Aiden groaned as he shifted on the den floor, belly heavy and uncooperative, legs screaming from the effort. The last month of his pregnancy had been nothing short of brutal. Three pups pressed insistently against his womb, tiny movements that tugged at his muscles and joints in ways he wasn't ready for. Every step was a negotiation with gravity, every movement a battle between pride and limitation.
"I hate this," he muttered, tugging at the edge of a blanket. It barely stretched around his growing belly, bunching awkwardly. His boots pinched mercilessly, and his hands ached from holding a stack of soft bedding in one arm while trying to shift a cushion with the other. "I hate everything about this…"
Theron's presence was immediate, quiet, patient. He didn't rush in, didn't try to take over, but the protective energy around him was palpable. Aiden's ears twitched as he felt the alpha's eyes on him, scanning for threats, for strain, for danger.
"You're moving too much," Theron said softly, amber eyes locked on Aiden's every strained movement. "Sit. Let me…"
Aiden snapped his head up, glare sharp enough to sting. "I don't need you to do it for me! I can handle this myself!" His hands trembled slightly from the effort, and he cursed under his breath, shifting his weight awkwardly on the floor. His legs ached, and his back protested, but he refused to surrender completely. "I'm not weak!"
Theron's gaze softened, but there was no leniency, no indulgence. He stepped closer, long white hair brushing against his shoulders, eyes never leaving Aiden's. "You're not weak," he said, voice calm but firm. "You're carrying three pups. That's strength, Aiden. But you don't have to endure this alone."
Aiden's chest heaved, frustration and exhaustion mixing with an involuntary pulse of warmth at the alpha's words. He hated needing help, hated the limitations of his body, but he couldn't deny that the gentle authority, the careful attention, made every ache feel a little lighter.
"I… fine," he muttered, jerking a hand toward the blanket. "But don't—don't think I can't do anything. I… I'll manage." Pride hissed from every word, his stubborn omega nature refusing to show weakness.
Theron inclined his head, amber eyes lingering on Aiden's movements. "You'll manage," he said softly. "But I'll stay. Watch. Guide. Protect."
Aiden groaned, sinking to his knees with an effort that left his legs trembling. "I hate being… limited," he muttered. His fingers went to his belly instinctively, feeling the babies shift and kick. "I hate that I can't hunt, can't patrol, can't fight… and I hate how much I want to do all of it anyway."
Theron crouched beside him, steady and calm, placing a reassuring hand on Aiden's shoulder. The touch was light, grounding, careful—not domineering, just a reminder that someone was here, fully present, fully protective. "You don't have to fight anymore. That's my job. You focus on carrying them safely."
Aiden's pride flared, mingled with the ache in his muscles. He hated the restrictions, hated feeling incapable—but there was no denying the safety, the love, the quiet power radiating from Theron. "I…" he began, voice low, almost a whisper. "…I don't like it. But… I like that you care. I hate it, and I love it."
Theron's lips curved in a subtle, patient smile. "Good. Then we're in agreement."
Aiden groaned again, shifting toward a soft pile of blankets he had begun to arrange earlier. Nesting instincts were stronger than ever—he could feel the pull to create a safe space for the pups, to surround them with warmth and softness. He tugged at cushions, stacked blankets, and moved materials awkwardly around the den, balancing carefully, trying not to strain his aching legs.
Theron hovered nearby, hands tucked behind his back, eyes alert for any risk. He let Aiden work, giving him autonomy but never leaving him unguarded. Every so often, he'd hand him a pillow or adjust a blanket, but only when Aiden's movements faltered, always careful not to overstep.
Aiden's ears twitched with irritation at every subtle intervention. "I don't need your hands," he muttered, trying to adjust a blanket by himself, only to have it slip from his grip. His body groaned in protest, legs aching, back screaming. "I can do this. I'm not helpless!"
Theron didn't respond with words. He simply placed a soft cushion in the perfect spot, standing back to let Aiden see the result. Amber eyes met blue, patient, steady, full of quiet pride. Aiden felt a flicker of heat in his chest, frustration mingled with… something softer. Something he didn't quite want to admit.
He collapsed onto his side in the nest, stretching his aching back against the blankets, fingers instinctively pressing over his belly as the babies shifted. They moved gently at first, then kicked sharply, and Aiden couldn't suppress a soft gasp. His body ached, yes, but the life inside him… it was stronger than any frustration, any fatigue, any prideful stubbornness.
Theron knelt beside him, brushing hair from Aiden's face, amber eyes searching his for any sign of discomfort beyond the physical. "You're doing well," he murmured. "They're safe. You're safe. You're strong."
Aiden huffed, pride and embarrassment clashing inside him. "I hate needing you… but I hate that I feel better when you're here." He closed his eyes, pressing his cheek to the soft blankets. "I hate it… I love it."
Theron's hand remained on his shoulder, grounding him, steadying him. "You'll always feel that way," he said quietly, voice like a promise. "And I'll always be here, Aiden. Always."
Aiden groaned softly, curling slightly against the blankets, letting the warmth, the safety, and the care wash over him. His hands moved to cradle the babies, tiny nudges pressing against his palms, alerting him, reminding him, grounding him. They were alive, moving, fighting to grow—and he would do the same. He would fight, not with claws or teeth, but with pride, with love, with unyielding stubbornness.
A soft rustle in the den caught his attention, and he froze, muscles taut. Theron's hand immediately went to his shoulder, grounding him, steadying him. "It's nothing," Theron said, voice low, scanning the shadows. "Just a branch outside, or the wind. You focus on the pups. I'll handle anything else."
Aiden exhaled slowly, frustration giving way to trust. His body ached, but his mind, his heart, was calmer knowing Theron was near. He shifted slightly, tugging another blanket into place, muttering under his breath, "I'm not weak… I'm not weak…"
Theron chuckled softly, amber eyes full of warmth and pride. "You're my omega. Fierce, stubborn, and proud. And you've never been weak, Aiden. Not for a second."
Aiden's lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. He hated that he needed this, hated that he was dependent, but… he loved it. Loved the care, loved the closeness, loved the way Theron never overstepped, never demanded, only protected.
Hours passed in quiet nesting, the babies shifting and kicking, the den warm and safe, blankets piled high, soft light spilling through cracks in the stone walls. Aiden moved carefully, slowly, but with purpose—every action a declaration of pride, every breath a reminder of his stubborn omega heart.
And somewhere far away, Evelyn watched. Her green eyes glimmered in the dim light of her apartment, screens glowing with live feeds of the den. She saw him moving, arranging his nest, Theron hovering with patient authority, hands steady and protective. Obsession twisted her expression into a mask of frustration and rage.
"He's mine…" she muttered under her breath. "And I'll get him. Somehow. One way or another…"
Back in the den, Aiden finally collapsed fully into his soft nest, exhaustion pressing down on him. His hands cradled his belly, babies shifting and nudging insistently. Theron knelt beside him, hand over Aiden's shoulder, silent, protective, proud.
Aiden's thoughts drifted, tired and proud and fierce all at once. Hate it… love it. The ache in his legs, the frustration at his limits, the stubborn pride clashing with his instincts—all of it melded into something fierce, protective, and intimate.
"I hate this… but I love it," he whispered, fingers pressing gently over the babies. "I hate it… love it…"
Theron's thumb brushed lightly across his shoulder, grounding him, anchoring him. "And I love you. Every part of you."
Aiden pressed closer to the blankets, exhausted, proud, alive, carrying three lives in his belly—and feeling more powerful, stubborn, and utterly unyielding than ever.
Outside, in her apartment, Evelyn's fingers flew over her keyboard, eyes narrowed, obsession blazing. She wouldn't stop. She couldn't. But for now, the den was quiet, safe, and full of life—and Aiden, fierce and proud, nestled in his instinctive haven, was untouchable.