#beyond infertility

[harmonyhealinghub]

My Journey of Empowerment: Nurturing Others Despite Infertility

Shaina Tranquilino

December 15, 2023

Life has a way of taking unexpected turns, leading us down paths we never thought we'd tread. For me, the journey of being infertile and not being able to have children has been one filled with both heartbreak and triumph. But despite this challenge, I have found solace and purpose in my career as an early childhood educator and doula. Today, I want to share my story of how these roles have empowered me, allowing me to nurture others even though motherhood may not be a part of my own story.

Finding Fulfillment in Early Childhood Education:

As an early childhood educator, I am blessed with the opportunity to shape young minds and provide them with a solid foundation for their future endeavours. While some may argue that only those who are parents can truly connect with children on a deep level, I believe that love knows no boundaries or biological ties. Every day, as I engage with these little learners, I witness the joy they bring into my life - it's like having hundreds of surrogate children.

Through teaching, storytelling, playtime activities, and fostering learning environments that encourage curiosity and growth, I find immense fulfillment in nourishing their development. The trust they place in me allows me to be their guiding light during this crucial phase of life. Being an early childhood educator enables me to channel my maternal instincts towards helping every child flourish emotionally, intellectually, and socially.

The Empowering Role of a Doula:

While my infertility prevents me from experiencing pregnancy firsthand or giving birth myself, becoming a doula has allowed me to empower women throughout their transformative journey into motherhood. As a doula, I offer support physically and emotionally during pregnancy, labour, and delivery. This role gives me the privilege of witnessing the incredible strength women possess while bringing new life into this world.

By providing guidance on birth plans, offering comfort measures, and serving as an advocate for the mother's wishes, I aim to make this pivotal experience a positive and empowering one. My personal journey with infertility has taught me compassion, empathy, and resilience - qualities that I bring to each birthing experience. Although not being able to have children of my own can be painful at times, helping other women embrace the beauty of childbirth allows me to find solace in nurturing their journeys.

The Hidden Mother Within:

While society may equate motherhood solely with giving birth and raising biological children, I firmly believe that there are many ways to embrace the spirit of motherhood. The love we share, the care we provide, and the impact we make on others' lives are not limited by our ability to conceive or give birth.

Through my work as an early childhood educator and doula, I have come to understand that motherhood is not defined solely by genetics but by the connections we forge and nurture with those around us. Each child who enters my classroom becomes a part of my extended family, while every woman I support during birth becomes a cherished part of my journey towards empowerment.

Infertility may have altered the trajectory of my life in unexpected ways, but it has also led me down a path filled with purpose, fulfillment, and joy. Being an early childhood educator provides me with endless opportunities to shape young minds and nurture their growth. As a doula, I empower women through pregnancy and childbirth journeys they embark upon. Through these roles, I have come to realize that being a "mother" extends far beyond conventional definitions; it encompasses compassion, understanding, and dedication.

Though I may never experience parenthood in the traditional sense, my career choices enable me to leave a lasting impact on countless lives. By embracing the hidden mother within myself, I am reminded that love knows no boundaries - it transcends biology and manifests itself in various forms. And so, I continue to embrace my journey of empowerment, finding solace in knowing that nurturing others is the closest experience I will have to being a mother.

[a-drama-addict]

i feel like making nastja a repressed bisexual

[brw]

Wonder Man tag is a lil more active then it used to be (which is good) but I'm now seeing people give him children. And like. look. I'm Simon's No.1 fan, defender, lover and hater, and he should not have children. He would not be a good father! Not everyone is meant to be a parent and one of those people is absolutely Simon Williams codename Wonder Man.

[bredforloyalty]

i fucked myself so hard with this topic

[fitgymgoals]

Most guys don't talk about their problems because... ...they fear being judged as weak.

💡 Male Fact: Most guys don’t talk about their problems because they fear being judged as weak. 😔 Ever wonder why men often stay silent about their struggles? Society’s expectations can sometimes make it hard for guys to open up. Let’s break the stigma around men’s mental health and encourage open conversations! 💬✨

[cameronsbabydoll]

BEFORE YOU NOTICED — CHAPTER THREE

WARNINGS — terminal illness, coughing up blood, emotional neglect, infertility/miscarriage (implied), medical avoidance, emotional abuse, loneliness, depressive themes, dissociation, suicidal ideation (implied), isolation

you live in a house of gifts, each one a promise he doesn’t keep. they arrive in boxes, sleek and ribboned, left on the counter or the bed like afterthoughts. diamond bracelets that catch the light but not his eyes. perfume in bottles shaped like swans, their glass necks cold against your fingers. silk robes, soft as water, folded in the closet with tags still dangling, whispering of a moment he meant to notice you. you tried, once, to wear them for him. you slipped on the bracelet, heavy as a chain, sprayed the perfume until it stung your throat, draped the robe over your shoulders and stood in the doorway, waiting. he glanced up from his phone, nodded, said, “nice,” and went back to his emails. you stopped trying after that. he didn’t notice.

you move through the mansion like a shadow, your footsteps silent on the marble, the air sharp with the scent of cedar from the diffuser he bought to make the house feel “alive.” it doesn’t. it feels like a museum, all glass and edges, every surface polished to erase you. you touch the bracelet on the dresser, its diamonds winking in the morning light. you don’t put it on. you open the perfume bottle, let a drop fall to your wrist, and wait for the scent to fade. it’s gone by noon, like you are.

your body is heavier now, not just with loneliness but with something else, something that aches in your joints, steals your breath when you climb the stairs. you cough in the bathroom, the sound muffled by a towel you press to your mouth. the blood’s darker today, a clot that clings to the fabric like ink. you rinse it under the faucet, watch the red swirl away, and fold the towel so no one will see. you don’t call the doctor. you don’t open the pill bottle hidden in your makeup drawer. you tell yourself there’s time, even as your hands shake, even as your nails—coral, chipped, forgotten—catch on the towel’s edge.

you wander to the garden, the one place that’s yours, though it’s wilting now. the forget-me-nots are brittle, their petals crumbling when you touch them. you kneel, your skirt pooling in the dirt, and try to coax them back to life with water, with whispers, with anything. your chest tightens, and you cough again, quick, into your sleeve. another speck of red. you fold it away, like always, and stand, your legs unsteady, your fingers stained with soil. you think of the baby shoes, tucked in a box labeled winter coats, a secret you carry alone because rafe was in london when it happened, signing papers for a deal he never explained. you didn’t tell him. you didn’t want to be a burden.

he’s gone again today, a note on the fridge: back late. meeting in new york. you trace the letters, his handwriting sharp as a blade, and wonder when he stopped writing your name. you don’t cook tonight. you don’t set the table or bake or light candles. instead, you pull the silk robe from the closet, its tag brushing your wrist like a reminder. you slip it on, the fabric cool and slippery, and walk through the house, your reflection flickering in the glass walls. you imagine he’s here, that he sees you, that he stops and says your name like he used to, soft and sure. but the house is empty, the city lights beyond the windows pulsing for someone else.

you end up in his study, a room you rarely enter, all leather and oak, his world sealed away. his desk is cluttered with contracts, pens, a coffee cup with a faint ring inside. you touch it, the ceramic cold, and wonder when he drank from it, if he thought of you at all. you sit in his chair, the robe pooling around you, and open a drawer. inside, there’s a photo from your wedding, tucked beneath receipts. you’re smiling, your dress a blur of white, but rafe’s looking away, his eyes on something beyond the frame. you set it down, your throat tight, and cough into your hand. the blood’s there, warm and wet. you wipe it on the robe, a stain he’ll never see.

you leave the study, the robe trailing behind you like a ghost. you don’t go to bed. you wander instead, through rooms you don’t use, past furniture you didn’t choose. the bracelet stays on the dresser, the perfume on the counter, the swans gathering dust. you end up at the piano, the one rafe bought because it looked “elegant.” you don’t play, but you sit, your fingers brushing the keys, their ivory smooth and silent. you press one, a low note that hums through the room, and wait, as if it might call him back. it doesn’t.

rafe comes home at 1:04 am. you’re still at the piano, the robe loose around your shoulders, the tag catching the light. you hear his keys, his shoes, the rustle of his coat. he steps into the room, his silhouette sharp against the city glow. “you’re up,” he says, his voice tired, like he’s carrying the weight of his day. “why’re you sitting here?”

you look at him, your hands still on the keys, and try to find the man who bought you the robe, who promised you forever. “just... couldn’t sleep,” you say, your voice thin, fraying.

he nods, his eyes skimming over you, the robe, the piano. “you look cold,” he says, and steps closer. you hold your breath, waiting for his hand, his warmth, anything. he leans down, presses a kiss to your hair, light as a sigh, and steps back. “go to bed,” he says, already turning, his phone glowing in his hand. “i’ve got calls to make.”

he’s gone before you can answer, his footsteps fading up the stairs. you sit there, the piano silent, the robe heavy, the air thick with the scent of swans you’ll never wear. you cough, soft, into your sleeve, and don’t check it. you know what’s there. you stand, the robe slipping to the floor, and leave it there, the tag a small surrender.

you don’t go to bed. you walk to the garden, the night air sharp against your skin. you kneel among the forget-me-nots, their petals dust under your fingers, and whisper to them, as if they can hear. you tell them about the bracelet, the perfume, the robe he bought and never saw. you tell them about the blood, the ache, the silence that grows louder each day. you tell them about the baby shoes, the loss you buried alone. you don’t cry. you’re too tired for that.

you lie back, the ground cool beneath you, the stars blurred through the glass roof. you think of rafe, upstairs, chasing deals, chasing nothing. you think of the gifts, unworn, untouched, piling up like apologies he never makes. you think of the illness, growing in the dark, and wonder how long you can hide it, how long you can be the wife he doesn’t see.

you close your eyes, your breath shallow, your heart a distant hum. you dream of swans, their wings folded, their glass necks breaking under your touch.

[drsunitapawar]

In today's podcast episode, Gynecologist in HSR Layout, Bangalore | Dr. Sunita Pawar discuss all of those common symptoms that you experience in the "First Trimester Pregnancy".

Listen to our latest podcast episodes at https://www.drsunitapawar.com/podcast-2/

For more updates visit: https://www.drsunitapawar.com/ or call us @ 091089 37262 #Podcast #HighRiskPregnancy #DrSunitaPawar #Gynecologist #Obstetrician #Pregnancy #HealthyPregnancy #MaternityCare #doctor #obgyn #WomensHealth #IVF #IVFspecialist #BirthandBeyondClinic #BirthandBeyond #HSRLayout #Bangalore #TwinsPregnancy

[sushirrrry]

OURS || a harry styles x original character story

cw: infertility/fertility struggles, emotional distress, themes of grief and uncertainty, declining mental health, graphic sexual content, language, alcohol-use, depression, medical intervention for pregnancy word count: 20,355

summary: harry and thea are looking to grow their family. over seasons of trying, their lives look a little bit different; emotions run high, their limits are tested, but if there's one thing for sure: it's their love for one another.

authors note: this is a story that's been on my mind for a while - this took me a full day to write, it just kept flowing out. it's loosely inspired by certain inspirations from landslide by fleetwood mac; following the seasons of our lives, and understanding where who we are when we disappoint ourselves for who we think we should be. it's about the pressures we put on ourselves, even when we have everything we want.

this is a really really special one to me & this is one that I don't think it's one for everyone because it's very emotional, but I hope you give it a chance <3

without further ado; I hope you enjoy <3

_______________________________________________

Spring

The house was quiet in the early blush of morning; a hush wrapped in the pale gray-blue light of spring. Rain ticked gently at the windowpane, not enough to storm, just a soft percussion against the silence. The early spring showers were comforting to them; they always had been.

Thea sat on the closed toilet lid, knees drawn together, fingers knotted in the hem of Harry’s old T-shirt that she had been wearing the past few nights; it was the t-shirt that she had found out she was pregnant in both other times. It still smelled faintly of him—laundry linen and cedar from the left-over cologne that rubbed from his skin. Her bare toes curled against the tile of the cool floor, the cold seeping through as she counted down the seconds.

The test lay on the edge of the sink, face-down, unread and pending a result.

Outside the door, she could hear the occasional creak of the floorboards and the distant thrum of a car passing on the wet road. But inside, time had paused even when it needed to move faster than ever. Thea closed her eyes, inhaling sharply, willing her heart to slow. It felt too fast, too eager, too much like something was about to break open with joy or sadness.

When the timer on her phone buzzed, it startled her. She reached out with trembling fingers, turned it off quickly. She didn’t want Harry to hear it; she didn’t want to make this a big deal. Making it a big deal meant that there would be disappointment if things didn’t go the way she needed it to go.

When she flipped the test, her eyes focused on the words:

Not Pregnant.

The breath left her lungs in a soundless sigh. Not devastation—not yet, no, it was more a bit of confusion, if she was honest. This was only the second test she had taken, they were only on month two of actively trying. It wasn’t supposed to happen overnight, she knew that. Her doctor had said it could take time, and she may have just been lucky with the ease of it with Teddy and Niko. Thea and Harry got pregnant practically on command with their two boys – no scheduling, no ovulation testing, just the pure love and admiration that was bundled up when they tried.

Then, it was like her body had known what to do— fate had simply reached down and tucked new life into her with a gentle sort of magic that only expecting mothers could understand.

This time felt different. She was reaching for something she couldn't quite catch, and she was frustrated with the waiting process.

She sat there for a few more minutes, test in hand, until the world beyond the bathroom began to stir and she had been broken from her thoughts. She heard the boy’s bedroom door creak open and the soft shuffle of little feet padding down the hall—this early, it had to be Niko.

Thea quickly slid the test back into its foil wrapper and tucked it into the bottom of the drawer beneath the sink, under a pile of spare toothbrushes and half-used tubes of ointment. She washed her hands in cold water, splashed her face to feel something, and forced her shoulders to soften before she stepped into the hall and preparing herself for the weekend morning.

When she entered the kitchen, Harry was already up. He stood at the stove, barefoot in sweatpants and an old band t-shirt that had fraying on the edges, flipping pancakes with Niko perched on the counter beside him. Niko’s cheeks were pink with sleep and joy in helping his dad cook breakfast, his curls tousled as he watched the batter bubble.

“Mornin’, gorgeous,” Harry said over his shoulder, his voice warm and a little husky with sleep as he watched Thea enter. He moved over to kiss her temple as she entered. “Coffee’s on. Teddy’s still out like a log.”

“Thanks,” she said, and smiled as she reached for a mug. It didn’t quite reach her eyes—the smile, but Harry was too focused on preventing Niko from sticking a finger into the skillet to notice that.

“Mummy, Daddy said I can do the blueberries,” Niko announced proudly; his legs swinging along the countertop.

“Did he?” Thea poured her coffee, watching her son beam. She moved over to kiss the top of his head, feeling her son’s warmth and certainty made her feel just a bit better. His little arms wrapped around her as she stood and watched Harry grab the small bowl of berries for Niko to help with.

“He’s on berry duty,” Harry confirmed with Niko, watching the little boy nod incessantly. “But only after the pancakes are on the griddle. No sabotage this time, huh?”

“Right!” Niko stated, unwrapping himself from Thea and taking the bowl in his hand.

Thea moved to settle at the table, curling her hands around the mug for warmth and grounding. She took in the scene before her—Harry humming the music he had put on under his breath, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon wafting through the kitchen, Niko swinging his feet and singing a made-up song about blueberries as he of course enjoyed a few straight from the bowl.

It was beautiful, their life. Full of small, golden joys. But then there was a quiet space in her heart that had begun to echo; the loneliness of knowing that she wasn’t pregnant, and how she was starting to question her own capabilities.

Her attention had been taken as they started to hear Teddy stumbling down a few minutes later, rubbing his eyes and dragging his worn fleece blanket behind him like a cape. He crawled into Thea's lap without a word, nuzzling into her shoulder. She wrapped both arms around him, burying her face in his hair, breathing him in.

“You okay, Mum?” he mumbled into her collarbone. Teddy was so inquisitive and sensitive and understood emotions much more than any six-year-old should; it gave her such confidence in not only their parenting but knowing she had procreated with such a wonderful human being.

“Yeah, baby. Just tired.” She ran her fingers through his hair, managing the bedhead that he sported.

He accepted the answer easily, already half-asleep again in her arms. After a few incidents of too-early blueberrying the pancakes, Harry brought over a plate stacked high with pancakes, blueberries dotting the surface like constellations. Teddy got everyone a cup, Niko brought the juice to the table. They ate as a family, passing syrup and discussing the prehistoric period of dinosaurs, laughter blending with the rain pattering outside. And for a little while, Thea let herself pretend the weight in her chest wasn’t there—this was too important not to soak up.

After breakfast was finished and the boys had run upstairs to get dressed for the day, she lingered in the kitchen, washing the dishes and putting everything into the dishwasher. Harry came up behind her, slipping his hands around her waist in a moment that felt intimate, but also made her still.

“Go get dressed,” he said, voice low against her ear. “We’re taking a walk.”

Thea turned towards the window, noticing that the rain had slowed, but just to a small shower, “In the rain?”

Harry nodded, kissing her cheek before her backed away, giving her a small pat on her behind and walking towards the stairs, “The slow kind. The gentle kind. You like that.”

And he was right—he was always right.

After they had managed to get everyone dressed and ready for a walk in the weather, they walked to the park with umbrellas and wellies, the boys splashing in puddles, laughing so loud it startled a pair of geese. There was something magical about holding her husband’s hand and watching the way that their boys loved one another, and life itself.

Thea watched them from a bench under cover as they grabbed onto the wet monkey bars, Harry beside her with a hand on her knee.

“You’ve been quiet this morning” he murmured into her hair, pulling her into him

She let herself melt into him. “Just tired.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment; she could feel that he was wanting to ask a question. She didn’t make eye contact because she didn’t want to upset him or make him think that she was upset. She wasn’t. She was just…

“Any news?”

Thea stilled at his question, and Harry felt it immediately. His fingertips ran against her shoulder, as his head turned towards her, watching her profile.

“I took one this morning,” she told him quietly. “Negative.”

His arms tightened around her. Not in frustration or pity. Just presence.

“It’s only the second month,” he said, shrugging it off. “We’re okay, right? I mean, you’re doing okay with it?”

She nodded, but it wasn’t confident. “Yeah. I know—I’m fine. It’s just—it’s different this time.”

Harry turned her around to face him. His eyes searched hers, soft and steady.

“Well, I want you to know,” he said softly, holding her hands in his, “there’s no pressure from me. None. I don’t want this to weigh on you.”

“I know.” She reached for his hand. “But I want it. It’s just... harder to admit that when it’s not happening, especially because Teddy and Niko were so quick—I mean, I don’t even know that we really planned Niko.”

Harry nodded; a possible smirk trying to cross his face as he remembered the night that Niko was conceived—or the trip they had taken where Niko was conceived. It was unclear the actual date, but he knew that on the fourth day of the trip, he could barely move from how busy they had gotten with one another after being able to be alone for a week.

His eyes turned towards the boys. “Still feels early, doesn’t it? Like we just opened the gate, and maybe the timing is just… not right, right now.”

Thea could tell that Harry was trying to keep the positive mindset, which she appreciated to some degree. Everything he said was true, but she didn’t want to be hopeful right now—she would later, but not right now. Now, she just wanted a moment to feel sorry for herself; she wasn’t sure why.

“Yeah,” she said. “But I feel like I’m already behind, or that something is wrong.”

The wind tugged at her coat. He squeezed her hand, shaking his head.

“We’re not behind,” He told her confidently, “We have so many options if this is really what we want, and we’ll give it a year. If nothing happens, we’ll make sure that nothing is wrong and go another route. There’s no reason to give up on it when everything before has been fine.”

Everything he said was true, she knew that. She felt that—she felt him.

“Mum, look!” Teddy yelled, the boys ran towards them, breaking them out of their bubble before Thea and Harry put their façade back on. Teddy barreled towards them with a black obsidian rock, shiny and wet from the rain, Niko following behind with his wellies sloshing around the puddles.

“Wow!” Thea gave him exaggerated surprise and wide eyes as she looked at it, “Very beautiful, Bear.”

“You think that the dinosaurs saw this rock?” Teddy asked, rolling it around in his hands.

Thea breathed in, “Probably, are we bringing that home with us?”

Teddy nodded, setting the rock between Harry and Thea before the boys ran back out to the playground—they had been loving to pretend that they were knights with armor and swords, sticks in their hands as they let their imagination run wild. It was one of the best parts of parenting: watching their children have imaginations that grew and grew to the point of magical fantasy.

Thea felt the ping in her chest: it was guilt. Guilt that she had been feeling sorry for herself all morning and not taking in these small moments with her boys while they were in such a beautiful age; they were giggling and talkative, so brilliant, and completely independent on so many levels.

She bit her lip as she felt Harry pull her shoulders towards him, kissing her temple.

“Our life is so beautiful,” Harry reassured her quietly, “It can only get more beautiful.”

She nodded, licking over her lips as she felt a sting behind her eye. It could only get more beautiful.

That evening, after they had made, eaten, and cleaned up dinner, while the boys painted paper butterflies at the table, Thea watched them and wondered how long she would carry this mix of gratitude and longing.

Their boys were loud and beautiful and messy. There was so much love here, in the chaos. Still, she wondered what a third would look like seated between them.

Would they look more like Harry? Would they have her quiet streak, or be another storm of joy like Niko? Would they be inquisitive like Teddy?

Harry noticed her staring and smiled from across the table. He mouthed, "Still hopeful?" and she gave him a slow nod. It wasn’t all sadness. It wasn’t even grief yet. But it was something between the lines of waiting and wanting, and she didn’t know how to carry it except with both hands open.

Later, while the boys built a fort out of couch cushions and old blankets to wind the night down with a film, Thea went upstairs to get their nighttime routines started. She wasn’t avoiding Harry—not really. She just needed a few moments to herself, to sort through the dull ache of disappointment that clung to her ribs like cobwebs.

She remembered when they'd first talked about a third baby, curled up together after one of Niko’s rare full nights of sleeping in his own bed. They had made such a deal of it; letting their own thoughts merge back together as a couple and not just as mum and dad.

"What if we went for three?" Harry had murmured, his hand tracing lazy shapes on her bare back.

She'd laughed, breathless and stunned. "Three? You sure?"

"I'm sure," he'd whispered into the darkness, still being able to see her eyes at their proximity. "I could do this forever with you."

And she’d wanted it too. Another little voice in the house, another pair of chubby arms flung around her neck. They had waited until things settled—until Teddy was in school, until Niko was potty-trained, until her work schedule became more flexible. They had waited for the perfect time.

But the body doesn’t always follow the calendar.

She walked slowly through the boys' shared room, straightening rumpled blankets and stepping over LEGO mines on the carpet. On the shelf above Niko's bed was a framed photo of their family from last summer—Teddy with an ice cream mustache, Niko in Harry's sunglasses, and Thea squinting from the sun, her arms draped around them all.

She touched the frame gently. A pang tightened in her chest. How could there be so much fullness, and still, something missing?

Harry found her folding laundry at the end of the small bed. She was tucking one of Teddy’s dinosaur T-shirts into a drawer when she noticed that he had been standing in the doorway.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said. “We don’t need a test to tell us we’re doing something right. Look at those two tornados’ downstairs.”

Thea laughed through a tight throat. “They are a bit much.”

“You gave them to me,” he said, crossing the room now. He bent down in front of her, taking her hands into his as he looked up and saw her—really saw her. “And you’ll give us what we need now. However that looks. We just have to keep loving each other through it.”

She bit her lip before she leaned down and kissed him then, grateful. He always knew how to hold her together.

That night, once the boys were in bed and the house had gone still again, Harry lit the candle on her nightstand—the one that smelled like peonies and old books and really took in the scents of spring. Thea curled into him under the duvet; her head tucked beneath his chin as he rubbed her back, letting the silence of the room speak for a few moments.

He whispered stories about what summer looked like. Imagined their children running wild through a garden they hadn’t planted yet. He spoke as if it was already true, every detail vivid.

“And the baby?” she asked softly.

“They’ll be the loudest one of all,” Harry said softly. “Just like you.”

She smiled, even as her chest ached. Even as the rain began again against the windows.

The following morning, she woke to birdsong and the smell of coffee. Sunlight streamed in pale ribbons across the sheets. She rolled over to find Harry already dressed, hair damp from a shower, a mug in each hand as he gave her a tight smile. He knew she needed to be loved the most and doused in hope.

Hope, she thought again, is a kind of love. And today, they still had both.

+++

A few days later, the house cracked open at the seams more than either of them could handle in the moment. It was just before dinner, everyone home—Harry had gotten home from work just an hour prior, and things spiraled in the way only families with small children could truly understand.

Thea had spent the day with the boys; her part-time job at the library was helpful, allowing their childcare needs to be kept to a minimum. Harry was standing by the stove now, shirt sleeves rolled up as he prepared dinner, letting Thea handle the rest of the days chores—laundry, cleaning the bathrooms, and currently, vacuuming upstairs.

Niko had refused to wear pants, again. This had been ongoing for quite a while, and Harry and Thea just let it go. But, he was currently screaming from the hallway floor, red-faced and sweaty, because Teddy had told him all the dinosaurs had died. Teddy, now sulking and having emotional turbulence himself, crossed his arms at the kitchen table and shouted back at his brother that he was just telling the truth, and if Niko didn’t like it, he could go play with someone else.

Niko screeched loudly, tears staining his cheeks as he threw a toy truck at Teddy—who matched in the screeching.

Harry, elbow-deep in a boiling pot of pasta, turned sharply to the table. "Enough, both of you! That is not how we talk to each other,” He pointed his finger, “No hitting, Nikolai.”

His voice cracked like a whip across the room. The sound was sharper than usual—too loud, too angry, almost like he was at the end of his tolerance.

“Theodore, go to your room, now.” 

Teddy’s face crumpled at the suddenness of his dad’s words; it was more of the shock that scared him. He shoved his chair back with a screech and bolted down the hallway, up the stairs, and slamming his bedroom door behind him.

Niko hiccupped once, startled out of his tantrum, and stared at the kitchen doorway. Thea stood there, her expression hard to read.

“Harry,” she said softly. Too softly—it was the kind of tone that meant trouble. He shut his eyes for a moment. He turned, already sighing.

“I didn’t mean to shout like that, but—”

“I know,” she said, nodding. “But they’re kids. And you scared them. You scared me a little, too,” She shook her head, “You don’t talk like that.”

He blinked, chest rising and falling, guilt rising fast as he looked down the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, running a hand down his face. “I just—I’m tired. And everything was loud, and it’s been a long day and—”

She crossed the room, touched his hand gently. “I know. I really do. But we have to be better than that. We’ve always said we would be.”

He looked at her, eyes tired, shoulders slumped. There was such a growth about Harry that she couldn’t pinpoint; he looked older, hair shorter but mature, the softness of his features was starting to fade from the young memories that she held of him.

He wasn’t just a young, cocky boy who she fell in love with anymore. She knew there were aspects of him that would come out every once in a while; she loved the way he spoke to her in their intimate moments that reminded her of their youth.

But then there was this Harry. The father she had made of him; the husband she had turned him into. There was a softness to him now, one she couldn’t explain.

“I just don’t want them to think they can’t make mistakes. I want them to feel safe. I messed that up—I’m sorry.” He bit the inside of his cheek as he shook his head.

Thea leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Then go fix it.”

He nodded and set the spoon down, brushing his hands on a towel to dry them before heading up towards the boy’s room.

Moments later, she heard him knock on Teddy’s door. It didn’t open right away. But then it did; she heard the softness of the words, not the specifics. Harry got down on one knee next to the boy’s bed where he had been hiding under the covers, and apologized like he meant it, arms open, heart wide.

Teddy didn’t say much, but he hugged him tight.

Down in the kitchen, Thea scooped Niko into her arms and held him close, murmuring quietly that she was sorry he was sad, that daddy mean to yell. Her eyes met Harry’s over their boys’ heads as he returned.

It hadn’t been a perfect way to handle a situation, but it had been real. And sometimes, that was the kind of love that mattered most. The real moments.

That same night, after the boys had gone to bed and the house had fallen into a rare quiet, Thea and Harry curled up together in their bedroom. It wasn’t a scheduled night—it was just a night to them. There was something about the hush that made everything feel closer, more tender. The soft lights of the lamp on the bedside table illuminated around the headboard, a glow of amber giving the room a romanticism.

Thea shifted beneath him, fingertips tracing the line of his jaw as he kissed a slow, familiar path down her neck, his knee guiding her thighs apart. It had been weeks since they’d had a night like this—no interruptions, no exhaustion that overtook them first. It was just time; it was just them together.

The boys had gone to sleep quite quickly, which allowed this to be sought after time.

He moved with care, every touch reverent, as if reacquainting himself with every inch of her skin. Her shirt had long since been discarded, his hands beneath her thighs, mouth brushing over her breastbone as he let his hands wander to the edge of her shorts.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he whispered against her, and she hummed in agreement, arching toward him. Her hands knitted through his hair as she giggles just a bit at the softness of his kisses.

Just as he began to slide his hands down the waistband of her pajamas, a soft whimper echoed through the hallway. They both froze.

Another cry, a sniffle. It was closer now, but then there was a tiny knock, then the creak of the door opening.

“Mummy?”

Niko stood there, hair mussed, clutching his favorite stuffed monkey. His bottom lip wobbled, and tears were filled in his eyes like earlier, but he looked completely broken and needing like a hurt puppy.

“I had bad dream.”

Thea blinked, chest rising with a silent, exasperated laugh. Harry rolled off her, falling back against the pillows with a groan muffled by a grin as he pulled the blanket around himself.

Thea had the blanket thrown against her chest as she sat up a bit and took in a deep breath, calling the smaller boy over, “Come here, love.”

Niko climbed into the bed without hesitation, crawling right between them. He snuggled into Thea’s side on top of the blanket as she held him close, and sighed dramatically; his warm cheek pressed to her arm.

Harry turned onto his side, gently brushing the boy’s hair back. “Scary dream? Loud dream?”

“There was a shark in the garden,” Niko murmured, thumb moving to his mouth, but Thea moved it away gently; they had been trying to break the thumb sucking habit.

Thea kissed his head, letting him fall into her touch. “That’s terrifying. We’ll make sure it doesn’t come back tomorrow, okay?”

Niko nodded sleepily, snuggling into his stuffed monkey, just a soft voice speaking out. “Thanks.”

Within minutes of having his hair brushed, he was out again, breathing soft and even.

Harry met Thea’s gaze over Niko’s head. She was laughing silently now, face buried in the crook of her elbow.

Harry sighed and mouthed, “We were so close.”

Thea reached out, lacing her fingers through his. “Rain check.”

He squeezed her hand, smiling at the ceiling. “I guess you’re worth the wait.”

And somehow, even with a squirming toddler wedged between them and desire shelved for another night—it still felt like everything was exactly where it was meant to be.

Like Harry had mentioned before, they weren’t on a ticking clock. These small moments reminded them of that; to enjoy what they had in front of them. And while the night would be full of toddler kicks, and no space in the bed, Thea would soak in every single minute.

Summer

Thea felt the change in the air before she marked it on a calendar. The lilacs were gone, replaced by the buzz of bees in lavender and the tang of sunscreen on small shoulders as she prepared the boys for another day swimming in the blow-up pool in their backyard.

Summer had arrived quietly, not with a bang but with a sigh, and the long, warm days brought with them a particular kind of expectation.

The ovulation calendar on the fridge had more marks on it now, just a few months later. Little hearts, red dots, their hopeful stars in the corners. Thea had begun logging symptoms in her phone, charting basal temperatures, listening to podcasts about fertility over breakfast while the boys painted at the kitchen table.

Even Teddy had started calling the stickers on the calendar her "wish stars," not knowing the weight each one carried. Niko tried to peel one off and stick it to his forehead once, giggling until she laughed too hard to stop him.

She didn’t want it to consume her. But it had begun to trickle into everything they did.

Every cramp, every headache, every mood swing felt like a message from her body she couldn’t quite translate; it was always a reminder that she was failing. Hope made her hyper-aware. Disappointment made her mute.

And in between it all, she clung to the gentle routines of motherhood, wiping sticky fingers and tying shoelaces, brushing crumbs from the table and kissing Niko's knees after falls. Folding laundry while Harry read to the boys in the next room, making grocery lists while thinking about due dates that never appeared.

But then there was the aspect of being a wife; being a partner. Harry was there through it all, and she knew that every movement, every word spoken between them had been calculated to what had been going on behind the scenes of it all.

It was as if there were two tracks in her mind—the life she was living, and the one she was waiting for.

She couldn’t have been more grateful for Harry if she tried; Harry tried to keep things light. He cracked jokes during scheduled intimacy by letting her know that her that she was late to her appointment with the love doctor, teased her gently about their shared Google calendar reminders, cooked elaborate meals to distract her when the test was negative again in early June.

He even baked a lemon cake from scratch. He picked peonies from the neighbor’s yard because he knew she loved them and wanted her to smile when she woke up. He made a playlist titled "Hopeful and Horny" and played it while they folded laundry, wiggling his hips until she finally cracked a laugh. He wore ridiculous boxer shorts with tiny hearts on them one morning and strutted around like a runway model just to get a smile.

She loved him for it; she did. But she could see the worry in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking. In the way his hand lingered on her lower back, as if he could soothe something inside her just by touch. The way he watched her when she wasn't watching him.

"Maybe it’s the timing," she offered one night, their limbs tangled under the ceiling fan, sweat glistening between them after their scheduled session. "Maybe we’re just missing it by a day or two."

"Or maybe we’re just tired right now," Harry said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her temple. "And this is going to happen when we’re not looking."

But they were always looking. Every cycle was a countdown; every day was crossed off the calendar waiting for a new one. Every month another chance, another test, another quiet ache of disappointment when she got her period. And underneath it all, there was the pressure to stay soft with each other and to not let the want harden them.

It wasn’t helpful that they were both stressed; there were many arguments—stupid ones, nitpicking and petty. Ones about milk left out or who forgot to switch the laundry from the day before, so they had to run it again. But they weren’t really about the left-out milk or undone laundry. They were about pressure, unspoken and constant. A weight pressing down even on the days that felt easy.

Harry and Thea weren’t like this; they had never fought about anything. But now, they got under each other’s skin.

One afternoon, Thea snapped at Harry for letting Niko eat too many popsicles before lunch.

It wasn’t a big thing, really, just one of those tired, half-hungry moments where words came out too sharp and fast. She had been unloading the dishwasher, the sink still full from after breakfast, when she noticed the empty plastic wrappers tossed on the counter.

She counted three of them when she held them out to Harry.

“Seriously?” she said, eyes narrowing. “You let him eat all of those? He’s not going to touch his lunch now.”

Harry had barely looked up from where he was drying off a sippy cup. “He’s three. He wanted something cold.”

“That’s not the point.” Thea narrowed her eyes at him, shaking her head.

Harry shrugged, placing the cups back in the cabinet. “Well, I didn’t think it’d ruin his entire appetite.”

“It’s not about ruining his appetite, it’s about boundaries. You can’t just give in because it’s easier,” She didn’t want to raise her voice, “I also told him no.”

That was when Harry set the cup down with a little too much force, the clatter echoing through the kitchen; Thea stilled. “You know what?” he said quietly, and then louder—���Sorry I’m so fucking incompetent.”

He didn’t slam the door when he left, but the silence that followed was louder than anything he could have said. Thea didn’t follow right away, almost shocked by the way that he spoke. She stayed in the kitchen, breathing through the heat rising in her chest. She knew she’d been too harsh. It wasn’t really about the popsicles.

It never was.

Ten minutes later, she stepped outside with the screen door creaking behind her.

The sun was high and bright, hanging heavy in the sky like it couldn’t be bothered to move. The air was thick with honeysuckle, warm and heady, the scent curling lazily in the breeze. Cicadas droned in the background. Somewhere, a lawnmower hummed distantly; the boys were in the small pool in the back, one that Harry had set up for them that morning and they never left in the summer.

She found him at the edge of the yard, shirtless, knee-deep in the garden bed. He was yanking weeds with tight, angry fists, tearing them straight from the roots like they’d wronged him personally. His back glistened with sweat, the muscles beneath his shoulder blades shifting with each pull. His hair clung damp to the back of his neck.

The flower beds were a mess now; half-dug up, soil scattered in uneven mounds across the grass. Clumps of earth clung to his forearms, his knees. One of the tomato cages was bent at an awkward angle, shoved aside in his frenzy.

It was like something had needed breaking, and this was the only thing he could break without consequence. She stood quietly for a moment, arms crossed over her chest, watching him. He didn’t acknowledge her; he just kept pulling.

“I didn’t mean to snap,” she said eventually, squinting in the warm June sun, her voice softer than it had been in the kitchen. “It’s just… I get overwhelmed, you know.”

Harry paused, breath caught in his throat. He didn’t turn around, and just let the weeds fall from his hand and dropped back on his heels.

“I know,” he said, voice low and rough, nodding. “Me too.”

Thea took a step forward, the grass warm beneath her bare feet. She crouched beside him, not touching him yet. Just sitting in the wreckage of their backyard garden, the heat of the day pressing against their skin like a held breath.

“Let’s not fight about popsicles,” she murmured, grabbing at some of the weeds he had been throwing.

Harry gave a tired, huffed-out laugh, rubbing his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Then stop talking to me like I’m the fucking babysitter.”

Thea’s heart dropped; shaking her head as she tries to explain, “I wasn’t. I’m just tired. And you’re—”

“I’m tired too.”

They sat there, side by side, the dirt between their fingers and the silence between their breaths. Thea looked over at him—really looked this time. His jaw was tight, his hands raw from pulling, but his eyes were soft. Hurt. He wasn’t angry at her. He was angry at feeling like he couldn’t get it right.

And she understood that. God, she really did.

She reached out, brushed her fingertips lightly over the curve of his knuckles, dusted with soil and sweat that was caking it on. “You’re a good dad,” she said. “I wouldn’t be wanting you to have my third if I didn’t think that.”

Harry looked at her then, finally, and something in his shoulders released. Not fully, but enough for her.

“Yeah?” he asked.

She nodded with a confirmation. “Yeah,” She bit her lip, “I’m sorry.”

Their boys shrieked in the kiddie pool nearby, splashing and laughing as if the world were simple. For a moment, they just sat there, watching their children and breathing through the quiet. Then Harry reached for her hand. Their fingers were dirty and warm, and neither of them let go.

They didn’t really talk again until dinner; just letting their moods mellow out. And even then, it was just about what movie the boys wanted to watch afterwards. But something had eased in the silence. +++

A few weeks later, they decided that they needed to leave the house.

One of their ideas involved taking the boys to the beach for a weekend. It was a last-minute, summer escape to breathe something saltier than their house. Thea wore a white sundress, her hair braided back in a pretty French braid, and she smiled more that day than she had in weeks.

They built sandcastles, of course. Harry was the king at building sandcastles, being very articulate and being patient with the boys. Teddy buried Harry’s legs in the sand. Niko collected shells and gave Thea each one with a kiss to the back of her hand as they laid in the sun. They let the boys stay up past bedtime and ate fish and chips on the boardwalk, salt on their fingers and the sound of crashing waves in their ears.

Harry watched her splash in the surf with Teddy while Niko dozed on a towel. She looked radiant, so alive in the heat and wind, her laugh carried by the sea breeze. Something about being in the ocean and letting her hair down made even the tensest moment feel like it could be washed away by the salt water. Teddy clung to his mum’s side as they waded in the water, laughing when a big wave would come around.

To Harry, it felt like falling in love again. But not new love—deeper love, an earned love. A love that had been through the ringer.

That night, back at the rental house, she curled into him in bed, the scent of saltwater still clinging to her skin that had turned a darker shade of tan. The windows were open, the air warm and slow, cicadas humming outside along with the sounds of the water hitting the shores. She wore one of his old T-shirts and nothing else, and he knew without asking that she just wanted to be held.

A ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, not doing much except moving the warm air around the room.

Harry had one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting against the dip of her waist. He was half-asleep, lulled by the sound of water and the sticky, slow rhythm of summer nights. His fingers idly traced the hem of the shirt she wore.

“You know what I miss?” she whispered into the darkness.

“Hmm?” He echoed; his eyes were closed as he just listened.

“Us. Just being us. Not planners or hopefuls or testers. Just... you and me.”

He rolled to face her fully. “Then let’s just be us tonight, huh?"

There was no rush. No sense of calculation or looking at the schedule and trying to understand how to track temperatures.

He leaned in and kissed her, slow and warm, like she imagined the ocean at night would feel if it washed up on her body. Her hand slid into his curls, and his fingers moved under the hem of the shirt to find her bare hip, the curve of her ass. Her breath hitched when he squeezed gently, and the kiss deepened, their mouths opening like they were starving for something that had been waiting just beneath the surface.

Thea shifted beneath him, rolling to her back, pulling him over her. The old mattress dipped with their weight, and the air between them sparked like a struck match.

Harry pushed the shirt up her torso, dragging it slowly so it bunched beneath her arms. He leaned down, kissed her sternum, her ribs, the underside of her breast, pausing to suck and mark her where tan lines had formed. She gasped softly, threading her fingers through his hair and holding him there, encouraging him to take more.

They weren’t in their heads tonight. There was no "should we" or "what if." Just a slow burn of want that felt familiar and feral and organically them.

He pulled her underwear down, slow, one side at a time as he shimmied them down her legs, letting his knuckles brush along the inside of her thighs. When she was bare, he sat back on his heels and looked at her with her legs spread open for him, chest rising and falling, flushed and already wet for him.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he murmured back at her, like it was something he hadn’t said to her in a while but had never stopped thinking.

She pulled him back down with a smile, one hand sliding into the waistband of his boxers. He gasped at the feeling of her hand around him as she helped him out of his own underwear, eyes fluttering as she pumped him; something dirty, something that didn’t happen very often nowadays. “So are you. Especially when you look at me like that, Styles.”

Their mouths met again, messier this time, hungrier with a need that neither of them had realized was built up. Her thighs wrapped around his hips, heels pressing into the backs of his legs. He slid into her with one slow, grounding thrust, and they both gasped at the sensation—how familiar and electric it still was, even after all this time.

They didn’t rush. His hips rocked into hers in long, rolling waves, her back arching to meet him. The headboard tapped softly against the wall, the rhythm of their bodies syncing with the pulse of summer outside. She clawed at his back, left little half-moon indents in his skin. He kissed her jaw, her throat, her collarbone—every place he used to know by heart.

At one point, he pulled out and flipped her over, hands gripping her hips as she buried her face into the pillow, muffling a moan when he slid back in. It was a little dirtier now, a little grittier—like how they used to do it on those college nights when they couldn’t get enough of each other. She smiled into the pillow at the familiarity that hadn’t been so frequent.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he grunted, his voice low and wrecked against the back of her neck. His hips snapped forward again, a little rougher this time, and he bit down on her shoulder—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make her gasp and clutch the pillow tighter.

Every thrust dragged a moan from her throat, high and broken, her body rocking with the force of his pace. Her knees were wide, pressed into the mattress, back arched in offering. She was dripping around him, so wet he could feel it slick and hot down his thighs, the way her body gripped him like it didn’t want to let go.

His fingers dug into her hips, bruising almost, pulling her back to meet him as he drove into her, deeper each time. Skin slapped, wet and obscene, and the only sounds in the room were her panting, his groans, the creak of the bed, and the soft lapping of waves through the open window.

“Fuck—baby,” he growled, breath catching as she tightened around him; he knew the game she played. “Your pussy is so fucking good… always taking me so good.”

She whimpered, her voice gone high and desperate. “Don’t stop… please, don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” he panted, then leaned over her again, chest flush to her back, his hand sliding between her legs. He found her clit easily, fingers slick, and began circling it in slow, filthy little strokes. “Gonna come for me?” he murmured into her ear. “Let me feel you fall apart? Hm?”

Her reply was a choked cry, her hips stuttering, thighs beginning to shake as the pleasure built fast and sharp. His name spilled from her mouth again and again like prayer, like surrender to his dirty games, and then she shattered with a sob, pulsing around him in waves that made his own climax slam into him like a freight train.

He groaned deep in his throat, fucking her through it, losing rhythm, and finally buried himself one last time, spilling into her with a curse and a tremble. His whole body seized, mouth open against her damp skin, like the force of it had knocked the breath from his lungs.

He stayed inside her for a moment, pressed to her back, their bodies sticky with sweat, tangled in the sheets and each other.

Eventually, he slid out with a groan and collapsed beside her, chest heaving, arm falling heavy across her as she fell onto her side. Her skin was flushed and glowing, her breath still unsteady, a small, satisfied smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

The fan whirred around them. The waves kept rolling outside the open window. And the two of them lay there, ruined and warm and absolutely right, the scent of sex thick in the air and his cum slowly leaking down her thighs. Familiarly.

Then she reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together, still catching her breath.

“That,” she whispered, smiling into the dark, “felt like us.”

Harry leaned over, pressed a kiss to her temple, and whispered back, “Still got it in us, apparently.”

Afterward, she cried. It was not loud, but it was after they had gotten ready for bed and everything got quiet again. Just tears that came from some tender place she hadn’t touched in a while. Harry didn’t ask her to explain; he didn’t need her to. He just held her tighter and let her soak the pillow with her fallen tears.

And in the dark, between breaths, they remembered how to feel like home.

+++

July crept in, hot and thick and with unnamed emotion. Their bedroom became a haven of fans and quiet music, a retreat from the weight of wanting. Even their kisses grew quieter, slower. Grief didn’t always roar, sometimes it was just a sigh.

Still, the tests stayed negative. Today was a difficult one; they were all difficult, but this seemed to rock Thea harder.

One evening, Harry came home with a bouquet of yellow roses, a new stack of books from a few authors that he knew that Thea liked, a bar of dark chocolate tucked in the bag, along with a new small bullet vibrator—that was just to be cheeky, but also to remind her.

“Just because,” he said, placing them beside her on the couch.

She looked up from the TV she had been watching in the quietness of the boys playing in their room, her eyes shining. “You always know what I need.”

“You need reminding that you’re loved. Not just on the two days a month we cross our fingers." He moved over to where she was sitting, flopping down next to her.

She leaned into him, head resting against his chest. The TV played some old movie neither of them were watching. His fingers threaded through her hair. Thea closed her eyes and let herself exist without expectation for a moment.

“Do you think it’ll happen?” she asked quietly.

He kissed the top of her head, speechless for a moment before he felt her settle into him. “I don’t know,” He told her truthfully, “But I hope.”

She nodded, but her throat caught.

+++

One Saturday morning in July, Thea met her sister Erika at their usual coffee shop—a small, airy place tucked beside the library, with ivy growing up the brick and mismatched mugs. Erika was already seated at their usual corner table, two iced lattes in front of her, a pair of sunglasses propped in her hair.

“You look tired,” Erika said bluntly, handing Thea a straw as she squinted up at her.

“Wow, thanks,” Thea replied dryly. She stirred her drink and took a long, needed sip. “You always know how to flatter a girl, huh?”

Erika grinned, unapologetic as she leaned forward. "It’s what sisters are for. So... how’s everything?"

Thea hesitated. She hadn't meant to bring it up. But something in her chest cracked the moment she saw her sister's familiar eyes—the ones that had known her before marriage, before babies, before grief had a name in her repertoire.

“We’ve… actually been trying,” she said finally, voice low. “For a third. But it’s not happening.”

Erika blinked almost blankly, like she hadn’t heard her at first. She reached across the table and squeezed Thea’s hand. “Oh, hon. How long?”

Thea nodded, swallowing hard, remembering the last few months. “It’s only been a few months. But it was so easy before. And now I’m doing everything—temping, tracking, testing. I feel like I’m on a timer all the time."

Erika was quiet for a beat. Then she said, “You remember how I got pregnant with the twins?”

Thea blinked, sighing. “By accident. On a cruise.”

“Exactly. Drunk on overpriced wine coolers and not a single ovulation app in sight. There may have even been a bit of ass play—”

Thea barked a surprised laugh to interrupt her sister, “Okay! I get it.”

“Point is,” Erika continued, “even when we’re doing all the ‘right’ things, bodies are weird. Mine decided to double down for no reason and yours is just... taking its sweet time. Doesn’t mean it won’t get there.”

Thea thought for a moment, nodding. “It’s just hard. I feel like I’m failing at something that should come naturally.”

Erika leaned back, holding her cold cup in her hands. “Thea, you’re raising two actual tiny humans who think you hung the moon. You’re not failing at anything. You’re human. And honestly, sometimes I think the people who try the hardest are the ones who love the deepest."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching a little girl chase a pigeon across the patio.

Erika added, more lightly, “Besides, you really want to be outnumbered? My twins colored on the cat last week. In Sharpie,” She took another sip, “Marshmallow has a green ass.”

Thea snorted into her coffee. “That helps. A lot."

“Good. Because even though I know you want three, it may not be happening for a reason beyond you.”

Thea gave her sister a soft smile, “So, how is being a mum of twins going?”

“I’m wearing yesterday’s dry shampoo and a shirt I stole from my husband, and a diaper."

They both laughed until tears prickled Thea’s eyes.

She reached for her sister’s hand again. “Thank you. Really. I just needed to say it out loud."

“Say it as many times as you need. You’re not alone. And if your uterus needs a pep talk, I have wine and several colorful metaphors ready."

“Deal,” Thea said, smiling genuinely now. “Big deal."

Her sister tipped her cup toward her with a smirk, eyebrows raised. “So. You and Harry, then. Still good?”

Thea lifted a brow herself, glancing at Erika for a moment before shaking her head. “What does that mean?”

Her sister grinned wickedly, leaning back in her chair. “Is he still as good in the sack as he was when you were younger? I was a little worried that’s why you stayed—don’t get me wrong, very glad he’s been the best dad to the boys, but you know.”

Thea laughed, covering her face with her hand. “Oh my god, stop.”

“What? I’m just saying—it was the only thing I couldn’t argue with. You two had that thing. Like, walls-shaking, might-die-of-lust kind of thing. Remember that holiday that we went on as a family and Harry came for the first time?”

Of course, Thea remembered that trip. It was when they were nineteen and full of love and lust and completely unbothered by the world around them. They had to be touching at all hours of the day, and she could barely walk through a doorway without Harry’s eyes trailing her. They had sex on every surface, anytime they were alone. She knew that her family could sense the glow that they both had. It wasn’t just the holiday tan.

“Yes,” Thea pulled her lips into her mouth, “I do remember.”

“Course you do, you were animals.” Erika joked. “Either way, I hope you still want each other like that.”

Thea rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. She swirled the latte, and stared out at the patio of the café, the warm breeze playing with the hem of her shirt.

There was a pause before she bit on the straw. “But… yeah. We still have that.”

Erika’s teasing faded a little, her tone softening. “Then maybe that counts for something. That you still want each other, after everything.”

Thea nodded slowly. “It does. Especially now. It’s like—when the rest of life feels too big, he’s still the only person I want touching me. Still the one who knows how.”

Erika touched her cup with her sister’s, this time in something like sisterly solidarity. “To good sex with the same person for a decade. Miracles do happen.”

Thea clinked her cup against hers and smiled back at her. “Cheers to that.”

As she drove home, the sun pouring in through the windshield and the iced latte sweating in her cupholder, Thea felt lighter. It wasn’t that anything had changed.

But the weight had shifted. Just enough for her to understand that. And for the first time in a while, she didn’t feel like she was holding it alone.

Later that same weekend, Harry found himself at his mum’s for lunch—just him and his sister, Maeve, and the smell of roast chicken filling the kitchen like childhood. It wasn’t planned, not really. He’d dropped the boys off for a few hours to play with their cousins and stayed for tea, and then Maeve had shown up with a box of old books she wanted to donate.

They sat around the kitchen table, sunlight pooling on the floor, windows wide open to let in the breeze. His mum passed around plates of food while Maeve poured some water, chatting about her work and her daughter’s obsession with glitter glue.

“So,” his mum said after a lull in conversation, eyeing him over her glasses, “how’s Thea? She looked a little run-down last time I saw her.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, not sure if he was wanting to bring up in conversation what had been going on at their house. He figured that between his mum and sister, they should have an opinion on it—he didn’t really know if he wanted them to, but he figured he could test it anyways.

“She’s fine, tired,” Harry said gingerly, tentative before he smirked upwards, “We’ve been trying again. For a third.”

Maeve nearly choked on the sip of her water. “You mad bastard.”

“Thanks for the support,” Harry muttered, smirking. He picked at the corner of his plate, reluctant to look either of them in the eye.

His mum reached across and touched his wrist. “You don’t have to tell us, love.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s just... not going the way it did before. Not as quick. And it’s hitting Thea a bit hard.”

Maeve softened immediately seeing her brother’s reaction. “That’s rough. I get it. It’s not just a want, is it? It becomes this... ache.”

Harry nodded, taking in a large inhale. “She’s doing everything right. Temping, charts, the apps, all of it. And I can’t do anything but show up when the calendar tells me to. I feel like... I don’t know. Useless.”

His mum gave a sad little smile, tilting her head. “That’s because you love her. Watching someone you love carry something heavy—especially something you can’t fix… it’s awful.”

Maeve leaned forward towards him. “You’re not useless, H. You’re the anchor. You’ve always been the one people lean on. Just keep being that. And for God’s sake, let her cry without fixing it. That’s the trick.”

Harry cracked a grin. “You’re starting to sound like a therapist.”

“I have three, so I know how it feels—it feels like when there’s a gaggle of geese and one is chasing you, the other is squawking, and the other is flapping its wings.”

They all laughed, low but communal, the kind of laugh that came from knowing too much.

His mum let her hands rest on his wrist as he stared at the table, wondering if he wanted to talk about it—or why he felt so lonely talking about it. “Three’s a lot. But if anyone can do it, it’s you two. Just don’t forget to be kind to each other while you wait.”

He nodded again, quietly grateful.

As he packed up to leave, Maeve slipped a chocolate bar into his pocket.

“For Thea,” she said. “And maybe a bit for you.”

When he got back to the house, the boys were still napping, and Thea was on the couch with a book he had gotten her. He kissed her forehead and tucked the chocolate beside her without a word. She looked up, surprised, and he just shrugged.

+++

In late August, a heat wave struck. They abandoned the oven in favor of cold pasta salads and watermelon slices. The boys ran shirtless through the sprinkler all day. Harry built blanket forts and read them stories by flashlight. They ate dinner on the floor, drank lemonade by the pitcher, and left chores undone.

Thea wandered the garden barefoot, letting the dirt cool her skin. Sometimes she stood at the edge of the tomato patch and whispered prayers into the wind. Not always to a god, most of the times, sometimes just to the universe, or to the cells in her body.

Once, she found a ladybug on her finger and cried like it was a sign. She cried more often now. In the car. In the shower. When she saw a stranger with three kids at the grocery store. When Niko asked, innocently, if their next baby could have red hair like the doll in the book she had been reading for bedtime.

But she still laughed, too. Still found Harry in the doorway of a room and thought how lucky she was.

Thea didn’t stop hoping—not yet. But she began to ask new questions:

What if this was it? Could she be happy with two? Was she less if her body didn’t give them another?

She didn’t voice them aloud—not yet. But the questions lived in the quiet.

And Harry, he was always there. A constant hand on her back. A note left in her coat pocket. An extra strawberry on her plate because he knew she’d give the first to Niko when he asked. He didn’t push her. He didn’t rush her. He just stayed. And loved her. They hadn’t given up. Not yet.

But something had shifted between them all. The heat of wanting had become something heavier; something deeper. It wasn’t desperation, no, it was devotion.

Autumn

September arrived with a crispness in the air and a hush that seemed to stretch out across the days. The trees began to tinge with color—burnt oranges, golds, and rusts—and the evenings came earlier, curling into their home like a familiar guest. Thea loved autumn, always had. But this year, it felt different. Like the world was letting go of something she was still trying to hold.

One thing that had hit her the hardest was Teddy starting school. Being six, he was starting his first year of primary and there was such a hole in her heart that she hadn’t even been paying attention to.

He wore his new shoes with pride, his backpack bouncing behind him as he ran ahead to his classroom. Harry helped him pack his small backpack the night before, giving him his bath, his pep talks on how to meet new friends.

Thea stayed strong until the car door closed, and then she cried—harder than she expected. Not because she was sad, exactly, but because she felt too many things at once: pride, joy, loss, and that quiet ache that never quite went away with a child growing up. She sat in the driver’s seat with the radio off, her coffee growing cold, remembering the way his hand had slipped from hers without hesitation.

The silence in the house that afternoon was its own kind of heartbreak. Niko played quietly on the rug with his trucks, not asking where his brother was, as if he instinctively knew this was something that would happen now—or he didn’t want to upset Thea. Thea folded Teddy’s little uniform shirts from the drying rack, smoothing them flat with shaking hands, and felt the shape of his growing up press against her chest like a bruise.

She didn’t regret it. She was proud, of course, but she missed him terribly.

Niko turned four the following week—another moment that hit her harder than expected. They threw a party in the backyard with blue balloons and a dinosaur cake with kids and parents from Niko’s play group.

She was smiling, but her eyes were far away—watching Teddy grow too fast, Niko turn another year older, and herself fall behind in a race she never meant to enter. She wanted to freeze this moment: Harry rolling in the grass with Nerf guns, Niko roaring with cake on his face, Teddy trying to explain paleontology to a three-year-old. But time didn’t freeze; it only marched on, quicker.

And that ache in her chest stayed right where it was, nestled between joy and longing.

+++

One evening, after the boys were asleep and the dishes were done, Thea joined Harry on the front porch. In the evenings, he had been sitting out here and reading his books; she let him sit in silence for a bit, he deserved it after working all day. The air was sharp with the scent of fallen leaves, and she wrapped herself in a blanket as she settled beside him. Today, she wanted to distract him.

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the crickets before he looked up from his book when she went to speak.

“I keep thinking,” she said softly, “what if this is it? What if it doesn’t happen?”

Harry didn’t answer right away; they sat on the swing that hung from their porch. He reached over, took her hand and took in a deep breath.

“Then we’ll raise two incredible kids and be grateful every day of that. And we’ll still build a life full of love and adventure. You and me,” He swallowed, clearing his throat, “It will take time to… move on from. But we’re the story, remember? We get to write it how we want it.”

She blinked fast, nodding. “I just thought... I don’t know. That I’d feel it. That I’d know when I’m done trying."

“You don’t have to know,” he said. “We don’t ever really have to stop, if you don’t want. We just have to come peace with the results.”

There had been a moment when Harry watched her carefully, seeing the sunken in features of her that looked like a ghost of who she was. Harry was never one to push; pushing her to do something never worked. But this wasn’t the woman he loved sitting next to him. This was a shell of her.

For the first time, Harry felt scared.

Then he asked, gently, “Are you okay?”

She blinked again, surprised by the softness in his voice, how close the question landed to the ache inside her. It took her a moment to answer him, because she tried to settle on an answer that felt correct.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I think I keep saying I’m fine, so I don’t have to explain how tired I really am. It’s like my hope is a thread I’ve been holding too tightly. My hands hurt from it.”

He nodded, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Would it help to talk to someone? Like, someone besides me?”

She looked over at him, eyebrows drawing slightly together. Harry worried that he overstepped but then shook his thoughts about that away. He was doing the right thing.

“I mean it,” he added quickly, turning towards her. “Not because I think something’s wrong with you. But because I love you. And because sometimes the strong ones—”

“—need help too,” she finished his sentence, voice breaking a little.

Harry squeezed her hand at the break in her voice, noticing the tears in her eyes. “Yeah.”

She was quiet for a while, just listening to the crickets and the rustle of dry leaves across the porch steps.

“Maybe,” she said finally, nodding. “Maybe I do—maybe I need to.”

“Okay,” he said, quietly letting the word fill the space. “Then we’ll figure that out together.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, blanket tucked up to her chin.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Don’t thank me for loving you,” he replied. “It’s my favorite thing to do.”

They stayed there until the air grew cold and the stars came out from behind the soft clouds that had come over the autumn sky, a shared silence between them that was heavy, but healing.

Later that night, after Thea had fallen asleep curled on the couch, still wrapped in the blanket from the porch, Harry stared at her for a moment before he grabbed his keys and drove across town to his mum’s house.

It was a quiet drive there, a thoughtful one. But his thoughts were so jumbled he wasn’t sure where to place them. After he had knocked on her door, she opened the door in slippers, eyebrows lifting at the sight of him.

“Harry?” she asked gently. “What is it?”

It was then that he realized he didn’t have an answer to the question. He didn’t know why he was there.

He just stepped inside and shook his head. “Sorry. I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”

She didn’t ask questions right away, knowing that something was eating him up. As a mother, she just ushered him to the kitchen and turned on the kettle They sat at the table in silence, the low hum of the heat filling the room until the water boiled.

When she finally placed a cup of tea in front of him, he wrapped his hands around it but didn’t drink any of it.

“I don’t think Thea’s okay,” he said at last, voice low and rough. “She says she’s managing. And I know she wants to be. But I can see it eating her up. The waiting. The pressure. The heartbreak.”

His mum nodded, waiting.

“I feel so useless,” he went on. “Like I’m holding everything with frayed hands. Trying to be strong for her and for the boys, and at the same time, I’m terrified I’m doing it all wrong. I want to fix it. But I can’t. And it’s driving me mad.”

She reached across the table, laid a hand over his.

“Sweetheart,” she said softly, “you’re not supposed to fix her. You’re supposed to love her.”

“I do,” he whispered, eyes wet. “More than anything.”

“Then that’s what you do. You love her through this. And when she breaks down, you let her. You be the steady one—not the perfect one. The present one.”

Harry looked down, shoulders sagging with the weight of it. “I’m just scared.”

“I know,” she said. “But love is still worth being scared for.”

He let out a long breath, blinking fast at the way that he could feel the tears prickling the back of his eyes. Then nodded.

And for the first time in weeks, he let himself cry—quiet and unguarded. Not because he was weak. But because he loved so deeply, he didn’t know where to put it all.

He covered his eyes with his hands, feeling the sob catch up to him before he shook his head. His mum jumped from her seat to move towards him, letting him fall into a hug with her.

“Oh, Harry,” She held him as he cried; it wasn’t something that happened often enough for her to know how to handle. Her eyes shut as she rubs his back to quiet him. He let himself be someone’s son for a moment, not a father or a husband or a man trying to hold up the sky. “She’s going to be okay.”

Harry had come to the conclusion that he just didn’t know how to love anyone as much as he loved her. And he didn’t know how to handle the sadness that overcome her; it didn’t just affect her, it affected him. Everything that was happening to her was happening to him, and he didn’t know how to stop it—how to make it better.

She pulled back to look at him, brushing his hair out of his face the way she always had. “You keep showing up by staying soft, even when the world makes you want to harden. You keep kissing her forehead. You keep making the boys laugh. You keep doing the little things. That’s how we hold the people we love when they’re slipping.”

Harry wiped at his face with his sleeve, laughing under his breath. “I used to think I’d have it all figured out by now.”

“No one does,” she told him, definitely. “We just figure it out in pieces. And when the pieces don’t fit, we make room.”

They sat together in the quiet for a while, drinking tea that had long gone lukewarm.

Before he left, she packed him a container of stew and an old photo from when Teddy was born—Thea asleep in a chair with the baby on her chest, Harry bent over them, his face lit with awe.

“Just in case you forget what you’ve already done right,” she said, handing it to him.

By the time he pulled into the driveway at home, the lights were low in the living room. He walked inside to find the blanket had slipped off Thea’s shoulders. He tucked it back around her, brushing a kiss over her forehead.

She stirred just a little at the movement.

“You okay?” she mumbled, eyes still closed.

He settled beside her on the couch. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I am now.”

They fell asleep like that, tangled together, not knowing what tomorrow would bring—only that they’d face it side by side.

+++

At the end of October, Harry planned something small—just for them. He booked a night at a bed-and-breakfast two towns over, close enough that his mum could watch the boys.

They drove with the windows down, music playing softly, whatever Thea wanted. The trees were truly at their peak, fiery and full, and Thea let her hand drift through the air outside the car like a ribbon.

The inn was old and smelled a bit musty but had character that couldn’t be replicated, with creaky floors and quilts folded at the foot of the bed. They walked through a pumpkin patch that afternoon, laughing at the absurd shapes. They drank cider from paper cups. They touched fingers in the car like teenagers. All of it being a reminder of what they were, who they had been.

That night, after a dinner near the pier where they both had a little too much wine that they had to walk home, Harry gave her a small box.

Inside was a necklace: a delicate silver chain with three small stars—simple and shining like something made of quiet wishes.

“Two for the boys,” he said softly, pointing to it, “One for what we’ve hoped for. No matter what happens next, that part is ours too.”

Thea’s fingers trembled slightly as she pressed the stars to her chest. The gesture, the thought, undid her.

She didn’t speak. She just looked at him with eyes that had loved him through seasons of waiting, and kissed him, so slow and so sure.

It started gentle, it always did. The kind of kiss that said: I remember you. I still want you.

His hands were reverent, moving slowly over her arms, her sides, the curve of her back. She leaned into him, into the warmth of his chest, into the certainty of his touch. His mouth trailed down her jaw, his breath hot against her skin, and when she whispered his name, it was with a need that had nothing to do with making a baby—and everything to do with being seen as his wife. His partner.

He undressed her with care, as if it were something sacred. And when his fingers slid beneath the waistband of her underwear, she gasped, head tipping back. He murmured something quiet against her collarbone—something that sounded like “God, you’re everything”—and she felt her heart swell too big for her body.

They made love that night like it was a beginning instead of an end.

Like it wasn’t about schedules or trying for two lines on a test. It was just skin and breath and the kind of intimacy that comes from years of knowing someone in both silence and chaos.

She guided his hands, showed him where it ached and where it healed. He moved inside her with something close to awe. It was slow, deep, full of reverence and restraint, until restraint gave way to something hungrier. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands gripping his shoulders. Every kiss felt like a question of her sanity, every sigh an answer.

And when they came, it was together—trembling and breathless, her name on his lips like a promise.

Afterward, they laid tangled together, her head on his chest, the windows open to the rustle of leaves and the hum of crickets outside. The necklace still hung between her breasts, the stars catching faint moonlight.

Thea stared at the ceiling, letting herself feel all of it—the weight, the want, the wonder. The ache that had dulled, the love that hadn’t.

For once, she didn’t try to name the feeling. She just let it be.

The next morning, they lingered around the small room. Breakfast was warm cinnamon rolls and strong coffee, served in chipped floral China. Harry pulled a chair close to hers on the porch of the inn, both of them bundled in oversized sweaters. The sky was blue with the hint of winter in it; she could smell snow if she tried hard enough.

“We could do this more,” she said, watching the wind ruffle the bare branches of the trees that had lost all of it’s leaves.

“Get away?” He asked softly.

“Just... remember who we are. When we’re not parents. When we’re not hoping. Just us.”

Harry nodded, finishing his sip. “Let’s remember, then. Even when it gets hard.”

She reached for his hand, fingers cold but sure. “Let’s promise.”

They drove home in silence and song, windows down, the air biting but invigorating. When they returned home later that day, the boys barreled into their arms with sticky hands and glitter in their hair. Maeve reported bedtime disasters and cereal for dinner but said it with a smile.

As Harry carried their bags upstairs in the house, Thea lingered in the hallway, watching the boys chase each other down the stairs. She touched the star necklace at her throat.

Something about Thea had started to feel… happier. More put together. Maybe more alive than before. She had her ups and downs, but she knew the person who was there for them all.

Even in her darkest hour, she knew who was there.

+++

A few days later, they went out to dinner with friends—Ben and Lila, college friends who now lived two neighborhoods over, who had one baby and another on the way. Harry and Thea hadn’t been very good about meeting with friends, so they decided to reach out.

They met at a cozy Italian place downtown, the kind with candles stuck in old wine bottles and menus written on chalkboards.

Thea wore her favorite dress, the green one with the sleeves that made her feel pretty, and Harry had shaved and put on cologne. For a little while, it felt easy. They ordered drinks, shared appetizers, laughed over stories from years ago and what had been going on in their lives so far.

Thea wanted to be a good friend and ask about how the pregnancy was going, how excited they were. She tried to push herself to ask questions, to keep herself engaged. It wasn’t always about her, after all.

But then, halfway through dessert, Lila leaned in with a fond smile and said, "You guys are so good with your boys—I love seeing your posts online, they’re always so handsome and smart. Honestly, if anyone should have a big family, it’s you two."

Ben chuckled, nodding in agreement. "You’re the ones we looked up to when we started having kids," He took a sip of his whiskey, “Thinking of having more?”

Harry laughed softly, polite and tight-lipped. Thea managed a smile, knowing it was coming from a place of love. She reached for her wine glass to buy herself a second. "We’re... figuring things out."

“Of course you guys will,” Lila smiled, “Wouldn’t surprise me if it was sooner than later.”

In the moment, she watched Harry shift in his seat; it wasn’t really just an uncomfortable look, it was a bit of a… frustrated one.

The moment passed. Lila started talking about baby names, about the ones that she loved and was thinking of using—they were having a girl. Harry changed the subject, nonchalantly taking it back to asking about if they were putting their son in sports.

After dessert, they paid the bill. Said goodbye on the sidewalk with hugs and promises to do it again soon. The car was mostly quiet on the drive home. It wasn’t until they hit the main road that Thea spoke.

"Well, that was fun."

Harry kept his eyes on the road, lips tight as he tried to not say anything else. "Yeah. It was."

Another pause, the sound of the car on the road was the only silence they had. Then she whispered, "That comment didn’t bother you?"

He exhaled slowly. "Yep."

"I know they meant well," she said quickly, defending the moment. "I know. But—"

"It still hurt."

She turned her head to the window. "I felt like a defective doll. Like, 'Oh, of course they’ll have another soon.' Like it’s that easy."

Harry gripped the steering wheel tighter. "I wanted to say something. I just didn’t want to ruin the night."

"I get it. I do. But I’m so tired of pretending. Of laughing it off and then crying in the bathroom."

Harry reached for her hand. "You don’t have to pretend with me."

She looked at him then, eyes full.

"I know. But I feel like I have to pretend with everyone else. Like it’s shameful. Like I’m not doing my job as a woman or a mother or a wife—like I’m missing something."

He pulled the car into their driveway and shut off the engine. They sat in the quiet hum of the evening.

"You are doing everything," he said, turning toward her. "You are carrying the weight of hope and heartbreak every day. And I hate that people don’t see that. But I do. I see all of it."

She wiped a tear from her cheek and gave him a small smile. "Maybe next time I’ll just say, 'We’re infertile, but thanks for the vote of confidence.'"

Harry laughed, surprised. "Honestly, I’d pay to see that."

They walked inside together, not lighter exactly, but together. And that made all the difference.

+++

One evening in early November, over dinner with the four of them sitting at the table, Teddy put down his fork mid-bite and looked up at them with serious eyes.

“Where do babies come from?” he asked, as serious as he could be.

Thea nearly choked on her water, coughing into her napkin as Harry stopped chewing midbite as he stared straight ahead at his son.

“Wow,” Thea said, eyes wide as she looked at Harry, raising her brows at the suddenness of the question.

“Um,” Harry said, blinking fast, trying to understand where that had come from. “That’s... a great question, mate. Why are you curious?”

“Eli from school says his mummy has a baby in her tummy,” Teddy continued, completely serious, shrugging as he stabbed a bite of chicken. “He said it grew there because she kissed his dad a lot. And they got extra married. Like, twice or something.”

Niko laughed so hard milk came out of his nose. “Extra married!” he howled, pointing at his brother like it was the best joke he’d ever heard.

Harry pressed his lips together, trying not to grin. Thea, still red from her coughing fit, let the smile grow over her face.

“Oh my God,” she whispered to Harry. “Extra married.”

“I mean, I guess we’ve been slacking,” Harry said under his breath. “Only got married once.”

Thea nudged him beneath the table, still laughing. She wiped her mouth, took a deep breath, and met Teddy’s gaze.

“Well, that’s kind of sweet, isn’t it?” she said. “And not entirely wrong. Babies do grow in their mummy’s tummy, but it’s a bit more... complicated than kissing.”

“Like how complicated?” Teddy asked, squinting like he was gearing up for a quiz.

Harry jumped in, biting at his lip. “It’s like gardening, I think,” he said. “You need a seed and a place for it to grow, and lots of love and time.”

“Like when we plant tomatoes?”

“Exactly like that,” Thea said, thankful for the metaphor. “Except instead of dirt, the seed goes into the mummy’s tummy, and if it sticks and grows, then you get a baby.”

Teddy mulled this over. “Where do you get the seeds to grow babies?”

Thea's breath caught, eyes glancing at Harry before he clicked his tongue and shook his head to try and manage an answer for him.

“Eli’s dad probably bought them at the store.” Harry nodded before he took another bite. “They kissed a lot, got married again, and then put the seeds in his mum’s tummy. Boom. Baby.”

Thea smirked at his answer, nodding a few times before she caught his glance; his foot caught hers under the table.

“Do you want another baby?” Teddy asked suddenly, turning his wide, curious eyes on her.

She paused, looked at Harry before turning back to Teddy—glancing at Niko.

“We’d love another one,” she said honestly. “But we love what we already have. You, Niko. You both are everything to us, you know that?”

Harry leaned forward towards Teddy. “Sometimes we dream about one. That’s all.”

Teddy seemed satisfied with this; it was a moment that warmed Thea’s heart. He nodded and picked up his fork again. “Well, I hope the seed works. I want someone littler than Niko. He keeps sitting on my bed when I’m reading.”

“I do not!” Niko yelled at him.

“Yes, you do!” Teddy nodded.

Niko scrunched his nose, looking a little too much like Harry, “I’m guarding you!”

“From what? My books?!”

Dinner dissolved into giggles and squabbling and a heated debate about who had more green beans on their plate left. Thea leaned back in her chair, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. Later that night, as they washed the dishes, Thea turned to Harry, elbow deep in suds.

“You were really good with that,” she told him, leaning her cheek against him.

“I blacked out a little,” he replied, drying a plate. “Pretty sure I compared conception to salad.”

She laughed again, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for planting your seeds in my garden.”

+++

A week later, they sat in the doctor’s office, Thea clutching a clipboard of intake forms, Harry bouncing his knee up and down like a drumbeat.

It had taken months to admit it was time to ask for help. Something about the dinner with Teddy had set a moment in Thea’s heart; maybe it was time. Now they were here— blue walls, waiting room magazines, a tray of paper cups in the corner.

They were there for testing, making sure that everything was normal. The tests weren’t painful, just drawn out and took a lot of energy between the two of them.

Blood work, hormone panels, and ultrasounds. Harry gave his sample in a room with posters that made him blush and a nurse with a very professional tone; something very demeaning that he couldn’t think too much about. Thea tried to make him laugh about it, but she could only get a smile.

Thea had never felt so clinical in her own body. She smiled politely, and she thanked people too much each time they came in and out of the room. She counted the tiles on the ceiling and avoided making eye contact with herself in the mirror afterward.

When they returned to the office for all their results two weeks later, Thea felt her stomach twist into a thousand little knots at the answers. The doctor, kind-eyed and composed, sat across from them and cleared her throat with her clipboard—their fate sitting in her hands, literally.

"I want to start off by telling you that everything looks normal," she said. "Which, in a way, is good news.” The doctor gave them a smile, Harry side-eyed Thea for a moment as he watched her shoulders loosen from the news. “But it also means we don’t have a clear answer. This happens sometimes. We call it unexplained infertility."

Thea stared at the table, fingers twisting in her lap. Harry reached over, squeezed her knee.

"So, what does that mean?" he asked, shaking his head, “Or where do we go from here?”

"It means your bodies are doing what they should—all of Thea’s numbers are correct, your sperm count is at perfect levels for conception. But for some reason, conception isn’t happening naturally. You’re still young, and there are options. There are many paths to growing a family, and we obviously want to make sure that you are able to grow that family."

They nodded, dazed.

Thea swallowed hard. She wanted to say something, to ask the right question, to be the kind of person who knew how to advocate for herself in moments like this. But her mouth felt dry, and her thoughts were tangled. She glanced sideways at Harry, who was still staring at the doctor, brow furrowed, jaw tight.

“So, what now?” he asked again, this time more softly.

The doctor leaned forward, her voice calm and measured as she could tell that there may have been some frustration. “There are several options. We can begin with intrauterine insemination—less invasive than IVF, and sometimes successful after just a few rounds. If that doesn’t work, IVF is the next step. And of course, there’s also the path of adoption, if you’d prefer to pursue something non-medical. None of these are easy, but all are valid.”

Thea looked down at her hands. She hadn’t realized her nails were digging into her palm.

“Is it… is it my fault?” she whispered, not meaning to say it aloud.

The doctor’s face softened at her, shaking her head. “No,” she said firmly. “It’s no one’s fault. Please hear me when I say that—this isn’t about blame. It’s about biology, timing, and sometimes things we don’t fully understand yet,” The doctor licked her lips and gave her a pressing smile, “But we have modern medicine, and we have ways to help you.”

Harry turned to her, his expression suddenly raw.

“Thea,” he said quietly, trying to grasp where she was.

“But we did everything,” she murmured, her voice cracking, almost unsure of the uncertainty of the unexplained. “All the right things. The tracking, the testing. The vitamins. The no caffeine. The waiting. The prayers. And still…”

The doctor tried to meet her eyes, “Sweetie, you’re not a failure.”

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. She couldn’t cry in front of this woman in a lab coat who was holding all their quiet heartbreak in a manila folder. After a moment, Harry looked at the doctor and she gave him a tight smile.

“I’m going to give you both some space,” the doctor said gently, “Take your time. When you’re ready, I’ll have my nurse bring in a referral packet, and we can walk you through what the next steps might look like—if and when you're ready,” She held the file close to her, “If it’s not today, that’s okay. We’re here for when you are.”

The door clicked shut behind her. Thea stared at the floor.

Harry exhaled. “We’re still us,” he said, as if that mattered more than anything else. “We still have our boys. We still have each other.”

“I know,” she said. “But it’s just not how I pictured it. I thought it would be… like, what the fuck? Unexplained infertility? How is it unexplained? How—it just feels like I’m failing.”

He shook his head, unable to come up with an explanation of the unexplained. “You’re not failing, baby.”

She looked at him finally. Really looked. His face had softened, but there was a heaviness around his eyes. He was trying to be strong, for her, for them. She could see it.

“Can we not tell anyone yet?” she asked, grabbing her purse. “About the results. About this appointment. I just want to keep it… between us. For a little while.”

“Of course,” he said. “For as long as you need.”

She squeezed his hand. It didn’t feel like closure. Not yet. But it felt like something real. A place to start from. Or start all over again.

But life went on, and being a mum and dad went on.

That night, after dinner, the house felt unusually quiet. Thea was wiping down the counters while Teddy and Niko chased each other through the living room in socked feet, their laughter echoing off the walls. She looked up when she realized Harry wasn’t with them—he was usually the one dragging out bedtime with tickle fights and extra storybooks.

But the boys said he’d gone to “get something from the garage.”

Thea was a bit confused by Teddy’s statement, but she shook her head as she continued the nighttime chores. She finished loading the dishwasher, washing the dishes in the sink. She waited for a while—noticing that the time went from 7 to 7:30. Five more minutes. Then, ten. Twenty. She checked the bathroom. His office. He hadn’t come back.

Nothing.

Her heart started to thrum uneasily as she saw the light on in the unattached garage. Her heart stopped for a moment before she decided to make her way out there. The temperatures had dropped significantly from October to November, and it was quite chilly.

She slipped outside of the door, telling the boys to get upstairs to their room before she got back. The night cool against her skin and padded barefoot across the stone path toward the garage. She pushed open the side door slowly, it was ajar, and there he was.

Harry stood by the workbench, shoulders slumped, head bowed, a bottle of whiskey next to a half-empty glass. He swayed slightly where he stood, like gravity had become a little heavier. There was a second glass beside the first—unused, forgotten. The scent of alcohol lingered in the room, sharp and earthy, cut with motor oil and sawdust.

“Harry?” Thea said softly. He didn’t turn around; didn’t show any signs of acknowledgement before.  

“I’m fine,” he muttered, which of course meant he wasn’t.

She stepped closer, a step at a time. “You’ve been in here a while.”

He gave a hollow laugh, but it was short-lived. “Yeah. Sorry. I just—couldn’t do bedtime tonight. I—I couldn’t.”

She looked at the bottle. Then at him.

“Are you drunk?” she asked him gently, taking in a breath. Her hands dug into her back pockets of her jeans as she approached him.

He exhaled sharply, like he wasn’t sure whether to lie to her. She could tell that tried to come back to the world, he swallowed and responded with raspy breath. “A little.”

Thea’s heart thumped louder. “The boys asked for you.”

“I know,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I know, and I hate that I wasn’t there.”

He turned around then—his eyes bloodshot, lips parted, flushed in a way that wasn’t just from the whiskey. He looked like someone unraveling at the seams.

“I hate this,” he said again, his words slurred but sharp with feeling. “I hate that you have to go through all this, and I’m just standing on the sidelines. I hate that I can’t take the pain or the tests or the pressure off your shoulders. I hate how small I feel in all of it. How powerless.”

Thea moved to him quickly, her hands finding his arms, grounding him.

“You don’t have to do it all,” she said. “You’re not supposed to be the answer. You’re supposed to be with me. That’s it.”

He leaned into her like a man giving up the last of his weight. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling how unsteady he was—physically, emotionally.

“I wanted to be the easy part,” he murmured into her hair. “I wanted to be the one thing in your life that didn’t feel like a fight.”

She pulled back enough to cup his cheeks, her thumbs brushing the warmth of his tear-stained skin. “You are, Harry. You are the easy part. This? This is just life. And I’d rather live it with you falling apart than pretending to hold it all together until you snap—we will figure this out.”

He closed his eyes, his forehead resting against hers. “I’m scared I’m going to lose you.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m scared I’m going to lose me too.”

They stood like that, swaying gently, in the soft, alcohol-sweet air of the garage. He was shaky and tired, and a little drunk, but present—and for Thea, that was enough.

“Please don’t turn to this.” She told him, pleading, begging as she pushed the glasses and the whiskey bottle away. “This—we aren’t going to do this, okay?”

Harry’s jaw was tight as he nodded into her. Tears burned in his eyes; he felt like shit, he looked like shit. He tried to swallow but his mouth was dry, and he couldn’t think of a better way to make the pain go away.

Eventually, she guided him back into the house, one arm around his waist, the other holding his hand. The boys were in their room, the house dim and quiet—she tried to make it unknown that he was in the house, she didn’t want the boys seeing him like that.

She helped him sit on the edge of their bed, pulled his shirt off over his head, and kissed the top of his shoulder.

“Just go to sleep,” she said. “I’ll take care of bedtime.”

Harry nodded, his hand still clasped in hers. “Thanks for finding me.”

“Always,” she whispered back to him. “Loving you is my favorite thing to do.”

Winter

December came with a stillness, as if the world was holding its breath.

Frost clung to the windows each morning, and Thea found herself waking earlier than usual, just to sit in the silence before the boys filled the house with their usual noise. She would wrap herself in Harry's sweatshirt, sip her tea by the window, and watch the steam dance.

They hadn’t made a decision yet. Not about IVF. Not about adoption. Not even about stopping. It was a liminal space—a pause that felt both peaceful and terrifying. But the urgency had eased. The need to solve something had softened into something quieter.

Thea no longer tracked every temperature or symptom. The ovulation stickers were gone from the fridge. Her body, for the first time in a long while, belonged only to her.

The holidays were noisy and sweet in all the best ways. The house constantly smelled like cinnamon and pine, and the stereo kept skipping halfway through Harry’s White Christmas CD because Niko had jammed a raisin into the CD slot.

Teddy made lopsided ornaments at school out of popsicle sticks and sequins, proudly hanging them in clumps on the same branch until it sagged under their weight. Niko got caught chewing on the corner of a salt dough snowman craft that Thea had sat down to do with the boys, the white paint smudged on his lips like frosting and cried when Thea took it away.

There were snowball fights in the front yard until the boys’ cheeks turned pink and Thea had to coax them back inside with promises of marshmallows. There were flannel pajamas all around and matching socks that never stayed on. Harry read The Polar Express by the glow of the Christmas tree while the boys curled into their parents’ sides, eyes heavy with sleep.

Every night ended in drinking cocoa—thick and too sweet, with whipped cream mustaches and sugar highs that led to pajama dance parties in the living room. It was chaos, sticky and warm, and somehow it felt like magic, even with the mess, even with the exhaustion. Especially because of it.

Thea wanted her boys to feel that magic that had been so drained from them for so long.

One night, just a few days before Christmas, the house finally stilled.

The boys were asleep upstairs, their soft snores crackling faintly through the baby monitor on the side table. Outside, snow drifted in lazy spirals beneath the porch light, collecting in hushed white piles. The tree lights glowed dimly in the corner, casting golden halos against the walls. A fire popped in the grate, low and comforting.

Thea lay stretched along the couch, her socked feet tucked beneath Harry’s thigh. A half-finished cup of tea rested on the coffee table, steam no longer rising. Harry’s arm was draped behind her, his hand lazily curling through the ends of her hair. They didn’t need to talk. The silence had a weight to it that felt intimate, not empty. Safe.

“I love you more now than I ever have,” Thea said softly, her voice almost lost in the hush of the room.

Harry turned to look at her. His brows furrowed slightly, not from confusion but from the intensity of hearing something he didn’t know he needed.

“I mean it,” she added, her voice steady now. “Not just in the easy moments. But in the ones where we don’t know what comes next. You make the not-knowing feel okay.”

His throat worked around the emotion building there. He didn’t speak at first. Just studied her face like he wanted to remember it exactly how it looked—soft and honest in the glow of the lights, with her sweater slipping slightly off one shoulder and her fingers curled near her chin.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead—slow, reverent, lingering.

“That’s all I want, Thea,” he murmured. “For us to feel okay. However this looks.”

She blinked up at him, eyes shimmering slightly.

“It’s not always going to be glitter and gingerbread,” she said; her eyes felt the burn of a few tears as she stared at the Christmas tree. “I just… I just have these moments where I get sad that this is what I was made for, and I—I feel like I don’t know how to feel.”

He smiled faintly, rubbing hands through her hair. “I know.”

“But I’m so lucky.”

Harry let out a quiet breath and pulled her closer into his chest. Her hand settled over his heart, and he covered it with his own. Through the window, the snow kept falling. The tree lights blinked on, then off again, a quiet rhythm in the stillness. And in the space between heartbeats, between the mess and the magic, they chose each other again.

Not just in the easy moments. But in all of them.

+++

The living room smelled like cinnamon and roast potatoes and a large roast chicken that could feed a hundred people, and it was about ten degrees too warm from the oven working overtime.

The wrapping paper littered the floor, clinging to socks and bare feet. Teddy and Niko were in the corner with Maeve’s youngest, building a leaning tower of wooden blocks while the older two took turns flying a paper plane dangerously close to the Christmas tree.

Harry’s mum moved through the kitchen like a practiced orchestra conductor, towel thrown over one shoulder, cheeks flushed from heat and champagne. She opened the oven, checked the parsnips, then closed it again with a decisive nod. “Gravy’s done,” she called, even though no one had asked.

Harry had disappeared somewhere with Maeve’s oldest to assemble a toy castle, and Thea found herself alone in the kitchen for the first time that day, standing by the sink with a glass of cranberry juice and flushed cheeks of her own—not from the warmth, but from watching Harry with the kids.

He was in his element here, his hands always full. His heart was wide open.

Maeve leaned her hip against the counter beside her, stealing a segment of clementine from the charcuterie in front of Thea.

“Been a minute since we’ve all been under one roof,” she said casually.

Thea smiled, taking a sip of her juice. “I’m still full of breakfast, too,” She turned towards the dinner being prepared, “Feel like I may explode.”

“She lives for this,” Maeve replied, her voice fond as she gestured to her mum. “You alright, though? You’ve been a bit… floaty today.”

Thea hesitated. She looked at the frosted kitchen window, where snow dusted the garden wall. “Yeah. I’m good. Just… tired.”

Maeve didn’t push. But Harry’s mum came around the corner just then, holding a tray of pigs in blankets, and she caught the tail end of the exchange.

“She’s not just tired,” Harry’s mum said gently, setting the tray down. “She’s been carrying a lot. I see it.”

Thea felt her shoulders stiffen slightly. “It’s okay, really—”

Maeve shook her head. “Don’t do that. Don’t shrink it. You can say it.”

Thea looked between them; two women who loved Harry fiercely, who had welcomed her without condition—and slowly set her glass down as she thought about telling them everything that had been going on.

“We’ve been… thinking,” she said, hesitating as she licked over her lips. “About other options. For trying. To get pregnant, I mean. Not today. Not tomorrow. But... soon, maybe.”

Maeve reached for her hand instantly, grounding her. She didn’t want to say anything until she let Thea finish.

Thea’s throat worked. “Sometimes it feels like maybe we’re pushing something that just... isn’t going to happen again. And other times it feels like I’m giving up too soon.”

Harry’s mum wiped her hands on her apron and stepped forward, “Darling,” she said softly, “you have never done anything wrong in my son’s eyes. You know that, don’t you?”

Thea blinked a few times, parted lips closing as she glanced at the floor.

“He’s been head-over-heels for you since he came home from uni one Christmas break,” she said, turning to Maeve who was smirking at the remembrance of the day. “Walked through that door beaming, like someone had handed him the sun and he couldn’t believe he got to keep it.”

Maeve let out a quiet, knowing laugh. “You should’ve seen him. Wouldn’t shut up. All we heard about was this girl, Thea,” She tilted her head, “And he’s never lost that stupid smile when he talks about you, either.”

Thea looked down, overwhelmed for a moment by how much love they gave her. How much space they made for her to just exist in the gray areas—without judgment, without needing to perform gratitude.

Harry’s mum gave her arms a squeeze. “Whatever you two decide, it’s already the right choice. Because you’re making it together.”

From the other room, there was a loud crash and the unmistakable sound of Harry laughing as one of the kids shouted, “It was his idea!”

Maeve turned and grinned. “Well. Sounds like your sun is being a menace.”

Thea wiped her eyes quickly and laughed, her heart aching and full at once. “Yeah,” she said. “But he’s mine.”

Harry’s mum smiled, eyes crinkling back at her. “Yes, love. He always was.”

+++

On New Year’s Eve, they stayed in.

There was no glitter, no clinking glasses or crowded parties. Just a blanket fort made from sofa cushions and old sheets, lit with the warm glow of fairy lights clipped to laundry pins. The boys had helped build it with the kind of serious concentration only kids could muster—Teddy determined to engineer “roof support beams” out of broomsticks, while Niko insisted they needed two flashlights “in case one gets scared.”

They ordered pizzas and ate them cross-legged on the rug, slices greasy and hot in their hands, laughter echoing off the walls with each melted cheese pull and story about their favorite parts of the year. Harry wore flannel pajama pants and one of Thea’s old university sweatshirts. She wore thick socks and no makeup, her hair up in a messy twist. It was imperfect and quiet and theirs.

By ten-thirty, Niko was fast asleep on Harry’s chest, his little fists tucked beneath his chin. Teddy drifted off moments later with his head on Thea’s arm, his breathing slow and steady, his long limbs flopped across her like he had no idea he was growing so fast.

The TV still played in the background—some countdown special in Times Square, the noise muffled and irrelevant. Outside, snow had begun to fall again, blanketing the neighborhood in a hush.

At some point before midnight, Thea blinked awake. Her arm was numb beneath Teddy, and the lights of the fort cast soft shadows across the ceiling. She slowly untangled herself and stood, stretching her legs as quietly as she could. Padding into the kitchen in her pajamas, she poured herself a mug of warm spiced cider from the slow cooker they’d forgotten to turn off, its sweet scent still lingering in the air like comfort.

She didn’t need noise or fanfare. She just wanted a minute of stillness. The clock on the microwave read 11:53. Only seven more minutes of the year.

A moment later, Harry appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. His hair stuck out in all directions, flattened on one side, and he still had the blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. He looked like the grown-up version of the boy he must’ve been—sleepy, kind, quietly wonderful.

“Hey,” he murmured, crossing the tile floor barefoot. “You left me.”

“You were snoring,” she teased gently, handing him a mug of his own.

“Rude.” He took it anyway, standing close beside her as they both leaned back against the counter, watching the snow fall through the window above the sink. The silence between them was comfortable—easy. It didn’t need to be filled.

“We didn’t make any resolutions,” he said after a while, sipping the cider.

Thea glanced over at him, shrugging. “I don’t want to make promises we can’t control.”

He nodded slowly, understanding completely what she meant. “Then let’s not make promises. Just... intentions.”

She considered that for a moment and nodded, then smiled softly. “I intend to find joy. Even when it’s not obvious. Even when I have to really, really look for it.”

Harry looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the low light. Then: “I intend to keep kissing you in the pantry when the boys aren’t looking.”

A breathy laugh escaped her, unexpected and warm as she thought about the way he looked at her.

“I intend to hold your hand,” she whispered, “no matter what happens.”

Harry didn’t reply right away. He reached out and laced his fingers through hers. The kitchen was quiet but full—with everything they’d shared, everything they hadn’t said aloud, everything they were still building together.

When Thea turned her head, she watched as the clock ticked to midnight.

Somewhere in the distance, a few scattered fireworks cracked through the air—soft and distant behind the snowfall. Niko stirred in the next room, but didn’t wake. Teddy muttered something incoherent and rolled over; both of them sleeping into the new year.

They clinked their mugs together—porcelain meeting in the smallest toast.

“Happy New Year,” Thea said, her voice thick with something close to wonder.

Harry leaned down and kissed her softly. It was just a small kiss; a knowing one that made her hum in acknowledgement as they stared at each other for a moment.

“It will be,” he said, putting the intention into the universe to be caught. “It will be.”

And outside, beneath a sky that didn’t ask anything of them, the snow fell softer than ever.

+++

January was cold in the way only the start of a new year could be—bright skies, brittle winds, and mornings where the frost stretched across the windows like lace. Life had fallen into a rhythm again. School runs, lukewarm coffee, wool socks, and Lego landmines scattered across the hallway. The holidays had passed, but their softness lingered. There was a quiet steadiness to the days now, like everything had settled just slightly into place.

There was a letter that arrived on a Wednesday.

Thea found it among a small pile of post on the kitchen counter tucked between a bank statement and a coupon flyer for carpet cleaning. The envelope was clinical and white, the logo of the fertility clinic embossed in the corner.

She stood there for a moment with her thumb beneath the seal, the kettle starting to hum behind her. When she finally opened it, her eyes scanned the page once, then again, before she set it gently on the counter.

Consultation appointment offered: February 12th, 10:30 AM.

There was no rush of dread, no panic. No buzzing in her ears from being overwhelmed. Just a quiet hum in her chest, like something long held had found its place to rest.

She didn’t call Harry right away at work. She didn’t need to. Instead, she folded the letter in half and slid it into the drawer beside the sink, where she kept the extra birthday candles and takeaway menus and the measuring spoons she always forgot were there.

Not out of avoidance. But out of peace.

That afternoon, while wrangling Niko into his boots to go pick Teddy up from school, she slipped on her long gray coat—the one with the deep inside pocket where she kept tissues and receipts. As her hand brushed the lining, she felt something crinkled and unfamiliar.

It was a small square of folded paper. It was cream-colored, soft at the edges. Harry’s handwriting on the outside in blue ink from the pen that sat by the sink to write notes for groceries.

She opened it slowly, the sounds of the boys echoing in the hallway, snow boots thudding against tile.

whatever path we take, I’m already home.

Her breath caught. Not in that cinematic way, but in the real, aching way where your chest pulls tight before the tears ever come.

He must’ve tucked it there days ago. Maybe even weeks. He hadn’t asked if she’d found it; hadn’t drawn any attention to it. That was how Harry loved her—quietly, consistently. With notes she didn’t know to look for until she needed them most.

She folded it again with careful fingers, pressed it against her chest just beneath her scarf. She didn’t cry—not really. Just stood there for a moment, eyes shut, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

There were decisions ahead that would come with possibility and risks. But standing in the front hall, coat half-zipped, her child laughing behind her, she knew something with absolute certainty:

Whatever came next, their family would be walking into it together.

And she was no longer afraid.

Spring

Three months later. The snow had melted, the times had changed.

Thea stood in the bathroom again.

She’d been feeling off all week. It was nothing really dramatic—just a lingering nausea in the mornings, a strange fatigue that had her yawning before dinner, a faint sensitivity to smells that made her gag when she opened the fridge and saw the left-over chicken from dinner. She’d chalked it up to something going around; Teddy had brought home three colds from school since winter break, and Niko had a habit of sharing his sneezes with open-mouthed affection.

There wasn’t a reason to feel the hope. Not now, not when peace had finally settled into her like snow on a quiet morning. But the nagging feeling had stayed, curling in her belly like a whisper. That hope was always just there.

Thea was still rubbing her temples when Harry walked into their bedroom, carrying a mug of peppermint tea.

“Still feeling sick?” he asked gently, setting the mug on her nightstand. Thea had been under the covers, trying to let her mind relax.

She nodded, holding onto the blanket as she shrugged. “It’s probably just a bug. I’ve just been so tired.”

Harry hesitated, then gave her a look that was part teasing, part hopeful. For the first time in a while, his eyes had a gleam in them that she found to be optimistically cautious.

“Would it be crazy if I suggested taking a test?”

Thea blinked at him, biting the inside of her lip as she spoke quietly. “Really?”

He shrugged, smiling. “Just to rule it out. Humor me.”

There was a hesitancy about it this time. Not dread—just a deep quiet, like her body already knew the answer and was waiting for her mind to catch up.

She opened the drawer beneath the sink, hand brushing past a half-used box of band-aids and a faded bottle of nail polish. There, near the back, was the last test. She paused, held it in her hand for a moment. The foil wrapper crinkled faintly as she turned it over.

They’d nearly forgotten they still had one.

By now, the ritual was muscle memory. She didn’t overthink it. Just followed the motions, her limbs moving like she was outside her body—automatic, practiced, steady. She took the test, washed her hands, and set it down on the counter, screen faced up, untouched.

The phone timer ticked to life beside it: five minutes.

She exhaled and leaned forward, both palms on the counter, head bowed.

Harry stepped beside her, brushing her hand with his fingers. They stood next to one another in silence, watching the screen like it might explode.

The first line appeared. And then another.

Two.

Thea’s breath hitched, her body stiffening as if trying to resist what her eyes were already telling her. Her hand flew to her mouth, barely stifling the quiet gasp that escaped. Her eyes whipped to Harry’s face, searching for confirmation, for disbelief, for shared understanding.

He was staring at the test like it might vanish, his brow furrowed, mouth slightly open. “Is that…?”

She nodded once, then again, her throat too tight to speak. The tears came fast—not the kind that poured, but the kind that welled so thick and full she couldn’t blink them away. “Harry…”

His eyes lifted to meet hers, wide and shining, as if seeing her for the very first time. He moved slowly, as though afraid he might spook the moment. Like she was something breakable. Like this was something sacred.

Then he wrapped his arms around her, tight and sure, drawing her into his chest. His face pressed into the curve of her neck, and she felt his breath catch. They stood like that for a long time—silent, swaying slightly, the hum of the world around them softening into nothing. It felt like holding something invisible but real. Like they were comforting someone already here.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered, his voice rough and filled with wonder.

She let out a breathy, tear-laced laugh against his shoulder. “I thought I had the flu.”

Harry pulled back just enough to see her face, brushing his knuckles against her damp cheek.

Thea laughed again, chest shaking, heart racing. His hand stayed on her face, thumb stroking just beneath her eye. Her hands were on his ribs, her forehead resting against his. Behind them, on the counter, the test sat in the gentle light of the morning—two clear lines glowing like a secret they could finally keep.

The waiting was over: their garden had suddenly begun to bloom.

Nine Months Later – Autumn

The house was louder now.

Not in a bad way—never that. Just in the way a home grows louder when it’s full of life and happiness and joyful moments that may have been chaotic to some, but necessary to others. When the walls know every laugh, every cry, every set of socked feet thudding down the hall.

It was a crisp October morning. Wind scratched at the windows, and golden leaves danced across the porch as they did every year. The air inside was warm, the scent of bergamot and maple lingering from breakfast and someone’s forgotten apple slice browning on the counter.

In the corner of the living room, the baby stirred, letting out a cry that sounded far too fierce for such a tiny chest to produce. Thea rose slowly from the couch, moving with the practiced sway of a mother whose body remembered the rhythm even when her mind was fogged. She wore leggings, wool socks, and one of Harry’s old university sweatshirts, sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Her hair was in a lopsided twist, and she had that early-motherhood glow—equal parts sleep deprivation and sacred softness; her body hurt, but in an aching way that felt natural.

She lifted their newborn daughter from the bassinet with a quiet hum, settling her gently against her shoulder. The way the baby scrunched when lifted made her smile, kissing her soft face as she held her close. The baby calmed almost immediately, cheek squished against Thea’s collarbone, making those tiny, contented grunts that felt like the most private song.

From the hallway, Niko barreled in wearing one rain boot and holding an orange crayon like a sword. “Teddy took my sock! He’s gonna use it as a flag!”

Teddy, already in his school jumper and wearing a makeshift crown made of pipe cleaners and paper leaves, charged past them, waving the sock like a victory banner. “Long live the Sock Kingdom!”

Thea sat back on the couch with a sigh that was equal parts tired and amused. “It’s not even eight-thirty.”

Harry emerged from the kitchen like a man who’d lived three lives in the past hour. His curls were a bit wild from wrangling school bags, his flannel sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he had that look—part joy, part exasperation—that only came from parenthood on a weekday morning.

“Alright, you two,” he said, stepping over a pile of acorns someone had collected and dumped on the rug—for who knows what. “Teddy, backpack. Niko, you need both socks to fight dragons. That’s just science.”

He herded them toward the front door, multitasking like a pro—finding missing mittens, buttering toast, and handing out gentle warnings not to jump from the stairs again. When the chaos calmed momentarily—Teddy put on his own shoes, Niko pulling his arms into his shirt sleeves as he circled the door, ready for primary.

Their daughter had dozed off against her chest, mouth open slightly, one tiny fist curled in the fabric of Thea’s sweatshirt.

“Let me take her,” Harry said softly.

He moved with quiet reverence, unfastening the baby wrap from where it hung on the chair and securing her to his chest. His hands were steady, careful, practiced. When he was done, he gave her the softest bounce, his lips brushing her temple as he began humming a familiar lullaby—half tune, half breath, something only their daughter knew.

Thea leaned back into the cushions, eyes on him.

Harry looked up at her at the same moment. For a second, the noise dulled. The boys were still yelling from the front door, the wind still scraped the windowpanes, the kettle began to whistle again—but between them, it was quiet.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

His eyes asked, You okay?

Hers answered, I am now.

He smiled, soft and crooked. She exhaled, the weight of the morning easing just slightly.

He shifted the baby higher on his chest, wrapping a hand around her tiny back. “She’s got your nose,” he said.

“She’s got your lungs.”

They both laughed quietly. Outside, a gust of wind knocked a small pumpkin off the porch step, and Teddy’s muffled voice called out, “Dad! The pumpkin made a run for it!”

Harry pressed one more kiss to their daughter’s head before heading out to wrangle the boys into the car.

“Let’s go, out to the car.” Harry held the small baby against him, as he prepared to take the boys to class and take the baby with them—giving Thea some time to herself, to shower, to clean the kitchen if she so chose.

Thea watched them as she leaned against the doorframe—her boys in their too-big coats, Harry bent to tie a shoelace, their daughter curled against his chest like she’d always belonged there.

This wasn’t the dream she’d once imagined. It was louder, messier, and constantly in motion.

But it was golden like the leaves outside, fleeting and brilliant. It was mugs left half-full, jackets never hung up, freckles on sleepy cheeks.

It was real. And all she could think as she saw Harry look back at her with a love that she couldn’t have believed was so real, so complete.

All she could think: ours.

[saerotonins]

biggest scandals they have faced

ft. actor!nanami kento, fushiguro toji x wife!reader (separated) 

content warnings: fluff, light angst, jjk actor au, celebrity issues, cheating allegations, divorce allegations, none of them are true, misogyny, mentions of infertility, just cruel stuff based on the issues i see online, slightly suggestive (making out), toji and wife call each other "ma" and "pa", mentions/hinting of sex, internet trolls, horrible people online, pls don't read if these issues are triggering to you, shitty article names lol

wc: 2052

note: this got too long, will do other parts for the other actors instead <33 happy holidays, everyone!

NANAMI KENTO:

Jujutsu Kaisen Star Nanami Kento Facing Trouble in Paradise: Leads to Divorce

to say he was irritated when he saw the headlines from the tabloids was an understatement, he is beyond livid. but the comments just made everything worse.

user_1: wow aren't they married for years already? maybe his wife can't conceive any babies? LOL

user_2: must be, or maybe nanami's just realized his wife is just using him for his actor money 

user_3: the wife doesn't know to make a sandwich i fear 

user_4: maybe he got tired of his wife's ugly face, no wonder he hides it from the internet hahaha

kento doesn't give a fuck if people were dragging his name left and right but god forbid it involves you, his loving wife who has been nothing but utterly supportive of his career. for someone who stuck by his side for years, it angers him that people immediately assume that you were the problem. he knows the news isn't true, he literally just cuddled with you last night, so to say that you were getting a divorce almost makes him laugh if it weren't how stupid this situation is. 

when his manager informed him about the situation, he immediately cancelled every schedule that he has for today, he will call the lawyers to settle this later but for now, his main focus is you. 

you are someone who is used to the privacy of your own space which is why you opted to keep your face off his socials and remain anonymous to the eyes of his fans. kento hates it that your peace is getting disturbed due to his stardom, so he is willing to drop everything just to go home to you and comfort you. no one knows who you really are but the way it made people talk like they do, makes him angry. no way his wife is going to be disrespected like this.

the moment kento opens the door the your shared home, he's panting, sweat evident in his forehead and worry present in his eyes as he looks at you across the living room, sitting on the couch with your phone in your hands. 

"shit," he thought, he knows you already saw the news, and worse the comments. he can tell just by your body language. your eyes sunken in sadness and your lips form a frown. he doesn't see it but he knows your heart is breaking too.

"honey," kento breathes out as he walks towards you. he knows you heard him, but you stay in your position, disbelief flooding your senses. suddenly, you came back to reality when you feel kento's warm embrace, his large and quick hands getting rid of your phone before placing it on your head and immediately feeling his chest against your head.

his breathing his ragged, unstable deep breaths as he tells you, "it's gonna be okay," and a thousand apologies to go with it. you nod instead, finding yourself difficult to talk. you opt to rub onto his arm, a silent reply to his comforting and kento seems to understand your gesture. he then kisses the crown of your head as he pulls you tighter in his embrace.

"am i holding you back, kento?" you asked, your voice quite muffled as you speak through his button down blouse.

"oh god, darling you will never hold me back, if anything, you keep me moving. don't listen to them, alright? i'm happy and contented to where we are right now, don't worry about it." he lets go of the embrace and cups your face with both of his hands. he looks at you with loving eyes as he brushes your lower lip with his thumb. you close your eyes as he leaned closer, then you finally felt his lips against yours. he gives a peck, another, and then a third one before he crashes his lips onto you for the last time as he takes his time to explore your mouth.

kento knows a lot of ways to apologize, and this is one of them. he is gentle, but his love is loud as he allows his tongue clash against yours, the wet squelch filling up the room as he allows himself to be drunk with your lips.

when kento lets go, his breathing is heavy but satisfied. "i'll take care of everything from then on, okay?" he says as he caresses your face and a smile creeps to his face when you lean towards his touch with a nod. "will you be releasing a statement?" you ask.

"yeah, i'll contact our lawyer about it and then we'll see what we can do." his answer earned a curt nod from you. kento noticed pursed your lips, obviously thinking about something.

"are you still bothered by the comments?"

"no, i mean, i'm a bit upset about how people were talking about me online but i'm just curious as to where all this came from." 

"hmm, yeah, we'll take care of that too, for now, just rest your pretty mind and always remember that i will never leave you. that okay?" his gentle voice makes your heart feel full, and that's you know that your husband will always be at your beck and call. "yeah." you answered as you give his lips a quick peck, "i love you," you added.

"i love you too."

not a even a day later, the JJK LABEL had released a statement and an article regarding the fake news that had surfaced.

Nanami Kento Slams Fake Divorce Article: "Don't project your problems in your love life through me and my wife."

"the article itself and the comments are horrible and people are stupid enough to believe something that came from a tabloid known to release fake news. maybe this just tells about how gullible and stupid people are for believing groundless rumors and not my relationship." the artist stated.

"to everyone involved in the release of this article, we will see you on court and i hope you have any evidence about your claim. to the people who threw disgusting comments about my wife, please worry how alone you are instead of snooping around our relationship." he adds.

that day, kento's fanbase rejoice as the tabloids finally got their karma when it was reported that their company was finally shut down.

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

it was a normal day in the fushiguro household until megumi bursts in through the door with a loud and resounding—

"dad, what the fuck?" 

"megumi, language, please!" you warned him.

your word goes through megumi's ears and went to his dad who is currently lounging in the living room reading his script. he paid his son's words no mind and gave him a raised eyebrow, urging him to continue.

"your name is all over tabloids because of a forum post. look," megumi says as he faces his phone screen to toji's face. to say that he's horrified to what he just saw is an understatement. so, with a worry mind, you go behind toji's lounging chair and read what's on the screen.

Acting Veteran 'T' Caught in An Affair! 

At the night of Tuesday, Actor 'T' is caught leaving a hotel with a seemingly younger woman clinging on his arms. The two are being lovey-dovey in their Shibuya rendezvous. Actor 'T' is currently married with a child which makes everything even more scandalous. What would actor 'T'’s wife and child think about this? Seems like the man really took a liking towards sneaking away with younger women.

Actor 'T'’s identity will be released by [MM/DD/YY] so stay tuned! For now, let us know your thoughts below.

user_1: actor veteran and the code is T? must be toji then?

user_2: this is definitely toji lmfao he looks like someone who would fool a younger woman

user_3: his wife must be so rusty now so he's running to the younglings LOL

user_4: respect for having the balls to cheat on his wife after this long, ik his ass is itching

user_5: @user_4 LMFAO should've done it sooner! bet he doesn't want to pay child support so he's staying 😂

user_6: NOOOO the GOAT got caught damn we were rooting for u 👑

"what the fuck?" both you and toji's voice were erupting in the whole room. out of shock? anger? rage? megumi is not sure but there is one thing he's sure of, both of you are being scary right now and the red in both of you and husband's eyes are almost showing due to the high range of emotions you were both feeling right now.

despite knowing that toji is utterly in love with you and he was actually with you that day, it scares him that his father is facing this kind of scandal. people are horrible out there trying to ruin his father's career that he worked hard on and this is the proof.

toji might be used to having false rumors spread about him all over the years he is in the acting industry, but what he can't take is people talking shit about his wife and thinking less about her. the comments that he just read just woke up the rage inside of him.

"mom?" megumi had called you since it's been minutes when you had gone quiet. the sight before him broke his heart. 

your eyes are trying not to let your tears fall, but the comments are too hurtful to ignore, too cruel to set aside. even though you know that it's covered with a codename (barely), you exactly know it's your husband that they are talking about. you're hurt about the comments but you're most scared of your husband's career coming to a screeching halt.

you suddenly feel your husband hug you so tight and you let it all out. his shirt might get damped but toji doesn't care, comforting his wife comes first. he then tells megumi, "call our lawyer, tell him what we just saw, they'll know what to do," megumi frantically nods and gets out of the house to do what toji had said.

"come on, ma, let's go and get some rest." toji had urged you to go with him.

"pa, this is so ridiculous, i know you know how to deal with these but this is just too much, they're targeting our family now." the sadness in your voice and the tears that flow through face break toji's heart. you don't deserve this. these assholes needed to be taught a lesson, and he knows he won't be nice about it. "i'll take care of this, 'kay? i love you and megs so much, angel."

toji's voice somehow calmed your senses and you let yourself cry in his arms until you're left with no tears. "i'm sorry, i'm too old to cry like this." you said as you try to wipe the remnants of your tears from your face.

"no one's too old to cry, darling," toji coos, glad that you're finally able to calm down, and caresses the back of your head. then, a sly smirk forms on his lips, "you know what else we're not too old for?" 

genuinely curious, you look up to him, "what?" you asked. 

toji leaned down and whispered, "another child, think we can give megumi a sibling?" and gave you a mischievous look.

"toji!" you exclaimed as you smack his chest, flustered of his words. 

"gross, get a room, and is now really the time for this?" you suddenly let go of yourself from toji's grasp the moment you heard megumi back in the living room. toji chuckled, "i got it all covered, both of you rest up and i will deal with all of this." toji walked towards where megumi is standing and gives his head a gentle pat, "no one's gonna ruin us, alright?" 

the conviction in toji's voice made it clear to both of you and megumi that he already has a plan in mind, and you trust him enough to believe him. he has never let the both of you down, after all.

the next day, news break out the the person who posted the rumor on the online forum is caught with other criminal charges aside from the defamation he just attempted to do. the horrible comments also seem to magically disappear.

Fushiguro Toji Busts Down Anonymous User, Other Criminal Charges Involved

"I hope this serves as a lesson to everyone else. I'm not backing down until everyone gets what they deserve for ruining the names of the people I care about. I will not let go until every single horrible person who rises their tongue against my family is punished." Toji stated.

"Be careful what you read and comment online, please don't forget that the people you talk about are not just subjects, but real human beings." The veteran actor added.

the fake news spreader should have really known not to deal with a veteran who is powerful enough to protect the people he cherishes.

edit: i just noticed that i wasn't able to add the ending to toji's part 😭 my apologies, i fixed it now!

[pinkpurplesunrises]

Tides of Tenderness (Holding What Remains)

6000 words – the long story – Alexia Putellas x Reader - Angst and Fluff - Happy ending - Mentions of infertility and depression - Please read with care.

Writer's note: I'm back from a small break. This is still a scheduled upload though. I hope this story makes sense. It was kinda chaotic writing it. Hope I could describe the emotions as good as possible. Was feeling depressed myself when I wrote this, writing about it actually healed me a bit. I put some photos in the header for a change.

The final whistle wasn’t supposed to sound like that.

Not like silence.

Not like an echoing void.

Alexia stood alone in the cavernous locker room of the stadium. The very place that had witnessed her rise. Her glory. Her heartbreaks and triumphs. Now, it felt like a mausoleum of memories. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Cold and indifferent. Casting harsh shadows on the empty benches.

Her cleats clicked softly against the tiled floor as she took a slow, measured step toward the bench. The sound was sharp in the stillness. The ticking of a clock counting down a lifetime she thought would last forever. Her fingers trembled as she untied the laces, the movements automatic, mechanical.

Her jersey clung to her. Soaked through with sweat and the dust of the pitch. The familiar blue and garnet colors faded by the evening’s battle. It hung from her shoulders, heavy like a shrud. She sat down, the weight of years settling deep into her bones. The aches. The pains. The endless training sessions. The sacrifices and the victories.

But there was no victory today.

No cheering crowds chanting her name. No teammates rushing to embrace her. No glorious final bow.

Just silence.

She glanced toward the locker where her daughter’s small Barça jersey rested. Folded neatly inside. A constant reminder of the life she had built beyond the pitch. Martina was only three. A little whirlwind of energy and laughter who had become Alexia’s anchor. Her reason to keep moving forward after all the battles on and off the field.

Her phone buzzed softly in her pocket. She pulled it out and a photo lit up the screen . Martina, fast asleep, her tiny frame curled up in the stands with her grandmother. The colors of the club wrapping her in a protective embrace.

Alexia smiled. The corners of her mouth twitching despite the heaviness in her chest.

“You’re all I’ve got, chiquita,” she whispered to herself. Her voice cracking like brittle glass.

Retirement was supposed to feel like freedom. Like relief. Like the end of a hard-fought chapter with a triumphant final page.

Instead, it felt like an empty room filled with ghosts.

Ghosts of matches won and lost. Of teammates who had become family. Of dreams realized and those quietly buried.

She ran a hand through her hair. Her fingers tangled in strands that no longer bounced with youthful vigor but instead carried the weight of years and worry.

She was thirty-five. A mother. A legend.

But most days... she felt just tired.

Tired of fighting. Tired of proving herself. Tired of waking up to a silence that wasn’t just the absence of noise but the absence of purpose.

And yet, deep inside, beneath the exhaustion... a tiny spark flickered.

Because she had to believe there was something more waiting.

Something beyond the stadium lights. Beyond the roar of the crowd. Beyond the expectations and the history.

Something new.

Something that could heal.

She took a deep breath and stood. The creak of her knees reminding her that this was real. That the game was truly over.

And as she walked out of the locker room... the cool night air embraced her like a long-lost friend.

The next chapter awaited.

You sat alone in your small, dimly lit flat. The shadows of the evening stretching long across the walls. The quiet felt suffocating. Thick with the remnants of a conversation you wished you could unhear.

“You should’ve told me sooner.”

The words echoed inside your head like a broken record. A painful refrain that had become all too familiar.

You had told her. On the second date. With trembling hands and a voice barely above a whisper. You had braced yourself for the fallout. The disappointment. The retreat.

But it was always the same.

“I want kids,” they said, “but I don’t want to carry them. I thought you could… adoption is no option.”

And you had no choice but to watch them leave.

It wasn’t just that you couldn’t have children... it was the way it happened. Like a door closing before you even had a chance to step inside. Like a silent verdict passed on your worth. As if the inability to carry life made you less deserving of love.

You didn’t blame them. Not really. You understood. They wanted something you couldn’t give. But the pain of it never dulled. It carved itself deeper with every goodbye.

You stared out the window. The city lights flickering like distant stars. The hum of life outside felt alien to you. A reminder that everyone else seemed to be moving forward while you stayed stuck in this moment.

Another failed relationship. Another patch of your heart stitched up with scar tissue.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, as if you could hold the pieces together.

Sometimes you wondered if maybe some people were just meant to be alone. Not in a tragic, soul-crushing way. But in a quiet, resigned way. Like a soft rain that never quite turns into a storm.

You had dreams once. Of a family. Of love that wouldn’t ask you to change. Of a future that wasn’t measured by what you could or couldn’t give.

Now, you just wanted peace.

The phone buzzed quietly on the table. A message from a friend checking in, maybe, or a meme to lighten your day. You didn’t have the energy to respond.

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The tightness in your chest easing just a little.

Maybe love wasn’t about fitting into someone else’s expectations.

Maybe it was about finding someone who could see all the broken pieces and still want to hold them.

You didn’t know if that person was out there.

But you still had hope.

Because even in the quiet. Even in the darkness. Hope was the thing that kept you breathing.

The world outside didn’t move any slower, but you did.

Sunday mornings had become your sanctuary. You’d wake up late. Wrap yourself in a hoodie that still smelled faintly of lavender detergent and wander through the sleepy rhythm of the neighborhood.

There was a park not far from your apartment. just enough green to make the city noise feel like background static instead of something pressing in on your chest.

You went there more often now.

There was a community event set up today. Some kind of wellness fair for local families. Yoga mats were laid out in crooked lines across the grass and bright handmade posters advertised things like Mindful Motherhood and Healing Through Play. A man in a t-shirt that read Free Hugs (Consent First!) was being avoided by everyone.

You didn’t belong there. Not really.

But you stayed. Sat on the edge of a bench with a takeaway coffee that had gone lukewarm. It was just something to do. A way to not feel the echo of your apartment so loudly in your bones.

And then...

A little girl ran past you. Small and fast. Her sneakers flashing like lightning bolts. She was laughing. That wild kind of toddler laugh that came from somewhere deeper than joy. She looked back over her shoulder. Curly hair bouncing and nearly tripped over her own feet.

“Martina!” a voice called out. Firm. Tired. Gentle.

You looked up.

She was walking quickly. Catching up to the girl with long, practiced strides. Blonde hair in a low braid. Sunglasses pushed up on her head. Dressed plainly. Faded jeans, a soft t-shirt, sneakers that had seen better days. Not glamorous. Not polished. Just… real.

She scooped the girl into her arms and crouched beside her. “Cuidado, mi amor. You almost became one with the pavement.”

The girl giggled and grabbed her mother’s face with sticky hands.

And something in your chest shifted. A softness.

You looked away quickly. You weren’t trying to stare.

But then she turned her head. Saw you watching. And smiled.

Not the kind of smile that demanded anything in return.

Just… recognition. A moment shared between two strangers sitting at the edge of a world neither of them fully belonged to.

“She always runs faster than I think she can,” she said, stepping toward the bench and sitting down on the far side of it. Balancing the child on her lap.

“She’s fast,” you replied. Glancing over with a polite smile. “I almost didn’t see her coming.”

“She likes it that way,” the woman replied, grinning now. “She’s three. The goal is chaos.”

You laughed. Genuinely. It startled you.

The little girl looked at you curiously. Then shyly turned her face into her mother’s shoulder.

“She’s a little suspicious of new people,” the woman added softly, brushing a curl back from the girl’s face.

“I don’t blame her,” you murmured, then sipped your coffee and realized too late how bitter that sounded.

But the woman didn’t flinch. She just nodded. Like she understood more than you meant to say.

“I’m Alexia,” she said after a pause, glancing over at you, then back down at her daughter. “And this is Martina.”

You hesitated. Then: “Nice to meet you both. I’m…” You gave your name, still uncertain why this conversation hadn’t already ended.

Alexia smiled again. Soft. Tired. Genuine.

And for the first time in what felt like months, you didn’t feel the need to run.

You didn’t know who she was. Not really.

And maybe that was a gift.

Because all you saw was a woman with quiet eyes and a sleeping kind of sadness in her smile. A woman who looked like she had been both whole and broken, and was still standing.

And maybe... just maybe... so were you.

The door clicked shut behind you with a sound far louder than it should have been.

You didn’t turn on the lights.

You didn’t take off your shoes.

You just stood there. In the dark hallway of your apartment. Staring at nothing. The silence pressed in immediately. Like it had been waiting all day for you to come home so it could wrap itself around your neck again.

The visit to the park had felt like something. A flicker. A moment where the world tilted just slightly out of routine. That woman... Alexia... and her daughter, their presence still clung to the corners of your mind like static on fabric.

But now?

Now, it was just you again.

You walked to the bedroom without thinking. Shedding your hoodie in the hallway like a skin you didn’t need anymore. The bed didn’t call to you. It absorbed you. You didn’t even pull the covers back. You just dropped face-first onto the mattress. Shoes still on. Your arms limp at your sides.

It wasn’t sadness. Not exactly.

It was… nothing.

That heavy, dragging nothing. The kind that coats your limbs and dulls your thoughts. Like you’re trapped under a wet blanket that no one else can see.

Your phone buzzed once.

You didn’t check it.

Probably someone asking something of you. Time. Energy. A reply. Anything.

You had nothing left to give.

Lying there... your thoughts slowed to a crawl. Not even dramatic. Just tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix.

The kind of tired that lived in your bones.

You stared at the ceiling. At the way the faint light from the street slanted in through the blinds. Painting pale. Shifting bars across the wall. You counted them without meaning to. Over and over. Just to keep your mind from slipping too far into the fog.

You thought about how people talked about loneliness like it was this sharp, aching thing.

But yours wasn’t sharp.

Yours was dull.

Quiet.

A steady hum beneath your skin that made everything feel too loud and too far away at the same time.

You couldn’t cry. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t think past the next breath.

And even that felt like effort.

This had become familiar. The laying still. The weight. The silence.

The way the world narrowed to a single square of mattress and the hope that maybe... eventually... your body would stop feeling so heavy.

You weren’t broken. Not exactly.

But you were tired of being left behind.

Tired of hope turning into silence.

Tired of showing people the soft, tender parts of you only for them to flinch and step away.

And yet…

In the stillness, one image floated back into your mind.

A little girl with curls and sneakers too bright for the grass.

A woman with kind eyes who didn’t ask anything from you except a name.

It wasn’t enough to move you. Not yet.

But it stayed.

A tiny point of light in the fog.

You closed your eyes.

Not to sleep.

Just to make everything go away for a little while.

The train ride to Elí’s felt longer than usual.

Not in distance. Just in weight.

Martina sat beside Alexia. Her little legs swinging wildly under the seat. Her fingers sticky with the remnants of some juice pouch that had long since been drained. She kept humming a tune with no melody. No rhythm. Just joy.

“Ya vamos a la yaya?” she asked for the third time. Eyes wide with anticipation.

“Sí, chiquita. Ya casi,” Alexia said, smoothing a hand over her daughter’s hair.

It still amazed her. How much love a body could hold for someone so small. How it could coexist with exhaustion. With grief. With a thousand quiet fears she never had the time to name.

When they finally reached the house, Martina bolted up the stone walkway with the excitement of a comet. Elí opened the door before Alexia even knocked. Some maternal sixth sense honed over years. Still sharp as ever.

“Mi niña,” Elí said, bending to catch Martina in her arms. “You’ve grown since yesterday!”

“No he crecido!” Martina giggled. Her voice muffled against her grandmother’s neck.

Alexia watched them with a smile she hadn’t worn all day. She crossed the threshold behind them. Feeling the old floorboards creak in that familiar way. Like they remembered her steps.

Everything smelled like rosemary, lemon, and fresh laundry.

Home.

Later, after dinner... pasta, of course and bread too buttery to be reasonable... Martina grew quiet. Her energy curling in on itself like a cat ready to sleep.

“Venimos a leer, mi amor?” Elí said. Rising from her chair and offering her hand.

Martina nodded solemnly. Her curls a sleepy halo and let herself be led upstairs. Alexia stayed in the kitchen. Elbows resting on the table. The warmth of her tea bleeding into her skin.

She could hear the soft murmur of bedtime from the hallway: a lullaby hummed under Elí’s breath, the rustle of blankets, a whispered goodnight. It made her heart ache. With what, she wasn’t sure.

Ten minutes later, Elí returned, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Out like a light,” she said gently.

Alexia smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Her mother tilted her head. Watching her for a long moment. “You’re quiet tonight.”

“I’m always quiet these days.”

“Not like this,” Elí replied. Crossing her arms. “Your eyes are full.”

Alexia looked down at her tea.

“I met someone today,” she said softly. Surprising even herself with the confession.

Elí raised an eyebrow but didn’t say a word. She waited.

“In the park,” Alexia continued. “She was sitting on a bench. We talked. Only a little. She didn’t recognize me.”

A small, wry smile tugged at her lips. “Felt… nice, actually.”

Elí’s expression didn’t shift, but something in her eyes softened. “What was she like?”

Alexia paused, looking past her mother. Like the answer was written somewhere on the wall.

“Quiet. Sad, maybe. But kind. Real.” She swallowed. “There was something... familiar in her. I don’t know. We didn’t even talk long.”

“But she stayed in your mind,” Elí said. Voice warm, but laced with a knowing tone.

Alexia nodded once.

“Sometimes that’s all it takes,” her mother added, a little too casually.

Alexia groaned and leaned back in her chair. “Mamá, no.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You’re saying everything with your face.”

Elí laughed. Light and melodic. “I’m saying nothing. But I haven’t seen that look on you in a long time.”

Alexia rubbed her face with both hands. Like she could scrub the fatigue from her bones. “I’m tired, mamá.”

“I know,” her mother said. Her voice turning gentle again. “That’s why I won’t push.”

And she didn’t.

She just walked to the living room. Fluffed the cushions on the old sofa and turned down the lights. When she returned, she placed a soft blanket in Alexia’s lap without a word.

Alexia didn’t argue. She barely made it to the couch before sinking into it like it was the first good thing to happen to her in weeks. Her eyes closed almost immediately.

And as the warmth of the blanket covered her, and the sounds of the house wrapped around her like a lullaby, she thought... just before sleep took her... of a quiet woman on a park bench.

And wondered what she was doing now.

You weren’t planning to go back to the park.

But sometimes your legs moved before your mind made the decision, and before you knew it, you were walking the same path through the trees. Past the same benches and flyers and strollers and dogs that never quite listened to their owners.

You weren’t looking for anyone.

But some small part of you hoped.

And then...

There she was.

Alexia. Standing by the café cart just off the walking path. A hand on Martina’s shoulder while the little girl tried to climb the side of the cart like it was a jungle gym. Her hair was pulled back today. Gold catching in the late afternoon sun. She wore an oversized denim jacket and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days.

Still beautiful, though. In that worn, quiet way people sometimes are. Like an old song you hadn’t heard in years but still knew all the words to.

You slowed without meaning to. She glanced over and saw you.

A smile broke across her face... not big, not showy. Just real.

“Hey,” she said as you approached, voice soft, warm.

“Hey,” you echoed.

Martina looked up at you briefly. Gave a suspicious squint. Then returned to her climbing.

Alexia stepped slightly closer. Keeping one eye on her daughter. “Didn’t expect to see you again.”

“Neither did I.” You hesitated. “But… I guess we’re both creatures of habit.”

That made her laugh. Low and short.

“I’ve only got ten minutes before she melts down from sugar and sunshine,” she said. Gesturing to Martina. “But I’m glad I ran into you.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say next.

Neither of you rushed to fill the silence.

That was something you appreciated about her already.

Finally, she glanced at her watch and sighed. “We’ve got to head out... nap window’s closing fast.”

“Understood,” you said with a small smile. “She seems like she runs the whole operation.”

“She does,” Alexia said. Deadpan. “I’m just the exhausted assistant.”

Another shared laugh. And then she nodded once. Grateful. Familiar. And turned to corral her daughter.

You watched them walk away until they disappeared past the hedge.

You didn’t think it would feel like anything.

But it did.

A quiet kind of empty.

You stopped by the café cart after. Needing something hot to hold. While waiting for your drink, you noticed something just under the edge of the cart bench.

A plush dinosaur.

Bright green. Worn at the edges. With one eye slightly off-center and a bow tied clumsily around its neck. You bent to pick it up.

On the tag, in faded pen:

“If found, please call or text: +34...”

You didn’t need to think twice.

You took a photo of the tag... just in case... and gently tucked the plush into your bag.

Back at your apartment, you stared at your phone for ten minutes before typing.

Then erasing.

Then typing again.

Finally, your message read:

Hi, I believe you left something at the café today. A green dino plush. Found it near the cart bench. If you're comfortable, I live nearby and you’re welcome to pick it up. No pressure at all. :)

You hovered over the send button.

Your thumb trembled just slightly.

And then... you sent it.

No typing bubbles. No immediate reply.

You placed the plush gently on the coffee table.

And waited.

Not with expectation.

But maybe with… possibility.

The day began like all the others.

Gray. Heavy. Like a thick fog had settled inside your chest and wouldn’t let go.

You’d woken up feeling the weight of it immediately. That familiar ache. The quiet ache that no one could see.

It started with your thoughts. Circling relentlessly.

Why am I infertile?

Why won't they love me for who I am?

Why can't a be a normal woman?

Infertility wasn’t just a word. It was a hollow place inside you. A secret grief you’d carried so long it felt like part of your bones.

You tried to push it away. Tried to do the things that were supposed to help. Breathing exercises. Journaling. Scrolling through old photos. But the sadness clung to you. Like wet clothes you couldn’t peel off.

Hours passed in a blur.

You hadn’t even looked at your phone all day.

Until...

A knock. Sharp. Insistent.

You sat frozen on your couch. The room dim except for the muted light sneaking through the blinds.

Knock knock.

Again.

Your heart jumped.

Who could it be?

You shuffled to the door. Fingers trembling as you opened it just a crack.

There she was.

Alexia.

Denim jacket, tired eyes, and a soft smile that didn’t quite reach the exhaustion beneath.

“I’m sorry to just show up,” she said quietly. “But Martina’s still upset… she keeps asking for her dinosaur.”

You blinked.

The plush.

You hadn’t even thought about it all day.

Your apartment behind you looked like a storm had passed. Clothes tossed on the floor. Books piled in odd stacks. Dishes half-cleared from last night.

Heat rose to your cheeks.

“I… I’m sorry,” you said, stepping aside. “It’s kind of a mess.”

She smiled, stepping in anyway.

“It’s okay,” she said gently. “We all have those days.”

You closed the door behind her.

The room was dark. The only light coming from the muted afternoon sun filtered through the curtains.

You gestured toward the couch. Feeling suddenly shy.

“Would you like some tea?” you asked.

She nodded.

You moved slowly. Still aware of the clutter and the weight in your chest. But somehow the presence of this woman felt like a small, fragile balm.

She settled onto the couch. The plush resting in her lap and for a moment the quiet wasn’t empty.

It was waiting.

For something to begin.

Elí's house smelled like oranges and lavender again. Fresh. Calming. Familiar.

Alexia stepped through the door with the plush dinosaur in hand. Still a little squashed from the bottom of your bag. She’d cleaned it as best she could but it still had that faint comforting smell of you. Like coffee and quiet.

"Dónde está mi monstruita?" she called softly.

Her mother appeared in the hallway with a finger to her lips.

“Shh,” Elí whispered. “She’s still napping. Barely went down twenty minutes ago.”

Alexia sighed, smiled. “Figures. I rushed the whole way.”

She handed the plush over and Elí took it with a knowing smile. “The prodigal dinosaur returns.”

Alexia chuckled, slipping off her jacket. “She wouldn't stop asking for it. She even cried during lunch.”

“She loves her little routines,” Elí said, placing the toy gently on the side table. “And she loves feeling safe. That toy’s been with her since she could walk.”

They settled into the kitchen like they always did. Tea already waiting, biscuits on a plate that neither of them would touch but always put out anyway.

Elí watched her daughter over the rim of her mug.

“You’re quieter than usual,” she said finally.

Alexia shrugged, sipping her tea.

“I stopped by the apartment of the woman I met in the park. She found the dinosaur.”

Elí’s eyebrows lifted, just a little. “And?”

“It was…” Alexia shook her head. “Her place was a mess. I could tell she was embarrassed, but... I don’t know. There was something real about it. About her. The room was dark but it didn’t feel... wrong. It felt like someone was just tired. Like someone who needed a little space to breathe.”

Elí leaned back in her chair, one hand cradling her tea.

“So? What’s stopping you?”

Alexia blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You keep talking about her. That’s something. You went to her place to return a plush, and you’re still thinking about the conversation.”

“I barely know her.”

Elí gave her a look. The kind only a mother could give. “You’ve known a lot of people and none of them made you sound like this. Not in a long time.”

Alexia looked away. Out the window. Past the rooftops.

“I’m tired, mamá.”

“I know,” Elí said gently. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t love. Or be loved.”

There was a silence then... soft, unpressured.

Elí placed her mug down, folded her hands over Alexia’s.

“Why don’t you ask her out?” she said softly. “For a coffee. A walk. Anything.”

Alexia opened her mouth, closed it again.

“You don’t have to fall in love today,” Elí added with a smile. “But you deserve to feel something again. And she looked like someone who needs that too.”

Alexia exhaled. Long. Slow.

“I don’t even know if she likes me.”

“Oh please,” Elí smirked. “Even I could feel the tension in your last text.”

They both laughed, quietly.

And then Elí leaned forward, conspiratorially.

“If you want, I can take Martina next weekend. A little abuela adventure.”

Alexia’s brows lifted. “Seriously?”

“She loves the train. We’ll visit that little beach town she liked last year.”

Alexia hesitated, then nodded slowly, a small smile blooming.

“Maybe,” she said.

“Just do it,” Elí whispered, squeezing her hand. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Alexia didn’t answer.

But she was already thinking of what she might say to you. What kind of message would feel natural. Light. Honest.

She didn’t know much yet.

But she knew she wanted to see you again.

It took her an hour to type six words.

Alexia sat on the edge of her bed after putting Martina down, the soft hum of the baby monitor crackling beside her. Her phone rested in her hand, the screen glowing in the dark. Her thumb hovered, retreating every time the words looked too forward. Too hesitant. Too unsure.

She wanted to say something casual. Light. Not like she’d spent the last twenty-four hours thinking about the shadow in your apartment or the way you’d looked at her like she wasn’t a footballer. Or a mother. Or anyone with a legacy to uphold.

Just a woman.

Just Alexia.

That had stuck with her. The quietness of it. The way you hadn’t tried to fill the silence. The way your eyes didn’t flinch at the mess. Not really.

She typed again.

Hey. I was wondering…

Delete.

If you’re free sometime…

Delete.

She dropped the phone on her lap and sighed.

Then, finally, she just wrote what was true.

Hey. Would you maybe like to get coffee sometime? Just us. No plush toys involved. 😊

She stared at it for a long time.

Then pressed send.

And placed the phone face down on the bed.

You were curled up on the couch, an old hoodie wrapped around your frame, a mug of cold tea sitting forgotten on the table beside you. The day had gotten away from you again. One of those quiet slips where time didn’t really move. It just dissolved.

When your phone buzzed, you ignored it at first.

Then you glanced.

And your heart gave the tiniest kick.

Hey. Would you maybe like to get coffee sometime? Just us. No plush toys involved. 😊

You stared.

Read it again.

And again.

Something in your chest shifted. Gently. Hesitantly. Like a flower beginning to bloom after too many cold seasons.

You didn’t rush to reply.

But you smiled. Really smiled.

Then you typed:

I’d like that. Just let me know when. :)

Simple.

But it meant more than anything you’d said in weeks.

You arrived five minutes early.

Then sat in your car for another ten. Trying to calm your heartbeat like it was something you could reason with.

It was just coffee.

She’d even said that. “Just us. No plush toys involved.”

Still, your palms were damp. Your stomach twisted itself into cautious knots.

You hadn’t done this in a while, not really. Not with someone who felt like they might matter.

When you walked into the little café she suggested, Alexia was already there. Sitting at a corner table by the window. No sunglasses. No protective shell. Just a woman with her hair in a loose braid and a ceramic mug in both hands.

She looked up as the bell chimed.

Her smile was small. Familiar.

“Hey,” she said, rising slightly from her seat.

“Hi,” you said, your voice too soft but steady.

You sat across from her.

“I hope this place was okay,” she said, nodding toward the counter. “They do actual tea here too, not just dishwater.”

You chuckled. “That’s already an upgrade.”

A silence settled. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just careful. Like neither of you wanted to move too fast.

You looked at her then. Really looked.

She looked... tired. But not in a fragile way. In a been-carrying-too-much-for-too-long way.

“How’s Martina?” you asked.

“She screamed when I told her the dinosaur was safe,” she said with a wry smile. “Then cried. Then fell asleep mid-tantrum.”

You laughed gently. “Sounds efficient.”

“She’s got my stubbornness,” Alexia said. Then added, “Unfortunately.”

You sipped your drink.

She did the same.

The conversation wandered slowly at first. You asked about her favorite books. She confessed she hadn’t read much lately but loved poetry once. She asked what you did for work. You shrugged and said it paid the bills, but maybe you weren’t sure who you wanted to be yet.

You both admitted you hated dating apps.

She confessed she once let Martina wear a tutu to the supermarket because she didn’t have the energy to argue.

You told her about the time you cried in public after a stranger asked if you had kids.

The air shifted then.

Just slightly.

She looked at you. Not with pity. Not with confusion.

With... understanding.

You looked down at your hands.

“Sorry,” you said. “That’s a weird thing to say on a first... not-a-date.”

“It’s not weird,” Alexia said quietly. “It’s honest.”

You met her eyes again.

There was something there.

Not spark or fireworks or a dramatic swell of music.

Something quieter.

Like safety. Like maybe you weren’t broken for good.

Like maybe someone could hold space for you... and not leave.

“I didn’t expect to like you this much,” she said, almost to herself.

You smiled, heart tripping a little over the words.

“I didn’t expect anyone to come back for a dinosaur.”

That made her laugh. Really laugh. And she leaned back in her chair, the tension in her shoulders loosening.

The rest of the conversation was easier after that.

By the time you left, the sun was dipping behind the rooftops and your heart felt… softer. Less guarded.

Alexia walked you to your car.

She didn’t hug you.

But she lingered.

“I’d like to do this again,” she said.

You nodded. “Me too.”

Then you both stood there. Not moving. Not rushing.

Just breathing in the quiet.

When you finally got in your car and pulled away, she was still standing there.

And for the first time in a long time…

You didn’t feel so alone.

The morning sunlight felt too bright, slicing through your curtains like a spotlight you didn’t want.

You paced your apartment. Heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst free from your chest.

Martina was still with Elí for the day, which meant Alexia had reached out again. This time to say she was free, maybe for a walk or lunch.

You’d agreed, but now the nerves were flooding in.

Because today wasn’t just another coffee.

Today, you planned to tell her the truth.

About the infertility.

About the scars no one saw.

About why your past relationships always ended before they began.

Your phone buzzed.

I’m outside. Ready when you are.

You swallowed hard.

You wanted to run, to hide, to pretend none of this mattered.

But you didn’t.

You opened the door.

Alexia was standing there, a soft smile that made your chest ache.

“Hey,” she said, voice low, warm.

“Hey,” you whispered back.

You walked to the park. The same one where you’d met.

Your steps were uneven, your breath shallow.

When you found a quiet bench, you sat, fingers twisting in your lap.

“I need to tell you something,” you said, voice trembling. “Something important.”

Alexia nodded, waiting without rushing you.

“I… I can’t have children,” you said, the words like a weight falling between you.

“It’s why most of my relationships ended,” you added, eyes fixed on the ground. “Because when I tell people, they leave. They say they want kids but don’t want to carry them. So… they leave me. And it’s lonely. And it hurts.”

You looked up, expecting pity or maybe quiet judgment.

Instead, Alexia reached out and gently covered your hand with hers.

“Thank you for trusting me,” she said softly.

Her eyes were steady. Honest.

“I’m sorry you’ve been so alone in that.”

You exhaled, relief and fear tangled in the same breath.

“I was scared you’d walk away too.”

She shook her head slowly.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Her own voice cracked just a little.

“I’m a mother. I know what it means to love fiercely and to be tired. And to hope, even when it’s hard.”

You squeezed her hand.

“I’m tired too,” she whispered.

“But I want to try.”

You looked at her.

Really looked.

And saw someone who wasn’t perfect.

But was brave.

And kind.

And maybe... just maybe... someone who could hold all your broken pieces without breaking.

You smiled, fragile but real.

“Maybe we can hold each other,” you said.

She smiled back.

And the sun warmed your face like a promise.

A year later, the apartment felt too quiet.

You lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Your thoughts tangled in a knot of fatigue and restlessness.

It had been an off day. One of those days when even the smallest things felt heavy.

You needed space, needed to breathe without pretending everything was okay.

The soft hum of the city outside was distant, like a world you didn’t quite belong to today.

Your phone buzzed a few times, but you didn’t answer.

Alexia was away with her mother and Martina for the weekend, a little getaway to the beach town Elí loved.

You had encouraged it. Knowing how important those moments were for them. But now, left alone in the quiet, you felt the familiar ache of solitude creep in.

Just as you were drifting into that dull, heavy fog of loneliness, the door swung open.

A burst of energy filled the room. Tiny footsteps pounding. Laughter spilling.

Martina.

She sprinted toward you with arms wide open, and before you could react, she was jumping into your arms, giggling.

“Missed you!” she chirped, her warmth washing over you like sunlight.

You hugged her tightly, the weight of her little body grounding you.

Then Alexia appeared in the doorway. Cheeks flushed from the trip. Eyes bright with relief at seeing you.

She walked over and slipped into bed beside you. Pulling you close.

“Had a good time?” you asked quietly.

Alexia nodded, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“Best. But I missed you.”

Just then, the door creaked open again, and Elí peeked in, a gentle smile spreading across her face.

“I couldn’t resist,” she said, stepping inside.

Without hesitation, she joined the embrace, wrapping her arms around the three of you.

The room felt full. Full of love. Full of belonging.

You closed your eyes and breathed it all in.

Here... in this moment... you were exactly where you needed to be.

Not broken. Not alone.

Whole.

Epilogue

The sun was gentle that afternoon. Casting long golden rays over the grassy field where Martina kcked a ball with unsteady determination.

You stood beside Alexia. Both of you holding hands. Watching your little girl chase her dreams in a tiny Barça jersey. The same one Alexia had worn years ago.

Martina’s laughter rang out. Pure and bright. As she stumbled, caught the ball, and beamed when Alexia cheered her on.

“You’re doing amazing, chiquita,” Alexia whispered, eyes shining with pride.

You squeezed her hand, your heart swelling with a love you hadn’t dared imagine before.

Later that evening, the apartment was quiet and warm, Martina asleep upstairs after a day full of new memories.

You and Alexia curled up on the couch. The soft glow of the lamp casting a peaceful light around you.

You pulled a small, worn book from the shelf. A hidden diary of sorts, pages filled with notes and dates. Marked with needles and hopeful scribbles.

Alexia’s eyes widened as you handed it to her.

“I’ve never shown this to anyone,” you said softly. “All the injections, the hopes, the heartbreaks…”

Her fingers traced the delicate pages. Her expression tender and awed.

“But,” you continued, voice steady despite the lump in your throat, “I have a family now. A real family. One I never dared to dream of.”

You looked at Alexia, love pouring from your eyes.

“And you’re my home.”

Tears welled in Alexia’s eyes, shining like stars in the soft lamplight.

She pulled you close, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

In that quiet moment, past pain and fear dissolved.

All that remained was love. Fierce. Healing. And endless.

-------------------------------------------------------

Writer's note: how was it?

[shirefantasies]

The Hobbit Characters + Pregnant Reader (Wife!Reader)

I just love fluff ok and, say it with me, I did this for LoTR 😁 (you can think of the older characters’ as being set when you guys are younger, not during book/film events 😊)

Warnings: conception mentions, some implications of infertility, pregnancy-related illness and symptoms, very long post 😂

Balin

✧ Five years. For five years you had tried. Six you and Balin had been married, happily as anything, but children never came. Your struggles had broken you down, leading you to try all the remedies well-meaning elders and healers alike recommended. Eat more good, strong foods, less of that greasy stuff. Drink this tea, it’s great for women! It’s only a bunch of tiny needles- the pain of birth will be worse anyway. Don’t be so active, let yourself relax for Mahal’s sake, girl! Remedy after remedy, you put your body through it all and put your hands up and prayed. Weeks passed and you had taken ill, attending the healers’ just to get something to ease your nausea, and that was when the questions began. Illness forgotten, you wandered in a grinning daze out of that hall and straight into your husband’s arms. When he chuckled and asked what this was all about, all you could do was snuggle into his chest deeper and whisper “It’s finally happened.”

✧ Such years leant of course to Balin being a bit extra protective of you. You often chastised him, good-naturedly of course, that he hovered so over you, and every time he would simply kiss you and say "That's right".

✧ It brought you both to tears when you began showing, when your condition had persisted long enough to be real, to last beyond the known months of danger. Forehead pressed against yours, your husband held you tightly and warmly for some amount of minutes you did not know, but minded not at all. Balin's words of love and reassurance were as music to your ears.

✧ Hormones confound you some days, pulling you from peace to ruin in mere moments, but Balin is always there with warm arms and wise words, reminding you that whatever you may think, you will never be alone.

✧ The one time during your entire pregnancy that you saw Balin cry was the day you brought home a tiny red coat that looked just like his and showed it to him with pride glowing in your eyes.

✧ He is so calm during all the worst sides of your condition, standing right by you through the good, the bad, and the ugly and dusting and cleaning you off each and every time. "We fought hard for this," he reminds you, "And I'll keep fighting with you every step of the way."

Dwalin

✧ You had wanted children all your life, certainly, and you'd seen Dwalin around them a few times, but what would he say? Your husband was a renowned warrior, hardened in the face of blood and steel and tolerant of no foolishness. But still he went soft as clay when his beloved wife fell into his arms. Thus that night you softened him up but good with all the great food and affection you could muster, so much that you had him remarking what a wonderful home he'd been blessed with. "And would you be willing to share it?" At that, your husband rose from his chair, hands tensing at his sides. "You don't mean-" "I do," you nodded. Without warning, you were swept up into Dwalin's arms, hoisted gently into the air with a giggle. "Just when I thought Mahal couldn't bless me any more! My beautiful wife, with child."

✧ Cue the two of you bickering back and forth like, well, a married couple, about who the child is going to look like. "I'll have 'em look just like you, thanks." "I for one relish in the thought of toting around a miniature Dwalin." "Come now," your husband teases back, running a hand over his shaven, tattooed head, "If they look like you they'll have better hair!"

✧ Dwalin has tiny wooden swords and axes made in time for your little arrivals, ensuring the axes match his to a tee.

✧ He sleeps flush against you now, head leaned against your growing belly and one hand firmly atop it like a lovely little line of defense.

✧ You have him absolutely wrapped around your finger, even more so now. Bat your eyelashes at him and make any request and he melts like butter. You’ll never want long for anything you crave!

✧ Admittedly he knows very little of a woman’s workings, but the moment he hears all your explanations he dubs you as great a warrior as he! “Beautiful as the stars and strong as the mountains to boot! That’s my girl.”

Thorin

✧ He has waited so long for this. So many years of this hanging pressure and yet when he has you by his side, all the feeling of necessity behind trying fades away. You two can simply enjoy life. So when you return to Thorin's side one day, eyes brimming with tears, all you say to him is "It's happened". And with that you see your king, your husband, collapse as if his whole body is sighing, pulling you into him like he needs you to breathe. One hand reaches up to hold the back of your head, gently caressing your hair.

✧ Vows every day that he will protect you both, be the father and husband you deserve, taking your hands in his and then leaning down to address both his queen and your child.

✧ Thorin also assures you that despite what any members of the court say, your new addition will be equally loved and equally worthy of the throne whether you welcome a son or a daughter. "All I wish is a healthy child with their mother's heart." "And their father's good looks," you tease in response, pulling your husband in for a kiss.

✧ You begin stealing his clothes, stating that his tunics are so much more comfortable than your dresses with an innocent bat of your eyelashes that has Thorin relenting every single time, heart rent at the way they begin fitting you tighter.

✧ You see a different side of Thorin in this stage of your marriage, one you’ll never complain about, not when he softens so, gazes down upon you with such love as he hovers over you, kissing your lips, your neck, your belly.

✧ There is no denying that you both glow during this time, pride and joy illuminating Thorin’s features right alongside the radiance of your childbearing state. Everyone stops you to say what a beautiful couple you are and you cannot help the flush of heat that rises to your face as Thorin thanks them and guides you away from the crowd, a protective hand on the small of your back

Oin

✧ Predicts it before you even realize because you’re exhibiting all the telltale symptoms; annoyed as you may be by his insistence that you are with child, what do you know? Oin is right. Oin is, unfortunately, also quite smug about this. Once the initial triumph wears off, though, he’s shouting for joy and crushing you with a hug!

✧ The absolute dream husband to have when you're with child, for he has worked taking care of countless dwarrowdams in your condition. He knows what you need. He understands. And most importantly, he does not judge.

✧ In fact, you two get a kick out of poking fun at the other husbands who roll their eyes at their wives' demands or take shots at their cravings because, frankly, that could never be you. "He doesn't know her body needs more iron!" "I bet he moans and groans about grabbing her a pillow, too."

✧ Having married such a well-known dwarrow, you’ll have all manner of strangers approaching you with congratulations that you reluctantly just accept, correctly assuming they’re patients of Oin’s that he’s proudly blabbed to.

✧ He’s always asking you to guess if you’re having a boy or a girl, insisting that “‘tis the mother’s intuition, after all.”

✧ You insist on remaining on your feet as long as possible, and your husband does not protest, knowing that exercise is good for the baby. That doesn’t mean he won’t be right behind you to catch you if you fall or check on your precious little bump, though, of course.

Gloin

✧ Not so subtle in his so-called 'baby fever', your husband has been going on and on about how his child will be his little flame, the apple of his eye, his world. You have no fear, then, sharing the news, in fact you amuse yourself by dropping your state in conversation like the plainest fact. "I'm glad you've got those new blankets, dear, what with the baby coming in winter and all," you told Gloin, taking a sip of your tea. Deafening is the only word you can use to describe the roar of celebration he gives, wonderfully bone-crushing and teeth-rattling your embrace and kiss.

✧ Tackles you to bed almost every night the first week, covering your cheeks and belly alike with kisses.

✧ Spends that very same time period sharing with absolutely any soul who even remotely listens that he’s going to be a father!

✧ Gloin is very insistent upon your care, even taking it upon himself to make your meals by hand. Which, suffice it to say, is a bit disastrous the first few times but he emerges triumphant in the end and succeeds in filling you with all the hearty things your budding dwarrowling needs!

✧ Being married to a dwarf means you have a husband who absolutely adores the extra pounds you put on and has no qualms about showing you in and out of the bedroom! Even just stopping by the market he’ll be wrapped around you.

✧ Encourages the baby every time they kick, shouting out praise of their strength while you tell him to cool it, all those kicks are going to you!

Bifur

✧ A large part of him thought that he would never be able to experience fatherhood. Not since the injury, and that had happened at such a young age. You cut right through that fear, assured Bifur that he would be an amazing father regardless of if he did some things differently. And that he would soon see, for your family would be growing early the next year.

✧ In all honesty, you feel blessed to have a husband who signs, for your baby will likely be able to communicate early! When you tell Bifur this he breaks out into tears, for what an angel you are to see the beauty in him. Every side of him. He promises to do the same.

✧ And make good on that does he! You will never want for love for even on your illest days Bifur is right by your side, his caresses gentle and speaking volumes of adoration.

✧ Absolutely adores jumping into the bath with you! His excuse being he has to help you and may as well rinse his beard off, but you can see how eager he is to run his hands over your hair and see the way your body relaxes at his cleansing touch. He wants nothing more than to feel useful, needed, and you assure him you cannot do this without him.

✧ Again and again, in fact, on the days when he stands behind you, holding up your burden and cheering you with little jokes and flirtation in Khuzdul even as you are overcome with exhaustion.

✧ Proudly tells everyone who will listen that he’s got a little warrior in there whenever the baby kicks!

Bofur

✧ You hadn’t exactly been trying. You hadn’t exactly been not trying, either. The news comes to you through a haze, muffled by the great rush of other thoughts bombarding your mind and sending your heart beating, but at their heart comes the image of Bofur holding a little one and bouncing them upon his knee and your chest flutters and soars. Your visit is completed all in smiles, and upon returning him to your husband’s questioning about the flu you’ve gone in for, you tell him it likely will not go away until the end of the year. “The end of the year? Why ever that long? I’ve never heard of a flu like that, not even-” “‘tisn’t a flu, my darling,” you smirk at him, “it’s a baby.” “A- you’re- we’re gonna have a-” Bofur is all agape, stepping closer and hovering his hands over your middle like he doesn’t want to grip you in a way that breaks you. “That all right?” You ask, half-teasing, for he has recently confided in you his envy of Bombur’s family. “All right? Song of my heart, I could kiss you!” “Well, what’s stopping you?”

✧ If you thought Bofur was affectionate before, well Mahal be with you, for you haven't seen anything yet! He falls even more in love with your body knowing it's carrying his and your child, hands nearly always holding or roaming you. When you're out and about, your husband usually has a hand at the small of your back, supporting the weight you carry as you walk and running soothingly up and down. Kisses all over your belly in private.

✧ This lends to how quick your husband is to reassure you on days you don't feel so friendly with your body, those times when you'd like nothing more than to shatter the looking-glass. "All I see," Bofur tells you one day, a hand on each of your shoulders as you peer together, "Is the most beautiful thing I've ever laid my lucky eyes upon, and she's not got an easy job. If I were her, I'd be proud of myself. Proud of making a comfortable home for our little one. And if I was her husband, why, I'd take her as she is right here and now! Right nice for me I am her husband, eh?"

✧ “Imagine havin’ a little girl.” Lying side by side, you heard Bofur’s wistful tone and felt a small smile creep onto your lips. “I’ll do her hair up in braids and tie them with ribbons. She’ll have all the pretty things she wants, because I have mine right here,” he adds, turning over to caress your belly and pull your lips into his.

✧ Marrying a toymaker comes with distinct perks: your husband crafts the most magnificent little wheeled contraptions and carven animals for your new addition! He spends hours carving and glazing them, and sometimes you catch him having fallen asleep at his workbench when you struggle to stay in dreamland, covering him up with a spare blanket.

✧ You worry because the baby doesn’t seem to move much, but Oin confirms everything seems to be going fine. “Your wee bairn just got this one’s personality, it seems!” He jokes, stabbing a mock-accusatory finger Bofur’s way.

Bombur

✧ A baker's dozen. For as long as you've known him, that's how many wee ones Bombur purported wanting. Thirteen more than most dwarves have, you always tease him, but in reality every time you see your sweet husband with children and hear him dream of a family your heart leaps. That is why the moment you take his hands and tell him it's come true is special, intimate, a quiet draw in and out of breath that has him sobbing joyously and nuzzling into your embrace with so much love your chest bursts from the flight of it.

✧ Sixth senses never seemed real to you until you became pregnant and it was like Bombur knew what you were craving and was making it before you could even say anything!

✧ Cannot keep away from you. Always wants to be kissing you and cupping your cheeks and holding your hands, just so so sweet!

✧ Bombur is so much more good-natured than you, for all the jokes about how you'll be as big as him soon have you swinging, but he just holds you back and laughs alongside them, saying he's looking forward to it with a twinkle in his eye.

✧ Literally baffled if you ever feel bad about your body; his legitimate confusion alone halfway snaps you out of the sad reverie, and all the following words about your beauty and your husband's appreciation of every inch does the rest.

✧ "You know I'll keep you safe, right? Both of you," he tells you one day, a hand resting upon your bump, "I may not be some great warrior, but Mahal help anyone who comes between us."

Dori

✧ From even before you were actually wed you knew that Dori would be an excellent father. Having taken care of his younger brothers from quite an early age, he had knowledge atop a naturally caring personality you fell for. Gentlemanly Dori waited with you, keeping chaste until after your wedding, but once it is official you know your news could come at any time and you accept that. On your one-year anniversary, in fact, your first gift to Dori is the tiniest bracelet of fine amber beads. “Does this mean…?” As soon as he sees you nod, Dori is taking you in his arms, cradling you gently as if you were made of fine porcelain and thrice as precious.

✧ Caring father-to-be. A little too caring. "If those are too heavy for you, I can carry them!" "They're just books, I'll be alright, Dori." "Oh, don't eat that, you got sick last time." "I haven't been sick in a month!" "That's a lot of steps, should I carry you?" "...Actually, sure."

✧ Always sleeps with his arm wrapped around your middle. No exceptions.

✧ Has every manner of tea and remedy you could desire on hand or otherwise purchases it. Same goes for supplies- Dori even found a ring-shaped cushion for you to lay on! He has your back for any ailment and is often there to make or apply your cure himself. After all, he wouldn't trust anyone else to do it!

✧ You love this dwarf with all your heart. He takes it upon himself to find dwarrowdams willing to let him practice changing diapers on their wee bairns and surprises you with this newfound skill when you return home one day!

✧ Dori’s love of the finer things absolutely carries over into his future fatherhood, as he has the loveliest little velvet clothes made and procures the dearest little bejeweled hairbrush. All in all, both of you amass far more than you need because any time you go out it inevitably devolves into you two clasping your joined hands between each other, gushing over all the wee things, and taking them home!

Nori

✧ He never thought he would get married at all, let alone have a family, but as time goes on the desire to continue his lineage and finally settle down takes hold. Then suddenly there he is desperately trying to seduce you into trying for a little one! It doesn't take long, not with his charm, until the day comes when you teasingly tell him that he got his way. Smirking until the realization takes hold of him, his arms are then snaking around your waist to pull you close.

✧ Always talking about how he's going to teach his little one everything he knows. When pressed about it, responds with such things as fighting and picking locks. His defense? "What if 'e gets stuck somewhere, or-"

✧ Impatient! "When am I gonna be able to feel 'em?" He asks, a hand upon your belly, which has yet to display any changes. "Not for another few months, Nori! I haven't even begun to show!"

✧ Hides things sometimes or puts them up places you can't go just so he can swoop in and help you, saving your day and pressing a kiss to your cheek as he tells you he can handle it, don't you worry your pretty little head.

✧ Nori always teases you when he pours himself a drink. "Bet you'd like some of this, huh? Not for three more months!" He chuckles. Your brows furrow. "Three months? What about when I'm feeding?" "What does tha- oh. Does that really-" "Yes, yes it does." "By the stars, I could have got my baby drunk!"

✧ Talks to the baby quite a bit, especially when he finally can feel the kicks. "Where you running off to, huh?" He chuckles, feeling the flutters against his hand pick up. "That's 'cause of me, isn't it? You hear me? That's right, it's your da. Can you believe it? Me, your da! I'll take good care of you, you hear?"

Ori

✧ "Ori, dear," you implored your husband, "Might you knit something for me?" Looking up from the scarf he'd just finished, Ori's eyes fell upon you and he gave that smile, the special one reserved just for you. "Of course. What would you like?" "A wee pair of booties," you replied, hands clasped and expression dreamy. "Who needs booties?" He asked, head cocked. "We will in the fall," you answered, stepping closer and resting a hand upon his. Ori's jaw dropped. "You... I... We-" Smile widening, you nodded. "I. You. We," you agreed.

✧ Nearly from the first day you know you are with child, Ori is rattling off names. After tossing out a great deal, he finally pauses and gives a sheepish apology. "I'm sorry, I suppose I've thought about this a lot," he confesses with a grin, "I just can't believe it's happening." Your hand joins with his, resting over your little bump. "Neither can I. It's like a dream."

✧ "So," you ask Ori one day, leaning your chin upon the couch where you'd lain, "What should our plan be for when my water breaks?" Your husband's brows furrow. "When your what?" "Oh, no," you mutter. Cue Ori spending his afternoon receiving a great multitude of lessons. What he got for being raised by other dwarf men, you suppose. "That really all happens to you?" He asks, gaping at you as though you came of the Valar themselves. "Yes, it does. Birth is a great deal of work. They don't just run on out, you know!" "Yes, I know. Of course I know." Ori's voice is faint; he excuses himself and you assume it's to faint or be sick, but about an hour later he returns bearing gifts. "I'm sorry I'm putting you through all that." "Sweetheart," you chuckle, cupping his cheek, "You know it takes two, right?" Your sweet husband reddened, but he nodded.

✧ Ori takes on almost all the cleaning himself- you haven't even asked! Finally curiosity gets the better of you and you inquire as to why he's gotten so into housekeeping. "Well, aren't you tired?" He asks simply, innocently, and you wonder how you got so lucky.

✧ He also knits far more than that pair of booties you requested- all three of you will have matching sweaters before your little one has arrived!

✧ Ori's favorite thing in the world is sitting with you in his lap, one hand cradling your growing bump and the other holding a book as you two take turns reading aloud, filling your cozy hollow with the sounds of voices your little one will come to love. The books are hand-drawn, written, and bound by him, of course!

Fili

✧ You two speak of little ones so much it borderline infuriates the others, Kili himself even bursting out in frustration one day at yet another interruption about tiny clothes, "Just get her pregnant already!" "Good idea. See you later," Fili replies, scooping you up and carrying you off bridal-style. "Wait, I- Damn, brother..." In reality, Fili just carried you around the corner and set you down while you two burst out laughing, but about a month later your tries were in fact successful!

✧ Honeyed words were no trouble for your husband before, but now? Praise falls endlessly from his lips. "Never did I think you could get more beautiful, and yet each day you succeed beyond my wildest dreams."

✧ Fili has a near-magical sense for your new struggles of coordination, all but flying to your side to catch your hand or waist whenever you trip or even whenever you must rise up again from your seat!

✧ He loves to tease you, asking what disgusting thing you'll think of him to fix next or joke that he can finally beat you in a fight in this state, but every joke is punctuated by the most loving eyes and gestures that they cannot do a thing but warm your heart and make you chuckle.

✧ Your baby is very active, kicking all the time! "We've definitely got a little Fili in here!" Your husband exclaims with a grin, hand resting atop your belly to feel your little one's exuberant motions. "A strong babe for sure," you sigh, "Much to the pity of my ribs!" "Too bad we aren't having a Kili. Nice and lazy for you." "Hey, I heard that!"

✧ He turns his head, peering over his shoulder at you as you waddle after him, golden hair cascading down. "Care for me to slow down a little?" "I care for you to shut up," you shoot back, crossing your arms and fighting your smile.

Kili

✧ The thought crossed your mind far before it did your husband's. Not that Kili had no desire for children, it was simply that the possibility was all the more yours to consider. It took a visit from your young cousin, who had Kili wrapped around your finger, for the fire to light in your husband's head as well, a smile lighting up his face. "We- we could..." "I know, Kili." You could and you certainly did but a few months later.

✧ "I hope they look just like you." "Me too." Kili pulls his head out of the crook of your neck. "Hey, that is the part where you say 'no, I hope they look like you'!" "I'm doing the work of carrying for how long again? Nine, ten months? Least they can do is resemble me a little," you shoot back with a smirk.

✧ It was Oin who brought the news: "Both babies seem healthy as far as I can tell!" "Both?" You gape. "Both babies?" "'s right," Oin replies, "I know I can't always hear the best, but I haven't been wrong on a heartbeat yet. You can feel 'em." "Guess we did pretty good, eh love?" Kili teases, earning him an elbow to the ribs, but he just shakes his head and tugs you closer against his chest. "Should we make their names confusing as well?" "Don't you think it might get old for them?" "Fili and I switched names plenty of times and we aren't even identical!" You should have known.

✧ Kili takes to sleeping facing you, close enough that sometimes your cheeks brush. Others he slips down lower and you awake with your husband cuddled up to the bump of your belly.

✧ Will come running from any room, anywhere, to feel the babies kick, and also loves tugging along any of his family he can take, too. Childlike wonder fills your husband's eyes every time and pride glistens in his dark eyes when he's brought along his mother, his brother, even his uncle the king!

✧ Never once do you doubt yourself or have one moment of room for insecurity, for Kili still flirts with you as if you were tweens and sneaks all sorts of touches, pecks, and affectionate hands in your hair wherever he can find it! The notion of a baby destroying the romance of your relationship is laughable to you, who married a dwarf that has no shame telling you you're the most gorgeous creature to walk the earth and warm his-and the baby's in a different way-body.

Bilbo

✧ Bilbo's a perceptive hobbit. He knows something's off with you. You don't usually scurry around the way you are like everything has to be perfect. That's his job. "Something the matter? Are you... expecting someone?" Your husband follows you down Bag End's hall as he gives his inquiry, eyebrows shooting up at the look on your face when you turn around. Consternation, resignation, finally a smile. "I was going to tell you after dinner," you answered, "But since you asked it like that, yes I am expecting someone. Our child this spring." At that, it was Bilbo's turn to shift through expressions. Shock, realization, finally a smile.

✧ Nursery shopping has become Bilbo's favorite pastime. Baby Baggins isn't arriving for months and yet your husband is returning from market with all manner of trinkets for the shelves and paper for the walls. You cannot help giggling at his armfuls of supplies and kissing his cheek as you relieve as much of his burden as he allows you to.

✧ So sweet, always helping you dress, pulling on every garment with the utmost of care and even avoiding your reflection on days you feel bad. Quickly kissing each part of your body before he covers it with something he knows will be comfortable.

✧ You'll be eating well whether you like it or not! Bilbo will make you anything under the sun if it means you and Baby Baggins are getting nourishment and he certainly will not have you skimping! Anything that makes you sick simply is not allowed in Bag End at all, end of discussion.

✧ One night, you awake to soft whispers and your heart melts at the sight of Bilbo resting his chin on your growing bump talking to the baby. Not uttering a word, you simply watch, taking in the moment beneath the sheen of tears in your eyes.

✧ "Careful, careful," Bilbo is always telling you, holding your hand and guiding you over the smallest of obstacles, even little puddles and rocks.

Thranduil

✧ He has talked about getting you pregnant before, but speaking of it and doing it are two entirely different things, especially with...well, words of such nature. Thus, you find yourself nervously wringing your hands before your husband as he strokes your face, asking whatever is the matter. At Thranduil's touch, his intense gaze, you fin yourself melting and admitting all, confessing that you are expecting his child. You are certainly not expecting the way his confident smile utterly falters, dissipating in favor of the look of a man near tears. "Truly? A little one of our own?" "Yes," you whisper, finally able to smile as the tension melts from your body, which is soon pulled against the Woodland King's. "Long have I dreamed of this day, my love."

✧ One of his favorite new activities is commissioning you new maternity dresses; you will certainly have plenty to wear if Thranduil has any say about it! In addition, when the time comes of course he requests that you model them for him.

✧ Thranduil loves to sneak up behind you, lightly wrapping his hands about your waist and laying them atop yours, his head resting in the crook of your neck and breathy, pleased laughter warming the skin there.

✧ When you start showing, oh, he loves it. One more sign that you are his, utterly and truly his queen, his beloved, claimed by Thranduil in every sense. He follows your lead, a hand around your waist, letting you shine like the gem he knows you to be. Rarely will you two be seen apart, not when the king can bask in your glow, relish the eyes upon your beautiful form, heavy with his child.

✧ There is one day he catches you in tears and heart tearing he steps to scoop you up against him, cheeks held gently in his elegant hands, which begin to glitter with your tears. "My rings no longer fit," you sob, head falling to his chest. Thranduil holds you close, grip loose as though you might break. "That is not your fault, meleth nîn." "I feel so... so massive." "Who wishes a small dwelling, hm? Piteous thing not to have any comforts. Your body is a host of life, the vessel of a bloodline. Beautiful in all its forms. Never forget that, oh dearest one."

✧ Thranduil is experienced; he knows many little tricks to help you feel better, be they massages or ways to bear your weight. He impresses you with the knowledge he has of the ways of women, understanding your water breaking, dilation, and every complication the healers warn you about and telling you before they even do!

Feren

✧ First to know was neither you nor your husband, but rather your cat, for she had suddenly become your little shadow, following you about your home and taking rest upon your lap as often as she could. "I wonder what it is that got into her," you commented one afternoon, smiling and stroking her back. "Growing up, ours got like this when my mother was carrying my younger sisters. Both times. It was like he could sense it," Feren replied. You both sat in smiling silence for a moment longer before simultaneously straightening, looking each other right in the widening eyes.

✧ Gets a little flustered, frankly. Not so much at your news itself, simply the realization sinking in that he is to be a father. He, Feren, will have a child. He says this out loud several times before suddenly breaking out into a smile. You tease him for going through half his emotions at once, but now the wave of joy has swept him up!

✧ Playfully rolls his eyes and mock-complains every time you remind him that he has to clean up after the cat now! Subsequently adds that he would fetch you the moon if you asked it.

✧ Loves helping you bathe the more difficult your condition makes it, scrubbing your hair with such care and gently massaging your sore feet and ankles as you wash up. Despite your husband's skill in battle, Feren's hands are the most loving and delicate you could ask for.

✧ Your husband has a natural tendency to rise early, so now that your sleep has become more fitful you do find that you have more time to spend together. Your head falling to his shoulder as you whisper to each other, seated as you are upon your bed with blankets draped over your shoulders.

✧ Feren wins your heart time and time again, like the day he lowered you down gently onto the grass of a sunny meadow, basking with you and weaving flowers. He made you a ring, crowned you with a wreath of flowers atop your head, and made another little one to place gently on the curve of your belly, bringing your heart to soar.

Bard

✧ Uncertainty wracks your heart and wrings your hands at the would-be-cheerful news. In fact, you yourself do feel joy, have since your suspicions were confirmed, but would Bard see it the same way? He already has three mouths to feed, three children all old enough to take care of themselves. Will he wish to start it all over so? "What's wrong, love? Your lip is bleeding." So it is. You've practically gnawed the poor thing off in all your stewing. A sigh escapes you. Bard is your husband. No sense in delaying a very necessary conversation. "I know we should have spoken more about it..." You begin, trailing off. At once, Bard senses your reservation and rises to your side, taking hold of your arms; the love in his dark eyes brings a small smile to your lips and relaxes you slightly. "I'm with child, Bard." Almost childlike is the wonder and joy spreading across your face, and before you can say another word you are being pulled into Bard's chest, face snuggling into the fur of his coat.

✧ He knows what to expect, naturally, so Bard is definitely not the type of husband to gripe about your requests, though he does smirk and poke fun if you’re especially outrageous with it or have a funny enough delivery. Then kisses you if you pout about it before fetching what you seek.

✧ Caution overtakes you and your husband as you make to tell his older children the news, particularly you, but your wringing hands relax when you can see the joy in their eyes, particularly the girls! They hope the baby is another girl, hugging you so tight you almost cannot breathe, but you complain not.

✧ Happy is Bard to take on assistance cooking; he knows it can make you sick sometimes and besides, it's a nice excuse to make sure you get all the nutrients you need! You are certainly very lucky in the skill and domesticity of your spouse.

✧ Stands behind you and reaches his arms around you, lifting up the weight you carry and smiling, kissing your neck and cheeks as you relax from your burden.

✧ He also has no qualms about making you rest, down even to physically lifting you up and carrying you to bed if he must!

Beorn

✧ Hesitant as he always would have claimed to be about bringing more Skin-Changers into a world so cruel to them, Beorn feels his nesting instincts kick in very quickly after you become his wife. You see it in the things he gathers, the way your husband moves things such as your blades to higher, safer locations. He is anticipating something. Something you cannot help pulling him aside and asking about, and when your feelings on the subject are made known, well, it is entirely possible you conceived that very night.

✧ Beorn has an almost eerie sense for all the changes taking place in your body. You feel a sharp pain in your back, and without a word your husband is behind you, ushering you down for a massage with some of the oils he's pressed.

✧ The aforementioned nesting instincts manifest early on, your husband carefully blunting corners and tucking away the best blankets so the little one-or ones!- will be nothing but safe and comfortable.

✧ Withdrawn as he could be, Beorn's affection is drawn out by your condition, his big brown eyes soft upon you as he pulls you into his lap, large hands secure about your waist and sliding gently up and down your growing belly.

✧ And grow it does! It seems to get heavier by the day, but that is explained thanks to your husband's exceptional hearing. "Four heartbeats. One is yours. A litter- three are coming!" Spots dance in your vision at that news, but Beorn's smile as he grips your hand brings you back to the light. You could do it with him by your side. "Our little litter."

✧ He attempts to reassure you anytime your anxiety grows. "My dearest flower, I have delivered hundreds of calves and piglets in my day! You will see this through." Reassuring? Perhaps not so much. But in your heightened emotion, that does break you into a wild laughter that does indeed relax you nonetheless.

Want to meet the little ones? Perhaps there will be a Part 2 😉

Taglist: @lokilover476 @kilibaggins @fuckyoumakeart @filiswingman @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @mossyskinn @wordbunch @tiny-and-witchy @th3-st4r-gur1 @fleurdemiel-145 @mistresskayla-blog1 @misabelle717 | Reply/Message/Ask to join 🩷

[honeyshiddendesire]

Cold Carrots

Warnings: trouble/mentions of infertility, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of menstrual cycles, Law being an overprotective wacko lol FLUFF and maybe some ANGST

Summary: more dad headcanons

🥕 So everyone in these Headcanons had a smooth run but why not make it more realistic!

🥕 So despite his devil fruit what if he struggled with weak and low sperm count. Both of you banging raw for yearssss!

🥕 When you tell him you're pregnant all he replies with is a simple "I know. You missed your period weeks ago" So much for a cutesy announcement lol

🥕 Yes Law is beyond ecstatic but because of his weak sperm he tries to remain neutral incase of the sad chance your child doesn't last in the womb.

🥕 But your unborn child has your strong will and his stubborn attitude and takes wonderfully.

🥕 Because this is the first time his sperm has actually took expect him to be super OVERPROTECTIVE!!

🥕 Honestly you should've known that he knew you were pregnant since he didn't let you out of his sight.

🥕He needs CONSTANT reassurance that you and the baby are okay. He worries double than the usual amount

🥕 Works harder but less if that makes sense lol

🥕Like the man will not pause for food breaks just to finish as much as possible so he can hurry up and get back to you

🥕BUTTTT!!! You have prenatal anxiety which causes you to forget to eat which makes him remember to eat so that you eat lol (that's a mouthful lol)

🥕 Will make you the most nutritious foods, snacks, teas and drinks all throughout the day

🥕 Since he knows the human body well, him and Zoro are massage kings. Except unlike Zoro he won't get handsy as fast lol

🥕 Does all the ultrasounds and checkups don't even tell him no or he'll throw a fit lol

🥕 Best believe he delivers his own baby lol

🥕 When the baby is delivered and he feels the weight of his little bundle of joy in his arms he finally gives a sigh of relief.

🥕 After you have the first hour of skin to skin as mother and child then Law will also do the same knowing that it's also important for father and child as well for bonding.

🥕Will totally slip the baby inside of his sweater against his bare chest and zip it up to keep the baby warm

🥕If you so much as see a tear leave his eyes then no you didn't lol

🥕 If you do mention the tears then he'll come up with some sassy response, "Oh please of course I'm crying it's a biological response when one holds their own child from the first time."

🥕 I can see his favorite picture of the baby would be when you fall asleep the first night shes born and the baby opens her eyes to stare at him.

🥕 Even though she first opened her eyes to look at Law he will deny it just so he can see your excitement in the morning when the baby looks at you and you think it's the first time

🥕 As much as he likes being right there's some things that aren't worth debating especially seeing how happy you looked when you shed some tears at her pretty eyes opening

🥕 Since his sperm was weak he wouldn't expect another kid, nor would he think it was possible so he would be one of those parents to make all the little crafts.

🥕 Paintings with the baby's hands and feet, or the ceramics of her feet that you hang on the wall or his desk all sorts of things.

🥕 Has a bunch of pictures of you and the baby but probably has more with her and Bepo lol they're just so cute lol

🥕 Bepo will take the baby for naps so you and Law can have a moment to relax and since the baby thinks Bepo is a walking blanket you both have no issues with him and your child

🥕 Law is supportive if you breastfeed or if you need formula for the baby but if you do breastfeed he will share a bunch of recipes that help with production.

🥕If you just pump and don't breastfeed then he will take over all nighttime feedings for you with no worry.

🥕Diaper changing is easy for the man, any bodily fluids will be no match for the pirate surgeon

🥕 Would totally bring the baby with him into his office so you could rest or do whatever it is you want to do

🥕 Prioritizes your mental health probably the most out of all the girl dads because he understands the chemical response that pregnancy and hormones can cause.

🥕 LOVES your changed body but if you ever feel insecure he will know all the right exercises that will help you get fit will also preventing strain on your body that just endured labor.

🥕 He's always had issues of when to call an end to his work and go to you in bed but now he doesn't mind leaving his office to cuddle you and his baby to sleep.

🥕Follows all the rules of when and what to introduce your baby. Will only pick the best fruits and vegetables to offer to her

🥕 Will panic like you've never seen before when months pass and shes not eating any food for him. He tries everything, even going against his own wishes of adding a sprinkle of sugar to some carrots that he made

🥕 Totally wants to give up and wait another year until shes ready but one morning walks into the kitchen to see you feeding your daughter carrots.

🥕 "Don't worry Law it just takes some trail and error." You tell him and he gasps in shock. "How! How did you?" Law will ask as he watches your daughter smile and babble away. You laugh and explain that she only likes her veggies cold, no matter the sugar he adds to them it still doesn't compare to the yummy taste of it being chilled. "Guess she's like me. I lovvvve cold carrots." You laugh and Law will smile as he looks at the both of you. Yeah she was definitely like you.

🥕 Will sneak a picture of you feeding the baby for the first time that she actually enjoys it, her smile wide and toothless, skin orange with mashed carrots smeared all over, chunky fingers wiggling in happiness.

🥕 It was moments like these that he didn't mind one bit not being King of the Pirates

🥕 Teaches your daughter to read early on and is excited to see how smart she is.

🥕 First word is totally Bepo lol dont fight me on this

🥕Next word is 'captain' for sure lol can totally see her looking at Law and being like "Captain!" Law's face would pale as you and the crew burst out laughing. "Dammit." He'll sigh as he runs a hand along his face as you pat his back

🥕 Will try to play it cool when she finally shouts a happy 'daddy' upon seeing him after he leaves for a few days. You and Bepo would deny that you constantly said it all day for days lol

🥕 You will catch him in his office having conversations with her but its just random babbles mixed in with a few words that she's learned lol "Baba dada bado dobadee daddy" Law would push up his reading glasses with a head nod and write in his note pad as if he's taking down notes like a therapist. "Then what happened dear." He'll say back and it would take everything in your power not to burst out laughing as you hear her continue on.

🥕 Will try and help with her hair and outfit choices but he has no fashion sense when it comes to his princess. Her hair will look like a rats net but he makes up for it with cute accessories that he buys her.

🥕 Will leave the outfits to you but takes control of the training

🥕 Without a doubt buys her play doctor sets after he gave her a real set and discovered the horror of all her dolls being pried open as if she was preforming heart surgery.

🥕 Plays doctor with her as much as possible "Daddy tweezers!" "Yes doctor. Tweezers!" "Scalpel!" "Scalpel doctor!" Her gasp as she performs her surgery makes you hold in a giggle. "Gauze! Gauze stat! We have a torn artery!" Law wants to jump for joy at her naming correct organs and tools but takes his role as a doctor seriously even if it is playtime. "I'll page the other doctors right away."

🥕 Gets her a lab coat lol

🥕 Your daughter takes to all thinks medicine and Law just eats it up lol

🥕 Since they live on the submarine your daughter also turns out to love marine life which Law fuels her passion of course by getting her as many books as he can. He thinks she'll be a vet but he doesn't worry as long as she's happy and flourishing.

🥕 Your daughter gets his brains, your strong willed attitude and Law's stubborn spunk which makes for a whirlwind as she gets older.

🥕 When your daughter gets her period he will literally put a hand to your shoulder and say , "Don't worry I got this."

🥕 Will have no issue with the menstrual cycle/ puberty discussion UNTIL he mentions how often it happens

🥕 You'll walk back in hearing lots of crying and see Law in a panic lol "I know it sucks baby but the cool thing is~ daddy will buy you all the chocolate, ice cream and steak you want!"

🥕 Every bathroom on the Polar Tang is stocked lol even gives his little girl an emergency kit in a cute discreet bag

🥕 Will teach your daughter to use a sword but its not her thing unfortunately

🥕 As his daughter studies all her books she will snack on cold carrots and other raw vegetables and still it makes Law smile remembering his little baby.

🥕 When his daughter is around 13 you announce that you 're pregnant with another and Law practically faints. It was a miracle to have his daughter with his weak sperm but now years later you give him another miracle?! Yeah expect him to pass out.

🥕 Your daughter totally gets jealous hearing that she'll have to share her father. Then enters the MOODY TEEN PHASE.

🥕 Despite her moody attitude to your pregnancy Law tries his hardest to always be there for the both of you.

🥕 His usual office buddy now holes herself up in her room but Law will knock on her door with a plate of her favorite veggies "Hey princess. I brought you a snack and a new book I thought you'd like it." As stubborn as she is she can't say no to her father she loves him too much

🥕 Those stubborn guards around her heart will crumble when she holds her little brother for the first time.

🥕 As much as Law and you want to hold the baby you have to pry it from her hands lol that's her baby now

🥕 (sidenote if your teens aren't compassionate for their family members then I feel sad for y'all 😭 cause my teenage nieces and nephews are the sweetest ppl you'll ever meet)

🥕 Your daughter will be caught holding her brother every chance she gets. Feeding him and dressing him up but will totally pass the baby off to her dad when it's time for a diaper change

🥕 Law now has two office buddy's lol

🥕 Totally gets her brother to like cold Carrots too and as she feeds her baby brother with a 13 year age difference, Law can't help but snap a photo to add to his collection

🥕 Law didn't think he'd have a son 13 years after his daughter but he definitely didn't think that same son would go and marry one of Kid's daughters

🥕 Totally gets backed into an alliance with Luffy and Eustass but what can you do?

When you have little carrot cuties as adorable as his how can you say no to anything that involves them?

[cripplecharacters]

Disabilities that You Should Consider Representing in Your Writing More… part 1

[large text: Disabilities that You Should Consider Representing in Your Writing More… part 1]

While all disabilities are underrepresented in basically all sorts of media, it’s hard to not notice the trend in what disabilities make up the majority of representation. It’s especially visible when having a blog like this, where we can see what disabilities writers even consider including in their writing, and which ones never come up.

One in four people are disabled. With eight billion people alive it means there’s a lot of disabled people, and a lot of reasons why they are disabled in the first place - but this diversity is rarely represented, even on this blog, and anyone who has been following for a while has probably noticed that fact.

To be blunt: there are disabilities other than “amputee” and “invisibly disabled mobility aid user”. Does that mean that it’s wrong to write either of those? No, and we don’t want to imply that it is. Does it mean that either of these have a lot of good representation? Absolutely not, half of all the amputee characters out there are written by people who don't seem to be even aware they're writing a disabled character. Does it mean that when you are deciding on what to give your character, you should think beyond (or along! people can be, and often are, multiply disabled!) just those two? Absolutely. Disability is a spectrum with thousands of things in it.

This is, simply, a list of common disabilities. This is just a few of them, as this is part one of presumably many (or, at least three as of right now). By “common” we rather arbitrarily decided on “~1% or more” - so at least 1 in 100 people has the disabilities below, which is a lot. Featuring!: links that you should click, sources of the % that are mostly just medical reports and might be hard to read, and quick, very non-exhaustive explanations to give you a basic idea of what these are. 

Intellectual disability (about 1.5%) Intellectual disability is a condition we have written about at length before. It’s a developmental disability that affects things such as conceptualization, language, problem-solving, or social and self-care skills. ID can exist on its own or be a part of another condition, like Down Syndrome, Congenital Iodine Deficiency, or Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorders. This post covers a lot of basic information that you might need. We have an intellectual disability tag that you can look through!

Cancer survivors (5.4% in the US, about 0.55% worldwide) A cancer survivor is a pretty self-explanatory term. There is a lot of types of cancer and some of them are very common while others are very rare, which makes this a very diverse category. Cancers also have different survival rates. While not every survivor will have disabling symptoms, they definitely happen. Most of the long-term side effects are related to chemotherapy, radiation, and other medication, especially if they happened in children. They can include all sorts of organ damage, osteoporosis, cognitive problems, sensory disabilities, infertility, and increased rate of other cancers. Other effects include removal of the affected area, such as an eye, a spleen, breasts, or the thyroid gland, each of which will have different outcomes. Cancer, and cancer treatments, can also result in PTSD.

Diabetes (about 8.5%, ~95% of that are type 2) Diabetes is a group of endocrine conditions that cause hyperglycemia (high blood sugar) for various reasons depending on the type. The vast majority of people have type 2 diabetes, which can cause fatigue, poor healing, or feeling thirsty or hungry. A diabetic person will use insulin when needed to help manage their blood sugar levels. There are many complications related to diabetes, from neuropathy, to retinopathy, and chronic kidney disease, and there's a lot of disabilities that coexist with diabetes in general! You might want to check out the #how to write type 1 diabetes tag by @type1diabetesinfandom!

Disabling vision loss (about 7.5%) Blindness and low vision are a spectrum, ranging from total blindness (around 10% of legally blind people) to mild visual impairment. Blindness can be caused by countless things, but cataracts, refractive errors, and glaucoma are the most common. While cataracts cause the person to have a clouded pupil (not the whole eye!) blind eyes usually look average, with strabismus or nystagmus being exceptions to that fairly often (but not always). Trauma isn't a common cause of blindness, and accidents are overrepresented in fiction. A blind person can use a white cane, a guide dog or horse, or both. Assistive solutions are important here, such as Braille, screenreaders, or magnifying glasses. We have a blindness tag that you can look through, and you might want to check out @blindbeta and @mimzy-writing-online.

Psoriasis (about 2-4%) Psoriasis is a chronic skin condition with multiple subtypes; it can cause intense itching, pain, and general discomfort, and often carries social stigma. It’s an autoimmune and non-contagious disability that affects the skin cells, resulting in raised patches of flaky skin covered with scales. It often (30%) leads to a related condition, psoriatic arthritis, which causes joint pain, tenderness, and fatigue, among other things.

Stroke survivors (0.5-1%) A stroke survivor is a person who has survived any kind of stroke (ischemic, hemorrhagic, etc.). While the specific symptoms often depend on the exact location on where the stroke happened, signs such as hemiplegia, slurred speech, vision problems, and cognitive changes are common in most survivors to some degree. When someone has a stroke as a baby, or before they are born, it can result in cerebral palsy, epilepsy, and other disabilities. We have a brain injury tag that you can look through!

Noonan Syndrome (about 0.1-1% - mild is 1%, severe 0.1%) Noonan Syndrome is a disability that is almost never mentioned in any context, but certainly not around the topic of writing disabled characters. It’s a congenital condition that can cause cardiomyopathy, chronic joint pain, hypermobility, short stature, facial differences such as ptosis, autism, and various lymphatic problems among other things. Some people with Noonan Syndrome might use mobility aids to help with their joint pain.

Hyperthyroidism (about 1.2%) Hyperthyroidism is a condition of the endocrine system caused by hormone overproduction that affects metabolism. It often results in irritability, weight loss, heat intolerance, tremors, mood swings, or insomnia. Undertreated hyperthyroidism has a rare, but extremely dangerous side effect associated with it called a thyroid storm, which can be fatal if untreated.

Hypothyroidism (>5%) Hypothyroidism is an endocrine condition just as hyperthyroidism is, and it causes somewhat opposite symptoms. Due to not producing enough thyroid hormones, it often causes fatigue, depression, hair loss, weight gain, and a frequent feeling of being cold. It’s often comorbid with other autoimmune disabilities, e.g. vitiligo, chronic autoimmune gastritis, and rheumatoid arthritis. Extreme hypothyroidism can also be potentially fatal because of a condition known as Myxedema coma (or “crisis”), which is also rare.

Deafblindness (about 0.2-2%) Being DeafBlind is often considered to be an extremely rare disability, but that’s not really the case. DeafBlindness on its own isn’t a diagnosis - it can be caused by a wide range of things, with CHARGE syndrome (congenital), Usher syndrome (born deaf, becomes blind later in life), congenital rubella, and age-related deafness and blindness being some of the most common reasons. DeafBlindness is a wide spectrum, the vast majority of DeafBlind people aren’t fully blind and deaf, and they can use various ways of communication. Some of these could be sign language (tactile or not), protactile, the deafblind manual, oral speech (aided by hearing aids or not), the Lorm alphabet, and more. You can learn more about assistive devices here! Despite what various media like to tell you, being DeafBlind isn’t a death sentence, and the DeafBlind community and culture are alive and thriving - especially since the start of the protactile movement. We have a DeafBlindness tag that you can look through!

It’s probably worth mentioning that we have received little to no asks in general for almost all the disabilities above, and it’s certainly not due to what mods answer for. Our best guess is that writers don’t realize how many options they have and just end up going for the same things over and over.

Only representing “cool” disabilities that are “not too much while having a particular look/aura/drama associated” isn’t what you should aim for. Disabled people just exist, and all of us deserve to be represented, including those whose disabilities aren’t your typical “cool design” or “character inspo”, and literally all of us deserve to have good, informed representation. Sometimes we are just regular people, with disabilities that are “boring” or “too much”, and don’t make for useful plot points.

mod Sasza (with huge thank you to mod Sparrow, Rot, and Virus for their contributions with research)

[muxshwriting]

sewn together

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

summary: there was an expectation for a viscountess to become a mother within a year of her marriage. but not everything can be perfect || warnings: struggles with infertility, mentions of miscarriages, heartbreak, breakdowns, period typical sexism, ANGST, pregnancy || word count: 1189 || masterlist

this fic covers some very serious topics. please read the warnings carefully and do not read if anything in them triggers you. take care of yourself x

It began as an arranged marriage, birthed from a friendship between your two mothers. But that did not mean there was no space for love and adoration within it.

Anthony comes down stairs one morning to you sitting with Hyacinth on your lap in front of the pianoforte. She’s far too old to be sitting on your lap but you cradle her so gently, your hands over hers as you share the instrument. There’s a softness in your gaze and the way you murmur to her.

In that moment, something clicks. Perhaps it’s the culmination of things that have been occurring for weeks. But he sees you in a way he’d never seen anyone before, with pure unadulterated love. He knows in that moment that his marriage was always meant for more and it needs to mean more if he is to survive another day.

He makes his way over, pressing a good morning kiss into your hair and wishing his sister a good morning. Hyacinth jumped down from your lap and let her attention wander elsewhere but yours remained on her, watching her wistfully.

You could not wait to have children of your own, to cherish them in the way your mother had cherished you. You wanted that for yourself, a child that was yours before they were anyone else’s, even Anthony’s.

Part of you understood the pressure that was placed upon you the moment you said I do in the chapel but the true pressure was felt when the questions began. It was mere months into your union that the question of future children kept cropping up in conversation. Anthony would laugh it off, shutting his mother’s questions down simply and cradling you at night.

It wasn’t for lack of trying either, you and Anthony were in love and enjoyed your youthful love at every opportunity, but nothing seemed to happen. There was no denying the tugging on your heart every month when you’d wake up to bloodied sheets and the confirmation that you weren’t so lucky.

Anthony woke one morning to your silent cries as you sat curled into yourself. Why couldn’t you just do this for him? You were a dutiful wife, why couldn’t you do your duty and provide him an heir?

“I’m so sorry Anthony.”

His concern was palpable. “What for, my love?” You motioned around you, clutching your arms around your midriff and trying not to sob harder. “Oh. Do not fret my love. It’s alright.”

“You need an heir.” You tell him through tears.

Anthony reaches over to hold you in his arms, you practically sitting in his lap. “I have brothers, do not fret yourself.”

“But-“

“I would love to have children with you.” Anthony explains. “But if it is not to be, we shall have a myriad of nieces and nephews to spoil, yes?”

Seeing his point didn’t mean it stung any less. “Yes…”

“If it happens, it happens.”

He holds you until you slip back into sleep and you find yourself more and more grateful for such an amazing husband. If it were to happen, it would be the happiest moment of your life. But if it weren’t, you would live on. There would be another chance at a family, with Anthony’s siblings, your new siblings.

Time continues, life wears on and you try not to burden yourself with moral responsibility beyond your control. Your doubt trickles away and then it’s been almost a year since you married. A year of bliss.

“Are you feeling alright?” Anthony asks you one morning, a hand propping him up.

“Yes… do I not look alright?”

“It’s just-“ He seems nervous to say something. “By my memory, it’s been a few months…”

“A few months? Since wha-“ The revelation dawns on you like cold water in the morning. “Oh my god.”

“Do you think?”

“Oh my god! Anthony…”

He surges forward, capturing your lips with his and pulling you towards him. He pulls back, a look in his eyes only describable as pure love and tenderness. “I love you.”

“I love you.” You reply, settling into the space his body created for you.

Your heart positively sang in the weeks that followed and anyone could see the glow that you carried. There was no denying that your soul was truly fulfilled. This was all you wanted, a baby, a child that was yours and Anthony’s.

But not all things end the way you want them to and there has been a shadow that’s haunted your world for far too long.

You’re just lying in bed one night, doing nothing to strain yourself. Anthony’s beside you, head buried in an accounts book he should’ve completed during the day. Then your perfect world comes crumbling down.

A debilitating pain ricochets through you, bringing your curling into yourself with a cry. Anthony’s by your side in an instant but as you feel the wetness of blood between your thighs, you can’t deny the truth. A million emotions hit you at once, and once one tear falls, the rest follow.

Breath comes out as pants as the pain doesn’t let up for a moment and Anthony knows. Your scream echo in the small room and he knows. All he can do is hold you close, whispering words that have no meaning in this moment and try to make it all okay. But it never will be.

That child, your child, was your shot at happiness, a fulfilment unattainable by another metric. Now, you would have nothing to hold, nothing to raise. Your child was gone, before they could even be born into life.

The doubt creeped back in but there was a resignation in your mind that told you that you would never be a mother. You weren’t worthy. You weren’t deserving of a child of your own. There is no way to convince yourself that this was your destiny when it has been your desire since you were a young girl.

You feel society’s eyes on you at every function, even if no one is looking at you. And you can’t hold in the almost nightly tears that come. Perhaps the pain will lessen, but you’re not sure you want it to. Lessening would also mean forgetting the child that never was. Anthony feels the same pain as you, going about his day with a heaviness of a man far older than his years.

But what can you do? There is nothing except letting time pass, letting it wash over you and pull you along its tide.

You lock the part of you that craves a child away, into the deepest corners of your shadowed soul. You lock it all away and let it go. To survive, you have to let yourself enjoy life outside of children, let the baby rest and find peace wherever they are.

Years later, you never forgot your firstborn, even as you lay exhausted and sweaty in the birthing bed, cradling your eldest son in your arms. Anthony looks on with pride, seeing your dreams come to life and finally being able to hold his whole world in his arms.

[fgojous]

love wins all | chapter five ( satoru g. )

from childhood summers and petty high school banters, to the endless college lectures—med school and the chaos of residency, you've been through it all. you've built everything together. you're each other's home—everything. but what if your relationship breaks beyond repair? what if the one thing you couldn't save was each other? can your love still win it all?

neurosurgeon!gojo x trauma surgeon!reader

warnings. romance, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, hurt no comfort, fluff, medical au, established relationships, high school sweethearts, unresolved feelings, unresolved issues, grief, emotional repression, mutual pining, emotional trauma, childhood trauma, explicit sexual content | eighteen plus only!

chapter warnings. death, grief, marital problems, struggles with infertility, explicit smut (p in v, making out, public sex, handjobs, fingering, idk if this is all hahsahjas)

word count. 7.3k

masterlist.

note. hi... i wrote this for days because... this chapter hurts me so much :<

CHAPTER FIVE: I BET ON LOSING DOGS

─── SEPTEMBER, 2023 ───

“Nice work, everyone.” 

That was the last thing you said before pushing the door open to the OR, peeling your gloves and gown in the process. Your feet dragged you to the sink to scrub out, your back hunched as you scrubbed off—there’s this familiar ache blooming in between your shoulders but you were used to it ever since med school.

It was not like you have a choice, you’ve been doing this since forever. Your job is tiring but you love it. It’s a love-hate relationship, really.

You walked out—removing your scrub cap, tugging your mask away and the sharp whiff of hospital antiseptic greeted your nose as you walk through the hallway—you cursed mentally because you remembered that you still have to do the post-op notes. God, can the time freeze for just an hour? You reached for your phone in the pocket as you walked towards the workroom checking if they had paged you or anything but one text caught your eye.

Satoru | 2:15 PM

The new interns are at OUR hang out place.

You | 2:19 PM

Because they’re interns lol they’re supposed to be there just like we were.

Satoru | 2:20 PM

Still. Annoying. I'm outside the ER. Please come and grace your husband with your presence.

A smile tugged on your lips as you walked through the elevators down to the emergency room—you’ll just go see him for a little while before starting on the notes. Just for a moment though because your husband could be so dramatic if he really wanted to. 

The automatic doors hissed open as you walk through, you search for that white hair and you instinctively smile when you see your husband leaning on the wall just outside the emergency room—his hair a mess, mask pulled down on his chin while he’s sipping on his juice box—that’s been his hyperfixation these days, you don’t even know why. 

He looked up, hearing your footsteps. A grin adorned his face as you stood beside him, “You’ve been working yourself so hard these days, the next thing you know you’re the chief of trauma surgery.”

“Ha-ha.” you say, reaching for his juice box to see what the fuss is about this drink—well, okay, it tastes really good for something that sits in a hospital vending machine. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be poking brains in there?”

He laughs, “Needed to take a break. And I’d like to annoy my wife.”

You snorted out a laugh, handing him his juice box back. “Well, congrats. You’ve done it.”

Both of you stayed like that for a while—backs leaned on the wall, looking at a distance. Just enjoying the solace of being together before going back to the intense reality of your jobs. 

You took a deep breath—it was a mix of exhaustion but mostly relief that Satoru is right beside you even if you’re not saying anything. His presence is enough to make that dull ache in your shoulder and the cramping feeling in your legs dissipate into the air like sand thrown in the wind. 

Satoru moved, circling his arms around your shoulder before pressing his cheek against the side of your head. “My poor wife, so tired.”

You chuckled, snaking your arms on his waist in return before leaning into him. “Yeah, well. It’s not like we can do something about it, huh?”

Satoru was so glad you said that. 

Without a warning, he removed his arm from around you and pushed off the wall. Holding your wrist in his hand before dragging you back inside. “Come on.”

“Satoru,” you protested a bit, but your feet were following him anyway. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” you groaned, and you can see that you were heading for the elevator. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“It’ll be worth it to let you drag me around the hospital with my sore feet?” 

He just gave you a sheepish smile and just brushed the hair stuck to your forehead as you both waited for the elevator. You pursed your lip because he isn’t really saying anything until you get there. 

So, you followed him, through the hallways—then you both took a turn, your eyebrows raised as you read the signage just above the door.

Pediatric Wing.

“What are we doing here?”

He didn’t answer and just walked ahead of you, you huffed a breath before following him. You don’t even know what your husband has up his sleeve—

“Here.” his soft voice cuts through the fog in your brain, you look at him—a gentle smile on his lips. 

You raised an eyebrow, “So, is this what you do?”

“Ssh. Watch.” he places his hand above your shoulder before turning you to the glass.

And there they were, a handful of newborn babies lined up in their hospital bassinet. Your heart warmed up instantly at the sight. You chuckle lightly watching the tiny hand raise into the air while yawning. Then another one bursted crying before the nurse soothed it. 

You stood there in silence—basking in the glow of the tiny humans. This isn’t what you expected when Satoru dragged you around, but you’re glad he did. Because looking at their tiny little faces makes you forget that you’re exhausted.

“Suguru brought me here yesterday. Said this is what he does sometimes.” he says, almost whispering. “But it works, right?”

“This is crazy,” you say, chuckling. “They’re so small.”

“Yeah.” he places a hand on your shoulders, “And so cute.”

You both stood there with smiles on your faces, watching the babies squirm—or stirr, or whatever cute stuff they do. 

“Hiii.” you whispered, waving your hand a little as if they’d understand you. You hear Satoru chuckling, you look at him—smiling as you scrunch your nose.

“I want one.”

“Tell me which one then I’ll put it in my pocket.”

“Satoru!” you swatted his arm lightly, and he laughed at your reaction—you just huffed, gazing back at the babies.

“But I’m serious,” you say quietly—your eyes hopeful, then your husband stops laughing, “I want one.”

He looked at you—really looked, and realized that you were serious. His gaze softens, “You do?”

You answered, without hesitations. “I do.”

You’ve always talked about having kids… someday, or in the future. But this was the first time that he’d seen that specific sparkle in your eyes—you weren’t joking, you weren’t teasing.

And it all felt surreal to him. He was still processing—you’ve thought about it, you didn’t throw it into the air like it was some silly idea. 

“Yeah?” he asks again, this time his voice was softer, like he was making sure that he really heard you right. 

“Yeah.” you nodded, still smiling at the babies.

Satoru lets out a breathless laugh, you feel his arms circle around your waist from behind, his chin propped above your shoulder. He whispers, “Okay.”

You leaned onto him, your hand brushing his arms that was wrapped around you. 

“We’ll make it happen.”

And just like that, all of it seemed in place. Just the two of you, standing there seemed like a quiet promise that you were going to try. That you’re stepping into a new chapter in your lives—together.

He was right. There was something that you could do to make this exhaustion you’ve been feeling for years fade away. 

And it was this moment, right here.

─── OCTOBER, 2023 ───

You’ve only been waiting for probably seconds but it felt like an hour. You were tapping your foot on the bathroom floor, waiting for the test line to appear.

You took a deep breath, bringing yourself down to the cold bathroom floor, so that you couldn’t see the test strip sitting on the counter. You press your knees to your chest, your fingers twitch slightly as you tap them over and over your legs.

You look at the timer on your phone and up at the counter—then at your phone again. You huffed a small breath from your nose, this is intense.

It’s just a test to see if you’re ovulating but why is your heart pounding so much?

Then the timer rings, a finger hovers over the stop button. You compose yourself before standing up. 

You can’t look. You can’t look. You can’t—

It’s positive. Your eyes sparkle as you look at those two lines.

You stepped out of the bathroom—Satoru stirred, his eyes adjusting from the sunlight seeping through the windows. He looks at you, eyes half-opened, “Morning?”

“Morning!” you greeted, you climbed into bed with him—specifically, on top of him. 

“What?” he asks, his voice groggy from sleep. “What happened?”

“I’m ovulating.” you say, with a smile. You leaned forward, pressing a kiss on his lips. His hands travelled across your back, fingers tracing your spine.

You pulled away, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re ovulating?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay.” he simply says before flipping you over in a swift motion, your back hits the mattress with a soft thump, you anchor your arms around his neck, giggling.

“Okay?” you let out a teasing smile, he looks at you, his messy hair falling carelessly on his forehead.

“Okay,” he repeats, fully awake—pressing soft kisses on your jaw, down to your neck, “Let’s do it.”

You laugh, a little breathlessly. Letting your hand wander to his bare back, down to the waistband of his boxers, tracing it with your fingers. “Hot.”

“I know. So hot.” he murmurs against your skin—he looks at your face, a grin etched on his lips before biting your lower lip. 

You smile into his mouth, pulling him closer just so you could calm the butterflies in your stomach—the arousal creeping up on you along with this feeling of excitement and… hope.

Hope that you never let yourself feel too much.

─── NOVEMBER, 2023 ───

You heard a small ding! from your phone. Even if you didn’t reach for it you know what it meant.

It’s the last day of your ovulation.

You look at the watch—you have rounds to do, patients to check up on. And probably a new consult was coming. 

You sighed, you couldn’t miss your window or you’ll have to wait again next month. But considering your job, you don’t have all the time in the world.

Then another sound popped out from your phone. You settled the chart down the counter and reached for the phone in your pocket.

Satoru | 9:47 PM

got time?

That was all it took before you’re pinned against the wall of the storage room, his tall stature looming over you while his lips are devouring you whole.

What? The on-call room is occupied.

Satoru’s hand travelled to your nape, pulling you closer. His tongue slips past your lips, swirling and sucking on your tongue. His other hand pushed past the waistband of your scrub pants.

Your heart was pounding—not just from the adrenaline or the thrill of doing it in the storage room where you’re surrounded by boxes of gloves, IV kits—but also by the way your husband is holding you. 

You whimper into his mouth when his middle finger rubs your clit, you pull away—gasping, he kisses your neck, “Can you keep quiet for me, yeah?”

And before you could even formulate words, he was pushing two fingers in—scissoring his fingers before curling it up, “Mhm—Satoru!”

His hand travelled to your mouth, his dark eyes glisten under the dim light—like he’s warning you to stay quiet or you’ll get caught. 

You gripped on his arm, while your other hand traveled down his pants, pushing it down along with his boxers just below his ass. 

His hard cock springs free, you wrap your hand around his length, moving it up and down—twisting your hand every now and then, your thumb brushes over the tip, smearing his pre-cum.

Your vision blurs as you watch Satoru’s lips part—his gaze holds yours as he pumps his fingers in and out, your movements in sync. Your breaths were ragged—stifled moans to keep quiet.

He removes his hand from your mouth, you bury your face on the crook of his neck as you try not to moan out loud, hand still moving on his cock. “Sa—toru. Mhm—fuck! ‘m gonna… shit.”

You could hear the  muffled—distant, bustle of the hospital just outside the door but it seemed like all the care in world flew out the window while your husband finger-fucks you—you could hear his ragged breathing, biting the skin of your neck as you pump his dick harder. 

“Take off your pants.” he says, voice low—almost a growl. You whimper as he removes his fingers—obligingly, you push your pants down along with your undergarments, letting it pool on the floor. 

His fingers gripped on the back of your thigh to hoist your leg up, he teases your folds with the tip before aligning himself—slowly, he pushes in—you bite your lip hard, you can’t not moan when he’s stretching you so deliciously. 

You’ve been with him for years, but the feeling was just the same—maybe more. God.

All you could do was bury your face on his shoulder, your fingers slipping on his hair as if you’re gripping all the last drop of wits left in you. 

Satoru’s breathing was shallow, his hands gripping on your hips as he tried to compose himself—he’s getting insane with the way you’re clenching around him, but he willed himself to move, slowly—deliberately, trying to relish in the way you wrap around him.

“Hah—fuck,” his breath ghosts over your ear, “I’ve got you, baby.”

He presses a soft kiss on your temple, his pace fastens—your back, slamming on the cold wall as he slams himself into you. The pleasure lit every nerve endings in your body, spreading like wildfire all over your skin. 

His lips finds yours again—pressing wet, sloppy kisses on you. A little saliva stringing out as your part, “Sat—nggh! So good—mhmm—”

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasps out, his movements fast—deep, hard. 

You look at him with heavy-lidded eyes, breathless moans escaping your mouth as you part your lips, your grip on his shoulder tightens. “I love you—Ah—I fuck—ngghh… love you.”

─── DECEMBER, 2023 ───

You were five days late. 

Five days. 

You stare at your phone again, the big ‘late for five days’ from the period tracker that you downloaded on your phone were screaming at you. You could feel the heartbeat in your chest along with the pounding in your head.

It’s not… could it be?

You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t move from where you were standing.

Your fingers ghost above your belly, your heart thudding unmistakably in your chest as your brain evokes some ideas in you—your hands were shaking as you pulled the drawer open, reaching for the pregnancy test just sitting above the pads that you were hoping not to use.

But as you’re about to lift it up, that familiar cramping shoots up on your lower belly and tugs down on your lower back.

You froze.

Instead of the pregnancy test, you pick the pads from the drawer.

And your heart clenched, too tight.

“Hey,” Satoru turned his head from the television as you sat beside him on the couch, “You okay?”

You smile but knowing your husband, he could see right through you. “Got my period.”

You can see this shift in his demeanor, but nonetheless, he smiled at you. He wraps his arms around your waist before pressing a kiss on your shoulder, “It’s okay. We’ll keep trying.”

─── FEBRUARY, 2024 ───

The coffee would’ve boiled if you had the power to do it just by staring at it.

You just came from a three-hour surgery, it was messy—a lot stressful, but it was a success nevertheless and all you wanted to do right now was to sip a cup of coffee, maybe have a few minutes of silence.

You were too exhausted. Your arms feel like it’s about to fall off, your legs feel like jelly, and your brain felt like it was almost giving up on you.

Just a sip. It wouldn’t hurt, right?

You were about to reach for a cup of coffee when your husband’s voice entered your mind. Satoru would always remind you to refrain from drinking coffee because it wouldn’t be good for you—because… you were trying.

You have been trying.

You’re doing all that you can. 

You’re doing everything from not drinking coffee to taking a lot less stressful cases and avoiding night shifts—taking supplements, vitamins, hormone boosters to even tracking your ovulation and periods—even as far as scheduling sex.

It was so exhausting and all you wanted was just a sip of coffee.

It has been, what? Five months since you’ve started trying but you were still here.

Still stuck in trying. 

Before you even knew it, you were holding a cup of coffee in your hand and was about to take a sip when it got snatched from your hand.

“Nice try, Dr. Gojo.”

You huffed, looking at your husband—you didn’t utter a single word and just tried to reach for it, but then he raised it above his head. 

“Are you a kid?” you shot him a look, “You’re so insufferable.”

Satoru just grinned, pressing a kiss on your temple before dumping the coffee into the sink, making you groan—loudly. He reached for something in his pocket.

“You should be taking this.” he says, placing the blister pack in your palm.

It’s your vitamins.

“Fine.” you say, taking one from the pack and then he handed you a water. He watched as you popped it in your mouth—as if he’s checking if you really swallowed it. “Happy?”

“Very much.” 

You rolled your eyes but chuckled anyway, you took a deep breath before stepping closer to him, then you leaned onto him—his arms circled around you without any hesitation.

“Tired?”

“Very.” you could feel him tapping your back gently. You looked up at him, your eyes searching his. 

“It’s going to work, right?”

He smiled, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Yes. It’ll work.”

─── JULY, 2024 ───

“Dr. YN Gojo?”

You looked up from doing your post-op notes. You immediately fixed your posture and smiled nervously when you realized who it was who called you.

“Dr. Yamada. Hi—uhm, I mean, good afternoon! How may I help you?”

How may I help you? What in the lame ass is this YN?

How can you not get nervous when it’s Dr. Yamada in front of you?

Dr. Emi Yamada, the top cardiothoracic surgeon in the hospital—and in the country, is talking to you and you don’t know what for. 

You’ve read her papers. You probably watched one of her lectures when you were in med school—and you know she had been invited to several conferences to speak, she’s even mentioned in different journals for cardiothoracic surgery.

So, yes, you’re kind of spiraling.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush,” she says with a small smile, “I heard you’re the primary for the thoracoabdominal case last week.”

What… did you do something wrong?

Did she not like your work—

“We have an opening for a fellow. I’d like you to consider.”

Your eyes widened, almost choking on your saliva. “M-me?”

She nodded, putting her hands inside her pocket. “I read your charting. You work fast but precise. You’re very meticulous. I’ve heard your name more than once and they say you’re very good. Well, I could say… that I agree.”

Your jaw almost bore a hole on the ground.

Dr. Yamada is not big on compliments. She’s a bit of a terror as they say. 

“I thought they’re just talking big because your father is the chief of surgery. But you’re really good. I’ve read the paper you published when you were a resident.”

And she’s blunt—and she read your paper. Your paper that you published. 

“I’m honored but I’ve been on trauma—”

“Since residency, right?” she hummed, “That’s good. But I think cardiothoracic is a good match for you. Hearts are complicated. You know? Complex, demanding. But I could see that you like challenges. We could use someone like you.”

You couldn’t move. Your lips were tight and you didn’t know what else to say. 

How could you respond to something like this—not even your father praised you like this.

“I’m… honored.” You don’t even know how you managed to get words out. 

“You don’t have to answer now, Dr. Gojo. Just think about it.”

And with that she left you—with a heart pounding so loud in your chest, your pulse was audible in your ears. And as you stood there in that hallway, one person just came into your mind.

Satoru.

Your plan. 

Taking this would mean you’re sacrificing the other. But it doesn’t have to be like that, right? You could still try. You could do it.

“Ah, fuck, no.” you whispered, determined not to take it.

But you know—deep inside your heart, something was stirring.

—

“Are you going to eat that?”

“Huh?”

“Your food.” Megumi says before taking a bite, “You okay?”

You stared at Megumi across from you—he texted you saying was here because he said something about his application, and now you’re eating lunch with him because your husband was in surgery.

“Something wrong?” he asked again, brows furrowing when he noticed your staring at him. “You’re acting weird.”

“Do you think it’d be okay if I take a cardiothoracic fellowship?”

“You’d be studying again.” he says and you chuckled, well, you’ve been studying your whole life. It’s nothing new. 

“Dr. Yamada offered me the fellowship. She talked to me five days ago. Said I’ll be a good fit.”

He paused, dropping his utensils, “Dr. Yamada…? Dr. Emi Yamada…? Then it’s a big deal.”

You know that.

That’s why you’ve been thinking about it since. It’s not just something you can pass on. It’s a big deal. A career in trauma and cardiothoracic surgery? Soon enough, you’ll be a big deal yourself.

You huffed, leaning back. “I know that, Megs. But..”

“But what?”

“I’m thinking about Satoru. We are trying to have a baby… or were. I have no idea if we still are.” you paused, “And a fellowship like this means more hours. More work, responsibilities and… stress.”

Megumi paused for a while, pondering about what to tell you. “You’re always telling me to always go for what I want. No hesitations. You say it’s better to look at yourself and say you’ve made it even when it’s hard, and not look at yourself and wonder what could’ve been.”

You smiled at him, “I did say that, huh?”

“Yeah.” he almost smiles, “Do you want it?”

You looked away for a bit, staring at some people leaving and entering the cafeteria then you looked back at him. 

“Yeah.” you took a deep breath, “I think I do.”

—

You hated how quiet the room is, because you could actually hear your heartbeat inside your chest. You hated how you noticed the flickering of the lamp beside you—the hum of the AC unit—just… everything.

You hated how you couldn’t just talk about it to your husband because you’re afraid of hurting him, of disappointing him more than you already have. 

You turned your head, looking at Satoru who’s already half-asleep beside you, his arm carelessly slung above his eyes. 

You watched how the breath tumbles out of his lips, how his chest rises and falls with every breath that he takes. 

“Satoru.” you whispered.

“Yes, love?” he asks, voice already a bit groggy.

You sighed, sitting up slightly. The sheets fiddling in between your fingers. “Dr. Yamada talked to me.”

He blinked, sleep slowly fading away. “Hm? Dr. Yamada? The Dr. Yamada? About what?”

“She offered me a cardiothoracic fellowship—no, uhm, she suggested I should take a fellowship.”

Satoru pushed his arm off and looked at you with a creased brows, and the look in his eyes pricked your heart in ways you didn’t even know it could.

“Fellowship?” he repeated, confirming. “Are you going to take it?”

“I’m… I— I’m just thinking about it.”

There was silence for a bit. The tension was palpable. “Nevermind—”

“You want it.” he says, you notice the change in his tone. “Just say it.”

“And what if I do?”

He sat up fully, “Jesus, YN. You’re the one who said you wanted to slow down. No more night shift, complicated cases—you said all that. Do you know what this all means? You’re going to do more work. More responsibilities—”

“Don’t you think I know that?” you sat up, taking a deep breath. “But I can do it. We can still try—”

“No, we can’t!” his voice was louder than he intended it to be, the frustrations finally seeping in. “Do you realize how big that is? That’s another late night studying, YN. I’ve seen you burn yourself out. I’ve seen you cry in the goddamn bathroom—ha, fuck, you think we could still try with you going all through that again?”

“Satoru—”

“God,” he laughed bitterly, dragging his hands through his hair, “Take it. Just fucking take it. Seems like you already made a choice, right?”

You could feel the tears falling from your eyes but you wiped them hastily. “I didn’t make a choice, Satoru. I’m just so tired of feeling this way! This fellowship? You know it’s the first thing in ten months that I’ve felt that I could finally do something without feeling like a failure? For the first time in months I could still feel like I was something!”

The look on his face says everything—you’ve hurt him. And you have no way of taking it back.

He stood up, getting out of bed. Looking away from you.

“Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer, instead, he grabbed his pillow out of the bed. 

“Satoru.”

“I’m going to sleep on the couch.” he muttered, slamming the door behind him.

And you just stayed there. Not because you didn’t want to stop him—but because you knew if you did, you would’ve said more things you would regret.

─── OCTOBER, 2024 ───

The months passed by in an agonizing blur. 

You started your fellowship two months ago—and that was the last time you had a decent conversation with your husband. Since then, you’ve been buried in rotations, surgeries, research and a lot more you couldn’t even count.

You were still sleeping in the same bed but with your backs facing each other. You still eat at the same table but only the clattering of the utensils could be heard. 

There are days that he’ll ask if you already ate and you’ll say yes. You’ll ask him if he had slept and he’ll just smile. You were like ships, just passing by each other in the vast ocean.

And the one thing that he did all those months that breaks your heart the most was—he left you coffee.

Coffee.

Because he used to take it out of your hand. Because he used to scold you when you said you wanted a sip. Just a sip and now, he’s letting you drink a whole cup.

And now, your heart is breaking because you know he surrendered. He stopped trying—you both stopped trying.

You know it was your fault. You just didn’t know how to fix it. Because you think it’d be better this way—you didn’t want to loop him in and then give him another hope then disappoint him in the end.

You stared at the cup for too long, not even sure if you wanted it anymore until your phone rings in your pocket and steers away the fog in your brain.

You almost dropped the phone when you saw Suguru’s message. You didn’t even know how but you were there in a matter of seconds.

The ER was in chaos when you arrived. 

“Male in the mid-sixties, cardiac arrest on the scene, possible internal blee—”

You shoved the nurses and paramedics out of the way, your heart was wailing inside your chest. Your whole body was pulsating.

Then you saw him, Satoru’s father.

Move, YN. You need to move.

But you couldn’t. He was pale—too pale like life was slowly drowning out of him. There was blood everywhere.

You didn’t even know how you got here—knees already bumping on the gurney, how you got your gloves on—you just know logic went out the window the moment you laid your hands above him.

“Move! I’m taking over compressions! Get the crash cart ready.”

“YN. You can’t—” you hear Suguru’s voice. “I’ll take over—”

“No!” you yelled, already moving, “I—just get the paddles ready! Suguru, please.”

You pressed your hands down his chest—you counted, over and over. “Push one of Epi. Charge to 200—clear!”

You watched as his body jerk above the table, you could already feel your hands trembling but you continued, you couldn’t stop. You won’t.

Stay with me, please. 

“Again—Clear!”

Nothing.

“Again!”

“Clear!”

“Again!”

You never stopped moving. You didn’t know how long it was. Minutes? An hour?

“Again!” you yelled, but they weren’t moving—and you, refusing to hear the shrill beeping of the machine in front of you, just continued. “Again—”

“YN.” Suguru says gently, “You’ve been at it for almost an hour.” 

But you don't stop. Your arms were sore—but that was never your worry, you wouldn’t do this.

You wouldn’t let this happen. 

No.

He can’t lose his father.

“YN.”

You could feel your tears falling as you continued the compressions. “Let go, YN.”

You feel Suguru’s hand above you, “I’ll take over. YN, you need to take a break.”

“No.” your voice cracks, “No. No. No.”

Suguru takes over and you stand there frozen, watching as his hands slowly move until it stops. 

“Time of death, 5:46 PM.”

Your hands fell to your side, your gloves soaked with blood—your hair all over the place, but you didn’t move. 

You can’t move. 

How do you tell his mom?

How do you tell him?

You don’t know how long you stood there—staring at your bloodied gloves when you heard your father’s voice.

“Dr. Gojo! Are you listening?!” he was shouting, “You know it was against protocol! He was your family! What were you thinking?!”

“He was dying…” you whispered, “I was the only trauma attending there… I…”

“That’s not the point—”

“She didn’t have any choice,” Suguru says beside you, “She was the only one there. The interns couldn’t have done what she did. Dr. Gojo only did what she thought was right—she did everything she could.”

You didn’t know what else your father said. 

All of it was a blur. 

You know you have to talk to Satoru and his mom. 

God, your husband. How do you say it to him? How do you tell him that you did everything you could but you couldn’t save his dad?

—

“YN?”

Satoru called for you—his heart dropped when he saw you sitting on the floor, back leaning on the wall just outside the emergency room.

You were still wearing your gown and gloves. You weren’t moving. You were just staring at the pavement like you’ve lost your mind.

He stepped towards you, slowly crouching to your level. 

“I’m here,” he whispers, “I’m here, love.”

But you didn’t move, you didn’t look at him because you didn’t know how to. Or if you could even.

“I… I tried,” you whispered, your voice cracking, “Satoru, I tried. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—I can’t save him. I didn’t—I’m sorry. I did everything. Everything. I tried, baby, I’m sorry—”

Your body trembled with every word that you uttered, your fingers twitching as if you’re still moving. Still compressing.

His chest tightens, he pulls you close—his figure slowly enveloping you until you feel small. “I know you tried. I know you did. You didn’t let him die alone, love. I know…”

He stutters, tears falling slowly as he pulls you closer, his words tangled into your skin.

“He would’ve been proud of you, YN. You were there for him when I couldn’t…”

─── DECEMBER, 2024 ───

It’s your husband’s birthday tomorrow. 

It’s the first one without his father. It has been almost two months since he died, but Satoru never really talked about it. He never cried in front of you again after that day, he never brought it up.

And you did not push. You didn’t want to say anything, because honestly? You don’t know how to—and there’s a selfish part of you that doesn’t want to open that wound.

So, you just stare at him. At his back. While he pours water on the glasses until he’s aware that you were staring at him. 

“What?” he asks, forehead creasing and you chuckled at his reaction. “Why?”

“You know I love you, right?”

He paused, just for a fraction of second before putting the pitcher down. He smiles, “I know.”

You stare at each other, eyes flickering the unspoken words that you couldn’t say. You never talked about it again, trying—not after months of silence, it was too painful for the two of you to even bring it up. So, you just let it sit in the back. 

Not knowing how to bring it up. Not knowing what to say.

But there’s one thing you both knew for sure. 

That you still love each other and that’ll never change.

He walked towards you—the couch sank beside you as he leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss on your lips.

“I love you more, YN. Always have. Always will.”

You smiled, cradling his face in your hands, brushing your noses together. 

“Can I have my birthday sex now?”

You pulled away, then you shot him a look. “What?”

“Seriously?” you blinked, you glanced at the clock. “It’s still 11:58 PM. You have two minutes left.”

You shrieked when he carries you up, “Satoru—”

He grins, kissing the side of your lips. “Then advance happy birthday to me then?”

─── DECEMBER 26, 2024 ───

You were scrolling through your phone, eating whatever fruit you had left yesterday, your body sprawled at the couch. Your husband was at the hospital because he got called in and you got left alone at your apartment.

Well, that’s the reality of your job, right? Even if he wanted to stay in with you, he begrudgingly went to the hospital while you just laughed at him for being called in.

Satoru | 3:45 PM

I know you’re still laughing. Mean.

You just rolled your eyes, taking a picture of yourself lounging on the couch so you could rub it in your husband’s face. 

You | 3:46 PM

I love you <3

Satoru | 3:47 PM

K

You laughed at his response. Your poor husband, working after Christmas—

Wait.

“It’s the 26th.” you murmured, “What?”

You stood up from the couch to stare at the small calendar sitting atop the shelf.

It’s almost a month.

A month. 

You should’ve had your period by now… right?

You almost sprinted to the bathroom, hastily opening that one drawer—where you had stored the forgotten test kits, the hormone boosters, the vitamins—your hands were shaking when you reached for that one box.

And you think it’s about an hour before you had the guts to open it.

You were sitting on the bathroom floor again. Trying not to stare at the three tests that sit heavy above the counter. 

You didn’t want to hope. Not after a year of trying. Not after all the pain and silence.

But your heart betrayed you, it was screaming at you, roaring with hope that you might be—

The alarm causes you to jolt from where you were sitting. 

You couldn’t look. 

“YN?” you hear the keys clattering on the side table. “I’m home! It was just a consult.”

Then you heard his voice. 

You stood up instantly—still not looking at the test, grabbing one before you emerged from the bathroom.

“There you are!” his voice lit up, but then he frowned seeing your glassy eyes, “Hey… what’s wrong?”

You stepped forward, the test still hidden inside your palm. “I can’t look. You look.”

“Huh?”

You reached for his hand, turning his palm up then you placed it on his hand without even looking.

He blinked at you, confused until he looked at what you placed at his palm. 

His heart stopped. The air in his lungs was punched out of him.

Two lines.

Two.

“Is this…” his voice cracked as he stared at it—and you couldn’t help it anymore, so you looked, “Love—this is positive. You’re…”

“I am?” you say, tears falling at the side of your eyes, you swallow thickly, “I really am? Is this real?”

He smiles—the kind that eats up his eyes, he pulls you close, embracing you tight. Then you break—sobs wracking out of you, a big one that you almost couldn’t breathe. 

“I thought we couldn’t—ever.” you cried, clutching on his shirt as you buried your face on his neck. “I thought something was wrong with me. I thought…”

“No,” he sighs, the one that clears all the sorrows buried deep inside him—a sigh of relief, joy. “No, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect.”

You looked at him, smiling albeit tears were falling. He cups your face with his hands—it was warm, comfortable.

You giggle as he presses a gentle kiss in your face, everywhere his lips could touch. “We’re having a baby.”

“We are. We’re having a baby.”

─── MAY, 2025 (PRESENT)  ───

You’re having a baby.

Again.

After you’ve gone to the comfort room—where you felt like all your guts were butchered out of you, your feet dragged you to the storage room where they hid all the kits.

You took five.  Five kits. 

And now, you’re back at the comfort room—staring at the kits that were taunting you. 

All of it has two dark lines.

You press a hand on your belly, slowly brushing it—clutching like it was anchoring you to the ground.

This is real. Isn’t it?

You had no idea how you left the comfort room. All you knew was how heavy the steps that you were taking—the five tests, shoved into your pocket. 

You knocked into her door, slowly opening to see Ieiri on her desk. “Hey! I heard Megumi’s surgery is today—”

And that’s when you broke.

You didn’t mean it. You weren’t supposed to cry again. Not like this. Not in front of her but you couldn’t help it. 

Shoko was up in an instant, holding onto you before your knees buckled. “Hey—hey—it’s okay. Come here.”

She wrapped her arms around you as your loud sobs echoed around her office, your wails replacing the atmosphere.

You weren’t saying anything. 

You couldn’t.

—

“You want to tell me what happened or do you just want to sit here?”

It took a while for you to calm down, and now you’re just sitting quietly on her couch. Your eyes were swollen—knees pressed against your chest.

You took a deep breath before reaching for your coat pocket, laying all the tests in the space between you two.

All five of them. Each one unmistakeable.

You could see how her gaze softened, she placed a hand above yours, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Lie down. Let’s check.”

And then, there you were, lying while Shoko puts the cool gel on your belly—the paper on your back crinkles slightly as you shift, Shoko sits beside the machine, clicking on some buttons.

“You ready?”

“Yeah.” you whisper.

You flinched a bit when she pressed the transducer against your skin—her hands were steady, and you tried to  focus on the screen or even her voice.

But your heart was pounding. Unsure of what to feel. 

“There.” she says with a soft smile on her face, “That’s your baby.”

Then you saw it. A small figure.

It’s tiny. But it’s there. It’s real.

Your baby. Yours and Satoru’s.

The air was caught in your throat.

You chuckled—or cried, maybe—or something in between, wiping the tears falling from the side of your eyes. “That’s… that’s my baby?”

“Yeah,” she pats your hand, “You’re about six weeks. I’d say.”

Your eyes fluttered shut.

You’re six weeks. 

Just like when you first lost her. But this one… it’s going to stick, right? You’re not going to lose this one too. 

Please.

“Hey,” you hear Ieiri’s voice, you opened your eyes and she was smiling at you, “It’s okay. I know you’re scared. But this is a good thing. Okay? I’m going to keep an eye on you. We’ll have you checked regularly. I’ll make sure everything is okay.”

“Thank you.”

She just smiled and handed you a tissue box. You wiped the gel off your skin and then you sat up, “I haven’t told him.”

“Do you want me to tell him?”

“No.” you say almost immediately, “Not yet. I just want to be sure.”

Your fingers latched on the edge of the bed, gripping it a bit tight. “It’s just that… we’ve been here before. And I gave him hope and I took it away. I just wanted to make sure that this is it. That I wouldn’t just give him another disappointment.”

“I get it,” she nodded, “You’ll tell him when you’re ready.”

—

Satoru was hunched on his desk, typing something on his computer when you came into his neuro lab. He didn’t even notice you came in—he looked so exhausted, like there’s a large weight on his shoulders. His white hair was disheveled a bit, his specs perched on his nose.

You looked around—the lab was dim, there’s a lot of papers stacked and scattered around the table—and there’s a model of the brain just near his computer.

But your eyes flicker to the other side of his desk—it’s a frame, with your picture on it. 

You huffed a small breath before walking towards him and that’s when he noticed you. He hoisted his head up—eyes a bit wide from surprise.

“Hey.” he says softly, “What’s wrong? Are you okay? I haven’t seen you since—”

He stopped when you climbed on his lap, without saying anything, your arms slung around his neck, cheeks pressed on his shoulder.

He paused for just a second, then you could feel him relax, leaning you both on the chair while circling his arms around you. Gently tapping your back when he heard you sniffle.

He didn’t utter a word. He just let you—even if he wanted to ask, to know. He just let you in the fear of pushing you away. So, he just stayed quiet, giving you the comfort you clearly needed.

You weren’t sobbing like you were earlier. But your breath hitched, you clutch his coat with every breath coming out of your lips. 

But he didn’t say anything. And you wanted to tell him right there and then. But you stopped yourself, you needed to be sure first. You can’t give him false hope.

In a little while, your breathing steadied—getting in sync with him. And you just stayed there, on your husband’s lap, because this is the safest place you know. 

Then you pulled away just enough to look at his face. He gave you a smile, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“You’re not going to ask me to sign something again, right?”

And then you broke—laughing, not hysterically, but you laughed at how ridiculous you were, filing for a divorce when you knew you were never going to leave him. 

Satoru blinked but then he chuckled. 

Then you both sat there—laughing, “God, this is so ridiculous. We’re so stupid.”

“I know.” he mumbles, “This is so dumb.”

Your laughter slowly dies down, you smile at him before pressing a soft kiss on his lips. 

“Satoru.”

His arms tightens around you, resting his head on your shoulders. “Hm?”

“Throw the papers away.”

taglist. @haliyarobin . @anofi . @coffeeluvr96 . @sadmonke .

[fitgymgoals]

When a guy is into you, he'll often......go out of his way to be helpful, even in small things.

💡 Male Fact Alert! 💡 Did you know? When a guy is into you, he’ll often go out of his way to be helpful, even in the smallest things! 🛠️ It’s those little gestures that speak volumes about his feelings. Watch this short to understand the subtle ways guys show their interest! 🔎 Relationship Insights for Women 💙 Decode His Actions 📝 Signs He Likes You If you've noticed these signs, drop a comment below and don't forget to hit subscribe for more relationship facts!