Hello⭐️Can I request Hashirama,Tobirama,Madara,Itachi,Sasuke,Naruto,Neji and indra with a darling who gets pregnant and then escapes and they find them when the child is a toddler?Thank you 🍉
I am so sorry for keeping my inbox closed for so long everyone😭. It's just that school is keeping me so busy currently🥺.
Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, clinginess, manipulation, sabotage, threatening, blackmailing, pregnancy, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of death
My baby
Indra Otsutsuki
💜Incredibly proud when he found out that his darling would carry his baby. The knowledge that he would have a heir and start his very own clan and that he would have a way to tie his darling down were just so incredibly promising and long before she even had a belly to speak of. He was already growing pretty clingy from his sight, not allowing the s/o anymore to leave his side. He just turns into a nasty monopolizer and there are a lot of restrictions placed upon you, all to assure the baby and you will be healthy and fine. For once Indra really looks forward to something with sincere excitement inside of him and he already had his guard up even higher than usually so escaping would take a true miracle at this point. But you still did, leaving an infuriated Indra behind.
💜Where can he even start to explain how much anger he feels, alongside with the lingering feeling of betrayal, something he had experienced once before with his former village. You should better be prepared for him traveling around everywhere like a madman, darkness and wrath consuming his body and absolutely no one will be safe from him. By the time he has found you, there will be already a lot of blood staining his hands. An extremely unhinged look on his face when he finally finds you, having lost his sanity even more than he did already before a small boy hiding behind your back catches his attention, realizing instantly who this is.
💜He feels a sting of sorrow, maybe because he missed quite a few important things in the life of the little one, but his pride also returns upon seeing his son. His heir who will guarantee that he will never stop tormenting his brother Asura. Sure, the anger he feels isn't fully vanished and he will punish his darling later on for this, but for this one moment he focuses on the little son of his and introduce himself as his father. There is a heavy glare he gives you as he grabs your hand and the one of the boy, dragging both of you back to where he'll never let you escape again.
Madara Uchiha
🌑He as the head of his clan would also need a child to take over as the rightful heir and he does know that it is a rather affective way to guarantee that his darling won't try any wrong moves on him as well. His chest will swell with pride as well upon receiving the news and his whole clan is bound to celebrate the news that very soon there will be the next heir of their clan. Very similar to Indra, Madara himself becomes very monopolizing in regards of your time as well, barely letting you escape his sight for more than a second and his whole clan. Especially the eldest of his clan, will make quite the fuss to guarantee that you're well taken care of. With that much attention and being pregnant as well, chances are rare that you didn’t escape alone. Maybe someone realized Madara's dark obsession and helped you.
🌑If there is such a traitor along the lines of his clan, they should be prepared for Madara to end their life, a dark and crazed look on his face as he does so. Pretty much snaps at everyone to just find you and bring you back, the whole clan being in panic after your escape. His clan uses ruthless methods of their own and Madara won't sit still either. There is only that much time his darling can flee from him and by the end of it all it is maybe just best to go on your knees and hands, the look on his face only telling the worst. But the moment he suddenly sees a small boy walking in the room, his eyes shift to him, slight surprise crossing his face when seeing his son for the first time.
🌑A young and strong boy, promising to lead the Uchiha clan once he has grown up. His darling will probably just want to run and hide the young boy in her arms when seeing the grin making it's way onto Madara's face upon taking a closer look at the child, scaring the young one in the process. The best way to force you into submission is by gaining the trust of your son, so that is what Madara will do, telling the child that he is their father who is here to take him and mommy back home. Which child wouldn't be happy when finding out that they have a dad after all?
Hashirama Senju
🌳Hashirama will be totally over the moon when he gets to know that his darling is pregnant and that he'll be a father in the near future. He just gets totally giddy and won't be able to stand still, excitement shooting through every inch of his body. He as the Hokage and the head of the Senju clan will naturally attract a lot of attention from everyone with such news and everyone will just shower him and his darling with congratulations and the best wishes. If it wouldn't be for work, he would most likely just glue himself to your side 24/7, though he tries to cut work shorter to spend more time with you. His brother and Mito will most likely be with his darling when he can't, so it'll be extremely difficult to get away without being caught. So I'll have to assume that someone was lending a helping hand as well.
🌳He isn't even angry with his darling, he's just so heartbroken and confused about why she would escape him now that they were about to start a family. His delusions might just blame it on whoever helped her and with them he will be more pissed, only further enhanced by his brother who appears to be ready to behead this person. Gets incredibly paranoid that you and the baby might get hurt whilst all alone out there and he will send everyone out there to find you. He just feels like breaking out in tears when the Anbu report to have found you and the child and he will start crying out of relief the moment he sees you and the little, very confused boy.
🌳There really is no chance that he'll ever let you two out of his sight after this, his clan won't do the same mistake either. Tobirama probably feels like he could yell at you for putting his brother through so much as well, but Hashi stops him. Wants so desperately deny the fact that you escaped him willingy and you and your son should be prepared for a smothering session as soon as you three are all in private. But something that will sadden Hashirama very much is that he missed so many precious moments in his son's life.
Tobirama Senju
🌊Tobirama is a sensory type so he might pick up from a very early point on the new chakra presence within his darling. And since he is a very shrewd type, he'll quickly count one and one together. He'd still do a medical check-up just to be completely sure, but the moment he is being congratulated for being very soon a father, he becomes quite flustered. He doesn't want children like his brother does, but after a few days of warming up to the idea, he starts feeling quite happy. Hashi is absolutely giddy as well about being an uncle and the security around you will tighten significantly whenever Tobi himself can't be with you. This guy plans very thoroughly so I would say it might just be someone from the Anbu who helped you fleeing. A bold move that will be followed by heavy consequences.
🌊Tobirama just loses it and he'll lash out on the remaining Anbu he placed on you after having punished the traitors severely. It's pretty much just like with Hashirama, he will send everyone after his darling to find them since paranoia will plague his mind very quickly as well and the longer this lasts, the more he seems to turn unhinged until he finally gets the news that you've been found together with your child. He will be so pissed, it'll be visible on his face as well when the Anbu finally bring you back. That is until he catches view of a small girl, bouncing with excitement to finally meet her dad. That is when his face softens up a bit, though there will be a talk in private later on.
🌊In a way he will use his daughter against his darling because as long as she isn't a miserable mother, she wouldn't dare to leave her little girl. It might not even be that hard for him to make sure that he has the toddler wrapped around his fingers, too young too fully grasp just why her mother seems to anxious about her husband. It'll be a relief for the whole village when hearing that you and the baby have safely returned and Tobi has already planned an excuse to why you disappeared for the villagers and your daughter. But don't worry, it'll never happen again.
Itachi Uchiha
🍡At one point it just becomes so obvious to him that his darling is carrying a baby, be that that she has missed her period, a sudden change in her taste with weird cravings hits her or that she seems to become very moody every now and then. Itachi has to stress himself out quite a bit, you have to understand that with him being a hunted criminal and an Akatsuki member, things would become very complicated. It still doesn't change the fact that he starts becoming very fond of the thought of starting a new family, even with all the stress and dangers piling up his head. In a way he is just so grateful for this chance to have a new start where he can finally do better. And he grows to watch over his darling awfully much, even from a distance.
🍡Even the calmest soul can only endure that much and Itachi finds his limits nearly exploded after the s/o has managed to escape, most likely because he was forced to do something for the Akatsuki. There is this growing anger inside of him, even if his rational side understands why you ran away, probably getting overwhelmed with this new situation. But it is greatly put in the shadows by his worries that something might happen, that he could lose everything all over again. He'll track you down to the ends of the world if that's what he has to do, chasing down a future that could just mean a new and bright life for all the wrongs he has done so far.
🍡The stern look he has at first on his face is replaced by relief quickly after he has scared you for a bit, in the end he's just glad you are fine. Just as much as there is fatherly love shining in his eyes when he notices the black-haired girl playing with some toys on the floor, looking confused up to both adults. He wants to talk this all over instead of threatening you and scaring you and the child in the process, but he'll do it if that's what he has to do. Even if his life isn't fit for a mother and a small girl, he will find a way to make it work. If it requires him quitting the Akatsuki or going back to the Leaf to guarantee both of his girls’ safety, so be it. Though he might not be very fond of missing even more time with his new family than he has already.
Neji Hyuga
🕊️He's completely over the moon once it is found out that his darling is going to give birth to their little baby in a few months, Neji did want to start with his wife a family after marriage. Hinata is happy as well as the Hyuga clan, Neji is a respected member even if he is not part of the main family. Simply can't resist using his Byakugan all the time when he happens to be forcefully separated for you, otherwise he wouldn't really be far away from you. His overprotectiveness increases about tenfold and he just feels uneasy when you aren't in his view, though Hinata volunteers to be with you to make him feel better. It would be pretty hard to escape him in particular, considering how his Byakugan was practically made for tracking down someone.
🕊️Blames himself for having left his darling and he gets torn apart about the reason why she ran away in the first place. Usually he can stay in his delusional mode for about the biggest part of his time, but if there happens to be no one who helped you escaping, he sobers up a bit and wonders if in the end he was a bit too much with his behavior. But he is on a similarly bad level of delusions as Naruto is and especially if there was someone who helped, he'll push the blame all on them for manipulating his darling into going with them. Or he’ll blame it on your hormones and the emotional stress of bearing his child in which case he'll feel terrible for not supporting you more.
🕊️He won't be able to take a rest for as long as you're away to the point where he sometimes looks like he'll collapse from exhaustion. The whole clan definitely gets involved since the child will be born with the kekkai genkai and if they were to fall into wrong hands, something terrible will happen. Tears will definitely be involved once he has finally found you and his little daughter and with all the time that has passed he isn't even angry, just so very glad both of you are unharmed. I have this feeling the head of the clan will scold you more than Neji will, but Neji himself will question you later on about why you escaped in the first place, though question is if he will believe you. He might just have settled with the belief that he didn't support you enough, but he'll be a loving husband and father from now on.
Naruto Uzumaki
🍜Such a enthusiastic reaction to the news that he'll be a father, he'll temporarily forget how to speak, but happiness is stretched all over his face. He would want children later on in his life together with his darling so this is a dream come true for him. And the news spread very quickly, he is the Hokage after all and he has quite the bunch of friends and his teachers and everyone just congratulates the two of you. And Naruto is a highly delusional one so I would be careful in here because that obviously means problems later on. Sakura will most likely be the medic he'll be most comfortable around whilst checking on his darling and the baby and she'll have to expand his knowledge quite a bit as well.
🍜Pure chaos would be the best term to use when one day you just vanish, barely any traces left and Naruto definitely suffers from a mental breakdown, already imagining the worst. I can promise you, there is nothing he won't try to do to find his darling and the child she is bearing and he has the full support of everyone in the village, he might even try to get in contact with Sasuke so he can lend his eyes and ears as well. If there should be a traitor found who assisted you, it's quite obvious he'll assume this person used your emotionally fragile state to take you away for whatever reason. As nice as Naruto might appear to be, he doesn't think he can be this time.
🍜With quite literally the whole Leaf Village searching for you and your condition, it is indeed only a question of time until you're found, even if by that time Naruto will have lost a few screws of his sanity. He's tired, overworked and stressed out, but he'll burst out in tears once he is finally 'happily' reunited with his darling and the twins she has given birth to by now. It becomes quickly obvious that something inside of him has broken, he's a lot more paranoid and clingy, but he'll believe due to his delusions that you were somehow forced to escape from him plus that pregnancy must have taken a toll on your nerves. Feels miserable for not having been there for his family when they would have needed them so he ends up spoiling his children and you a lot. Something Hashirama and Neji would do too.
Sasuke Uchiha
💙Sasuke ends up coercing his darling into having a child with him, he probably doesn't want his once so feared and proud clan to die out with him, though he isn't as power-obsessed as Indra is with this all. He is incredibly content once it has been revealed that his darling is bearing his child and he ends up shortly after settling down somewhere peaceful and quiet, traveling around is not good for you or the baby's health. Ends up developing very quickly on a small obsession of touching his darling's belly long before she is even showing, but he doesn't care. Grows somewhat overbearing, even if he still tries to mind that you might need some privacy. Even if Sasuke has considered himself to have grown up, the outburst of betrayal, rage and sadness he will throw after you've managed to get away in his absence proves the opposite.
💙Hopefully his darling is still aware that even as an adult Sasuke is ready to slaughter everyone he has too if it helps guaranteeing that you'll stay with him. That is exactly what he will do and god show mercy if it turns out someone helped you getting away from you. That person will experience pain and pain only before they'll die a terrific death. By the time he has finally found his darling and the small baby girl that has already been born, she'll just know that blood ranging from innocent to criminal is staining his hands and body. But you won't see a hint of regret on his face. Instead the completely deranged look of anger and yet happiness when he sees you two is more than just disturbing.
💙A punishment for his darling will await later on, Sasuke can't let this one slip. But he doesn't desire to go too harsh, not when he has to mend the relationship so he can have at least a semi-normal looking family. He'll still express that he's beyond upset that he has missed pregancy, birth and time with the baby, he wanted to witness all of these. I have my doubts his darling will feel any comfort at all when he takes her and his little daughter in his arms with a promise to take care of both of them and never let them leave him again, not when the same man has left a sea of blood behind him.
Your junkie ex-boyfriend pays you an unexpected visit.
warnings: graphic depictions of emotional abuse, drug addiction, verbal degradation, non-consensual themes, and toxic, sexually explicit content.
The apartment felt hollow without his presence, though you’d never admit that out loud. Not to your parents, not to your pastor, and certainly not to yourself during those late-night conversations with God. The silence was different now, not the comfortable quiet of solitude, but the oppressive kind that seemed to press against your chest and remind you of everything that used to fill this space.
You knelt beside your bed, the same worn carpet beneath your knees that had cushioned countless prayers over the past three years. The rosary beads felt familiar between your fingers, smooth from use, each one a small anchor in the storm that had become your life. Your parents had given you this rosary back when your biggest worry was whether you’d remember all the prayers correctly.
That felt like a lifetime ago.
“Heavenly Father,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the darkness. The words came automatically, a rhythm you’d learned before you could properly tie your shoes. “I come before you tonight with a heavy heart.”
The prayer felt different now. Before Namgyu, your conversations with God had been simple, gratitude for your family, pleas for good grades, hopes for a future husband who would love you and lead you closer to faith. Now your prayers were messy, complicated things full of contradictions that would make your youth pastor’s head spin.
You remember you’d met him outside a coffee shop near campus, of all places. He was leaning against the glass door, chain-smoking and handing out glossy flyers for some sketchy club downtown. And your parents had been suspicious from the start. “There’s something about him,” your mother had said after their first meeting, her lips pressed into that thin line that appeared whenever she disapproved of something. “He seems… troubled.”
But you’d seen something else. Beneath the tired eyes and the way he sometimes fidgeted when he thought no one was looking, you’d seen someone who was searching. Someone who asked the right questions, even if he didn’t have the answers. You’d convinced yourself that was enough, that love could bridge the gap between his searching and your certainty.
“Watch over him tonight, Lord,” you continued, your forehead pressed against your clasped hands. “Keep him safe from harm, from himself, from the darkness that seems to follow him.”
The irony wasn’t lost on you. Even now, even after everything, you were still praying for him. Still hoping that somehow, some way, he would find his way back to the light you’d tried so desperately to show him.
The first time you’d seen him use, you’d told yourself it was just marijuana. Everyone experimented in college, right? Even some of the kids from your youth group had tried it, though they’d never admit. You’d prayed about it, asked God to help you guide Namgyu away from substances that clouded his judgment and separated him from divine purpose.
But marijuana had been just the beginning.
“I don’t understand,” you’d said to him one night, maybe six months into your relationship. You’d found the small baggie in his jacket pocket while looking for his keys. The white powder inside had made your stomach drop. “Why do you need this?”
He’d gotten defensive, the way he always did when you asked questions he didn’t want to answer. “You wouldn’t understand,” he’d said, snatching the baggie from your hands. “Your life is perfect. You have your little prayers and your perfect family and your perfect faith. Some of us aren’t so lucky.”
You’d tried to explain that faith wasn’t about luck, that it was about choice, about opening your heart to God’s love. But Namgyu had looked at you like you were speaking a foreign language, like the words coming out of your mouth were incomprehensible.
That should have been your first warning. Maybe it was, and you’d just chosen to ignore it.
“Please, God,” you whispered now, your voice cracking slightly.
“Please help me understand why loving him wasn’t enough. Help me understand what I could have done differently.”
The guilt was the worst part. Your pastor had told you that addiction was a disease, that you couldn’t love someone into recovery. But late at night, when the apartment was too quiet and the absence of his presence felt like a physical ache, you wondered if you’d given up too easily. If you’d prayed harder, loved stronger, been more patient…
But then you’d remember the last night, the night that had finally broken something inside you that you weren’t sure could be repaired.
He’d been gone for three days. Three days of unanswered calls and texts, of driving by his usual spots, of calling his few friends who still spoke to him. You’d been sick with worry, imagining him overdosed in some alley or arrested or worse. Your parents had begged you to stay with them, but you’d insisted on staying at the apartment in case he came back.
When he’d finally stumbled through the door at two in the morning, you’d been so relieved you’d almost cried. Until you’d seen his eyes. Pupils dilated, movements erratic, words slurred and aggressive.
“Where have you been?” you’d asked, and he’d laughed, a sound devoid of any humor.
“That’s none of your fucking business,” he’d said, his voice dripping with contempt. “Is there anything to eat in this shithole?”
You’d smelled the alcohol on his breath, seen the way his hands shook. But what had terrified you most was the stranger looking back at you from his eyes. The Namgyu you’d fallen in love with, the one who’d quoted scripture ironically but with somewhat curiosity, who’d listened to your stories about youth group with affectionate amusement, was gone.
“I was worried about you,” you’d said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I thought something had happened.”
“Something did happen,” he’d said, moving closer to you in a way that made your skin crawl. “I realized what a fucking joke this all is. You, me, this whole thing. You think you’re saving me? You think your little prayers and your innocent act make you better than me?”
The words had stung, but you’d heard them before. What was new was the way he’d grabbed your arm when you’d tried to walk away, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks.
“Let go of me,” you’d said, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Why?” he’d asked, his grip tightening. “Afraid I’ll corrupt your precious purity? Afraid I’ll drag you down to my level?”
For a moment, you’d seen something in his eyes that had made your blood run cold. A potential for violence that you’d never seen before, a willingness to hurt you that went beyond words. Your heart had hammered against your ribs as you’d realized how alone you were, how far you’d let yourself drift from the people who actually cared about your wellbeing.
“Please,” you’d whispered, and something in your voice must have gotten through to him because he’d released you suddenly, stumbling backward like he’d been burned.
“Shit,” he’d said, staring at his hands like they belonged to someone else. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I would never…”
But you’d already seen the truth. You’d seen what he was capable of, what the drugs were turning him into. And you’d realized that all your prayers, all your love, all your desperate attempts to save him had only enabled him to sink deeper into a darkness that was consuming him from the inside out.
The next morning, you’d found your jewelry box empty and several bills missing from your purse. He’d been gone when you’d woken up, and you’d known with crystal clarity that you couldn’t do this anymore.
“Give me strength,” you prayed now, your voice steadier than it had been in weeks. “Help me forgive him, and help me forgive myself.”
The breakup had been messy, painful in ways you hadn’t expected. Not because he’d fought for you, he’d barely seemed to register that you were serious when you’d told him it was over. But because cutting him out of your life had felt like amputating a part of yourself.
Your parents had been relieved, though they’d tried to hide it. Your mother had made your favorite dinner and sat with you while you’d cried, stroking your hair and whispering that it was for the best. Your father had simply hugged you and said that sometimes loving someone meant letting them go.
But letting go was easier said than done.
The apartment still smelled like him sometimes. Cigarettes and that cologne he’d worn, the one that had been too expensive for his budget but that he’d insisted on buying anyway. His comics were still on the shelf, the ones he’d left behind in his hasty departure. You’d thought about packing them up, donating them or throwing them away, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.
Maybe some part of you was still hoping he’d come back for them. Maybe some part of you was still hoping he’d come back for you.
“Help him find peace,” you whispered, finishing your prayer. “Help him find his way back to you, even if it’s not through me.”
You crossed yourself and rose from your knees, your legs stiff from kneeling. The apartment felt even quieter now, the silence broken only by the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic from the street below.
Coffee. You needed coffee, or maybe tea. Something warm to chase away the chill that seemed to have settled in your bones.
You padded to the kitchen in your bare feet, your pajamas soft against your skin. The routine of making coffee was comforting, measuring out the grounds, filling the pot with water, pressing the button and listening to the familiar gurgle as the machine came to life.
It was then that you heard it.
The knocking started soft, almost tentative, like whoever was on the other side of the door wasn’t sure they wanted to be there. But it grew more insistent, more desperate, until it became a pounding that echoed through the small apartment.
Your heart stopped.
You knew that knock. You’d heard it a thousand times before. When he’d forgotten his keys, when he’d come home late and didn’t want to wake you, when he’d been too high to figure out how to use his key properly.
“I know you’re in there,” his voice came through the door, muffled but unmistakable. “I can see the light. Just… just open the door, okay? I forgot something. I need to get something.”
You stood frozen in the kitchen, your hand still on the coffee maker. This was not happening. This could not be happening. Not tonight, not after you’d finally started to feel like you were healing.
“Please,” he said, and his voice cracked on the word. “I just need five minutes. I forgot something important.”
The rational part of your mind, the part that sounded like your mother and your pastor and every self-help book you’d ever read, told you to ignore him. To let him knock until he got tired and went away. To protect yourself from whatever chaos he was bringing to your door.
But the part of you that had loved him, that maybe still loved him despite everything, wanted to know what he’d forgotten. Wanted to see him, to make sure he was okay, to convince yourself that he was someone else’s problem now.
“Go away, Namgyu,” you called out, your voice stronger than you felt. “You don’t live here anymore.”
The knocking stopped for a moment, and you thought maybe he’d listened. Maybe he’d finally developed enough respect for your boundaries to leave you alone.
Then it started again, harder this time.
“Don’t be like this,” he said, his voice taking on an edge you recognized. “I’m not asking for much. Just let me get my stuff and I’ll leave. You’ll never have to see me again.”
“You already got your stuff,” you said, moving closer to the door despite yourself. “You took everything when you left.”
“I fucking missed something,” he said. “Something important. Something I can’t replace.”
You pressed your forehead against the door, trying to steady your breathing. Through the peephole, you could see him swaying slightly, his hair disheveled, his clothes wrinkled like he’d been sleeping in them. Even in the dim hallway light, you could see the familiar signs, the restless energy, the way he kept shifting his weight from foot to foot, the slight tremor in his hands.
He was high.
“What did you forget?” you asked, though you weren’t sure why you were engaging with him at all.
“Just… something,” he said, and you could hear the desperation creeping into his voice. “Look, I know you hate me, okay? I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you. But I’m not asking for forgiveness here. I’m just asking for five minutes to get something that belongs to me.”
“Everything that belongs to you is already gone,” you said, but your voice lacked conviction. “I don’t have anything of yours.”
“You’re lying,” he said, and his voice was getting louder now, more agitated. “You’re fucking lying and you know it. Just open the goddamn door!”
The coffee maker beeped behind you, signaling that your coffee was ready. The sound seemed obscenely normal, ridiculously domestic, in the face of the chaos brewing outside your door.
“Stop yelling,” you said. “You’re going to wake up the neighbors.”
“I don’t give a shit about the neighbors,” he said, and you could hear him pacing now, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. “I don’t give a shit about anything except getting what’s mine.”
This was the Namgyu you’d learned to fear, the one who emerged when the drugs took hold and stripped away everything that had made him human. The one who’d grabbed your arm that last night, who’d looked at you like you were an obstacle to be removed rather than a person he’d claimed to love.
“Please don’t make me call the police,” you said, though you weren’t sure you’d actually do it.
“Call them,” he said, and you could hear the bitter laugh in his voice. “Call them and tell them what? That your junkie ex-boyfriend is asking for his stuff back? That’ll go over real well.”
You closed your eyes, trying to think. Every instinct you had was screaming at you to keep the door closed, to wait until he got tired and left. But you also knew Namgyu well enough to know that he could be incredibly persistent when he wanted something. He’d stand out there all night if he had to, pounding on the door and yelling until someone called the police anyway.
“What did you forget?” you asked again.
“Just… let me in and I’ll show you,” he said. “I promise I’ll be quick. I promise I won’t cause any trouble.”
His promises had been worthless for months now, but there was something different in his voice. Something that sounded almost like the old Namgyu, the one who’d listened to your dreams about the future.
“You’re high,” you said. It wasn’t a question.
“I’m fine,” he said, but you could hear the lie in his voice. “I’m totally fine. Just let me in.”
The pounding started again, more desperate now. You could hear him pressing his whole body against the door, could feel the vibration through the wood.
“Please,” he said, and his voice broke completely. “Please, I’m begging you. I know I don’t deserve it, I know I fucked everything up, but I’m begging you. Just five minutes.”
And then, to your horror, you heard something that made your resolve crumble completely.
He was crying.
Not the angry, frustrated tears of someone who wasn’t getting their way, but the broken, desperate sobs of someone who had reached the end of their rope. Through the door, you could hear him slide down to the floor, could hear the way his breathing hitched between sobs.
“I’m sorry,” he was saying, over and over. “I’m so fucking sorry. I know I ruined everything. I know I hurt you. I know I don’t deserve anything from you. But please, please just let me get this one thing.”
Your hand was on the deadbolt before you’d consciously decided to move. Every rational thought in your head was screaming at you to stop, to think about what you were doing, to remember why you’d ended things in the first place.
But the sound of his crying was breaking something inside you, cracking open the careful walls you’d built around your heart over the past month.
The deadbolt clicked open, and you heard him scramble to his feet. You undid the chain lock with shaking hands, your mind still not quite believing what you were doing.
When you opened the door, the sight of him nearly brought you to your knees.
He looked terrible. Worse than you’d ever seen him. His clothes were dirty and wrinkled, his hair greasy and unkempt. But it was his eyes that made your breath catch. They were hollow, desperate, with the glassy shine that meant he was definitely under the influence of something stronger than alcohol.
He’d lost weight, you realized. His cheekbones were more prominent, his clothes hanging loose on his frame. There were dark circles under his eyes, and a cut on his lip that looked recent.
“Jesus, Namgyu,” you whispered, and he flinched at the sound of his name.
“Thank you,” he said, and his voice was hoarse from crying. “Thank you for letting me in.”
He stepped past you into the apartment, and you caught a whiff of his scent, unwashed clothes, cigarettes, and something chemical that made your stomach turn. This wasn’t the Namgyu you’d fallen in love with. This wasn’t even the Namgyu you’d broken up with.
This was someone else entirely.
“What did you forget?” you asked, closing the door behind him but leaving it unlocked. You needed to be able to get him out quickly if things went south.
“I’ll know it when I see it,” he said, already moving toward the bedroom. “Just… just give me a minute to look around.”
“Namgyu, wait,” you said, but he was already disappearing down the hallway.
You stood in the living room, your heart hammering against your ribs, listening to the sounds of him moving around in what used to be your shared bedroom. You could hear drawers opening and closing, the sound of things being moved around.
What could he have possibly forgotten? You’d been meticulous when he’d moved out, making sure every item of his clothing, every book, every random possession had been packed up and removed. You’d even found things you’d forgotten were his, a phone charger, a coffee mug, a book of poetry that had been tucked behind your dresser.
The coffee maker beeped again, reminding you that your coffee was getting cold. Almost without thinking, you moved to the kitchen and poured two cups, one for you, one for him. It was automatic, muscle memory from hundreds of mornings spent sharing coffee before he’d started his downward spiral.
You’d just finished adding cream to his cup the way he liked it when you heard him coming back down the hallway. You turned to face him, the two mugs in your hands, and immediately knew that something had changed.
His eyes were different now. Not just high, but dark in a way that made your skin crawl. There was something predatory in his gaze, something that hadn’t been there when he’d been begging at your door just minutes ago.
“Find what you were looking for?” you asked, your voice carefully neutral.
He stared at you for a long moment, his gaze flicking between your face and the coffee mugs in your hands. Then, slowly, he smiled.
But it wasn’t a nice smile.
He didn’t answer your question. Instead, he moved toward you with that predatory grace you’d seen before, when the drugs made him feel invincible and dangerous. The space between you seemed to shrink as he approached, his movements deliberate and unsettling.
Without warning, he reached out and grabbed one of the coffee mugs from your hands, his fingers deliberately brushing against yours. His skin was clammy and cold, and you instinctively pulled back from the contact.
You watched in growing alarm as he lifted the mug to his lips, took a long sip, and then immediately spat the hot liquid across your kitchen floor. Coffee splattered against the cabinets, dark stains spreading across the white surfaces you’d scrubbed clean just yesterday.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded, staring at the mess he’d created.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, that unsettling smile never leaving his face. “Tastes like shit,” he said, dropping the mug carelessly onto the counter. “When did you start making coffee this shitty? You used to make it strong, the way I liked it.”
“It’s late, and I don’t make coffee for you anymore,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I make it for me.”
“Right,” he said, drawing out the word like it tasted bitter. “Of course you do.”
He was already reaching into his jacket pocket, and you felt your stomach drop as you saw what he was pulling out. A crumpled pack of cigarettes, the kind he’d smoked constantly toward the end of your relationship. The kind that had made your apartment reek of smoke and reminded you daily of his deteriorating condition.
“You can’t smoke in here,” you said immediately, panic rising in your voice. “This is my apartment now, Namgyu. You can’t just—”
He laughed, the sound harsh and grating in the small space. The cigarette was already between his lips, and he was flicking his lighter with practiced ease. The flame cast dancing shadows across his gaunt face, making him look almost demonic in the dim kitchen light.
“Can’t I?” he said around the cigarette, his words slightly muffled.
“Since when do you make the rules?”
“Since you moved out,” you said, your voice rising. “Since you decided to throw away everything we had for whatever poison you’re putting in your body now.”
The cigarette was lit now, and he took a long drag, the tip glowing orange in the darkness. When he exhaled, the smoke hit you directly in the face, making you cough and step backward.
“You can’t smoke in here,” you repeated, more desperately now. “The lease says no smoking. I could get evicted. Please, just—”
“Shut up, you fucking bitch ” he said, his voice suddenly cold and sharp. “Just shut the fuck up for five seconds.”
He held up his free hand, palm facing you, and before you could process what he was doing, he pressed the lit end of the cigarette directly into his skin.
The sizzle was immediate and horrifying. The smell of burning flesh hit you like a physical blow, acrid and nauseating. You watched in horror as his skin blistered and burned, the cigarette tip eating through his palm like it was paper. He didn’t even flinch. His eyes never left yours, watching your reaction with something that looked almost like satisfaction. The pain should have been excruciating, but he might as well have been pressing the cigarette into a piece of wood for all the reaction he showed.
“You’re insane,” you whispered, backing away from him until your back hit the refrigerator. “You’re absolutely fucking insane.”
He dropped the cigarette to the floor, grinding it under his heel without breaking eye contact. The burn on his palm was already turning an angry red, the skin raised and blistered in a perfect circle.
“Maybe I am,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “Maybe that’s what happens when an ungrateful bitch like you decides I’m not worth saving.”
“You need to leave,” you said, your voice shaking so badly you could barely get the words out. “Right now. Get whatever you came for and get out, or I swear to God I’ll scream loud enough for the whole building to hear.”
“Oh, you’ll scream for your neighbors,” he said, tilting his head like he was genuinely curious. “But you won’t scream for your precious God? What happened to all that faith, sweetheart? What happened to loving your enemies and turning the other cheek?”
The way he said ‘sweetheart’ made bile rise in your throat. It was the same endearment he’d used when you’d first started dating, when he’d whisper it against your ear. Now it sounded like a mockery, like he was throwing your shared intimacy back in your face.
“Don’t call me that,” you warned, but he was already moving again.
He reached into his pocket with his uninjured hand, his movements deliberate and slow, like he was savoring whatever moment was about to come. When he pulled his hand back out, your world tilted sideways.
Dangling from his fingers was a pair of underwear. Your underwear. But not just any pair, these were new, delicate, nothing like the practical cotton ones you’d always worn when you were together. These were black lace, with tiny ribbons at the sides, the kind of thing you’d bought after the breakup in some desperate attempt to feel beautiful again.
“Found what I was looking for,” he said, his voice thick with something that made your skin crawl.
The coffee mug you’d been holding slipped from your numb fingers, shattering against the kitchen floor. The sound seemed to echo in the sudden silence, ceramic shards scattering across the linoleum like broken promises.
“Where did you—” you started, but the words died in your throat.
The violation of it hit you like a physical blow. He’d been in your bedroom, going through your drawers, touching your most intimate belongings. The thought of his hands on your things, searching through your underwear drawer like he had some right to be there, made you feel sick.
“Why were you going through my things?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
His expression changed instantly, the predatory smile vanishing and being replaced by something much darker. His eyes narrowed, and when he spoke, his voice was full of rage.
“You want to know why?” he snarled, his grip tightening on the underwear. “Because when you were with me, you always wore those fucking granny panties. Those ugly, beige, cotton pieces of shit that covered everything. And now I’m gone and you’re pulling out this sexy lingerie bullshit?”
He threw the underwear at you, the fabric hitting your chest before falling to the floor among the broken ceramic. You flinched as if he’d struck you, the violation of the gesture making you feel dirty and exposed.
“Who are you fucking?” he demanded, taking a step closer to you.
“Huh? Who’s the bastard who gets to see you in that shit? Some clean-cut Christian boy from your church? Someone your parents would actually approve of?”
“Nobody,” you said, but your voice came out weak and unconvincing.
“Bullshit,” he spat. “You don’t buy underwear like that for nobody. You don’t start dressing like a whore unless someone’s paying attention.”
The word hit you like a slap, and you felt tears starting to burn behind your eyes. This wasn’t the Namgyu you’d fallen in love with. This wasn’t even the broken, desperate man who’d been destroying himself with drugs. This was something else entirely, something cruel and vicious that had taken up residence in his body.
“Get out,” you said, your voice stronger now. “Get out of my apartment right now.”
“Or what?” he sneered, kicking at the broken ceramic on the floor. “You’ll call your daddy? Tell him the big bad junkie is being mean to his precious little angel?”
“Fuck you,” you spat, the words tearing out of your throat before you could stop them. You never cursed, your parents had raised you better than that, but something about his presence in your space was bringing out a side of you that you didn’t recognize.
“There she is,” he said, his eyes lighting up with sick satisfaction. “There’s the real you. Not the perfect little church girl act you put on for everyone else.”
“You don’t know shit about the real me,” you shot back, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. “The real me got tired of watching you destroy yourself. The real me got tired of making excuses for a pathetic loser who chose drugs over everything else.”
His face twisted with rage, and before you could react, he grabbed the remaining coffee mug from the counter and hurled it at the wall next to your head. You ducked instinctively as ceramic exploded against the drywall, shards raining down around you.
“Pathetic loser?” he screamed. “I’m a pathetic loser? You’re the one who’s so desperate for attention that you’re buying slutty underwear the second I’m gone!”
Without thinking, you grabbed the sugar bowl from the counter and threw it at him. It caught him in the shoulder, white granules scattering across the floor as the bowl shattered.
“I bought them for me!” you screamed back. “Because for the first time in months, I wanted to feel like a woman instead of a fucking babysitter!”
“Bullshit!” He was advancing on you now, his burned hand leaving bloody smears on whatever he touched. “You bought them for whoever you’re spreading your legs for now. Some clean-cut asshole who doesn’t know what a manipulative bitch you really are.”
“You’re insane!” You grabbed a dinner plate from the drying rack and hurled it at his head. He dodged, and it smashed against the refrigerator. “You’re a paranoid, delusional piece of shit who can’t stand the thought that someone might actually be happy without you!”
“Happy?” he laughed, the sound completely unhinged. “You call this happy? Living alone in this shithole, buying fancy underwear for nobody, pretending like you don’t miss what we had?”
“What we had was toxic!” you screamed, throwing a fork at him that clattered harmlessly against the wall. “What we had was me enabling your addiction while you stole from me and treated me like garbage!”
“I never treated you like garbage,” he snarled, grabbing a coffee mug from the counter and slamming it down so hard the handle broke off. “I fucking loved you!”
“You loved having someone to take care of you!” You were both circling each other now like animals, the kitchen floor littered with broken dishes and spilled coffee. “You loved having someone to clean up your messes and make excuses for you and pretend like everything was fine while you flushed your life down the drain!”
“That’s not true,” he said, but his voice was less certain now, more desperate. “That’s not fucking true and you know it.”
“It is true!” you shouted. “And you know what the worst part is? I actually thought I could save you. I thought if I just loved you enough, prayed hard enough, you’d get clean. But you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved!”
“I never asked you to save me!” he screamed, his face contorted with rage and pain. “I never asked for your prayers or your judgment or your perfect little Christian conscience!”
“Then what did you ask for?” you demanded. “What did you want from me, Namgyu?”
“I wanted you to love me!” he roared. “I wanted you to fucking love me without trying to fix me! I wanted you to accept me the way I am instead of constantly trying to turn me into someone else!”
“The way you are is broken!” you screamed back. “The way you are is sick and destructive and—”
You never got to finish the sentence because suddenly he was across the kitchen, his hands tangling in your hair, pulling your face toward his. His mouth crashed against yours with desperate violence, all teeth and desperation and the taste of cigarettes and something chemical that made you gag.
You tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong, his fingers twisted in your hair so tightly that moving sent shooting pains across your scalp. His kiss was nothing like the gentle, hesitant kisses from when you’d first started dating. This was possession, domination, an attempt to reclaim something that had never really belonged to him.
When he finally released you, you stumbled backward, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You could taste blood. Whether his or yours, you couldn’t tell.
The look on his face made your blood run cold. His eyes were wild, pupils dilated, but there was something else there now. Something calculating and dangerous that made every instinct in your body scream at you to run.
“You still taste the same,” he said softly, and the quiet tone was somehow more terrifying than all his screaming had been.
You stared at him, wide-eyed, stunned into stillness. The world felt off-kilter, your breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts as your back pressed into the edge of the fridge. The ache in your scalp from where he’d yanked your hair hadn’t faded, but it was the look in his eyes that left you shaking, like he’d seen straight through your defenses and found the part of you that still wanted something from him.
You hated yourself for it.
“Don’t touch me,” you managed to whisper, your voice cracking mid-sentence. “Please, just—just go.”
But the tears were already falling, hot and heavy and ugly, streaming down your cheeks in uneven lines. You weren’t crying pretty, and you didn’t care. Your nose was running, your lips trembling, your whole body shuddering from the aftermath of the argument and that violent kiss. You could taste him in your mouth, and it made you want to crawl out of your own skin.
He didn’t back away.
He watched you like you were a movie he’d seen a dozen times, like he already knew how this scene ended. When he stepped closer, you flinched, your hands curling into fists at your sides like you could punch the pain out of the air.
But you didn’t move. You didn’t stop him.
Because some sick, buried part of you still remembered what it felt like to be touched by him when things were good. Before the lies. Before the drugs. Before the nights you sat by the window waiting, praying, begging God to bring him home alive.
That part of you still lived somewhere inside your ribcage. And she wasn’t gone yet.
“Don’t cry like that,” he said, his voice low, rough, familiar in the way poison is familiar to someone dying slow. He reached up and wiped your cheek with his burned hand, the smell of scorched skin still thick in the air. “It makes me hard.”
You choked on a sob, horrified at yourself for the way your thighs clenched at his words. Your whole body was betraying you, rewiring itself around him like muscle memory.
“I hate you,” you breathed, but even you weren’t sure if it was the truth.
“I know,” he said, stepping even closer, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “You hate me. You miss me. You fucking need me.”
Before you could protest, before you could gather any coherent thought, he spun you around and shoved you forward until your hips slammed against the kitchen counter. You gasped, your palms bracing against the cool surface, your chest rising and falling with shallow, frantic breaths.
“I said no—” you started, but the words died the moment you felt his hand between your thighs, bold and possessive like he had every right to touch you. You should’ve stopped him. You should’ve screamed. But instead, you bucked into his hand like your body remembered something your soul wanted to forget.
“You wore this for someone else?” he growled against your ear, yanking the lace panties down your thighs in one rough motion. “Some loser church boy with?”
“No,” you whispered, tears falling anew as his fingers traced over your folds with slow, humiliating familiarity. “I wore them for me…”
“Liar,” he hissed, slapping the inside of your thigh. “Fucking liar. You wore them for attention. You wanted someone to look at you and think, ‘I bet she fucks like a whore when the lights are off.’ Isn’t that right?”
Your breath hitched. His fingers slipped inside you, two at once, deep and practiced, curling just right as your knees buckled.
“Namgyu—”
He growled low in his throat, grabbing a fistful of your hair again and yanking your head back. “Say my name again. Go on. You’re already dripping down my fingers, might as well admit how much you missed this cock.”
You bit your lip so hard you tasted blood. And still, you didn’t tell him to stop.
He shoved his jeans down just enough to free himself, and a second later, he was pushing into you hard and fast, with no preamble, no mercy, no illusion of tenderness. You gasped, the stretch sharp and unrelenting, your cheek pressed against the cool countertop as he buried himself to the hilt.
“Still so tight,” he groaned, one hand gripping your waist, the other pressing down on your back to keep you bent for him. “Like your pussy knows it belongs to me.”
You sobbed again, the shame and arousal mixing in a sickening cocktail that flooded your veins. His thrusts were brutal, punishing, fast. His hips slamming into the backs of your thighs as he used you like a thing, like a possession he’d left behind and come back to reclaim.
“You think anyone else could fuck you like this?” he sneered, pounding into you harder. “You think some little church boy could make you moan like a slut while crying on your knees?”
Your mouth opened but no sound came out. He had you folded over the counter like a doll, your hands slipping on the surface as he drilled into you, as he took and took like you owed him every last drop of what was left.
“Who does this pussy belong to?” he growled, his hand wrapping around your throat as he fucked into you deeper.
You couldn’t answer.
He squeezed just enough to make your head swim.
“Say it.”
“Y-You,” you sobbed, your voice cracked and broken. “It’s yours. It’s always been yours.”
“Damn right it is.” His voice was like gravel, low and victorious. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to fuck the faith out of you.”
You came with a violent shudder, biting down on your forearm to muffle the sounds you couldn’t control. The heat, the pain, the degradation, it all blurred into one humiliating wave that crested and crashed over you while he rutted into you from behind like an animal.
He followed seconds later with a loud, guttural groan, spilling into you with no protection, no hesitation. You felt it. Hot, thick, invasive, and the aftershocks left your body trembling, hollow, used.
He pulled out slowly, with a satisfied grunt, and you collapsed against the counter like your bones had given out.
There was silence after that.
The kind that made you want to rip your own skin off. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t.
You heard him adjust his clothes, zip up. Then footsteps. Then the sound of him crouching beside you.
Something warm brushed your temple.
A kiss.
Soft.
Gentle.
Mocking.
“You may not take me back today,” he murmured, his lips ghosting against your skin, “or tomorrow. But I’ll wait. I know you’re too smart to go for someone else…” He paused, and then added, almost sweetly, “Or I’ll end you both.”
Your breath caught, your body still trembling from everything. Fear, anger, disgust, and something darker still. Something shameful that lived deep inside you, refusing to die.
When you finally turned to look at him, he was already at the door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the black lace underwear, dangling it between two fingers.
“I’ll take this as a souvenir,” he said with a smirk. “Good night, beautiful. Lock up after me.”
Then he was gone.
And you were alone again.
Broken prayers, shattered dignity, and the smell of smoke still hanging in the air.
theartofmadeline
vaporwave
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
titsay
turnnoffyourmind
