#and occasionally the screen peaces out

[sitdwnandstudy]

I have to replace my laptop (I'm overdue tbh) but it truly goes against my nature to replace something before it literally stops working

[screampied]

‘ THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER ! ’

ᡴꪫ‎ synopsis. university sucks major ass. on the bright side, you’re on break—you decide to go pay your father a visit. this 'visit' ends up to you being introduced to his best friend, toji. who’s he? maybe your panties know the answer.

wc. 7.4k

warnings. fem! reader, dad's best friend! toji, age gap (reader is over twenty), praise, cunnilingús, squìrting, implied multiple órgasms, unprotected, degradation, size difference, impact play, poor dad is kinda clueless, almost caught, overstimulation.

dbf! masterlist

“who’s he?”

a simple question — yet the moment the words ran out your mouth, it felt as if all eyes were on you. in reality, it was though. the tall man who was quite a few staggering inches taller than your own father had such a gaze. he had hands buried into the depths of his pockets, shifting his weight as he stood still before burning a stare right into you. an intense stare, you could almost make out somewhat of an intriguing smirk. that sly smile with an everlasting scar running down the right side of his mouth.

“hey honey,” your father waves out with a brief gesture. he throws an arm around the buff man before giving him a rough pat on the back. “this is toji. met him ‘bout a year ago at one of those boat races. heh, news flash—he lost.”

“woah. no need to embarrass me, man,” toji murmurs in a raspy tone and by all means was his voice deep. laced in pure baritone, far deeper than your fathers. by a mile, to be specific. his voice has a jagged huskiness to it, insanely attractive. as he spoke, his eyes flickered towards you and he’d occasionally look away with that same chaffing sneer. “but anyway,” toji averts his eyes back towards you. his cologne was loud, you could smell it from miles away from you. he pauses for a few good seconds before uttering. “it’s nice to meet ya, sweetheart.”

you gulped, suddenly feeling small. you couldn’t pinpoint what it was about him — his demeanor, the way he carried himself, anything was. but it was something that had you a bit drawn in so to speak. “i um..”

“she’s not that much of a speaker,” your father chuckles, giving you a soft rub near your back. “poor brain’s probably all fried from those midterms. right honey?”

“you don’t say.” toji raises a brow, glancing away for a moment and a smile tugged right against his his dimples—and for a moment, he was suddenly intrigued by his best friend’s daughter.

that was the initial first reaction between the two of you. you ended up staying at your father’s house for the remaining duration of your visit.

nothing too much sparked between the two of you, of course there’d be subtle moments. real subtle moments—stupid things, like having him help you grab something from one of the top shelves.

of course he’d help, he was taller than you by many many inches. effortlessly towering over you. it’s the way he’d press up against you. it was quite hard to shut those thoughts of yours up. those lewd salacious thoughts that were forever kept into the very back of your brain, silently fantasizing about your father’s best friend.

apparently, he stayed for quite around the same time you did since he and your father would typically hang, do all sorts of men activities you never really cared about—golfing, shooting ranges, watching the most recent football games. that was the most annoying part, how they’d both obnoxiously yell at the screen whenever their favorite team was pathetically losing.

your room was directly upstairs, you heard everything. it was as if the walls were merely thin. in a way, they were. the constant repetitious hollering from the two men were so irksome. eyes merely rolled to the back of your head whilst you were trying to scroll on your phone in peace.

you never did understand why a dumb game of balls would drive men so crazy. nevertheless, you let off a tiny sigh before plopping right down in your bed. immensely, you stared off into space.

you had no idea why, but the minute your eyes linger into the white nearly peeled off drywall near the ceiling, you thought about him. toji.

stupid, maybe…

it’s been a few days and you hardly knew the guy. encounters between him were subtle and brief. he’d nod his head at you, barely acknowledging your existence and going straight back to some meaningless conversation with your father.

there was one day however, one day that had you hot all over. it was when you walked in on toji, he was using the spare shower that no one really uses, it’s reserved mostly for guests—perfect for him in this case.

you remember it like it was yesterday. since you were wide awake during this time for whatever reason, your dad sent you to go replace some towels from downstairs since he was doing laundry so you mindlessly make your way downstairs. the door was visibly cracked. sure, you probably should have knocked but who takes showers around three am?

apparently, this guy.

toji was literally just getting out the shower when you walked in. steam fogged throughout the entire space.

it was hot, stuffy and dampened with mist clinging against the rectangular mirrors. smothered with fog, you practically end up bumping right into something hard.

to be specific, that something was toji’s broad chest. maybe you were a bit delusional but you could have sworn, the moment you made contact with his bulky pecs, it moved upon impact.

“excuse you, sweetheart,” toji would scoff teasingly, his low voice was a bit more rougher since it was late at night. you were definitely speechless, barely able to process a single word from your mouth. thankfully a towel was wrapped around his slim torso—yet you started to wish maybe he didn’t have it protecting his lower half.

your eyes stuck to his chest the entire time, talk about embarrassing. immediately, your pretty dilated pupils ran down his chest, down his v-line, his perfectly structured build . . and then, his happy trail. he was well trimmed of the sort, practically. toji’s version of well trimmed was a bit hairy. regardless, it was still an attractive feature.

the more your eyes rove, the more you glance at his nearly perfectly sculptured structure. his chest was painted with a plethora of battle scars, now you were the one intrigued. you wanted to know more.

“you’re a little rude, huh,” and you abruptly snap from your thoughts. it was so brusque…

returning back to reality, out of that lewd trance you were so desperately trapped in—you blink twice, not even realizing how he was right up close to you. toji stares down at you before sneering. “it’s like three am. shouldn’t you be in bed?”

you shift your feet a bit, maintaining a little distance before trying to reply in the best nonchalant way possible. “uh no,” and then you utter awkwardly. “shouldn’t you be in bed? who randomly wakes up to take showers this late?”

“guys my age,” he jibes. “ya wouldn’t get it.”

you deadpan, fully aware it was a joke but you held everything in you to not have your eyes roll all the way back. “whatever,” and then you nearly forget what you were about to do. he watches you, you open near the lower cabinet and replace the clean towels. it grew profoundly quiet, a pin could drop. the moment you turned around, toji scoffs to himself. “did you need anything? something else?”

“ah. thank you, i’m fine, princess,” toji huffs with a sly grin. he reaches near the small wooden table to grab what seemed to be a half-used lotion bottle. however, you didn’t expect for him to completely change the topic, flipping your own words around with a blunt, “do you need something?”

“huh?”

“you heard me, girl.”

the banter…

he was definitely cocky, playful, literally any other synonym would fit.

you hated how he’d get you speechless everytime. you loathed how he was such an effect on you. with a brief gnaw on your bottom lip you narrow your eyes, mumbling out a, “stupid question.”

“i agree,” toji smirks. “but eh. y’er a smart girl. ‘m sure you can come up with a good comeback soon.”

he was so annoying, entirely so.

it’d be simple interactions like that between the two of you. much to your surprise though, nothing really else happened. toji would tease you a bit then pretend nothing happened, throw you a compliment or two and call it a day.

toji would often visit daily or twice a day, mainly to hang with your father. you could care less about what they did, but you were bored out of your mind from being in the house all day. you could go out, but it’s not like you had anyone to go with. everyone was either busy or … busy. besides, most of your friends were on exotic vacations or out of the country—you sighed, rubbing a hand against your stomach as you stared in the ceiling wall.

but then, the most lasciviously filthy thought made its way into your thoughts. you thickly swallowed before reaching a hand down between your legs. the air grew abnormally dry, shame…

to be completely honest, you couldn’t even remember the last time you touched yourself. this couldn’t have ever been a more perfect time. you were sure your father and his cocky best friend was out at top golf, probably.

intaking a single breath, you lean back against your pillow—slowly, you started to focus on your breathing.

parting your legs, you lightly pull down your shorts before tugging your panties to the side. you wince for a little, realizing how you were already a bit soaked. a little dampened spot right towards the front part of your underwear. you knew it had to be from pondering about toji.

speaking of, you remember that time where he helped—well, ‘attempted’ to cook dinner that one time. all you could focus on was his hands. such rough thick hands, you wondered what’d it feel like to have those same hands gingerly wrap around your throat. such thick fingers shove down your throat while he calls you such degrading names—just anything.

the more you were deep in thought, the more drenched you started to become. you went slow, being patient with yourself. you imagined it was toji’s fingers instead of yours. such big fingers thrusting in and out of you.

steadily, you start to insert a single finger in. a middle finger, it felt good, you suppressed a single moan and by this point, your imagination was running wild. you allowed your body to relax for a few moments before you slipped another finger inside. seconds later, you started to gentle move around inside your clit. your pace was sweet and precise—you let out a soft moan that rang throughout your thin walls. “toji—f-fuckkk.”

your voice was shaky, imagining toji being here right now made you throb ten times more. just propped all up behind you, thrashing his fingers against your swollen folds made you more aroused than you ever thought. your thrusts against your own entrance was small, a steady pace but irregular enough to make your knees start to buckle.

throwing your head back a little, you started to whine as each second dragged. your breath became insignificantly heavy, hitched and all. you made sure to stimulate in all the right areas, adapting to a perfect rhythm, then that’s when you’re rudely interrupted. talk about a cliche.

“hey. is it anymore detergen—”

toji pauses mid sentence, literally trying to process the scenery in front of him. he stands still and his initial reaction was slow. the first thing he does is chortle lowly. “well, shit. is this a bad time?”

you’ve never felt anymore embarrassed in your life, a sudden wave of heat rushed over your body before you quickly shielded yourself with your blanket. “oh my god,” you’d squeak out, and toji averts his eyes elsewhere for a few seconds. “i thought you all left already.”

toji hums. he takes a moment, and it’s as if he’s thinking of what to say. he was amused, seeing your flustered state and he looks back at you. “we were but it got canceled last minute since a storm’s approaching,” and you let off a soft gulp, hearing his footsteps creak against your wooden floor as he got closer. “thank god it was me who came in here ‘n not your father, right princess? now that’d be embarrassing.”

“stop calling me that,” you grumble, and you don’t even realize how soft and weak your voice was. you slowly pull your fingers out before intaking another sharp breath. he glanced at you before simpering. “haven’t you heard of knocking?”

“girl,” toji utters in a low rasp. “the door was wide open. i can’t knock on air,” and you mentally eye rolled — he was so insufferable. incredibly so, toji’s eyes roam across your old room that was a bit scattered with some boxes from when you moved out four years ago. it was a bit unkempt, your father usually used your room sometimes just to store things from the attic. toji buried his hands into his pockets before chuckling. “i heard you, ya know. moaning my name all loud like that.”

you blinked thrice, sitting up before compressing your eyebrows together. “what?”

“whaaat?” he jeers, mocking you. toji inches closer towards you until he was right beside your bedside. you gaze up at him and he had a blunt sticking out from the corner of his lips. he looked so appetizing, even while dressed down. ripped jeans and a sweatshirt. you could tell he was fit, of course he was—you saw him shirtless. he was well likely in his early thirties, dressing so laid back and casual. “between you and me, sweetheart, you can do better. ‘s cute ‘n all but that’s not how ya finger yourself. been a while, yeah?”

this guy, he was so bold. casually speaking his dirty mind, not afraid to say anything.

you don’t know why, but those last few words made you throb. you loathed how right he was, it was as if he could read you like a book. between studies and actually living a university student’s life, you barely ever get time to yourself. time to please yourself.

“whatever,” you utter. “yeah... it’s been a while.”

“poor thing,” he clicks his tongue before taking a seat on your bed. it jitters from his weight for a bit before he peers a gaze at you. “hm,” he puffs out, dragging a hand against his jeans. “i’d be happy to help though. those useless fingers of yours can only please you so much, right? heh.”

this indescribable effect he had on you, it heavily irked your nerves. “…please,” and you don’t even register what quickly came out of your mouth.

you were so pent up by this point, being interrupted. you wanted to finish, you desperately wanted to finish. your soft breaths hitched, and toji’s intimate stare lingered on you for a bit. his loud cologne started to waft across the entire room, so intoxicating. “just make me finish, please.”

“there’s those manners,” he coos in a husky tone, and he gets up closer. he was purely teasing you, you just wanted to feel his touch . . . feel something at least. he pulls the fat cover that went over you, yet at a more tantalizingly slow pace. he was a mere tease, you nearly let off a whine once you felt the tips of his warm fingers skim past your thighs. “messy girl,” he mumbles, and then he pauses to glance at you. “are you sure? jus’ wanna-”

“toji,” you mutter, and you liked hearing you roll his name so sweetly off your tongue. seeing you grow purely frustrated was utter amusement to him. the way your eyebrows would curl and furrow, irises flaring and your jaw slightly tensing. you had such readable body language by default too. “please. i want you. just touch me.”

he simpers. “pretty please.”

“……”

again, he was so infuriating. you felt yourself starting to pant, not knowing how much longer you could take as he started to softly trail a thumb against your skin. his touch was so warm, it was intense and ignited something within you.

“touch me—pretty please, toji.” you mutter out, sprawling your legs out just a bit. it was so hot, the temperature surrounding the atmosphere of the room was so humid. he glances at you before smiling.

“that’s a good girl.”

his words warmed your heart in such a lewd provocative way, you just wanted his touch.

desperately yearning for it, toji leans up close, bringing a big hand to part your legs apart and he was so slow. he takes the blunt that was propped up between his teeth, setting it aside near your nightstand. you prepare to inhale deeply, not expecting him to then bring a tender kiss towards your inner thighs. he started to create a trail—a trail that gingerly went up and up and up.

“so sensitive,” he’d purr, watching your own body melt from just the softness of his lips against your skin. you wanted him to hurry, you replayed this exact scenario over and over at least a dozen times. now that it was reality, you just knew that your body wanted him. “oh. don’t give me that look,” and he smirks, watching the pout grow against your lips. “gonna stare at me all day or are ya gonna tell me how you’d like for me to start?”

“i need you to—eat me out,” you huff out in short singular breaths. you were throbbing rapidly, each moment he stalled to speak, the more aroused you grew. his warm breath just fanning against your folds had you nearly going weak.

he snickers. “need?” he repeats, and you moan once he swiftly drags a finger down your soaked cunt. it was drenched, but it could be a bit more. toji hums to himself cockily. “you don’t need shit, girl. fix your sentence ‘n talk proper..”

“i—” you gripe, starting to grow more and more frustrated. your vexed facial expression amused him. he raises his darkened brows, awaiting for your answer and the cute pout that continued to stretch across your lips was so cute. “i— i want you to eat me out, pretty please.”

“much better,” he says in a low gruff. the moment he finally hovers his mouth over your sopping clit, toji gently strokes a thumb up and down. opening you up slowly, he creates a single slow lick to make you whimper. “i’ll make ya cum quicker than you ever could, princess.”

and you knew he probably wouldn’t lie about a simple fact like that. toji’s touch, it was sloppy.

without a doubt, he was a messy eater.

just one taste of you and he was hooked—a new addiction for him and it wasn’t gambling.

you tasted sweet, candied even. he was in so deep, occasionally the tip of his nose would prod against your entrance. you slumped back against the bed, your legs twitching in pleasure. not before long, your lips started to part and you started to gnaw on your hardened knuckles. you didn’t wanna be too loud—you just remembered your father was right downstairs.

he didn’t have the best hearing in the world, but knowing you, you could be a bit overzealous with your moans.

the noises his tongue made, sliding his tongue between your folds, sucking and nibbling. he even broke away his lips just to spit a nice wad onto your pussy. you watched the entire time, mesmerized. he was so nasty—nasty and you only wanted more. toji continued to drag a thumb against your slit, lapping up your slick arousal that was already starting to drip down his chin. it ran further down, a bit of his trimmed facial hair now soaked with your sweetness.

“how’s it feel, princess,” he’d mutter out, briefly departing his lips away. as he does—you stare as a pretty cobweb of his own spit tugs against your own entrance. glistening and all, it was so sheeny. he was right between your precious thighs, and you couldn’t help but give his ruffled dark hair a light pull. “tell me how i make you feel. talk to me nice, girl.”

“good,” you whimper, nearly choking on your own saliva. your words were so trembly, you could hardly recognize yourself. it’s been a while since you’ve been eaten out, let alone being intimate. as you continued to let off irregular breathing patterns, you swallow. “f-feels good.”

“just good?” he’d tease, bringing a long suck towards your clit. you let off a whine once he playfully nibbles near that particular spot with his teeth. his tongue scrapes against your folds time and time again. it’s indescribable—toji’s head shook back and forth as he was nose deep into your pussy. for a moment, he sounds offended.

toji gives your cunt a sweet little kiss, and he feels it start to hastily pulse from doing so.

he knew you were getting close, all from a simple cue from his tongue. speaking of toji’s tongue . . it was lengthy.

so long, it reached areas that had your eyes mindlessly rolling back.

cute little cacophonies of, “oh my g-godddd,” repeated ghosts past your lips as you started to practically drag his face against you. the texture of his tongue—so moist and slick, already wet from obvious reasons, but grew even more dampened from your sheer arousal. it was a taste his tastebuds grew to crave more of. “gonna c-cum toji. f-fuckkk.”

“you’re gonna wait for me, little girl,” he grouses, and your irises fleetingly dilate. he gifts the entrance of your cunt with another string of spit, then he rubs a few circles against it. mean vigorous circles that made your legs pathetically twitch. “you make a mess when i tell you too.”

he was so mean.

such sternness in his tone, yet it turned you on. that slight secretive rasp that hid underneath his voice. toji breaks his lips away for a moment, glaring at you before focusing near the crevices of your thighs. he teasingly slides his tongue upward, away from your most sensitive area just to watch you squirm.

“toji,” you’d whimper, feeling his tongue just roam everywhere from below. he was so skilled, you’ve never had a man be so sloppy. at least in a way that toji was. he greedily sucks near your thighs, gently sinking his canines into the plush of your thighs before going back towards your pussy. “i can’t—can’t hold..”

you were barely able to finish your sentence, and that’s when you came — it was so sudden and abrupt. gushing all out of you and your nerves had your mind spiraling. a constant crazed loop.

it felt like a wave, a tsunami crashing down and it felt so good.

your orgasm that shortly followed was so loud, you didn’t even bother trying to cover your mouth. toji chuckles, cupping his mouth around the very top part of your achey slit before lapping his tongue against your hood. your hips temporarily quavered due to his tongue, and you still maintained a rough grip on his head.

“easy on the fuckin’ hair,” he’d grunt after feeling you roughly yank on his strands bringing a kiss towards your slick entrance. you swallowed, your legs feeling practically mush before he brings a terse spank towards your clit. “cute ‘n all, but i didn’t say you could finish yet.”

“s-sorry,” you’d breathe out, still feeling the after effects of your intense high. it was so good, your eyes were all hooded and droopy. toji saw a bit of drool seeping from the corners of your mouth and hums silently.

he sighs, leaning up before getting on top of you. he hovers himself and you stare up at him. he rests both arms over you, groping near the rickety headrest before leaning up close to your face.

“are you sorry, sweetheart?” and he gets up a bit closer, green viridescent eyes glance right into you—you smelled the mint and brief tang of alcohol residing on his tongue. using another hand to grab your chin, he softly pulls your bottom lip down before derisively grinning. “aw. nothing to say? no back talk this time?”

“i… want a kiss,” you pant, feeling his warm body just inches away from colliding against yours. just a single inch and he’d be grinding on you. “kiss me.”

“oh i dunno. sounds like a demand, babygirl,” he’d sneer, and your eyes leer near his scar. it was damp a little from him just being between your thighs a moment ago. perhaps it was a bit filthy, but you wanted to taste it. taste him. “ask me the right way.”

you pout, staring right into his eyes. “i wan— can i get a kiss, pretty please. i just want a kiss.”

“course ya can,” he utters, and that’s right when he squeezes your chin. your lips were plump and glossy. toji stares at you back for a long while, studying your cute expressions before he leans right in. the kiss was passionate, it felt so wrong but felt so right. you moaned the second his lips crashed onto yours. he finds it cute, feeling your arms rub and feel around his slim waist. you were pulling him closer — a sign that you wanted more of him. toji teasingly grinds his hefty body against you, and you whimper in his mouth once you feel his thick bulge prod against your panties that were halfway on you. “mhm.” he’d groan.

while his tongue skims against yours, you part your lips a bit for him and the incoming savory taste you’d get a treat out of.

you made sure to savor it, so sweet with a bit of spice.

running your tongue against his, breaking away to lick near his chin, softly making sure to lick near his stubble—you cleaned your own mess off of him. without him asking you either, toji grunts as he watched you through his peripherals. he’d never expect his best friend to have such a nasty girl for a daughter.

“y’er fuckin’ filthy,” he mumbles, breaking away and watching both strands of spit leave and depart. your lips curv into a cute needy scowl before he heard your father suddenly call out from downstairs.

“honey? i said, was that a scream…? is everything okay?”

your eyes widen, not even knowing your father was speaking—yelling actually. toji snickers, and now he’s the one suddenly quiet. prick.

“o-oh um,” you clear your throat, sitting up and that’s when toji starts to create soft chaste kisses near the inside of your neck. you nearly moaned before turning your head to speak. “i’m—i’m fine. i thought i saw a cockroach.”

“cockroach? do you need me to come up and—”

“no!” you’d quickly reply before clearing your throat once more. you let off a sigh, feeling toji start to suck near your collarbone. “i mean, no dad. i’m okay. thanks anyways.”

“okay honey, if you say so.”

toji chortles. “fuck. you’re bad at lying. just tell y’er old man you were getting eaten out by me.”

you glare at him, immensely bringing your brows into a furrow. “no, i’m not gonna say that. are you crazy?”

“maybe.”

you eye rolled, yet part of you felt like he wasn’t exactly lying. after all, he could probably be insane—perhaps he was.

you didn’t know, and to be frank, you didn’t really care. all you really cared about was getting pleasured—riding out orgasm after orgasm with him, and that’s exactly what you ended up doing for hours on end.

toji would find himself leaned back against your pillow, studying your hips carefully before grinning.

the moment you lightly shove him back, he clicks his tongue. “oh?” he says, and you already sprung his dick out. he was very much hard, presenting you with an upward slight curve. you licked your lips, hovering over him before giving him a few strokes. a groan slips past his lips and your thumb brushes against the various veins that ran just below his foreskin. “y’er gonna ride me? can a sweet girl like you even handle it?”

“shut up,” you’d fuss, and he just smirks at you. you wanted to wipe that smug expression from his face. he knew just how to irritate your nerves. toji watches you throw your leg over him, a simple hook around. you’re straddling him now and he brings two rough hands to attach near your hips. you lean in to kiss him again and he returns it, slowly tilting his head back and your arms wrap around him. he feels you reach down, grabbing ahold of his shaft before softly sliding the head of his dick near your slick entrance. “s-shit. you’re big.”

“i try not to disappoint,” he slyly says, sliding a thumb near your hips. his voice was so low, so pompous and arrogant. you give him a glare but he only hums out of pure amusement. “barely the tip in ‘n y’er struggling. need my help, sweetheart?”

you ignored him and he smirks, allowing you to do your thing—you bring one hand towards his chest, gently feeling near his perfectly chiseled abs. he was so toned, tracing against his tense muscles and he watches your every move. it was as if time was stood still, he chuckles at how eager you were. you weren’t like him, you weren’t patient and thorough. you were a bit more rushed and sloppy—cute, it was very much cute to him though.

a moan goes past your lips once the wet tip of his slowly starts to sink inside. it had a few droplets of pre-cum leaking down, and you slowly rocked your hips in place to get comfortable. his eyes go lower to focus more on your body, the grip he had on your waist was so rough and sensual. because toji was so thick — it took you a good six minutes, six precise minutes to reach all the way down to the base. your lips opened a bit, and you let off a soft shrilling whimper once you did a cute attempt at jerking forward.

“take it slow,” he purrs in such a rasp, you leisurely started to lurch back and forth once he was buried all the way down to the hilt. you inhale deeply and he was so hefty. balls deep, swollen balls that was hidden and engulfed beneath your inner walls. “atta girl.” he praises, watching you try to maintain a decent rhythm.

ringing went throughout your ears, you felt all hot.

toji playfully brings a hand to feel near your tummy. you were wearing some old university hoodie. it was comfortable, but much to his surprise, you didn’t have a bra underneath. he hums to himself, and you let off a moan once his hand trails ever further. further and further until his thumb brushes against your perky nipples.

“t— toji,” you’d moan, and another hand of his was tightly clinging onto the left part of your waist. you were riding him smoothly. yet since he was so big, you started to feel your thighs building up with drowsiness. your efforts were cute to him, so desperately eager to get off.

his black lashes flicker, and the way he’s all leaned back and manspread was so attractive—you felt your back start to naturally arch and it didn’t take long for toji to reach that particular spot. once you felt his tip prod against there—way past inside the orifices of your cunt, you let off a sweetened whimper. “found it,” he whispers, bringing you close towards his chest. you lean into his touch, intaking his cologne into your nose before your hand starts to wander all over his body. he liked how handsy you were, slipping a hand right underneath his shirt to feel a part of his abs. you made sure to trace directly on each line, each tender flexing muscle. all the way down onto his sharp v-line. further down, you started to feel his happy trail. your favorite.

he grunts, feeling the softness of your hands meander freely. “that’s it, sweetheart,” he gruffs in a sharp breath. an imaginary lump getting caught in his throat — he was holding both of your hips upright and by this point you were slamming right onto his thick cock. “touch me more. feel all over me baby.”

“can i—” you started, leaning in to kiss near the crook of his neck. your voice was soft, a bit trembly before your hands went up this time. feeling near his pecs before a breath gets caught in his throat. “can i feel here, toji?”

“f-fuckin’ girl,” he groans, a chill running down his spine the second he feels you gently rubbing a thumb against his nipples this time. toji was surprisingly far more sensitive despite his rough front he was putting up, it was a bit cute. after all, he did say feel all over you. toji was panting now, while you rode him continuously, he swiped a few beads of sweat from his forehead. “whatever.”

you giggle, watching him now be the one with a pouty expression this time. you plant a kiss near where his slanted scar went down his lip before he spanks your ass. “just ‘cause ‘m sensitive there doesn’t mean ‘m gonna get all whiney for you, girl,” he utters in a raspy tone. the sharp sting from the spank felt good.

you felt yourself twitch between your thighs whilst your hips moved in harmony. you do a little back bend with your hips, constantly jerking against him and he grunts with how slow yet sloppy your movements were. “keep goin’ slow like that. ‘m gonna—cum.”

his voice consistently got deeper, and the tips of his fingers gently pierced into your skin—you were vocal yourself though. moan after moan, a constant repeat. you found yourself whining out his name as if it was a lewd mantra. over and over again, to toji though, it was purely music to his ears.

he feels you start to slow down a bit though, exactly at the minute he tells you he was approaching his incoming release. toji clenched his jaw, gifting the fat of your ass with another mean spank. “f-fuck. keep fuckin’ me. make me fuckin’ cum.”

you plant kisses near his neck this time, near the very inside and you swiftly quicken your pace a little. he was stuffing you full of thick inches, full of such girth that had your tongue salivating right in your mouth. you could only imagine what it’d feel like to have his seed pouring into you. you couldn’t lie to yourself, ever since you saw toji shirtless. his bulge sticking out through his towel, you only imagined he’d be so full of cum to give. you tilt your hips backwards, and he lets off a husky groan.

that particular spot reached so deep, you felt it too. his cockhead pokes and taps repeatedly against your sweet spot and you sob out a needy, “f-fuck, ‘s right there,” you tilt forward and he’s just about reaching his peak. the longer you took, the more spanks you received.

toji was a patient man, but only for so long.

the bed frame creaked constantly, it was the only tune that played in the background. he slithers a hand down between your thighs and spanks your cunt a few times. you whimpered, already a bit sensitive but felt something else approaching. “toji— toji.”

toji groans, the build up nearly taking his breath away. with your rhythmic thrusts against him, his eyes merely roll and he has to take a minute to catch his breath. you wrap a hand around his throat—tenderly of course—then place your lips onto his once he finally finishes inside of you.

he didn’t expect for you to choke him, but he liked it.

he liked how forward you were, your thumb lightly grazed against his adam’s apple, and a deep grunt gets trapped in his throat. your cunt was practically overflowed with such dumps of his cum—you’ve never felt more filled. toji shook a little, a hand gripping your ass as you kissed him.

slowly, he started to feel himself get addicted.

he already was addicted from having a simple taste of you earlier, but he was getting infatuated. you had him whipped, and he knew this probably wouldn’t be a one time thing.

albeit, the last thing you expect is to pull away from the kiss once you feel a sudden pressure brewing up within you.

momentarily, you whine—feeling a sudden familiar wetness coat his base. nerves all throughout your body had you locked in a trance, and you pause your hips before toji tsks.

“little girl,” he mumbles with a sly smile. “did you just squirt on me?”

it was so unexpected, you pant heavily—heave after heave leaving your lips before you moan out a sweet, “y-yes.”

“don’t be shy about it. i like when it’s messy,” he sneers, his eyes tantalizingly trailing down your body once more before he lifts you up just a bit from his shaft. he observes the lewd mess, how much cum trickled past your thighs and he hums. “wanna do that again? i bet i can do it in five minutes, baby.”

to say you were being treated like a rag doll was an understatement.

toji was ruthless with you, ruthless with you in your own house. well, ex-house. you didn’t live here anymore but you used to.

he coaxed orgasm after orgasm out of you like it was nothing. making you imitate and try positions you’ve never even heard of—you were getting stretched, easily said. it’s been hours by this point, you weren’t even in your room anymore. you were in the bathroom with him.

toji had you propped up against the door, you’re taking him from behind and you’re roughly biting down on your lip.

entirely so, it was still risky.

your father was right outside near the living room doing who knows what. probably watching some sports program—yet of course, he started to grow curious of where his best pal went. initially, toji said he had to use the restroom.

like four hours ago . .

he was so mean too, spanking your ass numerous times. your ass was perked upright for him, and you’re leaning against the door. you whimpered, feeling him grip on your panties that he refused to pull off of you.

oh, he likes seeing it dangle and thwack against your skin. the pretty fabric just cutely rubbing against your thighs. his weight just barely hovers against you and he’s smacking right into you.

your cunt swallowed his hefty inches each and every time—by this point, you weren’t sure if you could even give him one more.

you lost count of how many mind blowing orgasms that you were just completely intoxicated from his dick and his dick alone.

toji’s rough bare hands grab onto both parts of your ass, spreading it before deepening his strokes just a bit. you moaned, feeling every inch store inside of your sweet cunt. he knew just where to hit you. you breathe through your mouth and your nose at the same time, heavy cute pants that started to fog up the door’s material.

“fuck, fuck me f-fuckkk,” you’d drag out, and your back naturally arches just from a teasing touch of his finger racing down your back.

your ass was held up high and your cheek was softly nudging against the cold door. another build up was approaching and you were just so in awe—you were literally thinking, where has he been all your life? “close, ‘m getting closer.”

“bet you are. drippin’ all on me ‘n it’s fuckin’ nasty,” he replies—yet you freeze once you hear footsteps approach the door. it was your father, right when you were about to cum—you feel toji’s hand wrap around your mouth. your eyes roll backwards, and then he speaks through the other end of the door.

“toji? hehe, did ya fall in there man? you’re missing the game. we’re down by four points.”

toji chuckles, hearing a tiny muffled squeak go past your lips. he was balls deep, giving you such thick vigorous inches. that’s when he leans right up close to you—a hand still propped to have your mouth shut before whispering in a raspy tone. “you gotta be quiet, sweetheart. you want y’er old man to hear you make a sloppy mess on me?”

you shake your head, making an attempt to try and suck on his fingers and be smiles. “messy baby.”

your mouth was now stuffed with nothing but his thick fingers. you moaned, coating each digit with your glistening saliva as he pounded right into you. the grip your cunt had on him made him groan. eyes roll into the depths of your cranium so far back that your vision was pure black. squelch after squelch, it was so erotic. the build up of your incoming release yet again.

it was so slow and tense, you felt your thighs ache and tremble the more you were arched all over for him. the most sluttiest arch he’s seen in a while.

“huh—oh, nah man i’m good,” toji replies with a simper. you were trying so hard to be quiet, if your father heard anything, that’d be a wrap for you.

dying out of pure embarrassment certainly wasn’t on your bucket list for sure. the way toji responded was so casual, almost as if he wasn’t just happily drilling into his best friend’s cunt in his own home. “four points? shit. defense can’t do anything right.”

“telllll me about it! i could play better with my eyes closed, damn.”

you found it so irksome how they were casually having a dumb conversation whilst you were just about to gush right onto toji’s shaft—you felt him dip his hips into you deeper though, and you let off a sweet whine.

toji leans into your ear and whispers. “you’re doing a good job, sweetheart,” and then he chuckles. removing his hand, you nearly let off the most loudest orgasm imaginable but you kept it together by biting your tongue. it was a cute squeal, and as your legs part you made such a mess.

again…

it was probably the umpteenth time.

while you ride out your release, he’s slowing down his strokes and stares at the excess cum filling up your entrance. toji licks his lips, dragging a thumb to plug it all back in once he pulls out. he didn’t like putting things to waste. you whimper, feeling so taken aback from how stuffed full you were.

it was an awkward silence, you felt a sharp scare in your stomach once you thought your father heard everything — but thankfully so, he plopped right back down on the couch. toji lets you take a moment to calm down, and then he brings a wet kiss towards your lips. you were so sensitive, trembling within his hold—you didn’t want him to leave just now.

“atta girl,” he purrs, that same sly smile pressing against his lips as he brings a thumb towards your lip. his gaze was so hypnotizing. such pools of green eyes looked like it had a story to tell, and perhaps you wanted to know just who toji fushiguro really was.

maybe that story is ready for another day though.

thankfully you didn’t get caught.

or did you—you had to leave out the bathroom first, then toji after about a lengthy minute time difference so it wouldn’t be remotely suspicious. once the both of you were out, after about an hour of you all crammed up and watching the boring never ending basketball game, your dad ends up going to the bathroom.

while he was occupied, you leaned against toji and he wraps an arm around you. he could tell you wanted more—but his gaze was stern, telling you with his eyes to basically be a good girl and be patient.

a few seconds pass before you father bellows out a pitched, “erm. toji? is this shampoo—? what’s this white stuff over the sink? doesn’t look like shampoo.”

the both of you share the same frozen expression, impish smiles fading before you nudge toji to speak after long seconds passes.

“huh? oh, that’s uh mayonnaise. i forgot to clean up after myself.”

“aren’t you allergic to mayonnaise?”

you mentally facepalm, watching toji break into a sheepish sweat before he gruffs out a low, “i guess not that brand of mayonnaise.”

“right. riiiight,” your father mutters, and you heard sudden shifting. it was abrupt, and you felt something fall — probably a brush from the familiar after sound, you then hear your dad add a follow up question. “wait a minute,” and he glances down near the floor. “are these panties?”

[dannyriccsystem]

UP ALL NIGHT THINKIN’ OF YOU!

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

SUMMARY: Boyfriends reacting to you being unable to sleep :)

WORD COUNT: 3.1K

WARNINGS: Fluff! That’s it

FEATURING: MV1, DR3, LN4, KA12, CL16, AA23, LH44, CS55, GR63, OP81, OB87

NOTE: Hi guys!! Just a few more days and I am free from online school yay :) Updates will quicken soon. Sorry ☺️

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

You could hear Max quietly playing out on the sim as you tossed and turned in bed. This is how it was almost every night, and it never bothered you. Which is why you knew something was off about tonight. Many of times you had fallen asleep to the occasional sound of cursing, and the distant sound of an engine. It became relaxing after awhile.

But tonight you just couldn’t seem to sleep. No matter how hard you tried. You rolled over onto your side, staring out at the taunting moon that seemed to laugh in your face. You grumbled, flipping over to bury your head in the pillow. This was a cruel joke— You had things to do tomorrow!

You finally heard the house go silent, and a few moments later your bedroom door creaked open. You turned your head and Max, who suddenly realized he didn’t need to be quiet anymore, straightened up like he had been caught red handed. He looked at the digital clock on your side of the bed, the bright neon red numbers teasingly showing off.

“What are you doing awake?” He asked as he climbed into bed beside you, kissing your forehead tenderly. “It’s nearly two— Did I keep you up?” He pulled at a blanket, letting himself settle in beside you. You wasted no time shuffling over, resting your head on his chest. Max combed his fingers over your scalp, his eyelids droopy. So unfair.

“No,” You replied softly. You shut your eyes, breathing in his scent. He smelt faintly like RedBull, which… Admittedly was becoming a comfort for you, embarrassing as that is. “I just can’t seem to sleep.” As you relaxed against him, you felt yourself start to feel lighter. Your brows relaxed, and your arms went limp.

“Falling asleep already?” He teased, shutting his eyes with you. You nodded weakly, and Max laughed. “Looks like you just needed some love…”

—

DANIEL RICCIARDO - DR3

Daniel was sleeping on the couch.

You guys had a petty little argument, and he decided to sleep on the couch just to let things pass on their own. Plus, he had to get up early, so it seemed fair anyway. The problem? You couldn’t sleep without him. This happened every-time he went away, which is why— and this is bad to admit— you were somewhat glad he retired so you wouldn’t have anymore sleepless nights.

So, with your pride long forgotten, you grabbed a small blanket and carefully scurried out into the living room. You could see Danny, fast asleep on the couch, lit up by the tv screen, which was on mute as it played some old-fashioned game show. Must have come on after whatever he was initially watching.

You carefully sat yourself on the edge, staring at his soft face. So peaceful compared to the anger he had expressed early. You felt ridiculous now— such a petty argument. Danny stirred, and you flinched when his eyes slowly opened. He gazed at you groggily, his lips forming a sleepy pout.

“What are you doing?” He whispered quietly, one hand on your waist. You couldn’t get a word out before he pulled you down, holding you close to his chest. “Couldn’t sleep, pretty?”

“No…” You buried your face in his bare chest, your arms encircling his waist. Danny yawned before nuzzling a cheek against your scalp. “I’m sorry for earlier, Danny. I just can’t sleep without you.”

His lips lazily kissed your scalp, and you giggled when he unintentionally kissed you right on the eyelid. “Sorry,” He murmured, chuckling with you. “We can talk about it,” Another yawn. “In the morning.”

And with that, you both fell asleep right there on the sofa, much more comfortable together.

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

Tonight was yet another sleepless night. There wasn’t any particular reason for it, either. It just happened to be that every now and then there were times when you simply couldn’t bring yourself to drift off into dreamland. For now you slowly clambered out of your comforting mattress, wandering your way into the kitchen.

Lando continued snoring peacefully when you pried out of his arms. You replaced your own body with a large pillow, which he seemed to cozy up to just fine. You kept mental note of that just in case you needed blackmail in the future.

You opened the fridge, the dim light illuminating the kitchen. You rubbed your groggy eyes, grabbing a cup from one of the nearby cabinets to fill with cold water. You grumbled at the annoyingly loud noise of ice clinking against the class. You held your breath, listening for any movement. When you heard nothing, you decided you were in the clear and continued to fill it with water.

Except, a moment later you shrieked, nearly dropping your cup, when you felt arms wrap around your waist. You relaxed when you heard a soft laugh from Lando, who squeezed you close. You heaved a sigh, shaking your head and setting the glass down on the counter. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” He murmured. “Why’d you get up?”

“Can’t sleep…”

“Wanna watch a movie and make out?” He teased, kissing your jawline. You giggled, lightly pushing him away.

“Yeah, sure. But we all know you’re gonna fall asleep immediately.”

“Alright, fine. We can save the kissing for later.”

—

KIMI ANTONELLI - KA12

Kimi was out racing again. All while you were stuck at home, unable to sleep. It was about 3am by now and you were only becoming more and more frustrated as time went on. You finally gave up when you rolled over to grab your phone, selecting the facetime option on your boyfriend’s contact.

He answered within two rings, his delighted face lighting up your screen. You squinted, turning the brightness down immediately. “Y/N, why are you awake? Isn’t it like 5am over there?” You giggle and shake your head. You’re barely visible to him, buried in a room of darkness with your face pressed against pillows and blankets.

“No…” You look at the clock on your phone and frown. “It’s 3am.” He audibly gasped, a hand on his heart. “I know, I know. I just can’t sleep…”

“Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?” Kimi smiled wide, finding himself so funny. You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of sleep start to drift over you.

“Tell me about your day,” You decided that would be good enough.

He lit up, and began to ramble. With every word, you fell deeper and deeper into slumber. Kimi realized when you eventually dropped the phone, and he could distantly hear snoring on the other end. He laughed, deciding to hang up and let you get your well deserved rest.

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

You had been unable to sleep all night, and it was incredibly frustrating. It was about 1am when you felt Charles get up beside you, trudging his way out of the bedroom with heavy steps. You watched carefully, and then relaxed against the mattress. He was probably going to the bathroom or getting water— That’s what you told yourself to believe. But about five minutes later you could hear the soft melody of the piano, and you perked up.

After another moment or two, you slowly climbed out of bed and made your way to the living room where a large grand piano sat. He had his back to you, so you watched your boyfriend flinch when you sat yourself beside him. He smiled softly, his eyes heavy with sleep. “Did I wake you?” He asked, his heavy accent carrying his voice into the moonlit night.

You shook your head, resting it against his shoulder. “No, I just haven’t been able to sleep.” You closed your eyes, and Charles regarded you with a smile for a few more seconds. “Will you keep playing?”

The music was soothing. His fingers danced diligently across the keys, the soft tune lifting off into your ears, slowly filling the night air with a beautiful sound. You hummed along under your breath until eventually your voice faded off altogether. Charles felt his smile widen when your body slumped against his.

He continued playing until he was certain you were fast asleep. He then carefully scooped you up, carrying you back to bed in your newfound dream-like state. He kept a mental note for the future that the piano helped you sleep.

—

ALEX ALBON - AA23

Alex was used to your sleepless nights. He liked to stay awake with you so that you wouldn’t feel alone in such dire times— Like tonight, he had kept you cuddled up to him for the entirety. He was waiting to hear your soft snores, but unlike most nights, you seemed eternally restless.

“Still can’t sleep?” He whispered, sighing when you shook your head. Alex seemed to pause to think for a moment, and then eventually suggested, “Do you want to go for a drive?”

This idea was new. You guys had never tried such a thing before, and it seemed like a pretty straightforward plan. You thought on it for a moment, and then eventually responded by climbing out of bed to grab a sweatshirt, and slip your shoes on.

The two of you, still clad in pajama sets and fuzzy hoodies, hopped into Alex’s car. You reclined your seat back pretty far, staring through the sunroof at the starry night sky as he drove along the highway. It was practically empty with a few lights from passing cars— the city was still lit up, a few bustling crowds enjoying their final moments out together.

The radio was playing very quietly. The same songs you had been hearing again and again for the past month now were somewhat comforting in your state of uncertainty. Your eyes shut slowly, and the humming engine along with a slow tune on the radio worked in unison to rock you back to sleep. You hummed, trying to yawn to keep yourself awake, but it ultimately failed.

Alex took a little peek at you, chuckling when he realized you were asleep. He pulled into some random parking lot to turn around, driving the two of you back home. Your boyfriends carried you inside so you could both sleep peacefully in each other’s hold, safe from the qualms of a late night.

—

LEWIS HAMILTON - LH44

Lewis was the master of helping you sleep. He had all the tricks up his sleeve from nightly routines to making you drink warm milk until you were full. The guy was a genius in body health, and it showed. Needless to say, the two of you were well aware of your relationship with sleep.

Tonight he had to stay up to finish up an advertisement graphic for his business. He was on a zoom call with a few people, quietly discussing in the safety of the dining room, far away from any sleeping ears. However, after giving up on sleep, you sat in the living room unnoticed, listening in on the boring conversations.

Eventually you stood up to poke your head in. Lewis froze before he smiled at you, beckoning for you to come closer. He switched his camera off, making up some excuse about the laptop being old and the camera needing a replacement, despite the fact it had never experienced issues in the past. You shuffled yourself into his lap, resting your face in his neck. He smelt heavenly, like pine mixed with a bit of musk. A pleasant musk.

He held you around the waist, rubbing your back with a few kisses to your neck. You giggled at the ticklish sensation, squirming around on his lap. Lewis seemed delighted with your joyful response and continued, until it was time for him to speak again. You pressed your ear to his chest to hear the rumble of his voice in a low whisper. You eventually fell asleep there, satisfied with your care.

He felt bad for disturbing you, so despite how uncomfortable the chair was, Lewis allowed you to stay there the entire night.

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

“Y/N?” A groggy voice called out from beside you. You flinched, giving your boyfriend a sheepish expression. He raised a brow, leaning over to pull the cord on the lamp, lighting up the room. Carlos had a head of messy bed-hair, and his eyes were droopy from sleep. The man propped himself up on one elbow, running a hand through his soft locks. “Why are you awake?”

It appeared as if you had woken him up from his slumber by restlessly tossing and turning. You cleared your throat, shrugging your shoulders lighting as you sat up. He glanced up at you, lips drawn into a gentle frown that made your heart ache. Even over trivial matters as such, Carlos was always looking out for you.

“I just can’t sleep,” You finally responded with a softspoken tone. Carlos shifted up, his back pressed against the headboard. He gestured to his lap, which you carefully lowered your head to. He traced soft circles along your shoulder and the hairline on the side of your face, making you giggle at the ticklish sensation. “Tell me about your day,” You insisted.

He hummed in thought. Not a lot happened, but he’s scrape the bottom of the barrel for anything interesting. “I saw a cute old couple at the store.” When he finally started to speak, you relaxed. You shut your eyes, lips twisting into a smile. “Really old, but still healthy and in shape. He held the door for her, grabbed things off the top shelf. Chivalry isn’t dead.” He looked down at you, laughing under his breath when he saw you fast asleep. It didn’t take much, apparently. He twirled a section of your baby hairs right beside your ear, a fond expression in his eyes. “I hope that can be us, mi cariño.”

—

GEORGE RUSSELL - GR63

This was day four of your sleepless nights. George had quietly been taking note of your uncharacteristic behavior, and turned to the internet for the answers to this problem. He spent a good amount of time researching ways to help sleep at night, paying special attention to some of the traits you had been displaying yourself. So tonight, he was ready to try out some solutions.

You were surprised when he insisted you both put your phones down at around 7:30 PM. You didn’t mind obliging, despite the fact he lacked a proper explanation. Instead, you played a game of UNO at your dining room table. A game that lasted well past your scheduled bedtime— And by well I mean thirty minutes, which was a lot for a timely guy such as George.

Despite the fact that your game went on for longer than expected, George hopped into a warm shower with you. The two of you enjoyed a relaxing atmosphere, intimately washing each other’s hair and basking in the hot water before finally stepping out to dry off and dress in a fresh set of pajamas he bought for you. It was here that you were starting to catch on to his antics— And you were appreciative.

He lit your favorite candle, setting it on your nightstand as he turned the lights off. The sound of quiet rain played from a sound machine, creating an environment you found comfortable. You curled up next to him, and you immediately felt your eyelids grow heavy. George grinned, softly rubbing your back as you listened to his steady heartbeat.

“Thank you,” You murmured knowingly before drifting off. Nice and early, no restless turning needed. He’d be getting the best boyfriend award.

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

To say Oscar was annoyed wouldn’t be true. He rarely got annoyed with you, and when he did he always talked it out. However, there was some frustration with the current situation. You were having trouble sleeping, and it was in turn keeping him up too. However, he felt more frustrated for you than towards you.

“Still can’t sleep?” He grumbled groggily. You froze, completely unaware that he was even awake to begin with. You nodded sheepishly, and Oscar sighed before sitting up. “Roll onto your stomach.”

“Huh?” You raised a brow at him, and then your cheeks flushed with warmth. “Oscar, I don’t-”

“No! Not that,” He assured quickly. “I was gonna massage your back.” He frowned, and you couldn’t help but giggle before rolling over onto your stomach. Your boyfriend straddled your back, his hands kneading your shoulders first. You grunted, relaxing your head against the pillow as he worked out a knot.

“Where’d you learn to give massages?” He worked his hands down, feeling around for tension in your muscles and then carefully pushing it away. He seemed to know what he was doing- Every move calculated and precise.

“I looked it up on google about ten minutes ago.” You opened one eye and glanced back at him, rolling your eyes at the sight of his cheeky little smile. “I’m joking… Sort of.”

“Well,” You huffed with satisfaction. “It feels good.”

“Good.”

He continued, occasionally helping you pop your back. By the end of it, you felt far more relaxed. With Oscar’s help, you eventually were able to fall asleep, happily curled up next to him with a grin to match. He kissed your nose affectionately, whispering a soft ‘Goodnight.’

—

OLIVER BEARMAN - OB87

“What is this nonsense you’re reading, that doesn’t even make any sense-”

“Ollie just read the book,” You whined. He offered to help with your lack of sleep problem, especially since he didn’t have anywhere to be in the morning anyway. Unfortunately, you did. The solution was for him to read your favorite book��� It worked for children with bedtime stories, so maybe it would work for you. However, he seemed to be in a rather chatty mood.

“Okay… But just saying, it’s kinda…” You gave him a pointed look, and he cleared his throat quickly to continue reading. You stared off through the window, your cheek pressed to his chest whilst you focused on the words from his lips. This book was a comfort to you; you had read it many times, and now you could probably recite every line, even as Ollie was occasionally misreading a few words to you.

You shifted around to get more comfortable, tugging at your light blanket as the night breeze threatened to capsize you. When the morning came, you’d start to feel the intense heat, but at the moment your hair was standing on edge, skin coated in goosebumps. Ollie squeezed you tighter with his free arm— the other was holding the book in question.

Ollie peered down at you when a shocking scene came up, his jaw dropped. He was just double checking he heard that right, only to find the heart warming sight of you sleeping soundly against him. He gently shut the book and shimmied down to rest beside you, burying his face in the warmth of your neck. So much for that.

[purplereina11]

You spent your childhood drifting through foster homes, with nothing but a worn photo of two little girls and a note on the back: Your sisters, Alexia and Alba. You never imagined that at 25, after starting a new job, you'd meet them, through your boss who was your sister's girlfriend.

Wordcount: 15.8k

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You’re two months in, and you’re still not sure how Olga Rios manages to be everywhere at once.

She’s answering emails while editing a reel. She’s sketching out a content calendar with one hand and handing you a matcha latte with the other because she remembers that you don’t do coffee, and that still surprises you a little.

Her loft-office smells like lavender and old books, even though the work is anything but quiet. There’s a gentle hum of creativity in the air half Spotify playlists, half the occasional bark from her dog, Nala, who has her own Instagram account with better engagement than most influencers you know.

You sit across from her at a wide wooden table covered in sticky notes, open laptops, two ring lights, and exactly one succulent that’s definitely fake but somehow not thriving. She’s got that kind of energy, Olga. She makes things grow, unless you're fake.

“You’re getting faster,” she says without looking up from her screen. Her voice is warm, honeyed, soft in the way that makes you want to lean closer, like she’s letting you in on something. “The captions today? I liked them. You’re starting to sound less like a brand, and more like a human. That’s good.”

You try not to grin too much, but it’s hard not to. Praise from Olga is never handed out like candy it’s measured, genuine, and usually comes with a Post-it note suggestion five minutes later, but when she says something’s good, she means it.

You glance at your own screen three drafts open, analytics humming in a separate tab. You're starting to notice patterns, pick up her shorthand, even anticipate when she’s about to say, “We can do better.” You’re getting the rhythm now. It feels like learning a dance. Awkward at first, but now... now you’re finding your footing.

“Do you ever sleep?” you ask, half-joking, because she’s been up since six and somehow still looks like she floated here on a sunbeam.

She laughs, a soft, melodic thing that fills the loft. “Only when a campaign’s not launching. So… not often. But I love this. I love seeing things come to life.” She sips her tea, eyes crinkling at the corners. “And I think you’re going to be really good at this.” Something about the way she says it makes your heart lift. A couple of month in, and you’re already certain, this isn’t just an internship. This is the beginning of something.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

It’s a quiet afternoon, the kind that settles like soft dust. The usual buzz of Olga’s workspace is muted no clients calling, no urgent edits, just the rhythmic clack of keys and the occasional sigh from Nala, curled up under the table like she owns the place.

You’re working side by side on a campaign for a small bookstore that’s trying to grow its online presence. Olga is fine-tuning the carousel post for tomorrow, and you’re adjusting the tone of the captions trying to thread that fine line between charming and trying-too-hard. It’s nice. Peaceful, even.

Olga breaks the silence without looking away from her screen. “Do you have anyone in your family who loves books like this?”

You pause. The cursor blinks in front of you. The question is soft, casual, not meant to dig but it hits something that feels like hollow wood. “I…” You swallow. “I don’t know.”

Olga looks up immediately.

You don’t say anything else at first. The words stall. It’s not that you haven’t talked about it before it’s just that people usually don’t ask, not really.

She tilts her head slightly, brows gently furrowed. Her voice lowers. “Hey. You okay?”

You nod automatically, out of habit. But then, without quite meaning to, you add, “I didn’t grow up with a family. I was left at a children’s home when I was a baby.”

The air in the room shifts not heavier, exactly, just… slower. Softer.

Olga doesn’t gasp, or overreact, or flood you with sympathy that feels too bright and uncomfortable. She just sets her phone down and gives you her full attention.

“I’m sorry,” she says. Quiet. Real.

You shrug, though it feels awkward. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s just… how it was. I don't really think about it much now. I just… didn’t have anyone to ask questions like that about.”

Olga nods slowly, like she’s letting your words settle inside her before responding. Then, gently “Well, just so you know any time you want to say, ‘My 'mentor' once told me this,’ you can go ahead and start with me.”

You let out a soft laugh, surprised.

She smiles, warm and a little wistful. “I know it’s not the same. But you’re not on your own here, okay? Not while you’re working with me.”

For a moment, you’re not thinking about metrics or content calendars or trending audios. You’re just sitting across from someone who sees you not just as an assistant or intern, but as a person.

The knock on the door is light but confident. You barely register it at first lost in the middle of scheduling posts for a new client who sells handmade ceramic earrings until Olga perks up with that unmistakable sparkle in her eyes.

She glances at the clock, then at you. “That’ll be Alexia.”

You blink. “Alexia…?”

Before she can answer, the door swings open and there she is.

Alexia Putellas. That Alexia Putellas.

Even if you don’t follow football religiously, her face is familiar. The captain, the icon, the Ballon d'Or winner. The kind of person whose highlight reels show up on your feed whether you asked for them or not. And now she’s in Olga’s office, wearing a simple hoodie, black joggers, and the kind of calm confidence that doesn't need to shout to be heard.

She smiles when she sees Olga, and everything about Olga posture, eyes, even the way she exhales shifts in the softest way. Like a house when someone finally comes home.

Olga stands, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Ale, this is the one I’ve been telling you about.”

You freeze. Alexia’s gaze lands on you, kind and curious. “So you’re the apprentice,” she says, her accent smooth but clear, the kind that could make any sentence feel like a secret. “Olga’s been bragging.”

You blink again. “She—she has?”

Olga shrugs like it’s nothing. “Only a little. Maybe a lot.”

Alexia steps forward and offers her hand. “It’s really nice to meet you. I’ve heard you’re doing great work.”

You shake her hand her grip is strong, grounded and try not to look like you’re meeting a living legend, because you are. But she’s also incredibly down-to-earth, her presence somehow both intimidating and totally easy to be around.

Olga comes around the desk and gently bumps Alexia’s shoulder with hers. “She only comes here to raid my snack drawer and steal my playlists,” she says, teasing.

Alexia grins. “Also because I love you.”

There’s a beat of warmth between them that you feel rather than see, like watching sunlight fall through a window. “Do you want me to go?” you ask, half-joking.

Olga laughs. “No way. Ale's just here to say hi before training. You’re family now. Might as well meet the boss.”

Alexia raises an eyebrow. “I’m the boss?”

Olga winks. “In football, yes. In here, you just eat all my almonds.”

You watch them and feel something shift inside you again like the quiet redefinition of what ‘family’ might look like. Not always blood. Sometimes it's someone who believes in you. Someone who shares their space with you. Someone who brings light with them, just by walking through the door.

You glance at your screen, then back at the two of them.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You invite Olga over to work because it feels normal now. Familiar. Safe, even.

It’s late almost midnight. You’ve both been bouncing between drafts for a new campaign and clips from a client shoot. Nala is curled up on your bed, half-snoring, and there’s the comfort of shared silence between you, broken only by the occasional sound of keys or a soft “Wait, this transition’s better” from Olga.

She gets up to stretch, as she often does when she’s been sitting too long. Paces a little. You barely notice her eyes scanning your bookshelf until you hear her voice. Low. Surprised. “…Wait. What?”

You glance over. She’s holding the small, slightly curled photo that’s been with you for as long as you can remember. You’ve had it since before you could read. Two little girls. One smiling, the other not so much.

You never knew their names. Never knew why the photo was with your things. It was just… always there. Something old, something yours, but now Olga is frozen, staring at it. “Why do you have this?” she asks, but the softness in her voice is already cracking.

You sit up straighter. “What do you mean?”

She turns the frame toward you, her eyes sharp now. “This is Alexia. And her sister Alba. This photo’s from when they were kids. I’ve never seen this before, how do you have this?.”

Your mouth opens slowly. “What?”

She steps closer. “Don’t play dumb.”

You shake your head, heart beginning to pound. “I’m not. I didn’t know who they were. I’ve had that photo since I was dropped off at the home. It was in a box with my baby things, I never even knew there names.”

Olga stares at you like she doesn’t believe you.

“I swear,” you say, voice trembling now. “I never knew. I didn’t know.”

But she isn’t hearing you. Not fully. Her jaw clenches. “So you mean to tell me this is just some random coincidence? You had a photo of my girlfriend and her sister, and you never knew?”

“I didn’t know!” you say louder now, trying to push through the panic rising in your chest. “Olga, I didn’t. They were just two girls in a picture I’ve had it since I was a baby! One of my foster parents told me they were my sisters once but I could never see the resemblance but I, I don't know I just could never throw it away, it was left with me for a reason, I couldn't-”

“You expect me to believe that?” she snaps interrupting, eyes suddenly fierce. “You knew who Alexia was. Everyone does. You had the photo, you applied for this job, and you never once thought to say a word.”

Your breath catches. “I didn’t even connect them to say something. Please why would I lie to you?”

But she’s shaking her head, stepping back, betrayal flashing in her eyes. “I trusted you. I let you into my space. My life. And now I find this?”

She turns, grabs the frame, and holds it tightly like she’s afraid it might disappear. You stand, reaching toward her helplessly. “Please, Olga. I’m not using you. I didn’t know. I swear to you.”

But her voice cuts through the air like glass. “Don’t say another word.”

She storms toward the door. “Olga—please!”

Her hand is on the knob already. “Do not tell anyone about this. Not Alexia. Not anyone. I mean it.” And just like that, she’s gone door slamming behind her, the photo still clutched in her hand.

You stand frozen in your tiny apartment, the silence left in her wake louder than anything you've ever heard.

You don’t remember sitting down. Just that suddenly you’re on the floor, legs folded awkwardly beneath you, and the room feels too still.

The candle you lit earlier is still flickering on the desk, scenting the air with warm vanilla, like any normal night, but everything has changed.

The photo’s gone. She took it.

You wrap your arms around yourself, unsure if you’re cold or just empty. Your hands are shaking. Your chest feels tight, like someone filled it with wet sand. You can’t stop replaying the last ten minutes Olga’s face, the anger, the betrayal in her voice. The way she looked at you like you were a stranger. Worse—like a lie.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper, to no one. Your own voice sounds small, cracked open. “I didn’t know.” But the silence doesn’t answer. It just presses in around you.

You don’t know how that photo ended up with your baby things. You never questioned it. It was just… part of the mystery of you. You’d imagined a hundred stories for it as a kid. A fantasy life you were left out of. Two unknown little girls you'd prop up when you had tea parties alone, two faces you talked to when no one else would listen but it never felt real. Not like this.

You wipe at your face and realise you’ve been crying without noticing, not loudly, just slow, quiet tears that slip out like steam from a cracked mug.

You try to work. To check a calendar, finish a caption, edit a reel, but everything blurs. Your fingers hover over the keys, useless. More tears come. Not steady, but suddenly rising without warning like waves. You press your hand to your mouth, like that might stop the sob that’s already too far out to swallow back.

You don’t know what hurts more: the fear that she won’t believe you or the feeling that she already doesn’t, and underneath that, a newer, stranger thought creeps in:

What if the photo really does mean something? What if you're connected to them in some way you never imagined?

You don’t know how to hold that. You don’t even know if you want to.

The night stretches long and quiet. You cry again, not always with sound. Sometimes just with breath that shakes too hard, or thoughts that spiral too fast. You think about messaging Olga. You almost do, but what would you say that you haven’t already begged her to believe?

Eventually, curled in bed, your chest aching and eyes sore, the exhaustion takes over.

You fall asleep and as your breathing evens out in the dark, the photo lives somewhere else now, in her hands.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You shouldn’t go in to work, you know that.

You didn’t sleep more than a couple of hours, and when you looked in the mirror this morning, your reflection startled you, pale, red-eyed, shadows under your eyes like bruises that haven’t fully bloomed. You look like someone who’s been crying on and off for eight hours, because you have, but not going in make it look like you had something to hide, and you loved your job.

So you pull yourself together barely. Tie your hair back. Splash water on your face. Avoid your own eyes as you grab your bag and head out the door.

The walk to Olga’s office feels longer than usual. Everything’s sharp, the sound of your own footsteps, the brightness of the morning, the hum of people who don’t know your world just came apart. You keep your head down.

When you get there, the door is already unlocked, she was here already, you step inside slowly. Olga’s at her desk. Laptop open, headphones around her neck, Nala curled up on the rug at her feet. She looks up instinctively when you enter.

For a moment, nothing moves, then her eyes scan your face and she sees it. The red around your eyes. The way your shoulders hang. The hollow tiredness you didn’t have to fake.

Her mouth parts slightly, like she might say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she looks back down at her screen.

You nod stiffly, not that she’s looking, and cross the room to your usual seat. Every movement feels brittle. Too careful. You place your laptop on the table as quietly as you can, like noise might crack what’s left between you.

You don’t speak. Neither does she.

The silence is different today. Not the peaceful kind. It’s tight. Pressurised. You can feel her not looking at you, can feel her tension radiating from behind her screen like heat.

Your stomach twists. You open your laptop. Try to focus on the client folder. Everything blurs.

You can’t stop thinking about the way she stormed out. The photo in her hand. The fear in her eyes. The disbelief in her voice.

And now, she’s right there but she may as well be a hundred miles away. You steal a glance at her. She’s typing something. Her jaw is tight. Her ponytail is a little messy, like she didn’t sleep well either.

You want to say something. Apologise again. Explain again. Beg if you have to, but the air around her says not to.

So you sit in the quiet. Trying to work. Trying not to cry. Trying not to lose the one place that ever felt like it might become home.

You’re halfway through pretending to work when the door clicks open behind you. Your heart stops, you know that sound now. You know who it is before she says a word.

“Hola,” Alexia calls out gently, cheerful but quiet, as if she’s stepping into a place where someone might be asleep or upset.

You stay frozen for a half second too long, then shift your body slightly in your chair. Not enough to seem rude, but just enough to make your back the most visible part of you.

Don’t make eye contact. Don’t breathe too loudly. Don’t be more than necessary.

Olga looks up, and the change in her voice is immediate.

“Ale…”

Alexia steps in fully now, holding a brown paper bag and a takeaway cup tray. “You were tossing all night,” she says softly, “so I figured you could use some sugar and espresso.” She walks over, places the treats beside Olga with care. “I got that oat milk one you like. And a croissant, because I know you never remember to eat when you’re stressed.”

Her voice is so easy. So full of quiet affection. It makes your throat tighten. Olga stares at the bag for a moment before letting out a breath you didn’t know she was holding. She smiles, faint but real, and says, “Thanks.”

Alexia leans down and kisses her cheek. It’s a small, domestic gesture. One that would’ve felt sweet yesterday.

Now it’s a stone in your stomach.

They talk for a minute, low and warm too low for you to hear clearly. It sounds like a small exchange about sleep, and schedules, and if Olga’s eaten yet. You keep your eyes fixed on your screen, even though the words are swimming and nothing’s going in.

Then Alexia shifts, you feel her glance in your direction. “Hey,” she says kindly, and you can hear the smile in her voice. “Nice to see you again.”

You muster every scrap of civility you can find and turn your head slightly, just enough to meet her eyes for a breath of a second.

You smile a tiny, exhausted curve of your mouth and lift your hand in a half-wave.

She nods back, just as polite. Just as unaware. “Bueno,” she says, brushing her hand against Olga’s arm. “I’ll leave you both to it.”

Olga doesn’t look at you as Alexia turns to go. She just murmurs a soft, “Thank you,”

"How do you take your coffee?" Alexia stops at your desk, she swallow as you look up at her, Olga watching intently.

"I um. I don't drink coffee"

"How come? Don't like it?"

"No.. I um, I can't have caffeine at all.. I um, its complicated but I have a heart condition so I-"

"My papa was the same," she nodded and your heart pulled, Olga must of sensed it and she spoke

"Amor, Y/N and I are very busy"

Alexia held her hands up, bid you both a goodbye, Olga eyed you before she watches her leave.

The door clicks shut. You exhale through your nose, slow and quiet.

Olga says nothing. She unwraps the croissant with deliberate care, and takes a small bite, her eyes still on the table, on her work, on anywhere but you and the silence that follows is full of everything neither of you are ready to say.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Olga doesn’t go straight home after work, she drives in silence. No music. No podcast. Just the low hum of the road beneath her tires and the sound of her own pulse in her ears.

She should’ve gone home, she doesn’t go to the flat she shares with Alexia, or to a café to decompress, or even to the beach where she sometimes walks when her mind needs quiet.

She drives, to a quiet cul-de-sac on the outskirts of Mollet, where the streetlights buzz low and orange, and the houses are tucked behind tired gardens and climbing vines. She parks without turning off the engine at first. Just sits there, heart tapping a steady, uneven rhythm behind her ribs.

Eli’s car is in the driveway. She’s home. Alone. Just like Olga knew she would be. Olga takes the photo from the glove compartment. It’s still in its cracked, worn frame. She hasn’t looked at it since that night in the apartment. She doesn’t need to. She remembers it perfectly.

She breathes in. Breathes out. Kills the engine.

Then knocks on the door, it opens almost immediately, Eli answers the door in slippers and a cardigan.

“Olga?” Eli’s face brightens with warm surprise. “Qué haces aquí, cariño? Alexia isn’t with you?”

“No,” Olga says quietly. “She’s at home.”

Eli frowns a little. “Is everything alright?”

“I just…” Olga hesitates, standing just beyond the threshold. Then says, “Can I come in?”

Eli steps aside, instantly serious. “Of course, hija. You’re always welcome.”

The house smells the same as always lavender, old wood, something faintly sweet in the kitchen. A candle flickers on the sideboard. Family photos line the shelves,  birthdays, holidays, the girls growing older in frames that haven’t moved in years.

They sit in the living room. Olga perches on the edge of the couch, she doesn’t take off her coat, her fingers are tight around something in her bag. Eli watches her closely now, concern pinching the corners of her mouth.

“I have to ask you something,” Olga says, voice steady but low. “And if it’s nothing then we never have to talk about it again. I’ll forget it. We’ll both forget it.”

Eli nods, cautious. “Okay…” Eli’s brow furrows. “What is it?”

Olga doesn’t speak. She just reaches into her bag and pulls out the frame. Holds it gently in both hands and turns it around. Eli’s breath stops halfway through her chest. The change in her is instant so small and devastating you’d miss it if you weren’t looking for it. Her hands freeze on her knees. Her face goes white, then pale-blue cold, like all the warmth was drained out in an instant.

Her lips part, but no sound comes. The silence says everything. Olga watches her. Doesn’t blink. Eli’s hand, which had been loosely curled around her teacup, goes limp. Her entire face drains of colour not just pale, but hollow, like a piece of her just dropped through the floor.

Olga doesn’t move. She watches the shift. The silence that thickens around it.

“Where.. Where did you get this?”

Olga doesn’t answer, she just says, “You know who this has come from don’t you”

“I’ve not seen that in twenty five years,” Her voice catches, “After.. After” Olga nods once, jaw tight. Her throat burns with questions, but she asks none of them and still, Eli presses gently, almost begging, “Olga. Please. Where did this come from?”

“It’s true isn’t it,” Olga whispers. “You have another daughter”

Eli closes her eyes. A beat. A breath and then, very softly, very brokenly, “Yes” Olga’s throat tightens. Eli’s voice is barely there. “We left that with her”

“I don’t understand how you could do it!” Eli sits frozen on the couch, hands clasped tightly in her lap. She looks older than she did twenty minutes ago. Like every word being spoken is peeling something back she’s kept buried too long. “You gave up your own daughter,” Olga spits, gesturing wildly to the photo still lying on the coffee table like it’s cursed. “And just carried on like she didn’t exist? How?”

“I didn’t carry on,” Eli says, voice low and shaking. “Don’t you dare think it didn’t break me.”

“Then why?” Olga demands. “Why didn’t you fight for her? Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Olga’s voice cracks, sharp with disbelief, her hands clenched at her sides. She’s standing now, breath short, pacing Eli’s living room like she’s trying to outrun what she just heard. She hadn’t planned to stay only to ask one question, but the answer shattered everything.

Eli is curled forward on the couch, her hands white-knuckled in her lap, her eyes wide and shining. “You don’t understand what it was like,” she says quietly, pleading. “She was born with a heart condition. We didn’t know what it was at first, she was so small always struggling to breathe. She couldn’t even cry properly with out her lips turning blue.”

Olga stares at her, hollowed out. “So you gave her away.”

“I thought she’d get help,” Eli whispers. “We couldn’t afford the surgeries. We didn’t have insurance or savings, I wasn’t working at the time. My parents wouldn’t help. We thought… we thought someone else could save her. I loved her enough to let her go.”

Olga’s breath catches, just for a second, because she knows Eli means that. And still, it’s not enough. “She grew up in multiple children’s home,” she says bitterly. “With no one.” Eli flinches like she’s been slapped. “You’re the one who taught Alexia how to be gentle,” Olga says, voice shaking. “You tell everyone family is everything. You cry at Christmas commercials, for God’s sake. And now I find out that there was another child and you just… gave her up?”

Eli’s eyes are glassy. Her face is pale. “You think that was easy for me?” she says, hoarse. “You think I didn’t wake up every night for years hearing her cry even though I hadn’t seen her since she was—”

“Don’t,” Olga snaps, tears brimming. “Don’t make yourself the victim in this. I think about her alone every night now,” Olga goes on, tears clinging to her lashes. “I see her sitting in that place, wondering why no one ever came back for her. Why her parents the people who are meant to love her unconditionally let her go.”

“Stop,” Eli whispers. “Please, stop.”

Olga stares at her, breathing hard, voice strangled. “And you never told Alexia. Or Alba.”

Eli looks down at the floor like it might save her. “They were so young they didn’t need to know, have that burden.”

“You gave up your baby,” Olga says, gesturing to the photo on the table between them. “You let her disappear into the system, and you never looked for her. Never even told your daughters they had a sister.”

“I didn’t let her disappear,” Eli says, voice shaking. “She was born sick. Her heart Olga, she needed something me and her father couldn’t give her! We did what we thought was best for her!”

Olga stops in her tracks, eyes wide with pain. “So you just gave her away and pretended she never existed?”

“She would’ve died if I’d kept her!” Eli cries. “We couldn’t afford treatment we thought a hospital might place her with someone who could help. It wasn’t abandonment, it was the only mercy I had left to give her.”

Olga’s voice rises. “And you’ve told no one. For twenty-five years. No one.”

Eli’s hands shake now. “Because I didn’t want this. This moment. This shame. This wreckage.”

“Well, it’s here now,” Olga whispers. “She grew up in a children’s home, Eli. Alone. She had no one, she doesn’t understand the meaning of family, I don’t even think she’s ever felt what it’s like to be loved. Do you understand that?”

Eli explodes raw, desperate. “Leave it alone!” The words come like a slap, louder than anything yet. “Just—shut up!” she screams. “You don’t understand what it cost me! You don’t get to stand there judging when you weren’t there!”

The front door slams open. “What the hell is going on?” Alba’s voice slices through the room like lightning. She’s standing in the doorway, flushed from running, alarmed and out of breath. “I could hear you both shouting from the street.” She looks from Eli, who is crumbling in her chair, to Olga, who’s barely holding herself upright. “What the hell is going on?”

Olga turns away, shoulders hunched, face blotched with tears. She’s trying to breathe, but she can’t steady herself. She just shakes her head, mutely.

Eli goes silent, too. Like she forgot anyone else existed. Her face folds in on itself caught red-handed by her own daughter. “Why were you yelling at her?” Alba asks, stepping in, confused and suddenly afraid. “What did she do?”

“She didn’t do anything,” Eli croaks out, broken.

“Then what—?” Alba’s voice wavers. “Why is everyone crying?” No one answers.

Olga breathes in sharply through her nose, sinks onto the armrest of the sofa, her shoulders shaking, barely holding in the sobs now.

Alba doesn’t understand what this is, what it means but something in her bones tells her exactly what to do. She pulls her phone from her pocket, thumb trembling as she finds her sister’s name. She steps back into the hallway and presses the call.

Alexia answers almost instantly. “Albs?”

Her voice is warm, calm, but Alba’s isn’t.

“Ale,” she says quickly, “you need to come to mamá’s. Now.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I—I don’t know, but Olga’s here, and she’s crying, and mamá’s… something’s wrong. I think it’s big mamá was screaming at her I heard her from the street”

There’s a pause. Then, “I’m on my way,” Alexia says, sharp and sure. Alba hangs up, heart pounding, and returns to the living room where the air feels too heavy to breathe. Olga is quiet now, face buried in her hands. Eli sits motionless and Alba stands between them, caught in the middle of a secret she doesn’t yet understand only knowing that whatever it is, her sister will make sense of it.

The knock is soft, but the tension in the room makes it sound like thunder. Alba leaps to open the door, her heart in her throat. Alexia steps inside, face creased with concern, eyes sharp, already scanning the room like something in her gut told her this wasn’t just a misunderstanding.

She’s still in joggers and a hoodie, her hair tied back loosely, eyes sharp and searching. She takes one look at her sister and then scans the room freezes when she sees her mother, crumpled on the sofa. Her gaze lands first on her mother, who’s slumped on the sofa, visibly shaken, hands clasped tightly in her lap like she’s bracing for something else to hit. Then her eyes flick to Olga standing stiff and silent by the window, her back half-turned, her coat still on.

“Olga?” Alexia says gently, walking toward her. Olga doesn't turn. Her arms are crossed tight, like she's holding herself together by sheer will.

“What happened?” Alexia asks again, slower now, as her eyes dart back to her mother. “Is someone hurt? What—?”

She steps closer, reaches out, instinctively placing her hand on Olga’s arm but Olga flinches. Not dramatically. Just enough and then she pulls away. Alexia’s breath catches. She stares at her, confused hurt.

“Olga…” No response.

Alexia’s eyes flick between them again her partner and her mother, both visibly wrecked.

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” she says, louder now, tension rising in her voice. “Mamá? Olga? Talk to me.” Still, no one speaks.

Olga finally moves. Slowly, she reaches for the door, her hand trembling just slightly. “I need some air,” she mutters, almost to herself.

Eli rises instinctively. “Olga please, wait—”

Olga stops, her hand still on the doorknob. She turns slowly and what’s on her face is something Alexia’s never seen before. Grief. Betrayal. Disgust. “I can’t even look at you right now,” Olga says, her voice hollow, strained. Her eyes fixed on Eli, who seems to shrink under the weight of it. “You are not the person I thought you were.”

Alexia’s breath hitches, heart pounding. She looks at her mother, sees the quiet devastation spreading across her face, and she’s suddenly terrified. “Wait—Olga, please—just… what happened?” Alexia pleads, reaching after her again, but the door opens and Olga is gone.

Silence crashes back in. Alexia stands frozen, her hand still in the air, her heart breaking without knowing why. She turns to her mother. “Mamá,” she says, voice trembling. “What did you do?”

Eli doesn’t answer, she sinks down slowly, like the weight of those words took her legs out from under her. She covers her mouth with her hands, eyes spilling over with silent tears.

And Alexia stuck between the two most important women in her life—feels the walls close in, a thousand questions pressing against her chest. Alba looks at her sister, whose hands are balled into fists at her sides. Alexia is staring at the door, stunned, shaken, she’s never seen Olga like that. Never seen her walk away and whatever happened here, whatever broke her, Alexia knows it isn’t just something they can fix. It’s something that changed everything.

The cool night air hits Olga’s face like a slap sharp and biting. She walks until the porch ends, then stops, clutching the railing with both hands, trying to breathe past the chaos inside her.

She hears the door creak open behind her, soft footsteps following.

“Olga,” Eli calls gently. “Please. Just come inside. Let’s talk, mi amor.” Olga doesn’t turn. Her knuckles are white on the railing. A long silence stretches between them.

Then quietly, without venom, only pain Olga speaks. “Please tell me… their father at least knew.”

Eli stands still behind her, silence falling heavy again. Then a nod.

“Yes,” Eli whispers. “He knew.”

Olga finally turns, slow and rigid, her eyes burning. “And he still let her go?”

Eli’s voice cracks. “He didn’t want to. God, Olga, he held her all night the day she was born. He cried like I’d never seen before, he just he knew we couldn’t give to her what she needed. We didn’t have the money, or the support. We thought it was the only way she had a chance. Giving her up broke him Olga, he was never the same after that day, his spirit, his health, everything”

Olga presses her lips together, shaking her head, tears gathering again. “They lost him when they were barely out of childhood, god Alba was a child” she says hoarsely. Eli nods, tears now running freely. Olga blinks through the tears. “So you gave away your baby and because of that, you think it eventually killed your husband.”

Eli swallows a sob, covering her mouth, Olga turns away again, shoulders rising and falling, behind her, Eli stands on the threshold exposed, crumbling and inside the house, through the windows, Alexia is still watching, not understanding everything, but beginning to feel how deep this fracture runs.

The living room is too quiet when they step back inside. Eli gently closes the door behind Olga, whose eyes are red and raw. She doesn’t move far from the entryway. Her arms are crossed tightly again, a self-made cage.

Alexia is still standing, tense, waiting. Alba sits curled up in the corner of the sofa, chewing the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit from childhood.

Eli breathes in deep like the confession she’s about to make might crush her lungs if she doesn’t hold herself steady. “Sit down,” she says softly, looking to both daughters.

Alexia hesitates. “Mamá, what is this?”

“Please,” Eli says. “Just… sit.” Reluctantly, Alexia lowers herself onto the arm of the sofa, her eyes locked on Olga on the way she trembles. She’s crying again, and that frightens her more than anything. Eli moves to stand in front of them, hands clasped like she’s in church, waiting to confess. “I never thought I’d have to say this out loud,” she begins, voice shaking. “I thought I had buried it deep enough that none of you would ever know.”

Alba shifts uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

Eli’s lips tremble, but she goes on. “You had a sister. A younger one, she was born 3 years after you Alba”

The silence detonates. Alba blinks. “What? You… you’re joking, right?” she asks, glancing at Alexia and then back to Eli. “Is this some weird joke or—?”

“No,” Eli says. “It’s not a joke.”

Alba’s face falls. “No. No, that can’t be true. I don’t remember—”

“You wouldn’t,” Eli cuts in gently. “You were just a toddler, Alba. We, your father and I, gave her up. She was born with a heart condition. We couldn’t afford the care she needed. We thought it was the only way she’d survive.”

Alba stares at her, blinking hard like the words won’t compute. “No,” she whispers again. “No. That’s not—you wouldn’t do that. You’re not like that.”

“I did,” Eli says, her voice cracking. “We made the only choice we thought we had.”

Alba suddenly covers her mouth, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. She makes a small, broken sound as if something inside her just split clean down the middle.

Alexia, meanwhile, is still too still, she stares at her mother, jaw tight, eyes sharp with disbelief. “You lied to us,” she says, flat and cold. “Our whole lives.”

Eli looks up, stricken. “Alexia—”

“You let us grow up thinking we were the only ones. Thinking that Dad died with no secrets. That we came from love. From honesty.”

“You did,” Eli pleads. “I loved you every day of your lives.”

Alexia stands suddenly, shaking her head. “But not her.”

“No,” Eli whispers, ashamed. “Not like I should have.”

Alba sobs now, curling into herself on the sofa, shaking. Olga breaks down again. She tries to wipe her face but can’t stop the tears. “I didn’t want this,” she says hoarsely. “I didn’t want to be the one who broke you. I’m so sorry.”

Alexia looks at her, confused, wounded. “You knew?”

Olga opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. “I found out by accident,” she finally manages. “I-I—God, Alexia, I didn’t want to know.”

Alexia’s eyes narrow slightly, not in cruelty but in disbelief. She looks like someone just pulled the rug from beneath her entire identity.

And still, Alba cries softly in the corner, whispering, “A little sister... we had a little sister…” And across from her, Olga thinks of you. Alone in your apartment. Crying into the quiet, not knowing that the truth is finally breaking wide open—and that it’s going to change everything.

The room feels heavy, thick with silence and unsaid things. Alba sits on the sofa, knees pulled close to her chest, eyes fixed on the floor. She doesn’t cry anymore just quiet. Unreachable, curled inward, eyes fixed on the floor, refusing comfort when Olga cautiously reaches out.

“No,” Alba murmurs, voice barely audible. “Not now.” Olga pulls back, defeated, sitting down quietly a few feet away.

Alexia, however, is a storm, pacing, fists clenched, voice rising, “How could you know and say nothing?” she snaps at Olga, eyes burning. “You found out and just kept it to yourself? Do you have any idea how long we lived in the dark? How much this changes everything?”

Olga meets her gaze, her own eyes shining with tears. “I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure. Until I spoke to Eli and confirmed it. Like you, I had a hard time believing it myself.”

Eli steps forward, voice pleading. “Alexia, please. Olga didn’t keep this from you to hurt you—”

Alexia was now directing her frustration at her mother, firing questions at Eli with a mix of desperation and anger.

“Why didn’t you tell us? How could you keep this from us for so long? Why didn’t you try harder? What about Dad, did he know everything? Did you ever try to find her again? What—what was her name?”

Eli swallows, unable to meet any of Alexia’s eyes. “I—I don’t know,” she admits finally. “We… we thought it was better to keep it quiet. We gave her a name but the home just called her ‘Baby Girl.’ It’s probably been changed”

Alexia stops pacing, stunned by the silence, the gaps in answers.

Eli has tears pooling again. Alexia looks at Olga, whose face is streaked with fresh tears. Then Alba remains silent, distant, lost somewhere inside herself. The room is fractured everyone aching, separated by secrets and grief, caught in a web of loss no one can untangle yet, and Alexia can’t see her family healing from this.

The room is heavy with silence. Alba hasn’t moved from her place on the sofa, arms wrapped tightly around herself. She’s staring into some unseen distance, tears dried on her cheeks, her expression blank.

Alexia still stands, breath shallow, torn between betrayal and sorrow.

Then, quietly, she moves.

She walks over and sits down beside Olga, not saying a word. The weight of her presence is everything and nothing at all. Her shoulder barely brushes Olga’s. The contact is light, but to Olga, it’s enough to keep her breathing.

“I need to see her,” Alexia says suddenly, softly. “I need to know she was real.”

Her voice cracks on the last word. Eli blinks, startled. “What?”

“A photo,” Alexia says, turning slowly to her mother. “Do you have one? Anything?”

Eli stares at her daughters one silent and broken, the other just barely holding herself together then nods. She disappears into the hallway. For a long while, the only sounds are Alba’s sniffles and the soft creak of the floorboards as Eli moves in the other room. Then she returns. In her arms is an old, battered shoebox edges torn, the lid soft with age.

She kneels in front of the girls and opens it slowly, like unsealing a grave.

Inside theres a small bundle of ultrasound scans, worn at the corners, black-and-white ghosts of a baby not yet born. A tiny, creased hospital card with faded blue ink: "Baby Girl Putellas Segura." Her weight. Her length. The time she arrived. A white card stamped with one perfect footprint and one tiny handprint, pink and curled like a blossom. And then the photos.

There aren’t many. The first few show Eli and her husband in the hospital room, holding a swaddled newborn between them. They're smiling, tentatively, cautiously, but with something fragile and full in their eyes.

In the next few, the smiles are gone. Eli looks down at the baby with red-rimmed eyes. Her husband kisses the baby’s forehead, his face twisted into something halfway between a smile and a sob.

In the last photo, Eli is no longer holding the baby. She is standing by the hospital bed, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her husband has one hand on her back, but his other is empty. They both look like people trying to memorise the little girl on the bed before it’s taken away.

No one speaks. Olga covers her mouth with her hand, tears falling silently, the pain was radiating from the photos.

Alexia reaches forward, touching the photo gently with her fingertips, like she’s afraid it might disappear. “She looks like, us,” she whispers. “Her nose. The shape of her eyes.”

Eli nods, wiping her face. “I only looked at these once,” she says. “Then I put them in a box. I never looked at them again. I couldn’t.”

Alexia glances at her mother eyes still confused, still hurt but quieter now. “She was real,” she says, mostly to herself. “She was ours.” next to her, Olga presses her hand against her chest, trying to breathe through the ache.

Alexia holds the photo delicately, as though it might crumble if she breathes too hard. Her thumb hovers over the image her parents, younger and terrified, their arms newly empty.

She glances sideways. Alba hasn’t moved. She’s still curled in on herself, her chin on her knees, her arms wrapped tight like a shield. Her eyes are open but empty, staring into the middle of the floor, if she’s heard anything, it’s impossible to tell.

“Alba…” Alexia says softly. No response, she turns more fully, holding the photo just a little closer in Alba’s direction. “Do you want to see her?” Her voice is quiet, careful. Not pushing. Just offering.

Alba doesn’t answer. For a long moment, she doesn’t even blink, but then her eyes flicker, just barely, toward the photo in Alexia’s hand. She doesn’t reach for it. Doesn’t move, but that one glance is enough to crack something.

Alexia sees it. She leans a little closer. “She looks like you,” she whispers. “When you were little.”

Alba’s lower lip trembles. Her breath shudders out of her like it physically hurts to take in air. “Why didn’t she get to stay?” she says finally, voice fragile and small.

Eli’s breath catches in her throat. She opens her mouth to answer but no words come. Olga whispers for her, “She was sick, your parents did what they thought was best for her”

Alba turns slowly toward the photo, then reaches out, her hand trembling as she takes it. She looks at it for a long time and then, in a barely-there voice that cracks in the middle, she whispers, “She had Papa's chin.”

It breaks Eli. She covers her mouth, sobbing quietly, and Olga gently moves to wrap her arm around her. Alba doesn’t cry. She just keeps looking, at the baby, at the past, at the sister she never got to love. 🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You sit on the floor of your apartment, your laptop closed on the coffee table, long forgotten. The untouched sandwich from earlier is still in its wrapper, resting near your elbow. You haven’t moved much since you got home. Haven’t wanted to.

The apartment feels emptier than usual. Not just quiet but hollow. Like something inside you cracked open when Olga left, and now the silence has a place to live.

You’ve replayed that moment over and over. The look in her eyes when she saw the photo. The way she snapped. The disbelief. The accusation.

You’d tried to speak, to explain, but she wouldn’t let you. Wouldn’t hear you. She thought you’d used her. That you’d known. That the photo meant something you’d kept hidden, but you hadn’t known. You still don’t know.

That picture had always been a strange little mystery to you. Left in the file the home had when you were a baby. Just two smiling girls, a sense of something warm and long-lost. You’d stared at it often growing up. Not because you knew who they were but because they felt like a possibility. Like maybe, once, someone had loved you and now that photo’s gone. Torn out of your hands and taken into someone else’s truth.

You wipe at your eyes again, but they won’t stop watering. Your throat aches from holding back sobs that keep forcing their way through.

You don’t know what’s happening.

You don’t know what to do.

You just keep sitting there, waiting for a knock that might never come. A message. A clue. Something, but there’s nothing. Just the faint hum of your fridge and the quiet ache in your chest.

It’s almost midnight by the time you stop pacing your apartment. Your hands shake as you hold the phone. You scroll past a few names none feel right. Not now. Not after everything.

Then your thumb hovers over hers. Patri 💕

You haven’t told anyone about her. Not even Olga. It was easier that way kept things uncomplicated. Casual. Hidden, but now… nothing feels simple or safe.

You press call.

She picks up quickly. “Hey,” she says, voice warm and soft.“Everything okay, you never call this late?”

You don’t answer right away. Your throat’s too tight. “Can you come over?” you manage. “Please?”

She hears it. Whatever's in your voice. “I’m on my way.”

You don’t move from your spot near the window until you hear her knock. When you open the door, she doesn’t ask questions. She just sees your face red-eyed, exhausted, cracked wide open and steps in with arms that don’t hesitate.

You fall into her without a word. Her hand runs gently down your back, grounding you.

Minutes pass before you pull away, wiping your face with your sleeve. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I just… I didn’t know who else to call.”

Patri nods, patient. “You can always call me. You know that.”

You sit on the couch. She sits beside you, close but not crowding you. Waiting. You breathe in deep. Out. And then, “I think…” You pause, heart hammering. “I think Alexia Putellas is my sister.”

Silence. Patri doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t flinch. Her brow furrows, but her eyes stay soft.

You look down at your hands. “There was this photo. Two girls. I had it my whole life it was left with me when I was dropped off at the children's home. I never knew who they were” You shake your head, tears rising again. “Olga saw it and lost it. Thought I’d known all along it was Alexia and her sister. Took the photo. Stormed out. She hasn’t answered my messages. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t even know if I’m going crazy.”

Patri takes your hand in both of hers. “You’re not crazy,” she says softly. “And even if it sounds impossible… it might not be.”

“I don’t want anything from them,” you say quickly. “I didn’t even know. I just… I want to understand. Why I was left. Who I was before I was just… no one.”

You’re crying again, but you don’t try to stop it now, Patri squeezes your hand, steady and sure, you don’t say anything, but when you lean your head on her shoulder, it’s the first moment you’ve felt even a little less alone.

Patri’s fingers thread gently through yours, her thumb brushing your knuckles. Your eyes are swollen, throat raw, barely holding it together. Then, in the quiet, she leans a little closer. Her voice barely above a whisper, warm and solid against the chaos inside you. “You’re not no one to me.”

It stops your breath, you lift your head just slightly, eyes meeting hers. There’s no pity in her face. No fear. Just quiet certainty.

“You hear me?” she says again, firmer now. “You’re not nothing. I don’t care if you don’t know who you were before. I care who you are now and I see you.”

Your eyes fill again, but this time, the tears feel different. Not jagged or spiralling just full.

You nod. A small one. But it’s real. “Thank you,” you manage, your voice breaking.

Patri leans in, gently presses her lips to your forehead. “We’ll figure this out,” she says. “Together. Okay?” And in that moment, just for a heartbeat, you believe her. 🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The sun creeps in slowly through your curtains, tracing thin golden lines across the floor. You barely slept, but with Patri beside you, the night didn’t feel quite as endless. She stirs first, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You open your eyes to find her watching you, soft and steady.

“Come on,” she says gently. “I’m taking you to breakfast before we face the world.”

You want to protest, you don’t look like yourself, your stomach is a knot, and the idea of being in public right now feels impossible but she’s already pulling the covers back and reaching for your pre hung up work clothes like it’s not up for debate.

So you let her.

The café is small, tucked on a quiet corner near the training grounds and your office with Olga. No jerseys, no fans. Just warmth, fresh bread, and the clink of mugs being set on tables.

You sit across from her, both of you nursing hot drinks. Patri tears a croissant in half and sets one piece on your plate without asking after you said you didn't want anything.

“You don’t have to talk,” she says, watching you. “Just eat something. One small normal thing before everything gets… complicated again.”

You nod, barely able to hold her gaze, but grateful, after a few bites that were dry, tasteless in your mouth, you whisper, “What if she never forgives me?”

Patri doesn’t hesitate. “Then she doesn’t deserve to be in your life." You blink at her. “She’s hurt,” Patri adds, softening. “I get that, but if she can’t believe you, if she won’t even try to, then that’s on her. Not you.”

You glance down at your coffee. “It just… it meant something working with her, i thought I finally had… something that made sense.”

Patri reaches across the table, hooks her pinky around yours. “You do,” she says. “You have me and I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod, holding onto that, even if everything else is spinning, this feels real. When you check the time, you realise it's almost time to head in. Patri downs the rest of her coffee and stands.

She pulls you up with her, smooths your jacket at the shoulders, and presses a quick kiss to your temple. “You’ve got this,” she whispers. “Text me when you’re done. No matter how it goes.”

You nod. She squeezes your hand once before heading toward the training facility down the block. You turn toward the office. Stomach heavy. Heart heavier but not quite as alone.

You step away from the café, the last of Patri’s warmth still clinging to your jacket like a hug that hasn't fully let go. The morning air is cool, quiet. You take a breath, try to let the calm hold for just a second longer. Then you see her, Olga, she’s over the road, leaning against the side of a closed bookstore, arms crossed tight, shoulders hunched like she hasn’t slept either. You freeze mid-step, her eyes are on you, it hits you like a punch. She saw. She was watching, maybe the whole time.

You don’t know what she saw exactly, but in your gut it doesn’t matter whatever flicker of healing you’d just started to believe in crumbles under your feet.

She looks up, your eyes meet, her expression doesn’t shift. No relief. No kindness. No fury either just something unreadable, and somehow that’s worse.

You almost step toward her, almost say her name, but the shame wraps around your ribs like wire. The same helpless, spiralling thought churns, I’ve made it worse.

You lower your eyes, quicken your pace, and cross the street without another glance back, by the time you reach the office door, your hands are shaking again.

The walls have started to ease back up, the ache in your chest back in full force and the photo, the truth, all of it… still just out of reach.

The office is cold when you step in, or maybe it’s just you. Either way, you don’t take off your coat.

You slide into your desk, boot up your laptop, and stare at the screen without seeing a word. You hear her before you see her, the soft click of the door, the measured steps. She moves past without a glance. You hold your breath.

She settles into her chair, the rustle of fabric as she crosses one leg over the other, her keys clinking gently on her desk. Then after what feels like an entire hour folded into thirty seconds "How did you meet Patri?"

Her voice is calm, almost too calm, you glance over. She’s not looking at you, her fingers are gently tapping her mug, as though it’s just any other morning.

You swallow. “I, um…” Your throat is dry. “I met her in a bar. A few weeks ago. After work.”

You watch her profile, trying to read her, but she gives you nothing.

“She didn’t know who I was,” you add. “To you. I didn’t tell her. At first”

Silence, you brace for something accusation, coldness, anything, but all she says is, “Do you love her?”

The question stuns you, not because you hadn’t thought about it, but because you never expected her to ask. “I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Maybe. It’s a bit early for that yet. We've not even had sex”

Another beat of silence. Then Olga nods, just once, like she’s filing it away somewhere.

You sit there, confused, the tension still knotted in your chest, but she doesn’t push. Doesn’t snap, just sips from her mug and opens her inbox like this conversation never happened and somehow… that quiet is the most painful sound of all.

The silence between you stretches thin but neither of you moves.

You pretend to work, Olga pretends not to notice your shaking hands. Then she speaks, her voice soft. Measured. “I spoke to Alexia’s mami.”

You freeze, your cursor blinks on the screen, forgotten.

You turn slowly, but she’s not looking at you. Her eyes are locked on the mug in her hands, fingers curling tight around the ceramic like she needs to anchor herself to something.

Your voice barely makes it out. “You did?”

She nods once. “Yeah.”

You wait. The silence stretches again, heavy with everything she hasn’t said yet. “I showed her the photo,” Olga continues, still soft. “The one you had. She went pale. I didn’t even have to ask anything. I knew just by her reaction to the photo.”

A breath shudders out of you. “I didn’t know,” you whisper. “Olga, I swear to you—”

“I know,” she cuts in.

Your eyes snap to hers, she's finally looking at you and in that look is a whole storm grief, disbelief, pain, exhaustion.

“You were just a baby,” she says quietly. “Left with a photo and nothing else.”

You blink back fresh tears. “Then it’s true.”

Olga nods, slowly. “They gave you up, because of your heart, because they couldn’t afford the care you needed. Your—” She pauses, breath catching. “—your father… he knew. He died when Alexia and Alba were teenagers.”

You cover your mouth with your hand, the ache in your chest pulsing to life again.

“They loved you,” Olga says. “You were their baby. I saw the pictures. The scans. A card with your footprints. They held you. Smiled with you.” She swallows hard, and now it’s her turn to look away. “But they left the hospital without you because they thought that would give you the best chance in life.”

The room is still. The weight of twenty-five years settling over your shoulders like fog.

You whisper, “What was my name?”

Olga’s voice trembles. “They didn't get to name you.”

You close your eyes, it doesn’t feel real and yet it explains everything.

Olga stands. You watch her cross the room slowly, quietly, something reverent in the way she moves as if she’s carrying something sacred and she is.

She reaches into her bag, then gently places the photo frame down on your desk in front of you. The same one that had once been your only clue to anything real. It feels heavier now.

“They know,” she says, barely above a whisper. “Alexia. Alba.”

You stare at the photo. Two little girls. You touch the glass. Your fingers don’t shake this time, but your breath catches.

“I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure,” Olga continues. “Until I had the truth.”

“And now they know.” You say it aloud. Like you’re testing it. Like it might disappear.

Olga nods.

“They didn’t before?” you ask.

She shakes her head slowly. “They had no idea. Eli kept it from them all this time.”

You stare at her. “What did they say?”

Her lips press together for a moment. “Alba was… broken. She didn’t believe it at first, then she just went quiet, typically her.”

Your chest tightens.

“And Alexia…” Olga’s voice trails off, her gaze dropping. “She was angry. Confused. At Eli. At me.”

You wince. “At you?”

Olga meets your eyes. “She didn’t understand why I didn’t tell her soon as I found the picture. Why I didn’t come to her the second I suspected.”

You nod slowly, taking that in.

“I told her I needed to be sure,” Olga says softly. “I owed that to everyone.”

Something cracks in your chest at that. You look down at the photo again, then whisper, “Do they… want to see me?”

There’s a pause and then “Yes,” Olga says. “They do.”

You look up at her. You nod, blinking fast. You stare down at the photo. Your throat tightens as you try to find the words that don’t sound like a betrayal of how much this means, how much it changes. You swallow hard, your voice barely there. “I need time.”

Olga doesn’t speak, so you glance up half-expecting disappointment, or worse, pity, but there’s none, she just nods. “Of course,” she says gently.

“I just…” you start, then stop. Try again. “It’s a lot. I’m still trying to believe it’s real.”

Her eyes soften, her shoulders releasing tension you didn’t realise she’d been holding. “You don’t owe anyone speed,” she says, and again, that name hits different. Warmer now. Anchoring.

You nod slowly.

Olga walks back to her desk, sits quietly, like she’s giving you both physical and emotional space. No pushing. No pressure.

Just… waiting.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Patri’s apartment smells faintly of rosemary and whatever candle she always has burning. It’s quiet except for the soft sound of her socks on the wood floors and the occasional clink of mugs as she makes tea without asking like she already knows you won’t have the appetite for anything more.

You’re curled on her couch, legs pulled to your chest, the familiar soft throw blanket wrapped tight around you. The photo’s not in your bag anymore, but it may as well be it’s burned into your thoughts.

Patri walks over, hands you a mug you barely manage to hold, then settles beside you without touching close enough to feel, but not crowding.

You stare down at the tea. “I have family.”

The words barely leave your mouth. They feel surreal still, like you’re saying them for someone else. Patri doesn’t speak. She waits.

You exhale shakily. “People I’m related to. By blood. I’ve never had that before, never even let myself imagine what it could be like.”

She glances at you, softly, kindly.

You keep going, voice fragile. “They want to meet me. Alexia. Alba. My sisters.” You taste the word, and it stings and warms at the same time. “But I don’t know if I can do it.”

Patri tilts her head. “Why?”

You blink hard. “Because I’m not who they think they lost. I grew up different to them. I have… pieces, but they don’t fit right. What if I’m a disappointment? What if they only want who I could’ve been, not who I actually am?”

The tears come quick this time. Quiet and raw.

“I don’t know how to be someone’s sister. I don’t even know how to be someone’s daughter.”

Patri shifts closer, gently, until your knee brushes hers. She doesn't reach for your hand just gives you space to fall apart without pressure.

When you finally look up at her, eyes glassy, voice cracking, you whisper, “What if I ruin it just by showing up?”

She leans forward then, soft but certain. “Baby,” she says slow, “You ruin nothing by existing. If anything, you’re the one thing that might put something broken back together.”

You don’t reply, but you lean against her, and when she wraps her arms around you, you let yourself fall into the quiet. Not healed. Not ready, but no longer alone.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The bedroom is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the city outside filtering through sheer curtains. Alexia is already in bed, lying on her side, scrolling idly through her phone. Her hair’s a little damp from the shower, and the covers are pulled up around her shoulders like she’s cocooning herself from the day.

Olga steps in quietly, brushing her teeth finished, sleep tugging at her limbs but her thoughts too loud for rest.

She climbs into bed slowly, careful not to disturb the peace too much.

Alexia hums, sensing something. “Everything okay?”

Olga hesitates, settles on her side to face her, elbow bent, cheek resting against her hand. “I need to tell you something,” she says softly. "It's been eating me all day and I just need to off load it to someone"

Alexia’s eyes flick up from her phone. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Olga assures quickly. “Just… weird and you have to promise not to freak out.”

Alexia raises a brow. “That’s never a comforting preface.”

Olga gives her a tired, warning look. “I’m serious. No confronting anyone. No speeches. Just… listen.”

Alexia sets her phone down. She shifts onto her back, sighs dramatically. “Fine. I solemnly swear. Go.”

Olga stares at the ceiling for a second. Then “My assistant, the one you met at the office… she’s the girl Patri’s been seeing.”

Alexia blinks. “Wait. What?”

“Shh,” Olga hushes quickly, placing a hand gently on Alexia’s arm. “You promised. No freaking out.”

Alexia sits up a little against the headboard, clearly working through it. “Wait. Your assistant is Patri’s girl? She's the one who everyone’s been speculating about in the locker room for weeks?”

Olga nods slowly. “Yeah. I saw them this morning. Having breakfast together. Just… looked like a date.”

Alexia stares at her, mouth open slightly. “And you’re just telling me this now?”

Olga shrugs. “I didn’t know until today. I wasn’t spying. I was just... walking. Processing.”

Alexia laughs once, disbelieving. “Dios. Patri and your assistant. That’s… wow.” She pauses. Then narrows her eyes. “Is she even Patri’s type?”

Olga gives her a flat look. “You’ve met her once, and all you said was she seemed ‘too polite.’”

Alexia shrugs, but she’s smiling now. “Polite and dating Patri? That girl must have hidden layers.”

Olga hums. She rests her head on Alexia’s shoulder, a little quieter again.

After a beat, Alexia asks, “Is that all? Or is there a reason you brought it up now?”

Olga closes her eyes. “There’s more to it… just not for tonight.”

Alexia tilts her head, trying to read her. “Okay…”

Olga squeezes her hand gently. “Just don’t mention anything at training. Let Patri have her privacy.”

Alexia rolls her eyes. “You act like I’m the drama.”

Olga just smiles, eyes still closed. “You’re the captain and the drama.”

Alexia laughs softly and presses a kiss to Olga’s forehead. “Fine. I’ll behave.”

But even as they settle into silence, you linger in Alexia’s thoughts just a little longer than before.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You’re mid-call, headset on, trying to sound confident while walking a particularly demanding client through a social rollout calendar. Your laptop is open, filled with colour-coded chaos, and you’re scribbling notes on a pad beside you.

Patri is lounging, because that’s the only word for it, in the visitor’s chair next to your desk. She’s got one ankle lazily hooked over her knee, phone in hand, sunglasses perched on her nose even though you’re indoors. She hasn’t said a word in ten minutes, just keeping you company like some smirking silent bodyguard.

You flick your eyes toward her for a second and she just wiggles her eyebrows. You try not to laugh but the door clicks open.

Olga strides in, crisp and purposeful, folders tucked under her arm and a cappuccino in hand. She looks up, clearly expecting her usual quiet workspace and then spots Patri.

She stops Patri glances up from her phone, sees her, and grins “Hola, jefa.”

Olga narrows her eyes. “Patri.”

You freeze mid-sentence on your call. “—Yes, we’ll have the draft by Friday, absolutely. Thank you, I’ll follow up with the design team. Okay. Bye now.”

You click off and rip off the headset, slowly swivelling toward Olga

“Hey,” you say, cautiously.

Olga looks between the two of you, arms crossed, brow lifted in that unimpressed way that’s both maternal and mildly terrifying. “You know this isn’t a café, right?” she says to Patri, deadpan.

Patri shrugs, completely unbothered. “Had the morning off. Thought I’d escort your best employee through their incredibly stressful workday.”

Olga glances at you, unamused. “Is that true?”

You give her a tight, sheepish smile. “I didn’t know she was coming.”

Patri snorts, Olga sets her folders down on her desk, sipping her coffee. “Well, now that you’re here, maybe you’d like to help sort through thirty Instagram DMs from a dog food sponsor who doesn’t understand what a brand kit is.”

Patri puts a hand to her heart, mock-wounded. “That sounds horrifying.”

Olga deadpans, “Welcome to my life.”

You try not to smile but fail miserably, and Olga catches it her expression softening just for a second.

“Fifteen more minutes,” she says to Patri. “Then she’s mine again.”

Patri gives you a wink. “I’ll take what I can get.”

Olga rolls her eyes and turns back to her desk, but not before you catch the tiniest smirk twitch at the corner of her mouth.

The office quiets again after Patri leaves she kisses your temple before she goes, murmuring something only for you, and you hold onto the warmth of it like a tether. But it fades fast once the door closes behind her.

Olga doesn’t look at you right away. She’s working or pretending to. You sit for a while. Typing. Staring. Breathing. Trying to decide if the knot in your chest will ever untangle itself.

You think about the photo. About the scans in the box. About Eli’s face when she realised who you were. About Olga saying your sisters know now. That they want to meet you.

You think about what you said to Patri and then, softly, “Olga?”

She looks up immediately, her eyes are calm, steady gentle in the way only someone who’s known heartbreak can manage.

You clear your throat. Your hands tremble a little in your lap. “I think…” You hesitate, then push through. “I want to meet them.”

Olga doesn't move for a second. Then she slowly exhales, and something loosens in her shoulders. Not relief something quieter. Respect, maybe. Care. “Okay,” she says, her voice low, warm. “I’ll let them know.”

You nod, once. It still scares you. You’re still not sure who you’ll be to them or who they’ll be to you. Sisters. Strangers. Something in between, but you’re ready to try and maybe, for now, that’s enough.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The home Olga and Alexia share is quiet and vast, tucked away, the kind of place with balconies full of trailing plants and old tiled floors. Olga brings you up the driveway, but she doesn’t say much. Just walks beside you, shoulder brushing yours once or twice, letting the silence be whatever you need it to be.

You stop in front of the door, your hands are cold, you didn’t realise you were shaking until you saw the key tremble in Olga’s hand. She glances at you. “They’re all here.”

You nod once. Like if you say anything, you’ll turn around and run Olga squeezes your shoulder gently. Then opens the door.

The flat smells like coffee and lavender. Eli’s sitting at the dining table. She rises when she sees you, hands twitching like she wants to reach for you but she doesn’t. Not yet. Behind her, Alba leans in a doorway, arms folded tight, guarded and uncertain. Her expression is blank but her eyes are anything but, and then there’s Alexia.

She’s sitting on the sofa. Casual, almost too casual hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair tied back, one leg bouncing anxiously. She stands up when you come in, and for a second, nobody breathes.

This is it. You’ve imagined this moment so many times and never, not once, like this.

Alexia speaks first. “Hi.” Just that. One syllable, but her voice is soft.

You nod. “Hi.”

Olga touches your back gently, guiding you toward the sofa. You perch on the edge, knees close together, hands tight in your lap.

Alba stays back.

Alesia sits back down and studies you like she’s trying to make sense of what’s right in front of her and still can’t believe it. “I didn’t know,” she says. “Until last week, I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t either,” you whisper.

You look at her really look at her. She’s familiar in ways that don’t make sense. The shape of her nose. The arch of her brow. The curve of her mouth when she frowns like yours in the mirror.

Eli clears her throat. “This is yours,” she says quietly, and sets the shoebox down on the table in front of you.

You don’t open it yet. You’re too afraid of what it is will make real, and you really didn't want to cry in front of these people.

Instead, you look at Alexia again and then to Alba, whose jaw is clenched, whose arms are still crossed like armour.

“I’m not here to take anything,” you say, your voice shaking. “I’m not trying to force myself into your lives. I don’t even know how to do this. I just… I wanted to meet you.”

Alba looks away, Alexia doesn’t, she leans forward and when she speaks again, it’s quieter. “I don’t know how to do this either,” she says. “But I want to try.”

Your breath hitches. You nod. Once and when she reaches out, you let her take your hand and time passes in silence, Olga offers you a drink, and the only noise is clanking of glasses in the kitchen,

Alexia hasn’t let go of your hand even when Olga puts your drink on the coffee table in front of you.

It rests between hers, light but sure, a quiet anchor as you sit across from her on the low coffee table. She doesn’t look like a football legend right now. She looks like someone trying not to break apart a thousand different ways.

Olga sits beside you right beside you. So close her thigh presses against yours, one of her hands resting on your back as if she’s afraid you might suddenly vanish.

You feel both of them, like weights you can lean on. Eli sits a few feet away, silent, hands clasped in her lap. Her eyes are rimmed with red, lips pressed in a line. Alba leans against the far wall, arms still crossed, distant but listening.

The shoebox sits unopened on the table. Alexia breaks the silence first.

“So…” she starts, glancing between you and Olga, “You work for my girlfriend. That’s wild.”

You blink, a little startled by the shift but you’re grateful for comfortable small talk. It’s a rope thrown into the storm. You nod. “Yeah. Almost three months now.”

Olga leans in just enough for her temple to graze your shoulder. “She’s brilliant,” she murmurs. “Takes her job too seriously, though.”

You roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “Says the woman who once scheduled tweets from the bathtub.”

Alexia barks a laugh genuine, caught off guard. “She would.”

“She did,” "I did" you and Olga say in unison, and for a beat, it feels like a normal moment between friends.

Then silence creeps in again, you fiddle with the hem of your sleeve.

“You guys are close,” Alexia says softly, looking between you and Olga.

You nod. “She’s been… I don’t even know what I’d call it. Kind. Patient. The first person who made me feel like I wasn’t just… passing through.”

You feel Olga’s fingers tighten briefly at your back. A silent I’m still here. Alexia’s expression softens. “I get that,” she murmurs.

You look at her carefully. “Is that why you’re… so good to Alba?”

She looks over at her little sister still silent, still watching and her whole face changes. It’s not obvious, not loud, but it’s there the sharp tenderness, the unspoken devotion.

“She’s mine,” Alexia says simply. “Always has been.”

You nod slowly, your throat tightens, and suddenly you can’t speak Olga shifts beside you, gently leaning into your side, just enough to steady you.

You don’t say anything more, neither does Alexia, not right away, but something’s changing in the room. Not resolved not fixed but thawing.

Across the space, Alba watches it all with unreadable eyes and Eli quiet and still presses a hand to her mouth, as if afraid her emotions might spill out and ruin this fragile moment.

You look at your sister, she smiles at you. Small. Real and you smile back.

It’s quiet again now, not the awkward kind it’s something else. Something rawer.

You feel Olga still beside you, warm and steady. Alexia hasn’t moved far either, perched on the sofa her fingers tap silently against her knee, like she wants to speak but knows this moment isn’t hers.

You’re looking at Eli. She hasn’t looked at you once. Not really. Not since you walked through the door. She sits rigid in her chair, her body folded in on itself like she’s trying to be smaller, her hands twist in her lap, restless and unanchored. Her lips are pressed together like she’s keeping a dam sealed with sheer will.

You watch the way her thumbs rub over one another.

You do that.

You watch the way her brow creases when she’s thinking too loud to speak.

You do that too.

It strikes you all at once not in your chest but in your gut, like something old and invisible pulling taut.

You’re hers you always have been, your voice, when it breaks the silence, surprises even you. Soft. Uncertain. “You look like you need a hug.”

Her head lifts, slowly, slowly, she meets your eyes.

Everything in her face is shaking. Guilt. Hope. Fear. Regret. Love, too but buried beneath years of silence and sorrow.

Her mouth parts, but no words come out, the others don’t move. Not Alba. Not Alexia. Not even Olga.

You don’t push her, you just let the words sit in the space between you Eli swallows. Her eyes fill before a single tear escapes. Her hands go still and then quietly, brokenly “I do”

You stand placing your bag down, she seems surprised by your action but she stands and when you take steps forward she meets you halfway.

She hugs you like she’s terrified you’ll disappear again, her arms wrap around you, trembling, and your face presses into her shoulder. You breathe her in lavender and something warm beneath it. Something familiar you didn’t even know you missed.

Her whole body shudders as she quietly cries, you don’t say anything, you just hold her back, you don’t know what you’re forgiving. There was nothing to forgive for you, you don’t know what still needs to be mended, but in this moment, you’re not lost. You’re held.

The security buzzer goes, you swallow as you and Eli pull away at the same time, "I'll get it that, that'll be" Olga stops herself she knew Patri was coming for you, but she didn't know whether you wanted everyone knowing.

You nod with a little smile, you look to Alexia, "I take it you know"

She nods, "She talks about you a lot, I just didn't know, you were, you, until yesterday"

Patri’s car pulls up as the door is opened just as the sky softens into twilight you stand near the door, jacket pulled around your shoulders, feeling the air shift as the visit comes to a close.

Olga helps you gather your things gentle, wordless, still keeping close like she’s afraid too much space might crack something in you. Alexia lingers near Patri's car they have a quiet conversation you don't catch, her arms folded but her expression soft, uncertain when it turns back to you. Alba follows behind at a distance, watching still wary, still processing, but here that was something.

Eli hasn’t said much since the hug. She’s been quieter than ever, her movements slowed like the emotion has worn her thin, but she’s remained close, watching you with eyes too full for casual conversation.

You hold the letter in your hand for a long time before you finally turn to her.

It’s folded neatly. Ink smudged in one corner from where your hand trembled. You hadn’t planned to give it to her but there were too many things you couldn’t get out in front of everyone. Things too complicated. Too raw. And you wrote it for that circumstance.

You step closer. Offer it with both hands. She looks down at the paper like it might burn her fingers.

You speak quietly, for her only. “I didn’t know how to say it all. So I wrote it instead.”

Eli’s hand reaches out slowly, like she’s afraid if she moves too fast you’ll vanish again. She takes the letter her fingers press around it like it’s fragile like you are.

She nods, eyes shining, lips parting but she doesn’t speak. Just holds it close to her chest.

"Ready to go babe?" Patri smiles, "Pina and her sister are already there"

You nod and turn, your eyes meet Alexia’s, she gives you the faintest smile, then steps aside to let you go. Olga brushes her hand over your back as you move past her, a silent I’m proud of yo and as you walk around Patri's car to get in, Alba finally looks up.

She doesn’t say anything but for the first time, she doesn’t look away.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The front door clicked shut behind you, and with it goes the last of the tension you carried into this house hours ago. The echo of your presence lingers in the room, the kind that doesn’t fade easily. The kind that changes things.

Eli stands where you left her, still holding the letter like it’s made of glass.

Her eyes don’t lift from it Alexia gently steps toward her. “Mami?" but Eli barely hears. Her lips move, soundless.

“I can’t,” she whispers finally. “I can’t read it. I don’t know if I can take what it says.”

Olga watches her closely, her fingers curled around the hem of her jumper, but she doesn’t interrupt. She’s already said what she needed to say today.

Alba, who hasn’t said a word in what feels like forever, finally pushes off the arm of the couch. Her voice is soft, a little raspy.

“Do you want me to read it to you?”

Eli looks up, startled, Alba doesn’t smile. Doesn’t flinch. She just holds out her hand. Eli hesitates for a moment, eyes searching her daughter’s face. And then, wordlessly, she presses the letter into her youngest’s palm.

Alba walks to the center of the room and sits down on the couch, tucking one leg beneath her. She opens the paper carefully, smoothing the creases with tender fingers.

She clears her throat as everyone takes a seat and begins.

I don't even know where to start with this I feel for years of my life I always wanted this moment, the opportunity to have my say, so this probably won't flow or make much sense but I'm going to vulnerably honest and true to myself.

I never blamed you, growing up I never resented you, disliked you, or hated you for the decision you made. I would always wonder what I did wrong. Why I wasn't good enough. The reason you couldn't keep me and love me like parents should, I was always focused on me and my short comings, I never spoke or thought negatively for the decision you made.

I saw everyday the pain giving a child up caused, I heard my carers talk of the despair and sheer pain they would witness when children were removed from the care of their parents. I would hope you didn't ever have to feel that because it wasn't a choice you had made but I understand the gravity of the decision that was made to leave me at the hospital for you and your husband.

I obviously now know the reason for your decision, and I think it's important for you to know, I did get that help I needed and that you may be interested in the journey that took. I had five surgeries before my second birthday, to try and mend the heart I have, I spent the first three years of my life living in the hospital you left me at, before I was discharged to my first foster family but I had very complex medical needs and they couldn't deal with that so I was moved on. I moved I think 5 times before I was 10 and deemed fit enough to live in a communal home where I stayed until I was 12 but then I needed to move again due to my age to what they call a half way house until I was 18.

Tangent lol, back to the heart, its never going to be a fully working healthy heart, I can't eat certain foods I can't have certain drinks and I work everyday to just be the healthiest I can be to give my heart the best chance of being able to sustain me and make the need for a transplant stayed off for as long as possible. That's a case of when and not if.

Olga explained to me of the passing of your husband, I am truly sorry for you Alexia and Alba's loss, I couldn't begin to imagine the pain it caused to loose such a big part of your lives.

I'm not here to ask anything from any of you, I don't know what any of us want from what we've learned, or what any of us expect to happen.

I just hope that this doesn't affect the relationship you have with your daughters because even before I learned what I know now, from the stories I heard from Olga you sounded like such a warm loving tight nit family. It may not be my place to say but I hope it doesn't change what they think and see of you, you are still the mother they know and love that hasn't changed because they learned of me. You are still that same person, and if anything it just shows what strength you have to make the hardest decision a parent can make along with your husband and carry on and raise two amazing people.

I hope you can begin to heal and most of all forgive yourself for the decision you made all those years ago.

You made the right decision, for me and for your family.

I wouldn't be here today without the decision and sacrifice you made so,

Thank You

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You’re not expecting her.

The quiet of the office is a comfort today, Olga’s out in meetings, the afternoon sun is casting soft shadows across your desk, and the rhythm of your tasks is keeping your mind anchored. Or at leas distracted.

Then the bell above the door chimes, you glance up.

Alba lingers awkwardly by the entrance, her eyes scanning the space like she might still change her mind. She’s dressed simply jeans, oversized tee, hair up in a messy knot and something about her posture makes her look younger than she is. Vulnerable.

You stand slowly, heart thudding. “Hey…”

Alba walks in a few paces, stopping near the front counter. Her hands are shoved deep in her pockets. “I know Olga’s not here,” she says quickly, like a disclaimer. “I waited. I didn’t want to… ambush or anything.”

You nod, unsure what to say yet. She’s clearly nervous, more than you thought she would be from the stories you'd heard of her from Olga.

“I just…” She exhales through her nose, avoiding your eyes. “I wanted to talk. To you. If that’s okay.”

You gesture gently toward the small seating area. “Of course.”

You both sit, but she perches on the edge of the chair, like she’s ready to bolt. She doesn’t look at you, not directly, but her voice is soft and unfiltered. “I don’t know how to do this,” she admits. “I’ve been all messed up since we found out. It’s like everything I ever knew just cracked and now I keep wondering what it means. For me. For us.”

You nod, letting her speak without interruption.

“I guess I just…” She finally glances at you. Her eyes are rimmed red. “I want to get to know you, because out of anyone it's really not your fault, but I don’t know where to start.”

Your voice is quiet but steady. “Maybe we don’t have to know. Maybe we just try.” Alba blinks. You smile, just a little. “We could… start with dinner? No pressure. No heavy talks unless you want to. Just two people who might be something to each other, seeing what that feels like.”

Alba gives the tiniest laugh, almost a scoff at herself. “I haven’t felt this nervous about dinner since my first crush in high school.”

You grin. “Should I be flattered or terrified?”

She laughs again, fuller this time. “Maybe both.”

You reach for your notebook, tearing off a corner and scribbling. You hand it to her a small list of places you can eat in the city and your phone number"

“Pick one. You text me when you're ready. No pressure. Just… dinner.”

Alba looks at the paper in her hands like it’s more than just ink and names. She nods slowly. “Okay,” she says, quieter now. “Okay.” She stands after a moment, lingers at the door again like she’s debating something. Then she turns back. “Thank you. For not making it harder.”

You offer her a warm, careful smile. “We’ve both had hard. I’d rather try something else.”

She nods and then she’s gone.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The restaurant is quiet and tucked away one of those cozy little places with exposed brick, warm lighting, and waitstaff that treat you like family. You’re early. You’d rather wait than arrive to faces you’re not quite sure how to greet yet, but you don’t wait long.

Alba arrives first.

She spots you at the table and offers a small, shy smile as she slides into the seat across from you. She’s dressed casually, but there's something softer in her eyes than the last time less guarded.

You’re about to say something when you hear a familiar voice at the hostess stand. “Alba!”

Alexia. Your heart stutters. You weren’t expecting her. Alba glances at you, a half-smile creeping in. “I may have… invited someone.”

Alexia arrives at the table with a warm grin and no hesitation at all as she kisses both your cheeks like she’s always done it. “Hi,” she says, taking the seat beside you. “I figured, three sisters is better than two, no?”

It’s strange how easy the word sisters rolls out of her mouth. You blink at her, then at Alba, then you smile. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

The conversation starts simple, menus, drinks, Alexia teasing Alba about how she always orders the same pasta everywhere she goes. You laugh when Alexia makes a terrible pun in Spanish that Alba groans at. You’re hesitant at first, still watching the way they interact like a spectator, until Alba nudges your arm and mimics your confused face when you try to translate the joke. You burst out laughing.

It surprises even you.

A bottle of wine appears. Glasses are poured. Somewhere between the bread basket and the main course, something shifts. It’s light, natural, unforced.

You find yourself talking, not deeply, not yet, but honestly. Sharing silly work stories, how you met Patri—

“Okay, wait,” Alba cuts in, grinning now, fork paused mid-air. “You’re the secret girl Patri’s been sneaking around with all this time?”

Your face heats instantly. “It wasn’t sneaking,” you say through a laugh. “She just wasn't exactly wanting it announcing it to the locker room.”

Alexia shakes her head, amused. “Patri is awful at subtle. She was glowing at training after she met you. G-L-O-W-I-N-G.”

You laugh, covering your face for a second. “Oh god.”

Alba leans in slightly, her tone playful but with an edge of sincerity. “Just so you know… if she hurts you, I’ll kick her ass.”

You snort into your wine.

Alexia raises a brow. “Alba, Patri is my teammate.”

Alba shrugs, utterly unbothered. “Don’t care. I like her, but blood is blood.”

You’re laughing now, genuinely, shaking your head. “I’ll be sure to tell her she’s been warned.”

Alba points at you with her fork. “Do that. I want her scared.”

Alexia mutters something about drama queen, and Alba throws a breadstick at her. It misses, barely.

You’re still smiling, Alba leans back in her seat, glass in hand, her grin a little wicked.

“So…” she begins slowly, eyeing you over the rim of her glass, “how’s the sex with Patri?”

Alexia nearly chokes on her wine.

You blink, stunned, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Alba!”

“What?” she laughs. “I’m curious!”

Alexia looks horrified. “You can’t ask her that!”

“I just did,” Alba smirks.

You’re giggling now, one hand covering your face as you try to recover. “God, okay, um… we haven’t… actually done that yet.”

Alba’s face flickers with surprise. “Really?”

You nod, a little shy but honest. “Yeah. She’s been… really respectful. Which is kind of adorable.”

Alexia leans back, visibly relaxing. “That’s sweet. Patri’s always been a softie underneath the sarcasm.”

You bite your lip, then laugh quietly. “It is sweet. But sometimes I just… want to be disrespected, you know?”

There’s a moment of silence, Alexia’s eyes go wide, Alba hollers with laughter and you shrink back slightly, eyes darting between them realising who they are to you as your face burns. “Oh my God wait. I can’t talk like that in front of you, can I?”

Alexia makes a strangled noise, waving her hand like she needs to shut her ears. “No. You absolutely cannot. Your my baby sister”

Alba wipes a tear from her eye. “Too late.”

You all dissolve into laughter, the kind that makes your ribs hurt. The kind that breaks through walls you didn’t even realise were still up. You glance at them Alexia still slightly horrified, Alba grinning like she won the lottery.

Alexia rests her chin in her hand, watching the two of you with a soft, content look on her face. “You know,” she says, her voice quieter now, “I really didn’t know what to expect when I found out. I was angry. Hurt. But right now?” She looks between you both. “This feels right.”

You meet her gaze. “It does.”

Alba’s smile isn’t wide, but it’s real. There’s still so much to say, still so much to feel, still so much to learn, but for now, there’s wine, warmth, and the first real night where you don’t feel like a stranger.

Just a sister.

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][tim's 19-20][oral (m! receiving)][handjob][servicedom!reader][cowgirl][reverse cowgirl][doggy style][msub][loss of virginity][strangers to lovers][ball sucking][nipple sucking][raw][drool][ass play]

Tim knows it's pretty pathetic to lose his virginity on a dating app but he also knows that tonight's the only night he'll have free time for a good long while.

Which is why he left the cave, barely with a thought in his mind other than to get laid. So much so that he forgets about the communication device stuffed into his ear, since he was, still technically, on duty.

But pussy first.

And besides, he needs to lose it before 20 otherwise he needs to legally change his name to Phil McCrack. The bet being courtesy of Jason, and Tim lets out a huff of a breath, readjusting his hoodie for what could only be the 8th time before he stares up at the door of your apartment.

Homemade dinner, a movie and sex.

That's all that's on the itinerary for tonight.

A jittery hand lifts and Tim pensively knocks on the pinewood. Anxious, excited, all the same but the preparedness seems to melt away when you pull open the door, hair pulled back and eyes staring up at him, and Tim swallows. Loud.

He's not prepared.

He isn't prepared at all.

You don't look like your picture.

You catfished him.

Your eyes are brighter in real life, he gets to watch the sweet smile take place on your lovely face, instead of just being limited to it being captured in pixels and he gets to see the way your head tilts at him, carefully giving him a once over before you step out of the way, letting him into the cozy apartment.

He's more nervous than he'd like to let on.

Tim wipes his palms on his sweatpants, shifting awkwardly on his feet before following you into the kitchen, watching intently as you slip on oven mitts, pulling out the cast iron tray from the oven and Tim stares at the large, homemade pizza.

Overflowing cheese, sweet red sauce peeking out along the crusts and pepperoni scattered so generously. And he lets out a shaky breath.

"It looks really good." Tim compliments softly, looking down at you with those pretty eyes as you give him a sweet smile, slicing the pizza into 8, setting 4 slices on his plate and 4 on yours.

"4 slices?" Tim questions softly and you simply nod your head.

"I can't take your virginity and send you home hungry. That's just a dick move."

Tim plants himself on the cushion next to you, sneakers discarded at the door, sock-covered feet tucked beneath him as he eats, occasionally glancing towards you but ultimately keeping his gaze on the TV.

He doesn't wanna ask about the ad about the lady in the corner of the screen, a Matilda that feels lonely.

"You're a lot more quiet than I'd think." You hum softly, your voice breaking the peaceful yet awkward silence, and you glance at Tim from the corner of your eye. He likes the way you watch him.

Like a bug under a microscope and he shifts in his seat, the fabric of his sweatpants pulling tight against some parts of his lean muscles as he makes himself more comfortable.

"I'm... Not really sure how this works. In all the things I've seen... It's usually just like, a meet and... Well, you know." Tim awkwardly shifts again, taking another bite of his pizza and his lashes flutter at the peppery cheese that fills his mouth and absentmindedly, you reach forward, wiping a smudge of cheese away from the corner of his mouth.

And Tim's heart rate skyrockets.

"Well, if you don't feel comfortable at the end of the night, we don't have to do anything. I'm not gonna force you." You reassure him sweetly, licking the cheese from your thumb before you continue eating, your attention on the cartoon in front of you. And Tim nods his head, muttering a soft 'okay' before he continues eating.

Tugging the edge of his hoodie down to hide his downright throbbing cock, and he tries to continue eating, chewing with the occasional glance at your expression.

Lips glistening with the sheen of fatty food, your cheeks puffed with the way you eat and tresses framing your face in the prettiest way. You've got such... Distinct features, perfect lips and the slope of your nose makes him groan inwardly at the thought of your nose tucked in the fleshy spot between the base of his cock and his full, almost swollen balls. The way you'd inhale his musk, dragging your tongue along the sensitive flesh.

And Tim coughs.

Desperate to clear away those thoughts and he looks back at his plate. He's only managed to put away 2 and a half slices, whereas your plate's empty.

And something about that, just makes his cock twitch, a thick bead of precum rolling down his base and he feels the way it forms a wet spot on his boxers.

"So, you said you're in college?" Tim hums, elbows braced on the countertop, his attention locked on yours as you indulge in his caffeine addiction as though you've done it a million times before. Practiced motions, a lowered gaze as you move around your kitchen with the comfort he's only ever seen Alfred hold in a kitchen but his gaze remains locked on your hands.

Dainty and manicured nails grasping a froggy mug, your nails tapping against the glazed ceramic as you stir, the muscles in your forearm flexing ever so slightly and Tim's surprised when he doesn't paint the inside of his boxers at the sight of your tongue running across your teeth when you place the mug in front of him.

"Yeah, I'm in college. I'm doing a literature degree." You state with a sweet hum, opening a cabinet and pulling out a bag of cookies, opening it up and placing it between the two of you.

Your kitchen isn't lit too brightly, downlights that have a dimmer switch that sets the room in a lovely, low light. Intimate and sweet, as you take a bite of a cookie, crumbs dotting your lips before you swipe your tongue across your bottom lip.

And the action is downright sinful.

Devious.

Malicious.

Nefarious.

The list goes on and on.

"You said you intern at Wayne Enterprises?" You hum softly, and Tim nods his head, taking a sip of his coffee and God, his cock's twitching as the taste burns his tongue in the best way possible.

Rich, earthy with the strongest aroma.

Tim's barely paying attention as you speak, his eyes locked on your pouty and perfect lips as you speak before he interjects.

"I'm ready for sex, please."

The desperate quiver in his voice, alongside the abruptness, makes you let out a snort of laughter. "Are you ready... Like... Biologically?" You question, your head tilting in that way that makes his mind melt and he nods sheepishly.

"Yeah. I've been ready for almost 2 hours."

"Shit, shit, shit." Tim's chest heaves, his long, inky lashes fluttering as he feels the way you stroke him so sweetly, your hand wrapped around his flared base, lips pressing sloppy kisses all along his glistening cock. Beads of precum drip down, pooling at his heavy sack and Tim's elegant digits card through your hair, undoing your hairtie and sliding the vibrant red elastic on his wrist, opting for playing with your hair instead.

And Tim's sure he's fucking dying when you're wrapping those soft, plush lips around his flushed tip, beads of translucent fluid filling your tongue and your hand continues to squeeze his base, his hips jerking and twitching. And Tim lets out a breath, moans slipping past his lips as his back arches.

"Fuck, that's so good..." Tim stutters, his plump, pink bottom lip between his teeth to stop the sounds.

And Tim's eyes widen, his head tossing back and he lets out that deep, loooong groan as his fingers fist your hair.

Your mouth leaves his cock, slobbers of saliva coating his tip before you fist it, your soft palms rolling over the sensitive flesh as you gently stroke his cock, the ball of your nose pressed against his cock as your tongue curls against the swell of his balls.

And Tim pushes your face deeper, forcing you to inhale that musky, smoky scent that makes you so dizzy, your cunt throbbing between your pressed together thighs. And he whimpers sheepishly.

"God, keep— keep doing that, please..."

Tim begs so sweetly, feeling the way you thumb at his slit, forcing out gooey beads of clear as you tilt your head, tongue curling around his sack and Tim feels his cock twitch. Before he whines, swatting at your hand before he urges you to pull away.

"I— I'm gonna come too quickly if—... If you keep doing that..." Tim's ears burn with embarassment, cock twitching and leaking copious amounts of precum and you let out a soft snort of laughter.

"I don't mind." You reassure softly, leaning upwards to press a sweet kiss against the curve of his jaw.

"It's your first time. You don't have to impress me."

Tim doesn't know how to answer that, simply shifting and scooting back, while you find purchase straddling one of his thighs, clothed cunt grinding against the thick muscle, hard and rigid beneath you as you gently stroke his cock.

Tim leans back on his palms, his head tipping back as you press soft, lingering kisses against the soft, milky skin of his neck. Your kisses are wet, sticky with his precum and your saliva, your hand moving to card through his obsidian strands, while the other traces along the bulging veins of his cock.

It's too much.

Too much.

Too much.

And Tim whines, nails digging into the sheets and creasing the pale green comforters beneath his palms as his hips jerk, jets of pearly cum making a mess of your hand and you smear the creaminess all around his cock.

Tim doesn't know what to do.

If he's supposed to pull your hand away, if he's supposed to cry, if sex is supposed to be the next step but tears are forming on his lash line, his face flushing and sweat forcing strands of his bangs to cling to his forehead.

And he whimpers so sweetly when you pull your hand away from him, pressing the sweetest kiss against his temple before pushing his hair out of his face.

"Where do you want me?" You ask him softly, tongue trailing along the shell of Tim's ear and he shivers, biting his bottom lip to stifle that shaky breath.

"On top... Please."

Tim's basically a pillow princess.

Hands bracketing your hips, fingers digging into the fat and his eyes remain locked on where your perfect pussy swallows his length, slick and squelchy sounds ringing out alongside the ambience of the Gotham city rain.

"Fuck, you're so tight."

Tim groans softly, brows knitting into a pinched frown and his eyes lift, brilliant and teary diamond blue eyes stare, gaze locked on the sight of your chest, bouncing in tandem with the your hips bounce. The fleshy globes of your ass repeatedly smack against his thighs, the warmth of your cunt fits him snugly and he whines underneath you.

You're warm. You're tight. You're so wet, and your slick drips down his veins with each grind of your hips.

"You're so fucking deep..." You breathe out with a moan, breathy voice and hazy eyes because you didn't expect him to stretch you out this good.

And Tim doesn't know what sort of sick, twisted mist blankets his brain, but the drool that trickles down his lips do nothing to cool him from the lusty heat that urges him to lean forward, his tongue dragging along one of your pert buds and the action pulls tingles from your brain. You lean forward, one hand moving to grab the headboard, nails leaving scratches along the painted wood as your hips grind and roll.

Tim's hips are weak as they thrust up into you, uncoordinated and sloppy, so weak as his entire mind is consumed with the action of his tongue swirling and teasing your nipples. He's drooling, slobbering all across your chest but the sloppiness of his motions just makes him more endearing.

"Ohhh, you're so fucking pretty." You croon to him gently, fingers scratching at his hair and tugging him closer to your chest.

The air between the two of you are charged with the sense of sexual tension being explored, alongside sticky and messy sex, and the smell of coffee on your mingled breaths. And Tim doesn't waste time pulling away from your oversensitive and abused nipples, before leaning forward, his tongue meeting yours in a heated kiss that would leave pornstars envious of the amateurish moments.

Hands paw at the fat of your ass and fingertips dig into whatever flesh they can find, and Tim's eyes roll back in his head when your hips roll, the tip of his cock buried in your gummy walls while his shaft is exposed to steamy air of your bedroom.

Tim feels the way his cock throbs, slick and precum mixing into a debauched cocktail that leaves his pelvis glistening in a sheen that matches your pretty cunt, pillowy pussy lips glossy with the mess.

"Fuck me harder— shit, fuck me harder." Tim whimpers and whines, his attention lowering to the way your hips slam down on his, and he feels like the air's being pulled out of his lungs. Especially with the way gummy walls pull him in, all the way to the depths of your cunny.

Tim can barely form a coherent thought when you turn around, your back facing him and he gets to watch that devious arch from up close and he gets to watch the fat of your ass bounce off his hips. And it's... Hypnotic.

It leaves him wondering if your ass is sentient and Tim's hands move to grip the plump cheeks, spreading them apart to watch the way you take him all the way. And his eyes lift just a bit, and he's staring that pretty, neat and puckered hole down. Before he bites his bottom lip, turning his attention towards you for the briefest moment but you're too cockdrunk to have a coherent thought in your head.

And he licks his thumb, covering the pudgy digit in saliva before he begins to circle the furled rim and he nearly screams at the way you clamp down on him.

And you're coming before you even fucking know it, bucking like a wild, desperate horse, your hips rolling like you're on a mechanical bull and Tim's finger slips past the threshold.

And he's fucking you.

He's found himself on his knees, your face pushed into the mattress and your back arched so sluttily as you let him rut into you mindlessly, one hand pressing down at the middle of your back, forcing your arch to deepen.

Your hair's a mess, tangled and lips are parted and letting out the sluttiest whines and praises.

And Tim's finally found something better than his top three wants in life:

Cracking a case.

Coffee.

Bruce's approval.

And he's finding that better thing in the most unorthodox of ways: rearranging the insides of a college girl two years older than him. Bullying his fat cock into your sloppy cunt as praises pour from your lips, your words so honeyed and your pussy so syrupy.

"Good boy."

"Fuck me harder."

"Just like that."

All push him towards the edge and Tim's hips become frantic, blunt nails digging into your hips as he nears his orgasm at a rate that makes his body shiver and shudder, skin prickling with goosebumps and droplets of sweat running down his muscles.

"Where do I—"

"Anywhere you want."

And Tim's hips stutter, cum filling your cunt to the brim and his hips twitch, using you to milk him empty before pulling out and he falls back against the headboard, hazy eyes watching the way pearly cum trickles down your folds, pooling between your knees.

"You know...." You pant softly. "I didn't know you had a hearing aid..."

You shift, moving to sit on your haunches before turning to face Tim, plopping down and your naked form melts against his, and his arms fold over you on instinct.

"What— what... do you mean?" He murmurs lazily and you reach up, tapping the device in his ear.

Shit.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

"Good job, Red Robin."

"Yeah, Tim." Jason snickers. "Keep doing a good job. Just. Like. That."

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

@anesthesia-4rizzle 🎀

@feral010 ✨

@blckbarbiedoll 🌷

@allycat4458 🪻

@custardpuddingprincess ⭐

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

@theamazkngskye 🍄

@titchx0 🦆

[archivegyu]

masterlist

invisible string

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

There’s a golden softness to late afternoons in Seoul. The kind that melts into the floorboards and sneaks into the corners of rooms. In Seungcheol’s apartment, it spills in through the wide living room windows, lazily painting everything with that hazy warmth only spring can offer. It catches in the ridges of your coffee mug, glimmers against the silver edges of your ruler, and warms the back of your neck as you hunch over the center table.

The apartment is quiet, save for the low hum of your laptop fan and the occasional scribble of your stylus across the screen. Your project , fills the display in layers of blueprints and notes. Post-its clutter the table’s edge, reminders of measurements and deadlines, and in the middle of it all, there’s you; oversized hoodie, glasses slipping down your nose, hair pulled back in a lazy bun.

And next to you, lying belly-up with a kind of careless peace you envy, is Kkuma.

She lets out a little huff, tail twitching as if in a dream. You reach over to scratch behind her ear with your free hand, lips twitching into a tired smile.

This is what most of your evenings look like lately. Half-finished sketches, cold takeout, and a drowsy dog keeping you company while your best friend dances himself to the bone in some faraway practice room.

You hadn’t meant to stay here long. When Seungcheol first offered his spare room, you’d told yourself it was just for a few months — until your life calmed down, until rent became less of a monster, until breathing felt easier.

But the months stretched, and the apartment never stopped feeling safe. He never made you feel like a guest, either. It wasn’t his place. It became yours too. The kind of home that smells like coffee and fabric softener, where the walls are filled with memories neither of you ever had to say out loud.

The front door clicks open a little past eight.

You don’t look up. You don’t need to.

The soft shuffle of sneakers on tile. The familiar thud of a duffle bag hitting the entryway floor. Then the drag of tired footsteps across the wood, slow and heavy, like gravity itself decided to cling to him today.

“I’m home,” he calls, his voice quieter than usual. Rough around the edges.

Still, you smile without looking. “There’s kimchi fried rice on the stove.”

He pauses, then: “Did you cook or order again?”

“Define ‘cook.’”

He laughs under his breath. A real one. Not the polite, camera-ready kind.

You finally glance up and find him standing a few feet away, hoodie soaked through, bangs sticking to his forehead, sweat glistening at his collarbone. Exhaustion clings to him like second skin, but his eyes are gentle, warm when they land on you.

“You’re still working?” he asks, nodding toward the screen.

You shrug. “Final review is next week.”

“You said that last week.”

“I meant it then, too.”

He shakes his head, kneels to pet Kkuma. She perks up, tail wagging in sleepy little thumps against the floor.

“She’s spoiled now,” he mutters. “Doesn’t even greet me at the door anymore.”

You hum without thinking, eyes drifting back to your screen. “She likes people who feed her on time.”

He snorts. “I’m taking a shower. Don’t pass out on the floor again.”

You raise a hand in lazy salute, already tuning back into the chaos of your canvas.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

You’re fast asleep by the time he finds you again.

Curled up on the center table, cheek pressed to your folded arms, a pencil still tucked between your fingers. Your laptop screen has dimmed to black, casting the room into a warm hush. Kkuma lies beside you, paw resting near your knee like she’s been guarding you all evening.

Seungcheol exhales quietly from where he stands in the hallway, towel slung around his shoulders. His hair is still damp, shirt clinging slightly to his skin from the shower. His body aches from practice, but his chest aches for something else entirely.

He steps forward, careful not to wake you. There’s something fragile about the scene; the way your face is turned toward the window, the way your brows are relaxed, mouth slightly parted, like the weight you always carry has finally slipped off for just a moment.

And God, you still wear that hoodie he gave you two winters ago— fraying at the sleeves, too big for your frame, swallowed by the fabric.

He kneels beside the table.

“You weren’t supposed to fall asleep like this,” he murmurs softly, reaching to brush a stray hair out of your face.

You don’t stir. You never do, not when you’re this tired. It’s something he’s learned from the years. How you give everything you have until your body stops you. How you always say you’re fine even when you aren’t. How you carry the weight of the world in silence.

He hesitates, then gently scoops you up in his arms. You sink into his chest instinctively, head resting against the hollow of his shoulder. You smell like shampoo and his vanilla lotion you pretend not to like.

Your fingers twitch once in your sleep, curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt.

And that’s what does it; that tiny movement, that subconscious reach for him. Like something inside you knows, even now, even half-asleep, that it’s him.

He carries you to your room, nudging the door open with his foot. Lays you down slowly, carefully, like you’re something precious. Something breakable. His fingers linger on your wrist for a second too long before he pulls the blanket over you.

Then, without thinking, he reaches up and grazes the back of his knuckle along your cheek.

“Night, pretty girl,” he whispers, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Even your dreams deserve rest.”

He closes the door quietly behind him.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Back in the living room, Seungcheol sinks into the couch, rubbing his hands over his face. The quiet presses in; thick and full of everything he’s never said.

Kkuma climbs up beside him, paws light on the cushion. She flops down, tail flicking once, then still.

He chuckles softly, leaning back. “She’s gonna burn herself out before she even graduates.”

Kkuma yawns.

“She doesn’t take care of herself unless someone makes her. It’s annoying,” he says, his voice softer now, gentler. “But… I wouldn’t want anyone else to be the one who reminds her.”

Silence stretches between him and the dog.

“You know, I’ve been trying to ignore it. For years, maybe. Told myself it was just comfort, or familiarity. Like she’s just… always been here.”

He stares up at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded.

“But it’s not that. It’s never been that.”

His voice wavers just a little.

“I’m in love with her.”

There. He says it. Not to you. Not to anyone who can answer. Just to the only soul in the room who might understand.

Kkuma lifts her head slightly, ears twitching.

“I don’t even know when it started,” he continues, his eyes growing distant. “Maybe it was when she stood up to my bully. Maybe when she shared her candy and said I could have the red one.”

A soft laugh escapes him, short and breathless.

“Maybe I’ve always known.”

He reaches down and pets Kkuma’s head again, more to ground himself than anything.

“I don’t know what she’d say if I told her. I don’t know if she’d laugh, or freeze, or leave.” His voice turns quiet. “But I’d rather have her here, like this, than risk losing her at all.”

He looks toward your closed bedroom door.

“So maybe I’ll just wait a little longer.”

The city hums quietly outside the windows. And in this in-between, not quite night, not quite morning; he sits in the golden aftermath of everything unsaid, gently held by the thread that’s tied you to him all this time.

[sushirrrry]

AU PAIR

a harry styles x you one-shot cw: solo female masturbation, slow burn, tension!!! word count: 11,408

summary: a working single dad and his au pair start to bond over simple bedtime routines, but a steamy kiss after bath time threatens their professional boundaries tag list: @esposa-do-harry @fangirlstuffsblog @matildasatellite @dipmeinhoneyh @thepopcultureaddict @iloveharrystyles04 @theluckyleprachaun-in-stripes @this-is-tiny-mia @emmie2308

hope you all enjoy <3

----------------------------

The sound of the house settles into one of those rare, aching silences — the kind that hums against your skin after a long day of toys scattered across the living room floor and tiny feet padding after you, or the sounds of the juice spilling from the table and onto the meticulously kept hardwood.

Quinn, Leo, and yourself are currently sharing one of the small toddler beds for bedtime stories, as you begin smoothing the edges of her quilt on the side of Leo that he is curled up into, the faded colors soft under your fingertips. You can hear the breathing of two worn-out toddlers coming in slow, even puffs now.

Your voice is a whisper as you finish the last page, Goodnight Moon balanced on your knee, thumb running absently over the cracked spine.

“…goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere.” Your last breath is practically silent as you recognize that the two children have fallen asleep; you knew they would fall asleep seconds after you started reading for the second time.

You close the book quietly, pressing it to your chest for a moment like a shield, before setting it aside on the little nightstand. The main mission now is to get yourself out of the bed, trying to make your way around and down to the bottom so you do not disturb them.

It is not unusual that they fall asleep in each other’s beds; the five- and three-year-old have practically slept in the same bed all along – as long as you have been here to notice it. It was more of a comfort thing, you find. Maybe it has to do with the loneliness that they feel from their parents, you are not entirely sure. All that you know is that you do not find an issue with leaving them to find comfort in each other.

As you’ve gotten off the bed, you place the children’s book on the small shelf beside the bed. For a moment, you simply sat there, watching the slow, even rise and fall of their chests, the occasional twitch of a dream beginning to form in one of their tiny limbs. It was a rare kind of peace—something delicate, something sacred. To be a child is an honor, and you feel it’s an honor to watch them.

As you make your way to the door, you’ve smoothed your palms down the front of your denim shorts, casting one last look at the sleeping children before slipping quietly from the room. You pulled the door almost shut behind you, leaving it open just a crack, just the way they liked it – just in case they ever needed to find you.

In the large home in Hampstead, it was quite hard for the little ones to manage their way around on their own.

The hallway was quiet; the light had dimmed outside in the summer heat but hadn’t completely set as it crept through the windows that lined the hall. There was a stretch of warm wood floors and framed photographs—beaches, birthday cakes, candid laughter caught mid-breath. You padded barefoot down the stairs. The house smelled faintly of cinnamon and soap, a comfortable blend that was beginning to feel familiar.

You made your way to the kitchen space, in the small breakfast nook, where your laptop sat waiting for you on the corner, an abandoned Word document still blinking impatiently on the screen as if it had been just sitting and waiting for written words to come that never would.

 There was a mug of cold coffee next to it, forgotten hours ago prior to bath and bedtime, even after Leo had demanded "one more story, pleeeease," and Quinn had chimed in with her irresistible little lisp.

You sat down with a soft sigh, pulling the computer closer, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. There was a paper due for your Early Child Development summer course, which, on a complete ironic level you had decided to write about the role that storytelling played on a cognitive level in early childhood. However, you found yourself staring at the cursor, your thoughts wandering lazily through the evening, replaying the sound of Quinn’s giggles and Leo’s earnest questions about dragons and knights.

A sip of the cold coffee wasn’t what you needed – it was truly something stronger, but you knew that you had to get this finished before Monday. On a normal Friday, you would be trying to find a plan – something to do with some of your friends. But now, it was sitting in your boss's kitchen waiting for inspiration to hit so you could at least write the first sentence.

It was an hour later when you heard the key turn in the lock; the sound that someone had gotten home.

You glanced up just as the front door pushed open and Harry stepped inside, the heat of the summer night air following him in for a moment before he shoved the door closed with his foot. His hands held his satchel, a cup that he used for coffee in the morning, and his keys.

He looked exhausted, a bit of distress coating his face.

His dark hair was a mess, flattened on one side like he had been running his hand through it for hours. His jacket was slung over one shoulder, the fabric rumpled, and his tie hung loose and crooked around his neck. The first two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing the hint of a tattoo curling just beneath his collarbone, something you hadn’t dared stare at for too long.

You had never seen it in full detail, but you knew that it was there.

Without a word, Harry tossed the jacket onto the back of the nearest chair and headed straight for the bar tucked into the corner of the living room, without as much as a ‘hello’ to greet you in the dimly lit kitchen space. You heard the clink of glass against glass as he selected a tumbler and set it down with a tired sort of deliberation.

“Long day?” you asked softly, unsure if you should interrupt his brooding, or if he might want to do that in the peace of the space he owned.

He glanced over his shoulder at you almost as if he didn’t see you sitting there, the corners of his mouth tugging into a crooked smile—half amusement, half pure exhaustion.

“Oh, I mean, you could say that,” he muttered, reaching for a bottle of whiskey and giving it a quick once over. The amber liquid caught the light as he poured it, generous and unbothered. “Never-ending meetings. Clients who think they know better than their attorneys – which is ironic considering we’re hired to make sure that they win, and they should keep their mouths shut. Partners breathing down my neck about quarterly numbers. You know, just another day in the office.”

He shook his head as he set the bottle back down with a muted thunk.

You closed your laptop, pushing it aside, the document forgotten for the moment. Something about the slump of Harry’s shoulders, the way he rubbed the back of his neck, made you want to offer him something—comfort, distraction, maybe just company if he needed it.

Harry came home a lot to an empty house – no one to talk to, so your presence might have been needed every once in a while. Once he got home, you would go out with friends or go to class or just get yourself out of the house since you were home with the kids all day.

He took a sip of his drink and exhaled slowly, eyes falling closed for a beat. He leaned against the kitchen counter. One at a time, he rolled his sleeves up to his elbow. When he opened his eyes again, they found you across the room, lingering, uncertain.

“Kids asleep?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that filled the cozy space between you.

You nodded in confirmation. “Out cold. Leo made me read Goodnight Moon twice. Quinn didn’t even last through the first time.”

“How many times does the moon need to be told ‘goodnight’?” Harry’s mouth quirked again, softer this time. “Must mean you tell the story in an enticing way.”

There was something in his gaze then—something heavier, quieter, something that lingered a little too long. You felt your skin prickle with awareness, a flush rising in your cheeks that you tried to ignore.

“They’re good kids, it’s the least I can do.” You said, your voice a little too bright, a little too quick. You stood, tucking your chair in, needing the motion to shake off the sudden, humming tension in the room.

“I-I, uh,” You swallowed as you looked at your laptop that was shut sitting next to you. “I should be writing a paper, actually. It’s due on Monday.”

Harry watched you then, swirling the whiskey in his glass, the ice clinking softly. The look on his face made it seem like had some thoughts in the back of his head.

Then he glanced over at you, almost shyly.

"You want a drink?" he asked, uncertainty in his voice as he didn’t look back up when you didn’t answer right away.

You blinked, surprised at his question. It wasn’t that it was unlike him to be friendly – he was one of the nicest bosses that you could have ever had. It was mostly because it was unlike him to be doing something other than putting himself in his office, shutting the door, and working until two A.M.

"I—" You glanced down at your laptop, the half-finished paper still glowing through the screen. "I probably should keep working..."

Harry’s mouth quirked, a half-smile that felt both boyish and unbearably tired.

"Come on," he said, pushing off the island. "It’s a nice night. We can sit outside. Just for a little while."

You hesitated — but the softness in his voice, the aching loneliness he didn’t even bother to hide, undid you. Something about thinking of him sitting out there alone, in the quiet garden that probably held too many memories, made you nod instead.

"Okay," you said quietly, giving him an encouraging smile.

Harry grabbed a second glass and poured you a measure of whiskey without waiting for confirmation on how much. You slipped your laptop onto the coffee table, accepting the drink he pressed into your hand when you went to receive it. His fingers brushed yours — a light, accidental touch — but it felt like something more.

The dark, tattooed circle on his ring finger always stood out to you, but you never asked.

He led the way through the French doors into the garden that sat off the living room.

The night air wrapped around you, thick and warm, rich with the smell of honeysuckle and something green and wild. Crickets sang somewhere off in the hedges as the warmth of the summer breeze had tickled your skin and left you with an ease. The fairy lights Harry had strung over the small stone patio twinkled overhead, casting everything in a soft golden glow.

He slouched into one of the old wooden chairs, sprawling with all the boneless grace of a man who didn’t know how to relax but was trying to anyway.

You settled into the chair across from him, tucking your legs up beneath you. The whiskey glass was cool against your palm as you took another sip.

For a while, neither of you spoke – you stared up into the night sky, seeing the reds and pinks that summer brought to the atmosphere. You just sat there, breathing in the humid, fragrant night, the soft clink of his glass against the chair arm the only sound between you.

Harry broke the silence first. His voice different than usual as he stared at the whiskey glass that settled on the arm of the chair.

"You’re so good with them," he said, meaning Leo and Quinn. He shook his head like he couldn’t believe it himself for admitting something he had kept to himself.

You shrugged, a little embarrassed by the compliment. "They make it easy. And it’s my job. I’m sure you’re good at your job, too."

His smile was faint at your own compliment, almost self-mocking. "Not always."

You glanced at him, catching the tightness around his mouth, the way his hands curled around the glass made your eyes want to stare, but your attentiveness made you look up.

There was a moment when you stopped and thought about your next words and if you should say them aloud. You bit on your lip as you tasted the whiskey with hints of vanilla and all-spice.

"You’re doing a good job, you know," you said. "They’re happy. They talk about you all the time.”

Harry made a soft sound — not quite a laugh. He leaned his head back against the chair, staring up at the night sky.

"Some days I feel like I’m just...trying not to screw them up too badly," he said. "Trying to be two people at once, and trying to be present, do things with them. But I’m so glad that you’re around because I feel like… I don’t know, I feel like you’re just good at what you do and you’re good with them and they love you.”

Your heart ached at the raw honesty in his voice. It felt like he had been waiting for a long time to say those things to you.

"You’re more than enough," you said, not knowing what else to say to him. You didn’t know if it was the whiskey talking, or if there had been more on his mind. You sat with your heart open to allow him to know that everything would be okay – it was just a rough day. We all had them.

He turned his head, looking at you properly. The distance between your chairs felt smaller suddenly, like the air had shifted, pulling you closer as you sat under the lights in the garden.

Harry’s home had been your home for the past six months as you tried to make your way through medical schooling; you wanted to work with children, and you need to make a bit of extra cash. This was a job that was close to your school, staying in the area you wanted, and Harry was kind enough to try to work his schedule around yours just because you were so good at what you did.

There really hadn’t been a moment when it was the two of you like this, so you treasured it, in a way. You were happy to see this adult side of him – not the lawyer, not the father.

His eyes were dark in the low light, unreadable as he blinked staring at his glass tumbler that was starting to sweat with condensation. But something flickered there — something fragile and aching.

"You're kind," he said, voice low. "I don’t know if it’s true, but...thank you."

You smiled, sipping your drink to hide the sudden rush of heat to your cheeks. Harry tipped his own glass toward you slightly, a lazy sort of toast.

"To another day," he said.

You leaned forward a bit, making sure that you could clink your glass against his. "To another one."

The whiskey burned sweetly down your throat, settling low in your stomach as you took your sip. You leaned back in your chair, letting the wood help perch you up a bit.

Harry shifted in his chair, turning slightly toward you, his knee brushing the edge of your chair. The touch was casual, almost careless — but your body betrayed you, hyperaware of the small point of contact.

"You’ve really changed our lives," he said suddenly, voice rougher now. You could tell that he was having a thoughtful moment; he didn't know how to express it correctly, you could tell by his facial expression after he said it. "Having you here."

Your breath caught.

"Harry—" you started, but the words tangled.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the glass dangling from his fingers. His tie hung loose around his neck, his shirt rumpled and open at the throat. He looked undone in a way that made your chest ache.

"I’m probably crossing a line just saying that," he said, a hint of a smile ghosting across his mouth, he pushed away the comments just as easily as he made them. "I’m just tired. Ignore me."

But you couldn’t ignore him. The words settled between you, too heavy, too important.

"You’re not," you said softly. "Crossing a line, I mean."

He watched you carefully, like he wasn’t sure he believed you. Like he was waiting for you to push him back into his safe, professional box.

Instead, you shifted a little closer, your drink cradled loosely in your lap.

"It’s nice to just...talk," you said. "To be real with someone."

Harry's mouth twisted, something tender and pained flashing across his face.

"Not many people want the real version of me anymore," he said. "Just the lawyer. Or the dad," He paused for a moment, "Or the ex-husband. The...functioning adult."

You looked at him — really looked — and saw the man beneath all the roles he wore like armor.

"I like the real you," you said before you could stop yourself. "You've been very kind to me since I've been here, and I think sometimes we all just need a break from it all."  

Biting your lip, you thought about the plans you had in the morning. You thought about how you were going to leave Harry on his own, taking the kids to the farmers market to shop for groceries for the weekend.

"Why don’t you take the kids to the farmers market in the morning? Maybe it would be good for you – just the three of you."

His eyes flew up to you, like he had been unsure of your intentions, so you interrupted his thought.

"I was going to take them because they had this tulip picking event – a bit selfish, because really the tulips were for my enjoyment," You found yourself starting to smile, "But if you want some alone time with the kids without me, don’t hesitate to ask."

You watched as he took in a breath, finally nodding at your request. "That would be really nice, actually. I probably do need that."

The air between you went very still.

Harry’s gaze dropped to your mouth for the briefest, most dizzying second — then back up to your eyes. His hand twitched, like he wanted to reach for you but thought better of it.

You stayed frozen, breath shallow, heart thudding so hard it drowned out the crickets, the soft hum of the garden lights.

He smiled then, slow and deliberate but almost shy, and leaned back in his chair, putting just enough space between you to let you breathe again.

"I should probably call it a night before I make a complete ass of myself and say something so regret," he said, voice warm and rough and fond. He downed the rest of his drink before you heard the ice clink against the glass.

You laughed softly, the tension breaking just enough to make your hands stop trembling around the glass.

"Okay,” You agreed, your voice a whisper in the warm dark.

Neither of you moved, though. Neither of you really wanted to – you weren't sure of why. There wasn’t a rush.

The air between you stayed charged, heavy and tender, even as Harry finally, reluctantly, pushed up from his chair.

He stretched his arms overhead, the hem of his shirt pulling just a little at his hips, before he dropped his arms and looked down at you, smiling in a way that made your stomach twist.

"You staying out here a little longer?" he asked.

You nodded, unable to find your voice. It had been a good idea to come out and get some warmth on your skin.

Harry hesitated like he wanted to say something more. Like maybe there was something he could say to untangle the complicated thing sparking between you — but whatever it was, he swallowed it down and shook his head, voting against it.

Instead, he simply said: "Goodnight, moon.”

Your breath hitched — not at the word itself, but the low, absent affection in it, like it had slipped out without thinking.

"Goodnight, Harry." You whispered.

He gave a small, almost pained smile — and then turned and went back inside, leaving the door cracked open behind him.

You stayed there long after his footsteps faded upstairs, the night humming gently around you, the taste of him still lingering somehow, though he hadn't even touched you.

You closed your eyes and leaned back in the chair, cradling the cooling whiskey glass in your lap, feeling the slow, aching bloom of something new — something dangerous — take root inside you.

THE NEXT DAY

The first thing you noticed when you woke was the sunlight that came in slanting through the gauzy curtains, painting the room in pale gold. That was the peaceful thing that you noticed.

The second thing was the sound of the house alive around you, along with what had been going on downstairs. Small feet pattering across hardwood floors, the clatter of shoes being found, the low rumble of Harry's voice cutting through the chaos with patient authority.

"Jacket, Quinn. No, the green one. Leo, leave the dinosaur — please, bud. We don't need to bring that with us."

You smiled into the pillow as you laid on your stomach, stretching your limbs luxuriously, savoring the rare slow start to your morning.

The front door banged open and shut with a final thunk, followed by the muffled sound of tires crunching on the driveway gravel as they made their way away from the house.

Then, there was that sound. Silence.

You turned onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. The house, usually bustling, noisy, spilling over with half-finished crafts and impromptu pillow forts, was suddenly, blissfully still.

An unexpected, precious pocket of time all to yourself. You took in a deep breath as you found a bit of a thrill as you let your hand touch the lower side of your hip. Your fingertip slowly circled round, feeling the bone of it. Slowly, you let your hand caress the edge of your panties.

Shutting your eyes, you let your hand fall deeper underneath. The touch of your clitoris confirmed your need; it was sensitive and warm to the touch, needing the affection you had time to give.

All alone.

Then, all the sudden, you hear your name said aloud. Your eyes blink up and open; it had felt so real.

But it wasn’t real. The sound of the voice coursing through your thoughts was from him. It excited you – knowing that he was on your mind. But the total encapsulation of his being had turned you on, giving you a scare as you thought about what that could mean or why it happened in the first place.

You were sitting on your elbows, then. Wondering if you should continue with the thought of him. Licking your lips, you think about the way his hand wrapped around the whiskey tumbler– fingers delicate and and poised around the cold glass. You can imagine him flicking the water off his fingers, cold and with ease.

Your fingers dance around you, guiding your thoughts dirtier. Your fingers dive into you, letting out a gasp as you think about the feeling of his cold hands on your hot skin.

You think about the way that the tattoos on his chest dance along the neckline of his shirts, the forbidden heat of it driving you insane. Curling your fingers, you lift your legs to bend to give you further access inside of yourself. Your two fingers are pushing deeply in and out, missing the feeling when you pull out.

A gasp escapes your lips as you feel your two fingers in a way that excites you – it pleasures you too well. Your swollen and warm and filled with something that is not him.

But his voice echos in your head as you let your thoughts hang above you like they're watching you please yourself at just the thought of him. You palm your clit with the thought of his head dipping between your thighs, opening you, letting his tongue work on your clit a way that feel exhausting.

Your thoughts mimic a feeling of guilt as you can practically feel the flat of his tongue, eyes darting up to see your reaction at the surge of pleasure he allows you.

"Don’t stop," Your murmur to yourself, "Fuck, Harry– please."

You echo the words, murmurs, and whimpers alike. A feeling grabs ahold of you and pulls you onto the bed, forcing you to take a moment to feel the excitement that rushes through you at once.

You're pulsating around your fingers; your orgasm holding you hostage for a moment as you feel the comedown of the high that felt so momentarily strong.

A few moments of clarity were needed as you laid on the white sheets, feeling the warm summer sun come in through the windows. Your heartbeat falling back to normal, your breathing starting to come to a normalcy.

There was so much to unpack in just the small moment for yourself. A lot of questions, a lot of solitude was needed.

Without overthinking it, you pulled away your covers, stepping out of the bed The sun outside was shining high, you could feel the heat just from the window.

You decided that it may be nice to lay by the pool for a bit, since you have some time off this morning for yourself. The paper could wait — after the conversation with Harry last night, this would be good for you.

It took a moment to find, but once you did, you pulled on your swimsuit — a simple black two-piece, practical but flattering — and layered a loose linen button-up over it. The fabric, soft and worn from washing, hung almost to your mid-thighs to give you a good cover-up.

Barefoot, you padded downstairs, grabbing your thick paperback novel that had been sitting on the coffee table and a pair of sunglasses from the hall table where you left your purses and keys.

The back door creaked gently as you pushed it open.

Outside, the garden was bathed in the early summer light, the air already warming but still edged with a faint coolness in the shade. Bees floated lazily among the wisteria vines curling over the trellis, and somewhere nearby, a lawnmower buzzed faintly, already at work.

You crossed the flagstone patio and dropped into one of the lounge chairs with a satisfied sigh, tucking your legs underneath you and flipping open your book. The sun was hot – you could feel it on your skin as you laid there in the summer bliss.

The words swallowed you whole into a captivating space where time and troubles didn’t matter.

Hours slipped by, unnoticed. You read and sipped iced water from a sweating glass, shifting positions when the sun crept higher overhead, letting the heat seep into your skin. It had taken you for surprise every moment your drifted off into a sleep; you felt so at peace.

You were so absorbed in your comfort that you barely noticed the car pulling into the driveway on the other side of the stone wall until the faint sound of car doors slamming echoed down the side yard.

You straightened up, heart giving a small, startled flutter. It was almost like in that small timeframe; this had been your paradise. It was like you had forgotten where you were, or who you were living with.

A moment later, the gate door swung open — and Harry stepped on in.

You watched from down by the pool, unseen for a moment as you realized he had been dropping some items off by the gate.

He looked rumpled in the most achingly appealing way — sunglasses shoved up onto his head, hair mussed from the breeze. A bag of fresh produce was slung over one arm; his sleeves rolled to the elbow. There was a looseness about him, a casualness you rarely saw after his long days at the firm.

His eyes lifted and found you almost instantly. For one suspended moment, everything froze. You knew that he didn’t expect to see you here, and why should he have? You weren’t one to sit by the pool, or enjoy your time off like this – you barely got time off, as it was.

The bags slipped slightly down his arm as he instinctively jerked to a stop, muscles tightening. His gaze, dark and unreadable, swept over you in one swift, stunned pass: the bare legs folded under you, the black triangle of your bikini top peeking through the loose, open buttons of your shirt, the lazy, sun-drunk way you lounged there with a novel half-forgotten in your lap.

It lasted no more than a heartbeat. Maybe two as you drew in a breath. But you felt it like a physical touch, like static sparking in the heavy air between you.

Harry dragged his gaze away with a visible effort, dropping his eyes to the ground as if scorched by what he had seen. His jaw flexed, a faint pink rising over the stubble roughening his cheeks.

You snapped your book shut without thinking, heart hammering suddenly against your ribs.

He opened his mouth — maybe to apologize, maybe to say something normal, anything — when the kids burst through the garden-gated door behind him.

"Daddy! You have to show her!" Quinn shouted, her tiny sneakers slapping against the ground as she had followed him into the back gate.

You could tell that he hadn't planned for them to follow him, but he had lingered here too long, and they had not been caught.

Leo crashed into his thigh, clutching a brown paper bag like it was treasure.

Harry blinked, as if remembering where he was, and quickly stepped back to let them through. Quinn ran straight to you, a bundle of something crumpled and colorful clutched in her small hands.

"We got you flowers!" She said, breathless with excitement. She thrust them into your lap: reds and yellows spilled out from the paper.

You looked down: tulips, slightly battered from the ride home, their bright heads bobbing on long green stems. Your chest squeezed thinking of your conversation last night and the way he had thought of your disappointment possibly missing out on the tulip festival.

When you look up, you see Harry standing against the gate with a dimpled smile on his face as he watched his children shower you with affection.

"They're beautiful, sweetheart," You said, your voice quiet as you realized you had even really spoken to anyone yet today. You reached out and smoothed Quinn’s hair away from her forehead, smiling. "Thank you."

Leo tugged on your sleeve, brandishing his prize, a small jar of golden honey sealed with a checkered cloth lid.

"Real honey," he said proudly. "We saw the bees and everything!"

"Actual bees," Quinn emphasized, nodding gravely as if her brother could have been kidding, and she needed you to know that.

“As opposed to, you know," Harry stated afterwards, "Fake bees."

With a humorous tone, you stare at him with a smirk, both of your eyes covered by sunglasses. His hands pushed into the pockets of his shorts that came up midthigh, a hat on his head shielded him from the sun.

You laughed, scooping Leo up into your lap without thinking, tucking him against your side as you inspected the jar. His hair was warm and sun-smelling under your chin.

You felt Harry's gaze on you again but it was different this time; heavier this time, lingering.

Something about the way you sat there, barefoot, and golden in the morning sun, arms full of his children, your laugh spilling easily into the bright air… it may have given his heart a ping of something.

He cleared his throat roughly, going to grab at the gate door that had shut behind him.

"I'll, uh," he said, voice hoarse, "grab the rest of the stuff from the car." He disappeared outside before you could answer.

You watched the door swing gently in his wake, your heart still thudding unevenly against your ribs. You couldn’t deny what had passed between you — whatever invisible current had snapped taut across the sunlit garden.

And now, sitting there with the kids chattering excitedly around you, you realized two things with startling clarity: one, Harry was fighting with the idea that you loved his children. And two, you were starting to realize that sense too.

“C’mon, you two,” You say to the kids; Quinn has started to look through the novel you had sitting out but knowing that she couldn’t understand the words made you smile. “Let’s go help your daddy, hm?”

They scrambled ahead of you barefoot, little feet slapping across the hot stone that was baking under the unusually warm England sun, as they darted back into the house from the French doors. You followed at an easier pace, pausing just long enough to brush your damp hair off your neck from when you had taken a dip in the pool earlier to cool off, the thin straps of your bathing suit still just a bit dewy but practically dry. Your cover-up, a gauzy thing that barely reached mid-thigh, fluttered behind you as the breeze filtered through the door.

Harry was just pulling a crate from the boot of the car and into the house when he caught sight of you coming in through the kitchen

His hand faltered slightly on the box.

He hadn’t expected the way the sunlight would frame you like that, haloing your hair, catching the edge of your smile as the kids crowded around his legs to help. His daughter tugged at a canvas bag that he had sat inside and not fully bringing into the kitchen, insisting she was strong enough to carry it herself. Leo squealed with excitement when you bent to lift a carton of strawberries, your cover-up gaping slightly at the neckline as you moved.

Harry tore his gaze away, and grabbed at the list he didn’t really need in his pocket to make sure that he had gotten everything on it.

“Thanks,” He said when you stepped past him with a crate tucked in your arms. He caught the scent of your sunscreen—warm coconut and saltwater—and something else, something that made him dizzy for a beat too long.

“Of course,” You murmured, your voice easy, unaware—or pretending to be, at least.

In the kitchen, the kids were already unpacking the groceries with great ceremony, piling vegetables onto the kitchen counter in chaotic towers as they took one by one out. You joined them, setting down the crate and reaching for a peach to inspect, your fingers brushing the soft fuzz of it thoughtfully.

Harry brought in the last of the bags. He moved slower now, like he didn’t quite trust himself to get too close. But when he stepped up beside you and saw you standing there barefoot, tan legs bare beneath your cover-up, backlit in the window light—he knew he was in trouble.

“Do you want help with making lunch?” You asked, turning to him. Your lips curved gently, like you knew exactly how he was looking at you and weren’t afraid to let him.

He blinked, taken off guard by your question. “Yeah—uh, yeah, sure. I was thinking something easy. Sandwiches maybe?”

“That’s perfect,” You said, already reaching for the bread.

You moved around him like it was natural. You always had, he realized. Slipping past him in narrow spaces with a hand lightly grazing his back that usually felt like fire on him or brushing his forearm when you passed him the kettle, or leaning just slightly into him when the kids were being rowdy and you both needed a moment of shared silence. It was always small. Subtle.

But now… he was noticing all of it. There was no subtly, it was just happening.

He opened the fridge while you chopped tomato slices. And when you leaned over to grab a plate from the cabinet, the hem of your cover-up lifted just enough to show the curve of your upper thigh, the dark tie of your bikini bottom flashing against your skin. He made the mistake of looking.

Then you caught him; he looked practically ill.

You turned your head slightly, a knowing glint in your eye. “Is everything okay?”

His throat felt dry as he shrugged and tried to play off the behavior. “Yeah. Yeah, just… making sure I’ve got enough…” He trailed off, looking at the list, almost like he hadn’t known what to respond with.

Your heart beat faster at the way he seemed… nervous. You smirked faintly but didn’t press him, only went back to slicing vegetables with quiet focus.

He stood beside you, trying to concentrate on the sandwiches, but every time your arm brushed his, every time your hip nudged his as you both reached for the same cutting board, he felt like the floor might tilt under him. It was unbearable and addictive all at once—the domesticity of it, the small sweetness of this moment that looked, from the outside, like you’d done this a hundred times before.

He couldn’t remember what this feeling was, it had been too long since he had felt the draw of someone’s presence. Not with the same ache, the same hesitation. The need was one thing. But the softness of it? The rightness of it? That was new.

You handed him a finished plate with a horizontally cut sandwich, and your fingers touched—longer than necessary. And this time, neither of you pulled away quickly.

From the table, Leo called out, “Are you done yet? I’m starving!”

“Leo, be polite.” Harry stated back at him, acknowledging that the toddler had been a bit rude.

You smiled, breaking the tension, and pulled away to finish assembling the food.

Harry didn’t say a word. But when he caught your profile in the corner of his eye, the dip of your neck, the curve of your shoulder where your cover-up had slipped slightly off, he bit down on the inside of his cheek and looked away fast, chest tight.

Lunch was mostly a noisy affair, as it usually was with little voices bouncing off the walls. The kids sat perched around the kitchen table, chomping on peach slices and crustless sandwiches. You sat beside Leo, wiping mustard from his chin with the corner of a napkin, while Harry stood at the sink rinsing out the tomato-streaked wooden cutting board.

It had almost settled into a rhythm until Quinn suddenly piped up between bites of cheese that she had strategically picked from her sandwich.

“Daddy, when is Mummy coming this year?” The words landed with a thud in the air. Heavy and unexpected. You tried not to make a deal of it, but you had to glance at Harry to catch his reaction to her very innocent question.

Harry froze, hands still under the running water. You glanced at him instinctively and saw his shoulders tense—not a flinch, exactly, but a tightening, like he was bracing himself to give her an answer.

“She said maybe she’d come for the fireworks last time,” Quinn continued, oblivious, swinging her feet under the table. You didn’t exactly know what that meant – a promise made between her and her mother.

Leo looked up from his half-eaten sandwich, interested now. “Yeah, she missed them last year.”

You sat still, carefully quiet.

At the sink, Harry let the tap run another second too long before turning it off abruptly. The silence that followed was too sharp for the easy sunlit mood you’d all just been sitting in, and you felt a shift in the air.

He dried his hands on a dish towel slowly. Then, with a voice that was just a little too calm, he said, “We’ll see, love.”

Quinn frowned at his nonresponse. “But—”

“Let’s not worry about that today, alright?” Harry said, just a touch firmer now. He turned to face them, towel clenched in one hand. “I don’t know all the answers, but I do know you need to finish your lunch so we can continue with our day.”

The kids quieted, sensing the edge to his voice even if they didn’t understand it. Quinn looked down at her plate, nudging a slice of the fallen tomato with her thumb. Leo murmured something about the boat that they had gone on a few weeks ago with Harry’s family and went back to eating.

You felt the air shift like a tide pulling away. Harry caught your eyes across the kitchen. Just for a second. There was something there—something raw and tired and older than the man who’d been smiling moments ago. A look that said: Don’t ask. Please don’t ask.

You never did, and you weren’t going to start. But you did know that it seemed to be off limits.

Instead, you wiped Leo’s hands, gathered the empty plates, and stacked them with soft efficiency.

“I’ll take care of this,” you said gently, your voice low but light. “Why don’t you go and get their swimsuits on, and I’ll clean up here.”

“Go swimming?” The kids both perked up again at the mention of it and slid off their chairs after they had their plates removed, already halfway down the hall. Leo followed, dragging a half-eaten peach in one hand.

When they were gone, you placed the dishes in the sink beside Harry who had not made an effort to follow the kids to their rooms, careful to keep your movements quiet. You didn’t want to crowd him, but you didn’t want to leave either.

He scrubbed a hand across his jaw, exhaling roughly as if in thought. “She calls when she wants to. Sends gifts. Postcards.” He laughed, short and bitter. “And somehow they still think she might show up and make jam tarts like she used to.”

You said nothing, just rinsed the plates slowly. You knew that listening was the best you could do right now, so that’s what you did.

“It’s been nearly a year,” He added, quieter now. “But I’m still the bad guy if I say she won’t come.”

You glanced at him, turning the sink off. “You’re not the bad guy.”

He looked at you then—really looked at you—and there was something like gratitude swimming behind the guarded frustration in his face. Something tired and real.

“I didn’t- I don’t mean to get sharp with them,” He murmured. “It’s just… every time they ask, it sets me back. I think I’ve moved on. That I’ve built something steady for them. But then it all just… it builds up. I hate that their only memory of her is going to be the times she didn’t show up.”

“I get it,” you said gently. “You’re trying to hold it all together. It’s okay to be tired of the cracks, and for trying your best.”

He didn’t respond at first. Just stood there, drying his hands again even though they weren’t wet. You were close now—only a few inches of space between you. The hum of the ceiling fan, the distant seagulls outside.

“Kids hold onto the hope that things might go back to how they were.” You tell him, leaning against the counter.

He let out a humorless breath at that, shaking his head. “Yeah. Except she’s off in Provence or Cannes or wherever, living in some gated house, and sending ‘love from Mum’ in cursive on postcards from places she’s been that they’ve never even heard of before.”

You stayed quiet. Not out of awkwardness, but because it felt like he just needed to say it aloud. Needed someone to hear him for once. The way he opened to you wasn’t shocking – Harry was quiet an emotional man, you could tell that he had a lot being carried on his shoulders, but he never opened up to you the way he had been.

It was just someone to listen and to not judge him.

“She left a year and a half ago,” he said, still holding the towel in his hands. “Didn’t want this life anymore. Said she felt stuck. That she wanted to be ‘a woman again,’ not just a mother.”

Your stomach turned a little, not knowing how a mother leaves her children. You didn’t want to judge, but your impression had already soured. You crossed your arms over your chest and tilted your head as you listened.

“She married again to a – I don’t know, CEO of something somewhere. They live in luxury. Not that I didn’t try, not that I didn’t give her all of this,” Harry looked around the spectacular Hamstead home that had accommodations far greater than just the four of us that lived there. “She just didn’t want… responsibility. She wasn’t meant to be a mother, and I do feel that maybe I,” He paused, “Maybe I coaxed her into it. Like, she only did it for me.”

His voice was softer when he said, “Some days, I think I’ve forgiven her. Other days, I look at Quinn when she asks about her mum, and I just—” His jaw clenched. “I get angry.”

“She’s allowed to miss her mum,” you said gently. “But you’re allowed to feel angry, too, especially when your resentment is so high. You’ve been showing up. Every single day. That counts for something – the kids will remember that and see that. They will hold resentment too, but they will grow up understanding who was there for them.”

“Thanks,” he said finally, voice low. “For not making it a thing. With them… or me.”

You gave him a small, knowing smile as you thought of the times that Quinn would ask you questions you didn’t know answers to, so you would deflect. Harry looked at you then with something new in his eyes—soft, searching, a question he didn’t quite dare ask.

And just for a second, you let yourself imagine what it might feel like to reach up, thread your fingers through the edge of his T-shirt, and kiss him right there in the middle of the kitchen. To drop the pretense.

But you didn’t. Because the kids were down the hall, and because Harry was still trying to figure out how to let someone in again. So instead, you bumped his shoulder gently with yours and said, “Come on, let’s go make sure that peach Leo was holding doesn’t end up in a bed somewhere.”

He gave you a small, crooked smile. “Goddamn kids.”

You laughed, and it broke the tension just enough.

But the look in his eyes lingered—long after you left the kitchen, long after the kids had rallied for their towels and snacks and toys.

It clung to the warm corners of the day like something unsaid but undeniable.

Later that night, bathtime was always a bit of a circus in the house, especially when you didn’t have help. But tonight it felt even more chaotic, their sun-soaked energy bubbling over in the form of shrieks and slippery limbs.

Harry was also here – a lot of the times, he was at the office or working late, which is why you were there to help. He often came home in the middle of bathtime, getting a run down from the kids on the day and how they were doing while trying to eat his dinner as he stood in the doorway while you worked.

But tonight was different – tonight, you two worked as a team, each of you taking a kid and spending time with them. Leo had somehow managed to dump half a bottle of bubble bath into the tub before you’d even turned on the tap. Now the bathtub was just a sea of foam, the scent of orange blossom rising in the warm air.

You sat on the edge of the tub, shorts damp at the edges, scrubbing Leo’s feet gently while he chattered about how he was going to be “the biggest shark” in the pool tomorrow. Harry was toweling Quinn’s hair, his forearms flexing with the motion, tattoos slick and shining from the steam and water. You had to look away.

Or rather—you tried to, but kept noticing how they stuck out around the tight t-shirt he was sporting.

All afternoon, you’d caught flashes of him in the pool: tossing Leo effortlessly into the air as the boy shrieked with joy, letting Quinn ride on his shoulders during splash fights, his own laughter echoing off the garden walls. The sun had traced golden lines across his skin, catching on the wet curve of his neck and shoulders, the faint pink of a sunburn spreading across his back and cheeks.

And the tattoos—how they shifted and twisted with each movement. You’d noticed the faint trail of water dripping down his ribs, over the anchor inked on his wrist, and how your fingers itched to touch them. Not for the first time.

“I think the bubbles are trying to eat me!” Leo shouted, thrashing like a sea creature, and spilling water over the edge of the tub.

“They’ve claimed you,” Harry declared dramatically. “There’s nothing we can do now – you’re lost in the sauce, brother.”

Quinn dissolved into laughter again, slipping off the towel pile in her giggles as she made her way into her bedroom, Harry following.

By the time both kids were dried, lotioned, and wriggling into their pajamas, it was nearly nine. Harry read to them on Quinn’s bed—something about a traveling mouse—and you sat in the hallway, folding towels from the laundry, as you listened to him read. His voice was low, soft around the edges, full of patience and presence especially when the kids would interrupt with questions.

You heard him wrapping up with the story, both receiving a kiss goodnight; Quinn getting a forehead kiss, Leo a noisy cheek one. Harry soon made his way into the hallway and closed the door behind him softly after saying his goodnights.

You turned toward Harry. He stood just a few steps away, one hand on the back of his neck, his own hair still a little damp.

“They adore you,” You said, your voice quiet in the hush.

“I adore them,” he replied, then added, “and they adore you.”

The air shifted. Like the stillness before a thunderstorm, the pressure obliterating.

You started walking toward the kitchen, meaning to clean up the dinner dishes you’d abandoned earlier, but he followed, falling into step beside you. You had wondered if he had something else to do, to leave you to your job. Neither of you said much as you wiped down counters and stacked plastic plates. Your bodies moved in sync, brushes of skin here and there—a shared space carved out of routine.

You bent to load the dishwasher and felt his presence behind you before you turned into him. Straightening, you found him watching you again.

You didn’t know which of you moved first. Only that one second the air was thick between you, and the next, his mouth was on yours.

It was a soft kiss. Cautious, at first. Just a press, a seeking acknowledgement of being felt. Then, it deepened. Just enough that you felt the tenseness in your shoulders fall.

His hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face slightly, his thumb grazing your cheek as he kissed you like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed—but couldn’t help it anyway. You tasted the remnants of toothpaste on his lips, the faintest hint of fresh watermelon from earlier, and something else entirely—desire, long-hushed and finally slipping free.

You kissed him back, stunned by how easy it was. How right it felt as you tilted your neck to meet his lips.

Almost like a light switch had turned on, he pulled away – fast.

“Shit,” he muttered, shutting his eyes at the acknowledge; as soon as your eyes met when he pulled away, it was like you were on fire and he was touching you with bare hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—fuck.”

“Harry—”

“No, I know. That was… that was stupid. I crossed a line.”

You blinked, still catching your breath – he wasn’t wrong, but you didn’t want to make him feel worse. You participated; you didn’t end it – you didn’t stop him. You didn’t… want him to stop. “It wasn’t stupid.”

He ran a hand through his hair, backing a step away from you like it might undo what had just happened, or both of you might just forget it.

“It’s not fair to you,” he said. “I can’t… I shouldn’t blur things. You’re here for the kids, and I’m—Christ, I’m a mess, and I just—”

You stepped forward this time, your voice gentle but firm as you go to touch him, but he flinches at the way your fingers grace him. “Harry.”

He looked at you then, eyes filled with panic and something else—something raw and vulnerable like he feels so conflicted with how he is responding.

“I- it may have been a mistake, but,” you said. “Whatever that was… it didn’t feel like a mistake.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just stood there, breathing hard. But when he finally nodded, slow and quiet, you saw it in his eyes: the want. The fear. The pull.

The storm had been coming for a while. That kiss was just the first crack of thunder, and you were feeling the effects of the downpour.

You watch as he threads his hands through his hair, leaning against the counter. The way that he starts to fall into an oblivion of dissociation from his thoughts, you worry that he’s going to spiral.

The kitchen was still, filled with the soft hum of the dishwasher and the sound of your breathing. You stood across from him, heart skittering from the kiss and the way he’d pulled away — not because he hadn’t wanted it, but because he had. He had wanted it so badly that he crossed the invisible line to get it.

Harry scrubbed a hand down his face, eyes darting around the room as if searching for something to ground himself.

You didn’t move. Just watched him.

“I’m – I really am sorry,” he said again, softer this time. “That was—impulsive. I didn’t plan it.”

You let out a quiet breath. “Neither did I.”

He glanced up at you, trying to fidget with whatever he can get his hands on as if you will see his hands shake with adrenaline.

“I just…” he trailed off, exhaling hard through his nose. “You make it too easy. Being around you. It’s like I forget how complicated it is.”

Your brows lifted gently, curiosity tugging at your features. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, “I mean—this house. The routines. The mess. Bath time and sunblock and tantrums and grocery runs. It’s all supposed to be exhausting and a bit miserable in some capacity, right?” His lips curled faintly, staring down at his hands that were now wrapped up in an excess tea towel, “But when you’re here, it just… it’s better. Feels like I’m not doing it alone.”

You felt that—deep in your chest. A tight, warm pinch of something unsaid.

“I like the way things feel with you,” he continued, his voice raw now like it had been crafted by professionals, like the truth had worn down any resistance he had left. “Even the boring stuff. Especially the boring stuff. You make it—”

“Easier?” You offered quietly.

He nodded once, then a few times as if he thought of all the times that you had been there when it was hard, each one running through his mind. “Yeah.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was heavy, yes—but with something tender. Something on the verge of spilling. You crossed your arms, mirroring him, your hip leaning against the island. “And that’s what’s confusing you?”

He sighed, running a hand along his jaw in thought, resting his head in his hand now. “I don’t know what I’m allowed to want with you,” he admitted, words very clear and concise as if he was placing jigsaw pieces and not wanting to force them, “You’re here because I hired you. You take care of my children. You live in my house. I don’t want to be—” He stopped himself, shaking his head, almost in a bit of disgust.

You tilted yours, stepping closer. “You don’t want to be what?”

He looked at you then, really looked. His voice was steady, if a little hoarse. “I don’t want to be the guy who takes advantage of the girl he hired to help keep his life from falling apart – it’s,” He grimaced, “It’s not who I am, and I don’t want you to get the impression of that. Really.”

Your stomach twisted. “Harry,” you said gently. “That’s not what this is.”

He hesitated, eyes flicking to your mouth, your bare legs with the summer sun-kiss on them from sitting out in the sun all day. “I want it to be more. But I don’t know how to let it be that without blurring everything.”

Your voice was quiet but certain in how you came to this conclusion. “Lines are only useful if they’re helping. But if they’re just keeping you from something good, then… maybe they need to be redrawn.”

Harry looked at you like you’d just opened a door he didn’t know he was allowed to walk through.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said, with all of the honesty he could. “Not carefully. Not slowly.”

A small smile tugged at your mouth. “You don’t have to know everything right now. You just have to be honest.”

You were standing directly in front of him now; leaning against the island as he leaded against the countertops. The space between you now was warm, charged again.

“I think about you,” he admitted, “When I’m rinsing Leo’s cereal bowl. When I’m folding Quinn’s pajamas. When I walk into a room and you’re already there, barefoot, humming something under your breath. It’s like—this house… doesn’t feel empty anymore.”

That one hit you deep. You swallowed; throat suddenly tight at the thought of his loneliness being the culprit. It was one thing to let his mind and body talk, but knowing that it was because he just longed for the security of a partner made you feel touched.

“And that... scares me,” he added, voice low and honest as he came to that conclusion. “Because I’m not used to things feeling good and lasting.”

You nodded slowly, trying to understand where he was coming from. “I’m not asking for forever right now, Harry. I just need truth and honesty, and maybe we just…” You trailed off, shrugging, “We take this as it comes.”

The smile that crossed his face caught you off guard, it was showing his dimples that you knew were hereditary just in the way that his smile replicated Quinn’s perfectly. There was a bit of a blush on his cheeks, “The truth is, I want to kiss you again,” he said. “But I won’t. And like you said, we’ll take it as it comes.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. You made the first move, stepping just forward until you were close enough to hear his breath in the quiet space. His breath hitched, and for a long moment, it felt like the world was suspended in that space between intention and action.

But he didn’t kiss you again. Instead, he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

“I’ll walk you to your room,” he said, voice barely audible.

And just like that, the moment folded back into the quiet hum of the house again. But the charge—that didn’t go anywhere.

When you both padded up the stairs, your fingers still linked, it wasn’t about pretending anymore. It was about the start of something quietly, fiercely real but in the most uncommon of instances.

Harry stopped just outside your bedroom door, still holding your hand like he didn’t quite want to let go yet. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and you watched the corner of his mouth twitch like he was fighting a smile.

“So…” he said, eyes flicking toward the door behind you, “this is your stop.”

You blinked at him, confused for a second — until you caught the playful tilt of his voice. “Are you—are you pretending this is a first date?”

He gave a dramatic shrug, leaning a shoulder against the hallway wall. “What can I say? Feels like I should walk you to your apartment. Make sure you got in okay. Maybe kiss you on the front stoop, ask when I’ll see you again,” He bit his lip, “I want to take things slow but I have to imagine it this way rather than you just already living with me.”

A breath of laughter left your chest before you could help it. “You’re ridiculous.”

Harry’s gaze dropped to your mouth, and the moment slowed, grew heavier. When he leaned in, it was hesitant, like he was asking you to meet him halfway – he was still redrawing those lines.

And so, you did.

The kiss was soft — just the brush of lips, careful and steady, the kind of kiss that lingered long after it was over. There was no rush, no battle for control. Just quiet confirmation that whatever was happening between you had already begun.

When he pulled back, he looked almost dazed, like it had completely changed his perspective. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

You slipped inside your room, closing the door gently behind you. But long after your head hit the pillow that night, you could still feel the ghost of his mouth on yours, and you hoped that the phantom touch would haunt you just a little longer.

THE NEXT MORNING

You woke slowly the next morning, the kind of slow that only came after a long, sun-soaked day and a night full of soft, lingering touches and unspoken truths. The sheets were warm against your skin, the pillow still holding the faintest trace of Harry’s cologne – your mind may have just been playing tricks on you. Your limbs felt heavy in the best way, as if your body had finally relaxed after weeks of holding tension.

Somewhere downstairs, you heard the faint clang of a pan, followed by the sound of laughter — light and bubbling, the kind that cracked your chest open and made you want to smile without thinking. Afterall, your job was to get the kids up, get them ready for their day.

But the past couple days, you had slept in. you had been given a break from all of that.

You slipped from bed, wrapping your robe around you loosely, bare feet padding softly over the cool wooden floor. The light filtering in through the windows was syrupy gold, lazily stretching across the hallway in slanted lines. You followed the scent first — warm butter, something sweet, something citrusy, and the unmistakable richness of coffee.

When you reached the kitchen, you stopped in the doorway. Time slowed.

Harry stood at the stove, barefoot, in purple shorts and a black t-shirt that clung to his shoulders and arms in a way you couldn’t quite ignore. His curls were a little messy — like he’d run a hand through them too many times — and he had a spatula in one hand, a steadying palm on Leo’s back with the other.

Leo had his knees on the stool as he sat in front of the stove, eyes wide and focused, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he gripped his own tiny spatula like it was a sword. Quinn hovered nearby in her pajamas, as she watched them from her spot sitting on the counter.

“You see those bubbles?” Harry asked, pointing to the pan, “That means it’s almost ready. Gotta be patient. The flip’s all about timing.”

“Now?” Leo asked, eyes wide with anticipation.

Harry smiled at his son’s impatience, “Few more seconds,” He watched as the little boy struggled with keeping it together before Harry nodded at him to act, “Okay, go on.”

Leo flipped the pancake clumsily and unevenly, but it made it onto the pan — and let out a triumphant yell at he did so. Quinn squealed, clapping, and Harry laughed, tilting his head back.

It hit you, then, the vision of him there, eyes soft with pride, his children giggling around him — the warmth of domesticity seeping into every corner of the kitchen. He looked like he belonged there. Like this was his favorite version of himself.

And then… you saw them.

Tulips.

A fresh bouquet — soft pinks and whites and yellows — tucked into a simple glass vase beside the sink, where the morning light caught the edges of the petals and made them glow. Just beneath them sat two coffee mugs. Steam was curling from the tops of them as if they were freshly poured.

Harry looked up just then, catching you standing there. He stilled, biting on the inside of his cheek.

For a moment, it was just the two of you in the space between that look — his eyes raking down your robe, soft at the edges, knotted loose around your waist. Your hair falling around your shoulders. Your smile barely formed. His entire face softened at your presence. He didn’t say anything, but his mouth twitched like he might want to.

“Morning,” you finally said, voice scratchy as you just woke up.

“Morning,” he murmured, gaze still holding you like something precious.

Leo turned, squealing. “We’re making pancakes! Daddy’s teaching us how to flip them!”

“He said we’re officially his pancake assistants,” Quinn added, nodding solemnly.

You stepped further into the warmth of the room, the floor cool beneath your toes as you reached for your mug. Harry passed it to you before you could reach, already fixed the way you liked it with a caramel color indicating he added creamer. Your fingers brushed his as he passed on the mug. The touch lingered — enough to send heat curling low in your belly again, like last night hadn’t fully settled.

“Thank you,” you said softly, glancing toward the tulips.

His eyes followed yours. “We thought you might like them.”

You didn’t have words for that — for how simple it was, and yet how deeply it rooted itself under your skin.

He turned back to the stove, flipping a pancake with practiced ease, letting the kids chatter around him. You stood at the counter, sipping the warm, rich coffee, watching him — the tattoos swirling down his arm as he reached for a plate, the way he leaned down to ruffle Leo’s curls, how he facilitated when Quinn spilled a bit of batter on her pajamas.

It wasn’t just that he was handsome. It was the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way his voice softened when he spoke to the kids to meet their needs, but also to navigate their feelings and help them understand the world around them. The way the kitchen had tulips and coffee and warmth and him in it.

You realized, suddenly, that you hadn’t felt this safe in years. He caught you looking again and smiled.

And you knew — just by the way his shoulders dropped, the easy way he moved toward you — that the night before hadn’t been a fluke; it was just built-up feelings that he had needed to express on how easy this life was. That something had shifted. That you weren’t imagining the way his hand had hovered near yours all morning.

That there was more coming. And it would be slow. And tender. And full of moments just like this one.

Fresh flowers, and all.

[thedensworld]

Industry, Baby | k.mg

Pairing: police officer Mingyu! x actress reader!

Genre: bestfriends to lovers au!

Type: fluff, angst, humor(?)

Word count: 16k

Summary: Acting is about observation! And to be honest, your best friend does it best—your handsome cop best friend.

Boring patrol, boring night. It was a Saturday night, and the city was alive—just not for Mingyu. Every street was lined with couples walking hand in hand, whispering sweet nothings, or worse, making out in full public view like they were starring in some low-budget romance drama. Mingyu swore PDA had skyrocketed lately, and yet here he was, stuck in a patrol car with Chan, cruising aimlessly through the district like two third wheels in a world built for pairs.

In the noble name of peace and safety, Mingyu had sacrificed his Saturday night for this mind-numbing routine. No raging bar fights, no drunks passed out on the sidewalk, not even a stray cat causing chaos—just an uneventful drive through the city while couples flourished all around him.

He glanced at Chan, who was casually munching on chips, completely unbothered. “You ever think the real crime here is us being single on a Saturday night?” Mingyu muttered.

Chan crunched down on another chip and shrugged. “Speak for yourself. I have plans after this.”

Mingyu scoffed. “With who? The convenience store cashier?”

Chan smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Mingyu groaned, slumping further into his seat as their car rolled past yet another pair of lovebirds. Maybe he should’ve just taken the risk and faked food poisoning to get out of this shift.

"Isn't that girl from your video call last time your girlfriend? The rising actor… what’s her name again?" Chan asked casually, his tone laced with curiosity.

Mingyu shot him a quick glance before steadying the steering wheel with one hand. The car rolled smoothly down the quiet street, the flashing neon signs of late-night shops reflecting on the windshield. He remembered that night well—he’d been stuck on patrol with Chan when your name suddenly lit up his phone screen, buzzing with an unexpected video call. He hadn’t even thought twice before answering, only to realize too late that Chan had been peering over his shoulder the entire time.

"Oh? You knew her?" Mingyu asked, raising a brow. It wasn’t like anyone ever believed him when he said he had a celebrity friend.

Chan shrugged, popping another chip into his mouth like this was just another ordinary conversation. "I think I saw her picture at your place once."

Mingyu nodded, tapping his fingers against the wheel. "Yeah, you’re right. We’ve known each other since high school. She’s just a friend."

Chan hummed in response, but the knowing smirk on his face made Mingyu frown.

"Wait a second," Mingyu said, narrowing his eyes, realization dawning on him. "Why are we talking about me? You brought this up to dodge my question, didn’t you? Now spill—who’s the girl you’re meeting after shift?"

Chan smirked, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest like he held the world’s greatest secret.

Mingyu scoffed, shaking his head. "If she’s real, then prove it. Otherwise, I’m sticking with my theory that you’ve been secretly flirting with the convenience store cashier."

Chan only grinned, crunching down on another chip. "Believe what you want, man."

*

Mingyu slumped in his chair, drumming his fingers lazily against the desk as he watched the clock inch toward the end of his shift. The office was eerily quiet—just the faint buzz of the vending machine and the occasional shuffle of papers from the few unlucky souls still stuck here. He should’ve been doing something productive, but at this point, he was just killing time.

The second the clock hit shift change, Chan sprang to life. With a dramatic yawn and a stretch that seemed more for show than necessity, he grabbed his bag and disappeared into the changing room. When he emerged, Mingyu did a double take.

Grey hoodie. Black sweatpants. Flip-flops.

Mingyu blinked. Then he blinked again.

"What in the world—" He motioned vaguely at Chan’s outfit. "Are you dating a computer in a PC room?"

Chan scoffed, adjusting his hoodie like it was designer wear. "Whatever, man. Enjoy your loneliness."

Mingyu snorted. "I’ll enjoy it just fine knowing I don’t look like I got dressed in the dark."

Chan ignored him, waving lazily over his shoulder as he headed out the door. Mingyu shook his head, leaning back in his chair as he pulled out his phone. A notification popped up.

Ji Actress: what you do mingooooooooo

Mingyu smirked at the ridiculous spelling, already picturing the way you’d say it in a whiny voice just to annoy him. He typed back a simple Just finished shift, and before he could even lock his phone, it vibrated with an incoming call.

He answered, barely getting a greeting out before your voice burst through the speaker.

"Can I crash at your place? I'll bring food. Please, please, pleaaaaase…"

Mingyu rolled his eyes, though his lips curled into a smirk. "You’ll make my house dirty. And Bobpul hates you."

A dramatic groan came from the other end. "I won’t! I promise! And I hate her too, so that makes two of us!"

Mingyu chuckled, rubbing his face. "Alright, fine. Bring chicken and beer. I’ll get us enough soju for both of us."

A high-pitched squeal erupted from your end—so loud and unexpected that Mingyu had to pull the phone away unless he wanted to go deaf.

"Okay, bye! See you, handsome boy!"

Mingyu let out an amused breath, shaking his head. "Alright, take care," he said before hanging up.

He stared at his phone for a second, the exhaustion of his shift melting away. A late-night hangout with you and free food? Maybe this Saturday night wasn’t a total waste after all.

*

The doorbell rang once. Then twice. Then—

Ding-dong. Ding-ding-dong. Dong-ding-dong.

Mingyu groaned, already knowing it was you before he even got up. Who else would take a perfectly normal doorbell and turn it into a drum solo? If you kept it up, the security guard would be knocking soon, grumbling about noise complaints from the neighbors who, unlike you, actually valued a quiet Saturday night.

He practically ran to the door, yanking it open before you could press the bell again. "You'll wake the whole floor," he hushed, grabbing your wrist mid-motion.

You beamed at him, completely unfazed. "Doom for them. Should’ve had something better to do on a Saturday night."

Mingyu sighed, stepping aside to let you in. You strutted inside like you owned the place, dressed for ultimate comfort—an oversized hoodie, a big T-shirt peeking out from underneath, and bear-printed pajama pants. In your hands, plastic bags filled with food swung dangerously as you made your way straight to the couch, plopping down like you’d just finished a marathon.

Mingyu shut the door, turning to watch you spread out like you paid rent here. He crossed his arms, shaking his head in amusement. "As if you have anything better to do besides crashing my place."

You nodded solemnly, propping your feet up on the armrest. "Yes, you're right. Doom for us."

Mingyu chuckled, rubbing his face. "Unbelievable."

"Correction: predictable," you said, already reaching for the bags. "Now, where’s my soju? You promised enough for both of us."

Mingyu rolled his eyes but was already heading to the kitchen. Whatever peace and quiet he thought he’d get after his shift? Gone. But honestly… he didn’t mind.

"Where’s Bobpul?" You sat up from your spot on the couch, eyes scanning every corner of Mingyu’s apartment like you were on a mission.

Mingyu barely glanced up from unpacking the food. "Don’t bother her. She’s in my bedroom."

You grinned. "Oh? That sounds like an invitation."

"It’s not—"

Too late. You were already up, taking small, sneaky steps toward his bedroom like some kind of cartoon burglar. Mingyu sighed, shaking his head. Sometimes, he seriously wondered how someone like you managed to survive in the acting industry. How many headaches had you caused your filming team? How much patience did your co-stars have?

A moment later, the sound of you sweetly calling Bobpul’s name echoed from the room, followed by an unimpressed grunt from the dog. Mingyu didn’t even need to turn around to know exactly what was happening.

When you finally emerged, you had Bobpul in your arms, cradling her like a spoiled princess. The poor dog looked stressed—her tiny paws stiff, her eyes pleading for help—but at the same time, Mingyu could tell she secretly enjoyed the attention. She always acted like she hated you, but the way her tail twitched slightly told a different story. Bobpul was just playing hard to get. And the worst part? You were thriving on it.

"I got you a treat on the way here, Bobpul!" you chirped, reaching into your bag and pulling out a small snack. Bobpul’s eyes immediately lit up, her internal struggle between pride and greed crumbling in an instant.

You smirked, holding the treat just out of reach. "Just like your oppa, you can’t resist food, huh?"

Mingyu, now setting out the chicken and tteokbokki, snorted at the comparison. "Excuse me?"

You tossed Bobpul the treat, watching in satisfaction as she gobbled it up without hesitation. "See? The Kim family has no self-control when it comes to food."

Mingyu rolled his eyes but couldn’t argue. Instead, he popped open a can of soju, pouring some into a glass before sliding it across the table toward you. "Yeah, yeah. Now sit down and eat before I start charging you rent."

You plopped back onto the couch, Bobpul still in your arms, looking way too smug for someone who had just successfully bullied both dog and owner.

"Ahn and Seola are getting married," Mingyu announced, tossing an envelope onto the table like it was no big deal.

You were in the middle of reaching for a piece of chicken when his words hit you like a truck. Your hand froze mid-air, eyes widening in pure disbelief. "Wait—what?"

Mingyu, completely unfazed, leaned back and stretched his arms. "Yeah, they gave me this at our last meetup. Their wedding’s in two weeks." He nudged the invitation toward you.

You snatched it up, flipping it open as if expecting to see some kind of hidden Gotcha! message inside. "No way. No freaking way."

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, watching your reaction with amusement. "Why are you so shocked? I told you back in academy that they liked each other."

You scoffed, dramatically throwing yourself back onto the couch. "Then why did they spend every single day fighting like they were in some sort of K-drama rivalry? If they liked each other so much, they should’ve just kissed already and saved us the headache!"

Mingyu burst out laughing, shaking his head. "They were dumb high schoolers. And let’s be real, we have no idea what was going on behind the scenes." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

You groaned, shoving his shoulder. "Ew, gross. Do not make me think about that."

Mingyu smirked, dodging your shove. "I’m just saying, they had chemistry. Meanwhile, you were the only clueless one who didn’t see it." He pointed at you accusingly.

You gasped, holding a hand to your chest in mock offense. "Excuse me? Maybe I was just too busy focusing on important things—like, I don’t know, not failing math?"

Mingyu snorted. "Right. And yet you still failed the midterm."

You shot him a glare, but he just grinned, stuffing a piece of tteokbokki into his mouth.

With a dramatic sigh, you waved the invitation in the air. "Still, it’s crazy how they actually ended up together. Like, they were chaos."

Mingyu shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. "Yeah, but I guess some people are just meant to be."

You hummed, staring at the names on the invitation. "Meant to be, huh?" You turned to him with a mischievous grin. "What about us, Mingyu? Are we meant to be?"

Mingyu nearly choked on his drink. "Yah!" He coughed, glaring at you while you burst into laughter.

"Relax, it’s just a question!" you teased, wiggling your eyebrows.

Mingyu rolled his eyes, but a small smirk tugged at his lips as he passed you the soju. "Yeah, yeah. Just shut up and eat your chicken."

"How's your promotion? I saw your press conference," Mingyu said, casually reaching for another piece of chicken.

Your ears perked up immediately. "Really?" You leaned forward, eyes wide with that soft, almost innocent expression—one that might fool anyone else, but not Mingyu. He knew you way too well. That look? Pure concept. A calculated move to appear cute.

"Yeah," he said, unimpressed but amused. "The promotion period ended yesterday, right?"

You nodded, then hesitated for a second, as if debating whether to say something. Finally, you put your drink down and took a deep breath. "Mingyu… I haven’t told you this yet, but—I got the role."

Mingyu frowned mid-chew. "What role?"

"The role."

He blinked, brain lagging for a moment before it clicked. His eyes widened. "Wait—police officer?"

You nodded vigorously, and before Mingyu could react, you let out a scream of excitement. A full-on, top-of-your-lungs, might-get-us-kicked-out kind of scream.

"Yah!" Mingyu panicked, nearly dropping his chopsticks as he lunged forward to slap a hand over your mouth. "Are you trying to get me evicted?!"

You wiggled under his grip, eyes still sparkling with joy as you pried his hand off. "But, Mingyu! I finally did it! You know how bad I wanted this!"

He sighed, shaking his head with a small laugh. "Yeah, yeah. Since forever, right?"

"Since I failed the police academy test," you corrected, dramatically clutching your chest like you were reminiscing about a tragic past life. "I really thought my dream of wearing a uniform was over."

Mingyu rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck. "Y/n, you weren’t even good at math. What did you expect?"

You gasped, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "I could’ve improved!"

"You failed the entrance test twice," he deadpanned.

"Okay, but the third time—"

"Didn’t even happen because you gave up."

You groaned, throwing yourself back against the couch. "Alright, alright! We get it, I suck at math. But now, look at me! I finally get to be a police officer… in a drama."

Mingyu chuckled, raising his can of beer. "Well, here’s to achieving your dreams, even if it’s just pretend."

You clinked your can against his, grinning. "Cheers to acting like a responsible adult."

He smirked, taking a sip. "Something you still struggle with in real life."

"Yah! You’re ruining the moment!" you whined, kicking his leg lightly.

Mingyu just laughed, stealing a piece of tteokbokki off your plate while you were distracted. "I’m just saying, let’s be honest—you as a cop? Terrifying. The world isn't ready for you with actual authority."

You squinted at him suspiciously. "What’s that supposed to mean? I can make the better world."

*

Next morning, Mingyu stepped into his bedroom, already dressed for work, adjusting his watch as he approached the bed. The sight of you and Bobpul sprawled across his sheets, tangled in the blankets like some kind of burrito, made him shake his head with amusement.

He reached down and gave your shoulder a firm shake. “Hey, I’m heading out. Clean up before you leave, alright?”

You let out a groggy whine, stirring slightly but refusing to fully wake up. Your eyes barely cracked open as you mumbled, “It’s Sunday… why are you working? You don’t even have a wife and kids to support.”

Mingyu let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, but I do have a broke celebrity friend who couldn’t even pay for extra alcohol last night because all her money is with her manager.”

That earned him a pillow straight to the face.

“You suck,” you muttered, voice muffled against the blanket.

Mingyu chuckled, tossing the pillow back onto the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I made you breakfast—it’s on the table. Eat before you leave.”

You peeked out from under the blanket just enough to glare at him. “Look at you. So responsible. You sure you don’t secretly have a wife and kids?”

Mingyu smirked, leaning down to pinch your cheek. “Nope, just a very high-maintenance celebrity friend.”

“Kim Mingyu!” you yelped, swatting his hand away.

Laughing, he ruffled your hair for good measure before grabbing his keys. “Alright, see you later, Ms. Officer.”

You groaned dramatically, rolling over and burying your face into his pillow. “Bye, my colleague.”

Mingyu shook his head as he stepped out, knowing full well that you were probably going to sleep in for at least another two hours before even thinking about cleaning up.

Mingyu drove to home once his shift finished. He stepped inside his house, tired from his shift, only to pause at the sight before him. You were sitting at his dining table, hunched over a thick academy textbook, flipping between its pages and your tablet, a pen tucked behind your ear. It wasn’t a very you sight—studying was never something you did voluntarily—but Mingyu knew that when it came to acting, you always took your roles seriously.

Bobpul, who had been silently watching you from her spot on the counter, immediately perked up at Mingyu’s arrival, barking and wagging her tail excitedly.

“You’re still here,” Mingyu said, raising an eyebrow as he set down his things.

You finally looked up from your book, nodding before gesturing vaguely around the apartment. “And I cleaned the house.”

Mingyu glanced around, scanning every corner while cradling Bobpul in his arms. He gave you an approving nod. “Wow. Good job, Y/n. You actually can clean.”

You rolled your eyes but smirked at his teasing.

Mingyu sat down beside you, peering at the chaotic mess of notes scattered across the table. His brows furrowed as he tried to decipher your scribbles. “What’s all this?”

“Studying a murder case,” you said, tapping the script with your pen. “I’m playing Jung Inha, a rookie officer who finds a dead body behind the police station. Turns out it’s a dead body of the serial killer.”

Mingyu snorted, flipping through the pages of your script. “So unrealistic. Every station has CCTV in every corner, and there’s always someone monitoring them. No one’s just dumping bodies behind a station and getting away with it.”

You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “I know, but should I tell that to the director and risk losing my precious role?”

Mingyu didn’t even hesitate. “No, don’t say that.” He shook his head firmly before flipping to another page of your script, scanning the dialogue.

You grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

You watched as Mingyu flipped through your script, his brows occasionally furrowing at the way police work was portrayed. He looked so serious, like he was mentally critiquing every single unrealistic procedure.

That’s when an idea struck you.

“You know,” you started, leaning forward with a sly smile. “You should totally do a cameo.”

Mingyu’s eyes flicked up to you, suspicious. “A cameo?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah! A real-life, handsome police officer appearing in a crime drama? The audience would eat it up. You’d gain, like, a hundred thousand Instagram followers overnight.”

Mingyu scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t need Instagram clout.”

“Come on, it’d be perfect,” you insisted, nudging his arm. “You’re tall, intimidating when you want to be, and—most importantly—you actually know what you're doing. Unlike half the actors pretending to be cops.”

Mingyu smirked. “Are you saying you don’t know what you’re doing?”

You pouted. “That’s why I’m studying! But it wouldn’t hurt to have a pro like you show up on set. Maybe intimidate the fake officers with your real-life knowledge.”

Mingyu laughed, shaking his head. “What would I even do? Stand in the background looking cool?”

You gasped dramatically. “Exactly! That’s the job! You don’t even have to act—just exist.”

Mingyu sighed, setting your script down with a dramatic thud. “If I’m going to do this, you better not make me regret it.”

You grinned. “Of course not! But if you’re gonna be on set, you might as well help me train properly.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow. “Train?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah—teach me how to act like a real officer. How to hold a gun properly, how to chase a suspect without looking like I’m in a rom-com, stuff like that.”

Mingyu smirked. “You mean you don’t already know? What happened to all your ‘serious studying’?”

You pouted. “I can only learn so much from books! I need practical training, and who better to teach me than my very own cop bestie?”

He leaned back in his chair, watching you with a knowing look. “You know, if I didn’t quit acting, I could’ve been the one taking this role.”

You blinked. “Oh? Now you admit it?”

Mingyu shrugged. “I mean, I was pretty decent at it. Jaehyun and I were killing it at the academy before I left for the police route.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “And yet, here you are, getting scouted for a cameo in my drama.”

Mingyu chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Life is funny like that.” He tapped the script. “But you? You stuck with it, and now you’re actually living the dream.”

You softened at his words. “It was your dream too, you know.”

Mingyu gave you a small, lopsided smile before reaching over to flick your forehead. “Maybe in another life. Right now, I’ll just settle for making sure you don’t embarrass real officers on TV.”

“But imagine all the thirsty comments you’ll get. ‘Who’s the hot officer in the background?’ ‘Is he single?’ ‘He can arrest me anytime.’”

Mingyu groaned, rubbing his temples. “You’re insufferable.”

“But you love me,” you said sweetly, batting your lashes.

He sighed, looking at you with fake exasperation before ruffling your hair. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

You squealed in victory, causing Bobpul to bark in alarm. Mingyu shook his head with a chuckle, already regretting letting you put ideas in his head.

*

Mingyu had been tailing you from the moment the two of you arrived on set. With his broad shoulders, long legs, and towering presence, he walked behind you like an oversized lost puppy as you introduced him to the filming team—the director and the assistant director.

The director eyed Mingyu with curiosity before chuckling. “Your friend is handsome. Is he actually a cop or a model?”

You glanced at Mingyu, only to find his ears turning pink. A shy but polite smile graced his face as he bowed slightly in response to the compliment. That was the thing about Mingyu—he was effortlessly good at receiving praise, never letting it get to his head, but always gracious enough that people just wanted to keep complimenting him.

“Right?” You grinned, fully agreeing with the director’s words. “He gets that a lot.”

Mingyu cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed, but you continued, enjoying his reaction. “We actually used to go to the same acting academy, with Jung Jaehyun too.”

At the mention of Jaehyun, Mingyu’s head tilted slightly, his eyes flicking to you. There was nothing odd in the way you said it, but something about hearing his name from your mouth after such a long time felt… different. Not just that guy or your friend, but Jung Jaehyun. It felt like some kind of unspoken progress had been made, like all his efforts to maintain the friendship over the years hadn’t been for nothing.

The director’s eyebrows lifted with interest. “Oh? So you have an acting background too?”

Mingyu scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Ah, well… I trained for a bit, but I didn’t continue with it.”

The assistant director chuckled. “Still, once an actor, always an actor. Let’s see how you do later. If there’s room for an extended scene, we’ll talk about it, okay?”

Mingyu blinked. “Wait, what?”

You patted his arm with a mischievous smile. “Congratulations, Officer Kim. You might just get a bigger role than you signed up for.”

Mingyu groaned, already regretting letting you drag him into this. But when he caught the director giving him an intrigued look, he suddenly wondered—was he actually about to make an unexpected return to acting?

*

Mingyu was glad he had the day off today—though he hadn’t expected to spend it like this. The director, practically glowing with excitement, had pleaded with him to accept an additional role written just for him. With the entire crew looking at him expectantly and you standing across the set flashing him a thumbs-up while getting your makeup fixed, he found himself unable to say no.

One day of shooting. That’s all it would take. He could handle that… right?

Before he could fully process his fate, another actor approached the director, who immediately introduced him. “This is our male lead, Park Yaehan. And this is Kim Mingyu—he’s a cameo, but also a great actor.”

The weight on Mingyu’s shoulders grew heavier. Great actor? That was an exaggeration. His acting career had lasted about as long as a summer fling before he had walked away from it completely.

“Hello, I’m Park Yaehan.” The man offered a friendly handshake. “Are you with Ji Y/n? I saw the two of you together earlier.”

Mingyu firmly shook his hand, nodding. “We’re friends.”

The director beamed, adding enthusiastically, “Kim Mingyu is a real police officer! He’s from the Gangnam district.”

Yaehan looked amused by the information, but Mingyu could tell immediately—he wasn’t really interested in any of it. His polite smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Instead, Mingyu noticed the way Yaehan’s gaze drifted past him, toward you. You were across the set, laughing with the makeup artist, completely unaware of the conversation happening.

Mingyu’s jaw tensed slightly.

He had been in the force long enough to know how to read people. And right now, it was painfully obvious that Park Yaehan was more interested in you than anything else.

The car ride was quiet at first, just the soft hum of the engine and the distant sound of your manager placing a coffee order outside. You scrolled through your phone absentmindedly until Mingyu, who had been unusually silent since leaving the set, suddenly spoke up.

“So… Park Yaehan,” he started, his tone casual—too casual.

You glanced at him, raising a brow. “What about him?”

“What’s his role in the movie?”

“He’s the male lead.”

Mingyu nodded, as if considering something. Then, after a beat, he asked, “Is there any romantic line?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Like… are you going to kiss?” He kept his eyes on the road, his voice carefully neutral.

Your brows furrowed. “Why do you sound like a detective interrogating a suspect?”

“Just curious,” he shrugged. “So there won’t be any romance between your role?”

You stared at him, confused by his sudden interest in the script details. “No, my character is too busy solving crimes to fall in love,” you answered, then waved your hand dismissively. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Mingyu said a little too quickly.

You narrowed your eyes at him but decided to let it go. Instead, you leaned back in your seat and gave him a playful smirk. “You know, I was actually impressed with your acting today. It’s like you never left the academy. Your expressions, your delivery—it was all so natural. Maybe you should consider making a comeback.”

Mingyu scoffed. “Okay, now I know the director told you to say that.”

You giggled, not even trying to deny it. “Maybe.”

Mingyu groaned, shaking his head. “I knew it. I knew something was up.”

“But you were good,” you insisted, nudging his arm. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it a little.”

He sighed, resting one hand on the steering wheel while rubbing his temple with the other. “This is why I never should’ve agreed to this. Now I have both you and the director scheming against me.”

You grinned. “Welcome back to the industry, Officer Kim.”

The neon sign of the chicken shop flickered against the night sky as your manager pulled into the parking lot. The sight of it made Mingyu’s chest tighten with nostalgia. The three of you had spent so many nights here—eating way too much fried chicken, debating acting techniques, and mapping out futures that, at the time, seemed so certain.

Now, Jaehyun was a rising actor. You were an established actress. And he… well, he had taken a different path.

As the two of you stepped inside, the familiar scent of crispy chicken and spice filled the air. The place hadn’t changed much—same wooden tables, same greasy menus, same ahjumma at the counter who used to tease you three for staying too late, insisting you’d end up marrying each other if you didn’t stop hanging out so much.

“Ah! It’s been a long time!” she beamed upon seeing you. “You two still sticking together?”

You laughed, nudging Mingyu playfully. “Yeah, but now he’s a real-life police officer, not just pretending to be one.”

The old woman gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Aigoo, really? I should be careful around you now, huh?”

Mingyu smiled, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, I don’t arrest people for eating too much chicken.”

She chuckled, shaking her head as she took your order before leaving you alone at your usual corner booth. Mingyu settled into the seat across from you, glancing around at the familiar space. It felt like stepping back in time, except everything had a slightly faded quality, like an old photograph.

As you scrolled through your phone, Mingyu hesitated before finally asking, “Have you kept in touch with Jaehyun?”

You looked up, a bit surprised by the question. “Not really,” you admitted, tapping idly against the table. “Just a few nods whenever we run into each other… but he’s always busy filming.”

Mingyu nodded, pressing his lips together. He had been meaning to reach out, but time passed too quickly. Before he knew it, years had gone by. Would Jaehyun even pick up his call?

Noticing his hesitation, you leaned forward with a teasing smirk. “Why? Miss him?”

Mingyu rolled his eyes. “I just… I don’t know. It’s been a while. And now, standing in front of a camera again, even just for a cameo, it made me think about everything. About how things could’ve been different.”

You studied him for a moment before your expression softened. “You were really good, you know? Even today, you looked so natural. It’s like you never stopped.”

Mingyu scoffed, leaning back against the seat. “Don’t exaggerate.”

“I’m serious!” you insisted. “Maybe you should consider giving it another shot. Even if it’s just for fun.”

He shook his head, but the thought lingered.

Before he could respond, your phone buzzed with a message. You checked it, and a small chuckle escaped your lips.

“Speak of the devil. Jaehyun just texted.”

Mingyu raised a brow. “Yeah?”

You tilted the screen toward him.

Jaehyun: I heard from the director that a certain police officer was on set today. Are you two together right now?

Mingyu exhaled through his nose, a small smirk playing on his lips. Maybe it really was time to make that call.

But just as he was about to say something, he caught the way your expression flickered—just for a second. Your thumb hovered over the screen, hesitation settling into your features before you quickly typed a reply. It was subtle, but Mingyu had known you too long to miss it.

“You two okay?” he asked, voice laced with curiosity.

You blinked, as if thrown off by the question. “What? Yeah, of course.”

Mingyu narrowed his eyes slightly. “Did something happen?”

You let out a short breath, setting your phone down. “It’s nothing serious. Just… we don’t talk as much anymore.”

That wasn’t a real answer, and you both knew it.

Mingyu tilted his head. “Not talking and actively avoiding someone are two different things.”

You shot him a pointed look. “Since when did you become a detective?”

He smirked. “Since you started looking at his name like it personally offended you.”

You sighed, fingers tracing patterns on the wooden table. “It’s just—he and I don’t see eye to eye on some things. And I guess we never really fixed it.”

Mingyu frowned slightly. You and Jaehyun had always been in sync, always had each other’s backs. For something to put a real wedge between you meant it wasn’t just some small disagreement.

Before he could press further, your phone buzzed again.

Jaehyun: Call me later?

Mingyu watched as you stared at the message for a moment, then locked your phone without responding.

“Are you going to call him?” he asked.

You let out a slow breath, a ghost of a smile on your lips. “I don’t know.”

*

It was another week, and somehow, Mingyu found himself back on a filming set for the second time in a month. What an achievement.

When he asked Chan to cover his shift today, the younger guy had given him the look—the one that clearly screamed, “Mingyu hyung has a date.”

If only.

No, Mingyu had a shoot. And he wished he could’ve just said that instead of muttering, “My friend is moving out, so I’m helping.”

Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic, Kim Mingyu. At this rate, even his excuses were starting to sound like bad drama scripts.

As he adjusted his outfit and took a sip of his coffee, he glanced at the call sheet. The next scene would be with you. And, to his utter delight, Park Yaehan.

Mingyu had almost forgotten about that guy—until today.

Something about him just seemed… off. Like the kind of guy who’d order a burger with no patty and call it a bold choice. Did anyone else notice? Or was Mingyu the only one with a built-in radar for detecting suspiciously annoying people.

But what really boiled his blood was the way Yaehan acted around you.

The guy looked like an uncircumcised sheep meeting a female sheep for the first time. It was ridiculous. His excitement was almost cartoonish—all wide eyes, eager nods, and way-too-excited hand gestures. Was he about to confess his undying love or ask you to join his cult?

The way his lips moved, murmuring something under his breath while his eyes stayed fixed on you, made Mingyu’s fingers twitch. He swore he could land a clean punch. Just one. A tiny one. A warning punch.

Did you notice? Surely, you noticed.

But then again…

A thought struck him, one that gave him equal parts hope and frustration.

You’re an insensitive person.

For once, just this time, please stay that way.

Because while you remained oblivious, Mingyu would handle this for you.

"So, you and Y/n have been friends for a long time? I heard since acting academy?"

Mingyu nodded, shifting in his seat as he waited with Yaehan on set while the director spoke to you. The next scene was simple—yet nerve-wracking.

It wasn’t like this would be his first time seeing you almost naked. Back in the academy, he had seen you nude before during one of those “artistic expression” workshops. He had handled it then, and he could handle it now.

Or so he thought.

Because the real problem here wasn’t you. It was Yaehan.

Mingyu had almost forgotten about this guy until today, and honestly, he wished he could go back to that blissful ignorance. Something about Yaehan just rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the way he laughed a little too hard at his own jokes. Maybe it was the fact that his hair was suspiciously perfect, even under studio lighting. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the way he kept buzzing around you like an overeager puppy seeing a female dog for the first time.

“It’s been almost ten years, I guess,” Mingyu finally answered, keeping his tone casual. “She’s like family. I treasure her a lot.”

And I hope you watch yourself, Park Yaehan.

Which, of course, he kept to himself.

Across the set, you were practicing lifting your tank top under the director’s guidance, adjusting the speed and movement to make it look natural. Mingyu noticed—because of course he did—that you must’ve been hitting the gym more often lately. Your body looked toned, your movements fluid.

Then, right on cue, Yaehan spoke.

“Looking good, Y/n!”

Mingyu exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to ignore the way Yaehan was visibly vibrating with excitement.

Then came the final straw.

Low. Murmured. Almost imperceptible.

“Her body... delicious.”

Mingyu blinked.

Excuse me?

His head turned so fast he nearly pulled a muscle. He stared at Yaehan, expression unreadable, but internally, his brain was short-circuiting.

This man had three seconds to take that back before Mingyu made sure he needed a dental appointment.

*

The filming had wrapped days ago, and everyone insisted that Mingyu come to the wrap party. He had tried to get out of it—he really had—but somehow, he found himself here, surrounded by laughter, drinks, and overly enthusiastic co-stars.

You sat beside him, clapping with excitement as the director took the mic. Mingyu was half-listening, nursing his drink, when the next words hit him like a freight train.

“…And I’m happy to announce that Mingyu will appear in my next movie! Not as a cameo, not as an extra, but as a sub-lead!”

The room erupted in cheers.

Mingyu, meanwhile, nearly choked on his drink.

Wait. What?

He wasn’t informed about that.

He had a life. A job. A routine. And acting? Well, that was very different from them. He liked his stable life, his predictable schedule. The most dramatic thing in his daily existence was deciding whether to order fried chicken or ramen after work.

He knew the director had been hinting at something. He had mentioned finding the right actor for a specific role, had even talked about it with a knowing glint in his eye. But Mingyu didn’t expect the “right actor” to be him.

And why were you enjoying this so much? Why were you clapping like you just won the lottery?

Mingyu turned to glare at you, but you only grinned, elbowing him. “Looks like you’re back in the industry, Officer Kim.”

Before he could argue, the director continued, “And also, the other actor for the second lead will be joining us tonight, so make sure the two of you get to know each other. Chemistry is everything!”

Mingyu exhaled slowly.

First, he gets cast in a movie without his knowledge.

Now, he has to socialize.

He really should’ve just stayed home.

As the party buzzed on inside, you pulled Mingyu by the wrist, leading him out onto the quiet balcony. The cool night air brushed against your skin, a welcome contrast to the heat and noise of the celebration.

"You okay?" you asked, leaning against the railing.

Mingyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know. This all feels... sudden." He paused, staring out at the city lights. "It’s not that I hate it. I just—" He hesitated, pressing his lips together.

"You just what?"

He exhaled sharply. "I don’t know if this is what I really want anymore."

You frowned. "Mingyu, this was your dream."

"Was it, though?" His voice was quiet, thoughtful. "I mean, yeah, back then, I wanted this more than anything. But now... I have a different life. A stable one. And suddenly, I’m just supposed to throw myself back into this world?"

You studied him for a moment before speaking. "Dreams don’t just disappear, Mingyu. They get buried, maybe, or they change shape. But they don’t vanish."

He sighed again, shaking his head. "You make it sound so simple."

"It is," you said, nudging his arm. "You just have to decide if you’re scared of failing again or if you’re scared of actually succeeding."

Mingyu let out a dry chuckle. "Why do you always do this?"

"Do what?"

"Say things that make me think."

You smirked. "It’s a gift."

Before he could respond, a familiar voice cut through the quiet.

"Well, well. Never thought I’d see the two of you having a heart-to-heart out here."

Mingyu turned, his expression shifting instantly as Jaehyun stepped onto the balcony, hands in his pockets, a smirk playing on his lips.

Of all people. Of all times.

Jaehyun’s gaze flickered between you and Mingyu before settling on the latter. "Heard you’re joining the industry. Guess old habits die hard, huh?"

Jaehyun’s smirk lingered as he leaned casually against the railing, the city lights casting a soft glow on his face. Mingyu, ever the friendly one, bumped fists with him in greeting, but you? You just folded your arms and leaned back slightly, eyeing him with the same cautious distance one might have for a cat that scratched them one too many times.

Mingyu, ever oblivious, chuckled. “Man, it’s been a while. Didn’t think I’d be sharing a screen with you.”

Jaehyun grinned. “Yeah, guess fate has a funny way of bringing people back together.”

Your lips twitched into a tight-lipped smile, though the amusement never reached your eyes. “Fate’s got an interesting sense of humor.”

Mingyu noticed the shift in your tone and glanced between the two of you, sensing something he hadn’t before. Jaehyun, for his part, looked completely unbothered. If anything, he seemed to enjoy whatever unspoken thing was happening between you.

“You two good?” Mingyu asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jaehyun let out a light chuckle. “I don’t know. Are we, Y/n?”

You tilted your head, giving him that unreadable look that made men twice as confident as Jaehyun squirm. “I guess that depends,” you said slowly. “Are we being honest these days?”

Mingyu frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jaehyun’s smile didn’t falter, but something in his gaze sharpened ever so slightly. “Nothing serious. Just an old misunderstanding, right, Y/n?”

You let out a quiet hum, as if debating whether or not you agreed. Mingyu knew you well enough to recognize the way your jaw tightened—there was something there, something you knew that Jaehyun was hoping you’d keep quiet about.

But you didn’t elaborate. And neither did he.

Mingyu, caught in the middle, let out a short laugh, trying to ease the tension. “Okay, seriously, what’s going on? Did Y/n steal your lunch money or something?”

Jaehyun chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah. If anything, she’s the one keeping the score.”

Your eyes met his, and for a second, the playful air between you both felt like a carefully crafted act, one that only the two of you understood.

Mingyu sighed, rubbing his temples. “Great. So I get thrown back into acting, and now I have to deal with this weird rivalry too?”

Jaehyun patted his shoulder. “Welcome back to the industry, buddy. It’s never just about the acting.”

*

You saw it with your own eyes. You heard it with your own ears. Jaehyun’s voice echoed in the empty practice room that night, sharp and certain, as he reported everything to the acting coach.

It had been an accident—you had only come back to grab your bag, the one you had stupidly left behind after practice. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But how could you walk away when you heard your name? When you heard Mingyu’s name?

It was the night you found out Mingyu had been chosen for a debut project. A real opportunity. One that meant he wouldn’t have to pay tuition to stay in the academy. It should’ve been a moment of celebration, a victory for him—for both of you.

But then you heard Jaehyun’s next words.

“Mingyu can’t take it. He’s being forced to stay in the police academy. His family won’t let him act.”

Your stomach dropped. Mingyu never told you that.

Then, as if that wasn’t enough, Jaehyun’s voice lowered slightly. “How about Y/n? Can she fill the slot for the female role?”

A beat of silence. Then, the coach’s hesitant response.

“She’s good, but…”

“She needs more practice,” Jaehyun finished smoothly, his voice carrying an air of certainty that left no room for argument.

Your breath hitched.

Of course. Because you needed more practice, right? What a revelation. Apparently, everyone else was born with an innate, flawless acting ability. You, on the other hand, just weren’t quite there yet. But no worries—Jaehyun was a professional, after all. He clearly knew best.

You weren’t good enough?

No. No, this wasn’t just about skill, was it? He knew how much this meant to you. He knew how much it meant to Mingyu. And yet, the next thing you knew, Jaehyun was the one landing his debut project in a drama—your opportunity, Mingyu’s opportunity—snatched away in an instant.

Well, of course. He was clearly the only one who deserved it, right?

The betrayal hit like a punch to the gut. But no worries, Y/n, you just needed more practice. You weren’t bitter, just... improving.

You skipped practice for a week after that. Not because you were sick. Not because you were busy. But because you couldn’t stand to see his face.

And when you finally returned, Jaehyun was already moving on to bigger things, smiling as people congratulated him on his debut.

Like nothing had ever happened. How charming.

"You dated him?"

You turned your head to Mingyu, who was sprawled on your couch, lazily watching the same boring TV show he always put on whenever he wasn’t on shift. You, on the other hand, were staring blankly at the screen, barely paying attention—until his question caught you completely off guard.

"Who? Him?" You pointed at the screen just as Seo Kangjoon’s face appeared, his striking brown eyes practically glowing under the soft lighting of the drama.

Mingyu rolled his eyes. "Not him. Jaehyun."

You immediately sat up, feeling inexplicably offended by the accusation. "Excuse me?"

Mingyu, ever the observant one, caught your reaction right away and let out a laugh. "Why so offended? I was just asking."

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "What makes you think that?"

He shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. "The way you act around him is weird. And also, you’ve been very clear about disliking him all of a sudden. Which, by the way, is new."

"I told you, I don’t dislike him," you huffed. "We just drifted apart. He got busy with police academy and acting. I got busy improving myself. And you—" you shot him a pointed look, "were too busy trying to be… I don’t know. A good person or whatever. Why do we even have to talk about him?"

Mingyu smirked. "So you never dated him behind my back?"

You sighed, exasperated. "Mingyu, for the last time, I don’t date anyone. I’m too busy for that. Unlike some people—" you shot him a knowing glance, "who somehow always find time to meet a pretty girl and take her on a date."

Mingyu’s brows furrowed, looking personally offended. "Hey—I don’t ‘always’ date!"

You snorted. "Oh, sure. Just occasionally. Like, I don’t know, every other month?"

"That is so inaccurate," he scoffed, crossing his arms. "And honestly? Hurtful."

You smirked, leaning back against the couch. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Officer Kim."

Mingyu scoffed at your remark, shaking his head. “You know, I actually sleep way better when you’re around.”

You turned to him, arching a brow. “Oh yeah?"

“Yeah.” He stretched his arms over his head, his smirk lazy and teasing. “Something about your presence just knocks me right out. Like, instant peace. Probably ‘cause you’re so boring—”

"Or," you cut in smoothly, tilting your head slightly, "it’s because you like having me around."

Mingyu froze for a split second, his smirk twitching—just barely—but enough for you to notice. His body stiffened ever so slightly, as if his brain was trying to process what you had just said.

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your palm, watching him with quiet amusement. "I mean, it would make sense," you mused, voice light yet edged with something deeper. "You always find excuses to hang out. You like teasing me, but the moment I’m not around, you get all sulky. And now you’re saying you sleep better when I’m with you?" You tilted your head, studying his expression. "Sounds like attachment issues to me, Officer Kim."

Mingyu blinked at you, his confidence slipping for the first time. His usual playful arrogance wavered, replaced with something unreadable—uncertainty, maybe even realization. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if searching for a way to dodge whatever trap you had just laid out for him.

“I—what—no—” He scoffed, tearing his gaze away from yours as he ran a hand through his hair, the tips of his ears turning a faint shade of pink. "That’s not—"

You grinned, catching every subtle shift in his expression. “You’re blushing.”

Mingyu groaned, rubbing his face like he could physically erase the heat creeping up his skin. “I am not blushing.”

“Oh, you so are.”

The way you said it—so smug, so effortlessly—made something in his chest tighten. This was unfair. He was supposed to be the one messing with you, not the other way around. But here you were, turning his own words against him, staring at him with that knowing look that made his heart trip over itself.

Letting out a dramatic sigh, he slumped back against the couch, throwing an arm over his face in utter defeat. “This is exactly why I can’t sleep well when you’re here. You stress me out.”

You gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to your chest. “Wait, so now I’m boring and stressful?”

Mingyu peeked at you from under his arm, his lips twitching into a small smile despite himself. "Yeah," he mumbled, his voice softer now, less teasing. "The worst combination."

You watched him for a moment, something warm curling in your chest. He looked different like this—unguarded, just a little bit vulnerable, like he was still trying to figure out what to do with his own emotions.

You reached over and patted his arm, feigning sympathy. “Too late for that, pretty boy.”

Mingyu groaned again, rolling his head to the side to look at you. But despite his exaggerated exasperation, his eyes softened. He shook his head, a quiet chuckle slipping past his lips.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured.

And yet, even as he said it, he knew he wouldn’t have it any other way.

*

Mingyu had been exhausted—dead tired, actually. His body ached from the long shift, his uniform felt suffocating, and his mind had already checked out the moment he stepped into his car. All he wanted was to go home, take a hot shower, and sleep until the sun decided to wake him.

Then his phone rang.

Seeing your name on the screen should’ve been a relief. He always had energy for you, no matter how drained he felt. But the second he answered and heard your voice—low, clipped, urgent—something in his chest twisted, shoving the exhaustion away in an instant.

"Mingyu, I need a taser."

His first instinct was to assume you were joking. "What?"

"A taser. Do you have one?"

Now he was sitting up straight, pulse spiking. His fingers clenched around the steering wheel.

"Why the hell do you need a taser?" His voice came out sharper than he intended, the weight of his concern pressing down on his chest. "Are you gonna go confront your hater or something?"

Silence.

His stomach dropped.

"Y/n." He said your name like a warning, a plea, a demand all at once.

"Just tell me if you have one or not."

That made his skin crawl. Something was wrong. Something was really fucking wrong. You weren’t the type to be vague about things unless you were hiding something.

Mingyu let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair. "No. Tell me first. You just called me out of nowhere, sounding like you’re about to fight for your life, asking for a taser, and you expect me to be calm?!"

More silence.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears, his breathing picking up. He strained to hear anything in the background of your call—were you outside? Were you alone? Was someone with you?

Then, finally, you sighed. "I’m at home."

Mingyu didn’t waste a second. He started the engine, throwing his car into drive. "Stay there. Don’t open the door for anyone. I’m coming."

"Mingyu—"

"I swear if you tell me not to come, I’ll lose my damn mind," he snapped, pressing harder on the gas. "Just wait."

The fact that you didn’t argue made his stomach tighten. You were stubborn as hell—always had been. If this were nothing, you would’ve shut him down already, told him he was overreacting.

But you didn’t.

And that scared him even more.

Mingyu swung your door open the moment he punched in the code, his heart already racing before he even stepped inside. The sight of you sitting at the dining table sent a fresh wave of worry crashing over him.

You didn’t look like yourself. Gone was the usual confidence, the effortless charm that always made you seem untouchable. Instead, you looked... small. Heavy with something dark and unspoken. It didn’t suit you. Mingyu hated seeing you like this—sad, angry, shaken.

Without thinking, he dropped to his knees in front of you, reaching for your hands. That’s when he noticed it.

You were trembling.

His stomach twisted. Was there someone in your house? A stalker? A threat he couldn’t see?

His lips parted to ask, but you spoke first.

"Someone has a lot of my inappropriate pics."

The words knocked the air from his lungs.

His grip on your hands tightened, his brain scrambling to process what he just heard. "Someone?" His voice came out sharper than he intended. "Who? What the hell are you talking about?"

Your jaw clenched. "And he wants me to come to this hotel room if I want him to delete them."

Mingyu felt something snap inside him.

His entire body went rigid, his pulse hammering in his ears. "Someone is blackmailing you..." The words came out in a low, dangerous murmur, more to himself than to you.

You nodded, confirming what he already knew but desperately wished wasn’t true.

His entire being burned with fury—an all-consuming, violent kind of anger he rarely ever felt. His jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, his fingers curling into fists.

But beneath the rage, there was something else. Something that made his chest ache.

You weren’t just angry. You were ashamed.

Mingyu hated that more than anything.

Carefully, he reached up, cupping the side of your face, forcing you to look at him. "This is not your fault," he said firmly, his voice softer now but still unshakable.

Your eyes flickered with hesitation. "Mingyu—"

"No." His thumb brushed over your cheek. "I need you to hear me. You did nothing wrong. Nothing. That bastard? He’s the one who’s gonna regret messing with you."

For the briefest second, the tension in your shoulders eased. Just a little.

Mingyu exhaled, standing to his full height. "You’re not going anywhere near that hotel room. We’re handling this my way."

And by his way, he meant the legal way.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Because deep down, Kim Mingyu was already thinking of another way. A way that involved him finding this bastard first.

*

Mingyu immediately reported the blackmailing case to the regional district, his voice firm as he relayed the details. This needed to be handled now—not in a few hours, not tomorrow. He couldn’t afford to wait.

But what truly caught him off guard was the number he had just dialed. His fingers hovered over the dial for only a second before he pressed the button, bringing the phone to his ear.

It barely rang twice before a deep, familiar voice answered.

"Mingyu?"

Mingyu swallowed. "Dad, I need a favor."

He never called his father for help. Not even when things got rough in the academy. But this—this wasn’t about pride. This was about you. And for you, he’d push past anything, even his complicated relationship with the retired regional police chairman.

His father listened quietly as Mingyu explained the situation, his voice calm but urgent. When he was done, there was a long pause before his father finally spoke.

"I'll make a call to the district. They'll handle it immediately. Tell your friend not to respond to anything until the officers take over."

Mingyu let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. "Thank you."

"We’ll talk later." The line went dead.

He didn’t care about the weight of what he’d just done—about dragging his father into something when he’d spent years avoiding relying on him. The only thing that mattered was getting this handled as fast as possible.

And it was all for you.

Because if there was one thing Mingyu knew, it was that he would do anything for you. Even if you never felt the same way.

Mingyu couldn’t remember when it started.

Maybe it was back in the academy, when he used to glance around the practice rooms, always searching for you without even realizing it. Maybe it was during late-night hangouts, when he’d pretend he wasn’t looking forward to hearing you laugh. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself, with that impossible mix of confidence and warmth, making the whole world seem smaller whenever you were near.

Or maybe it was just because you were you.

Mingyu had never struggled to date. Women were attractive, intelligent, interesting. But none of them were you.

And that made all the difference.

So he settled for this. For being the person you felt comfortable around. For being the one you called when you needed help. It was enough.

Or at least, he told himself it was.

Because the truth—the painful, unshakable truth—was that no matter how many times he looked at you, no matter how much he wanted to be the person you saw differently.

He knew he never would be.

Mingyu approached you carefully, his footsteps light but urgent. You sat on the couch, hands wrapped around a cup of tea your manager had made, though it remained untouched. He could see the way your fingers trembled slightly, the way your shoulders curled inward as if trying to make yourself smaller.

Without a word, he dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands resting on your thighs, grounding you. His gaze searched your face, his voice steady but gentle.

“Do you have any idea who it might be?”

You inhaled sharply, your lips parting, but hesitation clouded your expression.

Mingyu noticed immediately. “Y/n,” he pressed, voice soft yet firm. “If you know something, anything, you need to tell me.”

You shook your head, fingers tightening around the ceramic cup. “It’s not that simple.”

“Not that simple?” His brows furrowed. “Someone is blackmailing you with nudes, and you’re worried about it being complicated? Y/n, I need to know who we’re dealing with.”

“I just—” You exhaled, frustration flickering in your eyes before you looked away. “I don’t want to accuse someone without proof.”

“Proof?” Mingyu scoffed. “Y/n, someone is threatening you, and you’re worried about proof?” His grip on your thighs tightened slightly. “Who is it?”

You pressed your lips together, torn. You wanted to believe it wasn’t true, that maybe you were overthinking, but deep down, you knew.

Mingyu watched you struggle with your thoughts, his patience thinning. “Y/n.” His voice dropped lower, softer, but edged with desperation. “Please. Trust me.”

You met his gaze, searching for something—reassurance, maybe. And damn it, Mingyu had never let you down before.

Finally, you swallowed hard and whispered a name.

“Jaehyun.”

Mingyu felt his entire body go rigid the moment the name left your lips. His breath hitched, his heart thudding hard against his ribcage, not with excitement or nervousness—no, this was pure, boiling anger. His fingers twitched against your thighs, the warmth of your skin grounding him just enough to keep his emotions in check.

Jaehyun?

Out of all the people in the world, Jaehyun?

The name repeated in his head like a broken record, each syllable hitting him harder, making his jaw clench so tightly it ached. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense.

Yet, there you were, sitting in front of him, your hands curled so tightly around your cup of tea that he worried it might crack under the pressure.

Mingyu exhaled sharply, forcing himself to speak. “What did you just say?”

You flinched at his tone. It wasn’t loud, but there was something raw in it—something you had never heard from him before. Mingyu was always the one who cracked jokes, who lightened the mood even in tense situations. But right now, there was no humor in his expression. Just tightly coiled fury and disbelief.

You swallowed hard, throat dry. “I called him after the wrap party,” you said, voice quiet, as if saying it any louder would make it more real.

Mingyu’s breath came in uneven exhales. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit something or demand answers from you until everything made sense. Instead, he curled his fists in his lap, trying to suppress the tremor in his fingers.

“And?” His voice was strained, like he was using every ounce of his patience to keep himself from completely losing it.

You hesitated. You had known this would be hard, but seeing Mingyu like this—his entire body tense, his brows drawn together in barely contained rage—made your stomach twist with unease.

“I confronted him about something…” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu inhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening on your legs before he forced himself to let go, dragging a hand down his face. His mind was racing, piecing together everything you weren’t saying.

“You confronted him?” he echoed, his voice dangerously calm. “Y/n, what the hell did you say to him that led to this?”

You hesitated again, and that hesitation was enough to make something snap inside Mingyu.

He pushed himself to his feet, pacing in front of you with frantic, frustrated energy. “You knew something, didn’t you?” His voice was rising, not in anger toward you, but in sheer frustration. “You knew something about Jaehyun, and that’s why you confronted him.” He stopped pacing and turned to face you again, his eyes burning into yours. “Did he threaten you then?”

Your silence was answer enough.

Mingyu let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair before gripping the back of his neck. His entire body felt hot with rage, but the worst part? The worst part was that you hadn’t told him sooner.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me, Y/n?” His voice cracked slightly, laced with something deeper than anger—something closer to hurt. “Why did you handle this alone?”

You bit your lip, looking away. “Because I knew you’d react like this,” you admitted, voice soft but weighted.

Mingyu let out a sharp breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “Like this?” He gestured to himself, his fingers pressing into his temples as if trying to physically push away his frustration. “You mean like someone who actually cares about you?”

Your throat tightened. It wasn’t that simple. You had wanted to handle it on your own, to be strong, to not let him carry the burden of something that was yours to deal with. But now, seeing the raw emotion in Mingyu’s eyes—the way he looked at you like he was hurting just as much—you realized how unfair it was.

You weren’t the only one affected by this.

Mingyu ran a hand down his face again before letting out a shaky exhale. When he finally looked at you, there was something different in his gaze—something softer, but just as intense.

“Y/n,” he murmured, stepping closer again, kneeling down so he was level with you once more. His hands reached out, grasping yours, firm but gentle. “You’re not alone in this, okay? You never have to be.”

His voice wavered slightly, but his grip remained steady, his warmth grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

You blinked, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “I know,” you whispered, voice finally breaking.

Mingyu squeezed your hands, his own shaking slightly. He wasn’t sure what burned more—the anger of knowing someone had done this to you, or the ache of realizing how much you had tried to bear on your own.

*

Mingyu walked toward the hotel room with two detectives from the regional office, his jaw set, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The only way to catch the culprit was to confront them directly, and though the plan was risky, it was the best way to ensure your safety. Your label had tried to intervene, worried about the scandal that would erupt if this reached the media. But Mingyu had shut them down without hesitation. How could they care more about their public image than protecting you? They had failed you once already—he wouldn't let it happen again.

The tension in the air was thick as the hotel staff hesitated before unlocking the door. Mingyu braced himself, expecting to see Jaehyun sprawled across the couch, waiting with a smug, taunting grin. A part of him still wanted to believe it wasn’t true—that Jaehyun wouldn’t do this to you. To him. The idea had made his stomach turn, his knuckles itch to land a punch before the law could take its course.

But as the door swung open, the sight before him made his stomach churn.

It wasn’t Jaehyun.

But instead, it was Park Yaehan.

Sitting leisurely on the couch, draped in nothing but a plush hotel robe, swirling a glass of deep red wine in his hand like he had all the time in the world. His lips curled into a smirk, one that sent a sick wave of fury rolling through Mingyu’s chest.

The detectives wasted no time. One of them stepped forward, flashing his badge as his voice rang through the room with authority.

“Park Yaehan, you are under arrest for blackmail, illegal possession of private material, and attempted coercion.”

Mingyu barely heard the rest. His blood was boiling too hot, his vision sharpening to a pinpoint focus on the man before him.

Yaehan barely reacted—if anything, his smirk grew wider. He didn’t resist when one of the officers yanked him up and twisted his arms behind his back, locking the handcuffs in place with a click. Instead, he let out a low chuckle, eyes flickering to Mingyu.

“You’re dramatic,” Yaehan mused, tilting his head slightly. “Did she call you crying?” His tone was taunting, venom laced into every syllable. “Begging for help?”

Mingyu’s fists clenched at his sides so hard he could feel his nails biting into his palms. His breathing was ragged, but he didn’t move—didn’t give Yaehan the satisfaction of a reaction.

The detective shoved him forward. “You have the right to remain silent,” he started, his voice cold, detached—like this was just another day on the job.

Yaehan didn’t fight back. He let himself be pushed toward the door, but not before glancing over his shoulder with one final smirk.

“She was always good at making men come running, wasn’t she?”

That was the last straw.

Mingyu lunged before he could stop himself, grabbing Yaehan by the collar with both fists and slamming him against the nearest wall. The impact shook the lamp on the side table, the wine glass shattering on the floor. The detectives barked at him to stand down, but their voices barely registered.

Mingyu’s entire body was trembling with rage, his breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts. His face was only inches from Yaehan’s, his grip tightening like he could choke the smugness right out of him.

“If you ever—ever—say her name again, I swear to God, I won’t stop at just this,” Mingyu snarled, his voice low, dangerous.

That was when one of the detectives grabbed Mingyu’s shoulder, pulling him back with force. He let go, but not without one last glare, seething with promises of violence he wished he could deliver.

Yaehan was dragged out of the room, his smirk never fading.

Mingyu stood there for a moment, chest heaving, hands shaking. His head was pounding with the weight of everything—your shaken voice on the phone, the way you had curled into yourself earlier, the fear you had tried to mask.

And now, even though the bastard was in cuffs, Mingyu still didn’t feel relief.

Because the damage had already been done.

And he hated that you had ever been afraid in the first place.

*

Jaehyun immediately drove to your place after receiving Mingyu’s call that morning. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as a heavy feeling settled in his chest. The news had already broken—Park Yaehan, handcuffed and dragged out of a hotel room in the early hours of the morning. But what weighed on Jaehyun’s mind wasn’t just the scandal. It was you.

When he arrived, Mingyu was already at the door, looking exhausted but as sharp as ever. He stepped aside without a word, letting Jaehyun in.

The first thing Jaehyun saw was you, curled up on the couch, fast asleep. A blanket draped over you, barely rising and falling with your soft breaths. You looked… drained. Not the strong, confident person he remembered. A pang of guilt settled deep in his stomach.

"I saw the news," Jaehyun whispered, careful not to wake you. "Park Yaehan was dragged out by the police at 2 AM."

Mingyu motioned for him to move to the dining table. His expression was unreadable, but his voice carried an edge of accusation.

"Tell me something I don’t know, Jaehyun. Because she thought it was you."

Jaehyun exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "We argued weeks ago. After the wrap party."

Mingyu tilted his head slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. "What did you argue about that made her think you'd harm her?"

Jaehyun’s hands trembled slightly as he clasped them together, fingers digging into his knuckles. The weight of Mingyu’s stare felt suffocating, pressing down on him like a boulder he couldn’t push away. He had driven here in a rush, his thoughts tangled in confusion and anger, but now, sitting at the dining table under Mingyu’s piercing gaze, all that energy had drained into something colder—guilt, maybe regret.

Across from him, Mingyu was eerily still. His arms were crossed, his jaw tight, his entire posture unreadable except for the sharp glint in his eyes. The silence stretched between them like a taut rope, fraying at the edges, threatening to snap. Jaehyun had expected some kind of immediate reaction—a scoff, an angry outburst, even just disbelief—but the silence was worse. It made him feel like he had already been judged, found guilty without trial.

"You stole my debut," Mingyu repeated, voice quiet but firm. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement—cold, bitter, but not surprised. He was piecing things together, letting the realization settle in.

Jaehyun swallowed, nodding once. "Yeah."

Mingyu tilted his head slightly, as if scrutinizing him. "And you think that’s why she suspected you? Because of something that happened years ago?"

Jaehyun sighed, rubbing his face with both hands before letting them drop to his lap. "I don’t know. But she was the only one who knew how much it haunted me." His voice faltered for a second, and he glanced toward you, still curled up on the couch, completely unaware of the storm brewing just a few feet away. His throat tightened. "Maybe she never let it go. Maybe she never fully forgave me."

Mingyu exhaled through his nose, tapping his fingers against his bicep in irritation. "Forgiveness isn’t the issue here, Jaehyun. She didn’t just doubt you—she feared you."

Those words stung more than Jaehyun had anticipated. He flinched slightly, his grip on his knees tightening. "I never gave her a reason to be afraid of me."

"But she was," Mingyu shot back, his tone sharper now. "That’s what matters."

Jaehyun clenched his jaw, frustration simmering beneath his skin. "I would never hurt her."

"Then why did she think you would?" Mingyu challenged, leaning forward slightly. "Do you even realize what she went through the past twenty-four hours? She was terrified, Jaehyun. And out of everyone, the first name that came to her mind was you."

Jaehyun’s breathing grew uneven, his heart pounding against his ribs. He had thought about that too, ever since Mingyu’s call. Why him? Why would you believe he was capable of something so cruel? Was it really because of his past mistake, or had he done something else—something he wasn’t even aware of—that made you see him that way?

Mingyu studied him for a long moment before shaking his head, his voice quieting just slightly. "If you really cared about her, you’d be asking yourself the same question."

Jaehyun wanted to argue, wanted to say that he had been asking himself that question over and over since he found out. But the truth was, he didn’t have an answer. And that uncertainty felt like a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

The weight in his chest grew heavier as he finally whispered, "I thought she knew me better than that."

Mingyu let out a short, humorless laugh. "Did you?”

*

"Mingyu..." Your voice was hoarse from sleep, your throat dry, and your body stiff from spending too many hours curled up on the couch. A dull ache spread across your back, making you wince as you shifted. You had lost track of time, barely aware of when exhaustion had pulled you under. But you remembered Mingyu’s promise—he said he wouldn’t leave you. That was the last thing you clung to before sleep claimed you.

You stirred again, calling his name unconsciously, expecting his presence. But when your eyes fluttered open, it wasn’t Mingyu you saw.

It was him.

"Jung Jaehyun?" Your voice came out weaker than you intended, confusion laced with caution.

Jaehyun sat across from you, his posture relaxed, but his expression was anything but. His lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke. "How are you feeling?"

Your eyes darted around, searching for Mingyu. "How are you here? Where’s Mingyu?"

"He went to the regional office with your manager," Jaehyun answered, his voice measured.

You sighed, nodding as your gaze flickered toward the clock on the wall. The hands pointed to 11. You had been out for nearly six hours. No wonder your body felt sore.

Jaehyun watched you carefully before speaking again. "Mingyu called me about what happened." He hesitated, as if picking his words carefully. "I'm sorry that you had to go through that."

You shook your head slowly, swallowing against the lump in your throat. "I'm just... glad it wasn't you." Your voice wavered, a mix of relief and guilt. "I'm sorry too."

Jaehyun exhaled, running a hand down his face. "I mean... I'm sorry for everything." His fingers curled into fists against his thighs. "For what happened last night. For what happened in the past. I made a lot of mistakes. I—" He exhaled sharply. "I doubted your potential."

The room fell into a heavy silence. It stretched between you like an invisible wall, thick with words left unsaid.

Finally, you broke it. "Have you apologized to Mingyu?"

Jaehyun’s brow furrowed slightly, caught off guard by your sudden shift in focus.

"You stole his debut," you said simply. There was no accusation in your tone—just quiet acknowledgment of a truth you both knew.

Jaehyun’s lips parted as if to respond, but he hesitated. His shoulders tensed. Then, slowly, he nodded.

But something in his expression shifted. It wasn’t just regret that flickered across his face—it was something heavier, something unresolved. A quiet acceptance that things between him and Mingyu would never be the same again.

Friendships, no matter how deep, had their limits. And Jaehyun was starting to wonder if he had already crossed the line too far to go back.

Jaehyun leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he let out a slow, measured breath. He hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to tell you, but then he spoke.

"The director called Mingyu earlier," he said carefully, watching your reaction. "He said he couldn’t help but cancel him as a cast."

Your stomach dropped.

Jaehyun’s voice remained calm, but there was an underlying tension in his words. "He was disappointed… about everything that happened. He didn’t want it to affect the production any further."

You felt a sharp pang in your chest. Mingyu had done nothing wrong. If anything, he had fought for you—protected you when no one else did. And now, he was paying the price for it.

Your fingers clenched the blanket draped over you. "He… got fired?"

Jaehyun didn’t say the word, but his silence was enough of an answer.

Jaehyun sighed, rubbing his temple. "The director didn’t want to make the call, but the producers were insistent. They don’t want any scandals tied to the project."

You swallowed hard. The industry was ruthless, you knew that. But hearing it out loud—seeing how easily they discarded Mingyu after everything—made your blood boil.

"This isn’t fair," you muttered, your voice shaking.

"I know," Jaehyun admitted. "But Mingyu probably knew this was coming."

That didn’t make it any less painful.

You exhaled sharply, your head pounding with frustration. Mingyu had given so much—for you, for this project—only to be thrown aside. You knew he’d act like it didn’t bother him, that he’d brush it off with a grin and say it was fine. But it wasn’t fine.

And for the first time since this whole mess started, you weren’t just angry at the people who hurt you.

You were angry at the industry, at the way it treated the people who gave it everything.

And most of all, you were angry at yourself—because no matter how much you hated it, you knew that you were part of the reason this happened to Mingyu.

*

Mingyu hadn’t expected to see anyone when he stepped out of his car that night, much less you.

You stood outside his apartment building, shivering slightly in the cold, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The dim streetlight cast a glow over your face, highlighting the way your breath came out in faint, visible puffs against the chilly night air. Your hair was slightly tousled, as if you had been standing there for a while, debating whether or not to go inside.

His chest tightened at the sight. It had been two weeks since the incident—two weeks since your label announced your hiatus, since the fallout of Park Yaehan’s scandal had sent shockwaves through the industry. Two weeks since you had last reached out to him. And now, here you were, waiting for him outside his home in the dead of night.

“Y/n?” Mingyu called, stepping closer. His voice held a mixture of surprise and concern. “What are you doing here? It’s freezing.”

His voice was softer than he intended, but there was an edge of concern underneath. He knew you weren’t supposed to be out in public, not when your name was still floating around in headlines. Not when you should’ve been resting.

You lifted your gaze to meet his, your expression unreadable at first. But then, you offered a small, tired smile—one that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I needed to see you.”

He didn’t press further. Instead, he sighed, pulling off his coat without a second thought and draping it over your shoulders. His warmth lingered in the fabric, and you instinctively pulled it closer.

“Come inside,” he said gently. “You shouldn’t be out here like this.”

You hesitated for a moment, as if unsure of something, before finally nodding. Without another word, Mingyu reached for the door, holding it open for you as you stepped inside.

Mingyu watched you carefully as the two of you stepped inside his apartment. His eyes traced over your face, taking in the subtle hollowness in your cheeks, the way your sweater hung a little looser on your frame. His chest ached at the realization.

“You lost weight,” he murmured, concern lacing his tone. “Do you want me to cook you something?”

You gave a small nod, your gaze drifting to the floor as if the weight of the conversation in your head was too heavy to meet his eyes.

Mingyu turned toward the kitchen, but before he could take a step, your voice stopped him.

“Mingyu.”

He stilled, nodding slightly to let you know he was listening. His heart pounded a little harder beneath his ribs, sensing there was something you weren’t saying yet.

“When I debuted,” you started, voice quieter now, “how did you feel?”

A silence stretched between you, thick and unspoken. Then, finally, Mingyu sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I was happy for you,” he admitted simply.

You finally lifted your gaze, searching his face. “And when Jaehyun debuted?”

Mingyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Why are we talking about things that have already passed?”

But you weren’t letting this go. “Acting was your dream too, Mingyu,” you pressed. “How did it feel to never debut?”

He let out a short chuckle, though there was no humor behind it. “You really want to hear the answer?” His voice held an edge now, not of anger, but of something close to exhaustion. “Fine. It was nothing. Because I forced myself to focus on getting better at something else.”

Your brows furrowed slightly at his response, but before you could say anything, he continued.

“But why are you still so kind to me and Jaehyun?” You finally asked.

Mingyu blinked at you, as if the question itself was absurd. “Because you guys are my friends,” he said simply. “And I have no reason to hate you. Or dislike you.”

Another silence settled between you. This time, it felt heavier.

Mingyu studied your face for a moment before speaking again, his voice quieter this time.

“Is there something specific you want to hear from me?”

“Tell me you hate me,” you whispered, your voice raw with desperation.

Mingyu blinked at you, disbelief flashing across his face. “What are you talking about?” His voice was uneven, edged with confusion and something dangerously close to anger. “Why would I hate you?”

You swallowed against the lump forming in your throat, your nails digging into your palms. “I— I heard from Jaehyun… the director cut you off.”

Mingyu’s jaw twitched, his fingers flexing at his sides. A flicker of something passed through his eyes—hurt, frustration—but it was gone in a second, masked by indifference. He shrugged, forcing nonchalance into his voice. “So?”

Your breath hitched. “I failed your debut… again.”

Mingyu let out a slow, deliberate exhale, his patience thinning. His voice lowered, calm but edged with warning. “And then?”

The weight of your guilt pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. “You should hate me, Mingyu,” you choked out, the words barely making it past your lips. “I crushed your dream.”

Mingyu’s brows furrowed, and this time, frustration flickered openly across his face. His hands clenched into fists at his sides before he forced them to relax. “No, you didn’t,” he said firmly. “And you never have.”

Your vision blurred slightly, your pulse thrumming painfully in your ears. “I know it was important to you… acting.”

Mingyu inhaled sharply through his nose, his patience wearing thin. “What are you talking about, Y/n? Nothing is important to me right now. You know that.”

Your throat tightened as you stepped forward, your voice barely steady. “But it was always your dream…”

Mingyu dragged a hand down his face, his frustration palpable. “Yeah, it was. In the past.” He exhaled heavily, his tone quieter but weighted with finality. “Now… I don’t think I suit the acting industry. Not after everything that’s happened—”

“I like you, Mingyu.”

The words spilled from your lips before you could stop them, and the shift in the air was immediate—suffocating.

Mingyu froze.

His breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening slightly as your confession settled between you like an earthquake, shaking the fragile ground you stood on. The tension that had been simmering in the room suddenly felt unbearable, pressing against your chest, making it hard to breathe.

His silence was worse than anything you had imagined.

“I like you…” you repeated, but this time, your voice wavered, thick with uncertainty.

Mingyu just stood there, staring at you as if you had just unraveled something inside him he wasn’t ready to face. His lips parted, but no words came out.

You swallowed hard, feeling the burn of unshed tears prick your eyes. “And knowing that I was the reason for everything that happened—the director cutting you off, your failed debut…” Your voice cracked, and you dropped your gaze to the floor, unable to meet his eyes anymore. “I was… I am sorry.”

Mingyu’s jaw clenched, his breathing heavy as if he was struggling with something. “Y/n…”

“I don’t deserve you,” you whispered, the weight of your guilt pressing against your ribcage.

Mingyu let out a sharp breath, frustration laced in every syllable. “Stop saying that.”

You shook your head, stepping back slightly, putting distance between you as if it would somehow lessen the ache in your chest. “It’s the truth. You lost so much because of me, and yet… you’re still here, being kind to me, looking after me.” Your voice broke, raw with emotion. “How can you do that? How can you not hate me?”

Mingyu’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line before he finally spoke, his voice low but unwavering. “Because I don’t blame you, Y/n. And I never will.”

Your breath hitched as you looked up at him, searching for something—anger, resentment, anything that would make sense of the situation. But all you found was sincerity, unshaken and firm.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Because you couldn’t understand how someone could lose so much and still choose to stay.

Mingyu exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair as if trying to ground himself. His frustration was evident, but it wasn’t directed at you—it was at the situation, at the way you refused to see what he had been trying to tell you all along.

"Y/n, do you really think I'm still hung up on debuting?" His voice was quiet but firm. "Do you really think my entire life was ruined just because I didn’t become an actor?"

You couldn’t answer.

Because wasn’t that the truth?

You had spent so long carrying the weight of his dreams on your shoulders, convincing yourself that your success had come at the cost of his, that you never stopped to consider—maybe you weren’t the one who got to decide what he had lost.

Mingyu sighed, stepping closer, his presence warm despite the cold tension in the air. "I never hated you, not once," he murmured, his eyes searching yours. "So why do you keep trying to push me away?"

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling around the hem of your coat. "Because…" You hesitated, your voice barely above a whisper. "I feel guilty."

Mingyu scoffed, shaking his head. "That’s not a reason to hate someone, Y/n. And it sure as hell isn’t a reason for me to walk away from you."

His words hit deep, unraveling something inside you that had been wound too tight for too long.

Your gaze dropped to the floor. "I just… I don’t know how to make it right."

"You don’t have to."

The certainty in his voice made you look up. Mingyu was watching you, his expression open, unguarded in a way that made your chest tighten.

"You don’t have to make anything right," he repeated. "Because nothing was ever wrong between us."

Silence hung between you again, thick with unspoken feelings, unshed tears, and the weight of too many years spent misunderstanding each other.

And then, in the quiet, Mingyu sighed, tilting his head slightly as if finally acknowledging the other thing lingering between you.

"You like me," he murmured, his voice softer now. It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. "I do."

Mingyu’s lips quirked into the smallest, saddest smile. "And you think you don’t deserve me?"

You nodded hesitantly, unable to meet his gaze.

Mingyu let out a breath, almost like a quiet chuckle, before he reached out—his fingers curling gently around your wrist, his warmth seeping into your skin.

"Y/n," he said, his voice impossibly tender. "You’re the only thing I never regretted."

Your heart clenched.

The air shifted again, this time not with guilt or hesitation, but with something heavier, something deeper.

You had spent so long believing you had ruined his life. And yet, here he was, standing right in front of you, telling you that you were the only thing he never once resented.

Your throat tightened, emotions threatening to spill over. "Mingyu…"

His grip on your wrist tightened just slightly, grounding you. "Stop running away from me," he whispered. "If you like me, then just… stay."

Your chest ached, the words hitting you harder than you expected.

Could you?

Could you really let go of the guilt, of the years of overthinking and self-blame?

Could you stay?

Mingyu let out a shaky breath, his grip on your wrist firm but gentle, as if he were afraid you would disappear if he let go. His heart pounded against his ribs, louder than the silence between you.

For years, he had buried this feeling—stuffed it deep into the corners of his heart, convinced that friendship was enough, that he could endure simply standing by your side. But right now, seeing you like this, so raw, so vulnerable, telling him you liked him while carrying a guilt you never should have had to bear…

Something inside him snapped.

No more holding back.

He swallowed hard, his other hand coming up to cradle the side of your face. His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek, and he felt the way you tensed under his touch. The hesitation in your eyes, the way your lips parted slightly as if you wanted to say something—but you didn’t.

For once, Mingyu didn’t give you the space to run.

He leaned in, hesitating just for a fraction of a second, just long enough for you to stop him if you wanted to. But you didn’t move.

And then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate, but it wasn’t careful either. It was full of everything he had held back for years—frustration, longing, the silent love he had carried for so long without ever daring to name it.

His lips were warm against yours, the pressure firm yet soft, as if he were trying to tell you with this kiss what he had never been brave enough to say out loud. That he had wanted you all along. That it was never about acting, never about the past—only about you.

You stiffened for a moment, stunned, before your fingers clutched at the fabric of his sweater, grounding yourself. The way your body melted into his just slightly, the way your breath hitched against his lips—it made something deep in Mingyu’s chest ache.

You kissed him back.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

His hand slid from your wrist to your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss just slightly, enough to let you know—he wasn’t going to let you push him away anymore.

He wasn’t going to let either of you keep pretending.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless, the space between you charged with something electric.

"You think you don’t deserve me," he murmured, voice low, warm against your lips. "But, Y/n… I’ve spent years thinking I was the one who didn’t deserve you."

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes fluttering open to meet his. Mingyu’s gaze was soft yet intense, no hesitation left.

"So if we’re both idiots about this," he whispered, "then let’s just stop pretending."

His thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch steady, grounding. "Stay," he said again, but this time, it wasn’t just a request. It was a promise.

A promise that if you chose him, he wouldn’t let you regret it.

*

The warm glow of your apartment cast a cozy atmosphere over the small gathering, the scent of takeout and the faint fizz of beer bottles opening filling the air. Mingyu sat beside you on the couch, his arm draped casually behind you, fingers lightly grazing your shoulder. Jaehyun sat across from you both, legs stretched out, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

You had been putting this moment off for too long, but tonight—celebrating Mingyu’s promotion to detective at the regional station—it felt right. The weight that had been sitting in your chest for weeks finally eased as you turned to Jaehyun and said, “By the way… Mingyu and I are dating.”

Jaehyun groaned loudly, throwing his head back against the couch. “Finally!”

Mingyu burst into laughter, nudging you playfully. “He must’ve seen this coming.”

Jaehyun scoffed, sitting up straighter. “Yeah! Who didn’t?” He pointed at you. “I mean, come on, Mingyu literally would do anything for you. The guy has had ‘in love with Y/N’ written all over his face for years.”

Your cheeks flushed as you glanced at Mingyu, but he just shrugged with an easy grin. “Took us long enough, huh?”

Jaehyun rolled his eyes. “I’ve been waiting for this announcement since forever. You guys were dancing around each other so much, I was this close—” he held up his fingers an inch apart “—to locking you in a room until you figured it out.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “We weren’t that obvious.”

Jaehyun snorted. “Oh, you were.” He turned to Mingyu. “Dude, I’ve seen you drop everything for her without even thinking. If she called you at 3 a.m. because she saw a spider, you’d drive across town just to kill it.”

Mingyu shrugged again, taking a sip of his drink. “Well… yeah.”

Jaehyun shook his head with a fond sigh. “Seriously, though, I’m happy for you guys.” He raised his beer. “To Mingyu’s promotion, and to finally putting an end to all the unnecessary tension.”

You and Mingyu clinked your drinks against his, sharing a glance that held something deeper—a quiet understanding that this, right here, was what mattered. The past, the guilt, the hesitation… none of it had a place in the life you were building together now.

And for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

Mingyu scoffed, setting his drink down with a playful glare in Jaehyun’s direction. “Okay, but why does it sound like I was the only one who was obvious? Like I was pathetically in love while she just—what? Kept me around for convenience?” He turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “You really hid it that well, huh?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Jaehyun cut in, shaking his head. “Nah, don’t even start with that, Mingyu. You just never paid attention.”

Mingyu frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jaehyun leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Remember when she confronted me about your debut? When she found out I got cast instead of you?”

Mingyu blinked, caught off guard. “What about it?”

Jaehyun huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “She came at me like she was ready to burn everything down. I’ve never seen her that angry before. She wasn’t mad that I got the role—she was mad that you didn’t. And when I told her there was nothing she could do, that it was already decided, you know what she said?”

Mingyu swallowed, his chest tightening as he looked at you. “…What did she say?”

Jaehyun turned to you, his expression softening. “She said, ‘It’s not fair. No one works harder than Mingyu. No one deserves it more than him.’” He let out a small chuckle. “And then she told me I should apologize to you. That I owed you that much.”

Mingyu’s lips parted slightly as he looked at you, but you couldn’t meet his eyes. Your fingers toyed with the hem of your sleeve, nervous under his gaze.

Jaehyun leaned back, crossing his arms. “So yeah, maybe she wasn’t obvious like you, following her around like a lost puppy.” Mingyu glared at him, but Jaehyun just grinned. “But she cared. A lot. Probably more than she even realized.”

Silence settled between the three of you. Mingyu was still staring at you, and you could feel the weight of his gaze. Slowly, you glanced up at him, your heart hammering in your chest.

Mingyu let out a small, breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair. “So all this time… you really did care that much?”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Of course, I did.”

Mingyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a fond, almost exasperated smile. “And you still made me think I was in this alone?”

You bit your lip, but before you could answer, Jaehyun groaned, standing up. “Okay, I’m done being the middleman in your slow-burn romance. You guys figure out the rest.”

With that, he grabbed another drink and headed toward your balcony, giving you and Mingyu some space.

Mingyu watched him leave before turning back to you, his expression unreadable. Then, after a moment, he reached out, fingers brushing against yours before lacing them together.

“You could’ve told me,” he murmured, voice softer now.

You squeezed his hand lightly. “I was scared.”

Mingyu sighed, bringing your hand to his lips for a brief kiss. “Me too,” he admitted.

For the first time, neither of you had to run, hide, or pretend.

*

The warmth of laughter filled your apartment as the three of you huddled around the small coffee table, empty bottles and snack wrappers scattered across it. The air was light, no longer weighed down by unspoken words or past regrets. It felt… normal. Like old times, except better—because now, there were no more barriers.

Jaehyun smirked as he laid down his final card. “And that makes me the winner.”

Mingyu groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Again? Are you cheating?”

“You just suck at this game,” Jaehyun shot back, grinning.

You giggled, nudging Mingyu’s arm. “Loser runs the errand. More drinks and snacks, please.”

Mingyu sighed, dragging himself up from the floor. “You guys planned this, didn’t you?”

Jaehyun shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You’re both evil.” But despite his words, Mingyu smiled as he grabbed his jacket and slipped on his shoes.

The cold night air greeted him as he stepped out of your building, his breath visible in the crisp air. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional car passing by. He shoved his hands into his pockets, heading toward the convenience store a block away.

But as he approached, he slowed his steps, his brows furrowing.

Sitting in front of the store, illuminated by the glow of the streetlights, was a familiar face. Chan. His colleague.

Mingyu tilted his head. “Isn’t that… the part-timer?” he muttered to himself.

Chan was deep in conversation with a girl, her face half-hidden by her long hair. She laughed at something he said, her hand playfully pushing his shoulder.

Mingyu smirked to himself. “Well, well. What’s this?”

It seemed like he wasn’t the only one who had a story unfolding tonight.

Shaking his head in amusement, Mingyu stepped into the store, letting the door chime announce his arrival. He still had an errand to run, after all. But now, he had something interesting to bring up to Chan later.

[mini-ism]

#— NAUGHTY.

pairings: lighter x afab!gn!reader [MDNI]

words: 1,630

synopsis: caesar finds some particularly compromising videos on lighter’s phone when she shouldn’t be looking.

warnings: p in v, hair pulling, accidental voyeurism, praise kink, filming, amateur porn, rough intercourse, biting, blow jobs, light degradation (he could never be unkind to u), unprotected intercourse, afab reader (gender neutral, no pronouns/feminine terms). 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

notes: crossposted to AO3. ive been procrastinating this post ha

caesar knew she shouldn’t be snooping through lighter’s phone like this.

not without his permission, of course. she was just curious, she swore, just taking a peek at whatever dumb images he saved. maybe some of cute bangboo, or screenshots of tight leather jackets he might treat himself to later.

there was the occasional obligatory photo of him and the girls they insisted he take, of course some jackets and sunglasses he was looking at in person, photos of adorable animals he encountered on the streets. one question remained persistent — where were the photos of you he had saved? she’s seen him look down at his phone to peek at your texts, saving the selfies you sent him. caesar snuck a glimpse of his phone in her peripheral, pictures of you with a treat, or holding up a peace sign with a mutual friend. she couldn’t deny the smile that spread across his face, despite whatever you and him were.

but, extraordinarily enough, his camera roll was terribly boring. her thumb scrolled further, noting the organized folders on his phone. “friends,” “cute,” and an unnamed one. if only caesar’s snooping stopped there.

mindlessly, half expecting nothing, the barrage of photos and videos loaded. so this is where he kept everything he had of you? how adorable. caesar chuckled to herself at the occasional dumb photo of either you or him, there was a striking one of him in pigtails. his face was red with embarrassment, arms crossed and pouting like a fussy child, his hair in two short and choppy pigtails on each side of his head. that was surely a look. the next picture was a selfie of you and him with ice cream, he didn’t know he had a bit on his face while taking it.

the photos ranged from photos of you beaming next to an adorable kitten, to sultry photos you sent him late at night, pictures of you on his lap, images of you kissing him. okay, now she should put his phone down and pretend she never saw anything. nope, never touched it, didn’t look at all. the nagging voice in her head demanded she keep looking, intrigue getting the best of her. it was cute, she thought, what’s the harm?

the next swipes displayed a string of lewd photos back-to-back, some of you in a suggestive pose or kissing his neck.

oh my god.

oh. my. god.

she kicked herself internally for not putting his phone down earlier, nearly choking on her own spit. there it was, on his phone screen, a video of his dick right in front of your face. thankfully the volume was lowered, she pressed the side button a few times just in case, silencing it entirely. the video continued to play, your head in his lap as he sat on the edge of his bed, your body to the side as he held the phone down to capture the lewd sight at an entirely different angle. you slapped his shaft against your cheek a few times, giggling with amusement as his heavy cock made brief contact with your skin. after a few strokes, you ran your tongue down his length, making your way back up with a kiss to the tip. your tongue jutted back out to give a few more licks to the slit, licking up as much pre-cum as you could.

lighter’s free hand cupped your cheek, stroking the jawbone on the side of your face that you previously teased him with. his thumb then pulled the fat of your lip, bringing it down with a motion before letting it go. you eagerly swallowed his cock, only managing to take in a good few inches. lighter’s arm draped around your neck and shoulders, allowing you to suck his dick with no assistance. caesar looked around a few times, ensuring she was totally alone before upping the volume enough for only her to hear.

immediately, she could hear the lewd noises of your tongue and mouth working, your dominant hand stroking the base of his shaft as your lips managed the rest. lighter gave a few gentle praises, urging you further, his low groan ringing in her ears as you gagged trying to take more than you could handle. the video ended after you came up for a breath, stroking his cock as it rested by your cheek, your gaze loving and playful. it glistened with a thick sheen of spit.

with a shaky thumb, she swiped over to the next video. this one was filmed by you, angling the camera downwards enough. it looked like you two were in missionary, lighter on top of you. his voice could be heard, hand ungloved as it snaked down to stroke his cock a few times. he didn't have his jacket on anymore, either, sporting a shirtless look. his body was incredibly scarred, but his skin carried its own handsome charm. she could decipher the last few words he said, “— relax, i’ve got you. ‘kay?”

her eyes flicked down to you, as his hand moved to pull your underwear out of the way. he didn’t even bother taking them off, tucking them in the junction of your thigh and pussy. everything from the midriff down was exposed as you kept your legs spread open for him. your breathing was labored and shallow, likely from arousal. his hand tugged you closer to him, lining himself up with you. as he slid in, he pressed his hand onto the skin over your womb, applying a firm pressure. caesar could hear your cries, whiny and needy, his thumb immediately offering a semblance of comfort by dragging along your clit. his other hand grabbed the underside of your thigh, starting to pull out. his movements were loving and deliberate, attentive to your moans and shakes. your hands struggled to keep his phone stable as he picked up the pace, “you’re doing amazing, keep taking me.”

the video after was in a different position, his phone returned back to its original owner. the other hand held your arm back as he plowed into you from behind, face down and ass up. only your sobs of pleasure and the sound of skin against skin could be heard. his camera was angled perfectly to capture the unfiltered action, his cock sliding in and out of you with ample ease. with a grunt, he pulled your arm again, fucking into you with brutal thrusts. caesar never heard lighter curse that much in a few seconds, not even when he was seething with unbridled rage or injured and battered. “fuck, yeah, you like that? i know you do. goddamn tight, can’t live without this dick.”

the next video had another angle, his phone propped up against something presumably on his nightstand. lighter had both hands on your hips now, rocking your body back and forth as he dragged his hips in and out of your cunt. she could hear the bed frame below you two creaking and thudding against the wall. he was hunched over you, muttering in your ear between breaths, some words unsavory and vulgar, others sweet and encouraging. “need me? you need me to fuck you? you’re doing so good. you won’t let go of me, even if i tried to pull out.” his chest and abs were covered in sweat, locks dampened from the intensity. his lips trailed kisses from your ear, varying in intensity as they went down your neck. he nipped the skin, sucking it with feverish passion, biting your earlobe as he tugged at the hair above the nape of your neck. lighter pulled tightly, savoring your throaty mewl, “you love me? you love it when i fuck you? come for me. show me how much you love it.”

you muttered a few unintelligible words, grabbing at the sheets beneath you as your body shook with fervor, tears welling in your eyes with each helpless moan. lighter pulled harder, fingers intertwined deeply in your hair. in an instant, you trembled harder and cried out. wiggling your hips back and forth, seeking sensation to ride out your orgasm. lighter pulled your head back by the hair, spine arching as he pulled you up, knees still on the bed. you sobbed at the loss of his length inside you, suddenly feeling empty. lighter whispered in your ear, panting and flushed, stroking himself quickly. “that’s it, let me hear you, can’t help but come on my cock.”

with a final, deep stroke, lighter came on the lower part of your back right below the arch. your shoulder blades were flush against his chest. caesar paused the video, heat much more noticeable on her face and through her body. her cheeks were burning red, heart racing at the taboo of watching two people have sex. people she would argue she knows quite well. she closed out of his camera roll and put his phone down, turning it off.

the carnal lust in those videos she saw just couldn’t leave her. should she return his phone, or take a cold shower? should she leave it be, or mention she saw them having sex on his phone? no, no, nothing! don’t say a word at all. she didn’t see anything, she didn’t look through anything compromising. caesar sat in silence for a few more moments, processing what she had just discovered, jumping in her seat as lighter returned.

“hey, did you see my phone?” he approached her as she sat, his phone still in front of her on the table, “oh, there it is. thanks, boss.” lighter didn’t seem to notice her pale and clammy complexion, easily going about his business, unlocking it to send a text.

“yup.” caesar could only muster an uncharacteristically weak thumbs up.

[cumironi]

FOREVER, OURS : GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

& sum. the night before, you and your boyfriends talking about having kids. for them, having a child in these moments wasn’t the right decision, especially with them too busy with missions and averything, and the next morning, you just happened to be pregnant.

warning. established relationship au, fluff, bit angst, baby-trap, very-very suggestive start.

[☆] MASTERLIST

the soft glow of the bedside lamp bathed the room in a warm light as you relaxed in your shared bedroom with geto and gojo. the air was filled with a peaceful quiet, the kind that comes from being completely comfortable in each other’s presence.

geto was beside you, his attention absorbed in a book, the pages softly turning as he read. gojo was lying on the other side, his phone held loosely in his hand, occasionally tapping on the screen with a faint smirk.

you had your own book in hand, but you found yourself distracted. the comforting presence of your two boyfriends made it hard to focus. you glanced up from your page, watching geto's brow furrow slightly in concentration, then shifted your gaze to gojo, who was chuckling softly at something on his phone.

a contented sigh escaped your lips as you nestled deeper into the pillows, feeling the warmth and love that filled the room. there was no need for words; just being together like this was enough.

geto noticed your relaxed demeanor and couldn’t help but smile. he closed his book and gently placed it on the bedside table, shifting his attention towards you.

“you’re awfully quiet tonight,” he remarked, his voice soft and gentle. gojo, sensing the change in atmosphere, put aside his phone, and turned his gaze towards you. a mischievous look danced in his eyes, his smirk widening into a sly grin.

“are you enjoying the view or lost in thought?” gojo teased, his head tilted to the side as he studied your expression. geto chuckled, unable to hide the affectionate look in his eyes. “knowing you, you’re probably multitasking, thinking and ogling us at the same time.”

you glanced up at geto, offering him a small smile in response to his soft observation, then returned to your book without saying a word. it wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk; you were simply content, basking in the quiet comfort of their presence.

gojo, however, wasn’t going to let you off so easily. he leaned in closer, the corners of his mouth lifting as he tilted his head to meet your gaze. “not even a little kiss for us tonight?” he teased, his voice dripping with playfulness.

you scrunched your nose, pretending to ignore him, your eyes stubbornly fixed on the pages in front of you. but the faint twitch of a smile gave you away.

gojo chuckled, his smirk turning into a cocky grin as he saw through your little act. “oh, you’re playing hard to get tonight, are you?” he teased, his voice laced with amusement.

geto chuckled at your stubbornness. he knew you well, and he could tell that you were struggling to maintain your aloof act. he shifted closer, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back, giving it an affectionate squeeze. he, who had been watching with silent amusement, spoke up, “leave her be, satoru.”

but gojo pretended not to hear him, instead inching closer to you. “come on, just a tiny little kiss...” he practically begged, exaggerating his plea as he inched closer.

you barely had a moment to react before gojo snatched the book from your hands, his grin widening as he held it just out of your reach. “enough reading for tonight,” he declared smugly, setting the book aside on the nightstand. “it’s time you give us some attention.”

you shot him a mock glare, but couldn’t help the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. gojo's antics were relentless, and he knew exactly how to get under your skin.

“oh, so now you’re deciding my bedtime routine?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

gojo gave a dramatic sigh, as if the very idea of you resisting was unheard of. “exactly,” he quipped, his tone dripping with playful authority. “i mean, you can’t really blame us for wanting your undivided attention.”

geto, still chuckling at gojo's antics, slipped his arm around you, his fingers tracing gentle circles on your back. “don’t mind him,” he murmured softly, his eyes warm. “but... i have to admit, he’s right.” his voice softened, and his gaze met yours, a gentle, coaxing look that made your resolve waver.

you rolled your eyes, feeling your heart flutter at their combined attention. “fine, fine,” you conceded with a dramatic sigh, pretending to be exasperated, even though you secretly loved every second of it. “but you two better make it worth my time.”

gojo and geto shared a grin, pleased at your pretend reluctance to give them attention.

“oh, don’t worry,” gojo said with a mock seriousness, “we’ll make sure you’re well entertained... or should we say, ‘well-distracted’?” he winked at you.

geto chuckled, his hand still tracing gentle circles on your back. “what kind of entertainment do you prefer, my dear?” he asked, his voice low and sultry. “something more... physical, perhaps?”

gojo, unable to wait any longer, leaned closer, his lips just a breath away from your ear. his voice was a whisper, but the heat behind his words was clear. “i vote for physical.”

geto, sensing the tension, shifted his body closer to you, his chest now pressed against your back. his hand, which had been tracing gentle circles, now moved to your hip, his fingers gripping subtly. “i second that vote,” he murmured, his mouth now close to your neck.

a soft hum escaped your lips, the warmth of their proximity sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. you let out a quiet chuckle, savoring the anticipation in the air as their teasing words lingered. without another word, you slowly shifted, turning onto your back, so you could face them both. their gazes met yours—gojo’s eyes glinting with playful mischief and geto’s with a steady, affectionate warmth.

with a smirk, you leaned in just enough for your breath to brush against their skin, whispering, “i vote for the physical.”

gojo’s smirk grew impossibly wider, his eyes lighting up with a delighted spark as he chuckled softly. “finally, a unanimous vote.” his fingers found yours, intertwining as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a slow, deliberate motion.

geto, not one to be outdone, leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of your jaw, his hand resting comfortably on your waist. “looks like we’re all in agreement,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a gentle, comforting hum that only made your heart beat faster.

you sighed, content and caught between them, feeling completely wrapped up in their warmth and attention.

gojo, ever the impatient one, wasted no time. he moved closer, his free hand slipping under your shirt, his fingers tracing lazy lines against your stomach. the touch was light, a mere preview of things to come.

geto, the more patient of the two, continued to pepper soft kisses along your jaw, his fingers tracing light patterns on your hip. gojo, leaning even closer, his breath hot on your skin, whispered in your ear, “just say the word, and we’ll show you some real ‘physical entertainment.’”

geto chuckled, his lips against your jaw now moving down to your neck. he left a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses, his hand on your waist pulling you closer to him. “we aim to please, y’know,” he added, his voice a hot breath against your skin.

your hand slipped up to cup gojo’s face, your fingers brushing softly along his hair as you guided his gaze to meet yours. the playful glint in his eyes softened slightly, replaced by a flicker of something more intense as he held your gaze.

“kiss me,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, each word laced with anticipation.

gojo’s smirk widened, his eyes darkening with a mix of eagerness and possessiveness. without a moment's hesitation, he moved in, closing the small gap between you, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss.

his hand slid from your stomach to the small of your back, pulling you closer, his touch firm yet loving. gojo’s other hand cradled your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he deepened the kiss.

as gojo poured his passion into the kiss, geto's hands wandered, sliding from your hip to your thighs, slowly moving up and under your shirt, his fingers lightly tracing against your skin. his head dipped, his mouth now on your neck, his kisses gradually becoming more heated as he began to leave a trail of soft hickies.

as gojo’s kisses trailed down to your jaw, then to the other side of your neck, his lips leaving a blazing path, a breathless moan slipped from your lips. your hands tangled in both their hair, grounding yourself in the heat of their touches. you felt the slow brush of geto’s fingers sliding up your thighs, his touch gentle yet purposeful, as his mouth continued to leave a trail of soft marks on your skin.

but as your gaze drifted up, your eyes landed on the ceiling—and there, among the glowing stars you’d carefully arranged, you noticed a few missing. a pout formed on your lips, and you sighed out, “aww… some of the stars are gone.”

as soon as the disappointed sigh left your lips, both gojo and geto let out exasperated groans against your neck, their frustration almost in perfect sync. you felt their warm breaths against your skin, both of them pausing their affections as they processed yet another one of your “star interruptions.”

gojo leaned back slightly, his forehead pressing to yours, his expression torn between amusement and disbelief. “really? again with the stars?” he asked, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the situation. “we’re in the middle of something here, you know…”

geto sighed, though there was a fond smile on his face as he tilted his head to look up at the ceiling with you. his hand stayed firm on your waist, grounding you as he shook his head softly. “one day, we’re going to get through a night without you being distracted by constellations,” he teased, though his tone was warm and affectionate.

they both knew this wasn’t the first—or even the fifth—time you’d interrupted a heated moment with a sudden focus on the stars. it had practically become a ritual at this point. and although it was frustrating, the way you’d get so wrapped up in something as simple as the glowing shapes overhead was something they couldn’t help but adore about you.

you scrunched up your nose, pouting slightly as you looked at both of them. “i just don’t like missing stars,” you mumbled, sounding adorably stubborn, your eyes flicking up to the ceiling before back to their amused faces.

gojo and geto exchanged a knowing look, sighing in unison before both of them turned onto their backs, settling beside you but still keeping close. geto’s hand remained gently on your waist, his thumb tracing idle circles, while gojo let out a playful scoff, his arm resting just behind your head.

“only you would care this much about glow-in-the-dark stickers,” gojo chuckled, shaking his head with a smirk, though his tone was filled with affection.

geto couldn’t help but laugh softly, his fingers still tracing the same idle circles on your waist. “you really have a thing for those stars, huh?” he teased, his fond smile mirroring gojo’s.

gojo chimed in, propping himself up on his elbow to hover over you slightly. “you’d think they were real, the way you’re so fixated on them.” his smirk widened as he teased, his tone still playful. despite their slight teasing, both gojo and geto made no move to resume the heated moment from before. instead, they settled comfortably on either side of you.

you tilted your head to look up at gojo, rolling your eyes with a playful scoff. “i’m not stupid, satoru,” you huffed, crossing your arms with an exaggerated pout. “of course i don’t think they’re real stars.”

gojo grinned wider, clearly enjoying your reaction, while geto chuckled softly beside you, his fingers still tracing those comforting circles on your waist. “could’ve fooled us,” gojo teased, arching a brow as he settled back down beside you, still grinning like he’d won something.

you nudged his shoulder lightly, shooting him a mock glare. “just because i like them doesn’t mean i think they’re real.” your voice softened as you added, “they just… make me happy, okay?”

the playful grins on gojo’s and geto’s faces softened slightly at your admission. they both knew how much those stars meant to you, even if they didn’t fully understand your fixation.

gojo’s hand found yours, intertwining your fingers together in a gentle squeeze. “ah, so it’s an emotional attachment,” he teased, his tone more teasing than mocking.

geto, still tracing his thumb over your waist, chuckled and leaned in to place a soft kiss on your shoulder. “adorable as it is, it sure kills the mood…”

you rolled your eyes at their teasing, glancing back up at the stars with a faint smile. “it’s not an emotional attachment,” you insisted, though the truth lingered just beneath your words. your gaze softened as you fell silent, memories from childhood drifting through your mind.

a quiet moment passed, the playful mood shifting as you thought back to simpler days. you remembered how, as a kid, you’d admired the glowing stars on the ceilings of friends’ bedrooms—their dads hanging them up like tiny constellations just for them. in a way, those stars had always felt like a small, unreachable piece of normal life, something untouched by the rules and expectations of growing up in a sorcerer family.

you hesitated, then finally let out a soft sigh. “when i was a kid, i used to see them in my friends’ rooms,” you murmured, your voice just above a whisper. “i always wanted some for myself, but… well, my family wasn’t really the type to hang glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.”

both gojo and geto listened in silence, their teasing remarks forgotten as they noticed the shift in your mood from playful to nostalgic.

gojo’s grip tightened around your hand, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles in a soft, reassuring gesture, while geto’s touch on your waist moved to gently rub small circles on your back, trying to offer a small comfort.

they exchanged a glance over your head, silently communicating, before focusing their attention back on you. gojo remained silent for a moment, waiting for you to continue, while geto let out a soft, encouraging hum.

gojo leaned in close, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek, his voice a gentle murmur against your skin. “first thing tomorrow, we’re getting as many as you want,” he promised, his usual playful tone softened with sincerity. “we’ll cover the whole ceiling—no, the whole house if you want.” he smiled, his eyes glinting with a determination to make up for what you’d missed.

he brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, his gaze filled with a mix of affection and resolve. “you’re gonna have the brightest ceiling in the world, and every time you look up, you’ll see all the stars you want, made just for you.”

you turned your head to the side, meeting gojo’s gaze with a soft smile. there was a warmth in his eyes that made your heart swell, and you could feel the sincerity in every word he had just spoken. without another thought, you leaned closer, resting your forehead against his.

“thank you, satoru,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. the words were simple, but they carried so much emotion, a quiet gratitude for his understanding and the gentle way he was willing to make up for what you’d missed.

gojo’s smile softened at your words, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of affection and tenderness. he knew how much those stars meant to you, and he was determined to make up for lost time. “don’t worry, my love,” he whispered, his hand gently caressing your cheek. “you’ll have a whole sky full of stars, just as you always wanted.”

geto, still tucked close beside you, listened in silence. his hand continued tracing soothing circles on your back, his touch gentle and comforting. he remained quiet, letting gojo take the lead.

you looked between them, a playful glint in your eyes as you couldn’t resist teasing. “you know,” you said with a smirk, “you two are going to be the best fathers.”

a moment of stunned silence followed your words. both gojo and geto were caught completely off guard, their jaws hanging open in surprise.

gojo recovered first, his stunned expression morphing into a mix of surprise and pride. a wide, almost giddy grin spread across his face. “fathers, huh?” he echoed, a hint of wonder in his voice.

geto chuckled, his hand on your back stilling for a moment before resuming its gentle circles. he shook his head, a softer smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “you’re getting ahead of yourself,” he teased gently.

you chuckled softly, the warmth of the moment making you a little bolder. “do you two think we’d actually start a family someday?” you asked, the question slipping out without much thought as your gaze drifted back up to the ceiling.

you didn’t notice how your words seemed to hang in the air, nor did you catch the unreadable expressions that briefly crossed their faces. gojo’s grin faded slightly, replaced by something unreadable, a flicker of deep thought behind his usually carefree eyes. geto’s hand on your back stilled again, his gaze turning contemplative as he glanced at gojo, a silent understanding passing between them.

as you looked up at the ceiling, blissfully unaware of the deeper meanings your words had unintentionally stirred, gojo and geto were quietly reflecting on your casual question. the air seemed to shift subtly with a hint of weight.

gojo’s grin disappeared, replaced by a soft, pensive expression. he averted his gaze, his eyes wandering to the ceiling to avoid your gaze. geto, on the other hand, was silently looking at gojo, his own thoughts mirroring the same contemplative expression.

the room was silent for a moment, broken only by the sound of your slightly heavy breaths. both gojo and geto remained thoughtfully quiet, their gazes trained on the ceiling.

finally, gojo broke the silence, his voice barely above a murmur. “it’s… an interesting thought, isn’t it?” he began, his tone casual, but his eyes betraying a hint of seriousness. geto kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling, his fingers resuming their gentle circles on your back. he hummed softly, a non-committal noise of agreement.

you turned your head slightly, gaze drifting to gojo’s face. he wore that familiar, unreadable expression—one that masked so much, but over the years, you’d learned to pick up on the faint traces of emotion he sometimes couldn’t fully hide. his eyes, usually so full of mischief or confidence, held a hint of something softer now, a depth he rarely let show.

after a moment, you let out a quiet “yeah,” a gentle agreement that felt like it carried the weight of a promise, even if unspoken. returning your gaze to the ceiling, you traced the shapes of the stars you’d carefully arranged above, feeling the warmth of their presence around you. it was comforting to imagine a future like this—a family, a home filled with stars, laughter, and quiet moments like these.

gojo glanced down at you, his eyes softening as he noticed the shift in your expression. he knew you well enough to recognize that gleam in your eyes—the one that hinted at a distant hope and longing. the corners of his mouth twitched into a small, almost secretive smile.

geto, too, observed the silent exchange, his own heart swelling with a mixture of tenderness and melancholy. he knew the ache for such a future all too well. gojo’s voice broke the silence again, gently drawing your focus back to the conversation. “you’d actually want that, huh?”

your voice was barely above a whisper as you replied, “i don’t want it if you don’t.” you kept your gaze on the ceiling, the faint glow of the stars casting soft shadows across the room, but you didn’t need to look to feel the subtle shift in their emotions. it was as if they both tensed, caught between the vulnerability of the moment and their instinct to shield you from it.

you could feel gojo’s hand go still, his thumb frozen mid-stroke against your knuckles. his usual confidence seemed to waver, a quiet uncertainty flickering beneath his calm exterior. meanwhile, geto’s fingers on your back faltered, his touch gentle, yet hesitant—as if he, too, was processing emotions he wasn’t ready to voice.

you waited, the silence stretching between the three of you. it felt like they were trying to redirect, maybe even shift the conversation toward something safer. but you stayed quiet, not wanting to push, but hoping they’d know that whatever path they chose, you’d walk it together, even if it means there is will be no family.

the room fell into a silence thick with emotion. gojo and geto struggled to maintain their usual composure, their thoughts and feelings clearly shaken by your response.

gojo’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, his gaze shifting from the ceiling to your face. he wanted to reply, to say something, but the words seemed to elude him. finally, geto broke the silence, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “it’s not that we don’t want it, love,” he began, his fingers resuming their gentle circles on your back.

both gojo and geto were grappling with a mixture of emotions, their responses a delicate balance between honesty and the need to protect you. they both knew that bringing a child into this world, as powerful sorcerers, came with a whole new set of challenges and dangers, and the thought of putting a child through that was a heavy burden to bear.

“it’s just… complicated, “ gojo admitted, his voice low and heavy. “we would give anything to watch you become a mother, to see you care for and nurture a little bundle of joy, but...”

his voice trailed off, his gaze wandering to the ceiling once more. geto continued for him, his tone gentle yet tinged with sadness. “it’s not a simple world, love. we’re constantly facing threats and dangers most people can’t even imagine. bringing a child into that world... it would mean putting that child at risk.”

their words settled over you like a weight, pressing down on your chest. you didn’t respond immediately, simply letting their voices fade into the quiet of the room. you’d known this reality, had seen firsthand the constant battles and dangers they faced as sorcerers. but hearing it laid out like this—so openly, so vulnerably—made it all feel painfully real.

as you kept your gaze fixed on the glowing stars above, a dull ache bloomed in your heart, a quiet longing mixed with acceptance. part of you had always dreamed of that future, of a family, of a little one with their combined stubbornness, strength, and warmth. yet, you knew the truth: the life you shared with them was far from ordinary, far from safe.

the silence stretched, each of you lost in your own thoughts, until finally, you whispered, barely audible, “i know...”

your words hung in the air, soft and wistful. you didn’t need them to make any promises or change their minds—you just wanted them to know that the thought of a future, even a fragile one, was something you held onto, even if it was just a dream.

the silence that followed your soft, wistful admission was heavy with unspoken emotions. gojo and geto both stared upwards, their eyes fixed on the ceiling, as if searching for the right words to say.

after a moment, gojo’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, his thumb tracing circles on your knuckles in a silent, comforting gesture. geto, still tracing those same circles on your back, let out a deep sigh, his heart heavy with a mixture of love and sorrow.

and then, in a hushed voice, geto spoke up, his words careful. “it’s not that we’re ruling it out entirely,” he continued, his voice low. “but it’s not a decision we should make lightly, knowing the risks involved.”

gojo nodded, his gaze shifting to you, his eyes slightly widened as he searched for the right words to comfort you. “it’s not like we don’t want it, love,” he repeated, his tone sincere. “we just… we want to give you everything you deserve, including a safe and normal life.”

there was another pause as the weight of their words sunk in. both gojo and geto were silently contemplating this complex, uncharted territory, struggling to find a way to express their emotions and fears.

then, gojo finally spoke up, his tone uncharacteristically vulnerable. “you know we both love you more than anything,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “we just want to make sure you’re happy, and that any child we bring into this world is safe. that’s our main priority.”

“we’re not saying no forever,” geto added, his voice softer now. “just… not right now.” he paused for a moment, his hand pausing its soothing motion on your back as he chose his words carefully.

“we’d want nothing more than to see you as a mother, but the life we lead… it’s not an easy one. and bringing a child into this world would be a responsibility we’d take seriously.”

the room fell into a heavy silence as your heart felt the weight of their words, the ache in your chest growing stronger with each passing moment. you didn’t say anything, your eyes still trained on the ceiling, though your thoughts swirled in a mix of disappointment, longing, and acceptance. it was hard to put into words the sudden heartbreak that came with realizing a dream might never be realized, at least not the way you had imagined.

geto noticed the subtle shift in your expression, the way your body seemed to fold in on itself, a sign that you were retreating into your own thoughts, maybe even into yourself. his heart tugged at the sight of you in such a quiet, vulnerable state. he could see the storm behind your eyes, the words you weren’t saying but felt deep inside.

sighing softly, he leaned in, his voice tender as he whispered, “come here.”

he slid his arm under your head, gently pulling you closer until your body melted into his. you didn’t resist, turning to lay on your side and burying your face in his chest. the warmth of his embrace surrounded you like a quiet sanctuary, the steady rise and fall of his chest offering a moment of comfort.

your arm instinctively wrapped around his waist, the action grounding you, as you sought solace in his familiar presence.

as you buried your face in geto’s chest, gojo let out a soft sigh, watching the exchange silently. his expression was a mixture of understanding and sadness. he knew your dreams, your hopes and longings, and seeing you so silently devastated was more painful than he could’ve imagined.

slowly, he moved closer, his body molding against your back as he wrapped his arms around you both, enveloping you in a protective embrace. his breaths were slow and steady, his chin resting softly on your shoulder.

the three of you lay there in a tangle of limbs and emotions, each of you lost in your own thoughts. the room remained quiet, the only sound being the soft inhale and exhale of breaths.

after several moments, gojo broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “i know it’s not what you wanted to hear, love.” geto’s arm tightened around you, his hand continuing to gently brush against your back, offering silent reassurance. he remained quiet, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, leaving it to gojo to continue.

gojo sighed, his breath caressing your skin as he spoke. “i’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice laced with guilt and regret. “i wish it could be different. we all do. but…”

he broke off, clearly struggling to find the right words, his hands clenching slightly around the fabric of your clothes. “we just want the best for you,” he murmured after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. “and as much as we want to give you anything you desire, we can’t risk putting you in harm’s way.”

the room remained still, the only sound the soft rhythm of your breathing, as you lay between gojo and geto. the weight of the conversation still lingered in the air, but the tension seemed to ease as time passed. their presence, their warmth, was a comforting reminder that, in this moment, you didn’t have to carry the burden alone.

gojo had shifted slightly, his hand now resting on your back, fingers gently stroking the skin beneath your shirt. geto’s grip was steady around your waist, his presence solid and unwavering. both of them didn’t say anything further, allowing you to sink into the quiet comfort of their touch, not rushing you to speak or to feel anything you weren’t ready to.

the air was thick with unsaid words, but in that stillness, something comforting bloomed. the kind of quiet that spoke volumes in its own way. your eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion from the emotional weight of the conversation finally taking its toll. your breath deepened, and slowly, the world around you started to fade.

the last thing you felt was the warmth of their bodies close to you, the steady heartbeat of geto beneath your ear, and the gentle pulse of gojo’s hand moving slowly over your skin. with a quiet sigh, you let yourself surrender to the moment, allowing sleep to pull you under, leaving the worries and complexities of the world behind for just a while.

as you slowly drifted off to sleep, both gojo and geto silently watched, their eyes filled with a mix of tenderness and worry. they remained still, not moving an inch, not wanting to disturb your finally relaxed expression.

the room was now filled with a deep sense of quiet, the silence broken only by the soft sound of your breaths and the steady beats of their hearts. they stayed like that, their arms wrapped around you, not willing to let go just yet. gojo, ever the more restless of the two, reached for the blanket and carefully pulled it over you.

geto’s eyes were still fixed on the ceiling, his mind swirling with thoughts. “i hate this,” he muttered softly, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip.

gojo let out a low hum of agreement. “yeah, me too,” he replied, his eyes never leaving your sleeping form. his hand continued to move gently over your skin, his touch a soothing comfort.

“it’’ll take some time,” gojo continued. “for her to accept it, i mean.” he paused, swallowing a lump in his throat.

gojo hummed softly, a small, smile tugging at his lips as he tightened his arm around you, pulling you closer into the warmth of his embrace. his hand found geto’s, gently intertwining their fingers, the quiet comfort of their touch a silent promise to stick together through the complexities that lay ahead.

“just a little while,” gojo whispered, his voice soft, almost tender as he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. his lips lingered there for a moment, a quiet vow, a reassurance to both you and himself that, no matter the uncertainties, they would face them together. the night fell around them in peaceful silence, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten in the safety of their arms.

geto, noticing the subtle shift in gojo’s demeanor, smiled to himself, his fingers gently intertwining with gojo’s in return. he watched silently as gojo leaned down, pressing a kiss on your forehead before settling back down.

“yeah,” geto murmured, his own voice carrying a hint of determination. “just a little while. she’ll come around. she always does.” he paused, his eyes flickering to gojo’s face briefly. there was a silent understanding between them, a silent reassurance that they would weather whatever storm came their way, together.

the following morning, as the three of you prepared for work, gojo and geto were in the bedroom, focused on getting into their uniforms and gathering their things. however, despite the usual morning routine, you were nowhere to be seen.

gojo pulled the black compression shirt over his head, glancing over at geto as he adjusted his own uniform. his brow furrowed in mild confusion, the quiet of the room making it a bit strange that you hadn’t appeared yet.

“hey, where is she?” gojo asked, his voice a little more casual than his growing concern. “i haven’t seen her in, what—twenty minutes?"”he added, pulling at the collar of his shirt to straighten it, a faint edge of worry creeping into his tone. his eyes scanned the room, as if expecting you to pop out from somewhere.

geto, busy fixing his own uniform, glanced up at gojo’s question, a hint of concern mirrored in his expression. “now that you mention it, she’s taking longer than usual.” he said, his eyes darting around the room as well, almost as if he expected you to magically appear from behind a lamp or under a sofa.

his hand paused in the process of buttoning his shirt as that familiar flutter of worry settled in his chest. “maybe she’s in the bathroom?” he suggested, his voice betraying just a hint of unease.

gojo nodded in agreement, though his brow remained furrowed. “yeah, probably,” he replied, his movements a little more restless as he paced around the room. the silence that followed made the air feel heavy, the usual lightness of the situation now replaced by a palpable sense of anxiety.

he turned towards the bathroom, his hand reaching out for the door handle. “i’ll just check on her,” he said, his voice taking on a more firm tone as he prepared to push the door.

on the other side of the bathroom door, you stood there, gripping the edge of the towel wrapped tightly around your body, the soft fabric bunched under your clenched fingers. you looked down at the small, plastic test in your hand, eyes fixed on the faint, unmistakable two lines. each heartbeat felt louder than the last, pounding against your chest with a mix of dread and overwhelming anxiety.

it wasn’t happiness filling you—not the joy or excitement you’d thought might come if you ever held a test like this. instead, a wave of panic rose, cold and sharp, twisting tightly in your stomach. your hand, gripping the towel, started to tremble, and you couldn’t stop it.

strands of your wet hair clung to your bare shoulders, the droplets cooling against your skin but doing little to steady you. your forehead felt damp, from the lingering steam of the shower and from the sudden heat of panic rising within you.

your mind began to replay the conversation from the night before, fragments of their words coming back in echoes—soft, serious voices admitting fears and reasons. you remembered gojo’s tender but worried tone as he said, “we want you happy, but bringing a child into our world… it’s not the right time.” and geto’s gentle yet sad agreement, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he whispered, “not right now.”

and here you were, facing the reality of it, holding proof of something neither of them were ready for. your gaze drifted over the faded lines on the test, your chest tightening painfully as you tried to breathe through the waves of panic. it felt like the ground beneath you had shifted, leaving you unsteady, your hand shaking even as you tried to steady yourself.

the air in the bathroom felt stifling, the walls closing in on you. the sharp edge of panic pressed down, constricting your chest as you stared down at the two lines. your damp hair clung to your skin, feeling cold and damp against your shoulders, but it did nothing to cool the heat of fear coursing through you.

you felt like you were drowning in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. the memory of last night’s conversation echoed through your mind, the gentle yet firm words of geto and gojo replaying in your head.

a sudden knock on the door made you jump, nearly dropping the test pack. gojo’s voice filtered through, soft but laced with concern. “hey… everything alright in there, love?” he asked, his tone casual but curious as he meet with geto’s gaze.

swallowing hard, you forced your voice to sound steady, even though it felt like every breath was caught in your throat. “y-yeah, i’m alright,” you managed to say, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you. your gaze flickered to the door, heart pounding faster with the fear of what lay ahead. you could picture gojo’s face, his lighthearted smile shifting into something more serious, and the thought was enough to make your stomach twist.

you looked down at the test in your hand, the two faint lines glaring back at you like an undeniable truth. images flashed through your mind—imagining their reactions, the shock, the inevitable disappointment, and maybe even anger. you thought of the conversation from last night, their careful words about timing and the dangers of their world, and your chest tightened further. how could you tell them now?

another knock, firmer this time, pulled you back, followed by gojo’s slightly more insistent voice. “love are you hurt? you’ve been in there forever…”

his tone was still light, but the concern was undeniable, and you could imagine his brows drawn together, maybe even a worried frown. you knew you couldn’t stay hidden in here much longer, couldn’t keep the truth hidden from them… but you had no idea how to say it, or what would come after.

gojo’s voice carried through the door again, sounding a little more urgent now. “come on, say something,” he coaxed, his tone still light, but the concern was clear. “you’re starting to scaring us…”

he paused for a moment, listening closely for any hint that you were okay, while geto stood behind him, his usually unreadable expression betraying a hint of worry. the silence that followed was deafening, and gojo’s hand hovered over the door handle, clearly contemplating action.

his patience wearing thin, gojo eventually knocked again, firmly this time, his hand clenching the handle. “please, just say something,” he said, his voice a little more stern, the worry now edged with frustration.

gojo’s mind was racing, a thousand different scenarios playing out at once. each passing moment, the silence from the other side of the door only heightened his anxiety, the knot in his stomach growing tighter with each second.

geto spoke up then, his voice joining gojo's. “love, please,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “open the door, or we’re coming in.”

the air was thick with tension as they waited, giving you a moment to respond, to open the door, to do anything to alleviate their growing concern. but when no response came, gojo’s hand grasped the door handle, ready to push it open.

the door creaked open slowly, and you stood there, framed in the doorway with a fragile, almost vulnerable expression that made both gojo and geto go completely silent. their gazes softened instantly, and they could see the unshed tears shimmering in your eyes, the way your hand trembled as you held onto the door, and the nervous, uncertain look on your face.

gojo’s usual lighthearted demeanor disappeared as he took a small step closer, his brows knitting with concern. “hey… what’s going on?” he asked softly, his voice gentle as though afraid to startle you.

geto’s eyes flicked to your hand, clenched tightly behind your back, noticing the way you seemed to be trying to hold something out of sight. he shared a quick look with gojo before he took a steadying breath, his voice low and calming. “we’re here,” he murmured. “whatever it is, you can tell us.”

you took a shaky breath, gathering the last bit of courage you had, feeling the weight of the words stuck in your throat. “i… i need to tell you something,” you whispered, barely able to meet their eyes. you glanced down, biting your lip, feeling the anxiety and panic rise in waves. every word felt like a mountain to climb.

their expressions turned serious, sensing the gravity of the moment. gojo reached out, taking your trembling hand in his and squeezing it gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he waited with quiet patience. geto stepped closer too, his hand resting on your shoulder, grounding you in his steady presence.

“take your time,” gojo encouraged softly, his voice a tender murmur. “whatever it is, we’re not going anywhere.”

you stood there in silence, eyes downcast, feeling a tear slip past your resolve despite your best efforts to hold it back. the weight of the decision, the heartache, and the fear mingled together in a painful tangle, twisting in your chest. you knew what had to be done, knew that bringing this up meant making a choice you never wanted to face alone—but the thought of their reaction left you frozen.

gojo’s fingers tightened around yours as he noticed the tear slipping down your cheek, his eyes widening with worry. he tilted his head to try and catch your gaze, his own expression softening with concern. “hey… please, talk to us,” he murmured gently, his voice a mix of desperation and warmth.

geto’s hand on your shoulder gently guided you closer, his thumb rubbing small circles in an attempt to soothe you. he could feel the tension, the weight of something unsaid hanging in the air, and he waited patiently, his own heart aching at the sight of you struggling. gently, he guided you to the bed, sitting you at the edge.

gojo and geto sat on either side of you, their gazes fixed on your face, watching the flurry of emotions flicker across your features. gojo's hand remained clasped around yours, his touch a silent reminder that they were there for you, whatever you had to tell them. geto's hand continued stroking your shoulder, a soft and steady rhythm that spoke of comfort and quiet reassurance.

the silence felt heavy, almost suffocating, as they waited for whatever you were ready to say. the air was thick with anticipation, both of them bracing themselves for whatever revelation might be coming.

gojo’s eyes narrowed as he noticed you hide your other hand behind your back, a subtle but unmistakable movement that sent a wave of unease through him. something was wrong, he could feel it. without saying a word, his hand reached out, gentle but insistent, as he tried to pull your hidden hand from behind your back.

you stiffened, your fingers curling tighter around whatever it was, as if trying to shield it from him. gojo's gaze softened, the concern growing in his chest. “my love,” he said, his voice a tender murmur, yet the underlying firmness was unmistakable. it wasn’t a demand, but a soft warning, a gentle plea for you to let him in.

you hesitated, your grip firming even more in a silent protest, but after a moment, you relented. your hand trembled slightly as he slowly eased it from behind your back, and as his fingers wrapped around yours, the testpack in your hand was finally revealed.

gojo’s heart skipped a beat as he saw it. he didn’t need to say anything. the sight of it—the faint two lines—spoke volumes. his gaze flickered from the testpack to your face, your tear-streaked expression twisting with emotion. his frown deepened, not in anger, but in confusion, concern, and something that could only be described as a heavy ache in his chest.

you whispered barely above a breath, the words tumbling out with a rawness that pierced through the silence. “i’m… i’m pregnant,” you said, your voice breaking, filled with sorrow. “i’m so sorry...”

gojo’s gaze remained fixed on the test pack for a few seconds, his mind struggling to process the words that just came out of your mouth. he could feel his heart pounding faster in his chest, a mix of shock and disbelief coursing through his veins. he glanced up at you, his eyes taking in your distraught expression, the tear-streaked cheeks, and the way you were clenching your jaw.

he opened his mouth, as if to speak, but no words came out. geto, meanwhile, remained silent on your other side, equally stunned and trying to process the news.

the moment the words left your lips, a heavy silence settled between the three of you. gojo and geto exchanged a quick glance, a silent conversation passing between them. their eyes were filled with unspoken questions, concern, and something deeper—fear, perhaps. they both understood the weight of the decision you were implying, but neither one of them was prepared for it.

but before either of them could speak, you whispered again, your voice barely audible. “you don’t have to worry,” you said, the words tumbling out in a rush, as if saying them would make everything easier. “i’ve decided... i’ll terminate the baby.”

the air around you grew thick with tension, each word sinking into the space like a stone dropping into still water, sending ripples through the atmosphere. your hands trembled, and even though you tried to mask it, the pain in your eyes was undeniable.

gojo’s heart dropped, and geto’s expression darkened, the weight of your decision settling heavily on both of them. they couldn’t even begin to process the gravity of it, and yet, they knew how deeply conflicted you must’ve been to come to that conclusion.

the moment geto heard the words “terminate the baby,” his heart seemed to stop. his face twisted with a mixture of shock and disbelief, the gravity of your statement weighing heavily on him. without hesitation, he quickly responded, his voice thick with emotion, “no.”

there was a brief pause before he spoke again, this time his tone softer, more pleading. the corner of his lips twitched, as if trying to fight back the ache in his chest. “please, don’t,” he whispered, his voice strained but full of desperation. “it’s our baby,” he continued, his hand gently running through your wet hair, his fingers trembling slightly as they found their way to your scalp, offering a touch of comfort even as he struggled to control the flood of emotions within him.

his words, so gentle yet laced with an undeniable pain, were a stark contrast to the harshness of his initial reaction. he wanted to be strong for you, for the both of you, but in that moment, he was vulnerable, his love for you and the child you carried too strong to ignore. his other hand rested on your shoulder, trying to ground you, to offer reassurance that this decision didn’t have to be made alone, that they would support you no matter what you chose.

“satoru and i... we’re here,” geto murmured, his voice barely audible as he gazed at you with a mixture of love and concern. he was desperate for you to understand that there was no need to face this alone, that they were both willing to take on this responsibility with you, together.

your head snapped up at geto's words, your eyes wide with confusion, as if you couldn't understand what he was saying. the tremble in your hands grew more apparent as you blinked, your mind racing to catch up with the reality of the situation. “but... i thought you didn't want the baby,” you choked out, your voice breaking with a mixture of confusion and hurt.

the words seemed to tumble out of you, your thoughts jumbled, but there was a clarity in the pain in your chest. you hadn't imagined this moment going like this. you'd prepared yourself for the worst—the disappointment, the anger, the rejection. but instead, here they were, offering you support and pleading with you to reconsider.

your chest tightened, and the weight of your emotions pressed down on you like a vice. your eyes were still red from the tears you had fought so hard to keep back, but now, they welled up again, threatening to spill over. your voice cracked as you tried to make sense of it all, your heart torn between the fear of what could come and the love they were offering.

“i thought you... didn’t want this,” you repeated softly, almost to yourself, your eyes searching their faces for some sign that this wasn’t all a misunderstanding. “you said... you weren’t ready.”

geto’s heart ached as he heard your voice break, the confusion and hurt apparent in your words. he could see how much this decision was weighing on you, the weight of the situation clear on your face. he shared a quick glance with gojo, both their expressions mirrored with pain and uncertainty. he knew you hadn’t expected this reaction, hadn’t prepared yourself for their support.

“we...” his voice cracked at first, his own emotions threatening to break through, but he steadied himself and continued. “we never said we didn’t want this.”

gojo, who had been quietly listening for the most part, found his voice in that moment, his words a gentle but firm reassurance. “baby, we were surprised,” he said, drawing your attention to him. his expression softened as he met your gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and love.

gojo reached out, his fingers gently taking some of your damp hair and tucking it behind your ear, his touch a tender caress. “but we would never in a million years refuse the gift of a child that we love and want with all our hearts.”

you felt a wave of relief and confusion wash over you as gojo spoke, his voice steady and warm. it was as if the air had shifted, and your heart began to slowly unclench, but the anxiety still clung to you. his words, though reassuring, had made you realize just how panicked you had become, all the while assuming the worst.

you bowed your head, guilt flooding through you as you tried to gather your scattered thoughts. “i’m sorry,” you whispered, the words slipping out shakily. your voice was small, fragile, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile sense of hope you were starting to feel.

“i... i just got so confused,” you admitted, your voice cracking slightly. “i was just so scared... especially after what you said last night. i didn’t know what to think.”

your hand tightened around the edge of the blanket, the tension in your body slowly easing as you tried to make sense of it all. you couldn't meet their eyes fully yet, still too embarrassed by your own reaction. you had misunderstood them, let fear dictate your actions, and now you felt as if you had been too quick to assume the worst of them.

“i was just... so scared,” you repeated quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, but the words carried the weight of your emotions.

as you spoke, expressing your fear and confusion, gojo and geto’s expressions remained soft, their eyes filled with a mix of understanding and tenderness.

gojo gently placed his hand on top of yours, his fingers interlacing with yours in a comforting grip. “love, please listen,” he murmured, his voice soft yet firm. he paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, before he continued.

“i’m sorry we made you feel that way,” he began. “i didn’t mean to give you the impression that we don’t want this baby.”

geto, on your other side, leaned in closer, his face close to you, his eyes fixed on yours. he reached out and placed his hand on your shoulder, his touch gentle but reassuring. “we were just surprised, that’s all,” he muttered softly. “we hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.”

gojo gently pulled you into his lap, settling you comfortably against him with your legs dangling lightly in the air. his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close, his warmth seeping into your body. his fingers traced lightly over the towel wrapped around you, his touch soft but full of meaning as he let his hand rest on your stomach.

he met your gaze with a steady, reassuring smile, his eyes full of unwavering support. “hey,” he murmured softly, his voice calm yet filled with conviction. “me and suguru, we’re not going anywhere. we’re always going to be here for you, through everything. you don’t have to face this alone.”

he smiled again, his thumb running gently over your stomach, a quiet promise in his gesture. “for a while, you’ll come around, love. i know it’s a lot right now, but you’ll see. everything’s going to be okay. you’re going to be the luckiest girl, and our child? they’ll be the luckiest too. because we’re going to keep you safe, comfortable, and happy. here, with us. only us.”

his words, full of love and certainty, wrapped around your heart like a warm blanket, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe it.

geto, watching the interaction between you and gojo, couldn’t help but feel a mix of relief and tenderness at the sight. gojo’s words had clearly made an impact on you, and he could see how your rigid body was starting to loosen up slightly, the tension in your muscles slowly ebbing away.

he leaned closer towards you, gently taking your hand in his own. he gave it a reassuring squeeze, his fingers tracing tiny circles on your skin. “he’s right, you know,” he mumbled gently. “we’ll always be here for you. and for our baby.”

your heart swelled with emotion as you looked from geto to gojo, taking in the sincerity in both of their faces. the fear and uncertainty that had been gripping you so tightly finally began to loosen, replaced by a comforting warmth that their words and presence brought.

you nodded softly, a small, grateful smile tugging at your lips as you whispered, “thank you… thank you both, so much.” your voice was barely audible, but the gratitude in it was clear.

with a gentle sigh, you leaned your head against gojo’s chest, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your cheek. his hand remained at your waist, his hold protective yet tender, while geto’s fingers continued to trace gentle circles on your hand, grounding you.

gojo felt your weight lean into him and his heart melted. he shifted a bit, wrapping one arm more fully around you, pulling you even closer. his chin rested on your head, his other hand still on your stomach, fingers tracing soft patterns into your skin, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your breathing.

geto’s eyes followed the movement, a tender smile on his lips. he watched you both for a few moments before leaning in, pressing a gentle kiss onto your temple. “we love you,” he murmured against your skin. “always.”

gojo’s tone was soft yet unwavering as he brushed a hand along your cheek, meeting your eyes with gentle determination. “you’re not going to work today, love,” he murmured, his voice leaving no room for protest. “we’ll talk to yaga, and we’ll be with you the entire day. just rest.”

before you could say anything, gojo leaned down, his arms sliding beneath you as he lifted you effortlessly, his grip both steady and comforting. he held you close to his chest, the warmth of his embrace easing some of the lingering tension in your body. as he carried you over to the bed, you could feel his heartbeat—a constant, soothing rhythm that seemed to match your own.

he set you down gently, his fingers brushing over your skin as he slipped the towel from your shoulders, leaving you bare. his touch was careful, almost reverent, as he tucked you in with the soft blankets, smoothing them over your form to ensure you were wrapped in warmth. his gaze softened as he made sure the blanket cocooned you, his thumb gently tracing along your shoulder, a silent promise of his care.

“just rest now, sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face with the back of his hand. “you’ve been through enough for today… don’t want to stress our baby mama,” his words were a quiet vow, full of love and unwavering support.

geto watched the scene in silence, his heart full of tenderness as gojo took care of you with such gentle yet assertive actions. he could see the exhaustion in your eyes and knew that you needed this moment of rest. the way gojo was handling the situation showed a side of him that many rarely got to see—a caring and nurturing side that was normally buried under his carefree demeanor.

he moved across the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand resting lightly on your leg over the blankets. “don’t stress about anything,” he echoed gojo’s sentiment, his voice a soft, soothing murmur.

you felt the weight of their love and care surrounding you, and despite the emotional rollercoaster you had just been on, a sense of peace washed over you. your body felt lighter as you allowed yourself to relax into the bed, the warmth of the blankets and their presence making everything else fade away.

with a soft, content smile playing on your lips, you looked at both of them, your voice a soft whisper, “i love you,” you said, your eyes filled with an innocent, trusting affection, all naive and clueless. your heart swelled with the deep love you felt for them, and the reassurance they gave you in that moment meant everything.

gojo, sitting close by, smiled down at you warmly, his eyes soft with admiration as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “we love you, too,” he murmured, his voice full of affection.

geto, his hand still resting on your leg, leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin. “always, baby,” he whispered, his voice low and steady, a quiet promise that you’d never be alone.

with those words, your eyelids fluttered closed, the exhaustion from the past hours finally catching up to you. your breathing slowed, and you felt yourself drift into a peaceful sleep, knowing you were safe, loved, and cared for by the two people who would always be there, no matter what came next.

as you finally let yourself relax and drift off in a peaceful sleep, gojo and geto both let out a soft sigh, the relief in the room palpable. they both settled in, each on either side of you, close enough so that you were completely surrounded by their presence.

for a while, there was just silence, both of them quietly watching you sleep, their own thoughts swirling in their heads as they took in the sight of you in this vulnerable state. after a moment, gojo broke the silence. “i don’t think i’ve ever seen her look that scared,” he murmured.

as you finally slipped into a peaceful sleep, the quiet settled over the room, but the atmosphere around gojo and geto seemed to pulse with an unspoken energy. they both let out a collective sigh of relief, the weight of the situation lightening just a little as they watched over you. there was something deeply comforting in knowing you were finally able to rest, and yet, something else simmered beneath the surface—an undercurrent of tension and darker thoughts that only they fully understood.

geto, now standing at the edge of the bed, observed your sleeping form with a level of intensity that sent a shiver down the room’s spine. His usual composed demeanor softened only slightly in the quiet, but there was something unsettling about the way his gaze lingered on you. his fingers subtly curled into the fabric of his pockets, his posture relaxed yet controlled. his eyes, usually calculating and sharp, softened at the sight of you so vulnerable, so at peace, yet underneath that tenderness, a quiet, twisted amusement began to build.

he hummed softly under his breath, as if trying to savor the moment, the silence between the three of them a thick layer of unspoken emotions. he leaned in a little closer, his breath barely audible, his gaze unwavering. As his lips curled into a smile, it wasn’t one of kindness or affection. no, this smile was darker, more sinister—a slow, knowing curve that spread across his face, one that seemed to stretch wider with each passing second. it was as if the moment had awakened a part of him that had been lying dormant, a part that thrived on control, on manipulation.

the smile deepened, almost to the point of being maniacal, as his eyes never left your face. the vulnerability you displayed only made it worse for him, feeding something twisted and possessive within. his eyes darkened as he muttered under his breath, his voice low and controlled, yet thick with an undercurrent of satisfaction. “good,” he whispered, a single word that carried the weight of far more than just the moment. it was a word wrapped in meaning that only gojo could fully comprehend.

his smile grew more pronounced as he repeated the sentiment, his voice soft but deliberate. “she’ll come around. eventually.” the words, so simple, carried the venom of a promise, one that was not comforting but instead laden with a subtle threat.

gojo, though silent for a moment, couldn’t stop himself from responding to geto’s words. his lips tightened, his jaw setting slightly as he tried to suppress the subtle twitch at the corner of his own lips. the smile that pulled at the edge of geto’s lips was infectious, and the darker undertones in the air did not escape him. he understood that geto was speaking in a language they both shared—a language of control and manipulation, where the line between care and cruelty blurred into something much more dangerous.

for just a moment, the two of them stood in a charged silence, each aware of the shifting dynamic between them. the tension between gojo and geto was palpable, an undercurrent that you would remain unaware of for now. but in this brief moment, a shared understanding passed between them—an understanding that their influence over you was just beginning, and that they would both ensure that you came around to their way of thinking, whether you realized it or not.

the unspoken connection between them, the quiet shift in their relationship, was something you would not yet recognize, ever. but it was there, simmering beneath the surface, a storm just waiting to break.

gojo’s lips pressed together in a hard line as he fixed geto with a glare, the tension in his gaze like a quiet warning. for a moment, his usually lighthearted expression had vanished, replaced by something almost dangerous. but even as he tried to maintain his irritation, the corner of his mouth betrayed him, twitching with the beginnings of a smile that he couldn’t quite suppress.

“cut it out,” he muttered, his voice low and dripping with barely concealed annoyance. “she’ll know what we do if you don’t stop acting like a maniac and a fucking psycho.”

geto merely chuckled, his laughter a soft and unnervingly calm sound that held no remorse. his smile didn’t waver—in fact, it only grew wider, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint as he gave gojo an innocent look that didn’t fool him for a second. “what’s the matter?” he asked, voice smooth and teasing, as if daring gojo to go on.

despite himself, gojo felt his own irritation start to melt into something else entirely. the smirk that had threatened to break through finally won out, his lips curving into a smile he couldn’t hold back. his gaze softened as he looked down at you, brushing a few stray strands of hair behind your ear with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the underlying edge in his voice.

“she’ll know we’re the ones who got her pregnant on purpose,” he murmured, eyes flicking back to geto with a knowing glint, “if you doesn’t stop acting like that.”

there was something darkly playful in his words, a mixture of affection and mischief as he spoke. it was a subtle acknowledgment of the deeper intentions that lay beneath their actions, a quiet understanding between him and geto that the two of them were deeply entwined in a plan that only they fully understood. as he looked at you, resting peacefully and oblivious to the weight of the conversation, he felt a surge of possessive affection, a fierce desire to keep you close, safe, and entirely theirs.

geto’s smile only broadened at gojo’s words, his eyes gleaming with a feral flicker that belied the affection and playfulness in his own tone. he chuckled softly, as if enjoying the twisted game they were playing.

“what, and spoil the fun?” he said, his voice lilting with a wicked sort of amusement. his gaze returned to you, his expression one of smug satisfaction as he added, “she’ll figure it out sooner or later. and by then, it’ll be too late for her to run, won’t it?”

gojo rolled his eyes at geto’s words, his irritation still simmering but now mixed with a hint of a smirk. he knew that geto was enjoying this way too much, getting a twisted sort of pleasure out of manipulating the situation to his advantage.

“don’t act like you’re not enjoying this too much,” he muttered, his voice laced with a hint of amusement despite himself. “you’ve never been good at hiding your sadistic and obsessive streak, suguru.”

“and you aren’t any better,” geto retorted, his voice still dripping with that same unsettling mix of amusement and dark intent. there was a challenge in his words, a subtle dare for gojo to push back. “remember, you’re the one who suggested this in the first place.”

gojo chuckled softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he gazed down at your sleeping face, lingering on the bare curve of your shoulder and the delicate chain around your neck—a necklace adorned with the initials G.S., another quiet mark of their claim. “she doesn’t need to know,” he murmured, almost to himself, fingers lightly tracing the line of the necklace as though sealing the sentiment.

no, you didn’t need to know how they had exchanged smirks and carefully worded reassurances the night before, expertly hiding the way their words danced with a double meaning that only they understood. how the notion of not wanting a child was a game, a pretense, just so they could savor the moment you’d discover otherwise, unprepared and utterly theirs.

you didn’t need to know how each moment of intimacy was orchestrated with care, how they ensured you took every part of them without fail, their silent rituals cementing you deeper into their lives.

you didn’t need to know the subtle ways they interfered, leaving your pills out in the sun or “forgetting” to replace certain things—all with that same twisted devotion. or how they took measures to ensure no barriers stood between you and the life they had planned in secret, an existence where you were wholly theirs.

and you would never need to know. that beneath the surface of their love, a darker obsession lay, a primal need to bind you to them irrevocably, to ensure you’d stay in the house they had built for you, forever enveloped in the illusion of warmth and devotion they wove around you.

geto watched as gojo’s gaze trailed down to your necklace, a possessive glint in his eyes as he touched the initials. he knew the meaning behind that look, the quiet satisfaction that came with staking such a visible claim on you. it was one of their many quiet acts of possession, a twisted way of ensuring you were truly theirs.

he knew the lengths they had gone to for this moment, the careful planning and manipulation that had led to your ignorant bliss, and it only stoked the fire of his twisted desire even further.

his smile widened as he felt the weight of the knowledge that they were shaping your life and future without your knowledge or consent, the dark thrill of it all sending a shiver of anticipation down his spine. he relished in the way they had subtly manipulated the situation, making sure you had no choice but to follow their will, and all while keeping you blinded to their true intentions.

“i wonder,” geto murmured, “how long will it take you to realize you’re a trapped bird in our grasp?” he murmured, eyes locked to your beautiful face.

his eyes gleamed with a twisted sort of satisfaction as he watched your peaceful, oblivious sleeping form. you had no idea what was in store for you, no clue how deep their control over you had already become. and by the time you finally figured it all out, it would be far too late to escape.

gojo chuckled at geto’s words, his eyes still fixed on the necklace. “you forget that she loves us,” he said, his tone carrying the confidence of someone who knew he had the upper hand. “and love can be a stronger chain than any force we can use.”

but beneath his flippant tone, there was another layer, a darker current of possessiveness that ran deep. he knew your love for him and geto went beyond what was healthy, a twisted form of affection that they had carefully nurtured. “we’ve loved her for the past ten years, we do what we do because of love.”

geto let out a dismissive snort, not entirely convinced. he knew all too well how easily love could be twisted and manipulated, used as a leash to keep someone under control.

“love isn’t always a good thing, you know that,” he muttered, his smile taking on a darker edge as he mused, “sometimes it’s just a pretty word for obsession.”

he met gojo’s gaze, his eyes cold and calculating. “and you and i both know our love for her is more possessive than it is healthy,” geto added, his voice almost gleeful at the admission.

“it’s healthy, we love her.”

geto’s smile widened at gojo’s words, his gaze calculating as he leaned back slightly, his arms folding over his chest in a manner that spoke of dominance and control. “you’re fooling yourself, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low, almost like a taunt. “love isn’t always as pure as we tell ourselves it is. sometimes, it’s just a way to justify what we want.”

he let the words linger in the air, his eyes locking with gojo’s, daring him to deny the truth. geto didn’t believe in the comforting illusions of love, not anymore. he knew the truth about the darkness that could lie beneath it, how easily love could be turned into something possessive, something suffocating.

“satoru, don’t act like we don’t both know. we’re not here because of some innocent love,” geto said, his voice a mix of amusement and malice. “we’re here because we can't stand the thought of losing her.”

gojo remained silent for a moment, his lips thinning, the air between them charged with an unspoken understanding. but then, his gaze softened, just a fraction. “we love her,” he said firmly, shaking his head as if trying to shake off geto's words. “it’s not unhealthy. we give her everything she wants, everything she needs. we don’t force her to do anything, we’ve never done anything to make her unhappy. we want to make her life perfect.”

he paused, his eyes looking toward you, still peacefully asleep between them. “it’s just... a little more love. getting her pregnant—it’s just a way to make sure she’s always ours, that we’re never apart.”

there was a certain heaviness in gojo’s words, a quiet vulnerability beneath his usual bravado. he knew, deep down, that they were both terrified of the possibility of losing you—terrified of the thought that you could slip away from them. their love, twisted as it may be, was rooted in that fear.

“it’s the right thing,” gojo continued, his voice tinged with something raw and desperate. “we just... we can’t lose her.”

geto regarded gojo silently, studying his face intently. there was a small part of him that felt a pang of sympathy at the vulnerability in gojo's words, at the fear that he saw lurking beneath his facade. but he pushed it down, refusing to let it soften him.

“you’re delusional,” he said bluntly, shaking his head. “you can call it love all you like, but the truth is, it's possession. you want to own her completely, to make her dependent on us. and you’ll stop at nothing to achieve that.”

gojo listened to geto’s words, his expression unreadable for a moment, but a soft hum escaped his lips as he leaned closer, his gaze softening as it landed on you. without a word, he placed a tender kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

as he pulled back, he whispered, almost reverently, “she is ours,” the words a quiet affirmation, a promise that seemed to echo through the air between them.

his fingers trailed gently across your cheek, running his knuckles over your skin, the touch delicate yet filled with a possessive warmth. there was a quiet intensity in his gaze as he watched you, his thumb brushing softly against your skin as though to reassure himself that you were still there, still his.

gojo'’ demeanor softened again, and for a brief moment, the raw, vulnerable side of him surfaced—just a fleeting glimpse of the man who feared losing you. but it was quickly masked by the quiet confidence, the undeniable possessiveness that had always been there. he wasn’t delusional, at least not in his mind. he was simply ensuring that you would never be taken from him, from both of them.

his eyes flicked to geto, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “you can call it whatever you want,” he murmured, “but this is love, suguru. and we're never letting her go.”

gojo’s hand rubs soft, gentle circles on your belly over the soft blanket, his eyes fixated on the spot where your baby is growing. a possessive smile plays at the corner of his lips, his voice soft when he speaks. “ours to love, to protect—to keep.”

geto hummed in satisfaction, his gaze lingering on you, taking in the peacefulness of your sleep. there was something about seeing you like this that made his possessiveness flare even more, but it was a contented, almost affectionate kind of obsession.

he stepped closer to gojo, his hand reaching out to rest gently against his boyfriend’s back, a subtle reassurance. “let her rest,” he said, his voice calm, though there was a quiet excitement in his tone. “she’s been through a lot.”

his fingers then slid up to gojo’s undercut, his touch soft, almost tender, as he whispered with a smile, “maybe we should start looking for a room in the house… turn it into a nursery.”

there was a spark of genuine excitement in geto’s eyes, despite knowing that it was still a long time before the baby would arrive. but that didn’t stop him from feeling an intense, almost overwhelming sense of anticipation. this was their first child, after all—their child—and he couldn’t wait for the moment when everything would finally be real.

gojo’s lips curled into a proud grin at the mention of a nursery. he knew it was too early to start planning and preparing, but he couldn’t help but jump on the idea instantly.

“yeah,” he agreed, his voice filled with a mixture of excitement and adoration. “we should start working on decorating the room, picking out furniture, maybe start buying some cute little baby clothes…”

he paused, imagining the room filled with adorable cribs and soft toys, before adding with a smirk, “and maybe we should start thinking of baby names.”

geto chuckled softly at gojo’s words, a slight shake of his head as he listened to his boyfriend’s excited ramblings. the image of gojo, the usually carefree and chaotic force of nature, getting so wrapped up in something as sweet and innocent as baby names, made a rare warmth flicker in his chest.

“you’re already thinking of baby names, huh?” geto murmured with a small, knowing smile. “you really can’t wait, can you?”

gojo making sure you were comfortable and warm, adjusting the blanket around you gently before standing up. then, without a word, he wrapped his arms around geto’s waist, pulling him in close. the two of them silently left the bedroom together, moving into the hallway as the sound of their footsteps echoed softly in the quiet house.

as they walked down the hallway, the feeling of possessiveness and excitement still swirling in the air between them, geto broke the silence. his voice was low but filled with certainty, the dark gleam in his eyes never quite fading as he met gojo’s gaze.

“we are going to give her and our baby the world,” he said, his voice almost reverent, though tinged with a dangerous kind of possessiveness. “aren’t we?” his question was more of a quiet affirmation, a shared understanding between them that no one would take either of you from them—not now, not ever.

gojo gave an unapologetic nod at geto’s words, his arms tightening around his waist. there was no denying how excited he was—he couldn’t help but get carried away sometimes.

he leaned in close to geto, resting his head on the man’s shoulder as they walked down the hallway. “of course,” he murmured, his voice low and intense. “whatever they want, we’ll give them. whatever they need, we’ll provide. they’ll never want for anything.”

then, an amused smirk crossed his face as he added, “we’ll spoil them completely, won’t we?”

geto chuckled a little at gojo’s question, a small hum of agreement escaping his lips. the idea of spoiling the baby, giving them everything they could possibly want, was an appealing one, to say the least.

“you’re already plotting to give them the most lavish birthday parties, aren’t you?” he teased, his tone light though there was a hint of fond amusement in his eyes as he glanced sidelong at his boyfriend.

“we’ll give them everything they could ask for,” gojo said, his voice a low murmur. “the world isn’t enough.”

geto smiled at gojo’s response, his hand reaching up to brush a few strands of hair back from his boyfriend’s forehead. he knew gojo all too well, and the man’s tendency to go overboard when it came to you and the baby was something he was all too familiar with.

he let out a soft, amused snort, shaking his head as he commented, “lavish is an understatement, satoru. you’re probably already planning a theme park for their first birthday.”

gojo chuckled at the thought, imagining the look on the baby’s face as they explored a whole theme park built solely for them. the idea was ridiculous and over-the-top—but that was gojo all over.

“well,” he mused, his voice taking on a playful tone, “they are ours, and our baby deserves the best. so yeah, a theme park might be a good start.”

he shot a sly grin at geto, adding, “though i was actually thinking of something more grand, like maybe a petting zoo. or a small circus.” the thoughts, the ideas swimming freely in his mind, filled with each possible and the things he and geto can and would do for you and their child.

gojo groans, hiding his face on geto’s shoulder, “they haven’t been born yet and i already love them so much.”

upon hearing gojo’s ridiculous ideas for grand birthday parties for a literal baby, geto let out an amused chuckle, his expression a mix of fond exasperation. “a petting zoo,” he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “you're unbelievable. and i thought i was supposed to be the unhinged one in this relationship.”

despite the teasing comments, though, there was a hint of affection in his voice, a begrudging fondness. he knew gojo’s ridiculous tendencies, after all, and this was well within the limits of his boyfriend’s chaotic character.

gojo hummed happily at geto’s words, his face still hidden in the crook of his boyfriend’s shoulder. his heart felt so full in moments like this, where he could just imagine the future and the life they were slowly creating for themselves.

“i just love our babies so much,” he said referring to you and the future child, his voice a little bit muffled, but the tenderness was still clear in his tone.

geto rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite his best efforts. gojo’s sappy side was a side that he only showed to those he trusted, and geto couldn’t deny that his boyfriend’s affectionate nature was endearing, in his own way.

“you’re such a sap,” he muttered, his voice fond. “you realize there’s still, like, what, 8 months? before the baby’s even born, right? don’t get ahead of yourself now.”

gojo lifted his head a little so he could glance up at geto, an exaggerated pout on his face. “i can’t help it,” he protested, his voice whining a little. “i’m excited, okay? i can’t help it if i’m already thinking about what we’ll dress them up as for halloween and what toys they’ll like and how we’ll decorate the nursery and so on and so on...”

[justevelynnnn]

Don’t open that!

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Reader

Summary: Mark slips up and sends you a picture but what he doesn’t know is you actually end up liking it…

Warnings: MDNI 🔞, Reader is written with being afab in mind but can be gender neutral, mentions of a d pic being sent to reader

A/N: This idea came up to me while i was at work so i had to get it out…but omg imagine this scenario with me😭 also I’m working on a lot of my drafts and requests tonight I promise😭‼️

It was just another late saturday night. You were trying decompress from working earlier that day as well as letting your dinner digest before bed. You lived a simple life. You had your own place now even though you were 20. It was nice, small but yours. It had ambient lighting, a candle here and there…lots of pillows….

Your bed was extra soft tonight too though it probably just feels that way because of how tired you were.

You also had a decent view.

Sometimes you’d leave your window cracked open just in case Mark stopped by. Ever since he got with Amber and then later Eve you haven’t seen him much, but he still came by occasionally. It was just hard. You were convinced you guys would get married and everything back in high school.

A crush might be an understatement to be honest, but saying you were in love was also too much. Especially because you were a teenager, like, what did you know about love? Even though everything still reminded you of him. Or you loved being around him no matter what you guys were doing.

Mark being invincible was weird too. Your ex best friend, a superhero. Flying and punching bad guys daily. Going into literal outer space. It definitely took some getting used to.

Now you were laying on your bed upside down and scrolling on social media. Aside from the occasional video that popped up and the cars honking from below it was quiet in your room. Nice and peaceful.

You didn’t know you had silent mode off on your phone though so that’s why the sudden DING! from your phone scared the shit out of you.

It was message. From Mark.

It said:

Just now | Mark💞 : [One attachment]

You quirked an eyebrow. A meme maybe?

Your finger moved to click the notification. It’s been days since he sent you anything honestly so part of you was excited. However, when you saw what it was your jaw dropped and your heart took a fucking screenshot.

If the angle wasn’t enough it was that dick. His.

Your eyes settled on it for a full minute. You assumed he saw you were looking because he had read receipts on…but you typed nothing. You couldn’t. What could you even say?

You couldn’t even be mad. You should’ve. It was an unprovoked dick pic. In the past, you’d be fuming by now, but, obviously, this was different. Right?

He had his phone angled so it was as if one were looking up at him, his shirt up on his torso so his abs showed, and right in the forefront was his hardened dick. Right there. His tip was flushed and oozing from what you saw too. You couldn’t hell but think that just like his face, his dick was just as captivating.

His face was in the corner but kinda cut but you could see his eyes half lidded and his face was rosy pink.

You mouthed, “Oh my god…”

Eve or Amber or whoever he was with now that was supposed to get this was lucky as shit. You tried to also ignore the rising jealousy for the mystery girl too.

It’s been 3 minutes now. Maybe he didn’t see it went totally the wrong girl? Part of you was scared it WAS meant for you. Not in a bad way. Maybe you were actually nervous.

Then those 3 dots appeared. Oh god.

You swipe out of your messages app. You couldn’t look and let him see you were still staring.

Then another notification just as quick as the dots appeared came from the top of your screen.

Just Now | Mark 💞: DONT OPEN THAT

Just Now | Mark 💞: Oh my fucking god

Just Now | Mark 💞: Don’t open it please

Just Now | Mark 💞: I’m so sorry

You wondered if he saw the little “read” under to his picture or not. Probably not if he’s telling you not to open it.

You waited a minute while he sent a few more panicked texts. Then you sigh and open the app again. What could you say? Something cocky? A joke? Maybe send an emoji? You had to say something because you already saw it and you didn’t want things to be awkward for days on end following this.

Your fingers just start to move.

You: It’s okay Mark

You: It was a mistake

You paused. You thought hard about sending the next text. Then:

You: Also i have to tell you, you’re really hot

You: Sorry if that’s weird.

Nothing. But it said read immediately. Your heart was still hammering in your chest from it all. This actually changes everything. Part of you wanted to know who it was for. A smaller part wondered why he couldn’t just check who he was sending this to.

Things are going to be awkward now for sure.

He starts typing again seconds later. This time you watch the dots. Anticipation building slowly as you wondered what he was going to say next. You had to look away from your phone and at one of your burning candles as you waited.

Mark 💞: It’s fine

Mark 💞: Sorry i fucked up so bad. i seriously didn’t mean to

Mark 💞: I know your traumatized, i’ll make it up to you i promise

Mark 💞: :(

You giggle a bit at the sad face. He normally used it when he joked so you liked how he could joke about this. Your heart now flutters imagining his reaction. His flushed face and sorry eyes behind his screen. Maybe that lip bite thing he does when he’s nervous.

You typed back slowly, deciding to take a risk.

You: I’m not traumatized….actually i kinda liked it..

Your breath hitches as you hit send and this time you actually threw your phone. You couldn’t look again. Hell no. This was the stupidest thing you couldn’t done-

Ding!

You flinch. You slowly turn your phone around so you could see your lock screen with the notification on it.

Just Now | Mark 💞: Oh?

Just “oh”. Now it your turn to be mortified. Has he figured you out? Does he think you’re weird? You hated how he didn’t use emojis so you knew how he was feeling. Even a hint. Was he intrigued? Or grossed out?

You open your messages to reply with an apology when you see just in time another message come through.

Mark 💞: Wanna see it again?

Your eyes widened for the hundredth time that night. You wanted to type yes in all caps immediately but you withheld. You took a deep breath. Things we changing, and fast. You wanted to do this right. Maybe this is your change to finally get with him in your own eccentric way.

You think hard before responding.

You: I wouldn’t mind

He doesn’t respond for a few more minutes. You wish you knew what he was thinking. And you prayed you didn’t go too far.

And just like that your prayers were answered. You sat up on your bed as you saw the second image come in.

Your face was lit up in the semi dark room when the picture appeared. If looking from outside your window, impossible for being on the tenth floor by the way, they’d see your mixed look of shock and arousal. They’d see how you bit your lip and just stares at your phone.

But no one could ever guess you were looking at your best friend’s dick for the second time that night.

You made a choice and hearted the image.

In his own room, Mark smiled. Sure it was meant for Eve because she decided to get back with Rex but your reaction just changed everything.

[cheftsunoda]

hiii!

I love your writing sooo much and I just had an idea for a story with Lando (if you write for him)

The idea came to me when I was watching one of his interviews in which he gets asked if he likes cats or dogs and he says that he's DEFINITELY a dog person and hates cats (which should be a crime imo)

Anyway I was wondering if you could write a story in which the reader LOVEEEES cats and Lando likes reader a lot but they tell him that they refuse to date someone who doesn’t like cats so Lando tries to charm/befriend their cat/cats

nine lives — ln4

lando norris x !cat lover reader

smau + blurbs

You’ve always said you could forgive many things in a relationship—bad taste in music, questionable cooking, even the occasional forgotten anniversary. But not liking cats? Unforgivable. Which is why, when a clip of Lando—your boyfriend of almost a year—where he boldly declares “I just don’t trust cats. They stare at you like they’re plotting your death.”, your phone practically explodes with notifications. And right in the middle of your peaceful Sunday morning, curled up in bed with four purring furballs and one very smug grey baby sprawled on your chest, Lando walks into the room holding his phone like it’s ticking.

“They’re all sending me this video,” he says, deadpan. “And now half the internet thinks we’re about to break up because I disrespected Mister Whiskers the Third.”

You blink at him. “You did. And you disrespected me.”

And that’s when he sighs—loudly, dramatically—and looks your cats in the eye like he’s facing his greatest challenge yet.

“I guess I’m gonna have to win them over, huh?”

fc : random pinterest girlies

(a/n) : hi babyyyyyy. thanks for the love:) i am a huge cat person so this was very fun for me to write. my cat was stepping on my keyboard keys as i was literally trying to type it out. LMAOOO

ALSO NOT MY DUMBASS HAVING THIS EDITED AND READY FOR TWO DAYS AND NOT REALIZING. IM SO SORRY.

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lando’s ‘undercover’ GQ interview — 6/23/2025

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It starts innocently enough. You’re lounging on the couch in your sunlit living room, a tabby curled against your hip, a calico stretched across your feet, and your ancient, grumpy Persian—Count Meowcula—curled up like a loaf of bread on the coffee table. Lando is still asleep upstairs, likely tangled in the duvet with his mouth slightly open and hair sticking up like a dandelion. You’re scrolling through your phone when the first tag pops up.

@/username000 : NOT LANDO SAYING HE HATES CATS 💀💀💀 @/yourusername come get your man pls

You furrow your brows and click the link.

It’s a recent clip, from the GQ interview he just did the other day. The interviewer shows him an old clip of himself.

And the younger Lando on the video, without missing a beat, replies with boyish arrogance, “Dogs, obviously. Cats are evil. I don’t trust them. They just sit there and judge you.”

Your jaw drops a little. “Excuse me?”

He goes on—oh, he goes on.

“They’re always knocking things off tables. Like, why? For what reason? I could never live with a cat. I’d be on edge all the time.”

You blink at the screen, stunned. A moment later, your mentions erupt like fireworks.

@/username00 : so like… yn owns FIVE cats and lando said THIS?????

@/username0 : the betrayal. the slander. does Count Meowcula know??

@/username1 : if my man ever said this about cats i’d simply let them scratch his eyes out 😭

You let out a little laugh—half horrified, half amused—and glance around the room. As if sensing drama, your youngest cat, a tiny grey kitten named Pickles, climbs onto your lap and stares directly into your phone screen like she’s reading the replies.

“I know,” you murmur to her. “He’s got some explaining to do.”

Almost on cue, heavy footsteps pad down the stairs. You hear a yawn, then a groggy voice.

“Morning…” Lando steps into the room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’s in one of your hoodies and a pair of mismatched socks, hair a complete mess.

You swivel your phone toward him, the video paused on the exact moment he says, “Cats are evil.”

He squints. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

Lando flops face first onto the couch beside you, groaning into a throw pillow. “I was, like, twenty! I didn’t know better!”

“The internet disagrees.” You smirk, holding your phone up as notifications keep pouring in. “You’ve got approximately two million cat lovers and a grumpy Count Meowcula very disappointed in you.”

Lando turns his head, eyes squinting at the Persian cat who is, indeed, staring at him with an expression of utter betrayal.

“I told him it was an old interview,” you say solemnly. “He doesn’t care.”

“I’ll never earn his forgiveness, will I?”

“Not unless you make amends.”

He sits up dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Then I have no choice. I must… bond with the cats.”

“Oh?” you tease. “The same cats who are evil? The ones you can’t trust?”

“I was young! I was foolish!” He throws himself at your feet in mock agony. “Please, my love, allow me to prove myself to you—and to Pickles. And to Mr. Whiskers. And… Count Meowcula.” He pauses.

“God, why do they all sound like retired supervillains?”

“Because they are.”

Pickles meows at him, unimpressed. Lando slowly sits back up, adjusting his hoodie and patting his lap. “Alright. I’m ready. Send me your softest warrior.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

“I’m ready to face the consequences of my words,” he says solemnly. “Bring me the cats.”

One by one, like some ceremonial trial, the cats are introduced. Pickles curls up beside him without protest. Mr. Whiskers claws his leg once, just for good measure, and then lays on his foot. Count Meowcula eyes him for a solid three minutes before climbing onto his lap and promptly falling asleep.

You grab your phone and take a picture of the scene—Lando sitting stiff as a board, surrounded by cats, one paw resting over his knee like a warning.

Moments later, the tweet goes viral. The top reply?

@/alex_albon : petition for Lando to do a cat photoshoot in apology form.

You grin and show it to him.

“Absolutely not,” Lando mutters as Mr. Whiskers licks his hand. “Okay. Maybe. Only if I get to wear the little ears too.”

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yourusername

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, alex_albon and 1,201,005 others.

yourusername : should i leave this muppet because he doesn’t like my babies?

tagged : lando

—

view 72,075 other comments.

alex_albon : yes. absolutely. dump him. lily and i will take you and your cats in.

liked by yourusername and lilymhe

↳ yourusername : omw to the albon farm where me and my 5 children will be APPRECIATED.

liked by alex_albon and lilymhe

↳ lando : HEY HEY WE DO NOT HAVE TO GO THIS FAR

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : i am like the cat whisperer now. ask pickles.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : you screamed when mr whiskers jumped up on the couch behind you. mans was just existing.

liked by alex_albon

↳ lando : HE STARTLED ME.

liked by yourusername

maxverstappen1 : leave him. now. i want to see him walking down the road with one of those hobo sacks.

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : OH MY GOD. YOU ARE ALL SO OVERDRAMATIC. I WAS YOUNG.

↳ maxverstappen1 : do not care. you still said it.

liked by yourusername

username00 : i take it he is still in alot of trouble yn

↳ yourusername : oh yes. very much so. sleeping on the couch currently.

liked by maxverstappen1 and alex_albon

↳ maxverstappen1 : make him sleep on the sidewalk.

liked by yourusername and username00

lando : I AM SORRY BABYYYYY DO NOT LEAVE ME. I NEED YOU AND YOUR 5 CHILDREN.

liked by yourusername

alexandrasaintmleux : leave lando. not bc of the cat thing but just so you can date me😻

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : ALEX. OUT. DO NOT TRY TO WIN OUT ON MY MISFORTUNE.

liked by yourusername and alexandrasaintmleux

oscarpiastri : I, for one, stand for feline rights. #teampickles

liked by yourusername

charles_leclerc: just wait til she has a conversation with zhou about this…

liked by alex_albon, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, yourusername and zhouguanyu24

↳ zhouguanyu24 : oh i already know and sweetcorn and i are offended deeply

↳ lando : BROOOOOOOO

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f1gossipgirls

liked by yourusername and 1,100,100 others.

f1gossipgirls : Lando on live tonight with YN’s kitten Pickles!

tagged : lando and yourusername

—

view 175,007 other comments.

username000 : pickles pawing him in the head killed me #teampickles

liked by yourusername

username00 : @/yourusername you are so powerful. he went from hating cats to calling pickles his son in a matter of a week

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : that’s what good pussy does…bad joke?

liked by lando and username00

username0 : pickles had more screen time than max 😭

liked by yourusername and maxfewtrell

username1 : HE DID THE BABY VOICE AWWWWW

liked by yourusername

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The stream wasn’t even supposed to happen. It started because Max texted Lando “go live you coward I miss your face”, and then fifteen minutes later Lando was setting up his webcam while you sat cross legged on the couch, cradling Pickles in your lap like royalty. You had no intention of being on camera—until Pickles decided to launch himself from your arms and climb straight up Lando’s hoodie mid-intro.

“AH—oh my god—HE’S IN MY SHIRT,” Lando yelps, half-laughing, half-panicking, while you scramble into frame trying to extract the tiny menace from his hood. The comments explode instantly.

@/username0000 : IS THAT PICKLES??

@/username000: this is already the best stream of the year

You finally wrestle the kitten free and sit down beside Lando, both of you breathless from laughing. Pickles, smug as ever, curls into a perfect ball on Lando’s shoulder like he owns the place.

“He’s… decided to stay,” Lando mutters, eyes wide. “I’m not moving for the rest of the stream.”

“That’s called growth,” you tease. “You used to call him a demon.”

“I still think he is,” Lando says. “He’s just my demon now.”

Then Max joins the call. And everything goes downhill.

“Oi,” Max says, grinning into his camera. “Am I interrupting domestic bliss?”

“Pickles almost crawled into my ribcage five minutes ago,” Lando replies. “So yes, but it’s fine.”

You wave at Max. “Hi Max. I saved your best friend from a feline induced death.”

“Legend,” Max says with a wink. “Though if Pickles had finished the job, I’d finally win our Fantasy league.”

Lando flips him off. The chat goes wild. Over the next half hour, it descends into total chaos. Lando’s trying to game, Max is throwing shade, and you’re in the background trying to keep Pickles from knocking over an open can of Monster with the energy of a feral toddler. At one point a conversation sparks.

Max started. “So YN, how many cats is too many cats?”

You thought for a moment. ”Hypothetically?”

“Yeah.”

“Ten.”

Lando spits out his drink, “TEN?”

You shrugged, “I’m just saying. We have the space.”

Max laughed. “This is how it starts. First it’s one kitten, next thing you know, you’re on a reality show called My Strange Addiction..’”

You laughed, “I’d watch my episode.”

Lando sighed heavily, “Don’t give her ideas, she’s already been measuring out a catio for the balcony.”

The chat is unhinged at this point.

@/username11: lando is literally becoming the cat dad he swore he’d never be and I love it

Then Pickles decides to crawl back onto Lando’s lap mid game, and instead of pushing him off, Lando just says, “Okay okay buddy, you can sit there, just don’t touch the mouse—”

Immediately, Pickles touches the mouse. Lando loses the round. Max howls laughing.

“I’ve been sabotaged,” Lando groans. “By my own child.”

You hand him a tiny sweater. “He earned this.”

Lando holds up the sweater to the camera—soft knit, neon orange, a little lightning bolt stitched across the back.

“It’s giving superhero sidekick,” Max says. “He needs a cape.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you say, already pulling out your phone to text your Etsy supplier.

By the end of the stream, Pickles is asleep on Lando’s chest, purring, and Lando’s stroking his tiny head absentmindedly while bickering with Max about who cheated in karting back in 2015.

“He’s so gone,” Max mouths into the camera, pointing at Lando, who doesn’t even notice because he’s too busy whispering, “You’re my best mate, but if you ever touch my mouse again, I swear—” to a literal sleeping kitten.

The final shot before the stream ends? Lando kissing the top of Pickles’ head without even realizing he’s doing it. The comments explode. And the clip goes viral.

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You come home expecting the usual—a trail of cat toys on the stairs, a half consumed cup of Lando’s coffee on the kitchen counter, and Pickles dramatically lounging in your spot on the couch. What you don’t expect is Lando standing in the hallway with his hands behind his back and the guiltiest grin on his face.

“What did you do?” you ask instantly.

“Why do you assume I did something?” he replies, rocking on his heels.

“You only smile like that when you’ve either crashed a scooter or spent a suspicious amount of money.”

“I prefer the term invested.”

You narrow your eyes. “Lando…”

He takes your hand. “Okay. Just… come with me.”

He leads you to the balcony, practically vibrating with excitement. The sliding doors are already open, and the cats are pacing back and forth like they know something’s up. And then you see it. A catio.

Not just any catio. A custom, multi-level, architectural wonderland that stretches across half the balcony. There’s a tunnel system, clear bubble pods for sunbathing, platforms shaped like trophies, and tiny nameplates engraved for each cat. At the top—of course—is Count Meowcula, looking down on his kingdom like he’s about to demand taxes.

You blink. “Lando. What the hell is this?”

“It’s a Catio 2.0,” he says proudly. “Designed it with a guy from Reddit. Don’t ask how much it cost.”

You turn to him, stunned.

“And this?” you say, gesturing to the racing stripe hammock that literally says “PICKLES’ PAD.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Okay that part was my idea. And the tiny pit wall.”

There is a tiny pit wall. You burst out laughing, hand over your mouth. “I can’t believe you did this.”

He shrugs, pulling you into a hug. “You said they deserved fresh air and enrichment. And I figured… if I’m gonna be a cat dad, I might as well go all in.”

You lean up and kiss him, dizzy with love. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” he grins. “But you love me anyway.”

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It started as a joke. You were scrolling through Instagram with Lando one night, curled up on the couch while Pickles aggressively kneaded his thigh. Zhou had just posted yet another selfie with Sweetcorn, his fluffy, spoiled cat, perched on his shoulder like a queen.

Lando squinted at the screen. “I’m starting to think Zhou loves that cat more than he loves people.”

You smirked. “I respect it. Honestly, I love sweetcorn too.”

“Okay, weird. But what if we got him, like… a Sweetcorn pillow?” Lando said, half joking, half serious.

You stared at him. “Wait. That’s actually genius.”

Two weeks later, the package arrives.

A two foot long plush pillow—an eerily accurate, almost too realistic version of Sweetcorn, down to the slightly tilted ears and smug expression. You nearly cry laughing when you pull it out of the box. Lando holds it up like he’s presenting Simba.

“We’ve peaked,” he declares. “This is our legacy.”

You’re both waiting outside the Ferrari hospitality unit when Zhou walks up, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, completely unprepared.

Lando grins. “Got you a present.”

Zhou raises a brow. “What’d you do?”

Then you pull the pillow out from behind your back and hold it up proudly.

Zhou stops. Blinks. Takes off his sunglasses in slow motion.

“You did not.”

“Oh, we did,” you laugh. “Meet… travel-sized Sweetcorn.”

Zhou stares at the pillow, mouth open, completely speechless. Then, without a word, he drops his coffee and takes the pillow in his arms like a long lost child.

“I’m never sleeping alone again,” he says.

Lando bursts out laughing. “We made it extra squishy so you’d get maximum cuddle support.”

Zhou is still cradling the pillow, already doing voices— “‘Who needs anyone when I’ve got you, Sweetcorn 2.0.’”

You snap a picture of him holding the pillow like a baby, and before long it’s all over social media.

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lando

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, alex_albon and 4,001,008 others.

lando : i have made amends with all the cat people in my life. built a catio, traveled to the albon farm and got zhou a mini sweetcorn. and i can say i finally understand why max broke down the door for his cat children.

tagged : alex_albon, yourusername, maxverstappen1 and zhouguany24

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view 175,001 other comments.

yourusername : this is the man i love. covered in cat hair.

liked by lando

lando : god i hate how i will do literally anything for you

liked by yourusername

yourusername : love you lannnnnnn

liked by lando

maxverstappen1 : and id break ten more doors.

liked by yourusername and lando

alex_albon : you still flinched when one of ours sneezed but we made progress so idc

liked by yourusername and lando

zhouguanyu24 : mini sweetcorn sleeps beside me every night. nothing will ever top this gift.

liked by yourusername and lando

yukitsunoda0511 : yn!! do you think we can get him to go to the cat cafe in tokyo??

liked by yourusername

lando : no

yourusername : if you love me you will

liked by yukitsunoda0511

lando : GOD damnit

ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

[ivyues]

Bronze ♡ Diamond ⋅ Lee Felix

Felix challenged you to a Smash match, but he wasn’t ready for your skill.

You were curled up on the couch in your boyfriend’s dorm, legs tucked under a soft blanket, the two of you sharing snacks and quiet laughter as Felix scrolled through an endless stream of TikToks. His commentary was half the entertainment.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw it, sitting untouched on the coffee table like a forgotten artifact: a Nintendo Switch.

“Ooh, is that yours?” you asked, nodding towards it.

Felix looked up from his phone. “Yeah! Have you played before?” His tone held that light, teasing note – like a dad offering to “go easy” on a kid before a board game rout.

You kept your face neutral. “Mhm… a few times.”

He perked up. “Wanna play Smash? I gotta warn you, I’m not amazing or anything. Just play for fun.”

You smiled faintly, picking up the controller. “Same. Just for fun.”

10 minutes later, Felix was staring at the screen in disbelief, watching his character being politely yeeted off the stage – again. 

“Wait, wait—what?” he sputtered, blinking in rapid succession. “How did you—how did you spike me like that?!”

You shrugged, feigning innocence with a shrug and a sugary smile. “Lucky shot?”

“Three lucky shots?!” he exclaimed, dropping his controller in dramatic defeat. “There’s no way. You said you played a few times!”

“I mean… more like a few years,” you finally admitted with a sheepish grin.

Felix’s jaw dropped. “Y/N! You played me!”

“I said I’d played before… technically true.”

He was laughing now, tossing his controller down in defeat. “You hustled me. You pro gamer hustled me!”

You shrugged with mock innocence. “You assumed I’d be bad. That was your first mistake.”

The second round was worse for him. You didn’t just win – destroyed him. Air combos, perfect dodges, even the occasional taunt.

By the third round, he just put his controller down halfway through.

“I don’t know if I’m impressed or emotionally devastated,” he groaned, collapsing backwards into the cushions.

You leaned over him, poking his cheek. “You can be both. It’s called growth, baby.”

He peeked at you with that sunshine grin that always made your heart do a backflip. “I’ve got a hot gamer girlfriend who can crush me in Smash? That’s, like, peak romance.”

Suddenly, Changbin’s voice echoed from down the hall: “DID FELIX LOSE AGAIN?!”

“Again?” you echoed softly, trying not to laugh.

“Oh yeah,” Hyunjin chimed in, sitting on the back of the couch like a perched cat. “He’s got the spirit but not the skill.”

Felix chucked a pillow at the hallway. “You’re all traitors! Leave me to mourn in peace!”

“Dude,” Chan chuckled, eyeing the game stats. “She three-stocked you.”

“I know, hyung,” Felix grumbled, covering his face with a cushion.

Then Han raised an eyebrow at you. “Wait… you’re actually good? Like good-good?””

You nodded with a bashful grin. “I’ve played since I was a kid. Just a hobby.”

Changbin let out a wheeze. “Okay, wait—so our worst gamer somehow ended up dating a lowkey pro?! That’s hilarious.”

Then, Felix turned to you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Wait! Let’s do 2vs2! You’re obviously with me. Right, babe?”

You arched a brow, smirking. “Naturally.”

The chaos was immediate. Controllers clicked, taunts flew, and Felix got dramatically KO’d within the first minute – but not before yelling, “GO BABY!”

“YOU GUYS SAW THAT? SHE’S DODGING EVERYTHING LIKE A NINJA!”

“Y/N’S A MONSTER!” Han exclaimed.

“She’s terrifying,” Hyunjin added, watching the match from behind the couch.

The match was over within minutes as the final KO came with a dramatic slow-motion explosion. The words “VICTORY” blazed across the screen.

“I don’t even know what happened,” Han muttered. “I blinked and I was gone.”

Felix launched himself sideways onto the couch next to you. “I love you so much, please carry me again.”

Changbin groaned from the floor. “I’ve never felt more disrespected.”

Felix just beamed, arm slung around you. “You should. We crushed you with the power of love and gamer reflexes.”

You smirked. “Mostly the reflexes.”

As the next match loaded, Felix nudged you with a sly smile. “Hey babe… you ever play League of Legends?”

You just snorted and shoved him with your shoulder. “... maybe”

He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “Maybe?”

masterlist

[luvvixu]

wallpaper / k. bakugo

his phone wallpaper was exposed!

it was a rare quiet afternoon in the common room. most of the class had gone out, but you and katsuki bakugo had decided to stay behind.

well, he claimed he had things to “work on,” but you knew he just didn’t want to deal with people today. not that you were complaining. you liked his quiet company, even if he liked to pretend he was annoyed by yours.

you were lounging on the couch with your phone, scrolling through your gallery, occasionally giggling at the silly pictures from the other day. the memory of him accidentally putting salt in his coffee instead of sugar still made you chuckle.

katsuki walked towards your seat with a cup of water on his hand and his phone on the other hand. your eyes immediately traveled to the grenade phone charm you gave him weeks ago.

from the corner of your eye, you saw your boyfriend heavily and locked his phone as he sat beside you and placed the mug on the table. but in that split second before the screen went dark, you caught a glimpse of something familiar.

was that…you?

you turned to him slowly, a mischievous grin creeping up your face. “wait…was that me on your lock screen?”

he froze like a statue. “no.”

you blinked, then laughed. “katsuki, i know what i saw.”

“you’re seein’ things and you're blind as hell.” he grumbled, shifting slightly away from you on the couch.

“oh really? because i distinctly remember that photo. that was from last week during our date at the cafe! you know, when you—pffft!” you snorted, “when you put salt in your coffee by mistake and tried to act like it didn’t taste like sadness.”

“that never happened,” he growled, his ears turning red.

“so you didn’t delete that photo?” you teased, leaning over a bit to try and peek at his phone again.

“tch. mind your own damn business,” he muttered, angling his phone so you couldn’t see a thing.

you leaned in closer, resting your chin on his shoulder, voice soft and teasing. “you must really like looking at me, huh?”

a groan escaped him, low and embarrassed. “why’d i fall for such a dumbass smug like you?”

your breath caught a little at that, the teasing moment melting into something warm and fluttery. “simple, you love me,” you whispered, smiling.

he didn’t deny it.

instead, he grumbled, “hell yeah, i do. so shut up about it before i change my lock screen to a picture of a damn explosion.”

you giggled and snuggled into his side. “okay fine. but only if you send me that photo. i look really cute in it, aren't i?”

“you’re the worst,” he muttered—then pulled you closer anyway.

the next day in class, everything seemed normal—or as normal as it could be when you were dating the great explosion murder god dynamight, the human equivalent of a hand grenade with resting angry face.

he was acting completely unbothered, like nothing had happened between you two yesterday. like he definitely hadn’t admitted to having your photo as his lock screen. like he definitely hadn’t held you on the couch and let you fall asleep on his shoulder while muttering that you “smelled like peace and bad decisions.”

you smirked to yourself at the memory as you slid into your seat.

bakugo was sitting two seats over, looking like he might bite anyone who breathed near him.

all was peaceful…until kaminari, fucking kaminari again, decided to be kaminari.

“yo, bakubro,” he said, leaning over during break. “lemme borrow your phone real quick. i remember y/n using your phone to take the photo of a literature lecture from the last meeting.”

“no,” bakugo replied instantly.

but kaminari was already halfway reaching it.

“i just need to check the time, man! chill yo ass down and whoa, nice lock scre—” he paused. “...is that...is that y/n?”

bakugo’s entire soul left his body.

you watched it happen in real-time: the secondhand embarrassment, the denial, the “i’m going to murder him” expression blooming beautifully across his face.

kaminari turned the phone toward Kirishima, whose eyes lit up. “dude, that’s the pic from the cafe, right? y/n told me it was the time where the she was laughing her ass off because bakugo put—”

bakugo snatched the phone back so fast it nearly burst into flames.

“mind your damn fucking business!” he barked, face scarlet.

the entire row of desks went quiet. even aizawa opened one eye from his nap in the corner.

you, meanwhile, were wheezing into your hands.

kirishima, bless this guy, tried to help. “aw, c’mon man, i think it's sweet and manly! you are finally soft for someone. it’s like watching an angry cat adopt a human.”

“i will happily kill all of you,” bakugo growled, shoving his phone in his pocket like it had betrayed him.

you leaned over and whispered, “you could’ve just used a picture of an explosion.”

he glared at you, cheeks still red. “you’re really lucky you're my girl, dumbass.”

you smiled wide, warm and smug all over again. “damn right, i know.”

masterlist

©luvvixu2025

a/n: im starting to run out of ideas about writing this dude. pls help asap cuz i really need to keep up with my hyperfixation in writing lmfao.

[buldakcorn]

Do you have anything for Choerry while I patiently await Taboo? 🥺

Morning Glory

LOONA/ARTMS Choerry x Male Reader

Genre : Girlfriend, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Daddy Kink, Breeding Kink

6466 words

As the soft light of dawn spilled into the room, you tiptoed out of the enveloping warmth of the shower, gently dabbing your skin with a plush towel. You couldn't help but steal a glance at Choerry, her peaceful features framed by a halo of disheveled hair, as she slept on soundly in your bed. Her gentle breathing and the faint scent of her perfume lingered in the air, a reminder of the love that had grown between you both over the past few months.

You felt a swell of affection as you leaned in to press a tender kiss to her forehead. Her eyelashes fluttered briefly against your lips, but she didn't wake. With a quiet smile, you retreated to the sanctuary of your home office, fully dressed up, ready to face the day that stretched out before you.

Settling into your ergonomic chair, you took a moment to appreciate the orderly chaos of your home office, where piles of paperwork and screens of data danced in harmony. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted in from the kitchen, a comforting scent that signaled the start of a new day.

You glanced at the digital clock on the wall, noticing that your online meeting was just minutes away. The anticipation grew as you clicked open your laptop, the screen flickering to life to reveal a series of notifications and emails awaiting your attention. You logged into the virtual conference platform, checking your appearance in the small thumbnail before you allowed yourself to be seen by your colleagues and investors.

With a deep breath, you clicked the 'join meeting' button, ready to navigate the intricate dance of numbers, strategy, and ambition that lay ahead. The video feeds popped up, displaying familiar faces along with a few new ones, and the room filled with the buzz of greetings and early morning banter. You straightened your tie, took a sip of your coffee, and plunged into the day's challenges.

The meeting unfolded with surprising ease as you navigated through the agenda, your voice confident and clear despite the occasional interruption from the hum of the early morning outside. You presented your latest financial reports with a flair that seemed to captivate even the most stoic of investors. Their nods and approving murmurs filled the virtual space, a symphony of affirmation that resonated deep within your chest. As the discussion grew more intense, your eyes flickered over to the time, noticing that it had flown by without a trace of sluggishness.

Suddenly, your professional focus was shattered by an unexpected sensation. You felt a strange force against your crotch, and your eyes shot down to find Choerry kneeling beneath your desk, her fingers deftly tracing the outline of your growing arousal through your trousers.

She looked up at you with a mischievous smile, her eyes sparkling with a mix of love and playfulness. Blowing you a kiss, she continued her ministrations, her touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. The meeting participants, oblivious to the intimate scene playing out beneath the conference table, carried on with their discussions.

Your heart raced as you struggled to maintain your composure, trying to keep your voice steady and your mind on the figures and graphs displayed on your screen. The tension grew, not only from the business matters at hand but also from the unspoken erotic dance happening right beneath your professional veneer.

The moment the conversation shifted to a colleague's presentation, you seized the opportunity to mute your microphone.

"Choerry, w-what are you doing?" you whispered, your eyes wide with a mix of surprise and arousal. She giggled softly, her hand still moving rhythmically against your growing hardness.

"Just giving daddy some little motivation," she murmured, her voice a seductive purr with the pet name that sent a shiver down your spine. Despite the tension in the room, her playfulness was infectious, and you couldn't help but smile back at her. You reached down to gently tug at her ear, the silent communication between you a secret shared only by the two of you in this professional setting.

The thrill of potentially being caught only served to amplify the desire pulsing through your veins, and you felt your resolve to remain unflappable slipping away. Choerry, ever the tease, took this as a challenge, her touch growing bolder, her eyes locked onto yours with a fiery determination that dared you to ignore the passion smoldering between you.

As the conversation flowed back to you, your mind racing with the dual tasks of dissecting financial jargon and resisting the exquisite pleasure, you took a deep, calming breath and unmuted your microphone.

"As for the Q3 projections," you began, your voice a tad shakier than usual. Choerry, undeterred by the professional facade you were trying to maintain, took this as her cue.

She leaned closer, her warm breath ghosting over your skin as she took out your cock and placed it in her soft, wet mouth, her tongue flicking tantalizingly against the sensitive tip. You bit back a groan, focusing on the numbers and graphs on the screen as your body screamed for more.

"We're looking at a... a significant increase in revenue," you managed to say, your eyes darting between your presentation and the erotic show unfolding just out of camera range. The taste of your precum mixed with the bitter tang of coffee on her lips, and she moaned around you, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. You clenched your fists, trying to keep from bucking your hips up into her mouth.

Choerry's pace increased, her cheeks hollowing as she took you deeper into her mouth, the wet sounds of her suctioning echoing in the quiet room. The sudden urgency of her actions sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, and you couldn't hold back a moan that slipped out, only to be hastily disguised as a cough.

You felt your face flush with heat, hoping your colleagues had attributed the unexpected sound to a mere throat tickle rather than the illicit act happening right under their virtual gazes.

In the midst of your impromptu performance, you caught the knowing glint in her eye, the way her hand slipped into her own panties, her fingers moving in time with her mouth. The realization that she was getting herself off while you tried to keep your cool was almost too much to bear, and you felt yourself approaching the precipice of climax. The tension between keeping your business persona intact and succumbing to the rapture of her touch grew tauter with each passing moment.

As your voice grew hoarse with restrained passion, the sudden sensation of Choerry's throat contracting around your cock made you stumble over your words. One of the investors raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, her gaze piercing through the screen.

"Are you feeling alright?" she inquired with a hint of concern, noticing the tremor in your hand as it clutched the mouse. You managed a strained nod, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and desire.

"Yes, I'm... I'm just... a bit of a... dry throat," you croaked, trying to cover your discomfort with a hasty sip of coffee that nearly scalded your tongue. Choerry's eyes danced with mirth at your plight, her own hand now a blur in her lap, matching the rhythm of her mouth on you.

Her eyes never leaving yours, Choerry's mischievous smile grew wider as she shifted her attention to your balls, taking one into her mouth and rolling it around with her tongue while her hand kept a firm, teasing grip on your shaft.

The sight of her, kneeling before you, so attentive to your needs, was almost too erotic to handle. You felt the tension in your body coil tighter, your hips instinctively pushing forward despite the professional decorum you were desperately trying to uphold. Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she watched your reactions, clearly enjoying the power she had over you in this moment.

As your colleagues droned on about market trends and profit margins, you fought to keep your voice steady, your mind racing with the sensations of her warm, wet mouth and the gentle tug of her hand. The sound of her soft, eager slurps filled the silence in your mind, a stark contrast to the cold, calculated words you were forced to speak.

With each stroke of her tongue, you felt your control slipping further, the pressure building to a crescendo that you were dangerously close to losing hold of.

The room outside your screen was a blur of graphs and faces, their voices a distant murmur as Choerry's mouth and hand worked in perfect harmony. You clenched your fists so hard that your knuckles turned white, trying to hold back the inevitable. But the way she looked up at you, her eyes shining with love and lust, made it impossible to deny the primal need that surged through you.

With one final, masterful tug, Choerry brought you to the brink, her eyes locked onto yours in a silent challenge. You could feel the heat of her breath against your thigh as she sucked harder, her cheeks hollowed with effort. The dam broke, and you couldn't contain the deep, guttural groan that tore from your throat.

You came, your release spilling into her waiting mouth, her eyes never leaving yours, her smile never faltering.

You managed to muffle the sound with your hand, hoping that the cacophony of voices in the virtual meeting would cover it up. As your orgasm subsided, you saw the triumph in her gaze, the satisfaction of a challenge well met.

With a final kiss to the tip of your cock, she withdrew her mouth and sat back on her heels, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. She winked at you, the picture of innocence, before slipping away from beneath the desk and leaving you secretly to face the aftermath of your secret rendesvouz.

As the final words of the meeting faded from the speakers, the screen on your computer went dark, leaving you alone in the suddenly quiet room with the echoes of your passionate encounter. You let out a deep, shaky sigh and leaned back in your chair, the leather cool against your dampened skin. Your heart pounded in your chest as the reality of what had just transpired began to settle over you.

The thrill had left you both physically and mentally drained, the rush of adrenaline and pleasure now giving way to a warm, contented lassitude. You took a moment to compose yourself, smoothing down your rumpled clothes and straightening your tie. The smell of sex lingered faintly in the air, a tantalizing reminder of Choerry's impromptu visit.

With a final, wistful glance at the now-empty space beneath the desk, you stood and stretched, feeling the delicious ache in your muscles. The sun had fully risen outside, casting a warm glow through the office windows, and the scent of breakfast wafted in from the kitchen.

You made your way to the kitchen, the scent of pancakes and sizzling bacon guiding you to the welcoming embrace of a well-deserved breakfast. As you sat at the table, the plate of steaming food already set before you, Choerry emerged behind you from the kitchen, her hair tied up in a messy bun, and an apron draped over her nightgown. She wrapped her arms around your chest, her cheek resting against your back as she leaned into your shoulder.

"Why are you starting your day with an empty stomach?!" she scolded playfully, her breath warm against your neck.

"You know you can't perform at your best without a proper breakfast." Her voice held a teasing lilt, the mischief of her earlier actions still dancing in her tone.

You couldn't help but chuckle, the warmth of her touch seeping into your bones as you took in the sight of your perfectly prepared meal, and your perfect girl.

"You're right, as always," you conceded, turning to kiss her cheek.

"I guess I had other... priorities this morning," you added with a smirk, your eyes sparkling with the memory of the meeting.

Choerry giggled, her hands slipping around to squeeze your abs gently.

"Well, now that you're all fed and energized," she whispered, her voice dropping to a seductive murmur, "I expect nothing but the best from my man today."

Her words, a siren's call, sent a thrill through your body, igniting a fire that hadn't yet had time to die down from your earlier encounter. You felt your cock begin to harden once more at the thought of her sweet, willing submission. You turned in your chair, taking her by the waist and lifting her onto your lap, her nightgown riding up to expose her bare thighs.

"Choerry," you murmured, your voice thick with desire, "you know I can't refuse you."

With a grin that was both adorable and predatory, she straddled you, her wetness pressing against your now-throbbing erection. "Then don't," she purred, rocking her hips slightly. "Punish this naughty slut, daddy."

You stood, her legs wrapped around your waist, and carried her towards the bedroom, the warmth of her body against yours setting your skin alight. The weight of her was heavenly, and you felt your resolve to keep the day professional dissolve away like sugar in hot tea.

Her loving smile never wavered as you carried her back to the bedroom, the playful lightness of the moment a stark contrast to the intense passion that had just transpired.

You couldn't resist showering her face with gentle kisses, your love for her spilling over into every touch. Choerry's giggles filled the air as she squirmed in your arms, her cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink.

"It tickles, daddy s-stop!" she murmured, trying to swat you away with a feigned look of annoyance. But the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her, revealing the thrill she found in your affectionate assault. You chuckled, feeling the warmth of her body against yours as she melted into your embrace.

With a playful growl, you set Choerry down on the bed, her body bouncing slightly on the plush mattress. She watched you with wide, hungry eyes, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as you began to undo the buttons of your shirt. The anticipation in the room was palpable, a silent symphony of desire that seemed to crescendo with each piece of clothing that fell to the floor.

Her gaze roved over your bare chest, her pupils dilating as your abs rippled in the soft morning light. She bit her finger, a silent plea for you to hasten your movements, her own need evident in the way her chest heaved with each shallow breath. The air was charged with sexual tension, the echoes of your earlier encounter still resonating in the space between you.

Your cock, now fully hard again, pointed towards her like a compass needle drawn to true north, a silent declaration of your intention to claim her once more. As the last of your shirt fell away, you stepped out of your trousers, revealing your nakedness to her eager eyes.

The sight of you, raw and aroused, sent a thrill through her, making her squirm with impatience. She reached for you, her hand tracing the length of your cock, her touch featherlight but filled with a promise of what was to come.

"I need you, daddy," she whispered, her voice a siren's call that you were powerless to resist.

With a growl of need, you pushed Choerry back onto the bed, the softness of the mattress giving way beneath her. Your mouth claimed hers in a deep, hungry kiss, your tongue delving into the warm cavern of her mouth as you explored the sweetness of her taste.

Your hand wrapped around her right wrist, pinning it to the bed, while your other hand began to roam her body, your fingertips tracing the soft curves of her waist, the swell of her breasts, and the tender flesh of her inner thigh.

She moaned into your mouth, her body arching towards you, eager for the touch she knew would come. Your thumb grazed the sensitive peak of her nipple through the thin fabric of her nightgown, making her gasp and her eyes flutter shut, her body responding to your every command.

"No underwear? Such a naughty girl."

Her eyes snapped open at your words, and she giggled, her cheeks flushing even deeper.

"I wanted to surprise you, daddy." she admitted shyly, her voice barely a whisper. Your cock twitched at her admission, and you couldn't help but lean down to kiss her again, your teeth grazing her lower lip before you pulled back.

"And surprise me you did, baby." you murmured against her mouth, your hand sliding beneath the hem of her nightgown to find her wet and ready. Choerry's breath hitched as you parted her folds with your thumb, her hips rising to meet your touch. The soft, slick sound of her arousal was music to your ears, and you felt your own desire swell in response.

"So fucking wet. Do you want it so badly?"

Choerry's eyes fluttered shut as she nodded, her breath coming in quick gasps.

"Yes, make me cum so hard daddy," she whimpered, her hips bucking against your hand. You took mercy on her, sliding two fingers inside her, her warmth enveloping you as she moaned with pleasure. Her walls clenched around your digits, her body begging for more as you pumped into her steadily.

Her free hand tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, her breath hot against your neck as she whispered some encouragement full of love and need. Her freed right hand found its way to your cock, her grip firm as she stroked you in time with your movements inside her. The sound of your bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of passion that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house.

"F-faster daddy, I'm so close."

"Bad girls don't get to cum easily."

Choerry's eyes snapped open at your teasing words, a playful pout gracing her lips.

"But daddy!" she protested, her voice a delicious blend of need and wantonness, "I've been such a good girl for you."

Her hips rolled against your hand, her internal muscles tightening around your fingers, as if to prove her point. You smirked, enjoying the way she writhed beneath you, her body a canvas of desire painted by your touch.

Leaning in, you whispered against her ear, "But the best rewards come to those who can wait," before withdrawing your hand and moving to kiss a trail down her neck. Her protests turned to whimpers of anticipation, her body quivering with the unfulfilled need you had so expertly woken within her.

You felt a thrill at the power you held over her, the way she submitted so beautifully to your will.

Your kisses grew more insistent, moving lower still, until you reached her pert nipples through her gown, teasing them with your teeth as your hand found its way to the apex of her thighs once more. This time, instead of sliding inside her, you gently pinched her clit, watching with dark delight as she arched off the bed with a silent scream, her eyes squeezed shut in a mix of pleasure and frustration.

Her hand tightened around your cock, her strokes becoming erratic as she attempted to coax you back to where she wanted you most. But you had other plans, your mouth moving lower, the fabric of her nightgown damp with her arousal. As you reached the juncture of her thighs, you pushed the gown aside, exposing her glistening folds to the cool morning air. With a grin, you dipped your head and took a long, lingering lick, savoring the taste of her sweetness. Choerry's eyes flew open, her pupils dilated with desire as she watched you, her breath hitching in her chest.

"Daddy..." she breathed, the single word a plea and a prayer, her legs spreading wider in an unspoken invitation.

"Oh God... Daddy eat me so well."

Taking her words to heart, you lowered your head to feast on her pussy, your tongue swirling around her clit before delving into her wetness. Choerry's legs trembled as you devoured her, her whimpers and gasps filling the room. You felt her body tighten around your fingers as you curled them inside her, hitting that magical spot that made her toes curl. Her hand on the back of your head held you in place, guiding your movements, her hips bucking against your face in a silent demand for more. The taste of her, the scent of her, the sounds of her pleasure – it was all too much, and you knew she was close.

"Fuckkk, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cu-"

Choerry's body spasmed as she reached her climax, her sweet nectar spurting forth like a fountain, soaking your face and chest. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she let out an ear-piercing scream that seemed to shake the very walls of the room. Her legs tightened around your neck, her heels digging into your back as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her trembling and gasping for air. You didn't relent, continuing to lick and suck at her clit, drawing out every last drop of ecstasy until she collapsed against the mattress, her body slick with sweat and satisfaction.

"We're far from being done."

"Strip."

Choerry complied eagerly, her trembling hands pulling the nightgown over her head and tossing it aside, revealing her flushed body and hardened nipples. You took in the sight of her, a goddess laid bare before you, and felt your cock throb with anticipation. You climbed onto the bed, knees straddling her thighs, and took her face in your hands, kissing her deeply, sharing the taste of her pleasure. Her legs wrapped around your waist, urging you closer, and you felt her warmth against your shaft, beckoning you to claim her once more.

Without wasting a moment, you claimed her nipples with your eager mouth, sucking and teasing each peak until they stood at attention, pebbled with desire. Choerry's breath hitched, and she arched her back, offering herself to you fully as your tongue swirled and flicked against the sensitive flesh, eliciting soft moans from her parted lips.

Her hands roamed over your back, her nails digging into your flesh as you continued to worship her breasts, your passion for her a living, breathing entity that consumed the space between you. Each pull of your mouth on her nipples sent a shiver down her spine, her body reacting to your touch with an eagerness that mirrored your own.

"The milk won't c-come out until you p-put a baby in me daddy."

"Is that so? Is that what my sweetheart wants? To be filled with my cum?

Her words were like gasoline on a fire, stoking the inferno of your desire even higher. You pulled back, your eyes locked onto hers, a silent question in your gaze. Choerry's expression was a mix of longing and need, her body quivering with the aftershocks of her recent orgasm.

"Yes! Fill me up daddy! Make me carry your child!"

With a nod, she confirmed her wish, and you couldn't resist the urge to claim her fully. You lined up the head of your cock with her slick entrance, pausing for just a moment to appreciate the view. Her pussy glistened with desire, the perfect sheath for your throbbing member.

With a growl, you plunged into her, filling her up in one smooth, powerful stroke. She gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head again, as you began to fuck her with a rhythm that was both punishing and loving.

"Oh my gosh.... So b-big..... Don't s-stop!"

Each thrust sent a shockwave of pleasure through her body, and she met you with an equal fervor, her hips rising to meet you, her legs tightening around your waist. The room was filled with the slap of skin against skin and the sweet symphony of your mingled moans.

You leaned in to capture her mouth once more, your kiss deep and possessive, as you claimed her body in the most primal of ways. Your hands roamed over her curves, gripping her hips to pull her closer, to drive into her deeper still. Choerry's nails dug into your back, leaving a trail of fire as she held on tight, her breath coming in ragged pants.

"Daddy, I love you," she whispered, her voice a hoarse whisper lost in the crescendo of pleasure.

"I love you too, baby," you murmured, your own voice thick with emotion, "now cum for me again, show me how much you want it."

Her eyes cross each other in ecstasy as you pounded into her, the force of your thrusts shaking the bed with each powerful stroke. Her nails dug deeper into your back, leaving little half-moons of pain that only served to heighten your pleasure. You could feel her walls tightening around you, the muscles in her stomach tensing as she approached the edge of another orgasm. Her breaths grew more ragged, and her cries grew louder, each one a testament to the unbridled passion you shared.

Choerry's legs tightened around your waist, her heels pressing into your lower back as she met your every thrust with equal fervor. Her hips rolled in a desperate bid to take you even deeper, her need for release becoming more urgent with each passing second.

"Yes, baby, just like that," you grunted, feeling the beginnings of your own climax coil in your lower belly. You leaned down to nip at her neck, eliciting a scream that was music to your ears. "You're going to take all of me," you growled, your voice thick with desire.

With a groan of pure lust, you released her legs, pushing them up and back until they were bent at her shoulders, her pussy exposed and open to you like a flower in bloom. Choerry's grip tightened around her own legs, holding them in place as you took full advantage of her newfound vulnerability. The angle changed, allowing you to drive even deeper into her, and she moaned in pleasure as you did so. Your eyes never left hers, the connection between you burning hotter than the sun outside the window, as you claimed her completely. Each stroke was a declaration of your love, each thrust a silent promise to give her everything she desired.

Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, her chest heaving as she fought to maintain her grip on her legs. You knew she was close, could feel her tightening around you with every movement.

"Cum for me, baby," you whispered, your voice a dark caress, "let me feel your pussy milk me dry."

Choerry's eyes went wide, the heady mix of pleasure and pain in your words pushing her closer to the edge. She nodded, her teeth sunk into her lower lip as she braced herself for the deluge.

"I'm cumming now, daddy please," she begged, her voice a breathy whimper, "I'm cumming!"

And with that, you felt her walls clench around you, her body shuddering with the force of her climax. Her juices spilled over your cock, coating your abdomen as she rode the wave of pleasure. You watched, enraptured, as she lost herself to the sensation, her eyes glazed over and her mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy.

As her orgasm subsided, you felt your own building, the pressure at the base of your spine growing unbearable. You knew you couldn't last much longer, and with one final, powerful thrust, you released your own flood of cum deep within her, filling her up and marking her as yours in the most primal of ways. The room seemed to spin around you as pleasure coursed through your veins, leaving you gasping for breath and trembling with the aftershocks of your release.

Choerry's legs slowly relaxed, and she let out a contented sigh, a smile playing at the corners of her lips as she looked up at you. You collapsed beside her, your chests heaving in unison, your bodies slick with sweat and love.

As the final pulses of your orgasm subsided, you couldn't help but revel in the feeling of her body, still quivering with the aftershocks of her own. Your hand moved to her belly, pressing gently to feel the warmth of your cum inside her. With a knowing smile, you pushed against her stomach, watching as the excess fluid began to flow out of her, painting her inner thighs with sticky white streaks. The sight was incredibly erotic, a tangible proof of your union, and it sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through you. Choerry giggled, a sweet sound that seemed to resonate through your very soul, her eyes fluttering shut as she enjoyed the sensation.

"Look at you," you murmured, your voice filled with awe and love, "so beautiful, so fertile."

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink at your words, a soft smile playing on her lips as she opened her eyes to meet your gaze. "All for you, daddy," she whispered, her voice a sultry purr that sent your pulse racing once more.

With a groan, you pulled her closer, your cock still semi-hard against her thigh. Your hand trailed up to her breasts, playing with the sensitive flesh as you kissed her again, unable to get enough of her taste, her touch, her scent. The room was filled with the sweet musk of your love making, a scent that seemed to envelop you both in a warm, comforting embrace.

Choerry's body was still quaking from the intensity of her climax when you felt your own hand acting of its own accord. Without warning, your fingers found their way back to her soaked pussy, gently sliding through the mess of cum and her juices. The sensation of being so completely filled and then touched again was almost too much for her to bear. Her eyes shot open in surprise, meeting yours with a mix of shock and overwhelming arousal.

"Daddy, no more, I'm still sensitive!" she breathed, though the plea was weak and her hips betrayed her, moving against your hand despite the protest. You couldn't resist the urge to test her limits, to see just how much pleasure she could handle. Your touch grew bolder, your fingers moving in small, teasing circles around her clit, sending sparks of pleasure through her already oversensitive body.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out as the overstimulation built once more. You watched her intently, the way her body reacted to every touch, every stroke, and you felt your cock twitch back to life, eager to plunge into her once again.

"Be a good girl and cum for me again."

"I love to see your face when you cum. Give it to me baby."

Choerry's eyes widened with a mix of shock and excitement at your command, her body already responding despite her earlier protest. You watched as she bit her lip harder, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh as she fought against the waves of pleasure that your relentless fingers brought forth. Her breaths grew shallower, her chest heaving with the effort to remain silent. But it was clear that she was enjoying the torment, her eyes shining with a mischievous light that told you she was ready to push her boundaries even further.

With a smirk, you leaned down to capture her nipple once more, your teeth grazing the sensitive flesh as you continued to tease her clit with featherlight strokes. Her body arched off the bed, and she let out a muffled moan that was music to your ears. You knew she was close, the tension in her body building with every passing second.

"Daddyyyy!"

Her squirt was more intense than before, her juices arcing high into the air like a celebratory fountain. The force of her release soaked your hand, the bed, and even splattered against the wall. Choerry's eyes squeezed shut tightly as her body contorted with the overwhelming pleasure. Her legs trembled uncontrollably, and her breath was a series of sharp gasps as she rode the crest of her climax.

When the spasms finally subsided, she opened her mouth to speak, but only a strangled sound came out, her voice lost to the power of her orgasm. She panted heavily, her chest heaving, as she struggled to find the words to express what she felt.

"Is my baby okay? Did I went too hard?"

Choerry managed a weak nod, her cheeks still flushed and her chest rising and falling with the aftermath of her intense release.

"I'm okay," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "you're just so... amazing." She reached out to cup your cheek, her eyes shining with adoration. The room was still filled with the sweet scent of your love, and the sticky evidence of your shared passion was a testament to the depth of your connection.

You kissed her forehead tenderly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with the exertion. As your hand pulled away from her still-throbbing pussy, you brought your fingers to your mouth, tasting her on your skin, the salty sweetness of her arousal mingling with the faint metallic tang of your cum.

"Fuck me more, daddy. Treat me like I'm nothing but a slut. Make me your cumdump."

Her sexual drive suprised you. But who are you to ignore an angel's request.

And so you did. The day unfolded into a tapestry of carnality, each room in your home becoming a stage for your unbridled passion. From the soft caress of the living room rug to the cool embrace of the kitchen countertop, you claimed her in every way imaginable. Her moans of pleasure and the slap of your flesh against hers became the soundtrack of the day, echoing through the house like a siren's call that drew you back to each other time and time again.

You took her from behind as both of you work your way to the bathroom to take a shower, her breasts bouncing with every thrust, and as you whispered dirty words into her ear. You had her ride you reverse cowgirl on the couch while watching your favorite shows, her ass bouncing with every eager plunge she took onto your cock. You bent her over the dining table midway through eating lunch, her legs shaking with the effort to hold herself up, as you fucked her so hard the chandelier above you swung with the force of your love. You fucked her against the windows of your office, her bare ass thumping on the glass surface, free for anyone to see. Each position brought new sensations, each touch a declaration of your insatiable hunger for one another.

As the shadows grew long and the day's warmth began to fade into the embrace of nightfall, the scent of your love lingered in the air like a potent aphrodisiac. In the dimly lit bedroom, you found yourself behind Choerry, her glistening skin bared to you like an open book. She was on her hands and knees, her back arched beautifully as she presented her soaked pussy to you. Each slap of your hand against her ass sent a jolt of pleasure through her body, her muffled cries of "more" urging you on. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, punctuated by the wet smack of your cock disappearing into her depths. Her eyes were screwed shut in ecstasy, her teeth digging into the fabric of the bed sheet as she tried to contain the moans that threatened to spill out. You watched the pink slapmarks bloom across her ass, each one a brand of your ownership, a map of your passion.

"What are you Choerry?"

Choerry's eyes snapped open at your question, a fiery determination blazing within them. "I'm your slut, daddy, a nasty whore that needs to be punished and filled," she moaned, pushing back against you, her movements frantic and desperate for more.

You grabbed her hips tightly, your grip leaving marks on her skin, and slammed into her even harder, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing through the room. "That's right, baby," you growled, feeling the head of your cock hit her cervix with each forceful thrust. "You're mine to fuck whenever I want."

Her pussy tightened around you, her walls fluttering with the beginnings of another orgasm. You felt your own climax building, your balls drawing up tight, your cock swelling.

"Take it all!"

With one final, powerful drive, you buried yourself to the hilt and released, filling her up once more with your hot seed.

"YESSSS push your cum deep in me, daddy. I'm cumming on that big fucking cock!"

Choerry's body convulsed around you, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave. Her screams were muffled by the pillow she'd bitten into, but the intensity of her pleasure was written all over her face.

As your climax waned, you leaned over her, kissing the nape of her neck, feeling her body quiver beneath you. Her lips curved into a satisfied smile.

"Good girl," you murmured, your voice thick with satisfaction, "you take it so well."

Choerry collapsed onto the bed, her chest heaving with the effort to catch her breath. "I love you, daddy," she whispered, turning to look at you with a soft, adoring smile.

You pulled out of her with a wet pop and moved to lay beside her, pulling her into your embrace. "And I love you, baby girl," you said, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

The two of you lay there, basking in the afterglow of your love, the room still heavy with the scent of sex and sweat. Your arms wrapped around her tightly, holding her close as if afraid she might slip away if you loosened your grip. Choerry snuggled into you, her head resting on your chest, listening to the steady thump of your heart.

As the night descended, you knew that the next day would bring more challenges, more responsibilities, more of the mundane. But in this moment, all that mattered was the warmth of her body against yours and the promise of more passionate encounters to come.

And as you drifted off to sleep, the last thing you heard was her sweet voice whispering, "Thank you, daddy," a soft reminder of the power and love that flowed between you, unspoken but ever present.

[cursedcola]

Prompt: “I Lived Bitch” <- You send them a text message of an an image. Said image is a headshot of you with bandages around your head, a couple of bruises on your face, and the staple cheeky peace sign to tie it all together. Context Varies. Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Overblot Homies Format: TEXT.IMG + Bullets.

Parts: (Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil) (Here) , (Vil, Idia, Malleus) Masterlist: Link A/N: Saw some of these floating around and thought the text format would be good for some mixed scenarios <3. Sorry they’re not all in one. Tumblr has a picture limit. Edit: HUZZAH I have discovered a way to put more images. Less parts hehe.

A gradual spiral. Riddle isn’t one to dwell until order is disrupted. He initially thinks you’re off causing mischief with Ace and Deuce - already preparing for whatever comes.

When they arrive on their own, knowing nothing about you? He’s uncomfortable. When Grim struts in on his own, he’s concerned. When Crewel stops him saying that you missed half your classes and didn’t have any absentee excuse? He’s panicking.

The controlled type of panic where it feels like that first month of Sophomore year all over again. Grim’s already earned a collar. How could he not know where his prefect is? The Headmaster is irresponsible surely, but you were a good student. Riddle wouldn’t partner with someone unable to uphold their basic responsibilities.

Riddle was one hour short of marching to Crowley’s office, because perhaps it was STYX scenario again and he wasn’t having a repetition.

You finally respond when he’s desperately trying to study - he wasn’t going to sacrifice his schedule.

Which gets forgotten regardless. He leaves the books abandoned (not that he could get past one page without drifting) and speed walks to the clinic. That anxious red poking out from his collar, heels smacking against marble. It’s rare for him to ever walk with his head in a screen - such a thing is rude, but his eyes are glued as he turns each corner.

He’s not happy you chose to downplay the situation. Considering his history with medicinal magic, Riddle’s already bombarding the nurse for your medical report once he enters. Then he sits silently at your bedside, flipping through the clipped papers. The occasional scoff turns to a tick in his jaw when reading the incident report.

Cave in of the Ramshackle stairwell? Looks like he’s having a word with the Headmaster after all.

Unlike Riddle, there’s an instant agitation with this one. Call it the princely charm of wanting instant responses.

Also. You don’t ignore him for silly reasons. When you say that you’re meeting him somewhere, you do. Same for Leona. He might gripe but he always shows up.

So he doesn’t need to wait. There’s already a nagging feeling in his stomach after the first twenty minutes pass.

He’s logical. Knows all your spots. Knows your schedule and would honestly even text Azul (if you’re working that day). Pain in the ass, but he’ll do it.

So first instinct is to do a play-by-play of the past week in his head. Look for any reason you might be pissed or too ‘busy’ to hold your plans. When he comes up empty, he’ll strut up to the little frosh table. Stir some anxiety with a glare or whatever, which gets serious when no one has any idea where you’re at. Not even the little weasel.

Any longer and he might’ve gone to Rook. We all know how Leona feels about Rook, but he’s the best when it comes to tabbing someone.

Your text comes during Spelldrive practice. He’s standing on his broom, looking over the field, arms crossed and agitated with the TWST equivalent of a bluetooth headset in his ear.

Dips out so fast. 0mph to roughly 50 after waving Ruggie to finish without him. Flies right out the practice court, overhead main campus, and outside the infirmary. Not in the mood to deal with the nurse or any of that crap. Comes in through the window.

Pissed. Pissed he didn’t think to check here, and pissed he should’ve had to. Did you learn nothing from the Spelldrive tournament? Broomwork isn’t easy, and not meant for two people unless someone with strong magic can support it.

Wants to know which idiot let you fall, but he’s been on edge all day. He can grill it out of you later. Scoot over and make room, he’s owed his mid-day nap. No. He’s not sleeping in a free bed. The scent of antibacterial spray is shanking his nose, so he needs yours to mask it.

In truth he is NOT okay. He’s very pissed and doesn’t sleep a wink. How could he? Pulls the curtain around your bed and flops over you with his tail curled around your leg. Hurts? Tough luck. Don’t pull a stunt like that ever again.

Azul is tweaking out - just so you know. First out of panic and then for the little sweettalk - even if he asked for it

Already used to you getting knocked over the head - Floyd's a bit too rough for his liking when swinging ya around, but what can he do?

Amidst packing up his belongings in a rush, the VIP lounge's empty so he can skidadle along like he normally would when alone. The moment the picture loads, he's honestly glad you texted vs. video call since it's easier to feign that cocky attitude of his via message.

Despite sassing you about the twins - he's a bit miffed you'd think for a moment he isn't coming himself. If anything to get the story from word-of-mouth vs. whatever Jade's going to relay.

Speaking of, oh look - one of the lounge couches is already set up to accommodate one injured prefect. A light meal and some tea too. Floyd's itching for a squeeze, but the most you get is a rough toss on the cushion before Azul's got him in one of those rare gridlocks where Floyd backs down. Did you think he couldn't? Octopi are freaking strong.

Rather than be outwardly miffed, he's already regained his composure during his walk to the infirmary.

So...you fell while trying to get an overhead shot of campus for the newspaper? And you were just...given access? To one of the high towers? You. A student without a broom or ability to cast a safeguard charm.

....Hmm. Someone gave you access? Curious. Only Professors are allowed to hand out access passes. Sounds a bit 'fishy' but he's satisfied. Looks like Floyd might get to play after all.

....oh he's not mad, he's just disappointed (ouch)

He's too busy to sit and worry over where you're at. Jamil trust (ed) that as the only other mildly-sane person at this school, you'd make educated decisions

Okay. That's a lie. You're not sane, but he accepted as much when he begrudgingly fell for said insanity...damn hearts and their lack of logic

Honestly? He was shocked you put him as an emergency contact. Flattered even. Until the simmering frustration began to boil - because of course you went of campus. Of course you took the trolly down to the Isle shops, and of course you got hit by a car trying to stop Grim from running across the street (he saw a sushi shop and bolted).

Of course Jamil can't just go on his own. He has to finish his tasks, get permission, and using the carpet means telling Kalim. Which will then lead to him getting worked up and lo behold it is an event now.

At least using the Al Asim name gets the permission granted without a fuss...Jamil just wants to see that you're okay in person for himself...and also lay into you for being reckless. No holding back.

Hah. Haha. -_-

Don't try getting out of this by acting cute with the little 'i love you' and grabby hands once he gets there. He's not that soft-hearted...yet. Jamil has his principles.

Kalim might jump off and barrel in past medical professionals without thinking twice. Jamil will do his casual glance-over, speak with the nurses, and pull up a chair once he realizes you won't be let go until morning. Great. Now it's just you three stuck in a small hospital room (Kalim got ya booted up to a private stay) as some strange impromptu sleepover.

Just...give him a bit. Wait for Kalim to pass out on the spare cot and then he'll stop looking so emotionally repressed. Believe it or not, he'd trade places with you in a heartbeat if he could.

Not because he feels obligated, but because getting the 'hey, your partner is off in a clinic miles away' call during his normal schedule was a heart attack Jamil wasn't prepped for.

He thought the worst news could be that you'd gone home without saying anything. Somehow? This was nearly on par. 90% on par.