see you again
A/N: It's been a work in progress for a bit, but it's pride month which means it's time for jealous Alma!
Word Count: 5.4K
Summary: An angsty AU sort of true to the movie in the sense that the loop collapses, but Y/N dies trying to save everyone. Miss Peregrine and the children then leave for the states to find Y/N before she ever has a chance to leave for the war.
The long grass crunched underfoot on the beaten path back to the house, you adjusted your hold on the fishing pole and continued on. Up the path, coming through the brush, listening to the birds and wind blowing through the trees. Not unbearably hot for the end of August.
“Would you shut up?” A child hissed, accent different, something different, European maybe?
You cleared through the brush to stop mid-step. A group of children were standing there, dressed terribly for the weather and staring at you with a fear you couldn’t explain. You smiled halfheartedly, “I was just passing through.”
“Y/N.” A child said, and stepped closer.
You looked at them, truly observed the kids, and their dirt smeared clothes, the sweat that clung to their faces. “Do I know you?” Faces all fell, most looked ready to cry. You set your fishing pole down, stood quickly, “I mean, are you, you know…?”
“Our loop was destroyed.” A girl said, who reminded you of Shirley Temple with those curls.
You swallowed, “Okay, I can take you to Miss Cardinal, and we can get y’all set up there for now.” A little girl in a small dress rushed up to you and buried her face in your pant leg, and cried. You rushed to pick her up, god what had happened to them? “Where’s your ymrbyne?”
A woman stepped from the back of the group, and held out her hand. “Miss Peregrine.” Your mind went blank momentarily at the most attractive woman you had ever seen in your life. You shook her hand, and tried to tamper down on the sudden nervousness.
“Y/N.” Adjusted your hold on the little girl, “I need to put away some stuff, and y’all need water.”
There were sighs of agreement, you picked up the fishing pole, and started down the road, leading the way. Feeling several pairs of eyes on you all the way home.
—--------------
Once you had a handle on everyone’s names, and made sure everyone had drank enough water then did you start to ask them about what happened and you caught bits and pieces from everyone mostly the same. They escaped their loop just as it collapsed, something about the war, and a wight. Another ymrbyne died to save them. Miss Peregrine had them travel to the States.
They still wouldn’t explain how they knew you beyond a simple comment that you were recommended to them. But that brought more questions on who knew you, and who thought you were equipped enough to handle traumatized children and a traumatized ymrbyne. It was obvious they thought you were capable enough to handle whatever it was they needed, especially when they looked at you so desperately. You didn’t like the way they looked like they might cry anytime they saw you.
Miss Peregrine looked put off by having you help them. She seemed to be the only one who knew you were out of your depth and disliked relying on someone so incompetent. “Where’s the closest loop?” Miss Peregrine asked evenly.
“About a two hour drive from here.” She frowned, even as you offered, “I can take you there tomorrow.”
She gave a curt nod and said nothing more, and you were certain without a doubt she hated you.
Fortunately your family was mainly out of town for the weekend visiting your father’s side and you were in charge of the house, which considering the number of children helped as you made do with pallets set on the floor as soon as you ran out of beds.
You cooked dinner, and tried to ignore the way most of the children watched you move about–it felt akin to being studied and scrutinized. But as they were children you brushed it off, to an extent that wasn’t truly out of the normal, their headmistress however…you were still heavily adjusting to the way she watched you flit about the kitchen.
Dinner was set, and devoured in record time. Baths were taken, you prioritized laundry next and were thankful when Miss Peregrine took over that. It seems they had all packed some essentials at least. Then as she went for her own round of washing off, you were left once more with several children and more questions than answers.
“How long have y’all been in the states?” You found yourself asking the redheaded girl you believe was Olive.
She was folding her gloves carefully as she neared the kettle, pausing at the question. “Oh, six days or so? Maybe seven?”
A week, and they were already at your door? You hummed, they had to have made quick work to get here, especially with the sheer number of them. Olive curled her hands around the kettle and the metal began to turn orange, “baby, I can turn the stove on.” You reached over and she pulled away.
But it was already well and truly done, perfect handprints on the sides of the kettle and a strong whistle. You smiled exasperated but not angry, “I take it you’re the resident tea maker of the house?”
“Miss Peregrine asked for some,” she commented off-handedly. “Thought you wouldn’t mind some either when you talk with her.”
“I see, do you know what we’re meant to be talking about?”
She shrugged, “everything probably.”
Bronwyn came into the kitchen, and wrapped both arms around you, your hand settled on top of her head. “Y/N, will you make me a glass of milk before bed?”
“Sure,” you answered, but the girl didn’t let you go and you got the feeling that it was a choice you were meant to take a hint on. “Did you want me to carry you?”
“Please,” came the muffled reply, hidden by her arm and your waist.
You scooped her up and moved about the kitchen a little awkwardly, but Bronwyn was undeterred and relaxed further in your arms. Milk was poured, a teaspoon of vanilla extract and a little sugar—all while you hummed and readjusted her to comfortably fit in your arms.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she murmured quietly in the crook of your neck. Weighted far more than a child’s voice should be over a stranger.
Your hand curled over her back to soothe and steady in the same motion, “I’m glad you’re here,” you answered. Unsure but simultaneously certain that whatever you were to say should reassure and comfort her. “I’m also happy I got a chance to make twice as much of my secret recipe and share it with you.”
“Milk, vanilla and sugar.” She answered, nodding slightly. As you paused, lucky guess maybe but her back had been turned the entire time, maybe a peculiarity with eyes in the back of her head?
“Exactly that,” you answered gently, setting her back down to offer her a mug. “How about you go settle with the rest of the kids while I go talk with Miss Peregrine?”
“Okay,” and she disappeared off to the living room to listen to the radio broadcast most of the kids had quieted for. Olive had left two cups of tea on the countertop and you grabbed both, taking them up the stairs to the bedroom you had turned down for Miss Peregrine. You gave a soft kick to signal your arrival and she opened the door. Dressed down for the night, a lovely nightgown and her hair up in a towel. Unfailingly gorgeous, she smiled slightly, and you offered the tea.
“I was hoping we could talk a bit?” You asked, she took the mug from you and let you into the room.
Notably you had given her your room to commandeer for the time being, and she still looked over the things as if it was an answer to a question she hadn’t asked yet. “Ask away darling,” she sat primly at the edge of your bed, sipping the tea; the novelty of her accent and the casual darling tossed so carelessly made you smile into your mug.
Another swallow of the tea, you finally cleared your throat and sighed. “I hope you’ll forgive me with my line of questioning—“
“You’ve been unfailingly hospitable to us, it’s the least I can do.”
You hummed, then acknowledged, “I take it you haven’t traveled the States very much then? Hospitality is a point of pride around these parts.”
“It is our first visit here.” She looked down at her half-drank mug as she continued, “and I still doubt that anyone would offer their own bed to a stranger they just met.”
You smiled, “you’d be surprised.” Then leaned against your desk; “can I ask what’s Bronwyn’s peculiarity?”
“Strength,” she smiled looking up at you again, obviously delighted to talk about her child. “She can lift boulders, I believe her record has been three so far.”
So no eyes in the back of her head, you noted, unsteady and sick with the knowledge of what the truth pointed to. Instead you smiled and nodded. “I can see it, I thought the hug was a little strong or I was getting a bit too weak.”
She laughed, softer and more tired than not, but the sound of it was like an electric current through your body. “No, she is just excitable and sometimes forgets her own strength.”
You grinned, “she’s a sweetheart, they all are to be clear.” Then set aside your now empty mug, “Miss Peregrine, if you don’t—“
“Alma.”
You acquiesced, corrected, “Alma, if you don’t mind me asking, why reach out to a dead woman?”
Her smile fell, that easy banter was replaced by a cold trepidation, but you weren’t a fool and you didn’t appreciate being played like one. You continued, “Bronwyn knew what I added to the milk without ever looking, she told me she was glad I was back, you’re from Wales and no one I’ve ever encountered is in that area let alone would recommend me as a person to find.” She was steadily silent, and you crossed your arms, “and there’s the matter of how y’all look at me.”
She shut her eyes, as a blotchy blush slowly colored her face that signaled she was trying very hard not to cry. It also signaled you had hit the nail on the head and done it to her at a terrible time, she swallowed thickly. “And how do we look at you?” Her voice was low and rasped.
“As if you’ve seen a ghost,” you answered, then took pity and came closer to kneel. A few tears rolled down her cheek, you took the mug from her hand and set your hand in hers, “Alma, I understand why you didn’t try to tell me all of this tonight but come on, it wasn’t that hard.”
“Stop talking about it so casually,” she huffed finally, glaring at you with wet eyes.
It forced a small laugh from you, “I’m sorry, but it is funny on my end.” The glare sharpened, and you flushed under her gaze and under her hand, “look, I will take you to Miss Cardinal’s loop most likely tomorrow, from there you and the children will get actual help. Set up in another place, all the things.”
Slowly she nodded, “fine, thank you.” You stood and offered her the mug once more, she took it tentatively as you picked yours up and made your way to the door.
“Darling,” she called, you turned and she looked as if she wanted to correct herself, but decided that she much rather call you darling anyways. “Where are you sleeping tonight?”
“I was going to make do with a pallet on the floor, why?”
“The bed can fit the two of us, and I would rather have you closer than not.” She answered, “you are more than welcome to decline–”
“Fine by me, but you will start telling me the truth right?”
She looked as if you had struck her, she swallowed whatever she wanted to say and gave a curt nod. “Yes.”
And the rest was settled, you came to bed a bit later once everyone was tucked in and Alma followed suit. Careful not to lay too close to her, but Alma’s hand settled over your bicep as if she rather not bother you but still wanted proof you were near.
She shut off the nightstand lamp and the two of you were thrown into darkness that felt absolute. The curtains hung off-centered so that a sliver of moonlight slipped through and separated the two of you in bed; all except her hand that curled over your arm as if to keep you both anchored. Soft murmurs came from the children in their own respective places in the house as they also settled in for bed, and finally you shut your eyes and asked. “How long have you known me?”
“Seventy-eight years,” she answered softly.
The air punched out of your lungs in one startled breath, “what was I to you?” The familiarity they all had with you pointed towards you spending several decades in Wales, several decades in a loop no less. Which meant maybe you were a good friend of Alma’s or—
“My wife,” she cleared her throat, “now can we hold off on grief-stricken questions for the rest of the night?”
You nodded, mind turning over the word wife so excitedly, so delighted. Everyone was bound to die one day but learning you were meant to live a long life with an impossibly beautiful woman eased any worry you felt at a future so far and distant. “I must've changed a lot in those few years.” You smiled, bittersweet.
She leaned closer, the moonlight caught her like a stagelight. “Yes and no,” she looked at you, eyes soft with a tenderness you knew wasn’t reserved for you. Couldn’t be for you. “You were reserved when it came to caring about us, beyond the superficial.”
Us—the children and herself, or us—you and her? “Superficial?”
She clenched her jaw, “You care about people easily, the bleeding heart type.” She gave a halfhearted vague gesture, “But when it came to things that bothered you, that were close to your heart I had to interrogate you to get a straight answer.”
“So not so different from myself now.” You nodded and focused on the dresser drawers, “I suppose it’s simpler for me to exist now than it will be in a few years.” You paused. “It gets terrible I imagine?”
Her silence spoke volumes.
—--------------
Not twenty-three hours later, there was long grass on either side of the road, and you went forty, headlights casting shadows on trees. The moon was a yellow half eye hanging in the sky. Most of the kids were piled into the bed of the truck, the exception to that were the youngest, Claire, and the twins were in the cab, sitting on or next to Miss Peregrine. The only sound was the thrum of the engine, the wind passing quickly. A Spanish song on the radio soft, and sweet as a lullaby. None of the children stirred, you made sure to dodge the potholes, and checked the rear view mirror every few seconds to see they were all still laying down save for one or two who seemed to be keeping guard.
“You should get some sleep,” you murmured, turning to risk a glance at Alma who looked exhausted, but still unfailingly beautiful.
“Are you sure this is safe?” She asked, ignoring your advice.
You nodded, “The diesel covers the smell of peculiars, the nightlife presents its own perils for wights and hollows.” Claire stirred, you quieted, waited for her to settle. “Y’all will be in a loop before any have a chance to follow the trail, and even then it’ll be too faint to get very far.”
“And if some do follow?” She asked.
You smiled tiredly, “Well I plan on dropping y’all off with Miss Cardinal, and I’ll drive around a good day or two, put on a good chase, and then come back to town and wait it out just to be sure.”
“...Are you not staying with us?”
“I think I’d be more useful waiting behind and covering your escape, you know?”
She went silent, and you kept your focus on the road, though you desperately wished you could look at her fully. It was difficult navigating this thing, both the curving road as it cut through creeks, and the relationship with a minefield of topics that you had no way of knowing what was off limits until it was out in the open.
“Wake me when we’re near.” She said softly, and then it was just you. You checked the rear view mirror to see the two who were originally watching for anything suspicious, both had fallen asleep, leaning onto each other.
It was another hour and a half before you made it there, at the ungodly hour of two am. Miss Cardinal was already waiting up, porch light on and you parked the truck. Turned off the lights and leaned over to Alma, “We’re here.”
She stirred, and met your eyes soon enough. You helped to lift the kids and carry them inside, a few of the older ones woke up just enough to walk inside, find a bed and fall asleep. Between you, Alma, and Miss Cardinal it was quick work, and soon enough everyone was tucked in.
Miss Cardinal directed Alma to her own room, and you helped carry the children’s things and set them in there. She closed the door behind you and you sighed, sleep sounded wonderful. But there were many miles before you could think of that. She moved closer, “You’re exhausted,” she said softly.
“I am,” you agreed, no point in beating around the bush. “But I’ve got you and the children covered, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“There’s always something to worry about.” She countered, stepped closer, and it was a moment of charged tension, you weren’t sure where to look. You settled for staring at her face, might as well meet her head on. She slid her hand in yours, “I’ll ask again, come with me.”
A bittersweet smile curved your mouth without your permission, “I would love to, but you all deserve rest and safety.”
She stepped closer, and she had to know what she was doing to you. “We would rest better with you, I would feel safer if you stayed.”
The temptation was unbearable, but it was better to remind you both of the facts. “I am not the person that you fell in love with.”
She stopped so suddenly as if she had been slapped, and you wanted to rush to reassure her that you could love her, were already halfway in love with her family, that given enough time you would’ve been head over heels for her. “You will always be.”
————
You stepped outside onto the wooden porch of Miss Cardinal’s home, the heat sunk into your bones again. Shoulders sagging for the moment, your eyes shut and a shaky breath caught in your throat. “You’re shaking.”
Miss Cardinal was sitting with a shotgun across her lap and a cigarette burning between her lips when you opened your eyes. She took a long drag, knocked the ash off on the edge of her rocking chair and resumed.
At a loss for words you finally found your voice, “I’m told I’m dead in eighty years.”
She hums, “a long life.”
“Dead in a loop.”
Her gaze caught yours suddenly knowing, “and they sought you out again.”
You swallowed thickly, “They don’t know where to go, every loop they knew of by then had been raided or destroyed.”
The bullfrogs started their tunes, and the two of you stayed silent for it. Miss Cardinal finally finished the cigarette and then elected to offer her advice. “Do what you planned and be back in a week. Think about which way you’d like to go.”
“On the road?”
Her mouth curled upwards, “back home or through more loops.”
—---------------------
It was another week before you returned to Miss Cardinal’s loop. There had been throwing any possible wights off the trail, and attending your cousin’s birthday, a few shifts to work–and yet through it all your mind hadn’t left the children or Alma Peregrine.
How was it supposed to? Your wife of seventy-six years was asking you to come with her and your adoptive children and leave everyone and everything behind at the drop of a hat. Even worse you didn’t know them truly, you were already halfway to loving them and yet they knew jokes and stories and things about you barely knew yourself at this rate.
You shut the door to the pickup truck and started up the worn walkway path to Miss Cardinal’s home, venturing in to see Alma and Miss Cardinal laughing and worryingly enough in cahoots. Alma was putting something in the oven, and Miss Cardinal was washing a few pans. A small prayer was sent up to the universe that whatever it was they had been discussing was not about you, and just as quickly that hope was dashed to pieces at the mention of your name.
“Present,” you answered. Both turned and you offered a small smile, “I hope I’m not the topic of conversation everyday.”
Miss Cardinal, rolled her eyes in that practiced motherly way as if to tease and reassure. But Alma’s gaze fell to you and lingered, that breathless smile you had begun to crave. “Only from the hours of one to three,” Miss Cardinal replied breezily, eyes crinkling with hidden amusement.
You hummed, tossed your hand over your heart with theatrical exaggeration, “well I just came to check on things, see if I could help at all. But since I’m obviously the root of all the gossip, maybe I should head back home…”
Miss Cardinal laughed, nodded to the window above the sink where it looked out on the clothesline that was slowly swaying in the mid-June heat. “You can help with laundry actually, I’m sure Miss Peregrine would appreciate the help.” And with little fanfare you set to the task without complaint or question; you pinned up wet clothes in place as you unpinned and folded the dried ones.
A presence settled to the left of you before long, “you came back,” Alma offered in way of a greeting.
“You’re sort of in my home away from home, of course I would.” You turned to glance at her, “what do you think of the loop so far?”
“Not too bad, the heat is still an adjustment but we’ve been welcomed easily.” She stood close enough that every so often her arm brushed yours as you both worked at the clothesline. “The children will be delighted to see you.”
“Were you?”
“You know I want you close,” she answered casually, not bothering to glance up from her work. “I am delighted every time you walk into any room, and even more so when you let me close enough to pretend you’re here for me.”
You nearly dropped the next clothes you were attempting to pin, thankfully catching the shirt at the last minute before successfully repinning it. “If I stayed for a bit, what good would that do?”
“Y/N!” A child yelled, you turned to see Fiona running full-speed to you, in retrospect you should have prepared for the wind to be knocked out of you…naturally you didn’t.
You hugged her, sucked in a breath and laughed when you found your voice again. “Ambushing me now?”
“I didn’t think we would see you, Miss Peregrine said you were busy.” She replied, slightly muffled as she hadn’t bothered to part from you yet. “I knew you would make time for us.”
Guilt gnawed at your stomach unhelpfully, “of course I will sweetpea, how do you like the loop?” Alma had already taken the laundry basket and continued down the rest of the line. Leaving you to follow Fiona as she showed you plants she had never seen before and you were familiar with.
You passed hands from Fiona to Millard to Hugh, Bronwyn, Claire, the twins, Enoch, Olive, Emma, and finally Horace. Before you realized it, dinner was served. Alma sat beside you and everyone was eating dinner, either at the table or at armchairs while others sat crisscrossed with their plates in their laps. The children were more than happy to socialize with the children and residents of Miss Cardinal’s loop and you were more than happy to sit and eat your chicken and dumplings quietly without fanfare.
Then again nothing had gone to plan today so why would it start now. “How long have you been here?” came loud enough from down the table to be heard over the rest of the chatter.
You glanced down the dinner table and amongst the sea of faces Beatrice was looking directly at you, and you couldn’t help the grin. “I could ask you the same thing,” you stood walking over to go hug her. She trapped you in an equally excited bear hug and you both picked up your conversation as if you hadn’t seen her since yesterday when it had truthfully been two years. She picked up her bowl, you went to grab yours and the two of you were lost to conversation once more.
The bowls were emptied, dinner had been over for an hour and a half by now and still the two of you hadn’t moved from your places on the couch. Teasing, talking, and trading every bit of information that flitted through your mind.
Above it all there was an uneasy sense you had missed something vital and were digging a deeper hole into it. Brownyn came up and happily climbed into your lap to lean her head against your chest and just sit and listen. You ran a hand along her back, and didn’t bat an eye when her head began to droop or when she began to snore softly.
“Will you help me take her to bed?” Alma asked, coming to stand beside where you were seated on the couch.
“Of course, I should probably start heading home as is.”
“It’s rather late.” “I think you should stay.” Both Beatrice and Alma answered, and you stood, readjusting Bronwyn slightly and nodding. It was one thing to argue with one of them, it was another thing entirely for both your childhood best friend and your future-wife to be in agreement.
“The house is a bit at capacity, if I go home I can sleep in a bed—“
“You can share mine,” Alma replied, already anticipating the answer. There was something in her gaze that hadn’t been there at dinner, a glint in her eyes that was going to be your undoing if you agreed.
“Nonesense Miss Peregrine, you’re too kind,” Beatrice added; “Y/N and I used to share a room here. It’s not too much different even now.”
Alma’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes as she looked at you. “I insist.”
You nodded, “That would be perfect then, thank you.” And made your way upstairs, Alma led you to the room Bronwyn shared with Claire and Fiona. Carefully you deposited Bronwyn into her bed and tucked her in with all the care you would have for any of the children.
Alma brushed a quick kiss to Bronwyn’s forehead and followed suit for the other two, leading you out to the hallway, then back into her bedroom.
She let you enter first, closed the door behind you both and by the time you turned she was stepping closer. Close enough that you were forced to tilt your face upwards to look at her, there was that glint in her eyes that left you unsteady. Her hand lifted almost like she intended to hold your face but lingered, suspended, as if she was afraid to cross that barrier. “What am I to you?” She asked, low with that rasp that undid you already.
“My wife.”
She hummed, lips upturning barely like she was pleased with the answer but it was only a step in the right direction to whatever hole you had dug yourself in. She still hadn’t moved away or tugged you any closer just as you began to shift, to argue or defuse; her hand snapped into motion tugging you closer by your collar. “Then a bit of advice darling, pay attention to your wife and don’t go traipsing into other women’s beds.”
She let go of your collar and you swayed, entirely unbalanced physically and mentally. “I didn’t—“
Alma sat at the vanity, “didn’t speak to me at dinner? I know.”
“Honey, I came to see yall.”
“And you did, you have always been good with the kids, but…” she sighed slowly, finally turning to meet your eyes; the vulnerability caught you off guard more than anything. “…damningly I still feel as if I have every right to you even now.”
“You do.” You answered, then corrected, “you should, look, we both are terrible at trying to do this dancing around the elephant in the room. I’ll say what I mean if you do.”
She glanced back to the vanity and double checked her appearance, you watched in real-time the vulnerability slip back behind her own control. “Fine,” she spoke. Then turned fully so that you were certain you had her full-attention and she could see every minuscule detail and change in your expression which you noticed she preferred. “I have never had to fight for your attention, and never had someone else try to get you in their bed instead of mine—“
“It’s not like that.”
“I know.” She murmured, softer, almost apologetic for the way her petulance showed. “I’ve met Beatrice before, I know it isn’t that. Simply put I have never not known where I sit with you.”
“Very very fondly, to the point that I should go home before it starts getting increasingly difficult to convince myself to leave.”
Whatever she had expected of you, it wasn’t this. This was much better based on the way she smiled, “then you should know I plan to convince you to stay with us.”
“I couldn’t.”
She offered a small tilt of her head like she heard it before, “you did once before.” Which is to say you had already agreed once, and she didn’t think it was all too difficult to convince you again apparently. “I’m rather convincing if you’d believe it.”
“I already know you’re unfailingly convincing.” You answered.
She stepped closer, cupping your face once more, but this was different. The edge of jealousy was doused now, smothered by your admittance that you liked her enough that it scared you…is this how it had started originally?
Had you been nervous then by the depth of your affection and had she known it then too?
She pressed her forehead to yours forgoing the kiss you thought was coming. “May I have my goodnight kiss?” She murmured, her breath fanned against your lips almost as close as a kiss.
You shut your eyes, ignoring the traitorous warmth clawing up your face and the way that Alma referred to the goodnight kiss as hers. “You want only one?”
She leaned closer, lips skimming yours, “I don’t think you’re prepared for what I want yet.”
You kissed her to distract and to answer, a goodnight kiss whatever that meant to her—was given. Slightly nervous, and smiling, the kind of kiss reserved for first dates. Not for couples married for seventy-six years…and yet she kissed you as if it was all the same. Gently, curling a finger beneath your chin to direct your kiss, smiling, and when you broke apart she gave another lingering parting kiss.
Even after the milliseconds passed and she parted, you held still, dizzy with the affection and near painful want. “Miss Cardinal set aside some pajamas she still had last time you stayed here.” Alma mentioned, still unfailingly close, her thumb brushing back and forth along your chin like she was still flirting with the idea of another kiss.
“Miss Cardinal is already settled for bed,” you answered, “she’d set those aside only if she knew I was staying, so, how long have you two been planning this?”
Alma grinned, “not long at all.” Which you suspected was the truth, but equally you suspected that your wife wasn’t above playing dirty now or until you agreed.
I will never not be in awe of your writing! And reading this as an addition to "can i get a kiss and can you make it last forever" is both happiness itself and absolute heartbreak. I think it's time for a re-read of "can i get a kiss". All your stories, really.
Thank you!! I’ve always had the idea bouncing around in my head, especially during the chapters where Reader would discuss leaving/staying in the loop. This AU would pop up in my mind so I’m pretty happy with how it turned out and how everyone’s been receiving it—I hope I’ve ended on a decently happy note despite all the angst of the premise itself 🫣
