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“Shh. We mustn't wake your father.”
A cooing that is barely the level of a whisper that is offered to the toddler that finds particular difficulty in the task of walking in the navy colored yukata though balance is eventually managed with the usage of his four limbs at his disposal.
And as long as he keeps sight of the blossom hued head and sakura patterned kimono of his mother and within the hearing range of his voice – all is well to the Ryoma.
“Ma. . .” Is his only word of agreement with Yuuji, his four toddler chubby little fingers grasping into the silk of his mother’s kimono upon his reach of them as their way is made through the estate and into the softness of the morning’s early light.
Only upon reaching the wooden stairs that would be their guide into the soft, lush grasses that lead into the verdant trees of the forest does Yuuji relent in his pace and retrieve the toddler that clings to his kimono – still half sleepy though both his amber and blue eyes may have fluttered open.
“You will behave when I bathe you.” The firmness in the voice of his mother is enough to draw the attention of Ryoma though it is softly spoken into the soft, fluffed tresses of his hair as he would not be frightened by such a gesture.
Ryoma is far removed from the character of the alpha that had fathered him – frightened by even the smallest of matters and possessing an attachment to the hip of his mother unlike any other.
“Ma.”
The simplicity of the singular word as one of his four thumbs arrives at his lips and begins to suck upon it in his moment of self-soothing – though Yuuji has attempted many times to avoid this behavior of sucking upon his thumb.
There is a pond of the clearest pale turquoise waters just within the forest as if shrouded away from the sight of the rest of the world by the thickly dense trees and other plants.
Upon Yuuji’s arrival to the estate, his mate had made an introduction of the beautiful, little place by way of him being unceremoniously thrown into its waters after a bratty comment for the third time of that day.
Yuuji had deserved that then, though he is not one to tease a child with such meanness – especially his own child. (At the very least he needs to be a grown and fully willing teen to be plagued with such teasing).
Upon reaching the edge of the pond that is lined with rocks of the smoothest surfaces, gleaming white and pallid beneath the light morning sun, Ryoma is placed upon the ground, accompanied by two towels and the soaps that will be utilized in washing him of his toddler dirtiness. His sucking upon his thumb is continuous until Yuujji has shed himself of his kimono with naught but thin undergarments and begins the removal of the toddler’s yukata.
“It may be a little cold at first, sweetheart.”
The statement with spoken with the gentleness of Yuuuji’s love, arms once more neveloping around the toddler whose four arms have come to cling around his mother as if a sloth that clings to its mother – and with gratitude, the boy makes the decision to squirm about as they enter the water.
Or perhaps Yuuji has just jinxed himself with that hope.
“Cold–!” The wail of the child’s throat escapes with such a force that his is nearly dropped into the waves of the water, though Yuuji’s arms have long become firm and used to the tantrums of a toddler all demanding and tired and this will be no worry.
Though he cannot help the frown that curls his lips at a particular noise beyond the bushes that border this clearing, suspicious against his ears and body stiffening with wariness.
Ryoma will not be lacking luck – this bathtime will be pleasantly short and not a moment spared to waste.
“First, let Mama help you wash your hair.” The squirming of his little body merely grows with the coolness of the water awash over Ryoma, each of his little hands curling into fists that demand the stop of this treatment against his mother’s body.
His demands for it to draw to an end fall upon ears with deafness as the petal colored tresses are cleaned with pretty smelling soap and the foam giving the smallest of tickles upon his nose.
“We’re almost done today.” Yuuji lavishes the tender skin of Ryoma’s forehead with kisses that are most affectionate and reassuring of the child’s importance to him.
Though his protests are continuous at each and every chilled touch of the water, Ryoma has settled into a kind of calmness and descends into babbling toddler talk as Yuji good on his promise to be quick in the process of bathing but ever through and not a speck of his skin going unclean.
The tension does not depart his shoulders as they take to leave the waters and Ryoma, ever the toddler of great sensitivity, has drawn on the emotional state of his mother.
All four arms have once more clung to the slenderness of Yuuji’s body, this time tight in nature, as if he possesses the ability to sniff out hostility.
Yuuji has just finished with the completion of redressing himself and Ryoma when the visitor comes upon the decision in the revelation of themselves to the front of the path that would guide them back into the safety of the estate.
“Mama! A little shriek laced with terror comes from Ryoma’s lips before his burial of his face against Yuuji’s shoulder, who has become tense with the apprehension and distrust of the silver haired stranger with an expression of cruel teasing marring their scarred features.
As if they were appearing to be sown from cloth.
“Hush.” A kiss is pressing into the softly washed tresses of Ryoma’s little head before his gaze is narrowing with complete fatality in the depths of his amber hued gaze, the basket of their things having long fallen to the ground.
“What do we have here? A delicious smelling omega and his child?”
The voice is a cooing sound sarcastic in its nature that draws an annoyed twitch of Yuuji’s lips and the growth of his wish to retrieve the blade tucked within the layers of his kimono.
“You two would make a fine meal.” A disturbing lick of the figure’s lips with a threat that has one of Yuuji’s hands at the ready upon his blade and another hand that holds his child to him.
“Especially if it means ridding the world of Sukuna’s spawn.”
Yuuji has never before felt his features shift into a snarl of complete rage with such rapid speed before, the growl emitting from his throat serving as a warning to the killer intending upon targeting both mother and child – as if the hackles of a mother tiger raising with the threat of danger around her cub.
“You’ll have to kill me before you can touch even a hair on my son.”
His words are half growl in nature and laced with such terror that Ryoma’s body becomes wracked with sobs in the very arms of his mother.
His heart is engulfed with guilt at the fear that is emitted from the son but he possesses the knowledge that this bloodthirsty thing will not account for the fact that Ryoma is but a child – one of purity and innocence.
“Oh. I’m all too happy to arrange that, Lady Sukuna.”
A twist of his lips in a sickening expression of sadism is enough for Yuuji to be drawing his blade from the sheath tucked away in his kimono because even a singular instance of loss could spell death for not merely himself but the life of his child as well.
And Yuuji does not possess any intention of the allowance of his beloved child’s death.
The enemy is the first to strike but Yuuji has made good skill with his blade through the hours of training he has honed beneath the tutelage of his mate himself – Ryomen had been most insistent upon the importance of his self-defense should he ever happen on a situation of this kind, without the protection given by Sukuna himself.
And this is that exact situation that he has been placed within.
The deflection against the mysterious figure comes with ease, however Ryoma’s terror shaken body and the strength of his sobs pressing against his chest makes for a difficult task in his defense against the aggressor and clinging to the child that holds more meaning to him than life itself.
And for survival. . . Ryoma may have to do without the affection of his mother for the time being.
“Sorry, little one.”
A quickened kiss of apology upon the toddler’s forehead and the most fleeting of the feelings of guilt before Yuuji is in search of a place that would ensure Ryoma’s safety for the time that he involves himself in this fight.
It tears at the very core of his heart to feign ignorance of the very wails of the child that calls for him to return to him – after all, there’s hardly ever been a moment where there has been a willing separation between mother and child. . .
But it is for the sake of survival that pushes Yuuji to this point, hiding him away from any potential view of the hunter that threatens death before his attention is once more given to the latter.
“So you’re pretty and clever.”
The enemy muses in a voice that is akin to a maddened voice, the sadism of his grin once more shown with clarity on his features with a lunge all seeming powerful in the direction of Yuuji.
“Always thought you would make some dumb, easy prey for me to catch.”
“Mistake on your part.” Yuuji’s words are hisses of a heated breath , chest heaving with the strain of fighting when his fingers come to grasp the blade once more and attempt another blow in the weak spot of the enemy.
It is a success initially with his managing to bury the blade into the thick flesh that is the other’s abdomen. But it comes with a cost to Yuuji as well – a stabbing motion is given in return and its target merely inches from striking the core of his heart.
Inches more and he would have departed from this world with a permanence that would have left his child without a mother – a cruelty that is more than any punishment a wound could inflict upon him.
“Seems like you got a little too cocky there, sweetheart.” A bloodlust laced grin follows the words as a tongue licks at the blood of the blade that had been pulled from the freshly cut flesh of Yuuji. “And I have no qualms about killing a pretty face.”
Yuuji feels his throat filling with the blood drawn from his wound and begins to trail from his lips in a thin, bloodied stream that splatters against the torn remnants of his kimono as bright as the sparkling of rubies against a blanket of snow.
He does not feign his ignorance of the wound that could quite possibly claim his life if he does not take caution in the continuation of this fight.
The loss of his blood is all but a certainty of his death if this battle is not drawn to a conclusion soon.
“You’re awfully quiet sweetheart.”
An approach accompanied by a voice so menacing that it draws shivers over Yuuji’s shoulders, vision becoming dotted with clouded spots of darkness that did not spell out well for him.
“Should I put an end to your–”
Yuuji raises his blade in an aim for a fatal strike against his heart and his vision dissipates into clouded darkness.
Yuuji awakens with warmth curled around his torso and back pressing against a surface that is akin to the heat of a fire, strangely solid in its nature and yet with a softness that he is able to burrow his head within and soak up such heat.
His vision is slow in arising from the darkness, though through its haziness Yuuji can find recognition of his son’s arms coiling around his neck and the familiarity of the beating of Ryomen’s heart against his back that is pressing against him.
The toddler’s drool is wet against the skin of his neck and he has buried his head in the comforts of his mother’s shoulder.
It has become most obvious to Yuuji that he has become cocooned between the multiple limbs of both father and child as he realizes that the weight at his waist is a muscular built arm binding him to the familiarity that is his mate’s chest.
The wound that had quite nearly pierced his heart and stolen away his heart strangely does not bear pain to him – perhaps because of the talent and competence are required of the healers of the estate or perhaps it is the presence of his child and his mate that draw comfort to him, a distraction from the pain.
“You little fool.” The hushed growls of the words are strangely tinged with a rawness that is uncharacteristic of Ryomen’s voice before one of his clawed fingers is tipping Yuuji’s face upwards to peer into the ferocity of his gaze.
“I did what I had to do-”
The words melt into the lips that are brushing over his own with a kind of tenderness that is reassurance that Yuuji is indeed breathing and within Ryomen’s arms and a kind of punishing pace that speaks to him as if to call him a fool once more.
Ryomen merely breaks away when their chests are heavy with the need for their own breaths and Yuuji’s lips painted with the dark swollen lavender of his kisses.
“Going out before I awakened and facing that kind of threat on your own. . .”
The growls that are deep within his throat are merely because of the strain of the worry that had been placed on his shoulders when his vision had fallen upon Yuuji’s half bloodied body merely inches from the deceased, formerly infamous Mahito.
“You trained me yourself to fight and defend myself.” A weak mutterance in his own defense and with a nuzzling of his head back against the warmth that is the space between Ryomen’s shoulder and his neck.
“Never to combat such an enemy as dangerous as him.”
The annoyance that is most evident within Ryomen’s voice paints a small smile against Yuuji’s lips, nuzzling further into the body of his mate that serves both as protection and pleasure.
Despite the accusing criticisms that had been flung from his tongue, in truth Ryomen does not have the heart in pursuing the argument with Yuuji, with preference to gather lover and child in the strength of his arms and and allowing for his face to sink into Yuuji’s pretty and sweetly smelling tresses.
“A mother will do anything to protect her cub.” Yuuji presses ever light kisses beneath Ryomen’s chin in his hopes of his mate gaining a semblance of understanding for his choices. “Even if it means risking her life.”