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lightdancingwords · 2 days ago

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Or at least a wildly adorable one with hilarious onesies or adorable ones! A memorable baby/toddler that people will meet in the wild!

Crossroads of the Heart - Part Forty-Five of ?

Pairings: CJ Braxton x Y/N Female reader

Series Summary: Y/N is a psychology major assigned to shadow CJ at The Stand, unaware he's the one who basically saved her life four years before. CJ is unaware that she's the one who left a notable impact on him over the phone four years ago. As they navigate the work at The Stand, they develop a spark that demands revelation and connection.

Word Count: 3,638

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, minor angst, minor pregnancy drama, parental estrangement

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

NOTE: Please refer to THIS POST about the new posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

Chapter Forty-Five: I Had You

The front door shut behind them with a soft click, and Y/N leaned back against it for a moment, slipping off her shoes. CJ was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he opened the fridge and scanned their limited options.

“Grilled cheese?” he called over his shoulder.

Y/N’s smile ghosted across her lips. “Simple. Safe. Approved.”

“Good,” he replied, grabbing bread, butter, and the last few slices of sharp cheddar. “Because I’m too tired to pretend I know what I’m doing tonight.”

She stepped in beside him, brushing her hand across his lower back as she passed. He didn’t flinch or pull away—just leaned into her touch instinctively. Familiar. Natural. Like breathing.

While she pulled two glasses from the cabinet and filled them with water, CJ moved to the stove. The pan heated slowly as he sliced the cheese and spread butter across the bread. Nothing extravagant, just rhythm and comfort. A meal made from knowing each other.

Then, with the soft sizzle of the first sandwich hitting the pan, CJ reached for her. One arm slid around her waist, drawing her close until her back met his chest. He kissed her shoulder, then dipped his head to nuzzle against the crook of her neck, warm breath brushing her skin.

“I love you,” he murmured against her collarbone, barely above a whisper.

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself feel it—the truth in those words, the steadiness of him.

She turned in his arms, her hands finding the edges of his shirt. “I know,” she said softly, smiling up at him. “And I love you.”

His forehead rested gently against hers.

The sandwich sizzled in the background, the scent of melting cheese drifting through the air like a quiet blessing.

They didn’t need candles or music or fanfare. This—them—was enough. Quiet. Present. Real.

CJ pulled back only enough to tend to the food, and Y/N watched him, heart full. In a world that often felt too heavy, too uncertain, he was the thing she never doubted.

Her home. Her anchor.

And in the soft clatter of plates and the warmth of shared laughter over simple food, they found their peace again—one small, perfect evening at a time.

Y/N had just sat down, the warm plate of grilled cheese and a side of baby carrots in front of her, when her phone buzzed against the table.

She blinked, reaching for it, and immediately saw Gabby’s name lighting up the screen.

CJ looked over his glass of water, brows raised. “That her?”

Y/N opened the message—and snorted.

“Oh God,” she said through a sudden laugh, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “Yes. Very much her.”

She turned the phone so CJ could see.

Onscreen: a baby onesie in bold pink with glittery gold lettering that read “I Just Did 9 Months on the Inside.” Another followed it immediately: “Proof My Parents Did Not Social Distance.” Then “Womb Raider” in Star Wars font.

CJ chuckled, biting into his sandwich. “That poor kid.”

Y/N shook her head, texting back quickly with: Gabs. Glitter? Really? That child is going to be a meme before it can sit up.

Three dots appeared immediately.

YES. I ALREADY FOUND A ‘POOP THERE IT IS’ ONESIE. I NEED IT.

Another ping.

...also I may have cried over tiny socks.

Y/N giggled and handed the phone to CJ. “It’s a full spiral now.”

He looked over the texts and smiled, soft and fond. “She seems better.”

“She is,” Y/N said, her voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “Still kind of overwhelmed, but… she’s coming through it. And Miles is with her every step.”

CJ nodded. “Good. That’s how it should be.”

Y/N reached for her sandwich but paused, fingers brushing the edge of her plate. “I think they’re going to be okay,” she said, almost to herself. “Even if it’s hard. Even if it wasn’t planned.”

CJ leaned over, brushing a kiss to her temple before reaching for another carrot. “The best things never are.”

Y/N gave a quiet laugh and settled into her seat again, her heart a little lighter as she typed back a message to Gabby:

Save a onesie for me to buy. Glitter or not, I’m in.

And across the room, CJ smiled as he watched her type—because this was how their world worked now. Unfolding, unpredictable, messy, and beautiful.

And theirs.

The bedroom was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the lamp on his nightstand. CJ lay on his back, one arm behind his head, the other draped across his stomach, the sheets tangled loosely around his legs. The bathroom door was open just enough for warm light to spill through, casting a soft amber hue across the floor. He could hear the gentle splash of water as Y/N washed her face, the small clink of the cup she used to rinse, the dull hum of her evening routine.

He watched the silhouette of her through the frosted glass of the mirror—her shoulders moving in quiet rhythm, the loose strands of her hair swaying with every tilt of her head.

And he thought, God, she’s strong.

Not loud, not stubborn, not forceful—but strong in the ways that mattered.

She had been broken. Not once. Not twice. Again and again. And still she got up. Still she smiled. Still she loved with a kind of quiet ferocity that humbled him. Her father had failed her in ways that still made CJ clench his fists when he thought about it too long. That letter, that damn letter, had opened wounds she never deserved to carry in the first place.

But Y/N faced it.

She hadn’t run. She hadn’t shut down.

She was still trying to figure out what to do—if she wanted to forgive, if she wanted to respond, if there was anything left worth salvaging. And she was doing it while living, while loving, while holding together everyone else around her like gravity.

He blinked slowly, overwhelmed by the sheer force of who she was.

How did I get so lucky?

Because she’d chosen him.

Out of everyone, out of all the past pain and messy memories and grief still echoing in her bones—she chose him.

She let him in, let him love her, let him hold her even when she didn’t have the words for what hurt. He couldn’t fix it all. He knew that. But God, if he could take every ounce of her pain and carry it for her, he would. Without question. Without hesitation.

Just to see her smile without shadows again.

She flicked off the bathroom light, stepping softly into the room wearing one of his t-shirts that hung low over her thighs. Her skin was dewy from her skincare routine, and her hair was tucked behind her ears.

She caught his gaze and smiled—small, a little tired, but real.

“You’re staring,” she murmured, sliding into bed beside him.

CJ turned toward her, propped up on one elbow. “I was just thinking how incredible you are.”

She rolled her eyes, though the flush of warmth reached her cheeks. “Liar.”

“I’m serious.” His voice was low, steady. “You’ve been through hell, and you still get up every day. You still laugh. You still fight for people. You still let yourself feel, even when it hurts. That’s… that’s more than brave. That’s extraordinary.”

She didn’t reply right away. Just tucked herself closer into his chest, her arm resting over his heart. He wrapped her up without hesitation.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he whispered into her hair. “Not with me.”

She was quiet, and then, softly: “I know.”

CJ kissed the top of her head, pulled the blanket higher around them both.

And in that quiet space between breaths and heartbeat, he made her a silent promise:

He would be her shield, her softness, her steady—however long she needed him to be.

Because she had chosen him.

And he would choose her, every single time.

Moonlight stretched in faint silver lines across the bedroom floor, slipping in through the curtains that swayed gently with the breeze from the cracked window. The room was still, the kind of stillness that only lived deep in the middle of the night, when the world outside held its breath.

CJ stirred first.

Not from a nightmare. Not from worry.

Just... stirred.

He opened his eyes slowly, the ceiling faintly aglow in the silver light. Y/N was nestled against him, her breath steady, her forehead resting lightly against his shoulder. Her hand lay against his chest, fingers curled near the soft fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t move, didn’t shift. Just breathed.

There was something sacred about this—about the way she found him in her sleep, always reached for him. As if even in unconsciousness, she knew he was her safe place.

He turned his head slightly, brushing his nose against her hair.

“Mmh,” she murmured, the sound small, the barest shift of wakefulness.

He kissed her crown, slow and reverent. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t fully asleep,” she mumbled, voice drowsy, warm. “Just... drifting.”

Her hand moved then, gliding down to find his. Their fingers interlaced beneath the covers, palms pressed together.

He felt the cool brush of her ring against his finger, just as she felt the faint ridges of his own—the snowflake-etched band she’d given him.

Y/N blinked open her eyes, just enough to look at him through the soft dark. “We match,” she whispered, giving their joined hands a gentle squeeze.

CJ looked down at their fingers, the way the rings glinted faintly in the moonlight.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and steady. “We do.”

There was no ceremony to it, no grand gesture. Just hands, warm and steady, holding each other in the dark.

“I like it,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Me too.”

She closed her eyes again, and he watched as the lines in her forehead softened. Whatever heaviness she still carried, it seemed lighter here—under the hush of midnight, in the press of skin to skin.

“You okay?” he asked, brushing a thumb across the back of her hand.

She nodded. “I am right now.”

That was enough.

He held her a little closer, their joined hands resting between them like a vow.

No words. No promises they hadn’t already made.

Just presence.

And love.

Always love.

The morning sun had barely crested over the buildings as CJ and Y/N made their way into The Stand, the familiar hum of the world slowly coming to life around them. Their footsteps were unhurried, side by side in comfortable silence, fingers brushing occasionally but not quite holding hands—some things were reserved for private moments, not public hallways.

CJ held the door open for her like he always did, a subtle ritual that had never faded. Inside, the early shift had already started: quiet typing, low murmurs of conversations, the scent of too-strong coffee lingering near the break room. Y/N gave him a soft smile, and he kissed her temple before veering off toward his office.

She lingered.

Paused.

Turned.

And instead of heading to her desk, she pivoted on her heel and walked down the hallway toward the IT wing. She rarely went that way, unless absolutely necessary—and even then, she usually emailed instead of knocking.

But today, she needed something more than a fix. She needed perspective.

Miles looked up from his screen as she appeared in the doorway. His usual mildly-brooding expression gave way to confusion.

“Y/N?”

“Hey,” she said gently. “Got a minute?”

He blinked, obviously surprised. “Yeah, sure. You okay?”

She stepped in, closing the door halfway behind her. “I think so,” she said, then pulled in a breath. “I just… I wanted to ask you something. Something personal.”

Miles sat up a little straighter, nodding. “Alright.”

Y/N hesitated, fingers toying with the hem of her sleeve. “If you had the chance to see your father again… to talk to him, face-to-face. Would you?”

The room went still.

Miles didn’t speak right away. He leaned back in his chair, eyes unfocused, as if looking through the walls rather than at them.

“You’re asking because of the letter,” he said quietly.

She gave a small nod.

He sighed. “I don’t know. I used to think I’d want to. That maybe I’d have all these questions. Or anger. Or… something.”

Y/N listened, not interrupting.

“But now?” Miles shrugged, eyes dropping to the keyboard. “I stopped caring a long time ago. Stopped wondering. He left. He didn’t come back. Didn’t call. Didn’t pay. Nothing. It’s like he died—only without the closure of a funeral.”

He looked at her then, not unkindly. “So I guess if I saw him again, I’d probably just feel… nothing. No hate. No forgiveness. Just indifference. Like talking to a stranger I used to think about but haven’t in years.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly. “Does that help you? Not caring?”

Miles gave a small, honest nod. “It does. Because I stopped giving him real estate in my head. Stopped letting his absence define anything about who I became.”

He paused, then added more gently, “But that’s me. You’re not me. And your father didn’t leave—he just didn’t show up the way you needed. That’s different. And maybe harder.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, absorbing it.

“You thinking about seeing him?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

Miles didn’t push. Just nodded once.

“You don’t have to know today,” he said. “Or ever. You’re allowed to keep that door shut. Or crack it open. Or burn the whole damn thing down if you want to.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh—thin, but grateful. “Thanks, Miles.”

“Anytime,” he said, then added dryly, “Even if it means a surprise visit to IT without a computer crisis.”

She smiled and left the room with a little more clarity than she’d walked in with.

Down the hall, CJ glanced up from his computer as she passed, watching the way her shoulders were still heavy… but less weighed.

And that was something.

Priya leaned against the doorframe of the break room, arms folded loosely across her chest as she watched Gabby animatedly scroll through her phone.

Gabby’s curls were tied up in her usual high, messy ponytail. She was sitting sideways in one of the chairs, legs draped over another, a wide grin on her face as she zoomed in on something on her screen.

“Oh my God,” she giggled to herself. “It’s a tiny onesie with suspenders built in. Suspenders, Priya. This child is going to be a fashion icon.”

Priya’s mouth curved into a small smile as she stepped in. “Morning.”

Gabby glanced up, beaming. “Morning! Wanna see the tiny Converse sneakers I found last night? They’re ridiculously overpriced and absolutely necessary.”

“Tempting,” Priya said wryly, sitting across from her. “But I actually came to check in. How are you really doing?”

Gabby waved the phone with a flourish. “Amazing. Glowing. Vibrating on joy. Possibly high on prenatal vitamins. Did I mention tiny suspenders?”

Priya didn’t answer.

She just looked at her.

Not cold. Not judgmental.

Just… still.

Gabby’s smile faltered slightly.

And then, slowly, it slipped away.

Her shoulders sank. Her eyes dropped to her lap.

“I’m trying not to think about it too hard,” she said quietly.

Priya stayed silent, letting her fill the space.

Gabby bit her lower lip. “Trying not to think about the colic. Or the nights where the baby won’t sleep and I feel like I’m losing my mind. Or the diapers that explode up the back and somehow into their hair—what the hell is that about, anyway?”

She rubbed her face. “Trying not to think about how many couples fall apart after kids. How sleep deprivation turns you into the worst version of yourself. How… I’ve never done this. I don’t even know how to do this.”

Her voice cracked at the end, just a little.

Priya nodded slowly. “You’re scared.”

“Terrified,” Gabby breathed. “And I feel like if I stop to really feel it, it’s going to swallow me whole. So instead I look at adorable onesies and pretend that’s all there is.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Gabby looked up at her then, eyes shining.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” she whispered. “I love him. I love this baby already, and I don’t even know them yet. I just… I don’t want to ruin it.”

Priya reached across the table, laying her hand gently over Gabby’s.

“You won’t,” she said softly. “You won’t ruin anything. You’ll love with everything you’ve got, and when it gets hard—and it will get hard—you’ll still show up. That’s what matters.”

Gabby let out a trembling breath, nodded slowly, and wiped her eyes.

“I hate hormones,” she sniffled.

“They’re doing their job,” Priya said with a soft smile.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask to be a walking emotional landslide,” Gabby muttered, but there was the hint of a smile now. “I’m a menace with feelings.”

Priya squeezed her hand. “You’re going to be a phenomenal mother.”

Gabby blinked, then whispered, “Thanks.”

The staff break room hummed with its usual midday lull—microwave humming in the corner, quiet chatter from across the building echoing down the hall. Gabby sat at the round table in the far corner, her elbows on the surface, scrolling absentmindedly through her phone again. She’d told herself she wasn’t going to look at any more baby gear until her paycheck cleared.

She had already failed.

“Okay,” came a voice behind her, warm and familiar.

She glanced up—and blinked.

Miles stood there, tray in hand. Not cafeteria plastic—no, this was one of their reusable kitchen ones from home. On it sat a glass of orange juice, a small bowl of sliced apples and peanut butter, and a warm sandwich that smelled suspiciously like the turkey-melt she secretly loved.

Gabby stared. “You made me lunch?”

Miles gave a one-shouldered shrug, setting the tray down in front of her. “Didn’t trust the vending machine not to poison you. Or the baby.”

She raised a brow. “Since when are you anti-Cheez-Its?”

“I’m not. You’re pregnant. That’s different.”

Gabby tried to scowl, but it softened almost immediately.

“Juice has vitamin C,” he added, nudging the glass toward her. “The sandwich has protein. And apples are… fruit. Or something.”

“Wow,” she said, mock deadpan. “I feel so supported.”

He huffed a breath, sliding into the seat across from her. “Just eat.”

She looked at him for a long beat—his messy dark hair, those warm brown eyes, the faint worry that hadn’t quite left his face since the pregnancy news landed.

But he didn’t look panicked anymore. Just… present.

Present and steady and trying.

Gabby took a bite of the sandwich. Chewed. Swallowed.

Then said, voice softer, “You’re being really sweet.”

Miles opened a granola bar and said, without looking up, “Don’t spread it around.”

Gabby snorted and took another bite. “No promises.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, the quiet between them easy. Comfortable.

Eventually, she reached for the juice, fingers toying with the condensation on the glass.

“Hey,” she said, just above a whisper.

Miles glanced up, chewing.

“I know we haven’t figured everything out yet,” she said. “And I know I’ve been… kind of manic about all of it. But thank you. For… this. For sticking.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he reached across the table and covered her hand with his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said simply.

And Gabby—chaotic, fiercely independent Gabby—just nodded.

For once, no jokes. No sass.

Just the quiet comfort of two people figuring it out together.

The soft hum of The Stand had shifted into its evening rhythm—quieter, the lights dimmer, voices lower as the day drew to a close. CJ stood outside Y/N’s workspace, his ever-reliable presence cutting through the haze of exhaustion she didn’t realize she’d been carrying until she saw him.

She looked up from her desk just as he approached, her eyes catching on the familiar, steady green of his.

He didn’t say anything at first—just offered his hand like he always did, palm open, waiting.

Y/N smiled as she slid her fingers into his.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said gently, walking in step with her. “How was your day?”

There was something about the way he asked—not out of habit, not with half a mind somewhere else, but fully present. Like he actually wanted to know. Like her answer mattered.

Y/N exhaled as they passed the threshold of the main floor, her body beginning to unwind from the emotional weight of the day.

“A few bad calls,” she admitted. “One of them was especially rough.”

CJ’s thumb rubbed against the back of her hand. “You want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “Not tonight.”

“Okay.”

A quiet fell between them, companionable. Reassuring.

Then she glanced up at him, something soft in her eyes. “But… I’m okay. Really.”

He looked at her, tilting his head slightly.

“I had you,” she said, and her voice was full of something deep and certain. “Even on the hard days. I have you.”

CJ’s features shifted, his expression melting into something achingly tender.

“Always,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You always have me.”

She leaned into his side a little more as they stepped out into the early evening air, hand still tucked in his.

And whatever else the day had brought, whatever weight lingered behind them in the walls of The Stand—Y/N knew she wasn’t carrying it alone.

Not ever again.

Tag List: @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick, @star-yawnznn, @hobby27, @hellsbratonthet

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Message me here! And check out the other story I’m writing!

#taylor's readers #i love hearing from my readers #love my readers #i love feedback #love feedback #ozwriterchick

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lightdancingwords · 3 days ago

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Oh believe me, during my pregnancies, it was a nightmare, haha! Towards the end, I'd be miserable, uncomfortable, and folks would go "Taylor, you look miserable!" Me: "I'm ready for this baby be born!"

But soooooon!

(I still haven't decided on a name myself, haha!)

Second Chances: Forever - Part Thirty-Third of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader

Series Summary: A chance meeting in the grocery store brought a whirlwind of change to Beau Arlen’s life—change he had no issues with whatsoever. A second chance at life, love, family—a second chance at forever.

Word Count: 5,821

Tags/Warnings: So much sweet fluff! A touch of pregnancy/medical drama, but not a lot.

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

NOTE: Please see THIS LINK for updates on the posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

Chapter Thirty-Three: Waiting With Bated Breath

The bedroom was dim, bathed in the faint gold glow of the hallway nightlight and the distant chirp of crickets through the open window. The fan spun lazily above them, stirring the warm summer air just enough to make the sheets feel bearable.

Beau lay on his side, propped on one elbow, gently trailing his fingers over the curve of Y/N’s belly. She was curled toward him, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, her eyes half-lidded but awake.

“I don’t think I’m gonna sleep,” she murmured.

Beau smiled softly. “Then we don’t have to. We’ll just lay here. Let the night take its time.”

She blinked slowly, soaking him in—the quiet strength in his eyes, the ease in his touch, the love that radiated from him without effort. “It’s real now,” she whispered. “This baby could come anytime.”

He nodded, his voice low and certain. “We’re ready.”

She let out a quiet laugh. “We say that, but are we really?”

“I don’t think anyone ever truly is. You just show up. You love ’em. You try. And then you do it again the next day.”

He leaned down to press a soft kiss to her forehead, then her lips, then her belly. “But yeah. We’re ready.”

A comfortable silence stretched between them, until Y/N murmured, “We still haven’t settled on a name.”

Beau grinned against her skin. “You bringin’ that up now?”

“Why not?” she said. “Middle of the night. Baby stewin’ in there like a mystery. Seems like the right time.”

He settled down beside her, arms curled protectively around her as he considered. “Alright… if it’s a girl?”

Y/N looked up at the ceiling. “I like something strong. Not too frilly. But still beautiful.”

Beau nodded thoughtfully. “What about… Rowan?”

She blinked, surprised. “Rowan.”

“Strong,” he said. “Clean. Grows into any kind of person.”

“I like it,” she whispered, smiling. “Rowan.”

“And if it’s a boy?” she asked.

Beau was quiet for a moment. “Maybe something with weight to it. Nothing fancy. Just solid.”

Y/N waited, breath held a little, curious.

He exhaled. “I like the sound of Jesse.”

She smiled again, softer this time. “Jesse.”

Beau reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Doesn’t mean that’s what we’ll choose. But I like havin’ a few tucked in our back pocket.”

“I do too,” she whispered. “Rowan. Jesse.”

“You got any names you’ve been holdin’ onto?” he asked gently.

She hesitated. “Maybe. But I want to see them first. See who they are.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Me too.”

The room settled into stillness again, the kind of peace that came only after storms had passed, after fear had been weathered and hope had taken root.

Y/N closed her eyes, her body sore but full, her heart stretched to the edges with love.

Beau’s hand stayed resting on her belly, and as sleep slowly began to pull at them both, the baby shifted beneath his palm.

He smiled against her temple and whispered, “We’re waitin’ on you, little one. No rush. Just come home safe.”

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty.

Beau’s palm moved in slow, reverent circles over the curve of Y/N’s belly, warm and steady, like he was tracing love into the skin. His breath moved softly against her hair, his other arm curled beneath her to keep her close.

The baby shifted gently beneath his hand.

Y/N let out a long exhale, her body relaxing into his. “I could stay like this forever.”

“Me too,” Beau murmured.

Another few moments passed, the weight of night pressing gently around them like a soft blanket.

Then, quietly, he said, “I hope you’re okay.”

She blinked, turned her head slightly toward him. “I am.”

His voice was low, tinged with something just beneath the surface. “It’s just been a while since I’ve really touched you. I mean… really.”

Y/N didn’t need him to explain.

The doctor’s warnings had been clear: no intimacy. No triggering anything that could jumpstart labor. At thirty-seven weeks, they were in the safe zone—but they also knew how easily things could shift. How fast it could all change.

She reached for his hand where it rested against her skin, lacing her fingers through his. “I know. And I understand.”

Beau nodded once, eyes fixed on the place where their hands met over her belly.

“But,” she added with a faint smile, “if it were up to you…”

He glanced down, just enough moonlight spilling through the window to catch the playfulness in her eyes.

“…you’d make love to me every night.”

He gave a low, almost embarrassed chuckle. “Wrong.”

She raised a brow. “Wrong?”

Beau leaned in, his drawl thick and sweet in her ear. “Every morning and every night. And lunch too. If I could get away with it.”

Y/N burst into a quiet laugh, muffling it against his chest. “Insatiable man.”

“Can’t help it,” he whispered, kissing the crown of her head. “You’re mine. And you’re beautiful. And I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” she said softly.

They didn’t move. There was nothing more to say. Just the warmth of his hand against her, the rhythm of her breath slowing, and the steady awareness between them that this too—this waiting, this restraint—was a kind of love.

Not lack.

Not loss.

But promise.

And when sleep finally came for them both, they were still wrapped in each other—skin to skin, heart to heart, and full of a wanting that could wait just a little longer.

Because the love never left.

It only deepened.

Morning crept in slowly, sunlight soft and golden as it filtered through the curtains. The hum of the ceiling fan spun overhead, rustling the edge of the blanket draped across Y/N’s legs. The world beyond their window was still quiet—no Caleb squeals, no Eliza treaties echoing through the halls just yet.

Y/N stirred beneath the sheets, one arm curling instinctively around the swell of her belly. For a moment, she thought Beau was still beside her—she could feel the lingering warmth in the sheets, the imprint of his body.

But then she heard it: the faint creak of the bathroom door and the rush of steam as it opened.

Beau stepped out into the bedroom, towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water still glistening on his chest and shoulders. His hair was damp, curling slightly at the edges, and he moved with the quiet confidence of a man used to mornings filled with purpose.

Y/N blinked slowly, letting her eyes adjust—and then she just… watched.

He was beautiful.

Not just in the way his muscles moved beneath his skin, or the way his broad shoulders tapered to lean hips—but in something deeper. Something in the way he reached for his shirt without rushing, wiped the fog from the mirror, checked his phone only after setting down her prenatal vitamins beside the water glass on her nightstand.

He didn’t know she was watching.

That made it even better.

Because in those quiet, unguarded moments, Y/N saw everything.

She saw the man who had carried her through fear and joy alike. The man who never once flinched at her swollen ankles, who rubbed her back through tears, who held her like she was a miracle and not a burden. The man who desired her even when she felt stretched and uncomfortable and far from anything glamorous.

She saw the father who chased Eliza through the yard like a proud wolf-king, who rocked Caleb through fevers without complaint, who made up songs in the kitchen just to make them laugh.

She saw the husband who rose before the sun, who made her tea without asking, who knew her moods by the tilt of her head and the silence in her breath.

Beau turned slightly, catching movement from the bed.

Y/N was awake now, propped on one elbow, watching him with quiet wonder.

He raised a brow and gave her that lopsided smile that still undid her. “Mornin’, darlin’. I was tryin’ not to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” she said softly, voice still laced with sleep. “But I’m not sorry I caught the show.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair. “Well now, if I knew you were watchin’, I might’ve made it more interestin’.”

Y/N smiled and let her eyes trace him again, slower this time. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever known.”

He blinked, caught off guard by her sudden earnestness.

“And not just because of what I see,” she continued, voice trembling with feeling. “But because of who you are. What you carry. How you love me. The kids. This whole life we’ve built.”

Beau stepped closer, his towel shifting slightly as he knelt beside the bed and reached for her hand.

“You’re makin’ me blush,” he murmured.

“I’m makin’ you seen,” she whispered.

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I don’t need fancy words or praise. Just this. You. Every day.”

She brushed her thumb across his cheek. “You’ve got me. Every part.”

“And you’ve got me,” he said, leaning in, voice thick. “Always.”

She smiled and pulled him closer until his forehead touched hers. “Now get dressed before I forget I’m on doctor-ordered celibacy and make us both very late for breakfast.”

He laughed, deep and warm. “See, now that’s just cruel.”

But he kissed her again anyway.

And outside the bedroom door, the sound of tiny feet began to stir, the day beginning to bloom. But in that moment, in that room, time held still for just a breath longer—two hearts wrapped in the fullness of quiet, committed love.

By eight-thirty, the house had fully surrendered to chaos.

Y/N was parked on the couch, her feet propped on a cushioned stool, one hand resting protectively over her belly as the other cradled a mug of tea she hadn’t quite finished. The windows were thrown open to the warm July air, and sunlight poured in like gold, streaking across the hardwood floor and catching in Eliza’s curls as she dashed past.

“The wolves have reclaimed the forest throne!” Eliza declared, a tangle of paper streamers tied around her waist like a sash and a glittery plastic crown cocked slightly to one side. “But the ducks are mounting a revolution!”

Margaret stood near the stove with a wooden spoon in hand, keeping an eye on the pancakes browning in the skillet. She leaned out slightly into the living room and called, “Didn’t the wolves and ducks sign a peace treaty last week?”

“They did,” Eliza shouted back, spinning in a dramatic circle. “But the ducks broke it when they stole the blueberries!”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Those ducks really can’t be trusted.”

Before Margaret could reply, a loud thump and a squeal of glee echoed from down the hall, followed by Emily’s weary voice: “Caleb, no! That’s my hairbrush, not a sword!”

Seconds later, she emerged carrying Caleb in both arms—his curls sticking up in wild directions, his cheeks smudged with jam, and a single sock barely hanging on his foot. Emily’s tank top bore a streak of what looked suspiciously like yogurt.

“Why is he so strong?” she asked no one in particular. “He’s eighteen months old and I’m losing a wrestling match.”

Y/N tried to hide her smile. “He’s just passionate.”

“Passionate about sabotage,” Emily muttered, depositing him into the high chair.

Caleb smacked the tray and shouted, “Mama!”

“Hi, baby,” Y/N cooed, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

Just then, Beau stepped in from the back door, shirt half-buttoned, holding a basket of laundry under one arm. He took in the scene—Eliza giving orders in her regal wolf-voice, Caleb banging a spoon on his tray like a war drum, Emily breathing heavily and Margaret flipping pancakes with military precision—and blinked.

“…Did I miss a coup?”

“You missed a duck uprising,” Eliza declared from the arm of the couch. “But don’t worry. I’m handling it.”

Beau crossed the room and leaned down to kiss Y/N’s temple. “Mornin’, darlin’. You holdin’ up?”

“Barely,” she murmured with a grin. “My troops are out of control.”

“Well, lucky for you…” He plucked a sippy cup from the counter and handed it to Caleb like a grenade being diffused. “I’ve got countermeasures.”

Margaret stepped over to refill Y/N’s tea and slipped her a knowing smile. “Still sure you wanted a big family?”

Y/N laughed quietly. “Every second of this circus.”

Emily, slumped in a chair with toast hanging out of her mouth, raised a hand. “Requesting formal leave from duck-related warfare.”

Eliza spun on the spot. “Only if you take the night patrol!”

Beau scooped Caleb’s spoon off the floor before it could clatter under the stove. “You’ve got yourself a fine little kingdom here, darlin’.”

Y/N leaned back, gaze soft as she looked around—at the pancakes, the glitter crown, the flying crayons, the jam-streaked toddler, the grown daughter in yesterday’s socks, and her mother calmly pouring syrup into a dish like she’d been training for this her whole life.

It was a little unhinged.

But it was hers.

And from her throne on the couch, propped up and weary but endlessly full of love, she smiled. “Long may it reign.”

It was mid-afternoon, and the heat had finally settled into the walls of the house like a tired guest refusing to leave. The fans were humming steadily, one pointed directly at Y/N where she sat, propped up on the couch. Her legs were swollen. Her back ached. And despite every ounce of joy she felt, she was getting very tired of being a beached whale on dry land.

“I need to pee again,” she grumbled.

Beau appeared from the kitchen like a genie summoned by the phrase, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Want me to help you up, darlin’?”

“No, I want to float there on a cloud of dignity and self-reliance,” she deadpanned. “But sure. Help me.”

He smirked, already at her side. His hands were gentle as he wrapped one arm around her back and offered the other for leverage. “You know I’d carry you if I could.”

“I know,” she sighed. “But it’s not your job to carry your heavily pregnant wife to the bathroom like a toddler who fell asleep in the car.”

He helped her stand slowly, careful to wait as she adjusted her balance. “No, ma’am. It’s my privilege.”

“Still annoying,” she muttered under her breath, waddling toward the hallway.

Beau trailed beside her just close enough to catch her if she wobbled, his presence solid, patient. But then—halfway down the hall—Y/N stopped.

Froze, even.

Beau caught the hesitation immediately. “You alright?”

She didn’t answer right away, just pressed both hands to her belly. Her eyes went wide. “Oh.”

“What is it? Pain?”

“No,” she said breathlessly. “Not pain. Just… different.”

Beau’s brow furrowed in concern, his hand finding the small of her back. “Talk to me, darlin’.”

She looked up at him, something like awe in her eyes. “The baby shifted. Just now. Downward.”

He blinked. “Dropped?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, both hands still cradling the underside of her belly. “I can feel it. Like my lungs finally took a breath again, but everything below my ribs suddenly feels… heavier. Lower.”

Beau’s eyes softened as the moment settled between them.

“That’s a sign, ain’t it?” he murmured.

Y/N nodded slowly, her voice quiet with wonder. “It’s happening. Not yet, but… it’s close. My body’s getting ready.”

Beau cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing along her temple. “You’re doin’ this. Just like you’ve done every step of the way. Strong and steady.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “I just needed to pee. And now I feel like the universe cracked open.”

“That’s pregnancy, darlin’,” Beau said, kissing her forehead. “One minute you’re fussin’, the next you’re havin’ a revelation.”

She grinned, hand resting over his heart. “Hold on. I still have to actually pee. Epiphany or not.”

“Right,” he chuckled, helping her back into motion. “Don’t let me distract you from greatness.”

As they made their way slowly to the bathroom, Beau’s hand remained on her back—steady, grounding—while Y/N moved with a new awareness. The baby was lower. Her breath came easier. Her steps were heavier.

And deep in her chest, something quiet and powerful was beginning to stir.

The final stretch was near.

And they were ready.

The morning air was already warm when Beau stepped out onto the porch, coffee mug in hand, the screen door creaking shut behind him. Sunlight stretched across the fields in long golden fingers, the grass glittering with dew, and the far-off sound of birds stirred in the trees.

Inside, the house was still stirring—Margaret in the kitchen making breakfast, Eliza humming a new wolf treaty under her breath, and Y/N resting on the couch with one hand cradling her belly and a small smile still lingering from their laughter the night before.

Beau took a sip of his coffee, then pulled out his phone. He leaned against the porch railing, thumb hovering for only a moment before tapping Jenny’s name.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Morning, Sheriff.”

“Hey, Jenny,” Beau said, his drawl easy but steady. “Didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nah. Already halfway through my first cup. Figured you’d be callin’ soon.”

Beau smiled faintly, watching the sunlight flicker through the trees. “Y/N’s thirty-seven weeks now. Baby dropped yesterday. Things are... movin’ in the direction of real.”

A pause, then Jenny’s voice softened. “You need time cleared?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But I wanted to give you the heads-up. Once it starts, it’s gonna go fast. And I’m not missin’ a damn second of it.”

“You won’t have to. I’ve got it covered.”

“Jenny…”

“I mean it,” she cut in. “You’ve been there for all of us. This town, this department, me. You’ve earned this. Go be with your family. We’ll hold the line.”

Beau exhaled slowly, grateful. “Appreciate you.”

“You got names picked out yet?”

He chuckled. “Couple in our back pocket. Y/N wants to wait until we meet the baby.”

“Smart woman.”

“The smartest.”

Jenny was quiet a moment. Then, more gently: “How’s she holdin’ up?”

“Tired. Sore. Beautiful,” he said, voice dropping just a bit. “She’s hangin’ in there.”

“You let her know I’m rootin’ for her. For all of you.”

“I will,” Beau said. “And Jenny?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For real.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Beau. Just make sure you call when it’s time.”

“I will.”

They hung up, and Beau stood there a minute longer—phone in one hand, coffee in the other—watching the morning stretch itself out in golden light.

Soon, everything would change.

But for now, it was enough to know the people around him had his back.

And more importantly, that inside that house was everything he’d ever needed.

Beau stepped back inside, soft as the creak of the porch screen behind him. The house had woken gently in his absence—Margaret was humming in the kitchen as she stirred something on the stove, and the scent of maple and butter hung thick in the air. Caleb was chattering in toddler-speak from his high chair, slapping one hand against his tray with sticky abandon while Eliza narrated a wolf-duck breakfast summit from her perch on the floor.

But his eyes went straight to the couch.

There she was—his wife. Propped up in her fortress of pillows, hair slightly tousled, robe wrapped loosely around her. One hand cupped her belly in that unconscious way she always did now, like she was guarding a secret only she and the baby shared.

He walked to her without needing to think, setting his mug down first before leaning in to kiss her forehead.

“Mornin’, darlin’.”

She blinked up at him, already smiling. “You’re back. You weren’t gone long.”

“Called Jenny,” he said, brushing his hand gently over her shoulder. “Just to keep her in the loop. Let her know we’re on baby-watch.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh. “She’ll take over the world if you ask her nicely.”

“She already has. Told me not to worry. She’s got it all covered.” He sat beside her on the edge of the couch, careful not to jostle her belly as he reached for her hand. “Said to tell you she’s rootin’ for you.”

Y/N squeezed his fingers. “That makes two of us.”

Beau looked down at where their hands were joined. Her knuckles had thinned a little, skin tighter from the swelling, and her ring spun just slightly looser than it used to—but everything about the sight made his chest ache with love.

“She said somethin’ else too,” he murmured. “Asked if we had names yet.”

Y/N smiled and tilted her head. “You tell her?”

“Said we’ve got a few ideas. But that we’re waitin’. Just like you wanted.”

She rested her head back against the cushions, the smallest sigh of contentment slipping out. “Thank you.”

“I’m in no hurry to name someone I haven’t met,” he said softly. “I wanna see their eyes first. Hear their cry. Know ‘em.”

She turned her gaze to him, eyes misty. “You’re gonna be so good with them.”

He smiled, gentle and sure. “I learned from Caleb. And Eliza. And from you.”

She huffed a laugh. “I don’t know that I taught you anything.”

“You taught me everything that matters,” he said simply, leaning in to kiss her lips.

The kiss was slow. Sweet. Full of the kind of love that had settled into every inch of the life they’d built.

Outside, a breeze rustled the trees. Inside, Eliza declared peace negotiations successful, and Caleb dropped his spoon for the third time.

But on that couch, with the morning sun pouring in and the world held in soft pause, Beau held his wife’s hand and stayed with her.

Just stayed.

Late morning spilled in slow and easy.

Emily had taken Caleb into the backyard for a bit of sunshine and bubble-blowing chaos, while Eliza was perched at the dining table with Margaret, coloring in another elaborate wolf-duck alliance scroll. The TV murmured softly in the background—a documentary about rivers, long forgotten after the first few minutes—and the fan oscillated lazily over the living room.

Y/N was still on the couch, propped up just right, a fresh glass of ice water sweating on the side table beside her. Beau was folding laundry across the room—quiet, focused, content. The kind of domestic rhythm that only came from years of living side by side.

Then—something shifted.

It wasn’t pain exactly. Not yet.

But it was pressure.

Low. Deep. Like the baby had suddenly found a new anchor.

Y/N shifted a little in her seat, lifting her hips just slightly, adjusting the pillow behind her lower back. But the sensation didn’t ease—it lingered, thrumming quietly through her.

Her brows furrowed, and her hand came down to cradle her belly.

“Beau?”

He looked up instantly, a sock still balled in his hand. “Yeah, darlin’? You need somethin’?”

She hesitated. “I’m… not sure.”

That made him cross the room in two strides.

He knelt beside her, already scanning her face. “Talk to me.”

She placed both hands over the heavy curve of her belly, exhaling slowly. “It’s not contractions. Not yet. But there’s pressure. Low. Deep. Different than before.”

He softened, but his eyes sharpened just a touch. “Like baby’s pushin’ down?”

She nodded. “Like they’re… settling. Getting into position.”

Beau placed his hand carefully over hers, grounding her. “You okay?”

“I think so.” She blinked, trying to find words for a body she no longer fully understood. “It’s just… new. Like everything shifted again. And I can feel it in my hips, my back. Like the whole center of gravity just tilted.”

Beau stayed right there, kneeling beside the couch like he wasn’t going anywhere. “You want me to call the doc?”

“No,” she said softly. “Not yet. I don’t think it’s time. But I wanted you to know. Just in case.”

“Alright,” he said, voice steady. “We’ll keep an eye on it. Take it slow. If anything changes—anything at all—we’re callin’. Deal?”

She nodded, leaning her forehead against his. “Deal.”

Beau kissed her gently and sat beside her, hand never leaving hers. The laundry was forgotten. The TV droned on. The world outside kept spinning.

But inside this house, something had shifted.

The stillness before the storm.

The hush before the first wave.

The quiet knowing that soon—very soon—their family would grow again.

Beau moved with quiet purpose.

It started with him silently checking his watch for the second time in ten minutes, then casting a sidelong glance at the hallway closet. He tried to play it casual—retrieving his folded flannel, then his sneakers—but Y/N had known him too long to miss the change in his rhythm.

From her nest of pillows on the couch, she watched him disappear down the hall, heard the muted thump of the duffel bag hitting the bed, the slow zip of compartments being opened.

She couldn’t help the amused smile tugging at her lips.

Here they were again.

He’d packed the main go-bag weeks ago—meticulously, of course—but there were always “last things,” the elusive final pieces that were too everyday to live in a bag by the door. Phone chargers. Her favorite robe. The playlist she loved but hadn’t downloaded yet. Snacks, because “hospitals never stock the good kind.”

She heard the dresser drawer slide open and Beau mutter to himself, “Where the hell did I put that granola?”

Y/N let out a quiet laugh, resting her hand on her belly. “He’s nesting,” she whispered to the baby.

Just then, Margaret sank down beside her on the couch, holding a cup of tea, her gaze trailing down the hall toward the bedroom.

“Is he packing again?” she asked softly.

“Mm-hm,” Y/N murmured. “We already have everything. But he’s been watching me like I might go into labor if I sneeze too hard. I think this is his way of staying ahead of the storm.”

Margaret took a sip of tea, eyes soft with something like understanding. “That man loves you.”

“I know,” Y/N said, her voice warm with it.

Margaret gave her a small, knowing smile. “He’s the kind of man who’d move mountains if you asked. Maybe even if you didn’t.”

Y/N blinked, touched.

She looked down the hallway again, where the sound of zippers and Velcro and a muttered “Where the hell are her fuzzy socks?” echoed faintly from their bedroom.

Margaret nudged her gently with her elbow. “You chose well, sweetheart.”

Y/N didn’t speak at first. Just watched the hallway. Felt the baby shift inside her. And smiled.

“I know I did.”

Margaret rose quietly and left her alone again, the kind of quiet that hummed with the peace of being loved well.

Not long after, Beau returned, slightly flushed and holding up two snack bars in one hand and a folded hoodie in the other. “Did you want the almond butter ones or the trail mix?”

Y/N tilted her head. “You really think I’ll be hungry while in labor?”

“I think,” he said, setting everything gently in the go-bag by the door, “that it’s my job to make sure you can be if you want.”

She watched him cross the room, sit beside her, and rest his hand on her belly.

“You’re something else,” she whispered, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

He smiled. “Only for you.”

The day wound down slowly, like a lullaby in motion.

Dinner had been calm—a rare accomplishment—with Eliza too focused on drawing the official wolf-duck family crest to argue over carrots, and Caleb falling asleep face-first in his highchair halfway through a spoonful of mashed potatoes. Margaret had spirited him off to bed, and now the house was wrapped in that particular hush that came with a summer evening.

Y/N rested on the couch, drifting in and out of a light doze, her hand curled protectively over her belly. The ceiling fan spun above her in rhythmic laziness. Beau watched her for a long moment from the doorway—just long enough to feel the rise of emotion press gently into his chest—before he turned and walked softly down the hall.

Emily was in the laundry room folding a stack of fresh towels, earbuds in, head bobbing slightly to whatever song she was pretending not to dance to.

Beau rapped lightly on the doorframe.

She turned, startled, tugging one bud free. “Hey. You need somethin’?”

He leaned a shoulder against the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Nah. Just wanted a word.”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “A word?”

Beau gave her the look—that quiet, steady, no-nonsense dad expression that had stopped more teenage shenanigans than any lecture ever could.

Emily sighed. “Okay, fine. What did I do?”

“Not what you did,” he said gently. “It’s what you didn’t tell me.”

She blinked, then tried to deflect again. “You’ll have to be more specific. I’m mysterious like that.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just kept watching her.

Eventually, she broke.

“…You noticed.”

“Course I noticed,” he said, voice warm but firm. “Postponed your fall courses.”

She looked away, setting down the towel in her hands. “I was gonna tell you.”

“You don’t have to explain, Em,” Beau said, stepping forward. “I just wanna know why.”

Emily hesitated, picking at a loose thread on the towel. Then, quietly, she said, “Because I didn’t want to miss this. Any of it. I didn’t want to be away if something happened. I didn’t want to be in a classroom while Y/N was in labor, or while you were worrying your way into a wall. I wanted to be here.”

Beau’s heart swelled so fast and full it made his throat tight.

Emily continued, eyes on her hands. “She’s not just my stepmom, you know. She’s... she’s Mom. And Caleb’s my brother and Eliza's my sister. And this baby…” She trailed off, shoulders lifting in a helpless shrug. “They’re ours. This is our family. And I wanted to be here when we meet them.”

Beau didn’t hesitate.

He crossed the space and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight.

She sank into it instantly, head on his chest, breathing in the smell of home—his soap, his shirts, that grounding steadiness that had carried her through every hard season.

“You didn’t have to do that, baby girl,” he murmured, his voice thick. “We would’ve made it work. You didn’t have to change your plans for us.”

“I wanted to,” she said. “Because I love you. And her. And Caleb. And even when he cries at 2 a.m., this new little one too.”

He kissed the top of her head. “You’ve always had the biggest heart.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him. “Just don’t tell Eliza I postponed school. She’ll say I’ve officially joined the Wolf Council.”

He smiled. “Your secret’s safe with me, councilwoman.”

Emily laughed, wiping at her eyes. “Okay, now stop. I’m gonna go sob over laundry and pretend it’s the dryer’s fault.”

Beau gave her one more squeeze and stepped back. “I love you, Em.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

As she turned back to the towels, Beau lingered a moment longer, heart full.

She may not have been born into Y/N’s arms, but she’d grown there.

And as the light faded from the sky, he carried that truth quietly with him—every step back toward the woman on the couch, and the life they’d built together.

The house had quieted to a hush.

Eliza was asleep under her mountain of stuffed animals, Caleb tucked in after one last chorus of “Twinkle, Twinkle,” and even Emily had finally gone still in her room, the soft hum of music barely drifting beneath the closed door.

The lamp in the bedroom was low, casting a soft golden haze over the bed as Beau helped Y/N sit up from the edge, his arm steady beneath her.

She moved slow now—everything heavier, fuller, lower—but she leaned into him like always. Trusted him to carry just enough of her weight to let her rest.

“Come on, darlin’,” he murmured, guiding her down into the pillows, helping her shift until she sighed in relief. “Let’s get you settled.”

“I feel like I’m made of bricks,” she muttered, tugging the blanket up.

“You’re solid gold,” he replied, voice warm as he kicked off his boots and climbed in beside her.

Y/N gave a tired smile, eyes already half-closed as she turned slightly toward him, one hand slipping into his. “You’re good to me.”

Beau reached out and gently laid his hand over the curve of her belly, his fingers splaying instinctively.

The baby was moving—soft rolls and nudges beneath his palm, slow but certain, like stretching after a long nap.

And just like that, his breath caught.

His voice dropped low. “Well hey there, little one…”

Y/N stilled beside him, watching him through the dark. But Beau’s attention was fully on the baby now. His hand never moved, just rested there, letting himself feel each ripple, each tiny push from within.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he whispered. “Not even born yet and you’ve already turned our world upside down. Twice.”

His thumb moved gently over the swell, reverent. “I don’t even know what you look like yet. Don’t know your cry, or the color of your eyes. Don’t know if you’ll have your mama’s smile or her temper, or if you’ll howl at the moon with Eliza or try to wrestle us like Caleb. But I know this.”

He swallowed. The words weren’t rushed—they came slow, steady, with the weight of truth behind them.

“I love you.”

The baby rolled again, a strong little kick beneath his fingers.

Beau smiled, eyes glistening. “Yeah, I felt that. Love you too.”

Y/N reached over and placed her hand gently atop his, layering hers over the both of them.

“He knows your voice,” she whispered.

“Or she,” he murmured, eyes flicking to her with a crooked smile. “Can’t say for sure yet.”

They stayed like that for a long while—just their hands on the baby, the hush of night around them, and the quiet thump of love echoing in the spaces between.

Beau finally leaned down and pressed a kiss to her bare belly. “Rest easy, little one. We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Then he curled around Y/N, protective and sure, his arms wrapped gently around both her and the life they’d made.

And in the hush of the deep night, wrapped in breath and heartbeat and warmth, they slept.

Together.

Waiting.

Ready.

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lightdancingwords · 4 days ago