You never imagined Calcharo could be so… domestic.

It wasn’t the first thing you pictured when the two of you became a thing—this rough, sharp-edged man, forged in chaos, somehow fitting perfectly into the quiet rhythm of life with you. But he surprised you. Over and over again.

He was up to the standard. No—above it.

The kind of man who provided without asking for praise. You never had to lift a finger for the basics; firewood was always stacked before nightfall, meals were somehow warm and ready (even if he claimed he just “threw something together”), and your bed? Always warm. Always safe.

He didn’t protect you because you were weak—he’d never dare insult you like that. He protected you because you were his. And in his world, that meant something fierce. No one dared look at you wrong, not with the silent promise in his eyes: Try it.

Spoiled wasn’t even the word. You had comforts you didn’t even ask for. Little things. Thoughtful things. A hand on your back when the wind got too cold. A new pair of gloves when your old ones wore down. His coat—always ready for you to steal.

And affection? He wasn’t overwhelming. He didn’t smother. But he gave enough. His arms around you at just the right moments, pulling you to his chest when the world got too loud. The quiet murmurs against your hair. The way he brushed his thumb across your hand just to remind you he was there.

If this was Calcharo with you now—when the world was still yours to explore—what would he be like if you were carrying his heir?

That thought lingered, warm and curious.

Because if this was his love when it was just you, you couldn’t imagine how deep it would run when he had more than one reason to protect the life he built.