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ilya’s most deeply held fantasy is like getting to do a only half-joking rap performance for shane and svetlana in his living room and shane’s most deeply held fantasy is ilya spitting in his mouth after calling him a whore

#and i love them #i do #so much #heated rivalry #hollanov #ilya rozanov #shane hollander

don't prove me anything ྀི

sex with your husband has always been mind-blowing.

but was it still mind-blowing when there was now a purpose behind the action? a purpose that was drenched in hope and excitement during the first years.

each time you whispered promises to yourself—maybe this time. but this hope eroded, piece by piece, with every cruel, familiar outcome.

your panties full of blood.

was it still mind-blowing when you couldn't even give kento the one thing he wanted as much as you did? was it still mind-blowing when the only thing you wished with your whole heart—the dream of founding a family—remained nothing more than a dream?

was it still mind-blowing when your desire withered under the weight of failure, until you found yourself avoiding intimacy altogether?

kento has never once blamed you. not once.

he never asked if your period came, never let disappointment darken his eyes. he was there—always. and when, after years of trying, you finally did see those two pink lines, only to lose them in the silence of your bathroom floor, kento held you closely to his chest whispering reassurance words.

and kento has never ever complained about the distance you created about sex. he understood. he stayed. he loved.

but was it okay, really, for you to be sobbing on the bathroom floor of your best friend's house?

because now, everyone else's lives seemed to be moving forward without you—marriages, houses, children. and when the gojo family invited you for their fourth baby shower, you couldn't stop the sting in your chest, the tears gathering in your eyes.

you were hopelessly, unconditionally drawn to your husband. to the way his voice softened as he spoke with the little gojo girl. to the way he let the older boys test their strength against his arm, laughing with them, patient and warm.

the hallow ache inside your chest deepened, pulling you under until your stomach twisted and your vision blurred.

you didn’t know how long you’d been hiding here. how long the excuse—i just need something refreshing—would hold before it became too suspicious. you were slumped over, hiccuping, your nose raw from wiping, your cheeks sticky with tears and snot.

and just as you braced yourself to stand—to rinse your face, to pretend—you startled at the sound of three slow knocks.

and shortly after the deep voice of your dear husband came. “...it's me,” there's pause for you to answer, but your throat tightens and the tears threaten to fall again.

“can I enter?” his tone was careful. “satoru mentioned you hadn't come back to the patio. I was… worried.”

the door clicked softly, opening, and his wide frame filled the doorway. he stepped inside inside without a word, not noticing you at first. his voice carried on, steady as always. “i brought a bottle of water if—”

nanami stopped.

his eyes found your bloodshot one, your mascara streaking.

the lines of worry etched deeper across his face. “…you should have called for me.” he murmured, his voice way much quieter now, breaking in its gentleness.

that was all it took.

your tears burst free again and he immediately crouches down before you. your hands clutch at his shirt, collapsing against the solidity of his chest. nanami is fast to warp his arms around you, one hand combing through your hair, the other pulling you closer, steadying your shaking body.

he whispered, so low and so close it's the only thing you can hear. he talks as if he's holding the pieces of you together. “shhh.. it's alright. i've got you. i've got you.”

“i am—” you sniffle, your words muffled against his shirt, just like you did months ago when you lost your baby. a baby that should have been living now. “i am… so—so sorry, kento.”

nanami's heart shattered. he feels not strong enough. not useful enough. the woman he loved more than anything was breaking apart in his arms, and there was no enemy to cut down, no curse to exorcise, no battle he could fight to spare you this pain. only the cruel, unchangeable truth of your grief.

his hold on you tightened, almost—almost—desperate. his cheek pressed against the top of your head. “why are you apologizing for, my love?” his voice was steady.

steady enough for anyone else.

but not for you. you knew him too well.

and oh, nanami wished you didn’t. not now. not in this moment.

because knowing him meant you caught it—the faint tremor beneath his words, the storm he was trying to keep hidden. it meant you pulled back too suddenly, and his eyes, already glistening, gave him away.

“i'm not a—” your words were torn and uneven. “a good wife.” you choked out, confession ragging with despair. “i swear ken. i want a baby just as much as you. i swear i—” the sentence broke completely, dissolving into sobs that burned your throat. your shaking hands rose to cup his face.

“you are my wife,” his thumbs come to wipe off all the tears that fall down. “my partner. my home. there's nothing—nothing—you have to prove to me. not with a child. not with anything.”

nanami doesn't want to see a single tear anymore on your beautiful face. on something you can't even control. but does he know he's crying too? and that your thumbs are doing the exact same thing on his face.

pt.2

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