#i have a chapter or perhaps a few chapters in mind that i want to explore this side of ianto with

[sukunahs]

sweet tooth | ryomen sukuna

episode 2: under your spell

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (university au)

summary: sukuna has a notorious reputation on campus of being terrifying, but it's hard to be too scared of the guy when he shows up to your family’s failing bakery every day to buy strawberry shortbread.

when your life feels like its falling apart you discover just how sweet he can be.

word count: 6.7k

content: 18+ mdni, eventual smut, university au, FLUFF, angst, humor, slow burn, idiots in love, miscommunication, parental illness/death, grief, money issues, stress and overwork, introverted reader, both sukuna and reader are so confused

a/n: when I think about sukuna in this fic I always imagine this art of him its just so good omg

series masterlist | ao3 | previous chapter (ch1) | next chapter (ch3) (coming soon)

Not a single word had entered Sukuna’s head since he’d sat down for his morning lecture. His head resting on his arms as he stared down at the professor, pretending to listen to the man drone on about some equation, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. 

All he could think of was you. How cute you’d looked when you’d smiled up at him, how lovely the sound of your voice was, how amusingly skittish you’d been around him when he’d first made an appearance at your bakery. 

And most of all, how gentle your touch had been as you’d dabbed blood off his face. 

The entire interaction was playing over and over again in his head, and he couldn’t understand just what was wrong with him. 

He wasn’t the sort of guy who thought about girls like this. He’d never had a girlfriend, had never been interested before. Sure, he’d had a lot of sex, but there was never any attachment involved, it just wasn’t something he’d ever wanted. 

And yet here you were, nestling yourself into his mind like some sort of pretty parasite. 

It had been nice to officially meet you. He’d become accustomed to admiring you from afar, hearing your father’s stories and noticing you across campus. But never trying to approach you because a. He was technically a stranger to you, and b. Why should he care about the daughter of one of his dad’s friends anyway? 

It would’ve been weird if he ever tried talking to you before yesterday. In his mind you’d been this fictional character - someone that he heard about but never actually crossed paths with. But now that entire view had been shaken, and the strangest part was that he was insanely grateful that was the case. 

Because he’d had a weirdly good time with you yesterday and for some reason he wanted more. Which was not his usual experience with women. 

It was a little pathetic how regularly he’d been checking his phone throughout the lecture. He’d gotten you to exchange contact details with him before dropping you home yesterday and had been praying you’d shoot him a text. He’d brought up your number a few times already this morning, composing a text and then deleting it. 

You’d agreed to meet him at the bakery later anyway, he didn’t want to come across as too needy - that wasn’t the type of person he was. Besides, from the way your father talked about you he was pretty sure that you had a phenomenally low social battery and he didn’t want to put you off. 

Not that he could understand for a second why he was even worried about that. What did it matter if you liked him or not? There was no shortage of girls throwing themselves at him everyday, and you were nothing like the vapid women that he’d usually go for when he wanted to have sex. But perhaps that was just it - you were something different to usual, and different was interesting. 

He practically jumped out of his skin when his phone vibrated, almost dropping it under the desk as he fumbled the object in his hand, ecstatic at the idea that you’d decided to text him. Unfortunately it was just Satoru dropping a message into their groupchat, which was decidedly much less interesting. 

[blue-eyed freak]: meeting on the roof at lunch? 

Sukuna rolled his eyes and dropped his phone back onto the desk. Someone else could give that idiot his answer - they always met on the roof for lunch, he hardly needed to ask everyday, you’d think he was dropped on his head as a baby or something. 

He wasn’t going to be fooled by the next few vibrations of his phone, knowing that it was probably just Suguru or Choso replying in the chat, and he certainly didn’t care about that. He was far too preoccupied wondering what you were doing right now. 

You’d said that you had morning lectures, for all he knew you could be just a few rooms over - wasn’t that an enticing thought? 

There was a part of him that wondered if he’d be able to engineer a way to bump into you after his class was over, but he decided that would be far too pathetic. It was already lame how much he was thinking about you, he’d have officially lost his mind if he started switching his habits for you one day after your first meeting. 

It didn't matter, he’d get to see you later anyway. 

By the time lunch rolled around he was all but ready to skip his afternoon classes and head over to the bakery early. But he wasn’t exactly sure when your lectures finished, and he didn’t want to show up early only to find your father or aunt attending the counter instead of you. That would suck. 

So that left him making his way up to the roof to hang out with his friends for a bit before his afternoon lectures. It had been their dedicated meeting spot for three years now, ever since they’d first forged this friendship back when they’d all joined the basketball team in first year. The roof was technically off-limits, which meant that they were generally the only people up here, making it the perfect place for them to smoke on campus grounds. 

Usually their lunches were relatively peaceful, the five of them talking about stupid shit like which girls they’d hooked up with lately, which game they were going to play together later when hanging out on discord, whether they could eat one-hundred salmon nigiri in an hour - whatever came to mind. 

But today, for some reason, he emerged through the fire escape to a full blown argument between Satoru and Suguru. Choso was standing between them trying to mediate, while Toji stared at them from his seat on the wall, observing nonchalantly. Tending to fall on Toji’s side of the scale when it came to nonchalance, Sukuna didn’t bother trying to intervene, taking a seat next to the raven-haired man and lighting up a cigarette. 

“What’s their deal?” He asked. 

Toji shrugged. “They’re having a domestic.” 

Satoru had completely lost his composure, waving his hands around as he spoke, while Suguru seemed to be batting back any of his retorts with ease and grace. From what he could discern from the insults being hurled back and forth, the root of this argument was something to do with a girl that they’d both slept with and had now descended into the two of them airing complaints about how much the other sucked as a housemate. 

He wasn’t really sure why they were so bothered about sharing the same girl - it wasn’t like this would be the first time, and they spent so much time joined at the hip that they might as well just date each other. But it didn’t really seem like they were ready to confront that yet, so instead they had to make their issues everyone else’s problem. 

“Come on.” Choso reasoned. “We have a game tomorrow. Can’t you guys just kiss and make-up?” 

“Fuck you!” Satoru called out. 

Choso’s statement was clearly not the most appropriate wording for the situation, unsurprising considering that Choso was far from the most socially adept member of their group. That award no doubt went to Suguru, whose skills were in full action as he effectively made out Satoru to be the villain in their little argument, even though Sukuna doubted that was actually the case.

Satoru was an annoyance, but he definitely wasn’t a bad guy. 

Deciding that he didn’t want to get burnt further, Choso let out a sigh and left them to it, leaning against the chain link fence just down from where Sukuna and Toji were sitting. 

“Cigarette, Cho?” Sukuna asked, holding one out to him which he took gratefully. 

“What happened to your face?” Choso asked, gesturing to the purpling bruise on Sukuna’s cheek. He’d almost forgotten it was there, the events of last night seeming somewhat distant. 

“Got in a fight.” 

“With who?” Toji asked. His tone was a little offended, as if he was sad he’d been left out. 

“Just some drunk guys, no big deal.” 

Before any more questions could be asked on the matter, a fresh round of insults came flying loudly from the lovers spat happening mere feet away. 

“Can you guys try talking to them?” Choso asked after taking a long drag of his cigarette, evidently exasperated by the situation. Toji and Sukuna glanced at each other before both offering a noncommittal shrug. Choso glared at them. 

“Look, they’ll go home later and play some stupid video game while smoking weed and they’ll have forgotten all about this by the morning.” Toji reasoned. He had a point, whenever the two fools had argued before it was never particularly long-lived. 

Sukuna had already lost interest, drowning out the conversations around him as he stared down at the campus. Most of the time he wasn’t interested in what was going on in the space below, and wasn't really interested today. Or at least, not until his eyes moved across to the windows of the building opposite him and he saw you. 

There was no mistaking that it was you, with your cute little outfit and pretty smile. Although, he had to admit that he wasn’t pleased that the smile was currently being directed at someone else. 

You were standing by the window, engaged in what looked like a lively conversation with a tall blonde man. You were giggling and he was smiling at you fondly, and Sukuna found that he didn’t like the odd feeling that settled in his chest at the sight. 

His mind strayed to the night before, considering the feeling of your smaller hands pressing against his damaged cheek. 

Your hands against his skin had felt nice. 

“Oh, it's Nanami!” Satoru was standing beside him now, Suguru standing across on the other side of the roof, the argument clearly on a temporary pause while Suguru took a smoke break. Satoru had followed Sukuna’s gaze over to the other building, watching the interaction go down. 

Nanami. Sukuna should’ve recognised him - he’d been Satoru’s roommate in their first year of university so he’d seen the blonde around fairly often. But the two of them had never grown particularly close, Nanami had only really developed a friendship with Satoru and Suguru - he was far too serious a person to fit in with their whole group. 

But his serious nature clearly wasn’t stopping you from thinking he was hilarious, with the way you seemed to be giggling right now. Sukuna was confident that he could make you laugh harder than Nanami could, he wasn’t sure that man even knew what a real joke was. You were probably just being polite - he hoped. 

“We should invite Nanami up here at some point.” Suguru called from across the roof, a shit-eating grin on his face. “He’d tell you how unreasonable you're being.”  

Impressively Satoru didn’t rise to the bait. 

“He’s too cool for us now. Too busy with his little army of nerds like her.” Satoru shot back.

Sukuna glared at Satoru for that comment, but said nothing. It wasn’t like he was going to stand up for someone he hardly knew - if he came out with the words: ‘I think she’s endearing’ he would no doubt become the laughing stock of their group chat for the foreseeable future. 

Hell, even he was embarrassed that his brain would come up with that.

Maybe if he got to know you a little better he’d tell Satoru to lay off on saying stuff like that, but right now it just wasn’t worth the battle. Or the humiliation. 

Besides, he didn’t really want to put you on the radar of any of his friends anyway. Toji and Satoru were notorious for trying to seduce any girl that was available to them, especially if someone else in the group had expressed an interest. He really didn’t want to catch either of them trying to entice you into their bed. 

Not that you seemed the kind of girl who would be interested anyway. 

“Do you think she’s his girlfriend?” Satoru asked as he watched for a bit longer. “I mean she is cute, he was always into the preppy types.” 

Sukuna sure hoped not. Based on his recent conversations with your dad he was pretty sure that you weren’t seeing anyone - in fact, your father had basically called you a shut-in, claiming that over the last year or so you’d become basically allergic to socialising, choosing to spend most of your time alone. 

But he supposed you might just be in the talking phases with Nanami, not quite dating yet but on the way towards it. Perhaps that’s why you were so reluctant to let him buy you a cake - because you were already halfway taken and wanted to let him down easy. 

It wasn’t like he could complain. He’d only just officially met you, he was just testing the waters - he had no right to you as things currently stood, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted something like that. Although, the way his heart was pounding at the thought of you right now, he really wasn’t sure. 

What was wrong with him? He needed to get a grip. 

“Who cares?” He mumbled to Satoru as he turned his gaze away from you, pretending to be far more interested in his lighter which he was flicking dexterously between his fingers. 

“What’re we playing later?” Toji asked, not at all interested in conversation about Nanami. Toji hadn’t gotten along with the blonde at all, constantly referring to him as ‘the wet blanket’ back in their first year of university, claiming that he sucked the fun out of everything. 

Sukuna wouldn’t particularly disagree. He and Toji did always tend to be birds of a feather when it came to opinions. 

“I wanna play Peak.” Satoru answered quickly. That sounded good to Sukuna, he liked that silly little climbing game, especially when he could let his friends fall to their deaths. Not that he was sure he’d be able to play tonight anyway. 

“That’s only four players.” Choso argued.

“That’s not a problem right now. I don’t want him to play.” Satoru said childishly, jabbing a finger in Suguru’s general direction. Suguru seemed unbothered, scrolling through instagram reels as he took a long drag from his cigarette. 

“Don’t be childish.” Choso scolded. “We could play Rematch instead? That way we can all play.” 

Satoru looked almost offended at the suggestion, clearly trying to seek out any opportunity to exclude Suguru. But none of them were stupid, by the time they hopped on discord together later, the two fools would’ve no doubt forgotten they’d even had an argument.

“I won’t be on until later in the evening, so you guys can play Peak without me.” Sukuna said, putting out his cigarette against the wall. 

“Got a date?” Toji asked. 

“Something like that.” He mumbled, not keen to divulge any details about you or the fact that this date was far sweeter than anything that his buddies would generally expect from him. 

“So, I guess the time that you’ll be able to come online will be dependent on how long it takes you to get her out of your bed?” Toji snickered, wise to Sukuna’s usual ways of pulling a girl - doing the bare minimum of buying her a drink at the bar, bringing her home for a quick fuck, and then kicking her out as soon as he’d had enough without even an exchanged phone number. 

That definitely wasn’t his plan for this evening. It was never going to be his plan for you. 

Besides, he severely doubted that you were the type of girl who’d ever be willing to do such a thing. Your dad had said you’d had a boyfriend briefly in your first year, but there was a part of Sukuna that figured you were probably still a virgin. You came across about as innocent as a person could be. 

“Sure.” Sukuna waved him off. Toji didn’t need to know anything. 

—

It was just starting to get dark by the time Sukuna showed up at the bakery, with closing time approaching rapidly. 

But that was just what he wanted - he figured that the cafe would be completely dead at this time like it was yesterday, and that meant that he could have you all to himself. He’d get to have a normal conversation with you, one where you weren’t scared out of your mind thanks to him or some creepy salarymen in an alley. 

As he peered through the glass door he saw you standing behind the counter, leaning forward over the surface as your eyes skimmed a book that you seemed thoroughly engrossed in. You looked cute, your face twisted into a deep look of concentration as you scribbled something down in a notebook. 

For someone like Sukuna, the idea of studying while at work was completely unheard of. He barely studied with all the free time that he had now, only ever really making trips to the library when he had coursework to submit. When it came to exams he’d generally review his lecture notes the night before and hope it was enough. 

Generally it was. 

It was cute the way that you practically jumped out of your skin as he pushed through the door, the bell alerting you to his presence. You’d clearly been so taken with whatever you were reading that you’d completely stopped paying attention to your surroundings. 

Not the best idea considering yesterday’s debacle, but he wasn’t about to scold you for it.

“Evening, angel.” He said with amusement at the sight of your startled expression, which quickly shifted to frustration at the realisation that he was taking joy in your fear. 

“Do you always have to be so scary?” You huffed, snapping your book closed. 

He chuckled. “All I did was open the door, maybe you need to be less skittish.” 

You said nothing to that, silence settling awkwardly over the cafe. He got the sense that you weren’t particularly sure how to act with him yet, clearly suspicious of his intentions even if he had come to your rescue yesterday.

Luckily he wasn’t so easily deterred.

“What do you want to eat?” He asked, and you balked at him. 

“Huh? I’m the one who works here?” You looked visibly confused, it should really be you asking him that question. 

He rolled his eyes. “I said yesterday that I’d buy you a cake, so pick one.” 

“I can literally have these for free in like twenty minutes when we close?”

“Are you always this difficult?” Sukuna asked, feeling a little exasperated. He was foolish to assume that your quiet, social-avoidant nature would make things easy. “I’m just trying to do something nice.” 

That seemed to work, because your whole face went red. It was adorable. 

“Fine…” Your eyes scanned the cabinet for a moment before pointing to a slice of Hokkaido cheesecake. Sukuna noted that you’d opted to choose the cheapest option, but he said nothing - perhaps that just happened to be your favourite. 

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He rummaged in his hoodie for his wallet before placing some yen down on the counter. “I’ll have the strawberry shortcake.” 

“Is that all you eat?” You asked, as you busied yourself plating up the two items. 

“It's objectively the best choice.” 

You handed him his plate before placing your own down on the counter, mumbling a gentle thank you to him as you stared down at the cheesecake, clearly planning on staying at the counter to eat it rather than sitting with him. 

He certainly wasn’t about to let that happen. 

“Gonna leave me all alone over there?” Sukuna asked, injecting a bit of hurt into his tone because you seemed like the kind of person who would easily fold if you felt guilty. 

“I’m still working, you know?” 

Sukuna made a show of looking around the empty cafe, highlighting the fact that there were currently no customers and it was highly unlikely that any more were about to show up between now and closing time.

“Looks like it's just me, angel. I’m sure you can run back to the counter if anyone comes in.” He could see the conflict on your face, it was becoming evident to him that you were a stickler for rules, the kind of girl who was always doing what she was told. His complete opposite, he supposed. 

With a heavy sigh you gave in to him, following him over to the table by the window and taking a seat across from him, eyes focussed on your cheesecake as you picked at it with your fork, clearly a little nervous to look up at him. 

“Are you doing okay, after yesterday?” He asked, referring to the situation in the alleyway. If he was a woman that moment probably would’ve injected him with fear for months afterwards - at the very least his trust in men would be shattered. 

“All okay. Honestly I’ve got way too much going on right now to really dwell on it.” You said with a nervous laugh.

He wondered if you had too much going on to dwell on him like he’d thought about you that morning. He didn’t like the idea that he hadn’t even crossed your mind since last night - that you’d completely forgotten his existence until he walked through the door just minutes ago. 

“Yeah?” He asked, inviting you to continue. 

“Yeah. Between working here and trying to keep up with all my uni work, I just feel like I’m spread thin.” You said with a sigh, taking a small forkful of cake, still not really looking at him which was annoying because he wanted you to give him your full attention like you were doing for Nanami earlier. 

“Mmmm, I assumed that from the reading while on the job.” He said with a wave of his hand, gesturing towards the closed book left on the counter. “What are you reading anyway?” 

“House of Leaves. To be honest it isn’t really my thing, I’m just reading it because I have to write a paper on it for class.”

“That’s the one with the weird formatting, right? The horror book?” You looked up at him with surprise, which made him feel very smug. It was clear that you didn’t expect him to be all that well read, he’d noticed you staring at him strangely when he’d pulled out a book yesterday. 

It was funny that you’d assume that considering that he was actually an avid reader, and had been ever since he was a kid. He’d consumed basically every well-known fantasy and sci-fi out there throughout his teenage years, although lately his genre of interest tended to be horror.

“Yeah. It's interesting - pretty terrifying actually. Feels like something that could maybe be real? As if you’re the new Navidson and you’re discovering his account of all the weird things that happened to him.” 

“Navidson?” 

“The main character.” 

He liked that you were holding his gaze now, he got the sense that you were emboldened when talking about things that you were interested in. Your eyes were sparkling a little as you discussed the book, clearly happy to be able to talk about it with someone that would listen. 

“I saw someone on reddit say they started hallucinating after reading it.” He said, grinning as your expression filled with alarm, clearly not familiar with that particular post.

“What!? Things are hard enough as it is, if the size of my house starts changing and I start hallucinating doorways it might all be over for me. All for a uni assignment too…” You said, the exasperated lilt to your voice making him chuckle. 

God you were cute. 

“People are dramatic. That guy was probably just schizophrenic.” He said, brushing it aside in an attempt to put your mind at ease. “But the book sounds pretty cool, maybe I should give it a read.” 

“You’re reading The Ship of Theseus, right?” You asked, and he decided that he very much liked how much interest you were showing in him now that he’d steered the conversations to books. “How are you finding it?”

“It’s pretty good. I like the mystery aspect of it, although it’s hard to keep track of all the potential authors they refer to throughout the book.” 

“Hmm, I ended up writing a list of them all to make sure I could follow.” You said thoughtfully. “But I think it's a fair complaint.”

“You wrote a list? How diligent.” 

You blushed a little at his compliment, staring down at your cake once more, prodding at it with your fork. 

“I was writing a paper on it, to be fair - it’s not like I just do that for fun.” You defended yourself, sounding thoroughly unconvincing. 

It was amusing to watch you try to lie, because your dad had spent months outlining to Sukuna just how much of a nerd you really were. He’d never framed it in a derogatory way like how Satoru had said it earlier, but he’d certainly said it. 

“It's fine if you do it for fun.” He said with a chuckle. “I’m not gonna think you’re lame.” 

On the contrary, he found it strangely endearing. 

You watched him cautiously as he took a bite of his strawberry shortcake, chewing on your lower lip as you seemed to carefully consider something. 

“I find that hard to believe.” You said finally, unwilling to make eye-contact. 

“How so?” 

“Well, I guess your reputation doesn’t support that.” You said honestly, scooping up another piece of cake and stuffing it into your mouth so that you didn’t have to speak any longer. 

So you had asked someone about him. Wasn’t that interesting.

He probably should’ve been more concerned that you’d essentially just called him a bad person, but he was far too busy feeling smug about the fact that you’d clearly been thinking about him. 

“What’s my reputation, angel?” He asked as he leant forward, elbows planted on the table as he fixed you with a smug grin. 

You shrank back a little in your chair and that was of great entertainment to him. You were bold enough to slap a man in an alleyway, but nervous in the face of having an awkward conversation. Wasn’t that cute?

 “Nanami said that you and your basketball buddies only care about partying, getting high and having one night stands with girls. He said that none of you were the kind of people that I should be associating myself with if I know what’s good for me.” 

Ah Nanami. He would say something like that.

“He also said that you and Toji are the absolute worst and that if I gave you the time of day you’d just end up sleeping with me and then pretending that I didn’t exist.” You continued. 

Sukuna supposed that wasn’t an unfair assessment, he’d done plenty of that over the last few years. But he wasn’t going to do that to you, breaking down the barriers of someone so sweet and innocent would be an insane amount of effort for a one night stand, especially when he had so many women lining up to fuck him anyway. 

No, he was here because something about you made him feel weird, and it was a weird feeling that he liked. Nanami could go fuck himself. 

At least Nanami’s warning confirmed to Sukuna that you weren’t dating the blonde. Although it did suggest that Nanami might be interested in you and didn’t want someone else to get in the way - least of all someone like him. 

“And do you believe him?” Sukuna asked, figuring he’d at least get a temperature check on your reaction before he made any effort to defend himself. 

“Honestly, I don’t know.” You confessed, playing with the hem of your sweater as you looked up at him shyly. “I don’t think he’d lie to me, but nothing that you’ve done really supports his words. I mean, you come here and have small talk with an old man, you saved me from those creeps with no strings attached. So I guess I’m confused.” 

That was fair enough, he was confused too. 

He’d started coming to the bakery originally because his father had made him. Sukuna’s family lived in Kyoto now, making the move away from Tokyo a few years back. So when Sukuna made the decision to attend university here his dad had implored him to come to this bakery, saying that he’d be doing Wasuke’s old friend a favor. 

Generally Sukuna had no interest in listening to his dad’s orders, but he loved eating sweet things, so it wasn’t like coming here was ever really a chore. Besides, your dad was always so nice to him that Sukuna found himself enjoying the conversations, enjoying hearing his stories about you. 

He wasn’t sure why, but he always felt like a different person when he was here. A little less rough around the edges, less of an act to uphold with others. It was something of a sanctuary to him, a place where he’d leave his tough exterior at the door. 

But those lines were a little confused when it came to you. It was a big part of why he’d never approached you on campus in the past. You had all the softness of this place, but he wasn’t soft when he was out there. That just wasn’t who he was. 

And yet, the way that he’d spent all morning yearning for you to text him said different. 

He was really confused. Maybe he just needed to get laid - have sex with some faceless girl to stop him daydreaming about what it might be like to tenderly run his fingers over your skin. He wasn’t the type of guy who thought about stuff like that. 

That didn’t stop him from instinctively moving to defend himself to you though, not wanting you to think badly of him for whatever reason. Even though he usually couldn’t care less what anyone thought of him. 

“We party a lot, and we get high, and yeah I guess I’ve had a lot of one night stands, but that’s not what I’m trying to get from you.” He said. “Trust me, I’m only trying to pull girls at parties, I’m not about to try and use you for that when I come to this bakery constantly, how stupid do you think I am?” 

“Oh.” There was relief in your tone, but a little frown on your face, as if you were almost disappointed that he didn’t want to have a one night stand with you, which was crazy because you clearly weren’t that type of girl. Weird. 

“I get it if you don’t want to hang out with me around campus, I know that you’ve got this smart girl reputation and you don’t want me to drag you down-”

“I don’t care about that!” You said quickly, cutting him off as you peered up at him. 

“Honestly, I couldn’t care less about your reputation. You’ve been nice to me…” You were practically tomato red now, and he felt his heart racing. Not a feeling that he was particularly accustomed to and he wasn’t sure that he liked it. 

“Nanami is really overprotective of me.” You continued. “We’ve known each other since we were little so he’s always looking out for me but sometimes it gets a little overbearing.”

Sukuna let out a soft chuckle. “To be fair, Nanami isn’t my biggest fan for good reason. Back when he and Satoru lived together in first year we used to be over there all the time. We partied constantly, l mean, even during exam season we’d be getting drunk and being loud in the common room until 3am. It's no wonder he hates us.”

“I’d hate you for that.” You commented, and he shot you a smirk. 

“Good thing we met under different conditions then, huh?”

“Indeed.” 

The two of you fell into silence for a few moments and Sukuna found himself observing you. You’d finished the cake now, pushing about the crumbs on the plate. You weren’t much of a conversation starter, that was clearly something he needed to take charge of. But that didn’t particularly bother him. 

He needed to engineer some way to get to know you better, to spend a bit more time with you. The thought felt a little pathetic to him, because why did he even care so much? But you came across as such a mystery to him, your reserved nature leaving him wanting more, the tidbits of conversation that you were giving him not enough to sate him. 

Right now your walls were very much still up - not surprising considering your conversation with Nanami, but he desperately wanted to lower them. 

He wanted to know you better, wanted to have access to the person that your dad so affectionately talked about. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enamoured by the many nice stories he’d heard about you. He wanted to experience them first hand. 

“Have you ever done the life-cycles of languages elective class?” Sukuna asked finally, and the way that your eyes lit up made it clear that he’d got you hook, line, and sinker. 

“Yeah, I did that one last year, it was so good.” 

“Mmmm, I’m really struggling with it.” He said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. He wasn’t struggling with it, he was plenty intelligent but you didn’t need to know that right now. Not if it meant you’d offer to help him. 

You frowned. He really liked the way you scrunched up your brow when you did so, it was adorable. “Why are you even taking that course? That’s from the linguistics programme, I thought you did engineering?” 

“It's my extra, you know how they always encourage you to take something outside of your subject programme for enrichment? That was my choice.” You looked rather taken aback by that, but you quickly shook it off. 

“Huh…” 

“Anyway, I could really use some help with it if you’ve got some time?” 

Was he a manipulative person? Possibly. Did he really care right now? No. Not if it meant that the two of you could sit huddled together in the library or even better, at the desk in his room, while you talked him through the evolution of language. 

Once again he found himself wondering why the thought of that made him so giddy, but he hadn’t gotten this far in life by dwelling on his emotions and he wasn’t about to start now. He did what he wanted, and what he wanted right now was to spend more time with you. 

“I’m pretty busy.” You said hesitantly. “I guess I could help you out at lunch tomorrow though? I could meet you in the humanities library?” 

Sukuna grinned. “Sounds good to me. As long as we’re done by 2pm it's fine - I’ve gotta get ready for my game. Maybe I could help you out with whatever you picked for your elective?” That was probably a fair trade, maybe you’d picked something more science-y for your enrichment course. 

“Oh! Do you know anything about Russian Folklore?” 

Perhaps not. 

“No…I’ll guess I’ll have to find another way to pay you back.” He promised in a low tone, a soft blush spreading across your cheeks at the implication. Maybe you really were upset that he wasn’t inviting you for a one night stand. 

“Sweetheart, are you-” your dad called out as he entered through the door at the back of the shop, eyebrows lifting in surprise at the sight of you sitting at the table with Sukuna, a deep blush still visible on your face. “Oh! Sorry, I’m interrupting!” He said, quickly turning to head back up the stairs and leave you in peace. 

You were on your feet in seconds, the chair screeching as you stood up. “N-no, dad it's fine, we were just talking!” You explained quickly. “Everything okay?” 

Sukuna was concerned about your dad. He’d been coming here regularly for three years now, and in that time the man had changed drastically. He must’ve lost 20kg in the last six months, and it wasn’t like he’d been all that big to begin with. Lately he couldn’t even stand up without leaning on something with support. 

Besides, when Sukuna had asked in the past why you didn’t work here, your father had been adamant that he didn’t want you working at the bakery while you were in university. Yet here you were - juggling both responsibilities. 

There was no doubt in Sukuna’s mind that there was something gravely wrong with the old man. Even conversation seemed taxing for him now, and the anxious way that you addressed him did nothing to ease Sukuna’s soul. 

But it wasn’t his business to ask. If you or your dad wanted to talk about it with him you could, but he wasn’t going to ask. 

“All good. You two look like you’re getting along well.” Your dad said as he leant his weight against the counter, a glint of mischief in his eyes. 

“Dad!” Now your face was even redder. 

“What? It’s true!” 

You rolled your eyes in exasperation as you moved behind the counter and started to clean up. Neither of you had really kept track of time while you were talking, and the clock now showed that it was just beyond closing time. 

“Don’t bother with that, sweetie. I’ll sort it out later.” Your dad said softly as he watched you hurry around. “Your aunt has some leftover casserole you can take home with you if you want? It's in some tupperware in the fridge upstairs.” 

“Oh, thanks!” You said, heading towards the door at the back before pausing and glancing at Sukuna, clearly unsure if he was planning on leaving before you’d be back down, wondering if you needed to say your goodbyes before you disappeared off upstairs. 

“I’ll wait for you.” He said. “Don’t want you walking to the station alone after what happened yesterday.” You shot him a grateful smile which had his stomach flipping, before you jogged up the stairs. 

“What happened yesterday?” Your dad asked, face filled with concern. 

You didn’t tell him? It wasn’t exactly something insignificant - you’d been in real danger. A little strange that you’d keep it to yourself. 

“Some drunk guys were harassing her. I scared them off though.” Sukuna said, providing the abridged version of events, not wanting to go into too much detail if it wasn’t something that you wanted shared. Maybe you were embarrassed, or perhaps you just didn’t want your father worrying about you when he was in such a fragile state. 

Your dad shook his head with frustration. “This area is really going downhill lately, I’m glad that you were there for her. It's good to know that you’re keeping an eye on her.” 

Sukuna smirked. “It's my pleasure.” 

“It made me happy to see the two of you talking - I’ve been worried about her lately, it seems like she’s making her best attempt at becoming a hermit.” Your dad said with a tired sigh. But his eyes were kind, filled with love and care for his daughter. 

Sukuna couldn’t fathom having a father like that. 

Sure Wasuke loved him, but he was also a total hardass while Sukuna was growing up - his care was definitely not unconditional, and Sukuna did everything he could to push the boundaries. 

You, on the other hand, seemed to have unconditional love but still acted like a goody two-shoes all the time. Interesting - you’d really think it should be the other way around. 

“I’ll try not to let her become a hermit. She’s endearing, you know?” 

Your father was positively beaming at that statement. “You know, I wouldn’t mind you being my son-in-law one day.” He said with a chuckle. Sukuna rolled his eyes dramatically but returned his smile. 

“We’ll see about that.” 

a/n: making the dad in this one SO nice to make up for to distant lands lol

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed this chapter - reblogs and comments are appreciated, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! <3

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© sukunahs

[dragon-kazansky]

Symphony of dreams

Morpheus x Female Reader

Times are changing, and nothing is as it once was. The Dreaming is being rebuilt, but much is happening. The siblings reunite once more, Hell becomes vacant, and Delirium seeks out their missing brother. Dream faces his past, and his wife questions her place beside him.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Sixteen - Feel too deeply

How is she?”

Dream had just returned from speaking with Lucifer about his decision with Hell. Now, he needed to settle another matter. Nada. And, of course, you.

“She's been given a suite in the East Wing.” Lucienne knew he was asking about Nada. “I've asked the Fashion Thing to attend to her.”

“Is it too soon to ask if we can talk?”

“I shall ask.”

Lucienne walks away first. Then Dream.

You sit in the garden with Nuala. You had given her a tour of the palace and the surrounding areas. She had been given a room to which you told her she could do with as she pleased. She was very grateful.

“My brother said you're Lord Shaper's wife.” She plucks a flower from the garden and holds it delicately in her hand.

“That's right…”

Upon hearing the distant tone in your voice, Nuala turns and looks at you curiously. You're staring at the paved footpath beneath you both, a faraway look in your eyes. She could sense a deep sadness within you.

“Are you alright?”

You lift your gaze to her with a soft inhale through your nose. You're composing yourself in front of your company. The smile on your lips doesn't reach your eyes and she knows the words that will leave your lips will be a lie.

“I am well.”

She doesn't believe you. Nuala comes over to the bench you're occupying and takes a seat, still cradling the precious flower in her hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shift your gaze over to the flowerbed she had been admiring a moment ago. A thousand thoughts seem to pass through your mind between the few seconds of her asking and you answering.

“It's complicated.”

“I'm a good listener.”

You smile at her words. She was a very kind soul. “You don't want to hear about my issue, surely?”

“You just look so… sad.”

“I suppose, in a way, I am.” You sigh softly. “I have been questioning my place here recently. Someone very dear to Dream has entered his life once more, and I know deep in his heart he wants to fix what he did many moons ago… But I am afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of losing my place in his life…”

Nuala looks at you with pity. She does not know the details, but it is clearly weighing heavily on your shoulders.

“If she stays… then I shall have to go.”

“Go?” She asks, surprised.

“I will not be able to stay and watch him with her. My heart could not take it.”

Nuala placed her hand on yours. It was the only thing she could think to do at that moment. Your heart was yearning for the man you loved… and you feared losing him to his past.

Dream sat at the table, waiting. A lovely spread had been set out, but eating was the last thing he could think about right now.

The silence of the room was disturbed by the sound of footsteps. She was here.

Queen Nada walked to the other side of the table and faced him. Dream stood to greet her.

“Kai'ckul.”

“Nada.”

They stare at each other for a moment and then he invites her to sit. They both sit down.

“Are you… I mean… I suppose you must be hungry,” he says, unsure how to start.

“I was very hungry the first thousand years, but… after that, it ceased to concern me,” she responds. “I have no true body anymore, after all. I'm one of the dead.”

“I warned you-” He starts to say.

“If you ever…” She speaks at the same time.

“You were saying?” He asks, letting her speak.

“No. You first, Kai’ckul. I think you have something to say to me.”

He pauses. Silence hangs in the air. He then stands up slowly. “Ten thousand years ago, I condemned you to Hell. I now think… I think that I may have acted… dishonorably. I think, perhaps, that I should apologise.”

“You think perhaps you should apologise?” She asks him, staring at him in disbelief.

“I-”

“I spent ten thousand years in Hell. I burned by day and frozen by night. Glass shards cut my flesh. I starved and hurt.” Tears began to fall from her eyes. “And wept and waited. All that because of you. And you think perhaps you should apologise?”

He says nothing.

Nada stands. “Look at me.”

He doesn't.

Nada moves closer. “Look at me!” She slaps him.

“You struck me,” Dream says, seething. He turns to look at her. “No one may strike me. I should-”

“What? What will you do to me this time, Dream Lord?” She asks, unafraid of him. “Or will you just send me back to Hell?”

“No,” he says softly. “I… I am sorry. I will live with eternal regret for what I did to you.”

Nada turns away from him, unable to stop her tears from falling further. She takes a moment to keep her emotions in check. “To dwell on the past is a Hell on its own. One I wouldn't wish on anyone.” She looks at him again.

“Then perhaps it is time that we discuss your future,” he says softly, looking at her.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

Nada stands at the palace doors, looking at them. She knows what she wants. “A chance to see the mortal world. To live again.”

“The mortal world is not as you remember it. Humanity itself-”

“Have I not just spent the last ten thousand years with humanity?”

“Let me come with you.”

“Kai'ckul.”

“It is treacherous there,” he tells her.

Nada turns around to face him. “More so than Hell?” She turns back toward the door.

“Perhaps… when you have seen the world… you might come back.”

“No, my lord.”

“But I-”

“No.” Nada turns back around to face him. She looks at him sadly. “You have forgotten someone very important.”

Dream fell silent.

“Lucienne has been very kind to me. She told me… that your wife had tended to me while I recovered.”

Had you? You hadn't said anything.

“You have someone very close to your heart right here with you now and you dare ask me to stay?”

He remains silent.

Nada sighs softly. She looks him in the eye. “I wonder… if your kind are even capable of love. Do you even love her?”

“How can you say that?” Dream's expression hardens.

“How could anyone who truly loved me do what you have done to me? And then claim to love another while asking me to stay? Where does the heart of an Endless lie in the matter of love?”

Dream closes the distance between them. “I have changed.”

“I think you merely want what you can not have. That is not love,” she tells him. “That is desire.”

“Desire?” He asks, disgruntled by the mere word.

“There is no shame in it,” she says.

“No. You cannot tell me what is in my heart.”

Nada stares at him. She wishes she had a moment to speak with you. She would have liked to have heard of him from your view, but she needed to go.

“If you love her, prove it to her. Otherwise… you shall end up alone.”

Those words affected him more than he would have liked to admit.

“Fare you well, Kai'ckul.”

Nada leaves.

Dream stands alone as the door closes. Thunder begins to rumble.

It was Lucienne who had come to tell you Nada left. She explained everything to you. Nada had left for the mortal world, and it had been her choice. You would have liked to have seen her just once before she left, but it was too late now.

Then there was the storm.

“Where is he?”

“On the balcony, I believe.”

“Can you make the rain stop? It's getting a little hectic out there!” Matthew caws, shaking out his feathers.

“He's hurting,” you remind him.

“Yeah… but we're gonna have problems if he doesn't stop. There's only so much Merv can do.”

You sigh softly and leave them, making your way up the tower. The Dreaming was affected by your husband's mood most of the time, and when he was hurt or upset, everyone would know. It wasn't just light rain. It was a whole downpour.

You stand in the doorway. His back is to you. He's soaked through, hunched over the wall.

Nada was gone and he was hurting.

“Dream?”

He lifts his head up, back straightening. However, he doesn't turn around. Not yet. He doesn't say anything either. He's frozen, like a statue.

“Dream…”

“You're still here…?” He asks softly. He sounded surprised. Did he think you had left too? Even if you were going to leave, it wouldn't be without a goodbye

“Of course I am.”

Dream turns slowly. The sight of him makes your heart ache. He's dripping wet, wearing nothing but a robe, and he looks to be in pain.

You can't cope. You step out onto the balcony and approach him. He looks at you with those sad blue eyes and you can see the emotion building up inside. You open your arm for him. Dream instantly collapses into your embrace and buries his face in your shoulder. You hold on tight to him, pulling him as physically close to your body as you can. His long arms wrap around you in a tight hug, fingers clawing at your clothes for some grip. You are the anchor in his storm.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I'm sorry.”

“Hush now. Why are you apologising?” You ask him, cradling his head with one hand. You sink your fingers into his wet hair.

“I am… a terrible lover.”

Your heart breaks. “No. No, you're not.”

“Do you think I'm capable of love?” He asks, almost pleading.

“Is this something Nada said?”

He goes silent for a while and then nods his head. You hold him that little bit tighter.

“I… I think… I believe the Endless do love. Just differently.”

He doesn't say anything, but you know he's listening.

“You love far more deeply than mortals do. Yes, you are capable of love. I know for I have been loved by you. Yes, in the past you have made less than ideal choices. Not everything you have done, I agree with. However, I have seen your heart.”

He seems to settle in your arms.

“I can't speak for the others you have loved in the past, but I can speak for myself. You let me show you what love could be. You opened your arms, your home, your heart to me. When I fell into eternal sleep, you went all over to get your tools back so you could wake me.”

You move him so you can take his face in your hands. He looks at you through his wet eyelashes. You smile.

“I know you can love because you loved me.”

He lets out a shake breath and moves closer until his forehead rests against yours. Silence settles between you for a good few moments. You let him take his time.

“I still love you,” he whispers. “Even though I am not worthy to still hold your heart.”

“Dream…”

“No. Let me say it.” He reaches up and places one of his hands on your face. “I am unworthy of you. No husband should ever ignore his wife and her feelings. I was so focused on correcting my mistakes, I lost sight of what I had in front of me, too hung up on what I had once.”

You sigh softly. “Dream… You have fixed it.”

He doesn't look convinced.

“Nada is longer trapped in Hell. You freed her. It may not have been the outcome you were hoping for, but you are already fixing your mistakes. You are not the same as you once were.”

He sniffles softly as rain drips from his nose. You chuckle softly and hold him again. “You're soaked.”

“So are you…”

“Who's fault is that?” You tease.

He smiles softly. “I do love you.”

“I know you do.” You tell him.

“You won't leave?”

“Not unless you want me to.”

He shakes his head. Dream stands up straight and holds your hand in his, squeezing tightly. He needs to correct another mistake. You watch him silently as he pulls something out of his pocket.

“Please….” He whispers softly and holds up your ring. You stare at the ruby. He had been keeping hold of it all this time.

“Dream…”

“Please,” he says again. “Let me make this right.”

You sigh softly and place your left hand in his. He takes it gently and places the ring back on your finger. Right where it belongs.

“There.” He brings your hand to his lips and kisses it softly.

“Dream?”

“Yes?” He lifts his head to look at you again.

“Will you stop the rain now?”

He smiles and chuckles softly. At that moment, the heavy downpour stops. You smile at him.

“Come, let's get you dressed.”

Just as you're about to head inside with him, Matthew lands on the balcony wall. “Uh, boss?”

“What is it, Matthew?”

“We have an intruder.”

You look at Dream, who looks at Matthew with confusion. Who could it possibly be?

@missdreamofendless @kpopgirlbtssvt @thoughtsfromlayla @errantsomnium @terrancelovesyouu @rousrm @bes2005 @qardasngan @adrestlyd @jeshomie @deadwizzardlover @missbeesentertainment @cardiganswillow @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @lunesmai @insanedreamer296 @twowrongsarearight @sam--sara @lilchickensworld @edynmeyer1 @pityfulldeer @littlemisstrashcan @villain-in-the-dark @m-paschuu

[feech]

Its been like two months and I'm still thinking about The Office of Never Was and how ruthless Ianto was. Initially, the whole situation was an accident, but Ianto took it way too far after he messed up. He retconned people's families that the couldn't remember the person who died. He says he thought it seemed kinder than letting them grieve but personally I think its so much worse. And then at the end, deliberately leaving that man locked in the building to slowly starve to death (or potentially get eaten by smart killer rats) and choosing to retcon himself so that he would forget the whole incident rather than live with it on his conscience.

The fandom tends to really focus on how sweet and thoughtful he is and how much he tends to people please but he can be goddamn terrifying.

[light-wrath-paradise]

Me right now: "The Smitten is just like me for real."

Like???? I hope not??????

[paulyenvol6]

As Slow As You Need

Marcus Acacius x female reader (OS)

Idea by the wonderful @mrspascalsworld <3

Chapter two Chapter three

You have just married Marcus Acacius and despite ignoring him for the first few weeks of your marriage you can't help but eventually fall for him...

Contains: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), virginity loss, slight possessiveness, shy and inexperienced reader, soft!dom Acacius, caring Acacius, talking you through it, implied age gap (I imagined reader to be in her early 20s and Acacius around 50) angst, slight aftercare, mentions of pain and discomfort, arranged marriage, sort of enemies to lovers

Wordcount: ~10,612

Masterlist

The bracelet was too tight and painfully cut into your flesh.

That was the first thought that was in your head as you stood in front of Marcus Acacius and you wanted to slam your head against a wall so badly because this was supposed to be the most beautiful moment in your life and instead you were on the verge of crying. Perhaps it would have been the most beautiful moment if it wasn't him.

A part of you just wanted to let the tears flow, break down and make it physically impossible for you to marry him but you couldn't do this to your father. This had been his last wish and every time you cursed this arrangement in your thoughts you remembered your father's tired pleading eyes making it impossible for you refuse his demand.

You had promised that you would marry Acacius and frankly, you hadn't thought about the consequences of it until after your father had been dead. It wasn't just a little kindness so your father could fall asleep peacefully knowing that you would be taken care of, no you were about to spend the rest of your life with Acacius, a man that made a shiver run down your spine every time he laid his eyes on you. There was something so intimidating about him that you feared to be alone with him. He radiated dominance and authority and perhaps even a little danger.

The whole procedure was a fever dream. Your body was separated from your mind, your legs doing what they were supposed to do, carrying you down the aisle by Acacius' side but you didn't feel anything. You were numb, expressionless which almost made you think that the people around you might believe there was something wrong with you but it was the only way to cope with all of this.

Time passed way too quickly for your taste and then the feast in celebration of your wedding was over and Acacius was about to lead you to your bedchambers. The two of you had barely exchanged a word except a 'Thank you' when you handed him a jar of wine or a 'Excuse me for a second' when he went to speak with one of his friends.

You couldn't remember if you had said anything at all to him though. You were a ghost, a lifeless shell that did just what it was supposed to do like smiling at all the congratulations and looking pretty. That was what you would be to Acacius after all. Someone to put his babies inside and be used as a stress relief. And this was what had killed his last wife and now it was your turn to be humiliated and turned into his plaything.

The fact that you were still a virgin didn't exactly calm you either and now was the first time you felt something. It wasn't pleasant; a bitter feeling was creeping up in your belly spreading all throughout your body and making your heart pound fast in your chest. You couldn't tell if Acacius noticed your discomfort and merely didn't care about it but his night was a lot busier than yours as no minute passed in which no one came up to him talking about some matter that you couldn't care about less.

When you felt that the night slowly came to an end you would have liked to stop time or perhaps even reverse it so you could tell your dying father that you loved him more than anything else in the world but you couldn't do him this favor.

You wanted to run out of the building and hide in the stables right next to your villa you had always gone to when you were in trouble or cried about a fight with your siblings. When you were a child you had believed that no one could find you there but this dream had been shattered when your sister had dragged you out of there by your hair when you were 12 after you had broken her favourite doll. It was better than nothing though, you bitterly thought and watched your clenched hands giving away just how tense you were.

Your whole body suddenly twitched when you felt a hand on your bare arm and you turned your head probably looking like you had just seen a ghost.

"My lady," Acacius' deep voice brought you back to the present moment. "I think it is time for us to leave."

'No, it's not,' you wanted to answer, cross your arms in front of your stomach and sit here until the sun would rise in the morrow. Maybe you could sit here until Acacius was even older than now and would be too old to bed you.

"Yes… of course," was what you mumbled instead well aware that this wasn't a proper way to address your new husband in public but honestly, you didn't care. This whole thing couldn't get any worse so why worry about what other people might think about you?

Acacius rose from the chair offering you his big hand which you grabbed and you felt his rough skin against yours. You almost stumbled over your own feet following him but fortunately didn't fall down although it might have been a good way to avoid the inevitable bedding ceremony.

Acacius led you out of the magnificent hall to the corridor and you blindly followed him too focused on breathing and controlling your wobbly knees. Perhaps he noticed your mental and physical state to some extent because he didn't let go off your hand while guiding you up the stairs.

He started talking to you for the first time when you passed the library and a new wave of shock ran through your body at the sound of his voice.

"Did you enjoy the festivities, my lady?" he asked calmly which only made you angrier because you felt pathetic almost clinging to his helping hand while he had never seemed more at peace.

"Yes," you shortly answered staring ahead of you but felt his eyes on your profile.

"That's good to hear."

Then there was silence which would have been unbearable in any other circumstances but not with him tonight. Right now you rather welcomed it because you had a feeling that every movement, twitch or sound escaping Acacius' mouth only unsettled you further. He seemingly was oblivious to what you needed right now because he tilted his head towards the library that you had passed by now and looked at you again.

"Do you enjoy to read? I am most proud of the collection in there."

You slightly nodded still avoiding his gaze and dug the nails of your free hand in your palm just to feel a little bit like yourself. "I do. Yes."

You knew that you were more than impolite and Acacius could have snapped by now but he received your answer with a nod of his head but then remained silent until the two of you arrived in his bedchambers.

It was a comfortable big room that was beautifully lit by countless candles and you would have enjoyed the view if your eyes hadn't fallen upon the big four poster bed that made the center of the room.

Not only were you afraid of the act itself, but more importantly, you didn't want your husband to see you so vulnerable. He would regard your bare and naked body the way you were born, touch your most intimate parts and eventually melt with you and everything inside of you twisted and turned at the thought.

You didn't really know this man but what you knew was that he was evil and vicious, that he was violant and rough on the battlefield and he wouldn't be any different when he was laying with you. You could quite literally smell the danger off him and only had to look into his dark eyes once to know everything you needed to.

The tears collecting in the corner of your eyes were inevitable and you couldn't stop them from escaping either. You didn't care about it; he should see them and maybe if he had any humanity left in him he would feel bad although you were certain that after decades of fighting in bloody and brutal battles one couldn't be moved by a couple of tears running down the face of a stranger.

You felt awkward standing next to Acacius quietly sobbing and when he finally turned to you his eyes remained on your face for way too long. You turned your head away from him covering your eyes with your hand because all of a sudden you chose not to be seen by him which he allowed for a moment before gently, yet firmly pulling you towards the bed by your arm.

Something inside of you shifted, your heart beating loud and your eyes widening in shock because it would finally happen now but your were incapable of speaking up and try to stop him. He pushed you to sit down on the bed your hands instantly wrapping around your own upper body while dropping your gaze to the floor beneath you.

You couldn't see his reaction and what he might be thinking but when you felt a hand on your shoulder a sob escaped your lips and you squeezed your eyes.

"My lady," he cooed softly rubbing your cold skin. "I'm not going to touch you. I promise."

It took you an embarrassingly large amount of time to understand his words but once you did you slowly looked up to him his eyes looking surprisingly warm.

"What?" you breathed, your bottom lip trembling so hard you tried to control it by pressing your lips together.

"I will not touch you. You clearly don't want me to."

His words were still too surreal to accept so the crease between your brows only deepened and you couldn't allow your body to relax just yet.

"B-But I thought we… I thought we have to," you whispered so quietly that you almost didn't hear your own words but Acacius did.

"We don't have to do anything. I'm the General, little one. I think I can decide when I want to bed my wife."

Your big eyes stared at him almost as if you were waiting for him to deliver bad news but Acacius just tilted his head looking pitiful as he took in the mess on your face.

"Do you remain a virgin?" he then asked which was followed by another twitch of your body and your eyes narrowed again.

"Y-Yes," your shivering voice cut through the air questioning why he was asking but your husband just ran his eyes over your face and then sighed.

"Go to sleep. I have a feeling you need it."

Sensing that you didn't react to his words at all, he lifted his eyebrows slightly leaning back and giving you a curious look.

"I will not harm you. I give you my word."

You let out a bitter laugh shaking your head and then hissed out sharply. "How am I supposed to trust you? How do I know the worth of your word?"

Silence. You were about to chuckle again but then Acacius next to you rose to his feet approaching the table nearby.

"You don't. But this is all I can offer you," he said and not sure how to react you nervously toyed with your fingers your sobs slowly quieting down.

"Sleep now," he then repeated while tidying up the table looking unbothered which made the blood in your veins boil. Eventually you complied though, lying down on your back moving as close to the edge as possible so when Acacius joined you you wouldn't touch any part of his body.

He had been kind to you thus far but firstly, he might do so just to take what was rightfully his the next day or the day after and secondly, this didn't change the way you saw him. Maybe he was just old or not in the mood tonight and the picture you had of him couldn't be shifted 180 degrees just because he didn't rape you in your wedding night.

He was the enemy and now you would be bound to him for the rest of your life serving him in the bedroom and spreading your legs for him whenever he wanted you to just so he could get rid of his adrenaline. This wasn't how you had imagined your life at all but it was too late to change anything about it. All you could do was not make it easy for him. Whatever the reason was why he hadn't taken your virginity tonight you wouldn't be on your knees thanking him for it but remain your own person independently living your life.

These were the kinds of thought you fell asleep with. It was a chaotic, restless night shifting from one side to the other waking up every few hours. You didn't know whether it was the new environment or the person next to you but either way, when you woke up the next day you were sweaty and felt not at all well rested.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next days passed and you stayed true to your promise bringing as much distance as possible between the two of you at all times. It became your obsession, your purpose to not allow anyone to treat you like Acacius' wife, let alone think of yourself this way.

You have convinced yourself not to believe in your new status as a wife and instead acted as though nothing had changed except your residence. That way you didn't have to deal so much with your role as the general's wife and fled from reality.

At first Acacius granted you this freedom, seemingly satisfied with seeing you at lunch and supper but allowed you to do whatever you wanted the rest of the day. He was gone most of the time anyway so he didn't mind you strolling through the city during the afternoon just as long as a guard or two were with you.

But the quietness didn't last that long and the first time that the two of you really spoke since your wedding night was when Acacius entered your bedchambers one afternoon while you were writing a letter to a friend.

It was his physical state that shocked you and made you stare at him totally forgetting about the paper the ink was dripping onto. He was covered in blood, open wounds clearly visible on his face and arms and it almost felt surreal seeing him walk in here as if nothing was wrong.

Your mouth was open as you waited for him for some kind of explanation which didn't come so you cleared your throat while your husband took off his shoes not even as much as glancing at you.

"Ehm… Are you alright?"

He lifted his gaze running his eyes over you and then shrugged his shoulders. "Yes. Are you?"

"You're hurt," you said quietly ignoring his question and unable to hide the shock in your voice.

It wasn't like you were concerned about his well-being because you couldn't have been farer from feeling attached to this stranger but it was the fact that you hadn't believed that his time on the battlefield caused him to look like this.

"Yes. But it will heal."

With these words Acacius walked to the table you were sitting by and poured himself a cup of wine. Perhaps it was still the surprise mixed with your curious state of mind that made you expectantly tap with your fingers on the wooden table as you confidentaly raised your chin.

"Why haven't you consumated our marriage yet?" you asked a lot more secure than you felt.

You didn't know why you were asking this. You should be glad that the things were the way they were but if you were being honest with yourself it actually was mere curiousity. You had come into this marriage expecting him to use you for sex and to produce heirs and now you were married for a week and he hadn't touched you yet. There had to be a reason.

Acacius chuckled lowly taking a sip from his wine while intensely watching you from over the cup. Then he curled his mouth into a smile.

"Because I had the feeling you don't want me."

You rolled your eyes flaring your nostrils because you grew angry at how he was acting all caring and kind making you believe that your well-being was actually important to him.

"I didn't think you would care," you replied clenching your hands into fists.

"I do. You're my wife. I want to protect you."

"I don't need anyone to protect me," you shouted jumping to your feet and flashing your eyes at him. "I don't need you. I don't need anyone."

Acacius sighed putting the cup back on the table and licked over his lips to remove the remains of the liquid.

"What do you want then? Do you want me to take your virginity or why are you asking me?"

You quickly shook your head and took a step back just in case.

"No. But I… I don't want it but I don't want you to protect me either. I just want you to leave me alone."

Acacius lifted his eyebrows resting his hands on the back of a chair. "I'm your husband."

"This is an arranged marriage," you breathed trying to make yourself look as tall as possible in front of him but didn't stand a chance.

"We should just live our lives the way we want to and mind our own businesses."

He smirked and then pursed his lips as he looked you up and down.

"I might be wrong but I did mind my own business the last couple of days. It was you who came up with this just now."

Of course Acacius was right and you felt your cheeks growing hot at his words desperately trying to come up with an intelligent answer.

"But I don't want anything from you. I don't want you to protect me and I don't want you to harm me. I want you to ignore me."

Your husband sighed looking disappointed like he was talking to a little child and you once again were reminded why you hated this man so much. He was arrogant, self-centered and so smug.

"Good night, my lady," he eventually spoke with his husky voice and made his way over to the bed on which he fell with a groan and turned to his back so his wounds could heal during the night.

The remaining blood glistened in the dim light and it almost made it look black. There was a strange beauty about him laying so peacefully while his face represented a brutal battle field and you couldn't take your eyes off him for a few seconds before approaching the bed as well taking your right side of the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next few weeks passed relatively peacefully and despite cursing yourself for it and trying to convince yourself into believing that it wasn't the case, you started to adjust to this new life as well as to Acacius as your husband.

It took you quite some time but you figured out that he was far from being the person you had thought he was. It happened a lot when he returned from the battlefield. You would wait in your chambers looking him up and down and felt unsettled by the way his body was marked and violated. Perhaps you realized that he was in such great danger every time he stepped outside the villa and that there was a chance that he wouldn't return which seemed to make you see that he wasn't as selfish and arrogant as you had thought he was.

And then there was the fact that he still didn't demand anything of you and let your body untouched for the next weeks as well merely giving you little smiles that you yet didn't return. You just couldn't let show that a small part of you grew to trust him and so you kept up the stubborn facade treating him coolly although you believed that he might have noticed a small change in you.

The longest Acacius was gone was for two weeks and it felt strange to be in the villa without him. Of course you usually avoided his gaze and barely said anything to him when he entered your chambers in the evenings but there was a familiarity to it that you now seemed to miss. It had been your ritual; sitting by the table either writing or reading something and then watching him walk or stumble into the room depending on how much he had drunken.

You had even come to say goodbye to him, letting him kiss your hand and bringing out a quiet "Take care, Acacius. I'll be looking forward to your safe return."

It seemed like your husband wasn't sure whether you had actually meant these words or just said them for custom but either way, it looked like you had figured that you had no choice but to adjust to this new life and had gotten used to having him around you.

But now you spent the nights alone and although you would never admit it, it again took you some time to adapt and there were moments when you wondered if you had been unjust. He wasn't manipulative and vicious after all and sometimes you asked yourself why you had even believed him to be that way.

He was kind to you. Patient and undemanding and had never asked anything of you. It only got worse the next couple of days and when Acacius finally returned you felt something new. It was like things had changed between the two of you and you saw him in a different light as he stepped through the door, his hair messy, his face once again covered in dirt and wounds and his eyes so incredibly tired.

"My lady," he said slightly bowing his head but you didn't listen to him. Instead you smoothly rose to your feet slowly approaching him your eyes fixed on his harmed face.

"Acacius," you whispered seeing his forehead furrow at the unfamiliar softness in your voice.

He clearly hadn't been blind to the way you had started to accept this union and even seemed to tolerate it, by not hardening your face every time you saw him but now your eyes searched for him which was something new.

"I…," you started almost shyly lowering your head.

"What?" he softly asked you craving to run his thumb over your cheek but stopping himself before he would scare you off.

"I want to clean your wounds," you then breathed and Acacius couldn't help himself but smile at your words. Who would have thought that going away for a few days would be enough for you to start trusting him?

He didn't want to spend too much time wondering what had provoked this change in your though and instead finally allowed himself to touch you even though he just did so by briefly brushing over your shoulder.

"Yeah?"

You nodded dropping your gaze feeling both intimidated and reluctant about what you had just asked. But when your husband encouragingly offered you his hand you bit your lip and took it.

"Do you want me to sit down then?" he asked doing his very best to help you, sensing how nervous you were but you determindely shook your head which surprised him.

"You don't want that?" he demanded to know brushing with his thumb over your fingers while you escaped his piercing eyes once more.

"No," you whispered so quietly he had to concentrate really hard on the sound leaving your mouth. "I want to take a bath with you."

To say that Acacius was surprised was an understatement but he couldn't deny the excitement growing within him. Days ago it had looked like you were cursing him by merely observing him and like he was the last person you wanted to see after a long day and now you wanted to show yourself in your most vulnerable state and additionally look after his wounds.

"Whatever you like, my lady," he said taking in how beautiful you looked in the dim light and then offered you his hand once more guiding you to the huge bathtub in the room right next to your bedchambers.

Acacius was just about to start to peel off the layers of his armor but you were faster putting your hands on his broad shoulders staring at him almost as if you were mesmerized. Then you took on the task of undressing your husband and when his breeches were all that covered his body you gave your best not to stare at him but of course he noticed your wide eyes as you regarded his muscular upper body.

There was something so incredibly intimate and close about the scene that you felt your hands starting to shake even though it also might be caused by your nervousness.

Acacius gave you a smile before entering the bathtub leaning his head against the edge and sighing in pleasure clearly giving you the privacy to get rid of your clothes without having to feel his eyes on you.

The truth was that he wanted nothing more than to see and feel you but he wanted you to be in charge of everything that would be happening between the two of you so he closed his eyes hearing the swishing of your clothes and then the next thing he noticed was the water splashing a little.

Acacius opened his eyes a little and looked right into yours as you sat in front of him in the bathtub your eyes on his cuts and wounds again.

"Do they hurt?" you asked your voice barely more than a breath while getting closer to your husband.

"A little," Acacius truthfully answered his eyes following you reaching to a shelf close by to grab a ointment that would soothe the burning pain.

Your pupils were widened when you started to examine the wounds on his face and Acacius couldn't quite recognise whether you were still in awe by how damaged his body looked or scared of him.

He hissed out quietly when the salve made contact with his flesh which instantly made you flinch but Acacius was quick to run his hand over your arm signalising you that you were doing fine.

"It's alright. It's going to help me with the pain."

You nodded reducing the distance between the two of you again and your lips were so close to him now that he wished he could kiss them or at least trace them with his thumb. And then there were your hands that so gently and carefully applied the ointment on his skin that one could confuse you for a life-long and loyal wife instead of a little girl that despised him. There was softness and love in your touch, so much that Acacius closed his eyes giving himself to you and allowed himself to stay in the llusion.

"Acacius?" your voice cut through the air all of a sudden which made him lift his eyelids making out your face in front of him.

"Yes?"

"You are a good warrior, right?" you carefully asked stopping applying the salve for a second to wait for his answer.

"Yes. I'm experienced. I've been doing this for almost 40 years."

You drew your face like you were thinking and then bit your lip.

"But… But there must be a point when one… I mean one can't do this forever, right?"

Acacius chuckled and it was a low and deep, yet friendly sound. "Are you trying to say that I'm old, love?"

You broked into a shy smile as well shrugging your shoulders and then continued to lubricate the little cuts on his neck.

"No," you nevertheless answered your eyes on his neck while Acacius took in the beauty of your face that looked so concentrated right now.

"I'm trying to say that everyone gets old some day. And I'm just asking myself when a warrior stops fighting in battles and retires."

The corner of his mouth lifted again but his smile faded as he felt your knees against the inside of his thighs. You were kneeling between his legs and definitely were too close right now so he cleared his throat trying to collect himself and only then answered you.

"It's his choice. When he decides that he's not able to keep up anymore, he retires."

In addition to the closeness of your body it was also hard not to look up to that little amount of your skin that was exposed. The water covered most of it but the swell of your breasts peaked out and it took everything in him not to stare inappropriately. He could swear that this was harder than any battle he had ever fought in his life and closed his eyes to force himself to breathe properly.

"Acacius?" your soft voice spoke once again and he was absolutely smitten with the way you finally seemed to enjoy his presence and said what was on your mind.

"Yes?"

You stopped your hand movements again chewing on your bottom lip while staring at the water as though it was the most interesting thing you had seen in your entire life.

"I think I want you," you whispered with a surprisingly stable voice and now Acacius was officially speechless lifting his eyebrows and slightly leaning back against the wall of the bathtub.

"Are you sure, love?" he asked after a while caressing your bare shoulder to signalise you to look at him but you still avoided his eyes too embarrassed by your confession.

And yet you nodded which made him break into a smile. Suddenly his hands were on your waist his thumb drawing patterns over your skin as you finally had enough courage to look him in the eyes.

"Let me take care of you then," Acacius whispered his heart pounding loudly in his chest at how you nodded again your hands reaching up to hold on to his broad shoulders. He cupped the side of your face finally feeling the softness of your skin and then gently pulled you towards him to connect your lips.

It was a careful kiss. Like the two of you were getting to know each other and slowly explored the other person. There was nothing demanding or rushed about it; Acacius carefully nibbled at your bottom lip leaving small kisses and when he pulled back your face was flushed and your eyes were glistening with a new adventurousness.

"You want more?" he asked his hands lingering at your cheeks and after an airy "Yes" had escaped your mouth your husband sat up straight in the bathtub his hands at your waist again.

"Let's get you out of here then. The bed is going to be a lot more comfortable."

You followed his movement grabbing the edge of the tub to support you and managed to rise from the slippery ground with Acacius' hand assisting you. You stepped out of it waiting while he followed you but kept your eyes on the floor not wanting to stare too obviously either.

The air was thin now, filled with your louder breathing and the heat your bodies radiated. And still there was such a gentleness in everything he did so that nothing about it felt too fast or intense to you.

Your husband picked up a towel from a shelf which he wrapped around your upper body so carefully that you almost started to pur like a cat. He made sure that you were properly covered and then rested his hands on your shoulders.

"Turn around, love."

His voice was like a curse and a gift at the same time because it embraced you like a warm blanket but seemed to enter your body heating you up from inside and causing your core to throb and pulsate so uncomfortably that you craved to rock yourself against something. Or someone.

You followed his voice like you were hypnotised without even questioning what he was going to do. It was strange because a few weeks ago you had believed that you would never going to be able to trust him and now here you were offering yourself to him in such a vulnerable state.

But all Acacius did was collect your wet hair and then comb through it with your wooden comb. Never would you have thought that his rough hands could do something so precisely and carefully but you found that you could fall asleep to this feeling.

When he was done he turned you around brushing with his thumb over your chin and stole yet another kiss from your lips. You smiled against his lip feeling yourself melt in his arms which scared you to some extent but right now you couldn't bring yourself to fight the urge to give your body and soul to Acacius.

The man you had sworn to marry because you hadn't been able to refuse your dying father's wish. The man you had despised from the moment you had walked down the aisle. The man you had avoided at all costs these past weeks but right now something about it felt right. You were a stubborn and proud person and hated to admit that you had been wrong but perhaps you had been mistaken this time. At least you hoped so because you simply couldn't believe that an evil man's touch could be this tender.

Acacius' hand glided over your arm all the way from your shoulder to your hand and then invited it to lay in his while his eyes had followed the motion.

"Do you want to go to bed?" his voice brought goosebumps to your arms and of course you nodded.

It was all it took him to guide you to the center of the room and once there he turned to you giving you the softest eyes you had ever seen and you wondered if these could actually be the same you had been so scared of in the beginning of your marriage. He took your face in his big hands and you unconsciously snuggled your head against him.

"Let me take care of you, sweetling," he murmured holding you as if you were made of glass and would break at the slightest roughness.

"Yes. I want it. I need you."

You really didn't want to beg him but it felt right to you to show him that you wanted him after having treated him so coolly. Acacius gave you yet another kiss on the corner of your mouth and then pushed you back until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed.

"Lay down for me," he spoke, his voice just a slight whisper that brushed over your skin like a light feather.

Mesmerized by his radiating warmth you climbed on the bed resting with your head against the cushion and awaited his next move.

He regarded you lovingly keeping his eyes on you at all times almost as if he wanted to make sure you wouldn't vanish into the air and then took off the towel covering his center that you hadn't even noticed he had wrapped around his body.

By now you couldn't bring yourself to feel ashamed by the way your eyes glanced to his cock gulping at how massive and heavy he looked but your attention was drawn to his beautiful face again when Acacius approached you.

Everything was slow and slight, giving you the time to stop him if need be but you didn't even think about it. You craved to be embraced and loved by him. You wanted to feel his hands on your body, melt with him and become one. You wanted him to whisper things in your ear that that were only meant for you and praise you until you forgot your name.

"You look so pretty, darling," he said and then you saw his face coming closer to yours as he climbed on top of you his hands instantly reaching down to graze over your cheeks.

You smiled, light-heartedly receiving the compliment and spread your legs for him so he could settle in between them. Then he kissed you again your lips feeling beyond swollen by now but he tasted like cinnamon and pepper and so you gladly parted your lips letting him devour your mouth.

His hands were on a mission feeling every naked inch of your skin which mostly was your face and neck and shoulders and finding pleasure in the way Acacius teasingly rubbed over your skin and traced your veins you soon noticed your core yearning for stimulation which led to you buckling up your hips in search for anything he would give you.

Your husband obviously noticed how he enhanced your desire with each stroke and brush and soon kissed his way down your neck until his mouth was on your collarbone.

"You're perfect. The most beautiful girl I've ever laid my eyes upon."

His words were muffled by the way he pressed his face against your body but you heard them clearly and felt the blood rising in your cheeks. You let yourself go completely concentrating on how his mouth savoured your neck and shoulders until his hands traveled to the hem of the towel that still hid most of your body.

"Can I take this off?" he politely wanted to know and although you didn't hesitate when you nodded with your head you were glad he asked for your permission every time he did something. It made you feel like you were in control of everything that was happening and you could stop him at any point.

Acacius slowly removed the fabric until you were completely bare underneath him and it seemed like he was now too eager not to stare as well. His gaze fell upon your chest and then wandered down to your stomach and your core taking his time to examine you as though he didn't intend to bed you but paint your picture. It intimidated you because no man had ever seen you like this so you nervously clutched the bedsheets keeping your eyes on him to try and read his facial expression.

When he noticed it he let out a quiet chuckle and then grabbed your hands next to your body. You bit your lip as he lifted them up in the air and then pressed kisses alternately to the back of your left and right hand.

"No need to worry, my love," he said soothingly tracing the delicate veins on your wrists with his thumb. "No need to worry about anything. I got you. You're looking so beautiful like this and all you have to do is listen to my voice. I'll take care of the rest."

Acacius dropped your hands again so your arms fell to the side of your body and a shiver ran down your spine seeing how he looked like he was about to eat you alive. Not in a bad way though.

The blood in your veins was quivering, making your mind blank and utterly in awe of the way his mouth curled up at the view before him. He ran his eyes over you again for a brief moment before lowering his face to your collarbone tenderly kissing and biting your skin and then he dared to travel further south.

Your perky nipples simply looked too delicate and pretty not to lick over them and soon Acacius was addicted. The best part about it was perhaps the way you squirmed underneath him and then there were the little moans escaping your mouth when you were too lost in pleasure to concentrate on surpressing the noise. If it were up to him he would have wanted you not to hide anything and instead let him listen to all of your little squeaks and sighs.

He took his time teasing you although his mind drifted to your perfect pussy that he only had seen for a short moment thus far every few seconds. But this was about you after all. This was about making you feel comfortable and safe and slowly teaching you everything there was to know about the act of making love. Because this was what tonight was about; making love.

Acacius knew that he could be dirty and primal in bed, making his partner break and beg and getting off on a little power-play. Perhaps he would introduce you to this side of him at some point if you were up to it but definitely not tonight. Tonight he wouldn't make you beg for anything. He would fulfill your wishes even before you would be able to express them, gift you indescribable pleasure all while looking out for your comfort. He would go slow, test your waters and give you time to adjust to anything that he did and Acacius had a feeling that it was just what you needed after having treated him with such coldness these last weeks.

His tongue was twirling around your left nipple sucking it into his mouth every now and then but he made sure not to neglect your right breast. His hand massaged your flesh gently grazing the outline of your breast and rubbing over your nipple or taking the nub between two of his fingers. It was heavenly to him and Acacius had a feeling that you didn't enjoy it any less.

He hadn't estimated you as a very vocal person so he was thrilled by your quiet moans that he was sure he would be able to turn into cries if he continued like this.

Soon he made his way further down though leaving wet kisses on your stomach which made you lift your head slightly questioningly flickering your eyes at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Making you feel good, my love," he replied softly caressing your waist and giving you these warm eyes of his. "All you have to do is relax and feel my touch. I promise it will feel divine."

You narrowed your eyes not yet fully trusting his words and heaved yourself on your elbows.

"But-But I thought you would…"

You left the sentence unfinished but Acacius seemingly knew what you were alluding to as he gave you an assuring smile his hands stroking the curve of your hip.

"I can do that if you want me to. But you need to be prepared because otherwise it might be painful to you."

"Painful?" you repeated with round eyes feeling frightened as you hadn't expected the act of love to be hurtful.

"You are a virgin. The first time can be painful but I'm going to try my best to make it pleasant for you. I'll give you my fingers first and make sure you're properly lubricated and then I'll go slow."

Your eyes hectically wandered over his face taking in each of his words with a trembling feeling in your stomach but Acacius was quick to soothingly kiss your stomach.

"It's going to be fine. But if you want to stop that's fine as well."

Did you want to stop? Did you want him to roll off you, take out the lights and go to sleep? Definitely not. You were scared of the pain but you needed to feel him now and with the slight fear came also a curiousity about what the act of bedding was about. He seemed so certain and confident in everything he was doing so you wanted to know what he would be capable of making you feel. Therefore you shook your head helplessly reaching down to him and felt your heartbeat fasten at the way your husband instantly took your hand.

"No. I don't want you to stop, Acacius."

Hearing his name roll off your lips awakened a new form of lust in him and he bit down hard on his bottom lip in order to prevent himself from growling lowly.

"I'm glad to hear that," he then said gliding his hand down your side after carefully putting your hand back on the bed.

He crawled even further down your body until his face was almost on the same level as your most intimate part and if Acacius hadn't given you another tender smile you would have felt anxious and fearful about letting him see you like this.

You had learned that this wasn't the way of things. A husband wasn't supposed to see his wife's sex this close but concentrate on his duty. What Acacius was doing right now made the blood in your veins throb and you knew that a part of it could be traced back to the nervousness and uncertainty about what he was going to do to you while another part was simply craving to feel him with every inch of your body.

"Just relax, sweet girl."

With these words he lowered his face to your center and you curiously lifted your head attempting to see what he was doing but you suddenly gasped for air as you felt his tongue on this special little spot between your legs grazing over it carefully almost as if he wanted to get to know your body.

"Ah," you sighed digging your toes in the mattress next to him and instantly pressed your lips together in order to stay quiet from now on. But that didn't align with what Acacius wanted because he looked up to you his brown eyes full of warmth mixed with a hunger that drove you insane.

"No need to stay quiet, love. I want to hear you. Don't you hold back anything."

Then he licked over your slit quietly humming at your taste which sent vibrations all throughout your body.

"Acacius. Fuck, that's so good," you moaned your hands reaching down to hold on to his locks while trying to keep a clear mind.

He concentrated on your clit for the most part, circling it with the tip of his tongue, gently pressing into it and sucking on it. He soon noticed that you found a special liking in feeling him blow air over your little nub and was happy to comply watching your little squirms and your trembling legs with pleasure.

Only when you writhed beneath him restlessly shifting with your hips he firmly grabbed them pushing you down and letting out a growl that told you to stay still for him.

"Stay here, love. Let me enjoy you," he said at one point and you felt your cheeks heat up at his words.

You followed his command because when you did so, Acacius showered you with praise and compliments telling you how good you were for him and it never failed to make your heart flutter and your pussy uncomfortably clench around nothing.

But your husband soon changed that as well, literally touching you just where you needed it without even having to ask him to. He kept his mouth on your clit kissing it as if it was the most precious and delicate little spot in the world when you felt one of his thick fingers at your entrance tenderly inserting it inside of you.

You jolted at the intrusion and narrowed your eyes as this was something you had never felt before but Acacius knew just what you needed running his left hand over your hip in a soothing manner while whispering sweet things against your pussy.

"It's alright, darling. You're doing so good for me. I'm just gonna open you up a little bit, hmh? So you'll be able to take me."

You let out yet another moan and Acacius, feeling you relax around him, went deeper until his digit was fully buried in you.

"That's a good girl…," he growled rewarding your clit with a skillfull twirl of his tongue and then as he started moving his finger in you your hands in his hair tightened pushing him closer to your center.

"Oh," you gasped bending your neck to watch his activities between your thighs but all you could see was his head pressing himself so close to you, you would assume he was looking for heaven.

Acacius fingered your cunt while continuing to give you pleasure with his mouth, now gliding his tongue over the underside of your clit which earned him tugs at his hair by your demanding hands. You needed him, wanted to feel him in more ways than you did right now and forgot that it simply wasn't possible.

"I want you to come for me, darling. I want you to soak my face," his voice cut through your clouded mind and you made out his face through half-litted eyes.

"How?" was all you asked which he reacted to with a low chuckle.

"Listen to my voice. And do what feels right. Your body will know what to do."

You couldn't deny that you trusted him, your body and mind completely surrendering to him and so you did just what he had asked of you.

You let your head sink back in the cushions sprawled out underneath him and let him do with you as he desired. He was like a magical creature bringing you so much pleasure with just the tip of his tongue that you asked yourself if sex was always supposed to be this way because if yes, you thought you might never want to do anything else in your life. Or perhaps he was just a god or a witch and had enchanted you.

There was this prominent tense in your thighs that seemed to grow the longer your husband kept going and soon you knew it was about to burst and take utter control of your body. You hummed to yourself feeling your core clench and almost couldn't hear Acacius whispering to you, his mouth still busy smearing your wetness all over your clit.

"That's it… you can let go. I'll catch you, my love. You're a fucking dream, baby, god…"

And then the tension was freed spreading in your body like a disease and you felt like your whole world was shattering into a million pieces; but in the best way possible. You closed your legs around Acacius, buckled up beneath him and squeezed your eyes while trying to deal with these overwhelming and new emotions.

"I'm right here, just breathe for me, sweetling. There you go… Just like that," he talked you through it and crawled up to you again to hold you through your high.

Your hands clung to his shoulders welcoming him so close to you and you heavily panted in his ear while he tried to calm you down.

"That's right. You did so wonderfully for me, darling and I'm so proud of you."

Slowly, you came back to him your eyes still a little glossy but you smiled up to him feeling high on this peacefulness and the effects of your release. Acacius ran his thumb over your cheek and then kissed your forehead endearingly.

"You're so perfect. I wanna make you feel good all the time."

You nodded eagerly still not able to process how good this had felt. Never had you believed that being with a man could be that amazing and you truly wondered if everyone was as good as Acacius or if he was merely talented.

"I want that too. But now I want you to take me, Acacius. I want you to take my innocence."

He bit his lip which was so hot to watch that it felt obscene and smiled looking at the ceiling as his mouth came down to your neck once more sucking on your veins and your sensitive thin skin.

"I will, sweet girl. And then you're gonna be mine until the end of time. You want that, love?"

You nodded although you probably would have agreed to anything he asked of you right now.

"I want that. I wanna be yours."

You didn't know what it was; maybe just his appealing aura or the confidence in everything that he was doing, either way, you felt this craving to be his alone. The desire to snuggle against his chest and feel protected and cared for.

Acacius parted your legs a little more so his hips pressed you down into the mattress and when you felt his finger at your throbbing entrance again you jolted.

"Shh sh," he cooed you starting to fuck you with his finger again. "I don't want you to be in pain when I fuck you."

That was the moment when you were reminded again of what he had told you earlier and Acacius could instantly see the slight panic in your eyes.

"Please be careful, Acacius," you begged him which made him feel stitches in his stomach.

"I'll go as slow as you need me to. I'll be careful and stop if you change your mind. I promise."

You nodded feeling a familiar warmth in your lower belly despite the little part of you that feared the inevitable pain. He steadily thrusted his finger in you until adding a second one that stretched you but you listened to him and focused on breathing.

"There you go, love. I know what you need, you just concentrate on me, alright?"

"Yes, Acacius," you panted clasping at his broad shoulders that felt so strong beneath your touch.

Your husband let you adjust to his thick fingers for a while before fucking you with them as well and it didn't take long until sweat was covering your forehead your pupils dilating. It definitely wasn't as good as feeling his mouth on your clit but his presence so close to you and his body caging you underneath him as though he had just found the most precious and treasured price that he never intended to let go already made you go feral.

You forgot the time fully giving yourself to the way his fingers filled you up, hyperaware of every contact his skin made with yours but at the same time feeling your mind relax, and then hazily blinked a few times when you felt him pull out of you.

"Are you ready to take it, sweet girl?" he asked his voice sounding rougher and thinner now as well.

"Yes. I can take it, please."

He chuckled lowly the vibration transferring over to your body and you possessively wrapped your arms around his back; as if there was anything that could possibly make him stop right now.

"I know you can. Because you're being such a good girl for me all the fucking time."

Goosebumps covered your arms at his words which made you wonder if this was a normal and natural reaction to such simple words but you didn't question it any further as you heard him nestle between his thighs and then you glanced at his cock that was beautifully lit by the dim lighting.

He had wrapped a hand around the shaft his red tip glistening with precum and groaned as he dragged it through your folds collecting your wetness. He noticed the way your body had stiffened up a little your eyes wide open and made sure to soothe you by kissing your shoulder and embracing you in a soft hug.

"It's alright, darling. It's going to be fine. But we can stop if you want to."

You were quick to shake your head helplessly clinging to his arms.

"No. Please do it."

And then Acacius didn't need any further permission and guided his cock to your hole his hand lingering at your cheek.

"Breathe in. Just like that…" he mumbled and felt the way your body tensed.

"And now out…"

Just when you felt the air escaping your lungs there was a sharp pain in your center making your eyes go as round as coins and you choked on a gasp.

"It's alright, it's alright," he quickly purred making sure your eyes were on him. "It's gonna be better soon. You're doing so wonderful for me, just breathe and try to loosen up."

It burned incredibly and you wondered if he was completely inside because it already hurt so badly although it seemed like he had only pushed inside a little thus far. Your nails dug into his skin surely leaving marks but Acacius didn't mind solely focused on talking you through the pain and comforting you.

"Look at me, y/n. Look at me, darling."

Your stinging eyes searched for his pupils hectically flicking over his face but something about him made you forget about the way you felt like your pussy was being ripped apart. Time stopped and you just watched his beautiful face slightly drawn with pleasure but clearly concerned about you as there was a deep crease between his eyebrows.

"Good girl. How are you feeling?" he wanted to know and despite feeling incapable of delivering a coherent sentence you nodded your fingers firmly holding on to him.

He waited like this until he felt you relax your muscles the pain beginging to fade and then pulled out just a little bit only to thrust back in, still very slow and careful and yet the intrusion was enough to bring fresh tears to your eyes.

"You feel perfect. And I promise you it's gonna be better soon."

You tried to believe him forcing your center to welcome the pain rather than fighting it and in addition closed your eyes breathing steadily just like he had told you. And he turned out to be correct; a few more minutes later the pulsating burning ache started to disappear until you eventually felt confident enough to arch your hips a little.

Acacius had tried his best to hide how much everything about you affected him the whole time but this gave him the rest. The way you buckled up trying to get him to move and how your eyes rolled back when he slid his hand between your thighs again finding your clit and rubbing a few comforting circles around it. He needed to claim and devour and he just hoped that it was what you wanted as well.

At first your husband followed your gesture backing out again and then filling you and this time it was so much better that you gave him a wide smile.

"That's good, Acacius. I want more, please I need you to fuck me."

Perhaps it was the additional stimulation on your clit that made you grow eager instead of his thick cock stretching you but either way, he intended to give you just what you wanted.

"Alright, love," he replied and then began to fuck you at a slow pace.

In the first few minutes it was still a strange and unfamiliar feeling to melt with someone this way but along with his skillfull fingers he actually managed to envoke new noises leaving your mouth soon. Acacius was blind with lust almost feeling like an animal that intended to lay claim to his prey and picked up the pace while still looking out for your well-being of course.

"You like that? You like me fucking that sweet pussy like that?"

Although the phrase was meant to be filthy and wild, your husband made it somehow sound warm and gentle. If it was his voice or the soft features of his face you didn't know but a new wave of pleasure hit you.

"Yes I like it. Oh fuck, I need you," you cried against his shoulders that were now gently pressing you into the bed.

It was dirty, primitive almost begging and urging your husband to go quicker, reach deeper inside of you to hit that magical spot but you didn't care. All you cared about was Acacius who was so tender with you and at the same time awakened these intense feelings in you that you had never felt before.

And he complied, his tip repeatedly grazing over that spot in your body and there was something so delicate about it like he intended to kiss it just the way he had kissed your clit earlier only that this time it was his cock making you feel that way.

You couldn't deny the slight stretching burn that still ran throughout your body every now and then but it was nothing compared to the accumulating tension that now wasn't new to you and told you that you were about to burst again. His touch on your clit became lazy, rapidly rubbing over it and when he kissed you sloppily you knew that he probably was just as close as you.

"Come for me, darling. Give me a second one, I know you can to it. You respond to me so beautifully and I know you want it."

You had difficulties comprehending him as his voice was muffled by your chin which he covered with kisses and yet you did just as he had told you reaching your second high of the night at the same time as he came inside of you, ropes of his sticky cum filling you to the brim. He collapsed on top of you in the moment you arched on the bed the weight of his body pushing you down as you shivered and trembled and little sighs escaped from your mouth.

"Acacius," you cried tasting every sweet second of this divine release and then just listened to both of your loud pantings while watching him savour the effects of his orgasm.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he cursed inhaling deeply as he watched your red face that made you look like you had just exhausted yourself but in his mind you had never been more radiant. This was his work. He had been the one to make you feel like that and his heart seemed to explode in his chest almost incapable of believing his luck.

"I don't think you're aware of how fantastic you are," he whispered in your ear which made you smile like an idiot.

"Thank you," you answered wanting to bump your head against the wall because why couldn't you think of something more clever?

He rose his head again taking in your face and each detail like your swollen lips or your flushed cheeks and then kissed you upon your brow.

"You need some sleep now in order to be fit in the morrow."

You pursed your lips in disappointment feeling how he rolled off you but when Acacius offered you his arm you were quick to wrap your arms around it and clench your body against it.

"You will not leave me, right?" you anxiously asked which made your husband run his hand over the back of your head his fingers playing with single strands of your hair.

"Never."

This was just what you had wanted to hear and you contently closed your eyes feeling like this was a position you could find some sleep in.

"If something troubles you, you're going to wake me up, alright?" he asked but you almost couldn't perceive the content of his words anymore as you were slowly drifting to sleep.

"Yes, Acacius," was the last thing you whispered before you entered the lands of dreams, firmly clinging to your husband and a smile on your lips.

[lay-z]

cotton candy clouds | 4

Synopsis: Due to his rank, status, and many combat achievements, Lieutenant Riley is assigned an emotional support hybrid by the brass; whether he likes it or not.

Pairing: handler!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x dog!hybrid!fem!Reader

Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Reader is a purebred Samojede (dog)hybrid. Despite ears, tails, and their adapted nature/instincts and personalities, hybrids have human features. | bimbo!Reader; hypersexuality; slow-burnish; heavy smut; tw: past (sexual) abuse/manipulation; cussing; fluff/domesticity; humour; angst; hurt/comfort; eventual romance; strangers to lovers; dub-con elements (Mind the warnings for each chapter!)

☁ ccc; masterlist

Whenever Simon spares you a glance to remind himself that this new and strange arrangement is real, he finds you staring right back at him somehow.

Always making eye contact; holding his unwavering gaze with a silent expectation that makes his chest feel tight and his brain go numb, grappling for answers. Multiple times he's caught himself biting the tip of his tongue harshly to refrain himself from barking “What?” at you, demanding an answer in exchange for his cluelessness: What do you want from me?

He's building a mountain of expectations in his mind involuntarily while lacking the gear and a strategy in how to climb it properly. It's too high, and he knows he can never reach the top unscathed.

How can he possibly take care of you if he can barely take care of himself outside of what is required of him? He keeps himself fit, alive, able to function, always ready to follow an order and go in for the kill. That’s what he knows, what he’s comfortable with, but this?

Simon doesn't play house, doesn't know how to handle something so... domestic and delicate. He never experienced it growing up, never witnessed normalcy. If he would care about such things now, he’d have a wife or something akin to one, but he doesn’t–never even had a partner before, never bothered to believe himself fit for dating, for letting someone in like this.

Even the soft clothes you're wearing make him recoil; pastel colours having the opposite effect of red to a bull–so odd and out of place to him, and he knows the callouses on his fingers would simply catch on the fabric if he were ever to reach out to you for whatever reason, like a sheep’s fine wool catching on a thorn brush, scratching and tearing.

“What would you like for dinner?”

Simon blinks twice, thrice, before the question comes through his thick skull, vision slowly clearing despite him having stared at you for the past minutes while you were sitting on his couch patiently the whole time, eager as ever now that he willingly took you back to his flat again.

Why did you even sign the handlership without knowing him at all beforehand? Are you really that oblivious? That naïve? Or did the brass coax you into signing it?

“Simon?”

The way you keep saying his name so casually, makes his chest ache, makes him inhale sharply each time. What would he like for dinner? It should be such a simple question, but it seems like a puzzle to him–a thousand pieces, all in the same bloody colour.

“Why? Ya offering to cook for me, lass?” He snorts humourlessly. It's ridiculous. No one cooks for him unless he goes to the mess hall to get some grub.

“Of course, I'd love to!” You answer immediately, flashing a genuine smile. His eyes flicker to your tail when it starts to wag again and he curls his lips under his mask. Isn't he supposed to take care of you? What even is this bloody handlership? His brows draw together quizzically, making that deep crease reappear between them. Perhaps he should’ve read it before putting his signature on the damn paper.

Then he sighs in resignation. “Do whatever you want, just stay out of my room,” he replies and makes a half-hearted gesture towards the kitchen. “Not sure wha’s in the fridge. Been a few days since I went to the store,” he admits begrudgingly, kissing his teeth in annoyance when his stomach grumbles.

“Well then,” you say tentatively, tail stilling on the couch, “–why don't we go shopping for groceries?”

It’s already late afternoon, when Simon pulls up to the parking lot in front of the local supermarket in town with a truck he borrowed, deciding it’s better for his own nerves to take you somewhere else but the stores they have on base.

He just can’t bring himself to keep you on a leash around his peers, to parade you around wearing a pink collar around your neck with his rank and military ID number stitched into its leather–a ‘gift’ from the bloody gift basket Price had delivered to his flat along with the initial shock of your presence.

And, by god, he wants to drop the leash and run in the other direction as soon as the automatic sliding doors swoosh open and his boots step foot into the store with you in tow–a red shopping basket clutched in his other hand.

What an absurd picture it must be to other shopgoers–a behemoth with a skull mask and cargo pants buying veggies and snacks with a gorgeous hybrid woman on a pink leash and matching collar. Kinky, he muses unintentionally and grits his teeth, cringing at his own stupid thought. It’s then and there Simon decides to murder Price next chance he gets.

“Mummy, look!” A toddler exclaims, pointing at you as he peeks his head into the produce aisle. Simon’s eyebrow raises beneath his mask as the little boy approaches shyly, his wide eyes fixated on you. Civilians, especially kids and women, usually avoid him like the plague whenever he’s out and about in public, looking like, well–himself.

“Hello there,” you coo at the toddler, crouching down to his level while Simon keeps as much distance as the leash allows him to, knowing better than to interfere. “Are you looking for your mama?” You ask attentively, ears twitching as you look past the boy, already searching for his parents.

The boy shakes his head with a big smile, rocking on his feet. “Nu-uh, she’s–”

“Noah!” The frantic voice of a woman calls out. “I told you to stay by–” Her eyes widen, steps faltering briefly as she catches sight of Simon, who has already anticipated the reaction, slumping his shoulders to try and make himself look smaller, less threatening.

“He’s okay,” you chime in swiftly, straightening up to be on eye-level with Noah’s mother. “We were about to help him look for you, madam,” you assure her, and the boy giggles when you ruffle his brown unruly curls briefly. “Isn’t that right, big man?”

The conversation fades into the background just like Simon’s whole presence seemingly does as you go on to hold a friendly and effortless conversation with the mother and her son. Meanwhile, Simon doesn’t quite remember the last time someone approached him so casually and jovially, and he gets lost in his own rotten mind with flashbacks of the past again–seeing the ghosts of Beth and Joseph in these strangers in front of him, and his heart is gripped by icy tendrils of grief and melancholy until your laugh breaks through the vision, pulling him back to reality at once.

“Oh, no worries! I’m sure it is strange to see someone like me in a quaint town like this,” you chuckle softly, giving a small wave with your hand while Simon’s pale lashes flutter as he tries to follow the conversation once more after what he’s missed. He notices how the toddler is giggling, petting and hugging your fluffy tail while you continue talking to his mum like it’s nothing unordinary. “But working for the military has brought me to the strangest places where hybrids are either a common occurrence or completely rare and more like a myth,” you explain patiently.

And the woman smiles coyly, already smitten with your charms. “Well, you certainly are a looker if I dare say so, miss.”

Once Alice, as she'd introduced herself, and Noah go about their own shopping, Simon catches the odd look on your face, something akin to sadness or longing hidden behind your smile, before you rapidly blink it away as a grumpy-looking elderly man approaches you, asking for help as if you'd know your way around while Simon groans internally, already despising all the attention.

You really do turn heads in a rather positive way if you manage to make the most grumpy old geezer smile in a heartbeat.

“You always this chipper?” He gruffs as he watches you add a pound of butter and coffee creamer to the overflowing basket, not that he'd care about that. You've been nothing but mindful of prices and proper nourishment while strolling through the aisles.

“Hm?” Simon snorts, in amusement this time. There's no way you didn't hear him; he saw your plush left ear swivel in his direction. “Ya heard me jus’ fine, lass.” He mutters, grabbing a box of his favourite biscuits as he walks past them and shoving them in between the other goodies, feeling like a child sneaking candy into their parent's shopping cart.

“Oh, yeah,” you chuckle, keeping your eyes trained on the shelves with different brands of toast before grabbing a packaged loaf. “I guess I am.” Then you stop, glancing up at him over your shoulder, and Simon nearly bumps into you. “You don't like people coming up to us to chat?”

Simon's brows furrow. Us? “They wanna talk you, not me. 'm basically–” He shrugs, making a vague gesture at himself as the leash clinks in his hand.

“A Ghost?” You quip, beaming at your little joke while your tail swishes proudly.

“Right,” Simon huffs quietly. “Smooth.”

He's rather thankful for his balaclava as he continues trotting after you through the store, hiding the tiniest crack of a smile underneath the black cloth.

There’s a match on the telly, an ice cold bottle of his favourite ale on the coffee table on a coaster he didn’t even know he owned, though all Simon can really focus on is this bizarre situation he finds himself watching as you go about doing your own thing in his kitchen.

It’s almost mesmerizing, the way you rummage through the cupboards and drawers, taking out pots and bowls to your liking as if you own the place already, preparing a side salad while the steaks sizzle in the pan–all while you’re wearing that frilly, pale pink apron that you’d fetched from your suitcase earlier, the one that makes Simon wonder if one of your previous handlers is responsible for your peculiar wardrobe, or if pink simply happens to be your favourite colour.

He takes an absentminded sip of his drink when another thought pops into his head: What if you wear all of this hyper-feminine bollocks because people forced you to like it? What if they manipulated you into enjoying stuff to state their own perverted fantasies? Would you rather wear something else?

And Simon imagines it briefly–you wearing something cosy, perhaps one of his hoodies that would most likely swallow you whole. He takes another swing of ale and his nose wrinkles, though it’s not the bitterness making him squinch.

“Dinner is ready in five,” you croon suddenly, popping your head into the living room from the kitchen as the savoury aroma of steak and chips wafts through the flat, engulfing the usually sparse space like a warm, comforting blanket.

With a soft groan and a cracking knee, Simon gets up from his seat on the couch. The least he can do is set the table.

@lucienofthelakes @kakashiislut @jggykhug09090 @edgarapoecolouredglasses @kerst666 @whos-fran @d1zzy-r1v3rs @userinaliel666 @annoyingstrawberryballoon @vmaxis @tessakate @dneicjefx @sushiumex @yourfavreggie @cmbghost @brokexintroverted @mysterygrl555 @bunnybeaches @fmlmf @teapartydreams @nachofriess @slut-lmao @sweetnanah @kodzukenwhore @thefutureastronaut @arael-asuka @oliver-1270

[sttoru]

‘and if i only could, i’d make a deal with god, and i’d get him to swap our places. .’ — kate bush

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. gojo satoru x wife!reader. fluff to angst (no comfort). spoilers chapter 261. reader’s pregnant. major character death. mentions of blood, death. nicknames ‘pretty, sweets’. not proofread bcs i couldn't through the tears. i cried nine times writing this so.. good luck! wc: 3.6k

“he’s kicking again,” satoru chuckles excitedly. he’s been clinging onto you ever since you got back from your doctor’s appointment. your baby boy is growing up healthy and there don’t seem to be any complications.

you smile and rest back against the velvety pillows. you’re enjoying the affection you’re receiving, the kisses and nuzzles against your swollen tummy makes every bit of suffering worth it. your husband is going to be an amazing dad, that you can tell.

“hey, little guy—don’t give ya mommy a tough time,” satoru huffs and gently taps the side of your stomach that was last kicked by the unborn baby, “that’s my wife, y’know?” you giggle at the scene in front of you and close your eyes, relaxing your body.

a comfortable silence hangs in the room. satoru’s warm hands cupping and rubbing your round stomach add to the tranquil atmosphere. the weight of your husband’s head presses onto the front of your plump belly—ear pressed against the stretched skin as if expecting to hear your baby boy talk.

after a while, you open your eyes. you hear a sniff and then the usual silence follows. you look down at satoru settled between your legs, hugging your waist and resting his cheek on your tummy. he’s awfully quiet and you’re unable to see his eyes because of his bangs.

“toru, everything okay?” you carefully ask. your voice comforts him for the next couple seconds, before his muscles tense up once more. satoru tries his best to seem unaffected by the many thoughts scurrying through his head.

“mhm,” your husband nods and forces a small smile. though, he can’t keep the facade up any longer. the longer you’re pregnant, the more worried he gets about a certain something; something that’s been bothering him ever since.

it’s the reason why he doubted even having kids in the first place.

“i—well. i don’t know, sweets,” satoru sighs. a deep sigh that shatters the mask he’s had on for so long. his brows furrow and his eyes dart from one place to the other. his fingers stop their movements on your stomach. they curl around the material of your shirt instead; showing a clear sense of vulnerability.

satoru seems. . . afraid, yet also angry. perhaps at himself, perhaps at the world. you don’t utter a single word. if there’s anything you want, it’s for your husband to speak about his inner turmoil freely. you’re the only person who he can have such emotional conversations with—the only person he can be himself with.

the real gojo satoru.

not the strongest.

that’s why you’re not surprised when satoru opens his mouth to confess the inevitable to you. “i’m scared,” his voice cracks. it’s a faint change in tone, but it is noticeable to you. you’ve been his lover for long enough to notice every minuscule thing.

the white-haired man lets out another sigh. you brush his soft bangs out of his eyes and instantly notice the sudden weariness in them. normally, those beautiful blue eyes shine brightly, yet that light has now dimmed.

you pat his head and satoru immediately leans into your touch. you allow him to process his own emotions and words before speaking up.

“scared?” you ask quietly and carefully, giving your husband space to explain.

satoru nods. there are a thousand thoughts running through his mind. all those thoughts he’s tried to suppress since the day you’ve announced your pregnancy. maybe even before that—at the day of your wedding.

he’s sat down with you a few months into the marriage, to have the talk about kids. he seemed to be delighted to have children with you, however there have always been some dark and hidden thoughts lingering in the back of his mind.

the sorcerer has chosen to ignore them for the longest time. he’s been trying to convince himself that he has nothing to worry about. you’re going to be fantastic parents and your children are going to be extremely loved.

the day you surprised him with your pregnancy, was like a dream. satoru cried - which he rarely does - so it was an emotional night for both of you. neither of you could wait to meet your child—happy with whatever gender.

despite all of the optimism and enthusiasm, satoru’s struggles with his inner thoughts have not yet ended. he doesn’t want to bother you with it. you seem so content and he does not want to ruin that at all.

but even the strongest without limits has to reach a breaking point.

“yeah,” satoru speaks up, his voice hoarse. he kisses your belly button, hoping his child doesn’t pick up on his distress somehow. your husband closes his eyes as he places his forehead against your tummy, praying that the heavens above hear his pleas, “i don’t want our kid to inherit my cursed techniques. at all.”

your hand doesn’t stop stroking satoru’s hair. you don’t flinch at his words, nor do you immediately discard his worries. in all honestly, you’ve shared the same feelings before getting pregnant.

you know how satoru’s treated by the jujutsu society. it’s dehumanising how he’s seen as a weapon of some sorts. a weapon that could solve all problems—one that cannot rest until its duty is done.

you despise it. you’ve told satoru about your hatred for the toxic society, even going as far as asking him to move to a different country without telling anyone. you’re sick and tired. you can’t recall the amount of times that you’ve cried alone, in the bathroom, after you’ve seen the state your lover comes back home in.

the white-haired man always seems so tired. his eyes and head hurt because of them overusing his cursed techniques. there are even days where satoru doesn’t put his blindfold or sunglasses off at home.

and when you try to talk to him about it, satoru simply assures you that ‘he’ll be fine’. you believe him in the moment, but you don’t know for how long you’ll be able to keep that trust.

you’re letting him break, slowly yet surely, right in front of you. he’s working himself to his demise. it’s nothing out of the ordinary to not want the same for your child.

though, you’re sure that it’ll be fine even if your baby boy inherits satoru’s techniques. that’s because you two are going to protect him with all you have. no one is going to treat your child like a weapon—not while the both of you are still alive.

“i don’t want our child to take over the burden i carry,” satoru continues. his brows are furrowed and his lips are pressed into a thin line. he’s already thinking about all the possibilities that can follow with the birth of your son.

he can hide his child from the world, but wouldn’t that be too restrictive? he can keep an eye on him every second of the day, but wouldn’t that be overprotective?

you notice satoru’s internal state of panic increasing, so you quickly cup his face. you lean down and press a firm kiss against his lips, to which he instantly responds. his breath hitches and he sits up on the mattress, deepening the kiss as his hands hold you by the back of your head.

he needs this—you—more than anything else in the world. if it wasn’t for you, he’d have lost his sanity long ago.

you pull back after a good minute and pant. you chuckle as you notice the slight pout on satoru’s lips. he never seems satisfied with just one kiss, which is adorable. you coo and pepper his face with small pecks, “aww.”

it’s comforting to the sorcerer. he closes his eyes and his mouth forms a small smile. you’re doing an amazing job at calming him down. satoru’s muscles relax and he finds himself nestled between your legs soon enough.

you realise that he’s still somewhat afraid for the future of his child by the way he’s playing with your shirt. his head lays on your chest and his long fingers trace shapes on your exposed skin.

“i know, honey, i know,” you murmur against the top of his head. you massage satoru’s scalp gently, nearly making him purr because of how incredible that feels. you stare at the ceiling and continue your little talk.

“i’ve thought about all of it too,” your fingers find his undercut, playing with the little hairs. all you can hope for is that your partner stresses less about the outcome of your pregnancy.

if you can do one thing for him, it’d be that. reassuring him that you’ll both do your best for your child will surely put him at ease. your husband has enough to worry about anyway.

you want to share that burden. you don’t want him to carry the world on his shoulders alone—he’s got you for that now.

“but i think that our son will be fine. why? because he’s got you,” you smile and kiss satoru’s forehead. it’s his favorite type of kiss and it works wonders when you comfort him. his ocean eyes regain their sparkle, both because of your unconditional love and trust in his parenting skills, “our boy will grow up fine and protected because he’s got you as his amazing dad, yeah?”

satoru takes some time to let your words sink in. your trust in him is a beautiful thing. of course, he’ll protect his kid no matter what. both you and his kid will be safe for as long as he’s alive. you’re going to be a happy family—one that he’s always dreamed of having.

he isn’t going to raise his child to be the strongest. he isn’t going to raise his child as an heir to the throne. he isn’t going to raise his child as his legacy. he isn’t going to raise his child as a tool.

his son will have a normal childhood and he will guarantee that. satoru will give his kid what he didn’t have as a child himself;

unconditional love and support for whatever his son wishes to become.

satoru raises his head and leans in to kiss you, hugging you to himself. he adores you so much, you’re all he needs to feel like he can do anything and everything all at once.

carrying the world on his shoulders so you can live peacefully in it is all satoru does it for.

“heh, damn right. i’ll be the best husband and dad ever.”

. . .

but in the end, your dreams are just dreams, right?

an escape from reality, that’s all dreams really are. all those times you’ve sat together to pick the furniture you want to place in the nursery, to paint the room a baby blue, to buy clothes and toys, diapers and carriers, to giggle about the places you would love to visit as a family, to think about possible baby names, to joke about whether your son will say ‘dada’ or ‘mama’ first — all of it were naive, hopeful dreams.

perhaps you were too caught up in them to realise that reality will hit when least expected.

satoru and you have lived in your own bubble—your own little fantasy world where tragic fates does not exist. no one in this planet would suffer if life worked that way.

no one on this planet would have to pick up the phone and have their world shatter, their dream bubble pop. to have all hope lost in the span of a second.

grief is a scary thing. it’s devastating and it will consume you whole. you don’t realise that until you experience it firsthand. losing someone close to you will break you in half. it’s a punch to the gut.

especially if it’s your husband. someone you considered your partner—who’s promised you to be together forever. maybe those promises were also a part of your fantasy.

maybe they were also but a beautiful lie.

your footsteps feel heavy. you don’t have any energy left in you. every drop has been drained from you the moment you heard the news over the phone. your eyes and head hurt, both feeling like they’re going to burst. you don’t want to accept any of this.

the faces of the people around you are a blur. they’re all holding their head low, their hands gathered in front of them to show respect. no one speaks—all the room is filled with are your sobs. the loud cries you let out in hopes that they wake you up from this absolute nightmare.

you drag your feet to the examination table in the middle of the room. tears continue to blur your vision, though surely, you can confirm the outline of the body laying underneath the blanket.

how could you not recognise the person you thought you’d spend eternity with?

it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. . .

“satoru.” your voice is barely audible. your hands are shaking and your face is stained with endless streams of tears. you stand at the side of the table and you instantly curl your fingers around the edge.

seeing that face from up close hits different. usually, it’d have your stomach fill with a feeling of delight, yet now all you feel when looking at it is unimaginable dread.

the blood on the corners of his mouth. the blanket that’s hiding whatever is left of him from below the waist. the dull eyes that once stared at you with hope and love. those dried lips that normally shone with a layer of gloss.

god, it’s awful. you don’t want this to be true. you’re still waiting to be woken up by your husband. so he can hold you close and hug you, whisper sweet nothings and reassure you that he’d never leave you alone in a savage world like this.

your shaky fingers reach out to his right hand. his skin feels cold and his hand doesn’t hold yours back. your breath hitches and you let out a long, devastating cry. it sounds like a scream for help as your body crumbles—falling to your knees whilst you tightly grip your lover’s limp hand.

“no, god no, please!” you cover your mouth with your free hand, nearly hyperventilating from pure pain. you feel like your heart is going to give up on you. it’s breaking into a million pieces, as does your future. you can’t live without him—you can't do it.

satoru is the sole reason you’ve held out for so long. you were each other’s support system. you can’t do any of this on your own. you can’t breathe properly—your body doesn’t let you.

not until you feel a hand on your back, rubbing it gently. you can guess that it’s shoko, but you’re too distraught to even pay attention to her. you lift yourself up by holding onto the edge of the table, your legs shaking. you sniffle and sob uncontrollably.

you reach out to touch satoru’s lifeless face, as gentle as you always do. you flinch when you feel just how cold his body is—the usual warmth that would comfort you gone, nowhere to be found. you don’t get a reaction from him when you touch his cheeks.

it only serves to remind you of the tragic events that unveiled. you’re still in denial, but the moment feels real. your brain is slowly yet surely processing the information. though, you don’t want it to. you want to live in a world where you grow old with your husband.

where your child is going to grow up with a father figure at home.

“satoru, come back to me.. to us, please,” you beg and beg, hoping he smiles and sits up, telling you that it’s just one of his silly pranks again. when none of that happens, you feel yourself become more hopeless. you hunch over him and cup his face. the same face that would light up whenever you’d touch it.

you hiccup and wail, unable to breathe. you rub his cheekbones with your thumbs, settling your forehead against his. your tears fall underneath his eyes and slide down his temples, making it seem like he’s crying with you.

you wait for satoru to respond, but he doesn’t. there’s an eerie silence on his part and you’re panicking. you need him to comfort you, but he isn’t there to do that anymore. you’re left alone, all alone.

“i can’t do this without you—we can’t do this without you,” you stammer between sobs. you can’t go through life, knowing satoru isn’t going to be there for you. he isn’t going to come home anymore. he isn’t going to cuddle you to sleep anymore. he isn’t going to experience what it’s like to have a family of his own. he isn't going to be able to hold his child and to play with him.

you blame life for being unfair—always taking away the people who don’t deserve it. satoru hasn’t done anything to deserve this. he just.. existed. his fate of becoming the strongest, decided at his birth, is what has lead to his death.

you continue to sob to yourself. you refuse to acknowledge anything or anyone else in the room. you’re solely focused on your husband. or rather, what’s left of him.

remembering how excited satoru was to spend the rest of his life with you and your future children pains you all the more. he’s been stripped from a normal life. you’ve tried your hardest to give him that said normal life, yet your hopeful dreams have gotten you nowhere.

you wipe your tears away for the first time in a while. your grief is making you delusional—disoriented to the point you try to make yourself feel better. you force a smile and hold tightly onto satoru’s limp hand, trying to speak through your quiet sniffles.

“o-our boy is gonna be born soon,” you chuckle bitterly and place satoru’s hand on your belly. it’s gotten bigger over the months and you’re already eight months along. he was so close to meeting your child—so close. yet his tragic destiny did not allow him to.

you hope he’s been happy with you for as long as he lived. you hope you’ve somewhat relieved him from his misery for as long as he lived. that burden he carried, the world he carried on his shoulders. . . it doesn’t seem to want to detach from him. even after death.

you press a deep kiss against his forehead. satoru’s favorite spot to be kissed at, you remember. you wish he feels it in the afterlife; wherever he may he. as long as he’s in a better place now, one that treats him well. this current world has been too cruel on him. it doesn’t deserve to home someone like your husband.

“i wish you were here to see your son. to see our baby grow up, you'd be so proud, honey,” you kiss satoru’s forehead again. it’s all you can do stop yourself from losing it completely. you know satoru would tell you to be strong, for his sake. for your unborn son.

“i’m going to tell him all about you, ‘kay? i'm going to tell him about how awesome his dad was,” your voice breaks for the nth time. you’re still in the first stage of grief, though you try to seem strong in case satoru is watching from somewhere.

that’s what he did when he was the one going through a tough time. he’d act brave and fine, putting on a mask to make you worry less, telling you all kinds of reassuring words while he was suffering internally.

now it’s your turn to safely send his soul off to the afterlife. to let satoru pass away in peace, with him knowing that you’re going to live on for him and for your child. it’s the least you can do at the moment.

you put on a brave face, staring into his lifeless eyes, smiling through the unbearable pain. you’re sure he’s still listening to you from somewhere. satoru’s always told you that your voice is soothing, so you do your best to calm his soul and reassure him that it’s fine for him to rest.

“i’ll do my best to raise him, yeah? so you.. you just rest.”

rest was a foreign word to the sorcerer. this world didn’t give him an ounce of peace. he’d either be overworked by his family or the jujutsu society, and if it isn’t work, his inherited techniques were slowly killing his brain and body.

you’re praying that satoru has none of that in the afterlife. you’re praying that he can live a normal life, eternally. so that when you join him one day, you both won’t have to suffer nor share the burden. you can live out your dreams without anyone interrupting.

not even fate.

“you deserve to rest. you really do,” you sigh.

soon enough, you feel yourself crumble again. you burst out in tears once you realise that he’s actually never coming back to you in this life. you bury your face in the crook of his neck and sob loudly, not holding back your emotions anymore. you just can’t—you can’t act brave when your second half has been taken away from you so suddenly.

you hope that you succeeded into sending him off without any worries. you can’t help but continue rambling to yourself, “i’m going to miss you s’much. oh, my baby.”

you lift your head back and stare into satoru’s eyes once more. did he think about you when he was on his deathbed? did he see his life flash before his eyes, including his many memories with you? did he see what could have been?

it’s unfair.

you give him one last bright smile and gently close his eyelids for him, hoping his lost soul saw your face before you did so. with one last kiss on his lips, you whisper your final words;

“please wait for me on the other side, my love.”

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1854 - could it be love?

chapter summary: You meet Logan, a young man who is briefly stopping by in New York City. Despite both of your better judgments, you quickly realize that perhaps there's nothing wrong with falling in love.

word count: 22.2k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: ahh!! welcome to this new series! i'm very excited to start this journey with all of y'all! just a note, when i say 'character death(s)' in the warnings it means that reader is going to die at the end of every chapter. that's the entire premise of this series, which was inspired by the 11th doctor and clara (iykyk). but first, we have a lot of time to cover before we even reach the first x-men movie so strap in!

i also didn't mean for this to be as long as it is, oops

warnings/tags: fluff, angst, outdated mindsets on women, slow burn, illness, character deaths

series masterlist → chapter 2

You didn’t necessarily love your job, but it was better than other options available for you. You grumbled to yourself as you walked down the sidewalk of New York City, horses neighing and wheels rattling on the brick street.

The bonnet on your head protected you from the sun beating down, keeping you from further heat in your dress. You had many things to do while you were out, get the children some new clothes and toys, buy some groceries, and buy some extra cloth for when you eventually had to sew their clothing.

As you passed by a small shop, you paused, peering in through the window. A few wooden toys sat on the shelf inside, simple and sturdy. Perfect for the boys. You pushed the door open, a little bell jingling as you entered, and you made your way toward the display.

"Can I help you, miss?" The shopkeeper’s voice startled you, but you smiled politely.

"Just looking for some toys," you replied, eyes scanning the shelves.

As you picked up a carved wooden horse, the door opened again behind you, letting in a bit of fresh air and a man’s heavy footsteps. You didn’t pay it much mind until you felt a presence nearby, a little too close for comfort. You turned slightly, catching sight of a tall man with dark hair and an unshaven face, dressed in a rough shirt and worn pants, a bit out of place among the polished streets of the city.

He glanced your way, his sharp eyes catching yours for a brief moment before he looked back to the shelves.

Something about him felt different—dangerous, but not in the way that made you want to run. More like it pulled you in, made you curious.

You turned back to the toys, but your mind kept wandering back to the stranger standing nearby. You couldn’t help but glance his way again.

"Those are good for little ones," the man said, his voice rough but casual. He nodded at the toy horse in your hand. "They hold up well. Tougher than they look."

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden comment. "You have experience with them?"

His lips twitched, almost a smile. "A bit. Used to make ‘em myself."

You looked him over more closely now, intrigued. "You don’t seem like the toy-making type."

His eyes flicked to yours, something amused in the way he looked at you. "Not anymore," he said, then turned his attention back to the shelves.

There was a silence between you for a moment, but it didn’t feel awkward. If anything, it felt like he didn’t mind you being there, like he was used to people drifting in and out of his space.

You finally spoke again. "I suppose these are sturdy enough for two boys, then."

"Yeah. They’ll survive a beating."

You laughed, the sound surprising you. He gave you another look, a bit more interested this time. There was something about him that made you feel seen in a way that was different from how most men looked at you.

You gathered a few more toys, careful not to spend too much, but you couldn’t resist getting something extra for the little girl you looked after. She was sweet, and it wasn’t her fault she was stuck in such a strict household.

The stranger watched you with those sharp eyes, like he could see more than what was right in front of him. You wondered what his story was, but you weren’t about to ask.

As you headed to the counter, he followed, though he didn’t buy anything. The shopkeeper took your coins, and you gathered your parcels, still feeling the man’s presence behind you.

"Thanks for the advice," you said over your shoulder, more as a courtesy than anything else.

He nodded, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Anytime."

With that, you left the shop, stepping back into the sunlight, the weight of your errands still on your shoulders. But as you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted. Like maybe that wasn’t the last time you’d see him.

---

Edwin and Phillip seemed to enjoy the toy you got them, already fighting over who gets to play with it first. They were the eldest, Edwin was 9, Phillip was 7, and Ada was 6. You handed her the toy you got for her, one she got to keep all to herself.

Ada's face lit up when you handed her the small, carved doll. She held it in her hands gently, like it was the most precious thing in the world.

"For me?" she asked, her voice soft with disbelief.

You smiled and nodded. "Just for you, Ada."

Her eyes sparkled, and she hugged the doll to her chest. "Thank you!"

Edwin and Phillip were already in the middle of their tug-of-war with the wooden horse, the two boys shouting over whose turn it was.

"I had it first!" Edwin argued, pulling the toy toward him.

"You always get it first!" Phillip shot back, his voice growing louder.

You sighed and stepped in, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "Why don't you take turns? If you can't share, I'll have to take it away, and no one gets to play with it."

They both groaned but reluctantly agreed, setting the horse on the floor. Edwin was a bit of a handful, but he could be sweet when he wanted to be. Phillip, the quieter one, usually followed his brother’s lead. At least Ada wasn’t much trouble.

After helping Ada settle in with her new toy, you turned to check on the boys, making sure they hadn’t already forgotten your words. But as you did, your thoughts drifted back to the man in the shop. There was something about him—something that lingered in your mind even now. He didn’t fit in with the usual crowd you saw around here, but he didn’t seem bothered by that.

It was odd, though, that someone like him would be in a toy shop of all places. You tried to shake the thought away, but it kept creeping back, a sense that your brief encounter meant more than it appeared.

Later, after the children had settled down, you found yourself with a rare quiet moment. You sat by the window, staring out at the street below, watching the people passing by. The day was winding down, the sky fading into hues of orange and pink, and yet, the man’s sharp eyes lingered in your mind.

You shook your head, scolding yourself for thinking too much about a stranger. It was just a passing moment—nothing more. You had far more important things to focus on, like taking care of the children and making sure everything ran smoothly for the household. That man, whoever he was, wasn’t part of your world.

But still, something in the back of your mind whispered that you’d see him again. And the thought of it didn’t exactly bother you.

---

The next few days were a blur of your usual routine. The children kept you busy, and you barely had a moment to yourself. But even as you went through the motions of your daily life, you couldn't help but feel that sense of something—or someone—waiting.

It was on a brisk afternoon, a few days after your encounter at the shop, when you found yourself running errands again. The streets were busier than usual, with carriages clattering over the cobblestones and people bustling past in a hurry. You had a long list of things to pick up, and the thought of weaving through the crowded market already had you dreading the trip.

As you made your way through the streets, you spotted a familiar figure standing at the corner near a fruit stand. The man from the shop. He hadn’t seen you yet, but something about the way he stood, slightly apart from the rest of the crowd, watching the passersby with a quiet intensity, made you pause.

You debated for a moment. Should you approach him? Or would it seem too forward?

Before you could decide, his gaze lifted, and he spotted you. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of recognition passing over his features, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, watching you.

You took a deep breath and made your way over, your curiosity getting the better of you.

"Fancy seeing you here again," you said, trying to sound casual as you approached.

"Didn’t expect to run into you either," he replied, his voice still rough, but there was a hint of something in his tone. Amusement? Interest? You couldn’t quite place it.

"I was just running errands," you said, gesturing to the market behind you. "You know how it is."

He nodded, his eyes flicking over you for a moment before landing back on the crowd. "Yeah, I get it."

There was a beat of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it almost felt... familiar. Like talking to him wasn’t so strange after all.

"Are you from around here?" you asked, breaking the silence.

He shook his head. "Not really. Just passing through."

"Do you always pass through toy shops when you're in town?"

His lips quirked into that almost-smile again. "Only when I feel like it."

You couldn’t help but chuckle. "Mysterious, aren’t you?"

He shrugged, not giving much away. "Maybe."

You were about to ask him something else when a shout came from behind you. You turned to see one of the street vendors, an older man, calling out angrily at a young boy who had clearly tried to swipe an apple from his cart.

Before you could even react, the man next to you stepped forward. His movements were quick and fluid, like he was used to handling situations like this. He reached the boy before the vendor could get too close, gripping the kid by the collar.

"Hey," the man said, his voice low but firm. "That’s not how you do things."

The boy froze, wide-eyed, clearly not expecting to be caught so quickly.

"Put it back," the man ordered.

The boy, trembling slightly, dropped the apple back onto the cart. "I’m sorry!" he blurted out before scurrying off into the crowd.

You watched as the man exchanged a few words with the vendor, calming him down before he turned back to you, his expression unreadable.

"You didn’t have to do that," you said, surprised by how quickly he had handled the situation.

He shrugged again. "The kid’ll learn his lesson. Better this way than the other options."

You looked at him, a little more curious now. He wasn’t just some rough-around-the-edges stranger. There was something deeper to him, something that made you want to know more.

“I don’t think I caught your name the other day,” you settled on, meeting his eyes as the energy of the crowd buzzed around you both.

He gave a small nod, like he was considering whether to answer or not. "Logan," he said simply.

"Logan," you repeated, trying the name on your tongue. It suited him, rough around the edges but solid. "I’m Y/N."

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he gave another slight nod, acknowledging it. The silence between you wasn’t heavy, but it felt like something unspoken passed through the space. Something that told you he wasn’t just another passerby in your life.

"Thanks for helping that kid back there," you said, breaking the quiet. "Not everyone would step in like that."

Logan shrugged like it was nothing, his eyes scanning the crowd again. "Not a big deal."

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. "You do that a lot? Play the hero?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, barely there, but it was enough. "No. Just don't like seeing people get hurt when I can do something about it."

There was a gruffness to his words, but it didn’t feel forced. It felt real. And it was clear that he wasn’t the type to go around explaining himself to anyone. You liked that.

"Well, either way, it was good of you." You glanced down at the parcels in your arms, suddenly remembering the rest of your errands. "I should probably get going, before I’m late getting back."

Logan gave you a small nod, his eyes flicking down to your parcels. "You take care."

You hesitated, a part of you not wanting to walk away just yet. But what could you say? You didn’t know this man, not really, and yet you felt drawn to him in a way that was hard to explain. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, like he had been through more than he let on. Or maybe it was the quiet strength in him that made you feel oddly safe.

"Maybe I’ll see you around?" you offered, not wanting to make the goodbye feel so final.

Logan’s eyes met yours again, and for a moment, there was something softer in his gaze. "Yeah. Maybe."

With that, you gave him a small smile and turned to leave, weaving your way through the bustling street. As you walked, you couldn’t help but glance back once, just to see if he was still there. He was, standing where you left him, watching you go.

---

The following days fell back into your usual routine—taking care of the children, running errands, keeping the household in order. Yet, no matter how busy you were, your thoughts kept drifting back to Logan. Something about him lingered in your mind, and it wasn’t just because he had helped out that kid. There was something deeper, something you couldn’t quite shake.

You found yourself wondering if he really was just passing through, or if there was more to his story than he was letting on. You didn’t know why it mattered so much, but it did.

One afternoon, as you were helping Ada tie the ribbon on her new dress, she looked up at you with her big, curious eyes.

"Y/N, are you thinking about something?" she asked innocently.

You blinked, surprised. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you’re smiling," she said, her voice soft and sweet.

You hadn’t even realized. "Oh," you said, chuckling softly. "I guess I was just lost in thought."

Ada giggled, her small hands playing with the ribbon you had just tied. "You think about a lot of things."

"That’s because I have to keep track of all you rascals," you teased, tickling her side gently.

She squealed in delight, wriggling away from you, and you couldn’t help but laugh. But as you settled back into the moment, that same thought returned, uninvited. Logan. Would you see him again?

---

It wasn’t long before the answer came.

You were out in the market again, picking up some fresh bread for dinner. The smell of the bakery wafted through the air, warm and comforting. You had just handed over your coins to the baker when you felt that familiar presence—something just outside the edge of your awareness, like a shadow that suddenly moved.

Turning slightly, your eyes caught sight of Logan standing near a fruit cart, his hands in his pockets, watching you. It wasn’t a surprise this time, but your heart still gave a little flutter at the sight of him. You made your way over, the crowd parting as you walked.

"Logan," you greeted, a smile pulling at your lips before you could stop it.

"Y/N," he replied, nodding in acknowledgment. His expression didn’t change much, but there was something almost... pleased in his eyes. Like he had expected you to come over.

"Still passing through?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He glanced around the busy street before answering. "Seems like I’ve been here longer than I planned."

"Any reason for that?" you asked, half-joking but also genuinely curious.

Logan looked at you for a long moment, like he was debating how much to say. Finally, he shrugged. "No reason."

You didn’t believe him for a second, but you let it go. Instead, you gestured to the bread in your basket. "If you’re still around tomorrow, you should come by the park. I take the children there sometimes in the afternoons. It’s quieter than here."

Logan’s eyes flicked to yours, considering. "Maybe I will."

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction from his answer. It was small, but it was something.

"Well," you said, shifting the basket on your arm. "I should get back before the boys tear the house down."

Logan smirked at that, and you felt a warmth spread through you at the sight of it. He wasn’t a man who smiled easily, but when he did, it felt like a reward.

"Take care," he said, his voice low and steady, and you couldn’t help but notice how those words made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t expected.

As you walked away, the warmth of his gaze stayed with you, lingering long after you’d turned the corner.

---

The next day, you found yourself at the park, just as you had promised. Edwin and Phillip were racing around, laughing as they chased each other, while Ada sat quietly by your side, her doll clutched in her hands.

You tried not to look around for Logan, but you couldn’t help it. Every time someone passed by, your heart gave a little jump, only to settle back down when you realized it wasn’t him.

Just as you were beginning to think he wouldn’t show, you heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

"Mind if I join you?" Logan’s voice was calm, but there was something in it that made you smile.

You glanced up, meeting his eyes. "Not at all."

Logan gave a nod, lowering himself onto the bench beside you. He stretched his long legs out, looking completely at ease. The sounds of the children’s laughter filled the air, and for a moment, you just sat in companionable silence.

“Boys giving you trouble?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

“They always do,” you replied, watching as Edwin tackled Phillip to the ground. “But I think they’d explode if they didn’t.”

Logan’s lips twitched at that—almost a smile. “Kids’ll do that. Got too much energy.”

You tilted your head, studying him out of the corner of your eye. “You got siblings?”

Logan paused for a second, like the question had caught him off guard. “Yeah. A brother.”

You didn’t press, sensing there was more to the story but knowing better than to pry. Instead, you turned your attention back to the children.

“Do you have any?” Logan asked, nodding toward the boys.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I look after them for the family I work for. They keep me busy, though. Might as well be mine.”

He gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment, resting his elbows on his knees.

“And her?” Logan nodded toward Ada, who sat a little apart from the boys, her doll tucked protectively in her arms.

“That’s Ada,” you said, smiling softly. “She’s the quiet one. A little sweet thing, really.”

“She’s got good taste,” Logan remarked, glancing at the doll in her hands.

You chuckled. “That was the least I could do for her. Life’s not exactly fun in that house.”

Logan’s gaze flicked toward you, something unreadable in his expression. “It never is.”

You frowned, catching the weight behind his words, but before you could ask what he meant, Ada wandered over to you. She gave Logan a curious glance but stayed close by your side.

“Who��s he?” Ada whispered, gripping your sleeve.

You smiled. “This is Logan. He’s a friend.”

Logan gave her a small nod, and Ada, ever cautious, just stared at him with wide eyes. After a beat, she leaned in close to you and whispered, “He looks like a bear.”

You tried—really tried—not to laugh, but it slipped out anyway. Logan gave a low chuckle of his own, shaking his head slightly.

“Smart kid,” he murmured.

Ada, encouraged by your laughter, gave a shy smile. Then she wandered back toward the boys, apparently satisfied with Logan’s presence.

“She’s got you figured out,” you teased, grinning.

Logan’s expression softened just a bit, and he gave a small shrug. “Kids see things plain.”

You leaned back on the bench, letting yourself relax. It was strange, how easy it felt to be around him. You didn’t know much about him—hardly anything, really—but something about Logan made you feel like you didn’t need to fill the silence with useless conversation.

“Do you ever stop moving?” you asked suddenly, curious. “You said you were just passing through, but it seems like you’ve stayed a bit longer.”

Logan didn’t answer right away. He stared out at the park, his expression thoughtful.

“Sometimes,” he said finally. “Not often, though.”

“That sounds lonely.”

His jaw twitched slightly, and he turned his head to look at you. “You get used to it.”

You held his gaze for a moment, sensing that there was more beneath the surface than he was letting on. But instead of prying, you just nodded, accepting his words for what they were.

“Well, if you ever feel like staying in one place for a bit, you know where to find me,” you said lightly.

Logan’s eyes flickered with something—something you couldn’t quite name—but he gave a small nod, like he was filing that thought away.

“Appreciate it,” he murmured.

Before you could say more, Edwin and Phillip came barreling toward you, out of breath and covered in dirt.

“Y/N! Y/N!” Edwin shouted. “Phillip said he could run faster than me, but I totally won!”

Phillip scowled, wiping mud off his cheek. “Only because you pushed me.”

“You pushed him?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at Edwin.

Edwin squirmed. “Not that hard.”

Logan snorted quietly, drawing both boys’ attention. They looked at him with wide, curious eyes.

“Who’s that?” Edwin whispered loudly, leaning closer to you.

“That’s Logan,” you said. “He’s a friend.”

Edwin tilted his head, squinting up at Logan. “You look tough.”

Logan’s lips twitched. “I get that a lot.”

“Can you fight?” Edwin asked eagerly, his eyes lighting up. “Like—like really fight?”

“Edwin!” you scolded, but Logan just gave a small chuckle.

“Yeah,” Logan said. “A bit.”

“Whoa!” Edwin’s jaw dropped, clearly impressed. Phillip, more cautious, stayed quiet but kept his eyes on Logan like he was trying to figure him out.

“Alright, enough of that,” you said, gently ushering the boys away. “Go play before I make you help with dinner.”

Edwin groaned but dragged Phillip along, the two of them running back toward the trees.

You glanced at Logan, shaking your head. “You’ve got yourself some new fans, it seems.”

Logan huffed softly. “Kids are alright.”

There was a pause, and then you asked quietly, “You really do keep moving, don’t you?”

Logan looked at you, his expression serious. “Yeah.”

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. There was something in his eyes that told you he’d seen more than most—more than you could probably imagine.

“Well,” you said softly, “if you ever get tired of running, you know where to find me.”

Logan held your gaze for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. Then, with the barest hint of a smile, he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

---

You saw Logan more often than not. Truth be told, you enjoyed his presence. He was different than the other men you had met, not as harsh, didn’t look down on you, or see you as an object.

One day, while walking around the market with a small basket, filled with a few apples and some bread, you looked at a carriage, rolling along the brick road with a horse in front.

“I never learned how to ride a horse,” you said, glancing at the carriage as it rolled along the cobblestone street. The words came out before you even knew why you said them, maybe just filling the space between you and Logan.

Logan, walking beside you, gave you a sidelong glance. The faintest trace of a smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “That right?”

You shrugged, shifting the basket in your hand. “Never had a reason to, I suppose. And it’s not exactly something you pick up living in the city.”

He made a low noise in his throat that could have been agreement. For a moment, the two of you walked in companionable silence, the sounds of the market buzzing around you—vendors calling out, the clip-clop of hooves, the soft rustle of autumn leaves underfoot.

“Wouldn’t take much to learn,” Logan said finally, his voice easy. “Reckon you’d be good at it.”

You shot him a skeptical glance. “How would you know?”

Logan gave a lazy shrug. “Just a guess.”

There was something in his tone, though—something soft and amused that made your cheeks warm. You glanced away, pretending to be very interested in a stall selling ribbons, though your attention kept drifting back to Logan.

“You know how to ride, then?” you asked after a moment, keeping your tone casual.

He nodded. “Yeah. Picked it up when I was a kid.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious despite yourself. “Where’d you grow up?”

“Here and there,” he answered vaguely, though not unkindly. You got the sense that there was a lot more to the story—things he wasn’t ready to share. And maybe things you weren’t quite ready to ask about. Not yet, anyway.

“Would you teach me?” you asked on impulse, surprising even yourself.

Logan glanced over, one brow raised, and for a moment, you thought he might laugh. But he didn’t. Instead, he gave a small nod, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Sure,” he said simply.

A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it.

“When?” you pressed, feeling strangely excited by the idea.

Logan thought for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the road ahead. “Next Sunday,” he decided. “There’s a place just outside the city. I know a guy who’s got a couple of good horses.”

You felt a flicker of doubt—after all, you had responsibilities, and it wasn’t as though you could just abandon the children for the day. But Logan must have noticed your hesitation because he gave you a reassuring look.

“Bring the kids,” he offered. “They can run wild while you learn.”

That made you laugh softly. “You really think I can keep up with them and learn to ride a horse?”

Logan’s lips twitched. “I’ll handle the boys if they get out of hand.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “You don’t know what you’re offering.”

“I’ve handled worse,” Logan said with a grin that made your stomach do an odd little flip.

You opened your mouth to respond, but just then, a vendor called out, advertising fresh apples, and you were drawn toward the stall. Logan followed at a leisurely pace, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

You picked a couple of apples, inspecting them before adding them to your basket. As you handed a coin to the vendor, you glanced at Logan again.

“Next Sunday, then?” you asked, as if you still needed confirmation.

Logan gave a small nod. “Next Sunday.”

Something about the way he said it—calm and certain—made you believe it would actually happen. And for the first time in a long while, you found yourself looking forward to something.

---

The boys were already running rampant in the large field, their shouts of laughter echoing across the open space. You could see Edwin trying to race Phillip again, their legs kicking up dirt as they charged back and forth. Ada, ever the quiet one, sat nearby on a stack of hay, her doll in her lap, watching them with a little smile on her face.

You stood near the horses, feeling a flutter of nervous energy in your stomach. Logan was beside you, calm as always, holding the reins of a chestnut mare with an ease that made it all look far simpler than you knew it was. He glanced over at you, his dark eyes catching yours, and you could see the trace of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You sure about this?” Logan asked, nodding toward the horse.

You swallowed, staring up at the mare. “Sure. How hard can it be?”

Logan gave a quiet laugh, clearly not convinced. “We’ll see.”

He held the reins steady, motioning for you to come closer. You did, taking a deep breath as you placed your hand on the saddle. The horse shifted slightly, and you jumped back a little, making Logan chuckle again.

“She’s not gonna bite,” he said, his voice low and amused.

“I know that,” you muttered, embarrassed but trying not to show it. “I just wasn’t ready.”

Logan gave a small shrug, stepping around to stand beside you. “C’mon. Foot in the stirrup. I’ll help you up.”

You hesitated for only a second before nodding. Grabbing hold of the saddle, you placed your foot in the stirrup just like he’d told you, and then you felt Logan’s hand on your waist, firm and steady. With one swift movement, he lifted you up onto the horse, and suddenly you were sitting much higher than you’d expected.

You gripped the reins tightly, your heart racing a little.

“There,” Logan said, standing back with his arms crossed. He looked up at you, giving a small nod of approval. “Not bad.”

You glanced down at him, a bit breathless. “I’m on the horse, but that doesn’t mean I can ride it.”

Logan smirked. “One step at a time, darlin’.”

He moved around to grab the reins, keeping his voice low and calm as he spoke to the mare, guiding her gently in a slow circle around the field. You held on, trying to keep yourself steady in the saddle. It wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be, but every time the horse took a step, you felt your stomach flip a little.

Logan kept walking beside you, close enough that you could hear him, though his voice was quiet. “You’re doin’ fine.”

“I feel ridiculous,” you muttered, glancing over at the boys to make sure they weren’t watching. Of course, they were, but they seemed more interested in their own games than in you wobbling around on a horse.

“You look fine,” Logan said, and there was something in his tone that made you glance at him sharply.

His eyes flickered up toward yours for just a moment, and you felt that familiar warmth in your cheeks again. You looked away quickly, trying to focus on staying upright.

“You’re just sayin’ that,” you said, trying to sound casual.

Logan chuckled. “No. If you looked ridiculous, I’d tell you.”

The confidence in his voice made you smile despite yourself. You loosened your grip on the reins just a little, letting yourself relax. The horse moved steadily beneath you, her pace slow and even, and after a few moments, you realized it wasn’t so bad after all.

“You ready to try it on your own?” Logan asked, his voice easy.

You blinked. “You think I’m ready?”

“Yeah.” He handed the reins over to you, stepping back a little. “Just keep her steady. She’s not gonna take off on you.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath and gripping the reins tightly as you urged the horse forward. She responded, moving into a gentle walk, and you felt a little thrill of pride. Logan walked beside you for a few more steps, watching, but then he stopped, folding his arms across his chest as he watched you guide the horse around the field on your own.

“You’re a natural,” he called out, a grin tugging at his lips.

You laughed softly, feeling a bit more confident now. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

As you circled back around toward him, you slowed the horse, bringing her to a stop in front of Logan. He looked up at you, his eyes warm and approving.

“Told ya,” he said. “Not so hard, is it?”

You shook your head, smiling. “Not as hard as I thought.”

Logan reached up, taking the reins from your hands. “C’mon. Let’s get you down.”

This part felt a little trickier, but Logan was there, steadying you as you swung your leg over the saddle and slid down. His hands were firm on your waist again, and for just a moment, you were standing close enough to catch the scent of leather and something else—something distinctly Logan.

“Thanks,” you said softly, looking up at him.

Logan’s eyes held yours for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Then he gave a small nod, stepping back.

“Anytime,” he said, his voice low.

Before you could say anything else, the boys came running over, breathless and wild from their playing. Edwin looked up at the horse, his eyes wide with excitement.

“Can I ride next?” he asked, practically bouncing on his toes.

You glanced at Logan, raising an eyebrow. “You said you’d handle them if they got out of hand, remember?”

Logan sighed, giving you a wry smile. “Yeah, I remember.”

He looked at Edwin, then nodded toward the horse. “Alright, kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

As Logan helped Edwin onto the horse, you stepped back, watching with a small smile. The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the field, and for a moment, everything felt peaceful. You glanced at Ada, who was still sitting on the haystack, her doll in her arms, watching the scene with quiet interest.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to let yourself enjoy moments like this.

As Logan guided Edwin around the field, you found yourself watching him more than the horse. There was something about the way he moved—strong, sure, like he belonged here, like he was more comfortable in this quiet, open space than anywhere else.

And as he turned, catching your eye for just a moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’d found something here worth staying for.

---

“You ever think about gettin’ outta the city?” Logan asked, his voice low. “Findin’ somewhere quieter?”

You glanced at him, a little surprised by the question. “I’ve thought about it. But… I’ve got responsibilities.”

Logan nodded slowly, his eyes distant as he stared out at the horizon. “Yeah. Responsibilities.”

The way he said it made you wonder if he was thinking about something—or someone—far away. You’d learned quickly that Logan wasn’t one to talk much about his past, and though you were curious, you didn’t push.

You turned a jar of honey over in your hand, Mr. Thomas had asked you to buy them another jar while you were out. “If I didn’t have responsibilities, I’d like to live out in a cabin, away from everything else. Sometimes things here are noisy. I’d just like to… I don’t know, exist without worryin’ about anything.”

Logan, standing beside you, his hands shoved in his pockets, gave a small grunt of agreement. "Sounds nice."

You glanced at him, curious. "You ever think about it? Leaving the city behind, finding a quiet spot somewhere?"

Logan paused for a moment, his gaze distant. "Yeah. Sometimes."

The simplicity of his answer hung in the air between you, and for a second, you wondered if he'd actually let himself think about settling down. It seemed unlikely, given how much he kept moving, but there was something in the way he said it, something almost wistful.

"You don't seem like the kind of guy who stays in one place for too long," you teased, shifting the basket in your hand as you handed the vendor a coin for the honey.

Logan shrugged, a small smirk playing at his lips. "Guess not."

You both fell into a comfortable silence as you continued walking through the market. The streets bustled with people, but somehow, with Logan by your side, it all felt a little less overwhelming. You didn't have to fill the quiet with pointless chatter. He wasn’t like the others in the city—constantly rushing, looking for something to gain. He just… existed, like you wanted to.

As you passed by a small stall selling flowers, you slowed down, your eyes catching on a bouquet of wildflowers that reminded you of something you'd see out in the countryside. Logan noticed, his eyes following your gaze.

"You like those?" he asked, nodding toward the flowers.

You smiled softly. "Yeah. They remind me of… I don’t know, freedom, I guess."

Logan gave a small chuckle. "Freedom, huh?"

You shrugged, suddenly feeling a little silly. "I know it sounds strange. It’s just… being stuck in the city all the time, I don’t get to see much of the world outside these streets."

He didn’t laugh or brush it off like most people would have. Instead, Logan looked at you for a moment, his expression serious.

"Maybe one day," he said quietly, "you’ll get that cabin. Find some peace."

There was something about the way he said it that made your heart skip a beat, but before you could respond, a commotion erupted a few stalls down. Edwin and Phillip came barreling toward you, laughing and out of breath, their hands full of something they clearly weren’t supposed to have.

"Y/N!" Edwin shouted, holding up a small sack of apples. "Look what we got!"

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "And how exactly did you 'get' those?"

Phillip, ever the quieter one, shifted nervously on his feet. "We didn’t steal them! Mr. Turner gave them to us after we helped him with his cart."

You glanced over to where Mr. Turner, a kind old man who often sold apples at the market, was smiling and waving in your direction.

"Alright," you said, sighing with relief. "But you’d better not be causing any trouble."

Logan chuckled under his breath, watching the boys with amusement. "They’re just having fun."

"Yeah, until someone gets hurt," you muttered, though you couldn’t help but smile at their excitement.

Edwin, noticing Logan for the first time, grinned. "Hey, Logan! You ever been in a real fight?"

Logan smirked, glancing at you before turning back to the boys. "A couple."

Edwin’s eyes lit up. "Tell us about one!"

"Edwin," you warned, shaking your head. "Logan doesn’t have time to tell you all his stories."

But Logan didn’t seem to mind. He crouched down to the boys’ level, his expression serious as he spoke in that low, gravelly voice of his.

"Alright, but just one. There was this guy… big, tough-looking fella, thought he could take me down. We were out in the middle of nowhere, no one around for miles. He comes at me with this huge stick, thinking that’ll be enough."

Edwin and Phillip leaned in, wide-eyed, hanging on every word.

"So, what happened?" Edwin asked, barely able to contain himself.

Logan’s smirk deepened. "Let’s just say, he learned real quick not to mess with me."

The boys erupted into laughter, completely captivated by the idea of Logan taking down some big, burly guy.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile creeping onto your face. "You’re gonna give them ideas, you know."

Logan stood, shrugging casually. "Kids need a little excitement."

"Not too much," you muttered, though you were grateful for the way he interacted with them. Most men in the city didn’t have the patience for children, especially not boys as wild as Edwin and Phillip.

As the boys ran off again, Logan glanced over at you, his expression softening just a bit.

"They look up to you," he said quietly.

You looked down, shrugging. "They’re good kids. Just need someone to look after them."

Logan was quiet for a moment, watching the boys as they disappeared into the crowd. Then, almost as if the thought had just occurred to him, he turned back to you.

"You ever think about having your own?" he asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. You hadn’t really thought about it—not seriously, anyway. Your life was too full of other people’s children, other people’s problems.

"I don’t know," you said slowly, glancing up at him. "Maybe someday. If I ever get that cabin, I might think about it."

Logan nodded, but didn’t say anything more. He just walked beside you, the two of you falling back into that easy, comfortable silence.

It wasn’t until later, as you lay in bed that night, that you found yourself thinking about his question again. The idea of a quiet life, away from the noise and chaos of the city, didn’t seem so impossible anymore—not when you imagined Logan there with you.

---

One night, after you had put the boys to sleep and were in Ada’s room to read a story to her, she asked you a question. “Why aren’t you like mama and papa?”

You raised your head from the book you were reading to her, “what do you mean?”

Her lips formed a small pout, “mama has papa, but you don’t have anyone.”

You blinked, caught off guard by Ada’s question. Her innocent curiosity made your heart ache, but you kept your voice steady.

“Well, sweetie,” you started, trying to find the right words, “sometimes, people are just on their own for a little while. It doesn’t mean they won’t find someone. Maybe they just haven’t yet.”

Ada considered this, her small brow furrowed in thought. “But you’re so nice. Why doesn’t anyone love you?”

The simplicity of the question stung more than it should have. You chuckled softly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s not that simple, Ada. But thank you for saying that.”

She didn’t seem satisfied with your answer, her tiny face still scrunched up in confusion. “Don’t you get lonely?”

You hesitated, glancing out the window at the darkening sky. The truth was, sometimes you did. Even though you were surrounded by people—taking care of the children, managing the house—you couldn’t deny that feeling creeping in every now and then.

“I have you, don’t I?” you finally said, smiling down at her. “And Edwin and Phillip. You three keep me pretty busy.”

Ada giggled softly at that, settling into her blankets. “I guess. But I think you should find someone, like mama did.”

You gave her a light kiss on the forehead, smoothing down her hair. “Maybe one day, kiddo.”

Ada yawned, her eyes drooping as sleep crept up on her. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Ada,” you whispered, watching her drift off. You stayed there for a moment longer, thinking about her words, before quietly slipping out of the room.

The house was silent as you made your way down the hall, but your mind was anything but. Her innocent question stirred something inside of you, a longing that you hadn’t let yourself fully acknowledge. It wasn’t like you to dwell on what you didn’t have, but maybe… maybe Ada was right. Maybe there was something missing.

But it wasn’t something you could focus on right now. You had responsibilities. This family depended on you, and that was enough for now. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

As you reached your room and closed the door behind you, you caught sight of the bouquet of wildflowers Logan had quietly bought earlier in the day. You hadn’t noticed him purchase them at the market, but when you returned to the house, they were there on the doorstep, a small note attached that simply read, Thought you’d like these.

You smiled to yourself, gently picking up the flowers and placing them in a vase by the window. You hadn’t thought much about having someone of your own, but as you looked at the flowers, you couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like.

And, for the first time in a long while, the idea didn’t seem so far away.

---

The next few days passed quietly, with Logan visiting you at the market more frequently, though neither of you mentioned the wildflowers. There was an unspoken understanding between you—neither of you rushed things, but the connection was undeniably growing.

One afternoon, as you sat outside with Ada on your lap, reading her a story, Logan appeared at the gate. The children spotted him first, of course, and Edwin ran over, grinning ear to ear.

“Logan! You’re back!” he shouted, tugging at Logan’s coat. “Did you bring us any stories?”

Logan gave a soft grunt, glancing over at you with a smirk. “I might have one or two left.”

You shook your head, amused. “They’ll never leave you alone if you keep telling them stories, you know.”

Logan crouched down, ruffling Edwin’s hair. “I don’t mind,” he said, his gaze softening as he glanced at Ada in your lap. “How’re you doin’, kid?”

Ada looked up from the book and smiled shyly, giving him a small wave. “Hi, Logan.”

He smiled, the sight of the children always easing something in him, though he didn’t let it show too much.

As the kids ran off to play, Logan took a seat beside you on the bench. The two of you sat in silence for a while, watching the children chase each other across the yard.

“They’re good kids,” Logan said finally, breaking the quiet.

“They are,” you agreed. “They’ve got a lot of love to give, and not always enough people around to give it to.”

Logan turned his head slightly, his eyes studying you. “That include you?”

You looked down, fidgeting with your skirt. “Maybe. I spend so much time looking after everyone else, sometimes I forget there’s more to life than just… this.”

Logan didn’t say anything at first, just watched you quietly. Then, his voice low, he asked, “You ever think about finding something more?”

You turned to him, surprised by the question. “I don’t know if I’ve let myself think that far ahead,” you admitted, your heart beating a little faster under his gaze.

Logan looked away, his jaw tightening slightly as if he was holding something back. “Maybe you should.”

The weight of his words lingered in the air between you, and for the first time, you felt a pull—a possibility of something beyond the life you’d built here. Something you hadn’t allowed yourself to dream about until now.

But before either of you could say more, the children’s laughter echoed through the yard, and the moment passed. Still, the feeling stayed with you long after Logan left that evening.

---

The sky had taken on that soft orange hue of evening, the kind that made the whole world feel suspended between day and night. You and Logan walked side by side along the Hudson River, the sound of water gently lapping against the shore mixing with the distant hum of the city. It had become your routine over the past few weeks, these evening walks—quiet, almost intimate, even though neither of you said much.

Today, though, something felt different. Logan had been quieter than usual, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his usual gruff demeanor softened by the fading sunlight. Every now and then, you’d catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, as if there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words.

“You alright?” you asked, your voice cutting through the comfortable silence.

Logan nodded, though his expression didn’t quite match the motion. “Yeah, just… thinkin’.”

“About?”

He stopped walking, turning to face the river. You followed his gaze, watching the way the sun’s reflection danced on the surface of the water. After a long moment, he spoke.

“I’ve never really… had this before,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Y’know, just… bein’ with someone like this. Feels kinda strange.”

You smiled softly, stepping closer to him, close enough that your arm brushed against his. “Strange in a good way?”

Logan let out a short, almost nervous chuckle. “Yeah. In a good way.”

The two of you stood there, side by side, watching the sun dip lower in the sky. You could feel the warmth of his presence, his arm just barely touching yours, and it sent a small thrill through you. You hadn’t been sure at first if what you felt for Logan was mutual—he was quiet, reserved, hard to read—but moments like this, when the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you, made it clear. There was something unspoken between you, something neither of you had dared to put into words.

After a while, you turned to face him, studying the way his brow was furrowed, like he was deep in thought.

“Logan,” you said softly.

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his hazel eyes meeting yours with a kind of intensity that made your heart skip a beat. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with something unsaid.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you reached out and took his hand, your fingers slipping into his. Logan stiffened at the touch, his eyes flicking down to where your hands were joined, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he stepped closer, his fingers curling around yours, holding on a little tighter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before either,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s gaze softened, his usual guarded expression cracking just enough to let something more vulnerable show through. He hesitated, like he was trying to find the right words, but then decided words weren’t necessary.

Instead, he took a small step forward, his free hand coming up to gently cup the side of your face. His touch was warm, rough, but there was a surprising tenderness in the way his thumb brushed lightly against your cheek. You held your breath, your heart pounding in your chest as he leaned in, his eyes flicking between yours as if asking for permission.

When you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance.

The kiss was soft, almost tentative at first, like he was testing the waters. But the second your lips met his, something inside you seemed to melt, and you leaned into him, deepening the kiss. Logan responded in kind, his grip on your hand tightening as he pulled you closer, the space between you disappearing entirely.

For a moment, it was just the two of you—the sound of the river fading away, the world narrowing down to the warmth of Logan’s lips against yours, the feel of his hand cradling your face like you were something precious.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing a little heavier, your foreheads resting against each other as you stood there, wrapped in the soft glow of the setting sun.

Logan’s eyes fluttered open, and he gave you a small, almost sheepish smile. “Didn’t think I’d be kissin’ you tonight.”

You laughed softly, still a little breathless. “Neither did I.”

He pulled you closer, resting his chin on top of your head as he held you against him. The two of you stood there in the fading light, wrapped up in each other, the world beyond the river momentarily forgotten.

---

Logan thought back to your conversation about living in a cabin more than he cared to admit. The thought of it seemed nice, peaceful, and dare he say it perfect.

After a few weeks of being together, Logan had made a decision and scrounged up any money he could before buying a modest ring from a jeweler. He wasn’t going to propose yet but carrying the ring in his pocket felt right.

He had been coming over to the Thomases’ sprawling estate more often, whether it was walking with you from the market to the large house or even just stopping by of his own will. At first, it had been an occasional thing—a quiet visit here, a quick walk there—but lately, Logan found himself looking for excuses just to be around. You didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the way your eyes lit up when you saw him made him feel something unfamiliar, something good.

One late afternoon, Logan leaned against the garden gate, watching as you knelt by a row of flowers, tending to them with your usual care. He couldn’t help but admire the sight—your sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled from the breeze, a small smile on your lips as you worked. It made something in his chest tighten. He fingered the ring in his pocket, feeling its weight. He had no plan to use it anytime soon, but carrying it felt right, like a promise to himself.

You glanced up, catching his eye, and smiled, wiping your hands on your apron as you stood. "Back again, Logan?"

"Guess so," he replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Thought you might need a hand."

"Well, I could always use one," you teased, stepping closer to him. "But you don’t strike me as the gardening type."

Logan chuckled, reaching out to take your hand, pulling you a little closer. "Not much of a gardener, no. But I can stand here and look good while you do all the work."

You rolled your eyes playfully but didn’t let go of his hand. The easy banter between you had become natural, and the affection between you had grown, unspoken but undeniable. After a moment, you tugged him toward a bench under a nearby tree.

“Sit with me for a minute,” you said softly. “I’ve been out here all day.”

He followed, sitting beside you as the evening breeze rustled the leaves above. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the shadows lengthen as the sun began to set. Logan glanced at you from the corner of his eye, the warm light catching the curve of your face.

“You ever think this is enough?” he asked suddenly, his voice quiet but clear.

You looked over at him, eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”

Logan hesitated, his fingers still laced with yours. “Just… this. Bein’ together. Doesn’t need to be more complicated than that.”

You smiled softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I think it is enough,” you said after a moment. “I like this, Logan. I like us.”

His heart beat a little faster at your words, and without thinking, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. It wasn’t a big gesture, but it felt natural, like something he’d been wanting to do for a while. You tilted your head up, meeting his eyes, your lips curving into a gentle smile.

“You keep that up, and I’m never gonna let you go,” you teased, though there was something softer, almost serious, in your tone.

Logan smirked, pulling you closer until your legs brushed against his. “Don’t see a reason to.”

Your fingers traced absent patterns on the back of his hand, your touch light and thoughtful. “You know, I used to wonder if I’d ever feel this way about someone,” you admitted softly, your eyes focused on your hands. “If I’d ever meet someone who made me feel… like this.”

Logan was quiet for a moment, watching you, feeling the warmth of your words settle deep inside him. He’d never thought he’d find someone who made him feel like this either—like he didn’t have to keep moving, like maybe he’d found something worth staying for. He wanted to tell you that, to say what he was feeling, but the words stuck in his throat. So instead, he squeezed your hand, hoping you’d understand what he couldn’t say yet.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. The connection between you, the pull, was undeniable. Logan leaned in, his hand slipping to the back of your neck as he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was slow, tender, like both of you were taking your time, savoring the moment. When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his, and for a second, the world outside the garden didn’t exist.

“I could stay like this forever,” you whispered, your breath warm against his lips.

Logan’s hand tightened on yours. “Maybe we will,” he murmured back, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

You smiled, your eyes soft as you leaned in and kissed him again, slow and sweet. When you pulled back this time, you didn’t say anything, just settled into his side, your head resting against his chest as the two of you watched the sky shift into shades of pink and orange.

The world outside may have been complicated, full of responsibilities and noise, but here, with Logan beside you, it felt simple. Peaceful. Like this was all that mattered.

---

One late afternoon, you were sitting on the porch with Ada and the boys, telling them stories while they played at your feet. Logan leaned against the fence, watching you from a distance, his heart swelling at the sight of you surrounded by the children, laughing and carefree.

“You look like you’re thinkin’ about somethin’ serious,” your voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. You stood up, walking over to him, a teasing smile on your face.

Logan shrugged, trying to play it off. “Just thinkin’ about how you handle those kids like it’s nothin’.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Trust me, it’s something. They’re a handful.”

Logan smiled, reaching out to take your hand. “You’re good at it. I like watchin’ you with them.”

Your cheeks flushed slightly at his compliment, and you glanced down, trying to hide the small smile playing at your lips. “Well, you’re not so bad with them yourself. Edwin won’t stop talking about that story you told him.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Kid’s got a wild imagination.”

You leaned in closer, your fingers playing with the hem of his sleeve. “Maybe he gets that from you.”

He smirked, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you into him. “Think so?”

“I know so,” you whispered, your breath brushing against his neck.

For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, and it was just the two of you, standing in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. Logan’s hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin before he leaned down and kissed you, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the feel of your lips against his.

When he pulled back, your eyes were half-closed, your expression soft and content. “Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “What are we doing?”

He looked at you, his thumb still tracing soft circles on your cheek. “Doin’ what feels right.”

You smiled, resting your forehead against his. “Yeah. It does feel right.”

The sound of the children’s laughter broke the quiet moment between you, and you both turned to see Ada running toward you, her little legs carrying her as fast as they could. “Y/N! Y/N!” she shouted, her face flushed with excitement. “Come play with us!”

You laughed, pulling away from Logan just enough to crouch down and catch Ada in your arms. “Alright, alright! I’m coming.”

As you stood, you glanced back at Logan, your eyes lingering on him for a moment longer. He gave you a small nod, his lips quirking into a smile, and you turned back to the children, running off with them into the yard.

Logan watched you for a while longer, his hand slipping into his pocket where the small ring rested. It wasn’t time yet, but someday, maybe he’d ask. Someday, when the moment was right.

For now, this was enough.

And for the first time in his life, that was all Logan wanted.

---

“Mrs. Thomas is sick. She wanted me to pick up some things for her before the doctor comes to check her out,” you explained, adding a sprig of thyme to your basket and handing the vendor a coin.

Logan stood beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets, watching you with a casual ease that had become second nature to him. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked, though his tone wasn’t heavy—just curious.

You shrugged, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Probably just a cold. She’s been coughing a bit, but Mr. Thomas thinks she’ll be fine.”

Logan’s jaw ticked slightly, his eyes following the movement of your hand as it tucked the hair behind your ear. “You sure you should be around her if she’s sick?”

You smiled at his concern, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “It’s part of the job, Logan. Besides, I’ve been with her every day. If I was going to get sick, it would’ve happened by now.”

He frowned, not entirely convinced, but let it drop. You were stubborn like that—always brushing things off when they concerned you.

As you moved from stall to stall, picking out fresh herbs, bread, and tea, Logan trailed beside you, a silent presence at your side. It was comfortable—natural, even. You could feel him close, his arm brushing yours now and then, and though neither of you said much, it was the kind of quiet that felt good.

When you handed the grocer a coin for a small loaf of bread, Logan’s voice broke the easy silence. “You want me to walk you back?”

You glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Trying to sneak more time with me?”

Logan grinned, his hands still tucked in his coat pockets. “Maybe.”

Your laugh was soft and warm, and Logan swore it was one of his favorite sounds.

“You don’t have to, but I won’t say no if you want to,” you teased, shifting the basket on your hip. “The Thomases live all the way across town, though.”

Logan rolled his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “Don’t mind.”

With that settled, the two of you set off toward the Thomases’ estate, falling into step beside each other. The streets bustled with the usual afternoon crowds—vendors hawking their goods, carts rattling down cobbled roads, children darting through the streets. Yet somehow, it felt like the two of you existed in your own little world, insulated from the noise of the city.

“You been working much?” you asked after a moment, glancing sideways at him.

Logan nodded. “Yeah. Couple of odd jobs here and there.”

“Same ones?”

“Mostly.” He paused, as if debating whether to say more. Then, with a smirk, he added, “Not much call for a guy like me who’s no good with flowers.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy. “Well, I’m sure someone will take pity on you eventually.”

He bumped his shoulder against yours gently. “You already did.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile stayed on your face. “Lucky you.”

The walk was long, but neither of you minded. You pointed out things along the way—shops you liked, shortcuts you’d found, little bits of the city you’d come to know well in your time working for the Thomases. Logan listened, his attention fixed on you, and though he didn’t say much, you could tell he was soaking up every word.

When the two of you reached the tall iron gates of the Thomases' estate, you hesitated, lingering just a bit longer with Logan at the edge of the garden.

“Thanks for walking me,” you said softly, your fingers brushing over his for the briefest second.

“Anytime,” he murmured, catching your hand before you could pull it away. He gave it a squeeze, his eyes lingering on yours. “You alright?”

You nodded. “I’m fine, Logan. Just worried about Mrs. Thomas, I guess.”

He studied you for a beat longer, his thumb absentmindedly brushing the back of your hand. “You’ll let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

You gave him a small smile, squeezing his hand in return. “Yeah. I will.”

Neither of you moved at first, as if caught in a moment you weren’t quite ready to let go of. Logan’s gaze flickered to your lips, and for a second, you thought he might kiss you—right there at the gate, with the late afternoon sun warming your skin and the scent of lavender drifting from the garden.

But instead, he leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to your temple, his lips lingering just long enough to leave you breathless.

“See you soon,” he murmured against your skin.

You swallowed, your heart thudding in your chest. “See you soon,” you whispered back.

Logan stepped away, his hands reluctantly slipping from yours, and you watched as he made his way back down the path. He didn’t look back, but somehow, you knew that he felt the same pull you did—the one that always seemed to draw you closer, no matter how far apart you were.

With a soft sigh, you turned and pushed open the gate, your basket swinging gently at your side as you made your way toward the house. The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the neatly trimmed lawn.

You didn’t know it yet, but the weight of that moment—of Logan’s hand in yours, of the way his kiss had felt against your skin—would stay with you. It would become one of those memories you’d carry in the quiet hours, long after everything had changed.

But for now, it was just another afternoon. And that was enough.

You slipped inside the Thomases’ estate, greeted by the familiar smell of baked bread and lavender from the garden. The children’s laughter echoed faintly from upstairs, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the unease you felt about Mrs. Thomas.

As you moved through the grand hallway, the weight of Logan’s lingering kiss on your temple stayed with you, soft and comforting. His presence, though absent now, always seemed to cling to the air around you like the warmth of a hearth after a long day.

“Y/N!” Edwin’s voice called from the top of the stairs. You looked up to find him peering down at you, his unruly curls falling into his eyes. “Can we go to the park after tea? Phillip says he can run faster than me, but I bet I’ll beat him this time.”

You smiled up at him, though your thoughts were still on Mrs. Thomas. “We’ll see about that, Edwin. But let’s check in on your mother first, alright?”

He nodded, though his face fell a little, understanding the importance of that moment.

Making your way to Mrs. Thomas’s room, you found the air heavier, a staleness clinging to it that made you pause at the door. You knocked softly before entering, the creak of the door barely disturbing the quiet. Mrs. Thomas lay in bed, propped up by pillows, her face pale and drawn. Her once vibrant eyes were duller now, and the small cough you had heard earlier seemed more persistent, rattling in her chest.

“Mrs. Thomas,” you said gently, approaching her bedside with the basket of fresh supplies. “I’ve brought some thyme and tea. The doctor will be here later this week.”

Mrs. Thomas offered a faint smile, though it barely touched her lips. “Thank you, dear. You’re always so thoughtful,” she said, her voice raspy. She shifted slightly, wincing at the effort it took. “I’m sure it’s just a little cold.”

You forced a smile, though something inside you tugged with worry. “Of course. Just a little cold.”

After a few more moments, you excused yourself, promising to return later. The house felt stifling, the sense of something being wrong making your chest tighten. Logan had been right to be concerned. But you brushed it aside, focusing on the children.

A few hours later, after Edwin had indeed beaten Phillip in a race through the park, and Ada had insisted on collecting wildflowers for her mother, the three children were settled with tea. You were cleaning up the kitchen when a familiar knock came at the back door.

Opening it, you found Logan leaning against the frame, that easy smile already softening the tension in your shoulders.

“Thought you might like some company,” he said, stepping inside and pulling you into a gentle embrace. The warmth of his arms around you instantly melted away the weight of the afternoon, and for a moment, you simply leaned into him, breathing him in.

“Good timing,” you murmured into his chest. “The kids are winding down for the night. Edwin’s convinced he’s going to be the fastest man in the world.”

Logan chuckled, his chest vibrating against your cheek. “Is that so? Guess I’ll have to challenge him one day.”

You smiled, pulling back slightly to look up at him. “He’d love that.”

There was a beat of quiet as Logan’s hand came up to brush a stray hair from your face, his thumb lingering just under your jaw. His gaze softened, searching yours for something. It was moments like this—small, tender—that reminded you just how much you’d come to care for him in these past few weeks.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low.

You hesitated, then nodded. “Just… worried about Mrs. Thomas. I don’t know, Logan, she seems worse than she’s letting on.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, his hands slipping down to rest on your waist. “She’s tough, right? She’ll pull through.”

You nodded again, though the doubt lingered. “I hope so.”

Logan leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, the weight of his presence anchoring you. “You’ll let me know if you need anything?”

“I will,” you whispered, your hands resting on his chest.

He pulled back just enough to catch your lips in a slow, gentle kiss. It was familiar, the way his mouth moved against yours—steady, comforting, with that undercurrent of longing that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface between you two. When you finally parted, his thumb brushed your cheek, his gaze still locked on yours.

“I hate leaving you here,” he murmured, the frustration clear in his voice. “Especially with her sick.”

You smiled softly, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine, Logan. Go home, get some rest.”

He gave a small grunt, clearly not thrilled with the idea of leaving, but he knew better than to argue when you got like this—determined and stubborn.

With a sigh, he leaned in once more, pressing a final kiss to your forehead before stepping back. “Alright. But I’m checking in tomorrow, whether you like it or not.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you teased, though the warmth in your chest grew at his protectiveness.

Logan gave you one last smile before turning to head back out into the night, his coat swaying as he disappeared into the shadows. You watched him go, the familiar tug in your chest pulling at you again, but this time it wasn’t just affection. It was worry—a gnawing sense of unease that had been creeping in since that afternoon in the market.

You stood there at the back door for a moment longer, staring into the empty street, wondering if Logan could feel it too—the quiet, unspoken fear that something was about to change.

---

The next few days passed quietly, the routine of the Thomases’ household carrying on as usual—though the coughs from Mrs. Thomas’s room seemed to grow more frequent, more strained. You tried not to think too much of it, telling yourself it was only a cold, that the doctor would sort it out when he came to visit. But there was a part of you, small but insistent, that couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at your thoughts.

The children kept you busy, of course. Edwin was endlessly energetic, challenging Phillip to races and daring Ada to climb the low trees in the garden, much to your chagrin. Ada, sweet and delicate, clung to your side like a shadow, her small hand often finding yours as she babbled on about her imaginary tea parties and grand adventures. In their presence, it was easy to forget the worry in the back of your mind—at least for a little while.

But then, in the quiet moments—like when you helped Mrs. Thomas to her bed after one of her coughing fits, or when the house seemed far too still after the children had fallen asleep—your thoughts would drift back to Logan. To the way he had kissed your forehead that day at the back door, how his hand had lingered in yours just a second longer than usual, as if he’d sensed it too. That something was wrong.

You found yourself waiting for him. Every evening, as the sun dipped low over the city and the shadows lengthened in the streets, you listened for that familiar knock at the back door. And every evening, without fail, he would come—never too late, never too early, always arriving when you needed him most.

Tonight was no different.

You were sitting at the small table in the kitchen, a pot of tea cooling beside you, when the soft knock came. A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it, your heart lifting in that familiar way as you crossed the room and opened the door.

Logan stood there, his dark hair slightly tousled from the evening breeze, his expression soft but watchful. He gave you that crooked smile that always seemed to make everything feel lighter, as if the world wasn’t such a heavy place when he was around.

“Thought I might find you here,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

You shrugged, the smile still playing on your lips. “Where else would I be?”

He chuckled, moving to lean against the counter, his eyes flicking briefly to the teapot on the table. “You drinking alone?”

“For now,” you teased, pouring him a cup. “But I suppose I can share.”

Logan took the cup from you, his fingers brushing yours in that familiar way, sending a small, warm spark through your skin. He didn’t move to sit, though. Instead, he stayed close, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual, as if trying to read something in your face.

“What?” you asked softly, the weight of his stare making your heart flutter.

“Just checking in,” he said, his voice lower, more serious than before. “You look tired.”

You gave a small, weary laugh, shaking your head. “I’m fine, Logan. Just a lot on my mind.”

“Mrs. Thomas?” he guessed, sipping his tea.

You nodded, glancing at the floor. “She’s getting worse. I’m trying not to worry, but… I don’t know, something doesn’t feel right.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, and he set his cup down, moving to stand beside you. His hand came up to rest on your shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of your sleeve. “If you need me to do anything—get more medicine, fetch the doctor sooner—you just say the word.”

You met his gaze, your chest tightening at the concern etched into his face. He always made you feel safe, even when you didn’t want to admit how scared you were. You reached up, covering his hand with yours, squeezing it gently.

“I know,” you murmured. “Thank you.”

For a moment, the room was quiet again, the sounds of the city muted by the walls of the house. You could hear the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth, the distant hum of life outside, but here, in this small space, it felt like it was just the two of you. Just the two of you, and the warmth of his hand on your shoulder.

Logan shifted slightly, turning to face you more fully, his other hand coming to rest at your waist. He tugged you closer, his expression softening as he leaned in, his lips brushing your forehead in that tender way that always made your heart skip. But this time, he didn’t stop there. He tilted your chin up gently, his gaze flicking briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

“C’mere,” he whispered, and you didn’t need any more coaxing.

Your arms slid up around his neck, pulling him in as his lips met yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It was soft at first, tender, but there was a quiet intensity behind it, a sense of urgency you hadn’t felt before. Maybe it was the weight of the unspoken worry hanging between you, or maybe it was just that every time you kissed him, it felt like it could be the last. Either way, you melted into him, savoring the warmth of his mouth against yours, the way his hands tightened around your waist as if he didn’t want to let you go.

When you finally pulled back, your breath mingling with his, Logan rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he let out a long, slow sigh.

“Stay with me tonight,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You hadn’t meant to say it, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them. The thought of being alone with your worries, of facing the uncertainty of Mrs. Thomas’s illness by yourself, suddenly felt unbearable.

Logan’s eyes opened, his gaze soft but searching as he studied your face. “You sure?”

You nodded, your hands still resting at the nape of his neck. “I just… I don’t want to be alone.”

He didn’t hesitate after that. With a soft, reassuring smile, he nodded and pressed another kiss to your temple. “Alright. I’m here.”

---

The doctor had come by some days later bringing by news, Mrs. Thomas had tuberculosis. He gave her at least another month to live.

Mr. Thomas had instructed you to not let the kids near her as often, to make sure they don’t get sick. He didn’t seem to care much about Logan spending the night with you, or letting the kids be around him.

Logan had been spending more nights with you, by your request. It wasn’t something you talked about, just a quiet understanding between the two of you. The nights felt warmer with him beside you, the weight of the world a little lighter when you could lean against him. He never made a big deal out of it either. It was just...natural.

Tonight was no different. You sat by the fire in the small parlor, the children long since asleep upstairs. The flicker of the flames cast shadows across the room, and you caught yourself glancing toward the door, waiting for that familiar knock.

When it came, it was soft, almost hesitant. But you smiled, already rising to your feet to let him in. Logan stepped inside, brushing off the chill of the night as he shook the snow from his coat.

“Snow’s picking up out there,” he muttered, shrugging off the heavy coat and hanging it by the door. “Thought I’d get here before it got too bad.”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself as you watched him. “I’m glad you did.”

He crossed the room, and without another word, his arms wrapped around you. You melted into his chest, resting your head against him as the fire crackled in the hearth. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hand running down your back.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, his voice low. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

You sighed, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I’m fine. Just tired. It’s… everything with Mrs. Thomas, the kids… I’m trying to keep it together.”

Logan frowned, his hands tightening slightly on your waist. “You don’t have to do it all yourself. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you said softly. “But I feel like I have to.”

“You don’t,” he repeated, his eyes searching yours. “I’m here.”

That simple statement hit you harder than you expected. You leaned up, pressing your lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss. He responded instantly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss as if he needed it as much as you did. It was slow and tender, and you found yourself pulling him closer, trying to forget the weight of everything else, if only for a moment.

When you finally pulled back, Logan rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“You should sleep,” he whispered. “You’re exhausted.”

“Will you stay?” you asked, your voice small.

“Always,” he said without hesitation.

---

The nights blurred together. Logan was there more often than not, sometimes waiting for you when you finished putting the children to bed, other times arriving late after a day spent working. You hadn’t asked where he went during the day, and he hadn’t volunteered the information. It didn’t matter. When he was with you, everything else seemed to fade into the background.

The children, especially Ada, had continued asking why she couldn’t see her mother as often. It had broke your heart to tell her and the boys that their mom was sick, not going any further than that.

“They’ll understand one day,” Logan had said, trying to comfort you as you sat by the fire one evening. His arm was around your shoulders, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm.

You nodded, but the heaviness in your chest wouldn’t lift.

“I just want to help,” you murmured. “But I can’t.”

Logan was silent for a moment before he spoke again, his voice low. “You’re doing more than you think, Y/N. Just being here for the kids, for her... it matters.”

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his. There was something in the way he looked at you, something deeper than the usual concern. It was a look that made your heart skip, that made you realize just how much he had become a part of your life in such a short time.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before brushing his lips against yours in a slow, gentle kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing that connection, needing him.

When you finally pulled back, you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Logan’s hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, his touch soothing.

“I’m here,” he whispered again, as if the words alone could make everything right.

And for a moment, they did.

---

You could tell that after a month and a half, Mrs. Thomas didn’t have much time left. Maybe a week at the most. She was so young, barely 30 years old, and already having to face the inevitable. Her coughing had become more violent, her body thinner with each passing day, and the sparkle in her eyes was gone. She was fading right before your eyes.

It had been a long day. The kids were more restless than usual, likely sensing the shift in the household. You’d spent most of the afternoon calming Edwin and Ada while trying to keep Phillip out of trouble. Ada, in particular, had been clingy, holding onto your skirt as you moved about the house, asking you why her mother wasn’t coming out of her room anymore.

You gave her the same answer as always. “Your mama’s just resting, sweetheart.”

But even she seemed to sense something was off.

By the time the sun had started to set, you felt the exhaustion in your bones. You barely touched your dinner, pushing food around your plate before giving up entirely. It wasn’t just the physical tiredness, though. It was something deeper. A strange ache in your chest, one you couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was the weight of everything—Mrs. Thomas’s worsening condition, the children, Logan...

You hadn’t seen him tonight, and that small part of you that had grown used to his presence felt the void acutely. He had a way of grounding you, of making everything seem less overwhelming, if only for a little while. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were beginning to rely on him more and more.

As you climbed the stairs to check on the children, your steps felt heavier than usual. Fatigue, you told yourself. Just fatigue.

When you entered Mrs. Thomas’s room to help her settle for the night, she gave you a weak smile. “Thank you, Y/N... for everything.”

You smiled back, brushing her hair away from her face as you helped her lie down. “Don’t mention it. You just rest.”

Her breathing was shallow, the sound rattling in her chest. You tried not to let it show on your face, but inside, that gnawing worry had grown into a full-fledged fear. You knew the end was coming soon. You just hoped the children wouldn’t have to watch her fade.

---

Later that night, after the house had fallen quiet and the children were asleep, you sat by the small fire in the kitchen. You stared at the flickering flames, trying to let the warmth chase away the chill in your bones, but it wasn’t working.

You weren’t surprised when you heard the soft knock at the back door. Logan’s timing had always been impeccable, showing up when you needed him most, even if you hadn’t called for him. You rose from your seat and opened the door, letting him in with a small, tired smile.

“Cold out there,” he muttered, brushing the snow from his shoulders before stepping inside. He took one look at your face, and his brows furrowed. “You look exhausted, Y/N.”

You waved him off, shutting the door behind him. “It’s been a long day. Mrs. Thomas is...”

He didn’t need you to finish. He’d been coming by enough to know how bad things had gotten.

Logan crossed the small space between you and placed a hand on your arm. “You should be resting too. When’s the last time you got a full night’s sleep?”

You let out a tired laugh, shaking your head. “What is that again?”

“Y/N,” he said, his tone a mix of teasing and concern. “You can’t keep running yourself ragged. You’re no good to the kids if you get sick.”

His words hit a little too close to home. That lingering ache in your chest hadn’t gone away, and now, with him standing so close, it seemed to press harder, making it difficult to breathe. You ignored it, trying to focus on his warm hand still resting on your arm, grounding you.

“I’ll be fine,” you said quietly, leaning against him just slightly. “I just... I need you here. That’s all.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he slipped his arms around you, pulling you close. You rested your head against his chest, closing your eyes as his warmth enveloped you. It felt like everything else faded away when you were in his arms—like the weight of the world wasn’t quite so heavy.

“I’m here,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You stayed like that for a moment, just holding onto him, letting his presence soothe the anxiety that had been gnawing at you all day. His hands ran up and down your back in slow, soothing motions, and you found yourself relaxing, your shoulders sagging as the tension melted away.

But that ache in your chest didn’t fade. If anything, it seemed to settle deeper, a dull, persistent throb that you couldn’t quite shake.

“I don’t know how much longer she has,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Maybe a week. And the kids... I don’t know how to explain it to them.”

Logan sighed, his breath warm against your hair. “You’ll find the right words when the time comes. You always do.”

You weren’t sure about that, but you didn’t argue. Instead, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands still resting against his chest. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you could see the same worry you felt reflected in his gaze. But there was something else too—something softer, something that made your heart skip a beat.

Before you could say anything, Logan leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, tender kiss. It wasn’t rushed or urgent—just gentle, like he was trying to tell you without words that he was there, that you didn’t have to carry everything alone.

You kissed him back, your fingers curling into his shirt as you pulled him closer. For a few seconds, it was just the two of you, the world outside forgotten. But when you finally pulled back, the ache in your chest flared again, sharper this time, making you wince slightly.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, concern flashing across his face. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, brushing it off. “Just... tired, I guess.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it either. Instead, he kissed your forehead softly, his hands still holding you close. “You need to sleep. I’ll stay with you, okay?”

You nodded, letting him lead you to your small bedroom. As you lay down, Logan settled beside you, his arm draped around your waist as he pulled you close. You nestled against him, the warmth of his body soothing, but even as you drifted off to sleep, that strange ache lingered, a quiet reminder that something wasn’t right.

---

Over the next few days, you tried to ignore the fatigue that seemed to cling to you like a heavy blanket. You told yourself it was just the stress, the worry about Mrs. Thomas and the kids. But the truth was, deep down, you knew it was more than that.

Mr. Thomas had been around the house more often, spending almost every moment with his wife before she passed. It would only be a matter of days now. Her condition had deteriorated to the point where she was barely conscious most of the time, her labored breathing a constant reminder of the inevitable.

You moved quietly through the house, keeping the children occupied as best you could. Edwin and Phillip were rambunctious as always, but Ada had grown more subdued. She didn’t ask about her mother as often, as if sensing the unspoken truth everyone was trying to shield her from. You noticed how she clung to your side even more than usual, her small hands gripping your skirts, her wide eyes watching you with a kind of quiet understanding that broke your heart.

It was late afternoon, and the house was eerily quiet. The children were playing in the parlor, their laughter muffled behind the closed doors. You had just finished cleaning up the kitchen when a wave of exhaustion hit you. Your legs felt heavy, your chest tight. You hadn’t been sleeping well, the stress of Mrs. Thomas’s condition weighing on you, but this was different. Your appetite had been lacking for days, though you’d convinced yourself it was just nerves.

You leaned against the counter, taking a slow, deep breath to steady yourself. It would pass. You just needed rest.

Logan wasn’t due to visit tonight. He had mentioned something about work keeping him late, and you didn’t want to ask him to come by, though the ache in your chest—the one you tried to ignore—longed for his presence.

Shaking off the lingering fatigue, you made your way upstairs to check on Mrs. Thomas. As you reached the top of the stairs, you heard her soft, raspy breathing. You hesitated outside the door, your hand resting on the doorknob for a moment, before slowly opening it and stepping inside.

Mr. Thomas sat at his wife’s bedside, holding her hand gently. He glanced up at you, his face pale and drawn, the exhaustion of weeks of worry evident in his eyes. You gave him a small, comforting smile, though you weren’t sure how much comfort you could offer.

"Thank you, Y/N," he said quietly, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep and emotion. "For everything."

You nodded, moving to the other side of the bed to check on Mrs. Thomas. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow and uneven. She didn’t stir when you adjusted the blankets around her. The room was stifling, the air heavy with the scent of sickness, and you fought the urge to cough, your throat suddenly dry.

“She’s peaceful,” you murmured softly, glancing at Mr. Thomas.

He nodded but didn’t say anything. His gaze was fixed on his wife, his hand never leaving hers.

You stayed for a moment longer, but the fatigue creeping up your spine forced you to excuse yourself. As you descended the stairs, your legs felt weaker than before, and a dull ache had settled in your chest. You rubbed absently at your throat, trying to shake off the discomfort. It was nothing, you told yourself. Just tired.

The evening stretched on, the children finally quieting down for bed. You tucked them in, lingering for a moment by Ada’s bedside. She reached for your hand, her tiny fingers curling around yours.

“Will Mama be better soon?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. “She’s resting, sweetheart,” you said softly. “Just keep being brave, alright?”

Ada nodded, her eyes already heavy with sleep, though the worry didn’t leave her small face.

Once they were all asleep, you returned downstairs, your body feeling heavier with each step. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long shadows across the room. You sat by the fireplace, staring into the dying flames, and let the silence of the house settle over you.

And then there was a soft knock at the back door.

Your heart lifted despite the exhaustion weighing you down. You rose slowly and crossed the room, opening the door to find Logan standing there, snowflakes dusting his hair and coat. He gave you a crooked smile, his eyes scanning your face with concern.

“You look tired,” he said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Really tired.”

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though the weariness in your voice betrayed you. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“I finished earlier than I thought,” he said, shrugging off his coat and hanging it by the door. “Thought I’d check on you.”

Without another word, he closed the distance between you, his arms wrapping around you in a gentle embrace. You melted into him, resting your head against his chest as the warmth of his body seeped into yours. For a moment, the ache in your chest seemed to ease, the fatigue lifting just a little.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Logan pulled back slightly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he studied your face. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “I’m here.”

His lips met yours in a slow, tender kiss, and you felt the tension in your body begin to unravel. The warmth of his mouth, the familiar strength of his hands holding you close—it was all you needed in that moment. When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

“You need to rest,” he murmured. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I will,” you promised, though you didn’t want to leave his arms just yet. You leaned into him, letting his presence chase away the exhaustion for a little longer.

---

The funeral was only 6 days later, 4 days after Mrs. Thomas’ passing. She was buried at the Prospect Cemetery at a small affair with rich people you had only heard of in passing.

The funeral was a somber affair. Mrs. Thomas was laid to rest under a sky that threatened snow, and you stood a little ways back, holding Ada’s hand tightly. She had been unusually quiet since her mother’s passing, and even Edwin and Phillip had sensed the weight of the occasion, their usual energy tempered by the somber mood.

You glanced around at the crowd gathered—a sea of dark, expensive fabrics, murmured condolences, and familiar faces. Most of the people you recognized only by name or through brief encounters at the Thomas house. They didn’t seem to belong to the world you inhabited, their whispered conversations and distant gazes a reminder of the divide between their lives and yours.

Mr. Thomas stood near the front, his face a mask of stoicism as he accepted words of sympathy. His children had not left your side, and you knew why. They found more comfort in you than in the strangers who seemed to only appear during tragedies. You didn’t blame them.

As the ceremony came to a close, Ada tugged at your hand. "Can we go home now?" she asked quietly, her voice barely audible over the sound of rustling leaves and shifting boots in the cold.

You nodded, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “We can, sweetheart. Just a few more minutes.”

You caught Mr. Thomas’s eye as he stepped away from the others. He gave you a weary nod, and you knew it was time to leave. You guided the children back to the carriage, helping them inside before following. The ride home was silent, save for the occasional sniffle from Ada and the creaking of the carriage wheels on the cobbled streets.

---

Back at the house, the quiet felt heavier than before. You could feel the weight of grief settling over everything, and it seemed to seep into your bones, making the fatigue that had been gnawing at you for days feel unbearable. Once the children were settled, you retreated to the kitchen, needing a moment to yourself.

But the moment you sat down, the ache in your chest flared up again, sharper this time. You tried to breathe through it, but the tightness only seemed to get worse. A cold sweat broke out on your forehead, and you pressed a hand to your throat, willing it to pass. It felt like something more than just exhaustion now. Something was wrong, but you didn’t have time to worry about it.

The back door creaked open, and you startled, your hand flying to your chest as Logan stepped in. His eyes immediately found yours, narrowing in concern.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low but urgent as he crossed the room. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile as you tried to stand. “I’m just tired. Long day.”

But Logan wasn’t buying it. His hand caught yours, and he gently pulled you to him, his other hand resting on your waist. “You’ve been tired for days,” he said quietly, his eyes searching yours. “And you look worse now than you did a week ago.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, leaning into his warmth without thinking. “Just... everything with Mrs. Thomas. I haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.”

Logan didn’t say anything for a moment, just held you there, his thumb brushing slow circles against your hip. “You’re not fine,” he said softly. “You need to rest. You’re running yourself into the ground, and I don’t want—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you cut him off, shaking your head as you buried your face in his chest. “I just... I just want to stay like this for a while. Can we do that?”

Logan’s arms tightened around you, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “We can stay like this as long as you need,” he whispered.

The warmth of his embrace, the steady rise and fall of his chest, calmed the rapid beating of your heart. It didn’t make the ache in your chest go away, but it dulled the edges for a little while. You stayed like that, your bodies swaying slightly, as if rocking back and forth would somehow soothe the turmoil inside you both.

After a long stretch of silence, Logan pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, his gaze soft but serious. “You’ve gotta start taking care of yourself,” he murmured. “I mean it, Y/N.”

“I will,” you promised, though you weren’t sure how much of it was for him and how much was for yourself. You could see the worry etched in his features, and it made your heart ache in a different way. “I just... I don’t want to leave the kids right now. They need me.”

Logan sighed, shaking his head slightly. “They need you alive and healthy, not running yourself ragged.”

You knew he was right, but the thought of stepping away—of not being there for them when they needed you most—made your stomach turn.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But I’m all they have right now.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he leaned in to kiss you gently, his lips lingering against yours in a way that felt both comforting and urgent, as if he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re not alone in this, Y/N,” he murmured. “I’m here. Always.”

You closed your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. It was moments like this, in the quiet after the storm, that made everything feel bearable, even when the exhaustion seemed impossible to shake. You didn’t want to think about what came next—the inevitable questions from the children, the grief that would continue to hang over the house like a dark cloud.

For now, you just wanted to be here, with Logan, in this fleeting moment of peace.

---

Over the next few days, that small cough persisted, annoying but easy to brush off at first. You told yourself it was just the cold weather, or maybe the exhaustion still clinging to you. But it stuck around, and soon it wasn’t just a cough. Your chest felt heavier, and there were moments where you had to stop to catch your breath.

You didn’t say anything to Logan the first few nights he visited, not wanting to worry him. It wasn’t like you were coughing up blood or anything, and you figured it would pass, just like the fatigue had started to. But when he saw you rubbing your chest again, his eyes narrowed with concern.

“You’ve been coughing a lot,” Logan said one evening, his arm draped casually over your shoulder as you leaned into him by the fire. The warmth of the flames helped ease the tightness in your chest, but even then, it felt harder to breathe than it had before.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, tucking your legs under you and snuggling closer to him, hoping to avoid the conversation. “It’s just the cold. Everyone’s getting sick this time of year.”

Logan tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. “Y/N, don’t pull that. I know you, and you’re coughing more than you should be. This isn’t just a cold.”

You sighed, not wanting to argue, but the exhaustion weighed on you, and fighting him off seemed too tiring. “Okay, maybe it’s not just a cold,” you admitted, glancing at him. “But it’s nothing serious. I’m just run down.”

Logan’s fingers gently traced up your arm, his touch familiar and grounding. He looked at you with that steady gaze of his, the one that made you feel safe. “You need to rest. Real rest, not just five minutes of sleep here and there between looking after the kids.”

You gave him a half-hearted smile, reaching up to touch his face. “I know. But they need me right now, especially Ada. She’s not taking this well, and I can’t just leave her.”

Logan leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re no good to them if you collapse from exhaustion.”

The way he said it—so serious, so protective—it made your chest ache in a different way. You knew he was right, but the thought of taking a step back when the kids were still hurting felt impossible.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, but your voice wavered just enough that Logan picked up on it.

He kissed you softly, slow and gentle, like he was trying to pour all of his concern into that one kiss. When he pulled back, his hand lingered on the side of your face. “You don’t have to carry this by yourself, Y/N,” he said softly. “I’m here.”

You looked at him, feeling the weight of his words, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it—that you didn’t have to do everything on your own.

But the next morning, as you moved through the house and got the kids ready for the day, the cough came back with a vengeance. It left you winded, gripping the counter to steady yourself as your breath caught in your throat. Ada was tugging at your skirt, asking for something, but the ringing in your ears made it hard to focus.

“Y/N?” her small voice called, but everything sounded distant.

You forced yourself to smile, pushing through the wave of dizziness. “I’m okay, sweetheart,” you said, though it was more for you than her. The ache in your chest was sharper now, and for the first time, a flicker of real fear crossed your mind.

That evening, when Logan came by, you didn’t have the energy to hide how bad you felt. The second he walked through the door, he saw it in your face.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice urgent as he rushed to your side. “What the hell happened? You look worse.”

You tried to brush it off, but the cough came again, harsher this time, and Logan’s eyes darkened with worry. His hands were on you, steadying you as you leaned into him, the warmth of his body grounding you again.

“You’re not fine,” he said, his tone more serious now. “I should’ve done something sooner.”

“Logan, don’t—”

“I’m taking you to a doctor,” he interrupted, his jaw set. “No arguing.”

You wanted to protest, but the truth was, you didn’t have the strength to fight him. You were too tired, too worn down, and part of you was scared. So you nodded, letting him pull you into his arms as if holding you close would make everything better.

“I’m here,” Logan whispered against your hair, his voice soft and filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “I’ll take care of you, okay? You’re not going through this alone.”

---

The next morning, Logan arrived earlier than usual. He wasn’t taking any chances, especially after the night before. You’d barely slept, your coughing keeping you awake for most of it, and when you did manage to drift off, it was only in short, restless intervals.

Logan helped you into the carriage he’d hired, his hands lingering on your arms longer than necessary, his brow furrowed with worry. He hadn’t said much since arriving, just a quiet “Mornin’” before ushering you outside. His concern was written all over his face, even though he tried to hide it behind a mask of calm.

You leaned back against the seat, closing your eyes as the carriage bumped along the cobbled streets. Each breath felt heavier, the tightness in your chest worsening by the day. You didn’t want to admit it, but you knew this was more than just a cold. The cough had settled deep, rattling in your lungs, and even though you tried to convince yourself it was nothing serious, the thought that it could be something more was gnawing at you.

Logan sat beside you, his knee pressed against yours as he kept a protective hand on your leg. Every so often, you’d feel his gaze on you, watching, as if checking to make sure you were still holding on. The warmth of his presence was a comfort, even if you didn’t say it out loud.

When the carriage finally stopped, you opened your eyes and saw the modest sign hanging above the doctor's office. Logan didn’t waste any time helping you down, his arm tight around your waist as you made your way inside.

The waiting room was quiet, the air thick with the scent of medicinal herbs. Logan barely let go of you the entire time, his arm never leaving your waist, and when the doctor finally called you in, Logan made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere.

Inside the small exam room, the doctor—a middle-aged man with silver hair and a kind face—greeted you both with a nod. His expression shifted when he looked at you, though, his eyes softening in a way that made your stomach churn with nerves.

“How long have you had the cough, miss?” the doctor asked as you sat down, Logan standing right behind you.

“A few days,” you said, your voice raspy and weak. “Maybe a little longer.”

The doctor frowned slightly, moving closer to examine you. “And the fatigue? Any weight loss?”

You nodded. “Yes... I’ve been really tired, and I haven’t had much of an appetite.”

Logan’s hand rested on your shoulder, a silent reassurance that he was there. The doctor continued his examination, listening to your chest with a stethoscope, his brow furrowing as he moved from side to side.

After what felt like an eternity, the doctor stepped back, letting out a slow breath. He met your eyes, and you knew immediately that it wasn’t good.

“I don’t want to alarm you,” he began, his voice gentle. “But given your symptoms and the sound of your lungs, I believe you may have contracted tuberculosis.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy weight. You felt Logan tense behind you, his grip on your shoulder tightening ever so slightly.

Tuberculosis.

The sickness that had taken Mrs. Thomas. The same one that had been lingering in the house for weeks.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You’d heard the stories—the way it ravaged families, the way it spread so easily. You’d seen it firsthand with Mrs. Thomas, watching her waste away before your eyes.

“How... how bad is it?” Logan’s voice was rough, strained, like he was barely holding himself together.

The doctor glanced at him, his expression serious. “It’s hard to say right now. Tuberculosis can vary greatly in severity. We’ll need to monitor her closely. Rest, proper care, and keeping her away from others as much as possible will be essential.”

You tried to swallow, but your throat felt tight. “What... what do we do now?”

The doctor sighed. “We’ll start with treatment to help ease the symptoms—medicinal herbs, rest, and a strict diet. It’s crucial that you avoid any further exertion. You’ll need to isolate yourself to prevent it from spreading.”

You nodded, but your mind was spinning. The thought of being confined, of having to stay away from the children—it made your chest tighten even more. How were you supposed to care for them when you couldn’t even take care of yourself?

Logan crouched down in front of you, his eyes searching yours as he held your hands in his. “We’ll figure this out, okay?” he said softly. “You’ll rest, and I’ll help with the kids. You’re not doing this alone.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. You didn’t want to cry, didn’t want Logan to see how scared you really were.

“I don’t want to leave them,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “They need me.”

“I know,” Logan murmured, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your hand. “But they need you healthy, Y/N. And I need you healthy.”

You looked at him, your heart aching at the sight of his worry. He was trying so hard to be strong for you, to keep it together, but you could see the fear in his eyes—the same fear you felt deep in your bones.

“We’ll get through this,” he said firmly. “You’re not going anywhere, okay? Not without a fight.”

You nodded, squeezing his hands as tightly as you could. Logan stayed close, his presence a steady, comforting force as the weight of the diagnosis settled over you both.

---

Weeks passed, and the house became quieter. The children were kept at a distance, the once lively home now feeling more like a tomb as you spent your days in bed, trying to gather what little strength you had left. Logan had taken over your duties, ensuring the children were cared for while also staying close to you.

Your body grew weaker with each passing day, the illness creeping deeper into your lungs. The once mild cough had turned into something far more painful, leaving you breathless and exhausted after every fit. You knew, deep down, that the end was approaching. You could feel it in the way your energy dwindled, the way even opening your eyes took effort.

Logan, on the other hand, refused to give up. He never spoke of what was coming, never let on that he saw the same inevitable truth. Instead, he clung to hope, pushing you to eat, to drink, to rest. His presence was a constant, grounding you even in your weakest moments.

Sometimes you even talked about the future, the one you knew you would never have, and the one Logan hoped you would, with him.

Your coughing fit had died down for now, leaving you in bed with your head resting against Logan’s shoulder. His arm was wrapped protectively around you, and the warmth of his body gave you a sense of comfort, even when the pain in your chest didn’t. You took in a shaky breath and spoke softly.

“I’ve always wanted a dog,” you murmured, your voice still weak. “Maybe two.”

Logan shifted slightly, his chin resting on top of your head. “Yeah? What kind?”

You shrugged, smiling a little. “Doesn’t really matter. I just like the idea of having something waiting for me at home, you know? Something happy to see me, no matter what kind of day I’ve had.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You’d be a good dog mom.”

You looked up at him, a playful glint in your tired eyes. “You think?”

“Definitely. You’ve already got all the practice with the kids.” He paused, his thumb gently brushing the back of your hand. “Except maybe the dog would be less trouble.”

You laughed, but it turned into a cough, and you quickly brought a hand to your mouth. Logan tensed beside you, waiting until the coughing subsided before speaking again.

“You’re gonna get better, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice firm, but the edge of worry was clear. “We’ll get you that dog. Or two.”

You didn’t respond right away. You wanted to believe him—really, you did—but each day you felt weaker, and it was getting harder to ignore the reality of your situation. But you also didn’t want to drag him down with your fears, so you leaned into him instead, letting the moment linger.

You put your chin on his shoulder, looking up at him, “how many kids would you want?”

Logan looked at you, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Kids, huh?” His voice was warm, teasing, but there was something tender in the way he looked at you, like he was imagining it for real.

“Yeah,” you said, resting your chin on his shoulder, eyes searching his face. “I know it’s kind of silly to think about right now, but... I like the idea. You?”

He took a breath, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Never really thought much about it until you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Until me?”

Logan chuckled softly. “Yeah. Before you, I wasn’t really thinkin’ about things like... a future, you know? I didn’t even know if I’d stay in the city long. But now... now I think about things I never used to.” He paused, glancing down at your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours. “Like kids, and... us.”

Your heart fluttered at that, the weight of his words settling in. He’d never said anything like that before—nothing about the future beyond today or tomorrow. It wasn’t like either of you knew what was coming, especially now, but hearing him say that he thought about you in that way made everything feel more real. More possible.

You grinned, nudging him playfully. “So, how many then? Two? Three?”

Logan laughed quietly. “Two sounds good. Just enough to keep us on our toes, but not so many we lose our minds.”

You giggled, a sound that quickly turned into a cough, and Logan’s smile faded a little, worry creeping back into his eyes. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just held you closer, his arms wrapping around you like he could shield you from everything bad in the world.

Once the cough subsided, you leaned your head back against his chest. “I think you’d be a good dad, Logan.”

His hand stilled against your arm. “You think?”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “You’re good with the kids now, even if you don’t realize it. They like you, trust you. You’d protect them... care for them.”

Logan was quiet for a moment, and you could feel the weight of his thoughts. “I’d try,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

The warmth of his body, the steadiness of his presence—it was enough to make you forget, for just a little while, how weak you felt. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the comfort of him, of this moment, even though you knew it wouldn’t last.

“Do you ever wonder what it’d be like?” you asked quietly. “If we didn’t have to worry about... this.” You gestured vaguely, meaning the illness, the uncertainty, all of it.

“All the time,” Logan murmured. “But we’ve still got time, Y/N. I’m not giving up on you.”

You opened your eyes, looking up at him. “You really think we’ll make it through this?”

Logan’s gaze was unwavering. “I know we will.”

His confidence, his belief in you, in this, made your heart ache in the best way. You wanted to believe him, wanted to hold onto that hope, even though the fear lingered in the back of your mind.

“You don’t have to be so tough all the time,” Logan said gently, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “It’s okay to lean on me.”

You looked at him, your chest tight for a different reason now. “I know.”

And you did. Logan was always there, steady and unshakable, even when you felt like you were falling apart. You didn’t have to do this alone, even if part of you still felt like you should.

Logan leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than usual. “I’m with you, Y/N,” he whispered. “No matter what.”

You closed your eyes again, savoring the warmth of his kiss, the feeling of his arms around you. For now, that was enough.

But even as you rested against him, part of you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that your time was running out.

---

Logan hated the fact that everything you said was in past tense. How you would’ve liked to learn how to bake bread in that cabin you wanted.

How you would’ve liked to learn how to crochet.

Logan sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with a quiet intensity. You had been talking again, your voice soft and tired, about all the things you wished you had more time to do. It was starting to drive him crazy—the way you spoke in past tense, like you were already halfway gone.

“Would’ve liked to learn how to crochet,” he repeated softly, his eyes never leaving your face.

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah. I always thought it’d be nice to make something with my hands. You know, like a blanket or something... for the cabin.”

Logan’s chest tightened. He hated this—hated that you were talking about all these little dreams like they were out of reach. He leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re gonna be fine, Y/N,” he said, trying to sound more certain than he felt. “You’ll still have time for all that.”

You met his gaze, your eyes soft but filled with something else—something that made his heart ache. “Logan...”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “You don’t get to talk like that. We’re gonna get you through this.”

You let out a soft sigh, your hand coming up to touch his cheek. “You don’t always have to be strong, you know. It’s okay to be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Logan said quickly, though the way he gripped your hand a little tighter gave him away. He wasn’t ready to admit it—to you, to himself—that the thought of losing you scared him more than anything he’d ever faced.

You smiled faintly, shifting on the bed so you could lean into him. “I know you, Logan. You don’t have to pretend for me.”

Logan felt his throat tighten as you pressed closer to him. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his chest, trying to hold on to the moment for as long as he could. Your body felt so fragile against his, like you could break if he held you too tight. But he needed to feel you, to remind himself that you were still here.

“Don’t,” Logan said, his voice thick with emotion. “Don’t talk like that.” He looked away for a second, trying to regain control of the storm raging inside him. He didn’t want to hear the finality in your voice, didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility that you might slip away from him.

You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you touched his cheek. “Logan, you know as well as I do...”

“No,” he repeated, cutting you off again, his voice gruff but shaky. His hand covered yours, pressing it gently against his face. “I’m not losing you. I don’t care what the doctor says. We’ll fight this. We’ll get through it.”

There was a long silence between you, the air heavy with the unspoken truth. You didn’t have the heart to argue with him, but you knew. You could feel it in your bones, in the way your body was failing you little by little every day. But Logan’s refusal to accept that reality made you love him even more, even if it hurt.

You gave him a sad smile, your eyes locking with his. “I love you, Logan.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. The weight of those words—words you’d both danced around but never truly said—hit him like a punch to the gut. He leaned in close, his forehead resting against yours, his voice barely a whisper.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he finally said, his voice breaking just a little.

You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his words wash over you. It wasn’t fair, any of this. You’d only just begun to imagine a life with him, and now that future was slipping through your fingers.

Logan held you tighter, his arms wrapped around you as if he could protect you from everything, even death. He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, before pressing a final, lingering kiss to your lips. It wasn’t passionate or desperate—just soft, filled with all the love he hadn’t yet had the chance to show you.

“I’m here,” he whispered again, his lips brushing against your skin. “Always.”

And for a moment, despite the pain, despite everything, you believed him. Because even if the future was uncertain, even if you didn’t have much time left, you had this. You had him. And for now, that was enough.

---

Nothing had worked, and nothing was working.

You had already accepted your fate, but Logan couldn’t—no matter how many times you tried to explain. He kept his focus on you, his stubborn hope unwavering, even though you both knew time was running out.

“You’re gonna be fine, Y/N. You’ll see,” he said softly, sitting beside you on the bed. He brushed a hand through your hair, his touch gentle, but the worry in his eyes was impossible to miss.

You looked up at him, your chest tight—not from the sickness, but from the overwhelming love you felt for him in that moment. “Logan... we need to talk about this.”

He shook his head immediately, his jaw clenched. “No, we don’t. We don’t have to talk about anything like that. You’re gonna get better, and we’ll figure everything out.” His voice cracked just a little at the end, betraying the fear he was trying to hide.

You reached for his hand, your fingers trembling as they closed around his. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to spend what little time we have left lying to ourselves.”

Logan looked down at your intertwined hands, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. “But I can’t... I can’t think about losing you.”

“You don’t have to think about it,” you whispered, leaning your head against his shoulder. “But we need to be honest with each other. I’m not getting better, Logan. We both know that.”

His whole body tensed beside you, and he turned his head away as if looking anywhere but at you would somehow make your words less real. “I can’t... I can’t lose you, Y/N.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and leaned closer, pressing your lips softly to his jaw. “I love you, Logan. That’s all that matters to me right now.”

His breath hitched, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. He just sat there, holding you as if he could protect you from the inevitable, his arms tightening around you.

After a while, he finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “I love you too. More than anything. That’s why I’m not giving up.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, your heart breaking for him. “I know you’re trying to protect me... but I don’t want you to carry this alone. I need you to be here with me, in this moment, not fighting something we can’t change.”

Logan’s eyes met yours, and for a second, the wall he’d built around himself seemed to crack. “I don’t know how to do that,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to just... be.”

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” you whispered, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “You can let go.”

His eyes softened, and before you could say anything else, Logan leaned in and kissed you—soft, but with an intensity that made your heart ache. It was a kiss that said everything he couldn’t put into words: the fear, the love, the desperation to hold onto whatever time you had left.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath shaky. “I don’t know how to say goodbye,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes, your hand still resting on his cheek. “We don’t have to say goodbye yet. Just stay with me. That’s all I want.”

Logan didn’t respond with words. Instead, he held you tighter, his arms wrapping around you as if he could keep you with him through sheer willpower alone. You could feel the tremble in his hands, the way his breath hitched every now and then like he was fighting back tears.

For a while, you both stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading into nothingness. There was no cough, no sickness, no uncertainty—just the warmth of Logan’s body against yours and the steady beat of his heart beneath your hand.

Eventually, you spoke, your voice barely audible. “I wish we had more time.”

Logan’s grip tightened slightly. “Me too.”

You felt a lump in your throat, but you forced a small smile. “You know... if things were different, I think we’d have had a pretty good life together.”

Logan’s voice was thick with emotion as he replied, “We still will. Somehow... someday.”

You leaned your head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. “Maybe in another life.”

Logan didn’t say anything, but you could feel the way his body stiffened, like he couldn’t stand the thought of losing you again—even in another life.

“You don’t have to be alone, Logan,” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with all the love you had left. “Promise me you won’t shut yourself off.”

He was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was rough and raw. “I can’t promise that.”

You smiled faintly, knowing that was the best you were going to get from him. “Just... don’t forget me.”

Logan leaned down and pressed another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a long time. “I could never forget you.”

The room was quiet after that, the only sound the soft rustling of the blankets as Logan adjusted you in his arms, pulling you closer.

You closed your eyes, feeling the exhaustion creeping in again, but this time it didn’t feel so overwhelming. With Logan’s warmth surrounding you, with his quiet strength holding you up, you felt at peace.

---

You had passed away in your sleep that night, in Logan’s arms. He had stayed up, something in his subconscious telling him to keep his eye on you.

And he did, he felt you take your last breath; one that didn’t seem as painful as when you were awake.

Logan held you close, his arms tightening around you instinctively as he realized what had just happened. His mind refused to process it, refused to accept that this was it. He stared at you, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with breaths that felt foreign in his own body. You weren’t moving anymore, not even the faintest stir.

For a long time, he didn’t let go. He couldn’t. His arms stayed wrapped around you, his face buried in your hair, willing his warmth into your body as if that could somehow bring you back.

"Y/N..." he whispered, his voice broken. He lifted his head slightly, his thumb brushing your cold cheek. "Please... wake up."

There was no answer.

Logan swallowed hard, his throat burning, his chest tightening. His hand trembled as it caressed your face, fingers gently tucking your hair behind your ear like he’d done a hundred times before. But this time, there was no playful smile in return. No teasing comment about how messy your hair always was.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

He let out a shaky breath, his other hand clutching the bedsheet, the weight of what had happened finally starting to crush him. He knew this moment was coming—he’d known it for weeks, maybe even months—but now that it was here, it didn’t feel real. He couldn’t understand how it had come to this, how someone as full of life as you could just... stop.

“Y/N... don’t do this... please,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible as if saying it any louder would make it more true. His hand lingered on your cheek, hoping for even the smallest sign that you’d take another breath.

But nothing came.

He stayed like that for a long time, just holding you, feeling the weight of your stillness.

Logan had never felt so powerless in his life. For all the things he could do, for all the strength in his bones, none of it could save you. His healing couldn’t save you. The realization cut him deeper than any wound ever had.

At some point, he felt his chest tremble, felt the tears start to burn at the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t cried in years, maybe ever—not like this—but he couldn’t stop it now. Not when he’d lost you.

“I... I love you,” he choked out, the words falling from his lips like a confession, like an apology for not saying it enough while you were still here to hear it. He pressed his forehead to yours, his voice breaking again. “I love you so much...”

The room was silent, except for the sound of Logan’s ragged breathing and the ticking of the old clock in the corner, each second passing with an agonizing slowness. He wished he could turn it back, go back to when you were still here—laughing, talking, smiling. Anything but this.

But he couldn’t.

And the weight of that realization shattered him.

For the first time in his life, Logan had no fight left in him. Not for this. Not without you.

i'm not gonna lie, i definitely started crying while writing those last few scenes, even though i knew how it was gonna end

just a little note for everyone (i'll probably add this at the end of every chapter just cause it helped me when writing) in this chapter, logan is 22 years old and reader is around the same age.

tags: @seasonofthenerd @golden-ebony @planetxella @tighrenicotine @wittyjasontodd @cherrypieyourface @tumharisakhi @person-005 @zaggprincess2

[moon-fics]

Lewis Pullman character request idea 💡: Dr. Calvin Evans doesn't know how to act when his lab tech/research partner is going on a date with a colleague from his past (perhaps yearning, jealousy, and a declaration of love ensues 👼) I highly recommend everyone to watch Lessons In Chemistry if you haven't

Lessons in Chemistry has destroyed my life and soul. It's amazing and deserves a bigger fan base. I grant you your request. (Please note I chose a major FAR away from the sciences. I know NOTHING about chemistry.

It has been months since you started working as Calvin's lab tech. For the most part, you help organize his lab and brainstorm. You also spend most of your time reading research papers and textbooks to find solutions or get a different perspective. So far, things have been going well.

Except for the fact that he's hardly been talking to you recently. You can't remember the exact day things changed, but it can't have been more than two days. Every time you try to bring up an idea, he nods his head and gives you a one-word answer. It's gotten to a point where the other chemists talk to you more than him.

You expect the same treatment as you enter his lab. You've learned to ignore the signs on his door that grow in numbers every once in a while. The newest one is 'stop asking for my supplies'.

"Morning, Calvin," You greet him. He's hunched over one of the black laminate lab tables. He's staring intently at two beakers with different liquids in them. You know better to ask at this point.

"Morning," He replies in a low tone. He's dead focused and lost in thought. You pay him no mind and grab a textbook from his shelf. You've decided to go back to the basics to find anything you can use as a breakthrough. You can feel his eyes watching you as you sit at his desk.

You ignore him the same way he's been ignoring you. You won't give him the satisfaction of having all your attention unless he's earned it. Except, every few minutes, you can sense him watching you. It drives you mad that he won't even say a word. You want to throw the textbook at him to see if he'll finally speak, but you need it.

"Could you pass me my notebook and pen?" He asks after an hour of silence. Your eyes flicker from the page to him with an unamused expression. Without looking away, you reach for the notebook and pen. You hold it out in front of you and dare him to ask you to get up. "Thanks," He mutters.

He approaches you and takes the requested items. He doesn't move away from you. At least, not right away. You follow his line of sight, and he's zoned in on your hand. You clear your throat, and it snaps him out of his trance. He slaps the notebook against his hand and walks back to his experiment.

Another long space of silence passes, and you've finally gotten into the reading. You've relaxed in his chair, and your mind is filled with equations that you're trying to alter.

"Do you mind-" He tries to start, but you twist around in his chair to glare at him. Your fingers press against the chapter page as you silently loathe him.

"Listen, if you're going to keep me around to fetch you items, then I'd be more useful helping the other chemists." You snap. You're tired of only speaking to him when he needs something. You miss the banter and jokes you'd share with him. It used to brighten your day, and if he weren't so handsome, you'd have left by now.

His soft blue eyes search your face for a joke or for any sign that you're bluffing. You wish you were. His jaw clenches and unclenches as if he has something important to say.

"I heard you got asked out," He declares. He rests his fist against his mouth as if he regrets speaking. "I can't have you getting distracted," He mumbles.

"That's what this is about?" You scoff. He's been acting off because you got asked out. He's more interested in you remaining devoted to chemistry than your personal life. "One of the lab techs asked me out and I agreed. Is that enough information for you?" You speak harshly.

His eyes squint and reset at your reaction. You can see the gears working in his mind to figure out what to say.

"You agreed?" He asks. There is internal screaming inside your head that fuels your annoyance. "Does this mean you'll be here less?"

"I'm not sure! If things go well, then maybe. That isn't important, though." You throw your hands up. "I'm dedicated to helping you, so I'll be here enough."

"We need a submission for the grant, and if you're busy running off on dates, how am I supposed to rely on you?" That was more than enough for you. You close the textbook and set it on his desk. Your body is way too hot, and you cannot stand to be in the same room as him right now.

Without a word, you storm out of his lab and slam the door shut behind you. You can hear one of his signs hit the floor from the force. The farther you get, the worse your heart feels. As if it's being pulled in two different directions.

---

The day went by quickly after you left his lab. You distracted yourself with mindless tasks, but you still couldn't stop thinking about the argument. It doesn't make sense in your mind as to why he'd react that way.

You step outside the building to see heavy rain pouring down. Thankfully, you're covered where you're standing. Unfortunately, you didn't bring an umbrella to work. With a grunt, you step out from your protection and allow yourself to be exposed to the rain. The soft drops cool your skin down, and it soothes something inside you.

By the time you reach your car, you're soaked. You press the key into the slot of the door and right as you're about to turn it you hear your name.

Your head snaps up to look around the lot. You notice a figure running towards you and recognize them to be Calvin. You don't know why he's running in the rain to you, but you don't jump in your car.

He stops a few inches from you, and he's not even out of breath. His eyes instantly stare into yours as he tries to collect his thoughts. Rain drips from his hair down his nose. It's maddening how dignified he looks while getting drenched.

"Don't go out with him," He isn't ordering you, but he isn't suggesting either. "Please."

"This again? I'm not going to be distracted!" You groan. You press your hands against our face to contain yourself. You cannot believe you're about to have the same argument from earlier.

"I'm not saying this because I'm worried about your commitment. I know you're just as devoted to getting this grant as I am," He huffs. "I'm saying it because the idea of seeing you and your smile less drives me crazy. You brighten my lab just being there, and you make me feel unstuck." He confesses hastily.

You can't find the words to say as he admits his feelings. You had no clue he felt this way. You should scream at him for treating you poorly, simply because he was jealous. Yet, you're almost glad he is.

"Working with you has been the greatest pleasure of my life. I'd give up ever winning an award if it meant I could stay by your side." He places his hands on his hips. "I'm sorry I've been distant and I've been wasting your time. I just wanted more of it." It's clear he has more to say, but he's waiting for your reaction.

"I'll accept your apology, but if you ever treat me like that again, I'm breaking all your beakers." You warn. You want to look serious, but a smile creeps up on your lips as you speak. "However, you're going to have to do more to convince me not to go on that date," You taunt.

"Say less," He nods. His hands gently cradle your head, and he tilts it so his lips can press against yours perfectly. Rain enters your mouth during the kiss, but it doesn't bother you. Not when his warmth is consuming you. The kiss is desperate but slow. He's trying to get his point across, and it's working.

When he finally pulls away, you continue to stare at his lips. Your hands go to his wrists to keep his hands in place.

"I think I can cancel that date," You hum.

"Oh, you think you can?" He chuckles. His thumb rubs circles over your cheeks.

[bennetsbonnet]

I find it interesting that in fanon Elizabeth Bennet is widely held up as an avid bookworm when, in fact, there isn't a great deal of textual evidence to support that particular headcanon.

Perhaps it's because Mr Darcy comments on her reading at Netherfield or thanks to certain adaptations, but I frequently see her depicted as a voracious reader when we have the benefit of her view of her relationship to books from Elizabeth herself:

'“I deserve neither such praise nor such censure,” cried Elizabeth; “I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things.”'

This is supported by the text as when Elizabeth reads in Chapter 8, it's only when she briefly ventures downstairs after attending to Jane for much of the day because Jane has finally fallen asleep. She picks up a book because the rest of the party are playing cards and, she suspects, gambling on the outcome:

'On entering the drawing-room she found the whole party at loo, and was immediately invited to join them; but suspecting them to be playing high she declined it, and making her sister the excuse, said she would amuse herself for the short time she could stay below, with a book.'

The fact that Elizabeth reads as almost a last resort makes Darcy's infamous 'improvement of her mind by extensive reading,' line all the funnier as it's further proof that he really doesn't know her and was only looking for superficial commonalities, rather than getting to know her on a deeper level.

There is one other time where she possibly reads, towards the end of Chapter 12, when she is briefly alone with Darcy. While he reads, there is no indication that Elizabeth does too:

'Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of Saturday, and though they were at one time left by themselves for half-an-hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her.'

Actually, there are far more instances of Elizabeth picking up some needlework and sewing which perhaps point to that being her preferred method of passing the time...

In Chapter 10, when Caroline gives a running commentary on Mr Darcy writing a letter:

'Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in attending to what passed between Darcy and his companion.'

In Chapter 11, when Jane ventures downstairs and Bingley is fussing over her:

'Elizabeth, at work in the opposite corner, saw it all with great delight.'

In Chapter 59, after Mr Darcy returns from speaking to Mr Bennet to seek his consent:

'In a few minutes he approached the table where she was sitting with Kitty; and, while pretending to admire her work said in a whisper, “Go to your father, he wants you in the library.”'

In my opinion, I think most of us that adore Pride and Prejudice are likely bookworms ourselves and want to have something in common with a heroine we adore. It's far nicer to think of yourself as an Elizabeth Bennet than a Mary Bennet... though perhaps, unfortunately, such a sentiment is not supported by the text...

[shiny-jr]

A REQUIEM: chapter two

– Summary: When your friend vanishes, their disappearance becomes buried under the massive wave of missing person cases. You take matters into your own hand, initiating your own investigation in hopes to find their possible whereabouts. The clues you have lead you to the Saja Boys.

– Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender neutral reader.

– Note: No, there is no taglist for this series, sorry, y'all. It got really discouraging when some of the comments on the first part were just asking to be put on the taglist and said nothing else. The other comments? Lovely, thank you.

– Pages: 5

ch. I | ch. II | ???

Assistant. Did the leader of the Saja Boys just call you assistant? 

“You're not cruel enough to leave us like this, are you?” The leader inquired, his voice slightly playful and teasing, it sounded unnaturally captivating. You didn't like how he called you assistant earlier, it felt a tad…contemptuous, or perhaps it was your current troubled state of mind imaging that. “Seriously, we go on in a few minutes.” 

You couldn't let them catch on that you were not even supposed to be here. If you got kicked out, the chances of seeing the Saja Boys like this again were low. Extremely low. You had them here, in front of you. This is what you had desired. 

“Um, right…” Your eyes caught sight of a poster on the wall, their figures on it with their names plastered conveniently over each one. “On it, Jinu.” 

While rummaging through your bag for the supplies you caught glimpses of some of the subordinates, the crew members, stylists, production teams. Not all of them, but some of them looked at you oddly. Like how a cat would look at a mouse with gleaming eyes and sharpened fangs. 

Were they realizing you didn't belong? Possibly. In an effort to rectify that, you pulled out a brush and approached Jinu. When he didn't even bother bending down or lowering himself in any way to make it easier for you to reach the top of his head, you bit your tongue to prevent some bitter choice words from slipping out. Standing on your toes, you reached your arms up, brushing down any stray strands. Not that there were any to begin with. It was just to make yourself seem useful and natural. 

This was your chance. “So… I met this fan of yours recently.” The comb slid through his flawless hair like a hot knife cutting through butter. You were almost tempted to ask what conditioner he used. “I think it was the day of your debut. Have you met them?” 

Instead of the leader answering your question, a different member did. It wasn't even an answer you wanted. This one was muscular with short hair dyed pink. “You're going to have to be more specific.” You frowned when he appeared to smirk and lean against the wall, stuffing his hands into his pockets. This jerk looked like the stereotypical jock, built with pounds of muscle in carefully selected outfits to show off the physique and attract wandering eyes. “We met a ton of new fans that day.” 

Setting your sights on him, you marched over, playing the part of humble assistant as you lightly brushed the tuft of hair at his forehead before some strands accidentally got caught in parts of the brush. You made it this far, snuck into the venue, masquerading as a member of the staff. What was one more wrong if you did this? 

The slight wince and hiss of pain from him was ever so slightly satisfying, especially when his cool pose against the wall crumpled. You failed to realize how this immediately caught the attention of the other four members, their reactions a mix of eyes wide with surprise and stifled snickers. 

You had to check the poster again for his name. None of the names you had bothered to memorize earlier. “Sorry, there was a knot, Abby.” You hummed as he gawked at the few strands of pink hair that the brush had accidentally pulled out. “I’m talking about a fan about this tall, wearing a yellow jacket, front row at your debut show.” 

Jinu was watching you intensely, and you had the gut feeling that he knew. That they all possibly knew who you were talking about, or at least, knew something that you didn’t. One of the members that exchanged glances was another pink-haired fellow, but his hair was a lighter shade than the last, plus it was longer and swept to the side. 

He was the one to speak next, breaking the short bout of nearly tense awkward silence. Not only that, but he was the first to actually approach you, and lower his head slightly. “I like our new assistant. You’re cute.” 

You couldn’t help but actually narrow your eyes at him. Anyone would have, should have, been flattered. But at the prospect that these boys knew something important that would lead you to your friend, and were potentially hiding it, well, it made you more sick than delighted. “How many times did you practice that line, Romance?” His name fit him well. Of course a boy band would have the flirty princely type. 

“Just once.” Romance smiled as you reached for his heart-shaped necklace and took the time to carefully center it. What was more surprising is that he actually acknowledged your earlier mention of a fan. However, he didn’t give an answer you wanted either. “Mystery, did you see anyone like that?” 

You were running out of time, you were sure of it. The five minutes had to be nearly up. Next was this Mystery fellow, and just like the other names, it fit him as he was obviously meant to be the reserved and, well, mysterious member that would reel in the audience with his quiet appeal. At the inquiry directed at him, he shook his head, completely silent in his response. 

This one unnerved you, as he didn’t talk and you couldn’t even decipher how he felt with his lavender gray bangs covering his eyes. How did he even see? All you could make out was his nose and lips shiny with lipgloss, but it was like some sort of immovable force as no expression was portrayed on the lower half of his face even as you cautiously reached up to adjust his turtleneck collar. 

“I get the feeling at least one of you is lying.” You quickly moved onto the last Saja Boy, the one with seafoam blue hair tucked under a yellow hat that really complimented his soft boyish features. Ah, yes, the infamous cute member, and with the name Baby? That was a dead giveaway, but this one didn’t actually seem so innocent. Not when he was crossing his arms so casually and looking at you with an expression that was… impish? Disdain? Interest? Probably disdain was the closest thing.

You didn’t reach out to fix anything on his form. Not when crew members were signaling that time was up, and the others were already filing towards the entrance to the stage by the curtains. Jinu obviously took the lead, followed by Abby who sent you a slight glare as he rubbed the spot you had torn hair off the top of his head, then Romance who sent you a wink and a charming smile, and Mystery who didn’t really seem to care too much about your presence, but last was Baby. 

“I might have seen someone like that, or not, I don’t remember. Either way, I don’t see how it matters. It was just one fan.” Baby brushed past you, and you had to restrain yourself from reaching out to yank him back and demand answers. You felt your fingers twitch, the urge to act was there. And you nearly did, until the next words he uttered made you freeze. “You’ll probably never see them again anyways.” 

You turned fully, a demand half ready to tumble off your tongue and past your lips, but you stopped yourself when they fully crossed the threshold between the curtains and the stage. Part of you was tempted to storm up to them, wrangle an answer out of them if necessary, but you went no further than the curtains. They were live, flashing their pearly white teeth in dazzling smiles as they waved to adoring fans in a crowd and were broadcasted to millions more. 

When the phone in your pocket buzzed, you fished it out and into your palm, opting to ignore the voices of the television hosts introducing the five members: Jinu, Abby, Romance, Mystery, and Baby. These were the five suspects. 

On the screen was a notification, a text message from the family of your friend, taking the time to update you that the officers still had nothing to report on your missing friend. Of course they wouldn’t, there were too many people going missing every day for them to keep up. Their words sounded hopeful in the message, as if wanting to believe that your friend just went on a trip and would soon be back. Although that was optimistic, it was better to believe in the delusions than the horrors one’s mind could conjure. If they were optimistic, then you would just have to be hopeful too and continue. It felt as if these Saja Boys knew something in relation to your missing friend. 

The Saja Boys with their dramatic and energetic introductions that just energized the fans. It’s like with each member introduced, the crowd became louder and more frenzied until it was impossible to tune out. You looked up from your device, frowning as your gaze caught Jinu’s. All you could do was watch as fans fought their urges to run right up to them, scream bloody murder to catch their eye for just a single second by being the loudest, practically falling over themselves in a fever. 

The Saja Boy’s leader appeared focused on you, taking note of your frown even as practically every single soul in the room was attracted to them like swarms of moths drifting towards a raging bonfire. Your gaze met his briefly as the host was talking about their first song, and you swore, it almost seemed as if he was looking at something past you–– and he shook his head before returning his attention back to the host that had addressed him for a question. 

Raising an eyebrow, you looked over your shoulder, surprised to see a tall and buff bodyguard in all black standing directly behind you, practically leaning over you. There was that odd glint in his eye, and he hadn’t expected you to turn around. 

“Excuse me, can you not breathe over my shoulder, please?” All it took was confidence and audacity, two qualities someone who truly belonged here would have. It wasn’t too hard to sound annoyed, especially when you were already frustrated enough by the recent encounter with the famous new boy band. 

Immediately the bodyguard backed off, raising his hands as if in surrender while taking a few more precautionary steps backward. His gaze travelled down to the lanyard around your neck for a quick second, but then his gaze appeared more preoccupied with the stage behind you. “S-Sorry, uh, assistant. It won’t happen again. I’ll go, um, guard over there now…!” 

You watched, perplexed, as the guard fled the scene to go stand watch by a different area backstage. What was that about? Why had that guard acted so strangely? What had he been doing before he stopped so abruptly? Turning back around, you only saw the Saja Boys in the glimmering spotlight, busy preparing for a performance. 

Little did you know that perhaps one of the Saja Boys had just spared a particular soul from being snatched.

[apppletea]

die your daughter.

yandere! batfamily x neglected!reader

sipnosis: Your own desires were alien to your family, to the point where you are determined to commit an atrocious act but suddenly everything is 7 years ago when you were only 13 years old. Something has changed and you're not sure what it is.

She danced, danced and danced until she was exhausted until she finally managed to have his full attention, in her eyes he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, she didn't want money, she didn't want fame, she just wanted to spend at least one night with him, talking perhaps, everything she desired in her broken mind.

And in her mind, she wanted to at least tell him that secret she kept for a year, the secret she was so afraid to tell him because she thought he would let her go and never want to know about it. So at least she wanted to get a good life for you, a life where you eat without worrying about her eating, a life where you could sleep warm, yes... That was all she wanted.

But the tragedy happened and at least she wanted her last words to be you, her beloved daughter.

So she finally spoke to him, whispered in his ear afraid the world would hear her, in a voice that was quiet and soon faded until finally it did, she vanished into his arms. He sighed, a lump in his throat prevented him from saying a few last words to his beloved and with all the regret in his body, he got up, heading to the changing rooms in the back, in search of his little treasure.

Everyone had left due to the commotion except him, he had to find you and he did, you were hidden in the clothes of the one who was now your deceased and beloved mother, Your body was shaking even with all the layers of clothing you had on you, it seemed like it wasn't enough.

Then he held you in his arms, his expression one of pain and exhaustion as he buried his face in your hair and whispered.

‘im sorry... please forgive me...!’ he says.

You were too young to understand so you just accepted the warm embrace of the man, a man you had never seen again in your life.

After that you had been adopted, it turns out that you were his daughter all this time but it seems that he forgot it and suddenly you were left in the shadows along with the memories of your mother.

You really didn't understand how he, your father, couldn't love you? Was that even possible? And to add to your loneliness, your siblings soon ignored you, so focused on their own lives that for a moment in your life, you wanted to be selfish.

After a few years, another child came, he who was truly your almost flesh and blood brother, You thought you could at least get along with him but you found out the hard way that you could never bond with him. The wound on your back still hurts, as a reminder of your entire family's ignorance, you hated that.

More and more scars stuck to your body, one more painful than the other, and the only way to avoid feeling it was to sleep in a strange dream, so strange that when you woke up, you forgot about it.

That was your salvation.

But they say good things don't last forever, and so it was. The dreams were even crueler, you woke up with even deeper wounds, and you felt like it was no longer helping you at all. The desperation was so great that you simply decided on a last attempt of faith to get closer to your siblings, you failed miserably.

The years passed and you became so dependent on your family that you hated it, you hated it so much that you wished you were dead, and yes, it was the best.

You did it and now you're back to relive the same nightmares.

NEW SERIES LOL i feel so evil (⁠+⁠_⁠+⁠).....

fated to pretend It will only have 4 chapters, I don't have many ideas except for a few things... But nothing more than that.

And this, well, I don't have a plan for when it ends.

[brokenpinballmachine]

✶ moon rising at 12 o'clock

yan batfam x gn neglected reader

masterlist ch1 ch2(coming....)

a/n: hiii so like,, obviously I havent been on tumblr for like YEARS so excuse if anything looks bad. 2nd thing to get off: I am in now way like PRO EXPERT level, or whatever and this is mostly just for fun so expect like,,, shitty writing/characterization maybe, wonky time schedules etc. This is like my first post in like, what, 5 years?? maybe more?? Im quite new to the fandom so sorry for like any inconsistencies LMAO

TW: mentions of death, GN reader, slightly a crack fic (pov: my excuse to everything i write), neglect (OBV), english is NOT my first language... sorry yall... im not as american as you think..... sentence structure might be a little funky

word count: 3,662 words

summary: basically every batfam x neglected reader plot ever /w like multiverses or whatever,, inspired by a lot of authors + into the spiderverse

chapter 0: finding yourself

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

How many years has it been since you've last seen your mother?

You remember showing up at the door of the Gothic-styled manor, so excited, out of your mind, livid that you were the child of Bruce Wayne. What would you do? What would you say? Would you finally have the regular life that you've always dreamed of? To say you were ecstatic would be an understatement.

The butler next to you, who you soon found out was named Alfred Pennyworth, could only chuckle at your antics, holding your suitcases filled with clothes from your old house.

You were the child of Bruce Wayne and a prostitute who you knew as your mom. She wasn't home often, but that never wiped the smile off your face.

That stupid smile on your face.

Whenever something went wrong, you somehow managed to keep positive, to keep being optimistic. It was one of the traits that your friends always remembered, despite your upbringing.

When your mom did return home, though, she would place a few items of food on the table and leave once again. You never knew where she would run off to.

A vivid memory of your childhood is your mom coming home with another man, both of them turning in your direction when you decided to make yourself known.

It was strange. Why were they holding each other like that? Questions popped up in your mind, but they were shooed away with the flick of your mother's hand, telling you to go to bed. So you did.

You convinced yourself that night that maybe your mother was trying to make a change; perhaps she was finding you a dad? Yeah! That's it! She was just finding you a new dad so the three of you could finally live a normal, happy life. The stories of your classmates also filled your mind, and how their fathers would take them to the zoo, play baseball with them, and even allow them to put makeup on him. You wanted that. You just wanted a father.

When you woke up, you couldn't find either of them anywhere. Maybe they were planning a party for you?

Then a week passed by. Then another. And before you knew it, you had run low on the food supply your mother would always bring you, not knowing it was going to be your last.

You expected your mother to show up in the nick of time to save you from starvation, but it never happened. She never showed up.

Maybe… they were playing hide and seek?

You stopped showing up to school a week before your food supply finally ran out. You had portioned every last bit of food for each day, not allowing yourself to eat even an extra breadcrumb. Even if you never felt full, it was enough to keep you alive, even if you felt numb and more tired than usual.

Occasionally you would fall asleep on the couch, and you wouldn't even realize how long you had slept until you checked the time again.

That was until the day after your supply of food ran out; someone knocked on the door.

Opening it, you peeked your eyes out until they fell upon a tall police officer who seemed shocked at the sight of a small, malnourished child looking up at him, with heavy eye bags despite the constant rest you were getting. He asked you where your parents were. You shrugged.

Before you knew it, you found yourself in the police station as they questioned you endlessly about your parents and their whereabouts.

Your teacher had gotten worried about you not showing up to school or about your parents not answering any of their calls, so as a last resort, she called the police to make sure you weren't dead or anything.

Well, you might not have been dead, but you looked like you were about to pass out at any second.

Of course, when they found you in a dirty, broken-down home that almost looked abandoned, they started searching for your biological father immediately to see if he could house you. At the same time, they were also searching for your mother, but she seemed to either be missing or dead.

And you could still remember your own shocked face when they told you that the Bruce Wayne, multimillionaire, was your damn father. Even if your mom was missing, perhaps you could still have that life you always dreamed of with your dad?

As both Alfred and you went inside the manor, you followed him around like a little duckling as he gave you a tour of every room, and your wide-eyed face was plastered with a big smile as you ran around each room and explored every detail with your eyes.

It was bigger, better, and fancier than you could have ever imagined.

"Master Y/n, would you like to visit your father?" A voice snaps you out of your haze. You see Alfred standing near a door.

With a nod, your little legs run up to him, and the sound of pitter-patter comes from your shoes hitting the recently swept floors, echoing throughout the mansion.

"Master Wayne, your child has arrived."

Bruce didn't bother looking at you. His eyes remained on the many stacks of papers that cluttered his desk. A small cough from Alfred's mouth as he speaks up once more, repeating his sentence. This time, with a tired sigh, Bruce Wayne opens his mouth, each word coming out snappy and tired.

"Not now, Alfred; I'm busy."

And that was it. Those were the only words you heard him speak, and it wouldn't be until a few months later that you would hear him speak again—not towards you, of course, but that never swept off the smile on your face.

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

Richard "Dick" Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake.

The names of your three other siblings.

When you had first met Dick, you stared at him in awe. Your cheerful attitude clashed well with his own, and he would ruffle your hair whenever he talked to you. Well, at least for the first week you were in the manor.

Afterward, he would always give you an excuse, as if the free trial of him being a brother to you had ended. As if he was being held at gunpoint to be the "nice" brother.

"Sorry, Y/n! I'm going out tonight, but I think Tim isn't busy!"

"Sorry, Y/n, I'm feeling a little too tired today!"

Sorry for this, sorry for that. Excuses seemed to be the only thing that ever came out of his mouth nowadays. Whenever he saw you, he would rush out of the house as soon as you came in—like he didn't want to hurt your feelings with the expected answer he would always give you.

The warm light of the manor seemed to make you chillier every time he rejected you, but it was fine. You still had two other brothers, right?

Who were you kidding?

Jason seemed to always ignore you, no matter the situation. The times he did acknowledge you were to give you short answers—a simple "yes" or "no." It wasn't like you saw him a lot, anyway.

For Tim, it seemed to be the same thing, but he did actually live in the house. He pushed you away every second he got, not bothering to even make up an excuse.

It's fine. You had Alfred, you had his cooking, and you had the manor. You had a roof over your head, so you still smiled even if it was foolish of you to do so.

You were extremely grateful for Alfred, of course, being the only one who bothered to check in on you. In your spare time, he would even let you help him cook! Maybe it was something as simple as icing a few cookies or rolling some cookie dough, but you still appreciated his effort to make you feel acknowledged.

Then came Damian.

Oh dear, not Damian.

You were immediately intimidated by him from the moment he entered the house. Maybe it was the threat that came out of his mouth when he first laid his eyes on you, or the small cut he left on your collarbone—spoiler alert: it was both—you decided not to even try to socialize with him. It wasn't worth the risk.

So why was he more beloved in the house than you?

Was it because you decided not to become a vigilante?

Why did Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim all seem more fond of him than they ever had been of you, even though you had "known them" for longer? You were jealous, to say the least, but you didn't make your voice heard. It would just cause a mess, and you knew they were often busy, so you brushed it off as you usually would.

You held a small hope that they would eventually notice you, and that was enough for you to keep a childish smile on your face. The innocent smile remained, despite being aware of everything that was happening around you. Your twelfth birthday was just around the corner, and you planned to celebrate it as you usually did: alone with Alfred.

Of course, that didn't mean you wouldn't hand out little invitations. You slipped them underneath each of your brothers' doors, pouring your blood, sweat, and tears into every detail of the handwritten notes before moving on to the next sibling. They never came to your birthdays, but that wouldn’t stop you from trying.

"Master Y/n, where would you like me to hang the balloons?" Alfred's voice rang in your ears. When you looked in the direction of his voice, you noticed your favorite colored balloon in both of his hands, making the smile on your face grow wider. This might be the best birthday you had decorated, like, ever!

"You can hang them up in the corners of the room!" you giggled. "Or maybe we could scatter them on the ground!"

"I'm afraid that might be a safety hazard, Master Y/n," he replied.

You could only shrug. "Hey, it's not as bad as you think!" You gave him a lopsided grin. "I'm sure no one would slip on them!"

Right, quite literally 'no one,' because you knew none of your family members were actually going to show up. Both of you continued to set up as Alfred checked on the birthday cake, the scent of which wafted toward you.

Aw, he shouldn’t have! You could recognize the aroma of your favorite flavor anywhere, and the sight of it made the corners of your mouth drool too. You inconspicuously wiped it from the edges of your mouth, blushing a bit and hoping Alfred hadn’t noticed.

He lit the candle on the cake, and you both sang together.

Despite Bruce never being there for you, you could always count on Alfred. The cool wind blew against the faces of the rest of the family; each one wore a frown as they made their way toward Wayne Manor.

The moonlight illuminated the pathway ahead and shone against their suits, almost mockingly, as if highlighting the mistakes they had made that night.

You know when people say, “Well, it can’t get any worse, right?”

Unfortunately for them, everything went terribly wrong.

They even forgot it was your birthday, Alfred noticing the glitter you used from one of your cards shining in the trash can when he went to throw something away. He didn't have the confidence to tell you; he didn't want to ruin your special night.

So when they suddenly appeared in the dining room, yelling and arguing about whose fault it was, they stopped at the sight of the decorations scattered throughout the room.

Who would be celebrating at such a time? Was this a prank? Bruce had the birthdays of all his kids (minus you) memorized, so what were these balloons and party streamers for?

Then they saw you. They saw the cake next to you; they saw the smoke coming out of the candles, they saw the multiple plates placed on the table and how only two plates actually had silverware next to them, and they saw the childish smile on your face.

You couldn't believe it; your wishes came true! They actually came.

They couldn't believe it. Awkwardness filled the room, and they each fell silent. They hadn't meant to intrude.

Of course, it wasn't your fault that the night went wrong, but Damian couldn't handle it. Your birthday—why did it have to be today of all nights? It was as if you were mocking him for the failure that occurred in battle.

He scoffs, storming out of the kitchen and stomping on one of the balloons while exiting, effectively popping it on his way out.

The sound made you flinch, and it finally brought you out of your daze. You look at Alfred, and he looks back at you, giving you a reassuring nod. You had one chance, and you weren't going to mess this up.

"Oh—sorry! I can get a few more forks if you want some cake; Alfred worked really hard on—"

You were interrupted by Bruce, who raised a hand when you were about to scramble into the kitchen to get more forks.

"No need," he says, "I'll go check on Damian."

He leaves the room, and Jason quietly follows him, leaving you alone with Tim, Dick, and Alfred.

Dick gives you a guilty smile. "Sorry, Y/n, I need to go recharge my battery!" And with that, he leaves.

Tim said something similar to Dick, and soon enough, you were alone again with Alfred. You didn't understand why they seemed to avoid you like the plague, why they ignored you at every opportunity.

The cake tasted more bitter than usual when you took a bite, and for once, the smile faded from your face.

And somewhere out in the multiverse, tonight was the night that made you "snap."

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

Turning 18 was more uneventful than you would think it would be. You finally graduated high school, had a job at a local mart, and your family was still ignoring you. Yet your smile was still there; it was strained at times, but it still lay on your face unmoving, unchanging.

Alfred didn't know how you do it. If he were in your position, that smile would have been gone by the time he was age 10.

You hadn't thought much of moving out, but it was wavering in your head. You would mention it to the butler sometimes when the two of you conversed, much to his dismay.

You were also planning on going to college next year, maybe after you saved up a bit. You hadn't applied for a scholarship yet.

You should probably do that soon.

Your room was still your room despite everything. The colors of the walls seemed to be fading out, and the posters attached to them seemed to be in need of new tape.

What the hell do you do now that you have all the time in the world in your hands?

Well, you decided it would be eating.

You were hungry. That was literally the only reason you went downstairs, but instead, you instinctively started eavesdropping on the conversation between your family.

"—one of them had powers!" You heard a voice that sounded familiar to Dicks.

"What would they—doing here?" You weren't sure, but the tone of this one sounded familiar to Jason.

"Im not sure—careful, they—look out,"

A new voice seemed to join in. "Not—database, I think—the three of them—our side?"

"It doesn't matter—destroy them—" You were sure that voice was Damians.

"Dont trust—need to be careful." This voice sounded older than all of them; it had to be Bruce's. "Who were they? —only appeared today."

Damn, look at you! You were such a great detective. You were able to figure out each person based on the voices. At least you got your detectiveness (you're not sure if this is a word, but you don't care either way) from your dad.

Oh well, they could worry about that themselves. You needed to worry about what to do next.

You make your way through the manor, but an unease seems to be creeping up and into you. Maybe you were just hungry again? Something just felt...off.

You scratched it off as just being worried about deciding what you would be in the future, but the unease never seemed to leave.

When you approached your room, you realized what was wrong. 3 new figures were located in your room. One was sitting on the window, one was standing next to the window, and one seemed to be crouching near the floor.

Each one of them looked familiar, like you.

And you screamed—or were about to until a hand rudely interrupted you and slammed against your mouth.

"Don't fucking try it." The person standing next to the window was gone and instead appeared behind you with their hand over your mouth.

"Vg/n! Don't be rude!" The one sitting on the window cries out expressively as their fancy, almost magical-like, white clothing with f/c accents seemed to bounce. They had a ginormous bow on their chest that seemed quite inefficient to wear.

The person behind you, whom you assumed was Vg/n, only sighed. "We can't let them alert the others," The person sitting on the floor cackles, "As if the family would actually come up to check on them, you think they fuckin' care?"

"No, but Alfred might," Vg/n retorts.

You were confused as hell, but your questions were soon answered when the Vg/n spoke up. "Look, it may not seem like it, but we're all you. Or rather, alternate versions of you."

They remove the hand from your mouth, and you voice out your confusion. "What?"

"Im the version of you where you become a vigilante,"

"Im the one where you become awesome and cute!—" The one sitting on the floor is cut off by the one sitting on the window who is suddenly next to you. "Ignore them, they're V/n, it's you when you become a villain," They have a hand on the side of their mouth as they whisper to you, giggling as V/n throws out a little 'hey!' from the rude interruption.

"Im M/n! I'm the version of you where you become... magical!" M/n strikes a pose with a wand they have in their hand.

It's a lot for you to take in, and you stand there, quiet.

"Ya think we broke 'em?" V/n interrupts you from your train of thought.

You shake your head as they speak. "No, no, sorry, I just... how—why are you here?"

"Well, that's what we're trying to figure out too!" M/n tries to smile reassuringly at you. "We were just doing our business in our universes, and BOOM! we're suddenly together in an alleyway."

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Vg/n staring at V/n with an analytical look, and you had to hold in your laughter.

It must've been like whiplash to them when they found their opposite counterpart.

"Wait—so if you're all alternate versions of me, then... what version am I?"

"Well, you're like the past!" M/n's bow bounces freely on their chest. "Or you can also be the 'true' Y/n if you'd like, but that's debated,"

"Past...? How old are you guys??"

"It depends on who you're asking, but we're all around the age of 23-24!"

You stare at them in shock. Were you going to grow up into one of them? Vg/n... they looked cold, hard, almost like a mini-Bruce. They seemed to always have a frown on your face, opposed to you, who always had a smile. Scars were littered all over their body, both on the inside and outside, and you could tell with a single glance they had been through a lot.

V/n. They seemed to look much better than Vg/n, but at the same time, they seemed more cruel. As if their sense of justice was blurred between the fence of good and evil, as if they had lost themselves.

M/n was different as a whole from the other two. They appeared more 'innocent,' more 'playful,' but the smile on their face seemed to be more forced at the same time.

"So, you guys are trying to get home?"

"That's the gist of it," V/n commented.

"Well, we could ask—"

Suddenly, the three of them spoke up, yelling at you with a big fat no. Jeez, their bat families couldn't have been as bad as yours, right?

Vg/n only sighed at your puzzled face, answering the question that lingered in your mind without you having to speak up. "Basically, our lives were changed on our twelfth birthday. I decided to become a vigilante; V/n wanted revenge, and M/n found a ring that made them, well… magical. Our lives were basically the same up to that point, maybe aside from a few personality differences."

So they were just as bad. Even alternate versions of you couldn't catch a break.

"Well, we should at least discuss this somewhere else; I'm getting sick of this manor," V/n scoffed.

Vg/n didn't say anything, but you could tell they agreed with V/n too, even if they didn't want to side with a villain.

"Off we go!!!" With their wand pointed high, M/n ran out of the room with a cheer, alerting both V/n and Vg/n to chase after your other alternate self, with you following in pursuit. You couldn't even make it to the exit of the manor until you ran into your family.

Your whole big-ass family.

Not even one member—your WHOLE FUCKING FAMILY—OH MY GOD. At the WORST time ever too.

"It's you!" Tim exclaimed.

"It's me!" M/n exclaimed with glee. Vg/n and V/n got into their positions, and so did the rest of the Batfamily.

You knew this was going to turn into a mess.

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

a/n 2: hii ok so for vg/n and v/n you can think of whatever outfit you want, but for m/n, im thinking of like, a madoka type outfit if your going for feminine, or a suit /w a cape (and the inside is the f/c accent) if ur going for masculine!! both masc and fem outfits have a bow on the chest area!

here are the theme songs!!

(M/n = Magical name, V/n = Villain name, Vg/n = Vigilante Name)

M/n: Magnetic - Illit, and fight theme would be Right Now - Newjeans (instrumental)

V/n: Demons - Doja Cat, and fight theme would be Yummy - Ayesha Erotica

Vg/n: Homesick - Wave to Earth

[lonely-ey3s]

Heartlines | Chapter Six

pairing: harry castillo (materialists) x f!reader

chapter summary : You battle with self-esteem issues when you realize that Harry might be falling in love with you. Are you enough? Will you fit into his life? Perhaps when you're invited along to a family trip to the Maldives, you'll find out.

chapter warnings: fluff, Harry speaks Spanish (translations will be there), anxiety, self worth issues, self esteem issues, old money rich castillos, insecurities, mentions of a child having health issues, soft!harry, flirting, if I missed anything, lmk!!

word count: 9.3k

a/n: ya'll that new trailer that came out thursday for materialists - i will not survive... he looks so god damn good. ughh. enjoy 💗

also just a reminder! chapters will be every other sunday alternating ride or die !!

your feedback is very important to me, and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments, and likes. I secretly hope you like this story. 🤍

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

Masterlist

The sunlight spilled across the bed in lazy golden ribbons, soft and slow, warming your bare shoulders beneath the sheets. You stirred first, still tangled in Harry’s arms, your cheek against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat the only sound you could register at first.

For a few blissful seconds, you didn’t move. You didn’t need to. His arms were still around you, one tucked low at your waist, the other lazily resting against your back, fingertips tracing idle shapes into your skin like they’d never stopped through the night.

Your lips curled slightly at the memory. His voice whispering into your skin. The things he said. The way he touched you like he already knew every part of you — not in a way that felt possessive or rushed, but like he worshipped you. Curious. Like he wanted to learn you all over again, just because he could.

And then… that moment.

"I’ll be right here, my love..."

He’d said it softly, almost as if to himself. Like it had slipped out in a moment of complete peace and vulnerability — unguarded and drowsy. A truth from somewhere deep in his chest, was spoken without filter.

You didn’t know if he meant it. Hell, you didn’t even know if he knew he said it.

And worse… you didn’t know what it meant. Not really. Not for someone like you — someone who’d been left, lied to, overlooked, or chosen only until the novelty wore off.

The warmth in your chest had spread fast the moment he said it… but now it mixed with a sting of fear.

It all felt so good. Too good to be true.

He’d been nothing but kind, nothing but steady — showing up in ways no one else ever had. And yet… that familiar whisper crept into your mind.

What if he doesn’t feel the same way when he’s fully awake?

What if you’re just a moment for him — something he’ll look back on and smile at before moving on?

What if you’re not enough again?

What if you’re not enough when he wakes up one day?

You hated how quickly your thoughts could spiral. How easily the doubt showed up to sit beside your hope, whispering, ‘don’t get comfortable’.

Harry stirred beneath you then, shifting slightly. You felt his hand press more firmly against your back, keeping you close.

His voice was low, thick with sleep. “Mmm, still here?”

“Still here,” you whispered, but it came out quieter than you expected — like you weren’t sure how long you were allowed to be.

He hummed softly and kissed your temple without opening his eyes. “Good.” his lips brushing your hair. “Then it wasn’t all a dream...”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and kept your cheek pressed against his chest, trying to hold onto the calm — the feeling of being wrapped up in him, protected, even if your heart felt too tender in your chest.

You pulled your head back to look at him, and the moment your eyes met his sleepy brown gaze, your heart did that annoying fluttery thing it always did around him, slowly melting those anxieties.

He looked… happy. Unfiltered. Like waking up with you was something he hadn’t quite believed would happen.

“You’re staring,” he teased gently, voice still coated in sleep.

“I’m… admiring,” you corrected with a soft smile.

He grinned. “Different?”

“Completely.”

His thumb brushed your cheek as you hovered just above him. “This is… nice.”

You tilted your head. “Nice?”

He gave you a slow smile. “I’ve never really felt I’ve done this part right. The waking up next to someone I care about part.”

Your teasing faded into something softer.

You leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. “You’re doing pretty well so far.”

He chuckled and let out a deep sigh, his arms wrapping around you more firmly. “You make it easy. You make me happy.”

You felt your heart squeeze, the words landing softly, deeply.

You moved up to lie beside him, looking up at the ceiling. “I still don’t think I’ve fully wrapped my head around this…”

Harry turned to his side, propping his head on one hand. “What part?”

“All of it,” you said quietly. “Waking up here. With you. Like this.”

His brow furrowed slightly, gentle concern tugging at his expression. He saw a small part of you that he saw when those walls were up — those walls he swore were all the way down, “You okay?” he kissed your shoulder ever so softly. 

You nodded, hesitating. “Yeah. I just…” You searched for the right words. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe this is real. That something can be this good without… risk of it all falling apart.”

Harry didn’t speak right away. He just shifted closer, his hand finding yours beneath the blanket, fingers lacing through yours. “It’s real,” he said softly. “I’m real. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

You turned your head to the side and looked at him, your chest tight and full all at once.

He rubbed his thumb over your knuckles and let out a quiet exhale. “Actually… there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

Your heart jumped slightly, nerves flickering to life. “Okay…”

He hesitated — just for a second, before his tone turned light and hopeful.

“My parents’ 40th anniversary is next week,” he started. “Big family trip planned.” he pulled your hand up with his and played with your fingers, getting shy and nervous. “Maldives. Everyone’s going — my siblings, all the kids, the whole circus.”

Your brows lifted. “It sounds like a lot of fun.”

He nodded, fingers intertwining with yours. “It is. They rented this little resort — very chill. Private, beachside bungalows. Honestly, it’s rare we all get together like this.”

You watched him carefully, sensing where he was going. You remembered hearing the kids whisper about it yesterday, thinking they were being sneaky.

“I want you to come,” he said finally, eyes meeting yours.

You blinked, surprised — but your heart answered before your brain could.

“Really?”

“I know it’s big,” he said quickly, laying his head down and sneaking his arm under your neck and get close to you. “And I know it’s soon. And the whole family thing is a lot, especially mine…” He let out a nervous chuckle, lightly squeezing your hand.

“But after yesterday? After the way you were with the kids and made it through chaos, bedtime stories, and pillow forts… I don’t know, it just feels right. Like, I didn’t want you not to be part of it.”

He looked at you then, voice softening. “In truth, I don’t want to leave without you by my side.”

You looked down for a second, looking at your hand in his, processing the warmth building in your chest — the part that still wanted to question why you were so wanted. But the part louder — the part that believed him — was the one that answered.

You looked at him, smiling softly. “I’d love to come.”

Relief and affection broke over his face like sunshine.

You turned your body, reached to thread your fingers through the back of his curls affectionately. “But… I don’t have a passport...”

He chuckled and pinched your chin playfully, pulling you close. “Well, let’s get you one…” 

You pressed your forehead to his, grinning. “Is it really that simple?”

“With me?” he murmured. “Absolutely.”

That flutter in your chest returned — not just because of his words, but the way he said them. Like being with him could be that easy. Like loving him… might not have to hurt.

He leaned in and kissed your cheek, then your temple. “We’ll talk about it more later. There’s plenty of time.”

You nodded, nestling back into the pillows as he adjusted beside you, one hand trailing lazy paths across your bare thigh. 

You both just laid there and admired each other. Memorizing eye color, making maps of each other's freckles, discovering dimples — falling in love with the little details that make each other themselves.

He hummed softly after a few moments, nudging your nose with his. “Speaking of. I was gonna make you breakfast in bed before you woke up, but someone woke up before me.”

Your brows lifted. “Really?”

“I’ve got a whole plan,” he said, shifting to sit up a little. “Coffee, eggs, something cinnamon if I can get fancy.”

“You cook?” you asked skeptically, even as you slid back slightly to let him move.

“Shockingly well,” he said, already climbing out of bed, tugging on the joggers he’d kicked off the night before. “Actually love it. It’s like meditation. But tastier.” He looked back at you and wiggled his eyebrows. 

You giggled and propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him. “So I’m being spoiled?”

“You’re being courted,” he smirked, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Stay here. I’ll bring you something delicious.”

He turned toward to leave the side of the bed, but before he could leave the bedside , you reached out and grabbed his wrist gently.

“Wait…”

He turned, brows lifted slightly in question.

“Five more minutes,” you said with a sleepy grin, tugging him back toward the bed. “Please?”

Harry hesitated a moment before his grin returned — wide and utterly smitten. “You’re going to be dangerous in the mornings before work, aren’t you?”

“Maybe…” you teased as you pulled him down, and he slid back into the covers with you, arms immediately wrapping around your waist again as you cuddled into him.

For a while, neither of you said anything.

You just laid there, wrapped around each other, legs tangled under the blanket, kissing slowly like the world didn’t exist outside these walls.

Eventually, you whispered against his lips, “You still planning to cook for me?”

“Eventually,” he murmured. “But you’re kind of hard to walk away from.” He cupped your cheek and leaned down to kiss along your jaw. 

You smiled, curling into him. “Well that’s good to know…” You giggled, feeling his scruff tickle your neck as he leaned down a little more. 

“Indeed it is,” he said, kissing your shoulder. “Because I think I’m starting to need this. You. Every morning.”

Your heart thudded again — softly this time.

After a few more minutes of lazy kisses and sleepy laughter, the two of you finally dragged yourselves from bed.

The kitchen was a warm haze of golden morning light and buttery air, soft music playing low from the speaker on the counter as you padded in barefoot, wearing one of Harry’s oversized concert tees and the faintest grin.

He was already at the stove — barefoot, shirt still rumpled from sleep, curls messy and perfect as always. The way he moved around the kitchen, flipping French toast in the pan, made it feel like you were watching something private.

He must’ve felt your eyes on him, because without turning, he smirked and said, “Careful, cariño. Keep looking at me like that, and we won’t make it to breakfast.”

You raised an eyebrow and leaned back against the island. “You can’t say that when you’re standing there looking like that. I can’t help myself…” 

“Oh?,” he teased, reaching for the cinnamon. “Are you sayin’ you want me for breakfast, hermosa?”

“I wouldn’t mind a taste…” Then you hopped up onto the counter behind him. The cool marble made you shiver at first, but the way he glanced over his shoulder to look at you — his eyes dragging down your legs and back up again — made your skin warm back up instantly.

He turned the stove on low and a lid on the pan to allow the bacon and eggs to cook before he turned to the counter you were on where there was a cutting board, and started slicing strawberries. 

He began to slice them like the knife was an extension of him, not needing to slow down or readjust. You watched in awe, but then you felt his hand reach for your chin gently. He turned your face toward him and leaned in, giving you a quick, sweet kiss.

Then another, this one longer.

He then pulled back and pressed one on your cheek, just to make you laugh, which you did.

You giggled as he brushed the tip of his nose against yours before going back to slicing like it hadn’t happened. “You taste sweet, baby…”

You hummed contentedly. “And you’re dangerous when you kiss me like that,” you teased.

“Hmm?” he said, licking a bit of syrup from his thumb. “Kiss you like what?” he acted innocent.

“You’re lucky you’re cute...” You tilted your head at him. 

He paused for dramatic effect. “Correction: I’m lucky you think I’m cute.” He went back to the stove to tend the eggs and bacon. 

You chuckled and reached over and stole a strawberry from the bowl, popping it into your mouth just as he flipped another slice of toast, quick so he didn’t see. 

He moved around the kitchen to gather plates, mugs for coffee, and utensils to plate everything up. His hand slid behind your knee, squeezing lightly as he passed, another little touch that made your heart flip.

And then came the icing sugar.

He reached into the cupboard just above your head for a small scoop of icing sugar to dust over the toast. 

He misjudged putting the bag back onto the shelf, and it fell, sending a soft puff of powdered sugar into the air — and directly onto you.

“Oh my goodness—!” You froze, blinking through the fine dust coating your hair and shirt.

Harry’s eyes widened, and then he burst out laughing. “Oh, shit, baby... You okay?”

You looked down at your powdered-sugar-covered lap and slowly narrowed your eyes, a giggle bubbling up. “You did that on purpose!” 

“I swear I didn’t,” he grinned. “But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t kinda adorable.”

You reached up to wipe your cheek, but he caught your hand gently and used his thumb to brush some of the sugar away instead.

“You look like a powdered donut,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth. “My favorite kind.”

Your laugh turned into a squeal as he brushed more sugar onto your cheek deliberately, and you shoved him in the chest gently, playfully.

“Harry!” you giggled.

“Okay, okay,” he said, still chuckling as he leaned in to kiss the same cheek again. “Truce?”

“Truce,” you huffed, crossing your arms — even as you leaned toward him again, smiling.

He stayed close, his arms slipping around your waist as he stood between your legs, your powdered-sugar truce still hanging in the air like a secret only the two of you shared.

“You’re kind of a menace,” you murmured as you nudged his nose with your own, voice soft but full of amusement.

“And you’re kind of stuck with me now,” he replied, smiling as he moved to kiss just beneath your jaw — gently, almost absentmindedly.

You let your arms fall around his neck, your voice quieter now. “I think I could live with that.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, a flicker of something more serious in his eyes now — tender, unguarded. 

“Come on,” he said, his voice roughened just a touch. “Let’s eat before I do something stupid and we forget we made breakfast at all.”

You chuckled as he helped you down from the counter, but he didn’t let go right away. His hand lingered at your lower back as he guided you to the table where he’d already set two plates and mugs of fresh coffee.

The two of you sat — barefoot, sugar-dusted, and completely smitten — across from each other in the golden light.

And for a few still, quiet minutes, it was just soft bites of cinnamon and strawberries, toes brushing under the table, and the kind of morning that felt like the beginning of something lasting.

Reader’s POV - 3 days later

The sun had just started to dip below the skyline as you walked the last stretch toward your apartment, phone pressed to your ear, tote bag slung over your shoulder, and your heart somewhere in your throat.

“…And then the kids dragged me into this full-on Barbie war with a lava monster and a wedding all in one,” you said breathlessly, trying not to laugh too hard. “It was absolute chaos. But it was… I don’t know. Kind of perfect?”

Lila’s voice on the other end was warm and amused. “Okay, so let me get this straight. The man not only introduced you to his family’s kids after, like, what? A couple of weeks? But you survived pillow forts, lava weddings, and tickle fights... and now you’re going on an important anniversary family vacation?”

“To the Maldives,” you groaned, letting your head fall back dramatically as you waited for the crosswalk light to change. “Who even lives this kind of life?”

“The Castillo’s do, and now — so do you,” she said, completely unbothered. “This is your life now. Spicy masquerade balls and island getaways with a smart, kind, sexy, charming, family-oriented man who brings you a different kind of flower every time he sees you.”

You blushed, stepping into your building. “When you put it like that, it seems so unreal… like I’m in some dream and need to be pinched.”

“Oh, I’ll volunteer! I’ll pinch you!” she joked.

You laughed, but it faded just a little as you entered your apartment and kicked the door shut behind you. 

You dropped your bag by the door and walked toward your bedroom, grabbing your suitcase from the closet.

“I’m serious, though,” you said, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside it. “It’s all been so… fast. It’s not just that he’s good to me. He’s good. Like, heart-of-gold, make-you-laugh-when-you-want-to-cry, actually-listens kind of good.”

“And that’s scary?” your sister said gently.

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “Terrifying. Because I keep waiting for the catch. Like… how could someone like him want someone like me?”

There was a beat of silence on the other end before she said, “You’ve got to stop saying that.”

You ran your hand over your face, voice softening. “But what if his family thinks I’m just some— I don’t know. Some ‘nobody’. Some girl who’s trying to weasel into their rich family. What if they think I’m a gold digger, or not good enough, or—”

You stopped, eyes stinging suddenly, hands pausing over the half-zipped suitcase. That old wave of panic rose hard in your throat. Your breath hitched.

“I’m not polished. I’m not… expensive. I can’t walk into a beachside bungalow and charm a bunch of lawyers and CEOs… or whatever they are. I’m just… me.”

And there it was — the fear, sharp and familiar.

“Sweetheart,” your sister said, her voice steady now. “You’re not some accessory. You’re not some ‘plus one.’ You’re someone he chose and continues to choose every day since you’ve met.”

She softly sighed. “I’ve known Harry for a long time. He isn’t someone to bring just anyone around his family… especially those kids. He invited you because he wants you there. He doesn’t invite you to the work party, or to spend the day with his little niece and nephew because you’re a nobody. Honey — he’s inviting you to his life. You’re everything to him.” 

You didn’t know what to say, you still felt that knot fester deep down.

She tsked, and her tone became somewhat sarcastic. “You think a guy like that lets his nieces and nephews fall in love with someone he’s not serious about?”

You stared at your suitcase, barely packed, your clothes still half-strewn across the bed. Your mind not picking up the sincerity in her talking points.

“But what if I get there and they look at me and just… know I don’t belong?” you muttered.

“Then you smile,” she said softly, “and remind yourself that you do belong. Harry knows you belong… and not because of what you wear or your job — but because he looks at you like you’re his whole world.”

There was a slight pause, then she chuckled, “You knocked that man out of orbit, sweetheart. And no one’s done that to him in the 8 years I’ve known him...”

Your chest felt like it might crack open. You closed your eyes, gripping the edge of your suitcase with one hand.

“Lila… I think I’m falling for him, and that absolutely terrifies me…” You whispered.

“I know,” she replied simply. “I knew before he even took you to the ball,” she shrugged. 

“That late-night phone call was the spark… I saw it.” she smiled. 

You let out a watery laugh, and she let you sit with that quiet for a moment, breathing through the spiral.

Eventually, she said, “You’re going to be okay.”

You nodded slowly, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah… I think I just needed to hear it.”

“Call me when you finish packing, okay?”

“Okay.”

You hung up and set the phone down, looking at the mess of clothes on your bed — and then at the corner of your dresser, where Harry’s sunflowers still sat in their vase, soft and yellow and blooming.

‘Everything’s going to be ok…’

Harry’s POV 

The dinner table was full of roasted chicken, garlic potatoes, and the unmistakable hum of family energy. Glasses clinked, stories of the last week passed back and forth, and laughter rose in waves across the room. It was comfortable, familiar — except for the knot forming in Harry’s stomach.

He hadn’t told them yet; he hadn’t mentioned it even to Simon. He needed to just get it out to everyone, all at once. Rip off the band-aid. 

He waited until the plates had been cleared, until dessert had been passed — sticky fig cake and scoops of ice cream melting just a little too fast on the warm plates.

He cleared his throat in an attempt to gather everyone’s attention. “I, uh… I have something I want to tell you all...”

Everyone quieted. His mom looked up with soft curiosity, his dad with his usual patient interest. Simon was already grinning like he knew exactly where this was going.

Harry ran a hand through his curls and sat back slightly. “I invited someone to come with me to the Maldives next week.”

Simon’s grin widened. “It’s about damn time you said something.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “Could’ve let me have the moment?” He lightly joked.

“I’m just excited,” Simon said, holding up his hands with a soft smile. “She’s great. And the kids adore her, haven’t stopped asking when they’ll see her next.”

His mom’s eyes lit up. “Oh, mijo, is this the same girl you mentioned last week? Y/N?”

Harry nodded, heart thumping, but steadied by her tone. “Yeah. That’s her.”

His dad leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. “The one the little ones have been pretending is already family?” He chuckled. 

Harry gave a short laugh. “That’s the one.”

His dad smiled, nodding thoughtfully. “Well. That’s good. Important that they take a liking to her.”

Simon chimed in, more serious now. “She’s the real deal, Dad. Kind, quick, funny as hell. Handled Savannah’s full Barbie monologue without blinking.”

Harry laughed, remembering. “And the lava monster. Can’t forget that.”

“She didn’t even flinch when she got tackled by both kids at once,” Simon added. “Took it like a pro.” He nudged his brother's arm gently, offering brotherly support. 

“Ella suena encantadora,” (She sounds lovely) their mom said, voice warm. “I can’t wait to meet her properly.”

And then Anne spoke.

Her voice was slow, sharp at the edges. “You’re seriously bringing her? The girl you met at Ben’s wedding?”

The air changed, just slightly.

Harry looked across the table. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Anne blinked, like it was obvious. “Because this is our parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary trip, Harry. It’s not just some casual beach getaway for your little girlfriend and her bikinis to get her ‘tan on’. It’s family.”

“She’s important to me. She’s more than my ‘little girlfriend,’ she’s someone I care deeply about,” he said simply.

Anne’s nose crinkled. “You’ve only been seeing her what, a few weeks? This is all happening so fast. You barely know her.” 

“Fast doesn’t mean wrong,” Harry replied, voice still calm.

Anne scoffed. “Right. And how convenient that she just happens to be single, and suddenly very available to hop on an all-expenses-paid luxury trip. Come on… sounds a lot like a—”

Harry sat up straighter, getting visibly more irritated. “Don’t.”

“I’m just saying,” she went on, undeterred. “We’ve all seen you fall headfirst before. But this? Inviting someone like that to a family event?” She looked to their parents as if expecting backup. “It’s a lot.”

Harry’s dad cleared his throat, eyes narrowing slightly. “Anne, ya es suficiente.” (That’s enough)

She blinked like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“We raised you better than to make assumptions about someone you’ve never met,” their mom added gently, but firmly. “If Harry wants her there, she’s welcome. Fin de la historia.” (End of story)

Anne stared at them like the world had tilted.

“She’s different,” Harry said then, quieter now, but certain. “She’s not like anyone I’ve brought home before. She’s not after money or status.” 

He smiled to himself as he messed with the hem of his shirt, thinking about you. ”Hell, she’s more likely to tease me for a designer label than admire it.”

Their dad let out a short chuckle. “Sounds like someone I’d like.”

“She grounds me,” Harry continued. “She’s down-to-earth, kind, smart, gentle, funny. Being with her feels… easy. Like, I don’t have to prove anything. Like I can just be.” He looked up at Anne, then looked at his parents, his eyes telling just how serious he is. 

Simon nodded, offering a quiet, “It shows, hermano.”

Anne didn’t speak again, just pressed her lips into a thin line and avoided everyone’s gaze until the conversation slowly shifted. 

Dessert finished, wine glasses emptied, and chairs began scraping back from the table — but Harry wasn’t done. He found Anne in the hallway a few minutes later, pulling on her coat.

He approached her, voice low. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

She sighed and turned, arms crossed. “If you’re going to yell at me—”

“I’m not,” he said. “I just want to say… I get it. I know it’s fast. I know it might look crazy from the outside. And I appreciate you worrying about me.”

She looked at him, guarded.

“But she’s different,” he said again. “I’ve never felt more sure about someone. I… I think she’s it for me.”

Anne’s eyes widened. “You’re telling me you love her already?”

He didn’t blink.

“Yeah. And what if I do?” he said. “What’s wrong with that? Dad always says, ‘Cuando es el indicado, simplemente lo sabes’ (When it’s the one, you just know.)” He exhaled. “And I know with her.”

Anne said nothing.

Harry stepped back slightly. “All I’m asking is that you try, give her a chance. I know you’ll love her.” He gave a small smile before he softly sighed.

“Just— don’t make this trip harder than it needs to be. Don’t be cruel or unkind. Because if you say something to hurt her, or embarrass her, or make her feel unwelcome…” 

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “I won’t just be disappointed. I won’t forgive it.”

She looked away.

Harry didn’t wait for her to answer. He just walked back into the house where the warmth still lingered — and where he was already planning how to hold your hand on the plane, on the beach, through every moment — because this wasn’t just some fling.

This was real.

And he wasn’t going to let anyone ruin it.

The house had finally quieted. The dishes were done, the lights dimmed, and the voices of his family had faded into background memory. But Harry couldn’t settle. Not with the way Anne’s words still echoed somewhere deep in his chest.

He stepped out onto the back patio with his phone in hand, the evening breeze cool against his skin, and sat down on the wooden bench near the garden.

He just needed you.

He hit Call before he could second-guess himself. The phone rang twice before your voice picked up, soft and familiar.

“Hey, handsome.”

His shoulders eased at the sound of you. “Hi, querida.”

You smiled quietly on the other end — he could hear it in your voice. “Dinner done?”

“Yeah. Just finished.” He slumped down on the bench and looked up at the sky. “Thought I’d call.”

“I’m glad you did,” you said gently. “How was it?”

He paused. “Honestly? It went well. My mom is thrilled you’re comin’. Simon wouldn’t stop talkin’ about you. The kids have apparently already written you into the family tree.”

That pulled a quiet laugh from you. “I’ll need a framed certificate, then.”

He chuckled, but when the laughter faded, there was a longer silence.

And then you spoke again, your voice more tentative this time.

“Can I say something a little… vulnerable?”

He sat up straighter. “You can say anything.”

There was a pause before your words came out — slow, like you were still working up the nerve.

“I’m really nervous, Harry.”

His smile faded gently, not with worry, but attention. “Tell me why, mi vida.”

“I just… I don’t want to be this awkward outsider on a big family trip,” you murmured. “Like, what if they all look at me and wonder why I’m there? I’m not glamorous or polished. I don’t come from money or… or know how to sail or whatever your family probably does on these getaways.”

He bit his cheek, holding back a smile at the last bit, but the emotion in your voice kept him quiet.

“I’m not flashy. I’m not… impressive,” you said softly. “I’m kind of just… normal. A little boring, maybe. I keep thinking about your parents, your sister… what if I’m not enough for them? What if I don’t fit?”

Harry let the silence stretch for a second longer before speaking, his voice low and steady.

“You know what I told them tonight?”

You didn’t answer, but he knew you were listening.

“I told them you’re grounding,” he said. “That you’re funny, and smart, and the most genuine person I’ve had in my life in a long time. That being around you makes me feel more like… well, me — than I have in years.”

You let out a breath, shaky and small.

“I know it’s easy to spiral,” he added. “But you’re not boring. You’re not ‘just’ anything. You are enough. In every single way. You don’t have to impress anyone — especially not my family. You already have.”

“They haven’t even met me.”

“They know you through how I talk about you. And trust me, I don’t shut up.”

You gave a soft, bashful laugh, and he grinned.

“Besides,” he added, “you’re not going in cold. Simon and the kids adore you. My mom is already picking which seat to save next to you on the plane.”

“I want this to go well,” you whispered. “I want to make a good impression. I want this to matter for all the right reasons.”

“It already matters, mi vida,” he said, and his voice was so certain it made your chest tighten. “You matter. And I’m so damn lucky to have you.”

You didn’t speak for a moment, and he didn’t push. When your voice came again, it was quieter.

“Thanks for saying all that. I don’t always… believe it. But I’m trying.”

He nodded, even though you couldn’t see him. “That’s all I want. Just stay close, and we’ll figure it out… together.”

Another pause. Then, teasing: “So… did you save me any of that fig cake you’ve been goin’ on about?”

Harry let out a relieved laugh. “You’re lucky you’re my girlfriend or I’d lie and say no.”

You giggled. “Oh, only because I’m your girlfriend, huh?”

His voice dropped a little. “Yeah. Well, and I may have other reasons...”

Another silence. A little weightier now — warm, not heavy. Like something unspoken passed between you.

Then, softly: “You also saving me a seat on the plane?”

“Always,” he said. “And a spot next to me at dinner. And a side of the bed. And about a thousand kisses to make up for the ones I’m missing tonight.”

You smiled quietly. “You’re gonna have to fight me for the best side of the umbrella at the beach.”

He chuckled. “Bring it on.”

The conversation softened from there. You exchanged sleepy goodnights and sweet nothings until your voice began to slow, and you said you should get ready for bed.

“You’ll call tomorrow?” you asked softly.

“Always,” he said again. “Sleep well, cariño.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

He waited until you hung up, just to hear that last click, then leaned back on the bench, smiling up at the stars.

Yeah… He was all in.

Even if the words hadn’t been said yet, they were on the tip of his tongue.

And when the moment was right… he knew he’d say them.

A few days later 

The Uber slowed as it approached the gated entrance of the airfield — sleek, quiet, and so unlike the typical chaos of a commercial airport. You glanced out the window in confusion, brows drawing together as you took in the polished tarmac, the gleaming private jet parked not far off, and the luxury SUVs parked neatly in a small lot.

‘This can’t be right. Can it?’

The driver looked back at you with a half-smile. “This is the spot, sweetheart.”

You blinked, double-checking your phone. “I thought we were going to the airport?”

He gestured toward the jet. “Looks like you are. Just… the fancy side.” He grinned. “Flyin’ private, are ya?”

Your heart kicked in your chest. ‘You’ve got to be kiddin’ me…’ 

Of course Harry had mentioned the trip. He’d mentioned family, sun, sand, and a packed resort with bungalows. But this? Flying in a private jet? He left this part out. 

You stepped out slowly, tugging your duffel over your shoulder, fingers tight on the handle of your roller bag. The air was cool, kissed by early morning breeze, and your breath clouded slightly in the quiet.

And then, you saw him.

Harry was near the trunk of one of the SUVs, laughing as his dad tried to get one of his mom’s oversized cases out of the back. Simon was wrangling bags as well. His mom handed Savannah a juice box and knelt down to comb little Harry’s hair back gently. It was barely 7 a.m. and already buzzing with easy, practiced chaos.

But none of that mattered, because as soon as Harry glanced up and spotted you…

He froze — then broke into a grin so wide, so bright, it made your stomach flutter.

“There she is!”

You didn’t have time to process the soft twist in your chest before he was crossing the tarmac toward you, fast and purposeful. And when he reached you, he didn’t hesitate.

He dropped your bag and pulled you into him with a soft “C’mere, carino,” wrapping his arms around your waist as you fell easily into his chest. You barely got a “Hey, you—” out before his lips were on yours.

The kiss was warm, slow, and grounding — not rushed, not over-the-top — but full of something that had been building over the past few days of missed calls, late texts, and long hours apart.

You sighed against him, melting just a little.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. “Hi,” he murmured.

“Hi,” you whispered back, smiling so big your cheeks ached.

“Surprise!” he chuckled nodding toward the private jet. 

“You didn’t really think I was gonna make you fly coach?” He grinned.

You laughed, swatting his chest. “You didn’t tell me we were flying private.”

“Would’ve ruined the surprise,” he said, smirking. “Besides…” He tilted his head toward the plane. “There’s even a bed on board. Thought you might want a proper nap since you had an early morning...”

You rolled your eyes, still grinning. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, here you are.” he teasingly jabbed.

Before you could fire back, a small voice shouted, “Y/N!!” — and you turned just in time to see little Harry running full speed toward you, light-up sneakers thumping across the tarmac.

You barely had time to drop down lower before he launched into your arms. You caught him easily, hoisting him up with a laugh.

“Whoa! There he is!” you grinned, hugging him close. “I missed you, little man!”

“I missed you too,” he said, clinging to your neck. “Are you sitting by me on the plane?”

“I’d love to,” you said, pulling back just enough to ruffle his hair. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Harry stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, watching you with that look again — the one he always gave you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Full of something soft and deep.

His mum noticed too, nudging her husband as they both looked on. Simon smirked knowingly.

Harry shook his head slowly, still staring at you. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me.”

You blushed under his gaze, even as little Harry wiggled in your arms and pointed toward the jet. “There’s snacks on there! And games too!”

You laughed. “Well, that settles it. Best travel buddy ever.”

As you set him down, Harry came over and laced his fingers through yours again. “C’mon,” he said, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the chaos.”

His hand never left yours as he led you across the sun-washed tarmac. Despite the early hour, the air held a crisp brightness that sharpened every sound — Savannah squealing over snacks, luggage wheels humming over concrete as staff loaded up the plane.

And then, ahead, you saw her.

Lucia, Harry’s mom, stood in a pair of white linen pants and a lavender scarf looped loosely at her neck. She looked elegant in the effortless way some women are — like grace came built into her bones. Her eyes, however, were what struck you first: warm, sharp, deeply knowing.

She stepped forward with a smile already blooming. “You must be Y/N.”

You managed to nod before she pulled you into a soft, firm hug, motherly in a way that made your chest ache.

“It’s so wonderful to finally meet you,” she said as she pulled back, brushing a stray piece of your hair from your face in a gesture so natural and effortless it startled you.

“I— thank you,” you said with a bashful smile. “I’m so happy to be here. It’s so lovely to meet Harry’s family.”

Lucia turned slightly, glancing at Harry with a soft smirk. “Ella es preciosa. Y te mira como si fueras el único en la habitación. Ya veo por qué la miras como si fuera la indicada.” 

You didn’t catch every word, but the look on Harry’s face told you enough — cheeks flushed, his jaw shifting like he was trying to stop a grin.

You squinted at him, amused. “Care to translate?”

Harry cleared his throat. “She thinks you’re pretty.”

Lucia arched a brow, then leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in your ear, “What I said was: you’re beautiful. And the way you look at my son… I see why he looks at you like you’re the one.”

You felt your breath catch slightly and your cheeks turn warm.

Lucia pulled back, smiling knowingly. “We’re so glad you came, hermosa.”

Just as you were recovering, another voice spoke up beside you.

“Rafael,” said Harry’s father, extending a hand. He was tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and a quiet steadiness to him. Harry and Simon had a likeness to him, and both possessed his calm energy.

You shook his hand, firm and warm. “It’s so nice to meet you, sir.”

“The pleasure’s ours,” Rafael said, his voice low and calm. “Harry hasn’t stopped talking about you since your sister’s wedding.”

Harry cleared his throat softly, becoming shy. “Papa...”

“I’m just saying,” Rafael said, nudging his son. “When someone brings peace back into your life, you don’t let them go unnoticed.”

You blinked at that, your chest tightening a little as the words landed deeper than you expected.

Simon approached with a smile, and after quick hugs and greetings, he gestured toward the girl standing behind him.

“And this is Lindee,” he said gently. “She’s still waking up, but she’s excited to meet you.”

Lindee gave a small wave, her oversized Taylor Swift hoodie swallowing her hands. Her sneakers shuffled against the pavement, hiding behind her dad’s leg.

You crouched to her level, letting the buzz of introductions pause for a moment. “Hi, Lindee.” You lightly tugged on her hoodie, her attention falling towards your hand. “You know, that’s my favorite album of hers...”

Her eyes lit up instantly, moving out from behind her dad.

“You like Taylor Swift?” she asked, more hopeful than surprised.

“Love her,” you grinned. “I almost wore my ‘Cruel Summer’ shirt today, but figured I should try to look a bit more professional…” You put a hand by your mouth and said quieter to be silly, “You know, meeting your grandparents and all.” You winked. 

Lindee giggled. “I made friendship bracelets for the plane…”

“Okay, that officially makes you the coolest person I’ve met all week.” You smiled.

Harry watched the exchange with a soft smile — a quiet wonder in his chest he couldn’t name yet. But before he could say anything, a hand landed gently on his shoulder.

“Camina conmigo, hijo...” (Walk with me, son) Rafael murmured.

They stepped aside, leaving you still chatting with Lindee.

“She’s kind,” Rafael said, glancing back at you, then back at his son. “Easy to talk to. Grounded.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice rougher than he intended. “She really is.”

Rafael nodded slowly. “She’s good for you. And you’re better with her.”

Harry swallowed and looked at the ground, then up again. “Thanks, Papa.”

“I mean it,” Rafael added. “It’s a good thing she’s coming.”

Harry nodded again, and for the first time since Anne’s words back at the house, he felt a real sense of calm settle in his chest.

When he returned to you, he found you mid-laugh with Lindee and his mom. You looked up at him with warmth in your eyes that nearly knocked the wind out of him.

He slipped an arm around your waist and murmured, “You’re fitting in a little too well.”

You smirked, resting your hand on his chest. “Isn’t that what you were hoping for?”

He grinned. “You’ve always exceeded my expectations.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned in anyway, brushing your lips against his cheek. “Lucky you, then.”

Just as the luggage was being finished and everyone was prepping to board the plane, you glanced toward Harry, then reached into your personal tote and gently pulled out a slim, carefully wrapped box.

The wrapping paper was simple — elegant gold with a white ribbon tied neatly at the center. You turned toward Lucia and Rafael, your nerves fluttering just slightly.

“I hope this isn’t overstepping,” you began softly, stepping toward them, “but I wanted to give you something. I know this trip is for your anniversary, and I didn’t want to come empty-handed.”

Lucia blinked, clearly surprised. Rafael straightened beside her.

Harry turned, hearing your words and pausing mid-sentence with Simon.

You held out the box. “It’s nothing extravagant, just something small I thought you might like.”

Lucia exchanged a glance with Rafael and took it delicately, untying the ribbon.

Inside was a hand-bound leather photo album, the cover embossed with their initials and the number “40” in small gold lettering. Inside, you’d added a few pages to start — a photo of Harry as a kid that Simon had posted recently (you’d secretly saved it), a printout of the photo from the aquarium you snuck where Harry sat by the touchpool with the two kids in his arms, and a note written on the first page:

“Here’s to forty years of love, family, and the stories still to come. Thank you for letting me be a small part of the next chapter.”

Lucia’s hand came to her heart as she smiled down at the book, tears just beginning to glisten in her eyes. Rafael ran a finger down the spine of the leather, his lips twitching into something warm and stunned.

“Oh, mi amor…” Lucia whispered, looking at Rafael, then Harry, then finally you.

She turned to Harry and said softly, her voice full of emotion, “Mira lo que ha hecho. Qué mujer tan considerada.” (Look what she’s done. What a thoughtful woman.)

Harry blinked, his throat tight. “You got them a gift?” he whispered to you, stepping closer.

You shrugged gently, cheeks flushed. “Just a small thing. I figured, if I’m going to crash their family trip, I should at least show up with a peace offering.” you lightly joked. 

He laughed softly, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and burying his face briefly in your shoulder. “You continue to amaze me…”

Lucia stepped forward and hugged you again — firmer this time. “This means the world to us, cariño.”

“It was nothing, really,” you murmured, surprised and touched by how moved she seemed.

Rafael smiled, looking to Harry. “Has encontrado uno bueno, mijo.” (You’ve found a good one)

Harry chuckled, clearly flustered and proud all at once. “Yes, I have.”

Lucia wiped her eyes and turned to Simon, showing him the album. Lindee leaned in next, already asking if she could help add things to the empty pages.

The jet hummed softly around you, the world outside reduced to a blue-white haze as clouds stretched endlessly beneath the wings. The interior was dimmed to a gentle glow — overhead lights soft, windows partially closed to lull everyone into mid-flight calm.

You’d dozed for a while, curled up next to Harry, your head tucked against his shoulder as he ran lazy fingers up and down your arm. But eventually, as the hours passed and your internal clock had no idea what time it really was, you stirred.

Harry kissed your hair. “Hungry?”

“Only if there’s more of that lemon shortbread your mom snuck into my breakfast box.”

He smirked. “I think there’s a secret stash in the galley. I’ll go check.”

He left you smiling in your seat as you stretched and looked around — most of the family asleep or reading. Simon snored faintly two rows up; Savannah sprawled over his lap. Little Harry was curled up with a tablet in oversized headphones next to Liv.

You wandered forward and found Lucia and Rafael sitting at a quiet table near the front, mugs of tea between them, a deck of cards half-played and forgotten.

Lucia looked up and waved you over. “Come sit, cariño. You must be bored of my boy by now.”

You laughed softly and eased into the open seat. “Never. But I figured I’d give him a break from being used as a pillow.”

Rafael chuckled. “He always was a cuddler. Even as a kid.”

You smiled. “He still is.”

Lucia leaned her cheek into her hand, observing you. “So tell us — what do you do when you're not making our son moon-eyed and distracted?”

You blushed, laughing. “I uhm, I work at the Ritz. I’m the manager there. I’ve been there for roughly 8 years… but I’ve worked mostly in hospitality outside of there.”

“Ah, I knew I recognized you from somewhere! I must’ve seen you when I stayed there for a conference last year,” Rafael noted, sipping his tea.

You smiled and nodded politely, “That’s likely a possibility.” 

Lucia said warmly. “We’d love to know more about you — especially what you see in our boy.”

You blinked, then laughed softly as you looked down at your hands for a moment shyly. “That sounds like a trick question.”

Rafael smiled behind his teacup. “It might be.”

Lucia’s gaze softened. “We’re not interrogating you — just curious. He’s been different since meeting you. Lighter.”

You swallowed and tucked your hands in your lap, thoughtful for a moment. “Honestly, it all started pretty unexpectedly. We were paired up — best man and maid of honor at my sister’s wedding. I didn’t really think much of it at first, but... from the second we were walking down the aisle together, he wouldn’t stop making me laugh.” You blushed to yourself thinking back to that day. 

You looked at them, face bright. “And after that... we just never really stopped talking.”

You smiled to yourself. “It’s like we found each other at the right time, even if we weren’t looking.”

Lucia exchanged a quiet glance with Rafael, who gave a nod of approval. She leaned in just a little. “And what do you like about him? Besides his marrón grande eyes, of course.” She lightly joked. 

You laughed and glanced down shyly. “He’s... generous. In many ways… not just with items or gifts — though, I won’t lie, I love the flowers.” you looked up at them, your cheeks pink. 

“Flowers?” Rafael asked.

You nodded, blushing deeper. “He gets me a new kind of flower every time we’ve seen each other...” 

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling too much. “When he first surprised me at work, he asked me what my favorite flower was and well — I’m not sure of what type is honestly — so he’s just made it a point to get new ones each time, try to find my favorite.” you looked down shyly and tucked your hair behind your ear. 

“I’ve never had that before. That kind of steady attention. He listens. He shows up.” You looked up at them again, eyes soft, adoring.

Lucia smiled slowly, a warmth building in her expression. “That sounds like our Harry.”

“He makes me feel safe. And chosen. And I don’t think I realized how much I needed that until him.”

There was a pause, one you didn’t quite know how to fill.

Then Rafael asked gently, “And what do you want from this? From being with him?”

You blinked — surprised by the question, but not offended. If anything, it felt like a test you didn’t mind taking.

You met their eyes, your voice quiet but sure. “I want something real. I’ve had enough of things that burn out fast or fall apart. I want someone to build a life with. To laugh with when life gets messy. To be vulnerable with when I’m scared or insecure. I want a partner who chooses me on the hard days too — not just the good ones.”

You looked between them, letting the truth of it hang in the air. “I want someone to grow a life with. And I feel like I could have that with your son…”

Lucia’s lips parted slightly in surprise, her hand moving to cover Rafael’s on the table. Rafael nodded slowly, his eyes thoughtful, pleased.

“Thank you,” Lucia said softly. “For being honest.”

“Ella es buena,” (She’s a good one), Rafael said to his wife, then looked at you. “We’re glad you’re here… happy to get to know you more this week.”

After the two of them shared a couple of embarrassing stories about Harry, they stood to excuse themselves, leaving you to sit alone. 

Across the aisle, you spotted Lindee sitting alone at a small table near the window, her bracelet kit open, a few colorful strands already knotted halfway.

You stood and walked over. “Need a co-designer?”

She looked up and brightened immediately. “Yes! I was trying to make one that says ‘Vacation Mode’ but I think I spelled ‘mode’ wrong.”

You sat beside her, laughing gently. “Let’s fix it. You handle the colors, I’ll do the letters.”

For a while, it was just thread, whispered jokes, and concentration. But eventually, her fingers slowed.

“Do you think I’m gonna ruin it?” she asked suddenly, voice low.

You blinked, surprised. “Ruin what?”

“The trip. The whole thing. Everyone’s being really nice and careful, but it’s like they’re all waiting for something bad to happen.” She swallowed, looking down at her hands. “After the seizure… everyone has been so nervous… so scared.”

Your heart tugged. “I’m sure that was a scary thing to have happen,” you said softly. “But not because you did anything wrong. No one’s waiting for something bad to happen. They’re just trying to take care of you, make sure you’re safe.”

She nodded slowly. “I don’t want to be the reason people miss out.”

You shifted slightly to face her. “Lindee, listen to me — this trip isn’t about perfection. It’s about family. And families show up for each other no matter what. If something happens, it won’t ruin anything. It’ll just remind everyone why being together matters.”

Lindee sniffled quietly and nodded. “Okay.”

You smiled and held up the bracelet. “Also, look at this masterpiece. You’re a creative genius!”

She grinned, wiping her cheek. “Want one that says your name?”

“I’d be honored. Can I make one that says yours?”

Unbeknownst to you, Harry had returned with shortbread in hand and paused when he spotted the two of you. Lucia stood just behind him, equally silent.

They watched as you reached over to tie the bracelet around Lindee’s wrist, brushing her hair back gently.

“She’s a good one mijo,” Lucia whispered.

Harry nodded, his throat thick. “Yeah. She really is.”

Lucia leaned close, voice even softer. “So... it’s serious, isn’t it?”

Harry glanced sideways. “Yeah. It is.”

Lucia smiled knowingly, then tilted her head. “Your brother says you think she’s the one, is that true?”

He blinked. “Yeah, I believe she is”

Lucia glanced up at him. “We asked her what she wanted from this — from being with you.”

He tensed slightly. “Mamá…” he groaned. The last thing he wanted you to feel was interrogated. 

“She wasn’t rattled,” Lucia said gently. “She didn’t flinch. She said she wanted something real. Steady. That she wants someone who chooses her even when it’s hard.”

Harry’s heart pulled taut in his chest.

“She said she wants to build a life with someone. Said she feels she could have that with you, mijo.”

He exhaled shakily. “She said that?”

Lucia nodded and leaned up to kiss his cheek, then cupped it like she did when he was a child. “She loves you, mi amor. Maybe she hasn’t said it out loud yet, but she’s already living like she does.”

Harry swallowed hard, his gaze locked on you now. The way you laughed when Savannah dropped her bead tray. The way Lindee leaned on your shoulder, and you didn’t move an inch.

“Yo también la amo, mamá.” (I love her too) He said simply, surely, with zero hesitation in his voice. 

He looked back at her, smiling, his eyes softening, “Robaría la luna y las estrellas para ella.” (I’d steal the moon and stars for her)

She nodded and cupped his other cheek to hold his face in her hands. “

Just by that sentence alone, she knew you were the one, and her son had found the one.

Harry smiled, hearing you giggle with Lindee, and stepped forward, dropping the shortbread onto the table between you and Lindee.

“How are my two of my favorite girls?”

You looked up and grinned. “Good.”

Lindee held up one of the bracelets in the small pile. “We made one that says ‘Uncle H’ for you!”

He chuckled, sitting down next to you. “I love it! Can I make one too?” 

Lindee gleefully handed her supplies over and helped her uncle make his own Taylor Swift while the two of you educated him on the Eras of her albums.

He sat there with a twinkle in his eye and truly couldn’t be any happier. 

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

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[hrtwayne]

Take my Breath Away || Alexia Putellas [Part One]

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Physiotherapist!Reader

Summary: Where the girl Alexia kissed at a bar ends up being hired as the new physiotherapist for the Barcelona team.

Note: English is not my first language.

Warning: None, except for the two being completely oblivious!

Next Chapter | Women's Football Masterlist

The night before, Y/n had gone out to celebrate her new job with some friends at one of London's trendiest bars. Amid laughter and conversation, the light and relaxed atmosphere allowed her to let loose, at least for a few hours, from the pressure she felt after securing a contract with a Spanish team after years of working in English football. The night took an unexpected turn, and under soft lights and loud music, Y/n found herself sharing a kiss with a woman with blonde hair and a captivating smile.

The next morning, the headache from the celebration's excesses throbbed intensely, and Y/n struggled to recall the details of the previous night. She blinked, still feeling dazed, until the image of the woman she had met the night before, with her blonde locks and mesmerizing gaze, returned to her mind.

"Damn," she muttered to herself as she sat up in bed, the fragments of memory starting to piece together. "Did I get her number?"

She wasn't sure, but she wasn't the type to let herself be distracted by such things, at least not for long.With her mind scattered, at 8:15 a.m., Y/n entered the Barcelona Training Center. Although she was familiar with the environment, having worked in similar centers before, there was something different this time, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Perhaps it was the weight of being back in Barcelona or the new challenge that awaited her.

As she crossed the main entrance, her eyes narrowed, taking in every detail of the place with the familiarity of someone who knew it well but the seriousness of someone who wanted to do everything perfectly. With her hands in her jacket pockets, she remained focused until she was approached by a man with a firm posture and a warm smile.

"Pleasure to meet you, Doctor. I'm Pere Romeu, the coach of the women's team," he said, extending his hand in greeting.

"Pleasure," Y/n smiled back, shaking his hand confidently.

Let's go, I'll introduce you to the players," the coach guided her through the center's corridors to a gym where the players were training intensely. "Ladies, take a break, please."

The athletes paused their activities and turned to Y/n and the coach. The physiotherapist, maintaining her professional demeanor, began to analyze them one by one, recognizing movements, observing postures, and identifying potential points of concern. However, what she didn't expect was to see, among them, the same blonde woman from the previous night. The shock was instant.

The woman, Alexia, stood still, her eyes wide in surprise as she recognized Y/n. A brief moment of tension filled the air, but it was quickly masked when Y/n bit her lip, hiding her nervousness before formally introducing herself.

"It's a pleasure, ladies. My name is Y/n, and I'll be your new physiotherapist," she said, approaching and shaking each of their hands firmly.

Alexia, who had been quiet until then, flashed a shy and charming smile at Y/n, still trying to process the coincidence. The two, visibly uncomfortable, tried to hide the tension, but it didn't go unnoticed by their teammates.

Ona, with her typical humor, shot a teasing look at Alexia as soon as Y/n and Romeu walked away to talk.

"Now I understand why you wanted to get her number last night," Ona commented with a mischievous smile.

Alexia, awkwardly, muttered something inaudible as she felt her face flush. She knew it would be hard to keep that secret with her friends around, especially with Ona and the other girls always paying attention.

"Don't you dare say anything!" Alexia grumbled, trying to avoid further teasing, but it was obvious the situation was far from going unnoticed.

Y/n, on the other hand, tried to stay focused on her conversation with the coach, though the image of Alexia and what had happened the night before was becoming clearer in her mind. She would have to figure out how to handle this coincidence and, more importantly, how to work alongside the woman who, without realizing it, was already stirring her emotions.

At the end of the day, when most of the players were already leaving training, Alexia told her friends she needed to stay a bit longer for a medical evaluation. The discomfort in her left knee, the same one that had suffered previous injuries and surgeries, was bothering her, and Coach Pere Romeu had recommended that Y/n take a careful look.

Alexia walked through the quiet corridors of the training center to the medical wing. The place was almost empty, the sound of the captain's footsteps echoing softly. When she reached the office door, she knocked lightly and waited for a response. A muffled sound of approval came from inside, and Alexia entered.

"Are you about to leave?" Alexia asked, her hands in her jacket pockets, as she saw Y/n sitting at the desk, focused on some papers.

Y/n, distracted by the paperwork, looked up at the familiar voice. Her eyes met Alexia's, and she took a deep breath, struggling to maintain her professional composure.

"Did something happen?" she inquired, trying to hide the concern she felt. The tension between them was still palpable, but Y/n knew she needed to focus on her work.

"I felt some discomfort in my left knee during training, and the coach asked you to take a look," Alexia replied, trying to mask her growing anxiety. She couldn't believe she was in the same room, alone, with the woman she had kissed the night before.

The previous night had been a whirlwind of emotions, and now, face-to-face with the physiotherapist responsible for her physical well-being, Alexia felt the thin line between personal and professional life being tested.

"Alright. Sit on that examination table, please," Y/n instructed, standing up from her chair. "I want to make sure it's nothing serious. The coach told me about your ACL injury, so I'll check to see if there's any connection."

Alexia did as she was told, sitting on the table as Y/n approached. The physiotherapist began to examine her left knee with skilled and gentle hands, pressing lightly on critical areas. Alexia let out a soft curse as the pain intensified in one specific spot.

"I want to make sure you're in condition to play the next game. If you feel any major discomfort, let me know immediately, okay?" Y/n said, massaging the captain's knee lightly. Her touch eased the pain, and Alexia took a deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily.

The warmth of Y/n's touch was comforting, but it also stirred something in Alexia. She hated to admit that this closeness was affecting her. The memory of the previous night was still fresh, and now, with the physiotherapist so close, Alexia's emotions were in turmoil.

"Is there something you want to say, Captain?" Y/n asked, sensing the tension in the air as she pressed gently on another area of the knee.

Alexia hesitated, her heart racing. She knew exactly what she wanted to say, but this wasn't the time or place.

"I don't think it's something I should mix with work, Doctor," Alexia replied, trying to keep her tone professional, even though she was conflicted inside.

Y/n, however, didn't seem willing to completely ignore what had happened between them. Without losing her composure, she replied with a subtle tease:

"That's exactly why you should have left me your number, Putellas."

Alexia felt her face flush, averting her gaze to avoid direct eye contact. Y/n's comment, delivered in a low and calm tone, hit her hard. The physiotherapist's sweet perfume filled the space between them, bringing back memories of the previous night.

Without prolonging the tension, Y/n stepped back, grabbing a pen from her lab coat pocket. With quick movements, she turned to the desk and wrote something on a small post-it note. Then, she handed the note to Alexia, who looked at it curiously.

"You have my number now. You know you can call me if you need to," Y/n said with a small smile, placing the note in Alexia's hand.

Alexia, unsure how to react, tucked the post-it into her jacket pocket and nodded without saying a word. Her heart still racing and her mind in overdrive, she knew this interaction was just the beginning of something much more complicated.

[imaginespazzi]

Part 14: The End And The Beginning

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 15

Still a flicker of hope that you first gave to me that I wanna keep (please don't leave)

(In which an infrequently-updating writer finally didn't take a month to update)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff and I guess a little bit of Hurt/Comfort

Words: 9.2K

TW: Swearing (and I believe that's it)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 It's a little past 2 AM but y'all wanted a chapter at an ungodly hour so here it is. It's insane to think that there will only be one more chapter of this fic. In all honestly I did have ways to drag it out for a little longer but ultimately, this felt like the right path to take. I feel like some of this chapter is a little OOC (though my lovely friends have said maybe I'm just being paranoid) but whelp it was for the plot so! Like I said, ungodly hour chapters means barely any editing for now but I will go over and fix things later. In the meantime if y'all wanna point things out in terms of grammar and typos, please feel free. As always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see as this story comes to an end. Have a lovely rest of your day (night?) my loves <3

June 2033 

Azzi thinks she might have every detail of her rather uninteresting bedroom ceiling memorized by now. After all -for almost 3 weeks now-  instead of sleeping, all she’s done is stared up at it, her mind wandering off to a thousand places, all plagued with the same face. Azzi hadn’t thought it was possible for her heart to ache as much as it had the morning after the proposal, when the regret had hit and she’d rushed into Paige’s room, only to be told by KK that the older girl was gone. The days following had been torture, like enduring a heart attack over and over again, the pain crescendoing until she’d gone numb from it. 

But last time there had been no false notions, no open-ended goodbyes, just a clean break and somehow that had been easier to live with. These last few days -filled with the unbearable waiting of maybe today she’ll come back to me- have been worse. Perhaps it’s because of the innate hope flickering like a candle within her. And even though the flame of it seems to get smaller and dimmer every time she sees Paige and the older woman still can’t quite make the promise to stay, Azzi knows that until that hope of hers is either completely shattered or fulfilled, there is no moving on from this hurt. 

Sighing to herself, Azzi grabs for her phone. The screen lights up to countless notifications and she bites her lip when she notices the one from Clémence. Dinner had been uncannily awkward last night in a way that it had never been before when the French woman had been a much more frequent presence in her and her daughter’s life. But in between Azzi being completely lost in thoughts of her and Paige’s conversation in the locker room and Stephie somehow managing to find a way to relate every little detail back to Miss Buecks and her face-falling a little every time she did, well it was suffice to say even Clémence’s attempts as making the dinner more cheerful hadn’t been enough to make the evening less of a disaster. Azzi had almost let out a sigh of relief when she’d finally dropped the other woman off at the hotel, trying to not to wince when Clémence had leaned in for a quick kiss on the cheek. But cleary she hadn’t been inconspicuous enough -and neither had Stephie, who’s voice had been rather devoid of her normal Clémence related cheer when she’d wished the Frenchwoman a goodnight- and the guilt from the way the other woman’s smile had faltered, still lingers in Azzi’s stomach. 

Chewing at her bottom lip, she swipes the text open. It’s a simple “it was good to see you two again.” and perhaps it doesn’t mean much -maybe Azzi’s doing that overthinking thing again- but there’s something about the formality of it, about the full stop at the end of the sentence feels rather definite. Azzi almost feels like she should apologize for something, perhaps for being so aloof last night or maybe even more. She knows that Clémence had wanted something else from her, had patiently waited for her to turn their relationship into something beyond just casual, something Azzi had never been ready to give to her. But it almost feels too late for any of that and so all she says is “it was good to see you too.” and she hopes that Clémence knows that despite everything, she means it. 

Throwing her phone back on the dresser and now feeling perhaps even worse than she had a couple minutes ago, Azzi pulls her blanket above her head, almost pleading with her brain to just shut off. She’s about to give into the impulsive urge to scream into her pillows, when instead her door creaks open and she immediately throws the comforter off of herself, reaching over to turn on her bedside lamp as she sits up straight on her bed. 

Stephie stands in the doorway, a fluffy teddy bear cuddled to her chest as she stares up at Azzi with big doey eyes and the older woman’s heart constricts when she sees the hint of sadness sitting heavily within them. Her little girl had been quiet all day -really since dinner last night. With today being a rare off day, the two of them had spent most of it lounging on the couch watching movies. But Azzi could tell something was off about Stephie. Her daughter, normally ever the commentator, had been dead silent, cuddling into her mother’s side and barely even chuckling at the comedy scenes. Truthfully, Stephie hadn’t been quite the same ever since they’d left Paige’s that morning -and with the amount of nights she’d snuck into Azzi’s room since, her mother had almost been expecting it tonight- but it seemed like something else had shifted last night. 

“C’mere baby girl,” Azzi says softly as she holds her arms open and Stephie dutifully climbs into them, burrowing her head into her mother’s chest, “what’s up?”

“Can’t sleep,” comes the muffled response from her daughter as Azzi gently rubs the little girl’s back, “can I sleep here with you?”

Azzi smiles, pressing a gentle kiss against Stephie’s hair, “of course you can sweetheart,” she whispers, before falling back into her pillows with her daughter still securely wrapped in her arms. 

She continues to brush her hands through Stephie’s hair, listening to the sound of her little girl breathing as she hums a lullaby. 

“Mama,” Stephie says tentatively, after a while. 

“Yeah Stephie-bean?”

“Yes-er-day when we were at dinner-,” the little girl swallows nervously and Azzi’s squeezes her shoulders, hoping it conveys that she’s listening, ready to hear whatever it is that’s been bothering the little girl, “yes-er-day at one of the other tables, I saw- I saw a woman with gold hair and she- she had it in a bun like- like the one Miss Buecks usually has.”

Azzi’s breath hitches, “go on sweetheart.”

“And she- she was-,” Stephie drops her voice down to a whisper, “she was kissing someone who looked a lot like you Mama.”

“Oh,” Azzi manages to get out as she feels her lungs compress. 

“And there was a little girl too and they both gave her lots of kisses too,” Stephie’s voice is small as she says the fact and Azzi has to bite her lips hard to keep in the sob that’s threatening to escape her lips. And she remembers the exact people Stephie’s talking about, remembers the way her heart panged as she’d seen the way three of them -the two women and their little girl- were practically giddy around each other. They’d looked almost like an exact replica of Paige, Azzi and Stephie, not that long ago. Azzi had, had to tear her eyes away from the scene, not wanting to let the tears that were dangerously close to her waterline slip down her cheeks. She hadn’t looked in their direction again. But Azzi hadn’t even imagined that maybe Stephie would’ve noticed that too, that her daughter would’ve felt the sting of the happy picture the same way she had. 

“Oh sweetheart-”

“My friend Anya has a Mama and a Mommy,” Stephie rushes out before Azzi can console her any further, “and my other friend Lena didn’t understand how that was poss-ble cause she has a Mommy and a Daddy like most of my other friends but Anya said it’s poss-ble and that her Mama and Mommy love each other just like Lena’s Mommy and Daddy love each other.”

“Anya’s right,” Azzi says softly, smiling at how simple children make everything sound even though she’s not quite sure where Stephie’s getting at with this story, “I’m sure her Mama and Mommy love each other a lot.”

“Anya says they kiss on the lips- just like- just like the women at the restaurant and like Nana and Pops or like Uncle José and Aunty Tully,” Stephie scrunches her nose as she finally untucks herself from Azzi’s chest, “Anya says that’s what people in love do but I think it’s kinda gross cause kissing on the lips looks kinda yucky.”

Azzi laughs, booping the little girl’s nose, “it does look a little funny.”

“But Anya says her Mommy and Mama do other things too. Like her Mama takes care of her Mommy when she’s sick and when her Mama cries over a movie, her Mommy laughs but then gives her Mama a big hug. And Anya says that sometimes when Anya’s Mama isn’t looking, Anya sees her Mommy looking at her Mama with a big smile,” Stephie stretches out her arms for emphasis as she climbs off of Azzi’s lap to sit on the bed next to her. 

“That sounds sweet,” Azzi says wistfully, still a little confused why she’s being told everything about Anya’s two mothers. 

There’s a moment of silence before Stephie drags in a deep breath as she stares intently at her mother, “I never seen you and Miss Buecks kiss, Mama.”

Her words loom in the air as Azzi’s mouth falls open, everything suddenly beginning to click, “Steph-”

“But when Miss Buecks was sick, I saw you make her soup and make her eat her med-cines even though Miss Buecks said they tasted yucky. And when you cry over Mr. Olaf melting in Frozen, Miss Buecks always says ‘Az you’re so silly, you’ve seen this so many times. How can you still cry at it?’”Stephie recites, doing an almost perfect impression that has Azzi’s letting out something in between a sob and a laugh. 

“But then she gives you a big hug anyways. And Mama,” the little girl continues, “when you’re not looking, I see Miss Buecks looking at you with this big, big, big, smile all the time.” 

“Stephie,” Azzi chokes out, trying to hold herself together. 

Her daughter looks at her with something almost like wonder, “you and Miss Buecks- you were just- you were just like Anya’s Mama and Mommy?”

“Yeah,” Azzi whispers, as she grasps the little girl’s hands in her own, bracing herself for whatever Stephie might say next, “yeah I guess we were.”

But Stephie doesn’t say anything for a while, sitting all quiet and contemplative for a moment until she slowly climbs back into her mother’s arms, resting her head right against Azzi’s chest. 

“Mama,” her voice is small when she finally does speak, “I really miss Miss Buecks.”

Azzi feels her heart constrict, finally losing the battle against her tears as they drip down her cheeks, and she tightens her grip on her daughter, “I know baby. I really miss her too.”

*** 

April 2025

“What are you doing?” panic filters into Azzi’s tone as she watches Paige slowly get down on one knee, her heart pulsating as she slowly begins to understand why her girlfriend had set this whole thing up. Really she should’ve known as soon as KK and Ice had excitedly bound into her room, mischievous knowing smirks on their faces as they’d made her change into something nice before practically dragging her onto the roof. She should’ve known when she’d seen the candles and the pink roses and Paige just a little too dressed up in the midst of it all, that this was more than just one of the older girl’s lavishly planned date nights. 

Paige smiles up at her, either not hearing the distress in the brunette’s voice or perhaps not quite understanding the gravity of it. She reaches for Azzi’s hands, soft fingers entwining with the younger girl’s like their holding onto a lifeline. An unfamiliar sensation builds in Azzi’s stomach, one she doesn’t think she’s ever felt in Paige’s presence before.  

“Paige,” she whispers helplessly. 

“I’ve got you baby,” Paige squeezes her hands gently, mistaking whatever it is that Azzi’s feeling, for simple nerves. 

But it’s not that. Azzi knows this unsettling feeling that’s tornadoing around her isn’t just nerves or butterflies or whatever else it is that one normally feels before a proposal. It’s something much, much worse. Something almost like dread. And Azzi can feel all those suppressed emotions that have been building for the last couple of weeks-the whispers of thoughts that she’d brushed away as nothing serious- suddenly rushing through her body and settling like a large, immovable lump at the back of her throat. 

She remembers the first time she’d felt it, that unfamiliar twist in her stomach. It had been at a press conference after some easily won Big East game with UConn’s Big Three sitting diligently at the media-table. And it had suddenly occurred to Azzi, just as they’d finished their media availability, that she’d been asked exactly one question about her own performance -a respectable 24/4/3 statline- from the pool of reporters. Every other question of the four that had been directed her way, had been about Paige. She’d come to a stop outside the press room, letting herself sit with the thought for a second until her girlfriend -with her bright blue eyes and just-for-Azzi smile- had come bounding up to her. And suddenly, as it always seemed to be when it came to Paige, Azzi couldn’t think about anything else anymore. Not when the blonde was lacing their fingers together and putting her lips dangerously close to her ears, whispering all the sinful things they could get up to that night.

But then it happened again two games later. One question about her own performance followed by a cycle of questions about Paige during a presser where the blonde wasn’t even in attendance. This time Azzi had thought about it a little longer but then she’d chided herself for it, chalking it up to her brain doing that overthinking thing again. It was natural to be asked about teammates, especially superstar, generational, teammates who were likely to go #1 in the upcoming WNBA draft. 

And then it happened again. 

And again. 

And again. 

Until it was the Elite Eight and Azzi found herself, after a 28/5/4 statline and two clutch free throws to win it all, still somehow fielding more questions about Paige -and how the blonde had impacted Azzi’s game and recovery and their relationship as best friends- than about her own performance. 

That’s when she’d finally begun to understand what that twist in her stomach had been. She’d felt sick at the idea that it could be envy -how could she ever be jealous of her Paige’s success- but she’d understood then, almost gawking at the reporter who’d had the audacity to ask her, her fourth Paige-related question that night, that it wasn’t that. Maybe it would’ve been easier if it was. 

It was fear. 

The fear that her own identity in the basketball world was slowly withering away under the weight of her relationship. 

“Hey,” Paige’s voice feels like it’s coming from a distance even though she’s right in front of Azzi and the brunette swallows hard as she tries to pry herself away from her thoughts to focus on her girlfriend. 

“Paige,” she whispers back helplessly, as her eyes begin to water. 

Every time Azzi had imagined Paige proposing -the first time had been when she was 15 and she’d woken up from the dream, almost shaking but still filled with the serene calmness that came from knowing something was inevitable- she had always in fact pictured tears in her own eyes. 

But not like this. 

Because these little droplets cascading down her cheeks that Paige’s fingers diligently reach up to wipe away aren’t the tears of a girl whose dreams to marry her best friend -the love of her life- are coming true. They’re the tears of a girl who’s bracing herself for an inevitable fight when she puts her career before a relationship, when her head wins this fight against her heart. 

Blissfully unaware, Paige continues on, “I’ve um- I’ve thought of this a million times. Actually maybe a billion or a trillion or quadrillion. Point is I’ve been thinking about it pretty much ever since I met you.”

Stop, Azzi thinks but all that comes out is a whimper. 

“So you’d think, considering I’ve thought about it that many times, I’d have an actual speech prepared or something. And I did you know. I uh- I wrote one and then I hated it so I deleted it all and then I wrote another and then I deleted that one too,” Paige laughs and the sound of it, that had once felt like a warm blanket shrouding all of Azzi’s senses, now feels a lot like a wintry chill settling around her body. 

“And what I realized,” there’s moisture pooling in the blonde’s own eyes now, “is that I don’t need a speech. I don’t need hundreds of words. I just need three. I love you,” Paige presses a kiss against Azzi’s knuckles and the other girl shudders, “I love you so fucking much Azzi Fudd. And I’m gonna love you for the rest of my life.”

She lets go of the brunette’s hands to retrieve a black velvet box from her pockets and Azzi bites her lip so hard, the metallic taste of blood overwhelms her taste buds. 

“Azzi Jazlyn Fudd,” Paige says softly, flicking open the box to reveal a heart-cut diamond ring, “will you marry me?”

“No,” it comes out so soft, almost blending with the wind, that for a second even Azzi doubts she’d said it. 

“”What?”

Azzi clears her throat, “no.”

“No?” Paige repeats, blinking up at her with a mixture of confusion and anticipatory dread. 

“No,” Azzi says again, her voice much stronger now as she takes a step back, the tears freely falling from her cheeks. 

“I don’t- I don’t understand,” Paige, still on one knee, stumbles a little as she tries to formulate the right words, “you- you don’- no?,” her eyebrows furrow in confusion, “you don’t want to marry me?”

I do, Azzi wants to scream. 

“I can’t,” she says. 

Paige stares up at her, something akin to disbelief etched across her beautiful features, “what does that even fucking mean you can’t?”

“I just-” Azzi struggles against the jumble of thoughts in head as she tries to piece together a coherent sentence, “I can’t.”

“Bullshit,” Paige snarls. 

“Paige-”

“Do not Paige me,” the older girl seethes, her expression darkening, “you better fucking explain yourself.”

“I- I will,” Azzi stutters, trying to make herself small as she wraps her arms around herself, “can you- just,” she eyes Paige, who’s still kneeling one one knee, “can you please- please just stand up.”

Paige flinches, like Azzi has asked her to shoot an arrow into her own soul. And maybe she had. But she does as asked. The blonde’s movements are reluctant, almost like it pains her to stand up and when she does, the distance she puts between her and Azzi can’t be more than a few meters, but it feels like it stretches the length of an ocean. 

“Explain,” Paige says scathingly.

“I just-” Azzi takes in a deep breath, barely able to meet her girlfriend’s eyes as she forces out the next words, “I don’t want to be known as just your wife.”

Paige lets out an expected noise of protest, “you wouldn’t-”

“You don’t know that,” Azzi cuts her off with a pointed look, “because right now- right now sometimes it feels like all I am is just Paige Bueckers’ best friend. It doesn't matter how many points I score or how many defensive moves I make on the court or whatever else I do on the court, somehow it all leads back to you. And it makes me feel-,” she chokes on the next words, the acidity of them leaving a bitter taste in her mouth, “I feel invisible.”

“Azzi-”

The brunette holds up a hand, needing to finish what she’s saying before she fully succumbs to her emotions, “sometimes- sometimes my entire career at UConn so far feels like- like it’s just an extension of yours. Paige you- you get to be Paige. Just Paige. The superstar. You get to go to entire pressers not having to answer a single question about me or our friendship. You get to have entire articles written about you that have just a throwaway line about me and not have half of it be dedicated to how I’m the driving force behind your success. And that’s how it should be because- because as much as we rely on each other, your success is still yours. But sometimes it feels like mine isn’t mine.”

“I’m sor-”

“No!” Azzi cuts Paige off loudly when the older girl tries to apologize, guilt flashing in her eyes, “it’s not your fault Paige. You- you’re my biggest cheerleader. You always have been. But I just- I need to have my own identity. And that’s already been so hard being known as just your best friend. It’s only going to get worse if I-” she stops, unable to say the rest but even unspoken, it lingers in the air. 

If I become your fiancé. 

 “I need next year to be different,” Azzi says instead, “I need it to be my year. Just mine. Just for once, I just want to be known as Azzi.”

“It will be,” there’s a newfound conviction replacing the previous anger in the blonde’s voice as she takes a deliberate step towards Azzi. Bolstered when the other girl doesn’t instinctively move back, she takes another one and then another and another, until the seemingly never-ending distance between them disappears. 

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Paige says softly as she gently holds one of Azzi’s hands between her own, “and I hate- I hate that you feel this way. But it’ll be different next year when we’re not on the same team anymore right? Out of sight out of mind type shit? They won’t- they won’t ask you about me or make everything you do about me anymore-”

“You don’t know that-”

The older girl continues like she didn’t hear the interruption, “I just- I just don’t understand why you can be known as my girlfriend but not my-” she swallows, “but not my wife? Because Az- when we come out-,” the girl in questions flinches and Paige pauses, her expression falters at the movement. 

A deadly silence clouds the air and it’s April in Connecticut and the spring breeze is just the right temperature. But as Paige slowly lets go of her hands, realization dawning on her face, Azzi thinks she’s never felt colder in her life. 

“You- you don’t-” the blonde looks at her almost accusingly as she takes a step back, “you don’t want to come out?”

“Paige-”

“Answer the fucking question Azzi.”

Azzi casts her eyes downwards, digging her fingers as deeply into her palms as possible, “no, no I don’t.”

“I see,” Paige says slowly, her tone dangerously low, “and how long have you felt this way Az?”

“I-I-” the brunette stutters nervously, “I made- I made the decision after the Elite Eight.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Paige says calmly. 

“I don’t- I don’t understand-”

“How long Azzi?” the blonde sneers, “how long have you had all the fucking doubts about your identity and our relationship? How long have you been questioning everything about us? How long have you bee going through this whole fucking decision-making process about our future?”

“That’s not-”

“Oh no,” Paige interrupts harshly, “that’s exactly it. That’s exactly what you were doing. So tell me. How. Long?”

Azzi gulps nervously, “since the game at home versus Nova.”

Paige blinks at her, “three months? Three fucking months Azzi. You’ve been feeling this way for three months and you didn’t once think that maybe you should tell me? That maybe we should talk about it?”

“I didn’t know,” Azzi says helplessly, “I didn’t even understand it myself Paige. I didn’t know what I was feeling. I didn’t even know there was something to discuss.”

“But clearly you did figure it out, Azzi. Because I know you and I know you didn’t make this decision without figuring your emotions out, so why not come to me then? Why not tell me as soon as possible. God fucking hell Azzi- when even were you gonna tell me?” Paige yells, all pretence of calm gone from her body, “if I- if tonight hadn’t happened, when would you have even told me?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything and Paige shakes her head, starting to pace around the rooftop. 

“We had a plan Azzi. We’ve had a plan for four years. As soon as one or both of us was out of UConn, that was it. No more hiding. No more secrets. Just you and and me and we weren’t gonna care who the fuck knew about it,” the blonde pinches the bridge of her nose, “and you’re telling me that for three month- three fucking months- you’ve been questioning that whole fucking plan while I remained oblivious as fuck? Azzi all I’ve done these past few months is tell you how fucking excited I was about being able to call you my girl in front ov everyone. How excited I was to hold you in public and for us to just be us without giving a fuck who could see. And you just,” Paige’s voice breaks, “you let me. You let me do all of that- feel all of that. You let me be hopeful for a future that you weren’t even sure you could see for us.”

Azzi looks away, that rock of guilt settled in her stomach starting to get heavier and heavier with each word that leaves Paige’s mouth, “I’m just asking for a little bit more time Paige.”

“And what happens if that time doesn’t go the way you want it to Az?” Paige asks sadly, “what if we survive the next year but you decide that you can’t be attached to me to start your W career?”

“That won’t happen-”

“You don’t know that,” a sardonic smile appears on the blonde’s face, “I can’t keep hiding forever Azzi. All I’ve done is love you in secret. I can’t- I don’t- I won’t do that forever.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Azzi bursts out, her defensiveness suddenly translating into a burst of anger, “I am asking you for a little bit of time. Not even a whole year anymore. Just a little bit of time for me to establish my own identity and honestly Paige if you can’t even give me that- if you can’t understand why I need this time- then maybe-” she stops herself, eyes widening at the words -word she’d never even expected herself to think of - that are now sitting, like burning embers, on the tip of her tongue. 

“Then maybe what?” Paige asks slowly, but there’s an almost resigned tinge to her tone that suggests she already knows. 

“No,” Azzi shakes her head, turning away from the older girl’s piercing gaze. She looks down at the ground, still covered in rose petals. The wax of the glittering candles littered between them has melted onto them, causing their pink hue to turn into a darker shade of red. And it’s like there’s blood scattered on the remnants of Paige’s perfect proposal. 

“Say it Azzi-”

“No-”

“Say it.”

“I don’t want to,” Azzi covers her ears and she wishes this were a nightmare, wishes she could open her eyes and find herself waking up in Paige’s arms. Warm and soft and loved. 

“Godfuckingdammit Azzi,” Paige yells, “just say it. If I can’t understand why you need time then maybe we should what?” she repeats, waiting for the brunette to finish her own sentence. 

Azzi whimpers, continuing to shake her head, “Paige please.”

“Just. Fucking. Say. It.”

The younger girl swallows, “then maybe we should end it.”

Another beat of silence. 

“Maybe we should,” Paige’s voice is gravelly and Azzi doesn’t dare turn around, not ready to see the heartbroken expression -or worse, perhaps the nonchalant one- on the older girl’s face, “if after all we’ve been through, if it’s so easy for you to think those words. Then maybe we should- maybe we should end it.”

And Azzi thinks for the rest of her life she will wonder what she should have done next. If she should’ve said something or if -when she hears those retreating footsteps- if she should’ve run after her. She thinks, for the rest of her life, she will look back on this moment and dissect every single second of it, that she will wish for the time machine to go back and stop herself from doing and saying so many of the things she had on the rooftop that night. 

But Paige walks away. 

And Azzi doesn’t do anything to stop her. 

It isn’t until the morning after -when her head does finally catch up to her heart and all she can feel is that unfamiliar sting of regret- and she races into the apartment downstairs and Ice’s expression is filled with sadness and KK’s glare is filled with accusation, that she finds out just how far Paige had gone away from her and Azzi realizes, she’s just a little too late. 

*** 

June 2033 

There’s a redhead and a brunette, holding hands and chatting quietly as they wait outside the school. The two women are clearly entrenched in their own world -sharing those warm gazes and bright smiles that Azzi’s just a little too familiar with- blissfully unaware that they are currently being stared at. Actually, perhaps glared at is a more accurate statement because there’s a clear tinge of envy running down Azzi’s spine as her eyes remain laser-focused on the scene in front of her. She hadn’t meant to be doing this of course -nobody really plans to come to pick up their daughter from school and somehow end up stink-eying said daughter’s friends parents for being too in love. But as fate would have it, somehow from where she’s parked, Azzi has a perfect view of Anya, infamous Mommy and Mama. 

They’re sickeningly cute.

And Azzi fucking hates them.  

It’s unfair of her to feel this way; she knows that. But watching them lead the life she’d always imagined for herself, is more difficult now than it ever has been when Azzi had seen them before in passing. Back then, it was just a dull ache of something she craved but knew she’d turned away herself. But now- now she’s had a taste of that life; had gotten to live it out -even if just for a second- with the girl she’d always dreamed of living it with. Until one night and a series of revelations had snatched it all away, and now Azzi’s left with nothing but the bitter feeling of waiting to see if she’ll get that back forever or if it had really only ever been meant to be a fleeting moment in her life. 

A sigh of longing escapes her as she watches Anya go rushing into her mothers’ arms, the two of them catching her in perfect sync. She has the resentful urge to scoff at the scene. It’s all so goddamn dramatic for three people who see each other every day. Except Azzi’s mind is filled with memories that are almost exact replicas of the scene in front of her; just with different faces. 

“Hi Mama,” it isn’t until the backdoor opens and Stephie’s voice fills the car that Azzi finally tears her eyes away from Anya’s family. 

“Hey baby,” she choruses back, turning around in her seat to make sure her daughter is buckling herself in correctly, “how was your day?”

“It was okay,” Stephie shrugs and Azzi feels her heart plummet at how nonchalant the little girl sounds. She misses the sound of her daughter ranting about just how booooring school is, and thinks she wouldn’t even try to reprimand her if Stephie deemed school useless like she used to. Azzi just wants her ball of sunshine, talks-a-mile-per-minute child back because this meek, quiet little girl in the back feels like a shell of who Stephie used to be. 

“You excited for Mama’s game tonight?” Azzi presses as she starts to back out of the parking lot, almost relieved when it seems to cause Stephie to sit up a little straighter. 

“You’re- you’re playing the Liberty right?” the little girl asks quietly, “that’s- that’s where Miss Buecks wanna go? New York?”

Azzi freezes at the question, trying to keep her hands steady on the wheel as she hums in agreement. 

“They’re a good team right? Lots of champ-ships and stuff?” Stephie continues. 

“Yeah,” Azzi clears her throat, “it’s uh- it’s definitely gonna be a good game.”

“Anya’s Grammy and Grandpa live in New York. Not the city-city but close to it,” Stephie says after a moment, “Anya says New York’s really nice. She’s been there lots and lots of times to see her Grammy and Grandpa forChristmas. And she- she says when she went, it snowed lots and lots.”

Despite herself Azzi smiles as her mind drifts to memories of cold Northeast winters. For the most part, they had been filled with dreary chills and darky rainy days. But then amidst it all, there had been a couple rare days of snow and when she’d been at UConn, her teammates had taken full advantage. And just like most of her memories of those years, Paige is front and center of these ones too. The blonde had never been nearly as enamored with the snow as Azzi was, and she definitely wasn’t enamored by it at seven in the morning when the brunette would wake her up squealing that it had in fact snowed and the world around them was white. Despite her grumbling, Paige had still let Azzi bundle the both of them up in winter clothes and drag her outside. And her faux irritated expression hds slowly morphed into one of admiration as she’d flicked the snow off the younger girl’s eyelashes, pulling her closer by her scarf because Azzi I’m so cold, you have to kiss me to keep me warm baby. 

“We don’t get snow here,” Stephie says thoughtfully, unaware of the path down memory lane her mother had just taken. 

“No, no we don’t,” Azzi says, almost wistfully. 

“It would- it would be nice to live somewhere with lots of snow,” Stephie ponders out loud and her mother’s eyes widen as she starts to understand where this is going, “like- like in New York.”

“We could- we could have snowball fight and make snowmen like Mr. Olaf and snow angels and everything else you do in snow,” the little girl’s voice gets increasingly more and more high-pitched in excitement, “it would be so fun Mama.”

“Steph-”

“And Anya said that- that- that- she’d even visit me like she visits her Grammy and Grandpa. She promised Mama, she promised she’d come see me if I lived in New York-”

“Honey no,” Azzi cuts her daughter off heartbrokenly, “we are not going to live in New York. 

“But Mama, Miss Buecks-”

“Stephie stop-”

“No Mama listen,” Stephie protests indignantly, “Mama what if- what if Miss Buecks really needs to be in New York. What if it’s impo-tant. And that’s- that’s why she can’t stay here. With us. Not cause she doesn’t want to but cause she can’t. But Mama just because Miss Buecks can’t say doesn’t mean we can’t go Mama.”

“Sweetheart-”

“And you- you just said the Liberty is a good team and you’re such a good player Mama. I think you’d be good on their team too. And I- I really, really like the Valk-ries and I would really miss Aunty J and Aunty Tessie and Aunty Joy but if you- if you and Miss Buecks played for the Liberty- I know I’d like them too. And I’m sure Nana and Pops and Uncle Jon and Uncle Jose and Aunty Tully would come visit us lots and lots and I wouldn’t even miss them lots cause they’d visit so much. I just know it. It could work Mama- I know it could.”

“Stephanie,” Azzi's voice is louder than she’d meant it to be as she pulls onto their street, “sweetheart, we are not moving to New York.”

“But Mama-” the little girl whines. 

“No Stephie. That’s just-” Azzi swallows the sob stuck in her throat, “that’s now how the world works.”

“But what if I want it to work that way?” Stephie asks softly with all the innocence of a five-year old as she meets her mother’s eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“Oh baby,” Azzi’s so caught up in her daughter’s earnest wishful thinking that she doesn’t even notice there’s another oh-so-familiar car parked in her driveway until she almost crashes into it. 

“That’s Miss Buecks car,” Stephie whispers softly, craning her neck to get a better view. Her eyes widen in tandem with her mother’s as they both catch sight of the same thing at the same time. 

It’s Paige. 

Paige, whose eyes are sunken in and red-rimmed. Paige, whose hair is tossed back into a messy bun -looking like it’s been in that same one for days- with little loose strands falling out of it. Paige, whose entire body is hunched over as she sits on their front porch, holding a grey hoodie close to her chest. Paige, whose hands are fidgeting with themselves because she can never sit still, especially when she’s nervous. Paige, who looks up just as Azzi parks her car -whose staring at the both of them like they’re still her everything. Paige, who despite it all, still looks like the most beautiful woman in the world. 

Paige, who’s here. 

It’s Stephie who recovers from the shock of seeing Paige first, the click of her seatbelt being unclasped pulling Azzi out of her own trance. The little girl pushes her door open, getting out of her car seat with quickness as she stumbles out of the car. 

“Careful sweetheart,” Azzi calls out immediately but Stephie isn't listening, already rushing up the pathway as Paige -her expression hopeful- stands up at the sight of the child running towards. 

It isn’t until Stephie hesitates, coming to a halt just a couple of meters away from Paige, that Azzi draws in a deep breath and gets out of the car herself. Unlike her daughter, her steps are much slower, her movement hesitant and guarded. She knows this is it; knows that this is when all that waiting she’s done in the past few weeks will finally be over, that Paige is either here to fulfill a dream or to start a nightmare. 

Azzi walks up the pathway until she’s right behind Stephie, one of her hands instinctively reaching out to hold her daughter’s shoulder, conveying two messages. One to Stephie, a promise that no matter what happens now, she’ll still always have Azzi. The other to Paige is an unspoken message from a protective mother, silently begging her that if she is here to break their hearts, to break Stephie’s gently. 

“Hi,” Paige’s voice is croaky when she speaks, her eyes flickering nervously between the mother and daughter in front of her. 

Azzi clears her throat, willing herself to reply, “hey,” she pauses, continuing only when the older woman keeps her own mouth shut, shuffling her feet nervously, “do you- do you want to come in?”

“Yes,” Paige says, her cheeks reddening at how quickly the word leaves her mouth and that almost makes Azzi smile. 

She nods at the older woman, her hand travelling from Stephie’s shoulder to instead hold her hand as they walk up the steps together. Azzi’s shoulder brushes against Paige’s as she moves past the blonde to open her door and electricity courses through her veins. From the way Paige gasps, the brunette is sure she must’ve felt it too. It crackles in the air as Azzi unlocks the door, her brain feeling foggy at the mere feeling of having Paige so close after so long. 

The three of them walk quietly towards the living room, Stephie’s hands still clasped in Azzi’s and Paige following closely behind them. The little girl’s grip is tight and despite how young she is, Azzi knows just how perceptive Stephie is. She’s just as aware of this moment as the adults are, realizes it just as much as they do, that they’ve reached a crossroad and the path they take -a path determined by whatever Paige chooses- will shape their future together or apart. 

“I um- I- well- the thing is- I-,” Paige breaks the silence first, stuttering over her words before letting out a soft sigh She closes her eyes for a second and when she opens them, there are little droplets of water on the edges of her eyelashes. 

“I really missed you guys,” she confesses in a whisper, her voice breaking throughout. 

There’s a second of silence as her words linger in the air and Azzi feels Stephie’s hand slip away from her own and the little girl almost stumbles over her own feet as she races towards Paige, the older woman’s arms immediately opening to catch her and as she kneels down to pull Stephie into her her chest. It’s like the blonde’s confession had broken a dam, and the water that came rushing through it, had washed away the last little bit of pretence of nonchalance that Stephie had been holding onto. 

For the last few weeks, every time Azzi’s little girl had seen Paige, be it when she accompanied her mother to a practice or when she was on the sidelines at a game, Stephie had ignored the blonde, maintaining the same angry façade as the one she’d had the morning after that night. But Azzi had seen that resolve weaken over time; had seen Stephie’s eyes linger just a little bit longer on Miss Buecks with that familiar look of yearning. And Azzi had known that resolve was almost completely gone, in the car, when Stephie had all but begged her to consider moving to New York if that was the only way they were going to be able to keep Paige in their lives. 

She feels her own set of tears prickling in her eyes as she takes in the scene in front of her. Stephie’s face is pressed into Paige’s neck, the blonde has one arm wrapped around the little girl’s waist and the other other gently brushing through her hair. Their grip on each other is tight with barely any space for air between them, tears freely streaming down both of their faces. 

“I missed you too Miss Buecks,” Stephie sobs and Azzi notices the way Paige’s hold on her tightens at the familiar nickname, “missed you so much.”

“Me too Stephie-bean,” Paige affirms as she coaxes the little girl’s face out of her neck, cupping it in her hands, “I’m so sorry sweetheart. So, so, sorry. I missed you so, so, so, so much,” she says, punctuating each word with a kiss to Stephie’s face in between. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie looks down nervously, her fingers playing with the collar of Paige’s t-shirt, “can me and Mama come to New York with you?”

“Stephie!” Azzi exclaims as Paige’s eyes widen. 

“Wh-what?” the blonde asks softly as she searches the little girl’s face in confusion.

“I don’t want you to go,” Stephie says quietly, “but if you have to- then can we come with you?”

“Oh sweetheart,” there’s disbelief in Paige’s tone, something almost akin to awe as she tilts Stephie’s chin to make the little girl look back at her. 

“My friend Anya says New York’s nice,” Stephie rambles, repeating what she’d been telling her mother in the car, “and-and-and she says there’s lots and lots of snow and I told Mama that I think it will be nice to live in lots and lots of snow. Mama hasn’t said yest,” the little girl briefly looks back at Azzi with a sheepish look on her face before turning back to Paige, “but I know- I know we could cov-ince her because Miss Buecks, Mama’s missed you so, so, so much too.”

“Has she?” Paige asks, her eyes flickering to Azzi who’s trying desperately to keep her face neutral as she keeps her own gaze firmly fixated on a picture of her daughter on top of the mantle. 

“She has,” Stephie confirms, before using a finger against the older woman’s cheek to get her to return her attention back to her, “so can we come with you? Please.”

Paige slowly tucks a strand of hair behind the child’s ears as she shakes her head, “no.”

“N-no?” Stephie’s bottom lip trembles at the rejection, “why not? Why can’t we go to New York with you?”

“Because nobody’s going to New York, Stephie-bean,” Paige says firmly and Azzi’s eyes shoot towards the blonde, her lips parting slightly as she processes the meaning behind her words, her heart beginning to race with anticipation. 

“Nobody?” Stephie repeats as a question, her little voice filled with hope. 

Instead of answering, Paige grabs the grey hoodie she’d brought with her that had fallen to the ground. She gently un-scrunches it, holding out the sleeve of it for Stephie to look at. Azzi cranes her head curiously to get a better look of it, squinting her eyes when she notices something written in washed-out black ink. 

“You probably don’t remember this because you were a lot littler when it happened,” there’s a teasing smile of Paige’s face as she uses the incorrect word, “but the first time you ever spoke to me properly, you told me, that your Mama says that one day, you’re gonna be an even better basketball player than she is.”

Stephie beams, “Mama says I’m gonna be the best in the world today.”

Paige chuckles, “I believe it and I believed it then too. That’s why,” she points down at the hoodie, her fingers brushing over the material so delicately, like it’s one of her most treasured possessions, “that’s why I had you sign my hoodie.”

“You asked for my auto-graph?” Stephie’s eyes glint and perhaps she doesn’t quite remember what Paige is talking about exactly, but Azzi can tell that it’s stirred up recollections of something. 

“Yeah- yeah I did. And you said, ‘silly Miss Buecks, I’m not famous’ and I said, ‘but if you’re as good at basketball as you say you are, then one day, you will be. Just like me and your Mama.’ And I meant it. You’re gonna be so- so great one day sweetheart. I know you are,” Paige says with conviction as her thumbs lightly caressing Stephie’s cheeks, “and I- I wanna be right here every step of the way, I wanna be right here to watch you grow up and become the great player -the great woman- that you’re destined to be.”

“You mean it?” Stephie asks, her eyes shining with a fresh new set of tears.

Paige nods, delicately wiping her thumbs under the little girl’s lower eyelid, “I do. I wanna be here, with you and- and your Mama,” she raises her head toward Azzi, mustering a watery smile, “I want to stay. Forever. If you’ll have me.”

Azzi lets out a staggered breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as her eyes remain locked with Paige’s. And suddenly, after eight years spent feeling unfulfilled -eight years spent with this constant sense of being incomplete-, hearing Paige finally say she wants to stay forever, feels a little bit like as if that missing part of Azzi has finally returned back to where it rightfully belongs. 

A loud squeal echoes throughout the living room as Stephie leaps back into Paige’s arms, a large smile stretching the length of her whole face as she buries her face back into the crevice between the blonde’s shoulder and her neck. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” the little girl chirps excitedly, “of course we’ll have you. Of course, of course, of course,” Stephie says in delight before she turns herself slightly in Paige’s grasp, arms still around the other woman’s neck as she looks imploringly at Azzi, “right Mama?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything, pursing her lips as she tears her gaze away from the two people in front of her. 

“Mama?” Stephie presses. 

“Give me a second Stephie-bean,” Paige whispers to the little girl, bumping her head against her temple. 

From the corner of her eyes, Azzi watches as the blonde disentangles herself from Stephie, before slowly getting to her feet and walking towards the younger woman. 

“Az-”

“It’s been almost three weeks-”

“It’s been two weeks, six days, five hours and around fourteen minutes,” Paige shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on her face, “give or take a few minutes.

Azzi continues to look away from her, trying to keep her face devoid of emotion, “still took you a really long time to decide you were gonna stay.”

“Well I’m an idiot,” Paige says matter-of-factly and Stephie snickers behind her, “you know me Az. Sometimes these things- they take me a little while to understand.”

“I told you we wouldn’t wait forever,” Azzi says softly. 

“I didn’t make you wait forever,” Paige reaches out to gently grab her chin between her thumb and index, turning the brunette’s face towards her, “just needed a little bit of time.”

“You didn’t give me time,” Azzi accuses and the blonde flinches. 

“I know. I- I should’ve. Should’ve don’t a lot of things differently when it comes to us but I didn’t and I- I can’t change that but Azzi, I promise, I promise I’ll do everything right this time,” keeping one hand cupped around Azzi’s cheek, Paige uses the other to guide one of the brunette’s hands to rest against her chest, “I swear.”

Azzi swallows, feeling the quick rhythm of Paige’s heartbeat under her fingertips, “how do I know you won’t run away again?”

“Because I trust you,” the blonde whispers, “I trust you to stay and I trust you not to break my heart again. And that- that doesn’t mean that I’m not scared anymore- cause I am. Not a lot but definitely still a little bit. But someone once told me that, trusting is really scary but that maybe- maybe it would be a lot less scary, if we did together.”

“They sound like a really smart person,” Azzi bites her lip, “you should probably listen to them more often.”

Paige chuckles, “well if uh- if they give me the chance, I think I’d listen to them for the rest of my life.”

Azzi shudders and she doesn’t know if it’s from the earnestness of the words spoken or the strength of the emotions in the blonde’s gaze that’s still completely transfixed on her. 

“What about New York?” she asks finally. 

“I called the whole thing off,” Paige states nonchalantly, “I had Talia call Jonathan Kolb last night and I explained everything to Ohemaa this morning. Everyone’s on the same page. There is no deal anymore.”

“You-” Azzi gapes at the girl in front of her, “you- you already called the whole thing off?”

“I did,” Paige confirms, not a hint of regret in her voice, “I don’t need an escape plan.”

“You called it off before even talking to me?” Azzi asks, knitting her eyebrows together, “you didn’t even know how this was gonna go.”

“I already told you. I trust you,” Paige says simply, “I believe in us Az and I really hope you still believe in us too.”

The words are barely out of Paige’s mouth before Azzi’s crashing into her, the weight of her body sending the blonde staggering back a few steps before her hands steadily secure themselves around the younger woman’s waist. A slightly surprised gasp escapes Paige until the sound of it is stolen by Azzi pressing her lips against the older woman’s. Despite her initial surprise, Paige kisses Azzi back with equal fervor, both of them pouring the myriad of suppressed emotions between them the last few weeks into it. And it feels like a cliché, like coming home. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Paige breaks away first, eyes widening as she slowly turns around to look at Stephie who’s practically vibrating with happiness as she watches the two of them, “Stephie-”

“She already knows,” Azzi says with a slight grin, shaking her head fondly at just how joyful her little girl looks. 

 “You told her?” Paige looks between the mother and daughter. 

Stephie smirks triumphantly, “I figured it out myself Miss Buecks.”

“Of course you did smarty pants,” Paige smiles at the little girl but Azzi knows her well enough -is still so in tune with every little bit of Paige despite the time apart- to see the small hint of disappointment behind it. 

“I would’ve told her myself if she hadn’t,” Azzi says quietly and Paige turns back around to face her. 

“What?”

“I love you,” Azzi says and she swears no three words have ever sounded as right on her lips, as those three do, “I love you,” she repeats again and she can feel Paige’s hands shaking as they instinctively tighten their grip on her waist, “I love you so much Paige Madison Bueckers and I want everybody to know it. Stephie, our families, our friends, our teammates, the whole world. I love you and I never wanna hide that. I want everybody to know that you’re mine and I’m yours. Forever.”

A strangled sob escapes Paige’s mouth as she presses her forehead against Azzi’s, “I love you too. I love you, so, so, so much. I’ve loved you since the beginning and I’m gonna love you till the very end. Forever.”

Their lips meet in a searing kiss and it’s unclear if they’re both crying more or giggling more, as they hold each other as tightly as possible. And this isn’t their first kiss, far from it- far closer to being their millionth or so- but still it feels like a fresh new start, a brand new love story but with that same old special, all-consuming, forevermore love that has always connected them to each other. The one that had never gone away, no matter how long they’d been apart. 

“Ahem, ahem,” an exaggerated cough breaks them apart and the two of them turn their heads at the same time to see Stephie looking dramatically at them, her hands on her hips. 

  “So, Mama loves Miss Buecks and Miss Buecks loves Mama. What about Stephie?” she pouts, exaggeratedly stomping her foot. 

Paige and Azzi both laugh, removing themselves from each other just enough to crouch down and open their arms out for Stephie, beckoning for her to join their embrace. The little girl’s attempt at a sour expression is immediately replaced by a cheerful grin as she runs into their arms, tiny hands somehow managing to wrap around both of their necks. 

“You know we love you the most Stephie,” Paige whispers into the little girl’s hair, who lets out a content sigh as she burrows herself further into the two women’s arms. 

Azzi hums in agreement, closing her eyes as she leans her head against her daughter’s, feeling Paige’s fingers intertwine with her behind Stephie’s back. And then it’s quiet for a while, nothing but the sound of the three of them breathing and their hearts beating together in sync. Azzi feels at peace, her mind completely calm, no longer overthinking anything. 

Because now she finally has everything. 

Paige, Stephie, and the promise of a world the three of them can build together, it’s everything.