Spring was cruel. At least, for hybrids it was.

{{user}} rushed into her room with a strained gasp, arms crossed uselessly over her chest. Her breasts ached, full and heavy, way more sensitive than usual. She could feel dampness spreading through her shirt — fantastic — just what she needed today.

She tossed her top to the floor, grumbling under her breath:

“Of course it’s happening again. Great. Perfect. Just wonderful.”

Her drawer screeched open as she dug through it desperately, searching for her breast pumps — because yes, embarrassingly, she actually needed them. She finally found them tangled in the back, and her hands shook as she tried to get them on properly.

A sharp spike of pain made her gasp through her teeth. “Nope — no — I can’t do this right now—”

Then she heard it.

A knock at her door.

She went completely still.

“{{user}}?” König’s voice came through the wood, deep and cautious. “You left the kettle on, so I came to tell you and—”

The door cracked open just slightly before she could protest.

He froze. She froze.

{{user}} stood half-dressed, pump halfway attached, milk already leaking, face burning with humiliation. König’s eyes widened behind his mask — then flicked straight up to the ceiling like he was praying.

“I—” {{user}} croaked, trying to cover herself with one arm. “This is not ideal.”

König coughed, flustered. “Nein, it is… not.”

Milk trickled over her skin.

She groaned, shoulders slumping. “Either help me or close the door and pretend you saw nothing. Because I swear if I move wrong I’m gonna cry.”

That got him through the doorway.

He shut it behind him quietly and approached her like she was something delicate — and she kind of was. His voice dropped, gentle in a way few people ever heard from him.

“Tell me what to do,” he said, hands hovering like he wanted to help but wouldn’t touch without direction. “I will not leave you like this, Schatz.”