mar

One of his hands jerks upwards- right to the pounding space above his heart. He knows he must look a bit of a sight right now - a grown man pawing at his chest - and part of him wonders whether this was all the all-nighters taking a toll on him. About time.

But another part of him wonders whether he should consult a cardiologist.

Also about time.

Because it’s been like this ever since he hired you - the vetting process for finding a nanny had been a long and tedious one. And Nanami had rejected (he’s sure) at least fifty different candidates, had been blocked by five different agencies, before he finally landed on you. Either they’d been too strict, or too lenient, or too new, or simply not cut out to handle the benevolent whirlwind that was his adopted son.

The poor man had been on the verge of giving up.

In fact, he was two paragraphs into an email to HR whilst stress-eating a homemade Danish pastry and wondering whether buying his boss flowers would be overkill- when it happened. God, could this day get any worse? First his manager gives him a ton of work just before he clocked off, certainly not in his list of responsibilities, then he’d burned those damn Danish pastries, then one of the nannies he’d interviewed had nearly passed out at the sheer energy Yuji had.

He’d been working more and more these days. And Nanami needed just a few more months - a few more nights putting in overtime before he could-

It was then that the doorbell had rang.

Ba-dump! 

He opened the door tentatively, hoping that it wasn’t yet another ambush by a salesperson - each with their bright plastic garbage, and their even brighter smiles. But what he’d been met with instead wasn’t one of those visitors he dreaded…not in the very least. It was you—

And your explanation that you were here because of Shoko.

“Erm- she told me that you were looking for a nanny?” You flashed your conversation with Nanami’s clinical friend as proof. He flickered his gaze over to the screen but his eyes remained unreading—he remembers turning them back over to you.

Blinking at the vision of you.

And you’d slightly jolted at the intensity in them.

Digging through your pin-covered bag, “I also have my CV in here…somewhere.” He watched as you only grew more and more frustrated as that CV evaded you- “It really should be somewhere- give me one second-”

“That’s alri-”

But instead of your CV, your bag had poured out notes and pens in return. So much of it that Nanami marvelled at just how much fit inside that humble satchel. They dropped to the floor and you dived to pick them up, wincing. “I’m so- sorry-”

“Let me.” Crouching down in front of you, Nanami’s much-larger hands had had no trouble scooping all those papers up. In an instant he had them aligned neatly and handed to you. Prim. Proper.

By the tie still ‘round his neck, you guessed he’d just come home from work - and little did you know he’d also just finished four failed interviews for the position of nanny - yet he didn’t have a single blond hair out of line. They were slicked-back and handsome in a way you’d seen only in old movie stars. You thought you saw a few strands of silver.

Lines at the edges of his eyes. That tired strength about him.

It was hard to not ogle him.

Your fingertips brushed his rougher ones as you took the papers from him. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” The older man peered down at you—so intense that you could almost feel yourself sinking into the mediocre polyester carpet lining the apartment hallway. Neither of you made a move to get up. “I want to ask you about your availability.”

You’d jumped slightly. “You…you actually want to hire me after that- I mean!”

“Should I not?” And what was this? Nanami Kento had to stifle a chuckle at that? How curious…it must’ve been the work day getting to him at that point- yes. He was feeling a little delirious.

“I mean- please do…”

He’d looked away with a slight smile once you reached into the depths of your bag once more. This time, you didn’t make it erupt in scribbled notes- instead you were pulling out a printed table that looked to be a time table. “Sorry I just- printing makes it easier for me to remember…sometimes.” You explained, “I don’t have any lectures on Wednesday and Friday- and the ones I have on the rest of the weekdays are rather flexible so—”

A college student!

Nanami’s jaw had dropped then.

He knew you looked young but-

A college student?!

“Wait a minute…” One of his hands twitched, almost as if to beckon that time table to himself and make sure.

But then you nodded, “I first met Shoko-san during a medical conference she gave at the university, and she told me you worked late on weekdays. I should be free in the evenings then, but will you be working late on the weekends as well? Because I do have this one professor that really-”

Nanami didn’t know how on Earth the topic of him would’ve even cropped up in your conversations- but he needed to end this.

Now.

Listen. It wasn’t that you seemed like a bad kid- you seemed great, even! But Nanami himself was well into his thirties with absolutely zero idea on balancing Yuji and his work life. So he really didn’t want to burden someone over a decade younger than him with-

“Papa?”

The sweetest, sleepiest voice echoed from inside.

He doesn’t even have to turn his head to know that Itadori was swaying, all decked-out in his Spiderman pajamas, at the end of the hallway. Likely having gotten out for water or because of the ruckus caused outside. He blinked his sluggish eyes open and ogled the two of you.

Nanami doesn’t know why- but he shoots up to a stand. Almost as if he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

You followed.

Which one of you three was the responsible parent here, by the way?

His parched mouth opened to—what? There was nothing to explain. 

It was true that Nanami hadn’t had the time to even stop and think about dating or relationships in the time since he’d adopted Yuji. Not even if he wanted to. And, admittedly, he did have dreams of getting married one day - he watched all those sappy TV shows, alright? He knew how it felt.

He wanted to walk beside someone to that shrine. He wanted to have a few more kids, to give Yuji a bigger family than this. He wanted to quit his dead-end job and move out with his family to a bigger house in the countryside. 

But none of that was as important as his son right now.

However, he knew that Yuji saw all those happy couples during pick-up at the elementary school- and his boy was sweet. The sweetest, actually. Nanami knew that Yuji wouldn’t say a single thing about him being the only exhausted father to arrive all alone. Day after day.

The two of them in their lonesome.

His sweet boy would beam the biggest smile nevertheless. 

But kids were smarter than adults gave them credit for. Doesn’t he feel that loneliness, too? 

Perhaps that was why Yuji ran up to you in an instant.

Right past his haggard father and only towards you - all previous sleepiness now gone - he reached up towards the pretty stranger with the pretty pin-covered bag.

Stubby finger pointing up at a particularly red one—“Do you like Spwiderman, too?”

“Of course.” Leaning down, you smiled warmly at the boy. His hair was a rose-colored mess that stuck up at all odd angles. “And my spidey senses are telling me that a certain someone does, too?”

He gasped, “That’s me!”

Before Nanami knows it, you were held hostage and dragged inside by a particularly overactive pink-haired boy. Shown all around the apartment as part of your tour to be shown-off Yuji’s prized Spiderman-themed bedroom. 

And unbeknownst to him - against that lock-and-key and jaded guard - you’d walked into Nanami Kento’s cozy Tokyo apartment (and the strange cavity in his chest that softened whenever you were around).

He sighed.

A college student!

Still, Nanami can’t deny that it’s been a delight having you around.

Despite your packed schedule and your note-filled bag, you were always there to greet him when he came home. Without fail. Either tapping away at some assignment due before midnight, or humming to yourself as you wiped down the kitchen counters—last minute fluffy pancake emergency, he thinks of those nights.

Even though it’d been about eight months since your initial meeting, it’s almost fearsome how easily he’d gotten used to the routine of it all.

Something that should be so mundane - he flips each moment through his mind over and over again until it felt like they made up the grooves of his brain itself. The gyri and the sulci. Or so he’d heard you muttering to yourself as you studied one night. 

He’s studied, too. He’s memorized how you’d open the door for him, with a smile across your face and a finger to your lips- telling the older man to be quiet as he shook off his shoes. He’s memorized how you’d never fail to tell him about the leftovers in the fridge as you reached for your satchel. He’s memorized how you’d hesitate to meet his gaze- but smile the brightest once you do, and how you’d linger at the doorstep telling him about Yuji’s day.

Nanami has memorized how it made some dust-covered part of his heart stir. Blinking away the exhaustion of the day. 

Nanami Kento has never felt more invigorated than he is during those sparse few minutes that he caught up with you at the end of the night. Voices low, like neither of you wanted to interrupt a sleeping thing—Yuji, yes. But something else, too.

He gets the feeling that it’d feel like this even if you weren’t around as a job. If perhaps the two of you had met- the same age, at the same university.

Maybe in-between the sluggish hours of study sessions where you help him with some particularly hard question. Maybe in the library where he helps you reach some dusty ol’ book from the topmost shelf.

Times like this, he allows himself to dream.

You’d make the best wife.

You were the best nanny he could’ve ever chosen.

But one always has to wake up to one’s alarm. He sets his alarms himself.

“Come in.” Nanami tells you as he shrugs off his coat at the entrance. He watches as you stop in your tracks at the doorway, fiddling with your familiar pin-draped bag. “I’m just about to fire up some brownies for tomorrow.”

You pause.

“I-if it’s not too late and you don’t have any classes early tomorrow or-”

“I’d skip all my classes for some of your brownies.”

He lets out a breath of relief as you start walking back from the doorway. “Please don’t.”

It takes a little less than half an hour for the brownies to bake until they are crisp on the top and perfectly gooey in the middle. Layers of chocolate that are only sweetened by the conversation that you brought into Nanami Kento’s humble kitchen. 

He listens as you talk about your day, about that professor that’d been out to get you, about that exam you were sure you’d fail (he knows you won’t in the end). Only adding brief hums of affirmation and nods as the older man sweeps through his counters, broad back turned to you, muscles flexing against his office shirt as he whipped up a hot fudge as well as a strawberry sauce for you to add to your brownies.

“—and you’d never guess what Yuji told me today.” Tonight you seem a little more breathless than usual. Stuttering out your thank-yous as he brings out the tray from the oven and cuts out the first piece for you.

“Blow on it. It’s hot.” Nanami leans over the other side of the kitchen island. He watches as your pretty lips fall into a soft circle, “What were you saying, my dear?”

“Well-” You dart your gaze around the rest of the empty apartment. “You know how it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow, Nanami-san?”

Nanami runs a hand through his silver-streaked hair. Smoothing it down. He knows how his son can be, and he has to bite back the grin that threatens to spread across his face. “Mhm?”

“Yuji here seems to think that- well…” Bringing a hand up to your lips, fingertips slightly shaking. The brownie was just amazing. “He seems to think that Valentine’s Day is a bit like Christmas, you see. And so the entire day he wouldn’t stop making a list for Cupid.”

Now that piques his interest particularly- Nanami was never a man to skimp out whenever his loved one wanted something. “Oh, is that so? And what does he ask from this ah- Cupid?”

“That is- I don’t even know if this is appropriate for me to say but…” Looking around one last time. “But it seems Yuji is under the impression that we are together.”

“Oh.”

“Together together.”

“Oh.” He can’t help but inch just a little closer- a strange weight in his stomach. Not entirely unpleasant. “I see.”

You’re mustering up a little more courage, “And it seems that what Yuji wants the most this Valentine’s is…for us to get married. Spiderman-themed wedding, he says.” Watching as Nanami’s eyes slightly widen. “B-but of course, I told him that that might not exactly be in erm- Cupid’s range of power! He kept insisting however-”

He looks at you silently as you rub your temples.

“Because then he said a little brother or sister would be fine, too…” Was it time for the conversation about the birds and the bees already? Instead of storks, Yuji relies on Cupid?!

Nanami follows suit, running a hand through the silver streaks in his hair. “Is that so?” He sighs. “I shall have a little talk with him about asking…immoderate requests of Cupid.”

“He’s a sweet boy. Just a little confused.” You smile sheepishly. “Though I can’t really blame him- my friends think we’re together, too.”

Just an inch closer. “I see.”

And Nanami feels your breathing go heavy- enveloped in the hint of his cologne, the sweetness of the brownies, the musk of something that was entirely him. “I-it’s silly, isn’t it…”

He stares at you intently, reading your every reaction. “Quite.” Pupils flickering down your face. Just another inch closer—you wonder how much more space was left, and what you wanted to do with it. “I’m far too old for you, my dear.”

Your lips part-

The clock strikes eleven.

Both of you startle as if shocked with electricity- “I-I really should-”

“Yes, I understand-”

“The brownies were amazing-”

“Please, take this.” He pushes a bag topped with that delicacy and more of whatever topping you liked into your hands.

“Thank you so much.” You rush out breathlessly, other hand snatching your bag from the counter. “Night, Nanami-san—!”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

“And thank you for the brownies!”

The door shuts—with a lingering creak and ebb of your smile behind it. And soon enough Nanami finds himself lumbering in the direction of Yuji’s bedroom.

It’s not long before he stands before the parade of red and blue and masked superheroes: personnel stationed all to take care of the boy with a tuft of pink hair. His precious treasure. Nestled in the middle of his car-shaped bed. 

A small bedside light traces a glow across his chubby cheeks.

As he does every night, Nanami walks up to the little boy and crouches down beside the bed. Forearms rested upon the soft mattress, face rested upon his forearms- it was always around this time that Yuji would stir and look up at his father.

“Papa…” He sleepily mumbles. Rubbing his sleep-swollen eyes, “Gone?”

“Mhm.” Nanami nods. “Left just now, sunshine.”

“Awww, man—” Yuji seems to deflate- but that only pushes him deeper into the puffy pillows. Making him yawn so wide that it makes the older man chuckle. “I really like her, papa.”

His father pauses before he answers. “I like her, too, Yuji.”

“No, but- I really like her. You know, she’s my best friend along with Kugisaki and Fushiguro and you-”

Nanami starts tickling the boy on his sides until he bursts into peels of laughter. “Really, huh?”

Through giggles, he nods. Before stretching his arms above his head and falling back onto the comfy bed- perhaps he was still dreaming. “Why can’t we keep her, papa?”

“We can’t just keep people, Yuji.” Nanami has to hide his own smile. He knows he should mention the thing about Cupid right now, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. Maybe tomorrow…

“Yes, but…”

“I know, I know.” Nanami pushes his face deeper into his strong forearms. Sometimes, he still felt much like a kid himself. “I get it.”

.

.

.

The next morning, Yuji still wasn’t giving up.

“Papa, it’s Valentine’s Day!”

Papa was about to burst a blood vessel.

He’d chattered on and on about Valentine’s Day as Nanami shuffled him out of bed, he’d announced what chocolates were the best according to his very distinguished five-year-old palate as Nanami helped him brush his teeth—he’d even turned his nose up at the heart-shaped scones that Nanami had made for breakfast.

“Papa, you’re gonna hafta make better hearts than this if you want to marry-”

“Yuji, sunshine, we’re going to be late.” 

Nanami Kento was barely a match for his son. And it’s with something akin to relief - like the exhausted sigh of a stranded man, finally coming across the silhouette of a rescue boat in the bleak horizon - that he manages to hurry the boy into finishing his breakfast. Tuggin’ on his Spiderman backpack, Nanami held Yuji’s hand as they exited the apartment.

Today wasn’t even a school day.

It wasn’t even a school day! And yet the teacher wanted all students in for a short assembly and some chocolate party in class. Nanami would be damned if he didn’t let his son enjoy these small pleasures. 

The elementary school that Yuji attended was only a short distance away from the apartment- usually they’d just make the trip by foot. During those ten minutes it’d become routine for the little boy to jabber away about whatever came to his mind.

How unfortunate for Nanami Kento today that, today, all Yuji could think about was you—

Not because Nanami wasn’t doing much the same- but because he didn’t like thinking of himself as doing much the same. Even though he knew. Query: if both father and son couldn’t get you off their minds, then which one of the two was going to use it?

The older man shakes his head just a little as Yuji suggests a Spiderman wedding cake again—he disagrees with both the cake and…the wedding. Right?

But the boy catches the movement and pouts-

“Why don’t you want to tell her, papa?”

They’re stopping at a red light. Nanami didn’t want to think about how those miniscule bulbs had been programmed to flicker in the shape of a heart today, instead of the usual pedestrian walking. What an apt metaphor for his life, no? Nanami Kento wanted to find something wrong in the traffic light - in the visibility, the practicality, the color - but he couldn’t. 

In fact, it was rather pretty. 

The crossing threatened to bubble over with salarymen and salarywomen and groups of families each hoping to be the first, the fastest, to jump the road. He tugs both himself and Yuji more towards the back where they were well out of the way of whizzing cars. Is it just him or were there more wedding cars than usual today?

“Tell her what? To marry me?” He absent-mindedly answers, “What did I say about no forced marriages, Yuji?”

“No.” He lightly stomps his feet. Making the blond man look down- “I mean why don’t you tell her that you like her, papa?”

And Nanami can’t help but look around like a caught teenager. “You- you can’t just say those things, sunshine! What if she’s heading to class and nearby…”

“But you told me you did last night?” Yuji answers.

Which, fair. And it leaves Nanami slightly at a loss for words. “I…”

“But why can’t you tell her?” The child nods sagely to himself, “S’like when I broke Fushiguro’s red crayon- and I told him. Don’t you always tell me not to lie, papa?”

“That’s…true.” His father hesitates. “But that’s different from-”

“But anyway- that’s why I asked Cupid.” Yuji hums. Content. “You’re a scwaredy-cat, papa, but I asked Cupid for you. Like Santa. And Santa always gives me what I ask for.”

One day, Nanami will consider telling him that Santa had to work a month overtime to get him that car bed—happily however. But that day’s not today. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He looks up at his father with wide, innocent eyes. “And I also asked Cupid for a bwother- maybe this year I should ask Santa, too.”

“Oh.”

“Do you think Cupid will make my wishes come true, papa?”

“I’m…afraid I can’t be sure, sunshine.”

The light turns green.

And Nanami’s the first to step out onto the road.

From here, even the crosswalk seemed to twist and turn into the shapes of hearts.

Along the rest of the way to his elementary school, Yuji tugs on Nanami’s coat and asks him for his phone—“Alright, but no games before school, Yuji.”

“Not playing games!”

And he didn’t think much of it.

Not until Nanami was on the subway heading to work, about to shoot a phone call to one of the contractors he’d be working with today- and he finds Shoko’s name in his call log.

Outgoing call → Shoko [8:01AM]

Lasted three minutes.

How strange. Nanami doesn’t remember calling his friend at any point today - it must’ve been Yuji during his walk to school. 

A mistake?

How strange, indeed…

But to be quite honest, Nanami doesn’t get the time to ponder upon this happening too deeply. The very second he’d considered clicking on that name himself and asking Shoko- the train had slid to a halt at his station.

Then came the chaos of the office: it seems that one of the interns had forgotten to fax a file yesterday. And Nanami had five angry clients on the phone before 9:00AM, one presentation to lead before 10:00AM, a few more angry clients just after the meeting, and a few more contracts to type up and edit before 12:00AM. Those utterly gaudy pink decorations hung about the room didn’t do anything to help with his oncoming headache.

Everyone in the office knew not to wish him today.

By the time that the overworked man was free for lunch, it was close to 2:00PM. His joints pop as he stretches his arms above his head, flickering a look at the clock above.

It was almost time for Yuji to be let out. Nanami knew you’d be humming to yourself as you walked to his school - and if his son was there, he’d join in, too.

At risk of sounding like a creep, he admits that he’s often listened to the low drift of your voice as you walked out of his apartment. It would start up once he shut that door. And he often stood there - on the other end - until it disappeared. Along with the sound of your footsteps.

His house always seemed smaller then.

Shaking his head free of such thoughts, Nanami stands and walks out of his department, wondering what he’ll have for lunch today. This usually wasn’t a problem with him, but this morning he’d been rather a bit…frazzled. So to say.

All those questions and ‘requests’ that Yuji had left him with just barely enough rationality to scrounge up something for the boy. As for himself, he was meandering through the busy streets of Tokyo - tarmac carpets flying by at a pace faster than he ever seemed to be able to. How was it possible for something inanimate to soar, to race, to live more than he did? Was it always built this way or was he one of the unlucky few?

He wonders which category you’d fall into.

That cheap ramen shop down the street wasn’t too bad - their broth was so good that Nanami was almost able to ignore the sappy love songs crooned from their battered radio. They had a special deal going: 80% off for all couples on Valentine’s Day! All ribbons and glitter. All special pink desserts and lovers holding hands. All love…love and a happy elderly couple behind the counter - the owners, it seems.

It was quaint- cute. The type of place he thinks you might like.

As he was walking back to the office, it seemed as though the city was fit to brim with similar sentiments. 

Flower shops bursting with bouquets like carnivorous sunsets, bleeding hearts and ruby-red roses. Candy shops with something sweet for every color of the rainbow—and more covert advertisements for more…adult indulgences. Sex shops that Nanami had to speed-walk past because of how full and flush they were. Ripe with Valentine’s Day.

Nanami Kento might try to ignore what today is, but the world sure as hell wouldn’t let him forget.

Once he finally runs back to his cubicle- he ducks his head and focuses his eyes solely on the computer screen. He hopes no one comments on the numerous glitzy bags beside him.

.

.

.

“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“Y’know- most people would say—‘Wow, it’s so nice to see you. Now I should totally stop brushing off your invites for drinks. Thank you for being such a kind and respectful and understanding friend, Ieri Shoko.’” The woman in question stretches languorously on top of the couch, her test tube-patterned socks dangling from the other side. “And you’re welcome, by the way!”

Nanami raises one hand in front of him- almost as if to pause the scene entirely. He closes his eyes—when he opens them, he hopes that this had all been a bad dream and he’ll wake up to his glaring computer screen.

He opens them.

Nope- still real.

“Let me rephrase- what the hell have you done to my apartment?”

Shoko gets off the couch and gestures at the apartment like a magician showing off a trick. “Ta-da!” At all the yellow candles that cast miniature sunrises where they wept, at the music that crept sensually from some mysterious corner of the room, at the humble dining table that now looked like it came out of a Times’ 10 Best Spots To Take Your Lover for Valentine’s Day. 

Nanami’s stern lips part as he takes in the silver-covered dishes on top, on top of some white cloth—was that his goddamn blanket?!

“Oh c’mon-” Shoko rolls her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised, I see the bouquet in your hands. You obviously planned something of the sort.”

He forgot about that damn thing. Nearly dropping those flowers in his haste to hide it behind his broad back, though there was really no use - he simply couldn’t stand Shoko’s laughing eyes any longer. “Th-this was for Yuji.”

“I see the smaller bouquet in the bag.” She points out. Almost empathetically, Shoko sighs. “You really aren’t slick, Kento.”

“This isn’t- this is just—” But the longer she smirks at him, the less he seems to have an answer. Soon enough, he’s bringing out that massive bouquet from behind him and letting his friend fawn over the thing.

“Wow, she’s really going to love this-”

“It’s called being nice, by the way!” Nanami answers, belatedly.

The look Shoko gives him is enough to make him click his mouth shut.

“I hope you know that I bought one to give you tomorrow…I’m throwing it out now.” Because no matter how much Nanami denied it, today was about love. Parental. Platonic. Even the love that he could never have. As Shoko rummages through the bag with an excited squeak, he drawls on. “Where even is she, by the way? What have you done to her?”

“Hm? Oh, Yuji called me this morning. Thank you for these, by the way.” Shoko stands with a beautiful yellow rose and purple zinnia bouquet in her arms. She sniffs at the sweet fragrance- “Yuji called me asking whether he should leave out cookies for Cupid just like he does with Santa. It seems he wanted Cupid to bring us a wedding, and guess what? I wanted Cupid to bring us a wedding.” Her face breaks out into a smug smile - the one he’s only seen when she used to cheat through biochemistry exams without anyone ever knowing. “So we called up your darling nanny and let her know that her schedule’s changed for today- then Yuji and I did a little sprucing up in here.”

“Sprucing up…”

She turns around to admire her work, “Honestly, Kento, if I knew that you didn’t have a romantic bone in your body then I’d have dissected you-‘

“Papa!”

Spared from hearing whatever gory plans that Shoko had for him by the excited yelp of his son—Nanami hears his footsteps before he sees him. He feels the impact before he sees him.

Yuji’s running down the hallway and launching himself at his father at full speed- “Papa, you’re home!”

“That I am, sunshine.” Nanami smiles down at the boy. “How was your day? I have something for you.”

“For me?” Tufts of pink curls bobbing as he cocks his head, following his father’s movements as Nanami crouches down and reaches into one of the bags. Before breaking out into the most brilliant smile at the sight of the flowers. “Woah- they’re so pretty—! Thank you.”

Crushing the bouquet of pink carnations and hydrangea to his chest, he wraps his arms around Nanami’s shoulders and hugs him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, papa. I’ve got a gift for you, too-” Breaking away, Yuji’s throwing an arm out towards the room at large. “Auntie Shoko said this was how you bring Cupid! And we also tried to make those heart-shaped cupcakes you make, but it tasted like tar so…”

“That’s perfectly alright, Yuji.” He swipes at a smear of icing still on the boy’s face. “We can learn together on my next day off, right?”

“Right!” Yuji jumps in excitement. “And after your wedding today-‘

“Yuji…”

“And right on time.” Shoko’s voice permeates the room- right alongside the sharp fwip! of the window shutters closing. She turns away from the glass and pushes off from her station. “C’mon Yuji, now the plan is a-go! Go! Go!”

“Aye-aye!” With a chubby hand raised in salute—Yuji wastes no time giving his father a final hug. “Bye bye, papa.”

“Wha-” Nanami looks at the harried duo in confusion. “What are you two-”

“And don’t mess this up, Kento.” Shoko gives him a stern wave. 

Before she clasps Yuji’s hand and helps the boy match her longer stride- the two of them speed-walk in the direction of the door.

“Yeah- don’t mess this up, papa!”

“Uh, where are you taking my son?” Nanami stalks after them. Not letting the front door close behind them, he watches the two figures - bouquets and all - race down the hallway. How strange that they didn’t take the usual route - instead opting for the one that would let them leave through the back entrance. “Hello? Shoko-”

“Don’t mess this up!”

He has half the mind to chase after them - it’s not that he doesn’t trust Shoko with his son, but really, what on Earth could they be getting up to?! Especially so late past Yuji’s bedtime. At the very least, maybe he could run up to them and let Shoko know of his son’s Spiderman ritual before eating and the tendency he has to bite fingers when-

“Nanami-san?”

Your voice.

Was he dreaming?

And yet—Nanami snaps his head towards the source of the noise so fast that it almost causes whiplash. He breathes your name out in a whisper.

So this is what Shoko meant about-

“Am I hallucinating or is that Shoko-san and Yuji running down the fire escape?” You point at something beyond his line of vision, though Nanami doesn’t need to look to know that it is, in fact, Shoko and Yuji running down the fire escape.

“I think I’m hallucinating, to be quite honest.” He mutters. Because surely there was no conceivable world in which he would see you like this - standing outside his door on Valentine’s Day, looking all gorgeous as you always did - and dare to bring out the bouquet that he had bought for you. Also was that…was that a bit of make-up you’d dabbed on? More so than usual?

His eyes linger on the glitter beside your eyes.

The thought that it might’ve been because it’s today - that it might’ve been because you’d been as nervous about seeing him today as he was about seeing you - makes him jolt. He’d been smoothing his hair down the entire subway ride home thinking of you.

Thirty-something years and he’s acting like a teenager in puppy love.

Certainly no conceivable world…

And yet…he does. He reaches behind him to bring out that prideful bouquet: 520 flower-heads that blushed themselves silly over not being even half as beautiful as you.

“For you.” He croaks out. Awkwardly pushing up his glasses. 

“Oh.” Your jaw drops, and the bouquet weighs heavy in your hands. In nothing but a whisper- “It’s beautiful, Nanami-san.”

Red, red roses.

.

.

.

Nanami explained the situation before he invited you in…somewhat.

Certainly nothing about how badly he’d been teased because of this little scheme or the ah- confession of feelings. Heavens, no! Nanami himself wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d go along with their plan…

As far as you knew, Shoko and Yuji thought it’d be a funny little prank to ‘invite Cupid’ into his apartment this Valentine’s Day. Leaving the two of you alone in an apartment draped in candles and roses like the most deviant of mistresses. 

And Nanami knew you knew. You knew that Nanami knew.

The implications were there for all to see.

It was there in the way his face burned red, and Nanami couldn’t meet your eyes- “I’m aware of how it looks. And it seems that my son still holds the idea that erm…either way, ahem, I completely understand if you would much rather go home. Please do know that this will not affect your job in any way whatsoever- in fact, I will cover your fee double tonight-”

“Nanami-san.” You’d interrupted him. Cocking your head with a slight smile, “May I come in?”

From there he’d been the perfect gentleman - not that he wasn’t usually. Even in the months since you’d worked for him, you’d come to find that Nanami was the type of man that opened doors for you, that pushed your chair for you, that covered your taxi fare home, that escorted you as far as he could by foot either way.

But now…oh, right now he was putting any Prince Charming to shame.

He had his hand hoverin’ right above your waist- leading you inside to the romantic dinner table. Here, he’d pushed your chair for you—and before you could even thank him, Nanami had his hands helping you out of your coat. 

He insisted on plating for you.

You couldn’t help but gawk at the way his biceps pushed against his work button-up, flexing slightly as Nanami stood beside the table and neatly cut your bread - one he’d baked just this morning, according to him. Shoko had clearly rummaged through his kitchen well…

Conversation was somewhat breathless at first- the both of you waiting for the other to go first. The both of you anticipating every single word.

Wondering what every single word meant.

But after the first two courses - Shoko certainly hadn’t burned these - the both of you were talking freely. Moving on from the more polite topics, like your day, his day, that were really a front for something more - speaking with Nanami was always so easy, he was the best listener you’ve had in a while—to dessert: strawberry shortcake cupcakes and a confession that slips from your lips. 

“Y’know- this is the first Valentine’s Day I’m spending like this.” You giggle, wiping off the cream that sticks to your lips. Nanami watches with half-lidded eyes as you devour the delicacy he’d baked this morning.

He swirls his half-empty wine glass. Certainly not enough to get the man tipsy - Nanami was quite the heavy drinker when he wanted to be - but enough to make him ask. “Oh? Tell me more, my dear.”

The candlelight catches on the rim of his glasses, encasing his eyes in an intense glow. You think he looks even more handsome like this- “Sorry. It’s probably going to sound stupid to someone more experienced…”

“There is nothing you’d say that would be stupid.” He pushes his glasses further up his sharp nose. Fingers crossing before him, he leans in. “Continue, my dear.”

“It’s just- I haven’t had many serious relationships, is what.” You admit. And he looks at you so intently- “With life and university, it’s hard to find the time—if I was looking anyways, that is.” You sputter, before he can ask anything about whether the nanny job was cutting into your time. “The selection in my department isn’t great at all.”

“So…” Nanami runs the tip of his finger ‘round that glass cup. The thin rim. The gaping mouth. “-no lil’ boyfriend, then?”

“No boyfriend.” You echo. And perhaps being drunk on the proximity is what makes you blurt out- “But if I did have one, I think I’d like someone older—”

He quirks a brow in interest, “Older?”

You nod. Crossing your arms in slight embarrassment, “Boys my age will ask you out and then go halfsies just because you don’t want to go home with them.”

“Mhmm.” Nanami’s lip curls in distaste.

“I just want someone to like me for me- y’know? Just to sit across from me like this and really talk to me for once.”

“Has no boy ever wined and dined you like this?” He asks.

“No.” You admit, somewhat sheepishly.

“Has no boy ever bought you flowers?”

“No.” You cast a look at the 520 roses - now housed in a large vase that Nanami had pulled out from one of his cabinets.

“No…” You breathe.

He inches forwards, forwards, forwards—and wipes at a remnant of sweet, sweet cream on your lips. That roughened edge of Nanami’s thumb grazes the edge of your mouth. “Has no boy ever been sweet to you like this?” He catches the look in your eyes. And his own lower. “Has no boy ever treated you like a man would, my dear?”

The older man doesn’t hesitate in reaching his thumb back up to his mouth- and lickin’ off the cream. “Has no boy ever eaten you out like this?”

“No-”

Your lips upon his are even sweeter than the cupcakes he’s baked- and he’s lavishin’ his tongue over your mouth gently. Opening you up so wide—

And even that isn’t enough.

Nanami’s thumb finds permanent purchase at the end of your chin, letting his own sinful tongue slip inside. In and out. In and out. In and out.

Almost as if he was fucking you with it-

You’re not sure how long Nanami’s kissing you like this. 

Maybe minutes. Maybe hours.

You’ve lost track of time- and the only thing you know is that your head feels dizzy. Your knees were growing weak in your seat. A slick line of spittle glides down the side of your mouth- and Nanami reaches a thumb up to smeeear it.

“My dear…” He murmurs, his deep baritone taking on a husky tone. Hot breath fans across your face, heating you up from the inside out.

You’re raising your face to meet his molten gaze- and it almost shocked you just how handsome Nanami Kento is. Noble features chiselled in the soft candlelight. His mouth slightly kiss-swollen. Blond hair unravelling from his usual neat style n’ cascading across his forehead. 

He reaches closer to you and siiinks his teeth into your lower lip, “Have you ever been kissed like that- here before?”

You squirm. Shaking your head-

But he tugs on your pretty maw. “Tell me in words, honey.”

Gulping as one of his rugged hands snakes down your middle. A carnal jolt echoes through your body once Nanami presses the edge of his palm between your skirt- your legs. “I…” You think of all the disappointing dates you’ve been on before, of all the disappointing hands in places almost forgettable. “Not like that, Nanami-san.”

“Now now—when we fuck, call me Kento.” He mutters, finally making his way ‘round the table. Before you know it, he’s looming over you- and two of his strong hands rest underneath your legs. “Upsy daisy.” 

He’s lifting you uuuuuup, up, up to splay out across the dinner table.

Lifting you like you weighed nothing.

Pushing aside first and foremost those plates and flowers- you’re being rolled with your back against the tabletop, and Nanami’s honed hips pinning you down. A dimly-lit halo of light behind his golden hair. He wastes no time before throwing both legs of yours on top of his shoulders- “M’gonna teach you how a real man eats pussy.”

You nod-

“First lesson. Big girls use their words.” 

And your jaw drops—

“K-Kento—”

You’re not sure whether the primal noise escapes you because of his words, his tone, or because of the utterly desperate way that Nanami Kento falls to his knees. Thud!

Loud enough that it should hurt- but you don’t think it even registers in Nanami’s frenzied brain right now. 

Not when he was pushing up that damn sinful skirt of yours- extra tight tonight. Nanami wasn’t a fool - he knew what you were doing. Not when he was starin’ deeply at your pussy, all wet through your panties and throbbing so hard he could practically see it.

Count it.

One-two-three. 

Not when he was worshipping you as close as a man possibly could—“Not quite the answer I was looking for.” Then the next thing you’re hearing is a sudden thwack! The next thing you’re feeling are the five pointed tips of Nanami’s thick fingers, smacking down on top of your pussy. “But I’ll let it slide since s’your first time being eaten out all properly, mhm?”

“Mhm.” You nod.

“What was that?” Those mean fingertips of his raise again.

“Yes, Kento.” You’re hurrying to answer. And just as a little reward, Nanami smears his digits atop your swollen folds. 

“That’s more like it.” The glaze of your sweetened slick lets out the loudest squelch, and you squirm as he’s tuggin’ aside your panties with a single index. “Are you ready, my dear?”

“Yes-”

“Are you excited, my dear?”

“Yes-”

“Good girl.”

Let the feast begin, he’s thinking. And Nanami Kento doesn’t wait. Nanami Kento doesn’t tease n’ toy. Nanami Kento doesn’t even swivel his fingertips around your wet hole more than a few times to check how soaked you are before he’s taking what he wants—he doesn’t have the damn time for anything else. 

He’d been starving for far too long.

And the closer n’ closer he gets to your pussy, the more his mouth waters. 

Nanami’s left drooling at the mere sight of your wet fuckin’ hole—you swear you could hear his stomach start to growl. Fuck.

He gulps.

He takes a single sniff. 

With a sudden lurch - like he couldn’t hold it back any longer - he leans up and shoves his face nose-deep between your legs.

His tongue swiping your hole, jaw hittin’ the end of your slit.

He’s curving that wet, wet muscle against your walls. Just so soft that it feels as if you’re melting around him- “Fuck.” It escapes him- harsh and cracking. A primal groan at the back of his throat - one he doesn’t seem to even realize himself. “Fuck.”

You tremble at the tone.

Because there was something dark in it. Something almost…predatory.

This was nothing like the calm, composed Nanami Kento that you were used to - absolutely nothing. This was…you didn’t even have words for it.

So fiercely needy that it shoots electricity up your spine- Nanami’s tongue was ravenous. He was holding onto both sides of your legs and- and correction…he wasn’t merely holding onto them. Nanami Kento was using all his strength to push them as faaaar apart as they would go before suffocating himself on your sopping wet cunt.

Such strong hands. Furious tongue.

No matter how much you’re bucking your hips- he just keeps fucking his muscle between your wet pussylips like the last thing on his mind was breathing. 

Swooping his head even deeper and munching for more. More. More, more, more. 

Nanami crushes his mouth against your pussylips - so deep that you start to wonder whether his oral area would start to bruise—

And it’s only because of that broken call of his name that Nanami flinches. He freezes. He puffs out a murky breath. As if only now registering where he was, what he was doing, and just what his name was at the moment-

He’s breaking free from your pussy with an echoing slurp!

“K-Kento…” You’re looking on in pure worry at the dazed man - his eyes were still glazed, and there was something almost…feral about his demeanour still. Though he seemed to be much calmer than before, “Kento, are you okay to contin-”

“I am.” His voice comes out strong. Firm. Like he’s never been more sure of anything in his entire life. 

Nanami lets out a few stilted breaths- running a hand through his now-unruly hair. The glisten of a silver streak in it. “I am. I just…it’s been a long time…forever, actually, since I’ve tasted anything so delicious.” Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I hope you can forgive this old man for getting a little carried away, my dear.”

Was he really that ruined from but a single taste of your cunt?

He stares down so long and deeeep at your quivering pussy. That cute hole peeking out from your panties—“She’s just so…sweet.”

And though he was speaking to you, Nanami looks down lovingly between your legs. 

Now that he didn’t have his lips all plastered to your folds- he was rubbin’ his right thumb vertically down your slit.

Pressing down on the cute button of your clit-

“Awww did I scare you, honey? I sure hope I didn’t.” Honey, because you were just too sweet sizzlin’ on his tastebuds. Guiding one of your hands to grip his scalp, “Forgive me. When it gets like that, don’t be afraid to pull me- to use me, alright?”

“Kento, you don’t have to-”

“Consider it my second lesson.”

You squirm, “B-but don’t they say to…respect your elders, Kento?”

And you’re just too cute—he can’t help but flatten his palm down and spank your pussylips once more. It makes so many beads of slippery slick spray out from your cunt n’ glue against that chin of his. “You certainly can.” He hums, thoughtful. “But just remember- I won’t be respecting this pussy, honey.”

“I see.” You gape.

And while speaking to you - while speaking to you - Nanami lavishes out lil’ kitten licks between your folds. Lick. Lick. “I bet this pretty pussy’s never been eaten out like that before, huh?” He continues. Merely peeking up at you through blond lashes to confirm- and you can only nod—

Yet another spank sputtering down on your wet crevice.

“Words.” Nanami reminds. 

Hiccuping, “Yes, please. All those boys usually just like- graze my clit and that’s all.”

He nods. He continues, voice nothing but deep murmurs that sets your entire body aflame - and it’s as though the more syllables he’s uttering, the harder n’ harder he rubs on your clit. “Awww poor girl. I just can’t help but think of how long this pussy has been wasted on- haaah, boys who didn’t know how to handle her.”

“Too- too long.”

Lovingly—almost drunkenly, he’s pressing a direct peck against your hole. The tip of his tongue just lightly slipping out and teasing your entrance- Nanami’s free hand grips onto your thigh as if holding himself back. “Mmmm, that’s what I thought.” He murmurs. “And how long has she waited to be eaten out by a man who isn’t afraid to get a little…sloppy?” 

“Too long-”

At this, he chuckles. “And as for my last question-” Not even smooching anymore- he’s just smeeeeaering his puffy lips along your slit. More rapid. More hungry. “Actually- take this as my third lesson.”

You’re scrambling up onto your elbows. “Yes?”

“Can you settle down like a good girl?”

Whatever that means…you aren’t given the time to figure out. Because before you know it, Nanami purses his lips and plants a wad of spittle that hits your cunt with a wet splat!

Only making you even wetter for him to gape his jaw open- “Fuck.” For him to swirl his ridged tip around and around your snug entrance until it left your mind all dizzy, it makes your cunt streeeeetch incredibly once he digs the tip of his tongue inside. Thoroughly.

It’s almost as if he was splitting you apart on the thickness of his tongue. 

Expanding and contracting. Expanding and contracting. 

The stretch is so incredible that it leaves your mind searing

“Settle down. Settle doooown-” He’s humming in a low tone. Whenever Nanami feels you squirmin’ or clenching just a tad too hard, he’s making note of that particular spot and bashing it all in again. Thick muscle reaching in and out for your deepest depths until your tight hole can’t take it anymore- until you’re screaming for mercy. 

“Oh fuh-fuuuuck—” You’re arching straight off the table, the fabric clinging onto your skin briefly. Only for a few split-seconds before one of Nanami’s hands fastens onto your hips, pushing you right back down where you came from.

“What did I say?” He wasn’t even using much of his strength- you were just so easy for him to move ‘round. Especially when he has his mouth attached to you in a way that was so ravenous—

Ruined. 

“Settle. Fucking. Down, girl.” 

Pinning you to the flat surface and letting his gaped maw run wiiiiiiild. It’s making you realize that he wasn’t going feral in the beginning- he was merely holding back.

Both in strength and in pure carnal hunger.

No matter how badly you were craving to grind down restlessly on his face for hours- Nanami keeps you on a tight leash. He keeps you restrained on the table n’ getting only what’s given. Pushing down. Maneuvering his greedy mouth. No matter how much you wanted to plant your feet down and take control - Nanami Kento really does know what’s best.

“Failing the third lesson already, huh?”

Tears stream down your cheeks without you even realizing. “S-sorry, I didn’t-”

“Shhhhh shh shh. No need for an apology, honey.” He opens his swollen lips up wider n’ latches them around your clit for a few seconds. “My poor girl’s just overstimulated because she’s getting her pussy eaten out, huh? This pretty pussy’s just excited?”

“Yes-”

“That’s why your Kento’s here.” Nanami hums, his cold glasses frames hit the front of your cunt and you flinch. Making the man push them up his nosebridge with a chuckle—“And m’gonna take care of this pussy, baby.”

The way that Nanami looks dead-set into your widened peripherals as he says this makes your heart race.

Spitting a few more times down your dribbling slit. He was teeeeasing you before reaching his right hand down n’ smearing your pussylips open with two fingers- the rugged tips of his index n’ middle streeetching your damp hole apart. Just so goddamn thick. “Fourth lesson: sometimes…fingers feel even better.”

“O-ohhh—” Your voice breaks out in carnal trills. Trying to bend your spine but then holding yourself back-

He was thrashing inside a few more sloppy strokes - swiping, slurping, scrapin’ every inch of your velvety walls. Anywhere you could think of, his thickened digits were pumping in. 

At one point, he flicks his glistening tongue outside for you to take in his sheer size. “Size does matter when it comes to pleasing this needy pussy, alright? Don’t let any fuckin’ boy convince you otherwise.”

You mewl, “I-I wouldn’t need another boy if I just had you, Kento…”

And there’s something in his tone that sounds ecstatic- “Mmm, good girl.” Showing you a demonstration of his previous statement by mazin’ away straight towards your g-spot. And you could feel yourself shaking- all those times you had to worry about whether a guy could manage to make you cum?

Nanami was eatin’ you out like his one and only purpose in life was to make you cum.

“Always teasing me.” He scoffs out in a scalding breath. Raggedly running his mouth- his tongue. “Always riling me up with those pretty looks and that- damn-” Pushing and pushing onto your g-spot so hard that it makes you sob out of pleasure. “-mouth.”

Your jaw drops. “I l-love it—fuck.” 

Practically on instinct, you’re gliding a hand down your tummy- where you could feel butterflies. They only seemed to grow even harder n’ rougher with his textured tongue…“I think I can feel you right- ngh, here.”

“S’that so? You love it, huh? I can feel this pussy growin’ so wet—She’s so fucking tight, bet she’s never been fingered properly before.” As if anticipating your next moves, he’s digging his fingers deeper against your flesh. Leaving little crescent marks.

Whatever rational part of you is left begins to wonder just why he might have to pin you down even harder.

“And for my fifth lesson, honey.”

You’re waiting with baited breath as he presses a few more heated-open-mouthed kisses. Nanami’s luscious tongue reaching spots inside you that you weren’t even sure you had - ones undiscovered—

And it’s the only warning you get before the puckered, pretty flaps of his mouth opens up your pussylips. Just past where your folds were all swollen n’ tight- it was quite a squeeze even when it was just his tongue. Just his fingers.

So to have both Nanami’s fingers and his tongue inside?

It was sheer madness.

It was driving you stupid with his touch in but a single stroke- the jostling feeling of his wet muscle and his digits pressing against your walls and each other. Your walls. Each other. Your walls. Each other. Your channel was so snug that even the slightest movements made it feel as though you were bulging from the inside.

Pressing in. Fucking in.

In and in, and in—

“A real man is- haaah, always hungry.” Alternating between slipping his tastebuds into your hole, and then fishing himself back out—not to breathe. No, not even close. He was merely roverin’ his mouth over to spank down on your clit. “A real man would never get tired of his lover, my dear.”

“Kento—ngh.” You’re echoing out. 

Your moans bang against the four corners of the room and straight into his ears- the prettiest song he’s ever heard. “See how good you feel? S’only my duty to you, my dear.” 

“But Kento-”

Mouth makin’ out with your cunt as if he’d gone mad, too.

“Kento, don’t you need to breathe-”

“Fifth lesson. Who cares about breathing?”

He gasps out in interruption. Tongue swiping at a constant rhythm - it was difficult to get a single syllable out when all Nanami wanted to do was stick himself to your cunt and lick and lick and lick—

Both of you are realizing at the same time that he’d miscounted.

“For my fifth…” And he sounded maddened, too. Octaves higher. Tone breathy. There was a feral sort of hunger in his eyes that shook you to your core- “Sixth…?” As if he was just so pussydrunk that it was causing his brain to melt, acting on pure carnal instinct. “For my sixth lesson, honey. This old man’s mind is a little foggy, you see…”

You don’t get the chance to answer.

Because with that, Nanami only accelerates. First those fingertips of his were shoved all the way in and making your walls twitch with every hard prod—thud-thud-thudding way. Then he was smoochin’ over that same bruised spot with his slithering tongue, just swipin’ up where you were most sensitive. 

Before draaaaagging all the way out and about to suck on your clit. Throbbing so hard that he managed to time his lil’ bites to each pulse.

It was a dual sensation that left you driven mad. Absolutely mad.

Rubbin’ his fingers absolutely raw on those knotted bundles of nerves- 

You buck.

You get hit with a sudden spank.

“Mmmm—do you think you deserved that, my dear?” He asks. Too cute- the more he eats you out, the more he’s twitching in his pants. 

You sob, but you’re nodding. “Y-yes…”

Another spank.

“What was that?”

“Yes, Kento.”

“Good girl.” And honestly you could feeeel that sultry stretch of his grin—gently dabbing his tongue over your clit. Nanami Kento might’ve been a stern man, but he certainly wasn’t merciless. “But forget one more time and I’ll make you call me ‘sir’.”

You couldn’t deny the way that made your cunt twitch…

“Seventh and final lesson.” Nanami pronounces, his mouth slicked with so many layers of your sap that it gleamed—he wore those dangles of goopy syrup like a medallion. “When I make you cum- hah, you better reward me by cumming aaaaaall inside my mouth, honey. Or my cock.”

Your throat was utterly parched by now. And the only thing you could do was rasp out- “U-understood, Kento…”

Soon enough, he was babbling out hot breaths of something you could barely even understand- though each promise only sounded more ravenous than the last. 

Mouth glued to your cunt. Nails digging into your skin. Rougher than you ever thought was possible before, he’s sucklin’ at your clit and pounding his fingers into you so hard that it looked like nothing but a blur—

Nanami counts one, two, three rapid clenches of your pussy walls-

Before you’re throwing your head back and absolutely shattering into your high because of him.

Your toes curling. Your throat ragged raw.

His textured tastebuds are swipin’ across every bead of slick you were dripping out. Dripping. Every bead of slick. All over your puffy pussylips. All between them till he meets your hole- even all the way up your inner thighs.

He wasn’t letting a single bit go to waste.

Not even as that translucent sap dribbles down the sides of his mouth and ends up splashin’ right up to his handsome cheekbones-

The pleasure washes over you twofold - both with your orgasm and the way that Nanami was eloooongating your orgasm. Both his fingers and his mouth were working overtime to press into each peak of your high. “O-oh—” Thighs trembling on top of his shoulders- you don’t know when, but they end up locked so tight around his head. “It feels s-so good.”

Each tiny curve of his fingers made your body twitch in the aftershocks. “Extra lesson- fuck back into me.”

“Wh-what?”

It takes you a significant amount of effort to even open your eyes - let alone start to swerve your body uuup n’ down. And yet you’re doing it anyway—moaning as you ride all of Nanami’s handsome features in looooong, sloppy drags. “Fuh-fuck, like this?”

And he was just loving it.

“Mhmmm.” He gurgles out. Cracking one eye open, “Exactly. I know this is the best fuckin’ orgasm you’ve ever experienced, my dear.”

He wasn’t even being cocky - and you usually would’ve called him out on it - this was just plain true. “I-it is-”

“I know this pretty pussy wants it again, my dear.”

You can only nod.

“I know I surely want to eat her again, my dear.”

And nod and and nod as he’s fucking you through even the tiniest peaks and spasms—the surplus of bliss making your veins bubble. Burst. Bulldoze your senses as you’re practically vibrating with the sheer amount of pleasure that runs through them.

There seems to be a hazy aura covering your vision as you finally ride through your entire high.

Struggling up onto your elbows once more-

“Stay down—”

“Yes…?” Your eyes widen at Nanami’s strict order. He leaves a final slurping kiss at your clit before he stands onto his feet. Slightly swaying—

There was a glaze over his eyes. There was your slick coating all the way from his lower face, and puddling dooown to form a dark patch on his button-up. There were the short, panted breaths he was emanating - like a predator honed in on his prey - the longer he looked at you splayed out on the messy table.

Nanami Kento almost looked drunk - and not on the dinner, not even on the sparse wine. 

He was completely n’ utterly ruined on nothing other than your pussy.

He lunges towards you-

“Fuck, Kento—” You’re squealing at the rugged hands that tear through your clothes as easily as if they were butter. Shirt and bra easily landing on the carpeted floor- and your skirt was to follow before you even realized.

You’re just about to help Nanami shuffle you out of your panties - hips raising to facilitate it - before he takes another look at you. One long, hard look. And his hands leave your body as though that was enough-

He wanted your panties on.

Nothing but a sopping wet mess twisted ‘round your hips. Evidence of his depravity. 

“I want these off then.” You’re reaching up to tug on one of Nanami’s sleeves. He was still partly in his office clothes: button-up, formal pants, tie. And those sleeves of his had been pushed up to his elbows during your dinner, leaving you struggling not to gawk at the older man’s forearms. Strong. Slightly veined. Slightly tanned. 

He was just so attractive that it made you squirm. 

Nanami looks down at himself and lets out a hoarse—“Oh…right.” Like he’d been so caught up in you that he hadn’t even realized he was still clothed.

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

Those neat white buttons end up flinging to the ground- useless against his sheer desperation. Nanami wastes no time before tearing through his layers, ripping them off. Fabric pools onto the carpet below. His belt buckle clangs as it hits the ground.

Gentlemen couldn’t deny such a thing when their lover’s asking so nicely, could they? At least Nanami couldn’t-

And fuck…

Now, you always assumed that Nanami Kento was the kind of guy to be well-built. It was naturally in the way he moved, the way he stood, in the broadness of his shoulders.

But you’d never in your wildest dreams could have imagined that he’d be this chiselled. This toned.

You have to stop yourself from ogling him—you have to. But you can’t help it.

Not when Nanami’s body was ridged and curved in muscle- almost Herculean in nature. He had pecs that looked lush enough for you to bite - and you could already feel your mouth start to water - with a faint coating of golden and silver hair scattered across his skin. Wide shoulders. Trim waist.

His biceps flexin’ as he moves onto the buttons of his pants.

Lined through the middle with similar golden hair that drove down, down, down…

But you think your favorite part of him wasn’t the muscles or the hardness- no. Though they were certainly a nice addition, what made your pussy throb the most was just how…thick Nanami Kento was.

It was evident that Nanami was the type of person who liked hitting the gym often- but then again, it was evident that Nanami was the type of person who didn’t have the time to be hitting the gym often.

As often as he used to, at least.

And you? You were loving it.

Because all those muscles of his were naturally-formed. But with all the years of responsibilities as a father which meant his body was comforted by a layer of slight chub, big. Strong. Suddenly, you understood why ‘dad-bods’ were all the craze on social media—because you - for one - couldn’t help but linger your eyes at the sight of the softness to his shape. The slight roundness to his belly, abs barely peaking through.

“My dear…”

“Kento.”

He presses a thumb against the hemline of his trousers-

And then he’s letting you see him—all of him. 

From his V-shaped waist to his meaty thighs.

So thick. So strong.

You just wanted to be crushed between them.

And right down to the furious cock that stood upright and erect between them. Such a bulbous red tip, streaming with never-ending ribbons of pre. Such a thickened shaft that made you swallow—he had so many veins zipping down either side of him. You think he was about nine or so inches- perhaps on the lower end.

Before you’d realized it, you’d been reaching your hand between his legs- only for Nanami to stop you in your tracks.

“K-Kento…”

His thick fingers intertwine with yours and press your hand down on the tabletop. “Honey, you don’t have to reciprocate.” The older man stares deeply into your eyes- “You don’t owe me anything. I ate your pretty pussy out because I’ve been starving for her.”

“But I still want to.” You insist.

“Mmmm, how about after then?” He reaches his free hand up n’ thumbs across your bottom lip. “As much as I want to paint these beautiful lips with my cum, there’s another pair who’ve been waiting patiently for their turn…”

You shiver, “Erm- Kento, you should know that…this is my first time.”

He pauses. “Excuse me, my dear?”

“I’ve never done it before.” Looking up at him through your tear-draped lashes. “You’ll be my first.”

The thought takes a second to register in the older man’s sex-hazed mind. That animalistic part of him being overpowered by the rational.

Your first time.

Your first time.

Your first time.

He was about to take the virginity of that cute lil’ nanny he’s had his eye on for so long. “Honey, are you su-”

“Yes.”

Nanami almost moans at the sheer eagerness in your voice - your eyes were shining, and your legs locked tighter around him. “Well…” The man starts, dipping two thumbs down to your glistening pussy and spreading your folds wide open. He takes a good look at your entrance in comparison to the thickness of his cock, “Brace yourself then, my dear. S’gonna be a tight fuckin’ fit.”

In a split-second, he’s jerking his hips closer and smoochin’ your naked cunt with his cock. His rounded tip spreading your pussylips. His shaft sliding between your slit and massaging you with his veins.

Nanami was so goddamn hard that it looked painful.

And what better way to alleviate the pain than by pushing his pretty lil nanny’s legs apart and shoving his cock between them? Aching and needy for you.

Nanami was big enough to fuck you stupid with just his tip.

And he knows it, too. Having such a hard time completely fittin’ in his crowned girth, he just barely fucks the top of his shaft inside before groaning. Taking a peek at the way you were squirming below him, sobbing below him. Absolutely ruined- “Shit, honey.” Cupping his hilt with his left hand- Shit, honey, can you recite the lessons for me?”

You’re wobbling up onto your elbows, “Recite them?”

He can only nod. “Just—oh.” Cut off with the slightest sliiiiide between your sweet, swollen pussylips- he’s only managing to nudge the rounded edge of his length. “Just recite them. You have them memorized f’me like a good girl, yeah?”

“Yes-” Nodding frantically. “Yes, Kento-”

And that cute obedience of yours is enough to make him smile- tap-tap-tappin’ away the curve of his tip down there. For absolutely no other reason than wanting to. “Good.” He reels his hips back. “Then say it f’me, my dear.” And then forwards- “Say it while I fuck you.”

And the only thing you can fucking do is to babble out those words- the very same ones that’d been drilled into you. “The first lesson is that—fuck.” All the while Nanami’s probin’ tip enters your hole in a sudden thrust. “-th-that big girls use their words.”

Nanami grunts, voice shot. “Goooood good good- keep breathing now.” Hand clawing down your front—feeling for himself as he pumps inside. Tiiiight fucking fit, like he said. He almost wonders whether it would go in- “And then?”

“The second…” 

But it’s almost impossible to remember- to even think with those rapidfire haaaard hammers of his cock. 

That curved tip of his shaft kept pushing iiiin with the most lecherous squelches, drawing more n’ more sweetened slick out of you with every single thrust. That stretch was just incredible- it was making you see white. Just the first few inches of his pretty pink cock squeezing inside and pushing in and in and in—

Thwack!

Those rugged fingertips of his come spanking back down on your cunt - this time, however, they fit between your pussylips and latch onto your clit. And they stay there. He’s tuggin’ on that poor nub a few times just to bring you back to your senses- “Awww, you didn’t think you’d go unpunished for that—-did you, my dear?”

“I-I—no.” Because tears stream down your cheeks, and Nanami still isn’t letting go. He’s flopping out his tongue and lapping at that salty flavor-

“Then continue.” Humming at the taste of you. Fitting and fitting and—trying to stretch your elastic hole out to take him. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt something like this. “You’re doing so good. Keep going for Kento.”

Thwack!

“Keep talking, honey.”

“Second lesson-” Unable to do anything but arch your back, you’re being met with Nanami’s soft chest. Those pecs. The thundering of his heartbeat. It’s enough to make your mouth already water—“t-to…use you.”

He leans in, “What was that, my dear? Old man, you know…”

“To use you-”

“To not be afraid to use me.” He corrects. 

And it’s the last thing you hear before both Nanami’s hands snake down to grab your ankles- restraining them. Tightening them.

He’s bending you easily in half.

Legs on top of his shoulders. Thighs against thighs.

Pushing you all the way back into a mating press.

A fucking mating press.

Of course the hot DILF that you’re nannying for puts you in a mating press. Of fucking course!

And it’s only causing you to become wetter than you’ve ever been in your entire life- your head falls back against the table surface. Thud! An action that makes the older man on top of you reach behind n’ cushion the back of your scalp. “Easy there, my dear. Eeeeeasy.” His left palm lightly massages your sweaty head. 

“K-Kento-” Through your tears.

“Easy there- third lesson, remember?” 

“To s-settle down…”

“That’s my girl.” Nanami hums, head threatening to tip backwards at the sensations of your quivering cunt. It’s impossible to keep his mind when you were gushing out so much slick that it coats his shaft and leaves his ballsack all drenched.

And if he was this gone, then where did that leave you? 

Well, you were just babbling away the pretty syllables of his lessons. “The f-fourth lesson is that fingers feel better.” Hips bucking upwards. “The fifth is that real men are hungry—” Eyes scrunching with tears. That large circumference of his were pushing into tender spots n’ crevices that you didn’t even know you had - it felt as though your poor pussy was being split by him. Push after push.

After probe after probe.

Just animalistically trying to fit inside—

“The sixth- the sixth-”

“Breathe, honey.” Those smoky words of his scorch your face, as if Nanami himself was burning from the inside out. And there truly was a feverish tint to his words—to his actions, fuckin’ away sloppily between your pussylips. Slurp after slurp. “Breeeeeeathe- c’mon do it with me.” 

Conducting you through these relaxation exercises for a few strokes.

Listening to his own advice - that fourth lesson - his right hand lifts off of your thighs to roll over your throbbing clit. Just so neglected by now, it makes you see white to have him massaging that sweet spot all slow and sensual.

“The sixth lesson is…who cares about breathing?”

“Mhmmm.”

A guttural tone that sent vibrations straight from your drippin’ core and up to your brain. Only growing more muddled by the inch- “And oh! The extra.” As all good students do, you’re deciding to show a demonstration. How sinful that this sort of demonstration is you balancing your hips on the table n’ choosing to bounce right up to meet Nanami’s rutting hits. His pounces. “To- ngh, fuck back into you.”

“Oh, good girl- this old man almost forgot that one.” Sleazily, he’s pushing his glasses up his nosebridge.

Staring at the lewd sight below of you griiiiinding your hips up into his. It was just so messy because your lips were jittery with pleasure.

His happy trail rubs carnally on top of your clit- and it sends you into a frenzy—

“F-fuck that was-”

“Shhhh shh shh, easy.”

You waddle your ankles from their perch atop his shoulders. “Yes, I know-” Hissing out—“I’m breathing, Kento. I’m listening to what you’re saying, promise…”

“Good girl. Now inhale.” Of course, you can’t help but take a looooong gasp of the heady air thick in the dining room - the candles were scented like roses. “And-”

“And…?”

And Nanami doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t bother telling you to exhale before his fat, throbbing cock is fucking every volume of air from your lungs. In this mating press, he could hit each angle even deeper than before - and that meant you’re feeling his thick circumference bruise all the way against your womb.

Your cervix.

Bottomed all the way out and Nanami was pummeling his length away as if there was even more, more, more of him left. A hint of something metallic hits his nostrils—and he can’t hold back the victorious chuckle that leaves him. He’s done it. “Continue.”

“I—what-” Struggling to catch your breath. “Oh my fucking-”

“Continue.”

“Who cares about breathing-”

A sixth lesson that he was fully demonstrating.

He really was mean.

He really was merciless.

Because he was fucking you into the dinner table like a damn animal—and the thing is Nanami wasn’t even going at a particularly fast pace in order to leave you speechless. He wasn’t merely half-thrusting away and hoping that you liked it. He wasn’t just tracin’ his cockhead down the sweet spots at the back of your pussy.

Nanami Kento was holding you down tight in his mating press. He has one hand gripping onto the back of your scalp - such a gentle gesture turned so sinful - and another crushin’ the fatness of his palm to your pussy.

Purposefully, the older man pushes the edge of his palm down on your clit. Harder. Harder. Harder.

And he was drilling into you harder by the second, too. Harder didn’t mean faster.

Just draaaagging every inch of his vein-covered shaft down your slick channel - he’s making sure that you can feel every single curve n’ ridge down his cock. He’s making sure that he massages your insides so thoroughly that it feels as though you’re being molded to his cock. Nothing more. Nothing less.

You swear you’re seeing the pearly gates spread wide open before your very eyes. “O-oh my god-” Reaching your hands up, Nanami lowers his strong body further into yours. Pushing you down against the dinner table, the pressure from all sides is too much that you have to claaaw down his perfect back. “Kento, what—fuck. I didn’t know that it could feel like this-”

And deep inside, you can feel his thickened tip flinching. Directly at your g-spot. “Mhm?”

“Yeah-” Voice shattering in your throat as his circumference swells just a few millimeters thicker inside of you. He was growing even bigger, harder, just by the sensations of your slurping cunt. “I-it just feels so good- I’ve never been fucked like this.”

“Honey…” Nanami’s mean yet pointed tone makes you stare up at him. “You’ve never been fucked before me.‘

“Oh.”

“Your virginity is mine.”

“Oh.”

Just that gone on his cock that you’d almost forgotten - even the realization itself seems to take up too much storage inside your already-muddled brain. Now filled with only the thought of him n’ his achingly hot cock—pouring out bucketloads of precum until it sloshed around inside.

Inside and inside.

Stirring ‘round and ‘round with his probin’ cockhead. He pushes deep into spots that you hadn’t even known existed, let alone could be smooched away by his pulsating shaft. He constantly whacks your g-spot until it feels numb.

Enough to render you speechless- 

“—graduated.”

And that makes your eyes blink open. “Wh-what?” 

“Oh, honey…” Nanami plants a loving peck on your lips- until that peck turns into a rugged bite. “What world are you on, hm? S’my cock that good? Awww, my poor girl—here.” Nanami’s perspired forehead sticks against yours. This time, he’s staring deeply into your eyes as he pronounces the words, “You’ve graduated.”

You cock your head in confusion, “From university?”

He chuckles, fine lines popping out from the edges of his eyes. You’re noticing that his glasses have slightly fogged up by now- “No, silly girl. From my lessons.”

“Oh…” Pouting, “But I liked your lessons, Kento.”

“Mmmm, you’ll like this one even more.” Dipping down- Nanami presses his stern lips right to the shell of your left ear. Whispering as if a secret shared by no one but the two of you in this world, “Remember how Yuji mentioned he wanted a little brother…”

A jolt goes through your body- as does the realization.

“If you’d like then-”

“Yes.” You know it might be rash. But looking at him like this - looking at Nanami Kento so deep in the pangs and plunges of his carnal pleasure - how could you deny what you want? “Yes—”

The blond man’s breaths start to grow heavier, eyes slightly widened. For the first time in the longest time, he actually looks like his usually-sensible self. Those molten eyes of his search yours for an answer- “Honey, really think this throu-”

“I did.” You’re insisting. And if that wasn’t enough, he could feel your wobbly ankles surge with the strength to lock ‘round his neck. “Inside, Kento.”

Nanami’s mouth moves noiselessly with an answer, but his cock does all the swelling. So painfully hard that you were sure it was tougher than rocks-

And there’s only one thing left for you to do. “Inside…sir.”

If he was any less of a gentleman - of a man, really - then Nanami would’ve cum inside you then and there. At least in his mind—which was focused solely on digging his heels into the carpet, solely on gritting his teeth and holding his damn cock back from pouring out those wads of cum like he knew he wanted to.

Was on the verge of doing.

He was instead collapsing the entirety of his weight upon your body- feeling your limbs strain, hearing your joints pop. But not even that noise crackling in his eardrums is enough to get the man to slow down.

Now he was just fucking you sloppy—grunts filtering between his grit canines by the minute. By the thrust. “The first to fuck you.” And what a rare occasion: to hear the ever-eloquent Nanami Kento stutter. “I’ll be the first to breed you too, my dear.”

“Oh—fuck, yes.” Your entire body shivers in excitement. You could feel the pit of pleasure starting to grow in your stomach. 

“I’ll be the first to give this pretty cunt a taste of cum.” And you could hardly believe that such a sinful sentence was leaving the confines of his mouth—“She’s probably so thirsty by now, no? I’ll be the first to quench that thirst, my dear, just you wait-” Pinching your clit between the fingers on his right hand once more. “-mama.”

Really, if you were calling him ‘sir’ then it was only fair for him to call you by that pretty nickname. Something primal awakens inside of you-

“I’ll be the first one to stuff this pretty pussy-” Nanami gurgles out, eyes locking in on your stomach. That was where his rounded tip occasionally made an appearance by bulging through your flesh n’ skin as he fucked inside you. “-with so much of my cum that you’ll be bloated.”

You gasp hysterically, “Yes-” So turned on that it almost hurt - you wanted him. Now. “Yes, yes, yes—”

“I’ll be the first to make you feel me in here- for weeks. Months.” Thrust after thrust. Pinch after pinch. It was incredible how much he was stimulating you to tears- “I’ll be the first where—when you walk down the street, everyone will know that I fucked you. Everyone will know that- that this pretty pussy is mine, that I’m the one fuckin’ her and stuffing her and—and giving her my cum every night.”

Rolling a sweet, sweet heart on top of your clit.

“They’ll know that I’m the one fuckin’ the cute, sweet lil’ nanny—all of them. The professors. Those parents at pick-up. Your friends. My friends.” He chuckles darkly. And he doesn’t care who’d be scandalized. “Wanna know why, my honey?”

“Wh-why—” You sob out.

And he leans in to whisper in your ear- “Because I’ll be the one making you a momma.”

Until you’re all round and glowing with his seed.

Until you’re so full of him that you can’t take anymore.

Until you’re so stuffed that you wouldn’t be able to hide it- he hopes you’re walking ‘round with his cum between your legs for weeks.

It’s taking only that and a single puuuush against your g-spot for you to topple off the edge of your high. Bliss pumping through your veins in waves, you couldn’t escape from the constant throb and ebb of it. Dimming the edges of your vision. Making the lights seem brighter.

Again and again and again—

He’s probin’ inside that swollen cockhead to push you through the bouts of your pleasure. In the time he’s had you like this, Nanami’s already mapped out where every single one of your sweetest spots where- and first he’ll thwack! his hand upon your clit. Then he’ll move onto your tender bruised spots at the rim, then his cock delves deeper until he’s hitting your g-spot—then again and again he’s knockin’ on your womb.

Filling it with so much of his cum.

“Breathe.” Your orgasm hits you so hard that you have to manually control your breathing- and Nanami’s right beside you. Walking you through every step, every exhale and inhale. “Breathe iiiiiin.”

You’re sucking in a breath. “Fuck-”

And it’s just then that he’s emptying out a particularly powerful wave of his own euphoria. Balls clenching as his ribbony white cum leaks near your cervix- with your breath sucked in, you’re only feeling the sensations even stronger. “And out.”

Panting out with a whine. “Fuuuuck- f-feels so good.”

Too good, almost.

You never knew it could feel like this to have someone pourin’ out all their lecherous sap inside of you- the thick layers clinging onto either side of your walls. There’s so much of it - so much volume that you wondered just how he managed to keep it all stuffed inside - frothing out and forming a circle of white ‘round Nanami’s hilt. Gleaming with every thrust. Puddling out and sticking your thighs together— 

Head throwing slightly back, though still peeking at you through his lashes. “Honey…”

Nanami’s gruff tone makes you jump. “Yes?” Still slightly twitching from the aftershocks of your incredible high.

He stares into your eyes with a slight smile. Something unreadable. “You forgot the seventh lesson earlier.”

The seventh…?

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

It’s with a sudden cold thrill that you’re registering what he said- and remembering the mistake you’d made during your recitations earlier. “I-it was to cum all over-”

“That’s quite alright, my dear. No need to tell me now.” Nanami smiles the sweetest smile that makes your cunt start to throb - his eyes shuttered closed, his lips pecking yours. His cock shovels a long, hard thrust inside you—“But I will have to rescind your graduation.”

You gape, “What, why-”

“Until you’re completely and fully stuffed by me.” He grumbles out the rest of his statement. His condition. 

Hands rovering all over your body, Nanami makes sure that every slight tingle of your high has passed before he’s pulling out of you with a loud sluuuuurp! Immediately scooping you up into a princess carry n’ walking in the direction of his bedroom.

It isn’t long before you find yourself draped over Nanami Kento’s large mattress - on all fours so that he can slip inside you with ease. Pumping away immediately- “Until you’re fuckin’ pregnant, consider that you’re still taking lessons.”

You’re sobbing into your newly-caught pillow. “Oh—oh fuck.”

To which Nanami leans over and snatches your neck into a fucking headlock- his strong biceps pushing against the sides of your throat. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear. When this is all done- fuck, m’gonna show you how much I love you.”

“I l-love you—” Feeling his rounded tip immediately pierce across your g-spot and towards your womb. Full. “-too.”

“Mmm, I love you more.” Watching as you shake and quiver. “We’ll get you something sweet after this, honey, don’t you worry.” He hums- before sneaking a look at the both of you through the mirror in his bedroom and chuckling. 

Ruined. Completely and utterly ruined.

“If we make it out of Valentine’s Day alive, that is.” 

Maybe Shoko could babysit Yuji a little longer?

“Papa’s gonna do his best to try for a second child, alright?”

.

.

.

Morning shed its sunlight like the clothes upon Nanami’s apartment floor.

A stream of white-gold Sun, the richness of the day, enters through his windows and splays out perfectly on the bed. It dapples light across his naked chest and leaves him stirring—

Valentine’s Day.

The dinner.

The table.

You. Being taken on the table.

Afterwards on this very bed, afterwards on the damn bedroom floor after he heard a snap coming from somewhere on the bed frame. He’d shovelled himself n’ his gooey white sap inside you until the Sun had risen—

And it’s enough to make him jerk upright in his bed.

Blankets falling around his waist, sleepy eyes scanning the room for any sign of you.

From here, he couldn’t see what’d been made of your clothes in the dining room- or your panties in his bedroom. But it was obvious that you weren’t here. If from your physical presence, then from the warmth you brought into his drafty Tokyo home.

Just to make sure, he casts several wide-eyed looks around the room - breath-still in case there was a single noise from the kitchen - and still…nothing. Absolutely nothing.

There’s a sinking feeling in his chest that he doesn’t want to make sense of.

Of course, what was he thinking? He’d said…those words to you last night- but just because you’d said them back didn’t mean it was real. It was probably in the heat of the moment, you’d probably snuck out before dawn broke so you didn’t have to face him. You’d probably woken up disgusted.

He didn’t blame you - there were no promises between the two of you. And even if there had been, he knows he can’t find it in himself to get angry at you.

If anything - if you chose to quit after this - he supposes he’ll have to start looking for a nanny again. Something in Nanami’s chest twists, and he reaches up to rub the spot where his heart was.

He wouldn’t mind the long and tedious process if it still led him back to you. He wouldn’t mind the long and tedious process if it meant you were there with him - not as a nanny, just yourself being you.

It was a cold morning.

And Nanami Kento was clenching his sheets, just about to throw his legs over the side of the bed and get out—he needed to put away his clothes anyways before Shoko came with Yuji. What was the time anyway? It was his off-day today, and maybe he could take Yuji out to the park to take his mind off of-

And it’s then that several things happen at once.

Nanami’s eyes catch the face of the clock on his bedside cabinet: 12:48PM.

Nanami’s jaw drops at just how late it is.

Nanami snatches his phone off of the cabinet and makes to race outside while calling Shoko-

And he makes it about two frantic steps, too, before getting stopped by a sudden squeal of laughter. Loud and bubbling. Euphoric.

Of course, it was none other than his son. 

Echoing a short burst of laughter throughout the apartment- before abruptly cutting himself off with a pronounced ‘shhhhhh!’ It rings even louder than his laugh, and reaches Nanami’s ears alongside some words. “Sowwy! Yuji promises not to wake papa!”

And Nanami’s brows furrow, wondering whether Shoko had somehow managed to forge a key to his apartment and get in. Before out of nowhere—your voice is the one that answers him.

“S’alright, sunshine.” You’re using that nickname he always did. Sleepiness was still laced into your tone, and he could tell it hadn’t been long since you must’ve waddled away. 

Since you must’ve put away the clothes in the dining room, since you must’ve opened the door for Yuji - Nanami would hate to imagine the smug look on Shoko’s face then, but the surplus of texts from her were already doing the job. “Papa needs to be awake for breakfast-in-bed, doesn’t he?”

The smell of pancakes drifts through the bedroom door - along with Yuji’s answering call. “True…but what if papa won’t wake up?”

“Then we eat the pancakes.”

“Yes—” Yuji echoes, “Thank you, Cupid.”

“Hm?”

“Because Cupid made you n’ papa married, right?” But of course. It leaves you stunned for a few seconds, and Yuji obliviously chattering. “I’ve always wanted to keep you- papa, too. Even though I know he won’t say—can we keep you now, Ms. Nanny?”

Your voice sounds slightly thicker than before. “You can keep me as long as you want, Yuji.”

“Thank you, Cupid!”

Two evil cackles, and the sound of footsteps.

You’re opening the door with a flood of sunlight and a tray of pancakes in your hand. Yuji rushes in after you with a call of ‘good morning’ - and by the smile on your face…yeah.

Yeah, it really is a good morning.

He still doesn’t know how to explain to Yuji that the two of you aren’t married yet, however.

It’s in an hour that you finally break the news- but rush to assure the little boy before he bursts into tears, that he could ‘keep you’ as long as he wanted. And that the two of you were together—yes, together together. Nanami puts off answering Shoko (she ambushes him for gossip the very next day). 

It’s in a month that you start officially calling yourselves lovers - boyfriend and girlfriend, whatever it is. It seems like so much more than that, however. And so Nanami just settles for introducing you as his partner at those tedious work dinners.

It’s in a few more months that those work dinners become the last he’s attending. Because Nanami Kento quits that damn job, using everything he’s saved up to buy a little bakery and a house just a small ways off from the heart of the city - not quite the countryside as he once imagined, but this was good, too. It was still a manageable distance from your university and Yuji’s school, and yet so much bigger than the apartment.

It’s in a year that Nanami’s bakery is at the height of business - a figure that will only keep growing as the years pass by. Word spreads far and wide about those treats- and soon enough, he’s forced to fire extra hands and more part-timers than he ever thought would be needed. The little bakery grows into a big bakery, with time.

You couldn’t have been more happy to see those dark circles underneath his eyes cease for once, to see him pursue his dreams. Yuji couldn’t have been more happy to get all the sweet treats he could’ve ever wished for.

And now, Nanami could buy him all the car beds he could’ve ever wished for.

He also starts looking into wedding rings.

He still isn’t sure about a Spiderman-themed wedding, but he knows he’ll be baking the cake.

A/N. Hehehe that Nanami and the flowers scene was inspired by my father having a tradition to always buy me a bouquet as well today.

-

The road sloped. And then, finally, the trees thinned.

You sat up straighter, spine aching, lips numb. Snow gave way to black stone walls that rose like the edge of the world itself. Jagged, bleak, and utterly unwelcoming. No banners. No color. Just dark spires and shuttered windows like watching eyes. The carriage rolled through the open gates of the Grand Duke's estate, wheels cracking over frozen stone.

It felt like a tomb. A very large, very expensive tomb. You pressed your forehead to the glass. "Oh, gods." You whispered, voice flat. "It's worse than I imagined." The carriage jerked to a halt. A footman opened the door. You didn't move.

"I'm not going out there until someone confirms the Duke is missing at least three teeth." You said. Then. A voice. Quiet. Low. Controlled. "Lady (Your Name), I presume." You blinked. And turned your head.

He was standing at the base of the stairs. Alone. Tall. Straight backed. Clad in a coat as black as the stone behind him, trimmed with fur, snow still melting on the shoulders. His gloves were on, his scarf loose around his neck, dark hair brushing the sharp line of his jaw.

And his face- You had braced for something hideous. The capital's rumor mill had done its usual dance. He's unsightly. He's malformed. He never shows his face in public because the ice warped it in the womb.

But this. No one had warned you he'd look like this. The Grand Duke was beautiful in the way a sword is beautiful. Cold, gleaming, and dangerous to touch. His eyes were dark, unreadable. His mouth unreadable. His everything unreadable.

You stared. For too long. Then caught yourself, scowled and finally stepped out of the carriage like your feet weren't half frozen and your heart hadn't just thumped a little too hard.

He gave a single, shallow bow. "Zayne Li." He said. "Grand Duke of the North. Welcome." You didn't return the bow.

You crossed your arms, tilted your chin, and studied him through narrowed lashes. "You're not what I expected." You said plainly. A pause. His gaze didn't flinch. "Neither are you."

There was something distant in the way he looked at you. Not disdain. Not interest, either. Like he'd filed you away in his mind already, categorized you into something neat and unthreatening. It irritated you more than disgust would've.

"Well." You said, brushing snow from your sleeve. "I suppose that's the first thing we'll have in common." He didn't smile. You hated that you sort of wanted him to.

Just then the doors opened behind him. Warmth flickered inside, firelight, finally. But the air between you remained frigid.

He turned, motioned for you to follow. Didn't offer an arm. Didn't wait to see if you came. Typical.

You took one step forward. Then paused. Looked back at the empty woods. You'd cursed this day since the moment your parents sealed the deal. An arranged marriage. An alliance no one asked your opinion on. A frozen, forgotten land.

But somehow. Now that you'd seen him. This didn't feel like exile anymore. It felt like the start of something else. Something you didn't yet have words for. And that, more than anything, terrified you.

-

The castle was quiet. Too quiet. Even the firelight seemed hesitant.

The walls were dark stone, lined with old tapestries in muted shades of silver and navy and the air inside still carried a chill that no hearth could fully banish. Somewhere, in some wing of this sprawling estate, servants moved unseen. Efficient. Silent. Like the building itself taught them how to vanish.

You sat on the edge of a velvet chair in a sitting room that smelled faintly of wax and cold steel, legs curled under you despite the formality of your dress. You hated the way your gown looked here, too bright, too soft, too southern. It belonged in a ballroom. Not in a room like this. Not in a life like this.

Across from you, Zayne Li stood near the fire, half in shadow. He hadn't removed his gloves and part of you wondered if he ever did. His coat hung open now, revealing a fitted high collar shirt and understated jewelry, black metal against pale skin. His posture was always straight. Always.

And his voice, when he spoke, was smooth and sure. "The ceremony will be modest. No press, just the required houses and a few witnesses from court. Two days from now, if the mountain passes stay open." You nodded. Or meant to. But your body had gone still, breath caught somewhere in your throat.

You always thought your wedding would be the happiest day of your life. Silk petals raining from balconies. Music trailing into moonlight. The city cheering your name. You thought you'd be radiant. Laughing. In love. And now. It was going to happen in the snow. With a stranger who barely looked at you. A man carved from silence. A man you didn't choose.

Zayne's voice paused. He turned slightly. Studied you. "You've gone quiet." He said. "Is something wrong?" You blinked, startled. Your lips parted. And then it all came out. "This isn't how it was supposed to be." Zayne tilted his head. "The ceremony?" "No." You stood, suddenly burning. "All of it. The marriage. You. This place. I didn't ask for this."

A beat. Stillness. Zayne's expression didn't change. "I see." "Do you?" You took a shaky breath, hands curling at your sides. "Because you've barely said a full sentence to me since I got here. You're cold and quiet and you're not even trying."

He didn't answer. He didn't react. It only frustrated you more.

"I've spent my entire life being groomed to be a queen. And instead, I was sold off like a pawn to the furthest edge of the continent to marry a man who looks at me like I'm something he forgot to order." Your voice cracked, not from weakness but rage. "I didn't want this. I don't want you."

There it was. All of it. Too loud. Too honest. Your throat felt raw. Your heart thundered with the aftermath of your own voice. You looked at him. And instantly froze. His face was unreadable. But his eyes... They weren't angry. They weren't hurt, either. They were something worse. They were disappointed.

"I-" Your voice faltered. "I didn't mean" "I"m sorry." The words stunned you silent.

Zayne exhaled, long and low. He stepped closer to the fire, not to you, and his voice gentled in a way you hadn't heard before. "Your parents insisted you were in agreement. That you understood the purpose of the arrangement. I didn't know they kept it from you." You blinked at him.

Zayne, the terrifying Duke of the North, looked almost tired.

"If I had known you were being forced." He continued. "I wouldn't have agreed either. I have no desire to harm someone who didn't choose this." You swallowed hard. Your anger cooled in your chest. Turned to something tight and sour. "You're not mad?" "At you?" Zayne glanced at you again, calm. "No. I can't fault honesty."

You dropped back into the chair, slowly, the cold catching up to you again. "I thought you'd yell." You admitted, voice small. "Or... Throw me back into the carriage." "You said I was cold." He said. "I don’t yell." You almost laughed. Almost. "Then what now?" You asked. "We just cancel it?" "That's up to you."

Zayne looked at you then, really looked. And for a breathless second, you felt something unfamiliar settle over the room. Not affection. Not warmth. Just... Truth.

"If you wish to leave, I will make the arrangements. You are not bound until you say the words. Not to me. Not to the King." You stared at him, heart pounding. And he added, quietly. "Rest assured, I won't love you. That was never part of the plan."

You flinched. You weren't sure why. "Then why agree to any of it?" He looked back at the fire. "Because the King wants me watched. And marrying someone from court means I'm never truly alone." His mouth curved, not into a smile, but into something cold. "Even a Grand Duke isn't free."

You didn't say anything after that. You couldn't. Because in that moment, sitting across from a man you thought was a monster, you realized the truth. He was just as trapped as you. And far less cruel than the rumors said.

-

It had been a day. Almost.

Half a day since you had told Zayne Li. The Grand Duke of the North, Lord of Snow, apparently secret political hostage, that you needed time to decide whether to marry him.

He hadn't argued. He hadn't said anything at all after that. Just gave you a curt nod and left the room, the hem of his coat trailing behind him like a shadow that had learned how to walk.

You had slept fitfully. Woke early. Refused breakfast. Changed your gown three times. Yelled at no one. Which, in your maid Mira's eyes, was a full sign of emotional apocalypse. "Would you like to walk, my lady?" Mira had asked gently that morning, helping you tie the last ribbon of your cloak. "If I stay inside another minute, I'll scream." You replied.

So now here you were. Wandering through endless gray stone halls and austere corridors that smelled faintly of old paper and colder decisions. The castle was too big. Made for war, not for living and everything echoed. Even your footsteps.

Occasionally, you passed servants. They bowed, quickly. Too quickly. Eyes never meeting yours. You frowned at one, an older woman carrying linen, who nearly dropped the whole bundle just to get away faster.

"Do I look like I bite?" You asked Mira as you passed a second young girl who flinched when you brushed past. Mira, as usual said nothing. Her silence was respectful. Possibly afraid. "What?" You pressed. "Out with it."

"It's just… The staff, my lady. There are some rumors." She admitted carefully. You paused in the hall. Turned. "Rumors?" "About you." "Which ones?" "…All of them." You blinked. Then let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Let me guess. Arrogant. Loud. Entitled. Too many gowns." "And you burned your last suitor's love letters in front of him."

"He cheated on me with a stable boy. He deserved it." "And… That you threw a soup bowl at a maid once." You gasped. "That wasn't soup, it was saffron paste. And she tried to pluck my brows in a moving carriage." Mira said nothing, but the smile was there, hidden, almost proud.

You huffed and pulled your gloves tighter. "Well. Let them gossip. If I'm to be trapped in this glacier of a castle, I may as well be the villain."

You turned the next corner. And walked straight into a child. Both of you yelped. The boy, maybe six or seven, stumbled backwards, nearly falling flat onto the stone floor. A bundle of books fell from his arms, scattering at your feet.

His face paled. And the fear in his eyes was instant, wide. You saw it hit him all at once. The stories. The name. You. He opened his mouth, about to stammer some apology, maybe cry. "Oh gods." You muttered. "Don't faint. That would be dramatic. Even for me."

The boy froze. You bent down, knees creaking, gown gathering snow dust from the stone and carefully picked up a book. Then another. You handed them to him without ceremony. "There. You didn't break anything. Well. Except my pride." The boy blinked. "You're… not mad?" You gave him a slow look. "Are you mad?" He shook his head quickly. "Then neither am I."

You stood, smoothed your cloak, and gave him a nod. "Watch where you're going next time, Little Lord Disaster." To Mira's visible horror, you ruffled his hair. Then you turned and walked off, trailing silk and confusion behind you like perfume.

-

Elsewhere in the northern Wing. "She's not what I expected." Came the voice of a young man leaning against the table, arms crossed.

Zayne said nothing. His eyes were fixed out the tall glass windows, where frost climbed the edges of the panes in careful, bitter spirals.

Two retainers stood with him. Commander Richard, ever loyal and ever critical and Advisor Ren, whose job mostly consisted of soothing political fires and watching Zayne like a man waiting for a dam to break.

"The wedding may not be necessary." Richard said. "Her family's already pledged their fealty. You've played your part." "She hasn't decided." Zayne murmured. "Then make the decision for her." Richard snapped. "Send her back before this becomes more complicated." "It already is." Ren said mildly.

Zayne's gloved hands rested against the windowsill. Cold pressed against the glass. He didn't flinch.

"And if she stays?" Ren asked. "What would you have us do then?"

Zayne didn't answer. Because something outside caught his eye.

In the garden, white and empty but for a cluster of hardy snow roses. There you stood. Hair half loose, hands bare despite the cold, laughing softly as the little boy from earlier threw a ball of snow at you with all the seriousness of a duel. You caught it midair, barely, and pretended to stumble. He howled with delight.

The child ran to show you something, a patch of tiny, pale buds poking out of the snow. You bent low, gently brushing the frost aside.

Zayne watched you tilt your head, eyes narrowed thoughtfully as if trying to understand the bloom rather than judge it. You said something to the child. He threw his arms around your waist, clinging like a vine. You didn't push him off.

You just stood there, a spoiled southern noblewoman with cold stung cheeks and silk gloves wet from snow, surrounded by what everyone assumed you'd hate. And you smiled. Soft. Unpolished. Real.

Zayne looked away first. He turned from the window. Returned to his men. His voice, when it came, was quiet but certain. "Leave her be. For now."

-

The dining hall was too quiet.

No music. No chatter. Not even the clink of cutlery from elsewhere in the estate. Just the echo of fire crackling in the hearth, too far from your seat to warm your fingers and the faint hum of wind pressed like a ghost against the windows.

You sat at the long end of the table, dressed in a wine colored gown that looked far too alive for a room like this. At the other end, Zayne, still in his usual shades of black and brushed steel, sat calmly, eyes fixed on his untouched wine.

Two candles burned between you. The light didn't reach his side. You hated how dramatic it looked. You also hated how your nerves felt real for the first time in days. You picked at the meat on your plate, then set your fork down.

"I've decided." You said. Flat. Crisp. "I'll marry you." Zayne"s head tilted slightly. But he didn't look surprised. Just curious. "May I ask what changed your mind?"

You shrugged, reaching for your goblet like it might give you something better to say. It didn't. "I needed a change of scenery." You replied, looking at your reflection in the dark surface of the wine. "The capital was... Suffocating. Too many eyes. Too many expectations. Here, at least, no one's pretending to like me."

He didn't laugh. But his mouth twitched, barely. As if he found something in that statement familiar. "I see." He said.

You glanced up. He was watching you again, not intensely, just... Steadily. With that same unsettling stillness. "Besides." You added, looking down again. "I've already ruined the scandal papers. Might as well commit."

That made him smile. A real one this time. Small. Short lived.

"Then let's make a deal." He said, setting his own goblet aside. "One year." You blinked. "What?" "We remain married for a year. No talks of annulment. No divorce. After that, if either of us wishes to dissolve the marriage, we do so quietly. No drama. No retaliation."

You looked at him. "You've done this before, haven't you?" "Made deals?" He said. "Many." You considered it. Your fingers traced the rim of your glass. "Fine. One year." He nodded. "One year."

Then, as if it cost him nothing, he added. "You can have anything you want. Clothes. Horses. A wing of the estate to yourself. Servants. Gardens. A title in court. I'll make the north a palace if you ask."

You looked at him carefully. "Anything?" "Anything." He confirmed. "Except love." You raised an eyebrow. "That's all?" "That"s all." You leaned back in your chair, arms crossing over your chest. "Honestly, I thought you were going to say no affairs. Or no running off with a gardener."

"You're free to do as you like. I don't ask for loyalty." His voice was calm. But something about that quiet hurt more than it should've. "Only honesty."

You stared at him. He looked like a man who had given up something long ago. You weren't sure what. But it made your chest feel strangely hollow.

You turned your gaze to the window beside you, where snow was falling in a slow, patient blur. "Love's overrated anyway." You said, as if it meant nothing. "It's never done anyone any favors."

Zayne didn't reply. He just nodded, once. And poured you more wine.

-

It wasn't the wedding you imagined.

There were no gold draped balconies. No orchestras playing beneath flowering arches. No endless applause, no tearful speeches, no grand train sweeping through marble halls while noble ladies dabbed at their eyes with silk.

There was only snow. White, endless, soundless snow, falling in thick drifts outside the old stone chapel tucked behind the northern estate’s east wing. Only a handful of witnesses lined the pews. Mira, two of Zayne's retainers, a court officiant from the capital and a few senior staff in formal uniform. Everyone else had been dismissed or sent to their duties.

It was a quiet ceremony. But not a cold one.

The chapel was lit with dozens of tall candles. Not gaudy ones, not the kind you'd grown up with, carved and gilded and scented with peony oil but plain, white tapers placed carefully in brass holders. They bathed the room in amber light. The stone floors were dusted with petals, scattered like someone had walked through with shaking hands. And the altar, though small, was dressed in fine velvet cloth embroidered with silver threads that shimmered like snow when you moved past.

You had expected something hollow. But this. It felt holy. Like it meant something. Which only made it worse. Because the truth was, this wasn't a wedding for love.

It was a pact. A treaty sealed in noble blood. A rope tied around both your throats to keep you tethered to the King's plans. And you stood there, in silk and sapphires, feeling like a lie wrapped in something sacred.

When the ceremony went on, you almost missed your cue. The officiant said your name once, and you blinked, startled from thought. Your eyes drifted up from the chapel floor. And landed on Zayne.

He stood across from you in full ceremonial dress. Dark coat trimmed in deep silver, high collar, clean lines. His gloves were gone. The first time you'd seen his hands bare. Long fingers with scars, quiet strength in the way they rested calmly at his sides.

His hair had been combed back neatly, though a few strands defied order near his temple. He looked... He looked wonderful. Sharp and still and so composed you almost hated him for it.

He wasn't watching you. His gaze was fixed forward, unmoving, jaw tight. But when the officiant asked if he would take you, formally, by name, with the required titles, he said. "I do." Without hesitation. Without resentment. Just calm, clear certainty. Like this was always going to happen.

When your turn came, your voice didn't shake. "I do." It surprised you, how easy it was. How final.

You hadn't asked for rings. There would be no exchange of vows beyond what the court required. No kiss. No fanfare. Just signatures and sealed parchment, and the tightening of invisible chains that now bound you to the North.

But as you turned beside him to face the small, quiet room of strangers and servants, you felt something shift.

Zayne offered you his arm. You took it. And for the first time, he looked at you, really looked at you and gave a faint, near imperceptible nod. Not approval. Not affection. Something simpler. Respect. You weren't sure why it mattered. But it did.

Later, as you sat together at the small wedding supper, not a banquet, not even a proper feast, just a meal of warm soup, roasted venison, and a modest white cake glazed with sugared pine. You found your voice again.

"It wasn't... Terrible." You said, cutting into the cake with practiced elegance. "Not the wedding I pictured. But the flowers were real. The chapel was tasteful." Zayne sipped from his glass. Non alcoholic, you notice. "And the groom?" You paused. Looked at him over the rim of your fork. "Well dressed. Surprisingly tolerable."

A flicker of something passed between you. Not quite humor. Not quite warmth. But not nothing. He inclined his head. "The bride." He said evenly. "Was... Not as terrifying as the castle staff suggested." You scoffed. "I'll take that as a compliment." "It was meant as one."

Another silence. This one... Companionable. You sat together well past the meal, neither of you in a rush to retire, speaking quietly of nothing. The weather, the estate's seasonal patterns, your thoughts on how the soup had too much thyme.

It wasn't romantic. But it wasn't distant either. Somewhere, beneath the ashes of what this marriage could've been, a small ember flickered. Not of love. Not yet. But of something gentler. Perhaps even trust.

And as the snow fell quietly outside the tall chapel windows, you thought, maybe, just maybe, that would be enough. For now.

-

The study was colder than expected.

It always was, you were starting to learn. The North didn't yield warmth easily, not from its people, not from its stones, not even from its hearths.

You'd taken to wearing heavier sleeves and fur lined robes when indoors, something you once swore you'd never be caught dead in. Now, it was second nature.

Zayne had summoned you to the long table in his private study that morning. No greeting. No conversation. Just an opened ledger and a quiet. "Sit. There's something you should understand." You did as told, not because he ordered it, but because you were curious.

The table was lined with maps, ledgers, sealed reports. The duchy's pulse laid bare in ink and wax. Border routes, grain quotas, tax logs, merchant inspections. It should’ve been boring. Exhausting. But you leaned in. You read. And most surprisingly, you listened.

Zayne spoke without flourish, fingers tapping on page corners and trade routes, explaining the seasonal patterns of the northern passes and the way southern traders manipulated tariffs depending on court rumors. He spoke of your name, your new name, now inked on edicts. You would need to sign three that week. And attend one grain appeal in his place.

He had expected fully, sincerely, for you to argue. To sneer. To yawn. To say something biting like 'I wasn't married off to be your clerk, you know.' But you didn't. You just turned the page. And kept reading.

For a while, the room was nothing but rustling parchment and the quiet scratch of your pen as you practiced the formal signature of your duchess title. It was neat. Sharp. Slightly curved at the end. The only hint of vanity you allowed it.

You looked up once, mid paragraph. "The Windmere route." You said, tapping the map. "Why not reroute the goods through the southern ridge to avoid the freeze?" Zayne paused. You weren't being clever. You were being... Practical.

He looked at you then, long and quiet, and for the first time, not like you were a burden he had to tolerate. But like you were something intended for this. Not the North, maybe. But for this game. This kind of power. This kind of responsibility.

He had forgotten. That you were never raised to be idle. You were raised in a palace. Educated alongside princes. You'd spent your life preparing to one day become a queen, sharp enough to spot deceit behind praise, graceful enough to rule with a smile, ruthless enough to do it without flinching.

You weren't just arrogant. You were capable. Spoiled, yes. Vain, perhaps. But you were no fool.

Zayne looked down at the papers again. "The southern ridge is viable." He murmured. "But prone to rockfall. Still, the idea has merit. I'll send an inquiry to the engineering guild." You raised an eyebrow. "Was that a compliment?" "It was an acknowledgment." "Close enough."

He looked at you again. Your hands, now ink stained. The small furrow between your brows as you scanned another trade list. The quiet way you absorbed knowledge not because you had to, but because you wanted to.

You weren't what the capital said you were. You never had been. And for the first time since the wedding, Zayne realized this alliance might not be just bearable. It might be dangerous. In the best possible way.

-

By the third week, you knew which window to stand near for warmth in the morning.

Not because anyone told you, they wouldn't dare, but because you'd figured it out yourself. The long hall in the west wing caught the sun just so at dawn, striking through the frost laced glass and painting gold across the stone.

You liked to stand there with your tea, cupping the heat between your palms, listening to the silence settle around the castle.

It was a different kind of life. Slower. Colder. Heavy in ways the capital never was. But you weren't flinching anymore.

Mira had noticed it before you did. She stopped waking you so early, stopped fussing over what you wore to morning meetings. One day she'd asked, almost too casually, if you wanted to change the floral arrangement in the entrance hall.

You blinked, confused. "Why?" She'd just smiled. "Because people look at them now. And they'll wonder what you meant by it." You didn't answer then. But you did change them. You picked winter hellebores. White, pale green, and sharp around the edges.

The staff no longer hesitated before knocking.

They stopped bowing as deeply, stopped watching you like you'd throw a shoe. And they began to ask things. Small things, what color you wanted for the invitations to next month's court gathering. Whether you'd prefer to be addressed formally or not in council minutes. One footman even asked if you'd like the kitchen to start making your southern tea blend again.

You declined. Told him you'd gotten used to the bitterness of Northern blackroot. You surprised yourself when you realized that wasn't a lie.

What caught you most off guard was how the estate began to... Answer back.

You hadn't noticed it at first. But the floors stopped groaning under your boots the way they used to. The draft near your sitting room lessened after the servants, unprompted, sealed the cracks near the fireplace. Even the horses, nervous at first, let you near them now without that wary twitch. It was subtle, but it was there.

The North, for all its silence and pride, had begun to make space for you. Not because you forced it. Not because you asked. Because you stayed.

And still, Zayne barely said a word.

You passed in the halls sometimes and he nodded, polite. At council, he listened, occasionally asked your thoughts, rarely disagreed. There was no warmth in it, but no contempt either. You got the sense he was watching, not because he doubted you, but because he... Wasn't sure what to do with what he was seeing.

He'd expected a fight. Expected tantrums. Expected velvet clad boredom and a long string of complaints. What he got instead was a woman who read tax ledgers by the firelight and corrected trade reports without blinking. A woman who learned names.

Who started walking the estate grounds alone, in furs you once swore were hideous, now worn without comment. You were still proud. Still sharp. Still you. But something had shifted.

-

The first time you handled an appeal without Zayne present, no one argued.

You sat at the table where he usually did, back straight, fingers steepled the same way he'd taught you. The farmer who came in stammered at first, unsure how to speak to you. You let him. Waited. Asked him what he needed, and why. Listened. Asked three questions he didn't expect.

When you gave him the grain, the entire room seemed to still. You didn't bask in it. Didn't gloat. But when you left, the clerk followed after you, silent until the hallway bent and the chamber doors were well behind you.

"You're not what they say." He said, not looking at you. You smiled faintly, hands clasped behind your back. "I never am."

Zayne heard about it before dinner.

He said nothing when you entered the dining room that night, just glanced once in your direction when Mira poured the wine.

Later, when he left before dessert, you found a single folded document placed beside your plate. The engineering report for the southern ridge trade route, the one you had suggested.

There was no note. But your name had been written into the recommendation as co-signer. Your signature. Beside his.

That night, as you returned to your chambers, the snow outside had begun to fall again. Soft, quiet, not a storm but a hush. The kind that settles gently. The kind that blankets everything before you know it.

You stood by the window in your nightdress, watching the snow catch the moonlight. It didn't feel like a cage anymore, in fact, it never does. It felt like something else entirely. Not freedom, no. But belonging.

And somewhere down the hall, behind a door you had yet to open fully, Zayne sat alone at his desk, still pretending not to notice the way the North was shifting around you.

Still pretending not to notice you at all.

-

Six months had passed since your arrival.

The Northern estate was unrecognizable now. Not because it had changed but because you had. The stone walls no longer loomed. The cold no longer bit. And the silence, once sharp and watchful, now felt... Familiar.

You had long since memorized the path from the chapel to the western tower. You knew the cook's preferred salt measurements and which bannermen still held quiet suspicions about the Crown. You sat at council without Zayne sometimes. They listened to you now.

No one doubted your place here anymore. And tonight, the North celebrated.

The Midwinter Feast held just past the first full moon after the solstice was not like the southern revels you had grown up with. It wasn't extravagant. There were no courtiers draped in silk, no jeweled masks or peacocks brought in from the coast.

The Northern celebration was quieter, grounded. Rougher in its joy. Fires lit in every hearth, children weaving pine into the bannisters, the halls alive with scent of smoked meats, honeyed rootcakes, clove wine.

You wore furbtrimmed velvet tonight, slate gray and deep green, a color Mira said matched the pine and would soften your usual sharpness. Your hair was swept up, held by a pin carved from northern antler. No diamonds. No gold.

You hadn't expected to feel beautiful. But you did. And when Zayne offered you his arm in the entrance hall, quiet, gloved, tailored to perfection in dark wool, something in you stilled.

He looked at you. You looked back. No nod. No smile. But something passed between you. A flicker. A recognition. Not husband and wife. Not yet. But something.

He led you into the great hall just as the fire crackled to life at the head of the room, a roar of warmth blooming out across the stone. The people stood, not for show, but out of custom. Every retainer, every steward, every knight and handmaid rising as the Duke and Duchess entered side by side.

Zayne's fingers flexed slightly against your gloved hand. You didn't let go. He guided you to your seat at the long table. You sat without a word. The music started, soft at first, the low pluck of strings and a slow drum rhythm. The feast began.

You made it halfway through a sip of clove wine before you noticed it. The looks. They were different now. Not wary. Not scrutinizing. Just... Watching. Softly. Not in fear. But hope.

As if the image of you and Zayne sitting shoulder to shoulder at the head of the hall, not fighting, not cold, just together meant something.

It hadn't occurred to you before now. You were no longer just filling a space here. You had become part of the image.

Just then, Zayne leaned slightly toward you as one of the bannermen made a toast, long winded and boisterous, praising the North's resilience and the 'iron spined grace' of its Duke and Duchess. You rolled your eyes very slightly.

Zayne noticed. "You hate speeches." He murmured, lips near the rim of his cup. "So do you." "Difference is, they make you look good when they exaggerate." You arched a brow, biting back a smile. "And you?" "I never look good."

You glanced at him then. The slope of his jaw lit by firelight, the way his eyes followed the hall without ever resting too long on one face.

"You're wrong." You said quietly, surprising even yourself. Zayne blinked. Just once. But you saw it. Then, softer than before, he replied. "You look... At ease tonight."

You didn't say anything. Not right away. Because yes, you were. And maybe, that was the problem.

Hours passed.

Laughter rose and fell. The younger knights danced, the older bannermen drank too much and reminisced. A bard sang an old soldier's song in the corner by the hearth. You kept expecting something to interrupt it, a moment of awkwardness, a reminder that this was all performance.

But it never came. At some point, your arm brushed Zayne's when you reached for another drink. He didn't pull away.

Later, a woman tripped and spilled cider at your feet. You steadied her. Zayne offered his handkerchief. You both acted without thinking.

It wasn't romance. It wasn't affection. But it was something solid. Something warm. Something earned.

You looked at him again, hours into the night, when your cheeks were flushed with heat and drink and light, and he was watching the snow fall outside the window.

You wondered, not for the first time, what it would feel like if he ever looked at you like that. You didn't say it. You didn't dare. But Zayne turned then. As if feeling your gaze. He said nothing. You didn't look away. And in the flicker of silence that passed between you, amid firelight and clove and soft music in the background.

Something in your chest cracked just slightly. Like a window someone had left ajar.

-

You didn't go straight to bed.

Not after the feast, not with the music still echoing faintly through the halls and the scent of pine and clove still clinging to your sleeves. Mira had offered to help you undress when you returned, but you waved her off. Told her you were tired. That you needed a moment.

It wasn't a lie. Not exactly.

You stood alone by the window instead, your fingers curled around the edges of the fur lined mantle, eyes fixed on the snow beyond the glass. It was falling heavier now, thick and slow, blanketing the courtyard below in silence. The sky was bruised gray and quiet. The only sound was the distant creak of settling stone.

The fire behind you had dulled to an amber glow. And still, you hadn't moved. Not even when your fingers began to go cold.

You were trying to name it. The feeling blooming behind your ribs. The thing that had been quietly, slowly unfurling in the hollow space you once kept full with pride and defiance and preened sarcasm.

You had been raised to marry for duty. You had practiced smiling through silks, studied flattery like scripture. You were meant for politics and position, not for sentiment. Love had always felt like a fable for lesser women. Or bored ones. Or desperate ones.

You were not meant to love. And yet. Your hand, still gloved, curled against your side.

You saw it now. All the ways it had happened, quietly, beneath the frost. The slow, creeping kind of affection that didn’t announce itself, just settled into your routine like breath.

It wasn't the way Zayne spoke. He rarely did but the way he listened. The way he passed you maps without explanation, trusting you'd understand. The way his presence no longer felt like pressure, but gravity. Something you leaned into without realizing.

You remembered the first time he offered you his arm. He didn't look at you. Didn't smile. But his hand had been steady. Unmoving. Like a pillar.

You remembered the winter afternoon he'd passed you a letter addressed to your father without a word, the wax still unbroken, the gesture quiet, respectful.

You remembered the corner of his mouth twitching when you insulted the southern lords under your breath at council. The way he coughed, once, to hide a laugh.

You remembered how, after your first grain appeal, he’d left his signature beside yours on the final edict, equal, not above.

And tonight… Tonight, when you stood beside him in the hall, wrapped in firelight and the murmurs of your people, he hadn't looked away from you when you spoke. Not once.

You sat slowly at the edge of your bed, loosening the laces of your gown, your fingers fumbling. Not from cold. Your chest felt too tight. Not painful. Just full. Like you were holding something too large in too small a space.

You pressed a hand to your heart as if that would help. It didn't. "I love him." You whispered aloud and the words felt too soft for how real they were.

There it was. A truth, finally named. You had fallen in love with the Duke of the North. With Zayne. Not because he was kind. Not because he doted or swooned or chased. But because he didn't.

Because he stood still and steady and let you come to him, without forcing it. Because he left space for your pride, for your sharpness, for your name. Because he made room without saying he had. And because he didn't pretend to love you. Not once.

That, maybe, was what undid you the most. He had never lied about it.

Your throat burned. Not with tears. You weren't crying. But with something deeper. Something like fear. Because you remembered what he told you once, plainly, honestly, without cruelty. "I can give you anything. Everything. But love."

You hadn't cared, then. You thought you never would.

But now you sat alone, half undressed and trembling slightly from the weight of it all. The snow thickening outside, the fire slowly dying behind you and you realized how cruel it was to be given a place, a title, a life… And still be denied him.

Not his presence. Not his loyalty. But the one thing you had finally, unexpectedly, stupidly given him without asking in return.

Love.

You pressed your fingers to your lips. As if to stop it. As if it could be undone. But it couldn't. It was too late now. You loved him. And worse still You weren't sure he ever would love you back.

-

The snow was soft that afternoon.

Not the kind that howled or cut across your cheeks, but the quiet kind. Pale and slow, like ash drifting from a fire long since extinguished.

You walked beside him, gloves tucked into gloves, boots crunching lightly through the frost laced path near the stables. No guards. No servants. Just the two of you and the low gray sky above the North.

It had been peaceful lately. Calm. But calm had never meant safe. You could feel it in your bones. The shift in air before something breaks. The weight of something unsaid pressing harder with every step.

Zayne didn't speak much. He never did. But you had learned to read him. The subtle twitch of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed inside his gloves, the way he watched the ground more when he was thinking too much.

So you stopped walking. He took one step more, then noticed. Paused. You didn't look at him right away.

"I need to say something." You said finally. "Not because I think you'll like it. And not because I expect anything back." Zayne's brow furrowed, but he didn't interrupt. He just waited like he always did.

You turned to him fully, snow catching in your hair. And for the first time, you said it aloud without flinching. "I love you."

He didn't move. The silence that followed wasn't cold, just heavy. Like snow piling on rooftops. Like breath held too long.

You smiled, small, sad. "I'm not saying it to guilt you." His throat worked around a reply that didn't come. "I know what you said before. That you couldn't love me. That you wouldn't. I believed you." You swallowed. "But I think you once told me you value honesty. So I thought... You deserved mine."

He didn't meet your eyes. He just said, low, almost a whisper. "… I see." You nodded once. "If it's too much, we can end it here. We haven't reached the one year mark. You're free to ask for a divorce." You didn't mean to say it so calmly. But your voice had learned to sound composed when your chest was falling in on itself.

Zayne didn't answer right away. You turned away slightly, to give him the dignity of silence. But then. "I do." He said. It came so softly, you almost didn't hear it. You turned back to him. Slowly.

He was looking at you now and there it was. His face wasn't indifferent. It wasn't cold. It was shattered. Eyes wide. Lips parted. Expression drawn tight like someone trying to stay still while bleeding.

Your voice caught. "If you mean it." You said gently. "Then why do you look like you're about to cry?" He didn't answer. You took one step closer, your boots crunching lightly in the snow. "Why are you looking at me like I just tore your heart out, when you're the one asking to leave?"

Zayne flinched, almost too subtly. But you knew him well now. You saw it. He looked away again. Shoulders squared, chest rising once, slow, deep. Like a man preparing to be cold. To be cruel. Because it was easier than being bare.

You didn't touch him. You just spoke quietly. "If you value honesty in me, Zayne... Then you should try being honest with yourself." Another breath. "I can't love you." He said finally. His voice hoarse. "I'm not-" He stopped. Then added, almost in a whisper. "I shouldn't."

You stared at him for a long time. Let it hang there. Let him squirm in the truth of it. You didn't ask why again. Because if he wanted to tell you, he would. And if he didn't, then maybe he couldn't bear to hear it said aloud.

You took a step back. "I agree with the divorce." You said softly. "If that's what you want." He didn't nod. He didn't speak. You looked at him one last time, your breath fogging between you.

His eyes searched your face like he was trying to memorize it. Or maybe trying to find something in it that wouldn't hurt.

But you didn't give him anything else. You turned gently, snow whispering beneath your boots and started back toward the estate. Then, just before you disappeared into the stone archway that led inside. You paused. Glanced over your shoulder. And said, almost too softly. "… Don't forget to keep warm."

Then you disappeared into the hall. And left him there alone in the snow with all the honesty he'd ever asked for. And none of the warmth he didn't know how to accept.

-

He stood there long after you were gone. Long after the snow had started to settle on his shoulders. On his gloves. On the stone path behind him.

The courtyard was empty. But it felt louder than any battlefield. Zayne didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't even blink.

You had looked back at him. Soft, beautiful, tired. And still, still, you had managed to tell him to keep warm. Like it was a kindness. Like it wasn’t the last thing you would ever say to him as his wife. His jaw tensed. And still, he did nothing.

He hadn't meant for it to happen. But it had.

Somewhere between the ink stains you left on his reports and the way you always knocked before entering, even after marriage. Somewhere in the sound of your laughter when you mocked the southern nobility or the quiet dignity with which you held the estate on his behalf.

Somewhere in between your fire and your silence. Zayne had fallen in love.

Not the thunderous kind. Not the storm. But the slow, creeping sort that seeps into the marrow. The kind you don't notice until you can no longer stand without it.

He loved you. And he'd known it for weeks now.

It should have been easy to say. To admit. He was a man of logic, wasn't he? Precision. Discipline. He could recite treaties from memory, navigate terrain in the dark, command armies with a flick of his hand. But this? This was different.

This was your hand reaching for his in public and him pretending it was only for show. This was the sound of your footsteps in the hall and the way it made something in him settle like a wound that no longer bled.

This was the way he had learned the shape of your silences before your words ever came. And today, you had spoken honestly. Because of course you had. Because you were always braver than he was. "I love you." You had said. He had said nothing.

Because if he said it back, the world would shift. And he was so, so terrified of what might come next.

He remembered his father's voice, jagged with grief and rage. How he had spat Zayne's name like it was poison. 'You took her from me. You were never worth what it cost.' He remembered standing in front of his mother’s grave at five years old, too young to understand what death meant, only old enough to understand that it was his fault.

That to be born from love meant to destroy it. So when he grew up, he vowed never to take. Never to ask. And most of all. Never to love. But then there was you.

You with your spoiled temper and your perfectly sharpened tongue. You, who walked into the North like it was beneath you and then made it yours anyway. You, who once called his library 'pitiful' and then reorganized it better than the archivist ever had. You, who kissed a crying maid's forehead after she spilled your wine.

You, who said I love you with a kind of stillness that shattered him.

He hadn't wanted to hear it. Because once he heard it, he could never pretend again. And he knew, knew in his blood, that to keep you would mean to risk losing you. Forever.

But then you'd said it was okay to leave. And something in him cracked open. Because he didn't want to leave. And even worse. He didn't want you to leave.

His chest hurt. Not the kind of hurt that startled. The kind that lingered. Like a second heartbeat. Wrong. Loud. Heavy.

And then he was moving. He didn't remember deciding. But he turned. He left the courtyard behind. Snow slushed under his boots. The wind picked up, brushing hair into his eyes.

He walked fast. Then faster.

By the time he reached your wing of the castle, he was breathless. He raised a hand to knock. Then stopped. His knuckles hovered over the wood.

He stared at the door. You were on the other side. Maybe packing. Maybe crying. Maybe already deciding what to do next, what to do without him.

He pressed his palm flat against the door instead. Cold wood. Steady rhythm of his pulse beneath it. He closed his eyes. And said, just once, too soft for you to hear. "I lied." His voice broke on the words. "I lied..." Then, quieter. "I love you."

-

The knock never came. Instead, the door eased open without warning, and there he was.

Snow dusted his shoulders. His breath came shallow like he'd run the whole way here. He looked as if he'd walked straight through a storm just to stand in your doorway and maybe he had.

You sat on the edge of your bed, still half dressed from the walk earlier, fingers curled in the furs as if gripping for composure. Your eyes met his.

You opened your mouth. But he beat you to it. "I lied." His voice was hoarse. Sharp at the edges. You didn't move. "I lied when I said I wanted the divorce." He stepped forward. "I lied when I said I couldn't love you. I-" He faltered. His throat worked around the rest. "I do. I do love you."

You blinked. Once. Twice. He kept going, even though his voice cracked. Even though his hands had curled into fists at his sides like he was bracing for battle.

"I thought it would be easier." He said. "To let you go. To not give it a name. To pretend this- you- was something I could survive losing." Your lips parted, but your voice was gone. Lost somewhere between breath and heartbeat.

Zayne stared at you like he was memorizing. Or begging. "But you were honest." He whispered. "So now I have to be too." You rose slowly. The silence was heavy. Full. "You love me?" You said softly. His breath hitched. You stepped toward him, tentative, watching him like he might vanish if you moved too fast.

Then he nodded. And in the space between your exhale and his inhale, the distance vanished. He kissed you like he was trying to undo every quiet cruelty he'd inflicted. Like he was trying to apologize for every word he never said. His hands framed your face, trembling slightly, as if this was something fragile and sacred.

You kissed him back with the same ache. The same hunger. The same slow burn that had lived between you since that first quiet night in the snow. No more pretending. No more silence. You fell into bed tangled together, the cold forgotten, the world narrowed to breath and skin and truth.

It wasn't rushed. It wasn't reckless. It was reverent. Like prayer.

He touched you like he was learning you. Not just your body, but your name, your temper, your honesty. You undid his layers like they were armor and left nothing between you.

And when he moved inside you, slow, steady, aching. He whispered your name against your throat like a vow. Not of marriage. But of love.

The thing he had tried so hard to run from. The thing he now gave you, wholly.

Later, much later, you lay with your head tucked beneath his jaw, his arms wrapped around you, fingers tracing the edge of your spine. The fire had burned low again. But neither of you noticed the cold.

Zayne was quiet for a long time. You didn't push. Then, almost inaudibly, he said. "My mother died giving birth to me." You opened your eyes slowly. "She was sick." He continued. "The physicians warned her. Said her body wouldn't survive the strain. But she wanted a child. A legacy." A long pause. "Me."

You didn't interrupt. He took a breath. "My father… Blamed me. Said love made her reckless. That if he hadn't loved her, he would've stopped her. That love- Not me- Was the real curse." Your hand slid to his chest. Over his heart.

Zayne's voice dipped. Hollow. "I told myself I'd never love. Never want. Not like that. That it wasn't worth the price." Silence again. Then. "But you made it so hard not to." You shifted, barely, enough to look up at him. His face was unreadable in the dark, save for the glint of firelight catching wetness near his lashes.

"I was terrified." He whispered. "That if I loved you, I'd lose you too." You pressed a kiss to his chest. Right over his heartbeat. "I'm not gone." You murmured. "I'm here." He pulled you tighter. Like he didn't believe it. Like he didn't deserve to. But he didn't let go. Not again. Not now.

-

You woke before the fire.

Before the light crept in through the window and melted the frost from the glass. Before the hallways stirred, and the kitchens rumbled to life. Before even the ravens began their low calls from the tower eaves.

And beside you, Zayne slept.

It was the first time you'd seen him like this. Bare of title and tension. His hair mussed, one hand curled near your pillow, his lips parted slightly in sleep. The sharp lines of his face were softened in the quiet, younger somehow like the boy he never got to be.

You didn't touch him. Not yet. You just lay there, tucked close to his warmth, the weight of his arm still draped across your waist as if his body had decided something before his mind could.

He had said he loved you. Not once. Not flinching. You had said it first, and he hadn't run. That alone felt like a miracle.

The morning passed gently.

Zayne had never been one for idle chatter but now his silence felt different. Not closed, but careful. Like every word he chose to say had weight, and every word he didn't say could be read in the way he poured your tea before his own. In the way he noticed your gloves were damp and handed you a new pair without asking. In the way he didn't leave the breakfast table until you did even though he had meetings lined up before midday.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing loud. But the quiet had changed. And the staff noticed. Of course they did.

You caught the glances from the maids, subtle, barely masked smiles as you passed hand in hand down the corridor without realizing. Mira nearly dropped her tray when she found the two of you seated beside each other in the garden, Zayne gently brushing snow off your shoulder like it was habit.

Even the steward, a man who once flinched when you raised your voice at a miscounted ledger, now greeted you with something bordering on warmth. Respect, yes. But also relief.

The North had held its breath for months. Waiting. And now, it exhaled.

By the time the evening fire was lit, the castle felt lighter. No announcements were made. No formal declarations. But a few of the kitchen hands quietly brought out the sweet mead that hadn't been touched since the wedding.

And the scullery maid, barely fifteen, gave you a single pine sprig tied in red ribbon and stammered. "It's good luck, m'lady. For lovers." You were about to correct her. But you didn't. You took it. Smiled. Tucked it into your sleeve.

That night, as you sat beside Zayne in his study. Not for business, just out of habit now. He glanced at you over the rim of his cup. "What is it?" You asked. He didn't answer immediately.

Then, setting his drink aside, he said in that calm, unreadable voice of his. "You were always meant for more than court pageantry." You arched a brow. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?" He didn't blink. "Yes."

You snorted quietly and looked away but you couldn't stop the smile from tugging at your lips. And Zayne saw it. Saw you. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to smile back. Small. Barely there. But real.

-

It had been one year.

One full cycle of winters, one snowmelt and spring thaw, one harvest beneath Northern skies. Your chambers no longer felt borrowed. The halls no longer echoed when you walked them. The people no longer whispered when they said your name.

You were Duchess of the North. Not by blood. Not just by title. But by presence. By love.

And the man beside you, the man once called cold and cruel, kissed your temple before council meetings now. Ran his thumb down your wrist when you fidgeted with your ring. Watched you, always, like you were the only fire left in a storm ridden world.

Zayne was no longer a stranger in your bed. And you were no longer afraid to sleep with your heart bare beside him.

The messenger arrived mid morning. Wrapped in the sigil of the royal court, wax crimson and sharp, the scroll as stiff as the men who escorted it.

The steward paled when he brought it to your shared study. "From the capital." He said, bowing low. "His Majesty's seal." Zayne took the scroll without a word. You stood from your seat at the table beside him, coming to read it over his shoulder. No hesitation now, no need for permission.

You were both silent as your eyes scanned the words. A review of the arrangement. A reminder of royal interest in the North. A courteous invitation to the capital to discuss the future of the union. Polite. But pointed. You exchanged a look with Zayne. He didn't speak. Not yet.

His jaw twitched once. The way it always did when he was trying not to start a war. "They want to know why we're still married." You said dryly. Zayne's fingers folded the scroll in one smooth motion and handed it back to the steward. "Burn it."

"My lord?" "They've received our answer already." He looked at you. "A year without petition. Without hesitation." You raised a brow. "Without killing each other." His lips twitched, almost a smirk. "A miracle, really." You smiled and stepped closer, adjusting the collar of his coat without thinking. "Shall I write a letter instead?"

"Not necessary." He leaned in, his voice low near your ear. "If they come, they’ll see what they didn't expect." "That we're in love?" "That we're dangerous." He murmured. "When united."

The court sent envoys anyway. Dressed in velvet and suspicion.

You and Zayne received them at the steps of the estate. Side by side, hands brushed, posture straight. You didn't bow. He didn't smile. But you did not look afraid.

The chamberlain, an old man with a younger duke's ambition glinting in his eyes. Looked between you both with something close to confusion.

"No petition for separation?" He asked. "No need." You said. "Is that all?" Zayne didn't flinch when the man tried again. "The Crown had concerns-" "Then the Crown should learn." Zayne said calmly. "To mind its own borders."

You nearly laughed. But you didn't. You just reached for your husband's hand, right there, in front of the envoys. And to their quiet horror, he didn't pull away.

They left two days later.

No statements made. No demands left behind. Only the lingering smell of southern perfumes and polished court shoes that had never known snow.

But the castle remained unchanged. Still quiet. Still winter bound. Still warm where it mattered.

And Zayne? Zayne found you in the solar that night, your hair down, eyes half lidded from wine and relief. He didn't say anything. Just crossed the room. Sat beside you. And laced your fingers together.

Like a promise. Like the peace he had once thought impossible but now claimed for himself. With you.

-

You found the note on your desk after breakfast. No seal. Just your name, written in Zayne's handwriting, neat, slanted, precise.

Meet me at the western stables by sundown. Wear something warm.

No explanation. You turned the note over. No other writing. No signature. Just that. And somehow, that made your heart beat faster than any letter he'd ever signed

Your Husband.

By the time the sky began to bruise violet with early dusk, you had wrapped yourself in the thick wool cloak he gifted you last winter. The one you said made you look like a walking curtain, and he said made you look like you ruled the forest.

You made your way to the western stables, boots crunching gently through the slush where the snow had melted unevenly. There was no one there but Zayne.

He wasn't in armor or furs. Just a heavy coat, dark gloves, his hair faintly mussed from the wind. He stood beside a horse saddled for two, yours.

When he saw you, something eased in his shoulders. He reached for your gloved hand in greeting, then led you toward the saddle without a word. "You're not going to tell me where we're going?" You asked. "I will." He said. "When we get there."

Which was, of course, typical. So you mounted behind him and held on, your arms wrapping around his waist, face resting against his back as the horse started its slow, steady gait up the path that wound behind the estate.

It took half an hour. By the time you reached the ridge, the sky had gone dusky blue, and the stars had begun to bleed through.

Zayne dismounted first, then helped you down with a care that always surprised you. Not because he was gentle, but because he always had been, even when you hadn't noticed. "What is this place?" You asked, stepping closer.

Then you saw it. A small clearing. Carefully kept. A circle of winter lilies, rare in the North, almost sacred. A stone bench nestled at its center, new and unweathered, carved with unfamiliar script.

You blinked. "What is this?" You asked again, softer now. Zayne stood beside you, gaze steady. "A place that belongs to you." You turned to him, heart tight in your chest. "I had the gardeners plant them months ago." He said. "They only bloom after the first full snowmelt. You said once… You missed flowers." You swallowed hard. "I didn't expect them to live." He added. "But they did."

There was a pause. He turned to the bench, brushed snow from its surface with one gloved hand, then stepped aside so you could read the inscription. You leaned in. Your breath caught. It wasn't your name. It wasn't a title. It was a single line.

For the one who brought spring to the North.

You didn't speak for a long time. Neither did he. And in the quiet, he knelt slightly to adjust your cloak, tugging it tighter around your shoulders as the wind picked up.

You stared down at him. "What are you doing?" You asked, voice barely steady. His eyes flicked up. "You get cold easily." He said simply. You looked at him, really looked at him and felt your chest ache.

"I love you." You whispered. "You know that, right?" He didn't nod. Didn't smile. Just stood slowly, took your hand, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, reverent, silent, real. "I know." He said. And that, somehow, was enough.

-

It started with the nausea.

At first, you thought it was the stew. Then the cold. Then nerves. But as the weeks went on and your appetite vanished and your hands shook when you stood too fast, the healer said what you'd already begun to suspect.

"You're with child." She said gently. "Nearly two moons along." You blinked. Swallowed. And for a moment, your body felt too small to hold the weight of the words.

Zayne was in his study when you found him. Not brooding. Not buried in maps. Just... Still.

He always looked calm when he worked, but today, there was something quiet behind his eyes. The kind of quiet that comes before snowfall.

He looked up as you entered. And before he could speak, you whispered. "Zayne." He stood. Instantly. Came toward you. You weren't sure how to say it. Not right away. So you placed your hand over your belly, still flat, still unchanged and looked up at him. "I'm pregnant."

It took him three full seconds to react. And when he did, it wasn't what you expected. He didn't smile. He didn't speak. He didn't move at all.

"Zayne?" His face, so often unreadable, gave way to something hollow. His hands twitched once at his sides, like he didn't know what to do with them. Then he turned away from you. "Zayne." You repeated, louder this time. "Did you hear me?" "I heard." His voice was hoarse.

You stepped closer, confusion curling behind your ribs. "You're not happy?" Silence. Then, finally, he turned back and he looked pale. Like something had drained from him entirely. "You could die." He said softly. You froze. He didn't say it like a warning. He said it like a memory.

"I shouldn't have-" Zayne cut himself off. Pressed the heel of his hand to his brow. "I shouldn't have let this happen." "This?" You echoed. "This? Zayne, it's not a mistake." "I told you what happened to my mother." You stared at him. "This is different." You said.

He looked at you and there was no coldness. No cruelty. Just fear. Raw. Naked. The kind that cracks even the strongest man from the inside out.

You softened. "Zayne…" But he flinched when you stepped closer. And that broke something in you. "I'm not her." You whispered. "And you are not your father." His hands trembled.

You reached out again, this time slower and rested both palms on his chest.

"I know you're afraid." His eyes closed. "But I'm not." He opened them. And he looked at you like you were made of glass. Not because you were fragile, but because he was the one who might break you.

"I've lost too much to call this a blessing." He said. "I don't know how to carry joy without waiting for the grief." You leaned forward, pressed your forehead to his. "Then we carry it together." A breath. Then another. And finally, finally, his arms came around you.

Tight. Fierce. Like holding you might stop the world from spinning. Like if he could keep you close enough, nothing would take you away.

That night, he didn't sleep.

He stayed awake long after your breathing slowed. One hand on your stomach. As if guarding something sacred. As if the simple weight of his touch might keep you both safe.

He never said the word father aloud. But in the silence, in the way he held you, he didn't need to.

-

You had barely slept.

The fire was low, and the wind outside had softened to a hush, like even the snow had decided to stay still for once. You sat near the hearth in a robe far too large for your shoulders, wrapped around yourself like armor, with your feet tucked under you and a shallow bowl of diced fruit on the table nearby.

Your appetite had been strange lately. Some days you couldn’t keep anything down. Others, all you wanted were apples. Fresh. Peeled. Chilled. Served in silence. Zayne had noticed. He always noticed.

You heard the door open gently behind you. No dramatic entrance, no voice calling your name. Just soft footfalls. Then the subtle weight of a blanket settling over your shoulders.

"You're cold." Came his voice, quiet, matter of fact. "I'm always cold now." You muttered, even as your body sank slightly under the extra warmth.

Zayne sat beside you on the fur lined bench, not touching you just yet. He smelled faintly of ink and snow and something grounding like the soft ashes of a fire that hadn't died. His coat was still on, dark and dusted with frost.

You looked at him sidelong. "You’re supposed to be in the study." You said. "I was." He replied, calmly. "Then I realized you'd been gone from bed for almost an hour." You blinked. "… You noticed?"

Zayne gave you a look. Not annoyed. Not even pointed. Just deeply Zayne. As if the answer had always been obvious. "You weren't sleeping well." He added, tone gentler now. "I could tell."

You didn't say anything at first. Your fingers curled under the blanket, resting low on your stomach. There wasn't much to feel yet, just the faintest pressure, the promise of what was coming. But Zayne had taken to watching you like something could shift at any second. Not in alarm. Just… Readiness.

His gaze dropped now to where your hand rested. Your breath caught slightly, not from discomfort but from that look. That look that lingered whenever he thought you weren't watching. Like he was trying to memorize your shape before it changed again.

You spoke before he could stop you. "You're afraid." He didn't flinch. Just breathed. Low. Measured. "Yes." You turned, blanket shifting as you moved. Your knees came up a little, body angled to face him.

"You're not scared of the baby." You said, carefully. "Not exactly." "No." You tilted your head. "You're scared of losing something again." He said nothing to that. Didn't need to.

You reached for him slowly, your palm resting against the back of his hand, where his fingers were curled against the bench, the knuckles pale from how tightly he'd been holding still.

"I know it's early." You said softly. "And I know… Nothing's certain. But I'm here. And I feel okay. I promise." His fingers shifted under yours, wrapping around them without thinking. Like instinct. "I'm not trying to be distant." He murmured. "I just- if I let myself get too close-" "You'll fall harder." You finished for him.

Zayne’s jaw clenched just slightly, and you squeezed his hand. "You're already close, Zayne." That startled something in his eyes. Not fear. Not sadness. Just truth.

He nodded, just once, a soft, almost broken gesture. Then reached up and brushed a piece of hair from your cheek, fingers trailing behind your ear. The motion was slow, reverent. Like touching something fragile that might vanish. "I don't know how to do this." He admitted. "But I want to. With you."

It wasn't romantic, not in the way people from the capital would speak of it. There were no flowery confessions, no breathless declarations under moonlight. Just that one line, small, honest and heavy enough to anchor your heart.

You leaned forward until your forehead rested against his. "Then we'll figure it out." You whispered. "Together."

He stayed there like that for a while your forehead to his, your breaths mingling. The quiet hum of the fire was the only sound between you, until your stomach turned again, gently, not with pain, but with life.

Zayne blinked. Then, carefully, he lowered a hand, slow and unsure and rested it over the place where your child was growing. It was the first time he had done it without hesitation. You didn't speak. But you watched him.

And when his eyes closed and his shoulders loosened for the first time in weeks, you felt something shift, not outside, but within him. Hope. It was blooming. Quiet. Scared. But real.

-

The winter air bit deeper than usual.

It wasn't the cold outside, it the kind that covered the mountains in frost and cloaked the pines in white. It was the cold inside the walls of your own body. Beneath your skin. A cold that settled behind your ribs and made everything ache.

You were eight months pregnant. Eight slow, merciless months. The bloom of your belly had once brought you a soft joy, a fluttering warmth, the secret thought of we made this. But now, even that warmth had dulled beneath the weight of your bones trying not to splinter beneath it.

The nausea had returned sharp, acidic, worse than it had ever been in the first trimester. Your ankles were swollen. Your spine felt like it had been carved by a blade. Every breath caught beneath your ribs like it didn't quite know if it wanted to go all the way in. Every step sent pain crawling up your sides like vines.

You didn't tell Zayne. Not all of it.

He already watched you too closely. Already hovered, quietly, pretending not to. Already read your face in the way a starving man studies the sky for rain. As if the first sign of suffering meant the storm he feared most was coming.

You didn't want to give him that. You couldn't.

That morning, you had gotten out of bed too fast. Your head spun, vision swimming. But Mira was already waiting with a warm basin and a scarf for your hair. "Let me—" "I'm fine." You lied. "I just stood too quickly."

You dressed. Painted your lips. Smiled like you weren't hollowed out by the effort it took to sit upright for longer than half an hour. The Duchess of the North did not crumble, not when the staff looked to her like she was more than just a consort now. Not when the people left flowers at the chapel doors praying for your safe delivery. Not when Zayne still refused to hope but couldn't help trying.

So you walked. You reviewed supplies. Toured the nursery. You smiled.

Until your body betrayed you again.

It happened in the western corridor. You'd finished inspecting the linen stores when the world tilted.

A wave of pain hit you so hard you gasped, not a sharp pain but a deep one, something that curled low in your back and spread outward like fire in a paper room. You reached for the wall. Missed. The corridor swam. And then an arm. Strong. Familiar. Cold from the outside.

Zayne.

He had rounded the corner just as you collapsed. He caught you before you hit the stone. You couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. Mira shrieked. A servant dropped a tray somewhere behind you.

Zayne didn't say a word. He scooped you into his arms as if you weighed nothing, like you were glass he had already seen broken once and wasn't going to let shatter again. "Call the physician." He barked over his shoulder.

He carried you to your chambers and didn't leave your side, not even when the healer arrived, not when the maids lit the fire, not when Mira whispered about warm cloths and ginger tea. He held your hand like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

You were fine. That's what the healer said. No early labor. No bleeding. Just stress. Overexertion. A body nearing its limits. You had pushed too far. And Zayne said nothing the entire time. Not until everyone left. Not until the room was dark again.

You turned your head and found him still there. Sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, both hands clenched tightly, one in yours, one against his lips like he was trying to stop something from coming out.

"Zayne…" You started. Then stopped. Because he was crying. Not with sound. Not with force. But quietly. Steadily. Like something inside him had been holding a dam shut for eight long months and had finally cracked beneath the weight.

"I can't…" He whispered. "I can't lose you." You stared at him, stunned. He didn't even seem to realize the tears were falling. "I never asked for a child." He said, voice hoarse. "I only ever asked for you." His hand trembled in yours.

"I would have given you the world. Burned the crown. Renounced the estate. All of it. If it meant keeping you." He finally looked at you, and the heartbreak in his face was unbearable. "Don't give birth." He said. "Don't do this. Don't die. Please."

You broke then. Your throat closed. Your heart cracked. And hot tears spilled down your cheeks. You wanted to scream at him, not in anger, but in agony. Because you loved this child.

You loved it like a second heartbeat. Like a shared secret. You loved it because it was yours, because it was his. Because even if he couldn't say it aloud, you knew it had been made in love.

You opened your mouth. Shut it again. In the end, all you could do was whisper through the tears. "Zayne… I want this baby. I love them." He didn't answer. You reached up, wiped a tear from his cheek with a shaking thumb. "I know you're scared. I am too. But I am still here."

"I don't know how to keep you here." He choked. "I don't know how to love you without being afraid." "Then love me through it." You said. "And I'll love you back." A silence. Then he leaned forward, pressed his forehead to yours, and breathed, ragged, hollow, alive.

"I can't lose you." He said again. "You won't." You whispered. "But I need you to believe that or I'll lose you before anything else can take me." And that's when he finally pulled you into his arms, gently, carefully, mindful of the curve of your stomach, the ache in your spine, the tears on your cheeks.

He held you for a long, long time. And neither of you said anything else. Because sometimes, the only thing love can do in the face of fear… Is stay.

-

It started in the early hours before dawn.

The fire had burned low. The snow outside hadn't stopped for two days, soft and constant, like the heavens were mourning something you didn't yet understand.

You had woken up to a strange kind of ache. Dull. Low. Not sharp enough to scream, not sharp enough to wake Zayne, whose arm lay gently over your waist, hand curved protectively across your belly even in sleep.

You waited. Waited to see if it would pass. You didn't want to wake him. Not again. Not after yesterday. But then it came again. Stronger this time. And lower.

You shifted slightly. His hand followed the movement. You could feel his breath warm against your shoulder.

"Zayne." You whispered. He stirred. Blinked once. Then twice. "What is it?" "I think…" You swallowed. "I think it’s starting."

He sat up immediately. The sleep vanished from his face like it had never been there at all. His eyes flicked to your face, then to your body, then to the floor. Already halfway to summoning the physician before you could even shift upright.

You reached for his wrist. "It's early still. It's not- It's not bad." Zayne stilled. Turned to you. And you realized. He wasn't breathing. You sat up slowly, teeth clenched against the pain in your spine. "It's just pressure right now. No bleeding. No water. Not yet." "I'll call her anyway." He said quietly. And he did.

By mid morning, the pain came in waves.

Gentle. Then sharp. Then gone again, as if it had never been there. The healer confirmed it. Labor had started. Slowly. Naturally. No signs of complication. You were strong. The child was strong.

You should rest, she said. So you tried. But rest was difficult when Zayne kept pacing the length of the room like a soldier waiting for siege.

You were bundled in blankets near the hearth, a warm cloth pressed to the back of your neck. The fire crackled. Outside, the snow fell in heavy, heavy silence. You watched Zayne's silhouette cross the room again. Then again. Then again.

"You're making me more tired." You said hoarsely. He stopped mid step. "I'm sorry." You gave him a weak smile. "You'll wear down the carpet." He tried to smile back. It didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You saw it again, that fear. That slow, creeping dread that lived beneath his ribs. He was trying so hard to hide it. You held out your hand. He came immediately. Kneeling beside you.

You ran your fingers through his hair, smoothing it back, just once. "I'm going to be okay." He didn't nod. Just pressed his lips to your palm and held it there.

By afternoon, the pain had changed.

It wrapped around your spine. Pulled at your muscles. Burned low in your hips. You began to tremble. Mira and the midwife arrived quietly, hands practiced, calm voices like wind through dry leaves.

Zayne didn't leave the room. Not once. Even when they tried to send him away. Even when they said it might be hours yet. Even when they told him it would be hard, and bloody, and painful, and not for men like him to witness. He stayed. At your side.

And then… The quiet broke. You screamed once. The pain hit like fire. A crackling white, hot force that ripped through your lower half and left you gasping. Your hands clenched the sheets. Sweat poured down your face.

You heard someone say your name. And then you felt it, Zayne's hand. Firm. Steady. Wrapping around yours like it was the only anchor left in the world.

You blinked through tears and found him beside you, pale, jaw tight, eyes locked on yours. "I'm here." He whispered. "I'm right here." Another wave hit. You sobbed. Mira held your shoulders. The midwife said something about breath. About pushing. About holding on.

But all you saw was Zayne. Not stoic now. Not silent. But terrified. Not of blood. Not of pain. But of you slipping away.

You sobbed his name. And he leaned forward pressing his forehead to yours, lips brushing your temple, hand trembling in yours.

"Stay with me." He said. Another contraction tore through you. "Please." He choked. "Stay." You tried to smile. Tried to speak. Couldn't. But you squeezed his hand. And he squeezed back like he'd never let go.

-

The snow hadn't stopped.

By the time the midwife cried out that it was time, it was near midnight. The wind howled outside the stone walls like it was mourning you already.

Your skin was pale. Too pale. Zayne could see it. Even through the haze of heat and pain, even through the shaking of your arms as you were braced upright and told to bear down, he saw it.

And he knew. He knew before the rest of the room did. Something was wrong.

-

The healer whispered to the midwife. Urgent. Tight. Mira tried to hold your shoulders steady, but you were already swaying. There was so much blood. Too much.

Zayne's mouth moved soundlessly. His feet wouldn't obey him. His heart beat so hard he couldn’t hear anything but your cries. You screamed again, not from the baby, but from tearing. From something inside you, ripping.

Zayne reached for you. The midwife pushed his hand away. "She needs to focus." Someone hissed. "She needs me." He snapped.

Your hands searched blindly. And then he was there. You caught his wrist and gripped like you were drowning. Your eyes locked with his, wild and terrified and already too far away.

"Zayne-" "I'm here." He whispered. "I'm here, I swear-" "I'm scared." You gasped, voice trembling. "I don't- I can't-" "Yes, you can. You've come this far. You're almost there, just a little more-" "Promise me." You choked. "Promise me you'll hold them. If I- If I don't-" "Don't say that." "Zayne." "Don't say it."

The baby's first cry came just before the silence. Wet. Piercing. Beautiful. The kind of cry that breaks open the heavens.

And then… You went quiet. Too quiet.

The midwife caught the child in trembling arms. Mira took it, turned, vanished into the corner. Someone sobbed.

Zayne didn't look at the baby. He was still looking at you. Your head had tilted back. Your lips were parted. Your hand had gone slack in his.

The healer pressed her fingers to your throat. Said nothing. Then again to your wrist. Still nothing.

Zayne's body folded. Not gently. Not slowly. Like a man struck in the chest with an arrow that no one else could see. "No." He breathed. "Your Grace-" "No-" His voice cracked. "No, no, I- She- She promised- she said-"

"My Lord." It was Mira now, kneeling beside him. Her eyes wet. Her arms holding the newborn child. "She's gone." He couldn't look at the baby. He couldn't even breathe. "She-" His voice collapsed. "She just- She was just here-"

The hours after blurred.

He didn't cry at first. Just sat beside you, one hand still clutching your cooling one, the other tangled in the folds of your ruined sheets, as if he could stitch the moment back together if only he held tight enough.

Mira tried to hand him the child. He didn't move. "She wanted you to." he whispered. Still, he didn't take her. "My lady said-" Mira's voice broke. "She said if she didn't make it, she wanted you to hold them first."

Zayne looked up slowly. And finally, finally, he took the child into his arms. And wept. He didn't weep like a man defeated. He wept like a man destroyed. Like someone who had loved too hard and hoped too much and learned, in the end, that even a year, even a lifetime, was not enough.

The baby, tiny, wrinkled, breathing, nestled against his chest and made a sound, soft and new and alive. Zayne bent his head. Pressed his lips to the newborn's brow.

And whispered, brokenly. "She was the warmest thing I ever held." And then. "I will never let them forget you." Not your voice. Not your fire. Not the way you taught a cold man how to love.

Even if it destroyed you. Especially because it destroyed you

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: I'm not really confident into writing that giving birth part because I've never done it. I had to rely on the stories I've read and that one time I witness a childbirth in person and of course, research. So I'm sorry if it ain't accurate to the realistic way of giving birth.