#kate's fanfics
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lapetitechatonne · 1 year ago
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Lightning Strike
so, this was originally for dpxdc ship week back in Febuary, and i just realized i forgot to cross post it lmaoo, so here's my obligatory wlw contribution to tumblr ☆*: .。. o(≧▽≦)o .。.:*☆ ao3 link - here! kate's masterlist - here!
Lightning Strike - 2.5k
Since becoming Clockwork’s apprentice, Dani had seen it all. The beginnings and endings of societies, civilizations, and even whole worlds. She understood now why Clockwork had taken her on, it wasn’t because he needed the help, but rather the company.
Watching all of time pass, over and over again, was a lonely business.
But Dani was used to lonely.
Her years spent on the streets, watching people pass by but never really interacting, taught her that. Sure, she made some friends along the way, but the connections were fleeting as the pull in her core demanded she move on.
Clockwork’s tower was the first place she felt okay truly staying at, but that had to do with the infinite possibilities playing on the portals all around her. It was hard to feel suffocated when you had a new adventure every day.
It wasn’t something she thought about often, but doing her routine portal checks was tedious, and perhaps she had seen one two many happy groups of friends or couples. The human part of her deep down wanted that. Someone to talk to and joke around with who didn’t know all her punchlines—she swore hanging out with Clockwork got more frustrating every day.
Father Time truly was a big blob of dad. All the way down to finishing her jokes for it.
Maybe she should pay her cousin dearest a visit. At least he wouldn’t see her pranks coming.
Her mind was so occupied with the pranks she could pull, she didn’t even notice lightning start to break through thick ectoplasm, until the was a large crack and a hole tore open right beside her.
Dani jumped as an arm of lightning reached out, almost hitting her square in the chest. The green of the zone mixed with the golden colored lightning, swirling in a bright halo of the oddest electrical storm she’d ever seen.
Almost too quickly for her to see, the storm collapsed in on itself, settling into an uneasy silence. Then, as quickly as it collapsed, it expanded to twice the size before spitting out a yellow blob. The blob shot straight through Dani, who barely had time to go intangible, and into the ghost zone, lightning trailing behind it.
Dani didn’t wait for her thoughts to catch up, she just raced after the thing. She wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but she was pretty sure it was her problem. God, she hated being Clockwork’s personal bouncer.
It wasn’t hard to follow the blur, electricity tended to linger in the ectoplasmic filled atmosphere longer than others. When she finally caught up with it, she couldn’t help but laugh.
Floating upside down, wiggling her legs, was a redhaired girl in a yellow superhero suit—or at least Dani assumed from the Flash symbol on the girl’s chest. Her red hair was falling out of the back of her bun, swaying with her movement, and when she caught sight of Dani there was an immediate fire in her hazel eyes.
Dani liked this one. She seemed fierce.
“Are you just going to stare?” The girl crossed her arms, glaring at Dani.
Dani just giggled and reached out, poking the girls shoulder. She squeaked as her body hurdled around. Dani used a hand to stop her from going in a circle.
“Oh,” the girl blushed lightly and gave Dani face splitting smile, “thank you. You wouldn’t happen to know where I am, would you?”
“The Ghost Zone.” The girl tilted her head and furrowed her brows. It was too cute. “Well, some people call it the Infinite Realms. Or the Place Out of Time. Oh, and the Between.”
Dani tapped her chine, trying to remember any other names. It seemed like every Earth and time had a different name for it, so Dani didn’t really retain any of them.
“Hm. Do you know how I could like, get home?” The girl cringed as she looked around, and a small frown played across her lips.
“Probably,” Dani crossed her arms behind her head, leaning back, “Clockwork would know. If anyone can get you back to your time, it’s him. I can take ya, if you’d like?” Her chores could wait. This was way more interesting.
“Don’t really have any other options, so I guess so,” the girl smirked, playful and a touch mischievous. “I’m Impulse.”
The girl held out her yellow gloved hand and Dani smirked back.
“I’m Dani—with an i.” She took Impulse’s hand, and even through their gloves Dani could feel how warm she was. It was nice. “Humans can fly in the zone, so just hold onto my arm and you should be fine. Wait, you are human right?” Dani blushed as Impulse giggled.
“Meta-human, if that makes a difference?” She tilted her head and blinked her long eyelashes.
Dani could feel the cold ectoplasm rise to her cheeks giving them a green tint.
“It shouldn’t, but I guess we’ll find out,” Dani gave Impulse the cheekiest grin she could muster, and the other girl actually laughed.
Dani offered her arm to Impulse like the movies she’d watched with Jazz.
“A proper gentleman,” Impulse teased as she placed her hand in the crook of Dani’s elbow.
“Of course! I was taught to treat cute girls right.” Dani winked, and they both dissolved into laughter.
Something fluttered in her stomach as they laughed until they were out of breath. It was a euphoric lack of oxygen that stopped all critical thoughts in Dani’s head. The only thing that existed was them and this moment.
“Do you want to take the long way?” Dani asked, not knowing what she was saying until she heard herself. She couldn’t bring herself to regret it.
“Sure,” Impulse smiled, all teeth and pretty pink lips, “we’ve got time.”
Dani beamed at her and began the flight back to Clockworks. She flew slower than normal, but not by much. Irey’s brain was fast, making connections that Dani couldn’t dream of faster than she could keep up.
Still, there was something oddly content about the redhead as she flipped around in the green atmosphere. Dani showed her some of the more interesting sights, almost running them into the River Styx because Impulse wanted a closer look.
“I can’t wait to tell my brother, he’s gonna be so jealous,” Impulse gushed as Dani pulled her away from the black churning waters. “You know, this is actually the slowest I’ve ever gone. Well, my brain I mean, not me physically.”
“It makes sense,” Dani let them float up towards the far frozen, the last place on their little tour, “the Infinite Realms are technically a place outside of space and time.”
Impulse hummed in response, looking deep in thought. Dani let her think—it was a lot to learn there was an afterlife of some sort, Dani learned that on her travels. It was sometimes even harder for people to understand that it wasn’t what they pictured or believed in.
Dani witnessed a lot of breakdowns she didn’t know how to stop before realizing it. Sue her, she was technically like four.
They stayed silent until they reached the Far Frozen, which got the redhead rambling again. This time about biomes and how they related to different species across the universe. Dani thought that she would get along too well with Danny.
It was all too soon that they reached Clockwork’s tower, which rendered Impulse speechless for the first time on their journey.
“Here we are!” Dani gently held Impulse’s sides and brought her down to the platform. Dani could feel her hot breath fanning across Dani’s face and the static electricity that covered the girl's body.
“Thank you,” she smiled, her hazel eyes sparkling with different golds and greens across the deep brown surface, “not just for helping me, but for being so kind. Not everyone is this nice when you fall into their dimension.” She giggled, and Dani sensed there was history there.
She wished they could talk about it all. Funny—even in a place without time, Dani never felt like there was enough.
“It was my pleasure. And kinda my job? It’s a little unclear.” Dani shrugged, while Impulse shot her a questioning look. Her head was tilted to the side, her brows furrowed making a cute little indent on the bridge of her nose. Dani wanted to run her fingers over the area until it smoothed out.
Dani shook the thought out of her head. Now wasn’t the time.
“I’m Clockwork’s apprentice, though, I think he took me on to keep him company more than anything,” Dani pushed open the large doors to the clock tower, the screech of the hinges echoing against the dark stone. “And you’re lost in time. So, it’s kinda my job to help get you back. That’s why I chased after you in the first place.”
“Oh,” Impulse frowned a bit, almost looking disappointed.
Dani felt herself internally panic—oh god, did she make a pretty girl sad? How was she supposed to fix this?
Dani took a deep breath, trying to calm her suddenly racing thoughts. This was not something Vlad’s programming taught her, but you know what? She could figure it out. Yeah. She could do this.
“But I’m really glad I was the one that found you,” Dani said. She watched as the frown on Impulse’s face softened, and Dani knew she was on the right track. “You’re the most interesting thing to happen around here in a while. I liked showing you around.”
Impulse smiled at her and stepped forward into Dani’s personal space. The redhead reached up, and slipped off her mask, revealing more of her tan skin—and freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose.
“My real name is Irey.”
Dani could only stare at Irey, both amazed and shocked by the show of trust. And even though she might never see the redhead again, Dani wouldn’t—couldn’t—let her walk away without knowing the girl behind the ghost.
Dani held eye contact as she let her transformation go. Waves of cold power washed over her skin until she was fully human.
“My name’s still Dani,” she chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck, “but I’m part human too. Half ghost, half human. A halfa.”
“That’s sick,” Irey laughed, a small yellow spark jolting through her eyes.
Dani could have stayed there staring into Irey’s eyes for eternity. Unfortunately, Clockwork had other plans.
“Danielle,” the sound of Clockwork’s voice pinged off the walls as he descended from the top of his tower, “I see we have a guest. Aren’t you going to introduce us?” He gave her the smirk he got when he was actively trying to be a little shit.
Sometimes they were too similar for Dani’s tastes. Now was one of those moments.
“I’m Impulse,” Irey put her mask back on, staying close to Dani’s side. “I’m a little lost. We hoped you could help get me home.”
“Of course, child,” he smiled as his form shifted from an adult to an old man. He flew up the tower without another word, just expecting them to follow.
Typical.
Dani huffed, but walked up the broken staircase with Irey, helping her jump from the harder platforms.
“A bit cryptic, isn’t he?” Irey asked as she effortlessly parkoured over the platforms. It was hot.
“That’s his brand or something. We’ve given up questioning it,” Dani shrugged lazily floating up, enjoying the show. Dani’d never seen anyone seriously attempt to take the stairs, even Sam and Tucker would make her or Danny help them.
“Yeah, I know the type—ah!” Irey squeaked as a platform moved at the last moment, causing her jump to fall short.
Dani rushed into action, propelling herself forward to catch Irey. She wrapped her arms around Irey’s lean frame, static electricity and heat coming off the redhead in waves.
“Are you okay?” Dani asked searching Irey’s eyes for any sort of pain or discomfort.
“I’m good,” Irey’s voice was breathy as she relaxed into Dani. She wrapped her arms around Dani’s neck, pulling the dark haired girl close to her.
Dani let her eyes flutter closed, the scent of burned rubber and apple shampoo burning itself into her memory. Her boy tingled where it met Irey’s in a pleasant way, and the heat warmed the parts of her usually cold to the touch.
After a few moments, she felt Irey’s hold on her loosen and the warmth pull away. Dani pushed down the urge to chase the feeling.
“Thank you.” Irey smiled and the bridge of her nose tinted pink. Dani knew that she probably looked like a tomato by now.
“Anytime.”
Dani broke eye contact and floated up to the top of the clock tower. She gently let their feet hit the ground, not wanting to jolt any possible ankle injury Irey might have sustained in the fall.
“Well, you took your time,” a child Clockwork commented, a pleased smirk on his face. “Anyways, I think I’ve found your time.”
With a flourish of his staff, a portal sprung to life, swirling in front of them. In shades of green, Dani could see people dressed a lot like Irey with lightning bolts adorned all over their bodies in a field looking around.
“That’s it! That’s where I was when—well whatever happened, happened.” Irey excitedly pulled out of Dani’s arms, the electric field around her crackling.
Clockwork laughed, deep and boisterous as his form switched to adulthood. “The Infinite Realms is the place between universes. The buffer of the multiverse if you will. Instead of moving between earths, you were going just fast enough to get stuck between them.”
Dani watch different emotions cross Irey’s face faster than she could keep up.
“So, I could come back if I wanted?” She eventually settled on excitement, the air around her crackling with small yellow lightning bolts, the light catching the shine of her hair perfectly.
Dani didn’t know that someone could took so beautiful standing in the middle of a lightning storm. She was suddenly sad lightning didn’t strike the same place twice.
“With your abilities? No doubt about it.” Clockwork shared a look with Irey that Dani couldn’t decipher when her heart was pounding in her chest.
The idea of getting to see Irey again was exciting in a way that life hadn’t been for a long time.
Suddenly, in a burst of wind and yellow, Irey was standing right in front of Dani, their faces only inches apart.
“I’ll see you soon.” The way she said it, like it was a promise, made Dani grin back.
“I’ll see you soon.”
Irey leaned in and placed a small kiss on her cheek, soft and electric all at once.
As quickly as she was there, she was gone. Through the portal back to her world. Her family.
Dani smiled, a dopey stupid grin that Danny so would have made fun of her for, but she didn’t care.
Dani couldn’t wait for the next storm.
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somethingsketchy3 · 6 months ago
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right, so im combing through the series to get references for my animatic only to make a discovery that’s making me go insane.
It’s the pattern of Anthony’s vests.
These are from season 2:
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AND THIS, is from season 3:
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we all know about them matching colors, BUT HIM ADOPTING INDIAN PATTERNS???
he is not longer “Viscount Anthony Bridgerton”
he wants everybody to know, without a shadow of doubt, that he is now, in fact, “Anthony, Husband to Viscountess Kathani Bridgerton”
that is the only title he cares about at this point and i 100% support him on that.
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bartxnhood · 4 months ago
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mayberry | t.o
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tyler owens x fem!reader
based on this request: Requesting one, where Tyler and his crew chasing the tornado as casual but there's a twist (it can be a happy or angst ending) what if the tornado they chase was heading to where reader lives, today he was planning on asking her to move on with him after they finished another successful on making the tornado gone yet when he noticed where it was going he drives faster and trying to outrun the tornado.
warnings: descriptions of tornadoes, reader loses her house, blood, cuts.
w/c: 1.8k
requests open
not proofread
Copyright © 2023 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.
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“shes a pistol, ty. hope you can handle her” javier begins, removing his sunnies and leans against his white truck while looking at tyler across the driveway of your mothers house.
tyler smiles to himself at the mention of you. he looks in his wallet, a picture of you and him at a rodeo. you’re wearing his red flannel and white cowboy hat as you kiss his cheek.
a picture he treasured most. no one knew about this picture in his wallet. it was his own little secret, you didn’t even know he had the polaroid.
tyler and you both majored in meteorology throughout your time in college. storm chasers had a limited dating pool. nobody was willing to chase after these monstrous storms in such a way and then return to laugh about it over a few beers.
that’s why he took such a liking to you.
tyler didn't try to hide his feelings first. he would constantly try to convince you to go out with him or do something else, but you would never accept his advances. you didn't believe that you could put up with his ego.
till you began chasing with him.
since then, you saw a side of him that you didn’t know. tyler was a kind hearted man, caring for the people that fell victim to these storms. he was so intelligent that it made you rethink your own decisions, that was rare.
before you knew it, you started falling for tyler owens. the rest is history.
“i’m thinkin bout asking her to move in with me after we get this storm tonight.” tyler confesses to javier, a sly smirk on his face. javier’s eyebrows raise, cocking his hip to the side and crossing his arms.
“you think she’ll say yes?”
tyler presses his lips into a thin smile, stuffing his wallet into his back pocket where it belongs. “i hope so.” he answers, looking up towards the house.
tyler had decided it was time to take the next step with you. he had been thinking about asking you to move in with him for a while now, and he was sure it was the right decision.
he loved you deeply and couldn’t imagine his life without you. he wanted to wake up next to you every morning, cook breakfast together, and spend evenings cuddled up on the couch watching movies.
the thought of you living together filled him with excitement and joy, and he couldn’t wait to see the look on your face when he popped the question.
“guys!” lilly hollers, exiting the rv, running towards the pair. “we have huge activity southeast. we gotta move, now!”
there’s a tension that settled in over the group as they all scrambled to get their things together and radars ready.
tyler’s first thought was you. he takes off, boots stomping in the puddles as he swings the screen door open.
“y/n?” he hollers, taking his sunglasses off.
“up here!” you answer, drying your hair after a shower.
you watch in the mirror as tyler appears in the doorway, “whats up?” you ask, dropping your hand by your sides. “there’s one southeast. big one.” he’s almost grinning hoping to get you excited but his smile drops when you don’t react.
there’s a silence as you begin to rake product through the ends of your hair. “cmon, we don’t wanna miss it. lilly says it’ll touch down in an hour at least.”
“m’not goin” you reply, looking into his eyes from the mirror. “what? whaddya mean?”
“it’s mom” you answer, followed by a sigh. “she’s doing bad again, she’s freaking out over it and i’m just gonna stay with her. the house isn’t in the path so it should be fine” you say, turning to him.
you can see a soft frown on his lips as he looks down at you, “we always chase together.”
you smile sadly, and nod. you let your hand come up and caress his cheek. “i know, darlin. we’ll get the next one i promise.”
you press a quick kiss on his lips, “be safe, baby.” he replies, kissing the top of your head and heading off with the crew.
the atmosphere was thick and heavy with a sense of impending doom as the tornado began to take shape. the clouds churned and wracked, twisting into a massive, menacing funnel cloud. the noise was deafening, a high-pitched roar that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
gusts of wind howled like a beast, tearing at anything in their path. this was no ordinary twister; this was an EF5, the most powerful and destructive tornado there was. it loomed on the horizon, a sinister harbinger of disaster.
tyler, now chasing the storm, was strapped into his well-worn red dodge. his eyes fixed on the churning sky as he chased a massive storm through the southeast landscapes. his truck was a trusted companion, having borne him through countless weather events.
its engine roared confidently as tyler navigated the treacherous terrain, seeking the perfect position to observe the storm up close and capture its raw power. he was fueled by a deep passion for the spectacle of the weather and driven by the adrenalin rush of being in the heart of the swirling chaos.
“you seein this, T?!” boone hollers from the passenger seat. “i’m seein it boone!” he yells back, knuckles white on the steering wheel.
tyler doesn’t remove his eyes from the storm raging in the wheat field, but something feels off. something isn’t right.
“what is it, ty?” javier calls over the radio noticing his decreasing speed. tyler is too mesmerized by the black clouds, he doesn’t reply. “T?” boone calls.
“something’s wrong.” he mumbles, “the path..the path is changing!” he says hurriedly watching the surroundings.
lilly pipes from the backseat, “its moving northwest! heading straight for mayberry!”
“shit.” tyler hits his steering wheel before making a sharp turn, turning around.
“the path is shifting!” boone alerts over the radio.
tyler’s heart launched in his chest watching the twister hurtling towards the small town where you lived. he’d often worried about this, and now his worst nightmare was unfolding before his eyes.
his grip tightened on the steering wheel, and his eyes darkened as he gunned the engine, pushing the red dodge to its limits. he had to get to you, had to make sure you were safe. his mind raced as he calculated how much time he had, the seconds ticking away in an excruciating countdown.
there was no warning, the storm was moving too unpredictably. you should’ve monitored it closer, you should’ve been more prepared.
the house trembled violently as the tornado tore through the neighborhood.
the windows shattered, spraying glass everywhere. the walls creaked and groaned, buckling under the immense pressure of the onslaught.
pictures fell from the walls, their frames splattering on the floor. furniture was hurled around like toys, breaking apart as it smashed into the remaining walls.
“mom!” you holler, staying low to the ground reaching out for her. she takes your hand and you pull her close to your body.
“hold on tight!” you scream.
the two of you huddled together, their screams blending into the cacophony, their eyes wide with terror. outside, the world had become a blur of debris and chaos, the swirling vortex ripping everything apart in its path.
tyler stepped out of his truck followed by boone and lilly. his heart thudding heavily in his chest as he saw the destruction hoping beyond hope that she was safe. but the sight that greeted him was a nightmare. your once-cheerful home had been reduced to a pile of rubble, the remnants of your life scattered among the wreckage. the tornado had ripped through the property, leaving destruction in its wake.
the property wasn’t recognizable, the only way he knew it was your home was your white jeep wrapped around the willow tree.
tyler’s hands come up and run thorough his hair, “oh god..” he breathes. “jesus christ..” boone says just above a whisper.
tyler can’t let his emotions get the best of him. he needed to find you.
“y/n!” he hollers.
“y/n!” lilly screams. “ms.l/n” boone calls for your mom.
tyler pushes his way through the debris, his eyes scanning the rubble for any sign of you.
he continued to pulled lumber, pillars, glass and furniture for what felt like hours. “y/n!” his heart thudding against his chest with every moment that passed. panic clawed at his gut as he continued his desperate search.
finally, he heard a faint sound, like a whimper. he turned, and there you were, buried under a pile of rubble.
his breath caught in his throat as he carefully dug you out, his hands trembling.
as your face came into view, it was smeared with dirt and blood, but your eyes widened with relief as you saw him. “t?” you rasp.
he gently picked you up, cradling you against him like a fragile doll.
"i'm here," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "im here, and you're going to be okay."
you wince, standing on the unstable ground. “mom..” you croak, tears brimming down your eyes again. “she’s down there..”
tyler nods, he looks back at boone and was about to go down and search for her but boone stops him. “i got her.”
boone disappears in the pile of rubble, then he emerges with your mother in his arms. “we need an ambulance!”
tyler nods and leaves you with lilly to call for first responders.
“‘m fine, t.” you say, say in the back of the ambulance. “just makin sure..” he whispered taking your arm in his hands and scanning your skin. he needed to make sure you weren’t seriously injured, even though you were just checked out by ems.
“t..” you sighs as he continues, his hand snow on either side of your face moving your head around still checking. “tyler.” you call him again, this time your hands gripping his wrists.
his eyes meet yours, the sign of tears still staining your cheeks. “i’m okay, i promise” you assure, smiling. “jus glad you made it to me, how’d you know?”
tyler shrugs, “the wind started morning north, learned it from you.” he answers, coming to your side and pulling you in.
you stay there for a while, the sirens flooding your ears and the lights illuminating the place where your home once stood. tyler rubs your shoulders and pulls the emergency blanket tighter around your body.
you lean your head against his shoulder and wrap your arm around his. “is now a bad time to ask if you want to live with me?” he looks down at you.
“what?” you look up at him.
and maybe it wasn’t the right time, but he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance to ask you.
“live with me. hell, bring your mom. i don’t care, just..” he reaches for your hand. “i just know that i love you and i want you around even more than you already are.” he laughs lightly, continuing to rub your shoulder.
“i would love to live with you.”
tyler smiles proudly, squeezing you closer to his side.
“now i just needa marry you.”
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roanofarcc · 3 months ago
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GETTING EVEN
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pairing. tyler owens x harding!reader
summary. after tyler owens saved your ass, you return the favor. (part 2 to this fic) 
warnings. descriptions of injuries and tornados. reader is the daughter of jo & bill harding (from the og movie!). hurt/comfort (tending to each other wounds? hot). tyler’s the number one loverboy and I stand by that.
a/n. fun fact, my sister's mother-in-law also survived a tornado by hugging a light pole!
word count. 3.7k || masterlist
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You stabbed a piece of pancake on your plate, determined to ignore your mom as she spoke from the stove. “Would it be the worst thing in the world?” 
“Yes,” you and your dad answered at the same time, meeting each other's eyes with a small smile. 
Your mom, Jo, sighed deeply and spun around to face the two of you, one hand on her hip. “He’s nice! He’s handsome and-” 
You groaned, feeling a teenager again, mortified that your parents are bringing up any aspect of your love life. Ever since Tyler Owens had helped you to the hospital after a tornado took you and your friend by surprise during a chase, your mom wouldn’t let you go five minutes without bringing him up. 
You were back in town, staying at their farm as another slew of storms were forecast for the surrounding area. Your team was due in later that night, all crashing with your parents, which was their idea. They wouldn’t admit it outright, but that was one thing they missed the most about their storm-chasing days, the friendships formed within their team. Your mom brought out her aunt’s recipes and cooked a big dinner, and your dad was harassed into telling stories of their storm-chasing adventures- which he secretly loved. 
Since the storms were predicted to be pretty wicked, you knew Tyler and the rest of the Wranglers would be around. And while you would rather die than tell your mom, you were excited to see him again. The competition between the two of you for an arbitrary ‘best storm chaser’ title was left behind after you woke up in the hospital to see him still there with you. Instead, your relationship inched more toward friends; though, your mom seemed convinced it was something more. 
“Look, if our daughter isn’t interested in running away with some tornado-wrangling cowboy, I don’t think we should encourage her to,” your dad, Bill, said. 
“I don’t have time for a relationship, anyway,” you added. You were too engrossed in your research to think about a relationship, serious or not. You were content with your team. And your mom’s little fantasy would require Tyler to be interested in you, which you found unlikely.
Yet, your mom persisted. “We did it,” she said, pointing between herself and Bill. “We balanced both work and a relationship. It’s not impossible.” 
You snorted. “Yeah, and you two almost got divorced.” 
Your dad laughed into his coffee mug, hiding it as your mom huffed. 
The thrill of storm chasing, running down backroads as a twister roared beautifully across the ground, wasn’t the only reason you did it. That was only one part of the job. Then there was the research. But the hardest part was trying to help people. Tornados were wondrous but dangerous. They ruined lives, tearing through towns. And while warning systems and radars had advanced significantly since your parents' days, nothing was perfect. That’s why you were the first people to rush into a crowded town directly in the path of a storm and do what you could to ensure people’s safety. 
When a member of your team noticed one of the storm cells you were watching was heading towards a little downtown area not too far from your parents’ farm, you all decided that was where you needed to be, instead of chasing after the storm further west. 
You were close, beating the storm to town, and when you arrived you realized the Wranglers had the same idea. The second you stepped out of your truck, the harsh winds knocked into you. The sirens just started, warning the people of the quickly approaching storm. People were running down the sidewalks, hurrying into buildings to shelter. 
You jumped into action, hurrying some slightly dazed people to safety, along with your team. The storm inched closer, and you knew you only had a few more moments before you needed to take cover yourself to ensure you didn’t get whisked away. You’d lived through enough tornados to know what to do with little fear, but ever since your close call with your team member Frankie, earning you a couple stitches on the back of your head and a newfound appreciation for Tyler, your nerves were a little heighten; you become a little more cautious. 
You turned on your heel to hurry towards one of the buildings, but you caught sight of the tornado wrangler on the other side of a parking lot, searching for something. 
Pressing your lips in a hard line, ignoring the drum inside your chest that started to beat a little faster with the closeness of the storm, you took off after him. 
“Tyler!” you yelled above the howling wind that threatened to knock you off your feet. Rain beat down against your skin, soaking you to the bone. You called his name once more as you neared, finally earning his attention. 
“Harding? What the hell are you doing?” 
“What am I doing? What are you doing? Taking a mid-day stroll?” 
He shook his head, forced his wet hair out of his eyes. “Some kid’s dog got spooked, ran this way, but I can’t find her.” 
You glanced up at the sky, the dark clouds giving the allusion of nighttime. There was a little tremble in your hand, but you steeled your nerves. “Dogs are smart. She’ll find her way, but we’re goners if we don’t get a move on.” He frowned, clearly torn between helping a lost dog and saving himself. “My team and I will help you look after; I promise.” 
With a sigh lost to the wind, he nodded and pointed toward the building others had filed into. “There’s a basement in the library.” 
Together, you two took off in the direction of the library, but the storm rolled in much quicker than you anticipated. It came in with a vengeance, peeling objects off the ground, big and small, with ease and tossing them all around. You ducked, nearly missing a chair that once belonged to one of the downtown restaurants' patios. Your heart started to race uncomfortably, inching toward fearfully. 
Tyler grasped your hand, tugging you to the side as more debris whizzed past you. The rain made your grasp slippery, but you squeezed his hand tightly. There was too much distance to cover, and the tornado was determined to put every possible obstacle in your path. 
It became harder to run but you felt so sure you and Tyler would make it; that was, until the tornado came around the block, tearing into a building and sending the debris in your direction. You didn’t even know what hit you until you felt Tyler’s hand slip from yours and your chin collided with the pavement. A cry of pain fell from your lips, but you rolled over quickly, in search of Tyler. He wasn’t far, just out of arms reach, on the ground. 
You half crawled over to him, tugging on his shoulder until you noticed the look of pain twisted on his face. Your gaze trailed down to his leg and found his foot stuck under a heavy beam plucked from the building the tornado tore through. 
“Shit,” you whispered, grasping the beam with your slippery hands and desperately trying to lift it off. It wouldn’t budge, crushing Tyler’s ankle. 
“You gotta go!” he yelled, trying to wave you off with his hand frantically. 
You stared at him in disbelief. Adrenaline pumped through your veins and the rain clouded your vision. There wasn’t a chance you were going to leave him. Your chest felt impossibly tight, pulling more and more with an indescribable fear you’d never experienced before. Using some kind of strength you didn’t know you had until that moment, you managed to lift the beam just enough for Tyler to pull his bloodied ankle out from under it. 
“Come on,” you cried, trying to help him to his feet. He grunted in pain, pale and breath labored. 
“We’re not gonna make it,” he wheezed out, talking about the library the tornado was already upon. You made a sharp turn, bee-lining toward the building you landed directly in front of. 
There wasn’t even time to get inside. Instead, you half helped half dragged Tyler to where there was a large light post cemented to the ground. It wasn’t much, but there were no other options. Tyler sat on the ground, pulling you down quickly beside him before he wrapped his arms around the pole. You hooked one arm too but kept your other pressed against Tyler’s head. You could take another hit, but you weren’t sure he could. 
You closed your eyes, sending a silent prayer that everyone would be okay. The storm roared, stinging your ears and tugging on you harshly. But, somehow, the both of you remained hugging the light post until the tornado dissipated after an excruciating amount of time. That was the thing about tornados, when you were chasing them, they never seemed to last long enough, but when you were in them, they never seemed to end. 
Shaking from a mix of adrenaline, fear, and cold you unwound your arm from the pole before you brushed your hands along Tyler’s shoulders, drawing his attention, and making sure he was still there. 
You two sat nearly nose to nose, droplets of rain decorating his face, falling his lashes as he tried to blink them away. “Are you okay?” you muttered, voice shaky. 
He let out a breath and tried to shift in his position, but his face twisted up in pain once more before he cursed under his breath. You glanced at his ankle, his jeans were stained with a smear of crimson, but the rest was hidden under the fabric. 
“I think it’s just a sprain,” he said, trying to shrug it off but you saw through him. You struggled to your feet and moved to help him, but he tried to stand on own. He leaned heavily on the light pole, trying to hide a wince. 
You heard his and your name being called in the distance. You hooked an arm around his torso, gazing at him for a moment. “Come on,” you said, gently guiding him back towards the road. As soon as you stepped out onto the sidewalk, you spotted your team and a couple members of Tylers. 
“Holy shit!” Frankie gasped, running towards you. “What happened to you two? We thought you were right behind us?” 
Tyler tried not to lean on you, but you felt his grip tighten on your shoulders with each step. “I think we need to take him to the hospital,” you said, worry seeping into your voice. 
Kate and Javi snapped their gaze at Tyler, who shook his head. “No, really, I’m fine. I think it’s just a little sprain,” he repeated. 
Kate looked at you, half ignoring Tyler. “What happened?” 
“His ankle was crushed under some debris.” 
“I’m right here,” Tyler said. “And I said I’m fine. I don’t need to go to the hospital. But we’ve gotta find that dog-” 
“You mean this lil’ guy?” Boone asked. He and Lily stood with who you assumed was the kid who lost the dog, but who was now cuddling it in his arms with a wide smile on his lips despite the destruction all around them. “He came runnin’ out just a minute ago. Smart dog.” 
You smiled softly, looking at Tyler who sighed in relief. “I told you.” 
“I think the nearest hospital is…” Javi trailed off, looking at his phone with furrowed brows. “Twenty minutes south, just off the interstate.” 
“I’m not goin’ to a hospital. I’m telling you guys, I’m fine-” 
You huffed loudly. “Are you always this stubborn?” 
At the same time, Kate, Javi, Boone, and Lily all replied, “Yes.” 
You realized you probably weren’t going to convince Tyler to get his ankle checked out at the hospital. “Fine,” you sighed. “But you’re not gonna patch yourself up in some grimy motel, got it? My parents don’t live too far from here. You all can crash there.” 
“Are you sure?” Kate asked. 
“Positive. My parents were thrilled to have my team staying. They won’t mind a couple more people.” 
“Wait,” Javi said. “Your parents. Like, your parents as in Jo and Bill Harding?” 
You chuckled. “Yes.” 
He and Kate exchanged a look that bordered on giddy. 
Tyler shifted at your side, pulling out his truck keys and you thought he was out of his mind if he thought he was going to try to drive with his clearly busted ankle. You reached over and snatched the keys quickly. “You’re riding with me, cowboy,” you said before tossing the keys at Kate. She caught with between her two hands, eyes slightly wide before a smile broke out across her lips. 
“I’m driving!” Kate said before she quickly turned on her heel before anyone could protest, Javi following close behind her. 
“You be careful with my truck Sapulpa!” Tyler shouted. 
You all arrived at your parents' place and helped a limping Tyler out of your truck. He tried once more to hide just how much pain he was in, but it didn’t work. As you walked up the driveway, he smirked, a little lopsidedly. “Already taking me home to meet the parents, huh?” You wanted to smack him but decided his sprained ankle was enough punishment already. 
Instead, you rolled your eyes. “Don’t you be talking like that in front of my mom. She’ll start planning the wedding.” You were only half joking. You knew the second she opened the front door and saw you standing side by side with Tyler’s arm slung around you, even though it was strictly to keep himself upright and pressure off his ankle, her imagination would run wild. 
He was quiet for a moment before he cleared his throat and said, “At least let me buy you dinner first.” 
You didn’t get a chance to respond before the front door was swung open and out stepped your mom. Her eyes flickered between the two storm-chasing teams all trailing behind you before they landed on you and Tyler. You saw the little twinkle in her eye, but it vanished when she noticed the state everyone was in, soaked clothes, a little in pain, and in a slight daze. 
She hurried down the step, grasping your face and gazing at the nasty cut on your chin from where you collided with the road. “Everyone okay?” she asked, eyes drifting over to Tyler. 
“Not exactly,” you replied. “Tyler’s got a busted ankle. I think everyone else is pretty okay. But cold and hungry.” 
Your mom clapped her hands together. “Well then, let’s get you all fed and cleaned up then. Come on,” she said, ushering everyone inside and exchanging greetings. 
You helped Tyler into the bathroom before you dug around for the first aid kit underneath the sink. 
“You know-” Tyler started but you glared at him. 
“If you tell me you’re fine one more time Owens…” He held up his hands in defense, pressing his lips together. Once you found the kit, you sat on the floor and carefully rolled up the leg of his jeans. Whatever damage his ankle took was hidden under his boot. “This is probably gonna hurt,” you said. 
You tried to be as careful as you could, tugging off his boot, and he tried to act like it didn’t hurt like a bitch, but the way his eyes screwed shut and hands clenched into fists in his lap told you otherwise. As soon as it was off, he let out a shaky breath and you assessed the damage. His ankle was swollen, bloodied, and overall in pretty bad shape but considering he could put a little bit of pressure on it told you it wasn’t broken. He was right about the sprain, but it was a fairly bad one. 
Working quickly but carefully, you cleaned up the dirt and blood before wrapping his ankle. “Feel any better?” you asked. He nodded as you stood to your feet. “Good. Are you hungry? I’m sure my mom’s made enough food to feed an army-” 
“Wait,” he said, grasping your hand, turning you back around to face him before you could reach the door. “You fixed me up, now it’s your turn.” 
You furrowed your brows. “What?” His eyes dropped down to your chin, where you’d smacked it against the road when you fell. “Oh. No, it’s just a little scratch-” he cut you off. 
“Are you always this stubborn?” he teased, using your own words against you. With a sigh, you slumped your shoulders in defeat. 
“All right, but at least sit down. Your ankle’s not gonna heal otherwise.” He listened, retaking his place on the toilet lid as you sat on the edge of the tub right beside it. He grabbed an alcohol swap from the kit and grasped your face with one hand. His fingers were cold from the rain but gentle as they tilted your head upwards just slightly so he could clean the cut on your chin. 
You couldn’t help but study him. The brightness of his eyes and how they narrowed when he concentrated, and how he pulled his bottom lip just barely between his teeth. Something twisted in your stomach, and you were suddenly very aware of just how close he was. You had been nearly nose to nose with him earlier, in the aftermath of the storm, but the calmness of your current setting made the closeness feel different. The way his hand softly held onto your face made your breath hitch, and it was impossible for him not to notice. His eyes flickered up from your chin, awkwardly covered with a band aid, and met yours. 
“Thanks for saving my ass out there,” he said, voice just above a whisper, like he too didn’t want to break the calmness that was steady in the room. 
You tried to ignore the patter of your heart that quickened as with his little smile. “I owed you for saving mine.” 
“Guess we’re even know, huh?” 
You nodded, words lost on your tongue. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but you dropped your gaze onto his lips for just a moment before you met his eyes, searching for something. But your wishful thinking died with a startling knock on the door that caused you both to flinch back and away from each other. 
“Everything all right in there?” your dad’s voice sounded from the other side of the door. 
You cleared your throat, quickly standing to your feet. “Y-Yeah. We’ll be out in a second!” A shaky laugh left your lips as your turned to Tyler, who stared back at you with cheeks slightly pink. “We should…” 
“Yeah, y-yeah.” 
After everyone showered and cleaned themselves up, your mom and dad handed out plates and everyone dug in. With full stomachs and dry clothes, the collection of storm chasers all crashed around the house. You lay in your childhood bed, squished alongside Frankie while two other members of your team were asleep on an air mattress on the floor. You tried to sleep, but all you could think about was Tyler, who was just downstairs in the living room. The rest of the evening consisted of you two tip toeing around each other, bordering on avoiding each other in the company of everyone else. 
With a quiet groan, you slipped out of bed and headed toward the kitchen, careful to be quiet. Your mom’s words followed you, gushing about Tyler. Would it be the worst thing in the world? You had said yes, but you didn’t really mean it, how could you? This was Tyler. Sure, he was a little reckless and you’d seen him get a little rowdy at a country bar, but he was also the kind of person that looked for lost dogs in the middle of a tornado and who stayed by your bedside at the hospital until you woke up. He was obnoxiously great. You didn’t know how to deal with it. 
In the bathroom, just hours ago, you wanted to kiss him. And a part of you thought he wanted to kiss you too, but the moment was broken too fast for you to know for certain. 
You poured yourself a glass of water before leaning against the counter, eyes focused out the window at the sliver of moon that poked out from behind the clouds. Somewhere behind you, the floorboards creaked, causing you to spin around with a start. 
Tyler paused, wincing at the noise he made before he whispered, “Sorry.” 
You didn’t do it on purpose, but it was like at the sight of him your lips automatically tugged upwards in a smile. You felt a little ridiculous about it but tried to play it off by clearing your throat. 
“I told you that couch was uncomfortable,” you said, voice low to not wake the snoring Wranglers in the next room. 
“It’s not,” he replied. 
“You should be elevating your ankle.” 
“I know, I know. Doctor’s orders, right?” He smiled too. “I was just grabbing some water.” 
You said nothing as you reached back into the cabinet and pulled out another glass before filling it at the sink. You handed it to him, your fingers brushing for just a second before he took the glass with a quiet ‘thanks’ and you pulled away. 
“I should…” You pointed behind you, ready to retreat back to your bedroom and let your Tyler-occupied mind slip away. But he caught your elbow and set down his glass of water. He didn’t say anything as his hand slid up your arm to your shoulder, then to your cheek in a similar way he held you earlier. You were back to being nearly nose-to-nose for the third time that day. Only this time, it was Tyler whose gaze flickered to your lips before he closed the short distance. 
Softly and quietly, you pressed your lips against his, pressing your hands against his chest. His hands were warm on the sides of your face as his lips moved against yours. You parted after a moment, breathing a little heavier, and your chest beat with something new. 
You leaned in once more, kissing him a little harder but pulling back quicker. “Good night, Tyler,” you breathed out. 
He beamed, cheeks rosy. “Good night, Harding.”
1K notes · View notes
chaxan08 · 12 days ago
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Yelena: Our relationship is strictly professional.
Kate, sitting on Yelena's lap: Absolutely, only business.
734 notes · View notes
pandapetals · 24 days ago
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The Whispers at Howlett Manor
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Your parents are forcing you to marry Lord Howlett in hopes of securing the future of Langley House. However, there is more at play than you realize.
lord logan howlett x fem!reader - no use of y/n, light reader description, reader has a last name - langley for story purposes, angst, forced marriage, regency era stuff, brooding logan, reader is stubborn, reader has sisters and a family, some fluff towards the end, sexual tension, light enemies to lovers, logan is a softie
a/n: Okay, so i love pride and prejudice/bridgerton (anything like that) so it was only a matter of time before i wrote something like that for logan. Anyway, this was going to be inspired by bridgerton but ended up being more inspired by logan’s comic book childhood mixed with just regency typical era stuff. 
Also, i literally didn’t think this would be this long (i will admit the ending isn’t the best, i got tired of writing/kinda got writers block so sorry). also sorry it took so long to post but it's long af.
word count: 28k
“Must you always be so difficult?” Lady Langley’s voice carried across the room like the crack of a whip, sharp enough to pierce through the layers of the emerald chiffon being draped over your shoulders. The maid fumbled with the fabric, her hands trembling as she tried to secure the delicate buttons along your back.
You drew a long breath, pressing your lips together to steady your voice. “Mama, I have done everything you asked,” you said, your tone strained but calm. You waved the maid away, your impatience slipping out in the motion.
“Everything?” your mother scoffed, her fingers coming up to massage her temple in a familiar gesture of frustration. “Dearest, you have done the opposite of everything. That dreadful scene at dinner the other night—do you even realize how close you came to ruining us? Lord Howlett was barely polite by the end of it.” She turned, her skirts sweeping across the polished floor as she began to pace, the rhythmic click of her heels only adding to the mounting tension.
You spun away from the mirror, the sight of your own reflection—eyes dark with resentment, cheeks flushed with the heat of suppressed anger—was too much to bear. 
“Why must it all fall to me?” you burst out, meeting her gaze with a defiance that startled even you. “Why must I be the one to endure it all, to wear the fine dresses and force a smile, as though I am some precious porcelain doll to be displayed? Did you and Father not bring us to the brink with your own decisions?”
Lady Langley’s eyes widened at your boldness, though whether with indignation or a glimmer of guilt, you couldn’t say. “We did what we had to do for this family,” she replied, her voice low and tremulous. “And now, you must do your part. Marrying Lord Howlett will restore everything. His wealth is our salvation—our only chance to keep Langley House from crumbling.”
You turned back toward the mirror, but not to admire your appearance. The gown was exquisite—deep green with gold stitching along the neckline, chosen for the way it complemented your hair and hinted at your mother’s hope that it might catch Lord Howlett's eye once more. 
All you saw was a stranger trapped in silks, her future bound to a man she hardly knew. A man whose stern gaze and gruff manners at the dinner table had left her with a vague sense of unease.
A man who seemed old enough to be your father, though still handsomely rugged, with a strength in his bearing that spoke of battles fought far from the comforts of an English drawing-room. Lord James Logan Howlett—his name alone seemed to carry a weight that threatened to crush you beneath it.
“I will not be sold off like cattle,” you said quietly, almost as if testing the words. The defiance wavered in your chest, but it was there—small and growing. “You cannot force me, Mama.”
Lady Langley’s gaze softened, if only for a moment, and her hand reached out but stopped just short of your shoulder. “My dear, there is no force. Only necessity,” she whispered. “Think of your sisters. Think of your father’s health. We cannot afford a scandal.” 
The room seemed to close in, the walls heavy with expectations that clung like dust to every surface. You felt the weight of it pressing down, smothering that flicker of defiance before it could truly catch fire. There would be no escape from the duty laid upon your shoulders—not without dragging the entire family down with you.
As the maid returned to finish securing the gown, your gaze drifted back to the mirror, catching a glimpse of your own reflection. You tilted your chin up and straightened your spine, forcing yourself to appear composed. You would have to play the part—at least for tonight.
The question lingered in the back of your mind: Who would Lord Howlett be, once the doors closed and the pretense fell away? It scared you more than you cared to admit. 
Without another word, your mother swept out of the room, leaving behind only the faintest rustle of silk in her wake. You exhaled, shoulders drooping as the maid finished pinning the last curl into place. Downstairs, the murmur of your sisters' voices drifted up, accompanied by the distant sound of your father’s halting footsteps.
As you descended the grand staircase, your sisters gathered at the foot, their eyes bright with excitement and curiosity. “Oh, look at you!” one exclaimed, reaching out to brush the delicate fabric of your gown. “Such a beautiful color,” another said, her fingers tracing the lace trim with envy.
Your father stood at the end of the stairwell, leaning heavily on his cane. His smile was gentle but tinged with a quiet weariness. “You look lovely, my dear,” he said, extending a hand toward you. His voice had lost some of its usual strength, but there was still warmth in his gaze as he squeezed your fingers. “I am sure you will have a splendid time at the play.”
You returned his smile, though it felt stiff, as though someone had drawn it onto your face with a trembling hand. “Thank you, Papa,” you replied softly. “Though I—”
Your mother’s sharp voice cut across the hallway, shattering the moment. “You shall behave tonight,” she declared, appearing around the corner with a frown etched so deeply into her face that you wondered if it had been permanently carved there. “Do you understand?”
You sighed, dropping your father's hand as your sisters scattered like birds startled by a hawk. “Yes, Mama. I understand.”
“I am serious, girl.” Lady Langley stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as though she could will obedience into you through sheer force of will. “The Dowager Lady Elizabeth Howlett is to be your chaperone, and I have heard she is not a woman inclined to kindness. This is your last chance to make a favorable impression on Lord Howlett.”
Before you could reply, your father interjected, his tone soothing, yet strained. “My love, she will be fine. There’s no need to fret.” He reached for his cane again, wobbling slightly, and one of your sisters, who had been listening around the corner, darted forward to steady him.
You took a step toward him to help, but a knock echoed from the front door, interrupting you. The butler promptly moved to answer it, revealing Lord James Howlett and his mother standing on the threshold.
Lord Howlett’s dark, brooding eyes swept over the entryway, landing on you with an unreadable expression. His face was set in its usual stern lines, the strong jaw rigid as though it had forgotten how to soften. Beside him, Dowager Lady Elizabeth Howlett stood with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her thin lips pressed into a line of disapproval as if the very air of Langley House was beneath her.
“Good evening, Miss Langley,” Lord Howlett said, inclining his head slightly. “I trust you are ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be, my lord,” you replied with a polite curtsy, though your tone carried a hint of edge. “It is, after all, only a play.”
The faintest glimmer of something—was it irritation?—flickered in his eyes. “Indeed. Perhaps you might endeavor to watch this one instead of glancing longingly toward the exit.”
You arched a brow, a small, mirthless smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “I assure you, my lord, I shall be entirely captivated—provided, of course, that the performance is not as stiff as some of the company I keep.”
The Dowager’s eyes snapped to you, sharp as a hawk’s. “Mind your tongue, girl,” she said in a low voice that dripped with condescension. “A lady ought not to jest so carelessly.”
“Oh, but I am quite in earnest, Lady Elizabeth,” you replied, meeting the older woman’s gaze with a practiced sweetness. “I would not dare make light of such an important evening.”
Lord Howlett’s lips twitched, not quite forming a smile. “Let us hope, then, that your enthusiasm lasts until the final act,” he said, offering his arm. “Shall we?”
You hesitated a moment before taking his arm, the rough fabric of his sleeve brushing against your skin as you settled beside him. His posture was rigid, as though every step was calculated to maintain the distance between you, and there was a tension in the air that crackled like static.
“Tell me, my lord,” you said as you descended the steps together, “do you always bring your mother along when courting?”
His gaze slid sideways to meet yours, a dark brow arching slightly. “Perhaps I thought you might benefit from a proper example of decorum,” he replied, his voice as dry as autumn leaves.
You tilted your head, your lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “How considerate of you,” you said. “Though I should warn you—I’ve never been easily subdued. Even with a watchful eye upon me.”
“Then let us hope,” he said quietly, “that you find something worth behaving for this evening.”
Together, you descended the steps with Lady Elizabeth two steps behind. You climbed into the carriage and the weight of the Dowager’s gaze bore down on you like a cold hand gripping your shoulder. Lord Howlett settled opposite you, his expression veiled in shadow, and for a moment, you wondered if there was more beneath that brooding exterior—something other than duty and disdain.
The thought was fleeting, and as the carriage lurched forward, you turned your attention to the dimly lit streets outside, wondering if the play would prove to be the most engaging performance of the evening, or if the true drama lay in the careful dance of words between you and the man who might soon be your husband.
────୨ৎ────
The play had begun with a flurry of activity on the stage, enough to momentarily capture your interest. But as the actors’ exaggerated gestures dragged on and the dialogue grew stale, your thoughts drifted elsewhere. By the halfway point, you were tapping your finger impatiently against the gilded armrest of your seat, biting back a yawn.
Lord Howlett sat beside you, his posture rigid, gaze fixed on the performers as if he were determined to will some life into the lackluster production. Behind you, two rows up, his mother, the Dowager Lady Elizabeth Howlett, sat in conversation with Lady Drummond, her sharp whispers cutting through the quiet like a needle through cloth.
“Must you do that?” Lord Howlett murmured, his voice low and taut, though he didn’t look your way.
You arched an eyebrow, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “If you mean by ‘that,’ not falling asleep in my seat, then yes, I must. This play is dreadful.”
His jaw tightened, the muscles working beneath the skin as though he was grinding down the words he truly wished to say. “It is hardly the fault of the actors if your attention span is as short as your temper,” he muttered.
You bristled, half-turning toward him. “Or perhaps, my lord, it is because I find greater amusement in watching the dust settle on these velvet curtains than in enduring one more moment of this drivel.”
Without waiting for a reply, you stood and swept out of the aisle, the swish of your gown echoing in the hushed theater as you made your way down the dimly lit hallway. The air was cooler out here, and you took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of relief and defiance coursing through you. Surely, there must be something more engaging than sitting like a doll, pretending to be enthralled by dreadful theatrics.
“Miss Langley.”
The clipped voice was unmistakable, and you rolled your eyes before turning. Lord Howlett had followed you, pushing the theater door open with a firm hand, his expression shadowed and irritated as he stepped into the corridor. “You cannot simply leave in the middle of a play,” he said, his tone laced with exasperation. “It is beyond improper.”
You let out a dry laugh and crossed your arms. “I can do as I please, my lord. If I find myself losing the will to live through another act, I shall not sit there and suffer just to uphold some antiquated notion of propriety.”
He took a step closer, his brow furrowing as though you were some curious creature he was trying to decipher. “Why must you always defy what is expected of a lady?” His voice dropped lower, edged with something like genuine bewilderment. “It seems you take a particular delight in making a spectacle of yourself.”
“It seems you take particular delight in brooding and casting judgment,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him. “Is that not a spectacle in its own right? Or is it simply the pastime of a man who finds fault in everything and amusement in nothing?”
For a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something else in his gaze—amusement, perhaps, or even admiration. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the same stony look he always wore. “You think this is a jest?” he said, his voice low and rough. “You have no idea what is at stake.”
You scoffed, turning away from him and pacing a few steps down the corridor. “Oh, I am well aware. My family’s reputation, our fortune—such as it is—dangles by a thread. You are meant to be our savior, are you not?” You whirled back to face him, your eyes flashing. “I am to marry you and secure my family’s future, regardless of my feelings on the matter.”
He stepped closer still, his eyes hardening as he looked down at you. “You do have a choice, Miss Langley,” he said, his voice almost a growl. “You may refuse me, of course. You may tear up the marriage contract and walk away. But do not pretend you are unaware of what will follow if you do.”
You felt the sting of his words, the cold truth in them. “You mean the ruin of my family, the loss of our home, our dignity?” you replied, bitterness curling in your voice. “You think I do not know what is at stake? I know it better than anyone.”
“Then why do you resist so stubbornly?” His tone was quieter now, the anger ebbing into something else, perhaps even a touch of weariness. “Do you truly wish to see Langley House crumble? Your sisters scattered to find their fortunes, your father’s health worsening under the strain of financial ruin?”
Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the bravado slipped. “Of course not,” you said softly, the fight draining from your voice. “But that does not mean I wish to spend my life bound to a man who sees me as a duty—a burden, even.”
His expression shifted something unspoken passing through his gaze. “I do not see you as a burden,” he said, though the words sounded as though they cost him something to admit. “But I will not pretend this arrangement is anything other than what it is: a necessity.” He took a step back, his jaw tightening once more. “However, necessity does not mean cruelty. I would not make your life a misery, Miss Langley. I may not be the husband you would choose, but I would see to it that you do not suffer.”
You searched his face, looking for some hint of insincerity, but found none. “You speak as though you would do me a favor,” you said, your voice quiet but edged with defiance. “But I cannot help but wonder if you say this only because you, too, have no other choice.”
He inclined his head, a faint, humorless smile curling at the corner of his lips. “You are selfish,” he said, his voice low and edged with disdain. “You would let your family slip into ruin simply because you find me... unlikable? Is your pride worth so much, Miss Langley? Why can’t you be an obedient lady and do what is required of you?”
“Obedient?” You scoffed, the word scraping against your throat like gravel. “Oh, I see. I am a dog to be trained, then? A creature to sit and stay at your command?” You stepped closer, defiance burning in your gaze as you met his eyes without flinching. “That is where we differ, my lord. You would have a wife who falls meekly at your side, a pretty ornament to nod and smile on cue. But I would rather have a husband who doesn’t haunt brothels while demanding loyalty in return.”
 His expression hardened, a flash of something dangerous igniting in his eyes. The silence between you was like a blade drawn taut, ready to cut. “You do not know me, Miss Langley,” he said quietly, the words seething between clenched teeth. “You presume to judge, but your knowledge is nothing but rumor and spite.”
“Then enlighten me, my lord,” you shot back, your voice rising despite yourself. “Tell me why the other ladies of the ton avoid you like a blight. Explain why a man of your wealth and standing must settle for a bride who has no choice in the matter. It seems to me that you are as desperate as the family you claim to save.”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might reach for you—whether to silence your insolence or pull you closer, you could not say. But he kept his hands at his sides, though they were balled into fists. “Watch your tongue, Miss Langley,” he said in a voice so low it was nearly a growl. “You speak of things you cannot understand.”
“Then perhaps you should make me understand,” you replied, refusing to back down. “Because what I see before me is not a savior but a man grasping at the last thread of respectability. If you think marrying me will somehow restore your standing, then you are the one who is mistaken.”
He exhaled sharply, a bitter laugh escaping his throat. “You truly believe you have the upper hand here, don’t you?” His gaze flicked over you, as though appraising something less than worthy. “But let me make this clear, Miss Langley. It is not just your family’s name that hangs in the balance—it is your sisters' futures and your father’s health. Or do you not care about that, either?”
The words stung, and for a moment, the fight drained from your voice. “Of course, I care,” you whispered, the anger giving way to something more vulnerable. “But do not expect me to be grateful for a fate I did not choose, nor for a man who believes he can command my respect by demanding it.”
He took a step closer, and you felt the warmth of his breath as he spoke. “And do not expect me to offer comfort where there is no gratitude,” he said, his voice a rough murmur. “I do not need your approval, Miss Langley, only your cooperation. Your disdain matters little in the grand scheme of things.”
“Then you shall have my cooperation,” you said, your voice steady even as a knot tightened in your chest. “But make no mistake, my lord—cooperation is all you will ever have. If you are hoping for an obedient wife to dote on you, you shall find yourself sorely disappointed.”
“Obedience is not what I seek,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “But I will have a wife who understands duty. That, at least, I can count on from you.”
You turned your face away, refusing to let him see the flicker of uncertainty that stirred behind your anger. “Then you shall have what you wish, Lord Howlett,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “But do not mistake duty for affection. You may secure this marriage, but my heart is another matter entirely.”
For a moment, his expression softened like a cloud breaking to reveal the faintest glimmer of light behind it. Then it was gone, replaced by that same stern resolve. “Affection,” he repeated, as though the word itself were a foreign concept. “I think we both know that sentiment has little place in arrangements such as these.”
With that, he turned and strode back toward the theater, leaving you standing in the dim corridor, your breath coming a little too fast, your pulse thrumming with a mix of fury and something unsettling that you could not quite name. The door closed behind him, muffling the distant applause from the stage and the dull murmur of voices, leaving you to wonder whether this confrontation had left either of you any closer to understanding the other—or if it had merely drawn a deeper line in the sand.
The carriage had barely rolled to a stop outside Langley House when you flung open the door and stepped out, your movements quick and agitated, as if you could outrun the suffocating weight of the evening. The cool night air bit at your cheeks, but it did nothing to soothe the roiling in your chest. All you wanted was the solace of solitude, to shed the layers of pretense like a stifling gown.
Your steps had scarcely touched the gravel drive before you heard the heavy thud of boots behind you.
"Miss Langley." Lord Howlett’s voice cut through the quiet, steady, and unyielding as ever. His mother, the Dowager Lady Elizabeth, called after him with an impatient huff, but he paid her no mind.
You quickened your pace, the glow from the house’s lanterns casting long shadows along the steps ahead. "I wish to be alone, Lord Howlett," you said sharply, your voice fraying at the edges. The marble step was slick with evening dew, and your foot slipped, your balance faltering.
In an instant, his hand was at your elbow, steadying you before you could tumble forward. The grip was firm, strong enough to remind you of his presence but not rough. Still, the warmth of his touch burned like an affront, and you wrenched your arm free, glaring up at him. "Do not touch me," you hissed, taking a step back.
His jaw tightened, but he did not retreat. "We need to speak about the marriage," he said, his tone low and even, though there was a trace of something gentler beneath it—a reluctant concern, perhaps, that seemed to soften the hard line of his brow.
"There is nothing to discuss," you scoffed, folding your arms tightly across your chest as if to barricade yourself against him. "The terms are clear—I have no choice in the matter, so let me have at least this one freedom." You gestured toward the door behind you, your voice trembling with anger. "Allow me to go inside and be alone before I am forever bound to you."
For a moment, he said nothing, merely studied you in the dim light, his gaze searching yours as if he could see the truth buried beneath your defiance. He exhaled a soft, reluctant sound. "You think I wish to force this upon you?" he asked quietly. "You think I delight in binding myself to a woman who loathes the very sight of me?"
"Then why follow me out here?" you retorted, your voice rising despite yourself. "If you do not wish to force my hand, then why not leave me be?"
"Because," he said, his voice firming again, "if there is even the slightest chance that we could find some common ground—some understanding—then we owe it to ourselves to try." He took a cautious step closer, his expression gentling just a fraction. "I do not want a wife who feels trapped," he murmured, as though the admission cost him something. "But I cannot simply walk away from this marriage without condemning your family to ruin. Nor can you."
You hesitated, caught off guard by the faint softness in his tone. It was the first time he had spoken of the marriage as something other than a grim obligation, the first time you glimpsed a hint of vulnerability in him—like a crack in a fortress wall, small but real. "And you truly believe that 'understanding' will change anything?" you asked, skepticism thick in your voice.
"I believe it could make the difference between a life of misery and a life of endurance," he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. "Or perhaps even... something more." The words were spoken so quietly you almost doubted you’d heard them right, but there was a sincerity in his gaze that made your pulse quicken in an unfamiliar way.
You swallowed, the chill of the night air seeping into your skin as the anger ebbed, replaced by a cautious unease. "And what would you have me do, my lord?" you said, your tone softer now, though no less guarded. "Pretend to be content? To play the obedient wife you seem to think I should be?"
"No," he answered, his voice rough with honesty. "I would not ask you to pretend. I would ask you to give us a chance to learn who we truly are, beyond what is expected of us." He hesitated, then added, almost hesitantly, "You may find that I am not the monster you imagine me to be."
A bitter laugh escaped you despite yourself, and you shook your head. "You ask much of me, Lord Howlett," you said, taking a step back toward the door, your hand finding the cold brass of the doorknob. "But I shall consider your... proposal, if only because it seems I have little choice in the matter."
He inclined his head, accepting your words with a solemnity that surprised you. "That is all I ask," he said quietly. "For now."
Without another word, you turned and slipped inside the house, the door closing behind you with a soft click. As you leaned back against the cool wood, you pressed a hand to your chest, where your heart still raced with the remnants of anger and something unsettling. 
It was a small concession, what he had asked for—a chance. Whether it would lead to any true understanding between you was as uncertain as the flickering candlelight in the dim entryway.
────୨ৎ────
For the past few days, you had managed, almost miraculously, to forget the looming specter of your engagement to Lord Howlett. The bustle of your sisters’ chatter and the endless duties of tending to your father’s needs kept your thoughts mercifully occupied. It wasn’t until afternoon tea, in the quiet stillness of the drawing room, that reality began to creep back in.
"Dearest, you should be getting ready," your mother said, her tone as clipped as the neat pour of tea into her porcelain cup. She glanced at you over the rim, the same expectant look in her eyes that always made your stomach twist.
"Getting ready?" you echoed, glancing up from the delicate pastry you had just bitten into. "Whatever for?"
She set the teapot down with a soft clink. "Lord Howlett is calling upon you this afternoon. I told you several times already—he said it was urgent."
You paused, your brows knitting together in confusion. "I don’t recall—"
"Of course, you don’t," she cut in, already turning her attention back to the list she kept by her saucer. "But mark my words, he’s coming to make his proposal official. It is time you finally accepted your future, dear. There are matters to be arranged, details to prepare for the wedding. You should be grateful he’s being so… proper."
The word grateful sat uneasily on your tongue, and you swallowed it down along with your annoyance. Pushing back your chair, you rose hastily, a flutter of unease stirring in your chest as you rushed toward your room. The idea of marrying Lord Howlett had begun to seem less daunting—he had not been altogether unkind, and there was a certain steadiness about him that could be called reassuring. The thought of him proposing, of that moment when he would slide a ring onto your finger and the arrangement would become irrevocably real, sent a jolt of panic through you.
When you entered your chambers, you found your maid already laying out a gown of ivory muslin—a gesture of assumption that made your cheeks burn with resentment. Still, you let her help you into the dress, her fingers quick as they tied the ribbons and smoothed the fabric. You wore your hair loose, allowing it to tumble down your back in soft waves; an act of small rebellion, for you knew your mother would have preferred it neatly pinned.
By the time you descended the stairs, Lord Howlett was already waiting in the drawing room, standing near the window where the afternoon light softened the harsher lines of his features. He turned as you entered, his gaze sweeping over you with a measured look that betrayed nothing.
"Miss Langley," he greeted, inclining his head with that familiar formality. "Thank you for receiving me on such short notice."
You curtsied, your movements practiced and restrained. "I was told you had something urgent to discuss, my lord. I must confess, I am curious as to what could not wait."
His lips twitched, not quite a smile but something close. "Then I shall not keep you in suspense." He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small, velvet box, opening it with a quiet snap. Inside, nestled against the dark lining, was a ring—a delicate band of gold set with a single emerald, flanked by two smaller diamonds. The green stone gleamed in the light, as deep and rich as the forests of Howlett Manor.
You were surprised by the quick stab of pleasure that rose in your chest. "The ring… it is beautiful," you admitted before you could think better of it. You caught his eye and saw something flicker there, a brief, almost imperceptible softening.
"I hoped you would like it," he said quietly, and for a moment, the tension that always seemed to hang between you loosened ever so slightly. "The emerald reminded me of—" He stopped, glancing away as though he had already said too much. "Well, I thought it would suit you."
A silence stretched between you, more thoughtful than awkward, before he cleared his throat and closed the box, slipping it back into his pocket. "There is also another matter," he said, his tone returning to its usual steadiness. "My mother is hosting a ball in our honor tomorrow evening. She insists it will be a grand affair, and I—" He hesitated, as though weighing his next words. "I would be honored if you would accompany me, Miss Langley."
"A ball?" you repeated, and though you meant for your tone to sound disinterested, you couldn’t quite keep the hint of dread from creeping in. "So soon? I would have thought we might… wait, given the circumstances."
"Lady Elizabeth is not a woman inclined to wait," he replied, a wry twist in his voice that was not without sympathy. "She wishes to make our engagement known to society without delay. It will be… expected, of course, that we present a united front."
"Naturally," you said, though the word felt bitter on your tongue. You looked away, toward the gilded clock ticking away on the mantel. "And what, precisely, would that united front entail, my lord? Do you expect me to pretend to be a willing bride, eager to embrace my future with you?"
He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was low, almost kind. "I expect only what you can give, Miss Langley. If all you can manage is civility, then that will suffice."
You glanced at him, taken aback by the gentleness in his tone. "You surprise me, Lord Howlett," you said, your voice softer than before. "I did not think you capable of such… understanding."
"I am not as devoid of feeling as you seem to believe," he replied, a faint, rueful smile tugging at his lips. "But I would not have you think I am resigned to a marriage without hope of something more than mere obligation." His gaze met yours, steady and unyielding. "If there is any chance at all that we might find some semblance of happiness, I would take it."
The words lingered in the air, as fragile and uncertain as a new leaf on a winter branch. You hesitated, and a small part of you were reluctant to dismiss him entirely. "Very well, my lord," you said at last. "I shall attend this ball, and we shall play our parts for society. But do not mistake my agreement for acceptance."
"I would not dare," he murmured, and there was the faintest hint of relief in his voice. He pulled the velvet box from his pocket handing it to you before taking his leave. 
You found yourself opening the box, glancing at the ring once more, that emerald stone glinting like a tiny spark of hope. It was a beautiful ring, you thought, though whether it would come to signify a promise or a prison remained yet to be seen.
────୨ৎ────
"My, my. Howlett Manor is even more magnificent than I imagined," Lady Langley breathed, her voice hushed with awe as the two of you stepped into the grand entryway. 
The butler bowed with a practiced grace, and the quiet echo of your footsteps on the marble floor seemed to emphasize the vastness of the space. "This is to be your home, dear," she added, her gaze drifting upward to the vaulted ceiling, where intricate plasterwork and painted frescoes caught the morning light.
You huffed softly, resisting the tug at your heart. The manor—no, the estate, as it ought to be called—was indeed more splendid than you cared to admit, though you had steeled yourself not to show it. Even from the approach, its beauty had been undeniable: the sprawling gardens with their perfectly trimmed hedges, the marble fountain in the circular drive, its water sparkling like diamonds, and the lush oak trees lining the path like silent sentinels. Yet the sight of the interior, with its polished wood paneling and gilt-framed paintings, stirred something inside you that you could not quite name—a feeling somewhere between wonder and resentment.
"It is... pleasant," you said at last, the word falling flat even to your ears. Your tone was deliberately blasé, a feeble attempt to veil the fact that the grandeur of Howlett Manor made Langley House seem almost shabby by comparison. You watched your mother drift toward a painting—a portrait of some long-dead Howlett ancestor, his expression as stern as the current lord's.
"Pleasant?" She shot you a disapproving look over her shoulder, one brow arching in that way that always made you feel like a child again. "Do not be coy, dearest. This estate could rival a palace, and you know it." Her voice took on a lilting quality as she turned back to admire the ornate chandelier suspended above you, its crystals glittering like a thousand tiny stars. "It will be quite the step up from Langley House."
You bit the inside of your cheek, turning away from her. "If only that were the most important consideration in a marriage," you murmured, more to yourself than to her. As if marble floors and gold leaf could ease the unease that settled in your chest. The manor may be exquisite, but it was still a cage, albeit a gilded one, with walls that seemed to close in the moment you stepped inside.
Just then, a door on the far side of the hall opened, and Lord Howlett emerged, his dark gaze sweeping over you and your mother with a hint of appraisal. His expression softened—though only slightly—as his eyes settled on you. "Miss Langley, Lady Langley. I trust the journey was not too taxing?" His voice was low and measured, as though politeness was a formality he had long since mastered but did not particularly enjoy.
"It was quite manageable, thank you," your mother replied, flashing him a practiced smile. "And I must say, Lord Howlett, your home is truly breathtaking. I believe my daughter finds it to her liking as well, though she is being rather modest about it."
You bristled at the suggestion and shot Lord Howlett a look that was equal parts defiance and wariness. "It is certainly... impressive," you said, your tone more guarded than before. "Though I would imagine it feels rather empty at times, with all this space."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "It is certainly quieter than the bustling atmosphere at Langley House, I imagine," he said, with a slight lift of his brow. "But I assure you, it is far from lonely."
His words hung in the air, and you wondered if there was an unspoken meaning hidden in them, something deeper than mere pleasantries. For a moment, you allowed your gaze to wander over the grand staircase that swept upward, the dark wood banisters gleaming under the chandelier's light, and the tall windows that overlooked the grounds, where sunlight poured in, bright and unforgiving. It was a beautiful place, undeniably, but it wasn’t yours.
"Well, I suppose I shall have to grow accustomed to all this… splendor," you said, your voice softer now, almost resigned. "After all, it will soon be my duty to see that Howlett Manor is properly kept." The words felt strange on your tongue, as though you were speaking of another woman’s life.
Lord Howlett’s expression shifted, just a touch. "It will be more than a duty, Miss Langley," he said quietly, his gaze steady on you. "I would have you feel at home here. In time." There was a note of sincerity in his voice that gave you pause, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if he truly meant it—or if he was simply trying to soothe you like one would a skittish horse.
You nodded, though you did not entirely trust yourself to reply. The weight of the ring on your finger suddenly seemed heavier, its emerald catching the light with a glint that reminded you of promises yet to be fulfilled, and choices that had been made for you long before you ever set foot in this grand house.
"Come, dearest," your mother interrupted, her voice bright with forced cheer as she swept back over to you. "Lord Howlett’s mother is expecting us for tea. We wouldn’t want to keep the Dowager waiting, now would we?"
You inclined your head in reluctant agreement and began to follow her, but just before you reached the door, you glanced back at Lord Howlett. His gaze met yours, and for a brief, disquieting moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something genuine there—a glimmer of hope or perhaps doubt. Then he turned away, and you were left wondering if you had imagined it altogether.
────୨ৎ────
"I am pleased you accepted my invitation for tea," Lady Elizabeth said, her tone as cool and crisp as the fine china from which she sipped. 
The butler moved gracefully between the three of you, filling cups with practiced precision. "I am a very busy woman, as you can imagine, but I thought it prudent to speak with you before the ball this evening." Her gaze slid over you and your mother with an assessing look that felt more like judgment than welcome. 
Your mother offered a polite smile, though you could see the strain in it. "We are honored, Lady Elizabeth. I have heard so much about your journeys. You must have seen some remarkable places. I do envy such a fulfilling life… though, of course, my duties keep me at home with my family."
Lady Elizabeth’s lips tightened as if your mother's words had struck the wrong chord. Her eyes—cold and calculating—rested on you, and you could feel the weight of her scrutiny. It was clear she did not much care for the Langleys, despite the upcoming union. Perhaps she tolerated this match because it served her son’s purposes, but not out of any fondness for you or your family.
Sensing the chill in the room, you made an effort to soften the atmosphere. "You must have had some wonderful experiences. Where do your travels take you, Lady Elizabeth?" you asked, attempting a pleasant tone.
The older woman waved the butler away, her movements sharp as she took up her teacup once more. "All over England, and occasionally the Continent. I have been fortunate enough to travel extensively," she said, though there was a faint trace of bitterness in her voice. "Of course, it was never meant to be a solitary pursuit. My late husband and I had always dreamed of seeing the world together." She paused, her expression hardening. "Alas, we do not always get the lives we wish for."
Your mother nodded sympathetically, though Lady Elizabeth seemed to pay her little attention. "How dreadful, losing one's partner," your mother said softly. "It must be some comfort to have your son by your side."
Lady Elizabeth gave a faint, humorless chuckle, setting her cup down with a little too much force. "Logan?" she said, as though the name itself tasted sour on her tongue. "He is a dutiful son, I suppose, though I always did wish..." Her voice trailed off, and she pressed her lips together in a thin line before continuing, "Well, it does not matter. One cannot change what is already done."
You felt a jolt of surprise at her words. There was no warmth when she spoke of Lord Howlett—only a veiled disappointment that seemed to cut deeper than mere disapproval. The realization unsettled you, and against your better judgment, a small pang of sympathy stirred in your chest. What must it be like, you wondered, to be judged so harshly by one’s mother? To be seen as little more than a reminder of unfulfilled dreams?
"Lord Howlett has been… kind," you offered, your voice gentler than before. "He has made efforts to make me feel welcome."
Lady Elizabeth’s sharp gaze flicked to you, her eyes narrowing as though she could sense the faintest hint of defense in your tone. "He is a man who understands his duty," she said curtly. "Nothing more, nothing less. But you would do well not to mistake that for kindness, Miss Langley. He has his father’s temperament—stubborn and unyielding. It will not be an easy life for you, no matter how pretty the ring on your finger."
Her words were like a slap, though you weren’t entirely certain if they were meant for you or her son. The way she spoke of him, as though he were a disappointment, made your chest tighten with an emotion you hadn’t expected—pity. It was a curious thing to feel toward a man you’d only just begun to know, but it was there all the same, lingering at the edges of your thoughts like a stubborn shadow.
Your mother quickly changed the subject, her voice a touch too bright. "Well, Lady Elizabeth, I must say, your home is simply splendid. The ball will surely be the event of the season." She turned to you with a pointed look, the silent reminder clear: Remember why we’re here. Play your part.
"Yes, I’m sure it will be… lovely," you murmured, though you felt none of the enthusiasm your mother’s words suggested. The idea of the ball—a grand spectacle where you and Lord Howlett would be displayed like fine wares, a symbol of union that felt far from heartfelt—made you want to retreat even further into yourself. But retreating was not an option, not when duty beckoned.
Lady Elizabeth's expression softened, though only slightly. "I expect nothing less," she said, her gaze sweeping over you both. "We must present a united front, after all. Appearances matter, even when the heart is not engaged."
The words hung in the air, heavy with implications. You glanced at your mother, who was nodding as though everything Lady Elizabeth said was perfectly reasonable. Yet you couldn’t help but wonder if there was a warning hidden in her tone—a reminder of what this marriage was truly about.
"Well, then," your mother said, setting her empty teacup aside, "we should go upstairs and prepare. There is much to be done before this evening."
Lady Elizabeth waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes. I have given instructions to the maids. They will see that everything is in order."
With that, you rose from your seat, grateful for the excuse to leave the stifling parlor. As you and your mother made your way up the grand staircase, you cast one last glance at Lady Elizabeth, who was staring into the distance, her expression as cold and remote as the marble statues that lined the hall.
At that moment, you thought of Lord Howlett again and wondered what it would be like to grow up under the shadow of such an unforgiving woman—one who seemed to see nothing but what could have been, rather than what was. It didn’t excuse his sternness, his brooding demeanor, but it offered some small insight into why he might be the way he was.
────୨ৎ────
The ball was a spectacle of shimmering lights and lavish décor, each detail carefully orchestrated to impress. The chandeliers above cast a warm, golden glow over the guests, who moved in graceful circles across the marble floor like figures in a painting. 
Your gown—an opulent creation of deep sapphire silk embroidered with silver thread—caught the light with every turn, the fabric glinting like starlight and drawing the eyes of those around you. You felt their stares lingering, appraising, but it was as if they were looking at a finely dressed doll rather than a flesh-and-blood woman.
Your mother had drifted off, eager to mingle and sing the praises of this grand match. It left you standing alone in a sea of unfamiliar faces, the polite chatter around you blurring into a single, indistinct hum. Though the event had ostensibly been arranged in your honor, it felt more like you were a prize on display, set out for the approval of society rather than for any true celebration.
Determined not to appear lost, you moved to the edge of the ballroom, your gloved fingers trailing over the polished surface of a side table laden with flowers. You caught snatches of conversation as you passed by small clusters of guests, their voices rising and falling like the strings of an orchestra.
"Well, I must say, it's quite the surprise that Lady Elizabeth managed to secure such a match for her son," a woman's voice murmured, low and conspiratorial. You glanced to your left and saw a pair of elegantly dressed women in their middle years, their fans fluttering as they spoke. "I had begun to think poor James would never find a bride. His temperament is not exactly… charming."
Another voice chimed in, this one with an edge of mischief. "And his mother hardly helps matters, does she? Lady Elizabeth has been a terror for years, ever since her husband died. I can't imagine growing up under such a cold hand."
"Well," the first woman continued with a sigh, "he was always the dutiful son. But duty is hardly enough to make one pleasant company, is it?"
Their words settled over you like a damp mist, uncomfortable and cloying. You were still learning who Lord Howlett—or James, as they called him—truly was, but you had already sensed that the relationship between him and his mother was strained. Hearing it discussed so openly, with such dismissiveness, only added to the unease you had felt since the start of the evening. It was as though you were intruding on a story that was not yours, but in which you had unwillingly become a central character.
Feeling a knot tighten in your chest, you turned abruptly and made your way toward the terrace doors. You needed air—something to clear the suffocating sense of being scrutinized, and judged, even before the real marriage had begun. 
Pushing through the doors, you stepped out into the cool night, grateful for the brisk wind that carried the scent of autumn leaves and distant rain.
The garden stretched out before you, illuminated by lanterns that flickered in the dark like tiny fireflies. You had barely taken a few steps when you saw a figure leaning against the stone balustrade at the far end of the terrace. His silhouette was unmistakable, broad-shouldered, and tense, with the light of the nearest lantern casting half his face in shadow.
"Lord Howlett," you said, your voice carrying a trace of surprise despite yourself. "I didn’t expect to find you out here, avoiding your ball."
He turned at the sound of your voice, his dark gaze finding yours in the dim light. "And I didn’t expect to find you fleeing the festivities," he replied, his tone dry but not unkind. "Is the grand occasion not to your liking, Miss Langley?"
You moved closer, folding your arms against the chill, though it was not entirely the cold that made you shiver. "It is grand, yes," you said, the words feeling hollow even as you spoke them. "But it is also… overwhelming. It seems everyone here has something to say about you and your family."
His expression tightened, a shadow passing over his features. "Let me guess," he said, his voice dropping to a rough murmur. "They’ve been speaking of my mother and me, as though we are some tragic figures to be pitied or criticized." He gave a short, humorless laugh. "People always do."
You hesitated, uncertain whether to reveal what you had overheard. Something in the darkness of his gaze, in the way his shoulders seemed to carry a weight that had nothing to do with the fine tailoring of his coat, made you speak. "They said… that your mother is difficult, and that you…" You trailed off, suddenly unsure. "That you have always been dutiful, but that it does not make you pleasant company."
His jaw tightened, and for a moment you thought he might turn away from you and retreat into the silence of the garden. But then he sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "My mother is a difficult woman," he admitted, his tone devoid of any attempt at pretense. "She was not always so, but after my father died… she became colder. As though his death froze something in her. She has never quite forgiven me for not being the son she imagined I should be."
The raw honesty in his voice startled you. It was the first time you had heard him speak so openly, and the words cut through your resentment like a knife through silk, leaving you with an unexpected ache. "I'm sorry," you said softly, though you knew the words were inadequate. "It must be… difficult, to carry that."
His gaze shifted back to you, his expression softening just a fraction. "It is," he said quietly, "but I do not seek pity, Miss Langley. I am only telling you this because—" He hesitated as if weighing the significance of what he was about to say. "Because I would have you understand that I do not wish to marry out of obligation any more than you do. But life is rarely kind enough to allow us our preferences."
You took a slow breath, feeling the tension in the air between you, taut and humming. "Then what do you wish for, my lord?" you asked, the question coming out softer than you intended. "If not obligation, then what?"
He was silent for a long moment, his gaze steady on you as though searching for something in your eyes. "If we must go through with this," he said at last, "then perhaps we might find some way to make it bearable. To be… companions, at the very least." He gave a small, rueful smile, one that barely reached his eyes. "And you needn’t call me 'Lord Howlett' anymore. It sounds as though we are forever strangers. You may call me Logan if you wish."
The use of his given name felt strange on your tongue, but not unpleasantly so. "Logan," you repeated, testing the feel of it. The intimacy of the gesture surprised you, and for the first time, you wondered if perhaps there was more to this man than the stern exterior he showed the world. "Very well. But only if you call me by my name as well. I would prefer not to feel like a stranger in my marriage."
"Agreed," he said, the faintest trace of warmth returning to his voice. "Then we shall start there, at least."
You nodded, a small, reluctant smile curling your lips. The path ahead was still fraught with uncertainty, but for the first time, the weight on your chest seemed to lift just a little, as though you had found a foothold on a steep climb. The night air no longer felt quite so cold, and the lights of the ballroom behind you seemed a world away, as though the two of you were the only people in existence.
"Perhaps…" you began hesitantly, your voice almost lost in the cool night air. "Perhaps you like to dance?" The suggestion came out more tentative than you intended, as though you were testing the ground beneath you for cracks. "I—I don't know if you are a dancer, but—"
"I am not," Logan interrupted, his tone blunt as ever. His gaze flicked to the ballroom beyond the terrace, where the strains of a lively waltz floated out through the open doors.
You nodded quickly, heat rising to your cheeks as awkwardness settled over you like a heavy cloak. "I see. Well, then," you said, already beginning to turn away, "I should probably—"
"Wait," he said, his voice softer now, almost as if he regretted his abruptness. "I may not be a dancer by nature, but…" He extended his hand, gloved and steady, toward you. "I suppose I could make an exception. For tonight."
You hesitated, glancing between his outstretched hand and his eyes, which held a flicker of something unexpected—perhaps even a hint of apology. It seemed as though he was offering more than just a dance; he was offering a moment of truce, a chance to find common ground, if only for the span of a waltz. 
Slowly, you placed your hand in his, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric of your glove.
He led you back through the terrace doors and onto the polished floor of the ballroom. The light was softer here, the shadows of the grand chandeliers dancing across the marble in tandem with the swirling couples. 
Logan's hand found its place at your waist, and you felt the light pressure of his fingers against your back as he drew you closer. His other hand held yours gently, as though he were wary of holding on too tightly.
"You may find I am somewhat clumsy," he said, his voice low and edged with a reluctant humor. "I am better suited to riding or fencing than to this… delicate footwork."
"Then I shall tread lightly," you replied, a small, teasing smile touching your lips as you met his gaze. "It wouldn't do to embarrass you in front of your guests."
A wry glint sparked in his eyes. "I'd wager you would enjoy that far more than you should," he murmured, his tone laced with dry amusement.
The music swelled around you, and as you began to move, you could feel the tension in Logan's posture. His steps were careful at first, almost hesitant, as though he were measuring each movement to ensure he did not misstep. Yet, as the dance went on, a certain ease began to creep in. There was a surprising steadiness in the way he guided you, his hold neither too firm nor too tentative, as though he were learning how to match your pace.
"You're not a terrible dancer, you know," you said after a moment, allowing yourself to relax into the rhythm. "I think you may have misled me."
He gave a soft chuckle, the sound rumbling low in his chest. "If you say so. Though I still feel like an imposter among these graceful sorts." His gaze swept briefly over the other dancers, his expression thoughtful. "I imagine this isn’t exactly the kind of evening you dreamt of when you thought of marriage."
You glanced up at him, surprised by the note of genuine curiosity in his voice. "No," you admitted, your tone candid. "But I’m not certain I ever dreamt of marriage at all. Not in the way young girls often do. I always thought… well, that I might have a choice in the matter. That I would marry someone of my choosing." The words slipped out before you could weigh them, and you immediately wondered if you had said too much.
Logan’s grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly. "And yet here you are," he said quietly, his gaze locking onto yours, "dancing with a man you did not choose."
"Here I am," you echoed, unable to disguise the faint edge of resignation in your voice. "But you should know, Logan—I have not resigned myself to being simply dutiful." There was a challenge in your eyes as you met his, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur, leaving just the two of you moving in time with the music. "I do not intend to be a wife in name only, nor a woman without her mind."
The corner of his mouth lifted, though the expression was not quite a smile. "Good," he said, the word a murmur. "I would not want a wife who could be so easily subdued." There was a pause, and then he added, as if it cost him something to say it, "You have a strength about you, a fire. It… suits you."
His words, spoken so plainly, sent a shiver down your spine from the strange thrill of being seen, even if only for a moment. "Logan?" you asked, your voice almost a whisper. "What do you want from this… arrangement?"
The dance slowed, and he guided you to a stop at the edge of the ballroom, where the light was softer and the music faded into the background. His gaze never wavered from yours, and for an instant, you could see the layers of guardedness in his eyes, the uncertainty mingled with something deeper.
"I suppose I want what anyone wants," he said at last, the honesty in his tone startlingly raw. "A life that is… bearable, at the very least. Perhaps, in time, something more than just duty." His hand lingered on your waist, as though he was reluctant to let you go. "But I will not force affection where it does not exist. I would rather we find some common ground, even if that is all we ever share."
The tension between you hung in the air like a breath unspent, and you found yourself nodding, your throat tight. "I suppose that is a start," you said, a hint of a smile pulling at your lips. "But I will warn you, Logan—I have little talent for settling for 'bearable.' If I am to find contentment, it will be on my terms."
"Then let it be on your terms," he replied, his voice soft but resolute. "As long as you allow me to learn them."
The music swelled once more, the moment passed, but something unspoken lingered between you, fragile and tentative. As you moved away from the dance floor, you could not help but feel that you had glimpsed the man behind the title—neither a brooding lord nor a reluctant suitor, but someone trying, just as you were, to make sense of the path that lay ahead.
────୨ৎ────
The days before the wedding passed in a blur of preparations, each one more elaborate than the last. Your mother seemed determined to outdo herself in every detail, from the arrangements of the flowers to the grandness of the banquet, as though an opulent ceremony could distract from the quiet desperation behind it. 
The Langleys were teetering on the brink of ruin, yet she had no qualms about spending lavishly, especially since it was Lord Howlett’s money footing the bill. It only pressed your nerves further, making you feel as though you were hurtling toward an unknown fate with no time to catch your breath.
Your sisters were surprisingly calm about it all, their usual youthful chatter subdued by a vague, uneasy acceptance. One of them, the youngest, had even confessed her concern as you helped her brush out her hair the night before. “Do you have to marry him?” she whispered, her wide eyes full of worry. “People say he’s… odd. They say his temper is frightful, and he spends too much time away from society.”
You forced a reassuring smile, though you could not quite summon the words to soothe her fears—when your own still lingered in the corners of your mind.
Yet, if there was any solace to be found in those frantic days, it was in the quiet hours you spent by your father's side. His health had declined steadily over the past year, leaving him confined to his bed more often than not, and you took every opportunity to care for him, fetching his tea, sitting with him in the evenings, and reading aloud from his favorite books. He was the one constant in your world, and though you tried to keep the worry from your voice, he seemed to sense the storm that raged beneath your calm facade.
One evening, you sat beside him in the dim glow of the bedside candlelight, the murmur of the household carrying faintly through the closed door. Your father’s eyes, though weary, still held a spark of the warmth that had always comforted you. He reached for your hand, his grip gentle but steady. "You seem troubled, my dear," he said softly. "I imagine it is not just the bustle of the preparations weighing on you."
You hesitated, but then sighed, letting some of your defenses fall. "I suppose I am… uncertain," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "There is so much talk—about Lord Howlett’s character, about his reputation. I hardly know him at all, and yet I am to marry him."
Your father’s expression softened, a faint smile touching his lips. "You’re right to have your doubts, but there is more to James than society sees," he said, his voice low and earnest. "He is a good man, despite what people may say. I have known him for some time."
You looked at him with surprise. "You have?"
He nodded, a faraway look in his eyes as if recalling something from long ago. "I once had the chance to see the measure of his character firsthand," he began. "It was a few years back before his father passed. There was an incident in the village—a fire broke out in one of the cottages. I had gone down to see if I could offer any assistance, and there was James, knee-deep in the smoke and chaos, helping to pull a family from the burning house. He didn’t wait for anyone else to act—he just did what had to be done." He paused, his gaze meeting yours with quiet intensity. "Afterwards, when the villagers tried to thank him, he brushed it off as though it were nothing."
You listened, the image of Logan emerging from the smoke—a man of action rather than words—forming in your mind. It didn’t fit the stories whispered about him at all, the rumors of a cold, temperamental lord who preferred his solitude to society. 
"He doesn’t wear his virtues for others to see," your father continued, his tone tender. "But they are there, and I would not have agreed to this marriage if I didn’t believe he was worthy of you." His voice dipped, softening. "In fact, it was I who insisted upon it."
The admission struck you like a sudden breeze, and you blinked in surprise. "You insisted?" 
A faint chuckle escaped him, though it was tinged with sadness. "Your mother had other plans," he confessed. "She wanted you to marry Viscount Ashcombe. But I knew that man for what he was—a charming rake with a smile that hid his vices. He would have squandered what little we had left and treated you as nothing more than a pretty ornament for his arm. I could not allow that."
A shudder of relief ran through you. Viscount Ashcombe had indeed been a frequent guest at Langley House, his charming demeanor masking a calculating gaze you had never quite trusted. That your father had shielded you from such a fate filled you with a new, deep gratitude, but also a touch of guilt. "And… Lord Howlett?" you asked, your voice hesitant. "You truly believe he is a better choice?"
"I do," your father said simply, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "James may not be the gentleman of society’s dreams, but he is honorable, and he would not see you come to harm. I have seen how he looks at you, even if you have not noticed it yourself. There is a kindness there, though it is buried deep. I only ask that you give him a chance to prove himself to you."
You felt the sting of tears behind your eyes, not out of sadness, but from the overwhelming tenderness in your father’s words. He had always been a voice of reason and quiet strength, and if he believed Logan was a good man, perhaps there was something more to this arrangement than mere obligation. "I shall try, Papa," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "If you think it right, I shall try."
A soft smile curved his lips, and he reached up to tuck a stray curl behind your ear. "That is all I could ever ask of you, my dear," he said gently. "And remember, marriage is not defined by society's expectations or even by the beginnings it is built upon. It is shaped by the choices you make together, by how you face the world as one."
You stayed with him a while longer, resting your head on the pillow beside his as he spoke of simpler things—memories of your childhood, stories of when he and your mother first met. Yet, as his voice grew softer and the evening deepened, your thoughts drifted to Logan, and you wondered if this marriage could truly be more than just duty.
────୨ৎ────
"Stop squirming, dear. You'll ruin the lace," your mother chided, her tone sharp with impatience. The maid's fingers fumbled with the last of the tiny pearl buttons running down the back of your gown. You tried to stand still, though your nerves thrummed beneath your skin like the tension of a tightly wound string.
"But it's itchy," you complained, wincing as the delicate lace sleeves brushed against your arms again, the fine fabric more irritating than luxurious at that moment. The dress, an ivory satin creation with lace overlay, clung to your frame like a beautiful prison, its layers heavy and constricting. You stared at your reflection in the looking glass—the bride-to-be staring back at you was almost unrecognizable, her cheeks pale and eyes wide with the uncertainty she couldn’t quite mask. 
"Beauty is not meant to be comfortable," your mother said briskly, stepping forward to adjust your veil with quick, efficient movements. "Today of all days, you must endure a little discomfort." She pressed a kiss to your forehead, though there was no true tenderness in the gesture—only the determination of a woman who would see her daughter wed, no matter what doubts might linger in the air.
You glanced toward the window where the light spilled in, illuminating the fine dust motes that danced in the air. Beyond the glass, the sprawling grounds of Howlett Manor stretched out, perfectly manicured and bedecked with white roses for the occasion. Guests were beginning to arrive, their carriages forming a neat line along the drive, and you felt a fresh wave of apprehension as the realization settled in by the end of this day, you would be Lady Howlett. No longer just yourself, but part of something larger and more daunting than you had ever imagined.
"Come, dear. It is time," your mother said, her voice taking on a softened tone that still carried an edge of insistence. She took your hand and led you down the grand staircase, the train of your gown trailing like a whisper behind you. As you reached the bottom step, a footman opened the doors, and the warm summer air rushed in, carrying with it the faint strains of music and the murmurs of assembled guests.
The ceremony itself was to take place in the garden, beneath a canopy of white silk, with roses entwined in the trellis above. You took your place at the entrance of the aisle, your breath catching in your throat as the music swelled.
Ahead of you, the guests rose to their feet, their eyes upon you like a sea of expectations. You felt as though you were walking into a story already written, where every step was a line you could not change.
Then you saw him.
Logan stood at the end of the aisle, his back straight and his face composed, but there was a different look about him today—something more open in his expression as if the stern lines of his features had softened slightly in the golden light. He was dressed in a dark coat and waistcoat, his cravat a crisp white, and for the first time, you thought he looked less like the brooding lord and more like any other man, perhaps even a little… nervous. The thought was oddly comforting, to see that he too might be feeling the weight of this moment.
What truly caught your attention was the sight of him speaking with a young woman—his cousin, Marie, whom you had met briefly the night before. She stood close to him, her dark curls bouncing as she laughed softly at something he said. Logan’s face, usually so guarded, was uncharacteristically warm. He reached out to gently touch her arm, a small smile playing on his lips. There was an ease in his manner that you had not seen before. It was a different side of him—a side that seemed capable of tenderness.
As if sensing your gaze, Logan looked up and met your eyes. The warmth did not fade from his expression; if anything, it deepened, and he gave you a small, reassuring nod. It was a subtle gesture, but there was something in it that steadied your breath—a silent acknowledgment that whatever lay ahead, you did not have to face it alone.
The music began again, and you took a step forward, then another, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you moved down the aisle. Your gaze remained fixed on Logan, his presence grounding you as you drew nearer. When you finally reached him, he extended his hand, and you placed yours in it, the warmth of his touch radiating through your glove.
His fingers squeezed yours gently, a subtle comfort. “Breathe,” he whispered, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “You’re doing fine.”
You exhaled, a shaky breath escaping you, and for a moment, the knot in your chest loosened. “You seem remarkably calm,” you replied quietly, glancing up at him. “Are you not nervous at all?”
His lips curved into a faint smile, one that was almost playful. “Terrified, if you must know,” he admitted, his eyes holding yours. “But I’ve been told I hide it well.”
A surprised laugh slipped out before you could stop it, the sound quiet and breathless. You hadn’t expected him to share such a candid confession, and somehow, it made everything feel a little less daunting. 
The priest began to speak, the familiar words of the ceremony flowing around you, and though your mind still buzzed with nerves, you found yourself clinging to that moment of shared honesty, to the knowledge that beneath Logan’s composed exterior, a man was grappling with uncertainty, just as you were.
As the vows were exchanged, Logan’s voice was steady, but there was a sincerity in his tone that made you look up at him again, your pulse quickening. He held your gaze as he spoke, and at that moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had faded away—leaving only the two of you standing there, joined in a promise neither of you had fully chosen but both were willing to see through.
When it came time to place the ring on your finger, his hand lingered over yours, his touch careful, almost reverent. “You’re not alone in this,” he said softly, just for you to hear, his breath warm against your ear. “And you never will be.”
The words settled in your chest, bringing with them a quiet sense of resolve. As the priest declared you husband and wife, you felt a strange mix of relief and anticipation, as though you were standing at the edge of something new and uncertain, but not entirely unwelcome. 
You glanced at Logan once more, catching a glimpse of that same warmth in his eyes, and for the first time, you wondered if perhaps there might be room, however small, for something real to grow.
When he leaned in to kiss you, you hesitated for a moment. He was gentle, almost tentative as though he were offering you not just a gesture of the ceremony but a promise of something more. The guests cheered and the music swelled pulling you back. 
────୨ৎ────
The reception was in full swing by the time you made your way downstairs. The lively hum of conversation and clinking of glasses echoed through the grand hall, but the merriment seemed to blur at the edges of your awareness. Your mind was still reeling from the conversation you’d had with your mother moments before—her not-so-subtle suggestions about "wifely duties" and the inevitability of sharing a bed with your husband tonight. 
The thought made your stomach twist, and your cheeks were still warm with embarrassment. You had hoped to delay that particular aspect of marriage, at least for a while, but there was no denying the weight of expectation pressing down on you.
As you rounded a corner into one of the quieter wings of the manor, you slowed your steps, grateful for a moment of reprieve from the noise and the prying eyes. 
It was then that you caught sight of Lady Elizabeth, standing near the far end of the corridor with another woman you vaguely recognized—a guest, perhaps, or a distant relation whose name escaped you. They were somewhat obscured by the shadows, their heads bowed close together as they spoke in low, urgent voices.
You stopped short, instinctively stepping back to avoid being seen, but their conversation drifted toward you in hushed but distinct whispers.
"…it was the only way to ensure his claim to the manor," Lady Elizabeth said, her voice cold and matter-of-fact. "You understand, don’t you? A bastard child cannot inherit Howlett Manor unless certain… conditions are met."
The other woman gasped softly, her fan fluttering nervously at her throat. "Are you saying James is—"
"A bastard," Lady Elizabeth cut in, the word sharp and unyielding. "Yes. He is the son of a groundskeeper we had. I had an affair—brief, foolish—and yet, here we are. The late Lord Howlett agreed to raise him as his own, but only if Logan did what was necessary to preserve the family name and secure the estate. That meant marrying, producing an heir… appearing respectable." Her tone held a trace of bitterness, as though the situation was a distasteful chore she had no choice but to accept.
The truth struck you like a blow to the chest, knocking the breath from your lungs. You gripped the edge of the doorway, your fingers digging into the wood as the world seemed to tilt around you. Logan is not truly the heir to Howlett Manor? He is… illegitimate?
The whispers continued, their voices fading in and out. "…must keep it quiet, of course," Lady Elizabeth was saying. "If anyone found out the truth, it would cause a scandal. All the wealth, the manor—gone. That is why this marriage was so important. He needs a legitimate heir, and quickly."
You could hardly process what you were hearing. The weight of the revelation pressed down on you, filling your chest with a mixture of shock and betrayal. You had known there were expectations upon this marriage, pressures you had not fully understood, but this… this was an entirely different kind of entanglement. It wasn’t just a matter of appearances or duty—it was a lie. A lie that Logan had kept from you, that his mother had kept from society, a lie that now entangled you as well.
Forcing yourself to remain calm, you stepped back quietly, retreating before they could notice you. Your heart pounded in your ears as you made your way to one of the smaller parlors, where you sank into a chair, your mind spinning. 
The scandal this could cause—if the truth were to come out, it would ruin not just Logan, but your family as well. The very thing you had married to avoid—the loss of Langley House, the disgrace—would become inevitable. I cannot tell anyone, you thought, a tremor running through you. No one can know.
Later, you found yourself drifting through the reception, the laughter and music around you feeling like a distant, disjointed melody. You did your best to play your part—the smiling bride, the gracious hostess—but every time you caught sight of Logan across the room, a fresh wave of unease washed over you. 
You wondered how long he had known, how long he had kept this secret hidden from you. Had he intended to tell you eventually, or had he planned to let you live in ignorance, a pawn in his efforts to secure a future for himself?
As if summoned by your thoughts, Logan approached you near the edge of the ballroom, where you had retreated once more to catch your breath. His expression was softer than usual, and there was an unexpected warmth in his eyes as he came to stand beside you. "You look… radiant," he said quietly, his voice low and gentle. He reached out to brush a stray curl from your cheek, his fingers lingering near your temple. "I was looking for you earlier. I was hoping to steal a dance."
You stiffened at his touch, the tenderness in his tone feeling almost like a mockery in light of what you now knew. You forced a smile, though it felt brittle, and nodded. "A dance? Yes, of course. It is… our wedding day, after all."
His brow furrowed slightly, as though sensing that something was amiss. "Is everything all right?" he asked, his voice dipping with concern. "You seem… distant."
How could I possibly tell you? The question burned at the back of your throat, but you swallowed it down. "I'm just… overwhelmed," you replied, letting out a small, shaky breath. "It’s all been so… sudden." It wasn’t entirely a lie, and you hoped he would accept it.
His hand found yours, and he gave your fingers a reassuring squeeze. "I understand," he said softly. "It’s a great deal to take in. But you’re not alone in this." There was a genuine kindness in his eyes, a sincerity that should have comforted you, but instead only deepened your sense of betrayal. You knew that while he spoke these words of reassurance, there was a secret between you—one that threatened to unravel everything if it ever came to light.
You allowed him to lead you onto the dance floor, you couldn’t help but feel like you were playing a role, just as much as he was. The music swelled, and you fell into step with him, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder, his arm firm around your waist. He looked down at you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken, but instead of feeling warmth, you felt a chill.
"I’m glad you’re here," Logan murmured as you danced, his voice low enough for only you to hear. "I know we didn’t choose this, but… I’d like to think we could find some measure of happiness, even if it’s not the kind we once imagined."
You met his gaze, your heart twisting painfully at the sincerity in his expression. He looked at you as though you were the only person in the world, and yet… you could not forget the conversation you had overheard, the truth that hung like a shadow between you. "Yes," you replied, forcing the words out even as they tasted bitter. "I suppose we could try."
He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "We’ll figure it out," he whispered. "Together."
The word together stung, and as you looked up at him, you wondered if he was truly offering you a partnership—or simply playing a part in a carefully crafted lie.
────୨ৎ────
The wedding celebration had stretched late into the night, and when it was finally over, you felt an overwhelming sense of relief. The laughter, music, and endless well-wishers had been exhausting, and you had longed to retreat somewhere quiet and familiar. 
But Langley House was no longer your sanctuary; Howlett Manor was now your home, and the realization settled heavily on your shoulders as the last guests departed, and the manor returned to its usual stillness.
The early morning air was cool and damp, the dew clinging to your skin as you stood on the grand steps of Howlett Manor, watching your family prepare to leave. The sight of their carriage waiting at the end of the gravel drive stirred a longing in your chest, a longing to climb inside and return with them to the warmth and comfort of your childhood home, to the place where you still knew who you were.
Your father embraced you gently, his kiss a soft brush against your cheek. "You’ll be fine, my dear," he murmured, his voice both reassuring and tinged with sadness. "Remember, if ever you need anything, we are only a letter away."
You nodded, managing a small, tight smile. "I know, Papa." But as you pulled back, a knot formed in your throat, and you had to bite your lip to keep it from trembling.
Your sisters crowded around you, their eyes bright with mischief and concern. "Now you're a proper lady, a married woman!" one teased, nudging your arm. "We expect to see you behaving with all the decorum of a countess." Another giggled, adding, "Try not to be too miserable without us."
You forced a laugh, waving them off as they climbed into the carriage, and you watched it roll away, the wheels crunching over the gravel until the sound faded into the distance. As the carriage disappeared from view, the sense of loneliness settled in, a cold, creeping sensation that sank into your bones. 
Howlett Manor was vast, with its sprawling halls and echoing chambers, but it felt impossibly empty, like a hollow shell. The servants bustled about with quiet efficiency, their footsteps barely audible on the polished floors, but their presence did little to fill the silence. There was no life here, none of the warm chaos you were used to���just endless rooms and corridors that all seemed to lead nowhere.
You wandered, your slippers brushing over the ornate rugs, your fingers trailing along the smooth banisters. At Langley House, there had always been some comfort in the small, familiar things: the chipped vase on the mantelpiece, the faded armchair your father favored, the distant sound of your sisters' laughter drifting through the halls. 
But here, everything was pristine and grand, untouched by time or sentiment. It was as though the very walls resisted your presence, like an indifferent host merely tolerating a guest.
Eventually, you found yourself in a small library tucked away on the eastern side of the manor. It was far more modest than the grand, formal library you had glimpsed earlier—this room seemed a bit forgotten, its shelves crammed to the brim with books of every kind. The air smelled faintly of dust and leather, and a few stray beams of sunlight spilled through the narrow window, illuminating particles that danced lazily in the air.
You sank into a worn armchair by the window, its upholstery faded from years of sunlight. It wasn’t a particularly inviting chair, but it was the first place you had found that didn’t seem to insist upon its grandeur, that didn’t make you feel quite so out of place. 
Your fingers traced the spines of the books nearby—collections of poetry, histories, and old novels whose covers were cracked with age. You pulled a volume at random from the shelf and settled back, trying to lose yourself in the words, but the text seemed to blur before your eyes, and you couldn’t shake the emptiness that gnawed at the edges of your thoughts.
The loneliness here was different from what you had expected. It wasn’t the sharp sting of missing your family, nor was it the cold silence of being truly alone. 
Rather, it was a kind of isolation that seeped into you even when surrounded by people—people who knew their place here, who moved about the manor with the easy familiarity you lacked. Even Logan, who you’d scarcely seen since the wedding day, seemed a stranger to this place at times. You had caught glimpses of him in passing, his brow furrowed in thought or his expression distant, and you wondered if he too felt as though he did not entirely belong.
You had just begun to drift off into an uneasy doze when the sound of voices outside the library door roused you. You started, closing the book and setting it aside as the door opened and Logan stepped in, speaking quietly with his cousin, Marie. There was a lightness to his tone, a warmth you had rarely heard in his voice. He laughed at something she said, the sound deep and genuine, and there was a soft smile on his lips as he reached out to ruffle her hair in an affectionate, brotherly gesture.
You felt a pang of something you could not quite name—jealousy, perhaps, or simply longing. It was strange to see him this way, unguarded and almost joyful. 
As if sensing your gaze, Logan looked up and saw you seated there, half-hidden behind the armchair. His smile faded slightly, but a flicker of that warmth remained as he inclined his head toward you. "I didn’t realize anyone else was in here," he said, his voice carrying a faint note of surprise. "I hope we didn’t disturb you."
"Not at all," you replied, rising to your feet, though the sudden movement made you feel unsteady. "I was just… trying to pass the time."
Marie gave you a friendly nod before excusing herself, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet library. Logan's gaze followed her for a moment, then returned to you, and you felt the weight of his attention, his curiosity.
"Have you found everything to your liking?" he asked, his tone polite, though there was a hint of something else in it as if he was searching for reassurance himself. "I know it must be quite an adjustment…"
"Yes," you answered, forcing a smile that felt strained. "It is… different, certainly." The understatement felt almost laughable, but you could not bring yourself to confess the depth of your unease. Not to him. Not yet.
Logan’s expression softened, and he took a step closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "If there’s anything you need—anything at all—please let me know," he said. "I would not have you feel like a stranger here."
The kindness in his voice unsettled you, for you could not help but wonder if it was merely an act, part of the role he was expected to play as a new husband. After all, how could he speak of not wanting you to feel like a stranger when he had kept the most significant part of his life hidden from you? When the very foundation of this marriage was built on secrets and necessity?
"Thank you, my lord, but I fear I will always be a stranger here," you blurted before you could stop yourself. The moment they left your lips, a flicker of regret curled in your chest, but it was too late to take them back.
Logan's brows furrowed, a shadow of concern crossing his features. "I had hoped to make you comfortable," he said, his voice measured, as though he was choosing each word with care. "If there is something amiss… Is your chamber not to your liking, or—"
"It is not the chamber," you interrupted, shaking your head. "Everything here is grand. Perhaps that is the problem." You gestured vaguely around the room, where the dark wood paneling gleamed in the afternoon light, where the velvet drapes hung heavy and untouched. "Nothing feels… homey. It is as though I am trapped within these walls, surrounded by all this grandeur, but with nothing of substance to occupy me. There is an emptiness here and I…" Your voice trailed off, uncertain how to convey the rest without sounding ungrateful or childish.
He took a step back, the distance between you widening, though his gaze remained fixed on you, unwavering. "How can you be so unhappy when it has only been hours since our wedding?" There was a hint of frustration in his tone, barely concealed. "I know this is all new, but I thought—" He broke off, his jaw tightening. "I thought you were willing to give this a chance."
A dry laugh escaped you, tinged with a bitterness you hadn’t meant to reveal. "Willing, yes," you replied, a tremor in your voice. "But happiness? That is another matter entirely. I was not happy to begin with, and though I did promise I would try to make this marriage work, I don’t know if I can." You paused, your throat tightening around the words. "I am alone here, without my family, without my father. He has no one by his side."
Logan’s expression softened slightly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. "I know it is difficult," he said quietly. "But I would not have you feel this way. If there is anything I can—"
"I do not need reassurances, my lord," you snapped, the sharpness of your tone surprising you. You took a step toward him, the frustration and fear that had been simmering since the wedding rising to the surface. "I need honesty. I need to know that I am not merely here to serve as the solution to a problem that was never mine to begin with."
He blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. "What are you talking about?"
You opened your mouth to respond, the words balanced precariously on the tip of your tongue. I know the truth. I know what your mother said—that you are not truly the heir, that you are a— You swallowed, the weight of the secret pressing against your chest like a stone. But as you met his gaze, you saw a rawness there, a genuine concern that made you falter. The words died in your throat, and you looked away, unable to bring yourself to shatter whatever fragile understanding existed between you.
"Nothing," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "It is nothing."
"Is it?" he pressed, his tone gentling. He took a tentative step closer, his hand lifting as though to touch your arm, then falling back to his side. "I know this marriage did not begin as a love match, but that does not mean we cannot build something worthwhile from it. I am trying to give you a place here, but you must meet me halfway."
A bitter retort hovered on your lips, but you swallowed it back. "Halfway?" you echoed, a faint tremor in your voice. "And what would that look like? Me sitting in silence while you attend to your duties, while your mother watches over me like a hawk to ensure I fulfill my role as your wife and nothing more?"
Logan's jaw tightened, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes—anger, perhaps, or hurt, or some mixture of the two. "My mother does not dictate our marriage," he said, his tone firm. "Nor does she have a say in how I treat you."
"But does she have a say in why you married me?" The question slipped out before you could think better of it, and as soon as the words hung in the air between you, you wished you could take them back. You saw the way his expression changed, the guarded look that closed off whatever warmth had been there moments before.
"What are you trying to say?" His voice was low, his gaze piercing as though searching your face for answers you were unwilling to give.
You took a step back, wrapping your arms around yourself as though to ward off the sudden chill that seemed to fill the room. "Forget I said anything," you murmured, turning away from him. "I am simply tired. It has been a long day."
You walked away, the tension hung between you, a taut string threatening to snap at any moment. You could feel Logan's eyes on your back, his unspoken questions pressing against you like a weight. You had come so close to revealing what you knew, and now the secret lay thick and unspoken between you. Its presence impossible to ignore.
However, the damage was done. The words you hadn’t said had already begun to build a wall between you, one that grew higher with every passing silence.
────୨ৎ────
It was days later, in the quiet hours of the late afternoon, when Logan found you curled up in the worn armchair with a book in hand, nestled in the small, tucked-away library. It was far removed from the grand and imposing main library, which you had visited only once and found too vast, too cold for your liking.
This library felt different. It had a lived-in quality, as though it were a place where someone came to retreat from the weight of duty, a place where time seemed to slow. You had claimed it as a sanctuary of sorts, a space where you could be alone with your thoughts and the company of the old novels that lined the shelves.
You didn’t notice Logan’s presence at first, not until the faint creak of the door announced him, and you looked up, startled. Rising to your feet, you brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, your loose curls tumbling over your shoulders. 
"My lord, I did not notice you there," you said, your voice betraying a hint of the nerves that still stirred whenever you found yourself alone in his company.
Logan’s lips quirked in a faint smile, his gaze sweeping over the room before resting on you. "You don’t need to stand on ceremony here," he said, his tone softer than you had expected. "And you certainly don’t need to call me ‘my lord’—not in this place." He glanced around at the cluttered bookshelves as if reacquainting himself with the space. "I always thought of this library as a refuge, of sorts. It seems you have found it, too."
You relaxed slightly, though you still felt a touch self-conscious. "I did not realize this was… your library. It felt less formal than the others—more… welcoming," you admitted, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. "I hope I did not intrude."
"Not at all," he replied, stepping closer, his hands clasped casually behind his back. "In truth, I’m glad to see someone making use of it. I’ve always preferred this room over the larger one. There’s a kind of comfort here, wouldn’t you agree?"
You nodded, glancing back at the book you had set down—a collection of poetry. "I suppose I’ve always preferred smaller spaces. They feel less like… museums, more like places meant to be lived in."
Logan’s gaze drifted to the book resting on the armchair. "Byron," he noted, recognizing the gold lettering on the spine. "A man who made his life as dramatic as his verses. Are you fond of his work?"
"I am," you said, your eyes brightening at the familiar subject. "There is something about the way he captures longing and melancholy… It feels so human, so true."
Logan’s expression softened, a glimmer of shared understanding in his eyes. "Yes, there is a kind of honesty in his verses, even when they’re full of exaggeration. It’s as though he’s trying to make sense of his own heart."
He reached out, pulling a slim volume from the shelf beside him. "But I’ve always been more inclined toward Wordsworth," he confessed, turning the book over in his hands. "His love of nature, the way he finds solace in it… There’s a quietness to his poetry that I find calming."
You tilted your head, a touch of curiosity lighting your gaze. "That’s surprising. I didn’t take you for the type to seek out… calm."
Logan let out a chuckle, his thumb brushing over the book’s worn cover. "I suppose that’s why I do seek it. A man doesn’t have to look very far to find chaos, but peace… that’s something worth searching for." He glanced at you, and the lightness in his expression gave way to something more thoughtful. "You know, my father always called me James. I suppose it was the name he preferred—more dignified, I think, in his mind. But my mother… She always called me Logan, from the time I was a boy."
He hesitated, a shadow crossing his features. "I suppose I never stopped thinking of myself that way. James feels like… a stranger, a name for the person I am supposed to be, rather than the person I am."
The confession surprised you, and you found yourself searching his face, trying to understand the layers of the man standing before you. "Is that why you asked me to call you Logan?" you asked softly, as though the gesture could bridge the distance that still lay between you. 
He nodded revealing a small smile, and for a moment, the tension seemed to ease. 
“Then I shall call you Logan if that is who you truly are.” You said after a moment before sitting back down in the armchair, gesturing for him to take the one across from you, and after a moment’s hesitation, he did, setting the Wordsworth volume on his knee.
"You’ve made quite a collection here," you remarked, glancing around at the overflowing shelves. "I didn’t realize you read so much."
Logan’s expression warmed, and he shrugged slightly. "There was always more to learn, more to understand," he said. "I suppose books were the one constant when everything else seemed uncertain."
You understood that sentiment all too well, and it struck you how much you had underestimated him. He was not just the reserved and sometimes brooding man society saw, nor merely the heir struggling to uphold his family's expectations. There was a depth to him, a yearning for something beyond duty. You wondered if you had misjudged him—or at least, not truly seen him.
"You mentioned your father," Logan said gently, breaking the silence. "I know you miss him. I… I would not want to keep you from seeing him. Once I’ve attended to some business here, I shall take you to Langley House. You can stay as long as you like."
The offer came so unexpectedly that you stared at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. "You would do that?" you asked, a faint tremor in your tone.
"Of course," he replied, his gaze steady on yours. "It is your home, after all. I promised I would not have you feel like a stranger here." His lips curved in a small, earnest smile. "Besides, I would not wish to be the kind of husband who denies his wife the comfort of her family."
A warmth blossomed in your chest mingled with a pang of guilt at the secret you still kept from him. For now, you allowed yourself to accept his kindness, to believe that perhaps there was something to be built between you, some foundation upon which to steady the uncertain future that lay ahead.
You returned his smile, a tentative hope stirring within you. "Thank you, Logan," you said quietly, and as the light faded from the window, the two of you sat in the small library, the silence between you no longer quite so empty.
────୨ৎ────
The sun was sinking behind the trees, casting long shadows across the entryway of Howlett Manor, as you paced back and forth, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. The hours had dragged on, each one heavier than the last, filled with the monotonous duties of running the household—duties that had felt all the more tedious with your mind fixed elsewhere. 
Your father was ill, and the news had struck like a blow to the chest, leaving you restless and frantic.
You had received the message from your mother just after midday, her handwriting trembling across the page as she described your father’s sudden fever. The thought of him alone, struggling for breath while you remained stuck here, had been gnawing at you ever since. You had been prepared to leave immediately, but propriety demanded you wait for Logan’s return; a lady did not travel alone, no matter the urgency. Yet the minutes had crawled by, and still, he had not come.
Finally, as the last light of day began to fade, the front door swung open, and there he stood. Logan’s hair was damp with sweat, and his coat was dusted with the evidence of his travels, but he seemed unharmed—unlike your father, whose condition you had only grown more desperate to reach with each passing moment.
"There you are," you exclaimed, your voice sharp and edged with impatience. "I’ve been waiting all day for you to return. I need to leave for Langley House at once."
Logan blinked, taken aback by your tone. "I’m sorry, I—"
"My father is ill," you cut him off, your pacing quickening as you spoke. "He’s taken a sudden fever, and I will not wait here a moment longer. I must go to him." The words tumbled out in a frantic rush, your chest tightening with every breath.
Logan frowned, concern flashing in his eyes, but his tone remained calm. "It’s already late. The roads are dark, and it would be dangerous to travel now. We should wait until morning—"
"Morning?" You spun to face him, incredulous. "You promised, Logan. You said as soon as your business was done, you would take me to Langley House. But now you ask me to wait even longer? My father could be—" Your voice broke, and you swallowed hard, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over.
He stepped forward, his brow furrowing. "I know you're worried, but traveling in the dark—"
"I don’t care about the dark!" you shouted, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. "My father needs me, now, not when it’s convenient for you." The frustration and fear you had kept bottled up surged forward, and before you could think better of it, the words you had been holding back escaped in a rush. "I know why you married me, Logan," you said, your voice trembling with the force of your emotions. "I know the truth about you—about who you are. A bastard son, trying to secure his inheritance through this marriage."
His expression froze, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. "What… what are you talking about?" he asked, his voice low and uncertain, as if the ground beneath him had just shifted. "Who told you—"
"It doesn’t matter who told me," you snapped, your heart pounding as you took a step back. "What matters is that you only married me to secure your fortune, and now you would have me wait while my father suffers? You are no better than a liar, Logan." The name felt bitter on your tongue, as though it belonged to a stranger.
He reached for you, his voice urgent. "Please, just listen to me. I don’t—"
You shook your head, unwilling to hear whatever explanations he might have. "I’ve heard enough," you said coldly, turning on your heel and marching toward the door. "I’m going to Langley House, with or without you."
Without waiting for his response, you stormed out of the entryway and hurried to the stables, your pulse thundering in your ears. A stable hand gaped at you as you demanded a carriage be readied at once, and you hardly noticed the incredulous look the servants exchanged as you climbed inside, your hands trembling with anger and fear.
The carriage lurched forward, and you stole one last glance at the manor as it receded into the distance. You half expected Logan to follow, to call out and demand you stay, but there was nothing—only the growing darkness and the sound of the wheels on the gravel.
As the night swallowed the road ahead, the magnitude of what you had done began to sink in. You had left without hearing his side of the story, and though part of you felt justified, another part—a quieter, more uncertain part—wondered if you had made a terrible mistake.
────୨ৎ────
A few days had passed since you arrived at Langley House, and you had barely left your father's side. His fever had not yet broken, and though he sometimes seemed to drift into a peaceful sleep, there were moments when his breathing grew labored, his skin pale and damp. 
You clung to his bedside, your hand wrapped around his frail fingers, fighting the exhaustion that pressed against your eyelids. The hours blurred together, and you lost track of time; all that mattered was being there, willing him to recover with every silent plea.
"You should rest, dear," your mother had said, her brow creased with worry as she hovered by the door. But you waved her off with a weary shake of your head, and after a moment’s hesitation, she left you be. It was the first time in days she had not insisted on something, and you were grateful for the silence.
At last, when even your determination could not keep your eyes open, you retreated to your old room. It felt strange to be there again—the space was exactly as you had left it, a time capsule of your girlhood, yet you felt like an intruder. 
The familiar lace curtains, the faded wallpaper, the worn quilt at the foot of the bed… all reminders of a past life, one that seemed distant now that you were a wife with different burdens to bear. You lay down, but sleep remained elusive, your thoughts tangled and restless.
A soft knock interrupted the quiet, rousing you from your half-conscious state. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes as a servant peeked hesitantly through the door. "My lady," she murmured, "there is a gentleman here to see you."
Your chest tightened, a familiar dread curling in your stomach. "If it is Lord Howlett, tell him I am busy," you said, your voice sharper than you intended. You had not spoken to Logan since you left Howlett Manor in a fit of anger and hurt, and you were not sure you were ready to face him yet.
The servant hesitated, her eyes shifting toward the hall. "He was quite insistent, my lady." Before you could respond, the door creaked open wider, and there stood Logan, looking unlike you had ever seen him.
He was pale, his hair unruly as if he had run his hands through it too many times, and there were dark circles under his eyes, as though he had not slept in days. For a moment, he seemed almost a stranger, stripped of the composed exterior you had grown used to. There was a rawness about him that made your heart twist despite the anger you still felt.
"May I come in?" he asked, his voice rough, and there was a vulnerability in his expression that gave you pause.
You hesitated, your grip tightening on the edge of the quilt. "If you’ve come to offer more excuses, Logan, I’m not interested," you said, but the words lacked the conviction they had held days ago. His appearance, so disheveled and hollow, had already chipped away at your resolve.
He stepped inside without waiting for permission, closing the door gently behind him. "I don’t have excuses," he said quietly, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that left you breathless. "Only the truth."
You folded your arms across your chest, trying to steady yourself. "The truth?" you echoed bitterly. "And what truth would that be? That you married me only to secure your claim to Howlett Manor? That your mother’s schemes made a fool of me?"
A muscle tightened in his jaw, and he took a slow breath before answering. "I did not know," he said, the words almost a whisper, as though admitting them pained him. "I didn’t know… until you left." He took a step closer, his voice thick with raw honesty. "After you stormed off, I confronted my mother. She… she told me everything. That I am not the true heir, that my father was not my father, and that the marriage was her way of ensuring my claim remained undisputed."
You stared at him, the floor seeming to shift beneath you. "You didn’t know?" you repeated, scarcely able to believe it. "You expect me to believe that you were kept in the dark about something so… so consequential?"
"I swear to you," Logan said, his voice hoarse, "I had no idea. All my life, I believed what I was told—that I was the legitimate son of the late Lord Howlett. I never had reason to question it." His expression tightened, a shadow passing over his eyes. "But now… now I know the truth. And my mother—" He let out a bitter, broken laugh. "She’s furious with me for confronting her. She won’t speak to me. I’ve lost… I’ve lost the only family I thought I had."
The anger you had been holding onto slipped through your fingers, replaced by an ache you had not expected. You saw the hurt in his eyes, the way he struggled to keep his voice steady, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of sympathy, even guilt. Slowly, you let your arms fall to your sides. 
"Why did you come here?" you asked softly, your voice wavering. "Why now?"
"Because I needed you to know," he said, his gaze searching yours for something—understanding, forgiveness, perhaps even solace. "I needed you to know that I did not deceive you, not intentionally. And… because I hoped…" His voice trailed off, and he swallowed, his eyes dark with uncertainty. "I hoped you might still be willing to come back. If not for the marriage, then… at least to speak with me. To try to understand."
You hesitated, your heart tugging in two directions. You had been so sure of his betrayal, so certain that he had used you, and yet now, seeing him so undone, so lost… It stirred something within you, a reluctant compassion that you could not quite suppress. 
You slipped out of your bed and took a step toward him, your hand lifting slightly before you let it fall again. "Logan," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "I don’t know what to say."
He looked down, his shoulders slumping as though he had been carrying a weight too heavy to bear. "Then don’t say anything," he replied, his tone quiet and strained. "Just… let me stay. Just for a moment."
Before you knew what you were doing, you reached out, your fingers gently touching his arm. He looked up at you, surprise flickering in his eyes, and you saw how deeply this had wounded him—this revelation that had shattered the foundation of his life. Slowly, tentatively, you let your hand rest on his shoulder, feeling the tension beneath your touch.
"It’s not your fault," you murmured, the words coming unbidden but somehow feeling right. "You didn’t ask for any of this."
His breath hitched, and he took a step closer, as though drawn to your warmth, his hand coming up to cover yours where it rested on his shoulder. "I don’t know what I am now," he confessed, his voice raw. "I don’t know who I’m supposed to be."
"Well," you said softly, offering a small, tentative smile, "I suppose that's the one good thing about something so tragic. You now have the freedom to be whoever you want." Your voice carried a note of gentleness, an unspoken reassurance that you hoped might reach him.
Logan’s expression softened, though the lines of exhaustion remained etched in his face. He glanced away, as if considering your words, his hand still resting over yours. For a moment, you both stood in the quiet room, the only sound the distant ticking of a clock. The air was fragile, a sense that this moment was a truce, however brief.
You drew in a breath, your hand slipping away from his shoulder. "You look exhausted," you said, your voice just above a whisper. "You should rest."
His gaze met yours, and though he hesitated, he gave a slight nod. "If… if you don’t mind, I could stay," he murmured, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "Just for a while."
You didn’t know why you agreed so readily—perhaps it was the rawness in his voice or the way his shoulders sagged as though the weight of the world had settled there. "You can stay," you said, and then, after a beat, you added, "There is a chair by the window."
He took the offer quietly, walking over to the armchair and sinking into it as though his legs had finally given out. You climbed back into your bed, your movements slow and unsteady, and pulled the covers up to your chin, still half-aware of his presence. It was strange to think that just days ago, you had left him in a storm of anger and hurt, and now here he was—wounded, vulnerable, and seeking comfort under the same roof as you.
Your eyes grew heavy with exhaustion, the events of the past few days catching up with you all at once. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the weariness seeped into your bones, and soon, you drifted off, the soft rustling of Logan shifting in the chair the last sound you heard before darkness claimed you.
────୨ৎ────
You awoke with a start some hours later, the room dimly lit by the pale glow of moonlight filtering through the lace curtains. You turned over, expecting to see Logan still sitting in the armchair, but the chair was empty, a faint indentation on the cushion the only sign he had been there at all. For a moment, confusion clouded your thoughts, and you sat up, rubbing your eyes. Where could he have gone?
Rising from the bed, you wrapped your robe around yourself and padded into the hallway. The house was silent, the kind of deep stillness that only comes in the middle of the night. 
You wandered from room to room, your footsteps echoing softly against the polished wooden floors. The familiar sights of Langley House brought a pang of nostalgia, and for a moment, you could almost imagine you were a young girl again, tiptoeing through the halls after bedtime. But the gravity of your situation quickly pulled you back to the present, and your thoughts turned to Logan.
At last, you reached your father's room and saw the door was slightly ajar, a sliver of warm light spilling into the hallway. You pushed it open gently and paused in the doorway, your breath catching at the sight before you.
Logan was seated by your father’s bedside, his head bowed and his hands clasped together as if in prayer. His voice was a low murmur, almost inaudible, and though you could not make out the words, you could hear the raw emotion in them. Your father lay still, his breaths steady but faint, and you noticed the way Logan reached out to touch the old man’s hand, his fingers brushing gently over the wrinkled skin as though offering a silent promise.
You took a step inside, the floorboard creaking beneath your weight. Logan’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting yours in the dim light. For a heartbeat, you both remained still, the air between you thick with unspoken words.
"I didn’t mean to intrude," he said quietly, his voice rough with fatigue. "I… I woke and found myself unable to sleep. I thought I might… check on him." There was a tenderness in his tone and it sent a strange warmth coursing through you.
You walked slowly to your father's bedside, your gaze shifting between the frail figure in the bed and the man sitting beside him. "You didn’t have to come here," you murmured, though there was no reproach in your voice, only a quiet gratitude you had not expected to feel. "But thank you."
Logan shook his head, a faint, tired smile pulling at his lips. "I wanted to," he replied, his hand still resting on your father's. "I thought… if I my father were like this, I would have wanted someone to be there with him. Even if it wasn’t me."
The words touched something deep within you, and you found yourself sitting down in the chair across from him. The silence settled over the room again, but it no longer felt oppressive. It was a silence of shared understanding, of finding comfort in the presence of another even when there was nothing more to be said.
"Why did you come here, Logan?" you asked softly, the question escaping before you could stop it. "Why did you follow me to Langley House after everything that happened? I know you said it was to tell me the truth but—" 
His gaze lifted to meet yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes. "Because I made a promise," he said, his voice steady but low. "And because… I didn’t want you to face this alone."
A lump formed in your throat, and you looked down at your father, his breathing steady and rhythmic, as if reminding you that time was still on your side. "You didn’t have to keep that promise," you whispered. "Not after—"
"But I wanted to," Logan interrupted, his tone firmer now. "I wanted to because… because I care." The last words came out in a hushed tone, as though they were fragile and needed to be handled with care. "And because, despite everything, I hoped that… maybe we could still find a way to make this work."
You inhaled slowly, your gaze still fixed on your father's frail form. The sincerity in Logan's voice stirred something in you that you had tried to bury beneath anger and hurt. You reached out, your hand finding Logan's where it rested on the edge of the bed. His skin was cool beneath your touch, and you felt him tense for a moment before his fingers curled gently around yours.
"I don’t know what will happen," you murmured, your voice barely audible in the hushed stillness of the room. Your gaze remained fixed on your father's frail form, his breaths slow and steady. "My feelings… they’re complicated. All I can think about right now is him—nothing else." The words came out in a strained whisper, the weight of them pressing heavily on your chest.
Logan's eyes never left you, his expression open yet laced with concern. "I’m not asking for anything more than for you to trust me," he said, his voice steady but soft, as though he knew this was fragile ground you stood upon. "That’s all, I promise."
The sincerity in his tone unsettled you more than any declaration of love or grand gesture might have. You stood, shaking your head, unable to shake the feeling that this conversation was too much for your father’s ears—even if he was too weak to hear a single word. "Not here," you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you walked toward the door. "This… it’s too much."
Logan followed you into the dimly lit hallway, pulling the door closed behind him with a quiet click. The air between you felt charged and tense, and as you turned to walk away, you felt his hand catch yours, his fingers curling around yours in a tentative hold.
"I can’t make promises," you said quickly, pulling your hand free with a frustrated shake. "You say things like that, and my mind begins to spin. What if it’s all just another lie? Another way to keep me obedient and… and compliant." The words tumbled out, each one weighted with the uncertainty and fear that had been building inside you. "You would lose everything if we fail to produce an heir. Did your mother tell you that? Did she tell you what’s at stake?"
Logan’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, there was a flash of something in his eyes—hurt, perhaps, or frustration. 
When he spoke, his tone was calm, edged with a quiet determination. "She told me… enough," he admitted, his voice low. "Enough to know what is expected of us." He took a step closer, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your heart quicken. "But I am not my mother, and I did not marry you to force you into anything. I won’t make promises I can’t keep, but the one thing I can swear to is this: I have no intention of deceiving you."
You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. "You say that now, but… what happens when time passes and there is still no heir? Will you still be so understanding then?" The doubt laced through your voice, but beneath it was a flicker of hope that you desperately tried to suppress.
His eyes softened, a mixture of sadness and resolve glinting in the depths. "I don’t care about titles, or legacies, or any of the things my mother obsesses over," he said, his voice roughened by an emotion you could not name. "I care about you. I care about the truth between us, even if it’s a tangled mess right now." He reached for your hand again, his touch gentler this time, as if he were asking rather than taking. "I know I’m not perfect, and I know you don’t owe me anything. But I’m asking you to give me a chance to prove that I can be the man you deserve, and not just the husband you ended up with because of circumstance."
You stared at his hand over yours, the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. The walls you had built up since leaving Howlett Manor felt as though they were crumbling, brick by brick, under the weight of his words. There was still a voice inside you, one that whispered caution.
"I don’t know if I can trust that," you whispered, your voice breaking. "How do I know this isn’t just a way to secure what you need? How do I know you’re not saying what I want to hear just to keep me from running?"
Logan’s grip tightened slightly, his fingers lacing through yours as if to anchor you. "Because I’m not asking you to stay for obligation’s sake," he said, the rawness in his tone sending a shiver down your spine. "I’m asking because I want to try and build something real with you—something beyond what anyone else expects of us." His other hand rose to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. "If you walk away now, I won’t stop you. But if you give me a chance… we can start by just… finding a way to be ourselves again. Not lord and lady, not husband and wife, but just… us."
The tenderness in his touch, the way his eyes searched yours for any sign of hope, struck you deeply. You felt a swell of emotions rising within you—fear, longing, confusion—all tangled together and impossible to untangle.
Slowly, hesitantly, you let out a breath, your chest tightening as you took a step closer, feeling the warmth radiating from Logan’s skin. "All right," you said, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to steady it. "We can try… but only if we’re honest with each other. Completely honest." The words felt like both a promise and a challenge, an unspoken plea for something real in a world that often felt like a tangle of duty and deceit.
Logan nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. There was an intensity there, a quiet determination that made your pulse quicken. His gaze flickered from your eyes down to your lips as they parted, and the faintest smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, as though he were allowing himself, for the first time, to believe that there could be more between you than obligation. 
"That’s all I’m asking for," he murmured, his voice low and rough. His hand fell away from your cheek, lingering in the space between you as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go entirely.
The silence seemed to thrum with possibilities, the air thick with an unspoken question that neither of you dared to voice. You were close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, to see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes—the same uncertainty that you felt rising within you. 
The memory of your first kiss drifted to the forefront of your mind: a soft, quick exchange during the wedding ceremony, one that had felt more like a formality than a true connection. This time, though, would it feel different? Would it feel real, tangible? The air itself was urging you to close the gap, to explore what lay beyond the roles you had both been playing.
Just as you took a breath as if to bridge the final inches, a soft voice interrupted the charged stillness. "Am I interrupting something?"
You and Logan sprang apart, the moment shattering like glass. Your head snapped toward the doorway where your father stood, his frame leaning slightly against the doorframe for support. His color was better, his cheeks no longer pale and hollow, and there was a hint of mischief in his eyes as they flicked between you and Logan. It was the most life you had seen in him since your arrival, and despite the awkwardness of the moment, a wave of relief washed over you.
"Papa," you said, your voice coming out higher than intended as you quickly brushed a hand over your hair, as if smoothing away any trace of what had almost happened. "I didn’t realize you were awake."
"I woke a short while ago," he replied, a slight grin tugging at his lips. "Though I can see I’ve walked in at a… delicate moment." He shifted his gaze to Logan, giving him a nod that was both acknowledging and appraising. "I suppose I should thank you, Lord Howlett, for keeping my daughter company while I recovered. I understand it must be rather difficult, managing a wife as stubborn as she is." His tone was light, teasing, but there was a glint of approval in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
Logan dipped his head in a slight bow. "It is an honor, sir," he replied, his voice soft. "And I would say it’s rather a privilege to have a wife with such spirit. It keeps a man on his toes."
Your father chuckled softly, his laughter a welcome sound in the room. "Well spoken, my boy. Well-spoken." He glanced at you, his gaze warm with affection. "And you, my dear—you look as though you haven’t slept in days. You mustn’t worry so much over an old man like me. I’m feeling quite a bit better now, thanks to your constant vigilance." His voice softened. "I could hear you, you know… sitting by my bed, speaking to me even when I couldn’t respond."
A knot formed in your throat, and you quickly turned your head away, blinking back the sudden prick of tears. "I only did what any daughter would do," you murmured, the words catching slightly as you tried to compose yourself. "I’m just relieved you’re on the mend."
"Indeed I am," he said with a faint smile. "And I will continue to be, especially if I can trust that you’ll both refrain from causing a scandal in the middle of my convalescence." His gaze drifted pointedly back to Logan, a hint of fatherly protectiveness in his tone.
Logan met his eyes with a quiet assurance. "You needn’t worry, sir. I intend to take care of her," he said, his voice steady, but then he glanced toward you, the corner of his mouth curling up. "If she’ll allow me to."
There was something in his expression, something earnest and unguarded that sent a flutter through your chest. You felt a blush creep up your cheeks and quickly turned back to your father. "You should rest more," you said, avoiding Logan’s gaze as you walked into the room, busying yourself with adjusting your father’s pillows. "You’re still recovering, and I don’t want you overexerting yourself."
Your father gave you a knowing smile, then settled back into the bed with a sigh. "I suppose you’re right, my dear. But I expect to be up and about soon. And perhaps…" he glanced meaningfully between you and Logan, "if all goes well, I shall see some progress between the two of you by then."
"Father," you chided, though the blush on your cheeks deepened.
Logan only smiled, his eyes meeting yours with a quiet promise. "I think that’s a fair expectation, sir," he said, his voice softening as he held your gaze a moment longer than necessary.
You turned to leave the room and the feeling of his eyes on you lingered like a gentle warmth, as though the moment you had shared wasn’t entirely lost—just postponed, waiting to be resumed in the stillness of a future yet to be written.
────୨ৎ────
It felt oddly intimate, sitting outside for afternoon tea with the whole family, including Logan. The air was warm, softened by a gentle breeze that stirred the leaves of the nearby oak tree and rustled the delicate lace on your sleeves. You were seated at the white metal table beneath the shade of a parasol, idly fanning yourself as you watched the scene unfolding on the lawn.
Your father, who had recovered remarkably well, stood with his cane in hand, his posture straighter than it had been in weeks. Beside him was Logan, who looked unusually relaxed in his shirtsleeves, his coat draped over the back of a nearby chair. They were both attempting to teach your youngest sister the finer points of pallmall, though judging by her shrieks of laughter and exaggerated swings, it was clear she was more interested in chaos than in any true mastery of the game.
Your father pointed toward the wooden ball with his cane, giving some encouragement, while Logan crouched down to demonstrate the correct stance, his deep voice carrying across the garden. 
You could see the way your sister's eyes sparkled as she looked at him, her cheeks flushed with excitement. There was a natural ease to Logan’s movements, a gentleness in his manner that you had not always seen. It stirred something unfamiliar and unsettling in you.
"He is rather easy on the eyes, isn’t he?"
You blinked and turned sharply toward your mother, who sat beside you, a faint smile curling at the corners of her lips.
"Oh, please, do not speak about Father that way," you quipped, rolling your eyes. But when you saw the mischievous arch of your mother’s brow, you realized with a jolt that she had not been referring to your father at all. "Mama!" you hissed, heat rising to your cheeks.
"What?" She gave an innocent shrug, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement. "I may be an old woman, but I am not blind. And you’d do well to notice the way he looks at you." She glanced pointedly in Logan’s direction, and when you followed her gaze, you caught him watching you, his expression softening as your eyes met.
Quickly, you turned your attention back to your teacup, lifting it to your lips to hide the sudden flutter in your chest. "You’re imagining things, Mama," you murmured, keeping your tone dismissive, but there was no mistaking the warmth that crept into your voice.
"Am I?" your mother replied with a knowing smile. "Well, if I am, then perhaps I should get my eyes checked." She sipped her tea, her gaze lingering on Logan for a moment longer before turning to engage one of your sisters in conversation.
You chanced another glance across the lawn. Logan had returned to coaching your sister, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder as he corrected her stance. His hair fell untidily over his forehead, the sunlight catching in the strands, and there was an easy grace to him that seemed to draw you in against your will. It was as if you were seeing him anew. Someone who had begun to carve out a space in your thoughts, even when you hadn’t wanted him to.
As the game concluded and your sister raced off in pursuit of a butterfly, Logan strolled back toward the table, his gaze finding yours as if pulled there by some unseen force. He stopped beside your chair, a playful glint in his eye. "Would you care to join the game?" he asked, his tone light. "Your sister claims she is now the undisputed champion and says you would be no match for her."
You couldn’t help but smile at that. "Is that so?" you replied, arching a brow. "And did you encourage this confidence of hers, my lord?"
"Only a little," he admitted, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a faint smile. "But I believe it’s warranted. She has quite the swing."
"Then perhaps I ought to prove her wrong," you said, setting your teacup aside and rising from your chair. There was a flutter of anticipation in your chest as you stepped onto the lawn, and Logan offered you his arm, which you accepted, feeling a jolt of warmth spread from the point of contact. It was a small, ordinary gesture, yet it seemed to speak volumes—an unspoken acknowledgment that something was shifting between you.
He guided you to where the mallet lay on the grass, his hand lingering at the small of your back for just a moment. "Shall I show you the proper stance, or do you already consider yourself an expert?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful challenge.
You couldn’t resist the faint smile that tugged at your lips. "I think I can manage," you said, taking up the mallet and positioning yourself with as much grace as you could muster. But as you prepared to take the swing, you felt Logan step closer, his presence a comforting heat at your back.
"Here," he murmured, reaching around you to adjust your grip. His hand closed over yours, his touch firm but gentle, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your temple. "You’ll get a better aim if you angle the mallet just slightly…" His voice trailed off as his gaze met yours, his eyes dark and intent, as though he had forgotten entirely about pallmall.
You held your breath, aware of the inches that separated you—of how easy it would be to turn, to close that distance, to see if his lips were as warm and steady as his hands. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you wondered if he felt it too. If he, too, was resisting the pull.
Just as you were about to speak, to say something—anything—your sister called out from across the lawn, breaking the spell. The moment shattered, and you quickly stepped forward, your cheeks warm with something that felt dangerously close to longing.
"Thank you," you said, your voice steadier than you felt. "For the… instruction."
Logan’s lips curved in a faint smile, though there was a hint of something unspoken in his eyes as he stepped back. "Anytime," he replied, his tone gentle. "Though I think you hardly needed my help."
You turned away as your pulse quickened. You looked back toward the table where your mother sat, her expression unreadable, and you couldn’t help but feel as though something definitely between you and Logan had shifted, even if you weren’t quite sure what it was.
────୨ৎ────
The journey back to Howlett Manor was marked by a heavy, simmering silence. The wheels of the carriage rumbled over the uneven road, but it did little to distract you from the charged tension that hung between you and Logan. 
He had spoken only a few words since leaving Langley House, his voice low and hesitant, while you had responded with polite nods, unwilling to break the quiet. It was as if something taut and brittle was between you, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.
When the carriage finally rolled to a halt, you glanced out the window and saw Lady Elizabeth waiting on the manor steps, her expression as sharp as a blade. She stood rigidly, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the carriage. The sight of her sent a chill through you, and even before she spoke, you could sense the confrontation that awaited.
Logan let out a weary sigh, his hand already on the door handle. "Stay here," he murmured, his tone edged with frustration. "I’ll deal with her."
But you were already reaching for the door, refusing to remain hidden like some guilty secret. "I will not," you said, your voice firm as you stepped out into the cool evening air. 
The weight of his gaze was palpable as you moved past him, and you heard him mutter under his breath, a resigned, "Of course, you wouldn’t."
Lady Elizabeth descended the steps as you approached, her dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. There was no warmth in her expression—only a cold, calculated disdain that spoke volumes before she even opened her mouth. 
"So," she said, her voice cutting through the air like a blade, "you’ve come back. And after the disgraceful way you left, no less." Her gaze flicked to Logan, as though seeking confirmation of your audacity. "I expect an apology, from both of you."
Logan's jaw tightened as he stepped beside you, his voice low and steady. "An apology?" he echoed, his brow furrowing. "For what, exactly?"
"For trying to bring scandal upon this family," Lady Elizabeth snapped, her eyes flashing as she turned her glare fully on you. "Leaving without a word, abandoning your duties as my son's wife. It was irresponsible, childish—"
"Enough," Logan interrupted, his tone sharp and edged with something you hadn’t heard before—a warning. He took a step forward, positioning himself slightly in front of you, as though shielding you from his mother’s words. "This is not her fault."
Lady Elizabeth’s mouth tightened into a thin line. "She left this manor in a fit of temper, and I will not stand by and have my family's reputation dragged through the mud by some—"
"She left because of the lies," Logan cut in, his voice rising. "Because of your lies." His eyes darkened, and he held his mother’s gaze without flinching. "She knows, Mother. About me. About the truth of my birth."
The silence that followed was like the calm before a storm, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something—fear, perhaps, or anger—in Lady Elizabeth's eyes. But it vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced by a cold, imperious stare. "And did you think it was wise to reveal such a thing?" she spat, her tone laced with venom. "To her?" Her gaze darted to you, filled with contempt. "What does she know of the sacrifices that were made to keep this family’s legacy intact?"
Your heart pounded in your chest, a surge of indignation rising in you. "I know that whatever sacrifices were made, they were not mine to make," you said, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and defiance. "I was used as a pawn in a game I didn’t even know I was playing."
Lady Elizabeth’s lips curled into a sneer. "A pawn, indeed. It is you who stands to gain from this marriage, my dear. Or did you think your family's situation was not known to us?"
Logan took another step forward, his hand clenching at his side. "That’s enough," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I won’t let you speak to her like that."
His mother’s eyes widened, a flicker of shock breaking through her composure. "You would take her side over mine?" she asked, incredulity dripping from each word. "I did what was necessary to secure your future, to ensure that you would not be cast aside. Now you turn on me for the sake of—"
"Leave," Logan said abruptly, his voice hardening to steel. "Leave now, before you say something you cannot take back."
For a moment, it seemed as though she might argue, but then she straightened, drawing herself up with all the dignity she could muster. "Very well," she said icily, her gaze flicking to you one last time, as though etching you into her memory with distaste. "But do not think this matter is settled." She turned sharply on her heel and strode back up the steps, disappearing into the manor with a swish of her skirts, leaving a chill in her wake.
The silence descended once more, you let out a breath. The encounter had left you shaken, and yet… there was a strange sense of relief, too. You glanced at Logan, who was still standing rigidly, his eyes fixed on the place where his mother had just vanished. There was a tightness in his jaw, an unspoken conflict that lingered in the lines of his face.
"You didn’t have to do that," you said quietly, your voice softening. "She’s your mother."
He shook his head slowly, his expression unreadable. "That doesn’t give her the right to speak to you that way," he murmured, his gaze finally shifting to meet yours. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—like longing, or perhaps relief, as though in defending you, he had also taken a step toward freeing himself from his mother’s expectations. "I promised to be honest with you," he continued. "And I meant it. Whatever else happens, I will not let her dictate our lives."
You felt a rush of warmth, not just from his words but from the quiet intensity with which he spoke them. It wasn’t just a defense; it was a declaration—a small but significant act of loyalty that stirred something deep within you. You took a step closer, your fingers brushing against his hand in a tentative gesture of gratitude, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.
The silence stretched between you, almost as a shared understanding—a bond that had begun to form amid secrets and betrayals, and was slowly becoming something more solid. Logan’s fingers curled around yours, and the touch felt like a promise in itself.
"Come," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "Let’s go inside.”
You nodded, allowing him to lead you back into the manor, your hand still clasped in his. As you crossed the threshold together, you couldn’t help but feel that, despite everything, there was a glimmer of hope despite the uncertainty of the future.
Later that night, you found yourself pacing the length of your chamber, your footsteps muffled by the thick rug beneath your bare feet. 
Sleep had become a rare visitor since the wedding; Howlett Manor held a kind of darkness that seemed to linger in the very walls, keeping you on edge. The vast, silent corridors, the draughts that whispered through the halls, the way the night settled heavily over the estate. It was as though the manor itself was unsettled, restless, and it had passed that restlessness on to you.
Then there were the sounds. Soft, distant groaning that seemed to rise and fall on the air. You had dismissed it before, convincing yourself it was nothing more than the old bones of the house shifting or the wind rattling the shutters. But tonight, as you stood in the shadows of your room, the sound came again, louder this time, and unmistakably human. It clawed at your nerves, tugging at your curiosity and, despite the unease prickling along your spine, you felt compelled to find out what—or who—was behind it.
Drawing in a breath to steady yourself, you reached for the door handle and slipped out into the dimly lit corridor. The candles along the walls flickered as you passed, casting long, wavering shadows that danced on the stone. You followed the noise, the low groaning growing clearer, guiding you down the hallway and toward one of the rooms.
As you drew closer, the sound sharpened into muffled cries, pained and desperate. You hesitated at the door, your hand hovering over the handle. It was Logan’s voice, unmistakable even in its anguish. A shudder ran through you as you pressed your ear to the wood, your pulse quickening. Was he hurt? Was someone in there with him?
You turned the handle and pushed the door open gently, peering into the darkness of the room. Logan lay sprawled on the bed, the sheets twisted around his limbs, his chest rising and falling rapidly as though he were struggling for breath. His face was contorted in agony, beads of sweat glistening on his brow. The groans came again, low and tortured, escaping his lips as he writhed in the grip of some unseen terror.
Without thinking, you hurried to his side, your heart pounding. "Logan," you whispered, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Logan, wake up. It’s just a dream—"
The moment your fingers brushed against his skin, his eyes flew open, wide and unfocused. Before you could react, his hand shot out, grasping your wrist in a vice-like grip and yanking you closer. The suddenness of the movement sent you stumbling forward, and you cried out as his other arm came around, knocking you off balance. You fell against the bed, your wrist pinned painfully beneath his hand.
"Logan, stop!" you gasped, your voice high and trembling. "It’s me—"
His eyes were wild, unseeing, and for a terrifying moment, you weren’t sure he recognized you at all. His grip tightened, and you winced, a sharp pain shooting through your wrist. But then his gaze seemed to clear, the dark confusion lifting as he blinked and released you as though burned.
The room fell into a tense silence as you pulled your arm back, rubbing your sore wrist and staring at him, your breath coming fast. Logan's eyes widened with horror as he took in the scene, his chest still heaving with the remnants of his nightmare. 
"I—I didn’t mean to—" His voice cracked, and he sat up abruptly, his hand trembling as he reached toward you. "Are you all right?"
You nodded shakily, though your heart still raced. "I’m fine," you said, though your voice came out quieter than you intended. "It’s just�� you were having a nightmare. I tried to wake you, but you…" You swallowed, the words trailing off as you looked down at your wrist, where faint red marks were already starting to form.
His gaze followed yours, and his expression crumpled with guilt. "God, I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice rough with shame. "I—I've never meant to hurt you. I didn’t even know it was you. I thought—" He broke off, running a hand through his disheveled hair, his fingers tangling in the damp strands. "I thought I was still… there."
You hesitated, the pain in your wrist already ebbing, replaced by a different kind of ache—one that came from seeing the despair in his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped as though he carried the weight of a lifetime’s worth of regrets. "Still where?" you asked softly, your gaze searching his face. "Logan, what did you dream about?"
He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he stared down at his hands, which lay open in his lap as though he were afraid of what they might do. "I have the same nightmare every night," he admitted, his voice low and unsteady. "It’s always the same. I see my father… the man who raised me. He’s lying there, lifeless, and it’s my fault. I’m the one who…" His voice broke, and he looked away, his breath shuddering. "I’m the one who killed him."
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. You stared at him, your pulse thrumming in your ears as the full weight of his confession settled over you. "Logan…" you breathed, not knowing what else to say. There was a rawness in his voice that tore at you, a grief and self-loathing that seemed to spill out in waves. You found yourself reaching for him, hesitantly resting your hand on his arm, your touch light and tentative.
"He died years ago," Logan continued his voice barely above a whisper. "It was an accident, but… I was there. I could have stopped it. I should have stopped it." He let out a harsh, bitter laugh that made your heart clench. "I suppose that’s why the nightmares won’t leave. They remind me of what I could never make right."
You tightened your grip on his arm, drawing his gaze back to yours. "It wasn’t your fault," you said gently, the words spilling out even though you knew they might not bring him any comfort. "You can’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t control."
His eyes searched yours, a flicker of something glinting in the depths. "You shouldn’t be here," he said quietly, though he made no move to pull away from you. "You should have left me to my demons. It’s safer that way."
"Perhaps," you replied, your voice barely more than a breath as you looked down at where your hand rested on his arm. "But if I left, who would keep you from them?"
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, without fully understanding why, you leaned in closer, your touch sliding from his arm to his hand, your fingers threading through his. The silence between you was heavy. It was as though you were sharing the same breath, the same pain. Somehow, that made it a little more bearable for him.
Logan’s hand tightened around yours, and when he exhaled, it was as though some of the weight had lifted from his chest. "Stay," he murmured, his voice roughened by exhaustion. "Just for tonight."
You nodded, not trusting your voice to speak. As you settled back against the pillows, Logan lay down beside you, his body still tense but his grip on your hand unwavering. The darkness seemed to close in around you both, but this time, it felt less like a threat and more like a shared refuge.
Eventually, the rhythm of his breathing steadied, and you felt yourself slipping into sleep, lulled by the quiet comfort of his presence.
When the early morning light peeked through the curtains, its soft glow casting pale golden streaks across the bed, you were certain you were alone. The events of last night already seemed like a distant dream—the nightmare, Logan’s confession, the way you had fallen asleep side by side. The sheets felt cool where you lay, and for a moment, you wondered if he had left before dawn, quietly slipping away to avoid the awkwardness of the morning after.
You let out a small sigh and reached out tentatively, your hand roaming across the mattress, half-expecting to find only the emptiness where he had been. But then, your fingertips brushed against something warm. Your eyelids fluttered open, and you turned your head to see Logan lying there, his back to you, balanced precariously near the edge of the bed as if he had tried to keep as much distance between you as possible. It was almost comical—this broad-shouldered man, practically dangling off the side, as though the mere thought of sharing space with you was a dangerous line he dared not cross.
A small, unbidden smile tugged at your lips as you took in the sight. It was… endearing, in a way, how he seemed so out of place there, awkwardly trying to respect a boundary that neither of you had defined. The tension of the night had faded into something softer and sweet. You hadn’t meant to wake him, but you couldn’t help it—the sight of him like this, so different from his usual composed self, made you want to tease him, just a little.
"Are you planning on falling out of the bed, or are you just trying to escape?" you whispered, your voice still husky with sleep.
Logan stirred, a faint groan escaping him as he rolled over slowly, blinking against the morning light. His hair was tousled, falling into his eyes, and there was a faint crease on his cheek where it had pressed against the pillow. He looked at you, still half-asleep, and it took a moment for your words to register. Then a sheepish smile curved his lips, and he rubbed a hand over his face.
"I didn’t want to crowd you," he murmured, his voice rough and low. "You were asleep, and I… wasn’t sure if you’d…" He trailed off, his cheeks coloring slightly as if realizing how ridiculous he must have looked, hanging onto the edge for dear life.
A small laugh bubbled out of you, the sound light and unexpected. "I think the bed is big enough for the both of us," you teased gently, unable to hide the warmth in your tone. "You didn’t have to keep such a dramatic distance."
Logan’s smile grew, a flicker of amusement in his eyes now. "Well, I didn’t want you to wake up and think I’d taken advantage of your kindness," he said, his tone softening. "I didn’t want to… presume."
The sincerity in his voice made your heart squeeze, and for a moment, the awkwardness settled into something that made your pulse quicken. You hadn’t even realized until now just how much his presence comforted you, how safe you had felt lying beside him last night. The realization came with a rush of something warm and unfamiliar, and it took you by surprise.
"Well," you said, your gaze drifting to where his hand rested on the sheets between you, "if you’re so worried about my comfort, perhaps next time you can stay closer… so you don’t fall off the bed." The words left your lips before you could fully think them through, and as they hung in the air, you felt a blush creep up your neck, your cheeks warming with the boldness of your suggestion.
Logan’s eyes widened slightly, a mixture of surprise and something like hope shimmering in their depths. He glanced down at your hand, which had somehow drifted closer to his, and a crooked, endearing smile touched his lips. "Next time?" he repeated, his voice laced with a hint of playful curiosity. "So you’re already planning on sharing a bed with me again?"
You bit your lip, a nervous laugh escaping as you quickly shook your head. "That’s not what I meant," you stammered, though the smile pulling at your mouth betrayed you. "I just—well, I meant if… circumstances were to, you know… happen again." The words felt clumsy and inadequate, but there was no taking them back now.
Logan chuckled softly, his gaze warm and lingering on your face. "I see," he said, his voice dropping to a tender murmur. "If circumstances… happen."
You nodded, feeling a sudden wave of self-consciousness wash over you. The room seemed too bright, too intimate in the morning light, and you reached for the edge of the blanket, pulling it higher as if it could shield you from the vulnerability of the moment. Logan cleared his throat, the sound breaking the silence in a way that felt almost painfully loud.
"I should… I have matters to attend to with my mother," he said, his voice sounding rougher than usual. "I’m positive she’s still fuming." There was a faint hint of a wry smile on his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
You nodded again, quickly, unsure if you could trust your voice not to betray the odd mixture of emotions swirling inside you. Relief, embarrassment, something like disappointment—it all tangled together, making it hard to breathe. Logan took your silence as agreement and turned away, slipping out of the bed with a fluid, quiet movement.
You found yourself glancing over at him before you could stop yourself, and then quickly averted your gaze when you noticed the way his nightshirt clung to his back, the fabric outlining the curve of his shoulders and the lean muscles beneath. You swallowed hard, focusing intently on a spot on the floor, as though it were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.
Logan’s bare feet padded softly on the rug as he gathered his clothes, his movements quick but not hurried, as if he too was acutely aware of the lingering awkwardness in the air. "I… I’ll see you later," he said, his voice low and hesitant, as though he were testing the words before letting them go.
"Yes," you managed to reply, though your voice came out softer than you intended. "Later."
For a brief moment, he hesitated at the door, his hand resting on the frame as if considering saying something more. But then, with a small nod, he slipped out, the door clicking shut behind him.
You exhaled slowly, sinking back into the pillows, the blanket still pulled up close. The room seemed larger now, emptier, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he had felt the same pull that you had—the subtle, magnetic pull that had lingered in the space between you. You pushed the thought away, telling yourself that it was foolish to read too much into a moment shared in the quiet hours of dawn.
────୨ৎ────
The better part of the day had passed in the garden, where the air was thick with the scent of blooming roses and the gentle hum of bees. You had retreated there after hearing the heated voices echoing up from downstairs. Lady Elizabeth’s clipped tones and Logan’s frustrated replies had risen in a crescendo that spilled into the halls, making it clear that whatever rift lay between them was far from being mended. 
It seemed wise to keep your distance, and so you had found a book, tucked yourself into a quiet corner at the far edge of the garden, and tried to lose yourself in the pages while the murmur of nature surrounded you.
The stone bench beneath you was warmed by the sun, and though you kept your eyes trained on the book in your lap, the words seemed to blur together. You had long since given up on following the plot, your thoughts drifting back to the night before—Logan’s haunted confession, the way he had looked at you as if you were the only thing grounding him in the present. The memory of it lingered, unbidden, in the back of your mind, filling you with a confusing mix of tenderness and doubt.
The crunch of footsteps on the gravel path drew your attention, and you glanced up to see Logan approaching. His expression, which had been set in a firm line, softened as his gaze met yours. He looked weary, as though whatever argument he had just endured had drained him of energy, yet there was also a quiet determination in the way he carried himself, his shoulders squared despite the tension in his jaw.
"May I join you?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of hesitation, as though he were uncertain of his welcome.
You closed the book gently, offering a small nod. "Of course," you said, shifting slightly to make room for him on the bench. "How… how did it go with your mother?"
He sank beside you, his sigh barely audible but weighted with frustration. "As well as can be expected," he replied, running a hand through his hair. "Which is to say, not well at all." He paused, glancing at the neatly trimmed hedges and the flowers that swayed in the breeze. "But I've made a decision." His tone softened, and he turned to look at you. "My mother will be moving out of Howlett Manor."
The statement took you by surprise, and you blinked, unsure if you had heard him correctly. "She’s leaving?"
Logan nodded, his gaze steady. "Yes. I think… it’s for the best. It’s become clear that we cannot live under the same roof without tearing each other apart." He hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly on his knee as though he were working up the nerve to say something more. "With her gone, there will be… a lot of space in the manor. I was thinking… if you’d like, your family could move in. The Langleys could make this place their home too."
The offer hung in the air between you, carrying with it the weight of an unspoken promise. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say, your thoughts tangling in your mind. "That’s… kind of you to suggest," you began slowly, your gaze falling to your hands. "But our marriage… things are still so uncertain." You swallowed your throat tight with the admission. "I don’t know if we should be making decisions like this when we don’t even know what the future holds for us."
Logan's hand reached for yours, his touch gentle yet firm. "I know things are uncertain," he said quietly, his voice raw with sincerity. "But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this marriage real—to make us real." His thumb brushed over your knuckles, sending a shiver through you. "I like you. I like the way you challenge me, the way you look at me as though I’m worth trying for. I want this to work, not because we have to, but because I choose to."
His words seemed to reach inside you, stirring something that had been long dormant—something warm and fragile that blossomed with each passing second. You looked up at him, your heart racing, your breath caught somewhere between hope and fear. "You… you mean that?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. "You’d choose this, even if—"
"I would," he interrupted softly, his other hand reaching to cup your cheek, his touch feather-light, as though he were afraid to break whatever spell lay between you. "If you’ll let me."
The moment stretched out, the world around you fading into the background until there was only him, his gaze locked on yours, his breath mingling with the warm air. You leaned in, almost without thinking, your eyes fluttering shut as your lips met his, tentative and searching. The kiss was soft at first, a gentle brush that sent a tremor through you, but as he deepened it, a quiet urgency arose, his hand slipping to the nape of your neck to pull you closer.
The world seemed to tilt, and when you finally pulled back, breathless, you saw a light in Logan’s eyes that you had never seen before—a mixture of relief, hope, and tenderness. That set your heart racing all over again.
"You kissed me back," he murmured, a hint of wonder in his voice as his thumb traced your cheek.
"I suppose I did," you replied, a shy smile tugging at your lips as you felt the warmth of his hand still against your skin. "It seems I’ve made my choice too."
He leaned his forehead against yours, his breath still slightly uneven. "Then let’s make this work," he whispered, the words like a promise carried on the breeze. "Together."
────୨ৎ────
The morning sun spilled through the tall windows of the nursery, casting a golden light over the pale blue walls and the delicate lace curtains that swayed ever so slightly with the summer breeze. The room was filled with the soft sounds of cooing and gentle rocking, and you sat in the cushioned chair near the window, cradling your newborn daughter in your arms. Her tiny fingers curled around your thumb, and you marveled at how something so small could hold your entire heart within her grasp.
The past year had swept by like a dream, and Howlett Manor had become a place of life and laughter in ways you hadn’t imagined when you first arrived. The once lonely halls were now filled with warmth, with family, and with a love that had grown slowly, steadily, and then all at once.
Logan appeared in the doorway, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a streak of dirt smudged on his cheek, evidence of whatever task had drawn him outside earlier. His eyes softened when he saw you, his gaze drifting down to the baby nestled in your arms. "She’s awake," he murmured, his voice low and filled with a quiet wonder that had not diminished since the day she was born.
You looked up at him, your heart swelling with affection as you noticed the way he lingered in the doorway, as though hesitant to disturb the peacefulness of the moment. "Come here," you whispered, tilting your head in invitation. "She’ll be glad to see her father."
He crossed the room in a few strides, his movements careful as though he were still getting used to the idea of this tiny new life you had brought into the world together. As he reached out to take her from you, his fingers brushed against yours, and you shared a quiet smile. The love between you had become something tangible, something that seemed to shimmer in the air every time your eyes met.
Logan cradled his daughter with a tenderness that belied his strong, rugged exterior. She blinked up at him, her wide eyes reflecting the light as she reached for his nose, her tiny hand waving in the air. "There you are, little one," he murmured, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur that was only for her. "You’re going to be causing all sorts of trouble before we know it, aren’t you?"
You laughed softly, leaning your head back against the chair as you watched them together. "If she’s anything like her father, she’ll be climbing out of windows and sneaking into the stables before she can even walk," you teased.
He glanced at you, his mouth curving into a playful smile. "And if she’s anything like her mother," he countered, "she’ll have a stubborn streak a mile wide and won’t take no for an answer."
The joy in his eyes was undeniable, and it was a joy that had become commonplace at Howlett Manor. The changes were everywhere—in the lively dinners shared around the long oak table, where your father told stories that made your mother laugh like a young girl again; in the afternoons when your sisters played with the dogs in the garden, their laughter carrying on the wind. The Langleys had made the manor their home, and though the arrangement had been born out of necessity, it had grown into something far richer—a tapestry of shared lives and everyday happiness.
The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and your mother appeared at the door, a fond smile on her face as she saw the three of you together. "There you are," she said warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "We were wondering if you planned to join us for the midday meal, or if we should come to you."
"We’ll be down shortly," you replied, glancing at Logan as he swayed gently, his daughter’s eyelids beginning to droop once more. "It seems someone is already ready for her nap, though."
Your mother’s gaze softened as she watched Logan rock the baby in his arms, a look of deep contentment on her face. "She’ll be a strong one," she said quietly, her voice laced with pride. "Just like her parents."
Logan met your eyes, a shared understanding passing between you as your mother slipped back out of the room. You rose from the chair, moving to stand beside him, and as you laid a hand on his arm, he turned slightly to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as though he couldn’t quite pull away.
"I think life has turned out better than either of us could have imagined," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.
You tilted your head up, your gaze finding his. "I think we made it that way," you said, a quiet pride in your voice. "Together."
The words hung in the air for a moment, a reminder of the path you had walked to get here—of the uncertainty, the struggles, and the slow, steady growth of love that had bloomed between you. You leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a tender kiss that spoke of more than just affection; it was a promise, a celebration, and an unspoken agreement that this—all of this—was just the beginning.
As you drew back, the baby stirred in Logan’s arms, letting out a tiny whimper that brought a smile to both of your faces. "Come on," he said, his voice soft and full of love. "Let’s go downstairs. Your family is waiting."
Together, you walked down the grand staircase, the sunlight streaming in through the windows, bathing the manor in a warm, golden light. The sound of familiar voices drifted up from the dining room, filling the air with the cheerful bustle of family life.
As you reached the bottom of the stairs, your daughter nestled safely in her father’s arms, you couldn’t help but feel that this life—so full of love, laughter, and even its small imperfections—was exactly where you were meant to be.
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k8martins · 6 months ago
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. ⋆ ๑ wrapped around your finger
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summary: reader is a new medical intern for the lvaces and tension runs high every time they interact, finally breaking after a tough game
request: no / yes
warnings: 18+ smut, rpf
a/n: this is my first kate fic so go easy on me lmfao and i got lowkey carried away it’s around 2k words so ummmm ya purr i guess
back in april, you landed a medical internship for the las vegas aces, just in time for the excitement of draft season. not only did your job enable you to interact daily with some of the most talented athletes in basketball, but perfectly coexisted with your interests in pursuing medicine. so far, your standard role was to examine and prepare players before and after games, including team practices. any injuries or concerns were also taken care of by you. however, being shy was an issue you still had to overcome. treating players with their kinesiology tape or bringing them necessities was always attempted to be a quick motion; hurriedly fixing them up and moving on to the next task.
but some players proved to make that difficult for you. coming into work on an average day, you found yourself kneeling at the foot of the newly drafted guard— kate martin. when she had got unexpectedly chosen by the aces, you sat watching from home, marveled by her tall stature and pin straight blonde hair. she was even more alluring in person, especially from the view of applying tape to her ankles and legs every other day.
“you know the drill, just keep your foot upright and i’ll get your ankle,” you murmured, looking up at kate as she was sat in front of you. her big blue eyes met yours, and she smirked without comment. quickly averting your gaze, you pressed your lips together in an attempt to keep composure.
one thing you had learned since she joined the team was that she occasionally enjoyed poking fun at your timid mannerisms.
“loosen up a little, girl,” kate playfully punched your shoulder, “i don’t bite”.
the gesture made you laugh and mumble some unnecessary apology, but you still felt her gaze even after you looked back down. trying to focus on the task at hand was nearly impossible in this position, being on your knees before her. as you pulled more tape, your mind raced of all the things you could do to each other. if one day you could set the professionalism aside and just push her legs apart—
“you’re my favorite medical person, you know that? you always get me right,” kate continued, knowing exactly what she was doing.
you snapped out of your thoughts and felt your face grow hot, looking back up at her. “thank you,” you said, barely getting it out, “a-and you’re all set now by the way.” kate thanked you with a slight chuckle, and was up and ready for practice.
——————————————————————————
it was interactions like these that kept you up at night. all the eye contact, suggestive gestures, and tension was enough to drive you crazy. you endlessly wondered if kate had meant to fuel the tension, or if it was all just in your head. regardless, these moments made you excited to come into work every day, anticipating the next exchange you two would have.
the entire next month of your internship consisted of increasingly tense encounters with kate, with each one wondering when she would just make a move. she had started to admiringly stroke your hair while you were knelt in front of her, knowing how much it would turn you on. every once in a while she would give your hair a light tug to make you look up for no good reason other than to get a good look at you. once you understood she was taking things a smidge further, you had no problem getting a little extra touchy when handling her legs, or simply handing her things like a towel or water bottle. you ran your hands up her legs in an “innocent” manner, both of you knowing damn well you were ready to find a secluded space together.
your favorite moments to see her were before and after big games. the way her pregame excitedness would be contagious, and the way after the game she would still have energy despite being tired. this day, kate was getting ready to play in a game with high expectations for the aces. you gathered all the things she might need, and headed into the locker room, where most of her teammates were already gone. you spotted her standing right in front of her designated space, and walked towards her. kate smiled knowingly when she saw you, and didn’t move out of the way as you bent past her to set down the water and towel in her cubby. your hips grazed each other when suddenly you felt her arms snake around your lower back. you slowly got back upright, and kate kept her arms around you, moving her hands to each side of your waist.
her big hands planted on your waist took your breath away as there was no escaping her now. face to face, kate kept her gaze on you.
“i was wondering when you’d come by,” she taunted.
you swallowed thickly, your mouth hung open but the words would not come out. even after a month, she still intimidated you with her beauty.
“i’m just joking, relax,” kate said, laughing lightly.
“i know. i just had to go find the best materials for you,” you joked back, trying to keep your cool and ignore the growing heat between your legs.
kate smiled back at you, sensing how needy you were becoming. “same time back here after the game?” she questioned, her voice low.
“of course. good luck tonight, kate,” you said back.
——————————————————————————
it was a tough loss for the aces. the final score came close, but ultimately the team returned to the locker room in low spirits. the loss was hard on you too, seeing kate frustrated out on the court, but you still had to do your job. giving everyone postgame materials and accessing injuries, you noticed to have treated everyone except kate. you craned your neck around the locker room, looking for the long blonde ponytail, but she was nowhere to be seen. eventually, the team had left for the night. you were left cleaning up after them, still wondering where your favorite player was.
you had your back turned from the entrance and putting away your supplies when you heard footsteps coming towards the room. your heart immediately began to race and you turned around to see kate standing a few yards in front of you, with an exhausted but eager expression on her face.
her eyes pierced through you, and your mind raced trying to think of something to say, but it was a blur as she quickly walked to you and took your face in her hands, kissing you deeply. your body tensed up at the surprise, but quickly melted down as you remembered how long you had been waiting for this moment.
it was a hungry kiss, with her hands moving down to your waist and pulling you closer. kate completely took control of you and backed you against the wall. in the heat of the moment, you decided it was your turn to tease her.
“where.....the hell.......were you.....” you said breathlessly between kisses. kate instantly pulled away from you and scoffed.
“just talking with the coaches, baby.”
her breathless tone made you weak in the knees and she immediately went back to making out with you. her hands found their way under your shirt and began exploring all over your waist. she passionately bit at your bottom lip as she moved her cold hands up to your tits, which she desperately squeezed at. the cold touch being in just the right place earned a little whimper from your lips. kate giggled against the kiss, finding amusement in getting you so needy so fast.
you felt slightly embarrassed at how easy you were being, and decided to switch it up on kate. maintaining the kiss, you made your way back to her bench, and pushed her down. you knelt down in front of her just as you did when you took care of her, but now your dirty thoughts were becoming a reality. kate did not protest being sat down and instead threw her head back, resting it right below her name plate— “K. Martin”.
your view from the kneel made your head spin tonight, with her face still sweaty and her messy hair slightly sticking to her face. she was still out of breath and tiredly looked down at you as you parted her legs. you kept the eye contact as you gestured for her to lift her hips in order to slide down her shorts. once off, you threw them elsewhere in the room, and positioned yourself further inbetween her legs. you looked up at her one more time and saw her chest rising and falling with every movement, her eyebrows furrowed in desperation.
“here? right now? are you sure, kate?” you questioned, half taunting half being serious. you placed your hand on her inner thigh and began slowly circling her clit. she bucked her hips up at the sudden touch.
“please...please...” kate whispered, and you felt your stomach flip. all of the nights she teased you and seemed so tough were now out the window as she begged you to continue.
looking around the room, there was no sign of life besides you and kate. you turned back to her and urged her to stay quiet before going down on her. your tongue skillfully lapped around her clit and she let out a strangled cry.
“shhhhh kate you’re doing so good,” you whispered against her wetness.
you brought your fingers up to her entrance and began circling around it before slowly inserting two fingers. you kept the sucking at a steady pace but began to finger her quickly. looking up at kate, her eyes were screwed shut and stomach tense. she was biting down hard on her lip, struggling to stay quiet. her constant little moans single-handedly almost made you finish, but you focused on her.
you continued eating her out as if she was going to disappear from under you, and picked up the pace. your left hand remained on her thigh and you felt her grab hold of it. she breathed hard as her other hand landed in your hair, lightly pushing your head and grasping your hair. you smiled thinking back to the times when she would have her hands in your hair while innocently getting taped up; oh how fast things can change.
“i-i’m gonna....” kate cried out, squirming beneath you and clearly reaching her limit.
the fast pace combined with tongue and fingers finally brought her to her release. kate moaned your name breathlessly over and over as she came on your fingers. eventually you stopped and she was able to ride out the high.
as soon as kate caught her breath she got you up off the ground and put you in her spot. she got on her knees and tugged at your pants.
“kate don’t you think we should stop... someone probably heard us-“
she didn’t even let you finish your sentence before she inserted her long fingers into you. kate did not hold back as she kept an unrelenting pace and began to kiss you. you moaned and panted into the kiss, struggling to kiss back.
you gave up on trying to kiss back and threw your head back, raspy moans escaping from your puffed lips. her fingers felt so good inside of you, hitting the spot with each thrust. she didn’t even need to do anything except finger you, and you were already close. you tried to moan her name but could only get out the “k” sound.
“just take it,” she demanded, getting frustrated you couldn’t kiss back.
kate began kissing down your neck and leaving very apparent hickeys all over. all you could do was moan as she took care of you, your eyes tearing up from the euphoric feeling. you tugged on her hair as you felt yourself on the edge of release. the way your hips squirmed and tears fell down your face told kate that you were ready and nodded at you to come.
her pace slowed as you relaxed from the climax and she began gently kissing your face. she wiped your tears with her other hand and ran her fingers through your messy hair.
“i got you wrapped around my finger, my favorite intern girl,” kate laughed.
“you’re so corny.”
“you.”
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macaulaytwins · 8 months ago
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“my pussy has taken me places I wouldn’t go with a gun”
the places in question:
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tame-the-lion-writes · 1 month ago
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Thinking about Soap as that chaotic physics/chem teacher everyone loves.
Pulls up to class with safety gear for everyone but himself and goes--
"Watch this."
Half a second later, and Price is sighing deeply. Pinching the bridge of his nose as the smoke alarm goes off. Snapping his book shut in the middle of a history lecture. Muttering over and over again, "I'm gonna kill him."
Out the window, Gaz is already getting the kids from PE in line, but that doesn't keep him from glaring at the window where Soap's class is. In the middle of a fun dodgeball session, too.
"Is this why you have a mohawk, Mr. Soap?" one of the students asks, watching as the nextdoor math teacher, 'Mr. Riley,' pinches out a flame crisping the edge of Soap's hair.
Ghost just shakes his head and flicks Soap in the forehead. "Next time that alarm goes off, I’m using the extinguisher on ya.”
_
Bonus Thoughts:
Gaz is the kinda PE teacher who will volunteer himself if a kid gets left out of a partner-type game. Which has ironically led to people wanting to be left out.
Price also teaches a basic mechanics course. He wasn’t planning on it, but he helped out one of the parents whose car got stuck in the lot, and now it’s an extra thing he does after school.
The kids ship Mr. Soap and Mr. Riley. No questions asked. Work husbands, essentially.
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xqueen-of-disasterx · 2 months ago
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𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 - 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒
On this year’s Kinktober I will post a one shot or Drabble every second day. I’ll try to make as many of them happen as I can but I can’t promise anything.
𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞
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day 1 (1.10) - somnophilia S.J
day 2 (3.10) - corruption kink N.R
day 3 (5.10) - request N.R
day 4 (7.10) - prey/predator N.R
day 5 (9.10) -  breeding kink W.M
day 6 (11.10) - monster sex N.R
day 7 (13.10) - omega vers N.R
day 8 (15.10) - wild card N.R
day 9 (17.10) - request K.B
day 10 (19.10) - cam girls N.R
day 11 (21.10) - dumbification S.J
day 12 (23.10) - Anal N.R
day 13 (25.10) - request N.R
day 14 (27.10) - car sex N.R
day 15 (29.10) - phone sex S.J
day 16 (31.10) - group sex
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Dividers by @menschenopfer
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lapetitechatonne · 2 years ago
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The Wives
who are the wives and why do i keep hearing about them??? fear not, i am here to answer that burning question.
the wives consist of myself, @gilbirda, @herbatahleb, and @precarious-hermit--or Kate, Gil, Hleb, and Mellan as we're knowing in the Batpham Discord Server. it started as a joke, but in the throws of the finals haze, i decide i wanted to get married to my wives in the sims. then, when Mellan was having a bad day i jokingly sent her a snippet of a self-insert fic with the wives in it.
it quickly spiraled and now we're here.
there's a fic now. i don't know how we got here but, here we are.
i'll link the fic here, and make sure to check out "The Wives ship" tag on @herbatahleb's tumblr for some truly amazing fanart. below the cut i'll also include some exclusive Wives Lore which may help answer the question, "what the fuck am i looking at?"
The Family
the last names Persephone and Hadeson. we were talking about what Greek God everyone in the server would be, and i got Hades because i pretty much snatched Mellan up when i heard she liked Charmed (1998). her being Persephone has nothing to do with the fact that she apparently ate a poisonous flower as a child and lived, but it checks out.
David Hadeson. David is actually my cat who tends to walk all over my keyboard, thus becoming something of a legend in the server. when we made ourselves in the sims we gave him a human-sona, and when planning the fic decided he should be a meta.
Valdislaus Straud. i moved us into the spookiest mansion in the sims and it just so happened to be Vladdy Daddy's house. at first, we were going to kill him, but eventually decided he could be our butler. we decided he should be a talon instead of a vampire in the fic though. it just felt right.
Robin Carson. this may be the weirdest one, and i'm aware how that sounds. but, after much cursed Danny Phantom/Lightning McQueen shenanigans ensued which i will admit i am ground zero for that one but i promise it was an accident Hleb wanted to watch "Batwheels" really bad. of course, who am i to deny my wife, so i streamed it, and she proclaimed Redbird (aka Robin's car) was her son. so we gave him a human-sona too. we decided he was a mini-carjacker before Hleb adopted him.
so, that's a bit of the Wives Lore. let me know if you have comments or questions, but believe me we already know you're concerned. we are too.
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somethingsketchy3 · 4 months ago
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“Our child will always be a Bridgerton, but I should like them to know they are a Sharma as well” 💜🩵
the way this line lives in my mind rent free, like you don’t understand; the weight, the sentiments, the implications, in this essay i will—
ANYWAYS, i really hope to see baby Edmund in S4 👀
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bartxnhood · 4 months ago
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cowboy casanova | t.o
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tyler owens x fem!reader
based on this request: “Omg, how about Tyler Owens comforting reader on their first storm chase, maybe she’s really nervous or scared and he’s like don’t worry I ain’t gonna let anything happen to you… something like that???”
warnings: depictions of a tornado, reader has a panic attack. severe damage to homes and buildings.
w/c: 1.7k
a/n: thank you for the request! i added a touch of a backstory to help the plot go forward. i hope that’s okay!! i’m also currently in the theater about to watch it again (i saw it last night lol) enjoy <3
requests open
not proofread
Copyright © 2024 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.
✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵
you see a man standing in a wide-open field, as the sky above you darkened to a menacing shade of gray. the once-gentle breeze turns into a fierce, howling wind, and you feel a sense of unease settle in the pit of your stomach.
you were assigned to follow him and his crew around while they chased these monstrous tornadoes then went in and dissolved the threat. you worked for a huge journaling company from the north, but you grew up in arkansas and became familiar with these devastating weather patterns.
now, you were in oklahoma where you’d be joining this storm chaser during a week-long chase.
“you ready to chase some storms?” his back was still towards you, and his southern drawl was familiar.
as the man in the maroon shirt and white cowboy hat, spun on his heels to face you, you were taken aback.
tyler owens.
“y/n?”
his blood ran cold, not expecting to see you after all of these years. you laughed in disbelief, “this is crazy..” you shook your head and crossed your arms, shifting your weight to one leg.
“you’re the journalist?”
you and tyler go way back. the two of you were in school together, majoring in meteorology.he started chasing these storms, becoming famous on campus.
but, it all came to a head one day when you got trapped and lost your best friend. that’s when you dropped meteorology and took up journalism. you documented the destruction, the path, how they moved, etc.
and now, you were writing about who was called the tornado wrangler. you should’ve done your research but you didn’t want the assignment.
but, he had become so popular with his crew. they’d go inside the twisters and release a mixture to help dissolve the storm. and it worked.
“you’re the wrangler?” you ask, and tyler laughs. that signature laugh that always made you want to punch him in his pretty little face.
tyler turns around and rests his hands on his hips. “what do you see?”
the wind picks up even further, swirling around you in a dizzying dance, pulling at your clothes and hair. you sigh, taking a few steps closer till you are standing next to him.
“there” you point to the east, the air was thick with an unsettling hum as a dark mass loomed on the horizon. the skies darkened further, and a chilling gust of wind whipped up debris and sent trees bending at unnatural angles.
"another one" he murmured, eyes locked on the clouds as his adrenaline spiked and his lips pulled into a smile that he couldn't help but wear every time a storm was brewing.
glancing over at you he tried to hide the excitement in his chest that he felt when one appeared, but tyler knew hiding your feelings from another storm chaser was like trying to hide a tornado in an open field.
"how much do you wanna bet it'll touch down two miles east of our position" he teased, eyes scanning the clouds for clues.
“mm” you shake your head, even though you hadn’t done it in years you still had it. “three.” you continue, then point to the wind and how it carries against the wheat field.
“look at the way the wind is carrying. it’ll go east and hit north. perfect conditions,” you add crossing your arms
“i think you have yourself a ef5.”
uou had it. the intuition to tell where a storm was going to go by only looking at the clouds, the way the winds were blowing, and the speed at which the storm moved.
tyler had a similar gift, every storm chaser had it, but he had never met someone who could predict the size of a storm, which was a rarity he had never seen before.
“ah EF5, huh? i’ll hold you to that. If you’re wrong, you’re buying me a beer.”
tyler owens would be the death of you.
“i’m not buying you anything, owens.”
you load up into his truck, snapping pictures of forming a storm. he was flooring the red truck in a wheat field right towards the storm so he could get ahead of it.
“ya miss it?” he yells, over the thunder. occasionally turning his head to look at you. you say nothing, continuing to snap pictures.
“sometimes.” you blurt, not looking back at him. “i just don’t miss the destruction” you continue, rolling up the window and reviewing the photos.
“you were good,” he says, one hand on the steering wheel and eyes still taking glances at you. “mm” you just hum in response, not wanting to talk about your storm chasing days.
suddenly, a funnel begins to descend from the clouds, growing larger and more ominous by the second. the air around you crackles with anticipation, and you realize that you are witnessing the terrifying formation of a tornado. an EF5.
this was the second time you had ever seen an EF5 form in front of you, this was frightening.
you held onto your camera tightly as tyler drove right towards the black abyss. “shit..” you mumble quietly.
as the rain beat down on the windshield, the engine's roar could hardly be heard above the gathering storm.
tyler's truck sped through the wide-open fields, creating a trail of dirt and dust in their wake. with his eyes locked on the approaching storm, he clinched his teeth and gripped the steering wheel firmly like a man about to die.
he had chased tornadoes before, but never an EF5. the adrenaline in his veins was making his heart race and his senses heighten as he pushed the truck to drive faster, the roar of the wind and thunder in their ears.
“what a beauty” he muttered, admiring the sheer force and size of the storm in front of them.
as your heart pounded furiously in your chest, you felt a sudden tightening of the breath in your lungs.
your mind raced with panicked thoughts, each one more terrifying than the last. you fought to stay calm, but the fear was overwhelming, like a living entity trying to consume you whole.
sweat beaded on your forehead, and your hands trembled as you held the camera. the world around them seemed to blur and spin out of control, like the tornado in front of them.
"tyler, we should go back," you yelled. tyler smiled, eyes fixed on the whirling green giant in front of him.
he yells, "not a chance, l/n. look at it!" as he maneuvers through the difficult terrain. “we can’t give up now!”
“stop!” you proceeded to yell, flashes of that night you lost your best friend. the way the sky looked, how it sounded, the rain on your skin, how cold you were. it was all flashing in front of you, experiencing the whole thing again.
tears brim your eyes, your body shaking like a leaf. “please! just stop!” you yell over the growl of the thunder clapping.
tyler’s heart sank to his stomach as he heard the raw emotion in your voice. he had teased you and challenged uou, but now it was clear that this was not just another storm for you.
it was a personal struggle that was tearing you apart and he had triggered it with his arrogance.
without a word, he stomped on the brakes and brought the truck to a screeching halt, his own heart racing against his ribs.
"y/n, look at me," he said, voice suddenly hoarse and quiet.
you’re gasping for air, pulling at the collar of your crewneck. the cab of the truck felt like it was closing in on you, you unbuckled the seat belt and tried to unlock the door. “i can’t do this” your bottom lip begins to quiver. “i have to..i gotta get out of here.”
you can’t even bring yourself to look at him. your mind is fogged with the traumatic experience of the last time you were caught in the eye of a storm like this.
tyler’s heart dropped as he saw you struggling, your gasping breaths and trembling body. he reached over to her, gently grabbing your wrist, preventing you from opening the door of the truck.
“hey, hey, whoa. look at me, look at me, please.” he pleaded, his voice firm but surprisingly gentle.
he reached out and took your chin, gently turning your head to face him. his eyes searched yours for a moment before narrowing in concern.
“y/n, listen to me. you need to breathe, sweetheart.”
your breathless, unable to think straight until your eyes meet his sea green orbs. you take in a deep breath and mirror tyler’s breathing.
inhale, exhale.
you repeated this until you eventually calmed down.
your hands continue to tremble as you speak, “tyler, i cannot do this. i just can’t.” hour southern drawl escaping. “it’s too much”
tyler watched as your rapid breathing slowly began to match his own, your hand gripping his tightly. his heart ached as he saw the fear and the anguish in your eyes, and knew that this was not just a simple fear of storms.
it was a trauma, something deeply personal, that had left a permanent mark on your soul.
he gently raised his other hand to your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb, trying to soothe you. “i know, i know” he whispered, his own tone gentle and soft.
“ain’t nothin gonna happen to you, kay? i won’t let it.” he assures your worries, wiping away the stray tear that escaped your eyes then tucked some hair behind your ear.
“i’ve got you.” he continues. you watch as his attention goes from you to the tornado in front of you. “if you want me to take you back i need to know, now” he says, looking back at you.
you sniffle, following his gaze to the twister.
if he could stop something like this it would be a huge achievement to the community. no more damage, no more homelessness. it would all be fixed.
“no..” you begin, and find your eyes back on him. “i’ll be fine.”
tyler nods, putting the truck into drive. one hand on the steering wheel and the other reaching for yours, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “you’ll be fine, city girl.”
you choke out a laugh, and shake your head.
“then, let’s chase this beaut!” he yips and slams his foot on the gas and takes off towards the monster of a tower.
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roanofarcc · 4 months ago
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A MISJUDGMENT
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pairing. tyler owens x fem!reader
summary. when kate drags you back to the home for a one-week stint to help out one of her old friends, you meet tyler owens. the uncouth cowboy and his reckless actions when dealing with something as dangerous as tornados almost instantly prick your nerves until you realize maybe there's more to the cowboy than meets the eye.
warnings. description of tornados, a curse word or two, slightly inaccurate meteorological info, reader is from the midwest.
word count. 2k || masterlist
a.n. did not expect my other fic to get so much love!! sending kisses to everyone who sent me such nice words <3 and I am having a ball with all of the wonderful requests I'm getting!!
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The difference between the Oklahoma and New York was more jarring than you remembered. The wide-open skies and fields that stretched for miles were a distantly familiar sight as you stepped out of the truck. You had grown up in the Midwest, smack dab in the middle of tornado alley, which meant your youth was spent listening to your cautious mother warn you every tornado season of the dangers the storms posed so you’d always be prepared when worst came to worst. You’d hunkered down more time than you could count in your storm cellar, listening to doors rattling and the radio speak. Your father was less cautious; he enjoyed watching the storms roll in on the front porch as he listened to the distant hum of sirens. 
You’d never been a fan of storms, not like your father. They made you nervous; the unpredictably and devastating destruction wasn’t something you found fascinating enough to chase.
Moving to New York was a culture shock but you were lucky enough to score to a job working in tandem with someone who also grew up in tornado alley. You and Kate quickly became friends, bonding over your upbringing and knowledge of the weather. She had opened up to you about her storm-chasing days, all ending with the tragedy that took the lives of three people she loved. Her story only cemented your opinion of storm chasing; it was too risky. But she had suckered you in with your love for the science behind weather, and the next thing you know you were in Oklahoma with Kate and a friend of hers on a one-week mission.
You stuck back with the team in charge of reading the data the chasers collected. Your apprehension wasn’t thwarted by Kate’s reassurance, but you’d always known her to be smart and she knew those storms better than anyone. Your distaste for storm chasers was not because of those there for the science of it all, but rather those who did it for the thrill. 
Tyler Owens was exactly the kind of person you expected to drive into tornados with no regard for the danger. What he was doing, from what you gathered from Javi’s brief explanation, was for entertainment and the excitement of facing down peril, laughing in the face of it. 
You stretched in the nighttime air as Kate closed the truck door behind her and turned to you with the same unsure smile she’d been carrying around since you arrived in Oklahoma. You could tell her feelings were mixed about being back there, but you also saw the spark of enjoyment she was slowly relighting. 
“I’ll go check us in,” Kate said, gesturing to the front office of the motel before she took off. You leaned against the side of Javi’s truck, yawning and taking in the scene of more storm chasers lounging around the motel’s lot, enjoying each other’s company as you all waited for another storm to pop up amidst the outbreak. 
The sound of boots under gravel approached you, belonging to none other than Tyler Owens himself. “How ‘ya holding up, city girl?” he said. 
He introduced himself to you and Kate when you first arrived with Javi, meeting his team and the other groups of chasers who were all gunning after the same storm. She had told him the two of you were in from New York for the week, and he assumed that meant you both were born and raised there. Maybe you had lost your Midwest twang during your stay, but no matter how far you moved away, a piece of you would always remain there. 
“Just fine, thank you,” you replied. His team had set up not far from where you two stood; they all seemed busy working on their equipment, but their work was often cut by howls of laughter. They seemed to be enjoying themselves more than Javi’s team was. They’d all split up into separate rooms for the night, so they’d be ready to leave first thing in the morning. 
He rested his arm against the bed of the truck, making himself comfortable as he too looked out across the lot at the people. “I’ve always wanted to visit New York City,” he said, surprising you. That seemed like the last place someone like him wanted to go. “What’s it like?” 
You shrugged. “A lot different than this.” You looked upwards at the sky, seeing stars blinking back at you. The skies were never that dark in New York City, but the towering buildings made for a cool scene too. “I haven’t lived there too long, though. I’m still figuring it out.” You were still trying to gauge if you liked it more than home. You liked the hustle and bustle most of the time, but being back under starry skies and open plains, you had to admit you missed it a little. 
“Really?” he furrowed his brows. “Where’d you move from?” 
“Kansas.” 
He smiled in disbelief. “Well, I’ll be damned. City girl’s not actually a city girl after all.” 
“I’m full of surprises.” 
“I’m seein’ that.” Tyler was quiet for a moment before he asked, “Do you miss it?” 
You weren’t sure why he asked or why he seemed to care, but you answered regardless. “Sometimes. Not so much the storms though.” 
He laughed. “Yet, you’re out here storm chasing anyway?” 
“I’m just here to help my friend; their business is to help people. That kind of storm chasing I can get behind, I guess. Yours on the other hand…” You trailed off, and he scoffed in mock offense. 
“My kind of business is to face my fears.” 
It was your turn to scoff. “By putting yourself and your friends in danger for…what, exactly? Your internet audience? I know plenty of people like you from back home. You’re reckless and irresponsible.” You saw Kate waving you down by the stairs of the motel, flashing a set of room keys in the air. You said nothing more to Tyler, didn’t even give him a chance to defend himself, before you walked off and into your room for the night
You’d seen devastation before following a tornado, but it was still a harrowing sight. Homes flattened, family belongings flung miles away, and people left hurt in the ruins of their town. You, Kate, and all of Javi’s team arrived just as the storm subsided and the damage was fresh as wounds many of the townspeople bared. You wasted no time going around to help people; Kate did the same. 
An old woman sat in her front yard, carefully cradling windchimes in her arms. “Are you all right?” you asked, kneeling down in the wet grass in front of her. She looked up slightly startled but smiled kindly as she shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m just fine, dear, thank you.” 
“Here you go, Ms. Riley,” a familiar voice sounded from behind you. You turned your head just as Tyler appeared, holding a small box in one hand and a little kitten in the other. The woman, Ms. Riley, gasped and sat her windchimes back on the grass. She took the kitten, teary-eyed, as it purred. “There’s food there too. Make sure you eat, and if you need more my team’s got a table set up just down the road, all right?” 
“Thank you,” she said. 
Tyler said nothing to you as he began to walk away, but you followed him, not catching up with him until he was at a little table surrounded by his team. They had a stack of brown boxes they were handing out, filled with sandwiches one of the members was making quickly. They also handed out bottles of water to the line of people who had just been affected by the storm. 
One of his team members smiled at you, holding out a box of food. “You hungry?” they asked, but you shook your head. 
“No. These people need it, but thanks.” 
You weren’t sure for a moment that Tyler was going to say a word to you. You hadn’t left your last conversation on the nicest note, only to find him and his team working hard to help the ravaged neighborhood. 
But he turned toward you for a moment, looking a little conflicted. “At least take a water,” he said before looking at another member of his team. “Lily, can you take some boxes up the road? There’re  some people who can make it all the way down here.” She nodded, filling her arms with the boxes before she took off.
You were quiet for a moment, staring at Tyler as he and his team came up with a plan to help and feed as many people as they could before night fell. You felt a complicated set of feelings topple over you. And as Tyler started to walk away, you surged forward and grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn around. 
“What can I do to help?” 
Together, you and Tyler spent the rest of the afternoon helping members of the neighborhood find their lost belongings and connected anyone with injuries to the EMTs working overtime. It wasn’t until the sun started to set that you took a break, finding a blown-away lawn chair that was still usable to sit on. All day you had eaten your judgment and first impression of Tyler and his team. Maybe they all were reckless and a little irresponsible in their storm-chasing, but they were doing just as Kate was, helping people, just differently. He and his team apparently did that often and were some of the first responders to the damage the tornados they chased caused. You had overheard Lily tell Kate they used the money from their t-shirt sales to buy food for victims of the storm. 
“Hey,” Tyler greeted, approaching you with two boxes of food. “Here.” He handed onto to you before he found a seat and pulled it up beside you. 
You thanked him before the two of you ate in silence for a little while. Some of the debris had been picked up, but the wrecked houses haunted the street. You’d been lucky enough to never lose your home turning a storm, but you knew too many people who had. It was terrible. That was why you had gotten a metrology degree. You had witnessed the devastation storms brought and even though you were trapped behind a computer most days, your goal was to help improve warning systems for all kinds of disasters and ensure that people knew the best way to prepare for them, but it wasn’t foolproof. Sometimes all there was to do was help pick up the pieces in the wake. 
“I think I misjudged you,” you said, breaking the silence. 
“Yeah?” He smiled slightly, his face warmly illuminated by the ironically beautiful sunset. “Are you taking back the reckless and irresponsible comment?” 
“No.” You smiled too. “But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. You guys did a good thing here, helping these people.” 
Maybe there was more to him than you had originally believed. 
“It’s all a part of the job,” he said, a bit too casually for all of the work they actually did to help; one could say he was humble about it, which confused you even more. From the second he climbed out of his truck the first time you saw him, you were so sure you knew exactly the kind of guy he was. 
“You aren’t exactly how I expected you to do,” you said, honestly. 
He seemed to take that in stride, smirking at you bright enough to bring heat to your face. “Well, if you stick around, you might even get to like me.” 
You laughed. “Don’t push your luck, cowboy.” But you had a feeling he right be right. The week wasn’t over yet; you still had time to figure out exactly who Tyler Owens was. 
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chaxan08 · 18 days ago
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Cassie: I’m not gonna lie, Kate, your girlfriend scares me a bit.
Kate: Oh, Yelena? She wouldn't even hurt a fly!
Cassie: Okay, that's reassuring—
Kate, brightly: She would kill someone, though!
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taurasiluvr · 5 months ago
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how you can help palestine
★ req. "I NEED size kink kate smut pls and thank you 🫶🫶"
 ⠀ ── ⠀warnings ;; nsfw under the cut, mdni. fingering + oral (r. receiving), sweet soft sex, kate praising you 80% of this fic. just think of the sweetest smut fic imaginable.
 ⠀ ── ⠀rylin's notes ;; can't imagine kate as a hard-dom genuinely she seems like she talks you through everything, she is the ultimate praiser. also i did get a bit carried away and slightly lost the size kink element somewhere toward the end but it's definitely there in the beginning, nonetheless - i hope you guys enjoy!
 ⠀ ── ⠀word count ;; 955
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kate slid her hand on to your naked stomach, her hand practically covering the entirety of it. her breath catching in her throat as her eyes took in how small your entire body just in comparison to her hand.
kate's eyes darkened with a mix of awe and something deeper, more primal. she gently caressed your soft skin, her fingers tracing delicate patterns that sent shivers down your spine.
"god, you're so perfect," she murmured, almost to herself. there was a reverence in her voice, as if she were in the mere presence of something precious and fragile.
you bit your lip, feeling a mix of vulnerability and excitement under her intense gaze. "kate..."
she looked up, meeting your eyes with a soft, yet intense expression. "can't help it. the way you fit against me, the way my hand covers so much of you... it drives me crazy."
she leaned in to begin peppering kisses all over your collarbone and neck, eliciting soft whimpers from your mouth. the sensation of kate's lips on your skin sent a cascade of shivers through your body. her kisses were soft and deliberate, as you clung to her, your fingers tangling in her hair as she continued her affectionate assault on your neck and collarbone.
"kate..." you breathed out, your voice barely a whisper.
she pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, her eyes dark with intensity. "love how you respond to me," she murmured, her voice husky. "every little sound, every little shiver... it makes me go crazy."
her hand continued to explore your body, moving from your stomach to your waist, her touch firm yet gentle. she guided you to lie back, her body hovering over yours, creating a cocoon of warmth and security around you.
"you have no idea what you do to me," kate whispered, her lips brushing against your ear. "how perfect you are to me."
you felt a rush of emotion at her words, your heart swelling with love. you reached up, cupping her face in your hands and pulling her down for a deep, passionate kiss. her lips moved against yours with a fervor that matched your own, both of you lost in the overwhelming connection you shared.
kate's hand slowly began sliding down your waist to your thighs, slowly spreading them open. you let out a sigh in the kiss, your head fall back as her lips began dropping down to your jaw.
her kisses continued their descent, finding sensitive spots along your neck and collarbone, each one eliciting soft moans from your lips. "baby..." you breathed out, your voice trembling with need.
kate paused for a moment, her eyes meeting yours, filled with an intense mix of adoration and desire. "you're everything to me," she whispered, her voice husky. "wanna make you feel as amazing as you make me feel."
with that, her lips resumed their journey, moving lower and lower, while her hand caressed your thigh, sending waves of pleasure through your body. every touch, every kiss was an expression of her love, making you feel cherished and desired in a way that words could never fully convey.
kate found her way in between your legs, spreading them further apart until you were completely at her mercy. she leaned in, pressing a kiss to your clothed pussy before she took it off slowly, discarding on the bed somewhere.
"so pretty," she mumbled as she began pressing kisses all over your thighs. you let out a soft moan, your hands tangling in the sheets as you tried to ground yourself against the overwhelming sensations.
kate's hands caressed your legs, her touch firm and reassuring, a perfect counterbalance to the gentle kisses she placed on your skin.
"oh fuck..." you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation and need.
she paused, her eyes meeting yours, a smile playing on her lips. "love seeing you like this," she murmured. "completely undone, just for me."
with that, she resumed her ministrations, her lips moving closer and closer to your most sensitive area. the anticipation was almost too much to bear, your body aching for her touch. when her lips finally met your soaking core, a cry of pleasure escaped your lips, your back arching off the bed.
kate's movements were slow and deliberate, her tongue and lips working in perfect harmony to draw out every ounce of pleasure. you were lost in the sensation, your hands reaching down to tangle in her hair, holding her close as she brought you to the brink of ecstasy.
kate slipped in a finger into your soaking pussy, causing another sweet moan to leave your lips. that encouraged her further as she closed her eyes so she could really soak in everything about you. she'd done this many of times but every time felt even more special than the last.
she curled her finger inside of you as her tongue began circling your clit, your back arching off the bed. every touch, every kiss was an expression of her love, making you feel cherished and desired in a way that words could never fully convey.
and with a final, exquisite movement, she sent you over the edge, your body writhing in pleasure as you cried out her name. kate held you through it all, her touch grounding you, her kisses gentle and soothing.
as the intensity of the moment began to fade, she moved up to lie beside you, pulling you into her arms. you nestled against her, feeling completely at peace, your heart full of love for the incredible woman beside you.
"i love you," she whispered, her lips brushing against your forehead.
"i love you too," you replied, your voice filled with sincerity and contentment.
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if you enjoyed, any interaction is greatly appreciated!
with love, rylin 𝜗𝜚
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