Chapter Text
The first thing Juvia felt that morning was warmth.
Not just the physical kind—though there was plenty of that, wrapped around her like a thick, lazy fog—but the other kind too. That elusive warmth that comes from deep within, like drinking something hot after being cold for far too long. It hummed beneath her skin, pulsed gently through her muscles. Her body felt… oddly refreshed.
Oddly, because there was no logical reason she should feel refreshed. Sting had absolutely, without a doubt, wrecked her. Oh—made love to her, she corrected with a dazed little smile, lips curling as she let herself sink deeper into the memory. Her brain was still a little soft from the night before, still soaked in the remnants of pleasure and the comfort of safety.
Her thighs ached with a sweet soreness, her shoulders were pleasantly tight, and there was a buzz under her skin like a pebble had been tossed into still water, and the ripples hadn’t quite settled. She’d never felt like this before. Not even after the first time they’d been together. This was different.
This was everything.
Juvia exhaled slowly, soaking in the light peeking through the curtains, the slow rise and fall of the chest behind her. Sting’s arm was draped loosely around her waist, his nose nestled between the nape of her neck and the slope of her shoulder. His breath was warm and steady against her skin.
She blinked, slowly bringing her hand up to her shoulder, running her fingers along the smooth plane.
Wait.
Her eyes widened slightly.
She remembered it. Clearly.
Sting biting her. The feeling of teeth, of heat, of something ancient and electric crawling under her skin. His dragon instincts wrapping her in something more than love—claiming.
She expected to feel teeth marks. Maybe the ridges of a scar. But all she felt was skin—soft and smooth.
Frowning faintly, she twisted slightly in his embrace, turning her head over her shoulder toward him—and then her breath caught.
There it was.
Right where he’d bitten her. A mark had bloomed into existence, like a tattoo, but not quite. Not ink. Not a wound. Something else.
A radiant shape sat low on his shoulder—a delicate, entwined sun and crescent moon. Faintly glowing. Ethereal, like magic ink beneath his skin. Her breath caught, and without meaning to, her hand reached out and gently touched the mark, her fingers hovering over it, awestruck.
What is that?
She didn’t speak aloud. She didn’t dare. It felt… sacred.
A wave of possessiveness—not her own—curled warmly around her like steam rising from a hot spring. She felt him even more intensely now. Not just his body, but his presence. Like his energy had woven itself into hers. Her magic hummed differently. Not stronger, not louder—but fuller.
She almost bolted upright in bed, overwhelmed by the rush of emotion, of sensation.
But the movement stirred Sting.
A sleepy groan rumbled from his chest as his arms tightened instinctively around her waist, dragging her gently back against him.
“Where d’you think you’re going, Lluvia?” he mumbled, voice rough and low, rasping with sleep.
Her heart thudded at the sound of it—her name in his voice, slow and soft and dripping with affection.
“Good morning, hubby,” she teased gently, reaching up to scratch at his scalp, her fingers weaving into his golden hair. His body tensed instantly against hers.
Oh?
She smirked slightly and continued. “Good morning… my love.”
His eyes shot open, clear and alert now, burning into her with a heat that made her toes curl beneath the sheets.
“I’m her's,” he muttered like it was the most profound truth he’d ever spoken. His voice was nearly reverent.
Juvia laughed softly, brushing her nose against his.
And then, suddenly, Sting’s gaze sharpened.
He pulled back just slightly—eyes locking onto her shoulder. Onto his mark. His breath caught.
And then he was on her—hovering over her, pressing her down into the sheets, a growl of satisfaction rumbling deep in his chest. His hand slid to her shoulder, thumb brushing over the symbol with something bordering on worship.
“Oh fuck, baby,” he breathed. “It took.”
Juvia blinked up at him, breath catching.
“What took?” she whispered.
“The mark,” he said, voice a low growl. “The dragon mark. The mate mark. That’s it—right there.”
She twisted her head to glance at it again. It was delicate and glowing softly, etched in something not quite ink, not quite magic. It was her. His.
And then he was kissing it.
Mouth soft, lips open, tongue brushing lightly over the mark like he couldn’t help himself. Then her neck. Her jaw. Her mouth.
“You’re mine,” he said between kisses. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”
Juvia was dazed—smiling, giggling softly as she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his chest.
“I was always yours,” she whispered.
But Sting was on another plane now—half feral, wholly in love. “You don’t get it. It’s done now. It’s real. The dragon inside me—it knows. You’re ours. Forever.”
His voice shook on the last word.
She could feel the emotion trembling through him, feel the weight of what this meant. It wasn’t just a claim—it was a promise. Something sacred. Something binding.
Her hand cupped the back of his head again, fingers threading into his messy blond hair as she pulled him down into another kiss.
“You’re mine too, y’know,” she whispered between kisses.
He groaned, collapsing beside her, dragging her into his arms again like he couldn’t stand the idea of being apart even for a second.
They lay there like that for a while—quiet, wrapped up in each other.
Juvia couldn’t stop staring at the mark on her shoulder. It shimmered faintly, like moonlight dancing on the surface of water. It didn’t hurt. In fact, it radiated the opposite—comfort. Heat. Belonging.
In her mind, she tried to describe the sensation, tried to put words to the tether between her and Sting now. But they all fell short.
He was everywhere.
In her magic. In her chest. In her bones. She could feel him in a way she’d never felt anyone before. Not even when they made love—no, especially not before this.
This was different.
This was complete.
“I love you,” she whispered, half into his chest.
“I love you too,” he murmured back. “More every second.”
The first thing Sting felt was bliss.
It wasn’t just comfort. It wasn’t just the softness of the bed or the warmth wrapped around him. No, it was complete, unshakable bliss. Like his soul had been spread across the world like a flat sheet, soaking up the sunrise—calm, glowing, eternal.
And then there was her.
That scent—sweet rain, ocean spray, and warm skin. That magic—soft, familiar, tied to his. That presence. His dragon was purring so loud in the back of his mind it felt like a lullaby, like a promise humming through every fiber of his being.
He didn’t even want to open his eyes.
But then—she spoke.
“Good morning, hubby.”
His heart almost burst in his chest.
Her voice was soft, husky from sleep, a teasing lilt curling on the last word like she knew exactly what it would do to him. And she did. It was like a siren calling him deeper into the ocean. His arms tightened reflexively around her waist, dragging her against him. Her back to his chest. Her heartbeat right there under his palm.
His thoughts stuttered to life.
She called me hubby again.
That was real. She said it. He didn't dream it. That was his mate. His bonded. His. The dragon inside him rumbled possessively, stretching like a cat in the sun.
She’s mine. She's always been mine. But now the whole world’s gonna see it. That mark? That mark on her shoulder? That means she’s mine. Forever. She’s not just Juvia. She's my Juvia. My mate. My wife. My everything.
When he finally peeled his eyes open, it was to her face. Sleepy. Glowing. Beautiful in the soft golden morning light. Her lashes casting gentle shadows over her cheeks. The edges of her lips curling into that lazy smile.
She said somthing again. “Good morning… my love.”
And that was it.
He was done.
Destroyed.
Sting groaned quietly, forehead dropping to her shoulder, lips brushing over the skin there. “I’m her husband,” he murmured under his breath, eyes wild with affection. “I really am.”
And then his gaze caught something that made his whole chest seize.
There.
On her shoulder.
His mark.
The bite had faded into something beautiful. Magic had bloomed across her skin—his magic, hers too now—shaped into a soft tattoo that shimmered faintly in the sunlight: a crescent moon cradled by the rays of a sun.
It was glowing.
She was glowing.
“You’re glowing,” he whispered, utterly breathless.
And that was when she went still. He felt it—like a breath caught in a bottle. Her hand moved slowly, softly, to her stomach.
“I hope the babies are okay…” she said, almost in a whisper. Like a confession wrapped in concern.
Babies. Plural.
Sting blinked.
Oh.
Oh.
That moment hit him like a boulder to the chest and a punch to the gut at the same time. The rush of pride. The tidal wave of protectiveness. The lightning bolt of oh, shit.
Because last night… last night he had absolutely, passionately, demonically devoured her. Had made love to her like he was carving it into the stars. And now—now the dragon in him was screaming about the babies.
He gently rolled them to their sides, slipping his hand under hers on her belly. “They’re okay,” he whispered. “They’re strong.”
She smiled, soft and dreamy, and nuzzled into his chest.
And just like that, Sting was gone again. Wrecked in the best way. His whole body tingled with the need to protect, to adore, to make her laugh, to spoil her.
We're married. We have kids in there. I got her glowing. The mark took. That means she’s mine—really mine.
He grinned, suddenly giddy. No one can touch her. No one will even look at her sideways or I swear to all the gods—
He stopped himself, chuckling under his breath as he kissed the top of her head.
Right. Gotta focus. She needs rest. Baths. Fruit. Massages. Nipple rolling. Oh. Yes. Definitely nipple rolling.
His grin turned feral.
Juvia shifted slightly and frowned up at him.
“Sting,” she said suspiciously, her hand poking at his chest. “What are you thinking?”
He tried to look innocent.
Failed.
A mischievous smirk twisted his lips. “I was just wondering…”
He tilted his head, eyes sparkling.
“…if there’s a third one in there.”
She froze.
Her whole body went still.
Then—SLAP.
“Sting Eucliffe!” she gasped, smacking his shoulder with a flush that reached her ears. “Don’t you dare speak that into existence!”
He started laughing so hard he had to bury his face in her neck. “I’m just saying! You’re extra glowy this morning! And you’re already six weeks, almost seven. You could be hiding a pair in there with room for one more!”
“Don’t you even start,” she warned, glaring—but she was smiling. Blushing. Glowing.
“You know what?” he said, eyes softening again. “It doesn’t matter how many. I’ll spoil each one of them.”
She smiled against his lips as he leaned in for another kiss, brushing her mouth with reverence.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he whispered. “You and them. You’ve been through too much. No more stress. No more fear.”
She looked at him, blue eyes shining. “You’re already taking care of us.”
He kissed her again, this time softer, longer. Then his lips trailed down to her jaw… to her throat… to the sun-and-moon mark on her shoulder. He pressed a kiss there, then another. Lingering.
“You look like magic,” he murmured.
He started moving, rising from the bed, still holding her against him. “Bath. Now.”
She groaned a little. “Stiiing… I’m comfy.”
“Nope,” he said, already scooping her up in his arms. “Dragon says bath. I say bath. We’re soaking. I’m washing your hair. Scrubbing your back. Rubbing everything that hurts. And—yes—nipple rolling.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I’m in love.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m your husband.”
She couldn’t argue that one.
Juvia looped her arms around his neck, snuggling into him as he carried her like she weighed nothing.
Sting did not lie when he said it would be a relaxing morning.
He’d done everything.
He’d drawn her a warm, scented bath and lifted her in with the same reverence someone would use to carry a sacred relic. He'd lathered her skin, washed her hair, kissed her shoulder where the mate mark glowed faintly, and yes—there had been nipple rolling. More than once.
The cup of tea in Juvia’s hands was warm, but not nearly as warm as the slow simmer crawling up her spine as she watched her mate stumble around half-naked.
She sat propped against the headboard, still tucked into the oversized knit sweater Sting had chosen for her—one of his, in fact, which still smelled like him. Her legs were folded beneath her, toes peeking out in cream-colored stockings that brushed just above her thighs. She should have felt demure. Innocent.
But no.
There he was, muscles flexing in the morning sun, skin still damp from the bath, golden hair tousled from her fingers, wandering the room in nothing but boxer briefs. His brow was furrowed in thought as he held two shirts in either hand, glancing between them like it was the hardest decision he’d faced in weeks.
Juvia sipped her tea slowly, letting the steam curl over her face.
Gods above, she thought. What a hunk.
Her lips curled into a secret smile.
Look at him… The way that vein pops when he picks up the deodorant? The way he just tossed those socks like they offended him? That’s a dragon right there. Roar, baby. Roar.
He turned, holding up the two shirts. “Babe, which one?”
Juvia tilted her head like she was considering the options, even though her attention had not been on the clothes at all. “The black one,” she said sweetly, “makes you look sexier. Not that you’re not sexy already. You’re very sexy. But that one makes you sexier-er.”
Sting froze mid-motion.
There was a pause. Just long enough for her to smirk into her teacup.
“…Thanks,” he muttered, ears turning pink.
She watched him apply lotion next—rubbing it down his arms, over his chest—and she nearly melted all over again.
“You missed a spot,” she said innocently, setting her cup down. “Want me to help?”
He glanced over his shoulder, already suspicious. “I think I got it, Ju.”
“Suit yourself,” she purred, licking her lips just because she knew he saw it.
She took the rest of her pills with the last of her tea, setting everything neatly on the bedside table, all the while keeping her gaze shamelessly on her mate. He’d moved on to his pants, tugging them up with a little hop, and she felt a wicked thrill rise up her spine.
He bent slightly to pick up something he'd dropped—a sock maybe, she didn’t care—but the moment he reached down, she whispered, “Do you know how good you smelled when you were on top of me last night?”
He dropped the sock.
She laughed softly as he straightened up and shot her a look that landed somewhere between fondness and frustration.
“You don’t play fair,” he said.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, innocently lacing her fingers behind her back.
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
She shrugged. “I’m just admiring my very sexy mate. And helping.”
“You’re going to make us late.”
Juvia tilted her head. “Late for what?”
“Our appointment,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The last one. Before we leave.”
“Oh right.” She smiled sweetly. “I guess we should go then…”
“Not if you keep looking at me like that,” he muttered.
She giggled, retreating back to the bed with a bounce. “You’re so easy to tease.”
He shook his head, finally finishing with the belt and tugging on the shirt she'd picked. As he buttoned it, she admired the way the fabric stretched over his chest.
“Gods, you’re hot,” she sighed, dramatically flopping back into the pillows.
“Stop it.”
“I can’t. You’re like a walking fantasy. It’s criminal.”
He grabbed his jacket and walked over to her, placing one hand beside her head and leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Appointment first.”
“Yes, yes,” she grinned, looping her arms around his neck.
“Juvia,” he warned, voice low.
“Yes?” she said sweetly.
He kissed her again, longer this time. “You’re mine, you know.”
“I know,” she said, brushing her nose against his. “And you’re mine.”
He kissed her one last time before finally standing up, brushing a hand down his shirt and straightening his collar.
“Alright,” he said, extending a hand to her. “You ready to go?”
She took it with a smile. “As I’ll ever be.”
Together, they walked toward the front door. She paused, glancing around the apartment with a soft sigh.
“When we get back,” she murmured, “we’ll need to finish packing. Clean everything up.”
Sting nodded. “Yeah. Gotta be out early tomorrow. We’ll be there a while.”
“Christmas with Fairy Tail,” she added.
He groaned good-naturedly.
She elbowed him. “Don’t act like you don’t love it.”
He rolled his eyes, grinning, and pulled her in for another kiss. “I love you. That’s what makes it worth it.”
She beamed. “Cheesy.”
“You like cheesy.”
“…I do.”
With fingers laced and hearts full, they stepped out into the hall.
The road stretched out before them, quiet and smooth, winter sunlight filtering through the windshield in soft, golden streaks. Sting kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting comfortably on Juvia’s thigh, his thumb lazily tracing back and forth against the fabric of her leggings. She felt warm under his palm—steady, soft, there.
She wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the window, a small smile curling on her lips as she watched the snow-dusted streets pass by. But her hand was on top of his, thumb moving in slow, soothing circles over his knuckles.
She hadn’t said much since they left the apartment.
And that was fine.
He didn’t need her to.
They were heading to a joint therapy session—recommended, apparently, after last week’s appointment revealed that one of the twins she was carrying wasn’t his.
That part?
Sting was chill about it. He was.
I mean… sure, at first it had punched him in the gut. But honestly? They’d already lived through the worst. Gray’s betrayal, the mind control, the trauma, the kidnapping, the uncertainty. Everything else now? That was clean-up.
This was the part where they got better.
Still, he couldn’t help the stream of thoughts that filtered in as he drove.
"So, like… what else is she gonna tell us? Are we talking about feelings today? ‘Cause I feel pretty straight. Like I’m good. I love her. She loves me. I’m not mad. I’m not jealous. I’m not—"
He glanced at her.
Her face was so serene it made his chest ache.
"—Okay, maybe I’m a little on edge, but not about the kid. I’m just worried about her."
He squeezed her thigh gently.
She didn’t look over, just pressed her palm flatter against his hand and kept rubbing her thumb in those slow, reassuring circles.
"She’s so damn calm right now. But this one’s easy. This session’s just about us—talking through the DNA reveal, how we’re handling it emotionally, blah blah blah. Nothing too intense. But the next ones…"
He knew.
They’d already scheduled the next few appointments. Psychiatric follow-up. Cognitive testing. Medical consultations about the pregnancy. Emotional readiness evaluations. It was a whole lineup.
Some of them were going to be rough.
Especially for her.
"We’re getting off light today," he thought, dragging in a breath. "But those next ones? She’s gonna come out of them drained, and I gotta make sure I’m ready. I gotta make sure she’s okay."
He risked another glance. Her hair caught the light like water, shimmering blue, her profile soft and thoughtful. That little smile hadn’t budged.
"I’m lucky," he thought. "I’m really… stupid lucky. I love her. She’s mine. Even if one of those kids isn’t technically mine by blood, they’re both ours. I already decided that. No going back."
The radio played low in the background—something calm and instrumental, the kind of playlist Sting had put on just to keep the energy soft.
Juvia finally turned her head a little, just enough to glance at him.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice like mist curling through the cab.
He smirked. “Yeah. You?”
She nodded. “Mmhm. Just thinking.”
He rubbed her thigh again. “Heavy thoughts?”
She shrugged, smile still in place. “Just… trying to stay in the moment. Today’s not so bad.”
He looked at her fully this time, gaze lingering on the way her lips curved, the way her eyes softened when they met his.
“No,” he agreed, returning his eyes to the road. “Today’s not bad at all.”
They turned down the final street leading toward the therapist’s office. Trees lined the road, their branches bare but elegant, reaching up into the sky like painted strokes.
Sting pulled into the lot, parked, and took a moment before unbuckling. His hand slid out from under hers, but only so he could take her fingers in his.
“You ready?” he asked.
Juvia squeezed his hand and nodded. “With you? Always.”
And together, they stepped into the warmth of the clinic, their steps light, fingers linked, hearts just a little steadier than they’d been before.
The room was quiet, warmly lit, with the faint hum of the sound machine in the corner masking the world beyond. Dr. Maria’s office had always been intentionally cozy—sage green walls, thick carpet underfoot, soft chairs angled toward each other rather than straight on. It wasn't a battlefield, she often said. It was a garden where the overgrown parts could be tended.
Sting and Juvia sat together on the loveseat, their hands intertwined. Her fingers curled lightly over his knuckles. He rubbed his thumb over hers in slow, absent strokes. It was the kind of touch that said: I’m here. I’m listening. I’m ready.
Dr. Maria greeted them with her usual gentle, even-toned smile. “It’s good to see you both again. I saw the follow-up note from Nurse Lilah and your OB team. Sounds like you’ve had quite the emotional week.”
Juvia nodded, eyes flickering to the cup of herbal tea Dr. Maria had placed on the table for her earlier. Sting just gave a single, respectful incline of his head.
“I read what was sent over,” Dr. Maria continued, notebook resting on her lap, pen poised, “but I want to hear it from you—your words, your experience. What’s come up for you in the past few days? What changes are you noticing? What emotions have surfaced now that things are… clearer?”
Juvia took in a soft breath. It puffed out her chest. Her shoulders trembled slightly.
“Well,” she began, and the sound of her voice made Sting squeeze her hand gently. “I’m pregnant with twins.”
Dr. Maria smiled. “Congratulations.”
Juvia nodded once more. “Thank you. It’s… been a journey.”
There was a pause, then she continued. “The biggest thing that’s come to light is… is that—” She hesitated. Her voice grew quieter. “One of the babies isn’t Sting’s.”
Dr. Maria’s eyes softened. She didn’t flinch, didn’t break eye contact, didn’t pity. “I see.”
Sting picked up where Juvia left off. His voice was measured, firm, but not cold. “We’re experiencing something that’s… supernatural-ish. The babies are twins—were conceived in some way we don’t fully understand—but they’re from two different fathers. One of them… was created in a moment Juvia didn’t consent to. You know the case.”
“Yes,” Dr. Maria said, gently. “I’m so sorry. That shouldn’t have happened to either of you.”
Juvia forced a small smile. “I’m not sad the baby is here. I'm sad about how. But I love the baby already. Just as much.”
Sting looked down at their joined hands, then up at her. He didn’t need to say anything. It was all in his eyes.
Dr. Maria nodded slowly. “Then that’s where we’ll begin.”
She flipped to a fresh page in her notes and leaned forward slightly, addressing them both, but especially Juvia. “Now, Juvia, I want to start by asking: would you like this topic—processing what happened, your relationship to both children, and your sense of safety and control—to be a main focus in your upcoming individual sessions? Or would you prefer we address it gradually, as needed?”
“Yes,” Juvia said softly. “I want to work on it. For the baby’s sake. For both of them. I want to be ready.”
“Good,” Dr. Maria said, writing something down. “That shows a lot of strength, and a deep awareness of how our emotions can echo through our children’s lives.”
She took a breath and looked between them. “Now, since this is a joint session, I want to bring up something that applies to both of you—but primarily to you, Juvia.”
Juvia looked up attentively. Sting followed suit.
“I know you’re already receiving medical and magical oversight,” she began, “but I’d like to focus on emotional and psychological health as your pregnancy continues. Specifically, I want to talk about postpartum depression.”
Sting tensed slightly. Not in fear—just attentiveness. Juvia didn’t react visibly.
“Postpartum depression,” Dr. Maria continued, “is more than just a phase. It isn’t a weakness. It’s a genuine, clinical condition that can arise within the first 48 days after birth, but sometimes sooner—or even later. And in your case, Juvia, we’re not just dealing with the usual mix of hormonal shifts, identity changes, and life stressors. We’re also layering in trauma. Not just physical trauma, but psychological and emotional violations of your sense of safety, trust, and autonomy.”
Juvia’s hand gripped Sting’s a little tighter.
“This doesn’t mean you won’t love your children. I know you already do. But love and trauma can coexist, and sometimes the trauma becomes louder, especially when the child begins to grow and resemble the person who caused that pain.”
Sting’s jaw tensed.
Dr. Maria noticed but didn’t comment. She kept her voice soft but steady.
“We want to break those mental associations early. Your baby deserves your full love—free from shame, confusion, or guilt. And you deserve to give that love without being haunted.”
She let the words hang in the air before continuing. “Now, while maternal postpartum depression is more widely recognized and studied, there’s something I want to introduce to you, Sting.”
He blinked. “Me?”
She nodded. “Yes. It’s called paternal postpartum depression. And while it’s less talked about, it’s very real.”
Sting furrowed his brow. “You’re saying men can get it too?”
“Yes,” she said, gently. “And often, they don’t even realize it. Paternal postpartum depression doesn’t always look like sadness or weeping. It can manifest as anger, irritability, withdrawal, restlessness, even detachment from the family unit.”
Juvia looked over at him, her eyes suddenly more alert.
Dr. Maria continued. “As the father, the fiancé, the protector—you’ve likely never had to share Juvia’s attention or care to this degree. Once the babies arrive, everything changes. Not in a bad way—but in a way that can make you feel displaced, or like you’re losing something.”
Sting’s mouth parted slightly. He didn’t speak. He was listening.
“You won’t be replaced. But you will have to adapt. And those adaptations can feel threatening to your identity, especially if you're exhausted, overwhelmed, or uncertain about how to bond with a child that’s not biologically yours.”
That landed like a quiet thunderclap. Sting blinked once, slowly.
“I’m not saying you’ll resent the child,” she clarified. “But you may experience emotions that feel like resentment, or confusion, or guilt—especially if you find it easier to connect with one child over the other. These things are normal. But we have to talk about them early, so they don’t take root in secret and fester.”
She looked between them both. “Paternal postpartum depression often includes symptoms like insomnia, changes in appetite, social withdrawal, outbursts, or a creeping sense of inadequacy. You might feel like you’re failing even when you’re doing your best.”
Juvia’s voice was small. “How can I help him?”
Dr. Maria smiled softly. “The same way he helps you. With presence. With patience. With space for vulnerability. You hold each other accountable, not just to be strong—but to be human.”
Sting exhaled slowly, running his free hand over his jaw.
“Damn,” he muttered. “I never even thought about that.”
“No one does,” Dr. Maria said. “That’s why we’re talking about it now. So when it happens—if it happens—you’ll recognize it. And you’ll talk about it, not bury it.”
The room went quiet again. Just the distant hum of the sound machine, the scratching of Dr. Maria’s pen on paper, and the steady breathing of two people whose lives were about to change.
Dr. Maria folded her hands in her lap and offered a small, understanding smile. “I know we went over postpartum depression in our last session, but given that you’re considered a high-risk patient, Juvia, I wanted to make sure we’re being thorough. So now that we’ve addressed those two key concerns, let’s continue with this joint therapy session.”
She glanced between them, then leaned forward slightly, her tone softening. “I definitely want us to work on some habits that may feel a little… dualistic or symbolic—not necessarily daily rituals, but consistent enough to help you both adapt to the changes coming your way. For example, something like reading together, going out on dates regularly, or even having a weekly meal that’s just yours. Maybe wearing matching pajamas on certain nights. These little things create a kind of stability, a rhythm that will carry you through until the twins arrive and beyond.”
She gave a brief nod, her eyes warm. “Something tangible, something you can hold onto that reminds you of your bond and helps keep your relationship tight.”
Juvia exchanged a glance with Sting and nodded slowly. He gave a faint smile in return, squeezing her hand gently.
Dr. Maria continued, “On the topic of relationships… we want you to work on this as a team. It’s important you understand that sometimes one of you will be at your lowest, and the other will need to carry more of the weight. You might have to give 20% when the other is down to 60%, or vice versa. Think of it as a balance scale—always aiming for equilibrium, even if the weights shift day to day.”
She smiled knowingly. “Communication is going to be your best tool. Talk to each other—about everything—and talk to us. Individual therapy for both of you is essential. And yes, twins mean this will take more work, but I have faith you’ll figure it out.”
Dr. Maria’s expression softened again. “I should add, though, I’m not a relationship counselor or psychologist, so I can’t offer much advice there beyond that. That would be someone else’s expertise.”
She paused, then drew a deep breath, turning slightly more serious. “Now, we need to talk about the psychological toll this situation may take on both of you. This is my biggest red flag.”
Both Sting and Juvia nodded attentively.
“One of the twins isn’t Sting’s, and I want to emphasize—this child is not the ‘odd one out.’ Juvia, you experienced a traumatic event, becoming pregnant with a child fathered by someone who violated your consent. Sting, you are supporting your partner who endured something unimaginable. Even if you don’t realize it, there is a layer of guilt under the surface for both of you.”
Their eyes widened slightly, surprised at the honesty.
Dr. Maria’s voice remained gentle but firm. “I can’t tell you exactly what you’re feeling, but based on my experience, I see this kind of self-blame often. It’s normal, but it’s something we’ll work through.”
She glanced at Juvia again. “Coping mechanisms will be key. This child may resemble someone else, but your love and mental well-being matter just as much as theirs. I want you both to think about this: are you committed to keeping this child?”
Juvia’s answer came immediately, a small but resolute shake of her head. “No. I want to keep both children.”
Dr. Maria smiled softly, a hint of warmth in her eyes. “Good. I’m not suggesting adoption—I just want you to be aware this will be a more complicated journey.”
She gently squeezed Sting’s hand. He met her gaze steadily, silent but receptive.
“Another point I want to bring up, Juvia,” Dr. Maria continued, “how are your senses these days? We’ve been working on your hypersensitivity, memory, and cognitive function.”
Juvia’s face brightened just a bit. “I’m doing better. I can retain more information now.”
“That’s wonderful,” Dr. Maria said. “We don’t want to ‘coddle’ you too much; instead, I want you to actively exercise your brain—read, engage in your favorite hobbies—but pace yourself. If it ever gets overwhelming, take breaks. We want to nurture your mental resilience.”
Dr. Maria glanced at Sting. “And Sting, I only have limited files for you because this is a joint session, but I don’t see evidence that you’re seeing a regular therapist. Have you thought about it?”
Sting’s eyes flicked briefly to Juvia, then back to Dr. Maria. “No. Not yet.”
“Well,” Dr. Maria smiled, “I recommend setting one up if you’re open to it. You can talk it over with Juvia, but therapy could help you be the best fiancé, the best father, and the best partner you can be. It’s about maintaining a sound mind for yourself and those you love.”
She closed her notebook softly. “That’s all I have for now. Do either of you have any questions?”
The room fell quiet, but Sting and Juvia exchanged a glance, both waiting for this moment—ready to speak, ready to listen.