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[benecare-hospital]

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[aafiyat-medical-center]

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[pathologicalreid]

for the fear of falling apart | epilogue

good things come to those who wait, and you're finally getting your happy ending

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | epilogue

series masterlist

who? spencer reid x jareau!reader category: fluff (there's a first time for everything) content warnings: spoilers for criminal minds evolution but nothing super detailed, dad!spencer, babies, breastfeeding, takes place during s16, cancer, spencer's "special assignment" is just him being a dad word count: 1.74k a/n: the spencer reid dilf agenda is at the center of the universe. i cant believe ffofa is over. this is just a short and sweet look into what r and spencer are doing during cme - aka being parents. (the gif has nothing to do with the chapter he just looks so sexy)

“Where is she?” Spencer asked, minding the hour as he hung his token leather satchel in the entryway. He peeked around the living room before making his way to where you were in the kitchen, closing up your book of crosswords before he saw the clues and gave you all of the answers – a habit of his that you had been begging him to break.

Affixing your pen to the cover of the puzzle book, you hummed in response to his question, “It’s nine p.m., she’s asleep, in her crib.” You turned to face him, “And you may not go up there and get her,” you caught at his hand as you noticed him moving toward the stairs, “You will not wake that baby up, Spencer Reid.”

He accepted his defeat, coming back and gently wrapping his arms around you, “Did she go down okay?”

“No,” you answered bluntly, reciprocating his hug by reaching your arms up and slinging them over his shoulders. “She never does when you’re not home,” you added, providing a fact that he was already well aware of.

Spencer chuckled softly into the crook of your neck, “I thought I would’ve been able to get away earlier.”

You were unbothered, leaning into his touch, “Bedtime is at 7:30, you never would’ve made it in time.” His faculty event at school started at seven. It had been scheduled to run until midnight, but Spencer always made the effort to be home with you at the end of every day. The two of you hadn’t missed a tea date since before your daughter was born.

“But now it’s too late for us to do anything of substance,” he said, separating himself from you to switch on the electric kettle, looking over his shoulder at you, silently asking if you wanted tea.

Nodding at him, you watched as he pulled two mugs from the cabinet and dropped tea bags in each of them, “We can watch that documentary you were talking about last night.”

“You’ll fall asleep,” he countered. It was a symptom of motherhood that you hadn’t seen coming, falling asleep while watching anything.

You shrugged, “She’ll wake up to eat, I’ll wake up to feed her.” While your otherwise perfect daughter had mastered sleeping through the night within her first few months earthside, teething had ruined any semblance of a sleep schedule she had, so, she started crying to eat in the middle of the night.

Your husband didn’t seem convinced, but he grabbed the kettle off of its base and poured the hot water into your mugs, sliding a bureau-branded one toward you and keeping the octopus mug for himself. “Last time you fell asleep on the couch and I tried to get you to bed you threw things at me,” he reminded you, stirring honey into his tea before handing the sweetener to you.

“I threw a pillow at you,” you disputed, drizzling the honey into your mug before asking him to put the dish back up in the cabinet.

He rolled his eyes, leaning over the counter and smiling at you, a sweet, dopey, Harlequin romance smile. “I probably deserved it,” he acquiesced, bringing his mug to his lips and taking a sip of the lavender tea.

Spinning your mug on the counter in front of you, you raised your eyebrows and considered changing the subject, but you were lacking any kind of segue material, “So, JJ called me today,” you said.

Spencer set his octopus mug on the counter and frowned, “Are they still having problems?” He asked, resting his chin in his hands and keeping his attention on you.

Nodding, you shared a knowing look with him. Havoc had been wreaked on the BAU since Penelope left. You were lucky enough to be on maternity leave while administrators tore your unit apart and Spencer was on a special assignment – playing the long game on a case that the bureau felt needed to be closed. “I still can’t believe they dragged Penelope back, she was so content with SOAR,” you griped, knowing how much the techie’s life had improved since leaving the FBI.

“I can,” Spencer admitted, “There’s no BAU without Penelope Garcia. There were four people in that tech room trying to do the work she did,” he said, picking his mug back up before making his way around the kitchen island and sitting in the bar stool next to yours.

You leaned back in your stool, with Matt out on an assignment of his own, the BAU’s numbers had gone down drastically. “In better news, Dave went home,” you told Spencer, pointing your sock-covered foot out to nudge him gently.

His expression softened, “Good, the hotel was getting…”

“Yeah,” you agreed, sipping at your tea. Krystall had been the picture of health until she wasn’t, and losing her had nearly sent Rossi to a place you feared he’d never come back from. “Anyway, JJ asked if we were still alright with hosting Christmas this year,” you recalled from the phone call, “I said yes.”

Spencer nodded in agreement, “Have they heard anything from the oncologist?”

You frowned helplessly, “Not yet, depending on the results they might have to do more tests. I offered to take the boys next weekend if they need the time, J’s afraid mom will blab to Henry.”

“You miss it,” Spencer observed, eyes flitting over to the baby monitor on the counter.  

Rolling your eyes, “You do a job for nine years, you’re going to miss it when you take time off. Don’t act like you don’t,” you chided gently, smiling into your mug. When the bureau took everything you had been through into account, they willingly offered you an extended maternity leave, which you took without a second thought. However, you hadn’t anticipated feeling so disconnected from the team.

Spencer pursed his lips, “I do, but I like being home with you and Mila more.”

Leaning forward, you reached out and took his hand in yours, “Baby, if you want to go back to the BAU full-time, you know I’d never, ever get in the way of that.”

He shook his head dismissively, “No, not yet at least, but someday.”

The BAU was home, you knew that well enough, but now he had a home with you and Amelia. That wasn’t something he’d give up easily. You watched Spencer at he looked at the baby monitor again, “Stop praying on my downfall, she’ll wake up soon.”

Taking your empty mug in his hands, he set both yours and his in the kitchen sink, “I love you,” he told you.

Your face warmed at the expression, one of those times where there just wasn’t anything else he wanted to say – he just needed to tell you that he loved you. “I love you too,” you said, happily basking in what you assumed was your lingering new parent glow – the two of you were stronger than ever.

Quietly, Spencer loaded the rinsed mugs into the dishwasher before closing it, coming back around the counter and stopping in his tracks when a phone started to ring.

Dropping your head to the counter, you waited for the inevitable wailing to come from the nursery, when the cries started, you looked up at Spencer, “You get her, I’ll get the phone,” you negotiated.

Fishing the ringing phone – Spencer’s – off of the coffee table, you frowned at the caller ID before bringing the screen to your ear. “I need to talk to your wife,” a frantic voice said on the other end.

“Hi, Penny,” you greeted, eyes drifting to the top of the stairs where Spencer was emerging with a squawking baby in his arms.

Penelope gasped on the other end of the call, “I so very desperately need your advice. Do you remember me telling you about Tyler?” She sounded almost out of breath.

You hummed in response, “The guy from the serial killer website?” You wondered where she was going with this – technically the team wasn’t supposed to share case information with you, but that had never stopped any of them.

“Yes, that one,” she confirmed, “I kissed him.”

Surprised, you dropped down onto the couch, looking up at Spencer as you searched for an appropriate response to Penelope’s confession, “Emily is going to kill you.”

The other end of the call was silent except for Penelope trying to articulate a retort. Spencer frowned at you, swaying gently with Amelia in his arms, “What happened?”

Moving the mouthpiece away, you looked up at him, “She kissed a material witness,” you told him, watching as he clamped his lips together in a failed attempt to hide his amusement.

“This is serious,” she scolds over the phone. “I need a debrief. Coffee tomorrow?”

You nodded as the baby grew increasingly impatient in Spencer’s arms – his chest was just no good to her. “Hold on,” You said over the phone, waving for Spencer to hand the baby off to you so you could feed her.

He settled her in your arms, helping you as best he could before he was in the way, “You’ve got her?”

Spencer pressed a soft kiss to your hairline when you told him you were fine, bringing the phone back up once Mila latched, “Hey, so tomorrow, nine?” You offered, peering down as the baby nursed for comfort. “I can meet you at the kiosk in front of Quantico if that’s easier.”

Penelope sighed dramatically, “As long as you bring your pretty face and your pretty baby, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Lobbing the phone across the couch cushions, you leaned back slightly, adjusting the baby when she was done so that she could hopefully drift back to sleep. Your husband came back downstairs, having swapped his work clothes and contacts for pajamas and glasses, he deftly sat down next to you and took the baby.

Carefully, he settled her on his chest, letting her tiny limbs curl in neatly as she let out sweet coos, brown eyes fluttering shut as Spencer gently swiped his thumb across her back. That little girl had him wrapped around his finger from the moment he knew about her existence.

You shifted to rest your head on his shoulder, watching Mila drift off into her dreams, “Are you going to fall asleep like this?” Spencer asked you, keeping his voice at a whisper.

Humming, you shut your eyes briefly, “Yeah, this is my favorite show.”

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[p0orbaby]

It Might Be More of an Obsession

summary: feeding your child in public stirs feelings inside of alexia she didn’t realise she had

warnings: SMUT 18+, breastfeeding kink, breast milk, stap on use, fingering, breast play, top!alexia, sub!dom, not proofread

a/n: this is… something. it’s an acquired taste so i don’t blame you for skipping past this if the themes aren’t your thing

word count: 1.9k

-

“Ella está a punto de llorar”

You turn your head, pausing your conversation with Frido to find Mapi holding your daughter at arm’s length over the table.

“Jesús María, ella no es una bomba,” Alexia exclaims, reaching out to save her kid from being dropped into a vat of paella.

“Pass her here, Ale. She’s just hungry”

You can’t blame her. Outings with the team are an event even for you these days, let alone a four-month-old who is the center of attention at every gathering. She’s an easy child, patient, and calm. But even the most mellow of souls needs a food break.

Alexia stands, cradling your daughter as she wriggles animatedly in her arms. “Shall I warm up a bottle?”

You shake your head. “I’ll feed her. It’s not too busy here and the girls won’t mind.”

Alexia gives you a nod, admiration shining in her eyes as she hands your daughter over to you. Finding a comfortable position, you settle into your chair and begin to feed her.

The conversation around the table continues, but you catch a few of the girls sneaking curious glances in your direction. It’s clear they’re all trying to act casual, but some are more subtle than others. Like a group of teenagers sneaking glances at their teacher’s cleavage, except, you know, less creepy and more endearing.

“Oye, Alexia,” Patri teases, nudging her captain with a playful grin, “put your tongue back in your mouth, vale”

Alexia rolls her eyes, but you can see a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “Shut up. I’m just making sure they’re both okay.” This, of course, is said with the dignity of a queen who has just been told she’s got spinach in her teeth.

Ona joins in, unable to resist a little ribbing. “Right, because that’s why you’re looking at your wife’s chest like you’ve never seen boobs before. Maybe you should take notes for when it’s your turn, eh?”

Alexia chuckles, trying to brush off the teasing. “When it’s my turn, I’ll be a natural. No need for notes”

“Don’t give her any ideas,” you interject, smiling as you switch your daughter to the other breast. “I’ve already got one Putellas rinsing me dry, I don’t need another”

-

The house is quiet, a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere of the team gathering. The baby is finally asleep in her crib, and the two of you tiptoe out of the nursery. You close the door softly, turning to find Alexia already watching you with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

She doesn’t say anything, just takes your hand and leads you to the bedroom. Her touch is gentle but insistent, a silent promise of what’s to come. The door clicks shut behind you, and the air is thick with anticipation.

“Alexia,” you murmur, but she’s already moving, her hands on your waist, pulling you close.

“Shh,” she whispers, her breath hot against your ear.

Her lips find yours, the kiss deep and hungry. You can feel the restraint she’s been holding onto slipping away. Her hands roam your body, urgent, demanding. She breaks the kiss, her eyes dark with desire.

“Take off your clothes,” she commands, her voice low and rough in the soft light of the bedside lamp.

You comply, heart pounding in your chest. Alexia watches, her gaze never leaving your body. When you’re finally naked before her, she steps closer, her hands finding your breasts, cupping them with a reverence that makes your knees weak.

“So beautiful,” she murmurs, her thumbs brushing over your nipples. “I can’t get enough of you”

Her mouth follows her hands, lips and tongue teasing. You gasp, your body arching into her touch. She’s relentless, her need for you suffocating, almost overwhelming.

“Lie down,” she orders, and you do, your body moving without even thinking. Not that you have the ability to do that now anyway, your brain is shrouded in fog.

She climbs over you, her eyes locked on yours as she lowers her head to your breasts again. She nips at the flesh, then takes your nipple between her teeth, and you moan, your hands clutching at the sheets. Her other hand slides between your legs, fingers finding you wet and ready.

“Please, Alexia,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

She looks up at you, her eyes blazing. “You like that, don’t you? Watching me watch you. Knowing how much I want you”

“Yes,” you breathe, the word a plea.

Her fingers thrust into you, hard and fast, her mouth still working your breast. The feeling of her hand and her mouth together is almost too much, your body straining towards release. She’s rough, dominant, taking you with a fierceness that leaves you breathless.

Her mouth moves to your other breast, her tongue flicking over your nipple before giving it the same treatment as the last. The sting sends jolts of pleasure through you, making you cry out. She pulls back for a moment, her eyes meeting yours with a possessive heat that has you melting.

“You’re mine,” she growls, her fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot. “Say it”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, your body tensing, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak.

“Good girl,” she purrs, her thumb rubbing your clit in tight, precise circles.Your breath catches in your throat. Alexia’s fingers are persistent, driving you closer and closer to the edge. She knows exactly what you need before you even do, and she’s giving it to you with an intensity that leaves you trembling.

Without warning, she withdraws her hand, leaving you panting and on the verge of begging. She stands up, her eyes never leaving yours as she reaches into the bedside drawer. The familiar rustling reaches your ears, and you watch from under hooded lids as she fastens the strap around her hips. The sight of her, so confident and in control, sends a fresh wave of arousal straight to your core.

“Turn over,” she commands, her voice firm.

You obey, albeit on shaky limbs. The anticipation is almost unbearable as you feel her position herself behind you. Her hands glide over your hips, guiding you to where she wants you. The tip of the strap presses against your entrance, and you can feel her hesitation, the slight pause as she ensures you’re ready.

“Ale, please,” you plead, your voice gravelly, strained.

She doesn’t need to be told twice. With a slow, steady thrust, she fills you completely, her hips meeting your ass. You moan, the feeling of being taken so fully, so deeply, nearly overwhelming.

“¿Es esto lo que querías?” she asks, her voice a low growl. “To be fucked like this?”

“Yes,” you gasp, your fingers digging into the sheets.

She begins to move, her thrusts slow and deliberate at first, allowing you to adjust to the fullness. But it doesn’t take long for her pace to quicken, the need in her movements undeniable. She’s unabated, her thrusts hard and deep, each one sending shockwaves of pleasure all the way down to your toes and back again.

You can hear her breathing, harsh and ragged, as she fucks you with a single-minded intensity. Her hands grip your hips, holding you in place as she drives into you over and over. The sound of your bodies coming together fills the room, mingling with your moans and her low grunts.

“Tell me how it feels,” she demands, her voice tight with restraint.

“Amazing,” you manage to gasp. “So good, Alexia. Please, don’t stop”

Her response is a sharp push that makes you cry out. She leans over you, her lips brushing against your ear. “I won’t stop until you come for me”

Her hand snakes around your body, finding your clit again and rubbing it in sync with her movements. It’s almost too much to bear, pushing you closer and closer to oblivion.

“Come for me,” she whispers, her voice a dark command. “Quiero sentir como te corres”

With a final, desperate drive, she sends you tumbling. Your orgasm crashes through you, a tidal wave of pleasure that leaves you shaking and winded. She holds you tight, her movements slowing but never stopping, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure you could possibly give her.

Finally, she pulls out, her hands gentle as she helps you turn onto your back. She leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, the fierceness of earlier replaced by a tender intimacy.

But she’s not done. Not yet.

She repositions herself, between you open legs. The look in her eyes is predatory, and you know she’s far from finished with you. She adjusts the strap, aligning it at your entrance once more, and presses in with renewed vigor. Your overstimulated body quakes under the assault of pleasure and pain, and your moans turn to cries of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

“You like that?” she growls, her rhythm punishing. “You want more?”

“Yes, yes, please,” you beg, your voice raw with need.

Her hands grip your breasts, squeezing hard as she continues to fuck you with abandon. Your vision blurs, your body teetering on the brink of another orgasm.

“Come again,” she commands, her voice dripping with dominance. “I want to feel you shatter around me”

Her thumb finds your clit once more, rubbing it with ruthless precision. Everything is alight as you fall over the edge again, your body convulsing as another powerful orgasm rips through you. You scream her name, your voice hoarse, as you come harder than you ever have before.

As you lay there, breathless and trembling, Alexia’s eyes darken with a new kind of hunger. She leans down, her mouth hovering over your breast. “I want to taste you,” she murmurs, her voice thick with desire.

Before you can respond, her lips close around your nipple, her tongue flicking over it with practiced skill. You gasp, the sensation heightened by the intensity of your recent orgasms. She sucks harder, her mouth working with an insistent hunger. You can feel the milk let down, a warm trickle that she eagerly laps up, her moans of satisfaction vibrating against your skin.

“Oh God, Alexia,” you breathe, the mix of pleasure and the intimate act sending shivers down your spine.

She switches to your other breast, her eyes locking with yours as she sucks, her hand still playing between your legs. The sight of her, so completely lost in her need for you, is almost too much to bear. She drinks from you like she can’t get enough, her mouth greedy and relentless.

“Do you like this?” she whispers between licks and sucks. “Knowing how much I need you, how much I want every part of you?”

“Yes,” you gasp, your body arching into her touch. “God, yes.”

Her fingers thrust into you again, matching the rhythm of her mouth on your breast. The pleasure is overwhelming, a heady mix of physical and emotional intensity that leaves you trembling and gasping.

“One more time,” she commands, her voice a dark, velvety whisper. “I know you can give one more”

Her mouth on your breast and her fingers inside you, the feel of her breath on your skin. She’s perfected everything, and you're seeing stars for the third time. You come with a shuddering cry, your body convulsing around her fingers, the pleasure blinding in its intensity. Tears roll down your cheeks

Alexia continues to suck gently, drawing out the last waves of your orgasm until you’re a quivering, breathless mess. Finally, she pulls away, her eyes filled with a satisfied, predatory gleam.

“Perfect,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing tenderly over your flushed skin. “Absolutely perfect”

[georgiapeach30513]

Two Good Reasons, Part 2

Summary: The truth comes out

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: mature

Warnings:  language, mentions of cheating, mention of fertility issues, depictions of depression, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Your leg bounces up and down when you look at your phone. You are late. And knowing Scott, he’s going to use this against you. You rarely went out. But this…

You look down at your clothes. His clothes. What else were you supposed to do but grab his button up, and some sweats. It still smelled like him, and you’re swooning. You can still feel him in your body. On your body. He didn’t just fuck you, he made sure to implant his entire soul in you, and it leaves you longing for more. Things with Andy have always been good enough for one time.

It was beautiful, and perfect, and just like how you would imagine seeing him again. But you can’t want him. Your life is a mess, and you can’t bring him into it. You give a nod to the Uber driver as you get out of the vehicle. Your heeled shoes oddly matched with his clothes, and make too much noise as you walk up the front steps.

Walking into the house, you’re met with Scott glaring at you. You don’t answer. You want to see your babies. But he makes a show out of looking at his watch. “You’re over an hour late.”

“Sorry, I ruined your Sunday morning, Scott.”

“And what the hell are you wearing?” His hand gestures down your body, and you feel your cheeks flare up in anger more than embarrassment. Like he had any room to talk. He smirks. Reaching across the counter to slide your wallet towards you. “The District Attorney dropped this off for you. Guess I know whose clothes you’re wearing. My god. How can you be so fucking stupid?”

“I’m stupid? How’s Taylor? Your twenty-three year old fiancé? She’s just waiting for the damn divorce to be finalized, huh?” He hates when you bring up the engagement, or her age. Hell, everyone could tell she was young. Most thought she was younger than twenty-three.

Scott takes a deep breath. His fingers tap on the counter. “If you give us the house, I won’t fight you for full custody.”

Your eyes immediately well with furious tears as you stare at the man that you loved so much. You gave up everything to give him the family and home he wanted. The only thing you couldn’t give him anymore was children. Taylor could. He made sure of it. Plus her boobs weren’t droopy from breastfeeding. Her hips weren’t wider from bearing children. Her hair wasn’t thinner because you gave to your babies.

“Why are you always crying? My god, we’ve been over this. You’re getting alimony. Why do you need this house?”

“Why do you?” you counter immediately.

He sighs, shaking his head, “Because we’re going to have a family. You’re — not.”

“You son of a bitch. You're bargaining my kids for this ugly house? You think you have a leg to stand on for full custody?” This is the thing that infuriates you most about Scott. He was a good father, but now that the veil has been removed, you see that his children were more of a show for him. Something to talk about at meetings. Brag about when Audrey got into the best Pre-K in the city. Not because he actually enjoyed them. That was you.

“I have a career. You have…”

“I was your wife, and their mom, nurse, teacher, friend, entertainment, cook, maid,” you would do it all again to spend time with them. Them. It pains you knowing that Suede is at a center, when with Audrey you spent every waking minute with her.

“Yeah, I get it. You did all that for me, but that still doesn’t mean anything. I paid for this house. I’m the one that makes the money.”

“Get out,” you answer blankly. Don’t argue with him outside of the courtroom. That’s what your cheap lawyer told you. Don’t give him ammunition to take your children away. He wanted you to stay at home. He wanted you to not use your college degree. He wanted you to give everything for the family.

“We’re not finished. I am trying to negotiate things with you. Especially since you’re running around sleeping with the DA. You think that’s going to actually help your case? Seriously?” Of all the things to say, this was the worst. To think he thought so little of you that you would sleep with someone that could leverage the case. He’s an ass. But he also knows about your Andy. Too bad, he didn’t realize they were the same person.

“Andy is not just the DA,” Scott looks over your features, and your mouth turns up into a smile. Is he really lecturing you about sleeping around? At least you chose someone that was more than a tight body and big tits. You chose someone you loved, could see a future with. And you were pushing him away, “Andy is an old friend.”

“You bitch,” you shrug, starting to walk backwards towards your children who should be taking a nap. “Are you fucking kidding me. That’s — you — don’t tell me you fucked him so…”

“Mommy!” You shoot him a glare as Audrey comes running down the hallway. Jumping into your arms, and you hug her so tightly. “You smell nice,” you hope Scott hears her. You weren’t into playing games where your children are concerned, but you hope he feels even a tiny prick of the pain you felt when you found him fucking Taylor in your bed. “Me and Suedey missed you.”

“I missed you, too, baby. You want to go get Suede, so you guys can tell daddy, bye?” She furrows her brows, while she looks at you confused. “Baby what is it?”

“It’s nothing. Audrey, go get Suede,” he gives her a little wink, and you place her back on the floor, and turn to look at him. “It’s nothing.”

“If that woman was in my house again, so help me God, Scott,” it’s the one thing you hated. Her being here. Of course you didn’t want them at her apartment either, and neither did Taylor. It was too small and they caused a mess, which is why overnight stays with their dad were few and far between.

“She doesn’t like being alone.”

“And the agreement was for her to not be in my dwellings. This is my dwelling.”

“And it should be ours! You don’t even want it. You hate it here. You’re just doing this because you don’t want Taylor and I to have it.”

“I’m doing this? Who is the one that said you won’t go for full custody if I give you the house? Taylor put you up to that?” Scott stops his retort as a swollen eyed Suede comes waddling into the room, and you lift him up. “Why is he snotty? I was gone one night, why is he snotty?” You hate being that mom, but with Suede, you have to be careful.

“He petted Trixie,” you look up at Scott dumbfounded. “It was just for a little bit and then…”

“Audrey,” Scott warns, and you want to throw things at him, and scream. She did nothing wrong. She is the child, and he is the adult. “Come give me a hug. I need to finish talking to your mom," you let your chubby toddler waddle off to his daddy. And Audrey gives you a lingering look before grabbing her brother’s hand. Apologizing as she drags him to the play room.

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

“He’s allergic to cats.”

“I gave him a Benadryl. He’ll be fine.”

You hate him. It isn’t much to ask for Taylor not to be here. And for her not to bring her fucking cat. “And what happens if she feeds him something with eggs?” Scott looks at the counter, and you wonder if he ever regrets getting involved with her. He’s the type of man that will force something to work. Because you didn’t stand for cheating, so he didn’t have another option.

“What happens if she gives him walnuts? Or milk? Or…?”

“Or gives him shell fish? Or strawberries? Or pineapples? Or whatever made up bullshit you have for him. She’s a kid and doesn’t know how bad his allergies are.”

You stare at him, and let him think about his fucking words. Seething because he sure knows how to piss you off. This was a good day. You stared at Andy’s sleeping body for too long before you tiptoed around his bedroom. Having sex so many times exhausted him now. “You’re right, she’s a kid. And had no business being with you. But our son’s health is not made up. I held his body when the nurse pricked his skin forty times, and he was wailing in my arms, and not understanding why his mommy was forcing him to do this. Don’t tell me it’s fucking made up Scott. Get out.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Get out. Leave. I can’t even look at you. This isn’t the you I married. You would never put our children’s health at risk,” he continues to stand there. Opening his mouth a bit, but you’re tired. You’re sore. And all you want is to play with your children. “I don’t need you to ask me if I’m going to use this against you. Yes, when it comes to my children’s lives and their safety, you’re damn straight I will make sure my children are alive to see another day, and not because some tramp thinks Seude’s allergies aren’t that fucking serious. Get. Out.”

He bites his lip before spinning on his heels quickly. You watch him walk out of your house, and life again. Sniffling when you lock the door. You take a few deep breaths before you have to put on your mommy shoes. It isn’t easy being a mother. Especially a single mother. It’s not easy seeing the man that you built a life with walk away so callously. To see him building a life with someone younger. Someone who can give him what he wants.

Someone who didn’t spend months and months on fertility treatments that made her feel like her skin was crawling. Like her mind was shattered. Having to schedule sex, and hope and pray that it will work. All the useless damn pregnancy tests that were always negative. Stressed, and trying to be what he wanted, only to find him fucking the babysitter, while your children slept in the next room. And it was your fault you caught them, you got back home early.

Scott didn’t even begin to understand stress. He could never understand the ups and downs your mental state went through just trying to give him what he wanted. You had Audrey and Suede. One of each, you weren’t greedy. But everything you ever did was always for him. Put on a smile when you’re hurting so bad internally. Smiling to the neighbors because everything was perfect. And you had a perfect home, and inside you were screaming because that wasn’t happiness.

The only happiness you currently have is your kids. They’re enough. They’re the reason you wake up every morning, and take them to the nursery school. They’re the reason that you get excited that Audrey wears a little uniform now that she’s in Pre-K. They put a smile on your face everyday. And those hard days when they test your every patience, and you are the one that has to be the positive one and get them in the bed, but who takes care of you?

You wanted a family and a partner. Someone that would team up with you, and take some of this load off. Someone that could entertain the kids, while you had one hour to yourself, just so you can take a bath and read. You wanted someone you could trust to be around your kids, and you’re wondering where things went wrong with Scott. Yeah, you’re sure he was stressed, but what about your stress? You’re the one who didn’t even enjoy sex anymore because it was a chore. And you did it for him.

Gods, Andy wasn’t a chore. Minus the ache in your core, that you know is going to be there for awhile. Bruised, raw, stiff, sore, and stretched. He fucked you, and fucked you so hard and deep. But then — later in the night, he kissed you. He kissed you so hard that your body prepared for him in seconds. You craved him. But he didn’t fuck you. He pushed into your warmth so slow that you knew he was making sure your body memorized him. That wasn’t fucking. That was claiming. It was euphoric. It was making love, and hoping that his body can make you change your mind. He still wants you.

That is what you want with sex. Not to just lay there, and let them take what you want, while you count the cobwebs on the ceiling. But Andy didn’t deserve whatever is going on between you and Scott. Andy deserves the world. He always has.

It isn’t anything, really. Just the average separation, and fighting for custody that Scott didn’t deserve. But you want to be divorced. You want these conversations to be done with. You want him to man up, and just be the part time dad. It’s what he was anyways. But you made it clear that Andy had you for one night. And even now saying it out loud, you hate yourself. But it’s the right thing to do. Because had Andy been present for this, his usual calm and collected demeanor would have been tested.

“What are you two doing?” You jump around the door, and both kids squeal. Suede gives a few strides before he’s crashing into your legs. “Bubba, I think you’re going to have to get your nose cleaned out at bathtime.”

“Nope. Me pay Sis,” he hates getting his nose cleaned out, and you hate that he has done it enough to know what you’re talking about.

“Mommy, I didn’t mean to get daddy in trouble.”

“Shh,” you sit on the floor, and pull her close to you. Kissing on top of her head, and she fumbles around with her little figurines. “The important thing is you told mommy that Suede was around something that can make him sick. That’s called being a good big sister, okay?”

“You promise?”

“I do,” and you curse Scott for making her worry about a grown man. It was something Scott wouldn’t have told you. Bending the truth because Suede was fine. Audrey, your strong sweet girl, knew it was wrong, and knew it could make her brother sick.

“Can we go to soft play tonight?” You look at her confused. Scott said that he was going to take them there with Taylor. Since she was supposed to be here. “Daddy said that they were closed. Do you think they’re closed today?”

“No, baby. They’re not today,” you always had to go with Scott’s lies. Taylor never wanted to do ‘baby things’. You wondered how that was going to work when she had children of her own. “You think mommy can take a shower with the door open and you and Suede not get into trouble?”

“Can we get ice cream, too?” She gives you a devilish grin, and you nod your head with a smile. “Are you going to use your bathroom?”

“No, I’ll use yours. That way I can still hear you, if you need me,” Audrey isn’t dumb. She knows you’re lying. In reality you couldn’t use yours and Scott’s bathroom anymore. It had the beautiful tub that was part of the reason you and him decided on this house. You couldn’t even sleep in your bed. Not after they defiled it.

You knew that was the real reason, and still you made excuses as to why you slept on the couch. Your favorite was to make sure nobody came through the front door. Whatever lie helped you sleep at night. Maybe you should just give Scott the house. But it’s the principle of the matter that he used your children as leverage. You want him to pay, and you want him to be their father, you want them to have a good relationship with him and Taylor, and you want things to not be so fucking difficult. You never get what you want.

You remember the most beautiful parts of your marriage. Audrey in a world of her own, while Suede goes from watching her to rolling his cars around. They were your sanity. Your saving grace, and the only reasons you’ve survived thus far. Your thumb trails over your naked ring finger. You didn’t realize you would miss it so much. But was it the ring you missed or the husband you had? You can’t even think of Scott in the same way as before. He sullied your relationship and has proven too often that Taylor is more important than your everything’s.

“So,” Sloane says as Andy walks past you and into Ransom’s office. You didn’t question why Andy needs to meet with him. It goes with the territory and the less you know the better off you are. “Big dick daddy doesn’t pay you any mind anymore?”

You choke on your coffee as you glance up at her. How the hell would she know about Andy’s dick or your involvement? “I mean, the man prances around the courthouse like he’s got a dick made out of lead. Acts like he owns the whole court system. And for a while, he always made a point to ask you for coffee, or dinner, or brought you pastries. What did you do?”

“Nothing,” you go back to your work. Sloane could be a nosy woman. Always digging for more information. And even now, she’s eyeing you like you’ve done something wrong.

“You when I think that things changed?”

“Nope,” you sigh, but she sure is going to tell you. Andy respected your wishes for just one night. But you hoped that he wouldn’t. And you know you’re acting silly. There was this part that is bigger than you really want to admit that hoped he wouldn’t give up on you. Because maybe once things are settled with Scott you might consider it.

“It might have something to do with his celebration of another year as District Attorney, and the two of you not so casually leave together. You kinda forgot your car here,” your fingers freeze, and you look up at her curiously. “You two left out the door together, and your car was here? Seriously?”

“I had a flat tire.”

“No, you didn’t,” there isn’t another way you can lie, so you just sit at your desk, staring at her. “So how was it? I’m assuming that you had sex. You’ve got kids, you’re not a virgin. So why not? Is he as big as people think?”

“People talk about his dick size?”

“Not just talk about his dick size, but have tried to break his impenetrable force field of his private life. And you come in here, and everyone is envious because he immediately showed interest in you. Why?” Her eyebrow cocks up, and she smiles. “Keep your secrets. Cause I know you fucked him, and I know now that he barely even looks at you. So either you told him how it was going to be, or…”

Her voice trails off as she walks away from your desk, “Or what?” That sounds ominous, and you didn’t want an or. You want to know that Andy doesn’t hate you. But what could make him hate you that much? The only thing would be, “Scott…”

—

“Stop moping,” Ransom rolls his eyes, but Andy is so far lost in thought it annoys Ransom. “You’ve been like this for a couple of weeks,” Andy ignores Ransom, stirring his coffee. “What’s wrong, your highness?”

“Your office manager.”

“Was the sex that bad?” Andy looks up at him confused. Scrunching up his brows, while he wonders when Ransom thinks he had sex with you. “You two weren’t subtle. She was all giggly, and you were dragging her out the door. Liquid courage I guess. Not to mention, Sloane said that her car was here once everyone left. Office hookups are severely frowned upon, but you needed laid. But I guess…it was bad.”

Andy shakes his head no. “And we had agreed on sex while she was sober,” you were sober. And cute. And flirty. And Andy was not going to miss an opportunity. Until he found out you are married.

“How romantic. Now, since the sex was good, let’s get to work.”

“She told me that I could only have her one night. We have a bit of a history, you see,” Ransom rolls his eyes, twirling his hand and motioning Andy to speed up the conversation. He didn’t care what kind of history you had. He just wants the conversation to end so he can get down to business. “She’s married.”

Ransom shakes his head no, and leans to reach in a bottom drawer of his desk. Grabbing up a file folder, he drops it on the desk in front of Andy, and he pulls it towards him. Opening up the folder, he reads through it, and looks at Ransom, holding his breath. “Yeah, that’s a petition for full custody of her kids from her wonderful estranged husband, Scott Huffman. Her working here wasn’t just because she needed a job. She actually went to college to be…”

“A CPA. I’m aware. We have a history.”

“And didn’t know about her legal separation?” Ransom is annoyed. Ransom hates getting off track. There is a schedule, and Andy isn’t sticking to it. “Her lawyer is one of the cheapest ones. She needs new representation, and for some godforsaken reason, I pity her. Scott doesn’t need his kids full time. He’s got him some blonde that’s too young for him, but he’s got the money. She was a stay at home mom, and she deserves her kids, so I’m trying to make that happen. And no, you cannot intervene. You actually met him didn’t you? Scott?”

“I’ve met him in court a few times.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Don’t get involved. She’s not married. Well, she’s legally separated. So if that’s what the issue is, get over it,” Ransom is sometimes way to blunt, but it’s the reason Andy admires him. His pension for being a spoiled brat helped him be a better ADA. “That fucker is still calling her his wife isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Men like him love to show that they still own her. Using her kids against her, no doubt. But,” Andy holds his hands up in surrender. He knows Ransom can see right through him concerning this situation. “I won’t interfere.”

“Was her pussy that good?”

“It was always that good, but it was never about the sex,” he meets his eyes before he closes the folder, and extends it to Ransom. He misjudged the situation. And then he probably has been making you feel like a wet hole by ignoring you these past couple of weeks. “God, I'm an idiot.”

”Yeah, now if you can stop ignoring her, and go back to your obvious shameless flirting. It sounds like the two of you, if you want a future, need to fucking talk. Just like we’re supposed to be doing.”

Ransom is right. About a lot of things. He pushes the urgent need to talk to you aside. He wants to apologize for ignoring you, and even the horrible things he thought. He wants to understand what really happened in your marriage, if you want to talk. He wants to let you know that you have a friend in him. Not just a sexual need. He cares about you. And knowing that a ruthless man is trying to get full custody of your children, sickens him. Scott worked too many hours to ever need those children.

But mostly, he wants to know the new you. The one you kept hidden, and the one that grew up and created a new life. He wants to know that you are okay. And that you have someone with a steady head to lean on. He wants you. He always has. And he’ll be whatever you need. If you’ll let him.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy

[fozmeadows]

TERFism really is just white beauty politics in a pseudo-feminist hat, because there's simply no escaping the fact that every concern-trolling argument TERFs make against transition, and particularly towards trans men, boils down to the worst thing you can be is an ugly woman, where "ugly" is code for "insufficiently young, white and/or traditionally feminine."

The ridiculing of trans women, for instance, centers disgust at the idea of anyone with traditionally "masculine" features attempting to pass as female, which - as has been well-documented by this point - frequently sees butch women, women of colour, older women, tall women, strong women, and any other woman who doesn't fit this dogwhistle standard of prettiness caught in the crossfire. Masculinity is incompatible with beauty, this logic goes, and all women must be beautiful. Ergo, the more masculine you appear, the less female you are. TERFs, of course, will try to deny their active participation in anything so ragingly unfeminist as policing women's bodies in pursuit of a narrow physical ideal, and yet, as the recent furor over Imane Khalif has roundly shown, this is exactly what they end up doing: an endless reinvention of new and shittier forms of phrenology to explain why this woman or that is not, in fact, really a woman.

Accepting trans women who don't, by conventional standards, pass, means accepting the femininity of women - both cis and trans - who diverge from these beauty standards: who have facial hair or receding hairlines, deep voices or big hands and feet, who are muscular or tall or strong-jawed, who are either incapable or undesirous of pregnancy, or one of a thousand other things we're told (despite the fact that humans are not a strongly dimorphic species) are exclusively masculine traits. But trans women who do pass engender a different terror: the fear that beauty is not an exclusively "feminine" inheritance, such that someone deemed a man might natively posses it and thereby render "real" feminine beauty somehow less special.

And then we have the scaremongering around trans men, which frequently presents as "concern" over, specifically, impressionable girls and young women being tricked into harming their healthy bodies by the nefarious Trans Cabal. That this same concern is never extended to adult women is the giveaway, because adult women are, by this reckoning, inherently less valuable, being neither as pretty nor as fertile as their younger counterparts. It's already too late to prevent their inevitable descent into the ugliness of ageing, and either they're parents already (in which case, their biological purpose has been served, thus rendering their identities past that point moot) or else have been written off as too old for childbearing anyway (which adds to their irrelevance).

Which makes it all the more ironic how many of the stated negatives of transition for trans men dovetails with things the cis female body normally does as it ages and/or postpartum. Long-term binding is decried for the way it causes the breasts to sag or deform and the nipples to enlarge, for instance, when this is exactly what happens as a consequence of pregnancy and breastfeeding. An increase in facial and body hair is common for post-menopausal women, let alone those with PCOS. Plenty of women naturally have deep voices, with many growing raspier regardless with age, while both ageing and childbirth inevitably alter the appearance of genitalia, sometimes radically. Even top surgery, the procedure most maligned as "butchery," has its cis analogues: not only for survivors of breast cancer or those who, due to genetic predisposition towards aggressive forms of it, opt for preventative mastectomies, but those who undergo breast reduction surgery, whether for cosmetic or health reasons - while some women, on yet a third hand, are natively flat-chested.

Taken together, then, what unifies the demonizing fear of trans women and the infantilizing dismissal of trans men by TERFs is an obsession with a specific, youth-and-Eurocentric-based notion of female beauty, where being deemed too masculine in either direction is the disqualifying factor. In TERFlandia, masculinity therefore becomes a synonym for ugliness: trans women can't shed it sufficiently to be counted at any age (unless they pass, which is a prospect too terrifying to countenance), while trans men must be stopped at all costs from embracing it (unless they're already old, in which case they no longer matter). Which is not to say that transphobia more broadly lacks for other avenues of attack; it's just that concern around trans bodies and the necessity of controlling them inevitably circles back to beauty, youth and fertility as the abiding hallmarks of womanhood, and as soon as you point this out, all the other arguments start to unravel.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

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

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

Chapter One Hundred & Two

The bath sat in the center of the Queen’s private chamber, a massive, intricately carved tub of smooth metal. The low light from the hearth danced across its surface, casting flickering shadows along the edges of the water. Steam rose from the gently rippling surface, mixing with the dim warmth that radiated from the roaring fire nearby. The dark stone walls around her gave the room an imposing feel, but the glow from the hearth across the chamber softened the shadows.

Maera had dismissed her servants and ladies, craving solitude. The stone floor echoed with silence as the chambermaids had exited, leaving her completely alone. Aemara, her daughter, had been sent to the nursery for the night, along with Sȳndor, who would undoubtedly curl up near the crib, acting as her guardian. For once, there was no noise, no crying, no footsteps—just the soft crackling of the fire and the gentle rippling of the bath.

She didn’t bother with the oils and soaps laid out for her, nor did she make any effort to wash her hair or body just yet. Instead, she simply sat there, submerged in the warm water, her back leaning against the cool stone of the tub. Her arms rested along its edges, her head tilted slightly, eyes half-closed. It was one of the few moments she could simply breathe, without the weight of her crown or duties pressing on her shoulders.

Her fingers trailed absently across her stomach, her skin warmed both by the bath and the heat from the nearby hearth. It was a subconscious movement, her hand moving on its own accord, as her mind wandered to the news the Grand Maester had given her. She was pregnant again. Another life growing inside her. Another chance to fulfill the realm's expectations.

The realization still hadn’t fully settled in but she had time- six moons, if Vaegon’s estimation was correct. The thought gave her some comfort. Six moons to prepare herself, to process the whirlwind of emotions coursing through her. It certainly explained the small changes she had noticed: the subtle weight gain, her irritability. She was happy, of course, but the weight of it all pressed against her like the warm water surrounding her, as if she could just let it wash away her concerns.

The stillness of the moment was shattered when the doors to the chamber burst open. Maera jumped, water sloshing over the sides of the tub as Aemond stormed in, his face darkened with fury. His stride was purposeful, almost predatory, but he stopped in his tracks when his gaze landed on her in the bath. For a moment, silence stretched between them. His piercing gaze lingered, the tension between them thick and unfamiliar.

Maera furrowed her brow, feeling the weight of his stare as her arms instinctively crossed over her chest. What was he staring at? Did he notice something different about her? That couldn’t be—he had been with her only that morning, and nothing had changed. She scoffed inwardly at herself. His lingering gaze was likely for one reason, the same reason any other man would stare: her nudity. It had always drawn his attention, his hunger for her never truly sated, no matter how many times they’d lain together.

The Queen’s lips tightened as she observed him stride towards the bed, a pained look on his face. Another headache, no doubt. He’d been getting them more frequently, and his foul mood was likely exacerbating the pain. His expression was dark, his lips set in a hard line as he rubbed his temples. She could sense the storm of emotions swirling in him, his frustration palpable in the air. Whatever had set him off, it had clearly been something serious.

From the tub, Maera broke the heavy silence that hung between them. “I know something troubles you,” she said, her voice steady but softened by the steam and quiet of the room. A gruff hum came in response, and nothing more. Aemond’s back remained to her, his tall frame rigid with tension. She tried again, gentler this time. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Aemond sighed deeply, the sound almost like a growl as his head tilted back towards the ceiling. His hand reached up to undo the strap of his leather eyepatch, revealing the harsh lines of strain on his face as he placed it aside. “The Red Kraken,” he finally muttered, his voice tight.

The Queen watched his back as he turned away, the muscles in his neck flexing with another hiss of discomfort. She heard the soft clink as he scooped the sapphire from his eye socket and placed it carefully into the bowl by the bedside. His profile, for a moment, was stripped bare of its usual sharpness, leaving only the empty socket exposed.

He undid his silver hair from its tie, letting it fall straight to his shoulders, pale like the moonlight. “He finally made his choice,” Aemond said, his voice filled with bitter distaste. “Rhaenyra.”

Maera frowned, her fingers tracing absent-minded patterns in the cooling water. She remembered Aemond’s frustration from years ago when he had first approached Lord Greyjoy at the start of the war, seeking his help. The Lord of the Iron Islands had been elusive and declined to offer support to either side of the conflict at that time. But now, it seemed the Red Kraken had finally chosen—against them.

She watched as Aemond continued to disrobe, his movements slow and deliberate, as if the action itself could ease the burden that weighed on him. He bent to unbuckle his boots, casting them aside with a rough toss. His long fingers then moved to undo the clasps of his dark doublet, shrugging it off his broad shoulders. The soft fabric of his white undershirt was the next to go, pulled over his head and thrown carelessly to the side, revealing the lean, toned lines of his body.

Finally, he unlaced his trousers, pulling them off along with his underclothes in a single motion, leaving them in a pile at the foot of the bed. His skin, bare and lit by the flickering candlelight, cast long shadows across the stone floor. His body was a mixture of elegant strength and hardened edges, his lithe frame a map of scars, both old and new.

Maera’s voice was gentle, though her question carried the weight of concern. “What does this mean?”

Aemond paused, humming with a mixture of frustration and calculation before he approached the tub. “It means the Red Kraken is taking advantage of the war, pirating and pillaging his way along the west coast,” he answered, his voice edged with anger. “He’s burning every ship that dares cross his path, looting and leaving nothing but ash in his wake.” His words, clipped and filled with disgust, echoed through the chamber.

A chill ran up the Queen’s spine at the gravity of the news. She recalled that the new overlord of the Westerlands was but a child, with his mother, Lady Johanna, acting as regent. But how could Lady Johanna—a lone woman burdened with the governance of her people—stand against the bloodthirsty pirates of the Ironborn? Men who had no honour, no loyalty. The thought gnawed at her, as did the realization of what this could mean for the Realm.

Before Maera could question him further, she watched as Aemond, his expression brooding, stepped into the metal tub, joining her. They faced each other for a long, quiet moment, the only sound in the room being the crackling hearth behind them, casting warm flickers of light across the stone walls. His violet eye—sharp, restless��lingered on hers before he looked away, the weight of his frustrations clear on his face.

Maera placed a hand atop his, pulling his attention back to her. She granted him a small, reassuring smile. “Turn around,” she gestured gently. Aemond looked puzzled, his brow knitting together in confusion. But when she raised her brow with insistence, he let out a resigned sigh and complied, turning around so he now sat between her legs, his back facing her.

She reached for the pail of water by the tub, tilting it to rinse his long, silver hair. The warmth of the water made his hair curl slightly at the ends as it soaked through. She then took a bar of soap, lathering it in her hands before she began to rub it into his scalp. Her fingers worked with care, digging her nails in ever so slightly to relieve the tension that knotted in his muscles.

Aemond let out a quiet sigh, his body relaxing under her touch. He leaned back, his head coming to rest against her chest, letting the warmth of the water and the comfort of her touch ease his worries for the moment. The tensions between them and the turmoil outside the chamber walls seemed to fade, if only briefly.

Maera leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Aemond's temple, her lips lingering against his skin before she asked, "And what will you do about it, my King?" Before he could answer, she felt him tense beneath her hands, his body preparing to rise from the tub. But with a firm press of her palms on his shoulders, she kept him grounded.

She couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. Though he was so much stronger than her—his body built for war and flight-he allowed her to hold him in place, giving her this small illusion of control.

Aemond tilted his head back, his sharp violet eye catching hers, the corner of his lips twitching ever so slightly. "I'm still contemplating," he admitted, his voice gravelly yet thoughtful. "Lord Bryndemere advised me to sleep on it before I decide anything." Maera's fingers moved gently through his hair, her nails scratching lightly against his scalp. He leaned further into her touch, his body relaxing once more as a quiet sigh escaped him, his head nuzzling into her bare chest for comfort.

For a moment, they sat in that silence, the fire crackling softly behind them. But then, Aemond sat up, turning to face her in the tub. His sharp features were bathed in the soft glow of the hearthlight, the flickering flames casting shadows along the planes of his face. He had the look of a warrior, but it was the weight of a king that hung in his gaze.

"On the one hand," he began, his voice measured and calm, "the Lannisters are our allies, and wealthy ones at that. They've supported our cause with coin and soldiers. But without an overlord, Lady Johanna is defenseless. Most of her army is away, fighting in our name, leaving her exposed to the Ironborn."

Maera nodded as he spoke, reaching for the soap nearby. She began to scrub her arms and legs, the familiar rhythm calming her as she listened. One of the things she admired most about her husband was how methodical he could be, even in the face of danger. His mind, when not clouded by anger, worked like a weapon-sharpened to a fine point. It was true his temper had often been his downfall, but, be it age, or the fact he was now a father, he was learning to wield his anger like a powerful sword.

The Queen felt a gentle tug as Aemond lifted her left leg onto his lap, her skin sliding slightly against his wet thighs. With a quick motion, he snatched the soap from her hand, a smirk playing on his lips. She rolled her green eyes in response, exhaling softly as he began to run the soap along her leg, working the lather into her skin. His touch, while firm, softened when he reached the scarred flesh on her upper thigh, his movements careful, almost reverent.

“And on the other hand?” she asked, her voice soft but direct, trying to pull him from his silent brooding.

Aemond continued his work, his fingers tracing the edges of her scars as if committing them to memory. He hummed, his voice vibrating through the quiet chamber before answering. “It’s difficult to send aid to the Lannisters. Cole is barely holding the Riverlands, and even then, only by a fraction. The Lannister troops are propping up that front.” He sighed, moving the soap higher on her leg. “If we withdraw forces from the Riverlands to aid the Westerlands, it could cripple the war effort.”

Maera’s gaze softened at his words, understanding the weight that pressed on his shoulders. Without a word, she reached forward, snatching the soap from his grasp. His eye flashed with amusement as she leaned into him, pressing the lathered bar against his broad chest, rubbing slow circles across the muscles beneath his skin. Bubbles formed and slipped down his torso as she grinned up at him mischievously.

“Remind me, husband,” she began, her voice carrying a teasing lilt, “what titles were bestowed upon you when you became King?”

Her husband scowled at her, clearly suspicious of her playful tone, but she merely tucked a silver strand of his hair behind his ear, her fingers lingering for a moment. “Go on,” she prodded, her grin widening. “It’s not a trick question.”

With a reluctant sigh, Aemond leaned back slightly in the tub, his features hardening for a moment as he recited, “I am Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.” He paused, as if realizing where she was leading him. “And Protector of the Realm,” he added, his voice quieting as he met her eyes.

The firelight flickered in the reflection of his single eye as he spoke, his gaze steady but far away as he weighed the choices in his mind. Maera watched him, her heart swelling with pride. Whatever decision he made, she knew it would not be one made in haste. He was learning, growing, becoming the king she always knew he could be.

Maera nodded, her hands still on him, and a knowing smile tugged at her lips. “There’s your answer,” she said simply.

The King hummed thoughtfully at Maera's words, his sharp gaze softening as his hand moved to stroke her cheek. His fingertips were gentle against her skin, and she felt the droplets of water dripping down from his palm onto her face, cool against the warmth of the bath. Maera instinctively leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment, letting herself bask in the quiet connection between them.

When she opened her eyes, her voice was low, steady. "You needn't send boats or troops to deal with the Red Kraken," she whispered. She searched his face, her green eyes locking with his, as a smile began to curve her lips. "Nothing matches dragonfire," she added with a glint in her eyes. Reaching up, she twirled a lock of his damp silver hair between her fingers, the strands curling slightly from the water. "Either I, you, or Daeron could handle the pirates in a mere afternoon," she said, her voice filled with quiet confidence.

Aemond let out a low chuckle, his deep voice reverberating in the stone chamber. Without warning, he grabbed her wrist, his touch firm but playful, pulling her closer to him in the bath. His one good eye gleamed with mischief as he asked, "Why does it always seem like we're the ones cleaning up everyone else's messes?"

Mara giggled, her chest rising and falling with her laughter, and she let herself be pulled further into him. "Because that," she teased, "is what it means to rule."

His smirk faded into something more intense as he tugged her closer still, his grip sliding from her wrist to her waist. The distance between them closed in an instant, and his lips found hers. The kiss was firm at first, a meeting of lips that quickly deepened. His free hand cupped the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her wet hair as he pulled her even closer.

The Queen responded in kind, her fingers dancing across his chest, feeling the defined muscles beneath her fingertips as their mouths moved together. His kiss grew more fervent, more insistent, and she matched him, tilting her head to meet him fully.

Despite the heat of the moment, the instant Maera felt Aemond's hand slide up her plush thigh, inching ever closer to her centre, a gasp escaped her lips. Instinctively, she hopped backward, causing the water to splash and spill over the edge of the tub, cascading onto the cold stone floor below. Aemond immediately furrowed his brow, not in anger, but in concern, his one eye searching her face for an explanation.

Maera shook her head to herself, feeling foolish for her sudden reaction. "Forgive me," she murmured, her fingers nervously fiddling in her lap. Her mind raced back to the news she had received earlier that day—the news of her pregnancy. The thought still weighed heavily on her, filling her with an unfamiliar blend of excitement and anxiety. She wasn't ready to share the burden with Aemond yet. Not now. So instead, she sighed softly, saying, "It's been a trying day."

Aemond, ever perceptive, leaned forward and gently shushed her, offering a sad yet reassuring smile. His touch was tender as he gestured for her to turn away from him, a silent request to let the moment continue on her terms. Maera complied, turning so her back faced him, leaning into him with a deep sigh. She closed her eyes as she felt him begin to pour warm water down her shoulders, the gentle stream calming her as his lips brushed her cheek in a soft kiss. In a low whisper, he asked, "What's troubling you?"

Maera didn't reply right away. Her gaze drifted toward the roaring hearth across the chamber, its flickering light casting shadows on the stone walls. For a moment, she lost herself in the fire, her mind weighed down with thoughts of what lay ahead.

She felt Aemond's hand on her chin then, gently turning her face toward his. His gaze was intense, filled with a deep understanding. The look in his eye was one she knew all too well, a quiet promise of comfort.

"Would you allow me to ease your troubles?" he asked, his tone sultry and laced with warmth. “You needn’t do anything but relax.”

Despite the turmoil in her mind, Maera couldn't help but smile stubbornly at his offer. His persistence and devotion never ceased to tug at her heart. Hesitantly, she nodded, giving him silent permission. She knew that, if only for a moment, his touch might help her forget the weight of the day, and she let herself lean into the solace he offered.

The King began by washing her hair, his skilled fingers massaging Maera's scalp with practiced tenderness. He applied just the right amount of pressure, working the soap into her brown and silver curls, creating soft, fragrant bubbles that quickly filled the air around them. Maera sighed as the warm bathwater cascaded over her head, rinsing away the suds in soothing waves.

Next, Aemond's hands moved to her shoulders, applying soap with gentle caresses. His touch was deliberate, slow, and reverent, tracing the lines of her soft white skin. Maera closed her eyes, letting out a soft breath as his hands slid down her arms, washing away the day's tension. His touch soon worked its way to her chest, his fingers tracing the curves of her rounded flesh. He squeezed gently, teasingly, causing her breath to catch in her throat. She bit back a moan, fully aware of the way her body responded to him, the slight tingling in her breasts as her milk began to leak.

“Fuck,” a growl was heard behind her. The Queen knew Aemond noticed it too, and from the way his eye lingered on her, it was clear he enjoyed the sight.

All the while, he peppered kisses along the side of her face and neck, starting with barely-there touches. His lips grazed her skin, sending ripples of goosebumps down her arms. Each gentle kiss felt like a spark, awakening something deep inside her. But as his caresses continued, his kisses became more intense, wetter and rougher. He pressed his mouth to her skin with an urgency that sent shivers down her spine. His breath, hot and ragged, brushed against her ear, the sound alone sending a wave of excitement through her.

With each touch, each kiss, Maera felt her pulse quicken, her body responding to the slow burn of desire igniting between them. Her husband’s lips brushed against her skin as he cooed softly, his tone carrying a hint of mockery. “Forgive me, sweet wife,” he murmured, his voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Here I am, complaining of my troubles, when you have been suffering in silence.”

His hand moved with a deliberate slowness, slipping lower beneath the water. Maera squirmed against him, her breaths growing quicker, anticipation tightening in her chest. His fingers glided down her stomach, and just as the heat of desire began to coil tighter within her, his hand dipped between her legs. She gasped, her body tensing at the sudden and intimate touch.

Aemond’s low chuckle reverberated through the quiet room, his tongue trailing a wet stripe up the side of her neck. His hot breath tickled her ear as he whispered, voice low and sultry, “Shall I take your pain away, my queen?”

Maera’s breath hitched, her heart pounding as she eagerly nodded, her cheeks flushing with heat. A soft, needy moan escaped her lips as Aemond’s fingers expertly found her clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that sent waves of pleasure rippling through her. Her body arched into his touch, surrendering to the sensation as she let herself drown in the closeness of the moment, the warmth of the bath, and the burning intensity of his touch.

The King’s fingers pressed more firmly, working their magic as the pleasure within Maera surged like a rising tide. She gasped, her breaths coming in short, sharp bursts, barely able to keep up with the sensations coursing through her body. Instinctively, her hand shot up, tangling in her husband's long silver hair. Her nails dug into his scalp just enough to elicit a low groan from deep within his chest.

With a surge of desperate need, Maera pulled him forward, crashing their lips together in a messy, fervent kiss. Their teeth clashed, tongues tangling with a primal hunger as the water around them sloshed wildly. She writhed in his arms, her body arching back against him as waves of pleasure built higher and higher.

Her backside ground against him, and she felt the undeniable hardness of his manhood pressing into her lower back. The sensation only fueled her further, her body aching for him, completely lost in the overwhelming pleasure and the closeness of their shared desire.

Breaking the kiss with a gasp, Maera let her head fall back against his shoulder as she cried out in ecstasy. She felt his fingers slide deep inside her, finding that perfect spot with a practiced ease, and the Queen's body responded instantly, trembling with the intensity of it. His fingers pumped in and out of her, his thumb never ceasing its slow, maddening circles around her most sensitive bundle of nerves. The overwhelming pleasure consumed her, pushing her closer and closer to the edge, the sensation almost too much to bear.

"Aemond," she whined, her voice breathless and needy.

"I know," he murmured against her ear, his voice soft but laced with satisfaction. "Do you want to finish, sweet wife?"

"Yes. Pl-please," she begged, her words tumbling out in a rush, as if her very life depended on it. She was on the precipice, her body teetering on the edge of release, the tension inside her wound so tightly she thought she might snap.

"Then finish," Aemond commanded, his voice dark and soothing.

At his words, Maera groaned, her body giving in completely. Her release hit her like a tidal wave, a shattering rush of pleasure that left her breathless. She bucked against his hand, riding the waves of her climax as they crashed over her, each surge of pleasure more intense than the last. She felt herself unravel, every thought and worry fading away until she was left completely spent, her body limp and trembling in his arms.

As her breathing slowly steadied, Aemond withdrew his hand from the water, his fingers leaving her with a lingering sense of warmth and satisfaction. He pressed gentle kisses to her neck and cheek, his lips soft and tender, a contrast to the passion that had consumed them moments before. For a while, they sat there in the quiet, their bodies still entwined, the only sound in the chamber the crackling hearth and the distant crash of waves against the shore.

“Is the source reliable?”

“I am quite certain, Your Grace.”

The Queen hurried through the dim corridors of the castle, her black and green skirts rustling with each swift step. The echoes of her soft-soled shoes tapped against the cold stone floors as she weaved through the familiar halls. Her breath came quicker, not from exertion, but from the urgency with which she moved. The morning light, filtered through narrow windows, bathed the path ahead in a golden hue, though her thoughts were already in the council chamber.

Aemond had let her sleep in, stating she should rest up after their passionate indulgences of the previous night. She had risen a few hours after he had left, feeling the weight of her pregnancy as she made her way to the nursery to feed Aemara. The black dragon, Sȳndor, curled protectively near the cradle, while Aemara’s coos filled the room with warmth as she was held by mother. But the Queen’s maternal routine had been cut short when a servant, breathless and flustered, appeared at the nursery door, stammering that the King had summoned her with urgency.

Now, as she approached the great doors to the Small Council chamber, Maera could already hear the hum of conversation through the thick wood. The council members’ voices were loud, resonant, and authoritative, filled with the gravity of whatever matters they were deliberating. She paused for a fleeting moment, smoothing her skirts and collecting herself before stepping forward.

When she entered, all conversation ceased abruptly. The heavy wooden doors creaked open, and the council members, dressed in their elaborate robes of station, rose from their seats in unison, their eyes falling on her as she quickly made her way inside.

Reaching his side, Maera curtsied to her husband at the head of the table, her green eyes locking briefly with his one sharp violet one. Aemond, seated in his usual place, nodded at her in acknowledgment, the smallest hint of warmth flickering in his gaze before it was replaced by the steely mask of kingship. The gesture, brief but familiar, brought a flicker of comfort to Maera, and she moved swiftly to her seat beside him.

As she sat, so too did the members of the council, the scraping of chairs against the floor momentarily the only sound in the chamber. The room settled into a tense stillness as Maera smoothed her skirts once more, her mind already beginning to sift through the possibilities of what had demanded her urgent presence.

The Queen took a moment to scan the faces of the councilmen seated around the table, their expressions betraying far more than the quiet tension of the room.

Lord Bryndemere Tarth, the balding and sturdy Master of Ships, was practically beaming. His large hands were folded in front of him, but the twinkle in his eyes suggested he was eager for the meeting to continue. Beside him, Lord Lyonel, the Master of Coin, looked equally delighted, his Hightower features softened by a rare smile. Even Lord Larys Strong, the Master of Whispers, usually so composed and unsettling, appeared genuinely elated. His thin lips twisted into a crooked grin as his pale eyes glinted with mischief.

Maera’s gaze shifted cautiously from one man to the next. Something was amiss, and she could feel it. She turned her head toward Ser Alfred Broome, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The sight of his broad smile only deepened her suspicion. Everyone seemed in unnaturally high spirits for such a meeting.

“What have I missed?” Maera asked, her voice carefully measured. Her gaze drifted from Ser Alfred back to Lord Bryndemere and Lord Lyonel, noting the excitement brimming just beneath the surface.

“Why is everyone so cheerful?” she pressed, her tone edged with curiosity. She kept her back straight and her expression unreadable, though the energy in the room made her uneasy.

Lord Bryndemere was the first to speak, clearly eager to relay the news. He sat up straighter and began in his typical booming voice, “Your Grace, we received word via raven. Your ships, the fleet of Morne, and the Velaryon fleet have come to blows in the Narrow Sea.”

Maera’s brow furrowed, her mind racing at the mention of her ships. “Over cargo?” she asked, her tone skeptical. The fleets clashing in the Narrow Sea wasn’t particularly unusual, but the loss of ships was always a cause for concern.

Lord Bryndemere nodded. “Yes, my Queen, arriving from Essos. Many of your ships were destroyed,” he said, his excitement barely contained. “And a few of the Velaryon ships were also sunk.”

Maera’s lips twisted into a scoff, her disbelief clear as she leaned back in her seat. “That doesn’t seem like good news, Lord Bryndemere,” she replied bluntly, crossing her arms. The loss of ships was no cause for celebration, especially not in times as dire as these. She could hear Ser Alfred Broome chuckling softly beside her. He shook his head, amusement playing across his weathered features.

“That’s not the part that has us all smiling, Your Grace,” Ser Alfred said, his voice rich with mirth.

Curious now, Maera tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she waited for the explanation. There was more to this story, something she hadn’t yet been told. She could feel the anticipation building in the room, as if the councilmen were all on the verge of revealing a long-awaited surprise.

Lord Larys rose slowly from his seat, leaning heavily on his cane, his ever-watchful eyes locked onto the Queen with an unsettling smile playing on his thin lips. Maera instinctively straightened in her chair, suppressing the unease that slithered down her spine at his gaze. He was always deliberate in his actions, and even now, his movements felt like part of a larger game.

“Lord Corlys hid news of the attack from Rhaenyra, Your Grace.” The Master of Whispers eyes gleamed with satisfaction as if relishing the thought of such a betrayal. Maera felt a chill. Lord Corlys had always been the staunchest ally of Rhaenyra, going to great lengths to acknowledge her sons by Harwin Strong as his own blood, despite the obvious truth of their parentage. His loyalty to the Blacks was unquestionable—or so it had seemed.

Beside Lord Larys, Grand Maester Vaegon, always measured and solemn, gave a small nod of confirmation. “Indeed,” he said, his voice calm but his words troubling. “It has been whispered among the Black court that Rhaenyra is slowly losing her grip on her council. Factions are forming, and trust is beginning to fray.”

Maera furrowed her brow, the pieces not quite falling into place. Corlys Velaryon had always acted in Rhaenyra’s best interest. What could have driven him to conceal such an important event from her now? And what exactly was it that had everyone here so pleased?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Aemond clearing his throat. His sharp eye glanced toward her before he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of bitter knowledge. “The old whore has grown more paranoid since the betrayal of the Dragonseeds. She sees threats everywhere, even in those she once trusted. Corlys keeping this from her has only heightened her suspicion.” He leaned forward, his elbow resting on the table as if contemplating just how far his sister had fallen.

Maera’s gaze softened, slowly beginning to understand the true gravity of the situation. Rhaenyra’s grip on power was slipping, her paranoia pushing her oldest and most loyal allies to make questionable choices, ones that might spell disaster for the Blacks.

Ser Alfred Broome, who had been quietly watching the exchange, now chimed in. “Rhaenyra’s distrust has grown so deeply that she called for the arrest of the Dragonseeds who remain loyal to her, out of fear of further betrayal.” His tone was grim, though there was a dark satisfaction in his words.

Lord Lyonel Hightower leaned forward then, adding the final piece to the puzzle. “Lord Corlys warned one of these Dragonseeds before he could be captured. The bastard fled before he could be seized, but not before Rhaenyra discovered what Corlys had done.”

The Master of Ships, leaned forward, his voice steady but carrying a note of grim satisfaction. “Lord Corlys Velaryon has been arrested for treason against Rhaenyra. His secret actions, though well-meaning in his own mind, have cost him dearly. House Velaryon… most of it, anyway, has abandoned her cause entirely. They refuse to support a Queen who imprisons their lord.”

A silence hung heavy in the room as Maera processed the weight of the revelation. The implications were staggering. For so long, Corlys Velaryon had been one of Rhaenyra’s greatest strengths, a lord with power, ships, and the legacy of Driftmark at his back. Now, Rhaenyra’s grip on him had shattered. Worse still, House Velaryon was falling away from her, leaving her without a naval presence, isolated and vulnerable. This fracture could be the final blow that turns the tide of the war.

Chatter quickly broke out among the council. They spoke eagerly, voices overlapping as they debated their next steps. Bryndemere suggested they move quickly to coax the remnants of House Velaryon to their side. Lyonel agreed, stating that the influence of Driftmark could tip the scales in their favor, especially with their naval power. Ser Alfred Broome, ever practical, raised the idea of approaching the other Dragonseeds, the ones Rhaenyra had begun to hunt down out of paranoia. If they could offer these bastards protection, they could rally them against their former Queen, turning her own dragons against her.

Yet as the conversation swirled around her, Maera remained silent, her mind focused not on the tactics, but on the satisfaction that simmered within her. She had once tried to bridge the gap between them, to approach Rhaenyra with compassion, but her attempts had been met with coldness. Now, Rhaenyra’s paranoia and inability to hold her alliances was bringing her downfall. It was a justice of sorts, and Maera couldn’t help but consider the irony of it all. Rhaenyra, who had once seemed unshakable, was now floundering, caught in the web of her own mistrust.

Her eyes flickered toward her husband. Aemond sat at the head of the table, the weight of the Conqueror’s crown resting on his brow, his expression carefully measured, though Maera knew him too well to miss the glint of satisfaction in his violet eye. He, too, saw the advantage this shift brought, the unraveling of Rhaenyra’s court. As Maera’s fingers gently squeezed his hand, Aemond’s gaze shifted to her, softening in a rare moment of warmth. He gave her a brief but genuine smile, and in that fleeting moment, they shared a silent understanding.

Wine was soon brought to the table, the dark liquid poured generously into the cups of the lords and council members upon the order of one of the more enthusiastic lords. The servants moved swiftly and silently, filling their goblets as the chatter grew lively. For a brief moment, the air lightened, and the Small Council indulged in the luxury of wine and a rare sense of celebration. A sense of victory, however small, hung in the room.

Maera, seated beside Aemond, accepted her own cup, watching as Lord Bryndemere, the Master of Ships, chuckled heartily from his seat. He leaned forward, his face flushed with wine and excitement, and declared, “At this rate, we may not even need to invade at all!” His words were met with a mixture of amusement and shock.

The King’s sharp eye turned towards Bryndemere, shooting him a stern, warning look. The message was clear—such careless optimism was not to be voiced so lightly. Lord Bryndemere quickly backtracked, his earlier confidence faltering under the King’s cold gaze. “Of course, Your Grace,” he said hastily, raising his cup in acknowledgment. “We should plan for it… naturally. But, ah, it may well be that the people of King’s Landing will oust the Black Queen themselves before we even arrive. Her own subjects could turn on her, weary of her rule.”

Maera couldn’t help but smile at the thought. The idea of no invasion, of avoiding yet another brutal battle, was a hopeful one. Countless lives spared, bloodshed avoided. It was a dream she often harbored, despite the brutal reality of the war they waged. The thought that perhaps, just perhaps, peace might come without further blood might be naive, but it filled her heart with quiet joy nonetheless.

However, the sudden, sharp banging of a cane on the stone floor cut through the chatter like a blade. The sound echoed through the chamber, and all eyes turned toward the source—Lord Larys Strong, his cane resting heavily on the floor as he cleared his throat. His sneer was unmistakable as he eyed Lord Bryndemere, his lips curling with disdain. “Be that as it may,” Larys drawled, his tone dripping with condescension, “there is still one thing that keeps the people with her.”

A pause hung in the air as all listened to the man known for his cunning. Larys’s eyes gleamed as he added, “The succession.” His voice was low, but it carried the weight of undeniable truth.

The room fell into a tense silence, the earlier celebratory mood evaporating like mist under the sun. The reminder of Rhaenyra’s strength—her sons—hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the optimism that had filled the chamber moments before. The unspoken truth was clear: as long as Rhaenyra had her sons, her claim held weight. It was an anchor for those still loyal to the Black Queen, no matter how fractured her court had become.

Lord Lyonel Hightower was the first to break the uneasy quiet. His voice rang out with conviction, a tone he often used when reminding the council of the Green’s own strengths. “His Grace, King Aemond, has his successor,” Lord Lyonel declared, nodding towards Aemond. “Prince Daeron.”

For a moment, the room seemed to settle, but the calm was quickly shattered by a derisive scoff from the corner of the room, where the Master of Whispers, Lord Larys Strong, leaned forward on his cane, eyes glinting with malice.

“And yet,” Larys drawled, “the young Prince has been wed for years… and still no son. No heir of his own.” The words were like venom, seeping into the minds of the council. The implication was clear, and it hung heavily in the air.

Maera’s pulse quickened. She felt the weight of Larys’s pointed words settle over her like a heavy cloak. Though he hadn’t said it outright, everyone in the room knew the true target of his comment—her. The Queen had given Aemond a daughter, Aemara, a sweet, beautiful girl. But not a son. And in a world like theirs, where lineage and sons were the pillars of power, her perceived failure was a weakness in the eyes of many.

A part of Maera couldn’t deny that Larys was right, cruel as his words were. The Greens would appear vulnerable if they failed to secure a strong line of Targaryen male heirs. The war they fought now was for their family’s future, for the right to rule for generations to come. Without heirs, their cause would crumble like sand in a storm.

Larys continued, his voice slippery and full of knowing malice. “Rhaenyra, on the other hand, has three sons. Two of whom the realm still believes to be alive.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched, his one eye flashing with anger. “Her heir is a bastard,” he snapped, his voice sharp and dangerous. He would not let the insult against his wife stand uncontested.

But Larys was unperturbed by the King’s fury, as if Aemond’s rage was little more than an expected part of their dance. “Perhaps,” he replied coolly, “but that has not stopped the people from acknowledging him as their future king. Blood may tell the truth, but perception rules the realm. And as it stands, the people still see Joffrey as Rhaenyra’s legitimate heir, bastard or not.”

The tension in the room crackled, and though Aemond’s defense of her was swift and fierce, Larys’s words gnawed at her mind. She could feel the eyes of the council upon her, the weight of her duty pressing down even more than before. Sons… it always came down to sons.

As Larys Strong’s smirk curled across his face, Maera felt her temper flare. The smug, mocking expression ignited a storm within her, her fury simmering just beneath the surface. Her hands clenched into tight fists, the fabric of her green and black skirts twisting in her grasp as she struggled to maintain her composure. But when Larys, with his usual air of condescension, brazenly declared, “And since our King is without an heir…” the last of her patience snapped.

The sound of Maera’s fists slamming down onto the table rang out through the chamber like a thunderclap. The force of it startled the council, their conversation halting immediately, leaving only the sharp echo reverberating against the stone walls. Silence enveloped the room. All eyes turned to the Queen, her presence commanding as she slowly, yet gracefully, rose from her seat.

Her green eyes blazed with fury as she leveled a cold, stern gaze at Larys. “The King,” she began, her voice steady and sharp, “has his heir, my Lord.”

A ripple of confusion swept through the room. The councilmen exchanged bewildered glances, muttering amongst themselves, their faces a mixture of surprise and disbelief. Aemond, too, remained still, his attention focused entirely on his wife, his eye narrowing slightly in curiosity.

And then, with a measured calm that belied the storm of emotions within her, Maera revealed the truth that had been weighing on her heart. “And he resides within me,” she declared, her voice clear and firm, a sharp contrast to the soft murmurs that had filled the room moments before.

Gasps erupted from the councilmen, shock flashing across their faces. One by one, they scrambled to their feet, bowing deeply in respect. The air in the room changed, the energy of doubt and uncertainty now replaced with awe and reverence. They had been hungering for news of an heir, a Targaryen son who would solidify their cause—and now it seemed that the answer to their prayers was already on the horizon.

The Queen, standing tall amidst the chaos, allowed herself a moment of satisfaction as she felt the weight of their gazes. But her focus remained on Aemond. Slowly, she turned her head towards him, her eyes meeting his. For a moment, time seemed to stretch, and she saw the shock flicker across his usually stoic face. His single violet eye, wide with disbelief, held hers in a silent exchange.

She reached for his arm, gently pulling his hand toward her. She rested it on her stomach, her touch tender but firm. “I found out yesterday,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, meant only for him.

Aemond’s gaze softened as he looked down at her, his hand splayed across her abdomen. His usually composed expression shifted as the weight of her words sank in. His eye flicked toward the rest of the room, searching for confirmation. When he found Grand Maester Vaegon, the older man gave a small nod, accompanied by a knowing smile, verifying the Queen’s news.

Aemond let out a breathless laugh, more of a gasp, full of astonishment and joy. Stepping forward, he cupped the back of Maera’s head, pressing a firm kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there in a rare moment of vulnerability. When he pulled back, his violet eye gleamed with pride as he turned to address the council.

“The Queen is carrying our future,” he announced, his voice ringing with authority. The councilmen, still buzzing from the earlier revelation, murmured in agreement, nodding their heads. Maera caught Lord Larys shifting uncomfortably, his smirk wiped away, his gaze averted. She couldn’t help but smirk herself, savoring the moment. He stood like a dog with his tail between his legs, silenced for now.

Once the councilmen returned to their seats, Aemond remained standing, his regal presence filling the room. “We must use this time,” he declared, his tone sharpening, “to take full advantage of Rhaenyra’s weakness. Her allies can be swayed, and her paranoia will drive her to ruin. If we are patient, she will undo herself in the Capital.”

Maera nodded in agreement, her eyes meeting her husband’s. His smile returned, not just for her, but for the future they now shared. “By the time our son is born,” Aemond continued, his voice filled with certainty, “the Iron Throne will be his to claim.”

Notes: ok so now we’re moving onto part three and the final part of the series! Can’t believe we’re nearly there! There’s a time skip of about 4 months when we begin chapter 103 🖤

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9 @kaitieskidmore97

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

[mychlapci]

Mommy kink Tfa Oppy, the first bot who volunteers to nurse from him is Bumblebee. Oppy tries to deny him at first, trying desperately to hold on to the notion that these are his teammates, not his children. But Bumblebee just climbs in his lap, looks up at him with these big, pleading, puppy dog optics, and whines out a "please, mommy?" And by Primus, Optimus is GONE. His chest plates retract and tits pop out so fast that they nearly smack Bee in the face, not that he's complaining.

Bee has a near religious experience from nursing from Optimus' bosom, so warm and sweet and welcoming. Bee was a cold constructed mech raised in a care center, he never had a Carrier to nurse from, but not anymore. Optimus would be his new carrier, his new mommy. Bee insists on Bulkhead and Prowl trying Optimus' milk too.

Bulkhead was nervous to nurse from him, being so big and could crush Optimus, but Oppy, now fully taken over by his carrier coding, insists that "you won't crush me, bulk, mommy can withstand it." Bulk is flustered by the mommy comment since he already has caretakers and the stopped breastfeeding ages ago, but relents and latches on easily. Optimus sits in Bulkhead's lap, cooing in his audials as he nurses, telling him how he's such a good boy for drinking his full of mommy's milk.

Ratchet and Prowl are a little concerned about Optimus and this programming glitch. So they decide the only way to correct the mistake is to give Oppy's carrier programming something to actually latch on to, a real sparkling. Each team member takes turns plowing into the young prime, fillinging him with transfluid and telling him he'll be a great mommy.

Soon he's got a litter of bitties in his forge and his carrier coding content and corrected. Of course that doesn't stop him getting revved up from being called mommy in berth and letting his teammates nurse from him.

that is the best way to fix Optimus' coding glitch, certainly. hgrhh got, head empty, just thinking about Optimus with a big, pregnant tummy, breastfeeding his teammates while taking his transfluid donations.

[mpregtales]

Leo & Nate Part 5

As Leo entered his ninth month of pregnancy, his body had reached its peak, embodying the culmination of months of growth and transformation. His belly had grown so massive that it now felt and looked like a planet, a round, protruding globe that dominated his frame. The weight of his triplets pulled his belly forward, creating a pronounced curve that made it nearly impossible for him to see his feet. The sheer size of his belly made every movement deliberate, every step carefully considered.

Leo’s clothes struggled to fit his ever-expanding form. Even the maternity clothes he had once found comfortable were now stretched to their limits, clinging to his body and highlighting every curve. His bubble butt had become truly enormous, each cheek full and rounded, jutting out behind him with a pronounced, luscious curve. His glutes, now fully developed, provided a counterbalance to his protruding belly, but they also added to the strain on his lower back and hips.

His thighs had thickened considerably, their once-muscular build now enveloped in soft, smooth flesh that supported the additional weight. His hips had widened further, providing a strong, stable base for his growing belly. The expansion of his hips had given his figure a voluptuous, hourglass shape that was both powerful and graceful. His pecs had also continued to fill out, the roundness of his chest now undeniable, his nipples darker and more sensitive as his body prepared for breastfeeding.

Inside, the sensation of the triplets was constant. Leo could feel every movement, every kick, as his babies shifted and stretched within the tight confines of his belly. The feeling was a mix of discomfort and awe, a reminder of the incredible life he was carrying. Each kick sent a ripple of pressure through his body, the weight of the babies pressing down on his pelvis, creating an almost unbearable pressure as they settled lower in preparation for birth.

Leo’s instincts told him that the time was near. There was a natural sense of anticipation, a knowing deep within his body that birth was imminent. He could feel his body gearing up for the monumental task ahead, the subtle shifts and changes signaling that his babies would soon be ready to enter the world. His belly had dropped slightly, a clear indication that the triplets were moving into position for birth. The sensation of his belly hanging lower, combined with the increased pressure on his pelvis, made each step feel heavier, more deliberate.

As the days passed, Leo became more aware of the changes taking place in his body. One morning, as he was getting out of bed, he felt a sudden, distinct sensation—his belly seemed to lower itself, shifting downward with a gravity that was both unfamiliar and profound. The feeling was like a gentle but firm tug from within, as if the triplets were making their final descent into the birthing position. The weight of his belly now rested more heavily on his pelvis, causing a deep, throbbing pressure that intensified with each passing day. It was as though his body was signaling that the time was drawing near, that the moment of birth was fast approaching.

As the days passed, the early signs of labor began to make themselves known. Leo felt his belly drop even further, the weight shifting as the babies descended lower into his pelvis. He began to experience mild contractions, the muscles in his abdomen tightening sporadically as his body prepared for birth. The contractions were irregular at first, a gentle reminder that the time was drawing near.

To cope with the growing discomfort, Leo had taken to practicing yoga. The gentle stretching and breathing exercises helped him manage the strain on his body, easing some of the tension in his lower back and hips. The poses allowed him to find moments of relief, moments where he could connect with his body and the life growing within it. The yoga also provided a mental calm, a way to center himself as he prepared for the challenges of labor.

The pressure in his pelvis grew steadily, becoming a constant presence that made it difficult to find a comfortable position, whether sitting, standing, or lying down. The contractions became more frequent, more intense, each one pulling at his muscles, preparing them for the monumental task of bringing his babies into the world.

Leo spent much of his time rubbing his belly, the soothing motion helping to ease some of the discomfort. He found comfort in the movements of his babies, their kicks a reassurance that everything was progressing as it should. Nate was by his side through it all, his hands constantly massaging Leo’s body, offering support and relief. Nate’s touch was gentle, loving, his fingers kneading the tension from Leo’s back and hips, his presence a steadying force as they approached the final stretch.

One evening, as Leo was resting on the couch, he felt a sudden, intense pressure in his belly, followed by a rush of warmth between his legs. It was as though a balloon had popped inside him, the sensation so distinct and sudden that it took his breath away. He gasped, his hands flying to his belly as he realized what had happened.

“Nate,” Leo called out, his voice trembling with a mix of excitement and fear. “My water just broke.”

Nate, who had been in the kitchen, rushed to Leo’s side, his eyes wide with concern and anticipation. “Okay, let’s get you to the hospital,” he said, his voice steady despite the urgency of the situation. He helped Leo to his feet, supporting him as they made their way to the door. As they moved, Leo felt another gush of fluid, the sensation both startling and surreal, a clear sign that labor was truly beginning.

“Nate, it’s happening,” Leo said, his voice a mixture of awe and nervousness as they made their way to the car. “I can’t believe it’s finally happening.”

Nate squeezed Leo’s hand reassuringly as they got into the car. “I know, babe. You’re amazing. We’re going to do this together.”

The drive to the hospital was a blur of contractions and deep breaths, the intensity of the moment washing over both of them. Leo’s body was in full preparation mode, the contractions coming fast and hard, each one bringing them closer to the moment they had been waiting for.

As they arrived at the hospital, Leo could feel the full weight of the impending birth pressing down on him, both physically and emotionally. The time had come, and with Nate by his side, he was ready to bring their three little miracles into the world.

After Leo’s water broke, the urgency in the room was palpable. The contractions grew stronger and faster, each one crashing over him like a powerful wave, pushing the triplets deeper into his pelvis. The drive to the hospital felt like a race against time, each bump in the road amplifying the pressure and discomfort radiating through Leo’s body. Nate drove with a mixture of urgency and calm, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, but he never missed a chance to reach over and squeeze Leo’s hand, grounding him through the storm of sensations.

“We’re almost there,” Nate reassured him, his voice a steady anchor in the midst of the chaos. Leo nodded, his focus narrowing to his breathing as he tried to manage the intensifying pain. The pressure was immense, a deep, burning sensation that throbbed through his pelvis with each contraction, urging his body to push.

Upon arriving at the hospital, the staff moved swiftly, wheeling Leo to the labor and delivery room. They had arranged for a water birth due to the size of Leo’s belly and the number of babies, and the nurses wasted no time helping him into the large, warm birthing tub. The water offered immediate relief as he sank into it, the warmth embracing his body and alleviating some of the pressure on his pelvis. Leo positioned himself on all fours, his massive belly hanging low between his thick legs, taking some of the strain off his lower back. As he arched his back, his enormous, plump bubble butt stuck out, each cheek jiggling slightly with the movement. The sight of his towering, rounded glutes jutting out was both powerful and vulnerable, a visual reminder of the life he was about to bring into the world.

The first contraction that demanded pushing hit hard, a wave of intense pressure that seemed to resonate through every fiber of Leo’s being. He could feel the first baby’s head pressing firmly against his pelvis, the overwhelming urge to push taking over. With a deep breath, Leo bore down, his glutes tightening and flexing as he focused all his strength on bringing the baby down. The muscles in his butt cheeks pulsed with each push, the strain visible as they worked tirelessly to guide the baby through the birth canal.

The sensation was beyond intense—a deep, burning stretch as his body adjusted to the descending baby. Leo let out a low, guttural moan, the sound reverberating through the room as he pushed with everything he had. His bubble butt tightened and rippled with each effort, the muscles straining and shifting, the tender skin pulling taut as the baby’s head pressed against it. Nate, always attentive, moved his hands to caress Leo’s trembling glutes and swollen belly, feeling the powerful contractions beneath the surface.

“You’re doing so well, Leo,” Nate whispered, his voice filled with love and admiration. “Just keep going, you’re almost there.”

Leo’s breathing grew ragged as the pressure intensified, the baby’s head descending lower with each push. The sensation of his skin stretching was both painful and surreal, the fullness of the baby pressing against his cheeks, urging them apart. Leo’s skin, now slick and glistening with perspiration, added a sheen to his laboring body, the warmth and dampness a stark contrast to the cool air of the room.

As Leo pushed, the water around him rippled with each movement, the gentle waves adding a soothing rhythm to the intense process of labor. His massive belly, taut and heavy, contracted visibly with each push, the skin stretching and shifting as the muscles worked to bring the babies into the world. Nate’s hands remained a constant presence, rubbing soothing circles on Leo’s lower back and cheeks, his touch grounding Leo in the midst of the storm.

As the baby’s head began to crown, Leo felt a sharp, burning sensation as the delicate folds of his skin stretched to their limits. His glutes quivered and pulsed with the effort, the powerful muscles rippling as they worked to bring the baby into the world. The skin at his entrance stretched taut, the fullness of the baby’s head pressing outward, creating a bulge between his massive cheeks.

Instinctively, Leo reached back with both hands, parting his cheeks to reveal the growing bulge of the baby’s head. The sensation was overwhelming, the baby’s head pressing closer, the pressure immense.

Another strong contraction tore through his body, and Leo bore down with all his strength. His glutes flexed powerfully, and the bulge became more pronounced, now fully visible between his cheeks. The sheer size of each cheek made their mass jiggle with even the subtlest movement, especially in this vulnerable position. As he adjusted his footing and hunkered down into a wide squat, his legs trembling as a vein flared in his neck, he felt the intensity of the moment peak. With a final, intense push, the baby’s head crowned fully, the pain peaking as Leo cried out, tears springing to his eyes, the water between his cheeks becoming cloudy.

Nate leaned in and kissed Leo tenderly in the midst of the storm. “You’re almost there, love,” Nate murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Just a little more.”

As the head inched out further, Leo reached back with one hand to gently cup the opening, feeling the baby’s head press outward. The warmth of the baby’s head against his palm added to the intensity of the moment. The skin stretched to its limits, the fullness of the baby’s head creating a deep, burning pressure.

Another contraction followed quickly, and Leo gasped as the head finally popped out. He took a shaky breath, feeling immense relief as the baby’s shoulders began to turn within him, preparing for the next phase of the birth.

Nate’s voice was calm and steady, his touch a constant source of comfort and support. “You’re doing it, Leo,” Nate whispered, his voice filled with awe. “You’re so strong.”

The next contraction hit, and Leo knew it was time to deliver the rest of the baby’s body. With a deep breath, he bore down again, his glutes tightening, the fullness of them pushing back against the pressure as he focused all his strength on bringing the baby down.

Leo felt the baby’s shoulders pressing against his entrance, the burning stretch nearly unbearable. But he was determined, his focus solely on bringing his child into the world. He adjusted his footing again, his cheeks jiggling slightly as he did so, feeling a cramp well up deep inside him. With a big, hard push and a powerful flex of his glutes, the baby’s shoulders began to move through, parting his cheeks even further as the baby descended.

With one final, intense push and a squeeze of his glutes, Leo felt the baby’s arms and legs spill out with the rest of the body into the water, followed by a rush of amniotic fluid. His cheeks jiggled one final time as the baby slipped free, the muscles, exhausted and trembling, finally able to relax.

“You have a strong new son,” the nurse announced, her voice filled with warmth. Leo looked down at his son, his eyes brimming with tears. The baby was warm and wet, his tiny fists clenched tightly as he let out a loud, healthy wail. Leo could see a mix of both his and Nate’s features in the baby—the shape of Leo’s eyes and Nate’s strong hair color. It was a perfect blend of both their love.

Nate leaned in, tears in his eyes as he kissed Leo’s shoulder. “He’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice trembling with love.

Leo’s belly felt slightly smaller, but still massive, the immediate relief palpable. He reached back to gently touch his tender opening and cheeks, feeling the warmth of more fluid coming out.

Leo barely had time to catch his breath before the next contraction hit, rolling through his body like a tidal wave. The brief relief after delivering the first baby was quickly replaced by intense pressure as the second baby began its descent. His body, still trembling from the exertion, readied itself for the next challenge.

As the contraction surged, Leo felt the weight of the second baby pressing down, the sensation more intense than before. His massive belly tightened visibly, the skin stretching as the baby moved lower. The pressure was immense, and Leo knew he had to find the strength to bring this second baby into the world.

The familiar burning stretch returned as his already strained skin and muscles worked to accommodate the second baby’s descent. The pain and pressure consumed him, but beneath it all, there was a deep satisfaction—a sense that his body was doing exactly what it was meant to do.

Nate’s hand rested on Leo’s lower back, grounding him. “You’ve got this, Leo,” Nate whispered, his voice steady. “You’re doing so well. Just a little more.”

Leo nodded, focusing on the sensation of the baby moving lower. The pressure built as the baby’s head began to crown, the skin stretching taut. The familiar burn intensified, but Leo pushed through, determined to bring the baby into the world.

With each contraction, the baby moved a little further, the head gradually emerging. The sensation was a mix of burning, stretching, and intense pressure, but there was progress. Leo’s breathing grew ragged as he reached back to part his cheeks, guiding the baby’s head through. The warmth of the baby’s head against his palm was a stark contrast to the cool air and water around him.

Nate leaned in, his lips brushing against Leo’s ear. “You’re almost there, love. Just a little more.”

Leo bore down with all his strength, the pressure almost suffocating, but with a final, intense push, the baby’s head finally emerged. The relief was immediate as the shoulders began to turn within him, the hardest part over but still more work ahead.

The next contraction came quickly, and Leo bore down again, his glutes flexing as he focused on delivering the rest of the baby. The burning stretch returned as the shoulders moved through, but Leo pushed through, determined.

With one final, powerful push, the baby’s body slipped free, followed by a warm rush of amniotic fluid. Leo gasped, the relief washing over him as the second baby was delivered into the water. His cheeks jiggled slightly as the tension released, his muscles exhausted and trembling.

“It’s another boy,” the nurse announced warmly. Leo looked down at his second son, his heart swelling with love and pride. The baby was perfect, his tiny fists clenched as he let out his first cry.

Nate leaned in, kissing Leo’s shoulder. “You did it, Leo. He’s beautiful,” Nate whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.

Leo’s body still felt heavy, his belly still round and full, but the immediate relief was palpable. He reached back to gently touch his tender entrance and cheeks, feeling the warmth of the fluid still trickling out. But he knew there was still one more baby to deliver, and the contractions would start again soon.

Taking a deep breath, Leo prepared himself for the final challenge. His body was exhausted, but with Nate by his side, he felt ready to bring their third child into the world.

After delivering the second baby, Leo took a moment to gather himself. He felt his belly, which, though still full, had noticeably shrunk. The tightness and pressure had lessened, but he knew there was still one more miracle waiting to be born. His hand instinctively moved to his glutes, briefly rubbing his sore, swollen cheeks, which had worked tirelessly through the first two births. They were tender, the muscles fatigued, but Leo steeled himself for the final push.

The contractions returned, signaling that the third baby was ready to make its entrance. The familiar wave of pressure built rapidly, more intense and focused now that there was more room for the baby to move. Leo felt the weight of this final child pressing down, the sensation a mix of exhaustion and determination. He knew this was the last hurdle, and he was ready to meet it head-on.

As the contraction peaked, Leo bore down once more, his glutes tightening as he pushed with everything he had left. The pressure was immense, the familiar burning stretch returning as the baby’s head began to descend. The skin at his entrance, already stretched and sore, worked tirelessly to accommodate the final baby.

Nate was right there, his hands steadying Leo, offering comfort and strength. “This is it, Leo,” Nate whispered, his voice filled with love and encouragement. “One last time, and we’ll have all three of our babies.”

Leo nodded, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts as he focused on the sensation of the baby moving lower. The pressure intensified, the baby’s head pressing firmly against his entrance, urging him to push harder.

The familiar burn and stretch reached their peak as the baby began to crown. Leo could feel the baby’s head slowly emerging, the skin pulling taut as it made its way through. The sensation was overwhelming, the pressure and pain nearly unbearable, but Leo knew he was close. His glutes quivered and flexed with each push, the powerful muscles working in unison to bring the baby into the world.

With a deep, determined breath, Leo bore down with all his might, his body trembling with the effort. The baby’s head began to emerge, the intense pressure giving way to a sharp, burning sensation as it crowned. Leo let out a low, guttural moan, the sound echoing through the room as he pushed with everything he had.

The baby’s head finally slipped free, the relief immediate as the shoulders began to turn within him. Leo knew the hardest part was over, but he still had to deliver the rest of the baby. He adjusted his position slightly, his massive cheeks jiggling as he found his footing.

Nate’s voice was a constant source of comfort. “You’re doing so well, Leo. Just a little more, and we’ll have our third miracle.”

The next contraction came swiftly, and Leo focused all his energy on delivering the baby’s body. The burning stretch returned as the shoulders moved through, but Leo pushed through the pain, his glutes flexing as he worked to bring the baby down.

With one final, powerful push, the baby’s body slipped free, followed by a rush of warm amniotic fluid. Leo gasped, his body trembling as the third and final baby was delivered into the water. The relief was overwhelming, his muscles finally able to relax after the monumental effort.

“It’s a girl,” the nurse announced, her voice filled with warmth and joy. Leo looked down at his daughter, his heart swelling with love and pride. The baby was perfect, her tiny fists clenched as she let out a loud, healthy cry, her voice a beautiful sound that brought tears to Leo’s eyes.

Nate leaned in, tears of joy streaming down his face as he kissed Leo’s forehead. “She’s beautiful, Leo. You did it,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Leo’s body, though still full, initially felt lighter with the immediate relief of delivering the third baby. But as he reached down to gently touch his still-round belly, he noticed it was unusually hard. A flutter of movement in his pelvis caught his attention, sending a jolt of realization through him—there was still another baby to be born. Panic began to rise within him as he looked up at the nurse, searching for confirmation.

The nurse, noticing the concern in Leo’s eyes, quickly checked him and nodded. “You’re right, Leo. There’s one more baby. We need you to push again.”

Exhaustion washed over Leo like a heavy wave. His muscles were strained to their limits, trembling from the effort of delivering three babies already. His body ached, his energy was depleted, and for a moment, he didn’t think he had anything left to give. The idea of pushing one more time seemed impossible.

“I…I don’t know if I can do this,” Leo whispered, his voice trembling with fatigue and doubt. His hands shook as they rested on his belly, feeling the last baby shift inside him. The pressure was building again, but he felt overwhelmed, unsure if he had the strength to continue.

Nate, sensing the fear and exhaustion in Leo’s voice, leaned in close, his hands gently cradling Leo’s face. “Leo, look at me,” he said softly, his voice filled with unwavering support. “You’ve been incredible—so strong. I know you’re tired, but you can do this. I’m right here with you, and I know you have the strength to bring our last baby into the world. Just one more time, love.”

Leo looked into Nate’s eyes, finding the reassurance he needed in his partner’s steady gaze. He took a deep breath, trying to gather what little energy he had left. Nate’s words resonated deep within him, rekindling the resolve that had carried him through the births so far. Despite the exhaustion, despite the pain, Leo knew he couldn’t give up now.

With the next contraction, Leo bore down with everything he had left. His body, though strained and weary, responded to the urgency of the moment. The familiar pressure returned, sharper this time as the baby began to move. The burning stretch reignited, and Leo let out a deep, guttural moan as he pushed, his glutes tightening with the effort.

Nate was right there, holding Leo’s hand, offering constant encouragement. “That’s it, Leo. You’re doing so well. Just a little more.”

Leo’s body trembled with exhaustion, but he pushed through the pain, focusing solely on bringing this final baby into the world. The sensation of the baby moving lower, the intense pressure as it began to crown, was almost overwhelming. His muscles screamed in protest, his skin stretched to its limits, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

With one final, monumental push, the baby’s head emerged, followed quickly by the rest of the body. Leo gasped as the last baby slipped free, the tension in his body finally releasing. His cheeks quivered one last time as the baby was born, the exhaustion giving way to a profound sense of relief and accomplishment.

“It’s a girl,” the nurse announced, her voice filled with warmth and admiration. Leo looked down at his fourth child, tears welling in his eyes as he cradled her in his arms. She was perfect, just like her siblings, and the sight of her filled him with a deep, unshakeable love.

Nate leaned in, kissing Leo’s forehead, his voice thick with emotion. “You did it, Leo. You brought all four of our babies into the world. You’re amazing.”

Leo took a moment to catch his breath, the room around him settling into a quiet calm after the intensity of the births. His body, though still trembling with exhaustion, felt lighter now, the weight of the babies no longer pressing down on him. He closed his eyes for a brief second, allowing himself to soak in the relief and the overwhelming sense of accomplishment.

But there was one more task left. The nurse gently reminded Leo that the placenta still needed to be delivered. Though smaller than the babies, the placenta was still substantial, and Leo could feel the heaviness in his belly. Gathering his strength one last time, he bore down with a series of pushes, each one bringing the large placenta closer to the surface. The pressure returned, but it was different now—softer, less intense, but still requiring effort.

With a final push, the placenta slid out, and Leo let out a deep sigh of relief. The nurse caught it expertly, remarking on its size and health. It was over now—truly over. Leo’s body was finally free from the immense task it had carried out.

As the nurse worked, Leo took a moment to reach back and massage his sore, swollen cheeks, feeling the tender muscles beneath his hands. Nate, always attentive, joined him, his strong hands working in tandem with Leo’s, easing the tension from his glutes. The gentle kneading helped, both physically and emotionally, grounding Leo in the aftermath of the birth.

The nurse soon stepped in, helping to clean Leo up. She wiped down his cheeks with a soft, warm cloth, gently moving between them, making sure every part of him was comfortable and clean. Leo lay back, feeling a deep sense of relaxation wash over him as the nurse finished her work. His body was exhausted, but the soreness was now mixed with a profound sense of peace.

Nate sat beside him, and they shared a moment of quiet reflection, their eyes meeting in a gaze filled with love and gratitude. The journey they had just completed together was nothing short of miraculous, and the bond between them felt stronger than ever.

Nate then stood and carefully took two of their newborns into his arms, cradling them close to his chest. Leo, still lying back, took the other two, holding them gently against his body. The weight of the babies was different now—a comforting, grounding presence that filled his heart with overwhelming love.

As they looked down at their children, the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in a world of their own. This moment, holding their four perfect babies, was the culmination of everything they had hoped and dreamed for. It was a testament to their love, their resilience, and the unbreakable bond they had forged through this experience.

Leo’s voice was soft, filled with emotion. “We did it, Nate. They’re finally here.”

Nate leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to Leo’s forehead. “We did, Leo. And they’re perfect. I can’t believe they’re ours.”

Leo looked at their babies, marveling at the mix of features that reflected both him and Nate. He felt a deep, unshakeable love for each of them, a love that would only grow stronger with time. This moment, with his family complete and the man he loved by his side, was everything he had ever wanted.

As they lay there, surrounded by the quiet peace of the room, the magnitude of what they had accomplished settled in. They had brought four new lives into the world, and the future was filled with endless possibilities. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they knew they would face them together, as a family.

And with that, the story of Leo and Nate, and their incredible journey to parenthood, found its perfect, loving conclusion. Their hearts were full, their family complete, and their love for each other stronger than ever.

[violettduchess]

A/N: Better late than never! Not a request, just my imagining what these lovely suitors would be like with an infant that wakes up crying 💜

CW: babies, breastfeeding

Suitors x female reader

WC: 2045

A cry rings out through a peaceful summer night at the palace.

It is small, but powerful.

And very, very insistent. 

Leon

A light sleeper by nature, he gets up, murmuring for you to try and keep sleeping when he notices you stirring too. "I'll see what I can do for the little peanut." He crosses the room to the white bassinet with its pale pink ruffles, a gift from Uncle Yves. Inside his infant daughter is fussing. Tiny fists are clenching and unclenching as her small head turns fitfully left and right.

“Ah, c’mere sweetheart,” he says, voice still rough with sleep as he lifts her gently, laying her against his bare shoulder. One large hand rubs her back as he walks the length of the room, her tiny cheek warm as a spot of sunshine against his shoulder.

“I can take her–” you start to say as you push yourself upright in the bed, but he shakes his head, holding up a finger.

“I think we’ve got this handled, love. Take a look.” He walks over to your side of the bed, his hand still gently stroking the baby’s back. Her tiny head with its halo of black hair rests against him and is still. Not able to see her face, he turns sideways, giving you the sweetest view of your handsome, bare-chested husband holding your daughter close, her small face now relaxed again in sleep. Her father’s warmth was enough to solve whatever problem had woken her and she's drifted back off to the soft, hazy world of baby dreams.

You smile, feeling the way your heart expands, a paradox: never has it been so full of love and yet so very, very light.

Clavis

He wakes up immediately at his son’s first cry and is out of bed before the sound can even penetrate your deep sleep. He knows how often you get up, how often you are the only one who can satisfy your son’s voracious demands for food but Clavis has told himself that the little tyrant's demands that don't require milk, he will take care of himself. You, his dearest of dears, need as much sleep as you can get.

He bends down over the baby’s cradle, brushing back the boy’s angel-soft hair, the same twilight shade as his. “So noisy at such a late hour. My my. This won’t do.” Carefully he scoops up his son, adjusting his pajamas and then his hand freezes. 

“Oh dear. I think I see why you’re so upset, little Lelouch.” The baby continues to whimper, little cries that, although Clavis knows they are harmless, still feel like they are stabbing right into the center of his tender heart. He never wants to hear his child in distress.

Reaching up, he turns the small knob on the lamp above the dresser where you have all of the baby’s changing things neatly laid out. His son squeaks out little sounds of agitation. “I’ve got you, don't worry. Papa's got you, always and--my goodness, how does such a tiny body produce this much liquid?” He talks, his words soft and almost sing-song as he changes his son’s pajamas and diaper with practiced hands. The baby, now removed of his damp clothing, stops whimpering, instead blinking up at his father with wide golden eyes.

“There has got to be a better solution to this than soaking all those linen diapers,” he mutters as he carefully slides chubby legs into fresh little stockings. “I bet I could invent something that might absorb all your perfectly healthy but still oh so stinky messes much better.” The baby kicks his legs and waves his arms, as if cheering in agreement and Clavis laughs softly, lifting his son back into his arms. “You agree with Papa? You think I can do that? Of course you do.” 

He walks back to the cradle, turning his head to place a gentle kiss to the apple of his son’s plump cheek. He could hold him in his arms forever, never tiring of that infant smell, that the feel of his warm little body so trusting and sweet against him. 

He pauses in front of the cradle. “Hmm….I know. Let’s go on a little nocturnal journey down the hall while talking through some chemicals and their rates of absorption. I bet you’ll be a perfectly delightful assistant.”

Jin

Both you and Jin yawn, sleepily rubbing at your eyes as your daughter’s cries fill the bedroom. One glance at the time and he sighs, reaching over to tenderly touch your cheek with the back of his hand. “She’s on time, our little one,” he murmurs in his deep voice even as you are pushing yourself up with one hand and already unbuttoning your nightgown with the other.

He gets up, walking over to the crib where the infant is crying, her shock of brownish hair standing up in every direction. “Mommy’s already getting ready for you, princess,” he says as he reaches down and lifts her. She’s so small in his large hands. He walks back to bed, murmuring soft little shushing noises, and then carefully hands her over to you. You help her find the right position and then sigh when she begins to nurse, her cries immediately quieted. Glancing up, you find Jin sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you both with a curiously thoughtful expression.

“What is it?” 

He watches you a moment, then shakes his head, a sheepish grin on his handsome face. “It’s just….I’ve always liked that particular body part.” You snort, running your fingers over your baby’s fine chestnut hair. “That’s an understatement.” He chuckles, shrugging before continuing his thought. “Yeah well…it’s just…I think….now that I see ‘em being used to feed our little girl….I think….I think I actually like them MORE now.”

You can’t help it. You start giggling, a burst of yellow happiness that colors the gray exhaustion of new parenthood. “God, I love you.” You crook a finger at him and he matches your smile as he climbs back into bed and leans close to you. You place a kiss on his chiseled cheekbone, warm and affectionate. A sigh born of tender happiness is his answer, along with the words, “I love you too.”

Silvio

“Stay in bed. I’ll go.” He’s up, striding across the bedroom to the bassinet before you can even finish rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Aye, piccolino, sono qui.” He reaches down, running a hand over the restless infant's back. But no soothing words or pets seem to be enough. He lifts the baby carefully, still in that new stage of fatherhood where a baby feels like the most fragile thing in the world.

You watch your two pale-haired men, frowning slightly as the littlest one continues to fuss. "He can't be hungry again, can he?" You have just finished feeding him until he fell into a milk-drunk state of blissful sleep, his body heavy and warm, not thirty minutes ago. He had been sleeping so soundly that hope for more than an hour of sleep at one time had risen in your heart.

Silvio lays the baby against his shoulder. His hands are bare, with only his simple gold wedding band left on his elegant fingers. Every other piece of jewelry has been removed for the sake of his child. Necklaces would get in the way of his son sleeping on his bare chest. Earrings might hinder his ability to press his cheek against his fine, moonlight-spun hair. 

"Ain't no baby in the world that could eat again after all that milk." He inclines his head towards his son. "Listen to you, cucciolo. All that growling." He rubs his small back in soothing circles. And then the most extraordinary thing happens: the tiny prince lets out the most raucous of burps. The kind that sends a quake through his little body.

"Dio mio," his father mutters, blue eyes wide as he looks down at his son. You grin through your sleepiness. "Here I thought only his grumbling was like his father." 

Gilbert

His daughter's cry shatters the night's peace in an instant. Both you and Gilbert wake up immediately, but he's quicker than you, throwing back the covers and crossing the room to the cradle carved from darkest walnut. 

He spots the problem immediately. At some point during the night she had kicked her blanket to the end of her cradle where it lies bunched up and useless. Her socks are nowhere to be seen, a display of her magician-like talent for making them disappear. He reaches down and sure enough, her tiny feet are like ice blocks.

"Always the same thing with you, oder Mäuschen? What have socks ever done to you?” He lifts her from her cradle, tucking her securely into the crook of his arm as he makes his way over to the dresser that has been designated hers. You reach across the bed, turning on the lamp that sits on his nightstand and he glances at you over his shoulder, eyes bright with appreciation. “Thank you, Häschen.” Now he can see better, his fingers trailing over the tiny rolled up socks and tights. When the baby makes a small cooing sound, he stops. “These?” He pulls out a pair of soft black tights embroidered with mini red roses. “Ahh a good choice.”

He hums as he walks over to the changing table, the sound soft and soothing, the gentle rush of a river through the night. As he carefully changes her diaper and then works her plump little legs into the tights, humming gives way to him singing. "Der Mond ist aufgegangen…"

She is curious, all thoughts of crying gone, watchful crimson eyes blinking as she keeps her gaze on the source of the calming sound. “Fertig,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to the soles of her now covered feet. "All done." Then he lifts her, carrying her not to her cradle but back to the bed. He slides in, leaning back against the support of the many bed pillows, settling in. Her eyes are already closing as she snuggles in close against his chest.

You watch them both with a smile as tender as the moon’s joy in the stars.

Chevalier

The man who took an army to wake up is on his feet in an instant. He is silent as he crosses the room, leaning down to check on his crying daughter, her pale head of blond hair gleaming silver in the moonlight. He carefully lifts her from the bassinet, marveling in the back of his mind at how very small she is.

He glances back to the bed where you are still deeply asleep. “Your mother is exhausted from all your demands.” He wouldn’t usually condone speaking to a baby as they are incapable of understanding but he’s found that she calms down when she hears his voice. Even now her whimpering stops, her tiny cheek resting on the soft linen of his shirt. She’s gone very still, as if truly listening to his words. “You’ve eaten twenty minutes ago. We can eliminate hunger. Your bottom is….” He pats it gently, checking. “...perfectly dry. The room is neither too hot nor too cold.” He wraps his hands around her feet. She’s still wearing her white socks trimmed with yellow lace. “Your feet are adequately covered.” He tips his head back to look down at her. Her perfect, tiny fingers are curled into his shirt and her body feels heavy, drowsy with sleep. 

She attempts to turn her head, burying her face in his shoulder and he reaches up, helping her, running his strong fingers over her downy hair when she has found a position that is comfortable. Chevalier walks over to the white wooden rocking chair you have positioned by the window and lowers himself into it.

“You simply wanted to be held, didn’t you?” A heavy, stuttering sigh leaves her small body, almost as if in answer to her father’s line of questioning. He cups her head with his hand, tilting his face down to place a soft kiss on her hair. “I’ll comply, little one.” He settles into the chair and begins rocking gently back and forth, father and daughter, bathed in loving, silvery moonlight.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart

[queenwille]

many of y’all have never had to stop everything, and i mean everything, you were doing to the surprising sound of deafening chilling siren to literally save your life and, boy, does it show.

when i say deafening i mean a deafening volume, like on the street, from public buildings rooftops everywhere. full fucking volume. chilling? the sound is universal, btw. here’s a taste, hope you never get to hear it live.

and stop everything? why’s that? you have 0-90 seconds to get to protected area. it varies between the safe room in your house to the shelter in your building, to the one across the street, to the stairs at the building (center of the building, missiles tend to hit sides), or simply get as far away from your car and protect your head. and oh, yeah, i mean stop literally everything. from easy things like watching tv, writing, eating, playing and cooking to things you wouldn’t believe you can cut in the middle like showering, driving, breastfeeding, sleeping, pooping and anything you can think of. you have to stop sprint to the protected area as fast as it can. oh, yeah, even if it means, meeting your neighbors in a towel with shampoo still in your hair or at 3am. or both.💩

[annaphoenix1994]

Uncle Johnny

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

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"Kiera? Are you feeling up for a visitor?" Eva smiled as she entered Kiera's room with her lunch while Simon stayed behind to help her feed the twins, obsessed with how amazing Kiera's body adapted to nurturing their children, although Kiera was slightly embarrassed for Simon to see her breastfeeding. 

"Is it dad?" She asked, a gleam of hope in her hazel eyes. 

"Not yet, sweetheart," Eva flashed a smile. "He'll be here this afternoon. He and Frankie had to take some calves to the expo center for a cattle sorting. He said he'll be here after he's done." 

"Who's the visitor if it's not dad, then?" She furrowed her brows. 

"Bloody hell," Simon grumbled from the chair next to her bed, rubbing his brows with his index finger and thumb as he slowly realized that he had vaguely mentioned to Soap that visiting hours were between noon and four o'clock. "I'll go get him." 

"He and Teeter are at the door, honey," Eva assured him. "I'll get it. I'm right here." 

Simon nodded, glancing over at Evie splayed on Kiera's chest as Jacob was swaddled in the nearby bassinet, his belly full from his morning feeding. 

"Look what I brought!" Johnny smiled, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he held up two boxes of kid's meals from McDonald's. "Figured they'd want some lunch!" 

"I hate to inform you that they won't eat actual food until nearly a year old," Simon grumbled, shaking his head, immediately feeling regret at the sight of Johnny's disappointment. "But thanks for the humor." 

"They really don't eat until they're six months?" 

"I tried to tell ye, baby," Teeter shook her head, smiling at Kiera as she approached her bedside, leaning over to gently try to hug her. "Look at ye, K. You look so beautiful and I ain't sayin' that in a lesbian way. Jus' a compliment." 

Kiera giggled, "I know what you mean. Thank you." 

"I ain't tryna cuss already. Don't want her to learn a bad word before she starts talkin' on her own," Teeter whispered, reaching up to rub the pad of her thumb against the band of Evie's newborn hat. "What's her name?" 

"Evie Victoria." 

"Surprised she didn't tell you already," Soap chimed in. "Simon told me first." 

"Technically, it was Price," Simon grumbled. "He said he was planning on coming to visit around Thanksgiving." 

Soap nodded, "So, Mr. Helicopter Dad, I'd like to see my nephew." He poked, taking a seat at the sofa that was in the room next to the window. 

Simon scoffed at Soap's title, irritated that he'd have to hand off his son to curious eyes, but he knew he could trust him to hold the infant at least. Besides, I do trust him with my life, wouldn't be any harm in trusting him with my son's, too. He slowly scooped Jacob into his chest, grinning at how he opened his eyes once he was settled in Simon's arms before he made his way to Soap on the sofa. "Keep him close to your chest." He ordered. 

"Copy that, L.T." Soap nodded, opening his arms as Simon slowly and carefully set Jacob into Soap's embrace. 

"Don't you dare drop him." 

"Not a chance." 

Soap's heartrate increased in nervousness as he held the infant close to his chest, admiring how Jacob's eyes fluttered open and closed, his tongue darting in and out of his mouth, forming a nearly perfect O. "He looks just like you, L.T." 

"Who else was he going to look like?" He scoffed, standing over Johnny and watching his every move, making the environment tense between them - like a dog standing off at another, waiting for one threatening move to provoke an attack. 

"Simon," Kiera said to him, breaking the tension. He looked back at her, knowing what she was going to say before she even said it, judging by the arch of her brow and worried expression. "He's not going to drop him, babe, you don't have to stand over top of him." 

"I'm not-"

"You look like you're ready to snatch him up the second you feel like he's not holding him right." 

He sighed, stepping back to make his way back to the chair that was next to Kiera's bed, ignoring the triumphant chuckles that left Soap's mouth, hating how obsessed Soap looked at the infant in his arms, as if he was able to claim Jacob as his own if given the chance. Kiera giggled at Simon's glare, admiring how protective he was over his children. I already know Soap won't have a chance to hold our daughter, she mused. "Looks like L.T. did a copy and paste with you, huh lad? What he doesn't know is that you're going to be sporting a mohawk just like your old uncle Johnny," He spoke to the infant, curling his index finger against his button nose. "I'm sorry you can't enjoy the chicken nuggets I brought you yet, but you will. Your mum got me hooked on 'em." 

"Baby, he ain't gonna talk back to you," Teeter poked as she took a seat next to Soap, leaning against him as she looked at the infant in his arms. "He looks just like you, Simon, 'cept he's awful pretty. No offense-"

"None taken." Simon shook his head, impatiently shaking his right leg from the chair, tapping his foot rapidly against the floor, instantly stopping once Kiera's left hand rested on the top of his thigh, calming him down as she took notice of his anxious tremble. He looked down at the diamond ring on her finger, smirking as he grasped her hand with his, bringing her knuckles to his lips to press a kiss there, rubbing the top of her fingers with his thumb - just like he always did. 

He looked over to Evie, sleeping soundly against Kiera's chest, unable to take his eyes from the perfection of their daughter as well as the natural glow that radiated from Kiera's skin. I don't think I'll ever grow out of this obsession for you, love. 

"Sleepin' like a rock, yeah?" He chuckled, nodding his head towards Evie. 

"About time," She nodded, her tone low. "She was restless all night and barely didn't latch this morning. I was worried." 

"I know, love. How're you feeling?" 

"Sore. My boobs hurt more than anything," She sighed. "Takes away the pain from my incision, at least." 

"I wish there was something I could say that will help you with that, but I can't relate to it," He frowned. "But I'm sure I can ask about ways to help?" 

"Mom gave me some advice," She giggled. "But I know you'll do your research just like you always did since I was pregnant." 

He chuckled, placing another kiss to her knuckles before his gaze flickered back over to Soap, seeing that he had switched the primary arm that nestled under Jacob to the other, keeping his gaze - glare - on the Sergeant, waiting for him to give Simon a reason to take Jacob back from Soap's grasp. "Stop glaring at him, babe, he's fine." Kiera reassured him, squeezing his hand gently as she again took notice of his anxiousness. 

"I'm not glaring-"

"I know that look. Seen it many times and I'm sure Johnny has, too. Jacob is perfectly fine. He's not crying and he's not restless. He's sleeping." 

"Yeah, looking at me like I was one of those Shadows, L.T."  

"You wouldn't have been in this room if I look at you like one of them." 

"I know," He chuckled. "I think he likes me." 

"He doesn't know who you are." 

"He will. He's already peered up at me with those little grey eyes. He's getting a glimpse of his uncle so he'll be able to pick me out of a crowd." 

"Fuckin' hell," Simon whispered, shaking his head, hating how Soap knew exactly how to push his buttons. "How long are you wanting to hold him?" 

"Shh, he's sleeping, L.T. Wouldn't want to wake him with your banter." 

Simon subtly pursed his lips, sighing as he sat back against the chair, refraining from another harsh comment towards his former comrade. He's your brother, you stupid bloke. Stop being so mean.  

Kiera giggled at Simon's protective behavior, admiring how protective he was naturally, but also frowning at how he always went by the code of be careful who you trust, people you know can hurt you the most, afraid to let go of the past as he was terrified of losing the ones he cared about. 

Including Johnny.

As much as he hated to admit it, he loved how Johnny stood by him even though Simon would desperately try to push him away - to keep a fine line between friends and teammates, knowing it would hurt twice as much to lose Johnny on the battlefield as a friend, knowing he'd grieve the loss as something more than losing another comrade. 

Suddenly, Kiera's hand left Simon's grasp to trace her fingers over Evie's head, startled at how she began to make soft noises and curl her small hand against her cheek, her little nostrils flaring before a weak sneeze could be heard, making both Kiera and Simon chuckle. "Sounds like she's got a strong pair of lungs." Soap commented from across the room, he too chuckling at the sound. Absolutely adorable, little lass. 

"She's definitely wide awake now," Kiera smiled, pressing her lips against Evie's forehead as the newborn's eyes fluttered open, holding a blank stare with Simon as he looked at her in awe. She's so beautiful. I don't want her to grow up. "I just hope she doesn't fuss like she did last night." 

"I don't think she will, love," He assured her. "Want me to hold her while you eat your lunch?" 

"You don't have to-"

"I want to. You need to eat something." 

She nodded, smiling as Simon stood to his feet to gently grasp the baby and bring her to his chest, sitting back down in the chair slowly as Kiera's mom approached Kiera's bedside to place the lunch she had brought on the table, using the remote on the bed to bring her to an incline. "Is that okay, sweetheart?" Eva asked with a smile. 

"Just fine," She smiled. "What's on the menu for today?" 

"A surprise. I brought you a sandwich from your favorite cafe. Figured you were tired of the hospital food by now." 

"Let me guess: the cafe of mom?" She giggled, hoping that her guess was accurate. 

"That's right!" Eva giggled, opening the sandwich wrap to reveal the homemade egg salad Kiera had loved, especially during her pregnancy. "And I brought you some Doritos to go along with it. Figured you'd like the touch." 

"Thank you, momma," She smiled, accepting the loving kiss Eva had pressed to her forehead. "And of course your lunch wouldn't be complete without your favorite drink." 

"Mom of the year," Kiera sighed with a giggle, accepting the can of Dr. Pepper. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, sweetheart. Simon? Do you want to eat the lunch I made for you?" 

"Not yet but thank you." 

"Just let me know when you're hungry and I'll warm it up for you." 

He furrowed his brows, "Warm it up?" 

"I made you some French Onion Soup, honey. I heard through the grapevine that you weren't a fan of egg salad, so I figured I'd make something you liked." She smiled. 

I can see where Kiera gets her observations skills from, Simon thought. "I hope you don't think I don't like your egg salad, I've just never had it before-" 

"Sweetheart, it's okay if you don't like it," She giggled. "You're human and have every right to not like things, especially food. Just like I'm not too keen on your preferred tea." She poked. 

"You're not the only one..." Soap commented, his finger now clutched with Jacob's little hand as he had finally fallen back to sleep in Soap's warm embrace. "The bloke drinks it sizzling hot. No wonder is voice is so deep." 

"Just like what grown man drinks his coffee cold?" Simon retorted, unable to admit his jealousy towards Soap as he was the first one Jacob had latched his fingers around, Simon wishing that he was the first one to experience his son's first grasp. 

"Nothing wrong with drinking cold coffee, mate." 

"Just like there ain't nothing wrong with a little bit of sugar in tea to make it sweet." Eva poked, amused at Simon's embarrassment for his preference in tea. 

"Babe, just know that if they don't pick on you, it means they don't like you." Kiera giggled. 

"American welcome, yeah? Can't beat it." 

"When can I hold the other one?" Soap asked, rolling his shoulders back. 

"Not a chance, mate." Simon scolded. 

"Why not?" 

"I'm being too lenient with you holding him, but my daughter is where I draw the line."

Soap scoffed playfully, "Why not? Afraid she'll prefer Uncle Johnny over her own da?" 

"No," He huffed. "Be lucky considering I even let you hold him." 

"You would've anyway," Soap smirked. "Because I would've annoyed you until you let me." 

"I'm quite good at ignoring you, Johnny." 

"But I know when Kiera would've told you to let me hold him, you would've done it," He continued to poke, knowing he was right judging by the lack of Simon's response. "But hey, I'm quite good at this, eh, L.T.? I look like a pro at this father thing." 

"I've seen better." 

"Who?" 

"Me." 

"Do they always bicker like this?" Eva whispered to Kiera, watching her nod in agreement. 

"All the time." 

"If I didn't know any better, I would've assumed they were a couple." Eva giggled. 

"Bloody fuckin' hell," Simon grumbled, hating how they were always being playfully accused of being a couple. "I'd have to lower my standards."

"Harsh," Soap laughed. "Always so harsh towards your battle buddy, L.T." 

"You deserve it." 

"I'll take that as in an I love you. It's alright, Simon, just say you like me. You've said it before." 

"No I haven't." 

"When I was stranded in Las Almas, you said you liked me alive." 

"Yeah, would hate for Teeter to have welcomed you home in a box." 

"I didn't know Teeter then, L.T." 

Simon didn't have a response, unaware that his lack of an answer was more fuel to the fire of Soap's love of aggravating him. "That's what I thought." 

[ricciardo133]

Summer Break 2017

maxiel, both Max and Daniel genderswap, some magic, some breastfeeding, use of the word "mommy"

(author's note: a bit of a self-indulgent, niche kink so feel free to skip if not your vibe, of course!)

-

It's midnight in the quiet rental beach house, and Daniel can hear his heart thumping as he squeezes his breasts and watches milk leak between his fingers.

Fuck, Daniel thinks, cheeks burning as he looks up at his reflection. There, he sees someone who looks like him but not. A woman with a mass of long dark curls and wide brown eyes and heart-shaped lips. He watches the woman in the mirror shiver, naked in the cold bathroom, smaller hands on too-full breasts. He looks down at how his already wide hips have swelled out further, round soft thighs squeeze together, lips throbbing almost begging for something to fill him. "Oh God," he breathes.

A knock at the door jolts him and he spins in his spot, bare ass hitting the cold edge of the sink.

"Daniel," a familiar Dutch accent in a higher pitch. "I think we fucked up."

"No shit." Daniel pulls a towel off the back of the door. "Are you also...different?"

"Yes."

"Are you decent?"

"I think I look okay."

"No, I mean, are you naked?"

"Oh, no. I'm not naked," Max says behind the door. "I got dressed. I think we'll be stuck like this for a few hours if what Charles said is true."

Daniel rubs his temples, unnerved at how wired the thought makes him feel. "You know, I really wish Charles was a bit more specific about this," Daniel glances back at the open archaic book on the bathroom counter, "this spell."

It feels unreal to say it. He thinks back to just a few minutes prior. Max and Daniel looking over the loaned spell book, repeating some Latin, and suddenly the world gets spun in a flash of dizzying heat. Daniel remembers Max stumbling out of the bathroom. He remembers shutting the door, thinking he was going to hurl but instead being washed in the most fantastic warmth as he knelt on the cold tile and watched his hands shrink and felt his body reshape.

"Your old rival really glossed over the fact that the horny girls we'd be conjuring up were going to be... us. God, I feel so..."

He can't finish the thought but Max understands. They have been teammates long enough, usually he knows.

"I do, too," Max says, his voice so soft that Daniel almost can't hear him. "I feel too much. Too hot."

"Yeah, it's a lot."

"Do you want to stay in there?" Max asks. There is a nervousness, as if handling paper-mache with each word. "You can, if you want to not see me."

"No, I do want to see you." Daniel stops himself. "If you don't want to sit through our surprise magical girl time alone, we can, uh, play FIFA or something 'til this wears off."

Daniel resists thinking of what the other possibilities are nestled in that something. Certainly it should have nothing to do with how the pulsing between his legs has only gotten more heady or the desperate craving for release from the aching in his tits. Christ.

"Please," Max says. His voice breaks on the word. "I don't want to do this alone." Daniel steels his resolve.

"I'm going to open the door, so brace yourself to see the hottest woman alive."

Max laughs. Daniel treasures that familiar sense of comfort, of care, in hearing that laugh. It's still Max's laugh, just one octave higher. He can't deny it, too. Daniel simply has to know what Max looks like.

He opens the door. He takes in a sharp breath.

Everything gorgeous about Max is still there, just slightly altered. His dark blonde hair falls with a slight wave down to his shoulders. His just ever-so-slightly wide-set eyes are that same blue with those unreal lashes above full lips with that constantly beckoning freckle. His shoulders and neck are softer. A plain white t-shirt is stretched so wonderfully over swollen, heavy tits. Daniel feels dizzy seeing the darker circles of his nipples centered in wet patches dampening the shirt. Max flushes red. Daniel realizes he's fully staring his teammate down as he tries to not look at the soft swell of Max's fuller stomach and hips.

"I think I don't look as good as a girl," Max says.

"Bullshit. Not as good as me, but you're hot."

Max scoffs, smiling. Daniel knows he can usually rely on humor to get through tough times, but it takes on a different weight when it comes to Max. The non-stop whirl in the grand prix calendar could be a dizzying rush. Daniel has had more years of experience in how to stay steady through the cycle, and Max certainly was far more ready than Daniel had been at his age, but Daniel could still see Max careening sometimes. Off-balance. Rattled. Unnerved. Just making Max smile, just putting him at ease, felt like a mentor's guiding hand on the potter's wheel, showing him how to bring it back under control through the spin.

Daniel wishes he felt more control himself, staring at Max in his too tight shorts and too small shirt.

Max follows his gaze. "I'm...uh," he swallows. His hands cover his breasts as he nervously licks his lips. "I'm wet." He freezes. "I mean, my...chest is. Well, I am also wet in that way, but- we, uh, we shouldn't, right? I mean-"

"Max, same here." Daniel shrugs, trying to assuage both Max and his worries. "We don't need to milk the situation for all it's worth, y'know."

Max's smile. Crinkling eyes and straight teeth. He laughs and follows Daniel into the living room of the otherwise empty beach house. "That's a good one."

"Thanks, I'll be here all week. Luckily our other guests don't get here until tomorrow." Explaining this to their mutual friends would be exceptionally difficult. 'Don't mind us, just cursed momentarily by one of these ancient spell books that apparently all Formula One drivers can use since we get a little magic at this level that everyone is sworn not to talk about. No biggie!' It sounds unreal since it should be. Thankfully, it's a secret they have no need to divulge. "Just you and me, Maxy. We'll ride this out."

Max nods fast, lips a straight line. This time Daniel's the one catching him staring. Max's gaze leaps back up. "I should get you clothes." He doesn't wait for an answer. Max takes the nearby steps two at a time up to where they put their suitcases. Daniel feels wild watching Max's ass up the steps. He often felt a bit too much towards Max. Too much concern. Too much intrigue. Too much want. It's not right, Daniel would tell himself while not doing anything to curtail the thoughts. As Max bounces back down the steps, Daniel feels that familiar feeling of too much watching his chest bounce. Even as a boy, Max's chest is unreal. Daniel stares blankly from his chest to the clothes in Max's outstretched hands.

"You'll get cold. In the towel."

"Right," Daniel says. That tightness coiling inside him starts whirling again, fast and eager. "Sorry, man. Wow, I'm out of it."

"Don't be sorry. It's this thing." Max looks off. Daniel wants nothing more than to slip his hands into his too long hair and finally know what Max's lips feel like against his own.

"Daniel," Max says. His lovely, full brows knit in concern. Daniel reaches out. Where their skin meets is electric. Max groans, teeth pressing into his plush lower lip. Daniel feels his heart hammer and his legs shake.

"Max."

"Sorry, I-," he shakes his head. Daniel doesn't let go, but instead lets his fingers slip along the back of Max's hands. He steps closer, palms dragging along Max's forearms. Max whines. "Daniel."

"We shouldn't do this," Daniel says as he gets even closer, hands up on Max's arms. "We should stop." He rests his hands on Max's neck. "Fuck, Max. Tell me we should stop."

Max shakes his head. "Don't." He winces. "I need it so badly. Please help me through this, Daniel. Please."

And that was enough to snap the very tenuous restraints in Daniel's chest, letting the heated need rip into full-tilt. He lets the towel drop, his body bare as Max's hands grip Daniel's back and they, finally after so long, fall into an urgent and desperate kiss. Daniel guides Max backwards onto the sofa, maneuvering the younger man in his feminine frame onto his lap.

Daniel's breasts feel uncomfortably full. He winces with a mix of pain and pleasure as their lips work against one another, body tight and begging for a formless, wordless more. He can't place the unfamiliar need until Max's hands grip Daniel's chest and squeeze, warm milk spilling and making Daniel gasp in shock.

"Sorry," Max says reflexively, cheeks flush as he pulls back. Daniel shakes his head and takes a long, shuddering exhale.

"No, it's...fuck, no, it's good."

"It's good?" Max hesitantly puts his palms back over Daniel's immensely sensitive nipples, massaging and working at his chest. Daniel shivers, upended at seeing Max's hands get slick and wet. He breathes his name as Max leans to Daniel's neck. His damp hands leave for only a second to push the mass of curls off Daniel's shoulders. He goes back to kneading as his lips suck hard on the crook of Daniel's neck.

Daniel melts into his touch. His hips shake. His voice breaks. He feels his eyes water as Max deftly twists and sucks. Max was always alluding to being bad at kissing. Fucking liar. As Max sits back, Daniel watches with rapt attention as Max licks one of his own fingers wet with milk.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Max," Daniel says in a sigh. "Is it...fuck, this is weird, but is it good?"

Max's deepening flush drives Daniel wild. Max looks away as he nods. "I like it...it's good. It's you."

He thinks of Max sucking on his neck and suddenly wants only one thing. He guides Max from straddling his hips to lying in his lap. One hand threads into Max's longer hair while the other holds his soft waist to steady him. Max peppers the air with whispered curses and Daniel's name as his own hands find Daniel's breasts.

"You can use your mouth," Daniel instructs. Max didn't need any further coaxing. He takes one hand away from Daniel's leaking nipple and latches on with his lips and pulls.

Daniel sighs in the release, the thrill. It feels unreal, it is unreal, to see his younger teammate working at his full breast. He watches that lip freckle bob as Max sucks, plush lips glossy and soft, closed eyelashes dance on his red cheeks. Max stops for a second, struggling to find an even pace to his heavy breaths. "Can I keep going?" he asks, eyes still lidded, brows knit.

"Fuck, yes."

Max's other hand squeezes Daniel's neglected tit. He whines. He's not sure where this is going but maybe could have predicted what Max says next. He hardly expected it to make him fucking sob.

"Mommy," Max says.

Daniel hears himself keen. He tells himself to unpack whatever this is later and hurriedly nods to assure his wide-eyed teammate he's fine. Max says it again and then again, lit with that Dutch accent and frayed with ragged breaths.

"Oh, God. Max," Daniel says as he moves to suck on the other breast. "Oh, God."

His hands shake and his legs quake. He simultaneously needs more and feels overwhelmed with just this. He watches Max suck and swallow. His wide blue eyes occasionally opening to meet Daniel's gaze and say that word over and over until Daniel feels completely undone.

"I think I'm going to come," he breathes. "Max, Max-,"

"You need more," Max says, sitting up in his spot. He readjusts on Daniel's lap and leans into a kiss. Daniel tastes himself on Max's mouth. "I can use my mouth down there," Max says gently, fingers dancing along the fine hair between Daniel's legs. "If you want."

"You're fucking spoiling me, Max," Daniel says with a small laugh. "God, yes. If you want to."

"Of course, I want to. I want you to feel good. You always make me feel so good, so I...," he trails off. Daniel lets his hands gently hold his teammates cheeks. For a moment, they seem to just drink in the sight of one another, Daniel tracing Max's features with his eyes like familiar constellations in a different sky. He lets his thumbs draw gentle circles on hot cheekbones. Max shudders.

"I can make you feel good, too, Max. Now and after."

"After?" Max repeats.

"After all this. I can do this to you, too. Obviously less so in the dairy department unless we're feeling up for a magical round two sometime."

Max laughs in surprised delight. Finally, Daniel thinks, he knows what that smile feels like on his as Max leans back in to kiss him. Those same lips slip down as Max peppers his chest with kisses and then further down as Max slides onto the floor and kneels between Daniel's spread legs. His heart pounds in his chest. Daniel swallows, savoring the unfamiliar aftertaste that still sits on his tongue as he feels Max's mouth move in so many new places.

[cherrycola27]

Red, White, and Rooster

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Frenemies to lovers, relationship of convenience. Political situations. Allegations of affairs, military and political inaccuracies. Smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part Moodboard

Specific Chapter Warnings: child birth, pregnancy, breastfeeding

...........................................

Chapter 19: President Dadshaw

Vice President Seresin was sitting peacefully in the audience of the first independent primary debate. He could tell that you and Bradley had some issues before coming here and that whatever they were, they were weighing heavily on Bradley.

The truth is, Bradley and Jake had never done a debate without you. They hardly ever went anywhere without you. You were their anchor.

Jake was listening to Governor Jackson drone on about he plans for foreign policy when he felt his phone vibrate. He noticed it was Jaycee calling. Jake thought it was odd that she would be calling him because he knew that she knew he was at the debate. Worried something had happened, he alerted Dante and the two of the stepped out.

"Hello?" Jake said into his phone as he and Dante found a secluded corner of the lobby.

"Jake! Oh my god! Thank God you picked up!" Jaycee practically shouted.

"Jay, is everything okay?" Jake asked. He could hear the worry in her voice.

"No! Everything is not okay. You need to get Bradley out of that debate now! Y/N's water broke, and we are about to take her to the hospital!" Jaycee panted. Jake could hear her running around in the background.

"Oh my god! Okay, Dante and I will get him, and we will be there ASAP." Jake replied quickly before hanging up the phone.

"Dante. We need the president now. The Y/N is in labor, and they are taking her to Walter Reed right now. We have to meet them there." Jake stated. Dante nodded his head and sprang into action.

He wasted no time sprinting back into the auditorium and rushing to the the stage.

"Sir, we are in the middle of the debate, you cannot be out here right now!" The moderator shouted. Dante ignored him as he told Bradley what was happening, and his eyes went wide.

"Folks, I must apologize, I— there is an emergency, and I cannot continue with this debate. Please forgive me." Bradley spoke as he turned to follow Dante.

"Is there actually an emergency, or are you just afraid that you're losing, Mr. President?" Governor Jackson sneered into his microphone.

Bradley stopped. His shoulders tensed up before he turned on his heels and stormed his way back to the podium.

"For your information, Mr. Jackson, I've just been told that my wife is in labor, and I would very much like to be there for the birth of my children. Is that going to be a problem? If so, you can send a formal complaint to my office, and I can file it in the exact same place where I would file your foreign policy proposal—in the trash." Everyone was dead silently.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be. Thank you." Bradley said as he nodded his head and left.

....................

"Jaycee, what if Bradley doesn't make it to the hospital in time? What if he misses their birth. I can't deliver these two without him." You panicked as the SUV the two of you were in zoomed through the streets of D.C.

"Eveything is going to be fine. Jake and Dante are bringing him. Don't worry." Jaycee said as she patted your hand. Another contraction ripped through your body. They were getting closer together now and you were freaking out.

The White House staff had already alerted Walter Reed Medical Center that you were on your way, and they would be ready to take you into an operating room as soon as you got there. Dr. Park had explained that it was standard procedure with twins, just in case things went south, but you had planned to deliver naturally if at all possible.

The dark SUV screeched to a hault in front of the emergency doors. A nurse came with a wheelchair as Jaycee helped you in. You were quickly wheeled in where your vitals were taken, and you changed into a pink hospital gown. Soon, you were hooked to monitors for you and the twins and Dr. Park determined you were five centimeters dilated already.

Jaycee sat with you and held your hand as you went through more contractions. In the hurry to get out the door, you'd left your phone. Jaycee was trying to get ahold of Jake and Bradley but was unsuccessful.

"Jay, any word?" You grunted out. "No, love. I'm sorry." Jaycee responded as she gave your had a squeeze.

"How am I supposed to do this without him? I know we had a fight before he left, but I didn't mean what I said, and I know he didn't either. We are both just stressed. What if he isn't coming?" You cried.

"Hey, we aren't going to think like that. I can only imagine the stress you two are under. Bradley loves you more than anything in this world. He is going to be here for you. No debate is more important than you and these two kiddos to him." Jaycee spoke softly as she wiped a tear from your face.

"And if these two are in such a hurry and he doesn't make it, I'll be right here with you holding your hand. You didn't leave me when I needed you, and I'm damn sure not leaving you now." Jaycee assured you with a teary smile.

You smiled back at her and gritted your teeth through another contraction. You briefly thought about calling your mother and father, but they didn't deserve to be a part of this.

"Can you call Penny and Maverick? Bradley would want them to be here." You asked Jaycee. They had flown in earlier this week ahead of your induction. You and Bradley had already decided that they would be the grandparents your children needed and deserved.

Jaycee nodded her head and dialed him. Maverick picked up on the first ring and immediately told Jaycee that he and Penny would be there soon.

................

"Dante! Why aren't we moving?" Bradley shouted from the backseat of his car. His leg bounced nervously against the floorboard.

"Sir, traffic has stopped. It looks like there is an accident up ahead." Dante said.

"How far away are we from Walter Reed?" Bradley asked.

"About ten blocks, sir." Dante informs him. "I'm sure things will get moving soon. My wife was in labor for quite a while with our first one. You shouldn't have anything to worry about." Dante tried to reassure Bradley, who was looking worse for wear.

"Oh shit!" Jake exclaimed when he took his phone out of his pocket. He'd never turned the ringer up, and he had several missed calls and texts from Jaycee. He also had one from Mav and Penny informing him they were on their way.

He quickly called Jaycee, who informed him that you were settled in a room, and apparently, seven centimeters dilated.

He passed the information on to Bradley, and that seemed to only make things worse. "Her labor is progressing pretty fast." Dante remarked. He was trying to keep his cool, but a sweat had broken out across his brow. "Sir, I'm trying, I really am, but we are at a standstill. Jamison, are you picking up any chatter that this might clear soon?" Dante asked his partner.

"Negative, Dante. It's a pile-up. The traffic reports are saying it might take hours to clear." Jamison replied.

Bradley let out an exasperated sigh. He didn't have hours. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He knew how to get to Walter Reed from here, and ten blocks really wasn't that far. Surely he could get there before traffic would clear.

So, he decided on a little less thinking and a little more doing. Before anyone could talk him out of it, Bradley ripped off his purple tie, tore off his suit jacket, and jumped out of the car.

"Rooster! What the fuck are you doing man?" Jake yelled as he and Dante jumped out after him.

"Not thinking! I have to be there for her! I'm not missing this!" Bradley yelled behind him as he started running down the sidewalk in the direction of the hospital as fast as his sleek dress shoes would take him.

Dante shrugged and looked at Jake and Jamison. "Well, aren't you going to follow him?" Dante asked as he looked at his partner. "Why me?" Jamison asked with a befuddled look.

"You're a decade younger than me and have better knees. We can't just let the president run through Maryland by himself. Hop to it." Dante instructed. Jamison shook his head before taking off after Bradley.

Bradley's feet came down hard on the sidewalk. He vaguely heard Jamsion yelling behind him, asking him to slow down, but he wouldn't. He couldn't. Bradley was sure that people in the stopped cars were wondering why the president of the United States was running down the street in the late evening, and he knew there would probably be pictures and videos on social media and in the news that you would inevitably scold him for, but he didn't care.

He'd left you on such a sour note, and now he could potentially miss the birth of his children.

He rounded another block, running right in front of a cab and past a group of middle-aged women and their dogs. He hurdled over a curb before making another turn. Soon, the front of the hospital was in sight.

His legs were burning, his lungs were on fire, and his feet felt like bricks, but he didn't slow down. He ran through the parking lot straight into the lobby. He barreled to a stop right in front of the nurses station and information desk.

"My—I—she—we—where?" Bradley panted out. His hands were on his knees, and his face was flushed as he tried to talk to the poor, startled young woman at the desk. She sat there unsure how to respond. Instead, she silently got up and led Bradley down the hall.

She stopped outside an unmarked wooden door. Bradley could hear your groans of pain as he stood outside. She knocked on the door. It opened, and Bradley wqs quickly let inside.

"Sweetheart!" He exclaimed as soon as he came in. Your eyes darted over to him. "Bradley!" You cried as soon as you saw him.

He tried to rush towards you, but a nurse quickly stopped him. "Mr. President. This is technically an operating room. I'll need you to change and scrub up, just in case They told him. Bradley nodded and was led to a small area where the necessary garb he had to wear was waiting.

Once he was changed and had new shoes, courtesy of the hospital, because his fell apart the moment he stepped out of them, Bradley was by your side.

"I'm here, Sweetheart. I'm right here. And I'm so sorry about earlier." He sighed as he pushed some hair out of your face. Jaycee, now that Bradley had arrived, left to go wait for everyone else in the lobby.

"I'm sorry too. It's just so hard for me to turn off that part of my brain." You told him. "I'm so glad you're here. I hate that you had to leave the debate." You tell him.

"It's fine." He replies. "Why—" You begin just as another contraction hits, and you squeeze his hand. "Why are you so sweaty?" You finish. "Got stuck in traffic. Ran like ten blocks to get here, and my feet are killing me, but it's fine." Bradley half laughs.

"Oh, your feet hurt? Your poor thing." You tell him sarcastically. He opens his mouth to say something. But you lean forward and let out a string of curses as the most powerful contraction of the night rages though you.

"Mrs. Bradshaw, you're ten centimeters. You can push whenever you're ready." Dr. Park informs you. You have Bradley help you lean up and scoot closer to the edge of the bed.

"Bradley, I need you to promise me something." You tell him.

"What, Sweetheart?" He asks you. "If it comes down to it. If it's me or them—" you say.

"No." He cuts you off. "We aren't having this conversation because that's not going to happen." Bradley tells you in his most serious tone. He's read the books and seen the statistics just like you have. He doesn't want to think about anything bad happening because it's not. Everything is going to be fine.

"Bradley, please." You let out a tearful cry. "No, Y/N. I'm leaving the hospital with one wife and two babies. That's final." Bradley states. He prays that by speaking it into existence, it will be true. He doesn't want to think about any other outcomes. He doesn't want to be put in a position where he has to choose.

Bradley knows you'd pick the lives of your children over your own, and he knows you would want him to do the same, but deep down, Bradley was selfish. You could have other children, he couldn't have another you. And if it came down to it, he doesn't know if he would be strong enough to let you go.

He shakes the thought from his head, and you bear down. He wipes your brow and praises you while you are crushing his hand and cursing his name.

"You'd better get me the best damn push present, Bradley. I'm serious because I'm doing twice the work!" You bark out as you push.

"And baby number one is here! It's a girl!" Dr. Park exclaims as she holds up your daughter. Your anger fades into happiness as she is laid on your chest. "Hi, baby girl, welcome to the world." You say. Bradley is speechless as he looks at her in awe. Dr. Park gives the two of you a moment before asking Bradley to cut the cord. You only get a few minutes with your baby girl before it's time for her brother to make his debute.

Baby number two makes a much quicker entrance into the world. Just like his sister, he's placed on your chest for you to admire, and Bradley to be awe struck by.

After both of them are cleaned up and assessed, Dr. Park tells you they both seem to be in good health but wants all three of you to stay for a few days just to be sure. Later that night, you and Bradley are both too tired to sleep. You're both standing over the bassinets as you watch the two little lives you've created sleep peaceful side by side. You and the staff had tried to put them down separately, but they both cried until they were placed next to each other.

"You'd think they'd want their own space after sharing my womb for so long." You joked.

"Maybe this means they'll always be close." Bradley sighed as he placed a kiss to your temple. "You did so good, honey. They're perfect." Bradley praises you.

You smile at each other and enjoy the quiet. But the moment is soon interrupted, but the soft cry of your daughter.

"Oh no. Are you okay, Elle? You ask her as you carefully lift her up, trying not to disturb her brother. She opens her eyes and looks up at you. She blinks slowly before cooing softly. You know she's only a few hours old, but you can already tell she has your eyes and your nose. The dusting of hair on her head is almost the same color as yours.

Soon, your son, who you can already tell, will be his father's twin stirs. It's like he can sense his sister is missing. Bradley picks him up and gently rocks him. "It's okay, Andy. Elle is right here with Mommy. Daddy's got you, buddy." Bradley whispers to him.

After you feed both of them, they fall into a deep sleep. Bradley helps you into your bed before stretching out onto the roll away that was brought for him. Tomorrow, you'll let Maverick and Penny and Jake and Jaycee meet the twins. But tonight, you enjoy the moment where it is just the four of you.

..............

The morning light streamed into your hospital room earlier than you would have liked. You sat up looking for Bradley only to find him shirtless in an oversized chair with the twins on his chests and a blanket covering each of them.

"I gave them each a bottle, and we have just been hanging out. I know you said you wanted to try breastfeeding, but I didn't want to wake you." Bradley whispered to you from across the room.

"It's fine. Fed is best. Think you can handle it for a little bit longer? The lactation nurse said she would be here early this morning to show me the right way to use my pump and to help with latching." You told him. Bradley nodded and continued to live his best dad life as he quietly sang and whispered to the twins.

After a lesson in breastfeeding and pumping, you tried and were able to Andy and Elle to latch. You were able to pump a small amount, and the nurse reassured you that your supply would increase. You took it in stride, knowing you were going to try your best, but you wouldn't feel like a failure if you ended up having to formula feed.

Around lunch, you arranged for Maverick and Penny to come and visit, and Jake and Jaycee would come that evening.

Mav and Penny were speechless when they came into the room. You carefully scooped up your daughter and handed her to Penny once she had sat down. She and Mav looked at her and sighed. "She's beautiful. What's her name?" Penny asked.

"Her name is Eleanora Carole Bradshaw." You beamed at them. "And this is Andrew Nicholas Bradshaw." Bradley said as he gentle put your son in Pete's arms. "But for now, they are Andy and Elle." Bradley smiled. "Andy and Elle. How perfect." Maverick said with a few tears in his eyes.

"Your parents would be so proud." He told Bradley. "I know." Bradley smiled.

"What about your parents Y/N? Don't they want to meet their grandchildren?" Penny asked you.

"As far as I'm concerned, you two are the only grandparents they need. Maybe down the road, we can work something out, but for now, it's Grandpa Mav and Grandma Penny all the way." You assured her.

After a wonderful visit with their grandchildren, Pete and Penny left to let you rest before Jake and Jaycee came.

"So, who is older?" Jaycee asked. You ask she rocked Andy in her arms. "Elle is by thirteen minutes." You told her. "She just couldn't wait to get into the world to meet her Uncle Jake, huh?" Jake cooed as he held Elle. You and Jaycee both knew he was already wrapped around her finger, which was fine because Andy had already stolen Jaycee's heart.

"We have a question." Bradley blurted out.

"What?" Jake and Jaycee asked in unison.

"We want to know if you two would be their godparents?" Bradley asked them.

"Of course!" They both cheered. "How could we say no to these two?!" Jaycee asked as she booped Andy's nose.

"Five bucks says they are expecting less than a year after they get married." You whispered to Bradley as you watched Jake and Jaycee interact with your children. "Twenty bucks says that it's a honeymoon baby." Bradley counters.

"You're on." You snort as the two of you shake.

Soon, the evening wears away, and it's just the four of you again. News of your labor and delivery has spread. There are also several stories with photos and videos of Bradley racing to the hospital on foot. The media is also dragging Gary Jackson after his comment at the debate. A few organizations who support Bradley are already pushing the tagline "Put Governor Jackson where he belongs, in the trash!" You want to be mad at Bradley for that comment, but it's just so funny that you can't.

...................

The twins are exactly a month old when you and Bradley release the first official photo of them.

It's a beautiful family portrait of you and Bradley each sitting in a rocking chair the nursery in the White House. Bradley is dressed in a collared shirt with a sweater pulled over it with some khaki pants and a new pair of loafers. You're in a warm sweater dress and a pair of leggings and some boots. The twins are dressing in matching onsies and caps with their names stitched on them. You're hold Elle, and Bradley is holding Andy.

The caption reads:" The President and First Lady are excited to share the first official photo of the newest additions to their family. Eleanora Carole Bradshaw and Andrew Nicholas Bradshaw arrived on Thursday, January 27th, 2028. President and Mrs. Bradshaw are overjoyed at the love and support the nation as shown them as they have been adjusting to parenthood."

Parenthood had certainly been an adjustment for the two of you. You both knew that you would have a lot to learn, but you'd learn it together.

......................

One chapter left, guys!

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