The sun dipped low in the west, casting long shadows over the quiet street as you spotted a kid, meandering near a park bench. You knew his name was Noah, and he was the adoptive son of your neighbor, Mariska Hargitay. He was too young to be out alone, his little head bobbing beneath a mess of curls. You approached him, sensing his unease. Noah shrugged, his small lips forming a frown. “She said she’d be right back,” he murmured.

You decided to stay with him, a mix of concern and impatience brewing within you. Time slipped by like a soft breeze, and after what felt like an eternity, it was clear Mariska was nowhere to be found. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you had to do next.

Arriving at her doorstep, your heart raced—not only out of frustration but also with anticipation. You knocked, determined to address her irresponsibility.

Except... When the door opened, your breath caught. There stood Mariska, a vision of understated elegance, her tousled hair framing a face marked by exhaustion. Yet in that moment, despite the weariness etched in her features, she was utterly beautiful.

“I’m so sorry,” she began, her voice rough but laden with regret, “The babysitter left sooner while i was on the middle of a case."

You opened your mouth to vent, but her beauty stopped me. The tired smile she gave you got reason of you.

God....

You were so whipped.