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The Pitt

Jujutsu Kaisen

Attack On Titan

LEVI ACKERMAN

Dandelions & July - Levi and Y/N he'd out for another mission. A dangerous one, but that isn't anything new. However, you're reckless with your life and Levi gives you an earful, accidentally revealing his plans once the Titan War is over.

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Boku no Hero Academia

AIZAWA SHOUTA

The Cat's Meow - You’ve been careful to keep your identity hidden from the world… until one sleepless night when missing your sleepy, scowling husband just gets the better of you.

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Superheroes (All)

PETER MAXIMOFF / X-MEN

Promise You'll Stay - Peter is known to be reckless on missions, and Y/N can't help but worry for his speedster. Several empty promises and false hope are exchanged between them, and the anxiety it causes Y/N is sometimes too much. Especially with his boyfriend coming back from space? Fuck.

SIERRA SIX / THE GRAY MAN

Before You Start Dating

You, Satoru, and Suguru have been inseparable since your student days. The three of you were that trio at Jujutsu High.

Satoru was the loud one, Suguru was the responsible one, and you somehow ended up being the one who had to keep both of them from getting themselves killed.

You were all powerful sorcerers in your own right, which meant missions together were almost unfair.

Satoru would absolutely show off whenever you were around.“Did you see that?” “Yes, Satoru.” “Did you see how cool that was?”“Unfortunately.” Suguru would laugh every single time.

You initially assumed the two of them were just being affectionate in their own strange way. It takes you years to realize they are both completely, hopelessly in love with you.

And if you guys ever had to help each other with morning wood, you would all just say it's dudes being dudes.

Friends to Lovers

One day, you're all sitting together after a mission, exhausted, sharing convenience-store snacks. Your head ends up resting against Suguru's shoulder.

Satoru looks at you. Looks at Suguru. Looks back at you.

“Huh.”

Suguru immediately knows what he's thinking. “Don't.” “I didn't say anything!” “Your face did.”

You have absolutely no idea what they're talking about.

Eventually, the three of you have a conversation about your relationship, and somehow the hardest part is admitting that you're all attracted to each other.

Satoru makes it significantly less serious by saying: “So we've basically been dating for ten years without the kissing?” Suguru covers his face. You laugh so hard you nearly fall off the couch.

Dating Them

Your relationship is incredibly affectionate.

Satoru is the obvious clingy one.

Suguru pretends he's above it. He isn't.

Satoru will casually throw an arm around your shoulders while walking.

Suguru will quietly take your hand.

Five minutes later, you realize you're holding both of them. It's simply normal now.

Satoru loves stealing your clothes. Hoodies. Shirts. Jackets. Anything he can get away with.

“It looks better on me.” “That's literally my shirt.” “And?”

Suguru is much more respectful about your belongings. He'll ask before borrowing something. But once you tell him he can? You'll never get it back.

Suguru with You

Suguru is incredibly gentle with you.

He's the one who notices when you're exhausted before you even realize it yourself.

He'll quietly move your paperwork aside and tell you to sleep.

He remembers tiny things about you. How you take your coffee. Which foods you dislike. What kind of missions make you anxious. Which songs you play when you're stressed. He knows when you need affection and when you need space.

And he's incredibly proud of you. He'll compliment your abilities sincerely, never making you feel like you're being compared to Satoru.

If you're having a difficult day, Suguru doesn't immediately try to fix it. He just sits beside you. “You don't have to talk.” And sometimes that's exactly what you need

Satoru with You

Satoru is your biggest menace and your biggest supporter.

He will tease you relentlessly. Absolutely relentlessly.

But he's also the first person to defend you.

Someone insults your abilities? Satoru is already standing up. Someone underestimates you? “That's cute. Do you want to see what he can actually do?”

He has complete faith in you.

Satoru also loves making you laugh.

If you're having a bad day, expect approximately seventeen stupid jokes before he finally gets you to smile. He'll act like it's nothing. “Obviously I'm funny. You'd be miserable without me.”

But secretly, he pays very close attention to your moods.

The Three of You Together

You are basically a package deal. Gojo and Geto are still best friends. You're still their best friend. Except now everyone knows you're together.

The three of you have a very comfortable rhythm. Satoru starts arguments. Suguru ends them. You make fun of both of them.

Suguru and Satoru will sometimes have entire conversations through facial expressions.

You have absolutely no idea what they're communicating. “What?”“Nothing.” “You two just looked at each other.” “Did we?” “Yes.”“Interesting.” They are both terrible liars.

Public Affection

Satoru is shameless. Hand holding? Obviously. Arm around your waist? Constantly. Leaning against you? Whenever possible. He'll casually introduce you as: “My boyfriend.” Then pause. “And my other boyfriend.” Suguru just smiles.

You never quite get used to hearing it.

Suguru is subtler. His hand resting against your back. Fingers brushing yours. Fixing your collar. Standing close enough that your shoulders touch. He doesn't need to make a spectacle of affection. You always know.

Jealousy

Neither of them is particularly jealous. Mostly because they know you love them.

But Satoru absolutely becomes dramatic if someone is too interested in you. “Suguru.” “Hm?” “Someone is flirting with our boyfriend.” “I noticed.” “Should I do something?” “No.” “Can I?” “No.” “Can I at least be annoying?” Suguru sighs. “You were going to do that anyway.”

You eventually return to them and find Satoru looking incredibly pleased with himself. “Miss me?”

“You were gone for four minutes.” “Longest four minutes of my life.”

Domestic Life

When you're not dealing with curses, your relationship is surprisingly normal. Grocery shopping together. Cooking dinner. Falling asleep on the couch. Arguing over what movie to watch.

Satoru insists on choosing. Suguru vetoes ninety percent of his choices. You become the deciding vote. Somehow, Satoru still wins.

Breakfast is usually chaotic. Suguru cooks. You help. Satoru steals food. “Satoru.” “What?” “That's mine.” “Not anymore.” You chase him around the kitchen. Suguru watches from the counter, laughing.

When You're Sick

Suguru becomes your caretaker immediately. Tea. Medicine. Blankets. Soup. Everything.

Satoru becomes completely unbearable. “Are you dying?” “No.” “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “Should I call Shoko?” “Satoru.” “Should I call an ambulance?” “I'm fine.” “Should I call—”

Suguru throws a pillow at him. “Let him rest.”

Satoru immediately settles down. He'll sit beside you quietly, though. And when you fall asleep, he'll carefully pull the blanket higher over your shoulders.

After Difficult Missions

Being sorcerers means there are things the three of you understand that nobody else can. You don't have to explain why certain missions stay with you.

Suguru will sit beside you in silence. Satoru will lean against your shoulder. Sometimes none of you talk. You just stay together.

Because that's what you've always done. Before you were boyfriends. Before you were adults. Before everything became complicated.

You were three teenagers sitting together after missions, promising each other you'd make it through. And somehow, years later, you're still keeping that promise.

Their Favorite Thing About Loving You

Satoru loves that you can keep up with him. Not just in combat. In life.

You aren't intimidated by him. You don't treat him like he's untouchable. You make him laugh. You tell him when he's being an idiot. You see Satoru, rather than simply seeing the strongest.

Suguru loves that you understand him.

You don't need him to explain every emotion. You notice. You listen. You make him feel like he doesn't have to carry everything alone.

And both of them love that you're still their friend first. Because that's what makes the relationship work.

It’s 9:28pm when Frank finally comes home. You’ve been draped over the kitchen counter for the better half of an hour watching Penny nap in the crib across the hall, and Tanner play with the train track set he’s been building and taking apart. The cup of tea has gone cold in your hands, your laptop nearly dead. This isn’t anything new, unfortunately.

You honestly didn’t expect it. Given it being his first day back, you thought he’d try to get out as soon as possible, or that Robby would at least kick him out. You heard how that interaction went and from the few times you’ve met Robby, he seems like the type of hold a grudge.

Frank drops his backpack on the floor, shoes slipped off, and keys hanging on the hook. Tanner runs to hug his legs, asking to be held and you can see the wince in Frank’s back when he leans to scoop up the five year old. Still, Tanner doesn’t care and is buzzing in his dad’s arms.

“How was it?”, you call out as both boys come into view in the kitchen. Tanner finally crashes and is basically asleep in Frank’s arms.

“Pretty much what you expect. Robby’s giving me a hard time,” he says as he bounces Tanner slightly, swaying him gently. Even despite it all, he’s never been anything short of a good dad. That’s one of the reasons you stayed. That, and he’s ridiculously hot.

“Well, I’m not surprised.”

He nods, taking the fruit you offer him and continuing to speak with his mouth now full of an apple. “He’s going on sabbatical tomorrow, actually. So we had the new attending today too. Al-Hashimi, she’s pretty cool. A hell of a lot nicer.” You can’t help the chuckle that escapes. Yeah, Robby was a prickly one.

“Well, there’s leftovers in the fridge for you. I can put Tanner down while you eat, or I can run you a bath if you want.”

Frank just shakes his head, “Let me tuck this one to bed.” You nod, eyes following as you watch the two boys hike up the stairs, letting you go back to peeking at Penny in the nursery. She’s fast asleep, and that lets you relax as you fix Frank a cup of tea.

The kettle is brewing while you’re comfortably laying on the couch, decorative pillow supporting your neck and the throw blanket right across your shins. After what appears to be 20 minutes, Frank comes back with his hair all damp, shirtless and in sweat pants.

How the hell did you get so lucky? Probably you just gave really good head. (That’s not the main reason, but it sure helps.)

Frank throws himself under the blanket, moving to snuggle into your side. “I need to take the kettle off.”

He shakes his head, moving to place his face into the crook of your neck. “Just let me stay like this.”

“Frank, at least let me put the Jasmine in, let it soak.” He hates that you make sense, so he lets you squirm out of his grasp.

The hot water warms your hands as the tea bag soaks. Bringing it over to set it on the coffee table, Frank sits up to pull you by the waist into his lap. “The bath offer still up?”

You stir the loose string along the side of the mug, humming gently as you feel Frank’s hand massage your hips, guiding up and tracing the outline of your abs. His fingers slow and soft, seeping into your bones like the warmth sun on the early days. Gentle, knowing there’s two sound sleeping children across the hall, and your partner underneath you.

Rehab had been difficult for you both, but you understood. Your recovery was hard as well, and you knew firsthand how important it was to have someone there. Sure, it was drugs, but porn is hard to quit nonetheless.

“Okay, you drink your tea, and I’ll go run us a bath.”

“Us?” He smiles as he takes the mug from your hand.

You just smirk, kissing his forehead and rubbing his shoulder briefly. “Unless you have a problem with that?”

“No! No problem at all,” you kiss the corner of his lips, pushing off him to venture off into the en-suite bathroom.

The sound of the tub filling up echoed through the house, like white-noise filling the space of the silence after a long shift. A deep bone exhaustion had become permanently sketched on Frank’s face ever since he started rehab. The frown lines, the wrinkles, some sparse graying.

You throw in a bath bomb, hell even some rose petals you store in a jar from your last anniversary. Once the tub nears full, you walk back to the kitchen where Frank finishes his tea.

“Okay, go get in, and I’ll join you in a bit.”

“Mmm…” he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer. “How about you help me undress, and we both get in at the same time?”

He’s a cheeky fuck and you’re going to fall for it every time.

Sitting in the tub after slowly stripping him bare, it’s not about getting cleaned, Frank already did that after putting Tanner to bed. Was it redundant? Yes. However, right now Frank in sitting in a rose petal tub with his husband naked again his chest. Redundancy be damned.

His arms wrapped around you, tracing water designs along your shoulders and making shapes with the petals. There’s not much talking, just the sound of the water movement and the occasional sigh.

“Thank you, by the way.” He didn’t need to tell you for what, you already knew.

“You don’t have to keep thanking me.”

“I do, love. I do.”

The kisses peppered your skin gently, the fingers dancing along your birthmark, the wet hair brushed away from your neck.

“You’re the reason I’ve been able to make it through all this. You took care of me, Tanner, and Penny. You took on a lot, and I don’t deserve any of it.”

It’s true, it was hard having to balance baby sitters, extra hours, relapses. However, isn’t that love? To be there when it’s hard, when it’s difficult, when you feel like you’re drowning?

Frank put in the work. The hard, grueling, painful work. The crying at night, the reserved behavior when it got bad, the arguments of how you’d be better off without him. It wasn’t easy, far from it. However, relationships aren’t easy. There’s a difference between when things are hard, and when things get bad.

You know who Frank is, and you know he was having a hard time. It was difficult, but it only made you two stronger for it. You stuck by him, and he was never going to stop thanking you for it.

“I love you,” is all you could say, and he replies with a slow open mouth kisses along your neck. You practically feel the exhaustion in his movements.

You open the wrecked door with an annoying squeak. Like nails on a chalk board, you grimace and make a beeline for the bedroom. The first thing Toji notices is that you stop looking at yourself.

You still catch your reflection when you pass the mirror, still glance down at yourself when you're changing, still tug at your shirt and adjust the fabric over places you've been thinking about too much.

He's sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, watching you from beneath his messy black hair. "’Ya gonna keep doing that?"

You freeze. "Doing what?"

"Acting like the mirror ain't there."

You give him a tired look. You turn away again, and that's when Toji sighs. That low, tired sound of a man realizing you're about to be stubborn about something he already understands.

"Come here."

"I'm fine."

"Didn't ask."

You almost laugh. Toji catches your wrist the second you're close enough and gently pulls you between his knees. His hands settle around your hips. You look anywhere but at him.

"Hey." You finally meet his eyes. "What's going on?"

You swallow. "I don't like how I look." The words sit between you.

Toji doesn't immediately answer. His thumbs move slowly against your sides. "Today?"

You shake your head. "Recently."

His jaw tightens at the fact that you've been carrying this around without telling him. "How long?"

You shrug. "Don't know."

"Bullshit." He looks up at you. "You know how long."

You hesitate. "A few weeks."

Toji exhales through his nose. "Yeah." His hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer until you're standing against him.

"You've been staring at yourself and finding reasons to hate what you see."

You look down. "Pretty much."

"Dumbass." The word is so casual that you almost smile. Almost. Toji notices that too.

"There he is."

"What?"

"That face." You frown. "What face?"

"The one ya’ make when you're trying not to smile." You look away.

He grins. "Still cute."

Your expression immediately falls. "Don't." The grin disappears.

"Don't what?"

"Don't just say that because you're trying to make me feel better." Toji is quiet for a moment. Then his hands tighten around your waist.

"I'm not."

You look at him. He looks completely serious now.

"I've never been good at lying to make people feel better." That's true. Painfully true.

"So if I tell ya’ you're sexy, it's because I think you're sexy."

He pulls you down until you're sitting sideways across his lap. You instinctively try to adjust your shirt. His hand catches yours. "No."

You glance at him.

"Let it be."

"But—"

"Let it."

There's something different in his voice. Not demanding. No, it's a tone you recognize all too well. If it were for how good he is you would have ended it right then and there.

You let your hand fall. Toji looks at you for a long moment. Then, slowly, he puts you on the bed and stands up.

“Wanna go get it, baby boy?” He murmurs, taking his shirt off without breaking eye contact. 

“Toji–”

“I want my boyfriend in me. Ya’ gonna deny me that?” He chuckles, deep and heavy in his chest. His eyes follow your every move, lidded and now his hands massage your thighs. “Need me to get it for ya’, or ya finally got the courage to do it yourself?”

Toji 

You shakes your head. If there’s one thing more powerful than dysphoria, is seeing Toji eat his own words. Any chance to put him in his place is worth it.  

It’s hidden in one of your cabinets, black straps with the metallic ring in the middle. Did Toji buy it as a gag? You thought he did. That is, until you finally saw him under you, that stupid grin across his face and his pants under that gruff voice. 

The vision of a man that much bigger than you beneath you did something you didn’t know was possible. 

“Come here,” Toji calls you over. He doesn’t speak as he slowly moves to pull your shorts down, eyes never leaving yours. 

You nod, helping him as you step out of the fabric and watch him pull the straps up your thighs. “So sexy,” he mumbles, moving his face to kiss the inside of your thighs, looking up at you from underneath the navy blue silicone between you both. 

“I want ya’ above me, kay? Do it like the man ya’ are.” Toji says, already have stripped full himself, sliding back on the bed as he pulls you over him. 

You’ve done this enough times with him that the prep is quick, Toji working himself easily as his mouth gets busy marking your neck. He’s snappy with it, feeling his teeth pierce your skin and leave deep bruises. 

By the time you enter, Toji’s pulled his mouth off and holds the back of your neck tightly, forcing you to look into his eyes. “Fuck, babe.” He sighs, eyes staring at yours as you finally bottom out. “Ya’ so big. How the fuck I get so lucky?” 

You chuckle, slowly letting yourself melt into the feeling of seeing him like this. 

“Move ya’ arms,” Toji says, and before you can comprehend what that means, he moves to take your shirt off. 

You try to cover yourself, but aren’t quick enough to stop Toji from sucking at your chest. “Fucking love ya’ pecs,” he murmurs, mixtures of groans in his words. 

You throw your head back. You can’t even get upset or remember your discomfort with how much you love Toji’s tongue. For as filthy as a mouth he has, he sure knows how to use it. 

His stamina has always been ridiculous, so when he notes you getting tired he helps out with his hand. “Ya’ close?” You nod, eyes watering as your hips slowly start to give out. 

He pulls you in for a chest, hands snaking around to grab at your ass to keep you inside. It’s a snap of your hips with his hands for sure leaving red marks. 

“Ya’ lasting longer than me,” he chuckles after finishing all over your stomach. You can’t even catch your breath as he flips you around onto the bed to finish you off. 

With you both satisfied, you wipe the layer of sweat off your forehead and sits up on your palms. Toji helps with the strap, and tosses it on the floor to kiss you instead. 

“Ya’ feel better?” 

You nod, finally letting out a small smile. 

Megumi is sick. Not horribly sick.

The tiny body curled miserably beneath blankets on the couch. The children’s medicine lined up on the coffee table. The humidifier humming quietly near the TV while cartoons played at low volume in the background, and you sat right in the middle of it all with Megumi bundled against your chest. Tiny feverish face tucked beneath your chin. Half asleep.

“Drink a little more for me,” you murmur softly, holding the juice box carefully while Megumi takes two reluctant sips before turning his head away dramatically.

“No more. M’full.”

“You’ve barely drunk the apple juice.”

Megumi gives you the same unimpressed look his father does whenever you annoy him. Which is often. Unfortunately for him, you’re immune to the Fushiguro glare now.

“You’re still drinking more.” Tiny betrayed sigh.

From the kitchen, Toji Fushiguro watches the entire interaction silently while pretending to make coffee. Pretending being the key word, because he’s mostly just staring at the two of you. Again. He’s been doing that a lot lately. Watching.

Observing all the tiny things you do with Megumi that nobody ever taught you. The way you always test soup temperature against your wrist first. How you rub slow circles between Megumi’s shoulder blades whenever he coughs. How your voice automatically drops softer around him when he’s tired or sick or overwhelmed.

Toji leans one shoulder against the kitchen doorway, coffee mug warm in his hand. “You know he’s playin’ you, right?”

You glance up immediately. Megumi peeks guiltily over the blanket. Caught.

“He has a fever,” you defend.

“He’s had you wrapped around his finger since day one.”

“That’s not true.”

Megumi coughs weakly into your hoodie. You immediately look back down at him in concern. Toji snorts.

“Case in point.” You ignore him completely.

“Poor baby,” you murmur, brushing damp black hair gently off Megumi’s forehead. “You still feel warm.” Megumi nods miserably before burrowing deeper into your chest.

Toji’s chest tightens in that annoying way it keeps doing around the two of you lately, because Megumi doesn’t cuddle people. Never really has. Not even as a toddler. Toji remembers nights when his son would curl up alone at the far edge of the futon, small and quiet and self-contained like he already understood disappointment too young.

Now though? Now Megumi practically climbs into your skin whenever he feels bad. And you let him. Every single time.

“You take medicine yet?” Toji asks finally.

Megumi immediately shakes his head hard. “No.”

“You have to.”

“No.”

“You’re literally sweating through the blanket, brat.” Megumi grabs fistfuls of your hoodie immediately like you might personally protect him from modern medicine.

You sigh. “He already took one dose earlier.”

“Yeah, six hours ago.”

Megumi groans weakly. “Papa, don’t bully me.”

Toji looks offended. “I’m not bullying you.”

“You’re being mean.”

“You threw up on my shoes.” You choke on a laugh instantly.

Toji points accusingly. “See? This is why he acts like this.”

“You’re both dramatic.”

“Says the guy cuddling him like a Victorian child with the plague.”

“He’s sick.”

“He barely has a fever.” Megumi coughs pathetically again like he’s trying to prove a point.

Toji narrows his eyes immediately. “Manipulative.”

“Papa’s mean,” Megumi whispers to you.

“He is,” you agree solemnly.

“Unbelievable.” Despite the complaints, Toji crosses the room anyway. The couch dips beneath his weight as he sits beside you. Immediately warmer. Bigger. 

Megumi lifts sleepy arms toward him automatically without even opening his eyes fully. Toji freezes for half a second. Then mutters, “Spoiled kid,” while carefully pulling Megumi into his lap anyway.

The little boy settles instantly against his chest with a tired sigh. Your expression softens immediately at the sight. And there it is again… That feeling. The one Toji still doesn’t know how to name properly. Something warm and aching and terrifying all at once.

You lean sideways until your head rests lightly against Toji’s shoulder. Megumi trapped sleepily between the two of you beneath a mountain of blankets.

Domestic. Soft. Dangerous.

Toji grunts quietly. “You’re clingier than the kid.”

“You’re warm.”

“Hn.” Not denial. Never denial when it comes to you.

Megumi’s tiny fingers curl sleepily into the fabric of Toji’s shirt while his other hand stays latched onto your sleeve. Holding both of you. Toji looks down at him for a long moment.

“…Think he likes us.”

You smile sleepily against his shoulder. “Little bit.”

“Hm.” Silence settles after that. Cartoons flicker quietly across the TV screen. Rain taps softly against the apartment windows. And somewhere beneath the blankets, your foot brushes lightly against Toji’s. Neither of you move away. Megumi yawns suddenly. Then blinks up at both of you with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Love you.” The words come small. Sleepy. Automatic. Toji goes still instantly. You don’t. You answer immediately, warm and certain, “Love you too, sweetheart.”

Megumi smiles faintly before his eyes drift shut again. Still half asleep, he mumbles softly, “Love Papa too.”

Toji’s throat tightens so fast it almost hurts. The apartment goes very quiet. You glance up slowly. Toji’s staring down at Megumi like someone cracked his ribs open and reached inside. Because maybe nobody’s ever said it to him that easily before. Like it was obvious. Like love wasn’t something conditional or temporary or doomed to disappear eventually.

Megumi’s already asleep again by the time Toji finally exhales roughly through his nose. “…Kid’s got bad taste.”

You laugh quietly. Then shift closer until your face tucks lightly against his neck.

“You’re really good with him,” you murmur.

Toji scoffs softly. “You literally do all the hard parts.”

“You still show up.”

The words hit harder than they should. Toji looks away slightly. Because showing up never felt like enough before you came around. But now there’s warm blankets and medicine schedules and sleepy little voices saying love you into the quiet apartment air.

Now there’s you. Curled against his side like you belong there. And Megumi asleep safely between both of you. Home. Again. 

You don’t belong in their world. You’re not a sorcerer. You don’t throw cursed energy around or exorcise anything with a flick of your wrist. You just lift heavy, eat like it’s a sport, and somehow ended up knowing too much about curses for a normal civilian to be comfortable.

That alone is why they noticed you.

It starts with Kinji Hakari. He watches you like you’re something rare. Not in a subtle way, either. He’s leaning back in a chair when you walk into the underground club he runs, gold eyes tracking you like you’re already part of his territory. Like you’ve always been his, and everyone else just forgot to notice.

You’re nursing a drink, pretending to not see it. You watch a match, taunting someone on the sidelines as your bet lands. Hakari laughs. Behind him, you feel it before you see it. Someone else is watching you just as intensely. Kirara Hoshi.

She doesn’t say much at first. Just looks you up and down like she’s measuring something that belongs in a vault. Then she steps closer too. Not too close, finding her way to Hakari’s lap, eyes still on you. 

“Him,” she says quietly, like she didn’t believe it until now.

Hakari grins wider at that. After that, things shift.

It becomes clear one night when you walk out of the gym late. You’re tired. Shirt damp with sweat. Mind hazy in that good way, and there they are. Waiting. Hakari pushes off the wall like he’s been bored for hours, but the second you’re in front of him, that energy sharpens.

“You’re overworking yourself,” he says.

“I’m fine,” you answer automatically.

Kirara steps in closer, eyes narrowing slightly. “No,” she says. “You’re not.”

It’s not an argument. It’s a verdict.

Hakari leans down a little, close enough that you can feel his voice more than hear it. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” he says. “Especially not to us.”

That’s the thing. They’re not here to compete with you. They’re here like you’re already theirs to take care of. And for the first time, you realize it’s not just admiration. It’s devotion. Possessive, quiet, absolute devotion.

Kirara reaches out then, not grabbing, just brushing her fingers against your wrist like she’s confirming you’re still there.

“You’re coming with us,” she says simply. Hakari smiles. Like it was never a question.

You don’t really know when it becomes obvious what you’ve become. It just… does.

One day, you’re just a guy who lifts weights and knows a little too much about curses. And the next, you’re standing between two of the most dangerous people in Tokyo, feeling like the center of something you definitely didn’t sign up for, but also can’t quite bring yourself to step away from.

Kinji Hakari is leaning into your space like he belongs there. Like you belong there.

“You always this calm?” he asks, eyes half-lidded, voice lazy in that way that never actually means he’s relaxed.

You snort. “You always this annoying?”

That earns you a grin, sharp, pleased, a little too satisfied for a normal reaction. “Yeah,” he says. “Only around people I like.”

The words land heavier than they should. Before you can respond, there’s a shift beside you. Close. Precise. Kirara steps in like she’s been there the whole time, even though she wasn’t. Her eyes don’t leave you.

The changes are subtle. Hakari walking you home without asking. Kirara appearing beside you when you didn’t hear her approach, like she’s always been there just slightly out of sight.

The way they don’t compete for your attention. They share it. Effortlessly. Like there was never going to be a fight over you because the answer was already both.

One night, you finally say it out loud. “You two are doing that thing again.”

Hakari glances at you. “What thing?”

“That thing where you act like I’m—” you hesitate, searching for the word, “—already yours.”

There’s a pause. Kirara answers first.

“You are.” Simple. Unapologetic. No hesitation at all.

Hakari watches your face like he’s waiting for you to run.

When you don’t, his grin softens just slightly. “Yeah,” he says. “Pretty much.”

Your heart does something irritating in your chest. Because the worst part is… they’re not wrong in the way that feels scary. It feels inevitable.

Kirara steps closer, just enough that her shoulder brushes yours. Not accidental. Never accidental. “You don’t like it?” she asks.

You should say yes. You don’t. Instead, you exhale, quieter than you meant to.

“…I didn’t say that.” That’s all it takes.

Hakari’s expression shifts, something warmer sliding underneath the confidence.

“Good,” he says simply. Like that was the only answer he needed.

Later, it’s just the three of you on a rooftop. City noise below. Wind cuts lightly through your clothes. Hakari sits behind you, close enough that you can feel him there even when he’s not touching you. Kirara is in front of you, gaze steady, unblinking.

You’re trapped between them in the gentlest way imaginable. Which somehow makes it worse.

Hakari leans in slightly, voice low. “You ever think about what you want?” he asks.

You glance back at him. “That’s a loaded question coming from you.”

He smiles. “Answer it anyway.”

Your eyes drift back to Kirara. She doesn’t look away. Doesn’t give you an inch. So you answer honestly. “…I think I already have it.”

That lands. Something in the air shifts immediately, tight, electric, like the world just locked into place. Kirara’s expression softens by a fraction. Hakari exhales like he’s been waiting a long time to hear that.

“Yeah,” he says, almost satisfied. “That’s what I thought.” And when Kirara finally reaches for your hand, it doesn’t feel like the start of something. It feels like the confirmation of something that was already true.

It still feels a little unreal, even now. Like at any moment, you’ll wake up and it’ll go back to normal, back to being just you, just a gym rat who somehow got pulled into the orbit of something way bigger than himself.

Except it doesn’t. Because every time you reach for reality, there’s proof waiting.

A hand sliding into yours without hesitation. A voice calling your name like it’s the most natural thing in the world. A presence at your side that never really leaves.

Kinji Hakari makes it the least subtle. He doesn’t really try to.

You’re sitting on the edge of his bed in his place, and he just drops down behind you, arms wrapping around your waist like it’s instinct. Like it’s always been allowed.

“You’re tense,” he says against your shoulder.

“I’m always tense,” you reply.

“Yeah,” he hums, squeezing you a little tighter. “But now you’ve got people to fix that.”

There’s a soft sound from the doorway. You don’t even have to turn to know who it is. Kirara steps in like she owns the air in the room.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at you, really looks, and then at Hakari holding you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Then she walks over. No hesitation. She sits on your other side and leans in, pressing her shoulder against yours like she’s claiming the remaining space.

“Move over,” she says to Hakari.

He grins. “Make me.”

You sigh. “Don’t start.”

Kirara doesn’t even look at him. “He’s mine too.” That shuts him up for half a second.

Then Hakari laughs, soft, amused, almost proud. “Yeah,” he says. “He is.”

And just like that, the tension disappears. Not because it resolves into conflict. Because it never was one. They just… share you. Effortlessly. Like it’s the most natural arrangement in the world.

Later, you’re out with them in public. Which is still something you’re getting used to. People stare sometimes, mostly at them, occasionally at you when they notice you’re somehow standing between two walking disasters like it’s safe.

You try to ignore it, but Hakari doesn’t. He notices everything. A glance too long. A step too close. A stranger lingering too near. He slides an arm around your shoulders without thinking. Not possessive in a loud way. Just certain.

Like yes, this is mine, but more importantly, this is where I am.

Kirara does something quieter. She takes your hand. Interlaces her fingers with yours like it’s the most normal thing she could possibly do. No announcement. No performance. Just connection.

“You’re distracted,” she says.

“I’m always distracted,” you repeat.

She squeezes your hand once. “Not anymore.”

Hakari leans down slightly. “We’re right here, you know.”

You glance between them. “…Yeah,” you say softly. “I know.”

And you do. That’s the thing. It’s not overwhelming anymore. It’s grounding.

That night, you end up back with them again. Somewhere between joking and talking and nothing in particular, you end up sandwiched between them on a couch that’s definitely too small for three people.

And nobody moves. Nobody wants to.

Hakari is warm at your back, chin resting lazily near your shoulder like he’s already halfway asleep.

Kirara is curled into your side, her head tilted slightly against you, fingers still tangled with yours like she forgot to let go and decided she never needed to.

“You ever think about leaving?” Hakari asks suddenly.

It’s casual. Almost lazy. But you feel Kirara go still against you.

You don’t answer immediately. Not because you don’t know, but because the answer feels too obvious to say out loud. So instead, you shift slightly, leaning more into both of them.

“…No,” you say. A pause.

Then Hakari exhales, like something in him settles. “Good,” he says quietly.

The apartment is warm when Toji Fushiguro gets home. Warm in that quiet, lived-in way he still hasn’t fully gotten used to. There’s laundry folded on the arm of the couch. Tiny sneakers kicked off by the door. The fridge hums steadily beneath a clutter of magnets you and Megumi collected from cheap grocery stores and corner shops like they were priceless souvenirs.

Home. His home.

The thought still catches strangely in his chest sometimes.

It’s late. Later than he promised he’d be. The job ran long, then traffic got backed up halfway through the city, and now exhaustion sits heavy in his bones as he shrugs off his jacket. 

Usually by this point, Megumi’s asleep already. Usually you’re curled on the couch waiting up for him with some shitty reality show playing quietly in the background. But you’re three states away for work this week, and the apartment feels different without you in it. Too quiet.

Toji rubs at the back of his neck as he steps farther inside. “Megs?” No answer.

His brows knit immediately. The TV glows softly in the darkened living room, muted cartoons flickering against the walls, and there, curled into the corner of the couch beneath one of your blankets is Megumi.

The little boy’s shoulders shake silently. Toji freezes. “…Megumi?”

Megumi jerks slightly at the sound of his voice. Toji’s stomach twists immediately. His son’s face is blotchy red from crying. Tears cling wetly to his lashes while he presses both fists hard against his eyes like he’s trying to stop more from coming out.

Toji moves closer automatically. “What happened?”

Megumi shakes his head hard.

“Hey.” Toji crouches carefully in front of the couch. “Talk t’me, brat.”

Another shake. Then a tiny broken hiccup. Toji feels genuine panic start crawling unpleasantly up his spine. Megumi rarely cried like this anymore. Not since you. Not since the apartment started feeling stable and warm and safe.

Toji reaches out instinctively, rough palm brushing against the little boy’s knee. “C’mere.”

Megumi immediately scoots backward instead. “No.” The word is tiny. Wobbly. But it still hits Toji square in the chest.

“…What?”

“I want dad.”

Toji blinks once. His exhausted brain struggles to process the sentence properly. “I’m right here.”

Megumi’s face crumples harder instantly. “No,” he sobs, voice cracking. “I don’t want papa.”

The words land like a punch. Toji goes still.

Megumi curls tighter into the blanket, crying openly now. “I want dad…”

And suddenly Toji understands. Not papa. Dad. You.

The apartment goes strangely quiet around him for a second. Megumi’s tiny shoulders shaking beneath your blanket. Your blanket. The one Megumi drags around the apartment whenever you travel because it smells like your detergent and the stupid citrus fabric softener you always buy.

Toji stares at his son silently, and something in his chest aches so hard it almost feels unbearable. Because Megumi misses you. Not casually. Not in the vague fond way kids miss adults sometimes. No. This is the kind of missing that lives deep in little bones. The kind built slowly over bedtime stories and packed lunches and cartoon pancakes and warm hands helping tie tiny shoes before school. You carved yourself into Megumi’s life so gently that neither of them noticed it happening.

Until now.

Toji swallows hard. “…Hey,” he says quietly.

Megumi keeps crying. Toji’s never been good at this part. He knows how to fight. Survive. Bleed quietly. But comforting people… Especially people he loves… Still feels like trying to hold water in scarred hands.

He sits carefully on the edge of the couch instead. The cushions dip beneath his weight. Megumi doesn’t move away this time.

“That bad, huh?” Toji mutters softly.

Megumi sniffles miserably. “He always reads m’story.”

The tiny devastated way he says it nearly kills Toji instantly, because yeah, you do. Every night. Even when exhausted. Even when Megumi asks for the same dinosaur book six times in a row.

Toji rubs a hand slowly over his jaw. “He’ll call tomorrow.”

“I want him now.” Christ. Toji closes his eyes briefly. Then sighs.

“C’mere, Megs.” 

This time, after a long hesitant second Megumi crawls into his lap. Still crying. Toji wraps both arms around him automatically, holding the little boy carefully against his chest while tiny fingers clutch desperately at his hoodie.

“He said four sleeps,” Megumi mumbles tearfully.

“Yeah.”

“But it’s too many.”

Toji exhales slowly through his nose. You’d only been gone two days, and apparently both of them were handling it badly. He rests his chin lightly against Megumi’s messy hair.

“He misses you too, y’know.”

Megumi sniffles. “Really?”

“Hn.”

“How do you know?”

Because the apartment feels colder without you in it. Because Toji keeps reaching for you in bed before remembering the sheets beside him are empty. Because dinner tastes wrong when someone isn’t nagging him about eating vegetables. Because the silence feels heavier now that he’s learned what your laughter sounds like filling it.

But Megumi’s six.

So Toji just says quietly, “He called twice t’day askin’ about you.”

Megumi brightens slightly at that. “He did?”

“Wouldn’t shut up about how you’re probably forgettin’ to brush your teeth.”

“I never forget!”

“That’s what I said.”

Megumi huffs weakly against his chest. Toji’s hand drifts up automatically, fingers combing carefully through soft black hair.

He learned that from you. Everything soft, he learned from you. The realization settles heavily in his chest. A year ago, this apartment was barely livable. Megumi barely spoke. And Toji… Toji thought family was something that happened to other people.

Now his son cries because he misses bedtime stories from the man who painted over water stains and made clown pancakes and loved them both stupidly enough to stay.

“Papa?”

“Hm?”

Megumi tilts his head back slightly, eyes still watery. “Do you miss him too?”

Toji stills. Dangerous question. Tiny little thing. But dangerous. Megumi watches him with your same quiet patience. Waiting.

Toji looks away first. “…Yeah,” he mutters eventually.

The word comes rough. Honest. And maybe that’s what finally breaks something open in him. Because saying it out loud makes it real. You’re not temporary anymore. Not some soft thing passing through their lives. 

You’re woven into this place now.

Into Megumi.

Into him.

Megumi nods sleepily like the answer makes perfect sense. “Me too.”

Toji huffs out a quiet laugh through his nose. “Yeah, I know.”

The crying finally slows after that. Megumi sags heavily against him, exhausted from all the tears. Toji glances toward the clock. Too late to call you. You’re probably asleep in some hotel room across the country.

Still, he reaches for his phone anyway. Megumi notices immediately.

“Calling dad?”

“Nah.” Toji opens the camera instead.

Megumi blinks. “What’re you doing?”

Toji angles the phone carefully toward the two of them. “Quit lookin’ confused,” he mutters. “He’s gonna lose his mind if he finds out you cried this hard without him.”

Megumi giggles weakly despite himself. There it is. That tiny sound. Toji snaps the picture before Megumi can hide his face. Then another. One where Megumi’s tucked sleepily against his chest beneath your blanket. Safe. Loved. Home.

Toji stares at the photo for a long second before finally typing out a message beneath it.

your kid misses you.

think he’s emotionally manipulative.

come home soon.

He hesitates. Then adds, after another second:

we both do.

Megumi’s already half asleep against him by the time the message sends. Toji sets the phone aside carefully before leaning back into the couch. 

There were exactly three things Nanami Kento feared in life.

First: unnecessary overtime. Second: poorly written reports. And third:  His six-year-old son after spending too much time with Satoru Gojo.

“Tashi,” Nanami said with the exhausted calm of a man one inconvenience away from spiritually leaving his body, “why is there glitter in my briefcase.”

Tiny footsteps froze somewhere down the hallway. Silence.

Then, “Oops?”

Nanami closed his eyes slowly. From the kitchen, you physically bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing, because unfortunately, your son was adorable. Horrifying, but adorable.

Nanami looked down at the shimmering disaster coating his paperwork with the same expression people usually reserved for natural disasters.

“How,” he spoke flatly, “was this an accident?”

“I was working on a project.”

“The school didn’t tell us you have a project.”

“That’s because it’s for fun!” Tashi defended immediately while peeking around the hallway corner.

There he was. Tiny. Bright-eyed. Entirely too energetic for eight in the morning. Your son looked like Nanami in coloring alone. Blonde hair, familiar eyes, but personality-wise? The child had somehow inherited every chaotic trait Gojo possessed despite sharing absolutely no DNA with the man. Which was unfortunate, especially because Gojo encouraged it. Aggressively.

“Kids need whimsy, Nanami,” Gojo had once declared while helping Tashi tape googly eyes onto every framed photo in your apartment.

Nanami had nearly thrown him out. Now Tashi stood in the hallway covered suspiciously in marker stains while Nanami carefully dumped glitter from his briefcase directly into the trash.

“You told him not to do arts and crafts near your work bag,” you reminded gently.

“I did.”

Tashi gasped dramatically. “I forgot.”

Nanami stared at him. The tiny liar stared back. Then Tashi smiled, exactly like Gojo. Bright. Shameless. Dangerous. Nanami looked toward the ceiling briefly.

“Perhaps this is punishment for something I did in a previous life.”

You snorted into your coffee. Tashi immediately perked up. “Papa laughed, so I’m not in trouble anymore.”

“You are absolutely still in trouble,” Nanami replied.

Tashi’s shoulders slumped. “Aw.”

The problem with Tashi was that traditional discipline simply did not work on him. Lectures? Ineffective. Timeouts? He’d somehow turn them into games. Confiscating sugar? He’d cry like a Victorian orphan for twenty minutes until even Nanami folded emotionally. The child operated entirely on cartoon logic and unearned confidence. And unfortunately Gojo found him hysterical.

“Mini-me!” Gojo had once announced proudly while Tashi hung upside down off the couch cushions wearing sunglasses indoors. Nanami didn’t know how he felt about that.

Things only got worse once Tashi started school. You’d received three phone calls that month alone. One because Tashi had somehow convinced two classmates that the principal was secretly a vampire, and was convincing them to bring garlic to school. One because he’d filled his teacher’s desk drawers with candy wrappers because he was bored. And one because he’d released a ladybug collection into the library. 

Nanami sat through every parent-teacher conference looking more exhausted each time.

Meanwhile Tashi usually sat beside him swinging his legs innocently while whispering things like, “Nobody got hurt, Dada.” “It was funny.” “I just wanted to make people smile.”

Today’s issue, unfortunately, involved paint. A lot of paint. You walked into the living room after hearing suspicious giggling only to stop dead in your tracks. “…Oh no.”

The coffee table was covered in tiny handprints. Blue paint streaked across the floor, and in the middle of the chaos sat Tashi and Gojo together cross-legged on the carpet like two criminals at a crime scene.

Gojo looked up cheerfully. “Welcome home!”

Tashi waved paint-covered fingers. “We made art!”

You stared at the wall. There was now a mural. A huge mural. Involving dinosaurs. The wall you had just painted two weeks ago. You inhaled deeply. Gojo visibly sensed danger immediately and pointed at Tashi.

“He was the mastermind.”

“Meanie!” Tashi gasped.

Nanami walked in three seconds later. Stopped. Looked at the wall. Then quietly sat down on the couch without saying anything.

You recognized that silence. Oh, he was gone mentally.

“Tashi,” Nanami said eventually, voice oddly calm, “why.”

“We got inspired.”

“By what?”

Gojo raised his hand proudly. “Creativity.”

Nanami looked genuinely close to tears, or exhaustion, or frustration. “I work ten hours a day.”

“You sure do, buddy,” Gojo agreed.

“You are not helping.”

The horrifying thing was that Tashi clearly expected Nanami’s reaction. Expected lectures. Expected sighs. What he didn’t expect was you quietly saying his name. Just once.

“Tashi.”

Immediate silence.

The room changed instantly. Gojo physically leaned away from the blast zone, because unlike everyone else, Tashi feared you. Not because you were mean. You weren’t.

But because you rarely got genuinely upset. Which somehow made it infinitely scarier when you were. Tashi slowly turned toward you with wide eyes.

“…Yes, Papa?” Tiny voice.

Oh, now he remembered manners. You crossed your arms slowly.

“What did we say about painting on walls?”

“…Paper only.”

“And did this wall look like paper to you?”

Tashi glanced nervously at Gojo, hoping he would save him. Gojo betrayed him immediately.

“Don’t look at me.”

“Sensei!”

“Sorry, kid. I’m not surviving this with you.”

Nanami covered his mouth suspiciously fast. You narrowed your eyes slightly.

“Tashi.”

The tiny menace wilted instantly. “…Sorry.”

There it was. The real secret. Tashi didn’t fear punishment. He feared disappointing you. Nanami noticed it too, expression softening immediately. Because beneath all the chaos and glitter and paint stains, Tashi loved you and Nanami more than anything. He just happened to be powered entirely by sugar and poor decision-making.

You sighed quietly before kneeling down beside him. “Come here.”

Tashi immediately launched himself into your arms with dramatic sniffles and small tears.

“I was making art.”

“I know you were.”

“The dinosaur needed a family.”

You blinked once, then looked back at the mural. Sure enough, the badly painted dinosaurs were holding hands. One in a suit, one wearing little glasses, and one tiny one in the middle.

Your chest ached instantly. Nanami looked over too. And just like that, some of the exhaustion melted from his face. “…Oh.”

Tashi peeked up at you nervously. “Are you still mad?”

“A little.” Tiny sad gasp.

“But,” you added carefully, brushing paint from his cheek, “I know you didn’t mean to make a mess.” Tashi nodded quickly against your shoulder.

Behind you, Gojo whispered dramatically to Nanami, “He’s somehow really scary.”

Nanami looked deeply emotional. “You have no idea.”

You shot both of them a look. Gojo straightened immediately. Nanami actually looked away to hide a smile.

Tashi wrapped his little arms tighter around your neck before mumbling quietly, “Sorry, Papa.”

You kissed the top of his messy blonde hair softly. “Next time we use canvas.”

“…A really big canvas?”

The apartment was suspiciously quiet. Which, in a household containing Ryomen Sukuna, Toji Fushiguro, and a four-year-old Megumi Fushiguro, usually meant something terrible was happening.

You narrowed your eyes slightly as you stepped further into the living room. “Megumi?”

Silence. Dangerous silence. Then… a tiny giggle.

You turned toward the couch just in time to see Megumi dive face-first beneath a blanket pile. Ah. So that was the game today. Unfortunately for him, both of his fathers were helping.

Toji sat sprawled across one end of the couch in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt that strained distractingly across his chest, looking entirely too pleased with himself for a grown man assisting in toddler espionage. Sukuna lounged on the opposite side with one arm draped over the back cushions, broad chest exposed thanks to the fact he apparently considered shirts a disgrace to the natural state. Both men looked deeply untrustworthy.

“You’re hiding him,” you accused immediately.

Toji looked offended. “Would never.”

“Mhm.”

Sukuna smirked lazily. “Maybe the brat disappeared.”

Another muffled giggle came from under the blanket. You stared flatly.

Sukuna shrugged. “Could be ghosts.”

“Toji.”

“What?”

“You’re smiling.”

“So?”

“That means you’re guilty.”

Toji’s grin widened immediately, scar pulling slightly at the corner of his mouth. God, the two of them together were unfair. Not even in an intimidating way anymore. Just… Big. Warm. Comfortable. Built like absolute monsters while simultaneously functioning as the world’s most dangerous weighted blankets.

You’d discovered very early into the relationship that both Sukuna and Toji ran warm naturally, which made cuddling with either of them addictive beyond reason. Especially after long days. There was something deeply healing about collapsing face-first into broad pecs and solid muscle while one of them lazily dragged a hand through your hair. Or worse… getting trapped between both of them on the couch. Which was exactly what happened now.

Before you could react, Toji hooked an arm around your waist and yanked you backward dramatically. You barely got out a surprised noise before landing across his lap with a heavy oomph.

“There,” Toji said easily, pinning you against his chest one-armed like you weighed nothing. “Now you can’t interrogate witnesses.”

“You’re literally obstructing justice.”

Sukuna snorted from the other side of the couch. Megumi’s tiny head finally peeked out from the blanket mountain. 

You pointed immediately. “Found you.” Megumi gasped dramatically before scrambling out entirely and launching himself toward you. Unfortunately, Toji still had you trapped in what could only be described as a very affectionate headlock.

“Help,” you told Megumi weakly. Megumi considered this carefully. Then climbed directly onto your stomach instead.

“Traitor,” you muttered.

Toji laughed quietly against the top of your head, chest rumbling warmly behind you. The sound did terrible things to your ability to function normally. Because annoyingly enough, both Sukuna and Toji had voices built specifically to ruin people. Deep. Rough. Sleepy around the edges at home in ways they never sounded around anyone else. 

Domesticity looked delicious on them, especially Toji. There was something genuinely unfair about a man built like a hitman casually helping his son color dinosaur pages at the kitchen table.

Sukuna reached over lazily and grabbed the back of your hoodie, dragging you sideways until your head landed against his chest instead. You sighed automatically at the contact. Warm. Solid. Comfortable enough to make you reconsider every responsibility you had for the rest of the day.

Sukuna looked unbearably smug immediately. “You always end up over here eventually.”

“You’re warm.”

“Told you.”

Toji scoffed. “I’m literally right here.”

“You’re also bony.”

“Bony?” Toji repeated, horrified.

You poked lightly at his ribs. “Sharp edges.”

“Toji loses his shit when you insult his muscles,” Sukuna informed you lazily.

“I do not.”

“You pouted for an hour last week because he called your shoulders ‘pointy.’”

“They are pointy,” you argued.

“Toji’s built like a coat hanger with abs.”

Megumi burst into tiny delighted laughter. Toji looked betrayed.

“You’re all dead to me.”

Despite his words, he immediately tugged you back against him again, one massive hand spreading across your stomach while Megumi climbed into Sukuna’s lap. The couch groaned dangerously beneath the combined weight of all four of you. Sukuna rested his chin briefly on top of Megumi’s messy hair while absently rubbing circles into your shoulder with his thumb.

Quiet settled over the apartment. Comfortable. Soft. The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows golden and warm while cartoons played quietly in the background.

You were half trapped between two terrifyingly powerful men and a sleepy toddler. Honestly? Perfect.

Megumi yawned suddenly, rubbing at his eyes. Toji immediately softened. It happened every time. The second Megumi looked sleepy or upset or sick, Toji transformed into the world’s most emotionally compromised father.

“You tired, kid?” Megumi nodded solemnly.

Sukuna snorted softly. “He fought to sleep for three hours and now suddenly he’s exhausted.”

“I wasn’t tired before.”

“Sure.” Megumi climbed clumsily off Sukuna’s lap and directly onto yours instead, small hands grabbing fistfuls of your hoodie.

“Papa.” Your chest melted instantly.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Up.”

Toji grinned immediately. “You created this problem.”

“You encouraged it.”

“And I’d do it again.”

You adjusted Megumi carefully against your chest, smiling when he immediately tucked his face against your neck sleepily. Sukuna watched the interaction quietly for a moment. Then his expression softened almost imperceptibly.

Most people would miss it. You never did. There was something strangely tender about Sukuna when it came to the two of you. Possessive still. Sharp around the edges, but soft in ways nobody else got to see. Especially during moments like this. Domestic little moments he pretended not to care about while secretly loving all along.

“You’re staring,” you murmured.

Sukuna hummed lazily. “You look comfortable.”

“I am comfortable.”

Toji hooked his chin over your shoulder from behind immediately. “He means you look cute.”

“I did not say that.”

“You were thinking it.” 

Sukuna rolled his eyes dramatically. Then reached over and pulled you closer anyway. Your face ended up half squished against his chest while Toji stayed pressed warm against your back. Completely trapped now, not that you minded. 

Honestly, you were pretty sure this exact scenario could heal you. Big muscly men holding you hostage through affection. Terrible fate.

You sighed contentedly into Sukuna’s chest.

Toji immediately smirked. “Hear that? That’s the sound he makes when he’s happy.”

“I’ll bite you.”

“You say that every time.”

Megumi, already half asleep against you, mumbled quietly, “Family cuddle.”

The room went soft instantly. Even Sukuna froze for half a second. Toji’s expression melted completely. And then Megumi, with the devastating emotional precision only small children possessed, sleepily reached one tiny hand outward toward both of them.

“C’mere.” Toji made the weakest wounded noise you’d ever heard from a grown man.

“Oh, we’re done for,” you whispered.

“Absolutely finished,” Toji agreed.

Sukuna muttered something about manipulative children while immediately pulling the blanket over all of you anyway. Which was how you ended up buried beneath two giant men and one sleepy toddler while late sunlight warmed the apartment around you.

The university library was your favorite place on campus for three very specific reasons.

One: it was quiet.

Two: people usually minded their own business.

Three: the third floor corner by the east windows had the best lighting and the least amount of interruptions.

Consistency mattered to you. You liked routines. Predictability. Familiar things. So every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, you sat in the same spot with your headphones resting around your neck, your notebooks organized in neat stacks while rain tapped softly against the windows outside.

And almost every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, he was there too. You noticed him long before you ever spoke to him. Mostly because he was difficult not to notice. Tall. Blonde. Always dressed neatly even compared to the rest of the exhausted college population stumbling around campus in hoodies and sleep deprivation. He wore watches that looked expensive and carried himself with the kind of calm composure that made everyone else seem louder by comparison.

He also always sat three tables away from you. Always. Like clockwork.

The first few weeks, you assumed coincidence.

Then it kept happening.

Same floor. Same time. Same quiet atmosphere.

He’d arrive with coffee in one hand and a stack of books in the other before settling into his seat with a tired sigh.

You learned his habits accidentally.

He highlighted important information in straight precise lines. He preferred physical textbooks over online PDFs. He drank his coffee too quickly and then stared at the empty cup for exactly 23 minutes before throwing the cup away. Sometimes he loosened his tie when frustrated with assignments.

You tried not to stare during those moments. Mostly unsuccessfully. You didn’t know his name at first. Only that his presence became strangely comforting. Familiar. Predictable. Safe. And maybe that sounded odd considering you’d never spoken to him, but there was something grounding about sharing quiet space with someone who understood library etiquette on a spiritual level.

Then one afternoon, your routine changed.

You arrived late because your Professor forgot to review the slide deck answer key. Not horribly late, just enough to realize with immediate distress that your usual seat was occupied. You stopped short near the table, fingers tightening slightly around your books. 

Someone else sat there laughing loudly into their phone. Wrong. Everything felt wrong instantly. You hated when plans changed unexpectedly. The noise. The disruption. The sudden feeling of being untethered from something familiar. You stood there awkwardly for several long seconds trying to figure out where else to go without feeling like your skin fit incorrectly.

Then—

“You can sit here.”

You looked up sharply. The blonde man from three tables away was watching you calmly over the top of his book.

“There’s another chair,” he added after a moment.

Your brain stalled briefly. “Oh.”

“You look distressed.”

“I am.” Something unexpectedly amused flickered across his face. Understandable, honestly. Most people didn’t answer that kind of statement so bluntly. 

You hesitated before finally walking over carefully and sitting across from him. The chair felt unfamiliar. The angle of the light was different… but at least it was quiet.

“Thank you,” you said after a moment.

“You’re welcome.” His voice was lower up close. Calm. Steady. You liked it immediately.

For several minutes, silence settled between you comfortably. Not awkward silence. Just shared quiet. The kind you preferred. Then he glanced up again.

“You always sit by the window.” You blinked.

“You noticed?”

“You always organize your notes by color.”

Your face warmed slightly. “You noticed that too?”

“It’s hard not to.” He said it matter-of-factly rather than judgmentally.

That helped. Most people noticed things about you eventually. The routines. The stimming. The way you got overwhelmed easily in crowded places or struggled with sudden changes. Some reacted strangely afterward, but he just sounded observant. Not cruel.

You looked down at your notebook for a second before answering quietly. “I like patterns.”

“They’re reliable.” You looked up immediately.

His expression stayed calm as he turned a page in his textbook. Reliable. Not weird. Not obsessive. Not childish. Reliable. Something in your chest loosened unexpectedly. “…Yeah.”

The corner of his mouth tilted upward slightly. “I’m Nanami, by the way.”

You told him your name and somehow, after that, talking became easy. Not instantly. Not perfectly. But easier than it usually felt with new people. 

Nanami never interrupted you when you spoke. Never looked impatient when you needed extra time gathering your thoughts. Never treated your habits like inconveniences.

If the library got too loud, he’d silently slide one of his noise-canceling earbuds across the table toward you without making a big deal out of it. If you forgot to eat while studying, he’d place convenience store snacks beside your books with quiet reminders.

“You need actual food to function.”

“You sound like my doctor.”

“I’m correct though.”

“…Unfortunately.” 

And little by little, your routines shifted. Now there were two coffee cups on the table instead of one. Two backpacks resting beside the chairs. Two people occupying the quiet corner by the east windows every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon.

People started assuming you were together long before either of you acknowledged the possibility yourselves. It happened slowly for you. Feelings were complicated sometimes. Hard to identify until they became overwhelming enough to demand attention.

But Nanami… Nanami was patient with everything. Including you.

Especially you.

One evening during finals week, the library stayed open late. Rain hammered softly against the windows while most students downstairs panicked over exams. You sat cross-legged in your chair trying to finish an essay while your fingers tapped restlessly against your sleeve.

Too much noise. Too many people. Too many thoughts pressing against each other in your head.

Nanami noticed immediately. “You’re overwhelmed.”

It wasn’t a question. You exhaled shakily. “A little.”

Without another word, he closed his textbook and stood. You looked up in confusion.

“Come on.”

“Where?”

“The vending machines downstairs are broken,” he said calmly. “Which means nobody’s using the courtyard.”

“…It’s raining.”

“Yes.” You stared at him. Nanami adjusted his glasses slightly.

“You like the rain.” Your chest ached unexpectedly, because he remembered things.

Small things.

Important things. He remembered how you liked to sit outside in the rain and listen to the water on the pavement. The rain meant less people outside, and the sound was calming like the waves.

You followed him outside quietly. The covered courtyard was cool and nearly empty, the sound of rainfall soft instead of overwhelming now that it wasn’t trapped inside crowded walls.

Better. Breathable.

Nanami leaned beside you against the railing. Neither of you spoke for a while. You watched rainwater ripple across the pavement below. Then quietly, you said, “Thank you.”

Nanami looked over. “For what?”

“You notice when things are hard.”

Something softened in his expression immediately. “You notice things about me too.”

That was true. You noticed when he got tension headaches from studying too long. When he was tired enough to loosen his tie. When he pretended not to be stressed so other people wouldn’t worry.

Silence settled again. Comfortable. Warm.

Then Nanami spoke quietly. “I think,” he said carefully, “you’re the easiest person I’ve ever been around.”

Your heart stumbled hard against your ribs. You looked at him quickly. Nanami met your gaze steadily. No teasing. No uncertainty. Just honesty.

“You don’t make me guess what you mean,” he continued softly. “You don’t play games with people. Being around you is… peaceful.”

Nobody had ever described you that way before. Too blunt sometimes. Too quiet. Too particular. Too much. But peaceful? Your throat tightened unexpectedly.

Nanami seemed to notice immediately because his expression softened further. “You don’t have to say anything back right now.”

“I want to,” you admitted quietly. The rain filled the silence for a moment. Then you looked down at your hands before speaking carefully. “You make things feel less loud.”

Nanami inhaled softly, and before you could second-guess yourself, you added, “I think I like you.”

For the first time since meeting him, Nanami Kento looked genuinely caught off guard. Not upset. Just surprised. Then something warm unfolded slowly across his face. Small. Soft. Real.

“I was hoping you would,” he admitted. Your stomach flipped violently.

Nanami stepped a little closer beneath the shelter of the courtyard roof. Close enough that his shoulder brushed yours lightly. Not overwhelming. Not sudden. Just there.

Giving you time to pull away if you wanted. You didn’t.

“You know,” he said quietly, “we’ve technically been dating emotionally for at least two months. If the way our schedules line up now are anything to measure by.”

You laughed unexpectedly. Nanami smiled immediately at the sound.

God. You loved his smile. That realization hit hard and immediate. Dangerous. Wonderful.

Everyone in the emergency department noticed the new intern’s crush on Frank Langdon before Frank did. Mostly because Frank was oblivious to things unless they were actively bleeding.

“You need to stop staring at him like that,” Javadi warned quietly on the second day of the rotation.

The intern, Claire, twenty-six, intelligent, ambitious, and unfortunately convinced she could flirt her way through intimidation, didn’t even look embarrassed. “I’m not staring.”

“You haven’t even typed a word in your chart.”

“Not that big of a deal.”

Whitaker glanced over from the computer station. “Uh, yeah it is,” still charting for a patient he saw 3 hours ago.

Across the ED, Frank was reviewing labs at the nurses’ desk completely unaware of the gossip occurring around him. Claire sighed dreamily.

“I mean, come on.”

Javadi looked horrified already. “No.”

“He’s hot.”

Whitaker stopped typing. 

“What?”

“You can’t say that.”

“I can think it.”

“You’re saying it out loud.”

Claire shrugged shamelessly. “Have you seen him?”

Unfortunately, everyone had. Frank Langdon had the deeply unfair combination of exhaustion and attractiveness that seemed genetically engineered to ruin people’s judgment.

The brushed back hair that falls in front of his face. The sharp sarcasm and quick wit. The tired yet aqua eyes. The competency and his skill. It was a problem, but also, “Langdon is engaged,” Whitaker said carefully.

Claire waved a dismissive hand. “That’s not the same as married.”

Javadi stared at her like a scared sheep. “That is an insane sentence.”

“I’m just saying, people get engaged all the time.”

“And stay engaged,” Whitaker added.

Claire grinned slightly. “Or they don’t.”

Unfortunately for literally everyone, she chose that exact moment to walk directly towards Langdon while he made his way over to an available station to read a chart. Frank looked up from the chart as Claire leaned casually against the desk beside him.

“Dr. Langdon.”

“Mm?”

“You busy tonight?”

Frank continued typing without looking up. “Yup.”

Claire laughed like he’d said something charming instead of dismissive. “Well, if you weren’t…”

Frank finally glanced up briefly. “I am.” Still oblivious.

Javadi covered her face with both hands. Claire persisted anyway. “You know,” she said lightly, “I heard someone say you’re engaged.”

“I am.”

“Serious relationship?”

Frank blinked once. Then slowly looked at her over the top of the computer, both confused and somewhat offended. “Yes,” he said flatly. “That is generally how engagements work.”

Javadi couldn’t help the snort, and Whittaker was trying his hardest not to give a crazy side eye. Claire, somehow, remained entirely undeterred.

“That doesn’t answer whether you’re happy.”

Okay. Now the room got weird. Several nearby nurses who were totally not eavesdropping, Perlah and Princess, visibly stopped pretending not to listen. Even Robby glanced over from his walk to Central 5 with an exhausted expression that clearly said please do not make this my problem.

Frank stood up from the computer carefully. For the first time in all the conversation, he actually looked mildly annoyed. “I’m very happy,” he said evenly.

Claire smiled slightly. “You sure?”

Javadi muttered, “Oh my God.”

Frank opened his mouth to answer—

“Ah, look what the cat dragged it! Isn’t it time for school?” Dana’s charm announced as Frank turned toward her voice. Everything changed instantly, because the second Frank looked up and saw you walking inside holding Tanner’s hand with little Penny balanced against your hip his entire face softened.

“There’s my boys,” Frank said automatically.

Oh.

You smiled the second you spotted him, and unfortunately for Claire’s remaining confidence, you were absurdly handsome. Not just attractive. Model attractive. The kind of handsome that made strangers accidentally lose their train of thought mid-sentence. Tall, effortlessly put together even in casual clothes, Tanner clinging sleepily to one hand while Penny buried her face shyly against your shoulder. Frank looked at you like you personally hung the moon.

Claire went completely silent.

Tanner spotted Frank first. “Dad!”

Frank barely had time to crouch before Tanner launched himself directly into his arms. Frank laughed immediately, catching him easily despite nearly getting knocked backward. “Okay, wow. Hi.”

“You missed breakfast.”

“I know, buddy. I had early rounds.”

Penny reached for him next from your arms with tiny grabby hands. “Daddy, “ and there it was. The final fatal blow. Frank stood, taking Penny carefully against his chest while Tanner remained attached to his side like a barnacle.

“How’s my girl?” he murmured softly. This was apparently what Frank Langdon looked like as a father and fiancé, and honestly it was unfair to witness.

You stepped closer, smiling tiredly. “Sorry to ambush you at work. Tanner left his backpack in your car and apparently this was an emergency.”

“It is,” Tanner defended seriously.

Frank nodded solemnly. “This is why I told you to check your stuff before bed.” You laughed softly. Frank looked at you immediately after, instinctive and warm and so obviously in love it bordered on embarrassing.

You reached over automatically and adjusted Penny’s tiny shoe where it had slipped half off her foot. “Alright, I just need your car keys.”

Frank nodded, telling you his locker combination as he peppered kisses to Penny’s sleep temple. Another devastatingly domestic detail. Claire looked like someone had hit her with a folding chair.

Frank handed Penny carefully back to you before leaning down quickly toward Tanner. “Be good for Papa, okay?” Tanner nodded.

Then Frank stood again, one hand brushing briefly against your waist as he leaned in close enough for only you to hear, “Wanna run me a bath and wait for me in it?,” he murmured.

You grinned. “You say that like I wasn’t already planning to.”

Frank smiled helplessly, and there it was again, that look. That stupidly soft expression that completely transformed him around you and the kids. Like this wasn’t just his family, but it was his world.

Then Penny grabbed at his scrub collar one last time. “Kiss.”

Frank laughed quietly and kissed the top of her head first. Then leaned over and kissed you quickly too. Not dramatic or inappropriate, just familiar and easy. The kind of affection built from real love instead of performance. And somehow that made it infinitely more intimate.

Princess whispered to Perlah, “He becomes a different person around them. Almost normal.”

“You okay there, doctor?” The voice came from Claire.

Frank blinked at her like he’d genuinely forgotten she existed.

“Sorry?”

Claire looked between you, the kids, and Frank again. Then visibly gave up. “…Nothing.”

You looked mildly confused by the tension but thankfully didn’t ask questions. Instead you adjusted the kids on your hips. “We’ll get out of your hair.”

Frank nodded reluctantly. “I’ll be home by seven.”

“Liar,” Dana called immediately.

“Okay,” Frank corrected, “by nine.”

“Also a lie.”

Then, naturally, the chaos of the ED interrupted. “Langdon!” Al-Hashimi called from across the department. “Join me in Trauma Two now.”

Frank sighed dramatically. “Duty calls.”

You laughed under your breath. “We’ll save you leftovers.”

Then Al-Hashimi called for him again from Trauma Two. Frank grimaced. “I gotta go.”

“You should probably save lives, yeah.”

“Unfortunately.”

Tanner tugged his scrub sleeve before he left. “Love you, Dad.”

Frank melted instantly. “Love you too, buddy.”

Then he disappeared back into the chaos of the ED while you headed toward the locker with the kids. Entering the combination, you open the door and grab the car keys, spotting also the polaroid Frank had taken of you years ago. You were resting shirtless on the couch, the TV screen illuminating your face. You were laughing, and you can see the puppy sleeping on your lap. You forgot this photo existed.  

His keys were inside the pocket of his jacket. Fishing it out with Tanner impatiently tugging at your sleeve, you throw the keys with the color beaded keychain into your pocket. Turning out, you shout a quick goodbye to Dana, leading the kids into the staff parking lot to retrieve Tanner’s Spider-Man backpack. 

The entire south station stayed suspiciously quiet for several seconds afterward. Finally, Whitaker turned slowly toward Claire. “So,” he said carefully, “still feeling optimistic?”

Claire stared blankly toward the trauma bay where Frank had vanished.

“…I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped.

Javadi snorted loudly and looked smug. “We tried warning you.”

“His kids call him Papa?”

Dana pointed a pen at her. “They told ya’ it was serious,” because of course she overheard everything.

Claire looked genuinely humbled now. “Forget what I said.”

Ten months. Ten months of fluorescent rehab hallways, uncomfortable group therapy chairs, forced honesty, and learning how to exist without numbing everything inside his head. Ten months away from the emergency department.

Frank Langdon stood outside Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, staring up at the hospital like it might reject him if he walked too close. The building looked exactly the same. That almost made it worse.

Ambulances still screamed into the bay. Nurses still hurried through the sliding doors clutching coffees and charts. The familiar organized chaos of the ED buzzed somewhere beyond the walls. Life had kept moving without him.

Frank swallowed hard and finally stepped inside.

The smell hit him first. Antiseptic. Burnt coffee. Hospital soap. Home.

A few heads turned immediately when he entered the department. Some people smiled carefully. Others awkwardly looked away. Frank resisted the urge to turn around and leave. Then Dana spotted him from the nurses’ station.

“Well,” she said with that familiar drawl, “look what rehab finally coughed back up.”

The tension in his chest loosened instantly. Frank huffed out a laugh. “Nice to see you too.”

Dana walked over and pulled him into a quick hug before he could react. It caught him off guard. “You look better,” she said honestly as she pulled back.

“I feel better.”

“That’s new.”

“Yeah, terrifying experience.”

She eyed him for a second longer, like she was checking for cracks. Frank understood. The last time most people here had seen him, he’d been spiraling hard enough to wreck every relationship in his life. Including his marriage.

Dana’s voice softened slightly. “How’s Abby?” 

Frank looked away for half a second. That was enough answer already.

“Oh,” Dana said quietly.

“Yeah.”

She winced sympathetically. “Before rehab?”

He nodded once. “Guess there’s only so many times your husband can promise things’ll get better before you stop believing him.”

Dana’s expression shifted immediately. “Frank…”

“No, it’s fine.” He shrugged, though the movement felt forced. “Actually, it’s probably not fine, but it’s true.” The divorce papers had been finalized three months into treatment.

Abby had visited him once afterward. Just once. Not angry. Not cruel. Just tired. Frank honestly thought that had hurt worse. Dana squeezed his shoulder briefly. “You’re here now.”

“Yeah.”

“You nervous?”

“Violently.”

“That means you still have self-awareness. Good sign.” Frank snorted softly.

Before he could answer, Perlah perked up behind him and Dana with the radio. “EMS inbound. Twenty-four-year-old male, MVA versus utility pole. ETA two minutes.”

And just like that, the ED snapped back into motion. Instinct took over before Frank could think too hard about it. Trauma prep. Gloves. Monitors. Orders. A familiar rhythm flooded back into his body so naturally it almost scared him.

Maybe he still belonged here after all.

The ambulance doors burst open moments later.

“BP’s unstable,” a paramedic was saying quickly while steering the gurney inside. “Possible internal bleeding—”

Frank looked up automatically… and forgot literally every coherent thought in his head.The paramedic speaking was… Beautiful. There was honestly no other word for it.

You moved through the chaos effortlessly, navy uniform sleeves shoved up your forearms, radio clipped to your shoulder while you rattled off vitals with complete confidence. Your voice was steady. Your hands were steady.

Meanwhile Frank’s brain had abruptly stopped functioning altogether, because apparently rehab had not prepared him for whatever the hell this was. 

You glanced up mid-report. Your eyes met his briefly. Then did a tiny double take.

“…and heart rate’s one-forty,” you finished, noticeably slower.

Frank realized with horror that he was still staring. Dana elbowed him hard enough to nearly bruise a rib. “Oh my God,” she muttered under her breath.

“What?”

“You’re into the paramedic.”

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

Frank turned back toward the trauma patient immediately, face hot. This was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. He was a grown man. A doctor. A recently divorced recovering addict trying to rebuild his life. He should not be internally malfunctioning because one paramedic had nice eyes and forearms. Unfortunately, the situation worsened when you smiled at him.

“Need anything else, doctor?”

Doctor. The word should not have sounded like that.

Frank cleared his throat. “Uh. Nope. We’re good.”

Smooth. Incredible work, Langdon.

You nodded once and stepped back toward the ambulance bay.

Frank watched you leave for approximately three seconds before Dana slowly turned toward him with the most entertained expression he’d seen all day.

“…Frank.”

“What?”

“You know you just checked out a man mid-trauma.”

“I did not.” … “Okay,” he muttered. “Maybe a little.”

Dana stared at him. Then her eyes widened slightly. “Oh my God.”

Frank immediately hated that tone. “What?”

“You didn’t know.”

“Know what?”

“You like men.”

Frank opened his mouth. Closed it again. Because the horrifying thing was he genuinely didn’t know. Or maybe he’d never let himself know. His entire adult life had been built around expectations. Marriage. Career. Routine. There had never exactly been time to stop and unpack anything deeper. And now some absurdly pretty paramedic had smiled at him for five seconds and rearranged his entire understanding of himself.

Dana looked delighted. “This is the best day I’ve had in months.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You’re having a bisexual awakening in Trauma Two.”

“I am not having a bisexual awakening.” Right then, you walked back through the ambulance bay doors carrying paperwork. Frank immediately straightened.

Dana burst out laughing. “Oh, you absolutely are.”

You approached the desk casually, unaware of the psychological warfare currently occurring three feet away. “Forgot the transfer forms,” you explained.

Frank nodded like a man trying very hard to appear normal.

“Right. Forms. Important.”

You blinked once. Then smiled slightly.

“You okay there, doctor?”

Dana physically turned away to hide her laughter. Frank decided that since his dignity was already dying, he might as well commit fully.

“So,” he said, trying for confidence and landing somewhere near catastrophic, “you always save lives looking like that, or is today special?”

Silence. Dana made a chuckle noise. Frank immediately wanted the floor to swallow him whole. What the hell was that? Who says that?

You stared at him for exactly two seconds before laughing softly. Not mocking. Warm. Surprised.

“Oh wow,” you said. “That was terrible.”

Frank covered his face briefly. “I know.”

“No, genuinely impressive levels of terrible.”

“I haven’t flirted since like 2009. I’m operating on outdated software.” That earned another laugh from you. And suddenly the embarrassment felt worth it.

You leaned one shoulder against the counter. “For the record, though…”

Frank looked up cautiously.

“You’re still kind of charming.”

Frank blinked. “Oh.”

“You seem shocked.”

“I am shocked.”

You grinned. The overhead radio crackled from your shoulder then, dispatch calling your unit back out.

You sighed dramatically. “Duty calls.”

“Right.”

You started backing toward the doors before pausing.

“If the flirting software updates itself,” you said casually, “you could always ask me to dinner sometime.”

Frank stared at you.

Dana smacked his arm. “Answer him, idiot.”

“Yes,” Frank blurted immediately. “Absolutely. Yes.”

Your smile widened. “Good.” Then you disappeared back toward the ambulance bay, leaving Frank standing there looking completely stunned.

Dana folded her arms. “You got a date on your first day back.”

Frank still looked shell-shocked. “I think I’m having a medical emergency.”

“You’re having a crush.”

“Worse.”

–

Three days later, Frank stood outside your apartment building holding a bouquet of flowers and experiencing levels of anxiety usually reserved for active hostage situations. This was absurd. He was a physician. He regularly cracked chests during trauma codes.

Why was ringing one apartment buzzer more terrifying than emergency surgery?

Frank looked down at the flowers again. Too much? Too little? Were flowers too formal for a first date? Dana had said they were sweet. Whitaker had said they made him look “like a divorced dad attending prom.”

Neither opinion had helped. Before he could panic himself into leaving, the apartment door opened, and there you were. Casual clothes. Soft smile. Beautiful enough that Frank forgot every prepared sentence instantly.

“You brought flowers?”

His voice came out rougher than intended. “Yeah. I, uh—”

You took them gently from his hands. “They’re nice.”

“I spent more time than I would have liked picking them.”

You laughed quietly, stepping closer. The warm apartment light spilled across your face while Frank stood frozen on the doorstep wondering how someone could make nervousness feel this good.

“You clean up nice, Langdon.”

“You’ve seen me covered in patient blood.”

“Still counts.”

Frank smiled helplessly. For the first time in a long time, something inside his chest felt… lighter. Not fixed, not healed completely, but hopeful.

You tilted your head slightly. “You gonna stand out here all night, doctor?”

Frank finally exhaled a laugh. “Depends.”

“On?”

“You planning on making fun of my flirting the entire date?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good.” He smiled fully then, nervousness and all. “Would’ve been disappointed otherwise.”

By the time the ambulance doors burst open outside Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, your name had already spread through the emergency department twice as fast as the incoming trauma alert. Not because of the injury, but because of who you were.

“Wait…him?” Javadi whispered, nearly dropping a clipboard.

“No way," Trinity added.

“That’s actually…”

“The one in the perfume ads?”

“No, kids,” Princess hissed back. “That’s Langdon’s husband.”

You barely registered any of it. Pain consumed everything. Every bump of the gurney sent another violent shock through your body, white-hot agony ripping up your left leg so intensely it stole the air from your lungs. Your vision blurred beneath the harsh ambulance lights while the paramedic beside you kept one hand pressed against your shoulder.

“Stay with me, okay? We’re almost inside.” You tried to answer, but all that came out was a strained noise through clenched teeth. 

The accident replayed in ugly flashes behind your eyes. The photoshoot had been massive. Expensive. One of those ridiculous luxury campaigns where everyone wore black turtlenecks and pretended staring into the distance was a complicated art. There had been towering lights suspended over the set, cameras everywhere, assistants running around screaming about timing. Then the rigging snapped.

You remembered hearing someone yell, then the spotlight crashed down, then nothing but pain.

“Thirty-two-year-old male,” the paramedic rattled off as the doors to the trauma bay flew open. “Crush injury from falling equipment. Suspected femur fracture, possible pelvic involvement. Patient remained conscious. Blood pressure trending down en route.”

Dr. Robby stepped forward immediately, calm and focused in the middle of the chaos. “On my count. One, two, three.” They transferred you onto the trauma bed. The movement nearly made you black out.

“Jesus Christ—” you gasped.

“I know,” Dr. Robby said evenly. “I know it hurts. Don’t move.”

Your left leg looked wrong, horribly wrong. Even through the haze of pain medication and adrenaline, you could tell the femur wasn’t just fractured…it was displaced. Twisted unnaturally beneath bloodied fabric.

A clean break, bad enough to require surgery. Around you, nurses moved quickly. Scissors cut through your ruined clothes. Monitors beeped. Someone adjusted oxygen near your face.

“Pupils reactive,” someone called.

“Pressure’s dropping again.”

“Get another line in.”

You turned your head weakly toward Dr. Robby. “Don’t… call Frank.”

The entire room went quiet for half a second. Dr. Robby exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Unfortunately,” he said, “I don’t think that’s going to be an option.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Oh, I absolutely understand.” There was a very specific look on his face. The exhausted expression of a man who already knew his shift was about to become infinitely worse.

Princess leaned toward Perlah near the medication cart. “How long you think before he finds out?” She grimaced sympathetically. “Three minutes. Max.”

You would’ve laughed if your leg didn’t feel like someone had shoved molten metal through the bone. Dr. Robby pressed carefully along your abdomen. “Any pain here?”

“Everything hurts.”

“Fair.”

He glanced toward your leg again, jaw tightening slightly. “Let’s get imaging ready. Ortho’s gonna want him upstairs fast.”

Then the trauma bay doors slammed open so hard they rebounded off the wall, and there he was. Frank looked terrifying. Not angry. Worse. Terrified.

His scrubs were half untucked like he’d sprinted across the hospital the second someone told him. His hair was a mess, eyes wide and frantic as he scanned the room until he landed on you.

The second he saw the blood, his face drained completely of color.

“What happened?” Nobody answered quickly enough.

Frank moved to your bedside immediately. “What happened?”

“A lighting rig fell during a shoot,” Dr. Robby said carefully.

Frank looked down at your leg. You physically saw the moment his medical training assessed the damage.

Femur fracture. Severe displacement. Possible blood loss. Possible complications.

His hand found yours instantly. “Oh my God.”

You tried for a smile. “Remember when you told me to break a leg?”

“You’re joking right now?” His voice cracked. “You’re actually joking.”

“It seemed appropriate.”

Frank closed his eyes briefly, gripping your hand harder. For a second, the panic slipped through completely. Not Dr. Langdon. Just your husband.

“You scared the hell out of me.”

Dr. Robby cleared his throat. “Frank.”

Frank snapped back into doctor mode instantly, though barely.

“What’s his pressure?”

“Borderline but stable.”

“CT?”

“Pending.”

Frank was already examining your leg himself, careful despite the tension radiating off him. You hissed sharply when his fingers brushed near the fracture site.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“You say that like you’re the one who dropped a spotlight on me.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

Dr. Robby folded his arms. “You can either be a husband right now or doctor right now, Langdon. Pick one before you become an obstacle.”

To that, his attention stayed fixed entirely on you. “You hit your head?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Frank.”

“Humor me.”

You sighed weakly. “No head injury.”

“Loss of consciousness?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Neck pain?”

“No.”

“Nausea?”

“You are literally asking me questions while my femur’s in another fucking zip code.”

That made Princess chuckle. Frank finally huffed out a shaky laugh, the tension easing from his shoulders for exactly half a second. Then he looked at the blood soaking the sheets beneath your leg and all the fear came rushing back.

You knew that expression. Frank saw horrific injuries every day. Gunshots. Car accidents. Death. Disaster. But this was different, because this was you. And suddenly he wasn’t detached enough to compartmentalize it.

Dr. Robby rested a hand briefly on Frank’s shoulder. “He’s stable.” Frank nodded once.

Then immediately asked, “Has ortho been paged?”

“Yes.”

“And CT?”

“Langdon.”

“I’m asking.”

“You’re hovering.”

“My husband’s in a trauma bay.”

“You’re still hovering.” Frank looked genuinely offended by that.

You squeezed his hand weakly. “Frank.”

His eyes dropped back to yours immediately. You softened your voice. “Breathe.”

That finally got through to him. Barely. He inhaled slowly, pressing the heel of his hand against his mouth for a second before leaning down closer to you.

“I leave you alone for one shift,” he muttered, “and you decide to get crushed by industrial lighting.”

“I wanted attention.”

“You already had attention. You’re literally on billboards.”

“Not from you.”

“Unbelievable.”

Despite everything, your chest hurt from trying not to laugh. Perlah entered with fresh vitals. “Pressure’s improving.”

“Good,” Dr. Robby said. “Let’s move him to imaging.” The second they started preparing the gurney again, anxiety twisted hard in your stomach. Not because of the scans, but because moving hurts.

Frank saw it immediately. His grip tightened around your hand. “Hey.” You swallowed hard. “I know.” 

Your composure cracked then, just slightly. “It hurts.” The admission came out smaller than you intended. Frank’s entire expression softened.

He brushed damp hair back from your forehead carefully, his thumb tracing your temple. “I know it does.” No teasing. No sarcasm. Just quiet reassurance. “You’re okay,” he said softly. “They’re gonna fix it.”

You nodded once. The transport team began rolling the bed toward the doors, but Frank stayed beside you the entire time, walking so close his thigh kept bumping the railing.

“You don’t have to come with me,” you murmured.

“Yes I do.”

“You’re working.”

“I truly do not care.”

Dr. Robby called after him, “You absolutely still have patients.”

“They can survive ten minutes without me.”

“By definition they can not.” Frank cursed silently as he realized he lost. 

Before you were fully out of the hallway,  Frank leaned forward, brushing his knuckles gently against your cheek. The fear was still there beneath his expression. Still lingering.

“You really scared me,” he admitted quietly.

You looked at him for a long moment. Under the fluorescent hospital lights, Frank looked worn thin. Tense. Exhausted in that way only emergency physicians ever seemed to be. But all of that faded whenever he looked at you.

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

“Not yet.”

“I will be.”

He swallowed hard before nodding once. Then, because he was still Frank even in the middle of a crisis, he pointed lightly toward your injured leg.

“You know this kills your runway schedule, right?”

You stared at him.

“You’re reminding me of my crushed career while I’m awaiting surgery?”

“I’m being realistic.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you married me anyway.”

Unfortunately true. A nurse stepped into the room. “We’re ready for him.”

Frank stood immediately, still holding your hand until the very last second when they began wheeling your bed toward the operating room doors. You caught the flicker of panic on his face again as he let go.

“Hey,” you called softly. He looked up instantly.

“I love you.” Frank’s expression melted completely.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Love you too.”