#And now that she knows the scent of blood?

[ot8xbangchansgirlsblog]

𝕃𝕦𝕟𝕒 | ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕟𝕖 | ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕨𝕠 | ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖 | ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣

Warning: Angst/mention of death/Blood/MPreg/MxM

A/B/O dynamics:

Omega (Han, Felix, Y/n)

Beta (Hyunjin, Seungmin, I.N)

Alpha (Chan, Changbin, Leeknow)

The series might traumatize you. I really hope you guys like it and enjoy it.

Summary - Request; I've just been reading your A/B/O series and it's so so so good. I was wondering if you would accept an ot8 request where their omega gets in trouble with another pack and Straykids are really worried?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

"Would you like to see Han and Felix?" Hyunjin asked softly, his voice gentle as she rested against his chest. She had just gone through an intense session of cleaning her wounds, and the exhaustion was evident on her face. Her omega side, still unsettled, wasn’t allowing her to heal as quickly as she would have liked.

"C-can I see Han? I’m not sure about Felix," she murmured, glancing up at him, her eyes a little tired and distant. Hyunjin’s hands were slowly running through her hair, his touch tender and soothing.

"Why not Felix?" he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion as he studied her face. The uncertainty in her voice had him puzzled.

"I’m not ready to see him... just know that," she said quietly, avoiding his gaze. Her voice held a firmness, but it was clear there was more to the situation that she wasn’t ready to share.

Hyunjin felt a small shift in her scent—although it still carried that faint offness, it grew even more sour, tinged with something he couldn’t quite place.

"Alright, we don’t have to talk about it," he said softly, understanding that pressing her wasn’t going to help. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, the warmth of his lips offering a small comfort. He definitely knew the reason behind her reluctance—it was the pregnancy. He could piece it together now, the signs, the subtle shifts in her behavior. She was still processing it all, and he knew it wasn’t something she wanted to discuss just yet.

He kissed her forehead again, then slid his hand down to her lower back, rubbing soothing circles against her skin. His movements were slow and calming, trying to ease the tension in her body as she lay against him. He could feel her drifting, her body growing heavier with sleep.

"Rest now," he whispered softly. "I’ll be here when you wake up." And with that, he continued to gently caress her back, waiting patiently for her to fall into a peaceful slumber.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

"How is she doing?"

"She's gone back to sleep, Hyung," Hyunjin replied, his voice quiet as he closed Y/N's bedroom door behind him. The soft click of the door echoed in the stillness, but it did little to ease the heavy tension hanging in the air.

"Has she asked for anyone?" Leeknow’s voice trembled slightly, his posture stiff as he glanced anxiously at Hyunjin. His eyes were still a dull gray, and his concern was written all over his face. He hadn’t even tried to calm his own alpha down, knowing it would be pointless. The stress was too much, even for him.

"No, she asked for Han," Hyunjin sighed, rubbing his temples as they walked down the corridor, hand in hand. "Her wounds are taking a long time to heal. That's my worry," he continued, his tone weary and filled with concern.

"Do we need to bring one of the Umma's from the village?" Leeknow asked, looking up at the beta with desperation in his eyes. While Hyunjin was known as the best healer in the pack, the village grandmothers had been the ones tending to their kind for generations—long before Chan had taken over. They were old now, retired from their duties, but Leeknow would do whatever it took. If it meant tracking them down, he'd do it without hesitation.

"No, it’s okay, love," Hyunjin answered, giving Leeknow a soft look. "I can handle it. I just need to go through the ancestral scrolls and find something stronger." He knew that his own abilities had limits, but he was determined to make it work.

"This is serious, Hyunjin," Leeknow’s voice softened, his expression solemn. "Werewolves don't lose pups. If you need help..." He trailed off, his eyes searching Hyunjin's face, trying to gauge the weight of the situation.

For centuries, werewolves were known to have the strongest blood. Miscarriages and abortions were unheard of—something they all took for granted. This was a new, terrifying reality for Hyunjin. He’d never faced something like this before.

"Leeknow, I said it’s okay," Hyunjin snapped, his voice suddenly sharp. "Don’t question my abilities." He growled, stepping back from his alpha, frustration and fear bubbling beneath the surface.

"Hey, watch it," Leeknow’s voice darkened, a quiet warning. No one in the pack—especially not a beta—ever stepped up to him like that. Hyunjin's lip quivered at the reprimand, and finally, he broke.

"I’m sorry, Hyung," Hyunjin whispered, his shoulders sagging. "This is just so messed up. She's broken, completely... and she's slowly rejecting our bond. If she completely rejects us... we could—"

"No," Leeknow interrupted sharply, pulling Hyunjin into a hug. His arms wrapped tightly around him, trying to offer comfort. They sank down onto the bed together, Leeknow gently massaging Hyunjin’s scalp as they sat in silence. "Don't say that," he whispered, his voice cracking with fear. "We just need to find a way to get Chan in there without her... without her freaking out."

"She won’t allow it, she doesn't even want to see Felix because of the pup," Hyunjin said, his voice heavy with defeat. "Her omega is already convinced we did nothing to protect her. Don’t you feel it, babe?" He looked up at Leeknow, his eyes filled with sorrow. The burn in their marks was unmistakable—the sign that one of them was suffering deeply. In this case, it was Y/N.

"I know," Leeknow replied, his voice calm but tinged with sadness. "We’ll be okay, Hyunjin. We just need to figure out a way to keep Felix away for now." He wiped a stray tear from his cheek, trying to stay strong for both of them.

Hyunjin nodded, his hand absentmindedly rubbing the new tattoo on his arm—a symbol of the new life entering their pack. "I don’t know how she’ll handle seeing him. And he can’t seem to stop begging to see her," he said quietly. "I’m second in command, but right now, it feels like I’m failing," Leeknow sighed.

"We’re in this together," Hyunjin reassured him softly. "We just need to distract him—take him down to the streams or the village to play with the kids, or get him to do some charity work. Anything to keep him occupied."

"Yeah," Leeknow agreed, his voice low. "Right now, he's out shopping for the baby with I.N." He let out a small sigh. "At least he’s not here making things worse."

A heavy silence fell between them, thick with unspoken fears. They were still going to be dads, even though they had just lost one of their pups. The harsh reality was settling in—life had to move on, whether they were ready or not.

"Are Chan and Changbin Hyung back?" Hyunjin asked, trying to focus on something else, anything else.

"No," Leeknow replied. "They went with the hyungs to track and hunt the rogues. They told me to stay and watch over everything." So that was where Chan and Changbin had disappeared to—off with the elders, tracking rogues in the forest.

"Alright," Hyunjin said, standing up and stretching. "I’m going to go check on her again. If you find Han, tell him to come, but only if he's strong enough." Hyunjin let go of Leeknow's hand slowly, his fingers lingering for a moment.

"Okay," Leeknow said, his voice firm, though still quiet. "Be strong for me, okay? I’m just down the stairs if you need me." He gave Hyunjin a final look, his aura shifting to something darker, more protective.

"Okay, Hyung. I love you."

"I love you too," Leeknow replied, his voice soft but steady.

When Leeknow finally found Han, he was in the kitchen with Seungmin, both of them busy preparing food for their mates. The smell of freshly cooked dishes filled the room, but Leeknow wasn’t focused on that. He had something important to say.

"Hey, Hannie?" Leeknow called out, his voice soft but urgent.

Han immediately looked up, his large eyes filled with hope and concern.

"Yes, Hyung, is she okay? Does she need anything? Do you need anything?" Han stopped what he was doing, his full attention now on Leeknow, worry evident in his voice.

Leeknow paused for a moment before responding, his own heart heavy with the weight of what needed to be done.

"Babe, I think it's time for you to go try talking to her," Leeknow informed him gently but firmly.

Han's eyes widened, and he took a step back, shaking his head slightly as panic started to creep in. "Are you sure? Is it not too early? What if she panics? What if I make it worse?" His hands were shaking, his chest pounding with nerves, and he felt the pull of his omega instincts—loud and demanding.

Go. Go. Omega needs us. Mate needs us. Now.

Han's eyes flickered gold, his omega taking control, the familiar surge of instinct filling his veins.

"She needs you, Han. She needs an omega by her side," Leeknow said, his voice calm but filled with quiet conviction. "I believe in you."

Han didn’t hesitate any longer. His omega instincts were too strong, and his heart ached knowing Y/N needed him. He quickly gathered his thoughts and began to pack away the food, giving Seungmin a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving for upstairs.

The walk to her door felt like an eternity. His mind raced, unsure of what to say or do. He grabbed anything he could find—clothes from different rooms—knowing he needed to build a nest for her. He was determined to make her feel safe, to make her feel loved.

When Han finally reached the door, the room was dark, the only light coming from a dimly lit lamp on the nightstand. Y/N was in the center of the bed, Hyunjin holding her close, his hand gently stroking her hair. Han stood there for a moment, gathering his thoughts, before Hyunjin looked up at him and nodded, signaling for him to come closer.

Y/N stirred as she felt a new presence in the room. Her senses were sharp, and as soon as she caught the new scent—one that was familiar and comforting—her heart skipped. She didn’t know what to expect. The fear of rejection still clung to her. She was certain that they might hate her now, that they might blame her.

When her golden eyes met Han’s, all her worries seemed to collapse. Without thinking, she bolted upright, her hands reaching out toward him. The moment their eyes met, her tears began to fall freely, her body shaking with the weight of her emotions.

"Hannie," she sobbed, her voice breaking as she reached for him. "Please... I don’t know if you’re angry at me... Please don’t hate me."

Han’s heart shattered at the sight of her, her vulnerability hitting him harder than he expected. He wasted no time. Without a second thought, he crawled into the bed beside her, throwing the clothes he had gathered into Hyunjin’s hands. He wrapped his arms around her, scenting her gently but urgently. He wanted to erase any trace of the pain and trauma still clinging to her scent, to make her feel safe and loved again.

"I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice hoarse as she clung to him, desperately needing his presence, his comfort.

"Shhh," Han murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "There’s no reason for you to apologize. This is not your fault." He cupped her face gently, staring deep into her eyes, his own eyes filled with sorrow. "I’m so sorry this happened to you," he whispered, placing a tender kiss on her forearm. All she could do was cry. She had missed him so much.

"I love you," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of the words was clear.

"I love you too," Han replied, his voice firm and full of resolve. "Forever, okay? I’m never letting you out of my sight. Whoever did this to you... I hope Chan Hyung rips their head off and keeps it as a trophy."

Y/N couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath, her scent slightly souring as she pulled him closer. "I’m okay now, Han. I promise," she whispered, trying to convince herself as much as him. "As long as I’m back home, that’s all that matters now."

Han’s heart twisted with guilt. She wasn’t angry at them, wasn’t holding any of this against them. She was trying so hard to stay strong, even though it was clear that she was breaking inside. He just couldn’t understand why she wasn’t angry with them for not protecting her, for not doing more. But right now, none of that mattered. He just wanted to hold her. He just wanted her to feel safe.

He pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair, allowing himself to just feel her. "I’m not going anywhere, Y/N," he whispered.

"I'm sitting right in the corner if you need me," Hyunjin said softly, his voice laced with concern as he sat quietly by the door.

Y/N sniffled, her eyes swollen from the tears she had cried. She looked up at him, her face twisted with a mixture of exhaustion and vulnerability. "Hyunjinnie, go get some real rest," she urged, her voice gentle but firm. "Eat something, take a hot shower, and nap. I promise, I’m right here with Han."

Hyunjin shook his head, his eyes soft but unwavering. "Y/N, I told you I wouldn’t leave."

She sighed, her gaze softening as she reached for his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "You’re not leaving," she assured him, her voice growing steadier. "I’m right here with Han. You’ve been working nonstop, looking after everyone. Please, take care of yourself; I promise nothing will happen."

Hyunjin stood still for a moment, taken aback by how calm and composed she sounded now. It gave him a flicker of hope, but the worry still gnawed at him. He felt the weight of everything, the endless worry and exhaustion, but hearing Y/N speak so firmly made him feel a bit more confident in leaving her alone for a while. Still, he hesitated.

"Okay... I’ll be back in a bit," Hyunjin finally said, his voice a bit strained. "Han, if anything happens, call me." His eyes lingered on Y/N one last time before he leaned down to kiss both of them on the forehead.

"I will, trust me, Hyung," Han reassured, his voice calm but filled with an undercurrent of concern. Hyunjin gave one last glance to the pair, the tension in his chest easing slightly. As he exited the room, he felt a small sense of relief knowing Y/N was opening up to Han. That was a step in the right direction.

Once the door clicked shut behind him, Han let out a slow breath, turning back to Y/N. His voice softened, almost a whisper, as he gazed down at her. "Baby," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "How come I can't feel you in the bond anymore?" The question had been haunting him for hours, and now it was out in the open.

Y/N’s eyes flickered, her breath hitching as she looked up at him. The bond between them had been a silent connection, one that had always been there, pulsing with warmth and reassurance. But now... it was nothing but a cold, distant feeling.

"I don't want you to feel my pain," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Felix is pregnant... That would put a strain on him, and I just can't handle the alphas right now. I don't want to deal with all of it." She closed her eyes, trying to keep herself composed, but the ache in her chest was impossible to ignore.

Han’s heart ached as he gently ran his fingers through her hair, his touch soft and soothing. "Oh, but you know that Chan and the alphas never meant to hurt you," he said quietly. "They’ve been beating themselves up over it, not forgiving themselves for what happened. They’ve been looking for you nonstop, Y/N."

"I don’t want to talk about it," she whispered, shaking her head, her body tense against him. "Haven’t I been through enough?" Her voice trembled as she nuzzled her face into his collarbone, seeking solace in his scent.

Han paused, the weight of her words sinking in. "Yes, you have," he said softly, his voice filled with guilt. "I’m sorry." He held her close, his heart heavy with the knowledge that she was still carrying the weight of everything that had happened. "But you’ll have to face Felix eventually," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "He’s been really worried about you."

Y/N stiffened at the mention of Felix, her hands instinctively moving to her stomach. The emptiness that had settled in her chest the moment they lost their pup seemed to fill her again, like an overwhelming wave of grief. "I’m just not ready," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I can’t bear to see him carrying our pup."

Han’s heart clenched painfully at her words. "Our pup," he corrected softly, as though trying to remind her, to ground her in the reality that they still had a future, that they still had each other. "Don’t forget... you’re still the mother of that baby." The words felt heavy, but they needed to be said.

Y/N shuddered, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks as she turned her face away from him. "Han, please... enough," she pleaded, her voice trembling with the weight of it all. "I can’t take it."

"Shhh," Han whispered, pulling her closer into his embrace. His heart was breaking at the sight of her distress, and guilt gnawed at him for bringing it all up. "It’s okay, get some rest." He gently rubbed her back, trying to comfort her. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I know I’ve made it worse."

The guilt in his chest was suffocating, and his omega instincts were furious at him for making her cry, for causing her even more pain.

"Please... be patient with me," she murmured, her voice barely audible now as she drifted into a fitful sleep, the exhaustion from everything weighing her down.

Han stayed still, watching her with pained eyes, his hand resting gently on her back. As she slowly drifted off, he kissed her forehead softly, his heart breaking in his chest. "I’m so sorry," he whispered to her, his voice full of love and regret. "I’ll be here. Always."

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

"Where's Han?" was the first question I.N asked when they all sat down for dinner. His eyes quickly scanned the room, but the empty seat beside him didn’t go unnoticed.

"He's upstairs with Y/n," Hyunjin answered, clearing his throat, trying to keep his tone casual.

"He's with Y/n?" Felix perked up immediately, his eyes widening in surprise. "How come? Did she ask for me?" His voice was hopeful, almost eager, but it was clear he didn’t fully understand the situation.

Hyunjin glanced over at Lee Know, seeking some help in explaining the situation. Lee Know, sensing the tension, stepped in.

"S-she… uh, right now we just don’t want to overwhelm her, so we sent Han in to check on her," Hyunjin said, his voice faltering slightly. He couldn’t help but feel a sharp pang of guilt in his chest for lying, even if it was to keep things calm.

"Oh..." Felix frowned, his shoulders slumping. "Can I go in next?" he asked, his voice filled with concern, his food now completely forgotten. The worry in his tone was impossible to ignore.

"How about we finish dinner first?" Lee Know interjected smoothly, "Then we’ll see if she’s awake."

Felix nodded reluctantly, but let out a sigh of frustration. "Okay, that's fine. I just really hope she’s okay," he muttered, looking down at his untouched plate.

"How was shopping?" Hyunjin asked, eager to change the subject and distract everyone from the tension surrounding Y/n.

"It was okay," Felix replied, though he seemed distracted. "I just wish you guys could’ve come. I wonder when Chan and Changbin-hyung will be back," he pouted, poking at his food absentmindedly.

"Eat, babe, you haven’t been eating," I.N scolded softly, noticing how little Felix had touched his meal. Felix let out a tiny whimper, not expecting to be called out.

"I’m not hungry…" Felix mumbled, his gaze shifting from his food to his mates.

"Eat," Seungmin teased, his voice light but firm. "I worked hard on this."

Felix couldn’t help but smile, the teasing tone breaking through his mood. "Okay, for you, I will," he replied, taking a small bite of his food, though his mind was clearly still elsewhere.

The room went silent again as everyone fell into their own thoughts, the tension still lingering like an unspoken weight.

Suddenly, Lee Know’s posture stiffened, and his chopsticks clattered to the table as he stood up abruptly. His instincts were on high alert as he felt the bond feel heavy. His alpha was urging him to go outside.

Someone was on their territory.

"They’re home," he said, his voice sharp with urgency.

Without waiting for anyone else, he bolted for the door, his footsteps echoing through the house.

"Hyung wait up!" Hyunjin was right behind him, and the rest of the group slowly stood up, following in a mix of confusion and concern.

When Lee Know reached the driveway, his eyes went wide. He saw Chan and Changbin coming down the path, both of them covered in blood, their faces exhausted and drained. Their clothes were torn, and it was clear they had just been through something rough.

"What the hell?" Lee Know gasped, rushing to support Chan, while Hyunjin quickly stepped in to help Changbin.

"What happened?" Hyunjin asked, his voice tight with worry, his hand resting on Changbin's shoulder to steady him.

Chan gave a weary glance at his mates, blood dripping from a cut on his arm, but his lips remained pressed into a thin line as if he wasn’t sure whether to explain or keep quiet. The silence between them only deepened the worry growing in the others.

Lee Know glanced at Hyunjin, his expression grim. "We need to get them inside," he muttered, helping Chan to steady himself as they slowly made their way inside. The rest of the group followed behind, trying to make sense of the situation but knowing it would have to wait until later.

"we killed them."

well...fuck.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

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[badger-tales]

Stolen Glances// F.W x Reader

a/n: Guys my requests are still open, who and what i write is pinned on my account!

request:

I’ve been reading your fics for awhile now and I’ve finally worked up the courage to request a fic. (Anonymously, of course)

Can you please do a fic of reader x Fred Weasley where reader has liked Fred for awhile but he never noticed. But then, after a quidditch match or smth, Reader heads back to the common room real sulky (because she saw Fred and Angelina and came to the wrong conclusion) when Fred comes and walks her to the common room. They don’t have to confess their feeling or anything if you don’t want to, but I just want a nice, wholesome, fluff fic. Thank you!

word count: 6K

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. The Gryffindor team was in the middle of an intense practice session, their scarlet robes fluttering behind them like the tails of streaking comets. The air was filled with the sounds of beating wings, shouted instructions, and the occasional thud of Bludgers hitting the bats of Beaters.

You sat perched on one of the higher rows in the Gryffindor stands, surrounded by a mix of excited students. The air was crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of damp grass and the thrill of competition. Your friends were chatting animatedly beside you, their eyes flitting from one player to another, but your gaze was locked on one figure alone.

Fred Weasley.

There he was, flying circles around the rest of the team with that familiar, confident ease that made your heart pound in your chest. His messy red hair caught the sunlight, and every now and then, that infectious grin of his would flash across his face, making him seem even more brilliant. It was like he belonged up there in the sky, as if the broom was just an extension of him, a natural part of who he was.

You sighed, resting your chin on your palm, trying (and failing) to tear your eyes away from him.  

"Why does he have to be so annoyingly perfect?" you thought to yourself, a touch of bitterness seeping into your internal monologue. "I bet he doesn’t even know I exist."

The practice continued, with Fred and George working seamlessly as a Beater duo, sending Bludgers flying toward their teammates who were practicing dodges. Each time Fred whacked a Bludger, his muscles tensed, and you couldn’t help but admire the strength and grace behind each swing.

But it was more than just his skill on the field that had you so utterly captivated. It was the way he seemed to light up a room—or in this case, an entire Quidditch pitch—effortlessly drawing people in with his charm, his laughter, his natural charisma. And yet, it was that very charm that made him feel so... out of reach. 

"He’s probably got girls lining up just to talk to him," you mused bitterly, shaking your head. "Why would he ever notice someone like me?"

As if on cue, Fred suddenly pulled up on his broom, hovering in place for a moment. His gaze drifted toward the stands, squinting slightly as if trying to spot someone in the crowd. Your heart leapt into your throat. Was he looking... at you?

Time seemed to slow down as he raised his hand and waved. For a fleeting, heart-stopping moment, you could have sworn his eyes locked with yours. The blood rushed to your cheeks, and you could feel your heart thudding against your ribcage like it was trying to break free.

"Could he really be waving at me?" you wondered, hope blooming in your chest. You even managed a tentative wave back, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat.

But then, reality crashed down like a Bludger to the gut.

Fred's grin widened as a group of younger Gryffindor students a few rows below you erupted into cheers, waving back enthusiastically. He shot them a playful salute, his eyes crinkling with laughter.

Your arm froze mid-wave, a hot flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You quickly lowered your hand, trying to pretend you were just brushing a stray hair out of your face. 

"Of course, it wasn’t for me," you muttered under your breath, a bitter smile twisting your lips. You could feel your friends exchanging glances beside you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at them. Instead, you focused intently on the pitch, willing the sting of rejection to fade.

Fred turned back to his teammates, seemingly unaware of the little scene that had played out in the stands. He was back to his easygoing self, joking with George as they lined up for another round of Bludger practice. 

And you? You were left sitting there, trying to force your heart to stop racing, trying to swallow down the disappointment that tasted far too familiar. Because that was the thing about having a crush on someone like Fred Weasley—it was always just out of reach, like trying to catch a Snitch with your bare hands.

But despite the sting, you couldn’t stop your eyes from drifting back to him, couldn’t stop that tiny flicker of hope from lighting up inside you every time he came close. Because maybe, just maybe... one day, he'd notice you.

But for now, you stayed in your seat, surrounded by laughter and cheers, with only the warmth of the afternoon sun to keep you company.

The late afternoon sun was beginning to set behind the castle, bathing the Hogwarts grounds in a soft, golden glow. The sky above was a mix of pinks and oranges, the colors reflecting off the shimmering lake in the distance. Quidditch practice had ended, and now, players were trickling out of the changing rooms, their laughter and banter filling the cooling air as they made their way back toward the castle.

You lingered just outside, leaning against the cool stone wall, pretending to be busy adjusting the strap of your bag. In reality, your fingers were fidgeting aimlessly, your mind barely registering your friend's conversation with one of the reserve players beside you. The words were just noise—a distant hum as you scanned the players leaving the pitch.

Your heart was racing, but you kept your expression carefully neutral. You were waiting. Waiting for a glimpse of him. You told yourself you were just delaying your walk back to the castle, but deep down, you knew the truth: you were hoping to see Fred Weasley one last time before the evening was over. Maybe today, after catching his eye during practice, he’d notice you. Maybe he’d smile, say something, anything...

"Pathetic," you thought, scolding yourself, but you couldn't help it. That flutter of hope was there, persistent and stubborn.

Just as you were about to give up and turn away, the door to the changing rooms swung open. Your breath hitched as Fred stepped out, his red hair damp and tousled, droplets of water still clinging to his neck. His practice robes were slung casually over one shoulder, revealing the snug, sweat-stained shirt beneath that clung to his broad shoulders. 

Your heart did a little flip, and you stood a bit straighter, your pulse quickening. He looked so effortlessly perfect, his grin bright as ever. For a moment, you felt a spark of courage, the fleeting thought that maybe, just maybe, you could muster the nerve to wave or even call out to him.

But before you could act, someone else beat you to it.

Angelina Johnson appeared beside him, striding out of the changing rooms with that confident, easy grace that seemed to come so naturally to her. She was still in her Quidditch gear, her dark braids pulled back, and there was a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. The two of them shared a laugh, the kind of laugh that made it seem like they were the only ones in the world. 

You felt your chest tighten, your heart sinking like a stone as you watched Fred drape an arm over Angelina’s shoulders. It was such a casual gesture, the kind he did with all his

close friends, but the way she leaned into him... the easy familiarity between them... it made your stomach twist painfully.

"You’ve always been my favorite Beater partner, Angie," Fred said, his voice carrying easily over the noise of the other players. His tone was light, teasing, and it sent a ripple of laughter through Angelina.

The world around you seemed to blur, the laughter and chatter of your fellow students fading into a dull hum. All you could hear were Fred’s words, replaying over and over like a cruel echo. The scene in front of you—Fred’s arm around Angelina, the way he looked at her—felt like a punch to the gut.

"Why her?" you thought bitterly, feeling a sharp pang of envy. Angelina was everything you weren’t—confident, beautiful, athletic. She fit effortlessly into Fred’s world, while you... you were just a spectator on the sidelines, always watching but never truly part of it.

A sharp sting pricked the back of your eyes, and you blinked furiously, refusing to let the tears fall.  

"Get a grip," you muttered to yourself under your breath. "It’s not like he ever noticed you, anyway." You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but it felt like it was stuck there, making it hard to breathe.

You took a deep, shaky breath and tore your gaze away from them, your vision blurring with unshed tears. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to see you like this—especially Fred. 

"How could I have been so stupid?" you berated yourself silently as you turned on your heel. You began walking quickly, your footsteps heavy and hurried as if you could somehow outrun the hurt clawing at your chest.  

"Of course he’d go for someone like her. How could I ever compare?"

As you weaved through the students still lingering near the pitch, the world around you became a blur. All you could see was that image of Fred’s arm around Angelina, his bright, carefree smile, the way she leaned into him without hesitation. It was like a scene burned into your mind, tormenting you with each step.

"You idiot," you thought harshly, clutching the strap of your bag so tightly that your knuckles turned white. "Did you really think you ever had a chance? He’s always been out of your league." 

The laughter from the Quidditch players echoed behind you, and it only made the ache in your chest worse. You ducked your head as you passed a group of Hufflepuffs, hoping they wouldn’t notice the tell-tale shine in your eyes. The castle loomed ahead, its familiar silhouette now feeling more like a cage, every corridor and stairway a reminder of how foolish you’d been to ever think Fred Weasley could see you as more than just another face in the crowd.

By the time you reached the main staircase, you were practically running, desperate to reach the sanctuary of the Gryffindor common room where you could hide away from the world. Your breaths came in shallow gasps, your throat tight with the effort to hold back tears.

"I was just a fool," you thought, a single tear finally slipping down your cheek as you turned the corner. "He never noticed me. He never will."

You wiped it away angrily, quickening your pace. Maybe once you got to your dorm, you could bury yourself under your blankets and pretend this day had never happened. But as Fred’s laughter replayed in your mind, that hollow ache in your chest only deepened, a painful reminder that the crush you’d tried so hard to ignore had just been shattered into a thousand pieces.

The castle was growing colder as the evening chill settled into the stone walls, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows that danced eerily across the corridors. Most students had retreated to the warmth of their common rooms by now, leaving the hallways nearly deserted. Your footsteps echoed in the emptiness, each step seeming to mock you, the sound hollow and taunting in your ears.

You walked quickly, head down, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if you could somehow hold yourself together. The memory of Fred with his arm around Angelina replayed in your mind like a cruel, broken record: the way they laughed together, how natural and easy it was between them. Every replay brought a fresh stab of pain, and your heart clenched with a bitterness that spread like ice through your veins.

"Why did I let myself hope?" you thought bitterly, your breaths coming faster, more shallow. "I should’ve known better. It was foolish to think someone like him would notice someone like me." 

The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly before you, each flickering torch like a cruel spotlight illuminating your thoughts. Your eyes stung, but you pressed your lips together to stop them from trembling, refusing to let the tears fall. 

In the silence, your whispered words seemed to echo louder than you intended:  

"Stupid feelings. Stupid Fred."

As soon as the words left your mouth, a pang of guilt washed over you. You didn’t really think Fred was stupid. No, the problem was that he was far too wonderful—kind, funny, effortlessly charming. It was why it hurt so much that he didn’t see you the way you saw him. But right now, the hurt and frustration twisted your feelings into a tangled mess that you couldn’t sort through.

"No," you argued with yourself, wiping furiously at your eyes. "He’s not wonderful if he can’t even see what’s right in front of him."

But just as you were nearing the corner by the library, hurried footsteps echoed behind you, breaking the silence of the empty corridor. Your heart lurched, and for a wild moment, you hoped it was just a Prefect doing their rounds. But then, you heard that unmistakable voice—slightly breathless, tinged with concern.

"Oi! Wait up, will you?"

You froze, your back stiffening. Of course, it had to be him. You clenched your fists, trying to steady your breath, but your heart was already racing, your emotions threatening to spill over. You took a deep breath, wiping at your eyes one last time before reluctantly turning around.

There he was—Fred Weasley, jogging toward you, his hair slightly tousled and cheeks flushed from the cold. His Gryffindor scarf was loose around his neck, his shirt still slightly damp from practice, the scent of soap and fresh air clinging to him.

"Oh, Merlin," you thought, your heart sinking. "Why did it have to be him?"

You averted your gaze, focusing on the floor, the ancient stones suddenly fascinating. Heat rose to your cheeks, and you were sure they were glowing like a pair of red lanterns.  

"What do you want, Fred?" you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended. You winced internally but kept your eyes down, afraid that if you looked at him, everything you were feeling would be written all over your face.

Fred paused, leaning forward slightly to catch his breath, his hands resting on his knees. When he straightened up, his expression was a mix of concern and confusion.  

"Just... thought you shouldn’t be walking back alone," he said, his tone light but with a hint of something softer beneath it. "It’s late, you know."

You could hear the familiar teasing lilt in his voice, but there was also that glimmer of genuine worry that made your chest ache even more. Why did he have to be so kind, so thoughtful? It only made everything hurt more. 

"I’m fine," you replied curtly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, trying to keep your voice steady. "I can walk myself."

Fred’s brows furrowed, his smile faltering. He looked genuinely taken aback by your tone, his eyes searching your face.  

"Alright, alright," he said, holding up his hands as if in surrender. "Didn’t mean to step on your toes. Just thought you might want some company."

Company. The word grated against your already frayed nerves. Company now, when it no longer mattered. Where was this when you needed him to notice you, to see how you felt? But instead of voicing your thoughts, you shrugged, still refusing to meet his gaze.

Fred didn't move, though, and you could feel his eyes on you, trying to read what was wrong. The silence between you was thick and heavy, and all you wanted was to escape, to put as much distance as possible between you and those concerned hazel eyes.

"Seriously, are you alright?" he asked, his voice softer now, the teasing tone gone. "You’ve been... well, you don’t seem yourself tonight."

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to push down the tears that threatened to spill. "I wonder why," you thought bitterly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. You couldn’t tell him how much it hurt to see him with Angelina, how foolish you felt for ever thinking you could be anything more than a friend to him.

Instead, all you managed was a quiet,  

"I’m just tired, Fred. It’s been a long day."

Fred’s face softened even more, and he took a step closer. He was so close now that you could smell the faint, comforting scent of soap mixed with the crisp chill of the evening air.  

"Alright," he said gently, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But if something’s bothering you... you can tell me, you know."

You nodded stiffly, not trusting yourself to speak. If you opened your mouth now, you were afraid everything would spill out—all your hurt, your frustration, your stupid, unrequited feelings. The ache in your chest was almost unbearable, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing you like this.

Fred hesitated for a moment, like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t push. Instead, he simply fell into step beside you, matching your slow, tense pace. The corridor stretched ahead, dark and silent except for the faint sound of your footsteps and the occasional crackle of torchlight.

As you reached the staircase leading up to the Gryffindor tower, Fred’s fingers brushed lightly against yours, the touch almost hesitant, as if he was testing the waters. Your heart leapt at the contact, a flicker of warmth amidst the cold that had settled inside you. But before you could process it, you pulled your hand away, clenching it into a fist to stop it from trembling.

"Goodnight, Fred," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, you hurried up the stairs, your footsteps echoing behind you. You didn’t dare look back, afraid that if you did, the tears you’d been holding back would finally break free.

Fred stood at the base of the staircase, watching you disappear, a confused and slightly hurt expression on his face. But you didn’t see it—your vision was too blurred by the tears that had finally escaped, leaving a glistening trail down your cheeks.

The Gryffindor common room was unusually quiet, the warmth of the crackling fire filling the near-empty space with a cozy, intimate atmosphere. The flickering glow danced across the walls, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to move in sync with your erratic thoughts. The few first-years in the corner barely registered to you—they were simply background noise, whispers that faded away as you focused on the tightening knot in your chest.

You and Fred entered together, the cold from the castle corridors clinging to your clothes, quickly replaced by the welcoming heat of the common room. You hesitated near the door, feeling that strange tension between wanting to run to your dormitory and wanting to stay near him, even though every second hurt. 

Fred paused, looking at you with a gentle gaze, before nodding toward the large armchairs by the hearth.  

"Come on, let’s sit for a bit," he suggested, his voice softer than usual. There was an uncharacteristic uncertainty in his tone, as if he sensed just how fragile the moment was. 

You swallowed hard, reluctant but following him nonetheless. Every muscle in your body was tense, as though you were walking into a trap of your own making. You felt like you were about to break, and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave—not with the way Fred was looking at you.

You sank into the plush armchair, the warmth of the fire licking at your face, but it did little to chase away the cold that had settled deep in your bones. Fred sat across from you, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He was watching you, his eyes full of that same concern that had been haunting you all evening, and it was almost unbearable. You turned your gaze to the flames, the dancing colors easier to focus on than the intensity of his eyes.

The silence between you was thick, heavy with words unspoken, questions unasked. You didn’t want to be here, didn’t want this conversation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You bit the inside of your cheek, hard enough to ground yourself, to keep yourself from snapping. "Why can’t he just let this go?" you thought, frustration and hurt battling for control.

Fred cleared his throat, trying to break the tension. He flashed that familiar grin, the one that usually made your heart flutter, made you forget everything else.  

"You’re awfully quiet tonight. Lost your voice after cheering for us so much at practice?" he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

But tonight, that grin was a reminder of everything you could never have, everything that seemed so far out of reach. You forced a laugh, hollow and thin, barely glancing at him.  

"Yeah, something like that," you muttered, your voice sounding distant even to yourself. 

"Come on, just act normal," you scolded yourself internally. "Don’t let him see how much this is affecting you." But the ache in your chest made it impossible to mask your feelings, no matter how hard you tried.

Fred's grin faded, his brow furrowing as he leaned in closer, his eyes searching your face.  

"Alright, enough of that," he said, his voice softening, the teasing gone. "Something’s definitely off, and I’m not leaving until you tell me what it is."

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten painfully. You didn’t want this—didn’t want his concern, his kindness. It was easier when he was teasing, when you could brush him off and pretend you were okay. But this, the gentle tone, the genuine worry—it was too much. It made the walls you’d built around your heart feel like they were crumbling, and you weren’t ready for that.

You bit your lip, your fingers digging into the armrest of the chair as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded.  

"It’s nothing, really," you said, forcing your voice to stay steady, though it felt like you were holding back a dam that was ready to burst.

Fred’s eyes narrowed slightly, clearly not believing you. He shifted in his seat, leaning even closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.  

"You’ve been acting weird all evening. And it’s not just tonight—it’s been going on for days." His gaze softened, a touch of uncertainty entering his expression. "Did I do something wrong?"

The question almost shattered you. If only he knew. You felt a lump form in your throat, your vision blurring as tears threatened to spill. You shook your head quickly, focusing on your lap, trying to blink the tears away.  

"No, it’s... it’s not you, Fred," you managed, your voice trembling, barely holding together. 

He was silent for a moment, his eyes searching your face. You could feel him studying you, trying to piece together what was wrong. He sighed softly, rubbing the back of his neck, a rare sign of discomfort.  

"Look, I’m not great at this stuff," he admitted, "but you can talk to me, you know. Whatever it is, I’m here."

His words almost undid you. There was a raw earnestness in his voice, a vulnerability that you rarely saw from Fred. For a split second, you were tempted to tell him everything—the hurt, the jealousy, the way your heart ached every time you saw him with Angelina. But the fear of rejection, the fear of making a fool of yourself, kept you silent. The walls around your heart were fragile, but they were still standing.

Fred reached out, his fingers brushing against your knee gently, and it sent a jolt through you.  

"Hey," he said softly, his eyes meeting yours, his gaze pleading. "Please, don’t shut me out."

The unexpected touch, the warmth of his fingers, was too much. A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. You turned your face away quickly, your breath hitching.  

"I-I can’t," you whispered, your voice breaking. "It’s too... I just can’t, alright?"

You heard him inhale sharply, and you knew he’d seen the tear. You hated how vulnerable you felt, hated that you were falling apart in front of him. You wished you could disappear, wished the floor would swallow you up.

Fred’s expression softened even more, and he moved his chair closer, the legs scraping softly against the floor. He was so close now that you could feel his warmth, the scent of him mingling with the smoky heat of the fire.  

"Please," he urged again, his voice barely a whisper, filled with so much gentleness it made your heart ache. "Just talk to me."

You couldn’t hold it in any longer. The emotions you’d been bottling up finally overflowed.  

"I thought—" your voice broke, and you swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. "I thought you and Angelina... I saw you two after practice, and I just—" You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. "Forget it. It’s stupid."

Fred looked confused, his brow furrowing.  

"Angelina?" he repeated, his voice tinged with surprise. "What about her?"

The words came out in a rush, a mix of frustration and hurt.  

"I saw you two together. You had your arm around her, and you were laughing, and I just... I thought..." You trailed off, your voice barely a whisper, realizing how pathetic you must sound. 

Fred stared at you for a long moment, and then, to your utter confusion, he started to laugh. It wasn’t mocking—there was no malice in it—but it caught you so off guard that you flinched, more tears spilling over.

"Merlin’s beard," he said between chuckles, rubbing his forehead. "Is that what this is about? You thought... oh, no, love, no." He leaned forward, his tone softening as he reached for your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours warmly.  

"Angelina’s just my friend. We’ve been teammates for years, that’s all."

You blinked, the words taking a moment to sink in.  

"But... you were so close, and I thought..."

Fred shook his head, smiling gently.  

"Nah," he interrupted, squeezing your hand. "I promise you, there’s nothing like that between us. She’s practically my sister." He paused, his gaze searching yours, his eyes filled with warmth. "Is that really what’s been bothering you?"

You nodded slowly, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment washing over you. Fred was still holding your hand, his touch grounding you, and for the first time tonight, you finally looked up into his eyes. They were warm, soft, filled with something you couldn’t quite name, something that made hope flicker inside you.

"Well," he said quietly, his thumb brushing gently over the back of your hand, "if I’d known you were jealous, I would’ve done something about it sooner."

Your breath caught in your throat.  

"Jealous? I—I wasn’t—" you stammered, your cheeks burning.

Fred smiled softly, leaning closer, his eyes never leaving yours.  

"You were," he said gently, his voice teasing but affectionate. "And... I think I like it." His eyes flickered to your lips for a split second before returning to yours. "I think... I like you."

Your heart stuttered, his confession hanging in the air between you. The warmth of the fire, the way he was looking at you—it was overwhelming. But for the first time, it didn’t feel like you were making a fool of yourself. It felt like maybe, just maybe, your hopes weren’t so foolish after all.

"You... you really mean that?" you whispered, barely daring to believe it.

Fred grinned, squeezing your hand again.  

"Yeah, I really do."

And just like that, the ache in your chest began to lift, replaced by something warm and light—a flicker of hope that maybe, this time, things would be different.

The days following your confession with Fred passed in a blur, the bustling atmosphere of Hogwarts enveloping you in its usual hustle and bustle. The castle was decked out in festive decorations for the upcoming winter break—garlands of evergreens draped over staircases, candles twinkling like stars, and the faint scent of cinnamon drifting through the corridors. Yet, none of that seemed as magical as the way Fred Weasley was now treating you.

It started almost immediately after that heartfelt conversation in the common room. You could hardly catch your breath before Fred began seeking you out at every opportunity. It was as though a switch had flipped inside him, and he was determined not to let another moment slip by. The morning after, you were quietly sipping your pumpkin juice in the Great Hall when Fred slid onto the bench beside you, so casually that it nearly made you spill your drink.

“Morning,” he said, grinning widely as he nudged your shoulder playfully. “Saved you a spot.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your lips, even though your heart raced at his proximity. It was a heady mix of disbelief and delight—was this really happening? You nodded shyly in response, still getting used to this new, attentive version of Fred. The way he looked at you, with that warm sparkle in his eyes, sent a flurry of butterflies through your stomach.

In the days that followed, Fred’s usual playful teasing shifted into something deeper, more affectionate. You couldn’t take two steps in the castle without him appearing at your side, whether it was slipping into the chair next to you in the library or “coincidentally” bumping into you as you walked between classes. It was as if he couldn’t stand to be away from you, and every encounter left you feeling giddy and lightheaded.

One afternoon, as you chatted with your friends near the courtyard, Fred leaned against the wall nearby, waiting for you. When you finally noticed him, he shot you a cheeky grin. “Finally! Thought you’d forgotten all about me,” he teased, his eyes crinkling in that familiar way that made your heart flutter.

You tried to play it cool, rolling your eyes even as warmth spread through you. “You’re impossible, Weasley,” you muttered, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips.

During Potions class, when you were paired together, Fred took full advantage of your close proximity. As you tried to focus on your bubbling cauldron, he leaned in close, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered jokes that sent shivers down your spine.

“You know,” he said in that low, teasing tone, “if I’d known you liked me that much, I would’ve asked you to be my personal cheerleader ages ago.”

You laughed, cheeks burning as you tried to keep stirring the potion. “Cheerleader? I think you’re confusing me with the actual Quidditch team,” you shot back, though your voice wavered slightly.

“Nah, I’d rather have you cheering just for me,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. The lightness of his words was underscored by something far more genuine, something that made your heart race.

Yet despite his affectionate words, a tiny voice of doubt lingered in the back of your mind. Every time Fred brushed his fingers against yours or leaned in too close, your heart soared, but the question remained—was this just Fred being Fred? What if it was all just another one of his jokes?

One evening, after a long day of classes, you were walking back from Transfiguration when Fred fell into step beside you, his shoulder bumping yours playfully. “So,” he said, sounding almost nonchalant, “I was thinking... maybe we could sneak out after dinner tonight? I hear the view from the Astronomy Tower is pretty spectacular.”

You paused, turning to look at him, your heart thudding in your chest. “Are you... are you serious?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, a thread of hope woven into your words.

Fred turned to face you fully, his teasing grin softening into something far more genuine. “Of course I’m serious,” he said, his voice quiet and earnest. “I... I want to spend time with you. Just the two of us.”

Later that night, you found yourself sneaking through the castle under the cover of Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. The thrill of sneaking around with him sent your heart racing as you tried to stifle your giggles whenever Filch’s footsteps echoed down the corridor. Fred’s hand held yours tightly, his warmth steadying you as he led you up the winding staircase to the Astronomy Tower.

When you reached the top, you stepped out into the cold, crisp night air. The sky above was clear, stars scattered like diamonds across a velvet expanse, the moon casting a silvery glow over the castle grounds. For a moment, it felt like you’d stepped into a dream.

Fred pulled the cloak off with a dramatic flourish, spreading it on the cold stone floor so you could sit. “Perfect spot, isn’t it?” he said, grinning as he settled beside you.

You nodded, sitting so close that your knees touched. The night was silent, except for the soft breeze and the occasional distant hoot of an owl. For once, Fred wasn’t joking or teasing. He was just watching you, his eyes reflecting the starlight.

“I’ve been thinking a lot since... well, since you told me how you felt,” Fred began, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. He reached for your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “I’m sorry I was so thick. I should’ve noticed sooner.”

You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. “I never thought you’d... I didn’t think you felt the same.”

Fred’s gaze held yours, his eyes soft and sincere. “I do. I think I’ve liked you for a long time, but I was too busy being an idiot to realize it. But now that I know... I don’t want to waste any more time.”

Your breath caught as he leaned in closer, his gaze flicking to your lips. You nodded slightly, and that was all he needed. Fred closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was warm, tender, and filled with all the words that had gone unspoken between you. The world seemed to melt away until it was just the two of you under the stars.

When you finally pulled away, you were both smiling like fools, your foreheads pressed together. “So... does this mean you’ll be cheering for me at every Quidditch match?” Fred teased, his grin returning.

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Only if you promise to score at least two goals every game.”

“Deal,” he whispered, sealing the promise with another soft kiss.

Sneaking back to the common room, your hands still intertwined, you couldn’t stop smiling. As you stepped through the portrait hole, a few friends shot you knowing glances, but Fred just pulled you closer, unfazed by the attention.

“Guess the whole castle’s going to know by morning,” you muttered, half-embarrassed, half-delighted.

“Good,” Fred said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Let them know. I’ve finally got the girl I’ve been waiting for.”

The two of you curled up together on one of the sofas by the dying fire, the warmth from the hearth wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. Fred rested his chin on top of your head, his arms around you. “You know,” he murmured sleepily, “I never thought I’d get this lucky.”

You smiled, snuggling closer to him. “Neither did I,” you whispered.

As the castle settled into peaceful quiet and the fire burned low, you drifted off in Fred’s arms, knowing that whatever came next, you’d face it together.

[veronicaphoenix]

the unmaking of a warrior | epilogue pt. 2

word count: 10k | reading time: 40mins. aprox. | series masterpost | my works ✨

Tags & trigger warnings: this takes place 2 years after the events that took place in epilogue part 1. Established relationship, dad!noah, angst, fluff, pregnancy, birth giving (flashback), mentions/descriptions of blood, sexual innuendos regarding bondage/rope play, skinny dipping, sexual content including oral sex (fem. rec.), p. in v. unprotected, creampie). Fluff, fluff, and a lot of fluff because dad!noah dad!noah dad!noah 🥹 can't get enough of him. I've wanted to write dad!noah for ages and he's finally here. And again, I've never given birth, i've never been pregnant, so excuse my lack of accuracy on that matter. If there's anything I've missed, please let me know. x

Nearly two years later

Winter had lingered longer than usual, but at last, spring had arrived, bringing with it a burst of color and warmth. The sun was gentle, neither too hot nor too faint, while a soft breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers.

As soon as the weather brightened, Noah and I began spending more time outdoors—whether it was venturing deep into the valley, lounging by the river’s edge, or simply relaxing in our garden.

This morning, I sat on a blanket spread across the grass in the front yard, with Trouble resting behind me. Her large, furry body made for a perfect backrest as I watched Levi carefully pick flowers and place them all over Trouble’s fur. At first, Trouble lay still, tolerating Levi’s enthusiastic flower-decorating, but as the pile of blooms grew, she huffed in mild protest. Once, she even let out a low growl, and I gently reminded her that he was just a baby, before telling Levi to give her a little break.

“But she looks so pretty!” he insisted, his version of “pretty” sounding more like “piuti”.

“She’s already got enough flowers on her,” I said. “Why don’t you put some on Mommy instead?”

“Yes!” he shouted, delighted by the idea. He wobbled over to me on unsteady legs, and began placing the flowers carefully on my hair. 

His shoulder-length brown hair, which we had only trimmed a couple of times since he was born, had been neatly tied up in a bun earlier that morning. But after hours of running and playing a few soft strands had escaped and now hung loosely, framing his sun-kissed face. He looked so much like Noah.

When one of the flowers fell into my lap, I picked it up and held it out to him. 

“Do you know what this one is called?”

He took a quick glance and shook his head before resuming his task of adorning my hair.

“It’s a daisy,” I told him.

“Daisy,” he repeated slowly. 

I reached for the basket sitting nearby, filled with a mix of toys and snacks. Levi’s attention was quickly diverted when I picked a box that contained fresh strawberries cut into tiny pieces. Their sweet fragance filled the air when I removed the lid. I picked one out and held it out to him.

“Strawberry?” he asked, his eyes wide with excitement.

“Strawberry,” I confirmed, smiling. I brought the fruit to his mouth, and he took a small, eager bite, juice dribbling down his chin. I wiped it away with my thumb. “One more?” I offered, holding up another.

He nodded, this time more vigorously as he leaned in for a second bite, his tiny hands grabbing at mine to get the strawberry faster into his mouth.

With a full mouth, he mumbled something incoherent, his eyes darting to the basket, no doubt looking for more treats. I reached inside and handed him one of his toys. He eagerly accepted a wooden cart and started to roll it back and forth over my legs. At least that was better than him rolling it on Trouble’s fur and igniting her fury. 

I spotted movement on the path leading from the village. A tall and slender figure made itself visible as it approached us, and that familiar flutter in my stomach came back. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of my husband. 

Noah was walking toward us. He looked so effortlessly striking wearing all black, his katana at his side and a radiant smile meant just for us. His hair, tied back in a loose bun, was longer than it’d ever been, and one loose strand was swaying gently with the breeze. 

He wasn’t alone.

Nestled against his hip was Sakura, one of her small hands on his shoulder, grapping tightly at his clothing. Though she was Levi’s twin and nearly two, she couldn’t yet walk, but that didn’t slow her down—she was happy to crawl everywhere. Her brown hair was tied up in a tiny bun to match her Papa’s, and it gave her an air of determination and pride. She loved mimicking him in everything. She was a courageous and bold little one, just like Levi.

“Look who’s coming,” I said to Levi, drawing his attention toward the path.

Levi’s eyes widened, and a grin spread across his face as he spotted Noah and his sister. 

“Papa!” he called out, his small body bouncing with excitement. He started to run toward his father but stopped when I pulled him back toward the blanket, keeping him close.

As Noah reached us, he bent down just as Sakura squirmed in his arms, extending her body and arms toward me. I scooped her up, cradling her close and planting a kiss on her cheek, her little nuzzle against my chest filling my heart.

With his arms now free, Noah crouched lower and scratched Trouble’s fur. 

“What happened to you?” He teased. “You look more colorful than usual.”

Trouble huffed, but as soon as Noah was laughing, she lifted her head to lick his hand. Noah smiled, rubbing her head before turning his focus to Levi.

“Hey, little warrior,” he said warmly. “How you doing?” He swept Levi up with ease and tossed him into the air, eliciting shrieks of joy. Levi giggled uncontrollably, his laughter filling the air as Noah caught him and repeated the throw.

Once Levi settled, he pointed excitedly at Trouble, his eyes sparkling. 

“Look, Papa! I put flowers on her.”

“I saw it. That’s a ton of flowers.”

Levi beamed proudly, then, as if remembering something important, pointed to me. 

“I put flowers on Mommy, too!”

Noah’s eyes shifted, softening as they landed on me. I was holding Sakura in my arms, who was eagerly nibbling on a piece of strawberry now. Our gazes met, and in that moment, for just a couple of seconds, everything else faded. The warmth in Noah’s eyes was as if it had just struck him again how lucky he was to have me by his side, as his wife. His gaze held mine, filled with both admiration and love, and I felt the familiar heat rise to my cheeks.

“She looks soooo priti!” Levi shouted, his voice high with excitement.

Noah’s lips parted.

“Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

His words sent a rush of warmth through me, and despite all the years we’d spent together, I still found myself flushing under his brown eyes. 

But the spell was broken by Sakura’s small voice. She raised her hand and waved it, her tiny fingers catching Noah’s attention. 

“Me?!”

Noah sat down beside me on the blanket, letting Levi wander off to pick more flowers.

“You,” Noah began, poking her cheek, “are the prettiest babygirl I’ve ever seen.”

Content, Sakura gave him one satisfied smile, a bit shy at her Papa’s compliment as her cheeks tinted pink and she defleated in my lap. 

Noah laughed. I would never get tired of the way he smiled at our children—of the joy they brought him.

A couple of minutes later, distracted by her brother’s doings, Sakura crawled out of my arms and followed Levi, and Noah and I both watched our twins explore their little world. 

“Was she okay?” I asked Noah without taking my eyes of the children. 

“She was as good as ever,” he told me. “Sat still on her spot during most of the training session, clapping everytime someone lifted their sword. Pretty sure she’s ready for a nap now.”

Seeing her playing lively with Levi raised some doubts. 

When I turned to look at Noah, I caught him staring intently at me. A second after, he was leaning over me, tucking some hairs behind my ear and kissing the corner of my mouth. 

“You look beautiful today,” he whispered.

“You said that yesterday,” I retorted, but the grin spread through my face nonetheless. 

Noah shrugged, still leaning to me. 

“I am merely stating facts.” 

I tsked my tongue and placed a hand on Noah’s jaw to bring him to me and kiss him on the lips. Right as I was doing so, we heard a yelp. 

Sakura, who had been crawling with purpose, always trying to catch up with her more mobile brother, had stopped by a bush. With her tiny hands she had tried to reach up for a flower perched higher than she could comfortably grasp. And as she tried to stand on wobbling legs, she toppled over, a small gasp escaping her as she fell back onto the grass.

Noah was up in an instant, rushing to her side before I could even react, his speed startling in its swiftness. Levi stopped what he was doing to look between his baby sister and his father with wide eyes,

I exhaled, seeing Noah scoop Sakura up into his arms, checking her. She wasn’t hurt, just surprised. I watched Noah’s face contorn in concern, and I was suddenly thrown back in time, to the day the twins were born.

We hadn’t known I was carrying two babies. After I had given birth to Sakura earlier than expected, we thought the ordeal was over. I had been sore, exhausted, and overwhelmed with joy as I held our daughter in our arms and then when I passed her to Noah. But before I could relish much in the moment, my screams pierced through the room, Sakura had been taken out from Noah’s arms, and he’d been ushered out.

To this day, it was still the worst and best day of Noah’s life. 

He thought he was going to lose me, unaware that the pain that was seizing me had to do with the fact that there was still another baby inside me, desperate to come into the world. Levi had been bigger than Sakura from birth. Noah held this belief that he’d been taking care of his sister inside my womb and he had been a gentleman and let her out first. However, the contractions that came with him were at full force. The surprise and intensity of it all left me feeling drained, my body struggling to cope. The second birth had been arduous, and by the time Levi was born, I was too weak to stay conscious. I had also lost a lot of blood.

After Levi’s birth, Rika had rushed to find Noah. 

“What happened?” Noah had asked, frozen as they placed his babygirl back in his arms, but the familiar cry he heard didn’t come from the baby he was holding. His mind was racing. He looked around. Then, he spotted Milla not too far. She was holding his babygirl. In a heartbeat, the truth hit him. He was holding a boy. There were two babies. Twins. 

His gaze flickered back to me immediately, terrified of what he would see. He spotted me, pale and unmoving on the futon. Panic filled his chest as he stared at the blood beneath me. 

“She is… She’s going to be okay, right?” he asked, because there was no other possible question—or outcome. His voice had barely been steady as he held our son close, unable to tear his eyes from my motionless form.

Rika reassured him. 

“She’s going to be okay. She lost a lot of blood, but she’ll recover. She just needs time. In the meantime, you need to be with your children.”

As she said this, Rika placed Sakura into Noah’s free arm. He stood there, arms full, cradling both babies at once. He looked down at them, their tiny faces nestled against his chest, his long arms able to hold both of them securely. His heart swelled with joy at the sight of his twins—one boy, one girl—but worry gnawed at him because I wasn’t there to share the moment.

Noah carried them over to where I lay, sinking down beside me on the futon. He sat quietly, overwhelmed by this mixture of happiness and fear. Our children drifted into sleep, their little breaths soft and steady. Soon, we were alone. The four of us—my family. 

Hours passed, and eventually, I began to stir. My body ached, and my vision was blurry at first. I blinked, trying to focus, my head heavy on the pillow. The first thing I saw was Noah, sitting by my side, his face drawn with exhaustion and relief. He was whispering softly, his voice low and calming, but it wasn’t until I tilted my head slightly that I realized who he was speaking to.

There, lying beside me on white blankets, were two wide-eyed babies. Both were staring up at their Papa, their small bodies wrapped in soft cloth. The boy yawned, his tiny hands stretching out as he blinked at the world. Sakura’s dark eyes were fixed on Noah’s face, her little fingers twitching as if already reaching for him.

I blinked, disbelief flooding my mind. Two. There were two.

“Noah...?”

He turned to me, relief spreading through him like a soothing balm as he realized I was awake. His smile was tender, and though his words were quiet, the weight of them was heavy with love. 

“We have twins,” he said, as if he still couldn’t quite believe it himself. “We have two of them.”

As Noah sat back down beside me, holding Sakura close, Levi resumed his flower hunt, and I cherished the fact that our children had been born in a safe space where they could explore and grow to be who they wanted to be. Noah’s presence beside me had always felt like an anchor, always there when I needed him, but since he’d become a father, his attention and support had doubled. He caught my eye and smiled, as if reading my thoughts. I smiled back, feeling that familiar tug of affection, the one that never seemed to fade, even after everything we’d been through.

Just as I reached over to brush a stray petal from Levi’s hair, a soft rustling behind us caught our attention and I saw Rika approaching.

Noah stiffened slightly, always on alert. Rika smiled warmly, hands clasped together as she approached the front yard.

“There’s someone here to see you,” she announced. She lingered just long enough for my heart to stutter with curiosity—and a hint of worry. Sensing the suspense, she quickly added, “It’s your grandmother.”

The tension eased from my shoulders. Beside me, Noah chuckled, shaking his head.

“Always keeping us on our toes,” he said with a grin, glancing down at Sakura, who perked up at the mention of a visitor, at the same time as Trouble thumped her tail excitedly. 

Grandma had always been a frequent visitor, long before Noah and I were even married. I’d tried to convince her to move into the Sanctuary, but she loved her little house in the village too much. It wasn’t far, and she promised to visit often—and she did. Her visits had only become more frequent after learning she would soon be a great-grandmother, a title that seemed to fill her with boundless happiness.

Noah stood, settling Sakura back onto the blanket next to me. 

“I’ll go give her a hand,” he offered, knowing Grandma could use the extra support these days, now that she leaned on a walking stick. She’d probably appreciate Noah’s arm to hold onto.

As Noah walked toward the path from the center of the Sanctuary to greet her, I leaned back on my hands, watching him go. He moved with that quiet strength, always so sure of himself, even when the world around us felt uncertain. It was hard to believe how far we’d come since the chaos of the twins’ birth—the exhaustion, the fear, and then the joy that had followed. Now, here we were, with two vibrant, curious children and the life we’d always dreamed of.

Sakura, back to her usual determined self, began to crawl toward Levi, her hands gripping the grass as she tried to keep up with him. Levi, busy with his bouquet of freshly picked flowers, spotted her coming and toddled over to meet her halfway, offering a dandelion he’d plucked from the ground. 

Inside the house, the air was warm and filled with the comforting scent of tea brewing. Noah was in the kitchen, preparing cups for everyone while the children played on the floor. I sat across from my grandmother, listening to her stories, her voice like a soothing melody.

Before long, Sakura set her sights on Noah’s katana, which hung temptingly on its stand by the entrance. Her little body wobbled on all fours as she began her mission and crawled toward it, her eyes gleaming with determination. I watched her from my seat, knowing Noah wouldn’t let her get far. Sakura seemed to sense this as well, for she paused midway and tilted her head to peer toward the open kitchen, where her Papa was busy pouring tea. Cleverly, she veered toward a cabinet, hoping to slip out of his sight. It was a smart tactic, but despite her stealth, the soft patter of her tiny hands and knees on the wooden floor soon caught Noah’s attention. Pausing, he raised his brows at the suspicious sound. The noise came again, like a small animal sneaking through the room, then silence. A grin tugged at Noah’s lips.

Moments later, a tiny hand peeked out from behind a piece of furniture, and Noah stifled a laugh as he resumed his work with the tea. 

Without looking up, he said, “I can see you.”

The instant he spoke, Sakura knew she’d been discovered. Her hands slapped the floor with renewed urgency as she crawled faster. 

Setting down the kettle on the kitchen island, Noah stepped out and scooped her up just before she could make her grand escape. Her little body squirmed in his arms.

“Not so fast,” he teased, tickling her belly.

Sakura’s giggles echoed through the room, filling it with a joyful energy that made all of us smile. Her small hands immediately reached towards his katana again, her fingers curling in the air toward the glimmering handle as she babbled the word: “Kitana, kitana!”

“That’s Papa’s. You’ll have to wait a little longer.”

Noah bounced her in his arms as he carried her back to the living room. 

Grandma, who had been pleasantly observing, had a spark in her wrinkled eyes as she laughed.

“She’s going to learn her way with a katana before she learns to walk, isn’t she?”

I couldn’t say no to that, looking at our daughter, whose fascination with her father’s sword was growing by the day. Noah set Sakura on my lap, her tiny hands still making grabby motions toward the weapon in the distance. She was relentless.

“She’s got a strong will, that’s for sure,” Noah said, watching her as she tried to wiggle free from my grasp to make another attempt for the katana. “Just like her Mama,” Noah added, casting me a glance before heading back to the kitchen to retrieve the tray with tea and snacks. 

“With a father like you, it’s no wonder she’s drawn to swords,” I teased back. 

Noah chuckled and finished preparing the tea, the soft, floral scent of jasmine filling the air as he brought the tray over to the low table in the center of the room. The sliding doors were open, and a breeze swept through the space, carrying with it the scent of the garden and the occasional sound of Trouble chasing chickens outside. 

“Levi, come sit with us and Grandma,” I called softly, watching Levi abandon the block tower he was building. He ran over with his usual burst of energy, his brown hair messy and strands hanging loose from his earlier play. 

Sakura was already seated beside Noah, nestled against big pillows that propped her up comfortably. Her eyes were wide with curiosity as she watched her Papa take a sip from his tea. Noah handed me my cup. He smiled knowingly as he passed a cup to Grandma, then turned his attention to Sakura. 

“You want some?” he asked. Immediately, he dipped his index finger into his cup and offered her a tiny drop.

Sakura leaned forward, her tiny pink lips pursing as she tasted the warm tea from the tip of his finger. Her eyes lit up, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. Of course she loved it—she was my daughter after all. 

Noah glanced at me. 

“Just like her Mama.”

After a while, with Levi nestled between Sakura and me, enjoying some snacks, I kept an eye on them, waiting for any sign they might be ready for a nap. Despite the day’s activities, however, both twins seemed wide awake. As the adults chatted, I didn’t notice when Levi, responding to Sakura’s insistent whispers, dipped his finger into my tea to offer her a few more drops.

It was Noah who caught him. 

With a slight frown, he said, “Levi, stop giving tea to your sister.”

“But she likes it,” Levi replied earnestly.

“You won’t like it when she gets all wired and keeps you up later,” Noah warned gently.

Levi blinked, likely not fully understanding his father’s point, but he obediently wiped his finger on his shirt and muttered a soft, sweet “Papa says no more” to Sakura, who looked at him with hopeful eyes.

A while later, with the twins still wide awake and showing no signs of tiring, Noah decided to take them out to the garden to burn off some energy. 

“Come on, you two, let’s tire you up,” he said with a grin, scooping them up. The twins squealed with delight as he hoisted them up high.

Once they were in the garden, he set each of them on one of his shoulders, holding them steady with his hands.

“Papa! ‘s very high!” Levi exclaimed. 

“This is called weight training,” Noah told them, pretending to strain under their combined weight. Levi and Sakura giggled, clutching his hair for balance as he wobbled dramatically. 

“Hey! Easy on the hair, little minx.” 

He pretended Sakura was about to slip off his shoulder, making her squeal, then shifted his balance as if Levi were the one tipping off the other side. Their peals of laughter echoed across the yard. It was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard—made all the more precious because it was Noah who was causing it.

Noah held them firmly, with the practiced ease of a father—and a Samurai, of course— who would never let them fall. Eventually, he set them down, and the two darted off across the grass. A short while later, Levi discovered a fallen wooden branch, smooth and straight—perfect for his purposes. His small fingers gripped it with a sense of destiny, and he swung it around with wide, serious eyes. 

“Papa!” he called. Then announced proudly, “I Samurai!”

Sakura, his biggest fan, started clapping her hands as she sat on the grass, hair messy and her face alight with admiration for her brother. Noah chuckled, kneeling down beside Levi, his own eyes twinkling.

“Show me your stance, little warrior.”

Levi straightened up, glancing at his father with fierce concentration, and clumsily attempted to imitate Noah’s stance, one foot forward, knees slightly bent. His little face was full of focus as he held the stick in front of him, eyes narrowed. Noah bit back laughter, unable to hide his delight at the sight of his son’s determined expression.

“You look like a real samurai, Levi,” Noah praised, giving him an approving nod. “But remember,” he added, “a samurai must have patience and strength.”

Levi nodded solemnly, gripping his wooden “sword” with purpose. 

“And they look after their baby sisters!”

Noah nodded. “They look after the girls they love,” he corrected. 

Sakura crawled over at full speed to join them bouncing on her hands and knees with enthusiasm. Noah, still kneeling, extended his arm to offer her support in case she wanted to try and stand up. 

From our seats in the living room, Grandma and I watched the scene unfolding in the garden. The sliding doors were open to the porch, and the breeze carried the sounds of Noah’s laughter and the twins’ gleeful squeals inside. We sipped our tea as we observed the little family scene—my little family.

 “Noah is so devoted to the children,” Grandma commented, “and to you. It makes me so happy to see this man so committed to his family.”

“I can only imagine how devoted he’ll be when there’s three of them,” I said, almost absently.

Grandma turned to me, her eyes widening in surprise. 

“Three? What do you—?”

I gently placed a hand over my stomach. 

“I think there’s a third one on the way,” I whispered.

“Oh, darling!” she exclaimed, immediately wrapping me in her arms. I hugged her back, feeling her love and excitement surround me. As I glanced over her shoulder, I caught sight of Noah looking toward me from the garden, a quizzical expression on his face. I waved him off with a quick shake of my hand, signaling that everything was fine.

“Does he know?” Grandma asked, pulling back and searching my face with a mixture of tenderness and curiosity.

“Not yet,” I replied. “I don’t want him to start worrying about me or the baby too soon. He’d only stress himself out and live in a constant state of panic.”

A soft, delicate smile spread across her face as she nodded in understanding. One last glance down at my stomach, and her eyes showed a new light as she processed the happy news. 

“You’ve built such a precious family,” she noted, squeezing my hand. “This is what you deserve.”

I nodded, feeling the truth of her words settle in my heart. It was everything I’d ever dreamed of.

My attention drifted back to the garden, where I spotted Sakura crawling across the grass again, her little body wiggling as she explored every inch of the ground. Levi toddled after her, a tiny, determined protector, keeping an eye on her every move as he held the stick in his hand. When Sakura reached out for a small, spiky stone, Levi waddled over, furrowing his brow in concern. 

“No, sis! Don’t touch!” he scolded in his limited but emphatic vocabulary, holding out his hand to stop her.

Despite her brother’s warnings, Sakura only giggled, flashing him a mischievous smile before crawling even faster, forcing Levi to chase after her. His little legs moved quickly, stumbling slightly but with determination as he followed her across the garden. Watching the two of them, Noah leaned back on the grass, a proud smile spreading across his face as he witnessed the bond between our kids. 

When Sakura crawled back to her Papa, Noa brushed a stray wisp of hair from her face. 

“Why don’t we practice your walking skills a little bit, huh? Enough crawling around,” he said, tapping her tiny nose. “Until you can stand on your own, babygirl, how do you plan on holding a katana?”

Sakura probably only caught the word “katana”. Nonetheless, she raised her arms up to him, and with his help, she planted her feet in front of her. Levi, always eager to be part of his sister’s milestones, scrambled to her side. He grasped her small hand. Noah placed his huge ones around her little body.

“Come, sis,” Levi encouraged. He tugged her hand forward, his eyes never leaving hers as he and Noah helped her up and steadied her. Sakura wobbled, almost losing her balance. She took a shaky step, then another.

Levi coaxed her along with a beaming smile, glowing with pride at his sister’s efforts. 

“You’re doing it, sis!” he said, pulling her forward with all the enthusiasm his small frame could muster. Sakura responded with another happy squeal, her trust in her brother absolute as she stumbled forward, gripping his hand tightly.

From the edge of the garden, Trouble lay stretched out under the sunlight, her black eyes tracking every move. She watched Sakura’s attempts with rapt attention, her tail swishing with encouragement as if cheering on our little one.

Sakura took a few more shaky steps, her hand still gripping Levi’s for balance, until she finally lost her footing. But just as she began to teeter, Noah scooped her up into his arms before she could fall. Sakura clung to her Papa, and Trouble, as if sensing the moment, lifted her head and let out a triumphant howl, celebrating our tiny human’s success.

Noah laughed, cradling Sakura close as she snuggled into Noah’s chest, exhausted but utterly thrilled, while Trouble wagged her tail even harder, her proud gaze following. It was as if she understood the victory of Sakura’s steps and was just as invested in every small victory as the rest of us.

As Noah held Sakura, her head rested against his shoulder, her hair now loose—the bun undone, and the hairband lost somewhere in the garden. Her eyelids began to flutter, the day’s activities finally catching up with her. She gave a little sigh, her fingers curling sleepily into his shirt as she drifted off. Noah turned to Levi, extending his free hand. 

“Come on, buddy.”

Levi obediently took his father’s hand, and together they headed back inside, with Trouble padding along behind them.

Once we were all back in the living room, Trouble trotted over to me, her keen eyes meeting mine with a knowing glint. She pressed her nose against my stomach, nudging me softly. I stroked her fur and gave her a gentle “Shh,” hoping she’d keep our little secret just a bit longer. 

Meanwhile, Noah adjusted his grip on the now-snoozing Sakura, and glanced at Levi, who was yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“Let’s get you two to your room for a nap,” he murmured, giving Levi’s hand a squeeze. Levi didn’t protest, his tiredness starting to show. “Go give Mama and Grandma a kiss.”

Levi leaned in and placed the softest kiss on my cheek, whispering, “bye, Mama.” Then moved to hug Grandma.

As they made their way to the twins’ shared bedroom, I watched them disappear down the hallway and Trouble settled down beside me, resting her head on my lap. I scratched behind her ears.

After a little while, Noah came back.

“They’re both out like lights.” He settled into his seat with a relaxed sigh, picking up his cup and taking a long sip of his tea. He noticed Trouble, who was still comfortably nestled with her head on my lap. “Hey, big girl,” he said with mock indignation, arching an eyebrow. “Where’s my share of the cuddles?”

As if understanding his request, Trouble lifted her head from my lap and trotted over to Noah, plopping down beside him with a huff. He scratched her behind the ears and ruflled the fur on her neck. She leaned into him, accepting his attention with her usual grace.

The peace didn’t last long, though. Less than an hour into their nap, I noticed Trouble’s ears perk up, her attention shifting to the hallway. She slipped away from us, heading toward the children’s bedroom. 

She had sensed them waking up. 

Sakura and Levi weren’t the type to cry when they woke; for the past year, they’d developed a habit of waking each other with little noises and soft giggles, almost as if inviting each other to play. 

I got up and followed Trouble, who smoothly squeezed through the gap Noah had left in the door.

When I opened it fully a moment later, I found Levi already out of bed, his face alight with excitement as he tried to wrestle with Trouble, charging at her and pushing with all his tiny might. Trouble looked thoroughly amused as she lay there with perfect patience, moving just enough to make him feel like he was putting up a real fight. His laughter rang out as he finally managed to clamber onto her back. In response, Trouble rolled over gently, pinning him beneath her massive paw in a playful but controlled move.

Not wanting to be left out, Sakura, who was obviously also awake, crawled over, her eyes fixated on Trouble’s tail as it swished enticingly from side to side. With a little pout, she reached out, trying to grab it, but Trouble swayed it just out of reach, starting a game of chase. Sakura crawled faster as she tried again and again to capture the elusive tail.

“Catch Trouble!” she called. 

Levi, now up on his feet, toddled around the room with all the confidence of a young explorer, and Sakura was quick to follow, her rapid crawling fueled by her intention to keep up with either her big brother of the wolf. Her little hands slapped against the floor as she tried to match their pace, but every so often, she would fall just a bit behind, her face scrunching in frustration.

Noticing this, Trouble ever so heedful, decided to pad over to her and lay down directly in her path, as if offering a solution. Sakura’s eyes lit up, and she eagerly clambered onto Trouble’s back, settling herself with a triumphant smile as she shouted “catch!”. With her tiny hands buried in Trouble’s thick fur, she held on tightly as the wolf rose slowly, careful with each movement and letting her enjoy her “victory”. Then, with Sakura perched securely on her back, Trouble began to walk at a measured pace, following Levi’s toddling path around the room. Sakura squealed with joy, her laughter bright as she held on, her little body bouncing with each step.

I watched them all, my heart full as I leaned against the doorframe.

Come evening, we prepared for the nightly ritual of bath time, one of my favorite moments of the day, while Grandma prepared dinner. I’d insisted she leave it to us, as she was our guest, but she insisted on cooking while we took care of the children. Noah and I filled the tub with warm water, adding just a hint of baby shampoo that filled the air with a soft, sweet fragrance and created a layer of frothy bubbles on the surface. After I undressed Sakura and Noah undressed Levi, we eased them gently into the water, ensuring their little bodies had time to adjust to the warmth.

Sakura, a water enthusiast, started kicking her legs right away. The instant her tiny feet touched the water, she sent splashes flying toward me, Noah, and her little brother, setting off giggles that only grew louder as she saw our crinkled faces.

Once seated in the tub, Levi joined in the fun, slapping the bubbles with his hands and gathering foam to blow into the air—a trick he’d picked up from watching me when they were a bit younger. Noah and I washed them carefully, shampooing their hair, which sometimes turned into a bit of a juggling act as they squirmed and giggled, forcing us to keep a steady grip so they wouldn’t slip beneath the water.

“Close your eyes,” Noah called out when it was time to rinse their hair. They both complied, but Sakura’s face always tensed a little, still a bit wary of the water streaming over her head and face.

Finally clean, smelling fresh and looking irresistibly pink-cheeked, with their skin moisturized and their hair tangle-free, we bundled each of them in thick, fluffy white towels, wrapping them snugly into two little burritos. They looked up at us, eyes half-closed, as if already starting to sink into the cozy warmth, the softness of the towels hugging their tiny bodies.

I stayed behind in the bathroom to clean up as Noah carried our little bundles over to our bed. I gathered the twins’ bath toys, placing them in a basket, then paused just outside the doorway to watch. Noah knelt on the bed, playfully towering over their tiny forms as they lay side-by-side, snug in their towel cocoons. He was using his playful, bedtime voice. 

“Who are Papa’s favorite little warriors?” 

Sakura and Levi gurgled and giggled under their Papa’s attention. Levi reached out, and Noah leaned closer, letting the tiny fingers brush his cheek, only to “accidentally” shift so Levi’s hand tapped his nose instead. Noah widened his eyes in surprise, prompting a delighted laugh from Levi. With a grin, Noah lifted Levi’s chubby feet, playfully nibbling at his toes before turning his attention to Sakura, who had been watching his antics with wide-eyed fascination. 

“What about you?” he asked. “Are you a brave little warrior?”

Sakura stretched an arm toward him, and he took her tiny hand, pressing a kiss on her knuckles. Then, tracing a line down her face, he murmured, “You’re Papa’s fearless princess, that’s what you are,” finishing with a tender boop on her nose.

He unwrapped her towel just enough to blow soft raspberries on her belly, then did the same to Levi, sending both of them into fits of giggles as they tried to curl up as if trying to escape.

“Who’s got the giggles now, huh?” Noah chuckled.

Noticing me in the doorway, he reached out a hand, and I joined him, bringing over the kids’ pajamas from the drawer. 

The next morning, Sakura was suprisingly the first to wake, her little voice calling for me. I could tell immediately that she was hungry, so I scooped her up and took her with me as I sat in the rocking chair in the room, where the quiet of the early morning enveloped us like a cozy blanket. As I fed her, the soft light filtering through the window illuminated her delicate features, and I couldn’t help but smile at how sweet and peaceful my daughter looked, with her Papa’s same eyes and hair.

“Slept well, babygirl?”

With her hands around the bottle and her lips glued to the tip, her eyes found mine and she nodded. 

Once she was fed and fully awake, I reminded her that Levi was still asleep, so I carried her with me back to the master bedroom, where Noah was still tangled in the sheets, lying on his stomach, shirtless, with one hand tucked beneath a pillow.

“Papa,” Sakura called.

Just hearing her say his name was enough to coax a smile from him, even with his eyes still closed. I let her climb onto the bed, and she crawled right over to him, nudging his tattooed shoulder with a soft insistence.

“Papa!” she repeated, louder this time, her tiny hands pushing against him.

“Yes, babygirl?” Noah mumbled, rolling over slowly to face her.

Sakura babbled something that neither of us quite understood, and we shared a laugh, enchanted by her morning enthusiasm.

“I know, I know,” Noah replied, stretching his arms overhead as he sat up, the sheets slipping away to reveal the entirety of his muscled tattoed torso. 

After a few moments of morning cuddles, Noah got dressed and decided to take our daughter out into the garden, where they were greeted by Trouble. They settled on the porch, where Noah cradled our baby girl in his arms, the two of them framed by the glow of the rising sun.

As the first light of day crept over the mountains, Sakura cooed and babbled happily, her little hands pointing at the sky in wonder. Noah murmured softly to her, sharing snippets of thoughts and observations about the world. He pointed out the way the colors changed in the morning light, the birds flitting about, and the way the leaves shimmered with dew.

After the entire family woke up and had finished breakfast, Grandma called out the children into the living room. 

“I have some surprises for you, little ones. Come here sit with Grandma.” On the floor in front of her were colorful packages wrapped in bright paper, each adorned with shiny ribbons. “Look what I brought for you!” 

Levi dashed over, tugging at his sister’s hand to urge her to crawl along behind him. 

Grandma began by handing them each a small package. Levi ripped into his with the fervor of a true little boy, revealing a set of brightly colored building blocks. His eyes widened in awe. 

“Look, Mama!” he exclaimed, holding them up proudly.

Sakura, on the other hand, took her time, delicately unwrapping her gift with tiny fingers. When she finally revealed a plush white bunny with extremely long ears, her face lit up with pure joy. She hugged it tightly to her chest, her delight evident as she nestled her head against it.

“Do you like your new bunny, sweetheart?” Grandma asked, her heart swelling with happiness.

Sakura nodded vigorously.

After unwrapping the toys, Grandma reached behind her and brought out two beautifully folded outfits.

“For my little warrior,” she announced, holding up a small, traditional outfit for Levi—a miniature warrior’s attire, complete with delicate, intricate details that mimicked one of his father’s. “And for my little princess,” she continued, revealing an elegant white kimono adorned with tiny embroidered blossoms.

We’d kept both children in modern, comfortable clothes—soft cotton jumpers, leggings, and joggers that allowed them to move freely and easily. But seeing these traditional clothes, made with such care and attention, felt like a small window into the past, connecting them with the roots of their heritage.

Levi darted over to Noah, who was sipping black coffee by the garden, one hand cradling his mug while the other rested on Trouble’s thick fur, who stood at Noah’s waist even on all fours.

“Papa! Can you help me wear this? I’m going to be just like you!” Levi’s eyes sparkled with excitement, the bundle of cloth and miniature armor pieces clutched in his tiny hands.

Noah set his coffee down and motioned Levi closer. He knelt, carefully fastening each part of the outfit, steady hands adjusting every strap and buckle with the same focus he might bring to his own armor. Levi stood stock-still, his chest puffed out proudly. When Noah finally stepped back to take in the sight, Levi looked every inch the little warrior. 

Noah chuckled softly, reaching out to smooth our son’s hair. 

“Looking good, Levi,” he murmured, feeling a tug of pride at the familiar look in Levi’s eyes. It was like seeing a younger version of himself, bold and ready for anything. “Did you say thank you to Grandma?”

As if realizing his mistake, he turned around and shouted, “Thank you, Grandma!”

Grandma’s smile only grew bigger.

As we admired Levi’s transformation, I noticed Sakura still sat on the floor, a look of frustration and sadness spreading across her face. She was tugging at her sweater, trying to pull it off by herself, her little face scrunched up in concentration—and then she started to cry silently, overwhelmed by her desire to join in but unable to undress on her own.

“Oh,” I muttered as I walked to her and kneeled down. “Baby, it’s okay. We’re going to help you.”

“No need to cry, come on,” Noah interjected, scooping her up and settling her on his lap as he took a seat on the couch. “Arms up, baby.”

She lifted her arms, sniffling a little as he gently pulled off her sweater and guided her tiny arms into the sleeves of her kimono. He adjusted each fold with care, and then tied the delicate sash around her waist. Once she was dressed, Noah lifted her and propped her up on his thighs. She stood there, balanced in his hands, her big eyes taking in the soft white fabric that flowed elegantly around her tiny frame. The kimono’s delicate folds shimmered in the morning light and made her look like a tiny princess straight out of a storybook.

“Look at you. My beautiful babygirl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Sakura stood still, gazing up at him with a tiny blush blooming on her cheeks, her admiration shining so openly that it made Noah chuckle.

“I think your daughter might be in love with you,” Grandma commented with a smile.

“You have no idea,” I interjected, and all of us laughed. 

I walked over to them, smoothing my hand over the soft, white fabric of Sakura’s kimono, adjusting a fold even though Noah had already done it perfectly. She gazed up at me, her big eyes bright with excitement, and I couldn’t help but smile, my heart swelling as I took in her joy.

“You look absolutely beautiful, sweetheart,” I murmured, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. I glanced at Noah, letting a playful glint spark in my eyes. “Daddy did a great job.”

Noah smirked, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes. 

“Pretty good with belts and knots, aren’t I?” he murmured, his voice low enough that only I caught the edge of his joke. I shot him a wide-eyed look, barely able to hold back my laugh. Typical Noah, sneaking in a comment like that while Grandma and the kids were right there. Lucky for him, everyone else seemed blissfully unaware.

Then, with that familiar, warm smile, he slid his arm around my waist and tugged me closer. He didn’t even have to say anything for me to feel how much he loved being here with us, with his family.

Sakura watched us, her little face brightening as she glanced between her father and me. “Papa, kiss Mama,” she piped up, clapping her hands together.

Noah chuckled, his gaze meeting mine with a look that held years of shared stories, a million unspoken words. Then he tilted his chin up, I bent down, and he kissed me, a soft press of his lips that was so familiar yet always felt like a quiet thrill. Sakura’s giggles filled the room, the kind of laughter that made everything feel lighter, as if we’d slipped into one of the fairytales she loved so much.

After spending time with Grandma and taking a walk down to the heart of the sanctuary that morning, we met Rika’s family and other neighbors. Lunch was a communal affair in the main hall, where the air was rich with the scent of fresh rice, vegetables, and miso. Levi and Sakura spent the afternoon running about, playing with Rika and Milla’s children, giggling as they chased one another—eighter on two or four legs—, and even cautiously patting and feeding the deer that roamed around.

Trouble stalked nearby, her tail held high and a low, protective growl rumbling every time one of the other animals got too close to Levi and Sakura. She was overprotective, and it was clear she took her self-imposed role as a guardian seriously. 

Eventually, we made our way back to the house, the golden afternoon light filtering through the trees. While Noah went outside to feed Trouble, Grandma approached me with a knowing look in her eye. She took my hands in hers, her warmth and wisdom wrapping around me.

“Why don’t you and Noah take some time for yourselves?” she suggested. “I’ll stay here with the children.”

“But you only just got here,” I protested, reluctant to impose. “You don’t need to jump right into babysitting duty, Grandma.”

She gave a small laugh, her eyes crinkling.

“Maybe because I think Noah should know the news,” she said.

I paused, feeling a soft swell of emotion at the thought. Her hand squeezed mine as she looked into my eyes. 

“I know he’ll be even more protective and likely won’t let you out of his sight for a moment, but he deserves to be part of this journey and not miss a day. Let him share in the joy and excitement with you.”

I took a deep breath. She was right, of course. Noah deserved to be a part of this new chapter from the very beginning, and I could already picture the joy in his eyes when he found out about the life growing inside of me. 

I bit my lip, but eventually nodded. With my heart grateful, I gave Grandma a warm hug.

After a quiet moment, I made my way outside, finding Noah as he leaned against a tree, watching Trouble with a satisfied smile as she finished her meal. He looked up as I approached. 

“Why don’t we go out for a bit?” I suggested, doing my best to sound casual.

Noah raised an eyebrow, casting a glance toward the living room where Levi and Sakura were happily playing with Grandma. 

“Again? I think both the kids and Grandma might be tired…”

“Just the two of us,” I clarified, cutting him off with a small smile.

He turned back to me, his expression shifting from confusion to understanding, realization dawning in his eyes. 

A slow smirk crept across his face. 

“Just us?” he murmured, his tone lower.

“Yes,” I replied, extending my hand toward him. He took it without hesitation, his warmth making me feel all the more eager to share this not-so-little secret with him.

Inside, we gathered a picnic basket and filled it with a blanket, fruit, and other snacks. We said goodbye to the children, who didn’t seem too preoccupied with us leaving thanks to Grandma’s presence. As we made our way to the door, Trouble followed us, glancing over her own back every two seconds, clearly undecided between following us or staying back with Levi and Sakura.

“No worries, Trouble. You’re in charge here,” Noah told her. She hesitated, giving us one last look, before trotting back inside and settling herself protectively beside the children, her tail curling around Sakura and tickling her in the face, making her scrunch her nose and cover her face with her arms. 

Noah and I left the house with a loving laugh. 

The weather was perfectly warm and clear as we set off up the path toward a hidden pond not too far, eager to savor the last few hours of sunlight. It was a secluded little haven we had discovered just before I got pregnant with the twins—a place Noah and I had made our own, keeping it a secret even from the kids for now. As much as we loved being parents, we cherished our time alone, too. Though Noah hadn’t said it outright, I could tell from the glint in his eyes how much he appreciated Grandma’s gesture in giving us this moment to ourselves.

We spread out the blanket on the sand surrounding the pond, the warmth of the late afternoon settling over us as we unpacked apples, peaches, berries, and pastries from the basket. Noah settled down and I knelt beside him, reaching eagerly for one of the chocolate pastries. But before I could take a bite, he gestured for me to sit between his legs. I moved over and leaned back into his arms, savoring the comfort of his warmth and the easy rhythm of his breath against my neck.

With his arms wrapped around me, he held a box of berries in front of us and began feeding both of us, occasionally rubbing a blueberry over my lips to tease me, pulling it back with before I could catch it. When I gave his thigh a playful pinch, he yelped, and I turned my head to meet his gaze with a glare that said, “You deserved that.”

After a while, with our appetites satisfied, I relaxed against him, my head resting on his shoulder and his chin gently perched on mine. His cheek brushed against me, warm and slightly rough—just the way I liked it. His arms held me close, my hands resting atop his as we took in the view together: the slow sway of the water, the vibrant reflections of the sun across the pond, the birds soaring overhead, and the flowers tilting upward as if reaching for the fading sun.

I felt the soft ghost of Noah’s lips graze the crook of my neck, where my skin was exposed. Instinctively I tilted my head to give him more access.

“I love the way you smell,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration against my skin. 

“What do I smell like?”

“Hmm. Lavender and… baby powder.”

I snorted, laughing softly. 

“So do you,” I teased, leaning in at an odd angle to nuzzle my nose against his cheek. He pulled a face.

“Please don’t tell me that,” he groaned. “A Samurai smelling like baby powder? Not exactly intimidating.”

“It makes you a responsible, caring dad.” My voice softened as I looked up at him, our faces so close I could see the flecks of darker brown in his eyes. “You’re the best father to our children I could’ve ever asked for.”

“Because you and our kids deserve only the best,” he replied, his hand sneaking up to touch my chin with a finger. He tiped it up. Then his palm cupped my cheek and he brought our lips together. 

We kissed under the trees, surrounded by the earthy scent of the forest, birdsong, and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Gradually, my body melted beneath his touch, and he shifted until I was lying back on the blanket, his mouth never leaving mine. 

Since the moment I got pregnant, Noah’s affection and care had grown, and he had never stopped showing how much he loved me and how beautiful I was in his eyes. He was a grown man now; gone was the teenage boy I’d watched training tirelessly on my father’s grounds. But his heart remained unchanged, and every now and then, he’d still wear that peaceful expression while he slept—the look of that young boy I’d first fallen in love with. Now, Noah was my husband, my soulmate, but he would always also be the boy that stole my heart.

Lying on the blanket, his hands explored my body, slipping beneath the fabric of my kimono to find my skin while my fingers trailed through his hair, drawing soft sounds from his lips that stirred a warmth deep within me. I hooked a leg around him, arching to meet him, offering myself without hesitation. Noah murmured something against my mouth, and as I ran a hand down his back to slip beneath his shirt and touch his muscles, his grip on my waist tightened.

“Behave,” he ordered, his voice rough. His eyes remained closed as he untied the laces of my kimono, spreading the fabric to either side and exposing my skin to the open air, a chill raising goosebumps.

“Or what?” I teased, nipping at his lower lip.

When he opened his eyes, they were dark and narrowed, though a playful glint lingered in them. 

“Or I’ll find a good use for this belt,” he replied.

“Oh? And then…?”

His brow lifted, slightly taken aback by my boldness. 

“Then I’ll place these berries on every spot that makes you shiver,” he murmured, his fingers tracing down the valley between my breasts and along my sides, tickling lightly. My giggles bubbled up, and he laughed with me, though his intent was clear. “And I’ll eat every one of them off you before letting my tongue wander between your legs.”

Heat pooled low in my belly, but I maintained a calm facade. 

“And you’re going to act so indecently out here in the open?” I teased, tilting my head toward a nearby deer quietly grazing in the shade.

Noah followed my gaze. 

“They’ve witnessed far filthier things than that, done by you,” he teased right back.

I couldn’t suppress a wide smile before his mouth descended on mine. In a matter of minutes, my underwear was gone, and Noah was making good on his promise with focused, deliberate devotion. I lay exposed on the blanket, berries scattered across my stomach as his mouth traced every inch of me, savoring each berry he plucked from my skin. He licked away the juice that dripped from them, glancing up at me every so often. 

Eventually, he shed his clothes as well. I watched him with a blissful smile, sated from my first climax, his skilled mouth having left gentle love bites along the inside of my thighs as the breeze carried away my gasps. When he finally entered me, I felt complete, holding tight to his shoulders as he moved within me, my legs locked around him and my eyes fixed on his. I lifted my head to meet him in a kiss, tasting the faint tartness of raspberries lingering on his tongue.

“Sometimes,” he said, his voice strained as he withdrew slowly, inch by inch, making me feel every exquisite part of him, “I still can’t believe you’re mine.”

I tangled my fingers in his hair and pulled him back down to me. 

“I’ll be yours,” I whispered hoarsely against his lips, my nose brushing his, “until the end of days, Noah.”

Our eyes locked, and as we moved together, he would reach up every so often to tuck stray strands of hair behind my ear or simply to cup my cheek with quiet affection. At one point, his hand wandered to the box of berries beside us. He held a strawberry to my lips, feeding it to me as he held still within me, his body warm and solid against mine.

“Sweet?” he asked hoarsely. 

I nodded, my cheeks flushed, overwhelmed as always by the press of his heavy body and his cock filling me completely.

“That’s exactly how you taste,” he murmured, punctuating the words with a deep, slow thrust that left me gasping. “No,” he corrected himself, withdrawing slightly, his muscles flexing under my hands as I clung to his biceps. “You taste even sweeter.” He thrust again, harder this time, drawing a cry from my lips. “That’s it,” he coaxed. “Let the Gods hear you. Let them know how good I make you feel.”

“Please, Noah,” I pleaded. “I’m so close.”

He knew, and he didn’t hold back, guiding me to the edge and staying with me as I fell, a soft whimper escaping my lips as his name echoed through the trees. He followed soon after, his released spreading through me, our bodies trembling together as we clung to each other, complete in the quiet of the forest.

Not long after, Noah led me to the water. We cleaned ourselves off, then I wrapped myself around him like a koala. He spun us in circles, making me laugh until my sides ached.

When we emerged, my hair dry because I’d kept it tied back with a kanzashi stick, we dried off and slipped back into our underwear. Feeling utterly content, I lay down on the blanket, my hair spilling around me as soon as Noah pulled at the stick with a cheeky smile. He settled beside me on his stomach. He’d collected a small bundle of flowers—jasmine, sakura blossoms, and a few other delicate wildflowers. One by one, he began placing them over my belly, just as he had done earlier with the berries. When my skin was adorned with petals, he tucked the last sakura blooms in my hair.

The sight of those particular flowers stirred memories. They were a tender reminder not only of our daughter now, but of all those years ago when Noah would visit me at my grandmother’s village home at night, stealing moments with me under the moonlight and the sheets. He would leave in the early mornings, just before sunrise and before I would wake up. When I did, he was gone, but he always used to leave a bunch of sakura flowers on the pillow as a reminder of his love.

Now, the flowers were a reminder of our past and everything we had endured—of the strenght we had found in each other and how much we had accomplished, of the man and the woman we had become. 

“I have to tell you something,” I murmured, feeling the nervous tickling settling in my lower pit. 

He paused, holding a jasmine in his fingers, his eyes bright with curiosity. Without another word, I guided his hand to rest on my flower-covered belly. I watched as his brows furrowed, and then his eyes widening as he began to piece it together. The jasmine slipped from his fingers, settling delicately at my navel.

A quiet breath hitched in his throat as he took in the meaning of my gesture. His eyes filled with wonder, his lips parting slightly as he looked down at my belly, his hand pressing carefully—almost reverently— over me, protective and awestruck.

His question—“Are we having another baby?”—uttered so softly and carefully, as if he believed saying it too loud might shatter the truth of it, melted me. I nodded, my smile bright and cheeks warm, the blush deepening at the comfort of his strong hand resting over our child—our third. 

I felt weightless, floating in a dreamlike state as I looked into the warmth of Noah’s brown eyes, seeing the light of love and devotion that always glowed there. Not a day went by that he didn’t express how lucky he felt to have found me and to have fought for me—to had me fight for him—, how proud and grateful he was that I’d given him not only my heart but a family. I had given him happiness, the kind he’d been raised to believe he’d never deserve. 

After a beat, when the news settled in, his lips found their way to my flower-covered stomach, pressing a tender kiss right where our little one was already learning the love of their Papa. 

Back at home, our girl Sakura and our boy Levi played together, blissfully unaware that soon they’d have someone new to protect, to dote on, to share their world with. Just imagining their excitement and fierce protectiveness over their new sibling made me laugh, my eyes misting. Noah must have been thinking the same. He pressed his cheek against my bare skin. When his eyelashes fluttered, they sent a ripple of lovely goosebumps across my body. 

My hand slipped into his hair, fingers threading softly as we lay there together, wrapped in the quietness of our deserved joy. I had a husband, an adopted wolf, a daughter, a son—and another baby on the way, created from the endless love I shared with Noah—my soldier, my warrior. 

My Samurai.

✨ Author's note:

*cries* *cries more* *cries some more*

*continues crying*

Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading this story, for all your support, for encouraging me to keep going after I posted the first part (which was supposed to be a one shot). Thank your for sharing your thoughts, for commenting, for reblogging, for messaging me about this fic and sending my brain on overdrive with your brainrots. Writing this story has been a dream, firstly because I always wanted to read a romance story with a Samurai and Noah made the perfect muse for it, second because it gave me an excuse to do a lot of research on Japan and its culture and history. This is in no way an accurate historical fic, but there's so much I've read online and s much I've learnt. I wish I could've made this fic into something better and make it more accurate—perhaps longer, too. But I'm currently very happy with what we've created together, yes, together, because half of this wouldn't exist without all of you that have showered me and my works with love and care. I'm forever thankful and glad that writing and sharing these so many words have brought me close to so many of you wonderful creatures.

I hope you know that, while this is the end of the fic, I have some exciting plans for the future involving samurai!noah. I don't want to say more for the time being, but don't say goodbye to him just yet.

I hope you loved reading this as much as I loved sharing it with you and reading your comments and reactions.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart. 🥹

V. 💕

*proceeds to sob*

Taglist:

If I forgot someone, I'm so sorry! I love you! There's just so much going on in my head!

@girlfromrussia-universe | @kankuurohs | @somebodyels3 | @missduffsblog | @respectfulrebel

@badomensls | @shilohrosechicken | @moreyoulove-moreyouknow @concreteangel92 | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

[jezebelblues]

in body and blood | pt. ii

pt i, pt ii

summary: over a century adrift in darkness, he found his sun—not in the dawn, but in the quiet fire of her love, a light fierce enough to bind even eternity.

cw: blood, fem!reader, slowburn

word count: approx 14k

| this update was a bit long but i it felt right idk. the unedited version (some of this is still unedited i’ll go over it later) of this felt toooo long so i had to shorten it down some. hope u enjoy :^)

ps: before anyone anons me none of the gifs are my own

pps: i feel like i overused the words gaze and shadow so much. pretend i didn’t

The tavern was heavy with warmth, thick as the smoke that clung to the low beams overhead, where voices murmured in a haze, blending into a constant hum. Laughter, sharp and fleeting, cracked through the air now and again—its echoes dancing like fireflies in the corners, brief and forgotten as soon as they faded.

YN sat between Niall and Matilda, their bodies a cushion. Matilda—whose presence was like the earth itself, enduring yet delicate, her skin a dusky sheen, glowing faintly in the candlelight, as if touched by some quiet magic. Beneath the taupe of her skin, a subtle flush of magenta seemed to rise, like the softest blush of twilight, weaving around her as silk wraps a pearl. Her eyes, dark as walnut wood, held the deep wisdom of years unwritten, their irises swirling with concentric rings, like the rings of a tree long rooted in the soil of time.

To her, Matilda was not just a friend, but a kindred spirit—a sister not of blood, but of choice, a bond forged through the fires of shared years.

Her cheeks bloomed with the heat of the room, not just from the hearth but from the ale that hummed beneath her skin. The fire crackled, its breath licking the edges of the room, casting tremulous light on the aged wood, the walls darkened by years of ruckus. Silhouettes slithered over the faces of the others—hunched, hidden, lost within the quiet murmurs of their own worlds, each one cloaked in stories too old to tell aloud, too heavy to lift.

"Another round?" Niall’s grin was wide, a glint of something glimmering at the edge of his pupil, his tankard raised as though it were a banner. Without waiting for an answer, he sent a swift glance toward the barkeep, the signal already understood, the ritual as familiar as breath.

She chuckled softly, shaking her head with a weariness that only half-masked her affection. "You’ll have us drunk before the hours out if you keep this up," she warned, but her voice held no real rebuke—just the quiet comfort of knowing his games so well.

"Oh, come now, YN," The blonde teased, nudging her arm with a familiarity that bordered on tenderness. "A few ales to wash away the misery of the week won’t kill us. Besides," he added, his gaze flickering toward Matilda, who seemed as untroubled by the world as ever, "look at Matilda—she's not complainin'."

Matilda's lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk, her dark curls falling loose and untamed around her shoulders. "I’d never turn down a drink on Niall’s coin," she said, her voice laced with a sly sweetness, "Who knows when he’ll turn stingy again."

He huffed in mock offense, his brows furrowing comically, but the playful warmth in his voice betrayed him. "Stingy? Me? I’ll have you know I’m generous to a fault." He turned toward YN, as if to seek her confirmation, the corners of his lips tugging upward in a half-challenging smile. "Isn’t that right, love?"

She rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the smile that tugged at her mouth, the soft pull of something more between them than just words. She took another sip, letting the warmth of the drink settle in her chest, a quiet fire against the chill of the world outside. The tavern, with its familiar scent of smoke and old wood, cradled them in a temporary reprieve—a small sanctuary where the burdens of life seemed just a little lighter. Here, the constant hunger of uncertainty, the whispers of bad omens, the specter of rationed days to come—they faded into the background, lost in the murmur of voices and the clink of tankards.

The laughter—clumsy, raucous, and rich with an odd comfort—was a balm, if only for a moment. A place where the weight of daily life eased just a bit, where the laughter and chatter dulled the constant worries of scarce food and rumors of ill omens.

Their conversation meandered as a familiar stream, winding through the usual tributaries of small-village life—Niall’s latest foolishness, whispers of passing strangers with their gold-braided coats, the gossip that bloomed and withered like wildflowers. But amid the hum of it all, YN’s thoughts wandered, drawn, like an invisible tether, to the watchtower that rose solemn in the distance. She remembered the man who had stood there, his features etched in the dim light, his eyes both distant and strangely soft. That fleeting moment had lingered in her mind, growing like a shadow that lengthens with dusk, though she could never quite name the shape of it.

Did he think of her, she wondered, as the days unfolded in their slow, relentless turn? Did the basket she had left—humble, perhaps, but with a quiet weight—find its way into his solitude, and if so, what did he see within it? A gift? A gesture? Or merely an idle offering, as common as the winds that swept across the hills? She could not tell, and perhaps it was better so—this silent question, unanswered, hanging like a note unsung, sweet and disquieting all the same.

As the evening stretched on, the tavern seemed to swell with noise, the laughter and clinking of mugs growing louder, more insistent, as though the very walls of the room had been pressed closer by the pressure heat. The fire crackled with a restless energy, its glow casting flickering shadows that danced across the worn faces of the patrons, each one swallowed up in the merry chaos of the hour. Yet, amidst it all, YN remained still—her secret a quiet comfort, nestled deep within her. She wore her mirth like a mask, laughing with the others, her words light and bright, but her thoughts clung to familiar stones, to the figure there, whose face haunted the edges of her mind.

There was a part of her that longed to speak, to share the strange discovery that had found its way into her heart. She imagined their reactions, the flurry of questions, the curious glances, but each thought was quickly quelled. For in that quiet, secret place where her heart held him, she knew some things were not meant for the ears of others. Some things were meant to linger between the spaces of breath, suspended in silence, known only to her and to the man who had, perhaps unknowingly, entered her world. And so, she kept it, like a hidden treasure, wrapped in the folds of the evening’s laughter, the mystery sealed away for now.

*

The first light of dawn crept over the hills, a pale gray whisper that softened the jagged contours of the land, as though the earth itself still hesitated between the clutches of night and the promises of day. From the threshold of his tower, Harry stood, unmoving, his gaze drifting down the hill toward the distant village, where the rooftops lay muted beneath the veil of early mist. The wind, sharp as a blade, pressed against him, but it did little to soothe the restless coil that tightened ever deeper in his chest.

There was a gnawing ache within him, a need not of flesh but of something more ancient, more desperate. It had been there, always, lurking just beneath the surface of his thoughts, but now, in the stillness of the breaking day, it felt more urgent. The silence of the world around him only served to amplify it, that quiet need, the echo of a longing he could not name. He knew what it was—knew what it had always been. The temptation, the thirst, the lure of something so close, yet so far from his reach. He had fought it for decades, distancing himself from the warmth of human company, the heat of blood that thrummed in their veins. But still, she lingered in the edges of his thoughts, like the faintest stream of sunlight on the horizon, pulling him toward something he could not deny.

Sleep had eluded him, as it often did now, though he scarcely noticed its absence. The hours had slipped by unnoticed, his body caught in restless motion—his thoughts as restless as his footsteps. It wasn’t something he needed, but it passed the time. The hunger was always there, a constant hum beneath his skin, gnawing at the edges of his composure, though he never let it show. It grew stronger, insidious, each time she lingered in his mind. Each fleeting thought of her—so brief, so innocent—pulled at him in a way he could neither understand nor escape.

There was something in her that unsettled him, something he could not quite name, nor bring himself to fully acknowledge. Perhaps it was the simplicity of her, unmarked by fear, offering him what he could not have, without question, without hesitation. Or perhaps it was the way she looked at him—not with the awe or revulsion he had come to expect, but with the quiet curiosity of someone seeing, not a legend, nor a monster, but something far more fragile. Something he had long forgotten how to be.

For decades, he had dwelled in the afterthought of the town’s edge, a half-forgotten relic of flesh and dust, unvisited by any living soul. But the whispers always crept in, insidious as rot. They started as flickers in the periphery, twisting shades that slipped into view and vanished, leaving a nagging sickness in the gut.

Then, in 1650, came talk of a ghost—a tortured soul, they said, who'd taken his own life in the tower and now roamed the woods, yearning for absolution that would never come. Heaven's doors stayed shut, and mercy seemed a fable.

By 1655, the villagers were finding the deer.

Carcasses strewn across the forest floor, gray, gaping, and bloodless, as if some foul thing had drained them dry. It was easier for them to name it, to craft their terror: night demon, they called it, a creature that could live only by consuming what was alive. Harry, feeling the noose of their suspicion, turned his appetite to smaller, lesser creatures, his hands stained with blood too meager to satisfy.

Then in 1698, after the king was beheaded and the fall of the kingdom, the whispers changed, took on a new venom. Now they spoke of a spy, some agent lurking in the ruins of the tower, sent to plot vengeance in the dark. The villagers feared the idea of a spy more than they feared a night demon. They feared each other more than a figment of hell.

In their mistrust, he felt a deep sorrow, hollow as the ribs of the carcasses he left behind. A sadness as profound as death, as he realized humanity could no longer recognize true horror—it had lost all memory of what lurked beyond the mirror's edge.

And in that, something broke, though he could not tell what—nor could he say why.

The thirst gnawed at him relentlessly, a raw, pulsing ache that twisted beneath his ribs, clawing and clawing with a force he could not escape, no matter how he turned his thoughts elsewhere. It hummed in his veins like fire, but darker, colder—a hunger that did not simply ask for blood, but demanded it, demanded the warm pulse of life that he had long denied himself. Each beat of his heart seemed to mock him, each breath he drew only stoking the flames of it, sharp as glass in his throat. The taste of it—the rich, copper warmth of blood—hung at the back of his mind, a constant, maddening memory. He had tried to bury it, to force it away with cold silence and self-preservation, but this morning, the ache was fiercer than it had ever been, digging into his bones with the ferocity of something starved for decades. And even as he struggled to hold it at bay, something else—something equally savage—gnawed at him from within, the hollow, unspoken absence of her. Her warmth, her softness, her blood that had flowed so close, so near, yet remained untouched. The silence in her wake was a wound he could not ignore, and in that silence, the hunger grew sharper, as if the very memory of her could feed the dark emptiness inside him.

He could not say when the decision had come—whether it had slipped upon him like a shadow or had broken through his thoughts with the force of something he could no longer deny. Perhaps it was the slow unraveling of his resolve, or the fierce, raw desperation for something—anything—alive, that had drawn him down the hill. His legs moved of their own accord, a slow, deliberate rhythm that felt both unnatural and inevitable, as if his body had forgotten what it meant to move freely, to walk without the weight of lifetimes pressing down. Each step was a silent battle, a strange dance between the gnawing pull of temptation and the remnants of restraint still clinging to him. The ground beneath him seemed to hum with each movement, as if it too felt the shift in him, the crossing of some unseen threshold, one he hadn’t dared approach in ages. It was not the angle of the hill that made his pace slow, but the unbearable anticipation that pressed at his chest, a swelling tide threatening to overtake him. The world around him felt suspended, holding its breath—waiting for him to yield, to surrender to the human warmth that called to him in the distance.

His ring caught the first light of dawn as he walked, its darkened crest catching the faintest gleam, a shard of forgotten embers against the pale, creeping morning. It was the only thing that had not been swallowed by time, the only gift Thomas had given him that still clung to his skin. A talisman, yes—but not one of comfort. The ring was his quiet, reluctant ally, allowing him to move through the sun’s wary embrace without the agony of flames licking at his flesh. Once, the daylight had been a battlefield, a reminder of the curse that pulsed through his veins, scorching him with every step. Now, with this small circle of silver upon his finger, he was permitted to walk beneath it, though never without the weight of knowing it was a gift that came at a cost.

It was his only reprieve, the faintest whisper of life that still belonged to him—a brief, bitter permission to walk where others could.

The trees, gnarled and bent with age, reached out with twisted fingers, their silhouette stretching long in the dim light. The brambles whispered as he passed, their thorned tendrils brushing against him in protest. He neared the docks, the world seeming to fall into a kind of fragile stillness. The boats rocked gently, their hulls creaking in time with the slow, rhythmic hush of the waves lapping against the weathered posts. The quiet was thick, almost sacred—no voices to disturb the calm, no fishermen hauling nets, no workers preparing for the bustle of the day. Only the soft pulse of the sea, the distant cry of a gull, and the hollow echo of his own heartbeat—steady, but not quite human. The taste of salt hung heavy in the air, mingling with a stagnation in his chest.

Harry came to a halt at the edge of the dock, his boots silent on the worn planks as he gripped the railing, the wood slick with the cold breath of morning. He stood there, staring out at the stretch of water, its surface flat and indifferent, like a mirror to the soul he no longer recognized. He did not know why he had come, could not outwardly say what had drawn him here, there was nothing for him, only the empty echo of a life he no longer belonged to. Yet, even as the thought mocked him, he found himself waiting—a flicker in his chest, a quiet, foolish hope that stirred with each passing wave. He told himself it was madness—he told himself it would never be enough—but still, there it was, a threadbare hope that he might catch a glimpse of her again. Just a fleeting moment, enough to remember the soft weight of being seen, the strange warmth of being spoken to as if he were still warm flesh, still alive.

The ache grew sharper the longer he stood, the hunger twisting within him, no longer a mere thirst for blood, but something darker, more raw, more human—something he hadn’t dared acknowledge in years. It sank into his bones, gnawing at him with a ferocity that made his chest tighten, his throat burn. He knew he should turn away, retreat into the shadows of the tower where the silence could swallow him whole once more, where the cold stone would keep him safely apart from a life he didn’t belong in. But still, his feet did not move, rooted to the planks of the dock as though they were chains of his own making. His gaze remained fixed on the distant rooftops, where the faintest trace of smoke rose into the gray morning, and for a moment, he imagined—foolishly, hopelessly—that if he stared long enough, willed it enough, she might appear. She might step into the light, just once more, and see him—not a demon, not the curse—but him.

If she did appear, he promised himself—though the vow felt fragile, like a thread pulled taut—he would not betray his presence. He would stay at the edges of her world, a fleeting figure that faded with the first light of day. He would not speak of the tower, not give voice to the dark, consuming truths that clung to him like a second skin. No, he would be nothing more than a passing stranger, a whisper on the wind. Yet even as he made this promise, the thought of it felt like a betrayal in itself, as though to remain distant was to deny the very thing that pulled him here, to this moment, to this place. The warmth of her—her kindness, so simple yet so rich—called to him in a way he could neither escape nor fully understand. Perhaps, if he could just stay near her, just a little longer, he might find the strength to endure another day. Just one more, he thought, as the days stretched into forever, as if he could keep pretending he was not already lost.

The thought was a temptation he had no right to entertain. Foolish, even reckless, he knew that. But he had grown weary—tired of silence, tired of the endless weight of his own secrets, of carrying the burden of solitude like a weight suspended from a noose. The girl had offered him a kindness, an offering so simple, yet so out of reach for someone like him. And though he could not, would not, repay it—could not bring himself to mar the fragile thread of warmth she had given—he found that he wouldn’t forget it. She had become something small, stubborn, like a flicker of light that refused to be extinguished, a flame in the deepest dark. And though he knew better than to hold on to such things, he would keep her there, in the quietest corner of his mind, as a reminder of what it was like to be seen, to be human, if only for a fleeting moment.

As if granted by God, or perhaps, the devil—YN passed through the old stone archway at the town's edge, a woven basket slung over her arm. The world seemed suspended, still wrapped in the soft embrace of dawn, the mist clinging to the trees and rooftops like a secret the earth wasn’t ready to reveal. She had risen early, drawn out by the need to gather the last of the winter berries, those fragile remnants of the season before the frost took hold and stilled the earth. It was one of her favorite tasks that led her beyond the town's walls, into the woods, a place where silence reigned and the trees held their own quiet truths.

She neared the docks, her steps growing hesitant, slowing without her willing it. There, at the edge of the water, stood the man from the watchtower—alone, his form carved in silhouette against the soft, silvery light of the sea. His back was turned, the dark coat he wore fluttering slightly in the breeze, his tousled curls stirring in the wind. In the dim, uncertain light of dawn, he seemed less a man and more a part of the landscape—a shadow that clung to the horizon, neither fully present nor fully gone, caught somewhere between the world she knew and something far more distant, more elusive.

She lingered for a breath, torn between calling for him or letting him remain untouched by the world, a figure suspended in the hush of the morning. He had occupied her thoughts ever since their first encounter, his face, his quiet gaze, as vivid in her mind as a memory from one of her grandmother’s old stories—unspoken, yet somehow known. She had kept him to herself, this fleeting, strange man, not spoken a word of him to those closest to her. He was a secret, her own personal sin that she wrapped around herself like silk.

He seemed to feel her before she spoke, the faintest tension creeping into his shoulders, a stillness that rippled like the calm before a storm. He did not turn, but something in his posture shifted—an almost imperceptible movement—as if his senses were attuned to the quiet stretch of her shadow across the weathered planks of the dock. His head tilted slightly, just enough to acknowledge her presence without a word.

"You never told me your name," she greeted softly, stepping closer, careful not to breach the delicate space between them.

He turned slowly, his jaw tightened. His skin was light as snow, the moss in his irises resembling the forest he hid in. Up close, he was as she remembered—shadowed eyes, heavy with unspoken things, yet sharp, as though he saw more than he let on. There was a stillness about him, a quiet reserve in his expression that made him feel both present and untouchable, a figure drawn from a dream—too distant to reach, but unmistakably real.

"Harry," he murmured, his voice low, almost uncertain, as though her address had pulled him from some distant place where names held no meaning.

“YN.” She lifted her basket slightly, a soft smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Out foraging before the frost,” she explained, her voice warm but quiet. “I hadn’t expected to see you here. I thought…” she trailed off, catching herself before admitting where she’d assumed he’d be.

He raised an eyebrow, a desire seeping through the cracks in the wall he desperately tried to keep up. "You thought I'd be tucked away in that old tower?" His tone was even, almost casual, as though he were testing the air between them, gauging her response before the silence could settle too deeply.

YN felt a blush creep up her cheeks and looked away. “Well… I suppose, yes.”

A flicker of something passed over his face, something that might have been understanding or perhaps resignation, but he didn’t let it linger. He nodded slightly, his gaze drifting back to the horizon. “Sometimes solitude wears thin, even in a place like that.”

His words mingled in the air, tinged with a quiet sorrow. She studied him in silence, noting the faintest tremor in his expression, the subtle tension that coiled through his posture. Despite his carefully maintained reserve, there was a weariness to him—an exhaustion that seemed to bleed through his seclusion, as if the silence had exacted a price, one he wasn’t yet willing to acknowledge, even to himself.

She took a step closer, the subtle shift of her weight a quiet invitation as she joined him by the railing, careful not to bridge the space between them too abruptly. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, like the thought were her own, not meant to disturb the fragile stillness. “It must be lonely, a place like that—cut off from everything.”

He glanced at her, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked out over the water, his expression caught between a guarded stillness and the faintest flicker of longing. "Lonely, perhaps," he muttered at last, his voice roughened, as though dragged from the depths of some forgotten grave. "But I've learned to wear it, like a second skin. I've grown accustomed to it… or it has grown accustomed to me." His words were slow, deliberate—each syllable a careful incision, as though he feared what might bleed out if he spoke too freely.

She nodded, tracing the faint shadows beneath his words with her eyes—melancholy buried so deep it seemed to haunt him like a scar long faded but never healed. The longer she watched, the more she felt the weight of it, a solitude so profound it had become his very skin. He had steeped himself in it, wrapped it around him like a cloak soaked in the blood of forgotten years, until it clung to him, a second nature, as much a part of him as the very air he breathed—an absence that devoured him from within.

They stood there in silence, the stillness wrapping around them, thick and quiet, neither comforting nor oppressive—just present. It was strange, she thought, how easily the silence settled between them, how it felt less like a void and more like something shared, their absence of like a language in itself. She let her eyes wander, tracing the rough grain of the dock beneath her feet, then briefly resting on the basket in her hands, wondering if she should break the silence, or if, perhaps, it was enough just to exist there beside him.

She spoke at last, her voice uncertain. “I was about to head up to the hills,” she mumbled, the words gentle but laden with invitation. “The berries won’t last long in this cold, and it helps to have someone along. It’s not a difficult walk, just... company for the journey.” She paused, her eyes darting briefly to him, a fleeting smile curving the corners of her lips—an offering, fragile, tentative. “If you’d like.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze focused somewhere in the distance, his fingers gripping the railing a bit tighter as though wrestling with some unspoken decision. She could see the hesitation in his face, a weariness that ran deeper than caution—the act of reaching out had become a thing he could no longer bear. It was as though he had spent years holding the world at arm’s length, terrified that its touch might unravel him.

When he finally met her eyes, his expression shifted, the stone of his reserve cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of something fragile, almost painfully human. “I don’t often accept such invitations,” he said, his voice low, threaded with an uncertainty he couldn’t quite conceal.

She nodded, her smile softening, becoming something quieter, more understanding—a silent acknowledgment of the weight behind his words. “Then consider it an exception,” Her tone shifted unexpectedly, a playful lilt slipping out like a secret she hadn’t meant to share. “Just once?”

He studied her in silence, it was an invitation, plain and unadorned, given without demand or condition, and for a moment, he found himself undone by it—drawn to the purity of it, despite himself.

“Just this once,” he repeated gently, almost to the wisps that danced in the breeze, as if the words themselves were a concession, a surrender he wasn’t quite prepared to make. He cast a fleeting glance toward the distant tower, that looming sentinel of his isolation, and in its outline, he felt the familiar tug of retreat. But then, as though the very weight of her kindness had pressed down on him, he nodded, the faintest gesture of capitulation, and gave in to the strange, irresistible pull that had led him here, to this moment.

They moved side by side, their footsteps soft echoes on the cobblestones, a rhythm that seemed to bind them together in the fragile stillness of the morning. The path wound upward, skirting the edge of the town's weathered walls, veering into the dense, dew-soaked grass that clung to the earth. The mist lingered, curling around them in cool, gossamer tendrils, as though the very air was reluctant to let them go. For a time, neither of them spoke, the silence between them delicate—neither uncomfortable nor forced, but a quiet communion, as if the world itself had paused.

YN glanced over at him, her eyes tracing the lines of his face, the subtle tension in the set of his shoulders—always poised, always wrapped in a quiet, almost impenetrable composure. "You seem a little different here," she confessed, her voice thoughtful. "When I first saw you, up in the tower… I thought you were someone who'd forgotten the world. Forgotten how to belong to it."

He looked at her, his eyes searching hers as though the question unsettled him. “Maybe I have,” he answered quietly, his tone laced with a distant sadness. “It’s… simpler that way.”

They reached the edge of the forest, where the last of the berry bushes clung stubbornly to the rocky earth, their branches heavy with the deep red of winter's stubborn fruit. YN knelt by one of the bushes, her movements smooth and practiced, fingers deftly plucking the berries, each one a small treasure against the cold. She glanced up, catching him watching her—a mixture of curiosity and something more guarded, as though he were trying to decipher a riddle that had long slipped beyond his grasp.

"What about you?" he asked suddenly, his voice low, testing the words on his tongue before letting them fall. There was a hesitation in his question, an unspoken edge to it. "Doesn’t it frighten you? Being alone out here?"

She looked up, her hands stilling for a moment while she considered his question, settling in the quiet between them. A faint smile touched her lips, fragile. "Here and there," she shrugged, admitting a truth she didn’t often speak. "But I think... sometimes, solitude is a kind of freedom, too. A way to... unearth yourself, without the world carving you into something else. Just you, in the quiet, with nothing but your own thoughts to guide you."

He fell silent, his eyes slipping away from hers, words brushing against something buried deep, stirring it from its dark corner. She studied him quietly, sensing a quiet burden he wore like a shadow that had long fused with his soul—a presence he could not escape, nor would he ever.

She placed a handful of berries into her basket, softly thudding as they rolled about. She stood slowly, offering him a nod that was gentle, careful. "Thank you for walking with me," she said, her voice soft but sure, like words themselves were a bridge between them. "I know... this isn’t your usual way."

He met her gaze, and for the briefest of moments, something flickered across his face—a softness, an unguardedness, almost like a breath held too long. Something that might have been gratitude, or perhaps a reverberation of a feeling he had long denied. “No,” he exhaled, his voice a low whisper, barely breaking the stillness. “It’s not.”

They stood there for what felt like an age, neither moving, neither speaking, the silence between them thick with the weight of things unsaid—things neither of them dared to name. And then, slowly, he inclined his head, a small, deliberate nod.

YN smiled softly, her steps lightening as she turned back toward the path that wound homeward, the weight of her basket now richer with the morning’s bounty. The air around them seemed to thicken, and as she walked, she could feel his presence beside her, a steadiness that clung to her.

Harry moved a pace behind, his steps measured, the soft crunch of leaves beneath his boots the only sound marking their progress. He kept his distance, a familiar gap between them, a boundary woven from old habits, borne not just of caution, but of something deeper, tragic—something that made the space between them a fragile necessity. Her warmth, the drum of her heartbeat, the maddening scent of her blood—each one was an unholy temptation, a siren’s song that pulled at him from the marrow of his bones. He could feel it stirring beneath his skin, a thirst that coiled like a serpent, winding tighter with every step they took together.

Yet here he was, a willing captive of his own weakness. And there she was—so close, so unguarded, soft.

She moved with a grace that seemed to belong to a world he could no longer touch, crouching now and then to pluck a berry, or to push aside a stray branch, her fingers nimble, delicate—perfectly at ease in the simplicity of the moment. Harry watched her, his gaze lingering on the way she moved through the trees, it made the weight of his own stillness feel unbearable.

She moved through his solitude as if it were nothing more than air, filling the cracks, unspoken, unnoticed—undeniable. A simplicity that made the silence between them feel like a violation, a thing that had no place in her quiet world.

"You don't talk much, do you?" she chuckled lightly, glancing up at him with a faint smile.

He seemed caught off guard, no one had spoken to him so directly in a very long time. "I suppose not," he admitted, his voice soft, deliberate. "Words are powerful things. I find I prefer to spend them sparingly."

She tilted her head, giving him a playful look.

"That sounds like something from an old book," she teased. "Is it isolation that makes you so mysterious, or were you born this way?"

A faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, a fleeting flicker of something that could have been amusement. For just a moment, she saw it—an echo of a man who hadn’t forgotten how to smile, how to feel. "Perhaps both," he muttered, his voice low, laced with a hint of something half-hidden, the words themselves carefully measured. "Though... solitude has a way of changing a man. It wears him down, carves him into something… different. Something harder."

She paused, her fingers lingering on the gnarled branch, heavy with dark berries that seemed to pulse in the soft mist like droplets of some forbidden nectar. She plucked a particularly plump blackcurrant, its skin swollen with ripeness, and turned to him, offering it with a quiet, almost reverent smile. “Here,” she breathed, her voice warm as though the offering were not of fruit, but of something deeper. “When they’re this fat, they’re sweetest.”

Harry's eyes fixed on the berry, suspended in the air between them like an offering—innocent, simple, and yet impossible. His first instinct was to refuse, to turn away from the thing that could never nourish him, but the invitation in her eyes—soft, untroubled, and daring—cut through the distance he had carefully constructed for centuries. There was something disarming in the way she offered it, human, delicate, alive.

After a long breath, he reached for the berry, his fingers curling around it with an unnatural gentleness, as though he feared the fruit might shatter in his touch. He held it as one might a fragile relic, some forbidden treasure—one so delicate it might slip through his fingers into the void. Her smile deepened, wide and expectant, and something stirred inside him, a soft flicker of something he couldn’t name, it felt almost foreign, like a sun he hadn’t seen in an eternity.

Slowly, he raised the berry to his lips, his movements deliberate, drawn out, savoring not just the fruit but the very act of living. The skin gave way beneath his teeth with a quiet burst, releasing the sharp sweetness that slid across his tongue. The taste was sudden—shocking in its vividness—like blood, but purer, more innocent, the tartness of life itself staining his senses. For a moment, it nearly consumed him, that wild, forbidden rush, and he could feel the juice slip down his chin, dark against the pale pallor of his skin.

He wiped the mess away instinctively, but as his hand rose, it faltered, caught by her gaze—soft, yet piercing—watching him with an intensity he could not ignore. Her eyes lingered on the stain that marred his mouth, a dark splotch of life that only served to deepen the silent distance between them, a reminder of the worlds he had once inhabited. He could see the faint flush of color rise to her cheeks, and in that moment, he realized how he must appear—caught between two realms, a man straddling the living and the damned, part of him still tethered to something ancient and blood-soaked, something that should have long since been buried.

A faint, sardonic smile curved at the corner of his lips, the trace of something like amusement but touched with sorrow. “It seems I’ve forgotten my manners,” he mumbled, the words thick with something more than simple apology—a confession of sorts, unspoken, lingering in the air between them. "It’s... sweet," he added, the word seeming to hold a weight it shouldn’t have, as though it bore some deeper meaning neither of them could fully understand. His voice cracked slightly, touched by a note of self-mockery, as if he were both aware and unaware of the chasm that stretched between him and the woman before him. The quiet messiness of the moment—his awkwardness—felt like something sacred, something wrong in a way that set his heart racing, but he could not tear his eyes away from her. Not now.

He met her gaze, and for a fleeting moment, something like warmth flickered in his eyes, a glimmer of something not quite human, yet achingly familiar—humanity, maybe, or the shadow of it. He said nothing, just let the words fall from his lips, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like a secret long buried, surfacing at last. "Just a berry," he breathed, his voice heavy with a weight she couldn’t yet understand. The words seemed to hold a meaning far older than either of them, a meaning he kept hidden beneath layers of time and darkness, a truth he couldn’t quite share.

She tilted her head, watching him intently, the space between them thick. "Maybe this isn't the sort of thing you're used to," she said slowly, testing the waters. "But maybe it’s good to have a reminder now and then. Not everything has to be heavy or distant. Not everything needs to be a burden." Her voice softened with that tenderness that could almost be called a challenge, as though she dared him to let go of the weight he carried—just for a moment—and find solace in something as simple and fleeting as a berry.

A faint, sad smile touched his lips. "You're very kind," there was a trace of gratitude in his voice. "Not everyone would bother with such words."

She dismissed him with a casual shrug, though a soft blush bloomed at her cheeks again, betraying her. "Well," she paused, tilting her head back to her task, fingers deftly plucking berries from the thorny branches. "Consider it my good deed for the day. A bit of company, a handful of berries... it's hardly a great sacrifice."

He watched her in silence, his eyes tracing her movements while she worked. There was something about her presence that settled in the dark places of him, casting a fragile light against his gnawing loneliness. For the first time in what felt like ages, the cold weight of solitude shifted, softened, a faint warmth brushing against his hollowed heart. Her companionship was like a thin ray of dawn breaking through the thick, leaden clouds, gentle and fleeting, but almost enough to make him believe, just for a moment, he belonged to it again.

They made their way back down the hillside, the morning mist lifting, replaced by the golden light of early day. The town came into view below, with the sea stretching out beyond it in shades of silver and blue. At the docks, a fisherman was loading his small boat, preparing to set out with the hope of finding a decent catch before the day wore on.

Harry and YN slowed their pace as they neared the town’s edge, a quiet understanding settling over them. She stopped first, turning to face him, her basket now filled with her morning’s foraging. The shimmer in her eyes was clear, a warmth that Harry had felt weaving its way through each word she spoke, each gesture. He found himself looking down at her, lingering longer than he meant to.

“Thank you,” he nodded, his voice soft but sincere. He felt awkward saying it, as though the words were foreign to him now, yet he meant them in a way he hadn’t for anything in years. “For letting me join you. It’s not often I find myself in good company.”

She smiled, tilting her head, her gaze as warm as the morning light. “Not often?” she teased, her voice light. “I’d have thought you had people lining up to walk the hills with you.”

He gave her a slight, almost rueful smile, lowering his gaze. “No,” he chuckled, “you’d be surprised.”

She laughed, a gentle sound that seemed to melt some of the tension he felt braced against his own chest. “Well, if it ever grows tiresome,” she paused, a hint of suggestion in her voice, “you could come into town. Join me for a cup of tea.”

At her words, something tightened in him—the familiar tension he felt whenever he allowed himself to stay close to her for too long. The sound of her heartbeat, the warmth of her skin, it all pressed against his self-control, threatening the thin restraint he kept over himself. He forced a small, polite smile, but he felt his jaw clench almost involuntarily, his fingers curling into his palms.

“I appreciate that” he managed, his voice steady, but softer now, with an almost regretful edge. “But I don’t often go into town. I think… today’s walk will be enough for me.” He inclined his head slightly, hoping she’d accept this without taking offense, without feeling he’d turned down her kindness out of coldness.

She looked at him, studying his face as if searching for something beneath his words, but after a moment, she smiled again, nodding. “Then perhaps I’ll bring you something instead,” she suggested weakly, her voice warm, reassuring. “Lunch tomorrow, if that would be alright.”

A strange mixture of relief and dread nestled within him. The thought of her returning—of her presence filling the cold, empty silence of the tower—was both comforting and unnerving. They would be alone, just the two of them, and though he had spent years learning to control his urges, nothing had tested him like this. Sometimes, the thrum of her heart was louder than anything else, or the scent of salt on her skin after the climb up would linger, sweet and tormenting. It was a peculiar torture, having something so inviting right before him, only to be faced with the hollowness of indulging. Her offer to bring him lunch, to sit and eat with him despite the fact he needed none of it, should have been easy to refuse. But he couldn’t find it in himself to do so—not when her gaze held such open, unguarded sincerity.

“That would be very kind of you,” The words came out reluctantly, like couldn’t stop them even if he wanted to. “Thank you, YN.”

He liked the sound of her rolling of his tongue.

She nodded, the faintest hint of excitement in her smile, pleased to have found a way around his reserve. “Tomorrow, then,” she beamed. “I’ll bring something good—don’t you worry.” Her eyes sparkled as she gave him a small wave, then turned, making her way back down the path toward town, her figure soon swallowed by the morning bustle.

Harry remained glued to his spot, taking his lip between his teeth to suppress a smile. She was off-putting, to say the least—her tenderness only a dead man could find odd. He was wrong for seeing her again, he knew it, falling into temptations like this. He could be careful, he thought, he has been so far. Or maybe he was just a guilty man trying to justify his crimes.

YN walked back into town with a lightness in her step, her mind turning over the morning’s encounter as if she were reliving each moment. The air had taken on the warmth of a rising sun, and the sleepy town had started to stir with the sounds of morning chores and familiar greetings. She made her way through the winding streets, past a few shopkeepers opening their doors, and toward her own modest home nestled along a cobbled lane.

As she moved, she found herself smiling, her thoughts still wrapped around the mysterious man from the watchtower. There was something about him—something almost magnetic, though she couldn’t put her finger on why. He seemed so… displaced, she thought, like he belonged to some other world or some faraway time. His formality, his quiet reserve, the way he looked at her like he hadn’t been in anyone’s presence in years—it all only deepened the intrigue she felt toward him.

When she had reached her home, her mother was already out front, shaking out rugs and pinning them to the line, her sleeves rolled up past her elbows. She looked up, smiling at YN’s approach, though her eyes quickly narrowed in mock suspicion.

“You’re back earlier than I thought,” her mother remarked, nodding toward the basket her daughter held. “But those berries are no less full, I see. Found a good patch, then?”

“Something like that,” She replied with a faint smile, setting the basket down on the stoop as she untied her shawl.

Her mother peered over at her, an eyebrow raised. “And you’re grinning like a girl who’s got more on her mind than just berries.”

YN’s cheeks warmed, and she glanced down at her hands, hoping her mother wouldn’t press her. “Just… ran into someone,” she shrugged, though she could feel her own heart beating faster as she spoke. She could hardly explain what about the man had affected her so, but there was no use pretending it hadn’t.

The rest of the day passed in the rhythm of her usual tasks, though her mind wandered often, her thoughts circling back to him in unbidden moments. As she washed linens in the cool water from the well, she remembered his soft, careful voice. As she helped her mother hang dried herbs in the kitchen, she thought of Harry’s strange, old phrases, the way he spoke as though he had words tucked away that he never quite spent. And as she swept the front step, she caught herself glancing up the hill, as if expecting to see his shadow among the trees.

When evening came, she prepared her plan for the next day, gathering ingredients for a simple meal—hearty bread, a thick soup made from root vegetables, and a small parcel of roasted nuts, wrapped carefully in cloth. Nothing extravagant, but enough to share.

The next morning, the sky dawned gray again. YN was up before her family, carefully packing the basket with the meal she’d prepared. She’d risen early on purpose, hoping to reach the tower before the town fully awoke, before her courage might falter under the curious eyes of neighbors.

She walked through the town’s cobbled streets and kept her gaze steady, willing herself not to think too much of what she was doing, to simply trust the instinct that had pulled her back to that place. She found her steps quickening as she neared the hillside path, the watchtower looming in the mist like a ghostly sentinel above the trees.

The closer she got, the more her heartbeat quickened, anticipation mingling with nerves. She hadn’t felt this kind of energy since she was a girl, sneaking off to meet a friend in secret, carrying a half-imagined thrill in her heart. But this was different, more serious. She wasn’t quite sure why, only that her curiosity—and something deeper, some small, unshakable sense of understanding—had drawn her here.

When the tower finally came into view, she felt a strange warmth rise in her chest, a mixture of excitement and vulnerability. She slowed her pace, clutching the basket a bit tighter, her gaze sweeping over the familiar stone walls, over the high windows that stood like silent watchers against the morning light.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped toward the door, raising her hand to knock. For a moment, she hesitated, wondering if he might not answer, if he’d decide to stay hidden, bound by whatever loneliness had kept him there all this time.

Or perhaps he could just be sleeping, she was a bit too early, after all.

But then, with a steadying breath, she knocked anyway, the sound echoing faintly against the old stone.

When the heavy wooden door creaked open, YN found herself staring into a face that was both familiar and strange in the dawn’s soft light. Harry stood there, his shirt loose at the collar, as though he’d barely had time to pull himself together. His curls were tousled, framing his face with a careless disarray that made him look younger, more human than he had the day before. The faintest flush of color lingered on his lips—a deep red stain that looked, she thought, suspiciously like the mark of freshly eaten berries. She found herself caught in the small details of him, her heart giving an unexpected flutter.

For a moment, he only blinked at her, taking in the sight of her with her neatly packed basket in hand, standing in the misty morning light.

“Good morning,” she managed, offering him a tentative smile. “I thought—well, I know it’s early, but I promised to bring you lunch.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with the hint of a smile, and he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Lunch?” he repeated, a teasing note in his voice. “Since when does lunch begin at dawn’s first light?”

She laughed, pink rushing to her cheeks, feeling like she’d caught him off guard—and, perhaps, herself as well. “I was just a bit eager, I suppose,” she admitted, her voice lighter than she’d intended. “Thought I might catch you before the rest of the day carried me off.”

Harry tilted his head, considering her with new interest, his gaze softening slightly. “Well, I can hardly argue with such eagerness,” he murmured, though his tone still held an edge of humor. “You are… remarkably prompt, I’ll give you that.”

He stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in, his form framed by the dim, shadowy interior of the tower. YN hesitated only a moment before stepping across the threshold. The air was still, thick with the scent of stone and the faintest hint of rain-soaked soil. She could feel him watching her as she looked around, taking in the carefully kept space.

She set her basket down on a small wooden table, glancing over at him, her curiosity getting the better of her. “I didn’t mean to intrude so early,” she sighed, smiling apologetically as she brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “But I thought… you might appreciate it, perhaps.”

Harry ran a hand through his disheveled curls, an almost sheepish look in his eyes. “Well,” he began, a soft chuckle folllwing, “you’re certainly succeeding in such thoughts.” His voice was warm, softened by a trace of lingering amusement, though his gaze lingered on her for a moment too long, still adjusting to her presence.

“Good,” she grinned as she reached into the basket to begin unpacking. She set out a thick slice of bread, the nuts, and jar of hearty soup she’d wrapped carefully to keep warm.

Harry watched her, his eyes following each movement, though his face remained unreadable. There was a subtle tension in the set of his jaw, a hint of something unbeknownst to her in his eyes, but when he finally looked up, his features softened involuntarily. “You needn’t have gone to all this trouble,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, her gesture surprising him more than he wanted to admit. “But… thank you.”

“It’s no trouble at all. I find myself enjoying your presence.”

Harry swallowed hard. He didn’t respond, or maybe he couldn’t. He was immortal, inhuman, a man molded by the hands of the devil, yet he was left intimidated by her.

They settled at the small wooden table, the quiet intimacy of the space filling with the soft rustle of cloth and the faint aroma of the food she’d brought. Harry sat across from her, holding the small slice of bread she’d laid out, his movements measured and deliberate. He took slow bites, his gaze flickering between her and the food, watching her reactions to the meal she’d prepared.

YN, already warmed by the cozy quiet between them, reached for her own serving of bread and took a bite, savoring the way the crust flaked against her teeth. She glanced up to find him watching her again, his expression carefully neutral, though his reserve was still obvious. “Is it all right?” she asked, her tone light, smiling a bit to reassure him. “Not too humble for a man such as you, I hope?”

It definitely didn’t compare to the way she would taste.

His lips quirked, the faintest of smiles appearing, and he inclined his head. “Quite the opposite,” he replied, a whisper of a lie. “It’s nice.”

At least it was warm.

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, the quiet sounds of the meal settling between them. She noticed that he was eating slowly, as though savoring every mouthful, or hating every minute of it, she couldn’t tell. But there was a restraint to it, too—a hesitation that seemed at odds with someone enjoying a meal. Perhaps he simply wasn’t used to company, she thought, though she couldn’t help wondering about the hint of something withheld.

Harry finished his slice of bread and took another sip of the soup, though his attention seemed more on her than the food, his gaze lingering as if he were still surprised by her presence in his world. She caught him watching her and offered him a playful smile, unable to resist a small jest at his expense.

“Tell me,” she said, leaning forward with a glint of mischief in her eyes, “did you actually go out and forage for those berries after all?”

His brow furrowed, and she gestured to her own lips in demonstration. “Your mouth,” she clarified, laughter coloring her voice. “There’s a bit of red left. Did you get curious and try some of the berries after I left yesterday?”

Harry blinked, a faint look of shock crossing his face, and then something shifted—a glimmer of amusement softened his expression, though it was mixed with a flicker of discomfort he couldn’t entirely hide.

If only she knew.

“Ah,” he murmured, lifting a finger to his lips, dabbing at the faint stain. “Yes, perhaps I did. I… wasn’t aware it left such a mark.”

YN laughed, her own cheeks warming, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. “Well, you wear it well.” She teased lightly, her tone softening.

Harry chuckled, something almost guarded in his gaze, his jaw tightening slightly. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, his voice laced with humor, eyes holding an unreadable darkness. “I suppose I’ll need to be more careful.”

YN’s laughter softened, and she shook her head, feeling that strange pull toward him—the sense of mystery he carried, his quiet, watchful presence that seemed both open and closed to her, like he was allowing her only glimpses of his true self. It made her want to know him more, to uncover the depth of whatever past he held close, whatever shadows he kept tucked away.

“Well, don’t be too careful,” she murmured, reaching for another slice of bread and breaking it in half, offering him a piece. “I’d hate for you to lose that touch of color. It suits you.”

Like a painting, she wanted to say, like he was made at the hands of an artist.

Harry took the offered bread, his eyes flickering over her face, something softer settling in his expression. He bit into the bread, more slowly this time, his eyes never leaving hers. “Thank you, then,” he cleared his throat, his voice low, almost reverent. “For the color—and for the meal.”

A silence between them grew soft and warm, filling the small space of the tower with an ease YN hadn’t anticipated. Harry had relaxed slightly, though he still held himself with a careful reserve, his gaze lingering on her now and then as they ate. There was something about him that felt… contradictory, she thought. He seemed distant, guarded, yet here he was, welcoming her presence, even if with a hint of reluctance.

After they’d finished, she began to gather up the remnants of the meal, brushing crumbs from the table into her hand. Harry watched her, his gaze thoughtful, still piecing together how he felt about her being there. She could feel his eyes on her, a weight she found both unsettling and oddly comforting.

“You know, I could bring a bit more next time. Dinner perhaps—if that wouldn’t be intruding.”

Harry’s expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. He looked down, his fingers brushing absently over a knot in the wood grain of the table. “You’d come back?”

She laughed softly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear as she straightened up. “Of course. I find you refreshing—different from most of the folks in town.” Her smile softened, becoming something more genuine. “It’s good, I think, to remind you there’s a world beyond these walls.”

She felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name—a desire to reach out to him, to draw him out of whatever sorrow he held close to his heart. She had no idea what kind of loneliness he carried, but she sensed it was deep, rooted in something far older than just the quiet years he had spent in this place. “I can’t help but wonder what keeps you in this tower. You seem like someone with… stories to tell.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, something contemplative and guarded in his expression. He glanced away, a faint look of regret shadowing his face. “Yes, I suppose I have my share.”

For a brief, fleeting moment, she thought he might continue, might open up and share some part of himself with her. But then he seemed to retreat, as if he’d caught himself at the edge of something he wasn’t ready to confront. He glanced back down, his fingers idly tracing a line in the wood of the table again. “I don’t wish to burden you with old tales…Perhaps someday.”

The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken meaning, and YN found herself nodding, feeling the quiet promise in his voice. “I look forward to that day, then.”

They sat together a while longer, the silence stretching between them, comfortable yet charged with the beginnings of something. As the morning light grew stronger, casting warm beams through the narrow window, YN reluctantly gathered her things, sensing it was time to go.

“I’ll see you again soon?”

”Yes, YN. Until then.”

Harry watched her as she lingered by the door. Her basket was empty now, save for a few crumpled cloths, yet she seemed hesitant to go, her fingers brushing over the handle as though she were waiting for him to say something, anything, to draw out these last few moments. He couldn’t deny the pull of her presence, the warmth she brought to his cold, solitary space. Before he could think better of it, he took a small step forward, his voice soft but inviting.

“You know,” he murmured, his tone careful, “if you have no place pressing to be… you’re welcome to stay for a bit longer.”

She turned, surprise dancing across her face before it melted into a quiet, grateful smile. “I’d like that, if you don’t mind, truly.”

He allowed himself a hint of a smile, nodding slightly. “Not at all,” he kept his gaze steady to reassure her—and perhaps himself—that he truly meant it. “I think I… find myself rather unaccustomed to company. But I don’t mind yours.”

The words hung between them, unhurried and simple, yet they felt as profound to him as a vow. Her presence here was something different, something he hadn’t felt in longer than he cared to remember. And now that she was here, he wasn’t certain he wanted to let her leave, not just yet.

After a beat, she drifted around the room, taking in the details she hadn’t had time to notice before—the faint glow from the narrow windows, the muted colors of the worn stone walls, the air thick with the scent of old paper and the faintest hint of earth. The tower had a solemn quiet about it, a kind of reverence that made her feel as though she’d stepped into another world. Her eyes were soon drawn to the tall shelves on one side of the room, each one filled with rows upon rows of books.

She moved toward them instinctively, her footsteps light as she approached. Harry followed her at a measured pace, his eyes never leaving her as she came to a stop in front of the books, her fingers hovering just above the spines, brushing over the dust-speckled covers. The books varied in size and age—some with cracked leather bindings, others bound in faded cloth. A few bore intricate gold lettering, gleaming faintly in the low light. Each one looked well-worn, like it had been handled and read countless times.

“You have so many…” she smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many books in one place before.”

He stepped closer, keeping a small, respectful distance behind her, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. “They’re… relics,” he replied softly, his tone thoughtful. “Pieces of a life I left behind, though I suppose they’ve never really left me.”

YN glanced over her shoulder, catching the distant look in his eyes as he took in the shelves. “They mean a great deal to you,” she observed gently, her voice barely above a whisper due to how close he was. “I can see that.”

He nodded, a faint, almost sorrowful smile tugging at his lips. “Books,” he said slowly, “have a way of keeping memories… even when we’d rather leave them in the past.” His gaze lingered on a particular book faded from age and use.

She took in his expression, feeling a pang of curiosity mixed with a quiet empathy. She could sense the weight of those memories, the way they seemed to cast a shadow over him. She paused for a moment, her fingers drifting over the titles, reading names she didn’t quite recognize. Then, one title caught her eye—an ornate, weighty book, its leather cover stamped with intricate designs.

Without a word, Harry reached past her, his fingers brushing near hers as he pulled the book from the shelf with a kind of reverence. He held it carefully, almost lovingly, before turning it over to show her. “This one,” he began, his voice softer now, “is Theuerdank and Weisskunig. It’s… a rare piece. An epic, really. A romance of sorts.” He traced the cover with his fingertips, his expression growing more intense, almost tender.

“A romance?” she asked, her tone holding a hint of playful surprise. “I wouldn’t have guessed you to be one for romance.”

Another faint smile crossed his lips, (she had a way of doing that) although his eyes held a touch of melancholy. “Not the sort of romance people think of now,” he shook his head, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “This one is about… chivalry, valor, a man trying to prove his worth not to another, but to himself.” He paused, his gaze growing distant. “It’s a journey that changes him, even though he never quite reaches what he’d hoped for.”

She took in his words, her own features softening. There was a depth to him she hadn’t quite understood before, a sense that he carried within him something broken yet cherished, as though he held the remnants of a life that had shaped him in ways he couldn’t express. She could see in his eyes that he loved this story, that it resonated with him on a level deeper than she could fully comprehend.

“It sounds beautiful,” she murmured, her gaze drifting to the worn pages as she traced the intricate designs on the cover. “It seems you cherish it.”

“Yes. Something like that.”

She held the book in her hands, holding an urge to ask him about those memories, to know what he had seen and experienced that left such sorrow. But she sensed he wasn’t ready to share that—not yet.

“Thank you for showing me,” she smiled. The green in his eyes contrasted his pale skin, his lips the raspberries that grow in the summer. His hair was parted in the middle, chocolate curls framing his face. Chocolate raspberries, she thought. It fit him. Sweet, a delicacy, something she craved more of. “It’s… a lovely part of you.”

For a brief moment, it seemed as though he might say something more, but he only nodded, a quiet gratitude lingering in his eyes.

As she continued to look over his books, Harry found himself moving closer, his chest only a deep breath away from her back, drawn in by her presence despite the intoxicating pulse of her heartbeat that set his senses on edge. He could smell the faint scent of her hair, feel the warmth of her skin just inches from his own, and he fought the urge to retreat, to put distance between them. Instead, he focused on her fingers as they traced the books, her gentle touch against something he cherished.

Her hand drifted back to Theuerdank and Weisskunig, and she turned to look at him, her smile bright. He clenched his jaw, looking down at her through half-lidded eyes. She smelt of earl gray tea and lavender. He could hear her lungs expand as her breath hitched, the sound of her heart thrumming against her ribcage. He could see the way her jugular pulsed behind skin, how her cheeks flushed the same color as her lips.

Her lips—parted with shallow breaths that were barely audible underneath the rush of blood through her veins. Her lips, soft, plump. The part between them would fit his bottom lip perfectly. He wondered if they were as pliant as they looked.

He, of course, was aware of how pretty YN was, but she never seemed more beautiful in the soft glow of the candlelight.

And god, how he towered over her. His tummy fluttered with something he’d long forgotten, something more than lust, more intense than a want.

He wanted to cage her between him and his books, kiss her softer than he was used to. He wanted to trace her curves, to feel the warmth he was void of. He wanted to trail his lips along the line of her jaw to the softest part of her neck. He wanted to sink his teeth in her, to taste her, to feel the way she would slide across his tongue and down his throat. She was his little lamb, and he, the wolf.

The predator.

He took a step back, swallowing hard. It felt like his world was spinning, crashing in around him. This was so wrong, but fuck, it felt so right.

She could feel the burn of Harry’s eyes as she averted to the shelf, watchful and silent, his presence just behind her like a shadow she could feel but couldn’t see. There was a heaviness to his closeness, a tension she sensed in the way he held himself, as though he were carefully keeping a distance that he longed to close.

She’s had crushes before, desires. She was no stranger to a blush on her cheeks, to the warmth that would bloom in her chest if they locked eyes. But no man had ever brought a heat between her thighs, a fire in her belly that only he could extinguish. It was foreign, yet she relished it.

It was like YN could feel his body buzzing behind her, his breaths cool along the back of her neck—until it wasn’t. He stepped back, distanced himself. Had he not felt the same? Did he not desire her in the ways she did?

Her lips fell into a frown as she cleared her throat. She didn’t like how the silence felt now.

“You must have spent years collecting these. Do they hold a piece of you, Harry?”

Her words were not making this any better. He didn’t know her very long, but she got him.

He took a deep breath, although it didn’t matter much. Comfort of once was, maybe. “Fragments, I suppose,” he swallowed. “Memories from a time when I still believed in… well, things I haven’t felt in a very long while.”

There was something in his voice that made her pause, a thread of sadness woven into his words that tugged at her heart. She turned fully to face him, searching his expression, sensing that there was so much he kept hidden, so much of himself he held back, as though he feared what might happen if he allowed her to see him fully.

“What changed?” she asked gently, the question slipping from her lips before she could stop herself.

He looked at her for a long moment, his gaze intense, his jaw tightening as though he were wrestling with something inside himself. She could see the conflict in his eyes, the weight of whatever past he kept buried, and she felt a flicker of regret for having pressed him. But before she could apologize, he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Life… has a way of taking things from us,” he shifted, eyes drifting toward the window where the morning light touched the stones with a cold, silver glow. “Things we thought we couldn’t lose… pieces of ourselves we believed would last forever.”

They didn’t, he thought. Things like that were only supposed to last a lifetime. Things like that have an expiration date, something he didn’t have.

YN watched him, her heart aching at the quiet sorrow in his words, the sense of loss that seemed to surround him. She wanted to reach out, to bridge the distance between them, but something told her that he was not ready for that—that he was still bound to the solitude.

“Maybe not everything has to last forever,” she started softly, her voice gentle. “Sometimes, things are beautiful because they’re fleeting. Because they remind us that we’re alive, even if only for a moment.”

He would laugh if he could. She was alive, beautiful, fleeting, and he was anything but.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, almost to himself, his gaze lingering on her face. “But the fleeting moments tend to hurt the most when they leave.”

She looked down, her fingers tracing the edge of the table, feeling the weight of his words settle around them like a shroud. There was a sadness to him, a depth of loss that she couldn’t fully comprehend, yet she felt drawn to it, to the mystery he kept hidden, as though she could somehow ease the burden he carried.

After a moment, he seemed to shake himself from whatever memories had surfaced, his expression softening as he looked at her with a faint, almost apologetic smile. “Forgive me,” his voice was rough, heavy with things left unsaid. “It’s been… a long time since I’ve spoken so freely.”

She shook her head, a warmth spreading through her chest. “You needn’t apologize, Harry. I’m glad you feel you can speak with me,” she replied, her voice sincere. “It means a lot that you’d share… even a small part of yourself.”

His eyes held hers, a quiet gratitude, and for a moment, it felt as though the walls around him had softened, as though he had allowed her to step just a little closer to the heart of who he was. She could feel the an intimacy between them, a connection that felt fragile yet profound.

She could feel the tension again, the same one he broke away from before. She hurriedly tucked wisps of hair behind her ear as she turned back around, grabbing any random book that caught her eyes first. “This one looks well-loved.” That was a guess. “What’s it about?”

Harry’s eyes lit with the faintest hint of warmth, and he took the book from her hands, his fingers brushing hers for just a brief moment. “It’s poetry,” he said, his voice reverent, almost tender. “Lines I knew by heart once.”

He opened the book, flipping through the delicate pages until he found a passage, and he held it out to her, fingers tracing the ink with a distant smile.

“Better a thousand times to die

Than for to live thus still tormented:

Dear, but remember it was I

Who for thy sake did die contended.”

His voice was tender, his eyes never leaving the page. He was close to her again, their shoulders touching. She wanted to reach out, to hold his hands and tell him how lovely he is, that he isn’t truly alone as much as he may try to be.

And yet, some unspoken barrier held her back, some invisible line neither of them seemed willing to cross. They stood in the quiet of the tower, both of them poised on the edge of something unnameable, something profound and fragile, something that neither of them dared to acknowledge but neither could ignore.

She mulled the words over in her head, trying to understand what lay beneath them. It was before her time, surely—and she was no poet.

He watched her, his gaze softening, a faint, wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet gratitude. “For letting me… share this. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone to speak with, someone who might understand.”

The morning light grew brighter, casting soft beams across the stone floor. She felt the moment settle around them, an understanding that went beyond words, a bond forged in the simple act of sharing a piece of themselves.

YN’s gaze drifted toward the narrow window overlooking the docks below. She noticed a familiar figure moving along the shoreline, preparing his small boat for the day’s work, his movements brisk and practiced. A soft laugh escaped her lips, a fondness shining in her eyes as she watched him.

“Ah, there’s Niall,” she murmured, more to herself, but Harry caught the familiarity in her tone.

He glanced down at her, tilting his head slightly. “A friend of yours?”

Just a friend, he selfishly hoped.

She nodded, smiling as she watched the blonde secure the ropes, his expression focused and slightly comical as he struggled with a particularly stubborn knot. “Yes. We’ve known each other since we were children. Niall’s always been… well, restless, I suppose. Could never stay put for more than a few minutes.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “Even now, he’s still got that same wild look in his eyes, like he’s just waiting to run off on some grand adventure.”

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smile as he listened. She was watching Niall, but Harry was watching her. There was something endearing about the way she spoke of her friend, a kind of affection that made her eyes sparkle and her voice warm. He could feel the subtle warmth in her words, the way she brought Niall to life in her memories. In her presence, he was reminded of the depth of human connection—the kind he had nearly forgotten, the kind he thought he’d lost.

“He sounds like quite the character.”

YN nodded, a wistful smile on her lips. “Indeed. We used to dream up all kinds of wild adventures together—though I think, deep down, he always knew he’d be the one to live them. And I’d be here, waiting to hear his stories.”

A sadness dripped from her words, he could feel it. Did she not think herself able? Was she tethered to one world, yet longed for another? He had not known her very long, but he thought her to be anything but trapped.

But before he could dwell on the thought, he noticed her expression change—a faint, startled gasp escaping her lips. She turned to him with wide eyes, a sudden urgency lighting her face.

“Oh,” she breathed, her hand lifting to her chest. “My father—he’s due back today. From his trip at sea.”

She looked up at him, a hint of guilt mingling with the excitement in her gaze. “I should… I should go,” she stammered, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “He’ll be expecting me at the docks any moment now, and I’ve completely lost track of time.”

Harry felt the quietness around them shift, the moment slipping through his fingers as she pulled away. Yet he nodded, his gaze steady, a small, understanding smile on his lips. “Of course,” he replied, his voice low, though he couldn’t quite hide the faint regret in his tone.

She hesitated, “Thank you… for this,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “For letting me stay, for… well, for everything.” She glanced down, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. “I’ll come by again. I’d like to… if that’s all right.”

He nodded, his voice gentle. “Very much so,” he replied, his words carrying a quiet sincerity that felt almost like a promise. “Take care, YN.”

With one last look, she turned and hurried toward the door, her footsteps light but purposeful. As she crossed the threshold and descended the hill toward the docks, Harry watched her until she vanished from view, her laughter and warmth lingering in the quiet emptiness of the tower.

The silence of the tower felt heavier once she left, the warmth YN had brought into the room dissipating like the last glow of a dying fire. Harry stood by the window, his eyes lingering on the distant figure making her way down the winding path toward town, her basket swinging lightly at her side. He had always known his solitude to be vast and impenetrable, something that felt inevitable. But now, watching her retreating form, he felt a quiet ache settle over him, unfamiliar and disquieting.

Below, he could just make out Niall, still by his boat, glancing up and giving a cheerful wave as YN approached. She returned it with a bright smile that seemed to reach even up to the tower, filling Harry with a strange, inexplicable longing. The easy way she moved through the world, the warmth she shared so freely—it was something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. Her presence had stirred something deep within him, something he had thought long since buried.

He watched her as she stopped to exchange a few words with Niall, laughter drifting faintly on the morning air, and he could almost imagine her conversation, the honey in her voice, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled.

He turned away from the window, the emptiness of the tower pressing down on him once more. The shelves of books lined the walls, relics of a life he had loved and left behind, each volume a reminder of the years he had spent in isolation, drawing comfort from words when human connection had felt too dangerous, too painful. But now, for the first time in decades, he found himself wishing for something beyond the familiar comfort of ink and paper.

Without her presence, the tower seemed colder, the silence no longer a welcome solitude but a reminder of what he lacked, of the hollowness that had slowly crept into his life. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration simmering beneath his composed exterior, a frustration at himself for allowing her to breach his walls so easily, to touch a part of him he had kept locked away.

He looked down at his hands, his fingers curling slightly, remembering the softness of her touch, the warmth that had radiated from her as she held the book he’d given her. The memories felt vivid, too close, too real—almost dangerous in their intensity. She had given him a glimpse of something he had forgotten he could feel, something he had once cherished but had long since taught himself to live without.

Then came something that made his stomach churn, he started to miss her.

The thought was dangerous, he knew. His life was built on control, on restraint, a constant battle against the hunger that lurked beneath his skin, a thirst that would never be sated. The solitude he had chosen was a necessary prison, a means of keeping others safe from his curse. And yet, he found himself questioning that choice, the isolation he had so carefully constructed, the walls he had so painstakingly built around himself.

Could it be possible, even for someone like him, to share even a sliver of his life with another? To find comfort, even fleetingly, in the presence of another soul?

Her soul.

He clenched his jaw, parting from the window with a sense of finality, as though ignoring the sight of her would return him to his old resolve. He couldn’t allow himself to indulge in such thoughts—not YN. She was a light, a brightness he had long since lost the right to reach for. She was the color pink, she was warmth of tea his mother use to make. She was the sun, the moon and the stars. To hold her close would be to risk the very thing he had sworn to avoid.

Yet, even as he tried to push the thought away, a small, insistent part of him refused to let go—the way she had looked at him as though she could see past the shadows that clung to him, as though he were something more than a curse.

It was foolish, he knew. But a smile began to spread across his lips at the promise of her coming back, to have her close, to listen to the soft lull of her voice.

And despite himself, despite the danger, he knew he would be waiting.

[kckt88]

Scorched Hearts XV

Summary:

'We loved with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe'

In the aftermath of Valaena's recovery, Aemond struggles to deal with his guilt.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Guilt, Reluctance, Mental Anguish, Aegon Being A Menace, Arguing, Confessions, Smut, Referenced Sex.

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 5000

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

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Aemond stood in the shadowed corner of his chambers, his gaze fixed on Valaena as she lay resting on the bed.

Rhaenyra sat beside her daughter, their hands clasped together, murmuring soft words that Aemond couldn’t quite make out.

On the opposite side, Daemon hovered, his usual air of detachment softening as he studied his stepdaughter, his relief barely hidden in his guarded expression.

But Aemond’s patience was fraying. He wanted them gone, all of them.

Valaena was his wife, the mother of his children, the woman he had almost lost.

He understood that her family would come rushing to her side upon learning she’d woken from the coma, but he resented their presence all the same.

They crowded around her, taking up the space and attention he desperately wanted for himself.

Each moment they spent at her bedside only deepened the ache in his chest, the ache to be close to her, to breathe in her scent and feel her warmth against him as if to reassure himself that she was really here.

He needed her. He needed to hold her without an audience, without Rhaenyra and Daemon hovering protectively, and without her bastard brothers who had previously descended upon her like dogs.

Every inch of him was screaming for them to leave so that he could wrap her in his arms and feel her breathing, feel her fingers running through his hair like she used to.

He needed to know she was real, that she had returned to him, whole and alive.

Aemond’s hands twitched restlessly at his sides, his jaw clenched tight. He told himself to wait a few moments longer, to let them have their time with her.

He tried to be respectful, patient—but he felt like he was about to shatter from the weight of restraint.

Finally, he cleared his throat, unable to keep silent any longer.

His voice was calm but firm as he spoke. “Rhaenyra,” he said, his tone steady but leaving little room for argument. “I-I know you’ve missed her. We all have. But-she needs her rest.”

Rhaenyra clutched her daughter’s tightly, as though afraid to let go even now.

Her eyes were damp, her fingers gently brushing over Valaena’s pale cheek, as if grounding herself in the reality that her daughter was here—alive, and awake.

She hesitated, her grip tightening, reluctant to let even a moment slip by without Valaena in her grasp.

But Daemon, standing nearby, sensed the moment’s weight and Aemond’s silent plea from across the room.

He understood the intensity of that need, the desperation to hold the one he’d nearly lost.

For the briefest of seconds, Daemon imagined what it would be like, never seeing Rhaenyra again, hearing her voice or feeling her presence close to him and the mere thought nearly destroyed him.

Softly, he placed a steadying hand on Rhaenyra’s shoulder, pulling her gently from the edge of the bed.

"Let him be with her now," Daemon said quietly, his voice a rare blend of gentleness and understanding.

Rhaenyra’s gaze darted to Daemon, reluctant but recognizing the truth in his words.

She glanced back at Aemond, taking in the quiet, raw longing in his gaze, the way he hovered on the brink of breaking.

She knew he’d kept a vigil by Valaena’s bedside, that he had barely left her side in weeks, clinging to the slimmest hope that Valaena would come back to him.

Daemon met Aemond’s eye, offering him a solemn nod—a gesture of solidarity, of understanding, even of respect for the torment Aemond had endured.

Aemond returned the nod, a slight but grateful tilt of his head, wordlessly conveying his thanks.

Rhaenyra pressed one last kiss to Valaena’s forehead, her hand lingering on her daughter’s for just a heartbeat longer before she pulled away, her own shoulders tense with the weight of emotion.

Then, with Daemon’s arm around her, she allowed him to guide her out.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Rhaenyra and Daemon, Valaena turned her head to look at Aemond, her violet eyes warm and understanding.

She could see the strain in his face, the exhaustion, the fear that still lingered in his gaze despite her being here with him now.

Gently, she patted the bed beside her and whispered, “Come here my love. Let me hold you.”

Aemond barely needed a moment’s invitation. He quickly pulled off his tunic, breeches and eyepatch, his fingers trembling, as if afraid that even the smallest delay would shatter this fragile moment.

He slowly climbed into the bed, his naked body curling against her, his head resting just over her heart, where he could feel the steady, rhythmic beat.

Valaena’s hand slid up to his hair, and pulled the leather tie from it, allowing the long silver strands to cascade over his shoulders like a wave, and she then began to stroke his hair softly

Aemond let out a shaky breath, his eye closing as he absorbed the warmth and familiarity of her touch.

His hands clutched at the fabric of her shift, his fingers twisting the material.

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he made no effort to hide it. He clung to her, his face pressing against her, drawing in her scent, grounding himself in the reality of her presence.

"Would you like me to take this off?" she asked softly, her hand pausing in his hair.

Aemond nodded slowly, and she carefully untied the laces of her shift and shimmied the cotton material off her shoulders and let it pool at her waist, exposing her breasts to him.

He moved back to her instantly, his face nestled between her breasts, feeling the warmth of her soft bare skin against his face.

Valaena resumed stroking his hair, her fingers weaving through the silken strands, a gentle rhythm meant to soothe him.

“I’m here, my love, I’m here-” she murmured, her voice a comforting whisper above him.

Aemond let out a sigh, his shoulders finally relaxing as he allowed himself to sink fully into her embrace.

She was here. And he would never let her go again.

In the weeks that followed Valaena’s awakening, Aemond clung to her like a lifeline, a shadow that moved with her every step, bound by an unspoken fear that if he looked away, even for a moment, she would vanish.

He rarely left her side, his touch possessive and watchful, as though her recovery were as fragile as the first moments after a terrible storm.

No one else was permitted near her except for their children, Lirri and Arro.

Maester Gerardys’ visits, however, that were met with Aemond’s unrelenting wrath.

The mere sight of the Maester—who had once spoken of helping Valaena to ‘pass peacefully’—brought venom to his words.

Each visit was a storm of thinly veiled resentment, his voice low and scathing as he responded to the maester’s every inquiry with cold, biting replies.

The memory of Gerardys’ suggestion haunted him, his fury a fierce shield against his own guilt, which gnawed at him silently.

He couldn’t forgive himself for almost acting on his own moment of despair, haunted by that terrible night when he had held a pillow over her, only to recoil in horror.

It was his guilt, festering and raw like rot, that spurred his bitterness toward Gerardys.

He resented the Maester not only for what he had suggested but also because the Maester’s presence made Aemond confront his own weakness and desperation.

Rhaenyra, too, became a target of his unpredictable anger. Her involvement in the sweet sleep discussions felt like a betrayal, a whispered plot against Valaena's life.

He would look at her now with a glint of accusation, quick to lash out with a bitterness that he knew, deep down, was misdirected.

But that realization did little to stem his fury. He became volatile, his emotions frayed, a mix of relief, anger, and fear that twisted within him, barely contained.

Night after night, he lay awake, watching Valaena as she slept, his gaze fixed on the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

Each breath she took was a reminder that she was here, alive, not a spectre conjured by his desperate longing.

His fingers would lightly trace her arm, her face, needing to feel the warmth of her skin against his own. His eye, ringed with exhaustion, barely closed, his own sleep fractured and shallow.

Sometimes he would reach out to touch her face in the darkness, brushing his fingers across her cheek, his breath catching each time, fearing she might fade before his eyes.

He watched her like a man condemned, as if her life depended on his vigil.

And in those sleepless hours, he found himself murmuring to her, words that drifted between promises and pleas.

“I’ll protect you, my love. I’ll always be here. I won’t let anyone take you from me.”

Aemond stood at the edge of the gardens, his gaze fixed on Valaena as she sat among their children, sunlight filtering through the leaves and casting soft patterns over her face.

Lirri laughed beside her, holding Aemon in her lap, and Aemond’s lips turned up ever so slightly as he watched his family, feeling a fragile kind of peace he hadn’t felt in weeks.

Yet, the feeling was fleeting, chased away by the dread that never quite left him.

Just then, Helaena appeared at his side, her presence as quiet as a soft breeze. Her eyes, distant yet strangely focused, were fixed on him.

“All the crickets are singing again,” she said in her usual soft, lilting tone.

Aemond looked at her, brow furrowing as he considered her words. “Will they always sing?” he asked, a hint of desperation underlying his question.

Helaena’s gaze softened as she reached out, her slender fingers resting gently on his arm. “Yes, they will,” she replied.

“Good” muttered Aemond, his posture rigid, his arms folded behind his back.

But a shadow of sorrow suddenly crossed Healena’s face as she added, “Yet there is a shadow following you, brother. And if you’re not careful, it will consume you.”

Aemond stiffened, his jaw setting tightly as he turned back to the garden. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied tersely, unwilling to let her words pierce the wall he had built around his mind.

But Helaena only watched him, her eyes bearing a wisdom that unsettled him. “It will fester inside you,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper, “writhe in your blood like maggots until it bursts forth, and then you will know nothing but silence.”

Aemond’s fists clenched at his sides, her words gnawing at him. He wanted to dismiss her, to shake off her warning, but the weight of her words seemed to burrow deeper, touching something he had buried. “What can I do?” he asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Unburden yourself,” Helaena said, her gaze gentle and sad. “And the shadow will fade.”

With that, she turned and drifted away, her figure disappearing down the garden path, leaving Aemond alone with her words echoing in his mind.

He stood there, watching Valaena and their children, feeling both the ache of his love for them and the fear that had been eating away at him.

He knew Helaena was right—he could feel that shadow growing, twisting inside him, but he didn’t know how to face it.

He didn’t know if he could.

Aemond stood in their shared chambers, the quiet broken only by the soft rustling of fabric as he ran a damp rag over his face.

Dressed only in his loose, partially unlaced breeches that were hanging low on his hips, he felt a strange, restless tension. Just then, a knock sounded at the door.

He strode over, swinging it open to find Luke standing there.

Aemond's eye narrowed. “And what is it that you want, my lord Strong?” His tone was cold, disdain unmistakable in his words.

Luke met his stare, undeterred. “I was wondering if Valaena–”

“No,” Aemond cut him off sharply. “She’s busy.”

“But I–” Luke began, only to be cut off again.

“Are you deaf, bastard? I said no.” The words were laced with a sneer, a finality meant to end the conversation.

Luke’s face flushed, but he stood his ground. “She’s, my sister.”

Aemond curled his lip. “She’s, my wife.” And with that, he slammed the door in Luke’s face.

From behind him, Valaena emerged from their bathing chambers, wrapped in a soft towel, her damp hair framing her face.

“Who was that?” she asked, amused by the irritation on Aemond's face.

“No one,” he muttered dismissively.

Valaena’s smile softened as she approached him, her voice warm with affection. “You can’t keep me locked up forever, you know.”

Aemond’s lips curved slightly, though he made no attempt to deny it. “Why not?”

Laughing softly, she reached up and placed her hands on his bare chest, looking into his eye. “I know you wish to have me all to yourself,” she said.

“But you was in the gardens yesterday, with Lirri and the children.”

Valaena sighed, drawing him closer. “And you was there, watching our every move.”

 Aemond closed his eye, pressing his forehead to hers. “I just want you to be well.”

“I’m fine, Aemond. Truly” she whispered back, her hands brushing his jaw.

He stroked her cheek, his voice raw with unspoken fears. “I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

“You won’t,” Valaena promised, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

He wrapped his arms around her, their kiss deepening, her towel slipping unnoticed to the floor as he felt her warm skin against his.

A surge of desire flared through him, and he guided her back toward the bed. Valaena sank down, pulling him with her, his lips never leaving hers.

“I’m healed from birthing Aemon. I-I’m ready to have you again-” whispered Valaena.

Aemond groaned as he moved his lips down to her neck, pressing reverent kisses along her skin, his hand reaching to push down his breeches, so he could free his hard aching cock.

But suddenly, a number of dark thoughts cut through his desire like a knife, stopping him cold.

What if his seed took root?

There was moontea, but what if for whatever reason it didn’t work?

And she became with child again?

What if another child was too much for her?

What if the strain of carrying another babe weakened her, or worse—what if he lost her for good?

The memory of those harrowing weeks, of watching her slip between life and death, seized him with fear. His hands froze, and a hollow ache of terror filled his chest.

“Sorry—I-I can’t,” he stammered, his voice thick with emotion.

He moved away from her, pulling his breeches up and quickly throwing on a shirt and tunic, each action feeling desperate, almost frantic.

“A-Aemond?” Valaena’s voice was soft, laced with confusion, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, keeping his gaze fixed away from her.

Without another word, he hurried from the room, leaving her sitting on the bed, bewildered and hurt at his rejection.

As Valaena roamed the corridors, she almost collided with Aegon, who gave her a quick once-over with an amused smirk.

“Looking for Aemond?” he asked. “He’s gone flying with Vhagar.”

“Oh,” she sighed, shoulders slumping in disappointment.

“Yeah, nearly knocked me down in his haste-” Aegon huffed, one eyebrow raised. “Only lost one eye, surely he’s not that fucking blind.”

Valaena managed a small smile at his jest, but it was tinged with sadness.

Aegon noticed and tilted his head, his humour softening. “What’s wrong?”

She sighed, reluctant. “Like you’d really want to listen to my problems.”

Aegon snorted, folding his arms. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it.”

Valaena hesitated, starting and stopping, words catching in her throat. “I just-I-”

“Oh, for gods’ sake. Come to my chambers. We’ll have a drink,” Aegon interrupted, waving his hand in a gesture of invitation.

Valaena raised her brow, chuckling. “Aemond would love that.”

“Well, Aemond’s not here, is he?” Aegon countered, grinning. “Besides, you need a break. Just one drink.”

After a moment’s thought, she shrugged, “True enough. Just one though-”

Aegon’s laughter boomed down the hallway. “Oh, come on, you’re no fun. I’ve got real Arbor Gold stashed—none of that piss swill the Queen drinks.”

Valaena laughed and followed him into his chambers, grimacing as she took in the mess.

His bed was covered with rumpled sheets, and some strange wooden objects littered the bedside table.

She reached out, curious, but Aegon held up a hand. “Ah-ah. I wouldn’t do that.”

“And why not?” she asked.

“Well, I might’ve used that with my favourite whore last night,” he replied with a shrug.

Valaena made a face and recoiled. “You have a favourite whore?”

He nodded, giving her a mischievous look. “I was once a man of many tastes. But last year, I thought, why not have just the one-”

“-You mean my mother won’t let you have any more coin from the treasury to pay for your indulgences?”

Aegon folded his arms, conceding. “You got that right, the tight fisted bitch. It’s not like I was causing any trouble.”

“Just dishonouring your wife,” Valaena teased, watching his expression carefully.

Aegon’s smirk faded, and he shook his head. “Hel’s my sister. I love her, but not as a wife. I’ve tried-but-”

“It’s okay,” Valaena murmured, cutting him off.

She could see the strain of expectation in his gaze and let the conversation drift.

Aegon knelt, rummaging under his bed, and came back up with a bottle, proudly presenting it.

“Told you I had it. Finest Arbor Gold, last of my stash-” He poured a cup for her and one for himself, raising it high. “-You might be the Queen, but up yours Rhaenyra you tight fisted bitch”

Valaena cut him off with a sharp look. “That’s my mother you’re insulting.”

Aegon just shrugged, unbothered. “I’m entitled to be annoyed. Taking away my coin like that. Who does she think she is?”

Valaena smirked as she took a sip of wine. “The Queen.”

Aegon wrinkled his nose, muttering, “Yeah, the bitch Queen of basta—” He stopped himself as Valaena shot him a glare.

Silence settled between them as they sipped their wine, but then Aegon eventually broke it, glancing sideways at her. “So, what’s my twat of a brother done now?”

Valaena sighed, laughing a little despite herself. “What makes you think he’s done something?”

Aegon rolled his eyes. “Well, he’s spent the last few weeks clinging to you like a leech, and now he’s pissed off on that mouldy rock he calls a dragon, and you’re wandering around here like a ghost. By that logic, he’s clearly done something.”

“It’s-it’s not what he’s done,” she admitted, the words slipping out reluctantly. “It’s what he hasn’t done.”

“Alright, what?” Aegon asked, prodding with a smirk, but his tone was curious, genuinely interested.

“Well-” Valaena hesitated, glancing down at her cup. “-I’ve healed since birthing Aemon, and things were-progressing between us. But then he just stopped saying that he couldn’t, and he left.”

Aegon choked on his wine, laughing. “You’re telling me my brother couldn’t-get it up? Oh, man I can’t wait til he gets back-”

“It wasn’t that-” she shot back, half-laughing, half-defensive. “He was-ready. He just freaked out.”

Aegon raised an eyebrow, thoroughly entertained. “You didn’t have a bogey on your face, did you? Happened to me once with a woman I took to bed. So gross-”

“Aegon, no,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I did not have a fucking bogey on my face”

“Look, my brother might have the most punchable face in Westeros, but he loves you-” Aegon replied, a little more seriously. “-If he freaked out, there must’ve been a reason.”

She nodded, frowning. “Maybe. I just-I don’t know. He was really into it, and then-”

Aegon shrugged, taking another long sip. “-I wish I could give you a rundown of the inner workings of my little brothers twisted mind, but I can't, all I can say is, just be patient. He’ll come around. Or ignore him for a while. He’ll come crawling back soon enough.”

Valaena laughed softly. “And that’s what passes for advice?”

He smirked, holding up his cup. “I promised to listen, didn’t I? besides I’m far too sober to giving you any pearls of wisdom. But-you know what you’re actually not that bad, you know.”

Valaena clinked her cup against his, smiling. “Neither are you.”

In the quiet of the nursery, Valaena rocked little Aemon in her arms, singing softly, her voice warm and low.

"Drakari pykiros, Tīkummo jemiros, Yn lantyz bartossa, Saelot vāedis. Perzyro udrȳssi, Ezīmptos laehossi, Hārossa letagon, Aōt vāedan. Hae mērot gierūli, Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī." (Fire breather, winged leader, but two heads, to a third sing. With words of flame, with clear eyes, to bind the three, to you I sing. As one we gather, and with three heads, we shall fly as we were destined, beautifully, freely).

As she finished, she kissed Aemon’s forehead and laid him gently in his cot, covering him with the blanket Helaena had so carefully sewn for him.

She turned and saw Aemond leaning in the doorway, watching her.

“Beautiful,” he said, his voice soft, almost reverent.

Valaena didn’t answer but moved to her vanity, beginning to undo the braids.

She kept her gaze on the looking glass, watching Aemond’s reflection as he stepped forward.

His hand moved to hers, stilling her fingers, and he murmured, “Let me.”

Valaena nodded silently, letting her hands fall to her lap as he took over, slowly unfastening the ties and clips holding her hair in place.

 One by one, the braids unravelled under his touch, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders and down her back.

Aemond’s hands lingered, skimming over her shoulders and moving to her breasts, his fingers grazing the curve of her breasts before teasing the stiffened peak of her nipple of the fabric of her dress.

Valaena closed her eyes, a soft sigh escaping her, feeling the intimacy of his touch.

But then, he pulled away.

She opened her eyes, watching him in the looking glass as he moved to undress, his expression unreadable.

She turned back to Aemon’s cot, checking on him once more, before slipping out of her gown and pulling on a clean shift.

Valaena could feel Aemond’s eye on her, watching as she prepared for bed, but he said nothing, and she, too, stayed silent.

She slipped beneath the covers, waiting, feeling the silence between them stretching long and tense.

After a sigh, Aemond joined her, lying on his back with his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Usually, he would reach for her, pulling her close, his arms around her as they lay together.

Tonight, though, he stayed away, the empty space between them feeling colder, wider—like an unspoken chasm.

Valaena’s heart twisted, and she took a steadying breath, finally voicing what had been weighing on her mind.

“Have I done something wrong?”

Aemond remained silent, his jaw tight, his gaze unmoving. The silence between them grew heavy, filling the room with a sense of absence, a painful gap she couldn’t understand.

She watched him for a moment longer, her own confusion and hurt swirling within her, and then she turned onto her side, closing her eyes against the ache in her chest her heart quietly breaking against the silence.

The past weeks had been a trial of silence and distance, growing heavier and colder with each night. Valaena had watched, hurt and bewildered, as Aemond withdrew further and further, the once-intimate bond between them dwindling into something fragile and unfamiliar.

He watched her with a fierce protectiveness during the day, but he wouldn’t touch her—wouldn’t even kiss her.

Each night, he turned to his side, laying as far from her as the bed allowed, leaving her feeling like an untouchable ghost beside him.

She had tried to reach out, to draw him back, asking him what was wrong, why he was avoiding her.

But each time, he brushed her off, tight-lipped and tense, refusing to speak.

Confused, her mind spun with questions and self-doubt, but he only grew more distant, more haunted.

What she didn’t know was that Aemond’s silence came not from a lack of desire but from a torment that consumed him, his fears and guilt clashing painfully with his longing for her.

And one night, things finally boiled over.

Valaena was struggling to undo the laces of her dress, the ties at the back too intricate to reach. Aemond, watching her from across the room, came forward.

“Let me,” he offered, his voice low and tense.

She nodded, and as his hands loosened the bindings, her dress slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet.

He let his fingers trail along her bare skin, his hand brushing over the curve of her back, and Valaena shuddered under his touch, a quiet sigh escaping her lips.

His self-control crumbled. He pressed his face to the hollow of her neck, kissing her skin, his desire finally breaking through the walls he had so desperately tried to build.

His hands gripped her firmly, and he spun her around, capturing her lips in a fierce, almost desperate kiss.

Aemond pushed her backward until she fell onto the bed, pulling him down with her, his own clothes coming off in a flurry of hurried, frantic movements.

His touch was rough, and the ache of longing finally had its outlet, his need a raw, consuming force that surged with each heartbeat.

He took his cock in hand and sheathed himself inside her in a single thrust, his eye rolling into the back of head from the sheer bliss of it.

“A-Aemond-” moaned Valaena, as he begin pounding into her in a series of deep penetrating thrusts.

Gods, he wasn’t going to last.

But then, in the heat of their passion, a dark shadow crept into his mind.

He saw her pale, gaunt face from the weeks she’d laid in a coma, saw the blood that had stained the sheets after Aemon’s birth, felt the cold, terrible weight of the pillow he had once held over her, contemplating doing the unthinkable.

The fear seized him, ripping through him like a dagger, and with a strangled cry, he pulled away.

“No!” he choked, his voice breaking as he reeled backward, breathing heavily. Valaena’s face was flushed, her lips parted in confusion as she gathered the sheet around herself.

“W-What’s wrong?” asked Valaena as she tried to reach for him, her eyes wide with hurt and bewilderment,

But Aemond stepped back, snapping, “Don’t.”

The word struck her, and she recoiled, her eyes brimming with tears. "Why won’t you lay with me? Is it-do you not love me anymore?"

Aemond’s face crumpled, and he grasped her face in his hands, his voice soft but raw. “Of course I love you. It’s-it’s not that.”

She tried to kiss him, to close the aching space between them, but he turned his face away, his hand trembling as he began to hastily pull on his clothes.

Desperate and hurt, Valaena whispered, “Are you seeing someone else? Is that why you won’t take me?”

Aemond’s head snapped up, his voice sharp. “No! I do not have a mistress. How dare you accuse me of such a thing.”

“What else am I supposed to think?” Valaena cried. “You won’t kiss me or touch me. You won’t even look at me like you used to-”

Aemond clenched his jaw, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe I just don’t feel like it.”

The words wounded her, and her voice broke. “I-I know my body has changed since I gave birth. I know I don’t look the same but-but-”

Hearing her doubt herself, thinking she was somehow the cause, shattered him, he loved her mothers body, the lines on her stomach proof of the healthy babes she had birthed him and her large breasts that he loved to nuzzle against.

Aemond shook his head, appalled at how his silence had poisoned her confidence. “It’s not that,” he whispered, horrified.

“Then what is it?” she demanded, her voice rising, hurt giving way to frustration. “You won’t even look at me! If it’s not another woman, then what?”

Aemond closed his eye, breathing heavily. “I can’t-I can’t bear the thought of my seed taking root again, of putting you through that. Do you have any idea how terrified I am at the thought of losing you?”

Her expression softened, and she stepped toward him. “Aemond,” she said gently, “There are ways to prevent your seed from taking root. You know this.”

“What if it doesn’t work? What if you forget? I won’t risk it. I won’t risk you. I can’t live without you-I can’t. I won’t-”

She swallowed, her voice trembling as she looked up at him, her own pain and frustration flashing across her face. “So, your answer is to push me away? To let me think that it’s my fault?”

Aemond’s voice cracked, his gaze desperate and pained. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then help me too understand,” Valaena pleaded. “I need to know. Please, Aemond. Don’t shut me out-”

He backed away, his face pale, his hands clenching and unclenching as his shame and fear reached their breaking point.

Finally, he looked at her, his voice a raw whisper.

“I-I tried to kill you.”

The words fell into the room like a stone, each one a confession of pain that had haunted him every night since her recovery.

TBC

[blackmotionsoup]

Tonight I sliced a chunk off of my heel while doing callus maintenance, bled all over the bathroom, nearly passed out before slapping some bandaids on it and collapsing into bed to wait for the nausea and dizziness to pass, only to recover, go back into he bathroom, and find one of my roommates cats sitting in the bloody water of my shower 🥰 Massive shout out to Mary Katherine Blackwood for making this situation both much better and much worse

[arsenicflame]

hi i'm really interested in space lesbians! where are they, who are they? how can i see them? (shows, games, books?) also what are you most excited about in s2 of ofmd?

OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY

soooooo my space lesbian enthusiasm refers to 3 separate medias!! (it used to say gay space vikings bc that was an even more specific niche buuuut im way more into tihylttw these days s o) one day i am going to make a fuckin venn diagram of my girls because they all have so many similarities. (loki/sigyn and angela/sera are basically the same characters change my mind.)

this is about to get real long bc im unhinged about them <3 10/10 would talk about them all day if the communities were there

our first space lesbians are loki + sigyn from the bifrost incident! TBI is an album by the band the mechanisms which you can find wherever you listen to music (youtube here) its a norse mythology inspired rock/steampunk-esque album and it is SO GOOD- it takes place on a train in SPACE in the format of an incident investigation. its a story so you have to listen to the tracks in order :)

--

next up! this is how you lose the time war- our lesbians in this are called red + blue because we have deconstructed this trope to its most basic format at this point :') its a short book, and you may be familiar with it as it went viral from a trigun fan tweet a few months back. (my url (and sewing blog url) are actually references to a quote from this book!) you can get it wherever you get books and id recc the audiobook if youre into that i am also in possession of the pdf if you wantto try before you buy.

tihylttw is a story told through the exchange of letters between two agents on opposite sides of a war- it usually gets described as enemies to lovers but id personally use rivals as i think it describes them better. the book is known for being incredibly poetic and sometimes pretentious in its writing and i just think its the most beautiful thing ever. lesbians do it better

honestly theres nothing i could say for tihylttw better than it could say for itself, i just adore the universe theyve built and i want to KNOW MORE. i love you and i love you and i want to find out what that means together

--

saving the best for last is my girls angela + sera. the most of all time. nobody compares to them for me. they consume me

angela + sera are from marvel comics and you can find my complete reading list here, but if im talking about them positively, im usually talking about one of the titular Angela comics, and more often than not queen of hel.

honestly i love the angela comics so much that im making myself speechless trying to figure out where to start. Angela falls into the asgard side of marvel comics, though she is a lot more fluid in her affiliations, her whole thing being that she deals in deals- nothing for nothing everything has its price. she is at times described as emotionless and is generally quite a stoic character, especially around strangers. the major exception to this is her wife, sera. seras one of marvels few canon trans characters and i think she is just so wonderfully written. shes witty and cheeky and doesnt take shit from anyone, even when it gets her into trouble- and oh boy does sera find herself in some predicaments! the angela comics are often just as poetic as tihylttw for me, theyll drop an 'as long as you are with me, i am not afraid' and ill need to go smother myself in a pillow for a sec. in QOH they adopt a daughter who is Also a lesbian, shes an alternate version of leah of hel and i ALSO adore her.

im desperately trying to avoid plot points but god. the main arc is 21 issues of smooching Shakespearean space angels what more could you want?

(through sera & angela we get a lot of heven lore and honestly that could be its whole own thing for me im SO fascinated.)

my girls are currently in comic hell, i am praying they will get something good soon 🙏🙏

--

and what am i most excited about for season 2? can i just say izzy? can i just say anne + mary? dude im so ready for some lesbians you have no idea actually you probably have a very good idea if you made it this far down. im incredibly excited to be seeing izzy get a favourable arc this season, im really hoping to see him develop relationships with everyone else, see him grapple with feelings around ed (actually im really hoping he chooses not to forgive ed. for growth) im excited to see whats gonna go down with his leg, im excited to see wtf is going on w ed + stede because i have no idea what the continuity is at the moment, im just excited!!!!!! i honestly dont think theres anything im not excited about everything looks so good so far

[tonycries]

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[gojosprettyprincess]

Hide n Fuck!!?

Synopsis - A quick game of hide n seek quickly turns into a nasty game of hide n fuck with your step-brother Megumi

Warning! - Prone bone, stepcest, they fuck in the attic, degradation, praising, spiting, dirty talk, creampie, choking, breeding kink, Reader is 19 n Megumi is 21, They aren’t blood related. They got caught :0, they may be some grammar errors!! Please do not interact if this isn’t your cup of tea!! MDNI!! Oh he is Toji’s son alright.

Kinktober List ԅ(°Д°ԅ)

A/n - I’m so horny

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You didn’t think the day would come where you get to relive a cherishable childhood memory of playing one of your favorite games of all time. Playing a game of hide and seek with Megumi and his cousins—a game you never thought you’d play again considering the fact that you were 19 and what people would describe as "too grown" to be playing childish games like that but fortunately, some of Megumi’s family from his dad's side came over for a small family reunion so that’s what led to the evocation.

You sighed in disappointment after finding a well concealed spot to hide in the crowded attic—behind some large boxes in the corner that has been collecting dust for probably years now, just to be raided by Megumi, who joined you.

It was a pretty clandestine hiding spot but now the chances of getting caught has increased even more because it’s been proven to you throughout the years in your childhood that you’ve played the game that you're most likely to get caught quicker if someone else was hiding with you.

But soon enough all those apprehension flew right past your head once you were being fucked hard into oblivion by Megumi— he’s basically mounting you, his larger frame almost crushing your back as you lay on your stomach. Your ass arching up a bit to accommodate the amelioration of the angle. His curved dick sliding in and out of your gushing cunt with ease every time he humps himself into you. His pelvis slapping against the fat of your ass so lewdly, causing the flesh to jiggle like jello against him. Literally, all that could be heard were his loud breathing and occasional groans, your pathetic moaning and babbling a bunch of god knows what, along with the constant sounds of his meaty balls thwacking against your puffy clit—that’s practically wet and dripping with slick. It was actually so fucking nasty how wet you were, coating and drooling all over his cock with your aroused slick as your snugged pussy enveloped his mean cock.

“Fuck you hear how soaked she is for me? Such a little slut. You don’t care what the situation is, you just wanna get your little hole stuffed and fucked like a horny bitch, is that right?” his deep voice rasped against your ear, it was pretty hilarious to you that he was saying that when he was the one groping you from behind and kissing your neck while rubbing his hard bulge into your ass with your skirt hauled up just seconds after he joined you—basically the one to initiate what was happening in the first place. You weren’t even surprised though, Megumi always had a thing for sneaky fucking—An exhibition freak.

You moaned out like brainless slut, placing one of your hands on Megumi’s right hand, which is balled up into a fist to ground himself at the sides of your head. He was so close to you that you could smell the delicious scent of his cologne—sweet and minty, wafting straight into your nostrils, making your mind hazy.

“Gumiii” you whined, feeling your brains getting fucked out that you're just babbling nonsense at the point. “Hmm? What is it baby” he moved his head closer to yours, licking a long stripe on the side of your neck that sent shivers down your spine. "We need to ngh—Hur-ry, or we’ll get cccaught!” You yelped suddenly, biting your lips when you felt two of his lengthy fingers toying with your nipple, tugging and pinching the hard bud.

“Oh yeah? Then I guess you’ll just have to be a good girl f’me and be extra fucking quiet or would you rather let everyone see and hear you getting fucked dumb and stupid by your stepbrother’s cock?” His deep voice whispered in your ear, a tiny smirk plastered on the corner of his face that immediately made your pussy clenched even harder around his girth, Your jaw dropped as his cockhead kissed your cervix, making your eyes roll back in your head. It’s like every time he fucked his cock deeper and deeper into you, your mind goes clumsy and you turn into a brainless zombie.

There’s no way any one couldn’t hear the loud thumping noises and loud moans coming from the attic—there’s no way fucking way but by the way Megumi was being an arrogant lil shit and stretching your little pussy open with his cock so brutally to accommodate his size like this, making you moan uncontrollable as if he wants someone to hear and get caught, he doesn’t seem to give a shit.

“Fuckk wish I could suck on those pretty tits” he murmured as he fondled with your breast, groping and squeezing the soft flesh as you shiver slightly because of his cold hands. He quickly lets go and wraps his big hand over your throat, angling your head to look up at him, a dark glint beaming in his eye with a tiny smirk as he eyed your fucked out face. He watched as your face distorted in pleasure, his thick cock twitching in your pussy knowing that he was the reason for that. You opened your mouth, acquitting a loud pornographic moan, Megumi used that as a perfect opportunity to corrugate his lips, a loud “pff” sound ringing in your ears as you felt a thick substance hitting your tongue. “Swallow it now” he ordered nonchalantly, dark blue eyes piercing into your soul. You did as you were told and swallowed his spit, opening your mouth after to prove it to him.

“Mmm That’s a gooddd girl, fuckk this pussy s’good, imagine if I blow my load inside this pretty cunt and fill you up, bet you’d like that yeah? Wanna give your mom and Toji some snotty little grandkids?” He babbles maniacally in your ear as you go stupid, feeling your orgasm approaching.

He noticed. Hand enthralling harder around your neck as he buckled his hips against you roughly, pulling his thick cock out of you just to bully it right back into your tight hole faster knocking loud whimpers out of you. He quickly lets go of your neck, his hand snaking its way to your sticky clit, using three fingers to sloppily rub circles on it without any type of rhythm, if you weren’t fucked so dumb right now you might’ve actually had a chance to recognize the messy spelling of his name rubbing onto your clit. “Fuckkk—look at this greedy little pussy squeezing my cock like this, you gonna cum? You really gonna make a mess on your step-brothers dick? Fuck you’re suchhh a little slut, baby. He laughed while moaning, feeling your pussy milking his cock for his own release. Fuck he really is considering fucking a baby into you at this point, your pussy was driving him crazy. His eyes rolled to the back of his head so pathetically as you screamed his name, feeling your hole spasming around his length as you squirted on his cock and all over the floor. Wet squelching noises achoing against the thin wooden walls as he fucked the liquid out of you, steams of your pussy juice heaving everywhere.

“Shitt you squirted??Oh fuckfuckfuck, What a dirty bitch” he gritted his teeth, almost losing his mind. Oh he’s trying his best to hold onto the small amount of sanity he has left as his cock molds your hole perfectly, his thick girth sliding into your pussy painfully fast because of your wetness. His mean tip grazing against your g-spot perfectly that it made your toes curl. You can feel literally feel how much his cock was twitching and beating against your fluttery walls, His eyes screwed shut as he emptied his balls into your messy pussy, cum overflowing and pooling everywhere as he shot ropes of his seed into your womb.

“Holy fuckkk yeah you’re definitely hah—carrying my kid, woman” he groaned loudly, stilling himself inside of you for a bit to catch his breathe before picking himself up from your back to rest himself on the back of your thighs, his eyes fixated on the mess between your thighs. He bit his lips, slowly slipping his cock out of you as he watched as your mixed cum leaks out of you. You whined lowly feeling so stuffed full yet so empty at the same time without Megumi’s cock. You body fully collapsed on the floor, you were so fucked out you couldn’t even process anything as he slowly spread your cheeks, getting a better view of your ruined hole before slapping his dick on your cunt, he let it a low “fuck” as your juices splattered on him.

“Such a messy bitch” he muttered with low grunt, Slapping his soaked cock on your cheeks.

“Best little step-sister aren’t ya?” He smirks. About to open his mouth to speak again before the attic door flew open, causing the two of you to jolt unexpectedly—both eyes shooting open toward the source.

“GOT YAA-“ Yuji’s eyes quickly widen, mouth visibly dropped at the lewd scene in front of him. A horrific expression plastered on his face. Oh boy.

[bunnys-kisses]

i have this little thought bouncing around in my head! single father simon. (a drabble)

*shrug*

simon ends up with his daughter winnie after her mother abandons her at his doorstep. he was the father, it was his turn to take care of her. simon could handle warfare, he could handle guns and sweat and metal. he could handle blood and bruises.

but a fussy newborn was a little too much for him.

enter you, it was your summer off from university and you were making extra money by babysitting for parents who couldn't afford weeks of posh summer camps. it was decent work and you were pretty good with them! so being concerned for your neighbour, simon's well being, you offered to watch winnie.

simon very well fell in love with you the moment you took the baby girl into you arms. winnie instantly got settled into your grasp, almost like you were her mother.

"what a lovely baby girl." you cooed, you looked at her with such affection already. you looked at simon and smiled, "she looks too cute to be yours." a playful jab.

you watched winnie while simon was at work. you didn't know what he did for work, but you tried not to ask too many questions. all you knew was that the checks didn't bounce when you cashed them.

but being with winnie for so many days had gossip go through the apartment building. you had a baby with simon? why were you in two separate apartments? where did the lovely newborn sleep? she SHOULD be sleeping with her mother (you).

when you tried to correct them, simon always said, "ah don't worry. we'll be havin' our own place soon enough!" his large hand snaked around your waist.

you just looked down at winnie who was sound asleep in her stroller. she couldn't care less who her mommy and daddy were. it wouldn't be hard to be the mother she'd otherwise be without, right?

that was the angle that simon too.

you'd make the most perfect mrs. riley. you were already taking care of winnie, but also him when he came home. you shouldn't be the nanny, you should be winnie's mama.

"she really loves you." simon remarked when you went with him to the pool.

you were in a one piece swim suit and you were making sure that the baby was out of the sun and had sunscreen on. you didn't want her to get sick or burned.

currently she was resting on your chest while you were in the shade. in your free hand you had a book in it and the other was on winnie's back. you said, "i don't know what you're talking about." as if you hadn't heard the comments from the little old ladies about how sweet you two looked.

"look like a real mama."

you looked to him and raised your eyebrows, "i thought i was the babysitter, mister riley."

simon placed a hand on your thigh then rubbed up and down, "nah."

it didn't take long for you and simon to get intimate. he asked you to stay because winnie had been having trouble sleeping. you two shared a glass of wine and then you found yourself face first into simon's bed. the scent of him filled your head as he fucked you into the comfortable mattress.

he loved the sound of your pussy as he fucked you without much abandon. the thickness on your hips would only grow once he made sure his next child was inside of you. you'd be such a good mama, unlike that previous bitch who left him.

maybe there was a good reason why she left him.

cum clung to the fuzz on your pussy lips and was a bitch to clean in the shower come morning.

he woke you up and said, "she needs her mama. she gettin' fussy, doll." then watched you stumble around to find clothes to wear while you checked on winnie as if the little girl was your own. his hand was wrapped around his cock. he wondered how many more times he could finish in you before you stumbled back to your apartment.

the answer was four.

it wouldn't be easy carrying for a sprouting little baby plus the baby boy you were currently pregnant with. you've put school off for a little while and moved in with simon, your due date was in the middle of the semester. now you were trying to figure out what food was good for a teething winnie while also trying to manage the riley son that was occupying your womb.

you were making dinner for your growing family with a cute little maternity dress of. simon was at the table with winnie. he knew that one day he'd have to tell her that you weren't her actual mama. but you were raising her and her little brother too.

"see there's mama." simon said in that grumbled voice of his, pointing in your direction.

you didn't imagine that you would've ended up as a stay-at-home mother to two children who were than a year apart. but as you felt the shift of your 'second' baby inside of you, you smiled.

you heard winnie make a little noise to get your attention. you checked on the pot of sauce on the stove before you turned away to check on your little girl.

[ot8xbangchansgirlsblog]

𝕃𝕦𝕟𝕒 | ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕟𝕖 | ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕨𝕠 | ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖 | ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣

Warning: Angst/mention of death/Blood/MPreg/MxM

A/B/O dynamics:

Omega (Han, Felix, Y/n)

Beta (Hyunjin, Seungmin, I.N)

Alpha (Chan, Changbin, Leeknow)

The series might traumatize you. I really hope you guys like it and enjoy it.

Summary - Request; I've just been reading your A/B/O series and it's so so so good. I was wondering if you would accept an ot8 request where their omega gets in trouble with another pack and Straykids are really worried?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

"Is Y/N okay? Please tell me she’s okay?" Chan’s voice was laced with panic as they finally stepped into the house. His eyes were bloodshot, and so were Changbin’s—both of them were fully in alpha mode.

His body ached, but he could already feel his powers working, healing him rapidly. One thing about alphas: they always heal in hours, no matter the damage.

"Can we at least get you settled before you start panicking?" Leeknow scoffed, his tone exasperated. "You’re acting like you’re not bleeding right now."

"Oh, hyung!" Felix gasped, hands covering his mouth in shock. He looked terrified. "What happened to you guys?" His omega was whimpering anxiously, and Felix’s hands shook as he tried to move closer, but Seungmin held him back.

"We’re fine, Lix. Just a little damage control," Changbin teased, waving it off.

"You guys can't keep doing this to me. I’m too pregnant to be stressed out every time you walk through that door!" Felix huffed, pouting in frustration.

"Come here, sweetie," Chan said softly, holding out his uninjured hand. Seungmin released his hold on Felix’s waist, and Felix waddled towards his pack alpha, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting away.

"You must have been so worried, hm?" Chan kissed the younger boy gently and began to scent him, his fingers gently brushing through Felix’s hair as Felix clung to him tightly, unwilling to let go.

"Yes, I was... I can’t lose you guys too," Felix sniffled, his voice trembling.

"I'm fine," Chan assured him, his voice steady. "I’m right here, and so is Changbin. We’re not going anywhere anytime soon." He kissed Felix’s forehead. "Go ahead and finish your dinner with I.N and Seungmin. We’ll be there soon, okay?" Chan noticed the food still on the table, realizing they had been in the middle of dinner.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" Felix asked again, his concern still clear.

"Positive," Chan replied with a reassuring smile. "You know me. I’ll heal in a few hours, and then I’ll tell you about my little adventure. I’ll come cuddle you tonight."

"Really?" Felix’s eyes widened, and his voice held a spark of excitement. Chan hadn’t been able to sleep with him the past week because of all the stress, so this meant a lot to Felix.

"Yeah, I promise," Chan said, his smile softening. "Now, go eat. We’ll join you soon."

Felix nodded, giving Chan a quick kiss on the cheek before waddling back to the dining room, rejoining the rest of the pack.

Leeknow sighed as he shifted his weight to help Chan, once again supporting him. "Let’s get you both cleaned up," he muttered.

"Binnie-hyung?" I.N’s voice called from across the room, his tone shy and hesitant.

"Yeah, I.N?" Changbin, who had been lounging on the couch, looked up at the younger boy. I.N was standing awkwardly, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"Can you sleep with me tonight?" I.N asked quietly, his face turning even redder. He fidgeted, clearly embarrassed by his own request.

"Of course, love," Changbin replied with a warm smile. "You can always sleep with me."

I.N's face lit up with a huge grin, and he giggled, practically skipping off to the dining room, clearly thrilled.

"I swear, those boys love you more than they love us sometimes," Hyunjin grumbled, rolling his eyes as he helped Changbin off the couch.

"Pack alpha always wins," Chan said with a teasing smirk, his eyes glowing faintly red, clearly enjoying the banter. The other boys groaned in unison and rolled their eyes.

When Leeknow got Chan into his room, he couldn’t resist flicking the older alpha lightly on the forehead, earning a small grunt from him.

"Ow!"

"You idiot," Leeknow scolded as he carefully helped Chan sit down on the bed. "No way you went and killed them without the rest of us. I thought you guys were just going to hunt."

"Leeknow, they saw us coming. Mark and the others were already in position. They wanted to finish it quickly, and I didn’t have a chance to react," Chan sighed but winced as Leeknow gently removed his clothes.

"Are the others injured, or was it just you?" Leeknow asked, his voice a mix of concern and frustration. He was trying to stay calm, but it was clear he was upset about Chan's reckless decision.

"No, everyone else is fine," Chan reassured him. "They’re coming over tomorrow for dinner to celebrate."

Leeknow sighed, nodding. "Well, I’ll need to go hunting for some meat then," he said, focusing on wrapping Chan's wounds.

"H-how’s Y/N?" Chan asked, his face twisted in pain as he winced again. His thoughts were clearly on his luna, and Leeknow could see it in his eyes.

"She’s doing okay," Leeknow replied, his expression softening. "She let Han in today, but..." he hesitated. "She’s still not letting anyone into the bond. She’s rejecting even Hyunjin."

Chan’s expression dropped. "Yeah, I figured. My bite mark still feels like it’s burning," he said with a defeated sigh.

"She’ll come around, Hyung," Leeknow said gently, pausing to adjust the bandage on Chan's arm. "Time will heal things. You did what you needed to. Now we just need to give her space to heal, too."

"What am I supposed to do, Leeknow?" Chan asked, looking up at him, his eyes filled with frustration and self-doubt. "I handled the rogues, but I can’t fix what they did to her. I can’t make it right. It feels like she’s still hurting, and I don’t know how to help her. I thought I’d feel better, but it’s like I’m suffocating… and I can’t fix it..." His voice trailed off, heavy with the weight of his words.

Leeknow paused, seeing the pain in Chan's eyes. Without saying a word, he leaned in and placed a firm, comforting kiss to his forehead.

"Hyung, you really need to stop blaming yourself, actually...we all need to stop blaming ourselves," Leeknow said, his voice full of quiet conviction. "You’ve done what you needed to. Time will heal everything, but you can’t do it all. You took care of the rogues, but now we need to give her the space to heal. We can’t keep dwelling on the past. Felix needs you, and so does she."

Chan let out a long breath, feeling the tension slowly drain from his body, but his worry for Y/N was still there. "I’m trying to be there for them both," he murmured. "Everyone expects me to hold it together, and I just don’t know how."

"Chan," Leeknow sighed, rolling his eyes at the older alpha’s stubbornness. "You’ve got a thick head, don’t you?" He chuckled softly. "You can’t fix everything right now. Time will take care of things. Let’s focus on the positives. Y/N is back home, Felix is healthy. We have that."

"Yeah," Chan agreed, finally giving in to Leeknow’s words. "You’re right."

"I know I am," Leeknow said with a grin. "Now, go take a shower, you’re a mess. And while you’re at it, tell me everything about your little killing hunt later."

Chan couldn’t help but smile at Leeknow’s playful tone, feeling a bit lighter. "Alright, alright," he chuckled. "I’ll go clean up, but you better not skip dinner, go eat."

"oh please! how can i eat with you rascals running around." chan stuck his tongue out as he slowly limped into the bathroom.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When Hyunjin finally helped Changbin get dressed in pajamas after a shower (the alpha didn’t really need help, he just wanted Hyunjin’s attention), they both made their way downstairs into the dining hall, where everyone was already sitting, including Minho and Chan.

"What took you guys so long?" Seungmin asked, raising an eyebrow.

"SOMEONE," Hyunjin rolled his eyes and pointed at Changbin, "Wanted me to help him shower and get dressed," he huffed as he took his seat.

"Okay, first of all," Changbin gasped dramatically, holding his chest, "I just got back from a killing hunt. Can’t I ask for a little love and attention from my wife?" He playfully nuzzled his nose into Hyunjin’s neck, earning a surprised moan from him.

"Hyung!" Hyunjin smacked his chest lightly before rubbing his sensitive gland, his face flushed.

"Oh, you two definitely fucked," Seungmin snickered, and the room erupted into laughter.

"We did not!" Hyunjin screeched in embarrassment, his face turning bright red.

"We did too!" Changbin teased, poking Hyunjin’s stomach.

"Ugh, why are you always so...horny?" Hyunjin rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated, though a small smile tugged at his lips. The room was now thick with alpha scent, mixing with the betas' as the tension shifted.

"I'm the one who's horny?" Changbin shot back, but before they could continue, a small voice interrupted.

"Hyung? You’re back?" Han’s voice was soft, his nervousness clear as he stood in the doorway. Chan’s eyes flickered red as he recognized the familiar sweet scent of mangoes and peaches. His omega had arrived.

"Hey, baby," Chan stood immediately, his concern clear as he walked toward Han, who looked hesitant to enter the room.

"Yes, I’m back, my love. Are you okay?" Chan pulled Han into a gentle hug, sensing the exhaustion and sadness hanging around him. Han’s posture was tense, and Chan could feel the weight of the day on him.

"I’m... fine," Han whispered, though his voice trembled slightly. "Just tired."

"Hyunjin..." Han glanced over at him. "Can you—"

"Of course," Hyunjin said, standing up to make a plate of food for Y/N. "I’ll bring it up, don’t worry."

Han gave him a soft smile of gratitude as Hyunjin left the room, carefully carrying the food upstairs.

"She’s asleep, so she’ll be up in a bit for her medicine," Han sighed. He felt Chan's eyes studying him, the weight of his gaze making him uneasy. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Chan’s eyes.

"Do you want to talk, my love?" Chan’s voice was tender, but there was concern behind it.

"Not right now, hyung," Han answered softly. "I just need to eat. I’m tired, and I don’t want to talk."

"Did something happen?" Chan pressed, his voice thick with worry. He couldn’t ignore the way Han had been blocking everyone out, even from the bond.

"No, Chan, it’s just..." Han’s voice broke, his lip trembling. "It’s just... being in that room with her. She’s not getting any better."

"Don’t say that," Felix said, his voice tight as he stood up. "Maybe if I go see her, it’ll help. Maybe I can do something."

"No, Felix," Leeknow’s voice was firm, his tone shifting to something serious.

"Why can’t I go see her?" Felix’s voice was laced with confusion. "Why are you all keeping something from me? Does she not want me there?" His eyebrows furrowed in suspicion.

Leeknow sighed, his gaze shifting away as he answered through the bond talking to only chan so no one else could hear. She doesn’t want him there because of... his situation. Don’t tell him, Chan.

Chan’s expression hardened, but he nodded in understanding. I won’t.

Felix’s frustration was building. "I can see you guys talking through the bond! Why are you hiding something from me? Does she not want to see me?" His voice cracked with hurt.

"I already said no, Felix," Leeknow said, his tone sharper now.

Felix’s eyes watered as he stood there, looking between them. "What are you not telling me, hyung? I can feel you lying through the bond. Just tell me the truth!"

Leeknow exhaled sharply, frustration evident. He stormed out of the room without another word.

"Leeknow, wait!" Felix called, immediately getting up to follow. As he passed Chan and Han, Han reached out and grabbed his hand.

"Just... let him cool off," Han said quietly. "I’ll explain everything. But i need to eat first."

Felix’s eyes softened as he looked at Han. "She doesn’t want to see me, does she?" His voice was breaking now, tears welling up in his eyes. "I knew it."

Before Han could answer, Felix yanked his hand away and quickly turned toward the door.

"Felix, wait!" Chan cursed under his breath before running after the omega.

Seungmin, who had been watching the entire exchange, sighed dramatically. "Well, screw this," he muttered, getting up and heading to the fridge. "I need a drink to deal with all of this."

"Pour me one too," Changbin added, slumping down in his chair. "I can’t keep up with this pack anymore."

Han let out a long sigh, sitting down at the table and serving himself some food. "Tell me about it," he muttered before pouring himself a glass of soju.

"I heard she’s talking again," I.N asked, also helping himself to a drink. "At least that’s a good sign, right?"

"Yeah, we’ve had some conversations," Han replied, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "But mostly... she just cried. About... everything."

"The pup?" I.N asked softly, glancing at Han with concern.

"Yeah," Han said, looking away. "It’s so draining, I thought I could handle it, but being in that room... it’s like I’m sinking."

Seungmin nodded sympathetically. "I get it. When they brought her in, I could barely look at her. I thought I was going to break down too."

"At least she’ll talk to you guys," Changbin said with a groan, his shoulders slumping. "She won’t even let us near her. I can’t wait for all of this to be over."

"Same," I.N, Seungmin, and Han all agreed in unison.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A/N: can these guys actually stop stressing felix tf out

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[sabertoothwalrus]

do you think Falin's chimerism would affect her lifespan and behaviors? or just her body? maybe she can make more animalistic noises or has vague dragon-like instincts?

that’s a really good question! I think we could probably figure this out by taking a look at what we know about Falin, what we know about red dragons, whether these things would apply to Falin, and go from there.

The obvious external changes Falin has are: her eyes, her teeth, and her feathers.

It’s hard to pin down what Falin is like! Throughout the duration of the manga, she wasn’t really a character so much as a plot device. We have almost nothing told from her point of view, and the majority of her unbiased (as in, we’re seeing her through a neutral lens and not another character’s perception of her) characterization is from the post-canon omake.

Even Falin believes that her wanderlust might come from her dragon side, but she's not sure. Personally, I think it’d make a lot of sense if it kind of does, in the sense that she has 20/20 vision now, haha! For most of her life, she could probably only see clearly within a relatively small sphere surrounding her, and now she can see everything. She can look up and around freely in a way she couldn’t before. Fuck man, if I had magic lasik I’d probably go out more too.

Some other quirks that are really unclear whether it’s typical for Falin or chimera-influenced:

she enters rooms through windows, sometimes. And given the leaves in her hair, I think it’s reasonable to assume this is not the first floor 💀 But who knows! Maybe that’s not new for Falin.

She points out that Laios’s scent could deter monsters. Maybe she has enhanced smell. But again, it isn’t unreasonable to think this is something she would have said before. (I think even Chilchuck and Izutsumi, whose senses of smell are enhanced, can’t identify scents well. Kuro, however, can.)

VIOLENCE! But again, we’ve seen her beat shit with her staff before, and she also used to wield a flail. It IS a trait for red dragons to fight any large threat, so if anything, she’s got even better monster fighting instincts than before. I don't think this would carry over to people. Falin has always been better with people, and I'm personally not a fan of seeing her depicted as territorial or possessive. Marcille is already the possessive one, and didn't need dragon blood to be like that.

Ultimately, I don't think her dragon traits extend much farther beyond this. Especially when you consider How Little the dragon is represented as in her conscience.

it's not like it's a 50/50 split. She's like a person with a dragon ratatouille. I don't think she'd be able to make dragon noises. I don't think her body is built for that. I know there's like, a set list of tropey characteristics that are given to almost every non-human character in fiction. and sure that's FINE but they tend not to be especially personalized to the character, and tend to just be an excuse to write them OOC. Like, sure, dragons may have instincts regarding sleep habits, hunting, courting, raising young, etc etc, but so do humans! And we don't compulsively act on every instinctual whim we have. I don't see why it'd be any harder for her new dragon instincts.

If anything, I think she'd feel more affected by the fact that she has part of the demon in her.

I don't think Falin's in any sort of trouble. All the demon was was a way to communicate with people. Here, it's representing Falin's tether to the infinite realm, to mana itself. The winged lion no longer has the desire to consume anymore because, yknow, Laios has that now. This is very likely why she no longer needs to chant to cast magic.

But what else does this mean for her? She already had unusually high reserves of mana + an innate connection with spirits, but is her mana essentially limitless now? How would that affect her lifespan? I'm leaning towards, it wouldn't really?? But is she immune to mana sickness now? Is it more like her magic is just sort of amplified like it would be in a dungeon?

We can infer that having more mana doesn't increase your lifespan, because-- while elves and gnomes have both naturally high levels of mana and longer lifespans-- dwarves live longer but have lowest levels of mana of all.

So to answer your question! Maybe a little bit?? But I don't think she'd change a whole lot.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Fool Dies

Summary: You are a villain known for telling the future. When a Hero kills your right hand, you’ll let the future burn to get her back.

Hero Cowboy kills your henchman after you’ve already surrendered.

Gunshot silence, the scent of iron heavy in your nose, the crippling cold that floods your chest. All familiar sensations, companions you’ve carried with you since you even became a villain, but this time—

This time it’s…different.

You’re on your knees, the rock salt on the road digging into your kneecaps, with your hands above your head, the ghost of your signature smirk fading fast. The street isn’t empty. There are witnesses. The Hero pulls his punches when there are cameras and citizens and teammates. That’s what your plan says. He pulls his punches.

She asked if you were willing to bet her life on that and you said yes.

Your henchman’s body is stuck in the crumpled side of a car. You see her out of your peripheral, the pale oval of her face unencumbered by the mask you’d lovingly bestowed upon her six years ago. Cowboy backhanded it off of her as she was falling to her knees beside you. There is wet and red and twisted metal dancing foggily around her. The air is harsh and cold to breathe. The world is wavering as tears flood your eyes. You can’t blink them away. If you do, you won’t be able to see her just at the corner of your vision, you won’t be able to watch for a breath you already know won’t come, you’re afraid she’ll disappear—

“Clever to pretend to surrender,” the Hero says. He’s like a swan, spreading his arms out so the leather tassels lining the underside of his sleeves look like wings. He tips his head back so that the news cameras rushing in can catch the strength of his jaw under his wide-brimmed hat. She’d managed to singe it in the fight and the light catches in his blue eyes through the resulting hole. “Was it worth it, Prophetess? Was your attempt on my life worth the life of your sidekick?”

Snow falls, a few flakes here and there. The street is lit like the middle of the day thanks to the news cameras swarming out of the side streets now that the fight is over. The fire is being put out and thick curls of smoke rise from just beyond the gathering crowd of onlookers.

Your spellbook is lying a hundred feet away at the bottom of the lake. That’s why the Hero is flaunting himself in front of the cameras, trying to minimize her death at his hand. He did what he had to do. They were wrong, not him. Unfortunate but expected. The Hero always wins.

She’s gone.

The Fool. She always wanted a different name. But you were adamant she wouldn’t receive one until she earned one outside of her service to you. Until then, her name was a reflection of your journey. Your first step, foolish and unknowing, young and ignorant of the consequences. The name felt right when you called it and you never thought to question why. Only now can you taste your own cruel power in the decision. The power of prophecy spelled her fate out in front of you and, like always, you didn’t listen.

Your tattered cloak ripples in the breeze coming off the water. The vibrant purple is stained with soot and worse, the once smooth velvet charred and eaten away at by the Fire Cowboy’s flames.

They don’t remember that you surrendered before he struck. He’s dismissed your uncharacteristic action as an act, and so the world will too. The Prophetess always lies. Isn’t that the first line in your Hero Force file? The Prophetess has no powers of divination; she lies.

The world is magic. You believe it like the sun, like the earth, like the ocean—

--like her—

--and there is magic even here. The spell of your grief rises over your head like a shroud and, for a moment, you are drowning in the dark as the world heaves. You can taste the last cup of coffee she ever gave you going sour at the back of your mouth, the small daily comfort washing away under the metallic scent of her blood. There is a purple current around your thoughts, painful and biting. You will always be in this moment with her jester’s mask – cruel, you are so cruel – leering up at you, closer to your hands than her. How did you let her get so far out of reach?

Why didn’t you hold her close?

“I asked,” Cowboy says from directly in front of you, “if it was worth it?”

The world pulses back into purple focus. Cowboy is looming over you and the smoke of your battle rises into the night behind him. The media jockeys closer the longer you are silent and they’re inching around the car she’s lying against.

“Tell them to get away from her,” you say. Normal, your voice is so normal. Your arms are burning from holding your hands over your head and your neck aches from forcing yourself not to look. You are afraid your tears will fall if you blink so you stare at the gaudy belt buckle in front of your face. Your eyes are purple in the reflection and your face is as pale as hers. “P-please.”

Cowboy must kill all the time. He has no problem glancing towards the slowly gathering swarm and you can feel his eyes on her body as if they were on your own. “They’re trying to help her.”

“She’s beyond helping,” you say. Why would they even try? You can’t even look at her and you can tell that. “I don’t want anyone touching her.”

“They’re not monsters,” Cowboy says. There’s a scoff and then he’s crouching in front of you. He smells like singed leather. “Not like you.”

You’ve never seen the Hero this close. He’s older than you thought, only a few years shy of your age. His stubble is darkened with soot and his nose bears scars of past battles. His eyes—they’re not blue. You can see the edge of brown behind his contacts, the same deep brown as his mask.

“You killed her,” you say.

“No, you did.” He answers you so quickly it’s like he was waiting for those exact words. He tilts his head so the brim of his hat hides his lips in shadow. “She wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for you.”

He’s so confident that you nearly believe him. Your hands ache with phantom bruises from the blows and the weight of your sin falls onto your shoulders like the sky itself coming to rest there.

--------------.

 You see the trajectory of her life lined in gold. Her first day at your firm, her finding out your identity, her wavering in front of the window overlooking the Charlotte skyline as she admitted to knowing exactly who you are and how you’d been hiding more than your fair share of power all along.

That moment shines. She wasn’t the Fool then. She ripped her pencil skirt up the side as you debated her fate. When you asked her why, she said in case she needed to run.

“You would run from me?” you asked, eyebrow raised, conveying with expression alone how ridiculous you found the idea of her getting away was.

“I would,” she said. She grinned unhappily. “You can kill me, but you’ll break a sweat doing it.”

You laughed and held out your hand. When she took it, the outline of her life changed. No longer edged in gold. All black. A night sky all around her.

“You’re a fool for this,” you told her.

“The biggest one around,” she said, chagrined. Then she laughed with you.

You’ll never hear her laugh again.

----------.

There is a protocol for arresting a villain. Cowboy is already so outside of Hero Force code that it takes a while for things to be ready. He stands over you for the better part of an hour, smiling at the cameras, glaring you into submission, waving to the officers that eventually come to secure the scene.

An ambulance comes to take her body away. Only when they load her into it do you move. You watch the side of the vehicle like you can see through it. Cowboy tenses when it starts to drive away, but you don’t twitch. Her body isn’t her. If you start clinging to it now, you will never let her go.

“I know they call you Cowboy,” a woman drawls, “but you aren’t supposed to act like one.”

The reporters leap out of Strongwoman’s way. Barely five feet, Strongwoman is a super hero. Nobody is willing to get too close, regardless of how good and moral she is. The dark-haired woman is one of the few heroes who don’t wear a mask. No villain is stupid enough to think that makes her weak. Her dark eyes catalogue the scene quickly and efficiently. The ground rumbles as she approaches.

“Heat of battle,” Cowboy dismisses. His shoulders relax with another hero to support him and he shakes out his leather vest. Soot and snow falls from him. “Literally.”

“Hm.” Strongwoman finally turns the weight of her attention towards you. “Where’s her spellbook?”

“Bottom of the lake.”

“She hasn’t tried to summon it?”

“Her minion was in charge of that.”

Strongwoman’s voice whips. “We don’t call them minions.”

“Sorry.”

“You should be,” Strongwoman says. She folds her arms across her chest. She always gives the impression of being wrapped in armor and it takes you a moment to realize she’s wearing a tank top despite the cold. The muscles in her arms twitch. “That’s your third body this year.”

Cowboy hisses, eyes flying over her head towards the reporters. “Don’t—” A coalition of people in dark suits are already herding the media away. Cowboy’s lips thin. “Not in public.”

Strongwoman raises an eyebrow. She reaches down with one hand and hauls you up by the collar of your robes. “Fine. The car then.” She frowns at the way your hands hang by your sides. “You didn’t cuff her?”

“She doesn’t have her spellbook.”

“Protocol, Cow.”

“It’s Cowboy.”

“…”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Strongwoman cuffs your hands behind your back. The familiar sting of power suppressors races up your arms. The last time someone managed to get them on you, the Fool had to break them off once you escaped. You feel her breath against the shell of your ear and her voice whispers, Now who will do it for you?

Her memory is another spell on you. The edges of your life – dark and violently violet – cover your eyes so that you’re blind and deaf to the world around you. Once this new incantation runs its course, you’re sitting in the back of a Hero Force car. The grate between you and the front seat is closed. Beyond it, you can see Strongwoman at the wheel, shoulders vibrating with tension. Cowboy is sitting in the passenger seat like a petulant child.

You read their lips in the rearview mirror.

--review, Strongwoman says. Three. Three deaths on your hands.

This one was just a villain—

Tell that to Foresight. I beg you. See how he likes that excuse.

Cowboy changes tactics. You know the Prophetess is basically an S-Class—

Without her spellbook?

She had it for most of the fight.

Did she?

You lean your head back and close your eyes. Cowboy’s been operating alone for too long. They’ll likely stick him in probation and then transfer him to a hero team with an established leader. Maybe Atlas’ team in San Francisco or Light’s team in LA. Hell, if they really want to punish him, they’ll assign him to Omit’s team in Chicago. The guy’s the most righteous and the most powerless leader out there. Cowboy might actually become a villain if he’s forced to follow that guy’s lead.

“He’ll suffer,” you say in your prophecy voice.

A speaker crackles to life overhead. “No divination,” Cowboy snaps.

“I wasn’t talking about you,” you say.

“Prophetess lies,” Strongwoman says to Cowboy. “Remember, she always lies.”

“It’s still a threat—”

“Prophetess,” Strongwoman says. “Let’s go over next steps. When we get to Charlotte HQ, you’ll be taken to a secure floor where you’ll be asked to remove your mask. It’s important that you understand your identity will remain confidential until your loved ones can be secured—”

“He killed her,” you interrupt. You watch the ceiling of the car. “I can tell you my identity now if you’d like.”

There’s a pause. “That won’t be necessary,” Strongwoman says. Is it just you, or is her voice a little softer? “There is a proper course to this investigation.”

The way she says it makes it sound like she’s promising you something.

It’s like your mind is scrambling for connection to her. There is nothing in what Strongwoman says that reminds you of the Fool. And yet, as the car falls back into weighted silence, one word rings. Proper.

There is a proper way, the Fool whispers. You could fight this spell, but don’t. You sink into the car seat the best you can with your hands behind your back. Hear me out.

Please, you think. By all means.

------.

The first time you ask her to dinner, you’re too hasty. There’s blood on the hem of your robes (possibly a tooth) and the city is still screaming the sirens of your escape. The Fool isn’t shivering like the rest of your henchman; she is standing next to you. Her Jester’s mask is carefully secured with three exact ties despite the haste with which she put it on.

“I can never wear this skirt again,” she says. She is standing on the very edge of the building, the toes of her sensible work shoes a bare inch away from nothing. “This was my best work skirt.”

The city sparks with the purple of your magic, violet vines climbing the buildings and blocking your view of the street below. Your magic is mostly illusion, but all power leaves behind a mark. Where your spell has started to fade remains a charred outline of leaves and flowers against the concrete and stone of the buildings.

While the rest of your minions look a bit like chimney sweeps, the Fool remains untouched. It’s an obvious sign of favoritism; you had room for one other person underneath your cloak and you chose her.

Somehow the memory of her pressed against your side as she used her power to lift you both up to the rooftop makes you blush.

“You don’t have any residue on you,” you say. “You can stitch it up.”

She scoffs. At you. “It’s recognizable, Prophetess.”

It’s really not. The black pencil skirt is the same kind she wore when you first met. How many does she go through? You find yourself smiling at her bare thigh.  Since she first told you she knew who you were, you’ve seen her rip at least three.

“Something amuse you?” she asks. Her voice is short and snappish, the tone she uses when one of the other paralegals aren’t as thorough as they need to be with the briefs. She turns to face you so that the setting sun lights her outline in orange and pink and gold.

“Have dinner with me,” you say.

And for a moment, the hope of her saying yes is as blinding as the sun behind her. Her lips part and you imagine that her eyes widen behind her jester’s mask. A wind picks at the long strands of her hair, sending them fluttering around her like a halo, and you’re standing so close that one brushes your cheek.

“There is a proper way,” she says and then stops. Her right hand twitches at her side. “There is—” is she stuttering? “This isn’t—Prophetess.”

You’re fascinated. She’s always so precise with her words. Even when you threatened her all those months ago she never once floundered like she’s doing now. “Hmm?”

“Hear me out,” she says.

You nod. “Of course.” You lean forward so that you’re only inches away from her. “I’m listening.”

“This…is not the time,” she says. You feel her attention slide to the others and then back to you. She hisses when she finds you even closer. “Prophetess.”

You don’t want to push too hard.

You lean back onto your good leg. “You let me know when it is time,” you say. Your lips quirk. “My little Fool.”

“Oh my god,” she mutters. She turns sharply on her heel. “Get yourself off the roof. I’m going home.”

You watch as she steps off the roof without hesitation. Her telekinetic powers are unique in that they can work on people too. You usually rely on her to get you home.

Maybe you should have asked her afterwards…

You turn to your other minions. Low-level villains without the drive or power to execute their own heists who all owe you the same favor. You raise your brow. “So how are you lot getting me off this roof?”

“You’ve got legs,” the Ace of Swords says.

“I broke my left one,” you say. And, to prove you aren’t lying, you draw away your cape to show that your pant leg is soaked in red.

The Ace of Swords stares. “This is why she said no.”

“Was that what it sounded like to you?” you ask. His surety makes you frown. “For that, you get to carry me down.”

The Ace of Swords groans as the other Swords flee.

-----------.

Your Swords are not always Swords. Sometimes they are Pentacles or Wands or Cups. There’s meaning to the costuming you put your people through, a meaning that escapes Hero Force.

“Where are the others?” Cowboy growls at you over the interrogation table. He keeps aggressively tapping the photos he flung in front of you. Grainy shots of your Wands storming through the Christmas Parade you used as a cover to kidnap the Mayor, blurry screen grabs from security footage of them as Pentacles in the art museum, a delightful brochure featuring them as Cups in a reproduction of Macbeth you used to do some light money laundering. “If you tell us, we might cut you a deal. Six of your people are being prepared for interrogation right now. Want to bet who breaks first?”

The ghost of you smiles behind your dead eyes, leans forward, and sneers in Cowboy’s face. That version of you is delighted by Cowboy mistaking six people for twenty-four and wants to play the interrogation game he’s offering. But the real you feels as heavy as lead and it takes all your strength to watch as Cowboy slowly works his way into a frenzy.

“For too long you’ve been tormenting this city,” he says. He shakes a finger in your face. “I told Headquarters, I said you were a problem when you first showed up in Raleigh. I said, ‘This one is going to come to Charlotte and she’s going to show up with an army.’ I did. I said that and now you’ve got the largest crew in America.”

“Quite the fortune teller, aren’t you?” you murmur. The Fool is at the front of the brochure, all done up as Macbeth. You’d tried to get her to be Lady Macbeth, but she’d insisted she be the main character for once.

You don’t understand Macbeth, you’d said.

His name is the play, she argued.

Lady Macbeth is the mastermind.

Did you read the play?

Did you?

Neither of you had.

Cowboy slams his hand on the table. “Look, Prophetess, I’m the only chance you’ve got at a deal. As soon as those DC heroes get in here, it’s off the table.”

Ha.

“It would be convenient for you if there were no witnesses,” you observe. “More convenient if you get to them before the DC crowd.”

“Witnesses to what?” Cowboy blusters. But he draws back and his gaze is colder than the Hero Force air conditioning that’s already making this room glacial. “To justice?”

How dare he lie to you? Her pale face haunts your peripheral vision. You can see her in the window of the interrogation room.

“To murder,” you say. Your glares clash when you finally look up at him. The soot is still in his stubble and you imagine you can smell her blood coming from his singed leather vest. “She surrendered. We all saw it.”

“She was an A-rank villain with telekinetic powers strong enough to crush my skull,” Cowboy bites back. “I acted in self-defense.”

“With us both on our knees—”

Cowboy whips his arm across the table, scattering the photos of your people into the air. He slams his hand again. “Last chance. Tell me where the rest of your minions are!”

In your holding cells, you stupid—

“You’re a pathetic worm of a man,” you say. You clear your throat. “Sorry. Let me say it in a way you’ll understand.” You adopt your prophecy voice. “The dust Cowboy leaves behind is red, red as the blood on his hands. His golden star is stained—”

You see the blow coming. Not a prophecy, of course.

You just know what heroes do when their buttons are pushed.

-----.

The second time you ask her to dinner, you’re too stupid for her to say yes. It’s not your fault though. How could you have known the Mayor had superpowers? He didn’t do anything besides embezzle taxpayer money!

“Maybe,” she says tightly, dragging your leaden and paralyzed body through the grand halls of the mayoral house, “you could have done a single iota of research instead of sewing all those costumes.”

Feeling is coming back into your hands. They still ache from finishing the elf-themed Wand costumes you’d made for your employees. You think the group costume of Five of Wands came out particularly well. All those little elves holding giant candy cane wands…a perfect symbol for the tumultuous election Season. You flex your fingers and then wince when the Fool’s nails dig into the soft undersides of your arms. “Ouch. Could you—”

“I am not slowing down,” she says. She grunts as she slings you around another corner. “We need to get to the backyard. Ace is meeting us there with the chopper.”

“Such a waste of money,” you bemoan. The chopper had been Two’s idea and all she does is maintain it. She won’t let you fly it until you get your license. “We should’ve got a boat.”

“Great idea,” the Fool snarls. She adjusts her grip so her nails are now digging into your shoulders rather than your arms. “A giant vehicle we have to keep in the harbor. The heroes would never find that.”

“Okay, you have me there,” you say. Your words are crisper now and you can even push a little with your legs as she pulls you into the empty kitchen. “But consider this. I could take you to dinner on a yacht. I can’t take you to dinner on a helicopter.” She stops in her tracks, head whipping down to look at you. Your noses nearly touch. You grin dopily. “Hi.”

“Are you asking me to dinner right now,” she asks in a tone that tells you you’d better be careful with your answer.

She’s so pretty. That’s why you aren’t careful when you slur, “Yes.”

She drags you through the doorway into the backyard. “I sure hope it’s the drugs making you this stupid.”

“Hey—”

“Hey!”

Both of you look back towards the house to where the Mayor has just appeared. He’s wearing the smoking jacket he’d monologued in and the handkerchief he’d used to drug you is hanging limply in his grip.

He points at you. “You. You should be unconscious! Nobody escapes my venom!”

“Oh gross,” the Fool says. “Does he make the sedatives from his body?”

“From his sweat,” you affirm. Then, raising your voice over the growing sound of the chopper and her gagging, “Maybe you should sweat better drugs, huh?”

The Fool coughs and wheezes. You recognize a laugh in the sound. “Don’t antagonize—”

The Mayor bellows and sweat begins to drip from his forehead. He mops at it with his handkerchief and then advances across the grass. “Get back here!”

“Hahaha,” you say, “He was definitely a hero. I know how to push their buttons.”

It becomes a race to who gets to you first; the chopper or the Mayor.

As usual, the Fool wins.

-----.

Cowboy isn’t allowed in your room after hitting you in the face. You can feel him lurking in the hall outside when Strongwoman takes the seat across from you.

“That…wasn’t supposed to happen,” she says and pinches the bridge of her nose. She’s sitting on a special crate they brought in for her. It creaks when she leans forward. “Are you sure you don’t need medical attention?”

The Fool is the only one you let tend to your wounds. Blood stings your eye. Cowboy was wearing his rings when he hit you. “I’m fine.”

Strongwoman sighs through her nose. She’s short and stocky, dark hair and wide nose. There’s a beauty to her when she’s still and quiet. When she moves? She moves like a threat. “We need to know where your base is,” she says.

“Home is where the heart is,” you say. And you killed mine.

Strongwoman’s lips thin. “Look, if you want the guys who speak riddles, we can wait for them. Or you can answer my questions and maybe we can come to some sort of understanding.”

“Interesting offer.” You lean back and contemplate her. “You have my spell book.”

“Except that,” Strongwoman says immediately. She winces. “Sorry. You’re in custody. The spell book isn’t even on-site anymore.”

“Then you can take these off,” you say, nodding to your cuffs. Their faint glow is making you sick. “As a sign of good faith.”

“Tell me everything about your operation,” Strongwoman retorts. She shakes her head. “Nobody believes you’re harmless without your spellbook.”

“Cowboy does.”

“Cowboy is operating under a lot of false assumptions,” Strongwoman says. She leans forward to match you. “Like the one where you have over 30 lower-level villains working for you.”

“Oh?”

“We have six,” Strongwoman says. “Tell me where the rest are and we can negotiate.”

Ha. She doesn’t know either. You are so good at costuming. It’s not like your henchmen can multiply. There are always just six with you and it’s through your costumes that they transform. You’ll have to tell the Fool—

Your mood sours. Tell the Fool. Who’s the Fool now? You’re not in the mood to play games. “I tell you everything, you let me talk to those you have.”

“No—”

“I don’t know everything about them,” you snap. “You’re asking me to betray my people. Fine, I’ll do that. You lot will pry and pull and claw until you find out anyway. But allow me to give them the chance to tell you about whatever family or loved one they haven’t told me about. If I must take them down with me, at least let them beg Hero Force for leniency for their loved ones.”

Strongwoman considers you. “And what do you want in exchange?”

“Let,” you clear your throat. Your eyes are hot and itchy. “Let me have a moment with them. To mourn one of our own passing. To—” you clear your throat “-to lay the Fool to rest.”

The silence sticks to the walls and builds. It presses into you on all sides until you feel like you’re in a coffin. You once told her you would die with her.

Not allowed, ma’am. I don’t think we’d go to the same place.

You swallow hard and stare at your hands.

“Deal,” Strongwoman says finally.

“Thank you,” you say. Your head bows until your forehead presses against your shaking hands. “Thank you.”

“Cuffs will stay on,” Strongwoman says gruffly. She pulls out a pen and pad. The pen looks like it’s made of metal. “Start talking.”

You do.

-----------------.

The third time you ask her to dinner, she stares at you for a long time. It makes you nervous in a way you haven’t been before, her unrelenting stare. Is it because she’s usually so quick? Or could it be because you can feel her eyes on your bare face for the first time since she stood in your office and called you a villain?

The same office you’re currently standing in now as the sun sets behind her?

“I have concerns,” she says at last.

Oh thank god. You’re smiling too widely. “I can work with concerns.”

“Can you?” Her eyes flash gold with the sun. “You keep asking me out while we’re working,” she says.

You blink. “Do I?”

“You do.”

You consider her words, leaning back against your desk. You’re wearing your pinstriped suit today and it’s getting a little tight. She feeds you before and after every meeting you have and you have a lot of meetings. “I’m always working.”

“That’s true,” she says. She turns on her heel. “And that’s the concern.”

You stand up. “Wait, how is that—”

She stops at the door and turns to look at you in a way that steals your breath. “I am not work,” she says. Her lip twitches. “Nor am I a fool.”

“I know, you’re—”

“Ace says they’re already at the meeting place. According to your schedule, we’re running late.”

“We haven’t finished talking.” You try to sound firm, like you used to. Instead, the words come out as almost a plea. “We can be late.”

“You’re never late. Besides, I hear it’s going to be a regular rodeo.”

“Cowboy? Ha! When did he blow back into town?”

“His probation period is up.”

“Lucky us.”

-----.

Lucky us.

You Fool.

--------.

You look over the bowed heads of your employees. Ace, Two, Five, Eight, Ten, and Page. The room Strongwoman led you to looks like the cockpit of a spaceship. Noxious blue light undulates up the concave walls. There are no chairs in here, no pulpit for you to stand behind.

So your employees kneel when you walk between them all to stand in the very center.

“Prophetess,” Ace says. Her voice is thin and high. “We—I’m so sorry.”

Two looks up. Her face is drawn and there’s a deep bruise along the side of it. “We know how it is to lose.”

“You do,” you murmur. You’re aware of the eyes on you here. You saw Cowboy sneering in the observation room on the other side of this one. There are cameras scattered like black stars across the ceiling. “I know you do. But there is a renewal in Death. If—” you swallow hard “-if you allow it.”

You expect fear. What you’re asking of them has happened exactly six times. The favor they owe is not only to you, but to each other. Death is the complete annihilation of everything you know. It can be the end. Or it can be the beginning.

But it takes people to begin.

And you have asked them too many times before.

“Anything,” they say as one.

Your head shoots up. “What?”

Six of your employees – your friends – return your gaze unflinching.

“If I have to redo everything again, I will,” Ace says. She presses a hand over her heart. You know a picture of her son lies there. “Time doesn’t matter. We won’t lose anything but time.”

“We know we can rebuild,” Two says. Her eyes are fierce. “We can do it better.”

“You taught us how to do it better,” Five says.

“I thought you would’ve already done it,” Page says. He scratches the back of his head. “I didn’t eat lunch thinking you woulda done it by now.”

“You didn’t miss much,” Eight tells him. Then, to you, “You did it for us. Again and again and again—”

“—and again and again and again—”

Eight punches Page. “Shut up.” She breathes in through her nose. “Prophetess. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“The memories you have made will only remain with you,” you remind them. Your hands are shaking. This—you have asked this favor for the sake of others. Did they feel this vulnerable asking? So hopeful and so full of dread. “It will be different. Time changes all and you who have experienced it—”

“—will be like fortune tellers in a strange new land,” Ace says. “We know.”

“We’re okay with it.”

“Are you?”

The time is approaching. You can hear voices outside the room. Ten minutes. She’d promised you thirty, but you figured they’d interrupt sooner. Especially considering what you’re saying.

You breathe in deeply through your nose. You think of her pencil skirt and her flashing eyes and her warm smile. The ghost of her pale face is fading into blackness as this curtain closes.

Your resolve firms. It was a bad ending. As a villain, you’re allowed to rewrite those.

“Tonight,” you say in your whispering voice, “we rebalance the deck.”

The blue in the room flickers. The voices in the corridor gain urgency. The cuffs around your wrist flare and then go dormant.

“I see my son a babe again,” Ace sings. Her eyes burn with your purple power as she brings her hands up towards you. The memory of the favor you granted her rises with her words. “I hold his hand.”

The blue flickers purple and electricity arcs. The Hero Force suppressors are to stop superpowers.

There is very little they can do against fate.

“I see the bus that takes them away,” Page says. He doesn’t sing. His voice is as dry as the desert and he salutes you. His hand glows against his temple. “They get on it.”

“I see my friend at the crossroads,” Two says. She holds her hands palm up and tilts her head to the sky. Tears of neon violet fall down her face. “I follow them.”

“The power I have falls into my hands like rain,” Eight says. She cups her hands in front of her and they fill with your power until it spills over onto the ground. “I drink from it.”

“The harm I caused erased,” Five says. He crosses his arms over his chest and bows his head. A halo the color of lilac blooms over his head. “I atone.”

“I do better,” Ten says simply.  They stand with their hands by their sides. Their eyes burn with your power and they do not flinch. “I don’t bury them.”

Your power crawls along the walls. There are no more blue arcs of power. There are purple flowers and thorns that leave shadows in their wake. They seal the door shut and you are distantly aware that Strongwoman is trying to smash her way inside and can’t.

Fate takes a different type of strength to overpower.

“I see her again,” you say. The tides of the world pull at your long hair. You are drowning in light. The ground shakes under your feet. You think of her life outlined in gold, yourself outlined in gold. Is it possible you can see it glittering there in the unrelenting ocean flooding into you? “I see her again.”

Thunder crashes and everything becomes nothing.

-----------.

You are at your desk. You blink at the pages lying before you. A brief. A case. From four years ago.

You release a trembling breath. You never doubted it would work but it’s a relief to see not so much time has passed. Ace will still share some memories with her son. Page will not have to sit by his brothers’ bedsides again. Ten won’t be trapped in her father’s house.

The rest…the rest will not expect your help. You didn’t help them the last three times. Cruel, maybe. Fate often is.

You think Two is in Charlotte at this point. She mentioned something about a halfway house…

You freeze grabbing your coat as familiar footsteps echo from the hall outside your door. The skyline is twinkling with city lights, but it’s nearly midnight. Nobody should be here, you don’t remember anyone being here at this time—

The door opens without a knock. Her hair is chopped beneath her ears and she has a lip piercing and there isn’t a pencil skirt to be found. But it’s her. It’s her.

“Anika,” you breathe.

Her gold eyes flick to you, to your desk, to your coat in your hand. “You working?”

“N-no,” you say. Your words pile up behind your teeth. Do you remember? Of course you do, otherwise how would you be here. But how? Did I infect you? Did the outline of my life really drag you into my power enough--

Anika waits. When you continue to stare at her, she prods, “I’m not your paralegal.”

“You don’t look like you’ve even finished your degree,” you blurt out. You point. “A lip piercing?”

Anika rubs her piercing. “I’m not the Fool,” Anika says patiently.

A light bulb goes off. “Oh,” you say. “Oh!” You get down on one knee. “Anika, will you marry me—” Anika throws her purse at you. It misses by about three feet. You stand and try again. “I mean, will you go to dinner with me?”

“Yes, I’ll go to dinner with you.” Anika rubs a hand over her face. “Everytime I give you an inch, you take a mile—"

“For the rest of our lives,” you promise.

Anika shakes a finger at you. “Dinner.”

“It’s a beginning,” you say cheerfully.

The best one you’ve ever had.

-------.

Thanks for reading! I do love my supervillain stories and appreciate you for making it through this one! Sometimes I wonder if I can even write flash fiction anymore haha

Next week's story is already up on my Patreon (X)! I'm super excited to share it as it made me laugh writing it. It's an AITA style post from a woman who used to be a Cryptid professionally and feels like she's made a misstep with her Slasher boyfriend.

See y'all next time!

[luludeluluramblings]

tbh I’m more intrigued by the idea of college-age Reader getting pregnant while unmarried still living in the manor and NO ONE has any idea who the father is (maybe she does, but she’s withholding that for now or maybe he’s not in the picture?) and it’s the biggest freak out ever. that just seems so fucking wild and potentially hilarious to me. and nobody noticing she’s pregnant until she’s farther along? or them finding out randomly?? imagine:

damian: you look pregnant. what is wrong with you.

reader: i am pregnant though

the batfam: ????????!!!!!!!!!! and then she proposes that now that she’s old enough and starting a new chapter in her life raising a baby and all she should just move out! (cue everyone disliked that meme)

Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️���️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Okay, I think I'm about to become a Pregnancy!Reader writer. Which, I'm not mad about. Kind think it would be fun, but I know the trope isn't for everyone. So, if it’s not your thing, I’m sorry.

A/N: Some of this is based off of things from my own pregnancies.

A/N: Oh, no. Frick, I wanna make this a series now. Check the bottom, cause I have a plot idea for this and I want opinions on it. I spiraled, this was supposed to be a quick blurb. I got carried away. Gonna build up to the yandere shenanigans because I’m turning into a writer with a million WIPs.

A/N: Tagging @skay-ali because I like their The Forgotten Daughter series.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Very minor Yandere Themes (like barely there), minor NSFW, graphic descriptions of pregnancy and medical procedures, Vomiting.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You don't really remember that night it happened. But, it only happened once and after you swore you'd never drink again. The hangover after that night had been one of the worst of your short life.

In fact, the sticky feeling between your legs and bitter taste on your tongue had also added to your decision to swear of these college parties. Luckily, you have enough of your memory to remember that you and your partner from that night had both been willing even when wasted. Even if you couldn't remember their name. Or, their face.

It takes you a while to notice. One missed cycle wasn't anything to freak out about, and it was exam season. The stress had probably caused the nausea. It wasn't until you were heading down to breakfast one morning and smelled the burnt eggs in the kitchen that Stephanie had burnt that you realized something might be wrong.

You, of course, ignore it. It was just a fluke. Burnt eggs weren't appetizing to anyone. But, then you nearly faint walking through the perfume section after looking to restock your favorite bottle of scent.

The doctor you finally went to another week later had asked about your cycle and the last time you had been intimate with someone. That's when the reality of things started to set in. You hadn't even thought to do an at home test to check. Your doctor was kind though, saying they could just do a quick urine sample and blood test just to make sure. It might be something else.

The next few minutes felt like ages. But, when the Doctor came back to tell you the positive results you panicked. Not as in panicked as in you broke down, but you threw up a mask. You're good at doing that. You must get it from your father.

When she asks you if this is good news or bad news you can't help, but blurt that it's good. Great even. Which causes her to beam at you. Before you know it, you're being handed a complementary diaper bag with formula and tiny bottles while being given the rundown on your possible due date and future appointments. You nodded you're head along with the information, sliding the paper's into the diaper bag as she hands them to you.

But, then she turns to you with delight and tells you that the Ultra Sound tech has an opening and you're just far along enough they can do your first ultrasound. It'll only be a thirty minute wait.

After nodding along once more, you go back into the waiting room. Holding your new bag with white knuckles and falling into deep thought.

This is happening. But, how? Are you even fit to be a parent? You've hardly ever been loved. How are you going to love someone else? How are you going to do this? What will the family think? What will your few friends think? You don't even remember who their father is. This is impossible. You're not ready. You'll never be ready. That churning feeling is in your stomach again and you feel that single piece of toast you had for breakfast about to come back up.

The thirty minutes fly by with those thoughts in your head. They still swirl in your head as your go back into the ultrasound room.

It's dark, but the tech had few soft lights on in the room. Its actually kind of... cozy.

What's not cozy it the tech telling you that she's going to stick a wand up your bits so you could see the baby. Your eyes screwing shut at the cold invasive feeling.

But, when you open them, she turns the screen for you to see. It's almost amazing how fast the image appears on the screen.

And, their moving. Actually moving. You end up laughing at the sight, causing the screen to flicker and the little blob to move. When the nurse plays the heart beat you can feel yours stuttering in your chest.

Watching them bounce in there with each laugh, it’s easy for the next words to spill out of your mouth.

“Oh, I’m gonna love you.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Every step after that feels remarkably less lonely. It’s not just you anymore. You have someone who you’re going to love.

You don’t bother telling the Family. Bruce would just lecture you on being reckless while the other’s would judge you for it.

Honestly, you don’t care if they did. This is your baby.

Funnily enough, for a house full of detectives and highly intelligent vigilantes no one actually notices. Not even Cassandra. It’s a bit insulting how much they don’t pay attention. But, your symptoms soon make it so you don’t care.

The waves of exhaustion, the way everything smells strong and certain things make you want to gag. Heartburn that burns your throat. The subtle cravings that make you cry when you can’t fulfill them. Thankfully you finished your exams because you were too tired to even move from your bed most mornings due to strange nightmares.

Eventually, someone does notice. And, it’s not anyone you would expect.

Of all things you cried over on the pantry floor, it had to be salt and vinegar chips. They hadn’t been what you wanted, but it was too late to go get french fries and a smoothie at this hour in Gotham. And, you stuffed them down your throat with angry tears.

It was Stephanie of all people to find you. You gave her a sharp glare when she seemed to grow wide eyed. Normally you avoid her gaze, but you were quite pissed about having chips in your mouth and not fries. As her eyes grew wider, your nose wrinkled in further annoyance at her.

Just as you’re about to tell her off, she speaks.

“Do you— um, want something else?”

It’s pitiful how fast your snarl turns into a pleading pout.

“Yes, please. I want fries. I want Jokerized fries so badly.” You practically blubber when she gives you a pointed nod towards the car garage.

It takes you a bit to get off the floor despite the fact that your bump is hardly noticeable, but Stephanie noticed the extremely subtle curve.

“How far?” She asks hesitantly, looking from the bump to your face.

You also hesitant for a moment, looking up at her with tears on your cheeks and a serious look in your eyes. “14 Weeks.”

Her eyebrows raise and a wiry pout appears on her face. “Damn. You’re smaller than I was at that time, so not fair.”

The slightly surprised that information gives you almost makes you pause. But, if you had you would’ve probably toppled back down to the pantry floor.

“Explain on the way?” You ask, still a bit nervous. The two of you had never been close since you moved into the manor less than a handful of years back.

“Sure.” She grins, leading the way.

As you both walk, she whispers. “Does Bruce know?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Ah.” Stephanie managed to hide the winces from you.

When you two finally make into the car, you’re already feeling better about life. You’re about to have your fries, and possibly a shake too. You didn’t expect to have any company, but surprisingly it’s nice.

Stephanie drives, and get the fries to go. Munching on them as Stephanie drives you back to the manor. Her sharing her own pregnancy experience.

"Wait, so Tim dated you when you were pregnant with another dudes kid? Babe, forget being me being small, you got game."

"Damn right I do." She says smugly, stuffing her own fries in her mouth. "So, um, do you wanna talk about what happened with you?"

And, just like that your mood shifts.

"No."

"Oh- Oh! I'm sorr-" She starts up, and you can tell she's assuming the worst.

"Don't you start, Stephanie." You interrupt with a pointed glare. "I don't want to talk about it because it's none of y'all's business."

That makes her cough on her french fry. "Wait, wait, what do you mean? Don't you want help?"

"Nah, I got it." Comes your stubborn reply, glaring out the window as you dip your fry into the cheesecake milkshake.

"... You should tell Bruce." She suggest after a moment of awkward silence.

"What? So he can ignore his grandchild, too?" Your filter is none existent with your hormones all out of wack.

"He doesn't ignore you-"

"Oh, yes the fuck he does." Your firmly state. Growing a bit heated. "Y'all all figgin do."

Stephanie is about to roll her eyes, chalking your words to you just being unreasonable. But, then the thought starts to creep upon her with each passing building when she realizes this is the first time she's actually hung out with you. Ever.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs to you. The silence falling over you both as the cars continues back to the manor.

"... I'm only forgiving you because you bought my fries..."

"Really?! That's all I had to do?"

"What? I was desperate for this- Wait! Hang on. Stop the car. Stop the car-"

"What? Why?! Are you- OH! Fuck!"

You ended up regurgitating up all the fries you had just eaten. Right into your lap.

"Oooo, that's nasty." Stephanie says, cracking the windows.

"Is it bad that I still want to eat them?" You mumble to her, eyeing the remaining fries.

"Please, please, wait till we get back or I'm gonna hurl, too."

"Fine." Comes your reply. Your eyes drifting shut for a moment. "If you tell anyone I'm gonna tell Cassandra about your crush on her."

"How did you- Frick, you are more like Bruce then I realize." Her voice going from panic to begrudging realization.

"Now, that's offenseive."

"Oh, come on. You're kids gonna have some of Bruce's DNA too."

"Eww. Eww. Don't remind me."

The banter between you both coming back with ease.

When you make it back to the manor, parting ways for the night. You feel at ease. You may have made have finally made a new friend in all this and gained a pillar of support.

As you shower and finish off your fries, you can't help but think about the apartments you had been looking at. Wondering what Stephanie will thinking of your nursery ideas.

Down in the cave, Stephanie slowly walks down the steps. Realizing this might have just gotten complicated.

"You okay, Steph?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Soooooo, what if, and hear me out, wee add some baby daddy drama to this?

A/N: Please note, I write a Reader that DID NOT grow up with the Bat Family, which means we could have some really really juicy drama here. But, we could just keep the options limited to just close friends of the Bat family.

A/N: What do y'all think? Baby Daddy drama? One of the Bat Boys the Daddy? One of the other vigilantes? Should I do a Baby Daddy poll? I just feel like this is an opportunity.

A/N: Also, Stephanie was a teen mom in some comics from my research. Which I think adds to this and gives her a better chance of bonding with Reader until shit goes down.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 39: Life

Summary: Something begins to throb in your chest as you lay there. Something thrums deep within you, something you haven’t felt in weeks.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,343 words

Warnings: Angst, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, PTSD, nightmares, POV changes, depression and anxiety, illness, language, slightly graphic imagery, very slight violence, rumination, lots of feels, and yes finally some comfort

A/N: Yes, it has finally arrived. The time has come. We are now in the comfort. This very much is a good place to end things for the next month. If you haven't seen my post then I'll say it here, I will be putting the fic on a brief hiatus for the month of October. I have Kyletober planned and trying to do CRCB at the same time will be too much. So this will be the last chapter for a couple weeks while I focus on other things and just give my brain a little break from CRCB. It's been eight months of just pumping out long chapters every week, or almost every week, so I need a little break to focus on other things. I'll still be writing and posting things here (and Ao3 of course) but there won't be another CRCB chapter posted until November.

But anyway, I hope you enjoy this one and the comfort starting and I'm super excited for what's coming next month (can't believe it's almost October)

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“I need you to be brave.” Christine says, staring up at him. 

His heart thumps in his chest. How bad is it that not only did she summon him down here, but she’s asking him to be brave. He knows you’re sick, that you’ve fallen ill after your moment of anger earlier. She had informed them over dinner as she made some broth that you came down with a fever. 

They had all been worried, sharing glances at the news. John looked like a dog that had been scolded. It was his fault, after all. 

If anything happens to you, it is his fault. 

Johnny swallows the lump in his throat, nodding slowly as he stares down at Christine. “I can be brave.” 

Christine stares up at him for a long moment before nodding. She pushes the door open, leading him inside your room. The scent in the air is thick, tainted by the bitter scent of anxiety still lingering in the air, and the sour scent of illness. He misses the fresh scent of strawberries, he has missed it over the last few weeks. Your scent had taken on a bitter edge ever since the cameras were revealed to them. It’s only gotten stronger recently after the events that transpired. 

All of their scents have been off lately. 

It’s dark in the room aside from the bedside lamp. It casts a soft glow around the room, elongating the shadows in the corners. They loom threateningly, and his fingers twitch to turn on the overhead light. 

You don’t like the overhead light. It’s too bright. 

You always prefer softer light. Is it an omega thing, or is it just a you thing? He’s not quite sure. 

How little they really understand you. 

The lamp illuminates a pile of blankets on the bed, stacked one on top of each other to create a lump of soft fabric. You’re underneath that pile, he knows it. You’ve always liked blankets, always carried one with you in the barracks, eternally cold in the harsh world they existed in on base. This many blankets though? It was excessive even for you. 

He approaches the bed slowly, scared at what he might find. Images of you laying in a puddle of blood, cold and stiff fills his mind. Images of a skeletal figure reduced to nothing but skin stretched over bones has his heart racing. What will he find on the other side of that pile obscuring you from his vision? 

He swallows down his fear, reminding himself that he’s a soldier. He’s seen dead bodies before, he’s killed before. So why is he so scared now? 

This isn’t war. It’s you. 

He steps up to the side of the bed, looking down on you. You’re shivering, trembling under the blankets. Sweat beads on your forehead, skin dewy and clammy in your fever. You look more alive than the skeletal figure he had pictured in his mind, but you don’t look well. 

You look near death. 

“I’m worried about her.” Christine says, closing the door behind her. “She needs someone from her pack close. You’re making the most effort right now, and if anyone might get through to her, it’s you. She needs...someone.” Christine sighs. “Someone who can offer what I can’t.”  

“She needs a member of her pack.” Johnny says, easily putting together what Christine was saying. 

He knows what she’s asking. He’s scared. He’s not sure how you’ll react. The last people you want to see right now is your pack, including him. How will you react to having him so close? 

“Exactly.” Christine says, stepping up right next to him.

Her fingers wrap around his wrist, and he lets her guide his hand to your cheek. It’s hot and clammy against his palm, a fire blazing under your skin. You let out a shuddering breath, the air fanning weakly against his wrist. Your head turns just slightly, pressing into his hand. It’s a good sign, despite the delirium you have to be stuck in. What are you imagining is happening right now? What is your brain telling you? 

“Touch her, talk to her.” Christine says, releasing his wrist. He keeps his hand there, pressed against your cheek. “We need to try and get her back before this gets worse.” 

Before they lose you. 

She won’t say it out loud. 

She doesn’t need to. 

Johnny nods, turning his head to look at Christine over his shoulder. She looks exhausted, and not just because of the late hour. She’s done so much over the past few weeks watching you and caring for you. Maybe it is time one of them tries to step up and help her. You can’t avoid them forever, no matter how much you might feel like trying. 

He has to try. For you. 

“I know what tae do.” He says, his eyes flickering to the books stacked on your dresser, the ones Simon and John picked up. 

Christine squeezes his arm. “I’m just across the living room if you need me.” 

“I’ll try not to.” He says. 

She stares up at him for a long moment before nodding. She understands. He doesn’t have to say much else. She leaves the door cracked and he doesn’t mind, moving away from you to look through the books on the dresser. A handful of them are new, or at least ones he’s never seen you read before. A couple are ones he knows are in your collection at the barracks. He picks one of those, some fantasy novel he’s seen you read more than once. 

He looks between the bed and the chairs. He could pull one over and sit by your side. 

No, Christine said it was better to touch you. 

Instead he climbs onto the bed, sitting close enough he can feel the heat from your body. He cracks open the book, flipping through to the first page. He clears his throat, staring down at you for a moment before he begins to read. 

Rain batters the roof, coming down hard outside. The wind is blowing, whooshing past the house, rattling the shutters. The storm blew in from the sea, dumping rain by dinner and then the wind picked up by the time they were all getting ready to settle in for the night. 

It feels fitting, a storm blowing in at a time when a storm is brewing within their pack.

The storm he blew into their pack. 

He lays there in bed, listening to it rage outside. It’s quiet in the house, Simon and Johnny already settled in, and so are you downstairs. Kyle is beside him, but not asleep. He’s laying awake again as they have done since their arrival. He can feel the heat of Kyle’s body against his arm as he lays on his back, Kyle on his side facing away from him. 

“You just had to do it, didn’t you?” Kyle asks quietly, breaking the silence. “Can’t even go a week without trying to apologize knowing full well she won’t forgive you.” 

John stays silent, having expected some kind of reprimanding for his actions. He really was selfish for what he did. Kyle is right. You won’t forgive him, no matter how many times or ways he tries to say sorry. 

“You’re just making it worse.” Kyle huffs out. “You’re the last person that should try apologizing right now.”

“You’re right.” He finally says. “It was selfish of me to do that. I just wanted her to know-” 

“She knows.” Kyle snaps, cutting him off. “She’s not stupid and oblivious. She knows we’re all feeling guilty, she knows how sorry we all are. She won’t let us apologize until she’s ready. Shows just how little you actually understand her, trying to do that.” Kyle pushes himself up to sit. “She doesn’t want words. She’s had words spewed at her, her whole life telling her what to do, how to feel, how to act. She want’s actions. She wants us to prove to her that we do care, that we are sorry, that we’re making an effort to make things up to her. She wants us to prove that we’re putting her first by putting her first.” 

John knows he’s right. Words won’t solve a situation like this. None of them know where to start, though. How do you try and make things up to someone when you’re not even sure that person wants you to try? 

“She’s sick now, because of what you did.” Kyle continues. “If anything happens to her...” He trails off, shaking his head. 

“I’ll let you take the first shot.” John says. “I know. I’ve been a miserable excuse of an alpha. It’s easy when you have the confines of the military to hold everything in place. When those expectations dictate your life and how to run a pack. It’s easy, when you can exist as a pack with those set routines and structures. The facade that makes everything seem like it's working.” He shakes his head. “We never would have worked outside of those confines.” 

Kyle’s head turns slightly towards him, but his gaze is still on the far wall. “No, we wouldn’t have. None of us would have chosen this in the first place.” 

“Probably not.” John agrees. “Then we got an omega added, an outsider that showed us just how weak we really were.” 

“We were crumbling long before that.” Kyle says. “We weren’t ready for an omega, we shouldn’t have ever had an omega.” 

“I should never have been head alpha.” John says. “Being an alpha is different from being a captain. It shouldn’t have been me.” 

Kyle snorts. “He would have never agreed.” 

“That delay might have saved us.” 

“Or it would have made things worse.” Kyle says. “Shepherd wanted us to bond with her right away so his control over us would strengthen if he had to use that power. If those bonds weren’t put into place when they were, they might have tried to force it.” 

“That would have only destabilized things further.” John says. Kyle isn’t wrong. Who knows what lengths they would have gone to, to ensure what they wanted would happen. “They were watching us from the start. They knew exactly how to play all of us.” 

“Simon was right all along in his suspicions.” Kyle says, laying back down on the bed. Their shoulders are touching. It feels nice, having him close again. They’ve been close for the last few days, forced together by their sleeping arrangements, but it feels different now. 

“He’ll be a better alpha than I ever could be.” John says quietly, almost speaking to himself. 

“I think she will come to forgive you eventually.” Kyle says, turning his head to look at John. “You just have to give her time. A lot of time. You have to figure out how to prove yourself worthy of that forgiveness.” 

“I want to take her to the beach.” John says. “Once she’s recovered.” 

“If she recovers.” Kyle had pieced together the worry in Christine’s voice combined with her words. They all had. 

“She will.” John says. “She’s a tough little thing. She’s not going to give up just like that.” 

“I hope you’re right.” Kyle says. 

“I may not have the best track record with being right currently, but I’m confident in her and her strength.” John turns his head to look at Kyle in the darkness. The storm is calming outside, the wind dying down and the rain lightening. “She’s stronger than all of us combined.” 

The corners of Kyle’s lips twitch. “You are right about that.” 

It smells good. 

There’s a rich scent in the air as you begin to wake. It smells like Christmas, like spices and citrus. Warm gingerbread and cider. Freshly squeezed orange juice on Christmas morning just like every year. It had been your favorite, though you never understood the lengths your mother went to, the early morning and the hours spent in the kitchen on Christmas slaving away to make everything perfect. Everyone got something they wanted, something they loved. You never appreciated that effort until now. 

Oranges. Spices. Warmth. 

You know that scent. 

It’s hot in the room, sweat soaking your skin as you lay on your right side. Heat surrounds you like a cocoon, just like the scent. Warm and soft and too much. You try to wiggle out from under the blankets but you can’t move, so instead you shuffle them off. Some of them hit the floor with soft plops, the others just barely hanging on the side of the bed, trapped under your body. You’re still stuck, still hot as you lay there, a comforting weight around you. The scent floods your nose, fills your body with a pleasant feeling as you lay there, breathing through your nose. Oranges, spices, warmth. 

Someone is baking a pie.

It smells good. You want to bury yourself in it, press yourself into that scent until it’s the only thing you can smell. It brings you a comfort you didn’t realize you were missing. Something fills your chest, a weight beginning to press down inside of you.

Your hair sticks to your face as you lay there, tempted to get up and see who is baking and why. There’s weight pressing down on you from the outside as well. You can’t move. You’re stuck. 

The weight around you moves. 

No, it’s not pie. 

It’s Johnny. 

That’s why you know the scent. That’s why it feels so familiar, so comforting. It’s Johnny. Johnny is pressed up against your back, his arm tossed over your waist. That’s why it’s so hot, his body putting off warmth like a heater. 

You should be angry at the breach of your clearly placed barriers. You should be upset that he would come in here and just climb in bed like this. You should be pissed that one of them would try something like this after your outburst yesterday. 

You shouldn’t be crying. 

Not out of relief. 

Oh how you missed this. 

Something begins to throb in your chest as you lay there, crying quietly in Johnny’s arms. Something begins to thrum deep within you, something you haven’t felt in weeks. Life? Hope? Happiness? 

You should be upset. 

You can’t be. 

Johnny grunts quietly behind you, his arm leaving your waist as he stretches. He’s awake now, or maybe he hadn’t been at all and had been waiting for some sign of life, some movement from you, something to try and give him a hint at what you must be feeling. He doesn’t say anything, laying still as you sniffle in the silence. No one else is up yet, despite the blue light of dawn coming in through the gap in the curtain. 

“Johnny?” You whisper, even the quiet sound hurting your sore throat. You’re thirsty, desperately so, but that’s a problem for later. 

“It’s me, kitten.” He says hesitantly, the pet name making a sob tear from your throat. 

“Johnny,” You cry, the tears falling in a cascade. You can’t stop them. You’ve lost complete control as you lay there sobbing. “Hold me.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, his arms wrapping around you and tugging you close against his chest. He locks you in his embrace, holding you tightly against his chest as you cry. It feels good. Life and energy flows through you again for the first time in weeks. That empty space in your chest begins to fill slowly, warmth blossoming in your body despite the sweat soaking you both. Johnny offers no complaints as he presses his face into your hair. 

How you missed this. 

How you need this. 

You seem more relaxed at dinner. Despite your angry outburst the day before, and your sudden illness, you look significantly less miserable than you did your first attempt at joining them for dinner. The yelling did a number on your throat, but even now it’s nothing compared to that first day. You’re having soup again, and this time there’s a side of mash and peas next to the bowl. 

You even walked to the table without the crutch. 

Simon sits beside you again, all of them taking their respective seats at the table. They’ve assigned themselves these seats, even when you don’t join them for a meal. You’re at the head of the table as you were the first time, Simon and Chrstine on either side of you. Kyle and Johnny are seated next to them, and John is across the table from you. You’ve been avoiding looking at him. You haven’t even so much as glanced up at him. 

Simon is watching you carefully out of the corner of his eye, trying not to make it obvious. If you’ve noticed, you haven’t shown any disapproval. He’s ready in case he has to act fast again, but you are far more steady than you were that first time. There’s no tremble to your hand as you bring the spoon up to your mouth. 

The others look happier than before too. Johnny has stopped crying. Not even a sniffle from him ever since this morning when he emerged from your room. None of them had said anything about it, though they have an inkling of what had happened, judging by Christine’s lack of reaction to it. Kyle looks happier too, sitting straighter like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. It probably has, with the lightening of the mood. Whatever happened with Johnny this morning, it’s made a huge change already.  

John has never been much of a religious man, but god bless Johnny for whatever magic he worked this morning. 

You don’t even look feverish as you sit there, spooning soup into your mouth. A lingering low-grade fever, Christine had informed them earlier that afternoon, but significantly less concerning than things had been yesterday.  

He’s glad to hear it. He’s always glad to hear Christine’s updates on how you’re doing, how well you’re healing, at least physically. The body heals easily. Mentally...there’s still a long way to go. Healing physically will help mentally, but with all the trauma, years and years of trauma, it’s going to take a long time to heal from that. 

The clink of your spoon in your bowl draws him from his thoughts and he glances up at you. 

“Getting full?” Christine asks as you take a sip of your water, wincing slightly as you swallow it. 

“Can I have some tea?” You ask. 

“Sure,” Christine says, going to push her chair back, but John is already standing.

“I’ll make some.” He says, not offering any room for argument as he turns his back on the table to head for the kettle. 

You’ve been drinking more tea lately, likely to soothe your throat. He never thought he’d see the day, given your determination to stand with Johnny on the side of coffee. It’s a bit late for coffee, but he does know it wouldn’t keep you awake in the slightest. You love your sleep, as most omegas do, and nothing will get in the way of it. Not even some late evening caffeine. 

He sets mugs out on a tray, deciding to make tea for everyone. At least that way it’ll make it seem less targeted at you. He’s not doing it to try and impress you or win your affections back. He just wants to help take the load off of Christine’s shoulders. She’s done so much for you, for all of them, already. 

He steeps the tea before bringing the mugs to the table along with some milk and sugar. He knows at least Simon and Kyle will drink some, and he will as well. He brings the kettle over, filling the mugs with tea. All of them sit there watching him, waiting tensely for what will happen next. Will you take the mug of tea he offers? Or will you refuse. Even if you threw it in his face, it wouldn’t make him mad. It would be horribly painful, yes, but he would deserve it. 

Perhaps him doing this was a mistake. 

He stares at the sugar and milk as he grabs one of the mugs. Do you like sugar or milk in your tea? He’s not sure. He doesn’t even know how you take your tea. He knows you like creamer in your coffee. But how do you take your tea? 

What a sad excuse of a human being he is. 

You don’t look at him as he sets the mug next to your water glass. You’re still eating your soup, your hand trembling just slightly now. Your scent is tainted still, a whiff of it filling his nose. Displeasure, a hint of burning anger. 

This was a mistake. 

He sets the milk and sugar next to you first, letting you finish making your tea. He won’t push that boundary and risk making it wrong. It would only add fuel to the fire, make it more obvious that he knows and cares so little for you. He doesn’t even know how you take your tea. 

He takes his seat again as the others help themselves to the tea, even Johnny taking a mug. Whether he’s doing it because he wants to make the moment feel less awkward, or because he genuinely wants some, John will never know. 

He made a mistake in doing that. 

Still, despite the awkwardness, it felt good to do that. 

Maybe that’s how they get closer to you. 

The little things, things that take some of the pressure off Christine. She has to be getting tired, going nonstop all day. Anything they can do to help, they should. Things seemed to go well with Johnny, so maybe the others can have some success in their attempts to gain your favor once more. 

John will have to stay away for now. Distance is what you need from him. 

That’s alright. He has other things he can do. 

He tries to hide the small grin on his face as you pick up the mug, taking a sip of the tea. 

They’re fighting. 

You stand at the back door watching them throw punches. They’re solid punches, nothing held back, no pulling them. They’re all breathing heavily, two of them watching the other two fight. 

Simon’s fist meets Kyle’s shoulder, Kyle’s fist going for Simon’s head but he’s too fast, ducking before he drives his shoulder into Kyle’s stomach. Kyle hits the grass, disappearing from your view. 

John steps forward, pulling Simon back and speaking to him, but you can’t hear from this distance. 

“Still out there?” Dr. Keller asks, stepping up beside you. 

“Yep.” You say, watching as Johnny takes Kyle’s place against Simon. 

“John did say it would be good for them.” Dr. Keller says, wincing as Johnny’s fist hits Simon’s ribs. 

“They’re gonna start a real fight.” You say, watching as Simon starts to get more aggressive. You can tell because you’ve been in that position before. You’ve seen when that switch starts to flip, when the alpha starts to take over. He was never this aggressive with you, but perhaps even his alpha could be rational given your obvious size and strength difference. 

And the fact you’re an omega. 

“Well, that’s their problem.” Dr. Keller says. “As long as they keep it out there.” 

“They might make you patch them up afterwards.” You say. 

She lets out a snort. “There’s ice packs in the freezer and a first aid kit in the bathroom.” 

You try to hide your smile as you watch John get in between Johnny and Simon, speaking to Simon again. Maybe it will be good for them to get some of that pent up energy out. They’re all used to being so active and always having something to do. Being stuck inside has to be driving them stir-crazy. Simon has been going on runs in the morning, and you know John has been going on walks every so often. 

You’re starting to feel a bit stir-crazy yourself. It’s taking you back to the days shut up in the barracks, unable to go anywhere or do anything, having to entertain yourself for hours while they were gone. At least there you had space and room to move around, even when you were being trailed, one of them constantly following you around. They might not be hovering quite as obviously here, but it still feels suffocating, like you can’t truly have a moment to yourself. 

“I want to go for a walk.” You say, shifting on your feet. The likelihood of you going very far is slim, at least right now. 

How far you’ve fallen from your running days. 

“I suppose you could go for a little walk.” Dr. Keller gives you a sideways glance. “Might be good to help get your strength back. I doubt they’d let us go without one of them, though.” 

“Probably not.” You agree, knowing they won’t even let you sit out on the porch without one of them watching. If you left the house without even telling one of them, all hell would break loose and you’d be condemned to your room once more. 

The thought makes you wince. 

You almost wish you could go out there and throw some punches at one of them. That might make you feel a bit better. Hell, line them all up and you’ll take turns beating the crap out of all of them. Maybe that might heal some of the anger and pain still stuck inside of you. 

That’s an idea for a different day, though. 

It’s oddly warm out today, or at least that’s what Ashley said. Soon the weather will turn, though, and the cold rain will come. Lots of rain. 

Your eyes flick between Ashley and Dr. Keller. The three of you are seated in a circle around a table outside, steaming mugs of tea in front of you. Neither of them are staring at you, instead focused on each other as Ashley speaks. 

Dr. Keller has a crush. 

It’s not hard to tell. Her eyes are focused on Ashley, a smile tugging at her lips. Her gaze only flicks to you when you shift and move in your seat before she’s staring at Ashley again. You can’t blame her. You can hardly bring yourself to look away from Ashely too. 

It makes you almost miss Kyle. 

They have the same soft brown eyes and the same bright smile. They’re both perfect, like they were chiseled out of marble and brought to life. They even laugh the same, a genuine chuckle coming right from the chest. 

It makes you want to laugh, even if you have no clue what was being said. 

How has Kyle been handling this? You’ve hardly paid him any mind. His connection to John puts him too close to the source of your anger and rage and pain. Johnny cries, Simon is a brick wall, John reeks of guilt and misery. Kyle...you don’t know. He’s been a blank spot, a hazy figure in the distance. 

It almost makes you feel bad. You’ve completely cut him off, isolated him. Has he cried? Has he been sulking? How miserable does he feel about everything? Does he feel guilty or miserable at all? He has to. They all do. 

Good. You think. They deserve it. 

“You do get stuck in your head, huh?” 

Your gaze snaps up, looking between Dr. Keller and Ashley. They’re both staring at you quietly, a small smile on Ashley’s face. You did get lost in your thoughts again, stuck in your ruminations as you usually do. Lately it hasn’t been a problem, as you’re alone or with Dr. Keller often. You’re supposed to be thinking and processing. It just happens at the worst times. 

Simon would hate it still. 

“Something specific on your mind?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You probably shouldn’t say anything. How would you explain how your mind went from Dr. Keller crushing on Ashley to hoping the guys feel guilty? You’re not even sure you should reveal that you know about Dr. Keller’s crush, especially if she hasn’t said anything yet. You don’t think she has. They’re not...close in the way a couple would be, a distance still between them. Does Ashley feel the same way? It’s hard to tell since you don’t know her quite as well yet. 

Maybe that can be your goal, besides healing. Something to focus on, something to distract from the constant emotions and pain. Get Ashley and Dr. Keller together. 

They’d be perfect for each other. 

“Not really.” You finally say, looking down at the book in your lap. You’re about halfway through it. It’s fine. Nothing to write home about. 

“What do you think of the book?” Ashley asks, sensing your end to that discussion. She doesn’t push. You like that about her. 

“It’s alright.” You shrug. “Kinda slow.” 

“They are spending a lot of time on character development.” Dr. Keller says. 

“We should keep a tally of how many times the phrase “his dark eyes” gets mentioned.” Ashley says, making you laugh. 

“It’s good to hear you laugh.” Dr. Keller says, smiling at you. 

“It...feels good to laugh again.” You say. “It’s nice to have something to laugh about.” 

“Well then I’m going to make that my mission.” Ashley says, taking a sip of her tea. “Get you to laugh as much as possible.” 

You don’t think you’ll mind that one bit.

The scream dies in your throat as you jolt awake in bed. The book that had been in your hands when you fell asleep drops to the floor with a quiet thud as you jerk up into a seated position. You’re breathing heavily, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you try and calm your racing heart. It’s beating hard like it might beat right out of your chest. You’re shaking, your hands clutching at the baggy shirt you’re wearing like you’re trying to cling to some hope that it was all a dream, that you’re awake now and this is real life. 

Sweat beads on your forehead as you sit there, shaking in the darkness. You need someone. The shadows are closing in around you, your nightlight unable to keep them completely away. You need someone to fight them back. You need someone to reassure you that it was all just a dream, someone that can wipe the tears streaming down your cheeks and whisper softly to you that it’s all okay. That it’s all over. 

You need Kyle. 

Where is Kyle? How do you get to him without waking the others? You could go upstairs but what if they think you’re an intruder? You don’t even know which room Kyle is in. You wish you had a phone. You wish you could call him. You wish you could just telepathically reach out and tell him you need him and only him. 

You’ll wake them all anyway trying to find him. 

You suck a breath in, your hands still shaking as they cling to your shirt. You have to do it. It’s the only way to get them all down here, to get Kyle down here. 

You take a couple deep breaths before you scream. 

Within seconds the house is alive, footsteps racing across the living room towards your room as others thud from above. 

The overhead light stings your eyes, forcing them closed. It’s too bright, intrusive even with your eyes pinched closed. You can still see it behind your eyelids, harsh and too artificial. Just a price you have to pay to get what you need. 

Dr. Keller’s hands are soft as they peel your hands off your shirt, your fingers trembling with nothing to hold on to. They open and close, seeking out something to grip, something to give you an anchor to reality. You’re still panicking, your breaths shaky as you sit there, trembling in fear. 

“You’re alright,” She tries to soothe you, brushing your sweaty hair back. “It was just a dream.” 

You wish it was. 

“Kyle.” The name comes out as barely a whisper, stuttering out of your trembling lips. 

“What was that, sweetie?” Dr. Keller asks, leaning in closer. 

“Kyle.” You whisper louder now, the name shaky in the tense silence of the room. 

“Kyle,” Dr. Keller repeats, standing up straight. 

Quiet, hesitant footsteps approach the bed. Your eyes are still pinched closed against the harsh overhead light. You can’t bring yourself to be brave enough to open them, to face that harsh light. It might reveal the truth, that it was all just a dream, that this is still just a dream. 

It might not be Kyle approaching the bed at all.

You can’t know. You don’t want to know. You’re afraid to open your eyes. 

There’s a click as the lamp is turned on. You still can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. It’s supposed to be comforting, the soft light, but it could be used against you, giving you a false sense of hope and security. 

You flinch as the overhead light is turned off, still too afraid to open your eyes. Your hands have closed around the blanket pooled at your waist, gripping it so tightly your fingers are aching. It’s real. You’re touching it, you can feel the texture of it in your hands. It’s real. 

It’s real. 

Your breaths are shaky as you breathe in and out, trying to catch a scent. Any scent. Something to tell you that you’re really awake, that it really is Kyle standing next to the bed. 

“I’m here.” A soft voice says, something hovering in the air next to you. 

Kyle. 

You know that voice. You’d know it anywhere. 

You finally crack your eyes open, tears brimming as you turn your head to look up. Kyle is standing there awkwardly next to the bed, his hand raised as if he was reaching out to comfort you, but thought better of it. You’re glad he did. You might have spiraled into another panic if he’d touched you before you knew it was him. 

You stare at his hand for a moment before you peel one of your hands away from the blanket. Your hand is shaky as you lift it, reaching out towards his own trembling fingers. 

His fingers are warm and rough, just as you remember as they close around yours. You’re still shaking, a cold sweat forming on your skin as fear trickles down your spine. 

What if this is a dream? What if this isn’t real?

“I’m here.” He says, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. 

You want to believe him. You really do. 

You pull his hand closer, pressing your cheek against it. His skin is warm against your cheek, and like Johnny, he makes no complaints about your sweat smearing on his skin. You’ve been that close to them before, sweat mixing together, slicking skin. How far things have fallen since then. 

Your tears drip onto his skin as you hold him there, just breathing him in for a moment. He smells like the sea, but with that soft, light scent underneath. You missed that scent, more than you realize you did. 

You let out a quiet sound as you rub your cheek against his hand, almost like you’re trying to embed his scent under your skin. 

He doesn’t say anything as you lean against his hand, tears still streaming down your face. The lamp is pushing some of the darkness away, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. You can still feel the eyes from the dark corners of the room, the shadowy figures just out of view threatening to reach out and tear you away. 

A shudder runs down your spine, your fingers squeezing around Kyle’s in what has to be a painful grip. 

“I’m here.” He says again, pulling you from the dark thoughts plaguing your mind. He’d know if someone was here. He’d know if anything threatening was nearby. 

It’s his job. 

The job. 

The thing that’s kept you so separated from them, kept you at a distance. The thing that put your life in danger, that exposed them all as liars. The thing that’s left you an empty shell.

Maybe having him down here was a mistake. 

But the shadows...

You tug on his hand, pulling him closer to the bed. He sinks down on the edge carefully, still a bit hesitant. You don’t blame him. It’s not like you’ve been the most welcoming of them. For good reason. 

You need him right now. That need for safety and security far outweighs the conflicting emotions battling in your brain right now. 

“Stay.” You say, the word tumbling out from your trembling lips. 

“You’re sure?” He asks, his thumb still stroking your knuckles. You’re not sure if he even knows he’s doing it. 

You nod, tugging him closer as you scoot over in bed. He lets you guide him, laying on top of the covers.

You try not to think about it too much. 

It’s nice having him close. The shadows don’t seem quite as dark, the threats in them silent now that he’s here. He’ll keep you safe. He’ll protect you from the silent threats. That’s why you want him. That’s his role to play in all of this. They all have roles, they all have their places in the pack. They all have a part to play, not just for you but for each other. 

They’ve been struggling. 

They’re struggling because you’re struggling. 

The silence is loud as you lay there listening to the hum of electricity. You’re not quite sure what to say, how to break the silence. What is there to say that you haven’t already conveyed by your silence? What is there to say beyond what you’ve conveyed in your anger? They all heard your outburst, they all know the source of your anger and what they did to cause it. 

What’s left to say when you have nothing tying you together anymore except a claim and a half-broken bond? What is there to say when saying the wrong thing might fray that bond even more than it already has been? 

“I’m sorry.” Kyle says, finally breaking the tense silence. 

Of course he’d start with that. 

You let out a huff, turning on your side to face away from him. “I know you all are. You don’t have to keep saying it.” 

He lets out a sigh. He knows it. He’s not apologizing to you, for you. “Nothing can change what we did and we know that. We just...want you to know that we’ll do whatever it takes to help you and support you. We don’t want to push that boundary too far, but we’re all here if you need us.” 

You let out a hum. You already know that too. That’s why Johnny came so willingly, that’s why he stayed. That’s why they all tiptoe around you and stare at you like you’re a wild animal that may strike at any moment. 

Part of you wishes they wouldn’t. 

Part of you wants to go back to the way things were. Part of you wants to pretend that everything is normal again, that you love them and they love you just as much. You want to go back to that comfortable, seamless flow of one around the other, the way they all moved in sync, aware of each other without even needing to look. You want to insert yourself into that flow again and let them guide you along with them. You want to trust them blindly again and know they’d catch you if you fall. 

They proved they won’t though. They proved you can’t trust them to catch you. You’re on your own again, forced to catch yourself, forced to save yourself. You have to make that rope to catch yourself with. 

Yet, a deeper part of you yearns for that connection. Your omega screams for it, for your alpha, for your pack. You want them back with you, you want the bonds to heal and to be stronger than they were before. You want them to do as they said and prove to you that they’ve changed, that they're putting you first. 

The omega should be first. The omega should be the center. The omega should be the sun they gravitate towards, revolve around.

That’s what the book said. That book that’s sitting on your desk in the barracks. That book you read over and over, convincing yourself that it was true and they were a good pack like that book said. 

They’re not. 

We all make mistakes. 

They’ve never had an omega before. How are they supposed to know how to have an omega in their pack if they’ve never had one before? None of them came from big packs. John is the only one who’s ever even dated an omega before. They’re just as new at this as you are. 

You probably know more than them. 

You spent years learning how to be an omega in a pack. You read the books and wrote the essays and did the research. You read that book. 

Simon read that book too. 

Yet he did nothing. 

“Why did you want me?” Kyle asks softly, pulling you from your ruminations. 

You turn your head to look at him, staring into those soft brown eyes. Brown eyes you’ve missed. Tears trail down your cheeks as you stare at him, wetting the paths of the ones that had slowed to a stop in your rumination. 

Why did you want him and not Johnny? 

Johnny was the one that came for you, that comforted you, that got you through your fever. Johnny was the one you asked to hold you, to give you that support you’ve been so desperately clawing for. 

So why did you ask for Kyle?

You turn onto your back again so you’re laying side by side, your shoulder brushing his. He’s warm, and you just want to nuzzle into him and never let him go again. 

Another tear slides down your face as you stare at him, at that concerned look on his face. “I need you to tell me it’s going to be okay.” 

That concern morphs into understanding as he shifts slightly, reaching out for you. You let him, you let his thumb brush the tear sliding down your cheek away. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just staring at you as you lay there in the warm light of the lamp. The shadows don’t seem so close now, so threatening with him here. The things that lay in the darkness waiting for you to sleep so they can seep into your mind and stir up the horrible memories lying there in wait are at bay for now, fought off just simply by his existence in this room. 

His thumb continues to brush your cheek, your skin tingling along the path it follows. “It’s going to be okay.” He says softly, quietly. 

You’re not sure if he’s convincing you of that or himself, or perhaps both. You don’t know what he’s feeling, what he’s been feeling. You’ve been ignoring him, pushing him away out of fear that if you looked too closely, you’d break down. That bond will never break between the two of you, held tight with steel simply because of that claim your alpha and his alpha has on the both of you. No matter how much you hate John, that bond can’t be broken. It can’t be cut. It can’t go away. It can’t be denied. Not completely. 

A small smile tugs at Kyle’s lips, a reassuring smile. His words are stronger this time, spoken with more conviction and surety, like he’s speaking it into existence, manifesting it for the future when things perhaps can be different. 

When things are better. 

“It’s going to be okay.” He says, cupping your cheek, staring right into your eyes as he speaks. “We’re going to be okay.” 

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Jacaerys Velaryon - Family Legacies

Summary - Amidst the chaos of war, two childbirths unfold. A mother's potential agony and a new mother's fear collide, as life and loss intertwine in a moment that will define their family's legacy forever.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warnings - Childbirth, mentions of a potential stillbirth (doesn't happen)

Word count - 2101

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

My hand flew to my mouth, stifling a gasp as short, rapid breaths escaped me. One hand pressed against my trembling lips, while the other instinctively cradled my swollen stomach. Tears blurred my vision as I stood frozen, watching my mother-in-law writhe in excruciating pain.

The air was thick with the coppery scent of blood and the low, desperate cries that echoed through the stone walls. Every sound seemed magnified, each breath a struggle against the weight of the scene unfolding before me.

"Someone, get her out!" Rhaenyra cried, her voice thick with tears and agony. She moaned and groaned, her body drenched in blood—blood that shouldn't have been there.

"My sweet, you shouldn't be here. Not like this," she insisted, her words strained yet filled with concern. 

Elinda, her handmaiden, approached me, gently urging me to move, but I remained rooted to the spot, unable to tear my gaze away from the horrific scene unfolding before me.

My heart ached as I watched Rhaenyra scream and thrash, her strength faltering. 

Even in her torment, she was desperate to shield me from the brutal reality of what she was enduring, knowing how close I was to my own childbirth.

"But you... I—" I stammered, my voice weak and trembling. 

Panic surged through me, immobilizing me as I tried to process the fact that Rhaenyra Targaryen, one of the strongest women I had ever known, was suffering like this while I stood there, on the brink of giving birth myself.

"Jace, get her out!" Rhaenyra commanded sharply. I flinched as I felt strong hands grasp my shoulders, guiding me away with firm insistence.

"Come, my darling," Jace murmured softly, trying to comfort me as we walked, his voice a gentle anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside me. 

I struggled to steady my breathing, each step feeling like a monumental effort.

Jace's eyes flicked between me and the door, torn between the duty to his mother and the terror of losing me. His hands tightened on my shoulders, a silent plea for strength when his own was crumbling.

"Jace, it hurts," I whispered, the words barely audible. 

He nodded, rubbing my shoulders soothingly, but I suddenly stopped, gasping as a sharp, searing pain shot through my abdomen.

"My love, please," he urged, but I doubled over, a pained expression contorting my face. 

A warm, wet sensation trickled down my legs, and I instinctively stepped back, horrified as I looked down to see a growing puddle of water staining the cold stone floor.

The pain hit like a tidal wave, crashing through me with relentless force. My vision blurred, every nerve aflame, as the corridor spun around me. I was drowning in it, barely able to surface long enough to grasp Jace's hand.

"Jace..." I gasped, my voice quivering with fear. 

His eyes widened in alarm, the gravity of the situation dawning on him as worry etched itself deep into his features.

Jace's expression shifted from concern to sheer panic as the realization hit him like a crashing wave. His mother was suffering through the agony of a violent birth, and now, here I was, on the verge of giving birth right in the midst of it all. 

The horror of the situation was almost too much to bear.

His hands tightened on my shoulders as he tried to usher me away, his voice strained and urgent. 

"We need to go, now," he said, his tone a desperate mixture of fear and determination. 

Yet, I couldn't move. My legs felt like they were made of lead, my mind a whirlwind of terror after witnessing the horrific scene with Rhaenyra. 

I clung to him, my voice breaking as I pleaded, "I don't want to do this, Jace. Not after what I just saw. I'm scared... I'm so scared." 

The panic in my voice was unmistakable, my body trembling violently against his.

"Please, my love, you have to be strong," he urged, though his own voice wavered, betraying the turmoil raging inside him. 

He was trying so hard to be my rock, to guide me away from the chaos, but I could see the fear in his eyes—the fear that he might lose both of us, his mother and me, in the same tragic moment.

I shook my head frantically, tears streaming down my face as I gripped his arms. 

"I can't... I don't want to go through this. Not like this," I sobbed, my mind flashing back to Rhaenyra's agonized screams, the blood, the horror. It was all too much, too overwhelming, and the thought of going through it myself now was paralyzing.

Jace's heart broke at my words, but he knew there was no other choice. 

He pulled me closer, his voice trembling but resolute. "I know you're scared, and I am too, but we have to keep going. For our child. You're strong, stronger than you know."

But his words couldn't reach the depths of my fear. I shook my head again, my body still recoiling from the trauma of what I had just witnessed. 

"No, Jace, I can't... I don't want to lose our babe... I can't do this," I cried out, my voice filled with desperation.

He swallowed hard, tears of his own welling up as he realized the depth of my terror. His mother's agony, my impending labour—it was too much, too cruel. But he knew he couldn't let fear paralyze us both. 

"We'll get through this together," he promised, though his voice was thick with emotion. "I won't let anything happen to you or our child, but we need to move. Please, trust me."

With trembling hands, I finally let him guide me, though every step was weighted with dread. 

The images of Rhaenyra's suffering haunted me, and I could feel my own body betraying me, the labour coming on faster than I could control.

As we moved away from the chaotic scene, I clung to Jace, my heart pounding with terror. I didn't know if I could do this if I could survive what was to come. 

All I knew was that I had no choice but to try.

The pain intensified with every passing moment, waves of agony crashing over me as I was led to a room away from the horrors of what I had just witnessed. 

Jace remained by my side, his hand never leaving mine, his presence the only thing anchoring me to reality as fear threatened to consume me.

Every contraction felt like fire ripping through me, and with each one, my mind flashed back to Rhaenyra's anguished screams, the blood, the sheer brutality of it all. My terror was palpable, a suffocating weight that made it hard to breathe. 

I clutched Jace's hand, my knuckles white, and looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes.

"Jace, I'm so scared," I whispered, my voice trembling as tears streamed down my face. "I can't stop thinking about what happened to Rhaenyra... What if—"

"Shhh, my love," Jace murmured, his voice soft but firm as he gently wiped the tears from my cheeks. "Don't think about that now. Focus on our child. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."

He knelt beside me, his face inches from mine, his eyes filled with an unwavering resolve. Despite his own fear, he was determined to be my strength. 

"You're doing so well, and I'm so proud of you," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "Just breathe with me, okay? We're going to get through this together."

But the fear was relentless, gnawing at the edges of my mind. 

"Jace, I need to know... What happened to Rhaenyra? Is she... Is she okay?" The question slipped out between laboured breaths, my heart clenching as I awaited his response.

For a moment, Jace hesitated, his jaw tightening as he struggled with the right words. 

Then, his expression softened, and he nodded, his eyes filling with a mixture of relief and sadness. "She gave birth to a girl. Visenya. She's alive and well."

A wave of relief washed over me, momentarily easing the terror gripping my heart. 

"Visenya..." I whispered, closing my eyes as tears of gratitude joined the ones of pain. "Thank the gods..."

Jace squeezed my hand, his own eyes glistening. "Yes, my love. She made it through, and so will you. You're almost there."

The labour grew more intense, the pain almost unbearable, but Jace never left my side. He held my hand through every contraction, whispering words of encouragement and love, his voice the only thing keeping me grounded as I fought to bring our child into the world.

Hours felt like days as the ordeal dragged on, my body exhausted and trembling, but Jace was there every step of the way. 

When I screamed, he held me tighter. When I thought I couldn't go on, he reminded me of the life we were about to welcome.

Finally, with one last, excruciating push, I felt the pressure release, and the sound of a baby's first cry filled the room. 

Relief flooded my body, overwhelming and all-consuming. 

I collapsed back against the pillows, gasping for breath, tears streaming down my face a handmaiden carefully placed a tiny, wailing bundle in my arms.

"It's a boy," she announced softly, and Jace let out a choked sob, his hand trembling as he brushed back a damp strand of hair from my forehead.

"A boy..." I repeated in awe, looking down at our son, his small face scrunched up as he cried. 

He was perfect, his tiny fingers grasping at the air, his cries strong and healthy. My heart swelled with a fierce, protective love that drowned out the lingering fear and pain.

Jace leaned down, pressing his forehead to mine, his voice thick with emotion. 

"You did it, my love. You brought our son into the world." 

He kissed my forehead, his tears mingling with mine as we both gazed down at our newborn child, our hearts overflowing with joy and relief.

In that moment, all the terror and anguish melted away, replaced by the overwhelming happiness of holding our son in our arms. 

Despite everything we had endured, the horrors we had witnessed, we had made it through. 

It was just us, our tiny miracle cradled between us, a beacon of hope that pierced through the darkest night we had ever known.

Our family was safe, and as I looked into Jace's tear-filled eyes, I knew that nothing else mattered. We were together, and our son was here, healthy and alive. It was finally, blissfully, a moment of peace and happiness.

As we basked in the quiet joy of the moment, one of the handmaidens, her voice gentle and filled with reverence, asked softly, "Have you chosen a name for him?"

Jace and I exchanged a glance, the unspoken weight of the question hanging in the air between us. 

We had talked about names before, but now, holding our son in our arms, the decision felt monumental, as if his name would set the course of his life, binding him to his heritage and the legacy of those who had come before him.

I looked into Jace's eyes, searching for the strength we had shared throughout this ordeal, the bond that had carried us through the darkest moments. 

With a trembling voice, I whispered, "Lucerys."

Jace's reaction was immediate. His breath hitched, and his eyes filled with fresh tears as the name resonated within him. It was a name steeped in memory and pain, a name that honoured his lost brother, Lucerys Velaryon, whose life had been tragically cut short. 

The grief he had carried for his brother, the guilt and sorrow that had haunted him, now found a place in the hope and love he held for our son.

He nodded, unable to speak, his throat tight with emotion. 

Instead, he pulled me closer, his tears falling freely as he held our son, cradling him as if he were the most precious thing in the world. 

In naming our child Lucerys, we had not only given him an identity but had also woven him into the fabric of our shared history, a history marked by loss but also by enduring love and resilience.

"Lucerys," Jace finally whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of the name. 

In that moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, the significance of the name settling over us like a benediction. 

Jace's tears fell onto our son's tiny forehead, and he smiled through the pain, through the joy, knowing that our son would carry the name of a beloved brother, a name that would forever link the past and the future, binding our family together in a legacy of love, courage, and hope.

"Our Lucerys."

A/n - Ok I was all set to dive deep into the angst and heartbreak, and I nearly made everyone suffer for it but I couldn't bring myself to go through with it. So yes, both babies live, because I have that power here and maybe I cried at the ending who knows (I did I miss Luke 😔)