#xuren-writes

[xu-ren]

BabyTrapping!Caleb x TeenageMom!MC

Warnings: Teenage pregnancy, possessiveness, yandere behaviour, baby trapping, mentions of sex, descriptions of pregnancy, lactation kink, don't try this at home.

I'm trying a new writing style because my usual one won't fit this story, so tell me how it feels.

A/N: English isn't my first language, or my second. 😭 I'm trying, I swear.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who persuaded you to have your first time with him. After all, the first time should be with someone you trust, and there's no one you trust more than your gege, right?

BabyTrapping!Caleb who timed your cycle just right because of course he knows when your cycles are, all the better to take care of his precious meimei.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who knew that you weren't on birth control, and who poked holes in the condoms.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who continued to use the same condom as he pumped load after load into you, pleasuring you so well that you were too cockdrunk to notice.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who doesn't get you Plan B because it's just once. Pregnancy won't happen after just one night, he assured you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who noticed before you do when your cycle is late and started cooking a balanced diet crafted for pregnant women for you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who held you to his chest as you worried about your cycle still not coming as usual, assuring you that sometimes they can be a bit late. But a bit would not account for the three weeks delay.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who massaged your tender and swollen breasts for you when you came crying to him about soreness, marvelling internally at how soon your body changed for him.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who pushed you to sleep earlier after dinner when he noticed how fatigued and moody you were, promising to do your share of the chores.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who had to wake you up for school, because you continuously slept past your multiple alarms.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who helped you get ready for school as you blinked blearily, barely awake in the mornings.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who took note of when you wrinkled your nose at certain foods, silently removing it from your diet and planning substitutions.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who internally sighed when you asked him to bring you to a pharmacy in tears after another missed cycle.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who tried to persuade you that it was nothing, that maybe you should just wait another week before panicking. He wanted this to remain his own personal little secret for a while longer, but you were stubborn and he knew the gig was up.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who had you in his lap as he stroked your hair, head tucked under his chin as the two of you waited for the results of the pregnancy tests.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who took the punches from your little fists with grace, barely flinching as you screamed and raged, weathering all of your anger with patience.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who cradled you to his chest, rocking you gently as he promised to take care of you, surrounded by positive pregnancy tests like they were a mockery of your broken dreams.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who kept true to his word, barely letting you lift a finger around the house or even walk, opting to carry you down the stairs and around the house when he can.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who still massaged your sore breasts, which was how he noticed that the veins were more prominent, and your nipples have became darker and larger.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who liked to rest his large hand on your belly, where his little pips is growing. You tell yourself that you let him only because the warmth from his hand soothed the cramps and pains in your lower abdominal area.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who was delighted to notice that your abdominal area was already thickening, making his mark on you known to the world.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who held your hand in the waiting room of the obstetrician he picked after countless nights of research. He was stroking your hair, murmuring soft comforting promises against your hair as you sniffled, this being the last confirmation that all of your dreams have been derailed.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who only let go of your hand to pull you against his side, glaring at everyone who so much as looked at the two of you, daring them to judge you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who stroked your hair as the obstetrician performed her tasks, answering questions for both you and him with ease. He knew everything about you after all.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who shed his first tears in front of you when he heard the baby's heartbeat, not even breaking his arm as a child could make him shed tears, but the sound of your baby's heartbeat, a perfect mix of you and him brought tears to his eyes.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who experimented with herbal teas with you while denying you your favourite boba, unshaken by your tears. The caffeine was bad for the baby, he said.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who relented, slightly, he has always been powerless against your tears, and it was worse now you were carrying his baby in you. His compromise was making your very own bubble milk tea at home with herbal teas and healthier toppings like aloe vera, basil seeds, herbal jelly and white pearls.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who let you drink as much of the homemade bubble tea as you want, even encouraging you to drink more because you needed the calcium. He can't have his pipsqueak losing bone density when he needs you healthy and by his side forever.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who still helped you to get ready for school despite your energy returning, including brushing your hair for you, which was how he noticed how you were shedding less hair, how your hair was thicker and more luxurious.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who was more than happy to hold you through every flood of tears as your hormones wrecked havoc, turning you into a weepy mess at the drop of a hat. And then again when your emotions turned into anger for turning you into this weepy mess all because of him and his dick.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who was more than happy to let you have free use of his dick. Suddenly his little pipsqueak who was all blushy and shy when he baby trapped her was a sex fiend, you needed his dick and his mouth like you needed food.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who had his stamina put on the test when you just kept going without stop, even when you had wringed every last bit out of him. He found himself wondering if he was truly prepared for what he had unlocked.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who turned you on just by existing. He could be making your milk tea, cooking dinner, waking you up and all you needed was a sniff of him before you were ready to jump his bones.

BabyTrapped!You who hated school with a vengeance now because Caleb was not with you when you were in school, and all you could do was squirm in your seat, waiting for the minute school let out so that you could be with Caleb again.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who proposed to you with a modest ring on a picnic date he organised. He wanted to show you that he was truly committed to you and the baby.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who married you in a court wedding dressed in his best clothes, and you in your favourite dress, your tummy pushing against the waist a little and Caleb had never been happier.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who squeezed fresh orange juice for you in addition to making your milk tea, reliving all of your symptoms before you really feel them.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who found you in front of the mirror one day in tears as you failed to button up your favourite pair of tight jeans, the zipper stuck on your slightly rounded navel.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who came up behind you, cupping that little pudge around your navel where his little pipsqueak was and nuzzling against your neck, praising you for how well you were carrying his baby and how beautiful you look doing it.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who bought you waist extenders just so you could wear your favourite jeans for a little long. Paired with one of his sweaters, you almost felt like your old self in a while.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who was back at the obstetrician with you, arm wrapped protectively around you and glare still daring anyone to look at the two of you judgingly.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who looked at the screen in wonder during your ultrasound, in disbelief that that was his baby growing in you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who held the ultrasound pictures afterwards like they were made of gold, and tucked it into his wallet next to his favourite picture of you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who snapped pictures of you constantly in every position. He wanted to document every minute of your pregnancy.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who had a pregnancy journal that he wrote in every night after you had fallen asleep, documenting every day of your pregnancy.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who watched with pride as you graduated from school with his ring on your finger and his baby in your belly. He had timed it just right, where your gently rounded belly was hidden by the graduation robes, but showing oh so slightly in the graduation dress he bought you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who always had a large hand on your belly, stroking it almost absentmindedly.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who moved you out of the house to an apartment rented by the DAA in Skyhaven, away from grandma's judgemental gaze.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who carried you everywhere around the apartment now as you demanded, your back and legs aching when standing or walking for too long.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who trained harder and harder to ensure that he would never be too weak to carry you even as you continued to gain weight from the pregnancy.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who was delighted when he noticed the slight change in your walk and the way you sleep, watching the way the baby he put in you changed even such fundamental things about you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who doesn't like you leaving the apartment without you. He wasn't being controlling, he just needed you and his little pips safe and sound, and you were safest at home or by his side.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who massaged your back and legs every day after training, no matter how tired he was, delighting in the way your whines faded away to contentment.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who assured you that you didn't need to do anything but rest when you cried to him about feeling useless, when doing chores around the house meant standing and walking and standing and walking meant your back and legs would ache. He promised that he would take care of you after all, and he would live up to that.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who was happy to see your appetite returning, not complaining even as your cravings hit in the middle of the night and you woke him up in the middle of the night all teary eyed as you asked for his braised soy chicken, even making you extra just in case.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who bought you a pregnancy pillow to support your back and legs as you sleep.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who took daily walks around the neighbourhood with you, and helped you to do some light muscle strengthening exercises to ensure that you were healthy.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who always kept a close eye on you, ready to stop and make you rest at the slightly hint of exhaustion.

BabyTrapped!You who started greeting Caleb at the door, to his great delight, pulling his large hand to your slightly rounded belly and relaxing as the heat of his large hand seeped into your skin.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who found you in tears surrounded by a pile of your clothes, most of which no longer fit you as they are too tight either around your chest or your belly, leaving your breasts to spill out of your top in ways that Caleb wanted to bury his face in.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who mourned when you stopped wearing his hoodies, your body temperature rising with the increased blood flow.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who brought you to the mall to shop for clothes, helping you pick out clothes that would fit you even as you grew larger, watching as you tried them on in delight. He knew your style best after all.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who caught you when you fainted from standing up too fast, his heart in his throat as he wondered if the way he got you would also be the way he loses you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who breathed a sigh of relief when he realised that it was just the change in blood pressure from standing up too fast.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who wished that he could be with you all of the time as you need him with you more and more, but he had to train to provide for his little family.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who helped you to stand and sit, his hands gentle and unhurried as if he had all the time in the world when you were out in public. You were shy about him carrying you in public, silly girl.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who left as many things as he could on the table next to the bed before he leaves for work to reduce the number of times you leave the bed.

BabyTrapped!You who found it harder and harder to get out of your seat as your womb grew larger and sat dense and heavy on your pelvis. Things that you once took for granted now take intentional effort from your part, or help from Caleb.

BabyTrapped!You who missed Caleb constantly, who missed his care and his soft voice that made everything feel better.

BabyTrapped!You who was constantly worn out just from simple tasks, waiting for Caleb to come home to rub the aches away.

BabyTrapped!You who cried when you noticed stretchmarks on your growing belly, your widening hips and even on the underside of your breasts.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who came home to you in tears, trying to cover yourself up so that he doesn't see the stretchmarks marking your body.

BabyTrapped!You who was worried that Caleb wouldn't find you attractive anymore, with those ugly marks on your body, and you can't be without Caleb, you just can't.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who tried to see past his anger because how could you think so lowly of him. How could he not love every change to you when it was his baby, his his his, that was changing you and marking you as his?

BabyTrapping!Caleb who spent all night kissing your newly acquired stretchmarks until you were squirming and needy before showing you just how much he loves you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who made sure that the only tears flowing from your eyes were from pleasure and over-stimulation, whispering sinful promises into your skin about how he would do even more to you the next time you dared to doubt the gravity of his love for you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who was extremely tired at training the next day, but it was worth it as long as you understood the gravity and depth of his love for you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who thought that he could not love you more yet you continued to prove him wrong every step of your pregnancy as he felt a flutter from your rounding belly.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who was more obsessed with your rounding belly than ever, poking and prodding to encourage your baby to move until you are squirming and begging him to stop.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who started shopping for baby furniture with you, one possessive arm wrapped around you with his large hand covering most of your rounding belly.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who had done his research, guiding you to pick the crib and pram that he had chosen even as you fretted about the price, assuring you that any price was worth the safety of his pipsqueaks, even if he had to take out loans to afford it.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who doesn't complain as you tire easier, your breathing harsh as you breathlessly walk besides him.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who started looking for seats the moment your breathing changed, guiding you to the nearest seat and standing guard over you until you feel better.

BabyTrapped!You who started wearing less clothes around the apartment as your body temperature rose, much to Caleb's delight, his eyes seemingly stuck on you at all times.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who purchased multiple pillows when you complained of heartburn, padding both the bed and the couch where you spent most of your time in so that you may be comfortable no matter where you chose to sit.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who continued to make your favourite milk teas for you. You would pout if he stopped, he had gotten you addicted to them and he was resigned to making it for you forever at this point.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who loved to talk to your belly, murmuring about how much you and him loves your baby even after you had fallen asleep. He doesn't know tiredness when he has you and your little pipsqueak energising him.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who indulgently replaced all of your walking shoes and flats complete with orthotic inner supports and supportive heel cups as your feet expanded without your say so, noticing without your say so that your feet has expanded.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who helped you to put on your shoes, not wanting you to bend down or squat in your state. The fewer up and down movements you make, the better.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who was the first to notice that when your walk changed into something that could properly be called a waddle as you waddled to meet him at the door, both hands bracing your back highlighting your rounded bump to him. When normally you would already be waiting at the door for him, you were still making your way over now breathlessly.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who wrapped an arm around you, chiding you against over-exterting yourself but you were still stubborn, wanting you to be the first thing he sees when he walked through the door of your shared apartment.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who doesn't argue too hard because he was obsessed with your waddle, how even your centre of gravity had changed because of him and the baby he put in you. Still, he made sure to show his appreciation to you very well that night.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who rushed home each day after training just for the sight of you waddling to him, your bare rounded belly pushed out for his and his eyes only.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who glared so hard at the lady approaching you for a touch that she turned tail and ran before she got her sentence out.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who was even more serious than ever before about you not leaving the apartment without him.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who still organised all of your appointments, one arm wrapped around you possessively and glaring at anyone who dared to even look at the two of you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who weathered your rising irritation at the smallest things with the same grace he carried around you for the entirety of your life, kindly and patiently.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who soothed you when your anger turned to tears, assuring you that you were not to blame for your irritation, and that he could take anything from you as long as it was coming from you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who watched you stroking your belly, trying to soothe the over-active baby in your belly, propped up in pillows on the couch as he handed the chores around the house.

BabyTrapped!You who nearly cried from relief when Caleb came and put his large hand on your swelling belly, instantly calming your baby down.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who smirked, brushing his nose against your swelling belly, mentioning how needy both of his pipsqueaks were gleefully.

BabyTrapped!You who loved how small and cozy the apartment was because it meant that Caleb was never too far when he was home. You never had to raise your voice to call for him or repeat yourself.

BabyTrapped!You who despite the small apartment still insisted to be in the same room as Caleb, or as close as possible, demanding that he carried you to the bedroom when he was cleaning the bedroom, the couch when he was cleaning the living room and so on.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who still carried you as easily as the first time he done it during your pregnancy, not at all deterred by your growing weight.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who read to you late into the night, one hand absentmindedly drawing circles on your bare belly when even his presence alone was not enough to soothe your over-active child.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who would wake up in the middle of the night to change the wet cloths on your forehead, neck and chest so that you won't overheat in your sleep.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who loved sitting with you on his lap, feeling your growing weight pressing down on him as you relied on him to keep you steady. It also helped that it gave him free reign to stare and even burried his face in your expanded boobs.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who loved watching you wear the little sundresses he bought you, who loved watching your rounding belly push them outwards a bit more each time.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who no longer cared if people would stare as he scooped you up in one smooth motion before you even had time to prepare when you started panting at his side, leaving you to bury your face in the crook of his neck as you tried to combat the dizziness from his sudden actions.

BabyTrapped!You who bit Caleb's neck in retaliation, pouting at Caleb's low warning to not test him while licking and sucking his ear for good measure.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who would find you staring off vacantly into space as you absentmindedly stroke your belly, daydreaming.

BabyTrapped!You who woke up crying from your cramping legs, trying and failing to reach for your lower legs, which in turn woke Caleb up in a panic.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who massaged your legs for you, kissing your tears and stroking your hair until you fell back asleep before lying back and finally relaxing, you scared him really badly, you know?

BabyTrapping!Caleb who changed all of the lights in the apartment to ones with adjustable brightness when you started complaining about headaches, his heart aching for you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who made you do your stretching exercises every night even as you whined and complained and pouted, his hands gentle but firmly as he assisted you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who massaged you every night, from your back to your legs to your hands and feet after your exercises as a reward, making the exercises worth it even though you never stopped pouting about having to do them.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who made sure the floors were cleared of anything that had the slightest possibility of tripping you up at all times, cleaning like it was his third and fourth job, his first being to make sure that you were well taken care of and the second his training with the DAA.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who made a playlist of songs for you and the baby, but also a playlist of him singing and reading for when he couldn't be around you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who loved how squishy you were getting, filling out not just in your tummy but other areas from carrying his baby, gently squeezing your new chub with fascination even as you complained and tried to hide away.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who does not let you hide from him, especially because you have only become more and more perfect in his eyes, and if you don't believe his words, he should show you with his actions, right?

BabyTrapping!Caleb who watched with fascination as you pumped, already producing milk like the good mother he knew you would be.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who begged for a taste, desperately needing to know what every part of you tasted like. It was a compulsion, he swears.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who panicked at the sight of your tears, yet you were crying multiple times a day now. It felt like anything could set you off these days. Cute animals? Tears. A baby? Tears. You are tired? Tears. Baby is moving too much? Tears. Baby isn't moving enough? Tears. You are hungry but you can't eat because you are already full? You guessed it, tears.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who was stressed between the panic of you in tears and trying to make sure you drink enough water because why were you always trying to cry your body weight in water??? He could physically feel the white hairs growing on his head.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who always leave an array of healthy snacks near you before leaving for training like an offering, the pantry seemingly never running out of all of your favourite snacks.

BabyTrapped!You who wore the sunglasses Caleb bought you 24/7 unless you were sleeping, trying to ease the constant headaches that plagued you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who loved to rub lotion onto your skin after your nightly shared baths, when you were all drowsy and soft. Taking care of you like this was his own little way to relax after a long day.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who picked baby names with you, writing down the best ones in his pregnancy journal in case the both of you have more than one kid.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who hurried you to the hospital at your first Braxton Hick, panicking because it was far far too early for you to be going into labour.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who paid attention to every wince, ever so attentive in case the next cramp was an actual contraction even as your due date was weeks away.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who had the hospital bag packed weeks in advance, ready for him to grab at a moment's notice.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who applied for the maximum paternity leave available to him, despite it being too short in his opinion.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who begged his trainers to let him keep his phone on him, not wanting to start his paternity leave until the baby has arrived to maximise the time he has to help you with the baby.

BabyTrapped!You who cried from joy when you awoken one day to find that your belly had dropped one day because the end is finally in sight only for that to be false. You are more uncomfortable than ever, your baby sitting heavily on your pelvis and hips as your heavy womb pulled your muscles forward even more.

BabyTrapped!You who watched your due date come and go without a single contraction, your baby still nestled peacefully in your womb no matter what you tried.

BabyTrapped!You who is just so tired of being pregnant. Everything aches no matter how much Caleb tries to massage your aching muscles and everything takes so much effort. You are huffing and puffing with only a few steps, your waddle wide and lethargic and you can barely cross the span of the living room before Caleb is already there, greeting you with a kiss before helping you back to the couch. And those were the days you even managed to heave yourself from the couch to start with, which had only continued to lessen. More often than not, Caleb found you trying and failing to even lift your aching body off the couch, your belly too heavy and weighty as it held you hostage.

BabyTrapped!You who found yourself trapped on the couch when your first contraction hit, crying out for Caleb even with the knowledge that he was still at the DAA because Caleb is your safe space.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who sprinted from training the moment he got the call from you, barely hearing the congratulations ringing behind him as he ran, single-mindedly focused on getting to you as soon as he can.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who stayed on the phone with you the whole time, encouraging you to stay strong because you are his strong brave girl, and he believes in you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who rushed you to the hospital, grabbing the hospital bag he prepared weeks before on your way out, cooing praises in your hair of his love for you and his admiration of your strength every time a contraction hit.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who stayed with you, letting you squeeze his hand, who knew your tiny hand could exert such force, and curse him out as you laboured for over 16 hours.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who patiently helped you to shift positions, hands gentle as he helped you pace around your hospital room, his heart aching at the sight of you in pain.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who swore that he was not crying when the first cry rang through the room, pressing kisses to your knuckles, then your face before finally capturing your lips, his forehead resting against yours.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who watched you cradled your newborn son, sweaty but glowing, and knew that he would do anything to protect the both of you.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who surprised you with an entire family sized platter of sushi right in your hospital room, your one craving he did not even gave into during your pregnancy.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who did not book a confinement centre for you, instead taking it upon himself to turn your home into a confinement centre.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who fed your son day and night, cooking nutrious meals approved for postpartum mothers, cleaned and helped you with your wrappings.

BabyTrapping!Caleb who would not allow you to lift a finger, you were his wife, the mother of his son, the love of his life and he would devote the rest of his days to pay you back for this gift that you have blessed him with.

I feel like I say this a lot sometimes, but this seriously got away from me. I was not planning for it to be this long.

[xu-ren]

Husband!Sylus x Wife!pregnant!reader

Inspired by that one video on Twitter about the pregnant lady and her 4 kids, if you know you know.

Warnings: Mostly fluff, kids being kids, a little bit of Sylus being horny because reader looks too good pregnant. Terrible terrible time management. No use of y/n.

Sylus's eyes flew open before his alarm even managed a single ring, his free hand immediately turning off the alarm before it woke you up. He turned his head towards the bed, admiring your sleeping self. He treasured these moments early in the day before the sun had risen, when the world was still and he was the only one awake to admire your beauty.

Your head rested on his arm, cutting off his blood circulation as per usual, yet he never had the heart to deny you when you rested your head on his arm every night. You were even drolling a little on his arm, he noticed with a smirk.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead before carefully extracting himself from you, one tiny movement at a time to not jostle you. Still, he isn't entirely successful when he moved your swollen belly off his stomach, where it was being supported as the babe in your belly stirred. You stirred, your eyes moving behind your eyelids as your hand automatically moved to soothe the babe nestled in your belly.

"Hush, sweetie, hush," he murmured to you, brushing his nose against yours as one of his hands, finally receiving blood again, stroked your hair as his other stroked your gravid belly, trying his best to lull both you and your youngest back to sleep.

He breathed a sigh of relief internally when you settled back into dreamland, your breathing slow and steady, or as much as it could be when you had nearly 6 kilograms attached to your front and squishing your organs.

He leaned back slightly, just to admire more of you as his hands continued stroking. He told himself that it's to ensure that you are truly deep in dreamland lest you wake up but the truth is that he can't keep his hands off you when you look like this, swollen and gravid with the baby he put in you and wrapped in silk blankets sleeping away in your shared bed.

Far too soon for his liking (he would spend all of his remaining days like this if he could), he pulled away to start his morning routine. He didn't want to risk his children knocking on the door and disturbing your rest after all.

First, he rearranged the pregnancy pillow so that it was supporting both your front and your back, molding it to your body like it was second nature while brushing gentle kisses on your exposed skin when you so much as stirred a little. Then, he pulled up the silk blankets that had shifted in your sleep and tucked you in. After that, he slipped the first and only plushie he had ever won for you into your arms as he rearranged the rest of your favourite plushies like little guardians on the bed. Finally, he leaned back to admire his work. You looked safe and comfortable, wrapped up in silk blankets and surrounded by pillows and plushies, his most precious treasure, and that settled something deeply beastial in him.

He had to nearly physically tear himself from you to actually start his own morning routine. You had penetrated so deeply into every aspect of his life that every corner reminded him of you, the shower where you had scrubbed each other's backs and where you had got on your knees for him under the running water before that became too monumental of a task for you, the stool in the corner that he sat on so that you could wash his hair for him and shape his hair into silly shapes for your own amusement, the bench he had installed into the wall of the shower during your first pregnancy to prevent you from straining yourself.

He couldn't help himself when he took your expensive body wash for a sniff, or when he used it instead of his own, just to feel closer to you. He also couldn't help himself when he wrapped a hand around his stiffening dick as the aroma of your body wash curled around him that for just a few moments, he could almost see you in the shower with him as you engaged in your favourite activity. It's the easiest to do it in the shower away from you, not because you did not turn him on, you did, terribly terribly so, his mind thinking about more positions than your body could possibly handle right now and his appetite insatiable just at the very sight of you, but because you would always offer to help no matter your exhaustion and he just couldn't burden you like that, not when you are already bravely bearing the burden of another baby for him.

He stepped out of the shower still smelling like you as he approached the counter, brushing his teeth and he could almost see the mirage of you perched on the counter from a few months ago, your belly barely showing and your legs swinging flirtatiously as the two of you brushed your teeth together before you styled his hair into a mohawk and he teasingly walked away, pretending that he was going to conduct his business looking like that. You had hopped off the counter easily, one hand cradling the barely visible bump instinctively as you chased him before pulling him back to the counter to style his hair properly. He styled his own hair in the present, missing the feeling of your small fingers gently combing through his hair.

After that, he moved to the bedroom in nothing but a towel, picking out his suit for the day with ease. It's faster without you trying to help, but he would never trade that for anything. The way you looked so serious every single morning as you held up shirt after shirt against him even as you muttered about him looking good in everything was the memory that got him through his hardest days, and it was those memories that he clung to as he picked out as he matched his cufflinks to the outfit, the same ones you picked for the same outfit.

Once he was all ready and he made sure that you were still sound asleep in your shared bed, he went to his littlest girl first, his little princess, your tiny clone and of course she was still curled up in bed, drooling on her unicorn plushie, truly your mirror image. He kneeled down on her bedside before gently nudging her awake, watching as she stirred away, blinking blearily and rubbing her eyes with tiny fists as she sleepily asked, "Dada?".

"Yes, it's dada, sweetheart," Sylus replied, her actions never failing to tug at his heartstrings. His daughter, as spoilt rotten as you, simply wordlessly raised her arms and he chuckled, low and rich, before scooping her up in his arms, walking in the direction of her bathroom.

He deposited her in front of the counter before washing her face and applying sunscreen as she slowly woke up. By the time he was done, she had woken up enough to brush her teeth as he brushed her hair out. Afterwards, he took her hand and walked her to the closet so that they could pick an outfit out together, settling on a pretty red dress before he tied up her hair and finished it off with the matching bow.

"I look like a princess, dada," his daughter said, giggling as she twirled in the front of the mirror. His heart was full as he brushed a stubborn curl from her face and replied, "yes, you are my little princess. And would this princess like breakfast now?"

She nodded and off they went to the private dining room, not the large one he used for hosting guests in the manor but the small private one just for his family, where one of the maids had just finished setting up the steaming platters of breakfast food and the nanny was already seated next to his daughter's seat. Sylus sat his daughter down and with a kiss to her crown and a gentle reminder to be good, nodded at the nanny and left for his eldest's bedroom.

He knocked on the door, waiting until he heard her call back before entering. She was already sitting in front of her makeup table doing her skincare when he entered. His eldest, his near perfect copy with his silvery hair and red eyes, the baby that had once made you groan about being a photocopier and that your genes clearly didn't even bother to put up a fight.

His eldest harrumphed to catch his attention before saying, "Dad, I'm getting ready, you can go to my brother now." His once spoilt princess who always clung to his pants leg had grown into a teenager who wanted nothing to do with him. He could only chuckle, wondering what type of teenagers the rest of his children would grow up to be.

"Yes, yes, just wanted to remind you that breakfast is ready, sweetheart," he declared before quickly slipping out of the door and closing it behind him lest his daughter once again reminded him that she was too old for nicknames.

As per his routine, and definitely not following his eldest daughter's instructions, Sylus went to his son's bedroom. He opened the door to find his son bright awake and playing with his cars, more of his little cars scattered around the room. He called his son's name lowly like a warning before chastising him for the mess that his room was in. Normally, he would have chuckled at the deer caught in the headlights look his son was sprouting, but not now, not when all he could think about was you coming into your son's room and stepping on one of those little cars and falling. The two of you had split morning duties for your children when you could until a few weeks ago when you had been put on bed rest, too exhausted to be on your feet for too long and Sylus can't help but imagine you waddling into your son's room, not being able to see past your feet and accidentally stepping on one of those little cars as he sternly reminded his son of his promise to not play with those cars on the floor once your belly started showing.

Looking throughly chastised, his son started picking up the cars and putting them back in the container. Sylus ruffled his son's hair before joining him, ensuring that all of the cars were back where they were supposed to be, even checking under the bed and drawers just in case.

Afterwards, he watched from the side as his son performed his morning routine, brushing his teeth, washing his face and combing his hair, simply ensuring that his son did not miss a step, being old enough to do everything by himself now while making a mental note that his son was due for a haircut soon. He also let his son pick his own clothes, only gently steering him away from the shirt that would have clashed terribly with his chosen pants once.

Trusting his son to find his way to the dining room by himself, he busied himself with waking up his youngest son. The toddler was already wide awake and playing with his plushies when he stepped into the room. "Hey buddy, how are we today?" he greeted before easily lifting his son out of the crib.

"Up, Dada, up," his son giggled happily as Sylus just took a minute to hold his son against him and soak in the moment where his son still needed him for everything. Soon, his son would grow up to be as independent as his elder siblings and these mornings would be gone.

Soon, he laid his son down on the changing station to take off his diaper, his nose wrinkling at the smell. This was one part of early childhood that he certainly wouldn't miss. The morning routine of washing his face, brushing his teeth and dressing him passed by with minimal fuss today, which Sylus was grateful for. His toddler could be combative when he wanted to be, the result of having the both of you as parents, Sylus was sure, hence he was grateful for the easy mornings and he made sure to heap praises on his son for it.

Afterwards, he took his son to the dining room, where the rest of his children were eating their breakfast with the nanny watching over them. "Good morning, children," he called out in greeting. His youngest daughter slipped out of her seat and crashed into his leg, clinging to his pants leg like her elder sister once had. He chuckled, scooping her up with his free arm with ease and pressing their foreheads together. His daughter giggled happily before replying to his greeting, "good morning, dada".

He returned his daughter to her seat before depositing his son to his seat on the nanny's other side, lingering to ensure that all of his children, three white haired and red eyed and one with your colouring were eating before leaving for your shared bedroom.

In your shared bedroom, you continued to slumber on, heedless to the movements around the house just as he preferred. Still, he had to wake you up now even if he preferred that you continue to rest because you would not like it if you missed your children before they leave for school.

He took a moment to admire you first, still tucked in bed in nearly the same position he had left you in, merrily dozing away. At least, until the babe in your belly gave a forceful kick to the base of your belly, making you whimper as your hand instinctively rubbed the spot the little foot had shown even through the blankets.

He settled on the bed next to you before pulling the blankets back, exposing your shiny swollen belly to the cold air. His hand joined yours in soothing the spot the baby had kicked, red and painful, your skin painfully over-stretched from the kick even as he cooed, trying to wake you up. He gently stroked your belly, giving into his desires and coaxing the babe awake, a surefire way to wake you up as well.

"Five more minutes, Sy," you muttered, curling up as much as you could around your swollen belly in response, which to your credit, wasn't much at all. He chuckled, low and rich, against your ear before whispering tautingly in your ear. "No can't do, sweetie, up you go."

You griamced as the babe stirred, uncomfortable with the way the babe shifted in your womb, packed so tightly that you could feel every movement. This babe was large, easily on the 90th percentile as the rest of their siblings, Sylus was sure, and you were petite and tiny, not made for carrying the weight of his babies. And yet, you so bravely did it over and over again, and he could never love anyone more than you for it. Still, he promised himself that this would be the last pregnancy, for as much as he loved seeing you pregnant, and the children you have given him, the two of you were no longer as young as you once were, and this pregnancy weighted on you much more than any of your previous ones. Your belly swelled faster and heavier and you were so easily exhausted compared to your previous pregnancies and he could not in good conscience put you through another pregnancy like this.

Your eyes finally open blearily, one hand moving to rub your eyes as the other stayed on your belly, still gently stroking it. "You are a jerk, you know," you glared at him without much heat even as you pouted, your lips jutting out and your brows creased.

"I will make it up to you," Sylus promised, chuckling at how endearing you are, how easily you tugged at his heartstrings as he slipped his hands under you, making sure that you were ready before easily pulling you up into a sitting position. He moved quickly, arranging the pillows to cradle your aching body as you panted from exertion, your body so heavy that you were exhausted from merely being pregnant.

He wrapped himself against you, allowing you to lean against him as much as the pillows while his other hand went back to stroking your belly, as if drawn to it, waiting for your breathing to even out a little.

"How are you feeling, darling?" He questioned, letting you decide if you would prefer having breakfast in bed or in the dining room with the rest of the family. You hummed in reply but he doesn't rush you, letting you take stock of your body before replying.

"Tired," you finally conceded, and he hummed, knowing how hard it was for you to admit that. His poor poor darling, you must be truly exhausted to even admit as much, especially given how much you love to have your entire family at the dining table.

"I will bring breakfast up once we get you ready, darling," he coaxed, knowing that it was probably the last thing you wanted. You pouted harder but didn't really fight him on it, which was honestly all he could ask for. He eased you against the pillows before slipping out of the bed and standing on your side of the bed.

He gently guided you from your nest of pillows to an upright position on the edge of the bed, or as upright as possible position with your heavy belly hanging between your wide open legs, pulling your weight forward as you leaned back to counteract the weight, your arms trembling to hold your weight as you groaned and panted breathlessly, the baby nestled in your womb disliking the movement and actively making their dislike known. Sylus's hand does not leave your lower back, supporting it until your hands finally leave the bed to wrap around your gravid belly, still huffing breathlessly but that was par for the course whenever you had to bear the weight of your own body at this stage of the pregnancy.

You wrapped your arms under your gravid belly, lifting some of the weight off your aching hips as you rocked back and forth, building momentum. Sylus's hand, the one stroking your belly automatically slipped under your belly to join your hands in taking off the weight from your hips as his other hand remained on your lower back, supporting you as best as he could.

Your right hand moved up to the top of your belly, pressed against your engorged breasts before going downwards again, as if to map the size of your swollen belly, his queue to wrap his hands around your biceps to pull you up. You stumbled gracelessly against him, whimpering as your fecund body felt the weight of gravity pulling it down and gasping for air on top of all of it. He can feel your hips buckling, loosen and aching as his hands automatically go to support your belly and your back, well trained over multiple pregnancies.

One of your small hands gripped his shirt in a death grip, no doubt creasing it in the process but he didn't have the heart to tell you to stop, never had but especially not now while your other hand cradled your gravid belly as best as it could, turned sideways to rest your head against his chest, panting hotly against his chest through cracked lips.

He made a mental note to tell the twins to give you water more often, even if you needed to go to the bathroom often, curtesy of your squished bladder. When you loosen your death grip on his shirt, he snaked the hand pressed against your lower back around your back to join his other hand in cradling your swollen belly and lifting the weight fully off your hips. The effect was instantaneous as you sagged bonelessly against him, groaning in relief and he felt terrible as he gently lowered your belly, removing one of his hands. You whined and whimpered in pain as the weight settled back on your overtaxed hips as he pulled you against him, arranging you to rest your weight against his side.

He held one of your hands in his much larger one as he assisted you in waddling in the direction of the bathroom. You can't help but moan and groan as you waddled slowly to the bathroom with Sylus's help, one shuffling step at a time, your gait wide and slow, huffing breathless all the while as your gravid belly swayed with each step you take. You are so noisy these days, all of your actions accompanied by groaning, moaning, grunting, whimpering or panting, and you feel so unattractive though all of it even if Sylus had done nothing to make you think that.

In the bathroom, Sylus held up your heavy belly without complaint as you brushed your teeth, sagging bonelessly against him and trusting him to bear all of your weight, even though you felt and looked as big as one of his mansions. This pregnancy weighted heavier on you than any of your previous ones, your body aching in ways that you didn't even think possible as it tried and failed to accommodate the babe in your womb. Every movement, even breathing seem to take more effort than possible and relief was but a far away dream, out of your reach. You needed help for most things, too heavily pregnant to even attempt the most basic of actions that you used to make without thinking, sitting up, standing up, sitting down even turning in bed were all beyond your reach without help.

Once you had finished brushing your teeth, Sylus lifted your belly onto the countertop, providing you with some relief as he moved the armchair nearer to you. You whimpered even prepared as you were when he lifted your swollen belly off the counter, his hand holding as much of the weight as possible as you gingerly, inch by painful inch lower yourself onto the armchair. Sylus wished that he could just wash your face with your belly resting on the counter, but he was wary of letting you be on your feet for too long as per your doctor's orders.

You groaned in relief as you sunk into the plush armchair, your aching body and most importantly your back supported by the plushness of the armchair as he knew it would. He kneeled in front of you, gently helping you out of your silk nightgown, silk the only thing that didn't iritate your overly sensitive skin, his spoiled wife that you are.

He wiped you down as best as he could, ridding you of the drying sweat coating your skin from your earlier exertion with a warm washcloth before washing your face and applying your skincare for you. He finished by rubbing belly oil on your gravid belly, trying to ease the redness of your itchy overstretched skin, and helped you slip into a new silk nightgown.

"I'm going to carry you, alright?" He asked for your permission, lowering himself so that you can wrap trembling arms around his neck before scooping you up easily, cradling you against his chest. You were concerningly heavy, not in the way that you were too heavy for him to carry, but in the way where it was no wonder you were constantly exhausted, your fecund body too much for you to bear the weight of.

You were outright wailing in pain in his arms, your baby trashing in your womb from the too sudden change in pressure, and his heart ached painfully in the rhythm of your cries, trying to keep you steady as you furiously stroke your belly to soothe your baby, little fists and feet plummeting and marking the over-stretched skin of your gravid belly and scraping over the aching walls of your overfilled womb. Even so, this is the lesser of two evils when the alternative was watching you drag your exhausted body back to bed, trembling with exhaustion with each laborious step made on aching feet, back braced against his arm as you tried to counteract the weight of your swollen swaying belly, arms barely able to hold some of the weight off your hips. And you would have far exceeded the 30 minutes recommended by the doctor for being on your feet, and Sylus cannot, would not risk your health by going against your doctor's advice.

Sylus gently lowered you into the bed, easily crossing the room that had taken you so much effort in a few large strides, propping you against the pillows. You were still crying and whimpering from the pain, little fists and feet beating you up from the inside of your aching womb and his bruised heart. He brushed gentle kisses on each spot marked by tiny fists and feet, his fingers slipping against yours to steady your trembling hands, stroking your swollen belly gently together and too slowly for his taste, the babe in your belly stopped punishing you.

And not a moment too soon when your children spilt from the door thrown open by your eldest. His younger two, his elder son and his younger daughter crashed into him first, excitedly clambering into your bed to greet you before he scooped them up, one under each arm as he frowned, looking at the nanny.

His eldest stepped in front of the nanny, blocking her from his sight as she explained, "it's nearly 8 am, we are leaving for school soon." Ah, a quick glance to a nearby clock showed that his eldest was right and he had lost track of time taking care of you.

He lowered the two children to the floor, but not before warning them to behave. "Mom?" his eldest approached, her eyes concerned as she took you in, the exhaustion lining your face and your lips still white from pain, gasping breathlessly for air.

He busied himself with rearranging the pillows to support your aching body better, as they had been thrown around during your struggles, his hand on your back steadying you as he layered pillow after pillow behind you. Your eldest kept a firm hand on her younger siblings as you caught your breath until you gestured for them to approach. Sylus lifted them up on the bed, keeping an eye on them to ensure that they didn't jostle you as you kissed the crown of their heads, murmuring gently to them as your eldest approached.

"Mom, are you alright?" She asked again, her red eyes roving over you, truly his clone in female form when concerned about you. You smiled gently as you replied, "I'm alright, sweetie, the baby was just active this morning."

You were truly her favourite parent when she didn't even huff at your nickname, when he would have at least received a glare should he have done the same. She received a gentle kiss to her crown, the same as her siblings, before they were lifted off the bed and plopped on the floor by Sylus. She urged her siblings out of the door, responsible in the way older siblings were as the trembling nanny approached carrying your youngest. Sylus took him from the nanny easily, dismissing her before placing his son on the bed next to you. Your son immediately snuggled against you as you wrapped an arm around him and pulled him tighter against him.

Sylus smirked without any teasing heat to it as he gently stroked your hair, pulling your attention from your son's babbling as he told you that he was going to leave to grab breakfast. You nodded, your eyes half lidded from exhaustion, already worn out from the morning.

He hurried down the corridor, past the elevator he had installed during your pregnancy with his eldest and down the stairs into the dining room. He plated up some of every breakfast food on the table, easily balancing everything on two trays as he returned to you.

The sound of your son's babbling greeted him as he approached your marital bed with you nodding off. He set up the little tables on the bed to balance the trays before nudging you awake. He felt terrible about it but you needed nutrients, for both your sake and the sake of the baby growing in you. You could rest after you had some food in you.

He gently fed you bite by bite while his other hand stroked your swollen belly as his son babbled on, nestled between the two of you. Sylus doesn't often get slow mornings like this with you, his work with Onychinus pulling him away more often than not but he treasured every day he could spent with you like this more than you would ever know.

So yeah, this got away from me, like extremely badly but I hope that you enjoyed it!

[xu-ren]

God!Zayne x Goddess!Non-MC

God!Zayne x Goddess!MC

Warnings- Angst, no happy ending. Briefly mentions that Zayne and Non-MC are siblings as well as a married couple, inspired by Osiris and Isis as well as Isis being the goddess of rebirth.

You were created alongside Zayne, and your other two siblings, paired up by your parents from the moment of your creation. You and Zayne, and your siblings with each other, sister-wives and brother-husbands. Made for each other, said the primordial goddess you called mother before leaving all of you alone.

And you clung to that, devoting yourself to Zayne and he with you. That was how you lived for thousands of years, guiding your people side by side in the Heavens and on Earth. You had believed that these peaceful moments would last forever until that little goddess appeared.

New gods and goddesses weren't unusual, gods were born from human desire, and sometimes formed the same way mortals were formed, through that was unusual. You had no children with Zayne, neither did you want or need any, he was all you needed and wanted in this life.

You liked and admired her even, her carefree and wild ways, something you don't ever remember being, tied down by duties from the moment of your creation. She was kind-hearted too, answering the prayers of mortals herself.

That was why you did not begrudge Zayne spending time with her, of the way he walked more often among the mortals you ruled. It was good to see things from closer up after all, and all the better if he had a friend to do it with him, even if said friend tend to rope him into doing odd things. You trusted him then, your beloved, your fated one, your other half.

Your trust in him did not waver, even as the other gods gossiped, not even when your sister came to you, worried about your relationship with Zayne. He would not betray you, you would say every time someone brought it up in your vicinity. How could he when he was your other half?

Even when Zayne left with her on a trip to collect materials before her divine statue was erected on a whim, you trusted him. It was something you used to do together when you needed a break from your duties, but now you were here, fulfilling both of your duties as he galivated around with her.

*

"How was it?" You asked calmly, admiring your husband as he shed his clothing, getting ready to rid himself of the grime from travelling.

"Fine," he grunted, as if he was trying to chase you away by being as uncooperative as possible.

"Oh Zayne," you sighed as you approached him, running your hand down his back as you helped him remove his clothing. "I promise that it was not asked with any intentions but to know about my husband and his trip."

'Husband' the word made Zayne feel a wave of guilt but not towards you, towards MC. You were his wife yet why did it feel like he was cheating on MC by allowing you to help him. Intellectually, he knew that it's the opposite yet his heart and mind are no longer one, have not been one since he had met her.

"You don't have to help me," he uttered curtly as he rid himself of the last piece of clothing, entering the water so that he may rid himself of your touch.

He felt your gaze on him, your hurt and confusion even as you tried to hide it, so long had your companionship been that he could read you like a papyrus scroll. "I understand, I will tend to my duties then," You uttered, composed if not for the faint trembling of your hands clasped in front of you before bending into a bow. MC would have screamed, he thought, or at least pouted, but you had always been a picture perfect image of composure.

Truthfully, he was angry at himself, at how he was treating you even when you have been nothing but trusting, paying no heed to the gossip that filled the halls. He was angry that you had so easily taken upon both of your duties upon yourself with nary a complaint, when you had every right to do so. He found himself wishing that you trusted him less, that you would scream and rage at him, perhaps then this guilt would be easier to bear.

*

It wasn't that Zayne didn't love you, he did love you in his own way. He loved you in the way that companions do, in the way love feels when it was a duty. He was made for you, and you for him, and he had loved you in that way for all the years of your companionship.

It helped that the two of you were similar, two peas in a pod. He loved you in devotion, in the way you you were both devoted to your duties and your people, in the way you were devoted to him. He loved you in composure, in the way that your love did not ruin your composure, and neither did his love ruined his. He loved you in silence, in the way that shared silence was not war, but peace.

He truly did not mean for this to happen, for the relationship between him and MC. Sometimes, he wished that he had never met her, if only because those quiet days with your companionship was not a bad way to continue his divine existence. He loved you like a duty, and loved her like it was a choice.

*

As you stared at Zayne and her, watching a final sunset together as if you never mattered, you thought about the last time you had seen your sister and the terrible screaming match you had. She had begged you to see sense, that the husband you had devoted your very existence to was no more, and you had so very coldly told her that if she did not stop slandering your husband, you would not forgive her, even if she was his and your sister. She was gone now, you were sure, she and all the other gods and goddesses, and you would never get a chance to apologise to her. That hurt as much as Zayne's betrayal of not just your relationship, but the entire premise of your godhood. He has forsaken everything and everyone simply for one young minor goddess.

Your only comfort was that you would be joining them soon, your strength waning by the second. You wondered if this was how mortals felt as they died. It was unpleasant, to say the least, and not a sensation you ever thought that you would encountered as a divine being.

Even now, you couldn't find it in yourself to hate Zayne. You were created to love him, and that is not something easily erased even if you wished that it could be. With the last of your strength, you granted Zayne and MC the gift of rebirth. May they find happiness together in another life was your last thought as darkness consumed you, unknowingly cursing yourself to repeat this scenario over countless lifetimes.

Your soul is bound to his, as long as he exists, so would you. In your last fleeting kindness, you have doomed yourself.

~♡~♡~♡~

"Doctor [Name], are you alright?" You heard a nurse ask, and suddenly you are back in the hospital.

You murmured your assent before tearing your eyes away from the patient, all but sprinting into your office, trying not to let your emotions show. You only managed to hold on for as long as the run to your office, crumbling once you shut and locked the door.

You remembered your first life, where you had doomed yourself, and every life after that. Luckily, you and Zayne weren't married in this life, or even dating, just best friends, even if you keep wishing for something more.

You sobbed into your arms, mourning the grief across countless lifetimes all at once. No matter what your roles were, or what your relationship with him was, married, married with children, dating, he would choose her when she appeared, and you would be left behind. Once, you had believed that what you had was strong enough, that this time would be different, that the children you had together would be enough for him to stay, and he had crushed that hope, forsaking everything for MC over and over again.

You somehow stopped your sobbing when a nurse knocked on your door, reminding you that you needed to make your rounds. Even then, you spent a week in a haze, wondering around like a mindless zombie and sobbing whenever you were not needed, trying to process countless lifetimes all at once all while avoiding Zayne.

By the end of the week, you managed to pull yourself out of the pit you had found yourself in with the cold clarity that you were known for, except for when you were with Zayne. You didn't hate him, you couldn't, when he was simply choosing MC because it was ingrained in him, just as choosing him was ingrained in you.

However, you could leave. It would hurt like hell, you were sure, tearing yourself away from your best friend and your lover over countless lifetimes, but you don't think that you could endure watching him fall for MC again.

With an action plan, you quickly drafted a resignation letter and handed it to your superior. Despite being in different departments, you were sure that Zayne would hear about it soon. And you were right, he was at your door not even 2 hours after you handed your resignation letter to your superior.

Zayne looked like his restrain was on its last breath, gripping your desk until his knuckles were white, his hair messy as if he had ran his fingers through it too many times in the matter of hours, his chest heaving like he ran to your office once he heard the news even if Zayne never ran in the hospital. You had never seen him like this before, even after back to back shifts and your heart betrayed you with how fast it was beating.

"You avoided me for a week and now I find out from Greyson that you are resigning. Why?" He asked you, his tone low and dangerous as his eyes bore into yours.

You tore your eyes away from him with great effort before answering him. "I need a different environment, that's all." You didn't trust yourself not to spill all of your secrets, or worse, burst into tears if you looked into his eyes any longer.

"I see," was all he curtly said before he marched out of your office, once again the cold and restrained Doctor Zayne everyone knew, his walls no longer down with you, your door shutting behind him like the final nail on the coffin that was your relationship with him.

You crumbled into tears again, because Zayne would never choose you, he would never fight for you because you aren't his fated one, even if he is yours.

*

If Zayne was an honest man, he would admit that he felt your absence on the first day. Your absence was like an itch, a disruption to his schedule. You were a constant presence through his life, your parents were friends, and the two of you spent a lot of time together as a result. Hence, it was no wonder that he noticed your absence immediately.

However, he did nothing about it, simply noting it down and going about his day. Maybe you were just busy with your work, although his mind whispered that you had never been too busy to spend a few minutes with him before. Still, he did nothing about it until Greyson told him about your resignation.

He had ran to you, hoping that it wasn't true, and even if it was, why did you not discuss it with him first. Weren't you each other's closest friend? And when you confirmed it? His heart had broken to pieces and the only thing he knew how to do was throw up his walls. If you could leave him so easily, you clearly did not deserve to be on his side of the wall.

He dreamt of you that night, not the version of you he knew, but different versions of you, some begging him to stay, some resigned and tired but all because of him leaving you.

As he watched you pack the last of your things, waving to the interns who came to wish you well from his window, he wondered if you would have stayed if he asked. He wondered if you would have stayed had he agreed when his parents mentioned arranging a marriage with you instead of brushing them off. In the end, he could only wonder, because he did not act on it, because Zayne never knew how to make a choice when it came to you.

~♡~♡~♡~

A/N - I'm not even a Zayne girlie, but this new myth has been inspiring in many different ways. Good luck to everyone rolling for Zayne's newest myth! May all of Zayne's Jasmise get him.

[xu-ren]

Xavier x pregnant!reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, trying to jump start labour things, fluff, a little bit of smut. Xavier thinks reader looks really good being overdue. No use of y/n.

"Starlight," you could hear the concern coating every syllable coming from Xavier's mouth despite not being able to see him, blocked by your gravid belly as he was as he tied the shoelaces of your new shoes for you. "Surely there is something else that we can try that doesn't involve you walking for miles," he finished, popping his head up from below your gravid belly to grace you with his eyes, wide with concern and worry, as if waiting for you to crumble and agree with him.

"What else is there to try?" you asked, trying your best to suppress the tears welling in your eyes. Your due date was last week, and yet here you were, still heavily pregnant, body still aching without any sight of labour. You were excited to be pregnant initially, and it was overall an easy pregnancy, no morning sickness and definitely none of the extra terrible pregnancy symptoms you keep hearing about, and you were still active up till your third trimester but you were ready to get this baby out, like last week but noooooooooooo, you are still pregnant a week past your due date.

Xavier looked like there was something he wanted to say, but you cut him off before he could, still ranting with tears welling in your eyes. "We had hot pot all of last week," both of you winced at that. There was something such as too much hot pot, and every day for a week definitely qualified for it, especially when you got the spiciest one to try to jump-start your labour. All it did was give you terrible heartburn, unfortunately.

You felt a tear roll down your face despite your best efforts and Xavier's face softened, acquiescing to you as he always did when the waterworks started. "Don't cry, Starlight, we will go for a walk and little star will be here before you know it, hmm," he murmured to you, bent awkwardly over the armchair to press his forehead against yours as he wiped away your tears with his thumb.

His gentleness only makes the tears flow harder but Xavier only smiled gently, wiping your tears away patiently until they finally stop. "That's my girl," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back, hands out to pull you up.

You placed your palms in his but don't really grip them as you rocked back and forth, trying to build some momentum before you gripped his hands fully and he pulled you up with ease. The little oof you made as he pulled you up only made him smile harder, pulling you against him, your swollen belly turned sideways so that you could be closer to him. He savoured the moment, knowing that they were almost at the finish line.

He rubbed your lower back, pressing on certain sore spots he knew had only gotten worse since the baby had dropped weeks ago as you adjusted to the change in position, arms cradling your gravid belly and trying to soothe the baby kicking your ribs like a soccer ball as you huffed breathlessly against his chest. You had been so excited when the baby first dropped, sure that your labour would start soon and you would have your little star in your arms very soon, but even after a month there were still no signs of labour, all you had to show for it was an aching back and a slower wider waddle.

Xavier helped you to waddle to the entryway of the apartment, his arm wrapped around you for you to brace your lower back against while his hand cradled the underside of your swollen belly where even his longest shirt didn't cover. Sure, the shirt covered your belly if one was looking from the front, but it hung free when looked at from the bottom and your maternity leggings were pushed low by your curve of your belly, leaving free skin for Xavier's obsession.

You were already out of breath by the time you reached the entryway, Xavier leaving your side to put on his own shoes and double-check his "supplies". With the number of bottles and fans he packed, you would think that this was a five day excursion and not a walk up and down the block. You braced both hands on your lower back and widened your stance, pushing your belly out. It's not ideal with the way you feel so overwhelmingly full, the weight of your swollen belly sitting on your aching hips and pulling at your sides but it was the only way you could even stand without tipping forward now. Xavier returned to your side soon, even if it felt like forever to your aching body as he wrapped his arm around you, letting you brace your back against his arm and taking some of the weight of your gravid belly off of your aching hips.

"Starlight," Xavier implored, concern and warning and something entirely different warring in his eyes as he watched you, breathing still heavy from just walking to the entryway despite the brief rest. The pained grunt you let out when you stepped down from the entryway probably didn't help your case either but you just shook your head, lips set in a stubborn pout and Xavier can only sigh through pursed lips, opening the door and guiding you out of the apartment.

Xavier had already pulled out a fan and was fanning you as the two of you waited for the elevator as if you would overheat in the cool evening air. He was 100% right but you would never admit that, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of you admitting that all of this was a terrible idea.

15 minutes in and the two of you had barely reached the end of your very short sidewalk and in that time, your swollen belly felt like it had double in weight, you had to shift your weight with every step and you had to stop every few minutes to soothe your baby who was kicking constantly as if unhappy about the constant movement and yet there were no contractions in sight, not even a braxton hick which had plagued you since your second trimester.

It was during one of these pauses that you heard it, past your own heaving breaths and the steady rhythm of the fan in Xavier's hands, panting coming from your side. You turned around to look at Xavier and nearly stumbled if not for his hands immediately steadying you.

He peered at you, his eyes blown wide with concern and what you were beginning to see as desire. Up close, you could see his bitten lips and the way his breath came in short pants. You watched as he licked his lips before swallowing as he eyed you up and down.

"Baby was kicking," you replied to the unasked question but internally your mind was running a hundred miles per hour, faster than you could ever manage in your current state.

He nodded, seemingly not really processing what you said as his gaze continued to drink you up, eyes darting between your widened hips to your gravid belly to your engorged breasts like he was in a trance and you smirk internally.

When you continued your walk, you intentionally widen your gait, swaying side by side and brushing your swollen belly brush against him, letting him really feel the weight of it, of how heavy it weighted on you even with his help. You leaned heavier against his arm, on him as a whole, letting him carry more of your weight, letting him support your poor over-taxed body filled to the absolute brim with the child he had given you.

Instead of doing your best to taper down your panting to prevent Xavier from worrying, you huffed and puffed freely and even whimpered and groaned with every other step, letting him hear your exhaustion in carrying his child in full. And when Xavier coaxed you to drink some water during one of your many breaks? A drop of water just so happened to slip from your lips and roll down to your engorged breasts, barely contained by Xavier's shirt.

You leaned against him more and more until your ass brushed against a very hard part of his anatomy. Well, it seems like there was another way of jump starting labour that you and Xavier could try.

By the time you made it back to the front of your building, you were leaning so heavily against Xavier he might as well have been carrying you. It wasn't all false, you really were exhausted, and your body was aching and sore all over and your little star seemed to have sunk deeper into your pelvis during your short walk, so it wasn't a total failure.

"We are going back inside," Xavier declared, his tone leaving no room for argument, not that you would have made one regardless. You could almost cry at the chance to elevate your feet, to take some of this heavy weight off of your swollen feet, stuffed into brand new shoes because they just had to grow two shoe sizes.

Once upstairs, Xavier guided you past the armchair and you protested, mentioning the dirt that you were tracking through the apartment. Xavier, however, was firm in his decision to get you into bed so that you could rest properly, promising to clean the floors once you were safely in bed and you acquiesced, not that you could actually argue when you had to rely on him to take off your shoes anyways.

Xavier squatted down with you, holding your weight as best as he could as you lowered your gravid body inch by inch onto the bed, both hands cradling your belly as you trusted him to seat you on the bed properly. You heard Xavier audibly swallow even over your own breathless groan and "oh my god" as you sunk into the mattress, your swollen belly between your legs, pushing your thighs apart. You moaned lowly as you leaned backwards and rocked your hips, trying to get comfortable, and something seemed to snap in Xavier.

He sprung up from where he was kneeling between your legs and untying your shoelaces and began to furiously stack the pillows on the bed into a pile. You blinked in feigned confusion, still maintaining your innocent act as he practically threw you into the pile of pillows, letting you sink into the pile and rearranging them until you were supported enough for his liking.

"Xavier, I wanna lie down," you continued your little act, false confusion colouring your breathless voice. Xavier shook his head, eyes blown wide and wild as he settled between your spread legs.

"Liar," he breathed, sounding nearly as breathless as you for an entirely different reason, "I can smell you, Starlight." You tried to close your legs but Xavier merely tutted, holding your legs open and swiping a finger down your needy core. "Oh, you are already so wet, Starlight," he murmured in amazement, half to himself before looking to you. "We will have our little star in our arms tomorrow," he promised.

However, all men are liars, even Xavier, and you didn't have your son in your arms until the following day, but all that matters is that your son is finally here.

[xu-ren]

Precious

Pairing : Sylus x pregnant!reader

Warnings: Mostly fluff, it inches towards smut territory but nothing explicit. No use of y/n.

I recently started Love and Deepspace and I'm seeing it even in my dreams. This game has taken over my life. 😭

Anyways, enjoy!

~♡~♡~♡~

"Sweetie?" Sylus called out gently as he opened the door to your shared room, coming back from a meeting that needed his attendance, even as he loathed to part from you in your condition. He frowned, trying to suppress his growing alarm when he didn't find you in bed. You were put on modified bed rest a while ago to avoid straining your gravid body further than necessary, so the bed was where you were supposed to be, wrapped in the soft blankets and surrounded by enough plushies and pillows that he wondered if you were trying to claim the entire bed for yourself.

He relaxed when a soft groan and splashing immediately alerted him of your location, the bathroom where you spent nearly as much time in as your shared bed. He strode into the sight of you in the bath, your hair piled in a messy bun on the top of your head as you tried to shift into a comfortable position, a griamce on your face that should only light up with joy.

"Need some help, sweetie?" he asked even as he shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, his hands automatically reaching behind you to help shift you to your desired position. You sighed contently when his arms come into contact with your back, easily shifting you as if you weigh nothing at all, even as you are so swollen a beached whale felt like a poor description.

"Thank you," you whispered, kissing his exposed forearm as your head rested against the bathtub pillow he had installed for you, drowsy and content now that the babe in your belly had settled.

He softened at the sight of you, his earlier reprimands dying before they had a chance to be voiced. He disliked the idea of you bathing without him, but he knew that a bath was your only minor escape from the aching pain that radiated from every inch of your body as it desperately tried to accommodate the passenger in your womb.

"Sy, stay with me?" you asked, looking out from under your lashes as your hand reached for him.

"Of course, sweetie," he easily agreed. How can he resist when you ask so sweetly, pushing back some strands that had escaped your messy bun with the soft reverence that had marked his every movement since he knew of your pregnancy. He gently untied your hair, fingers scratching your scalp and pulling a purr from you.

The both of you simply sat in silence, him on the edge of the bath scratching your scalp as you relaxed in the bath. His eyes were inevitably drawn to your swollen belly, peaking over the water of your bath, and it stirred some primal dragonic part of him. He would never not be sorry for causing you pain, and these past months have certainly been painful for you, but you had looked absolutely divine in every moment, so his in a way that made his heart swell, and something in his pants as well.

"You can touch, you know," you murmured with a gentle knowing smile, your eyes still closed, but you had always read him so easily, even in the early days of knowing each other.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead as he moved further down the bath, his hands greedily reaching for your gravid belly. His greed knew no bounds, but the only thing stronger than his greed was his unwillingness to cause you pain.

You were so sensitive lately, the skin on your belly taut and shiny, almost painful to the touch and he stroked it gently, his eyes fixed on your face, watching for even the slightest hint of discomfort. You tried your best to hide your wince, but he caught it anyway, immediately pulling his hand away.

"Don't," your hand shot out to grab his, pulling his hand back to your belly even as you griamced, lightheaded from the sudden movement. He shook his head, ready to deny you when you begged.

"Please, please, I need you, please Sylus, I need your hands on me," and he caved, gently extracting his arm from your grip as he went back to gently stroking your belly, marvelling at how big you are even as he kept an eye on your face. He could never get over how gravid you are, his sweet little kitten swollen and gravid with his child, more beautiful and precious than any of his treasures.

A whimper escaped your lips when he stroked a particularly sensitive part of your belly, and he couldn't help himself anymore. He slipped one large hand under your head, gently tilting your head as his other hand continued to stroke your belly.

He claimed your mouth, and there was nothing gentle about that in the way he pushed your lips open with his tongue, greedily claiming the inside of your mouth, moaning, needing you to know what you had done to him, what you were doing to him every single day. And you gave as good as you got, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him even closer as you explored his mouth, twinning your tongues together.

You whined, high and needy when he pulled away even as you struggled to catch your breath, needing him more than you needed air. He busied himself with brushing open mouth kisses on your face as you pant, filling your diminish lungs with air before you impatiently pulled him back in for another kiss.

Sylus had been so gentle with you recently, so attentive but so distant, wary of causing you the slightest hint of discomfort, and you are grateful for it, but you just needed him to touch you, you needed his hands on you, needed his mouth on you, you needed your husband to want you as much as you needed him. When he pressed a little too hard on your belly, you moaned loudly, pulling him closer to you as you entangled your fingers in his hair, tugging lightly to open his mouth wide to your plunder.

Sylus doesn't pull away until the bathwater turned cool, and your kisses were tinged with drowsiness. He tutted as you whined, your hands making grabby motions in his general direction as he reached into the bath, scooping you up with both arms and carrying you to the loveseat set up nearby for these exact scenarios, heedless of the water that dripped down his expensive dress clothes. He gently set you down on the plush towel he had laid out, cooing as you fought the sleepiness dragging your eyelids down.

"Sleep," he whispered, "I'm here." And you nodded, just slightly before your eyes closed, your breathing steady. His heart is warm and full from how trusting you are of him as he gently dried you, making sure that you were fully dried lest you catch a cold, trying to shift you as little as possible to not disturb your sleep. Your sleep had been fragmented as of recent, woken up by the aches radiating from your body, the demands of your bladder, the movement of your baby, and a hundred other reasons. He wanted to preserve every moment of undisturbed rest you managed.

He had only stepped away for a moment to grab the shea butter when your eyelids stirred, a frown furrowing your brow and he hurried back across the expansive bathroom, stroking your hair and rubbing his nose against yours. To his relief, your lips quirked up just slightly in contentment as your brow relaxed and your breathing was once again slow and steady, lulled back to sleep by his presence.

He rubbed the shea butter over every inch of you, paying extra attention to the taut thin skin of your hugely swollen belly, and especially the itchy underside of your belly, the skin painfully red and shiny no matter how often he rubbed shea butter over it. His lips glidded over your belly before his hands, silently thanking you for your precious gift. Afterwards, he worked on loosening the knots on your aching feet, your poor swollen ankles, your hips, wide and aching from trying to carry your swollen womb, your back, a mess of knots from the heavy weight of your front pulling on it every single second of the day, your swollen and tender breasts. You moaned openly under his administration, unconsciously turned on by his hands on you and every sound, every rub of your expanded thighs against each other in your sleep was like scissors snipping away at the threads of his self control.

Once he was done, and his self control was hanging by a single thread of knowing that you were not doing it consciously, and you weren't in the condition to bear the full force of his greed for your body, the same greed that landed you in your current predicament, he pulled you up, slipping one of his silk shirts over your head, the only thing you could wear with how sensitive your skin has become, most fabrics rubbing against your skin in a way that brought a grimace to your face. He can't deny his pleasure in how throughly he had claimed you, his shirt barely covering the swollen belly that he had given you even if it used to drown you, reaching all the way past your knees.

He quickly shed his wet clothes before scooping you back up in his arms, gently carrying you back to bed. You nuzzled against his neck, unconsciously mouthing and leaving kitten licks against his skin and he chuckled, the noise low and strained. The things you do to him would be the death of him, that he was certain of.

He gently tucked you in bed, propping you up against the pregnancy pillow and swaddling you in silk blankets. "Stay," you whispered even as your arms wrapped around the crow plushie, the first plushie he had won for you. His heart felt impossibly full and warm as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, whispering that he would only be a minute.

He puts on the first sleep shorts he finds before climbing into the bed across from you, slipping under the covers as you dragged your body closer to him. He helped shift you so that your head was lying on his bicep, the pregnancy pillow moved to support your back as your legs were entwined together, your swollen belly rubbing against his abs that caused his back to curve to make space for it.

It's not the most comfortable position, in fact, he is certain that he would wake up with his arm dead and a crick in his neck, but there is nowhere he would rather be here with you, all that was precious to him in his embrace.

[xu-ren]

The Beginning

A/N: Trying my hand at writing an OC for once. English isn't my first language, or even my second.😭

Pairing: Valarr Targaryen x Targaryen!OC x Aerion Targaryen

Warnings: Targcest, don't like it, don't read it. OC is Valarr's cousin and Aerion's twin. Starting as literal babies but will try to keep it short.

Valarr Targaryen and Aerion Targaryen’s fate had been set from the day they were born, one would say, to stand at the opposite on one another. For that was the way the gods had thrown their coin, to be on two sides of the same coin, forever opposing each other until the end of their days.

They were both born as Targaryens, to fathers that were brothers, to the same grandsire in the same family, and yet, still, the chasm that were their differences gapped wider than their similarities ever would. The fate of the first born of a first born and the second born of a fourth born would never intersect, so were the fate of these cousins.

And yet, despite all odds, Aella Targaryen managed to make it so that the fates of Valarr Targaryen and Aerion Targaryen would intertwin as one.

Aella Targaryen was born as the younger twin of Aerion Targaryen, to Dyanna Dayne and Maekar Targaryen after a gruelling 12 hours labour, a mirror of her twin save for her eyes, lilac to his violet. Two children with the colouring of their ancestors, born to the fourth son of King Daeron the Good on the Year 193 After the Conquest was a blessing indeed, even more so when one was a girl. It was proof that the next generation of Targaryens would continue, in a kingdom still devastated by the Dance of the Dragons

Aella Targaryen was a quiet babe, silent in a way babes rarely were. That was the universal truth that all who worked in the royal nursery could agree upon. Neither prone to tears from unseen things as her elder brother, Prince Daeron, was, nor her twin brother, Prince Aerion, who was prone to fits even at his young age. Instead, Princess Aella merely stared, her lilac eyes seeming to see more than a babe of not even a moon yet should. The children of Maekar Targaryen and Dyanna Dayne were as unnatural as their beauty would suggest, some would say.

If the servants of the royal nursery were pressed, they would say that Princess Aella did not most resemble her brothers, even if that was the physical truth, but her cousin, Prince Valarr, the firstborn of the heir to the Iron Throne, son of Prince Baelor.

Prince Aerion was a loud child, his piercing cries ringing through the royal nursery at all hours of the day, and the servants jest that he cried enough for the both of them. And yet, there was truth to their words, for Prince Aerion’s cries summoned them for his sister more often they did for him. Even at his tender age, Prince Aerion seemed to put his sister first.

Still, despite her reputation for silence, there was but one matter that could reduce Princess Aella to wails that rivaled her brother, being separated from him. Neither twin handled even the smallest separation well, the servants learnt quickly as their wails filled the royal nursery, in sync and it did not take long before all three of the royal babes were wailing their little lungs out, pale skin flushed bright fire red. It was as adorable as it was difficult, as the wet nurse had to nurse a babe in each arm lest both twins be reduced to tears.

Valarr Targaryen peered down to the cradle, fascinated by his younger cousins. At four namesday old, he had only just left the royal nursery and yet, driven by the news of his younger cousins, he found himself back again. “You are so small,” he whispered to them, and they truly were. He could not imagine being as tiny as they were, and yet surely he once was. But then again, Valarr did not remember Daeron being as small as they were, so maybe he wasn’t. He would have to ask mother, he though.

Valarr could not help reaching into the cradle, a single hand outstretched unthinkingly to pet the whisps of silvery-gold hair on the twins’ head, and yet, his hand would never reach its destination for it was intercepted by a tiny hand gripping his finger. To little Valarr, that little moment felt ordained by the gods, his cousin’s tiny hand gripping his finger with surprising strength for her size as she gazed up at him with lilac eyes.

“I’m your cousin, Valarr,” Valarr whispered softly, unwilling to break the sacred moment as his mismatched eyes, one blue and one brown, never left hers. “But I have no siblings to call my own, so I will be your brother instead.” Aella gurgled happily, pulling his finger closer to her and Valarr was mesmerised.

Another pair of purple eyes, deeper than Aella’s lilac, violet like his uncle Maekar’s snapped open at Aella’s happy gurgles and seemed to immediately focus on him with an intensity that surprised Valarr. Aerion truly was his father’s son, Valarr though, Maekar’s blood showing even at his tender age. Valarr nearly climbed into the cradle himself as his other hand reached for Aerion, wiggling his finger for the babe to grasp.

Valarr cheered loudly when Aerion finally grasped his finger, and by some grace of the gods, neither twin burst into tears. They simple stared up at him, with the intensity of a dragon looking at its treasure, wide and unblinking, and Valarr stared back, dragonblood recognising dragonblood.

From that day on, Valarr was a near constant fixture in the nursery he had barely just left. If he was not in his lessons or at his parents’ side, he was surely staring at his baby cousins. And there were only so many lessons for a boy of four namesday old, even if he was the heir of the heir, hence it was easiest to look for the prince in the royal nursery. None of the servants could bear to chase him away, even if they could. They had loved the prince dearly while he was in their care, and the twins, especially Aerion, the most difficult royal babe by far, was calmer in his presence.

Even when Valarr could not be by his cousins’ side, he would not cease in his rambles of them. The once solemn prince never resembled a child his age more than when he brought up his cousins, and no one had the heart to stop him. Hence, everyone left in Prince Valarr’s wake felt as if they had met the royal twins themselves, just from his stories alone.

On one memorable moment, when the servants had all been called away from the royal nursery, Valarr, in a rare moment of impulsiveness, reached into the cradle to scoop out Aella. He could not help it, always wondering how his cousin would feel in his arms and boys his age were not known for their restraint, no matter their birth.

He had scarcely settled down on the floor near the cradle when a nursemaid rushed in, dropping to her knees before him fearfully. “Your grace, you mustn't,” she cried, fearful for the princess as well as her own head and that of her family. All of their heads would surely roll if harm came to the royal princess.

However, before Valarr could even think of returning his cousin, she curled one tiny hand on the collar of his doublet, fingers gripping the embroidered collar with startling strength before snuggling against his chest, as if signifying her unwillingness to leave his arms. It was the sight of the little princess staring up at her cousin with nary a cry from her nor her brother, a rare nearly impossible sight that shocked the nursemaid out of her panic. Still, she tried to pry the princess away from her cousin if only for her safety, and yet was stopped by the small, displeased sound from the princess, sharp and indignant, a prequel to the cries that would surely ring out in the nursery, similar to the ones made before the twins were separated.

She froze, pulling away lest the cries truly started, leaving the princess to settle back into her cousin’s arms with a soft sigh, forehead pressed against his chest. To Valarr, the room seemed to have faded away at the edges, or perhaps completely, his focus on his cousin breathing softly against him, tiny weight in his arms as if she belonged there and the promise made when Aella and Aerion held his fingers turned into something solid, an oath, a connection that could never be broken.

“Could you bring Aerion?” Valarr asked timidly. He knew that he shouldn’t, but he wanted it, needed it, to see his cousins side by side. It felt wrong, to have Aella in his arms with Aerion so far away when the twins should always be together. The nursemaid sighed but did as she was bade, holding Aerion next to his sister as the twins gurgled happily, reaching for each other.

It took a long while for either Aella or Aerion to fall into slumber as they reached for each other and Valarr, their limbs flailing happily. Long enough that Valarr, despite adjusting his grip to try to ease the tension in his shoulders, felt the ache acutely. Finally, both of the twins breathing slowed, unmistakenly asleep and the nursemaid could return both of them back to the cradle, breathing a sigh of relief as she did so.

Still, the ache in his shoulders and arms were nothing compared to the terrible hole he felt had been ripped from his chest from the moment Aella left his arms. It was a terrible aching loss, more terrible than he had ever felt in his short life and he understood more acutely than ever the dragonblood that coursed through his veins, an obsession bordering on mania over his cousins.

That very evening, Valarr received a sound scolding from his parents, another first in his short life as he had always been an obedient child. Even through his tears, he could not find a shred of regret for his actions, if given the chance, he thinks he might hold Aella and maybe even Aerion for much longer. His parents must have seen it in him too, the defiance in their usually obedient son because they sighed and exchanged glances before Baelor Targaryen placed a large hand on his still sobbing son’s shoulder.

When Valarr did not move beyond a seemingly unconscious tensing of his shoulder, Baelor kneeled down before his son. “Look at me, Valarr,” Baelor said as sternly as he could. Baelor was a stern man, one had to be to be the hand of the king, and yet, that sternness was getting more difficult to cling to by the second as his only son raised teary, mismatched eyes to look at him. His face scrunched up as his nostrails flaired, adorable despite, or maybe because of the effects of his sobs on his little face.

Despite the weight of his wife’s disapproval behind him, he wrapped his arms around his son, pulling him into his embrace. “You can only hold them when there is an adult present, do you understand?” His last attempt at sternness as his will crumbled at the face of his only son’s tears. He could feel Valarr nodding his little head against his chest, no doubt rubbing more tears and snot on his doublet and yet he could not bring himself to be mad. Jena signed, placing a hand on Valarr’s shoulder and he smiled, neither of them could truly be stern when Valarr was usually such an obedient and serious child. A child deserves to misbehave once in a while, surely.

Valarr returned to the royal nursery the very next day, as was his wont, but unusually, with his parents and aunt and uncle trailing behind him. He no doubt gave the poor nursemaid a great fright, but he would never know as he made a beeline for the twins. Under the watchful gaze of all of the adults present, he was taught how to hold them properly. And Valarr could finally breath again, the hole in his heart gone with the weight of his cousin in his arms.

Their tiny weight anchored him, giving him a purpose that he did not yet understand, but would one day. And if you were to ask Valarr, his obsession with his royal cousins was only matched by their obsession with him. Both of them reached for him constantly, settling easier in his arms than even their nursemaid’s, unwilling to be parted from him. No one would call Aerion an easy babe, but he was easier in the presence of his cousin, just as he was in his sister’s. Worse, Aella, once a sweet easy babe, proved that dragonblood ran in her too when it came to being pulled away from Valarr, jerking awake with a sharp piercing cry more often than not even if she appeared to be in deep sleep. Before long, the servants would all unanimously agree that detaching the twins from their cousin took the most effort in the care of the twins.

[xu-ren]

Zayne × Non-MC reader

Kinda part two of my God!Zayne × Goddess!Non-MC reader fic. Part one can be found here. If you don't want to read part one, the premise is that Zayne does not pick Non-MC.

Zayne gasped awake, his dream fragmenting to pieces. He won't remember his dreams, he knows this. He never does remember these dreams that have haunted him since the day you left his side. All the dreams left in their wake are a terrible sense of loss and longing for something that he had and subsequently abandoned.

He won't be getting more sleep, this too he knows, so instead he stared outside the window into the night sky. Light pollution had hidden all of the stars away, but still he imagined that the lights were the stars the two of you had sneaked out of bed in your youth to admire. He could almost hear your voice as you explain the stars and the constellations, your admiration for them stark on your voice. It was only in this silence brought by loneliness could he admit, even just to himself, that he missed you. He missed your presence, and the easy days of your youth where there were only the two of you against the world.

You haunted him, despite your continuous status among the living. Sometimes, he thinks that a ghost would haunt him less than you would despite being alive.

So intertwined your lives have been that there is not a single part of his life that's not filled with memories of you. He sees you in places you have been, in the faces of people you know, in places you have not been but you would like, in people you would have been delighted to meet. You were everywhere he looked, haunting his every step, a mirage made of memories.

As if haunting his sight was not enough, you haunted his hearing as well. He heard you in spoken phrases, uttered by his colleagues, in pronunciations you influenced, in music you loved, in the birdsong you delighted in.

Sometimes, when he missed you terribly, he would hear your comments, as if you were next to him, commenting on something someone said, or something he was looking at. He would smile softly to himself sometimes, your wit was endlessly amusing to him, even when it was imaginary.

Sometimes, you would even haunt his taste buds. He had turned down or pushed away his favourite desserts before because it didn't taste like the ones you made. You loved to make desserts whenever you found a free moment, presenting him with your latest creations with a flourish and he had never hesitated to devour them. He missed them now, it felt like no matter how hard he tried, he could never find one that tasted like the ones you made.

And if haunting him was not enough, the people around him seemed determined to ensure that he would not forget about you. His mother would mention you in passing during family dinners, some interesting tidbit shared by your mother; his colleagues would mention something from your social media or just reminiscing about your time with them; a local place you often frequented would mention how you no longer accompanied him there.

Truly, Zayne could not escape your presence at all. He felt like Heathcliff at times, as if he had uttered that famous line, "Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!" except he had not uttered that line yet you haunt him all the same.

Still, Zayne did not seek you out. He did not choose you, as he never had. He did not reach out for you, as was his usual, so used to you reaching out to him first that he was.

Zayne did not see you until months later, when you arrived back in Linkon City for the new year. His colleagues had all but dragged him along to a gathering after work, citing your short visit back to Linkon City as the reason.

If he was an honest man, he would admit that he went because he missed you greatly. Alas, when it came to you, Zayne was not an honest man, not even to himself.

All of his memories of you could not do you justice as he watched you wander around the room, chatting with old colleagues and friends as if not a day had passed from his place near the wall.

At some point, he found himself next to you, drawn near one another as if by some mysterious force. As the both of you caught up with all that had happened since your separation, Zayne found himself apologising for not contacting you all this time, or trying to.

"It's alright," you had replied, placing a gentle hand on his arm, a familiar gesture between the both of you. And yet, there was a sense of unfamiliarity that tickled his mind.

Only when you turned around, leaving his side at the call of your name does he understand it, there is a lightness to the way you carry yourself now, the hint of melancholy that you carried yourself with since the first day he had known you no longer present.

His hand flexed subconsciously, wanting to hold onto you, to turn you around so that instead of your unfamiliar back facing him, it's your familiar front but he does not, because Zayne had never chosen you, would never choose you in this lifetime or the last. He let you go, because that is the only way Zayne knows what to do when it comes to you.

[xu-ren]

Kiera of Tyrosh's POV

Part something of my OC fanfiction for Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. I'm not good at writing in linear. Mildly inspired by far too much reincarnated into a villainess manhwa. English isn't my first or second language, please please be kind.

Pairing: Valarr Targaryen x Targaryen!OC x Aerion Targaryen

Warnings: Targcest, don't like it, don't read it. Aerion being Aerion. Kiera sees too much. OC is Valarr's cousin and Aerion's twin.

Other parts can be found here.

How quickly the wheels of fortune turned, Kiera thought. A mere three months ago, her betrothal to Valarr Targaryen, second to the Iron Throne, had been finalised between her father and the King Daeron II of the Seven Kingdoms. For the first time in her life, her father had smiled at her, the cost of raising her finally returned. 

‘Daughters are raised to be wed, for alliances and for the benefit of her family,’ her father would always say, when he deigned to speak to her at all. Often, it was her governess who reminded her and her sisters of so instead. 

Her aunt had married a bastard of House Targaryen, and bore him seven sons and two daughters. Despite the rebellion that led to her aunt fleding back to Tyrosh, the fertility of her family was noted, which her father took care to remind her of when he informed her of her betrothal. Her duty was to bear her husband sons, as many as her aunt had if it pleases him. 

In less than a moon, her father had saw fit to pack her and half their household onto a fleet set for the Seven Kingdoms. It would have been terribly exciting, for she had never set foot outside of Tyrosh before, and yet she quickly found that the rocking of the ships did not agree with her at all. To her great disappointment, she spent most of her time in her chambers with only her handmaiden for company. She wondered if her father would allow her to keep the girl with her after she was wed, she dearly hope so, she did not wish to be alone in a foreign place, so far away from home. 

At the very least, it saved her from spending much time with her father, which was a blessing in and of itself. She had never been in such close quarters with her father before for any length of time, the Archon of Tyrosh often too busy with ruling and with his sons to spend time with a daughter he would marry away. 

Her father did not call for her until the tail end of their nearly two moons trip, when King’s Landing was sighted. Yet, there were no kind words spoken, only words of reprimand and reminders of her lessons, to obey her husband in all matters and to bear him heirs. 

King Daeron II, her good grandfather to be was the first to greet her father and her as they stepped off their vessel, flanked on both sides by his wife and queen, Queen Myriah Martell, and his eldest son and heir, Prince Baelor, her new goodfather to be. They looked kind, she thought, and wondered if her betrothed was as kind as his family looked. 

“My son is waiting for you in the Red Keep,” Prince Baelor told her gently, as if noticing her furtive attempts to spot her betrothed. Kiera could feel her father’s disapproval burning behind her, and prayed that he kept his tongue. It would not do to spoil her standing with her new family before she had spoken her marriage vows yet. By some grace of the gods, he did. 

“Thank you, my prince,” she replied, dipping her head in thanks. Prince Baelor had a low, rich voice, deep without sounding dangerous. And his bearded face was kindly and open, with a crooked nose that made him more approachable, or as approachable as the heir to the Iron Throne could be.

Prince Baelor was the epitome of a courteous prince as he helped her mother and her into the prepared carriage before he jumped on his horse, a warhorse of pure black save for the star on its forehead, giving her hope for this marriage. 

She couldn’t help the wrinkle of her nose, though she tried to keep her face as placid as possible as they rode through the Red Keep. Queen Myriah merely smiled in sympathy, but did not bring it into question. She found herself missing Tyrosh, for Tyrosh did not smell half as bad, filled with unwashed bodies and the smell of dung, on even the worst days in summer, and yet, she would never set sight on Tyrosh again, she thought mournfully.

Indeed, as Prince Baelor had promised, an assembly of Targaryens stood upon the steps of the Red Keep as the carriage approached, on the forefront stood a man her father’s age, another one of King Daeron II’s sons, she supposed, although she could not begin to guess which one. The prince was stern, a man better suited to commanding battles than courtly duties, she thought, and yet he stood at the forefront of the assembly to greet her. She accepted Prince Baelor’s hand as he graciously helped her off the carriage, glancing around as subtly as she could, hoping to catch sight of her betrothed. 

“My son, Prince Maekar,” the king introduced to her father and her, finally allowing her to place a name to the prince. The lessons she had hurriedly tried to memorise once news of her betrothal had surfaced came to her, placing him as the fourth and youngest son of the king, and the Prince of Summerhall. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” the prince grounded out, inclining his head even as his countenance reflected otherwise. He looked as if he would rather be anywhere but. 

“My grandson, Prince Valarr, first son of Prince Baelor,” was introduced next, and Kiera felt her breath catch in her throat. Her betrothed was dressed in black velvet doublet, embroidered with a scarlet three-headed dragon. He was tall and lean where his father was broad, yet had the shoulders of a man who trained with his sword but the air of someone who felt more comfortable in a library than on the battlefield. 

And his face, she had heard of the famed beauty of the descendants of Old Valyrian, had witnessed it in her cousins, in fact. And yet, nothing could have prepared her for her betrothed.

His face was fair and clear, not a single blemish or scar to be seen. His hair was as dark as his father’s and grandmother's, and threaded through it like the most precious of metals was a streak of silvery gold, proof of his Valyrian heritage. And yet, gods be good, his eyes was the most wonderous of all, mismatched at one sky blue and one earth brown, the very sky and earth seemed to be immortalised in his gaze.

“The embroidery is magnificent, my prince,” she managed through a wooden tongue, nearly rendered mute like a fool over her betrothed’s appearance, like a child of ten and not a soon-to-be princess at six-and-ten. And she watched as her betrothed very countenance warmed, his cool princely courtesy melting away like snow on a hot summer day to something much softer and warmer.

His eyes sparkled with pride as he raised a hand, the same hand that had held hers by a moment ago, and held it against the heads of the dragon over his chest. “Tis’ my cousin’s work, and one of her finest work, I would say,” he boasted proudly, beaming as he did so, and poor silly Kiera, too moon eyed over her betrothed, did not notice the grimaces around her. Prince Maekar might as well have been carved from stone, his jaw clenched so tight that he nearly popped a vein as King Daeron II shared an unreadable look with his elder son and wife. 

“You seem close to your cousin, my prince,” she scarcely managed to reply, nearly blinded by his smile, already half in love with this man she barely knew. Prince Maekar grinded his teeth audibly beside her, jaw clenched shut at his father’s sharp look and yet King Daeron II merely coughed once, pulling Kiera’s attention forcefully away from her betrothed to her good grandfather to be as he gestured to the red headed boy beside Prince Valarr. The boy was gangly, with limbs too long and freckles dotting his sweet youthful face, the top of his head nearly reaching Prince Valarr’s shoulders though he looked much younger than his brother. 

“My grandson, Prince Matarys, second son of Prince Baelor,” so the introduction continued on. Kiera scarcely noticed as Prince Matarys clumsily pressed a courtly kiss to the back of her hand, imitating his elder brother, too focused on the feel of Prince Valarr’s eyes on her. She longed to look back at him, to see that all consuming mismatched gaze on her and yet, it would not be proper. 

After Prince Matarys, she was introduced to a score of Targaryens, both old and young, dark and light of hair, and though she tried, she could not truly concentrate on it, still too consumed by thought of her betrothed. It would not be so bad, to marry such a man and bear his heirs, she thought. Countless women have had to do much worse, and with lesser men. 

Her first thought upon meeting Prince Maekar’s twins was that the Targaryens were a fertile lot, as they were the second pair of twins she had met in the family, and another boy and girl pair as well. These two were older than the first, and as startlingly similar to one another as the previous pair, perhaps even more so. 

The twins were young, with baby fat still clinging to their faces and limbs, yet there was the promise of beauty, a hint of sharpness already poking beneath the chub of childhood. And the colouring, gods be good, if they grew into the looks they were promised, it would not be amiss to say that they could be worshipped as descendants of the Love Goddess of Lys, even in the city famed for their Valyrian beauties. And those eyes, pale lilac and bright violet, staring at her like they wished to devour her alive, the power of a thousand dragons in their glare even as they greeted her in the courtly manner befitting of their station.

But, none of it was truly the reason the twins remain in Kiera’s memory when the other Targaryens did not. After she walked past the twins, she could no longer feel her betrothed's eyes on her, her back feeling strangely cold without the heat of his stare. 

After she and her father were settled into the guest chambers in the Red Keep, there was a knock on the door. The door opened to reveal Prince Valarr, still dressed in his black doublet from earlier, his cheeks flushed a light pink with his lips pinker than he remembered, so endearing that she could not help the smile that bloomed across her face. 

“My lord,” he bowed to her father, “I was wondering if I could ask the lady to accompany me for a walk or a ride.” He was perfectly polite, standing in the doorway of their given chambers, posture ramrod straight and she looked asken at her father, pleading silently for him to agree. And to her great joy, he did, nodding distantly before focusing on more important matters than his daughter. 

“A walk would please me greatly, my prince,” she replied, placing a hand into the crook of his offered elbow as he smiled distantly and politely, willing herself not to flush like the girl inside her wanted to. So caught up in her thoughts that she did not notice a flash of silver gold running from her chambers, or even the childish giggles that followed, nor Prince Valarr’s eyes following the shadows long after they had vanished from sight. 

The gardens were a sprawling network of passages, hidden and not. The gardens were beautiful, filled with flowers foreign to her, perfuming the air with their sweetness with large trees to provide shade. And yet, her gaze strayed to her betrothed more often than not, admiring his profile, the gentle slope of his nose, the way the sun turned his eye into liquid gold, the streak of silvery gold in his otherwise brown hair, proof of his Valyrian heritage. Not even realising what she was doing, she unthinkingly reached for the streak of silvery gold in his hair, only catching herself when he ducked from her. 

“These are my lady cousin’s favourite flowers,” Prince Valarr said, kneeling beside a flower bed next to a fountain. “They are called Love-in-a-Mist,” he revealed as he stroked one of the flowers, lilac in colour, staring into the fountain as if lost in memories, seemingly not to notice how she stood frozen where he left her, feeling as if someone had doused her with a bucket of cold water. Still, Prince Valarr prattled on despite the lack of response from her. “Her favourite are the blue ones, but I find myself particular to the lilac and purple ones. My lord cousin claims to not hold any in high regard, but I have seen him with a red one at times.”

“Your lord and lady cousin, my prince?” She finally managed to ask, and those wondrous mismatched eyes finally looked at her since they had begun their walk. The blue flowers were a near match to the colour of his blue eye, she distantly realised. 

“Yes, my lady. Princess Aella and Prince Aerion, you had the pleasure of meeting them earlier,” Prince Valarr replied, his tongue curling around their names fondly and familiarly. She wondered if he would ever say her name like that, and hated herself for the little flame of envy she could feel in her. They were family, and would soon be her family too, hence it should be nothing to be jealous about. 

“I….,” she stuttered, her mind drawing blanks, her hurried lessons seemed to have escape her and her memories of her introduction to the greater Targaryen clan had prove the same. Prince Valarr does not admonish her, but his sigh makes her feel small none the less. She could not helped but feel as if she had failed a test no one had told her about, and she wished that she could sink into the dirt beneath her feet. 

“My cousins, the Princess Aella and Prince Aerion, are my uncle Prince Maekar’s second and third born. They are both silver of hair with lilac and violet eyes respectively,” Prince Valarr clarified, his brow drawn tight and his shoulders stiff. 

“Come,” Prince Valarr said without waiting for a reply as he stood, brushing the lilac flower fondly one final time before offering her his arm again. He was still courteous as he guided her through the gardens, pointing out spots that his cousins love, and yet, his lips remained pressed into a hard, unforgiving line all the while. 

She hummed in interest when appropriate, watching as a bee drifted between the blooms, a golden colour that was insufficient to compare to the gold in her betrothed’s eye and yet, she suspected that Prince Valarr would have treated her the same as any other lady of the court. And she tried, gods know she did, to keep the gentle smile on her face as Prince Valarr mentioned his cousins once again. At this point, she felt as if she knew his cousins better than her own, and it had only been, she squinted at the sky, an hour at best. 

“Cousin,” a sweet cheerful voice rang through the garden, interrupting another of Prince Valarr’s stories of his cousins and Kiera could almost weep from joy. She already found herself wondering how she was going to endure this for the rest of her life. 

And yet, her relief was short lived as she watched the tension she did not even notice in her betrothed melt away like the ice she and her sisters would get as treats on the hottest of days. Her heart sank as she turned around, sighting the Targaryen twins with servants setting up a tea table in the pavilion behind them, elbows interlinked and waving at them. 

“Shall we, my lady?” asked Prince Valarr as he offered an arm to her, as courteous as possible and what could she do but take his offered arm. And even if he was just as courteous as he guided her over to his cousins, she could not help but notice the giddiness in his steps as he did so. He would be skipping, she privately thought, if he wasn't the heir of the heir, second to the Iron Throne.

The twins clearly did not have the same responsibilities tying them down as the princess disconnected herself from her brother before sprinting towards them, her skirts lifted to expose her booted ankles as she did so. Her brother only grinned sharply for a moment giving chase after his sister, the twins matching stride by stride as Prince Valarr dropped her hand to catch his cousin, spinning her around as he did so as if he had done this a thousand times before, his face buried in the crook of her neck. ‘And maybe he had,’ her traitorous brain whispered. 

The prince arrived at the second spin, snatching his sister from her betrothed and hugged her against his front, too close for propriety even among siblings yet none present but her displayed any surprise. She shifted uncomfortably, drawing the attention of all three royals present as she did so, watching as the courtly mask of a prince snapped over Prince Valarr, though a soft gleam of joy was still present in his mismatched eyes. 

“My cousins, the Princess Aella and Prince Aerion, my lady,” he introduced his cousins to her, stepping aside slightly from when he had moved to shield them from when she had startled them though she did not truly need the introductions. She could have deduced the prince and princess’ identity from their actions alone. 

She stared at the prince and princess, paying more mind now that she knew their importance to her betrothed. They were still as beautiful as they had appeared earlier, their Valyrian blood strong in their appearance in contrast to their cousin, and all the more unnaturally beautiful for it. But even more than their appearance, she took note of how close the twins were. Prince Aerion rested his head on his sister’s shoulder, violet and lilac eyes alight with joy staring at her side by side unblinkingly as their hair seemed to blend into each other, making it difficult to tell where one began and one ended. And yet, despite the differences between the cousins, they stood as if they were made for each other. 

“Would you like to join us for tea?” asked the princess, shattering the unintended stare off as she grabbed her cousin and brother’s hand, pulling them towards the tea table set up in the pavilion without ever giving them a chance to say otherwise. Watching the princes indulgently interlink their elbows with the princess’, Kiera doubted that they would have denied her anyways as she was left to trail after them. 

“All of you may be dismissed except for Celia,” the princess instructed as they reached the pavilion, the servants bowing as they excused themselves, leaving behind a blonde servant girl. The princes both pulled her seat for her, leaving the servant girl to seat Kiera across from the princess, much to her chagrin, and yet, none of the royals present seemed to notice it at all. 

She was left to watch as the royals busied themselves with the tea and treats laid out, a seamless routine that very much did not include her. She watched as Princess Aella scooped the cream off a lemon tart onto her plate before depositing the lemon tart on her brother’s plate; as Prince Aerion put the strawberries on his tart on his sister’s plate; as Princess Aella stirred two sugars into the tea and taking a sip of it before exchanging her cup with her cousin’s; as Prince Valarr sliced a cake in two, putting half of it on Princess Aella’s plate. The familiarity very much made her feel left out, as if she was the interloper in their perfect world. They moved as if they were the Targaryen sigil itself, a dragon with three heads and she the unwitting girl who stood before dragons and thought herself worthy. 

“Rose tea again, cousin?” Prince Valarr teased, his voice tender and full of unspoken things in a way that made her heart ache. He sounded like a man devotedly in love, and far from her reach even though he sat next to her. 

“From the Tyrell themselves, only the best for my sweet sister,” Prince Aerion replied before Princess Aella could, pressing a loose strand of her hair to his lips. And Princess Aella only laughed, pressing a kiss to her brother’s cheek. Kiera chanced a look at Prince Valarr, curious on his reaction yet he only watched them fondly, no signs of jealousy in him. 

She continued to watch, silent in a way only forgotten girls are, made small by circumstances and teaching both. ‘Girls are meant to be seen and not heard,’ her governess used to say. Princess Aella clearly had never been told the same as she laughed freely, teasing her brother and cousin as they teased her back, equals with them despite their gender, free in a way Kiera could never be. 

At some point, there were crumbs from a tart on the side of the princess’ lip, and Prince Valarr himself reached to wipe it off. “What would you ever do without me, Aella?” he asked, his hand still on her face even after the crumb was gone. 

“I would crumble, Var, so you shouldn’t leave me,” replied Prince Aella teasingly, and yet, it did not sound like a tease at all at the same time, her tongue flickering out to lick against Prince Valarr’s thumb. 

“Then I shalln’t leave you, Aella,” her betrothed promised even as he pulled his thumb quickly, his ears and the back of his neck flushed Targaryen crimson. Kiera despaired, wondering if she would be forced to watch this for the rest of her life, the legal wife and yet the interloper all the same. 

They finally remembered her existence when Princess Aella was making scones, spreading cream and different types of jams set out, apple for Prince Valarr, lemon for Prince Aerion and strawberry for herself, going as far as to feed her brother. It was surely a sight to behold, a prince of the blood of four-and-ten being fed a scone by his sister as if he was a boy of five. 

“Would you like a scone too, Lady Kiera? Var and Ae say that I make them best,” Prince Aella asked. Kiera thought rather uncharitably that Prince Valarr and Prince Aerion would say rocks tasted great if Prince Aella offered one to them. Still, she shook her head, her appetite gone from witnessing the interaction of the princes and princess. 

Princess Aella frowned, looking at the barely picked at tart on her plate and her still full cup of cold tea. “Was nothing to your taste, Lady Kiera?” The princess asked concernly, “I could send Celia to the kitchens to ask for something for you.”

Again, Kiera shook her head, forcing words out from the lump in her throat. “Thank you for the offer, my princess. I’m merely fatigued from my journey here.” 

“Oh, you should have said so. We have prepared a feast to welcome you and your Lord father tomorrow, so perhaps you should rest before then,” Princess Aella offered, giving her the opportunity to excuse herself, which she took gratefully. She scarcely heard Princess Aella scold her cousin for bringing her to the gardens as she left, her heart in pieces when Prince Valarr did not even look at her as she left. Instead, when she looked back, the princes and princess had their heads bent together, ignoring the world as they focused only on each other. 

The handmaiden fell in step behind her as she made for the direction of her accommodations silently and without Prince Valarr as a shield, however poor of one he made, she could hear the gleeful whispers around her. 

“That’s the girl? The one from Tyrosh?” 

“Poor child, to be between the princes and princess.”

“To be the legal wife and the other woman at the same time.”

“I would never put such a fate on my daughter, poor girl.”

And it took all of her willpower not to run through the gardens back to her accommodations. She was a soon-to-be princess at seven-and-ten, not a wild girl child in her family home, she would not run, her dignity would not allow it. 

To her great relief, her father was not in the chambers when she arrived, allowing her to be by herself. She did not think that she could face him in her state, for surely he would place the blame on her shoulders.

The next time she saw Prince Valarr was during the feast, where she was sat beside her father, who sat beside the king as a guest of honour. Prince Valarr sat on his father’s side, on the other side of the table and yet, she was close enough to see the way he looked at his cousins, who sat further down the table. 

The Great Hall glittered with thousands of candles, the smell of roasted meats and spiced wine mixing with the suffocating crowds of lords and ladies. It truly seemed that King Daeron II had spared no expense to welcome her father and her, and yet, it was regrettable that she had barely paid attention to the feast. Instead, her attention was solely on her betrothed and his cousins. 

Most of the younger princes and princesses did not appear for the feast on account of their age, with only Prince Valarr, Prince Daeron, Prince Aerion and Princess Aella the only ones of King Daeron II’s grandchildren who were present. How she wished that being four-and-ten was enough for the prince and princess to be told that they were too young for the feast, if only to spare her from the way Prince Valarr looked at his cousins. 

At first, Prince Valarr merely watched his cousins, his eyes barely moving from them even as lords and ladies came up to the head table to greet his grandsire and father, and consequently him. Even his father could barely pull his attention from his cousins, it seemed, watching Prince Valarr glance at his father before his eyes were inevitably drawn over to his cousins, sharing their meal as if they were a single person. 

Then, the music started. King Daeron II offered his hand to Queen Myriah Martell and they opened the dance, followed by Prince Baelor and his wife, Lady Jena Dondarrion, her future goodparents. She looked asken at Prince Valarr when the second song, a slow but cheerful song that she could not name, though she supposed she would have to learn soon enough, ended yet he did not even look at her, his eyes following after his cousins as they slipped from their seats to the dance floor, joining the rest of the lords and ladies, giggling as they did so. 

The twins spun each other around energetically, more than the song called for if the other dancers were any indication, yet no one strived to put a stop to their antics. The princess laughed brightly, her laughter seemingly carried through the hall to her cousin’s ears as he perked up ever so slightly, as she raked her hand through her brother’s silvery-gold hair, ducking as he reached out a hand to do the same to her. The prince and princess continued their game for the rest of the song, darting around one another as the lords and ladies moved to give them room, only straightening when the band started another. 

They danced to another song, and then another, three in a row, improper even to her scant knowledge of Westerosi customs. Still, the twins seemed not to care until Prince Baelor himself and his lady wife separated them, dancing with one twin each for a song. The song had scarcely ended when the twins returned to each other, flushed from dancing and the heat of the hall as they collapsed on one of the lower tables, sharing a cup of wine between them. 

Prince Aerion wrapped an arm around his sister’s waist, holding her so close to him she might as well have been sharing his seat, his face resting in the crook of her neck as she held the cup of wine, holding it to his lips in between sips, her other hand resting casually on his forearm as if it belonged there. The twins were truly like one being, she thought, dressed alike as if their shared looks were not enough to mark their resemblance. She watched as Prince Valarr made to join them, only to be stopped by his lord father, Prince Baelor shaking his head as he dropped a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder, shaking his head as he did so. Kiera watched as a mutinuous expression flashed across his face for but a moment, yet it was gone before she could even blink, his face returned to the mask of curious attentiveness it had been all evening. 

And yet, she watched as his perfect princely smile falter at the edges for but a moment when someone stood too close to his cousins, only truly returning when Prince Aerion snapped at them, his jaw clench tight. She watched as his knuckles turned white from where he gripped his cup too hard, the wine sloshing in it when someone complimented his cousins, as if the idea that anyone but him acknowledging that they were no longer simply children infuriated him. She watched as his princely smile gained a fond edge as Princess Aella all but practically sat on her brother to stop him when a lord offered a compliment. But most importantly of all, Kiera watched as Prince Valarr watched over his cousins with the territorial eyes of a dragon, forever guarding its most precious treasure. 

The gaps in his princely veneer were subtle indeed, especially to someone who had met him so recently as she had, but she was an observant child turned observant girl, for that is how vulnerable forgotten girls survive. And she knew that the raw and possessive streak she had only gleamed in Prince Valarr would mean that she would forever be the outsider between him and his cousins, no matter the legalities of the matter. Yet, she had no say in the matter, for that is how the world is for girls like her. 

Part of her wondered if songs would be written of them, and what part she would play in it. The pitiful wife who could not hold her husband’s heart, or the wicked woman who separated lovers, forcing them into the shadows, and yet, none of it would truly matter in the end. 

The truth she can see is this, she is to be married to Prince Valarr, who is a good man, but even great men have fallen awry to temptation, and his cousins are already more than temptations, they hold his heart in their young hands. She would spend a lifetime looking at every child Princess Aella bore, wondering if it belonged to her husband or her cousin, that every brown streak of hair or blue or brown eyes would strike fear in her, but worse of all, even if Princess Aella’s children bore no resemblance to Prince Valarr at all, he may still put them over her true born children with him, simply for who their parents are. 

And then there was of course the posessiveness in which Prince Valarr viewed his cousins in, tensed even now when they were in his line of sight, as if he needed them within reach at all times. She would be subjected to a lifetime of this, of watching her husband yearn for something while she stood beside him, knowing that she had no place in his heart, a lifetime of knowing that he was only her husband in name and duty.

A lifetime of knowing that every second he was unaccounted for was surely spent at his cousins’ side, where he yearned to be even now. And that was not accounting for the moments where he would be in the public eye with them, for they were a prince and princess of the blood, and his cousins beside, so it would not be shameful to be in their prescence.

So caught up in her thoughts of the future that she missed what happened, only really shocked back to the present by the gasps of the crowd. Prince Aerion had slammed a lord against a pillar with a sickening thud, his ringed hand clamped around the man’s throat. Even from afar, she could see that the blood, crimson against his green doublet, pouring from his nose.

Prince Valarr moved so quickly it seemed that he vanished and reappeared behind his cousins, a hand on Prince Aerion’s wrist where he was holding a dagger, ornately decorated with fine rubies. “He dared to grab my sister,” hissed Prince Aerion, more draconic than human, danger like a blade scraping against silk, promising dragonfire in every word. 

Prince Valarr froze, not in a way that signified panic, but the deadly calm before a storm and yet, before he too could move, Prince Maekar arrived. He grabbed his son’s shoulder, yanking him back from the man yet Prince Aerion still managed to shove the man away from him with such violence he collapsed to the ground, spluttering for air. Prince Valarr stared down at the man, looking as if he was considering kicking him for a brief moment.

“What the fuck is the meaning of this, boy?” Prince Maekar thundered, his face set in stone and yet before Prince Aerion, his face mutinuous, could reply, Princess Aella threw herself against her father. 

“He pulled me, kepa,” she sobbed against his chest, “so I punched him.” A murmur rippled through the crowd, princesses did not go around punching lords, no matter if the lord deserved it. 

“That bitch broke my nose,” the lord howled behind her, pulling another sob from the princess as Prince Maekar’s jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his neck were jumping, and his eyes burned with a cold, violet fire even as his hand rubbed his daughter’s back soothingly, a protective father and a warrior prince all at once.

“You laid your hand on my daughter,” Prince Maekar hissed, sounding very much like his son had moments ago, a son he still held by the shoulder even as his son had abandoned his glaring at the lord, instead pulling his sister from their father to his chest, wrapping himself around her and her around him. 

Prince Maekar let go of his children, stalking up to the lord as if to finish what his son had started when King Daeron II arrived, flanked by Prince Baelor, calling for the guards to escort the lord away. 

Prince Baelor looked at his son, standing behind his cousins, a hand on each of them, his face a mask of dreadful calm, princely veneer long gone, his eyes darting around as if expecting danger to pop up from somewhere. “Perhaps the children should retire for the night,” Prince Baelor simply stated and Prince Valarr nodded tensely, gently guiding his cousins out of the Great Hall, still clutching at each other like they meant to join as one. 

Kiera was sat at the solar provided when her father entered, his face like thunder and his steps louder still. He did not even look at her as he started pacing the solar, each step like a physical blow to her psych. 

“The king has asked to annul your betrothal to Prince Valarr. Instead, he has offered Prince Daeron.” Her father finally declared after pacing the length of the solar thrice. “Prince Maekar and Prince Baelor has offered to pay for your dowry themselves…” And yet Kiera heard none of it saved for the first sentence, for her overwhelming relief drowned out her father’s words. 

How quickly the wheels of fortune turned, she thought. A mere three months ago, her betrothal to Valarr Targaryen, second to the Iron Throne, had been finalised between her father and the King Daeron II of the Seven Kingdoms. And now she was to marry his younger cousin instead, while his sister takes her place as Prince Valarr’s betrothed and eventual wife.