Firefly Glen a cathedral

her limbs are frozen in place as he nuzzles at her cheek, his cold nose sending a shiver down her spine, but it’s the pull of his words—simple, deep promises—that leave her breathless. "mine," she murmurs, barely able to process what it means, what it could mean. the flicker of uncertainty dances in her chest, but it’s overshadowed by the need to be near him, to stay, to feel that connection that seems to pulse between them.

before she can say anything else, he’s shifting, pulling her atop him. though a part of her feels the fleeting doubt, it quickly fades beneath the warmth of his embrace. the cold snow around them seems a world away as he nudges her cheek again, his rasping tongue trailing along her face, and she can’t help but close her eyes, melt into the warmth of his neck.

when he speaks again, those words—family—the concept sinks into her like a stone. it’s heavy, yet sweet. the way he says it, like it’s a promise, like it’s inevitable. she can barely think, can hardly form the words to respond. all she can do is nod, try to hide the kindest smile into thick tufts along his throat.

she doesn't know the true weight of it, doesn't know the life she’s agreeing to. but in this moment, with him, the thought of being his—of belonging to him—feels right. even if the future is unclear, the present is enough to hold onto. and maybe, just maybe, they’d figure it out together.

and in that moment, she knows—there’s no going back. good. she didn't want to.