#you do not want to feel nothing so stop saying you do just stop its annoying

[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

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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?

[cheriladycl01]

Joy Ride - Charles Leclerc x Reader SMUT

Plot: Charles shows you what he can do in the backseat of his Ferrari

Warnings: SMUT, fingering, hand job, p in v, car sex, 18+ Minors DNI

It was the typical date night with your boyfriend Charles, he'd taken you out for a dinner in Monaco after you guys had a little flutter in the Monte Carlo Casino. Now he'd driven you guys out of the province and into France.

The windows were rolled down and the sea breeze was whipping through your hair. Charles couldn't keep his eyes off of you, not just right now but for the whole night you guys had been together. You were in this dress, it must have been new as Charles had never seen you in it and he'd stayed in close contact all night not enjoying the prying eyes from the other men that had been around on the streets.

However, the road and getting you guys safley to the destination he had in mind was his top priority.

But fuck you looked incredible and his grip on the steering wheel was getting tighter and tighter.

"You okay baby?" you ask with a honey dripping from you voice that nearly had Charles head rolling back. You turn to him, looking at his tensed up expression and how rigid he seemed in the car.

"Mhmm" he answers with a tight lipped smile, keeping his eyes forward on the road, only glancing in the rear view mirror a few times just to keep an eye out.

"Are you sure, you seem tense. I didn't want to say anthing earlier but now im just worried" you offer, placing a gentle hand on his thigh that has his whole leg cramping up from tensing it.

"Okay what the hell is wrong?" you ask a little bit of aggravation in your voice.

"Nothing, I said i was fine" he awkwardly laughs, shaking off the growing feeling in his pants.

"No, something is wrong. Tell me!" you beg thinking its something that you've done wrong.

"It's okay, I promise" he says, but you can still hear the grit in your voice.

"No, stop the car right now" you say, looking over at him.

"What?" he asks in shock looking over at you.

"I said stop the car Charles!" you say, some grit in your own voice from annoyance that you felt towards your usually calm and open boyfriend.

He pulls the car up into a safe side layby a gulp as he makes sure its in neutral and turns off the engine. He runs a hand through his hair, shocked at your tone before turning to look at you, only to be met with a sight he'd never seen before. Your arms were crossed and a pout was held tightly on your lips.

"Whats got you upset? Was it something i said?" he asks now more concered for you than anything.

"No, but i know you arent being honest with me about something! What is it? Please just tell me!" you ask turning in your seat, a look of concern flashing across your own face, seeing him now look forward at the road, only a streetlight a couple of yards down the road lighting up the surroundings.

"You've been teasing me all evening and i just want to get home without crashing this car because I'm so distracted by you" he groans his thumb hitting the centre peace of the wheel, close to the horn as his knuckles tighten around the edges of the wheel.

"All night, Charles you should have said" you coo at him as a hand goes to his thigh making him tense and look at your hand that even looked pretty to him. Even your nails that you'd had freshly done with your friends two days ago that he'd not yet felt scrape down his back creating little red lines of lust that he loved feeling.

"Baby, stop! Lets just get home" he groans out his head cocking to the side to look at you.

"So irritable Mr Leclerc" you coo looking across at him before taking your seatbelt off.

You move with the agility of a cat, making your way onto the back seat before twisting over and beckoning him to follow you though. The car, as a sport car, was in fact smaller than others so saddling up in the back was harder than it would in something like a 4x4.

Charles held eye contact with you in the rearview mirror as he took his seatbelt off. He turned to look at you, eyes now blown wide in excitement that he was finally getting what he'd been craving all night.

"So pretty" he sighs as he takes a seat in the back, dragging you to sit on top of his trousers. He toughs with the edging of the dress you were wearing where the slit reached the top of your thigh. His hands slip under, feeling the edge of the lace panties you knew to put on for the events you hoped would happen later that night.

"Can i? Please?" he asks waiting to touch you further.

"You don't have to ask, the answers always going to be yes" you moan as he leans up to kiss across your jaw and down your neck. His fingers slip into your underwear feeling the wetness before slipping in with ease.

Clearly he wasn't the only one who had gotten worked up.

"Do you want me as much as i want you?" he whispers in your ear making you shiver and grasp as his fingers make a scissoring motion that has you rocking your hips against his hand for more friction. The feeling of his trousers rubbing against your thighs as you move back and forth has you leaning into his neck, leaving open mouthed kisses across his skin.

"Yes, please Charles" you moan into his skin as he speeds up the movement of his fingers his thumb toying with your clit despite the ache in his wrist from the awkward angle you guys are currently at.

"Come on touch me too, im just as desperate as you" he gasps as your hips rocking forces pressure against him that he needs to let release.

Your hands reach down undoing the button as clasp of his back trousers pulling them and his boxers down just enough to have his cock spring up. Your hand grasps it, starting in a slow and steady motion dragging your thumb over the top having the most whiny moans come from his as you do, his hips thursting up in approval.

"I cant wait any longer please" he moans moving the skirt of your dress behind you. He pulls your underwear to one side holding the base of himself as he eases in. A sigh comes from the pair of you as he bottoms out, holding you against his for a second.

"Been waiting on this all night" he sighs breathing heavily agaisnt your neck as he feels you start to move up and down. He thrusts up meeting yours in the perfect tandem, loving hearing the moans and breathy gasps that were coming from you. Your hand grabs his chin forcing him to look at you.

"Why didn't you say anything" you scoff out a laugh a little bit.

"Didn't wanna rush or ruin the - the night" he moans as he feels you tighten around him.

"You've not ruined the night at all" you moan as you clentch around him. The feeling has him thrusting up into you, getting as deep as possible.

"I'm gonna cum baby" he moans as he grips your hips tighter.

"Me too, fuck.." you moan as your eyes close and you feel the coil in your stomach snap.

"Fuck" Charles moans as his eyes close and he relaxes back as you help the both of you ride out your highs.

You slow down and cuddle againt him, listening to him get his breath back.

"We could have waited until we got home" Charles says smiling at you a little.

"Mmmmm but that was fun! We should do it again" you grin at him, placing a light kiss on his cheek.

And with that you guys drove home, both getting in the bathroom for a much needed shower.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[4linos]

love unmasked.

lee minho x 9th member

synopsis: despite months of quiet affection, you and minho decide to share your secret with the group. the members' reactions are a mix of laughter, teasing, and understanding.

wc: 1637

It had been months since you and Minho first started dating, and in that time, you'd grown accustomed to keeping your relationship under wraps. Every stolen glance, every quiet conversation, every brief, secret touch felt like a dangerous game you were playing with fate. You weren't sure why you were so nervous about the secret getting out, perhaps it was because you weren’t sure how the other members would react, or maybe because your connection with Minho was something so precious that you didn’t want to risk tainting it with anyone's judgment.

But the more time passed, the harder it became to keep your feelings hidden, especially when it came to moments like tonight.

It was your one-year anniversary with Minho, and even though the excitement of the day filled you with joy, there was also that familiar tension hanging in the air. You had spent the evening out together, just the two of you, laughing and sharing small, loving moments, nothing overly dramatic or showy, but everything felt perfect in its simplicity. As you made your way back to the dorms, you were still laughing, your cheeks warm from the affectionate pecks Minho had given you.

But just as you rounded the corner of the hallway, a familiar figure appeared from the end of the corridor. Hyunjin. You froze, a sudden wave of panic flooding you. Minho’s hand brushed against your back in reassurance, but your hearts raced in sync.

“Hey, where have you two been? You missed dinner,” Hyunjin asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. You could tell he was suspicious, but not entirely sure what was going on.

You took a deep breath, summoning all the acting skills you could muster. “Oh, we… we stayed back at the company for some extra practice,” you explained, trying to keep your voice calm. “Minho was helping me with some last-minute choreography for the comeback.”

Hyunjin glanced at you both, still trying to read the situation, but ultimately shrugged. “Whatever Minho says, I guess. Just don’t keep me waiting again. You two better not be doing anything weird…”

The tension in your chest eased, and you gave him a small, nervous smile. “Promise we won’t.”

Hyunjin let out a disinterested hum and walked past you, disappearing into his room.

You both knew the day would come when you would have to tell the others, but you weren’t sure if you were ready.

-

The next morning, practice for the comeback was intense, everyone pushing themselves harder, giving it their all. During a brief break, you found yourself sitting next to Minho. He glanced over at you, a look of quiet understanding passing between you two.

He nodded towards the group. “It’s time. We can’t keep this secret anymore.”

You hesitated for just a moment, the knot in your stomach tightening. But deep down, you knew Minho was right. It had to happen. And as much as it terrified you, it would be a relief to stop hiding.

You cleared your throat, catching the attention of the others. Everyone turned towards you, curiosity flickering in their eyes.

“Minho,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. “Can you tell them?”

Minho didn’t hesitate. He looked around at the members, his gaze briefly meeting yours before he spoke without sugarcoating. “Y/N and I have been dating for a year now.”

The room went silent. The members blinked at him, the words hanging in the air like an unexpected punch. Then, Seungmin suddenly burst into laughter, his face lighting up with amusement. “What?” he gasped, wiping a tear from his eye. “It was so obvious!”

The rest of the members exchanged confused looks. Some were surprised by the news, others confused by Seungmin’s reaction. “What do you mean, ‘obvious’?” you asked, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Seungmin grinned and leaned back. “Well, remember that time I woke up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water? I saw you two in the kitchen kissing. You said you were just having a midnight snack, but… uh, your lipstick was smudged, Y/N, and Minho had some around his lips too.”

You buried your face in your hands, mortified. Minho rolled his eyes, nudging you softly. “I told you so.”

You groaned in embarrassment, your face burning bright red. Seungmin’s laugh didn’t make it any better, but his teasing only made the situation more surreal. “I mean, you two were pretty obvious. And let’s not even talk about how you guys act around each other. Like, seriously, we all knew.”

Minho chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, Seungmin.”

As everyone processed the news, Hyunjin suddenly spoke up, a light chuckle escaping his lips. “Honestly, I didn’t know,” he admitted. “But now that you mention it, I should’ve figured it out after last night. You two lied about staying late for practice, didn’t you?”

You winced, feeling caught. But you could only shrug sheepishly. “Yeah… we were kind of trying to avoid getting caught.”

Chan, ever the level-headed leader, broke in with a smile, trying to ease the mood. “I’m happy for you two, really. But you have to be careful. You’re both in the public eye. It’s cute, though. You two are adorable together.”

The warmth from his words settled in your chest, and even though you were still a little nervous, you felt relieved. It was done. Everyone knew.

There were no more secrets. And as awkward as it might be at times, it felt good to be able to hold Minho’s hand without the weight of hiding it from the members.

-

That night, after practice, the group gathered in the dorm living room to wind down, everyone sitting around on the couches, catching their breath after the intense rehearsal. The air felt lighter now that the secret was out, and you found yourself sitting next to Minho, your hands brushing occasionally, and not having to hide it.

Seungmin, ever the mischievous one, had a big grin plastered on his face. “Honestly, I’m still kind of shocked you two managed to hide it for so long,” he said, leaning back on the couch with his arms crossed. “You guys were so obvious. The kitchen kiss? Please.”

You felt your cheeks redden again, but Minho just rolled his eyes, clearly used to Seungmin’s teasing by now. “You could’ve kept that to yourself, you know.”

“I couldn’t resist,” Seungmin said, laughing. “But seriously, I’m glad you two are together. You’ve always been so… cute, I guess,” he added, shrugging as though the comment wasn’t that big of a deal.

The rest of the members chimed in, and what followed was a wave of lighthearted teasing, but it was clear no one was upset or bothered by the news. In fact, they seemed mostly excited. Chan was the first to speak seriously.

“I’m happy for you both,” he said, offering you both an understanding smile. “Just be careful with how you handle things in public. You know how fans and the media can be. But other than that, just make sure you take care of each other.”

“Yeah,” Changbin added with a smirk. “We don’t need any extra distractions. Especially during comeback preparation. Focus on that first, yeah?”

Minho nodded. “We will. We’re not letting this get in the way of our work.”

As the night went on, the group shifted back to their usual rhythm. The teasing and congratulations continued, but it was clear that everyone accepted your relationship. It felt strange, in a way like a new chapter had opened and things were slightly different, but also not. You were still a part of Stray Kids, still the same group of people who’d spent years together, and nothing about that had changed.

-

The next few days at practice felt different, but in a good way. There was a new sense of ease between you and Minho, a quiet acknowledgment of your relationship in the air. Still, the dynamic of the group hadn’t shifted. Everyone was still working hard toward the comeback, and despite the occasional teasing from Seungmin, things felt balanced.

But the true test came the next evening when you and Minho were in the kitchen alone, preparing your dinner after a long day of rehearsals. The members had already gone to bed, and it was just the two of you, standing in the quiet kitchen, your hands brushing as you passed ingredients to each other.

Minho opened the fridge and pulled out some fruit, then handed you a bowl. “I’m glad things are normal, even after all of that,” he said quietly, his voice soft. “I was worried it might get awkward.”

You smiled at him, heart warming at his words. “Yeah, me too. But I think everyone just wants us to be happy. Even if it means they have to deal with Seungmin’s constant teasing.”

Minho laughed, a low, soft sound. “I think I can deal with Seungmin. As long as you’re happy.”

You stepped closer to him, resting your hand on his arm. “I am. And I’m happy we’re doing this together.”

Minho’s eyes softened, and he gently pulled you into him for a quick hug. “Me too,” he murmured, his voice steady with affection. You held onto him for a moment longer, enjoying the quiet, simple comfort of being with him without any pretense.

//

masterlist.

[a/n: i have many 9th member requests that i’m working on. i hope u all enjoy 🥰]

❌proofread

[angelyuji]

yandere mark grayson

might be a little ooc lowkey... sorry.

tw // stalking, nolan is an enabler, yandere behavior, emotional manipulation, honestly nothing too crazy compared to what ive written in the past

mark grayson x reader

im gonna talk mostly about story mark and not the variants but ill add a couple cutesy little remarks at the end

markie poo is very intense as a yandere, not in the kidnapping sort of sense but like emotionally

you’d probably meet him in college and start off as friends

he’s def the type to fall in love at first sight tho like he sees you and its like some angelic light bathed you

he was in awe

he def uses his powers to stalk you and figure out everything about you

william lowkey encourages it too cause…. he seems like the type to stalk his crushes (he’s a normal person so its like kinda a normal amount)

anyway he doesn’t really realize how he’s following you or watching you until someone points it out (eve) and he’s like “omg im so evil im so bad and evil and i should die”

and he confesses it to his parents cuz who knows better than him? mama y papa!!

“im so sorry, i know i shouldn’t use my powers to stalk (y/n). i know what im doing is wrong. i just like them… so so much.” mark buries his head in his hands, too ashamed to look at his parents.

he hears his mom sigh, “mark what you’ve been doing is-” she stops. mark looks up to see his dad whisper into her ear. she bites her lip before nodding. debbie pulls him into a hug before leaving the room to go upstairs. mark feels tears well up in his eyes, seeing the disappointment in his mom’s eyes.

“mark.” he looks over at his dad. “come here, son.” nolan pats the space next to him on the couch. mark hesitantly, moves to sit next to his father. “i sent your mother away because i needed to explain something to you. something she would never understand.” his father’s voice was low. mark swallows, trepidation building. “when i first met your mother, she had rejected me.” he sits back, “and i loved her more for it. everyday i would watch her, where she worked, where she lived, who she spent time with, everything, mark. i needed to know more about her, i wanted for her to be mine… i was-” nolan barks out a laugh, “i was willing to take her away from everything if she would’ve rejected me again.” he looks over at mark, “fortunately for all of us, your mom agreed for a date and now… here we are.” nolan smiles, wistfully. mark stays silent, processing everything. nolan pats his son on the knee, “what i’m trying to say, son, is that what you’re doing is normal. you are my son, of course you could love like i do.” nolan ruffles mark’s hair before standing up.

“but mom-”

“what your mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her, mark. and what (y/n) doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”

i made up that nolan did all that, but like…. who would be surprised if he actually did lol

anyway, nolan highkey made mark worse becuz why would u say all that, man… (i made him say it but that’s beside the point)

mark doesn’t even have his own place yet, so kidnapping is off the table and with papa nolan in space, he knows debbie won’t be down for him bringing back a gagged you lol

if ur single, he’ll just push and push and push until you’re like omg fine ill go on a date with you

he’ll do everything right just so you won’t think about not dating him

he doesn’t want to tell you that he’s invincible but if it means you’ll trust him to protect you, he’ll do tell u

he’s very very very overprotective

if you’re in danger… everybodys dying he does not gaf

if ur in a relationship, ur partner’s going missing… sorry to them but mark will swoop in while you’re grieving and then bam somehow you guys are dating

he would never hurt you, but he would hurt other people to get to you/make you realize you’ll never escape him

like father like son as they say

anyway some quickie thoughts about invincible war before we move on

the moment those unhinged freaks stepped foot into this universe, they’re gonna find you

similar to that moment in the show where the burned looking mark when home to fake-cry to kill debbie, smth like that except they show up and take you with them

anyway i have similar thoughts but mostly about omni-mark and the other freaked up mark #needthatbad

they’re sooo obsessed with u but its hard to give a generalized behavior headcanon cuz each of my freaks are so different

also before i go, i wanna go back to when i said he’s very emotionally intense

he’ll twist your words and make you feel bad for rejecting him/not listening to him

mark would def use his fears to make you do what he wants

“mark, i need to get to class.” you try to pull yourself out of his grasp, but his hands go back around your waist. the two of you lay naked next to each other in your dorm after he had come back from patrol, you can see his suit peeking out from under the bed as you try to pull yourself away once more.

“(y/n), please don’t go.” you turn to look at your boyfriend, he pouts as he pulls you closer. he buries his head into your chest and you feel your face get hot.

“mark, i have to go to class. i’ve already missed 3 lectures because of you.” you push yourself away and off the bed. you feel his hand clasp onto yours. “mark.” you frown and look back, annoyed, when you see his tears. “oh my god, mark,” you immediately fold, holding him close.

“i just… i’m sorry i know you have to go to class, but i was so worried with everything that’s happening. i had- i had a nightmare i lost you.” his voice was thick as he held back his tears. he presses his lips against yours, rough and needy. you let him; your heart heavy as you feel the weight on his shoulders. “i can’t lose you, (y/n). you’re my… you’re my everything, i can’t survive without you.” you let him kiss you once more, letting him pour his love into you. soon, you find yourself wrapped up in his touch. his lips against every part of you, his hands caressing your skin, his voice whispering sweetly into your ears. you missed your classes once more as mark held you tight. “i won’t survive without you, (y/n)…” his voice lulls you back to sleep, “and i won’t let you leave me.”

[wchswift]

hiii there againn linaa!! i hope you're fine!!

ugh, i hate asking this but i can't help. i'm in need of some heavy angst and comfort 😭 please help in writing a HEAVY angst and comfort fic about old man logan 🙏😞 (i've had an argument with my bf but nvm not going to trauma dumping here)

— where it hurts the most

mdni 𖤐 18+ old man logan x reader

Logan pushes you away the only way he knows how—cruel words, distance, and a lie that cuts deeper than any wound. content! angst & hurt/comfort, heavy angst, emotional hurt, self-destructive behavior, arguments, confessions, soft comfort, angst with a happy(ish) ending, mentions of physical injuries (bruised/bleeding knuckles), emotional vulnerability. word count: 1.2k

notes: zayn hiii!!! I love receiving your requests, always feel free <3 and my apologies for the delay, really! I'm sorry to hear that and I hope everything is okay now dear, but know that my dm is always open if you want to talk, okay?? despite that, I hope you like it and that I do justice to your request 🫶

The fight is ugly. Worse than the others.

Logan is breathing hard, shoulders taut, veins standing out along his forearms from where his hands are clenched into fists. His eyes are wild—storm-dark, sharp with something too tangled to name.

You don’t move from where you stand. You’ve seen him like this before—worn down, pushing, clawing for distance like it might save him. But tonight feels different. The air is heavier, the silence stretching like a wound, raw and open.

“You don’t get it.” His voice is rough, a snarl that barely holds back a deeper tremor. “You never have.”

Your heart hammers, throat tight. “Then help me understand, Logan.”

But he just shakes his head. There’s something in his expression—something close to fear, buried beneath the anger.

“You wanna understand?” He exhales sharply, a bitter, exhausted sound. “Fine. I don’t love you.”

The words cut through you like a blade.

You're used to the "you should leave," "you deserve better." talk. But this, this is unexpected. You know he doesn't mean it, that it's something new to push you away for good, but you can't stop the pain.

Your breath catches. The whole world stutters to a halt.

“…What?”

His gaze flickers, jaw tightening—but he doesn’t take it back. He doesn’t soften. He doesn’t let himself.

“You heard me,” he mutters, voice low, dangerous. “I don’t love you. I never did.”

It’s a lie. You know it’s a lie.

But it still hurts. So bad.

You force yourself to breathe past the tightness in your chest. “Say it again.”

His nostrils flare, his fists trembling at his sides. “Don’t make me—”

“Say it again, Logan.” Your voice shakes. “Look me in the eye and say it.”

Something cracks in his expression. But he forces it down, swallows it back.

“I never loved you.”

The pain is instant, burning deep, settling into your ribs like something sharp and unrelenting. Your fingers twitch at your sides, nails digging into your palms to keep yourself steady.

He’s lying. You know he is.

But he’s also trying to break you. Trying to push you so far away you won’t find your way back.

And God, it almost works.

Your throat bobs, something sharp clawing its way up. You force it back.

“I don’t believe you,” you whisper.

Logan exhales roughly, turns away like he can’t stand to look at you.

“Don’t.” His voice is hoarse, worn thin. “Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?” You step forward, hands trembling at your sides. “Don’t stay? Don’t care? Don’t love you when you clearly—”

He moves before you can finish.

Not towards you—away. Shoulders stiff, back turned, head lowered. Like he can’t bear to let you see him like this.

Like he can’t let you see him break.

“I don’t want you here,” he mutters. “You should go.”

You inhale sharply, chest burning. “Logan—”

“Leave.” His voice is nothing more than a rasp. “Please.”

That’s what shatters you. The ‘please.’

You stand there, hands trembling, something cracking in your chest. Then, slowly, you step back.

The silence stretches, unbearable.

Then—

The door clicks shut behind you.

Hours pass. You don’t know how long.

You don’t know what makes you go back. Maybe it’s instinct. Maybe it’s something heavier, something impossible to sever.

But you find him exactly where you feared.

Collapsed against the porch railing, bottle shattered at his feet, blood smeared across his knuckles like he went looking for a fight and lost. His breath is uneven, his eyes dull and rimmed with exhaustion.

Something in your chest caves.

“…Logan?”

His head lifts slowly, sluggish. His gaze lands on you but doesn’t focus. It’s distant, dazed. Like he’s not all there.

A sharp inhale. Then you’re kneeling in front of him, hands framing his face, forcing him to look at you.

“Logan.” Your voice wavers. “Jesus Christ, what did you do?”

His eyes flutter shut. “Nothin’.”

Bullshit.

You glance at his hands—faintly trembling, bruised knuckles split from where he must’ve hit something. The bruises are already forming. He doesn’t heal like he used to.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I know what you were doing.”

A slow, shuddering exhale. Then, barely above a whisper—

“I don’t know how to stop.”

Your breath hitches. “Stop what?”

A pause. Then—

“Destroying everything I love.”

And there it is. The real truth, stripped bare and broken.

Your fingers tighten in his hair. Your own vision blurs. “You didn’t destroy me, Logan.”

“I had a dream.” His voice is hoarse, scraped raw.

You don’t move. Just listen.

His throat bobs as he swallows, still not meeting your gaze. “It wasn’t a good one.”

A beat of silence. Then he exhales, shaking his head. “It’s always the same. Always ends the same.”

His voice is quieter now, like he’s unraveling, like the fight has drained out of him.

Carefully, you reach out, your fingers brushing over his wrist—light, tentative. He doesn’t pull away.

It’s enough.

“You don’t have to tell me,” you say softly. “Just let me stay.”

Something in his shoulders sags, the last of his resistance crumbling.

He lets you guide him inside, where the air is warmer, where the quiet isn’t so lonely. Lets you press a damp cloth to his knuckles, cleaning away dried blood, gentle but firm.

His hands tremble when you hold them in yours. His fingers twitch like he’s torn between pulling away and clinging to you.

“I’m still here,” you murmur, your thumb tracing slow, grounding circles over his skin. “I’m always gonna be here.”

Logan exhales, something breaking in his expression. His breath shudders, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he lets himself lean into your touch.

Lets himself stay.

And you take care of him.

You ease him onto the couch, helping him sit, helping him breathe. He’s exhausted, the fight in him burned out, leaving behind something hollow, something aching. You run your fingers through his hair, slow and soothing, the strands coarse beneath your touch. He exhales shakily, pressing into the warmth of your palm like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.

When you move to pull away, he catches your wrist. His grip is weak, but the intention is clear.

“Don’t go,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart clenches.

“I’m not.” You adjust, shifting so you can tuck yourself closer, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders. He’s solid and warm and so, so tired. “I’m right here.”

For a moment, he’s still. Then, hesitantly, he leans into you, letting his forehead rest against your temple. His breath fans warm over your skin, uneven but steadying.

“I don’t deserve this,” he mutters, almost too quiet to hear.

You close your eyes, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Too bad,” you whisper. “You’ve got me anyway.”

A shaky exhale. His grip on your wrist tightens for just a second before going slack, but he doesn’t let go.

And in the quiet, in the dim light and the warmth of your touch, Logan finally lets himself rest.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

taglist: @blossomingorchids @logaenhowlett @cruel-as-sin (let me know if you want to be added or removed <3)

[snoopyracing]

forever and always // ln4

part two to champagne coast

pairing: lando norris X reader

word count: 10k

warnings: cursing and alcohol use

includes: 100% pure fluff

summary: life with lando after the italy trip or lando and you getting you're happily ever after

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Life at the moment couldn’t be greater for you. You’d just gone on the most amazing week-long trip to Italy and in the process managed to upgrade your best friend into your boyfriend. You couldn’t truly ask for more, except for the screaming baby on the plane to give it a rest. Even in first class the baby’s incessant cries could be heard and you wanted to slap yourself for not remembering to pack your headphones into your carry-on. 

You glance over at your boyfriend who’s sat in the spacious seat next to you. “We should have just flown private like you wanted.” You were trying to not have Lando spend any more unnecessary money on you then needed, lord knows how much he spent on you this past week. You’d told yourself that you could survive a commercial flight, it was only three hours back to London. You do it for work and when you visit Lando in Monaco, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Well, at least that’s what you thought a couple hours ago. 

“What I wanted was to stay in Italy for another week.” His large hand finds yours and your fingers intertwine. “But I know my working girl has responsibilities and deadlines to meet and money to make and all that kind of stuff.” He lifts your intertwined hands up to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand, the simple gesture sending an eruption of butterflies through your stomach. 

“Yeah well someone’s got to bring home the bacon in this relationship.” You joke, like Lando wasn’t bringing home a modest 30 million a year. 

“Well, racing isn’t gonna last forever, so I am gonna eventually need you to be my sugar mommy.” 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Your teasing causes a pink tint to spread across the apples of Lando’s cheeks and it makes you giggle at how easily you can get him riled up. 

He slides down in his seat, trying to make himself seem smaller, all while still anchoring himself to you by his hand. “Nothing wrong with liking to be taken care of.” Lando has never not been vocal (at least with you) about how he in all honesty likes to be babied. 

Sure, he loves taking care of you, but sometimes he just wants the woman he loves (you) to take care of him. Even before you two got together you were the person who would look after him after a particular shit race weekend and when he would visit you back in London he always seemed to just be able to let his walls down and be vulnerable with you. 

“I like that you need me.” You state, which has Lando feeling even more warm and gushy inside. 

“Never not gonna need you. You know that right? You’re stuck with me.” And Lando means every word that slips out of his mouth. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you in his life. For so many years you were his everything and now that he fully has every part of you he can’t imagine letting you go.

Your eyes soften at the man you love. There isn’t anyone else you’d rather endure this plane ride from hell with. Yet, with all the love you have for him, you can’t help but poke fun at him. “Unfortunately.” You say with a cheesy grin on your face. 

“You love me.” Lando pushes back. 

“Unfor-“ 

Lando interrupts you before you can push his buttons even more. “Wait, do you hear that?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, your head glancing around the cabin to try and figure out what he’s talking about. “Hear what?” 

“Exactly.” 

And that’s when you realize that there is nothing to hear, because the baby had stopped crying. You think you’d forgotten what quiet was for a moment and to finally have it back was pure bliss. Though the little slice of silence lasts for a few short moments because as the plane begins its descent the change in air pressure has the baby crying once more. “Well, at least we know we are almost home!” You say trying to be positive. 

“We could have still been in Italy.” Lando groans. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Adjusting to life back in London was a little harder than you thought it was going to be. It helped that you had Lando with you this week, but you wished so badly to be back in Italy. The Thames couldn’t hold a candle to the Mediterranean Sea and you could only dream that you would wake up to the calming lull of the waves and not construction and sirens. And while you were slowly adjusting it seemed like Lando wasn’t at all.

When Lando was back in London for work he usually just stayed with you or Max, so Lando staying at your place wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but him not letting Max or his family know that he was back home was out of the ordinary. After the third day of Lando being a hermit in your apartment all day while you were at work you finally confronted him about it. 

“Lan, I’m home!” You called out as you kicked off the world's most uncomfortable heels, your feet silently thanking you as they felt the cool flooring beneath them. 

“Kitchen!” You hear him holler back and by the smoke free air you’d have to conclude that he wasn’t trying to cook you dinner. Instead you find him standing at the counter in the middle of making himself a cup of tea. Your hands sneak around his waist, resting your head on his muscular back. A content sigh escapes past his mouth and you feel his free hand settle on your arm. 

“Hi baby. How was work?” 

“Very long and tiring. I’m glad to be home.” You reply before placing a kiss on his shoulder. 

Lando says nothing as he moves to grab your arm, leading you towards the couch. And by some miracle he sets his cup of tea down on the coffee table spill free while he pulls you into his side as you two plop down. “Missed you while you were gone.” His words are slightly mumbled as he plants a kiss onto the top of your head. 

Moments later his phone buzzes and your eyes can’t help but glance at the screen as he pulls it out of his sweatpants pocket. You barely see the contact name of your shared friend across the screen before he’s locking his phone and sliding it back into his pocket. 

“Lando.” His fingers ghost up and down your arm as he hums in response. “Why have you been ignoring Max?” You weren’t trying to pry into his business, but what you were saying was true. You’d seen the unread texts and for Lando to ignore his best friend, especially when he was back in England, was very out of character for him. 

His movements halted and you can hear the gears in his pretty little head turning. “I’m not ignoring him.” 

You shift on the couch so you can properly look at him. “Lando. You’ve been holed up in my apartment ever since we got back. What’s going on? You ignore Max’s texts to make plans. I see the missed calls from your parents. Are you second guessing things or do you not want people to know about us?” 

Lando’s eyes nearly bulge out his head at your suggestions and he’s reaching out for your hands faster than lightning. “Oh god no. God. No no no. Never in a million years would I not want to be with you.” 

“Then what is going on?” Your eyes soften at the man you love as you try to understand what’s going on in his head. 

“It’s quite selfish of me.” He finally admits with his head hung low while you rub your thumb across his knuckles, encouraging him to continue. “I know this sounds ridiculous, but I don’t want to have to share you with anyone quite yet. You going to work I can handle, but god we haven’t even gotten to really spend time together as a couple. Summer break is going to be over very soon and then that’s a whole nother beast we have to figure out and I know I’m very in my head about all of this but I just want you to myself for as long as I can. I don’t want other people’s opinions about you or our relationship to be all over the internet either. God why am I so in my head?” . 

Your heart swells at Lando’s words and while you understand how he feels, you know you’ve got to talk some sense into him as well. “I get it. We’ve been living in our own bubble this past week and now it’s even better that we’re together. It’s like the real world and reality are out to get us, but baby that’s life. And really I don’t give a fuck what anyone on the internet says about me or us because they’ve been saying stuff for years. It’s not anything new– I know what’s real between us and that’s all that matters to me and it should to you also.” 

You give his hands a reassuring squeeze, trying to convey just how serious you were about all of this. 

“Plus, I’m not worried one bit about once you start racing again, sure I’ll miss you when I can’t come with you, but we’ll make it work. What I am worried about though is you isolating yourself. I love that you love spending time with me, but Lan you gotta not let the anxiety of life get into your way. Even with this crazy life that you live you’re lucky enough to have people who care deeply about you and the rare occasion that you aren’t in England for more than a day or work and you chose to ignore them is not good for you. So take your phone out and tell Max that we’ll be over at his place Friday.” 

Lando sighs as he internalizes your words. Everything you had said was right. You always know how to get into his head and talk him off his anxiety induced edge. He can’t recall how many times you’d been there for him during a bad race weekend— granted this was nothing like that, but nonetheless he knows he can always confide in you and that you’ll always be there with love and the right words to say. 

And like the obedient boyfriend he is– he slips his phone out of his pocket and quickly sends Max a text. “Why not Saturday? Don’t you work Friday?” He asks. 

You shrug your shoulders at him like it was no big deal. “I got Friday off and we have other plans for Saturday.” 

“With your friends?” 

“No. We are having dinner with your family. I’ve been texting your Mom occasionally ever since we got back. Someone had to let her know her son was still alive.” 

Lando’s cheeks turn red in shame, he’s a known certified Momma’s boy and he knows his Mother was probably worried sick about him these past couple days. “I’ve always said she likes you more than me.” 

“Yeah well I actually respond to her messages.” You tease as you tuck yourself into Lando’s side, the couch pulling you in deeper. 

Silence fills the room for a few moments and it’s tranquil– golden hour cascading through your floor to ceiling windows as the two of you cuddle up on the couch, the feeling of Lando’s fingers running up and down your back as you listen to his steady heartbeat. 

“Thank you.” Lando is the one to break the silence, his voice soft and meaningful. You hum in response, waiting for him to continue. “Thanks for getting me out of my head. You’re my person, you know that? Don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

The sun filtering into the room makes the golden brown flecks in his eyes pop even more and you can’t believe that this beautiful and caring man that you’ve had in your life for so long is now actually yours and that maybe if you would have opened your eyes sooner you could have had him this way for even longer. 

“I love you.” 

Lando’s face erupts into a smile and you can’t help but lean into his hand as it moves to cup your face. 

“I love you too.” 

He leans in for a kiss and when your lips meet you swear it’s like you're kissing him for the first time again. There’s something so enthralling and intoxicating about kissing Lando and you pray it’s something you never grow tired of. 

“Can you really blame me though, for wanting to stay locked away with my sexy, stunning, intelligent, caring, and breathtaking girlfriend?” Lando states as you two resume your prior positions on the couch, soaking in this serene evening together. 

“Wow, that's a lot of adjectives.” You reply as a slight giggle escapes from you. 

“I can name some more if you’d like.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Friday comes in the blink of an eye and before you know it you’re standing next to Lando as he knocks on the door to Max’s apartment. The solid white door swings open and there stands Max with a mischievous look on his face. 

“Thought you two had fucked off and decided to move to Italy.” 

“It’s still a possibility.” Lando states as he walks in behind you. 

“Don’t be bitter because you weren’t invited Fewtrell.” You chime in. 

The three of you settle in the living room and it reminds you of old times before Lando moved to Monaco. When you’d all be gathered at someone’s place and life seemed simpler. Things have changed drastically since then, but you know you’ll always have these two annoying guys in your life. 

“I’m not bitter. I’ve third wheeled enough in our friendship to know when I’m not wanted.” Max is chomping at the bit to know what went down on your trip and if nothing had he thinks his two best friends may have one collective brain cell that they share between them. “Soooo. How was Italy? Romantic?” 

Your eyes quickly dart over to Lando who’s seated in one of the chairs slightly to your left, while Max is sitting on the couch opposite of the one you’re residing on. Max was clearly digging for information and according to someone else in your friend group, Max had a large amount of money that he had bet on the two of you coming back from Italy and being together. So Lando and you had decided to make Max work for his prize– nothing like a little lying and mental warfare while spending time with friends right? You see that mischievous look in Lando’s eyes and then he open’s that pretty little mouth of his. 

“Did you know pizza was apparently invented in Naples?” 

Max furrows his eyebrows at Lando, surprised at the fact that was what came out of his mouth. “I didn’t.” 

“Yeah. Think we ate our body weight in pizza this past week. Gonna have to hit the training hard before the season starts back up.” Lando is acting too nonchalant about the trip and you can tell Max is listening for any little slip up. 

“Hmm is that so?” Max glances over in your direction and you know your next in line for his interrogation. “Y/N.” 

“Max.” 

“How was Italy?” 

“It was great. We ate lots of good food, went sightseeing, went to the beach, and relaxed. Everything you’d do on a trip to Italy.” 

Max still isn’t satisfied with anyone’s answer. To him there was just no way that something didn’t happen between you two on that trip and he was going to get the truth out even if it killed him. “Nothing exciting happened?” 

You shrug your shoulders as you glance over at Lando– wanting him to take the reins on this one. You can see the gears turning in his head all the while Max is getting antsier by the second waiting for someone to respond. 

“Well, Y/N did meet a guy.” 

There’s a shocked look on both Max’s face and yours at Lando’s words. Even with your little plan in place you didn’t think Lando was going to say that or honestly bring up that night ever again, but he did and he’s thrown Max for a loop at the same time. 

“You met a guy?” Max asks you. He isn’t sure if he heard Lando right and he’s really starting to wonder how this trip could have gone this horribly wrong. 

“Yeah. We went out to a bar one night and I started talking to this guy. He was really nice and happened to be from London. He’s my most recent follow on insta if you want to see what he’s like. His name is Harry.” You hadn’t bothered to unfollow him and at this moment you guess it was a good thing you hadn’t. 

Max thinks the world is ending right here in his apartment. How could his best friends be so fucking stupid? How could they go on a trip by themselves and not see how utterly in love they were with each other? 

He pulls up your instagram and finds the guy's account– sure he’s attractive, but there’s never going to be the connection there that Lando and you have. Anyone with two working eyes and a brain could see that and as Max locks his phone and tosses it on the couch cushion beside him he thinks he should make an appointment for both Lando and you to go see an optometrist and neurologist. 

“He seems like a nice lad.” Max had given up. If anything did happen you two were clearly dead set on not giving it up, so he’d try again another day. If Max knew one thing it was that consistency was key and being annoying about his best friends being in love was one thing he will always be consistent about. 

“Yeah I think he’d fit in really well with our friend group.” The look on Max’s face is nothing shy of disgust and out of the corner of your eye you can see Lando fighting back his laughter. You know if you fully look at Lando that you’ll break so you focus on Max who seems to be going through the five stages of grief.

“Right. Well Lando I’ve got a couple things I need to go over with you for Quadrant. Let me go get my laptop real quick.” Max has no issue with changing the subject at this point— the mere idea of that guy joining your friend group was completely out of the question. 

Once Max was out of earshot you immediately turned your attention to Lando. 

“Oh he’s absolutely fuming.” Lando states, his voice slightly higher from trying to suppress his laughter. You can feel the giggles rising from within you and it’s like in school when you aren’t supposed to be laughing, but everything is way more funny because of it. It’s not even that funny of a situation, but Lando and you are nearly beside yourselves over it. 

Before you both completely lose it Max waltzes back into the living room with his laptop in hand. The two of them go over clothing ideas and mockups for sometime while you calm yourself and scroll through your phone. 

“Ok one last thing- the redesign for the website. I’ll send the test link to your phone and see if there’s anything you want to look different on the mobile site.” 

Lando pats his pockets and realizes he forgot his phone in the car. “Shit. Hey baby can you please run to the car and grab my phone.” He’s tossing the car keys to you and you’re catching them before Max can get his brain and his mouth to work fast enough. 

“Sorry! What?!” 

You stand there confused, Lando’s keys jingling in your hands. 

“What’s wrong?” Lando asks. 

Max doesn’t know what to think at the moment. “You just called Y/N baby!“ 

In all honesty Lando didn’t even realize the term of endearment had slipped past his tongue and from the way you reacted it seems you didn’t either. But Lando and you share a knowing look and instead of panicking you decide to just run with the situation.

Lando scoffs, like Max had just suggested the most outrageous thing. “No I didn’t” 

“Yes you did!” Max’s eyes look like they are about ready to bulge out of his head as he speaks. 

“Max he literally didn’t. I think I would know if Lando called me baby.” 

“Stop gaslighting me!” Max knows what he heard, he’s not stupid or crazy like the two of you are making it seem. His eyes dart back and forth between Lando and you, trying to see if he can read your faces, but it’s useless. 

“Alright well I’ll be right back. Lando maybe try to calm Max down.” You state before swiftly leaving Max’s apartment before you break character. 

While you’re gone Max doubles down on his interrogation of Lando, but all Lando does is deny deny deny. His PR training coming in handy at this moment in time. It doesn’t take long for you to get back and when you hand Lando his phone and keys Lando can’t help but fan the fire some more by intentionally letting that little four letter word slide right off his tongue. 

“Thank you baby.” His hand lingers on yours for way longer than need be. The simple skim of his fingers across your skin sends a shiver up your spine. You don’t even get time to respond to Lando before Max’s big mouth is hollering once more. 

“I know I’m not going crazy. I heard that clear as day! Now would you two quit fucking with my head and tell me you finally opened your eyes.” 

There’s an unspoken agreement between Lando and you as you shift your gaze towards him, a shrug of the shoulders and both of you knowing that if you continued to screw with Max he’d probably start to make your lives hell. So, you take a seat on the arm of the chair that Lando is still residing in and like a magnet he’s snaking his arm around your waist–pulling you closer to him. 

Max sits there eyeing the both of you, your current positions tell him nothing, as your closeness and touching was nothing out of the ordinary for you two, but it’s what comes out of Lando’s mouth seconds later that has Max’s eyes as wide as saucers. 

“Better call Ed and let him know he owes you some money.” 

He knows what that means and has clearly been waiting for it to happen, but actually knowing now has him somehow not believing that Lando is telling the truth. “Are you guys fucking with me again or is this for real?” 

“What you want me to physically tell you that Y/N and I are together? That we finally realized that we’ve been in love with each other for an unreasonably long time and made everyone close to us crazy for years?” 

Max sits there dumbfounded, for someone who had been wanting to finally hear this news he just can’t believe it had finally happened. “Well yeah I guess.” He watches his best friends as their hands intertwine and when they look at each other he can see the love radiating between them. 

It had always been there– the love, but there was something different between them now that they’ve become partners like the missing pieces of the puzzle had finally slotted into place. He’s happy that his best friends finally have each other in the way they were meant to and perhaps that he has a little more money in his pocket. “Alright well now can you actually tell me how Italy was?” 

“Well first of all. It wasn’t just you and our other friends that were annoying about us. I think everyone in Italy thought we were a couple before we even realized how we actually felt.” And so you tell Max all about Italy and how special it is to the two of you now. 

“See now why couldn’t you have just told me all of this in the beginning instead of fucking with me?” Max exclaims. 

“Well that’s no fun is it?” Lando rebuttals. “Think about how funny of a story that will be to tell at our wedding one day?” 

You feel your heart start to rabidly race and a heat spread throughout your body at Lando mentioning your wedding. You guys had only really been together for like a week and he’s already casually mentioning marrying you? You weren’t trying to freak out, but what the fuck? Your ears are ringing and it’s like your mind has left your body for a second, but the one thing that brings you back to Earth is the feeling of Lando’s hand squeezing yours. 

When you look down at him and he looks at you with those pretty eyes that seem to be an enigma of colors and that smile of his that could make you feel better even on the shittiest of days you just somehow know that he is the man you’re going to marry. You couldn’t imagine yourself marrying anyone but him. And yes it’s early, way too early to be thinking about marriage in this relationship, but if Lando asked you in a couple months to get married during the Las Vegas GP by some Elvis impersonator in a little church on the strip– you’d say yes in a heartbeat. 

“Well as long as I’m your best man.” Max states. 

“Who else would it be?”  

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The three hour drive from London to Lando’s childhood home the following day is spent trying to figure out how you should announce to his family that you two are together. You’d gone over every scenario, but they either seemed too awkward or just unnecessary. 

“We could just say ‘hey we are in love and in a relationship’ as soon as we walk into the door.” Lando suggests. 

“Do we even really have to tell them?” You counter, knowing you are both totally overthinking this situation. “I mean couldn’t we just let them find out through social media or something?” 

Lando scoffs at your suggestion and he doesn’t even have to speak for you to know that your idea wouldn’t work with his family, especially his Mother. Cisca would never let you both hear the end of her finding out about you two over social media, especially when she’s been not so shy about expressing how she felt about you two. 

The English countryside passes by in a blur as you stare out the car window, you’d given up on figuring out ideas and decided to enjoy the view and the feeling of Land’s hand in yours as you continued the journey. 

“If my family didn’t know that you were coming I could have just called and said I was bringing my girlfriend home for them to meet.” Lando states from the driver's side. Now it’s your turn to scoff, but Lando doesn’t seem to be backing off the idea. “Seriously, we could surprise them.” 

“Lando, that's not a good idea. You’re gonna be in deep shit with your Mom.” 

“I’ll just call and say that you aren’t coming and that there’s someone that I’ve been wanting them to meet for awhile.” He thinks there’s nothing wrong with his plan, but you know he’s gonna get his ass chewed out by his Mother. You love Lando dearly, but he’s also stubborn and sometimes you have to just let him learn his lesson. You can’t even tell him it'll be your funeral before you hear the phone ringing. Cisca picks up rather quickly and you decide to keep quiet in the passenger seat. 

“Hello darling. Are you guys almost here?” Her voice echoes through the luxurious car. 

“Yeah we’ve got a little under an hour left.” 

“I can’t wait to see you and Y/N. Can she hear me? Hello my love! I’ve got a little gift for you when you guys get here. I saw it when I was out shopping the other day and I just thought of you instantly.” 

You want to speak up, already feeling the guilt creep in over this and Lando hasn’t even opened his big mouth to speak yet. You look over at him with pleading eyes, trying to convey just how much he shouldn’t do this, but he’s waving you off and you know this is when Lando has signed his death certificate. 

“About that. So Y/N isn’t coming to dinner. There’s actually someone else that I’ve been wanting you to meet.” 

There’s silence on the other end for some time and anyone would think Cisca had hung up or the line had disconnected, but the call time on the screen keeps going. “Mum are you still there?” Lando finally breaks the deafening silence. 

“Am I on speakerphone?” She replies and you know Lando is about ready to get yelled at. If there was one thing you knew about Lando’s Mother, it was that she didn’t play around when it came to you, especially if it involved Lando. 

“No.” Lando says confidently like her voice wasn’t echoing throughout the car. 

“I know I raised you better than this Lando. Y/N and I have been talking and she literally planned for all of us to have dinner. For you to uninvite her and then decide to bring some random girl in her place is absolutely horrible Lando. She said you guys had a wonderful time on your trip and that you had been staying at her place this week so I don’t know what is going on, but this better be a joke. If it’s not you’d better pray that you don’t lose the one person who cares so deeply about you. I’m so disappointed in you son, but we will talk more when you get here. Oh and hopefully the girl you decided to bring likes my roast dinner. I know it’s Y/N’s favorite meal I make so I was going to surprise her with it. Anyways I’ll see you in a little bit.” 

There’s no goodbye’s exchanged or time for Lando to reply, just Cisca hanging up on her son and then music that was playing before the call filling the air once again. You so badly want to tell Lando that you told him so, but from the blank look on his face and the thousand yard stare he’s got going on, you think perhaps that wouldn’t help the situation any. 

“I should have listened to you.” He finally says, the stupidity of his idea fully sinking in now that his Mother reprimanded him over the phone.   

You shrug your shoulders at him, fully knowing he should have, but not wanting to rub it in his face. “Hopefully once she sees me your wrongs will be forgiven.” 

“God, we can only hope.” 

By the time you pull into the driveway Lando’s already thought of ten different ways his Mother could kill him and when he’s getting out of the car and heading up to the front door he’s thought of eleven. Usually his family would be opening the door to greet them by the time they pulled into the driveway, today was a different story. The decadent smell of his Mom’s cooking hits both of you in the face as soon as you enter the house and you’re so glad you’re actually here and not back at home like you were supposedly meant to be.

“Mum! I’m home!” Lando hollers. 

“In the kitchen.” 

So you slowly traipse behind Lando towards the kitchen, letting him be the one to greet his Mom. He stops just past the doorway, his Mom standing at the counter peeling potatoes, while you’re slightly hidden behind him. “Smells amazing.” He figures starting out with a compliment wouldn’t hurt his situation any.

“Thank you.” 

You can’t exactly see Cisca, but you know just from the tone of her voice and the fact that she doesn’t have her son wrapped up in her arms right now tells you she’s still upset with him. The sound of the peeler against the potatoes is getting more rapid and aggressive– you’re thankful to not be a potato right now. You can slightly see her over Lando’s shoulder and she’s still got her back turned to you both still as she speaks once again. 

“Are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?” 

Lando steps to the side, nudging you to step into his previous spot. You know Cisca will be thrilled when she sees you, but you’re still a little nervous after seeing the ever apparent cold shoulder that she’s giving Lando right now. You hear the peeling stop as you step into the kitchen and when Cisca turns around to see the supposed mystery girl, the peeler drops to the ground with a clang. 

“Y/N! Oh my darling!” A look of shock, excitement, happiness, and slight confusion washes over her face as she’s practically running towards you and wrapping you up in her arms. “What are you doing here? Lando said you weren’t coming?” She pulls back from the hug and just stares at you, like she’s trying to figure out if you’re actually here. 

“Surprise!” You say with a smile. 

She looks back and forth between you and Lando, who unbestowed to you has the biggest grin on his face. And then like a switch that was flipped her jaw drops and she grabs your shoulders like she’s afraid you’ll run away. “Wait a minute.” 

You feel Lando delicately place his hand on the small of your back as he moves right up against you. “Mum can you stop hogging my girlfriend please.” And you can hear the smile on Lando’s face as he speaks. 

The look on Cisca’s face you would have thought Lando had just won the driver’s championship. “Oh my god finally! My love I’m so happy you’re here. If it hadn’t been you that I saw when I turned around I think I would have had to knock some sense into my hard headed son.” She’s wrapping you up in another bone crushing hug and it’s one of the best feelings in the world to be embraced by someone who truly cares about you. 

“Well to be fair I think we both needed some sense knocked into us a long time ago.” You joke as Cisca finally frees you. 

“Yes, but this is how it was clearly meant to be. I’d always said you two were meant for each other and that one day eventually you’d open your eyes and hearts and realize that your other half had been with you all along.” 

You can see tears start to well up in her eyes.

“God I’m just so happy that you’re here. My heart broke when Lando had said you weren’t coming, but now it’s like it’s been mended. You’re the person for my Lando and I knew that from the first time I met you all those years ago Y/N. You’ve made him so incredibly happy and always been there for him during the extreme lows and highs, but as much as you're his person he’s just as much as yours. I’ve never seen him act like he does with someone like he does with you. I saw that love in his eyes that only a Mother can see the first time he brought you home. He may not have realized it, but I did.” 

Now you’re feeling the tears start to well up in your eyes and it’s only a matter of time before Cisca has got you in her embrace again. 

“Where’s the love for your own son?” Lando asks jokingly as he watches the two most important women in his life. 

“My own son wouldn’t have played with my emotions like you did earlier.” Cisca fires back, before heading back to her previous task.

Lando and you sit down at the small table in the kitchen while Cisca resumes peeling the potatoes. “I told him not to do it.” You say just to finally get in your I told you so.

“And that’s why you’re my favorite!” Cisca chimes in. 

Lando groans, but it’s all an act because there’s nothing that makes his insides turn to mush more than you being so loved and getting along so well with his family. “Maybe I actually shouldn’t have brought you.” 

You know he’s joking, but he earns a full name shout and a look from his Mom that only Mom’s can do. Which in turn emits a giggle from you and to Lando anything is worth getting to hear that melodic sound bless his ears, even getting scolded by his Mother. 

Dinner is spent filling in the rest of his family and both Lando and you somewhat get made fun of as his family points out all the times you two were so blind about how you felt about each other. Then to no one’s surprise Cisca begins to get emotional again as you’re talking to her about Italy. And not soon after Lando says the one thing again that makes your heart skip a beat and your body run hot. 

“Alright Mum save those tears for the wedding.” 

You laugh it off and allow for Cisca’s animated reaction to allow no one to focus on how flustered Lando’s words have you. It was one thing to talk with Max about it, if anything you were sure Max had mentioned (more like teased) you two about getting married many times before. But to just so openly mention it, even if he was just messing around, to his family had your head spinning and the butterflies in your stomach ready to burst out like some sick gory horror movie. 

You had always been close with the Norris family ever since Lando and you had become friends, but there was something about their not so shocked reaction (besides Cisca) that had you wondering if they had just always expected Lando and you to end up together. For you two to get married and grow old together. That the idea of it being anyone other than you had never crossed their minds. So that when Lando does casually mention it during dinner it’s like yeah of course you two would get married? Why wouldn’t you? It’s not until people begin getting up from the table that you come back to reality and out of your head. 

Once the mess from dinner is cleaned up you find yourself looking at all the photos across the house. Picture frames filled with childhood photos and family portraits scattered on shelves, tables, and walls. You’ve seen them all before, each one with a story that’s been told you were sure to anyone who visited the Norris household. Pictures of Lando as a child were your favorite to look at, especially when you see just how tiny he was as a kid. Cute little innocent Lando who had to be velcroed to his karting seat and went up against kids three times his size.

As you continue to look through the pictures your mind begins to think about the future and you can’t help but wonder if your kids would be small like him or when they inevitably started karting if they too would have to be velcroed to their seat. If there was one thing you knew for sure it was that you hoped they would have Lando’s pretty eyes and curly brown hair. God you hoped they wouldn’t inherit his big head. 

Then it’s like reality hits you in the face and you realize just how insane you’re being at the moment. You have to remind yourself once again that you two haven’t been together even a month yet, perhaps thinking about your future children is a little premature. But then you remember Lando mentioning you two getting married multiple times already, so you tell yourself your thoughts aren’t as bad as you made them out to be. 

Moments later a familiar pair of strong arms snake their way around your waist and some unruly curls tickle your neck as Lando rests his chin on your shoulder. He’d been admiring you from the doorway for some time before he finally couldn’t resist not clinging onto you somehow. You feel yourself start to melt into his embrace and before you know it you’re leaning back into him, his arms secured around your midsection as both of you now look at the various photos. “You know you were a pretty cute kid.” 

Lando hums in response, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your neck as he tries to stop himself from thinking about how much he’d love to have mini versions of you two running around. Not right now of course, but god some years from now he could imagine it clear as day. He hoped they would be little spitting images of you, that he’d hear your laughter in little kid form and know that when he came home from a bad race weekend that he’d have the most important people in his life waiting there for him. He’d always figured he’d eventually settle down and have a family, but now that you’re in his life there’s not a doubt in his mind.

While Lando was thinking the same thoughts you had minutes ago an unfamiliar picture on the wall catches your attention. “Is that one new?” You question, breaking Lando out of his thoughts. 

His eyes follow to where your finger is pointing and sure enough it is. In fact it’s a picture he didn’t even know existed. “Mum must have taken it and decided it was worthy of a place on the picture wall.” Lando mumbles. 

“It is a good picture though.” 

The picture in question? The two of you after the Belgium Grand Prix weeks ago. The race didn’t go the way Lando wanted it to at all. Yet, even with the disappointment from the race it was like when he saw you afterwards none of that shit mattered. He knew he was going to get to spend a week with you in Italy and at the end of the day he knew you’d always be there for him. 

To anyone else looking at the picture they would have thought you two were together, but at the point in time you two were still hard headed dumbasses. He remembers posing for the picture with you, but the angle this one is taken at he knows his Mother must have taken it from behind the scenes. She’d caught him looking at you with the biggest heart eyes mankind has ever seen and a smile that only radiates one thing– love. 

Night time was fast approaching and as everyone retired for the night you found yourself in Lando’s childhood bedroom. It still had its boyish charm with trophies and medals lining the walls next to posters of past racing legends. There wasn’t really anything that had changed since the last time you had stepped foot in his room, it was almost like a time capsule from the last moment in time that Lando still lived at home. 

As you take a seat on the twin bed you glance over at the one thing you loved to tease him about and when you see a bare wall where it should be you’re shocked. A freshly showered Lando walks into the room seconds after you’d spotted the missing piece of history. 

“You took down the Alex poster?!” You bombard him as soon as your eyes land on him. 

Lando furrows his eyebrows as he looks over to the spot where the infamous poster once resided. “Yeah.” He says, like it’s no big deal. 

“Why?!” 

Lando’s confused as to why you’re so distraught over him taking down the poster, but he entertains your inquiry. “Maybe because I didn’t want a poster of Alex Albon, who is my co-worker, staring me down while I fuck my girlfriend.” He teases as he saunters towards the way too small bed. 

You know what you’re planning on saying will get Lando riled up and so you say it with confidence. “Well thats what I was planning on looking at while you fucked me.” 

Lando hates how much of a tease you are and how easily you can press his buttons. He thinks he might need to teach you a lesson and in a flash he’s hovering over you with your hands pinned above your head. “You really know what to say to get me going, don't you love?” 

“Yeah but you love it.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

two years later

The salty sea air fills your nostrils as you walk along the beach holding the hand of the man you love. It had been an amazing week in the country you both hold to your hearts so dearly and tonight was the last night before you both had to go back to reality once more. Lando had suggested taking a walk after dinner and you were never one to pass up admiring the natural beauty that Italy has to offer. The lounge chairs and umbrellas were long gone from the beach and all that was left was the lulling waves and a picturesque sunset over the coastline. 

“I’m glad we were able to come back here.” You state as you lean your head on Lando’s shoulder. 

“Me too. It’s been too long.” 

And it truly had, the two of you hadn’t been back to Italy since the first time years ago. Since then the two of you had moved into a beautiful place in Monaco, Lando had two constructors championships and a driver’s championship under his belt, and you had been dominating your new job– quickly moving your way up the ladder. You were both thriving and it seemed like to you life couldn’t get any better than it was right now. 

Lando on the other hand somewhat felt the same. He’d accomplished so many things in the last couple years, but there was something that just didn’t feel complete in his life. And that something was burning a hole in his pants pocket. He’d won both championships, traveled the world more times than he could count, he’s lived a thousand lives it seems, but none of them would ever feel complete until he made you his wife. 

He’d known very early on that he was going to marry you, but the timing never seemed right and it was something he didn’t want to mess up. In all honesty he’d had the ring for over a year and how you hadn’t found it while living together he didn’t know, but the fact that you hadn’t was a sign to him that this is how it was meant to happen. 

You two had been talking about wanting to go back to Italy since what seemed like the day you got back the first time, but it seemed like something was always popping up or you had plans to go to someplace else. So when your schedules lined up and nothing else had been planned Lando knew this was when it was going to happen. 

He’d talked it over with Max trying to create some elaborate plan, but in the end they both agreed that something lowkey and more sentimental would be the best option. So now here he is minutes away from asking the love of his life to be his forever and she has no idea. He seems to be slyly checking his pocket every chance he can get to make sure the ring is still there and each time he feels it he thinks his dinner is about ready to come back up. 

When you ask him to take some pictures of you with the sunset he knows this is the moment. He actually does take a couple pictures of you just as like a moments before kind of thing, but when you turn your back to him he tosses the phone in the sand and grabs that little black box from his pocket. His heart feels like it’s about ready to beat out of his chest and he thinks he’s experiencing more adrenaline now than he ever has while racing. He gets down on one knee and his hands are trembling so bad he can barely open the box to display the ring. This is what he’s been planning for what seems like years, yet in the moment he’s so fucking nervous he can’t even think straight. 

“Oh my god!” 

He hadn’t even looked up at you yet before you had turned around and saw the scene in front of you. Your voice snaps him out of his anxiety induced trance and when he sees the woman he loves standing in front of him on the verge of tears he knows this is meant to be. 

“Y/N Y/L/N. I’ve known I wanted to marry you since practically the first week of our relationship, but I’ve loved you knowingly and unknowingly for what seems like a lifetime. You’re my sun, my moon, and my stars. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t acknowledge just how insanely lucky I am to have you in my life and for you to be mine. You love me when I’m happy, when I’m sad, and even when I’m a little bit of an ass.” 

He pauses trying to calm himself. 

“God, you’ve supported me through my worst times in racing and during my absolute best times. You’re my best friend, my soulmate, my lover, you’re everything I’d ever need in life wrapped up into one extraordinary woman. I’ve done so many things in life and accomplished so many things, but my life isn’t complete until I make you my wife. I’ve never loved someone like you and I never plan on loving anyone but you. You’re it for me, you’re the person I want to grow old and grey with. So Y/N, will you make me the happiest man on Earth and marry me?” 

There’s tears streaming down your face and Lando manages to let some of his own fall as he professes his love to you in the most vulnerable way possible. You feel like you’re not even in your body at the moment, but you drop to your knees and grab Lando’s face in your hands, pulling him into the most passionate and loving kiss you two had ever shared. To hear the man you love with every fiber of your being talk about you like that is a moment you’ll never forget. When you pull away you look down at the breathtaking ring that’s residing in the box being held by a still shaky Lando. 

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” You say breathlessly. 

“Yes?” Lando can’t believe the words he’s hearing. 

A huge smile stretches across your face, of course Lando doesn’t believe you. “Yes!” 

In an instant the ring is out of the box and being slid onto your ring finger. It’s even more gorgeous on and as you stare at your hand you really can’t believe you’re engaged. Lando’s pulling you into another breathtaking kiss and you realize you’re kissing your fiance which makes you feel even more giddy. 

“I love you so much.” Lando says as he stares deeply into your eyes, his hand gently cupping your cheek. 

“I love you more.” You counter back. 

“Impossible.” 

As you two walk back to the villa you’re both still on cloud nine, but it doesn’t stop either of you from being your cheeky selves. “Y/N Norris does have a nice ring to it doesn’t it?” 

You give him a tight lipped smile. “This is awkward… I thought you’d be taking my last name.” 

Lando lets out a laugh, pulling you tighter into his side. “Honestly I’ll do whatever you want my love.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a year later 

The wedding was planned rather quickly, the both of you almost considering just getting eloped, but you knew you’d want the memories and stories to tell. So, you planned a wedding with just your families and close friends to attend. 

The ceremony itself was beautiful and you couldn’t have asked for it to be any more romantic or sentimental. Tears were shed by both Lando and you and the crowd during your vows. The way Lando talked about you and expressed just how much he loved you let you know you had made the right choice in marrying him. 

The reception on the other hand was what seemed to be the party of the century. You had ditched your long elegant wedding gown for a much shorter white dress. While Lando ditched his suit jacket and had opted to roll up his sleeves and unbutton the top buttons on his shirt which had you feeling feral. You’re husband was looking hot as fuck and you couldn’t wait to have some alone time with him. 

As the two of you sat at the wedding party table you heard the clinking of silverware on a champagne flute. To your right stood Max Fewtrell with his glass held high and everyone’s eyes on him. “Excuse me everyone, but as the best man I’m required to give a speech, so here goes nothing.” He shoots a wink towards Lando and you and you’re scared for what’s about to come out his mouth. “Well let me just start off by saying, I think we all figured this day would eventually come, but for a while we didn’t think it ever would. I mean I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people be more in love with each other for years and not realize it and deny it!” 

The crowd laughs and you feel your cheeks turn pink at the teasing, choosing to hide your face in Lando’s neck for a moment while Max continues. 

“There was a time where we all went on a group trip to Greece and mind you there was a group of us and Lando and Y/N acted like no one else existed. They’d go off and do their own thing, leaving everyone else behind, and this was probably a good year before they finally opened their eyes. Then when they went to Italy together by themselves and made it seem like it wasn’t a big deal, when it was all Lando could literally talk about the week leading up to it. Luckily they came back and realized how in love they were with each other, because I know I can speak for myself and everyone in this room when I say we all would have had to knock some sense into you if you hadn’t.” 

More laughter fills the air and both Lando and you have a little red tint to your cheeks, which you both blame on the alcohol. 

“Anyways, I’m so happy that my two best friends have each other in the way they were intended to. You two are my favorite example of love and I hope I can make another speech at your fiftieth wedding anniversary.” Max raises his glass in a toast. “Here’s to the happy couple. May your love last a million lifetimes.” 

The crowd erupts into applause and hoots and hollers as Max sits back down in his chair. Lando presses a quick kiss to your temple before quickly getting up from his chair, repeating the actions of Max’s glass clinking. You look up at him confused, but he just shoots you a smile before speaking. 

“First of all thank you all for coming to celebrate me marrying a woman who’s way out of my league. Secondly, thank you Max for that lovely speech.”

Laughter and cheers fill the air once again and then there’s some commotion in the background somewhere. Then you see two guys wheeling a projector screen to the middle of the room where everyone can see it. 

“Um, I’ve got a little something for my amazing wife that I’ve been working on for years and actually I had been working on it unknowingly for years before that. Anyways, let me stop rambling and show you.” Lando sits back down in his chair next to you as the lights dim and before you can ask him what’s going on his pretty little face pops up on the screen. 

“Hi baby! Over the years of us being together I’ve been capturing pictures and videos of you. Which is nothing new, we are always taking pictures and stuff, but these ones are special. These are pictures and videos that you’ve never seen. Instead of me explaining just let me show you. I love you so much and I want everyone to see the extraordinary woman I’ve married. I want everyone to see you how I see you.”

The screen fades to black and then pictures of you begin to pop up, ones that you didn’t even know existed. You’re so used to Lando having his camera out that you never thought to think of the ones he didn’t show you. Pictures of you in your pajamas making breakfast to you in your work attire to you all glammed up for a gala. Videos of you singing in the car, laughing, and just existing. Birthdays, trips, everything you could imagine someone could capture. Then you realize some of these pictures and videos are from before you two even got together from when you were still friends. 

It makes your heart swell to know Lando’s been capturing you in such a loving way since basically the beginning of you two knowing each other. You don’t even realize your crying until you feel Lando gently wiping away your tears. If someone would have told you years ago before you two went to Italy that you’d be here today married to Lando and crying over the most beautiful thing he’s ever given you, you would have laughed in their face. You look into your husband’s eyes and you know that there’s not another human being on this planet that could love you like he loves you. There’s a permanent place for him in your heart now and deep down you think there always has been. He’s your person and you're his and sure it may have taken you guys awhile to get here, but everything happens for a reason and you know you two were meant to be here at this moment right now. 

“You’re mine forever you know that right? I love you so much it hurts.” You tell him as the video ends and the guests also wipe their tears. 

Lando grabs your hands in his, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. “Forever and always, baby.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

five years later 

A little girl with a mop of brown curls and laughter that resembles her Mother plays in the sand with her Father by her side. “Daddy!” She screeches looking up at him with eyes that mirror his– pretty blue like the water. The waves keep inching closer and closer to the sandcastle they’re building and the little girl is worried their hard work will be washed away any minute now. “I know my love. We should have listened to Mommy and built it further up.” 

“Mommy know’s everything.” She states matter of factly. 

The man lets out a laugh. “That she does.” 

A baby lays on his Mother’s chest as they both lounge under an umbrella. The woman watches her husband and daughter lovingly as they play in the sand. She catches her husband's eye and he flashes her a smile that even after all these years makes butterflies erupt in her stomach. 

Later after a day spent at the beach they’re both carrying a sleeping child back to the villa, their world in their arms. Finally when both kids are sound asleep in their beds the adults find themselves sitting outback with an all too familiar scenery around them. The man leaves for a brief second and while he’s gone the woman watches her babies through the baby monitor, her heart swelling over the fact that she made them with the love of her life. 

When he returns he has something hidden behind his back and with a raised eyebrow from his wife he reveals an old favorite of theirs. 

“The trip wouldn’t be complete without this now would it?” He says as he sits down next to her. 

“God we haven’t had this in forever.” She says as she takes the glass of pink moscato from him. 

“Just a man after your heart.” 

She laughs at her husband's antics. “You’ve already got it darling.” 

[kooppss]

Shouldn’t

Sexy Disasters With Feelings masterlist

You shouldn’t have entertained Jungkook’s games. You should’ve just kept your distance. But now, it’s too late, isn’t it?

warnings: alcohol, cursing, protected sex (penis in vagina), oral (female receiving). Please remember that ff smut is fictional.

word count: 6.3k

a/n: so, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I wish it hadn’t taken this long, but I was sick, life got in the way, and I was tired and uninspired. I hope the next chapter won’t take as long. Thank you so much for your patience 🙏🏻 I hope you’ll love this chapter because I’m nervous!!!

it’s just I’m constantly on the cusp

of trying to kiss you

“Had fun tonight?” 

Jungkook leans against the door, his arms crossed over his chest, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. He waits for your answer, his eyes steady, teasing, expectant.

You grab the towel from the counter to dry your hands, pressing your back against the sink, putting as much distance between you and him as possible in the cramped kitchen. You wish you could just disappear.

You need a way out.

“Yeah, it was nice,” you say, trying to sound as casual as possible while drying your already dry hands with the towel.

“I’m not much of a gamer, but it was fun watching you lose,” you add, throwing in the tease to make it sound more natural.

Jungkook stands up and takes a small step forward, smiling as if he finds you amusing.

“Me? Losing? How could you say that?” He scoffs playfully, his whole chest moving. “Loser.”

“This was my first time. But you? You game every day. You should be better than this.” You mock him with an even look on your face. 

He keeps smiling. “I was still better than you.”

You shrug. “Not impressed.”

“Not impressed?” He smirks, taking another step forward.

You clutch the towel tightly, trying to hold his gaze, to withstand the rising tension, not to be the first to fold.

He gives you a once-over, moving his eyes up until they meet yours again.

“Not really.” You try to sound nonchalant, but you’re aware your tone is a little too high.

Jungkook clicks his tongue, tilting his head with a small roll of his eyes.

“Okay.”

He looks at you again, head still tilted, that annoying smirk on his face.

“So, are you done avoiding me?” 

That little shit. 

He couldn’t just let it go? Couldn’t he?

Did you really think he’d let you act like nothing happened?

You’re an idiot for even entertaining the thought.

What should you do? How are you gonna get out of this mess?

Act a fool.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He moves closer, that stupid smile still plastered on his face, like he finds it funny.

“You don’t know?”

You clutch the towel tighter in your fingers, feeling your throat grow drier as the space between you shrinks.

You feel trapped, like a deer caught in headlights—except, in this case, you're the one who handed Jungkook the car keys.

“Nope.”

You try to stick to your plan. Be cool, act like nothing happened.

He’s really close now. If he reached out, he could touch you.

Not that you want that. You’re sure it’s a terrible idea. 

Distance is good. Distance is better.

Even if he’s hell-bent on demolishing it, along with the little restraint you have left.

“Good.” He says, stopping in front of you.

“So, you’re done avoiding me.”

He says it like he’s stating a fact, smiling like he won this stupid fight.

You roll your eyes. Holding the towel in front of you, like a barrier between you two—as if it could protect you from him somehow.

He leans in even closer, a shit-eating grin on his face that can’t mean anything good.

“Now we can get to the fun part.”

He says in a low voice, and it does things to you it really shouldn’t.

You shouldn’t be here right now.

You shouldn’t be testing yourself like this.

You try to hold on to the little defiance you have left.

You scoff, but it’s weak; it lacks its usual bite. “What do you want?”

Jungkook leans back, giving you a quick once-over.

“There are a few things I can think of.”

He tilts his head, looking at you with a challenge in his eyes, daring you to play along.

You feel the heat rise in your chest, creeping up to your face.

A million thoughts race through your mind.

Should you just give in? Play along? Erase that smile from his face, like you know you can? Like you’ve done countless times before?

No.

You shouldn’t.

There’s no way this can end well. Where will you even go?

Jungkook is a textbook fuckboy.

But why is that a bad thing? You could just fuck once.

Fuck it out of your system. Fuck him out of your mind.

It could be just a one-time thing.

But then what?

You’ll go to grab breakfast, and he’ll be like, ‘Hey, remember the time I was balls-deep inside of you?’

You can’t live like that. It’d be too awkward. There’s a reason you decided it’s a line you shouldn’t cross. A reason you decided no more fuckboys.

You’re ready for an upgrade. It’s time to start living like an adult. And as an adult, you need a man who can treat you right. 

Jungkook is not that man. He can’t handle you.

You’re quiet for too long—it’s starting to get awkward.

You’re just standing there, flustered, while Jungkook looks at you with that smug smirk.

He starts to lean forward slowly, closing the gap between you. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest.

There are only a few inches between you now, and he reaches his hand toward you. His fingers brush the side of your upper arm, sending goosebumps across your skin.

You curse yourself for taking off the hoodie to clean the kitchen. You need its protection right now.

Jungkook is so close you can feel his breath on your shoulder. You try to collect yourself—your words, your protest.

You manage a weak, “W-what are yo—” when Jungkook suddenly pulls back.

He’s holding the cleaning spray in his hand, a pleased grin spreading across his face.

“I’ll go clean the coffee table.” He turns on his heels and leaves the kitchen.

Fuck. 

You let out a sigh, not realizing you’d been holding your breath.

What does he think he’s doing?

That little prick.

You want to wipe that stupid smirk off his face so badly.

You want him to regret the day he decided to play these games with you.

Ughhh.

But you can’t. You shouldn’t. That’s exactly what he wants, right?

For you to lose your cool. To make a wrong move.

You need to keep it together.

You grab a bottle of water from the fridge and lean against the countertop, cooling yourself down before heading back out. You can’t stay in the kitchen forever.

Maybe you could?

No, no. You can’t.

You take a deep breath and walk into the living room.

Jungkook is sitting in the middle of the couch, scrolling on his phone.

He looks up as you walk in. You brace yourself for his smug, annoying, infuriating face. But instead, you’re met with something soft. His eyes are big, wide, doe-like, and he gives you a sweet, almost shy smile.

“Wanna play some more?”

It’s weird. You look at him, shocked by the sudden change.

“Come on, it’s still early. I’m not ready to go to bed. I’ll even let you choose the game.” He sounds sweet, pleading, almost innocent.

What happened between the kitchen and the living room? When did he switch from his fuckboy persona to this sweet boy?

You’re about to say no. It’s a really bad idea.

“Are you scared you’ll lose again?” he says, smirking.

Oh, the little fuck. 

Hell no.

You scoff.

“What games do you have?” you ask, plopping down on the couch beside him.

He smiles at you before turning to the TV, scrolling through the games he owns. Then you spot something.

“Pokemon!”

He giggles, raising an eyebrow as he looks at you. “You like Pokemon?”

“Who doesn’t like Pokemon?” you reply, frowning.

“Psychopaths.” 

Jungkook holds a straight face for a moment before bursting into laughter, and you join in.

“Pokemon it is, then,” he says with a nod as he selects the game.

You play for a while, exploring the city, collecting money, buying potions, and battling Pokemon. The light banter never stops, with you two arguing about who’s the best Pokemon trainer. You are, obviously.

"Let’s head towards that forest we saw earlier," Jungkook says, and you follow.

You spot a wild Squirtle running past you. You press frantically on the controller buttons—you need that Squirtle. That Squirtle is yours. 

But it looks like Jungkook spots him too. He throws his Pokéball at the same time.

“Fuck off, JK. He’s mine.”

He scoffs playfully. “Not if I catch him first.”

You’re both extremely invested in catching that Squirtle, pressing buttons like your life depends on it. But that little fucker is persistent. He’s not letting you catch him easily. You try to concentrate, planning the perfect throw to finally catch him, but a millisecond before your Pokéball hits, Jungkook snags him.

“Nooooo.” You throw the controller dramatically to your side.

Jungkook throws his hands in the air, cheering loudly, “Fuck yeah.”

“I can’t believe you got him,” you complain, annoyed.

“What can I say? I’m the better trainer.” He smiles smugly as he leans back on the couch.

“No, but you don’t get it—Squirtle is my favorite,” you whine, pouting.

He snorts and chuckles, “Of course he is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you frown at him.

“Basic ass,” he giggles.

You gasp and throw a pillow at him. “Fuck you.”

He catches the pillow easily. “Let me guess, you like him because he’s a turtle?” he says, laughing.

“Of course I like him because he’s a turtle!” you shout.

Jungkook laughs uncontrollably.

“Let’s hear yours, Mr. Sophisticated,” you say sarcastically, crossing your arms over your chest in fake annoyance. You can barely hold back your smile.

Jungkook tries to stifle his laughter long enough to answer. “Charizard.”

“Charizard?!”

Jungkook nods as he tries to control his giggles. 

How dare he? 

“You gave me shit for liking Squirtle, and your favorite is fucking Charizard?!”

You can’t believe his audacity, so you continue your monologue. “This is like the most basic dude answer ever.”

“And let me guess, you like him because he’s the strongest?” you ask mockingly.

“Da,” he says with wide eyes and raised brows, nodding like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Trade the Squirtle with me,” you ask with a pout.

“Na-ah. No way,” he laughs.

“Then I’ll catch the Charmander.”

He snorts. “I’d like to see you try.”

You give him your best death glare. “You’ll regret this.”

He chuckles and shakes his head as he stands up. “Want a beer?”

You shake your head. “Na, I’m good.”

He takes a step toward the kitchen, and you hastily catch his wrist with both of your hands.

Jungkook snaps back around.

“Please give me your Squirtle,” you whine.

“I’ll trade you whatever you want,” you add with a pout and pleading eyes.

You expect Jungkook to laugh, to keep this stupid fight going.

But instead, he looks startled and flustered for a moment. Then, something shifts in his expression. It darkens, growing more dangerous. A small, crooked smirk creeps onto his lips as he looks down at you with dark eyes.

He taps his lips with his finger, glancing up at the ceiling as he hums, pretending to think.

“Hmmm, let me think. Anything I want, you say?”

Jungkook looks back down at you, his eyes narrowed, head tilted. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

He tilts his head further, raising his brows slightly as if suggesting you know exactly what he wants.

And you're not stupid—you do. You can barely be mad at him for the suggestion. You practically laid it out for him with all the ‘whatever you want.’ Of course, a guy like Jungkook would jump on the opportunity.

You roll your eyes playfully and pull back your hand. "Jungkook!"

He chuckles light-heartedly. “Fine,” he says dramatically, “I’ll give you my Squirtle. No need to be so dramatic.”

You clap your hands and squeak in joy.

Jungkook shakes his head with an amused smile, turning toward the kitchen.

“You know what? Bring me a beer too,” you call after him. You have a feeling you’ll need it.

A few hours later, you’ve explored a decent chunk of the game, collected more Pokémon, and drank a couple (or more) beers. Both of you are probably too tired to keep playing seriously, so now you’re just strolling lazily through the world, looking for easy tasks to do.

You shouldn’t be here. 

You should’ve gone to bed a long time ago. You know that. 

But you can’t bring yourself to leave. This is probably the most fun you’ve had in a while. Your cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing. Being with Jungkook like this feels easy. Too easy. And too fun.

This is exactly why you shouldn’t be here.

Jungkook yawns, stretching as he leans back onto the sofa.

“Do you think Ash and Misty fuck?” 

You snap your head to look at him, your eyes wide in shock. He’s already looking at you, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “WTF?! They’re children! You perv.”

He chuckles, his voice rough from tiredness and alcohol, and probably from laughing too much. It does things to you. You don’t feel cold anymore. 

You definitely shouldn’t be here.

He scoffs playfully. “I don’t mean when they were kids, perv,” he teases, his tone light and mocking. “I mean when they’re adults.”

“No?” you give him a scandalized look. “They’re friends?”

Jungkook laughs. “What does them being friends have to do with them fucking?”

“Because you don’t fuck friends,” you say, as if it’s obvious, waving your hands. Because really, you shouldn’t fuck friends. Someone always wants something more, and the friendship gets ruined. It never ends well.

“Oh, come on, y/n. You wanna tell me you haven’t fucked friends?” He says it like he knows. Because he probably does. Because you did. You did fuck friends. This is why you know it’s a bad idea. 

You feel like you’ve been caught. “What do you mean?” You try to act innocent, but it's not working.

Jungkook smirks, his gaze never leaving yours. “You know the walls in this apartment are very thin.”

Is he saying what you think he’s saying? It’s not news to you, but it’s one thing knowing and another to talk about it with your fucking roommate.

“I-I-” you try to mumble something, but the words just won’t come out. Jungkook laughs.

“Come on, y/n. You and I both know we’ve heard each other fuck, and more, in this apartment.”

“The fact that it happened doesn’t mean I want to talk about it!” you snap at him. 

Jungkook just laughs, as if it’s the funniest thing in the world. “You’re so cute. Jigglypuff.”

“WHAT?!”

“Jigglypuff—the cute pink Pokémon that sings?”

“I know what a fucking Jigglypuff is, Jungkook.”

“You’re all cute and pink when you’re blushing. Just like a Jigglypuff.”

“SHUT UP.” You feel yourself blushing even more.

Jungkook can barely breathe from laughing now, and you try not to laugh with him, instead giving him your best threatening glare. But it only makes him laugh harder.

“You think you look scary? Jiggly?”

“SHUT UP!” You yell again, leaning forward to hit his chest.

But before you can pull back, Jungkook grabs your wrist, keeping it pressed against his chest. He pulls you toward him, and you lose your balance, crashing into him.

With both hands pressed against his chest, you can feel his warmth, his heart beating unnervingly fast. You try not to think about how firm and broad his chest feels. 

You try. But you probably lost that inhibition two beers ago.

Your faces are inches apart now, and you can feel his warm breath fanning over your face. You can also smell his cologne—a classic fuckboy scent you’ve smelled a hundred times before, but it somehow smells good on him. It’s fresh, spicy. 

He smells like a man. 

His eyes are big, dark, and impossibly shiny. You think you’ve never seen eyes that shine so much. You feel entranced, unable to look away.

You shouldn’t have these thoughts about your roommate. You shouldn’t be pressed against him to notice all these things. 

You really shouldn’t be here.

But you are. Jungkook leans in, and you feel his breath catch in his throat. He hesitates, stopping just an inch from you before closing the distance entirely.

The kiss is intense, desperate, urgent—like your life depends on it. It’s like a crack in a dam, and you’re trying to stop it with your hand, but the dam finally gives way. The pressure crushes you, the flood sweeping you away. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t control yourself when Jungkook kisses you like that.

You try to grab into sanity. You try to hold yourself in the present. You try to focus on his lips on yours. They’re soft but firm. Adjusting to your rhythm yet demanding. And he tastes good. You never thought that kissing could taste good. You can’t even explain what he tastes like. 

He tastes like an addiction. 

Jungkook lets go of your wrist and slides both hands to your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. The movement makes you shift your hands from his chest to wrap around his neck.

And Jungkook fucking grunts. It makes your head spin. 

You sigh into the kiss as he pulls you down, leaning back to lie on the couch. Jungkook slips his hands under your shirt, his big, warm palms brushing over your ribs. You shudder in his hold, and you can feel him smirk into the kiss. 

He pulls back just enough to flip the two of you over, holding himself up on his hands as he hovers above you.

“Fuck. I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he breathes out, voice hushed and breathless. But before you can even reply, he crushes his lips back to yours.

He leans on one forearm, the other hand moving to your face. His thumb traces your cheek while his fingers rest lightly on your jaw. 

It’s his tattooed hand, and the thought sends a wave of heat crawling down your abdomen. You move your hands to gently push his hair back from his face, pulling him even closer with the same motion.

Jungkook groans into the kiss as his hips buck into you. Your legs must have a life of their own because somehow they’re spread, and Jungkook is between them. You have no idea when that happened. 

Jungkook adjusts his position, and he grinds his hips again, directly into your core. You let out an airy moan into his mouth. 

You can feel him smile as he moves his lips to the side of your face, down your jaw, and to your neck. 

He moves his free hand under your shirt. His lips and hand are hungry, demanding. Reaching every piece of skin they can get. And everywhere they touch, you feel yourself burning. You feel like he sets you up on fire.

Jungkook grinds his hips into you once more, and both of you moan in sync. You into his ear and him into the crock of your neck. Leaving goosebumps on your skin. 

You inhale a sharp breath. “I’m not letting you fuck me on the couch.” You say breathlessly. 

Jungkook props himself up on one arm. His breath is uneven, lips are swollen and glossy, hair is a mess, eyes are dark. And he fucking smirks at you. 

“Okay," he says smugly, and he rolls his hips particularly well, he hits just the right spot. You whine breathlessly as your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

He chuckles, and you look back at him, narrowing your eyes. 

He tilts his head, smirk growing wider. “So, where do you want me to fuck you?” 

You roll your eyes, this time in annoyance. “Who said you’re going to fuck me?” 

He chuckles again and grinds his hips once again, making you let out an involuntary, embarrassing moan again. 

“Jungkook!” you try to yell, but the sound comes out choked.

This time, he giggles—not his usual low, manly chuckle, but a sweet, boyish giggle.

He pushes himself up, and with one swift motion, he pulls off his shirt. It’s definitely not the first time you see Jungkook shirtless. He personally made sure of it. But something about the view of shirtless Jungkook between your spread legs is thrilling more than you could have expected. 

Your eyes trail down from his defined pecs to his abs and his prominent v-line. You can’t help yourself from reaching your hand, moving your fingers gently from his navel and down his faint happy-trail. You feel him shudder under your touch, and when you look back up, he has a pleased smile on his face. 

He reaches his hands, tugging at the hem of your shirt, and you push yourself up, giving him space to remove it. 

The moment you flop back onto the couch, Jungkook hands are on you. Moving around exploring the newly exposed skin. His eyes widen as he follows his touch, and his lips part, as if he’s in awe of the sight before him.

He leans forward, giving your lips a soft peck, softer than anything that had transpired between the two of you up until now, before trailing his lips down to your collarbone. He gently kisses and licks from your neck to your shoulders. Keeping his lips on you all the time. He moves lower to your chest. 

“You’re so pretty. Prettier than I imagined.” He murmurs against your skin; face nuzzled in the valley between your breasts.  

“You’ve been thinking about me?” You aim for bratty and teasing, but it comes out breathless and whiny instead.

Jungkook pulls back, pushing himself up again, giving you a no-bullshit look. He places his hands on your waist, holding you in place. “Do you really need to ask that?”

You’d answer with some snarky comment if you could, if only you had enough focus to gather your words. But you can’t find the defiance in you when he’s looking at you like that.

He slides his hands down, stopping them on the band of your shorts. He looks up at your face with a tilt of his head and a question on his face. You push your hips up, allowing him to pull your shorts down. 

When your shorts are on the floor, Jungkook stands up, removing his own before returning to his position between your legs. He leans closer to your face, pushes away a hair strand from your face, and caresses your cheek with his fingers. You look at each other in silence, closely examining each other's features. 

Jungkook parts his lips as if he’s about to say something, but then he stops and dives in to kiss you instead.

The kiss is immediately intense.

As if neither of you want, or could, hold themselves back. The kiss is all lips and tongue at teeth, with airy sighs and desperate whines. 

You move your lips to his neck, nipping with your lips and teeth at the sensitive spot behind his ear. Jungkook let a shaky moan as you continue to explore the skin of the column of his throat. He glides his hand on the side of your body and down between your legs. 

He brushes his fingers over the top part of your panties, and you exhale, leaning your forehead on his shoulder. He’s slowly moving his hand down, gliding his finger lightly over your clothed folds. You let out a choked moan. His digits hover over the wetness that soaks through the fabric and he presses a little harder over your entrance. 

“Fuck. You want me that bad, baby?” 

Jungkook doesn’t wait for an answer. He starts to trail down, kissing a path from your chest down to between your legs. He’s peppering kisses all over your inner thighs and lower abdomen. You slightly writhe and whine, and he’s moving his hands to hold you from your thighs. He looks up at you, eyes dark and hooded. He ducks his head, while keeping eye contact, as he presses a hard kiss over your clit. You moan, and he’s smirking as his lips are still on you. 

He moves his fingers under the side of your panties, tugging it a bit. “Can I?” 

You bite you lip, nod, and he pulls them off for you. 

He settles back between your legs, looking between them before looking back up at you with a devilish smile. He slips his hands to the underside of your thighs, propping them up a little, giving him better access. 

And without another warning, he goes right in. 

Tongue finds your clit immediately, causing you to gasp, back arching from the couch. 

Your response only spurs Jungkook further. You feel him everywhere and exactly where you need him all at once. You don’t know how he does it. It’s not the first time someone has eaten you out, but it’s definitely never felt like that. 

Jungkook gives a particular precise lick, and you moan loudly, hands flying to his hair. 

He looks up at you, eyes barely seen under his lids, and he grunts when your gaze meets. 

The vibration sends you further, higher, and you tug at his hair with one hand while the other tries to catch the couch, something to hold onto. But you find Jungkook's forearm, grabbing it as it could help you. But it can’t. 

Because the pace he is setting is almost animalistic, unleashed. And you don’t understand how it feels so good so soon. 

Oh, god. You’re going to come embarrassingly fast. 

You wish you could control it, wish you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

But fuck. It feels so good. 

You’re a mess by now. Your moans are barely audible, throat dry from gasping for air.

And you’re getting closer and closer to the edge. 

It's as if every movement of his mouth is precise, intentional, and deliberate in its meaning. You hate that he knows exactly what he's doing. 

But oh god, you love this so much. 

And when you think that that’s it, that you’re right there, just a little more and it’s done for you, Jungkook changes tactics. 

His lips catch your clit, sucking on it lightly while his tongue does something you can’t explain. Because your brain can’t even grasp what the fuck is going on right now. How he managed to take you away from your pending orgasm while also making everything feel so much better. 

It’s a height you never visited. 

It’s so good, it’s almost too much. 

You’re pretty sure you’re screaming by now. You don’t have much connection to reality at the moment. The only thing you can feel is Jungkook’s mouth between your legs. 

Yet, he speeds up, moving his lips and tongue in sync to a faster rhythm. 

This time, you’re rushing to the edge. 

And before you can even grasp it, it comes crushing on you. 

Strong, hard waves, making you shake and cry. 

You’re gasping, moaning, trying to catch a single breath. 

But before your orgasm even ends, Jungkook is pushing a finger into you. Curling it up and moving faster and faster. 

You try to prop yourself a little up, to look at him with wide eyes through the haze of your pleasure. “J-Jung— ah fuck” he looks up at you, but he doesn’t slow, doesn’t stop. 

The opposite, he adds another finger, quicking his pace.

It’s as if he’s a man on a mission—a mission to tear you apart, and he won’t stop until he’s completed it.

You flop back onto the couch, and your hands try to hold onto the cushions or grab something as your whole body trembles. 

And it hits you again. Harder, faster, stronger. Like you never felt before. 

And you hate to say it, but that was the best orgasm of your life. 

When you start to come down from your second high—well, or maybe it's the first, you're not sure if you ever stopped coming—Jungkook finally pulls away. 

He moves up and kisses your lower stomach before looking up at you with a smile—a sweet, pleased smile. You're still a shuddering mess beneath him, your gaze fixed on him, a hint of shock on your face at what just happened.

Jungkook lays on top of you, head resting on your chest. 

“That was fun,” he murmurs, his voice contented. 

You frown, hand going to push his head up so you could see his face. 

“Aren’t you going to bring a condom?” 

Jungkook is giving you a matching, mocking frown. “Didn’t you say that you won’t let me fuck you on the couch?” 

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Jungkook!” 

Because let’s be real. There's no way he actually planned for this to stop here.

Right?

“You want me this bad, baby?” he says in a teasing, fake sultry tone.

“Just go get the condom,” you grumble back. 

He stands up, giving you a salute. “Ay ay, captain!” And he heads to his room. 

You’re propped up on your elbows when he returns, practically skipping towards you with a condom in hand. 

You watch him as he stops by the couch, pushing down his boxers. 

Oh, shit. 

Oh.

Shit.

You’re staring. You know you are. But you can’t help it. 

Why does he look this good? 

Yeah. You get it now. 

You get why he’s so cocky. 

The little shit. 

Fucking hell. This is going to hunt you, doesn’t it? 

You move your gaze up to his face, and he’s looking down at you with a huge smirk. 

He tilts his head to the side. 

He doesn’t even ask you if you like what you see. 

Because he knows. 

Fuck. 

You hate this. 

He opens the package before slowly rolling the condom on his dick. Keeping eye contact with you. Daring, or maybe waiting for you to say something. 

You need to hold to the little bit of dignity left in you. So you won’t.

You’re also pretty sure his ego doesn’t need it. 

When he’s done, he crawls back between your legs, big palms rubbing your thighs. He grabs behind your knees, lifting them, and folds your legs, gently resting your feet on the couch. 

Without a word, he grabs the base of his dick with one hand, the other holding your hip, aligning his length with your folds. 

But he doesn’t push in yet. He just looks back up at you. 

He moves a tiny bit forward, making you feel like he's going to push in, making you let out a little gasp, but he doesn’t. 

He just moves it around, playing with your folds. 

He does it a couple more times. Each time, pushing a tinniest more in. Each time, you can feel your hole clench around nothing. Waiting for more. Making you whine with need. Leaving you aching. 

Why is he trying to make you lose your mind? 

When he does it for the ninth time, you whine loudly. You want to complain, to tell him to stop the teasing. “Junko–” But he drags his tip over your clit, making you moan.

And he fucking chuckles. A low, mean chuckle. 

“What?” he asks with fake innocence. 

“Stop playing.” You try to bite, to sound mad. But the little dick, well, not that it’s little, fuck, him. He’s the dick. A huge dick. Shit, no. He’ll never hear it from you. That fuckface, he pushes a mere millimeter in before leaning back. 

You whine, “Jun–” and he moves the tip over your clit again, making the whine of his name hitch in your throat. 

He smirks down at you. “Oh, baby,” he purrs mockingly. “I need to know what you want.” He tilts his head, waiting for your answer as he lazily drags his length over your folds. 

You exhale through your nose, clearly infuriated.

“Jungkook,” you try to warn, attempting to sound stern.

He chuckles, a playful glint in his eyes. “What?”

He leans down, kissing you softly, a stark contrast to his earlier cocky behavior.

His hand round your back, unclasping your bra and pulling it aside.

“I really need to hear you say it,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot before he pulls back, kneeling above you.

You give him an even look. But you know, and he knows, that you’ll give in. 

“Fine.” You say as harshly as you manage, with his cock pushing against your entrance.  

“I want you to fuck me, Jungkook.” 

You roll your eyes. “Pleased?” 

He smiles. A big boyish bunny smile. Not a smile you expect to see from someone inches from fucking you. “Very.” 

Then, with a smooth and gentle but swift motion, he pushes in. You share a sound between a sigh and a moan as he bottoms out. 

And just like that, all the cockiness has slipped out of him. 

Jungkook stops like that. Deep inside of you, leaning above you just a little, breath heavy and uneven. His eyes widen, but as he tries to make a slight movement thrusting in, they shut down forcefully. 

“Fuck.” He courses under his breath. 

You feel the stretch, the slight burn. But he feels good, full. 

You’d urge him to start moving, but you need to enjoy it. Finally, you have power over him. Finally, you whipped the smirk off his stupid face. You need to taunt him.

“What happened? Are you going to come already?” you say, your voice full of condescension.

He drops his head forward, but you can see the corners of his mouth twitching, a quiet, barely audible laugh escaping him.

When he looks back up, his cocky persona is fully intact, that smug smirk returning to his face.

“Wasn’t expecting you to feel this good,” he says in a gruff voice, and you try to ignore the heat that it stirs in you. “But don’t worry, baby. I’m gonna enjoy every second of this.”

And before you can answer, he starts thrusting. Moving in and out of you with precise motion and increasing pace. 

He holds your waist, stabilizing himself as he fucks you.

He fucks you good. 

Shit.

He slides his hands to grab above your ass, gripping your thighs,  pushing your legs up and apart, allowing him to get in deeper. 

Jungkook grunts loudly from the new angle, and it causes you to open your eyes to look at him. You didn’t even realize you had closed them, to begin with. 

He has a deep frown between his brows, skin shiny from breaking a slight sweat, maybe also from your slick that remained on him. He picks up the pace, letting out a sound between a sigh and a groan, biting his bottom lip hard.

With each thrust, you feel all the air pushes out of your lungs. Your whole body moves from the force of his hips hitting yours. And if he hadn’t held your hips, you're pretty sure you’d be pushed off the couch. You’re gonna be sore tomorrow. 

Not that you can care right now. All you can think about is how Jungkook’s tip drags over your walls again and again. How he hits spots you didn’t feel before when he thrusts deeper. How his hands hold you firmly but they still stay gentle.

How he looks as he fuck you senseless. Like he’s trying to keep it together, on the edge of losing control, drowning in pleasure, completely immersed in the feeling of fucking you. 

You can see he’s fighting to keep his eyes open. You can sense the slips of his movement, indicating he is trying his best to maintain the steady pace of his hips. You can feel his fingers twitch, not to hold you aggressively. 

He grunts as he stills deep after a strong thrust, falling forward to lay on his forearms. His lips find yours in a soft kiss before he resumes the movement of his hips. 

The pace is frantic, yet he still keeps his mount on yours as you moan with each thrust. 

You can’t understand the contrast between the way he’s fucking you and the way he’s kissing you. It’s like your mouth and pussy are having a totally different experience. Like each gets an entirely different Jungkook. 

Jungkook’s movements start to lose their rhythm; it’s subtle at first, but with the way you hear his chucked moan, you know he’s nearing his end. You know he’s doing his best to hold himself. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, allowing him to push in deeper. 

And he moans loudly, thrust getting messier. His movements become more and more shallow and rapid before he pushes one last time in, stilling deep inside of you. His whole body tensing before he collapses, forehead resting on yours, and you feel his dick twitches inside of you. 

After a minute, he relaxes bit by bit. Shoulders losing their tension, and his lengt stops jerking, he let out a sigh and lays on top of you. 

His head resting on your chest, one of his hands holding your hip as the other finds your hand to hold.

You’re still fuzzy, head floating from pleasure. 

You lay like that for a few minutes, breaths still uneven.

You can feel the beating of his heart, and you think it’s in sync with yours. 

It’s nice and warm. His weight feels right, comforting on you. 

You’re starting to cool off. Feeling the sweat sticking you bodies together. 

Your breath gets slower, steady. Your mind is starting to clear. 

Both of you are quite before Jungkook giggles, then lets out a happy sigh as he moves his hands to pull you into a hug.

You really shouldn’t be here.

You should have gone to bed hours ago.

You shouldn’t have done this. 

a/n2: (author note? at the end? who am I?) so, this is definitely the smuttiest smut I've posted so far. What are we thinking? How are we feeling? How do we think Jungkook feels? I'm honestly a bit anxious about how this chapter will be received, so I hope you liked it!

Back to the series masterlist

[wendichester]

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 outta love,

summary. sam's falling out of love

pairing. sam winchester x reader ; angsty!!!

wordcount. 341

You feel it before you hear it.

It’s in the way Sam’s kisses become lighter, like he’s barely there. It’s in the spaces between conversations that used to be filled with laughter but now stretch out into silence. It’s in the way his arms still hold you at night, but loosely, like he’s forgetting how.

You tell yourself it’s just the stress. That the hunts are weighing on him, that maybe he’s tired, distracted. But then he stops reaching for your hand when you walk beside him. Stops looking at you like you put the stars in the sky.

And that’s when you know.

One night, in some nowhere motel, you sit on the edge of the bed, picking at the frayed hem of your sleeve. Sam is standing by the window, staring at nothing. You swallow, trying to push down the ache in your throat.

"Sam."

He flinches, like he already knows what you’re about to say.

"Do you still love me?"

The room holds its breath.

Sam closes his eyes, his shoulders sagging, like you just asked him the hardest question in the world. And maybe you did.

"I don’t know."

And that—that’s the moment your heart breaks.

Not because he yelled. Not because he fought it. But because he didn’t. Because he’s already let go.

You nod, even though you feel like you might shatter if you move too fast. "Okay."

Sam turns to you then, guilt written all over his face. His lips part, like he wants to take it back, like he wants to fix this—but you both know he can’t.

You stand up. Your legs are shaking, but you stand anyway. "I think I already knew," you admit, voice barely above a whisper. "I just needed to hear you say it."

And Sam—Sam looks like he wants to say so much. Like he wants to apologize, to explain, to promise you something that wouldn’t be true. But he doesn’t. Because Sam Winchester has never been a liar.

So he just nods.

And you walk away.

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[bigification]

Spreading Leather

"Not this shit again." You say as the lights flicker for a moment, before completely shutting off. "I paid my rent in time this month, that motherfucker can't just shut off my power whenever he wants."

You pull out your phone and send a strongly worded text to your landlord about him shutting off the power.

It doesn't take long to get a text back. "That wasn't me, but I've been hearing about a lot of power outages in the neighbourhood. Check the breaker on the side of the house to see if there's any damage."

This quells your anger, but only makes you more annoyed that you have to fix the problem yourself. You make your way out the front door and around the front of the house to reach the breaker.

"Where do you think you're going?" A deep voice calls from behind you.

You turn to see a police officer sitting in front of your garage, as if he were waiting for you.

"I... ugh... was just going to check my breaker." You stutter, slightly intimidated by the man.

"Did you know you're trespassing on private property." The officers gruff voice sounds almost aggressive.

"Oh no, you're mistaken, I live here." You respond, just trying to move on with your day.

"Do you own this home?" The officer asks as he stands up. His large figure looms over you as you look up at the 6"6 man standing in front of you.

"Well, no. I just re-" you try to explain, but are interrupted.

"Didn't think so, you're under arrest for trespassing on private property." The officer grabs your arm with one hand and reaches for his cuffs with the other. You try to pull away, leveraging your entire body weight but the man doesn't budge. "We'll add resisting arrest to the list of charges."

"Are you even a cop?" You ask as you finally notice the man is wearing a leather uniform.

He doesn't respond, instead he pushes you against the garage door and cuffs your hands behind your back. He starts dragging you down your driveway like you weigh nothing.

"Aren't you gonna read me my rights!" You ask.

The man chuckles, "you have none." He throws you into his car like a ragdoll and starts driving. The interior reeks of sweat and leather, making you flare your nostrils in disgust.

"I've got one, I'll be back in a few." The man says over his radio.

"What do you mean 'got one'?" You say, trying to ignore the smell.

"You talk when I say you can talk, understand!" He yells.

"Yes sir!" You respond, as if it's instinct. "Why did I just say that?" You think to yourself. You have no respect for this man, why would you ever call him sir. No wait, he's your superior so you have to call him sir.

"Stop squirming back there!" He yells.

You immediately sit up straight and stop moving. You can't move even if you want to, as if he has a spell over you. But your leather harness is irritating your skin. Wait, leather harness. Since when are you wearing a leather harness. You look down to see a black leather harness under your skin tight shirt. Also, you could have sworn this shirt was pretty loose on you earlier. "Maybe I'm just stronger than I was before." You think as you flex your biceps. The moment you do so, your sleeves rip in half, revealing leather bands wrapped around your massive biceps.

The thought of your muscles groaning makes your dick press against your leather jock. You grab your pecs as they swell, pressing harder and harder against your tiny shirt until it rips open, letting your thick pecs hang over your harness. You let out a deep moan as you rub your swollen nipples.

"What did I say about talking, maggot!" Your master yells.

Your mind is being split. One side wants to appease him and be quiet, while the other side wants to give in to the overwhelming sexual pleasure of feeling your body grow.

You rub your thick calloused hands against your now smooth and hairless chest. Your hands venture down to your stomach where your belly fat melts away, leaving six rock hard mounds of muscle in its place.

Your remaining fabric on your shirt is ripped off when your shoulders broaden to match your bodybuilder sized body. Your back ripples as mounds of muscle create a pattern on your back, all the while you feel your head reach closer and closer to the ceiling of the car.

Your lower body follows suit. Your thighs and calves nearly instantly tear through your jeans as they swell with muscle. Your knees start pressing against the seat in front of you as your legs grow longer and thicker, making it a struggle for you to fit into any vehicle. Both fat and muscle pile into your once flat ass, making two perky globes of fat that could make even the strongest men weak in the knees. And your feet burst through your socks as they double in size, perfectly fitting into your leather boots.

Your hips thrust forward as you feel your cock expanding inside of the jock. Your hard dick starts to push its way out of your jock, snaking up past your belly button as it passes ten inches. It all becomes too much, making you shoot the largest load of your life all over the car.

"Look at the fucking mess you've made, I'm gonna make you clean this up with your fucking tongue like the pig that you are!" Your master yells. But you know that's more of a promise than a threat.

As you come down from the best orgasm of your life, the final parts of your transformation take place. Your double chin melts as your square jaw becomes as sharp as a knife, garnished by a subtle five o'clock shadow. Your nose widens and your brow bone becomes more prominent. And your hair shaves down to a military style buzz cut, solidifying yourself as an object to be used by the police when needed. No individual thought and no wants or needs other than sex.

You finally arrive at the precinct and are dragged out of the car. You hit your head on the way out, not used to your towering height of 6"4.

"This is yours, now you're gonna treat it nicely or the lieutenant will never let you see sunlight again, got it?" Your master says as he points to a brand new motorcycle.

"Now let's go meet the lieutenant." He says as you both walk into the precinct.

Everyone in the building is wearing leather, or nothing at all. All the cops are wearing tight leather uniforms and the criminals are wearing leather straps at most.

The pungent smell of leather that fills the building is making you hard again, but you have to keep together for your master.

You finally make it to the lieutenants office. Opening the door reveals a pig of a man laying back in his chair. His big hairy gut is spilling out of his straps and laying on his lap. His thick thighs are barely contained inside leather shorts.

"I've got another one, sir!" Your master yells the boss.

"Good work. We've transformed the entire police force, and most civilians. Get the new recruit working on politicians, soon we can spread leather internationally." The lieutenant says.

"Yes sir!"

[nightscythe]

primarchs on hot ones

as requested by @gnmtlkitten-blog-blog, thank you ◡̈

i've only ever seen hot ones in yt shorts so who knows how accurate this is. but this is exactly what sunshine and rainbows activities was going on in 30k. great crusade? don’t know her. as a precursor, the immunity to poison just means they can’t die. they can feel pain though. and whoever cooked made a spice level tailored to primarch level taste. 

pre-heresy primarchs broadcasting to the galaxy basically

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

the lion: this big dumb man has a point to prove. he’s literally dying. he’s feeling pain worse than anything the universe can cause, and he’s got no expression on his face because leman, his rascal brother that in no better words is obviously cheating. and that’s not happening. he’s not getting beaten by that mut. are you okay, lion? if only looks could kill. quite. next question. lets ignore the tears at the corner of his eyes. he hasn’t blinked in 5 minutes. he would ignore all the pain. what he needs afterwards is to go kill something. don’t touch him or even look at him. 

fulgrim: he’s so unnecessarily dramatic. this is just a press conference. bet he’d be like that guy who cuts a banana with a knife and fork. he’s all tough about it at first but the second anything is remotely out of his comfort zone he’s giving up. no care for how he looks as he’s drinking as much milk as he can to make himself feel better. pride may be affected afterwards. needs to be told that it was rigged and there was no way he was actually weaker than his brothers on something like this (even if he was one of the first to tap out). also needs a cold flannel on his head. sticks around just to hear what everyone has to say, nothing like a secret or two to make him happy again. he sabotages magnus at every opportunity so they stay weak together. 

perty: thought it was an easy challenge. instant regret. considers anything spicy a physical threat following this encounter. he’d last a few spice levels before he’s just angry that something could even be like that. the fuel to the fire? he’s literally being asked about dorn’s constructive criticism that was just pure slander. he’s pissed at dorn. pissed at everyone around him. pissed at himself. he shouldn’t be so easily beaten. he shouldn’t give in and drink a glass of milk. but you know he does. also doesn’t want anyone to touch him, and i’d probably steer clear for a few days. one of his warsmiths is creating a strategic weapon out of this btw. 

khan: piece of cake and is smug about it too. requests more. just makes it into a bit of a joke really. literally needs nothing afterwards. gets on with his day, like it never happened. this isn’t about him, this is about watching all of his brothers suffer (with fulgrim, obviously, though less for the drama). 

leman: makes it the whole way through with ease. yes its really hot and he’s almost dying at the end, but he’s not ashamed to down copious amounts of milk in favour of winning. amused by all the questions and makes a joke with all of them. probably showed up drunk to the filming as well, and carries on drinking after its done. he can out-eat and out-drink the emperor, this was a walk in the park as well. he may be in pain for hours after but he’d never tell you anyway. almost doesn’t wake up from this. 

dorn: suffers in silence. there’s not a point to prove. he just endures. he makes it all the way through somehow without giving up but when he stopped talking about the history of crinkum crankum, that’s when you would know he was at his limit. he just holds onto the table and has the thousand yard stare. he had to finish them all or he’d be doubting himself, but did he wish to do this? no. he would leave without another word. who knows how he’s doing afterwards. it would only be the select few he lets into his private chambers that see him crying with that still stoic expression. yeah he’s fine. really. this is why the black templars are a thing. 

curze: how he would have ever agreed to this is its own story, but somehow he’s sat there eating wings scowling at everyone who dares look at him. he’d complain more and more as time went on, eventually opting to simply stare in response to a question about a general critique of his ways. accidentally eats a bone. everyone realises quite soon afterwards that yeah, the spice isn’t making him uncomfortable. that’s not even a concern for him. he needs physical comfort from the sheer hurt of having to deal with people and questions on that level for such a long time. hug him promise never again (though the wings could kill someone really if he needed to). somehow his reputation ratings across the galaxy go up after this.

sanguinius: oh the angel. he tries to be appreciative. he doesn’t want to refuse anything from anyone or put them down for trying to do something nice. he’d have a cute smile as he answered each question, and even as he ate the spiciest ones he’d smile through the pain, cross his hands in his lap and let his eyes well with tears. tries to claim its because he’s so overcome with emotion for something so nice done for him. lays in a bed and stares at the stars for a while afterwards. will never admit to another soul how deeply it hurt him. just lets the tears roll down his face and refuses to let anyone wipe them away. 

ferrus: he’s built different. he’s not really got the spirit either. just wonders why he was there. spends the entire time presenting cybernetic enhancements and their benefits. what? a free advertisement to the whole galaxy. he’d take it. nothing needed afterwards for him, he just gets on with his day like nothing ever happened. iron hands propaganda at its finest. 

angron: its a battle of him and the sauce and he's somehow losing. forces himself to endure spice beyond what he can handle to prove he's absolutely fully capable. is more satisfied that he conquered the challenge of the wings and is very content on being given more to continue to prove himself (but is equally happy when there is revealed to be no further suffering). punches a wall or three. better avoid him. 

rob: logically he should be fine, because why wouldn't he be fine, he's been afforded superhuman abilities that prevent being in silly situations like this. soon realises that this is not like the food he is served on macragge. stares into the distance like he was personally betrayed. tries to give a good interview in the background whilst hiding his suffering. would just like to lay down afterwards and wash his mouth out a thousand times. now has a copy of the scoville scale in his top draw. 

morty: barbarus could not prepare him for this. which is why the second he begins to feel the heat he gives in. no, no, this is beneath him. more important things to be done, so he's leaving the second he gets a chance. but... what was that question? how does he feel about sorcerers? he'll endure to give a full explanation on that question. actually does leave immediately after though. ice is needed in the rebreather. he’s coughing for hours.

magnus: thought himself above all of it. genuinely would have put a bet on himself to beat everyone else. flawlessly answers questions like it's a precursor to nikaea, until he starts to feel it sting. he's coughing, he's sweating, and pretending its all okay. this was when he originally lost a shard of himself. fenris’ snow could not have even saved him. and what's worse? he'd keep attempting the challenge as if he learned something from last time. its as if someone is preventing him from building up a tolerance... and his only response is philosophy and prophecies. 

horus: it was a walk in the park (lie). he barely felt a thing (he felt everything) and proved himself worthy as the favoured son of the emperor with this challenge (at least 3 of his brothers beat him). not a soul would ever know how abbadon and aximand dripped milk into his mouth to relieve him that night. activity uses his apparent victory when he flirts, talking about his expertise or whatever... tries to seduce the crew for bonus points to look good on camera, the bastard.

lorgar: considers it a test that he has to best. passes out a number of times but forces himself to carry on. had a number of psychic visions during his time passed out and considers them gifts from the sacred flame. each answer to questions he's asked are just rants disguised as something of important philosophical value. would like a bit of praise on how well he did afterwards, please.

vulkan: doesn't affect him but he's chill about it. when asked if it was hot? yeah, a little. compliments to the chef. that was an exquisite mix of spice and flavour. did you think he could grow up on nocturne and be affected by this? did always think he was immune to heat basically. hypes up all of his brothers in the meantime.

corax: weaponised forgetfulness. no expression with each bite. doesn't give much of an answer to each question. the only hint of his struggle is the way he narrows his eyes as if he'd launch an orbital strike on hot sauce. claims he doesn't remember how spicy they were. holds milk in his mouth for a prolonged amount of time whilst he calms down in a locked room afterwards. would rather follow his brother through hell than ever do that again..

alpharius: the brother that did cheat. no one knows who, or why for that matter, but it happened (probably knew this was going to happen for months and prepped a strategic rotational line up to appear like he won). takes the opportunity to stir all the family drama with little secrets of who hates who. doesn't need anything afterwards, because he probably wasn't even there.

[yan-randomfandom]

[ BC & Human, no names stated, they/them prns! ]

a/n ; most unconventional post ever dawg but idk where else to post it,, i js wanted to write about beachcomber 💔 really very short

— 🌊

Loneliness was never a concept for Beachcomber during his time on earth.

Beauty surrounds him. The first time he saw the stars, the cosmos, and life beyond the battle was the moment he deemed the war meaningless.

It only fills him with deep sadness whenever he thinks of his home planet—destroyed by its own people. Nothing but pointless fighting, extinguishing millions of sparks. So much out there, so much beauty, so much to explore, and yet his fellow Cybertronians fail to see it. The Decepticons fail to see it. Well, maybe they did. Who wouldn't?

His optics gaze far into the distance. Just look at this view. The sun setting, the waves dancing, and the sky painted in a beautiful gradient of unique colors to Cybertron. The sand beneath him is as cheeky as ever, rough yet harmless against his frame.

Truly, he wishes his friends were here to experience it. If only.

A few chirps snap Beachcomber out of his trance. He hums and tilts his head to his feathery companion, who shifts uneasily on his shoulder. "Pardon? Can you say that again, my dear?"

"A human," murmurs the green bird, its tweets and twitches translated by the bot's processor. "Human here!"

Beachcomber is confused, and understandably so. Yet the more he watches his friend, restless, the more his doubt begins to cease. Humans have rarely ventured this far from their civilization, and he has made sure they would never bear the burden of knowing he exists. Put simply, a human wandering around this area sounds impossible.

"By the by," he says with a sigh, "are you pulling my leg? I thought we stopped with the antics—"

The bird shakes its head. "No! No, Beachcomber! Human here!"

A sense of urgency finally washes over the bot, so he stands to his full height, his shadow from the sunset looming and stretching through the sandy ground until—

Beachcomber stares at the human in silence. Form coated by his shadow, their own is not even half the size of his. Their widened eyes, he could tell, were filled with so much fear.

An entirely different species—yet an emotion he is no stranger to, a memory he does not want to keep reliving. Nonetheless, he continues to observe with false composure. The human remains still, frozen in disbelief.

He can feel the fidgeting claws of his small friend. Beachcomber can feel his servos fidgeting.

Truth be told, he has never interacted with a human. His experience is limited to watching them from a distance, unreachable beyond their sight. Now, with one standing before him, he does not know what to do. He does not know how to act.

Despite his time here, to think that silence would be his first impression of the savviest beings to walk this planet.

The human exhales. Just as Beachcomber is about to speak, they beat him to it.

"You're ugly," they blurt out, their lips pressing together in immediate horror at their own words.

Beachcomber pauses. That's a rather odd response to their fear. And, mind you, this is his first radio with a human.

So, he chuckles, fully accepting your words. "And you're beautiful."

Just like that, with the utter gentleness of his voice and his choice of words, he smiles at the human, watching as they begin to loosen up, if only slightly.

i actually did think he was ugly the first time i saw him 🥲 he still is tho but thats how i see all of my pookies

i wanted to write more but i burnt out quick oops,,, i did this instead of my projectS ahah, anyway beachcomber omg!!!!!!

[nikamuhlsrealwife777]

Can you do a Nika Muhl x Reader where reader is pregnant, and they meet up with Nika’s UConn teammates, and they find out Nika and reader are going to have a baby. (Hope this makes sense!)

i tried for this one...

FOR REAL?? - N.M.

"I'm pregnant."

Those words, I thought would never leave my mouth. Based off the way Nika was looking at me, she thought the same.

"Wait?" Quickly, she pushed herself off the couch. Her hands resting on my arms as she got closer, "You're being for real?"

I nod, watching her face light up with excitement. We had talked about it, having kids. But so soon? I couldn't lie and say it didn't scare me.

"Oh my God. We have to start coming up with names, oh, and buying things for her...or him...shit. When can we find out the gender?" Her rambling came to a stop, her eyes finally meeting mine rather than trying to scan the room for a plan. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

I chuckle. The fear of the pregnancy wasn't gone, but watching Nika and listening to her joyous rant, I couldn't help but forget for a moment. "Nothing...I just couldn't have asked for someone better to go through this with."

A content smile rested on the Croatian's lips, "We're in this together. Besides," I tilted my head, waiting for her next words, "I can't wait for a mini us walking around here."

I laugh, "Nika, I love you."

Her arms snake around me, pulling me closer into her embrace, "I love you too, y/n."

-----------

"Have you decided if you're declaring for the draft or not?" Geno's voice carried throughout the room, his question had been one of the biggest things rolling through Nika's mind.

"I've decided," her head turned back, her eyes finding me, "I think it's time I move on from UConn. Start my life outside of college."

Geno nods, "alright, kiddo. Whatever you think is best."

I knew Nika had a weight taken off her shoulder. She had made up her mind, but she didn't tell me exactly why she had made her decision. Nika's hand on the small of my back pulled me back to reality. The thoughts calming at the comforting touch. Her smile big as we moved towards the gym, her teammates practicing away.

"I wanna break the news to the team," I nod. It was probably best if they knew they were losing their best point guard.

The teams heads cocked in our direction, the doors giving us a way before we even stepped foot into the large area. Paige was the first one to make her way towards us, her smile big as a question left her lips. "What was your decision, twin?"

Without a thought, Nika answered, "I'm declaring."

"Why? Like two days ago you thought about staying," Azzi asked as stopped beside the blonde.

"Well," Nika looked at me, her expression unreadable, "y/n's pregnant...and I wanna be able to give her a place to stay that isn't a dorm room. I wanna have space for the kid, I wanna get our life moving."

Surprise was the only thing I could read on everyone's faces, probably including mine. I hadn't expected to tell anyone about the pregnancy, at least not yet.

"WHAT?!?"

"I didn't know we were telling them today, " I whispered into my girlfriend's ear, but she just looked at me and smiled, "Nika."

"Yes?"

I didn't know whether to feel relieved or angry. Angry at the fact she let her mouth speak before her mind could make up its thoughts. Spewing at our personal life. But something in the way she couldn't help but wanna tell everyone, it made the anger subside. She was ecstatic. She wanted this. A family.

"You're impossible."

Her smile grew. Whether she was expecting me to yell or to pull the 'we'll talk later' card; it was neither of them. Her support and excitement made all the second thoughts, the worries, whatever you wanna call it, go away. She was anchoring me to reality without knowing it.

"You love that about me," she wasn't wrong, "but to be fair, you love everything about me."

As her friends chattered among themselves, we had a moment to ourselves in the public eye. It didn't feel like it, we were in our own little bubble. Her hands on my waist, my arms stretched and around her neck; nothing could have been better. We didn't have to say anything, just looking in each other's eyes was enough to feel, to hear, to see what she was feeling.

"You know there's other people here?" The blonde's voice broke the barrier hiding us from the rest of the world. Laughter rung out through the gym, echoing off the walls.

"Yeah, yeah," Nika's hands fell, but one of her arms slid around to hold me from around my waist. "Y'all just jealous we got something real."

Azzi and Paige take a glance at each other before bursting out into laughter.

"That's not quite it," Azzi started.

"It's more like, we see the look in y'all's eyes and don't wanna be around when whatever y'all are thinking about gets released," I felt my face heat up.

I wasn't thinking about anything bad necessarily. Just what it would be like to be a parent with Nika by my side.

"What were you thinking about, bebo?" Nika's voice was soft, her smile the same.

"Just what it's gonna be like to be a mom...with you."

She nods, "I was thinking the same thing, y/n. And Paige," the blonde hummed in response, "get your mind out of the gutter."

Paige raised her hands in surrender. Nika tapped my lower back, signaling to follow her.

Once we got into an isolated area, Nika lips were on mine. Soft and sweet, the exact way she was.

"What was that for?"

Nika shrugged, "I love you."

"I love you too," our hands interlocked, "you okay?"

"I'm more than okay. I'm just...I'm just so happy to be with you. To go through this with you," a pink shade dusted her cheeks.

"You're adorable like this..."

She rolled her eyes, "let's not do that now."

I laughed, "you are...but I feel the same way. Everything just feels better with you."

No more words were shared, just a deepened feeling of appreciation for each other. I couldn't wait to spend the rest of my life with her.

-----------

A/n : I lowkey didn't know how to finish this but yeah

[mmirx]

AFTERTHOUGHT ⋆⑅˚₊

Who were you if not unremarkable? You had finally come into terms that you are someone who was meant to stay in everyone’s shadow, but not until you met Caleb, or so you thought.

cw/tags: PART 2 of this, university au, non-mc reader, frat guy caleb (but not really important), angst, jealousy, self-loathing (please just lmk if i missed more cw, i just cant identify more as of now)

note: i dont know what im writing but im enjoying it, so suffer (kidding). the guy that inspired me to write this recently posted smth, so I HAD TO. he looks good and i hate it. nway, this might be shorter than i originally planned bcs 1) i might cut some parts 2) univ is so demanding

word count: 865

Scrolling through your archives, you saw a picture you took a year ago—one in the range where the archery team in your university frequented. It reminded you of  the fact that it was around the same time when you started to orbit around Caleb's circle.

The first time you saw him was when you were thirty minutes late for orientation of the organization that you wanted to join. At first, you didn't notice him at all because you were too embarrassed to look around. I mean you were late and had to walk towards the front since there were no seats available near the entrance. Where's a catastrophe when you need one?

Anyway, after you introduced yourself as someone whose desire is to advocate for human rights, you finally had the chance to look around—you saw him immediately. Why?  Someone that tall couldn't go unnoticed. His looks alone could prove the existence of a divine creature; God probably pats himself to congratulate himself whenever he sees Caleb.

You thought that would be last time you'd see him. It wasn't. 

After gushing over him to your friend, you found that he's also in the archery team. They were literally teammates, so being the ever-supported she is, she devised a plan: you'd be tagging along during their training sessions.

And that started it all.

Initially, you started questioning why you even agreed to this since it wasn't like you were desperate to find someone right at the moment. However, after several attempts of your friend, Zan, urging you to push through, you accepted defeat. Plus, it wasn't that bad of an idea—you have a crush on him, so why not?

The plan was to present yourself as someone carefree and effortlessly cool. That was the plan. But fate is cruel—such a dramatic conclusion—because when Caleb arrived, you didn't even get to say ‘hi’ at him. Your reason? Nothing, you just happen to not be able to say anything because you froze. God forbid your mouth that seems to automatically work every inconvenient moment stops working the moment you needed to be social.

It was embarrassing, even for you. 

A voice suddenly came from your back knocking you off your little reminiscing moment. You looked around to see MC approaching with a frown. There she was again, looking like an angel sent in the world of mortals as an apology for every sin that everyone had committed. You pondered every day how someone can be your friend at all too.

“Lost your hearing?" she said laced with sarcasm and affection.“I missed you," she sighed dramatically as she tried to take away your supply of oxygen with her embrace.

“Oh, dear, I know." 

"Can we go get lunch together? I ditched Caleb for today.” 

Oh. They were supposed to eat together? You didn't know what to feel as your stomach formed a circus within its premises. It felt funny and unsettling. To be honest, you're a fool for even getting surprised with how they do the most mundane things with each other. You hated yourself for having such thoughts because you guys were perfect as friends. It's starting to feel as if you were the problem with all these negative thoughts that you concoct nonstop.

“Serves him right,” you laughed as if you didn't bear any thoughts you just had, "but I don't think I can join you today, MC.”

You had to decline her but not because of your self-loathing! It just happens that you have to finish a group presentation today with people you barely know. Another challenge for you.

You heard her sigh dramatically—it almost made you laugh. Her theatrics never seemed to be on a time out. Truthfully, you wanted to be with her, too, because it might remind you more of the reasons why you were in each other's lives.

“Trust me, if this shit wasn't so important, I'd choose to eat with you." You tried to defend yourself to not make it seem like it wasn't out of willingness that you won't join her.

“I know, it's just, you know you're too busy these days. I mean, I know why because you're such an exceptional woman but still!”

You? Exceptional? Those words being in a same sentence doesn't feel right at all. Was she blind?

“You’re trying to flatter me! But I'll call you once my schedule lets me. I promise, MC.”

She sighed defeatedly as she bid her goodbye. You really did feel bad for not having been with her for such a time. You missed the times when you didn't feel comparatively smaller to her.

You walked for minutes. Gosh, didn't know university was a field for you to battle with so much stairs. But as you neared towards the range, you heard a familiar voice.

“I mean, I don't even know how I managed to put up with her.”

Was that him?

“Didn't you approach her only because you were trying to recruit someone that time?" 

You knew that voice, a senior of yours and MC’s. They were laughing. You had a bad feeling brewing up. 

All was confirmed when the first voice spoke again.

It was him.

Caleb.

tag(s): @justpassingdontworry

[michimars-room]

Ok sooooo, hi again! (I asked about your rules. We respect boundaries in this household). So, I have a little request (if your ok writing it of course!), with a reader who's like bad at understanding other peoplee emotions, reaction and most importantly how they feel towards them in like not knowing if they even like them as a person, friend, ect. If you do more then one character maybe with Ren, Sho, Romeo, Leo and Jin since they are either cold, easily say something that rubs the wrong way or anything but in reality they just care a lot about them but they just never realized that reader thinks that the guy's can't stand them and tries not to bother them. If you only do one then with either Ren or Sho. :3 (btw happy Sho is a close second place for characters you like <3)

oh noooo, I have to write for all of them, (minus Leo i’m so so so sorry… i cannot see him saying anyone is not a bother or that he cares…) now legally obligated since you included them and once i get to thinking i HAVE TO WRITE IT DOWN 🩶🩶🩶 ty for asking for specifics & also for sending this in. hope you enjoy!!

Leo fans - I have something special cooking for him in the slow cooker ♡

dense/oblivious reader × ghouls who have sharp tongues but are soft underneath mmgmfnfm

.°•°.Jin °.•°

The brisk chilly air hit your body immediately freezing you down to the bone once you stepped foot into Frostheim. The house is fitting for its name and the captain also being the embodiment of ice itself. He had a barbed wire laced tongue, lashing out at anyone while he was in a mood. According to Tohma he was far nicer, more lenient with you… but you didn’t see it. You never seemed to dodge his sharp comments, or glaring daggers, “get out. now. don’t piss me off again.” You took everything so literally and internalized it. “I’ll just.. go then. sorry for bothering you…” you sniffled, fighting back tears. Jin didn’t think you were being serious. Until you stopped going over to wake him up. Hell, you stopped talking to him altogether. Tohma on the other hand noticed Jin’s foul mood, growing worse by the day and would sigh. But alas, he cannot apologize on behalf of him, so he convinces you to deliver some papers to his room that he’s DEFINITELY asleep at that time just to walk in to him wide awake, laying on the sofa with a lit cigarette in between his lips. He immediately puts it out and drags you towards his bed by your wrist before you could run away again. “Don’t ever ignore me again.” was all he said before pulling you close against him, breathing in your scent. “You told me to leave you alone… so I did. I thought you hated me,” you admitted quietly. He squeezed you ever so slightly, his tone annoyed. “I don’t. Don’t do that ever again.”

°.•.°Sho ♡°.•.°

You were happily helping Sho prep for the food truck before the busiest hours. The last thing you wanted to do was make it more difficult for him. You weren’t a terrible cook and knew basic knife skills, Sho knew this as well, which is why he accepted your help so readily. That combined with enjoying your calming presence in the kitchen with him. Unfortunately today was different, you kept making mistakes, apologizing profusely before attempting again. Dicing carrots as opposed to julienning, mixing the wrong seasonings together, and par-cooking the wrong vegetables together… These were all minor headaches, but nothing Sho couldn’t work around. “What is up with you today? Something wrong?” On edge from messing up so many things in a row, hearing Sho’s questions pulled your focus from your mind and the task in front of you, causing you to cut your finger. Blood now dripping onto the cutting board you dropped the knife and ran over to the sink. Sho immediately rushed to ensure you were alright and properly bandaged. You apologized profusely for the millionth time in the past two hours. He sighed while throwing away the tainted vegetables. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, I’m sorry-” After your confirmation and final apology, Sho ushered you out of the truck. “You’re banned from helping me with the food truck from now on.” You couldn’t blame him, after all you really hadn’t helped much with all the mess ups he now had to fix… As much as it pained you, you stayed away. After a few days of not seeing you in the line during lunchtime or around campus he sought you out. “Listen, I banned you from the kitchen for your safety… you’re still allowed to eat at the truck y’know.” He joked trying to ease your nerves.

°.°.•°.Ren ♡°•°.°•.

Ren’s targeted harassment allegation really got to you. You never had intended to make him uncomfortable, that was in fact the last thing you tried to do. So when he brushed you off saying leave me alone. I’m going to report you for harassment. God everyone is so fucking annoying in this place. You took that seriously, apologized profusely and proceeded to keep a ridiculous distance apart... He just was overstimulated and socially drained, he didn’t mean to snap at you that day. Even when you came to help Haru, you both would make fleeting eye contact before you averted your gaze either fixed on the ground or to pretend to be focused on other things. Hearing him sigh and groan loudly, you felt like it was directed at your presence so you retreated, mumbling an excuse to Haru you were going to wait outside - for fresh air or something… Ren hated conflict and things that required work whether physical or emotional, but you always would play games with him - helping him get precious resources! You ease his burdens; be it with the never-ending chores by helping Haru in his place (which he finds you to be an idiot for doing so…), you listen and actually… show you care about him. More so than anyone he’s ever known. He’s been lonely for a long time so losing one person he actually CAN tolerate being around really pissed him off, even though this was self inflicted... So, he followed you outside as you scurried away. “Can you fucking chill out…” He said while frowning, he’s not the best at expressing his emotions but he attempted anyway, “I uh, didn’t mean to snap at you that day so can you go back to acting like a normal person?” That’s the best apology you’re going to get from him…

°.•°.•.Romeo ♤°.•.°.

The insults Romeo hurled at you made you recoil. According to Romeo, not only are you a BB! But you’re so careless! Can’t do anything right! All due to the fact that you had sprained your ankle while carrying too many things…

Well, he didn’t expect you to leave him high and dry like this! Having Ritsu deliver any necessary forms in your stead. Oh boy… When he caught a glimpse of you on campus he was charging like a raging bull over to you. “WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU??!? WHYB? IF YOU COULDN’T HANDLE IT YOU SHOULD’VE MADE SOMEONE ELSE TAKE CARE OF IT, BUT YOU DON’T SEEM TO UYB!”

“According to you, I can’t do anything right. So I thought you would be better off finding someone who can.” Romeo couldn’t help but pinch the bridge of his nose in a dramatic manner. “YOU-!! You’re more competent than others!!!” His tone softened after letting a deep exasperated sigh. “Next time open your mouth and tell someone before you hurt yourself again.”

[yoshhii]

INTERTWINED FATE— t. shigaraki

the rain was relentless. it poured down and soaked into your clothes as you ran through the empty streets. the weight of your steps echoed in the silence of the night, the city having long fallen asleep (except for the villains lurking in its shadows). you weren't supposed to be out this late, but after your argument with your best friend, you needed to clear your head. maybe the rain would wash away the sting of their words.

as you took a turn down an alley, a low growl caught your attention. your breath hitched as you slowed your pace. the darkened alley was empty except for a single figure standing at the other end, his posture casual, as if the downpour didn't affect him at all.

tomura shigaraki.

the leader of the league of villains, the man whose very touch could turn anything to dust. you'd heard stories, seen the aftermath of his destruction, and yet, standing there, drenched, you couldn't move. it wasn't fear that froze you in place, it was something else… curiosity, maybe?

"what's a little hero like you doing out here alone?" his voice was raspy and cold. his red eyes flicked over you with mild interest as his fingers twitched by his side.

you swallowed hard, knowing there was no point in pretending to be something you weren't. "i'm not a hero."

that seemed to intrigue him. his lips curled up into a mockery of a smile. "is that so? you look like someone who thinks they can save people."

you shook your head, stepping closer despite every instinct screaming at you to run. "i'm not like them." in fact, you were anything but a hero.

shigaraki's eyes narrowed as you moved closer. you could see him better now. the pale blue hair clinging to his face, the sickly hue of his skin, the tiredness behind his bloodshot eyes. he looked... haunted. like someone who had been abandoned by the world, left with nothing but his rage and his power. and something about that resonated with you.

"what are you doing out here?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

his smirk vanished. "why do you care?"

you didn't have an answer. maybe it was the loneliness, maybe it was the way the world had pushed you aside, leaving you to feel like a ghost in your own life. maybe, just maybe, you saw a little bit of yourself in him.

"i don't," you said, but it was a lie. "i just... i understand."

shigaraki stared at you, his hand moving ever so slightly, as if considering something. "understand what? the pain? the destruction? you don't know anything."

"i know enough," you murmured, daring to take another step forward, so close now you could see the droplets of rain on his skin. "i know what it's like to want to destroy everything because it feels like everything's already been taken from you."

then there was silence. the rain still fell, the night still pressed in, but the distance between you felt like it had disappeared. you expected him to laugh, to mock you, to say something cruel, but instead, he reached out with his hand, carefully brushing a finger against your cheek.

"you don't belong in their world," he muttered, as if realizing something. his touch lingered, though he was careful not to use his quirk.

your heart pounded in your chest, despite a high rank villain standing in front of you, it felt…safe. almost familiar, maybe you didn't belong in their world. perhaps you belonged in the shadows, too.

"i can show you what it's like," he said, his voice low, almost inviting. "to stop pretending. to stop being what they want you to be."

you hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. could you really walk away from everything? could you give in to that part of you that whispered for destruction, that longed for release? shigaraki's eyes bore into yours, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like someone saw you.

"come with me," he whispered. "and we'll burn it all down together."

your breath hitched. you knew this was wrong. you knew that if you took his hand, there would be no going back. but standing there, in the rain, with the world crumbling around you, it didn't seem so terrifying.

you met his gaze, a small smirk formed on your lips, "i'm already halfway there."

shigaraki seemed pleased, and without another word, he took your hand, his pinky up, and he pulled you into the darkness. together, you would walk the line between destruction and freedom, two souls bound by the emptiness that the world had left behind.

[hardly-an-escape]

sweet | Buck/Tommy | 1750 words | rated T

let's go back to a simpler time, when we were all thinking about what might happen after their coffee date. this was originally intended to be a prequel to my fic dance with me (I want my arms around you) and at least twice as long, but the second half has been fighting me for months so I figured I'd just share what I have.

“Okay.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” “Okay, great.”

~~~

Evan insists on throwing away the coffee he’d gotten for Tommy and buying him a new one, one he’ll actually enjoy, which is both wholly unnecessary – Tommy has drunk a lot of subpar coffee over the years – and very endearing.

“Let me treat you to something. Please,” Evan says, and he’s so sweet, so sincere, that Tommy relents. Tells him his coffee order – not that it was some big secret – and accepts the replacement cup with a smile. And if their hands brush, when Evan hands it over, and if Tommy lets their fingers linger against each other, well. That’s fine. That’s more than fine.

They talk for the better part of an hour, about everything and nothing: people they both know in the department; the crazy calls they’ve responded to, and the handful they realize they may have been working from opposite sides over the years; shows they’ve been watching and books they’ve been reading. Tommy is strangely delighted to learn that Evan is more of a reader than a watcher – that when they get on the subject of murder mysteries, he knows all about Agatha Christie’s mysterious disappearance in 1926, but takes a minute to remember what Law & Order is. It makes Tommy feel like maybe the ten years’ age difference isn’t such a big gap after all.

Evan doesn’t stop smiling the entire time.

When their coffee cups are empty he glances down at his hands. He’s still smiling, but he looks a little nervous all of a sudden.

“So, uh, what are you doing for the rest of the afternoon?” he asks. “Because th-there’s this farmer’s market a couple of blocks over, I was thinking about swinging through? If you wanted to check it out?”

Tommy’s sure his grin back is almost embarrassing in its enthusiasm. He gently lays a hand on top of one of Evan’s, a mirror of their earlier touch.

“I’ve got some time,” he says. “Let’s go.”

The farmer’s market is almost painfully charming. The coffee shop Evan had chosen, despite the bougie LA vibes of the patio, was a real hometown neighborhood kind of place, and the market is no different. There are local bakeries and sandwich shops with booths; abuelas selling pickles on card tables and a church selling honey from the beehives that apparently surround their community garden. There’s a kid with an honest-to-god lemonade stand.

It’s absolutely delightful. Evan flits from booth to table, utterly in his element, making friends with kids and abuelas alike. He buys a jar of local honey and one of pickled kohlrabi – a vegetable Tommy is fairly sure he had a vague idea was a real thing that exists – and lingers in front of a display of romanesco broccoli for a while with a speculative look that’s starting to make Tommy almost apprehensive, before something else grabs his attention and he’s moving down the row, asking questions about someone’s backyard flock of chickens.

Tommy learns a lot about Evan in the hour they spend wandering the market. He hears a lot about his cooking adventures, of course; Evan is cheerfully unembarrassed about how disastrous some of his kitchen experiments have been, but seems to genuinely treat everything as a learning experience. He hears a lot about the other members of the 118, especially Captain Nash, and starts to form a picture of just how fundamentally things have changed there since he transferred out.

He’s so glad, in wistful kind of way, that the satisfaction and support Evan clearly gets from his work and his firehouse family was never quashed by questionable leadership. He wonders what things would have been like for him, if he’d had someone like Bobby Nash in his corner from the beginning, like Evan has. If he’d be as joyful, as unselfconscious.

If he’d have been able, like Evan, to grab a man he was interested by the elbow to excitedly point out someone selling fresh donuts from a cart on the corner, and slide his hand down his forearm, and tangle their fingers together in order to tug him down the street.

Tommy looks down at where their hands are interlaced. Big hands, firefighters’ hands; calloused and scarred and hairy. At first he thinks Evan hasn’t even noticed what he’s done, and then he looks back up and catches those blue eyes, the hint of a smile in them. Then Evan squeezes his hand and raises it deliberately, just a little, just enough that the message is clear: Yes, I’m doing this on purpose. Yes, I like you. I want to hold your hand and buy you donuts and make you smile in this perfect sunshine.

Tommy is beginning to realize that he might be in the best kind of trouble.

They do get the donuts, which are made by an ingenious and frankly hypnotizing little contraption that squirts out perfect circles of dough, floats them down a river of hot oil, and automatically flips them, at which point the vendor scoops them out, sprinkles them with cinnamon sugar, and hands them over in a paper bag, piping hot.

Eventually, Tommy glances regretfully at his watch.

“I hate to say this, but I’ve got an appointment at 4:00, so I should probably get going.”

“Oh, no worries!” If Evan’s disappointed, he doesn’t let it show in the tone of his voice, or in his smile as they turn to head back to where their cars are parked.

“Hey, uh, before you go.” Evan ducks his head and looks up through his eyelashes with that shy smile he has that absolutely slices through every one of Tommy’s defenses like a hot knife through butter.

Tommy’s pretty sure Evan genuinely had no idea how sweetly flirtatious he’d looked the first couple of times he’d aimed that smile in Tommy’s direction – but he might be catching up, if the way he slouches back invitingly against the door of his Jeep is any indication. They’re standing so close together that Tommy can get just a whiff of some kind of herbal-smelling aftershave or cologne that Evan is wearing.

“Before I go?” Tommy prompts.

“Just, real quick,” Evan says, and hooks one finger between the buttons of Tommy’s henley, and tugs him gently into a kiss.

Sweet, is all Tommy has time to think before his eyes flutter closed and he’s leaning in, one hand still in his hoodie pocket and the other coming to rest on Evan’s hip. God, he’s sweet.

The kiss is gentle. Soft. Just lips, and their noses barely brushing together, and the sounds of birdsong and traffic in the background. Tommy pulls back to take a breath and Evan is beaming at him, eyes so bright and blue that Tommy can’t help but lean in and kiss him again.

And okay, maybe this kiss is pushing the boundaries of what’s appropriate for a coffee shop parking lot, because it only takes about half a second before Evan’s tongue is teasing at Tommy’s bottom lip, and then Tommy learns that Evan’s mouth tastes like coffee, and like the donuts they’d shared.

It’s their third kiss, technically, and Tommy realizes he already can’t wait to find out what Evan’s mouth tastes like on their fourth kiss, and on their fifth. He can’t wait to lose track of the number of kisses he’s shared with this man, who is earnest and kind and who flexes one hand against Tommy’s chest like he wants to dig his fingers in and stay there. Who chases after Tommy’s mouth when he pulls back to breathe again, who makes the tiniest little noise of disgruntlement, of longing, when they separate.

For a heartbeat they just look at each other. Then:

“Wow,” Evan says, mostly under his breath, and clears his throat, and smiles like the sun. “I, uh. I really like kissing you.”

“Well, that’s good,” Tommy says. “Because I really like kissing you, too.”

“Good. That is good.” Evan grins at him. “You know, it’s – it’s kind of stupid, but after I fumbled our first date I just kept thinking, ‘Damn, I didn’t even get the chance to kiss him again.’ So, uh, thanks for giving me another chance.”

“Thanks for asking for one, Evan,” Tommy says.

For another several heartbeats they just look at each other, and look some more. Tommy can feel the smile blooming across his face, and he knows he must look like a fool, and he cannot bring himself to care.

“I really do need to get going,” he says after a minute.

“Yeah! Yeah, don’t let me keep you,” Evan says. Keep me, Tommy thinks. “What are you up to for the rest of the week? I mean, do you want to get together again before the wedding? I’m throwing Chim a bachelor party, you definitely should come to that at least.”

“Got a long run of shifts coming up,” Tommy says. “One of our guys is out on parental leave, so I’m pulling overtime. But text me. We’ll figure something out.”

“Okay, sounds good. I’ll text you.” Evan’s smile is so wide that his dimples look deep enough to swim in.

Tommy can’t help himself. He darts back in for one more swift peck, but ends up mostly missing Evan’s lips and clumsily kissing the corner of his mouth instead. It doesn’t even matter. They’re both smiling so hard it wouldn’t have been much of a kiss anyway.

He manages to restrain himself and only glances over his shoulder at Evan once as he walks across the parking lot to his truck.

Okay. Maybe twice.

Twenty minutes later, he’s halfway to his appointment – only running a little late – when his phone chimes where he tossed it on the passenger seat.

He picks it up after he’s parked. Three texts from Evan Buckley.

so is it too soon to text u or…?

I had a really great time today

I’ll be thinking about you all day, hope that’s ok

Tommy smiles to himself, alone in his car. It takes him a minute to figure out what he wants to write back, but eventually he taps out:

Me too. And that’s more than okay. In fact the feeling is mutual ;)

He should feel embarrassed; he’s really not a smiley face kind of guy. But when Evan texts back a simple :D about two seconds later, he’s pretty sure he’s floating on air as he jumps out of his truck and shoves his keys in his pocket.