Emma

They’d been open to finding an Omega but as the years passed and they failed to find anyone compatible, they accepted it might be just the two of them. Truth be told, they were fine with that. They loved each other, they knew each other’s quirks and the demons that haunted them. They would be two grumpy old Alphas taking care of each other for the rest of their lives.

Then came a warm Tuesday spring morning and a car in the driveway of the house next door. The house had been empty for several months but no ‘for sale’ sign had ever appeared in the yard. A service had kept things cleaned up so Jack hadn’t given it much thought. His gaze fell on a woman with her arms so full of clothes he couldn’t see her face. Ordinarily he’d offer to help but he’d just finished hour fourteen of a twelve hour shift. His leg hurt and he needed to wash the stench of hospital off.

“Hey,” he called as he entered the house, shutting the door behind him.

“Kitchen,” Robby yelled back.

Jack popped his head in to greet his husband. “Looks like we have a new neighbor,” he said after he’d kissed him hello.

“Do we?” Robby turned to look out the kitchen window that faced the other house.

“Just one car but they were carrying clothes inside. I’ve got to clean up.”

Robby kissed him again. “Yeah, you go ahead. I’ll make you some food.”

Jack took his time in the shower decompressing and washing off the hospital along with the remnants of the suppressant gel he had to wear at work. Robby had food ready by the time he emerged and they sat at the table in the kitchen to eat.

They’d been eating and chatting for about five minutes when there was a knock at the door. Robby frowned but stood. “Stay put. I’ll be back.” He kissed the top of Jack’s head on the way by.

The longer Robby was gone the deeper the furrow in Jack’s brow became. How long did it take to grab a package?

“Hey, Jack,” Robby called from the door. “You should come meet the new neighbor.”

Jack sighed and dropped his bacon back on his plate. He wiped his hands then wheeled his chair into the front hall. Robby stood in the open doorframe, blocking Jack’s view of whoever was on the porch. “Hey,” he said.

Robby turned with a smile and stepped aside. “Meet the neighbor, honey.”

Jack’s gaze shifted from him to the woman standing outside. You turned with a smile of your own and introduced yourself. You were beautiful. He wheeled closer, ready to say something by way of greeting when a breeze blew past you and into the house. Jack was suddenly enveloped in the scent of honeysuckle and vanilla mixed with something that was all you. It smelled like home.

His eyes snapped from you to Robby who gave a small nod in confirmation.

Oh.

Oh shit.

You were their Omega.

The man waited outside.

Your stomach sank.

You pulled out your phone and called Dex. It rang once before going to voicemail, which meant he was either working or already packing his things and moving towards you. You left the line open anyway, slipping your phone into your coat pocket as you stepped back onto the pavement.

“I’m on Stanton,” you said, quiet as you could, knowing the microphone would catch it. “I’m going on the safe route, and there’s a man following me.”

You headed towards the twenty-four-hour diner two streets away. At least there were lights, cameras, and most importantly, people there.

You almost reached it, but the man caught you when you passed the narrow service road behind an apartment building. One moment his footsteps were behind you; the next, his hand gripped around the back of your coat and dragged you hard enough that the thicker collar choked into your throat.

Your keys fell from your fingers, and all you could manage was a pathetic little scream before he could cover your mouth.

His palm immediately struck your lips and teeth, crushing the sound back into your skull as he hauled you into the darkness of some random New York alley. Your heel scraped uselessly across the pavement as you bit down until you tasted blood that wasn’t yours. It worked! He swore, jerking his hand away.

Immediately, you drove your elbow backwards.

Dex had shown you where to aim for, and you were trying to retrieve it from the rolodex of information in your mind, not quite the ribs, but lower in the soft tissue. 

The man grunted, but he didn’t let go. His arm locked around your throat instead, squeezing until firework-white sparks burst across your vision.

“You stupid fucking—”

You stamped on his foot before he could finish his sentence and threw your weight forwards, turning beneath his arm, exactly as Dex had taught you.

Eventually, his hold broke.

You stumbled free and ran, but the man recovered faster than you initially expected. His hand found its way and tangled his fingers in your hair, snapping your head backwards so violently that your neck burned.

He slammed you face-first against the brick wall.

Oh. Fuck. 

A burst of pain exploded through your cheek, teeth unintentionally biting into the inside of your mouth. Warm, fresh blood flooded on your tongue, thick and metallic, while his body pinned you against the wall.

The panic bells ringing in your head turned everything white-hot. “S-stop!”

He didn’t.

No. No. You were better than this.

You reached behind blindly, clawing for his eyes, his throat, anything you could find. Your nails found skin, raking down as he cursed and drove you against the brick again.

Maybe your nose broke, you couldn’t really tell.

His hand slid beneath your coat, and that’s when your vision went red. Rage flared hot inside you, burning through every thought in your head. You threw your skull backwards and felt his cartilage collapse beneath it.

His grip loosened, howling in pain.

You spun and shoved him with both hands.

He stumbled off the curb at the edge of the service road. His ankle twisted beneath him, and he went down hard. The man managed to catch himself on one palm before his shoulder struck the pavement.

You could have run.

The diner was less than a hundred yards away. You could see its red sign glowing at the end of the road, bright as a fresh exit wound.

That was when the man looked up at you.

A sick, satisfied feeling churned in your stomach as red poured from his nose and over his mouth.

And… he was smiling.

Oh. 

He still believed he was going to win.

He pushed himself onto one knee. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Your hand found the loose brick beside the wall, and it was heavier than you expected. Its edges bit into your palm as you lifted it with both hands.

When the man saw it, his smile vanished in an instant.

You brought the brick down across his temple.

The sound that came off it was shockingly small. It sounded like a damp knock, followed by the scrape of his body collapsing onto the road.

He rolled onto his back, blinking rapidly. One side of his face had already begun to swell around the ripped skin as a blotch of blood ran into his ear and disappeared beneath his head.

You stood over him, panting.

He was still conscious. “Wait.”

You could’ve stopped. You could’ve shown mercy. 

Instead, you struck him again.

This time, the brick split the skin above his eyebrow. Blood sprayed across your coat and speckled your face in warm droplets.

He raised one arm to protect himself.

Huh. Cute. 

You hit that too.

His arm gave beneath the brick with a muffled crunch. His forearm bent where it shouldn’t have been bent, and he screamed, the sound travelling through the empty service road.

You dropped the brick.

For half a second, the sight of his ruined arm nearly pulled you back into your logical self.

Then, his good hand closed around your ankle.

You shrieked and kicked him in the face. Your heel connected with his mouth as teeth snapped together. One of them even skipped across the pavement and vanished beneath a parked car.

He released you, but you fell on top of him.

Your knees struck the ground on either side of his hips, and your hands seized the front of his jacket. His blood made the material slippery beneath your fingers.

Before you could think any better of it, you dragged his head upwards, then slammed it against the curb.

The back of his skull struck concrete with a thick, hollow crack.

His eyes rolled, and it horrified you how much you liked it, seeing the man who wanted to touch you fucking bleed out. 

So you did it again.

Blood spread beneath his hair.

Again.

The hard crack now sounded wetter as the skin split and bone began to cave in. His body jerked beneath you, heels scraping against the pavement, but there was no strength left in it.

He made a noise through his broken mouth. You didn’t know whether it was a plea or merely air left escaping.

“You followed me!” you sobbed. “You fucking touched me!”

You brought his head down again.

The edge of the curb disappeared beneath blood. It ran between your fingers, coating your palms each time you pulled him upwards.

“I did everything right.”

Again.

“I—”

Again.

“Have—”

Again.

“A—”

Again.

“Fucking—”

Again.

“Boyfriend—”

Again.

“You—”

Again.

“Asshole—”

Again.

“He’ll fucking kill you!”

The last word broke somewhere in your throat, ragged. You were crying now, maybe. You couldn’t really tell. Your face was wet, your hands were red, and the whole world had shrunk down to the most-likely-dead man in your grip and the curb beneath him and the memory of his hand on you where it never should have been.

The back of his skull was now the shape of the concrete underneath.

You felt the structure collapse beneath your hands where there should have been resistance. It didn’t feel dramatic or righteous. All you could think was how it felt gooey in the wrong places. 

You pulled him up again anyway.

“I told you,” you sobbed, or screamed, or whispered. You couldn’t tell anymore. “I told you to stop.”

But his eyes were open and empty, staring past you at nothing, and when you tried to lift him one more time, your hands slipped in all the blood and he dropped back against the curb with a sound that made your stomach sink

That was when the anger went out.

All at once, as if someone had blown out a candle inside your chest.

You stared down at your hands and the red beneath your nails. You saw a dark smear across your wrist where he had grabbed you. “I did everything right,” you said again, smaller this time.

His face had lost all expression. Blood bubbled faintly at his lips before spilling down his cheek.

He was dead.

You knew he was dead.

You screamed as you struck him again, though you no longer knew whether you were furious or terrified.

You remembered Dex telling you never to stop until you were safe.

Make sure they cannot get back up. 

You had done everything he told you to do.

The man’s head struck the concrete one final time and didn’t bounce.

You released him.

His ruined skull settled crookedly against the ground. The road beneath him shone black-red beneath the distant streetlights, and blood soaked through your tights at the knees and dripped from your hands in heavy threads.

The dead man’s head no longer looked human.

Your stomach heaved.

You tried to stand, but your legs folded beneath you. The world tilted violently, the brick walls stretching upwards as though the road had dropped away beneath your body.

Footsteps thundered behind you, but you couldn’t turn around.

Your vision narrowed until the alley became a tunnel.

Then a hand touched your face, but this time, the touch was gentle.

His thumb swept carefully beneath your eye, avoiding the swelling along your cheekbone, as an arm curved around your waist before you could collapse fully onto the body.

“There you are,” Dex whispered.

His voice sounded distant beneath the rushing in your ears.

You tried to tell him what you had done, but your lips would not let you.

Dex’s palm cradled the back of your head, carefully nudging your nose back into place. He pulled you into him, turning your face away from the ruin on the pavement.

“My smart girl,” he murmured, stroking your hair with bloodless fingers. “You remembered everything.”

The praise sank through your heart as he felt his lips press against your temple.

“You saved yourself.”

Eventually, dazed and overwhelmed by the adrenaline crash, your eyes closed.

The last thing you felt was Dex’s thumb moving across your cheek, wiping away a tear.

—

Dex knew you.

He knew you were nothing like him.

That much had been obvious almost from the beginning, though he hadn’t understood it properly. Dex’s first instinct had always been violence. Whenever a problem appeared, his mind found that the bloodiest way was often the fastest way to solve it. Even inconveniences made his skin crawl, from a jammed drawer, a car alarm that would not stop, to a man looking at you for half a second too long across a restaurant. 

You were different.

You were gentle in ways Dex had once found impractical.  

You apologised to furniture when you bumped into it. You cupped moths in your hands and carried them outside. You left sugar water out for bees in summer and lowered your voice around frightened dogs. You once stopped walking entirely because there was a snail on the pavement after rain, and you refused to let anyone step on it until Dex moved it safely into the grass with a leaf.

He had stood there watching you then, half-annoyed, half-fascinated.

“It’s just a snail,” he had said.

You had looked up at him like he had spouted bullshit from his mouth. “It’s alive.”

From then on, he realized alive mattered to you.

Even small alive. Even when it was inconvenient .

Dex hadn’t been raised with that as a natural instinct. As a boy, he had thrown stones at birds because he found that he liked the little burst of movement. He hadn’t thought of it as cruelty then. It was just aim, maybe boredom. 

Then you bought a bird feeder for your apartment.

You hung it outside the kitchen window with such bright delight that Dex hadn’t even known what to say. You filled it every morning, scattering seed with your bed hair falling over your face, then stood there with your coffee while sparrows and blue tits flickered down. You loved them. You loved their stupid little hopping, their bright feathers.

You loved listening to birdsong most of all.

You whistled back sometimes without realising it while you watered plants or folded laundry. At night, when you were deep enough asleep that your body forgot to be self-conscious, you made the same small breathy sounds in your dreams, sweet enough that Dex would lie awake beside you and listen as he calmed down.

So instead of throwing rocks at it like he used to, he learned how to imitate their songs.

At first, only because you smiled when he whistled them. Then, he did it because you looked at him like he had performed a miracle when a robin landed on the feeder while Dex stood still by the window, unknowingly calling them closer.

Without realising, he had learned to mimic their distinctive calls.

He even stopped exterminating annoying bugs because of you. 

You were afraid of spiders, yes, but when one of them showed up in the nightstand and you screamed, hiding behind him like a shield, you would make this horrified and pleading sound because he reached for a shoe instead of a cup. To you, being afraid of the little thing didn’t mean it deserved to die. 

“Dex, no. Outside. Alive.”

So for you, he learned to trap spiders beneath glasses and slide envelopes carefully underneath them. He learned to carry them to the windowsill instead of crushing them. 

Eventually, he learned not to flick beetles off the balcony, because you worried about whether the fall would hurt them. He learned to scoop flies out of half-open windows with hands while you hovered behind him whispering, “Careful, careful,” like he was defusing a bomb.

He learned to pretend he cared whether tiny, ugly things lived.

Eventually, he cared because you cared, and caring about what you cared about was the closest thing to general empathy Dex had ever understood.

And that was why Dex knew that you could not wake up knowing what you had done.

Because you had not even wanted him to kill spiders.

How the hell were you supposed to survive knowing you had killed a man?

Dex had known that the moment you went limp in his arms, your bloodied hands curled weakly against his shirt, your body giving up its adrenaline high only after it was finally safe to stop fighting. You had passed out before he could praise you properly, even before he could look you in the eye and tell you that you had done exactly what he taught you to do.

You had saved yourself.

Dex was proud of you in a way he knew he couldn’t show when you woke up.

Especially not with the body in the trunk of his car and your clothes stuffed into a sealed black bag hidden in the closet. His own clothes in there too, soaked with blood where he had held you, smeared bleach where he had poured it over the concrete. 

He would deal with it later, when you were properly asleep, because the body could wait and you could not.

So Dex got you, half-passed out and half mumbling nonsense, home. Perhaps it was simply your mind coping on a traumatic memory.

He stripped you carefully, cutting fabric where it stuck, easing sleeves down your arms, peeling everything off your skin piece by piece until there was nothing left between you and him. His clothes came off too, though nothing was ever sexual about that, but because his soaked shirt was evidence, too. 

He washed you in the shower while you leaned against him, barely conscious, your forehead pressed to his shoulder, your knees buckling every time the warm water hit another bruise. He did this all while murmuring sweet nonsense into your ear, words he knew your body understood even when your mind was tuned out. “You did so good, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He washed you until water at your feet ran pink, then red, then thin and clear.

Your hands took the longest as he held each finger between his own, washing beneath the nails, over the knuckles, around the raw places where the brick and pavement had scraped you open. You whimpered once, so quietly he almost missed it, and he kissed your wet temple before continuing.

He had to make them clean because you would look at your hands first.

When it was done, he carried you to bed and lay down naked beside you, pulling you onto his chest before the cold could bite.

The skin to skin was its own kind of intimacy, no barrier, but his body around yours.

By 2 a.m., he had not slept. He had tried, once or twice, mostly for the performance, because if you woke up and found him sitting upright in the dark watching you breathe, you would know something was wrong. 

So he lay with you until dawn, and every time your breathing hitched, Dex tightened his hold. Every time you made a frightened sound, he kissed your head and whispered until you settled. He kept one eye on the bedroom door, one ear tuned to the street.

But mostly he watched you.

You looked smaller when you slept after fear, lashes clumping from old tears. Your mouth was swollen and a bruise was blooming along your cheekbone where the man had slammed you against brick, and Dex had to look away from it more than once because all he felt was red-hot rage. 

But it wasn’t like he could do anything. The man was already dead.

You woke up sometime around 3 a.m.

Dex felt it when you choked on a breath, curled against him, cheek on his chest, one leg tangled with his. Your fingers twitched against his ribs, and he knew some part of you had surfaced too quickly.

Your eyes opened.

Almost immediately, panic tore through you.

You jerked upright so fast the sheet slipped from your chest. 

Your hands flew up in front of your face, fingers spread, as though blood might still be dripping from them. They were clean, but you stared anyway. 

You turned them over, looking at your palms, backs, nails, and wrist.

You seemed shocked to find them… clean. 

Dex sat up behind you. “Baby.”

You flinched at his voice, and that knee-jerk reaction hurt more than he expected.

You twisted towards him, naked and shaking, eyes wide with a terror that had no full memory attached to it yet. 

Dex could see your mind reaching and clawing through fog, finding only flashes of memories. Maybe you remembered a streetlight, maybe a hand on your throat. 

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

Dex reached for you.

You scrambled back half an inch, and he frowned immediately. 

He tried to make himself look harmless, like there was nothing hidden near the closet, nothing dead cooling in the back of his car.

“There you are,” he murmured.

Your face fell, but the sob didn’t come out. It got trapped in your chest, making your whole body shake. You looked down at yourself then, at your bare skin, at his bare skin, at the tangled sheets, and your confusion quickly became fear. 

Dex moved carefully, scooting closer until his thigh touched yours.

“You were cold,” he said, pulling the duvet back up around you before you could ask. “ I had to get you warm.”

Your eyes darted around the room.

The bedroom looked normal. That made it worse. 

There was no proof of anything, no blood, no alley, no proof of anything but your body remembering what your mind could not grasp.

Dex placed one hand over your knee.

You stared at it.

He expected you to pull away, but instead your breath hitched and your whole body tilted towards him, helplessly, like a compass finding north. He gathered you before you could think better of it.

You collapsed into his lap.

Dex wrapped both arms around you and pulled you against his bare chest again, tucking your face beneath his chin. You were shaking so hard it passed into him. You pressed your hands flat to his shoulders, then curled, then opened again, like you could not stand the idea of grasping flesh too tightly.

“There,” he whispered. “That’s it. Come here, baby.”

Your breath hitched against his throat, and he felt the first wet tear hit his skin.

Then you were crying without sound, which was worse than sobbing. Violent tears shook you from the inside while your body stayed stiff with shock.

Dex rocked you slowly, enough to give your panic a rhythm to follow.

“You’re home,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re with me. No one’s gonna touch you.”

Your fingers dug into him. “I—I…,” you whispered, not quite coming out with words yet

Dex closed his eyes for half a second. “It’s okay, baby.”

Your eyes darted in a panic. “I don’t know what happened.”

He tried shushing you. “You don’t have to know all of it right now.”

“I-I don’t know, Dex.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

Your breathing grew shallow, almost choking. You tried to pull back and look at your hands again, but Dex caught them between your bodies, folding them against his chest where you could feel his heartbeat beneath your palms.

Focus there.

You did.

“I-I remember him,” you managed to say.

Dex stroked the back of your head. “Okay.”

“I remember walking. I took the right way.”

“You did.”

“I did what you said.”

“You did everything right.”

The sentence seemed to be a trigger, ripping a sob out of you.

Dex held you tighter.

“I-I did everything right,” you repeated, smaller now. “I promise.”

“I know.”

“I went inside. I waited. I called you.”

“You were so smart.”

Your face pressed harder into his neck.

“So smart,” he whispered again. “My girl, you did so well.”

You shook your head, frantic, because praise did not fit beside the images cutting through you. 

You didn’t remember much, but you saw flashes of blood and concrete behind your eyelids. 

Your breathing stopped.

His hand slid up the back of your neck and held you close. “No,” he murmured, soft as velvet. “Stay with me.”

“I saw—”

“You saw too much.”

“I… did something.”

“You protected yourself.”

“No, I—”

“You protected yourself,” he repeated, more insistent this time. 

Your fingers twisted against his chest.

Dex let his voice warm up, like honey in warm water. “You were scared and hurt and you did what you had to do.”

He felt you take the information in, but your panic continued circling it like vultures on corpses.

Dex kissed the top of your head, then your temple, then the bruised corner of your brow. “You’re okay,” he breathed. “I promise.”

You made a wounded noise, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

The kindness was not accidental, it was architecture. He was building a room inside your memory, where the bloodier parts could be locked outside until you forgot where you held the key.

“Where is he?”

Oh. So you vaguely knew there was a he now. 

“He’s in the hospital.” He lied easily. 

Dex knew this was how it would happen. One lie was enough to sound like mercy, and you would hold on to it because you trusted him more than you trusted your own shattered memory. He was making you need his version of the truth because he truly believed it was the only one that would save you.

You froze in his arms, and Dex held you through it.

“The hospital?” you whispered.

“Mm.”

Your hands clutched him harder. “He looked...”

“I know what it looked like.”

You pulled back just enough to see his face.

Dex hated it, and not because he couldn’t lie to your face. He could, he had, and would again if it meant it would preserve and protect your sense of self. Instead, he hated it because you looked so desperate for him to make the world kinder than really it was, and he loved you so much it nearly made him crueler.

He cupped your cheeks.

“Head wounds bleed badly,” he said. “You know that, sweetheart.”

Your eyes blazed into his, and he knew he made a mistake then. You didn’t remember that part.

“H-head wounds?” You breathed out in disbelief, unable to claw the memory now. 

“He was breathing when I got there,” Dex lied again.

A strangled sob left you, but it didn’t sound like relief yet. For now, it was only the body realising it had been offered a way out.

“Head wounds a-are dangerous.”

“I know.”

You hiccuped. “I thought— I remember—”

“Pieces,” Dex murmured. “You remember pieces.”

“But I saw blood.”

“There was blood.”

“On me?”

“Yes.”

Your face fell, Dex pulling you back in before the horror could.

“That’s why I cleaned you up,” he whispered, and that part, at least, was not a lie. His thumb moved slowly along your cheek, careful in a way Dex was rarely careful with anything that wasn’t you. “That’s why we ended up like this. You were shaking so hard, and I couldn’t get you warm. I tried. I swear I tried.”

His mouth brushed your temple, barely a kiss.

“I kept trying to move,” he murmured. “I kept thinking I should get you a shirt, but every time I pulled away, you reached for me again like you thought I was leaving, and I couldn’t—” His voice snagged, just slightly. “I couldn’t make myself do it. Not when you looked at me like that.”

You stared at him, still heavy-limbed, your thoughts coming back to you in pieces. It sounded embarrassingly believable, because there was a warmth in your chest that remembered him. Your hands had always found him before the rest of you caught up.

“I did?” you asked quietly.

“Yes.”

Your eyes narrowed, weakly suspicious. “You’re lying.”

Dex leaned down and kissed your forehead, lingering there like the answer mattered more than the accusation. 

“About you needing me?” His voice dropped. “Never.”

You cried harder then, finally making messy little sobs that broke against his chest while Dex rocked you, He ran his hands up and down your back, whispering into your hair. He called you precious until the word stopped sounding like a word at all. 

You shook your head.

Dex closed his eyes and held you tighter.

“You’re my girl,” he whispered. “Nothing about you changed.”

His gaze drifted once, towards the closet.

The black bag waited.

Behind the wall, beyond the apartment, beneath the ordinary morning, the dead man waited too. 

Later, he would get rid of the body. Later, he would burn what needed burning. For now, you were shaking in his lap, believing him because you needed to.

“Dex,” you whispered.

“I’m here.”

“You promise?”

He knew what you were asking.

You promise I didn’t? You promise I’m still me? You promise whatever I don’t remember isn’t real?

Dex pressed his lips to your temple and held them there. “I promise you’re safe.”

It was not the answer you wanted, but it was the one he gave.

You sagged against him after that, emptied by tears, your body surrendering. Dex eased both of you down until he was lying on his back and you were draped over him, skin to skin beneath the sheet. Your cheek rested over his heart, hand curled weakly near his ribs.

He kept touching your scalp, your spine, and the back of your neck in gently repetitive strokes until your breathing evened out. 

Eventually, sleep took you again. Poor girl, still so tired after murdering an evil man. 

Every few minutes, you twitched. Every time, Dex whispered you back down.

My precious girl, he would praise. You did so well.

At last, your body grew heavy over his, your fingers stopped moving. Your mouth grew pliant against his chest.

Dex waited for five minutes, then ten, then twenty.

Only when he was certain you were properly asleep did he turn his head towards the closet again.

He had things that needed doing.

But you stirred faintly against him before he could move, and Dex froze. Your brow pinched, your hand tightening on his skin, some nightmare threatening to pull you under.

He settled back immediately.

Not yet.

The dead could wait a little longer.

Dex brushed his mouth over your hair and smiled.“My sweet girl,” he whispered.

His hand covered yours, pressing your clean palm flat over his heart.

“You did everything right.”

He adored you for last night, even if he could never let you know exactly what you had done.

He adored the shaking, furious thing you had become when there had been no one left to save you. He adored the fact that some part of you had remembered him, remembered every warning, every lesson, every instruction, just in case. 

He adored that you had survived. More than that, in some terrible private corner of himself, he adored that you had survived violently.

He adored that for a split second, you had become him. 

But he knew you best, and he knew you weren’t made for that. 

So he would take that truth to the grave, and you would wake up tomorrow with the love of your life beside you.

You would wake up believing you had done only enough to live.

And Dex loved you enough to make that true.

—end.

NOTE : I genuinely love seeing all your requests in my asks, but I do get a lot and I physically can’t write every single one. I usually write the ones that catch my eye, and it’s probably every 1 in 5. 

That’s why I have Ko-fi! If you request there, it’s pretty much guaranteed I’ll write it within a month of responding as a token of appreciation (keep this post in mind for July and August 2026). If I’m uncomfortable with the request or don’t think I can do it justice, I’ll let you know and we can brainstorm something else.

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Dex taglist part 1:

“You? In the medical field? Don’t they want smart people for the job?”

The words make you want to recoil but you don't move. You don’t let the tears fall.

“All I can say is if you were to ever be a doctor, I wouldn’t want you fucking helping me. I don’t believe you’d be good enough at it.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You shake your head as a voice pulls you from the memory.

“Ready to go, sweetheart?”

Clearing your throat you turn to face where the voice was coming from.

“Yeah baby, I just have to grab my bag and shoes.” you say back as your boyfriend walks out of the bedroom, fixing his watch.

You and Brendon were headed to a dinner with most of the pitt staff.

As the pitt’s favorite nurse and their beloved friend, you were invited to all of the outings. Brendon always got an invitation as well and came to them as often as he could.

You always looked forward to spending time with everyone. It lifted your spirits every time, even on bad days, including today.

Brendon looks at you with a smile “Alright hot stuff, let’s get a move on then.”

His words cause your face to heat up as he places a hand on your hip and moves you towards your stuff at the front door.

Tonight was going to be exactly what you needed.

—-

The group sits in a large booth at the back of the restaurant. Appetizers and drinks had been ordered and now everyone was just in conversations of various forms.

You were in a small conversation with Dennis and Samira when Brendon starts talking and the conversation catches your attention.

“So,” he looks between Jack and Robby “what advice would you give someone wanting to go to medical school?”

You still at the question.

Oh Brendon Park you better not.

“You do know you’re already a doctor, right Park?” Robby says chuckling.

Jack tilts his head “Why do you ask?”

Brendon looks over at you a bit with a grin and you give him your best ‘shut your mouth right now’ face.

“Your favorite nurse takes the MCAT in a few months.”

You don’t notice how all conversation has died and everyone’s heads have all turned to face you.

“Is he serious, kid?” Jack asks with a heartwarming smile.

You nod slightly.

“Holy shit! Yes! You’re gonna be a doctor with us!” Trinity yells excitedly halfway up from her seat.

You huff out a breath with a smile “Well I hope I’m actually smart enough for it”

Brendon looks at you with a confused face, hoping you’re joking. You’re the smartest person he knows.

“Sweet pea, you’re such an amazing nurse. Of course you’re smart. You’ll kill it.” Dana reassures you.

Samira gently grasps your hand from across the table.

“You’re seriously talented. Literally the pitt’s best nurse.”

“Thank you Samira,” you say sincerely “god knows I barely made it this far. Barely passed the NCLEX. Would probably help if my brain worked more often” you joke.

Brendon has a tight lipped smile but behind it his heart is breaking at how you’re talking about yourself. The others don't seem to know your jokes aren’t jokes. He can tell you mean it and he can’t figure out why.

He’d get to the bottom of it tonight.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

A few hours later you arrive back to the apartment with Brendon following behind you.

You set your keys on the counter with your bag and let out a sigh.

“Tonight was so good. I needed that.”

Brendon nods as he makes his way in front of you.

His silence catches your attention.

“You okay, Bren?”

He grabs one of your hands and holds it in both of his.

“What was that tonight?”

Your eyebrows furrow at his question “What was what?”

“When I brought up medical school. Everyone had something nice to say and maybe they thought your responses were jokes but I know they weren’t. Why would you say any of that about yourself?”

You swallow hard and your chest gets tight.

You didn’t realize Brendon had been paying such close attention. That he noticed your insecurities speaking tonight in the jokes you made.

“I uh…I don’t know” you mumble, avoiding eye contact with Brendon.

He gently squeezes your hand.

“I think you do know. You know I love you. So much. I won’t make you but can you tell me why?”

You look up at the ceiling hoping he won’t see the tears in your eyes threatening to fall.

His large hand caresses the side of your face “Sweetheart…”

“Okay… c’mere” you whisper as you lead him to the couch.

You both sit and you keep his hand in yours as you turn to your side to face him.

“Did I ever tell you that I didn’t plan on being a nurse?”

Brendon furrows his eyebrows at the confession and slowly shakes his head. He thought you had always wanted to be one. You were a natural. Patients loved you as well as the whole hospital staff.

“I wanted to be a doctor. That was the dream.” you gently squeeze his hands.

“I had spent a summer interning in high school in the E.R. and fell in love with it. The stuff that they do in the pitt? What Robby, Jack and the rest of them do? That’s where I saw myself.”

Taking a deep breath you continue.

“When I got home after the last day of interning, I told my mom I wanted to be a doctor.”

Your lip trembles as you hold back tears. Brendon pulls you closer into his side.

“I’ll never forget her laughing in my face, like I had said the funniest joke. She said if I ever wanted to be a doctor that I’d have to be a whole different person. Because the person she was looking at would never achieve something that amazing.”

Brendon tucks your head under his chin as he silently listens.

“While it hurt, it didn’t kill my hope immediately. I still spent summers during college interning at the hospital. I got my Bachelor’s in Nursing so that I could have a better medical background before medical school. Three months later I was ready for the MCAT. I paid the fees, studied, and showed up early for the test. And before it even began, I walked out of the room.”

Brendon rubs up and down your back “What happened, baby?”

You take a shaky breath.

“I let the years of every terrible thing she said get to me. Do you know she didn’t even show up for my college graduation? Because I chose one in medicine and still wanted to be a doctor?” you laugh with bitter tears as you think back on the day you realized no one was there at graduation for you.

You sniff, cuddling closer into Brendon’s embrace.

“I worked myself up so bad I felt physically ill, panicked, and left. It took a year to get the courage to take the NCLEX. I love nursing, don't get me wrong, but being a doctor is where I want to be.”

Brendon gives you a quick squeeze before pulling you back a bit to look you in the eyes.

“Do you know how incredible you are?” he says gently

“You’re so kind, brilliant, talented, beautiful, and so much more. You’re a fucking great nurse and everyone knows it. You’re loved fiercely in the pitt. You’d make a great fucking doctor too. No doubt."

He kisses your forehead gently.

"I’m sorry your mom couldn’t recognize all your amazing qualities. She has no idea how amazing her daughter is. But I do. I know I can’t erase the damage caused but I promise to always remind you of all the good. I’m beyond proud to call you mine and I can’t wait to see you kill the MCAT.”

The tears had already started after the first few words he said.

Your family may not have supported you but Brendon did.

He showed up when it mattered and only ever encouraged you when you had an idea or goal.

Now you feel a little more brave to face your dreams.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It’s been two months since that night and you had used Brendon’s encouraging words to take the MCAT.

You had been scared shitless that day. Waking up with a tight chest and a slight tremor in your hands.

Brendon had left early that morning so luckily he wouldn’t see you starting to panic.

You had gone to the kitchen to make a coffee and was met with a post it on the machine.

‘You’re gorgeous’

That brought a smile to your face.

You open the cabinet to grab your lucky mug and you’re met with another post it.

‘You’re incredibly brilliant’

Your heart melts while beating faster.

Next you grab your creamer from the fridge and there lies another post it.

‘You’re all the good in this world.’

A tear falls down your face.

Damn you Brendon and your big heart.

When you’re finally ready to leave you go to grab your keys from the bowl and see something under them. You grab it and flip it over, tears immediately forming.

It's a picture of the pitt crew cheering, making heart hands, giving thumbs up, and smiling.

‘We're so proud of you! Our favorite nurse forever!’ written across the top.

You held the picture to your heart for a minute before putting it in your bag.

Okay, I've got this.

—-

Now you stand at the kitchen island with your laptop, email open and your hands clutched against your chest in anticipation.

“C’mon sweetheart” Brendon says standing shoulder to shoulder with you.

You lean your head back “I know, I knowww. I’m just scared.”

“And that’s okay baby. I’m here with you no matter what.”

You let out a breath and click the ‘see results’ button on the email.

Your eyes scan the page for a few seconds and then it feels like your heart stops.

‘Pass’

“Oh shit! You did it baby! You fucking did it!”

You did it.

Your mom was wrong. So wrong.

Brendon engulfs you in a bear hug and rocks you back and forth.

“You brilliant mind you. I knew you could do it.”

You hug him tight and can only feel gratitude for Brendon and the pitt crew, giving you endless encouragement up to this moment.

“Thank you” you whisper against his shoulder.

“Thank you for everything, Bren.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He was gentle that night. Nothing like what you had been warned of growing up. He treated you like a princess (which you now were) taking his time, putting his mouth to your cunt in hopes of making the main act less painful. It was the wedding night most girls could only dream of.

And dream you did. Every night after, every minute of every day, your mind conjured up the most sinful scenarios. You would zone out over dinner watching Baelors hands and he cut up his food. How they flexed, how precise they were. He would call out your name clearly concerned by the look in your eyes but you would always brush it off.

Sex was always amazing with him, but part of you wanted more. He was always so soft and slow with you, treating you like you might break at the slightest touch. But in your dreams you imagined his strong arms flipping you over like a ragdoll, his veiny hands spanking and groping at your ass, his velvety voice teasing and condescending you. You wanted The Hammer.

You laid in your shared bed and Baelor sat at the desk in the corner of your chambers finishing up some correspondence when you decided to act.

“Baelor,” You call out softly.

“Yes, my love?”

“Will you come to bed please? Im lonely.” You played it up a little, pouting your lips and fiddling with the bottom of your nightgown.

He sighed, signing off the letter he was writing before walking over to the bed and laying next to you. “Better?” He asks leaning in to kiss you gently.

“Much.” You take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, testing the waters by biting at his bottom lip. He smiles and follows your lead- his hands still moving much too carefully for your liking. You swing a leg over him and seat yourself in his lap never breaking the kiss and plucking his hands from your waist, placing them instead on the fat of your ass. “You know, I think of you all day, husband.”

“Mm.” He moans against your lips. You place your hands over his and encourage him to squeeze harshly.

“Things that a lady should never think about.” You pant against his lips as you speak. “It is all I think about Baelor. You, your hands, your cock. I wish for you to ruin me- completely.” He squeezes his eyes shut almost like your words hurt him physically. “I want you to be rough with me, do not treat me so gently. I am a Princess only by marriage, I will not break so easily.” You start grinding your hips against his hardening cock that presses against you through his breeches and kissing down the path of his neck.

“You could have told me this, my love.” He sounds breathless but still confident.

“I was scared you would think of me differently- but I cant keep it in any longer. I need you in every way imaginable, I want you to have your way with me.”

He flips you onto your back, hovering over you, mismatched eyes scanning over your body as hes done before only with a more hungry look in his eyes. “You will tell me if its too much?”

You nod frantically at the man above you. “Yes, I promise.”

He moves you again as though you are weightless, turning you on your front and lifting your ass up to meet his hips, smacking the soft flesh. “Good girl.”

Maekar’s gaze found you across the room like a brand.

He had been brooding at the head of the table as usual, armored in black and crimson, jaw set beneath that Targaryen scowl. But the moment his violet eyes landed on you holding his daughter, his blood, safe and cherished in your arms and something feral ignited in him.

His hand tightened around his goblet until the metal groaned. A low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest, raw and hungry, loud enough that a few nearby courtiers glanced over in confusion.

Desire. Pure, possessive want.

He rose so abruptly the bench scraped back. In three strides he was on you, massive frame towering, calloused hands already reaching. Rhae was gently but swiftly passed to a waiting nursemaid with a curt nod. Before you could even gasp his name, Maekar bent, seized you around the thighs, and threw you over his broad shoulder as if you weighed nothing.

The hall erupted in startled laughter and cheers, but Maekar ignored them all. His large palm clamped possessively over the curve of your ass, holding you in place as he strode from the hall like a conquering knight claiming his prize.

“You’re mine to cherish and devour,” he growled, voice low and rough against your hip. Each step jostled you deliciously against his armored shoulder. “Let me breed you full while you moan my name.”

He carried you through torchlit corridors until he kicked open the door to his private solar. The heavy oak slammed shut behind you. Only then did he set you down, right in front of the tall, polished silver mirror that dominated one wall. Candles flickered across the surface, casting warm light over your flushed reflection.

Maekar’s hands were already working at the laces of your gown, impatient. Fabric tore. He didn’t care.

“Look at yourself,” he commanded, voice dark velvet as he stripped you bare. One thick arm banded around your waist, pulling your back flush to his chest. His other hand cupped your breast, thumb brushing the sensitive peak. “See how perfect you are, carrying my daughter like you were made for it. Made for me.”

You met his eyes in the mirror, violet and violent, burning with that infamous Targaryen intensity. He was hard already, the thick ridge of his cock pressing insistently against your lower back through his breeches. He ground forward once, letting you feel exactly what you did to him.

“Maekar…” you breathed.

He groaned again, that same wanton sound from the hall, and shoved his breeches down. His cock sprang free, long, heavy, already leaking at the tip. Without preamble he bent you forward slightly, one hand guiding himself between your thighs.

“Watch,” he rasped, lips at your ear. “Watch me breed you.”

He thrust in deep in one powerful stroke, stretching you open around his girth. The mirror captured everything, your parted lips, the way your breasts bounced with the force of it, his large hand splayed possessively over your belly as if he could already imagine it swelling again.

“Fuck— so tight for me,” he growled, hips snapping forward. Each thrust was deliberate, claiming. “This womb is mine. Going to fill you until my seed takes root. Until you’re round with another of my children. Mine. Ours”

His pace quickened, one hand sliding down to rub tight circles over your clit while the other kept you pinned against him. The wet sounds of your coupling filled the room, obscene and perfect. In the mirror you watched his face, jaw clenched, silver hair falling across his forehead, eyes locked on where you two joined.

He fucked you harder, bending you further so you had to brace your hands on the mirror’s frame. The cool glass fogged with your panting breaths.

“Say it,” he demanded, teeth grazing your shoulder. “Tell me whose cunt this is. Whose womb I’m breeding.”

“Yours— Maekar, yours—” you moaned, voice breaking as pleasure coiled tight.

He snarled in satisfaction and drove deeper, angling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. When you came, clenching around him, he followed with a deep, possessive groan, flooding you with hot pulses of his seed. He didn’t pull out. Instead he stayed buried, rocking lazily, making sure not a drop escaped.

“Not done yet,” he murmured, kissing the back of your neck as he met your dazed eyes in the mirror. His hand stroked over your stomach again. “I’m breeding you full tonight, wife. Again and again. Until everyone in that hall knows exactly who you belong to.”

He turned you in his arms then, lifting you onto the nearby table so he could take you face-to-face this time, still watching your reflections tangle together in the silver glass, his obsession and love and raw breeding hunger written in every thrust.

The mirror still fogged from your earlier frenzy when Maekar finally carried you to the massive bed, his cock still buried deep inside you, your legs wrapped around his waist. He sat on the edge first, keeping you impaled on his thick length, and guided your hips with those large, commanding hands.

“Ride me,” he ordered, voice gravel-rough with need. “Take what’s yours while I fill you.”

You braced your palms on his broad, scarred chest and began to move, slow at first, then faster, grinding down onto him. Maekar’s head fell back with a groan, silver strands sticking to his sweat-damp forehead.

His hands roamed your body possessively, squeezing your ass, cupping your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples until they ached. Every roll of your hips pushed him deeper, the wet slap of skin echoing obscenely.

“Fuck— look at you,” he growled, eyes dark as he watched where you swallowed him whole. “Taking my cock so greedily. This womb was made to be bred by me.”

You leaned forward, chasing the angle that made stars explode behind your eyes. Maekar’s grip tightened, helping you bounce harder. His own hips snapped up to meet you, driving his seed from the first round even deeper.

Then the control snapped.

With a feral sound he surged up, arms locking around you as he threw you onto the bed. You landed on your back with a gasp, but he followed instantly, covering you with his massive frame.

Your scream of pleasure was muffled against his shoulder as he thrust back in, hard, relentless. You bit down on the thick muscle there, teeth sinking in as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Maekar hissed in pleasure-pain, hips stuttering for a moment before he laughed low and dark.

“Bite me back while I mark your breasts and thighs,” he rasped, the words hot against your ear. “Let me feel how much you need this.”

He pulled out only long enough to flip you onto your back fully, spreading your legs wide. His mouth descended like a man starved. First he latched onto your breast, sucking hard, teeth grazing, then biting down just hard enough to leave a blooming mark.

You arched with a cry, fingers tangling in his hair.

He moved to the other breast, sucking and biting a matching claim, then lower, down the soft plane of your stomach to the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs.

Each bite was deliberate, possessive. Red marks bloomed under his mouth, his tongue soothing the sting right after. You writhed beneath him, thighs trembling.

“Maekar— please—”

He answered by hooking your legs over his shoulders and diving in. His tongue fucked into your cunt with the same demanding rhythm he’d used with his cock, deep, relentless strokes, curling to taste every drop of your combined release.

He groaned against your folds, the vibration shooting straight to your core. Two thick fingers joined his tongue, stretching you open while his mouth worked your clit.

You came again with a broken moan, biting his shoulder harder as your walls clenched around his tongue. He didn’t stop, lapping and sucking until you were shaking, oversensitive, dripping down his chin.

Only then did he crawl back up your body, cock sliding back into your soaked heat in one smooth thrust. He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other stroking over the fresh bite marks on your breasts and thighs like sacred brands.

“Mine,” he whispered fiercely, rolling his hips deep and slow now, savoring the way you fluttered around him. “Every mark, every drop of my seed. I’m breeding you full again tonight, wife. Until you can’t walk without feeling me.”

He kissed you then, deep, claiming, swallowing your moans as he built you both back toward the edge, the mirror across the room still reflecting every possessive movement.

The firelight danced across Maekar’s sweat-slicked skin as he kept you pinned beneath him, cock buried to the hilt. Your thighs were still trembling from his tongue, marked with his teeth, and he rocked into you with slow, deliberate thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside.

He lowered his mouth to your ear, voice a low, rumbling growl thick with lust and something deeper.

“You think I didn’t see it?” he murmured, nipping at the shell of your ear before soothing it with his tongue. “The way you look after my brats. All of them. Even when they’re little terrors running wild through the Red Keep. You hold Rhae like she’s the most precious thing in the world. You chase after the boys when they cause chaos. You mother them, truly.”

He thrust deeper on the word, grinding against your cervix as if to drive the point home. A broken moan slipped from your lips.

“And Aerion…” Maekar’s voice dropped even lower, almost a snarl of pride. “That cruel little shit. I heard how you scolded him today, sharp and fearless, putting him in his place when he was tormenting the servants again. No one else dares speak to my blood like that. But you do. For their own good. For our family.”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, violet gaze burning with possessive fire. One large hand slid down to press firmly over your lower belly, right where his cock bulged inside you.

“You were made for this,” he praised, voice rough with want. “Made to bear my children and raise them strong. Fuck— the sight of you with Rhae tonight nearly made me take you right there on the feast table.”

His hips snapped forward harder, the wet sounds of your coupling filling the room again. He kept his hand on your stomach, rubbing slow circles as he fucked you.

“I’m going to plant the next one right here,” he growled, pressing down with each thrust. “The first child I fill you with tonight… I’ll make sure it takes. I’ll breed you so full, so deep, that you’ll feel it quicken and know—without question—that you are mine. My wife. My woman. No one else will ever touch you. No one else will ever fill this womb.”

You clenched around him at his words, and Maekar groaned in pure male satisfaction. He hooked one of your legs higher, opening you wider so he could drive even deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every powerful stroke.

“Take it,” he commanded, biting down on the swell of your breast again, leaving another vivid mark. “Milk my cock like the perfect little breeding wife you are. Let me give you a child tonight. Let me watch your belly swell with proof that you belong to Maekar Targaryen.”

His pace grew punishing, relentless, every thrust accompanied by more filthy praise, how beautiful you’d look round with his babe, how he’d fuck you through the pregnancy, how he’d keep you dripping with his seed until the maesters confirmed you were carrying.

When he finally spilled inside you again, it was with a deep, guttural roar, flooding your womb with hot, thick ropes of cum. He stayed buried deep, grinding lazily to push it further, his hand never leaving your belly.

“Mine,” he whispered against your lips, kissing you slow and claiming. “All fucking mine.”

He didn’t give you long to catch your breath.

Maekar pulled out with a wet sound, his seed already leaking down your thighs, and flipped you onto your stomach in one smooth motion. You barely had time to push up onto your elbows before his powerful arm slid around your throat from behind, locking you into a firm headlock. Not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough that you felt utterly claimed, controlled, his.

“Up,” he growled, hauling your upper body back against his chest as he knelt behind you on the bed. His free hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, yanking you into position. “I want you to watch.”

He angled your bodies so the tall mirror across the room captured everything. You could see it all in the reflection, your flushed face, lips parted, eyes glassy with lust, Maekar’s massive frame behind you, silver hair wild, muscles flexing as he held you in the headlock. His thick cock, still glistening with your combined release, nudged against your soaked entrance.

“Look at us,” he ordered, voice dark and low right beside your ear. His arm flexed slightly around your throat, a possessive reminder. “Watch me breed my perfect wife.”

He thrust in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. The new angle had him impossibly deep, the head of his cock pressing right against your cervix. You moaned loudly, the sound vibrating against his forearm. In the mirror you watched his hips snap forward, the powerful muscles of his ass and thighs flexing with every thrust. His free hand slid down to spread your thighs wider, giving the mirror an even better view of his thick cock disappearing into your cunt.

“Fuck— so good for me,” he praised between gritted teeth, pounding into you. “Taking my cock while I hold you like this. Such a good little mother to my brats… scolding Aerion when he needs it, cradling Rhae like she’s yours as much as mine. You were born to carry my seed.”

Each thrust jolted you forward, but his headlock kept you firmly in place, forcing you to keep watching. The reflection showed everything: the way your breasts bounced, the fresh bite marks he’d left on them and your thighs, the obscene stretch of your pussy around his girth. His hand moved from your hip to press over your lower belly again, rubbing possessively.

“I’m going to fill this womb until it swells,” he rasped, tightening the headlock just enough to make you feel lightheaded with pleasure. “The next child I plant in you tonight will be the one that binds you to me forever. You’ll feel it quicken and know, no other man will ever have you. No other cock will ever breed this cunt. Only mine.”

He fucked you harder, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing. In the mirror you watched his face, jaw clenched, eyes locked on your reflection with raw obsession. Every thrust pushed more of his previous load deeper, and you could see the way your belly slightly bulged with the force of him.

“Bite my arm if it’s too much,” he growled, but his pace never faltered. “I want to feel you come while I’m breeding you like this.”

You did exactly that, clamping down around him, teeth sinking into his forearm as your orgasm ripped through you. Maekar snarled in satisfaction and followed right after, flooding your womb with another heavy load of cum. He kept you locked in place, grinding deep, making sure every drop stayed inside.

Even as he softened, he didn’t release the headlock right away. He simply held you there, both of you watching in the mirror as his seed slowly leaked around his cock.

“Mine,” he whispered again, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to your temple. “All fucking mine to breed and cherish.”

The intensity ebbed slowly, like a storm giving way to warm rain.

Maekar loosened the headlock with care, his thick arm sliding down to wrap around your waist instead. He pulled you back against his chest as he rolled onto his side, keeping you spooned securely in his embrace. His large body curled protectively around yours, broad chest to your back, one heavy thigh draped over your leg, caging you in the safest way possible. His cock was still nestled inside you, half-hard but refusing to slip out.

“Easy, kesrio paŋi,” he murmured, voice now low and rough with affection rather than command. His lips brushed the bite marks on your shoulder, then your neck, soothing each one with slow, open-mouthed kisses. “You did so well for me. So perfect.”

One big hand stroked gently over your marked breasts, thumb brushing softly across your nipples, while the other rested possessively yet tenderly over your lower belly.

He held you like that for long moments, simply breathing with you, the heat of his body chasing away any chill. In the mirror across the room you could still see the two of you, tangled together, his silver hair mixing with yours, his powerful frame enveloping you completely.

“You take such good care of my children,” he whispered against your hair, pressing a kiss there. “Rhae adores you. Even Aerion listens when you speak… I see it all. You’re already the mother of my house in every way that matters.” His hand rubbed slow circles on your stomach. “And soon you’ll carry our first child together and I’ll make sure of it.”

He began to move then, slow, lazy rolls of his hips. Not the punishing thrusts from before, but a deep, tender grind. His cock, now fully hard again, slid in and out of your cum-slick heat with unhurried strokes, pushing his seed even deeper on every gentle push. The wet, intimate sounds were softer now, almost soothing.

“Look at us,” he breathed, tilting your chin so you could watch in the mirror. “See how perfectly we fit. How full you are of me.”

You moaned quietly, pushing back against him as the slow drag of his cock stoked the embers of pleasure again.

Maekar’s arm tightened around you in a tender hug, his free hand continuing its gentle exploration, tracing the marks he’d left, then slipping down to circle your clit with feather-light touches.

“I love you like this,” he confessed softly between kisses to your neck and shoulder. “Warm, dripping with my cum, safe in my arms. I’m going to keep you full tonight… slow and deep, until your body has no choice but to take my child.” His thrusts remained languid and deliberate, savoring every inch. “You’re mine to cherish. Mine to breed. My beautiful wife.”

He kept that slow, intimate rhythm for a long time, holding you close, praising you in that deep, reverent voice, filling you again and again with gentle rolls of his hips until another soft, shuddering orgasm washed over you both. Even after he came, he stayed buried inside you, arms wrapped tenderly around your body, murmuring quiet words of devotion as sleep began to pull at you.