#not want to let go of him either. never wants to let him go again. they cry a little bit about it. but it’s okay because mike wipes his

[mononijikayu]

wildflower— nanami kento.

Your breath caught in your throat. “I—” “Do you have any idea how brilliant you are?” His voice was trembling now, thick with emotion. “You were always the smartest person in the room. You deserved to get out of here….to have everything you ever dreamed of. And instead… you stayed. You gave it all up. Why?” Tears burned the back of your eyes. “Because I didn’t have a choice, Kento.” “Yes, you did.” His voice cracked. “You could have told me. You could have called me. I would’ve—” “You would’ve what, Kento?” you choked. “Fixed my life for me? Paid my bills? Dragged me to Tokyo and pretended like I belonged in your world?” His jaw clenched. “You do belong in my world.”

GENRE: alternate universe - actor/s au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, use of she/her pronouns, romance, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, hurt, love, fluff, humor, light-hearted, long-term relationship, marriage, loss, emotional distress, hatred, resentment, domestic, confessions, getting together, friends, slice of life, childhood friends, distress, cheating, falling out of love, toxic relationship, drama, depression, bitterness, grief, trauma, pregnancy, explicit birthing scene, illness, post-partum depression, bodily fluids, children, therapy, explicit depiction of birthing, depiction of bodily fluids, depiction of post-partum depression, mention of blood, mention of birthing, mention of bodily fluids, mention of depression, actor! nanami, housewife! reader;

WORD COUNT: 18k words

NOTE: this took a while and im a bit sick all the sudden but i realized i have to put this out so i just decided to go on and post this. anyway, i hope you enjoy this. ready the tissue for this, its a crier. i love you all so much <3

masterlist

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the good life ― masterlist.

IT WAS HARD NOT TO KNOW WHAT EVERYTHING MEANS AFTER TWENTY YEARS OF MARRIAGE. After all that time, wouldn’t you know much about the person you were married to? This moment was not an exemption, of course. You were his wife, you knew everything about him. You just had to know.

So, as you stood there, looking at him, you knew that look. That look in Kento's caramel eyes as he’s putting on his suit. The quiet resignation. The practiced ease of sliding the tie around his neck, smoothing down his shirt, adjusting the cufflinks. Like a man preparing to go to war — except it isn’t war. It’s something worse. You knew that much.

You hum softly, curled up on the couch, and watch him from across the room. He doesn’t notice you at first, too focused on making himself presentable. Like it matters. Like any of it matters. You know where he’s going. You’ve always known.

It’s something you never said out loud, not in the past twenty years, not when the nights stretched long and lonely, not when his touch began to feel like an apology instead of love. You haven’t said a word, and he hasn’t either.

But you know all about it already.

There was no need for such words.

There was no need for anything else.

You know because when he turns around, there’s that smile all over again. That smile you fell in love with all those years ago. It was that loving, gentle smile. Strained by the weariness, the tired, and the painfully distant bitterness that dwelled over time on his face. 

And then besides that, he lies. 

He always has to know how to lie.

He was an actor by trade, after all.

"I’ll be home late, baby." he says like it means nothing, like it’s any other day. His voice doesn’t crack. His eyes don’t betray him. But you see it. You always do. And it kills you a little more each time. 

You know he loves you. It’s never been a question of love. It’s always been a question of truth. And the truth is, love doesn’t stop him from leaving. The truth is, love doesn’t make him stay. The truth is, he’s already gone before he’s out the door.

And sometimes you want to kill him for it. Even if you don’t want to, you think about it often. You think about wanting to just be angry and let yourself loose into the madness of it all. You wanted to go and have something for yourself. Even if that was a life, even if it was his life. After all that you had suffered and endured, don’t you deserve it? Don’t you deserve to take his life?

For the silence. For the way he pretends. For the way you let him. For the way you can’t bring yourself to break it all apart because maybe —just maybe— if you keep pretending, too, it’ll hurt less.

You don’t say a word when he leans down to kiss your temple as gently as he could, as lovingly as he could. You don’t flinch, you don’t cling. You don’t beg him to stay. You just hum again, quieter this time, and watch him leave like you have a hundred times before. 

And when the door closes behind him, the sound is deafening.

You stare at the door long after he's gone. Like if you watch long enough, he'll come back. Like if you sit still enough, you'll hear his footsteps retreating down the hallway. But silence is all that answers you. Silence, and the faint hum of the clock that ticks louder with every passing second.

Your hands twitch against your lap, curling into fists before releasing again. You wonder if tonight it'll be different, if he'll come home and tell you the truth. If he'll break, just once, and tell you what you already know. That there’s someone else. That his heart no longer belongs here, with you.

But it never happens. It’s never happened.

You get up after a while, wandering through the house like a ghost. You pass by the photos on the walls. The framed moments of happiness frozen in time. His smile in those pictures looks real. Like he didn’t know back then what would become of you both. You touch one of the frames, trailing your finger down his face. It feels cruel now, looking at those captured memories.

The bed feels colder when you climb in alone. You face his side, the sheets still perfectly made, undisturbed by the weight of his body. You press your face into his pillow, breathing him in. You think, for a fleeting second, that if you cry hard enough, he might feel it from wherever he is and come home.

But you don’t cry. You’ve already wasted too many nights crying. Instead, you just wait. 

Because that's all you know how to do now. Wait. And love him. And hate him a little, too.

THE STORY STARTS EVEN BEFORE THAT. You and Nanami Kento grew up together. Two kids from two very different worlds — he is filled with wealth and privilege, you were with struggle and scarcity. His parents lived in a grand, pristine house, while you lived in a cramped apartment that barely stayed warm in the winter.

His clothes were always crisp and clean, and yours were worn out and patched up. From the moment you realized just how different your lives were, you knew people like you didn’t belong in his world.

And the world didn’t hesitate to remind you of that. The neighborhood kids who ran in the same circles as Nanami never let you forget it. They whispered when you came around, made faces when you approached, and laughed when you walked away. 

“Why do you let her hang around you?” they’d ask him. “She doesn't fit in with us.” 

But Nanami Kento never wavered. Not once. Not ever.

“She’s my friend.” he’d say, firm and unwavering.

And that was all it took.

It didn’t matter if your shoes had holes or if your hands were rough from helping your family with chores. It didn’t matter that you didn’t have expensive toys or that you couldn’t bring lunch to school some days. 

Kento always shared this with you. He always liked making sure you were as full as him. So he would go and split his neatly packed bento in half and hand you the bigger portion without a second thought. 

You’d protest, of course, but he’d only shrug and say, “I wasn’t that hungry anyway.” 

You knew it was a lie.

Even back then, he always lied.

And he smiles all the same.

He always did that, giving without asking for anything in return, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you valued him more than anything because of it. But what you didn’t realize was how deeply it had settled in your bones. The way you looked at him, the way you cherished him, the way you loved him.

It wasn’t like one day you just woke up and decided to love Nanami Kento. No, it was a gradual thing. Like the warmth of the sun slowly rising over the horizon. It happened on the days he’d sneak away from his house to find you playing in the dirt, unbothered by the stares of his so-called friends. 

It happened when he’d walk you home after school, insisting it was just on the way when it wasn’t. It happened when you were crying after your father came home drunk again, and Nanami held your hand quietly, letting you cry into his shoulder without a word.

It happened every time he chose you.

And because of that, because he never treated you like you were less than him, because he never made you feel like you didn’t belong — you fell in love with him. Quietly. Deeply. Hopelessly. Truthfully. 

But you never said a word about it. How could you?

You were still just you. You were unimportant, rough around the edges, struggling to keep your life from falling apart. And he was Nanami Kento, brighter than the sun itself. He was polished, brilliant, and destined for a life far better than the one you could ever give him. 

Loving him felt like holding sunlight in your hands. 

It was beautiful, but impossible to keep.

And so you stifled it, you swallowed it down. 

You smiled when he spoke of his future. Of traveling abroad, of making something of himself — and you ignored the ache in your chest. You told yourself it was enough to simply have him in your life, even if you could never have his heart. But deep down, you knew.

One day, he’d leave. 

He’d outgrow this town. 

He’d outgrow you. 

You’d be left where you always were. You would be standing in the shadow of his light, loving him from a distance. You knew that even if he leaves, even if he doesn’t stay. You would love him all the same.

WHEN THAT DAY CAME, YOU HADN’T EXPECTED IT. You were sixteen when Nanami Kento told you he was leaving. He had gotten accepted into a prestigious school overseas. One that would guarantee him a promising future. His parents were thrilled. His friends envied him. 

Everyone around him kept saying to him — You’ll do great things, Nanami. You’re destined for success.

But all you could hear was the sound of your own heart breaking. Yet you didn’t want it to be broken down out loud.  So, you decided to go and smile all about it. It was better this way, you think to yourself. He, after all, deserved better than you.

He found you later that evening, sitting on the rusted swing set in the small park where you two always met. You already knew what he was going to say. You could see it in his eyes — a mixture of excitement and guilt.

“I’m leaving.” he finally said, voice quiet. “I got accepted into a school in Denmark.”

You forced a smile, ignoring the lump in your throat. “That’s… that’s amazing, Kento. Really. I’m happy for you.”

But you weren’t. 

God, you weren’t.

“I’ll only be gone for a couple of years, you know.” he tried to reassure you. “I’ll visit during the holidays. And we can write letters—”

“Yeah, I know.” you cut him off, still smiling. “We’ll stay in touch. Like we used to.”

But deep down, you knew better. People like you didn’t get to stay in the lives of people like him. Nanami Kento was destined for bigger and better things, all these things that didn’t include you. And you hated yourself for thinking that way.

So instead of breaking down, instead of begging him to stay, you spent your remaining days together trying to memorize everything about him. The way his blond hair would fall over his forehead when he was deep in thought. 

The sound of his laugh when you said something ridiculous. The warmth of his hand whenever it brushed against yours. You burned it all into your memory, knowing it was the closest you’d ever get to having him. 

And then like the wind, that day came in a sudden push.

You didn’t cry when you said goodbye to him at the train station. 

You didn’t flinch when he pulled you into a tight hug and whispered, “I’ll see you soon.” 

You didn’t break down when you watched the train pull away, carrying him farther and farther from you. But that night, when you were alone in your bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling — you sobbed until your throat was raw. Because you knew.

You knew that he’s not coming back.

Maybe not intentionally, maybe he would write you a few letters, maybe he would visit during the holidays but eventually, the distance would settle in. He’d meet new people, make new friends, build a new life. 

And you? You’d still be here, stuck in the same town, living the same hard life you always had. You didn’t blame him. How could you? He deserved better. Yet you told yourself that you’d get over him. That the ache in your chest would eventually fade. That you’d move on.

But you never did.

The letters came at first. Handwritten, neat, and always signed, Kento. 

He’d tell you about the classes he was taking, the places he was visiting, the new friends he was making. And you’d read every word, trying to picture him in that new world of his — a world you didn’t belong to. You always write back, of course. But your letters were never as exciting. What were you supposed to say? 

Hey, I’m still working two part-time jobs to help my mom make rent. Our fridge broke again last week, but it’s fine. I’ve gotten used to eating once a day. 

No. Instead, you lied. You told him you were doing fine, that life was okay, that you were just happy to hear from him. But as the months went on, the letters became less frequent. And then, eventually, they stopped altogether. And that was it.

Nanami Kento became a part of your past.

He was just another thing you had to let go of.

Yet you think about it now, you should have let go.

You should have let it all be.

IT WAS QUITE A SURPRISE, NOT ONE WHICH YOU HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT. You didn’t know he became an actor. The Nanami Kento standing in front of you now. He was still quite as polished, poised, and impossibly handsome as he was.

And yet, he was a far cry from the boy you used to know. But it was still him, he was all the same. Same deep voice. Same gentle gaze. Same presence that made the world feel a little less heavy.

And yet, there was something else too. A distance. 

Like he didn’t quite belong here anymore.

It was like he had outgrown this town, just as you always knew he would.

“Kento, oh wow….” you managed, trying not to let your voice shake. “I… I didn’t know you were back.”

His smile faltered slightly, like he was trying to keep his composure. “Just for a few days. I had some… time off.”

You didn’t miss the way his caramel eyes swept over you. From your wrinkled convenience store uniform to the worn-out shoes on your feet. It was subtle, but you saw it. And it made your stomach twist in shame.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, carefully. Like he was afraid of the answer.

You forced a small laugh, waving a hand. “You know… same old, same old. Nothing much has changed.”

Lie. Everything had changed. You were still here, yes. You were still in the same town, still in the same life — but it felt different now. Colder. Like the weight of the world had settled heavier on your shoulders after he left. And it didn’t escape Kento’s notice.

You were supposed to be somewhere else. He knew that. Out of everyone he’d ever known, you were the smartest. You were the sharpest, the most capable, the one who always dreamed bigger than the town could ever hold. 

You used to talk about it all the time — the places you wanted to go, the life you wanted to build. You were supposed to go to college. You were supposed to do great things. And yet here you were. Stuck. In this town. Wearing a faded uniform and a name tag, working a dead-end job.

Why? Why are you still here, suffering like this?

“So, uh….” you cleared your throat, forcing a smile. “How’s Denmark? Or… wait. Are you still there?”

“No, no. I don’t live there.” he answered, his voice quieter now. “I, uh… I moved to Tokyo. For work.”

“Work?” you tilted your head.

And that’s when you saw it. The subtle shift in his stance. 

Like he was bracing himself for something.

“...I’m an actor now,” he admitted, almost sheepishly.

You blinked. “Wait — like… on TV?”

“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking a little uncomfortable. “Film, mostly. I’ve done a few series too.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re kidding.”

He chuckled, though there was no real humor in it. “I’m not. It just… happened, I guess.”

Of course it did, you thought bitterly. Because that’s what people like him did. They left, they made something of themselves, and they became untouchable. Meanwhile, people like you stayed exactly where they were rooted in place, forgotten, ordinary.

“That’s… amazing, Kento. Really.” You smiled, even though it burned your throat. “I’m happy for you.”

But Nanami Kento couldn’t find it in himself to smile back. 

Because all he could think about was how wrong this felt.

You’re supposed to be the one out there, he thought. You were always the brilliant one. You were supposed to leave this town — not me. You were supposed to make something of yourself.

Instead, you were still here in this wretched place. In a store that smelled faintly of stale bread and cleaning supplies. Ringing up snacks for high schoolers who would eventually leave you behind just like everyone else did.

“You’re still working here?” he asked softly, his voice careful.

“Yeah. Been here for a couple of years now.” You shrugged like it was nothing. “Pays the bills.”

His stomach twisted at your words all the sudden. “What about school?” he asked. “You… you were supposed to go to college, right? Didn’t you get accepted somewhere?”

You froze. For a brief moment, the smile cracked on your face. But you stitched it back together quickly. “Ah, yeah… I did. But, you know. Life happens.”

Lie, again, huh?

The truth was that you did get accepted. To a top university in Tokyo, actually. But your mom lost her job the same week you got the acceptance letter. Rent fell behind. Bills piled up. And you did what you always did — you stayed. 

You got a job, dropped out before you even started, and spent the next few years trying to keep your family afloat. You did everything you could to help your family to survive. You abandoned everything to survive. But you didn’t tell Kento that. You couldn’t.

“Anyway, uh….” you deflected, forcing some cheer into your voice, “I’m sure you’ve got somewhere to be. Don’t let me keep you.”

But Nanami Kento didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

Because he couldn’t stop staring at you. He couldn’t stop thinking about how wrong this was. The person he loved most in this world, the one who deserved everything was still here, stuck, while he was out there living a dream he never even wanted in the first place.

And he hated it. 

God, he hated it.

“…Have dinner with me, at least.” he blurted out suddenly.

Your head snapped up. “What?”

“Dinner. Tonight.” His voice was steadier now. “I want to catch up.”

You hesitated. “Kento, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His gaze softened. “Please.”

And maybe it was because you were too tired to argue. Or maybe it was because, despite everything, you still loved him. So you gave in. “…Okay. Yeah. Dinner sounds nice.”

And for the first time since he left, Kento felt like he could breathe again.

That night, he picked you up from your small apartment. You tried to dress nicer, but you didn’t have much to work with. It was just a worn-out dress you hadn’t touched in years. When you opened the door and saw him standing there in a tailored coat and polished shoes, you almost told him to forget it.

But Kento only smiled and said, “You look beautiful.”

And God, you hated how much you still loved him.

Dinner was… nostalgic. You talked about old memories, laughed about stupid things you did as kids. But Kento couldn’t stop noticing how guarded you were. How carefully you danced around your life now.

Never mentioning anything too personal, never hinting at how hard things really were. And when the night was over, when he walked you back to your door, he couldn’t help himself.

“…Why did you stay?” he finally asked.

You froze, your hand on the doorknob. “…What?”

“You were supposed to leave this town, you know.” he said, voice cracking slightly. “You were supposed to go to college. Travel. Do everything you always talked about. So… why didn’t you?”

You hesitated. But then you smiled soft and hollow. “Someone had to stay and take care of things.”

And before he could ask what you meant, you gave him one last smile and said. “Goodnight, Kento.”

Then you closed the door. And Kento stood there, staring at the chipped paint on your doorframe, his heart breaking all over again. Because the person he loved most in this world was still stuck in a place she was never meant to stay.

And he didn’t know how to fix it.

NOT A WINK OF SLEEP THAT NIGHT ONCE AGAIN. After you closed the door on Kento, you leaned against it, heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst out of your chest.

You could still feel the warmth of his gaze, still hear the tenderness in his voice when he said you looked beautiful. It was like he still saw you the way he did when you were kids. Like time and distance hadn’t changed a thing.

But it had.  You weren’t the same girl you used to be. And he wasn’t the same boy who once shared his lunch with you. He was Nanami Kento now, an actor, a star, someone the world adored. And you? You were still here. Working a dead-end job, carrying the weight of your family’s survival on your back, and holding onto the ghost of a love you never confessed.

So why did it feel like he was still yours?

Why did it still hurt like hell to let him go?

On the other side of that door, Kento didn’t move for a long time. He just stood there, still staring at the door you closed between you two and felt his throat tighten with a kind of pain he hadn’t experienced in years. 

Because no matter how much you smiled that night, no matter how light you tried to make your voice sound, he saw it. The exhaustion in your eyes. The tension in your shoulders. The carefully crafted responses designed to keep him from knowing the truth. You were struggling. And it killed him.

Because you were the smartest person he knew. You were supposed to be miles away from this town, pursuing the future you always dreamed of. You were supposed to be untouchable, unstoppable, radiant. But instead… you were here. Tired. Small. Dimming under the weight of a life that never stopped asking more from you.

And Kento couldn’t stand it. The thought of going back to Tokyo, of returning to his world of flashing cameras, scripts, and fame while you were stuck here, surviving day by day, made him physically ill.

I should have taken you with me, he thought bitterly. I never should have left you here.

And that’s when he decided — he wasn’t leaving without you this time.

He didn’t care what it took. He didn’t care if you pushed him away. He didn’t care if you convinced yourself you didn’t belong in his world anymore. He would break down every wall you built around yourself if it meant pulling you out of this life.

Because the truth was he never stopped loving you.

And he’d be damned if he lost you a second time. The next day, you were working your usual shift when the doorbell chimed and you didn’t need to look up to know who it was. You felt it before you even saw him. 

“…Kento.” You swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “What are you doing here?”

He looked painfully out of place in the small convenience store. He was dressed in a dark coat, hair perfectly styled, standing taller and broader than you remembered. It was almost laughable. This man who graced movie screens and magazine covers standing in the middle of your dusty workplace like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Thought I’d stop by today.” he said simply. “I was hoping to see you.”

Your stomach twisted painfully. Don’t do this, Kento.

“I, uh… I’m working on the floor.” you stammered. “Can’t really chat right now.”

“I’ll wait.”

You blinked. “…What?”

“I’ll wait until your shift is over.” he said, completely serious. “Then we’ll grab dinner. My treat.”

“Kento—”

“Don’t say no.” His voice was soft, but firm. “Please.”

And God, you almost did. You almost told him no. You almost told him to leave you alone, that you didn’t want him to see you like this anymore, that you couldn’t handle standing next to him and being reminded of how far apart your lives had become.

But you didn’t. Because deep down, you still craved him.

You craved his voice, his touch, his presence. 

Even if it hurts you just do it all over again.

“…Okay.”

The night air was cold, but his coat was warm. Somewhere between dinner and walking you home, Kento had shrugged off his expensive wool coat and draped it around your shoulders without hesitation. You tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear it.

“Don’t argue with me about this, please.” he murmured, his hand lingering against your arm a little too long.

It was dangerous being this close to him again. 

But you couldn’t pull away from him.

“So….” you forced lightness into your voice. “What’s it like being famous?”

He scoffed. “Overrated.”

You laughed softly. “Oh, come on. You’re on billboards now. You can’t tell me it’s not a little amazing.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” His voice was distant. “Not if you’re not there to see it.”

Your steps faltered. “…What?”

Kento stopped walking — turning to face you, his expression unreadable. “I thought about you every day.” he confessed, his voice raw. 

“Kento—”

“The entire time I was gone. I kept wondering what you were doing, if you were okay, if you were happy.” His throat bobbed. “And every time I came back home, I hoped I’d see you, but you were always gone. I… I didn’t know if you wanted to see me again.”

You felt your heart crack open. “Kento…”

“Why didn’t you tell me you stayed?” His voice broke slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me you never went to college?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “I—”

“Do you have any idea how brilliant you are?” His voice was trembling now, thick with emotion. “You were always the smartest person in the room. You deserved to get out of here….to have everything you ever dreamed of. And instead… you stayed. You gave it all up. Why?”

Tears burned the back of your eyes. “Because I didn’t have a choice, Kento.”

“Yes, you did.” His voice cracked. “You could have told me. You could have called me. I would’ve—”

“You would’ve what, Kento?” you choked. “Fixed my life for me? Paid my bills? Dragged me to Tokyo and pretended like I belonged in your world?”

His jaw clenched. “You do belong in my world.”

“No, I don’t.” you snapped, tears finally spilling over. “Look at me. I’ve been stuck in the same place since you left. I’m still living paycheck to paycheck. I didn’t finish school. I’ve done nothing with my life. And you—” your voice cracked painfully. “You’ve become everything you were meant to be.”

Silence. Thick. Suffocating.

“I didn’t want any of it.” His voice was barely a whisper.

You froze. “…What?”

Kento swallowed hard. “I didn’t want fame. The career. The spotlight. I didn’t want any of it. The only thing I ever wanted was you—and I thought… I thought if I made something of myself, you’d still be here when I came back.” His voice cracked. “But you weren’t. And I hated myself for leaving you behind.”

Your knees almost buckled.

“And now that I’m here, with you.” his voice broke. "I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

Tears poured freely down your face. “Kento, don’t—”

“Come with me.” He took a step closer, his hands trembling as they cradled your face. “Come to Tokyo. Stay with me. I’ll pay for your school, I’ll—”

“No!” you sobbed, pulling away. “I’m not your responsibility, Kento—”

“You’re not a responsibility, nor a liability.” his voice cracked. “You’re the love of my life.”

Your heart shattered. And before you could protest again, his mouth was on yours. Desperate, burning, like he was trying to make up for every single day he spent without you. His hands cradled your face, his kiss messy and filled with heartbreak. When he finally pulled away, his forehead pressed against yours.

“Please.” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Let me take you away from here. Let me love you the way I always should have.”

For the first time in years, you let yourself sob in his arms.

Because despite everything, you loved him more than anything in this world.

Despite the distance, the pain, and the time lost, you never stopped loving him either.

And maybe… just maybe… he could still save you.

YOU COULD REMEMBER THE WAY IT RAINED WHEN YOU GOT MARRIED. Not a heavy storm — just a soft, steady drizzle, as if the sky itself was quietly weeping with joy. You stood in a small, intimate venue with that beautiful smile on your face.

Both of you of you surrounded by only a few close friends and family, wearing the simplest white dress you could afford because despite Kento’s insistence that he’d buy you the most extravagant gown in Tokyo, you refused.

“I don’t need anything fancy, you know.” you told him. “I just need you.”

And so there you stood with your fingers trembling, heart racing as Kento watched you walk down the aisle like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. His jaw was tight, his caramel eyes glassy with unshed tears, like he still couldn’t believe this was real. Like he couldn’t believe, after all those years apart, you were finally becoming his wife.

When you finally reached him, his hand grasped yours like a lifeline. 

His thumb trembled as it brushed against your skin, and when he whispered, “You’re beautiful.” his voice cracked.

And when the officiant asked if he took you as his wife, Kento didn’t hesitate one bit as he looked at you with the warmest gazes. “I do.” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I always have.”

Kento never let you go after that.

You moved into his apartment in Tokyo. It was a spacious, light-filled place with floor-to-ceiling windows and a breathtaking view of the city. It was bigger than anything you’d ever lived in, and it almost made you uncomfortable at first.

But Kento never let you feel like you didn’t belong.

“This is our home now, hm?” he told you softly one night as you stood by the window, still struggling to wrap your head around it all. “Not just mine. Ours.”

And you believed him. Because every time he came home from a shoot, tired, disheveled, and smelling like expensive cologne — the first thing he did was find you. 

\Whether you were in the kitchen, the bedroom, or curled up in the living room studying, he always sought you out, kissing you like it was the first time every time.

“My wife.” he’d murmur against your lips, as if the words themselves tasted sweet. “My beautiful wife.”

And every time, your heart would ache with disbelief. Because this was real. You were really married to him. You really woke up to him every morning. His arm draped around your waist, his face buried in your neck and he really loved you like you were the most precious thing in the world. But Kento wasn’t done giving you the life you deserved.

“Tokyo University.” he said one night, casually, like it wasn’t the single most outrageous thing you’d ever heard.

You froze mid-bite. “…What?”

“I want you to apply, like you did a long time ago.” he said simply, sitting across from you at the dinner table. “You always wanted to study chemistry. Now’s your chance.”

Your throat tightened. “Kento… I can’t. I haven’t been in school for years. I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can.” His voice was firm but gentle. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever known. Don’t tell me you can’t do it.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. “But the tuition—”

“I’ll pay for it.”

Your head snapped up. “Kento, no—”

“Yes.” His gaze was unwavering. “I’ll pay for every single yen. I’ll cover your tuition, your textbooks, your lab fees. Everything. You won’t have to worry about anything.” His voice softened. “Please. Let me do this for you.”

Tears burned your eyes. “I don’t want to feel like a burden to you, Kento.”

“You’re not a burden, never will be.” he said fiercely, already pushing his chair back so he could kneel in front of you. His large hands cupped your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears. “You’re my wife. Everything I have is yours. My money, my time, my life. It’s all yours. And if it means giving you the future you always dreamed of, then I’ll do it a thousand times over.”

And with that, you broke down. You sobbed into his chest, clutching him like your life depended on it, because you realized Kento meant it. Every word. Every promise. He was going to build you a life so beautiful, so far removed from the pain you endured, that you’d never have to feel unworthy again.

So the next day, you applied. And Kento wrote the check without blinking an eye. 

You could still remember months later, the day you got accepted into Tokyo University, you burst into tears. You were in the kitchen when the letter arrived, your hands trembling as you tore it open and the second you saw “Congratulations, you’ve been accepted!”

You collapsed onto the floor, sobbing.

“Kento, Kento!” you choked, clutching the letter like it was your lifeline. “I got in! Oh god…. I got in!”

Kento was on you in seconds, kneeling beside you, his face crumpling with pride. “I told you. I told you, baby!” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “I told you you could do it.”

And that night, he took you out to dinner, something extravagant, something you never would have been able to afford on your own. When the waiter congratulated you, Kento beamed like he was the one who got accepted.

“Her, it was her who got in.” he told the waiter proudly. “That’s my wife. She’s going to Tokyo University for chemistry. Smartest woman I’ve ever met.”

And when you glanced at him, with those eyes glassy, heart full, you realized he wasn’t just proud. He was in awe of you. Like he always had been. 

And for a while, it was perfect.

Life slipped into something sweet and steady. You were a university student again, just like you’d always dreamed. You spent your days attending lectures, taking meticulous notes, and spending long afternoons in the library surrounded by textbooks and the faint smell of old paper. You were learning again. Living again. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you.

And Kento? God, he was your biggest cheerleader.

Every morning before you left for class, he kissed you on the forehead and said, “Knock ‘em dead, love.” 

Every night when you came home, exhausted but fulfilled, he had dinner ready and waiting. When you showed him your test scores, perfect marks, one after another. Your husband would beam with pride like he was the one who’d aced the exam. 

When you complained about a difficult professor or a tedious lab experiment, he’d listen intently, rubbing circles into your back, and say, “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

And every night, when you fell asleep beside him, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope. But then —slowly, quietly— the loneliness crept in. Because Kento wasn’t home most of the time.

At first, you didn’t notice. You were busy, after all. You were drowning in lab reports, study sessions, and back-to-back classes. But then you started realizing how quiet the apartment felt when you got home. You’d unlock the door, expecting to hear the hum of the television or Kento’s soft humming in the kitchen but it was always silent. Always empty.

You told yourself it was fine. That was just how it was going to be sometimes. Your Kento was working hard, just like you were. It was only temporary. But weeks passed. Then months. And Kento started coming home later and later.

At first, it was 8 PM. Then 9. Then 10. And soon, there were nights where he didn’t come home at all, just a brief, apologetic text. “Late meeting. Don’t wait for me. Love you.”

And you tried to be understanding. You tried. After all, Kento was the one supporting you. He was paying your tuition, your textbooks, your transportation — everything. He was shouldering the entire financial weight of your dream without a single complaint. The least you could do was be patient.

But good god, it was so lonely.

You’d eat dinner alone most nights, your plate growing cold as you stared at the empty seat across from you. You’d do your assignments at the kitchen table, hoping to hear the jingle of his keys at the door  but it never came. You started sleeping alone more often than not, his side of the bed cold and untouched.

And worst of all you missed him.

You missed Kento. You missed the man who used to laugh with you until your stomach hurt. 

The man who used to kiss you breathless in the middle of the kitchen just because he could. 

The man who used to touch your belly every night and whisper. “I can’t wait to meet our baby.” 

The man who promised you. “I’ll always put you first.”

But now? You were starting to feel like you’d lost him. And then came the night that broke you.

It was well past midnight, and you were curled up on the couch, your textbooks sprawled around you. You told yourself you wouldn’t wait up for him, but you did. You always did. Hours passed, and still — no sign of him. Finally, at 1:27 AM, you heard the door unlock.

“Kento?” you called, your voice cracking.

He didn’t answer right away. When he finally stepped into the living room, his tie was loose, his shirt wrinkled, and the exhaustion in his eyes was so deep it made your chest ache.

“Hey.” he murmured, already walking past you toward the bedroom.

And something in you snapped.

“Seriously?” you blurted. “That’s all you have to say?”

Kento froze, his hand still on the doorframe. “…What?”

You stood, your heart pounding. “You’ve been gone all day again. And you just walk in like I don’t even exist?”

He turned to you, confused. “I—I’m sorry. Work ran late—”

“It always runs late, Kento!” your voice cracked, hot tears stinging your eyes. “Every night, I sit here alone. I eat alone. I sleep alone. Do you even realize how lonely it is to come home to an empty apartment every single day?”

Pain flickered across his face. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m doing this for you, love. I’m working so you can go to school—”

“I never asked you to do that!” you shouted, and the second the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

Kento blinked, stunned. “…What?”

Your chest heaved. “I never asked you to throw your entire life away for me, Kento! I never asked you to quit your project, or work insane hours, or pay for everything. You just did it. And now it’s like I don’t even have a husband anymore. I just have this… ghost who comes home at 2 AM and leaves before I wake up!”

Silence. Thick. Suffocating.

Kento’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening. “…You think I want this?”

You froze. “…What?”

“You think I like working sixteen-hour days?” his voice cracked, raw and strained. “You think I enjoy being away from you? Missing dinner, missing sleep, missing everything…..you think any of this is what I wanted?”

Your throat tightened. “Kento—”

“I did it for you, you know that.” he said bitterly. “I did it so you wouldn’t have to worry about money. I did it so you could chase your dream without worrying about bills or tuition. I did it because I thought it would make you happy.” His voice cracked. “But you’re not, are you?”

Tears blurred your vision. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” he laughed hollowly, running a hand down his face. “I work until I can’t see straight just to keep everything together and you still think I’m not doing enough.”

“That’s not true at all!”

“Then what do you want from me, love?” his voice finally broke, desperate and shattered. “Tell me. Please. What do you want?”

And the answer was so painfully simple, it tore you apart.

I just want you.

But you couldn’t say it. Because how could you ask that of him when he’d already given you everything? When he was breaking his back just to keep you afloat? When he’d already sacrificed his career, his sleep, his time, his life for you?

So instead, you just cried and cried.

And for the first time in your marriage, Kento didn’t comfort you.

He just turned away, defeated, and said, “I’m going to bed.”

And you realized somewhere along the way, you and Kento had become strangers for the first time.

And it hurts like hell to live with that thought.

But of course, it wouldn’t be the last time.

THINGS DID NOT GET BETTER.  If anything, they got worse. You were pregnant. And everything was hurting. It was a different kind of pain now, not just the crushing weight of your depression, but something more physical, more suffocating. 

Your body aches constantly. Your back screamed from the weight of your growing belly. Your feet were perpetually swollen. Your nights were restless, spent tossing and turning as the baby kicked relentlessly inside you, reminding you always reminding you — that there was no way out of this life you didn’t want. And it was killing you.

You thought hitting rock bottom would come with some kind of clarity. Like one day, you’d cry hard enough or sleep long enough or starve yourself numb enough that your body would finally break through the darkness. You thought there would be some moment, some visceral breaking point that would force you to finally start healing.

But it never came.

Instead, you just… sank.

Deeper and deeper, like trying to breathe underwater with lungs already half-filled. Every day you woke up was a fresh kind of misery. You couldn’t get out of bed without feeling like your bones were made of lead. 

You couldn’t stomach food without wanting to throw it all up later. You couldn’t look in the mirror without despising the reflection. You see a bloated, pale, hollowed out, a shell of the woman you used to be.

And the baby never stopped kicking.

You hated it.

God, you hated it.

You hated the way it never let you sleep. You hated the way your body no longer felt like yours. You hated the constant, suffocating reminder that soon, almost all too soon, you would be responsible for a life you never asked for. A life you were already failing before it even arrived.

But the worst part?

You hated yourself for hating it.

Because what kind of mother resented her own baby before it was even born? What kind of woman laid in bed, day after day, clutching her belly and wishing god, please just make this stop  instead of feeling love? What kind of wife watched her husband sacrifice everything for her and still felt nothing but numb, bitter emptiness?

And Kento.

God, Kento.

You couldn’t even look at him anymore without feeling like the most wretched person alive. He was still trying — still holding everything together, still waking up every morning and kissing your forehead, still whispering, “I love you. I’m here.” 

But you could see it now — the slow, painful unraveling of the man you loved. The exhaustion in his eyes, no longer just from work but from you. The hesitation in his touch, like he was afraid you’d pull away — and sometimes, you did.

The way his voice cracked when he said, “How are you feeling today, love?” and your answer was always “I’m fine.”

But you weren’t fine.

And Kento knew it.

You could see it every night when he crawled into bed beside you and held you close. The way his hand cradles your stomach, his thumb tracing soft circles over your skin. You could feel it in the way his touch, once so warm and electric, now felt like a desperate attempt to keep you here. Like if he let go for even a second, you’d slip through his fingers entirely.

And you hated that too.

Because you knew you were killing him. Slowly. Quietly. Without even trying. You could see it in his slumped shoulders, in the way his voice grew quieter, in the way he looked at you like he was losing you and didn’t know how to stop it.

And you wanted to scream — Stop loving me. Stop trying to save me. I’m already gone.

But you didn’t.

Because how could you say that to the man who dropped his entire career for you? The man who worked twenty-hour days just to pay for your tuition, your food, your life? The man who still kissed you goodbye every morning and told you, “I love you, always.”

So you did the only thing you could.

You kept shrinking.

You stopped eating. Barely touched your dinner when Kento brought it to you. The smell made you nauseous anyway, and even when it didn’t, you could barely stomach the idea of keeping yourself alive, let alone another human growing inside you.

You stopped leaving the house. Your classes had already been dropped; you told Kento it was temporary, just until you felt better. But deep down, you knew you weren’t going back. Tokyo University had suddenly become a distant dream once again, like a life that belonged to someone else entirely. And you were too far gone now to reach for it again.

You stopped responding to your friends. They texted you constantly, trying to check on you. You know they mean well. You know they just want to be there for you. And that they were excited. But you were having a hard time accepting their well wishes.

“How’s the baby? How’s school? We miss you!” 

But the thought of replying made your stomach churn. What were you supposed to say, that wouldn’t come out as a horrible thing? 

“I’m miserable. I don’t want this baby. I don’t want this life.” 

Would have that gotten you some mercy?

So you ignored them. Deleted their messages. Let your phone die and don't bother charging it. And then you stopped talking to Kento. Not entirely. But enough.

Later on, Kento halted the work on his upcoming project the day after you broke down. No warning. No hesitation. One phone call to his manager, another to his agency, and it was done. His voice was steady, almost unnervingly calm when he said: “I’m taking a break for now. My wife needs me.” 

And that was it. He dropped it all like it meant nothing. A project he had poured months of his life into, had gone in seconds. You tried to protest when you found out, but he wouldn’t hear it. His mind was made up before you could even form the words —“Don’t do this for me.”

And then he stayed.

Every single day, he stayed. Morning turned to night, and there he was. Bringing you water when you couldn’t stomach food. Sitting on the edge of the bed while you stared blankly at the ceiling. Holding you through the nights when your body trembled from crying, or worse, the nights when you didn’t cry at all, just lay there like a ghost in your own skin.

He was patient. Devoted. Unwavering.

But it didn’t fix anything.

Because the damage was already done.

You could feel it in the way his touch, once so warm and electric, now felt like a desperate attempt to tether you to the earth. In the way his voice,  soft, pleading, loving had seemed to echo against the walls of your hollowed-out chest, never quite reaching you. 

In this way you could still feel the crushing weight of your own failure suffocating you, no matter how many times he whispered “I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

And the worst part?

You wanted him to leave.

Because it hurt too much to see him like this. Abandoning his career, his life, his future, for someone who couldn’t even muster the strength to get out of bed. You resented the way he sacrificed everything for you. 

You hated how the look in his eyes shifted from affection to concern, from admiration to pity. You despised yourself for being the reason his world was crumbling alongside yours. And deep down, you knew. Kento could stay forever, and it still wouldn’t fix what was already broken.

And after that, you stopped going to school.

At first, you told Kento it was temporary,  just a leave of absence until you felt better. But weeks turned into months, and soon your professors were emailing you: “If you do not return, you will have to re-enroll next semester.”

You didn’t respond.

Because the truth was, you didn’t care anymore.

Your stomach was huge now. You could barely walk up the stairs without losing your breath. Your back ached. Your feet were swollen. You couldn’t sleep through the night because the baby was always kicking, and every morning you woke up with the same suffocating thought.

"I don’t want this life."

And the guilt ate you alive.

Because you loved Kento. You loved your baby. But you hated your life. You hated what it had become. You hated the fact that you were no longer a student at Tokyo University. You were just a pregnant woman, a pregnant housewife. You hated the fact that you no longer had a future — you just had motherhood. You just had this house, his status as a wife.

And Kento saw it. He saw how you’d spend hours just sitting in the nursery, staring at the crib with dead eyes. He saw how you stopped studying, stopped watching TV, stopped doing anything. It was like you were fading away.

And it killed him.

You could see it in the way his shoulders sagged a little more each day, as if the weight of watching you deteriorate was slowly crushing him. In the way he tried to hide the bags under his eyes from sleepless nights spent worrying about you. 

In this way his voice would crack, just barely, when he’d sit next to you and say, “Talk to me, love. Please.”

But you had nothing to say. What were you supposed to tell him? That you hated the life you were about to bring into the world? That you regretted everything — the pregnancy, the wedding, the choices that led you here? That sometimes, when you laid in bed at night, you imagined what it would be like if you just… didn’t wake up?

So you said nothing. Nothing at all.

And Kento tried to be strong for both of you. God, he tried.

He started cooking your favorite meals, hoping that if he made something delicious enough, you’d actually eat. He read parenting books late into the night, convinced that if he just learned enough, he could do this whole thing for the both of you, carry the weight, make up for the pieces of you that were falling apart. He took you on walks when he could get you out of bed, holding your hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to hope.

But it was never enough.

It was never going to be enough.

Because the truth was — you weren’t just sad. 

You were grieving everything that had come to pass.

You were grieving the life you lost, the person you used to be. You were grieving the dreams you once held so fiercely. Finishing university, traveling, building a career as a chemist on the international level. All of it now reduced to a hazy memory of a different girl. A girl you didn’t even recognize anymore. A girl you resented for being so foolish, for thinking she could have it all.

And you were grieving the love between you and Kento — or rather, the version of it that existed before the pregnancy. Before everything became tainted by your guilt, your depression, your ever-growing resentment for the life you didn’t want.

You knew that Kento saw it too.

He saw how you flinched when he touched your stomach,  not out of pain, but because it reminded you of what you were trapped in. He saw how your kisses grew colder, how you turned your head when he tried to kiss you goodnight. He saw how you stopped saying your i love yous first — how sometimes, you didn’t say it at all.

And still, he stayed by your side. But it was breaking him whole. 

You could hear it in the way his voice cracked one night when he thought you were asleep.

He sat beside you in bed, his hand resting gently on your belly, and you heard him whisper back to you. “I don’t know how to fix this.” His voice trembled. “I don’t know how to help you.”

And that was when you realized — you weren’t the only one grieving. Kento was grieving too. He was grieving the wife he used to know. The one who laughed too loud at his jokes, who kissed him in the morning just because, who fell asleep on the couch with a textbook still in her lap. 

He was grieving the life you both dreamed of late nights studying, early mornings rushing to class, careers that would take you far. He was grieving the love that used to be effortless, the kind that didn’t require whispered prayers in the middle of the night, hoping that tomorrow would hurt less than today.

And the worst part?

You were the one who did this to him.

At least that’s how you saw it all now.

You were the one who dragged him down into this suffocating darkness with you. You were the one who made him abandon his project, his career, his life. All for a woman who could barely look at herself in the mirror without breaking. 

And every day he stayed, every day he kissed your forehead and said “I’m here”, you hated yourself a little more.

You hated yourself so much that you started to wonder if maybe — just maybe — Kento would be better off without you.

And that thought never really left.

Even when he painted the nursery walls soft yellow and smiled like he wasn’t dying inside.

Even when he held your hand in the middle of the night and promised, “We’ll get through this. I swear we will.”

Even when he looked at you with a love so devastatingly pure, it only made you ache more.

Because you couldn’t shake the feeling. That Kento deserved a better wife. And your baby deserved a better mother. And you? You didn’t deserve them at all. Around your seventh month, you completely broke.

Kento found you in the bathroom at 3 AM all alone as you were sitting in the empty bathtub, knees pulled to your chest, sobbing silently. You looked miserable with your hair disheveled and your face contorted into this look, full of grief and suffering.

“Baby?” His voice cracked. “Oh my god, baby, what’s wrong?”

And you just shook your head. “I hate this so much.” you gasped through your tears. “I hate my life. I hate my body. I hate everything. I don’t want to do this anymore, Kento. I can’t…..I can’t breathe.”

And Kento completely fell apart at the sight of your tears, falling over and over again.  “Baby, no— no, no, no.” he dropped to his knees beside the tub, his hands shaking. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. I’m here now. I’ll fix it. I’ll make it better, so—”

“You can’t!” you screamed, your voice raw and cracked. “You can’t fix this, Kento! I’m already ruined! My life is already ruined!”

And Kento? Kento completely broke. Because he realized you weren’t talking about the pregnancy. You were talking about yourself. And you were gone. All there was left now was the shell, that shell he didn’t recognize.

“I should’ve never gotten pregnant, Kento.” you sobbed, your body shaking. “I should’ve never gotten married. I should’ve stayed in school. I should’ve never left the countryside. I should’ve……I should’ve never let this happen.”

And Kento completely lost it. “Don’t say that.” he begged, his voice cracking. 

He climbed into the bathtub with you, fully clothed, and wrapped his arms around you. “Don’t say that, baby, please— please don’t say that. You’re not ruined. I swear to god, I’ll fix it. I’ll fix everything. Just don’t give up on me. Please don’t give up on me.”

And you just sobbed.

Because deep down, you already had.

You were right to feel that way.

It was only a matter of time when the labor came early.

You had never expected it — not this soon, not like this.

It was just around thirty-five weeks then. The baby wasn’t supposed to come yet. You still had time. Weeks. You weren’t ready. Your hospital bag wasn’t packed. The nursery still smelled like fresh paint. You hadn’t even washed the baby’s clothes yet. You weren’t supposed to go into labor yet.

But the universe didn’t care.

Your water broke in the middle of the night — and you knew instantly that something was wrong. The pain hit fast and hard, unlike anything you’d ever felt. Sharp, blinding contractions ripped through your abdomen, so intense that it stole the breath from your lungs. 

You barely managed to shake Kento awake, your voice cracked and choked, “Kento — my water……it broke—”

And the moment he saw the panic in your eyes, he moved. Kento didn’t even ask questions. He sprang out of bed, grabbing his phone with one hand and you with the other, already calling for an ambulance. 

His voice was low, controlled, but you could hear the terror behind it. “Yes, my wife is thirty-five weeks pregnant. Her water just broke — she’s in pain — please send someone—”

But the contractions were coming too fast. One after the other, barely a minute in between, and by the time Kento helped you into the back of the ambulance, you knew. The baby was coming now. And the baby would have no mercy on you.

“No, no, no!” you sobbed, clutching your belly as another contraction ripped through you, your body already beginning to push despite your desperate attempts to stop it. “It’s too soon — it’s too soon—”

Kento was right there beside you, his hand in yours, his voice cracked and desperate. “You’re okay, love. You’re gonna be okay. I’m right here. I’m not leaving you.”

But you didn’t feel okay. You felt like you were dying. And by the time you reached the hospital, you were already fully dilated. The doctors barely had time to wheel you into labor and delivery before you were screaming through another contraction, your body forcing you to push despite your terror.

And Kento was there. The entire time — he was there. His hand never left yours, his voice never stopped murmuring reassurances in your ear. “You can do this, love. I know you can. Just a little longer. Just hold on for me.”

But you couldn’t.

Because something was wrong.

You could feel it in your bones. In the way your body fought itself with every push, in the way your vision kept blurring, in the way you couldn’t seem to catch your breath no matter how hard you tried. And then, in the middle of a push — you felt it.

A sudden, hot gush between your legs. But it wasn’t amniotic fluid this time. It was warm. And sticky. And you didn’t have to look down to know. You were bleeding. A lot. You could feel how it echoes down, heavy and brutish.

“Kento—” your voice cracked, raw with pain. “Something’s— something’s wrong—”

And then you heard it.

The doctor’s voice, sharp and urgent. 

“She’s hemorrhaging. We’re losing her.”

And that’s when Kento lost his fucking mind.

“What?” His voice snapped, pure, raw panic flooding his face. His grip on your hand tightened like a vice. “What do you mean you’re losing her?!”

“Her blood pressure is dropping! Massive uterine hemorrhage. Doctor,  she’s losing too much blood—”

“No — no, no, no—” Kento stumbled forward, his voice cracking as his hands shook. “Do something! Save her! Save them both!”

“We need to get the baby out now or we’re going to lose them both, Mr. Nanami!”

And suddenly it was chaos. Nurses shouting. Machines beeping. Someone calling for blood transfusions. And you — fading. You could feel it. Your body was giving out, your vision was growing dim, and the only thing you could focus on was Kento.

“Kento.” you rasped, your voice so faint, so weak. Your body felt like it was drifting. “I—I love you—”

“No!” Kento screamed. He screamed like something inside him was tearing apart. His hands clawed at the hospital bed, his body lunging toward you as the doctors tried to pull him away. “No, stay with me! Stay with me, love! Don’t you fucking do this—Don’t you dare leave me!”

But you were already slipping.

The last thing you heard was his voice, raw and broken.

“I can’t do this without you. Please! Please don’t leave me. Please—”

And then, darkness.

HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO. Nanami Kento couldn’t do anything but collapse in the hallway. The moment they pulled him out of the delivery room. The moment the words the doctor said, all of that rang in his ears like a death sentence. He was sure that something inside him snapped.

And when the door slammed shut behind him, separating him from you, Kento’s knees buckled. He hit the floor hard. Hands splayed out against the cold tile, chest heaving, throat raw from screaming. He didn’t even realize he was still screaming until two nurses rushed toward him, trying to pull him up, trying to calm him down, but it was useless.

Because he could still hear it. The frantic shouts of the doctors. The horrifying words “Massive hemorrhage. We’re losing her.” The sound of your screams cutting off too abruptly. And worst of all — the unbearable silence that followed.

“No—” Kento howled, his voice breaking like glass. His hands clawed at his hair, his entire body wracked with violent, gut-wrenching sobs. “No, no, no— I killed her. I fucking killed her—”

“Sir, Mr. Nanami.” one of the nurses knelt beside him, reaching out. “You have to breathe, you’re hyperventilating—”

But Kento didn’t hear her.

He couldn’t hear anything.

He didn’t care to hear whatever that was.

All he could think about, all he could see was you. Your face twisted in pain. The absolute terror in your eyes when you realized something was wrong. The way you sobbed I don’t want this, Kento, I’m not ready. And he did this. He did this to you.

His body convulsed with the force of his grief, his head slamming against the tile as his sobs tore from his chest like a wounded animal. “I killed her. I killed her. I made her hate her life and now she’s gone. She’s gone—”

“Sir—” The nurse was trying to hold him down now, his entire body thrashing against the floor as he screamed. “Sir, please, you’re going to hurt yourself—”

“LET ME GO!” Kento roared, his voice so raw it barely sounded human. “She’s dying in there. Do you understand me?! She’s fucking dying in there and I……”

Another contraction of sobs wracked his chest, and his fists slammed into the floor so hard that his knuckles split. Blood smeared against the tile, but he didn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything.

“I made her hate her life.” his voice cracked, his chest seizing with suffocating grief. His hands curled into his hair again, yanking hard as if trying to punish himself. “I did this to her. I made her want to die. And now she’s gone and I’m still here. ”

“Stop, please.” the nurse’s voice broke, her own eyes glassy as she tried to steady him. “She’s not gone. They’re trying to save her in there, with the baby.”

“No.” Kento’s head snapped up, his face twisted in a horrifying mix of rage and agony. His eyes were bloodshot, glassy, utterly devastated. “You don’t get it. You don’t fucking get it.” His voice cracked so sharply it sounded like it physically hurt him to speak.

“She wanted to die, to be free of that misery. Don’t you see?” he choked. “She hated her life. And it’s my fault. It’s my fucking fault—”

And then his body gave out.

His chest collapsed onto the cold tile floor, his forehead pressed into it as his entire body shook. Choked, gasping sobs clawed from his throat, so violent that he could barely breathe. His lungs were burning, his vision was spinning, and he was sure, so fucking sure, that this was it. That they were going to come out and tell him you were dead.

And it was his fault. 

All of it was his fault.

Because he saw it. 

He saw it every single day. The way you sat in the nursery with dead eyes. The way you stopped smiling. The way you couldn’t even say I’m excited without your voice cracking. The way your love for him was slowly being choked out by the sheer weight of your depression.

And he didn’t stop any of it. Instead, he told you to keep going. He told you to hold on. He let you suffer in silence because he thought that’s what you needed but you didn’t. You needed help. You needed saving. And instead, he trapped you in a life you never wanted.

And now you are dying.

All because of him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Kento sobbed, his forehead slamming against the tile again, his blood smearing across the floor. “I’m so fucking sorry. Please….please, I’ll do anything. Just let her live. Please.”

And that was the first time in his life that Kento Nanami prayed. He prayed like a man possessed. Like a man who had nothing left to lose. His bloody fists clawed at the tile, his nails cracking against it as he begged.

“Take me,please.” he sobbed, his voice mutilated from screaming. “Please….just take me instead. I don’t care. I don’t fucking care. Just…. Please don’t take her. Don’t take my wife. Don’t take my baby. I’ll do anything.”

But the silence stretched on.

And he was certain that you were already gone.

Hours continued to make mockery of him.

Agonizing, torturous hours passed — and Kento was still on the floor.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe right. Didn’t think. His body was stuck in that same position. Still face down, forehead pressed against the cold tile, hands trembling as he clenched them into bloody fists. His chest was heaving in short, sharp gasps, his entire body quaking as he sobbed.

He was certain you were dead. He felt it. He felt the moment your soul left the room. He felt the moment the light in his life snapped off like a switch. 

He was convinced that at any second, the doctor was going to come out, look him in the eyes, and say, “I’m sorry, Mr. Nanami. We couldn’t save her.”

And he would never forgive himself.

Because he killed you.

His fault. His fault. His fucking fault.

He was still gasping, still clawing at the ground, still praying like a desperate man when he finally heard the door open. Kento’s head snapped up. His bloodshot, swollen eyes immediately locked onto the doctor walking toward him, his scrubs covered in blood — your blood — and Kento’s entire body seized.

“Mr. Nanami—”

“Where is she?” Kento screamed. His voice cracked, broke, his entire body lunging toward the doctor like a caged animal. His hands fisted the man’s scrubs, yanking him forward. “Is my wife alive? Tell me, damn it? Is she alive?”

The doctor barely had a chance to respond before Kento screamed again. “Tell me you saved her, goddamn you!”

And the doctor’s mouth opened — and Kento swore the entire universe stopped spinning when he finally said,  “…She’s alive.”

Kento’s entire body collapsed. His legs gave out. His grip on the doctor’s scrubs slipped. And then he didn’t realize that he had hit the floor. A gasping, broken sob ripped from his throat. The kind of sob that came from a man who was seconds away from losing everything and his entire body convulsed as he wept.

“Oh my god…..” Kento choked, his hands flying to his face, clawing at his own skin like he was trying to ground himself. “Oh my god. She’s alive. She’s alive!”

“Her condition is critical, Mr. Nanami.” the doctor warned, his voice low but steady. “We had to perform an emergency c-section and a hysterectomy to stop the bleeding. She lost over forty percent of her blood volume. We had to resuscitate her twice on the table—”

“Resuscitate?” he gasped, his vision swimming. His stomach lurched. “You mean she….she died?”

“Clinically, yes. Twice.” The doctor’s face softened with pity. “But we got her back. She’s stable now — unconscious, but alive.”

And that was all Kento needed to hear.

He ran. He didn’t even think. His legs moved before his brain could catch up, his entire body sprinting down the hall, his bloody knuckles slamming into every door he passed until he finally found your room.

The second he stepped inside, he broke.

Because there you were.

Unconscious.

Your body was completely limp, hooked up to a ventilator, your skin so pale it looked blue. Tubes were coming out of everywhere. From your arm, your nose, your mouth and there were fresh surgical dressings covering your abdomen where they had cut you open to get the baby out.

Kento couldn’t breathe. A strangled, animalistic sound tore from his throat like something between a sob and a scream and then he collapsed beside your bed. His hand shot out, desperately clutching yours, his entire body wracked with gut-wrenching sobs as he shook.

“I’m so sorry…..oh my god, I’m so fucking sorry, baby.” Kento’s voice shattered, his head dropping onto your hand as his body convulsed. His chest was heaving so violently that he was on the verge of hyperventilating. “I did this. I did this to you and I….”

He couldn’t stop sobbing. His forehead pressed against your limp hand, his body rocking as he cried like a child. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry….” he choked. “I made you hate your life and I trapped you. I killed you…. oh my god, I killed you….”

And the guilt hit him like a sledgehammer. 

Because it was true. All of it.

He saw the way you suffered. The way you faded every single day. The way you stopped smiling. The way you stopped living. And instead of saving you, he kept telling you to hold on. Just a little longer, love. We’re almost there. Just a little longer.

But you weren’t okay. And Kento didn’t listen. And now you were lying there. Pale, lifeless, barely hanging on. All because of him. And the weight of it crushed him whole. He felt like Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders.

And then finally, you woke up.

“…Kento?” your voice cracked.

“Baby.” he sobbed, grabbing your face, pressing desperate kisses all over your skin. “Oh my baby…..you’re awake. You’re awake. I thought I lost you. I thought….”

“…Where’s the baby?”

And Kento completely broke. “The baby’s fine, don’t worry.” he choked. “She’s perfect. She’s beautiful. But you….you scared the shit out of me, baby. Please don’t ever do that again.”

And when they finally brought your baby girl in and you held her for the first time — you did something you didn’t expect. You cried. And then you sobbed. Because for the first time in nine months — you finally felt something coherent. Something good.

“…She’s beautiful.” you gasped. “I didn’t think I’d love her. But I do. I love her so much.”

Kento just collapsed against your hospital bed, sobbing. “I knew you would. I knew you would.”

But things are like the weather.

They were bound to change.

You should have known.

THE FIRST MONTH WAS HARD, BUT AS TIME WENT ON, IT GOT WORSE. You came home from the hospital physically intact but mentally, you were gone. You still didn’t go back to school. You didn’t touch your textbooks. You didn’t even mention chemistry. The once-brilliant student who dreamed of working in a lab was now just… a mother. And you hated it.

Every single day felt like a fog. You were exhausted but it wasn’t the baby’s fault. You knew that much. It was you that was malfunctioning. You didn’t know how to connect with her. Every time she cried, you felt nothing.

Every time she smiled, you felt nothing. Every time Kento handed her to you and said something to praise your beautiful daughter, you didn’t know how to react. You just nodded and let it go.  And Kento noticed. God, he noticed.

Kento stayed home for a month. He refused to leave your side. He didn’t take calls, he didn’t attend meetings. He just stayed home. But his contract required him to go back to work eventually. And you… you told him to go.

“Go, you have to.” you whispered, your voice dead. “You have to work, Kento. We have bills. You already missed so much.”

But Kento didn’t want to.

“Baby— no. I don’t give a shit about work. I’m not leaving you like this.”

And you forced a smile. “I’m fine, Kento.”

But you weren’t.

You weren’t.

And Kento knew it.

But eventually, he had to go. He had no choice. His manager was calling nonstop. His agency was threatening breach of contract. He had a new film that needed him and Kento was the lead role. So he left. And the guilt burned a hole in his chest.

The first day he was back on set, he couldn’t focus. His co-stars were talking to him, the director was giving him instructions but all he could think about was you. Home. Alone. With a baby you didn’t love. Kento hated himself. 

He was filming a scene when his phone buzzed in his pocket — and when he saw your name pop up, he immediately froze. 

“CUT!” the director barked. “Kento, you okay?”

“…Yeah, director.” he croaked. “I just— I need five minutes.”

And then he ran.

He ran behind the trailer, shaking, and picked up the phone. “Baby?” he gasped, panic echoing in his voice. “What’s wrong? Is the baby okay? Are you okay?”

Silence. “…I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

And Kento’s heart completely shattered.

“Baby…..” his voice cracked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…..” you gasped, voice shaking. “I mean I can’t do this. I can’t be a mom. I don’t love her, Kento. I don’t—I don’t feel anything for her. I just feel empty. And I know she deserves better. I know you deserve better. I think….I….I just….”

Your voice cracked. “I think I ruined my life.”

Kento collapsed. “No, baby. No. Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.” He was crying now, gasping into the phone. “You didn’t ruin your life. You didn’t. I promise I’ll fix this. I’ll come home right now—”

“No, you won’t.”

Kento completely broke. “Baby, please.”

“No, Kento. You have to work. We need the money. We need—”

“I don’t care about the fucking money!” Kento sobbed, clutching his hair. “I care about you! I care about our family! Please don’t give up on me, baby. Please don’t give up on her.”

But you just hung up.

Kento completely lost it.

He didn’t go back on set. He stayed behind the trailer, sobbing into his hands, shaking, thinking: “I ruined her life. I did this to her. She was supposed to be in college — not stuck at home with a baby.”

And that thought ate him alive. The next few weeks were worse. Kento was dying. Not physically but mentally, emotionally and spiritually, he was. Every single day he walked onto set, it felt like he was leaving you behind. And it was killing him.

Because all he could think about was you. Alone. Depressed. Hollowed out. Not wanting the baby. And he wasn’t there. He was never there. Every single time he put on that suit, stepped in front of the cameras, smiled for his co-stars. He was dying.

Because he knew. He knew the second he came home, you would be worse. Every day it got worse. Every fucking day.

At first, it was subtle. You were tired. Distant. Quiet. But then the days started stretching into weeks, and suddenly you weren’t just tired, you were empty. Your smiles were forced. Your voice was flat. You didn’t ask about his day anymore. You didn’t kiss him when he got home.

And Kento tried to justify it. It’s just the hormones. She’s overwhelmed. She’ll come back to me soon. She’ll come back to me.

But you didn’t.

And Kento broke down again.

Because the more days that passed, the less of you he saw.

You stopped eating dinner with him. You stopped holding the baby. You stopped getting out of bed. You wouldn’t look at him. And the worst part? You didn’t even cry. You just… stared. Blank. Numb. And Kento couldn’t handle it.

He fucking hated himself. Every single day he drove to set, his stomach would turn. He’d clench his jaw the entire time, his hands shaking as he held the steering wheel because he knew. You were at home. Alone. With a baby you didn’t love. And he wasn’t there. And the guilt was going to fucking eat him alive.

One night, Kento came home early. He couldn’t do it anymore. He was on set, trying to read his lines, but his hands were shaking. His mouth felt dry. His mind kept screaming to him: She’s alone. She’s not okay. She’s not okay. She’s not okay. Go home right now.

So he left. He didn’t even tell his manager. He just ripped off his mic and drove home. And when he walked through the door….You were just… sitting there. On the couch. Completely catatonic. Your body was slumped forward. Your eyes were glazed over, completely hollow. You weren’t blinking. You weren’t moving. You weren’t alive.

Baby?” His voice shattered.

Nothing. Kento’s heart slammed into his throat. He dropped his keys, his coat, everything, and sprinted toward you, falling to his knees in front of the couch.

“Baby, please….” his voice cracked. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs trembling as they brushed over your cheeks. “Please talk to me. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

But you didn’t blink.

You didn’t look at him.

You just… stared at the wall.

Kento’s stomach lurched.

His throat closed.

And then you finally spoke.

In a voice so dead, so hollow, that it didn’t even sound like you anymore. “…I don’t want to be a mom anymore.”

“Baby,” his voice broke. He practically collapsed against you, his forehead pressing to your lap as his hands clutched yours. “Please don’t say that. Please, god—”

“I don’t.” you said flatly. Your voice didn’t even crack. It was just… dead. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want her. I don’t want anything.”

Kento’s entire body convulsed.

“Baby, no.” His voice split down the middle. His hands squeezed yours so tight his knuckles went white. “Please don’t talk like that. I know it’s hard. I know you feel alone. But I love you. I love our baby. We can fix this, baby. I’ll fix it. I’ll fix everything.”

But you didn’t believe him.

Because the truth was — you didn’t want him to fix it.

You didn’t want help. You didn’t want therapy. You didn’t want him to stay home from work. You didn’t want him to coddle you or tell you it would get better.

You just wanted your old life back. You wanted school. You wanted chemistry. You wanted the future you spent years building. But instead, you were just Keiko’s mother. And you fucking hated yourself for it.

“I never wanted this.” you whispered numbly, your eyes glazed over. “I didn’t want to have a baby. I didn’t want to give up school. I didn’t want this life. And now it’s all I have.”

Kento couldn’t breathe. His chest split open. His hands shook violently as he tried to pull you closer, his head buried in your lap. “Please, baby….” his voice splintered. “Please don’t talk like that. I need you. Our baby needs you. We love you.”

But you didn’t respond.

You just kept staring.

Kento sobbed heavily.

His entire body convulsed. His shoulders shook. His throat ripped open as gut-wrenching sobs tore out of him. “I’m so sorry.” he gasped. His face buried into your lap, his tears soaking your clothes. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”

And you didn’t comfort him. You didn’t hold him. You didn’t wipe his tears. You didn’t say anything. Because deep down, you hated him, too. You hated that he got to have a life. You hated that he still had his career. You hated that he still had a future.

And you, who you once knew?

You were just a mom.

You were trapped.

And you resented him for it.

YOU WENT AWAY FOR A LITTLE WHILE. It was a shut-in therapy. Somewhere far. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere that felt detached from the life you had been drowning in. Kento made the arrangements. You didn’t ask him to but he just did it. One night, after finding you curled up in the corner of the nursery, crying so hard you couldn’t breathe, he made the decision himself. 

You don’t even remember how it happened — one moment you were screaming I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this life anymore, and the next, your husband Kento was quietly helping you with packing your bags.

“Baby….” his voice cracked, his hands trembling as he folded your clothes into a suitcase. “You need help. You need real help. And I can’t—” his throat choked up. “I can’t keep watching you like this. I can’t keep coming home to you like this. I need you to get better, baby. I need you.”

You didn’t fight him.

Because deep down, you knew.

You needed help.

And when you left, Kento didn’t cry. He didn’t break down. He didn’t beg you to stay. He just kissed your forehead, buckled you into the passenger seat, and drove you there himself. The drive was silent. But when you arrived and it came time for him to leave, you felt him break.

Kento clutched your hands so hard you thought he might shatter them. His forehead pressed to yours, his voice splintering as he begged. “Please come back to me. Please get better. Please..... I don’t care how long it takes, just please don’t give up on us.”

And then he left.

And you stayed.

And the first few weeks were hell.

You fought everything. The therapy. The group sessions. The self-reflection. The constant “how are you feeling?” The exposure therapy to bond with your baby. The “you’re not alone” pep talks from strangers who did not know you.

And every single night, you thought about calling Kento. You thought about screaming into the receiver I’m done, come get me, I can’t do this anymore, please just let me go home.

But you didn’t.

Because somewhere deep, deep, deep down, you wanted to get better. And slowly you did. It wasn’t linear. Some days were good. Some days were awful. Some days you held your baby in your arms and felt nothing. Some days you sobbed so hard that you thought you’d vomit. Some days you sat in the therapy circle, refusing to speak, refusing to participate, refusing to care.

But then some days, you looked at your baby and felt something. Not love. Not joy. But something. A tinge of warmth in your chest. A pang of protectiveness. And slowly, slowly, something began to grow. And then six months later, you came home. Kento was there, waiting for you.

The second you stepped through the door, his entire body crashed into you. His arms crushed you against him, his hands cradling the back of your head, his chest heaving as he sobbed harder than you had ever seen him cry.

“Baby!” he gasped into your hair, his voice cracking. “God, I missed you….I missed you so fucking much! I thought you’d never come back to me and Keiko.”

And you sobbed too.

Because you missed him. God, you missed him.

And that night, when you walked into the nursery and you saw your baby again for the first time in months. You cried harder than you ever had in your life. Because for the first time in a long while, you wanted her. And you didn’t hate her anymore.

But… the thing was, your relationship with Kento. It was never the same. You wanted it to be. You tried so hard. Kento tried, too. He was so patient. So gentle. So loving. But something between you both felt… off.

You had a hard time touching him. Being intimate with him. You couldn’t explain why but every time Kento kissed you, really kissed you, or ran his hands down your waist, or tried to pull you into his lap, your body would freeze.

Kento noticed. But he never pushed. He never said a word. He just waited. God, he waited. But the truth was you didn’t know how to give him that part of you anymore. It wasn’t that you didn’t love him. You did. You loved him so much. You adored him. You cherished him. You owed him your life.

But every time you tried to make love to him, it felt like you were reopening the wound. It felt like you were back there again. Heavily pregnant, crying yourself to sleep, suffocating in a life you didn’t want. And you hated it. You hated that your body betrayed you. You hated that you wanted to be with Kento, but the second he kissed you, you’d tense and apologize and turn away.

One night, he finally brought it up.

It was subtle. Careful.

“Baby…..” he murmured as you both laid in bed, his fingers brushing over your bare shoulder. “Do you… not want me anymore?”

And your heart dropped. “What?”

Kento swallowed thickly, his voice small. “You never touch me anymore. You never kiss me first. You… you flinch when I touch you sometimes. And I just…. I don’t know if it’s me or if you just… don’t want me anymore.”

“No — no, Kento, I do.” you sobbed, immediately turning to clutch his face in your hands. “I love you. I love you so much. I just…..I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to….. to be close to you. I want to. I really do. I just….”

Kento shook his head. “Baby, no.” his voice splintered. “It’s not your fault. God, it’s not your fault.”

But you still hated yourself for it.

Because every time Kento looked at you with that softness, that adoration, that undying love — all you could feel was guilt. Guilt for what you put him through. Guilt for resenting him. Guilt for pushing him away. And the fullness of the intimacy, it never really came back.

You tried.You forced yourself sometimes, letting him kiss you, letting him touch you — but it felt wrong. Not because of him. But because your body wouldn’t let you have it. Your body still remembers the trauma. Kento never blamed you.

But it killed him. Because every night he’d roll over in bed, aching for you but he wouldn’t touch you. He wouldn’t dare. He knew if he tried, you’d flinch. You’d shut down. And he couldn’t handle that. So, instead all he could do was just… love you from afar.

But how has that ever been enough?

THE FIRST TIME YOU FOUND OUT ABOUT KENTO’S CHEATING, IT WAS PURELY BY ACCIDENT. It must have been years later. After the therapy, after the recovery, after you slowly started piecing your life back together. Your daughter Keiko was already walking, already talking. You had gone back to school part-time, slowly finishing your chemistry degree. 

And your intimacy with Kento? It had started to come back. Well, not fully. Not like it used to be. But you were trying your hardest with everything. You wanted to make sure that you could do it again. Your husband was waiting, and he deserved it. He deserved your love so much more than anyone. 

You started off small. You started to hold hands and then you started kissing him again. You started letting him touch you again. You even started making love again. Though it still wasn’t what it once was. You didn’t initiate it. You didn’t crave it. You just… let it happen. Because you wanted to be close to him. You wanted to fix what was broken.

Yet, Kento was still distant. Not in the obvious way, no. Kento still loved you. Fiercely. Deeply. His hands were still gentle when he brushed your hair behind your ear. His voice was still soft when he murmured his devotions to you every morning. His kisses were still warm when he kissed you goodbye.

But in his eyes, you could see his eyes so clearly. His eyes always looked starved. Like he was still reaching for something you wouldn’t give him. Like no matter how hard you tried, it would never be enough. And deep down, you knew. You would never be able to give that to him ever again.

You saw it. Every night when he rolled over, half-hard in bed, but he wouldn’t touch you. Every morning when he’d linger in the shower, his back to you, his hand clenched into a fist. Every time you let him inside you, and you could feel the heartbreak in his touch, like he was still waiting for you to love him the way you used to.

And you hated yourself for it.

But you never thought…….

You never thought he’d cheat.

Until one day,  you saw the message.

You were on his phone. It wasn’t intentional. His phone was sitting on the coffee table while he was in the shower, and it buzzed. You didn’t think much of it at first — just a glance, a mindless reflex. But then you saw the notification. A text message. From a number you didn’t recognize.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was married.”

And your blood ran cold instantly.

You froze as your pupils dilated.

Your hand shook as you unlocked his phone. His password was your anniversary, for fuck’s sake and when you opened the message thread… It was all there. The proof.

It was from months ago. At least half a year. Some random woman. The messages were fragmented. But clearly, Kento had deleted most of them. But there was enough. Enough to piece it together.

The first message was from her. “Hey, I had fun last night :) Let me know if you ever want to do it again.”

And then his response — curt. “I can’t continue on with this. I’m married. I love my wife. And….I have a daughter.”

Then her response. “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry. I won’t bother you again.”

And that was it. But it didn’t fucking matter. Because the implication was there. The truth was there. Kento had slept with her. He had fucked her. He had cheated on you. He decided to go on with this, swallowed by the need and by lust. 

And you just… You just sat there. Staring at the message. Feeling like the ground was ripped from beneath you. And the thing that destroyed you most was that you weren’t even surprised. Because you knew. You always knew.

You saw it in his eyes every single day. That hunger. That emptiness. That quiet, unspoken need for something you weren’t giving him. And you thought you were fixing it. You thought you were trying. But clearly… clearly it wasn’t enough. 

You didn’t confront him immediately. You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. You didn’t throw his phone at him the second he walked out of the bathroom. You didn’t do anything. You just… sat there. And thought about it.

And the longer you thought about it, the more it made sense.

Of course he cheated.

Of course he did.

You deprived him for years. You denied him your body. You made him watch you suffer, made him sleep beside you every night knowing he couldn’t touch you, made him ache for you in ways you never fulfilled. That’s the worst part. You understood. You understood why he did it. That was the part that made you nauseous.

Because the truth was you had already broken his heart long before he ever stepped out of your marriage. You had pushed him away for so long, turned cold for so long, denied him for so long — that at some point, he just stopped waiting.

And you didn’t blame him.

You hated him. God, you hated him.

But you understood.  And you still loved him.

What a foolish game for a wallflower to grow on.

And when he finally came out of the bathroom, his hair still damp, towel slung over his shoulder, flashing you that soft, tired smile. You didn’t say a word. You just kissed him. Hard. Desperate. Like you hadn’t just been crushed to death by your heartbreak.

You grabbed his face, pulled him down, crushed your mouth to his like you were trying to rewrite history. Trying to pretend like you didn’t know what you knew. Trying to convince yourself that he was still yours. Kento froze for half a second, shocked by your sudden affection but then his hands snapped around your waist and he melted into you.

“Baby….” he gasped against your mouth, his voice needy, aching. “Fuck….. what’s gotten into you?”

You don’t say a word to him. Instead, you just clung to him. Like if you held him tight enough, like you could somehow undo the fact that he had already been touched by someone else. You let him take you that night. Hard. Rough. Desperate.

You let him fuck you like he hadn’t been able to for years, you let him do as he pleased. You let him crumble into you. His mouth on your neck, his hands fisting your hair, his voice breaking as he gasped over and over —“I love you. God, I love you.”

And you let him. Because in some fucked up way, you felt like you owed it to him, after making him suffer for so long. You spent years starving him, depriving him of life. So it was only fair that he found his comfort somewhere else.…Right?

Yet you stayed up after all that love making, alone.

No, you knew the correct answer all along.

But you were just too much of a fool to say it out loud.

AND JUST LIKE THAT, IT HAPPENS ALL OVER AGAIN. Once again, you were pregnant with your second child.  It wasn’t planned. You never wanted any more children, after all that had happened. But it happened. Yet it wasn’t that surprising. In some ways, this was the only way you could find yourself taking revenge against him. To make him just as miserable as you again.

Just weeks after you found out about his cheating, after you spent night after night letting him have you in every way he wanted, desperately trying to reclaim him, trying to erase the touch of another woman from his skin. You found yourself standing in the bathroom again, clutching a positive pregnancy test. And your stomach dropped.

Because the second those two pink lines stared back at you, you knew. The cycle was about to repeat. The suffocating weight of motherhood. The slow erosion of your identity. The same cold distance that once consumed your marriage was about to happen all over again. And the worst part was that you couldn’t even blame anyone but yourself.

Because you let him touch you again. You wanted to feel wanted, and to take revenge. You wanted to erase every part of every other woman’s palm on his. You opened your legs for him, night after night, desperate to keep him anchored to you, desperate to make him forget about the other woman and now, you were paying the price.

And when you told Kento, he broke. But not in the same way he did the first time. Not with pure, unfiltered joy. Not with a beaming smile and hopeful eyes. No, this time, Kento’s face crumpled. Yet you know that look on his face. It was just like the first time.

“Baby—” his voice cracked. “You’re….. oh my god, you’re pregnant again?”

And the heartbreak in his voice killed you. Because you knew. You knew exactly what he was thinking. He was thinking we’re not ready. He was thinking not again. He was thinking I just got her back. And now, it is happening again. Yet, you just knew in the back of his mind, he was thinking this was his punishment. This is what he gets for being the worst man on the earth.

The sleepless nights. Postpartum depression. The intimacy issues. The slow unraveling of your marriage. And you could see it,  the fear in his eyes. Yet, your husband Kento pushed it down. Because he was Kento fucking Nanami. He was a husband. A father. A provider. And regardless of how horrified he was, he refused to let you see it.

So he smiled.

Or at least, he tried to.

Yet you both knew the truth.

That smile felt like the biggest lie.

“That’s amazing, baby.” he choked, his voice strained. “Another baby. That’s… that’s incredible.”

And then he kissed you, soft and hesitant, like he was forcing himself to be happy. And you felt it. You felt the hesitation. The dread. The underlying regret. But you didn’t say anything. Because you were the one who let it happen. And just like that, the cycle began again.

Kento started working more. He said it was to provide for the baby, but you knew better. You knew it was because he was terrified. Because he was already bracing himself for what was about to come for you to spiral again, for you to shut down again, for you to stop loving him again.

You tried not to fall into the same pit you did last time. You tried to stay upbeat. You tried to keep loving Kento — loving him hard enough to make up for the fact that he once touched another woman. You tried to be a good wife. You tried to be excited about the baby.

But slowly… it just happened again.

The nausea. The fatigue. The aching loneliness when Kento came home late. The bitterness when you saw happy women on campus who still had their futures. The slow, creeping resentment every time you looked at your growing belly and thought I didn’t want this.

And worst of all, you started pulling away from Kento again. Not on purpose. But your body remembered. Your body associated pregnancy with trauma, with pain, with suffering and so it shut down. You couldn’t help it. Every time Kento touched you, your skin crawled. Every time he kissed you, you flinched. Every time he tried to make love to you, you just froze.

Kento felt it.

He felt you slipping away.

He felt your body turning cold again.

He felt the weight of your touchless nights,

He felt your silent dinners, your empty stares again.

And you knew.

You knew it was happening all over again.

But this time — it was worse.

Now you couldn’t stop thinking about her. The woman he had slept with. The one he turned to when you couldn’t love him the way he needed. And every time Kento touched you, you couldn’t help but lay there and wonder over and over again.

Did she feel warmer than you?

Did she kiss him like she wanted him?

Did she make him feel loved in a way you never could?

Kento could see it.

He could see the way you recoiled when he reached for you. He could see the distance growing between you again. He could see the guilt burning you alive. And he hated himself. Because the truth was, he never stopped loving you.

Even when he cheated. Even when he fucked another woman. It was never about love. It was never about you. It was about the ache. The desperation. The years of feeling like he was losing you and just needing something to hold onto. Now he felt like he was losing you again.

And deep down, he knew.

You were never coming back to him.

Not fully. Not the way you used to.

And Kento was slowly breaking under the weight of it.

Because no matter how much he loved you, it wasn’t enough.

It was never enough to keep you from falling out of love with him.

This is the world you gave birth to Nanami Kenshin.

LIFE GOES ON AS THEY USED TO SAY. Twenty five years, two whole decades and a half of that since you and Kento had first stepped into this chaotic life together. And somehow, despite everything, you made it.

You had raised two kids, a boy and a girl. Your Keiko and your Kenshin. They were both smart, both stubborn, both carrying that unmistakable sharpness in their eyes that mirrored your husband as much as their compassion had been garnered from your heart.

In all that agony you had come to know in your life, the pair kept you busy with almost everything they could think of. Troublemaking, homework, soccer games, dance recitals, late-night fevers. Everything about it is the messy, beautiful chaos of parenting that somehow keeps you moving forward.

And then there was Kento’s career, near thirty years as a veteran in the industry. He had gone from being the promising newcomer to a household name. Red carpets. Magazine covers. Award ceremonies where his face shone on giant screens as he walked up to accept yet another trophy. The world adored him. Respected him. Envied him.

And you were right there beside him for all of it.

The photographers always wanted you in the frame. His beautiful wife, standing gracefully at his side, draped in sleek designer dresses and glittering jewelry. They loved the way you smiled for the cameras, how your hand always rested delicately on his arm, how you played the part of the elegant, unwavering woman who had supported her husband through it all.

And for a while, you convinced yourself that this was enough. 

That this life, this carefully curated image of family perfection, was what happiness was.

You learned to smile in interviews, to talk about Kento’s dedication as a father and how proud you were of him. You learned to navigate the world of high society — dinner parties with producers, mingling with other industry wives, slipping into that role of effortless charm and poise.

But behind all the glitz and glamour, it was lonely.

With two kids to raise, and a husband to care for, there was little for you.

There was no room for you to be the woman you are.

Kento was rarely home. Always on set, always in meetings, always flying across the country for some event or another. And when he was home, he was exhausted. Conversations grew shorter. His kisses felt rushed. The intimacy you’d once fought so hard to reclaim began to fade again — not because you didn’t want him, but because he was never there.

You kept yourself busy. Raising the kids. Managing the house. 

Smiling at galas, posing for cameras, over and over again. 

Playing the part of the perfect wife in a perfect marriage.

But sometimes, when the house was dark and the kids were asleep, you’d sit alone in the living room clutching an old photograph from years ago, back when Kento’s hair was still short and his smile still reached his eyes and wonder if this was all there was left.

And maybe it wasn’t enough.

But you told yourself it had to be.

Because you had already sacrificed too much to turn back now.

So, you didn’t think of anything when it broke out in the headlines.

Kento Nanami, the beloved actor, devoted husband, father of two had allegedly been caught cheating again after nearly twenty five years of marriage.

You sat at the kitchen table, having breakfast like normal. The morning sun spilled through the windows, the smell of eggs and coffee filling the air, and the faint sound of the television humming in the background.

“Sources say the woman in question is a production assistant from his latest drama series—”

You didn’t flinch.

You didn’t look up.

You just kept stirring your coffee, like the words meant absolutely nothing to you. Kento, on the other hand, was frozen. Fork halfway to his mouth. Face pale. Chest rising and falling like he was trying not to hyperventilate. And then, slowly, ever so carefully,  he turned his head and looked at you.

“…Are you alright?” His voice cracked.

And that’s when you smiled.

You smiled, soft and easy. Like none of it mattered. Like you weren’t currently listening to the entire nation gossip about your husband’s infidelity. Like you weren’t being branded the foolish, pathetic wife who stayed after her husband cheated twice. Like you weren’t dying inside.

And with a voice far too calm, you said, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Kento’s entire face crumpled.

Because he knew.

He fucking knew.

That wasn’t real. That smile. 

That sweetness. That unbothered facade.

It was performative.

It was the same smile you gave him after your first child was born, when you were drowning in postpartum depression but still told him “I’m fine” over and over again.

It was the same smile you gave him one hundred times when he told you he was going to be late at home tonight, when he didn’t have to be. 

And now, now you are doing it all over again. Feigning nonchalance. Feigning strength. Feigning normalcy. And it destroyed him to bits beyond what he could stand.

“…Baby.” his voice cracked, his fork clattering against his plate. “You don’t have to…. I mean, we can talk about it if you want. I’ll….I’ll explain everything. I swear to god, it’s not what they’re saying—”

You laughed so heartily.

A soft, almost amused laugh.

And you took a sip of your coffee, still smiling. “I don’t need you to explain anything, Kento.”

His stomach dropped. “Wh–what?”

You met his gaze and your smile never wavered. “It’s not the first time, is it?”

And fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Kento’s mouth fell open. “Baby….no. It’s not like that….I swear I—”

“It’s alright.” You cut him off smoothly. Calmly. Almost too calmly. “Really. I don’t want an explanation.”

Kento visibly flinched. His heart was hammering so loud he swore you could hear it. “…You don’t?”

You shook your head, taking another bite of your eggs. “No. I’m just glad you had fun.”

And Kento lost it. 

“Baby….” His voice cracked violently, his chair scraping against the floor as he immediately dropped to his knees beside you, clutching your thigh like his life depended on it. “Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out again. Please, baby. Please yell at me. Cry. Scream. Break things. Just…. don’t act like you don’t care. Please. Please, baby, I know you care—”

You laughed again.

But this time — it was hollow.

“I don’t.” you said plainly, popping a piece of toast into your mouth.

And that broke Kento completely, you were sure.

“No, no, that’s not true.” his voice shattered, his grip on your thigh desperate. “You love me. I know you do. You still love me. Please don’t….don’t act like you don’t….. I’ll fix it, baby. I swear to god, I’ll fix it, I’ll—”

“Fix it?” you echoed, your voice soft. Curious. “Like you did the first time?”

Kento fucking froze. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Because you never talked about it. Ever. After his first affair, you never once brought it up. You forgave him in the silence. Or at least, you pretended to. You shoved it down, pretended it never happened, and let Kento crawl back into your arms without consequence.

Now you were smiling at him like he was nothing more than a pitiful stranger. “Your ears work fine, don’t they?”

“…I don’t know what to say.” he choked. His hands were shaking. His throat constricted. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please….please just tell me what to do. I’ll fix it. I’ll do anything. Just please don’t—”

“Don’t what?” you asked softly, tilting your head.

The look in your eyes killed him.

“Don’t leave you?” you continued, your voice sickly sweet. “Don’t abandon you like you abandoned me when I needed you the most? Don’t make you feel like I loved someone else the way you made me feel for years?”

Tears burned his eyes. “Baby, please—”

“It’s fine, Kento.” You smiled again. “Really. I’m not mad.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” You sipped your coffee. “I’m not anything.”

And Kento completely unraveled.

Because he could see it.

The way you looked at him now. Like he was just a man. Not your husband. Not your Kento. Not the love of your life. Just a man who happened to share your bed, your house, and your children. And it killed him.

“Do you still love me?” he finally choked out, his voice so small.

And you froze.

Just for a second.

But then you smiled again. 

Just as soft, sweet, cold as before.

“Of course, I do.”

And that was the sick part, wasn’t it?

You did. You still loved him. You loved him with your entire fucking soul. You loved him so much that it hurt. You loved him and you hated him with equal intensity. It was two sides of the same coin and it was tearing you apart.

And yet even if you do love him, you know what should be.

Kento didn’t deserve that love anymore.

And even if you have to act like you don’t love him, so be it.

Let him suffer the amount of suffering you had over that time.

So you kissed his forehead, brushed his hair back, and whispered. “You should finish your breakfast. You have work later.”

And then you stood up from your seat, cigarette on your lips.

And left him sobbing on the kitchen floor, lamenting.

You had errands left to run, after all.

A wife has too much to do, you know?

[fewwwgoodwomen]

hiiii could u prettyyy pleasssee do sub namgyu hcs??

Sub!Nam-gyu Headcanons !!

(A/N:I've never done hcs before so bear with me !! This is a new concept to me hahah)

-sfw

•Nam-gyu loves physical touch from you even if he hates admitting it.

"Do that thing with my hair again." "Yeah i hate it.. but my head hurts right now." "I didn't say that yesterday."

•Whenever Nam-gyu finishes his stash of drugs, he gets even more clingy towards you.

"I swear.. you ARE better than my drugs..." "No... i didn't finish them.. what makes you think that?"

•Nam-gyu thinks you look hot when you're high with him, especially when you get extra affectionate.

•He loves tucking your hair to the side , mirroring the habit he does to himself, denying it each time.

"Its not my habit, stupid. I just don't want hair all over your face."

•he loves laying on your chest and hugging your waist, especially when hes high.

"No, I'm not high this time. Yes, i do smell like weed, but that's not the point..."

•Would get you matching rings with him.

"I dont fucking hide my hands with my sleeves. Just please get these with me.."

•Mindlessly follows you anywhere.

"Dude, Shut up... I'm not following you... you're just.. who i wanna go to."

•Will never admit that you're right, even when its painfully obvious

"I do not bite my nails, you're thinking of another dude." "No? The lady at the salon fucked it up, it wasn't bitten off."

•He likes playing hard to get even though he'll submit within minutes.

"You miss me? Use your legs and walk to the room then." "What do you mean you won't do it? Lazy ass bitch. Yes I'm walking there. Whatever. Okay okay.. i won't call you that again."

•Disturbs you at random points just to ask you stupid questions

"Psst.. Do you think cats could get high?" "No. Its just, i don't know where my last edible went, and the cat is acting weird."

•Loves it when you kiss his neck

•Has the habit to swear in every sentence, especially when he talks about you.

"You're so fucking weird, like not in a bad way but not in a fucking good way either, you just make me feel shit like-- Shut up, i don't swear THAT fucking much."

-Nsfw

•even though he tries to hold it, hes very vocal and loud

"A-ah.. Fuck. You're so quiet, i-its making me sound loud --mmh~!"

•hates getting edged but loves begging you

"S-stop fucking edging me like this you w-whore.. a-agh~.. please.. just let me cum.."

•loves it when you ride him, especially when you tie him up.

"If youre going to edge me.. a-aah~! Atleast.. tie me up... f-fuck..!"

•he doesn't admit it but he loves it when you spit on him

"S-stop spitting on me.. i-i can't.. its so..f-fuck..~" "N-no, i didn't lick it off my lips."

•his fav place for you to spit on would be his mouth , face or his cock

•He'd be into motorboating your titties

"Please.. fuck.. take off your bra.. just this once.. please..?"

•he jerks off a lot to pictures or videos of you when you aren't there

"Please let me take this photo of you.. i swear im not gonna nut on it or something."

•He likes it when you pull his hair

•He likes acting all bitchy towards you because he knows you'll make him feel so good no matter what.

"S-shut the fuck up.. y-your pussy isn't that tight-- ngh~!"

•hes into overstimulation, anything to make his girl feel good.

•He'd beg you to do one more round even though deep down he can't last the moment he's inside you

"Please.. one more.. I'll fucking do anything... i'll last longer than 5 minutes please please please... i-i want that pussy."

•most of the time its you giving him aftercare and he loves being babied by you.

"Yeah women totally deserve aftercare but you made me cum 7 times. Can you please just do it this once..? No, I didn't ask you that last round."

•would do anything to be able to cum inside you

"Please please please.... let me fucking cum inside you..i swear ill be good.. i wont call you a whore ever again.."

•Likes to film whenever you guys have sex, so he could jerk off to the footage later on.

"No no no.. don't move it.. i like seeing your ass in that angle.." "Shut up. I-its for memories.. and.. you sound hot on video, thats all, i swear!"

•He likes to have you soak up edibles in your mouth just to spit it in his mouth when you guys make out.

"Fuuck.. soak it up just like that and spit it out on my tongue" "Shut up, its not THAT gross."

•He loves getting degraded by you, even though half the time he insults you.

"Y-yeah.. i fucking get i-it... i'm a manwhore.. just for you.. mmh~!"

•Likes putting obscure music when you guys fuck

"Please.. can i play this msi song just once while you ride me..? I-its only 2 minutes.." "What the fuck do you mean the music will last longer than me?"

•A complete weirdo for you, literally a creep.

"Please..? Just consider doing a rainbow kiss with me once?" "Shut the fuck up, you just don't have good taste in fetishes."

•Hates calling you mommy but would do it in a heartbeat whenever hes desperate.

"M-mommy..~! Please let me cum.. fuck.. milk me dry please..~! I-it's aching so bad...please..~" "S-shut up.. just let me cum.. mommy.. please..?"

[timmydraker]

Tim Drake first took a life when he was twelve.

It wasn’t in an armed robbery or attack from a rogue, not to protect himself or in defence of an innocent.

In fact, it was practically an innocent that he killed.

Batman was so deep into his grief filled rage that he was attacking any poor mugger or civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Albert Jones, a thirty year old man working as an apprentice to his father’s shoe repair shop, was dealing with a recent heartbreak with some pick me up drugs.

Batman didn’t give his usual speech of ‘find another coping mechanism and don’t let me see you here again’ and instead swung at both dealer and customer. The dealer, a teenager no less, was left with two broken legs and a busted shoulder.

Albert was left with bruising all over his face and three stomps directly onto his chest.

Tim found him gasping for air as blood filled his lungs and was left with the truth of this man not having a chance. No ambulance was going to be able to save him like all the others, there was no basic first aid or well educated aid that could save him.

This was going to be the first murder of Batman.

Unless…

Tim didn’t feel good as he picked up the knife from dealer had tried to use on the bat and quickly jab it into the man’s neck.

And then he stabbed again.

And again.

Albert Jones was dead by his hand, not Batman’s, not Bruce’s. Tim’s.

The dealer, who was really just a kid, ended up taking the fall as Tim had selfishly planned.

Batman didn’t even notice or recognise the faces of either man on the news.

Albert’s father sobbed on TV, talking about his son didn’t even like being an apprentice but knew his father needed the help with his growing arthritis. He talked about how his son had been in an emotionally abusive relationship and just wanted to feel better for a bit, he wasn’t a druggie, not really.

Tim throws up and wears gloves for weeks to avoid looking at his hands. He swears he can see blood in them and not in a metaphorical sense.

Nobody ever finds out and when Tim becomes Robin and gets Bruce to stop hurting people so badly, he decides it’s worth it. That innocent life was taken by him, so his death isn’t on Bruce’s soul. It’s okay, Batman is still good and he’s getting better, which he wouldn’t have been able to if he had cleared his head and found out he took a life.

Robin never takes a life, not exactly, but seen as he’s already killed someone with his own hands, Tim doesn’t really hesitate at opportunities to leave certain people to die.

Rapist, pedophiles, zoophiles, fascist… it doesn’t really count if he didn’t double it by his own hands and he’s done that anyway, so who cares if a few stray people die from the new Robins pack of skill and baby faced newness to the horror of the world.

Batman always yells at him, ups his training, but Tim doesn’t care if it means leaving that one bad person behind helped him save more decent lives.

Red Robin kills more… purposefully.

Not in a serial killer sense, he’s not stupid, but in a ‘blowing up the entire LOA and just assuming Ra’s will dunk at least some of them in the pit’ kind of way.

Truthfully that’s it.

He’s not like Red Hood or Slade or Harley, he just doesn’t mind bending and shifting his moral compass every now and again to better fit certain situations.

Like when Kon’s clones woke up and he had to slaughter them all with an emergency kryptonite sword he kept on stand by.

Or the two he had to track down and hunt after they escaped and, thank god he planted trackers in them, because they weren’t Kon and instead seemed more like animals that couldn’t even talk.

Oh and that one time this guy tried to drug Damian at a gala and Tim managed to ‘dispose’ of the guy before Damian realised what he had tried to do and did something stupid.

There was also that time he cut of Ra’s head in a luckily opening during a fight and kept it in a jar in The Nest as revenge for the whole spleen thing…

But that doesn’t count, cause he just got brought back to life.

[marscantread7]

Um um un sylus fucking us with his tail .... ♡ praise and maybe fuck us with his powers.. ?

Did you know I'm fucking insane anon. Did you know I'm the biggest monster fucker to ever exist anon.

(Excuse my brazenness idk what came over me there...)

I haven't finished his dragon myth bc I'm dookie butt at leveling up cards bc I'm more focused on story than like preserving materials to actually level cards up to fight💀💀💀 so idk if he had the energy manipulation evol as a dragon, so we're js gonna separate current Sylus fucking u w/ his evol from dragon Sylus fucking u w/ his tail

I'll do this hc style since I'm doing both to reply to u, but I'll do an additional post of them on their own to go into more detail

--------------------------------------------------------

Fucking u w/ his tail

-He'd stretch u out for hours, making sure ur loose and wet enough to take it. Using at least 3 valves of oil to make the slide easier

-He keeps asking u over and over again if ur sure u want to do this. His tail isn't soft, and he can't make it soft either. It's also, obviously, very big

-He peppers kisses all over ur face as he eases the very tip of the tail in.

-"Shhh, I know it hurts my precious. Look at me, yes, js like that, js take a little more for me- yes, good girl. We can always stop if it's too much. No? Okay, js let me know if u need a break."

- As much as u beg and plead saying u can take half, ur still human and he knows how fragile the human body is. He isn't trying to puncture any organs on accident💀💀💀

-Once a reasonable (and safe) amount of his tail is in, he js sits there for a bit, letting u get used to the feeling.

-"Can I start moving it now? I'll be gentle. No u silly thing, I'm not gonna go rough so soon."

- He fucks u at a very, VERY slow pace, so slow u feel urself drifting asleep until a very sudden orgasm rips its way through u, causing u to immediately squirt everywhere

-"Oh, that's it. Make a mess for me, cum all over my tail."

-He fucks u through the aftershocks of ur orgasms, and when u start to complain abt being sensitive, he js hushes u w/ a

-"U don't srsly think we're done after js one? Oh, sweetie. We're gonna be here all night."

Fucking u w/ his evol

-I'd like to think he only does those when he's super busy

-Like, say he has to write some report or like go over documents, and like ur both bored, but he really needs to get this done, so he'll like use his evol to fuck a dildo into u

-Ur laying on ur back on the couch in his study, face buried in a pillow as one hand holds onto the arm of the couch, trying to muffle ur moans as not to disturb Sylus

-"Ur getting a little too loud, kitten. Do I have to stop? No? Then quiet down for me, js like that."

-Using his evol is like second nature to him atp, so he really isn't putting much thought into controlling it. Sometimes he'll end up accidentally going a little too fast, and he has to apologize for it.

-"Ah, my apologies, sweetie. I zoned out a bit. Was it too rough? I'll make up for it, ur such a sweet little thing, never getting mad at me."

-And once he's done w/ everything, he'll fuck u nice and slow, whispering sweet nothings into ur ear, holding u tight.

--------------------------------------------------------

SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO GET TO THIS💔💔💔 I got sick AGAIN🤦🏾‍♀️🤦🏾‍♀️🤦🏾‍♀️ and then I started my period yesterday and that made me sick. Ts been sitting in my drafts forever, oh my days

Anyways, I'll write longer, more detailed versions of this eventually, but I hope u enjoy this💔💔💔

[cookies-after-dark]

BRO AND W/ THE BEAST SOUNDS

i think they have?? multiple grows?? stay with me now-

there's growls that are mildly threatening, smth small that are used as a warning (think of like,, animals getting nipped during play and they get annoyed; it's a sort of growl that says "hey i didn't like that")

AND THEN there's the growls that are actually threatening, like they're wildly pissed off, and in my head they sound eldritch, like something you would never hear on earthbread, something that awakens primal fear in cookies (altho all growls sound different, they cause the same effect)

i can imagine w/ all the beasts in yandere contexts (altho smilk is always on my mind), when their darling escapes that growl leaves them and the jam (?) of everyone around gets cold. or they catch their darling mid-escape attempt and growl like that, to scare the darling out of ever trying that again (picture smilk growling like that while his darling is almost out of the spire, the darling freezes, and he picks them up by the scruff and drags them back to his bedroom *ahem, nest*, no words needed; as a side note, i think the darling would never expect a sound like that to leave smilk, which is even more terrifying and they remember that truly, at the end of the day, they're dealing w/ an eldritch god)

eldritch beasts my beloveds

additional tags: yanderes, unhealthy relationship dynamics, kidnapping, isolation, predator/prey dynamics, possessiveness

ships: yan!burning spice cookie x reader, yan!mystic flour cookie x reader, yan!shadow milk cookie x reader

The very very few (two) mutuals from my mains/discord that I allow to see this blog will read this and look at me like 😒 because projecting animal linguistics and animal behaviors/socialization onto animal-like characters are like, the only things I ever talk about.

I cannot imagine in any universe that any Beast (that have so far been released) other than Shadow Milknwould ever he angry that you escaped, even the yabdwre versions. Burning Spice Cookie delights in having another chance to hunt you down like a prized buck, and Mystic Flour Cookie is so emotionally balanced and capable that any feelings or urgency or dissatisfaction can be tempered before she brings you back herself.

Burning Spice Cookie, upon seeing your nest empty and your scent stale, would growl in excitement. He'd climb atop the highest ledge and let out a loud bellow; not of rage but a rallying call, a mighty sound that carries for miles. Whereever you may be, it's most likely you hear it, and so does any other spice warrior in the vicnity. Burning Spice Cookie wants to let everyone in his territory know that the hunt is on.

Mystic Flour Cookie is mostly unpreturbed by your escape, she knows you won't be gone for long. Her vocalizations are mostly saved for you anyway; so the most you'll hear is a chuff or a deep sigh as soon as she curls your arms around you to take you home.

Even as yanderes, those two are pretty "well adjusted", for Beasts anyway, that they won't immediately fly off the rail in anger if they find you missing. Surprisingly, yandere Burning Spice Cookie is slower to anger than yandere Shadow Milk Cookie for several reasons (BS isn't nearly as insecure, for one very important reason).

Shadow Milk Cookie, though? It would be a straight up lie to say that Shadow Milk Cookie doesn't enjoy scaring the wits out of you when you step out of line. Either through his illusions or his straight up Eldritch Call that basically says "You little annoying gnat, stop right where you are." in unholy monster language. But make no mistake, it pisses him off when he has to go fetch you again.

He's possessive in a way that feels more personal and targeted than even Burning Spice Cookie, and he's unrelenting in a way that feels more restricting than Mystic Flour Cookie.

Even Black Sapphire Cookie and Candy Apple Cookie can't help but back off when they hear Shadow Milk Cookie snarl so dreadfully like that. They don't risk getting in his way to bring you back and discipline you; they know he's got a handle on that.

[pintrestgrl]

BARRYS SISTER!READER WITH RAFE CAMERON

warnings — drug mentions , brothers bsf topic idk if thats taboo, lowk rafe manipulates her? provocative statements? girl idk but they dont fuck or do anything

based on this ask

CAN WE ALL APPLAUD ME FOR WRITING PLEASE AND THANK YOU ITS BEEN YEARS

it had became an understanding that you were to stay quiet when barry was dealing in the house. preferably in your room, but if you were around it, you weren’t allowed to say a word.

this rule had been instilled in you since you were in middle school. it was annoying, to say the least. you’d always wanted to help, at least a bit. you had basically learned the way the whole interaction was supposed to go, just from watching your brother.

the customer would get to the house, usually at night, come inside, pay, get their drugs, then leave quietly. it had become an art form to barry— and a source of entertainment to you.

however, tonight there was a customer staying in the house for a lot longer then usual. you knew he wasn’t a pogue, he didnt look nor act like one. he must be a kook. you could tell he was a bit coked out too. you became really good at figuring that stuff out after a while.

you didn’t talk to him, simply sat on the opposite end of the couch while him and barry conversed. you stayed with your knees tucked to your chest, observing. barry had a few customers come in and out, before getting a call.

you couldn’t quite hear what your brother was saying exactly, but you made out enough to know that his supplier was gonna be coming. you sighed to yourself, another thing barry wouldn’t let you participate in.

the supplier showed up after a near 20 minute wait, barry heading for the door. you expected the kook boy to follow him, but he stayed still in his place on the couch. barry seemed too focused to tell him to come with, too.

the room fell into an uncomfortable silence after that. that was, until the boy got up from his seat, moving across the couch to sit directly next to you. all while staying silent. you tensed a bit, confused and nervous. before he spoke, “what’s your name?” you looked at him unsure, “why?”

“just wanna know.” you rolled your eyes, facing away forward again. away from his gaze. “what’s yours?” he laughed, at your reverse psychology attempt. “rafe. cameron.” you knew that last name. sarah cameron. the girl from school. must be his sister, you thought to yourself.

“okay.” you spoke, simply. he looked at you, you felt his stare. “so, barry doesn’t let you help him deal at all?” you shook your head, humming out a no. “shame. he let you do anything? doesnt really seem like it.” you smiled a bit at his observation, speaking. “no, not really.” he nodded, analyzing your words.

“he ever let you go to a party before?” you furrowed your brows. how did he knew that you had been begging your brother to let you go to a party for years? “no. he hasn’t.” he laughed, amused at the answers you gave him.

“so, guessing you never been with a boy before either, huh?” you creased your brows yet again, confused on what he meant by his statement. “in what way?” rafe smiled, before speaking bluntly again. “you ever been fucked before?” you flinched at his harsh choice of words, before quickly shaking your head.

“what? no. why are you asking that?” you spoke, now looking at him as if he was fucking crazy. but he was just glad you were looking at him. he wanted to see your face. the face you kept so well hidden from the world. “relax, ‘m just curious.”

you looked annoyed, tense. but he didn’t mind. he was happy to get a couple words conversation out of you. “you shouldn’t even be talking to me, let alone asking that. barry would fucking kill you.” you told him. he laughed, yet again. “barrys like a brother to me. you can talk to one guy. what he doesnt know wont hurt him.”

you bit your cheek, before speaking. “and what if i did tell him?” he stayed silent for a moment, pondering the question. “then he would have to get over it.” you laughed, subtly. you didnt wanna boost the kook boys ego too much.

it fell silent again, but more comfortable this time. not fully, but almost there. the boy stood up again, speaking. “i’m heading out.” you nodded, looking up at him. he headed towards the door, before stopping and turning around.!

he gave you, and your body a once over before speaking again. “your tits look good in that.” your eyes quickly widened, narrowing in on him. “you’re a fucking weirdo.” you spoke. he laughed, turning back around and heading out the door.

you were still fucking astonished that he said that to you. that was the first time you ever even heard a boy think of you like that. but a strange part of you didn’t hate it.

you should’ve told barry, you really should have. but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. not with the risk that came with it, you not being able to see that blonde kook boy again.

tags — (dm if u wanna b added , or taken off)

@lacehartz @battybaby111 @maybanksangel @kittyreposts @littlelamy @theeternaloptimistt @sugaraanddiesel @enchantedstarfish @iwishiknew-69 @heavenlyangelbaby @rafesdoe @whinyangel

[riqomi]

tangled desires ˖ 西村力

西村力 ˖ 𝑓em!r .. g. enemies to potential lovers. suggestive. smut. ─── BOOKSHELF (4687). tw: mdni (18+). making out. physical fighting (not between reader and niki). fingering. profanity. implied sex. let me know if there's more !!

you’d always hated niki, and tonight, that hatred seemed to reach new heights.

the party was in full swing, loud music and voices blending into a chaotic buzz of energy. niki, as usual, was in the center of it all, his confidence practically radiating off him, effortlessly commanding attention from everyone in the room. you could feel the heat of your irritation as you watched him laugh, smile, and throw sarcastic comments at everyone like it was second nature.

but it wasn’t just his arrogance that bothered you tonight — it was the way he always seemed to be around when you were at your breaking point, always managing to make everything worse. and tonight was no exception.

you didn’t see it coming at first. just a little disagreement between niki and some guy you didn’t recognize. words were exchanged, then a shove, and suddenly fists were flying. the guy wasn’t even half as skilled, but the anger behind niki’s punches was enough to make the entire room take notice.

you watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, irritation bubbling in your chest as niki took the guy to the ground with a brutal, quick punch. the other guy struggled for a second, but niki was already moving again, pinning him against the brick wall with a force that made everyone in the room hold their breath.

there was something wild in niki’s eyes, something you’d never seen before. this wasn’t just about pride. this wasn’t even just about the guy he was fighting. this was something more primal, an explosion of everything he had been holding back.

the crowd started to chant, egging him on, cheering for the spectacle unfolding before them. and you… you couldn’t look away. you weren’t sure what it was, but the way he moved, so intense and full of fury, was drawing you in.

niki wasn’t playing fair anymore. he was beyond angry, beyond care. the sound of his fists landing on the guy’s chest echoed in the air, and you could see the blood beginning to stain the guy’s shirt. he wasn’t even trying to fight back at this point, his body going limp under the force of niki’s rage.

you couldn’t believe it. this wasn’t just a fight anymore. this was destruction, pure and unfiltered, and all of it was happening right in front of you.

for some reason, your feet started moving, and before you knew it, you were standing outside, away from the chaos of the party, the sound of the fight still echoing in your mind. you needed air. you needed distance. you needed a break from everything that had just happened, because, as much as you hated to admit it, a part of you was watching niki — watching him like he was something you couldn’t turn away from.

and there he was. standing outside, blood on his knuckles, eyes wild, and still breathing heavily from the fight.

“did you enjoy the show?” niki’s voice broke the silence, low and dangerous as he leaned against his car, his chest heaving with every breath.

you froze, not wanting to get too close, but not being able to leave either. “enjoy? you’re sick,” you spat, your tone sharp as you glared at him.

he grinned, that damn cocky smirk still in place, despite everything. “you look like you’re getting all hot and bothered. you like seeing me angry?”

you shook your head, furious. “you’re a mess. and i can’t believe you’re standing there like nothing happened.”

niki shrugged, then pushed off the car and took a step closer. “what happened? that guy deserved every hit. and i’m still standing here, so clearly it wasn’t enough to knock me down.”

you narrowed your eyes, every nerve in your body on high alert. “you’re insane.”

his hand shot out suddenly, grabbing your wrist in a grip that was tighter than you expected. his fingers pressed into your skin, sending an unexpected jolt of electricity through you.

“am i?” he muttered, his voice darker now, his eyes catching the streetlight with a dangerous gleam. “you’ve been looking at me like i’m the crazy one. but we both know the truth.”

you tried to pull your wrist from his grip, but he only pulled you closer. “what the hell are you talking about?” you could feel the heat of his body, just inches away from yours, and for a split second, you almost couldn’t breathe.

his face was so close now, the air between you charged with something you couldn’t place. his fingers released your wrist, but his hand found your waist, sliding across your side like he was tracing the outline of you. “you think i don’t know the way you look at me when you think i’m not paying attention?” he said, his breath brushing across your face. “i see you. i’ve always seen you.”

“stop,” you managed, the words barely leaving your throat as he pushed you back against his car, his hand sliding lower, dangerously low, settling on your hip as his chest pressed against yours. you should’ve told him to back off, told him to get lost, but the heat coming off him, the strength of his grip, made it hard to think straight.

“yeah?” he murmured, his voice rough, his lips brushing against your ear as his other hand slid up to your neck, fingers curling around it. “i don’t think you want me to stop.”

before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours, hard and insistent. his kiss was rough, like he couldn’t control himself anymore, like the fight, the anger, and everything else had finally snapped inside him.

his hands roamed, one still gripping your waist, the other trailing down your body, his fingers brushing your thigh before they slid up to your hip. you gasped into the kiss as his touch sent a shock through your system, a fire igniting deep inside you, and for a moment, it was all you could feel — the press of his lips, the heat of his body, the way his hands moved with a possessive, urgent need.

you didn’t pull away, didn’t fight it. you couldn’t. your hands found their way to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back with the same intensity, matching his pace, letting your body move in rhythm with his.

when he finally broke away, he didn’t give you time to catch your breath before his lips found yours again, and this time, his hand slid down to your ass, squeezing hard as he pulled you even closer. the way his body pressed against you, the heat of his touch, made everything else fade away. there was no fight, no anger, no hatred. just this, just him.

his voice came again, low and rough as his lips brushed yours. “still hate me?”

you didn’t even think about your answer this time. “yes,” you whispered, breathless, feeling the heat flood your chest. “i absolutely do.”

and then, without another word, you kissed him again.

the tension between you and niki was suffocating, the anger simmering just beneath the surface, yet neither of you moved away. the streetlights above cast a faint glow on the scene, highlighting the rawness in his eyes, and the dangerous edge in the way his body pressed against yours.

your chest was rising and falling quickly, each breath catching as his hands roamed, one still tight around your waist, the other having slipped to your thigh, where his fingers dug in, sending sparks of heat to your core. the kiss deepened, harder now, almost punishing, as if he was trying to erase everything — the fight, the insults, the years of tension — and replace it with something else entirely.

you were close to the edge. you could feel the pulse of adrenaline in your veins, the electricity between you becoming impossible to ignore. but it wasn’t just anger anymore. it was something more primal. something that had been lurking under the surface every time you locked eyes or exchanged words. it wasn’t just about hatred — it was about everything you hadn’t been able to express, everything you were too afraid to admit to yourself.

niki pulled back, his breathing ragged as he looked down at you, his eyes dark, his pupils blown wide. his lips were swollen from the kiss, and there was a flicker of something in his gaze that almost made you second-guess yourself. but then he just smirked, cocky as ever, as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward the front of his car, practically dragging you toward it.

“let’s get inside,” he said, voice thick with an edge of something you couldn’t place.

you didn’t protest as he opened the door and shoved you inside, climbing in after you with the same intensity. the door slammed shut behind him, and immediately, his hands were on you again. his lips crashed against yours, harder this time, almost desperate, as he pressed you back into the leather seat. his body was on top of yours, pinning you against the seat, and you could feel the heat of his chest through the thin fabric of your shirt.

his hands slid down your body again, one skimming along your side, the other slipping beneath your skirt. you couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through you as his fingers grazed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. he moved so confidently, so sure of what he was doing, that it made your head spin.

“tell me you don’t want this,” niki murmured, his lips brushing along your neck, his breath hot against your skin as his hands worked their way up your thigh, dangerously close to where you ached. “tell me you’re not feeling what i’m feeling.”

you didn’t answer him immediately, your pulse hammering in your ears as you felt his fingers inching closer to the apex of your legs. instead, you gripped his shirt and pulled him closer, forcing his lips back onto yours. the kiss was messy, hungry, and everything you never thought you would experience with him. but here you were, your body reacting to his touch in ways you couldn’t deny, no matter how hard you tried to resist.

niki pulled away just enough to meet your gaze, his hand now fully on your hip, his thumb pressing against the curve of your waist as he held you in place. “you don’t have to pretend anymore,” he growled, his voice low and dark. “we both know you want this. you want me.”

you could feel his body shifting against yours, his muscles taut as he braced himself above you, the heat of his body almost suffocating in the confined space of the car. his lips hovered over yours for a second, teasing, and then he pressed his mouth against your neck again, his teeth grazing your skin as he sucked at the sensitive spot just below your ear. the sensation sent an electric current shooting through your body, and you moaned involuntarily, the sound loud in the silence of the car.

“fuck,” he muttered against your skin, his hand moving to your waist again, this time more forcefully as he tugged you up toward him. “stop fighting this. stop pretending you don’t need me.”

his words sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, and you couldn’t stop yourself from responding. your hands slid beneath his shirt, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the hard expanse of his chest, the warmth of his skin. it was like you couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t touch him enough, and the need that had been building inside you for so long was finally breaking free.

his lips found yours again, fierce and demanding, as his hand slid lower, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your skirt. you gasped, the shock of his touch making your body arch toward him, and niki groaned low in his throat, his hand moving with deliberate precision.

you wanted to protest. you wanted to remind yourself of everything you hated about him — the arrogance, the smirking, the insults. but none of that mattered right now. none of it mattered in the face of the heat that pulsed between you, the fire that raged every time his skin touched yours.

you pushed him away briefly, just enough to catch your breath, and stared up at him, your eyes wide, heart pounding. “this isn’t us,” you whispered, though it came out shaky, unsure.

niki’s gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing as he leaned closer. “maybe this is exactly who we are,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “maybe we’ve always been this way, just waiting for the right moment to snap.”

before you could respond, his lips were on you again, but this time, there was no hesitation. no more games. his hand cupped your breast, his thumb brushing across the sensitive peak through the fabric, making you gasp into his mouth. the sound only seemed to fuel him, his lips trailing down your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin as he worked his way lower. he shifted again, his body pressing harder into yours as he slid one leg between yours, parting them slightly.

your hands were tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as your body moved instinctively against his. every kiss, every touch, sent shockwaves through you, and for once, you didn’t care about the reasons to hate him. you didn’t care about the anger, the history, the rivalry. you only cared about the now, about the way his hands moved over your skin, the way his mouth consumed yours with an urgency that mirrored your own.

niki's hand slipped under your shirt, his palm flat against your skin, moving upwards toward your breast. you moaned again, the sound swallowed by his mouth as his lips pulled away just enough to look at you, his gaze heated and dark.

"don't tell me you don’t want this," he whispered, the words almost a challenge.

your hands moved to his jeans, tugging at the waistband, and without thinking, you tugged him closer, urging him to close the space between you. and then, just as his fingers brushed against your most sensitive spot, you couldn't hold back anymore.

"stop talking," you whispered, your voice barely a breath, your lips brushing against his. "just... just kiss me."

the urgency between you both intensified as niki’s hands roamed, touching, exploring, demanding. there was no more hesitation, no more pretenses. the barrier of anger and frustration had crumbled, leaving only raw desire in its wake. every movement, every touch seemed to stoke the flames between you both, the air in the car thick with heat and tension.

his mouth never left yours, kissing you harder, deeper, as though he couldn’t get enough. you responded with equal fervor, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him even closer as the space between your bodies seemed to shrink to nothing.

his hand slid down your side again, over the curve of your waist, and then lower, fingertips grazing the soft skin of your thigh. you felt a wave of heat wash over you, your body betraying every ounce of control you thought you had. niki’s fingers continued their journey, pushing past the waistband of your skirt, his touch deliberate, unrelenting as he moved further, testing the boundary between what was familiar and what was new.

"god, you’re driving me crazy," niki muttered against your lips, his voice thick with need. his other hand was now at your breast, caressing, squeezing, while his body pressed harder into yours, the weight of him a steady pressure that made your pulse race.

you couldn’t stop yourself. you moved your hand to the zipper of his jeans, working it open with trembling fingers, feeling the muscles in his body tense in response. his breath hitched as your hand slid inside, feeling the heat of him through the fabric of his boxers, and he groaned into your mouth, the sound sending a shiver straight through you.

"fuck," he breathed, his hand moving to your back, pushing you even closer to him as if trying to mold your bodies together. the heat was unbearable, and every touch, every kiss seemed to pull you further into a spiral you couldn’t escape. his lips trailed down your neck again, soft at first, then harder, his teeth grazing your skin as his hand moved lower, pressing against you in ways that left you gasping for air.

"you wanted this," niki growled, his voice low and dark, every word laced with the same possessive energy that had been fueling him since the moment the fight had ended. "you’ve always wanted this."

you were too caught up in the moment to form a coherent response, but you didn’t need to. every part of you screamed in protest, but your body betrayed you. the tension between you was electric, the way his touch burned into your skin, making everything else fade into the background.

his hand slid to your ass, grabbing it roughly as he lifted your hips toward him, pulling you closer against his chest, his body flush against yours. you could feel the heat of him pressing into you, and you couldn’t help but grind against him, your body moving in a rhythm that seemed almost instinctual.

"god, you’re so fucking irresistible," he muttered against your ear, his voice rough and breathless. his hand slid up to your waist, fingers digging into the curve of your body as he shifted again, positioning himself so his mouth found your neck, sucking at the skin just below your ear.

you moaned again, the sound muffled by his lips, your hands moving to his hair, tugging at the dark strands as your body arched beneath him. the world outside the car seemed so far away now, the only thing that mattered was him — his hands, his touch, the way his body moved with a force and hunger that matched your own.

his lips found yours again, more forcefully this time, as his hand moved up to your chest, pushing your shirt higher, exposing more of your skin. every inch of your body felt like it was on fire, the need for him growing stronger with every touch, every kiss.

his mouth left yours, trailing down your neck, across your collarbone, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses as his hands worked their way up, caressing your chest, teasing your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. you gasped, arching into his touch as his thumb brushed over the sensitive peaks.

"fuck, you’re killing me," he groaned, his lips finally moving lower, his hand slipping under the waistband of your skirt, fingertips grazing the soft skin of your inner thigh once more. his breath was heavy, ragged, and every touch of his hand made your body ache for more.

"tell me what you want," niki demanded, his voice hoarse and desperate as his fingers brushed against you, testing, teasing. “tell me what you need.”

you swallowed, the words on the tip of your tongue, but for a second, you hesitated. you knew this was dangerous, knew that this could never go back to what it was before. but you couldn’t stop. the desire was too much. the attraction was too powerful.

“don’t stop,” you finally whispered, your voice shaking as his fingers slipped lower, finding exactly what he had been searching for. "please."

his hand slid inside your underwear, his fingers brushing against you, making your entire body shudder in response. he paused, just for a moment, his breath brushing against your cheek, as if savoring the moment, before his lips crashed back onto yours, more demanding, more desperate.

the sound of his breath mingled with the soft moans that escaped your throat, the sensations of his fingers moving, exploring, teasing. every touch made you ache, every kiss made you burn hotter. you couldn't think anymore, couldn’t focus on anything but the overwhelming need to have him.

and when his fingers finally moved inside you, you gasped, the sensation of him filling you pushing everything else out of your mind. he moved slowly at first, teasing, testing, but then, when he felt you shift, felt your body begin to respond, he pushed harder, faster, driving you to the edge.

"fuck," he groaned, his hand moving faster as you gasped against his lips, your body trembling beneath him. "you feel so fucking good."

every part of you was alive, on fire, and you couldn’t help the moans that spilled from your mouth as his fingers continued to move, working you toward the edge. every thrust sent you higher, your body trembling with need, the intensity of it all nearly too much to handle.

"come on," niki breathed against your ear, his voice hoarse. "let go."

and with that, you did. the wave of pleasure hit you so suddenly, so intensely, that it knocked the breath from your lungs, and you cried out his name, your body arching as the world seemed to shatter around you.

niki wasn’t far behind. with a final groan, his fingers moved faster, a few final thrusts that pushed him over the edge as well. the two of you remained locked in the car, breathless and tangled in each other, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of the moment.

for a while, neither of you said anything. the world outside was silent, the echoes of your breathing the only sound in the dark parking lot. the fight, the tension, everything between you seemed to have melted away in the heat of the moment, leaving only the quiet aftermath.

the air inside the car was thick with the remnants of the intense moment you both just shared. the pounding of your hearts slowed, but neither of you made any immediate move to break the silence. you were both too caught up in the raw aftermath, bodies still tangled, breaths ragged. the seat beneath you felt too small, the confined space almost too intimate now.

niki's fingers were still gently tracing patterns along your skin, the motion almost tender compared to the fierce desperation from earlier. his hand moved to your face, cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, as though trying to memorize the feeling of your skin beneath his touch.

"that... was not what i expected," niki finally spoke, his voice rough, but quieter, like he was trying to process everything that had just happened.

you didn’t know how to respond, because you felt the same way. it hadn’t been what either of you expected, yet it had felt so... inevitable. a part of you had always known that this was where it was heading, even if you’d fought it for so long.

you turned to look at him, his expression unreadable for a moment, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, as if he couldn’t decide what to focus on. then, with a quiet sigh, he leaned back, pulling away from you just enough to give you both space to breathe.

for a second, you both sat in silence, the tension still hanging heavy in the air. you didn’t know if it was a moment of vulnerability or just the aftermath of everything that had just happened, but it was unlike anything either of you had ever shared before. the cocky, confident niki who usually never showed a hint of insecurity was nowhere to be found. instead, there was just raw, unspoken understanding.

"i think we broke a lot of rules," you muttered, your voice breaking the silence, almost a chuckle, but it sounded more like disbelief.

niki smirked, but this time, it wasn’t as self-assured as before. there was something softer in it. something uncertain. "maybe. but rules were meant to be broken, right?"

you shook your head, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. despite everything, despite the strange mix of anger and passion that had always defined your relationship with him, you felt something shift between you. something that, for all the hate you’d always felt, felt real now.

"maybe," you murmured, the weight of everything still pressing down on you. "but that doesn't mean it's easy to walk away from."

niki’s eyes locked onto yours then, his gaze intense. his fingers reached for your hand, gently entwining his fingers with yours, as if anchoring you both in the moment. “i don’t think either of us are in any position to walk away from this,” he said quietly, his voice low, almost contemplative.

you didn’t say anything, but you knew he was right. something had shifted between you, and walking away from it now seemed impossible, even if you both wanted to. you couldn't deny the chemistry that had always been there, the way it had flared up now in such an unexpected, intense way.

the car’s interior felt too small again, too stifling with everything that had happened. you shifted, sitting up a little straighter, and turned to face him more fully, trying to regain some semblance of control over your own emotions.

“does this... change things?” the question hung in the air between you, uncertain, like neither of you knew what to do with it.

niki’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed like he might deflect again, fall back on his usual cocky demeanor. but then his expression softened slightly, and he exhaled sharply. “i don’t know. but i’m not just letting you go, not like this. not after that.”

you swallowed, the weight of his words sinking deep into you, the gravity of the situation not lost on you. you didn’t know what came next, but something told you this wasn’t a one-off. this wasn’t something you could just forget about, no matter how much you might have wanted to before.

there was a long pause before you finally spoke again, your voice quieter this time, vulnerable in a way you rarely allowed yourself to be.

“i hate that i want to know what this is... what we are after all of this.”

niki’s thumb brushed across the back of your hand as he glanced over at you, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “i think it’s more than just hate now, don’t you?”

you didn’t respond immediately, but his words hit home harder than you cared to admit. you hadn’t expected this. hell, you’d never wanted this. but now that it had happened, you couldn’t ignore how much it made you feel. it wasn’t just about the hate anymore; it was something deeper, something more dangerous.

"whatever this is," you said, your voice steady now, your gaze locking with his. "we can’t let it mess everything up. not if we want to keep anything intact."

niki’s expression grew serious, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he studied you. “i don’t want to mess it up," he said quietly, the cocky grin now gone. his hand rested on your thigh again, just above your knee, and he didn’t pull away when you shifted slightly, trying to create some distance. instead, he moved closer, his voice lowering. “but i’m not letting go, not now. not after what we just did.”

the weight of his words hung between you like a promise, and despite every part of you that wanted to resist, a small part of you was starting to wonder if maybe he was right.

you didn’t know what the hell came next — where this tangled mess of emotions would take you both — but in that moment, you were acutely aware of one thing: you couldn’t escape him. you didn’t want to. not anymore.

the car’s engine hummed quietly, the parking lot around you still eerily empty. the world outside seemed so far away. you were trapped in this limbo, caught between the past, the hate, and something that felt like it could be something more.

and neither of you knew where you’d go from here, but for once, neither of you seemed inclined to walk away.

i've had this is my drafts for a lil min, hope you guys like it ! pls like and reblog !!!

[luiluvr]

let it grow || luigi mangione

dad!luigi i love u forever :( based off this request! spent a lot of time listening to let it grow, cause the Lorax soundtrack goes hard, also this is to the person who wanted boy dad luigi!! <3

WARNINGS: none! no uses of y/n, & i didn't give the kids a name this time — leaving it to ur imagination! slightly proof read

SUMMARY: after taking a wind-down shower, you hear murmurs from the kid's bedroom, Luigi is reading them his (and their) favorite bedtime story: The Lorax.

WC: 1k

The Lorax. Always The Lorax. 

Luigi’s all-time favorite as a child, he was so giddy when you both finally had children of your own – he made sure he had the book on hand at all times. Even when they were babies that didn’t fathom what was happening; he’d read to them. Again and again, honestly you get sick of hearing the same story all the time. It’s meaningful to him, which is respectable, for it being a children’s book it reflects the real world plenty.

Most kids wanted to read other books by now, but your two sons never complained once when they asked Luigi to read to them. When he pulled out The Lorax, they’d be so excited. They just loved hearing him read, he had this aura. He would express the characters so well, exclaim and imitate sounds; so the kids preferred him reading over you. You read to them every so often when Luigi wasn't readily available, but besides then, he was theirs for bedtime stories.

For the night you left Luigi to get the kids tucked in to bed while you showered, you needed that fifteen-minutes of peace and quiet, he never turned down the opportunity to do something with the kids while benefiting you in the process.

You managed to wash off, get your hair dried so it wasn’t uncomfortable to sleep at night. Luigi didn’t seem too invested in doing a lot tonight, so you figured he wouldn’t. Until you went out into your room and heard some murmuring down the hallway. You raise an eyebrow and slowly walk towards the noise, mid-cleaning your ears.

“That was long, long ago. But each day since that day I've sat here and worried and worried away. Through the years, while my buildings have fallen apart, I've worried about it with all of my heart.” Luigi’s voice echoes softly as you peer into the door, smirking softly as he uses his best Once-ler voice.

“But now,” he says softly, “Now that you're here, the word of the Lorax seems perfectly clear. UNLESS someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.” The two boys with thick curls on their small heads, similar to Luigi’s – look at him. Listening intently. Despite hearing this story a hundred times before, it was as if they were still taking it in for the first time – all over again. They were curled on either side of him, watching the pages. 

His gaze shifts to the boys, and he smiles, not quite finished reading but wanting to interact. “So, what does that mean exactly?” 

“If somebody doesn’t care, then nothing’s gonna get better?” For kids their age, they caught onto things well. Or it’s the fact Luigi has explained every waking detail of this book even though they 100% didn’t understand the worldly concepts connected to the writings.

“That’s right, so suppose something’s not right in your life, you have to care a lot about it to actually fix it. You can say ‘yeah, I want to be better about this,’ but never do anything. It can also mean about different timeline movements that changed our world today. Like racial equality, or women’s rights. If no one ever actually cared enough to change those things, do you think the world would be how it is?”

“No.” The youngest says. He’s only three-years-old so his vocabulary was still a work in progress. 

“I don’t think so dad.” The older boy murmurs from his bed.

“You’re right,” he began, until your older boy interrupted. “Dad, do you think when Dr. Seuss was  writing that he was thinking about the world we live in rather than the one he created?” His voice was pitchy, and he stumbled on a few words, but for a five-year-old it was rather impressive – even to you.

Luigi smiled at that, he was so proud his boy was learning, soon the youngest would pick up on it too, he was just too little right now. He only liked the drawings – a very simple boy. “Absolutely, kiddo. If I could prove any theory I’ve ever had, it would be this book, right here,” he gestures at the small hard-back cover he’s had since he was a child. “Is based on our reality.” 

It always fascinated you how Luigi had such a way with the two little ones. “So… Catch!’ Calls the Once-ler. He let something fall. ‘It’s a Truffula seed. The last one of all! You're in charge of the last of the Truffula Seeds. And Truffula Trees are what everyone needs. Plant a new Truffula. Treat it with care. Give it clean water. And feed it fresh air. Grow a forest. Protect it from axes that hack. Then the Lorax and all of his friends may come back.’

“They let it grow!!” Your oldest giggles. He really liked the book, but Luigi recently introduced them to the animated film, and he adored the music the most.

“They let it grow indeed.” He smiles.

Luigi flipped through the final two pages, gently shut the book and gazed over his sons. They gave him cheesy grins as he sat the book on a small shelf by the bedside, your oldest scurried back to his bed across the room, while the youngest admired his father – and for a moment his eyes flicker to you.

You winked at him before Luigi gave them both goodnight kisses. In unison their youthful voices, “Night daddy!” 

“Goodnight you two, get lots of sleep. I love you.”

“Love you too!” 

“Wuv you!”

Luigi chuckled, and turned off their lamp, leaving only the illumination from a small dinosaur night light you bought when your first was born. You waited outside, causing Luigi to jump slightly when he shut the door. “You’re always lurking around, y’know that?”

You chuckle, “yes, how cruel of me… Those kids are going to be able to repeat that book word for word one day.”

“Yeah, well. It teaches them a really important lesson.”

“Does it?”

“Very much so, my love.”

“And what’s that?" You grin, holding his arm as you both walk to your room.

"That I was the only one willing to read to them."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can't Have One Without the Other 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your marriage is on the rocks.

Note: I asked about husbands and all your hoes said Bucky (with a few Sy’s in the middle). I wasn’t intending on a whole series but I thnk it would be fun to have husband!Bucky turn a bit desperate.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You bring Bucky his dinner. He's in the front room watching a show on military tanks. As you set his plate on the low coffee table, he clears his throat.

"Those old Shermans used to blow their tops like a cork. Useless," he snickers and reaches for the accompanying beer. "Thanks."

"No problem. Hope it's good," you back up.

You go back to the kitchen and tidy up what's left. You pack away the extra potatoes and beans. You only made one steak. He calls your name.

"Yeah," you look down the hall into the front room.

"You gonna join me? Wife?" He adds the last word like a reprimand.

"Uh, yeah, one sec," you retreat and grab a glass from the cupboard. You fill it with water and mix in some electrolytes.

You go out and sit next to him on the couch. He leans over the coffee table as he cuts into the steak. Medium rare to his liking. You sip your water as he shoves a hunk in his mouth and looks at you. He gulps and frowns.

"You're not having any?" He snarls.

"I'm not very hungry. That cappuccino was sugary," you assure him and turn the glass in your hands.

"You should have more than that," he says.

"Sorry, I--"

"Christ, you don't gotta be sorry. Making me feel like the bad guy again. Making me dinner, sitting there with water, apologising. I'm just fucking concerned since you're my wife," he huffs and scoops up potatoes onto his fork. A speck falls to the floor. "Shit," he looks down.

"Let me get you a napkin."

You place the glass on a coaster and get up. You scurry out to grab a paper towel and return. You lay it next to his plate as he chews. He wipes up the potato and crumples the strip of towel.

"I mean, I don't think I was wrong," he says through a mouthful, stopping to swallow. "Won't let me touch you. Makes a guy feel a kind of way."

"Bucky," you look down. "It's not you. I don't want to argue about this anymore."

"I don't either. I'm just trying to figure you out."

"Figure me out?" You utter.

"Yeah, I'm trying to recognise you. My own wife," he shakes his head. "You're not the same girl I married."

You wince and shrink down, "no, I don't think I am," you agree. "I'm fat and I'm lazy." You stand up and take your water, "and I'm ruining your supper."

You march out, tense and tortured. You don't look back as you head upstairs. You believe every word you said. He doesn't deny them either.

You sit on the edge of the bed and drink the water. You're hungry. Mostly because you're emotional. When you feel lonely, sad, angry, you just want to eat. You drain the glass and leave it on the nightstand. 

You stop yourself from taking off your rings. You get up and change into striped pajama pants that used to fit too loose and a tee shirt that hugs your middle. You hide under the blankets and watch the window as the night sets in.

You can hear him downstairs. He rinses off his plate. You should've gone back down to do that. He'll probably be sure to tell you so.

You roll over so you can't see the door. You're too upset to sleep. You're stuck in a vortex of dread and self-hatred.

You open your eyes as you hear him climbing the stairs. The light flicks on as he enters. He moves softly through the space. You hear a drawer and him sifitng around. When he doesn't tuck in next to you, you're sure he's about to go sleep on the couch.

"Hey, doll," he tugs the blanket by your foot, "wanna do something for me?"

Doll? When's the last time he called you that? You brace yourself and sit up. You look at him. He holds up black lace.

"Will you put this on for me?"

You stare at him dumbly. Huh?

"Bucky," you groan.

"Come on," he coaxes, "these are my favourite. You know that."

You feel like you could crumble into dust just looking at the lingerie. Still, it's not worth the fight. You're going to feel bad either way.

"Sure," you get up and walk along the bed. You look him in the face. You take in his square jaw, his cheekbones, the shadow of stubble, his bold blue eyes. He is still unbelievably handsome. "Bucky," your cheeks pinch. "I miss you."

"I'm back, baby," he smirks.

You almost drop your shoulders. That's not what you mean. You exhale and smile. "I know."

You go into the bathroom and shut the door. You switch out your pajamas for the lace. You're mortified at how your belly pudges up over the underwear. Your tits are spilling out of the bra too.

You refuse to acknowledge the mirror. You stand facing the door. A gentle breeze could knock you over.

"Doll?" Bucky calls to you.

You flinch and make yourself move. You turn the handle and your vision hazes. You open the door and step through. You don't see him as you come out.

He whistles, "see, that's what I missed."

You shake the fog and look at him. He's naked. He might have a bit extra too but he's still in good shape.

"Come here, baby," he waves you closer with both hands. "You didn't think earlier was everything."

You stare at him. It's a whirlwind. One minute he's mad, the next he's cooing and coaxing. You don't know that he really wants you, only what's accessible.

You go to him and he grabs your hips. You instinctively grab his hands. You waver as he pushes his thumbs into your soft flesh.

"Hey, why so shy?" He looks up at you. "You're acting like it's our first time." He brings you into his lap. You can't resist. You're much too weak, more than physically. "Wasn't that spectacular, huh?"

"Bucky," you look away bashfully. You remember. You were shy because it wasn't where you imagined it. Hiding in a closet at one of Stark's stupid parties.

"You didn't used to be so afraid of being bad," he falls back and takes your hands, putting them on his chest. "Why don't you be bad for me, baby?"

You stare down at him and bite your lip. He's still your husband. He's still somewhere deep in your heart. You bat your lashes.

"Can I turn off the light?" You ask.

[allhandsonhotch]

You’re not his mom. | A.H

pairings: grieving!hotch! x girlfriend!reader

warnings: talks of parental death, cruel hotch, arguing/fighting, mentions of foyet arc, grief, awkwardness??, idk what else to put.. lmk if you see something that should be here!

It had been a few days since Haley passed and you had no idea how to help your boyfriend and his son through it so you did what anyone else would do— you tried to help.

Aaron had a meeting with Strauss and you offered to stay at the apartment with Jack and he seemed fine with it, until he came home.

You were giving Jack a bath and he watched from the doorway as Jack laughed as he played with his toys.

After he was done with the bath, you got him ready for bed in the way you’d watched Aaron do time and time again. Lotion, pj’s, comb his hair, and you thought you were doing a pretty good job yet under Aaron’s gaze you couldn’t help but feel the resentment from here.

Once Jack was in bed, you walked out to the living room of Aaron’s apartment unaware of where to go from here. “Took awhile but he’s asleep.” You tried to smile as you walked over to him.

Truth was you didn’t know how to help either of them, Jack didn’t really understand why his mommy wasn’t around anymore and Aaron. God Aaron. He was angry, as he should have been but his anger was starting to be taken out on you when you weren’t doing anything wrong.

“Well— he’s asleep and—” “You’re not his mom.” He cut in— his tone stern and angry. You flinched at his words, the sharp edge of them cutting deeper than you expected. You knew you weren’t Jack’s mother—you would never try to replace Haley—but hearing Aaron say it like that, with such finality, made something inside you ache.

“I know that,” you said softly, forcing yourself to hold his gaze despite the weight of his anger pressing down on you. “I was just trying to help.”

Aaron let out a sharp breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked exhausted, grief-stricken, barely holding himself together. But instead of breaking, he hardened, his walls rising higher. “I didn’t ask you to.”

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “I know,” you repeated, because what else could you say? That you were trying because you loved him? Because you cared about Jack and wanted to be there for both of them? Because you couldn’t just stand by and do nothing while they unraveled?

Aaron turned away, his hands braced against the back of the couch, his shoulders tense. “He already lost one parent. I can’t— I won’t have him getting attached to someone else who—” He cut himself off, shaking his head.

Your chest tightened. “Who what, Aaron?” You asked, stepping closer even though you knew you should give him space. “Who might leave? Who might not be good enough? Because if that’s what you think, just say it.”

He turned then, his eyes dark and tired. “I can’t do this right now.”

You nodded, blinking back the sting behind your eyes. “Okay.”

You wanted to say more—to tell him you weren’t going anywhere, that you loved him, that you weren’t trying to replace Haley but that Jack needed stability, love, something to hold onto—but the words felt useless against the wall he’d put up.

So instead, you walked toward the door, grabbing your coat as you went.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” you said, voice steadier than you felt.

Aaron didn’t respond, just stood there, staring at the floor, lost in a grief that not even you could pull him out of.

And as you closed the door behind you, you realized that for the first time since Haley’s death, you weren’t sure if he would let you back in.

The cold air hit you the moment you stepped outside, a stark contrast to the warmth of Aaron’s apartment. You hadn’t realized how tense you’d been until you took a shaky breath, willing the tightness in your chest to ease. But it didn’t—not really.

Aaron was grieving. He was hurting. You understood that. But understanding didn’t make his words sting any less. You’re not his mom.

It wasn’t like you had ever tried to be. You loved Jack—of course, you did. He was sweet and innocent, caught in a storm of loss he couldn’t fully comprehend. And you loved Aaron. That was why you stayed, why you tried so hard to be what he needed, even when you didn’t know how.

But maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe you weren’t enough.

You barely made it to your car before the first tear slipped free. You swiped at it quickly, frustrated with yourself for letting this get to you. You should have expected it—should have known that Aaron wasn’t ready for you to step in like this, not when everything was still raw.

Still, as you sat in your car, gripping the steering wheel, you couldn’t shake the doubt creeping in. If he couldn’t let you help him now, when he needed it most, would he ever?

You didn’t sleep much that night. You thought about calling him, but you knew he wouldn’t answer. So you gave him space. One day passed. Then two. Then three. No call. No text. Just silence.

By the fourth day, you weren’t sure what to do. Were you supposed to wait for him to come to you? Did he want you to? Or was this his way of pushing you out?

Before you could spiral any further, your phone rang. Aaron.

Your heart jumped into your throat as you answered. “Hey.”

There was a long pause on the other end before he finally spoke. His voice was quiet, strained. “Can you come over?”

Relief and hesitation warred inside you. “Are you sure?”

Another pause. Then, softer this time, “Please.”

That one word broke whatever resolve you had left. “I’ll be there soon.”

Aaron looked wrecked when he opened the door. His eyes were bloodshot, his posture weighed down with exhaustion. He looked like a man who had been fighting a battle with himself—and losing.

“I’m sorry.” The words came out rough, like they hurt to say. Aaron exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing at his sides as he forced himself to meet your gaze. “For what I said the other night. For how I—” He stopped, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite find the right words. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

You swallowed, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. “I know.”

He let out a breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I just—” His voice faltered, and for the first time in days, you saw something crack through the anger and exhaustion: guilt. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You took a careful step closer. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

Aaron closed his eyes for a moment, as if he was trying to hold himself together, then let out a slow breath. “I know,” he said again, and this time, he sounded like he actually meant it. “I just—I look at you with him, and he’s happy. And I should be grateful. But instead, all I can think is that Haley should be here. She should be the one giving him a bath, tucking him in, reading to him.” His voice broke slightly, and he dragged a hand over his face. “And then I hate myself for thinking that, because I am grateful for you.”

You felt your throat tighten, but you didn’t move, didn’t interrupt. This was the first time he had let himself be honest with you since it happened.

Aaron let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t know if I’m doing this right. If I’m being the father he needs, if I’m handling any of this the way I should.” His eyes found yours, dark and heavy with grief. “But I do know I don’t want to push you away.”

You took another step forward, closing the space between you until you were right in front of him. “I never expected to replace her, Aaron,” you said softly. “I just want to help. I love you. I love Jack. And I know you’re hurting, but you don’t have to go through this alone.”

His breath hitched, and for a second, he looked like he might break. But instead of pulling away, he reached for you, his hands tentative as they settled on your waist. You felt the tension in his grip, the way he was holding on like he wasn’t sure he deserved to.

“I don’t know how to do this without hurting you,” he admitted.

You placed your hands over his, squeezing gently. “Then let’s figure it out together.”

For the first time in days, Aaron let himself lean into you, pressing his forehead against yours, exhaling a breath that sounded like surrender.

And as you stood there, wrapped in the quiet comfort of each other, you knew this wasn’t going to be easy. But you also knew you weren’t going anywhere.

Aaron’s grip on you tightened, as if grounding himself, as if afraid you might slip away if he let go. His forehead was still pressed against yours, his breath warm and unsteady. You let him take his time, knowing he wasn’t a man who gave in easily—not to grief, not to weakness, and certainly not to his own needs.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he whispered, “I don’t know if I can be what you need right now.”

Your chest ached at the raw honesty in his voice. You knew Aaron well enough to understand the weight of those words. He wasn’t just mourning Haley—he was terrified. Terrified of failing Jack, of failing himself, and now, of failing you.

“You don’t have to be anything other than what you are, Aaron,” you murmured, sliding your hands up his arms, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. “I don’t expect you to have all the answers. I just need you to let me be here.”

He swallowed hard, his hands flexing against your waist. “And if I don’t know how?”

You lifted your head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes were tired, filled with so much pain it made your heart squeeze, but there was something else there too—something hesitant, something hopeful.

“Then we figure it out,” you whispered.

Aaron exhaled a slow, shaky breath. Then, before you could say anything else, he pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around you in a way that felt less like possession and more like desperation. Like he needed this—needed you.

You let him hold you, let him breathe you in, let him feel the steady reassurance of your presence. Your fingers found the back of his neck, your touch gentle as you whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He didn’t respond, not with words. Instead, he buried his face in your shoulder, his entire body sinking into yours as if he was finally allowing himself to feel everything he’d been holding back.

And in that moment, as you stood there in the quiet of his apartment, wrapped in each other, you knew this was just the beginning. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but you weren’t afraid.

Because for the first time since Haley’s death, Aaron wasn’t pushing you away.

He was holding on.

Aaron didn’t move for a long time. He just held you, his breath warm against your neck, his grip firm like he was afraid you’d slip away if he loosened it even a little. You didn’t rush him. You didn’t speak. You just stayed there, letting him take what he needed.

Eventually, his grip eased slightly, and he pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were red-rimmed, heavy with exhaustion, but there was something else there too—something quieter, softer.

“Jack’s been asking for you,” he admitted, his voice rough from emotion.

Your heart clenched. “Yeah?”

Aaron nodded, dragging a hand down his face. “He keeps asking when you’re coming back.” He swallowed hard, glancing away for a moment. “I didn’t know what to tell him.”

You hesitated, searching his face. “Did you… want me to come back?”

His jaw tensed slightly, like he was still fighting some internal battle with himself. But when his eyes met yours again, the hesitation melted away.

“Yes.” The word was quiet but firm. A choice.

Relief washed over you, but you didn’t let it show too much—you knew this was still fragile ground. “Then I will,” you said simply.

Aaron let out a slow breath, nodding. He stepped back fully then, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to shake off the weight of everything between you. “He’ll be happy to see you.”

You offered a small smile. “I’ll be happy to see him too.”

A beat of silence stretched between you, filled with everything unsaid. Then, tentatively, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand. He looked down at the touch, his expression unreadable, before slowly lacing his fingers with yours.

“Stay,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.

You squeezed his hand. “Okay.”

And just like that, the space between you closed—not completely, not yet, but enough. Enough to remind him he wasn’t alone. Enough to remind you that he wanted you here, even if he didn’t quite know how to say it.

And for now, that was enough.

[hoonquette]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ (´ ▽｀) ㅤㅤ NOW YOU GOT ME𓈒

IN WHICH ❕️ㅤ you're forced to spend time with him alone — listen.

ㅤ❔️ ㅤ LEE HEESEUNG — fem ! r ㅤ✶ㅤ fluff high school au academic rivals 【 957 】

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤREBLOGS★FEEDBACK

“you two have to stay after school and fix..” jules, the class president, vaguely gestures at the mess behind you, “this issue you caused. homecoming is on friday and we cannot have your rivalry messing it up.”

heeseung speaks up before you do, “she’s the one who–”

“no.” jules holds her hand up, glaring at him, “you’re both to blame. just stop arguing with each other and fix the banner.”

heeseung nods, grumbling out a reluctant okay. you, however, stay silent, ignoring his eyes burning into the side of your face. you might seem awful, but there’s no way that you’re going to help heeseung fix the mess that he created. if he hadn’t been bothering you about your recent test score, then he wouldn’t have tripped and spilled paint over the student council’s hard work.

jules says your name—a warning—and you groan, “fine. we’ll fix it, even though it’s entirely his fault.”

“get it done, please.” she sigh is resignation, deciding not to argue with you anymore. everyone knows once you and heeseung start, you’ll never stop. she leaves you with the art supplies, a picture of the previous banner, and heeseung.

lee heeseung is single-handedly the most annoying man you have ever met. you haven’t liked him since fourth grade, when he beat you in the spelling bee. he made fun of you for weeks because you accidentally misspelled ‘consistent’.

there’s absolutely no chance that you could like him after that—you hold grudges—no matter how attractive he got every year, or how flustered his smug smile made you feel. he’s always tried to one-up you and you refuse to lose.. most of the time, anyways.

“are you just going to stand there or?”

scoffing, “i shouldn’t even be helping you.”

“it’s your fault this happened.” heeseung steps closer to you and you instinctively take a step back, making sure to keep your distance.

“literally how? you’re the one who wasn’t paying attention.”

“you were ignoring me.”

you pause, gaping at him. he looks and sounds so.. upset, indignant. is he actually serious? going off of the frown on his face, you assume that he’s definitely not joking. the only thing is why the hell does it matter if you were paying attention to him or not? it’s not like your conversations with each other were enjoyable.

when you don’t answer, he speaks again, “whatever, let’s just get this over with, i have plans later.”

you don’t really want to comply with his subtle demand, but you know that if you don’t help jules will completely freak out on you (understandably so). dragging your feet in annoyance, you grab a few supplies, rolling up your sleeves, and sitting on the floor in front of the paper jules had given you.

you pretend to not notice heeseung sitting beside you, staying completely still when his shoulder brushes against yours.

the two of you work in silence for at least an hour, somehow knowing what you each want. maybe it’s because you have a reference photo, but you work in harmony, with no arguments or snide remarks about your work. it’s not uncomfortable, but it isn’t entirely comfortable either. you feel a heavy weight on your shoulders, curiosity about his earlier statement making it hard for you to concentrate.

“hey, um, sorry for ignoring you earlier.” you mumble, laser-focused on the star that you’re painting, “i didn’t think it’d make you upset or anything.”

you can feel heeseung tense up next to you, his head turning in your direction, no doubt confused. he’s silent for a beat, “are you sorry for ignoring me for the past hour too?”

“huh?” you look up at him, “our silence was a mutual thing, heeseung.”

“okay, fine. but you were ignoring me to be rude, i was ignoring you because i’m nervous.”

your heart skips a beat.

“what do you mean?”

“i mean you make me nervous.” he stares at you, his eyes drifting down to your lips for the briefest of seconds before they move back up to your eyes. you would have missed it if you weren’t paying such close attention to the boy in front of you.

“you—nervous how? sorry, i’m confused.”

he shifts, turning so that his body is facing you, “nervous as in i don’t know how to talk to you. you make me nervous, i get, like, awkward and weird and i cannot talk to you like a normal fucking person.”

“um, oh.” you say eloquently.

“sorry, this is weird.” he turns back to his previous position, picking up his paint brush, “just forget it, okay?”

“i don’t want to forget it, though. i want.. i don’t know what i want, but this is so confusing, heeseung.”

he laughs awkwardly, “yeah, you’ve said.”

“because it’s true! i don’t know how i’m supposed to take that information—am i supposed to be happy or offended or what?”

“you’d be happy?”

you tense up. would you be happy? do you actually want him to be interested in you that way?

“depends on what you mean.” you mumble, saying the most neutral thing you could think of.

“what if i take you on a date to make you less confused? would that make you happy?"

it would. 

you nod, trying your hardest to push away the butterflies in your stomach. there’s no way this is happening right now. literally an hour ago you wanted nothing more than to get away from him and now you’re going on a date? yujin was going to have a field day with this information—she’s always been adamant on the fact that your strained relationship was the result of really bad flirting.

maybe she was right.

you internally curse, you owe her twenty dollars now.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ADRiANNA𓈒 happy birthday to angel girl dani @flwrstqr ily baby sorry i had no idea how to end this + the song has nothing to do w this i was js listening to it on repeat

[spicycinnabun]

for make me write: 🤖🤖🤖🤖

adore this au!!

The team had decided they were going for a beer after work. Tommy had skipped the last two outings, so he agreed.

He shouldn't have.

“Bring your girl along, huh?” Sal said. “We all wanna meet that little pistol you're bein' so tight-lipped about.”

All eyes turned towards Tommy. He didn’t react much beyond a quiet hmm, though his pulse jolted.

EB, who was busy organizing the tools in the rig, started getting noisier. Clang! Bang! Slam!

“I’ll ask,” Tommy hedged, pulling his chamois through his hands. She’s not my girl. She doesn’t even exist. “Not sure I want to subject her to you boneheads.”

Anderson laughed. “Aw, come on. We’ll play nice. Won’t we, boys?”

“Can I come?” EB asked abruptly, turning to face them, prybar clenched in his hands. His firemark darkened as their conversation halted.

Tommy frowned.

EB had never asked to join them before. They'd never invited him, either.

EB was always at the station. A permanent fixture. He only left to go on calls or to run errands.

It hadn't occurred to Tommy that he might want to come out and do something unrelated to his tasks. Maybe bots needed to unwind, too.

Eventually, there was a ripple of shrugs and okays.

EB looked to Tommy first, seeking. Tommy nodded. Then, EB looked to Gerrard.

Gerrard scoffed. “Fine. Just don’t break anything. We’ve spent enough on repairs already. You’re leaking money like a faucet, EB600.”

EB nodded, full bobblehead mode. “Y-yes. Understood, Captain.”

“I, uh... actually don't think the bar allows androids, EB,” Bailey interrupted, hesitant.

“Let me check.” EB’s LED flickered for less than a second. “Oh. You’re right. It's an anti-android establishment.” He failed to hide his disappointment, deflating like a balloon. “Um, n-never mind. You guys have fun.”

He turned back to the drawers of tools, arranging them much more quietly than before.

Tommy had seen the signs on the doors. It hadn’t bothered him before how androids were treated, but now that he was close to one, his feelings had shifted.

“We can go somewhere else,” he said. EB failed again to hide his reaction, this time a hopeful noise full of static. Tommy succeeded in repressing a smile, just barely. “The drinks there are overpriced, anyway.”

“I know a place that does flaming Thirium shots,” Anderson offered, eyebrows raising.

Gerrard sighed, breaking them up. “Alright, ladies. You can enjoy your cocktails and gossip hour later. Back to work!”

⚙︎

tag list: @brassm-tagged @leashybebes @thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish @setmeatopthepyre @bibuckeroo @station18908 @hmg621 @buffaluff @disastardly @figuringitoutaloud @bbbuckalou @ambernotember @theredrenard @hyperfocusthusly @tedious-waffle @screamlet @xmidhel @nochance-noway

@rcmclachlan @popfly @powersuitup @nonotyourspumoni @espressopatronum454 @loulou-land @all-the-feelss @comeon-intothemadhouse @jake-is-screaming-in-tune @therealstacyfakename @whizzzerbrown @the-omniscient-narrator @5ammi90 @crazypenguin88 @thuperrah @just-barrow @exhaustedpirate

[hedwig221b]

Hi! May I ask for stereo fic recs? I am looking for same, where derek doesn't know stiles knows about werewolfs and supernatural world (can be magical or not) and starts dateing him anyway. Thanks a lot!

Hello! Okay, full transparency: I read the ask wrong and found you the reverse trope, where Stiles doesn't know about werewolves, but Derek dates him anyway... Only after the fact did I realize my mistake, then went to search for the fics, and didn't find any... So, if anyone knows any of them, please, rec them in the replies or reblogs!

I'll post these ones anyway, maybe you'll forgive me 😭

This I Can Handle by stileskolpath

"Stiles had to admit, there was something off about his boyfriend. Derek was quiet, brooding, and built like a greek god. Seriously, Stiles questioned every dating choice he had ever made just by simply watching his shirt ride up his back, revealing a tract of flawless skin, pulled taut over ridges of muscle. It made Stiles want." aka that time when Stiles didn't know that Derek was a werewolf and was angsty about it.

I Was Enchanted (To Meet You) by linksofmemories_archive

Stiles turned around, grabbing a tiny pretzel sandwich before looking back to the floor, and locking eyes with someone across the room. This was fine. Things like this happened. You locked eyes and then you quickly looked away and pretended that the other person didn’t exist. Except Stubble McDreamy with the gorgeous green eyes wasn’t looking away and Stiles couldn’t bring himself to look away either.

Did I mention (that I'm in love with you) by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)

Stiles is pretty sure that Derek Hale hates him, judging by the way he disappears from the room the second Stiles enters. Derek is pretty sure that the entire world knows about his crush on Stiles Stilinski, and that’s why he has to avoid him. For once the werewolf thing isn’t even his biggest secret.

Returning the Favor by aurevell

When Derek peers down into the dark, he finds the worst thing imaginable: his boyfriend, scaling the side of the house like some deranged cat burglar. "What are you doing here?" Derek hisses. Stiles pays a nighttime visit to his boyfriend in secret, or so he thinks. Unfortunately, the Hale family has keener ears than he realizes.

(Mates Are) Magical Bullshit by TheRealDanniX

Derek hasn’t felt his wolf in years. Stiles doesn’t know werewolves are real. Mates are a thing and the Hales are super protective of their Stiles.

Hide by dr_girlfriend

Stiles has been rejected so many times that it doesn't really surprise him when it happens again. Hurts, yeah, because dammit — he'd thought Derek was the one. Heartbreak sucks, and he's not so sure he's going to get over it this time.

Dress code violation by Marishna

Derek wanted to let his head fall back, close his eyes, and drift off into an easy, brain-meltingly amazing orgasm. But Stiles was knelt between his spread legs and was slurping on his cock, making the most indecent noises with his mouth as he sucked and rolled the head of Derek's dick like a lollipop. Derek couldn't look away even if he wanted to.

Bait by CelestialVoid

Stiles is kidnapped as bait for Derek, but when Derek comes to save his boyfriend, he reveals something—something big.

A Treatise on the Importance of Not Ignoring Your Date by LadySlytherin

A tumblr-post-based fic, wherein Stiles and Derek have a meet-cute at a baseball game. Involves a kiss-cam, Stiles' date being an ass, and a hot stranger. Basically, Peter doesn't survive the fire so Laura and Derek never go back to Beacon Hills, Scott's never bitten, Stiles doesn't know about the supernatural, and he goes to NY for college. Go, Mets!

and one of mine,

Wait For Me

"Stiles, we know about your Spark,” Scott looked at Stiles with desperate eyes, trying to convey something. “He is the Werewolf who's been chasing you. You must run. We’ll help you…” Stiles stared at his friend, genuinely concerned for his sanity, because the nonsense he was sputtering was really fucking confusing.

Other fic recs: angsty fics | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles + pt2 | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles | feral Derek | arranged marriage | Stiles is underestimated | mpreg w/o abo | accidental knotting | jock!Derek | alive Hales | jock!Stiles

[salty-autistic-writer]

Buck's dog meets Tommy's comfort cat On a Sunday in winter, three things happen at the same time. 

Max barks. Buck startles awake on the couch. A knock on the door - probably not the first one - makes him grimace.

Ugh. He didn’t forget about an appointment or some social event, did he?! While quickly running his fingers through his hair and hoping there aren’t any stains anywhere on his clothes, Buck scans through his mental notes, trying to find something he might have missed.

Nope. He’s not expecting any visitors today. Today. On his free weekend. Which he spent sleeping away for the most part. Wrapped in warm blankets. Because why not?

Getting up, shivering and suppressing a yawn, Buck pats his chocolate coloured labrador's head. “It’s okay, I’m sure a burglar won’t knock first,” he says teasingly. “Go and sit, tough guy.”

Max gives him a worried side-glance, but he does obey and sits down, his ears perked up and his tongue lolling as he stares at the door.

Buck opens it.

And almost closes it again, a sharp gasp escaping his throat. He double-checks because for a moment, he’s so sure his mind is playing tricks on him.

Tommy.

It’s Tommy.

Tommy is standing in front of the door, looking like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck, his mouth slightly open and his eyes widening in stunned realisation.

Buck blinks. And Tommy is still there. And … He doesn’t know what to say. Or do. His heart falls, then jumps up again, beating too fast.

It’s Tommy who breaks the silence.

“Uh. I was in the area. And … I thought I could give a key back to Eddie,” Tommy says, his shoulders hunched up and his fingers fidgeting with the key. His eyes flicker from Buck’s face down to his robe and his slippers. “I … I’m sorry. I should have texted or called first. I didn’t think you would -”

Before he can finish his sentence, Max comes running with a happy huff, his tail wagging wildly. He bumps headfirst into Tommy’s knee as if he’d never thought he might be a burglar or the postman. Buck isn’t surprised. He can train Max as much as he wants. There’s always going to be a big teddy inside him that wants to be cuddled and loved by every new human.

“You have a dog,” Tommy says, surprised. “Yeah,” Buck scratches his head and smiles. “I was … lonely. It’s a big house. I moved in a while ago. After Eddie went back to Texas for Chris.”

Tommy nods in understanding, watching as Max sniffs at his shoes and legs, cough-barking once, before abruptly stepping away, giving Tommy a long glance with his head tilted and his ears perked up. That must be the closest a dog can come to giving a side-eye. 

Finally, Max trots away. He slumps in his dog bed, curling up and putting his head on his paws, giving them a look that could either be interpreted as confusion or extreme annoyance.

“What was that about?” Buck wonders. This is not typical Max behavior. He would have expected his dog to roll on his back and stretch his legs, allowing Tommy to rub his belly. “I guess he noticed all the cat hair,” Tommy says with a shrug and a crooked smile.

“Cat hair - You have a cat?!” Buck blurts, stunned.

“You weren’t the only one living in a big empty house,” Tommy says quietly.

They continue to stare at each other.

“Do you want to come inside?” Buck finally says, his lips dry. He licks them. Not failing to notice how Tommy’s eyes follow the movement.

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “I’d love to.” *

How do broken pieces find each other? They collide.

Buck and Tommy collide in every sense of the word. They burn in words, in looks, in touches. Desperate, hesitant, but fierce longing. It’s palpable in the space between them.

“I’ve never felt this way for anyone,” Buck says and means it. Tommy winces. “Still?” He asks quietly. “Forever,” Buck says without hesitation. Because it’s the truth. He knows that now.

Tommy exhales. “I feel the same,” he admits. Finally admits. “And it scared me. Scares me still. But I can try. If you let me. If you -”

Buck silences him with a kiss.

It’s quite easy to get back together. To fall into a rhythm again. Of course, there are new nuances to their relationship now. Everything feels a little more tender, a little more precious. They know what feeling apart feels like now, after all. So they work on something that grows stronger every day.

The real challenge starts when they decide to let their pets meet each other.

Buck is nervous about it. Tommy isn’t.

“Animals bond fast,” he says with a reassuring smile. “It will go well. You’ll see.”

It doesn’t go well.

Day 1

Buck isn’t sure if Max has experience with cats. But with the way he stops breathing and just stares at the cat that just slapped him vigorously in baffled horror, before whining and hiding behind Buck’s legs, trembling, this seems to be the first cat his dog meets.

“Cinnabun,” Tommy says, tudding and picking his cat up. “I told you. You can’t slap your way through life. Not every problem can be solved with violence.”

Cinnabun stares down at Max, unimpressed and starts to lick her paw.

“What the hell is wrong with her?!” Buck asks angrily, crouching and hugging Max protectively. “He was just being nice! And your cat slapped him!”

“She’s a cat, Evan,” Tommy says flatly.

“She’s not just a cat. She’s an orange cat, everyone knows those are nuts! At least I gave my dog a normal name,” Buck mutters, patting Max’s head. “Who in their right mind calls their pet Cinnabun?!”

Tommy shrugs. “It’s what she looks like.”

Buck frowns. But when he looks at the purring cat, which looks tiny curled up in Tommy’s arms, he can’t fail to notice the light swirl of white in her orange fur. “You see it, don’t you?” Tommy asks, smirking.

“Just because you mentioned it! And it doesn’t change the fact that she attacked my dog for no reason at all.” "She isn't used to dogs. And don't forget that cats don't like when their familiar surroundings and routines change all of a sudden. They will get along eventually. Just give them some time," Tommy reassures. "She needs to learn to accept the love."

Buck sighs. "Alright." He suppresses asking Tommy if he's only talking about his cat or also about himself.

Day 2 

“Ouch!” Buck yelps when Cinnabun jumps into his lap, digging her claws into his thighs cruelly before landing on the floor and running away like a flash of orange lightning, her tail raised straight in the air and her meow sounding like the laughter of a madman. “Your cat is crazy!”

Tommy looks up from his book, his reading glasses making him look way too adorable considering the mood Buck is in right now. “She is just having her funny five minutes, Evan. Every cat has them.”

“You don’t need to tell me that. I know everything about cats!” Buck rubs at his legs with a grimace. “But it still feels like she’s doing this on purpose.”

He smiles fondly when Max approaches him with wide, concerned eyes and a wagging tail. 

“See? A dog would never do such a thing,” Buck says, only to watch together with Tommy as Max stops right in front of an abandoned slipper. It belongs to Tommy. Max grabs it, growls, and shakes his head furiously, absolutely tearing the slipper apart. He drops it when he seems satisfied with the level of destruction and sits down beside it, looking at Tommy with his tongue lolling.

Tommy raises a brow. “Wow. This seemed so personal,” he says dryly.

Buck swallows. Uh oh.

Day 3

Buck’s back hits the wall, and he gasps in delight as his lips collide with Tommy’s. They are all over each other, so turned on they can’t stop touching, kissing, pressing and pushing. Somehow, they make it into the bedroom. With one hand, Buck pulls the door shut behind them.

They fall into bed, and Buck starts to pull impatiently at Tommy’s pants. Tommy chuckles, raising his hips to help, his cheeks flushed and his hair tousled. He looks gorgeous. He looks like a feast. Buck wants to bite him. He wants to - Max starts howling on the other side of the door.

Tommy freezes. "Seriously?!" He asks.

"Uh." Buck sits up, surprised, blinking at the door and scratching the back of his head. “I … He’s never done that before.”

Max whines and frantically scratches at the door. He doesn’t stop. Buck looks at Tommy helplessly. “What do we do?”

“Let him in before he digs his way through the door …. I never thought I would get cockblocked by a dog one day,” Tommy sighs, head falling back into the pillows. “We have to find a solution for this.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” Buck says sheepishly, letting Max in, who immediately jumps on the bed, curls up there and puts his head on his paws, glancing at Tommy as if he’s trying to say: My house. My bed. My human. Mine.  Day 4

“No,” Buck says, glaring at Cinnabun. “No, you won’t. Not again.”

Tommy’s cat stares at him with her green eyes, not blinking once, moving her tail from side to side slowly. In front of Buck’s disbelieving eyes, she sneaks her paw closer to the glass and pushes at it once more until it’s close to the edge of the table.

“You really are doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” Buck asks, narrowing his eyes. “You hate me. You want to go back home. So you’re trying what you can to sabotage my relationship with Tommy? Do you think we will break up again just because you destroy three or four of my glasses? It will take more than this, Cinnabun.”

“Are you arguing with a cat again, Evan?”

Buck sighs. “She’s trying to turn us against each other.”

Tommy chuckles. “Is that really what you think?”

Buck shrugs. “I’m just tired. I want them to get along. I want … I want us to be a family.”

Tommy’s eyes soften. “I want that too. Come on. Let’s cuddle on the couch. Maybe we can be a good example for them. Show them how nice it is to cuddle.”

But while they try to watch a movie together, Cinnabun hunts a whining Max through the whole house, and finally, they manage to destroy a vase. Buck sighs. He doesn’t have the energy left to scold. Max looks up at him sadly from where he is standing in the mess of scattered shards, leaves and earth, while Cinnabun climbs a closet and looks down at all of them triumphantly.

Day 5

They try everything. Even consult an animal behaviourist who gives them a lot of advice.

Tommy sits on the floor and gives Max dog treats while also combing through his fur with a brush that is covered in Cinnabun’s hair. They are supposed to get used to each other’s smell. After eating the treats, Max grabs the brush, pulls it out of Tommy’s hand and goes to bury it in the garden.

Buck tries to play with Cinnabun, but while he offers her a dozen different cat toys, she just loafs on the floor and stares at him boredly. Only an hour later, Buck finds cat puke in one of his shoes.

“At this point,” he says numbly while cleaning it, “We should just make a comedy about our life. Hey, want to give Taylor a call?”

* Ironically, it’s fear that makes them all bond.

It’s New Year’s Eve.

Fireworks are going off outside. Again and again. Close. Loud. Scary.

Tommy flinches in Buck’s arms, his eyes focused on the TV, but it’s clear something’s pulling him somewhere else. Back to the past. To memories he has just shared recently. Sometimes, Tommy’s hand wanders to his mouth, and he starts to bite at his nails, but Buck gently takes it, squeezing. Holding.

Max is trembling, laying on Buck’s feet, as close to his legs as possible. And in front of Buck’s surprised eyes, Cinnabun stalks closer, but not to cause trouble this time. Instead, she first bumps her head against Tommy’s knee, then curls up next to Max, snuggling against his side. The dog allows it. And Cinnabun starts to purr, closing her eyes.

Huh. 

Buck smiles. “Look at them,” he whispers, nudging Tommy.

“Aw. Almost looks like they are mirroring us,” Tommy says, leaning his head against Buck’s shoulder. “Told you. They just need time.”

Time.

After some more time, Buck enters the living room one morning and sees Max curled up on his dog bed, with Cinnabun on his back, her eyes closed. But she opens one of them when he takes a picture, giving him a look that seems to say: This doesn’t mean I love him. He’s just a good bed. 

Buck chuckles and sends the picture to Tommy.

(AO3 Link)

[ladsbible]

BAD DECISIONS ― Caleb

What should have never been an option became a routine over the years. This year is different though. It’s time to face what’s been done and put an end to it for good…except your step-brother Caleb isn’t ready to face it, and your little boyfriend isn’t going to stand in the way of getting what he wants either.  or the one where you made a bad decision in fooling around with your step-brother during your early college days and he refuses to let you put an end to it. 

leave feedback and reblog to support me please! 

minors do not interact. 

WORDCOUNT― 8.9k

PAIRING― step-brother caleb x afab reader (ft. college boyfriend zayne)

WARNINGS ― step cest, dub-con/non-con (she wants it but tries to convince herself that she doesn’t), blackmail, nonconsensual phone sex 

NOTE― MIND. THE. WARNINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ALSO, if you’ve read this before for a kpop boi named jake sim on simpjaes, thats bc i wrote it and both accounts are me :3 

smut tags―  normal size dick caleb and mentions of bigger dick zayne, implications from caleb that zayne is actually gay [borderline homophobia], camera use, fisting, degradation, manipulation, non con/dub con, phone sex-ish, soft sex before rough sex, hair pulling, slapping, choking, suffocation, breeding, cum stuffing, cream pie, unprotected sex, forced blowjob, crying, break-up

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“You’re being ridiculous.” Caleb scoffs, leaning against your bedroom dresser with his arms crossed. “We did it last summer, why is this year any different? We always do it.” 

You roll your eyes at him in an attempt to hide the guilt you feel, holding the blanket tightly to your chest in case he tries to pull them off of you again. Caleb knows damn well why. Not only should it not have happened last year, or the year before that, or the year before that, but to actively and truly believe it’s something that can continue is something only a mad man would think. 

Not to mention, you have a boyfriend now. A real boyfriend, one who matters in your life.

“Zayne have anything to do with this?” He questions you now, reaching for the blanket and tugging. “Come on, playing around isn’t gonna hurt anything. It’s not like anyone is going to know anyway–” 

You huff, yanking your blanket up a bit to pull it from his grasp again. You get why he’s asking and why he’s confused because, well, last summer you were all over the idea like usual. You knew he would expect the same this summer, but honestly, it has to stop. Things have changed. Things needed to change. 

“Caleb, we can’t be doing that stuff anymore.” You say as if it’s fine, a bite to your voice that hits him right in the gut. 

In all honesty though, you really do feel guilty. Like you’ve led him on all these years with his sweet, borderline boyfriendly words. You lived in the fantasy with him for a while, like it could work out despite the family ties. There’s a reality though, one that you found yourself living in upon meeting Zayne, and there’s a fantasy that you need to pull Caleb out of. You feel awful, especially knowing there’s a part of you that would if you could. But…you can’t, nor can he.

Never again. 

Caleb feels singled out at this moment. Like he’s the weird one for even asking when you were the one who came onto him when it happened the very first time. All those talks of “we aren’t blood related, it’s not that bad.” and “If our parents divorce, maybe someday we can go on a date or something–”

Do they mean nothing now? You’re going to blame him for expecting it?

“Why the fuck not?” He narrows his eyes at you. “Gonna act like you weren’t the one who tried to fuck me at that party last summer? Acting all high and mighty now, like suddenly it’s so wrong?” 

You look away from him, feeling worse because he’s right. Given, the guilt should have hit you after the first time, but it didn’t. You had your fun pushing boundaries but now that graduation is coming up it’s like..it doesn’t feel right. Did he really just expect the two of you to keep fucking well into adulthood?  Did he expect you to get married to someone else and still get on your knees during family Christmas parties? 

Did he expect to be the one marrying you?

“We have to grow up.” You finally say, shifting your eyes back to him. “This is starting to feel really—gross.” 

“Hey–” He looks at you now, almost pleading. “It’s not gross, we aren’t gross.” He takes two steps towards the bed in a fit of desperation, leaning with his hands now palm-down on your mattress. But…when he tries to follow up on his words, he knows you’re serious.

Realistically, despite having been your step-brother since the beginning of high-school…actively choosing to fuck each other as soon as college started was maybe not the best idea. Hormones were high, the freedom to fuck was blatant, and well…it’s not his fault you’d walk around in all those slutty little pajama shorts and try to jump his bones every time you found yourself alone with him. If anything, you’re the one who pulled him into this. He really did think it was gross at first, but thinking with his dick outweighed that, and then his heart decided to play a part in all of it too. 

He really does think there could be something here if the two of you worked for it. After all, you’re entirely his type, despite marriage ruining it. The breaking of morals eventually became the best part for him, having what his father wishes he could have solely because you’re just a younger, hotter, version of your own mother.

You even said it yourself all that time ago when it first happened. “It’s ok Caleb, you’re a guy. guys have needs.” 

Well, what about his needs now?! He was so happy to be able to come home and see you again. He misses you  so much when you’re both away at your respective colleges, and he thinks about you all the time. He should have known that something was changing all those months ago when you stopped texting him back as much as you usually would. Now what? He just has to accept that you’re done?

“You’re seriously not going to give it up?” He pushes his hands under the bottom of your blankets, quickly running his fingers up your legs just to try and encourage a giggle, or a smile from you.

That’s when he notes how you haven’t even shaved your legs. Which, it’s not like he gives two fucks on whether you do or not but like…you always shave. Your skin was always so smooth, plump, soft, and moisturized when you knew you’d be wanting to play around with him. And clearly, you don’t expect to be getting fucked this summer.

Ah, he’s starting to resent you.

“Does that boyfriend of yours know about us?” He finally says, standing tall at the end of your bed and looming much darker than his usual, bright persona. 

You stare at him, eyes widening. 

“Excuse me?” You furrow your brows. “Caleb, what the fuck are you sayi–”

Before you can even finish or get a response from him, he’s leaving your bedroom and slamming the door behind him. 

Already you know this is going to be a long fucking summer. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Caleb knew you were a smart girl. You always believe everything he says, but never once has he used that against you until now. That little mention of Zayne seems to have made you panic, and he can’t help but find it endearing that you took his threat so easily. Each time he comes home now, from hanging out with your boyfriend, you’re always sitting on the couch like a cute little puppy greeting him with a wagging tail.

If at all, he knows you’re doing it to try and butter him up. To distract him from what you’re taking away from him. Dangling yourself like nothing has changed but denying him time and time again of it. You’re nice, but never this nice. Offering to hang out, watch movies, go out. You’re promising just about everything to him except for the one thing he needs from you. 

He’s thankful though, with all circumstances considered, that the good ol’ parents don’t notice a shift in how you’re acting solely because the two of you have always been close. Even before the sex stuff. You were his best friend. He protected you from high school bullies, potential assholes trying to steal your first kiss, virginity, and even the first experience of sneaking out. 

Back then, it’s not like Caleb ever wanted to be your first kiss, the one to take said virginity, or sneak you out to parties you shouldn’t be at. Truly, he just wanted to protect you. It wasn’t until the two of you were away from each other for the first time as freshmen in college that he felt some type of way towards you. Which, again, was entirely your fault.

Ah, he still remembers that first summer back home walking into the house and being smacked in the face with a sensual, fruity scent radiating off of you. After not seeing you for three and a half months, he was entirely shocked at how much you had changed. You looked…confident in yourself. Like you’d been growing internally and learning what you want in life. He found it very attractive of you, believing that once you get a boyfriend, they’d be very lucky to have you in their life. 

Then of course, you’d bend over in those shorts and look back at him smirking. Like you only saw him as a man now, and not your protective step brother. You’d whine to him about ruined hook-ups, about the frat parties, about all the guys trying to touch you and wishing he was there to keep them off of you. All while…doing that. All while waltzing around like you’d invite him to do the same. 

And you did invite him. That first night has been burned into his memory. The fear, the guilt, the disgust, the love he felt for you. So quiet in his bedroom, giggling to each other with all the lights off in the silence of his room, trying to pretend it was only a one-time thing to satiate a specific need. There was nothing kinky, nothing weird outside of the dynamic of who you were supposed to be to each other.

It kept happening after that, and each time the guilt would wash away with the sweat that always dripped onto you from his temple. You could even say it was shy at first, both of you were very generous to each other. It only started getting dirty as the summers at home continued. 

And now…nothing? After all of that, nothing?! 

If you think you can change so drastically over a single semester, so be it. Caleb can change too, and he already has. Both of you now, entirely different compared to that first summer together. You, all jittery and freaked out, him, with all the power. 

You though, truly you’re fucking panicking. If your boyfriend found out about all of this, he’d think you’re a freak. Or a slut. Or a piece of trash. Maybe all three of those things and then some. And you know, you’d think Caleb is bluffing…really. Except you got a text from Zayne the same night Caleb tried to get in your pants. You remember reading those words, the pit in your stomach digging deep. “Your bro is gonna come hang out with me for a bit, you’re coming too right?”

Never mind the fact that Zayne lives an hour away from your hometown, where the two of you get to meet in the middle when you're off campus. What about the fact that Caleb barely fucking knows him?! Through mutual friends all three of you were aware of each other, but you’re the one who got the closest to Zayne. 

You’re his girlfriend now. Which, apparently demoted Caleb from popular-porn-trope to actual step-brother. 

And that pisses him off. 

So, is it weird for Zayne to get a sudden hang out text from a guy he assumed is just wanting to get to know him? No. After all, he knows Caleb is your “brother.” What he doesn’t and hopefully will never know is that you’ve fucked said step-brother.

 Is it weird that you don’t go with Caleb to see your own boyfriend? Yes. Unfortunately, Caleb basically demanded you “stay in your fucking place. if you wanna get fucked so bad, I’ll be home after.” 

Even Zayne doesn’t find it weird and texts you everyday as usual. It sucks actually, that he’s so willing to let you do as you please and trusts you to an extent that he doesn’t even ask why you don’t come with Caleb. Instead, he’s too busy saying you should definitely join next time, that Caleb is super cool and seems to like him a lot. 

The good news: Zayne offers no mention of knowing, so…it seems you really do have to stay at home. Empty. Wanting to be next to Zayne so bad but forced to deal with any oncoming feelings alone. 

Since when was Caleb even capable of being so awful? Since when did he hate you so much?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Caleb–please.” You beg quietly, shaking his arm gently in the soft light of the morning. Everyone is sound asleep, which must be fucking nice.

It’s been two weeks now of such loneliness, such lack of sleep, such intense need to just let yourself spiral and drown in anxiety. Caleb is barely talking to you now, only giving you sarcastic and evil little smiles from time to time. As if to remind you of what’s at risk. Zayne is normal, too normal. So normal, in fact, that he tried to jerk off on facetime last night for you and you ended up crying and apologizing because you couldn’t even get turned on. 

Even if Caleb hasn’t told him anything, your relationship is already starting to fall apart because of him. He fucking knows it too. 

“Please,”

“Please, what?” Your step-brother's sleepy voice croaks out, turning himself on the bed towards you with a single half opened eye. 

“I’m losing sleep, please stop doing this to me.”

“No.” He says now, closing his eyes again and turning away from you, nuzzling against his pillow without a care in the world. 

“Please.” 

“Fuck off–” He complains, throwing his arm behind himself to shove you away and surprised to find that you’ve crawled up on the bed with him.

Just like that night so long ago, the first time the two of you broke past any boundaries. 

“I’ll do anything.” You nearly cry, so sleepy, so anxiety ridden, so out of your mind at this point that you genuinely would do anything to feel normal again. 

“Anything?” 

You feel slight relief in his interest, nodding your head aggressively with a broken voice. “Yes! I promise. I swear, anything you want. Please, just–”

“Then get the fuck out of my room.” 

You know better than to disobey at this point. All you can do is sulk back to your room and hope that sleep overtakes you this time. If anything, maybe he will consider your plea in the morning.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s surprising, honestly. Caleb didn’t even know he was into seeing you suffer like this, let alone having power over you. He spent so much time protecting you that he never realized how attractive it is to see you fear him. The joy that runs through him now, the orgasms he gets out of it, fuck. Who cares if it’s his own hand doing the work right now? With the thoughts of you doing “anything” like you said, being disgusting, begging, pleading, crying. He might be a little insane for you now, if he wasn’t already. 

And still even today, you look so desperate for any amount of relief. Caleb finds joy in the fact that you can’t even go to your boyfriend about it. 

He’s never felt so powerful, truly. Especially now, watching you try to seduce him as if you didn’t deny him of it before. The slutty shorts are back. You’re not wearing bras anymore. You’ll leave the bathroom stark fucking naked if it happens to just be you and him at home.

Ah, heaven on earth. Honestly, his days are so fun now. Save for when he has to hang out with that fucking idiot of a man Zayne. What a loser, honestly. Openly sharing all the stuff you’ve done in bed with him like Caleb isn’t your step-brother? If anyone is weird, it’s Zayne. Hell, Caleb isn’t even sure now if the dude would care if he found out that you’ve ridden some related-by-marriage cock before. 

He hates hanging out with him. Always having to hold back the scoffs when Zayne is drunkenly slurring out more sex acts you’ve performed on him followed by a love confession and a whine of how much he misses you. As if you didn’t do all of that for Caleb first. Ugh, he genuinely can’t believe that you’re even with Zayne at all. 

After a little while longer though, with the great days and the annoying hang outs, a nice month into summer vacation– Caleb’s been ready to take what he needs. You’ve been begging for it, after all. He loves looking and seeing you so desperate for him to stop the mind games but goddamn it’s getting hard to think straight himself by now.

Thankfully, he’s thinking clearly enough whether it’s through his cock rather than his brain to come up with how he’ll go about it. He waits a little more, cock throbbing in his pants due to not allowing himself to get off in the past two days in preparation for this. 

Every night when everyone goes to bed, you call Zayne. And every night, Caleb has listened. Tonight though? Zayne will be the one listening.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Like clockwork, the parents have gone to bed and Caleb hears the hushed muttering just a room over. He’s already standing to his feet, shooting a hand directly to his bulge to adjust it with a silent groan in his throat. Before he can even leave his room he’s rolling his eyes back with another grope of his sensitive cock, almost unable to stop touching himself after denying himself of it.

He’s practically drooling at the image of having you all to himself again. The anticipation he feels inside right now is insane. He feels his skin prickle and his eyes are barely able to focus on his own bedroom door out of sheer arousal of what he’s about to do to you.

He composes himself shortly after, as best he can anyway, tiptoeing to your room and chuckling at the way your eyes light up when you see him. He’s ignored you for too long. Not a single response to anything you’ve said to him, hell, he even stopped letting you see him look at you. 

Of course your eyes light up, it means he’s going to stop. It means he’s going to tell you what he wants. 

And you’re happy, even with Zayne on the line sweet talking to you about his day like usual. 

“Zaynie, can I call you back?” You ask quickly into the phone, only to see Caleb take a seat next to you on your bed and shake his head at you. 

You tilt your head in question, feeling your heart thump in your ears to the point you barely even hear Zayne at all. 

“Keep talking to him.” He whispers to you now, nearly just mouthing it. 

You never knew you were so good at reading lips, but you listen to him. Furrowing your brows in question and adjusting your phone against your ear.

“Never mind, we’re good.” You say in a voice too calm for Caleb’s liking. 

And it’s like that for a few minutes as Caleb lets you get into the groove of conversing with your boyfriend again before he makes a move. The move he makes? Leaning against you, pressing you back against your pillows, and licking your neck.

He smiles against your skin when he feels it prickle and lets out a whispered chuckle at how much he’s missed the taste of your skin. So warm, so soft. The fact that you’re letting him tells him all he needs to know, despite the way your shoulders stiffen, he knows you’re going to give him anything.

“Gonna let me fuck it again, yeah?” Caleb whispers as he moves up against your ear, pinning your arms to your chest, forcing your phone closer to his mouth compared to yours. “Gonna let him hear it too.”

Ah, there she is. You, in all your glory, are already tearing up at the very idea of it. 

“Caleb, no.” You say, holding your hand over the speaker and body language trying to twist away from him. 

“You said anything.” Caleb corrects you quietly, slapping your hand off of the speaker and quickly thrusting his own hand between your legs.

He chooses not to be gentle with you this time. He’s not going to be what you’re used to, not after that shit you tried to pull with him. His finger pushes in dry, and he smiles at the way you hold your breath and try to squeeze your legs shut to stop him. Zayne on the other end is muffled, but still heard by both of you. 

You stay silent throughout his ministrations, pissing him off further, only making him move his hand faster, forcing a reaction, daring you to stop him. 

“Phone.” Caleb instructs, loosening his other grip on your hands as a means to let you raise the phone back up to your ear. “Talk.”

You stare at him, feeling the burning between your legs of where your body has yet to do anything more than tighten around his fingers. Still, they drag painfully due to your body feeling no pleasure in this. In fact, you’re afraid. 

You’re afraid Zayne will find out, afraid of Caleb, afraid of showing that you like what he’s doing, afraid of realizing you’ll always like this, afraid of losing either of them solely because you can only love, fuck, and be with one of them.

And it’s obvious who the one has to be because…the other isn’t possible. It’s just not. 

So, you try. You try to talk, try to relax, try to do everything Caleb asks of you solely to prolong the situation enough to where you can find a way to put a proper, healthy end to it. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You finally croak into the phone, having not heard a single word from Zayne this entire time and trying not to focus on that same drag Caleb only pushes harder into you with that terrifying smirk. 

“I asked if that was Caleb I just heard–” Zayne responded as brightly as always, bless him. 

“Speaker.” Caleb mouths to you, and of course you listen. Reluctantly, but you still do it, shaking fingers hitting the speaker-phone button so Caleb can hear what’s being said.

“What are you guys doing? Let me hear what?” Zayne continues. 

Caleb flashes a full grin at you and wiggles his eyebrows before he’s pulling his fingers out, sucking them into his mouth, then moving back down with three before shoving them back in with even more force. 

“Yeah– Tell him.” Caleb says as casually as ever. “Go on, let him in on the secret we’ve been keeping from him.” 

Zayne hears Caleb all too well, but doesn’t question that it’s anything weird. If at all, he wonders if maybe you two have been planning something behind his back considering you never come over when Caleb does. Which is actually weird, but he tried not to question it. He and you are practically attached at the hip during the semesters, so, this would make sense. 

Of course there is a secret surprise for him! 

“I–” You yelp both out of pain and unintentional pleasure, cutting yourself off in a gasp. 

You can feel the pit in your stomach dig deeper and deeper, arousing you when it’s the last thing you could ever want at this moment. You know Caleb feels it though, with the slide of his fingers becoming easier, and that permanent smile on his face. 

Zayne feels so far away right now…Like, who are you kidding? He can’t get you out of this and you doubt he’d even want to if you were to ever even consider explaining it to him. 

“I–I miss you a lot.” You try to come up with words, missing him being all that you can muster up right now. 

Unfortunately, Caleb’s scary smile is less terrifying compared to his face now, where he narrows his eyes and glares straight through you for saying such a thing in front of him. He’s trying to crowd four fingers into you now, making you squirm and squeeze your legs together again. He is quick to disallow you though, forcing one of your legs open with his shoulder and spitting directly on your stretched and pulsing hole. 

“I miss you too baby–” Zayne says in a slightly confused voice. “What else?”

You pause, taking a moment to feel Caleb between your legs and how much it…god, it feels so good. But– you’re unsure of how to balance speaking with Zayne and dealing with Caleb right now. If you have to deal with them both at the same time…this isn’t what you’d prefer. 

“I wish you were here right now.” 

Zayne smiles on his end, assuming Caleb has now left your room due to the silence and lack of hearing him now. 

“Is Caleb still around?” He mutters to you through the speaker, because based on your tone of voice, he knows what mood you’re in.

Caleb shakes his head at you, encouraging that you lie before focusing back on watching the hole he’s missed so much. The one Zayne’s probably played with before, that fucking loser. 

“Nope–J–Just me!” You find yourself forcing a smile as you say it, just to hope your voice comes out in a way that sounds brighter than it feels. 

“You wish I was there?” Zayne says now, his own voice growing deeper. “Why’s that?” He spreads his legs out wide against his bed, assuming it’s about to be a regular session of facetime fucking. 

“Mhm,” You accidentally moan, a bit too obvious. “Just feel safe with you when I’m feeling like this.”

Caleb rolls his eyes, slowly forcing his thumb in beside the rest of his fingers, growing more angry, more aroused, and more insatiable towards you. 

“How are you feeling right now baby?” 

“Empty.” 

“Wish you were full of something?” Zayne smiles, a cheeky voice calling out to you. “Of me?”

You groan at that moment, all of Caleb’s fingers stretch you open until you feel knuckles trying to force past the boundary. Your hands shake at the feeling as your eyes cross momentarily, tears prickle from the pain but it feels so…good. And only a moment goes by before you, quite literally, kick Caleb away. 

The sudden emptiness you get from that feels so much better, but Caleb is too quick to get back up. Fire in his dark eyes as he grabs you by the ankles and pulls you roughly down the bed. There is a small sound that escapes your lips at the action, almost a giggle. You’re quick to tighten your lips though, trying to will your body to stop liking the way Caleb is being with you right now. You don’t want this, you don’t like it. You never should have in the first place, and to be honest, you’re trying to force yourself to believe you’re making the right choice in continuing to deny him of this.

It’s only natural that your body wants it, just like it was natural to kick him off of you from the pain, right? And then, Caleb reminds you of just how much you regret denying him the first night back home, because he's leaning over you so fast, hugging your waist and forcing all five fingers back into you. 

You kick, squirm, whine, and ultimately shout out a “No, no, no!” despite your hips chasing up to let him, almost to invite him. And–oh, fuck. You forgot Zayne can hear all of this. 

“Baby?” Zayne’s voice rings back in your ears. “Are you okay? You’re already touching yourself? Why do you sound so–” 

Caleb’s own ears are ringing watching your body fight your brain. You still want him. He can tell by the way you look at him with those tear-filled eyes, with the way your pussy is dripping for this, the way your hips beg him to keep abusing you. Who is he to deny you? He has never denied you pleasure. So, he tries to force more, more, more into you. There’s a boundary here, your pussy clenched so tight around his fingers already, but you want him to keep pushing until he breaks the boundary. You want to feel the pain of it and…finally, he does get it in. His entire hand being gripped so tightly that even he seethes out a pained moan for you.

“Fuck–” He holds his fist in place, removing himself from your waist to look at you. “You really took it all.”

There’s tears in your eyes by this point and you can’t tell if it’s from realizing how much you need Caleb, or the fact that Zayne definitely knows something is up. No words are coming out though, you’re more afraid to speak what you feel than you are of Caleb right now.

“Caleb?” Zayne questions, confused. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” Caleb responds with a smile instantly, staring right at you as he begins to fuck a size far too big into you, watching you bite your tongue to keep from showing him how much you love it. 

“Wait–” Zayne continues with a pause. “What’s going on?” 

“I couldn’t help myself.” Caleb smiles at you, wiggling his eyebrows again. “After all those things you told me about her, I guess I needed to see for myself.” 

And then, you moan. That searing pain inside of you somehow subsides, shaking legs and hands are gripping onto Caleb in his entirety now, you’re practically drooling for it.

“I guess you were right.” Caleb continues. “She really can take a lot, huh? Bet your dick didn’t feel this good for her though.”

You’re truly unable to comprehend most of what’s happening right now, even the phone vibrating in your hand as Zayne goes silent and instead, hangs up before instantly facetiming you. You’re so hyper-fixated on the feeling of knuckles dragging against your tightly clenched walls, choking back every sound or word you want to scream out. 

Caleb watches as you cry a bit harder now, probably a bit too overwhelmed with the situation. Like the good step-brother he is though, He’ll take care of it for you, of course he will. 

“What’s the hold up?” Caleb laughs, halting his hand as he reaches for the phone and instantly answers it. He stares down as you continue to fuck yourself on it, smiling at your brief whine before he speaks into the receiver with a confident voice. “Cat’s outta the bag.”

Zayne is there on the screen, witnessing the way Caleb angles the phone more at himself and your hole than your face. His entire fist has disappeared inside of you, glistening with a sticky mess that spills out of you. 

Nothing else is said as Zayne stares at it. Caleb being a cocky bastard and sticking his tongue out like some idiot frat boy, and then? He hears you.

“Caleb, stop!” You cry out. 

He doesn’t stop, in fact, he fucks his fist into you quickly making damn sure Zayne can not only see how your wet spurts out around his wrist, but hear it too. 

“Stop what? Showing your boyfriend what you really want?” 

“Hang up the phone!” You cry out again, showing Zayne that perhaps…you don’t miss him at all.

Caleb isn’t doing anything you don’t want. You just don’t want your boyfriend to witness you be so honest with yourself. 

“Awh,” Caleb pouts now, angling the phone back at himself and feeling proud of the way Zayne appears to be entirely shocked, mouth hung open, eyebrows furrowed. “But he needed to know, baby, didn’t he?” He adds now, lying the phone down briefly to pull his cock out. 

“Come on now, don’t be shy.” Caleb continues with his confidence, picking the phone back up and angling it towards you. 

He intentionally drags his fist in and out of you a few more times before gently pulling it out, moaning at the way it sounds, obsessing over it really. Zayne watches in horror at the way you squeeze your eyes shut, sadly wondering what Caleb must be doing off screen for you to look so fucking guilty. The horror only grows when he has to watch Caleb’s cock come on screen, pussy soaked hand jerking himself off before shoving the head right against your lips.

God, you know Zayne hates you now. 

Caleb knows it too, and doesn’t care as he uses that same soaked hand and pries your lips apart before pushing it into your mouth. He thrusts forward too quick for you to take a breath, and you feel the leaking tip hit the back of your throat in a way that makes you choke and gag around him. 

Your eyes shoot open, looking up at him and barely able to comprehend the camera just inches from your face. 

Zayne has seen you look up at him like this too. Why aren’t you fighting Caleb though? Why are you willingly gagging, choking, and drooling all over yourself with such a forceful fuck to your face? You always pull off of him when he tries to thrust even a little bit…but you’re..

“I–” Zayne goes to say, still staring at you and the way you’re shamefully getting your mouth fucked open. “That is fucking disgusting.” He finally lets out, but he can’t look away. He doesn’t want to see this but…he can’t bring himself to hang up. 

“Yeah, that’s what she thinks too.” Caleb chuckles with a heaved breath, enjoying himself, now angling the phone at his face. “I think she likes it though– wouldn’t you agree?”

There goes the camera again, pointing right at your choking mouth. Caleb pushes all the way in too, letting your nose rest against his pelvis and moaning loudly for Zayne to hear.

“Shit, see? She’s not even fighting it.”

Zayne can’t tell only because Caleb doesn’t let him. You’re gripping Caleb’s hips and trying to push him out of your mouth, but he stays in place, enjoying the way your choking and suffocating throat jerks him off better than his own hand ever could. 

The best part? He knows you’re only pushing him away to breathe because you weren’t fighting at all at first. In fact, he felt you silently hum against him like you want his cock so bad. So, he’s not actually lying. He just thinks it’s polite to not let Zayne know how you’re suffocating right now. 

Oh well. 

Only after your eyes start to fog over and roll back does Caleb pull out, relishing in that wet gasp you lend. He looks down at the phone now, wanting to make sure Zayne witnessed all of that before realizing he fucking hung up.

Who the fuck hangs up on imagery like that? Fucking idiot, is what Zayne is. 

To be fair though, Zayne hung up shortly before Caleb pulled out. He had to force himself to do it, because he didn’t quite enjoy the way his cock jumped at the image of his girlfriend letting her step-brother fuck her mouth like that. He’s entirely blindsided. Like, not only are you cheating on him, but he had to see it like that?! In 4k?! God, his stomach would be in knots to catch you like this with anyone, but the fact that it’s with…Caleb. Of all people.

You’re fucking your own brother. 

None of that matters to Caleb though, nor does it matter to you at this moment as the tears continue to pour from your eyes knowing that Caleb did this on purpose and for a reason. It’s insane how kind he is to you now that Zayne isn’t watching, actually. Lending you a deep, meaningful kiss before sinking back down the bed and resuming his previous position. 

“You liked this.” He comments, seeing if his hand will still fit, and moaning when it does. “You’re so fucking wet it’s insane.”

God, you know he’s punishing you yet you can’t bring yourself to be mad about it because already you can feel the bubbles in your stomach threaten an orgasm. Proving to both Caleb and yourself that…you do like it. Never have you even imagined wanting a whole goddamn fist in you before now but–you more than like it. You love it. 

In fact, feeling his hand dragging in and out of you now makes you forget about the way you nearly just died with a cock in your throat. You’re already moaning again, actually. 

And fuck, you promised you’d do anything to keep this a secret, and while doing that anything for him, no matter how willing, he still fucking told. He fucking showed the dirty acts to the last person on earth you’d ever want to see, hear, or know. The crying is a given, from both the anxiety, the fear, and the pleasure because you can’t stop the oncoming orgasm or the love you have for the man giving it to you either. 

The way he holds you through it should disgust you, with his fist buried so deep your orgasm comes in long, drawn out and painful waves. He grips onto you though, whispering more to himself against your thigh than to you, “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you, it’s okay.” 

You don’t want to melt for him, but you do. Even through your ringing ears it’s like your body instinctively hears his whispers when you shouldn’t. The words bring comfort, reminding you that he’ll still protect you even from Zayne and what he feels about this situation. Even from your parents, from outsiders, from everything. 

The orgasm feels like it bruises your brain, a throbbing headache coming shortly after when Caleb takes on a more gentle persona and pulls his hand from you. He inspects your open cunt for a moment, seeing how wet it is inside for him before it pulses closed and he averts his gaze to his hand. 

Glistening, so wet. You needed that, he thinks. The reminder that he’s the only one who can love you in more ways than you truly need. 

“You did so well.” He compliments, crawling up and over you to wipe those tears with the same hand. 

You don’t move away, if anything you need this comfort now more than anything because you simply don’t know what to feel, or think, or admit right now. You think Caleb already knows, he wouldn’t need you to say it simply because he’s always read you like a book. 

“No more pretending you don’t want this.” He says now, in a darker voice. “Even with Zayne listening, you moaned my name. I don’t think you remember doing that, do you?”

You cry more, closing your eyes tightly and pretending like Caleb’s hand is Zayne’s. You really liked Zayne, genuinely thought you could have a future with him. Even so, pretending that Caleb is him doesn’t bring safety because you almost would prefer it be Caleb. A hand you’re so familiar with. 

He had been so awful to you recently, and only now do you realize that…maybe it really was for your own good.

“You don’t need him.” Caleb says now, adjusting himself between your legs.“Not when you have me. You know I’ll take care of you.” He continues, slipping his cock deep into your already loosened hole. 

He’s shocked that you still manage to be tight after all of that, but he guesses that’s just how pussies work. Or how yours works, anyway. He knows it more than he knows his own cock at this point, which is insane. 

Feeling him inside of you, so familiar, slightly smaller than Zayne– it’s…comforting. The tears that spill from you now are more for missing him than anything. You can’t help it when you wrap your legs around him or throw your arms around his shoulders, shivering and clinging to him like he’s your last line of sanity despite everything about this being entirely insane. 

“Caleb–” You moan at how he fucks you, so much softer than with his hand but…normal. Like the first time you ever did this with him. “I really want you but,”

Caleb pauses, feeling that same pit in his stomach at how you say those words.

“What you just did to me could ruin my life.” You finally say, still clinging, not at all asking him to stop. “What you’re doing right now, will ruin my life.”

“Don’t be silly. Your life will be ruined without me, baby, you know that, right?” He says, reminding you of who has the power by quickening his hips and pointing his cock directly at your already sensitive g-spot. “You can’t say no to me, you tried and still you want me.”

You nod your head in agreement despite wishing he was wrong. 

“We can’t.” You say to him in a half-groaned whisper. “I’m begging you to stop.” 

If at all, you’re just begging him to stop being what you want. To stop being able to have a hold over you like this. To stop being everything that Zayne isn’t and still being the most desirable man in your life. To stop being your step-brother. To stop being a taboo in your life, if only to become someone you’re allowed to need like this. 

“No.” Caleb says, unknowing of what you’re actually asking of him. “I’ll never stop.”

With those words, you moan. He’s promising something that neither of you should feel or need, but you accept it. Shocked at the way you feel him inside of you like always, no pain, or lack of feeling from the previous size fucked into you. It’s just…Caleb. Intentionally fucking you harder to punish you for words that are actually fighting more for him than against him. 

“Okay.” You whimper, falling silent with your broken voice fading into nothing but cries of the inevitable. 

For all Caleb knows, you’re asking him to stop this. What he’s doing to you right now, not for anything else that you meant it for. For your own sake, because you know that after this, you truly may not be able to pull yourself from this fantasy with him. Technically, he’s showing you that he’s willing to hurt you to keep you. To take it from you if that’s what it takes to get what he wants. And that hurts a lot to know, a pain deep within you making you spiral a little more than you ever thought you could.

He’d really go as far as to keep going when you’re crying for him to stop? If just to show you that he…loves you? No, maybe just that he wants this, he wants you. 

You want this, but it’s the fact that he just knows. Even if you say no, even if you beg or plead for him to stop, he’ll just keep going because he knows better than you that you’ll always want him in return. Even if you’re lying to yourself, even if you were able to truly convince yourself that this isn’t at all what you want. Even if it feels like Caleb is committing atrocities right now, he knows he’s not. He’s not, even if you say he is. 

And at the end of the day, right now. He truly isn’t. 

You can feel your heart rotting at all that’s lost now. A life with someone normal. A life where you’re normal and can be seen hand in hand with the love of your life as you grocery shop, or get ice cream, or even just take the future dog on a walk. Your dreams are dying, and you can’t stop them. 

You feel a burning pain throughout your body at the force of him now, seemingly trying to fuck your concern away from you. Only now do you open your eyes to look at him, he’s just shapes now. Your tears are messing up the normal clear view you’d have, but you can tell he’s smiling lovingly. 

He doesn’t care that he just ruined your relationship, he doesn’t care that you’re his step-sister, he doesn’t care nor think of how the future could work if he were to keep trying to follow this path, and continue to make you realize you’ll willingly walk down it with him….not when he’s getting this from you. 

Not when he knows that, now at least, he’ll always get what he wants.

You cling harder to him now, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth as you lift to his shoulder and tuck your face there, replacing your lip with his warm and pulsing skin. Caleb is pleasantly surprised by this, after all that he did to you, he really thought he’d have to work harder to get these lips to willingly suck on his skin again without him puppeteering you. 

“Yeah?” He turns his face against your forehead as you suck, still crying and tasting the salt from your tears mixed with the saliva you’re drooling onto him. “Zayne can’t make you feel this good?” He continues to talk himself up. 

You remain silent as you try to drown out your thoughts with the pleasure he gives instead, feeling the way his normally gentle hands are rough holding you up, feeling the way your body shifts with each thrust up, hearing the way he breathes for you, speaks for you, and moans for you. 

You hate to say you love it right now. Hate that you let your dream of a normal life die so easily. Hate you love him enough to let him do this to you, really. 

“Caleb–” You hiccup, exhausted. “I can’t believe you’d go this far.” 

Only in those words do you realize how taboo and…erotic it is. To have a man willing to not only claim you as his own through forcing jealousy on your boyfriend and pain on you, but you guess the borderline sexual assault is another thing. 

It’s not that you’re into it. In fact, you’re terrified of that. But it’s just…the way he knows you is attractive. The way he will protect you from any situation he caused…turns you on, even if he’s the one you need protecting from. God, the way he’ll fuck you through all the lies you tell yourself. 

Shit.

“I’d go further.” He chuckles, out of breath as he chases the expanse of your clenched walls. “Would’ve brought you to his house and fucked you right there at his front door. Let everyone know.”

You shake your head out of fear of that situation at first, and then suddenly find yourself smiling and losing your mind a bit. God, that would be hot if it were like, you know, not something that would get you disowned by not only family, but literally everyone aside from Caleb. 

“Should’ve seen his face, baby–” Caleb moans just thinking about it, loving that he has what no one else can have. “Said he was disgusted but…I think he was turned on. Really, couldn’t look away from you sucking my dick like that– God,” He cuts himself off by grabbing at you, shoving you back down and into your pillows, both hands running up your shirt and pushing it up to your collarbone. He gropes and pinches at your tits, half of his plush bottom lip caught between his teeth as sweat drips into his eyelashes. 

“Couldn’t tell if he wished he was me–” A sarcastic laugh. “or maybe even you.” His moans continue to mesh with his laughter, now moving one hand to your neck and leaning down to lick against your lips with another pointed thrust. “I’d never fuck anyone better than I’ll fuck you though.”

“Gotta say, if he wanted it bad enough, he’d look pretty choking on it too. Never as pretty as you.” He continues talking, and talking, and talking. 

You don’t really process his words though, or recognize if he’s being truthful or just making shit up, nor do you care. To be fair, there isn’t anything in this world left to care about aside from him now. Not yourself, not Zayne, your parents, or anyone out wandering the world right now. 

“Stop–” You moan at the way he rubs his pelvis against your clit with his now, deeper thrusts. “Stop fucking talking about him.”

He smiles wide against your lips in victory, feeling his muscle tense up at you asking to forget about Zayne. And so, he listens to you for the first time since you’ve been home, he fucking listens. 

Caleb says nothing now, instead he focuses his hips and notes how now, your pussy feels too used. Or maybe his cock is just numb and oversensitive, he’s not sure. It’s not hard really, to reach down and shove three fingers into you alongside his cock, offering extra sensation to both his balls and the underside of his length as he continues to fuck into you with what he can only assume to be a painful stretch. 

His body shivers with an embarrassing moan at that, rolling his eyes back. 

“You hate him?” Caleb says, but it sounds more like a plea for you to agree as he chases an orgasm far too fucking close. 

You don’t respond because at this point his words are just there as fluff in your head. You’re more focused on the insecure feeling inside of you at how he’s had to use his hand to help him get off. It...feels so bad knowing that you can’t give him what he wants after all this. After you promised. And, so, you build up the courage to lift quickly, catching him off guard, and hug him around his neck. 

There, his fingers skew slightly, to the point it’s painful for him to keep them in place and he’s forced to pull them back and instead, hold you up in his own hug as he spirals. God, he missed you so much. Look at you now, after trying to deny him, deny yourself of wanting this. You’re bouncing on him like you always have, frantically moving your hips with no rhyme or reason, solely to get him off. 

He lets out a loud moan, not caring if your parents wake up to it. Not caring about anything but the pussy choking his cock out now. The change in position offered a new form of tightness, and he doesn’t need an extra boost of pleasure anymore. Not with you breathing against his mouth like this, still crying, except now it’s like you’re crying because he hasn’t gotten off yet. 

“Yeah, that’s it.” He nods his head, lips playing with yours with each nod of his head as he squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck, you always know what I like it.”

Just like that, all of your insecurity is washed away. You feel him twitch inside of you, and the way his hands nearly bruise you in this hug feels…right. It’s what you need, what you want. 

“He ever cum in you?” Caleb pants out, noting the way you aggressively shake your head in an answer. 

And normally, he’d pull out. Normally, there’s a condom involved in this. Not today though, even as you note the familiar sound choking from his throat, and that even more familiar twitch of his cock. You try to pry yourself away from him, palms pressing on his chest as you argue. 

“Caleb! Pull out, Let me up!” 

He doesn’t let you though. Instead, he grabs both of your wrists and presses you right back down on the bed, overpowering you through his orgasm and fucking all of that cum right into you. Intentionally, with purpose. 

“No,” He croaks out in a breath, still lost in his orgasm. “I won’t.” 

You try to wiggle away from him still, despite knowing he’s already started cumming. What’s the point now if not just to still have some type of control over your own body? He, again, doesn’t let you, pressing your wrists painfully into your own stomach, forcing you to feel each pulse and spurt of him for the first time through the pressure of his hold.

He’s never done this to you before, then again, This isn’t the same Caleb you’re used to no matter how much you try to relate the feelings and love to the Caleb you were with last summer. And…you need to lie to yourself right now at how good it feels to have him fuck his cum into you well past his orgasm, because admitting it would be the last thing you could do tonight to really throw you off the deep end. 

He makes you admit it though, still fucking his cock into you regardless of how it’s growing softer and softer by the second. Doing it solely because he knows more cum will drip out as he shrinks back down. He wants to feel each second of your walls clenching, trying to push him out and knowing it never can. 

He holds you down harder now, wincing at his own sensitivity as he plays with himself inside of you, lending pained chuckles and eye rolls with each sound of disgust you make towards him for it. And only after he slips out and can’t manage to fold it back into you does he really look at you. 

Tilting his head with an innocent smile on his face, he releases your hands and shoots his own up to your face, cupping both cheeks before leaning down and kissing you as hard as he can with what little breath he has left. 

“I deserved that.” He says between kisses. “You deserved it.” He sounds slightly irritated saying that part, but his kiss stays gentle and sweet. “You owed me this.”

You’re not sure if he meant any of that, but you find yourself agreeing.

[dizzyditzblitz]

Hi I'm new here i already love how you do your fics so can you do this (this is after the wedding day fic of course) when one day y/n gets pregnant by shadow milk she pregnant with triplets and i just headcanon that when the babies are born shadow milk would just cry a lot because he never held a little baby before

Good luck dear ;)

I WAS LITERALLY THINKING THE OTHER DAY ON HOPING TO GET AN ASK AND I'M SO HAPPY THIS IS MY FIRST ONE SMDJEN

i hope i do this idea justice for you!!!!

—☆

Double— no.. Triple Trouble..?

Shadow Milk x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

the mention of pregnancy, birth, and suggestion of intimacy.

After the wedding, it seemed like the Shadow Milk and Y/N were hip-and-hip. Everywhere. All the time.

Y/N didn't mind it, seeing as she knew what prompted heavy attachments and refusal to let go for Shadow Milk. And with them married, it just made that attachment easier. Safer, in a way.

Shadow Milk still got a little stressed, but he knew Y/N would return whenever she would leave the house. Which seemed to be the only little hiccup.

Except for one other thing.

Children.

Y/N expressed her desire to want a family before, Shadow Milk often shifted at that idea. He can tolerate children, but he never thought about having his own—especially in a natural way. Considering Candy Apple....

Y/N didn't push Shadow Milk for little ones. But the intimacy and the closeness to envelope with one another wasn't lost on them either.

To be held. To be loved in such a way. Shadow Milk and Y/N both felt whole. Two halves of a heart.

But this didn't bring without consequences, which seemed to be both good and bad—depending how one looks at it.

" Shadow Milk..? " Y/N sheepishly called out, her voice trailing behind her as she searched the house for him.

Shadow Milk immediately perked, turning in his chair; apparently, he was in his studio, making more figures for puppet shows,

" Yes, my love? " He asked, attentive as always,

Y/N became hesitant.. she wondered if he would be upset. Shadow Milk has gotten upset before, but it was never at her. Would this be different? Oh she felt she was going to pass out from the stress,

He knew something was wrong, especially by the fact that her hands were shaking and fidgeting beyond control. Shadow Milk got up and gently coaxed Y/N into a hug, brushing and resting his cheek on her head,

Y/N felt the compression of the hug and softened, her worries melting into the abyss and her figure molding with his..

" What's wrong, sweetheart..hm? " Shadow Milk whispered, leaning his head back a little to look at Y/N, tucking her hair behind her ear,

Y/N slowly looked up at him, letting out a quiet sigh before looking back down in a little pout,

" I—.. " She attempted to start, gnawing the inside of her cheek, " I'm.. pregnant.. " Y/N finally confessed,

Shadow Milk's eyes lit up, both in surprise and something else. Although his heart felt it drop to his feet,

" You are sure..? " He whispered, gently cupping her face in his hands,

Y/N relaxed a little again, allowing her cheeks to be squished,

Shadow Milk felt.. conflicted, but he wasn't upset. Yet he did see the turmoil and dread Y/N was going through due to his lack of response, which caused him to softly laugh a little,

" I'm not upset, " Shadow Milk whispered reassuringly, gently bumping his forehead against her's,

Y/N returned the little nudge, almost like two cats rubbing their foreheads and noses together,

" I'm scared.. " Y/N hushed..

Shadow Milk paused until offering a small nod of agreement,

" Me too.. " He admitted, his voice heavy with vulnerability, " But I need you to know my love, even if I am scared.. I don't want you to think for a moment I'm going to leave you, " Shadow Milk began to reassure,

His hands carefully grabbed her heads to guide her forehead to his lips, giving it a soft kiss,

" You're mine; now and forever, " He mumbled against her head,

Y/N gave a weak nod before she burst into tears. She clung onto Shadow Milk, sobbing into his shoulder.

Shadow Milk couldn't help but jest, just a little,

" Hormonal already? " He snickered,

" Yes! " Y/N sobbed, her voice cracking,

Shadow Milk laughed a little, Y/N's cries slowly blended with little giggles and sniffles of her own..

Over the next few months, Shadow Milk often found himself trying to sort himself out emotionally.

He knew he wasn't going to leave Y/N, no matter what happens. But he was still scared. Shadow Milk was terrified, not of being a father, but of being a terrible father.

His heart ached at the thought of failing to be there. To provide. He hoped any mental struggles weren't passed down either. The whispers in his mind were haywire until that familiar weight broke the whispering static in his mind,

" Shadow Milk..? " Y/N softly called out from the couch,

His heart skipped a bit, his eyes flickering over to his wife. His beloved. Shadow Milk's mind eased a little. She was due soon.

" Do you want to feel them? " Y/N asked softly,

He felt his body freeze out of uncertainty. Shadow Milk gave a little nod, coming around the couch and hunkering down on his knees in front of his wife.

Carefully, Shadow Milk laid his head on Y/N's tummy, his ears picking up movement inside. He felt some kicks, as if they knew he was there.

Shadow Milk's eyes sparkled, leaning a little more into Y/N's tummy, a content purr left Shadow Milk. Apparently, he had dozed off just like that; on the floor and leaning against Y/N.

But this serenity was cut short. After a few more weeks, Y/N was rushed to the hospital to deliver.

Shadow Milk went haywire. He couldn't sit still even if you restrained him. He was pacing around the entire hospital, until Y/N shrieked in request for her husband.

Scrambling, Shadow Milk immediately went to Y/N's side. He bit his tongue when she snatched and nearly broke his hand from squeezing it.

Shadow Milk, despite his frayed nerves, tried to comfort and calm Y/N down best it could all things considered. He was met with tears, aggression, and hostility, but he knew she was in pain.

It took a couple of hours. Triplets were finally here.

Shadow Milk was dumbfounded. Both Y/N were expecting twins, but triplets?! How did they miss a baby in the screening?!

He stared at the three swaddles on Y/N's chest, his heterochromatic eyes displaying a secondary color due to how wide they were.

Shadow Milk stared... staring at the three bundles and his wife.

" Do you want to hold one...? " Y/N weakly asked,

'Should I? What if I drop them? What if I make them cry? I—' Shadow Milk's mind ran rampant before subconsciously nodding,

Y/N handed over a little boy, Shadow Milk gently taking the small baby in his hands.

Everything stopped...

Time stood still and it was just him, his wife, and their three kids.

Shadow Milk had broken himself down. Rebuilt himself to learn to be soft. To be vulnerable. To be gentle. To love...

He gently nudged some of the blanket from the little boy's face..

Shadow Milk began to tear up. He held the little one close, promising and swearing to the grave he'll keep his four treasures safe.

Cries left Shadow Milk. Ugly, pure, unadulterated sobs left him.

Y/N wriggled over a little, just a little due to the pain, and allowed Shadow Milk to lay with her in the hospital bed.

Shadow Milk wept the rest of that night, allowing Y/N to rest as he tentatively cared for the new babies..