aphrodite baby

reading fanfiction, reblogging my favorite interests and being kind 21 she/her

[abbyhq]

down to your bones - nico hischier

word count: 1.5k

summary: You knew you loved him from the moment he said your name.

warnings: none really, just fluff! does kissing need a warning??

note: this is inspired by your bones by chelsea cutler and some of the dialogue in the end was heavily inspired by the lyrics.

It started out as an ordinary October day. You woke up and had a relatively easy day at work. You went home to get ready for dinner with some friends, carpooling with some of the others to save everyone a little bit of time and money. Dinner flew by with only minimal playful arguments, and those of who were there made the decision to meet up with another group at a bar in the city. You thought it was going to be the usual group of people you typically saw, but then you saw him.

When you walked to the back booth that often occupied the same group of people, you saw a few unfamiliar faces swimming in the sea of ones you recognized. You went around and greeted those who you knew, and introduced yourself to those who didn’t. Names were being thrown at you so quickly you could barely keep up, but when he spoke, you forgot all about them anyways. 

Gentle brown eyes were staring into your own, a small smile that left dimples indenting his cheeks on his face as he kept his gaze on you. He was the only one who made a point to stand and greet you, sticking his hand out for your own as he kept his other nervously shoved into his pocket. You took his hand as you forced your name out, your cheeks and neck flushing as embarrassment flooded your body at how strained it sounded. 

You could hear the playful giggles of your friends from beside you, but you let them fade into the background as he repeated your name back to you. The way the letters fell from his tongue left a permanent impression in your mind, and you knew you were screwed from then on. The moment his hand dropped yours, his voice still ringing in your ear, you knew your life had changed, but you had no idea just how it would change you.

That night, you left the bar with Nico’s phone number and plans to see each other that following Monday for dinner. You hadn’t been so nervous to go out with someone before, and you had recruited two of your closest friends to help you get ready and to ease some of the anxiety that had been bubbling in your chest since that Friday night. They helped you pick out the perfect outfit, helped calm you down when you wanted to spiral, and reminded you to have fun and enjoy yourself before they left.

When Nico arrived, you had the biggest smile on your face when he presented the beautiful bouquet of flowers he’d gotten for you, with the advice of your mutual friend who had told him what your favorite was. You had bashfully thanked Nico, asking him it was okay if you put them in a vase before you left. He caught you off guard by saying of course it was, but only if you let him do it for you. You watched as he assembled them for you with a racing heart, and you knew. You knew he was everything you had been waiting for.

“Ready,” Nico softly asked after placing the vase in the center of your dining room table, smile wide and eyes bright.

“You have no idea,” You grinned.

One date turned into multiple, and before you knew it, the two of you were officially together. He did everything for you, and you for him, and you were the happiest you’d ever been before. You had never felt so content, so excited for the future with someone than you when you were with Nico. He made the uncertainty of life seem exciting and worth experiencing, and you gave him a sense of purpose outside of hockey. You gave Nico something to look forward to every time he stepped off the ice, and he’d been waiting for that feeling for so long.

Your friends often told you that you were now unrecognizable, but it wasn’t because you had changed anything about your appearance. It was because you were so undeniably happy and it wasn’t often that they saw you without a smile on your face. They had never seen you so carefree and excited about life before, and no one wanted you to ever go back. They had always told you that you deserved a love that consumes you in all the best ways, and you had found that with Nico.

Your first Summer with Nico, he had invited you to Switzerland to see his home and to meet his family. You accepted the offer with no hesitation, and that’s how you found yourself currently curled up in his lap as the sun beat down on your skin and laughter echoed around you. His arm was wrapped around your waist, fingers rubbing against the damp skin as he talked with his siblings.

Your head was tucked into the crook of his neck, your hand resting comfortably on the toned muscles of his stomach as you subtly gazed up at him. The sun hit his eyes just perfectly, making them shine brighter and showcase the mixture of dark colors in the most breathtaking way. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him, the same warm feeling you always got when you even thought of him spreading from your chest. Though, you weren’t sure it had left since his deep, accented voice had said your name in the bar many months ago.

“You gonna stare at me all day,” He teases, his hand flexing on the skin of your hip as he looks down at you.

“Yeah, if you’ll let me,” You hummed, playfully poking your tongue out at him.

“I’d let you do anything, you know that,” He rolls his eyes, before settling back on your face, “Are you having fun?”

Both of you pause for a fleeting moment, keeping your eyes trained on the other. Your mind briefly drifts to thoughts of the last several months you’d spent with him. You truly had never felt the way you felt for him before, and the fact that Nico felt the same way for you baffled you every day you spent with him. If you asked him, though, he’d tell anyone who would listen how insanely lucky he was to experience the love you had to give.  

“I am,” You nod, a delicate smile on your sunburnt face, “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Wherever I am, you are always welcome. No matter what, meine schatzi,” He quietly says as he places a small kiss to your temple, ignoring the way his brother and sister are watching him with bright smiles. He squeezes the flesh of your hip before he continues, “C’mon. I want to show you something.”

“What,” You ask, pushing yourself away from him as you furrow your brows.

“You’ll see.”

You carefully step off of his lap, meeting Nina’s gaze as she smiles, which you return with one of your own. Nico stands, nodding to your sandals as he helps you into the light dress you wore as a coverup. He slips his shirt on over his head, stepping into his shoes before taking your hand in his own and tugging you down the dock, away from his siblings. You let him guide you away from the crowd of people and to a more secluded corner of the beach until it was just the two of you. 

“Why are we hiding from everyone,” You raise your eyebrows, turning your head to look at him.

He tugs you into his chest, dropping your hand so he can pull you in closer as he says, “Just wanted to kiss you in private.”

You loop your arms around his neck as you shake your head in amusement, your melodic laughter being smothered by his mouth as he presses it to your own. You melt into him, your soft lips molding against his as his fingers press into the material of your dress. His chest is pressed against your own as he moves his mouth with yours in the type of kiss that leaves your mind hazy and warmth flood from your chest through every inch of your body.

Nico pulls away from you, his forehead pressed against your own as the two of you breath in sync. Your eyes stay closed as you let yourself remain in the moment, thinking of nothing but the feeling of him against you and the ghost of his lips on yours. 

“I love you,” You mumble, eyes fluttering open to meet his, “I love you so much. Wherever you are is where I wanna be.”

“I love you,” He stressed, his eyes dancing across your face,  “I love you all the way down to your bones. You make every hard day worth it and every good day the best day of my life. I know we still have some time to get there, but I can’t wait til you're mine forever.”

“I’m always yours forever, no matter what.”

[capquinn]

Sünneli | N. Hischier

summary: when nico holds his baby girl for the first time, it feels like the world has rearranged itself around her. she was born with the sun, slipping into the world as it woke, and before he even realises it, he's giving her a name that feels like it was always meant to be hers... pairing: nico hischier x reader content: dad!nico, fluff word count: 1.3k note: i finally birthed my teeny tiny dad!nico au. hope u enjoy cutie pies <3 ↪masterlist

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The hospital room is quiet, bathed in the soft golden light of early morning, the world outside just beginning to wake. The air is still, thick with the kind of hush that lingers after something monumental, something life-changing.

Just a few hours ago, his entire world shifted.

His baby girl was born.

The night had blurred into dawn, exhaustion hanging heavy in the space, but Nico? He doesn’t feel it. He hasn’t stopped looking at her since she was placed in his arms, like his body physically won’t let him look away.

He’s completely wrapped up in her, holding her with a care so instinctual it’s like he was made for this. She’s so small, so impossibly new, her features delicate and soft beneath the warm glow of the sun spilling through the window. His hand — large and steady, his grip still carrying the faintest tremor of disbelief — rests over her tiny back, his thumb tracing slow, gentle strokes against the fabric of her swaddle.

His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks, so soft it barely carries beyond the space between them. He murmurs to her in Swiss, the words slipping from his lips low and full of quiet awe.

"Du bisch so perfekt," he breathes, his lips brushing against the top of her head, lingering there for a moment as if he can’t quite believe she’s real. You are so perfect. "So schön, so klein…" So beautiful, so small...

He rocks her without thinking, the motion smooth and rhythmic, his body moving on instinct to soothe her, to keep her close. Her tiny breaths are warm against his chest, her little mouth occasionally forming sleepy, barely-there movements, like she’s dreaming. Like she knows she’s home. And Nico thinks he could stay like this forever — just holding her, memorising the weight of her in his arms, the way she feels right there, pressed against his heartbeat.

For the first time since she arrived, the room feels still. The tension, the exhaustion, the rush of the last few hours — it’s melted into something softer now, something full and quiet and settled.

He lets out a slow breath, glancing over at you, expecting to find you asleep at last. But you’re awake—exhausted, yes, but completely wrapped up in the moment, watching him with an expression so full of love it makes his breath catch.

He doesn’t say anything, just holds your gaze, his arms tightening ever so slightly around the tiny bundle in his chest, like he’s silently sharing this feeling with you. You both stay like that for a moment, bathed in the soft glow of dawn, the weight of everything settling between you.

You look so tired, but there’s a warmth in your eyes, something Nico knows he’ll carry with him forever. You fought so hard to bring her into the world, gave everything to make this moment possible, and now you’re here, looking at him like he’s holding the most precious thing in existence. Because he is.

His lips twitch into the softest smile, small but full of love. He shifts slightly, adjusting your baby girl against his chest, as if to say, "look at her. Look what we made."

And he doesn’t have to say it out loud — because you are looking. And you see it. See him. See the way he’s holding her like she’s the most fragile, most important thing he’s ever touched. See the way his whole world has clicked into place, like this is who he was always meant to be, like fatherhood isn’t something new but something he was always waiting to step into, something written into his very being.

You watch as his lips part, like he wants to say something but can’t quite find the words. Instead, he exhales softly, voice barely more than a breath.

"Thank-you."

Two simple words, but they wreck you.

It’s the way he says them — quiet, thick with emotion, like they hold everything he can’t put into words. Like he’s not just thanking you for this moment, for the little life curled against his chest, but for everything. For every day you spent carrying her, for every exhausted breath, for bringing her into the world, for changing his forever.

His heart swells, stretching wide, impossibly full, spilling over with something bigger than words, bigger than him. His breath shudders, his throat tightens, and before he can stop it, his eyes burn with the threat of tears.

He blinks quickly, tilting his head slightly, gaze shifting toward the window as he tries to steady himself, to catch his breath.

The early morning light spills into the room, golden and soft, stretching across the floor, casting warm edges over the bed, over you, over her. The world outside is waking slowly, painted in delicate hues of pink and orange, dawn easing into full daylight.

But even as he stares out at the horizon, he can still feel her — the gentle weight of her against his chest, the warmth of her tiny body snug against his.

And somehow, that makes it worse. Makes it more.

Like the feel of her, the reality of her pressed so close, amplifies everything. Every emotion swells, raw and overwhelming, catching in his throat. His love for her, for you, for this moment — it’s too much and somehow not enough, all at once.

He glances down again, eyes still damp, heart still aching, and there she is. So small. So new. So impossibly perfect.

And it hits him.

She was born with the sun, slipping into the world as it woke, as if she already belonged to it.

And then, without thinking, the words just come, soft and instinctive.

"Mein Sünneli."

He doesn’t even register that he said it — too caught up in the way she stirs slightly against him, making the tiniest, warmest little sound. His heart aches with it, with how much he loves her, with how much he already belongs to her.

It isn’t until you speak — your voice quiet, amused, full of warmth — that he blinks, finally glancing up at you.

"Sünneli?" you repeat, the word unfamiliar on your tongue, tilting your head slightly as you shift against the pillows, exhaustion still weighing on you.

His brows furrow for a second, like he’s trying to replay the moment in his head, and then it clicks. He glances back down at her, at the way the first light of the morning spills over her tiny, perfect features.

A small, breathy chuckle escapes him, barely there. His fingers brush gently over the fine, downy hair on her head, his voice nothing more than a whisper as he answers.

"Little sun."

He looks back at you then, something so tender, so unshakable in his expression, like there is no other name in the world that could ever fit her the way this one does.

"She’s my little sun."

And that’s it. From that moment on, she’s Sünneli.

It comes so naturally, like it was always meant to be hers. He calls her that again later, when the room is quiet and still, just the soft hum of the world outside, the warmth of her tiny body resting against his bare chest. His fingertips trace the impossibly small curve of her hand, following the gentle rise and fall of her breaths, and the word falls from his lips like second nature, like a prayer whispered just for her.

He says it the next morning too, when she stretches in his arms, letting out the tiniest, sleepiest sound that destroys him, her little face scrunching up before settling again. He presses his lips to her head, breathes her in, and murmurs it against her soft skin.

And every single day after.

Sometimes it’s Sünneli, whispered into her hair as he rocks her in the quiet of the night. Other times, it’s Sunny, slipping easily into English, spoken with a soft smile as she blinks up at him, eyes round and curious, tiny fingers wrapping around his.

No matter which language, no matter how many years pass, it never changes. Because from the moment she entered the world, she was his — his light, his warmth, his brightest, warmest thing.

His little sun.

[capquinn]

Do It For Me | N. Hischier

summary: nico takes what he wants — needs — and you let him, soft and pliant beneath him, made to be used, made to be his. pairing: nico hischier x sub!reader content: MDNI 18+ only smut, p in v, overstimulation, dirty talk, unprotected sex, spanking, squirting, word count: 2.3k note: at this point if i'm posting smut, trust that filthy things are being said in the group chat ↪masterlist

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You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve come — how many times he’s pulled you over the edge, how many times he’s dragged another orgasm out of you like it’s nothing. Your body is spent, trembling, your legs shaking beneath him, but he doesn’t stop. Won’t stop. And you don't want him to.

Because it’s not about you — hasn’t been from the start. It's about him. About the way you’re still gasping for breath, the way your fingers weakly clutch at the sheets like you’re trying to ground yourself, the way your body gives itself to him, muscles loose, limbs boneless, completely at his mercy.

Nico groans, low and wrecked, a hand sliding up your spine, pressing down between your shoulder blades until your chest is flush against the bed. The shift makes you moan, makes your back arch, makes him sink even deeper, and fuck, he feels it — feels the way you shudder, feels the way your toes curl when he stays there, buried to the hilt, just grinding against you, making you take every inch.

"That’s it, baby," he mutters, his teeth scraping along the curve of your shoulder.

He likes you like this — half-gone, barely able to move, taking everything he gives you. The way you're so soft and pliant beneath him, letting him use you however he wants because you know that’s exactly what he needs.

His fingers slip down, skating over the mess between your thighs, feeling just how soaked you still are, and he smirks, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw as his other hand fists in the sheets beside your head, steadying himself.

"So fucking perfect for me," he breathes, snapping his hips forward again, chasing that familiar heat curling low in his stomach.

You whimper into the sheets, body twitching beneath him, but you don’t pull away. You never do. And that’s what drives him fucking insane. That he doesn’t have to ask. Doesn’t have to coax. You’re already there, already his, already so eager to let him take.

"You’re not even trying to stop me," he mutters, amused, voice thick with satisfaction. His hands slide over your body, slow and deliberate, fingers tracing the curve of your waist before skimming up your ribs, like he’s memorising every inch of you. "You just let me, huh?"

He takes his time, dragging it out, savouring the way your body gives to him, how you whimper into the sheets, how you shudder every time he sinks in deep and slow. His grip is firm, keeping you where he wants — folded beneath him, back arched, cheek pressed against the bed, your knees spread wide, open, ready for him. You don’t fight it, don’t push him away, don’t even try. Just let him fuck you like you were made for it, like this is the only thing you’re meant to do.

And fuck, you do it so well. So easily. Even when your body trembles, even when you’re already wrecked, already spent, skin damp with sweat, thighs shaking from the force of your last orgasm.

But that’s what makes it better. That’s what he loves most — seeing you like this, seeing how completely you give yourself to him over and over, how you let him have you. All of you.

And that’s what you love too. The way he needs this. The way he needs you. How his hands tighten on your hips like he can’t get enough, how he groans when you arch just a little more, offering yourself up for him, because you want to be wanted like this.

"That’s my girl," he mutters, dragging his teeth along your shoulder before pressing a kiss there, holy and filthy all at once.

You let out a soft, broken whimper, trying to squirm away, but there’s nowhere to go — nowhere you’d rather be, really — not when his hands tighten on your hips, not when his cock is still buried deep inside you, still dragging against every sensitive spot that has you begging for more and running away all at once.

He feels everything — the way you pulse around him, the way your breath hitches with every deep stroke, the way you squeeze him so fucking tight like you don’t really want him to stop. You’re perfect like this, letting him have you, letting him chase his pleasure without hesitation.

Like hell he’s letting you go. Not when you feel this good, not when your body is still so wet for him, still clenching down like you need him there.

He pushes himself up, chest peeling away from your back as he kneels between your spread thighs, never once slipping out, never once breaking his rhythm. The new angle has you gasping, has your hands fisting in the sheets until your knuckles turn white, has him watching the way you shudder under him, the way your body still gives even as you writhe beneath his hands. Even when you’re trying so hard to escape the overwhelming pleasure that’s got you teetering on the edge.

"No, schatzi," he groans, voice wrecked, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you back onto his cock, guiding you into every deep stroke, letting you feel every inch, every pulse of him inside you. "You can take it, baby."

You sob into the sheets, thighs shaking, muscles twitching, but you don’t tell him to stop — can’t, not when you’re already this far gone, not when the pleasure has you dizzy, floating, wrecked.

And he knows. Knows your body better than you do, knows you’re right on the edge of another one, knows you like this. Like the way he doesn’t slow down, doesn’t let up, even when it’s too much.

"Feels so good when you’re like this," he mutters, voice thick, head tilting down to watch — to see himself stretching you, see the way you drip down onto his cock, see the way your thighs tremble but never close.

One hand smooths up your spine, tracing the sweat-slick curve of it, before pressing between your shoulder blades, forcing you deeper into the mattress, angling your hips higher. The other smacks down across your ass, hard and fast, making you jolt, making your breath catch in a sharp, broken wail. The sting blooms hot beneath his palm, sending another sharp pulse of pleasure through you, making your walls flutter around him, making you squeeze him even tighter. Making every slow, deep drag of his cock through your soaking heat even filthier.

His head tips back, a low, guttural moan slipping from his lips because fuck, you’re still so warm, so tight, still gripping him even though he’s been fucking you open for so long.

"That’s it, baby, take it," he groans, slamming forward, grinding deep. He’s gone now, completely lost in the way you wrap around him, your body responding to him, offering more with every thrust.

And then you break.

A sharp, high-pitched whine catches in your throat, your body tensing beneath him before you come undone, overwhelmed, overstimulated, pleasure crashing over you in waves.

Your moans dissolve into soft, desperate sobs, hands clawing at the sheets, thighs trembling as another orgasm rips through you, dragging you under. It’s too much, too intense, and your body reacts before your mind can catch up — twisting, squirming, trying to turn over, trying to shift beneath him like you can escape the pleasure that’s got you spiralling.

But no fucking way is he letting you slip away from him.

Nico growls low in his throat, hands gripping you tight, and before you can even process what’s happening, he grabs your hips, pulls out just long enough to flip you onto your back, your body pliant, wrecked, barely able to move before he’s already pushing back in, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, brutal thrust.

"I know, baby, I know," he coos, but it’s nothing but taunting and indulgent as he watches you shudder beneath him, still locked in your orgasm.

His hands slide down, grip behind your knees, pushing them up and apart, folding you open so he can get deeper. He groans, dropping his head, watching the way you spread for him, the way your cunt grips him, and it’s so fucking messy, slick and filthy, and fuck, he needs more.

One hand leaves your leg, moves between your bodies, fingers pressing against your soaked clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles as he fucks you through it, as he drags out your pleasure, as he forces another orgasm to build before you’ve even come down from the last one.

And then he feels it.

The way your body locks up beneath him, muscles tensing so hard it makes your breath hitch, your nails digging into his thighs as a sharp, broken cry rips from your throat. Your back arches, thighs twitching in his grip, and then — fuck.

A gush of wetness spills between you, sudden and overwhelming, soaking his cock, dripping onto his thighs, splashing warm against his abs. Nico falters — just for a second, his hips stilling, eyes flicking down in pure, stunned awe as he watches it happen, as he feels the way you gush for him, your swollen, pink cunt pulsing, fluttering, completely wrecked.

That’s it. That’s it.

A rough, wrecked groan spills from his lips, his grip tightening behind your knees as he snaps his hips forward, dragging out another slick, obscene sound as he fucks into you harder, faster, chasing the way you shudder, the way you moan beneath him.

"Holy fuck," he breathes, voice rough, his fingers digging into your skin, keeping you spread wide open, watching as you drip for him, as his cock grinds through the mess pooling between your thighs.

It’s obscene — the wet, slick drag of him, the way your body keeps giving, keeps offering him more, even though you’re already spent, already trembling beneath him.

His other hand slides to your lower belly, pressing down just enough to make you feel him, every deep stroke, every slow, devastating roll of his hips. To make sure you know how deep he is, how full he’s got you, how there’s nowhere to go — nowhere to run from the pleasure that’s wrecking you from the inside out.

"You feel that, baby?" he rasps, grinding into you, his rhythm messy now, frantic, desperate. His thumb finds your swollen, oversensitive clit, rubbing fast, cruel circles, dragging another broken sob from your lips. "Fuck... look at you."

But he doesn’t let you look. Doesn’t give you time to breathe. Doesn’t let you come down — not when you’re still soaking him, not when your body is still so fucking hot and wet around him.

Nope.

He needs more. Needs to feel you break again, needs to chase that wet, messy release all over again.

"That’s it, baby. Give me one more," he mutters, rolling his hips deep, dragging himself through your soaked heat, through the mess of it, through the wreckage of the last orgasms he’s already pulled from you. "I know you can. Do it for me."

And you do.

Your body shatters beneath him again, thighs trembling, trying to close, trying to run from the intensity, but Nico doesn’t let you. He leans in, chest pressing flush against yours, his weight sinking into you, his hips forcing your legs open, keeping you there, holding you still, making sure you take everything he gives.

"Nico."

Your cry of his name is wrecked, punched out of you as your body clenches tight around him, trembling, desperate. Your fingers twist in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as you yank him closer, thighs squeezing around his hips, locking him in, holding him exactly where you want him.

A rough, broken groan tears from his chest as his hips snap forward once last time, burying himself deep, grinding into you as his own pleasure breaks over him. His breath catches, his fingers tighten where they grip your waist, his whole body shaking as he comes, hot and thick, filling you up, making sure you take all of it.

His thrusts slow, turning into this slow, dragged-out grind, like he’s chasing the feeling, like he doesn’t want to pull away from you yet, doesn’t want to leave the heat of you wrapped around him. His body is heavy against yours, his breath hot, uneven, spilling across your skin as he presses his forehead to yours, lips parting like he wants to say something but can’t — too lost in the feeling, too wrecked, too fucking gone.

His hands move without thought, without hesitation, already easing into gentleness, sliding down your sides, smoothing over the slight tremors still running through you.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes, voice low, hushed, still thick with the remnants of pleasure, his body heavy against yours, pressing you deeper into the mattress as he lingers in the aftermath.

His lips find your temple first, then your cheek, then the curve of your jaw — soft, lingering kisses, slow and reverent, like he’s grounding himself in you, memorising the way you feel beneath him, under him. His. Just his. All his.

His hips keep moving in slow, lazy grinds like he’s soothing you, like he’s soothing himself, chasing that last bit of warmth, of connection, of you.

"So fucking good for me," he mutters against your skin, his hands slipping lower, smoothing over your thighs, massaging where his grip had been firm before.

He stays deep, buried inside you, unwilling to leave just yet, unwilling to let go of the warmth, the intimacy, the quiet hum of pleasure still pulsing between you.

"Took me so fucking perfectly, schatzi," he murmurs, lips pressed to your shoulder, voice softer now, lower, his weight pressing solid against you. "My sweet girl... My good girl."

[mikkomacko]

Oh…oh okay

[capquinn]

Sünneli | N. Hischier

summary: when nico holds his baby girl for the first time, it feels like the world has rearranged itself around her. she was born with the sun, slipping into the world as it woke, and before he even realises it, he's giving her a name that feels like it was always meant to be hers... pairing: nico hischier x reader content: dad!nico, fluff word count: 1.3k note: i finally birthed my teeny tiny dad!nico au. hope u enjoy cutie pies <3 ↪masterlist

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The hospital room is quiet, bathed in the soft golden light of early morning, the world outside just beginning to wake. The air is still, thick with the kind of hush that lingers after something monumental, something life-changing.

Just a few hours ago, his entire world shifted.

His baby girl was born.

The night had blurred into dawn, exhaustion hanging heavy in the space, but Nico? He doesn’t feel it. He hasn’t stopped looking at her since she was placed in his arms, like his body physically won’t let him look away.

He’s completely wrapped up in her, holding her with a care so instinctual it’s like he was made for this. She’s so small, so impossibly new, her features delicate and soft beneath the warm glow of the sun spilling through the window. His hand — large and steady, his grip still carrying the faintest tremor of disbelief — rests over her tiny back, his thumb tracing slow, gentle strokes against the fabric of her swaddle.

His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks, so soft it barely carries beyond the space between them. He murmurs to her in Swiss, the words slipping from his lips low and full of quiet awe.

"Du bisch so perfekt," he breathes, his lips brushing against the top of her head, lingering there for a moment as if he can’t quite believe she’s real. You are so perfect. "So schön, so klein…" So beautiful, so small...

He rocks her without thinking, the motion smooth and rhythmic, his body moving on instinct to soothe her, to keep her close. Her tiny breaths are warm against his chest, her little mouth occasionally forming sleepy, barely-there movements, like she’s dreaming. Like she knows she’s home. And Nico thinks he could stay like this forever — just holding her, memorising the weight of her in his arms, the way she feels right there, pressed against his heartbeat.

For the first time since she arrived, the room feels still. The tension, the exhaustion, the rush of the last few hours — it’s melted into something softer now, something full and quiet and settled.

He lets out a slow breath, glancing over at you, expecting to find you asleep at last. But you’re awake—exhausted, yes, but completely wrapped up in the moment, watching him with an expression so full of love it makes his breath catch.

He doesn’t say anything, just holds your gaze, his arms tightening ever so slightly around the tiny bundle in his chest, like he’s silently sharing this feeling with you. You both stay like that for a moment, bathed in the soft glow of dawn, the weight of everything settling between you.

You look so tired, but there’s a warmth in your eyes, something Nico knows he’ll carry with him forever. You fought so hard to bring her into the world, gave everything to make this moment possible, and now you’re here, looking at him like he’s holding the most precious thing in existence. Because he is.

His lips twitch into the softest smile, small but full of love. He shifts slightly, adjusting your baby girl against his chest, as if to say, "look at her. Look what we made."

And he doesn’t have to say it out loud — because you are looking. And you see it. See him. See the way he’s holding her like she’s the most fragile, most important thing he’s ever touched. See the way his whole world has clicked into place, like this is who he was always meant to be, like fatherhood isn’t something new but something he was always waiting to step into, something written into his very being.

You watch as his lips part, like he wants to say something but can’t quite find the words. Instead, he exhales softly, voice barely more than a breath.

"Thank-you."

Two simple words, but they wreck you.

It’s the way he says them — quiet, thick with emotion, like they hold everything he can’t put into words. Like he’s not just thanking you for this moment, for the little life curled against his chest, but for everything. For every day you spent carrying her, for every exhausted breath, for bringing her into the world, for changing his forever.

His heart swells, stretching wide, impossibly full, spilling over with something bigger than words, bigger than him. His breath shudders, his throat tightens, and before he can stop it, his eyes burn with the threat of tears.

He blinks quickly, tilting his head slightly, gaze shifting toward the window as he tries to steady himself, to catch his breath.

The early morning light spills into the room, golden and soft, stretching across the floor, casting warm edges over the bed, over you, over her. The world outside is waking slowly, painted in delicate hues of pink and orange, dawn easing into full daylight.

But even as he stares out at the horizon, he can still feel her — the gentle weight of her against his chest, the warmth of her tiny body snug against his.

And somehow, that makes it worse. Makes it more.

Like the feel of her, the reality of her pressed so close, amplifies everything. Every emotion swells, raw and overwhelming, catching in his throat. His love for her, for you, for this moment — it’s too much and somehow not enough, all at once.

He glances down again, eyes still damp, heart still aching, and there she is. So small. So new. So impossibly perfect.

And it hits him.

She was born with the sun, slipping into the world as it woke, as if she already belonged to it.

And then, without thinking, the words just come, soft and instinctive.

"Mein Sünneli."

He doesn’t even register that he said it — too caught up in the way she stirs slightly against him, making the tiniest, warmest little sound. His heart aches with it, with how much he loves her, with how much he already belongs to her.

It isn’t until you speak — your voice quiet, amused, full of warmth — that he blinks, finally glancing up at you.

"Sünneli?" you repeat, the word unfamiliar on your tongue, tilting your head slightly as you shift against the pillows, exhaustion still weighing on you.

His brows furrow for a second, like he’s trying to replay the moment in his head, and then it clicks. He glances back down at her, at the way the first light of the morning spills over her tiny, perfect features.

A small, breathy chuckle escapes him, barely there. His fingers brush gently over the fine, downy hair on her head, his voice nothing more than a whisper as he answers.

"Little sun."

He looks back at you then, something so tender, so unshakable in his expression, like there is no other name in the world that could ever fit her the way this one does.

"She’s my little sun."

And that’s it. From that moment on, she’s Sünneli.

It comes so naturally, like it was always meant to be hers. He calls her that again later, when the room is quiet and still, just the soft hum of the world outside, the warmth of her tiny body resting against his bare chest. His fingertips trace the impossibly small curve of her hand, following the gentle rise and fall of her breaths, and the word falls from his lips like second nature, like a prayer whispered just for her.

He says it the next morning too, when she stretches in his arms, letting out the tiniest, sleepiest sound that destroys him, her little face scrunching up before settling again. He presses his lips to her head, breathes her in, and murmurs it against her soft skin.

And every single day after.

Sometimes it’s Sünneli, whispered into her hair as he rocks her in the quiet of the night. Other times, it’s Sunny, slipping easily into English, spoken with a soft smile as she blinks up at him, eyes round and curious, tiny fingers wrapping around his.

No matter which language, no matter how many years pass, it never changes. Because from the moment she entered the world, she was his — his light, his warmth, his brightest, warmest thing.

His little sun.

[sidfrogsby]

mood

[emeraldpoppies]

him not even closing his mouth and letting the water just fall out… oh hes disassociating real hard

[anexperimentallife]

[sunlightspiced]

The James Dean parallels are driving me insane

[emeraldpoppies]

he’s so cutie

[shanebuffys]

I hope one day some of y’all can admit that we live in a world where neither Santos or Langdon is 100% correct and lots of things in that situation have gray areas

[emeraldpoppies]

what if i burst into tears omg

[apineappleheart]

Nico Hischier is better than me because if my alternate captain went on a three day bender, skipped multiple practices, said *now* was the time to focus on our team—four games later—and then called the guy who has spent the last several years trying to crack my head open HIS BROTHER I would take my skate off and slit his throat at center ice.

[emeraldpoppies]

Nico at the olympics with a fan in milan

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

#Their Child Was Born A Yearner

[emeraldpoppies]

i’m thinking things. it’s a lot of things but i’m thinking them

[tio-trile]

Something something vampires have no reflection so he can't even try to see his brother's face anymore when he looks into the mirror

[medusadyke]

academic dishonesty is not something you can spin as moral lol i do not want to share a career field let alone a social sphere with a bunch of chatgpt using ass bitches

[medusadyke]

"you're just scared your diploma is going to devalue" i'm afraid you dumb bitches are going to become my colleagues and drag social services to hell

[hylianengineer]

I'm afraid they'll become scientists and data that lives depend on will turn out to be wrong - and people will die.

I'm afraid they'll become engineers and sign off on bridge designs that collapse - and people will die.

I'm afraid they'll become medical professionals who don't know what they're doing - and people will die.

The assumption that academic dishonesty is okay is rooted in the idea that what you're learning to do doesn't matter.

[constance-mcentee-deactivated20]

"The assumption that academic dishonesty is okay is rooted in the idea that what you're learning to do doesn't matter."

[mikkomacko]

GRITS HIT THE PENTAGON

[emeraldpoppies]

i feel like a victorian man who just saw shoulders oh my god