Um hello hope your having a good day or night I’m a bit new to requesting alway just been a reader But I was hoping I could request comfort for reader with doctor Chuuya no abilities ua?
Like Chuuya comes home to reader hugging him crying because she pregnant and is scared because she doesn’t want a baby *timeskip* to her after giving birth and not wanting to hold her daughter named Nara not wanting to fully accept she’s a mother making Chuuya hold Nara and it goes on for months of Chuuya mainly taking care of the Nara while reader constantly avoids her unless she needs to breastfeed her but in the end Chuuya yells at her knocking sense into her about how thats not only her daughter she’s avoiding but his and just starts to make her hold the Nara skin to skin helping reader form a connection with Nara with things he knows can help?
I hope i didnt brake a rules I did read them no three paragraphs, nsfw, male reader, deaths, self harm or trauma related topics right? I saw your going back to school and please put that first this request was mainly made out having a hard day at school and just wanting some angst to comfort for some comfort
𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 ─ ʚଓ
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: doc!chuuya nakahara x wife!reader
𝐰𝐜: 3.5k
𑣲𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hiii!! thank you for requesting and don’t worry at all about being new, I’m really happy you did! 💖 I hope your day isn’t too rough, and I totally understand needing some comfort after a hard day. I really appreciate you looking out for me too, school can be a lot, but your message made me smile!!
The second you close the door behind you, Chuuya notices something’s off.
Your coat is crumpled, your hair a mess, and the way you collapse into him—arms wrapped tight around his chest, shaking—sends a jolt straight through his chest.
“Y/n?” His voice is low, gentle, probing. He drops his bag to the floor, hands immediately on your back, steadying you. “Hey… what’s wrong?”
You can’t answer. The words are lodged in your throat, twisted with panic. Your tears spill freely onto his coat, soaking into the fabric, and he doesn’t flinch. He just holds you closer, murmuring, “Shh… shh… breathe.”
“I…” you finally manage, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m pregnant.”
Chuuya stiffens ever so slightly—not with fear, but with focus. He pulls back a fraction, tilting your chin so he can look at you, eyes searching yours.
“I… I don’t want a baby,” you confess, voice cracking. “I can’t… I’m scared. I can’t do this.”
Silence falls for a heartbeat. Then he pulls you closer again, arms tightening around you like he’s trying to shield you from the world.
“Hey,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back from your tear-streaked face. “Listen to me. You’re not alone in this. Okay? Not ever. I’m with you. Every step. Every second.”
You cry harder, pressing your face into his chest, sobs shaking your body. He doesn’t pull away. He just holds you, softly rocking you, humming low, quiet tones like he knows you need the sound more than words.
“You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” he says after a moment, fingers threading through your hair, thumb brushing over your temple. “We’ll take this one step at a time. You don’t have to do anything alone. Not the pregnancy, not the birth, not… being a parent. Not if you don’t want to. Not ever.”
“I… I don’t know if I can…” you manage between sobs.
“You can,” he says firmly, eyes glinting with that quiet steel he always carries. “Because I’ll help you. I’ll be there for you. And we’ll figure this out together.”
He rests his forehead against yours, letting you lean into him, let yourself be small, vulnerable, terrified. He holds you like this for what feels like hours, speaking soft reassurances between steady, calming breaths.
“I’ll be here,” he repeats, almost as if repeating it enough will make the world safe again. “I’m not leaving. No matter what. You’re not alone, Y/n.”
Your hands clutch at his shirt, nails digging in slightly, desperate for that anchor. “But… what if I can’t… what if I fail?”
He tilts your face up again, so your tears are in full view. “Listen to me, little one. Nobody expects you to be perfect. Nobody. Not me, not the baby. Just… try. Try with me. And if you stumble, I’ll catch you. I always will.”
You feel a tiny, fragile flicker of something warm in your chest—hope, maybe. Or maybe it’s just relief that he isn’t angry, that he isn’t disappointed, that he isn’t letting go.
“I’m scared,” you whisper.
“I know,” Chuuya says softly. “I know. And that’s okay. Scared doesn’t mean weak. Scared doesn’t mean you can’t do this. It means you care. And I’ll be your strength until you find your own.”
He holds you tighter. You feel the steadiness of him, the warmth of him, the certainty that, no matter what comes, you’re not facing it alone. Not the pregnancy. Not the baby. Not the fear.
And for the first time, you allow yourself to believe—even just a little—that maybe, somehow, you can do this.
You wake with nausea most mornings, your body unfamiliar and heavy. Sometimes, you stare at your stomach in the mirror, scared of the life growing inside you. The thought of holding this tiny being, of becoming a mother, twists your chest into knots you can’t untangle.
Chuuya notices everything. The way you flinch when someone mentions babies, the way you avoid mirrors, the way your hands hover over your stomach nervously.
He doesn’t scold. He doesn’t push. He simply watches, gentle and patient, always close enough that you feel his presence even when he’s not speaking.
“Come on,” he says one evening, tugging you by the hand after a long day. “Let’s check your vitals. You’re exhausted, and I need to make sure you’re okay.”
You groan, collapsing onto the couch as he kneels in front of you, taking your hand to check your pulse. His touch is careful, measured, like he’s handling something fragile.
“You’re running yourself ragged,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your face. “You need to rest. Please, Y/n… let me handle some of it.”
“I… I don’t want to be a burden,” you whisper.
“Stop that,” he snaps softly, eyes sharp but warm. “You’re not a burden. You’re carrying our child. That’s… that’s more than enough work for anyone.”
He guides you to lie back, propping pillows behind you, checking your blood pressure, asking about your diet, making sure you’ve eaten enough. He fusses over you like a doctor and like someone who’s utterly in love with you rolled into one.
Some nights, he reads to the baby in your belly, his voice low and even. “Hey, little one,” he murmurs, brushing a hand lightly over your stomach. “You’re safe in here. Mom and I… we’re figuring it out. We’ll be okay.”
You can’t help but tear up, hiding your face in your hands. He waits silently until you calm, then brushes your hair back. “You don’t have to be perfect, Y/n. You’re allowed to be scared. You’re allowed to hate it sometimes. That doesn’t make you a bad mother. That makes you human.”
The days pass like this—some good, some terrible. You feel trapped in your own body, in your own fear, unable to imagine the life that’s coming. And every time panic threatens to swallow you whole, Chuuya is there, steady and warm, whispering reassurances, guiding you gently, never letting go.
And slowly, just slowly, you start to believe him. That maybe, you can do this. Maybe, with him by your side, you don’t have to face the unknown alone.
The first cry of Nara pierces the air, sharp and tiny, and your heart lurches.
You’re lying in the hospital bed, exhausted beyond words, body trembling from labor and adrenaline. Chuuya is beside you, holding your hand, his other arm draped protectively around your shoulders.
“She’s here,” he whispers, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “Our daughter.”
You nod numbly, staring at the small bundle in the nurse’s arms. Her eyes are closed, her tiny fists curled, and for a moment, the reality of her existence feels like a weight pressing down on your chest.
You should feel joy. You should feel love. But instead, there’s fear. Terror. Panic.
“I… I can’t,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I… I can’t hold her. I don’t… I don’t know how.”
Chuuya doesn’t argue. He doesn’t sigh or try to force you. He simply tilts his head toward Nara. “Then I will,” he says softly. “I’ll hold her. You just… breathe, okay?”
He takes Nara into his arms with the same care he always shows when he’s handling fragile things. You watch, numb, as he rocks her gently, murmuring soothing words in that low, even voice. “See? She’s safe. She’s ours. You’re safe too.”
The nurse asks if you want to try breastfeeding, and you manage a small nod, though panic prickles at your chest. Chuuya kneels beside you, supporting your back, guiding your arms, his hands steady as he helps Nara latch.
“She’s hungry,” he murmurs, eyes soft on you. “And you… you’re giving her exactly what she needs. Look at that—you’re doing it.”
You can’t speak, can’t move beyond the initial fear. You feed her, mechanical and terrified, heart hammering in your chest. Chuuya murmurs gentle encouragements, brushing your hair back, whispering reassurances, his touch grounding you.
Hours pass in a blur. Nara sleeps against his chest while you rest, still shaky, still unsure. Chuuya doesn’t leave your side. He strokes your arm, murmurs to you softly, making sure you eat, drink, and breathe.
“You’re allowed to be scared,” he whispers as he tucks a blanket around your shoulders. “You’re allowed to feel unsure. That doesn’t make you a bad mother. It just makes you human. And I… I’m not going anywhere.”
Tears spill down your cheeks. You bury your face into his shoulder, trembling, exhausted, overwhelmed. For the first time, you let yourself lean fully on him, let yourself be small and scared.
And Chuuya holds you, murmuring, “We’ll figure this out together. Every step. Every day. I promise.”
The first night ends with Nara asleep between you, Chuuya’s arm around your shoulders, his presence a steady heartbeat against your fear. And for the first time since learning you were pregnant, you feel a fragile, trembling sense of hope.
You’re terrified. You’re unprepared. But… you’re not alone.
Nara sleeps in a bassinet beside your bed, small and fragile, tiny fists curling and uncurling with every breath. And you… avoid her.
It’s not that you don’t love her—you feel something, somewhere, buried deep—but fear and panic have built walls around your heart. Every time she cries, every time she reaches for you, something in your chest tightens. You feed her when necessary, let your body do what it knows instinctively, but you keep your arms distant, your heart distant.
He comes home from work, exhausted, and instead of letting you off the hook, he steps in fully. Nara is in his arms, skin-to-skin, dressed in the softest blankets, hair smelling faintly of baby powder. He rocks her with one arm while he sets down your dinner tray with the other.
“You don’t have to do it all,” he murmurs, voice low and calm. “I’ll take care of her for now, but… you can’t keep avoiding her forever.”
“I… I don’t know how,” you whisper, gaze fixed on the floor. “I’m scared. I… I don’t feel… ready.”
“You will,” he says firmly, but not unkindly. He sits next to you, setting Nara in his lap so you can see her, tiny chest rising and falling. “I’ll help you. I’ll teach you. But you have to try. Even a little.”
And so it goes for months.
Chuuya becomes both mother and father in your eyes, handling Nara’s every need with patient, careful hands. He teaches you small things without forcing:
How to hold her so she feels safe without panic taking over.
How to soothe her cries with gentle rocking and soft humming.
How to put her skin-to-skin, letting warmth and heartbeat create familiarity.
How to respond to her tiny cues, the small signals that you can recognize if you focus.
You watch him, tense and anxious, longing to feel the connection he has, but terrified of failing, of breaking her, of failing yourself.
Some nights, you find yourself leaning a little closer, just to watch him cradle her, or to feel the warmth of the blanket as he tucks her in. You start brushing her hair back softly while she sleeps, whispering little encouragements he taught you. But the intimacy, the true connection, still eludes you.
Chuuya doesn’t force it. He never shames you. He simply reminds you:
“This is our daughter, Y/n. Not just mine. She needs you, and you need her. One day, you’ll see that. And I’ll be here every step.”
But even as he says it, you can see the strain in his eyes. Caring for a newborn is exhausting, and doing it almost entirely alone—emotionally and physically—is a weight he bears silently.
Until the day comes when avoidance is no longer an option, when Chuuya reaches the edge of his patience—not out of anger, but out of love and fear for both you and Nara. That day will change everything.
You hear the front door before you see him. Chuuya comes home, carrying Nara in his arms, soft blanket tucked around her, and that look in his eyes—the one that says he’s had enough—is terrifying.
“Y/n,” he says, voice low but sharp. “We need to talk.”
You flinch. You know what’s coming. You’ve been avoiding it, avoiding her, avoiding yourself.
“She’s ours,” he says, holding Nara out toward you, tiny hands curled, eyes blinking sleepily. “Not just mine. Not just your responsibility. Ours. And you’ve been avoiding her.”
“I… I can’t—” you start, but he cuts you off.
“No!” Chuuya snaps, the rare heat in his voice startling you. “You can. You will. Stop hiding from this. Stop hiding from her. She’s our daughter, Y/n. Not some stranger. And I am not going to carry her alone forever while you run from your own child!”
Your chest tightens. You open your mouth, but the words falter. You want to explain, to justify, to say you’re scared—but the panic that’s gripped you for months crashes down like a wave, leaving you silent.
Chuuya kneels before you, placing Nara in your arms carefully, skin-to-skin, so she feels the warmth of your body against hers. You freeze, hands trembling.
“Feel her,” he says softly, voice steady now. “Feel her heartbeat. Feel her warmth. Let her know you’re safe. I’ll stay right here, but you have to try.”
You swallow, tears brimming. Her tiny face nuzzles against your chest. You feel the quick, fragile rhythm of her heartbeat and the faint scent of milk and baby skin. You panic, wanting to pull away, wanting to vanish—but Chuuya’s hands are on yours, guiding them gently.
“Look at me,” he whispers. “Breathe. Hold her. She’s ours. Both of ours. And you can love her. I know you can.”
The weight of the moment, the months of avoidance, the guilt, and the exhaustion all hit you at once. But slowly, hesitantly, you let your arms relax, allow her to rest against your chest. Nara sighs softly, curling closer, tiny hands brushing your skin.
Chuuya strokes your hair, murmuring encouragement, whispering her name, guiding you with patience born of desperation and love. “You’re doing it. She’s safe. You’re safe. You’re her mother, Y/n. Feel it. Let it in.”
Minutes pass like hours. You tremble, but slowly—so slowly—the wall around your heart cracks. You feel something fragile, precious, like a spark: connection. A tiny thread forming between you and Nara.
“You see?” Chuuya murmurs. “She’s not just a baby. She’s ours. And you… you’re her mother. Don’t run from that.”
Nara stirs, lifting a tiny hand to your chest. You instinctively hold it, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, feeling a strange, overwhelming warmth in your chest. Chuuya leans close, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.
“Good,” he whispers. “Keep holding her. Every day, I’ll help you build this. Step by step. You’re not alone.”
And for the first time in months, you believe him.
The days after the confrontation pass differently. You’re still nervous, still unsure, but every time Chuuya places Nara in your arms, you feel a little less afraid.
It starts small. You hold her while she sleeps, feeling the tiny rise and fall of her chest. You trace the soft curve of her cheek, let your thumb brush over her hand. Chuuya doesn’t hover, but he stays close, ready with encouragement, gently guiding without pushing.
One morning, Nara stirs awake, eyes blinking up at you. You tense, panic prickling in your chest—but Chuuya is beside you.
“Go on,” he whispers. “Talk to her. Sing to her. Let her hear your voice.”
You hum softly, unsure at first, and Nara quiets, gaze following your mouth. She stretches tiny fingers toward you, and for the first time, you grasp her hand willingly, intertwining your fingers.
“She… she’s listening,” Chuuya murmurs, smiling softly. “See? You’re doing it. She knows your voice now. She knows you.”
The breakthrough comes slowly, in moments you didn’t realize mattered:
You laugh softly when she bats at the mobile above her crib, and Chuuya smiles knowingly. “That’s her first laugh for you. She recognizes you.”
You find yourself humming while bathing her, feeling proud when she coos at your voice.
One evening, she rests against your chest after a feeding, and you realize you don’t want to hand her back to Chuuya. You want to keep her there, safe, warm, loved.
Chuuya watches all of this with quiet pride, never forcing, only guiding. One night, as he settles beside you both, he whispers:
“You see what I told you? Step by step. Look at you now. You’re her mother. You’re… hers. And she’s yours.”
Tears well in your eyes, but they’re not the panicked, overwhelmed tears of before. These are different—they’re relief, love, connection. You press a gentle kiss to Nara’s forehead and sigh, feeling her tiny hands curl around yours.
“She’s… so small,” you whisper. “But… she feels like… everything.”
Chuuya leans his forehead against yours. “She is everything. And so are you. You two… you’re a family now.”
The first smile she gives you—it’s tiny, hesitant, fleeting—is enough to break every last piece of fear inside you. You laugh, soft and breathless, and for the first time, truly feel what it means to be a mother.
Chuuya wraps an arm around you both, holding you close. “We’ll keep learning together. Every day. You’ll get better, stronger, braver. And I’ll be here. Always.”
You nuzzle Nara, letting her tiny warmth fill the empty spaces in your chest. You know it won’t always be easy. There will still be fear, doubt, exhaustion. But with Chuuya’s patient guidance and steady love, and with Nara trusting you, you finally begin to feel like yourself—and like a mother.
And that night, as the three of you drift to sleep together, your heart is full in a way you never imagined possible.
The house is quiet except for the soft coos of Nara and the rhythmic hum of the heater. Morning light filters through the curtains, dust motes floating in the air like tiny stars.
You sit in the rocking chair, Nara curled against your chest, her tiny fingers grasping your shirt. She babbles softly, eyes bright and curious, and you respond instinctively, tracing her cheek and humming a gentle tune.
Chuuya leans in the doorway, coffee in hand, watching you with that familiar mix of pride and love in his eyes. He doesn’t interrupt—he never does anymore—he just lets you shine in this moment, fully confident as Nara’s mother.
“Good morning,” he murmurs softly, stepping closer. “How’s my little family today?”
You smile, brushing a curl from Nara’s forehead. “We’re… okay. She’s awake early, though.”
Chuuya chuckles, setting his cup down and leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “She’s lucky to have you. Both of you. You’ve come a long way, Y/n. I’m proud of you.”
A soft giggle escapes Nara, and you instinctively laugh, her tiny hands patting at your chest. “You see that?” you say, holding her out a little so Chuuya can see. “She’s… responding to me.”
Chuuya’s eyes soften. He kneels beside you, resting a hand gently on your shoulder. “Every day, little by little, you’re forming your bond. And she knows. She knows your voice, your touch, your heartbeat. She knows you’re hers.”
For the first time, you don’t feel fear. Not panic, not guilt, not hesitation. Nara is yours as much as she’s Chuuya’s. You cradle her closer, and she sighs happily, pressing against your chest.
Later, bath time comes. Chuuya supervises from the doorway, letting you take the lead. You laugh as Nara splashes softly, scrubbing her tiny fingers with gentle care. Chuuya leans in, whispering guidance only when necessary, but mostly smiling as he watches the two of you.
Dinner is a chaotic but happy affair—Nara giggling in her high chair while you feed her small bites, Chuuya passing a dish here and there, wiping up spills, always close but letting you handle things with confidence.
Bedtime is the sweetest. You rock Nara slowly, humming the same tune Chuuya used months ago to calm her. She drifts to sleep against your chest, and you press a kiss to her hair.
Chuuya wraps an arm around both of you, pulling you close. “Look at us,” he murmurs. “Our little family. All three of us. You, me… Nara. We did it.”
You rest your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady warmth and the rhythm of his heartbeat. “We did,” you whisper. “I… I love her. I… I love this.”
Chuuya smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to your hair. “And we’ll keep loving her. Every day, together. Always.”
You glance down at Nara, tiny, fragile, perfect, and feel your heart swell. You are her mother. You are her family. And with Chuuya by your side, guiding, loving, and supporting you, you know you will never be alone again.
The three of you drift to sleep together, skin-to-skin, a quiet, perfect warmth surrounding you. Life isn’t perfect—there will be hard days, sleepless nights, tears, and fear—but it’s yours. Yours and Nara’s and Chuuya’s.
And that, you realize as you close your eyes, is everything.
osamuslvt ─ 2026 ꕥ
🏷️ @melisaqqu , @chrispychuya , @chocolatemilk4hara , @stellas-starry-sillies13
