Firefly Glen a cathedral

strong, good—those aren’t words he’s accustomed to hearing, much less believing. yet, the way she says them... they're almost believable. he offers her a faint chuckle, heavy like mud in his throat. you're sweet, dove. he nudges her ear when he speaks, rasping a tongue across the backside of the pale digit. almost make a man believe that.

then she turns the question back on him, and his steps falter just slightly, his golden eyes shifting to hers. her smile catches him off guard, inquisitive and soft, and he feels a pang in his chest he doesn’t quite understand.

it's far too early to call it love. and it's funny, that he'd tied himself down to a woman he couldn't say he loved just yet. but he knew if he had to, he'd rather it be a woman like elowen over any other. soft-spoken, pliable. a honeybee to his raging wasp.

he's moving again, pressing his side into hers. you'll be an amazin' mother. and he means it. he means it when he says it. his thoughts spiral. he’s never thought of this before—of having a family, of raising something fragile and small. it's absurd. him? a family man? and yet... he glances at elowen, and it feels okay.

he hoped it stayed that way.