#hsr x you

[neossence]

🏐 "𝑷𝑯𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑶𝑵 / 𝑲𝑯𝑨𝑺𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑨," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ nsfw breeding you like a rabbit ꗃ .. smut mdni ꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ mina says reupload from toruzip ⁀ ˳ ⟡

Oh, how filthy he got in bed.

From the golden boy of Okhema city, the savior of Amphoreus, smiling and waving to citizens all around, to one of the meanest men in bed.

His hips never stop moving when he’s finally popped his dick inside your tight, wet cunt. He’s not shy about it either, whining and moaning loudly against the wet sounds of his hips slapping against your plump ass. His hands tightly holding onto your hips, making sure you can’t run away.

“F-fuckkkk.. g-gonna breed y-you.. g’nna make you all plump and round with my babies,” he’d hiccup and whisper against your sweat slicked skin. While you would whine and try to pry him off, telling him it had already been an hour since you two had begun. His balls would still be heavy with cum, slapping against your skin with a lewd ‘plap! plap! plap!’. His breathless chuckles would fill the air as his hips wouldn’t stop— in fact, he would start thrusting deeper and more purposefully.

The bed would shake, as you swore you could hear the faint cracks of the wooden bed frame giving way. There was no true night in Amphoreus, so you could still hear the faint sounds of city life going on just past the walls of your little home. “..p-phainon! Y-you’re gonna break the bed again..!” You’d cry and moan, nails digging into his back and leaving red hot marks.

Phainon’s hips wouldn’t stop, oh no.

He’d only get filthier, more lewd and needy. Whimpering into the crook of your neck, “p-please… just l-let me.. ngh— shit.. g’nna c-cum again…” he’d groan, and before you could even complain to him— his hips would be erratically thrusting into your sloppy pussy. Previous white sticky seed already oozing out around his thrusting cock, as he would shudder and cum inside you. Hot thick ropes of his seed spilling deep inside you, no doubt in wanting to fertilise your womb.

“Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou” he’d quickly mutter, his hips coming to a slow roll. Stirring up the sticky mess inside you. His pelvis grinding against your overstimulated clit.

“…do you wanna go again, baby—”

“Phainon, the black tide will be more merciful than me if you ask another stupid question.” You huffed to him quickly, limbs sore and aching all over.

“…is that a yes, then?”

© 𝑵𝑬𝑶𝑺𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 ★ do not copy, translate, or republish my work, do not use for ai training.

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

☆. TELLING HIM THAT HE’S “SMALL” !

paring: phainon, mydei, aventurine, dr. ratio, jingyuan x fem!reader

tws : nsfw / smut, creampie (vaginal & anal), breeding kink, reverse cowgirl, mate pressing, spanking, multiple of rounds, darcyphilia, virginity loss, blow-job, face sitting (?), fingering, tummy bulge, making it fit, sloppy sêx, aftercare (?), rough sêx, dubcon elements (?), dumbifiction, headlocks and petnames.

sum : You told him he was small. He showed you otherwise. Suddenly, you didn’t mind taking every inch. MDNI 18+ ONLY.

note : not proof-read as usual.

★ PHAINON :

You thought teasing him would be fun. A quiet little smirk and that sweet whisper —

“Bet you’re not even that big.”

God, the way he looked at you. Not angry. Not offended. Just… amused. Like a priest staring down a blasphemer before the altar.

Now?

Now your legs are trembling, pushed wide open, and you’re struggling to even blink. Phainon’s fingers are deep inside you — slow, deliberate, two of them hooked just right, pressing into the spot that’s got your mouth open and your brain melting.

“Small?” he murmurs, voice like velvet-wrapped gold. “And yet… you’re drooling all over my fingers. Can’t even hold yourself up.”

You want to talk. You can’t.

Every curl of his fingers pulls a moan from you like a prayer. He’s whispering again, lips brushing your ear.

“Nothing to say now? Hm? So quiet. So wet. Should I keep going until you forget your name?”

You’re nodding before you even realize it.

Your hips are grinding up against his palm now, chasing that edge he keeps pulling away from. Every time it builds, he slows down. Holds you there. Makes you feel it. The ache, the pressure, the bliss that never quite breaks. It’s maddening.

“You’re just being prepared,” he says gently, almost reverent, like this is sacred.

“Can’t ruin you in the first round, sweet thing. But by the time I do put it in, you’ll be so far gone you won’t even remember calling me small.”

“Can’t ruin you in the first round, sweet thing,” he purrs again, brushing his fingers from your soaked hole to the base of his cock. It’s heavy, flushed, leaking against your thigh now. Thick. Long. You didn’t even look at it properly—too far gone to notice while he was playing you open like a divine instrument.

“But now?” His hand wraps around the base, stroking once, slow. You see it now. And oh—he’s huge. It’s veiny, flushed deep pink at the tip, curved just enough to hit everything he was already teasing with his fingers. “Now you’re ready.”

You try to answer, but all that comes out is a soft gasp and a nod that feels more like begging.

He moves between your legs, pushing them wider—wider—until you feel stretched out and helpless under him, like an offering. And he leans forward, pressing his cockhead against your entrance. It doesn’t even go in at first. He just grinds there. Spreads you open with slow circles, letting you feel the weight of it, the heat, the stretch that’s coming.

You choke on a sound. “Pha—Phainon—”

“Shhh,” he whispers, and he smiles. Soft. Like he’s about to baptize you in holy fire. “It’ll fit.”

He pushes in slow. Painfully slow. Not because he’s teasing, but because you physically can’t take it all at once. Your cunt clenches around the thick head, already trembling as he sinks in inch by inch, pulling a broken moan out of you each time your walls stretch around him.

You try to breathe. You can’t. His hand comes to your stomach—

—and when he’s halfway in, you see it.

“Look,” he breathes, pressing gently to the bulge forming just below your bellybutton. “That’s me.”

Your eyes roll back. “T-too big—”

“It fits,” he says again, firm this time. “You’re mine. I will fit.”

And with a slow, final push, he bottoms out.

You scream.

The stretch, the pressure, the feeling of him filling you completely—it’s too much. Too perfect. Your body tightens around him like it’s never going to let go. Like you were meant to take this cock. To take his.

He doesn’t move right away. Just stays there, buried inside you, cock twitching, eyes fixed on your face and the outline in your stomach.

“Good,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so good for me. You’re going to take all of it. Again. And again. Until I’m sure it takes.”

And then he moves.

Slow at first—long, deep strokes that drag against every sweet, ruined part of you. You’re already sensitive, overfucked from his fingers, but now? Now it’s bliss. Sacred. Your hips jerk every time he bottoms out. The bulge grows and disappears, over and over, with every thrust.

“Feel that?” he whispers, dragging his lips over your jaw. “That’s what happens when you insult something divine. Now you’re going to feel it in your stomach every time you breathe.”

Your legs are shaking. You’re moaning without meaning to, drooling, tears slipping down your cheeks—not from pain. From how good it is. How full.

He starts moving faster, his rhythm breaking, and his hand goes to your thigh, holding you down as your body tries to pull away from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Where are you going?” he growls, low and possessive now. “You asked for this.”

And then it hits. He slams in deep, grinds, and your vision whites out—back arching as you cum hard, squeezing around him, sobbing from the force of it. But he doesn’t stop. If anything, he gets rougher. Harsher. His breath ragged, his grip bruising.

He’s close.

And you know it.

“I’m going to fill you,” he grits out. “So full you’ll feel it dripping for days. You’ll smell like me.”

You whimper something incoherent, but your hips rock up to meet his thrusts. You want it. You need it. The sacred burn of him claiming every inch.

“I’ll breed you until your body forgets every cock before me. Until it only remembers mine.”

The moment it happens, he growls your name, slams in deep one last time—and stays there.

You feel the heat first. Then the stretch. Then the rush of cum flooding you.

He doesn’t pull out.

Not even a little.

He just groans, low and broken, pressing his forehead to yours as he pumps every last drop inside.

And your stomach swells just slightly more with the warmth.

You don’t know how long it’s been.

The room feels warm. Your body? Weak, trembling, leaking. You’re still stretched open around him, thighs twitching, mouth parted with soft gasps. His cum is still inside you—hot, heavy, pooling deep in your cunt, trickling down your inner thighs with every shift of your hips.

You should be done.

Any normal man would’ve pulled out, cleaned you up, let you come down from the high.

But Phainon? He never even left your body.

He’s still there.

Still inside.

Still hard.

And he’s watching you—blue eyes narrowing, one palm gently resting on the bulge in your stomach.

“You’re full,” he murmurs, brushing your sticky hair off your forehead. “But you’re not bred yet.”

You try to speak. You can’t. Your jaw slackens as he pulls back just slightly, just enough for your raw, fluttering walls to feel the drag of him.

And then—

He thrusts back in.

Hard.

You scream.

It’s not pain. It’s not even pleasure. It’s too much. Your body jerks, overwhelmed, the thick mess of cum inside you squelching as he slams back into your already-spoiled cunt. You cry out again, eyes wide and watery.

“Pha—Phainon, I—can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His voice is calm, but low. Tight with restraint. “You’re made for this. I just have to remind you.”

His hips roll again, slow at first, but deeper. Hungrier. Every stroke pushes against that oversensitive spot inside, and with the way you’re already so full—so stretched—it feels like he’s everywhere at once. Your body tries to squirm away, but he pins your hips down with one hand and holds your thigh up with the other.

“You can take it,” he breathes. “You will take it. You said I was small, remember?”

His cock slams deep, knocking the air from your lungs. He starts rutting now—thrusts rhythmic, brutal, divine—every inch pounding up into your heat like a promise. The bulge in your stomach pulses with every push, getting more visible. He presses it as he fucks into you, and you sob.

“Look at this,” he whispers. “Look what I’m doing to you. That’s my cock inside your womb, my girl. Claiming every inch. You feel it?”

You nod. You don’t even mean to, but you’re nodding like a broken thing, tears down your cheeks, gasping his name over and over like a prayer.

Phainon groans—finally slipping. His breath hitches, rhythm growing faster, more desperate.

“I’ll fuck you stupid,” he growls. “Fill you until it’s leaking down your thighs for days. Until your stomach stays round even when I pull out.”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. He ravages you now. Your pussy is fluttering, clenching, spasming around him, soaking his cock with slick and leftover cum—and he fucks you through it. Like he’s not just fucking you, but teaching your body a lesson.

You cum again. You don’t even realize it until your vision goes white, and your body locks up, and your voice breaks into moans that don’t even sound human anymore. You’re shaking, body arching, drool on your lip—and he still doesn’t stop.

“You love it,” he says into your skin, his lips hot against your temple. “You love being ruined like this. You’ll remember this every time you try to walk.”

You’re crying. Whimpering. Nodding.

And then—his thrusts get sloppier.

You feel him swell.

You know it’s coming.

And he grips your hips and slams in—deep, to the hilt—and holds you there as he spills inside again.

This time? It’s worse.

There’s so much. You can feel it—thick, hot, and endless, rushing in and filling you again like your body was empty. Your belly feels heavier. Rounder. The bulge pulses with warmth as he unloads for the second time.

You can’t even make a sound. Just wide eyes and soft, shattered moans.

He stays there, cock buried inside, twitching, body trembling.

You’re limp. Your thighs are soaked. Your belly’s full. His seed’s dripping down your ass in thick, creamy strings—but he’s still there. Still holding you like something sacred and fragile.

And he leans down, kisses your lips gently, and whispers:

“Still think I’m small?”

You’re too ruined to answer.

But the mess between your legs answers for you.

★ MYDEIMOS :

“You’re small.”

You say it soft. Real soft. Barely a whisper in his ear while you lie under him, half-smirking. You think you’re being cute. Teasing. Stirring that man into a scoff.

But what you get isn’t a scoff or a groan

It’s silence.

Mydei just looks at you—no expression, just heat—and the next second?

He’s on you.

You’re grabbed, flipped, thrown down, and spread open in seconds—legs pinned back to your chest, his thick arms caging you in. You barely get a breath before he’s lining his cock up to your dripping pussy and slams it in.

No warning. No build-up. Just the wet, brutal sound of your cunt getting split open around cock that doesn’t fit but forces its way in anyway.

You scream.

It’s not pain—it’s your pussy trying to figure out how to swallow something that fucking thick. Your lips stretch wide, your walls clench down like they’re confused, stuffed past their limit, already leaking and sucking him in like they know who’s boss now.

He leans in close—chest pressed flat to yours, his full body on you. You can’t move. Can’t breathe. You’re folded up under him like you’re nothing but a fleshlight with a heartbeat, pinned so tight your legs tremble and twitch beside his ribs.

His cock’s balls deep inside.

His stomach presses down on yours.

You look down and see the shape of it—see the thick bulge of his cock pushing up against your belly like he’s trying to break through it.

“Small?” he finally grunts, voice rough in your ear. “You feel that, baby? That’s my dick rearranging your insides.”

And then he starts thrusting into your already wet cunt.

The sound of skin smacking skin gets wetter every second, your pussy making those filthy, squelching noises with every bounce of his hips, juices spilling out everywhere, dripping off your ass and soaking the sheets.

You’re gasping. Whining. Eyes rolling back. You try to say something, maybe beg, maybe moan—but he just grabs your throat and slams in deeper.

You can’t move. You’re folded. Flattened under him. His thick body covers you, keeps you down, presses his weight into you like he’s trying to leave a permanent mark inside your guts.

He spits in your mouth.

“You wanna say that again?” he growls, snapping his hips. “Call me small now.”

You can’t. You’re just moaning, mouth open, drooling on yourself while your pussy flutters and twitches around his cock, slick and swollen from the constant stretch.

“God, you sound stupid,” he groans. “You are stupid now, huh? Just a dumb little hole to fuck. Nothin’ goin’ on in that brain except how deep this cock is.”

And it’s true.

You’re quiet. Brain blank. All you know is the drag and shove of that thick cock inside you, bruising your cunt, flattening your womb. You’re leaking all over his balls, slick sticking to his thighs, his dick punching your guts over and over.

He sits back—brings you with him—doesn’t pull out.

Now you’re in his lap, straddling him, but still bent back, your pussy still spread open, still stuffed with cock. He’s bouncing you now—your ass smacking down on his thighs, tits bouncing, cunt slapping messy around him with every brutal thrust.

You’re just moaning.

“My fuckin’ girl,” he pants. “You were made for this. Made to take all this cock. Gonna breed you right. Knock the last of your thoughts out with my load.”

Your tummy bulges again as he lifts you and slams you down harder.

He wraps one thick arm around your neck—tight headlock—and fucks you through it.

“Say it again,” he hisses in your ear. “Say I’m small while your pussy’s creaming on me like a bitch in heat.”

But you can’t speak. You’re gone.

You’re drooling, eyes crossed, pussy fluttering tight around his dick, holding him in like you’re scared he’ll pull out. You’re gushing—cum and slick squirting out around his cock, dripping mess all over the floor.

He moans. And he breaks.

He grabs your hips, slams you down to the base, and stays there—deep, buried, locked in place.

You feel his cock twitch.

Thick. Heavy. Flooding your cunt, stretching you with cum. You feel it pump into you in hot, heavy spurts, overflowing inside, leaking down your thighs. Your belly gets heavier with it. You swear your pussy’s too full to take more but he doesn’t stop—he keeps grinding.

You’re folded in his lap now, cock still buried so deep it feels like it’s in your throat, cum dripping down between your cheeks in fat, warm globs—and Mydei leans down and brushes your hair from your face like he didn’t just fuck you stupid.

He smirks, nuzzles your flushed cheek.

“Well?” he murmurs, hips slowly rolling again, so slow, just enough to make you feel every inch of him dragging against your raw, sensitive walls. “Still think I’m small?”

You whimper.

That’s all you can manage. Your voice is gone, fucked out of your throat. Your legs won’t stop shaking. Your pussy’s twitching around him like it’s begging for more even though it’s so overstretched, puffy and red from being used.

He hums.

“Didn’t think so.”

And then he kisses you.

Soft. Deep. One hand cupping the back of your head while his tongue lazily rolls against yours. His cock stays buried inside—warm, pulsing—but he’s not fucking you now. Not yet. He’s just holding you there, like he’s soaking in the mess he made.

You blink at him slowly, dazed, drooling, skin slick with sweat.

“Mydei…” you whine.

That’s it. Just his name. Barely even that.

He smiles.

Kisses you again. Starts rocking his hips in that gentle, sweet rhythm—like he’s in love with the way your pussy squeezes him, like he could spend all night just watching you fall apart again under him, all flushed and sore and needy.

“You want more, don’t you?” he murmurs against your lips. “Can feel this little hole begging for it. She’s so greedy, baby.”

You nod. Eyes glassy.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “Let me take care of you, yeah?”

He shifts—pulls out halfway, then slides back in slow, cock thick and veiny and still leaking cum. You moan. Loud. Body arching, hips rolling up to meet him like your pussy’s chasing him.

He watches your face. Watches your expression twist and tremble while he fucks you slow—tender, now, but deep. Deep enough to make your stomach bulge again. Deep enough to make your toes curl.

You look down and whine.

“Look at her,” he growls softly. “Still stretched open. Still dripping for me. You’re so fucking full, baby…”

He slides his hand down between your bodies—presses gently on your lower belly.

You squeal.

Because you feel it—his cock pressing from the inside, bulging your stomach, thick and firm. His thumb rubs circles there while his hips start rolling deeper again, gentle but intentional, grinding into the soft spot inside you like he knows exactly where to touch.

And of course he does.

He’s Mydei.

Your big, mean man. Who just turned into your soft, obsessed husband the second he dumped a load in you.

“Still got room in there,” he murmurs. “Don’t lie, I can feel it. Gonna fill you up again, sweetheart. Gonna make you mine again and again ‘til it’s dripping out of your belly button.”

You’re babbling now.

Begging. Sobbing.

Tears well up as the overstimulation kicks in—but it’s good. It’s so good. He’s so sweet with it, kissing your face, stroking your sides, murmuring filth right into your ear like it’s a love confession.

“You’re everything,” he says. “You hear me? . My pretty girl. I’d fuck you every hour of every day if I could. You were made to take this cock.”

You clench.

He groans.

He cums again.

Slower this time, but hotter somehow—he moans into your mouth, deep and low, hips locked against you as his cock throbs and spills another load inside you, thick and lazy and so much. You feel it pushing everything else out, dripping down your thighs again.

He doesn’t move. Just holds you there, cock deep, cum inside, lips on yours.

“Still small?” he whispers again.

You shake your head, dazed and full.

“No…”

His smirk is feral.

“Didn’t think so.”

★ AVENTURINE :

You’re smirking. Shouldn’t be, but you are.

He’s got you cornered, back against the sleek marble wall of your suite, his tie undone and sleeves rolled, chest warm against yours. One hand rests on the small of your back, the other gripping your chin, keeping your gaze locked with his like you’ve just handed him a challenge on a silver platter.

“Repeat it,” he says softly. Too softly. That smile on his face isn’t a smile , it’s a loaded weapon.

You raise your brows like you’re innocent. You’re not. You know exactly what you said.

“I said,” you purr, playing with the buttons on his shirt like you don’t feel your heartbeat slamming in your chest, “you’re a bit… small.”

There it is. That twitch in his jaw. That flash in his violet eyes like you just poked a sleeping god awake.

He laughs, low and rich, like you just handed him a glass of vintage wine and dared him to break it over your head.

“Small,” he echoes, tilting your face up further. “Interesting.”

You try to act bored. You’re so full of shit.

“Not small small,” you add with a shrug. “Just… not as big as you pretend to be.”

Silence.

Then his lips press against yours — hard. His tongue slides past your lips like he owns them, teeth catching your bottom lip in a cruel, teasing bite before he pulls back just enough to speak again.

“You’re gonna eat those words,” he murmurs, hot against your mouth. “Every single one.”

He takes his time getting you on the bed. Doesn’t throw you down—no, that’d be too easy. He leads you there, fingers on your chin, your throat, your wrist. Every step is deliberate. He pulls you into his lap, clothes still half-on, thighs spread, cock already hard under the slacks he hasn’t even taken off.

“Come on then,” he says, loosening his belt. “Climb on. Since you’re so confident.”

You crawl into his lap like the brat you are — like you’re still in control — grinding slow against the thick outline of his cock as you straddle him, smug smirk still on your face.

“Gonna prove me wrong, little man?” you whisper, voice sugar-sweet.

That earns you a slap.

Not on your face—no, Aventurine’s too elegant for that—but on your ass. Hard. Your body jerks forward, chest colliding with his, a sharp gasp punched from your throat.

“Wrong?” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement. “Oh darling. I’m gonna ruin you so thoroughly, you’ll beg me to be smaller.”

He grabs your waist and flips you around, pulling you back into his lap so you’re facing away from him now, knees spread, his cock sliding free from his slacks and standing proud between your thighs.

You glance down and blink. …Oh. Okay. Maybe he’s not small. Maybe he’s the opposite of small. Maybe you’re very stupid.

Before you can recover, he spits into his palm and strokes himself once—twice— then presses the head against your entrance, one hand gripping your waist and the other trailing slowly, so slowly, down your front.

“Go on,” he whispers against your neck. “Show me how small it feels.”

You sink down.

Your mouth falls open. No words. Just a gasp—long, high, desperate, as his cock stretches you open, thick and hot, filling every inch with a pressure that borders on unbearable.

“Mm?” he purrs, hands gripping your hips as you struggle to take him. “Not speaking now? I thought you were feeling brave tonight.”

You whimper. He laughs.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he groans, sliding in deeper until your thighs are shaking. “This is barely halfway.”

You try to lift yourself off—you try—but he yanks you right back down with a smack to your ass, his cock punching so deep inside you your belly bulges just slightly, perfect and obscene.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, brushing a hand over the spot. “That little bump? That’s me. That’s how ‘small’ I am, hm?”

You’re shaking now. Gasping, drooling, grinding down on him with needy little movements you can’t even pretend are confident anymore.

He drags his lips along your shoulder, bites lightly at your neck, and then thrusts upward. Just once. Deep. Hard.

You sob.

“What was that?” he says sweetly. “Sounded like you were gonna apologize.”

You try—you try so hard—but all that comes out is a pathetic, broken moan.

“Oh, honey,” he breathes, voice full of velvet cruelty. “You don’t get to apologize yet.”

He grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging your head back so you’re arching beautifully in his lap, cock still snug and deep inside you. His other hand? Slipping down your front, fingers rubbing right over where you’re throbbing, making you jolt.

“You don’t apologize,” he hisses, “until your knees give out. Until you’re sobbing on my cock.”

You whimper again.

He slaps your thigh—once, twice—then grips your hips and starts fucking up into you, slow and deliberate at first, then faster. Harder. The wet slap of skin against skin fills the room, mixed with your messy, choked cries and his deep, smug groans.

“You said I was small,” he pants, cock ramming into that spot that makes your eyes roll back. “Say it again.”

“N-no—”

“Say it.”

You try, you do—but all you can say is his name, over and over, like a prayer, like a surrender.

He laughs. Moans. Slaps your ass again and watches the ripple with admiration.

“Not so mouthy now, huh?” he says against your neck. “But don’t worry. You’ll get your words back.”

He pulls out, flips you around, and shoves you down to your knees.

His cock is flushed, slick and throbbing, still twitching from the tight heat of your cunt, and he grips it at the base with one hand while guiding your face forward with the other.

“Put that smart little mouth to work,” he growls. “Since you seem to like talking shit.”

You suck him in with shaking hands, lips stretched wide, eyes glassy. He watches you —loves watching you—as you gag and drool around him, your body still trembling from the wreckage he left in his wake.

“Mm, that’s it,” he groans, thrusting slow into your mouth. “Choke on it, baby. Just like you choked on your pride.”

You blink up at him—ruined, teary-eyed, mascara smudged, thighs shaking from being fucked half senseless—and he smiles down at you like the devil himself.

“Still think I’m small?” he whispers.

You shake your head.

“Mmm. Thought so.”

★ DR. RATIO :

You really thought you were funny.

Laid back against the library table, your skirt barely hiding the subtle shift of your thighs, you looked at him with that smug, syrupy smile. With a little shrug, you said it clearly,

“You don’t seem like much, Doctor. Bet you’d barely reach.”

The air went suddenly colder.

He didn’t even blink. Instead, he stared at you like you’d just insulted his entire intellect or knocked over his carefully brewed tea. His fingers twitched near his belt, then the sharp clack of his book closing echoed like a gunshot. He stood up.

“Is that so?” His voice was low, dry, and uninterested. That dangerous, mean little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth — not amused, not flirtatious, just a condescending twist that made your stomach knot.

“Well. Let’s test your hypothesis, shall we?”

You should have run. But no. You bit your lip and smirked like the brat you were.

That was your first mistake.

He didn’t say a word as he reached out and flipped you over the desk like you weighed nothing, settling you down flat.

“Still think I’m small?” he gritted, voice low and sharp as his hips ground down hard against you. Your mouth fell open, no witty comeback ready — just the sharp, helpless squeal that escaped when you felt every inch of him.

He was not small. Far from it. He was massive, pressing into you relentlessly, while piles of research scattered beneath you like forgotten papers.

Your cheek stuck to parchment. One hand pressed between your shoulder blades, holding you still, while the other landed on your ass with a resounding smack that made the desk creak beneath you.

“Use your words, test subject.” His voice was laced with sarcasm, irritated and turned on. “You wanted a measurement, didn’t you? Want me to push deeper?”

You whimpered, your legs trembling. That wasn’t enough for him. His hand smacked your ass again, harder this time, then grabbed and spread you wider without shame. He watched you — how your body folded and shivered under his weight — your belly visibly bulging each time he thrust deep, as if your insides were made just for him.

“You’ll take it. That’s what happens when you provoke a man smarter than you.”

It was filthy. Your legs shook uncontrollably, thighs wobbling under the pressure, but he didn’t relent. His body was big, lean but solid — every breath sharp, every growl low and frustrated in your ear. He was not romantic. He was not gentle. He was merciless.

“You’re so full it’s pathetic,” he hissed, grinding his hips harder. “Still think I’m small? Look down. Look at what I’m doing to that belly.”

You did.

You shouldn’t have.

A big, round lump pushed out against your stomach, his cock deep enough to mark you completely.

“You’re drooling,” he sneered. “Still think I’m small?”

You couldn’t answer. You were gasping, nails scraping at the wood as he locked his arms tight around your waist — not letting you escape, not letting you think — mate pressing you until your toes curled and your moans came ragged and raw.

“Say you’re sorry.”

You didn’t.

So he spanked you again, harder this time, then slammed into you deeper until the wet squelching of your cunt echoed through the silent study.

You choked out something broken and breathless. He didn’t care.

“I’ll breed the arrogance out of you,” Ratio muttered under his breath, like your whining was just another tedious experiment. “Let’s see if a few loads fix your attitude.”

He gripped your waist tighter, his breath hot against your ear as his hips pressed deep and unrelenting. Every thrust carved into you, making that heavy bulge in your belly push out more, like you were stretched perfectly around him—no chance to hide it, no mercy given.

His hand found your ass again, slapping it hard, fingers kneading and holding you in place. “You think you’re so clever, talking shit. But look at you now—mine. All wrapped around me, dripping and desperate.”

Your breath hitched, body trembling as he kept pounding into you, the sound of your slick wetness mixing with the harsh smacks filling the quiet room.

“Say it,” he growled, voice low and rough. “Say you’re mine.”

Your voice broke, trembling out, “I’m yours.”

His grin was cruel and satisfied as he pulled you flush against him, mate pressing with all his weight, making sure you couldn’t move, couldn’t escape. The fullness inside you stretched tighter, and he whispered, “You’re so full. Can’t get enough of me, can you?”

You whimpered, head thrown back, utterly undone.

With a sharp slap to your ass, he pulled out just enough so you could feel the thick length twitching, then slammed back inside, his pace rougher, more demanding.

“I’m gonna breed that stubbornness right out of you,” he breathed, voice dark and possessed. “You’ll remember this every damn time you think you can test me.”

Your walls clenched hard around him, moans slipping free as he kept driving you into the desk, holding you down like you were his prize.

“Beg for it,” he said, dragging his hand up to grip your hair, tilting your face so you had no choice but to look at him.

You whimpered, “Please… don’t stop.”

His laugh was low and satisfied. “That’s my good girl.”

He pressed forward, hips snapping, every movement pounding deeper, stretching you full and making your belly roll with the pressure.

Your breath caught as he tensed, voice rough, “Say it. Say I’m the only one.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, trembling and undone.

With a final, heavy thrust, he claimed you fully, breath hitching as he spilled inside, filling you with everything he had.

He held you pressed tight as you trembled beneath him, hips still rolling lazily, possessive and relentless.

“I told you,” he whispered against your skin, “I’m never small.”

★ JING YUAN :

You really shouldn’t have said it.

You really shouldn’t have looked the General of the Cloud Knights in the eye—shirt tugged up, thighs bare and your panties already wet—and had the audacity to say:

“Tch. With all that confidence, your cock’s probably small anyway.”

The room went quiet for a second.

The kind of quiet where even the crickets were like oh no she didn’t.

Jing Yuan blinked.

Smiled.

Then laughed—that slow, deep, maddening chuckle that slithered straight down your spine like warm honey.

“Small, huh?” he repeated, stretching his arms behind his head like he wasn’t already rock hard in his robes. “Ah… You poor little thing.”

You weren’t prepared for how fast he moved.

One second you’re smug.

Next second your back hits the mattress with a soft thud, legs spread open like he owned them, your panties tugged to the side and his thumb lazily brushing over your soaked folds.

“Say that again.” His voice was low, a little breathy. He hadn’t even taken his robes off. “Let’s see how long you keep that mouth running.”

You gasped when he pulled it out.

Holy—

He knew. Oh, he knew exactly what kind of look crossed your face. The shock. The panic. The twitch of your thighs like they were second-guessing their own bravery.

“I think someone owes me an apology,” he murmured, rubbing the head of his cock against your clit like he was just casually testing the weather. “Or should I make you eat those words?”

Smug bastard. That slow, lazy smile. That thick, achingly hard cock.

You didn’t even have time to beg.

He grabbed you by the back of your head, tilted your jaw open, and fed it to you.

Slow. Deep. Sloppy.

“Mm— look at you now.” His hips rolled like he was half-asleep, voice curling with pure sin. “Choking on the small one, are we?”

You clawed at his thighs when he held you down, cock pressing heavy on your tongue, mocking your every breath. He groaned every time you gagged around him, every time you tried to glare up at him through teary eyes.

“Can’t talk back with your mouth full, hm?” Jing Yuan chuckled, cupping your cheek. “Maybe I’ll keep you like this for a while. Let that attitude melt off your tongue.”

When he finally let you breathe, you were wrecked.

Mascara smeared. Drool dripping down your chin. Knees trembling.

“Aw,” he cooed, petting your hair. “What happened to all that big talk?”

And then—he flipped you over.

One smooth motion, you were face-down, ass up, and his cock already nudging at your entrance.

“This might stretch a little,” he murmured, completely fake sweetness in his tone.

Liar.

You screamed when he pushed in. Inch by thick, punishing inch. Your pussy clenched like it was trying to reject him, but it only made him groan, hands gripping your hips like he was claiming them.

“Fuck, you feel that?” he growled into your ear, voice deeper now, panting against your neck. “Say it again. Say it’s small while it’s splitting you open.”

You tried.

You couldn’t.

Not when he started moving.

Lazy, powerful thrusts that made the bed shake and your legs wobble. He stayed buried deep, hips grinding in slow circles like he had all the time in the world. His hand slipped between your thighs, rubbing your clit like he was spoiling you—just to drive you even crazier.

“Tell me how small I am while you’re dripping like this,” he teased, pinching your clit until you squealed. “Come on, sweetheart. Be brave again.”

All you could do was cry his name.

Over and over.

When you finally came, it was messy. Shaky. So tight around him he groaned into your skin, fucking you through it until your body gave up.

You collapsed, twitching.

And he?

He stayed inside you. Still hard. Still smug.

Leaning down, lips brushing your ear, he whispered:

“…Want to try that again?”

You don’t remember how you got here.

Well, actually—you do. It started with a smug smirk, your bratty mouth, and one too many giggles tossed at the general’s expense.

“With how lazy you are, your cock’s probably soft and small too.”

And now?

Now you’re stuffed full.

Flat on your back, legs trembling, and that massive cock buried so deep your belly’s showing a bulge.

You don’t even have the words anymore. Just little hiccuping moans, drool sliding from the corner of your mouth, and your fingers pressed against your lower belly in pure awe.

“Look at that.” Jing Yuan leans over you, lazy eyes glinting as he lays his palm right on the bulge in your tummy. He presses.

You squeal. Your legs twitch.

“You were running your mouth earlier,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing soft, slow circles over the swollen outline of his cock in your gut. “And now you’re just whining and taking it.”

He rolls his hips, and your back arches. Your soaked pussy clenches again like it can’t help it.

“Can feel me here, can’t you?” he purrs. “Might be small… but it’s so deep, baby.”

You try to speak—really—but all that comes out is a whimper, a little breathless sob of “Yuan—too much, I-I can’t—”

He smirks.

“Yes, you can.”

Then he pulls out—slow, dripping wet, your folds clinging to him—and slams right back in, thick and deep enough you swear you see stars.

You scream.

Your body jerks. Your brain just shorts out.

And he leans down, whispering filth into your ear:

“You don’t need to think. Just keep your legs open and take your stuffing like a good little pillow princess.”

You moan, dumb and needy. All that snark from earlier? Gone. Replaced with sniffles, tears, and broken hiccups as he pounds into you—slow, lazy, and endlessly smug.

“Fuck, gonna breed you,” Jing Yuan growls, fucking you deeper, slapping your thigh. “Gonna fill you so good you’ll be dripping my cum for days. Want that, huh? Want to get knocked up on a small cock?”

You nod.

You sob.

He groans when you clench down again, cock pulsing, hips slamming into your thighs as he spills inside you. Thick, messy ropes that flood your womb and drip out around his base—but he doesn’t stop.

“Stay still,” he pants, pinning you down. “You’re gonna take another one.”

And you do.

And another.

You don’t even realize he’s lying down beneath you until you’re shoved onto his face.

Your thighs shake. His tongue slides right up your slit and licks his own cum from your pussy.

Your moans are broken, hands digging into his messy blond hair as you grind down, riding his face like it’s the only way you remember how to breathe.

“That’s it,” he hums against your folds, voice muffled by your soaked pussy. “Sit on me. Get dumb on this tongue too.”

You do.

You lose your mind.

You cum. Again. And again. So messy, so overstimmed, your voice cracking into little sobs.

When you collapse off his face, ruined and twitching, he kisses your thigh.

And whispers—

“Still think it’s small?”

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[harmonysanreads]

❝ fanfiction.[you].net ❞

Premise : Picture a parallel universe where all your blorbos are the ones expressing their profound yearning for you (yes, YOU) through the sacred arts of fanfics, fanarts and exchanging kudos. Perhaps you're a celebrity, perhaps you're just an ordinary person charming enough to have an entire fandom behind you or, you're the fictional character in this universe instead. Let's dive into this website, shall we?

Characters : Phainon, Scaramouche, Mydei, Sunday, Gepard, Venti, Dr. Ratio, Alhaitham, Albedo, Aventurine, Childe, Dan Heng, Anaxa, Argenti, Ayato, Jing Yuan, Flins, Neuvillette, Zhongli (for now).

Note : So uh, I typed this down with almost zero critical thinking and 100% whimsy within one hour. Character selection is random, too. Please excuse any unintentional errors <3

— THE WRITERS AND ARTISTS

Phainon has an erratic writing pattern, no one can guess what this guy will whip up in his next post. One moment he's weaving gourmet in text-form about an emotion-packed forbidden love story between knight and monarch and the next he's posted some unedited word vomit with a witty ‘no beta we die like ___’ tag. That, or it's his stick figure comics against the world. Everyone thinks he's mad funny though, so the readers forgive him.

Scaramouche who started as a HATER. What do you mean people are so obsessed with one person that they've made a digital shrine of fanfics and fanarts for them? He's going to do a thorough research on you... for the sake of ethically sourced hate of course. One thing leads to another, his ‘research’ spirals and all you need to know is that he's a diehard [Name] simp now — not that he'd admit it.

Mydei who, in great contrast to his usual self, writes some very cutesy stuff. “What if you two turned into chimeras for a day” stuff like that. He's mostly known for his chibi drawings though. Very escapism-from-a-burdened-life themed, if you want to psychoanalyze, that is.

Sunday who just can't cross the boundary of writing gentlemanly hand-kisses and heartfelt hugs in terms of physical affection, even though he's probably read hardcore smut by someone else. And even when he's writing about kissing your hand, he's squirming in his seat, wings restless enough for him to start taking flight or something. His characterization tends to be very thoughtful though so the readers don't care.

One of the very first dwellers of the website, Gepard's... unique drawings fed many people back in the days and are still remembered fondly to this date. Nowadays, he isn't as active as he used to be though.

Venti's blog is dedicated to poetry about you, everyone is low-key jealous of his rhyming skills. He's also one of the more active people, sharing others' works regularly without fail.

Dr. Ratio who becomes SICK of the amount of mischaracterization floating around about you in the fanfics and the burn from the majority of the fics not meeting his standards, so, he starts writing fanfics catering to his specific needs himself.

Alhaitham who posted like two or three 10k something word-count fics and then dipped because he lost motivation. The readers are still in mourning, because he left them on a devasting cliff-hanger. Kaveh, Cyno and Sethos have made a ‘Day X until @/vulturevolans posts’ chain in the comments. They just don't know it's Alhaitham who's the writer.

Albedo is that artist whose works you'd think would be hung on museum walls, yet, he's here posting jaw-dropping art with you as the muse. His ‘character study’ series of sketches about you is noted to be... very brainrot-worthy, let's say.

— MISC. INHABITANTS

Aventurine is the famous ‘commissioner’ guy who drops by people's inboxes with hilarious memes seeking fic or art, or just to appreciate the existing works. You can bet he's commissioned something out of every writer and artist on this site.

Childe is another commissioner. He'd most likely commission Phainon though because he knows Phainon can whip up a good flirting-through-sparring oneshot with accuracy ensured about how a sword works and all. They say Varka of Mondstadt has this fic printed and binded like a book.

Don't tell the Trailblazer and March 7th, but Dan Heng is one of the admins who manage the site. He knows every work posted here like the back of his hand. He may or may not know about the true identities of everyone who has an account on this website.

— NOTABLE READERS

Anaxa who gets exposed as a fanfic reader in class after he accidentally comments, ‘‘This looks like something that you'd find in fanfiction.[you].net.’’ while grading a few students' (read: Phainon and Castorice) essays. He got back at them with the threat of ‘If the next fic doesn't meet my standards, I'm failing you.’ though. So, no worries.

Argenti who's known as the ‘long comment guy’. He leaves whole paragraphs of praises with sparkly rosy emojis under every work on the site, without exception. It's kind of an honor to receive his comments.

Ayato, Jing Yuan, Flins, Neuvillette and Zhongli aren't really part of the dramatic crew. They tend to savour the works from a distance. They don't even have to commission the writers here, the sincere compliments and ideas they share are enough to keep the facilitation of brainrot smooth.

[lowkeyren]

—how to win my husband over 101

in which : you marry the ruthless prince of kremnos, and everyone says you'll never thaw his heart. but you’re nothing if not stubborn. surely all you have to do is win him over right? how hard can that be?

wc 8.7k (it’s worth it trust me), historical au, marriage of convenience, sunshine x grumpy, strangers to lovers, you fell first + he fell harder, fem reader referred to as “princess” / “milady”, ts burns so slow u might rip ur hair out sorry, heavily ib how to get my husband on my side. art by @/kannbergri on x.

surprise pookies @vxnuslogy @luvether @knnichs @kazucee it’s finally here!!!!

PROLOGUE: HOW TO SURVIVE THE EARLY DAYS

you married a stranger to save your homeland.

there was no love in the arrangement, no romantic vows exchanged beneath moonlit skies, no promises of forever whispered in soft voices. just firm handshakes and signatures inked on parchment. 

it was a straightforward agreement: kremnos would protect your people in exchange for a union, and you were sent to marry the crown prince, mydeimos, to solidify the alliance.

you had heard his name long before you ever saw his face. prince mydeimos of kremnos —a name whispered with reverence, with fear, with awe; carrying the weight of countless victories carved into the blood-soaked chaos of battlefields.

but none of those stories prepared you for the reality of him.

the grand hall of kremnos' palace feels colder than you imagined.

marble floors stretch endlessly beneath your feet, polished to a gleaming perfection that seems to reflect the distance between you and the life awaiting you here. the walls, adorned with banners of deep reds and golds, do little to warm the oppressive air.

servants pass by in hushed movements, their heads bowed, their whispers inaudible. the air carries the faint aroma of polished wood and lingering incense, yet there is no warmth to be found —not in the hall, not from the people, and certainly not from the man standing at the far end of the room.

you bow slightly out of instinct, a gesture of respect, though you feel foolish doing so in the context of your marriage.

dressed in the royal garb of kremnos, a deep red cloak embroidered with gold thread draped over his shoulders, his marigold eyes lock onto yours with piercing intensity. 

“princess,” he greets you, his words polished to a fault —exactly what you’d expect from a prince.

“your highness,” you reply, matching his formality.

“welcome to kremnos, i trust the journey was not too difficult.” 

it’s not a question, you realize. merely a statement to acknowledge your presence. you offer a polite nod, “the journey was smooth, your highness,” you reply, your voice steady despite the unease creeping into your chest. “thank you for your hospitality.”

you watch as he takes a glass of reddish liquid from a servant standing nearby, lifting it to his lips with ease, the vibrant color catching your eye.

the rich crimson hue seems too unnatural for something as mundane as wine. your gaze fixes on the glass as he drinks, a chill running down your spine as an unsettling thought creeps in.

is he drinking... blood?

your heart skips, a sudden nervousness, and you quickly avert your gaze, unable to meet his eyes.

he catches your stare however, “what is it that you find so fascinating?” 

flustered, you lower your head, stammering, "i... beg your pardon, your highness.”

you can feel your pulse quicken, the heat rising in your cheeks as you panic. the weight of his cold gaze is almost unbearable, and you fear you’ve already made a fool of yourself. 

for a moment, you dare not look at him, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you.

the prince casually wipes the red liquid from his lips with the back of his hand, as your eyes drift involuntarily toward the glass once more, still questioning its contents.

his eyes flicker to you as they narrow, “still curious?”

you freeze, wrecking your head for a sensible answer lest you further embarrass yourself.

with a sharp sigh, he places the glass down on the tray. “it’s pomegranate juice, nothing more.”

you blink, stunned for a moment, the absurdity of your previous assumption crashing down on you. 

“pomegranate juice,” you repeat softly, as if testing the words to see if they make sense.

“yes. is that so difficult to believe?”

that night, you lay on the luxurious bed in your chamber, the events of the evening swirling in your mind. you shake your head, embarrassed by your own overactive imagination. 

you turn onto your side, pulling the heavy blankets tighter around you, but sleep evades you.

yes, your husband is a man of few words, fewer emotions, and absolutely no warmth when it comes to you. yet within that frost lies a heart, waiting for the right touch to thaw it.

ACT I: HOW TO DRAW HIS ATTENTION

over the weeks, you've learned many peculiar things about your husband. 

you’ve noticed, for instance, that he always rises before dawn, and spends hours in the training grounds perfecting his form —an unyielding warrior at heart. or how he has an unusual preference for adding goat's milk to his pomegranate juice, a combination that strikes you as strange yet somehow fitting for him. 

you’ve also discovered that, contrary to expectations, he favors the color pink —an oddly delicate choice for a man so rigid in his demeanor. and while he is undeniably polite, he also remains stern and is not one to easily open up, not even to those closest to him.

all that you've learned, you’ve used in an attempt to earn his favor, though your effort often feels like trying to breach a concrete wall.

(one day, you deliberately rise early, before the sun fully breaks over the horizon, and make your way to the training grounds.

there, you find a concealed spot in the shadows, watching him spar with the guards. you’ve gone, in part, because you want him to know you care, but also because of the impressive display of his skill that subconsciously draws you in. 

it’s not long before he notices your presence; his expression remains impassive, but his gaze hardens, narrowing slightly as he observes you making your way to him from across the field.

as you finally reach him, you extend the water in your hand. but just as you take a step closer, your foot catches on an uneven stone. you stumble forward, crashing into him, and spilling the cold water across his chest. 

the gasp that escapes you is quickly followed by frantic apologies.

"princess," he says coolly, the water dripping from his toned muscles, tracing the lines of his broad shoulders and down his chest. "...are you always this clumsy, or is today a special occasion?"

ah. 

well at least he has jokes..?)

or after noticing how he often stays silent during meals, you decide to change the pace. 

(at the dining hall, you ask about his interests, but he only gives brief, impersonal responses; his attention fixed on his plate, quietly indulging in the honey-drenched pancakes. you try to make a lighthearted joke, but he doesn’t even look up, offering only a polite “i see” before the silence drapes over the table again.

so, you finally decide to try a more… direct approach —flattery. surely, no man can resist a little charm, right?

you lean close as you gather all the courage you can muster, batting your eyelashes at him hoping you appear as endearing as you intend.

"i must say, my dear husband, you —uh, you are unmatched in your… strength and wisdom. it’s no wonder my heart can’t help but be drawn to you..?”

well that didn’t exactly sound convincing. 

“and… your arms, they’re quite impressive. i mean —wait, that’s not what i meant—”

and that certainly didn’t make it any better!

you brace yourself, expecting a sharp rebuke or, at the very least, some irritation. but instead, he simply nods, offering a brief, detached “thank you” before turning his attention back to his meal. 

you immediately avert your gaze, feeling a pang of relief. though it’s strange to think that at any moment, your husband might decide to chop your head off for being so foolish (...if he felt so inclined) he is the crowned prince, after all; and while his politeness is unsettling, it’s still better than his wrath... right?)

either way, it’s clear that your efforts have made not the slightest dent. better luck next time!

today will be different.

failure has never sat well with you, and after last night’s mortifying attempt at charming your husband, you refuse to let things end on such a dismal note. if words fail, then perhaps actions will speak louder.

so, with a woven basket tucked under your arm, you wander through the palace gardens first, where roses and marigolds flourish in a riot of color, their petals unfurling like delicate silk under the afternoon sun. honeysuckle vines twist gracefully around the trellises, their sweet fragrance lingering in the warm afternoon air.

you kneel amidst the blooms, fingers brushing over soft petals, feeling the gentle give of each flower beneath your touch. carefully, you pluck a few of each, tucking them gently into your basket, mindful of their fragile stems. you arrange them just so, already picturing the bouquet coming together in your hands.

but as you wander further, you find yourself drawn toward the edge of the estate. past the hedgerows and beyond the garden’s stone pathway, you notice something that catches your eye, a cluster of wildflowers —soft pinks and gentle whites.

perfect! these will be the finishing touch to complete your bouquet for mydeimos.

pleased with yourself, you smile and make your way toward the water’s edge. leaning forward, you stretch out to pluck one, your body lowering toward the ground, shifting your weight slightly, when—

a sudden force slams into your back.

the breath is knocked clean from your lungs. there's no time to react as the world tilts violently, and before you can even scream, the cold shock of water swallows you whole.

it’s deeper than you thought.

icy water rushes into your nose and mouth, sending a searing burn down your throat. panic grips you as the world above fractures into shimmering light, distorted by the rippling surface. you try to push yourself up, but alas, the weight of your dress still drags you down. 

as you thrash around uselessly, your limbs start growing heavier. the surface above you slips further away; and the last thing you register is the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you —with a final strained breath, your vision dims to nothingness.

the next thing you feel is warmth.

your head rests against something solid, a steady rise and fall beneath your cheek .a firm hold keeps you close, one braced securely around your back, the other hooked beneath your knees. 

you blink sluggishly, your lashes heavy with water. that’s when you realise, you’re in the arms of your husband.

his hair clings to his forehead, damp strands framing the sharp angles of his face. droplets trace slow paths down his jawline, soaking into the dark fabric of his tunic —leaving nothing to the imagination.

for a moment, disoriented and breathless, you can only blink up at him.

did he jump in after you..?

“why did you wander off alone?” he chastises, snapping you back to reality. 

your throat feels tight, your heart hammering in your chest. "i-i just wanted to do something for you!" the confession spills from your lips, desperate, your fingers clinging instinctively to the soaked fabric of his sleeve. 

it’s foolish, maybe, but you’re still reeling —from the near drowning, from the fact that mydeimos saved you. 

he exhales sharply, exasperation heavy in his breath. "why are you like this…" his grip tightens on you, but there’s a tension in his voice as if he’s swallowing something he can’t quite put into words. “didn’t i say there’s no need to attract attention this way?"

the accusation stings, your brows knit together as you shake your head, droplets of water slipping down your temples. "i just… thought you’d like some flowers."

his fingers, still curled beneath your back, twitch slightly, his hold unconsciously steadying you.

“you don’t need to do anything reckless just to get my attention," he murmurs at last, his voice softer now, no longer edged with frustration. then, almost hesitantly, he adds, "...if you want something, just come to me."

mydeimos shifts, adjusting his hold on you before finally rising to his feet. the movement is effortless, but even so, a sharp chill runs through you as the air bites at your damp skin. before you can fully steady yourself, he places you down, his hands lingering for a second longer than necessary before withdrawing.

your dress clings uncomfortably to you, heavy with water, and when you glance down, you spot the basket lying a short distance away, half-tilted on the grass. the flowers you so carefully picked are scattered around it, petals crumpled, stems bent. 

a pit forms in your stomach. all that effort, and now—

a shadow moves beside you. mydeimos steps forward, the hem of his cloak grazing against the fallen blooms. he considers them for a moment, then looks back at you.

“well?” his voice is steady, and you can’t quite grasp the intention behind it. “you went through all that trouble to gather the flowers… aren’t you going to give them to me?”

sure they're not nearly as perfect as they were when you first picked them. still, you kneel, fingers brushing over the damp grass as you carefully pick up the least damaged flowers, smoothing out the crumpled petals as best you can.

“…here.” slowly, hesitantly, you extend the bouquet towards him. 

his fingers brush against yours as he accepts the flowers. “sorry they’re ruined,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

he shakes his head, unbothered. “they’re mine now, so i’ll take care of them.”

there’s no mockery in his expression, no disdain for your failed efforts. if anything, there’s something almost unreadable in the way he looks at you, something that makes your heart lurch against your ribs.

he spares you one last glance, then turns. “come. you need to get changed before you fall ill.”

and just like that, your husband walks ahead, idly twirling one of the flowers between his fingers. hardened steel and soft petals, strength and fragility; it doesn't look out of place. 

somehow, it fits him too well.

ACT II: HOW TO CARE FOR A WARRIOR

once a year, the empire erupts into feverish anticipation for the annual gladiatorial tournament. a traditional competition of strength, bloodshed, and sheer willpower.

held in the heart of the capital, within the city of kremnos; warriors from across the kingdom —such as knights from noble houses, seasoned mercenaries, and ambitious upstarts, all gather within the grand coliseum, each vying for glory, honor, or a place in history.

and three weeks from now, the coliseum will roar with life, filled to the brim with nobles and commoners alike, all eager to witness the blood and glory that’ll unfold within the arena. 

the tournament may be weeks away, but mydeimos knows better than to grow complacent. 

within the castle training grounds, the clash of steel echoes through the air, each strike reverberating like a war drum. two figures move in relentless rhythm, locked in a sparring match that is as much a dance as it is a battle.

mydeimos meets his opponent’s strike head-on; phainon, captain of the royal knights, his equal in skill if not in strength, matches him blow for blow. the force of the impact ripples through his arm, but he does not waver. instead, he swiftly pivots, forcing mydeimos onto the defensive.

the crown prince presses forward, his sword carving ruthless arcs through the air, a feint —then a sudden, brutal swing aimed at his opponent’s side. 

phainon barely manages to parry, their blades grinding against each other in a fierce deadlock. exhaling sharply through his nose, he holds firm against the pressure. “mydei,” phainon mutters, breathless. “don't hold back."

mydei’s gaze remains unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something —amusement, perhaps, before he abruptly shifts his weight. with a sharp twist, he breaks the deadlock.

“HKS,” he counters, shoving forward with enough strength to force phainon back a step. “getting tired?”

phainon lets out a short laugh, adjusting his stance. “not in the slightest.” he disengages, spinning his blade in a quick counterstrike.

alas, the fight reaches no clear victor, ending in yet another stalemate.

exhaling, phainon lowers his blade. “not bad.”

but before mydei can respond; a slow, warm trickle down his arm draws his attention. his gaze flickers downward —a thin slash mars his bicep, blood welling along the cut.

the knight’s expression shifts, eyes catching on the wound. “heh looks like i take the win this time,” he gloats, though there’s a slightest hint of concern in his tone. 

“...though i do apologise, your highness,” phainon says, eyeing the wound with a tilt of his head.

mydei rolls his shoulder, testing the ache, then huffs. “nothing to be sorry for.” his lips curl slightly, eyes flicking back to phainon.

“but don’t think this means i’m letting you off easy. we’ll settle it properly next time.”

“oh? and here i thought you’d take the loss with dignity for once,” phainon snorts, sheathing his blade in one smooth motion. “but i suppose i wouldn’t want you growing too accustomed to losing.”

“you land one lucky hit and suddenly you’re talking like you’ve dethroned me.” mydei scoffs, already turning toward the weapons rack. phainon watches him go, shaking his head to himself before following suit. 

mydei doesn’t know why you’re worrying so much.

the cut is insignificant, to him at least. within hours, it’ll be gone —his body already stitching itself back together. he doesn’t need tending to, least of all by you.

and yet, here you are.

as you sit beside him, your hands deftly press a cloth soaked in cool water to his wound, cleaning away the dried blood with careful strokes. for some reason, seeing you like this —fussing over him with a tenderness he’s never quite experienced before —renders him quiet.

“…you’re frowning,” he murmurs.

“because you’re hurt,” you say as a matter of factly, setting the cloth aside before reaching for a bandage. your fingers are gentle as they smooth it over his skin, lightly tracing the curves of his biceps.

he watches the way your lips press together, tying the final knot with a delicate tug, patting the fabric down as if to reassure yourself that it will hold.

something tugs at the edge of his mind. 

you’ve pretended to love him ever since you stepped foot in kremnos; he thought he knew every expression you wore, every feigned tenderness. but this —this time, it’s different. there’s no audience here, no need for the carefully crafted role of the adoring wife.

so why do you still look at him like that?

his breath stills. he doesn’t know what to make of this.

“…please be more careful next time.” mydei glances at his arm, the ache is already fading.

you don’t know how pointless all of this is. by morning, there won’t even be a scar.

you exhale softly, your brows still furrowed in concern. then, as if unable to help yourself, your fingertips ghost over the bandage, smoothing it down with a tenderness that makes his chest tighten.

“does it still hurt?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

he should say no. he should tell you it’s nothing.

but when he looks at you —sees the way your eyes linger on him, so earnestly unguarded. he falters. 

“…not much,” he admits instead. “you act as if i’m on death’s door.”

“and you act as if you’re invincible,” you retort softly.

he freezes.

he almost laughs at the irony of it —because in some ways, you aren’t wrong. his body will always mend itself, his wounds never lasting long enough to be of real consequence. 

but his darling wife doesn’t know that.

and perhaps that’s why he lets you worry, lets you dote on him with such sweet, unknowing devotion. because, against all logic —against everything he’s told himself, he finds that he likes it.

your touch finally retreats, hands settling in your lap. “i’ll leave you to rest, your highness.”

you rise from your seat, and as you turn to leave, mydei catches himself watching the space where your hands had been, the phantom warmth still resting against his skin.

for a wound that’s already gone, he finds it strange —how reluctant he is to let it fade.

ACT III: HOW TO AVOID MISUNDERSTANDINGS

"sir phainon, thank you for showing me around the city," you say, offering the man beside you a faint smile as you step around a corner. 

the knight dips his head, “of course, milady. the pleasure’s all mine."

you’re glad phainon took time off to accompany you —wandering the city alone would’ve definitely left you lost and stewing in your own thoughts. 

phainon glances at you, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. "but i’m surprised his highness let you wander the city with another man," he muses. 

you let out a small laugh, running your fingers along the petals of a flower display as you pass by. "well, i don’t think he cares."

phainon’s steps slow, his brow lifting ever so slightly, as if he isn’t sure whether he misheard you or if you’re simply playing coy. "you don’t think he—" he exhales a sharp chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "hah. now that’s funny."

you shoot a puzzled look at him,"what is?"

to phainon, who’s seen the way mydei looks at you, heard the way he speaks of you; your words make no sense at all.

—but he holds his tongue. "nothing, milady. let’s keep walking before i say something i shouldn’t."

the warmth of the moment sours when you round a corner near the market square. there, just past a cluster of gossiping nobles, mydei stands stiffly, arms crossed as he listens to a young woman speak.

you recognize her —a lady-in-waiting that serves in the palace.

“…always playing the victim,” she sneers, voice pitched just loud enough to draw attention. “everyone pities her, but really, she’s just an outsider to kremnos—” 

your steps falter, confusion flickering across your face. is that lady… talking about you?

“she was never worthy of standing by his highness’s side!” the lady continues with simpering disdain. 

beside you, your companion stiffens, his fingers subtly curling at his sides. he’s noticed, too.

but before you can fully process the words, she lets out a haughty laugh. “she tripped herself that day. i only gave her a little push and—”

“what?” mydei’s voice cuts through the air, his eyes narrowing. 

the lady startles, whipping around to face him, but quickly smooths her expression into one of feigned innocence. “y-your highness…” she lowers her head just slightly. “i only meant that a mere nudge shouldn’t have been enough to send her stumbling so helplessly.” 

she offers a small, demure smile. “unless, of course, one lacks the grace befitting a princess.”

“it was unfortunate that your highness was troubled because of—” 

her words trail off as her gaze flicks to the side, right where you stand.

and in that fleeting moment, mydei follows her line of sight.

your breath catches. you hadn’t meant to be seen.

a small, almost imperceptible smirk forms on her lips; just as mydei glances to your side, his attention diverted for a split second; she falls toward him, her body angling toward him in a way that all but demands he steady her.

you feel a jolt of realization —her intentions are clear as day towards you. 

mydei’s eyes barely flicker as she topples toward him, but his hand moves —not to steady her, as she so clearly intended, but to seize her wrist in a firm, unyielding grip.

with a sharp tug, he wrenches her upright, the motion not even close to an act of chivalry. 

a startled gasp slips past her lips, her wide eyes darting up, stunned by the strength of his hold. the gathered onlookers murmur amongst themselves as the prince fixes her with a cold, unreadable stare.

“tell me. are you purposely trying to cause a misunderstanding between me and my wife?”

the lady blanches, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. “y-your highness, i would never—”

“spare me the excuses.” his fingers uncoil, and she stumbles back, barely catching herself.  she cradles her wrist as though burned, whether from pain or humiliation, it’s hard to tell.

“guards.” mydeimos doesn’t raise his voice, but the command rings clear. two armored figures stationed nearby immediately step forward,  “take her away.”

 “y-your highness, i only—”

mydeimos doesn’t even spare her a glance as he delivers the lady’s fate. “for daring to put her hands on the princess, she is to be punished accordingly. let this serve as a reminder, such conduct has no place in my court.”

the color drains from her face as the guards seize her by the arms, her protests falling on deaf ears. the onlookers part to make way, some exchanging knowing glances, others whispering amongst themselves.

then mydeimos’ gaze softens —only slightly, in your direction. 

phainon leans in, “and yet, milady insists that his highness does not care?”

but you don’t respond, heart fluttering traitorously in your chest as mydeimos turns on his heel and strides toward you.

with a small tilt of his head, he nods to phainon before finally speaking.

“she was desperate,” he remarks, voice edged with dry amusement. “did you see how she threw herself at me? pitiful.”

he studies you for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. “...you weren’t fooled, were you?”

you blink, caught off guard by his question. “of course not, your highness.”

ah. was he worried you’d misunderstand?

his lips part slightly, but no words come, instead he just exhales softly, as if to himself. “good.”

phainon, ever perceptive, arches a brow but says nothing of it. instead, he steps back with a knowing tilt of his head. “well then, i shall take my leave. duty calls, after all, milady, your highness.” with that, he turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd, leaving just the two of you.

mydei’s eyes linger on you —searching, almost reluctant, before he finally tears his gaze away. “we should go.”

he starts walking, and you follow, the quiet rhythm between you shifting in a way that's hard to place. it’s subtle, so subtle that if you weren’t paying enough attention, you might’ve missed it. 

the way his steps fall in sync with yours, slowing his usually large strides ever so slightly,  as if unconsciously matching your pace. the way his hand hovers near yours, close enough that if you swayed even slightly, your fingers might brush.

it doesn’t feel intentional, and yet, it doesn’t feel like an accident either.

the marketplace hums around you both; vendors calling out their wares, the scent of fresh bread and spices curling through the air. but your mind is elsewhere, lingering on the man beside you, on the things left unsaid.

at some point, curiosity gets the better of you. “your highne—” “mydei.”

…would it be foolish of you to think of it as a plea? that, beneath the indifference he wears so well, he cares how his name sounds when spoken by you?

(because with you, he doesn't need to be the prince of kremnos, nor the valiant warrior they call mydeimos. he’s just your husband, mydei.)

you glance up at him, but his gaze stays ahead. he doesn’t offer an explanation; your thoughts linger on that single word, and maybe that’s why, after a moment’s hesitation, you decide to give it a try.

“mydei… what were you doing in the market today?”

he doesn’t answer right away. a terribly fond smile tugging at his lips. 

he looks good like this, you think.

with a glance to the side, he replies, “nothing of importance.”

a half-truth, at best.

your thoughts drift back to the last time you were here —the flowers you had given him, bright and delicate in his hands. an odd sight, perhaps, yet somehow, they suited him.

a ridiculous thought takes root before you can stop it.

could he have been looking for ways to take care of them? …surely not.

but any doubt vanishes the moment a florist calls out to him. “your highness! you’ve returned! here, this is the care guide you requested, along with the special fertilizer. it should help the flowers bloom beautifully.”

mydei takes the offered items with a nod, thanking the florist who beams, clearly pleased to be of service.

"you must truly cherish them, your highness," they remark. "not many would go through such trouble for a simple bouquet."

mydei only hums in response, tucking the items away as he turns back to you. for a moment, it almost seems like he might explain himself, but instead, he merely lifts a brow, as if daring you to say something about it.

warmth unfurls at the edges of your chest, spreading slowly, irresistibly.

you press your lips together, fighting the smile threatening to surface. "so," you muse lightly, "you’ve been taking good care of my flowers?”

mydei exhales, the ghost of an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "it would be a shame if they wilted so soon,” he says. then, as he starts walking again, a quiet afterthought —so soft you almost miss it.

"especially when they were a gift from you."

and this time, when his hand hovers close to yours, you don’t resist the urge to let your fingers brush.

ACT IV: HOW TO TAME HIS JEALOUS HEART

it’s late —past the hour most would retire, yet the training grounds remains lit by torches that flicker against the cool stone walls, their flames casting long, dancing shadows. mydeimos leans back against the walls, arms loosely folded across his chest as his gaze follows phainon sharpening his blade a few paces away —though, truthfully, his thoughts are elsewhere.

it’s phainon who breaks the silence first.

“you know,” he starts, glancing up without looking directly at the prince, “you’re awfully quiet these days, your highness.”

he wipes his sword down lazily, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "...say, mydei."

mydei doesn’t look up, but his posture shifts, "what?"

phainon lets the silence drag for a moment, almost like he’s weighing his next words. 

“do you have genuine feelings for [name]?"

the words land like a blow in the silence between them; he doesn’t bother to wait for an answer.

“because if you don’t, i was thinking maybe i’d give courting her a try.”

ah. that does it.

mydei’s eyes flick to him, and if looks could kill, phainon would be six feet under —and the former wouldn’t even spare the effort to toss dirt over his grave.

phainon laughs quietly under his breath at his comrade’s reaction, not bothering to hide the tilt of his mouth. 

“don’t cross the line.” the words fall from mydei’s lips, low and clipped like a warning.

phainon laughs —the kind of laugh shared only between men who’ve known each other long enough to grow used to the other’s sharp edges.

“relax,” he drawls, sheathing his blade with a lazy flick. “i was just joking, you can stop glaring at me now.”

“i’m not mad i—”

“you’re not mad because you think i meant it,” he cuts in. “you’re angry because you know i’m right. you’ve been walking around pretending like she doesn’t mean a thing to you, bottling up every damn thing you feel for her. if it were anyone else, they’d have given up by now.”

mydei looks away. “she’s not anyone else,” he mutters. 

phainon smiles. “then tell her.”

mydei stays uncharacteristically silent as phainon steps past with a clap on his shoulder. “you're lucky she’s patient.”

the sour look on your husband’s face whenever phainon’s name comes up is a recent development. 

you first noticed it in passing: an almost imperceptible downturn of his lips, a restrained (but still noticeable) eyeroll or the press of his lips into a tight line. at first, you thought nothing of it. but lately… it’s been happening a lot.

right now, you’re seated in the castle’s sunlit tea room with someone you can now call a friend —phainon. the scent of fresh brews curls in the air, warm and comforting, but it does little to soothe the frustration tightening in your chest.

phainon leans back in his seat as you lay your troubles before him. surely, as one of mydei’s closest friends, he could offer some worthwhile advice on how to win the latter’s heart.

because at this rate, if you don’t manage to win him over before your contract runs its course, you wouldn’t be surprised to wake up with his sword cold against the nape of your neck.

“so… what do you think?” you ask, poking at a pastry with your fork.

phainon hums, tilting his head in thought. “he’s a reserved man —you’ve probably figured that out by now. give him some time, he’s the type to take forever to realize what’s right in front of him.”

he shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “though, i do hope milady won’t give up on him just yet.”

you nod, committing his words to memory, but then he suddenly straightens, that familiar glint of mischief lighting his gaze.

“actually,” he muses, glancing down at his hands, now dusted with crumbs and icing, “my hands are a bit of a mess from this cake. mind doing me a favor?” 

he lifts his sugar-coated fingers in emphasis.

you eye him suspiciously. “...what kind of favor?”

phainon tilts his head, his smile just sly enough to make you wary. “feed me.”

narrowing your eyes, you scoff at his request, “look, buster—”

“just this once,” he interrupts, grinning. “think of it as repaying me for my advice.”

there’s something almost too innocent about the way he leans in, like he’s well aware of what he’s doing… or rather, what exactly might happen if a certain someone were to walk in.

still, with an exaggerated sigh, you pick up a piece of pastry and lift it towards him—

only for a firm grip to catch your wrist before you can.

just your luck.

mydei smoothly takes the sweet straight from your fingers, his lips brushing against your fingertips in the process; his gaze locked onto yours as he takes a bite. 

and before you can pull away —the barest hint of his tongue swipes against the sugar-dusted tips of your fingers, licking away the faint trace of sweetness left behind.

did he just—?

heat rushes to your face. your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.

phainon whistles lowly. “oh yeah i forgot to mention,” he says, far too amused.

“the prince has a sweet tooth.”

for a moment, the only sound in the room is the soft clink of porcelain as phainon sets down his teacup, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement.

all you can do is stare —frozen, pulse skittering in your throat. 

mydei, on the other hand, is utterly unbothered. if anything, he looks as composed as ever, chewing leisurely, as if he didn’t just—

your fingers twitch in his grasp. finally, he releases your wrist, his touch lingering just a second too long before he pulls away.

you snatch your hand back like you’ve been burned, curling your fingers against your palm as if that will erase the phantom heat of his lips, the fleeting press of his tongue.

phainon wonders if he’s about to be thrown out of the castle with the way you and mydei glare at him (for different reasons, respectively)... but judging by his smirk, he finds the risk well worth it.

the annual gladiatorial tournament is only days away, and kremnos is already stirring with anticipation. you’ve heard the chatter in the halls, the wagers placed on champions, the hushed whispers of which warriors will rise and which will fall. 

seated on a bench near the training grounds, you let the rhythmic clash of weapons fade into background noise, your focus trained instead on the fabric in your hands. a delicate handkerchief, its edges carefully stitched, the embroidery thread gliding through with each careful motion of your needle.

you had learned from a few noble ladies: it’s tradition for warriors to receive tokens of fortune from their beloveds —most commonly, a handkerchief embroidered with care to carry into battle as a reminder that someone’s waiting for them to return.

before you, the clash of steel rings out as two men spar. you glance up just in time to see phainon nimbly dodge a particularly heavy swing, a grin tugging at his lips. “feeling a little aggressive today, aren’t we?”

mydei doesn’t respond. he simply readjusts his grip on his sword, his expression unreadable.

(if you had to put money on why mydei was more aggressive than usual, you’d wager it had something to do with that stunt phainon pulled a few days ago that had left the former in such a foul mood.)

you return to your stitching, pretending not to notice the way your husband’s eyes flicker toward you between exchanges. unknowingly, a small smile tugs at your lips as you press the needle through the cloth once more.

rumors had circulated for years that prince mydeimos had never once accepted a handkerchief from anyone. not from the ladies who fawned over him at court, not from the admirers who sighed at the sight of his swordsmanship, not even from those with the highest of pedigrees.

it was said that no handkerchief had ever found its way into his hands, let alone remained in his possession. you weren’t sure why; perhaps he found them frivolous, or maybe he had no interest in sentimental keepsakes when he relied on skill alone to survive.

…which didn’t exactly bode well for the one currently in your hands.

so as you carefully stitch your embroidery, you don’t hold out much hope that he’ll accept yours either. 

still, it wouldn’t do for the beloved wife of mydeimos to be the only one who hadn’t even offered her husband a handkerchief. whether he accepted it or not was secondary —your duty was to at least play the part expected of you.

as the sparring match winds down, mydei steps off to the side, catching his breath. you discreetly watch as him roll his shoulders, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow.

you glance back down at your embroidery, but before you can add another stitch, phainon strides up to you, shaking out his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “ow… you saw that, right?” he whines, flopping down beside you with an exaggerated sigh. “he’s being so rough with me today!”

you arch a brow, biting back a laugh as he leans against the edge of the bench. “poor thing,” you say, amused. “what did you do to deserve it?”

phainon grins. “absolutely nothing, milady.”

you shake your head, obviously unconvinced —but then, just like that, his playful pout melts into a coprophagous grin that spells nothing but trouble. 

oh no.

“if he wants to be mean,” he muses, tilting his head, “then maybe i should give him a reason for it.”

you frown. “phainon—”

he says, far too casually, “i think i’ve got an idea.”

he leans in slightly, a wolfish grin on his face. “just play along, alright?”

“huh?”

"here, let me show you something." before you can react, phainon takes your hand, pulling you up from your seat with ease. a moment later, a wooden practice sword is tossed into your grasp.

you barely have time to protest before he’s already behind you, his hands resting lightly over yours as he adjusts your grip.

"see?" his voice is low, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath near your ear. "you hold it like this, and—"

“that’s enough.”

both you and phainon turn to see mydei standing a few feet away. he doesn’t look outwardly furious, but there’s the tension in his shoulders says enough.

phainon merely raises an eyebrow. “oh? something wrong, your highness?”

the air thickens and you can practically feel the sparks flying. sensing the storm that’s about to break, you quickly slip out of phainon’s grasp and rush toward mydei, practically throwing yourself into his arms.

“mydei!” you call, mustering the sweetest voice you can manage, hoping to calm him down (before phainon gets his ass kicked again). “y-you must be exhausted after all that training today… why don’t we head back and get some rest?” 

a warm hand brushes against your temple, fingers gently threading through your hair as they tuck it behind your ear. 

even though you were the one who threw yourself at mydei, you find yourself frozen, heart hammering at the unexpected tenderness in his touch. 

his gaze is so unbearably soft.

after a moment, mydei exhales and nods before leading you away.

you steal a glance back at phainon—who only winks and flashes you a thumbs-up.

(mydei lets out a quiet sigh of relief, watching as you do everything in your power to avoid meeting his eyes. if he had stayed any longer and if phainon had caught sight of the faint flush dusting his cheeks —he’d never hear the end of it.)

ACT V: HOW TO EARN HIS DEVOTION

the sun hangs high above kremnos, casting a golden blaze over the arena as the city wakes to the sound of distant drums and the clang of steel. colorful banners bearing the insignias of noble houses flutter from towering spires, while anticipation clings thick to the air.

all of kremnos knows what day it is. the long-awaited gladiatorial tournament has finally arrived.

from the highest nobles draped in silk to the lowest commoners pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the stands, all eyes are drawn to the bloodstained sand at the heart of the arena. 

the rules are simple, brutal, unforgiving: fight until your opponent yields, or until they can no longer stand. and of course, there's no word for “mercy” in the kremnoan language… as mydei would say it.

the air in the holding chambers, hidden beneath the grand coliseum, is heavy with the scent of iron and sweat. you step inside with your small offering in hand: the handkerchief you embroidered, each stitch woven with thoughts of him.

and today, you see you’re not alone. the corridor is packed with people, mostly noblewomen, some nervous sweethearts, all fluttering around their chosen champions, many bearing the same tradition in their palms.

you catch sight of more than a few stretching their handkerchiefs out to mydei, vying for even a small glance. a small crowd trails him like petals in a storm, calling his name with saccharine lilts, each desperate to be noticed.

with the way he’s being swarmed, you resign yourself with a small sigh, clutching your own handkerchief, fingers curling gently around the cloth you spent the last few evenings stitching. 

nevermind. maybe you’ll give it to phainon instead. he always appreciates the gesture, and at the very least, you’d get a smile out of him.

so your eyes scan the crowd instead, searching for—

only to freeze when you look up and see someone else already standing in front of you.

without a word, your husband takes the handkerchief from your hand, presses it to his brow, and dabs away the sweat collecting at his temple; then folds it neatly and tucks it into his belt where everyone can see.

you blink, momentarily startled.

warmth spills into your chest, it’s strange. he never accepts handkerchiefs from anyone. not a single soul has ever earned that privilege. but today, in front of all these people, he’s taken yours without a second thought.

it’s a light gesture, but it says enough coming from the kremnoan prince. 

and if he’s going to make such a bold move, you might as well tease him a little.

you tilt your head, a mischievous smile playing at your lips. “that’s sir phainon’s, you know.”

he stills for a moment, a flash of annoyance crossing his face before he furrows his brows in an almost adorable pout. 

“then he’ll just have to go without,” he mutters.

you’ve never seen him look quite like this before —caught off guard and... flustered?

“... and i wanted one today.”

“well, since you’ve gone through all that trouble,” you say with a grin, “i suppose i’ll let you keep it.”

as you study him, a thought crosses your mind. you raise an eyebrow, “are you nervous about the tournament?”

his eyes flick to yours, “there is no word for ‘fear’ in the kremnoan language,” he replies, his voice low and confident. 

it’s the kind of thing only mydeimos would say. and yet, something about the resolve in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

you manage a soft smile. “then bring back the victor’s crown for me, will you?”

honestly it's more of a vow than a request, you’d be content just seeing him return in one piece. but he takes it seriously anyway. 

“if it’s for you,”

his expression softens for just a moment, and without missing a beat, he nods, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“i’d do anything.”

ACT VI: HOW TO BE VICTORIOUS

from your seat among the nobles, your gaze searches for him. the threads of your dress pinched between trembling fingers, creased from how often you’ve clutched it. 

ever since you’ve come to kremnos, you’ve grown used to the sound of battle, but today every strike echoes a little louder in your ears. 

your heart clenches every time mydei stumbles or blood splashes across the sand. even knowing how strong he is, how capable, there’s a twist of worry that doesn’t loosen its grip. 

the kind you only feel when the person you care about is the one walking straight into danger.

you’d heard stories of what the tournament demands, but seeing it for yourself… it’s surreal. 

the crowd cheers for violence.

warriors enter the arena one by one, facing off not only against each other, but against beasts dragged from the darkest corners of the empire —corrupted titankins, two-headed hounds, massive golems wreathed in flame; just to name a few.

and each time, the gates crash open with a deafening clang, releasing something more vicious than the last. still, he doesn’t falter. when a snarling beast lunges for his throat, he drives his sword deep into its ribs without a second thought. 

the nobles cheer and holler around you, drunk on spectacle. but your eyes don’t leave him, not for a moment.

because while the crowd may be here for blood, all you want… 

is to be the first thing mydei sees when it’s over.

the last of the other competitors lie in heaps of blood and sand, either devoured by the beasts or incapacitated by the prince. there’s no one left to challenge him except the creature before him.

the towering beast staggers toward him; your pulse spikes, hands gripping the edge of your seat as you hold your breath. every step it takes sends tremors through the arena floor, snarls echoing off stone as it bears down on him with a murderous roar.

the beast lunges, jaws snapping wide, but mydei meets it with unyielding resolve. his sword arcs through the air, a flash of silver against the blood-soaked dusk. the beast jerks, a guttural screech tearing from its throat as it rears back. 

for a heartbeat, you can't tell who’s fallen.

then, through the settling haze, you see mydei standing, blood splattered across his armor, chest heaving with exertion. the beast lets out a final screech —and then crumples to the sand in a thunderous collapse.

for a heartbeat, there’s silence. and then the crowd erupts into a deafening cheer.

“mydei!” you cry out, your heart racing as you push through the sea of people to get closer.

he lifts his gaze, and it’s you he finds.

the victor’s crown, gleaming beneath the sun, is placed into his hands. and he raises it high above his head for all to see. 

a roar erupts from the coliseum, the crowd surging to its feet as the name mydeimos echoes from every corner, chanted with unrelenting fervor.

and without hesitation, he strides toward you, his face softening as he approaches.

in a flash, he wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. he spins you in a wide, sweeping circle before drawing you close. his eyes locking with yours, a triumphant grin playing on his lips. 

with a tenderness that belies his warrior's demeanor, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"yours," mydei whispers. he lifts the victor’s crown in both hands, and with all the devotion of a man offering his heart, places it gently atop your head.

you reach up to his bloodied face, your hand trembling slightly as the warmth of his skin seeps into your fingers. your palm comes to rest against his cheek.

“you came back to me,” you murmur.

he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment —like he’s been waiting for this, aching for it.

“i always will.”

you rise onto your toes, closing the distance between you.

at the end of the day, all mydei seeks is not victory or glory, but the soft sound of his name on the lips of his beloved, wrapped in an embrace that makes him forget the harshness of the battlefield.

EPILOGUE: HOW TO WIN HIM OVER

the question that once haunted your thoughts —how could i ever win his heart? —feels like a distant memory now, an answer long since found.

mydei looks at you with a softness in his eyes that you’ve come to know as a rare gift. his hand, calloused from battles fought and won, reaches for yours, his fingers brushing against yours before entwining it. 

“by the way, i’m actually… immortal. my injuries heal up after a while.”

you blink at him in confusion, and he chuckles softly, the sound warm and fond.

“wait, then that time when you—” you pause, recalling the night you carefully wrapped up his injury.

he grins, a small, playful glint in his eyes. ”i just like the way you worry over me.”

the admission leaves a flutter in your chest as his thumb gently strokes the back of your hand. 

you huff, pretending to be upset, though your heart races at the softness in his words. “you mean to say all that time i was worried sick over you for nothing?”

he tilts his head, feigning innocence. “it wasn’t for no reason,” he says, clearly trying not to smile. “i liked it. still do.”

you narrow your eyes, lips tugging into a pout. “well, you could’ve told me sooner! now i feel ridiculous.”

with a soft chuckle, mydei’s fingers brush through your hair in a gentle, almost apologetic gesture. he ruffles it lightly, his touch surprisingly tender. “you’re adorable when you’re upset,” he murmurs, his voice holding a sweetness that makes your heart skip a beat.

you can’t help but soften, the playful anger fading as his hand lingers for a moment longer. he pulls you a little closer, his forehead gently resting against yours. “don’t be mad. i’ll let you fuss over me for as long as you want, as long as you’re by my side.”

“you better mean that! i’m holding you to it.”

he hums, the sound low and content as he presses a kiss to your temple. “i do,” he whispers. “if there’s one thing i’ll always be sure of, it’s you.”

you think back to every hesitation, every guarded glance, the walls he built high around his heart. and now, that same heart rests in your hands. 

“looks like i managed to win you over after all,” you tease softly.

the way he looks at you says more than words ever could —as if you’re the only war he’s ever been glad to lose.

his fingers stay curled around yours; his heart laid bare with the quiet, breathtaking certainty that he is yours, as much as you are his.

"i love you, [name]."

and if this is victory, it’s the sweetest one yet.

thank you for reading!! reblogs are appreciated <3

MASTERLIST

[miyaz6ki]

. . . 𝝑𝝔　" YOU WOULDN'T EVEN LAST A SECOND!!! "

⠀ ۪ ⠀ꪆ୧ synopsis. when someone tries to hit on you right in front of them LOL

⠀ ۪ ⠀ꪆ୧ pairings. caelus, welt, gepard, jing yuan, mydei, phainon, sunday, jiaoqiu x gn!reader

⠀ ۪ ⠀ꪆ୧ director's notice. ykw even if i dont get interaction anymore i'll write for the 20 people who see my posts, ill keep posting daily, this is for you my fans type shit !!

۪ ꪆ୧ warnings. catcalling-ish ??? just ppl tryna hit on character's beautiful gorgeous wonderful s/o (you), i included both women & men as the someone hitting on reader, somewhat modern somewhat not!, you have 3 girls w/ mydei !!! (i usually imagine them as the tribbie trio)

part 1 here !

caelus who has never had to deal with people trying to hit on you, i mean... you literally were known to be with him on the astral express, it was hard to find someone who didn't know you & him being an item.

so when he saw someone trying to buy you a drink, a woman to be specific. dressed for trouble, fighting for trouble, but is she ready to fight? no idea but at least she looked the part.

"hey there, you usually come 'round here? never seen ya before." she put a hand on yours whilst you idly waited for your boyfriend by the bar.

your boyfriend simply muttered a 'huh?' someone genuinely has the audacity to say hi to you with an intention that goes past just friendly... it was astounding.

before you could give a set reply to the lady- "hi my love, got you that hat you wanted for our cat."

your mind is immediately taken away by the cute little cosmetic he required... but the lady? cockblocked successfully by your boyfriend of course! he sat right in between you and the woman, breaking her touch on you.

he did not bring it up after that, but he knows exactly what to do next time it happens.

welt who fell for you slow burn office romance style, and everyone in the office knew because of how much mutual pining intertwined you two together!

the silenced tension whenever you both were coincidentally left together to close up... the paperwork you both had to work side-by-side because you got assigned with each other... it was hard not to see you two being each other's interest only.

so why was this little twerp trying to hit on you when welt just got to ask you out formally?!

"h—hey, i saw you a lot around the office and was wondering if you uh... were single? you know... what about dinner tonight and we discuss the proje—"

that's when a loud bang came from right beside the new intern, a cup of coffee slammed onto the table as a maddened glare was being burned into the guy's back.

"sorry, they're busy at the moment. move. along."

his voice was fiercer than usual, the tone he usually only used whenever he was in a business meeting, or presenting a new product to investors...

gepard and you went out to the beachier side today, it had been a while that you both have had a day off from both your jobs, and find that the usual popular beach is a little emptier today. he only left for a second after you placed sunscreen on his back that he'd go get you two ice cream, leaving you with just yourself and your golden retriever.

he just didn't know how quick someone would try and swoop you up into their arms!

"hey! couldn't stop staring while running my usual fifteen laps of jogging around here, and couldn't help but notice your pretty face alone."

the runner was shirtless, and clear he went around here everyday in order to find another beautiful person just laying on the beach, relaxing, tanning, whatever, it's clear his 'fifteen laps' were just for show.

your favorite blonde was directly behind the guy, nearly crushing the ice cream cones in his hands, gone for what... five minutes? why is this guy already on your ass?!

pushing him on 'accident' as he stumbles over; your boyfriend finally comes over with your favorite flavor and his in palms, "hey baby, i know you liked this flavor."

the man looked up in anger, only to realize gepard was already staring him down from above, enough to intimidate the guy to run off.

"hmm? i didn't see him there, that's all. anyways, come on! eat it before it melts, pretty."

jing yuan... everybody knew jing yuan! and surely everyone who knew jing yuan would know that his partner also works as a senior manager who helps in many categories of the workplace, that including the interns that are taken in and are chosen by said partner too.

this intern just couldn't take the first hint. or the second. or... the third... or the fourth... that you were taken. sure you had to monitor them, talk to them, but it was never more than that, so what was this cute little lady getting at?

"o-oh um... mx. name? here's your c-coffee.." "huh? i didn't get any though." "i-it's just my token of appreciation! yo-you're always so hardworking and look so good when you do so..."

you were nonetheless still confused, couldn't she see the ring on your finger? the engagement and the wedding ring? that's a lot to miss because both rings were very... and i mean VERY flashy...

"i can manage, don't worry-" "please accept it! i um... this is my-" "hon, you ready yet?

ah, only one other person had called you that- "hi yuyu, i'm almost ready." you smile back at him, giving him a stare to tell the intern about your relationship. "oh, well no worries my partner, it's just business associates, they can wait."

the intern whispered something under her breath before running outside quickly.

"oh man, i feel bad..." "don't―it isn't your fault she couldn't see the signs you're married to the man of this corporation and many more."

mydei who was busy playing around with the triplets while in the water, splashing them and letting them tackle him, all that stuff. he noticed a little too late about how his lover was currently being hit on by someone that wasn't him. huh. that's no good.

he instructs the girls in a hushed voice to go build a sandcastle, and play while he goes to their other parent for the moment.

so what was this peaked-in-highschool little guy trying to woo you over? flexing his muscles like there's anything there... please your husband doesn't even have to flex?! what is this guy trying to show off?

"so...? he doesn't have to know. all that you need to know is that i can please you... give you a real surfing lesso-" "i'm afraid they've already mastered the 'real' ride here―that's me. better fuck off before i fuck that face up, pretty boy."

the young man turned around, almost with a smirk ready to fight, only to realize the shadow that loomed over him wasn't from palm trees. like everyone else that has tried to hit on you, he ran like lightning.

"baby, thought you were with the girls?" ― "please, they're ready to bury me in sand, they'll be fine."

phainon―he hasn't had a week off in a while, so he offered to join in on an art class being held by one of his friends; castorice, and aglaea, therapeutic hours spent doing art, pottery, sculptures and whatnot!

you both agreed to mold a matching vase to the pot your husband was making; conversing a bit of small talk with his best friend mydei while doing so, the white haired blue eyed man you fell in love with making pottery was a dream!

that's until one of aglaea's participants had snuck over to castorice's side, asking to borrow a brush you used for patterning your vase. well you obliged of course! you aren't one to shy away from being a humble and kind soul.

although minutes later, it was noticeable to your husband that you had been talking a little too much to that guy who continued to keep borrowing your things... even your other close friend cerydra had noticed, raising an eyebrow.

"trust me, this is the last time―ooh wow! your art is just as beautiful as you are..." the man whispered the last part under his breath, just enough for you to hear, just enough for cerydra not to hear.

you awkwardly shut down the initiation attempt he tried, but he just... kept... going.

"find someone else to be your muse, prince. this one's mine, and i'm not into sharing." sighing of relief, hearing your husband's familiar soft tone turn cold and sharp.

instead of a pot he actually made a cute little sculpture of you two, as mini as a statue could be, details on point whilst still capturing cuteness! you couldn't help but be in awe, and feel bad, you made something similar, only it was the print on the vase. he still will kiss you, clay and all!

sunday offered to take you out tonight, in line for popcorn before the premiere of his little sister's first starring in a movie, you couldn't wait to picture and cheer when you see her on the big screen!

first your little star, then a singer, and now a movie star! you haven't been anymore proud, but you didn't want to be ambushed by paparazzi, so you and sunday took a different ride there.

"hey pretty, i see you have a vip pass too, you tryna sit with me? promise i'll get you pictures with that robin girl." "...sorry what?"

you were confused, did they not noticed your boyfriend clearly beside you... getting his picture taken by the billions of flashes of cameras? oh well.

"i'm not interested, i'm here with someone." "aw c'mon sweetheart i-" "don't call them that. only i do."

their back straightened immediately, not realizing this was sunday and robin's special plus one tonight, embarassment washing over them promptly just as quick as their leave. sunday's arm slowly winding over and around your waist a determined look in his eye that makes you laugh.

jiaoqiu invited you over to the diner's celebration on opening their 101st unit, and of course, why wouldn't he treat the person who had been supporting him ever since his era where he could see.

he let you sit at a long table beside a few friends, a few businesspeople, etcetera. you sat beside stelle, while the chair on your left was empty, waiting for your partner to sit at- someone else takes it.... and it isn't your fiancee..

"saw you from over there, hoped this seat would be available... how are ya tonight, baby?" "i'm um.. doing fine, please don't call me that.."

you uncomfortably shift in your seat, you didn't think someone as shameless as this would be sitting down in a seat clearly meant for your soon-to-be husband who is cooking in the kitchen over there.

you hadn't even noticed him already behind the man who sat in the settee for him, your lover.

leaning down slowly, his face now right beside the strange man's, "why are you in my seat?", making the man jump out in fear.

jiaoqiu keeps his smile, but his intent was not to be happy, or please the person he was talking to. you think he'd let this slide? an employee hitting on his partner will never slide. not today, not ever.

[name-less-666]

THIS PISS ME OFF SO MUCH HOLY FUCK

"I refuse to use y/n so I give her oc name"???? SO IS NOT A READERINSERT ISN'T, WHY DONT YOU DO (F/O)/OC IS NOT THAT HARD OMG I HOPE THE A03 CURSE GET TO YOU

(If you have a problem about this post just block me and dni)

[areislol]

how honkai star rail men would be with their very heavily pregnant wife

pairings. jing yuan, blade, anaxa, phainon, mydei, aventurine, boothill, dr ratio, gepard, sunday, sampo, moze x fem/afab! reader

warnings. phainon and mydei might be ooc! slightly suggestive for mydei, angst if you squint for boothill

a/n. my professor is pregnant and i got inspired, is that weird? i think i went a little overboard when writing.

wc. 18.2k

jing yuan

✧  super protective general mode activated – jing yuan won’t let you lift a single finger. you’re a literal empress in his eyes, and he treats you like one.

✧ he constantly rubs your belly, murmuring sweet nothings to your baby, calling them “little cub” or “our future star.”

✧ yanqing is over the moon, already asking when he can start training the baby. jing yuan just laughs and tells him to be patient.

✧ he pretends to be chill, but he secretly has his cloud knights monitoring your every move. if you so much as sigh, he’s rushing to your side with a massage ready.

✧ jing yuan is so unbelievably soft with you. he treats you like you're the most precious thing in the world, because to him, you are. he’s already a laid-back general, but when it comes to you and your pregnancy, he becomes even lazier—only because he insists on doing everything for you, so you don’t have to lift a single finger.

✧ “why would i let you do anything, my love? you’re already doing the most important thing—bringing our child into this world.” he says it so smoothly, like it’s the most obvious thing ever, all while he’s feeding you slices of fresh fruit.

✧ he loves talking to the baby. every night, he rests his head against your belly, rubbing slow circles over your stretched skin as he murmurs soft words. “are you being good to your mother? not causing too much trouble, i hope.” his voice is teasing, but there’s so much warmth in it.

✧ yanqing is excited beyond belief. he treats your belly like a sacred treasure, constantly checking in and promising to be the best big brother figure. jing yuan just watches with an amused smile, letting the boy go on about how he’ll train the baby to be the best swordsman when they’re older.

✧ if you so much as sigh, he’s immediately at your side. tired? he’s carrying you. back hurting? he’s massaging you. craving something? he already sent someone to get it.

✧ he lets you sleep on him whenever you want. if you’re tired in the middle of the day, he just pulls you into his lap, arms wrapped securely around you as he leans back, perfectly content to stay like that for hours.

✧ you catch him daydreaming about your child a lot. he’ll be sitting at his desk, chin in his palm, a soft smile on his lips as he imagines what they’ll look like. “will they have your eyes?” he asks one day, reaching out to brush his fingers over your cheek. “i hope they do.”

✧ he’s secretly very nervous about the birth. he won’t show it, but you catch the way his fingers tighten slightly when he thinks about it. he just loves you so much, and he hates the idea of you being in pain. he’ll be right by your side when the time comes, holding your hand, whispering reassurances in that deep, soothing voice of his.

✧ at the end of the day, jing yuan is just so deeply in love with you. every moment, every touch, every gentle smile—he’s cherishing all of it, because this is the family he’s always dreamed of.

✧ jing yuan is absolutely smitten with you and your pregnancy. he’s always been affectionate, but now? now he’s downright insatiable when it comes to touching you. his hands are always somewhere—resting on your belly, rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back, cupping your cheek as he presses soft kisses against your lips. he just wants you to feel loved every second of the day.

✧ he’s a chronic nuzzler. when you’re sitting together, he leans in to bury his face in your neck, breathing in your scent, his hands splayed across your belly. when you’re lying down, he rests his forehead against yours, murmuring sweet little reassurances about how well you’re doing. if he could, he’d never let you leave his embrace.

✧ he absolutely spoils you. your cravings? already fulfilled before you even realize you’re hungry. your feet hurt? he’s massaging them while looking at you with those warm, golden eyes. you’re feeling emotional? he’s pulling you into his lap, whispering words of love as he strokes your hair.

✧ his favorite thing is feeling the baby kick. he lights up every single time—his eyes softening, a slow smile tugging at his lips as he presses his palm to your belly. “ah, little one, i see you’re already training to be a warrior.” he chuckles, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin.

✧ he reads to you at night. sometimes it’s poetry, sometimes it’s old tales of the xianzhou, but he loves the idea of his voice lulling both you and the baby into sleep. he takes it as an unspoken duty to make sure you’re as comfortable and relaxed as possible.

✧ he will not let you lift a single thing. you could be reaching for something as light as a teacup, and suddenly his arm is there, effortlessly taking it from you. “tsk, tsk, my dear. what did i say about doing things yourself?” he smirks as he hands it to you, obviously enjoying how much he gets to dote on you.

✧ yanqing is so excited that it makes jing yuan even more excited. when yanqing starts talking about how he’s going to train the baby in swordsmanship, jing yuan suddenly finds himself indulging in the fantasy, too. “hm… perhaps they’ll wield a greatsword like me,” he muses, stroking his chin before glancing at you with a teasing smirk. “or maybe they’ll be as quick-witted and sharp as their mother.”

✧ he secretly makes a journal about the pregnancy. he writes down little notes—about the first time he felt the baby kick, about how breathtaking you looked under the moonlight as you rested, about how his heart aches with how much he loves you both. he never tells you about it, but he plans to give it to your child when they’re older, so they’ll know just how much their father adored their mother.

✧ he absolutely, 100% cries when the baby is born. he tries to be strong, tries to keep his composure, but the moment he hears that first cry, he’s done for. he cups your face with shaky hands, pressing his forehead to yours as he whispers, “you did so well, my love… so well.” and when he finally holds the baby, his chest tightens with overwhelming love—he’s never known a happiness like this before.

blade —

✧ he rarely shows outward emotions, but his hands always find their way to your belly, as if grounding himself in the reality of your shared future.

✧ if you ever feel pain, even if it’s normal pregnancy discomfort, he tenses up immediately, staring at you with worry. “are you okay? do you need something?”

✧ he lets you sleep curled up against him, his body warmth soothing you. even if he doesn’t need rest, he’ll lay beside you, hand on your stomach, eyes half-lidded.

✧ the stellaron hunters tease him for being so soft for you, but he doesn’t care. his priority is you and the baby—nothing else.

✧ buys you those pregnancy pillows, not one, not two, not three, but FIVE of them. why? don't ask why. he just did what he had to do.

✧ blade is both the most terrifying and the softest man you have ever seen during your pregnancy. anyone who so much as glances at you the wrong way gets a death glare so sharp it could cut through steel. he becomes hyper-aware of his surroundings, his protective instincts dialed up to a thousand. but when he's with you? when he's resting his palm on your belly, feeling the faint kicks of your child? he's tender in a way no one else will ever see.

✧ he doesn't speak much, but his actions say everything. he’s not the type to whisper poetic words about his love for you, but when he pulls you into his chest, his calloused fingers brushing through your hair—when he kneels in front of you, pressing the softest kiss to your swollen belly—you know exactly how much he cherishes you.

✧ he has a habit of placing his hand on your belly whenever you're together. it’s instinctual, protective, like he’s always ready to shield both you and your child from harm. even in his sleep, his hand finds its way to your stomach, fingers twitching slightly as if standing guard.

✧ he worries about you, even if he doesn’t always say it outright. you catch him watching you with furrowed brows when you move around too much, his lips pressing into a thin line when he sees you wince. if he had his way, you'd be in bed all day, wrapped up in the safest cocoon possible—but he knows you’re strong, so he holds back. barely.

✧ he is unbelievably gentle when touching you. it’s almost ironic—blade, a man who knows nothing but violence, whose hands are stained with countless battles, touches you like you’re made of the finest glass. every time he cups your face, every time he trails his fingers over your belly, his touch is so, so careful. he would rather die than cause you any harm.

✧ he talks to the baby when he thinks you're asleep. late at night, when the world is silent and you’re curled up against him, he whispers words he could never say when you're awake. “i will protect you.” his voice is barely above a breath, his hand splayed over your belly. “you and your mother. always.”

✧ he makes sure you're eating properly, even if it means forcing you to sit down while he prepares something himself. he doesn’t care if he’s never been much of a cook—he will make sure you're fed and taken care of, even if it means standing in the kitchen for an hour, staring at a recipe with a deep frown.

✧ he pretends not to care about the baby shopping, but he totally does. when you bring him to look at baby clothes, he acts indifferent at first, hands tucked into his coat. but the second he sees a tiny onesie in your favorite color? he picks it up, runs his fingers over the fabric, and mutters something about how “this one looks… acceptable.” (he buys it immediately.)

✧ he doesn't know how to express it, but he's excited to be a father. he never thought he’d have something like this—something soft, something real. he never thought he’d have a future beyond endless battles. but now, with you by his side, carrying a child that is part of both of you, he finally starts to believe in something more.

✧ when the baby is born, he is completely, utterly still. for the first time in his life, blade feels like he has no words. he holds the tiny bundle in his arms, staring down at this little life he helped create, and something deep inside him shifts. when he finally looks at you, eyes glassy with unspoken emotion, he whispers the only thing he can say—“thank you.”

✧ blade is absolutely helpless when it comes to your cravings. you want something specific in the middle of the night? he’s already putting on his coat, ready to hunt it down no matter how absurd it is. he doesn’t even question it anymore. one time, you craved something bizarre—like spicy pickles dipped in chocolate—and he just stared at you for a full ten seconds before silently retrieving the ingredients. when he watched you eat it with a satisfied hum, he muttered, “...i have never feared anything more than i fear your cravings.”

✧ there was one time when he brought you the wrong food, and you almost burst into tears. your craving was very specific—a warm peach bun from a particular vendor—but he accidentally got a different flavor. when he saw your lip tremble, he immediately turned on his heel and went straight back out to find the exact one you wanted. “i will not return until i retrieve it,” he swore, like he was going on some life-or-death mission.

✧ he tries to act like he doesn’t care when you make him try your strange craving combinations, but the second you say, “if you love me, you’ll try it,” he knows he’s lost. cue him begrudgingly taking a bite of something absolutely cursed (like ice cream and soy sauce) while you eagerly watch for his reaction. he chews. he swallows. he slowly looks away and mutters, “i am never doing that again.” (he does it again the next time you ask.)

✧ one time, you craved something so bad that you started getting emotional over it. “blade… what if i never get to eat it again?” you sniffled, burying your face in your hands. panic. absolute panic. he thought this was an actual emergency. he dropped everything he was doing, ready to fight the universe itself if it meant securing your food. when he finally got it and handed it to you, you sighed dreamily, saying, “you’re my hero.” his ears turned a little red after that.

✧ you get unbelievably clingy, and it’s both endearing and confusing to blade. he’ll be standing still, minding his own business, when you just attach yourself to him, draping yourself over his back like a koala. “don’t move,” you mumble. he doesn’t. if anything, he just shifts slightly so that you’re more comfortable.

✧ there was a moment when you dramatically flopped onto the bed, groaning about how your feet hurt. before you could even finish your sentence, blade was already kneeling down, silently massaging your feet. you gasped. “oh my god, you’re actually good at this—” his fingers worked into the sore spots with expert precision. you immediately melted. blade, meanwhile, just continued as if he’d been doing this for centuries. “your body is under strain,” he simply said. “this is the least i can do.”

✧ blade has an uncanny ability to appear whenever you need help. you’re struggling to bend down to grab something? suddenly, he’s there. you’re about to lift something heavier than he deems acceptable? boom, he’s already taking it from you. you once tested this by whispering, “i’m craving something…” and within seconds, he materialized behind you with an unreadable expression, already holding his coat, waiting for instructions.

✧ he does not tolerate anyone making unnecessary comments about your size. one time, a stranger made an offhand remark about how big your belly was, and before you could even react, blade was staring them down with the most chilling gaze imaginable. he didn’t even say a word—just narrowed his eyes ever so slightly—and the person immediately backpedaled.

✧ despite his serious nature, there was one time he made a mistake that neither of you will ever forget. you asked him to fetch your favorite snack, and he misheard you. instead of returning with the correct one, he came back with something completely different. when he handed it to you, looking all serious, you just… stared at it. “blade… what is this.” he frowned. “the food you asked for.” you shook your head.

✧ “no, this is not what i asked for.” a long silence. then, without a word, he simply turned around and walked right back out to get the correct one.

✧ sometimes, he gets so used to catering to you that he forgets he doesn’t need to keep doing it after the baby is born. one time, you got up to get something for yourself, and blade immediately tried to stop you. “sit down,” he said automatically, already moving to do it for you. you had to gently remind him, “blade, i can move now.” he paused. thought about it. then, in a deadpan voice, muttered, “...i don’t like that.”

anaxa —

✧ the man is obsessed with your pregnancy. every single day, he’s marveling at your growing belly, resting his head on it, whispering to the baby.

✧ “can you hear me, little one? your father loves you very, very much~” and then he looks up at you with stars in his eyes. you can’t walk five steps without him offering to carry you.

✧ he’d literally sweep you off your feet in public if you let him. he handmakes baby clothes, paints the nursery with celestial patterns, and makes sure you’re always surrounded by warmth and love.

✧ anaxa is absolutely ecstatic about you carrying his child. he’s a man of passion, and this is the most exciting thing to ever happen in his life. he showers you in affection constantly, hands never far from your belly, and every little change in your pregnancy fascinates him. one day, he catches sight of your growing bump in the mirror, and his golden eyes widen with pure admiration.

✧ “by the aeons, look at you… you’re stunning.” he twirls you around, beaming, like you’re the most divine sight in the universe.

✧ he is obnoxiously protective but in a warm, dramatic way. if you so much as sigh, he’s immediately cupping your face, his gaze filled with concern. “beloved, are you unwell? do you need anything? say the word, and i shall move the stars themselves to bring you comfort.” if you so much as stumble, he is catching you like a hero in a romantic novel, dipping you slightly as if it were a dance.

✧ he goes insane over your cravings. no matter how ridiculous, he takes it as a personal challenge. one time, you craved the most specific fruit from a distant planet, and before you could even consider changing your mind, he was already making arrangements to have it imported. it arrived within hours. you stared at him in disbelief as he proudly presented it. “for you, my beloved, there is no distance too far.”

✧ he gets competitive about taking care of you. he must be the one to do everything. need a foot massage? he’s already doing it. thirsty? your drink is already in your hands. you tried to reach for something on a high shelf once, and he gasped dramatically, lifting you into his arms instead. “such tasks are far beneath you, my dear.” you just wanted a plate.

✧ when the baby kicks for the first time, he is overwhelmed. his hands freeze over your stomach, golden eyes widening in shock. he looks up at you, utterly stunned, before breaking into the most lovesick grin you have ever seen. “they’re strong,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours. “our child is strong.”

✧ he talks to your belly. all the time. and not just little greetings—he has full conversations. he tells your baby about the adventures he’s had, the beautiful places they’ll see, and how lucky they are to have you as their mother. sometimes, when he thinks you’re asleep, he whispers soft promises to them. “you will be loved beyond measure, little one. i swear it upon the stars.”

✧ he spoils you rotten. anything you want, you get. it’s impossible to stop him. the moment you so much as glance at a pretty item, he’s already purchasing it. if you tell him “you don’t have to—” he hushes you with a kiss to your forehead. “nonsense, my love. you deserve the world.”

✧ he gets extremely emotional when you’re in labour. despite his usual confidence, he is on edge, pacing the room, running a hand through his hair, whispering prayers under his breath. the second he hears your baby’s first cry, he collapses into the chair, exhaling a deep breath of relief (like he was the one giving birth.... 😒).

✧ when he finally holds them for the first time, he is speechless. his usual poetic words fail him, and he just stares, eyes glossy with unshed tears, before finally whispering, “you are the greatest gift i have ever received.”

✧ anaxa treats your pregnancy like the most important quest of his life. from the moment he learns you’re expecting, he dives headfirst into research. he devours every article, medical journal, and ancient text on pregnancy, memorizing every detail.

✧ at night, he’s hunched over stacks of datapads, reading about fetal development, prenatal nutrition, and even obscure childbirth traditions across different planets. when you wake up and ask what he’s doing, he simply replies, “studying for the most important role of my existence.”

✧ he takes notes. meticulous, detailed notes. he carries around a small journal where he writes everything—your mood shifts, your cravings, even what time of day the baby kicks the most. it’s filled with observations like “beloved seemed irritated today—possible correlation with lack of midday nap?” and “baby prefers right side of belly—will investigate further.”

✧ one time, you peeked into his notes and found a page titled “top ten ways to make my love comfortable” with a ranked list of his most successful strategies.

✧ he does field research. he doesn’t just rely on books—he goes out and seeks firsthand knowledge. he interviews every mother he can find, from warriors to scholars, recording their experiences and advice with intense focus.

✧ he once stopped an entire group of mothers in the marketplace just to ask, “ladies, if i may—what was the most effective way your partners supported you during pregnancy?” he listened very seriously, nodding at each answer, before thanking them with a deep bow.

✧ he becomes hyper-aware of pregnancy symptoms before you even notice them. you sigh slightly, and before you can say anything, he’s already handing you water because “dehydration can cause fatigue, my dear.”

✧ If you rub your lower back even once, he instantly offers a massage. one time, you mentioned feeling warm, and within seconds, he adjusted the room’s temperature to the optimal degree for pregnant comfort.

✧ no one can escape his lectures. if someone offers you food that’s even slightly questionable for pregnancy, he immediately intervenes, launching into a detailed explanation of why you cannot eat it. “that dish contains an ingredient known to cause nausea in twelve percent of expectant mothers. i simply cannot allow it.”

✧ you once caught him educating a fellow father-to-be about the importance of emotional support during pregnancy. “your partner’s needs must always come first. if she craves something at midnight, you go. no hesitation.”

✧ he gets way too into prenatal bonding. he doesn’t just talk to the baby—he reads stories, sings songs, and even plays music. one day, you walked in on him reciting a dramatic monologue from one of his favorite plays to your belly, gesturing passionately. “and so, my dear child, this is the tale of heroes and honor… may you inherit my love for storytelling.” you couldn’t stop laughing.

✧ when you’re nearing your due date, he prepares a full emergency plan. he has a route mapped out to the medical facility, a list of supplies packed and double-checked, and contingency plans for every possible scenario.

✧ if labor starts unexpectedly, he has multiple escape routes memorized for a quick departure. one time, he even did a practice drill, making sure he could carry you effortlessly if needed. “i must be ready, beloved. i refuse to falter in your moment of need.”

✧ the moment you go into labor, he activates like a man on a mission. his usually playful and dramatic nature is replaced with laser-sharp focus. he’s immediately by your side, holding your hand, guiding you through breathing exercises he memorized. but internally, he is barely holding it together.

✧ the second he hears the baby’s first cry, he lets out a shaky breath, his entire body relaxing. when he finally holds your child, all the stress melts away, and he just gazes at them in awe, whispering, “you were worth every moment.”

phainon

✧ this man treats you like the most precious treasure. If anyone so much as breathes near you the wrong way, he’s glaring at them. every craving? immediately fulfilled.

✧ even if you wake up at 3 am and want the most obscure food, he’ll find a way to get it for you. he’s fascinated by the baby’s movements and constantly asks, “did they kick just now?”

✧ when you can’t sleep, he’ll hold you close and hum soft lullabies, stroking your hair until you drift off in his arms.

✧ phainon is absolutely obsessed with the idea of being a father. from the moment he learns you’re pregnant, he acts like he just won the greatest cosmic jackpot in existence. he picks you up and spins you around before freezing and setting you down gently, apologizing because “right, right, must be careful now.” but he’s grinning ear to ear, already talking about all the things he wants to do with the baby. “do you think they’ll like stargazing? i’ll teach them all about the constellations, and we can name a star after them.”

✧ he immediately starts making preparations. within days, he’s turned an entire room into a nursery, but it’s not just any nursery—it’s a masterpiece. he hand-paints galaxies on the ceiling so the baby will always feel like they’re sleeping under the stars.

✧ he even commissions a custom-built crib that gently rocks like a spaceship in zero gravity. he’s so proud of it, constantly adjusting tiny details to make it perfect. “our little star deserves the best, don’t you think?”

✧ he takes baby-proofing to an extreme. he starts evaluating your entire home with the scrutiny of a scientist studying an uncharted planet. “this corner? too sharp. that table? unstable. this step? a potential hazard.”

✧ you catch him padding furniture, securing every single cabinet, and even installing a soft landing zone in case the baby ever falls. you try to tell him that it’s way too early for this, but he just winks and says, “better to be safe than sorry, starlight.”

✧ cravings are his absolute favourite part of the pregnancy. the moment you mention wanting something, he’s on it. he once woke up at three in the morning to hunt down a very specific dessert you were craving.

✧ when he finally returned, slightly dishevelled but victorious, he proudly presented it to you like he had just returned from a heroic quest. if you ever apologise for asking for something difficult, he just kisses your forehead and says, “there’s nothing i wouldn’t do for you and our little one.”

✧ he gets really into talking to the baby. not just casual conversations—full-blown storytelling. he lies with his head on your belly, telling the baby about all the wonders of the universe, all the places they’ll visit, all the things they’ll see.

✧ “you’re gonna love it out here. just wait until you see your first comet—it’s breathtaking.” he also sings lullabies, soft celestial melodies he swears have been passed down in his family. even you find yourself falling asleep to them.

✧ he fusses over you constantly. anytime you so much as sigh, he’s immediately checking in. “are you okay? do you need anything? here, let me get you some water. or a pillow. or—” you have to physically stop him from treating you like a fragile piece of glass.

✧ if you so much as try to lift something heavier than a book, he swoops in immediately. “whoa, whoa, whoa—absolutely not. no heavy lifting for my love. let me handle it.”

✧ despite all his excitement, he does have moments of deep, quiet reflection. sometimes you’ll find him sitting by the nursery, looking up at the painted stars with a soft smile. when you ask what’s on his mind, he just pulls you close and murmurs, “i just… can’t believe this is real. that i get to have this with you.”

✧ his hand will rest on your belly, his thumb tracing slow circles as he whispers, “i promise to be the best father i can be. i swear it.”

✧ when the day finally comes, he is a wreck. for all his usual charm and confidence, the moment you tell him it’s time, he panics. he grabs the hospital bag, then forgets where he put the hospital bag. he tries to call someone but dials the wrong number. you have to physically pull him back to reality.

✧ but once he sees you, really sees you, he takes a deep breath, centers himself, and holds your hand with all the love in the universe. when he hears the baby’s first cry, his eyes fill with tears, and he laughs, breathless, as he whispers, “welcome home, little star.”

✧ phainon is an absolute menace when it comes to public displays of affection, and your pregnancy just makes it ten times worse. he’s already the type to drape himself over you, kiss you whenever he pleases, and hold your hand no matter where you go, but now? now he’s practically glued to you. he’s always resting a hand on your belly, rubbing soothing circles over it, or just holding you close like he’s staking a claim. whenever someone congratulates him on the baby, he just beams and says, “i know, isn’t it wonderful? my starlight is glowing.”

✧ the chrysos heirs do not make things easy for him. the moment they find out you’re pregnant, it’s like they’ve been given free rein to tease him relentlessly. they’re always making comments about how he’s become soft, how he’s acting like an overexcited first-time dad, how he’s basically your personal servant at this point. phainon just waves them off with a smug grin, completely unbothered. “jealous? i would be too if i didn’t have someone as perfect as my starlight carrying my child.” the teasing only gets worse after that.

✧ some of them take it a step further, trying to rile him up by making bets on what kind of father he’ll be. “ten credits says he cries when he holds the baby for the first time.” “twenty says he panics and passes out before the baby even arrives.” phainon just scoffs, but the truth is? he does cry when he holds the baby for the first time, and he almost passes out from the sheer emotional overload. the heirs never let him live it down.

✧ despite their teasing, some of them are actually really invested in your pregnancy. they offer parenting books, advice (some useful, some absolutely ridiculous), and even propose setting up a baby fund to spoil the child the moment they’re born.

✧ phainon, of course, refuses. “i appreciate the thought, but my little one won’t need all that nonsense.” ten minutes later, he’s accepting a tiny celestial-themed onesie from one of the heirs with a soft, “... okay, maybe just this one.”

✧ in public, phainon is the proudest future father to ever exist. he makes sure everyone knows. if you go out together, he’s showing you off like you’re the most precious treasure in the galaxy—which, in his eyes, you are. if someone so much as looks at you the wrong way, he’s immediately on guard, slipping an arm around your waist and fixing them with a look that says don’t even think about it.

✧ he gets so protective when you’re in crowded areas. he insists on keeping a hand on you at all times, whether it’s resting on the small of your back or holding your hand tightly. if someone bumps into you even slightly, his entire demeanor shifts—his usual easygoing attitude replaced by something much sharper. “watch where you’re going,” he says, his voice deceptively calm but carrying an unmistakable edge.

✧ if you ever get tired while walking, he doesn’t even hesitate before picking you up. bridal style, over his shoulder, whatever gets the job done. you try to protest, but he just grins. “what? i can’t have my starlight overexerting themselves. besides, you deserve to be treated like royalty.” people definitely stare, but phainon does not care in the slightest.

✧ you catch him buying so many baby-related things on impulse. he’ll see a tiny pair of star-patterned socks and immediately grab them, muttering “they’re going to look adorable in these.” his collection of baby clothes, plushies, and toys gets so out of hand that you have to physically stop him from buying more.

✧ he gets so smug when people comment on how lucky your child will be to have him as a father. he’ll flash you a knowing grin and say something like, “of course they’re lucky. they have the best parents in the universe.” and then he’ll lean in and murmur against your ear, “but between you and me, they’re going to love you more.”

✧ at the end of the day, despite all the teasing from the heirs, the doting, and the over-the-top protection, phainon is just so deeply in love with you and the life you’re building together.

✧ every time he looks at you, he sees the future he’s always dreamed of. and every time he places a hand on your belly, he’s reminded that his greatest adventure is just beginning.

mydei

✧ overly doting husband award goes to… mydei! he treats you like royalty.

✧ if you ever try to do anything yourself, he’s immediately stopping you. “what do you think you're doing? you are carrying our child. i’ll do everything.”

✧ and he means it. he writes letters to your baby before they’re born, leaving them in a box for them to read one day. you constantly wake up to breakfast in bed, your favourite drinks prepared exactly how you like them, and soft, warm blankets because he wants you as comfy as possible.

✧ mydei is absolutely obsessed with your pregnancy in the best way possible. the moment he finds out, it’s like his entire world shifts—everything he does, everything he thinks about, revolves around you and the little life growing inside you.

✧ he becomes so soft, his usual cold, distant demeanor melting away when he’s with you. whenever he talks about the baby, his voice is filled with nothing but warmth. “our little one is going to be amazing. just like their mother.”

✧ he takes everything about pregnancy very seriously. he practically turns into a scholar overnight, gathering every book, article, and medical journal he can find. he takes meticulous notes, cross-references sources, and even reaches out to professionals—doctors, experienced parents, even midwives.

✧ he even asks random pregnant women and mothers about their experiences, carefully logging every detail. “everyone’s journey is different,” he tells you, eyes filled with determination. “but i need to be prepared for anything.”

✧ his research leads to some very specific routines. he makes sure your diet is perfectly balanced, ensuring you get all the necessary nutrients while still indulging your cravings.

✧ he tracks your hydration levels, sleep patterns, and even stress levels. if he notices you looking tired or overwhelmed, he immediately whisks you away to rest. “no arguments. you need to take care of yourself.”

✧ despite his usually elegant and refined nature, he is so comically weak to your cravings. he will go to the ends of the universe to find whatever it is you’re craving, no matter how difficult or absurd. “you want a very specific fruit that only grows on a planet halfway across the cosmos? give me a moment.” he does not settle for substitutes. if it’s not exactly what you want, he will not rest until he finds it.

✧ he gets extremely protective in public. he’s already the type to keep an eye on his surroundings, but now? he’s on high alert. he positions himself between you and any potential danger, shields you from crowds, and death-glares anyone who so much as bumps into you. he carries extra layers if it gets cold, makes sure you’re never overexerting yourself, and always finds the safest routes when walking anywhere.

✧ if anyone even dares to make an inappropriate comment about your pregnancy—whether it’s about your body changing or unsolicited parenting advice—his entire demeanor darkens. his polite mask drops, and his voice turns icy as he calmly but mercilessly shuts them down. “your opinion was neither needed nor wanted. kindly leave before i lose my patience.”

✧ pda with him becomes softer, sweeter, and more frequent. he was always a little reserved when it came to public affection, but now? he doesn’t care who’s watching.

✧ he kisses your forehead absentmindedly, holds your hand everywhere, and often keeps an arm around your waist, rubbing gentle circles over your belly. when he talks to people, his hand naturally rests on your stomach as if it’s second nature.

✧ at night, he always falls asleep with a hand on your belly. he whispers to the baby, telling them stories, making quiet promises. “i’ll keep you and your mother safe. always.” his fingers trace light patterns against your skin, his voice laced with adoration. if the baby kicks, his eyes light up with wonder, a rare, unguarded smile stretching across his lips. “already so strong.”

✧ he takes nesting very seriously. he personally oversees the nursery, ensuring everything is perfect. the colors, the furniture, even the atmosphere—he carefully selects everything with precision and care. he tests the crib himself, sits in the rocking chair to make sure it’s comfortable, and painstakingly arranges and rearranges decorations until he’s satisfied. if something isn’t up to his standards, it’s gone. “only the best for our child.”

✧ the moment the baby arrives, all the walls he’s ever had completely crumble. he holds them with the gentlest touch, his eyes brimming with emotions he can’t even put into words.

✧ he presses the softest kiss to their forehead, whispering their name like it’s something sacred. he looks at you, exhausted yet radiant, and for the first time in his life, he feels truly complete.

✧ mydei insists on accompanying you every single time you go shopping for maternity wear. at first, you think he’s just being his usual meticulous, overprotective self, but then you realise—he genuinely enjoys it.

✧ he treats it like an event, carefully selecting pieces he thinks will be both comfortable and stylish for you. he has impeccable taste, so he always picks out the most flattering outfits, running his hands over the fabrics with a thoughtful hum before handing them to you. “this one will look beautiful on you. try it on.”

✧ the moment you start feeling insecure about your belly, he notices. you run your fingers over the curve of your stomach, frowning slightly at how different your body feels, how nothing fits the way it used to. the way you sigh while looking at yourself in the mirror doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

✧ he steps behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder. his hands slide over the curve of your belly, holding you close.

✧ “why do you look so troubled, my love?” his voice is so smooth, low, and filled with warmth. when you mutter about how different your body feels, how you don’t feel as attractive, he simply tilts his head, his lips brushing against your ear.

✧ “you look breathtaking. absolutely divine.” he turns you around gently, his fingers lightly tracing patterns against your stomach. “do you even realise how incredible you are? you’re carrying our child, our future. there is nothing more beautiful than that.”

✧ his reassurance does not stop there. if anything, it becomes a little suggestive. his lips trail down to your neck, placing slow, deliberate kisses as his hands roam your sides. “this body, this belly, this softness... all of it is perfect. you are perfect.” his voice is velvety, filled with unfiltered adoration, and when you let out a small, embarrassed laugh, he just smiles against your skin.

✧ “you don’t believe me?” he whispers, his hands sliding lower before resting firmly on your hips. “perhaps I should show you just how irresistible you are to me.”

✧ you swat at his chest, flustered beyond belief, telling him you’re in the middle of a clothing store, but he only chuckles, tilting your chin up so you meet his gaze. “fine, fine. I’ll behave… for now.” but the way he lingers, the way his eyes darken just a little, tells you that he’s far from done.

✧ even after leaving the store, his hands never stop touching you—tracing over your belly absentmindedly, rubbing soothing circles over your back, occasionally squeezing your hips just to see you flustered. whenever you wear the clothes he picked out, he cannot take his eyes off you.

✧ if you ask him why he’s staring, he simply smirks. “admiring my wife. is that a crime?” he pauses before leaning in, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs, “though, I must say, I quite enjoy seeing you without these clothes, too.”

aventurine

✧ he acts nonchalant (well not really...), but deep down? he’s besotted with you and the baby. he boasts about you to everyone at the family, showing off the sonograms like they’re a rare jackpot he won at a casino.

✧ every time you walk into the room, his eyes immediately land on you. “and how is my favourite future mother doing today?”

✧ if you’re feeling down, he spoils you like crazy, showering you with gifts and trips to the fanciest places just to see you smile.

✧ aventurine treats you like absolute royalty the moment he finds out you’re pregnant. not that he didn’t already spoil you before, but now? it’s on a completely different level. you barely have to lift a finger—he’s already taking care of everything before you even think about needing it.

✧ he immediately starts building a nursery, and by "building," he means designing the most extravagant, high-end, luxurious baby room money can buy.

✧ he spares no expense—custom furniture, premium-quality baby clothes, plush toys imported from different planets, the softest blankets in existence, a crib that probably costs more than a spaceship, you name it. everything is top-tier, only the best for his child.

✧ he goes overboard with baby shopping. you tell him the baby isn’t even here yet, and he just smirks, unbothered. “better to be prepared, sweetheart. besides, it’s fun.” he buys every cute outfit he sees, from tiny formal suits to cozy little onesies, and don’t even get him started on toys. he buys so many that you swear your baby won’t even get to play with half of them.

✧ food? taken care of. cravings? immediately satisfied. he has chefs on standby ready to make whatever you want, whenever you want it. at 2 am, when you wake up craving something obscure, you hesitate to wake him, but the moment he stirs and hears you shifting in bed, he insists. “tell me what you want, love. i’ll get it for you right now.”

✧ and if it’s something rare or hard to find? he pulls strings, makes calls, and by some miracle, has it in front of you within the hour. if that’s not possible, he personally goes out to find it himself. no complaints, no hesitation. he does it happily.

✧ he is obsessed with making sure you’re comfortable. if he catches you shifting around, trying to find a better position, he’s already fluffing your pillows, adjusting your seat, anything to make sure you’re perfectly cozy.

✧ he arranges regular massages for you, has the softest, most luxurious blankets at your disposal, and if he catches you even looking slightly uncomfortable, he fixes it before you can even say a word.

✧ the way he dotes on you is almost comical. he won’t even let you walk too much without insisting you rest. “why strain yourself when I can carry you, hm?” and if you protest? he smirks, effortlessly sweeping you off your feet anyway.

✧ he loves talking to your belly. at first, it’s just quiet murmurs when he thinks you’re asleep, soft reassurances and promises. but then? he gets dramatic. “you better take after your mother. if you inherit my gambling habits, we’re going to have a problem.” he fully has conversations with your unborn child, completely shameless, and honestly? it’s adorable.

✧ he lives for your flustered reactions. if you ever feel insecure about your body changing, he makes sure you never doubt how beautiful you are. “look at you,” he purrs, eyes gleaming as he trails his fingers over your belly.

✧ “glowing. divine. absolutely stunning. you have no idea how breathtaking you are, do you?” and when you get all shy? he just chuckles, pleased. “should I remind you some more?”

✧ the second you complain about your feet being sore, aventurine doesn’t hesitate—he immediately takes off his shoes, swapping them with yours. it’s a comical sight, especially when you see his ridiculously expensive, immaculate shoes paired with your cozy, worn-out sneakers. you can’t help but laugh, but he just smiles, so proud of his solution. “there, that’s better, right?”

✧ he then proceeds to buy you an entire new wardrobe of sneakers—comfort over style, he insists. no more heels unless you want them. “you don’t need to suffer in those when we can make you look just as good in something more comfortable,” he says, his voice serious, as he orders half a dozen pairs of different styles, colours, and designs of the softest sneakers imaginable.

✧ he doesn’t even flinch when the bill comes in, just waves it off like it’s nothing.

✧ lord your man is sexy.

✧ of course, if you really want to wear heels for an occasion, he’ll never stop you. “you look stunning in heels, my love. wear them for as long as you like,” he says, but he always makes sure there’s a soft, padded seat nearby for when you need to rest, and he’ll literally help you change your shoes afterward.

✧ now, when it comes to mood swings, aventurine is the ultimate calm presence. he knows it’s just one of those things, so he simply adjusts to whatever mood you’re in. when you get irritated, frustrated, or upset, he’s there with a soft, unwavering smile, letting you vent as much as you need to.

✧ if you snap at him, he’s not offended at all. in fact, he’s almost amused by it, seeing it as just another aspect of your beauty—your passion, your fire. “feel free to let it all out, darling,” he says, taking your hand, his grip steady and soothing. “I’m right here. whatever you need, I’m here for you.” he doesn’t try to calm you down immediately, because he knows it’s important for you to express yourself.

✧ after you’ve finished ranting, he checks in with you again, his voice soft and considerate. “are you okay now? did yelling at me help?” he asks with genuine care, his smile patient and gentle, never judging. if you’re still upset, he’ll simply hold you and let you settle into his arms, letting you know that whatever mood you’re in, he’s not going anywhere.

✧ nothing rattles him. no matter how dramatic your mood swings get, he handles it with endless patience, making sure you feel safe and loved through every moment. if you start to feel guilty afterwards, he’ll just smile and say, “you have every right to feel how you feel. nothing to apologise for.”

boothill

✧ rough cowboy, soft husband. he insists on carrying you everywhere.

✧ walking is not an option for you, his pregnant wife.

✧ calls you “darlin’”

✧ speaks so softly when talking to the baby, completely in awe that you’re carrying his kid. he always has a protective hand on your back, guiding you gently.

✧ if anyone stares too long, his hand moves to his holster. (you have to smack his hand and scold him)

✧ when you can’t sleep, he sits beside you and talks about life on the frontier, his deep voice lulling you into peaceful dreams.

✧ boothill’s love for you is overwhelming, and yet, at times, you can’t help but notice a slight weight behind his affection. when he spoils you, it’s not out of simple joy—it’s out of a deep need to make sure you’re always okay, that you’re always happy, and it’s almost like he’s afraid you’ll slip away from him if he doesn’t try hard enough.

✧ he goes all out with everything—buying the best things, preparing the most extravagant meals, filling the house with comforts, and making sure you never have to lift a finger. he does it all with a quiet, unshakable intensity, like if he’s not constantly doing something for you, he’ll fail somehow.

✧ his attention is unrelenting. if you so much as sigh, he’s immediately there, asking if you’re feeling okay, if you need anything, if you’re comfortable. and while you know it’s all out of love, sometimes you wonder if it’s a little too much.

✧ there’s an unspoken tension that lingers in his actions—an underlying anxiety that if he doesn’t care for you in every way, you’ll somehow slip from his grasp.

✧ when you become pregnant, that tension only intensifies. suddenly, he’s not just worried about you—he’s anxious about the baby, too. the world around him seems to sharpen, and he starts doting on you even more, almost to the point where it feels like he’s smothering you. but his love isn’t suffocating—it’s desperate.

✧ in the quiet moments, when he watches you sleep or rubs his hand over your belly, there’s a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—a quiet fear. he’s afraid, deep down, of losing you, or the baby, or both.

✧ he hates the thought of you being in any kind of discomfort. when you tell him about the aching in your back or the soreness in your feet, he acts immediately, as if your pain is his fault. it’s as if he believes that if he doesn’t fix it right away, something terrible will happen.

✧ he’s obsessive in his need to make everything perfect for you, and even though you appreciate it, sometimes you wish he would just let you be. let you have some space to breathe, to exist on your own terms.

✧ in moments when the weight of it all gets to him, he retreats a little—his jaw tightens, his eyes harden. when he’s alone with his thoughts, you can see the flicker of self-doubt, a slight crack in his usually confident demeanour. he knows that his fear is something he needs to deal with, but it feels so out of control that it’s hard for him to admit it. he doesn’t want to show you his vulnerability, doesn’t want to burden you with his insecurities.

✧ but you see it in the way he holds you at night, the tightness in his arms, the way he checks on you repeatedly, his hands brushing over your body as if he’s trying to make sure you’re all still there. and when you ask him what’s wrong, he’s quick to mask it, brushing it off with a grin, but you know. you can always tell. the angst isn’t loud or overt—it’s hidden beneath his gestures, his actions, his love.

✧ still, his devotion to you is undeniable. even though he has his own silent battles, even though there’s a constant flicker of fear within him, he loves you with every ounce of his being. the moments when he’s vulnerable with you are rare, but when they come, he holds you closer, as if afraid of letting go for even a second.

✧ you can feel the fragility in his touch, the quiet fear that you might slip away from him.

✧ he doesn’t always have the words to express what he’s feeling, but his actions speak louder than anything. and in the silence, when he looks at you, you know. you know that despite all of his worries and fears, he will always protect you, even if he has to keep some of that pain hidden in the quiet corners of his heart.

✧ when the sun is a little too bright for you, boothill doesn’t hesitate. he’s quick to take off his hat and place it gently on your head, adjusting it with a playful smile. “there, now you can enjoy the sunshine without turning into a tomato,” he says, chuckling at how cute you look in his oversized hat.

✧ if the sun is especially brutal, he’ll even suggest you both find some shade or just spend time indoors with the air conditioning, but he knows it’s about making you feel comfortable, not just avoiding the heat.

✧ if you’re feeling particularly tired, he doesn’t wait for you to ask. the moment he sees you yawn or slump a little, he’s already sweeping you off your feet, giving you a piggyback ride with the kind of enthusiasm that’s almost comical considering his usual serious demeanour. “i’ve got you,” he says, grinning widely, despite his usual stoic nature.

✧ if you’re too tired for a piggyback ride or just don’t feel like walking, he’ll immediately scoop you up in his arms. it’s as if you’re his most precious treasure, and he wants nothing more than to ensure your comfort at all times.

✧ “you know, if you just need to be carried all day, I’m perfectly fine with that,” he teases, and you can see the gleam of amusement in his eyes. he loves it when he gets to take care of you, and he’s never shy about showing it.

✧ sometimes, when you’re nestled in his arms, you’ll catch him quietly grinning to himself, probably at how happy he is just to be with you. you can tell it makes him feel lighthearted to see you enjoy these little moments of care.

✧ when he does these little things for you, it’s clear that he’s not doing them out of obligation, but because it genuinely brings him joy to see you happy, even in the smallest ways.

✧ girl do NOT get me started on "oh i'm too big for you" you are NEVER too big 😒 😒 matter of fact if boothill ever hear those words slip out of your mouth you best believe he won't be tolerating it (and hunting down whoever said that)

✧ if you ever tell boothill that you’re too big for him to carry, he won’t hesitate for a second to shut you down. “don’t even start,” he’ll warn you with a smirk, and before you can protest further, he leans down and presses a quick kiss to your lips, leaving you momentarily breathless.

✧ before you can even process what just happened, he’s already lifting you into his arms, effortlessly cradling you like you’re the lightest thing in the world. “see? not too big at all,” he says with a playful grin, clearly enjoying how flustered you get when he carries you, no questions asked.

✧ despite your attempts to argue, he’s not hearing any of it. “I’m carrying you whether you like it or not,” he adds with a wink, and when you roll your eyes or try to squirm out of his grasp, he just holds you tighter.

✧ his love for you is so overwhelming that he doesn’t care if you’re tired, big, or anything else—if you need to be carried, he’s more than happy to do it, and nothing will stop him from showing you just how much he cares.

✧ honestly, seeing you trying to act tough or insisting you’re fine just makes him more determined to spoil you even more, and he won’t back down until he’s made you comfortable.

cthe look on your face when you realize you’re in his arms is priceless, and he can't help but tease you a little more, enjoying every moment of your adorably flustered reaction.

dr. ratio

✧ he’s cocky as always, but so in love. if anyone dares to say anything about your size, he smirks and goes, “they’re carrying the most important person in the universe. of course, they’re radiant.”

✧ he’s fascinated by the baby’s development and reads every medical book on pregnancy, making sure you get the best care possible.

✧ he massages your feet with so much care, just pure, devoted attention.

✧ if you ever feel insecure, he immediately shuts it down with the most poetic, heartfelt words. “there is no beauty greater than you right now, my love.”

✧ dr. ratio is a caring but incredibly meticulous partner, and when you’re pregnant, that side of him intensifies even more. he’s deeply invested in making sure everything is perfect for you, often researching new ways to ease your discomfort, asking you how you feel every few hours, and keeping track of your health and well-being like he’s running a scientific experiment.

✧ his medical knowledge, which is already impressive, becomes even more focused on pregnancy, and he treats every small change in your body like vital data.

✧ he always has a plan, and that plan often revolves around making sure you’re as comfortable and well taken care of as possible. if you mention even the slightest symptom or discomfort, he’s already reading through notes or pulling out his tablet to find solutions. while it can feel like being under constant observation, you can’t help but appreciate how much he genuinely cares about making sure you’re healthy and happy.

✧ when it comes to cravings, he’s often a step ahead. if you mention wanting a specific snack, he already knows where to get it, and if it’s something unusual or rare, he’s willing to go to great lengths to satisfy it. he finds it endearing, but you can also see his scientific curiosity come into play as he observes how your body reacts to certain cravings or foods.

✧ at this point you're convinced he's some sort of magical being.

✧ in moments of stress or discomfort, he’s your rock. he has a calming presence, always knowing just what to say to put you at ease. if you’re feeling overwhelmed by the changes your body is going through or the looming responsibilities of parenthood, he’ll gently remind you that you don’t have to do this alone. his reassuring words have a way of grounding you, and the love he shows through his actions makes you feel like everything will be okay.

✧ his gestures of affection are quieter but deeply meaningful. he’s not as overt with PDA as others might be, but when you’re not looking, you’ll catch him gently rubbing your back or offering you a hand when you need to stand. when you’re tired, he insists on carrying your things or opening doors for you, always thinking about the little things that make your day easier.

✧ even in moments of humour, dr. ratio’s playful side comes through. if you’re grumpy because of a pregnancy-related mood swing, he might joke about the scientific nature of your hormonal fluctuations, but it’s all in good fun and meant to make you laugh.

✧ he knows exactly when to lighten the mood with a well-timed quip, which helps take the edge off when things feel heavy.

✧ though he’s not as expressive with physical affection as others might be, his love is shown in the constant attention he gives you and the thoughtfulness behind every action. when you’re feeling down, he’s there with a cup of tea, a warm blanket, and a comforting smile.

✧ dr. ratio also gets very protective when it comes to your health. if you’ve been overdoing it, he’ll gently scold you, reminding you that you need to take care of yourself. when he catches you ignoring his advice, he might get a little frustrated, but he’s quick to calm down, making sure to reassure you that he’s just concerned for both you and the baby.

✧ you can always feel the intensity of his care, and while it might feel a bit overbearing at times, you know it comes from a place of deep love.

✧ when it comes to the baby, he’s already making plans for the future, trying to ensure everything will be in place. he’ll bring up practical things like cribs, baby monitors, and even names, all while jotting down notes.

✧ he’s already mentally preparing for the next phase of your life together, and though it might seem like he's focusing on the logistics, it’s clear that he’s doing it all because he wants to make sure your little family is as secure and happy as possible.

✧dr. ratio’s care for you and your pregnancy is absolute, while his approach might seem a bit clinical at times, it’s easy to see that everything he does is out of love, ensuring both you and the baby are taken care of in every way.

✧ dr. ratio’s students are surprisingly invested in your pregnancy, much to his exasperation. at first, he tries to keep things professional, but it’s impossible when they bombard him with questions. “sir, is it true your wife’s craving the weirdest foods? can she still beat you in an argument with pregnancy hormones? is the baby gonna be as smart as you?!” the sheer enthusiasm wears him down, and despite his usual cool demeanor, he eventually (and very reluctantly) brings you along one day to satisfy their curiosity.

✧ the moment you step into the room, his students light up like it’s their favorite lecture of the year. they’re practically buzzing with excitement, treating you like an honored guest. some of them even bring small gifts—cute little trinkets, baby books, and even a stuffed animal or two—much to ratio’s dismay.

✧ he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, but there’s a slight twitch at the corner of his lips, betraying the fondness he has for them (not that he’ll ever admit it).

✧ and of course, the moment everyone settles down, they start betting on the baby’s gender. someone pulls out a makeshift betting board with tally marks, arguments breaking out as they debate whether you’re carrying a boy or a girl.

✧ “based on my calculations, professor ratio will absolutely have a daughter—” “nah, the baby’s definitely gonna be a mini him.” you’re laughing at the chaos while ratio sighs dramatically, muttering about the intellectual downfall of his students.

✧ what really makes you melt, though, is how gentle and considerate his students are toward you. they ask how you’re feeling, if you need anything, if you have any weird cravings (which, of course, leads to them trying to outdo each other with the weirdest food combinations to test your reaction). ratio, meanwhile, is standing beside you with his arms crossed, watching his classroom turn into a circus with a half-annoyed, half-amused look.

✧ “if you all put this much effort into your studies, perhaps your grades wouldn’t be so pitiful,” he finally deadpans, earning groans and protests from the students.

✧ but despite his sarcastic remarks and eye-rolls, he’s oddly protective over the whole situation. if any of the students even joke about you overexerting yourself or getting too tired, he shuts them down immediately. “don’t encourage bad habits,” he scolds. “she needs to be resting.” and then he’s ushering you to sit down, subtly adjusting a pillow behind your back like the doting husband he is.

✧ he pretends to be indifferent, but when he catches one of his students quietly mentioning how cute you two are together, he doesn’t correct them. if anything, he just glances at you, and for a brief moment, the smallest, softest smile crosses his lips before he composes himself again.

✧ when you finally leave, he huffs as if he’s endured the most exhausting day of his life, but the way he holds your hand just a little tighter tells you otherwise. despite all his grumbling, he secretly doesn’t mind how much his students adore you, and maybe—just maybe—he even enjoys it.

✧ DON'T POINT IT OUT THOUGH

✧ dr. ratio will never outright admit it, but deep down, he doesn’t care whether the baby is a boy or a girl. all that truly matters to him is that the baby is healthy and, if he’s being honest, hopefully inherits some intelligence.

✧ “no child of mine will be foolish,” he says with a smirk. Still, the underlying meaning is clear—he wants the baby to thrive, to have every opportunity to succeed. He’s already mentally drafting an entire syllabus on how to make that happen.

✧ however, if he had to pick something personal, something that isn’t dictated by logic or science, he’d want the baby to look like you. he won’t outright say it, but there are little moments where it slips out.

✧ like when he’s absentmindedly staring at you with a thoughtful expression, then mutters under his breath, “it would be preferable if they took after you.” when you catch him saying it and ask what he means, he simply waves it off with a “don’t worry about it.”

✧ the truth is, he thinks you’re beautiful, and the idea of a child with your features makes something warm settle in his chest. he pictures small hands, bright eyes, a little face that mirrors yours—and the thought alone is enough to make him pause.

✧ when he sees you asleep, one hand resting on your stomach, he wonders if the baby will have your smile, your expressions, your way of looking at the world.

✧ and maybe the idea of a mini-you running around makes his heart clench in a way he isn’t quite ready to admit.

gepard

✧ overprotective knight mode: ACTIVATED. he refuses to let you do anything remotely strenuous.

✧ literally the type of pick you up effortlessly and throw you (gently) on his shoulder when he sees you doing something you shouldn't be doing.

✧ he wakes up early to make sure you have everything you need—food, comfort, warmth. you’re never lacking anything.

✧ every night, he reads to your belly, his deep, soothing voice telling fairy tales as if he’s already preparing your baby to sleep peacefully.

✧ you catch him practising how to hold a baby with stuffed animals, and he gets so flustered when you tease him about it. (oml you're gonna overload him with kisses at this point!!!)

✧ gepard tries—he really, really tries—to be there for you as much as possible, but being a knight, let alone the captain of the silvermane guards, means he’s constantly being pulled away for duty. he feels horrible about it.

✧ every time he has to leave you alone at home, every time he misses one of your check-ups, every time he’s not there to comfort you when you’re feeling exhausted, it gnaws at him. he’ll come home late, tired and covered in the dust of another long patrol, only to see you already asleep, curled up in bed with your hands resting on your belly. it makes his heart ache.

✧ he tries to make up for it whenever he can. he’ll bring home small gifts—a bouquet of your favorite flowers, a dessert from that bakery you love, anything to make you smile. when he does have a free moment, he dedicates it all to you, making sure you’re comfortable, massaging your sore feet, listening intently to you talk about your day because he wants to be involved in every way he can.

✧ “i’m sorry i haven’t been around much,” he murmurs against your hair one night, voice heavy with guilt. “i should be here with you more.”

✧ and you understand—you always have. you know his duty to belobog is important, that he’s responsible for so many people. so you reassure him, tell him it’s okay, that you’re not upset because you know he’s doing his best. but no matter how much you insist, he still feels guilty, still thinks he should be doing more.

✧ it’s sweet, really, how much he wants to be present, but you wish he’d stop beating himself up over something he can’t control.

✧ sometimes, though, frustration does creep in—not at him, but at the sheer unfairness of it all. one particularly bad day, when you’re feeling extra emotional, you storm into the silvermane guards' headquarters, demanding to speak to the general.

✧ the poor guards are stunned, unsure how to handle their captain’s very pregnant wife glaring daggers at them. when you finally get an audience with the general, you don’t hold back. “my husband is working himself to the bone while i’m carrying his child, and you can’t even spare him a little time off?!”

✧ the general tries to placate you, explaining that gepard is needed, but you cross your arms, huffing, “well, i need him too.”

✧ word of your little outburst spreads quickly, and when gepard hears about it, he’s equal parts embarrassed and touched. “you... actually scolded the general?” he asks, eyes wide. when you nod, still grumpy about it, he lets out a chuckle before pulling you into his arms.

✧ “i appreciate it, but you don’t have to fight my battles for me.” but you just pout, mumbling, “if they won’t give you a break, then i will.”

✧ and despite everything, despite the exhaustion and the never-ending duty, gepard swears to himself that no matter how busy he gets, he’ll always find a way to be there for you and your child. because at the end of the day, you’re the most important thing in his world.

✧ despite his constant guilt, gepard does everything in his power to make things easier for you when he is around. he wakes up extra early to prepare breakfast before heading out for duty, making sure to leave little notes beside your plate if he has to leave before you wake up.

✧ “good morning, my love. make sure to eat well today, and don’t forget to drink plenty of water. i’ll be home as soon as i can.” sometimes, he even sneaks in a silly doodle of a chubby little knight standing guard over a tiny baby, which never fails to make you smile.

✧ when he finally does have time off, he dedicates every second to you. he follows you around like a loyal knight, carrying anything remotely heavy before you can even try to lift it.

✧ he’s constantly fluffing your pillows, adjusting your blanket, and making sure you’re not overexerting yourself. if you so much as sigh, he’s immediately asking, “are you okay? do you need anything?” you start to joke that having him home is almost more exhausting than when he’s away because he fusses over you like a mother hen.

✧ sometimes, the exhaustion from work catches up to him, and you find him nodding off while sitting beside you, his head drooping onto your shoulder. you know he should be resting, but there’s something endearing about how he fights off sleep just so he can be near you.

✧ “gepard, go to bed,” you whisper, brushing a hand through his hair. he grumbles something incoherent before shifting to hold you close, murmuring, “just a little longer…” and really, how can you say no to that?

✧ his fellow silvermane guards are incredibly supportive, though they also love teasing him about how smitten he is. “captain, you should see yourself when you talk about your wife. it’s like watching a lovesick puppy,” they joke, and while he tries to maintain his usual composure, the tips of his ears turn red every single time. but he doesn’t deny it—he is completely and utterly devoted to you.

✧ if he ever gets called in for an emergency while he’s finally spending time with you, he gets so frustrated. “i just got home,” he mutters under his breath, clearly torn between duty and being with you.

✧ you give him a small smile, placing your hands on his cheeks and gently pressing a kiss to his forehead. “it’s okay, love. go, do what you need to do. i’ll be right here when you get back.” and he sighs, pressing his forehead against yours before reluctantly heading out.

✧ but the moment he returns, he makes up for it tenfold. he brings back your favourite snacks, runs a warm bath for you, and massages your feet until you’re practically melting into the couch. and when you’re in bed, he places a hand on your belly, speaking softly to the baby as if making up for lost time.

✧ “i’ll be around more soon, i promise,” he murmurs, his voice filled with love and determination.

✧ and no matter how much his duty calls him away, you know one thing for certain—gepard will always come home to you.

✧ serval is your biggest supporter and, quite frankly, your partner-in-crime when it comes to dealing with gepard’s overwhelming guilt. she checks in on you constantly—not just for you, but because she knows her brother would want her to.

✧ “if gepard had it his way, he’d probably never leave your side,” she jokes, plopping down next to you and handing you some of your favorite snacks. “but since he’s stuck being captain serious all the time, you’ve got me.”

✧ she’s a lifesaver when gepard is too busy with work, stopping by with homemade meals, comfortable clothes, and the occasional silly gift to make you smile.

✧ she even offers to help you with stretches and light exercises, claiming that a rockstar like her knows all about keeping the body in top condition. sometimes, she’ll strum a gentle melody on her guitar while chatting with you, creating a warm and relaxing atmosphere that makes the time pass a little easier.

✧ and of course, she’s the first to tease gepard whenever he finally has time to come home. “wow, look who finally decided to show up! i was starting to think you’d abandoned your poor wife.” she grins as gepard groans, running a hand through his hair.

✧ “i didn’t—i was just busy—” but serval only laughs, nudging him toward you. “relax, i’m just messing with you. now go dote on your wife before she decides i’m her favorite landau instead.”

✧ she’s also not afraid to scold him when he’s being too hard on himself. “gepard, you’re doing the best you can,” she tells him one evening when he’s sitting on the couch, guilt heavy in his expression. “she understands, you know? stop acting like you’re failing when you’re clearly not.” and though gepard still struggles with his guilt, serval’s words always stick with him, reminding him that he’s doing enough.

✧ but perhaps the funniest part of all is how she sometimes acts as an undercover spy, gathering intel on your moods and cravings to report back to gepard.

✧ “hey, just so you know, she’s been craving those honey pastries from that bakery again. if you don’t bring some home tomorrow, you might be sleeping on the couch,” she whispers conspiratorially to him one night, and gepard immediately makes a mental note to buy them on his next break.

✧ at the end of the day, serval is always there—not just for you, but for gepard, too. she makes sure both of you are taken care of, keeping an eye on her little brother when he gets too caught up in his responsibilities and making sure you never feel lonely. and when the baby finally arrives, you already know serval is going to be the coolest aunt in all of belobog.

sunday

✧ he’s the most excited husband ever. every day, he’s kissing your belly, murmuring sweet promises to your unborn child.

✧ he calls you “sunshine” even more, saying you’re literally glowing with life.

✧ if you so much as sigh tiredly, he immediately rushes over, rubbing your shoulders and making sure you’re comfortable.

✧ he’s already planning family outings, even though the baby isn’t born yet. “oh, i can’t wait to take them to see the stars. you think they’ll like astronomy?”

✧ "honey i think they'll just be obsessed with your cute fluffy wings like me!!"

✧ but lets be real...sunday is, without a doubt, the most dramatic and doting husband in existence. from the moment you wake up to the second you go to sleep, he is right there, acting as if you are the most delicate, precious treasure in the entire universe.

✧ “ah, my love, are you comfortable? do you need anything? shall i fetch you the moon? pluck the stars from the sky?” you’re used to his flowery words, but pregnancy has made him even more extra, if that was even possible.

✧ he spoils you absolutely rotten. he treats you like royalty, making sure every possible luxury is at your fingertips. you so much as glance at something while out shopping? it's already paid for. your back aches? he's on his knees, massaging you with a level of devotion that could make poets weep. the moment you sigh even a little, he's dramatically lamenting,

✧ “alas, this cruel world dares to bring discomfort to my beloved! how dare it!” you roll your eyes, but the way he kisses your hands so reverently makes your heart flutter every time.

✧ when you’re out together, he is practically glued to your side, one arm always wrapped protectively around you. if it’s too sunny, his coat is suddenly draped over your head to shield you.

✧ if you so much as stumble, he’s catching you before you can even process it, scolding the ground for daring to trip you. he doesn’t care who’s watching—his priority is you, always.

✧ sometimes, his dramatics get absolutely ridiculous. one time, you had a small craving for a very specific dish from a very specific place, and before you could even tell him it wasn’t a big deal, he was already on a mission. “fear not, my love! i shall return with your heart’s desire!” he declared, disappearing into the night like some kind of hero embarking on an epic quest.

✧ when he finally returned, victorious, with the food in hand, he dramatically collapsed into your lap. “it was a perilous journey… but for you, I would traverse the ends of the world.” you simply kissed his forehead and enjoyed your meal.

✧ he is obsessed with talking to your belly. no matter where you are, no matter who’s around, he kneels down, placing his hands gently on your stomach and whispering sweet nothings to your unborn child.

✧ “ah, little one, do you hear me? it is i, your devoted father, who eagerly awaits your arrival.” if he feels a kick, he gasps like he just witnessed a divine miracle, his eyes practically sparkling. “they kicked! they love me, my love!”

✧ sunday does everything in his power to make sure you never feel lonely, even when he’s busy. he writes letters to you if he has to be away, each one filled with poetic declarations of love and exaggerated longing, as if he’s been separated from you for years rather than a few hours. when he finally returns, he rushes to embrace you like a man starved, spinning you carefully in his arms (if you let him).

✧ and when he thinks you’re asleep, he gazes at you with so much adoration it’s almost overwhelming. he runs his fingers gently through your hair, his voice soft as he murmurs, “you and our child… my greatest treasures. i will cherish you both for all eternity.” even in slumber, you can feel his warmth, his love wrapping around you like a promise—one that you know he’ll keep forever.

✧ sunday has always been a man of grand gestures, poetic words, and boundless devotion—but this, this is his dream made real. to love and to be loved, to have a family with you, to witness the very embodiment of your love growing within you… it is almost too perfect, too beautiful. sometimes, when he watches you rest, his hand gently cradling your belly, he wonders if he is merely lost in a dream.

✧ he never thought he would find something—someone—that truly anchored him. he always spoke of eternity, of the stars and the endless sky, but nothing in the cosmos compares to you. and now, with your child on the way, that love has expanded into something even greater, something he didn’t know was possible.

✧ late at night, when the world is quiet and you’re curled up against him, he traces slow circles over your stomach and whispers, “this is my dream… and you’ve made it come true.” his voice is softer than usual, lacking its usual theatrics, filled only with raw, unfiltered love. and even though you’re half-asleep, you squeeze his hand in response, as if to say, i know. me too.

✧ sunday absolutely refuses to leave you unguarded when he’s away for business or handling matters of the reverie. even though you insist it’s unnecessary, that you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, he simply will not take the risk. the moment he steps away, you have a team of skilled agents discreetly watching over you. “indulge me, my love,” he pleads with that charming smile of his. “i would never forgive myself if anything were to happen to you or our precious little one.” and really, how can you argue with that?

✧ when he returns, however, it’s as if he’s been deprived of air itself. the second he sees you, he sweeps you into his arms, pressing lingering kisses to your temple, your hands, your stomach—anywhere he can reach. “ah, my beloved, i have been lost without you,” he murmurs dramatically, holding you as if you might disappear. and though you roll your eyes at his theatrics, you let him cling, because you know he truly means it.

✧ public appearances with sunday are nothing short of dazzling. he insists that the two of you look absolutely impeccable whenever you step out together—not because of status, but because he sees you as his perfect match, his divine counterpart. “you always look breathtaking,” he muses, adjusting your accessories with delicate fingers. “i must simply strive to be worthy of standing beside you.”

✧ when you’re out together, he is attached to your side, his arm securely around your waist, hip to hip, refusing to let an inch of space come between you. he whispers sweet things in your ear, makes you laugh with his endless romantic declarations, and shoots sharp glares at anyone who so much as looks at you the wrong way.

✧ if the sun is too bright, his coat is draped over your shoulders in an instant. literally the definition of "is the sun bothering you, queen?"

✧ iykyk

✧ if the crowd gets overwhelming, he subtly maneuvers you to a quieter space, all while keeping his usual suave demeanor. if you even look the slightest bit tired, he’s already preparing to whisk you away somewhere more comfortable.

✧ and when the night finally winds down and it’s just the two of you again, he presses a kiss to your hand and murmurs, “no matter where we go, no matter who is watching… my love for you remains the most magnificent thing in this world.”

✧ sunday takes so much pride in being your husband that it’s almost ridiculous. the way he says "my wife" is always so smooth, so deliberate, like he’s showing off a rare treasure. even in the most casual conversations, he will find a way to bring you up.

✧ “ah, yes, that reminds me of something my wife said the other day—brilliant, truly.”

✧ “oh, you need advice? well, my wife is an expert in these matters, allow me to consult her.”

✧ even when it’s unnecessary, he finds a way to slip it in. someone asks him how his day is going? “Better now that I’ve spoken to my wife.” A meeting about logistics? “Oh, my wife would find this terribly boring, but let me humor you all.”

✧ it gets to the point where even his closest advisors and subordinates are just nodding along, fully expecting him to mention you in every conversation. you overheard one of them sigh, “yes, yes, we know your wife is the most wonderful being in existence, my lord.” sunday only grinned and said, “it’s good that you understand.”

✧ and of course, he boasts about you endlessly. your intelligence, your beauty, your kindness—every little thing about you is worthy of praise in his eyes. “have i mentioned how radiant my wife looks today? oh, but she always does, so I suppose that goes without saying.”

✧ sometimes, he’ll purposely say it just to fluster you. if you’re walking together and he spots someone eyeing you for too long, he’ll lean in, voice full of smug adoration, “ah, my wife, the most stunning woman in the room. it’s only natural they’d stare, but truly, they stand no chance.”

✧ even when you roll your eyes or playfully smack his arm, he just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “what can I say? I’m simply a man who adores his wife.”

✧ the second you even mention a craving, sunday is already making arrangements to have it delivered to you. it doesn’t matter how strange, complicated, or impossible it seems—he will find a way.

✧ “you want watermelon dipped in honey at three in the morning? say no more, my love.” within minutes, he’s either personally retrieving it or sending someone out on an urgent mission.

✧ once, you offhandedly mumbled, “i kinda want ice cream… but with pickles.” sunday, ever the devoted husband, merely nodded and said, “consider it done.” you expected him to hesitate or at least question your taste buds, but instead, he had it in front of you within the hour, presented on a fancy plate as if it were some gourmet dish.

✧ he has absolutely no shame in going out himself to fetch your cravings. the sight of sunday, regal and refined, walking into a market and asking for the most bizarre food combinations with a perfectly serious face is something to behold.

✧ one time, a vendor tried to stifle a laugh when he requested “mango slices with chili powder and a side of marshmallows” and he just smirked, “ah, you must not be married. love requires dedication, my friend.”

✧ if your cravings happen while you’re out in public, he wastes zero time in getting it. you once sighed, “i really want those fried dumplings from that one place…” and before you could even finish your sentence, sunday was already steering you toward the restaurant, ordering extra just in case you wanted more later.

✧ on the rare occasion that something isn’t immediately available, sunday turns it into an entire event. “so, my beloved desires an elusive dish? very well. give me a moment.” cue him charming his way into exclusive restaurants, pulling strings with high-profile chefs, or even attempting to make it himself (which… well, let’s just say his skills lie outside the kitchen).

✧ no matter what, he refuses to let you go without the things you crave. “nothing is too extravagant for my wife,” he insists. “if she wants it, she shall have it.”

sampo

✧ sampo is the type to absolutely spoil you when you're craving something, even if it's something a little... unusual. he loves seeing you happy, and the thought of you having that big smile on your face when you get what you want? priceless.

✧ the minute you mention a craving, he's already brainstorming how to get it, and he won't take no for an answer. if it's something he doesn't have access to, well... prepare for a wild goose chase. he'll sweet-talk vendors, bribe people, or pull off the most ridiculous stunts just to get his hands on that weird combination of foods you’re desperate for.

✧ one time, you casually mentioned wanting a mix of sweet and salty—like peanut butter on pretzels with chocolate chips—and the next thing you knew, he had a whole banquet of different combinations lined up. there were different dips, chocolates, chips, nuts, and a few other things he thought you might like. it’s over-the-top, but it’s his way of making sure you feel cared for and, well, indulged.

✧ sometimes he’ll get the most outlandish things, especially if he finds out you want something quirky. “you want... a spicy banana with a side of vanilla ice cream?” he'd ask, grinning mischievously, clearly excited for the challenge. even if he finds it a little odd, he's all in for making sure your cravings are satisfied.

✧ when you're pregnant, sampo loves the idea of you being pampered and treated like royalty. he buys you all sorts of snacks, drinks, and little comforts to make sure you're always content. when he's busy, he'll bring you a stash of your favorite treats or send someone to deliver it, ensuring you never go without.

✧ though he's a bit playful and mischievous, when it comes to your cravings, he’s incredibly attentive. if you need him to grab something in the middle of the night, he’ll pull on his jacket without a second thought and head out, even if it’s something bizarre like kimchi-flavored cupcakes or a weirdly specific kind of sushi.

✧ sampo is honestly obsessed with making sure you’re taken care of, especially when it comes to cravings. as soon as you mention something—even if it’s just in passing—he’s on it. like, the minute the words leave your mouth, he’s already thinking of how he’s going to get it for you.

✧ one time, you half-jokingly mentioned wanting pineapple pizza with extra olives, and sampo didn’t even hesitate. you thought he was just humoring you at first, but nope, by the time you blinked, he was on his way out the door, calling a bunch of places to find one that would make that monstrosity of a pizza.

✧ he’s ridiculously resourceful, so if the craving is something that seems impossible, he’s more than willing to go to extreme lengths. you want blueberry-flavored potato chips? he’s already calling his contacts in different cities or bartering for them. at one point, you had a small shipment of weird snacks from different parts of the world just for you. it was honestly a lot, but the joy it brought you made it all worth it for him.

✧ despite his usually carefree, mischievous attitude, when it comes to satisfying your cravings, sampo becomes the most serious person. nothing else matters—nothing. it’s almost like a personal mission for him.

✧ and don’t get him started on your late-night cravings. there was one instance where you groggily mentioned wanting chocolate-covered pretzels with marshmallow fluff and coconut water (a combo you swore sounded amazing) at 2 AM. most people would groan at this, but not sampo. he simply flashed you a grin, grabbed his jacket, and was out the door, whispering, “leave it to me, darling. i’ll have it before you know it.”

✧ when he comes back, it’s always with a dramatic flair. whether it’s him showing up with a big bag of snacks or an entire custom-made meal just for you, he’ll present it like it’s the most important thing in the world. “look what i’ve brought you, my love,” he’ll say, “your cravings are my top priority.”

✧ he loves watching you enjoy whatever it is you’re craving. he’s that guy who will sit beside you, watching you devour your food, completely delighted. when you make a happy sound after taking a bite, he’ll do a little victory dance in his head. “it’s always worth it,” he’ll think, watching you savor the food.

✧ sometimes, when he’s really feeling it, he’ll even surprise you with a whole set of snacks or meals. if you mention anything at all—whether it’s flavored milk or a certain kind of fruit—you better believe sampo will get it, and he’ll make it fun.

✧ and don’t even get started on the weird cravings. when you randomly crave something odd like caviar and ice cream, he’ll be the one to ask, “is that really what you want?” but then, of course, he’ll follow through and go out and find it, all while making jokes about how only you could crave something so bizarre. “but you’re worth it, darling,” he’ll say with a wink, even if he thinks it's totally ridiculous.

✧ when you’re pregnant, sampo gets extra excited. there’s something about the idea of making sure you’re always happy and comfortable that makes him go all-in on the care and attention. you mention wanting a certain kind of food? he’s already planning his next move to make sure it gets to you—whether it’s food from a restaurant, a local shop, or a weird internet order.

✧ the best part? he’s not even embarrassed about the effort. he’s proud of it. he’ll happily boast about how he’s the one who got you exactly what you wanted, often bragging about how efficient he is at taking care of you. “no one does it like i do, darling.”

✧ sampo loves to live life on the edge, and that often leads him into all sorts of trouble. whether it’s a cheeky scheme gone wrong or him getting caught up in some questionable business deals, he’s not exactly a stranger to trouble. but when you scold him—especially with that concerned look on your face—it hits him harder than anything else.

✧ you’re his weakness, and the thought of his reckless actions affecting your baby’s future stings. when you point out how he’s putting the family in danger, he can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. you’ve got that motherly tone, and even though he’s used to being the troublemaker, something about you scolding him like that makes him pause.

✧ sampo never expected to feel this way. before, he was all about living in the moment, but now, with you carrying his child, things are different. he realizes that his impulsiveness can affect more than just him—it could affect your life, the baby’s life, and even the future you two are building. it’s a huge wake-up call for him.

✧ though he tries to laugh it off and shrug off your scolding, he can’t deny that it bothers him. he wants to be the best for you, to provide and protect, but sometimes his overconfidence and mischievous nature put him in situations he shouldn’t be in.

✧ after you scold him, he’s quiet for a while, just processing everything you said. he doesn’t like seeing you upset, and he definitely doesn’t like the idea of his actions potentially affecting the baby. so he really takes it to heart.

✧ eventually, he’ll come to you, genuinely apologizing. it’s not like him to be serious about these things, but the thought of his baby’s future shifts something in him. he’ll say something like, “you’re right. i can’t keep being reckless. i’ll tone it down, i promise. for you... and for the little one.”

✧ from then on, you’ll notice a shift. he’ll still be his playful, mischievous self, but there’s a little less of the risk-taking, and a bit more thought behind his actions. sampo may not be perfect, but he really wants to be better for the sake of his growing family.

✧ even though he might still slip up occasionally—because it’s just who he is—he tries harder, always making sure to check in with you and reassess how his choices could impact you both. and when you see him being more cautious, you can’t help but smile, knowing he’s trying his best.

✧ and of course, he’ll make it up to you in the sweetest way possible: with more gifts, more little surprises, and tons of affection. he might be reckless sometimes, but when it comes to you and your baby, he knows he has to change, even if it takes a bit of effort.

moze

✧ moze, being the quiet and secretive type, is surprisingly very attentive when it comes to your cravings. he’s not the type to joke around about it or make a big deal, but rest assured, he listens intently and takes note of every single thing you say.

✧ the second you mention a craving, even if it's something a little weird, he silently goes into action. if he doesn’t have it on hand, he will immediately find a way to acquire it, no matter how obscure or hard to find it is.

✧ when you crave something specific, he won’t make a show of it, but he will go out of his way to make sure you get it—whether it’s a rare ingredient or a dish from a different part of the world, moze finds it without fail. if you want a specific kind of fruit, he’ll find the best one, even if it means going to multiple stores or making a special trip somewhere.

✧ he enjoys seeing the soft smile on your face when you get what you’ve been wanting, and while he may not say much about it, there's this quiet satisfaction in his eyes.

✧ moze is also keenly aware of when you’re craving something. sometimes, he picks up on your hints without you even saying anything, noticing a small change in your mood, or when you absentmindedly mention wanting a snack, he’ll be right there to offer it to you.

✧ although he’s a man of few words, there’s a certain gentleness to the way he cares for you. when you’re restless and craving something comforting, he’ll get it, set it down beside you, and quietly say, “this should help.” he’ll never ask for recognition, but the satisfaction he gets from seeing you happy is more than enough for him.

✧ when it comes to very odd cravings, he’ll just give you a knowing look, grab his coat, and leave to get it—sometimes even with a hint of a chuckle, as if he secretly finds your requests amusing. but in his heart, he enjoys making you happy more than anything else.

✧ moze’s stealth skills are incredible. he’s so good at sneaking up on you that it’s become almost a reflex for him to appear out of nowhere, especially when he’s busy with his work. but when you’re pregnant and a little more sensitive, the sudden pop-up can be a bit much. he doesn’t mean to scare you—he really doesn’t—but sometimes, he forgets just how silent he is. ✧ the first time it happens, you let out a startled gasp, and moze immediately freezes, guilt washing over him. he’s used to appearing out of thin air and being the silent observer, but the thought of scaring you, especially with the baby on the way, sends a pang of worry through his chest. ✧ his usual nonchalant demeanor falters. "i'm sorry," he says, his voice almost too soft, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. "i didn’t mean to startle you." there’s something in his tone that sounds almost apologetic, more so than usual. ✧ you laugh it off, brushing it off as an accident, but moze is still visibly uneasy. later, when he’s alone, he keeps thinking about it—wondering if his unexpected entrances could potentially stress you out or, worse, harm the baby. he’s never been particularly affectionate in the traditional sense, but with you pregnant, he’s suddenly a lot more aware of everything. ✧ after that, every time he needs to come in or check on you, he makes it a point to announce his presence. it’s not like moze to do that—he’s always preferred moving in the shadows—but for you and the baby, he decides it’s best to make his approach a little less jarring. ✧ when you’re just relaxing, maybe reading or resting, you’ll hear him say something like, “it’s me, moze. i’m here.” he’ll even knock on the door sometimes before entering, something he’s never done before. it’s funny at first, but also endearing to see him adjust his behavior for you. ✧ moze starts being extra cautious, constantly checking on you but in a much gentler, less intrusive way. the last thing he wants is for you to feel uneasy because of him. he’ll still show up in his usual manner—quiet, reserved, but now with the added softness of his voice when he speaks to you. ✧ when you ask him if he’s okay, he’ll quietly admit that he’s worried about scaring you again, and maybe even causing some harm to the baby. you can see the genuine concern in his eyes, something he rarely lets slip. it’s strange for him to care this much, but when you’re carrying his child, his protective instincts are starting to kick in. ✧ when you reassure him, telling him that you’re okay, he seems to relax a little. but don’t be surprised if you catch him giving you a small smile in his usual quiet way, his fingers lightly brushing against yours in a rare display of affection. it’s subtle, but for moze, it’s a huge step forward.

✧ and the next time he appears out of nowhere? he’ll make sure to be extra careful, just to make sure you don’t get a shock again. it might not be his usual way of doing things, but with you, he’s willing to change—even in the smallest ways.

✧ moze's protectiveness reaches a whole new level once he finds out you’re pregnant. while he’s always been a careful and observant person, this new development has him acting in ways he never expected. the thought of you and his child growing inside you ignites a fierce, almost primal instinct to keep both of you safe at all costs.

✧ he becomes hyper-aware of your surroundings, always analyzing every situation to ensure there’s no danger nearby. if someone even looks at you wrong, he’s already on high alert. he’s never been one for confrontation, but when it comes to you and the baby, any potential threat—no matter how small—will make him react swiftly and decisively.

✧ if anyone dares to make a comment about your pregnancy—whether it’s an unintentional insult or even a curious question about your condition—moze is there, stepping in before you can even respond.

✧ he’ll be quick to intervene, his voice cold and firm. “is there a problem?” he’ll ask, his tone leaving no room for argument. he doesn’t care if it’s a stranger or a close friend, he’ll defend you without hesitation.

✧ sometimes, though, his protectiveness comes off as a bit much. when you’re out and about, he’s constantly by your side, his eyes scanning the area. if there’s a slight shift in the atmosphere, if someone moves too fast or too close to you, he’s immediately on guard, subtly stepping in front of you to shield you from whatever danger his sharp instincts are sensing.

✧ even in private, when you’re just relaxing or resting, he’s often hovering nearby, keeping a watchful eye. it’s not that he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that his protective nature has escalated to the point where he feels he can’t leave your side for too long. it’s almost as if being near you makes him feel like he has more control over your safety, as irrational as it may be.

✧ there are moments when you notice him getting anxious if you’re out of his sight for too long. whether you’re running errands or simply walking in another room, moze’s mind starts racing with worries about what could go wrong. he’ll quickly excuse himself from whatever he’s doing to make sure you’re okay, often without telling you beforehand.

✧ when you call him out on his behaviour—teasing him about how overprotective he’s become—he’ll brush it off, his usual calm demeanour faltering for just a moment. deep down, he knows he’s being a little too much, but he can’t help it. the thought of anything happening to you or the baby is unbearable to him. “I’m just making sure you’re safe,” he’ll say, his voice almost apologetic, but there’s an undeniable seriousness in his words.

✧ the most intense expression of his protectiveness comes when you’re asleep. when he knows you’re resting, moze will often sit beside you, his eyes flicking to the door, the window, anything that could pose a threat. it’s not out of a lack of trust in the people around you—it’s just that he can’t help but imagine all the worst-case scenarios.

✧ when he’s out on missions, he’ll always leave something behind for you: a note, a small gift, or even a piece of clothing with his scent on it. it’s his way of reassuring you that he’s thinking of you, even when he’s not physically present. but it’s also his way of ensuring you feel protected, even when he’s far away.

✧ he’s so protective that even the slightest health concern about you makes him panic. if you’re feeling a little tired or have a headache, he’s there, checking your temperature, demanding you rest, and refusing to leave until you’re fully recovered.

✧ moze’s protectiveness isn’t just physical; it’s emotional, too. when you’re dealing with the stress or uncertainty of pregnancy, he’s your steady rock. he’ll listen to every concern, soothe every worry, and make sure you know that you’re not alone. he’s already planning for the future, researching everything he can about raising a child, so he can be the best father possible.

✧ in quiet moments, when he’s just holding you or resting beside you, he might admit his fears. “i’m scared,” he’ll say softly, his usual stoic expression softening. “i don’t want anything to happen to you or the baby.” his vulnerability is rare, but it’s a testament to just how much he loves you both.

✧ his protectiveness never fades—it only grows stronger the closer you get to your due date. he’s constantly by your side, offering comfort, reassurance, and unspoken protection in every gesture, every word, and every action.

✧ moze is already extremely attentive to your cravings, and when you start to ask for something a bit more specific or unusual, he’s not one to shy away. but there's a catch—he’s not exactly a culinary expert. while he’s incredibly skilled in other areas, cooking is not his strong suit. so, naturally, when you have a craving, he’s quick to ask jiaoqiu to cook for you.

✧ at first, moze might be a bit embarrassed, but he genuinely wants you to feel comfortable and satisfied with whatever you’re craving. he might come to jiaoqiu with a sheepish smile, saying something along the lines of, "i’m afraid I’m not very good in the kitchen... could you help me?" his usual composed demeanor is a little shaken because he knows that jiaoqiu is probably a much better cook than he could ever hope to be.

✧ jiaoqiu, ever the understanding friend, is happy to oblige. he can’t resist helping out when moze comes to him with that rare moment of vulnerability. but knowing that moze is trying to be thoughtful and learn, jiaoqiu has a bit of fun with it. he doesn’t just cook the food—he starts teaching moze along the way, much to moze’s discomfort.

✧ “You need to do this carefully... and don’t forget the seasoning,” jiaoqiu will say, demonstrating how to chop ingredients just right or stir the pot at the perfect pace. moze, on the other hand, looks a bit lost, trying his best to follow along but occasionally making a mess. it’s clear he’s not exactly a natural, and jiaoqiu’s teasing makes it even more amusing. “i thought you were good at everything, moze? this looks like a disaster in the making.”

✧ moze, determined not to fail you, listens closely, even though he might grumble under his breath when jiaoqiu critiques his knife skills or the way he’s holding the pan. he’s doing it all to make sure you’re satisfied and happy, even if it means a little bit of embarrassment along the way.

✧ meanwhile, he’s still keeping a protective eye on you from the kitchen, glancing over to make sure you’re resting and not pushing yourself. “you’re doing okay?” he’ll ask, even if it’s just a quick glance. he doesn’t trust anyone else to take care of you as well as he does, and he’s constantly checking in.

✧ when jiaoqiu hands over the finished dish, moze’s face lights up, but there's still a hint of guilt for not being able to do it himself. he insists on thanking jiaoqiu profusely, though deep down, he’s already planning his next attempt at cooking so he can surprise you one day.

✧ “i’ll get better at this... for you.” he’ll say to you later that evening, offering you a gentle smile. “next time, i’ll cook it myself.” and while jiaoqiu might snicker at his attempts, moze’s resolve is firm. after all, he’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy, even if it means learning how to cook your cravings—even if it takes more than a few lessons from jiaoqiu.

note: i'm obsessed with anaxa n mydei

taglist 🏷️:  @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls @yuri-is-silly @khoiyyu @daydreaming-paradies if im missing anyone please tell me because i have an inkling feeling i missed a few..

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[soltuneia]

— 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲?

mornings are exhausting. but they're sweeter with him.

✦ info: phainon wakes up at a ridiculously early hour and kisses you into waking up with him.

✦ warnings: mornings, ew. none, this is pure fluff (edit: except for the fact that he bites you once affectionately). au ambiguous, but in my head: modern au. (0.8k words)

✦ notes: he's so needy and he's so sneaky i love him i'm going to sob ugly tears i love him so much i'd like him to wake me up like this please please please- ahem. AHEM. who said that jsjsjsjjsj lmao i hope you enjoy :)

i. recent. ii. masterlist.

morning rises, soft and slow.

rays of light slowly start to seep in through the eastern windows, illuminating the tiled floor, pale curtains fluttering in the gentle breeze that finds its way in.

your blanket is cozy, your bed is soft, your alarm is yet to ring. the world outside is still, and it is peaceful.

almost.

“darling.” kiss. “my light.” kiss. “wake up.” kiss. “sweetheart, wake up.” kiss.

you stir with a grumble. “phainon?”

he chuckles, voice still deep with his usual morning rasp. “good morning, sleepyhead.” he says affectionately, words drawn out, as he kisses your cheek tenderly. “did you sleep well?”

you’d often compare phainon to the sun.

with the way he always looked at you with such warmth, and the way his smile shone brilliantly, it was hard not to. truly, you adored him with every inch of your being, and he lit up your life much like the light of the sun on your skin.

now, if only he didn’t rise with it.

why does the sun rise so very early, anyway?

“i’d sleep well if you’d let me sleep in a little longer, phainon,” you groan out, turning away from him so that your face stayed out of his reach. 

you’ll get your kisses later. but first, sleep.

he hums. “let me think about it,” he says as he settles behind you.  you feel him pull you closer and pause, like he’s deep in thought, and when he stills, you think you’ve won the battle.

well, good.

 it is far too early for such antics, in your opinion.  

but just as his warmth lures you back into the arms of sleep, your eyes fluttering shut, soothed by the pace of his breathing, you feel a sneaky kiss on the back of your neck.  “i thought about it.” he whispers, smiling against your skin. “sorry, darling, the answer's no.”

oh. oh, no.

he teasingly drags his lips down to where your neck meets your back, ghosting over like the brush of a butterfly's wings, leaving goosebumps in his wake. he lingers there for a minute, his breath tickling your sensitive skin, before he retraces his path to reach the base of your ear. he kisses there gently, once, twice, and then— he bites. 

gently, of course, but it still has your eyes flying wide open.

“phainon!” you gasp, electricity running down the length of your spine. you turn around to glare at him.

“bet you’re awake after that, aren’t you?” he murmurs into your ear. you whack him playfully on the shoulder.

his bright laughter in answer is infectious, and you can’t help but crack a smile begrudgingly.

“yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” you huff, moving to hide your face in his shoulder as he still shakes with laughter. “you always wake me up too early.”

“sorry, sorry.” he says in return, not sounding even the least bit apologetic, and you pull away to give him a look.

"you don't sound very sorry," you huff indignantly.

his lips form into the slightest of pouts and you swear to kephale above that you could see faint dog ears drooping in his fluffy white hair.

“we haven’t seen each other since last night.” he says, blue eyes never leaving your own. they're wide, and they blink innocently. “i missed you,” he finishes, his voice dropping to a small whisper as he looks away, and your heart melts at the sight of him.

well.

you can’t exactly argue with that, can you?

you sigh in defeat, sitting up. “alright, alright, you win.”

the effect is instant. 

his pout disappears and his whole face lights up, eyes sparkling with joy, a dimple peeking out as he grins brightly.

he pushes himself upright, and with all the enthusiasm of a puppy, he pulls you on top of him, both arms wrapped around your face, and kisses you over and over and over, from your lips to your nose to your eyelids and to your cheek until you’re giggling in his embrace.

“there we go. not so grumpy anymore, are we, darling?”’ he murmurs, pressing one final kiss to your nose. 

you hum, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from your eyes. “i’m awake, that’s for sure.”

his grin never leaves his face, and he nudges your cheek with his nose. “have i ever told you that you have a beautiful laugh?”

“yes, a million times already,” you respond, smiling affectionately at him.

“well, then i’ll say it again. i love the way you laugh.”

“even when i sound like a hyena?”

“especially when you sound like a hyena.”

it is right then— cradled in his arms, watching him with a smile so dazzling, when the morning’s just begun and the whole day lies in wait for the two of you— that you find your answer. 

why does the sun rise so early? 

just so it can see you smile, of course.

(“so you’re saying i do sound like a hyena?”

“huh- what?! that is not what i meant and you know it.” he groans, resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“i’m just kidding.” you respond, running your hands through his soft, pale hair. “consider that payback for waking me up.” 

“would it help if i had breakfast ready next time?” his voice is muffled, but you can still make out the words.

“yes, yes it would.”)

✦ ending notes: first phainon drabble!! hehe this was a quicker piece but i thoroughly enjoyed every second of writing this (i know a very popular characterization is that he's needy WHICH I AGREE WITH but he's also excellent at executing a plan and setting it in motion ykwim? he contains multitudes jsjsjsj therefore, needy and sneaky)

✦ taglist: @maopll (taglist form is linked. send an ask to be removed!)