Basking in the warm spring sunlight with boyfriend!Sukuna.
The sun gilds the roofs of the neighboring houses, scattering little sparks of light across the tops of the still-bare trees before its warmth finally reaches you.
Sitting on the porch steps already warmed by the morning, elbow propped on your knee and chin resting in your palm, you let your gaze drift lazily across the yard — over the barely budding greenery and the shallow puddles of melted snow reflecting the sky.
The warmth spills over your face, making your eyes fall half-closed, and your lips curl into a lazy, happy smile you don’t even try to hide.
Something inside your chest aches and warms with quiet happiness.
Beside you, Sukuna has settled in with his legs spread wide, taking up space like he owns the place, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket.
His face is as gloomy as ever.
But right now the sunlight catches in his peach-colored hair, turning it into golden flame. The reddish strands flare and shimmer, like every strand holds a tiny spark inside it.
The light slides over his skin, sharpening the cut of his cheekbones, the hard line of his jaw, gliding along the dark lines of his tattoos before finally reaching his eyes.
Sukuna squints, frowning even harder, almost annoyed, but he doesn’t turn away. As if he’s letting the sun — and you — do whatever you want with him.
You lean closer, closing the small space between you.
Your cheek comes to rest against his solid shoulder.
Sukuna freezes for a second, then his face smooths out. The frown disappears like it was never there. He lowers his gaze to you, and when your eyes meet his, you see how his pupils narrow slightly.
He watches you closely, almost greedily, taking in every little detail: your smile, the way you press against him like a cat looking for warmth and affection, completely certain it will be given here.
You wrap your arms around his elbow, pressing closer, trying to soak up more warmth. A soft, satisfied hum slips out of your throat. You stretch slightly, still tucked against Sukuna, and mumble with your eyes closed:
“Mmm… finally… the sun’s out… it’s so warm…”
Your voice is sleepy and slow.
Sukuna stays silent.
He never really liked unnecessary words anyway.
You feel the arm you’re hugging tense slightly before he slowly pulls it free from your embrace. For a moment you feel cold, a little hurt — but it only lasts a second.
His hand immediately settles on your waist and Sukuna pulls you toward him without effort, like you weigh nothing at all. He lifts you onto his lap sideways, trapping you there like a plush toy he’s oddly protective of.
“Sukuna!” you breathe out with a laugh, kicking your feet in the air and planting your palms against his chest for show, because in reality you’re not even thinking about resisting.
“Sit still,” he grumbles in that low, rumbling voice right above your head.
Sukuna adjusts you until you’re more comfortable, one arm holding you by the waist while the other shifts your legs so you can sit better.
You feel the solid warmth of his chest behind your back, his ribcage rising and falling with each slow breath, the calm, steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
You stop struggling, exhale softly, and relax completely, settling into the perfect place in the curve of his body.
Your place is right here. Pressed against him.
Sukuna lowers his chin onto the top of your head. His arms close around you, pulling you closer. Firm. Secure. You sit there, comfortably tucked against him, watching the sunlight play over your intertwined hands, over his fingers resting on your stomach.
Your thoughts drift slowly and lazily…
“Nice,” Sukuna murmurs quietly, eyes half-closed, and you hum in response.
In return you only feel the faintest brush of his lips against your hair. Goosebumps run down your back, nothing to do with the cold, scattering sparks along your spine. Your smile widens and you place your hands over his, threading your fingers through his.
Sukuna stays silent as his thumb begins slowly, thoughtfully stroking your ring finger. Slow circles, again and again, as if he’s trying something on for size, as if he’s thinking about something he hasn’t quite decided to say out loud yet.
Somewhere in the distance a bird chirps. The sun climbs higher. And the two of you sit there on the porch, while time itself seems to pause, soaked in quiet, overwhelming happiness.
Do not repost, copy, plagiarize, translate, or feed my work into AI in any form!) Divider credit: @ithemes
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A parent-teacher consultation should have been a normal evening. Discussing grades, answering questions, and helping students improve.
It was not supposed to end with a parent assuming you and Ryland Grace were married. Unfortunately, neither of you could really blame them.
Grover Cleveland Middle was hosting parent-teacher consultations in the gymnasium, which meant the usually quiet space was now filled with conversations, stacks of student reports, and the occasional nervous parent. Tables were lined across the room, each one occupied by teachers waiting to meet with families.
You had been paired with Mr. Grace for the Science-Math consultations.
It wasn’t surprising. If there was one teacher everyone knew at Grover Cleveland, it was Ryland Grace. The science teacher was practically adored by the students—partly because of his enthusiasm, partly because he had a way of making every lesson feel like an adventure.
You arrived ten minutes early, mostly because you knew Mr. Grace’s definition of “early” was dangerously close to “exactly on time.”
Not that you were surprised.
Ryland Grace was brilliant—there was no denying that. He could explain complicated scientific theories to a room full of twelve-year-olds and somehow make them sound like the most fascinating things in the world. But organization? Scheduling? Remembering where he placed his own materials?
That was another matter entirely.
“You’re early.” Ryland finally shows up, two coffee cups in hand
You look up from arranging the student reports. “You’re late.”
He glances at the clock. “I’m three minutes early.”
“You’re three minutes late to my version of early.”
He pauses, considering this. “That sounds like a math teacher answer.”
“Because it is.”
“Fair.”
He sits down next to you and sets a coffee cup beside your papers.
"What's this?" You turn to him.
"Coffee."
"I can see that."
"Then I'm glad we're both starting strong today."
You give him a look he knows the meaning of. He smiles lightly before pointing at the cup. "It's yours."
You blink. “How did you know my order?”
Grace looks genuinely confused by the question.
“You get the same thing every morning.”
“You noticed that?”
“I notice patterns.”
The parent meeting event at Grover Cleveland Middle finally starts. The gymnasium, which had been filled with the quiet shuffling of teachers preparing their materials moments ago, quickly became alive with conversations. Parents moved from table to table, carrying questions about grades, assignments, and their children's progress.
The first few families approached your table with the usual concerns. Missing assignments. Upcoming projects. Test scores. Questions about how their child could improve before the end of the term.
And somehow, despite having never officially planned out how you would handle the consultations together, you and Grace fell into a rhythm.
You handled the details.
Grace handled the explanations.
When a parent asked about their child’s recent test grade, you were already flipping through the organized stack of reports in front of you, pointing out areas where they had improved and where they still needed practice.
“Their calculations have gotten much better,” you explained. “The main thing they need to work on is slowing down and checking their work before submitting.”
Grace leaned forward, adding, “Which is actually a really common issue in science as well. They understand the concepts, but sometimes they rush because they’re eager to get to the answer.”
The parent nodded, visibly relieved.
“So they’re not struggling because they don’t understand?”
“Not at all,” Grace said immediately. “They’re curious. That’s a good thing. We just need to help them build the patience to match that curiosity.”
You glanced at him briefly.
That was something you had noticed about Grace since you started working with him. He never spoke about students as if they were problems to solve. He always spoke about them like they were people still learning how to grow.
Another parent arrived before you could dwell on it for too long, and the cycle continued.
Question after question. Student after student.
By the time the next family approached, you realized something.
Working with Ryland Grace was surprisingly easy.
Annoyingly easy.
The next family approached your table just as you finished discussing a student's recent science project.
The parents had come in with a few questions about their child’s grades, but the conversation quickly shifted into something much easier. Their child had improved significantly over the past few months, and both you and Grace were more than happy to explain why.
You pointed out the areas where they had grown academically, while Grace added small details about their curiosity during experiments and class discussions.
By the end of the conversation, the parents looked more relieved than when they first sat down.
The mother smiled, looking between the two of you. “You two make a wonderful team.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but Grace beat you to it.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely.
You glanced at him. Of course, he would accept that like it was a scientific observation rather than a compliment.
The parent gathered her things, still smiling.
“So, how long have you two been married?”
The silence that followed was immediate.
For a moment, you wondered if you had misheard her.
Grace blinked.
Once.
Twice.
His expression shifted into the same look he had whenever he encountered a problem he couldn’t immediately solve.
“We’re not—”
“No,” you quickly interrupted, perhaps a little too quickly.
The parent’s eyes widened slightly.
“Oh! I’m sorry, I just assumed.”
“It’s alright,” you said, forcing a small laugh. “It’s a common mistake.”
A common mistake.
You weren’t entirely sure why you said that.
Because really, it wasn’t the first time someone had commented on how well you and Grace worked together.
Just never quite like that.
Beside you, Grace adjusted the papers in front of him, seemingly unaffected.
“We do collaborate well,” he said thoughtfully. “Our teaching approaches complement each other.”
You turned to him. “That is a very Grace way of saying we work well together.”
He looked at you, confused. “Is that inaccurate?”
You stared at him for a moment before shaking your head.
“No. It’s not.”
The parent laughed softly, clearly amused by the exchange.
“Well, either way, your students are lucky to have teachers who care this much.”
After she left, you looked down at the reports in front of you, trying very hard not to think about the fact that a complete stranger had looked at the two of you and immediately assumed—
No.
Absolutely not.
You were coworkers.
Friends, maybe.
Good coworkers.
That was all.
“Do you think we give off a married impression?” Grace suddenly asked.
You nearly dropped your pen.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because she assumed we were.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
Grace tilted his head slightly.
“Statistically, people usually make assumptions based on observable patterns.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Are you analyzing our relationship right now?"
“Not relationship,” he corrected. “Our teamwork.”
You stared at him.
A small smile appeared on his face. “Though I suppose the distinction is important.”
And somehow, that made it worse.
~
a/n: HIII!! It has been a while since I posted somethingg huhu. I've been busy with college and moving into a dorm and stuff. Super sorry about that and the short fic for today. But I promise once everything has settled, your Ryland Grace fanfics will be back into its regular program
Requests are still open!! A reblog and like will be greatly appreciated. Thankyou so much for all of the support everyone. See you next fic!<3
Summary: Morning comes, and Jack is still there. Unfortunately, so is the reality of telling Carter and Robby what happened over the weekend. Fortunately, Carter has absolutely no intention of making that difficult. Okay. Maybe a little difficult.
Warnings: implied sexual content, references to sex, grief and discussion of Laura’s death, military injury/amputation/prosthetic, second-chance romance, excessive amounts of kissing, Carter being physically incapable of keeping a secret, Jack Abbot experiencing approximately twenty years of repressed affection all at once.
Author’s Note: We made it, lovelies. 🥹 After all the missed timing, letters, photographs, almosts, and years between them, I really wanted this chapter to be about something much simpler: what happens when Jack and Reader finally get to stay. They get coffee. They tell their family. Jack discovers he apparently has twenty years of kisses to make up for. Carter takes full credit for everything. There is still one very special epilogue to come. 🤍
For a few seconds, he did not know what had pulled him from sleep.
The guest room was quiet. Morning light had begun to gather around the edges of the curtains, pale and soft enough that the room still felt suspended somewhere between night and day.
Then Jack felt the weight against his chest.
He looked down.
You were asleep against him.
One arm rested across his stomach, your cheek tucked against his chest. Your hair had fallen across his skin sometime during the night, soft and disordered from sleep. One of your legs was tangled loosely with his beneath the blankets.
Jack stopped breathing for a moment.
You were here.
Not nineteen. Not a photograph. Not a memory he had carried folded inside his wallet for more years than he cared to count.
You.
Warm and sleeping in his arms.
His chest ached.
The feeling was so full that it almost hurt.
Jack lowered his hand to your back.
He moved carefully, barely touching you at first, his palm tracing slowly over the fabric of your shirt. He felt the steady rise and fall beneath his hand.
You shifted closer in your sleep.
Jack closed his eyes.
That nearly finished him.
His arm tightened instinctively around you, drawing you more securely against his chest.
Last night returned in pieces.
Your face when he told you the truth about the letter.
The hurt in your voice when you told him he should have let you choose.
The hospital.
The lake.
The years neither of you had ever managed to put completely behind you.
Then your voice asking him the question that had finally stripped away every excuse he had left.
Is it over now?
Not even close.
Jack opened his eyes again.
You were still there.
His fingers moved carefully through your hair, brushing a strand away from your face.
He studied you in the weak morning light.
Time had changed you.
There were faint lines at the corners of your eyes that had not been there beside the lake. Your face had softened in places. Your hair fell differently against your cheek.
Jack wanted to know every change.
His heart ached thinking about how many mornings he had missed.
For once, he let it.
He did not turn the feeling into a reason to step away.
His hand moved slowly down your back again.
He loved the weight of you against him.
Loved the warmth of your body.
Loved that you had fallen asleep with your hand spread over his stomach as though some part of you had needed to keep contact even after sleep took over.
Jack looked at your face.
He could still hardly believe the two of you had finally said it.
I love you.
He had said it.
You had said it back.
After all the years he had spent convincing himself that loving you meant knowing when to leave, you had looked him in the eye and told him you loved him now.
Jack’s thumb moved gently along your back.
He knew what this was.
That certainty should have frightened him.
Instead, it settled somewhere deep inside his chest with the weight of something that had been waiting years to come home.
Jack had loved you since he was twenty-one.
He had loved you when he boarded that bus.
He had loved you through every letter.
He had loved you through years in which both of you built lives that did not belong to each other.
He loved you now.
And lying there with you asleep against him, Jack knew something else with a clarity that left no room for argument.
This was the woman he was going to spend the rest of his life with.
Jack stared at you.
Then, with absolutely no warning, the thought became even more specific.
I would marry her.
Jack went still.
Not eventually.
Not after six months of behaving sensibly and pretending the two of you had not already known each other for most of your lives.
Right now.
He would wake you up, pack both your bags, throw them into his truck, and drive straight to Vegas if you opened your eyes and said yes.
The thought should have alarmed him.
Instead, Jack found himself considering how quickly he could get you to Nevada.
His mouth curved.
Completely ridiculous.
Robby would kill him.
Carter would be worse.
Jack could already picture the outrage on the kid’s face.
After everything Carter had done to get the two of you into the same house, there was no chance he would accept being excluded from the wedding.
He would probably produce an itemized list of his contributions to the relationship.
Breadsticks would be on it.
Jack’s smile widened.
Vegas was probably out.
Probably.
You made a soft sound against his chest.
Jack immediately looked down.
Your nose scrunched slightly before your face relaxed again.
He brushed his knuckles gently over your hair.
You shifted beneath his touch and slowly opened your eyes.
For a second, you only blinked at him. Then recognition softened your face.
“Hi,” you murmured.
Jack’s heart did something deeply inconvenient inside his chest.
“Morning,” Jack replied.
Your eyes moved over his face.
“You’re staring at me,” you said.
Jack’s thumb continued its slow path along your back.
“I know,” Jack replied.
A sleepy smile pulled at your mouth.
“How long?” you asked.
Jack considered lying.
“Long enough to become concerned about it,” Jack admitted.
Your smile widened.
“That sounds healthy,” you murmured.
Jack bent and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“I’m a doctor,” Jack said. “I’ll monitor it.”
A quiet laugh escaped you.
You settled closer against him and rested your cheek over his heart again.
Jack’s arm tightened around you.
Neither of you spoke for a moment.
Then your fingers moved lazily against his stomach.
“You’re still here,” you said.
Jack lowered his mouth to your hair.
“I’m still here,” Jack replied.
You tipped your face up toward him.
“Tomorrow too?” you asked.
Jack’s thumb brushed slowly over your back.
“Tomorrow too,” Jack said.
Jack kissed you before he could start thinking about Nevada again.
The kiss stayed soft.
Lazy.
Unhurried in a way neither of you had managed the night before.
When Jack pulled back, you kept your hand against his chest.
“We should probably figure out what we’re telling Carter,” you said.
Jack exhaled through his nose.
“There goes the morning,” Jack replied.
You smiled.
“We cannot just let him figure it out,” you said.
Jack gave you a look.
“He arranged half of this weekend,” Jack replied. “I think he has already figured out most of it.”
“Still,” you said. “We should tell him.”
Jack’s fingers moved slowly along your back.
“Together,” Jack said.
You nodded. “Together,” you agreed.
Jack looked toward the ceiling for a moment.
“And clearly,” Jack added.
You lifted your head.
“Clearly?” you asked.
Jack looked back at you.
“No vague language,” Jack said. “No ‘we’re seeing where this goes.’ No ‘something happened this weekend.’”
Your mouth curved.
“You really have thought about this,” you said.
Jack’s expression stayed serious.
“He’s nine,” Jack replied. “He deserves to know what’s actually happening.”
The tenderness in his voice softened your smile. You traced one finger over his chest.
“So we tell him we’re together,” you said. “That it’s serious.”
Jack nodded.
“That it isn’t temporary,” Jack added.
You held his gaze.
“That it isn’t temporary,” you repeated.
Jack’s hand settled at your waist.
“And Robby?” you asked.
Jack groaned quietly.
“You tell him,” Jack said.
You laughed.
“Absolutely not,” you replied. “You’re doing this with me.”
Jack closed his eyes.
“He is never going to let this go,” Jack said.
“No,” you agreed. “He absolutely is not.”
Jack opened his eyes again.
“He’s going to be relieved,” Jack said.
You smiled softly. “And happy,” you added.
Jack’s expression eased.
“Yeah,” Jack replied. “Happy too.”
You rested your cheek against his chest again.
For another minute, neither of you moved. Then your eyes shifted toward the clock on the nightstand. You lifted your head.
“What time is Carter coming home?” you asked.
Jack followed your gaze. His expression changed.
“An hour,” Jack said.
You stared at him. “An hour?” you repeated.
Jack nodded once.
You pushed yourself upright.
“We need to get up,” you said.
Jack’s arm tightened around your waist before you could move far.
“We need showers,” you continued. “Coffee. Clothes. We should probably make the bed.”
Jack looked toward the tangled blankets.
“He is nine,” Jack said.
“He has eyes,” you replied.
Jack’s mouth twitched. You tried to pull away again. Jack did not let go.
“Jack,” you said.
His hand slid along your waist.
“We have an hour,” Jack replied.
You looked down at him.
“Yes,” you said slowly.
Jack’s gaze dropped to your mouth. Your stomach flipped. You narrowed your eyes.
“No,” you said.
Jack’s eyebrows lifted.
“I didn’t say anything,” Jack replied.
“You didn’t have to,” you said.
His mouth curved.
You stared at him for another second. Then your own smile betrayed you. Jack noticed immediately.
“That is not a no,” Jack said.
You lowered yourself back over him.
“We really should get up,” you murmured.
Jack’s hands settled at your hips.
“In a minute,” Jack replied.
You kissed him.
The shower could wait. So could the coffee.
Carter still had fifty-eight minutes.
By the time you and Jack made it downstairs, Carter was due home in less than fifteen minutes.
The coffee maker hummed on the counter while Jack opened the cabinet above it and reached for two mugs.
You watched him pull yours down without asking.
Something about that caught at you.
It was such a small thing.
Jack knew which mug you used at your brother’s house. He knew how much coffee you poured before adding cream. He knew you would steal the first sip from his if yours took too long.
There were decades tucked into the ordinary parts of knowing each other.
Jack set your mug beneath the machine.
“We need a plan,” you said.
Jack glanced toward you.
“I thought we had one,” Jack replied.
“For telling Carter,” you clarified.
Jack’s expression shifted.
“Right,” Jack said.
Jack poured coffee into his mug, then slid your mug toward you. You wrapped both hands around it.
“So what do we say?” you asked.
Jack considered the question.
“We tell him we’re together,” Jack said.
You nodded.
“We tell him we decided this weekend,” you added.
Jack’s gaze lifted to yours.
“We tell him we love each other,” Jack said.
The words still did something to you.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the mug.
Jack noticed.
His expression softened.
“That too,” you said with a smile.
Jack stepped closer to the counter.
“And we tell him this isn’t temporary,” Jack added. “It isn’t just something that happened because we were here.”
You held his gaze.
“No,” you said. “It isn’t.”
Jack reached for your free hand. His fingers slipped through yours easily.
“We should make sure he knows nothing changes with him,” you said. “You’re still Uncle Jack. I’m still Auntie. We both still love him exactly the same.”
Jack nodded.
“Absolutely,” Jack said.
You took a sip of coffee.
“And then we let him ask questions,” you said.
Jack went still.
You lowered the mug. “What?” you asked.
Jack studied you.
“How many questions?” Jack asked.
You laughed.
“He’s nine, Jack,” you reminded him.
Jack raised his eyebrows.
“That did not answer my question,” Jack said.
“We answer whatever he needs to ask,” you replied.
Jack stared at you for a moment.
“That feels dangerously open-ended,” Jack said.
“You’ve handled mass casualties,” you reminded him.
Jack stepped into the space between you and the counter.
“I have never treated a mass casualty capable of asking follow-up questions,” Jack replied.
A laugh escaped you. Jack smiled. The sight still felt new somehow. Not Jack smiling. Jack smiling at you like this. Without pulling it back afterward. Without remembering that there was somewhere else one of you was eventually supposed to go.
You set your coffee down. “We’ll be fine,” you said.
Jack’s hand settled at your waist.
“You seem very confident,” Jack replied.
You rested your hand against his chest.
“I am,” you said.
Jack tilted his head.
“About Carter?” Jack asked.
You shook your head.
“About us,” you replied.
Jack’s expression changed.
The teasing disappeared, leaving something warmer behind. His thumb brushed once over your side.
“Yeah,” Jack said quietly. “Me too.”
Jack leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
The front door opened.
“I’m home!” Carter called from the entryway.
Jack froze.
Your eyes closed.
A brief thud came from the front of the house, followed by the sound of shoes against the floor.
Jack slowly lifted his head.
You looked at him. “So much for the plan,” you whispered.
Jack’s mouth twitched.
“We still have a plan,” Jack murmured.
You looked toward the doorway.
Carter stood there with his overnight bag hanging from one shoulder.
His eyes were enormous.
His gaze went first to Jack. Then to you. Then to Jack’s hand still resting at your waist.
Carter’s mouth fell open.
The overnight bag slipped from his shoulder and hit the floor with a thud.
For one suspended second, Carter simply stared.
Then both of his arms shot into the air.
“YES!” Carter yelled.
You burst out laughing.
Carter took off across the kitchen.
Jack barely had time to brace himself before Carter threw himself into the space between you, wrapping both arms around your waist and twisting enough to catch Jack too.
“I knew it!” Carter shouted as he squeezed both of you.
Jack’s arm came around him automatically.
“Easy,” Jack said through his laugh. “Easy.”
Carter only squeezed harder.
“It worked!” Carter announced.
You wrapped your arm around his shoulders.
“I take it you’re okay with this?” you asked.
Carter pulled back far enough to stare at you.
“Okay with it?” Carter repeated incredulously. “Are you actually together?”
Jack looked down at him.
“Yes,” Jack said. “We are.”
Carter’s entire face brightened.
“Like boyfriend and girlfriend?” Carter asked.
You smiled.
“Like boyfriend and girlfriend,” you confirmed.
Carter looked toward Jack.
“For real?” Carter asked.
Jack nodded.
“For real,” Jack replied.
Carter’s eyes darted between the two of you.
“Did you kiss?” Carter asked.
You opened your mouth to answer, but Carter immediately turned toward Jack.
“Who kissed who?” Carter asked.
Before Jack could respond, Carter looked back at you.
“Did Uncle Jack tell you he likes you?” Carter asked.
Carter’s gaze jumped to Jack again.
“Or did Auntie tell you first?” Carter asked.
Jack stared at him.
Carter continued without taking a breath.
“Are you going to go on dates?” Carter asked.
His eyes widened with another thought.
“Are you going to live together?” Carter asked.
Carter pointed toward you.
“Would Auntie move into Uncle Jack’s house?” Carter asked.
Then he pointed toward Jack.
“Or would Uncle Jack move into Auntie’s house?” Carter continued.
Carter dropped his hands.
“Can I sleep over there?” Carter asked.
You pressed your lips together.
Carter looked between the two of you one more time.
“Are you getting married?” Carter asked.
Silence finally fell over the kitchen.
Jack stared at him.
Carter stared back expectantly.
You bit the inside of your cheek.
Jack slowly turned his head toward you.
“You said whatever questions he has,” Jack reminded you.
You lost the battle and laughed.
Carter looked between you again.
“So?” Carter prompted.
You reached down and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“Sit down,” you said. “We will answer some of these questions.”
Carter immediately turned toward the living room.
“Which ones?” Carter asked as he hurried away.
Jack bent to pick up Carter’s abandoned overnight bag.
“That depends on how quickly you stop asking new ones,” Jack replied.
Carter reached the couch and climbed onto it.
“I really want to know the house one,” Carter called from the living room.
You followed him. “Of course you do,” you said.
Jack came behind you carrying the overnight bag. Carter settled against the couch cushions.
“And the married one,” Carter added.
Jack stopped.
You looked back at him.
For the briefest second, his expression went carefully blank.
You raised an eyebrow.
Jack recovered quickly and set Carter’s bag beside the couch.
“We’re starting with the easy questions,” Jack said.
Carter frowned at him.
“I thought that was an easy one,” Carter replied.
Jack lowered himself onto the other side of Carter.
“It is not,” Jack said.
You sat beside Carter, trying very hard not to smile at Jack.
If only Carter knew just how much thought Uncle Jack had already given to that particular question.
Carter sat between you on the couch, looking from your face to Jack’s like he had just been granted permission to conduct the most important interview of his life.
Jack rested one arm along the back of the couch.
“All right,” Jack said. “One question at a time.”
Carter nodded seriously.
“Who kissed who?” Carter asked.
You pointed toward Jack. “He kissed me,” you said.
Jack tilted his head.
“Technically, you kissed me first,” Jack corrected.
You turned toward him. “On the cheek,” you said.
Jack shrugged. “A kiss is a kiss,” he replied.
You stared at him.
“That does not count,” you said.
Jack’s mouth twitched.
“It counted to me,” Jack replied.
Carter’s eyes widened.
“When was this?” Carter asked.
You looked back at him.
“On our first date,” you said.
Carter leaned forward.
“You had a first date?” Carter asked.
Jack nodded.
“We did,” Jack confirmed.
Carter looked delighted.
“So Auntie kissed you first?” Carter asked.
Jack pointed toward him.
“Exactly,” Jack said.
You gave Jack a look.
“On the cheek,” you repeated.
Jack looked completely unbothered.
“Still counts,” Jack replied.
You shook your head.
“Then you kissed me for real,” you said.
Jack’s gaze shifted toward yours.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “I did.”
Something warm passed between you. Carter looked back and forth between your faces.
“And last night?” Carter asked.
You smiled.
“Jack kissed me first,” you replied.
Carter turned toward him. “Again?” he asked.
Jack nodded once.
“Again,” Jack said.
Carter sat back against the cushions.
“Okay,” Carter said. “So Uncle Jack is the kisser.”
Jack stared at him.
You burst out laughing.
“I am not the kisser,” Jack said.
Carter’s eyebrows lifted.
“You kissed her first twice,” Carter pointed out.
Jack looked toward you.
“This line of questioning is over,” Jack said.
You were still laughing.
“I think the evidence is pretty strong,” you teased.
Jack gave you a betrayed look.
“You are supposed to be on my side now,” Jack said.
You leaned closer.
“I am,” you replied. “You’re still the kisser.”
Carter grinned. Jack sighed.
“Next question,” Jack said.
Carter immediately sat straighter.
“Did Uncle Jack tell you he likes you?” Carter asked.
You glanced toward Jack.
“He told me considerably more than that,” you replied.
Carter’s attention snapped to him. Jack shifted slightly beside you.
“I told your aunt I love her,” Jack said.
Carter’s mouth fell open.
“You did?” Carter asked.
Jack nodded.
“I did,” Jack replied.
Carter turned toward you so quickly his shoulder bumped yours.
“Did you say it back?” Carter asked.
You smiled.
“I did,” you confirmed.
Carter made a delighted little noise and sank backward into the couch.
“This is so much better than I thought,” Carter said.
Jack looked toward you.
“I’m beginning to regret agreeing to questions,” Jack muttered.
Carter popped upright again.
“Are you going to go on dates?” Carter asked.
You nodded.
“Yes,” you said. “We are definitely going to go on dates.”
Carter smiled. Then his expression turned thoughtful.
“Are you going to live together?” Carter asked.
You and Jack exchanged a look.
“That one we don’t know yet,” you said.
Carter frowned.
“Why not?” Carter asked.
Jack leaned forward and rested his forearms against his thighs.
“Because we just decided to be together last night,” Jack explained. “We don’t have to decide everything else today.”
Carter considered that.
“But you might live together?” Carter asked.
Jack glanced toward you.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “Someday, we might.”
Carter perked up immediately.
“Would Auntie move into your house?” Carter asked.
Jack’s mouth opened.
Carter turned toward you before he could answer.
“Or would Uncle Jack move into your house?” Carter asked.
You laughed.
“We definitely don’t know that yet,” you replied.
Carter thought for a moment.
“Uncle Jack has the bigger TV,” Carter said.
Jack nodded slowly.
“Good to know that will be a factor in negotiations,” Jack replied.
Carter looked toward you.
“But Auntie has the better couch,” Carter added.
You nodded. “Obviously,” you said.
Jack looked offended.
“My couch is fine,” Jack said.
Carter shook his head.
“It’s scratchy,” Carter replied.
You reached across Carter and patted Jack’s knee.
“This is valuable feedback,” you said.
Jack gave you a look. Carter’s eyes widened with another thought.
“If you live together, can I sleep over?” Carter asked.
Jack’s expression softened immediately.
“You can sleep over whether we live together or not,” Jack said.
Carter looked toward you.
“At both houses?” Carter asked.
You nodded.
“At both houses,” you confirmed.
Carter smiled. Then he looked between you again.
“Are you getting married?” Carter asked.
Jack went very still beside you. You felt it. You looked toward him. Jack kept his expression carefully neutral.
“We are not planning a wedding twelve hours into dating,” you said.
Carter shrugged.
“You already dated before,” Carter pointed out.
Jack slowly turned toward him.
“That is an aggressive interpretation of the timeline,” Jack said.
Carter frowned.
“But you did,” Carter insisted.
You bit back a smile.
“He has a point,” you told Jack.
Jack looked toward you.
“Do not side with him,” Jack said.
Carter leaned forward.
“So maybe?” Carter asked.
Jack rubbed one hand over his jaw.
“Maybe is the most you are getting out of us today,” Jack replied.
Carter smiled.
“I’ll take maybe,” Carter said.
You laughed.
Of course he would.
Carter shifted against the cushions.
“Does Dad know?” Carter asked.
You shook your head.
“Not yet,” you replied. “We’re going to tell him when he gets home.”
Carter’s entire posture changed.
“I can tell him,” Carter offered immediately.
Jack shook his head.
“No,” Jack said.
Carter’s shoulders dropped.
“Why not?” Carter asked.
Jack looked at him.
“Because it’s our news,” Jack explained.
Carter pointed toward himself.
“I helped,” Carter argued.
Jack narrowed his eyes.
“You contributed,” Jack allowed.
Carter grinned.
“That means I should get to tell him,” Carter said.
“It does not,” Jack replied.
Carter turned toward you for support.
You shook your head.
“Uncle Jack and I are telling him,” you said.
Carter sighed dramatically.
“Fine,” Carter replied.
Nothing about his face suggested he intended to handle that information calmly.
For a few seconds, he was quiet.
Then his expression changed. The excitement softened into something more thoughtful.
Carter looked down at his hands.
“I think Mom would be happy,” Carter said.
The room seemed to still.
Your breath caught.
Jack’s expression changed beside you.
Carter looked toward him.
“Dad says Mom loved you,” Carter said.
Jack swallowed.
“I loved her too,” Jack replied quietly.
Carter turned toward you.
“And she loved Auntie,” Carter added.
Your eyes burned.
“She was my best friend,” you said.
Carter nodded.
“I know,” Carter replied.
He looked between the two of you.
“So I think she’d like this,” Carter said. “Us being a family like this.”
Your throat tightened.
You reached for him and pulled him against your side.
Carter came willingly.
“I think she would too,” you said softly.
Jack moved closer. His hand settled gently against the back of Carter’s head.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “I think she’d be pretty happy about it.”
Carter rested against you for a moment. Then he tipped his head back to look at Jack.
“Would she make fun of you?” Carter asked.
Jack’s mouth curved.
“Relentlessly,” Jack replied.
You laughed through the tightness in your throat.
“She absolutely would,” you agreed.
Carter smiled.
“Good,” Carter said.
Jack looked toward you over Carter’s head.
For a moment, the three of you stayed there.
Then Carter abruptly sat up.
“What time does Dad’s plane land?” Carter asked.
Jack exhaled.
“There he is,” Jack said.
Carter looked toward the clock.
“How long until he gets home?” Carter asked.
“A few hours,” you replied.
Carter groaned and collapsed backward against the couch.
“A few hours?” Carter complained.
Jack leaned back beside him.
“You will survive,” Jack said.
Carter sat up again.
“Can we call him?” Carter asked.
“No,” Jack replied.
Carter turned toward you.
“Can we FaceTime him?” Carter asked.
You shook your head.
“No,” you said. “We’re waiting until he gets home.”
Carter looked back at Jack.
“Can I at least text him and ask when he’ll be here?” Carter asked.
Jack considered it.
“You can ask when he’ll be home,” Jack allowed. “You cannot tell him why.”
Carter was already scrambling off the couch.
“I’m texting him,” Carter announced.
Jack caught the back of his shirt before he made it two steps.
“No clues,” Jack warned.
Carter twisted around.
“I know how to keep a secret,” Carter said.
Jack stared at him. Carter stared back. You burst out laughing.
Jack released his shirt.
“That statement is not supported by the evidence,” Jack said.
For the next few hours, Carter became nearly impossible to contain.
He checked the time. Then the flight status. Then the time again. Then he stood at the front window despite knowing Robby was nowhere near the house yet.
Jack tried to ignore him.
He failed.
“You checking the driveway is not going to make his plane land faster,” Jack said from the couch.
Carter let the curtain fall.
“It could make the ride from the airport faster,” Carter argued.
Jack looked over the top of his book.
“That is not how transportation works,” Jack replied.
Carter groaned and wandered back toward the kitchen.
A few minutes later, you passed behind Jack on your way upstairs. His hand caught yours automatically. You stopped and looked down at him.
“Jack,” you said.
Jack lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.
“What?” Jack asked.
You smiled.
“Nothing,” you replied. “You’re just very clingy today.”
Jack looked completely unapologetic.
“I missed twenty years,” Jack said. “I’m catching up.”
Your heart squeezed. You leaned down and kissed him. Jack caught the back of your neck and kept you there for another second.
“Love you,” Jack murmured against your mouth.
You smiled.
“Love you too,” you replied.
From the front window, Carter groaned.
“Dad is taking forever,” Carter complained.
Jack let his forehead fall against yours.
“Your nephew has terrible timing,” Jack murmured.
You smiled.
“Our nephew,” you corrected.
Jack went still. His eyes lifted to yours. Something warm moved across his face.
“Yeah,” Jack said softly. “Our nephew.”
Carter called from the other room. “I can hear you!”
You laughed and pulled away. Jack kept hold of your hand for another second before letting you go.
“Of course he can,” Jack muttered.
You headed upstairs to shower.
Jack lasted twelve minutes.
He told himself he was looking for his phone charger. Then he told himself he needed the shirt he had left in the guest room. By the time he reached the hallway, even Jack had stopped pretending. The bathroom door opened. You appeared in the doorway with a towel wrapped around your body, another twisted loosely around your damp hair.
Jack stopped in the middle of the hallway.
You looked up.
His gaze moved slowly over you.
“Seriously?” you asked.
Jack did not even attempt innocence.
“Fuck,” Jack said.
You laughed.
“You have seen me naked,” you reminded him.
Jack stepped closer.
“That does not appear to have helped,” Jack replied.
You adjusted the towel at your chest.
“Did you need something?” you asked.
Jack’s eyes flicked briefly toward the guest room.
“I had a reason for coming upstairs,” Jack said.
You raised an eyebrow.
“And now?” you asked.
Jack looked back at you.
“I have a different reason,” Jack replied.
Your mouth curved.
“Jack,” you warned.
He reached you and rested both hands lightly at your waist.
“I’m looking,” Jack said.
“I noticed,” you replied.
Jack leaned down and kissed the corner of your mouth. Then your cheek. Then your temple. You laughed and tried to push him back.
“Carter is downstairs,” you reminded him.
Jack pressed another kiss just beneath your ear.
“I am aware,” Jack murmured.
“You are behaving like a teenager,” you added.
Jack lifted his head.
“I behaved better as a teenager,” Jack replied.
You stared at him.
“That is deeply concerning,” you said.
Jack kissed you again.
A shout came from downstairs.
“UNCLE JACK!” Carter shouted.
Jack closed his eyes. You started laughing against his chest.
“What?” Jack called.
Carter’s voice carried up the stairs. “Dad’s flight landed!”
Jack rested his forehead against yours.
“Wonderful,” Jack muttered.
You smiled.
“You should go congratulate him,” you said.
Jack’s hands stayed at your waist.
“I’m busy,” Jack replied.
You laughed and pushed gently at his chest.
“Go,” you said.
Jack reluctantly stepped back. His gaze dropped over you one more time.
You pointed toward the stairs. “Jack.”
Jack looked at you.
“Fuck,” Jack repeated.
You shut the bathroom door in his face.
Jack stood there for a second.
Then he smiled to himself and headed downstairs.
By the time he returned to the living room, Carter was holding Robby’s flight information on the tablet like breaking news.
“He landed,” Carter announced.
Jack lowered himself onto the couch.
“You have mentioned that,” Jack replied.
Carter sat beside him.
“So how long now?” Carter asked.
Jack checked the time.
“Long enough that staring out the window still will not help,” Jack replied.
Carter sighed.
A few minutes later, you came downstairs dressed and still drying the ends of your hair.
Jack looked up.
And forgot whatever Carter had just been saying.
You caught him staring. Again.
“What?” you asked.
Jack shook his head.
“Nothing,” Jack replied.
You narrowed your eyes.
“That was definitely something,” you said.
Jack’s mouth curved.
“Damn it, Robinavitch,” Jack murmured.
You smiled.
“What am I doing?” you asked.
Jack stood and crossed toward you.
“That,” Jack said.
He leaned down and stole another kiss. Quick. Soft. Still enough to make you smile against his mouth.
When he pulled back, his hand remained at your waist.
“I can’t stop looking at you,” Jack admitted.
“You’re doing a pretty bad job of trying,” you replied.
“I’m not trying very hard,” Jack said.
You brushed your thumb along his jaw. “I noticed.”
Jack kissed your forehead.
“Love you,” Jack said.
Your expression softened.
“Love you too,” you replied.
From the couch, Carter made an exaggerated sound of disgust. You both looked toward him. Carter was grinning.
“You guys are weird now,” Carter said.
Jack pointed at him.
“You did this,” Jack replied.
Carter’s grin widened.
“I know,” Carter said.
An hour later, the sound of a key turning in the front door sent Carter flying out of the living room.
Jack looked up from the couch.
“Easy,” Jack called after him.
Carter ignored him.
The front door opened.
Robby stepped inside with his conference bag over one shoulder and his suitcase rolling behind him.
“Dad!” Carter shouted.
Robby barely had time to let go of the suitcase before Carter threw himself at him.
“Hey, buddy,” Robby said, laughing as he caught him.
Carter wrapped both arms around his middle.
“You’re home!” Carter said.
“I’m home,” Robby confirmed.
Carter pulled back.
For one second, he simply grinned up at his father.
Then his entire body seemed to remember the secret. His eyes widened. His shoulders lifted. He bounced once on the balls of his feet.
“I have to tell you something,” Carter announced.
You appeared behind him.
“Carter,” you warned.
Jack came up beside you.
“Let him get through the door,” Jack said.
Carter looked back at both of you.
“But it’s important,” Carter argued.
You pointed toward Robby’s suitcase.
“Your father has been traveling all day,” you reminded him. “Give him a minute.”
Carter groaned. Robby looked between the three of you.
“What did I miss?” Robby asked.
Jack reached for the handle of Robby’s suitcase.
“Nothing that can’t wait a minute,” Jack replied.
Carter made a frustrated sound. You smiled at Robby.
“How was the flight?” you asked.
Carter stared at you in disbelief. Robby shrugged off his conference bag.
“Fine,” Robby said. “Long.”
You nodded.
“And the conference?” you asked.
Carter threw his head back.
“Come on!” Carter groaned.
Robby looked toward him, laughing.
“What?” Robby asked.
Carter bounced again.
“I have something important to tell you,” Carter repeated.
Jack gave him a warning look. “Give your dad a second.”
Carter pressed his lips together. He visibly tried. His shoulders rose with one breath. Then another.
You watched him hold it in. Three seconds. Maybe four.
Then Carter exploded.
“UNCLE JACK KISSED AUNTIE AND THEY LOVE EACH OTHER AND THEY’RE GOING TO MOVE IN TOGETHER AND GET MARRIED!” Carter shouted.
Silence filled the entryway.
Jack closed his eyes.
You covered your mouth with one hand.
Robby stared at Carter.
Carter grinned up at him.
Jack opened his eyes.
“We did not say the last two things,” Jack said.
Carter turned toward him.
“You said maybe,” Carter argued.
Jack pointed toward him.
“Maybe does not mean announce it to your father,” Jack replied.
Robby slowly looked toward you. Then toward Jack. His expression changed.
“You two are together?” Robby asked.
Jack’s hand found yours.
“Yeah,” you said. “We are.”
Jack squeezed your fingers.
“We are,” Jack confirmed.
Robby stared at both of you for a second. Then his face softened.
Not surprised.
Relieved.
Happy.
“Finally,” Robby said.
Carter threw both arms into the air.
“I did it!” Carter shouted.
Jack turned toward him.
“You contributed,” Jack said.
Carter pointed between you and Jack.
“You were not together before,” Carter argued. “Now you are.”
Jack stared at him. Carter grinned.
“I got them together,” Carter announced to Robby.
Jack’s eyebrows lifted.
“We are grown adults, Carter,” Jack said.
Carter shrugged.
“You needed help,” Carter replied.
You burst out laughing. Robby looked toward Carter.
“He has a pretty strong case,” Robby said.
Jack looked at him.
“Do not encourage him,” Jack replied.
Robby laughed.
“I leave for one conference,” Robby said.
Carter beamed.
“And I fixed everything,” Carter replied.
Jack rubbed one hand over his face.
“That is not what happened,” Jack said.
Carter looked toward you.
“It kind of is,” Carter argued.
You bit back a smile.
“I am staying out of this,” you said.
Jack gave you a betrayed look.
“Coward,” Jack replied.
Robby’s attention shifted back to the two of you. His amusement softened.
“So this is it?” Robby asked.
The question quieted the room.
You looked toward Jack.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “This is it.”
Jack’s thumb brushed over your knuckles.
“It is,” Jack confirmed.
Robby nodded slowly.
Then he stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. You let go of Jack long enough to wrap both arms around your brother.
Robby held you tightly for a moment.
“About time you two got together,” Robby murmured.
You smiled against his shoulder.
“Yeah,” you said. “It really is.”
Robby pulled back and looked at you.
“Took you long enough,” Robby replied.
Then he looked toward Jack. Jack lifted one eyebrow. Robby stepped closer and clasped a hand around Jack’s shoulder.
“You good?” Robby asked.
Jack glanced toward you. His gaze softened.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “I’m good.”
Robby studied him for a second. Then he smiled.
“Good,” Robby replied.
Carter tugged on Robby’s sleeve.
“And they might get married,” Carter reminded him.
Jack groaned.
“Carter,” Jack said.
You pointed toward Carter.
“That part is currently under review,” you said.
Carter nodded seriously.
“I’m optimistic,” Carter replied.
Robby laughed.
Jack looked toward you. You looked back at him. His mouth curved.
And for once, neither of you looked away.
By the time you and Jack finally left Robby’s house, the afternoon had begun to soften toward evening.
Carter had hugged both of you twice before letting you go.
Robby followed you to the front door while Jack reached for his jacket.
Carter hovered beside him.
“You know I’m still taking credit for this,” Carter said.
Jack pulled on his jacket.
“We know,” Jack replied.
Carter grinned.
Robby opened the door for you, then looked between you and Jack.
His expression softened.
“I’m really happy for you guys,” Robby said.
You smiled.
“Thanks, Robby,” you replied.
Robby looked toward Jack. Jack met his gaze.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “Thanks.”
Robby nodded once. There was something almost relieved in it.
“About damn time,” Robby added.
You laughed. Jack sighed.
“There it is,” Jack said.
Robby’s grin widened.
“You knew it was coming,” Robby replied.
Carter leaned around his father.
“I got them together,” Carter reminded him.
Jack pointed toward the driveway.
“We’re leaving now,” Jack said.
Carter laughed. You hugged Robby once more before stepping outside.
“Love you,” you said.
Robby squeezed you.
“Love you too,” Robby replied.
Jack waited beside you until you pulled away.
Then the two of you headed down the driveway toward your separate cars.
You stopped beside yours while Jack crossed toward his truck. For a moment, neither of you opened a door. Jack looked across the driveway at you.
“Any big plans tonight, Robinavitch?” Jack asked.
You rested one hand on the roof of your car.
“Very big,” you replied. “Laundry. Takeout. Reality television in my sweatpants.”
Jack nodded slowly.
“Hot,” Jack said.
You laughed.
“Try to contain yourself,” you replied.
Jack leaned against the side of his truck.
“Not going particularly well today,” Jack admitted.
Your smile softened. Jack looked at you for another second.
“You want some company?” Jack asked.
The question sounded casual.
Almost.
But you heard everything underneath it.
Not only tonight.
Not only the weekend.
The ordinary parts too.
You smiled.
“Yeah,” you said. “I do.”
Jack’s mouth curved.
“Your place?” Jack asked.
You nodded.
“My couch is better,” you reminded him.
Jack smiled.
“I know,” Jack admitted.
You stared at him.
“Oh, now you admit it?” you asked.
Jack reached for his truck door.
“I’m trying to get invited over,” Jack replied.
You laughed.
“You're buying dinner,” you said.
Jack nodded.
“Done,” Jack replied.
You paused before getting inside.
“Jack?” you called.
He looked over the roof of his truck.
“Yeah?” Jack asked.
You smiled.
“Love you,” you said.
Jack’s expression softened immediately.
“Love you too, Robinavitch,” Jack replied.
You climbed into your car.
Jack got into his truck.
And when you pulled out of Robby’s driveway a few minutes later, Jack’s truck stayed behind you all the way home.
Description : Jermajesty accompanies his family to Abu's parent teacher conference, where he meets you Abu's kindergarten teacher.
Sunday mornings were usually horrible. The school decided that the second Sunday of every month was the perfect day for parent-teacher conferences.
You stood in front of your bedroom mirror, buttoning up your shirt before smoothing down your skirt with a small smile.
The classroom was quiet when you arrived.
Tiny colorful chairs sat neatly around miniature tables. Finger paintings decorated one wall, while alphabet posters, counting charts, and little handprints covered the others. You straightened a few crooked drawings before smiling at one in particular.
Abu's.
It was mostly blue scribbles with what he insisted was a dinosaur.
You carefully placed each student's progress folder onto your desk before glancing at your schedule.
Abu Jackson.
Sweet.
Polite.
Curious.
The kind of child every teacher secretly hoped for.
Always eager to help another classmate clean up.
Always saying "please" and "thank you."
Always asking questions.
He absolutely loved dinosaurs.
The morning passed quickly as different parents came and went.
Then
Your classroom door opened again.
"Miss!"
Abu came running toward you with the biggest grin on his face.
You laughed, kneeling down to hug him.
"Hi, sweetheart!"
"I told everybody you're my favorite teacher!"
You smiled.
"I'm honored."
Standing up, you looked toward the doorway
and immediately froze.
There wasn't one adult.
There weren't two.
There were...
a lot.
Jermaine.
Janet.
Jaafar.
Randy Jr.
Prince.
Paris.
Bigi.
And standing near the front, Jermajesty.
For a brief second, your brain completely stopped working.
Jermaine laughed.
"Sorry. We might've brought a few extra people."
"A few?" Janet teased. "Half the family wanted to come."
You couldn't help laughing.
"Well... everyone's welcome."
Everyone settled into the tiny preschool chairs, which looked absolutely ridiculous considering they were all full-grown adults.
You tried your hardest to remain professional.
"First of all... Abu has been doing wonderfully."
Jermaine smiled proudly.
You opened his folder.
"Academically, he's exactly where he should be. He's recognizing colors, numbers, and letters really well."
You flipped another page.
"Socially, he's one of the sweetest children in the classroom."
Janet smiled.
"Aww."
"He always shares with the other children, he's incredibly polite, and if another student is upset, he's usually the first one to go comfort them."
Jermaine looked down at Abu.
"I'm proud of you, buddy."
Abu grinned.
You continued.
"He also loves dinosaurs."
The entire family laughed.
"Oh, trust us," Jaafar said. "We know."
"And" you smiled, "...he's convinced he's going to discover a brand new dinosaur someday."
Abu nodded seriously.
"I am."
"I believe you," you replied.
As everyone continued asking questions...
Jermajesty remained unusually quiet.
Every time you looked up
He was already looking at you.
Whenever your eyes met, he'd quickly pretend to be studying Abu's folder instead.
Jaafar noticed first.
Then Janet.
Then Randy Jr.
The three of them exchanged knowing looks.
Janet leaned slightly toward Jaafar and whispered,
"He's cooked."
Jaafar bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing at the fact that his aunt was using internet slang and majesty's staring.
By the time the meeting ended, you stood and smiled warmly.
"It was really lovely meeting all of you."
Everyone thanked you before slowly making their way toward the hallway.
You began organizing Abu's folder.
When you realized somebody was still standing there.
Jermajesty.
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
"So..."
You looked up.
"Yeah?"
He took a small breath.
"I know this probably isn't... very professional."
You waited patiently.
"But..."
"Would you maybe wanna get coffee with me sometime?"
You smiled.
"I'd like that."
The relief on his face was almost immediate.
"Really?"
"Really."
He smiled so brightly it made your heart flutter.
"I'll... um..."
He laughed nervously.
"I'll see you soon then."
"I'll be looking forward to it."
As he walked toward the door...
A tiny face peeked around the corner.
Abu.
He looked between the two of you
Then gave you the biggest thumbs-up imaginable before disappearing back into the hallway.
Tag list : @cocomilaa @blcknebula @stiflersbabymama @callmeoncette @needjoekeery @nuttyrebelflower @1eliana123-blog @ladyearthsea @rastharex @darkgreengrl @bananajoeclone @violet0182 @minghaossv @melynex @thebabykashmere @ghoulxeg @simply-lovley44
hii!!! can I please ask law fic with female reader fluff where reader hums and sings around while doing chores or getting ready and law is in awe of her sweet voice and sometimes would join in to hum with something wholesome and tooth achingly sweet pls!!! thank u so so much!!
AWW YES!! 🥹🤍 This is so soft, I adore this idea. Law secretly melting every time she hums around the house and eventually humming along with her?? Domestic fluff is my weakness. I'll happily write this! Thank you for the request! ♡
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ───────── ♡ ───────── ˖ ࣪ ⊹
Humm... along:)
Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader
Warnings: none — pure fluff, established relationship, domestic moments, soft Law, excessive sweetness ♡
Word count: ~1.2k
Summary:-
Law never expects something as simple as your habit of humming while doing chores to become his favorite sound. As he quietly falls into the rhythm of your melodies, the two of you create a small, unspoken tradition of shared hums and quiet mornings aboard the Polar Tang—proof that love is often found in the softest moments.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The first time he hears it, he almost drops the stack of medical reports in his hands.
It's early morning on the submarine, that quiet hour before the crew stumbles out of their bunks, when the only sounds are usually the hum of the engine and Law's own pen scratching against paper. But today there's something else threaded through it — soft, unhurried, a little off-key in the most endearing way. You're in the galley, sleeves pushed up, humming some tune he doesn't recognize while you stack clean mugs back onto their shelf.
He stands in the doorway longer than he means to.
It isn't even a song, not really — just a melody you're clearly making up as you go, drifting from one note to the next like you're not thinking about it at all. Which, he realizes, you probably aren't. You're just happy. Doing something as mundane as putting away mugs, and happy, and letting it spill out of you in sound because you don't know anyone's listening.
He should say something. Announce himself. Instead he leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed and lets himself have this a moment longer.
"You're staring," you say without turning around, and he startles — actually startles, Trafalgar Law, feared surgeon of death, caught flat-footed by a girl with dish soap on her hands.
"I was passing by."
"For four minutes?"
"I have excellent hearing. I was assessing structural integrity of the shelving." He nods at the mugs. "It looked unstable."
You laugh — that easy, unbothered laugh of yours — and go back to humming like he isn't even there, and something in his chest does an entirely unprofessional thing.
After that, he starts noticing it everywhere.
You hum while you braid your hair in front of the small mirror bolted to the wall, hair tie between your teeth so the tune comes out muffled and ridiculous. You hum while you sort bandages in the infirmary, alphabetizing supplies that don't need alphabetizing just to have something to do with your hands. You hum while you're halfway into your boots, one shoe on and one shoe forgotten, like getting ready is a background task to whatever song is playing in your head.
Sometimes it's a real song. Sometimes it's nothing at all, just melody for its own sake. He starts to be able to tell your moods by it — a slow, low hum when you're concentrating, something brighter and quicker when you're in a good mood, an absent little trailing-off when you're tired and don't quite realize you're still doing it.
He would never admit — not to Bepo, not to Shachi, certainly not to you — that he's started listening for it. That the sound of you humming down the corridor is how he knows you're close before he even hears your footsteps.
It happens by accident, the first time he joins in.
You're in the middle of getting ready, humming something soft while you fix your collar in the mirror, and he's sitting behind you at the small desk, ostensibly reading a chart. The melody loops back around on itself, familiar now after weeks of hearing it, and before he's really decided to do it, a low answering hum slips out of him — just a few notes, pitched to match yours, barely audible under his breath.
You go still.
He realizes what he's done half a second after you do, and for a moment neither of you says anything, your eyes meeting his in the mirror.
"That's the first time I've heard you sing."
"I wasn't singing."
"You were humming."
"There's a difference."
"Uh huh." But you're smiling, that soft private smile you don't wear for anyone else, and you turn back to the mirror and pick the melody back up right where you left off — leaving space in it, this time, like you're waiting to see if he'll fill it in again.
He does. Quietly. Just a thread of sound woven under yours, following where you lead because he doesn't know the tune well enough to lead it himself. It's clumsy and a little flat and it is, without question, the most content he's felt in longer than he can remember.
It becomes a thing, after that. Not every day — he's not going to serenade you over breakfast in front of the whole crew, and you seem to understand that without being told — but in the quiet in-between moments. Late at night when you're brushing out your hair before bed and he's pretending to read in the same room. Early mornings in the galley before anyone else is awake. The two of you, half a melody each, filling in what the other one starts.
Bepo catches them once — walks into the infirmary to find Law stitching a sleeve and humming so quietly it's almost subvocal, matching a tune you're singing properly this time, actual words and everything, some old lullaby you must have learned as a kid. Bepo backs out of the doorway without either of you noticing and doesn't say a word to anyone, mostly because he doesn't trust himself not to smile about it all day.
"You know," you say one evening, weeks later, your head on his shoulder while he reads and you hum something slow and drowsy into the quiet, "you have a nice voice. For someone who insists he doesn't sing."
"I don't sing."
"You've been humming the same four bars for ten minutes."
"It's stuck in my head. That's involuntary."
"Sure it is." You tip your face up, smiling at him, and he can't help the small, helpless curl of his own mouth in answer. "Involuntary Trafalgar Law, hopeless romantic."
"I'll have you removed from this submarine."
"You'd have to catch me first." You settle back against him, humming again, and after a moment — after only a moment, because he's stopped pretending he can resist it — he hums along, low and quiet and entirely, hopelessly happy to be doing it.
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It had come up during your first sleepover as a couple as you laid side by side in Steve’s bed, “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?” Steve asked as he sat up, a shocked tone to his voice. You covered your face with your hands in embarrassment, “No,” you mumbled from behind the fortress your hands created in front of your face. “I mean to be fair, as far as I’m aware no one has ever been romantically interested in me before you.” you told him as you slowly moved your hands away and heat flooded the tips of your ears.
“Hey, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Let me teach you.” he quickly said, making your breath hitch in your throat, you could tell that he was a little nervous too even though he’d kissed more people than you ever would. You knew that this topic would come up eventually, it was just so nerve-wracking. But you knew that you were ready to finally have your first kiss and you were glad that it would be with Steve. He was the one person you trusted the most on this planet. “Okay.” you quietly told him as your nervousness increased.
He lovingly placed his hand on your face and you leaned into it, “It’s okay. We’ll take it slow, I promise.” he told you, soothing some of your worries but more easily filled your mind. What if you were a bad kisser? What if your breath smelled bad and you didn’t know? “It’s easier than you think, just put your lips on mine and I’ll take it from there. Just follow what I do.” he instructed as he gazed into your eyes, making goosebumps appear on your arms at the thought of kissing him.
You nodded in response then kissed Steve really quick before you pulled away and he had the chance to kiss you back, “Like that?” you asked, hoping you did at least a decent job. But Steve didn’t respond. He simply stared at you in silence as his cheeks quickly turned bright red and his breathing became noticeably heavier. “Are you okay?” you asked as you furrowed your eyebrows.
Steve nodded, “Yeah, I’m okay. You did good, you just made me flustered is all,” he explained, making you smile at the fact that you were able to make him feel like this after he’d been making you feel that way for so long. “Let’s try again, sweetheart.” he murmured as he started to lean his head toward yours, his breathing still heavy.
Tropes: Athlete x Athlete (Power Couple Energy)/ Secret Identity / Hidden Talent / "Teaching the Expert" / Domestic/First Date Fluff/ Ice Skating Date
Summary: Kimi Antonelli thinks he’s pulling the ultimate romantic move by renting out a private ice rink to teach you—a "beginner"—how to skate without the pressure of a crowd. It’s sweet, charming, and totally unnecessary because you’re secretly an Olympic qualifier desperately trying to act like a normal civilian. You play along with his "lessons" to protect his ego, but when a stumble turns into a near-disaster, your muscle memory takes over. Suddenly, the "clumsy beginner" is landing a perfect spin, and Kimi is left questioning reality (and his own coaching skills) on the ice.
Word Count: 2.4k
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The air inside the private rink was crisp, smelling faintly of ozone and Zamboni fumes. But tonight, it just made your stomach do a nervous flip.
Kimi Antonelli stood by the entrance, looking effortlessly stylish in a thick wool coat and a scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. He rubbed his gloved hands together, his breath puffing out in small white clouds. This was it. The first official date, and you were currently suffocating under the weight of a very stupid, very well-intentioned lie.
It hadn’t started maliciously. In fact, it started because you were desperate to be anyone other than who you were. To the rest of the world, you were an ice skating prodigy. You were currently the top qualifier for the upcoming Winter Olympics, carrying the weight of a nation’s gold-medal hopes on your back.
Then you met Kimi. He didn't know about the medals or the grueling schedule. To him, you were just a girl he met at a party who had a nice laugh and pretty eyes. You wanted to keep it that way. You wanted to know if he liked you, not the athlete on the Wheaties box.
The "lie" had happened a week ago, during a casual text conversation. You were lying on your couch with an ice pack on your knee, exhausted after a six-hour training block, when his name popped up on your screen. You were talking about holiday plans.
Kimi: I drove past that outdoor rink downtown today. It looks really cool with all the trees lit up.
You: Yeah, it’s really pretty this time of year.
Kimi: Have you been? We should go.
You had hesitated, your thumbs hovering over the screen. The last thing you wanted to do was tell him that the rink was your office, your torture chamber, and your sanctuary all wrapped in one. You didn't want to explain that you couldn't go to a public rink because you’d be recognized, or that skating on chopped-up public ice was a recipe for a twisted ankle.
So, you tried your best to shoot it down fast.
You: Honestly? I haven't gone skating just for fun in years. I’m probably totally out of the loop.
It was technically true. You hadn't skated for fun since you were six.
But judging by your current circumstance, he probably had interpreted that text very differently. He probably read “I haven't done this in years” as “I don't know how to skate, and I'm nervous.”
Kimi: That’s a crime. Everyone needs to skate at Christmas. Are you free on Friday?
Kimi: Don't worry about being rusty. I played a little hockey growing up. I’ll teach you.
You had stared at the phone, a laugh bubbling in your chest. Kimi Antonelli, offering to teach you, an ice princess, how to skate. It was the cutest, most ridiculous thing you’d ever heard. You didn't have the heart to correct him then because it felt rude to shut down his enthusiasm. You figured you’d tell him later.
But "later" never happened. And now, standing at the edge of the rink he had rented out specifically so you wouldn't be embarrassed by your “lack of skill”, you realized it didn't feel harmless anymore…in fact, it felt like a ticking time bomb.
"So," Kimi said, a boyish grin spreading across his face as he gestured to the expanse of white. "Surprise."
You blinked, looking around. The rink was silent—no screaming kids, no hockey practice, no other couples. It was just the two of you.
"Where is everyone?" you asked, clutching your tote bag tighter.
"I rented it out," Kimi said, looking proud of himself. "Two hours. Just us."
Your heart sank. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for you, and it was also a tactical disaster.
"I figured we could use the space," he continued, leaning in conspiratorially. "Plus, I didn't want you to feel self-conscious if you fell. And... well, honestly, I know how the press gets. I didn't want you waking up to news articles micro-analyzing everything just because you were seen with me. I wanted to save you the burden."
He paused, the realization of his own words hitting him. He grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Wow. Okay. I realize I sound like a total ego-maniac right now. 'Oh no, the world is obsessed with me.' Please pretend I didn't say that. I just... I want this to be perfect."
A knot of guilt tightened in your stomach. He wasn't doing this to show off; he was genuinely trying to protect you. If you dropped the bomb now, you wouldn’t just be clearing up a misunderstanding. You’d be taking this incredibly thoughtful, romantic gesture and turning it into a punchline at his expense. You couldn't humiliate him like that, not when he looked so earnest.
"That's... that's amazing, Kimi," you managed, forcing a smile.
"Do you need rentals?" he asked, pointing to the counter.
You hesitated. Your custom Edea boots with the gold-plated blades were actually in the trunk of your car, hidden under a blanket. But walking in with professional gear would be an immediate confession. You had to commit.
"Yeah," you lied, forcing a cheerful smile. "I definitely don't own any."
You were officially a liar.
—————————————
Ten minutes later, you were sitting on the bench, watching Kimi lace up his rental skates. He moved with the easy physical confidence of a Formula 1 driver.
He stood up, wobbling only slightly on the hard rubber mats before stepping onto the ice. He wasn't a figure skater, but he had that natural athlete's center of gravity. He skated backward a few feet, rough and scratching the ice, then held his hands out to you.
"Come on," he beckoned, his eyes warm. "Grab my hands. The ice is slippery, but don't worry. I've got you."
You stepped onto the ice. Your body instantly tried to engage—knees bent, weight over the ball of your foot, shoulders aligned. You had to fight your muscle memory actively, stiffening your legs and letting your ankles wobble artificially.
You grabbed his forearms, clinging to him like a lifeline. "Okay," you squeaked. "Okay, I'm up."
Kimi beamed, taking his role as protector very seriously. He began to pull you forward slowly. "See? Not so bad. Just keep your knees bent more. You're too stiff."
"Like this?" You bent your knees, and you didn't want to ruin his moment.
"Yeah, exactly. And look where you want to go, not at your feet," he coached. His voice was soft, a stark contrast to your coach, who usually barked this specific instruction across a freezing arena at 6:00 AM. "If you look down, you fall."
"That makes sense," you murmured.
You stopped worrying about the lie for a moment and just looked at him. He was just... caring. For the first time in years, you weren't the expert everyone was critiquing. You were just a girl holding a boy's hand, and he was genuinely worried about you skinning your knees. It was surprisingly nice to let someone else take care of you.
As his confidence grew, he loosened up. He dropped your hand for a second, picking up speed. He did a quick lap around you, the wind ruffling his hair, before executing a loud, spraying hockey stop right in front of you.
He looked up, breathless and grinning, waiting for your reaction. He looked so proud of himself that your heart actually squeezed in your chest. He put his hand back with yours.
"See?" he beamed, eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's all about the edges."
—————————————
Kimi was skating backward, his eyes locked on yours, his smile confident and distracted. He never saw the deep, jagged rut left by a previous skater’s toe-pick.
His left blade hit the gouge and locked instantly. His legs flew out from under him, sending Kimi crashing down, his heavy wool coat hitting the ice with a dull, sickening thud.
But because he was holding your hands, he didn't just fall but also took you with him.
He jerked you forward with violent force. You were pulled off your center of gravity, your dull rental skates clattering against his as you stumbled over his prone form.
"Whoa!" Kimi shouted.
Instinctively, he let go of your hands to break his fall. It was the chivalrous thing to do, but physically, it was the worst possible variable.
You were launched.
The stumble propelled you like a stone from a sling, hurling you toward the rink boards. A true beginner would have flailed, panicked, and braced for impact, likely shattering a wrist or a nose against the unforgiving hard plastic.
But you didn't think. Your instinct took over.
You were falling forward, inches from the disaster. Instead of crashing, your core engaged with a violent, steel-trap snap. You slammed your right blade into the ice, forcing an edge out of the dull rental steel that shouldn't have been physically possible.
You turned a fatal stumble into a low, crouching lunge.
You were hurtling toward the wall at speed, but you punched your left toe-pick into the ice in time, whipping your body around in a blur of kinetic energy.
SCREEEEECH.
You spun out of the momentum—three rapid rotations on one foot, a blur of perfect axis and balance—before checking out of the spin with a sharp, professional snap of your arms.
You came to a dead, silent halt.
You were alive and safe, but you had just outed yourself completely.
You slowly slid into a graceful rest position and turned around.
Absolute, heavy silence, broken only by the low hum of the rink’s generator and the ragged sound of your own breathing.
Kimi was still sitting on the ice. He was propped up on his elbows, legs sprawled. His beanie had slid over his eyes, but he pushed it back with a trembling hand. He wasn't looking at his bruised knees. He was staring at you as if he’d just watched an abomination.
You stood there, the adrenaline crash hitting you, replaced instantly by a wave of hot mortification.
"Are..." Kimi’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," you breathed out, smoothing your coat.
Kimi pointed a gloved finger at you, then at the wall, then back at you.
"You just..." He mimicked a spinning motion with his hand, looking bewildered. "You just Matrixed that wall."
"I..." You scrambled for an excuse. Beginner's luck? Extreme Yoga?
But there is no explaining away a bracket turning into a scratch spin on rental skates.
Kimi scrambled to his feet, ignoring the snow clinging to his coat. He skated over to you. He stopped a few feet away, staring at your battered rental skates as if they were alien technology.
"That wasn't an accident," he said, his voice breathless. He pointed a trembling finger at your feet. "You just did a perfect axle.”
He looked up, searching your face like he was seeing it for the first time. The dim rink lighting cast shadows across his features as the gears in his head finally clicked into place. He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head.
"Kimi—" you started, trying to interrupt the train wreck.
"Who are you?" he asked, genuine panic bleeding into his tone. "Normal people don't do that. Are you a pro or something??”
"It started as a joke!" you said quickly, hands flying up in defense. "And then you were being so sweet, and holding my hand, and I didn't want to make you feel bad!"
"I literally explained to you how to balance on ice five minutes ago," Kimi said, his voice rising an octave. He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking genuinely distressed. "I was 'teaching' you. I was holding your hand so you wouldn't fall. And you... You're a pro. How deep does this go?”
"I qualified for the Olympic team last week," you admitted, wincing as the words hit the air.
Kimi made a strangled, dying noise. He turned around, skated a small, clumsy circle, and buried his face in his hands.
"I am never going to recover from this," came his muffled voice. "I felt so cool. I told you to bend your knees! I told an Olympian to bend her knees!"
"If it makes you feel better," you said, skating closer, smoothly now, and gently prying his hands away from his face. "My coach yells at me about my knees, too."
He peeked through his fingers. His face was flushed bright red, a combination of the biting cold and catastrophic embarrassment. "I looked stupid."
"You didn't look stupid," you said softly. "You looked gallant…until you tripped."
He groaned, finally dropping his hands to his sides. "I nearly killed you, and then you turned into a ninja."
"I have good reflexes," you offered with a sheepish smile.
"No," he shook his head, looking at you with a new, intense kind of awe. "You're just amazing."
———————————————
The power dynamic had shifted entirely, but the tension had evaporated. For the last twenty minutes of the session, the charade was dead.
"Okay, but seriously," Kimi said, watching you skate backward with effortless speed, his eyes filled with envy. "How did you find an edge on these? They're like butter knives."
"Fear is a great motivator," you laughed, spinning around to face him. "Here, give me your hands."
You took his hands. "Shift your weight to your heels and stop fighting the ice."
You spent the rest of the time actually teaching him. He was a quick learner; his driver’s brain understood weight transfer and instinct once you explained the mechanics.
As the overhead lights flickered, signaling the end of the session, you stepped off the ice. "You know," he said as you walked out into the biting cold of the parking lot, snow beginning to drift down around you.
"What?" you asked, wrapping your coat tighter against the wind.
He stopped at the car, opening the passenger door for you. He looked at you, his eyes dancing with a competitive spark that you recognized all too well. It was the look of an athlete who had just lost a round and was already planning the rematch.
"Next date," he declared, "we are going go-karting."
You laughed, pausing as you climbed in. "Why?"
"So I can regain my dignity," he said, dead serious.
"Deal," you grinned.
He leaned in then, the cold air between you vanishing. He kissed you. It was soft, sweet, and lingering under the falling snow. It felt better than any podium finish.
"But just so you know," you whispered against his lips, pulling back just an inch. "I'm a fast learner."
Kimi groaned, resting his forehead against yours, defeated but smiling. "Please, just let me win one."
CW: Implied brief awareness for Jinwoo. Canon divergent what if family fluff AU, implied Suho x Miho Baek cause SL RAGNAROK is teasing about it from what I've seen.
DO NOT PLAGARIZE STEAL REPOST COPY EDIT TRANSLATE AND OR USE FOR AI. Rather, reblog like comment and follow pls n thnx.
Ah, a family picnic beneath the sparkling blossoming tree. The majestic valleys humming with life in this mystical world far from their own.
Your husband and son commanded their respective shadows to create extra security incase any nosy person or magic beast tries stepping in on your little picnic space. The shadows are standing watch, keeping an eye out, letting you be in your own little world.
Curled up on the picnic blanket with your packaged food spread out, you cuddled with your hubby as your son's face gets distracted by the texts a friend of the family sent him in their group chat.
Why wouldn't you and your beloved probe and tease your own child on his quite possible crush?
"For the millionth time, Miho and I are just friends. Her dad just wants her to marry into our family all for his own benefit." Suho pointed out, taking a bite out of some Kimbap.
"Hunter Baek breathing down my neck at joint guild meetings and team ups in wanting to be in-laws with me and your grandpa has gotten on my last nerve." Jinwoo griped while munching on some Mandu.
"Your dad is his idol. The Sung men are just that remarkable." The teasing lilt in your voice had both father and son flush bashfully. "But Suho sweetheart, I see no reason why Miho wouldn't like you in that way. You're incredible."
Your maternal praise makes your teen boy flush and ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I mean, she's my senior by three years. I don't want to ruin what we already have."
"Friendships are just as important, I won't lie. But anyone would be lucky to have you as their special someone, kid." Jinwoo ruffles Suho's hair when those eyes of his turn to you.
"I know I am." That last comment made you turn scarlet as Jinwoo gently grabbed your chin, tilting your face up to meet his smitten gaze, right before a big old smooch.
"Dad, enough showboating. You do enough of that back home." Suho covers his flushed face at his parents' open display of amour.
"Son, if you really wanna impress someone —"
"Dad, you've told me this story since I was born. I know every detail." Suho's exasperated state didn't deter from the sweet smile he gave you, his parents. "You crossed literal worlds, swept Mom off her feet, and practically wedded her on the spot."
Jinwoo gave you a wolfish grin as he pecked your cheek. "Very exaggerated but ... not entirely wrong."
"Her soul called out to yours, your awareness went mad, and one thing led to another. Then out popped me." Suho rattled off on his flexing fingers.
Your fingers intertwine with his, giving his hand a squeeze. "The point is sweetie, is that love comes in the most unexpected ways. One way or another, you'll find your own special someone who's understanding and accepting of all of you."
"If I — when I do have my own special someone, you'll be the first two to know." Suho reiterates once seeing your pouting stubborn face. "OK?"
Jinwoo feeds you a dumpling draped in seaweed rice, stuffing your cute mouth, answering his son whose trying not to laugh at the sight of your cheeks puffed out as you try to eat. "You got it, kid."
The dumplings and even the seaweed rice rolls you all prepared together beforehand came out well, all things considered, as you swallowed. "You're lucky I love you, bastard." You grumbled at him with no heat in your words.
Jinwoo's tongue dove in your mouth, licking and sucking, pulling you snug against him, caging you in his grasp, smugness coming off in droves. "Love you too, baby."
Suho burns red and looks elsewher while his folks make out like fools. So texting Miho on the side helped settle his nerves somewhat. "Ah, this will never end."
"We love you too, honey." You and Jinwoo grin giving your exasperated son cheek kisses on either side of him. Suho deflates from sheer embarrassment overload.
In the end, having Suho's head resting on your lap while you brush his hair while your back rested against Jinwoo's front, you all watched magic sprites and balls of light appear and shimmering in the sky above, mesmerizing you all.
Your head tilts back for Jinwoo to kiss you fully, him embracing you, as you relish being with your boys.
