batatinhaas

The last few days had been unbearable.

Life within the Zen’In estate wasn’t physically demanding. Naoya preferred you remain within its walls, attended to, indulged and spared from duties he deemed unfit for his wife. Your days passed in relative stillness, softened by luxury yet weighted by expectation, every comfort a reminder of the cage it came with.

Your days passed in relative stillness touched only by the rhythm of the estate, the sharp glances of clan members who never fully welcomed you, and Naoya’s tendency to spoil you in ways that made it clear the favor was his to bestow. Jewels, silk and sweet words whispered against your ear when he felt indulgent, always a reminder of what he thought you should be grateful for.

Yet even with all the luxury and stillness, you were exhausted. Partly because Naoya had made it his nightly routine to claim what was his and you had long since grown accustomed to the weight of his hands, his lips, his voice muttering against your skin. But lately… the weariness you felt lingered long after he had fallen asleep beside you.

It was different.

Meals turned your stomach. Fatigue clung to your limbs even after a day spent sitting in the gardens. And your body carried new discomforts you couldn’t quite explain such as an odd heavy feeling and even tenderness in places you’d never known before.

At first, you ignored it.

Hid it, even.

Forced yourself to move as though nothing had changed even when your hand pressed instinctively to your lips to hide a sudden wave of nausea.

But this morning, silence no longer seemed enough.

The moment Naoya left, pressing a brief kiss to your forehead before departing for his duties in the Jujutsu world, you knew you couldn’t keep pretending. You waited until the sound of his footsteps faded, certain he wouldn’t return. Only then did you rise, drawing your haori tight around your shoulders and made your way through the estate’s quieter halls in search of the healer.

The Zen’In clan kept them close, midwives and women of medicine who had served for generations trusted with secrets of childbirth and health that cursed energy could not mend. It was to her you went, your voice unsteady as you explained the changes you’d felt.

The examination was swift, clinical.

Practiced hands pressing lightly, questions asked in that calm and disarming tone. And then came the words that pierced through every thought you’d tried to suppress:

“You are with child.”

Four words.

No hesitation.

Yet they shattered through you as though the estate itself had collapsed.

Pregnant.

You're pregnant.

You had suspected, of course. How could you not? It was a nightly thing for Naoya to consummate your marriage, his pride evident every time he touched you and every time he claimed you as though it were his right.

A part of you had expected this to happen eventually. But expectation was not the same as reality and not the same as hearing the truth from the lips of someone who had no reason to lie.

A child.

His child.

Your fingers curled into the folds of your sleeve as the healer spoke on things about rest, herbs, care and whatever God knows what.

But the words were a blur.

Your mind had already wandered, tangled in thoughts you could barely contain.

What would Naoya say?

Would he lay a hand on your stomach and call it his triumph?

Would he even… care?

And beneath all of that, a darker fear stirred. What kind of father would Naoya Zen’In be?

You were still tangled in your thoughts when a soft knock came at the door. One of your attendants slipped inside, bowing lightly before informing you that your husband would be returning soon. The words startled you more than you expected.

Had time truly passed so quickly?

What felt like only moments of sitting with the weight of the healer’s verdict had somehow stretched into hours.

Summoned, of course. It was unthinkable to meet Naoya looking anything less than perfectly composed. So you returned to your chambers where your attendants immediately began the familiar ritual of preparation.

First, a bath, the steam rising gently around you as their practiced hands washed away any trace of fatigue. The water should have been soothing but you found yourself staring blankly at the ripples, your mind far from the tiled floor and polished wood. Their voices blended into a hum, words slipping past you unheard as you sank deeper into the haze of your thoughts.

You barely registered being lifted from the bath, dried with care, and settled before the dressing screen. Oils were pressed into your skin, your hair combed and arranged with the same meticulousness as always. It was all routine, a ceremony performed daily yet today it felt distant and unreal as though you were watching someone else being prepared in your place.

Even now, as silken layers of your nagagi were draped over your shoulders, you could not help but zone out. The fabric was cool against your skin, the attendants’ fingers deft as they adjusted the folds and tied the sash but your mind drifted. You thought of the healer’s voice, of the weight those words carried.

Pregnant.

The knowledge pressed against your ribs, making it hard to breathe, even as your outer appearance was polished into flawless composure.

You snapped back to reality when one of the attendants reached forward to smoothen the silk of your nagagi. Composed on the outside and a storm on the inside, you let them fuss over the fabric, each stroke binding you tighter, readying you to face the man who had unknowingly placed this secret within you.

But another layer could be set in place, the door slid open.

All heads turned, attendants stiffening at the breach of etiquette. Naoya stood framed in the doorway, robes still pristine from his duties, sharp eyes locking instantly on you. He was earlier than expected and his sudden presence sent a ripple of unease through the room.

The attendants scrambled into bows, murmuring apologies for not having finished their work. Naoya, however, dismissed them with a flick of his wrist, his voice smooth but brooking no protest.

“Leave us. I’ll take over from here.”

They hesitated, glancing at you for direction but one sharp look from him had them gathering their tools and slipping quietly out, leaving only the faint scent of oils and the quiet rustle of fabric behind. The shoji slid shutand the silence that followed felt heavier than before.

His eyes returned to you. The way he looked at you made heat crawl up your neck like he could strip the layers from your body with nothing more than that gaze. His lips curved into a slow smirk as he stepped closer, each stride deliberate and every ounce of him radiating confidence and possession.

“There’s my beautiful wife,” he murmured, the words low and laced with something sultry.

You felt pinned under his stare, your half finished nagagi leaving more skin bare than usual. He reached out, fingers brushing the sash at your waist, tugging it just enough to make the silk whisper open as his eyes traveled the length of you, drinking in the sight.

“You’re back early,” you managed, voice softer than intended. Your hand lifted, almost automatically to cup his chin. His skin was warm beneath your palm, the line of his jaw sharp as you tilted his face toward yours and pressed a kiss against his lips.

He responded immediately and hungrily, chasing the kiss as though he had been starved of it. Soon his mouth trailed lower, pressing heated kisses along your jaw and down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You felt the scrape of his teeth just before his lips settled against the hollow of your throat. His hands were not idle, one cradled the side of your face, the other tugged insistently at the folds of your nagagi, loosening the silk as his kisses trailed lower, lower still, toward the swell of your chest.

Your breath caught, the storm of earlier colliding with this rush of intimacy. Your hand pressed lightly against his arm, urging him back just enough to make him face you. His brow furrowed faintly at the interruptionbut his gaze remained fixed on you, sharp and questioning.

“Naoya…” The word slipped out unsteady and heavier than you intended. You swallowed hard, gathering your nerve before blurting the words you had been carrying like a stone in your chest. “We need to talk.”

His brow lifted though his smirk didn’t falter. He leaned in, lips grazing the corner of your mouth as if he hadn’t heard the weight in your tone.

“Then talk,” he murmured, his hand sliding lower, brushing over the edge of your nagagi as though the conversation was nothing more than another game to play between you.

“I haven’t been feeling well lately…” Your voice wavered, thick with hesitation.

Naoya’s gaze flicked down your body and instead of pausing, his thumb pressed lazily over your nipple through the thin silk with a deliberate slowness that stole the air from your lungs.

“Go on,” he urged, his tone maddeningly calm as though he were perfectly content to toy with you and listen at the same time.

You shivered, your thoughts scattering under his touch but forced yourself to continue. “I-I’m not sure if I’m ready… or if you’re ready… I don’t know...”

His smirk deepened. The hand at your chest drifted down, tracing languidly over the plane of your stomach before slipping lower still, settling between your thighs. His fingers pressed at your core, coaxing a soft gasp from your lips.

“You’re stalling,” he drawled, rubbing slow circles as though he could unravel you without even trying.

Your nails dug lightly into his arm, desperate to anchor yourself. The words were heavy on your tongue, hard to force past the heat curling in your body under his touch. “Naoya… I’m… pregnant.”

For a heartbeat, he stilled then a low chuckle slipped past his lips, his fingers lazily dragging against your core like he hadn’t quite registered it.

“Pregnant, huh?” he muttered, smirking down at you. “Tch. And here I thought you’d say you’ve had enough of me or somethin’.” The laugh that followed was soft, almost careless like he was teasing a ridiculous idea.

But your silence, your wide eyes and the way your chest rose and fell unevenly cut through his arrogance.

His hand froze.

The smirk faltered.

“Wait…” His eyes searched your face, his voice losing the edge of mockery. “…You’re not joking?”

The weight of your hesitation and the trembling in your grip on his arm, it all sank in at once.

Naoya’s throat bobbed with a swallow, his fingers pulling back from your body as if suddenly aware of where they’d been. His jaw tightened, a rare crack in his composed front as he absorbed the words, really absorbed them this time.

The silence between you stretched, heavy as stone until Naoya finally moved. Slowly and almost absently, he reached for the loosened edge of your nagagi and began to fix it, fingers deliberate as he smoothed the silk back into place. For once, his touch wasn’t like the usual but it was careful.

When he finished tying the sash, his hands rose, cupping your face in his palms forcing you to meet the intensity of his gaze. His voice dropped, steady but edged with something new like something uncertain.

“Since when was this?”

Your lips parted but the answer felt too small for the weight of his question. “…I found out this morning.” The confession trailed off as your eyes fell to the floor, unable to withstand the sharp glint of gold staring back at you.

“Hey. Hey, hey.” His fingers tilted your chin back up, firm yet strangely gentle. “Why the long face?”

You tried to steady your voice but the words cracked anyway. “I don’t know, Naoya…”

Your body moved before your mind caught up, a quiet instinct pulling you from his hands. You turned and slipped away a few paces, the soft brush of your silk nagagi whispering against the floor as you stopped near the balcony doors. The air seeped in from the narrow opening, cool against your skin.

Behind you, you heard the faint rustle of fabric as Naoya shifted. His tone carried that familiar mix of annoyance and amusement though softer now, the bite dulled.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

Before you could answer, his arms slid around you from behind, pulling you into the solid wall of his chest. His chin dipped to your shoulder, lips brushing against the fabric of your sleeve before pressing a lingering kiss there. The touch was enough to make you shiver, to remind you that even when his words stumbled, his presence never did.

Then came another rustle, his hand firm at your waist as he guided you to turn and face him. You blinked up at him, startled by the suddenness but his grip didn’t waver. His eyes searched yours, sharp yet steadier than you expected as though anchoring himself in your gaze.

“We’ll figure this out together, alright?” The words were low, certain, less a question and more a declaration.

Only then did he shrug off his haori, slipping it from his shoulders and draping it over yours, cocooning you in his warmth. The scent of him clung to the cloth, grounding and inescapable. He held it closed over you with one hand, the other tightening at your waist as if to say: you’re not going anywhere.

Your fingers tightened around the edges of his haori, clutching it close as you dared to voice the question that had been gnawing at you since morning. “…You’re not mad?”

Naoya’s brows furrowed as if the thought itself were absurd and without hesitation he drew you firmly into his chest. “Why would I be mad?” he murmured against your hair, the embrace solid and warm.

Then, his lips curved into that all too familiar smirk. “Told you I’d fuck a brat into you, didn’t I?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks at his bluntness, and despite yourself, a laugh escaped. “Yeah… I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I was just scared the moment I found out.”

“Me too.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, surprise flickering across your face. “What?”

His expression softened, rare and fleeting but genuine. “I’m scared too. It’s a first time, after all. That’s why we’ll figure this out together, yeah?”

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

AUTHOR'S NOTE: