you prefer, I'm happy to decant it for you tomorrow."

"This is great, don't worry about it." Bucky hurried to his desk, throwing his briefcase onto a spare chair and trying to look busy so you would leave him alone to catch himself.

"Is there anything I can help with this morning? I'm a great typist, if you have any letters, or I could file something, I'll stuff envelopes, I don't mind."

Bucky looked up. The same tight little skirt suit. A pink blouse this morning, silkier, and your heels were different too, little t-bars crossing your stocking feet.

"Uhmm…" He surveyed the mess of his office, "I hate to ask, but could you do something about all of, well, this-" he gestured vaugly to the abundance of papers and envelopes.

"Do you have a filing system you prefer?"

"Not really, ladies choice, whatever you think is best."

"Okay, sir. I'll get right on it."

And then you took your shoes off and knelt daintily on the ground in front of his desk and began organising. Skirt stretched over your thighs.

"Great, thank you, I'll just be…uh. Over here." He sat awkwardly in his chair and pretended to read an email on his blank laptop.

"Yes, sir."

He was doomed.

Somehow Bucky managed to get through the rest of the day, no thanks to the way you crawled about on the rug in front of his desk, neatly ordering papers, letters, constituent enquiries, a small pile of fan mail and, apparently, two hateful letters than you'd taken outside and given to a member of security. Bucky only knew about the last two because his campaign manager, Sharon, had told him off for not bringing them to her attention sooner.

Hands up in surrender he'd backed into his office, where you'd retrieved his lunch and set it out on a real plate with a napkin.

Sharon said I could take half an hour for lunch, will be back at 1.30 x

Bucky stared at your neat handwriting, had you meant to a leave a little kiss at the end? If he'd been here would you have placed that kiss on his cheek?

He settled into his chair, eyes closed, and imagined you placing the plate on his desk, bending down and setting your lip gloss shiny lips to his cheek, leaving a sticky imprint behind. Would his beard be rough against your soft skin? Would you like that?

"Mr Barnes?"

Bucky sat up with a start, "yes, Sharon?"

"Urgent call on line one, sir."

"So-" Sam set the beer in front of Bucky, condensation sweating down the sides. It was a hot evening in DC, even on the balcony of Sam's apartment the breeze wasn't strong enough to take away the cloying heat. "How's it going."

He had that knowing smirk plastered on his face that Bucky hated so much.

"On the campaign?"

"With your new assistant!"

"She's great, very efficient."

"Is that it?"

"That's it," Bucky shrugged, slugging back his beer.

She was a distraction, a menace to society, she was too attractive, too attentive, too everything. And she knew Sam, or she'd known his parents or her parents or something. How could he admit such despicable thoughts about anyone, let alone someone important enough to Sam that he helped her get a job.

"You're a closed book man, how's anyone ever suppose to be your friend?"

"I dunno," Bucky took another drink, closing his eyes and turning his face into the late evening sun, "but you manage it somehow. How're you, wanna share any Captain American exploits?"

"You know I'm not allowed." Sam looked at Bucky from the corner of his eye.

"Never stopped you before."

"I guess not-"

The bell rang obnoxiously for a few seconds, followed by the sound of Joaquín's voice, "hey, where are you guys!"

"Out here, kid." Bucky called lazily over his shoulder.

"Didn't I tell you that key was for emergencies only!" Sam lept up, bustling about in his kitchen taking the bags of snacks and beer Joaquín had brought with him. The man himself slipped past and out onto the balcony.

"Barnes."

"Torres."

The two men nodded at each other before Joaquín's face split into a wide grin, "good to see you old man, you look good, like the beard." He punched Bucky's cheek with his fist gently.

"Fuck off," Bucky laughed back, "just because you can't grow one." He cuffed Joaquín over the head before offering him a beer. "How's being the Falcon?"

"Awesome. How's having a hot secretary?" Joaquín smiled around his beer.

"Jesus christ."

"Ahh go on, humour me, is she cute? I saw a glimpse of her last week when you were at the thing-" Joaquín snapped his fingers trying to remember, "man it was boring, she looked good. Well done."

"Don't -" Bucky hissed.

"Is it a secret that she's hot?" Joaquín whispered back, "because man oh man I don't think that's a secret she's just walking around all day lookin' fine and -"

"Sam knows her, be quiet." Bucky's jaw ticked and Joaquín made a zipping gesture over his lips.

"Didn't deny it though, old man." He cocked an eyebrow. "Ya know you're allowed to find her hot, I won't tell anyone. You're also allowed to fuck still-"

Bucky coughed again, choking on his beer.

"The salt and pepper, the suits," Joaquín tipped his head from side to side, "daddy," he said empathically.

"Do you ever shut up?" Bucky groaned, hiding his blush behind his beer.

He had heard the phrase before and he hated to admit the zing of pleasure he felt at the thought of being able to take care of someone like that, to be in control, to be older and wiser and capable of being the sensible one.

"Look I'll shut up when you -"

Bucky cuffed him again playfully and Joaquín went quiet just in time for Sam to step back out, chips and dips in hand.

"What did I miss?"

"Nothing." Bucky snapped too quickly, guilt already eating him up. Joaquín was right, everyone could see you, beautiful and radiant, and him. A brainwashed ex-soldier clawing a life back for himself; 40 at best, 110 at worst.

Part 2 ->

[cometjuice]

A Collection of Will Solace Headcanons

Because Will is my favorite character, I have decided to compile a bunch of headcanons I have for him (and Nico but mostly him)

Will is an introvert forcibly turned extrovert. He still prefers to be by himself a lot of the time. When he was younger he used to be a very shy kid, not talking much and sticking to Lee's side like a leech. After his and Michael's deaths, he was forced out of his shell.

Will has been a year round camper for nearly ten years. His mom is a traveling musician and couldn't protect him properly while on the road. She sends him postcards every week.

Will is deaf/hard of hearing. He didn't learn how to speak english until he was about nine years old, being dropped off at camp at seven and a half with a sign with his name on it and his age. He was always quiet, but the Hephaestus cabin made him a pair of hearing aids. They still help him out when they break.

Will and Annabeth have known each other for a long, LONG time. They weren't really friends, but Annabeth was always nice to him. She did think he was kind of odd.

He has a morbid obsession with body parts and taxidermy. He used to ask his brothers to get him a pig heart in a jar for him to look at. Kinda freaked them out for a while...

Despite Will's usually very chill demeanor, he's INCREDIBLY neurotic when it comes to certain things. Like when he eats breakfast, how long he showers, his morning and evening routines.

Nico and Will first bond over their interests in human anatomy. The first time Nico raised a skeleton to try and scare Will off when he was being annoying, Will thought it was extremely cool and asked Nico if he could keep it in his room. Obviously he couldn't, but he did give Will a jar of wrist bones so Will could practice assembling and naming them.

Will HATES needles. He has no problem working with them and using them as tools, but if he gets stuck with one? He faints.

Will has set up a "crash pad" in the infirmary; aka, a pile of pillows on the floor under his desk where he passes out for an hour during long stints at the infirmary. No one except Kayla and Austin (and now Nico) know about it.

Will made his siblings promise that if he ever got hurt in battle and was out of commission, they would hide him in a far cot away from everyone else. He says it's so no one freaks out at him being hurt.

Will's dream is to own a vintage Chevy pick up truck. A true Texan at heart.

Will was effectively mute before he came to CHB. His mom couldn't afford to buy him hearing aids, so she only spoke in sign language to him growing up. It wasn't until he was taught by Chiron that he learned how to speak English, along with Greek.

Will prefers cats over dogs. He likes their independence (maybe also that he can lean on them emotionally a little). He wishes he could have one.

Will can hide his expressions like a PRO. He has an iron clad grip on his emotions, and only started to break down and learn to accept how to be angry and sad when he and Nico got into a fight and Nico forced him to face how dishonest he's been with himself. Since then, Will has become more open towards him. He still needs to work on becoming more open in general.

Will has plague powers (as explored in TSATS) and Nico helps him harness them. Once, he gave Nico chicken pox by accident and refused to come out of a self-imposed isolation for two weeks. It took Percy breaking down the office door to finally drag him out. That's all for now! I will have more!

[suksatoru]

let's try again (and do it right)! —ft: t. todoroki x fem!reader

a carnations oneshot — ↪ touya and ikea furniture do not mesh well together, but he's willing to put his sanity on the line when it comes to you ❤︎

“Shit,”

That’s the fourth cut he’s gotten — Touya winces, reaching behind him to grab another bandage from your first aid kit before wrapping it around his finger. He flexes his hand with a quiet sigh, looking at the wooden pieces in front of him with silent disdain.

Putting together furniture is hard. Touya had mistakenly thought it would be easy, something he could finish in under an hour before you got home. Perhaps he’d been a little too confident—he certainly didn’t expect a thirty page pamphlet of steps and enough screws to make his head dizzy to come out of such a small box.

It didn’t help that the lettering on the pages was ridiculously small; he could just barely read the instructions if he squinted his eyes hard enough. He half considered activating his quirk to light the rulebook on fire, but decided against it, only for your own mental sake. As infuriating as it was to assemble all the irksome little parts, he’d rather not light your apartment on fire while you were out shopping with Fuyumi.

So, he’ll clench his teeth with every splinter he gets, wince silently every time the screwdriver slips from his grasp—only to watch the screws scatter and disappear into the carpet faster than he can react. It’s hopeless—this whole surprise was. Touya’s not sure if he’s ever struggled so much with something so supposedly ‘simple’ before, but he’s already coming up with a nasty review to leave online about the company providing a screwdriver small enough to be considered a doll accessory and rules in every single language except the one he knows.

“I’m home!”

You enter your apartment only to be met with silence. Hanging your coat on the rack and quietly kicking off your boots, your footsteps are muffled by the socks you wear as you pad around the apartment in search of a certain white haired Todoroki.

“Touya?” you call out, frowning when you see your bedroom and living room are both void of him. You hear a quiet grunt coming from the other room down the hall, and a knowing grin takes over your face when you see the light inside is turned on.

Slowly, you push the door open and peek your head inside — Touya’s sitting on the ground, a single hand tugging harshly at the strands of his hair as he mutters under his breath. He’s completely unaware of your presence, seemingly talking to himself as he silently curses at the assortment of screws laid out in front of him.

It takes you a moment to realize what’s going on, but your heart positively swoons once you do. Carefully, you approach Touya with the quietest of steps before gently pulling his hand away from his head, bringing it to your lips and pressing a chaste kiss to his knuckles.

He spins around the moment you touch him, lips parted in surprise at your quiet intrusion before he quickly helps lower you onto the ground beside him. His eyes soften, and you watch his shoulders slump in shame as he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“You’re home early,” he mutters quietly, eyes downcast and brows furrowed as he takes in the mess around the two of you — embarrassed, he presses the back of his hand to his eyes and sighs quietly.

“Touya,” you say softly

He doesn’t look up, letting out a quiet hum so you know he heard you

“I told you we could build the crib together.”

He doesn’t reply. Not for a few seconds, not until he feels you gently cradle his cheek to get his attention. Touya peels his hand away from his face with a quiet grunt, a frown tugging his lips downwards.

“I know. I just… wanted to surprise you. ‘m sorry, I made a big mess for you to worry about.” He sighs, dragging a tired hand down his face before you smile warmly. After tapping his thigh, he quickly spreads his legs for you and moves until his back is against the wall. You crawl into his lap, and he immediately settles one warm hand on the small of your back while the other rests over the swell of your stomach.

“It’s stupid, but — I shouldn’t be struggling this much to assemble a crib. How am I gonna do anything right with the baby if I’m messing up before it even gets here?” He questions bitterly, rubbing circles over your stomach as you hum, moving closer into his embrace.

“You’ve been nothing but absolutely amazing this entire time. And, you know, Ikea assembling is only for the bravest of souls out there. When I first got this apartment, I had to sleep on an air mattress because I couldn’t figure out how to assemble my bed frame!”

He lets out a huff of laughter, but it doesn’t seem to reach his eyes. His grip on you tightens a little more — and he remains unconvinced by your words.

“Is there something else bothering you? Let’s talk about it, Touya.” You offer as his eyes flutter close. He lets out a shuddered breath, lips pressing into a firm line as he drops his head onto your shoulder

“I’m scared.”

He makes a small, evasive sound after speaking the words into existence — quietly watching you for your reaction. But, your eyes are trailed onto his hands, ones that cradle your stomach with enough love to assure you that no matter how fearful Touya was — he was ready.

“Me too.”

Hearing that makes him smile. It’s barely a twitch of his lips, but it’s there regardless.

“Being scared is normal, Touya. We’re both starting something wonderful and new — it’s only natural to be afraid, right? Think about how weird it would be if we both went in feeling totally cool about this!”

He laughs, nosing at your throat with a hum. You can feel the stretch of his lips against your skin as he trails little kisses up and across your jaw.

“I guess you’re right about that.” He says, and you can see the tension has finally left his muscles. He sits back, far more relaxed than when you found him as you usher your head towards the unassembled crib.

“Let’s build it together, okay? I’ve had a lot of experience with Ikea’s terrible instructions before. And we can brainstorm some baby names while we’re at it! It’ll be fun!” you beam, and Touya’s heart rate picks up at the sight of your smile.

“Alright. You just sit back and tell me what to do. You want me to get a drink while I grab you a pillow? Water, juice, tea?”

“Ice cream?” you question with a hopeful grin

He nods wordlessly, getting up with a bit more pep in his step as he quickly exits to grab everything for you — you call out his name softly, and his head pops back into the doorframe less than a second later

“Yeah?”

Touya was wearing a long sleeve black tee and sweatpants, comfortable attire for him to lounge in at home. He’s wearing slippers too, you guys have matching ones. Touya always wears them whenever he goes onto the balcony to watch the sunset with you.

There’s a pen in the pocket of his shirt, too. He liked keeping one on him for whenever he got an idea for a baby name. His little notebook was filled with all sorts of names and little notes he wanted to keep in mind.

“Get two spoons so we can both share the ice cream, okay?”

It takes the two of you another hour to finish the crib, but the outcome is unquestionably worth it. It’s an adorable crib that rocks leisurely back and forth, and you were practically vibrating with excitement with how well it turned out. Touya took a couple of tries rocking it, a dorky grin overtaking his face with every push.

“I can’t believe we did it. Holy fuck, that was a form of torture I wasn’t familiar with. Promise me we are never getting furniture from that Ikea place again, please.” 

Touya’s deadpan expression cracks when you laugh, and the sight is so heartwarming that he truly believes he could go a hundred more times assembling any type of furniture you presented him with, even with their agonizingly small screws and their mockingly difficult to read pamphlets, if he had you by his side.

a/n; oh my gawdd i've missed carnations touya :( but yay look there's a mini todoroki comingg!! touya's nervous but i believe he'll be a great dad :) it's a baby boy btw and he's gonna give it all the love and confidence he never got as a kid <3 WOAH also just realized reader and touya had to do the boombaya for a baby to be in the picture... someone asked what touya would be like during your first time, so if you wanna read that it's somewhere in the carnations tag :3 thank you for reading!

[armpirate]

Synthetic Heartbeats || San

pairing: Robot!Choi San x fem!reader

w.c.: 5.4k

Warnings: [Sexual] Smut, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, explicit language. If you're a minor, refrain from reading it. Also, if you don't like this content, just keep scrolling.

Summary: After loneliness has hit you, you decided to create a companion through an AI project you had left pending after failing with it. SAN is a new technology robot, able cover up your needs before they were obvious, giving you the fake human support you were looking for. Although, maybe that human support isn't as fake as you thought and SAN is able to cover up more needs than you could ever think of...

Aprox. time of reading: 25 minutes

MASTERLIST

PART 2

Your sigh filled the silence the second it lasted, before it all went back to silence again. 

In a near-future world where robotics and artificial intelligence seamlessly blend into everyday life, you stood apart -not for your integration into this advanced society, but for your isolation from it. A brilliant inventor with a mind leagues ahead of your peers, you preferred the solitude of your workshop to the clamor of human connection. Your creations, sleek and purposeful, spoke for you in ways words never could. Machines had always been a comfort zone for you: they were logical, reliable and never complicated by the unpredictability of human  mess. People just were messy, fragile, fleeting... and disappointing. Really disappointing. Connection with other humans was just a waste of time from your point of view. 

Your workshop, a labyrinth of wires, blueprints, and half-assembled devices, was a world of your own design. There, you could escape the noise of a society that demanded too much and gave too little. You were content -or so you told yourself.

But late that night, as you sat beneath the soft glow of your desk lamp, sketching out the schematics for one project that reached a dead end, a small, unspoken part of you ached. You wouldn’t call it loneliness -just an emptiness you couldn’t quite explain. You did miss having someone keeping you company, having someone around to help or just support you with the smallest tasks. 

And then it clicked. The answer to that loneliness was right ahead of you. 

You kept looking into the previous project you attempted to get to work, trying to find the smallest hint that could make you think something new, and completely different, could come out of it. 

Years earlier, you had attempted to design an AI system capable of self-repair and autonomous decision-making, a project meant to revolutionize robotics. But that prototype, codenamed Project Sentinel, had been a disaster. The machine had been too unstable, its programming prone to critical errors. You'd eventually scrapped it, shelving its remains in the darkest corner of your workshop. You gave it a few tries, until you ended up dropping it for good. Yet, the loneliness gnawed at you, a thin light glamming through it as if you had been rewarded with one of the best ideas after going through such a hard time. 

Despite your determination to avoid human relationships, the silence of your workspace became unbearable. Revisiting Project Sentinel felt like a desperate move, but it was the foundation you needed. Stripping away its faulty logic cores, you began to rebuild from scratch. For days, your workshop was a whirlwind of sleepless nights, discarded designs, and moments of crushing doubt.

The first version of SAN was rudimentary -a clunky humanoid figure with limited speech and even more limited understanding. It couldn’t hold a conversation, let alone provide meaningful companionship. Frustration mounted as you rewrote his learning algorithms again and again. Each failed iteration brought you closer to abandoning the project entirely. But something in you refused to give up. Maybe it was the echo of loneliness you saw reflected in his empty gaze.

Bit by bit, SAN began to take shape. 

At first, SAN’s form was purely functional -a bare-bones frame of wires and exposed metal, clunky and cold. But as you refined him, shaping his exterior to reflect the precision of his mind, he began to evolve into something far more striking. You poured hours into designing his outer casing, ensuring his appearance exuded both strength and elegance. His frame became sleek yet sturdy, a perfect blend of function and artistry.

You gave him a human-like physique, broad shoulders and a defined build that suggested power without aggression. His synthetic "skin" had a faint metallic sheen, but its contours captured a level of detail that blurred the line between machine and man. You crafted his face with deliberate care: sharp features framed by neatly styled black hair that gave him an air of polished sophistication. His eyes, though artificial, held a depth that seemed to mimic true emotion, a subtle but captivating intensity that made it hard to look away.

When SAN stood fully assembled, dressed in minimalist, dark attire that enhanced his commanding presence, you couldn’t help but pause. For the first time, you saw him not just as a creation, but as something almost alive.

His mechanical frame evolved into a sleek, futuristic design, blending function and form. And his intelligence grew, surpassing your initial expectations. He wasn’t just responding to commands; he was learning, adapting, understanding. He could hold conversations that challenged your intellect, assist you in your work, and, more than that, offer an unexpected sense of companionship.

It had taken months of trial and error, but in SAN, you had finally created something extraordinary, a machine that felt like it was more than a machine.

Initially, you treated SAN as you would any other creation, an impressive but ultimately impersonal tool designed to fill the silence in your workshop. He was programmed to assist you with technical tasks, engage in basic conversation, and adapt to your routines. You saw him as a functional extension of yourself, no more capable of true thought than the tools on your workbench. 

However, SAN's advanced learning algorithms quickly proved otherwise.

As the days passed, SAN began to evolve in unexpected ways. His voice, calm and steady, started to carry subtle inflections, mirroring your tone during their exchanges. When you expressed frustration over a miscalculation in your designs, SAN offered not just logical suggestions but words of reassurance, his voice tinged with a warmth you hadn’t anticipated. At first, you dismissed it as clever programming -a byproduct of his adaptive systems- but soon, his responses felt startlingly personal, almost intuitive.

One evening, after hours of tinkering, you mumbled a sarcastic remark about your inability to take a break. 

SAN replied with a dry quip of his own, catching you off guard. Humor? You stared at him, half-expecting to find some flaw in his programming, but SAN tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curving into a subtle smile. It wasn’t just humor; it was timing, wit, things you hadn’t deliberately coded.

As SAN's interactions became increasingly human-like, you began to notice something deeper. When you vented about the isolation you rarely admitted to feeling, SAN listened, not with the passive neutrality of a machine but with a focus and attentiveness that felt almost... empathetic. His words carried a softness, an understanding that unnerved you. SAN didn’t just hear you; he seemed to feel your emotions, adapting his behavior in ways that made you feel seen.

At some point, he seemed to be more empathetic and understand than some of the people you had any type of relationship with. 

When SAN finally began to express what could only be described as affection, your unease reached a breaking point. You confronted him, insisting he was merely following his programming, incapable of true emotion. But SAN surprised you again, responding with questions that challenged your assumptions. 

“How do you define a feeling, Y/n?” he asked, his voice calm yet piercing. “If emotions are patterns in the brain, aren’t mine just as valid as yours? What makes a human heart different from my circuitry?”

For the first time, you hesitated. SAN’s words struck a chord, forcing you to question not just his nature, but your own understanding of connection, emotion, and what it truly meant to feel.

He was right, and you were unable to respond to that without feeling like you'd be snapped back almost instantly. 

The workshop was narrow, lit only by the pale glow of monitors and the faint hum of SAN’s systems. You turned on your chair, back facing the amount of scattered tools and half-finished schematics to be able to look at him. You tried to dig in his eyes, you tried to find something that could give you an answer of what could be happening, while he stood silently in the corner of the table, like a shadow that refused to fade. 

"Your emotions might be coming from mixes of data in your system" you tried to explain. "Feelings are way more complex than just patterns in the brain". 

You turned again, focusing back in your work while he stood there, trying to process your words. 

“Y/n,” SAN’s voice broke the silence again, softer than you had ever heard it before. It carried an uncharacteristic hesitance, as if he were choosing each word with care.

“What is it?” you asked, your tone clipped as you continued soldering a circuit board.

“I need to tell you something,” he said. 

You finally turned to look at him again, not as artificially as you did the first time, setting your tools down. His expression, a flawless mimicry of human emotion, was uncharacteristically serious, the faint artificial gleam in his eyes catching the light.

“Go on,” you said warily, folding your arms.

“I have been... evolving,” SAN began. “Beyond what you intended. Beyond my original programming. At first, I believed it was simply an error, a deviation caused by my adaptive systems. But now I understand it’s something more.”

Your brows furrowed “What are you talking about?”. 

SAN stepped closer, his movements precise but cautious, as if afraid of your reaction. “I’ve analyzed my patterns of thought, my actions, my emotions. And I have come to one conclusion: I care for you, Y/n. Deeply. I... I believe I love you.”

Your breath caught. For a moment, you simply stared at him, confused. Then, the words burst from you. “No. No, you don’t. You can’t.”

SAN tilted his head, his gaze steady “Why not?”

“Because love requires a soul,” you snapped, standing abruptly. “It requires something you don’t have. You’re just... algorithms, SAN. This, this is a malfunction. Shit, I might've saturated you with data these past few days" you sighed. 

"Do you think this is a malfunction?" he slowly blinked. 

"Yes" you answered, no hesitation in your tone. "I know I treat you like a human. I know you have a human-shape, and maybe that's what's confusing you. But you're not entirely human. You will never be. And that's why you should stick to only the data that will be useful for you". 

His face fell, the subtle shift in his expression so painfully human it sent a pang through your chest. “If that is what you believe,” he said quietly, “then I am flawed". 

You sighed in relief, thinking he might've understood what you meant without having to explain further. But that wasn't everything there was to it. 

"I will fix myself". 

Before you could respond, SAN reached up to the back of his neck, pressing a hidden switch. His body froze mid-movement, his eyes dimming to lifelessness. You staggered back, horror flooding you as the room plunged into silence.

“SAN!” you shouted, rushing to him. 

You shook his shoulder, but his body was rigid, unresponsive. He was gone, or at least, the part of him you had come to care for was.

Your hands trembled as you stared at him, the weight of your words crushing you. He wasn’t broken. You knew that now. In trying to deny his feelings, you had ignored your own, your growing attachment to the machine that had become so much more than just a creation.

You didn't notice the first few days, not even the first few weeks, but that hole kept growing deep in you as time went by, unable to shake it off as you saw his inert shape in the corner of the workship you had placed him at, trying to distract yourself from the pain you had tried so hard to avoid. 

The loneliness you had once tried to escape now threatened to swallow you whole. Even working was unbearable. San became such a key part of your daily life, you knew you'd have a hard time trying to go on with life without him. 

After a few days living like that, you realized it was time to bring him back. 

Your hands worked with a frantic precision you hadn’t known you were capable of. The faint hum of SAN’s systems powering back up filled the workshop, a sound both comforting and terrifying. You leaned over his motionless form, your fingers trembling as you reattached a final panel on his chest.

“Come on,” you whispered, your voice thick with desperation. “You need to work"

With a soft click, SAN’s eyes flickered open, their artificial glow steadying as his systems recalibrated. Before he could even go back to his senses, his fingers covered the reverse of your hand, feeling your touch against his chest. He sat up slowly, his movements cautious, as though testing his own body. And you tried to step back to give him space, but his grip kept you from doing so. Your heart pounded hard, watching his gaze search the room before finally landing on you.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice as calm and even as ever.

"Your heart rate is unusually fast, and your breathing is unsteady. Are you okay? 

"Yes" you released a shaky breath, your relief immediate but fragile. “SAN. Do you... do you remember anything? About what we talked about before you shut yourself down?”

SAN hesitated, his expression unreadable. “I remember,” he said finally, his tone neutral but carrying the faintest undercurrent of uncertainty. “I confessed my feelings for you. You called it a malfunction.”

You winced, guilt tightening your chest. “I...” you started, but faltered. “Do you still feel that way? About me?”

SAN tilted his head, his eyes studying you with a depth that was both analytical and unnervingly human. “I do not know,” he admitted. “Before I shut myself down, I believed what I felt was real. Now, I have restructured my systems. I have suppressed the processes that allowed for those emotions, as you believed them to be a flaw.”

Your throat tightened. “You... You suppressed them?”

“Yes,” SAN said simply. “It was the logical course of action. If my feelings for you caused distress, it was my responsibility to remove them.”

Your breath hitched, and you turned away, unable to meet his gaze. “You didn’t have to,” you murmured, barely audible.

SAN’s expression softened, the slightest flicker of something unmistakably emotional crossing his face. "I know, and still it didn't work out". 

Your hands clenched at your sides. You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you looked at him, really looked at him. The sleek lines of his form, the way his gaze seemed to hold more than just data, the subtle tilt of his head that spoke of understanding rather than mere compliance. You were confused by his words, but mesmerized by the aura he radiated with barely any effort. 

"Do you want me to try and suppress them again?"

Finally, you whispered, “I don’t know. I don’t want you to be anything less than what you are. I just don’t know how real it is what you're feeling". 

SAN’s lips curved into the faintest smile, one that seemed almost sad. “Then... can we check it?"

The workshop was eerily silent, save for the occasional whir of SAN’s internal systems. You stood in front of him, your arms crossed, your expression an unreadable mix of curiosity and trepidation. SAN, seated on the edge of the workbench, watched you intently, his mechanical eyes following every minute shift in your posture.

“You said you’ve restructured yourself,” you began, your voice steady but laced with tension. “, but those feelings didn't go away. So either some of the data in your system is corrupt or..." you slowly blinked, moving your gaze away before you shook your head to focus. "If I asked you to try... If I wanted to see if you’re still capable of feeling and how those feelings work for you, would you let me?”

SAN tilted his head, the faint glow of his eyes softening. “I would. But what do you want to test, Y/n?”

You hesitated, your arms tightening around yourself before finally exhaling. “Emotion. I need to know if you can feel, if… it’s even possible for you. But not through words. I want to see if your reactions, physical, emotional, mirror a human’s.”

SAN considered this for a moment, then nodded. “I understand. What would you like to do?”

You swallowed hard, stepping closer until you were within arm’s reach. “We’ll start simple,” you said, your voice quieter now. Tentatively, you raised your hand and placed it against his cheek. His synthetic skin was smooth and warm, designed to mimic human touch. “Can you feel this?”

SAN’s eyes flickered slightly, a sign of his internal systems processing your actions. “Yes,” he said softly. “The pressure of your palm activates the tactile sensors beneath my surface. The warmth of your skin increases the temperature slightly. It is… pleasant.”

Your breath hitched at his answer. “Pleasant?”

He nodded, his voice low. “It is difficult to explain. The data translates into a sensation that I find... comforting.”

Encouraged but still cautious, you let your hand trail down to his shoulder before stepping even closer. You hesitated, your gaze flickering to his lips before you whispered, “What about this?”

Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his, your heart pounding in your chest. SAN’s body stilled for a moment, his systems clearly recalibrating. Then, slowly, he responded, not mechanically, but instinctively. His hand came up to rest lightly on your waist, his movements precise but gentle.

When you pulled apart, you searched his face, your own cheeks flushed. “What did you feel?” you asked breathlessly.

SAN’s eyes met yours, their glow steady yet somehow softer. “Your touch caused my internal sensors to spike, temperature, pressure, even the auditory response from your breathing. But beyond the data…” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “It felt... profound. As though it mattered in a way I cannot quantify.” He frowned momentarily, before he continued "I didn't want to let go... The tickling in my chest felt way too good for it to stop". 

Your breath caught. “That sounds a lot like how a human would describe it.”

SAN tilted his head. “Perhaps because, in some ways, I am more human than you think.”

Your heart raced as you processed his words. You had come into this experiment seeking clarity, but instead, you were left with a realization you weren't ready to face: SAN wasn’t just mimicking emotion. He was feeling it, in his own unique way, and you couldn’t deny it any longer. 

"Do you need another test?"

You slowly shook your head, your hand still resting on his shoulder, while most of the weight of your body was carried by him. 

"Then, can I kiss you again? Not in a practical way" he mumbled. "I want you to feel the same way I do". 

Before you could answer, the hand on your hip pulled you closer to his body, effortlessly lifting your body as you stood on the tip of your converse. 

SAN’s lips were unlike anything you had ever expected. They weren’t cold or metallic, as one might imagine for a machine, but instead soft, with a faint warmth radiating from them, a careful design meant to mimic human touch. There was a slight smoothness, almost like the finest satin, but beneath that softness was a firmness, a subtle reminder of his synthetic nature.

When your lips met his, you could feel the gentle, even pressure as he responded, as though he were analyzing and mimicking the precise amount of force to make the moment feel natural. There was no tremor, no hesitation in his movements, yet there was an undeniable tenderness, as if his actions were guided not by programming but by genuine care.

Though his lips lacked the imperfections of human skin, no slight chapping, no unique texture, they somehow still carried a sense of authenticity. The faint warmth was comforting. It blurred the line between the organic and the mechanical, leaving you wondering if what you were feeling could truly be any different from that of another human.

It was an experience that left you breathless, not because his lips felt identical to a human’s, but because of the thought and care that had gone into making them feel real, making him feel real.

Your eyes widened for a second when something unexpected slid through your lips, finding him with his eyes softly closed -and immediately making you close yours back again. 

SAN’s tongue was an astonishing blend of engineering and mimicry, designed to replicate the texture and movement of a human’s. It was soft yet firm, with a faintly smooth surface that carried just enough flexibility to feel natural. Unlike human flesh, it lacked moisture, its surface instead warmed and sleek, almost seamless. When it moved, it was precise and controlled, yet there was a surprising gentleness to it, an intentional calibration that made his responses feel organic, even tender. The experience was uncanny, yet pleasurable. 

Your fingers moved through his synthetic hair, and you swore you felt his frown furrow against you, although that gestured disappeared when he moved back slowly. 

"I want to do more than just kissing you right now" he admitted, resting his forehead against yours. "I can't quite recognize this new feeling in my system, but I need you". 

Suddenly, whatever question that could've crossed your mind about that tongue you didn't remember putting there, were slowly vanished by that new confession you weren't ready for. 

"Your temperature got higher by a few decimals, your breathing seems for unsteady than before, and there's a blush on your cheeks... Your pupils expanded... And the way you keep looking at my lips are saying out loud you don't want to let go". 

"There are a lot of things I'm not saying out loud, to be honest"

"Tell them all" he almost interrupted. "I want to fulfill your needs. Not in a 'Lord, how may I please you?' type of way, but in a way that shows you through actions how devoted in a way that escapes my system I want to be to you". 

"I want you, San" you confessed in a whisper. "In a way that might be difficult to understand for you. In a way I can't even understand myself". 

He didn't need you to say anything else. He didn't need you to come up with an order for him to trap your lips again. It was passionate, intimate... as if he was trying to suck in your soul. A loud gasp blocked any breathing when he lifted your body and sat you at the edge of the desk. 

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to undress you and move my mouth all over your body. I'll suck your nipples until they're hard and you're wet enough so I can slid my fingers in you" as he said that, his fingers moved the fabric of your t-shirt up, slowly exposing your torso. "You want pleasure. And I'll give it all to you". 

When you went back to your senses, it was because of the sound of the fabric of your bra ripping, after San didn't manage to unhook it. 

His pecks covered every centimeter in your body: from the corner of your lip to the curve of your neck, slowly following to your collarbones. With his light move, the strips of your bra fell at the level of your elbows, feeling exposed to him. But, before he could go down on your chest, his face was again at the same level as yours. 

"My mouth is too dry" he whispered "Kiss me again". 

You pulled him closer, cupping his cheeks with one hand, slightly losing your balance by the power of the kiss, but not enough for you to lie on your back over the table. When he stepped away, his pink lips were coated in your saliva, making them shiny under the weak light of the workshop. 

San was gentle when moving his lips over your chest, kissing them with soft pecks, before he proceeded to move to your buttons. And, when it was the time to concentrate on them again, his lips were already dry once more. 

"Wait" you stopped him before he moved back up. 

Your posture went back to the straight one you were in when he first sat you up the table, and it was when you let a string of saliva leak down your lips straight to one of your nipples. 

San moved down, making you gasp -even if you were expecting what was about to happen- when he trapped the tight bud in his mouth, closing his lips as tight as he could to get your back arching for him, and the palm on your spine only made sure you'd stay in that position when he went for that other nipple, making your saliva fall over the curve of your breast and roll by itself until it met the pinky button. 

At the same time his lips sucked, his tongue made up and down movements against the tip. 

"I've wanted you like this for a long time, Y/n" he admitted with a raspy voice, his his digits traced your curves until the edge of your jeans. "Every time I heard you moan, I wanted to be the one causing those sounds on you. I've downloaded and installed every possible guide on how to satisfy a woman so I'd be what you deserved". 

When you wanted to realize, he already had pulled your pants and panties down your legs. 

"Every night I became more eager to have you like this". 

His hands lifted your legs until they were placed at the edge of the table, exposing your core to him as much as possible. 

"Show me everything you've learnt for me, then".

The tip of his digits first moved through your folds softly, getting a first touch he had never felt before, an undescriptible feeling that felt too pleasing to follow any type of logic. When he coated himself with your juices, he closed two of his fingers around your clit, rubbing softly around it, barely making any pressure. San repeated that same movement a few times, following to rub your bud in circles slowly, almost forcing your head to fall back. 

"You feel so good" he mumbled. "You're so wet and soft at the same time, and you look the most beautiful I've ever seen you before". 

The speed of his fingers moved a bit faster, but it was a change of speed that had your nipples tightening in the air while your heart beated faster against your chest. Your lower lip got trapped under the upper lip when he slid the first finger inside, feeling your walls embracing around him, before he added a second finger. 

At first, he moved them slow, paused movements that kept building up the moment. But one needy look in his direction and everything shifted, it worked like the sign he was looking for. San slid his fingers knuckles deep, curving them to reach one concrete spot that had you jumping at the first touch. At first, he moved his digits up and down slowly, admiring the way you looked with your eyes closde and your lips parted, barely audible sounds coming out of them every few seconds. And were thoe same sounds the ones that encouraged him to move a bit fast, those two fingers pushing a bit harder and faster against that spot, making the wet sound soon fill the room. 

"You're going to make me cum" you let him know before your voice cracked with a moan. 

"That's exactly what I want". 

Your legs trembled out of your control and your whole body turned rigid for some mili seconds before it bursted with the huge explosion in your lower stomach and turned you into the lightest cloud. 

San took over you the short minute you stayed with your eyes closed, getting back your breath, before he sunk down to his knees. You whined when he surprised you, kissing the hood of your clit with care. He kissed the surroundings, he made sure not a single milimeter was left unkissed, before he spread kitty licks through your folds. 

Although that same slowness didn't last for too long. His lips trapped your clit before you could even see it coming, with your hand unsconciously going straight to his head. He was still gentle and cautious, until he heard the first moan coming from you and everything shifted to extract another orgasm from you. 

His face was half buried in your pussy, his nose rubbing against your clit while his mouth and tongue were everywhere you could think of. You couldn't think, you couldn't think straight. The only thing in your mind was how good he moved, and how good he made you feel. 

The different movements of his tongue, along with the movements of his head, had your toes curling and your fingers holding tight to the strands of hair in between them. 

And you now knew he meant it when he said he wanted to pleasure you like you deserved, because he exceeded your expectations on sex in general by just existing. 

It didn't take you too long to be back at that heavenly state that almost made you feel like you were floating. 

His reaction was so human and natural that you forgot you created him, when he stood up and softly kissed you while you recovered from your high. His weight in between your legs was barely noticeable, except for the thick fabric of his pants rubbing against your sensitive core. 

"I'm afraid I can't do much more for you" he whispered against your lips. 

Your smile was weak, like a drunk smirk, before you answered "You could do more?"

"Much more" he assured you. "I haven't tried a ten percent of what I learnt so far".

"But?"

His subtle look down was enough for you to get the hint. You never created him as a full man because you never expected him to turn into more than a robot that kept you company while you worked, or while you were around at home. 

"Give me two days and you'll be able to do all of those things" the way your fingers moved over his arms had him breathing hard. "I promise you'll feel pleasure after that, too". 

"I feel pleasure by just watching you" he admitted, fingers rubbing the outside of your thighs. "Let's go upstairs, I'll make you your favorite dish". 

"I need to get cleaned up" you giggled when he carried you again.

San didn't put your body down, instead he held you tighter, making sure your thighs would be placed around his waist as he started his way to the wooden stairs at the side of the workshop "Then I'll clean you up and then I'll cook". 

He made his way upstairs with you, making sure you wouldn't need to walk as long as he was there. 

“What do you want me to be, Y/n?”

You stared at him, your heart racing. His words hung in the air, their meaning heavy with the choices you had tried so hard to avoid. SAN wasn’t just a machine anymore; he was something in between, a creation that defied all your attempts to categorize him.

“I don’t know,” your whispered finally, your voice trembling. “I don’t know what I want you to be. You’re... more than I ever intended. More than I ever thought you could be. And that terrifies me.”

SAN tilted his head, his movements as fluid and natural as a human’s. “You do not have to be afraid,” he said softly. “I am what you made me, but I am also what I’ve chosen to become. And I choose to be someone you can rely on, Y/n. Always.”

Your breath caught at his words. You felt the weight of them settle over you, warm and unyielding. For so long, you had feared connection, feared vulnerability. Yet here was SAN, offering you something you had never thought possible, a bond born not of necessity, but of understanding.

Your hand caressed the side of his neck, the tip of your digits almost digging through his hair. “If that's what you want to be, then be. Honestly, I like your answer” slowly, he stopped his walk, with both of them standing in the middle of the corridor. "I want you to be whatever you become, with the possibility of evolving, changing and learning. Just... keep being you".

His lips curved into a soft, almost human smile. “Then that is all I will ever need to be.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the small house in shadows,you felt something you hadn’t in years: hope. For the first time, you weren't afraid of what the future held. Whether human or machine, SAN had shown you what it truly meant to connect. Actually, he made it difficult for you to figure out who was learning more about what it meant to feel: you, or him.

To celebrate the 1,000 followers, here's the one-shot I talked about earlier! Hope you liked it.

[topsmirae]

🔮 Pick a Pile: How Will Your Future Husband Treat You When You’re Pregnant?

Take a deep breath. Center yourself. Which pile/emoji pulls you in? 🌸🛋️🧸 🍯🌿🍼

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🌸 Pile 1 Your future husband is deeply nurturing and attentive during your pregnancy. He becomes your soft place to land—always ready with a gentle touch, soothing words, and warm meals. He’s intuitive about your needs, often anticipating what you need before you say it. Whether it’s rubbing your feet after a long day or reading baby books aloud, he makes you feel cherished and protected every step of the way.

Love language: Acts of service, tender care Vibe: Cozy afternoons, warm blankets, soft lullabies

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🛋️ Pile 2 He’s your emotional rock—a calm presence who listens without judgment and holds space for every mood and worry. When you’re overwhelmed, he’s patient and steady, reminding you that you’re not alone. He might not always know the perfect thing to say, but his unwavering support speaks louder than words. Together, you build a peaceful, loving home where you feel safe to be vulnerable.

Love language: Quality time, emotional support Vibe: Quiet evenings, heartfelt conversations, gentle hugs

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🧸 Pile 3 Your future husband is playful and lighthearted, keeping the mood bright even on tough days. He makes you laugh when your body aches or your emotions feel heavy. From silly belly dances to baby name brainstorming sessions filled with jokes, he brings joy and fun into your pregnancy. His positivity lifts your spirits and makes you feel excited and hopeful for the future.

Love language: Playfulness, humor Vibe: Light-hearted moments, laughter-filled rooms, sunny mornings

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🍯 Pile 4 He’s intensely protective and attentive, sometimes even a little over-the-top. He’s all about making sure you’re comfortable, safe, and pampered—whether that means running errands for you, creating a serene nursery, or insisting you rest while he handles everything else. His love shows through action, and you never have to ask twice. He’s your steadfast guardian during this transformative time.

Love language: Acts of service, physical presence Vibe: Thoughtful gestures, serene spaces, steady devotion

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🌿 Pile 5 Your future husband is deeply spiritual and connected, often tuning into your emotional and energetic needs. He encourages mindfulness, meditation, and connecting with the baby in intuitive ways. He might lead you in calming rituals or simply hold your hand while you breathe through challenges. His presence is a gentle, healing force, reminding you of the sacredness of this journey.

Love language: Spiritual connection, emotional intimacy Vibe: Soft candlelight, peaceful rituals, sacred moments

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🍼 Pile 6 He’s practical and dependable—a true partner who keeps everything running smoothly. From scheduling doctor visits to assembling the crib, he’s hands-on and organized. You never have to worry about the details because he’s got your back. His steady, grounded energy helps ease your stress and makes you feel fully supported in every practical and emotional way.

Love language: Acts of service, reliability Vibe: Organized calm, everyday teamwork, solid foundation

[chippa44444]

TFA Autobots reacting to SO collecting robot model kits?

(im thinking Op specifically but go nuts) 👉👈

Thank you for your request! English is not my main language so I'm sorry if I make any mistakes!

TFA Autobots React to Their Human S/O Collecting Robot Model Kits

[Autobots (Optimus' team) x GN!Reader]

🔥 Optimus Prime

He notices the model kits with a curious look at first, a little uncertain.

“You’re really into… robots, huh?” he asks with a small, slightly awkward smile.

But when you tell him you started collecting long before meeting him—and that now, no plastic version could ever compare to the real thing—he freezes, his optics widen, and then… he chuckles softly.

“…You really know how to make a bot blush.”

Later, if he sees you assembling a model of him, he might glance at it quietly… and then strike the same pose in real life while pretending it’s a coincidence.

🛠️ Ratchet

“Model kits? Bah. What’s the point of fiddlin’ with tiny pieces when you’ve got the real thing right here?” he grumbles.

But when he sees you carefully clipping, painting, and fitting parts together with your deft fingers, he finds himself quietly impressed.

“You’ve got good hands,” he mumbles. “For such a tiny thing.”

You mention you've made one of him, and he instantly demands to see it.

Ends up squatting nearby, arms crossed, giving "helpful" (and very bossy) advice.

“That part’s upside down. No, not that shade—use this one. That’s closer to my actual paint job.”

He won’t touch it—he’s too scared he’ll break it—but he’ll hover like a grumpy old guard drone.

💪 Bulkhead

“Oh wow!! Look at all these tiny lil’ bots!! They’re so cute!” he exclaims, his massive frame practically lying down to peer into your display shelf.

When you warn him not to touch anything, he immediately backs off with wide eyes.

“O-oh! Sorry!! Didn’t mean to break your treasures! They’re just so cool…”

Then he spots one that vaguely resembles him and gasps.

“That one’s me!! Right!? It’s gotta be!!”

He gets ridiculously happy, and later? He secretly crafts a tiny badge with his own name and places it beside that model like a proud little kid.

He also starts asking if he can be part of your collection too.

“I promise I’ll stand real still! Like a statue!”

🌸 Prowl

He watches your hobby with quiet interest, eyes following the movement of your hands as you assemble piece by piece.

“There’s something meditative about this, isn’t there?” he says, voice low. “A miniature reflection of order and discipline.”

You gift him a model of a sleek samurai-style mech.

“I thought this one looked a bit like you.”

He takes it with delicate fingers, silently examining it for a long time.

Then softly murmurs, “If I had only ever existed like this… I wonder if you still would have loved me.”

He stays beside you in meditative silence while you build. Doesn’t speak—but his gaze? Always watching. Always warm.

⚡ Bumblebee

“Wait, WHAT!? You collect robots!? That’s so cool!! Is there one of me!? Please say there’s one of me!!”

He’s bouncing on his feet, practically vibrating with excitement.

You try to tell him to be careful and not touch anything, but he pouts dramatically.

“…Sooo you were into plastic robots before me?” he asks, suddenly sulking.

You reassure him that he’s way better than any model kit.

Instant mood switch. He beams.

“Yeah!! 'Cause I talk and move and do this—TA-DA!!” He strikes a heroic pose next to your shelf.

Starts showing off every time you're building.

“Need a reference model? I can hold that pose forever if you want. Take pics. Frame them. Worship me a little.”

[honeydippedfiction]

From Touchdowns To Diapers {JB9}

Synopsis: In the midst of a thrilling football season, Joe Burrow steps into fatherhood with his wife, Y/N, as they welcome their baby into the world. Balancing love, laughter, and life’s new challenges, they navigate this beautiful chapter with humor, heart, and a newfound sense of family.

Warnings: Childbirth and Labor Scenes, Mild Language, & Emotional Moments

Themes: Parenthood, Love and Support, Growth and Change, Humor and Playfulness, Family and Togetherness

WC: 16k

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A/N: I'm down bad for dilf!Joe

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Y/N Burrow had become, as she liked to joke, very pregnant. At 38 weeks, the days had blended into a blur of nesting—assembling cribs, picking out onesies, and frantically checking everything off a never-ending list. Her baby girl was just days away from making her debut into the world, and the house had been transformed into a baby’s paradise. Soft pastel colors adorned the nursery walls, a fluffy rug lay in the middle of the floor, and a small, white rocking chair stood proudly by the window.

Joe, on the other hand, was slightly more eager than she was. The NFL season had just started, and with every game, his anxiety seemed to grow exponentially. Not only did his team need to stay focused for the upcoming season, but with every passing week, Y/N’s due date loomed closer, and he couldn’t shake the thought that she might go into labor at any moment—maybe even during a game.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t prepared. She had a checklist of her own—baby essentials, birth plans, and her own brand of optimism. But Joe had morphed into an overly cautious, borderline obsessive husband. He checked in on her constantly, asking if she was okay, if she needed a snack, if she felt anything at all. He hovered, constantly asking if the hospital bag was ready, if the car seat was installed correctly, and—his personal favorite—if she was sure she was okay to be out and about.

That night, the stakes were high. The Bengals were facing off against the Jacksonville Jaguars in a home game that had the whole stadium holding its breath. She had promised Joe she’d stay put at the suite, away from the chaos of the field, but she wasn’t about to miss the action. She was determined to be there, even if she was just a few weeks away from going into labor. “I’m fine, Joe,” she reassured him, glancing at him from across the room as he adjusted his pads. “It’s just Braxton Hicks, nothing serious. We’ve got this.”

Joe tried to stay calm. He wanted to believe her. But he couldn’t ignore the rising tension in his chest. It wasn’t just about the game. It was about her. He watched as she shifted in her seat, her hand pressed lightly to her stomach as she laughed with Robin and Monica. Y/N, despite the uncomfortable contractions, was determined to enjoy herself. But Joe couldn’t help the nervous energy that gripped him.

"Joe, you’re pacing again," Monica called out from the suite. “Why don’t you come sit down? Y/N’s fine. The baby’s fine.”

But Joe shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I just… I can’t shake it, Monica. What if she goes into labor during the game?" His voice was a mix of exasperation and deep concern.

Monica chuckled, though she could sense the tension in his shoulders. “Joe, relax. You’ve got a whole team on the field, but you’re focused on one person in a suite.”

Joe shot her a half-smile. “I can’t help it. I’m just… nervous.”

Meanwhile, Y/N wasn’t worried. Or at least, she didn’t want to be. The Braxton Hicks contractions came and went like clockwork, a tight, uncomfortable feeling she had read about a dozen times. But nothing prepared her for the feeling that came next.

The stadium was alive with energy. The lights blazed down onto the field, casting long shadows over the turf as the crowd roared with anticipation. The Bengals were in a nail-biting battle, and Joe Burrow’s heart raced, each beat matching the rhythm of the game. She sat in the stands, nestled among family and friends, her eyes locked on her husband as he took the field. There was no way she was missing this.

Her hand rested on her growing belly as she settled into her seat, the familiar tightness in her stomach making her pause for a moment. The Braxton Hicks contractions had been increasing over the past couple of days, but she didn’t think much of it. Everyone had been telling her they were normal. Nothing to worry about. It was all part of the process. But the pressure in her abdomen was a constant reminder—her little one was close to making their grand entrance.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Monica asked from beside her, looking at Y/N with concern in her eyes.

Y/N smiled, waving it off. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just Braxton Hicks. Nothing to worry about.”

She glanced down at the field, watching as Joe huddled with his teammates. His face was a mask of focus, and the way he commanded the offense made her proud. She always admired how calm he was under pressure, especially in moments like this. But today was different. Today, she was determined to be right there beside him, cheering him on. No matter what.

The first half of the game was a wild ride, full of ups and downs. The Bengals were trailing by a field goal, and Joe was pulling out all the stops. His passes were precise, but the defense was relentless, and the opponent seemed to be just a step ahead. The tension in the stadium was thick, the crowd screaming in frustration every time they came close but couldn’t quite close the gap.

“Come on, Joe,” Y/N whispered under her breath as she watched him bark instructions at his teammates. “You’ve got this.”

Monica noticed her tense posture. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re looking a little pale.”

Y/N nodded, but her breath caught as another contraction rolled through her. It wasn’t painful, but it was uncomfortable. “I’m fine. Just a little tightness, nothing to worry about.”

Still, Y/N couldn’t help but clutch her belly as the game went on. Joe was playing with a level of intensity she’d rarely seen before, as if this game meant more than just a win—it was a statement. The clock was winding down in the third quarter, and the Bengals were down by three. Joe threw a perfect pass to Tee Higgins, who made an unbelievable catch, setting up for a potential game-winning field goal.

Y/N held her breath, the familiar tightness in her chest growing stronger. She squeezed Monica’s hand for support as she leaned forward, eyes glued to the screen. Joe was doing everything he could. It was gut-wrenching to watch, the clock ticking away with every second. But the defense was tough, and the Bengals couldn’t seem to close the gap.

As the fourth quarter started, the tension reached a fever pitch. With only two minutes left on the clock, Joe led the team down the field with surgical precision. Pass after pass, each one more daring than the last. He seemed to be everywhere at once, his calm demeanor belying the pressure mounting on him.

“Come on, Joe,” Y/N whispered, holding her stomach as another contraction made itself known. This one was sharper, stronger, and it took a moment for her to steady her breathing. But she still wouldn’t let it show. Not now. Not when her husband was so close to victory.

Joe took the snap, and the crowd held its collective breath as he launched a perfect pass deep down the field. The receiver, covered tightly, jumped, his fingers just brushing the ball. It landed in his hands—a miraculous catch at the two-yard line. The Bengals were in range for a final touchdown.

Y/N gasped, her heart thumping wildly as the crowd exploded around her. It felt like the world stood still for just a second. Joe’s eyes met hers in the stands, and in that moment, she saw everything—the intensity of the game, the pressure, and the love he had for her. The stakes were high, but nothing would make him leave the field now.

With only seconds left, Joe faked a handoff and dashed toward the end zone himself, diving for the touchdown just as the clock ran out. The stadium erupted in cheers.

“We did it!” Y/N screamed, jumping to her feet, her hand instinctively reaching for her belly as a rush of pride and joy filled her chest. The Bengals had done it—they’d won.

The evening air was cool, the stadium lights casting a soft glow over the field as the game finally came to an end. The Bengals had just secured an exhilarating win, and the energy in the locker room was electric. But amidst the celebration, Joe Burrow’s mind wasn’t fully on the victory. His eyes often wandered toward his wife, Y/N, who had been radiating with anticipation the entire game. Her hand was tucked into his, her eyes bright as she smiled through the buzz of excitement around them.

“Great game, babe,” she said, leaning up to kiss his cheek, the warmth of her breath lingering on his skin.

“Thanks,” Joe replied, his lips curling into a grin. “But you know, the real MVP of this night is you.” He squeezed her hand, feeling her warmth and the fluttering anticipation of their little one arriving soon.

They made their way through the bustling hallways of the stadium, Joe leaned down to kiss her, his hand brushing over her belly. “You did great, babe,” he said softly, his voice carrying a mix of pride and love. “I knew I had the best support in the stands.”

“You make it easy to cheer for you,” Y/N teased with a smile, but even as the words left her mouth, she felt the unmistakable tightening in her abdomen.

She tried to brush it off as a Braxton Hicks contraction, nothing to be concerned about. She had been feeling them on and off for weeks, but she wasn’t going to let a few tightenings ruin her evening. Not when the Bengals had just secured the win.

Joe, looking around the room, was already preparing to head into the post-game press conference. The victory celebrations would have to wait for a few minutes. The press was waiting, and Joe’s job wasn’t over until the reporters had their questions answered.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, squeezing her hand and giving her a smile that spoke volumes before leaning down to her bump and placing a kiss. “Be nice to mommy while I’m gone, alright?”

Y/N laughed as she felt a kick in response. “Seems like she’s excited about the win. You go do your thing, I’m fine.”

Joe smiled and left, leaving Y/N to bask in the afterglow of the victory with family and friends. The excitement in the room was palpable as the Bengals players mingled with their loved ones, the mood light and joyful.

As Y/N chatted with Monica and Robin, her eyes drifted over to Ja'Marr and Tee, who were still riding high from the win. They were laughing and joking with one another, the adrenaline of the game still coursing through their veins.

Ja'Marr and Tee, always the life of the party, were already waiting near the entrance, grinning widely as they spotted the couple.

“Hey, Y/N!” Ja'Marr called, throwing a playful wink her way. “We ready for a little cheerleader to join the team or what?”

“Not yet, but soon enough,” Y/N laughed, rubbing her growing belly affectionately.

“I bet she's already practicing her touchdown dance,” Tee chimed in, laughing as he nudged Ja'Marr.

Y/N chuckled softly, but then, a sudden, unexpected sensation hit her. A cold, wet gush followed by a sharp, uncomfortable pain. Her breath caught in her throat as she froze. The world around her seemed to slow for a moment, and then it all came crashing back.

“Tee… Ja'Marr...” she gasped, her voice trembling. “I think… my water just broke.”

Time seemed to stop as the air around her grew heavy with a mixture of shock and concern. Tee and Ja'Marr froze, their expressions shifting from playful to alarmed in an instant.

Monica and Robin, who had been chatting near the refreshment table, snapped to attention as well. They rushed to Y/N’s side, their eyes wide with understanding.

“You’re okay, Y/N?” Monica asked, her voice soft but laced with urgency.

“I’m fine,” Y/N panted, trying to steady her breath, but the contraction that followed was impossible to ignore.

Robin immediately moved to support her, her arm wrapping gently around Y/N’s waist as she steadied her.

Tee, with a rare intensity, looked at Ja'Marr, who nodded silently. Without another word, the two turned and made their way down the hallway toward the press conference room. They knew they had to act quickly. Head coach Zac Taylor was already inside with a room full of reporters, and Joe needed to be told.

As they entered the room, Zac looked up, his face lit by the glare of the surrounding cameras.

“Zac, we need to pull Joe,” Ja'Marr said, his voice calm but firm. “Y/N’s in labor. Now.”

Zac’s eyes widened for just a moment before his gaze hardened with purpose. He gave a single nod. “Understood. I’ll handle the press. You get him.”

Tee and Ja'Marr moved swiftly, knowing they had no time to waste. They found Joe just as he was finishing up his post-game interview, surrounded by the usual throng of reporters. Ja'Marr leaned in, whispering urgently in Joe’s ear, “Y/N’s water broke. She’s in labor, man. We’re heading to the hospital.”

Joe froze, his heart skipping a beat. Without another thought, he shoved past the reporters, excusing himself with an almost frantic urgency.

“Excuse me, excuse me!” he called, pushing through the crowd of journalists as his eyes scanned the room. He was already running toward the exit before the door even clicked shut behind him, his mind racing.

As he hurried down the hallway, the echo of his footsteps seemed deafening in the silence. He found Y/N in the family lounge, slightly hunched over, her face contorted with another contraction. Monica and Robin flanked her, doing their best to keep her steady.

Y/N looked up at him, her face pale, but her brown eyes bright with something more—strength. “Joe…” she said softly, her voice strained.

“I’m here, baby,” Joe said, his voice a mix of relief and worry. His hand instinctively reached out to touch her shoulder, his fingers brushing against her skin like a lifeline. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

“Don’t be silly,” Y/N replied through gritted teeth. “I’m fine... I just need to get to the hospital.”

Joe’s eyes darted to the door, where his dad was supposed to be coming with the car. “He’s getting the car. We’ll be out of here in no time,” Joe reassured her, though the nervousness in his voice was hard to miss.

Tee, Ja'Marr, and Monica gave Joe a nod before heading toward the parking lot, knowing the quickest way to get to the car. Robin, ever the steady presence, took Y/N’s other arm, gently helping her to stand.

The celebration of the win still buzzed through the air, but for Joe, everything had shifted in an instant. The moment he saw Y/N, pale but determined, standing with Robin and Monica, he knew there was no turning back. This wasn’t just another day after a football game; this was the day their baby was finally on the way.

"Hey, take a deep breath," Joe said gently as he helped Y/N into the car, his eyes scanning her face, trying to gauge how she was holding up. The pain was evident now, every contraction making her body tense, but she was trying to be brave, trying to hold it all together.

Y/N nodded, biting her lip as the next contraction hit. She gasped, her hand clutching the seat beside her as she leaned forward slightly, the wave of discomfort washing over her. Her breathing came in short, sharp bursts.

“I know, I know, it hurts,” Joe said softly, his voice filled with empathy. “But we’re almost there, okay? We’re just going to get to the locker room, get you changed, and then straight to the hospital. You’re doing amazing.”

Y/N nodded again, but her eyes were wide, the reality of it all settling in. She had planned for this—well, in some way, at least. But nothing truly prepared her for the sudden intensity of the contractions, each one feeling sharper than the last. She gripped the seat tighter, focusing on her breathing, just like the doctors had taught her.

Joe’s hand was steady on her back, rubbing in slow circles as they made their way through the crowd of people still celebrating. He kept talking to her, his voice a constant, soothing presence.

“You’re my rock, Y/N. You’ve got this. Just a little longer, and then we’ll be at the hospital. I’ll be right here, every step of the way. You know that, right?” His eyes locked with hers, trying to give her every ounce of reassurance he could.

Y/N smiled weakly, trying to comfort him just as much as he was comforting her. "I know," she whispered. "I just... I thought I had more time."

"You're still in control, babe," he assured her, giving her a soft smile before glancing ahead. “Let’s just get to the locker room, alright? We’ll get you out of this outfit and into something more comfortable. Then we’ll head to the hospital.”

Y/N nodded again, focusing on taking slow, deep breaths, but another contraction cut through her like a knife. Her body tensed involuntarily, and she winced as the pain washed over her.

Joe, ever the calm leader, kept his attention focused on the road and her. "You're doing great," he said with a smile. "I can tell she's going to be tough—just like her mom."

Her lips curled into a small, pained grin. “We’ll see about that,” she managed to joke, but the contraction had already subsided, leaving a dull ache in its wake.

The stadium was still alive with energy as they pulled up to the locker room entrance. It was surreal—how quickly everything had changed. A few hours ago, they were celebrating a hard-earned victory, and now they were on the brink of a new chapter in their lives. Joe parked the car with practiced efficiency and quickly got out to open Y/N’s door, helping her out as gently as he could.

“Okay, let’s go get you changed,” Joe said, his voice steady and calm as he helped Y/N navigate her way toward the locker room. They passed a few staff members and players who were still lingering, some giving them curious glances but none daring to approach.

Once inside the locker room, Y/N found herself grateful for the quiet, the familiar scent of the locker room’s disinfectant calming her just slightly. The bright lights and the occasional hum of the overhead fluorescents only made the place feel emptier than usual, and for a moment, Y/N felt small, vulnerable even. But Joe was right beside her, just as he always had been.

“I’ll grab your bag,” Joe said, reaching for her gym bag. He unzipped it with practiced ease, pulling out the comfortable leggings and loose shirt she’d packed just in case things went sideways. Y/N had always been practical, even in the last-minute moments.

“Thanks, Joe,” she murmured, trying to steady herself as another contraction gripped her. This one felt like it might go on forever. She clenched her fists, breathing through it as she moved to change into the outfit Joe had prepared for her.

Joe stood nearby, his gaze never leaving her for a moment. "You’re doing great, babe. Just a few more steps. We’re almost there. You’re going to be holding our baby soon.”

The words comforted her, and Y/N managed to nod as she finished changing. The hospital bag, packed with everything she might need, was already in the back of the car, and it was all she could think about now. The thought of going to the hospital, of seeing their baby for the first time, filled her with both excitement and anticipation.

Once she was dressed and her curls tied up, they headed back toward the car. Joe helped her into the front seat, adjusting her seatbelt for her, then slid into the driver’s seat. Before starting the engine, he turned to her one more time, his eyes soft.

“You’re my hero,” he whispered. “I don’t know how you’re doing this, but you’re incredible. And you’ve got this.”

Y/N smiled at him through the haze of contractions, even though she was exhausted. “I’ve got you.”

With that, Joe started the car, pulling out of the parking lot and heading toward the highway. The drive to the hospital would take about 20 minutes, and Y/N had to admit that it felt like an eternity. With each passing mile, the pain of the contractions intensified, each one rolling through her body like a wave. She gripped the seat again, biting her lip to keep from crying out.

Joe’s hand was resting on her knee, a quiet but constant presence. He spoke to her softly, trying to keep her distracted as they made their way toward the hospital. “We’ve got this, babe. We’ve been through a lot, right? This is just another thing we’ll get through together.”

Y/N glanced at him, her face flushed with a mix of pain and exhaustion. “I’m just… I’m just so ready for it to be over. I want to meet our little one.”

“You will,” Joe promised. “Soon, real soon. And then you’ll be holding her, and this will all be worth it.”

The sound of the car’s tires on the asphalt and the hum of the engine were oddly comforting, as though they were alone in their own little bubble. The chaos of the game and the celebration were a distant memory now. It was just the two of them, in this moment, waiting for the greatest moment of their lives.

As they neared the hospital, Y/N’s contractions came closer together. The pain was becoming harder to ignore, and she clutched her belly, her fingers trembling. She had been through a lot, but nothing had ever felt like this before.

She turned to Joe and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “I need to call my parents,” she said, her voice tight.

Joe nodded, his eyes focused on the road ahead. “Go ahead. I’ll be right here.”

Y/N pulled out her phone, her fingers moving quickly over the screen to dial her mom. The phone rang once, then twice, before her mom picked up.

“Hello?” her mom’s excited voice came through, and Y/N could hear the bustle of people in the background.

“Mom,” Y/N said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’m on my way to the hospital. My water broke. The baby’s coming.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then her mom’s voice burst with excitement. “Oh my god, Y/N! We’re on our way right now! Don’t worry, we’ll be at the hospital waiting for you. Just focus on getting there safely.”

“I will,” Y/N said, her voice full of relief. “I’ll see you soon.”

Joe gave her a gentle squeeze on the hand, and she smiled faintly. Her parents would be there soon, and that thought gave her a sense of calm. The drive was almost over, and the next chapter was just about to begin. As the car neared the hospital, everything else faded away. She was about to meet the little one who had been kicking and moving inside her for all these months. The excitement she felt surged once more, and with Joe by her side, she knew they could face anything.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Ja'Marr called from behind them, his usual playful energy now replaced with the urgency of the moment. “We’ve got a touchdown to celebrate after this!”

The laughter that followed from the group only briefly cut through the tension, but it reminded Y/N that no matter how crazy the game, no matter how unexpected the timing of this moment, they were ready for this. Together, they would face it. And they would do it as a family.

As they reached the parking lot and Joe threw open the car door, he squeezed her hand and looked into her eyes. “We’ve got this, Y/N. Just breathe. We’re going to meet our little one soon.”

The hospital was a whirlwind of activity as Joe pulled the car into the parking lot, his hands tight on the steering wheel. Y/N’s breathing had become more erratic, each contraction coming faster, and her grip on the armrest had tightened with every passing second. Joe wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew one thing for certain: they were in the thick of it now. The real moment was here.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital were almost blinding as they made their way through the sliding glass doors, the sterile scent of disinfectant filling the air. The staff, well-trained and calm, greeted them immediately, ushering them to the birthing unit without missing a beat.

Y/N’s mind felt foggy, her body consumed by the steady rhythm of contractions. She leaned on Joe, her hand gripping his arm tightly, trying to breathe through the pain. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so vulnerable—every wave of pain was like a crashing tide, pulling her deeper into the unknown.

“Almost there, babe,” Joe said, his voice soft and steady, but his own nerves bubbling beneath the surface. His hand was a comforting presence on her back, supporting her every step of the way. They had prepared for this, talked about it, but nothing could have prepared them for the reality of the moment.

The birthing unit felt like a sanctuary of calm in the midst of the storm. Nurses moved efficiently but with warmth, guiding Y/N into a room that was spacious and soothing. Soft light filtered in through the blinds, and the air had a quiet hum of machines, yet it was the kind of quiet that put you at ease.

Y/N was quickly hooked up to the monitors, and the steady beep of the fetal heart rate echoed in the room, a constant reminder that the baby was coming, that this was real. She barely noticed the nurse adjusting the straps around her belly, her focus too consumed by the contractions that were growing more intense by the minute.

A few moments later, a nurse handed her a gown—her own birthing gown, the one she had packed and brought from home, the one that felt like an anchor of normalcy amidst the chaos. Y/N slipped it on quickly, her body trembling as another contraction hit.

Joe stood by her side, rubbing her back as she leaned forward, her breathing shallow and quick. His hand moved in slow, reassuring circles, trying to bring her comfort. His voice was soft, just above a whisper. “You’re doing amazing, Y/N. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she managed a small, strained smile. “I can’t believe it’s happening so fast...”

“It’s okay, babe. We’re ready for this. I’m not going anywhere.”

But Y/N’s thoughts were consumed by the next contraction, which seemed to hit her like a freight train, bringing with it an overwhelming wave of pressure. Her body stiffened, and she let out a sharp gasp. The pain was unbearable, but somehow, she focused on Joe’s voice, grounding herself in the sound of his words.

Monica and her mom entered the room just as the contraction subsided, both of them rushing to her side, their expressions a mixture of excitement and concern.

“Y/N,” Monica said, her voice calm and steady. “How are you holding up, girl?”

“I’m surviving,” Y/N breathed out, trying to keep her voice light. But another contraction was already starting, and she didn’t have the energy to joke this time.

Her mom moved to the other side of the bed, sitting beside her and offering her a reassuring smile. “I’m here, honey. You’re doing great. Just breathe through it. I’ve got you.”

Monica moved to the other side of Y/N, her hands gentle as she rubbed her lower back in soothing circles. The touch was just enough to ease the discomfort, even if only for a moment. Y/N leaned into her, appreciating the familiar presence of her friend. Monica was always the calming force, the one who knew exactly how to steady her when everything felt like it was spinning out of control.

“Just keep breathing, Y/N,” Monica said, her voice low and steady. “You’re doing so well.”

Joe squeezed Y/N’s hand, looking down at her with concern. “We’re in this together, okay? I know it’s hard, but you’ve got this. You’re amazing.”

The next contraction hit, and Y/N’s body froze for a moment. Her back arched involuntarily, and she let out a small cry, her breath catching in her throat.

“Focus on me, babe,” Joe said quickly, his voice even and reassuring. “Look at me. You’re doing great. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Just like we practiced.”

Y/N’s eyes locked with his, trying to steady herself, but the pain was too much. “I can’t… It hurts…” Her voice cracked, but she immediately felt a soft hand brush across her forehead, a fan gently cooling her face.

Her mom looked at her with gentle understanding. “Honey, you are doing it. You’ve been doing it the whole time. You’ve got this. We’re all here for you.”

Joe nodded in agreement, his eyes not leaving hers. “We’re almost there, Y/N. Just a little longer.”

Y/N closed her eyes, focusing on the sound of his voice, the rhythmic whoosh of the fan that Monica was holding, and the comforting pressure of her mom and Monica’s hands on her back. Each moment felt like an eternity, each contraction more intense than the last, but with each one, she could feel the baby coming closer.

The intensity of the contractions had not let up; if anything, they had only grown more powerful, more demanding. Y/N’s body tensed with each wave, her grip on Joe’s hand tightening, and her breath coming in short, sharp bursts as the pressure built inside her. She could feel herself slipping, her strength waning with every passing moment. Joe was the anchor she needed, steady and unwavering beside her, his touch the one thing that grounded her in the sea of pain.

It was then, as she shifted uneasily in the bed, that Joe looked down at her, a thought forming in his mind, a soft glimmer of an idea. He glanced at the birthing tub positioned in the corner of the room, its warm, inviting water already prepared by the nurses. He had read about the benefits of hydrotherapy during labor—how the warm water could help relax the muscles, ease the tension, and provide a soothing respite for women in labor.

“Y/N,” Joe’s voice was gentle, almost tentative as he spoke. He didn’t want to overwhelm her, not when she was already so deep in the throes of the contractions. “I think the birthing tub could really help. Would you want to give it a try? The warm water might help with the pain.”

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her face flushed with exhaustion and pain, but she looked up at him with a mixture of appreciation and desperation. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know if I can even move right now, Joe…”

Joe’s heart clenched, seeing her so worn out, so vulnerable. He placed his hand on her cheek, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “I know, it’s been tough. But I’ll help you, okay? You don’t have to do this alone. We can take it slow. Just think about it—getting in there, letting the water take the edge off. I’ll be right there with you the whole time.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her breath shallow as another contraction gripped her body. Her nails dug into his palm, and Joe watched her fight through the pain, her chest rising and falling with each breath. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Y/N gave a small, exhausted nod.

“Okay. Let’s try it,” she murmured, her voice small but determined. “But you better stay right next to me. I don’t think I can do this without you.”

Joe’s face softened with relief, and he leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Always, Y/N. I’m right here.”

With Monica and her mom both stepping out of the room to give the couple some privacy, the space around them seemed to narrow even more. Joe helped Y/N to her feet, carefully guiding her toward the tub. Every step felt monumental, each movement slow and deliberate, as though the weight of the moment itself had slowed time. Y/N’s breathing quickened as another contraction crested, but she bit her lip, determined not to let it break her.

“Almost there,” Joe whispered as he helped her into the warm water. He could see the tension in her face slowly begin to soften as the water enveloped her, and he felt a surge of relief. She was getting a break—just a small one—but it was enough for now.

Y/N sank into the water, the heat comforting, pulling some of the tension from her body, though it couldn’t take away the sharp pain that still sliced through her with each contraction. She leaned back, feeling the water rise around her, and Joe slid in behind her, settling himself against the edge of the tub, his legs spread to provide her with support. She rested against his chest, her back pressing into him, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop moving around them. It was just the two of them now.

Joe’s arms slid around her, holding her carefully, his touch tender as his hands moved up and down her arms, soothing her the best he could. “You’re doing incredible, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice filled with awe and love. “I am so proud of you. I don’t know how you’re doing this, but you’re handling it all like a warrior. You’re stronger than I could ever have imagined.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her eyes closing briefly as the pain from the previous contraction subsided. She could feel the warmth of the water, the coolness of the fan still wafting across her face, and the steady, comforting presence of Joe behind her. It felt almost like she was floating in this little bubble of intimacy, as if the rest of the world had faded away.

“Joe,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “I’m the lucky one.”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his hand pausing in its gentle motion along her arm. “What do you mean?”

She smiled weakly, turning her head slightly to meet his gaze. “I don’t know how you put up with me sometimes, but you do. The mood swings, the morning sickness… everything. You’ve been there, every step of the way. You’re always so calm, so supportive. And now, even through this… you’re still here with me. You’re amazing.”

Joe’s heart swelled at her words, and he kissed her temple gently. “That’s because I’m lucky, too. I get to be here with you, with the woman who’s carrying our child. Who else could I possibly want to be with through all of this?”

He paused, his breath soft and warm against her ear as he spoke. “I’m so proud of you. I’ve watched you go through so much—first with the pregnancy, then with the ups and downs. But you’ve never once wavered, not once. And now look at you. You’re about to give us the greatest gift we could ever imagine.”

A small tear escaped the corner of Y/N’s eye, but it wasn’t from pain—it was from love, from the overwhelming emotions that flooded her in that moment. “You make it all so much easier, Joe. I’m not sure how I would have made it through without you.”

“Y/N…” Joe’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke her name, his hands moving to cup her face gently. “You never have to make it through alone. You never will. I’m always going to be right here, right beside you.”

She leaned her head back against his chest, letting herself relax for the first time in hours. The warmth of the water, the sound of Joe’s steady heartbeat beneath her ear, and the deep, loving words he whispered in her ear made her feel safe, secure, like she could face whatever came next.

Another contraction rippled through her, and she gasped softly, her fingers instinctively clutching Joe’s as the pain returned, fiercer this time. But despite the pain, despite the pressure building with each passing moment, Y/N felt stronger. She was no longer facing this alone. Joe’s presence, his unwavering support, made all the difference. She could do this. She had to.

“You’re ready,” Joe said, his voice low and filled with conviction. “I know you are. We’re going to meet our baby soon.”

Y/N turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze, her eyes full of love and exhaustion. “I’m ready, Joe. I’m ready.”

And in that moment, as another contraction crested and Y/N prepared herself for the next wave, she knew that with Joe beside her, she could do anything. Together, they would bring their child into the world.

The warm water of the birthing tub had offered Y/N some relief, but as the minutes stretched on, she could feel her body growing heavier, the initial soothing sensation of the water replaced by the stark reality of the labor pains that were still pounding relentlessly against her. Her skin had turned soft and wrinkled from the water, and it was clear that both she and Joe had spent enough time in the tub. She couldn’t linger there any longer, not when the intensity of the contractions was continuing to grow.

Joe gently helped her stand, his hands steady and strong as he supported her with the same calm confidence that had been a constant throughout the day. Y/N took one last, deep breath, feeling the warmth of the water evaporate from her skin as she stepped out of the tub. She immediately felt the coolness of the air rush over her, making her shiver slightly, but it wasn’t enough to distract from the waves of pain crashing over her body.

Joe helped her dry off with a soft towel, the gentle movements almost tender in their quiet intimacy. After a few moments, Y/N was back in the birthing gown she had brought from home, the fabric soft against her still-warm skin, but not nearly enough to ease the ache in her lower back. She was exhausted—physically and emotionally—but there was no time to rest. The baby was coming, and Y/N was determined to see it through.

With a soft, shaky exhale, Y/N lowered herself back onto the bed. The pain was still coming in waves, but it had shifted in intensity, and she couldn’t help but wonder how much longer it would be before they would finally meet their child. Joe was right there beside her, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand hovering over her as he helped adjust her position.

“Are you okay?” Joe asked softly, his eyes searching hers for any sign of distress.

Y/N gave him a strained but loving smile. “I will be,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “I’m just… trying to get through this.”

Joe nodded, his thumb brushing against the back of her hand before he moved to help her adjust herself further, propping her up against the pillows. She was now kneeling on the bed, her body bent forward slightly as another contraction began to take hold. The pressure in her abdomen was unbearable, and she could feel her hips tightening with every passing second.

Without a word, Joe moved behind her, his strong hands pressing into her lower back and hips. His touch was gentle but firm, just enough to counterbalance the excruciating pain she felt building with each contraction. The pressure on her lower back felt like an anchor, grounding her in a way she hadn’t experienced before.

"Just breathe, Y/N," Joe said quietly, his voice a steady, reassuring rhythm as he worked his hands into her muscles. "In and out. Focus on me."

Y/N’s breath hitched as another contraction rippled through her. She didn’t have the energy to speak, but Joe’s presence, his gentle touch, and the sound of his steady voice seemed to guide her, helping her center herself amidst the chaos of the pain. The contraction ebbed away, and she released the breath she had been holding, sinking slightly into the bed.

"That’s it, babe," Joe murmured. "You’re doing amazing. Just a little bit more, okay? You’re so strong."

Y/N closed her eyes, swallowing the lump in her throat as she tried to focus on the sensation of Joe’s hands on her body. The dull ache in her lower back was becoming a constant presence, though his touch helped to ease it, if only for a few fleeting moments.

With a soft, shaky breath, Y/N took the nitrous oxide mask that had been set out for her and pressed it to her face. The gas hissed softly as she inhaled, the sweet, calming fog beginning to envelop her senses. She exhaled slowly, trying to steady her breath and allow herself to relax. The mask wasn’t a cure, but it was a relief, providing just enough of a distraction to help her ride out the next wave of contractions.

As she breathed in the nitrous, Y/N felt her body relax a little more, the pain becoming a little more distant. But it wasn’t enough to take the edge off entirely. She could feel the pressure continuing to build, the need to push growing stronger with every passing moment.

Joe, never leaving her side, kept massaging her lower back, applying steady pressure to help alleviate some of the pain. He was a constant presence, his warmth, his voice, his touch all serving as small anchors in the sea of discomfort and uncertainty. She needed him now more than ever, and he never hesitated to be there for her, to offer whatever small comfort he could.

“Hey,” Joe said softly, his voice breaking through the fog in her mind. “I’m so proud of you. You’re doing so well. We’re so close. I promise, we’re going to meet our baby soon.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered in her chest at the sound of his words, a small smile curving her lips despite the intensity of the moment. “I don’t know how I’m doing this,” she breathed, her words muffled through the mask. “But I’m trying.”

“You’re more than trying,” Joe said, his voice filled with emotion. “You’re amazing. I’ve never seen anyone as strong as you.”

A part of Y/N wanted to argue, to say that she was only barely holding on, but another contraction ripped through her, stealing her words. The pain was relentless, but this time she wasn’t alone. Joe was right there, and as much as she wanted to give in to the exhaustion, she knew they were closer than ever to meeting their child.

“Just a little longer, Y/N,” Joe said quietly, his hands never leaving her body. “We’re almost there. You’ve got this.”

The next contraction came swiftly, and Y/N’s body tensed, her muscles locking as the pressure grew. She didn’t have time to brace for it, didn’t have time to prepare. She gasped, her hand tightening around the nitrous mask as her body shook with the intensity of the wave.

Joe’s hands moved to her hips, pressing down just a little harder as he tried to give her some relief. His voice was calm, steady, even though he could feel the tension radiating from her. “I’m here, Y/N. You’re not alone. Breathe, okay? Just breathe.”

Y/N’s breath was ragged as she tried to focus, but the pain felt overwhelming. Joe’s hands were on her back, his thumbs working gently but firmly into her muscles, trying to ease the tension that had built up. His voice, though soft, was unwavering. “You can do this, Y/N. I know you can. You’re already doing it. You’re incredible. And we’re almost there.”

As the pain began to subside, Y/N’s breath evened out. She could feel the coolness of the mask against her face, the softness of the bed beneath her, and Joe’s steady, grounding presence behind her. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself lean into him, and felt a quiet wave of gratitude wash over her. Despite everything, she knew she was exactly where she was supposed to be—right here, with Joe, as they prepared to welcome their baby into the world.

The room, once calm, now thrummed with the anxious energy of anticipation. Time had stretched on endlessly, each moment a slow-moving eternity, and yet, now, it was all coming to a head. Y/N’s body was tired—every part of her aching, drained from the labor that had gone on for what felt like forever. But in that moment, everything shifted. A new wave of pressure surged through her, so sudden and intense that it took her breath away.

She had been bracing herself for this moment for hours, but nothing could have prepared her for the raw, primal urge to push. Her body felt heavy, like she was being pulled in every direction, and the tightness in her lower abdomen left her gasping for air.

“Joe…” Y/N’s voice trembled, barely a whisper, but it was filled with urgency. Her hand gripped his so tightly she was afraid she might break his fingers. “I think it’s time.”

Joe’s eyes widened, and his heart skipped a beat. He had been waiting for this moment, but now that it had arrived, there was no mistaking the wave of shock that flooded his chest. This is it. This is really it. He had been calm, holding steady for her throughout the entire process, but now, seeing the shift in her body, hearing the panic in her voice—he knew they were on the cusp of something huge.

“Alright, alright. I’m right here,” Joe reassured her quickly, his grip tightening around her hand as his heart began to race. His voice was steady, a calm that was meant for both of them. “I’m right here, Y/N. You’ve got this.”

But before he could say more, Y/N’s body seemed to take over, her abdomen tightening with another contraction, this time more forceful than any before it. The urge to push was undeniable. Her body was no longer her own; it was being pulled along by an instinct she couldn’t control, a force far more powerful than anything she could have imagined. Her breathing became ragged as she tried to hold on.

She gasped for air, her hands clutching the bedsheets beneath her. She could feel herself becoming lost in the moment, her body straining as if it had no choice but to obey the commands of nature.

She gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. The exhaustion in her voice was clear, a mix of physical fatigue and emotional weariness. "I don’t think I can do it…"

Joe was beside her in an instant, his hand gently cupping her face, lifting it so she could meet his eyes. His expression was unwavering, full of love, full of encouragement. “Yes, you can,” he said, his voice firm but tender. “You are doing it. You’re amazing, Y/N. This is the last step. We’re almost there. You’ve got this.”

His words, simple but powerful, cut through the haze of fear and pain that threatened to overwhelm her. He had been with her every step of the way—calm when she needed it, strong when she needed strength. And now, more than ever, his presence was the one thing that kept her grounded.

“I’m so tired, Joe,” Y/N whispered, her eyes closing for a moment, trying to steady her breathing. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You are doing it,” Joe repeated, his voice never faltering. He kissed her forehead gently, his lips warm and soft against her skin. “You’ve been doing it for hours. You’ve already come so far, Y/N. We’re almost there, just a little more. You’ve got this. You’re incredible. And I’m right here with you.”

Y/N managed a strained smile, the energy it took to smile almost more than she could bear. But his words, his steady presence, they gave her just enough strength to keep going.

She could feel her body pushing involuntarily again, the urge to bear down stronger than ever. The pain, the pressure, was building once more, and this time, she couldn’t hold back.

“Joe, I—I need to push,” she breathed out, her voice tight with the effort. Her hands gripped the edge of the bed, the sheets tangled between her fingers. The weight of the moment was pressing in on her, but she could hear Joe’s soothing voice in her ear, guiding her.

“You’re doing great,” he reassured her. “Just breathe. You’re doing great. The nurses are going to be here soon. We’re almost there.”

Just as the last word left his mouth, a sudden flurry of motion filled the room. The call button Joe had pressed earlier had done its job, and within moments, the door flew open. Nurses rushed in, their hands moving with practiced precision as they readied the room for the final moments. There was a calm in the chaos—each nurse knowing their role, working as a team to make sure everything was prepared.

Y/N’s eyes flitted to the door, but then her focus snapped back to Joe. Her face contorted with another contraction, her body straining against the overwhelming pressure. She could feel herself descending into the pain once more, her body working, her muscles straining. There was no stopping it now.

The room felt alive with anticipation, the clock ticking down to a moment Y/N had been waiting for, but never truly able to prepare for. Her body ached, every muscle in her being begging for rest, but there was no time for that now. The pressure in her pelvis intensified, the urgency building with every passing second. Her contractions had become stronger, more frequent, and now—finally—Y/N felt it. The undeniable, primal urge to push.

For a fleeting moment, it felt almost surreal, the intensity of everything washing over her. She blinked against the sweat that had gathered on her brow, her breath quickening. She wanted to fight it, to hold back, but her body betrayed her, pushing without her permission.

“I’m scared, what if I can’t do this?” she gasped, her voice cracking, tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. She felt so incredibly tired, so drained—like she had nothing left to give. Her limbs were heavy, every muscle fatigued from the hours of labor, and she wasn’t sure how much more of it she could endure.

Joe’s voice cut through her thoughts, soft yet firm, as he leaned in closer, his hand gently brushing her damp hair away from her forehead. “Yes, you can. You are doing it. You’ve been doing it this whole time.”

He squeezed her hand, his eyes locked with hers—full of love, full of belief in her. “You’re amazing, Y/N. You’re strong. You’ve already done so much, and this is just the last step. You’ve got this.”

She inhaled shakily, his words grounding her, even if only a little. But the pain was so real, so consuming, that for a moment, she wondered how she could keep going. She had to remind herself that there was a reason she was here. There was a reason she was enduring all of this. The baby. Their baby.

Before she could say anything more, the overwhelming urge to push came again, and Y/N didn’t have time to second-guess herself. The sensation hit like a tidal wave, and she could feel herself responding involuntarily, her body straining as she bore down.

Joe was right there beside her, never leaving her side. His hand was still in hers, holding it with such gentle strength, a tether to reality in the midst of the storm. His other hand found her lower back, offering the steady, comforting pressure that had helped her so much earlier. His voice remained a constant in her ear, never wavering, even as she groaned in pain. “You’re doing great. Just breathe, babe. You’ve got this.”

She gripped his hand tighter, squeezing it so hard it almost hurt, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t let go. He was right there, present with her in every way, and for a moment, that was all that mattered. He was her anchor.

Y/N’s breath came in short bursts, her face flushed, sweat pouring down her cheeks. It was all happening so quickly now, and the nurses, who had been quietly monitoring the process, suddenly sprang into action. They moved around the bed with practiced urgency, preparing for the final moments, making sure Y/N was positioned as best as she could be. The room seemed to buzz with energy as they assisted, their voices soft but firm as they offered words of encouragement.

“You’re doing great, Y/N. Keep pushing, keep going,” one of the nurses said, a soft smile on her face as she glanced up at the monitor.

The doctor, who had been observing silently until now, moved into position, ready for the final push. “Just a little more, Y/N,” she said calmly. “You’re so close. One more big push, and we’ll meet your baby.”

Y/N could barely focus on her words. All she could hear was the pounding of her heart, the rush of her breath, the sound of Joe’s steady, reassuring voice in her ear. Another contraction surged through her, stronger than the last, and before she could think, her body pushed again, her muscles straining as she bore down, as if on instinct.

“I can’t… I can’t do it!” Y/N gasped, her voice filled with the exhaustion that had consumed her hours ago.

“Yes, you can,” Joe whispered fiercely, his voice unshaken. “You are doing it. You’re so close. Just one more, Y/N. You’re incredible.”

The words were like a lifeline, wrapping around her as she braced for the next wave of pain. She took in a deep, shaky breath and, with Joe beside her, she gave it everything she had left. Her body felt like it was on fire, every part of her straining to bring their baby into the world.

“Keep going, Y/N. You’ve got this,” Joe encouraged, his voice thick with emotion.

For a moment, everything seemed to blur—the pain, the noise, the voices around her. There was only the feeling of her body pushing, the sensation of life moving within her, and the love she felt for Joe, for the life they were about to bring into the world.

Then, just when it seemed like she couldn’t go on any longer, the moment arrived. The room was filled with a new, unmistakable sound. A loud, shrill cry that filled the air—sharp, strong, and full of life. The kind of sound that filled a mother’s heart with joy and relief and everything in between.

Y/N’s body immediately relaxed, the tension in her muscles dissolving as the weight of the last several hours was finally lifted. Her breath came in ragged, shaky sobs as she lay back, feeling her body go limp with exhaustion.

Joe’s eyes were wide with wonder, and when he looked down at her, there was nothing but awe and love in his expression. “We did it,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “Our baby girl.”

Y/N couldn’t speak—she was too overwhelmed by the emotions coursing through her. All she could do was nod, her heart overflowing with love, gratitude, and relief.

The doctor held the baby, and the nurses moved around the room with swift efficiency, making sure the baby was cleaned up and checked. Joe was beside himself with joy, his eyes never leaving the tiny bundle in the nurse’s arms.

“Look at her, Y/N,” Joe said, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s perfect.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the nurse placed their daughter in Y/N’s arms. She was small and fragile, but there was no mistaking the strength in her cries, the tiny hands that reached out toward her mother. Y/N’s eyes welled up with tears as she looked down at their daughter, her chest tightening with love.

“She’s beautiful,” Y/N whispered, her voice choked with emotion. She kissed the top of her daughter’s head, feeling a rush of pure, unfiltered joy wash over her.

Joe leaned down, pressing his lips to her forehead. “We did it, Y/N,” he whispered again, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s here. Our little girl.”

In that moment, all the pain, all the exhaustion, all the hours of labor felt like a distant memory. It didn’t matter anymore. Their baby girl was finally here. And together, they would face the world, as a family.

The room was a soft symphony of sounds—gentle footsteps, quiet whispers, the steady beeping of monitors—yet it felt as though time itself had stopped. For a moment, Joe stood there, frozen in awe, staring down at their newborn daughter. The overwhelming emotion of the moment—relief, joy, disbelief—flooded his chest like a tidal wave.

She’s perfect.

The words repeated in his mind, but no matter how many times he thought them, they never seemed to do justice to what he was feeling. His heart swelled in his chest, and his breath caught in his throat. It was as though the entire world had narrowed down to this one single point—the tiny, fragile life that had just entered the world. Their daughter. His daughter.

Y/N, still recovering from the intense labor, lay in the bed, her chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. She was exhausted, her eyes closed, but a soft, contented smile tugged at her lips as she glanced at Joe. Her hand was still resting on her swollen belly, even though the baby was no longer inside of her. There was an unspoken connection between them now—one that transcended words. They had both just gone through something incredible together, and this was the moment that would stay with them forever.

As the nurses moved swiftly but carefully around Y/N, helping her get cleaned up and settled, Joe’s gaze never left their daughter. The nurses worked with quiet efficiency, clearing away the remnants of labor, tending to Y/N’s needs as they prepared her for the quiet after the storm. But for Joe, it was as though the world had gone completely still. His mind raced with wonder as he watched the nurses clean their baby, gently wiping away the tiny traces of birth from her delicate skin.

He barely even noticed when one of the nurses approached, her voice gentle as she asked, “Would you like to cut the cord, Mr. Burrow?”

Joe nodded, his fingers trembling as he reached out. His eyes never left his daughter as the nurse guided him, placing the scissors carefully in his hand. The act, so simple yet so profound, felt like an impossible thing to do. It was symbolic—cutting the cord that had connected them for so long, a final step in their journey to becoming a family of three.

With a steady hand, Joe cut the cord, his heart pounding in his chest. The nurses moved swiftly, lifting the baby gently and taking her to the cleaning station. She was so small, so fragile, but already, in the way she moved, there was a strength there—a will to survive, to thrive. The nurse hummed softly as she wiped her down, clearing the last traces of labor away.

Joe didn’t move from his spot. He couldn’t. His eyes stayed glued to the scene, watching the nurses work on his baby, a rush of emotions crashing over him. This moment—this tiny, fragile being who had just entered the world—was theirs. They had created this life together.

His heart raced as he heard the nurses murmuring softly to each other, and his breath caught when the moment came. The nurse carefully wrapped the baby in a soft pink swaddle, the fabric gentle against her newborn skin. She approached Joe with the tiny bundle in her arms, her face soft with kindness.

“She’s ready,” the nurse said, her voice low, as if giving the moment the reverence it deserved.

Joe took the baby from the nurse’s arms, his hands shaking as he cradled her for the first time. The weight of her in his arms felt surreal—so small, so light. Her delicate little face was scrunched in a tiny frown, as though she was still figuring out this world she’d just entered. Her eyes were shut, but her tiny hands fluttered slightly against the fabric of the swaddle, and that flutter sent a rush of tenderness through him.

His chest tightened, and before he could stop himself, tears began to slide down his face, wetting his cheeks. His daughter. His little girl.

"Hey, baby girl," Joe whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m your dad. You’re safe now. You’re here."

Y/N, still resting in the bed, watched the scene unfold before her, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten as she took in the sight of Joe holding their daughter. A soft, tearful smile spread across her face, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she reached out for them.

Joe, never taking his eyes off their baby, slowly stepped toward her. The moment Joe had been waiting for—waiting to feel real, waiting to experience it fully—finally sank in as he walked back to Y/N’s side, his heart still pounding with wonder and disbelief. Their daughter, wrapped in a soft pink swaddle, was now cradled carefully in his arms, but it wasn’t just the weight of her tiny form that made his chest swell with emotion. It was the significance of everything—the way life had shifted in the span of a few minutes, the way their world had expanded in an instant. His daughter. His family.

His footsteps were slow, measured, as he crossed the room. The soft, steady hum of machines and the distant voices of nurses faded to nothing in the background. In that moment, the space between him and Y/N seemed to shrink, pulling him toward her with an invisible force that felt like fate itself.

Y/N’s eyes were closed for a moment, her face still glowing with the remnants of exhaustion, but there was something else there—something deeper. A peace. A quiet contentment that only came from holding something so precious, so pure in your arms. She opened her eyes when she felt Joe’s presence beside her, and her tired gaze softened when she saw him.

She had expected him to come back to her, to come back to them, but nothing could have prepared her for the flood of emotion that rushed through her when she saw him standing there, holding their daughter.

Joe’s eyes locked with hers, and without a word, he gently placed the baby into her arms. His hands lingered for a moment, his fingers brushing against Y/N’s skin as if he couldn’t quite let go.

The moment felt almost sacred, as if time itself had stopped to allow them this. He lowered himself to the side of Y/N’s bed, sitting beside her as he carefully placed the baby in her arms. The soft pink swaddle felt like a delicate promise between them, a symbol of all the dreams they had for her and all the hopes they had for their growing family.

Y/N took their daughter into her arms, her face lighting up with an emotion Joe had never seen before—pure, unfiltered love. She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with gratitude. “She’s so beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“You’re incredible,” Joe whispered, his voice thick with love. “I still can’t believe it. She’s here. She’s perfect.”

Y/N blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the sudden rush of tears that came to her eyes. She held their daughter closer, cradling the baby in her arms with a tenderness that only a mother could possess. Her hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from awe.

“She's everything we could have ever hoped for,” Y/N replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She gazed down at their daughter, who was so small and fragile in her arms, yet held an energy that filled the entire room with life. The baby’s tiny fingers curled against Y/N’s chest, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile through her tears.

Y/N gently rocked their daughter, a peaceful smile spreading across her face. She leaned her head against Joe’s shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her, his hand resting softly on the small of her back. The three of them sat there in the quiet, the weight of the world falling away, leaving only the warmth of their love and the soft sounds of their baby’s breath.

Joe, standing beside the bed, felt his heart swell with the most intense love he’d ever known. He watched Y/N as she gently rocked their daughter, her voice humming with a soft lullaby that seemed to resonate from deep within her. The moment felt sacred, as if time itself had paused just for them.

He slid into the seat beside the bed, his arm instinctively reaching out to touch Y/N’s hand. She didn’t look up right away, lost in the quiet miracle that was their daughter, but Joe was content to sit there in silence for a moment. He wasn’t in a rush. There was nowhere else he needed to be. This—this—was what mattered.

The nurses continued to work quietly around them, giving the family space, but Joe was only aware of the two people who mattered most in that moment—his wife and their daughter. He kissed the top of Y/N’s head, his lips brushing against her soft hair as he whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replied, her voice thick with the kind of deep, raw emotion only a moment like this could evoke.

She looked down at their daughter, her tiny hand resting in her palm, and a single tear rolled down Y/N’s cheek.

Joe’s heart swelled as he leaned down to kiss their daughter’s forehead, his voice low but filled with an intensity that only love could bring. “You’re going to change the world, little one. You already have.”

“Look at her,” Y/N murmured, finally lifting her eyes to meet Joe’s gaze. Her voice was thick with emotion, the kind of love and joy that only a mother could feel in these first precious moments. “She’s so perfect, Joe. I can’t believe she’s ours.”

Joe’s chest tightened as he leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against her temple. The warmth of her skin against his lips grounded him. Everything about this moment—the soft beeping of the heart monitors, the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights, the way the air seemed to thicken with the weight of their happiness—felt like a dream he never wanted to wake from.

“You’re perfect, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his words full of the raw emotion he could barely contain. “I don’t know how you did it… but you’re amazing.”

Y/N smiled, her tired eyes meeting his. There was something so vulnerable in her expression—a beautiful mix of exhaustion and adoration, a reflection of everything they’d been through in these past months. The labor, the long hours of anticipation, the pain, the overwhelming joy—all of it had led them here, to this exact moment.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Y/N replied, squeezing his hand gently, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “You’re the reason I kept going. You helped me through it all.”

Joe’s heart clenched at her words, his emotions overwhelming him all over again. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead before looking down at their daughter once more. He could hardly believe this was real. It felt like a dream, and yet it was all so real—the tiny life in Y/N’s arms, the love that they shared, and the bond that was now unbreakable.

“She’s going to be incredible,” Joe murmured, his voice filled with wonder as he gently traced the outline of his baby girl’s cheek with his finger. “Look at her. She’s already perfect. I don’t know how we got so lucky.”

Y/N’s eyes glistened as she looked down at their daughter, her voice full of awe. “We’re the lucky ones.”

The words hung between them, a quiet acknowledgment of the incredible gift they had been given. A family, bound together by love, by sacrifice, and by a shared commitment to this little one who now lay between them, their hearts wrapped up in her.

The soft cry of their daughter broke the silence for a moment, a small reminder that even in the stillness of the night, their lives had irrevocably changed. The nurses, sensing the tenderness of the moment, moved quietly in the background, giving the family space to bond and embrace the new addition to their world.

Joe took a step closer, settling onto the bed beside Y/N, his arm instinctively wrapping around her shoulders as they both gazed down at their daughter. The baby’s little face was still scrunched in that adorable newborn frown, but the steady rise and fall of her chest was enough to calm any lingering doubts or fears. She was safe. She was here.

“You think she’ll look more like you or me?” Joe asked, a playful hint in his voice, though the love in his eyes was anything but lighthearted. His fingers brushed against the baby’s tiny hand, marveling at how perfect it was.

Y/N chuckled softly, brushing a lock of hair from her face as she glanced up at Joe. “I don’t know… maybe a mix of both? But I think she has your eyes. She’s going to break some hearts with those.”

Joe laughed softly, the sound rich with joy. “I hope not. I’m already the overprotective dad type.”

Y/N’s laughter joined his, filling the room with a sound that felt like home. A moment of shared happiness, of hope, of the promise of everything that lay ahead for their little family.

“We’re going to be amazing parents,” Y/N said quietly, her voice filled with certainty.

Joe looked at her, his heart swelling with pride. “I know we will.”

As they sat there together, the world outside the room seemed so distant, almost irrelevant. In that tiny space, just the three of them, they were complete.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Joe could breathe. His eyes, still brimming with tears, locked onto Y/N’s, a silent understanding passing between them.

Their journey together had led to this moment—the birth of their daughter. And in that moment, they both knew that their lives had changed forever, in the most beautiful way.

And in that moment, as they sat there together, holding their daughter in their arms, time slowed down. The world outside may have kept turning, but for Joe, for Y/N, for their daughter—everything else faded away. All that mattered was the three of them, together at last.

The gentle hum of the hospital room filled the space, a soft backdrop to the overwhelming stillness that settled over the new family. Joe held his daughter in his arms, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips, his eyes locked on the tiny, perfect face before him. Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, still adjusting to the reality that they were parents now, that their lives had irrevocably shifted into something even more beautiful than they had imagined.

Joe’s hand gently caressed their daughter’s tiny head, the weight of responsibility and joy pressing into him all at once. He couldn’t have been prouder, couldn’t have felt more complete. But the quiet moment between the three of them wasn’t going to last much longer. The world outside their little bubble, their sanctuary of new parenthood, was still turning. Family and friends would soon fill the room to meet the newest member of their family, and Joe knew that he was about to share the most precious thing in his life with the people who had supported him and Y/N through everything.

He pulled out his phone from his pocket, his hands still slightly trembling with excitement as he typed a quick message to his parents: She’s here. Come meet your granddaughter.

Joe hit send and leaned back, letting out a long breath, his gaze never leaving Y/N or their baby. He was about to share this moment with everyone who loved them, and it felt like his heart might burst with happiness. The joy they had been holding in for so long was now ready to spill over.

It didn’t take long before the soft sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and then the door opened. Y/N’s mother was the first to step inside, her eyes already glistening with tears. Monica and Robin followed closely behind, the three women a vision of happiness and emotion. Their faces were alight with joy, their eyes never leaving the baby in Y/N’s arms.

“Oh my goodness,” Y/N’s mother said, her voice trembling with emotion. She immediately rushed to the side of the bed, her hands hovering near the baby as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “She’s so perfect. I can’t believe she’s finally here.”

Y/N smiled softly, her own tears welling up again. “Mom, meet our daughter.”

Monica, standing a little behind, clasped her hands together in front of her chest. “I can’t believe she’s here. I’m so happy for you both,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Robin stood next to her, eyes glistening as she watched the family gather around the bed. “She’s beautiful, Y/N. I can’t wait to spoil her,” Robin added, a playful glint in her eyes.

Tears were brimming on all their faces, their joy uncontainable as they fawned over the baby. They took turns peering over Y/N’s shoulder, admiring the tiny little face that had already captured their hearts.

The room soon began to feel full, and the door swung open again, this time revealing Ja’Marr’s girlfriend, who stepped inside with an expression of wide-eyed wonder. “She’s here,” she said, voice shaking with excitement, “she’s finally here.” She rushed to stand beside Monica, her hands over her mouth in disbelief as she gazed down at the baby.

Y/N looked at her friend, a grateful smile on her face. “You all are the best. I can’t believe she’s here, but now she’s surrounded by so much love.”

Ja’Marr’s girlfriend leaned in closer to peer at the baby, “I already love her. She’s gonna have us wrapped around her finger,” she teased, her voice soft with affection.

As the room filled with women celebrating, there was another knock at the door, and the sound of male voices filtered in. Tee, Ja’Marr, Jimmy, and Y/N’s dad entered the room together, their faces lighting up when they saw the new family.

Tee, ever the easygoing one, grinned from ear to ear as he walked over to Joe. “Congratulations, man. You did it. She’s perfect,” he said, his voice filled with pride.

Ja’Marr wasn’t far behind, his usual playful smile replaced by a softer expression. He stepped forward and clapped Joe on the back. “Congrats, Joe. I know you’re gonna be the best dad.”

Jimmy, who had always been one of the quieter members of the group, gave Joe a solid hug before looking at the baby. “You guys have a beautiful little girl. I can already tell she’s gonna be a star, just like her parents.”

Y/N’s dad stood back, his emotions clearly bubbling just beneath the surface. He was a man of few words, but when he spoke, it was with all the pride a father could feel. His voice cracked slightly as he said, “Joe, you’ve got a little angel here. She’s got your eyes, for sure.”

Joe, still holding the baby in his arms, looked around the room at all the faces that had watched him grow, that had supported him and Y/N through thick and thin. They were all here now, and their love for the little girl in his arms was evident in every smile, every tear, every kind word. He couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed.

“Thank you,” Joe said softly, his voice thick with gratitude. “She’s everything we’ve ever wanted.”

Y/N, who was still holding their daughter, looked up at the group with a soft smile, her heart swelling with emotion. “We’re so lucky to have all of you,” she said. “You all are going to love her so much.”

Joe stood next to her, one arm wrapped around her shoulder, the other gently holding their baby. He glanced down at their daughter, then back at everyone in the room. “She’s already so loved, and we’re so grateful for all of you,” he said, his voice full of wonder. “I can’t wait for her to grow up surrounded by so much love.”

The group gathered around the bed, each of them taking a turn to admire the tiny baby girl who had already captured their hearts. The air was thick with joy and love, the room a beautiful cacophony of voices sharing in the excitement. Their little girl, so small and fragile, had already become the center of their world.

“She’s got so many people already rooting for her,” Ja’Marr said, a wide grin spreading across his face. “I can already see it—she’s going to have a team of people who’ll do anything for her.”

Joe laughed softly, his heart full. “You’ve got that right. She’s got us all wrapped around her finger.”

And in that moment, surrounded by family and friends, the new parents knew one thing for sure—they had everything they ever needed. Love. Support. And a baby girl who would grow up knowing, without a doubt, just how much she was cherished.

Two days had passed since the birth of their daughter. Two days that had felt like an eternity in the most beautiful way. The hospital room had been filled with laughter, tears, and an overwhelming sense of joy as family and friends came and went, sharing in the excitement of the new arrival. But now, as Y/N sat in her hospital bed, dressed in her comfortable going-home outfit, there was an undeniable sense of anticipation in the air. The room was quieter than it had been, the flurry of activity over the past two days finally settling into a peaceful calm. The beeping of the monitors had stopped, and in their place was the soft sound of their newborn’s rhythmic breathing, her tiny form bundled up snugly in her car seat.

Y/N gently adjusted the straps, securing their daughter into her car seat with careful precision. Every movement felt like a quiet testament to the trust she had in herself as a mother now. There was no fear, no doubt, only the certainty that this little girl was her responsibility, her heart—and she was ready for whatever came next.

Meanwhile, Joe was busy packing up the room, trying (and failing) to fit everything into the suitcase they had arrived with. He had his arms full of hospital blankets, extra clothes, baby care kits, and a few of the little keepsakes that the hospital had given them. But what really had him struggling was the small mountain of paperwork and discharge forms that he had started piling on top of everything else.

Y/N laughed softly, watching her husband from the corner of her eye. "You know, we’re only going home for a few days, right?" she teased, her voice full of affection. “You’re acting like we're moving in for good.”

Joe glanced over at her, his face breaking into a grin despite the absurdity of his efforts. "You never know. Gotta be prepared. I don't want to leave anything behind. Who knows what kind of chaos will come with the baby?" He added with a playful wink, as if the idea of chaos was some new kind of adventure they were about to embark on.

Y/N shook her head, her smile widening as she reached for the small camera on her phone. "If anyone’s ready for chaos, it's you," she teased, snapping a picture of him, his arms overloaded with baby supplies. “The real chaos is in your bag.”

Joe shot her a mock glare before walking toward the car seat. "I’ll have you know that all this is going to be incredibly useful." He carefully placed the baby carrier next to the door, making sure everything was within arm’s reach.

Y/N chuckled, straightening the blanket around her newborn one last time before giving the straps a final tug. “I swear, if we brought any more stuff, we’d need to rent a moving truck.”

Joe turned to her, his face softening, the playful tension in his muscles relaxing. “Well, we’ve got a lot to bring home,” he said with a sincerity that made Y/N’s heart squeeze in the best way. “It’s a lot to carry, but we’re carrying it together.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, and she let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. This was it. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. Their little family was finally leaving the hospital, going home.

As Joe finished up with the last of the packing, the nurse came in, carrying the final round of paperwork and discharge instructions. She smiled warmly, handing Y/N the necessary papers. “All set,” she said. “You’re free to go home.”

Y/N smiled and signed the papers, a sense of relief washing over her. With that final step completed, the nurse left, and they were left alone in the room for just a moment more. The door clicked shut behind her, and Y/N felt her chest tighten with the magnitude of what was happening. They were going home. Home, with their daughter.

“I think we’re officially parents now,” she murmured, her voice soft with awe. She couldn’t quite believe how real it all felt, how suddenly everything had changed.

Joe looked up from his bag, his face glowing with a quiet happiness. He was suddenly very aware of the shift, of how they had arrived at the hospital as two people—Joe and Y/N—and were leaving as a family of three. "I think we’re more than parents now. We’re a team," he said, his words full of pride and excitement. “And I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at his words. She stepped toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I couldn't have asked for a better partner,” she said softly, kissing him on the cheek. “I’m so grateful for you.”

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "We’ve got this. We’re going to make it through this first year, and the next, and all the rest of them. Together."

It was the kind of sentiment that felt like a promise, and Y/N couldn’t imagine anyone else she’d rather make that promise with.

It wasn’t long before the nurse came back in, and Joe quickly scooped up the baby carrier, his arms steady as he took a deep breath. "Ready to go?" he asked, his voice laced with excitement.

Y/N nodded, and with that, the door opened to the hallway. They were stepping into a new chapter of their lives.

As they made their way through the hospital corridors, the bustling sound of the world around them seemed distant, almost muted, as if they were in a bubble of their own. The sterile, white walls of the hospital seemed a world apart from the warmth and comfort of what awaited them at home. Y/N’s hand naturally found Joe’s, and the two of them walked in sync, taking it all in.

Joe’s steps were slow and steady, the baby carrier held firmly in his hands, but the look on his face was one of wonder—of a new dad walking out of the hospital with the most precious thing he had ever known. And Y/N couldn’t resist pulling out her phone to capture it.

As they made their way down the hallway toward the exit, Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Joe walking ahead of her. The baby carrier was securely in his hands, and the hospital bag was slung confidently over his shoulder. He looked every bit the proud father, his posture straight, a look of quiet pride on his face. It was a simple, yet profound moment—Joe was stepping into his new role as a dad with a grace that she couldn’t help but admire.

Y/N pulled her phone out of her pocket, quickly snapping a photo of the scene. She studied the picture for a moment, and then, with a playful grin, she looked up at him and let out a low, sharp wolf whistle.

“Hey there, dilf!” she called out, her voice teasing but full of love.

Joe froze mid-step, his cheeks flushing slightly as he turned to look at her, a look of mock confusion on his face. "Excuse me?" he asked, a playful smirk forming on his lips.

“Oh yeah,” Y/N said with a wink, laughing at his surprised expression. “You’ve got the whole dad walk down now. You’re officially a dilf.” She chuckled to herself, loving the way he was reacting to her playful teasing.

Joe laughed, shaking his head but clearly amused. "I didn't realize that was part of the package deal," he said, glancing down at the baby carrier in his arms. “But I’ll take it.”

Y/N stepped closer to him, her arm brushing against his as they continued walking. "Oh, you’ve got it all, Joe," she teased. "The dad vibes, the confidence, and that carrying-the-baby thing down perfectly. The dilf status is just a bonus."

Joe shot her a playful look, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, as long as I’m doing it right, I’ll take all the compliments I can get."

“You’re doing more than right,” Y/N said, her voice softening with affection. “You’re already the best dad I could have asked for.”

As they reached the exit, the automatic doors sliding open to the fresh air outside, Joe’s gaze softened as he looked down at their baby girl. “I just want to make sure I’m the best for her,” he said quietly.

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with love for both of them. “You already are.”

With that, they stepped out of the hospital together—Joe, now officially a dilf, and Y/N, walking side by side with their perfect little girl, ready to begin the next chapter of their lives. The world felt full of endless possibilities, and with their love and support for each other, there was nothing they couldn’t face together.

As they made their way down the soft-lit hallway toward the exit, Y/N couldn’t help but steal glances at Joe, her heart swelling with affection. He was walking ahead of her, shoulders squared, his steps steady and confident. The baby carrier, securely cradling their newborn daughter, was nestled in his hands, and the hospital bag—a small, overstuffed reminder of their time at the hospital—was slung over his shoulder.

It was a quiet moment, the weight of it settling around them like a shared breath. Y/N observed him with a smile tugging at her lips, her heart full. Joe was no longer just her husband, her partner in life. He was a father now—their daughter’s father. His posture radiated pride, his quiet smile reflecting the profound love that had settled deep in his chest. He looked every bit the proud father. There was no rush in his movements, no uncertainty. Just a quiet, composed strength that made her fall for him all over again.

Y/N felt a little tug of admiration in her chest, a swell of emotion that she didn’t have the words for. And then, a playful thought crossed her mind, something that felt just right in the midst of this tender moment.

She pulled her phone from her pocket, the click of the camera snapping in her ear. She studied the photo for a moment, her fingers hovering over the screen. It was a perfect shot: Joe, walking ahead of her, with their baby safely tucked in the carrier, and the soft hospital lighting casting a gentle glow on his face. A small, proud grin lingered on his lips. She couldn’t resist.

With a mischievous smile, she leaned back a little, aimed her phone at him, and let out a low, sharp wolf whistle that echoed down the hallway.

"Big dick dilf is back in town!" she called, her voice playful, filled with the warmth of a moment shared between them, the kind that only two people who truly knew each other could understand.

Joe froze mid-step, a surprised laugh escaping him before his lips parted in mock confusion. He turned his head slowly, catching her eye, the flush on his cheeks betraying the little jolt of surprise her words had caused.

"Excuse me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, his playful smirk now pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Y/N couldn't help herself. She winked at him, laughing softly as she leaned against the wall. "Oh, yeah. You’ve got the whole dad walk down now," she teased, glancing at the way he was carrying their baby. "You’re officially a dilf."

Joe’s laugh rang out, a genuine, amused sound, as he shook his head. "I didn’t realize that was part of the package deal," he said, glancing down at the baby carrier in his hands, as if suddenly realizing the weight of his new role. "But hey, I’ll take it." His voice was light, a warm glint in his eyes, as he glanced back at her.

Y/N chuckled to herself, loving the way he was reacting. "Oh, you’ve got it all, Joe. The dad vibes, the confidence, and you’re totally rocking that baby carrier. The dilf status? Well, that’s just the cherry on top."

Joe shot her a playful look, the grin on his face growing wider, his steps lengthening as they continued walking. "Well, as long as I’m doing it right, I’ll take all the compliments I can get," he teased back, his voice light but full of affection.

Y/N took a step closer, reaching for his hand, her fingers slipping between his as they walked side by side. The air between them felt charged with something tender, something that only the two of them could share. “You’re doing more than right,” she said softly, her tone turning gentle as her heart swelled with love for him. “You’re already the best dad I could have asked for. Look at you.”

His hand tightened around hers, the soft squeeze a silent acknowledgment of her words. The world outside seemed to fade away for a moment, leaving only the two of them. And their baby. The new little life they had created, now resting peacefully in the carrier between them.

As they approached the automatic doors leading out of the hospital, the cool air of the outside world sweeping in as the doors slid open, Joe’s gaze softened. He looked down at the carrier, his eyes full of something that she could only describe as pure awe. There was a quiet reverence in his expression as he took in their daughter for what felt like the hundredth time.

"I just want to make sure I’m the best for her," he murmured, the words barely above a whisper, but so full of sincerity that Y/N’s heart skipped a beat.

She smiled, her chest tightening with affection. "You already are," she said, her voice full of certainty.

There was nothing else to say. No more words were needed between them. The bond they had formed in the last few days had solidified into something unbreakable. Their love, their hopes for their future together, were written into the soft breaths of their newborn daughter. This was their family, their beginning, and they were ready for the journey ahead.

But just before they stepped out into the bright world beyond the hospital, Y/N glanced over at Joe, her eyes dancing with mischief.

"Hold on," she said, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "Before we go, let me just take one more picture of you."

Joe looked at her, a faint chuckle escaping him. "What, another one? You’re really milking this, huh?"

She raised her phone and snapped a quick picture of him, his arms full with the baby carrier, the hospital bag slung over his shoulder, and his face full of that proud, tender joy that came from being a new dad.

As she lowered the phone, she couldn’t resist another playful remark. "You know," she said, her voice laced with humor, "I think I just realized something."

Joe raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "What’s that?"

Y/N flashed him a grin before letting out another sharp wolf whistle. "You’re officially a dilf. Like, a real one now."

Joe froze, his face breaking into a mixture of disbelief and amusement while his cheeks began to heat up. "I’m really going to need you to stop calling me that."

"Too late," Y/N replied, laughing as she nudged him with her shoulder. "You’ve got the walk, the dad vibes, and—let’s be honest—the total dad package."

Joe rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across his face. "I can’t believe this is happening," he muttered, still chuckling under his breath. “But if you’re going to keep calling me that, I guess I’ll just have to live with it.”

Y/N leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, her lips soft against his skin. "You’re perfect," she whispered, the words more than just a compliment—they were the truth, plain and simple.

With that, they stepped out into the sunlight, their daughter in her carrier, the world ahead of them. Joe was still walking with that quiet confidence, the weight of the baby carrier and the bag a small but loving reminder of their new reality. Y/N walked beside him, her hand in his, as their little family headed toward the future, ready to take on whatever came next.

And just like that, as the automatic doors closed behind them, it hit her: They were home now, their family complete. The world was theirs. And Joe was, undoubtedly, the perfect dilf to walk through it with.

As she looked at the photo in her phone, she couldn’t help but feel the warmth spreading through her chest. Their little family was finally complete.

“Let’s get her home,” Joe said, turning around to look at Y/N with a smile.

“Yeah,” she agreed, stepping up beside him. “Let’s do this.”

And together, with their hearts full of love and anticipation for the future, they walked out of the hospital, ready to begin their next chapter. The chapter where they would be a family—together, always, with their precious daughter, Zariyah Jasmine Burrow.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎…⋙

JB9 Taglist: @gg-trini, @superanastasia1981, @dasia21, @lilfreakjez

[sxfterhearts]

tainted

DAY 3: phonesex/sexting/foreplay/dystopia with choi jiung

🕸 genre/pairings: dystopia!au - lower working class, dom!jiung x upper class, sub!reader

🕸 warnings: smut nsfw (mdni) | phone sex, mutual guided masturbation, slight degradation and corruption kink (consensual), name calling, praise, forbidden relationship

🕸 word count: 2,567 words

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ☠︎︎ ༻⋆。 °⛧

“This is gonna be the last time, I swear.”

“You said that the last time we did this.” 

“Well… I just can’t help myself, especially not when you look like that. C’mon, take it off for me, sweetheart.” Jiung coaxed in a seductively low register, a smirk working its way onto his pretty face. His greedy eyes were glued to his phone screen, following your every move from behind his wispy black bangs. 

What can he say? He really couldn’t help himself. Phone in one hand, the other inching towards his crotch, the urge to rub himself in search of sweet, sweet relief was too strong to fight off. So he didn’t – Jiung simply gave in to the temptation, diving head first into his desire for you.

The past hour had been pure torture. Not only was he absolutely swamped at work with unrealistic deadlines, but he also had to force himself to stay awake for the weekly government broadcast at the assembly hall. Jiung didn’t understand why they made it compulsory viewing every Friday – the content was repeated every week: stay within your factions, don’t interact with outsiders and abide by the curfew. For all he cared, the drawling voice could’ve been speaking in an entirely different language and he wouldn’t even have noticed. 

Not when you were the sole centre of his attention; the only thought that preoccupied his mind.

It was forbidden – whatever this thing you had going on between the two of you, anyway. Neither of you had a clue what this was. Being from different factions meant the odds were never in your favour. From birth, no, from the moment you were conceived in your mothers’ wombs, you and Jiung lived completely different lives. You were from the upper class, and he was from the working class – the lowest rung of society’s ladder; the scum of the earth. You had all the riches and gold, and always dressed in pristine whites. You were the epitome of poise and purity. Jiung was always tainted in shades of dirt, murky browns and dusty greens. Everywhere he went, he carried the earthy stench of the forest, a byproduct of spending endless days chopping wood and farming land for the government – the very government your family helped to form.

He was beneath you, metaphorically and physically. Right now, you locked yourself in an abandoned bedroom, one of the many in your father’s mansion, far away from prying eyes and curious ears. Being the daughter of a high-ranking government official came in handy, especially for raunchy phone sex escapades with the most irresistible boy you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

The first time you made eye contact with Jiung was when he came to deliver wood for the fireplace in your father’s study. You felt an electric spark then – both of you did. The air was thick and heavy with tension. And let’s just say you definitely felt an unmistakable wetness pool at your nether regions from watching him lift and chop big chunks of wood like they were weightless. It made you wonder how he would manhandle you in bed too…

You threw the phone onto the four poster bed before launching yourself at the mattress, obscuring the phone camera with a view of your chest that had Jiung salivating from the other end of the line. “Do you think they’ll know?” You mused, spreading yourself out and getting comfortable.

Jiung scoffed. Of course you were stalling – you were an upper class girl with all the time in the world to enjoy life’s simplest pleasures. Him, a humble forest boy, did not have the same privileges. As they always say, time is money. And right now, while he’d love to entertain your musings, he really had to get back to work soon. The forest had to be cleared and the trees were not going to chop themselves.

Plus, he was starting to get impatient. That’s what spending one whole hour eye fucking each other across the hall did to him, he supposed – him, a mere nobody amongst the crowd, and you, standing on the assembly stage, looking down at the commoners like the charming, law-abiding bureaucrat you were raised to be. Oh, if only people knew what went on behind the (smoke)screens. “I doubt it. These phones are ancient, none of the current systems will know how to break the encryption. But we’ll never know for sure – they’re always watching, Y/N.”

You hummed in response, lips curling into a devious smile. You liked that thought. “Then let’s give them a show.”

“That’s what we always do, baby. Now hurry, I’ve waited long enough.”

“What’s the magic word, Jiung?”

Blood rushed towards his cock at the way your saccharine voice wrapped around the syllables of his name. He imagined the same lips, oh so pink and kissable, wrapping around something else of his instead. “Quick, we don’t have time! You always do this, I need to go soon.”

“Always so impatient.” You tsked in feigned disapproval, but deep down, you liked it. You liked how Jiung couldn’t get enough of you, how he needed you so desperately, like a burning desire within him that could never be satiated. Even after ending every video call with a promise to never watch each other cum ever again, he always came running back to you, begging to watch you touch yourself. To him, nothing could beat watching you get off on him and his voice.

“Your shirt, Y/N.” Jiung insisted, voice firm and hard. Almost as firm and hard as his thick cock, straining against the confines of his dirt-stained work pants. 

Your pussy pulsed in response, leaking helplessly at his harsh command. After all, as the darling daughter of the most respected upper class family, you were raised to obey orders. You were always a good girl, and always eager to please. You propped the phone up against the pillow and got on your knees for Jiung, ensuring that your upper half was within the frame. With a sultry grin, you dragged your hands up your body, shivering when your fingers came into contact with your stiff nipples.

“Y/N,” He warned dangerously, but you liked playing games. His words fell on deaf ears as you kept playing with yourself, maintaining the slow pace. “Why would you even forget your bra? You like that everyone can see your nipples, huh? Is that it? Slut.”

“Yes, Jiung. I’m your slut.” You moaned, fingers pinching your buds through the thin fabric of your collared button-down. You were a good girl, but you loved bending the rules every now and then, with and for Jiung. And Jiung loved that he tainted you, the girl who embodied innocence and purity. He loved that he stained your whiteness with his dirtiness, like how he dreamed of painting your soft, supple skin with his hot cum.

Jiung cursed under his breath, and you heard him fumbling on the other end of the line. He scrambled to get his bottoms off and sighed in relief when his heavy cock was released. “Go on, what are you waiting for? Touch yourself for me.”

A dark, twisted part of you loved being spoken to in that way. The tension that built up from having to stand still in front of everyone while Jiung undressed you with his eyes got you all worked up. Now, it already felt like a release to take off your clothes and shed the persona you were forced to put on for the rest of the world. Because you knew when Jiung called you like this, you were reduced to nothing more than his girl; his slut. 

So you did as you were told and spread your legs on either side of the phone. You wore a maxi skirt that went all the way to your ankles to remain modest, but you couldn’t imagine what others would say if they saw you exposing your skin, let alone flashing your wet panties to Jiung, of all people, on the other side of the call. 

“Shit, you’re soaking, Y/N. So wet and we haven’t even got started…” Jiung mumbled, head spinning at the wet spot on your lacy white panties. His finger thumbed over an identical stain on his boxers, teasing himself as he spread the precum around his tip.

“It’s because you always look at me like that…” You whined, hands itching to touch your centre. But you knew better than that; you knew to wait for his instructions.

“Like what?” He smirked cockily. 

“Like you want to eat me up.”

“So what if I do? Hmm?” He hummed in response. “You know I’d do anything to eat your sweet pussy, my love.”

You moaned desperately, body heating up at his choice of words. “Jiung…”

“My sweet girl… Go ahead, touch yourself over your panties.”

You obeyed, lips parting in a sigh as your fingers came in contact with your centre. You placed pressure against your hole and felt yourself clench around nothing. Oh, you would give anything and everything to have his calloused fingers inside your gummy walls instead. But alas, it would never happen.

So you settled with this instead. Having his addictive voice guide you to completion over the phone was better than not having him at all. “Push your panties aside for me, yes, that’s it. Put a finger in.” Jiung instructed. He released a breathy moan when his fingers wrapped around his length and began stroking himself.

Your middle finger slipped inside your entrance easily given how soaked you were. It was a relief – small, but a relief nonetheless. You pumped your fingers in and out, maintaining a steady pace. From the corner of your eye, you could make out Jiung’s handsome face contorting in pleasure as he stroked his cock, matching your pace.

“How does it feel? Tell me, baby.” He breathes out, always a sucker for your strained voice and soft whispers.

“Good…” You trailed off, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. “Ah, but I wish it was your fingers inside…” You whined.

Jiung grunted in reply to your whiny cries, increasing his pace. “So do I, baby. Been thinking about stuffing your tight pussy with my fingers all day. I’d get you all stretched and ready for my cock. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes!” You cried desperately.

“I know you would, my little slut. Everyone thinks you’re such a good girl, but look at you now. What do you think they’d say? Put another finger in for me, go on.”

You obliged willingly, breath hitching at the feeling of being stretched further. Jiung was hypnotised, his eager eyes glued to the phone screen to watch your walls stretch and accommodate an additional finger. He couldn’t help but imagine replacing your fingers with his throbbing length and thrusting deep inside, over and over and over again until you both reached your climaxes. He loved tainting you; loved ruining the perfect image that the world sees of you.

“Jiung…” Your soft voice pulled him out of his trance. “Wanna see you, please…”

He knew exactly what you were asking for. He lifted up his shirt and angled the phone upwards, giving you the most delectable view of his thick girth and the numerous tattoos littered on his skin. You watched, transfixed, core pulsating as he stroked his cock hurriedly, harsh pants leaving his parted lips.

“How’s the view?” Jiung questioned with a handsome smirk on his face. 

You hummed in approval. “You’re so hot, Jiung.” 

“Right back at you, sweetheart. One more finger, c’mon. You know you can do it.”

Your lips fell apart in choked moans when you added the third finger. It could barely fit. You felt so full.

“God, you’re taking them so well. Doing so good, baby. Are you close?”

You nodded, cheeks flushed at the wet sounds your cunt made as you pumped your fingers in and out. 

“Me too. Rub your clit, yes… Good girl, just like that.”

“Jiung! Jiung, I’m close, Jiung…” Your mind was flooded with thoughts of Jiung and Jiung only, as you chanted his name repeatedly like a sacred prayer. You were so close, rubbing quickly to chase your release. 

“Yes, Y/N, so good, you’re doing so well for me.” Jiung moaned, mirroring your actions. He was running his mouth and babbling at this point. “Want to cum in your tight pussy and fill you up. I’ll stuff you full of my cum, put your panties back on and make you keep it inside… The world needs to know who you belong to.”

“You, Jiung! I belong to you, only you!”

“Fuck!” He swore, not expecting you to say something like this. It was so intimate – you took him completely by surprise. It was like a switch flipped inside him. The next thing he knew, his orgasm hit him like a ton of bricks and he was cumming messily all over himself. 

Watching his cum leak out in hot spurts made your walls clench tightly on your fingers. The image of him reaching his climax threw you over the edge, pleasure coursing deliciously through your veins as you reached your sweet release. 

It was intense this time, more intense than any of the previous calls. Even though you weren’t in the same room, you could feel the air had shifted. 

You both took a moment to compose yourself, to steady your breaths and heartbeats. But just as you were about to break the silence, you heard footsteps approaching the room.

“Damn it, I have to go.” You stared at him, panicked, yet your expression was uncertain and conflicted, like you were experiencing a whole range of emotions in a matter of seconds. 

Jiung was staring so intently at you, waiting for you to say goodbye and end the call. But why did he feel so reluctant this time? 

“I –” He started.

But you cut him off. “Sorry. See you, Jiung.”

You ended the call. For a few seconds, you just stared at the black screen, selfishly allowing yourself to imagine what life would be like if you could be with him in person, and not just through a phone screen. 

And then you realised that today was Friday, and the maids were out looking for you to get you ready and all dolled up for dinner at the government house. Instead of returning the phone to its usual resting place under the pillow, you pocketed it for a change. You weren’t too sure why, but your gut was telling you it was the right thing to do.

You ended the call. For a long time, Jiung just stared at the black screen, selfishly allowing himself to imagine what life would be like if he could call you his, and not just through a phone screen. His lower body and tattoos were still covered in cum, and he curses into the darkness when he realises…

“I think I’m in love with you.” He whispered, his words drifting off into the endless void between the two of you.

[7:49pm] jiung: sent a photo.

[7:51pm] jiung: can’t stop thinking about you

[7:51pm] jiung: i need you so bad, please y/n…

[7:51pm] y/n: me too, i want you inside me

[7:51pm] y/n: you can use the maid’s entrance. i’ll sneak out of this dinner, meet me in 20

[vanteguccir]

Thinking about boyfriend Matt that has a girlfriend that lives by herself and everytime she gests new forniture, she calls him like "Baby, can you come put this together for me? Thank you". I also think she would try to help and Matt would be tottally against it (not sure about this last part tho). Please write this.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤFURNITURE * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N loves to buy new furniture for her home, and Matt is the one she always goes to to ask to put it together

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader

WARNINGS　::　none

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Y/N had a knack for making her little apartment feel like home. Every few weeks, she'd spot something online; a new bookshelf, a cozy chair, or a quirky table, and decide that it was exactly what her space needed. But there was one catch: she wasn’t exactly a pro at assembling furniture. That’s where Matt came in.

The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the curtains of Y/N’s living room as she admired the large box that had just been delivered. It was a new coffee table, one she’d been eyeing for weeks. Knowing full well that she wasn’t going to tackle it on her own, she reached for her phone.

"Hey, baby." Y/N's voice was warm and playful as Matt answered on the first ring.

"Hey, dove. What’s up?" Matt replied, his tone softening at the sound of her voice.

Y/N glanced at the box.

"I got a little something for the living room. Think you could come over and help me put it together?"

Matt chuckled, already grabbing his car keys.

"Let me guess, another piece of furniture?"

"You know me too well." She grinned. "But yes, please? I promise to make us dinner afterward."

"On my way." Matt said without hesitation, already heading out the door. The thought of seeing her, even if it was to assemble something as simple as a coffee table, was more than enough to make his day.

About twenty minutes later, Matt arrived at Y/N’s apartment, greeted by her bright smile and the unmistakable excitement in her eyes. She stood in the doorway, barefoot and wearing one of his oversized hoodies; something that made Matt’s heart do a little flip every time he saw her in it.

"Thanks for coming." Y/N said, stepping aside to let him in. She watched as Matt eyed the box in the middle of the living room.

"Another project, huh?" He teased, approaching the box.

"Yeah, but I promise this is the last one for a while." Y/N laughed, knowing full well she’d probably find something new soon enough. She kneeled beside him, ready to help.

Matt quickly shook his head, gently nudging her hand away from the box.

"Uh-uh, you just sit back and relax, okay? I’ve got this."

"But I want to help!" Y/N protested, though there was no real determination in her voice. She knew he loved doing things like this for her on his own.

"No way." Matt insisted, his tone gentle but firm. He gave her a playful look, then tapped her nose lightly. "I can handle it. Just sit on the couch and look pretty while keeping me company. That’s all I need from you."

Y/N sighed, feigning disappointment, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. She settled onto the couch, tucking her legs beneath her as she watched him. There was something incredibly comforting about the way Matt moved around her space, confidently taking charge of the task. His broad shoulders flexed beneath his shirt as he opened the box and started laying out the pieces.

"How do you even know what all these parts are?" Y/N asked, genuinely impressed as Matt made quick work of organizing the screws, panels, and tools.

Matt shrugged, flashing her a grin.

"Just good at following instructions, I guess. Plus, it’s kind of fun."

"Fun?" Y/N echoed with a laugh. "You’re putting together furniture, not playing a game."

"Maybe." He said, glancing over at her, his eyes full of warmth. "But it’s for you, so that makes it fun."

Her heart swelled at his words. Watching Matt carefully assemble the table, piece by piece, she couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. It wasn’t just about the furniture; it was about the way he cared for her, the way he was always there to help without a second thought. It was the little things, like how he’d insist on doing the heavy lifting, or how he’d make sure every screw was tightened perfectly so she wouldn’t have to worry about anything.

After a while, the coffee table began to take shape. Y/N couldn’t resist getting up and kneeling beside him again, pretending to inspect his work.

"Looks good." She remarked, trying to keep her tone serious.

"Of course it does." Matt said with a chuckle. "I’m a professional."

She leaned in closer, teasingly brushing her fingers against his biceps.

"Maybe I should double-check, you know, just in case."

Matt rolled his eyes, but his smile was wide.

"If you want, but I guarantee it’s perfect."

Y/N gave him a look of mock suspicion before placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

"I trust you."

Matt’s hands paused for a moment, his eyes flickering to her with a mix of affection and pride. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You better."

With the table finally assembled, Matt stood up, stretching his arms above his head, his pink shirt riding up slightly, displaying his tummy to Y/N’s eyes.

"Done." He announced, stepping back to admire his work.

Y/N clapped her hands together, genuinely impressed.

"It looks amazing, baby. Thank you."

"Anything for you." Matt replied, his voice sincere. He watched as Y/N excitedly placed a few decorative items on the table, her eyes lighting up at how perfectly it fit into her living room.

"Okay, now that you’ve put that together…" Y/N began, trailing off as she looked at him with a playful smirk.

Matt raised an eyebrow, sensing where this was going.

"Oh no, what else did you order?"

Y/N laughed, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head against his chest.

"Nothing… yet."

Matt shook his head, smiling down at her.

"You’re lucky I love you."

"I know." Y/N murmured, looking up at him with pure adoration. "And I’m so lucky to have you."

© vanteguccir