Chapter Text
The moment they return home to the manor, Thee knows he can’t wait long.
He watches Peach carry the kids upstairs, laughing as Mharn insists on being held like a “sleepy koala,” their son already half-asleep on Peach’s shoulder. Peach’s smile is soft, warm — the kind of warmth Thee would kill to protect.
And that’s exactly why this conversation can’t happen in front of the children.
When Peach finally comes back to their room , rubbing his neck, he finds Thee waiting for him .
lights dimmed, his posture controlled, composed, but with something the tension Peach has learned to recognize.
Peach notices instantly.
“Kian?” he asks, brows furrowing.
“You look like you’re thinking too much again.”
Thee gestures for him to come closer.
Peach walks toward him, head tilted, confusion written across his face. Thee reaches out, brushing a stray hair from Peach’s forehead, letting his thumb linger just a second longer than necessary.
And Peach’s cheeks turn pink as they always do.
“Did something happen at work?”
Peach asks softly.
“No,” Thee answers.
His voice low. Careful.
Too careful.
Peach blinks, worry creeping in.
“Then… what is it?”
Thee takes a breath Controlled, measured, the kind he only uses when he’s trying not to overwhelm someone with the truth.
“I saw someone today,” he says quietly.
Peach freezes.
Not dramatically.
Just a subtle tightening of his shoulders.
Someone.
Not something.
Someone.
“Who?” Peach asks, voice barely above a whisper.
Thee watches him with a gaze that softens only for this man — the one he loves more than the empire he built, more than the power everyone fears him for.
“Your mother,” Thee says gently.
“And the man with her.”
Peach’s breath catches.
A sharp inhale, fast and quiet.
Thee steps forward instantly, placing a steady hand on the back of Peach’s neck, grounding him, anchoring him. Peach closes his eyes, leaning into the touch like he’s bracing himself against a storm only he can see.
“When?” Peach asks, voice trembling despite how hard he fights to keep it steady.
“Earlier,” Thee murmurs. “ At the park.”
Peach stiffens
fear, confusion, old wounds tearing open again.
“They saw you ,” Thee says softly.
"Did they see the kids? " Peach asks almost afraid of the answer "No they didn't " Thee adds quickly in an effort to reassure Peach.
Peach lets out a shaky exhale, relief and dread tangled into one painful sound.
He leans forward, forehead pressing to Thee’s shoulder, hands gripping Thee’s suit like he needs something — someone — real to hold onto.
“I don't want them anywhere near us.” Peach whispers. Voice low and resolute.
Thee wraps an arm around him, careful but firm.
“I'll make sure of it" Thee says voice absolute.
Undeniable.
A promise anchored in steel.
Peach pulls back enough to look up at him, eyes glossy, breath uneven.
“I don’t want to worry about me,” he says. “You already have so much on your shoulders—”
“Peach.”
Thee lifts his chin gently, forcing him to meet his eyes.
“Your past and more importantly your emotions are not a burden.”
Peach swallows hard, fighting emotion.
“It feels like one.”
“It isn’t,” Thee says. “It’s part of you. And I love every part of you "
"Including the ones that are wounded and bruised.”
“Being with you means protecting you. Standing with you. Taking on whatever tries to touch you."
"and I will, every time.” Thee says resolute in his protection.
Peach’s breath breaks.
It’s small.
But Thee hears it like a scream.
“You’re not alone anymore,” Thee whispers, thumb brushing Peach’s cheek.
“You have me on your side, on your corner . Always.”
Peach closes his eyes, leaning forward until their foreheads touch, grounding himself in the certainty only Thee offers.
✧☆✧
Peach had finally fallen asleep, exhaustion dragging him under mid-sob, his face blotchy and damp against the pillow.
Thee had tucked a blanket around him, but his hands were still shaking with barely controlled rage.
He stood in the dim room of the manor, staring at Peach like he could will the pain away.
His chest hurt just looking at him.
They made him cry again.
They made my Peach cry again.
Thee’s fingers curled into fists.
He could make a call.
He could make all of this disappear.
His men were waiting. Always waiting.
But Peach wouldn’t want that.
And what Peach wanted mattered more than Thee’s thirst for destruction.
He closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the storm clawing inside his ribs.
A soft patter of steps pulled him back.
Tiny footsteps.
Two sets. Quick, light, familiar.
“Daddy?”
Thee turned, all his fury dropping away in an instant.
There, in the hallway, stood his children—their children—still in their little pajamas, hair a mess of sleep, each clutching a worn toy they refused to replace.
His daughter took a step forward first, yawning.
“You’re being loud,” she said, voice small but brave. “It woke us up.”
Thee’s heart squeezed.
She looked so much like Peach.
Big eyes, soft expression.
But she had Thee’s frown, the little crease between her brows that appeared when she was worried.
“I’m sorry,” Thee said immediately, kneeling so he wouldn’t tower over them. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
His son peered past him toward the couch.
“Papa’s sleeping?”
His voice trembled. “Is he… okay?”
The child’s lower lip wobbled, and Thee felt something inside him fracture.
He reached out, gently resting a hand on the back of his son’s head.
“He had a difficult evening,” Thee said softly. “But he’s safe. I’m here with him.”
Both children walked closer, drawn by instinct to where Peach lay.
They looked at him like they always did.
Like he was the sun.
Like he was everything.
“Did someone make Papa sad?” his daughter whispered.
The question was a knife.
Sharp. Direct.
She was young, but not stupid.
Thee inhaled slowly.
“Yes,” he answered, because he would never lie to them. “But Papa didn’t do anything wrong. Something from his past came back.”
Their faces fell in perfect unison.
Then his son did something that broke Thee entirely:
He touched Thee’s cheek with his small hand, like he was comforting him.
“It’s okay, Daddy,” he said. “You make things better. You always do.”
Thee felt his throat tighten.
He had commanded soldiers without flinching.
Had stared down enemies twice his size.
Had spilled blood without losing breath.
But a single sentence from this tiny human made his eyes burn.
“Come,” Thee whispered. “Let’s sit with him.”
The kids hurried to the couch, carefully climbing onto it.
His daughter curled up against Peach’s chest, tiny fingers gripping Peach’s shirt.
His son nestled behind Peach’s back, fitting there perfectly, his forehead pressed between Peach’s shoulder blades.
Peach murmured in his sleep, automatically pulling both children closer.
A family instinct.
A bond no threat could break.
Thee stood still for a moment, watching the scene.
The three hearts he would kill and die for tangled together in soft sleep.
His rage cooled instantly.
Extinguished.
Replaced by something warm and aching and impossibly tender.
His family.
His everything.
“Daddy,” his daughter whispered, patting the space beside her, “come too.”
Thee didn’t hesitate.
He sat at the end of the couch, one hand resting on Peach’s ankle, the other gently stroking his daughter’s back as she settled in.
His son’s foot pressed against Thee’s thigh, seeking his presence.
And for the first time that night, Thee felt his breath steady.
The storm inside him quieted.
This little universe curled around Peach.
This was why he fought.
Why he endured.
Why he softened.
Why he would always, always choose them.
Especially Peach.
Especially now.