Sum (Smug Men's Wife)

This is about something that’s been weighing on me as a writer, and a decision that connects to a much larger question about how we understand creativity, ownership, and the relationship between creators and the people who engage with their work.

The situation with Love and Deepspace. I feel like it’s important for me to speak up about this here instead of only on alternative accounts, because this is where I do most of my writing. It feels meaningful to share it in the same space where my voice usually exists. I also want to be transparent that I have an alt where I discussed this as well, so if the wording feels familiar, that’s likely why.

To start this off, I’d like to say that I am personally a Rafayel main. He has always been my comfort character in the game—someone whose personality, humor, and emotional depth genuinely made me love the game from the beginning until the very present.

What I want to talk about is not just a single character or a single decision. It’s about something larger: what happens when a creative work begins to shift in response to external pressure, and what that means for both the creators and the audience who have already emotionally invested in the world.

As a writer, I’d like to say that when a character is introduced— especially in a story-driven game like Love and Deepspace— they are more than just pure “content.” They become anticipation, imagination, and emotional projection. People begin to build space for them in their experience of the story long before they arrive. That is what makes this kind of medium powerful, but also fragile.

And when that expectation is removed entirely, not through storytelling but through cancellation, it doesn’t just erase a character, but it also disrupts the emotional continuity that players were already building.

If you haven’t guessed or heard the news yet, the situation I’m talking about right now is the cancellation of Valko’s launch.

Now, if you’ve been following my account— or even if you look through it at a glance (it’s in the name)— you’ll know that I love smug bastard characters. Characters with humor layered over emotional depth. Confident, slightly rogue personalities. Teasing, irritating, charming idiots. All of that.

Rafayel, to me, falls into that category in his own way. So does Caleb, another love interest in the game. They’re not just “fun” characters, but they’re also the kind of personalities that feel alive because of how they balance playfulness with something more complicated underneath it.

And that’s exactly why Valko stood out to me.

From everything we were shown, he seemed like he would fit right into that same space. That same dynamic I naturally gravitate toward—the kind of character who doesn’t take things too seriously on the surface, but still carries something deeper underneath it all. The kind of character who teases, provokes, and lightens the mood, but still feels intentional in how he exists in the story.

So when he was announced, I didn’t just see another addition to the roster. I saw a character that aligned with the kind of storytelling and personality dynamics I’ve always been drawn to in this game.

And that’s why this cancellation doesn’t feel neutral to me.

Well— that’s the reason as a player. As a writer, it was very heartbreaking for me because of what the developers likely went through during this time. Think about it— you’ve put your heart and soul into a character, worked for years to plan and make them, and were so excited for that character to come to life. Only for it to be ripped to shreds because someone else is in charge. As a creative, that’s absolutely disheartening. I know how much a character means to the person who made it. It’s yours, and no one else should be able to tell you what to do with it. I cannot imagine bringing something to life only for it to be taken away because of entitled people with their own hateful opinions. The decision feels disrespectful to— not just the player— but also the developers who have worked ages. A company should never be more loyal to a couple toxic fans over the people who make it what it is.

Now, I’ve been hearing that the company may just be keeping a low profile for now for political reasons. I hope that is the case. But if it’s not, I’d like to say this much.

I won’t go too deep into the topic because I do not want to assume what is happening, since we do not clearly know what is going on behind the scenes. But I hope the correct decision is made. Nothing was Valko’s fault and he deserves a chance at meeting the MC. The story will not work without all six of the love interests, since that was the plan from the very beginning. It will not be love and deepspace without the original planning and content that was planned.

You must remember: the story once started with passion. Not greediness.

The story won’t work if you let the fans write it for you. Let your developers do what they’ve been doing and the awesome work they put in. Do what you know makes sense. If you are just trying to please certain regional fans, I’d advise against it. Such will ruin your story, as they are not the writers of your story.

I have taken action against this decision, along with many other members of the LADS community. I’ve written and sent emails to all the accounts I could find ([email protected], [email protected], [email protected]) with a lot of detail in them.

Here are the emails:

I also would encourage anyone reading to— if you haven’t already— sign the following petitions. Both, unlike what people may think, are completely free! You would just need to verify your email while signing. They may bring you to donation pages, but you are able to skip or just go to your email and verify to move on.

— Petition 1: iPetitions: https://www.ipetitions.com/p/bring-back-valko-as-a-love-interest-as-it-was-intended/

— Petition 2: Change.org: https://c.org/gBJ8QD5jTy

Both of these are important, so please sign both. I would also encourage unfollowing the social media, emailing through the three emails I’ve provided, reach out for financial compensation of anything that you have bought and every penny spent for the event or Valko in general, as what the company did would now fall under false advertising, use of fraud in the inducement, aswell as bait and switch tactics. I will not yet ask you to leave one star reviews or delete the game entirely as, like I’ve said before, I don’t want to assume that this decision was made entirely on purpose when there are possibilities— due to the timing— of it being more political. If you’d like to, though, feel free. Leave any more ideas you may have. Please, please speak up about the matter as much as you can and sign the petitions. We need to do this for the developers. We cannot let the developers’ hard work go to waste. We will not stand and watch the character they’ve worked years on get removed. It is unfair. No one ever has the right to remove someone else’s creation. No one has the right to take that away from a creator. Ever.

Until further notice, we will need to get the company’s attention and join and unite together to bring Valko back.

Every person matters.

Spoiler Warning...

----

WDYM JAX IS GONE LIKE JAX LIKE MY JAX LIKE STUPID FUNNY JERK PURPLE BUNNY WHO IVE BEEN DEFENDING WITH MY HEART SINC3 EPISODE 1 (ACTUALLY 2 SINCE THATS WHEN PPL STARTED BECOMING HATERS) JAX?? HELLO??? EXCUSE ME THAT WAS MY MAN ITS ALWAYS THE COMEDIC RELIEF CHARACTERS CRYING DYING MORTIFYING (That was so good though)

NO ONE IS COPING AS MUCH AS ME RIGHT NOW (grown woman writing an alternate ending to this with the reader because I want Jax to be alive and well the ending was NOT the same without Jax making a comment NOOOOOO wdym hes gone and he didnt wanna go I cannot bawling my eyes out this trauma of the funny characters dying has definitely continued into my adulthood little me is scared as she should be)

Edit: a friend was asking and yes YES I know Leeroy Mateo is Jax in real life and Jax is a brain scan of who Leeroy was at the time and stuff which means technically Jax is alive and doing much better in real life and technically theyre all just digital brain scans so they shouldnt mean anything

BUT CHARACTERS ARE JUST WORDS ON PAPER AND SOMEONES IMAGINATION ANYWAYS SO LET ME BE UPSET LEEROY ISNT JAX AS MUCH BECAUSE THEY HAVE DIFFERENR EXPERIENCES AND I HAVE FREE WILL TO SOB ABOUT MY MAN BEING GONE (him in real life is still hot though have you seen that man?? The delivery man salute was so cute I want him I wanna meet him plsplspls writing abt him as we speak) BUT I WANT JAX BAAACK I WISH THEY BROUGHT HIM BACK (my delusional ahh thinks theres still a chance and I imagine later on he does come back) (grown woman btw sthu let me live)

(Also the end with Leeroy looking at Abigail HAHAHAJAJA AWWWWW WORLDS CONNECT)

What video game has the best opening scene or level?

Feed your dashboard by answering my question, blogger.

Is there a food from a game you would love to have in real life?

Feed your dashboard by answering my question, blogger.

Too many.

You’re going around the kitchen, focused on whatever you were doing— something simple, something normal— when you feel it. That slight shift in the air that says that your husband is here.

You feel the presence behind you, but you don’t turn around. Not yet. You’ve learned. If you react too quickly, he gets smug about it. If you ignore him, he gets worse.

So you stay still.

“…You’re hovering,” you say flatly.

Silence. For a beat, maybe two.

Then a low chuckle comes out.

“Hovering?” Cain repeats, voice amused, like you just said something ridiculous. “That’s a bit harsh. I’d call it… appreciating the view.”

You roll your eyes, turning slightly—ready to tell him off—

And stop.

Because he’s not empty-handed.

There’s… flowers.

Was today something special? Oh no no no no. There’s no way you forgot a special date. And there’s certainly no way you still don’t know what that special date is.

Your stomach drops instantly.

Your grip tightens slightly around whatever you were holding, your brain scrambling—fast, frantic, spiraling.

It is definitely not your anniversary, you’d just gotten married a couple weeks ago. It’s certainly not your birthday.

Some weird “first time we did something ridiculously specific” date that only Cain Montgomery would remember just to hold it over your head forever?

Oh, this is bad.

This is really, really bad.

You stare at the flowers, the really beautiful flowers that include your favourites and other pretty ones, like they might magically explain themselves. You wish they had the mouths to. That they could whisper it into your ear. Telepathy would be nice about now. It would’ve made things so much more easier.

Think, girl, think.

The first time you met? Definitely not.

The first time he became a teacher just so J*se would leave you alone? Nope.

The first time you took care of him, and consequently found Gius’ fanfiction and read it to him? Nope, you remember that day quite well…

“…Did I forget something?” you ask slowly, carefully— like you’re trying to defuse a bomb.

Cain goes quiet.

You can practically hear the non-existent crickets.

And that might just be worse than anything.

A beat passes. Then two.

You panic in your head, thinking. Scrambling for something, anything your brain can remember.

Cain breaks the silence.

“…Wow,” he says slowly.

That’s all it takes to make your heart drop.

“Oh— Oh my— I— Cain I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to— I just—”

He lets out a snort.

You freeze for a moment before looking up, eyes narrowing.

“…You’re enjoying this.”

His mouth curves, that smug, insufferable grin sliding into place like it belongs there. “A little.”

“You’re the worst.” you mutter, still trying to scramble for a singular moment you two might have had that was special today.

“Mmm, yeah and you’re panicking,” he counters easily, stepping closer, watching you like this is the best entertainment he’s had all week.

You clutch the counter. “Cain.”

“Sweetheart.”

“Tell me what I forgot.”

He tilts his head, pretending to think about it, dragging it out just enough to make your eye twitch. “Mmm… no.”

You blink, “Cain—”

“You should see your face right now.”

You inhale sharply. “I hate you so much.”

“No, you don’t.”

…Annoyingly, he’s right.

You glare at him anyway. “If this is something important—”

“It’s not.” he says, very simply. It seemed too simple an answer for you when you’ve been panicking in your head non-stop.

“…What?”

“It’s not,” he repeats, even simpler this time. “You didn’t forget anything.”

Then your shoulders drop just a little, relief mixing immediately with irritation. “You are actually the worst kind of person.”

“Mm… So I’ve been told.”

“Why do you have flowers then?”

There’s a subtle shift in the air. The teasing doesn’t fully disappear, but it softens at the edges, like something quieter is sitting underneath it.

Cain steps closer again, closing the space like it’s nothing, like he always does.

“Do I need a reason?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say immediately. “Because you’re you. You don’t do anything without reason.” That earns you a quiet huff of amusement, “Fair.”

He glances down at the flowers for a second, then back at you.

“They looked like something you’d like,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “So I got them.”

Just like that.

No big speech. No dramatic build-up.

Just… that.

You stare at him. “…That’s it?”

He nods, the smirk coming back, “That’s it.” “You’re telling me,” you start slowly, “that I just had a full internal crisis… for no reason?” “I wouldn’t say no reason,” he murmurs, stepping closer, voice dipping just enough to make your chest tighten. “You care enough to panic.”

You huff, looking away. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Mmmm…”

You glance back at the flowers, then at him.

“…You actually thought of me.”

Cain lifts a brow, that sly smirk still there— a little softer, “I usually do.”

“That’s not— you know what I mean.”

His gaze lingers on you for a second too long—steady, unreadable, but not teasing this time, “Like I said, I usually do.”

Your heart does that stupid thing again and you can feel your cheeks heating.

“‘Nice,’” he repeats, unimpressed. “That’s all I get?”

“Shut up… I’m processing.”

“Process without making it sound like you’re talking about a chair.” he mutters, “Take your time, I’ve got all day.” it’s meant to be cheeky and you know you should swat him, but it comes out softer than it should.

You hesitate for a second… then reach out, taking the flowers from him.

Your fingers brush his, and—of course—he doesn’t move his hand away right away.

He never does.

“They’re beautiful.” you murmur, blushing. Your fingers curl slightly around the stems. “…Really pretty,” you admit, softer now. “I love them. Thank you.”

His expression doesn’t change much— but you feel it. That subtle shift. That small, satisfied ease he doesn’t show to anyone else.

He looks at you. Just you— standing there, holding the flowers he picked, saying you love them.

His shoulders ease just slightly. His jaw loosens. That ever-present smirk doesn’t disappear—but it softens again at the edges, like it’s not doing all the work for once.

Then you feel his hand on your chin, tilting it up to look at him.

“Look at me when you say that,” he murmurs.

“I was looking at you. I am looking at you.”

“Sweetheart.”

Your breath catches a little, but you do.

“Thank you, Cain. For the beautiful, just-because flowers.”

The words hang between you.

“…Yeah,” he says, low, “Anytime, sweetheart…”

You stay like that, looking at each other. Then you swallow, breaking the silence, still holding the flowers between you. “…You’re being suspiciously normal right now.”

“Don’t get used to it.” The corners of his smirk twitch.

“Aaaand there it is.”

“Missed it, didn’t you?”

“Only a little…” you scoff, though it comes out more breathless.

His smug grin slowly widens.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “Keep admitting things like that and I might start thinking you like me.”

You roll your eyes, but your voice comes out quieter. “I married you.”

“Ah, technicalities…”

“Cain—”

His hand slides from your chin to the back of your neck,

“You love them?”

“That’s what I said.”

“I know.” His gaze sharpens just a little—not harsh, just intent.

“Because I picked them,” he says simply, “For you.”

Your gaze softens, any teasing or defiant glint gone. Your grip on the bouquet softens.

“…I love them,” you repeat, this time slower. “Because you picked them.” He lets out a subtle exhale, as if your words were oxygen.

“Good.”

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. “…You wanted me to like them that much?”

“I don’t do things halfway.”

“Not what I asked.”

There’s a slight pause as he looks into your eyes.

“Yeah…”

You smile adoringly at him, your grip on the flowers tightening once again.

He glances down at them, then back at you, eyes flicking with that familiar glint again. “Put them somewhere before you crush them,” he mutters.

You scoff lightly. “I’m not crushing them.”

“Yeah you are.” he responds, gaze dropping to your lips as he seems unfocused on the conversation.

“Cain—” He leans in before you can finish. There’s no tease to it. He doesn’t hover out of reach.

He kisses you properly, like you’re something he wants— something he needs.

Your hand instinctively grabs his shirt again, flowers pressed carefully between you as you lean into him.

The kitchen. The quiet. The stupid little panic from earlier—it all melts into nothing but him.

Cain Montgomery kisses you like he means it. Your fingers tighten in his shirt without thinking, pulling him closer as the flowers get slightly crushed between you both—petals brushing against your wrist, soft and warm and real. His hand at the back of your neck firms just a little, holding you there—not forcing, just… not letting you drift away either.

His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the way he exhales against your lips— quiet, controlled, but heavier than usual

His hand slips from your neck to your wrist again, thumb brushing lightly over your pulse—like he needs to feel it. Like he needs to remind himself you’re right here. With him.

“You’re trouble, you know that?”

You blink up at him, raising a stubborn brow, still dizzy from the kiss, “How am I the trouble here?”

His mouth curves faintly. “You make me do things like this.” he gestures to the flowers.

You glance down at the flowers again, then back at him. “…You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Didn’t say that.” he says, softer.

He leans in again—not a kiss this time, though you very much wish it was, just close enough that his voice brushes against your lips. “Go put them in water,” he murmurs. “Before you actually do crush them.”

You look at his lips— you can’t help it, before swallowing.

His smug grin is back as he nudges toward the sink, “Go on.”

You huff softly, but you listen this time, turning just enough to reach for a vase, carefully adjusting the flowers like they’re something precious. You look at them for a moment before feeling your husband’s gaze and turning around.

“…Cain?” you say after a second.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

Your eyes soften once more, “Thank you… Again. For this.”

He doesn’t answer right away, coming close to you and kissing you, softly this time.

Your hand stills against the vase, the flowers resting safely now, forgotten for a second as he tilts his head just slightly—deepening it, but not rushing. Just enough to make your chest tighten again, just enough to make you lean into him without thinking. His hand finds your waist again, gentler this time. Anchoring, not claiming.

Then he looks at you, his gaze softer than ever.

Anyways, Happy Ides of March to everyone except Julius Caesar (“Et tu, Brute?”)

You’re all cordially invited to the stabbing party. Remember everyone. It isn’t just about stabbing. It’s about stabbing together as a group. This group activity will include:

1. Greeting.

2. Stabbing.

3. More stabbing.

…

23. More stabbing.

Happy birthday to the father of my fish plushie child who apparently, according to him, cannot swim.

I mean— Damn. Most people in real life don't know what exactly I write while most people online don't know that I do anything but write. Most people don't know I'm even more of a weirdo gremlin here (probably don't even think it's possible). Most people don't know I write romance fanfics of characters from people's imagination and claim to be the wife of smug fictional men or scenes that I write in my fanfics. I haven't written smut, no, but apparently it's considered cringe nowadays to be just a girl writing away at her computer to feed herself (and other people) writings of fanfics where you are married to the men you obviously would marry in real life, but can't because— and this is where you hear me cry— they aren't real.

[WARNING: CHAPTER 11 SPOILERS]

You and Cain were back at the camp, helping with the kids. It was the last day of summer camp, and the kids were allowed to be free. Other counselors took them somewhere for their last day.

You came out of your cabin, ready for a swim in the lake.

The sun shimmered against the lake, breaking into a thousand glints on the surface. It looked almost the same as it had years ago— quiet, deceptively peaceful. The laughter of kids echoed faintly from the trails where the other counselors had taken them, leaving the lakeside empty.

You looked in the lake.

There he was.

Cain.

He looked relaxed and peaceful. It gave you an odd sense of deja vu. Cain was floating on his back, arms spread like he owned the whole damn lake. The sun caught on his skin, water beading along his chest before sliding away. His eyes were closed, but you knew better than to think he didn’t notice you. Cain always noticed you.

You went in slowly, sneaking up to give him a kiss on the cheek.

Last time, years ago– years before you got married, this ended horribly. Last time, out of pure worry, he told you he couldn’t do this. Last time, he said he regretted it. Last time, there was something between you.

This time would be different.

This time, you were his wife. This time, he didn’t jump. He wasn’t zoned out. This time, instead of panic, Cain made a noise that was half-surprise, half-pleasure.

His head tilted toward you, droplets clinging to his lashes as he cracked one eye open. That crooked grin pulled at his mouth— lazy, familiar, devastating.

“Could’ve warned me,” he drawled, voice low and rough from the quiet, but his hand found your hip under the water anyway, steady and possessive. “Sneaking up on a man like that… you planning to drown me with affection, sweetheart?”

You smirked, even though your heart was thudding in your chest. “Thought I’d test if you still regret kisses by lakes.”

The grin faltered— just a flicker, quick as the ripple that broke against your shoulder. His eyes searched yours, the way they always did when he thought you were hiding the sharp edges of your feelings,behind a joke. Then he grinned.

“The only thing I truly regret about that was being a coward when I could’ve done this.”

Before you can answer, his mouth is on yours— no hesitation nor regret in the motion. It’s not frantic; it’s steady and claiming, like he’s sealing a promise he should’ve kept years ago.

A promise he should’ve kept that very day.

The sun slid across your skin, the water lapping at your hips, and for a heartbeat all the ghosts of that night were drowned out by the press of him.

When he finally broke the kiss, both of you were breathing a little harder, the lake glittering like it had swallowed the sun and spat out light just for you two.

Cain’s grin came back slow, dangerous in the way that made your pulse stutter. He kept one hand at your hip, the other resting on the water as if even the surface needed permission to be between you.

“You taste like the lake,” he teased, voice rough.

You smiled, “I happen to like the lake. Now, at least.”

He grinned, before tipping his head, eyes asking something that didn’t need words. “Jump.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

He caught you like he had been built for it—hands braced under your thighs, wrapping you around his waist. His grip was strong and sure, holding you tight against him. The water rocked with the motion, but Cain didn’t waver, not even a little.

“Let me make up for everything…” he breathed, his lips brushing your temple, your cheek, before finding your mouth again. “Show you what should’ve happened. What I really really damn well wanted.”

You clung tighter, fingers sliding into his wet hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your mouth, before moving back to his chest. His chest was firm beneath your palms, every shift of muscle reminding you how solid he was, how unshakable. The sound he made when you pressed closer sent a shiver straight through you.

“Sweetheart…” he growled softly against your lips, the word breaking on a sharp inhale as you kissed him back with equal urgency. His hands squeezed your thighs, adjusting his grip, pulling you even tighter around him. The lake swayed around you both, cool and indifferent to the heat sparking between your bodies.

His mouth trailed from your lips down your jaw, over the sensitive skin of your neck, his teeth grazing lightly before he kissed the spot as though to soothe it. You tilted your head back, a quiet gasp slipping free, and Cain swallowed it like it belonged to him.

It did.

“Never regretted you. Could never regret you. That damn memory kept torturing me in my head and I know I deserve it.” he murmured against your skin, voice rough, almost desperate. “I only ever regretted not being brave enough to hold on. See where things could’ve gone.”

“We’ve got forever now.” is your reply, “You had reasons, Cain. I get it. Really making it up to me, though.”

Cain hummed, low and satisfied, as if your words were a balm he didn’t know he’d been craving. He pressed a lingering kiss to the curve of your neck, then back to your lips, each movement slower now, savoring the connection instead of needing it.

His lips find yours again, softer this time, coaxing, teasing, letting you set the rhythm. You respond eagerly, pressing closer, feeling the heat of him through the water, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against yours.

Your arms move from his chest to his neck, wrapping around it. The kiss deepened, his mouth parting yours with a hunger that was steadier now, deliberate— like he was memorizing you, every taste, every sound you made. His tongue brushed yours in a slow, commanding slide, and the sound you made in response had him growling again, a rough rumble that vibrated through his chest.

His breath ghosted against your lips between kisses, warm and ragged, his forehead resting briefly against yours before he claimed your mouth again.

Cain pressed one last kiss to your forehead, sealing it, before resting his chin briefly atop your head. “Should’ve done this years ago,” he murmured.

"At least you're here now." You smiled.

His grip tightened, "Of course I am. Never leaving you again."

"You better not." You chuckled, "Cause I'm not, either."

"Good."

And as the two of you floated there, tangled together in the heart of the lake, you knew he was right. This time, there were no ghosts left between you.

Askaj I love my family

Take my card (and me) good sir.

Warning: Suggestive ending (nothing explicit)

---

Cain never understood people with “baby fever.”

Never got how someone could want a kid that badly.

A kid was just another mouth, not oxygen. Nobody actually needed one.

Boy, would this man eat his words.

Because then he found you.

And despite everything— no matter how much he denies it— you managed to change him just a bit. Just enough to make him want things— feel things— he’d never imagine. Things he’d made fun of in the past.

Like right now.

Right now, where he was really starting to want a child with you.

It was driving him insane.

It all started when Reginald— your father, his father-in-law— showed him pictures of you as a baby.

Cain wasn’t sure what was worse— Reginald flipping through those old photo albums with a stupidly proud grin, or the fact that Cain didn’t hate it.

He wanted to. He wanted to roll his eyes, scoff, maybe toss in a jab about how obviously you looked like a tiny gremlin, and wasn’t it a miracle you grew into someone so damn gorgeous even halfway decent-looking.

But look at cute, sweet little you.

He sat quietly, watching.

Watching you, in your ridiculous baby clothes, clutching some toy like it was your whole world. Your eyes still had that same spark— just smaller, rounder, softer.

And damn it all if something in his chest didn’t twist.

Cain didn’t just see you.

He saw pieces of you he missed.

But what if he could be there for it?

Not your past, no. That was gone. But the future.

A future where some little brat with your eyes and maybe his grin ran through the halls, tugged at your sleeve, reached for him with those small, stubborn little hands.

The image hit hard.

Cain Montgomery. Imagining fatherhood. Unbelievable.

He had never thought about kids— not after his own childhood.

Cain wasn’t the kind of man who got to want soft things. He wasn’t the kind of man who thought he even deserved to.

And he didn’t want to be a father like stupid William.

But watching Reginald beam at those old photos of you, Cain felt that ugly, dangerous ache in his chest.

Because maybe— just maybe— he could be something different.

Not your father. Not his.

Not William.

Something better.

But he shrugged it off. Tried burying the feeling.

But then you just had to go smile at some stranger’s kid. Soft voice, warm grin, the kind of smile Cain had never once seen directed at him in that way.

And he wanted to be the reason you smiled like that. Wanted to be the man standing next to you when some tiny, stubborn thing called you mama and looked up at him like he hung the stars.

He knew you wanted one. You’d talked about it here and there, subtly. Because you didn’t know if it was what he wanted. He noticed that. Of course he did.

And now it was stuck in his brain.

For a damn murderer, he couldn’t seem to kill this thought.

He’d look at you, imagining how you’d look carrying his child. You having his child.

Why the hell was that making him feel things?

He’d catch himself staring at your pretty little fingers and wonder how they’d look cradling a baby’s cheek. He’d picture you half-asleep with a little child pressed against your chest, both of you breathing in soft little sighs. He’d imagine a laugh that wasn’t yours or his filling the house.

And it was driving him insane.

And after a long while of the universe torturing him with signs, he finally told you.

He waited. Not long, just long enough for his chest to stop hammering against his ribs, long enough for him to make sure the words would land exactly right.

“I want a kid with you.”

Your eyes went wide. “…What?”

You looked at him, not knowing whether he was being sarcastic or not. You waited for the punchline.

It never came.

It’s true that Cain was always direct about what he wanted.

But Cain Montgomery wanted a kid? Already?

Cain’s jaw tightened. He held your gaze, chest still hammering, as if he had to will the words into existence. “I’m serious,” he said, voice low, steady— too steady—l ike he was daring you to question him.

You blinked, heart thudding in disbelief. “I… I—”

He held up a hand, cutting you off before your brain could spiral. “No, listen. Don’t freak out. I’m not asking tomorrow. Not even next week. I just… I want this. I want us to have this. Only if you want it too. If you don’t, I don’t.”

You looked at him. “Cain, if you’re doing this because of me—”

He leaned forward, eyes hard, voice low and razor-sharp. “I don’t do things I don’t want, sweetheart.. Ever. You should know that by now.”

“…You’re serious,” you whispered, more to yourself than him.

“Didn’t I just say that?”

You swallowed hard, heat climbing your chest. “…You’d really want that? With me?”

Cain’s eyes bored into yours, as if daring you to look away. “Who the hell else would I want it with, Mrs Montgomery?”

You blinked, flustered.

“Okay, yeah. Sure.”

You didn’t know how else to put it. What were couples even supposed to do after this talk?

Cain’s eyes narrowed. “…That’s all you’ve got?”

You raised your brow “What else am I supposed to say? ‘Yes, Cain, please breed me. Let me have your child.’”

He leaned back a little, s smug grin forming on his lips. “Much better.” and then mutters, “I tell you I want to knock you up, and you hit me with okay.”

“Alright you ruined the moment. Get out.”

“No.” his grin sharpened. “You get in the damn forsaken bed so I can put a little brat in you like my mind’s been torturing me to for the last few months.”

“Months?”

“Months, sweetheart. I just needed to confirm and know how you felt about it.”

“How respectful.” you tease, hiding the geniune adoration.

And before you could think, you were being carried and tossed over his shoulder,

You didn’t know why you were doing this. It was stupid, really.

Very stupid.

Right now, you should be home. Messing with, watching TV, hell— even staring at the wall would’ve been a better idea. Yet hear you were. Lurking a few steps behind Cain like some wannabe detective, hoping he wouldn’t turn around and catch you in the act. 

And you judged Emily for stalking Abel. To be fair, you could hardly call this stalking. A wife must look after her husband, right?

And he hadn’t seen you so far, that should be a good sign, right?

And it’s not your fault he didn’t tell you where exactly he was going. What if he needed backup? Riiight. ‘Cause you’d be good backup. What if some girl started to hit on him? And if she got a little too close? You need to teach her the definition personal boundaries. You tightened your grip on your bag strap like that would somehow make your footsteps quieter. Every time he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, you leaned back, heart hammering like he knew you were there and was just pretending not to. But he didn’t. Probably not. If he did, he’d confront you about it. Right? But Cain didn’t slow down, didn’t look over his shoulder. Just kept walking, shoulders squared, head tilted ever so slightly down like the world should apologize to him for existing.

Every little sound sharpened, felt louder— the crunch of gravel under your shoes, the squeak of a loose streetlamp wire, the stupid pigeon that decided to coo just as you were trying to blend into the shadows. It was like the whole world was out to get you caught. See, world? This is why Cain gives you that look.

Cain, though, didn’t look back.

Not once. And that felt worse. - You ducked behind a parked car when he paused at the corner, pretending to fumble with your phone like you belonged there. Totally casual. Normal people leaned against bumpers at night, scrolling through nothing. 

Your pulse thundered in your ears. He adjusted his collar, looked one way down the street… then the other.

And then he kept walking. This was definitely a stupid idea. Probably not even worth it. Why do you do these things to yourself again? You blew out a shaky breath and crept after him, this time leaving a little more distance between you. Not too far, though— you couldn’t lose him.

Except… when you turned the corner, the street stretched empty.

Your stomach plummeted.

Cain was gone. “Oh no, no, no, no…” you whispered, spinning in place like an amateur. This could not be happening. Was all of this just for nothing? You lost Cain. How could you be so stupid? You whipped your head left, then right. Maybe he’d just magically appear. Except, he didn’t. Not even a shadow moving in the dim glow of the streetlights. “Seriously?” you hissed under your breath, clutching your bag strap tighter. “Where the hell—” “Lose something?” You froze. That voice. Smooth. Low. Way too close. One you’d recognize no matter what. Oh no. Gulp. Your whole body went stiff as you turned your head, slowly, like you could delay the humiliation waiting for you. And there he was. Cain Montgomery. Your husband. The man you were supposed to be following at the moment. Leaning casually against the brick wall just behind you, one boot crossed over the other, arms folded. His lips curled into that infuriatingly smug half-smile that said he’d known exactly what you were doing from the start. He did. Who were you kidding? Of course he did. This was Cain Montgomery afterall. He didn’t become who he was by not noticing someone tailing him. Especially not you. Because he always noticed you. - Cain tilted his head, eyes glinting under the streetlamp, the picture of calm amusement while your heart tried to sprint its way out of your chest.

Of course he found your most embarrassing moment amusing. Sucker. Loser. Pain in the damn neck.

“Something on your mind?” His voice was laced with mock innocence, like he hadn’t just caught you red-handed, “You look a little… red. Not that I mind. The color most suits you.” You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Brilliant. Real smooth. Perfect impression of a goldfish. Nice going, girl! “I—” Your throat worked. “I was just… walking, y’know? Infact, I didn’t know you were here. Hi Cain!” “Hey, sweetheart.” And for some reason, the way he said it always gave you butterflies. “Yeah– uhm– funny running into you here.” His brow ticked up. “Funny.” Cain pushed off the wall, straightening to his full height, which– dammit– somehow always felt looming. “Considering you’ve been shadowing me ever since I left our mansion.” And though you were embarrassed and wide-eyed, you couldn’t help but feel giddy at the use of the word our.

“What? No! I was just… heading the same way! Lots of people do that, y’know. Coincidences exist. It’s embarrassing of you to think I was following you.” His voice dipped just enough to make your ears burn. “Interesting choice of word, love. Because I wasn’t the one crouched behind a Honda Civic just now..” “And you just *assumed* it was because of you? I had to check my phone!” “Again, crouched behind a Honda Civic.” he countered smoothly, “And yeah, I can tell it was urgent, considering the dead, black screen and how you were looking around when I left.” Heat flared across your cheeks. Damn him. Damn his stupid sharp eyes. “With the way you’re describing it, you sound like a stalker. Maybe you’re the one following me, ever think of that?” That earned you a laugh. His laugh. Low, rich, and far too pleased. He leaned closer, the corner of his mouth curved in that maddening, perfect half-smile. “If I were following you, sweetheart…” His voice brushed over your skin like velvet. “…you wouldn’t have to wonder. You’d either know– if I wanted you to– or you wouldn’t. Simple.” Your heart lurched, the traitor! Why did he have to say things like that? Why did he always have to win?

You swallowed hard, trying to straighten your posture as if it could shield you from him. “It was cute, though. Seeing you hide from me.” “Excuse you.” “What? You know it was. You thinking I wouldn’t noticed. You looked so nervous.” He stepped closer, just enough that the heat radiating off him brushed your arm.

“So what– you’re into stalking now?” “Not particularly, no. Just when it’s you. I’m into anything if you’re the one doing it.”

He leaned just slightly so that the faintest brush of his chest was near yours, his eyes glinting under the streetlight. Your breath caught. What the actual hell was he playing at? Why was it working? “Cain…” “That’s my name, sweetheart. ” *And curse this annoyingly hot man for making you feel this way..* Cain’s smirk deepened, that infuriating mix of charm and mischief that always managed to unravel you. “And I love the way it rolls off your tongue when you say it,” he murmured, his voice a low drawl that made your knees wobble. He let the faint warmth of his body against yours do the talking instead of words. Your pulse spiked, every nerve in your body screaming. 

“This was fun and all, but you never have to hide from me, y’know?” “I wasn’t—” “Shhhhh” he put a hand to your mouth to silence you, and Is it weird to say his hand smelled great? So great. Damn, what does this man use– “Don’t make excuses. I already know the truth.” Then he slid his hand away, cupping your face instead. And then, impossibly slow, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours— not fully, just enough to make your knees weak and your pulse spike. A whisper of a kiss that promised more, that left you burning and wanting.

It was frustrating, maddening

Your knees nearly gave out, your chest tight, and your mind scrambled for coherent thought while every nerve screamed him, him, him. That faint brush lingered like fire, igniting every part of you that had been very badly pretending to be calm and collected just moments ago.

Cain’s eyes held yours, glinting with amusement and something darker, more intimate, like he knew exactly how to unravel you and he was enjoying it. Then, he brushed his forehead against yours, close enough for your breaths to mingle. “Will you give me a reason for following me around today?” His voice was barely above a whisper, intimate, almost tender, yet with that sharp edge that kept you on edge.

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, voice trembling. “I just— just wanted to… see where you went.”

“Mmm… Missed me that much? That worried about me?”

Your cheeks flamed and you buried your face in his chest. He held you, the warmth of his body feeling like home. “Next time,” he murmured, “you can skip the hiding… I like knowing you’re always near.”

Then he cupped your face again, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones, his gaze locking with yours– sharp, commanding, yet laced with that familiar mischief. He leaned in again slowly, giving you every heartbeat to anticipate it, every nerve to tingle. He better kiss you properly this time dammit

His lips finally met yours. Soft at first, a teasing brush, a whisper of contact that made your knees threaten to buckle. You shivered into him, the faintest moan escaping your lips as he pulled back just slightly, eyes gleaming like he was savoring the effect he had on you. Tchhhhh Before you could snap back, before you could show him how annoyed he was making you He kissed you again. And finally it was more than a brush. His lips pressed hard, insistent, claiming yours with a heat that left no room for argument. His hand slid into your hair, fingers tangling, holding you right where he wanted you as if he’d never let go. The other hand tightened at your waist, pulling you flush against him. It was all him. His scent, his warmth, his smug mouth. You let your hands slide into his hair. Your fingers tangled in his hair almost on instinct, clutching, pulling him closer like he hadn’t already stolen every inch of space between you. Cain groaned into the kiss, low and deep, the sound vibrating through your chest and making your stomach flip. He tilted his head, lips moving against yours with practiced ease, coaxing, demanding, devouring— the damn smug bastard knew exactly what he was doing to you. His hand at your waist slid lower, firm against your hip, guiding you into him until there was nothing but heat, nothing but Cain, Cain, Cain. And maybe this was why you decided to stalk him. Maybe you knew he’d catch you.

Cain barely cared what the argument was about anymore. You had stopped talking to him afterwards, telling him something about needing some space. Cain understood. He did. Sometimes… you just needed space. Room to breathe. Room to think before saying anything that could stick the wrong way. 

But as the hours stretched on, his chest grew heavy with that gnawing feeling he hated. Regret. He replayed the fight in his head, the way your eyes had narrowed and your voice had gone sharp, and his own stubborn replies that only made things worse. He hated losing to anyone, but losing you--- even temporarily--- was never worth being right.

He knew he should just give you time. You'll come back when you're ready. You always do.

He'd just have to wait.

Just had to be the patient man he is.

Except he couldn't.

Each tick of the clock was a small tug at his chest.

And was time messing with him, because why the hell was it going so slow?

Cain’s hands flexed at his sides, jaw tight. He hated feeling vulnerable like this-- hated admitting that the argument, the stubbornness, the pride… it all paled in comparison to the thought of you being upset with him. 

So he finally got up and went to find you.

When he peeked in, you weren’t hiding, just sitting quietly-- probably thinking and processing-- staring at the floor as if the world had shrunk to the space between your knees.

Cain’s chest tightened as he stepped fully into the room. The sight of you there-- so small, so quiet-- made him want to do something, anything to fix the tension.

And you looked at him.

An all too familiar look. He knew what it was. He’d seen it before, staring back at him in the mirror as a child, a small boy punished for being just that, not the man he was expected to be.

You were hurt.

And he had caused it.

He stepped closer, careful not to crowd you, but desperate to close the distance. 

“Hey…” His voice was softer than usual, almost a whisper. 

You looked back at him, your soft eyes staring into his, and something in him twisted. Dammit.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it lightly, though he hated that you could see him like this-- vulnerable, unsettled. “I…” he cleared his throat, “I don’t do this well,” he admitted, voice low, tight around the edges. “Apologizing, I mean. Not that it excuses anything, but… yeah.”

It was the honest truth. Cain never apologized, not really. The only other times he did was in his cruel childhood.

But if it meant you'd stay-- if it meant you wouldn’t be so upset-- he'd try his very best.

You stayed quiet, probably waiting for him to continue. 

His hands flexed at his sides. “Y’know, I hate… making you feel small. And I hate that I let my pride get in the way like that. It just… happens. Not quite used to… this.”

He then took a slow breath, letting the words settle in the air between you. “I can’t erase it, obviously. And I can't promise I'll never let my pride get the best of me again-- it's a stupid habit, really. But... I can try. I can try to make it right. If you let me.”

He paused, as if waiting for a reaction, but also afraid you’d look away, because one look from you, one blink, and he could lose himself again. “So… I’m here. I’ll stay. I’ll wait. Or… I’ll do whatever you want. Just… don’t shut me out, okay? I can't--" He tried to breathe, when the hell did it become so hard to? "I don’t expect you to forgive me instantly… hell, I don’t even know if I deserve it. But I don't know what to do if you don't. I want to try. With you. With us.”

He was finally able to take a deep breath, before speaking once more, voice a little rougher.

"So, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I'm… so sorry."

And you can tell it was hard for him. You can tell he's barely ever had to do this before.

And your heart squeezed.

He let his hand rest near yours, not forcing contact, just close enough that you could feel it if you wanted to. And then he waited, every muscle in his body taut with anticipation, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you’d let him in again.

And how could you not forgive this stupid man?

So you took his hand, holding it. His eyes widened slightly.

You were holding his hand.

"You're making this real hard, y’know?" You mumble, eyes a little watery because of his damn emotional words, "Damn you."

Cain blinked, a little stunned, then let out a short, rough laugh that barely masked how much relief and something sharper-- something warmer-- was bubbling in his chest.

You were forgiving him. Slowly but surely.

You weren't gonna leave him.

"You idiot, I just needed some space to think, not because I was gonna leave." you murmured, bonking his head, "Because if we kept jabbing at eachother in the moment, we'd both be hurt. It wouldn't do either of us any good."

Phew "I know… but you were in there ages. It felt…."

"Cain, I was in there for an hour tops."

"Well it felt like ages to me." he muttered. You chuckled and he looked at you, eyes softening. “I… Can I…?” he asked quietly, voice low. You could’ve still needed a little space, and Cain didn’t want to overstep.

You blinked, caught off guard by the hesitance in his voice, the unusual vulnerability. Then you gave him a warm smile.

That beautiful smile. What was he gonna do with you? “Please.” you whispered, and you didn’t need to say anything else as he closed the tiny distance between you, letting his arms wrap around you gently.

He finally felt at ease-- at home--  head nuzzled in your neck. “Thank you, Cain… for coming here and apologizing.” “Anytime, sweetheart.”

What he didn’t tell you was how he’d do it a thousand times over if it meant you’d be there. In his arms. Because that was corny. Tch it sounded like something out of one of Abel’s plays or Gius’ ebooks. And Cain wouldn’t say something corny. Not out loud, anyway. But you were slowly getting him to that point. You always make him want to do things he’d never do for anyone else. Cain pressed a little closer, inhaling the soft scent of you, letting the warmth of your body calm the storm he’d been carrying all day.