"A place for three" |Intak (P1HARMONY)
𑣲⋆ 𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂. Wanting to adopt on your own was already difficult enough, but pretending to date your best friend’s brother’s friend to make it happen definitely wasn’t part of the plan. What starts as a temporary arrangement slowly turns into shared routines, soft domestic moments, and feelings neither of you were supposed to catch.
𑣲⋆ 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰. Intak x fem!reader
𑣲⋆ 𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮. Fake dating, roommates to lovers, found family, slow burn, domestic fluff, hurt/comfort, emotional, romance
𑣲⋆ 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮. I know I’ve been a little inactive lately, but I’m finally back. I missed writing so much, and I really hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed creating it. Thank you for always being here and supporting my stories, I love you guys endlessly. 😛🤍
You’ve wanted to adopt a child for as long as you can remember.
Not in the vague “maybe someday” kind of way people usually talk about. No. You’ve thought about it seriously for years. You’ve imagined tiny shoes by the front door, bedtime stories, soft giggles filling an apartment that once felt too quiet. More specifically, you’ve always imagined a little girl.
You don’t even know why exactly. It’s just something your heart settled on a long time ago.
So when you finally start the process, you walk into the agency hopeful, nervous, and excited enough to barely sleep the night before.
The woman handling your paperwork smiles apologetically as she explains everything to you. Being single doesn’t make adoption impossible, of course, but it does make things slower. Harder. More complicated. Agencies tend to favor stable two-parent households, especially for younger children.
You sit there quietly while she talks, nodding like you understand, but your chest feels heavier with every sentence.
By the time you leave the building, the excitement is gone.
You keep thinking maybe your dream just isn’t realistic right now.
A few days later, your best friend drags you to her house because “you’ve been depressing lately” and apparently that’s unacceptable to her.
“You need human interaction,” she tells you while pulling you through the front door.
“I interact with humans.”
“Crying in front of your laptop doesn’t count.”
You roll your eyes, finally laughing a little.
The house is loud when you arrive. Her brother is there with a couple of friends sprawled around the living room, half watching something on TV and half arguing over food.
That’s when you meet him properly.
You’ve seen him before in passing, of course. Your friend’s brother talked about him constantly, and you vaguely remembered someone tall and loud laughing in the background during calls.
But this is the first time you actually talk.
He looks up when you walk in, immediately standing to greet you politely while the others barely move from the couch.
There’s something unexpectedly soft about him.
Not shy exactly. Just… gentle.
He asks if you want something to drink before you even sit down. Later, when everyone orders food, he notices you picking toppings off your slice and quietly trades plates with you without making a big deal about it.
You notice things after that.
How he always cleans up without being asked. How he listens more than he talks. How careful he is with people’s feelings.
By the end of the night, your best friend casually brings up your adoption situation while complaining dramatically about adulthood.
“She’s literally ready to become a mom before I even know how taxes work,” she says.
You groan immediately. “Can you not?”
But Intak looks over with genuine curiosity instead of judgment.
“You want to adopt?” he asks softly.
You hesitate before nodding. “Yeah. A little girl, hopefully.”
His expression changes slightly. Warmer somehow.
“That’s… really nice,” he says quietly.
You almost laugh at how sincere he sounds.
Then, somehow, the conversation spirals.
Your friend’s brother starts complaining about Intak’s parents refusing to let him move out.
“They think he’ll die if he lives alone,” he says dramatically.
“I will not die,” Intak mutters.
“You almost burned ramen.”
Everyone laughs, but Intak just sinks deeper into the couch, embarrassed.
“What do they want from you?” you ask.
He shrugs. “They think I’m irresponsible. They said maybe if I was more stable or serious…”
“Like having a partner?” his friend jokes.
Everyone slowly looks at each other.
Your best friend gasps dramatically. “Wait.”
“No,” you say immediately.
The idea doesn’t sound completely impossible.
The more you talk about it, the more it strangely makes sense.
Intak needs independence. You need a more stable-looking household for the adoption process. Neither of you is looking for anything serious.
A fake relationship. Shared apartment. Temporary arrangement.
At least, that’s what you both tell yourselves while sitting in a twenty-four-hour diner at midnight a week later, discussing rules like this is some kind of business contract.
“No feelings,” you say immediately.
“No making things complicated.”
“We help each other, and that’s it.”
And for some reason, the way he says it makes your stomach twist a little.
Moving in together happens faster than expected.
The apartment is small but warm, filled with half-opened boxes and mismatched furniture. By the first night, both of you are exhausted from carrying things around all day.
Your friend leaves after helping unpack, loudly reminding you both not to “accidentally fall in love.”
Intak nearly chokes on water.
You throw a pillow at her before the door closes.
Afterward, the apartment becomes quiet.
You sit cross-legged on the couch with your laptop while Intak assembles a lamp on the floor nearby. Music plays softly from someone’s phone. Neither of you talks much, but the silence doesn’t feel awkward.
At some point, you get up to shower, leaving your laptop open without thinking.
When you come back, Intak is still sitting on the floor, except now he’s staring at the screen.
Your stomach drops for a second before you realize what’s open.
Soft pink pajamas. Small socks. A page full of nursery ideas.
You immediately move to close it, embarrassed. “Sorry. I forgot that was there.”
But Intak stops you gently.
“No,” he says quietly. “It’s okay.”
There’s something different in his expression now.
He looks back at the screen for a moment before asking, almost carefully, “You really want this, huh?”
Your throat tightens a little.
“More than anything,” you admit softly.
For a moment, Intak just looks at you.
And somehow, sitting there in that half-unpacked apartment with the quiet humming around you, the arrangement suddenly starts feeling a little less temporary.
Living with Intak becomes easier far too quickly.
That’s the first dangerous thing you notice.
You expected awkwardness. Weird silences. The uncomfortable feeling of sharing space with someone who was technically still almost a stranger.
Instead, it feels natural.
He learns your routines without asking. You learn his. He remembers how you take your coffee after watching you make it once. You start leaving portions of dinner for him automatically whenever he comes home late.
Some nights you watch movies together without really paying attention to them. Some mornings you bump into each other half-asleep in the kitchen while trying to make breakfast.
It starts feeling less like roommates pretending to date and more like something quietly domestic.
The adoption meetings begin a few weeks later.
At first, Intak treats them seriously because he wants to help you. That’s all.
He sits beside you during interviews, answers questions politely, listens carefully whenever social workers explain procedures and timelines. He’s calm, attentive, surprisingly mature when he wants to be.
You honestly think he’ll lose interest eventually.
Instead, he becomes more invested than you expected.
Especially after they mention the possibility of a baby girl.
The social worker shows you both a file one afternoon, explaining that there may be a match in the future if everything continues going well. Nothing guaranteed yet. Just a possibility.
Still, the moment you leave the building, Intak starts asking questions.
“So newborns need to eat every few hours, right?”
You blink at him. “Uh… yeah.”
“And how do you even hold them properly? Their heads look so fragile.”
He notices immediately. “What?”
“You’re taking this really seriously.”
He looks away for a second, almost shy about it. “Well… shouldn’t I?”
After that, it only gets worse.
Depending on how you look at it.
He starts researching things on his own. You catch him reading parenting articles on his phone late at night. One evening you walk into the living room and find him watching a video titled how to calm a crying baby with full concentration.
You laugh so hard he throws a pillow at you.
“I’m preparing,” he complains.
“For a child that doesn’t even exist in our apartment yet?”
He crosses his arms dramatically. “Preparation is important.”
And somehow, instead of scaring you, it warms something deep inside your chest.
People around you start assuming your relationship is real almost immediately.
Honestly, you can’t even blame them.
At meetings, you naturally sit close together. Intak remembers every detail you forget when you’re nervous. You finish each other’s sentences without realizing it.
One social worker smiles at you both after a meeting and says, “You two make a really lovely couple.”
But Intak smiles first and says, “Thank you.”
The domestic moments become dangerous after that.
One afternoon, the two of you spend hours building a crib together in the middle of the apartment. Or more accurately, Intak builds it while you read instructions that neither of you fully understands.
“The screws are backwards.”
“They are literally upside down.”
At one point he gets frustrated enough to flop dramatically onto the floor while you laugh at him.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” he accuses.
“You look cute when you’re struggling.”
The second the words leave your mouth, both of you go silent.
Another time, you go shopping “just to prepare.”
That’s what you both insist.
But then Intak ends up standing in the middle of the baby section holding tiny socks in his hands with the softest expression you’ve ever seen on him.
“These are so small,” he whispers, genuinely amazed.
Your heart actually hurts a little looking at him.
Later, he carefully places a stuffed bunny into the cart when he thinks you aren’t paying attention.
You pretend not to notice.
At night, he sometimes falls asleep on the couch while researching parenting things on his laptop. You’ll come out of your room to grab water and find him passed out under a blanket, glasses crooked, phone still playing some video about newborn sleeping schedules.
And every single time, something in your chest tightens painfully.
Because this doesn’t feel fake anymore.
Not when he smiles every time he talks about the future.
Not when he asks what names you like.
Not when he quietly says things like, “I think she’d like this color,” while looking at baby blankets.
You start imagining him there permanently.
Not just as someone helping you.
Not just as a temporary partner.
The realization terrifies you.
You try not to think about it too much until the visit.
The agency arranges a supervised meeting one afternoon. Nothing official. Just interaction. Observation. A chance to see how things feel.
You’re nervous enough to throw up.
Intak notices immediately.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs while sitting beside you in the waiting room.
“What if she doesn’t like us?”
He looks at you like the idea is impossible. “She will.”
Then the baby girl is placed into your arms.
And suddenly the world stops.
She’s tiny. Warm. Sleepy. Smaller than you imagined.
Your eyes burn instantly.
You barely notice Intak sitting closer until the baby shifts slightly toward him.
Carefully, almost nervously, he offers his hand.
The baby wraps her tiny fingers around one of his immediately.
His eyes widen as he stares at her little hand holding onto him so tightly.
“Oh,” he whispers softly.
Something in his voice breaks a little.
At the softness in his expression. The emotion he’s trying to hide. The way his thumb carefully brushes against her tiny fingers like she’s something precious.
And suddenly, terrifyingly, painfully—
The closer the adoption gets, the more dangerous everything becomes.
Not dangerous in an obvious way.
The kind that sneaks up on you in soft domestic moments and lingering looks and feelings neither of you are supposed to have.
Because somewhere along the way, Intak stopped acting like this was temporary.
It starts with little things.
The baby girl isn’t officially yours yet, but Intak already treats her like she belongs to him. Like she belongs to both of you.
He talks to her softly whenever you visit, his voice automatically gentler around her. He learns how to hold her properly without even realizing it, one hand always supporting her carefully while the other rubs her back instinctively whenever she gets fussy.
And somehow, she always calms down for him.
The way his entire face softens when she smiles. The way he carries her around the room while humming absentmindedly. The way he looks almost offended whenever someone calls him “helpful” instead of what he actually acts like:
You catch yourself staring at him too often.
At the way he cradles her naturally against his chest. At the exhausted softness in his eyes after long meetings. At how easily he fits into the life you used to imagine alone.
And Intak notices things too.
Like how you automatically reach for him in crowded rooms. How your apartment stopped feeling temporary weeks ago. How sometimes, late at night, he catches himself imagining years instead of months.
A future instead of an arrangement.
That realization terrifies both of you.
Which is probably why jealousy starts appearing.
One afternoon after an adoption meeting, one of the social workers smiles a little too warmly at you while complimenting your patience. Intak goes unusually quiet afterward.
“What?” you finally ask while walking home.
He shoves his hands deeper into his hoodie pocket, avoiding your eyes. “He was flirting with you.”
His ears turn red immediately.
“I’m not,” he mumbles, sounding deeply unconvinced.
The tiny flicker of satisfaction in your chest feels just as wrong.
Fear comes harder after that.
Because now there’s something real to lose.
The late nights become the hardest.
Especially in the nursery.
You both spend hours in there even when there’s nothing left to organize. Sometimes Intak sits in the rocking chair scrolling through parenting forums while you fold tiny clothes for the hundredth time just to keep your hands busy.
The room glows softly under warm lights. Quiet music plays from someone’s phone. It feels painfully domestic.
One night around 3 a.m., both of you are too exhausted to move.
Intak is half asleep beside you on the floor, shoulder pressed against yours while baby blankets sit unfolded nearby.
“She’s gonna keep us awake every night, huh?” he murmurs tiredly.
You laugh softly. “Probably.”
There’s silence for a moment before he speaks again, quieter this time.
“I don’t want this to disappear.”
He’s still staring ahead.
“This,” he repeats softly. “The apartment. You. Her. I don’t want it to suddenly end one day.”
Because you don’t want that either.
And maybe that’s the scariest part.
Your hands brush while reaching for the same tiny pajama set.
Neither of you pulls away immediately.
Another night, you both accidentally fall asleep on the couch waiting for paperwork emails. You wake up tangled together under one blanket, Intak’s arm wrapped loosely around your waist like it belongs there.
Neither of you mentions it.
Then one evening, while talking absentmindedly about schedules and future visits, Intak says it without thinking.
“We’ll figure it out. We’re family.”
He freezes immediately after saying it.
But neither of you corrects it.
Because deep down, it already feels true.
Everything finally breaks a week later.
Stress is high. Paperwork delays. Lack of sleep. Too many emotions shoved into a space too small to hold them.
You’re standing in the kitchen arguing quietly while the apartment glows dimly around you.
“What happens after this?” you finally ask.
Intak looks confused. “After what?”
The word hangs heavily between you.
“When everything is finalized,” you continue carefully, “what happens to us?”
His expression shifts immediately.
“You’re talking like this ends.”
“It was supposed to,” you whisper.
He laughs once, but there’s no humor in it.
“So that’s it? We just go back to normal?”
“You knew what this was from the beginning.”
“And what is it now?” he asks sharply.
Because you’re afraid of the answer.
Intak runs a hand through his hair, visibly overwhelmed now.
“You really think I could pretend to love this little girl?” he says quietly.
Then he looks directly at you.
He steps forward suddenly and kisses you.
Months of restraint collapsing at once.
His hands shake when they reach your face. His breathing is uneven. The kiss feels overwhelmed, desperate, like he’s been trying to hold it back for so long that it physically hurts now.
You kiss him back immediately.
Because maybe you’ve been holding back too.
When he finally pulls away, he looks panicked almost instantly.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I just— I shouldn’t have—”
But before he can spiral further, you grab his hoodie and kiss him again.
And somewhere between the warmth of the apartment, the quiet nursery down the hall, and the way Intak melts against you like he’s finally allowed to—
The pretending finally disappears.
After the kiss, everything changes.
There’s no big conversation immediately after, no awkward attempt to redefine things sitting in the kitchen at midnight.
The pretending just… disappears.
Because once Intak kisses you like that, like he’s been in love with you for months and physically can’t hold it inside anymore, there’s no going back to fake boundaries or careful distance.
Not when he still looks at you like that afterward.
Not when your first instinct the next morning is to kiss him again before he leaves for work.
And definitely not when he smiles against your lips like he’s still shocked you’re real.
Somehow, things become softer after that.
You stop pretending not to touch each other. His hand naturally settles on your waist while cooking together. You steal his hoodies without asking. He kisses your temple absentmindedly while walking past you in the apartment.
Domestic affection slips into your lives so naturally it’s almost embarrassing.
One evening while putting groceries away together, Intak suddenly pauses.
“What?” you ask, noticing him staring.
He shakes his head softly, smiling to himself. “Nothing.”
He laughs quietly before leaning against the counter beside you.
“I think I fell in love with you in pieces,” he admits.
Your chest tightens immediately.
“What does that even mean?”
He looks down for a second, shy despite everything now.
“I don’t think there was one exact moment,” he says softly. “It was… small things.”
You stay quiet, letting him continue.
“Grocery shopping together. Falling asleep on the couch. You yelling at me for buying unnecessary things for the baby.” His smile grows softer. “Watching you love her before she was even officially ours.”
Intak reaches for your hand automatically.
“You made the apartment feel warm,” he murmurs. “You made all of this feel real.”
You squeeze his fingers gently.
“I stopped seeing you as temporary a long time ago,” you admit quietly.
He looks at you immediately after that.
Like hearing those words means more than he knows how to explain.
The final adoption meeting arrives faster than expected.
And somehow, it’s more terrifying now.
Because now there’s more to lose.
You sit beside Intak in the waiting room with your leg bouncing nervously while he rubs slow circles against your palm.
He smiles softly. “Me neither.”
But unlike before, neither of you rehearses answers.
Neither of you tries to act perfect.
When the social worker asks why you want to adopt, your voice shakes a little when you answer honestly.
Because you love her already.
Because she already feels like your daughter.
Because somewhere along the way, this stopped being a plan and became your life.
And when they ask Intak if he feels ready for the responsibility, he doesn’t give some polished answer.
He just says, quietly but firmly, “I already love her. I think I’ve been ready since the moment she held my finger.”
You almost cry right there.
The meeting feels endless.
For a second, neither of you reacts.
Like your brains can’t process the words.
“Oh my god,” he breathes, laughing once before tears immediately spill down his face.
You stare at him for half a second before you start crying too.
The social worker laughs warmly while handing over paperwork, but all you can focus on is Intak wiping his face with one hand while trying unsuccessfully to stop smiling.
“I’m sorry,” he laughs through tears. “I’m just—”
“You’re crying harder than me.”
“You’re literally sobbing.”
“She’s our daughter,” he says immediately, voice cracking again.
And somehow that only makes you cry harder.
Later that night, your apartment feels different.
Not because anything physically changed.
But because now she’s really here.
Tiny apartment. Soft lights. Baby blankets draped over the couch. Bottles sitting on the kitchen counter. Warm exhaustion settling into every corner of the room.
Your baby girl sleeps peacefully between you both after hours of feeding, crying, rocking, and nervous first-parent panic.
Intak holds her carefully against his chest while sitting beside you on the couch, his movements instinctively gentle now.
The soft exhaustion in his eyes. The messy hair. The overwhelming love written all over his face.
He notices you staring and smiles sleepily.
His expression softens even more somehow.
Very carefully, he leans over and kisses your forehead while still holding the baby securely against him.
The apartment is quiet except for soft breathing and distant city noise outside the windows.
Then Intak looks down at the sleeping baby in his arms and laughs quietly to himself.
“We were supposed to fake being a family,” he whispers.
You smile tiredly against his shoulder.
“So how did this become the most real thing I’ve ever had?”
Neither of you needs an answer anymore.
dededos
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