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platinumshawnn · 3 days

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Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood - pt ix

Synopsis: in the aftermath of the Battle by the Lakeshore, the Dance of Dragons continues to rage on. Benjicot returns home and confides in his wife about the horrors of war as he prepares for another return to the battlefield and makes a plea to Rhaenyra.

Content warnings: MDNI 18+ — adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation, mention of major character death, depiction of childbirth & mention of miscarriages (no depiction).

masterlist | audio playlist | backwards — 8 | forwards — 10

A/N: you guys are going to hate me but the editing on this was minimal because I am so burnt out it’s wild but I am working on it as we speak x

Word count: 11.6k

“And…deep breath, my lady,” the midwife softly instructed, her hand closing around her shoulder.

Serra winced, swaying from side-to-side in an effort to alleviate the unbearable pressure that rested in her pelvis and abdomen; the pain tore through her, radiating to every inch of her body as her head leaned back into the midwife’s shoulder in an effort to steady herself as she sat on her knees. A low groan of pain echoed through the room, cut off by a sudden sob as another contraction shot up her spine, every muscle in her body going taut while trembling hands gripped the stained sheet behind her. The mattress dug into her shoulders as she pressed into it — she could have gone a thousand years of not knowing this pain, but Serra found herself sat against her bed, crouched on the cold marble floor that tempered her feverish, sweat slicked skin, the fine hairs that rounded her hairline damp as it clung to her temples, “Again, push.”

She let out a whimper, chin dropping to rest against her chest as she bore down, the pain intensifying as she let out a cry, “Good!” The elderly midwife in front of her encouraged, a hand on her knee as she glanced up at her anguished face, “I can see the head! The head is coming through!”

She let out a sharp breath, having to pause and catch her breath that came in quick pants; a damp cloth being dabbed against her cheeks from the woman behind her who stroked her shoulder, “Almost there, my lady— breathe,” she instructed in a soft, soothing voice, “again, push!”

“It’s too early,” Serra had been weakened by the hours-long labour that seemed to have no end, slumped against the bed and writhing in agony as her expression crumbled in a sob, “please, it’s too early— ahagh!”

“Bring her, let’s get her on her back—” The suggestion was quiet, but quickly challenged as it reached her ears.

“No, please no,” She cried out, feeling as hands closed around her knees and ankles as they attempted to pull her forward — the midwife froze abruptly in response to her right foot flinging out and kicking her hand away, looking up at her young Lady who shook her head and pulled from her. She could not go through this again — she was overcome by a sudden anxiety and fear as she moved, unable to bear the thought of losing another.

Serra shoved herself upright and shifted back onto her backside, pressing further into the bed as another contraction tore through her as she then released a final groan, bearing down with the very little strength she still possessed. She writhed, her knees parted and chin resting to her chest as she pushed, barely present enough to feel the comforting hand on her shoulder from behind her; drowning out the soft voices that reluctantly encouraged her and overcome by an overwhelming sense of nausea that had followed every searing contraction that radiated to each and every end of her body. Every muscle clenched so tight she felt her bones might snap and each nerve pinched in discomfort that caused her to let out a, her hands releasing the sheets finally and finding rest against the floor at her sides as she arched back into the bed and let out a moan that resembled that of an injured animal that slowly raised into a whine — she was suddenly startled by the gush between her thighs, staining the floor as relief washed over her, paired with a sudden emptiness.

She was aware now as she tuned back into her surroundings at the feeling of a babe’s shoulders sliding past her thighs and letting out a high pitched shriek; she quickly reached down underneath her chemise and found the infant who squirmed, face scrunched up in a cry that echoed through the room. The midwife, too, reached for the babe, aiding them to her chest and wrapping a thin blanket around it as she finally slumped back into the bed again; a cry of relief leaving her.

“He’s here!”

Serra took a moment to collect her thoughts, seeking rest as her head rested against the bed and panting heavily, her eyes fluttering shut — her heart continued to race and she felt cold from the shock, numbed by adrenaline but faintly able to feel hands instantly pressing to her abdomen and palpitating while another pair of hands assessed the child in her arms. It was then that she slowly opened her eyes and looked at the midwife with tired eyes, “A boy?”

Serra looked down, admiring his small, rounded face that was framed by a familiar head of dark hair; using her left hand to wipe away some blood from his forehead as he squirmed, mouth open with lively screams that announced his arrival -- he was here, at last. She let out a weak, emotional sob and looked up at the midwife.

The elderly woman smiled wide and bright, with her rosy cheeks and eyes lit with excitement as she softly spoke, “A boy, my lady,” she said, “a fine, handsome heir for Raventree.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He could hardly hear over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears — the sound of blood thundering loud over that of the rain that poured down in sheets that made his vision blur, squinting to see his hand outstretched in front of him as he blindly pushed forward. The only thing that guided his movements was the sound of anguished outcries, grunts of exertion, and the harsh clatter of weaponry; swords clashing into one another in battle that had dragged on for hours — he did not particularly like battle, but it only felt necessary these days. There seemed to be no avoiding it. Perhaps he chose to no longer avoid it.

The sun had hardly risen, hung low over the horizon as it slowly crept high into the sky as the light of morning spread across the shores of God's Eye; no inch untouched by the already unbearable heat despite the treacherous rain, humid and thick as the men only found relief by the subtle breeze that blew across the sea and towards the battle.

Benjicot had not seen the early days of this battle -- a day late, but the carnage that already haunted the shores was undoubtedly beyond what he could have ever prepared himself for when he arrived that morning. With every step he took, there was a new body, slashed and bloodied — his boots sunk into the mud that had turned red with blood each step forward; soaked up to his knees and heaving for air as he found himself stumbling forward and twisting awkwardly into his right knee.

Faintly, he could see the knight in front of him — the familiar regal red and gold of his house colours, clumsy and equally blind as he stupidly swung his sword out at the sound of a grunt from Benjicot as he pushed up from the ground. His eyes narrowed, blinking harshly and trying to use his hand to wipe the water from them as they stung, struggling to keep his eyes open. He caught his balance, his foot coming free from the mud with a disgusting slosh and fumbling to readjust his sword in his hand — they were only inches apart, but the weather made it near impossible for him to move with any grace, his arm swinging out and catching the tip of his blade in an awkward clatter that felt far from deliberate — he heard a startled noise from the young knight who stumbled back, free hand flinging behind him in an effort to catch himself.

Benjicot lunged forward, moving based on hope alone and potentially false optimism that he wouldn’t miss — that he wouldn’t just crash into the ground, face first and put himself in a worse position. His neck and shoulder collided with the waist of the boy in front of him, losing his footing in the slippery terrain and lurching the pair of them forward as a hand slammed against his back in an effort to find hold on something, anything — instead, the collision was followed by the clamour of armour as they tumbled backwards. His brow slammed into his chin as the two men hit the ground, eliciting a pained help from the Lannister knight — Benjicot could have sworn his vision had given out entirely for a moment, pain shooting in behind his left eye and radiating until through his temple as a hand slammed into his face; shoving and fighting to get him off — his head jerked sideways, straining backwards awkwardly. He fumbled to shove his hand away, crawling up him like a struggling inch worm and punching his wrist as he reached for his sword that had been lost in the muck — the hand reached again, wriggling underneath him, and Benjicot growled in frustration.

He gritted his teeth, feeling the sharp sting of pain shoot through his body as the Lannister knight beneath him thrashed, desperately trying to dislodge him, but Benjicot's determination outweighed his exhaustion. His fingers scraped through the mud, finally closing around the hilt of his sword just as the knight's knee slammed into his side, knocking the air from his lungs.

With a feral growl, he pushed back, using the knight's moment of distraction to twist the blade up between them. The knight’s hand shot out again, grasping for Benjicot’s arm just a moment too late — the blade met its mark, driving into the gap between the golden lion’s breastplate and shoulder guard. Benjicot could feel the shock in the knight’s body as his muscles went rigid beneath him, his eyes widening as he stared up, mouth agape and frozen; a silence befalling them as his mouth opened and choked out a series of sounds, wet and coughing, his lips being stained by blood.

For a moment, the battle seemed to stop — the distant clash of swords and the roar of men faded into the background. Benjicot met the knight’s eyes through the haze of rain and pain, seeing the disbelief in the young man’s gaze, and something worse: fear. The kind of fear that a child experienced when they heard thunder and sought their parents for comfort, something boyish. Benjicot had never liked the killing — not like some men did — but war had taken that choice from him long ago.

The knight’s grip on Benjicot’s arm weakened, his body growing limp. He hesitated before he wrenched the blade free, the Lannister collapsing back into the muck with a groan that barely registered against the storm. Benjicot rolled off him, chest heaving, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he lay in the blood-soaked mud, his back becoming wet as water seeped through the plates of armour; leaving the layers beneath clinging to his skin as his eyes closed. He did not know how long he lied there — it felt like an eternity, listening to the sound of death that surrounded him, his sword by his side and wracked by exhaustion.

“—halt!”

Footsteps stomped towards him, unwilling to move as he waited — waited for the inevitable and unwilling to fight more, he slowed his breathing and opened his eyes to look up at the grey skies that hung overhead, forcefully blinking through the relentless downpour, “Benjicot!” The voice shouted, coming towards him, “Ben!”

He registered the voice suddenly as Emrys, soon finding him at his side and dragging him up by the collar. A look of relief crossed his cousin’s features as Benjicot sat up, grabbing his shoulder and supporting his weight, “You had me worried there, my lord,” Emrys breathed out, a hint of forced humour in his voice.

He couldn’t even muster a laugh, finding the thought alone draining as he closed his eyes and slumped in relief, his own hand clinging to his cousin’s elbow, “I am still here,” He muttered, “you are not free of me yet.”

His cousin laughed, “There is plenty more to celebrate today then.”

Emrys stood, offering a hand to him -- his eyes darted to it, a dull ache settling into his bones at the thought of moving, “I cannot.”

“Yes, you can,” Emrys replied, a young knight being summoned forward from behind him, both men quickly taking either side of him. Benjicot let out a choked yelp, groaning as they dragged him up to his feet, stumbling a step and wincing as he struggled to remain on his feet; the adrenaline of battle had begun to wear off already, “Easy now…take it slow.”

His face screwed up in pain, letting out a sharp exhale from his nose and gritting his teeth as Emrys wrapped an arm around his middle and watched his expression with a clear look of concern that only reached his eyes, “Are you ready?”

Benjicot gave a short nod -- although his legs still felt weak, he did not want to appear vulnerable, his movements slow and shaky as he stood upright. He could feel as Emrys kept a hand close, hear the sound of his leather gloves as his fingers wriggled, ready to catch him, “What updates do you bring from the frontlines?” He quietly asked, his voice still possessing a weak tremor. His cousin hesitated, watching him a moment longer before he glanced towards the knight who looked equally as prepared to catch and break his fall.

“Lord Charlton and Lord Forrest Frey have too been slain,” Emrys announced, his eyes scanning his appearance as the young lord turned, limping on unsteady feet to achieve the task. Benjicot exhaled sharply, “As well as two thirds of the winter wolves, but there is more…”

The losses seemed to accumulate and with each man down, Benjicot felt a sense of dread grow heavier by each passing minute, resting in his chest and slowly sinking into the pit of his stomach and churning there. His brows twitched, worry lines etched deep into his young features as he sighed deeply and nodded as if to encourage him to speak; however, he was met by an optimistic glint in his cousin’s gaze as he shifted, “Both sides suffer heavy losses…”

“Why are you so smug about that?” He breathlessly asked.

“They retreat,” He suddenly interrupted, too excited for his own good. His voice lowered, watching as Benjicot struggled to process his words, “In exchange, your uncle has intervened in their efforts to summon for more men and we have slain Humffrey Lefford himself, leaving them crippled-- today, those who remain have begun to retreat. If they do not meet death by sword, they drown. Today, we celebrate a success for the Blacks.”

His gaze settled on him, his words sinking in finally. He glanced past him towards the sight of some remaining men, mounted on horseback that circled the grounds, rounding up some remaining men -- the distant clash of battle was lighter, the sound of an anguished shriek filling the field, a horse whinnying…it did not feel like a win, but his words sparked some hope, “This will be a success for our men,” Emrys repeated, “Raventree and its heir stand still, the rest of the craven Lannister men retreat, like a dog with its tail between its legs.”

“Lord Swyft? The men of Crakehall?” He asked, his blade being shoved into the ground and leaning into it for support. His eyes shifted again towards his cousin.

“Few remain,” Emrys replied.

“Have we accounted for Lord Reyne?” He asked, dismissing his celebration as he withdrew his sword from the mud and slowly pushed past him to ascend the field once again. He could still hear and faintly make out the bodies, the sound of battle reverberating from up the hill with the harsh clash of weapons; trudging through the mud. Pain tore through his ribs, sore as he moved and listened, his cousin in tow.

“Throat slit, he was found among a pile of wolves,” He replied quickly, glancing down at his own feet as he stepped over the body of the young Lannister knight -- Benjicot, however, avoided to dare look down; disregarding the sickening crunch beneath his right foot as he nearly tripped over the arm of another boy who lay only a few feet away, “I assume the poor fuck did not stand much a chance against them. Looked as though they surrounded him and took their turns apparently.”

The thought made his stomach turn, grimacing in disgust as a shudder ran through him, glancing over his shoulder to witness his cousin’s nonchalance on the matter. He understood that war was gruesome and violent, bloody and messy -- it had a way of bringing out the worst of men. But he could not help the inkling of sympathy he felt for Lord Reyne in that moment, repulsed by the image and fighting the urge to vomit as he hesitated, swallowing thickly as he pushed forward -- some sun had managed to peer through the clouds, his eyes narrowed as he let out a gruff hum in response.

He knew Lord Reyne had a wife and children back home -- two young boys that Benjicot had grown up alongside, having met them briefly in his childhood. He’d never considered them friends, and especially nothing anywhere close to the brotherhood he shared with the Tully boys, but he wondered how they would react to the news of their fathers passing. He had struggled with the news of his own father’s death and had been numb in the weeks afterwards, but he had been a man grown with his own responsibilities that forced him to keep moving forward — he couldn’t imagine still being a boy of what, ten-and-four? He couldn’t quite remember their ages, nor picture what time had done to change their faces, but he imagined they looked more like their father as the years passed — an idea that felt more daunting the more he pondered the thought, knowing that his wife would have to come face-to-face with that reminder every day of what they had done to him.

He sniffled, feeling the sudden sting of tears that welled in his eyes, pressing forward — blinking, he attempted to force them back down. Benjicot was horrified by the thought of things being reversed, imagining Serra being the wife to receive news that her husband had died instead. He was worn and exhausted, and he just wanted to be home and in her arms — he did not want to even entertain the image of her grief-stricken and left to raise their child alone. He let out a quiet sob, a choked sound that he attempted to conceal with a cough, clearing his throat as he was suddenly grateful for the rain.

Finally, he paused and scanned the shore. Benjicot's hand trembled as he clutched the hilt of his sword, the rain dripping off its blade like blood washed away by the gods themselves. He stared down at the bodies that littered the shore, the slain men no different than he had been mere hours ago — sons, fathers, husbands.

The stillness of death suffocated him, each face a reflection of what could have been, what still might be. The Lord Reyne he had struck down had not been so different from him — a man with a family, with duties, with hopes for a future that would never come. His chest tightened as the image of Serra’s face drifted into his mind again. He imagined her receiving a letter, trembling hands ripping it open to reveal the worst news a wife could hear. He pictured her alone in their chambers, clutching their child, eyes red from crying.

He shut his eyes tight, letting the raindrops mingle with his tears. Would she move on? Could she? Benjicot cursed himself for thinking it. He had been raised on the stories of glory and valour, where men died heroes and songs were sung of their deeds. But this, this was not glory. This was hell. The bitter taste of it was on his tongue as he swallowed hard, pushing down the emotions that clawed at his chest.

“My lord?”

He turned his head slightly, finding the young knight who had helped him to his feet — he recognized him from years of training alongside one another, a man only a year younger, looking at him with a subtle frown, “We must find Robb,” he thickly replied, avoiding his eyes as he sniffled again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Serra watched the babe in her arms with a look of awe, his face scrunched up as he awkwardly fumbled around, mouth open and growing increasingly frustrated as the moments passed. Her fingertip brushed his small nose, rounded and perfect as the room was filled by a soft shushing, attempting to soothe him when he released an angry whine, a tiny, clenched fist rising against her chest and bumping against her sternum; he squirmed against her body, “Patience, my little love…” she sweetly said, her voice quiet, “find your way.”

Serra quickly lifted her gaze to the wet-nurse who was silent throughout the whole duration of her attempt, her eyebrows tugging into a worried frown, “I feel as though he does not want me,” she sighed, “is it something I am doing?” She asked, looking down again at her son.

The wet-nurse watched from her place near the wall, eagerly ready to step forward and intervene at the first sign of distress as she held her breath — her hands anxiously twitched at her skirt, “It takes them time to find the breast sometimes, m’lady,” She finally spoke, her accent thick and voice soft and nurturing, “I have always found boys to be a little slower to take to nursing, they require a little more guidance. Might I?”

She let out a defeated sigh, giving a feeble nod as she allowed the wet-nurse to approach. The woman knelt in front of her, gently tucking the blanket down more from his face that had become red with frustration, letting out a cry that made Serra want to shrivel up and die, disheartened as she softly shushed him again and gently bounced him; his nose bumped her nipple when he turned his head, mouth opened and blindly seeking her, but only meeting flesh, “Bring him closer,” the nurse instructed.

She adjusted him in her arms, bringing him closer with assistance from the nurse, his arm outstretched against her ribs and wailing, “I know, my dear boy, I know…I’m sorry,” she softly spoke, anxiety beginning to creep up within her chest.

“Align his nose…” she instructed, “with the nipple, and bring him…” she murmured, her voice trailing off as she supported his head in her palm for a moment to fix his positioning.

The nurse withdrew her hands to her lap as Serra wordlessly obeyed, bringing her son into her chest and guiding him to her breast as she’d been directed — a wave of relief washed over her as his mouth finally found her, latching around her and reluctantly suckling, “There you go,” she whispered encouragingly. She looked up, giving the nurse a tired smile and letting out a soft laugh as she bowed her head with a warm smile of her own and stood to her feet.

The room was once again silent, filled only by the uncomfortable sigh from Serra after a moment as she was overcome by her let-down and her son’s breathing. The sensation was not one she had yet to become accustomed to, but one she welcomed as a means to bonding with the sweet boy who appeared content for the first time that afternoon. She withdrew a hand from underneath his back, still supporting him with her left arm in order to tenderly stroke his cheek as he fed, absentmindedly rocking him from side-to-side, “Is it normal…to experience pain?” She asked in a quiet voice that was barely above a whisper after some time had passed, finding that he had begun to nod off to sleep.

“At first,” The nurse replied.

“It’s been nearly two months, though.”

Her nurse hesitated, glancing towards the babe, “I can summon the maester if you would like, my lady.”

“I do not wish to bother him,” she said, shaking her head, “I can bear some discomfort, I just worry.”

The nurse smiled, “You needn’t worry, my lady. You are a natural, it is a gift from the gods.”

Serra wanted to laugh out loud, feeling like anything but after struggling with the simple task these past weeks, angry that her body seemed to fail where it should have thrived — something so natural did not come with ease, the way she had expected. She had not been prepared and that had become abundantly obvious when he had first been born, terrified of doing anything wrong and upsetting him; every cry made the hair on the back of her neck stand and she felt as though she had been on edge since his birth. There was no tea or herbal remedy that could have prepared her for the amount of anxiety that had flooded her body the minute he was born, and what came after, once he was no longer safe and protected by her womb. Her wet-nurse meant well, but she was bitter and tired, lowering her head to look down at her son again and watching as he suckled, even in his sleep; his eyes closed and fluttering, fine, dark hair curling into his forehead.

The quiet hum of the nursery lulled Serra into a brief sense of peace as she continued to rock her son, her eyes trained on the soft rise and fall of his chest. His dark lashes rested delicately against his cheeks, still flushed from the earlier ordeal, but now serene and undisturbed. Serra allowed herself a tender smile, brushing her fingers gently through the fine curls that framed his forehead. Yet beneath that fragile peace, the weight of worry gnawed at her. She felt it in her bones, an ache that ran deeper than the discomfort in her chest. It wasn’t just the challenges of motherhood that plagued her now—there was a tension she could not shake, a fear that had taken root since Benjicot had ridden off to battle. It was the not knowing, the endless waiting that frayed at her already delicate nerves. The thought of her infant son becoming the Lord of Raventree made her sick with nausea, debilitated by fear of the idea.

Her gaze drifted to the window, where the fading light of day was giving way to dusk. The lake was out there, somewhere beyond the mist and trees, where her husband fought to protect their home and people. She wanted to be hopeful, to believe in his strength and the bravery that had always defined him. But every distant sound, every muffled voice beyond the nursery door set her on edge, her mind conjuring the dark possibilities.

The soft rustle of the wet nurse’s skirts drew her attention back to the room. The woman had moved to the corner, silently keeping watch, her expression one of gentle concern. Serra gave her a quick glance, but words stuck in her throat. Another sigh escaped her lips as she shifted her son slightly, cradling him closer against her body.

A soft knock filled the room, a pause following — her eyes found the nurse who immediately stepped forward and used her body as a shield, Serra’s hand reaching for the blanket that surrounded her son to lift it to cover herself as much as it would allow, “Come in,” Serra announced as the door then slowly edged open.

Grace crept inside, quickly closing the door behind her and keeping her head lowered as she entered the room, “I apologise for my disturbance, my lady.”

Serra tilted her head to look around the nurse, finding Grace’s eyes, “It is quite alright, Grace,” she assured, “what is it?” She asked, her eyes lowering to where her son shifted in his slumber.

Grace visibly hesitated, her hands clasping and unclasping in front of her, “It is your lord husband, my lady,” she quietly said.

Serra felt herself tense up, her eyes lifting and clenching her teeth as she found her nurse looking at her — she had yet to hear the next words, but she was frozen in place as dread settled heavy in her bones, her heartbeat thundering in her ears as she absentmindedly brushed her son’s cheek, “What of him?” She finally choked out after a moment, her voice low in an effort to sound steady.

She could hear the slow, hesitant shuffle of Grace’s footsteps that crossed the room until she was inches away; stopping so she could kneel in front of her, her gaze fixed on her face, “Many have been wounded in battle, my lady,” She said, her voice soft and warm, but holding a firm edge to it. Serra wanted to let out a cry, nodding stiffly after a pause, “But he has returned. The maesters are with him and his men as we speak…” She continued to explain.

Despite her words, Serra felt shame in admitting she did not care about the others -- she did not care that the other men had made it home, or that they were wounded -- she did not care for any of them at that very moment. The only thing she could focus on was the mention of her husband, hanging onto her words as she was overcome by a confusing slew of emotions, storming within her like a downpour of rain and thunder that enraged the seas, like the gods themselves had crafted it and taken vengeance out on the common and noble folk alike. Her relief was muddled by her sadness, her grief, fear of what almost was, still on edge and anxious like she was expecting to be told there was some mistake and that Benjicot had not made it home; that this news was some sort of miscommunication and that his body had been so mangled, they had mistook him for another man. Her stomach churned, clutching her son closer to her body and fixing his blanket with a restless, shaky hand as her eyes focused on his sleeping face.

“...Ser Henry was wounded but he is expected to make a full recovery...”

She wondered if it made her a terrible person to care so little for others in favour of Ben, as long as it meant he was unscathed and safe. There had been no doubt that the war would take, take, and take from all those of the realm as far South and North as one could fathom, and that nobody would be left untouched by the carnage and grief that would entail, but there had been no preparing for just how bare the battles would leave the realm in the aftermath -- with each battle, she felt as though Raventree became emptier and quieter than it had been all those months prior; once lively and full, she now noticed the gaps as time progressed.

She, too, still noticed her father’s absence.

It hadn’t yet been a year since his passing and the loneliness that had followed was not something she could have prepared herself for, either. She hadn’t seen her brothers in months and had been forced into mourning his loss alone whilst they were off to their own devices; she had sent ravens but only received three each in the time since they had left four months earlier. Kermit had since returned to Riverrun to take over as Lord Paramount, and Oscar was sent to the frontlines of battle and distracted by the new found responsibilities of Knightship. She found herself envying them for having something to distract themselves in those early days, while she had been ordered to bedrest almost immediately after she had found out she was expecting; news that, while good for Raventree and its future, she struggled to find comfort when she first felt the barely there little flutters and stirring in her belly. She had barely had time to mourn the first babe she had lost months earlier, only for her father to pass forty-five days into his ascension to head of House Tully; forty-five days after her grandsire. The past year had been a blur of grief and tears and anger that still lingered.

“…I can summon him, if you would like,” Grace suddenly said.

She was drawn from the thought, her eyes lifting to find hers; a greyish blue that Serra found rather pretty in the light — she was a pretty girl, she had come to conclude over the past year, but for once, she couldn’t concentrate on the thought. Instead, she silently stared at her, processing the suggestion and listening to the rhythmic, quick sound of her son’s breathing for a moment; deep and steady as he let out a tired whine, rolling against her as a small hand came up to rub his face. She looked down, catching his fist with her fingers and pulling it away from his cheek as tiny nails attempted to scratch at the delicate skin, leaving behind a faint red line from where he had made contact, “No…no,” she quickly replied, “I will not summon him like a dog to heel, I can go to him.”

“My lady?” The nurse asked.

Serra slowly stood, withdrawing her son from her chest and beginning to pull the front of her dress up and back over her chest; unsteady on her feet as she steadied herself against the chair briefly. The nurse quickly took the babe from her arms, a look of uncertainty being passed between the two women as Serra sucked in a shaky breath, attempting to straighten out her dress, “Help me, please— I cannot go to him looking a mess,” She instructed.

Grace snapped into action after a short-lived hesitation, coming forward and working quickly to straighten the low shoulders of her dress; she stepped around her to straighten the backing against her shoulders with swift, nimble fingers. Her hands rose to smooth out her hair, pulling it back from the loose hanging style after having eagerly torn out the pins from earlier; cascading down her back and curling around her face from the sticky humidity that trickled in through the window and left the air thick and hard to choke down, “Shall I braid…”

“No,” Serra sighed out, “no…it is fine. Just leave it.”

She felt a hand grab the back of her dress as she attempted to step forward, forcing her back again as Grace let out a soft breath, “Let me at least pin it from your eyes, my lady,” She quietly said, reaching up and beginning to pull the few stray strands that hung in her eyes back.

She wanted to protest further, but found herself unable to, settling into silence and allowing her to pin the hair back; secured by a pin at the back of her head with one final brush with her fingers, attempting to tame the curls. Her hands smoothed down the front of her dress as she leaned forward to press a final kiss to her son’s forehead, giving him one last look before she heaved out a sigh and hurried towards the door.

Grace stepped back as Serra adjusted the front of her dress one last time, her fingers trembling slightly. She cast a final glance at her son, now dozing peacefully in the nurse’s arms, the red mark already fading from his cheek. For a moment, her resolve wavered — the pull to stay, to hold her child just a bit longer, was strong. But she knew she had to see him. She had to see Benjicot.

With a deep breath, Serra straightened her spine and nodded to Grace. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she turned toward the door.

The cool air of the hall greeted her as soon as she stepped outside the room, the thick humidity fading slightly. Her heart raced in her chest, the familiar excitement bubbling up again. She couldn’t help it — the eagerness was overwhelming, nearly impossible to restrain as she heard an uproar of cheers from beyond the walls. Without thinking, Serra gathered her skirts in her hands and began to move, her steps quickening with each passing moment.

She did not mean to run but she could hardly contain her eagerness to see him, skirts gripped in her hands as she rushed down the halls of Raventree, eyes wide and turning her head to try and look outside through the windows; attempting to catch a glimpse out the window of the returning men and her husband through the yard, though unsuccessful. She could hear the voices, however, excited and clamouring to approach and congratulate the men on their success at Lakeshore outside the great hall, already picturing the council gushing over her husband, his face smug and probably just eating it all up. She could barely move fast enough for her liking, a handmaiden on her heels as she just about leapt down the stairs.

“My lady!” Grace gasped, reaching for her as Serra launched down the stairs, hand reaching out to grip the railing with her eyes cast down to wake sure she didn’t trip over her own feet; bare feet padding across the cold, stone floors.

She could now see the clamour of men, armour amidst the crowd but her husband was still hidden from view, wildly searching for him among the men. Suddenly, she noticed the councilmen huddled around a figure, clasping the man’s shoulder and nodding, pridefully beaming as they spoke in hushed tones, “You did good, my lord. A great success for Raventree and the Riverlands.” The old, balding man praised with a hand on the shoulder of her lord husband, whose back was turned to her.

She stopped at the base of the stairs, watching as he nodded, voice quiet in replying his thanks to the men, head turning slightly to glance at the men who were still buzzing with excitement over their win; bloodied and rowdy, though her husband was quiet, sighing as she watched his eyes scan the crowd. He turned slowly as though he was searching for someone, his mouth pressed into a fine line and eyes narrowing, the bags under his eyes signifying his exhaustion — he’d aged significantly these past weeks, exhausted by the war, evident even from afar. He looked the opposite of what she had imagined, something bordering melancholic appearing on his face as his gaze found her, expression softening and shoulders relaxing at the sight of his wife; his clenched fists wrapped tight around the hilt of his sword on his waist belt. He released his hold on the weapon for the first time in days as he started to approach her; shoulders bumping bodies, caring very little that he shoved men in the process as he moved towards her. He was just eager to be near her — another first in the past month, as he reached for her once he was close enough, his hand finding her waist and gripping the fabric of her dress to pull her towards him.

She clung to him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as his arms slid round her back and reaching a hand up to press to the back of her head whilst burying his face into her hair. He took in a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of her. They stood in silence like that, content with each other's embrace for the moment before he reluctantly leaned away, her hands cupping his cheeks to hold his face in her hands, still chest-to-chest as they stared back at one another.

Benjicot couldn’t find it in himself to do much speaking, silent as he withdrew at the sudden realisation that something had changed. His features pinched into a frown, confused as his eyes dropped to her belly, any signs of being swollen with babe fading as her body slowly worked to go back to what it had previously been and heal; one hand reaching out to brush his fingers down her belly, stopping just below her naval — a comforting gesture that Benjicot had gotten used to doing throughout the past several months, palm resting flat against the bump of where their child grew each day. Though this time, there was emptiness when his hand stroked over her abdomen, nearly flat and almost as though their babe had never even been there — though both her hips and chest were fuller, changed in order to support the life that grew within her.

Her hands moved to both cover his, taking his hand between both of hers and bringing the bloodied knuckles to her mouth in a sweet kiss, drawing his eyes back to hers. A feeling of dread settled deep into the pit of his stomach, bile crawling up the back of his throat and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, fearful of the worst as his fingers laced through hers, his mouth opening. Though he was left wordless and stammering stupidly as a small whine came from behind her as a wet nurse came down the stairs behind his wife, her arms filled by a wiggling bundle that reached up with small, chubby hands — both his wife and him turned towards the woman who approached them, her gaze down at the small face that peered back at her; small features screwed up with a cry.

“Here, I can take him.” Serra said, releasing her husband's hands to retrieve the infant from the wetnurse, slow and ever so cautious as she took the bundle into her arms; making sure to adjust her arms correctly as she then turned in the direction of Benjicot, who stepped forward, “Come meet your boy, Benjicot,” She softly said, voice barely above a whisper as she smiled, shy as she looked up at him.

He scanned her face, blinking before looking down at his son, hesitantly closing the gap until he stood over the both of them, his right hand lifting to gently stroke his son’s head amidst the blankets. Pride swelled in his chest at the sight of their infant son, letting out a chuckle that was more air, in awe as he then brought his hand to the cheek of his son, his finger stroking the soft, youthful skin, “A boy.”

“Aelor Blackwood.” She quietly said, his gaze shooting up to her face quickly in response to her words.

His other hand lifted to cup her cheek, a smile spreading across his own face as he let out a content sigh, “My beautiful wife,” he said, his voice laced with adoration as he leaned forward to press a kiss to her temple. His gaze returned to the boy in her arms as he squirmed, face screwing up with a soft whine after being woken from his slumber — Aelor blindly turned towards his hand with an open mouth and attempted to bring the digit to his mouth for comfort, “and you my dear boy, you will make a fine knight one day,” He quietly said.

“Might I hold him?” He asked after a moment, looking up to find her eyes.

She seemed taken aback, a smile slowly spreading across her face as she leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, “Of course. He’s as much your boy as he is mine.”

He felt foolish asking, he realised, as she was right -- from the curve of his nose to the dark hair that curled into his temples, his eyes aimlessly wandering to watch no particular thing as he cooed. He watched as his fists balled, gaze scanning his surroundings and briefly pausing to look up at him -- Benjicot swore his heart stuttered, softening immediately as he looked upon Aelor, who was so blissfully unaware of all that he had done or who he had been before that moment. He was innocent in all of this.

Benjicot slowly stepped around her, his head lowered and disregarding any further need for engaging with the council and their mindless chatter, praising him -- he didn’t need to listen to know what more they had to say to him. He felt as she clung to his side, her hand finding his elbow and following his slow pace up the stairs, afraid to disturb his son with any sudden jostles; his steps slow and cautious as they ascended the stairs, ever so grateful as the men remained silent behind him. There would be celebrations for days -- he knew that. But they could begin without him, only once he was nestled away in the safety of his chambers.

It would only be then that he could mend from the day’s events, and breathe for the first time in days. Feel safe for the first time in months.

Serra’s fingers brushed the back of his neck, her fingers carding through his hair and brushing her thumb along his nape; her wide, brown eyes watching him with a look like he was a living god among them, a shy smile threatening the corners of her mouth. Her hand dropped between his shoulders as they walked, finding his eyes when he slowly lifted his gaze to meet hers.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The room was still filled by the soft coo of Aelor, while Benjicot sat on the edge of the bed and held him in his lap, cradling him to his chest as the babe sucked on his fingers. The bunched up blankets were loose, allowing him to freely wriggle as he dozed off, his eyes half closed already as the fire continued — Serra had been grateful for the extra hands, belonging none other than to her son’s father, rather than that of another wet nurse. She admired the women who committed their lives to raising noble children almost as though they were their own, and she could not have survived those early days without them — but she did not enjoy the practice of becoming so uninvolved with one’s children, that women would never hold their own child for years at a time; she could hardly fathom the thought of not having Aelor in her arms for more than a couple of hours, used to the weight of him against her chest and cradled into her like he was a piece of her that existed outside of her body.

Her mother had been so hands-on and involved with her and her brothers, having established a strong bond with her own children from birth — Serra wanted nothing less for her own children.

Watching Benjicot, she relished in the thought that Aelor would have exactly that — just as she did, content and knowing the safety of his parents arms as Ben caressed his cheek with a thumb; lulling him to sleep with quiet stories of his own youth, revelling in the fact that he was a Blackwood through and through. He was a spitting image of his father, and that of his before him — she could only imagine the relief that he had a piece of his father again, one to love and cherish and carry with him even in his passing. His adoration for the boy was already clear, his eyes softening and voice soft, quiet and loving as he spoke, unwilling to let him go; gently using his fingers to bring his hand down and away from his mouth as Aelor attempted to suck again on his fingers, his face scrunching up in a frustrated whine, head twisting to the side -- he let out a soft ‘sh’ in an effort to soothe him.

Serra watched from the fireplace, brushing out her hair as she sat on the bench in front of it, her eyes never leaving the pair. It warmed her to watch the interaction, a small smile on her face as she briefly slowed her pace in fixing her hair, pausing a moment as Aelor released a final whine; his eyes closed as sleep overcame him. It was a miracle, she thought, how he could find sleep even in his father’s lap so quickly -- there had been no buffer period in which he needed to warm to Benjicot, and seemed to instinctively already know he was safe and that this man was no stranger -- like he knew this was the man who had spoken to him for several months from outside the womb, whispering stories to him before he had entered the world.

She set down the brush, standing slowly and twisting her ring as she approached her husband, careful not to make any noise, too scared to breathe in fear of waking the raven-haired infant whose breathing slowed with slumber; his eyes fluttering with dreams of whatever peaceful things babes dreamt of. She planted a hand on Benjicot’s shoulder, resting her chin upon it and looking down to where he was still hyper focused on their son, afraid to look away for even a moment; he quietly fixed the blanket, tucking it around him with cautious, gentle movements, “The ladies should be taking him to the nursery soon,” She softly said, her eyes on him.

For the first time in an hour, his gaze lifted to look up at her, “One moment longer,” he pleaded, his knuckles brushing underneath his chin and eliciting a slight twitch of his face as he looked down at him again, “I feel as though I have missed a lifetime already.”

There was a melancholic tone in his voice as he gazed at him, tugging at her heart and replacing her joy with an aching sadness. She couldn’t bring herself to summon the nurses and maidens who would soon take him away; knowing she’d had a month and a half with him, while Benjicot had only a few hours. Though she tried not to dwell on it, she was painfully aware that it was only a matter of time before he would be called back to battle, with no guarantee of returning unharmed and being as lucky a second time around. Serra let out a shaky exhale of air, lowering her head to press a kiss to the crook of his neck.

His head turned quickly at the sound of her sigh, searching for her face as she kept her head down and unable to meet his gaze. Benjicot’s eyebrows furrowed, voice softening as he attempted to beckon her attention back to him, “Serra,” He said, “Look at me.”

She slowly lifted her head, her bottom lip folded between her teeth as she forced a brave, nonchalant front, her eyebrows raising with a simple hum of acknowledgement. But he knew her well enough that he could see the tension that had become of her, her mouth a tight line as her fingers pressed further into his shoulder, holding his clothing tight within her fist as blinking unnaturally. Benjicot swallowed, looking down to her lap, “Let them bring him to the nursery now, it’s growing late.”

She nodded, unwilling to argue as she carefully scooped Aelor from his lap; his hands nervously following hers as he was lifted, cradled to her chest as he leaned forward to press a final kiss to his temple. Serra slowly walked towards the door, her exchange with the wetnurse who hovered outside the door brief and quiet to the point that Benjicot could not make out a word -- his eyes followed her movements as she leaned down to kiss his forehead, sliding him into the older woman’s arms and stroking his head as she turned and began to retreat down the hall with their son. Even then, she remained in the open doorway, leaned against the frame while she anxiously picked at her nails, twirling her fingers.

She closed the door after a moment, clicking it shut and turning to cross the room towards the fireplace where she abruptly stopped. Benjicot settled back on to the edge of the bed, beginning to shed his clothing in preparation for sleep, his eyes still focused on her and unable to tear away; he could make out the wringing of her hands, her shoulders tense and rigid as the silence dragged on, sensing that her thoughts were anywhere but there.

She moved finally, her head turning right slightly to look at him from the corner of her eye.

“What of my brothers?” She asked, referring to Kermit and Oscar. Her dear brother Oscar, who was barely a man-grown, his face still young and boyish when she had last seen him, eyes still possessing some trace of innocence having not seen war before. Her chest ached at the thought of him in battle, bloody and bruised — but he had their father’s blood in his veins, he was fearless and could fight hard, surely.

“Strong as ever.” Benjicot replied in a low voice, feeling as he approached from behind, having listened to the sound of fabric and clinking that dropped over the seat, until he was stripped down to his under layers. His chest pressed to her shoulder blades as he brought her towards him, an arm wrapped around her waist and secured her in place with a firm hold while the other trailed hand trailed up the length of her arm until his fingers wrapped around her shoulder. His forehead rested against the crown of her head, relishing in the warmth she radiated after being away from it for the past month and three weeks, his eyes closing as she let out a sigh, “Your brother has been rather busy with the responsibilities of his new lordship— but he is fierce, brave.” He mumbled into her hair.

Her own arms dropped to place over his own, her hand finding his at her waist while her eyes remained on the flames of the fireplace, emitting heat to the rest of her chamber. She was comforted by word of her oldest brother, a small, pensive smile coming to her face; Benjicot’s hand moving from her hold to press to her abdomen while a hand of hers remained overtop his, “Oscar is as equal a fierce leader,” He said, face moving from her hair to drop to her shoulder, his mouth pressing a kiss to the bare skin there.

It brought her some relief to hear that they were both safe and well, presumably having returned to their house by this point — relieved by the news that they were alive and otherwise safe. The war had already taken enough. Benjicot sighed, a defeated sound as his head twisted to press his cheek to the plane of her shoulder, both arms lacing around her waist. Her fingers absentmindedly traced along his forearm, “I’m sorry.”

“You needn’t apologise, Ben,” she easily replied.

She had counted every minute, every hour, waiting for the day she received word of his return — it felt pathetic at first, eager to receive news that he had come back. But time drew on, and as her anxieties grew, she cared little for how desperate she appeared — she was alone and terrified for six weeks, “I do and I’m sorry I left you to do it alone…” He said, voice small like a child, “I worried about you every day.”

Serra leaned further into Benjicot, relenting and allowing herself to melt into the warmth of his embrace, her eyes still fixed on the flickering flames. “You didn’t leave me alone,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the emotion beneath it. “You were always here, Ben. In my thoughts, in every moment, you never left me.”

Benjicot pressed another kiss to her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin. “I should have been here. I should’ve seen him, held him...”

She turned in his arms, placing a hand gently on his cheek, guiding his gaze to hers. “You will. He’s here, and so are you. We’ve all had to make personal sacrifices in these times,” she quietly continued, her other hand bringing his face to hers and releasing a sigh through her nose, “I only worry about you.”

“Please don’t,” he replied, attempting to lean in and press a kiss to her mouth. She withdrew, leaning back and furrowing her brow at him — he hung there, halfway between them and lips still slightly puckered as he sensed her scepticism, letting out a sigh as his gaze scanned her face, “You do not have to worry about me.”

Her expression softened, once again dodging his lips as he leaned forward again, “I’m your wife. It’s my duty to worry about you.”

She offered a small, tight smile before leaning in and finally pressing a kiss to his mouth.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

His fingers trailed up and down along her spine, her chest to his as she sprawled over him on her front, her cheek pressed to his collarbone as she nestled her face into his neck. Benjicot had found her to have dozed off to sleep some time ago, but had found it difficult to follow — instead, he’d found himself focused on the fields beyond the walls of Raventree, watching as sunrise slowly filled their room. The chill of the morning had crept in through a window that had been left ajar, a light breeze blowing in through the room and leaving goose flesh in its wake; only warmed by her skin, soft and possessing a comforting scent of lavender and roses.

He had tried to sleep, but it was useless he’d realised after two hours of trying. He wanted so badly to distract himself momentarily with sleep, but every time his eyes closed, he found himself back on the shores of the Gods eye — covered in dirt and overtop the Lannister boy whose name he’d never known. He wondered if they’d ever met before — if at some point in his twenty-one years, if they had met in passing, and if so, how old were they? Where had it been? Had he remembered him or were they complete strangers?

Serra had stirred against him, her head turning to face away from him, letting out a deep breath as she settled. He leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of her head, his nose nuzzling into her hair and inhaling the familiar scent that he’d come to associate with home and comfort.

He had startled awake after several attempts, his eyes burning with exhaustion but too panicked to find rest, finding that the night had since passed and morning was already upon him. With his heart racing, he accepted that sleep would not come to him — he wondered how long this would last. The night terrors and haunting images of his face, of his men, dead in the sands and leaving behind children and wives. How long would it be, before he found sleep again?

The thought was disturbed by a soft knock, his entire body going tense as Serra twitched, letting out a tired moan of complaint. He waited for a moment, his eyes on the door before a second knock followed after a minute, cursing internally as he peeled himself away from the bed; careful to ease her into the pillows and off of his chest. After he tucked the blanket over her, he sought his shirt amidst the floor and hurried to pull it over his head, hardly in the sleeves as he rushed to the door to open it with a scowl on his face.

Emrys stepped back quickly, giving him room to step out, his eyes widening for a moment and readily offering a quiet apology, “Good morrow, I…apologise for waking you so early, cousin.”

“Whatever it is, could it not wait until this afternoon?” Benjicot snapped, his voice a harsh whisper as he pulled the door against his back, leaving it slightly ajar as his hand tightly gripped the handle of it behind him. The wood pressed into his spine as he briefly twisted his head to glance back inside the room, his gaze falling upon the sleeping frame of his wife, who lay beneath the blankets, clutching to the pillow beneath her and unaware yet of his absence. His departure had yet to be noted, “We’ve only just returned, could you not have at least allowed me one day of rest before bombarding me with matters of council? Serra does not need this so soon.”

“You know I wouldn’t disturb you if it was not urgent, Ben,” Emrys quietly replied.

He turned his gaze back to where Emrys hesitated to say more, his mouth wordlessly opening before he brandished a letter from beneath his belt; still sealed and neatly rolled with the familiar symbol of House Chambers. Benjicot’s eyes flitted between his face and the scroll, his expression hardened as his mouth pursed with a frown, sighing and finally releasing his hold against the door to retrieve it from his grasp — he hands made swift work in cracking the seal and unrolling it, the sound of paper rusting in the silence of the corridor. It wasn’t lost on him that he wouldn’t receive news so soon after his return if it wasn’t something serious, but he’d been optimistic despite his fears that there would at least be a buffer period in which he could find rest, heal his body and soul before even considering the idea of returning to battle — as annoyed as he was, he was sad equally terrified, turning the paper to scan the words that had been messily scrawled across it. His head angled, craning to read it and silently reading with narrowed eyes as Emrys waited for some sort of reply, some sort of acknowledgment to its contents.

His frown mirrored that of his cousin’s, his head shooting up and lowering the letter, “They believe it is Vhagar.”

“And have they confirmed this?” He asked.

“No,” Emrys replied, “based on the reports, they are quite certain however.”

Benjicot let out a bitter laugh, his eyes rolling as he quickly crumpled up the scroll and pressed it back into his hand, “I’d like to confirm the identities of the dragon and its rider before unnecessarily terrifying my wife and son,” he said, shifting his stance.

Emrys gave a curt nod, his gaze lowering — the two men were quiet, Benjicot’s shoulders rising and falling with a deep sigh, “Have them write a letter to House Chambers to write to us as soon as they have confirmation, and what they would like for us to do— House Tully should be made aware as well,” He instructed, “have them draft a letter to Rhaenyra, requesting for a dragon for protection in the meantime. We cannot face Vhagar alone if it is true.”

Emrys muttered a soft, “Of course.”

He turned on his heel, attempting to walk away before he was grabbed by the neck of his cloak, pulling him back as Benjicot raised his eyebrows, “Bring the letter to me before it is sent, I would like to personally oversee the task.”

He nodded, “Of course.”

Benjicot released him, giving a singular nod before he allowed him to depart; his eyes following him down the hallway until he was out of sight. With a clenched jaw, he turned and quietly crept back into the room, suddenly overwhelmed and nauseous as he closed the door again behind him, his eyes finding Serra in bed as he did his best to prevent the soft click from drawing any attention to himself. Once he was in the clear, he tiptoed back towards the bed and hesitated at the edge of his side; his eyes downcast on his wife who had yet to wake, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks — he sighed, a hand reaching out to brush over her hair.

He chewed the inside of his lips as he slowly sank back into the bed beside her, her expression twitching as he nudged her back into him and against his chest — she blindly sought him, moving with a huff, “Sorry, my love,” he whispered.

“Who was it?” She asked.

Benjicot shook his head, not wanting to further worry her as her cheek pressed against his sternum, “Just…one of the guards,” he lied, “just some updates from last night’s patrol.”

She tiredly moaned, not seeming to process his reply as he settled back against the pillows. A silence passed, his eyes darting up to the ceiling of their bed before she spoke again.

“Whatever it is that plagues your mind, husband, do not feel as though you must carry its burden alone,” She quietly muttered, her face still against his chest and eyes closed as she spoke. His hand cradled the back of her skull, letting out a deep sigh that moved her, “it is ours to share.”

“This is not…” He began to protest, his eyes squeezing shut.

“Your scars are mine, it is as much mine to shoulder as it is yours,” She interrupted. Her head lifted finally, tired eyes watching him as he looked up at the ceiling, his jaw clenching, “What is it?”

He didn’t mean to sulk. He would argue that he wasn’t. Her index finger tapped his lips however, pursed as he let out a sharp breath, blinking rapidly and rolling his eyes as his head lolled to the side, while he looked out the window once again. Serra’s finger traced his jaw, brushing back and forth in a soothing gesture despite the internal turmoil he felt -- he soon sighed, any tension melting away from his shoulders as his chest rose and fell with a slow exhale from his nose, “I killed a boy out there and he is all I see when I close my eyes,” he quietly explained, “they haunt me. I see the faces of those I fought against, and the ones I fought beside. I see my mistakes… the ones I made when I was overwhelmed, and the ones I made when I was too calm, too sure of myself. But that boy…”

A silence befell them aside from the quiet sound of their breathing as she rested her chin against his collarbone, watching him as she then moved to sit up on her elbow, “He can’t have been older than five-and-ten,” Benjicot stated, a distant tone in his voice like he was not fully present.

Serra couldn’t have imagined what it would have been like to be his mother — what had he left behind? What life was waiting for him back home? Friends? A betrothed? She could hardly envision being that age amidst a war, a time when her only concern had been worrying over mastering a simple stitch as she embroidered a pillow. She had grown up strikingly different to these men, especially the women who were brave enough to fight alongside them — Serra had never held a sword for longer than a half second as a girl, much less a weapon, as she had been too clumsy to be trusted in their presence and just had never had that urge to fight or learn the craft. Her head turned, dropping her chin and pressing a kiss to his bare chest, she then allowed her lips to linger against his skin.

She could hold him at no fault though — war was a pesky thing that forced even the kindest of men to turn their cloak and embrace the worst, innately dark impulses within themselves. Her heart ached for the thought of the boy whose name she would never know, and the possibility of what he was leaving behind; despite that this was just the routine of war — young boys forced to kill on behalf of ageing men and lose their lives in the process, traumatised and in need of their fathers…she sighed against his skin, pressing her cheek to his shoulder.

“You wouldn’t have done it if you’d had a choice,” She said.

“I did have a choice though, did I not?”

Her hand lifted from his jaw to brush across his forehead and brushing back his hair, scanning his features and taking the opportunity to refamiliarize herself with them; at the core, he was the same man who had left her two months prior, but as she looked at him, she could see the effects of war. A frown line had since etched itself between his brows, embedding itself into his skin that had become dull and dry in appearance, and his once soft lips now chapped. His eyes appeared sunken from the weeks of sleepless nights that she assumed had been plagued by nightmares of his battles — upon moving the hair out of his face, her index finger found a freckle on his forehead, brushing over it with a delicate brush of fingers, “And what choice might that have been, my love?” She asked.

His mouth twitched as though the words were on the tip of his tongue, but he’d yet to figure out how to give them life and say them aloud. His eyes darted around for a moment, “His death and its impact is not mine to understand, but you did what was necessary in that moment,” she softly spoke, “our son and I both needed you and you fought for that. Just let me help mend that wound, do not bear its weight alone and let it crush you, Benjicot— you are only a man.”

He hesitated. Benjicot did not like to lie and had been taught the honour of truth and honesty — but in that moment, he could not bear the idea of worrying her more with the thought of a dragon overhead. He wanted to blurt out the truth, but he knew better, “Okay,” he said, lifting a hand to catch hers and bring it away from his face to bring it to his mouth. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, “okay.”

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jensengirl83 · 8 days

Text

You'll Accompany Me Chp 18

Warnings- Some angst, fluff, mild descriptions of childbirth

Word Count- 3530

A/N- Sorry this has taken so long, but the series is finally finished! I'll be posting a chapter a week until the last one. I hope you all enjoy it!

It had been a month since Jensen had proposed to Y/N, and things were going well. She was still working on getting ready for the arrival of their baby. She was due to go to her next appointment to check on her condition later that afternoon, and Jensen had been trying to get her to reconsider not finding out the gender.

“Seriously, honey, you don’t want to know what it is?” he asked, his tone almost begging.

“No, Jay. I want it to be a surprise. Everything hasn’t gone so well since I found out I was pregnant, and I just want this one thing to be something to look forward to,” she chuckled.

“How many times do I have to apologize for what I did, huh? I’ve tried to make it up to you in every way I know how. You know I’ll never forgive myself for it, so why did you have to bring it up?” he responded, his voice cracking with emotion at the end.

“Jay…” she sighed, reaching for his hand, but he pulled it away.

She knew that she’d struck a nerve, but she also needed him to let her explain how she was feeling, and she couldn’t do that if he wouldn’t even look at her. She reached for him one more time just for him to pull away again, not even looking in her direction. Not giving him the chance to withdraw from her, she cupped his face in her hands and turned his face to look at her.

“I want you to listen to me, okay? Yes, what happened was hard, but that wasn’t what I was referring to. The fact that I was ordered on bed rest because of a serious health condition that could hurt me and the baby was a lot to deal with. Me being so stubborn and taking so long to forgive you and cut what time we could’ve been enjoying this pregnancy together is something else I have to live with. And I kick myself in the ass for that every day, but I have forgiven you, Jay. I really have. So, please, stop beating yourself up over it, and thinking that every time I bring up what a hard time I’ve had, that it means I’m talking about that, okay?”

She could see his eyes begin to tear up, and she felt horrible. This isn’t where she wanted the conversation to go, but now she had to try and fix it. With a sigh of regret, she pulled him to her, kissing him softly, and wrapping him in a hug. She could feel the tension all over him, so she slowly ran her hand through his hair, whispering apologies and how much she loved him over and over until she could feel him start to relax. He eventually pulled away to look at her, and it compounded her guilt. He looked heartbroken.

“Jay, I’m so sorry. Please believe me when I tell you that I forgave you a long time ago, and nothing I said was about that,” she whispered, hugging him around his waist and resting her head on his chest.

“It’s okay, baby. I believe you. I just…” he paused, looking down at her, her eyes letting him know she was listening and wanted to hear what he had to say, “I’ve never forgiven myself for leaving you like that, and I think that stress is what may have caused your preeclampsia in the first place. And that makes me feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet.”

“Please, Jay, forgive yourself. I did a long time ago. I was just too stubborn to admit it, and I’m sorry. But, baby, that had nothing to do with what happened to me. It happens to a lot of pregnant women, and you had absolutely nothing to do with it. I love you, Jensen, and if knowing the gender will make you feel better, then that’s what we’ll do,” she smiled, squeezing his middle in a tight hug.

“We don’t have to find out if you really don’t want to. That wouldn’t be fair,” he sighed in contentment, kissing the top of her head. He loved her hugs.

“No, it’s okay. Maybe it would be helpful in the end. That way we could buy exactly what we need without getting everything gender neutral,” she giggled as he tickled her ribs.

“You have any idea how much I fucking love you?”

“Probably not as much as I love you,” she sassed back, laughing when he sighed in faux annoyance.

“Always busting my balls, Y/L/N.” he deadpanned, trying to hide his smile.

“You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“No. No I wouldn’t, darlin’,” he replied, pulling her into his lap. She’d never know how grateful he was to have her there. To have her, period.

Y/N’s knee was bouncing with nerves as they sat in the doctor’s office later that afternoon. She was hoping for a good report and that she could lift some of her restrictions and be more active. Not being able to do much other than cook, light cleaning, and lying around was starting to drive her a little insane. But, something was eating at her that everything wasn’t going to be okay, and she couldn’t shake that feeling. She’d been having small Braxton Hicks contractions, but other than that, everything was progressing as it should. But something just wouldn’t let her feel like everything was fine.

She jumped slightly as the nurse called her name to lead her back to the exam room. She didn’t think Jensen had noticed how nervous she was, but he had. As she stood, he took her hand, kissing it lightly and giving it a little squeeze to tell her without words that he was there and it would be okay. If only she could believe it. She hadn’t been in the small room long before Dr. Williams walked in with her million-watt smile she always had. It had always put Y/N at ease, but not today.

“Good afternoon, mom and dad. How are we feeling today?” Dr. Williams asked, sitting down on the small stool and getting everything prepared for the exam.

“I’m not going to lie. Other than the normal Braxton Hicks, nothing is going on, but I just feel like something is going to go wrong with the exam today,” Y/N answered honestly, Jensen looking over at her, one eyebrow raised in confusion and concern. She hadn’t mentioned feeling that way to him.

“It’s fine, Y/N. A lot of mothers have that feeling at this stage of pregnancy, and especially if they have complications. Do we still not want to know the gender?”

“No. Y/N agreed to find out this time,” Jensen replied quickly, his big smile letting Y/N know she’d made the right decision. If this made him feel just a little better about the pregnancy, then he deserved that.

“Okay, then. How about we get the exam over first to ease mom’s worries, and then we’ll do the ultrasound. That sound good to you two?”

“Sounds good,” Y/N and Jensen answered simultaneously, making all three of them chuckle.

Y/N took a deep breath as the doctor started her exam. Having her cervix checked was never a fun time, and she hated it, but it had to happen. Luckily, it was usually over quickly. But she noticed that Dr. Williams was taking longer than normal this time, and her breathing started to pick up and her heart began to race. It didn’t help when she looked up and saw a concerned look on the woman’s face. Jensen had noticed, too, and before Y/N could say anything, Jensen was speaking.

“What’s wrong, doc? Is everything okay? Is there something wrong with Y/N or the baby?” he rapidly fired the questions at the doctor, his palms beginning to sweat with nervousness. He didn’t know what he would do if something was wrong.

“Just calm down, everyone. There’s nothing major going on,” Dr. Williams began before taking a breath to tell them what she had found, “But, Y/N is completely effaced and dilated to 5 centimeters.”

“What the hell does that mean? She’s only thirty-five weeks along. There’s no way she can be dilated!” Jensen shouted, his fear beginning to take over and panic setting in.

“What?! I can’t be. It’s too early! I can’t have the baby now,” Y/N cried, tears starting to slip down her cheeks.Something was wrong and she knew it, knew something was wrong with her baby.

“Everyone calm down. This isn’t unheard of with women that have preeclampsia. Yes, it’s a little early, but the baby will probably be just fine.”

“Probably?! I’m not fine with a probably,” Jensen was yelling now.

“Mr. Ackles, many women have babies at this stage and most are just fine. Of course, I can’t give you an absolute guarantee, because there isn’t any when it comes to these things. But, I can tell you that I think mom and baby are going to be just fine. Now, I have to go get her a room ready for labor and delivery. A nurse will be down soon to get her moved to that floor. I know this isn’t easy, but I need you both to try and be as calm as you can. That’s what’s going to help mom and baby get through this happy and healthy,” Dr. Williams smiled, patting Jensen on the shoulder as she left the couple alone to try and come to terms with their impending situation.

“Jay…” Y/N’s trembling voice brought Jensen out of his panic. He was by her side in an instant, running his hand over her head, and kissing her face.

“It’s okay, honey. Everything’s going to be okay,” he whispered while soothing her, hoping that he would eventually believe his own words.

“But what if it’s not? What if the baby is too small and…” she began to cry when he interrupted her.

“No, uh uh. You’re both going to be fine, baby. This is a great hospital, and babies are born more prematurely than ours all the time and are just fine. All you need to worry about is taking care of yourself and bringing our little peanut out to meet us. Okay? I’ve got everything else,” he reassured her, even though he felt as if he would crumble at any moment.

She nodded her head and cried. She knew that she had a rough journey ahead of her, and she would need all the strength she had to deliver the baby. But she couldn’t stop worrying about whether he or she would be okay. And she knew she had to have Jensen make her a promise before all the craziness got started.

“Jay, no matter what happens in there, you stay with the baby. No matter what,” she begged, knowing she couldn’t do this without that promise.

“Y/N…”

“No, Jay. You have to promise me. Please, I'm begging you. Take care of our baby if anything goes wrong. Please promise me Jay,” she wailed, the tears and fear of what could happen overtaking her.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I promise, honey. I'll stay with the baby no matter what. But you have to make me a promise. You gotta promise me that you’ll do everything you can to be okay. We’re both going to bring this precious baby home together. You hear me?” he pleaded, his tears finally breaking free and dropping down to her forehead where he had rested his against it.

“I promise,” she whispered, reaching up to cup his face and kiss him softly, just as the door opened and the nurse came in.

“Ms. Y/L/N, we’re here to take you upstairs.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Jensen kissed her one last time as the nurse walked over to wheel her up to delivery in her bed.

“See you soon, handsome,” she smiled, squeezing his hand as they began to wheel her out of the room.

Jensen was pacing the floor waiting for the nurse to come tell him he could be with Y/N. Once they had gotten her upstairs, they told him he needed to wait outside in the hall while they got her settled in and hooked to all the monitors, and an IV inserted. He had already made all the phone calls he needed to make. Jared and Gen were on their way, his parents were heading out as soon as they could, and Dee and the kids knew that she would be delivering soon, and wanted to wait until she was in recovery before they came to visit. All he was waiting on now was the okay to be with his future wife. It felt like an eternity before the nurse came out and took him in to see Y/N. Dr. Williams was there when he walked in.

“Hello, Mr. Ackles. I’ll get you up to speed on what’s happening. Sorry, it took so long to bring you in, but her water broke when we moved her to her new bed. So, that means that there’s an increased risk of infection if her labor doesn’t progress in a timely manner. Which means that I put her on a Pitocin drip through her IV. Unfortunately, that means her contractions will be more intense than usual, but that also means that little Ackles will make their debut sooner.”

“Okay, so what do I need to do?” he asked, completely at a loss about what he should be doing.

“Same thing you did with your other three children when your wife was in labor,” the doctor said, a look of confusion on her face.

“Well, see, that’s the problem. All three of my other kids were scheduled c-sections. I never had to go through the labor part of it,” he answered sheepishly, feeling stupid for not knowing what to expect.

“Oh! Well, then that makes sense,” the doctor giggled, “No need to be embarrassed. Just do whatever you can to help her be comfortable, and be her support when she needs encouragement. Other than that, buckle up and enjoy the ride. This will be a completely different but amazing experience for you.”

“O-Okay,” he stuttered, a little overwhelmed with everything going on around him.

“Jay, it’s okay. Just come sit beside me, please,” Y’N’s voice broke him out of his stupor, her tired smile and outstretched hand making his legs finally work to have a seat by her side.

“How are you feeling, baby?” he asked, running his hand over her head.

“Remember that scene from Alien?” she chuckled dryly.

“The chest burster?!” he gasped at the visual image in his head.

“Yeah, that one. Kinda like that,” she frowned as a strong contraction hit.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Just breathe. It’s going to be okay,” he huffed, her hand feeling like it was going to crush his fingers as she squeezed.

Jensen kept repeating to her that everything was fine and that she was doing amazing, and that it would all be over soon as each contraction had her gritting her teeth and crying in pain. He hated seeing her in so much pain, and he would do it for her if he could. But since he couldn’t, he stayed by her side with words of encouragement, little kisses on her face and head, and wiping the sweat away with a cool cloth. And after what felt like an eternity, the doctor told them that it was finally time for her to push.

The flurry of activity in the room as the doctor and nurses prepared to help bring their baby into the world had his head spinning, but he tried to keep his focus on Y/N, and do everything he could to make it as easy as he could for her. Once the doctor told him to hold Y/N’s leg up, he knew the show was starting, and he didn’t know if he wanted to jump for joy, throw up, or pass out.

“Jay. I can’t do this,” she cried after twenty minutes of pushing, her body feeling as if it would give out at any moment.

“Yes you can, baby. You’re doing so good. They’re almost here, and we’ll know soon whether we have a son or daughter,” he whispered in her ear, kissing her temple, “I’m so fucking proud of you, honey. You’ve got this.”

‘Come on, Y/N. I can see the head now. Just a few more pushes,” the doctor yelled out, making Jensen look down.

“Don’t you dare look at that! It’ll scar you forever,” Y/N screamed, groaning through another contraction.

“Baby, nothing could ever make me think any differently of you,” he said sweetly, looking back down to where the doctor was, “Oh my God! Honey, I can see the head! It has so much hair!”

Jensen was elated. He couldn’t have imagined that this experience would’ve been so profound. Of course, seeing his other children being brought into the world through c-section was absolutely amazing, too. But this was a completely different ballgame.

“Okay, Y/N. One more big push and you’ll meet your baby,” the nurse beside her said, holding her leg up higher to give her more leverage to push. Jensen followed suit, and leaned back to Y/N.

“Come on, baby. You can do it. One more and we get to see our baby,” he cooed, kissing her forehead as she gave one last push.

The sound of a loud cry pierced the room, and Y/N and Jensen both let out cries of their own at the wonderful sound. She’d done it. She’d endured the worst pain of her life, and now, her son or daughter was there, screaming for the whole delivery floor to hear. She’d never heard such a beautiful sound in her life. She continued to cry tears of joy as Jensen kissed all over her face, his tears mixing with hers, him showering her with praise for what a great job she had done.

“Mr. Ackles, would you like to cut the cord?” Dr. Williams asked, a bright smile on her face, “You have a very healthy baby over here.”

Y/N and Jensen began to sniffle at her words. Their baby was perfectly healthy. All the worry of them being premature and having complications melting away. Jensen walked over to cut the cord. His breath caught in his throat when he looked down, the doctor smiling at him.

“How about you cut this cord, and then you can go tell mama what the gender is, huh?”

Jensen just nodded. He was speechless. This experience had been one of the most nerve-wracking but beautiful he’d ever had, and he couldn’t wait to tell Y/N what the gender was. Once the cord was cut, and the baby cleaned and wrapped up, Jensen slowly walked back to his fiancee, a face-splitting smile on his face.

“Honey, would you like to hold our son?” he asked, a tear slipping down his cheek at the way Y/N’s face lit up with his words.

“It’s a boy?” she whispered, her voice breaking with all the emotion she was feeling.

“It’s a healthy little boy,” he beamed with pride, gently placing their son in his mama’s arms.

“Oh my God, Jay. He’s beautiful, and just perfect,” she said with awe, kissing the little boy’s nose, forehead, and cheeks.

“Thank you, Y/N. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” he hiccuped with emotion, placing kisses all over her face between every word of thanks.

“You don’t have to thank me, Jay.”

“Yes, I do, baby. I have to thank you for being my friend all those years, for giving me the chance to be your boyfriend, for forgiving me when I fucked up so royally, for agreeing to be my wife, and especially for giving me what I didn’t even know I needed, another baby to love. So, yes, darlin’, I’ll owe you thanks every day for the rest of my life,” he whispered, afraid all the emotions he was feeling would take his voice if he tried to speak any louder.

“I love you so much, Jay,” she smiled through tears, reaching up to cup his face.

“I love you more than I’ll ever be able to tell you, baby,” he leaned down to capture her lips in a soft, quick kiss.

Jensen leaned back to look down at Y/N and their son. The love in her eyes as she looked at their son took his breath away. How could he have been so selfish to have even thought to deny her this? She was going to be a great mother, and he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her, raising their kids, and just loving her. He knew at that moment just what a lucky son of a bitch he was, and he was going to do his damnedest to never take that for granted again.

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twstfanblog · 5 months

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*~Mother's Day, Damn it~*

A/N: Hello all and a happy Mother's Day! Decided to queue this up since I knew I was gonna be hyper-busy the weekend and would honestly forget to post it XD Warnings: Mentions and vague descriptions of pregnancy and childbirth Pairings: YuuxMalleusxAzulxJamil, Mentioned Silver/Sebek, Mentioned Vil/Rook, Mentioned Riddle/Floyd Word Count: 4.3K

MALLEUS

Yuu made sure to apologize to Malleus once the egg was out. Well, once the egg was out, they had a quick bath, and regained mental awareness after a spontaneous three-hour nap. It wasn't their intention to interrupt his birthday party with their water breaking (they really hoped the seemingly ancient as dirt carpet survived it). Yuu didn't remember much from the egg birth. Apparently, Grandmother Draconia had made one of her rare appearances, walking into the room as though Yuu wasn't screaming on their knees and slamming the ornate headboard into the wall in an act of misplaced frustration.

Lilia said she brought them fruit-flavored ice chips, which was very sweet.

Once they woke up, everyone had kept a good few feet away as they congratulated them on a successful birth. (Malleus told them later that night that Yuu had some…vividly creative threats made in their heat of maternal agony. One of which Malleus refused to repeat, only stating it made him physically leave the castle grounds for his own safety).

But now, as Yuu relaxed in a patch of rare sunlight with their egg baby, they felt content. Luckily, their egg wasn't as massive as Malleus's was. Though it had seemed to grow to said size as the months went by. An oil-like black, the shell shined iridescent in the light. The reflective surface was broken up by thin matte black webbing that increased in numbers as time went on. Grandmother Draconia had remarked the few times she'd seen the egg that she had never seen one with such neat growth marks, the pattern almost mimicking broken glass.

Though Yuu had their concerns, (they didn't have magic and dragon eggs needed family magic to hatch) their loved ones were more than willing to pitch in. Malleus, of course, gave the egg magic daily in the form of cuddling and kissing it before and after going about his royal duties. Lilia had given a few sprinkles of his limited magic, whispering blessings and sweet dreams to the youngling inside. Sebek nearly cried himself sick when Yuu offered to let him bestow the egg with his magic, he was one of the godfathers after all (A fact that made Sebek actually cry and hug Yuu tight enough to crack their back). Silver, as the other godfather in question, was more than happy to give his niece or nephew his magic in the form of naptime cuddles.

Even Azul and Jamil had made their way to the valley. Both to visit and to give their donation of magic to the egg. Though they had busy schedules with their own post-graduation lives, Malleus had convinced them to stay a few weeks past their original departure date. If he had to set a harbor on fire to do it, that didn't mean anything.

In the present, a strong gust tiled the egg from its upright position and onto its side in the lush patch of grass. Yuu watched in mild amazement as the egg did what it normally did, wiggling on its side for a few moments before rolling itself back to its starting position. Their child had become insanely active, a fact that Malleus and Yuu took great pleasure in. Nightly, they'd sit on opposite sides of their massive bed and call out to the egg to see who it'd roll toward (Yuu was only a little bitter that they were barely winning).

“Baby. Baby~.” Yuu laughed, watching the egg wiggle around in what could only be called joy at the sound of their voice.

But, their laughter was cut off at the soft sound of something cracking.

They looked at the egg with laser focus, the egg itself had gone deathly still as though the crack had startled them as well. Soon the egg gave another powerful wiggle, a hairline crack forming against the shell.

“...” Yuu turned toward the castle, panic clear in their voice as they screamed, “MALLEUS!”

Malleus had appeared like a bolt of lightning, eyes glowing and ready to kill whoever posed a threat to his mate and child. Only to have his attention pulled to the sound of shell cracking and Yuu's panicked question of “Do I help them!?”

Soon they were back in the castle, the wiggling and cracking egg placed on the ceremonial hatching altar. Malleus held Yuu in his arms, trying to keep them calm as they fought their own need to help their child hatch. Silver, Sebek, and Lilia had appeared after hearing all the noise. While Sebek shouted encouragement to the hatching fae, Silver tried to get his husband to stop yelling at the egg. Lilia was doing his grandfatherly duty of filming everything.

Finally, the cracks along the egg met. From the top, a small purple-tinted dragon poked their head through the opening, fighting against the remaining shell fiercely until they were able to crawl out. They squeaked, almost trying to roar at them with their wings flared out.

Lilia cooed, making sure to capture the scale pattern on the squeaking dragon's forehead, “A little girl! She's much smaller than I-”

The egg tilted on the altar, another small dragon crawling its way from the opening their sister had left. Stepping out and looking around the room unaware of the edge to the altar. Silver had rushed forward, catching the teal-tinted infant before they hit the ground. He held the squeaking dragon in both his hands, unneeded from how small he was but wanting to grip him securely, as he placed him back on the altar, “I...twins? Can there be twins?”

The shock was barely settling in when more cracking echoed in the room. From the bottom of the egg, another head poked out. A frustrated green-tinted dragon flapping their uncoordinated wings to remove leftover yolk. This one was much more tired than his siblings, once free from the egg he had huffed and laid down on the altar.

…

Yuu tilted their head back, giving themselves a high five before moving out of a stunned Malleus's limp arms, “Secured the fuck out of this bloodline! Babies! Babies~!” They gathered the chirping dragon infants into their arms, each of them growing overjoyed to finally be with the voice they always knew.

June 13th, a great blessing was gifted to Briar Valley. Three healthy and powerful heirs born in record time. The country had celebrated for weeks in joy and in blessing of the three new members of the royal family. May Malgona, Malathew, and Malicent Draconia-Crewel live long and be loved.

AZUL

Yuu had fallen pregnant again not long after the triplets' first birthday and it was all Azul's fault. A successful opening weekend of his lounge had made the cecaelian's mood all too happy and frisky. Azul, in a flustered state, claimed that wanting to mate when resources were bountiful was basic biology and he wasn't going to apologize. Jamil started the argument that Azul had done such a thing on purpose to push back his and Yuu's wedding, since Malleus's wedding planning was taken over by grandmother Draconia, and Azul didn't want to marry Yuu until he had a sizable amount of money in his savings for reasons.

While the two bickered, Yuu and Malleus marveled over the ultrasound of a tiny pea-shaped blob.

Malleus would have easily housed Yuu for their pregnancy again; What better place for an expecting mother to be than waited on hand and foot in royal luxury? An idea that Azul surprisingly vetoed, bringing up the fact the triplets would not leave Yuu any time to relax as the one-year-olds had a 6th sense for when their mother was trying to so much as sit.

“They'd run her more ragged than the pregnancy would in the first place…”

While Jamil offered, they all knew Yuu would decline; Since Jamil was currently staying in the Scalding Sands, prepping with his family (and Kalim) for their now pushed-back wedding. Yuu would not last long in the desert normally, asking them to do it while pregnant was cruel and unusual punishment.

So Yuu and Azul made their way to the Sunshine Lands where he had actually inherited a sizable beachfront property from his grandmother. How and why the elder cecaelian had even got her hands on land property, she wouldn't say. But the seaside villa Azul had built on the land was perfect, having a hand in every design aspect right down to the adorable ocean-themed nursery.

And while Yuu's pregnancy tracked along nicely, Azul's sleep schedule and mental well-being had suffered.

Malleus had rarely complained of Yuu during their first pregnancy, but now that Azul was dealing with them first hand he wondered if Malleus was simply…unbothered by the absurdity that escaped Yuu's mouth. The fae had asked how Azul was dealing with Yuu's ‘strange cravings’ during a visit. Jamil had rolled his eyes and jokingly asked if Yuu wanted pickles or ice cream during their pregnancy with the triplets. And Malleus answered she had wanted to drink molten metals, gnaw on gemstones, and wanted to eat a very specific map that was made when his grandmother was a child.

Jamil, having been around more pregnant women than the average person in his life, stated that was…normal…ish. Pregnancy cravings could tilt to the material if the body felt it was lacking nutrients. So Azul was prepared. He had supplement potions of all kinds, he's looked up the most common pregnancy cravings; he had pickles purchased by the barrel and ice cream by the freezer load on standby. Hell, he stocked up on a non-toxic clay that was safe to digest. If Yuu asked him to, he'd crush up shells and pearls into fine dust to mix into their food and drinks to satisfy their cravings.

Instead, he was awakened almost like clockwork every night to make some type of horrific food combination that Yuu insisted would be amazing.

Ground beef and banana smoothies, corn on the cob with a cherry compote and mustard dipping sauce, chocolate-covered pan-fried shrimp. One night they simply asked for a whole, raw artichoke. He watched them eat it like it was an apple and fall back asleep as though they hadn't mentally scarred him in a matter of four minutes.

Azul could put his foot down, he could deny them these hellish cravings clearly caused by some type of demon masquerading as a baby in his date-mate's womb. But whenever he did, Yuu's eyes would fill with tears; sobbing and crying that Azul didn't love them OR the baby.

So Azul would get out of bed and make them their cursed offering. His pride as a chef was strong, but he couldn't last long against his dear pearl's tears…

But, demonic cravings aside, Yuu's pregnancy was progressing as normal. Azul would spend his evenings from the lounge resting gently on his date-mate's stomach and cooing at the tiny being waiting to be born. He had theorized their little girl was in a merform that matched his own; it would explain how they were able to kick him no matter where he kissed on Yuu's stomach. With only a month to go, his child would be the perfect belated birthday present.

Then three days before said birthday, Yuu was rushed to the hospital against their will, once again. The past few weeks they had been plagued with random bouts of false contractions. Each time Azul would panic and rush his pregnant love to their chosen hospital and demand they be looked over. The doctors would humor him, he was an up-and-coming influential member of their community after all. But, Yuu quickly grew annoyed with it, to the point they'd started hiding and waiting for the contractions to stop before even telling Azul they had them.

But now they were back in the hospital, Yuu pacing their examination room as Azul gently grilled the doctor.

“I understand that they're common, but this has been happening for weeks. Is there another test we can do or a specialist we can refer to?”

“Well, Mr. Ashengrotto, as head of labor and delivery and your personally chosen doctor, probably not.”

Yuu sighed, still walking around the room with a hand over their stomach, “Azul, just drop it. I wanna go home and-”

The sound of water hitting the tile floor made them all freeze. Yuu looked down, seeing the ‘water’ had come from them and soaking into the edge of the maxi skirt they were wearing.

…

“Fuck.”

Hours later, Yuu was in a hospital bed and Azul was still on the phone with his mother pacing outside of the room. The mer panicking over the potential health risks of a month early birth and where he could have gone wrong in his prenatal care and how he was a failure-

Yuu spoke calmly into their phone, watching Azul pace past their window again, “Yeah, no. He’s still in the hall crying…I don’t know! The doctor hadn’t said anything was wrong the past few checkups…No, Jamil, I didn’t ingest poison…Why would he give me poison!? Why would I be craving poisons!?...Wanting to drink metal is different.”

Azul had returned to the room after a nurse talked him through his breakdown, sitting at Yuu’s bedside and helping them through the labor pains. He walked them around the room, screened calls from their worried friends and family, and even managed to magic up the fabled fruit-flavored ice chips Yuu had started to demand as the labor continued. Two days before Azul’s birthday the doctor had finally stated Yuu was dilated enough to try their preferred birthing position. With Azul’s hand vice gripped in their own, a few hours into the afternoon, they felt a pressure suddenly rush out of them. The standby nurse quickly swooped in to make sure the baby was fully out and taken to be properly weighed.

Yuu and Azul both sigh in relief at the sound of their little girl wailing her head off. Azul felt tears coming to his eyes seeing she had been birthed in merform, much bigger than any normal mer child but that was to be expected when she had a personal grotto to grow and feed in for eight months; lovingly tucked away to be pampered and protected. He took in his daughter’s form with a tender eye; pale purple skin that ombred into chubby black and speckled tentacles that wiggled around fiercely. A head of stark white hair with delicate newborn curls. Gurgled cries only stopping when the nurse placed her onto an exhausted Yuu’s chest. The infant following her instincts; curling into her mother for warmth and safety, tentacles wrapping around Yuu's arm as an anchor and finally calming.

The doctor smiled at the happy family, both parents cooing over their baby. They moved to exit the room to allow them space to bond, giving Yuu one last glance to ensure there was no ripping that needed immediate attention. The smile on their face quickly fell. At a moment of silence, they moved back to position and gave Yuu a pat on their calf, “Okay! Round two!”

“...” Yuu lifted their head from the pillow, their grip on Azul’s hand somehow getting tighter, “I'm sorry…what?” The loving light of a mother quickly faded into a focused rage.

“...The…There’s a second baby-”

“A second what!?”

Azul struggled to escape Yuu’s hold, feeling his bones trying to liquefy to slip out of what his instincts were screaming was a death trap, “Darling? My pearl? Let go, please let go of my hand-”

“No! I’m gonna eat your fucking arm! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN THERE’S A SECOND-”

February 22nd, Yuu uploaded a photo welcoming Charysa and Scylar Ashengrotto-Crewel into the world. Yuu smiled in bed with two identical cecaelian infants curled against each arm, one of them blinking open a dark blue eye to stare at the camera. Azul sitting at their bedside with one of his arms in a sling and bandages wrapping his fingers together. To this day he stands firm on his twins being the best early birthday present he ever received, and all they cost him was a broken hand and a dislocated shoulder.

(Yuu happily called the Leech twins once their arms were free, telling them they could stop fighting over who the godfather was to be since they could now both be the godfather to a baby).

JAMIL

Jamil and Yuu’s wedding was gorgeous.

Kalim took the fact it was a party for extended family and friends and turned his party planning skills to a whole new level, footing the bill and offering whatever venue the Asim family had at their disposal for the event. Jamil tried to deny his friend’s generous offers, but his mother shot him down so hard he physically felt the impact. He and Yuu had the final say in any decision of course, but against his mother’s cold unmoving stare and Kalim’s small suns for pupils filled with hope, Jamil crumbled often. He wanted to hate the end result, but it was honestly something out of a dream. And his favorite part was his bride.

Yuu’s lehenga was made from the finest red silk, embroidered with enchanted gold thread and precious beads that shimmered in the light. Henna was painstakingly painted on their hands and feet in ornate and fine patterns, their hair and make-up done by a personal beautician of one of the Asim wives, Finally they were coated in ruby-encrusted gold jewelry straight from the royal family's treasury that Kalim had gained permission to borrow from. Yuu was presented to him and he felt like he had found an oasis of paradise, no longer searching for a diamond in the rough as the sands had produced a perfectly cut and shining turquoise into his hands. A vision of beauty and now legally his wife.

So though it was only a month after Yuu had birthed Chrasya and Scylar, barely two weeks after their wedding night, they had learned Yuu had gotten pregnant again, much to their displeasure. Jamil’s mother was boosting at hearing the news, stating that her efforts of sneaking a yellow sapphire into their marriage bed had been the trick to such a fast pregnancy (Apparently, she claims that’s how she was blessed with Najma so soon after having Jamil). Now freshly re-impregnated, Azul and Malleus stated that Jamil should be the main one to care for Yuu as they had for their own children's respective pregnancies.

A challenge he accepted with only mild annoyance.

One of Kalim’s many wedding presents to his dear friends had been a townhouse located in a capital city of the Shaftlands. It was placed within a gated community with plenty of resident-only amenities, it was even a ten-minute walk from the downtown area. A perfect location to keep his pregnant, troublesome adventurous wife safe, yet close enough to events to keep them both entertained. One surprise meeting at the local farmer’s market later, Vil and Rook had become frequent visitors along with Azul, Malleus, and their other children to their townhouse home. However, the older Pomfiore duo had stopped visiting at the end of August as they were finally welcoming their own bundle of joy.

A fact that Yuu quickly pointed out as a reason to visit Vil instead.

“I’m allowed to hold his baby. I’m pregnant and basically the blood sister he never wanted.”

“I’ll be honest, from how Rook’s been describing Vil's hyper possessiveness since they brought Finley home, he may actually fight you if you go over there.”

“I'm pregnant, I can do what I want.”

“Yuu, he will body slam you. Stop trying to put your shoes on.”

Once again, the pregnancy was smooth with frequent checkups and clean bills of health. Jamil remained hyper-vigilant during each clinic visit. Demanding the doctor do two or three extra ultrasounds from multiple angles, paying out of pocket for each surplus check. Only one baby was shown on the screen each pass, but Jamil never lowered his guard. Yuu had two pregnancies prior and a total of three surprise babies that managed to slip by completely undetected. Though everything pointed to one baby, that meant little to Jamil from past experience.

Even at their over-the-top baby shower, once again with Kalim as the head of the planning community, he didn’t stop his double-checking. As the triplets and the twins shoved their tiny hands into a cake to show the bright blue frosting inside, Jamil had gripped Kalim by the collar off to the side and demanded to know if the sex reveal had anything pointing to a second child. Kalim had sworn that nothing had stated there was anything out of the ordinary. Jamil had released him, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose before remarking he couldn't handle another kid. It had already taken him so long to pick Kalim as the godfather, he wasn't sure if he could pick a second person ( Kalim burst into tears at hearing Jamil had chosen him as his son's godfather. Picking Jamil clean off his feet in a hug that ended in them both falling into the pool).

Now, on New Year’s Eve, Jamil and Yuu made their way to Vil and Rook’s snowy mansion to attend their party. They had shown up a few hours early, Yuu shoving Vil out of their way once the blonde star had opened the door. Vil scowled as Yuu quickly waddled deeper into the house to coo over a four-month-old Finley, raising an eyebrow at Jamil, “And you say they're easier to handle pregnant?”

Jamil shrugged, slipping the bag of last-minute groceries Vil had asked him to bring from his shoulder and into Vil’s waiting hands, “I can placate them with food and physical affection. They sleep at least 11 hours a day and at some point running becomes a chore to them. I have half a mind to knock them up again the second this one is out.”

“They’d kill you.”

“They can’t do anything reckless or stupid when pregnant, it’s a dream come true.”

By the late evening, the party had calmed from the large soiree it started as to an intimate get-together of the original NRC group. Children were put to bed upstairs while the adults all talked and caught up with personal lives. Yuu had excused themselves to the bathroom, Kalim taking the opportunity to ask Jamil if he was doing ok.

“You’ve been bouncing your leg all night…”

Jamil sighed, leaning forward and placing his nose and mouth into his clasped hands, “...” He pulled his mouth from his hands, “Something is going to happen.”

Vil rolls his eyes, pouring himself another glass of champagne, “Honestly.”

Riddle hummed from his place under Floyd’s arm, fighting off his drunken sleepiness to soothe his former classmate's concerns, “Jamil…from what I’ve been told, Yuu’s had perfect screenings, you’ve kept them on a strict prenatal diet, and you only have two more weeks until their due date. I believe you are as they say…in the clear.”

“That means nothing when Yuu is involved and you know it.”

Malleus chuckles, stroking a hand through Jamil’s loose hair, “I don’t think there’s any need for concern. Yuu hasn’t had any strange cravings this pregnancy, nor early contractions. I agree with Riddle on you managing to conquer these dreaded ‘surprise pregnancy’ events we’ve been having.”

Rook nodded, humming as he stood from his chair to pat Jamil’s shoulder, “Worry not, monsieur multi! You’ve been so vigilant in monitoring your bébé’s status that I don’t believe the poor boy could hope to kick without you knowing about it.”

Yuu walked back into the room, a hand braced under their stomach and the other pointing behind them toward the bathroom, “Hey remember how I went to the bathroom?”

…

Jamil’s eyes moved from looking directly ahead of him to glancing at Yuu, “Yes…what about it?”

“So I thought, I was just actively peeing; which is why I went. Turns out, Aha…my water broke.”

…

Everyone had watched in a shared muted silence as Jamil picked Yuu into his arms and basically threw them into the back of their car, peeling out of the mansion’s driveway in a barely contained manic episode. They had sheepishly continued the party for an hour, midnight barely two hours away before Vil texted Jamil and Yuu, asking if they had safely reached a hospital.

Azul and Malleus crowded around the phone when Vil let out a delighted scream. Jamil had responded by sending a single photo of Yuu in a hospital bed still in their party dress, a bundle of blue blankets in their arms. While Malleus and Lilia had playfully lamented the loss of another January birthday boy, Cater had remarked how Yuu looked to be fighting back the urge to either laugh or fling the baby out of their grasp.

Jamil texted back, ‘We checked into the hospital, Yuu laid on the bed, and he just fucking came out.’

The doctor and nurses had to be called in, no one expecting Yuu to have birthed so quickly since the ink on their forms had barely dried. Luckily, the baby had no health issues, fully formed with feathery wisps of black hair and giving loud cries to show his airways were clear. Once he was placed into their arms, Yuu had jokingly asked the peaceful infant what had been so important that he needed to be born two weeks ahead of schedule in less than an hour. A joke question that the baby had seemingly answered by blinking open his little coal-colored eyes, opening his tiny mouth and burping. With that single act, he closed his eyes and nuzzled back into his mother’s embrace to sleep.

…

“Jamil, get this motherfucker away from me-”

Two hours before the new year, December 31st, Jamil Jr. (J.J) Viper-Crewel decided he was ready to be born.

(“I didn’t agree to that name. We had, like, twelve names picked out, why are you giving him my name?”

“Jamil. Look at him. This is just you, what the fuck else am I supposed to call him?”)

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst wonderland #holiday fic #yuu oc #malleus draconia #azul ashengrotto #jamil viper #azul x yuu #malleus x yuu #yuu x jamil #fankids

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fanficapologist · 4 months

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Eighty

Perhaps this is what it meant to rule? To be a Princess? Something which Maera was woefully unprepared for. Whilst her mother was the daughter of a Prince, Lady Gael was educated in the ways of a Lady of the Stormlands, prepared since youth to be able to fulfill her role in life, as a wife mother and Lady of a noble House. But Maera? Being a Princess was not on the cards for her.

Although being a member of House Targaryen certainly had its advantages, Maera could feel her personality and freedom being crushed underneath the burden of her responsibility and authority, meaning she could never be her true self. Duty called for her to put on the mask of whatever was necessary for her subjects, whether that be kindness, diplomacy or ruthlessness. It was incredibly exhausting.

That evening, Maera found herself back in her chambers at Harrenhal. The darkness outside was punctuated by the soft glow of candles lit throughout the room, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. The warm, golden light created an intimate and soothing atmosphere, a stark contrast to the harsh events of the day.

Maera sat on her bed, now clad in a soft nightgown that felt cool against her skin. Her freshly washed and redressed wounds throbbed faintly, a constant reminder of her recent ordeal. Her dark brown and silver hair, previously pinned up, now flowed freely in tight curls, cascading over her shoulders and down her back, thanks to the maid who had attended to her.

Spread out on the bed around her were numerous pieces of parchment, bottles of ink, and letters. Maera had decided to use replying to correspondence as a distraction from the tumultuous thoughts that plagued her mind. The act of writing, of focusing on something tangible and methodical, provided a small respite from the emotional and physical pain.

The letters varied in importance and content, but most were regarding mild matters. Some were messages from allies, updates on the war, and requests for guidance. Others were personal letters, filled with words of concern and support from members of House Wylde. Each piece of correspondence demanded her attention and her response, giving her a sense of purpose and control.

Only a few were left unopened. One bore many foreign stamps and seals, which Maera recognized as Essosi, before eagerly opening it.

Little Sister

I hope this correspondence finds you well. I am writing to you with some news that may ease the Greens efforts at sea.

After much deliberation from the Magisters, they have agreed to send a fleet in support of freeing the Gullet so trade may continue with Kings Landing. Whilst I am sure this is just a bid to get money back into the Magisters pockets, it will still work out in your favour.

We await your command, Princess.

Yours Faithfully,

Dermot

Maera let out a breath she did not know she was holding, smiling gratefully at the news. The magisters of Essos had promised their ships, though likely to serve their own agenda, it was still a significant boon to the war effort. Maera put the letter aside, eager to inform the war council of this development.

Another letter was from little Princess Jaehaera, who had written about her younger brother Maelor’s mischievous antics. According to Jaehaera, Maelor had taken to pulling her hair when the nursery maids weren't looking, a fact that both annoyed and amused Maera.

Attached to the letter was a small painting of Ēbrion. The dragon, as depicted by Jaehaera, resembled a pig with rabbit ears and chicken wings, splatted with blue and black paint that had bled together in a whimsical, childlike manner. Despite the crude rendering, Maera giggled at the sight, her heart warmed by the thoughtfulness of her beloved niece. She quickly penned a reply, expressing her longing to be reunited with them soon.

The final letter in the pile lay there, almost forgotten in the shuffle. Its red wax seal bore the symbol of an archer, and Maera’s green eyes widened as recognition dawned. It was from House Tarly.

With a mixture of apprehension and urgency, Maera hastily opened the letter, bracing herself for threats or troubling news from the new Lord of Horn Hill. To her surprise, she found nothing of the sort.

The letter began without a formal greeting, no indication of who it was from. Yet, the distinctive loops on the L's and the emphatic crosses on the T's were unmistakable. Wynni.

How could you?

I am sold to a family like a brood mare to further our father’s influence across the Westeros, the only reason I am now convinced he had children.

I arrive in a land I am unfamiliar with, to live with people I do not know, and hastily married and bedded by a stranger. I am forbidden by my husband’s family from conversing with my siblings when House Tarly turn cloak, and left completely and utterly alone, abandoned, an orphan.

Then when I finally begin to find happiness with my husband, as we begin to form a bond, you take him away. And in doing so, I have lost his child in my womb.

They are to ship me back to Rain House as House Tarly feel I am responsible for your actions and will no doubt betray them. My marriage, my child, erased. I will never, ever, forgive you.

Maera began to shake, her breaths coming quickly in a panicked manner as she read the saddened and angered words of her sister. Relief washed over her knowing that Wynni was alive and well, after not having any contact with her in months. But the knowledge that Wynni was furious with her for murdering Lord Alan, and the pain of her sister’s miscarriage, filled Maera with dread.

Her hands trembled as she set the letter aside, her heart pounding in her chest. Maybe Wynni did not know about the attempt her husband had made on Maera’s life? Even so, sensing Wynni’s hurt and anger on the parchment cut Maera deeply. She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling within her.

With shaking hands, Maera began to clear away all the letters, quills, and ink from her bed. She carefully stacked the correspondence, placing them on a nearby table. She blew out the candles, plunging the room into darkness except for the faint moonlight seeping through the windows.

When Maera eventually lay her head on her pillow, tears began streaming down her face, silently sobbing as the weight of the day's emotions overwhelmed her. The child in her womb kicked violently, and though she stroked her stomach in an attempt to soothe the baby, it was not enough to distract her from her sorrow.

She wished so dearly to be back at Rain House with Sabine, Wynni, and their many other brothers and sisters. Maera longed to curl up beside Wynni in bed, as she had when they were children, when Wynni was scared of the dark. She wanted nothing more than to stroke her little sister’s hair, hold her tightly, and tell her everything would be alright. But it wouldn’t. They were now in the adult world, and the horrors they faced were so much worse than the dark.

Maera was unsure how much more of this she could take. The Dance of Dragons seemed to be not only tearing apart House Targaryen but also her own family. The strain, the betrayals, and the relentless conflict felt like an unbearable burden. Eventually, as exhaustion took over, Maera drifted into a fitful sleep, her tears still wet on her cheeks and her heart heavy with longing and despair.

“Princess, should you not be abed?”

The next day, Maera limped into the council chambers on the arm of Lord Unwin Peake. Her injuries still caused her great pain, but she had found a new strength within herself and was determined to be present and more engaged during the meetings. The ache in her body was a reminder of her resolve. As she entered, the other council members rose from their chairs in respect, although some looked shocked to see her, as evident by Lord Vance’s questioning of her presence.

“I have been abed long enough, thank you Lord Vance,” she replied firmly as she shuffled carefully to her seat at the head of the table, focusing on each step to hide the winces of pain that threatened to show. She couldn't afford to appear weaker than she already felt.

Once she was seated comfortably, Lord Unwin made his way to his own seat. Maera glanced around the table at the council members as they took their seats. Maester Cain had a look of concern on his face at her attendance, clearly worried about her health. The elder Lord Vance looked annoyed, perhaps questioning the prudence of her presence. Lord Butterwell scratched at his beard curiously, awaiting the Princess to speak. Maera detested the looks from the men, feeling their judgment and doubt pressing upon her. She straightened in her chair, determination flaring in her eyes. It was time to prove herself.

“Before we begin, I must apologize sincerely to all of you,” she began with diplomacy, her hands resting calmly on the table. “My husband leaving caused me to disengage from the matters at hand.” A momentary look of sadness washed over her face at the thought of Aemond, but she quickly hid it from the council members, repressing the complicated feelings she had towards the Prince for the meantime. “But since the attempt on my life, rest assured I return with a steady head and I am focused on what is at stake.”

The men, apart from Lord Unwin, exchanged hesitant glances. Lord Butterwell cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Princess, myself and Lord Vance are unsure if your attendance is…appropriate.” Maera clenched her jaw but attempted to remain composed as the Lord continued to speak. “While we value your presence in Harrenhall, you are with child and have suffered immensely. Is it wise to further burden yourself?”

Maera glanced around the room, gauging the reactions of the others. Of course the old fools did not want her there without her husband. She was a woman, and so obviously incapable of being with child and managing affairs with the castle walls, as well as making decisions about her own, and the Realm’s, future. At least that is probably what a lot of the noblemen thought.

Maera bit her lip to stifle a scoff at the Lord’s notion, thinking to herself that no wonder Rhaenyra was so eager to win the throne for herself, or else she would be cast aside to only focus on her family and her husband’s wellbeing, not having any say in government affairs. Despite everything that had transpired between the Blacks and the Greens, in that moment in the council room, Maera empathised with her half-sister in law.

Taking a steadying breath, she addressed Lord Butterwell’s concerns. “Do you recall the fate of Alys Rivers, my Lord?” she asked with a tilted head, a harsh tone to her voice.

The Lord gulped nervously, his eyes darting away from hers. “I do.”

Maera nodded, her gaze unwavering as a grin spread to her face. “Good, then we can all agree I am not some helpless maiden who needs protection from updates of battle and gore.”

Lord Vance huffed in frustration, his fingers drumming impatiently on the table. Maera pressed on, asserting herself. “My presence here, and that of my dragon’s, are what is holding this fortress. If you feel you can match Ēbrion’s power and defend Harrenhall from the Blacks and their own dragons, then please, feel free to speak it now.”

A tense silence filled the room as the men avoided her gaze, their unease palpable. Maera’s eyes flicked to each of them, her resolve unshaken. Lord Unwin watched her with a hint of admiration, his respect for her evident in his steady gaze. Yet this was not enough for the Princess to assert herself and allow the meeting to truly begin.

She sighed deeply, leaning back in her chair with frustration. If she was going to get these lords to work with her, she would have to try a different technique. Were she a Prince, a direct approach would be suffice, but as she was no man, it would not hold any weight; she needed to be more tactful.

“I will not sit here and insult you and claim I fully understand all matters at hand, because I do not,” Maera said, her voice steady and sincere. “You have a wealth of knowledge between you all, my Lords. And whilst I am aware that I am not my husband, I represent him and the crown whilst he is not here.”

By admitting her own shortcomings, as well as acknowledging the void Aemond’s absence had left, an absence that she could not fill, the Lords slowly appeared more receptive. Although she did not necessarily believe that a Princess’s role was separate from politics and battle plans, it had always been the way of things. Some even thought the order had been bestowed on humanity by the Gods, and to challenge that was seen as blasphemous.

As the Lords glanced at each other, Maera continued on. “I would be honoured if you would teach me, be patient with me, work with me, and as a united council, we can make decisions on behalf of the Realm.” Maera saw Lord Unwin nod approvingly in the corner of her eye. “That way, there will not be a disruption in proceedings whilst Aemond is away.”

Through giving the lords the illusion of power within the meeting, Maera ensured she held her own. She made them feel important and involved, fostering a sense of collaboration rather than confrontation.

“Can we come to an agreement, my Lords?”

Maester Cain's look of concern softened, and even the elder Lord Vance seemed to begrudgingly accept her presence. Lord Butterwell, still scratching at his beard, nodded thoughtfully at her words. The awkward tension began to dissipate, replaced by a more productive and cooperative atmosphere.

Maera knew that winning their trust wouldn't be easy, but this was a promising start. She was determined to navigate this delicate balance, using her newfound approach to strengthen her position and secure the support she needed.

When the meeting finally began, gradually, the lords began to engage more openly, offering their insights and suggestions whilst also considering Maera’s opinions and own knowledge. Minor matters were discussed, such as the delivery of wheat and barley to the fortress. The lords deliberated over safe routes for suppliers to take during the war, their combined experience ensuring that vital supplies would reach Harrenhall without unnecessary risk.

The Butterwell lord mentioned a shortage of blacksmiths in the area, which had led to fewer swords in the hands of their soldiers.Lord Unwin, ever resourceful, suggested procuring additional blacksmiths from King's Landing. The lords quickly agreed, and the matter was efficiently brought to a close.

As the lords continued to chat, Maera's attention drifted to the large map spread out across the table. Black and green figurines representing the warring factions dotted the map, and she couldn't help but smile at the memory of herself and Aemond knocking them off the table during their passionate encounter.

Sadness and frustration washed over her. She was furious with Aemond for his actions and decisions, yet she missed his presence deeply. This conflicted her, making her even angrier at herself. Balancing these emotions was a constant struggle, one that only added to the weight of her responsibilities.

As Maera studied the map intently, noticing how the green figurines seemed even sparser than before, a comment from Lord Vance caused her head to snap up.

“We have some troubling news to report upon the Westerlands border,” the older nobleman began, his tone grave. “Whilst attempting to get the Lannister army across the Red Fork, Lord Jason was killed.”

Maera sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping. It was another blow to the Green forces, and she could not help but feel guilty for not patrolling the borders the last few weeks, even though her condition prevented her from doing so.

“Ser Adrian took charge and managed to get the remaining host to Acorn Hall in order to regroup,” Lord Butterwell added, his expression serious. “Unfortunately, the rivermen met them again on the battlefield, and even though the Greens were victorious, Ser Adrian was slain.”

Maera was stunned, her eyes widening. Her mind raced with the implications, her thoughts immediately turning to her sister, Sabine. Ser Adrian had been kind, loyal, and a good husband. Thankfully, Maera’s sister had given birth to two sons and could regent for the eldest until he came of age, ensuring her safety. Maera dug her nails into her palm, feeling another flare of anger towards Aemond. Yet another of Alys's visions had proven wrong, adding fuel to her simmering rage.

“We must send our condolences to Lady Johanna and Lady Sabine for the loss of their Lord husbands.”

“Yes, Princess, but that is not the only matter at hand,” replied Lord Unwin, causing Maera’s frown to deepen as she shifted her gaze to him. He continued, “The Red Kraken has taken it upon himself to pillage and plunder the shores of the Westerlands.”

Maera’s expression hardened as she absorbed the news, her fingers tightening around the sleeve of her dress. The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone present. She remembered Aemond's attempt to procure an alliance with Lord Dalton Greyjoy. The Ironborn Lord had stayed true to his word, adhering to tradition by reeving and raiding along the coast. It was a stark reminder of the unpredictable and brutal nature of war.

“Lady Johanna has written to her good brother to plead for aid, and the Master of Ships has granted it,” revealed Maester Cain.

“Leaving us with less ships along the Gullet,” added Lord Vance.

Maera looked at the map, glancing at Essos and the Straits. The news from her brother, Dermot, had come at the right time, and Maera was thankful she could present a solution to the council. Staring at the map, she saw a small box of green figurines beside it. Confidently, she picked up some extra figurines and dotted them on the coast of Essos and some near the Straits of Tarth. This piqued the council's interest, some lords leaning forward and awaiting Maera to reveal her plan.

“My brother has written to me that the Magisters will send a fleet to our cause. This should bolster the numbers around the gullet and leave us less vulnerable,” the Princess declared, moving the figurines she had placed to the Gullet of the Crownlands. “I can request more ships be sent to from Morne to compensate for the Lannister fleets’s absence. Are in agreement?”

The council listened attentively, nodding in agreement as Maera spoke. Her proposal was sound, a well-thought-out strategy to mitigate the threat of the Velaryons. As she placed the figurines on the map, representing the deployment of forces, the council members began to discuss the specifics, their initial hesitation easing into cooperation.

Lord Unwin agreed to correspond with the Master of Ships, Ser Tyland, to make him aware of the strategy and gain his consent for the arrangements to be made. Despite the weight of her grief and anger, Maera found solace in the fact that she could still lead and protect her people. Her resolve was unwavering, and with each passing moment, she felt more determined to see her plans through and ensure the safety and strength of her House.

The flames in the hearth of Maera's room flickered and danced, casting a warm, golden glow throughout the chamber. Shadows played across the walls, their movements mirroring the crackling fire. The heat radiated outward, creating a cozy, intimate atmosphere that contrasted sharply with the cold stone walls of Harrenhal.

As Maera sat in her chair, she felt a sense of accomplishment. The contributions she had made at the war council meeting filled her with a renewed confidence. She realized that she could indeed handle these responsibilities on her own. Her strategic mind, combined with the power she wielded—a dragon, a fleet by inheritance, and the diplomatic nature of a politician-made her a force to be reckoned with.

However, Maera wished to put all that aside for a moment. She wanted to spend quality time with the child in her womb. She felt a strong kick beneath her black and golden loosely fitted robes, a reminder of the life growing inside her. Gently, she stroked her swollen belly, a tender smile spreading across her face. The worries and burdens of leadership momentarily faded away as she focused on the small, yet powerful movements of her unborn child.

In this quiet, serene moment, Maera found peace. The future remained uncertain, filled with challenges and conflicts, but here and now, she was content. The firelight continued to bathe her in warmth, its soft glow reflecting in her eyes as she connected with the tiny life within her, drawing strength and comfort from their shared bond.

Maera’s previous bedridden recovery had only brought her closer to the child growing inside her. During those long, lonely days confined to her chambers, she often talked or sang to the babe as it rhythmically kicked against her hand. Isolated for most of the time, the babe had become her constant companion, a source of comfort and connection.

She conversed with her bump in both the common tongue and High Valyrian. Although there was no evidence in medical texts that a child could hear voices from outside the womb, Maera liked to think it could. Every time she spoke or sang, the child would respond with a punch or kick, as if acknowledging her presence and love.

The Princess couldn’t believe how quickly the pregnancy had progressed. Less than two moons remained until the child’s arrival. Despite all the changes she had already undergone, she marveled at how much she had grown to love this unborn life with a fierceness and intensity she had never experienced before. The anticipation of meeting her child filled her with a mix of excitement and trepidation, yet her love remained unwavering, a bright beacon amidst the turbulent seas of her life.

The large black and green dragon egg remained in its iron pot for most of the day near the hearth, nestled above piping hot coals that blazed fiercely, incubating the beast within. The intense heat radiated from the coals, enveloping the pot and creating an almost unbearable aura of scorching warmth. Servants of the castle dared not venture too close. The searing heat from the pot was overwhelming, making it impossible for them to lift it, let alone touch the egg itself.

However, Maera was unfazed . The blood of the dragon ran hot in her veins, rendering her unaffected by the scathing heat. She approached the pot with a calm determination, her hands immune to the burning touch as she lifted the egg. Cradling it gently against her round stomach, Maera felt no stings or burns.

As she held the egg, the child within her seemed to sense its presence. A series of wild kicks thudded against her belly, striking the shell of the egg. The sensation made Maera giggle, a joyful sound that resonated in the warmth of the hearth. The connection between her, the unborn dragon, and the child she carried was palpable, a harmony of life thriving in the heat.

“This egg could hatch and you could have a dragon of your very own. You will be so lucky to have one born to you, ” Maera whispered, gazing down at her bump as the child kicked against her hand. “My grandfather, your great-grandfather, Vaegon, was nicknamed ‘The dragonless’ as he did not claim one. He is now a Maester somewhere in the Citadel I think. No longer a Targaryen by name.”

As Maera spoke softly to her bump, she could hear the low calls and growls of her dragon, Ēbrion, drifting through her window. The great blue and black beast was still holding vigil in the burnt lavender field, remaining close to his rider. His massive form cast a shadow over the charred landscape, his eyes ever watchful and protective.

The Princess chuckled at the welcome noise. “I had to claim my dragon. Never in my life did I think I would ever be a dragon rider, that I would be just like my grandfather. And yet now, I feel I was born to be. That it is within my blood.”

Maera longed to ride Ēbrion again. She missed the sensation of the wind running rapidly through her hair, the invigorating scent of fresh air, and the exhilaration of soaring high above the ground. The freedom of the skies called to her, a siren’s song of liberation and joy.

She hoped fervently that Maester Cain would soon deem her injuries healed enough for her to take flight once more. The stab wounds to her thigh and arm were improving each day, but even the simplest tasks such as walking and dressing remained challenging. Each movement was a reminder of her ordeal, yet her spirit remained undaunted, driven by the desire to reunite with Ēbrion in the skies.

“I am still new to riding a dragon, but I am getting better everyday. It just takes some practice.”

In that moment, a wave of sadness washed over her as she pictured the one-eyed Prince. He had been her mentor in the art of dragon riding, teaching her everything she needed to know. He had shown her the different types of saddles, how to read a dragon's body language, the significance of the bond between rider and beast, and the precise techniques for steering the reins. Each lesson had been a shared moment of connection and trust.

Maera missed those times, times when her heart was lighter and less burdened by the troubles that now plagued her. Aemond had his faults, certainly, but she had trusted him then. He was her guide and partner, the one who helped her navigate not only life with a dragon, but the complexities of the royal court since her status had changed. But now? After everything that had transpired with Alys, Maera could not see a clear path forward. Betrayal and doubt clouded her thoughts, making it difficult to reconcile the man she had loved with the one who had caused her so much pain.

She was bound to Aemond, not through some fantastical prophecy or a greater calling from the Gods, as the dead witch had once suggested. No, their bond was forged through marriage and solidified by the child growing within her belly. This connection, both legal and familial, tied her to him in ways that were both inescapable and deeply complex.

“You have the dragons blood within you too,” the Princess assured the babe. “And it is not just my guidance you will have. The other person to teach you…will be your father.”

Familiar footsteps echoed just outside Maera’s door. She did not flinch or outwardly react, maintaining her calm focus on the babe and the dragon egg she cradled. The room was filled with a warm, serene ambiance as she whispered softly, undisturbed by the approaching presence.

The door to her chambers creaked open slowly, allowing a cool draft to sweep into the room. Maera turned her head to look at the figure standing in the doorway. Her heart sank and pounded loudly all at once as she instantly recognized the shadowy figure.

“Issa daria?” My Queen?

Notes: Heavy chapter. Lots happening on the lore front, make a note.

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

#maera wylde #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house targaryen #house wylde #hotd helaena #aemond fanfic #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon season 2 #house of the dragon #hotd season 2 #hotd

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yutaholic · 2 years

Text

codename: viper (M)

PAIRING: Yuta (NCT) + reader (female)

SUMMARY: ten years ago, Yuta walked away from a life of villainy to be a husband and father, but when an enemy comes lurking, he is ready to protect his family by any vicious means necessary...

WARNINGS: mild language; violent scenarios with mentions of blood; dialogue related to pregnancy and childbirth; explicit sexual content

NOTES: 17k words; this is part of my villain series, beast mode

There was nothing like the view of your house after a brutal day at the office. The sun had long set over the neighborhood as you drove down a street of identical houses. Hiding in plain sight, your husband called it.

Parking in the driveway, you gathered your bag and your high heels, which you had kicked off the moment you got into the car. It had been a grueling twelve hours, the majority spent in court. You walked up the path through the yard, the cold pavement soothing on your bare feet, and opened the front door quietly.

Your babies would be in bed by now, unfortunately. And you didn’t want to wake them.

The moment you stepped into the house, the savory smell of hot food wafted into your nose and your stomach growled, hitting you with hunger pains. “Yum,” you muttered to yourself, dropping your high heels beside the row of shoes by the front door. The sight of two small pairs of sneakers always made you smile.

Yuta was in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove, and at the sound of your approaching footsteps, he turned and greeted, “Hello, District Attorney Nakamoto.”

You grinned, marching right over to your husband and slumping into his chest.

Yuta hugged you tight, kissed your temple, and asked, “Put away a lot of bad men today?”

“A few,” you replied, your energy running on empty, but with every second spent in his arms, you could feel yourself refueling. “Some bad women too.”

Yuta rubbed your back as you broke reluctantly from his hug, though you still clung to his waist, and teased, “I remember when you used to threaten to lock me up forever.”

You gave him a wry smirk. “That was just my way of flirting.”

“Or the times you grilled me in interrogation for hours. Handcuffs included.”

“That was foreplay.”

Yuta snickered. Then, he turned serious for a moment to say, “It’s been a pleasure watching you climb your way to the throne.”

You flushed a little, taken aback by the compliment. “Do you think I’m worthy to sit on it?”

Yuta was stern, as to be expected. “There’s no one more worthy than you.”

You sighed, all the tension breaking in your chest.

Yuta pressed a tender kiss to your lips, which you returned, overlapping your arms on his shoulders and deepening the kiss. It took the loud popping of food over the fire to draw your husband away from you.

“How are the babies?” you asked as Yuta prepared you a plate.

Your husband grinned from ear to ear and gushed, “They’re amazing. Together, they’re smarter than both of us combined.”

You pretended to wince. “Oh, dear. Make sure they never hear you say that.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“And no sign of any…”

Powers.

Yuta shook his head. It was around this age his abilities had fully surfaced. He studied the twins intently, painstakingly, every day. They were his children; it was likely he passed the gene to them, but there was a chance your genes could have defeated his.

You dropped the subject. It was no secret Yuta hoped his children hadn’t inherited his gift. And given they were five years old now, there was a strong chance he’d gotten his wish. It was bittersweet, to say the least.

“I hate when you work late,” Yuta mumbled, walking over to the dining table with your plate in hand.

“I know, but we’re spread so thin right now,” you told him tiredly as you took the seat he pulled out for you.

Yuta sat beside you, keeping you company while you ate your dinner. Propping his head on his hand, he smarted, “No one wants to work for the justice system? I’m shocked.”

You chuckled as you chewed your food, but sadness seeped into your voice when you said, “We get some really good people, especially the younger ones, but the system breaks them eventually. It’s stacked against all of us.”

“No wonder villains choose to play by their own rules,” Yuta said snidely under his breath.

You gave him a look. It wasn’t the first time he’d made that kind of comment and it wouldn’t be the last. Yuta fully supported the work you did, but a life of villainy had shaped him in ways you would never understand.

“Humanity has to have laws that separate us from the animals.”

Yuta whispered darkly, “Some of us are animals, my love.”

You cocked your head and flirted, “Not you, Viper.”

Yuta smirked. Then, his expression shifted and he caught himself staring at you with admiration. You were the only woman that had ever embraced his darkness. You never punished him for his past, but you pushed him toward a healthier future.

“I want a better world for our babies too,” he whispered, reaching over to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

That meant everything to you. If Yuta was in your corner, believing in you, you knew you could do anything. You leaned toward your husband and kissed his cheek, which made Yuta blush. He was a sucker for affection.

“This is delicious, babe,” you said a moment later, dabbing at your lips with the napkin. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Yuta retorted, “The spawn have been begging for steak for days. Daddy is getting pretty good with the grill.”

You snorted back a laugh. You still remembered the days Yuta could barely cook noodles without setting the house on fire. Not to mention the time he put both of you in the hospital with food poisoning for accidentally cooking well-expired ham. To this day, you and your husband still gave sideward glances toward ham.

Yuta made it a point to prepare home cooked meals for you and the kids. And after many, many classes (which you were forbidden from telling any of his friends about because he had a ruthless reputation to protect), he had gotten pretty good at it. Your husband’s newest favorite method was the grill on the back porch that you bought him for his birthday. He had grilled almost everything that could be grilled at this point, much to the delight of your children.

Speaking of the precious spawn, your twins came running out of their room, Suki practically sprinting and dragging Yuma by the hand behind her.

“Big news,” your daughter announced loudly.

Yuta shot them a glance and said, “The two of you are supposed to be sleeping.”

“Daddy, this is important,” Suki countered without missing a beat. She gave her brother a little push in your direction and said, “Tell them, Yuma.”

Yuma shifted nervously, his eyes on the floor. Holding eye contact was very hard for him. Your son was painfully shy. “I, um, I was thinking,” he started.

You and Yuta waited patiently, always prepared to give him the time he needed to put his thoughts into words.

Suki rubbed his arm in comfort. “It’s okay, Yuma. You can tell them.”

Yuma sucked in a breath and said, “I… want to be an artist.”

You exchanged looks with Yuta, both of you fighting back delighted smiles.

“That’s great,” Yuta said brightly.

You nodded emphatically. “I would love to see your art, baby.”

Yuma made a noise. “It’s not ready yet.”

“Oh.”

“Yuma wants to do art,” Suki said with excitement. “But he thinks people will say it’s stupid.”

Yuta snorted. “If anyone says your art is stupid, Yuma, then they are idiots with no taste.”

“Exactly,” you agreed.

Your son smiled, relieved. With the three of you on his team, he was ready to try.

Yuta lowered his tone to something mischievous and asked, “Now, be honest, did the two of you stay up waiting for Mommy to come home?”

“Yes,” the twins answered in perfect sync.

You quickly rose to your feet and exclaimed, “Then, you better get over here and hug me before Daddy takes you back to bed!”

Suki and Yuma rushed toward you, colliding into your chest and you enveloped them in your arms. Yuta let out a fake growl and held up his hands, chanting, “I’m coming to get you!”

The twins squealed and laughed as you raced through the living room with them in your arms, keeping them out of their father’s clutches.

Not long after, you met Yuta’s eyes and smiled contentedly. Suki and Yuma were nestled between you and their father, sound asleep. Yuta traced his thumb over your cheek as you drifted off.

Everything was right in the little world you shared with your family.

Only a few years ago you’d wondered if you would ever be where you were now.

“It’s killing me, Yuta,” you cried, on the verge of tears. “I wanna get pregnant. I want to have a baby with you.”

“I know,” Yuta sighed, level. He was reluctant to show you just how distressed he was, because Yuta was an empath where you were concerned. He tended to reflect your emotions. Especially when they were running high.

You paced in front of your husband, who was leaning against the doorway of the bedroom. Little by little, you’d stripped out of your clothes from work and Yuta had tossed you one of his shirts to wear over your naked body.

This was less of an argument and more of an unresolved conflict. And if there was one staple in your relationship with Yuta, it was that the two of you could talk through anything.

“But the work I do is important,” you continued, voice breaking with sadness and longing. How you could miss a baby you’d never met was beyond your understanding. “I can’t give up my job, but I’ll be damned if I let a stranger raise our kid.”

Yuta finally approached you, crooning, “Babe, calm down for a second.”

“It’s eating me up,” you whimpered, spinning your wedding band on your finger the way you always did when you were stressed.

You and Yuta had recently celebrated your second anniversary of marriage. The discussion of babies was coming up more often. You both wanted kids. It was something you talked about together even before you got married.

But everything in your career was falling into place. Your dedication did not go unnoticed by Hel’s brutal justice system. You were a fierce prosecutor, sorely needed in a city rife with both lawless villains and corrupt heroes.

You found yourself at a crossroads of your dreams - being Hel’s hammer of consequences and making your hometown safer or being a mom and having a baby with the love of your life.

Yuta called your name and said, “I’ll raise the baby.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, eyes wide. “What?”

Yuta nodded and said it again, “I will raise the baby. You can keep your career. It’s okay.”

You gawked, like your brain had short-circuited. “You’re okay with me being the breadwinner?”

“As long as there’s bread to eat, I really don’t give a fuck who wins it,” Yuta quipped.

“God, Yuta,” you groaned as he gathered you in his arms. “You keep setting the bar too fucking high.”

Yuta laughed at that.

You melted into him, stars in your eyes. He had the most beautiful laugh and smile you had ever seen. The sight still made butterflies dance in your stomach, even after all the years spent together. Your body was already on fire. It was taking all of your restraint not to pounce on him.

Yuta could tell and the corner of his mouth lifted in that trademark smirk of his. It was going to be a very long night of baby making, Yuta sensed, and he had a feeling you’d be calling out of work in the morning. Kneading at your hips, your husband asked, “What do you say? You bring home the bacon and I’ll cook it.”

Your heart was so full you thought it would burst at any second. “You’re gonna raise our baby?”

Yuta stole a quick kiss and said, “Gladly. It would be my honor to raise our children.”

You bit your lip, shivering as his hands ran up and down your back. Then, without another word, you walked over to the dresser and grabbed the packet of birth control pills, holding them up dramatically before dropping them in the trash bin.

Yuta kept his promise. After your babies were born, you went back to work, determined to make Hel a safer place.

Raising the twins was Yuta’s greatest pride. He loved watching them grow, enjoyed teaching them everything they needed to know about life. Every day, he would catch himself staring at Yuma and Suki in wonder.

How such beautiful, pure creatures came from him was a goddamn mystery.

It was early in the afternoon when Yuta returned with the twins after a few hours of kindergarten. Schools in Hel were a little different. The affluent could afford to send their kids to very secure private schools and you didn’t mind shelling out the extra money for that.

Regardless, Yuta tended to hover near the school until it was time to pick the kids up. Just in case. He had no idea how he was going to cope with the following year when they would be at school all day. Yuta was seriously considering getting a job at the damn school, but Suki would be opposed. She often called him out on his hovering, much to Yuta’s amusement.

Yuta drove home with the twins in the backseat, all three of them singing along to the radio. Suki belted her little lungs out while Yuma mumbled the words he knew here and there. Yuta constantly caught himself smiling until his cheeks ached.

Back at home, he set out snacks for the kids and Yuma made himself comfortable at the coffee table in the living room to work on his drawings. Since he told you and Yuta about his passion for art, Yuma’s pictures were beginning to collect on the walls. It was the boost his confidence needed.

Yuta’s hand shook with the urge to chuck the calculator against the wall. God, he hated balancing the fucking checkbook. One of these days he was going to hire one of his friends to do it. Someone good at math. Probably Jungwoo.

Suki finished her snack and walked over to the dining table where her father was slowly but surely losing the will to live and called, “Daddy?”

Yuta looked over his shoulder. “Yes, Suki?”

“I have a problem.”

Well, that was Yuta’s least favorite phrase. Nothing unnerved him quite like it. Setting down his pencil and turning to her, he asked, “Okay, do you want to talk about it or is it something I need to fix?”

Suki replied flatly, “I would like to talk to you about it.”

Yuta patted the seat next to him and said, “Alright. I’m all yours, baby girl.”

Suki clambered into the chair and began, “There’s a girl in my class.”

Yuta waited patiently.

“We held hands today.”

Yuta breathed a little easier, having expected something a bit more dire. “That’s nice,” Yuta said with a smile. “Did you want to do that?”

Suki nodded happily. “Yes, I liked it.”

Yuta fought a laugh. “Good. Okay.”

“I want to marry her,” she announced, very matter of fact.

“Oh. I see.”

“Is that okay?”

Yuta chewed over his words carefully before answering, “Well, I think it’s sweet you found someone you like, but Suki, marriage is a very big step.”

“Hm.”

“Do you think you’re ready for that?”

Suki’s face was filled with determination. Yuta’s daughter feared nothing and felt the world was hers for the conquering, and he’d be damned if anyone ever told her otherwise. “Yes. I love her,” she told him.

Yuta was grinning, trying desperately not to giggle. Judging by the look in her eyes, Suki had no idea the gravity of what she was asking. She was only five years old, after all. “And while I appreciate that, do you have money for a wedding?”

Suki thought about it, tallying up her allowance money in her head, and replied, “I have a little bit.”

“And a house? Do you have money for a place to live with the person you marry?”

His daughter grimaced. “I didn’t think about that.”

Yuta reached over to take her tiny hand and gave it a squeeze, explaining delicately, “That is why it’s important to go to school so you can get a good job one day and have a nice house for you and your partner. Because marriage is a partnership.”

“Like you and Mommy?”

Yuta smiled warmly at the thought of you and said, “Yes. Mommy works very hard to give us this nice house.”

Suki sighed and her eyes sparkled. “I love Mommy.”

“I do too.”

A thought struck Suki. She looked to her father expectantly and asked, “Did you want to marry Mommy when you held hands?”

Yuta bobbed his head. “Absolutely. Holding hands with a pretty girl triggers all the happy feelings in your brain.”’

Suki giggled.

Yuta peered down at his daughter with joy. She was the cutest thing in the world with her sweet smile and bouncy pigtails. She looked a lot like you while Yuma looked more like him, but Yuta could see himself in Suki when she was up to no good. She had his mischievous grin and his penchant for trouble.

Suki seemed content with the conversation and gave her father a grateful kiss on the cheek before sliding off the chair.

Yuta stopped her to ask, “One question, Suki. Did anyone say anything to you about holding hands with a girl?”

She seemed puzzled by that, brows furrowed. “No.”

“Good,” Yuta said. He would not hesitate to march into that school and give them a piece of his mind if necessary. Yuta was always in fight mode when it came to his babies. Fortunately, the school knew you were Hel’s biggest lawyer and went out of their way not to piss either of you off.

“Did I miss anything today?” you asked that night after finishing your dinner, following Yuta over to the sofa in the living room.

Yuta poured you a glass of wine and took the empty spot beside you, putting his own glass to his lips and replying, “Your daughter wants to get married.”

You lurched, almost choking on your drink.

Yuta was beaming, sidling closer to you as he added, “To a pretty girl in her class.”

“I’ll be damned,” you said, shaking your head with a laugh. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her that while marriage is admirable, it’s also very expensive,” Yuta quipped, draping his arm around your shoulders.

You downed another mouthful of wine and groaned, “God, why are they growing up so fast?”

“We’re gonna blink and they’ll be our age.”

“Don’t say that. I swear, I just birthed them yesterday.”

Yuta snorted.

You mulled it over and spoke like you were presenting closing arguments for a case, “Tell them they can’t get married until at least thirty. They’re ours. We don’t want to share them with anyone else for a long time.”

Yuta clinked his glass against yours. “I’ll be sure to tell them.”

You lowered your head, breathing out a sigh. Blinking rapidly, because your eyes had begun to burn, a tear escaped and rolled down your cheek. You did your best to quickly wipe it away with your hand, hiding the evidence as it were, but Yuta saw. He could feel your body tensing up.

“Baby, don’t do that to yourself,” your husband whispered. He knew you too well, better than anyone else on earth.

You sniffled and more tears followed when you cried, “I feel like I’m missing out on so much. What if I look back and I’ve missed everything, Yuta?”

“Come here,” Yuta crooned, tugging you close.

You buried your face in his chest and closed your eyes, dampening his shirt with your tears.

Yuta rubbed your arm, trying to warm you because he knew a cruel chill was working its way through your body. You were exhausted and burnt out, and for every criminal you put away, three more took its place. You were a warrior locked in an endless war with a hydra.

You hated working late, hated that the sweet beautiful moments with your children were few and far between, but you were determined to fix the system before they had to live under it.

There were days you wished you could live somewhere else, but the rest of the world had designated Hel the only sanctuary for those with powers. If they ventured anywhere else, they were hunted to the death. Regardless of Yuta’s abilities, you would never ask him to run forever.

Once you were spent of your tears, Yuta slipped his fingers into your hair and tugged your head back so he could search your face. You weren’t surprised when he kissed your wet lips, tasting the salt on his tongue.

The two unfinished glasses of wine were left behind on the coffee table as Yuta popped your legs around his waist and carried you into the bedroom. You disappeared with him into a haze of kisses and touches, lust and passion.

Yuta wasn’t satisfied until he broke you. Until your body was as exhausted as your heart and mind had been. Seconds blurred into minutes and minutes blurred into hours. You were covered in sweat, tangled in damp sheets. Tears of sadness became tears of pleasure as he took you again and again.

You screamed into his hand clamped over your mouth, because Yuta dared not let the sounds you made travel outside of the bedroom. You shook with orgasm, your body an unhinged livewire, and darkness rolled over your eyes like a blackout.

It was times like these you were convinced you and your husband were made only of ecstasy. And only for each other.

“Look at me,” your husband growled, clasping your jaw. He was propped over you, rocking his cock in and out of your core at a lazy pace.

You were sore and overstimulated, shivering each time he bottomed out inside. The slow strokes of his cock were too much and yet not enough. You held onto his arms for dear life and stared into his eyes, lips parted as you panted for breath.

“You’re a good mom,” Yuta told you gently, his voice low and husky. “They love you so much. Almost as much as I do.”

Fresh tears spilled from your eyes and you whimpered just as Yuta smashed his lips on yours, silencing all of your doubts and fears with his words and with a kiss.

You were lingering in that place between awake and asleep as Yuta lowered you into the hot bath he’d prepared. With your head on his shoulder, you closed your eyes, letting the heat seep into your bones while Yuta hummed along to a familiar tune. You barely remembered him drying you off and tucking you into bed.

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered, leaving one last kiss on the corner of your mouth.

In the morning, you roused out of bed, careful to be quiet as Yuta still slept. You always envied him a little extra on Saturdays. Not only did he get to sleep in, he got to spend the day with the babies.

You showered and dressed, and walked over to the bed, propping yourself over your husband and kissing his cheek. “I love you so much,” you murmured, leaving one more kiss near the corner of his mouth.

Yuta garbled a vague “love you” in his mother tongue, still asleep.

You grinned that even in his dreams he could hear you and tiptoed away to another long day of putting down Hel’s worst criminals.

Sunday was the only day of the week you had off and they were without contest your favorite day of the week. You and your husband were reluctant to leave the bed at a reasonable hour, catching up on much-needed rest, and eventually the twins crawled in to cuddle. Rather than get up, Yuta put on a movie for them, the latest Pixar release, which they happily watched in the comfort of your bed while you and Yuta dozed a bit more.

The next time you woke up, your daughter was pushing on your shoulder. She jumped up and down on the mattress, chanting, “Wake up, Mommy. Wake up!”

You stirred, blinking to clear your vision, and snatched your daughter, bringing her in close for a hug. Suki was all giggles, hugging you back.

“Daddy made pancakes,” she told you hurriedly, trying to roll you off the mattress.

“I’m coming, baby,” you rasped, staggering out of bed. You wobbled over to the dresser, putting on some sweatpants to go with Yuta’s tee you were wearing, and followed your daughter out to the living room.

Yuta was holding your son over the counter and you watched as Yuma scattered chocolate chips onto the pancakes. Your husband glanced up and flashed you a grin. “Hey, Mama. Finally out of hibernation, are you?”

“And whose fault is that?” you shot back playfully.

Yuta stuck out his tongue. The images of you howling his name into the pillow and scraping your nails down his back were still fresh in his mind.

“I��ll get my revenge tonight,” you murmured under your breath, stealing a chocolate chip from the bag and popping it into your mouth.

“Mommy,” Suki whispered quietly, tugging on your shirt.

Discreet, you handed her a few chocolate chips which she crammed into her mouth with a victorious grin.

The four of you sat at the table and ate your pancakes. Laughter echoed through the house. You couldn’t put into words how much you enjoyed eating with your family. After a week of solitary dinners, nothing warmed your heart than when the four of you were together.

Suki was a riot of personality. You and your daughter went back and forth, arguing facetiously over the most mundane things. Yuta was already making jokes about her following in your footsteps as a vicious lawyer.

Yuma was just like his father. In the tiny lulls between you and Suki’s fast-paced conversation, he let monotonous comments pass. The epitome of Yuta’s dry humor. Your son was hilarious without trying. Yuta would throw his head back and laugh, chiming in as well. It was only when with his family that Yuma defeated his shyness.

Where Suki had Yuta’s mischief, Yuma had your balance. While Suki had your snark, Yuma had his father’s wit. Yuta often said the twins inherited the best parts of you and him.

With breakfast finished, you gathered the plates and took them into the kitchen to clean. You had to chase Yuta away more than once, insisting he relax on the couch. It wasn’t often you got to actually wash something. Yuma and Suki came to help you, but more or less ended up just keeping you company.

In keeping with Sunday tradition, the four of you went to the park not far from your neighborhood. It was a nice, breezy walk, your fingers intertwined with Yuta’s. Suki led the way, not surprising, and Yuma was a step behind her.

Once the playground was in sight, Suki took off running, rushing over to join her friends. Yuma stopped and turned to look at you, and you encouraged him forward. Your son meandered over to the swings, watching his sister who was gabbing away with the other kids as if she’d never left.

You sat comfortably on one of the benches, returning the waves of familiar parents nearby. Yuta traced senseless patterns on your shoulder, leaning his head against yours. The two of you were content to watch your kids play.

What was mundane to others was paradise to Yuta. His life had been chaos; absolute, utter chaos, but now, it was beautiful and calm. He wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

“Yuta?”

“Hm?”

You nestled deeper into his embrace and said, “I need to take a step back.”

Yuta made a tiny noise, as if in agreement, but without saying it outright.

“I miss them so much,” you whispered, then turned to him. “I miss you.”

“I’m right here, babe. We’re not going anywhere.”

You chewed on your lip. “I want to be home more. The kids will be in school full days next year. At the very least, I can try to stop working until night. That way I can see them in the evenings.”

“What will that mean for justice?”

“I won’t be able to pack in as many cases in a day as I usually do, but maybe that’s a price Hel will have to pay.”

Yuta was gleaming. “I support whatever you want to do.”

You smiled, happy, and turned your eyes back to your children. Their smiles warmed you down to your very soul.

By the time you returned to the house, Yuma was sound asleep in your arms and Suki was drooling on Yuta’s shoulder. You tucked them both into their beds and turned off the light, closing the door as quietly as possible.

“One minute past their nap time and they are out,” you joked, tying up your hair into a bun on your head.

“They don’t even realize they’ve worn themselves out until it’s too late,” Yuta added, standing before the television with the weather report on. His phone was in hand and Yuta viewed his unread messages. He liked to be kept up to date on the state of the criminal underground and the dangers on the city’s surface, but he never told you that.

You were better off not knowing that Yuta kept his fingers on the pulse of Hel.

Plopping down on the sofa, you let two whole seconds of quiet pass before whining, “Ugh, go wake them up. I miss them.”

Yuta chuckled and turned off the television. Setting down his phone, he made a beeline for you and you cried out in surprise when Yuta steered you onto your back on the couch and crawled over you, leaving playful kisses across your neck.

Your giggles shifted into moans. Yuta pinned you under his weight and stroked his clothed cock on your thigh, his hand down your pants. You sighed his name into his ear and arched your body into his, the two of you writhing together and getting each other off.

Yuta made you feel like a teenager again, sneaking off to hook up in the car or stealing a quickie in the bathroom. There was no end to his desire for you. You were his other half and the mother of his children. Every day, he fell more deeply in love with you.

And you with him.

Yuta’s breath was hot on your neck as he let out one final moan. Your husband clambered off of you and slumped back against the couch, both of you disheveled and panting. And buzzing with that post-coital surge of dopamine.

“Fuck,” you groaned, eyes fixated on your husband. His cheeks were red and sweat glistened across his collarbones. With your legs still around his hips, you flexed your thighs, intentionally trying to get a reaction out of him.

Yuta swallowed to wet his dry throat and smoothed his hand over the lowest plane of your stomach possessively. “Woman, you’re insatiable,” he growled, feigning annoyance.

“You satiate me just fine,” you purred, grabbing his hand and dragging it underneath your shirt until he landed on your breast.

Yuta instinctively squeezed your mound, teasing his fingers over your nipple, and asked lowly, “Think you can wait until tonight for more?”

“Yes,” you said, but the fire in your eyes betrayed your words.

Yuta bit his lip, raking his eyes down your body. Knowing your warm, wet cunt was right there, inches from his cock, made him start to heat up again. Your husband shifted, draping himself over you once more, and teased, “It would be just like the babies to come running out here as soon as I get it in.”

You laughed. “Like the six-week mark?”

Yuta dropped his head to the crook of your shoulder with a groan and his reply was mumbled against your skin, “How could I forget?”

Six weeks after you gave birth was the imposed limit for intercourse your doctor had given you. And god knew you were counting down the days. Yuta pretended to have far more patience than you did, acting unaffected by the lack of intimacy. Honestly, having two newborn babies was distraction enough.

But as the clock winded down, you and Yuta were doing a mating dance of frustration and downright insanity. It was endless flirting and touching and the most obscene sexts you’d ever seen. Or sent. On more than one occasion you messily dry humped each other to the finish line over the nearest surface. Not your proudest moment, but you had to take what you could get.

When six weeks came and Yuta called your doctor to make sure it would absolutely be okay for him to touch you again, the two of you nearly destroyed the house on the way to the bedroom.

And just before Yuta was about to cautiously sink inside you, the baby monitor burst with cries.

This pattern continued for two weeks. Every time you were about to get railed by your husband, your beloved twins let their feelings be known on the other side of the house, screaming for milk or a diaper change or just to be held. Which effectively ended the mood.

It wasn’t until Yuta’s saint of a mother offered to take care of the twins for a day that you and Yuta enjoyed twenty minutes of fucking around and then, hilariously, spent the remaining ten hours catching up on sleep.

“How was your nap?” Yuta asked your son as he dragged his feet out to the living room. You and your husband were sitting on the couch, cleaned up, and had been talking quietly amongst yourselves.

Yuma rubbed his sleepy eyes. “Good,” he finally said, remembering his father had asked him, and climbed into your lap, using your chest as a pillow.

Yuta smiled fondly and reached over, smoothing down Yuma’s fluffy dark hair.

Suki joined not long after, her face puffy and her eyes squinting. Unlike her brother, she was too tired to speak and merely collapsed into Yuta’s lap in the most dramatic fashion.

The debate was soon on for dinner. Yuta always ordered something rather than cooked, since it was the day of rest and all. Traditionally your husband and kids would play rock-paper-scissors to decide. You never played, because you rather sucked at it and always lost so why bother.

When Yuma emerged the victor, Yuta and Suki threw up their hands and whined over their defeat, much to you and Yuma’s amusement. Your son excitedly declared, “Pizza!”

Fresh, hot pizza was delivered to the door in twenty minutes. Yuta carried the big box to the dining table and called, “Come and get it, spawn!”

Your twins were already tripping over themselves to take their place at the table and you were a few steps behind. As Suki impatiently grabbed at the slice her father had put on a plate before her, Yuta made a disapproving sound and chided, “Wait a second, silly girl.”

Suki lifted her chin as Yuta tucked a large napkin into the collar of her shirt, protecting her clothes from the mess she was undoubtedly about to make. You did the same for Yuma, who rarely ever spilled, but he never wanted Suki to feel like she was the only one that had to wear a bib. Yuma was all about sibling solidarity.

The evening was defined by full bellies and endless laughter, much like the rest of your day. Suki decided to stand on her chair and regale the rest of you with a recap of the latest episode of Sailor Moon she’d watched. Yuma would calmly chime in here and there with major plot details she missed and Suki was ever appreciative. He was the only one allowed to interrupt her, on account of them sharing a womb and all.

As night fell, Yuta snuck away to prepare a bath and once it was ready, the twins followed you eagerly in. They played in the bubbles while you washed their hair and made sure to splash you right in the face. Yuma pretended he was a sea turtle, while Suki decided she was a walrus.

Everyone brushed their teeth and washed their faces. Suki treated both as if they were Olympic events and Yuma was content to watch you in the mirror the whole time, trying to imitate you. The twins dressed in their pajamas without much fuss, but Yuta knew better.

“I don’t wanna go to sleep,” Suki cried loudly, racing into the living room. “I wanna stay with Mommy!”

Yuta reminded, “Suki, you get grouchy if you stay up past ten.”

Yuma turned to you and asked, “Why is the weekend over?”

You snorted. “I ask myself that every Sunday, baby.”

Suki darted between Yuta’s legs, escaping his intentionally slow attempts to catch her, all the while yelling that she wasn’t tired.

Sensing both of your kids on the verge of a meltdown, you spoke firmly, “Suki and Yuma, come here to me. Now.”

No one dared contend with that tone.

The twins did as told, flocking to your outstretched arms. You hauled them up with you onto the sofa and steered your babies to lay their heads on your chest, as you’d always done since the day they were born. Pressing a kiss to each of their heads, you started to hum.

Yuma and Suki held each other’s hands in your midst and smiled at each other before closing their eyes. Listening to your heartbeat reminded them of the warmth and safety of your womb. You rocked back and forth a little, humming that familiar tune. Yuta braced his hands on the back of the couch, watching over you and your babies.

When you were pregnant, Yuta made a habit of talking and singing to your growing belly. It was hard for you not to join in even though you didn’t have a beautiful singing voice like he did. Yuta would beg to differ, but that was an argument for another day.

Around your eighth month, you were put on bedrest which almost made you lose your mind with boredom. As someone who was perpetually busy, laying around was the quickest and most effective way for you to go insane. Yuta was forever brainstorming ways to keep you occupied.

It also lent itself to fear. You had nothing to do but think and your brain decided to fixate on all the things that could go wrong with a twin pregnancy. Add hormones to that and you were a messy ball of nerves wound up so tight you thought you would snap.

Yuta cradled your face and pressed his lips to your brow, humming softly. Telling you to calm down would only frustrate you more, so he treated you like a fussy baby. And it worked. You sniffed back the tears and closed your eyes, letting him rock you back and forth with his hand on your big belly as he hummed that little tune he’d come up with for the babies inside you.

And here you were, five years later, soothing the twins with those same low notes. They had no meaning outside of your house, but for your little family, they were everything. Yuma let out a soft sigh and you knew he was dozing off. Suki fought sleep for the sake of her pride, but her little lashes batted heavier and heavier.

You kept humming as Yuta took your son carefully from your arms and you continued humming as you carried Suki into the bedroom behind him. You gave each of them a kiss on their foreheads and whispered, “Goodnight, my darlings. Sweet dreams only.”

Then, Yuta turned on their night light that shone a galaxy on the ceiling and closed the door behind you.

Yuta took you by the hand and led you with him to the bedroom. Just shy of the bed, he gave you a little spin, twirling you like at the start of a dance, before pulling you into his arms. You giggled, meeting his oncoming kiss.

“I wish every day was like this,” you sighed longingly.

Yuta hummed an agreement against your mouth, slipping his tongue between your lips. Seeing you hold those babies made Yuta out of his mind with love for you.

You kissed him hotly, running your hands beneath his shirt to palm at his warm skin, feeling the taut lines of his abs. When the kisses grew out of control, you braced your hands on his chest, cocked your head toward the bed and said, “Lay down.”

Yuta smirked at you and did as told, taking off his shirt and laying on his stomach over the mattress.

You climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and sitting squarely on his butt. Then, you started running your hands up and down his naked back.

Yuta let out a little moan. You could break every knot in his muscles until he was mush in your hands.

“No matter how hard I work, I know you work twice as hard,” you told him, massaging his shoulders. “You’re doing an amazing job with our babies.”

“I’m doing my best.”

You put forward more pressure, working away the tension in his muscles. Every now and then, Yuta grunted or moaned and you knew you were on the right track.

There were lines in his back. Battle scars, he called them. You often wondered how much evil Yuta had seen in his lifetime, but he never told you. He kept those secrets buried deep within. You knew your husband was a force to be reckoned with and that was part of the reason you slept so soundly in his arms.

You dragged your lips down his spine, kissing across his scars, making Yuta shiver beneath you. You pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses over his broad shoulders and tongued your way along the ridges of his muscles.

Yuta shifted, all the blood rushing to his cock. Your every touch was enough to drag him to the edge of ruin.

“You feel like getting pegged tonight?” you teased, licking your lips a bit hungrily.

“I’m not in the mood,” Yuta said, nonchalant.

“Oh?”

Yuta glanced at you over his shoulder and growled, “I’d rather fuck the shit out of you.”

You snickered. “You already did last night. Tonight, I wanna make you feel good.”

“You always make me feel good, baby.”

“Well, I’m ready when you are.”

Yuta turned over beneath you, grabbing your hips. He peered up at you in reverence and whispered, “I love you so much it hurts sometimes.”

“Babe, don’t talk like that,” you purred, running your thumb over his perfect lips. “I’ll suck the soul out of you and then there won’t be anything for me to ride.”

Yuta brought your hips down, grinding his hard cock into your clothed folds. The presence of pants between your bodies irritated him. “I’d get it back up for you in a heartbeat.”

“I know,” you said, bending down and kissing him.

You stripped each other naked between kisses. Slowly. Intimately. Like you had all the time in the world to explore and pleasure each other’s bodies with a familiarity belonging only to lovers that had been through heaven and hell together.

And not until you were begging him to take you did Yuta guide you further up his body to sit on his face.

“Mm, fuck,” you groaned when Yuta raked his tongue through your slit, teasing around your bundle of nerves. You were already throbbing with want and the lightest of touches made your body spasm.

Yuta looped his arms around your thighs, making you lower even more. He knew you were hesitant to put too much weight on him, no matter how many times he’d told you otherwise, but he was determined to have his way with you.

Your arched your hips slowly, almost barely at all, tentatively thrusting your sex closer to his mouth. Yuta worked you with his tongue, tasting your arousal and grunting lowly in the back of his throat at the taste of you.

“B-baby,” you stammered, threading your fingers through his hair. You dared not look down, because the sight of him sucking at your clit like his last meal would end you on the spot.

Yuta reached up to squeeze your breasts roughly before caressing his fingertips over your nipples until they were stiff to the touch. God, he loved your body so much he couldn't stand it.

You bit your lip to quiet yourself, but between his hands and his mouth there was no hope for you. You whimpered and whined, riding his face at a languid speed, just enough to keep his lips from getting ahold of your engorged clit.

Yuta knew that and he brought his palms to your ass. Then, he started tapping and drumming his fingers on your skin. It was a warning.

You picked up the pace, arching your cunt closer to his mouth. Gathering your bouncing breasts in your hands, you pressed them together and pinched your nipples.

That still wasn’t enough for Yuta. He reeled a hand back and landed a hard smack on your ass, making you jolt and squeal.

You sped up a little, feeling him tickling his fingers over your ass again. Reminding you how easily he could give you another spank. “Yuta,” you pleaded.

He parted from your dripping cunt to growl, “I know you can ride better than that. Just ask my dick.”

Your stomach clenched as you let him suck more intensely at your clit. The stimulation was almost too much. Your body began to shudder involuntarily.

Yuta let a hand slip from your ass, holding it at the ready, and he smirked against your lower lips as you rolled your hips frantically in response. The moment you shied away from his tongue, he brought his hand down on your ass, sending a loud slap through the room.

“I can’t, baby,” you choked out, craning your body back and bracing your hands on opposite sides of his waist.

Yuta pinched your hips in his hands and lifted his head, flicking his tongue mercilessly on your clit. You can and you will, he thought to himself, chuckling against your folds.

You fisted the blanket and panted, your breaths loud and downright pathetic. Eyes winched closed, you bucked your pussy into your husband’s face, seeking the wet warmth of his tongue while everything in your body tried to escape it.

Yuta tightened his hold on your hips as you came, grinning smugly at the lecherous sounds leaving your mouth. He could feel his fingers sinking into your flesh to the point of bruising, but he knew how much you loved that. All his energy was on his tongue, rubbing your sensitive clit until you begged him to stop.

Your legs were like jelly and your head was stuck in a fog. Yuta steered you back into position over his hips, rutting his hard cock against your soaked folds. You swallowed to wet your dry throat and ran a hand through your hair, peering down at your husband and shaking your head. “You’re a fucking god. I hope you know that.”

Yuta chuckled, draping his hands lazily on your thighs while he kept grinding into you, waiting. Your pussy coated his length in your juices, evidence of how hard he’d made you come.

Part of you, when things became serious in your relationship with Yuta, wondered if the fires between you would ever die down. Years of dating passed, then marriage, culminating with the arrival of your children and the answer was still no. Yuta still drowned you in his passion like it was the first time.

“You’re mine,” Yuta had hissed into your skin on your wedding night, crushing you in his arms as he buried his cock inside you. “Every inch of you is mine. Every breath you take is mine.”

With that memory fresh in your mind, you grabbed one of his hands and brought it to your neck to hold. Lifting your hips, you wrapped your fingers around his hard cock and guided him into your entrance, sinking down on him. You were so slick from orgasm, he pressed right in without resistance. But you still moaned at the girth of him stretching you.

Yuta squeezed your throat, clenching his jaws at the tight heat of you enveloping him. “Fuck,” he staggered out, abs flexing as he fought the urge to pound his cock into your perfect pussy.

Adjusted, you braced your hands on Yuta’s chest and started to ride him, moving in a way that he stroked deep inside you. You locked eyes with your husband, watching the pleasure on his face, and purred, “You’re mine.”

“All yours,” Yuta said, breathless.

You bounced on his cock until Yuta lost the last of his restraint. That was when he wrapped his arms around you, trapping you to him, and began to thrust up into you, hips slapping into your ass at inhuman speed. You held onto his shoulders and moaned desperately into his neck, enduring his brutal pace until another orgasm ripped through you.

The echo of your cries and the clamping of your cunt around his length made Yuta burst, stuffing his cock into you as deep as he could go and filling you with his load. He shuddered and groaned, fisting a hand into your hair and biting down on the base of your neck.

Utterly spent, the two of you slumped limply into the bed and held each other tight like no force on earth could ever tear you apart.

In the morning, you couldn’t bring yourself to get up for work after the third night in a row spent tangled with your husband. You called to let them know you would be coming in late and since you were technically the boss, no one could tell you otherwise.

Funny enough, your secretary applauded you for finally taking a little break.

The moment you tossed your phone back onto the nightstand and folded the pillow under your head, Yuta was on you. You hummed when he settled his weight on your back, trailing kisses over your cheek.

If you thought you would be getting extra sleep after presenting a rare opportunity of morning sex to your husband, you were mistaken.

Yuta glanced up at the clock and mumbled, “The babies won’t be up for a while.”

You smirked, closing your eyes and feigning indifference, but you lifted your hips, making your ass bounce into his stiff cock. Like intimacy with Yuta was all your body was capable of craving. Still naked from the night before, you arched your back into his body, moaning softly when his dick rubbed against your folds.

Yuta whispered filth in your ear as he pushed the blankets and pillows away from you. You held the edge of the mattress and cried out when Yuta steered you into position roughly, bending your leg up and pressing a hand into your lower back.

You wiggled your ass, enticing him to take you, and sucked in a breath when two fingers slipped into your hole.

“You’re still wet,” Yuta hissed, biting down on the bridge of your shoulder and pumping his digits between your folds to prepare you.

You taunted, “I stay wet for you. You know that.”

Yuta gathered a handful of your hair in his fist, yanking your head back to kiss and tongue at your throat while he withdrew his fingers from your pussy and guided his cock in, impaling you on every last inch.

“Yuta,” you moaned, your eyes rolling back. You gripped the edge of the mattress harder, your mouth gaping.

Yuta let out a noise of pleasure as he coaxed his cock deep into your cunt, the kind of sound that made you clench on him. “So fucking tight and swollen, baby,” he crooned in a tone meant to rile you up. “Does it hurt?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. His hands roamed over you, playing with your breasts and nipples, whilst Yuta sank his hard dick into you slowly, moaning in your ear at the warmth of you around his cock.

“I love you,” he sighed, stealing a kiss.

Rather than answer, you decided to goad him. You glanced at Yuta over your shoulder, arching your hips to meet his languid pace, and whispered, “I know you can fuck harder than that. Just ask my pussy.”

Your husband could and gladly would fuck you for an hour, but you were too sore for that. You wanted a quickie. Hard and fast.

Yuta chuckled, remembering his words from the night before, and used his grip on your hair to shove you face first into the mattress. You would definitely need to stifle the noises you were about to make.

You winched your eyes closed and held the mattress for dear life, eventually biting on the edge too as Yuta smacked his hips into your ass, throttling his cock into your pussy.

“Don’t wake them up,” your husband warned, pinning his hand to the nape of your neck. He had you whimpering and moaning like he’d fucked all the goddamn sense out of you.

“I’m coming,” you told him in a matter of minutes, squirming in his hold, trying to get yourself the rest of the way.

Yuta thrust into you faster and faster, at an almost inhuman speed. Almost. Sensing you at the edge, Yuta bore down on you with his weight, whispering dirty praises in your ear, and rammed his cock into your sweet spot until you came with a cry.

“I love you,” you chanted, because it was much less embarrassing than saying thank you over and over again for the mind-shattering orgasm he’d just ripped out of you.

Feeling your pussy try to push out his cock with the intensity of your climax, Yuta got a punishing grip on your hips and plunged his length into you, releasing with a mangled groan, finishing with one hard thrust after another.

You gasped to catch your breath, bouncing ever so slightly to milk his cock. Being fucked full of his cum made you arch your back and moan, wanting every last drop he had to give.

Yuta gave your ass an appreciative slap when he reluctantly drew his soft length from you, and said, “Atta girl.”

You lay there, your entire body thrumming and satisfied, and dozed off the moment Yuta finished cleaning you with a cloth from the bathroom.

Your husband dragged the blanket over your naked body and left the room quietly, knowing that if he stayed in bed with you, it would undoubtedly result in another round.

So instead, Yuta made himself comfortable on the couch and waited for the kids to wake up. He shook his head, thinking of you and your beautiful body. Fuck, he wanted to march back in there and drill you to another toe-curling orgasm.

Yuta fixed a pot of hot coffee, knowing you would want some when you woke, and blew the steam billowing from his mug as he watched the TV. The news was reporting a steady decline in city violence; a result of the new district attorney’s efforts to put away bad men and corrupt cops.

Seeing your picture on the screen unnerved Yuta. He didn’t want your face to be so widely known. Fortunately for you, however, Yuta still had friends in low places. They would keep it known that you belonged to someone that was not to be crossed. A venomous serpent slumbering in its den, as it were.

It was half past ten when you dragged yourself out of the bedroom, forcing yourself to get ready for work. To your surprise, you found both of your children waiting for you.

“Mommy, you look beautiful today,” Yuma greeted, smiling widely at you when you emerged from the bedroom.

“Thank you, darling,” you told your son, pressing a kiss to his brow. Then, you checked the time and remembered what day it was. “No school today?”

“Teacher work day,” Suki replied. She was seated at the counter and Yuta stood beside her, jotting things down on a list.

“Anything you need from the store, Mama?” Yuta asked, spinning the pen between his fingers.

“I can’t think of anything,” you said, looking between your son and daughter. “Are you going with Daddy to the store?”

“We always do,” Suki replied excitedly.

Sadness washed over you, but you hid it quite well on your face like any seasoned lawyer. You wanted to spend some time with the babies.

Yuta saw right through you, as only he could. Turning to the twins, he started speaking rapid fire Japanese, to which they giggled because they understood perfectly.

You scowled, though it was insincere, and whined, “That’s not fair. You know Mama is still working on her Japanese.”

“You’ve been working on it for ten years, my love,” Yuta teased under his breath, then he changed his tone. “I was just telling them how smart you are.”

“Bull… poop,” you started, quickly correcting yourself before using profanity in front of your children. Yuta grinned with amusement at irritating you.

At the word poop, Yuma and Suki giggled again.

A very loud bang sent a reverberating shudder through the house, making picture frames rattle on the walls. No one flinched. Undoubtedly a villain and a hero were duking it out in the center of the city again.

One moment Yuta was beside Suki, in the next he had crossed the room, caught a falling vase and set it back, and returned to her side in the time it took you to blink.

You mumbled, “I saw that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yuta said blithely.

“Daddy says he’s not fast,” Suki announced. “Everyone else is just really slow.”

You snorted back a laugh.

“Alright, Suki, let’s hit the market,” Yuta said a moment later, tucking the shopping list into his pocket.

You blinked in surprise. “You’re not taking Yuma with you?”

Yuta shook his head, a tiny smile on his face. “He wants to stay with you.”

You looked back at your son on the sofa, who was beaming at you warmly.

Yuta and Suki gave you and Yuma parting kisses and left.

Yuma sat beside you, watching a movie intently. He held onto your hand, absentmindedly playing with your fingers, and leaned against your side like he couldn’t quite get close enough to you. While Suki could talk a mile a minute, Yuma was rather quiet. She was the one to always drag him out of his shell, while you preferred a more gentle approach.

You reached over and brushed his hair from his brow before running a finger over his cheek. It was wonderful getting to spend time with him and you wanted to catch up on things you’d missed. “Anything you wanna talk to me about?” you asked sweetly.

Yuma shrugged.

“No pressure. Whenever you want.”

Yuma nodded and flitted his eyes between you and the television, pensive. He shifted a little and after a long pause, he said, “I want to make friends.”

You turned toward him, giving your son your undivided attention, and asked, “Do you have friends at school?”

Yuma couldn’t meet your eyes and shook his head, mumbling under his breath as if he were embarrassed, “Suki has lots of friends.”

You chuckled a bit. “Suki is very… assertive.”

Yuma peered up at you with furrowed brows. “What does that mean?”

You pinched your lips, thinking of the best way to explain. “It means she goes after things very strongly.”

Your son was staring at you, admiring. He was looking at you like you were the whole world. The same way you looked at him. “She’s like you,” he said, sweet as could be. No anger or jealousy to be found.

You snorted. “I suppose so.”

“Is Daddy like that?” Yuma asked curiously.

“A bit.”

“Why not me?”

You took his hand and gave it a squeeze, saying, “You’re a little different, Yuma. But different doesn’t mean wrong. You’re just you and that’s more than enough.”

Yuma relaxed. “Okay.”

“Do you want to be more assertive? Because I could teach you.”

“I don’t.”

“See? It’s just who you are. You’re perfect.”

Yuma was comforted by that. “But I want to make friends.”

You slipped a finger under his chin, tipping his head up. “Then, you make friends that are more like you. Does that make sense?”

He nodded. “It does.”

“I never had many friends,” you told him. Once upon a time, you would never have been able to verbalize that. A large part of your life had been spent with a lonely heart.

It was something you and Yuta had in common.

That caught Yuma by surprise. He looked up at you with wide eyes and nestled closer to you, putting his little hand on your arm as if to comfort you. “You didn’t?”

“No. People thought I was weird. I was obsessed with doing good in school and becoming a lawyer.”

“What about Daddy?”

Your face lit up at the mere mention of the love of your life. “Your father is my best friend in the whole world.”

“What made you be his friend?” Yuma pressed. He was suddenly an endless well of curiosity. He liked hearing about you and Yuta before he was born. Yuta told you that Yuma asked the most questions about how the two of you met and fell in love.

Suki, on the other hand, was more inclined to hear that she came out of your tummy first and was therefore, the oldest of your twins. By nine whole minutes.

“He told me I was perfect the way I was,” you replied, smoothing back Yuma’s hair. God, he really was Yuta’s spitting image. It was like looking into his eyes even though he was miles away from you. “And that there was nothing that could ever stand in my way if I wanted to do something.”

Yuma bounced and exclaimed, “He told me the same thing!”

“Your father is very wise.”

“He is.”

You pretended to wince and put a finger over your lips, whispering, “Don’t tell him I said that. It will go straight to his head.”

Yuma covered his mouth with his hand, playing along with your little joke. “I won’t.”

You wrapped your arm around your son and pressed a kiss to his nose, cooing, “You’ll be a great friend, Yuma. I promise.”

Your son hopped into your lap, hugging you tightly.

A quiet thud made you turn your head sharply toward the front door, every hair on the back of your neck standing up.

Yuta spoke to his daughter in his mother tongue as they walked through the farmer’s market. Suki loved looking at everything there was to see and the vendors always let her taste test things because her reactions were dramatic, but very genuine.

And because Yuta was generous with his money.

“Much better,” Suki declared after eating a grape.

“Yes, Miss Suki. They were a bit watery last time, weren’t they?”

She nodded.

Yuta chuckled, then told the seller, “Two bags please.”

Gripping her father’s hand tightly as they meandered, Suki asked, “Daddy, when are we getting takoyaki?”

“Soon, princess.”

“I’m being very patient.”

Yuta’s face tensed with the threat of laughter. “Yes, you are and I appreciate it.”

Suki suddenly went rigidly still, her hand slipping from around Yuta’s fingers as she stopped dead in her tracks. The smile vanished from her face in an instant and her eyes went out of focus.

Yuta jolted, all of his attention centering on his child. Crouching down before her and holding her arms, he asked frantically, “Suki, are you okay?”

His little girl trembled, tears filling her eyes. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. For the first time in her life, she was terrified. “Daddy, something’s wrong,” she whimpered, reaching for him.

Yuta lifted her into his arms, adrenaline tickling up his spine. “What is it, baby? Do you feel sick to your stomach?”

“No, it’s Yuma. And Mommy. Something’s wrong!”

That was all Yuta needed to hear. He dropped the basket of food and cradled Suki to his chest, feeling her cling to him. “Take a deep breath and hold it, Suki.”

She did as told and in a flash, they were gone.

But he was too late.

Yuta walked slowly through the house. His hands were shaking.

The front door was splintered into pieces. The living room was destroyed like a goddamn tornado had swept through. You put up a hell of a fight. Yuta knew you would. A mother’s instinct to protect her baby was formidable even against the strongest of enemies.

Yuta stepped over the broken coffee table, analyzing everything. He could safely assume there were a number of attackers. You were no match. Hell, even in his prime he would have struggled.

There was blood smeared on the wall, but Yuta breathed a little in relief when he didn’t recognize the scent. He had been right beside you when you gave birth. He was the one that put bandaids on all of your clumsy little cuts.

He knew the scent of you intimately.

This blood was not yours. It belonged to someone that foolishly tried to separate you from your child and learned you would die or kill before that happened.

“Suki, you can come out,” Yuta said lowly. “It’s clear.”

A panel above in the ceiling moved and Suki jumped down, landing in Yuta’s arms. He held her snugly to him, feeling her shaking with emotion, and coaxed, “I know this is hard, baby, but I need you. I know you can sense your brother.”

Suki nodded.

“Is Yuma hurt? Is your mother hurt?”

Suki paused, tapping into the connection she shared with her twin. “Yuma is okay. Mama is okay,” she told him, lips quivering. “Yuma is really scared, Daddy.”

Yuta took a steadying breath. He would rend this goddamn city inside out to get back what was his. “Can you find them, Suki? Can you lead me to them?”

His daughter nodded. “I think so.”

Yuta set her down on the floor and pulled out his phone. “I need to make a call. Go grab your panic bag, okay?”

Suki trundled to her bedroom. It went without saying Yuta taught his children extensively what to do in situations like these.

He was very aware of the dangers in Hel. But he never thought someone would dare enter the Viper's nest.

Pressing the phone to his ear, Yuta paced and after two rings, a familiar voice answered. “Someone took my wife and son,” Yuta said, skipping any greetings. He didn’t have time.

“I know,” Mark replied gravely. “It’s already spreading underground.”

Yuta grit his teeth and hissed, “Who did this?”

“I'm already looking into it. Give me fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you. Call me the second you have anything.”

“Done.”

Yuta hung up just as Suki returned with a little purple backpack. He gave her a proud smile and lifted her into his arms. “Ready, baby?”

She grabbed his face, staring into her father’s eyes, and asked, “We’re gonna find Mommy and Yuma. Right?”

Yuta gave a single nod. “Yes, Suki. We’re going to find them. I promise.”

By his tone, Suki knew her father would move mountains. She found her courage again and took a deep breath.

Despite the blindfold over your eyes and the cords wrapped tightly around your wrists, binding them together, your son was curled on your chest and you had managed to mold your entire body protectively around him.

You spoke softly and soothingly to him, but Yuma had whispered in your ear, “Daddy’s coming.”

Part of you already knew that. In your heart you knew Yuta would stop at nothing to bring you and your baby home. All you had to do was buy enough time. You kissed Yuma’s head, holding him even tighter.

Cradling your son, feeling his terror, knowing danger was closing in, was another kind of hell.

You closed your eyes and thought of Yuta. The one thing that could distract you from the suffocating grip of fear on your throat. You thought back to the moment you met, at the police station of all places. As a junior district attorney, you had been brought in to consult on whether a case could be made against him.

The Viper.

Sitting in a dimly lit room, Yuta was handcuffed to the table, but you knew you were the one in a cage with a lion. He was not captured. On the contrary, he was rather entertained.

“Everything you have on me is circumstantial,” Yuta stated plainly.

You took the seat across from him and said, “I know.”

Yuta narrowed his eyes, assuming you were manipulating him, and asked, “Then, why are you here?”

You shrugged. “Just following orders.”

“You don’t seem like the type.”

“The type of what?”

“To just do what you’re told.”

You stared into his eyes. Yuta’s gaze was hypnotic. You couldn’t look away. He was drawing you in slowly.

So began a dance of Yuta intentionally getting himself caught, prompting you to be summoned to the station to question him. Questions ended up ranging more toward you, the things you liked, the things you hated. The things you were interested in.

Who you were interested in.

As Yuta was led out of custody, free to go once again, he made sure to stop by you and whisper, “I would love to take you out to dinner.”

It took every ounce of your restraint not to smile. It was about goddamn time, to be honest. He was the most attractive man you’d ever seen. Not just his face, but his mind. Nothing about him was simple and that thrilled you.

“I can get a reservation at the Blood Raven tomorrow night. Interested?”

The Blood Raven, one of Hel’s most illustrious, high-end establishments. Known to be frequented by villains on the regular. “I’m interested,” you murmured softly.

It wasn’t like you to flirt with danger, but when danger flirted back, you kinda liked the rush it sent through you.

Yuta grinned victoriously. “Seven o’clock then. I’d offer to pick you up from work, but I’m sure that would be frowned upon, considering your profession.”

“I’ll see you then.”

Yuta sauntered out with an extra swagger to his step while you were screaming internally.

You snapped out of your reverie when the van jerked to a stop. Your son jostled on your chest, but you secured your hold on him as the men grabbed your arms and dragged you out.

Though they made no attempt to separate you from Yuma again.

Yuta folded his arms and glanced around the back alley. There was an overturned trash bin and tire marks on the ground.

Suki ambled along the alley, searching with her wide eyes. Your beautiful eyes. Yuta smiled at her fondly, hiding the ice cold fist of terror wrapped around his heart.

His daughter turned to him anxiously, but Yuta was quick to assure her, “Take your time, baby girl. You’re doing great.”

Suki nodded and kept looking for traces of her brother to follow.

Finally, she pointed and said, “That way.”

Yuta scooped her up and bolted.

He came to a sharp stop, mid-sprint, when he felt a vibration in his pocket. Holding his daughter, Yuta answered the phone, “Yes?”

“Your wife recently put away three upper-rank members of the Cyrus Gang, including the second-in-command.”

“Mm,” was all Yuta said. He knew exactly where this was going.

The Cyrus Gang had popped up after Yuta went into retirement. From what he knew via his friends, their leader was a villain with unknown powers and he ruled with an iron fist. They were organized, ruthless and known for their brutality.

No wonder you had made it your mission to put them behind bars.

“Camera footage on the street shows thirteen of their known members breaching your house,” Mark continued.

Yuta seethed. “Keep going.”

“Additional footage shows them dragging your wife and son into a different unmarked van two alleys over. Premeditated counter measures, obviously.”

Yuta assumed that was the alley he and Suki had just left. “Anything else?”

Mark’s voice filled with disappointment. “Footage shows evidence of tampering. We lost sight of them after that. I’ve got guys working on it.”

“Thank you. In the meantime, I have a very reliable source leading me to them,” Yuta said, looking to Suki.

She smiled at him, emboldened by his words.

“Good luck, brother,” Mark said.

Yuta hung up.

Suki put a hand on Yuta’s chest, subconsciously searching for his heart rhythm to settle her own, and asked, “Did they find Mommy and Yuma?”

“No, baby,” Yuta told her levelly. “It’s up to us to find them.”

Suki nodded. She was ready.

You giggled as Yuta kissed his way up your big pregnant belly. Both of your babies were stretching and kicking, and Yuta thought it was the most delightful thing he’d ever seen. He tickled his fingers near a foot and laughed when that foot sent a retaliatory kick in his direction.

“I can’t possibly get any bigger,” you groaned, though you didn’t mean it. All you wanted was two healthy, happy babies, and you were prepared to get as big as necessary for them.

“Don’t jinx it,” Yuta joked. He glanced up at you, his long hair falling into his eyes. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry. They’re always hungry.”

Yuta smoothed his hand over the crest of your belly, marveling. “They’re strong. I can feel it.”

You placed your hand over his and said, “Me, too. I can’t explain it, but… I can feel their bond.”

“They’re inside you. Of course, you can feel it.” His voice was soft, reverent, like he was holding all the answers to the universe between his hands.

“It’s something magical.”

Yuta turned somber, a frown tugging at his lips. “I hope they get all of your magic and none of mine,” he huffed under his breath.

“I don’t have any powers,” you reminded him, ready to scold if any self-deprecation chose to rear its ugly head. You’d become somewhat of a master at making it crawl back inside its dark hole.

“It’s a heavy burden.”

You sighed and carded your fingers into his hair. “We’ll help them carry it.”

Yuta finally turned away from your belly and propped himself over you, losing himself in your eyes. “Just like you help me carry mine,” he whispered.

You drew your husband close until you could press your lips to his.

“You have a magic all your own,” Yuta said, kissing the corner of your mouth.

Your son’s voice brought you back to the present. Peeking down at him worriedly, you asked, “What is it, baby?”

“Suki,” he said distantly, feeling his sister’s emotions. “She’s sad.”

Your eyes welled with tears. You were tucked in a corner of a rundown warehouse. There were locks on all the doors. With you secured, the captors removed your blindfold and restraints. Which was surprisingly considerate of them. And yet all it did was unnerve you more. “We’re gonna see them again, Yuma,” you told your son firmly.

He believed you, nodding before tucking his head beneath your chin and hugging you tight.

You wiped at your tears with a clenched fist and cried, “I should have sent you to the store with Daddy and Suki. It was selfish of me. I wanted to spend time with you.”

Yuma didn’t seem bothered by that admission. He merely said, “That’s okay, Mommy. It’s better this way.”

You blinked in surprise.

“I’m here with you. You’re not alone.”

You devolved into sobs, curling inward with your son hidden in your embrace. You kissed his sweet face and he kissed your cheek, looping his arms around your neck.

Suki had never seen the city at the speed of light. She was getting better at holding her breath, but keeping her eyes wide open. No matter how much it stung. She didn’t want to miss a thing.

She could feel Yuma. He was far away and no matter how much her father ran, they didn’t feel closer.

Yuta sprinted between cars, between buildings, between people. No one saw him. They would feel a wisp of wind that was gone as quickly as it came.

A killer in the night; that had been Yuta’s reputation in the not so distant past. No enemy could see him coming. No defense could be prepared. No lawman could pin a single shred of evidence on him. He was a silent blade in the darkness. Uncatchable and unstoppable.

Never had Yuta killed with anger. He was a cold and calculating villain. It was all business. This time would be different. The Viper would have its vengeance.

Suki tugged on Yuta’s collar and he grinded to a halt, the atmosphere shifting around them. Suki’s eyes were full of tears and she was trembling.

“What is it, Suki?”

“Hurry, Daddy,” she cried, choking on a sob. “They’re trying to take Yuma from Mommy!”

Yuta had never known rage and madness like what unfurled inside of him at that moment. He knew you would fight. He knew you would kill. But who would they keep alive?

They were running out of time. The men that took you knew who Yuta was and what he was capable of. And that he was coming. They would have to be quick.

Suki turned her head this way and that. Light shone in her eyes as she fought back her tears to focus on the task at hand.

Yuta recognized her determination and stroked a thumb over her cheek. “You’re very brave, my Suki. Find them and I will take care of the rest.”

Yuma was screaming. Suki could hear it as if she were in the room. Though he was miles away, his increasing emotions made his signal to her stronger. Suki pointed. “That way!”

Yuta didn’t need to remind her to take a breath. The moment she’d told him, Suki inhaled a big gulp of air and they were gone again.

You tapped into a reservoir of strength you’d forgotten you had. It was the same bottomless pit you’d fallen into when you gave birth. It didn’t matter that these men were inherently stronger than you. You could rip them apart with your bare hands every time they reached for your baby.

Yuma, though he was only a child, tried to push the men away as they pinned you to the concrete ground and shoved a phone against your ear. Your son didn’t understand. They screamed in your face, threatened unspeakable things against your children, if you didn’t orchestrate the release of some very bad men.

You relented, because of course you did. No criminal was worth the life of your son. Bloodied and bruised and choking on your own tears, you gave the order to release the Cyrus Gang’s second-in-command.

Satisfied, the men hung up the phone and warned they would keep you a little longer to make sure he was free and clear.

Then, your fate would be decided.

Yuma bolted to you the moment his captor let go of his arm and curled his small body around your head, trying to shield you from them. Every inch of you was trembling and you were breathing hard and fast, tasting the metallic sting of blood in your mouth. Adrenaline had seized ahold of you and torn its way through your system.

Your life flashed before your eyes. You saw yourself sigh tiredly as Yuta held you in his arms, two newborn babies sleeping soundly on your breasts. Only moments after birth, they had reached across your heart to hold each other’s hands and didn’t let go.

Yuta had never run so hard in his life. He was trying to outrun his emotions and his memories. He was thinking of the day you married him, when the two of you promised your lives to each other with the sea and the mountains as witnesses. Yuta had sworn to love you and only you for as long as he lived.

It was an easy vow to make. Yuta knew he’d found his soulmate. No woman on earth would ever get to hold his heart like you. It was yours.

He thought of your gentle smile when you kissed his brow and held him to your chest, lulling him to sleep after another nightmare. He thought of your grin when you showed him that positive pregnancy test. Yuta picked you up off the ground and spun you around. He could hear your laugh in his head. It was his favorite sound.

Then, he thought of all the times you told him, “I love you.”

Even before you had carried and birthed his children, you had given Yuta what he always wanted, but never had - a family.

This was life and death. If Yuta lost you, he would lose himself. He would raze the city to the ground and then throw himself into the ashes.

Because he would never be able to live with the monster he became if he lost you.

Your eyes snapped open when the door creaked. A lone man walked toward you and your son, his steps heavy and ominous.

“You have served your purpose,” was all he said.

You ignored the pain in your bones. Those words ignited a spark inside your chest like no other. This man should have known by the bloodstains coating your fingernails that you were a caged mother bear. Steering Yuma behind you, you crawled backwards until he was nestled against the wall. You guarded him with your body and got your legs underneath you.

Suki let out a scream of agony that knocked the wind out of Yuta. He was at full momentum and stumbled, instantly curling around her as they toppled into the dirt, rolling and spinning in a heap.

“Suki,” he shouted, searching her frantically for injury, but finding his daughter unscathed.

She wailed, “He’s killing Mommy!”

Yuta couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He sat there in the barren wilderness outside the city with his daughter in his lap, the last tie to you that was about to be severed forever.

Yuma wasn’t brave. He never had been. Suki had courage. She always protected him. He wished she was there. She could destroy this man with her power.

Power. Yuma looked at his hands.

The man threw you to the ground and each time he stalked in Yuma’s direction, you charged him again. You knew he was toying with you, drawing it out for his own sadistic pleasure. You couldn’t beat him; you could only buy time.

“Yuma, run,” you screamed at your son, over and over, but he wouldn’t leave you. He refused to leave you.

Suki gripped Yuta tight, breaths staggering in and out. The tears streamed down her cheeks. “Yuma’s too scared to do it.”

“Do what, Suki?”

“Use his power.”

Yuta gawked. “Yuma has powers?”

“He hides them,” she said shakily. “They scare him. He doesn’t want to be bad. He doesn’t want to be a monster!”

Yuta knew that feeling all too well and it broke his heart. But his only concern in that moment was you. You needed a monster. Yuta cradled Suki’s cheeks in his hands and whispered lowly, “Tell him to protect his mother. Tell him to do whatever he has to do.”

Suki nodded.

The man braced his hands on his knees, winded, and chuckled. “You’re strong for a bitch.”

You were an unhinged creature, reduced to your most primal form. You had cut him with your nails, sank your teeth into his flesh. Anything you could manage to deter him from your child. Your own life meant nothing to you as long as your son could live.

The man grabbed you by the throat and lifted you off the ground, cutting off your oxygen. Darkness seeped into the edges of your vision. You clawed at his hands and kicked at his torso, but to no avail.

Yuma rushed over and wrapped his arms around the man’s leg.

In an instant, the monster choking the life out of you screeched and dropped to his knees, staggering back as thousands of volts of electricity coursed through him.

But not you. You coughed and choked, scrambling to get your bearings and reaching for your son. The tiniest shock pricked your hands and then it was gone. Yuma shuddered, jumping into your arms as fast as he could.

You looked at the man and knew he was dead. And you didn’t question it for a second. Hiding yourself in the corner with your son, you kept his head turned away.

Suki exhaled loudly, wiping at her tears.

Yuta asked, “Is it done?”

She nodded.

“Let’s go, baby,” he said, getting to his feet again.

There was a rhythmic drop from a leaky pipe above. It echoed in the silence of the warehouse. You knew it was only a matter of time before the others came to finish you off.

You peered up at your son as he held your face, your head in his lap. Your injuries were dire, you could feel it. Part of you wondered if you were bleeding into your own body. That was kind of a relief. Your son wouldn’t have to see you die in a pool of your own blood.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked him gently.

Yuma frowned. “I don’t want to be bad.”

You simpered. “You could never be a villain, my Yuma. You have a good heart.”

Yuma looked at his hands currently cradling your face and said, “But my power hurts people.”

“Then, use it to protect us from bad people. Like you did for me.”

Yuma smiled, comforted by that. After a pause, he asked, “Are you okay, Mommy?”

“I’m okay,” you lied. Under no circumstances would you tell your son any different. You would hide your pain until the very end.

Yuma studied you. “I can’t feel your heart as good anymore.”

You steered one of his little hands to your chest and asked, “How about now?”

“Your heart sounds tired.”

You fought back the tears and rasped, “It is, a little. But if I need to protect you, it will beat hard again.”

“For me?”

“For you.”

Yuma leaned down to press a tender kiss to your forehead and said, “I will protect you too, Mommy.”

“I know you will,” you said with a smile, thinking of your husband. “You are your father’s son.”

“I want to be brave like Suki,” Yuma murmured, evoking the bond with his sister. He wanted to tap into her courage.

Reaching for his hand, you let your eyes flutter closed, running out of strength. “You are very brave, Yuma. No matter what happens, never forget that you are a dragonslayer living in a city of dragons.”

Yuma raised his chin a little higher. It was what he needed to hear.

Suki urged Yuta to stop and told him, “Yuma says Mommy’s heart is slowing down.”

Yuta tensed. His world was coming to an end. It had been beautiful while it lasted. Looking into Suki’s face intently, seeing you in every feature, he said, “Tell Mommy that I love her.”

“I love you too, Yuta,” you sighed, eyes still closed.

“And tell her to remember what she promised me.”

The faintest smile tugged at your lips. “I remember.”

You fell into that memory. You were young and reckless and in love. So in love it honestly terrified you.

“Yuta, I know we’ve been… avoiding this conversation,” you told your boyfriend, wringing your hands nervously. “But I didn’t know you felt this way and I’m sorry.”

Yuta waited. He had just confessed his love to you. Neither you or him had vocalized your feelings yet. There was a silent fence between your hearts, because you were on opposite sides of the law. And Hel.

You found your courage, risking your heart, and began, “I’ve never felt like this before. When I go to bed at night, I think about whether you got enough to eat. When I wake up in the morning, I wonder if you had nightmares or good dreams.”

Yuta swallowed the lump in his throat. He could feel the emotion rushing up his chest and heating his cheeks.

“When you kiss me, I feel like I can do anything. When I think about the future, I picture marrying you on a beach somewhere. I imagine spending days in bed with you. I want to have beautiful, happy babies with you.”

Yuta smiled. No one had ever wanted that life with him and little did you know, it was his most precious dream. One he had long convinced himself was unattainable. Until he fell in love with you.

You continued, voice trembling, “I want to get through all the decades of our lives together. Hand in hand. I want to watch the world change with you. Or burn. Whatever the fuck it decides to do.”

Yuta snorted, fighting back a laugh. Yeah, he could picture sitting beside you, watching the world burn.

He would never let the fire touch you. He’d probably be the one to light the match.

You walked toward him, confident. The twinkle in his eyes drew you closer. “I wanna grow old with you and tell our grandchildren about how things were in our day,” you quipped, then your tone shifted. “I wanna die in your arms and be buried beside you. Because next to you is where I belong. In life and death and whatever comes next.”

Yuta closed the rest of the distance and swept you up in his arms, kissing you with abandon and tangling his fingers in your hair. “I love you,” he said over and over between kisses. “I love you.” He seared those three words into every inch of your skin that night.

You had never known such all-consuming love before. You kissed him like you’d never kissed anyone else.

It was that moment Yuta knew he had to give it up. He was ready to leave the life of a villain behind. He would give you everything.

If you were going to die today, then so was he.

Yuta would not watch the world burn alone.

Suki eyed the warehouse. Her father was perched low to the ground, moving her behind him, but Suki wanted to see. The building was miles outside the city limits, rundown and abandoned. There was a strange aura about it.

Someone had cast a field around the perimeter. Though Suki couldn’t fully wrap her head around it, she knew that had been affecting her bond with Yuma. It was why they had felt so far away no matter how much her father ran.

“Suki, stay here,” Yuta told his daughter sternly, sweat dampening his hair. He’d sprinted to the point of exhaustion. “If anyone comes near you, do whatever you need to survive. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Suki knew her secret was out then. She gave him a solemn nod. “Yes, Daddy.”

Without his daughter in his arms, Yuta was free to break the sound barrier at last. Her little body couldn’t sustain his true speed. And so, the Viper coiled and struck. He vanished inside the building in the time it took to blink, kicking up dirt in his wake.

But Suki had no intention of staying put. She would not ignore her brother’s frantic calls, telling her their mother was drifting further and further away, and headed right for him.

Yuma’s fingers touched your cheek and you woke yourself up again. It was getting harder to stay conscious no matter how much you tried.

“Daddy’s here,” Yuma whispered under his breath.

You heaved a sigh. The weight lifted from your chest. You could finally let yourself slip away. Yuma was safe. Knowing your son would be alright, you had done what you needed to do and you could finally succumb to the darkness dragging you into its warm embrace.

Shouts began to reverberate through the corridors. Bullets fired made Yuma jolt in place. Something was happening on the other side of the wall.

A shadow was picking men off, one by one, before some of them could even draw their weapons. There was a tiny flicker of movement followed by the spatter and spray of blood.

Men wailed in horror. Their comrades fell to the ground, limbs ripped clean off their bodies or gaping holes left in their chests like a fist had punched through with the force of a fucking machine.

A few screams were cut short, belonging to those who had their heads taken clean off their shoulders.

“Suki,” Yuma exclaimed at the sight of his sister rushing toward him. Tears poured down his cheeks in relief.

Suki hugged her brother, but he kept his arms around your head, as if letting go of you would cause the last of you to part from him.

Yuta could feel himself slipping into that darkness, like an old friend he had cut out of his life because they brought out the worst in him. He could see you in his mind, telling him to stop. This isn’t you, Yuta, you pleaded.

But this was him, wasn’t it? Bloodlust. It was as potent a venom as any. The Viper was exacting his revenge. He was killing in the most evil ways possible.

Without a word, Suki lifted her tiny hand. The pipes groaned and burst. Water began to rain down in every corner, flooding the warehouse. She kept her arm outstretched and the water didn’t dare touch you or her brother.

“Yuma,” was all she said.

He carefully drew away from you, laying your head gently on the ground, and stood, reaching out toward the water.

You heard the crack of lightning in your dreams and then an endless collision of screams. Electricity surged through the water, amplified and lethal. Anyone touched by Suki’s water was consumed in Yuma’s sparks. Death was instantaneous.

Yuta could hardly believe his eyes as he ran. The water was up to his calves now, but it didn’t touch him. It coursed around him like a river around a rock. The water cleansed the blood from the walls and the ground, and swept away the remains of what he had done.

And now, there was no one left to kill. Yuta felt a tear slip down his cheek.

His babies had saved him from himself.

When he sprinted into the last room, breaking the locked door off its hinges with the force of his speed, his daughter and son looked toward him innocently. Yuma was once again holding your head, while Suki had her hand over your heart. The waters receded until disappearing completely, obedient to their masters.

Yuta spoke to the twins in his mother tongue, words they would remember for as long as they lived. His children weren’t dragon slayers, after all. They were dragons, just like him.

He hurried over and gathered you in his arms, surveying your bloodied, swollen face. For a moment, Yuta wished he had powers of resurrection. So he could kill those men again and again. But then he remembered what you had told him and let it go. For now. “Hang on for me, baby,” he whispered for your ears alone, knowing you could hear him. Wherever you were.

Still crouched, Yuta instructed his children to clamber onto his back. They clung to his shoulders and arms, and Yuta walked away, carrying his family with him.

You held Yuta’s hand tightly as you walked down the path between trees. Your eyes were on your children, the two of them rushing a few feet ahead of you. Every now and then, they would turn back to smile at you and their father.

It had been three months since that day; three long, grueling months of recovery. This was the first time you could walk freely with your husband and kids without needing to sit and rest every few steps as your body healed.

Yuta found an empty bench and you got comfortable, watching your babies rush to the playground to join the other children. Yuta looked with caution briefly, doing a quick scan of all the nearby parents before taking his spot beside you.

You patted his thigh and teased, “Everyone pass the villain check?”

“Mm,” was all he said.

You chuckled and leaned into his side, Yuta’s arm around your shoulders.

The two of you watched Yuma and Suki on the playground. Naturally, Suki was surrounded by other kids, giggling and running about. To your delight, Yuma had made a friend recently. The two were off in the sandbox together building castles.

“A little birdie told me that word of our kids’ powers has spread through the underground,” Yuta said a moment later.

You arched a brow. “Oh?”

“No one will be breaking into our house ever again,” your husband murmured.

“That’s not why.”

Yuta’s brows stitched as he turned to you. “What do you mean?”

You kept your eyes on your babies, watching them play, and replied, “I got a call last week.”

“From?”

“The force,” you said calmly. “They said the entire Cyrus Gang was wiped out.”

Yuta was oddly quiet.

“A silent killer. Gone without a trace. There’s no hard evidence, of course, but every last member in the gang was killed execution style. Except the leader, who was dramatically beheaded.”

Yuta shrugged, but his jaw was clenched with anger. “Good riddance.”

You faced your husband and whispered, “I know it was you.”

Frankly, you were surprised he’d waited this long.

Yuta stared you down, his eyes filling with that familiar darkness, and snarled, “I sent a message.”

“I’m glad you did.”

He was a little stunned by that. It wasn’t like you to sanction his violence. Yuta had a feeling this would be the one instance such retribution would be allowed. “No one would have ever dared hurt you back then. They thought I went soft. They’ll never think that again.”

Warmth filled your chest. This had been a reckoning not only for Yuta and your twins, but for you as well. “If you come in the viper’s den, you’re gonna get bit,” you joked, but there was definitely an edge to your words devoid of humor.

Yuta rubbed your arm. “The viper, the mama bear,” he said with a chuckle, then looked to Yuma and Suki, his face and voice filling with pride. “Tsunami and Lightning.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes contentedly.

#nct #nct smut #yuta #yuta smut #yuta x reader

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 11 days

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. . . 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐲.

[ 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 & 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ] —

please read thoroughly before you follow/interact!!

✦ 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭-𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞

this is a smut-free blog!! the reason i say that instead of just sfw blog is because i occasionally rb suggestive content (whether it’s fanart or fics), and write + post mild dark content (mild gore, other horror elements, twisted dynamics, etc). those posts are usually tagged with cw dark content or cw suggestive! some of my general posts might also be suggestive/dc-leaning. in other words:

i won’t write or rb full on smut, but that doesn’t necessarily mean all my content is sfw. please mind the distinction!!

and with that being said — please don’t tag me in smut / explicit fanart / heavy dc, or send me any nsfw asks!! :’) suggestive stuff (jokes, tension, bare bodies, suguru’s tits, etc) is obviously fine, but i’d prefer to keep this blog free from anything too explicit </3 (additionally, i’m uncomfy around pregnancy/childbirth topics!!)

i understand that the line between sfw and nsfw can be really thin, so don’t hesitate to shoot me a dm if you have any hesitations or questions!! i don’t want anyone feeling like they have to walk on eggshells around me, especially those of you who regularly write/interact with nsfw content!! i’m sensitive to quite a few smut tropes and dc topics, but still an avid supporter of smut/dc writers, and very anti-censorship in general :)

✦ 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰?

minors can follow and interact, but once again; please please mind any suggestive/potential dark content that i might rb or write!! :’) i would ask that you stick to the sfw stuff for my peace of mind… i don’t curate this blog to be a safe space for anyone other than myself, so i can never guarantee that the content i post is suited to you + won’t make you uncomfortable — if it does, then you’re always more than encouraged to unfollow/block! i never take it personally, so please don’t hesitate!!! even if this blog is typically on the sweet side, it’s still run by an adult!!!

in the same vein, bloggers who write/interact with smut and dark content are always welcome to follow/interact — just please mind my own boundaries and understand that i might not be comfortable following back depending on how sensitive i am to the particular content you post, and how you tag it!! it’s never ever personal, just for the sake of curating my own safe space on this website <3 but i’d love to chat with you either way!

this seems like a good place to say that i thoroughly support blocking, softblocking & unfollowing for any reason at all!! if my content makes you uncomfortable, or if you find me annoying, or if i’m spamming your dash — or anything else — pleaseeee do whatever you want to do!! never feel pressured to follow me just because you like my writing, or because we’re mutuals, or for any other reason. i will literally never ever take it personally!!

✦ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 / 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬

i don’t take requests, but you’re always more than welcome to drop by my inbox with brainrot or concepts <33 or for any other reason at all!! i don’t bite!!! neither do the mice…. probably……..

if you’d like to pick an emoji or title to go with your asks, then feel free! :3 the anons i have so far are as follows:

🐑 , 🌙 , 🌖 , 🍰 , 🐟 , 🦐 , 🌺 , 🪷 , ❄️ , 🍓 , 🪄, 🐰 , 🎀 , 🧸🍪 , 🫧 , 🃏, 🌷, 🦈, 🥭, ☕️, 🪼, stsg anon and arinon!!

with that being said: please don’t send me hateful asks, whether they’re directed towards me or any other creators + asks with uncredited fanart attached!! i’ll delete them and block you based on the severity of the ask :’) please understand. and please keep in mind that my brain is a big mess — sometimes i might answer your ask instantly, other times it could take me weeks. it never has anything to do with you or your asks, i promise!! i love receiving them and thinking about them 🥹 just pls be patient with me!!!!

✦ 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬

many of my favorite characters are awful human beings <3 i’m a lover of all villains and that extends to characters like kenjaku and sukuna, but also ones like makima (csm) and mori (bsd)!!

if that makes you uncomfortable, or if you think that equates to me condoning their actions / that liking them reflects my morality irl, then please block me for your own peace of mind!! i understand that certain characters can be triggering to some, and i will never ever take it personally if you block or unfollow because i happen to like them!!! i post about my blorbos regularly, and i’d hate to make anyone uncomfortable, but this is my little blog bubble at the end of the day. so please look after yourselves!

✦ 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬

i don’t read leaks for jjk, so please don’t send me asks about them until i’ve had time to read the chapter on my own!! (usually on fridays or saturdays)… and please, please please tag your leaks in general :’3 PLEASE .

any posts i make about new chapters will be tagged with both #jjkmangaspoilers and #jjkleaks!! block them if you need to!!!

✦ 𝐝𝐧𝐢

last, but not least; please do not interact if you fit any of the basic dni criteria (racist, ableist, queerphobic, misogynistic, pro-israel, etc) + if you harass people over the fictional content they create or consume!! (under any circumstances)!!!!

(thank you sm for taking the time to read all this, i appreciate it more than you know 🥹 if you have any questions, feel free to send an ask/dm!! i hope i made everything clear & concise!!!)

#phewwwwwwwwwwww #this turned out lenghty but i want to be . as forward as possible to avoid any misunderstandings 😭#please do read through these <3 even if you’ve been following me for a while!!#rules

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wangxianficfinder · 1 year

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In the mood for...

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1. For the next ITMF, do you know of any fics with Lan Xichen with more of a spine, being less naive/more astute? His absolute trust in JGY drives me up the wall sometimes, so I'd like fics where he sees through him, for once. @kitsileya

i told you when i came i was a stranger by Caramelized (M, 50k, OFC/LXC, minor WangXian, Isekai, Transmigration, Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Amateur cartography, Butterfly Effect, Sunshot Campaign, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, No Golden Core Transfer, Dimension Travel, Politics, LXC the politician, Self-Insert, Foreknowledge, Angst with a Happy Ending) for #1 the closest I can think of it "i told you when i came i was a stranger" by Caramelized it's isekai, but it's extremely well-done. one of those fics i reread a lot. lxc needs some help to see through the deceit, but he gets there in the end, and learns something from it. idk if it's exactly what the asker is after but no one else seems to have provided anything so I thought I'd at least offer it

A Little Fall of Rain by Just_a_Girl_in_a_Crystal (T, 47k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Temporary Character Death, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Grief/Mourning, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jiang siblings, Fix-It, Golden Core Reveal, Protective LXC, Protective LQR) heavy angst

crack in the mirror by the_pretzel (T, 59k, WIP, WangXian, Reincarnation, Royalty, Transmigration, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Murder, Mutual Pining, based on a manhwa, Mystery, court intrigue, Assassination Attempt(s), Assassination Plot(s)) AU - he does keep supporting jgy for a while but believes lwj and then decides for himself

The blame game by apathyinreverie (T, 13k, WangXian, Fix-It, Time Travel, mainly just lxc getting his brother the husband he has wanted since they were teenagers, this time without the years of mourning, also lxc wants his adorable nephew back, LXC time travels, Canon Divergence, Possessive LWJ, Oblivious WWX, Fluff, Siblings, Romance, Golden Core Reveal, kind of, Golden Core Fix-It) here he has the benefit of time travel so idk if this is what OP is going for

~*~

2. itmf fics where wei ying dies in qiongqi dao? thanks! ♡ @darlingjunebug

End Racism in the OTW | The Fire Lapping Up the Creek by notevenyou (E, 66k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Blood, Respiratory Illness, Major Illness, Fever, Grief/Mourning, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hunger and food scarcity, Surgery, Fix-It of Sorts) Technically WWX doesn't actually die, but he is assumed dead, so you get LWJ going a lil mad with grief & the sects reacting as if he's dead

in this place where we don't have a prayer by Cerusee, Mikkeneko (T, 42k, XuanLi, WangXian, ChengQing)

Looking at You Always, All Ways by Keysmashed (T, 29k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Nostalgia, Subtly Assertive LWJ, very mild angst, Angst with a Happy Ending)

Troublesome Lotus by orphan_account (G, 20k, WangXian, Female WWX, Gender Changes, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Unplanned Pregnancy, Miscarriage, LSZ is LWJ and WWX's Child, Baby LSZ, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Pregnancy, Pregnant WWX, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Childbirth, WWX dies in Qiongqi Path, Implied Sexual Content, Parent WWX, Good Parent WWX, Single Parent WWX, Sad Ending) if you dont mind reading fem!WWX

The world was wide enough for the both of us by Moonlit_dewdrops (T, 5k, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Not A Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, Ambush at Qióngqí Path, Blood and Injury, Heavy Angst, Golden Core Reveal, JZX lives but someone else dies instead...)

ius in bello by Lise (T, 2k, Yunmeng Siblings, Canon Divergence, Tearjerker, Sad Ending, Heavy Angst, Grief/Mourning, Not A Fix-It, POV JC, podfic available)

~*~

3. hello! thankyou all for your hard work. for the next ITMF, please suggest fics where: a) modern sick wwx, b) a-yuan is wwx and lwj's son but lwj know it some years after like wwx hid it or smth, it can be modern or not. c) good underrated tags that i can explore later. thankyou!

3A)

A Grand Immortal Made Me Soup by s6115 (G, 5k, JC & WWX, wangxian, canon divergence, Immortal JC, Immortal LWJ, Immortality, Yunmeng Duo Days, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels, JC & WWX Reconciliation, JC used his immortality to grow and mature, WWX finally reincarnates and the immortal JC isn't going to fail this time, JYL's Pork Rib and Lotus Root Soup, Good Sibling JC)

the soft animal of your body by sysrae (T, 15k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, modern cultivation, Golden Core Reveal, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Animal Transformation, Shapeshifting, Sort Of, Getting Together, Confessions)

Grace and a tender hand by feyburner (T, 4k, wangxian, modern, First Date, Sickfic, Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Fluff)

3B)

Nothing but your heart by airinshaw (E, 21k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O Dynamics, Implied Mpreg, First Time, Getting Together, Angst and Drama, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anal Sex, Whump, Breeding Kink)

Family Pictures (Or: “Mark Rothko is very, very dead, Wei Ying.”) by belleweather (M, 37k, wangxian, modern, Kid Fic, Post Mpreg, Cindarella Story, Mistaken Identity, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, LWJ doesn’t know how to express feelings except with his checkbook, WWX is strangely okay with that, art conservator LWJ, idiot WWX (he gets better slowly), shockingly little actual sex omg what happened to me?, fake/mistaken cheating, no actual infidelity, I apologize to Mark Rothko and Julian Baumgartner)

3C)

agree about the personal preference thing! i feel like the novel has big themes of (found) family, so occasionally i like to go through the tag and stuff like yiling sibs, lsz&wwx, jl&wwx etc etc. also i thing the "disabled character/wwx" fics are pretty underrated? because sometimes they're not found in the tag sadly

~*~

4. Hi! I was wondering if any of you knew of fics that portray the confession scene from LWJ's POV? Ideally, I would like for fics to portray both parts (outside and inside the temple). If not, I would prefer it if the fic had its focus on the part inside the temple @blueghost13

~*~

5. Hiii hope y'all are doing well! For today's itmf fics where wwx and lwj are trying to solve crimes. (any type works but thriller and/or horror would be amazing)? They can work together or meet and have to work together to figure it out, anything works really but I'd have a preference for detectives kinda stuff! @rkivees

medium blues by darkterrible (E, 193k, WangXian, Modern AU, Horror, Spooky, Opposites Attract, Fluff and Angst, Gore, Ghosts, Necromancy, Mojo’s post)

once upon a time, 很久很久以前 by gentil-minou (Flyingsuits) (M, 23k, wangxian, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & LWJ, Modern, Canon Divergence, Transmigration, of the townwide variety, Amnesia, of the nearly everyone variety, Mystery, of the shenanigans variety, Not Everyone Dies au, WWX Has Self-Esteem Issues, wwx is sad and down bad, Single Parent LWJ, except a-yuan runs away to find his other dad, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, oh no by god this cant be happening to me, WIP) this is my WIP and there's a murder mystery and a curse that wangxian work together to solve, though they're both more like amateur detectives here. That part is still being set up, however.

~*~

6. Hello, do you know any fics where the guanine temple incident goes wrong and somehow people end up hating wwx again, including lwj. I want an angst adventure fic to cry.

~*~

7. Hello!! I hope you're doing well! I am in mood of angst and heart wrecking wangxian fics to feel emotions.... do you have any suggestions: where wangxian break up/divorce, misunderstandings, arguments or/and similar stuffs? Thank you very much... I will appreciate it so much 😭😭

The Right to Care by travelingneuritis (E, 61k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mood Whiplash, musician LWJ, nanny wwx, Developing Relationship, Breakup, Texting, Pining, Eventual Happy Ending, Adoption, Child Abuse, abuse intervention, Miscommunication)

you'll always know me by ana_cp (E, 127k, wangxian, modern, Actor WWX, Teacher LWJ, Getting Back Together, Exes to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, LWJ being cute with children alert, WWX rides a motorcycle, LWJ writes as a hobby, ALL THE GOOD THINGS, Back hugs as a love language, Sharing Food as a Love Language)

🧡 Life as a House by Terri Botta (Isilwath) (T, 55k, WangXian, Modern AU, Post-Divorce, Father-Son Relationship, Reconciliation, Therapy, Angst with a happy ending)

Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 107k, WangXian, Modern AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance, Persuasion au, Separations, Mutual Pining, Depression, Miscommunication, Emotional Roller Coaster, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reconciliation, Eventual Smut, Jane Austen Fusion, Underage Kissing)

Dirty Little Secret by ilip13 (E, 67k, Wangxian, modern, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unreliable Narrator, Post-Break Up, Friends with benefits / Exes with benefits / Fuck-buddies, Implied Cheating, Also possibly some cheating kink, Self-Worth Issues, WWX is strong with the self-hatred here, trigger warning: suicide and mental illness (background of minor character), Graduate Students, Liberal use of the word 'fuck', Semi-Nonlinear Storytelling)

~*~

8. Hello hello! It's been a while since I asked for fanfics buuuut I came back :D. Anyways, for I'm In The Mood For, can I ask for some "Freak for Freak" wangxian?

Thaaaaank youuuuu~~

~*~

9. hello! thank you very much for your work! i was hoping if you know fics about how LWJ reacted or the scenes surrounding LWJ realizing that MXY is WWX after playing their song?

thank you very much! @cuddlemehun

~*~

10. this has probably been done before, but i want to ask nonetheless. i'm in the mood for a fic where lwj is married to (preferably dark) yllz in exchange for something. dubcon is okay. thank you :)

💖 love, in fire and blood by cicer (E, 360k, wangxian, immortal WWX, slow burn, pining, arranged marriages)

~*~

11. Hello! I don't actually have a specific fic to request for but I'm wondering if you can recommend or know of any fics where WWX is chubby?

All the fics I read describes WWX as desirably slim and I'm kind of thinking, is there any out there where he's meaty and cuddly?

leave all your love and your longing behind by ScarlettStorm (E, 143k, WangXian, Modern AU, no magic, Meet-Ugly, Panic Attacks, autistic lwj, neurodivergent wwx, the neighborhood asshole dog, if you've met one then you know, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, Happy Ending, for everyone including the asshole dog, Eventual Smut, switch rights, Sex Toys, horny yearning, Masturbation) This is one of my favourites, WWX has had previous food insecurity but he and LWJ now both appreciate his current level of chub

~*~

12. Hi hello! I saw some people asking for fics where married wangxian fight like a married couple, kinda soft, but I was wondering if there are some where they fight for real? Like not necessarily physical (but could be), but I mean where they disagree with something very important and fundamentally can't agree. The kind of fight from before, but after. With happy ending of course, just lots of angst first hhahaha Could involve Sizhui for extra angsty points. thank you! @alexwilltellyouthings

~*~

13. Hi. For the next ITMF could you recommend any fics where LWJ gets hurt protecting WWX and him feeling guilty (or just getting hurt for whatever reason but with WWX still blaming himself somehow /maybe even others blaming him too)? I've read Traveling in shadows, chasing your light by MusicMe_tc, it was amazing, so I'd love to read sth similar. Also I'd prefer finished works. Thank you @castielle711

~*~

14. ITMF silent/quiet Wei Wuxian

❤️ whipstitch by curiositykilled (M, 131k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Torture, WWX Lives, but basically no one else, Case Fic, Cultivation Sect Politics, Past Abuse, WWX Whump, YL WWX, JL Needs a Hug, JL Tries, Yunmeng Bro Reconciliation, Past Character Death, Body Horror, Non-Consensual Body Modification, POV Alternating, Flashbacks, Eventual Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Suicide Attempt, PTSD, Depression, Not A Fix-It, Mouth Sewn Shut) he has his lips stitched shut

can consider looking through the mute wwx tag on ao3

I am sorry for taking your voice by misterfish (G, 9k, WWX/OMC, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt WWX, Remorse LWJ, Mute WWX, not Jiāng Family friendly, Past Child Abuse, WIP) Also, this is technically alr in the tag but I want to specifically rec

🧡 rain falls and soaks into the earth series by RoseThorne (T, 53k, WangXian, WIP, Near Death Experience, Attempt Drowning, Madam Yu Bashing, Recovery, No war AU)

~*~

15. goodday! recently ive been rereading lots of fics and i feel like ive read all of i think the goods one (more like 25% completed, 50% ongoing, 25% ghosted).

i dont know if this is for ficfinder or itmf, i just want a suggestion from u'all, what tags should i explore more? or maybe you can recommend some fic? i already explored/read the compilation list here. ive been looking for underrated tags in ao3 but lots of them are ghosted. i feel like my request is kinda hard but thank you!

it really depends on your preference but I'd say start with your fave fics and follow the tags. Sometimes you can also check out the author's bookmarks for their fave fics as well. I'd also recommend checking out the wangxian fic recs blog! Alsp dont just search by kudos!!! This fandom has so many hidden gems. Id recommend making limited searches like within a certain time or even just going to a random page and checking out what you might like!

it might be helpful to only look for completed fics in ao3 :)

~*~

16. Hi! I am in the mood for fics where Wei Ying is compelled to tell the truth via a spell or talisman, so secrets come out sooner than in canon. I have read sooooo many fics where WY is dragged before a conference and accused of stuff and no one believes what he says and for once I want him to tell the truth and for everyone to know he is telling the truth and then I want the dramatic reaction from everyone around who know that WY cannot lie right now. Ya know? Thanks so much!

After Truth Lies the Honest Path by Vrishchika (M, 10k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Truth Serum, Angry WWX, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Mild Angst, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Getting Together)

Silence Like a Cancer Grows by julomaiboulomai (M, 12k, Yunmeng Siblings, LXC & WWX, truth curse, Suicidal Thoughts, Canon Divergence, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Dissociation, WWX Needs a Hug, Golden Core Reveal, Hopeful Ending) not a conference

~*~

17. i would very much love some recs of wwx being the spouse of a sect leader! like, wangxian is awesome for acting SL/chief cultivator lwj but i'd like specifically ppl HAVING to respect him for his position at least if they're not gonna do it for his genius and kindness. mingxian/ruoxian/xixian or idk other ships also welcome 🌸 if E-rated, please canon wwx dynamics! thank you! ❤️

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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prettyboykatsuki · 1 year

Note

ari i came sprinting over when i saw u mention dad zhongli pls spare some thoughts <3

the girl at the altar (the man she prays to) | zhongli (morax)

✭ tags ; extremely dark content ahead, father/daughter blood incest, dead dove: do not eat, noncon -> dubcon, mild injury / blood (zhonglis claws cut readers thigh), the word r*pe is used in the text, also he tucks some hair behind readers ear but no mention of actual hair-type, manipulation, grief / loneliness, regret and mourning, oral (f!recieving), reader is so poor little meow-meow, 18+

✭ wc ; 3.4k (an astonishing number)

✭ a/n ; idk if i got my point across in this one </3 but i tried so i hope someone likes it at least fdjsdk. also sorry if zhongli is ooc he is techincally in his godhood here

also this is like. genshin adjacent. it's not canon but it takes after canon.

✭ synopsis ; you are indifferent to your father. he thinks you have the most beautiful eyes, even when they gaze at him impassively.

You've never met your father.

Haven't. The word would be hadn't, now. You hadn't met your father until you turned 18. And since he's calling you to his chambers, now, you figure that never isn't the right word anymore.

You hadn't met your father until you turned 18. And that's what you would expect from an Archon. They're fickle like that

That's what you've always believed. Perhaps you lack piety.

You're not his only heir. Not his only girl. You're his 7th daughter, but you're the only girl left alive. You live in the Western Hall and do all your own chores. Your mother died when you were 9. And you had never met your father.

All your food was brought to you by an old soldier you lovingly called papa.

Papa was the man you latched onto when you were young. He was mortal and kind - so much older than you. He died before you turned 18, and the only time you have so much as called for your father was asking for money to give him a burial.

Your papa was a mortal man. He had a bald head and all sorts of wrinkles and scars from fighting. His wife died in childbirth. And you loved him terribly, enough to expose yourself as living to a god who seems to have forgotten about you your whole life. He was a public official, but he brought you food and blankets during winter. Brought you sandals when you outgrew your old ones.

Neglect is not the worst fate of a daughter. There is always death so violent metal lingers in your mouth for weeks. There is always assault, always rape. Always worse fates for a daughter than neglect. And even though Papa couldn't raise you, he loved you enough to look after you when he could.

So, after he passed - for the first time in your 18 years of life, you requested the audience of your father.

He was unreadable. Divine. You didn't feel anger nor sadness in your heart. There had been an absence of anguish. To you, at that time, he was just a man and he just happened to sleep with your mother.

Looking back, you wish you would've cried. Would've wept blearily into the sleeves of silks, just so he would look at you with disinterest instead of intrigue.

Men are the same in that way. Perhaps it is ingrained in the God of Contracts to conqueror.

Your father had an aspect of impossibility to him. Something about him felt hungry. Often bitter, but never so much so to be displeasing.

Cold, despite the warm color of amber in his eyes.

("You've requested me for the first time," He says, pouring something into a long pipe "After living like a mouse for nearly 18 years. I'm curious. What brings you here?"

An undeniable intensity fills the room, but you do not waver. You lift your head and open your mouth.

"I want enough money to bury someone,"

He raises his brows.

"Who?"

Your expression changes. You can't contain yourself in this matter. You weep this time, wiping your eyes delicately.

"...My papa,")

After that came the rennovations.

Suddenly, the West Hall was full of life. There were maids and cooks and clothes. And the garden was green, and the fish pond was clean enough to be clear.

At that point, he did not visit. He sent one of his men, a Yaksha named Xiao, to look after you. Small but strong, and fierce but kind.

The whole palace buzzed with the noise of your name for weeks. You had visitors and guests - and suddenly found yourself brushing off etiquette you learned over 10 years ago. When the initial attention died down - there were gifts. Jewels. Silks. Tailors.

Of your siblings, only one of your brothers visited. The one who had visited you all the time even before catching your fathers eye. He merely bid you warning.

Do not be fooled. Do not be swayed.

So you weren't. You tried not to be. Your father was however persistent. The lack of correspondence brought him to you - and in spending time with you, it became so hard to ignore his leering eyes.

He looked at you like many men had before. But there was more to it than just desire, something to great for your comprehension

He didn't know how to act fatherly. Having a daughter is nothing like having a son after all. He could not spar with you, nor could he anger you to challenge.

("What an impassive face you make upon seeing me." He muses, tucking hair behind your ear. You don't feel disgust. You aren't sure what that is, lingering inside you.

"What face should I make?"

"Desperation. Longing for my affection. Sadness, or resentment."

You look at him honestly, a disinterest in your gaze that makes amusement swim in his eyes. He isn't cold, nor is he kind. He isn't disciplinary nor is he unreasonable.

Maybe it has something to do with being an Archon. Why your mortal heart cannot figure out the intricacies of his feelings. Though stories of war and bloodshed ring so loudly in your ear, you don't believe he will hurt you. He isn't that sort of man.

He is not mad, nor belligerent. You glance at him.

"To me, you are an Archon and nothing more."

He reaches for you, fingers outstretched as he runs his knuckle against your temple, thumb brushing your ear and pulling on your lobe. Only stopping to admire the jewels that he's given you. He hums.

"It's that part of you," He says, reaching for your hand - bringing your wrists to his mouth and placing a kiss on the vain "I find so endearing, my child." )

Your father wants to feel like your father. He wants you to long for him like a daughter does. You think that part of him is rather transparent.

His names became more affectionate. My child to my darling girl. Instead of you, it is your name - carefully wrapped up in linen. Instead of passive disinterest, it is amusement. It is flower, or dear, or princess with a lilt of affection.

Your father wants you to regard him as an Archon. As a man. This part of him is rather transparent. Because you know many men and how they look at you. You know he looks at you in such a ravenous way. But those eyes, and the ones that seem to regard you with fatherly fondness, are not so different.

You don't think he is a belligerent. A war-hero? Certainly. Able to spill blood and be forceful? Of course. Yet what you fear is not his tyranny.

He is ruthless. Ruthless in every pursuit. Ruthless in longing for you. Of all the things that make your stomach churn with unease, there is nothing quite like the look in your fathers eyes. Something so predatory and possessive that it crawls into your skin.

(The first time a letter came, from a son of a government official, to ask your hand in marriage - you only heard of it days after.

Not from him, but from the Yaksha who watches over you. He burned the thing in the fireplace and did not so much as blink. No one will have you but him. The message was already so clear, then)

Your father has summoned you, now to his chamber. The man you hadn't met until you turned 18, in the dead of night.

You do not run away, even when some part of you deep down screams. Your father is your father. Your blood. An archon. A vessel. Your father desires his daughter. You think there is no such thing so true.

That means both too much and too little to you. It means too much and too little to him, too.

You are cut from the same cloth.

The doors slide open for you once you've arrived at his chambers. He's sat directly on the floor, a robe with gold thread over his shoulders. There's a bandage over his stomach, over the side and under his arm and a look you can't decipher on his face.

He sounds more lax than you usual. And it leaves you with a sense of foreboding. You bow your head and offer the usual formalities. He chuckle's and lowers his voice.

"Come, child."

You furrow your brow, but you listen as you walk to him.

"Sit."

So you do. Too unsure to be anything other than obedient. You sit on your knees and your father stares at you. He leans forward and takes a deep breath, nose bumping against your shoulder. Heat rolls off of him in waves and he's never felt so much like a man to you. Your heartbeat quickens.

"You smell of flowers. Qingxin."

"The servants put them in the bath tonight."

"It suits you.'

You frown as he pulls away so slightly.

"Why have you called for me?"

"I wished to spend time with my only daughter," He says, not so much as stuttering in his words "Is that so wrong?"

Your frown deepens.

"What do you see in me that makes you so insistent?" You say, unsure if you are strong enough to keep the tremble out of your voice. It occurs to you now, and only now - how all these months have felt.

After papa died, it has been so much lonelier than ever. An aching left inside of you that you never tended too. You wonder if your father knew of it. If that's the reason he showered you in so much attention. A ruthless man like that, who wishes to have you.

You're sure that's something he's capable of. It makes you feel sick

Alone in this room with him, you can feel it more than ever. You are his daughter, so you are his.

And perhaps - a lifetimes worth of burden has befallen you all at once. Perhaps reality has settled on you now as the line gets more blurred. Your indifference towards him cannot outweigh your grief.

But from him especially. In a lapse of judgement, you ask "Why me?"

And your Father responds with laugh. With a troublesome self-assurance.

"You're unlike girls your age. Resilient. Not delicate at all. You grew up to be a fine young woman without any interference from me. The first I'd ever seen you make so much as an expression, it was over your beloved Papa," He says, thinking it over. He places a hand on your neck - thumb against your throat like he's searching for your pulse "So I'm curious, yet angered. What man has taken your affection from me? What can I do to receive it again."

His anger is so residual it sticks to your limbs. If your papa hadn't died before, he would've been dead by now. Uncertainty feels like swallowing a sword.

"Why didn't you tell me someone asked for my hand?"

"A young, royal girl like you cannot just marry any suitor. He wasn't worthy of your time."

The words leave your mouth before you are able to swallow them "And you are?"

This time he smiles at you. And he closes in and you feel disgust and anxiety - but that's not it. Not all. Because there is some vague anticipation for affection. It's all so wrong. A life time of such misfortune. You do not think he's a man with good will, but your mind seems to wander often. About the affection he's shown you when you were so swallowed in darkness. It makes it frightening. Makes your desire indistinguishable from your resentment.

He cups your cheek in the palm of his hand. You can feel how strong he is and your breath hitches. Your eyes grow watery, and you find yourself crying.

"What a pleasant face you make when you cry, my dear," He says, so softly it aches as his thumb rubs underneath your eyes "You grew to be so beautiful."

"I am your daughter, am I not?"

"Of course you are," He replies easily, eyes lidded and low "That is precisely why you are mine."

You swallow a sob into the back of your throat as he moves towards you. Just a little closer, a little more. His hair is untied, and it flows down his back in rolling waves. You look so much like your mother. There's nothing of him in you, not really.

Except that you are his, somehow. Even you know that.

"Look at how you weep," He says, tenderly. A hint of condescension "Do you wish for my pragmatism or my adoration? Don't be fickle."

"Why have you called me here?"

"I missed you," He says simply, pressing a kiss to your cheek so gently it almost feels like you're nothing more than this "I thought to call on you. That's all. Should I comfort you?"

You know what's coming when he asks you this. Your whole body does, a flood of heat in your skin as the Archon of Liyue leans in to press his lips to yours. He kisses like a married man, you think. His lips taste faintly of alcohol. There is a steadiness to all of it, an assuredness to his actions prevents you from wavering. He is your father and he is kissing you like a married man. But you are no mistress. You are just his, and his alone.

And every feeling and emotion twisted up so terribly inside you is burst. You push him but the gestures is weak. A longing for his comfort, and a hatred for his absence. The difference between this two things is minimal and unclear.

Your hands eventually fall to your sides and when you no longer protest - he pulls away from you with a smile. You think he's enjoying himself, nose nudged against your temple as he presses a kiss to you.

"Come."

He pulls you into his lap and your silks slip off your body. He undoes the belt arond your middle and everything comes loose. The sheer of your undergarments leaves you exposed more than you've ever been, bare shoulders in soft light overhead. You turn away from him but you cannot go far. His arm is underneath you in a second. He parts your legs where you have them, feet flat on the floor underneath you.

You are so bare. You've never let anyone see you like this, not even the boys who you used to sneak around and kiss when you were younger. Only your Father, the Archon above his people, has ever laid his eyes upon your bare skin.

You rest in the crook of his elbow, tuck against his chest. You can feel the strength of his leg behind you as you lay into him - face close to his chin and neck. Like a baby being rocked.

He's careful as he pulls the material off further. Your nipples are hard from the exposed air, and visible. He uses a free hand to squeeze the fat of your breasts in his palms.

The gesture leaves you gasping in shame, to which he only laughs.

"Boys must be falling at your feet."

"Aah, hn - there's n-no boys like that."

He twists your nipple lightly between his fingers, a faint scratch from his claws that makes you hiss.

"A father should be there for his daughters firsts, then."

He ducks his head to take them into his mouth and the stimulation is too much. A shame washes over you, melancholy that makes your heart feel like it's at risk of ripping. It feels good. And he is delicate, so kind that you hate it. It doesn't feel as if he is forcing you.

At least it is lacking in violence. Lacking in the sort of bloodshed a man like him knows well. It is tender.

It is an act of love. In some sick, twisted, vile way. It feels like an act of love and you have been so deprived of such a thing. You cannot outrun your grief. Your need is not absent from you.

So when he licks at you so gently, you let yourself be comforted by the gesture. He puts a free hand on your stomach as he does so, reaching lower and lower until his fingers are at the seam of your panties.

"If a boy tries to take you to bed, he should do this much," He tells you, middle fingers pressing into the slick soaked silk against your cunt. He touches your clit carefully "Women are delicate. They break easily if you don't prepare them thorough."

He shifts then. Moves away from you and grabs a pillow - handing it to you. You blink at him blearily.

"Lay and make yourself comfortable. I will hurt you otherwise."

You listen and your father follows suit. It's too much, too suddenly. To see him between your legs like that - your calf resting over his broad shoulders. It makes you let out a miserable gasp. Shame so overwhelming it almost swallows you whole.

There is something so wrong. Something abominable - a bone-deep knowing of how warped love has become. No matter how many times you try to deny it to yourself - the man between your legs feels as if you belong to him. In knowing you are his blood he is able to touch you this way.

It is so divine, in a way. An archon and their heir. A father and his daughter. What are you if not the manifestation of his whims? Of course he's angry you've grown out of his sight - to be something else.

He spreads your legs and peers at you with a sense of satisfication.

"Are you untouched?"

You want to cry. You want to shove him away. You whisper, below your breath "Of course I am,"

"Good," He leans, kisses your clit so tenderly you almost forget. But you can't. Not quite "No man should ever enter here but me."

He takes his time to look. Pushes back the trimmed hairs on your mound with a fond glow. A possession in his gaze as he peers at you. The words tick in your head over and over. You belong to him. Like it couldn't be clearer. Again and again, you think this.

"How gorgeous you are," He says, leaning his head. He kisses the hood of your clit and you cry.

"It's dirty." You say, unable to say much more. And he laughs at you, like a father might. That sense of knowing, the distance of life between you. He sticks his tongue out and the act shoots a bolt of heat through your spine. It's long. Not like yours, not at all.

"Nothing about you is dirty to me," He says easily, letting his tongue and teeth feel around your thighs as you gaps "How could anything about you be dirty?"

You don't think you're meant to find comfort in that but you do. And you watch as he settles him, his nose nudge against the hood of your clit. You can feel the wetness pool underneath you and you are so ashamed. His hands grip your legs tight - claws leaving red indentations. The faintest pricks of blood drip down and stain everything red.

But your father pays it no mind. He's only really focused on you. There's intensity in his eyes, the soft wet heat of his mouth against your sex. His tongue slides against your aching clit, building a steady pace until you can feel something strange in your stomach. Like everything inside of you is coiling slowly. It's a strange, heady sort of feeling.

It makes you feel out of control. And you're not in control of your body or yourself. Only him. Only your father there to soothe his little girl. You open your mouth in a warning - softly pleading for something you don't understand.

"S-something. Hngh, something weird. Feels like I'm gonna pee."

Upon hearing your words, he doesn't still. He keeps pace and hums. It feels like you're rushing headfirst into something - at a speed so intense you can't get your hands on the railing. You grab at his hair because it's the first thing you can think of.

A breathy laugh leaves his lips as you garble something so unintelligible. You feel like nothing makes sense anymore. If someone asked you to distinguish night from day - it'd be pointless. All you can do is hold. Is listen to your fathers words obediently and diligently. Like how daughters so often do.

"That's it. Just like that." He whispers as you convulse, continuing to touch you until you practically have to pry him. A feeling of dread follows the sensation of pleasure so overwhelming.

When you look down, your father is busy licking his lips. He looks bemused by you. Hot tears roll down your cheeks as you lie there.

He reaches for your face once more, leaning forward to kiss you a little more forcefully than last time.

"I'll teach you slowly. Our own special father-daughter time. That will be nice, won't it? So don't fret. And don't run," He draws his thumb along the light lesions on your upper thigh and hips, blood covered digit touching his tongue "We certainly have much to catch up on."

You hadn't met your father until you turned 18.

You wish you never had.

#incest cw #dark content cw #noncon cw #dubcon cw #zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #writing tag

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