#fluff imagines

The next morning, the sunlight streaming through the tall manor windows felt almost too bright for the heaviness still lingering in the house. You found Mattheo in the breakfast nook, a cup of black coffee in his hand, staring out at the mist-covered grounds. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink, his eyes tracing the horizon as if looking for an enemy that wasn't there.

"He’s awake," you said softly, coming to stand beside him. "But he’s scared, Mattheo. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, and he won’t come down. He think’s he’s lost you."

Mattheo’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to his coffee. "Maybe it's better if he stays up there for a bit. If I go in there, I might just remind him of why he was shouting in the first place."

"No," you insisted, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Go talk to him. He doesn't have the words to fix this on his own. It’s eating him alive that he made you upset. Please... go to him. I’ll be right there behind you if you need me."

Mattheo took a long, shaky breath and stood up. "I’ll handle this," he said, though his voice lacked its usual steel.

You followed him up the stairs to Kai's room. When Mattheo pushed the door open, the sight was heartbreaking. Kai was huddled at his small desk, clutching a green crayon so hard his knuckles were white, staring down at a coloring book but not actually drawing.

As Mattheo stepped inside, Kai’s head snapped up. His eyes went wide, swimming with instant tears, but he quickly looked back down at the floor, his small shoulders hunching up toward his ears.

Mattheo walked over, and sat on the edge of the small chair beside the boy. The silence was thick until Kai’s small, trembling voice broke it.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Kai," Mattheo replied, his voice softer than you had ever heard it.

"Did you... did you read my letter?" Kai whispered, his bottom lip wobbling. "I wrote it all by myself. Every letter. And I drew the picture of us holding hands. Did Y/N give it to you?"

"She did," Mattheo said, reaching out to tilt Kai’s chin up so they were eye-to-eye. "I read every word. I have it right here in my pocket."

Kai looked at him, a tear finally spilling over and rolling down his cheek. "I’m the worst son ever. I said I didn't want your name. I said I didn't want you. I'm a monster boy."

Mattheo’s expression shattered for a second before a beautiful, sad smile touched his lips. He reached out, his large hand gently smoothing back Kai’s dark, messy curls—the same curls he had himself.

"No," Mattheo whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You aren't a monster, Kai. And you aren't a bad son. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You are the best son in the whole wide world."

"But I get so angry," Kai sobbed, finally dropping the crayon and throwing his arms around his father’s neck. "I get hot and I want to break things and I hurt your feelings! I'm a bad, bad boy sometimes!"

Mattheo pulled him into his lap, tucking the boy's head under his chin, holding him with a fierce, desperate protectiveness. "So am I, Kai," Mattheo murmured into his hair. "I get angry too. I say things I don't mean, and I break things I should protect. We both have a little bit of a storm inside us. But that doesn't mean we aren't good."

Kai pulled back just enough to look at Mattheo’s face. "You aren't mad? You don't want a different boy?"

"Never," Mattheo said, wiping Kai’s tears away with his thumb. "Not in a hundred lifetimes. You’re a Riddle, Kai."

Kai clung to Mattheo’s neck, his small fingers digging into the dark fabric of Mattheo’s shirt as if he were afraid his father might vanish if he let go. The room.

"I’m sorry about Mommy," Kai whispered, his voice tiny and muffled against Mattheo’s shoulder. "I won’t ask about her ever again, Daddy. I promise. I don’t need her to come back. I only want you and Y/N. You’re my family."

Mattheo’s eyes closed tightly, a flash of raw pain crossing his face at the mention of the woman.

He squeezed Kai tighter, his hand resting protectively on the back of the boy's head. "Kai, you don't have to promise that. You can always ask me things."

"But I don't want you to hurt," Kai pulled back, his eyes searching Mattheo’s. "I tell Y/N every day how great you are. I tell her you’re the strongest wizard and you can make the stars stay up and you’re the best at everything!"

"Oh, do you now? You've been my little wingman while I’m not looking?"

"Yes!" Kai nodded, his dark curls bouncing. "Because I want her to love you! I want her to love you as much as I do."

Mattheo’s jaw practically hit the floor. "Kai... that’s... you shouldn't say that."

"But she need to!" Kai insisted. "When she love you, we can be a big, big family. And we won't be lonely in this big house anymore."

Mattheo cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, and gave Kai a small, playful squeeze. "Now, since you’ve decided to be a matchmaker, I suppose I should tell you the news. How would you feel about attend with me the big Gala?"

Kai’s eyes went wide "The castle party? With the robes and the magic music?"

"The very one," Mattheo added, "Y/N is taking you shopping today. You’re going to get a suit. And whatever else you want."

Kai let out a squeal of pure, unadulterated joy, throwing himself back into Mattheo’s arms. He buried his face in Mattheo’s neck, his small hands squeezing as tight as they could. "I promise, Daddy! I promise on my magic! I will never say the mean words again. I’ll never do anything to hurt you. You’re my bestest friend in the whole world."

Mattheo’s eyes shimmered with a rare, crystalline moisture. He didn’t just hug Kai back; he pulled him in like the boy was his only lifeline in a storm."You’re my bestest friend in the whole world."

An hour later, you were in the heart of Wizarding London, though you’d opted for the higher-end Muggle districts first to find Kai a suit that didn't look like a set of old-fashioned robes. Kai was a whirlwind of energy, skipping between the racks of velvet and silk, pointing at everything that sparked.

"Y/N! Look! A tie with little lions! Do you think Daddy likes lions? Or should I get the snake one?"

You laughed, chasing after him. "I think your dad is a snake man through and through, Kai. But maybe we go with classic Black so you look like a little gentleman."

As you were holding up a miniature charcoal blazer against Kai’s chest, your phone—began to vibrate violently in your pocket.

You sighed, a smirk playing on your lips. You answered it on the third ring. "The world hasn't ended yet, Mattheo. I checked five minutes ago."

"Are the guards in sight?" Mattheo’s voice came through, low and sounding like he was pacing his office.

"Mattheo," you said, rolling your eyes while Kai tried to put a pair of oversized sunglasses on a mannequin. "Please stop being worried. We are perfectly fine. No one has kidnapped us, no one is staring, and Kai is currently trying to start a fight with a plastic statue. We’re safe."

"I don't like the 'fine' tone," he muttered. "You’re too relaxed. It makes me nervous."

"That’s just your natural state of being," you teased, your voice softening. "He’s happy, Mattheo. He’s actually glowing. You did a good thing this morning. Try to sit down and breathe"

There was a long pause on the other end. You could almost hear him leaning his head against the wall.

"Now, hang up. I’m about to spend an ungodly amount of your gold on a tiny pair of Italian leather shoes."

"Buy the whole store for all I care," he said, and you could practically hear the small, tired smile in his voice. "Just bring him—and yourself—back to me in one piece."

"Always. Bye, Mattheo."

"Bye."

You tucked the phone away, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the shop's heating. Kai ran over, holding a tiny silk bowtie.

--—

Kai didn't even wait for the guards to close the heavy oak doors before he was sprinting toward the drawing room where Mattheo stood waiting, looking like he’d aged five years in the six hours you’d been gone.

"Daddy! Daddy! Look at my bags! I have a suit with a shiny button."

Kai shouted, throwing himself at Mattheo’s legs. He spent the next ten minutes in a breathless whirlwind, explaining every mannequin, every street performer, and the exact flavor of the ice cream he’d convinced you to buy him.

"Wait!" Kai suddenly gasped, his eyes going wide. "I forgot! I got the green dinosaurs with the spikes! I have to go put them on my bed so they can guard the room!"

He scrambled up, grabbing a small shopping bag and bolting toward the stairs. "I’ll be right back!"

As his footsteps faded into the upper corridor, a heavy, quiet stillness settled over the room. You turned to Mattheo, who was still standing by the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest.

"You see?" you said, a small, triumphant smirk tugging at your lips. "The world didn't end. No Death Eaters in the department store, no international incidents."

"You’re late by ten minutes,"

"Traffic," you lied easily. "And a very stubborn five-year-old who insisted on greeting every dog we passed."

"Sit," Mattheo said, gesturing to the velvet armchair opposite him. His tone shifted. "We need to talk. About tomorrow."

You sat, sensing the shift in the air. "The Gala."

"The Gala," he repeated. "It isn't a party, Y/N. It’s a battlefield dressed in silk. The people there... they are vipers. They will smile at you while they try to figure out exactly where to twist the knife. You stay at Kai’s side. You do not leave him, not for a second."

He leaned forward, his dark eyes burning with an intense, protective fire. "You are to speak to no one unless I am standing beside you. If a Lord or a Ministry official approaches you, give them nothing but polite silence. And under no circumstances," he paused, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "do you let anyone lead you into the gardens or the private wings of the estate. The shadows there aren't just shadows."

You felt a chill run down your spine. "Mattheo, you’re making it sound like we’re walking into a trap."

"For me, it always is," he admitted, his gaze drifting to the door where Kai had disappeared. "They will try to look for him in the boy’s eyes. You tell me if something feels wrong. If someone looks at you the wrong way, if a word feels like a threat—you tell me immediately. You don't trust anyone in that room. Not the hosts, not the guests. You trust no one but me and Theo. Do you understand?"

He reached out, his hand hovering near yours as if he wanted to take it but didn't quite dare. "Promise me, Y/N."

You reached out and covered his hand with yours, your fingers warm against his skin.

"I promise, Mattheo. I won't leave his side, and I won't trust anyone but you."

The night was a marathon of "what-ifs." The shadows in your room seemed to twist into the shapes of the people Mattheo described—vipers in silk, whispers in the dark.

Below, the manor had come alive with a frantic, rhythmic energy. You could hear the muffled thud of furniture being moved, the sharp crack of house-elves appearing and disappearing, and the distant, cold clinking of crystal. Every sound made your stomach do a nervous somersault. Dressing up felt like putting on armor that was far too thin for the battle ahead.

You were adjusting the strap of your dress, your hands trembling slightly, when the door burst open.

"Y/N! Look! Look at me!"

Kai skidded into the room, beaming. He looked impossibly small and incredibly grown-up in his charcoal-black suit, his tiny silk bowtie slightly crooked.

"Oh, my handsome boy," you breathed, the tension in your chest easing just a fraction. You reached out, straightening his tie.

"You look like a princess," Kai countered, his eyes wide with wonder as he took in your appearance. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around your waist in a tight hug. "You're the prettiest girl in the whole world. Daddy said we can go downstairs as soon as you're ready. Everyone is starting to come!"

You sank to your knees, level with his face, and took his small hands in yours. "Kai, listen to me. I need you to promise me something. Do not leave my sight tonight. Not for a second. We stay together, okay, baby?"

Kai nodded, his expression mimicking your seriousness. "I promise."

A sharp, firm knock echoed through the room. The door pushed open, and Mattheo stepped in. He was already in his formal black suit.

He stopped dead for a heartbeat when his eyes landed on you, his gaze sweeping from your hair down to the hem of your dress. A flicker of something intense and unreadable crossed his face before he regained his mask.

"I was looking for Kai," he said.

"We were just chatting for a second," you said, standing up and smoothing your skirt. "We’ll be down in a moment."

Mattheo nodded, his eyes lingering on yours. "You remember what I said?"

You offered him a small, reassuring smile. "I do, Mattheo. No need to worry. I’ve got him."

"Kai," Mattheo said, ruffling the boy's hair. "Why don't you go show Uncle Theo your suit? He was looking for you."

"Okay!" Kai chirped, bolting out of the room with a final wave.

You felt exposed under Mattheo's gaze. You hugged your arms across your chest, a nervous habit. "The house sounds busy," you managed to say.

Mattheo didn't answer. He walked closer, the scent of his expensive cologne moving with him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet-lined box.

"What is that?" you asked, looking down at it.

"I need you to wear this today," he said. He flipped the lid open.

Inside lay a necklace of intricate, blackened silver. It was a serpent, its body coiled in a delicate, lethal circle, its eyes made of two tiny, glowing emeralds that seemed to pulse with a life of their own. The craftsmanship was ancient and heavy with magic.

"It’s beautiful," you whispered, reaching out to touch the cool metal. You looked up at him, but he wasn't looking at the necklace; he was looking at the line of your throat. "But why?"

"It’s important," he said shortly.

"Important for what? Is it a protection charm? Is it—"

"Y/N," he interrupted, his voice dropping into that dangerous, commanding register that usually silenced a room. "Stop with the questions. Just wear it."

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks was undeniable. "Fine."

"Turn around," he commanded.

You obeyed, your heart hammering against your ribs. You felt his presence right behind you—the heat radiating from his chest against your back. He reached forward, his fingers cool as he brushed your hair to the side. His touch lingered on the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a jolt of electricity through your entire frame. You could feel his steady, warm breath against your ear.

You closed your eyes, your head tilting slightly as he worked the clasp. His fingers were surprisingly steady for a man who had been pacing all night. The weight of the silver serpent settled against your collarbone, feeling strangely like a brand.

He didn't move away. He stayed right there, his hands still resting lightly on your shoulders.

"Did you change your perfume?" he murmured, his voice sounding closer than before.

You opened your eyes, your breath hitching. "Uhh... yes. Is it bad?"

"No," he rasped. "It isn't bad."

The tension in the room was a living thing—thick, suffocating, and terrifyingly sweet. For a second, you thought he might turn you around and bridge the final inch between you. You could feel the pull of him, the gravity of a man who usually pushed the world away.

Then, he abruptly stepped back, the spell breaking with the cold air that rushed between you.

"Don't keep Kai waiting," he said, his voice regaining its sharp. "Theo is probably teaching him how to pickpocket the Ministry officials by now."

You nodded, unable to find your voice, and hurried toward the door. As you walked out, the emerald eyes of the snake at your throat felt like they were watching.

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The flight back had been quiet.

Too quiet.

Three days had passed since that night in his room.

Three days of avoiding each other.

You stayed on one side of the house.

Mattheo stayed on the other.

Every conversation was short. Careful. Necessary.

Neither of you mentioned what had almost happened against that table.

It hung between you anyway.

You find Kai sitting on the rug in the library, staring blankly at a set of moving Quidditch figures. He isn't playing; he’s just watching them fly in circles.

"Hey, Kai," you say softly, crouching down. "Do you want to go fly your broom? Or maybe we can put on that Muggle cartoon you like?"

Kai doesn't even look up. "No, thank you." His voice is small, devoid of its usual spark.

"How about we build a big fort? We can use the heavy velvet cushions from the drawing room."

"I don't want to play," he whispers, his lip trembling.

You heart aches for him. You reach out, brushing a stray dark curl—so like his father's—off his forehead. "What if we cooked something together? Just you and me. Anything you want."

Finally, he looks at you, his dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Can we... can we make the cheesy pasta? The yellow one?"

"Mac and cheese? Absolutely, Kai. Let's go."

In the kitchen, you pull a stool up to the counter so he can reach. You let him do the important jobs—pouring the dry pasta into the pot (and ignoring the handful that bounces onto the floor) and stirring the thick, gooey cheese sauce until his little arm gets tired. For a moment, the tension breaks. He licks a wooden spoon, a tiny smudge of cheese landing on his nose, and he offers you a microscopic smile.

“It smells good,” he said.

“That’s because Chef Kai made it.”

A few minutes later you both sat at the kitchen table with bowls of steaming mac and cheese.

Kai kicked his legs under the chair happily as he took a big bite.

That’s when footsteps entered the kitchen.

Mattheo.

He paused when he saw the two of you at the table.

For a second his eyes softened slightly.

Then he looked at Kai.

“Hey, kid.”

Kai didn’t look up.

He just kept eating.

Mattheo frowned a little.

“Kai?”

Nothing.

You shifted slightly in your chair.

“Kai, Daddy’s talking to you.”

Kai’s spoon scraped loudly against the bowl.

Then he muttered quietly,

“I heard him.”

Mattheo’s brows pulled together.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kai shrugged.

Mattheo stepped closer to the table.

“You going to say hello or what?”

Kai finally looked up.

But not kindly.

“Why can’t I be like everyone else?”

The question came out suddenly.

Sharp.

Both you and Mattheo froze.

“What do you mean?” Mattheo asked.

Kai’s small hands clenched on the table.

“Everyone has friends.”

“You have friends,” Mattheo said.

“No I don’t!”

The shout startled both of you.

Kai’s voice cracked.

“Yes you do,” Mattheo insisted, his tone tightening.

“No! Because you won’t let me go anywhere!”

You stepped in gently.

“Kai, hey, let’s calm down—”

But Kai shook his head hard.

“Other kids go places!” he said, his little face red now. “They go to school and play and sleep at their friends’ houses!”

“You don’t need to—”

“Yes I do!”

“Kai,” you said softly, reaching for his hand.

He pulled it away.

“And I don’t have a mom,” he continued, his voice getting smaller but angrier at the same time. “And now I can’t even go to Hogwarts!”

The room went still.

Mattheo’s eyes narrowed.

“Who told you that?”

Kai sniffed loudly.

“I heard you talking to Uncle Theo.”

Mattheo’s jaw tightened.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that conversation.”

“You said I can’t go!” Kai shouted.

“You’re too young.”

“But other kids go!”

“No they don’t.”

"I don't like you!" He screams, the volume shocking in the quiet room. He looks up now, his face flushed bright red. "I don't want to look at your face! Go away!"

Mattheo flinches as if he’s been hit with a physical curse. "Don't speak to me like that."

Kai suddenly pushed his bowl away.

Mac and cheese sloshed across the table.

“You won’t let me do anything!” he cried.

You stepped between them.

“Kai, sweetie—”

“No!” he shouted again.

His small hands grabbed the plate and hurled it to the floor.

It shattered loudly.

“Kai!” you gasped.

He knocked over his cup next.

Then another plate.

Crash.

Crash.

“You never let me go anywhere!” he cried.

Mattheo’s face had gone pale.

“Kai, stop.”

“I hate you!” Kai yelled, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I don’t want you!”

The words hit the room like a bomb.

Mattheo froze.

You grabbed Kai’s shoulders gently.

“Kai, hey—hey—”

But the boy was sobbing now.

“I want to go to Hogwarts! I want friends! I want a mom!”

Mattheo looked like someone had punched him in the chest.

His voice came out quiet.

“You think I’m doing this to hurt you?”

Kai sniffled loudly.

“You don’t let me have anything.”

Your heart broke watching both of them.

"You're a mean man!" Kai wails, jumping down from his stool. "Why can't I be like the other kids? Why am I always alone? I don't have a mommy, and I don't have any friends to play with because you say everyone is 'dangerous'! It's because of you! You make me stay in this big, scary house!"

"I am keeping you safe!" Mattheo roars back, his own pain boiling over into anger. "You don't understand the world, Kai. You are a child!"

"I hate it here! I hate you!"

“Kai,” you whispered, pulling him into a hug despite his struggling.

Kai cried harder.

Mattheo didn’t move.

Just stood there staring at the broken plate on the floor.

Kai is sobbing now, deep, hiccupping gasps that break your heart. "I heard you! I heard you talking to Uncle Theo! You said... you said I can't go to Hogwarts! You said you’re gonna keep me here forever so nobody can see me!"

Mattheo pales, his breath hitching. "Kai, that isn't... I was trying to protect—"

"You're a liar!" Kai shrieked, grabbing a chair and trying to push it over with his small strength. "I want a different daddy! I want to go to the school with the owls and the magic, but you're mean and you want me to be sad! I wish I wasn't your boy!"

The words hit Mattheo like a Sectumsempra to the chest. He staggers back, his face turning a ghostly shade of white. To hear those words—I wish I wasn't your boy—from the only person he truly loves in the world is a soul-shattering blow.

"Kai, you don't mean that," you whisper, trying to pull the screaming five-year-old into a hug, but he’s a whirlwind of grief and rage, kicking at the air.

"I do! I do mean it!" Kai screams, tears streaming down his face as he looks at Mattheo with pure, unfiltered heartbreak. "You're a monster man! Leave me alone! I don't want you!"

Mattheo stands there, paralyzed, watching his son break things, watching the boy he would kill for look at him with genuine loathing. The room is a mess of broken glass and wasted food, a physical manifestation of the family falling apart.

"I don't want to be a Riddle!" Kai screams, his tiny chest heaving under his striped shirt. "I don't want your name! It's a bad name! Everyone looks at me like I'm a monster because I look like you!"

Mattheo flinches, his hand gripping the edge of the marble island so hard his knuckles are white. "You don't know what you're saying."

"I do! I do know!" Kai yells, his voice cracking with a high-pitched, innocent desperation that makes the words cut deeper. "You're the worstest dad in the whole world! You're a mean, scary man and I wish... I wish I lived with someone else! I wish I was anyone but yours!"

"Kai, that is enough!" You finally snap, stepping between them. The air is thick with their shared rage. "I said enough. You do not speak to your father that way, do you understand me?"

Kai looks up at you, his big, dark eyes swimming in tears, his face blotchy and red. "Why do you take his side? He’s mean! He won't let me go to school! He won't let me have friends!" Then, his voice drops to a painful, trembling whisper. "Is that why Mommy isn't here? Did she leave because he was mean to her too? Did she run away because he kept saying 'no' to her? I bet she's gone because of him! I wish she was here and you were gone!"

The silence that follows is absolute. It’s a physical weight. Mattheo looks like he’s been struck by a Killing Curse—stiff, pale, and hollowed out.

"Get out," Mattheo whispers, though it's unclear if he's talking to Kai or himself.

"No!" Kai yells, throwing a heavy silver spoon at his father's feet. "I'm going to my room and I'm locking the door and I'm never coming out until I'm a big man and I can fly away from you!"

He turns and bolts out of the kitchen, his small footsteps echoing down the hall followed by the sound of a door slamming so hard the portraits on the walls rattle.

You turn slowly to Mattheo. He is staring at the mess of mac and cheese and broken glass on the floor, his eyes vacant.

"Mattheo," you say softly, reaching out. "He's five. He doesn't know. He's just hurting—"

"Just go to him," Mattheo interrupts, his voice sounding like dry parchment. He won't look at you.

"No, you’re not okay," you insist, moving closer. "Mattheo, look at me."

"I said go to him!" He finally snaps his eyes to yours, and the raw, bleeding agony in them makes you gasp. "Don't let him be alone. He... he gets scared of the dark when he cries that hard. Go. Now."

"And you?"

Mattheo looks around the ruined kitchen—the shattered plates, the spilled food.

"I’ll handle this," he whispers, gesturing vaguely at the mess, though his hands are shaking uncontrollably. "I’m used to cleaning up disasters. Just... make sure he’s breathing. Make sure he knows he’s safe. Make sure he knows he’s safe."

When you reach Kai’s door, you hear the muffled, jagged sounds of a five-year-old trying to swallow his sobs.

You push the door open. The room is dark, save for the glow-in-the-dark stars Mattheo charmed onto the ceiling for him. Kai is curled into a tiny ball under his heavy emerald duvet, shaking.

"Kai?" you whisper, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Look at me."

"Go 'way," he hiccups, his voice thick with snot and tears. "I’m a bad boy. Leave me."

"You aren't a bad boy," you say, reaching out to rub his back through the blankets. "But Kai... you were so mean to your daddy today. So, so mean. Do you know how much that hurt him?"

Kai pokes his tear-streaked face out from under the covers. His bottom lip is trembling violently. "He’s mean first! He says 'no' to everything! He won't let me go to the big castle school!"

"He says 'no' because the only thing he wants in this whole wide world—the only thing—is to keep you safe. He loves you more than his own life, Kai."

"I don't want him," Kai whispers, though he grips the edge of your sleeve. "I don't want a daddy who’s sad and scary."

"You don't mean that, Kai. You know you don't."

Kai wipes his nose with his sleeve, his eyes drifting to a moving picture on his nightstand. "Was... was your daddy like mine?"

You feel a cold lump form in your throat. You think of your own past, of the shadow your father cast. "No, Kai. My daddy wasn't like yours at all. He was the worst man alive. He didn't care if I was safe, and he didn't care if I was happy. He was cold, and he was cruel because he liked it." You lean in closer, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "But you? You have the best dad ever. He’s only 'scary' because he’s terrified of losing you. He stays up all night watching your door just to make sure you’re breathing."

The anger finally drains out of him, replaced by the crushing weight of realization. Kai’s face crumples. The "big boy" act vanishes, leaving behind a heartbroken five-year-old.

"I said... I said I didn't want to be a Riddle," Kai wails, the sound ripping through the room. "I told him I want a different daddy! Is he gonna leave me now? I want my dad! I want him! I don't want him to hate me! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

He starts to scramble out of bed, his little legs tangling in the sheets as he tries to run for the door, pulling him into your lap.

"Listen to me, Kai. Stay still for a minute," you say firmly, holding his small, shaking shoulders. "You need to listen. You have a lot of power in your blood, and you have a lot of your father's temper. But you cannot let your anger be a monster that bites the people who love you. When you get mad, you feel like you want to break things and say the meanest words you can find, right?"

Kai nods, his chest heaving with fresh tears.

"You have to learn to handle that fire inside you. Because words are like spells, Kai. Once you cast them, you can’t always take the sting away. Your daddy has a lot of scars, but the ones you gave him tonight are on his heart. You have to be bigger than your temper."

Kai’s small body is trembling so violently in your arms that it feels like his little heart might actually shatter inside his chest. He buries his wet face into the crook of your neck, his breath coming in jagged, terrified hitches.

"I got so scared," he wails, the sound muffled by your sweater. "I didn't mean the words, they just... they just fell out of my mouth!"

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes wide and bloodshot.

"I hurt you," he whispers, his lip wobbling. " then I hurt Daddy. Is he leaving because I said I don't want him? Is he gonna go away like Mommy did?"

You pull him tighter, feeling the dampness of his tears soaking through your clothes. "No, Kai. He isn't going anywhere. But you have to understand the weight of what you said."

You take a deep breath, looking around the room filled with hand-carved wooden dragons and enchanted books—all gifts from a man who spent his life being hated and swore his son would only ever know love.

"Kai, look at me," you say, your voice low and steady. "Your daddy... he grew up in a world so full of hatred and decided to give you all the love despite that. Do you know how much courage that took?"

Kai sniffs, wiping his eyes with the back of a small, shaking hand. "He... said I’m his best friend ."

"Because you are his only thing," you respond.

"I want to be his best friend again."

He clutches your hand, his tiny fingers digging into your palm. "My daddy is the best at magic. He makes the stars stay on my ceiling even when the sun comes up. He holds me when I have the bad dreams about the green light. He’s... he’s my daddy. I don't want another one. I don't want anyone else. I want him."

"Then you have to tell him that," you whisper.

"Can we go now? Can we go find him? I need to tell him he's the best dad in the world before he forgets."

The walk back down the stairs is quiet, save for the soft, hitching breaths Kai takes against your shoulder. He’s clinging to you like a barnacle, his small fingers twisted into the fabric of your shirt. His eyes are fixed on the kitchen door, desperate for the sight of his father’s tall, brooding silhouette.

But when you reach the bottom, the kitchen is empty. The mess has been cleared—scoured away by a silent Evanesco—leaving the stone floors cold and clinical.

Near the hearth stands one of the manor guards, his face unreadable behind a silver mask.

"Where is he?" you ask, your heart sinking as you feel Kai stiffen in your arms.

"Master Mattheo has departed," the guard says stiffly. "He said he had matters to handle. He did not say when he would return."

Kai’s little face crumples instantly. "He left?" his voice cracks, a tiny, fragile sound in the vast room. "He left because I'm a bad boy? He doesn't want to see me anymore?"

"No, no, Kai, that’s not it," you say quickly, pulling him closer and feeling the fresh heat of his tears against your neck. "He just... he needs a little air."

"But I didn't say sorry!" Kai wails, burying his face in your hair. "Now he thinks I hate him forever!"

You carry him back up to his room. You set him down on his bed, kneeling in front of him.

"How about we write him a letter?" you suggest softly. "A special one. So when he comes home, no matter how late it is, it’s the first thing he sees."

Kai wipes his eyes with his fists, looking miserable. "But... I can’t write the big words yet. I only know 'cat' and 'Kai' and 'no.' I’m not good at it."

"I'll help you," you promise, reaching for a piece of heavy parchment and a quill from his desk. "I will hold your hand, and we will move the quill together. You just tell me what your heart wants to say."

You sit behind him on the floor, pulling him into your lap. Your larger hand closes over his small fingers, guiding the quill into the inkwell. The scratching of the nib against the parchment is the only sound in the room.

Together, you slowly guide his hand to form the shaky, uneven letters:

Dear Daddy,

I am sorry I was a mean boy. I love you more than the stars on my roof. You are the best dad. Please come home. I want to hug you.

Love, Kai.

When the words are done, Kai reaches for his enchanted crayons. With a look of intense concentration, he draws a picture at the bottom. It’s two figures—one very tall with messy dark hair, and one very small. They are holding hands. He colors a giant yellow heart around both of them.

"There," he whispers, looking at the drawing. "Now he'll know. Even if I'm sleeping."

"He'll know, Kai," you say, kissing the top of his head. "He’ll know you're his best friend."

You tuck him into bed, the letter clutched in his hand until he finally drifts into a restless sleep.

The grandfather clock in the foyer has ticked past 4:00 AM, the sound echoing through the silent, cold corridors of the manor like a heartbeat. You finally stand from the chair by Kai’s bed, your limbs stiff from the vigil. The little boy is finally deep in sleep, his chest rising and falling in a rhythmic, peaceful cadence that belies the storm of the evening. You pull his heavy emerald blankets up to his chin, tucking the edges around his small shoulders, and press a lingering, soft kiss to his forehead.

You retreat to your own room, but sleep is a ghost you can't catch. You pace the floor, your eyes drawn repeatedly to the frosted windowpane. At 4:30 AM, the dull roar of an engine cuts through the Highland silence. Below, a dark car pulls up the gravel path. Mattheo steps out, his silhouette tall and jagged against the moonlight.

You don't wait. You slip out of your room, your bare feet silent on the cold stone, and follow the shadow of him as he trudges toward his private suite. You reach his door just as it clicks shut. You knock softly—three times, a hesitant rhythm.

The door swings open. Mattheo looks wrecked. His hair is a wild mess.

"Why are you awake?" he rasps, his voice sounding like he’s swallowed glass.

"I was waiting for you," you say softly.

He stares at you for a long beat, his guard momentarily down, before he steps back to let you in. The room smells of expensive firewhisky and the cold night air. As he reaches up to rub his face, the sleeve of his shirt slips back. You gasp, catching his hand in yours. His knuckles are raw, split open and bleeding, the skin an angry, bruised red.

"Mattheo," you breathe, your heart twisting. "Hey... what happened? What did you do?"

"Nothing," he says, trying to wrench his hand away, his voice hardening. "Just go to your room. Please. I don't want to do this right now."

You shake your head, refusing to let go, your thumb gently brushing the uninjured skin of his wrist. "No. I was so worried about you. I’ve been sitting by that window for hours."

He lets out a harsh, dry laugh that doesn't reach his eyes. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why? Because I care about you, Mattheo. Because I was scared."

"You hate me," he says flatly, looking away from you. "Everyone in this house eventually realizes what I am. You've said it yourself. I’m pretty sure you’ve said it at least a hundred times since we got back."

"Yeah," you whisper, stepping closer until you can feel the radiating heat of his body. "I’m lying. Every time I say it, I’m lying because it’s easier than admitting how much you matter to me."

Mattheo finally looks at you.

"Why are you even here?" he asks, his voice trembling with repressed emotion.

"I’m the monster who breaks everything I touch."

"Apparently, I’m the worst man alive. My own son thinks I’m a villain in his story."

"You should be running as far away from this name as you can get."

"I don't know how to be what he needs... I don't know how to be good."

Before he can get another word out, before he can spiral further into the dark, you step into his spacecupping his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. Your thumbs trace the sharp line of his cheekbones, and your voice drops to a soft, melodic whisper that fills the space between you.

"He doesn't hate you, Mattheo," you murmur.

"He wrote you a letter. He drew a picture. He’s waiting for his daddy to come home."

"Mattheo, look at me. Please... just let me in Let me help you, the same way you’ve helped me a thousand times when I felt like the world was ending. You keep calling yourself a monster, but you’re the man who gave me a home. You’re the one who gave me a place where I finally felt like I belonged."

"I’m not here because I’m trapped, or because I have to be. I’m here because I want to be."

You take a shuddering breath, your voice cracking just a little.

"Kai... he didn’t mean those words. He was just drowning in all that fire he inherited, and he didn't know how to swim. But we have to face it. We need help. We need to figure out how to help him control that anger before it consumes him, because this isn't the first time it’s happened. But you don't have to do it alone anymore."

You reach into the pocket of your robe, pulling out the slightly crumpled piece of parchment that Kai spent nearly an hour perfecting.

"He wanted you to have this," you say softly, pressing the paper into his bruised hands. "He wouldn't go to sleep until he knew it was ready for you."

Mattheo unfolds the letter with a cautious, almost trembling hand. As his eyes scan the shaky, oversized letters—the "I love you" and the giant, wobbly yellow heart surrounding the two stick figures—the hard line of his jaw softens. Slowly, a genuine, lopsided smile spreads across his face.

It isn’t the smirk he uses to intimidate or the dry grin of a cynic; it’s warm, boyish, and impossibly sweet.

Looking at him then, with the moonlight hitting his curls and that rare light in his eyes, your heart doing a sudden, violent flip. Without thinking, the thought escapes your lips.

"You look so cute when you smile."

The silence that follows is deafening. Mattheo’s smile vanishes instantly, replaced by a look of utter, sheer bewilderment. He freezes, the letter still held between his fingers, as he slowly turns his head to look at you.

"What?" he asks, his voice low and incredulous.

You freeze, the blood rushing to your cheeks so fast your skin feels hot. You realize exactly what you just said to the most feared man in the Wizarding World. To the man who carries the weight of a dark legacy and a terrifying temper. You called him... cute.

"I—I didn't—" you stammer, looking for an exit that doesn't exist.

"Did you," Mattheo starts, a dangerous, playful glint suddenly sparking in his dark eyes, "just call me cute?"

"It was a slip of the tongue!" you squeak, stepping back. "I meant... you looked... less like you were going to hex someone. It was an observation of your facial muscles!"

Mattheo lets out a low, huffed laugh—a real one this time—and steps into your space, the letter tucked safely against his chest. "Cute. I’ve been called a monster, a murderer, and a disappointment this week. But 'cute' is a first."

You let out a soft, melodic laugh, the sound breaking the last of the heavy tension that had hung between you for days.

"Let me be your friend, Mattheo," you said, your voice barely a whisper, yet steady. "I’m tired. I’m so tired of pretending that I hate your existence. It’s exhausting to fight a feeling that isn't there anymore."

Mattheo’s dark eyes searched yours, his expression unreadable. "Friends?" he repeated, the word sounding foreign on his tongue.

"Yes," you challenged softly, a playful tilt to your head. "Why? You don’t think we can be friends?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he moved. It wasn't a fast movement, but it was deliberate, closing the small gap between you until you could feel the radiating heat of his skin. The air in the room suddenly felt charged, thick with a different kind of static. He looked down at you, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"I don't think I can be your friend," he said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a low, gravelly vibration that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

You felt your heart hammer against your ribs. "Oh wow," you managed to say, trying to keep your voice light despite the sudden flutter in your stomach. "I can’t be that bad to hang out with."

"Quite the opposite, actually," he murmured.

The silence stretched, heavy and hot, until you forced yourself to break the spell. You sat down on the edge of the velvet chaise beside him, reaching for the bowl of warm water and the clean cloth you had brought.

"Would you let me clean this?" you asked, gesturing to his battered, bloody knuckles.

"I can do it myself," he muttered, though the edge was gone from his voice.

"I know you can," you countered gently, dipping the cloth into the water. "But let me help."

He sighed, a long, weary sound, and finally extended his hand, resting it in yours. As you began to dab away the dried blood with soft, meticulous strokes, he leaned his head back against the upholstery, his eyes fluttering shut.

"I had to plan a gala tonight," he said suddenly, his voice hollow. "A meeting of the 'old families.' It was... a necessary evil."

"What kind of gala?" you asked, focused on the raw skin of his hand.

"A necessary one," he grunted, flinching slightly as you cleaned a deeper cut. "Otherwise, I would have never let it happen. I don’t like it when that world gets anywhere near Kai. Or you."

"Will you let Kai attend?"

Mattheo’s eyes snapped open, sharp and cold. "Absolutely not."

"Mattheo, you can’t just lock him in his room every time the world knocks on the door," you said, looking up at him.

"He would be safe. You would be with him," he countered.

You let out a dry, incredulous breath. "Merlin, I didn’t realize you were planning to lock me up too. Should I start measuring the windows for bars?"

He looked at you, a pained expression crossing his features. "Are you going to tell me how much you hate me now, too? For wanting to keep the vultures away from you?"

"No," you said softly, setting the cloth down and taking his hand between both of yours. "But Mattheo, you need to understand... your boy is growing up. He’s almost six."

"He’s still a kid," he snapped, though there was more fear than anger in it.

"I know he is. But you have to change your way with him. You saw what happened tonight. The more you pull, the more he’s going to push until something breaks. You need to remember why I’m here, Mattheo. He ran away before. He’s looking for air, and you’re suffocating him with safety."

Mattheo closed his eyes, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "Maybe I’m just a shit dad," he whispered, the admission sounding like it cost him everything. "Maybe he was right. Maybe I’m just like him. No matter how hard I try to be different, I still end up being the shadow in the room."

"I'm pretty sure you're not like your father, Mattheo. For one, you actually have hair. And a nose. And, you know... a soul."

A surprised, genuine laugh barked out of him, and you smiled, the warmth returning to the room.

"Let him attend, Mattheo," you pleaded, leaning closer. "He thinks you’re ashamed of him. He thinks he’s a secret you’re embarrassed to keep. Let him see that he belongs at your side. I swear on everything I have, I will never leave him. I will be right there the whole time."

Mattheo looked at you for a long time, his gaze softening. He reached out, his hand—now clean and bandaged—moving to push a stray lock of hair back from your forehead. His touch was unexpectedly tender.

"Okay," he whispered. "He can go."

Your eyes widened. "Wait, are you serious? Really?"

"Yes," he said, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips.

The excitement surged through you like a spark of magic. Without thinking, you threw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "Thank you! Oh, he’s going to be so happy! I can’t wait to tell him—no, wait, you tell him. Tell him in the morning over breakfast."

Suddenly, the reality of what you were doing hit you. You were draped over Mattheo Riddle in the middle of the night, your heart pressed against his. You pulled back abruptly, your face flaming.

"Merlin, I—I’m sorry. I just got excited. I didn't mean to..."

You started to stand up, but you froze when Mattheo’s hand caught your wrist. With a gentle but firm tug, he pulled you back toward him. Before you could process it, his arms wrapped around you, drawing you into a deep, slow hug.

You went completely still, your breath hitching in your throat. This wasn't a quick hug of gratitude; it was grounding. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. He felt so solid, so real.

"Don't apologize," he murmured against your skin, his voice muffled and thick with emotion.

"Maybe," he started, his voice a low, soothing rumble against your ear, "you and Kai could go out tomorrow. Go into the city. Get him a suit, and find something for yourself. Buy whatever you want—everything. It’s on me."

You pulled back just an inch, looking at him in surprise. "Mattheo, no. You don’t have to do that. I have plenty of things to wear_ ."

"I want to," he interrupted, his gaze softening in a way that made your chest ache.

You searched his eyes, feeling the weight of his words. "You trust me? To take him out of the manor? Out into the world?"

Mattheo reached up, his fingers lingering as he pushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch was hesitant, almost reverent. "Yes," he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that felt like a vow. "I trust you. With him. With everything."

A small, genuine smile broke across your face. "Thank you, Mattheo. Truly."

"I’ll have a few of the guards follow at a distance," he added, the protective streak in him flickering back to life, though it felt less like a cage and more like a shield now. "Just to be sure. And you call me? If anything—anything at all—happens."

"I will. I promise," you said softly.

The room fell silent for a heartbeat, the air thick with everything left unsaid. Then, leaning forward, Mattheo pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. His lips were warm, and the gesture was so tender it made your breath catch in your throat. You froze, your heart stuttering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

"Go back to your room, Y/N," he murmured against your skin before pulling away. "Get some sleep. You’ve had a long night."

You nodded slowly, feeling a strange, sharp pang of loss as the warmth of his embrace vanished. Your body felt heavy and cold the moment you stood up from the chaise. You walked toward the door, your hand lingering on the handle as you turned back to look at him one last time. He was still sitting there, watching you with an expression that looked remarkably like hope.

"Goodnight, Mattheo," you said softly.

"Night, Y/N," he replied.

As you walked down the darkened hallway toward your own room, the ghost of his touch stayed with you, a warm reminder that despite the broken plates and the shouted words, the walls of the manor weren't quite so high anymore.

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@rafessidemeal

Morning arrives slowly, sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains in thin golden ribbons that stretch across the bed.

Your eyes flutter open.

For a moment you just lie there, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, your mind foggy with sleep. The soft sheets are tangled around your legs, the faint scent of salt drifting in from the open balcony door.

Then it hits you.

You push yourself up on your elbows, blinking.

Your room.

You look down at yourself, at the blanket tucked neatly around you, at the shoes that are no longer on your feet.

A memory flickers.

The car.

His jacket around your shoulders.

The quiet hum of the road.

Your brows knit together slowly.

…Did I fall asleep?

You sit up fully now, running a hand through your messy hair as realization creeps in.

He carried you.

Mattheo carried you upstairs and put you in bed.

You stare at the door for a second longer before a small smile slips across your face—soft, reluctant, almost shy.

Idiot_you murmur under your breath, though the warmth in your chest betrays the insult.

---

The shower helps clear your head.

Hot water cascades down your shoulders, steam fogging the mirror while you stand there longer than necessary, letting the tension from yesterday melt away little by little.

By the time you step out, wrap a towel around yourself, and get dressed, the house is still quiet.

Too quiet.

The early morning light paints the hallway pale gold as you head downstairs.

Kai is probably still asleep.

The thought makes your chest tighten slightly.

You’ll apologize again today. You have to.

---

The kitchen smells faintly of espresso beans and polished marble.

You move around comfortably enough now—grabbing a mug, filling the machine, waiting for the slow drip of coffee to begin.

But the feeling starts before the first drop hits the cup.

Eyes.

Watching.

You glance toward the doorway.

Two guards stand there.

Not unusual.

What is unusual is the way their attention follows every step you take.

When you move to the counter — they shift slightly.

When you open the cabinet — they glance at each other.

When you walk toward the fridge — one subtly adjusts his position.

Your lips press together.

You pour the coffee slowly, then turn.

“Okay.”

Both men stiffen slightly.

You walk right up to one of them.

“What's going on?” you ask plainly. “Why are you following me?”

Silence.

The man looks straight ahead like you didn’t say anything at all.

You blink once.

Twice.

“…Seriously?”

Still nothing.

You sigh heavily and rub your temple.

“Of course,” you mutter. “Mattheo.”

You grab your coffee and head upstairs again.

---

His bedroom door is closed.

You knock twice.

“Mattheo?”

No answer.

You open it.

Empty.

The bed is made, the balcony doors open slightly, the room carrying that faint scent of his cologne.

Your eyes narrow.

“Great.”

You turn down the hall, walking until you reach the last door on the right.

The gym.

You push it open.

And immediately scream.

“MERLIN—!”

You spin around so fast you nearly drop your coffee.

Behind you—

Mattheo stands a few feet away.

Very shirtless.

Gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, a towel draped lazily over his shoulder, his dark hair damp like he’s just stepped out of the shower.

Your heart nearly punches through your ribs.

He raises an eyebrow slowly.

“Well,” he drawls, voice rough with morning sleep and amusement, “good morning to you too.”

You glare at the wall, refusing to look directly at him.

“Why are you like that this early?”

“Like what?” he asks innocently.

“Half naked!”

He glances down at himself.

“Well I’m not gonna work out with a suit.”

Your eyes flick toward him before you can stop them.

That was a mistake.

Water droplets still cling to his skin, sliding lazily down his chest, disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants.

You immediately turn away again.

“you are so annoying.”

He chuckles quietly.

“You came into my gym.”

“I was looking for you!”

“Congratulations. You found me.”

You cross your arms, glaring over your shoulder now.

“Why are your guards following me?”

He tilts his head thoughtfully, pretending to consider the question.

“…Because you ran away last night.”

“I did not run away,” you snap. “I left. Big difference.”

He shrugs, completely unfazed, leaning casually against the weight rack.

“Call it whatever you want. Looked like running from where I was standing.”

You narrow your eyes.

“Am I your prisoner now?”

A smile spreads across his face.

“Prisoners don’t get coffee in the morning,” he says calmly.

“That’s not an answer.”

He pushes himself off the rack, walking toward you slowly.

Barefoot.

Quiet.

Too confident.

“It’s about safety.”

You scoff.

“For who?”

He stops a step away now, towering over you slightly.

“For both of you.”

Your brow furrows.

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

His eyes drop briefly to your lips before lifting again.

“Sure it does.”

“Explain.”

He leans closer slightly, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip.

“You disappearing into a city you don’t know, in a country where you barely speak the language?”

His jaw tightens faintly.

“That’s a problem for me.”

Your pulse stutters.

“And apparently,” he adds, glancing toward the hallway where the guards stand somewhere out of sight, “for the men who have to explain to me if something happens to you.”

You stare at him.

For a moment neither of you moves.

Then you huff and look away.

“You keep reminding me why i don’t like you .”

His smirk returns instantly.

"That’s mutual then.”

Your arms stay folded as you watch him.

“Do you do that with everyone who works for you?” you ask, tone sharp. “Have guards shadow them everywhere they go?”

Mattheo reaches for a black shirt tossed over the back of a chair. For a second his back turns to you, muscles shifting under his skin as he pulls the fabric over his head.

The shirt settles against him slowly, clinging slightly to the dampness still on his skin.

Then he turns.

And walks toward you.

Not fast. Not slow either. Just deliberate.

You hold your ground, even as he closes the distance until there’s barely a step between you.

Too close.

His hand briefly adjusts the collar of his shirt, but his eyes never leave yours.

Dark. Focused.

“Only the ones my son cares about,” he says quietly.

The words land differently than you expected.

Your breath stalls for a moment.

You nod once, small, because suddenly you’re not sure what to say.

The tension between you shifts again — softer this time, but still electric.

He studies your face for a second longer before speaking again.

“You look like you didn’t sleep enough.”

You huff softly. “I slept fine.”

“And by the way! You should have woken me up yesterday I’m not a child.”

His brow lifts slightly. “You were already asleep, why can’t you just thank me?”

“You could’ve dropped me on the stairs.”

“That thought crossed my mind,” he says dryly.

You glare at him, but the corner of his mouth lifts.

God you hate this smile.

But you want to see it more.

Your fingers twist together nervously.

“I’m… scared to talk to Kai,” you admit softly.

His expression changes immediately.

The teasing disappears.

You look down at the floor.

“Can you be there?” you ask quietly. “When I talk to him?”

For a moment he just watches you — really watches you — the way your shoulders tense, the way your voice got smaller.

Then he answers gently.

“Of course.”

You glance up at him.

“I don’t want him to think I’m mad at him,” you say. “Or that I left because of him.”

“He already knows you didn’t,” Mattheo replies.

You and Mattheo walk side by side, though neither of you are speaking now. The early morning light spills across the marble floor, quiet and golden, and somewhere downstairs you hear the faint clatter of dishes in the kitchen.

Your stomach twists tighter with every step.

“What if he’s still mad?” you murmur.

Mattheo doesn’t stop walking, but his voice is calm beside you. “He’s five, Y/N. Five-year-olds.”

You glance at him. “That’s not reassuring.”

“It’s supposed to be.”

You exhale slowly.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs, you hear it.

A small voice.

“...but I said I was sorry already.”

Kai.

You freeze halfway down the last step.

In the living room, Kai is sitting cross-legged on the rug, his dinosaur toy in his hands. One of the house staff is trying—very unsuccessfully—to convince him to eat breakfast.

“I don’t want eggs,” Kai insists stubbornly. “I want pancakes.”

“You had pancakes yesterday,” the woman replies gently.

Kai crosses his arms. “That was yesterday.”

Mattheo huffs quietly beside you.

“Sounds like my son.”

You elbow him lightly without looking.

Then Kai glances toward the stairs.

And sees you.

Everything stops.

The dinosaur drops from his hands.

His little face freezes for a second—wide eyes, lips parted like he isn’t sure if you’re real.

“Y/N?”

Your chest tightens.

You take a small step forward.

“Hi, baby.”

The woman quickly excuses herself and slips out of the room, leaving the three of you alone.

Kai slowly stands.

“You… came back?”

Your throat feels thick. “Of course I did.”

He looks down at the floor suddenly, shoulders drooping.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts.

The words tumble out so fast they almost trip over each other.

“I didn’t mean it when I said I hate you. I don’t hate you. I was just mad. Daddy says people say mean things when they’re mad but they don’t mean them but I still shouldn’t have said it and—”

You’re already kneeling in front of him before he finishes.

“Kai,” you say softly.

His little voice stops.

You gently lift his chin so he looks at you.

“I’m the one who’s sorry.”

His brow wrinkles.

“Why?”

“Because I left without saying goodbye,” you tell him. “And that probably scared you.”

Kai shrugs awkwardly, eyes getting shiny again.

“…A little.”

Your heart squeezes painfully.

“I should’ve talked to you first.”

He sniffles.

“I thought you left because of me.”

Behind you, you hear Mattheo shift slightly but he doesn’t interrupt.

You shake your head quickly.

“No, sweetheart. None of this is your fault.”

Kai studies your face carefully, like he’s trying to decide if you’re telling the truth.

Then he steps forward and wraps his little arms around your neck.

You nearly lose your balance from the sudden hug.

“I missed you,” he mumbles into your shoulder.

You close your eyes for a second, hugging him back tightly.

“I missed you too.”

Behind you, Mattheo watches the whole thing quietly.

Kai eventually pulls back and rubs his eyes.

“…Are you still mad at Daddy?”

You blink, caught off guard.

Mattheo groans softly behind you. “Kid, don’t start.”

Kai ignores him completely and looks at you.

You glance over your shoulder at Mattheo.

He’s leaning against the doorway now, arms folded, watching you both with that unreadable expression again.

You turn back to Kai.

“No,” you say gently. “I’m not mad at your dad.”

Kai nods like that’s very important information.

“Good.”

Then he tilts his head.

“…Can we still build the giant sandcastle today?”

You laugh softly.

“The blob castle?”

Kai gasps dramatically. “It was NOT a blob.”

Mattheo finally speaks from the doorway.

“It was absolutely a blob.”

Kai whirls around. “Daddy!”

“What?” Mattheo shrugs. “Looked like a blob to me.”

Kai stomps his foot. “It had a tower!”

“You stuck a seashell on top.”

“That’s still a tower!”

You cover your mouth to hide your smile.

Kai turns back to you urgently.

“Y/N tell him it was a castle.”

You raise your hands in surrender. “It was a very impressive blob castle.”

Kai groans loudly and flops onto the couch.

“This house is full of traitors.”

Mattheo chuckles under his breath.

Then Kai sits up again suddenly.

“Oh! Wait!”

He runs over to the table, grabbing a piece of paper and a crayon before rushing back.

“I made this for you,” he announces proudly.

He hands you the drawing.

It’s… chaotic.

Crayon lines everywhere, a very questionable sun in the corner, three stick figures holding hands.

You point gently. “Is this you?”

Kai nods.

“And this is Daddy.”

You glance at the much taller stick figure with very aggressive hair scribbles.

Then your finger moves to the third one.

“And… this one?”

Kai beams.

“That’s you.”

Your chest goes warm and tight all at once.

Mattheo walks over now, looking down at the drawing.

“Huh,” he mutters.

Kai looks up at him suspiciously. “What.”

Mattheo points at the picture.

“Why am I so angry?”

Kai shrugs. “Because you yell a lot.”

You choke on a laugh.

Kai then climbs onto the couch again, completely satisfied.

Later that morning the garden was filled with sunlight and laughter.

Kai ran across the grass with a soccer ball, his little legs pumping fast.

“Pass it!” he yelled.

Mattheo kicked the ball toward him effortlessly.

You sat on the patio steps watching them.

Kai ran back toward you moments later, out of breath.

“Daddy is the best kicker ever,” he announced proudly.

“Oh really?” you said.

“Yes! He can kick it super far and he lifts me up with one arm and he knows how to make pancakes too but not as good as you but still good and—”

You looked over at Mattheo who stood in the yard watching you both.

He shook his head slightly.

The kid was basically his personal PR manager.

---

By afternoon Kai had exhausted both of you.

He plopped onto the couch dramatically.

“I want to watch a movie.”

“Okay,” you said.

“I want Daddy too.”

Mattheo, who had been halfway through opening a laptop at the dining table, froze.

Kai jumped up and ran over.

“Come on!”

“I don’t watch animated movies,” Mattheo said flatly.

Kai grabbed his hand.

“Today you do.”

Five minutes later he was dragged into the living room.

You were sitting on one side of the couch.

Mattheo reluctantly sat on the other.

Kai climbed between you like a tiny dictator.

Blanket. Popcorn. Movie playing.

He leaned against you first.

Then against Mattheo.

Then eventually wrapped his arms around both of you.

Halfway through the movie Mattheo glanced down.

Kai had grabbed your hand.

And then grabbed his.

And placed them together over his stomach like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mattheo stiffened slightly.

You froze.

Kai smiled sleepily.

“Family,” he mumbled.

Then ten minutes later—

He was asleep.

His head tilted against your shoulder.

The movie kept playing softly.

You whispered, “I’ll take him.”

Mattheo shook his head quietly.

“I’ve got him.”

He carefully lifted Kai into his arms.

The boy barely stirred.

Mattheo carried him upstairs, pushing the bedroom door open with his foot.

He laid Kai down gently, pulling the blanket over him.

Then he leaned down and kissed his forehead.

Mattheo turned the light off and stepped out quietly.

---

By the time he reached his bedroom he had just started loosening the collar of his shirt when—

Knock.

He opened the door.

You stood there holding his phone.

“It kept ringing downstairs,” you said. “You forgot it.”

He took it from you.

“Thanks.”

But you didn’t leave.

You stepped inside slowly.

Mattheo noticed.

He raised an eyebrow "Anything else?"

“Who’s Vina?” you asked.

He looked down at the phone screen.

Then back at you.

Then finally noticed you were still standing there in the middle of his room.

His eyebrow lifted higher.

“Are you asking me,” he said slowly, “who’s calling my phone?”

“Yes.”

A slow smirk spread across his face.

“And do you do that with everyone you work with?”

You crossed your arms.

“No.”

Your eyes held his.

“Only the ones whose sons I care about.”

For a second the room went completely still.

His smirk lingered as he looked down at the phone in his hand and then back at you.

You were still standing there.

Still watching him.

Your arms slowly folded across your chest.

“Vina,” you repeat, the name tasting slightly bitter on your tongue. “Sounds… close.”

He leaned back casually against the edge of the desk, studying you with open amusement.

“Does it?”

“Yes.”

He tilted his head.

“And why exactly are we discussing the women who call my phone?”

Your chin lifted a little.

“I’m trying to make sure Kai is safe.”

The words came out firm, controlled.

Mattheo’s expression shifted slightly.

“My son,” he said calmly, “is safe.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then explain it to me.”

You stepped a little further into the room, your voice steady but tight.

“If you’re going to introduce a woman into his life, we need to know about it. Children get attached. It’s not fair to bring people around him if they’re not going to stay.”

Mattheo stared at you for two seconds.

Then he laughed.

A low, quiet laugh that made heat crawl up your neck.

“Oh,” he murmured, pushing himself off the desk.

“You’re serious.”

You frowned.

“Of course I’m serious.”

He started walking toward you.

Slow.

“You think I’m introducing random women to my son?” he said, voice light with mock curiosity.

“I don’t know what you do,” you shot back. “That’s exactly my point.”

He stopped a step away.

Still smiling.

“You’re overthinking this.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

Your jaw tightened.

“Well excuse me for caring about the emotional stability of a five-year-old.”

He leaned closer.

Your back instinctively moved a step back.

Then another.

Until the edge of the table pressed into your hips.

Mattheo placed his hands on the table on either side of you, caging you in without touching you.

The space between you disappeared.

“You’re spiraling,” he said quietly.

“I am not spiraling.”

“You are.”

His eyes flicked over your face, clearly enjoying every second of this.

“Let me see if I understand,” he continued lazily. “You came into my room… to question me… about a woman calling my phone… because you’re concerned about my son.”

“Yes.”

His smile widened.

“Right.”

You pushed your palms against the table behind you, refusing to look away.

“If it’s not serious,” you said firmly, “then there’s no reason for Kai to even know she exists.”

Mattheo’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

You continued before you lost your nerve.

“I mean—you’re a grown man. Obviously you have… needs.” Your cheeks warmed but you pushed through it. “But you can deal with that somewhere else. Not in the house. Not where Kai might get attached to someone who—”

Mattheo blinked.

Then leaned closer.

Very slowly.

“Are you asking me,” he said, voice dropping into something lower and rougher, “about my sex life?”

Your eyes widened.

“No!”

“Because it sounds a lot like you’re asking about my sex life.”

“I’m not asking—”

“You’re setting guidelines now?”

“I’m talking about Kai!”

His gaze dragged slowly over your face.

“You’re jealous.”

“I am not jealous.”

The words came too fast.

His smirk deepened.

“You are.”

“I’m not!”

“You absolutely are.”

You tried to step sideways but his arm shifted slightly, blocking the escape.

Your pulse jumped.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered.

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

He leaned even closer now, his voice dropping to a murmur near your ear.

“You walked into my room,” he said softly, “to interrogate me about another woman.”

“That’s not what—”

“And then you started giving me rules about where I’m allowed to sleep with people.”

Your face burned.

“That’s not—”

His eyes met yours again.

“Sounds like jealousy to me.”

You glared at him.

“Believe whatever you want.”

For a moment neither of you moved.

The air between you was thick. Charged.

Mattheo’s voice softened just slightly.

“You don’t have to worry about Kai meeting anyone.”

Your brow furrowed.

“Why?”

His gaze held yours.

“Because I don’t bring women here.”

Anger flared hot in your gut, sharp and unexpected. You pulled back slightly, searching his face. “So where do you take them, then?”

“You really want to know?”

Your jaw tightened, but you nodded, the words escaping before you could stop them. “Yes.”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling from his chest as he straightened slightly but didn't pull away. His presence loomed, filling the space between you, the heat from his body brushing against your skin. "Alright then. Since you're so invested... I handle it outside these walls. Motels, their places, wherever. Quick and done. No strings, no repeats that matter."

Your stomach flipped at the casual way he said it, like it was nothing. Like scratching an itch. But the image it conjured—him with some faceless woman, tangled up and forgotten—made your cheeks flush hotter. "Quick and done? What does that even mean?"

He tilted his head, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. "It means exactly what it sounds like. I don't linger. Get in, get off, get out. If I see them again, I probably don't even remember their name. Or their face, half the time."

The bluntness hit you like a slap, your eyes widening as you processed it. He was laying it all out, no shame, no filter, and it stirred something uncomfortable in you—curiosity tangled with a jealous ache you couldn't shake. "That's... cold," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "Don't you ever want more than that? Like, actually connecting with someone?"

Mattheo's expression softened for a beat, but then his smirk returned, teasing now. "Connecting? Is that what you're after here? Advice on my love life?" He leaned in a fraction closer, his breath warm against your temple.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out at first. Your face burned, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it.

Mattheo watched you, his eyes darkening as he noticed the flush creeping down your neck. "You done asking?" he murmured, his voice a low rasp that vibrated through the scant inches between you.

You nodded, unable to form words, your gaze dropping to his lips despite yourself.

The heat between you surged, your body leaning in despite every rational thought screaming to pull back. Mattheo's fingers tightened on your jaw, his thumb brushing the edge of your lower lip, sending a shiver straight down your spine. Your breasts rose and fell with shallow breaths, nipples hardening against the thin fabric of your shirt, aching for contact. His free hand slid to your waist, gripping the curve there firmly, pulling you flush against him. You felt the hard length of his cock pressing through his pants, thick and insistent against your thigh, and a fresh wave of wetness soaked your panties.

His mouth inched closer, the promise of his tongue invading yours making your knees weaken. But just as your lips parted, trembling in anticipation, he froze. Then, with a low, frustrated growl, he yanked back, releasing you so abruptly that you stumbled slightly against the table.

“Go back to your room,” he said, his voice rough, edged with restraint as his eyes burned into yours, dark with unspent hunger.

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@gabbystardust

You linger outside his door longer than you should, fingers trembling on the frame, knuckles white against the wood. The sound of his sobs seeps through, jagged and small, tearing through you one uneven breath at a time. You can’t stand it—the silence between those sobs, the pauses where you can almost hear his anger grow teeth.

You knock once. Then twice. Your voice barely makes it out.

“Kai? can I come in?”

There’s no answer, only the faint shuffle of feet on carpet. You try again, softer. “Please, sweetheart. I just… I need to talk to you. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear.”

The doorknob twists before you even finish the sentence. It doesn’t open fully—just a few inches, enough for you to see his red-rimmed eyes and the streaks of dried tears crusted on his cheeks. He looks so small and yet, somehow, the weight in his gaze is crushing.

“What do you want?” he mutters, voice cracking like the edge of glass.

You exhale shakily. “I just want to talk. To say I’m sorry.”

He glares, lips trembling. “You already said sorry.”

“I know, but—”

“You don’t mean it!” His voice spikes, startling in its ferocity. “You’re just saying it because you feel bad! Because Daddy yelled at you!”

The words slice clean through you. You take a step closer, but he shoves the door wider, meeting you head-on with a fury too big for such a small body.

“I wish I never met you!” he shouts, and the words echo down the hall like thunder. “All adults do is lie! You’re just like the rest of them!”

You can’t breathe.

“Kai—”

“No!” His fists are balled tight, shoulders heaving, tears streaming anew. “You said you loved me! But you lied! You’re like her and Daddy and everyone! I *hate* you!”

The world stops moving. The hallway bends inward, like a vacuum sucking the air from your lungs. You nod once, not trusting your voice, and back away.

He slams the door before you can whisper his name again.

Your room feels foreign when you enter it, like it belongs to someone else—someone softer, more deserving, someone who didn’t ruin everything she touched. You slide down against the wall, curling your knees to your chest, and the first sob breaks out of you so hard it steals the breath right from your ribs.

Your chest constricts, a painful, crawling pressure that won’t let go. You gasp, but it’s not enough. You claw at your own skin, trembling, trying to ground yourself in the sting of your nails, the cool of the floor. The panic comes like a wave—fast, merciless. You can’t think. You can’t see. You can only feel: the tightness, the burn, the voice in your head screaming you did this.

Maybe this is what you were made for. To break things. To break people.

Maybe you’re the rot that seeps in after the warmth fades—the reason love turns to ruin, the reason every home you touch ends up hollow. You don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve any of them.

Not Kai, not Mattheo, not the house that smelled like sea salt and second chances.

You sit there for what feels like hours, your breathing jagged, your fingers numb. The clock ticks somewhere in the distance, indifferent.

When you finally stand, you don’t look in the mirror. You don’t pack. You don’t even grab the few things you’d bought with his money—the dress folded at the end of the bed, the perfume still sealed in its box. You can’t take them. You don’t deserve to.

You deserve to leave the same way you came: empty-handed.

The note takes longer to write than it should. The pen shakes in your fingers; the words blur halfway through.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean to hurt him.

Or you.

You were right—I ruin everything I touch.

—Y/N

You fold it once, neatly, and place it on the dresser beside the picture of Kai holding that stupid dinosaur toy. Your tears drip onto the paper, warping the ink until the letters run like veins.

You stand for a moment, just staring. Waiting for something to stop you—a sound, a voice, a sign. Nothing comes. The house is silent, like it’s already forgotten you.

When you walk downstairs, one of the guards by the door looks up. He doesn’t move to stop you. His eyes follow you with a kind of muted curiosity, maybe pity, but not enough to interfere. Maybe Mattheo told them to let you go. Maybe they can see you’re already halfway gone.

The night air hits you like a slap, humid and salt-heavy. You don’t look back.

You wipe your tears with the back of your hand, smearing salt and mascara down your cheek. The road ahead is dim, the city lights flickering in the distance like a mirage. You don’t know where you’re going; you just walk. Sand sticks to your feet, clinging to the last traces of the beach you’re leaving behind.

Every step feels like a sentence, every breath a confession.

You walk until the house disappears behind the line of palm trees, until the night swallows the sound of the waves, until the only thing left is the echo of his voice in your head—small, furious, breaking.

I hate you.

The words loop in your chest, over and over, until they become something quieter, heavier.

Maybe he’s right.

Maybe this is what you were always meant to do: to walk away before you ruin what’s left.

You pull your cardigan tighter around you and keep moving, the city ahead an unfamiliar mouth, ready to swallow you whole.

The room was too quiet. Too still.

The kind of silence that hummed against the bones.

Mattheo pov

Mattheo sat on the edge of his bed, elbows digging into his knees, head bowed as the words she’d thrown at him kept looping, sharp as broken glass in his mind.

“You think protecting him means hiding the past like it didn’t happen. But that’s not how healing works, Mattheo—he’s breaking, and you’re too angry to see it.”

He had wanted to shout back. He had shouted back. But now, the sound of her voice wouldn’t leave.

“You don’t talk about her, you don’t let him grieve, you just keep moving and dragging him along—”

“I’m not the problem, Mattheo. I didn’t abandon him. I didn’t lie to him for years and pretend he’s fine.”

His jaw clenched so tight it ached. He raked both hands through his hair, fingers curling against his scalp, the ghost of her voice hammering against his chest.

He wanted to stay angry—at her, at the way she’d crossed lines she didn’t understand—but the more he thought about it, the clearer it became his fury wasn’t aimed at her at all. It was at himself.

She hadn’t lied. Y/N never lied, even when the truth tore her apart.

She was just so fucking pure like that. Too honest. Too open. Too willing to bleed if it meant someone else might heal.

God, he hated her for it.

Hated how her honesty exposed everything ugly inside him.

Hated how she always fucking _saw_ him, past every wall, every cruel word he threw to keep her away.

He hated how soft her hair was, how she smelled like vanilla and salt, how her smile could drag light into any goddamn room no matter how dark it was.

And he hated that he missed it.

His eyes snapped shut.

“You think you scare me?” you hissed. “I’ve survived worse than you, Riddle. You want to fire me? Go ahead. But don’t pretend you gave a fuck in the first place.”

He’d thought she was bluffing, that her defiance was armor. But she had survived worse—things that made his stomach twist when he imagined them, still couldn’t understand how anyone had dared to hurt someone like her.

His blood boiled. His pulse pounded against his temples.

He needed to stop this madness before it swallowed them all. He would take care of Kai, like he always had.

What the fuck had he been thinking—bringing her into their world, into their home, into him?

She had to go.

That’s what he told himself as he pushed off the bed and strode down the hallway.

His footsteps were heavy down the hall, echoing off the marble floors until he reached her room.

He hesitated a second before knocking. Once. Then again, harder.

“Y/N,” he called, voice rough. “Open the door.”

Silence.

He knocked again, louder this time, heart thudding fast and uneven. “Y/N.”

Still nothing.

A cold prickle climbed up his neck. He twisted the handle.

The door swung open to emptiness.

The room was fucking empty.

No movement, no voice, just the faint smell of her perfume hanging in the air. The sheets untouched. The curtains still half-drawn.

His pulse spiked. “Y/N!” he called, stepping in fast, scanning corners, the bathroom, the balcony.

Nothing.

“Fuck—” He tore open the closet doors. Her clothes still hung neatly in place, her suitcase still by the dresser.

She can’t leave, she can’t fucking leave.

But wasn’t that what he come her to do? To tell her to Get the fuck out.

His throat closed up.

He stormed back to the door, shouting for one of the guards. Footsteps approached—a younger man, hesitant.

A minute later, one of the guards appeared in the doorway, straight-backed, uncertain. “Sir?”

“Where is she?” Mattheo’s voice was low but lethal.

The guard blinked. “She, uh—she left, sir. About half an hour ago.”

Mattheo’s whole body went still. “She what?”

“She walked out the front gate, sir. I—uh—I thought she was just going for a walk. She didn’t take anything. No bags. Nothing.”

“A walk,” Mattheo repeated slowly, eyes narrowing. “In a city she doesn’t fucking know, speaking a language she doesn’t *understand?* That’s what you thought?”

The guard swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. I—”

“Get out.”

“Sir, I—”

“Get the fuck out before I decide what to do with you.”

The man backed out fast, face pale, closing the door behind him.

Mattheo stood there, chest heaving. He ran both hands over his face, then turned back toward her bed.

Her scarf was draped across the chair, soft and light, still smelling faintly of her skin. He picked it up, pressing it to his face, eyes shut.

You are fucked Mattheo

he thought to himself

You fucked up bad.

He dropped the scarf, his gaze falling on the note left by the lamp. Folded, edges damp from tears. He stared at it for a long time before picking it up.

His fingers trembled as he unfolded it.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean to hurt him.

Or you.

You were right—I ruin everything I touch.

—Y/N

The breath left him in one long exhale. His vision blurred. The words felt like a punch to the ribs—quiet, deliberate, final.

The door creaked open behind him.

“Daddy?”

Kai’s small voice broke through, soft and scared. He stood there clutching his green dinosaur toy, his eyes red from crying.

Mattheo folded the note quickly, tucking it behind him. “Hey, bud.”

Kai sniffled. “Did Y/N leave?”

Mattheo’s throat tightened. “No, no, Kai. She just needed some time alone, alright? I yelled at her. That wasn’t fair.”

Kai shook his head, tears spilling again. “No, she left. I heard you. I heard you tell her to go.”

Mattheo’s mouth opened, but no sound came. The lie withered before it could form.

Kai’s shoulders started shaking. “It’s because of me,” he choked out. “Because I said I hate her. And I wish I never met her. I didn’t mean it, Daddy. I didn’t mean it.”

Mattheo stared at his son—small, trembling, breaking—and the world tilted under him. “Kai—no. No, no, hey—look at me.” He crouched down, gripping Kai’s arms gently. “That’s not your fault, okay? None of this is your fault.”

Kai sobbed harder, burying his face in Mattheo’s chest. “I just wanted a sister,” he said. “I wanted her to stay. I won’t ever say that again, I promise. Please don’t let her go.”

Mattheo held him tighter, pressing a hand to the back of his head. “Shh, hey. Hey, it’s alright. Listen to me—I’m going to find her, okay? I’ll bring her back.”

“Promise?” Kai’s voice was small, muffled against his shirt.

“I promise.”

He pulled back just enough to meet his son’s eyes. “But I need you to do something for me. Can you do that?”

Kai nodded, sniffling.

“I need you to have your dinner, and then go to bed like a good boy, alright? No trouble for anyone while I’m gone. You understand?”

Kai wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Okay. But you’ll find her?”

Mattheo cupped his cheek, voice breaking low. “I’ll find her.”

Kai clung to him for another moment before shuffling off toward his room, dinosaur still clutched tight.

Mattheo stayed there a long time, crouched in the middle of her empty room, the faint smell of her still in the air, the note still burning against his palm.

Mattheo barely felt the marble under his shoes as he strode through the front hall, keys biting into his palm, every step driven by something raw and frantic that didn’t have a name.

Outside, the air was thick, almost alive. He slid into the driver’s seat, the engine roaring to life beneath his shaking hands. His reflection flashed in the rearview mirror—wild eyes, jaw tight, knuckles white—and he didn’t recognize the man staring back.

He peeled out of the driveway, tires screeching against the gravel.

She couldn’t have gone far. Half an hour—forty minutes, maybe. She didn’t have a car, didn’t even take her goddamn bag. Where could she go?

The headlights sliced through the dark as he drove down the winding road that led toward the village, the ocean glinting silver on his right. Every shadow looked like her. Every figure in the distance made his stomach twist until he realized it wasn’t.

He drove past the narrow cafés, the shuttered souvenir shops, the old fountain at the square. Nothing. No sign of her. He slowed near every corner, scanning the sidewalks, the alleys, the benches by the sea.

His chest burned. He pressed harder on the gas.

The road curved along the lake just past the edge of town, where the streetlamps thinned and the air smelled cleaner. That’s when he saw it—red and blue lights flashing ahead, people gathered near the shore, voices echoing low and urgent.

His stomach plummeted.

He slammed the brakes, the car jerking to a stop, gravel spraying. He was out before the engine even died, striding toward the crowd.

“Cosa sta succedendo?” he demanded. What’s going on?

A middle-aged man turned, eyes wide, his face ghostly under the flashing lights. “Hanno trovato qualcuno nel lago,” he said. They found someone in the lake.

Mattheo’s heart stuttered. “Chi?”

The man shrugged helplessly. “Non lo so. Qualcuno è annegato.” I don’t know. Someone drowned.

For a second, the world tilted sideways. His pulse hammered in his ears, the blood roaring through him so loud he barely heard himself say, “No… no, no, no.”

His feet moved before thought caught up. He pushed through the small crowd.

The flashing lights painted everything red and blue and wrong. Two paramedics were pulling a body from the water—limp, soaked, the face obscured by hair and lake mud.

Mattheo couldn’t breathe.

He stood frozen, chest heaving, the metallic taste of panic flooding his mouth.

Please. Not her.

Please….

He didn’t pray. He hadn’t prayed in years. But right then, he did.

He waited as the medics turned the body, every heartbeat a gunshot in his skull. The water dripped, dark and endless, before the man’s face came into view—older, unfamiliar, a fisherman maybe.

Not her.

Mattheo staggered back, lungs finally dragging in air. It hit him all at once—the relief, brutal and unholy.

He was trembling. He felt sick with it.

One of the locals glanced at him, confusion flickering in his expression. Of course he’d look at him like that—like he’d lost his mind. Because who the fuck looked relieved when someone else’s body was pulled from the water?

But it wasn’t his Y/N. That’s all that mattered.

His Y/N—

He froze.

His?

Since when had she become his anything?

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Get a grip, Mattheo. Bloody hell.”

He turned back toward his car, his legs moving on instinct. He could feel his pulse still thundering in his wrists, his throat, his skull. The night air pressed in around him, heavy and too warm.

He climbed back into the driver’s seat, slamming the door behind him. The silence inside the car was deafening, the smell of salt and leather thick. He gripped the steering wheel and stared at the empty road ahead, chest rising and falling too fast.

His hands were still shaking. They never shook. Not during fights, not during business, not during anything.

But now—he could barely keep them steady.

He’d lost control. Somewhere between her soft laugh and her goddamn stubbornness, he’d lost the edge he’d spent years sharpening.

He slammed his fist against the wheel once, the horn blaring into the night.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growled, his voice raw.

No answer came. Just the sound of the waves in the distance, steady and cruel.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cool leather, breathing hard.

Then, after a long moment, he turned the key again.

The engine growled to life.

And he drove off into the dark, still searching.

Tag list :

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The sun was blindingly bright, the waves crashing in the distance as warm air clung to your skin. The house Mattheo had brought you to sat just steps from the private beach, the sand white and perfect. Kai had been buzzing with excitement all morning.

But now—he was furious.

“Why not?” he pouted, arms crossed, stomping in the pool like an offended royal. “You said you’d come in!”

“I know, baby, I’m sorry,” you said softly, crouching near the edge. “But I—I can’t swim.”

He blinked at you like you just told him you were from Mars. “But I’m five and I can swim! Daddy taught me.”

You smiled weakly. “I know. Your daddy is… really good at a lot of things.”

Kai huffed and threw himself on a floaty. “This is the worst day ever.”

You held back a chuckle, standing up—and that’s when you felt it.

Eyes.

Mattheo.

Standing by the patio door with a drink in one hand, his shirt undone halfway down his chest, black sunglasses on, his head tilted ever so slightly as he watched you. You swore the air got ten degrees hotter.

You stepped off to the side of the pool, pretending to adjust your sundress—his gaze didn’t move. If anything, it deepened.

He walked toward you, slow, calculating. Each step an unspoken command.

You turned just as he got close enough for your shoulder to brush against his chest.

“You good?” he asked, his voice like velvet.

“Yeah,” you said, eyes flickering to his lips. “Kai just… wanted me to swim with him.”

He smirked. “You scared I’ll throw you in?”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” you muttered, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Tempting,” he said, then leaned down, mouth close to your ear. “But I can think of better things to do to get you wet.”

Your knees almost buckled.

Before you could respond, his phone buzzed. His jaw tightened slightly as he answered.

“Thomas,” he said. Then, a pause. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

He kissed Kai’s head and strode back into the house.

You were sitting in the sand with Kai, building something halfway between a castle and a blob, when you noticed his attention wander.

He was staring across the beach at a family—a mom holding a baby girl, a father chasing his toddler through the shallow waves.

His face shifted.

Then, very quietly, he turned to you. “Y/N?”

“Yes, baby?”

“I want a sister.”

You froze. “What?”

“A sister,” he repeated, dead serious. “How can I get a sister?”

You blinked. “Oh, well… um…”

He stared at you, waiting.

Then: “How do people get babies?”

Your soul left your body.

“I—uh—well, sometimes people who love each other very much decide to have a baby, and—”

“So you and Daddy can make me a sister?”

You choked on air. “Kai—no—I mean—I can’t—”

His face crumpled. “Why not?”

“It’s… complicated.”

He stood up, sand flying. “You don’t want to be my mommy! You don’t even want to swim with me!”

“Kai, no, that’s not what I—”

But he was already running—storming toward the house in little furious steps, fists balled up at his sides.

“Kai! Wait—Kai!”

You ran after him, heart pounding, guilt crashing down like a wave.

Inside the house, he was already yelling.

“I hate this stupid house! I want a sister and I want her now!”

You reached for him, kneeling. “Kai, please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you—”

“You don’t want to be part of our family! You don’t even care!”

You held his face gently. “That’s not true, baby. That’s not true at all.”

He was sobbing now, hiccupping, “Why won’t you be my mommy?”

Kai was still crying, loud and trembling, cheeks red and streaked with sand. You had followed him to the living room, your heart in pieces, trying to fix what you didn’t know how to.

You dropped to your knees beside him, your voice barely steady.

“Kai… please. I love you. I love you so, so much. Please, listen to me.”

He sniffled, lip quivering, his voice a dagger.

“Then be my mommy.”

You swallowed, tears burning behind your eyes.

“I can’t.”

His little face twisted. “Why not?!”

Your voice cracked.

“Because… because you have a mom, Kai. And it’s not me.”

The words nearly destroyed you to say.

You wanted nothing more than to hold him and promise him the world—but that would have been a lie. You weren’t her. You never could be.

“It wouldn’t be fair to her,” you whispered, your throat aching. “Wherever she is… she’s your mom, and she always will be.”

Kai stood up, his fists tight, his chest rising and falling with anger.

“No! You’re lying! She left! You don’t care about me either!”

Before you could say another word—

CRASH.

He grabbed a porcelain vase from the table and threw it to the floor, shattering it into a thousand pieces, then turned and ran up the stairs to his room, slamming the door so hard the whole wall shook.

And then—

A sharp, cold voice behind you.

“What the fuck did you just say to him?”

You turned, breath catching.

Mattheo stood there. Rigid. Fury etched across his face. His jaw was clenched so hard it looked like it might crack.

“I—” you started, stepping toward him.

He cut you off, voice venomous.

“I told you. I told you one fucking thing—not to bring up his mom. And you couldn’t even do that.”

Your lips parted, the sting in your chest immediate.

“I didn’t mean to—I was trying to calm him down—he asked— I wasn’t trying to hurt him—he asked me how to get a sister! What was I supposed to say?”

“You say anything else! You lie if you have to, but you don’t talk about her.” His voice was thunder. “You knew this would mess him up. You knew it, and you still—”

“He thought I was going to be his mom!” you snapped. **“He’s five! He’s confused and scared and he just wants something to hold onto—”

“Then maybe don’t rip the only thread he has left,” he spat. “Jesus, Y/N.”

That broke something.

You stepped back, tears stinging, your voice lower now. Cold.

“I’m not the problem, Mattheo. I didn’t abandon him. I didn’t lie to him for years and pretend he’s fine.”

He stilled.

The silence after that sentence was vicious.

“What did you just say to me?”

Your chest rose and fell. You didn’t back down.

“You heard me. You’ve spent five years dancing around the truth with him, pretending he’s okay, pretending you’re okay. You don’t talk about her, you don’t let him grieve, you just keep moving and dragging him along—”

“Stop talking.”

“You think protecting him means hiding the past like it didn’t happen. But that’s not how healing works, Mattheo—he’s breaking, and you’re too angry to see it.”

He took one more step forward. The heat from his body clashed with the chill in his voice.

“You work for me.” His words were low. Precise. Each syllable cut like glass. “You’re not here to play mother. You’re not here to question my parenting. You're not part of this family. You’re a fucking employee.”

Your heart dropped.

You looked him dead in the eyes, something ugly and broken surging up your throat.

“Right. Thanks for the reminder.”

You turned to walk away.

“Don’t you dare wa—”

“I gave everything I had to you two.” You spun around, voice shaking. “And the second things got hard, you pulled the boss card. Like none of it mattered. Like I didn’t matter.”

He ran a hand through his hair, furious. “That’s not what I—”

“You think you scare me?” you hissed. “I’ve survived worse than you, Riddle. You want to fire me? Go ahead. But don’t pretend you gave a fuck in the first place.”

“You’re always hiding,” you whispered, voice raw now. “Behind your rules, your control, your temper. You act like you don’t care, like it’s all about protecting Kai—but I think it’s you who’s scared, Mattheo. Not him.”

He blinked once—slow. And when he looked at you again, something had shifted. Hardened.

“Go to your fucking room, Y/N.”

The words hit harder than any scream ever could.

You stared at him, frozen.

“Mattheo—”

“I said, go.”

Your lips quivered. You wanted to fight back. Wanted to scream. But your throat was too full of regret.

You backed away slowly, the burn of tears making your vision swim.

“I didn’t mean that.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t look at you.

You whispered again, voice hollow. “I didn’t mean it.”

Then you turned.

And walked to your room—

The echo of that shattered vase still crunching under your step

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imagine having your petite partner, sit on your thick thigh, mumbling how big you are compared to them. grinding their little ass on your meaty thighs as your hands guide them to move across your leg. theyre imagining, if this is how thick your thigh is, they wonder how thick you are down there.

imagine having your petite partner sit on your face, your hands almost encircle your partner's waist completely. pulling their sex closer to your face as you listen to their little mewls, weakly grinding against your face.

imagine having your petite partner taking control once in a while, trying to fuck you until your brain turns to mush but it backfires. Their attempts to fuck you, turn into a sloppy mess of trying to get you to fuck them instead, and they don't want it gentle.

imagine having your petite partner being naughty or cheeky minded, you're busy with your work and you feel their arms wrap around your neck from behind. "how about you do me instead of doing your work, hm?" getting you riled up and then they tease you by deciding to ignore your advances for the rest of the day.

imagine your petite partner begging their cute little ass to be fucked raw, their small butt to the skies and face crying on the sheets. you can't help but tease them back for their earlier tricks, sliding your hand to caress their sex and pulling away, whispering into their ear and grabbing their small fucking waist.

--