Levi for Life

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.

YOU DIDN’T WANT TO GO AWAY THIS CLOSE TO THE BIRTH. But your father would not stop writing to you over the next few weeks. Even before the first blossoms of May had curled open in the palace gardens, his letters had begun to arrive at your Tokyo manor home.

The thick envelopes sealed with your family clan’s mon, bearing the weight of his old-world penmanship and more emotion than he could ever bring himself to say aloud. One arrived every week, sometimes two. If he didn’t hear from you, he sent telegrams instead, abrupt and formal, but no less urgent.

COME HOME FOR THE SUMMER. MEGUMI MUST SEE THE MOUNTAINS. YOU NEED REST. – FATHER.

THE RIVER IS SWOLLEN. THE PEACH TREES BLOOMED EARLY. TELL TSUMIKI. – FATHER.

ANSWER ME.

Each message was another tug on the thread of your heart. Even the ones that annoyed you, especially the ones that read more like commands than invitations all carried a quiet desperation beneath the ink. 

Your father was not an emotional man, let alone someone who speaks about his feelings. Yet, there was a shift these past few years, now that you lived far from home and far from him. Even with his gruff words, you can tell that he missed you. 

Not just as his daughter, but as the last living echo of your mother to him. You may have brothers, but it was your mother who had the gentle warmth that used to make the Kyoto house feel like home. Much more during the summer.  

Your father was reminiscing in nostalgia as he grew older. He saw you and your brother in your children. Even if she was not your daughter, your father considered Tsumiki as one of your own. And he missed her. 

He missed the sight of Tsumiki chasing butterflies across the veranda. He missed the way Megumi asked questions about the carp pond, sharp-eyed and solemn like a miniature head of state.

And certainly, your father wanted you there. He wanted you there as his daughter, yes, but also as a part of the Koga clan.  Even when you are married, you will always be your father’s daughter. You will always be a Koga. Your presence mattered. 

It has been a long time since you have been here, though. Yet you can only wonder if you would remember everything, to feel the same nostalgia as your father had at this point in your life. After all, the last time you were here was your last summer with your mother, when she was last alive.

The summer retreat to your ancestral home was a sacred tradition in your family. Ever since the founding of the clan, everyone retreated to the comfortable leisure that can only be offered by the pasture and the evergreen and the singing birds. Far from all the hustle and bustle of the court in the capital.

Every cousin, every aunt, every uncle would be there, even back then when you were a child. You could remember how much your uncles loved hawking, as they talked of politics and the aunts would play a game of go, while they drowned in gossip.

You and your cousins, even the vassal children would be dressed in crisp whites and subdued pastels, reciting verses, performing music. Everything had to be perfect, and most of all, performed in front of your grandfather, the previous clan leader. 

And you, the clan’s most favored daughter, the golden one — all of them, they expected you to come and continue the tradition, to pay your respects. Even pregnant. Even exhausted. Even entangled in a secret too dangerous to speak aloud.

The journey to Kyoto was long, and every jolt of the road reminded you of the life growing heavier within you. Your back ached from the burden of carrying, not just the child inside you, but the constant expectation of poise, of grace. 

You wore your finest traveling silks despite the heat, your attendants fluttering around you like butterflies, offering chilled clothes and honey-sweet tea to cool your brow. But nothing soothed the bone-deep discomfort.

You were eight months along, swollen and tender and sore. Even sitting still made you ache. You longed to unlace your robes and walk barefoot in the earth, in your garden, beneath the peach trees of your childhood, where the grass remembered the press of your small feet.

But this wasn’t a simple visit. You were no longer a girl riding home in summer; you were now the wife of a general, the daughter of a noble house, traveling with two children, a swelling belly, and a procession that included fourteen attendants, five guards, and a physician on horseback.

Megumi sat stiffly beside you in the train carriage, legs crossed like he’d seen Toji sit in council, his little hands clasped in his lap. He was growing fast, Toji was pleased about that. Yet you were certain more than too fast.

Your young son was already too solemn for his age and wore his ceremonial hakama with the quiet discomfort of a child who didn’t want to disappoint. Tsumiki, ever light where her brother was heavy, leaned against your side, one hand curled around your arm and the other holding a cloth rabbit by the ear. 

She had insisted on riding with you instead of with her nursemaid in their carriage. Megumi was the same. He kept crying until he saw you once again. You had asked for two carriages, to keep your children with their own space, while you rested.

But you cannot escape your children and they will not want to escape you. At least not yet. They were too dependent on your presence, your touch to do it just yet. You sighed. Still, exhausted as you were, you were glad for it. 

Your son continued to go and recite little poems he had been learning here and there. Your little girl was quietly humming tunes she had heard from the gramophone, which soothed you more than the breeze through the open windows.

The train tracks to Kyoto twisted through forest and over narrow bridges, past rice paddies green and brimming with dragonflies. Nothing much had changed within your ancestral village, but you can tell that little by little, your home was becoming more in touch with the world you had long known.

The closer you came to the ancestral estate, the more the scent of cedar and river stone filled the air. You hadn't realized how much you missed the mountains. It was not until you saw the first mist-cloaked ridge in the distance and felt something deep inside you unfurl.

By the time the train carriages had passed the old wooden torii that marked the entrance to your family’s land, your legs were numb and your wrists were swollen from the journey. Your back ached from the sheer weight of your body, the soft curve of your belly growing heavier with every mile. 

But still, your eyes were bright with unshed tears. You didn’t know why you had gotten so emotional. Not really. The rational part of you blamed the pregnancy, the fatigue, the fact that you hadn’t felt your feet in three hours. 

But deep inside, beneath the exhaustion and the heat and the soft snoring of your now sleeping son, you knew it wasn’t just the discomfort. It was this land. This land that knew happiness existed long ago, before your name had changed. 

These beautiful rice fields, these ever imposing mountains, that scent of fresh pine. It was so familiar, so sacred to you. It had been home and it still is. It always will be. This was the home that you knew life was worth living. 

This was where you used to pick wild strawberries with your brother. Where your mother hung wind chimes in the summer, whispering old poems to the breeze. Where you, in a different lifetime, laughed and cried and bled your first heartbreak into the garden. 

And now, you are coming back to it once again, to rediscover it. With your young, growing children. Most of all, with a new, well lived life which was far more complicated than the one you left behind. 

Oh, you could only wish that Nanami Kento was here to see your home with you. In such times, that’s what you think most about. Your family estate had always felt a little like a dream. Every bit of an escape from the world of the Imperial Court, you knew he would adore this.

The old cypress trees, the layered terraces of green, the way the wind smelled different here, older, wiser. You wanted to show him the long stone pathway where you used to walk barefoot as a child, the old plum tree that still leaned crooked near the koi pond, the worn stone bench beneath the eaves where your mother once brushed your hair in the dusk.

You had wanted to show it all to him. But Kento was far away now. He had finally made his way south, back to the family he had long been parted from, to his sons, to his wife. To life he was never quite able to leave behind, no matter how many nights he spent in your arms.

You could not blame him, of course. You never could. That’s just how it was right now. That was the cost of sharing with each other. Still, the ache of his absence gnawed at you. It has done so, for days on end now.

Especially now, as you come back to the place that had been a sense of relief, of refuge to you. Especially now, when your belly was so heavy it pressed your spine with every step. You were so close now. You were certain it was going to happen.

It could be in a few weeks, perhaps less. You felt it in your bones, the way your body had begun to quiet, the way your breath swallowed when you walked too far. And you wanted him near. You wanted him to see this version of you. Full and waiting, warm and sacred and still his.

You looked down at your weary hands. You were wearing the ring your husband had given you on your wedding day, and everything in abundance was full of Zen’in. From your silk to your sleeves bore the Zen’in crest. All that remained of you was your name. 

Yet you would have preferred something else. You let your hands touch the poking edge of your overgrown belly. You could feel everything that dwells inside of it. Almost as if your child could figure out your grief, the little one stirred.

That was some comfort, you supposed. The babe was trying to comfort you, in their father’s absence. But such a thought crossed your mind, how clever your little child is. Everyone has been calling your babe a  Zen’in. 

But each time, your babe rejects such concepts of identity. Your child knows who the father is. And you know who he is. He is delighted as much as you. Your growing child was a part of him, your precious Kento. That gives air to breathe in your grievous, battered lungs.

Still, he wasn’t here. The distance still pierces harshly onto you. You were certain that it was just as heavy on him. He loved his children, and just as much, he loves the child you now have together. 

However, he must keep up appearances, and he must love others too, outside of you and the babe. For a moment, you wondered what it must have been like for him back then, when you carried Megumi. 

When he had to watch from a distance, with his caramel eyes lowered, lips quiet, hands folded neatly as others stood around you, celebrating a life that he could not claim. How it must have killed him to love you silently. To stand in corners, offering polite bows, while someone else kissed your temple and called you wife.

And now, history has turned upon itself. He would miss this, too. But perhaps that was your fate. To only ever find one another in the quiet margins of life, in empty rooms, in stilled nights, in soft exchanges behind closed doors.

You didn’t realize you were crying until Tsumiki’s small voice cut through the silence. “Huh?”

You blinked quickly and looked down at her, startled. “What happened?”

Tsumiki pressed her little palms against the glass, eyes wide with wonder. “I think I saw Prince Nanami!” she squealed, pointing eagerly outside the window. “He’s here! Mother, I think he’s here to pick us up!”

Your breath caught.

“What?” you asked too quickly, your heart skipping like a stone on water. “That’s impossible…....didn’t he say—”

You trailed off, eyes scanning the platform as the train finally began to slow with a long, mournful screech. The brakes hissed. The wheels clanged. Hot echoing steam billowed in soft clouds around the windows.

You couldn’t see clearly through the fogged-up glass, but there was a tall figure standing beyond the gate. Unmistakable. Gold-haired, straight-backed, clad in the kind of traveling coat worn by nobility who weren’t supposed to be here today. 

A gloved hand rested at his back, the other gently shielding his warm brown eyes from the sun as he scanned each carriage of the train, trying his best to look through the fogging windows. Your throat closed. 

“...…didn’t he say he was going to visit his home?” you whispered faintly, more to yourself than to anyone else.

And yet there he was.

Prince Nanami Kento.

Standing where no one expected him. 

Looking for you.

You hadn’t seen him in over a month, perhaps even longer. Not since that last whispered goodbye in the garden, when his lips touched your fingers and he told you he couldn’t bear to see you go. But he was here now.

Tsumiki bounced in her seat, tugging at Megumi’s sleeve excitedly. “Mother, it is him! He’s really here!”

But you couldn’t respond. You were still staring, hand pressed against the window, too stunned to even smile. Your heart had begun to thrum unevenly in your chest, like it remembered him before your voice could.

You hadn’t seen him in over a month. Not since that last whispered goodbye in the garden, when his lips had brushed your fingers and he said he couldn’t bear to watch you walk away. When he told you he’d write. When he didn’t. When the silence became unbearable.

But he was here now.

That was all that mattered.

That was all that you needed.

His gaze swept over the train again until it landed on you, paused, and stilled. His shoulders lowered, breath visibly exhaled. He stepped forward, instinctively. It was almost like he meant to run to you, to press his hand to your belly and kiss you like he used to when no one else could see.

You opened the carriage door slowly, still dazed. The summer air hit your face first, all too warm and thick with mountain wind. And then his most familiar scent reached you, subtle but familiar: sandalwood and faint essence vanilla and mint. 

Kento. You stepped down with caution, mindful of your balance, as you were still heavy with child, his child. Your children followed with their nursemaids, who had just gotten down from their own carriage.

Soon enough, your lover had found you. 

Soon enough, he was meeting you halfway across the gravel path.

Soon enough, you were both face to face.

He bowed to you, not stiffly, not as royalty to royalty. But he bows to you. He does it so slowly, reverently, like a man overcome with emotion, with his overflowing devotion. You could feel his breath hitch, as if he had been a man starved for days. Starved in every good in life, without you.

Then he straightened, golden brows furrowed just slightly as he took in your figure. You watched his warm eyes drift down, hesitating at your middle, where your child—his child—grew steadily beneath the fine silk. 

“You’re here.” you breathed. “You came…....”

He nodded once. “I had to.”

You blinked quickly. “But your family—”

“I saw them already.” he murmured, smiling at you. “I left the morning after.” 

“You must tell me everything, okay? I want to listen to you speak for hours—”

He nodded to you. “I will, dearest doll. I will tell you everything. But something is more important than that right now.”

You looked at him, your eyes shining at the sight of him. “What is that?”

“You. You are more important.” He reached out, gloved hand gently taking yours as though to confirm you were truly real, not a vision conjured from longing. “I thought of nothing else the entire way here.”

You stared at him. “You should have sent word.”

“I knew if I told you, you’d tell me not to come.”

You didn’t deny it, you just couldn’t do so. Because you would have. Because it was dangerous to hope. And yet here he stood. In the estate of your ancestors. In front of your children. In front of your heart.

“W–what about my father? What would he say—” you stammered, your voice a breath of disbelief caught between wonder and fear.

Kento’s gloved hands came to cradle your face gently, reverently, thumbs brushing the heat rising to your cheeks. His touch was steady, but his warm loving eyes…..his ever devoted eyes were full of something you didn’t dare name in daylight. Something vast and unshakable.

“Your father invited me already. Days ago.” he whispered, his voice low and deliberate, like a secret he had longed to share. “I had only accepted late. That is all.”

Your brows knit in confusion. “But.......why didn’t you say—?”

“Because I wanted to see your face.” he murmured, stepping closer until your foreheads nearly touched. “I had gotten here on a train the earliest I could.”

“Oh, Kento.” You couldn’t help whisper tenderly, fawning over, swooning at his words. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to see you. I couldn’t handle separation anymore.” He says, smiling softly at you. “I am a doomed man, my dearest doll. I need you or there will be no oxygen in my lungs. There will be no sunshine in my sky.

You could not speak at his confession. If anything, you could only feel your heart swoon over and over as it skips a beat in a way that it has not done for anyone. Your heart only swoons with such love, with such glee when it comes to Nanami Kento.

“Besides, dearest, I wanted to see you like this, before the others, before the servants and the courtiers and the children and the watching world. Just…you. My little doll. I want to see you, as you are. The mother of my child, the woman I…” 

He didn’t finish, but he didn’t need to. You stood frozen at his words. You had heard him say those words to you so many times. And yet, every single time, your heart trembles inside your ribs, ready to explode from how overwhelming the feeling is.

A part of you was still trying to catch up with everything that has been happening all at once. He was here, with you. He had done all he could to come. He had been invited to come. The Koga patriarch, your father, had invited him.

“And now that you are here…..” your voice wavered, not from doubt but from disbelief. “You would come with me and accompany me home?”

He smiled then at your words, rather softly, like someone smiling after a storm, as though his body could finally rest from searching. “I would love nothing more than that.”

Your eyes filled before you could stop them. But you stopped yourself. You didn’t want to cry on such a happy occasion. You touched the edge of his collar, as if to anchor yourself to something real. 

“You’ll walk with me beneath the gates?”

“I’ll carry you through them if I must.” He says to you, softly. “I cannot have my dearest darling, the mother of my child, to be so burdened.”

A sound escapes you as you shake your head. It was unfamiliar at the moment. Yet as it settles in, you could only tell that it was a half laugh, half cry. Everything was a rollercoaster of emotion to you right

“And when the household, everyone else sees?” 

“Then they’ll see a man who’s come home to what’s his, my dearest doll.” he said in a low tone, as he leaned closer to you. “Still, I doubt they’ll babble to your husband, dearest.” 

“And why do you think that?” you asked, your voice quiet, your breath caught somewhere between nerves and thrill. 

You weren’t challenging him, of course. Yet you wanted to hear it from his lips, wanted to know the why of it, because there was no denying the danger. There was always going to be a danger that you cannot escape, both in fright and in thrill.

Kento leaned in closer, so close you could feel his breath against your cheek, warm and steady like the wind that curled through the pines beyond the platform. His hands stayed on your waist, grounding you, steadying you.

“Because, dearest doll.” he murmured, purring, almost like a cat. “They all love you.”

You blinked up at him, lips parting. “You think so?”

“They’ve watched you since you were a child, dearest.” he continued, voice low and sure. “They watched you leave this house in bridal white, and they watched you carry your children through its halls. They know your laugh, your sorrow, the way your hands still shake when you read letters from your father.” 

He brushed your cheek with the back of one finger. “They won’t speak. Not because they fear me, but because they love you.” Your throat tightened. You hadn’t expected that. He snickers. “But I do not doubt that I won’t use fear if they end up causing trouble for us.”

“And if they don’t succumb to either?” you whispered, eyes flickering to the far side of the platform where the old steward and a few retainers waited beside the carriages. “There could be a lot of trouble, as you say.”

“Then let them speak, dearest. I particularly do not care. Nor do I have shame.” he said simply, brushing a stray hair from your temple.

“Let them say what they will. Let them say there was once a prince who followed the mother of his child into the mountains, where no court dared whisper her name with scorn. Let them say he looked at her like a man who had searched every inch of this world and found no sweeter place to rest than at her side.”

You let out a long breath, your fingers curling in the velvet at his chest. “You’re too poetic, are you not?” you whispered, but you were smiling now.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your brow. “No, dearest.” he said softly. “I’m just in love.”

A pause passed between you, heavy with everything you couldn’t say aloud in the daylight, with the eyes of the household upon you and the weight of lineage pressing at your back. But still, you took his hand. 

A little bit later, you pressed your face to his chest, breathing in the scent of him, the steady heartbeat beneath velvet and linen. Just a little behind you, your children are beginning to call as they try to pull away from their nursemaids.

Tsumiki’s cheerful voice, Megumi’s more reserved curiosity. But for one suspended moment, all you could feel was this: the warmth of Kento’s hands on your back, the swell of your belly between you, and the quiet, unmistakable knowing that this summer would change everything.

He held you like he always had. Ever so gently, reverently, like he was afraid you would vanish if he clutched you too tightly. But he didn’t let go, he didn’t want to do that. He didn’t have the heart to do it.

You felt his nose brush the crown of your head, his lips pressing to your hair as if in silent promise. And you let yourself close your eyes, just for a breath longer, allowing the rhythm of his heartbeat to anchor you.

“Mother!”

Tsumiki, breathless, wide-eyed, barreled toward you in her pale blue traveling kimono, her sandals scuffing against the stones. Megumi followed, more composed but still fast, his small hand catching the hem of your sleeve once he reached you.

Kento loosened his embrace with a soft chuckle, stepping just slightly aside, but not far. Never far. “Princess, my Prince.”

“You’re here already?” Tsumiki looked up at Kento, shielding her eyes from the sun. “I thought you were with your family!”

“I was, Princess.” Kento said with a warm smile, crouching slightly so he could meet her eyes. “But I thought it more important to come here first.”

Tsumiki beamed. Megumi looked between the two of you with a small, quiet furrow in his brow. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”

“If your lady mother will have me. I do not wish to impose.” Kento said softly, glancing at you. “If she allows me to be here, then yes. I’ll stay as long as I’m allowed.”

You looked at your children for a moment. You could see Tsumiki’s innocent delight, Megumi’s slow, thoughtful nod. You then look back at him. At the man you had waited for without knowing, at the father who came not with declarations, but devotion.

“I think we’d like that very much, my prince.” you said, smiling at him softly. “If you would be so kind as to entertain the invitation, be our guest.”

Kento smiled back. “I should like that. Very much.”

Tsumiki clapped her hands, full of bright, unburdened joy. The sound echoed off the old station walls like a bell rung for celebration, not scandal. The four of you started to walk towards the station itself, in much higher spirits than before.

The young girl had found her own fingers in the folds of Kento’s long coat as she walked beside him, talking animatedly. Tsumiki was more sociable and curious than your son. It had made it obvious that she was indeed not your husband’s daughter.

“And is your house big, my Prince? Bigger than ours in Kyoto? Do you have a lake? A real one, not like that silly koi pond Grandfather says is ‘symbolic’?”

Kento chuckled, warmth threading through his usually composed voice. “It’s near the sea, Princess.” he said. “But no lake. The garden is a little wild now. I think you’d like it.”

“I would like it, Prince!” she affirmed, like she had already decided to make it her own. “I’m good with wild things.”

Beside him, Zen’in Megumi walked more quietly. But his small hand, slightly callused from his archery practice, always tucked behind his back like his father, had crept into Kento’s, wordless but sure. 

You really were sure that this young boy was his father’s son. If it was not the eyes, then it was this. You were sure more so now than ever before that he was Toji in this form. He didn’t speak much, but he looked up at the man beside him with a clear gaze, one full of questions, and perhaps a beginning of understanding.

You followed behind them slowly, hand pressed gently to your back, easing the pressure of late pregnancy as your nursemaids moved efficiently around you. One of them gave instructions to the house staff on how to carry your lacquered cases; another carefully unfolded a parasol for you. 

You barely noticed the murmur of your attendants, the rustling of traveling cases being lifted into carriages, the distant whistle of the train beginning its retreat from the station. All your attention was on the sight before you. 

Your children, animated and easy, their little hands gesturing with unselfconscious excitement, their voices bubbling like a spring. And Nanami Kento who was always so measured, always so aware of the spaces he did not belong to had stood among them like he'd been born into this place. 

He didn’t interrupt them one moment. He didn’t try to lead the conversation either. But he listened to Tsumiki as though her theories on garden flowers were the most important conversation of his day. 

He tilted his head gently when Megumi leaned in at times, just so he could  ask something in a voice too soft for others to hear, giving his full attention without ever forcing a smile. He simply nodded.  Never overstepping, but never fading either.

There was something about that, about the balance of him, that made your throat ache, that had made everything in you combust. He stood just close enough to your children to be known, but not claimed. 

Just near enough to you that your entire body responded to his presence, even if you couldn’t reach for him yet. His gloved hands at his sides, his posture noble and grounded. He was everything you had ever dreamed of. 

And he gave you everything you had ever wanted. Everything you had long forgotten. This sort of peace. This absence of panic. The way a summer breeze drifted through the old lounge and stirred the corners of your travel coat.

The way Megumi let his shoulder rest against Kento’s as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The way Tsumiki’s laughter sounded just like your mother’s had when she was a young bride in this very house.

And most of all, contentment. That quiet, profound feeling of enoughness. Of being full, not because your life was perfect, but because it was yours. You looked down at the swell of your belly and then back at the man before you, this man who had never once demanded that you give up the pieces of yourself too many others had tried to claim.

Kento.

If only for this beautiful vibrant summer, this one fragile season of overlapping paths, you would allow yourself to feel it all. You would allow yourself to be free from everything that had caged you. Just to be happy with him.

Even if it shattered you later.

THE NEXT EVENING GOT ON WELL. The light of the banquet hall glimmered softly off porcelain, lacquerware, and polished silver. The great hall was lit not with harsh flame but with the golden, patient glow of oil lamps. 

Each one was wonderfully encased in delicately painted glass that threw floral shadows onto the wood-paneled walls. The scent of camellia oil mingled with incense, curling slowly in the air.

Dishes came and went in steady waves, borne on lacquered trays carried by silent-footed servants. Each course was a performance: delicate sashimi arranged in fans like a spread of crane feathers, glossy cuts of fish brushed with citrus and yuzu, their pink and white flesh gleaming like polished stones. 

Chilled summer beans floated in sweet broth, garnished with slivers of gold leaf and sprigs of perilla. There were sea urchins nestled in crystal bowls, pearls of salmon roe shimmering like tiny lanterns, and thin slices of grilled river fish draped over mounds of vinegared rice. It was perfect, symmetrical, untouched.

The feast was not just food; it was wealth, tradition, spectacle. And everyone knew it. Your father may have not been a prince, but he was a man of wealth beyond all of them, a man of influence and authority. No one can match him. That’s why they were all here, paying homage to him.

The room swelled with the unspoken language of status. Not a single word needed to be loud to be understood. The nobles spoke in the arch of their brows, the deliberate fold of their silk sleeves, the subtle flick of their eyes when servants poured sake or cleared dishes. 

Many of the conversations hovered above the meal like courtly incense. It was surely light and measured, full of implication. Every name spoken was said with care, and always just loud enough to be overheard.

This was not a place for laughter or comfort. This was the world of your father, where every plate, every bow, every movement was designed to signify something: power, grace, heritage, wealth.

And yet, despite it all, the only sound that truly cut through to you was the familiar hush of Nanami Kento’s breathing beside you. Steady. Quiet. The only thing in this room not pretending to be anything but what it was.

But all of it, all of it faded to the edges of your relaxed senses when your lord father, with his back straight and voice warm with pride, uttered the name. 

"Toji Fushiguro."

Your husband.

You hadn't heard his name spoken with such reverence in months. And yet there it was, rolling off your father's tongue like a benediction. Like proof of a wise alliance, forged by your marriage and sealed by your blood.

“They surrendered. I had gotten the report today.” your father said again, as if savoring the words. “He marched through their lines with just two companies behind him. No one dared resist. Not after they saw him cut down the forward commander in a single stroke. You should be proud, daughter. You have a fine husband.”

Around you, the lords and ladies of the gathering quickly murmured their approval left and right. You nodded politely at your father’s words. Then smiled thinly. You cleared your throat and spoke some perfunctory praise. 

“He is…..exceptional, my husband. I am glad that he had given honor to the country and to the Emperor. ” you said, as if you hadn’t cried in silence the day he left with that same sword your father now praised.

You didn’t say how he hadn’t written in weeks. You didn’t say how the child in your belly stirred more for another man’s voice. You didn’t say how Kento looked at you sometimes, like he wished he could cradle your swollen stomach with both hands and kiss the curve of it, like he belonged there.

No. You turned away. Quiet and composed. As always. A hush fell over the table when the servant appeared. The clatter of utensils dimmed. Your father unrolled the telegram and read it with a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. 

You couldn’t read it from your side, but whatever was written made his chin lift. A pleased hum vibrated from deep in his chest. No word was said yet. No news shared. But you didn’t need the message. Your body, your soul, had already begun to shift.

Kento hadn’t looked at your father. He hadn’t asked about the telegram. His gaze was on you, unwavering. His lips didn’t move. His expression didn’t change. But the softness in his eyes made your throat ache.

There was no need for words. Not here. Not now. A silence passed between you, delicate and full. Your hand had been resting near the stem of your wine cup. It inched slightly across the table.

His fingers, gloved and still, didn’t reach for yours. They didn’t need to. The space between you was already humming with everything you had never spoken aloud: I’m here. I came. You are not alone in this.

You wanted to lean into that quiet. That warmth. That look. But instead, you glanced down. A heartbeat later, Kento did too. And the banquet carried on. As though nothing had happened at all. 

Soon enough, that silence was gone. Your father broke the delicate quiet between you and Kento with the sweep of his sleeve and a warm, diplomatic smile as he turned to Kento.

“I must offer my apologies, Prince Nanami.” he said, voice smooth with courtesy but edged with inevitability. “With all the guests that have arrived and are still arriving, the summer manor is near its full capacity. I’m afraid we can no longer accommodate you within the main residence.”

Kento’s posture didn’t shift. He merely bowed his head slightly, voice calm and unreadable. “There’s no need for an apology, Marquis. I can make do with the hotel I stayed at upon arrival. It’s no trouble.”

But before your father could nod or wave it away, you find yourself leaning forward to your father, mouth opened. Your voice steady, just above the quiet rustle of robes and the distant pluck of a biwa.

“That won’t be necessary, father.” you said, folding your hands neatly in your lap. “You’ve given me much too many rooms in the Jade Wing. Far more than I require.”

Your gaze moved to your father, calm but resolute. “It would be less of an inconvenience to allow Kento to stay there, where there is already more than enough space, than to send him away entirely. It’s a family wing, after all.”

For the first time that evening, the nobles around you glanced up, subtly turning their ears and eyes toward the exchange. They were all too curious as much as they were cautious about it.

Kento didn’t speak, not immediately. He was looking at you. Not with surprise, but with something steadier. Something warm. Your father chuckled softly, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a silk cloth. 

“Ever the practical one, my daughter. Very well. If Prince Nanami is amenable to it—”

“I am, my lady.” Kento said, not missing a beat. “And I’m grateful.”

Your father lifted his cup in toast. “Then it’s settled.”

And just like that, the quiet between you wasn’t so fragile anymore.

The banquet was still unraveling like silk late into the early morning. Laughter growing louder, toasts more frequent, courtiers loosening the edges of their restraint under the sway of wine and summer heat. 

The air was thick with incense, sweat, and the perfume of too many plum blossoms pressed into the folds of silk robes. You sat still, spine straight and face composed, but your bones ached, and the fatigue in your shoulders had long settled into something weighty and undeniable.

You leaned in slightly toward your father and whispered, “May I be excused? I am exhausted, father.”

He turned to you, eyes gleaming with warmth that only softened in private moments. “Of course, you should go and sleep.” he said. “Rest well, daughter. You’ve done enough tonight. The servants will take care of Prince Nanami.”

You bowed gently and rose, careful to keep your expression serene even as your joints protested the movement. Slipping out of the hall, you passed under the lantern-lit corridors, the night cicadas humming between the eaves.

All the sudden, a low steady song that reminded you that summer was still here, and you were still carrying a child not yet ready to meet the world. You rubbed your belly, taking a huff as you felt so much bigger.

When you returned to the Jade Wing, the hush was immediate, like the manor itself had drawn its breath. The nursemaids had already tucked the children in. You checked on them quietly.

Tsumiki sprawled beneath her covers, one ribbon still knotted in her hair, Megumi curled on his side like a small fox, his breathing slow and deep. You bent down to kiss each of them, adjusting their pillows with hands that trembled faintly from the day’s weight.

Your own chambers greeted you like an old friend. The windows were open, letting in the scent of night-blooming flowers. You removed the hair ornaments, peeled away your robes, and let the fine layers slip to the floor. 

The washroom was waiting for you. And you were happy about that. You yawned as you looked at the cool stone floors, a basin filled with clear water that had been drawn just before your return.

You stepped into it, slowly, lowering yourself to your knees. The chill of it lapped against your skin and brought a sigh to your lips. You dipped the cloth and began to wash, hands moving in steady rhythm along your arms, over your belly. You didn’t hear the door until it was already sliding open behind you.

“Kento.” you breathed, startled. 

You half-turned in the moonlight that streamed through the window lattice. He stood in the doorway still wearing the black and gold of the banquet, sleeves rolled up now, gloves removed. 

His blond hair was slightly tousled, as though he’d run his hand through it many times since you last saw him seated at your side.  He looked at you not as a Prince, nor as the man welcomed at your father’s right hand but as someone who had walked the entire length of the night just to reach you. As a man who loves you.

“I didn’t want to startle you.” he said, voice low, gentle. “I came to see if you needed anything.”

“I’m fine, do not worry too much.” you replied softly. 

But the quiver in your voice betrayed the truth.

You had needed this all day. Him. Just him. 

And you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

You turned away again, finishing your rinse, body angled slightly from view,  but not enough to hide the curve of your shoulder, the way your hair clung to your neck, the swell of your stomach that cradled his child. 

You heard his footsteps before you felt the warmth of his presence kneeling behind you, the rustle of fabric as he shed the outer layer of his robes. “Kento—”

“Let me.” he whispered, reaching for the cloth in your hand.

He dipped it in the water and brought it to your back, touching you like something sacred, like a priestess to her shrine. You closed your eyes, your head bowed forward as his hands moved, reverent and slow. 

He was quiet as he bathed you, as if this small act was enough to say what neither of you had the space to voice earlier in the banquet hall. Here, no audience watched, no legacy waited to judge. There was only the sound of water, and the way your body leaned toward him without hesitation.

You turned your face slightly toward him. “You came anyway.”

“I couldn’t stay away.”

And you believed him.

Because it was in his touch, in the way he held the cloth like silk and not a burden. In the way his forehead touched your spine when he finally folded his arms around your waist, and stayed there. Silent. Still. As though the only home he’d ever known was in the echo of your breath.

The bathwater had cooled slightly, but Kento's touch kept you warm. He continued bathing you with quiet devotion, as though each pass of the cloth over your skin was a vow. 

His movements were unhurried, tender. His fingers gliding carefully over your belly, reverent, as if blessing the life growing inside you. The silence between you was thick with intimacy, with something old and unspoken that didn’t need words to be understood.

He dipped the cloth into the water again and squeezed it gently over your shoulders, letting it cascade down your back like rain. His other hand followed the trail slowly, smoothing your skin, grounding you in the moment. You were no longer just tired. You were molten. Unraveling.

When he was done, he reached for the towel nearby and guided you up from the tub. Water dripped down your legs, pooling at your feet, but he didn’t rush. He steadied you with one arm, the other wrapping the soft towel around your shoulders, tucking it securely in place.

Still, his hands didn’t leave you. They lingered everywhere. They were there on your hips, then your waist, tracing the delicate rise of your ribs through the towel. You shivered, not from cold, but from the weight of his wanting. 

His palms pressed against the small of your back, drawing you closer. Your chest brushed his, and you felt it then: the hard line of him, the hunger he’d been quietly carrying all night. Your breath hitched.

Kento said nothing, but his eyes burned with restraint. He tilted your chin up and kissed you softly, once, then again, slower. Then his hands slid down, tugging the towel loose until it fell open between you both.

He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice low. “Let me take care of you a little longer.”

You nodded, barely, lips parted. And when he kissed you again, it was deeper, so full of emotion it almost hurt. His hands gripped your thighs as he lifted you easily into his arms, stepping carefully from the bath and onto the cool tiles, your damp skin pressed to his chest.

Steam still clung to the mirror. The lanternlight shimmered in the droplets that beaded along your collarbone. Everything else melted away: the banquet, the noise, the expectations. It was just this now. 

His body, your breath, the quiet ache of love neither of you could bear to name. He laid you back onto the dry bath towels he’d prepared earlier, sinking to his knees beside you. Worshipful. Steady. Undone.

He leaned down to nuzzle your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. You tilted your head to give him better access, a soft moan escaping your lips. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you even closer.

He was grinding against you now, his shaft hard and insistent against your belly. He wanted to be inside you, to feel your warmth surrounding him. He kissed his way up to your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"I need you, sweet doll." he whispered urgently, against your ear. "I need to be inside you right now."

He didn't wait for a response. He lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you over to the bed. He wasn't gentle as he laid you down, covering your body with his own. 

He was kissing you deeply, his tongue invading your mouth as his hands roamed your curves. He wanted to touch every inch of you, to memorize the feel of your skin under his fingertips.

He was careful as he laid you down, his hands supporting your heavy belly. He wanted to protect you and the precious cargo you carried. He settled between your legs, his shaft throbbing against your core.

But he hesitated, not wanting to hurt you or the baby. He watched your face intently, seeking permission before proceeding. He wanted to make love to you gently, reverently, to show you how much he cherished you and the life growing inside you.

"Are you sure?" he asked softly, his hand caressing your swollen belly, "I don't want to hurt you or the baby."

Kento’s eyes were filled with love and concern as he waited for your answer. You nodded, smiling up at him reassuringly, your palm against his cheek. Your eyes blossom with love before his.

"I'm sure, Kento." you whispered to him. "I need you. Please, be gentle with me."

He kissed you tenderly, his lips moving against yours with a gentle passion. He positioned himself at your entrance, his shaft hard but gentle as he pushed in slowly.

You gasped at the sensation, your body stretching to accommodate him. He was careful, moving slowly and shallowly as he started to thrust. He watched your face for any signs of discomfort, pausing whenever he felt you tense.

When he saw you were alright, he took a breath. Soon, his shaft slid in and out of you slowly, each thrust gentle and deliberate. You could feel every ridge and vein, every inch of him as he filled you.

He was kissing you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours in a slow, sensual rhythm that mirrored his hips. One hand caressed your belly lovingly, while the other reached up to cup your breast, thumbing your nipple gently. He was touching you everywhere, worshipping your body with his hands and mouth.

You could feel the tension building in your core, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust. He was hitting that sweet spot inside you, the one that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

He was panting now, his breath hot against your neck as he picked up the pace slightly. But he was still careful, still gentle, making sure you were with him every step of the way. He wanted to bring you to orgasm first, wanted to watch you fall apart beneath him.

He reached between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and circling the sensitive nub gently. That was all it took to push you over the edge. You cried out his name as you came, your body convulsing beneath him.

Kento watched you with heavy-lidded eyes, a look of pure adoration on his face as he felt your walls clamp down around him. He was right behind you, his shaft pulsing as he spilled himself inside you with a hoarse groan.

Your skin was still humming, trembling from the aftershocks of what had just passed between you. For a while, neither of you spoke. You hadn’t finished washing completely, just yet. 

And now the water had long gone lukewarm, and your limbs were loose and heavy, draped over his.  His hand still rested on your belly, slow circles drawn absently over the curve where your child grew. 

His breath came in soft gusts against your temple, damp hair clinging to his forehead. You could feel his heart still beating hard against your back, the warmth of his release still within you, the taste of him lingering on your lips.

Kento kissed your shoulder. Then again, a little higher. Then your nape. You closed your eyes and leaned into it. Into him. “Are you alright?” he asked finally, voice hoarse, quiet.

You nodded against his chest. “I’m more than alright.”

His arms tightened around you slightly, and you could feel the way he exhaled into your hair, the way relief softened every line of his body. You both sat in the cooling bath for another moment, wrapped in the fading haze, the scent of sandalwood and evening blossom clinging to the air.

Eventually, he moved, lifting you carefully as though you were made of paper and sunlight. He wrapped a towel around your shoulders first before tending to himself. You watched him through lowered lashes.

You continued to eye him as he wrung out the cloth, the way he checked the basin to make sure you hadn't left the water too cold for too long. He looked after you the way someone would tend to a garden after rain. As though your body had bloomed, and he didn’t want to miss a single petal.

When you were both dry, he helped you into your night robe, buttoning it up carefully over your chest, pausing to kiss the skin just above your heart. The chamber beyond was quiet, low lanterns still flickering faintly. 

You padded barefoot toward the bedding already laid out. The fine thick sheets are hot and warm and cushions arranged under the gauzy canopy in your receiving room. 

Kento followed, adjusting the screen doors to keep the draft out, before joining you on the bedding. You lay on your side, facing him with those tender eyes of yours, full of love, full of tenderness.

His one hand reached for yours instinctively, fingers weaving together like they had always known how to find each other in the dark. The other reached for the base of your belly, where your love lies. 

Toji was not like this, the first time you had Megumi. He  was excited, to be sure. But he was still a man of tradition, a man who did not find it in him to break the rules for you.

But Nanami Kento was a different man, a man who has proved himself over and over that he was a man who matched your yearning, your love, your devotion. Because the way he looked at you right now was like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.

“You didn’t have to give me your rooms.” he said softly, thumb brushing the edge of your knuckles. “But thank you.”

You smiled faintly. “It wasn’t generosity. It was selfish. I wanted you close.”

“I’ll stay, doll. I always will.” he whispered. “However close you’ll let me.”

You let the silence stretch for a beat, then leaned forward to rest your forehead against his. “I want this to last.” you murmured. “I want us to be together, forever.”

He kissed you again, this time slow and gentle, no urgency, only reverence. “It will.” he said against your lips. “As long as you want it to.”

The cicadas were quieter now. The night was cool and full of breath. And you, at last, felt like you had arrived somewhere worth resting. You at last felt like the world was at peace.

THIS WAS THE HAPPIEST YOU’VE EVER BEEN. You spent the rest of the summer in a soft kind of silence, a type of hush that settled over the estate like early morning fog, enjoying the countryside’s pleasures.

There were no more formal banquets, no visiting lords or ministers for days at a time. Just the quiet rhythm of your father’s household returning to its usual, ancient pace. The maids air out tatami, cook boiling rice, and lanterns are lit at dusk. And you, in the middle of it all, were finally at a comfortable existence.

The children thrived in the stillness. Tsumiki liked to climb trees now, her skirts muddied and her laughter free. Megumi followed at his own pace, curious and thoughtful, trailing after the koi in the shallow garden pond. 

Kento had a gentle way with them. He was never loud or commanding, just present. He knew how to be a father in a way that Zen’in Toji will never know. He would hand Megumi a net for dragonflies without a word, or tie Tsumiki’s hair back with a ribbon when it got in her eyes. He never asked for their affection, and that’s why they gave it so freely.

You watched him with a kind of quiet ache. In the mornings, when the children were still half-asleep, you would sometimes find Kento in the garden, sleeves rolled up, sleeves damp with dew as he knelt to help the gardener prune the pines. 

At night, he would sometimes stay behind after dinner, lingering longer than was proper, and walk with you along the veranda once the children had gone to bed. You were careful about it, of course. But love has a way of blooming through even the tightest seams.

Your lord father never said anything about any of it. If he suspected, he did not show it. After all, your father does not want to talk about it, let alone confirm it with you. 

But it was your much older brother who arrived unannounced one hot afternoon in August, his government carriage coated in the red dust of the northern roads, in his polished military uniform.

He greeted your father, bowed to the staff, and then made his way to you without waiting. There was a look in his eyes that made your pulse skip. You knew your brother. Your brother was too observant, too blunt for his own good.

You were in the library when he entered, the weight of the summer sun pouring through the shōji. You looked up from your book with a practiced smile that faltered as soon as you saw the set of his jaw.

“I’ve only been here half an hour, little sister.” he said, setting his hat down on the low table. “And I already know.”

You didn’t ask what he meant. You didn’t need to. He didn’t sit. He only paced slowly along the edge of the tatami, the way he always did when his thoughts were in knots. 

“I came across his name in a few places. The hotel registry in Kamakura. The train to Sendai. Events where you accompanied the Empress.”

“But that doesn’t—”

“Prince Nanami is the one who handles such ceremonies for the Emperor and the Empress.” 

You were instantaneously silent about his words. He sighed, removing his fine military gloves. “And you’ve taken to writing letters again, haven’t you? With ink that isn’t yours. That style is only made in the South. In Prince Nanami’s fief.”

Still, you said nothing. You let him circle the room with that sharp, unrelenting mind of his. A man who had built a career on subtle interrogations and unspoken truths. He snickers.

He finally stopped, hands clasped behind his back. “I’m not going to scold you, of course. I’m not our father. You’re a grown woman now, sister.”

You swallowed. “Then why bring it up?”

“Because I’m your brother. And because someone should ask if you’re alright.” His voice lowered. “If he’s good to you.”

Your eyes fell to your hands, folded neatly in your lap like you were trying to hold yourself together. “He’s more than good to me.” you said, so quietly it barely passed your lips. “He’s the only good thing left.”

Your brother nodded. Slowly. “Then that’s more than most of us have.” he murmured. 

“You say that as though you have quite the experience.”

He gave a small, tired laugh and picked up his hat again. “I’ve had affairs too, you know. Worse ones. Messy ones. A widow from Yamaguchi who ran a silk mill. A diplomat’s daughter. One with a husband who threatened to challenge me to a duel.” 

He smiled faintly. “No children, though. I know my limitations.” your brother points to your belly. “That was……careless of you.”

Your smile was sad. “It wasn’t carelessness. It was hope.”

He quieted. His gaze softened, and after a moment, he stepped toward you and brushed your hair gently behind your ear. “I won’t tell father. You won’t hear anything from me….Though, he already suspects, I think. But if he doesn’t speak of it, neither will I.”

You looked up at him. “Thank you.”

“I’m not done, little sister.” your brother said.

You blinked from where you sat, stilling the way you smoothed the hem of your robes. “You’re not?”

“I spoke with him.” he said, not looking away. “The man—Nanami Kento.”

That pulled you upright. “What?”

“I asked him to take a walk with me. He accepted.”

Your stomach twisted, hands curling into your lap. “Why?”

He was silent for a moment. He sighs. “To ask him if he intends to leave his wife.”

The blood drained from your face. “She’s the daughter of a powerful clan. One which father has good relations with.” he went on, voice calm but cutting. “A princess in her own right. And he—he isn’t just anyone. The Emperor favours him. That doesn’t make the decision something to consider lightly.”

You swallowed. “And what did he say?”

He looked at you long. “He said yes.”

The breath you had been holding left you all at once. “He said he’s thinking about it. His children are grown anyway. It’s easier for him.” your brother added, softer now. “The arrangement was made long before either of them had a choice. That they were civil. Cordial. But it wasn’t love. He said she knows. That she’s known for some time.”

You sat back down, your knees unsure. The quiet was thick between you. “I also asked.” your brother continued. “If he intended to marry you.”

Your eyes flew to his face, nervous and horrified all at once. “What?”

“He said he would.” he said, loosening his collar. “If you’d let him. That he would do it the proper way. That he wasn’t looking for scandal, only peace. That he would wait for you, however long it took.”

You stared at the tatami between you, the words unraveling something inside your chest. “Why?” you whispered. “Why did you ask him all that?”

He was quiet for a while. Then he said, “Because I wanted to know what kind of man was willing to risk your name in this house. And I needed to see for myself if he was worth your grief.”

Your hands tightened around your knees. “Was he?”

Your brother’s voice was soft. “He was.”

He turned as if to go, but then paused. “But I’m not finished with you either.”

You raised your eyes. “You haven’t asked me what I think of Toji.”

You didn’t answer. Not right away. “Do you plan to ask for a divorce?” he asked plainly. “To make this a proper break?”

You looked away. “I don’t know yet.”

He nodded, once. “Well. I ask because Toji hasn’t cast you out. Nor has he caged you. He’s not stolen your wealth. He hasn’t embarrassed your name or hurt your son. He hasn’t...disrespected you. The judicial courts will not allow it unless that is the case.”

Your shoulders tensed. “He may be cold, yes. Distant. But not cruel. And not broken. He is still a functioning man. And in his own way, he cares for you. That makes things…..complicated.”

You drew a breath, then looked up. “Would you have asked the same if he had done any of those things?”

His gaze darkened faintly. “I wouldn’t have needed to ask at all.”

The silence stretched again. Then, more gently, he added, “You know I’m not our father. I don’t pretend that everything can be clean. But I am your brother. And I need you to think this through. Not for me. For yourself. For the children.”

Your voice came quieter now. “And what if I choose Kento?”

He nodded, almost solemn. “Then you’ll have to bear the burden of that choice, too.”

You looked at him, but he didn’t flinch.

“You could lose your rights to your son.” he said, quiet but firm. “Even to Tsumiki. The moment Toji decides to retaliate—if he ever does—he’ll have the backing of the law. And whether or not he uses it…you need to know it’s there.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. “I know.”

“And Father—” he went on, his voice heavier now. “You know what he values. Family, yes. But not above dignity. Not above name. He could shun you. He might never say the words, but he would stop looking at you the same. Stop opening his doors. Stop defending you at court.”

He looked away for a beat, jaw tightening. “The court may do worse. The whispers already trail you when you enter the hall. Some think it's just idle curiosity, some think it's a scandal. If you take a step further with this and if you make it real, then it won’t just be whispered. It will be weaponized.”

He met your eyes again. “You know how cruel this court can be. The Emperor and the Empress may have sympathy. They like you both. But the other lords won’t be as forgiving. Especially not Princess Nanami’s father.”

You turned your face slightly, and he softened. “He’s a dangerous man to cross, sister.” he said. “Old blood. Influential. If he decides to move against you, against Kento. You know it won’t be direct. He’ll make sure it hurts in silence. That it cuts where it won’t be seen.”

The weight of it pressed into your chest. Then, more quietly, he added, “But if you do choose this path, if this is what you want, even knowing what it may cost you…”

His voice was gentle once he spoke again. “…Then I’ll help you carry it.”

You looked at him, truly looked. At the brother who used to pull you out of trouble when you were children. At the man who stood at your side through each birth and every wound. And now, at the only one still willing to stand with you, on the edge of something dangerous and irreversible.

“I’ll fight beside you if you need me to.” he said simply. “But I won’t lie to you. You’ll bleed for this.”

You didn’t speak right away. The night air from the open shoji was cool on your arms. Somewhere in the courtyard, a nightingale called once, low and brief, as if it too was holding its breath.

And still, you said nothing.

Because you were already bleeding. 

Just differently. Quietly. Alone.

And maybe it was time to choose a wound that was finally yours.

THE TOKYO MANOR HAD NOT CHANGED VERY MUCH.  The lacquered floors still whispered under careful footsteps, and the gardens, though beginning to wither with the turning season. It still carried the faint, clinging scent of persimmons. 

Your old rooms had been prepared for you weeks before your return, the tatami replaced, the futon fluffed, the shutters cleaned to let the autumn light spill in gold across the floor.

But everything feels different now.

You arrived just before dusk. The streets were busy with the noise of the capital. Vendors calling out their final sales, the rattling wheels of rickshaws, the temple bells in the distance. 

The children peered out the carriage windows with wide eyes, watching the city pass by like a dream. Your son asked where the ginkgo trees had gone in a quiet tone. Tsumiki, joyful as ever, clutched her doll tighter as she waved at everyone else.

Nanami Kento held the door open as you stepped down. He wasn’t supposed to be here, let alone did he have the right to be here by law or by custom. He had his own Tokyo manor too. And yet it felt only natural that he did.

Your lord father said nothing during the homecoming. But you noticed the way his eyes lingered on the children, on your stomach, then on Kento. His hands were folded behind his back, still and unreadable. 

He didn’t speak that night during dinner either, he wasn’t in the mood. Instead, he had music played in the gramophone. But he stayed longer than usual at the table. And had asked Kento to stay. 

That, in its own way, was something. 

The child came sooner than expected, though. The push had come just as the leaves outside the manor turned from gold to red. It was a quiet lazy night, which whispered in tenderness, all the while the moon was shining down on you. 

Tokyo had stilled after a last drizzle of summer storms, the streets glistening under lanternlight, and the air had turned cold enough that you asked the staff to bring an extra brazier. 

You were shaken awake by pain. The labor then soon began after midnight. You said nothing at first. You only touched Kento’s hand, gently, and he understood. You asked him to bring only your maids. And throughout, he stayed by your side the whole time.

When the pain came, he held you. When you shouted, he did not flinch. He pressed his forehead to yours between contractions, whispering steady, grounding things—You’re strong. It’s almost time. I’m here.

And when you finally gave birth, his hands trembled. She was small, pink, and loud. An angry shout to be pulled into the world. Your throat shook as you heard her voice. It was so fierce it made you cry with laughter soon after.

Kento cried, too. Silently, his shoulders hunched, his face turned slightly away. When you handed her to him, he took her like she was made of paper and spring blossoms. He looked at her like she was everything he had never known how to ask for.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he whispered again, as if to himself.

You looked at him at your lover and then at your daughter with a warm smile. He was in love with her, by the looks of it. You can sense it with the way his thumb brushed over her tiny cheek. By the way his face broke open with awe and sorrow in equal measure. 

“You should name her.” you said softly, letting his eyes meet yours. “She’s your daughter.”

He didn’t even pause as he let his free hand come to your own hand. His fingers start tracing the strokes of her name upon your palm. You looked at how tenderly he does so. 

“Aisa.” he breathed. “愛咲.”

You knew what it meant. Perhaps that’s why your heart skipped a bit even more. He loved her so much, this was his daughter. His precious little one. Nothing was more precious to him besides you and her. 

You saw it in the way he held her closer, already memorizing her weight, the shape of her mouth, the feel of her breath on his wrist. But she was not his. Not in the eyes of the law. Not in the eyes of the court.

Her name would not be written beside his.

And still, Nanami Kento had named her. 

He claimed her. Not with paper. With love.

One of your lady’s maids bowed when the name was spoken. She knows what to do, starting with waking your father up and then letting it be known that the room would be sealed, until you finished birthing your child.  

So that Kento may have the opportunity and escape through the secret doors. The elder lady’s maid had smiled gently, setting down the inkbrush she’d used to begin the record as she congratulated you.

Later, after the room had been cleared and the brazier refilled, you lay in bed watching Kento hold Aisa near the window. He was rocking her softly, humming something you didn’t recognize. Not a lullaby. Something older. Something sacred.

He looked back at you, and you knew without speaking that he understood all that had changed. He could not give her his name. But he could give her his life. He could give her everything she could ever want.  And so he would.

As you drifted to sleep, you thought to yourself, “She will never be his in the eyes of the world. But in the quiet, in the truth of this room, she is his in every way that matters.”

YOU WERE NOT EXPECTING IT, BUT HERE IT WAS. Zen’in Toji’s return, like most things about him, was quiet but unmistakable. The wind shifted that day, cool with the first real bite of fall. 

You had been upstairs with the baby, finishing her midday feed, when one of the older maids came into the room with a look that made your stomach turn before she even spoke.

“He’s home, my lady.” she whispered, and bowed deeply. “He’s greeting your lord father and will come up shortly.”

You didn’t want to wait. By the time you reached the hall, he was already standing there.  Still in uniform. Still tall and broad-shouldered, with that same blank calm stretched over his face like paper left too long in the sun. 

There was dust along the hems of his coat and his gloves were tucked beneath one arm. His presence filled the room, not with warmth, but with weight. Like a pillar returned to its place.

You hadn’t seen him in nearly a year at this point. In some ways, you didn’t even remember what he looked like. He bowed his head to your lord father, who greeted him well. Soon, your father left and quietly stepped back to give you space. 

Then, his blue-green gaze found you. He looked at you like someone memorizing, like he was marking what had changed. Then, it shifted downward, toward the bundle in your arms. 

You pursed your lips into a flat line before you moved towards him, carefully as you could and you stopped before him. He said nothing at first. You could feel your pulse in your fingertips.

“How are you walking already?” He asks you as his hand rested upon your face. “You were not readily walking after Megumi.”

“It was an easier birth, husband. There is some luck.” You tell him silently, as he turns to look at your daughter. 

“I see.” He nodded at you, his breath catching. “When was she born?”

“She was born three weeks ago, husband.” you said, keeping your voice steady. “Here, in the manor. I…I could not return to Zen’in manor in time, with how close I was.”

“That doesn’t matter. I am not displeased.” He moved closer. Slowly. As if unsure whether you'd let him.

But when you offered her without a word, his arms came up without hesitation. He took her gently, as he did with Megumi when he was born. That was still an almost jarring sight to you even after all this time.

Zen’in Toji, the military commander with scars down his back and a rifle still slung across his shoulder, holding a child with reverence. His massive fingers adjusted her blanket with practiced calm, his thumb brushing her soft cheek like he was tracing something sacred.

“She looks like you, wife.” he murmured after a long moment.

You felt something catch in your chest. “Yes, husband.” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “She does.”

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stood there. The child slept in his arms, making soft little sighs. The room felt too still, like the pause before a storm, except you didn’t know what might break it.

He looked at her the way he had looked at your son when he was first born. You do not know if it was love, exactly. Perhaps, but with a kind of solemn duty, a strange protectiveness that clung to him like shadow. There was no outrage, no accusation in his eyes. Just that quiet.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” he said finally, not looking at you. “And that I could not write much to you.”

His voice was hoarse in the way a man’s voice becomes when he’s said little for weeks, too much time with soldiers and not enough with those who call his name softly.

You studied his face, unreadable as ever, and replied, “It’s fine. I didn’t expect you to put your duty away.”

A breath passed between you. His jaw shifted like he was biting something back.  You didn’t mean it cruelly. You never had. It was simply true. The war had always come first.

Your husband looked at you for a moment, as if observing if you had any disappointment in you. A moment later, Toji nodded slightly. His gaze returned to the child, who moved just a little in his arms, a tiny yawn curling through her lips.

“She needs a name, does she not?” he said after a pause.

You looked down. You had already named her. Kento had whispered it to her when she was still covered in blood, clutched in your exhausted arms: Aisa. Love’s blossom.

You didn’t say it now. And Toji didn’t ask either. Instead, your husband carefully adjusted her blanket and brushed her hair back. It was your hair. Firm and soft and stubborn.

“She’ll grow strong, I should think.” he said, but it sounded distant. Like he was telling it to himself.

You looked at him and answered, “Yes. She will.”

He did not speak for a moment, merely marvelling at her small existence in his arms. You wanted to tell him that he was not hers. That she would never be his. But you didn’t have it in you. Not when you would put yourself and your daughter at risk. 

In the eyes of the world, she was his. The law said so. The name on her papers would say so. He knows that too. He believes that too, as he held her closer to him. In his arms, he was her whole world.

But in your arms, in the curve of her lips when she turned toward your chest, in the way her hand clenched when Kento touched her forehead in the quiet of dawn, you knew better.

Toji, perhaps, did too.

But he didn’t ask. And you didn’t offer.

There was too much weight in things unspoken.

He held her a while longer, Aisa nestled quietly against his chest. You watched the way he cradled her, the way his hand stayed fixed on her back, steady and protective. 

For a moment, it reminded you of the early days after Megumi’s birth, when Toji had once held your son with the same quiet certainty, as if fatherhood was a role he understood not with affection, but with instinct.

Eventually, he handed her back to you, and the transfer was seamless, almost too gentle. You felt the shift in her body as she moved from one set of arms to another, the way her small weight settled into yours like it had always known the shape of you. Toji watched closely, his eyes not on your face now, but on hers.

“She sleeps well?” he asked, his voice low.

“She’s better at it than Megumi was, I suppose.” you said, a soft, wry smile tugging at your lips. “But she’s demanding in her own way. She wants to be held constantly.”

He nodded like he understood. 

And maybe, in his own way, he did.

There was a long silence.

You moved to sit near the window, where the breeze had begun to flutter the sheer curtains. Autumn’s early chill creeping into the room. Toji followed with a soldier’s heaviness in his step, as though unsure if he belonged here but staying anyway.

“I think she also has your nose, wife.” he said after a while. “That small dip. Yet so sharp, almost like a blade.”

You said nothing. The moment was quiet enough. “I’ll make arrangements for everything.” he added after a beat. “For her registry. The household can prepare the name scroll. The shrine should be notified by the end of the month. We can present her at court later, when she’s a bit older.”

You looked down at your daughter. You hadn’t yet told Kento. “…What name will you give her?” you asked softly.

He paused. “Whatever you’ve chosen. You gave birth to her.”

You turned slightly toward him, eyes searching. “You don’t want to name your daughter?”

Toji’s eyes met yours for a brief second, unreadable. Then he looked away. “It won’t matter in a few years. Not to her. Not the name I give her. What she remembers will be your arms. Your voice. She won’t remember mine.”

Your heart ached at that, an ache you couldn’t name. Still, you told him quietly, “Her name is Aisa. Love’s blossom.”

He blinked. The silence between you cracked like a whisper. “Aisa, huh?…...” he repeated under his breath. 

A strange shadow passed over his face. Regret, maybe. Or grief. Or nothing at all. He nodded at you. “It’s a beautiful name, wife.” he said eventually.

You nodded back at your husband. And when he left the room a little while later, his coat still dusted from travel, his footsteps deliberate, all you could do was wonder what he’d understood. 

You wondered if he’d always known. If he simply hadn’t wanted to say it aloud. But you did not want to think more about that. Not when you were having to feel everything and anything all at once, knowing that Kento not only has to share you, but now even his daughter.

A few days later, you were back in Zen’in Manor.

Your daughter was officially blessed as Zen’in Aisa.

And most of all, you and Kento were back to writing letters.

YOU HAD WANTED TO DELAY YOUR RETURN TO COURT. You had argued as much to your husband until after Aisa was at least a year old. But the Empress had desired to see you. And you could not refuse such a command. 

So, you returned to court in the early spring, the plum blossoms just beginning to open in the imperial gardens. The halls were full again. All the ministers, nobles, scholars, and guests filtering through as the season of courtly matters resumed in earnest. 

The scent of incense and fresh lacquer hung in the air, as much as fine sweet floral essence everywhere. You wore pale peach and cream, understated for a woman of your household, but elegant nonetheless. 

It had been months since your daughter’s birth, and your name had once again begun to surface in conversations at court: your household’s charitable work, patronage of the arts, your quiet poise even in the aftermath of your pregnancy.

You saw Prince Nanami Kento before you heard him. His head was slightly bowed as he listened to one of the senior councilors speak, but you recognized the tilt of his jaw, the familiar restraint in his posture.

His caramel gaze caught yours almost immediately after you stepped into the hall. He smiled, barely, but enough. Enough to let you know that he was happy to see you. And you returned it.

It was not your first time seeing him from afar, but it was the first time you could speak freely again. You approached him slowly, neither of you hurrying, though something in your chest fluttered when his voice reached you.

"You look well, my lady." he said, voice low and warm.

"As do you, my Prince." you replied. "Thinner, though."

He chuckled softly. “Court meals haven’t been the same.”

You stood close enough to catch the faint scent of cedar still clinging to his robes. You wanted to ask how he’d been, how he had managed through the silence, if he had missed you and your daughter. 

You wanted to ask whether he’d received the letters you never dared send, but before any of that could pass between you, a hush rippled through the outer chamber. You both turned. And then you saw her.

Princess Nanami entered the court with two ladies trailing behind her. She was tall, as always, graceful and composed, dressed in full spring court regalia, beautiful white and blue silk, hair pinned with pearls. 

Her expression was unreadable, her gaze steady as it swept over the hall. She walked with a confidence that belonged to someone who had been born to power and had never once questioned her place in it. Your breath caught.

Prince Nanami Kento’s body tensed beside you. Though not visibly, not enough for the court to notice, but you felt it. His hand fell quietly to his side, the smile wiped clean from his face. You felt a terrible, sudden coldness press behind your ribs.

“She wasn’t supposed to be here this season, was she not?” you murmured, almost to yourself.

“No, no.” Kento replied, voice tighter now. “She wasn’t. Never had she had the intention to.”

The princess’s eyes drifted across the chamber—and found him.

For a moment, her expression didn’t change.

Then, she began to walk toward you both.

Princess Nanami moved like a ripple of silk through the court, her every step composed, her every gesture laden with grace born of generations of discipline. One that none could replicate.

Her face was unreadable. It was not cold, not cruel, no. Instead, it was just composed, as if she had already made her peace with something, or worse, had not needed to.

You felt Kento still beside you, not frozen with fear, but with tension. It was like a soldier sensing the enemy before the arrows had flown. He didn’t look away from her. Neither did you.

When she finally stopped in front of you both, the room felt a little too quiet, too careful. There was no mistaking who she was or what she represented. Daughter of one of the empire’s most powerful noble clans. A princess by both blood and marriage. And his wife.

She gave a small, graceful bow. First to you, then to Kento.

“Princess Zen’in.” she said, her voice soft, polished like a blade’s edge sheathed in silk. “How radiant you are this spring.”

You bowed politely in return. “Your Highness is too kind.”

“And husband. It has been quite some time.” she continued, turning to him. “It has been some time. I trust your health has been well?”

Kento’s voice was even. “Yes, thank you.”

Her gaze lingered on him. “You must tell me about your work this past season. There are many who speak of your insight to the Emperor.”

You watched the exchange, but you couldn’t help the weight in your chest. You couldn’t help seeing the layers beneath her civility. There was no overt accusation towards you. 

No trembling lips. No heat in her voice. And that was what made it worse. The calmness. The precision. Instead, she smiled and turned back to you. “And I heard you’ve returned to court so soon after giving birth. A daughter, was it not?”

You nodded once, quietly. “Yes. A healthy one.”

“She must be beautiful.” Princess Nanami said, with the faintest tilt of her head. “If she looks anything like her mother.”

There was nothing in her voice that could be used against her. No public insult. No disrespect. But there was something in the way she said it that made your heart squeeze in your chest.

“.....Yes, she is a fine girl.” You whispered back to her. 

“I could imagine your husband is lamenting.” She says. “Two girls and then a boy. You need to secure the succession of his clan soon.”

You purse your lips at her words. “He is happy with a daughter, Your Highness.”

She raises an intrigued brow. “Is that so?”

Kento spoke again, trying to shift the moment. “We’ve all been hoping the Emperor might lessen the seasonal demands on new mothers.” he said. “It’s no easy thing returning to court so soon.”

But his voice, too, was tight at the edges. Controlled. Princess Nanami did not reply immediately. She let the silence linger before smiling, almost sympathetically and yet just as much full of malice.

“Yes. I imagine some burdens are heavier than others.”

Your pulse thrummed in your ears. And yet you smiled, because there was nothing else to do. “You are most generous in your concern.” you said softly.

For a heartbeat, the air between all three of you was taut with unspoken truths. There were witnesses all around, courtiers and aides, ministers and scholars—everyone pretending not to listen while clinging to every syllable.

Then Princess Nanami stepped back, folding her hands neatly in front of her. “We should speak more soon, Princess Zen’in.” she said. “There are many things I imagine we might share.”

You bowed again, tight and measured. “Of course.”

She left as she arrived, graceful, untouchable, surrounded by whispers that wouldn’t reach her until much later, if ever. Kento did not speak right away. When he finally did, his voice was low, nearly a whisper.

 “She knew.”

You didn’t nod, didn’t move, only whispered back, “Of course she did.”

And for the first time in years, standing beside the man who had once been your solace, you felt as though you were no longer in the quiet warmth of your hidden summers. But back inside the glittering, sharpened jaws of the court.

The court buzzed on into the night, candles and laughter flickering like the wind could never touch them. Inside, ministers plotted the grain routes of the southern provinces, nobles boasted of bloodlines and bridal prospects, and the Emperor himself sat deep in counsel with scholars on the fate of the navy.

You slipped out through a narrow corridor, your guards distracted enough by the music and wine to miss your absence. It wasn’t uncommon for you to seek quiet, less so since the birth of your daughter, when solitude had become harder to find than gold.

The gardens welcomed you in silence. Crickets clicked in rhythm beneath the camellia shrubs, and the breeze caught the loose edge of your shawl as you descended the stone steps toward the lower path. 

You passed beneath the wisteria gate, where the flowers had just begun to fade with the cooling of the air. The ever echoing moonlight made ghosts of the petals as you walked past them.

“Princess Zen’in.”

You turned too quickly, far too quickly than what is expected for a lady. She was already standing in the path, alone, her hands clasped in front of her. Princess Nanami.

Your breath caught. “Your Highness—”

“I was hoping I might find you.”

She stepped closer, each movement smooth, deliberate, like ink trailing across a page. You couldn’t read her. Not yet. “I wanted to thank you…..for being so gracious earlier. Many women wouldn’t be.”

You stood still. “I was simply following decorum.”

A smile touched her lips. “Of course.”

For a moment, the silence between you both was thin and quiet like glass. And then it shifted. “You know, I should be honest with you.” she began, voice still soft. “When he went home to me early this year, he spoke of leaving me.”

You blinked. “I don’t—”

“That’s never happened before.”

“Princess, I do not know what—”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know, foolish girl.” she said, smile curving but never warm. “Kento. Your beloved.” She tilted her head slightly. “He’s spoken of divorce. That he would do it for you.”

You stiffened, unsure what words could even serve here. “But I won’t allow it.” she said calmly. “He is my husband. My shame. My war. And if I must suffer, then we will suffer together.”

You opened your mouth, but no reply came. Something in your chest twisted. You didn’t like any of this feeling. It was not pity, not fear. Something colder. Something old. Something you’ve never felt before.

“I don’t love him.” she went on, as though recounting a family recipe. “But he belongs to me. His name is in my house’s records. Our union is written into a treaty and silver. I do not care if he’s unhappy. I do not care if he would throw everything away for you.”

She stepped closer. “You think I will let that happen?”

“I don’t want—”

She moved. Fast. You barely had time to turn when her hand struck, fingers curled tight and cruel, catching your arm, your side. You stumbled back, shocked not by the pain but the suddenness, the fury.

“You ruined him. You made him feel something that he should have never felt.” she whispered, too close, her breath sharp against your ear. “You made him someone I can no longer control.”

You shoved her off instinctively, but she grabbed for you again. Her nails raking your forearm, her ring cutting a sharp arc against your skin. You gasped, stepping back again, but the hem of your robe tangled around your feet.

She struck your face. You cried out, stumbling into the stone basin at the center of the path. The cold of it startled your bones. Your palm hit the sharp edge, and pain bloomed as blood streaked your sleeve.

She stood above you, her chest rising fast, a shadow in the moonlight. “Let him go, you wench!” she said. “Or I’ll make you wish you had.”

Then, like nothing had happened, she straightened her sleeves, turned, and disappeared into the garden path, footsteps vanishing into the quiet again. You sat there for quitea while. You didn't know how long but you did.

You were certainly out of your wits. It had been terrifying. No one had even done such a thing to you, not even when you needed to be scolded. Your heart still pounding, face stinging, arm slick with blood.

The air was still. The court’s laughter drifted faintly on the wind. A breeze stirred the petals again. You rose slowly, clutching your arm. And you walked back into the palace. Alone. Unseen. And bleeding.

It was your husband Toji who found you. You hadn't meant to be found at all. You were halfway down the quiet path to your chambers, just beyond the hall outside the court dalliance.

Your fine robe now loose was clutched close, you exhausted eyes cast low beneath the weight of your pain and what it meant to carry it in silence. 

But he came from the opposite side, his military boots loud, purposeful and all the while still wearing the black-and-crimson sash of his post. He stopped immediately at the sight of you.

Your gaze met his for only a second before he crossed the distance. “What the hell happened to your face?”

His voice was low, tight. Not loud. Not yet. You said nothing. Not at first. Toji’s hand came up, almost too gently, as he lifted your chin and studied the swelling beneath your eye, the shallow cut hidden where your sleeve had slipped.

Then his voice dropped colder. “Who touched you?”

You opened your mouth. 

Nothing had come out.

Then a voice that answered.

It was not your own.

“She fell, my Prince.” came the shrill tone from behind you. “How dramatic, to play the victim so conveniently.”

You froze. Toji’s hand stilled. Princess Nanami stood at the top of the stairs, hair still adorned with pearls, face flushed not with embarrassment but with fury. Kento was just behind her, his steps slowed with apprehension.

“She’s seduced him, you see.” the Princess said, pointing directly at you. “This woman has seduced my husband. You’re all fools if you think it hasn’t already become carnal.”

You stepped back but Toji stepped forward.

The change in him was sudden, sharp.

“Watch your mouth, you broad.” he said, voice dropping like iron. “You have no right to insult my wife. And moreover, you did this. You harmed her, didn’t you?”

She laughed, bitter. “You can defend your wife all you want, Prince Zen’in, but do not pretend you haven’t noticed. The glances. The letters. The—”

“Stop your stupid mouth, for once in your life, woman.” Toji said. Not loudly. But it cut through everything. “I refuse to listen to your baseless accusations.”

She tried again. “He has been thinking of her even when he’s with me. He looks for her when she’s not in the hall. They speak in corners. They—”

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

That did it. Gasps echoed through the corridor. Several heads turned. Toji’s face was blank with rage. You tried to stand from where you were, to stop your husband but he was not letting you stop him. He does not wish to be stopped.

“You’re accusing my wife, in front of witnesses, of adultery based on your bruised pride? You attacked her, and now you want to call her the villain?”

“She’s not innocent. I refuse to believe it!” Princess Nanami snapped. “None of you know what she’s capable of. She smiles and men kneel.”

Toji took another step toward her. “She’s my wife. She gave birth just months ago to my child. And I will not let anyone—least of all you—lay a hand on her again. Or tarnish her good name.”

Kento finally reached them both. “That is enough from you.”

She turned on him then. “Do you think I don’t know? You were going to leave me for her.”

His face tightened. “That’s not for here.”

“You said you loved her.” she hissed.

“I said I would love her if she let me. There’s a difference.”

That silenced the hall. Toji’s hand found yours, steady and solid. You hadn’t even realized your breathing had grown ragged until you felt his thumb run along your knuckles.

He said nothing more. He didn’t need to. Soon enough, guards were beginning to appear. Some ministers turned away, pretending not to have heard what they had clearly heard. 

The Emperor’s cousin, who was sent by the Emperor, had looked entirely scandalized, but no one dared interrupt. Not until his Imperial cousin had said anything. He was here to observe only.

Princess Nanami stood frozen, trembling with indignation. “I do not—”

And finally, Toji said, low and deliberate, “You owe my wife an apology.”

She did not answer. So he added: “If you lay a hand on her again, I won’t ask for one. Instead, I will ask for something else.”

Then he turned and led you away, without looking back, his hand still curled protectively around yours. Kento stayed behind, facing his wife alone with an angry look on his face. 

And you did not see what happened next. You didn’t need to. You certainly did not want to know, not one bit. There had been too many words already, too many gazes held too long, too many silences stretched between people who once loved each other. Or still did.

Toji had brought you back upstairs, his arm firm around your waist, your body half-limped in his grasp from pain, from exhaustion, from grief you could not speak aloud. 

He said nothing when you passed the servants in the hall. Nothing as the chamber doors closed behind you. He laid you down carefully on the sleeping mat, as if setting down something fragile that might shatter beneath too much touch. 

He lit the small oil lamp beside the cabinet, and then knelt beside you with the same steadiness he took into battle. The quiet hum of night wrapped around the two of you like cloth. The capital breathed beneath your window. And he began his work.

No words at first. Just his hands, rough with old calluses and new scars, pressing cloth to your wounds. He dabbed the dried blood from your lip, cleaned the cuts along your arms and the bruises on your ribs. He moved slowly, thoroughly, without flinching, even when his hand trembled.

"You know already, don’t you?” You whispered, your voice nearly swallowed by the stillness. “That I have been with him.”

He didn’t look up right away at you. You watched his blue-green eyes trace the edge of a cloth he folded neatly, watched how his jaw tensed, just barely. And then he sighed.

It was not a sound of anger or betrayal, there was no trace of that. It was older than that. A sound worn down by time. He snickers at your words as he continues to care for you.

”I have not been a good husband either, wife. Let’s not act that I am.” he said. His voice was low. Not bitter. Just honest.

“I’ve had women outside our marriage.” he continued. “They were always quiet. Beautiful. Gentle. And they always looked like you. I always made sure they were.”

The pause between his sentences was long and unforgiving. “But they will never be you. And perhaps that is for the best. A man like me will never deserve a good woman to love me.”

You stared at him, lips parted. Your breath faltered in your throat. He didn’t look at you. Not quite. His strident eyes stayed on your wounds. Still, your husband tenderly continued. 

“This doesn’t change the fact that I was never going to be a good husband. Not even to the woman I love most.”

Your hand reached out before you could think, brushing his wrist, a faint gesture of wanting to hold on. He didn’t flinch. He let you touch him. The lamplight flickered faintly, casting his face in half-shadow. 

You could not read his expression fully. Maybe that was for the best. Because the ache that bloomed between you wasn’t hatred. It wasn’t resentment. It was the grief of two people who had once wanted to be enough for each other  and weren’t.

Not then.

Not now.

Maybe never.

And still, he kept dressing your wounds with all the care in the world. As if that could make up for it. As if anything could. Even when he knew it would never be that way. 

The silence between you was no longer heavy with accusation. It was a silence that came from knowing each other too well. There was no performance left, no pretending between the two of you. 

The act of mending you was the closest either of you had come to tenderness in weeks, months, maybe. Perhaps even never. Yet there was something graceful in your hearts, something you cannot name.

You watched his hands work, how he tucked the bandages into place with a gentleness that didn’t match the callouses on his fingers. It did not suit him to do such a thing. Yet he still was.

He wasn’t precise like Kento, who had learned healing with the quiet grace of someone who hated to see blood. Toji worked like someone who had seen too much of it and had learned, against all odds, how not to flinch.

"You always do this, don’t you?" you murmured, not accusingly. “Carry pain with your hands.”

His brow lifted, but he didn’t look up. “And you always speak like you want to be forgiven.”

You lowered your gaze. You didn’t answer. Maybe you did want forgiveness. Maybe you didn’t. But not from him. “I didn’t go to him to punish you….I didn’t plan it. I just…I merely….fell in love with him. Before I even knew what love would cost.”

He didn’t stop his work, but his shoulders tensed slightly beneath his clothes. “And now?”

Your mouth went dry. You looked down at the linens beneath you, at your hands. “Now it costs too much.”

He nodded once. That was all. As if he’d known the answer already and only needed to hear you say it. After a long pause, he rose and went to the basin. He washed his hands, the water tinged faintly red. 

You could hear the slow movements, the sound of him pouring water, the sigh that left his chest as he dried his hands with a clean towel. You watched the muscles of his back shift beneath the thin fabric of his undershirt. Broad. Worn. Familiar.

He returned, not to your side, but to the low chair beside the window. He leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him, one hand resting on his knee, the other on the hilt of the short blade he always carried. Not a threat. Just a habit.

“I’m not angry.” he said finally. “I don’t think I ever will be.”

You blinked. He continued. “I should be. But I’m not. I think I lost that right when I realized I was never brave enough to be the man you needed.”

You swallowed thickly, throat tight. “I wasn’t brave either.” you whispered.

He looked at you, just for a second. And in that second, he wasn’t the assassin, or the general, or the husband who had always stood half a step too far. He wasn’t the blade the court had learned to wield or the shadow its enemies feared. 

He was simply Toji in front of you. A man who had tried, truly tried, to build something with his hands and watched it crack anyway. His gaze was steady, unreadable, as always. But there was something under it. Something small and breaking.

“You still love him.” he said softly. It wasn’t a question.

Your lips parted, but no words came at first. There was no sense in denying what was already carved into the hollow of your chest. What would a lie bring you, now? Comfort? Release? 

No. Only more silence. 

So you told him the truth. 

You always had, when it mattered.

“I always will.”

For a moment, nothing. Just the sound of rain on the paper walls, the faraway echo of court drums being tested for the Empress’ coming birthday. You almost expected him to look away, to shut down like he often did, chin lifted, back turned.

But instead, he gave you a small smile. That rare kind of smile, dry and crooked and sorrowful, the one you hadn’t seen since before the war. The kind he used to give Aisa, when she wouldn’t stop crying in the middle of the night and he held her anyway.

“And I still love you, dear wife.” he said. “I always will.”

You blinked. Slowly. Your heart did not leap. It did not ache. It just…understood. He continued to speak. “I hope you know that.” he added. “And that’s why I cannot let you go. Not yet.”

You drew a quiet breath, and your fingers curled into the folds of your robe. There was no surprise in his words. You had known, somewhere, that he would not give you what Kento had. A clean break. A wound that could scab over.

“Then I will not be free just yet, then.” you said, your voice low. Steady.

He tilted his head, as if tasting the shape of your words in the air. And then he looked away, just barely. “I do not want to ask for forgiveness for that, wife.” he said. “Because I know I would not deserve it. Even if I could.”

You nodded. 

That was fair.

He crossed the room slowly, as if the space between you was thinner than glass. He did not touch you. Not yet. He only sat down beside your futon again, where your hands had begun to tremble in your lap.

“You do not belong to me.” he said. “But you are mine. In the way grief makes something yours. And I am yours in that same way.”

You stared at him. Not with confusion. Not with pity. But with a deep, exhausted kind of knowing. You had once hoped to love him differently. To know love with him that was soft and healing. 

But the two of you had been shaped by war. By survival. By everything you’d sacrificed just to arrive here, scarred and standing. Still here. Still looking at each other. And that was something. Not freedom. But not nothing.

IT WAS PANDORA’S BOX OPENED. By morning, an emergency court assembly had been called. It was rare for the Emperor himself to preside over such personal matters, but the scale of this could not be ignored. 

Everyone with influence had been drawn into what was to happen. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to see this. To see the Nanamis, the Zen’ins, the Kogas, and the man at the center of it all, Nanami Kento, be in the worst of scandals.

The Prince was kneeling down on the red and gold mats in front of the throne, formal and still, yet the tension in his shoulders could not be masked. The Emperor looked at his once trusted diplomat with such scrutiny.

The scent of incense still lingered faintly in the air, curling up in invisible threads toward the canopy of the throne room. Silk rustled softly as the ministers shifted. No one dared breathe too loudly.

Prince Nanami Kento remained kneeling on the embroidered mat before the throne, his posture straight, his eyes low in deference. But his voice rang clearly through the golden hall.

“Your Imperial Majesty, I beseech you with all my reverence to your majesty.” he said, tone level, but unwavering. “There must be something done.”

A hush fell over the chamber. The courtiers leaned forward, some with the subtle raise of a brow, others concealing parted lips behind fluttering fans.

“I cannot sully your trust and good name, My good benevolent Emperor.” Kento continued. “By being married to such a woman without honor. That is why I humbly request permission to divorce my wife, Princess Nanami.”

The air cracked, not with thunder, but with the scrape of a chair and the sudden roar of rage. Soon, a voice echoes through the throne room. “Outrageous!”

All heads turned. Prince Kujo, the father of Princess Nanami, had stood from his seat with the full force of fury behind him. The veins at his neck strained. The folds of his rich green court robe trembled from his sudden rise, the sleeves wide and furrowed like storm clouds.

“How dare you, Prince Nanami!?” he thundered. “You speak of honor, yet you kneel before His Majesty, trying to humiliate my daughter in front of the entire court?”

He took a step forward, barely held back by the hand of an attending courtier. "Unhand me, I will speak as i wish!"

“Do not mistake your years of quiet service for permission to throw disgrace at my house, you bastard!” Prince Kujo spat. “You will not turn my daughter into a scapegoat for your own lofty desires, nor will you twist the ears of the Emperor with half-truths and court gossip!”

Kento remained still, despite the force of the accusations hurled at him. But behind the stoic face, the jaw set tighter. “Your Highness, with all due respect, watch your tone before the Emperor.” Kento replied, voice low but steady, “What happened in the gardens was not court gossip. There are witnesses. There is blood.”

The silence grew heavier. Somewhere to the side, a fan clattered to the floor.

“Your daughter, my Prince.” Kento continued, “ She had attacked a woman who had never once lifted her voice at her. Who has endured slander, humiliation, and injuries and certainly without retaliation. If I stay married to your daughter, I would be complicit in silence. So will our children. I would be turning my back on what I know to be right.”

“You call this justice?” Prince Kujo growled. “Would you ruin a marriage sanctioned by the Imperial Family?”

“It was sanctioned, yes.” Kento answered, sharply. “But not sanctified. A union without peace, without care, without mutual dignity. What is that, but a lie paraded under the sun?”

The Emperor had not yet spoken, his gaze sharp and unmoved, the golden screen behind him casting soft shadows across his expression. But his fan, tightly gripped, had stopped fluttering. He was listening.

Princess Nanami, silent until now, rose with a trembling posture behind her father. Her cheeks were pale, lips trembling as she tried to form words. But Prince Kujo raised his hand to still her.

“My daughter will not be made a fool of by a coward’s tongue, I refuse!” he snarled. “I demand that you withdraw your request. Or face the political consequences that come with slandering your princely-blooded bride.”

Kento slowly turned toward him, shaking his head. “I would rather lose my titles, my post, and every coin of favor I’ve ever earned, than spend one more year pretending that my household is not broken. I do not bring this before the Emperor lightly. I bring it because I still believe in this court’s capacity for justice.”

Now the chamber was not just tense. It was shaking with the threat of collapse. Every noble knew the stakes: a divorce between titled families could divide alliances, shatter balance, and provoke retaliation. 

Prince Kujo’s family was powerful and more so, deeply connected to the old noble houses. But Kento had years of service, the trust of the crown, and now, the sympathy of those watching a woman torn and bloodied by palace violence.

And then, as if to twist the knife further,  your father, Lord Koga, stood. 

“Your Imperial Majesty, I refuse to see this injustice.” he said coldly, slamming his table. “If there is no formal consequence for the harm done to my daughter, if this court favors appearances over truth, then I will no longer serve under such a banner. I will retire.”

The words rang like a thunderclap. The chamber fell into true silence. Even Prince Kujo stared, stunned. The Zen’in Princes and their lordlings shifted where they sat, and a few ministers traded sharp glances. This was no longer a personal affair. It had become political warfare.

And still, the Emperor did not move. The court had barely recovered from Lord Koga’s declaration when another voice, deep and calm and unmistakably sharp, rose across the hall.

“Then I will say the same.”

Heads turned again, this time in disbelief. Prince Zen’in Toji stood slowly, the light from the tall lanterns catching against the dark blue of his formal robe, a color reserved for high-ranking commanders. 

He had not spoken once throughout the entire session, seated in stoic silence like a sword sheathed at the emperor’s side. But now, as he stepped forward to join his father, the air around him shifted. Even the younger ministers leaned back in instinct.

“If this court sees no fault in allowing a woman, my wife, to be struck down on Imperial grounds, where she should be protected and then calls her honor into question instead of condemning the crime……then this court does not deserve her loyalty.”

He looked toward Prince Kujo with none of the wildness his clan was once known for, but something colder. “You should thank the gods I found her in the act instead of a lesser man.”

“You—”

Toji cuts him off. “If I had found my wife half-bleeding under the hand of a servant, there would have been blood spilled. If I had found her at the hand of a stranger, there would have been war. That I found her hurt, and still breathing, and her insistence to kindness, is the only reason there is civility in my mouth now.”

The entire chamber froze. Toji’s eyes, once narrowed in simmering restraint, now locked on the Emperor. “We came here war after war, revolt after revolt. We brought peace, rebuilt the gates, filled your ranks, served your generals. My household has done its duty. And yet, my wife is not safe in the gardens of your own palace.”

He stepped beside your father now, tall, grim, and unmoving. “If that is the world we live in, Your Imperial Majesty, then I will take my family and leave the capital. Whatever trust remains between our house and the throne…...is yours to protect or destroy.”

For a long moment, nothing was said. The ripple of fear and awe was thick in the air. Zen’in Toji rarely spoke in court on his own accord, not unless people spoke to him first. 

He was a blade, not a diplomat. But tonight, tonight he stood for you. The woman he loves. He speaks not only as a husband, but as a man who had witnessed the edges of what this court could allow.

Your blood was still on his sleeves. 

He had not even washed them.

And perhaps he never will.

And now the Emperor could not pretend this was only a marital matter. Not when both Lord Koga and Zen’in Toji, a famed war hero and a staunchest ally, stood aligned.

The throne was no longer silent. It cannot be. Not in this moment. A quiet cough from the Emperor’s chamberlain stirred the room. All eyes shifted again to the throne, where the Emperor had slowly leaned forward, his expression unreadable in the candlelight.

“Enough.”

The word “enough” hung in the great hall like the hush before a storm. The Emperor did not raise his voice. He did not need to. Even Prince Kujo, still standing, visibly tensed and slowly sank back into his seat. 

The old pillars of the court, the scribes and the generals, the ministers and the heirs, all turned their heads toward the Chrysanthemum Throne. The Emperor’s voice, when it came, was slow and measured.

“There will be no more shouting in my court. Not today.”

He looked first to Prince Nanami Kento, then to his wife, Princess Nanami, whose expression had twisted into a blend of rage and panic. She opened her mouth, but the Emperor held up a hand, and she quieted, gritting her teeth.

“I have heard the accounts. From Marquis Koga. From Prince Toji, the Princess’s husband. From the physicians.” He sighed heavily. “The matter is no longer hearsay. Nor is it simply a domestic affair.”

He turned now to Prince Kujo, whose jaw had locked so tightly his beard bristled with the strain of it. His fists had curled on either side of his robes, knuckles gone white. 

The olden Prince was barely restraining himself, nostrils flared as if he were ready to draw his blade, even in the presence of the Emperor himself. But the Chrysanthemum Throne was not swayed by fury.

“It is an attack, my Prince.” the Emperor said coolly. “One that your daughter has committed. On imperial grounds. Against another woman of noble standing.”

The words echoed like a blade unsheathed. 

The court suddenly tensed at his words.

Yet they all knew there would be more to come.

“A favored woman of the Empress, let it not be forgotten.” he continued, voice unwavering. “Who was brought into this palace with dignity. Who has never once betrayed this court with her conduct, nor cast even a shadow upon its name.”

Prince Kujo’s lips parted as if to protest, but the Emperor’s gaze was piercing, merciless. It was directed toward him and only him. The old lion dared not speak. Then, the Emperor looked directly to Nanami Kento, who had not moved.

“You are right, Nanami Kento.” he said. “It would sully this court to protect a union built on violence and control. It would bring rot into the bones of what we preserve here.”

Kento swallowed. His voice came soft, almost hoarse. “What is it, Your Imperial Majesty?”

There was a pause. “I grant your request for divorce.” the Emperor said, blunt and without fanfare.

A murmur rippled through the court. Nanami Kento bowed deeply, and the motion almost looked like a man breaking at the waist. There is grief and gratitude both in the movement. It was freedom, but freedom weighed heavily.

But then the Emperor added, turning back toward him. “But, my Prince. There is another matter I must talk about. I say this not in punishment, but in protection. I cannot promise peace. Nor goodness between the wounded parties. Until time soothes the bitterness, I will send you away.”

He raised a hand before anyone could speak. “You will go to Paris. You shall resume your duties as envoy and diplomat as you once had. There, you will be afforded dignity, purpose, and distance. You shall remain in service to the empire but apart from the unrest that lingers here.”

Kento bowed again, slower. 

He understood what that meant.

And he did not fight it.

“And as for Princess Nanami…” He paused. The silence was almost unbearable.

“She will not return to your household, my Prince.” The Emperor said. “She will be stripped of her standing as your wife. She will be sent to live in isolation until her father and I determine what punishment is just.”

“No—!” came the shriek from the Princess.  She stood, trembling, near-hysterical. “I’m a princess of blood, I cannot be treated like this—”

“You are being treated as such, Princess.” The Emperor’s voice was colder now. “Now sit.”

She did not sit. She crumbled, as if her knees had vanished beneath her. The Emperor then turned his attention away from her and towards your husband and father. Everyone remained breathless at that moment.

“I will not accept your resignation.”

Toji’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. “Marquis Koga, your service to this court spans decades. You have walked beside emperors and raised diplomats, warriors and daughters of impeccable bearing. I will not lose your counsel. Not over this.”

Then, more quietly.  “And you, Prince Toji. You are not simply a sword. You are the spine that has kept all of our nation’s gates standing. I too refuse to lose your service.”

The room had grown cold with tension, yet his voice cut through it with something startlingly gentle. The Emperor turned his gaze away from the men, away from the legacy of power and blood.

Instead, he directs it toward you, standing half-hidden behind the columns of the great hall, where the shadows clung to the folds of your sleeve. He lowered his head. It was not deep, not ceremonial, but it was deliberate.

“Princess Zen’in.” he said, voice steady, “I implore you to forgive me for what has been done in my house.”

The court froze. Even Prince Kujo looked stunned. No monarch needs to apologize. Certainly not to a woman, and especially not to the wife of another lord. But here he stood, emperor of the realm, and he bowed to you.

“I hope that you may continue to be a servant of our nation.” he went on to say to you, warmly. “And that you know the Imperial court remains grateful for your discretion… for your strength…and your silence.”

A breath escaped you, sharp and quiet. “Most of all, Princess, you should know that you are always a friend at court.”

The weight of it rang in the hall like a bell. Not just a guest nor a servant. Not just the Empress’s favorite. Not the one who the Emperor was apologizing to. Instead, you were a friend of the court. Which meant you were protected.

You stepped forward at last, your face pale, blood dried just barely at your temple, and your gaze lowered with all the elegance of someone trained to wear pain without showing it.

“Your Imperial Majesty.” you said quietly, your voice still raw, bowing to him. “Your words honor me. I will not forget them.”

There was the soft rustle of robes. Some bowed, some turned their faces away in shame, others whispered. But no one questioned it. Not when you stood with your back straight and eyes lowered, the picture of both grace and quiet resilience.

Toji, still seething beside you, did not speak. But his hand gently found your back, just above your waist. Protective. Assuring. You did not lean into him. You didn’t need to. The moment spoke for itself.

In the hall of silks and silence, the court was reminded.

This was not the fall of a battered woman.

This was a woman in her power, ascending.

Even when your heart is broken.

IT WAS RAINING THAT NIGHT WHEN HIS DEPARTURE CAME. Not heavily. Just a soft, mournful drizzle that turned the stone steps outside to glass and made the lanternlight ripple against the windows. 

The shutters were closed, the hearth was burning low, and your precious little girl, little Aisa, was asleep in your arms, her breath shallow and warm against your collarbone.

Toji hadn’t said much that morning. He rarely did. Your husband was a quiet man. But there was something different in the silence today, it was heavier. It was closer to grief than to indifference. 

He sat across from you in the garden, the early sun catching on the hard line of his jaw, his uniform collar still pressed, still perfect, like he hadn’t yet allowed the day to touch him.

You didn’t ask. You wouldn’t have known how. But when the wind picked up and Aisa’s laugh echoed faintly from the other room, you felt him watching you. Not like a man who doubted you. Like a man who was choosing to say nothing even though everything in him was screaming too.

“If you need the evening… to see him off.” he said, eventually, his voice low, without edge. “Have it. Bring Aisa with you.”

He didn’t meet your eyes right away. Just rested his hand on your shoulder, firm, warm. Not possessive. It was never possessive. Just there, grounding. Familiar. The hand of a man who had seen too many battles to waste words.

There was a moment, barely a breath, where you thought he might ask you not to go. You wouldn’t have blamed him. But he didn’t. Zen’in Toji had always known when to let you go.

He stood and walked back inside, the fall light catching in his dark hair, the sharp sound of his boots fading down the polished wood. He didn’t look back. He didn’t wait in the corridor. He didn’t check the time or ask when you’d return.

And that, in its own quiet way, was the loudest kind of trust he could give you. Now, in the still of your sitting room, that space remained. That silence. That permission. He loved you enough to do that.

You. Kento. And Aisa, who did not belong to Kento, not in the way the law might claim, but who curled in his arms as though she had always known him. The ache of it was something sacred. But somewhere in your chest, beneath the ache, was something else too.

Your husband Toji’s voice. His hand on your shoulder. At this moment, you think you understood him best. You smiled at him, the most genuine, you have ever had in your entire marriage and nodded.

He returned that smile to you, little by little. He took your hand into his and squeezed it softly for a moment. This was how he loved. This was his love, his real love. It was not just in the claiming. It was letting go. 

When you came to Nanami manor, you ended up helping him choose what to wear. He wanted you to do that for him. And you did. Kento had changed into something simple, a loose robe, the color of ash. 

He sat across from you in silence, hands open in his lap, like he didn’t know what to do with them. He looked tired. No, not tired. Hollowed. As if something had gone out of him that would not return.

You rose and offered her to him, gently. “She’s awake, dearest.” you whispered. “She wants to see you.”

He didn’t answer right away. But he took her, slowly, like she was made of breath and light. His arms, strong as they were, trembled faintly beneath her weight. Aisa didn’t cry. Her small fingers reached for the edge of his robe and clung.

“She’s heavier than I remember.” he said after a while. His voice was quiet, trying not to break.

“She’s been feeding well.” you replied, watching them both. “She sleeps more now. She likes to watch the garden when it rains.”

He let out a soft exhale, like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “She’s so calm. I never imagined a baby could be so...at peace.”

“She’s always calm with you, isn’t she?” you said.

Kento bent his head and rested his lips against her forehead. He stayed like that for a long moment. The silence around him was reverent, like prayer. “She is my heart. Perhaps that is why.”

Your heart swells. “I know.”

“Do you think she’ll remember me?” he asked. His tone was so fragile it almost didn’t sound like him.

“If she doesn’t, then I’ll make the effort.” you murmured, “I’ll remind her. Every day.”

He closed his eyes. “And if I write?” he asked, lifting his head. “If I send her stories, or letters…will you read them to her?”

“I will.” you said, nodding at him tenderly. “Every single one.”

He nodded. You saw the pulse in his throat throb. His fingers ran along Aisa’s spine one last time before he gently passed her back to you. You took her in your arms, careful not to wake her.

Kento stood then. You followed with your eyes as he straightened his robe, smoothed his sleeves. He wasn’t crying, but something in him was unraveling slowly, with every passing second.

Then he looked at you. 

Not the baby. You.

The love of his life.

“I loved you, dearly, with everything I am, sweetest doll.” he said softly. “I still do.”

You didn’t cry. You didn’t ask him not to go. You only answered what was true. “I know. I love you just as much.”

He smiles softly, emotionally. “I know.”

It hung there for a moment, heavy with everything you never got to be. He lowered his head to you, one last bow, deep and full of quiet grief. You knew you both needed to be alone now. 

You called softly for the nursemaid, your voice barely above a whisper. She entered without sound, practiced and gentle, her arms open to receive the sleeping child from Kento’s hold.

Aisa stirred only once, her little hand grasping blindly before it settled again, curling into the fabric of the nursemaid’s shawl. Kento watched her leave the room with eyes that held too much. Too many yesterdays, too many never-will-bes.

And then it was just the two of you. 

No child. No witness. No one to hide from.

With only hope for something better.

He stood still, hands at his sides, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with them now that she was gone from his arms. You reached out, carefully, not desperately, and smoothed the collar of his coat, where it had folded unevenly during the long hold.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t beg him to stay.

You didn’t ask for anything.

And still, the weight of what was left between you. The tenderness, the longing, the ache which hung between your bodies like a thread that had never been cut, only thinned by distance.

Then Nanami Kento bowed to you. Deep. Silent. The kind of bow one gives not to a lover, but to a sacred thing they will never touch again. It was not the bow of a diplomat to royalty. It was the last gesture of a man who had loved, and lost, and loved still.

His voice cracked only slightly. “You are the light of my life.”

You blinked once, steadying yourself. “And you are mine.”

He stood up slowly, his movements stiff and uncoordinated. He was trying to be gentle, to not disturb the baby sleeping peacefully in the other room. But every fiber of his being screamed at him to stay, to hold you and never let go.

He watched you for a long moment, committing every detail of your face to memory. He wanted to burn this image into his mind, to carry it with him always. He wanted to know it would be enough until he could see you again.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. You could feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, could taste the salt on your lips when he kissed you. 

He was pouring everything into that kiss, all the love and longing and regret he felt. It was intense, overwhelming, a desperate attempt to convey everything he couldn't say out loud.

He pulled you down to the carpet in front of the fireplace, the warmth of the flames washing over your skin. He was kissing you deeply, his hands tangling in your hair as he positioned himself between your legs.

You could feel the heat of his arousal pressing against your core, could see the desperation in his eyes as he looked down at you. He wanted to be inside you, to lose himself in your warmth and forget about everything else.

He entered you in one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt.You gasped at the sudden fullness, your back arching off the carpet. He wasn't gentle, his hips moving in a frenzied rhythm as he chased his release.

It was raw and primal, a desperate attempt to claim and possess. He was kissing you messily, biting at your lips and neck as he pounded into you. He wanted to mark you, to leave his imprint on your skin.

You could feel the tension building in your core, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust. He was hitting that sweet spot inside you, the one that made stars burst behind your eyelids. He was panting now, his breath hot against your neck as he picked up the pace.

But he was still careful, still gentle, making sure you were with him every step of the way. He wanted to bring you to orgasm first, wanted to watch you fall apart beneath him.

"Fuck, fuck." he groaned, his hips snapping forward urgently. "You feel so good. So tight and hot around me."

He was panting now, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he chased his release. One hand slid up to grasp your breast, squeezing and kneading the flesh roughly. He wanted to mark you, to leave bruises and bites all over your skin. He wanted everyone to know that you belonged to him now.

"Come for me, fuck. Fuck." he demanded, his voice hoarse and commanding. 

He reached between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and circling the sensitive nub firmly. He was pressing down hard, rubbing in tight circles that sent jolts of pleasure shooting through your veins. He wanted to feel you shatter around him, wanted to hear you scream his name as you came.

His words, combined with the relentless stimulation of your clit, sent you hurtling towards orgasm.You screamed his name as you came, your body convulsing violently beneath him. 

He was right there with you, his shaft pulsing as he spilled himself inside you with a shout. He was shaking, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he held you close. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling your scent as he tried to calm his racing heart.

After a moment, he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him so that you were sprawled across his chest. He was still inside you, his shaft softening but unwilling to leave the warmth of your body.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he pressed kisses to the top of your head. You felt safe and cherished in his arms, like nothing could ever hurt you as long as he was by your side.

After a moment, he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him so that you were sprawled across his chest. He was still inside you, his shaft softening but reluctant to part from the warmth of your body, as if even his flesh refused to let go just yet.

Kento exhaled slowly, one hand splayed across the bare stretch of your back, the other curling protectively around your hip. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear. Not hurried. Not wild. Just full and alive.

His lips pressed to the top of your head, not once but several times, slow and unhurried. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. Each kiss was already an unspoken word and your embrace was more than enough of an answer. 

I’m here. I’m yours. I came back.

There were no more apologies to offer for a past that could not be changed. No promises to make for a future no one could predict. Only this, the weight of his arms around you. The heat of his breath in your hair. The silence between you, full of everything that still tethered you to each other.

Outside, the capital’s sounds grew faint with the hour. Even the wind had gone soft. And in that quiet, wrapped around one another in the dark, you felt safe. Utterly, wholly safe. Cherished. 

The ache behind your ribs eased, and for the first time in weeks, you let your eyes close without resistance. As long as he was by your side, you thought, nothing could ever hurt you again.

Not the court.

Not the past.

Not even goodbye.

IT HAS BEEN SIX YEARS SINCE YOU HAD BEEN WIDOWED.  The year was 1883. The winds in the south carried the weight of summer, thick and buzzing with the cry of cicadas clinging to the trees like old ghosts. 

The world had gone on, all too quietly, and just as much stubbornly too, even as your own life had rearranged itself in silence. You had waited. You had endured. And you have continued to love, and to live for love. 

Now, as your carriage rolled to a slow halt before the gates of Nanatsu Castle, his ancestral home, you found your hands resting still in your lap, though your heart moved restlessly in your chest.

Nanatsu rose before you, dignified and weather-worn, its wooden beams aged to a noble grey, the surrounding pines bending slightly with the breeze as if in greeting. It had stood here long before either of you were born, and it would likely stand long after you were gone. 

But today, today, it stood waiting for you.

You did not fidget. You had learned long ago not to give yourself away in gestures. Still, there was something inside you that longed to tremble. A voice that whispered, he might be waiting on the other side of the gate.

You had not seen him in years. Not since the quiet morning he departed for Paris, your husband, now long dead, waiting in the shadows of the corridor. You have done everything asked of you since then. 

You had buried Toji with honor, with tears only after nightfall. You had raised your children with dignity, guiding them through the unkind world with grace. You had never again touched scandal.

And still. Still, you had thought of him. Of Prince Nanami Kento. Of the man who had been carved into the core of your youth and your sorrow, whose presence was never loud but always certain, whose kindness, once given, had been impossible to forget.

A footman opened the carriage door. You descended slowly, carefully, your hand gloved and firm upon the edge of the doorframe. The gravel beneath your shoes crunched softly. You looked up, heart stilled, at the towering gate.

There were no fanfares. No drums. No grand welcome. Just the soft hush of the afternoon wind and the quiet understanding between the castle and yourself: you had returned.

And yet, you could not help but wonder. Would he recognize you now? Would he know you as the woman you had become, not the girl who had once cried into his chest behind closed doors, not the lady who had begged him to let go with grace?

Would he reach for your hand first? Or would he wait for you to do it, as he always had? You did not know. And you were horrified to know. You don’t think you could take any of the answers.

You smoothed the front of your skirt, pausing at the base of the steps. You did not ask for a mirror. You did not need one. Whatever time had done to your face, to your heart, it had not undone your resolve.

You were no longer a secret. You were not ashamed of your feelings either. You were the woman who had loved him once, and perhaps still, and you had come home. Come home to your beloved Kento.

The doors of Nanatsu Castle opened not all at once, but as if the building itself exhaled, as if it had been holding its breath just as long as you had. And there, he stood, waiting for you.

Older now, in the way men age when they have lived gently but without rest. With lines beneath his eyes, a bit more grey at his temples, a bearing somehow both firmer and softer. 

He did not wear a court dress. No golden embroidery. No ribbons. Just a dark haori over a linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms as though you had caught him in the middle of something ordinary. A book still rested in one of his hands.

And then he saw you.

Whatever breath he had left was gone. It left his chest in the quietest sound. Not a gasp, just the faintest break in composure, as if memory and longing had collided at last with the present.

You did not bow. Neither did he. There was no need for pretense between you anymore. Instead, you stepped forward, carefully, as if afraid too sudden a movement would fracture the moment. 

And he, slow and steady, set the book down beside him. His gaze never once left yours. Up close now, you could see the faint silvering in his hair, the tiredness that lingered just beneath his eyes. 

You wondered if he saw the same in you, how grief had carved out softer places in your face, how motherhood and widowhood and duty had all left their imprint. You had both changed. 

Not in the dramatic way of stories, but in the way real people did, slowly, day by day, in the quiet of kitchens and corridors, in the weight of morning letters and unanswered prayers.

But his caramel eyes, his eyes were the same. And they looked at you the way they always had. Not with hunger. Not with pity. But with something deeper. Something enduring. 

Like he had loved you in every version of yourself. Like the years had passed, but the truth had not. He spoke first. "You and I are together again." he said softly.

You nodded, lips barely parting. “I told you we would.”

He took another step forward, hesitant, reverent. “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long.” you whispered.

You didn’t reach for him. Not yet. But your hands trembled slightly at your sides, and his eyes flicked down to catch it. He smiled, faintly, with that familiar slant of melancholy. 

“I kept your letters. All of them.”

You swallowed, blinking fast. “I was never sure if I should keep writing.”

“I read them every year on your birthday.” His voice caught slightly. “Even the ones that stopped coming.”

A silence passed between you, delicate and dense. Then, without ceremony, he said, “You look the same. And not the same. I don’t know which makes me happier.”

You let out the smallest breath of a laugh, though your throat ached. “You’re kinder with your words now.”

“I had to learn.” His tone softened. “You always deserved them.”

Then, it happened, not quickly, not with urgency, but like a door slowly swinging open after a long winter. He reached for your hand. And this time, you let him take it.

It had been so many years. Marriages. A funeral. Children born and grown. Oceans between you. But here, in the shadow of his family’s home, in the quiet warmth of a southern summer, you found that it had not gone. 

The love had changed shape, it was bound to do that. It had matured, perhaps even gentled. But it had not left. And as he brought your hand to his chest. The same way he had, all those years ago. 

You knew what it was. It was genuine love. And when true, it will not fade. That’s why it was always going to be true between the two of you. He waited. You waited. And now, your patience is rewarded.

He held your hand in both of his now, as though it were something sacred. Something that might slip away again if he did not anchor it, if he did not hold it with both reverence and clarity.

“I thought I would wait until the right moment to say this.” he began, voice low and steady. “But there is no right moment anymore. Not at our age. Not after all we’ve already lost, all we’ve already survived.”

You looked up at him, at the lines time had etched into the corners of his mouth, at the tiredness around his warm caramel eyes, at the steadiness of the man he had become. 

And he looked at you as though you were still the brightest thing in the room, even with the dust of years on your shoulders, even with the miles of sorrow you had walked.

He brought your weathered and aged, hands, adjoined with his hands to his lips. He smiled as he tenderly kissed your knuckles softly, then pressed them to the space over his heart.

“Half of our lives have passed, dearest doll.” he said to you, emotionally. “And I do not want to wait anymore. I wish to wed you as soon as possible. Not in a grand court, not for ceremony or spectacle. But simply so I may enjoy calling you my wife, until the day we pass.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Not because it was a surprise. No, love had never needed naming. It had been in every letter he wrote you over the years you both were apart. 

In every unspoken memory you carried of his hands resting gently on your waist, of his voice reading aloud late at night, of the pain you shared without needing to speak it aloud. 

You had been bound to him already, for longer than your bodies had been allowed to touch. But to hear it now, out loud and ever so plainly, fully. As a wish, as a promise. It undid something in you.

“You still want me?” you asked, voice trembling. “After everything?”

He smiled then, with a kind of gentleness that felt like coming home. “There was never a time I didn’t.”

Tears welled in your eyes. But you didn’t cry. You didn’t want to. Not yet. You just stepped forward and leaned your forehead against his, the years between you folding like paper.

“I’ve already been yours, dearest.” you whispered. “In every way that matters.”

He let out a breath, his eyes fluttering shut. “Then let us make it true in name, too. I want to wake beside you in the mornings. I want to sit with you at dusk, listening to the wind in the trees. I want to grow old with you. Properly, this time. With no goodbyes hanging in the air.”

You smiled through the tears that now threatened to fall. “Then marry me soon. Before I lose my nerve.”

He laughed softly, the kind of laugh that held a thousand old aches, softened now by hope. “Soon. Very soon.”

And in that moment, standing in the hall of his ancestral home, two lifetimes older than the people you were when you first loved each other. You realized something. This was not a second chance. It was simply your time at last.

epilogue 

Kyoto Prefecture, 1960.

The tape recorder clicked once before it began its slow, patient whirring. Nanami Aisa sat across from the young journalist, her back straight but relaxed, her hands folded politely in her lap. 

The windows behind her let in the pale light of the morning, which danced gently across the shelves filled with old, clothbound books. The scent of camellias and old paper filled the room.

She was in her seventies, or eighties now. She was refined in the way only a woman who had endured love and grief in equal measure could be.

Her hair, though silvered at the temples, was still thick and swept into a neat twist. She wore no rings. Only a simple pearl brooch on her collar.

“Miss Zen’in—” the young woman began.

“I go by Nanami now, dear.” Aisa said gently. Her voice was low, even, like still water in a lacquer bowl. “I changed it after my mother passed.”

The journalist blinked, shuffling her notes. “Ah. Forgive me. Of course. Then—Miss Nanami……your book has struck a chord with readers around the world. It has been described as a love story, a historical memoir, a political commentary but to you, what is it?”

Aisa smiled faintly. “It’s a hymn.”

“A hymn?”

“Yes. A song to devotion. To time. To love, of course, most of all. It’s called Hymne à l’Amour for a reason.”

There was a quiet moment as the recorder spun. “I suppose, though…” Aisa added. “It was the only way I knew how to keep them with me.”

“You mean your mother and……your father?”

Nanami Aisa looked toward the window for a moment. It was a good day. The garden outside was in bloom, the early cherry blossoms tenderly quivering in the breeze at earnest. 

She thought of a man with gold-rimmed glasses reading beside a lamp, of another man brushing her hair when she had fevers as a child. One was duty. The other was devotion. And both had loved her, each in his own way.

“Yes, yes.” she said. “Both my fathers. I loved them both.”

She turned back, expression unreadable for a beat. “I was raised by Prince Zen’in Toji, of course. I grew up among his children.” she continued softly. “And he loved me as if I were his own. I never lacked for protection. For affection, in what he could offer.”

She halts for a moment to think before continuing. “I loved him deeply. I always will. But when I was older, my mother told me the truth. And I think…I already knew. Somehow.”

“Prince Nanami Kento.”

“Yes.” Aisa said, nodding. “He was my real father.”

“And yet…your book speaks of him with such distance. Not as a daughter might speak of a father, but almost as if—”

“As if I wrote it for her. For my mother.” Aisa finished gently. “Because I did.”

She reached for something beside her. It was an old photograph, a faded black-and-white image of a woman seated on a veranda with two men standing behind her. One leaned just a little too far to be polite. The other, just close enough.

“My mother had a quiet sadness to her, I think.” Aisa whispered, looking at the photo. “But with Kento, that sadness lifted. She never said it plainly, but I knew. He was the man she waited her whole life to love freely. And he loved her back. With everything.”

The journalist hesitated. “And what of Prince Toji?”

Aisa smiled again, softer this time. “He knew. He always knew. And he never stood in her way. Not in the end.”

She set the photograph down. “That’s love, too, you know.”

The recorder clicked as it turned over to the next side. “Hm….I suppose.”

“He taught me discipline.” Aisa nodded to herself. “Toji did. He taught me how to carry grief without flinching. But Kento…” Her gaze grew distant. “He taught me how to be still. How to listen. How to hold a pen. How to be human.”

The journalist flipped through her notebook, scanning the final question. “Why did you choose to name the book Hymne à l’Amour? There were so many possible titles. The Princess and the Diplomat. The Lost Years: Forbidden Love in the Time of Meiji. Even The General’s Wife was floated.”

Aisa shook her head, almost fondly. “They were none of those things, truly. It wasn’t a war story. Not a court drama. It was love. Love that endured exile, suffering, grief, parting, longing, and so on. Love that kept writing even when the letters were never sent. Love that waited.”

She folded her hands again in her lap. “There was an old record I found, years later. Piaf’s Hymne à l’Amour. My parents long died then, but it was there."

"That's quite a coincidence."

Aisa laughs. "I suppose. But it was tucked in. Just beside it, something in my mother’s handwriting. I do not know if it was intentional. But there was a note that simply said: For all the years we did not have—this was always yours.”

The room was quiet for a moment. "That's a sign, isn't it? Of what their love is like?"

“I think….” Aisa added, voice softer now. She stops and laughs. “ I think what people forget is that not all great loves burn like fire. Some are like water. They seep into the walls of life and remain long after the house is gone.”

Coffee dates turned into dinner dates and those turned into weekends spent grocery shopping and watching movies on your couch while he introduced you to his cat.

When he asked you to be his girlfriend, it was like it had always be inevitable.

And you still kept waiting for him to say it was a joke.

You were ordinary. And he was everything but.

Attentive, attractive, considerate, collected, a thousand wonderful adjectives to describe the man you were supposed to call your own.

But even after all this time, all these years, there was a wall. An invisible divide, something you couldn't still separating you from him. He didn't let you in. Didn't divulge any of his own insecurities or heartaches.

You knew how he liked his coffee. What foods he hated. His favorite movies and the name of all his childhood pets. Where he wanted to retire and the order of how he lined up his shoes by the door.

Somehow, you still didn't feel like you really knew him.

Couldn't read his mind when he was right next to you. Staring up in his amber eyes and unable to detect anything swirling in them even when he was buried inside you in bed.

You pushed the door open, stepping out onto the sidewalk and nearly getting ran into within two seconds.

That was how it went - without Nanami, you were practically invisible.

You glanced back through the glass door to see the cute sales girl trying to write something on the receipt, probably her number before he held up his hand to get her to stop.

Nanami rejected her.

You knew he would.

But the confirmation sat heavy inside your chest. A lingering thought that just because she didn't catch his attention, it didn't mean no one else would. A secretary, maybe. A new hire at his job. The cashier at a bakery. All it would take was someone new - someone more secure or successful, and he'd be stolen from you.

It wasn't in the way he looked at women - not exactly. It was more of how easy it was for him to act like they didn't even exist.

Even in the bedroom, or when you picked out the most seductive pieces of lingerie you could find, the best he offered was an apologetic shrug, simple kisses and slow sex. Sinking into your warmth with steady strokes and decorating your face with tender kisses. But it was never hot. Never hungry.

He didn't starve for you like you did for him. Swore work just left him exhausted most nights. The sex was still good, sure, but it felt more like you were being obliged.

Like tossing a bone to a puppy that kept begging you for attention.

Sometimes you wondered if you were really just a placeholder.

How hard would it to replace you when he never needed you?

He came back with a bag over his shoulder, holding it out for you to take.

"You didn't have to," you softly said, but it was just a rehearsed line. Something you said because you were supposed to.

"I wanted to," he hummed as he placed the handles in your palm. "I love you."

You didn't believe him.

"I love you too," but you said it back anyway.

"I have some errands to run," he murmured, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to the top of your head. "And some work assignments to wrap up afterwards. You can eat dinner without me."

You were used to it.

How annoying.

A few faint splotches of blood had stained his crisp white sleeve of his previously-clean button-down. And after you had just gotten it dry cleaned.

Nanami supposed accidents did happen.

Even if it spoiled his already rotten mood as he dropped a manicured hand into the acid solution before sealing the tub back up. Glancing down at the time on his watch, the minutes ticking past midnight as he sighed and resigned himself to returning before you started to get suspicious.

Technically, you still lived in different apartments, but after a gas leak at yours resulted in you temporarily staying with him, he had to cut some corners in his typical routine lately.

A long list of dull tasks he dragged himself through, responsibilities he clinically checked off, all for this. A meticulous life ordained and upheld to disguise the only thing that occupied his mind.

Wrong, right, whatever it was, he still had morals.

Rigid rules he refused to break.

And really, was he so awful for ridding the world of pathetic people who served no purpose? Who got in the way of his?

He grabbed his jacket off the back of the single chair in his room, only pausing to fix where he must have not returned his camera to the proper place. He felt his chest pull tight as his hand reached out, fixing the camera and reassessing his, ah, work station.

Would he really be that late if he cleaned it one more time?

He resigned himself to do it quickly - grabbing wipes from one of the drawers and rubbing the clinical table off until it shined.

That was the thing about this.

You could never be too careful.

Every victim subject required days (and sometimes weeks) of studying. Learning their schedules. Where they went and who they saw. Who would care.

Nanami never really got that part.

The closest he came to connecting with anyone was after their eyes went dull. Glassy. Empty. When they stopped seeing him at all.

A timer went off on his phone - alarm blaring with the reminder that he needed to leave now.

He had his own appearances to upkeep.

That's what his relationship with you had started as. A cover. An alibi in the form of a girlfriend. Someone who wouldn't ask questions. Wouldn't demand more from him than he could offer.

The only person he could trust.

Even if he wouldn't burden you with his errands.

Nanami knew you long enough to know that you wouldn't understand. He liked spending time with you. As much as he could. The boring moments were more bearable. The dread that came with daylight softened into something palatable when you were around.

He grabbed his keys from the corner of the desk, slipping the ring on his finger as he walked towards the thick soundproofed door - making sure to flick all the lights off as the drone of the freezers in the back were drowned out the moment it shut behind him.

His secrets sealed.

Thoughts of you were looping around in his head as he walked back to his car, trying to calculate if you'd be asleep by now. If you were waiting up for him.

He hoped not. Hoped you were dreaming of something sweet and soft and not blood soaked.

This wasn't love. But he'd never been capable of that anyway.

Nanami still wasn't home.

You tossed and turned in his bed, smelling his scent on the sheets, the expensive thread count and the thousand-dollar mattress underneath you ten times more comfortable than the shitty one back at your own place.

The moon was full outside the window, letting in low light as you rolled out, the wooden floors cold underneath your feet as you crept towards the attached bathroom.

It was hard to sleep in a place that didn't feel like yours.

Should you just break up with him?

Were you a moron for even asking yourself that?

It wasn't like you'd ever find anyone better. But the idea that he would - and you'd have to pick yourself up and stitch yourself together afterwards? It was fucking unbearable.

You locked the door behind you. Sat on the cold porcelain of his toilet seat and pulled your knees to your chest as you tried to stop your own thoughts from spiraling.

How many times had he stayed late at work this month?

You weren't oblivious. Didn't want to lie to yourself and ignore the clear conclusion your brain kept begging you to acknowledge.

Was Nanami cheating on you? Seeing someone else behind your back and assuming you were too stupid to notice? Or maybe he didn't really care - knew you wouldn't leave him.

Couldn't.

A few tears welled up, a hot lump lodged in your throat that you had to choke down. You rubbed underneath your eyes, yanking off some squares of toilet paper just to pull off the last of it.

Biting your lip to stop yourself from crying, getting up and padding barefoot over to the cabinet underneath the sink. Getting down on your knees to pull it open and look through for a new roll.

You found more than you were bargaining for when you were fumbling through his neatly organized toiletries and accidentally knocked over his first aid kit and toppled over some of his cologne bottles trying to reach the toilet paper rolls in the back.

In your attempt to put everything how it was, fingers brushing against the bottom of the wood - you noticed a faint ridge.

A funny lip, almost, like if you put enough pressure on a certain spot, or tried to lift-

The false bottom came off.

It felt like you'd been stabbed. Gut twisting and stomach flipping as you stared down at the organized contents inside when your eyes refused to focus.

Your boyfriend was hiding a secret compartment in his fucking bathroom.

There was a distant thud down the hall - and you knew he was home. Probably hanging up his coat and his work bag, taking off his shoes. He called out for you, speaking softly like he didn't want to wake you if you were sleeping.

You stared down - fingers shaking as you felt for what was sitting on top.

A ring box. Crushed blue velvet.

You didn't open it. Didn't feel the giddiness that you thought you'd feel at the thought of getting engaged. Not when you could see the shape of what was underneath it.

Photographs.

You couldn't even touch it. Couldn't pick up the one on the top of the stack when you pushed the ring box out of the way to see who the subject was.

A candid photo of some woman you'd never seen before. At a park somewhere, reading a book with the hair pulled away from her face. It was almost intimate, painfully personal even when it was taken from a distance.

"Honey?"

He was standing outside the bathroom door. Tried to open the door, the knob jiggling as he leaned his weight against it.

You moved the ring box into place, carefully putting the bottom back on as you felt the brick in your throat sink into your stomach. You knew. You fucking knew - and you still didn't want to believe it.

Didn't want to leave.

"Yeah?" You asked, even though you felt like you were going to puke

"You okay in there?" He asked, and you wanted to laugh. To cry and say no, you weren't.

But then what?

Would he apologize? Promise he loved you and not whoever that was? Convince you to stay?

You didn't know what you wanted.

"Fine," you replied, walking over and flushing the toilet before washing your hands. Taking longer to dry them, practicing a tired smile in the mirror before you unlocked the door to where he was waiting.

You couldn't look him in the eyes.

But you still let him pull you against him for a hug, as if he actually missed you. Listened to him rattle off a few lines about whatever project he was supposedly working on that you doubted was even real.

Cheater.

You didn't say it though. Just crawled back onto your half of the bed, facing away from him as you pulled the blankets around you tight.

He pulled your back against his chest, wrapping you in deceptive warmth as his nose nestled against your neck.

The ring might not even be for you.

you step past the blonde man, slow enough to feel the heat of his chest. his cologne hits you next, clean with a weight of something smooth, oaky, the kind that just smells expensive.

the door clicks shut behind you, a low, weighted sound as the house hums low around you — dim lamplight blooming gold against taupe walls, books stacked in corners, the edge of a dark whiskey bottle catching the faint gleam from the kitchen counter.

“can i get you something to drink? wine?” nanami’s voice cuts into the quiet, and you flick your eyes toward him.

his hand curls casual around the fridge door, rolex crowned wrist flexing as he reaches for a bottle without even needing to look.

“what, no vodka shots?”

“i have better taste than that.”

he pours slow — the maroon liquid threading ribbons into thin crystal glasses that catches lamplight like it’s flirting. the air shifts when he crosses back to you, glass dangling easy between his fingers, the stem catching a smear of light as he offers it out.

you take a small sip, the wine breathing sweet against your tongue. it's much heavier than what you're used to, warm enough that it drips slow down the back of your throat and settles thick in your stomach.

you hum low without meaning to, the sound slipping out sticky and soft. nanami sinks next you on chocolatey leather sectional, the seat creaking quietly under the shift of his weight.

“i'm sorry, again.” he says softly, his thumb drags absent over the rim once before he speaks once more. “that boy. . . he hasn't been the same since his mother’s been gone.”

“oh.” you lower your glass, words feeling awkward and clumsy on your tongue. “i’m sorry for your, um, loss.”

and nanami chuckles— the kind you’d expect to hear floating down the halls of some members-only country club.

“she’s not dead— she left. divorced me after she decided marriage vows were more of a suggestion.” he leans back, raising the crystal up to his lips.

you laugh before you can stop yourself — the wine buzzing a little low in your veins now, loosening your mouth, making you just stupid enough to flirt with the edge of it.

“ohh,” you purr sweetly, a little slur of silk in your voice. “so you haven’t gotten laid in a while, huh?”

nanami chokes.

no, like actually chokes.

“w-what?” he croaks, brows pulling inward sharply as his glasses shift down the bridge of his nose.

“gootteeenn laaiidd,” you repeat, dragging the words slower this time.

“like, you know, having intercourse.” you wave one hand vaguely in the air, wrist limp. “fucking, if you will.”

nanami exhales sharply through his nose - you’re really starting to give him a run for his money right now. “i know what getting laid means,” he mutters, tone clipped. “m’not that old.”

a brief silence drapes itself between you— not cold, yet slightly singed around its edges, tensed. after what seemed to be the longest three seconds of his life, nanami finally speaks.

“no. i, uh. haven’t been active— sexually.”

you burst out laughing, wine nearly sloshing over the rim of your glass. “oh my god,” you wheeze, setting down your drink before it spills over. “this isn’t a doctor’s office. we’re both adults here.”

“are we really?” nanami mumbles, umber eyes skimming over your doubled-over state.

“uh, i’m twenty, mind you.”

“that’s comforting.”

you shrug, one leg curling up beneath you as you swirl whats left in your glass, the liquid painting lazy rings up the sides. your head is lighter now, the warmth of it blooming low in your stomach, buzzing under your skin.

“you don’t have to be embarrassed.” you murmur, head tilting slightly as your gaze drags across his frame. “it’s juust. . . been a while, right? doesn’t have to stay that way.”

you don’t look at him after that. not right away. just take another sip— letting the remainder of the wine coat your tongue and melt there while your words hang.

nanami doesn’t speak at first. doesn’t blink. hell, doesn’t even breathe.

but you feel it. the way the air shifts. the way his eyes remain hot on you. like he’s trying not to picture anything he shouldn’t— and failing miserably.

you’re half his age— he could be your father, for crying out loud!

“you’re drunk.”

“a little,” you admit breathily, voice slurred around the corners like the alcohol is speaking for you. “not enough to lie though.”

his jaw flexes.

visibly.

nanami’s voice drops lower, steadier.

“you’re my son’s girlfriend.”

“ex-girlfriend,” you correct him. “very important prefix.”

“semantics,” he mutters.

“legalities,” you shoot back. “pretty sure that contract expired the second he chose to be community dick.”

and nanami just huffs, closing his eyes, as if you’ll vanish if once he reopens them.

you don’t.

his jaw ticks again— slow.

“you— you shouldn’t be talking like this,” his voice rasps, eyes darkening— not dramatically, like in the movies, but in that slow, irrevocable way. “flirting. with me.”

you blink up at him, doey eyes feigning innocence with such a foxed grace. “awe, why shouldn’t i, mister nanami?”

and uh,

being slumped over his couch not even five minutes later with your legs hanging daintily over his broad ass shoulders definitely wasn’t on your list of possible outcomes.

“k-kennnn,” you whimper, hips rolling up into his face without thinking. your body moving on instinct now. “oh my god—”

his name rolls of your tongue like pure honey. your hips buck into his face, reflexive and greedy, spine arching off the couch like your entire body was trying to climb into his mouth.

“you taste,” he breathes, voice ruined, mouth glistening with the evidence, “so divine.” his lips kiss the words right into your sobbing cunt, a sticky whisper smudged against your folds.

he’s drenched in your dulcetly sweet juices — mouth and chin glazed in spit and slick. there’s drool trailing from the corner of his mouth, pooling where his lips suck around your clit. it’s loud — shamelessly wet — the kind of messiness that echoes off the walls, mingling with your gasped mewls and broken pleas for more.

you're throbbing so much it aches. your legs can’t even stay open on their own— and they don’t have to, not with the way nanami’s palms are splayed into your inner thighs, keeping them spread wiiiidee like it’s his job.

like this is what he clocked out for.

you fist a hand in his hair, yanking him closer and he moans. actually moans into your cunt.

low and guttural, breath catching sharp in his throat as he sinks deeper into you. his tongue licks a wide, deliberate stripe up your cunt, lathering his entire mouth in the wet sheen of your sweetness.

and god, he’s drunk on it.

like he’s starved, but determined to savor every lick, every suck, every trembling twitch of your hips beneath his tongue. nanami wraps one arm around your thigh, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch, and stays there — nose pressed deep in your crevices, tongue flicking in tight circles, sloppy little suctions in between.

the last time he's eaten pussy like this, was what? back in college? almost two decades ago. yet it's like fucking muscle memory for him, like he's got PTSD.

“that’s it,” he rasps, voice muffled and wrecked, “don’t run. let me taste you, baby.”

your jaw drops. nothing comes out.

because how exactly are you supposed to say even a word with his tongue dragging figure eights over your clit? with his lips sucking bruises into your inner thighs between every flick? with his hands branding their grip into you every time you squirm?

his lips latch around your clit, sucking slow, heavy pulses while the flat of his tongue rolls wide circles around the swollen bud. his head shakes side to side, desperate now, messy, loud slurps filling the room.

you gasp sharply, hips jerking, thighs trembling around his head. “kento—i’m getting clooseee.”

the heel of your foot presses down against the middle of his back, urging him closer, guiding his mouth deeper into you. he groans again, a low, hoarse sound that makes your stomach tighten.

“hah—not yet, sweetheart,” he mutters into your pussy, words muffled by the wetness slicking his lips. “wanna enjoy you a little longer.”

he coaxes softly, voice low. “h-hold out for me. can you do that, pretty girl?” and you nod frantically, even as your body is begging for release.

“atta girl.”

nanami smiles against your cunt and you can feel it—the gentle curve of his lips pressing against your slick, tickling where he’s sucking and licking you raw. his hands stroke soothing down the backs of your thighs, holding you still, thumbs drawing slow circles into your skin.

his tongue flattens again, and you could've sworn you felt him drawing a slow, dragged K against your clit.

he’s just lost in it. in you.

completely, hopelessly enthralled.

you whimper, breath catching in your throat, fat, wet, tears finally pooling at your waterline before streaking down the flushed heat of your cheeks.

“k-kentoo,” you mewl softly, voice sticky with need, breath coming out in short little pants.

“go on,” he cooed softly. “cum for me, sweetheart. wanna feel it on my tongue.”

coiled tight, ready to snap. but his hands stayed firm on your thighs, his tongue pressing a slow, deliberate stroke over your wetness.

your release hits you violently, crashing over you like a rogue wave and you nearly sob. your toes curl into the soles of your shoes, thighs clamping around his head as your hips bucked against his mouth.

your body spasms in a wild, uncontrollable rhythm, slick soaking nanami's chin, his lips, his tongue—and he just took it. drinking you down with soft, broken groans, never once letting up as he licked you through every little tremble.

“that’s it,” his breath is warm as it's breathed against your core. “good girl.”

your body was still trembling, slack with aftershock when nanami finally lifted himself from between your soaked thighs. he wiped his mouth once but it did nothing— his chin was still slick, lips swollen and glistening, the faintest tint of pink glossed from where he’d devoured you.

his hands swept possessively down your sides. palms wide, calloused fingertips dragging over the curve of your waist as he guided you forward.

you gasp softly as he flips you onto your belly, nudging your hips up. your limbs felt weightless, pliant with a deep fatigue.

your knees slide against the leather, the couch creaking beneath you as he arranged you just right—in your hands and knees, back arched, ass lifted.

the cushions dipped behind you, a subtle shifting of weight as nanami knelt up. you hear the slow, metallic “zrrpp” of his zipper lowering, noticing his belt didn’t jingle. 

he’d probably already undone it while his mouth was still between your thighs.

a soft breath hisses through nanami's nose as he fists himself behind you—stroking, just once, the wet sound slick before he presses forward.

“breathe in for me,” nanami enticed, voice steady, one palm braced warm at the small of your back.

his other hand guided himself to your entrance, the tip nudging sweetly between your sobbing folds. “just a little more, sweetheart.”

he eased forward, thick inches dragging into you, stretching you inch by staggering inch.

and it ached, yet in the sweetest way—your hot, slicked walls hugging him so tight, making him curse low under his breath.

“there you go,” he murmured. “such a big girl.”

he wasn’t too long, but god, did his girth make up for it.

a thick, weighted base broad enough to stretch you wide already, the head flaring just slightly as it breached you.

by the time he bottomed out, you were trembling beneath him, hips flush, his pelvis pressing soft against the curve of your ass. stretched full. he paused, both hands gliding down to grip the lush swell of your hips.

his hips drew back, the broad head of his cock dragging slow and heavy along your sensitive walls, before rolling forward again with a deep, deliberate stroke.

“s-sooo, hngh— big,” your voice broke into a sob as your fingers curled into the cushions beneath you. your ass bounced back against his waist, cunt snug around his cock as your moans pitched higher.

the silk of his tie—still looped loose around his own throat, slid free with a soft whisper of fabric. nanami tugged it off carefully, slipping it around your throat instead. the silk hugged the delicate line of your neck as he tied it loosely, gathering the longer end in one hand.

“just so i can hold you steady, heh,” he whispered, almost like he was reassuring himself more than you.

“look at you,” nanami panted softly. “so pretty on my dick— just, hah, imagine what my son would think.”

his breathing was ragged now, heavier with each roll of his hips into yours. the tie pulled snug against your throat every time you rocked back. the next thrust was deeper this time, angling up just right as it punched a sob out of your throat.

“he didn’t know what he had,” he gritted out between strokes, the words dragging rough from somewhere deep in his chest. “i-idiot—threw away something this perfect.”

and if you didn’t know any better, it almost sounded like nanami was angry— jealous even. like the thought of you being mistreated was something he just couldn’t fathom.

his free hand dropped to your waist, steadying you as his rhythm began syncopating. the fog on his glasses was nearly opaque now, slipping low on the bridge of his nose.

and then—

your phone buzzes, followed by your tinny little singsong ringtone, the screen lighting up bright in the dim lighting of the room.

[incoming facetime: 🗑️]

you dazedly blink, barely able to register it through the heat and the fog filling your head.

“p-pick it up,” nanami murmured behind you, voice low, steady, almost too composed. you barely had the coordination, fingers fumbling for the phone. your thumb dragged across the screen, and his face filled the camera.

red. wild-eyed. breathing heavy.

“where the fuck are you? you think this is funny? i’ve been texting and calling all night—”

your face was all he could see at first. hair sticking to your damp temples. your breath shaky. eyelids heavy, barely open.

“answer me,” he barked. “are you with someone? don’t fucking lie—”

you smiled. slow. coy. “oh, i’m with. . . someone.”

“who?” he demanded, voice cracking. “tell me who it is right now, or i swear i'll be both of your asses!”

you tilt the phone. just enough.

the camera catches nanami in his perfect, damning glory— broad chest flushed with exertion, work shirt still open, tie wrapped snug around your throat. his hands heavy on your hips, muscles flexing beneath skin as he fucked into you.

your ex’s jaw dropped. “wait. is that—” his voice pitched. “is that my dad?”

you smiled wider. teeth flashing.

“what the fuck—are you out of your mind?! psycho bitch, you’re fucking insane—”

click.

call ended.

“he’s gonna lose his fucking mind,” you whispered, giggling into your own shoulder.

nanami chuckles deep and out of breath. “let him.”

you feel the way his strokes start to grow heavier, a tremble blooming deep in his thighs, hips snapping forward with less precision now.

nanami’s breath stuttered, grip flexing hard around the tie as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded to your pussy.

“i’m—ah, i’m not gonna last.” he husked, his hips jackhammering into you languidly, making you feel the full thickness of him with every stroke. your slick gushed every time he bottomed out, wet sounds shameless in the otherwise quiet room.

he was so painfully close, yet he wanted to savor this moment. wanted to have this memory seared behind his eyelids long after the night was gone.

your cries were turning breathless, slurred, the pleasure cresting sharp, almost unbearable as you felt that tightness coiling in your stomach once again. “k-kento, please—can’t—”

“don't hold back,” he husked, his breath catching in his throat. “you earned it, sweetheart. let go.”

you nodded frantically, unable to form anything coherent as your release slammed into you hard. violent. white flashes of pleasure detonating in your stomach and ripping through your body.

“fuckfuckfuckfuuck— ” your lashes batted, tiny choked whines spilling from your mouth as his cock twitched deep inside you, swelling thicker, the heavy weight of it pressing into every sensitive nerve as your walls milked him greedily.

nanami's hips faltered, pace stuttering into a sloppy rhythm as he scrambled, releasing the tie from around your throat with a quick, careful tug as he pulled out.

before you could even whine, you feel the heavy weight of his cock dragging up—resting thick and flushed against the dip of your spine.

his breath is broken into low moans, and you barely had a second before the hot, sticky ropes of his release spilled across your back, striping messy against your skin.

just in time.

nanami’s head bowed, blonde strands falling loose from where they’d slipped behind his glasses. you could feel the tremble in his thighs, rolling through his entire body as his climax overcame him.

and for a moment, all you could hear was both of your breaths—deep, messy, syncing. the air smelled like sex. musk. your juices still wet between your legs.

he lingered there for a second longer, hips pressed forward, until he finally exhaled slow.

“shit,” nanami muttered breathlessly. “did i— was that too much?”

his voice cracked gentle now, worried.

your laugh came out light, breathless, sweet—finding his worriedness nothing short of sweet. “no. not at all. felt so good.”

he hummed, quiet relief softening the crease of his brow as he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to the back of your neck.

“but i guess uh, father’s day is ruined. oops.”

You finish the second bottle just as you complete your makeup. The third only has a quarter left once you've picked your outfit for the night, and you down the rest of it as you slip out of your dorm quietly. You’ve never been caught sneaking out. That isn’t about to change now, just because you’re emotionally compromised, and it doesn’t.

The taxi you called is already waiting for you at the bottom of the endless number of stairs, and you groan at the thought of going back up them after your night out on the town. Your hard-earned coordination will be right out the window by then.

Well, that’s a problem for future-you.

Current-you has it easy as you practically fly down the stairs. A breeze picks up, which is a nice relief from how warm you felt. In a matter of moments, you’re opening the door to the taxi, giving him the directions to your favorite no-question-asked club. Sure, it’s a little expensive and probably more than a little illegal, but you have the money and it suits your needs just fine.

Thankfully, the drive remains mostly silent; the low music of the radio doesn’t bother you. You look out the window to stare at the blur of lights as you drive past and sip every so often from the flask you’d taken from your clutch. Before long, you arrive at your destination, and you hand the driver more than twice the amount of banknotes he asked for. You inform him that he’ll be picking you up a little before dawn, and like the great guy he is, he doesn’t ask stupid questions, only hashes out the details, before driving off.

You’ll have to thank Mei Mei for the recommendation. Maybe you’ll buy her that purse she was talking about the last time you saw her. It’ll only cost a drop in the ocean of wealth you’ve inherited. It’d be smart to keep her close since she’s your only friend—that’s alive, even if she does just view you as another one of her investments.

Going through the roster of people you interact with regularly, you realize just how true that statement is. Ieiri-senpai doesn’t count. Iori-senpai is naturally nice. Kusakabe-senpai is just your sparring partner whenever he’s in Tokyo. Ijichi-senpai is Gojo’s personal slave, which says enough about Gojo. Panda is a literal panda whom you babysit when Yaga-gakucho can’t find anyone else. All your classmates are dead, and the only other person you considered a friend abandoned jujutsu society, cutting everyone involved in it out of his life as he did. For some reason, the hurt from that separation years ago aches fiercely tonight.

How pathetic, you remark in your mind as you walk up to the entrance of the club. There are a few people lined up to get in, but the bouncer recognizes you, smiling your way as he calls you forward. You ignore the grumbles of the people you pass and send him a smile in return, liking the way he looks you up and down. He’s handsome, maybe a few years older than you, and you’ve flirted with him enough for him to let you in without question. Never mind that you fit the demographic the regular crowd demands, young, dumb, and looking for fun.

“Alone tonight?” He asks once you’re close enough, pulling you in for a hug.

Your smile grows tighter at the reminder of Shizuka’s absence, but you take a deep breath and kiss his cheek before pulling away. “Yeah. She just wasn’t feeling it tonight, but that’s not stopping me from celebrating my promotion tonight!”

Well… it’s a promotion in the sense that you’re becoming an independent sorcerer. An actual promotion wouldn’t be headed your way until three or more Grade 1 sorcerers, unaffiliated from the school, recommended you, which certainly isn’t happening with how misogynistic jujutsu society is. There’s also your track record to consider. You’re not like Mei Mei, who has blackmail on more than half of the council of elders and their underlings, and unfortunately, the sweet allure of financial security just isn’t enough to convince sorcerers to give you a chance. You’ll be stuck as a Grade 2 for a long while, but who cares? Certainly not you!

...

You’re definitely not drunk enough if you can lament about your life like this. Maybe you’ll even find someone kind enough to share a pill or a line with you. It wouldn’t be the first time someone was gracious enough to do so; be it a young thing looking for trouble like yourself or the older men who haunted this place as they searched for their fix for the night.

The bouncer, Masaru, smiles wider. His teeth are white but crooked, charmingly so, though. “Congratulations! When my shift’s over, let’s do some shots! They’ll be on me!”

You raise an eyebrow and ask, “Figuratively, or literally?”

Masaru laughs. “I’d be down either way, but let’s get you in before my boss realizes I’m holding up the line like this.”

“I’m holding you to that,” you say, walking in as bass-heavy music, indecipherable conversations, and the sickly sweet aroma of sweaty bodies intermingling with expensive colognes and cheap perfumes fill your senses. It’s comforting in a way nothing else is. You’ve spent more nights here—or places like here—than in your dorm, and always with Shizuka.

You think that another night in your cold, quiet dorm would drive you to go mad.

Anything would be better than the emptiness within you; you just need to find someone to fill it, even if it’s just for the night.

Tomorrow, you’ll graduate, and things will be better. You’ll finally be achieving what few do, and the satisfaction of such an accomplishment will tide you over until you need another fix. You’ll either find it in a place like this or by completing an armful of missions in quick succession, and it’ll be enough, at least until you get that itch again.

It’s an inescapable cycle.

Familiar residuals catch your attention, and you become aware of the very likely reality of another sorcerer being in the building. They’re so faint that you can’t examine them further unless you reveal yourself, which you certainly are not foolish enough to do, but you do catch the impression of how clean the exorcism was. Whoever it is is undoubtedly a control freak. Probably an older clanman who’s cheating on the wife his clan assigned him. You’ve worked with many people since you’ve joined Jujutsu Tech, so you make a note of the direction, determined to avoid it. Besides, it isn’t like anyone would recognize you with your current appearance.

The bartender is much like Masaru, young, pretty, and too polite for her own good, a new hire with the way her eyes still shine so brightly. You think it’d be kinder to tell her to quit while she still can, but the girls who work at these places only do so because they can’t find work anywhere else. You order three shots and the new cocktail they’re promoting, some fruity thing Shizuka would have liked. Much like the bottles you finished earlier in the night, the shots go down just as easily, but you decide to sip on the mixed drink as you find a dark corner to scope out the crowd.

It’s packed, but that’s to be expected on the first night of the weekend. That said, you can pick out the regulars, the newbies, the troublemakers, the weirdos, the people celebrating one thing or another, the men who just came from work, the so-called hosts and hostesses, and of course, those just looking for a good time—which is exactly what you came here to do.

There are enough people for you to be picky, so you decide it’d be best to let them come to you.

You leave the now-empty glass on the bar and step onto the dancefloor, getting lost in the throng for a few minutes, stuck between warm, wanting bodies, before you eventually decide to surrender yourself to the chaos. You guide those around you to the songs. It’s second nature, the way the music overtakes you.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve felt compelled to attract attention, and you’ve found that the best way to do that is through dance. Eyes can’t help but follow movements like the roll of hips or the elegant flourish of hands. Once you’ve gotten the attention, it’s hard to shake it, but you like the way people attempt to hide the way they glance at you, despite their partner already openly staring. If you ever decide to quit being a sorcerer, you’d make for a fantastic geisha. You wouldn’t need to do anything but dance, and they’d be entertained, entranced really, so long as they feasted their eyes upon you.

It’s a unique talent that only you possess, innate, some may say.

Watch me, you can’t help but beckon with a sweep of one of the tessen you pulled from your sleeve, watch, and be entertained.

You’re given enough room to dance freely, with a group of club-goers surrounding you to watch your impromptu performance. You’re not even enhancing your technique with cursed energy, just the minuscule amount that emits from you each time you move with purpose. It’s so weak that it doesn’t even leave residuals, and yet, the rabble can’t help but revel in your dancing.

They’re vulnerable like this, caught in the spell you’ve woven; it would be so easy to cut them down. They’re not so different from the curses you exorcise in that way, but you recognize that they’re just like you. In the end, everyone bleeds red, but in the meantime, you’ll let your presence pump their veins with adrenaline and desire.

It feels good to let loose after the week you’ve had, and you’re uncertain how long you dance, only that you stop in time with the final thrum of a song. People clap loudly and enthusiastically, complimenting you as they reach out to touch you as if they can’t believe you’re real. You accept their praise, in whichever form it comes in, graciously, and the crowd parts for you when you ask them to, snapping your fans back into their original state and placing them into your clutch.

Taking a quick detour to the bathroom, you fix your appearance while you wait in line for a stall to open. It doesn’t take long, and before you know it, you’re heading back to the bar to order another drink.

The bartender—Aiko, her nametag reads—chirps, “You looked so cool out there! You were so fluid and elegant.” She reaches for one of the tabs and hands you the card you gave her earlier, pouring you a shot of what you ordered earlier as she says, “Also, don’t worry about paying tonight, someone’s picked up your tab for the night, no matter the price.” Aiko looks around, then, before leaning forward to whisper, “Some hot-shot executive liked your moves so much that he practically bulldozed over everyone else trying to pay for you.”

Interesting, and completely unnecessary, but if someone wanted to spend money on you, you wouldn’t deny them. It’s still curious, though, and no one has quite caught your eye yet despite the company you drew in. Maybe this mysterious fellow had been watching from the second floor, where the older crowd typically resided.

“Say, are you willing to give me his general look since he’s so shy?”

Aiko giggles, staring past your shoulder. “He’s an older fellow with perfectly bleached hair, dressed in a sharp suit. I’m sure you’ll be seeing him soon, Maiko-chan!”

Your heart stutters in your chest at the nickname. It’s been years since someone’s called you that, despite how well it fits you. You feel helplessly exposed, so you drink the liquid gold down, chasing the burn with another one. When you finally turn around to see your mysterious benefactor, your heart stutters once more.

The man is handsome, undoubtedly a decade older than you, and he reminds you so much of—

Well, you’d been looking for a partner for the night, and it seems your little stunt attracted exactly what you were seeking.

How lucky, you think, rabbit-hearted as you search for similarities in this stranger’s facial features. I should hit the pachinko parlor after this.

You shoot him a smile, leaning against the surface behind you seductively. “So, it’s you I have to thank for paying my tab in advance?”

The man nods, stepping close enough to pin you against the bar. “Yes. I’ve never seen someone dance quite like you. Were you trained?”

And so the conversion begins.

You introduce yourself as Maiko while he introduces himself as Kenji, a suit through and through, despite the small act of rebellion that’s his hair, but you don’t care that he’s been promoted to the board of the company he works at or that there’s a ring on his finger. There’s a reason he approached you, and you want to get to it already. He has just the right features and name. He really couldn’t be more perfect for your needs. You’d be sure to leave your patron goddess a worthy offering when you get back to your altar.

Before you know it, he’s leading you to one of the rooms upstairs. Butterflies flutter in your belly as he starts kissing your neck as soon as he shuts the door, pushing you against the bed once you’re close enough to it. You let your clutch fall to the ground in the chaos.

His hands are cool as they glide beneath your shirt. He pulls away just long enough to lift it off you, flinging it off to the side, and returns to cradling your face roughly as he pushes it up to leave light kisses over your jaw and neck.

He’s a dead ringer for the one you want most and smells of top-shelf whiskey, a heady combination for one starved like yourself. You dig your nails into the meat of his shoulders, and his hips buck against your core. You shudder at the stimulation, throwing your head back in bliss as he fingers your slit through your panties.

“Maiko, you’re soaking,” He whispers into the shell of your ear, voice thick with lust. “Gonna let me get a taste?”

You nod, not trusting your ability to speak, and you can feel a grin form on your skin before he drops to his knees, flipping your skirt up and pulling your panties down. One hand keeps you pinned to the wall while the other pets your slick cunt gently. It’s quite embarrassing how affected you are with just a little kissing and heavy petting, but apparently, happening upon a lookalike of Kento does that to you.

He spreads your folds open with two of his fingers and leans forward, his mouth latching onto your sensitive hood. You jolt in his hold, hands reaching for something to keep you steady before eventually settling in his hair.

“Ken. Ken, please,” you moan as you shove his head closer to your cunt. He moans deeply against you, and you shudder at the sensation.

You hear a ruckus outside the door, but it sounds far away enough that you deem it insignificant.

His tongue swirls over your clit, and you buck wildly under his hold as he teases it. He groans hungrily into your cunt, his free hand skimming the smooth planes of your midsection before reaching your breast, which he palms gently through your lace bra. He rolls your hardened nipple between two fingers, pinching it gently, and you tighten your grip on his hair in surprise, causing him to hiss around your clit.

It’s enough stimulation for the familiar fluttering to overtake you as he continues to suck on your most sensitive spot. Your hastily guide his hand lower, desperate for something to fill you as you clench against nothing. He follows your silent directions perfectly, slipping two fingers inside you as you come down your peak. It was too quick to be truly satisfying, but despite that, something eases within you. You think it’ll be better when you’re atop him while he’s inside you. For now, though, you need to be stretched a little.

As he finally finds your g-spot, someone bangs incessantly on the door. It’s such a shock to your system that you push the suit away from you with only a fraction of your strength, but he still winces. He looks up at you in confusion, but before he can say anything, the door swings open to reveal a woman of a similar age to him dressed in a nice kimono, an understated but elegant one.

Did he enter a taken room or something, and why hadn’t he locked the door?

The woman screams—cries, really, as she rushes in, “Kenji! How could you?!”

Fuck.

There’s no doubt in your mind who interrupted you both—of course, it’s his wife.

Ugh! You were never going after a married man again if it brought trouble like this!

As you hastily extricate yourself from Kenji before his wife switches her ire to you, you realize that the sorcerer whom you tagged earlier is hovering nearby. You really don’t want to deal with whoever it is, so you scan the room for a window and find none.

Just your luck.

Quickly, you throw back on your top and grab your clutch as the woman sobs and pounds her fists against her husband’s chest as he attempts—and absolutely fails—to pacify her while also trying to catch your eye. Too bad for him because he’s the one who chose to cheat on his wife, and so blatantly too.

This is not your problem to deal with. No, your problem is the sorcerer who’s lingering on the second floor.

Reap what you sow, old man, you think as you exit the room and close the door quietly before the consequences of your actions can catch you, but end up running into a solid wall of a person and crashing to the floor like you’re a clumsy foal and not the graceful sorcereress you are. You realize too late that it’s the uptight sorcerer that you’ve been avoiding all night, and that you had underestimated just how close he was, which is certainly due to the buzz you’re experiencing.

“Fuck, I’m sorry about that,” you apologize, pitching your voice and keeping your head down as you attempt to stand up without allowing the sorcerer to get a good look at you. “Please excuse me.”

Unfortunately, this is not your night because the moment you try to walk away, you lose your balance, and your vision starts to swim. The sorcerer steadies just as you think you’re about to fall, grabbing purchase on the sleeves of his suit. You’re close enough to smell him, a heady mix of saltwater, sweat, and bergamot, and you nearly lean in to get another whiff before remembering yourself.

“I’ve got you,” the sorcerer says, voice deep and familiar.

Too familiar, and once again, you’re rabbit-hearted as you gather the courage to look up.

How you could have mistaken him as a stranger is beyond you, because now that you’re this close, there’s no denying who’s been lingering at the edge of your senses all night. There’s nobody else who’d keep such a tight leash on themselves, nobody else who’d let you this close without hesitation.

You’re well aware of your reputation: dangerous but useful, not someone to get close to, or else you’ll end up bewitching them to do your bidding. Such idiotic nonsense because that’s not how your technique works at all, but alas, first impressions are as lasting as they are devastating.

You sigh, realize there’s no escaping this, and look up to find Nanami Kento staring down at you with his brows furrowed and his lips drawn into a thin line. You immediately note all the differences from the last time you saw him.

He’s grown several centimeters since you’ve last seen him, and his physique is more built than he’d been when he was an active sorcerer. His hair is shorter, combed, and slicked back in a manner that emphasizes his strong facial features, making him appear even more handsome. He’s wearing a snug designer pin-stripped suit. Looking closer, you realize it’s the one you bought as a gag graduation gift for him when he informed you of his plans to become a salaryman. Mostly, though, you notice the heavy bags beneath his eyes; he looks exhausted in a way you’ve never seen before.

“Hey, senpai, it’s been a while,” you say to him with a smile, like he definitely did not catch you with a man’s head between your legs, as said man’s wife broke in and witnessed her husband in the act of eating out a younger woman.

This close, it’s obvious how much of a poor facsimile Kenji is because nothing can ever compare to the real thing.

“Hello, Maiko, and it certainly has,” he greets cordially, using the nickname he bestowed upon you like a peace offering. Hearing it come from his mouth after so long makes it clear just how much Aiko and Kenji butchered it, makes your knees go weaker than they already were. “I’d ask how you’re doing, but you’re quite obviously inebriated if you’re this uncoordinated.”

Your face heats up, embarrassment flooding you as Kento points out your drunkenness.

As a first-year, you had mostly stayed away from alcohol, only indulging when Ieiri-senpai needled you. Back then, your only true vice had been the few cigarettes you smoked after every mission you completed. Now, it’s one among many. You try not to let his wordless disappointment affect you, but there’s a part of you that will always want your senpai’s praise and regard. You’re all too grateful he doesn’t mention what he saw, even though there’s a high possibility that Kento was one of the men that the suit you were fucking had brought to celebrate his promotion.

How mortifying.

“I may have overindulged,” you concede, knowing that without his hold, you’d be face-first on the ground. You had hoped that some sex would have sobered you up a bit, but that’s no longer an option, especially now that your senpai seems intent on directing you out of the club.

He guides you to the bar silently, ordering you a water from Aiko, who stares at you curiously. You shoot her a wave, watching as her gaze bounces between you and Kento repeatedly.

“I must inform my coworkers of the situation and that I’ll be leaving ahead of schedule. Don’t disappear,” Kento orders. You nod meekly, immediately ridding yourself of the plan to escape and spare yourself further embarrassment because you don’t trust yourself not to say something stupid when you’re loose-lipped like this. He begins to walk away when his words hit you like a sledgehammer. You slump down and rest your forehead against the cool slab of the bar.

Kenji is absolutely his boss.

You whine into your hands, allowing yourself to be pathetic for a moment, before sitting up, sighing, and drinking the water he got you.

Aiko leans over the bar with a commiserating look. “Jealous ex track you down?”

You sigh again. “Something like that.”

“Ah, let me guess. It’s complicated?”

You nod. “Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

How do you even explain the relationship the two of you share? Never mind that it’s been years since the two of you last talked, and yet, here you are, feeling like the puppy that trailed after him once again.

“Well, I hope it works out for you, no matter how things turn out with him,” Aiko says earnestly. She really is too nice to work at a place like this. “Also, you like, totally, have a type. I wasn’t going to say anything, but I just remembered that I saw them in the same group when they arrived earlier tonight.” Okay, so you judged her too soon; a gossip like her will fit right in.

“Thanks, and I know,” you grumble.

Having confirmation that your suspicion was correct is so mortifying. You really, really hope Kento didn’t hear anything because if he had, he definitely would have heard the way you were calling his boss the nickname you used for him.

How are you ever going to meet his eyes again?

Kento isn’t the type of person to bring up personal things like this, but that it happened is enough. You’re never going to live this down. Every time he thinks of you from now on—if he ever will—he’s going to be reminded of this very moment.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Your musing is interrupted by Kento tapping your shoulder. He helps you stand, ushering you to the exit with a gentleness you don’t deserve.

“Did you come with anyone?” He asks suddenly, and your heart plummets as you remember that Shizuka should be here with you. Had she been here, she would have immediately stopped you from heading upstairs with a married man. She had curbed most of your bad habits, and had she allowed it, you would have followed her anywhere. Now, you’ll never know what would have happened if you had just been honest because she’s dead.

Stupid, reckless girl.

What a pair the two of you make, one dead and the other a pining mess.

Kento calls your nickname questioningly before you remember him asking whether or not someone came with you.

“No,” you answer quietly, but he hears you anyway, acknowledging it with a small nod.

The searing heat of the bodies surrounding you cannot penetrate the sudden chill that has just enveloped you.

When you exit, Masaru catches your attention, wiggling his eyebrows when he realizes that you’re attached to Kento, as he asks, “Done for the night already?”

You know what this situation looks like, so you use it to your advantage.

“Yes. Raincheck for those shots?” You grin a fake little thing, but it fools him easily. He’s not searching for deceit, and you’re good at projecting a certain image.

“Definitely, and bring Shizuka next time!”

“Of course.” You nod, eyes crinkling so your smile appears genuine, like a liar.

You’re never coming back here again.

All it does is remind you of the gaping hole Shizuka’s left behind now, and you’ve plenty of reminders of that to last a lifetime. You’ll find a new bar, one where her absence doesn’t haunt you, or you’ll find new pastimes that’ll distract you from the ache in your chest that’s more painful than any injury you’ve received from a cursed spirit.

Kento must realize that the conversation is over because he begins to pull you away to an empty alley. Once you’re there, it’s easier to breathe. He lets you go once you’ve proven that leaning against the building is enough to keep you upright, but he still stays close.

You close your eyes, expand your abdomen, and sink into a fluid state with a trickle of cursed energy circulating within you. You inhale quickly through your nose before exhaling, keeping your body still and releasing any lingering tension as you do so. You repeat this a few times until you feel more composed and a little lighter, until you don’t feel as raw as you did at the mention of your best friend’s name.

When you open your eyes, Kento is in your space, brows furrowed as his hand cradles your face. You drop your cheek into his palm, letting him take the weight of your sorrow for a moment, your hand reaching to cover his. You’ve always liked his hands, liked how warm they were compared to yours and how much larger they were than your own.

“You’re crying,” Kento remarks softly, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized was there.

Stare at the droplet, you reply faintly, “Oh, I suppose I am.” You blink and become aware of how wet your lashes are. It’s a good thing you chose waterproof mascara tonight, the one Shizuka bought you after she heard you complaining about your regular one. Such a small thing, but that she had remembered had set your heart aflame.

Ah, you miss her.

Your jaw trembles, and you let go of Kento’s hand, turning away from his grip and wiping away any stray tears with the back of your palm. He stares at you with a small frown, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that belies his true feelings. He’s worried for you, and you hate how easily you can still recall his tells.

You need to leave.

“I’m fine. Just a little tired,” you say before he can question you like the way you know he is itching to.

You don’t want to think about Shizuka, let alone talk about her. It doesn’t matter that Kento understands the heartbreak you’re going through, and that he would know the right words to say to make you feel like you’re not a step away from the edge. You’re not going to burden him with your woes, not when he left everything behind for a reason—this exact one; the needless deaths.

It’s obvious he doesn’t believe you for a second, but he has enough tact not to call you out on it, despite how he wouldn’t have hesitated three years ago, but that was a different time. You were different people back then, and now you’re just strangers with a shared history.

Funny how life works.

“Thanks for helping me out here. I’ll be calling a taxi.” You push yourself off the wall and pat his shoulder as you walk out of the alley and towards the sidewalk. He follows you, standing beside you as you pull your phone from your clutch.

Hours ahead of schedule, you call back your driver to pick you up, and it turns out that he’s parked a few blocks away, informing you that he’ll be there within ten minutes. You hang up reluctantly, aware that your senpai is too much of a stubborn asshole—a gentleman to leave you alone. In any other circumstance, you would relish this opportunity, but currently, you want nothing more than to be left alone.

“You can go now. He’s on his way now.”

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving you alone and vulnerable.

You snort, turning to stare at him with a raised eyebrow. “I know you’re not calling me vulnerable. Even as drunk as I am, I’m not harmless.” You wouldn’t even need your tessen or to reinforce yourself with cursed energy to put someone into the ground. “It was nice seeing you, senpai, really.” So nice, in fact, that you’re going to dream about this meeting and different variations of it for a long while, at least you hope so. It’ll be a nice reprieve from the nightmares that have plagued you for a week. “Please don’t feel obligated to babysit me just because I’m a little intoxicated.”

“I know you’re not weak, but please be a little more honest with yourself, Maiko. If it weren’t for your technique keeping you steady, you’d be on the ground,” Kento replies.

“Noticed that, did you? Well, then you should have also noticed I have a full tank. I’ll be fine,” you repeat, sending him a shooing gesture to which he gives you an unimpressed stare.

“You might overdo it,” he argues. “What you’re doing isn’t sustainable, even in a short amount of time. Let me help you.”

It doesn’t matter what you say; he doesn’t budge, which isn’t surprising. He’s a stubborn man, and you feel as exhausted as he looks, so you relent, “Okay, but I’m keeping it up until I’m in the car.”

Kento’s eyes gleam smugly before he blinks, his neutral expression back up. “That’s all I ask.”

Like this, haloed by the city lights, he looks like a vision, like a dream you don’t want to wake from. He’s always been handsome in your eyes, but looks mean nothing to you if kindness isn’t included. How unfortunate for your poor heart that he has compassion in spades.

It’s no wonder you fell headfirst in love with him.

Suddenly aware of your proximity to him and how likely your hands are to roam, you open your clutch and pull out the last cigarette from the mother-of-pearl case you may or may not have stolen from the person who got you addicted to them in the first place. He probably didn’t even notice its absence when you snatched it from his collection because you suspected that you’d feel his absence keenly and want something of his, despite your willing decision to leave him.

You’ve always been a sentimental person, assigning value to objects simply because they reminded you of someone or some event. Take your lighter, for example, you’ve used the same one for years. It’s part of a matching set, one depicting a lone ship out on the sea and the other of a wave lapping upon the shore; Kento’s and yours, respectively.

When you go to ignite it, only sparks appear, so you turn to Kento, who’s staring at it intently.

You shoot him a small smile when he meets your gaze a moment later, aware of how pathetic you must look from his perspective, but uncaring of it. “You got a light?”

Kento nods succinctly, reaching into his pocket to bring out a familiar lighter, and the sight of it steals your breath away. He flicks it open and thumbs the spark-wheel until a flame comes out, protecting it with his other hand, as you lean in close enough for the end of your cigarette to be in the flame. It’s an intimate position; you’re so close that you’re inhaling his musk instead of smoke.

You’re instantly brought back to the quiet moments in the direct aftermath of exorcising a cursed spirit, when you’d immediately pull a cigarette out once the danger was clear, your senpai lighting it for you as he inhaled the secondhand smoke until his turn, as you unwound from the effects of your innate technique.

It’s unfair how easily he’s able to crumble your defenses with a single action. You try with all your might not to think about the connotations of such a choice, yet fail miserably.

He’s not a smoker, so why else would he keep it on him? It’s not like he knew you’d be here tonight, or that you’d run into him.

Do you still think about me the way I do about you, Kento?

That’s a dangerous line of thought, so you take a long drag, the quick hit of nicotine a worthy distraction from your self-flagellating thoughts. You very resolutely ignore his heavy stare as you look up at the night sky. Only a small sliver of the moon is visible in its endless abyss, the stars hidden by the excessive amount of light from the city.

You’ve always felt drawn to dawn, but there’s a simplistic beauty to the night that you can’t help but appreciate. It isn’t something you have to chase—it isn’t ephemeral. It just is.

Taking another puff, you drop your head to stare back at Kento and bring it to his lips, an action so instinctual you don’t notice until he leans down to enclose his mouth around it wordlessly with darkened eyes.

He keeps his eyes on you as he exhales; the smoke whirled around in a thick cloud, veiling you both from everything else, a bubble where only the two of you existed.

Something deep within you comes undone, likely one of the few remaining layers of your self-control. You’re unable to ignore the excess amount of slick that’s been produced since you’ve run into Kento when he’s looking at you like that.

God, how you want him.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t, but he wouldn’t cross the threshold.

He drew the line in the sand long ago, but you think that maybe crossing it won’t be too bad if it’s just one last time.

Unconsciously, you begin to close the distance between the two of you, but then he begins to cough when he holds it in for too long.

The bubble bursts, the moment ruined, but you think it may be for the best.

You guffaw at him as you pat his back until he’s fine. He frowns at your drawn-out giggles, but you can see the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

“I take it you don’t smoke regularly anymore,” you comment once you’ve stopped laughing, as he inhales again rather obstinately.

“Only on rare occasions,” he answers pointedly as he hands the stick back over to you, his fingers lingering longer than necessary.

Your desperate, unspoken inquiry from earlier repeats in your mind like a broken record.

It’s arrogant to assume that he smokes when he thinks of you—that he thinks of you at all, but you’re the one who gave him his first taste of one.

Before your mouth runs off without your permission, you bring the cigarette to your mouth, hyper aware of the remnants of his saliva on it. There’s a faint taste of whiskey as you put your lips around the filter.

It’s just enough of a taste to drive you insane, so you inhale strongly enough to go through most of it, focusing on the burn in your lungs and not what he left behind, before blowing out a cloud of smoke.

You offer him another pass of what’s left, and he takes it.

Through a smirk at his incredulous look when he’s seen how much is gone, you say, “I’m glad I didn’t corrupt you with my bad habit.” A few relevant memories pop up in your mind suddenly. “Oh right. I never thanked you for that, did I?” At his confused look, you elaborate, “Y’know… for limiting me to one or two by joining me. I always felt a little guilty to smoke more whenever you did. You were looking out for my health back then, weren’t you?”

The tips of his ears burn red, and that’s enough of an answer for you. As sincerely as you can, you thank him, to which he only inclines his head sharply, his face pink and not from the cold.

A sweet boy, who’s now a lovely man.

Kento hasn’t changed much since he left, but you find that you want to know what has.

You want to know what you’ve missed; you want to know everything, so you ask, “How have you been, senpai? Is the life of a salaryman treating you well?”

“Not exactly,” Kento says, taking another puff of your cigarette before passing it back to you. It’s almost done. “Work is work. It’s different, but similar in that it’s still shit.” You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. It’s a familiar refrain, one you’ve heard time and time again from him.

“Surely you haven’t just been working? Have you picked up any hobbies? New or old?”

Randomly, he pulls at his tie, loosening it a little, and you determinedly keep your eyes on his face and not on the—what only you would find—obscene act. The strangest things get you going…

“I recently joined a course for pastry baking,” Kento eventually answers, and you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding in. It’s good that he has something in his life that brings him happiness, which you know baking does for him.

You smile, remembering all the treats he used to bake for you. “How fun! I’m sure you’re the best in the class. What’d you last make?”

He nods humbly and replies, “Vanilla, raspberry, and matcha flavored macarons. Out of a class of three other people, I was one of two who were successful.”

“Oh? The great Nanami Kento has competition for the top spot? Tell me more,” you implore with a cheeky grin.

With how closely you’re observing him, you catch the way he hesitates. It doesn’t bode well for you that he does.

“It’s not competitive, but yes, I suppose I do. Yuka’s been baking as long as I have, but she only recently decided to take lessons since she’ll be taking over her family’s bakery in a few years.” He pauses to look up at the sky and continues, “I went out on a date with her last week.”

“Oh,” you say, mouth dry as you shiver at the abrupt current that picks up. A pit forms in your stomach, threatening to consume you whole as you digest his words. You take another long drag, and it leaves a bad taste in your mouth. One more, and it’ll be finished. You should keep packs with you to fill your case regularly. “She sounds… nice. Do you have another date planned?”

He’s silent for a moment, and you’re grateful he doesn’t look at you because you’re uncertain if you’d be able to disguise the despair you’re currently experiencing. You have no right to feel it, not when you don’t have a claim on Kento anymore, if you ever did. That doesn’t stop the irrational flare of possessiveness that shoots through you, though.

“No. It wasn’t anything serious.”

Without your permission, your mouth falls open to ask, “But do you want it to be?”

He sighs. “... I don’t know. It’s difficult to rid myself of my feelings about being involved with someone despite being retired.”

You’re about to say something foolish when your phone saves you by ringing. You answer it mindlessly.

“I’m here,” your driver says, and sure enough, a few cars down the sidewalk lies the taxi.

Hanging up, you tell Kento, “Time to go.”

You flick the cigarette down on the ground and step on it, snuffing out its dim ember as you take Kento’s outstretched arm as he walks you toward the taxi you point out to him.

Like you’re an invalid, he opens the backseat door of the taxi and practically hauls you in, following a moment later. He straps you in before himself. You glare at him, a sharp retort on your tongue, but something about his gentle conduct stops you. It’s been too long since you’ve let yourself be taken care of like this.

The driver starts the car, but not before you catch him staring intently at Kento.

Opening your clutch, you throw some more cash at him. “Take him to wherever he needs to go after I’m dropped off, and you’ll be done for the night.” You glare at him from the rearview mirror. “Oh, and don’t tell Mei Mei anything about my friend here, or else.”

He pales and nods hesitantly, recognizing how serious your threat is.

Tch.

As if you didn’t know that he was on her payroll. Everyone that woman recommends reports back to her. You can respect the hustle, even when it’s inconvenient, but if this snitch mentions anything about Kento to her, you’ll kill him. If Kento is reported to have been spotted with an active sorcerer, they’ll never leave him alone, and he doesn’t deserve that; only peace. He doesn’t need to be burdened with the knowledge of the political power plays the higher-ups would make if they knew about this visit. It’s for the better that you keep silent and protect him the only way you know how: through violence.

“Maiko,” Kento says in a chiding manner, so you turn your attention back to him, doe-eyed with the most innocent look you can summon.

“Yes, senpai?” You ask, batting your eyelashes.

He merely sighs at your antics, aware that you won’t apologize for the very much deserved threat. “Never mind. Just deactivate your technique.”

You do as he asked, and exhaustion hits you like a train. You slump forward for a moment, vision dizzy and head thumping, before Kento’s outstretched arm pushes you back towards the seat. His hand guides your leaden head to rest upon his shoulder, petting your hair habitually, and everything seems to fade as you accept his mindless affection.

Before you know it, he’s shaking you awake, and you squint at him questioningly.

“We’re here,” he announces, unbuckling you and scooting you closer to the door as he scoops you into his arms once he’s out. You wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to his warmth, and place your head against his chest. His heart beats steadily in your ear, a soothing melody.

Through a yawn, you say, “You can—can let me down, senpai.”

It’s time for current-you to deal with the actions of your sober self. You decide that you will never drink this much again if it makes you feel this shitty.

The steps taunt you with their abundant number.

“I’ll make it up… eventually,” you try to convince yourself, patting his shoulder in a silent demand to put you down. He tightens his grip in response.

“No, you won’t,” he says, unimpressed.

You sigh and agree, “No, I won’t.”

“It’s fine, Maiko. It won’t be the first time I’ve done this.”

“Yeah, but not without cursed energy,” you murmur into his neck as he begins his trek, relishing the shiver that goes through him because of it.

“I won’t need it,” he replies, and you believe him.

His arms are firm, his physique built in a way that exhibits his commitment to keeping fit despite his civilian lifestyle. If you could get away with it, you’d grope him through his suit to feel just how big they’ve become.

You rest your eyes, committing the new things you’ve learned or observed about him to memory. You store those precious bits of information away for a rainy day.

Kento is quicker than you expect because when you open your eyes again, you recognize your surroundings as the entrance to your room. Carefully, he adjusts you to a one-armed hold as he opens the door.

Your room is sparse, mostly packed away, with only your vanity a mess of things you use daily, with polaroids and purikura of you and Shizuka over the years covering the edges of its mirror. In the dozens tacked on, only a few are of you and Kento. You hope he doesn’t notice their placement, how they’re obviously the oldest and yet somehow atop all the newer ones.

Very delicately, Kento lays you out on your bed, which is untouched, a little stiff from nonuse. He tucks you beneath the covers, grabbing you a water bottle and two pills of Tylenol from the stash you keep in your nightstand. He helps you sit up long enough to swallow them down with a gulp before arranging you back down.

You feel tender like a bruise at this last act of kindness.

As he turns to leave, you tug his arm to grab his attention.

He needs to know.

He needs to know he’s allowed to simply live.

“You have to know,” you start, a confession stuck in the back of your throat, ignoring him as he says something too quietly for you to discern. You swallow the saliva gathered in your mouth and begin again, “You have to know I just want you to be happy, senpai.”

He pauses ever so slightly in his confident stride to stare down at you. He looks sad for some strange reason. It’s not as if you’re cursing him, so what right does he have to look so miserable?

You love him still and probably always will, but he needn’t be burdened with that knowledge. Even if he does know that you still have feelings for him, he probably believes they’ve diminished enough to be insignificant.

“You’re allowed to—”

“I know,” Kento cuts you off. “You don’t have to say it.”

Such a kind man, you think, tears gathering in your eyes, as he stops you from breaking your heart further.

Your bed groans beneath his weight as he sits down to wipe them away.

“Stay,” you mumble, eyelids becoming increasingly hazier and heavier as you attempt to keep them open to steal one last glance of him before he disappears from your life for good. “Please, Kento, just until I fall asleep,” you all but beg, uttering his name for the first time in years.

His face twists before he nods.

You sigh wistfully, nuzzling into the palm cradling your face.

Yandere Dilf Geto who falls in love with Mimiko and Nanako's non curse user babysitter and just. . . never lets her go.

At first he thought nothing of you, you were weak and only useful to be of service like all the other monkeys. Even though you were warm and nurturing, even though you were wise beyond your years, he loathed you all the same. Once he was tired of you, he'd probably kill you and move on to the next sitter.

Then one day he came home earlier than usual, around the girl's bedtimes, and what he stumbled upon changed his heart forever. After a bit of wondering the house in search of you and his daughters, he found the three of you in their bedroom. Not wanting to disturb you, he simply watched on with light interest. He watched you tuck both of them in with gentleness, softly singing a lullaby as you made sure they were comfortable. Nanako had already fallen asleep and Mimiko was on the brink of unconsciousness, but just as she let her little eyes flutter shut she whispered out to you. "Love you, mama.", she hummed earning a soft gasp and chuckle from you. Geto watched you lean forward and place a kiss on her forhead before quietly telling her you loved her back.

From then on, Geto became obsessed with you. Your display of motherly affection toward his girls awakened something primal in him, something dark. Whenever he could, he'd come home early and watch you care for them over and over again. He'd even stay home some days, lying about having to work from his home office, just to see you love on his children. Every day he fell more deeply, insanely in love with you until he finally felt he needed to act upon his feelings.

On one particularly long day, Geto offered you a drink after you put the girls to bed, using his charm to get you to agree. The two of you talked a while before the drug he'd slipped into your drink started to take effect. It wasn't long before you'd passed out in his lap completely. So, Geto carried you into the nice little basement apartment full of amenities he'd been preparing for you during those 'at home' work days and bound you to the bed there.

The first few days you cried and begged to be set free but Geto, having the patience of a father, simply kissed your cheek and told you to make yourself at home. You eventually switched to screaming and attempting to free yourself which waxed futile very quickly. It took you almost a month to stop fighting, and once you had Geto finally allowed you upstairs to see the girls.

You put on a warm smile and recited the words he'd told you to say, telling them that you and their daddy were in love and that you'd be staying with them forever now. Naturally they celebrated, their little hearts happy now that you were their 'real mommy'. Though you still loved them, your heart sank at the realization that you'd never be able to leave the prison you'd been placed in.

You fell into a deep depression the next two months, only smiling and laughing when you cared for the girls. Geto tried to buy your happiness with luxuries, very rarely earning your interest when he'd bring you something from your old life. It pained him to see you so broken but there was no way in hell he'd let you go either. After a bit of thinking and reflecting, Geto came to the conclusion that you needed a baby of your own. If the only times you looked genuinely happy were when you got to spend time with Mimiko and Nanako, then giving you a child of your own to look after had to be the answer to keeping you happy!

One night, after putting the girls to sleep, Geto enters the basement with your nightly dinner. He's made it special, all of your favorites and a drink mixed with a tiny bit of aphrodisiac. At first, you're hesitant to take it, the way he'd managed to kidnap you was by drugging you after all. But a little gentle persuasion and extra charm is enough to get you to let your guard down.

While you eat, Geto lays it on thick, going on about how beautiful and caring you are and how he only wants to make his daughters happy by having you here with them. He even goes on to tell you a sob story about how hard it'd been to raise two little girls on his own after their mother and the love of his life had been killed in a car accident, even managing out a few tears. All of it was a complete lie but it got you to relax even further, reaching out to hesitantly pat his shoulder in sympathy. Though you very much hated being locked up, now you believed him to be some traumatized father driven insane by grief and doing the best he could.

Every night for the next two weeks, he'd come down with a meal and talk to you sweetly, sharing something new about his past, before bidding you a good night. Around day 6 you started to converse with him, asking him questions and letting out quiet giggles at his dad jokes. Each night the amount of aphrodisiac he'd put in your drink increased little by little until one night he put nothing in it before descending the basement stairs.

The two of you talked like usual, Geto complimenting you and watching you smile bashfully at his words. As the night progressed, he gradually moved closer and you didn't push him away. In fact, you moved closer under the guise that your drug induced thoughts of affection from previous nights were the products of you falling for him and his tragedy. And when he finally kissed you and you shyly kissed him back, he knew he had you wrapped around his finger.

Soft kisses grew into hungrier ones, his tongue invading your mouth while his hands wandered your body. You mewled oh so sweetly as his hands wandered up your skirt to play with you through your panties, eventually pulling them to the side to push lengthy digits inside you. Your reactions told him of your inexperience so he made sure to handle you with care.

His mouth made its way down the column of your neck, nipping at particularly sensitive spots while his fingers curled and uncurled within you. He dealt a few more skillful touches to your cunt before you came undone on his fingers.

He continued to lavish you with gentle caresses as he undressed both you, laying you down and whispering sweet nothings to you while slowly filling you with his cock. He talked you through the stretch, wiping away any fallen tears, and praising you for taking him so well once he bottomed out. He let you adjust a few moments before setting a slow, intimate pace and thoroughly fucking you into the mattress.

You whined and whimpered loudly and he thanked himself for ensuring the room was soundproofed well. He kept his thrusts relatively shallow, making sure to make you cum a second and third time before focusing on himself. Geto's pace quickened, hips pistoning animalistically as he chased after his own high. He hummed as you begged him to slow down, to be gentler, but kindly refused you.

"I'm sorry, princess, need to get you nice and full of my cum.", he moaned while kissing and biting at any exposed skin he could. The sound of your cries of overstimulation only drove him to fuck you deeper, whimpers of his own bubbling from his chest as your walls fluttered around him. "That's my pretty girl, yeah keep coming for me.", he groaned into your ear, "You're so good to me.".

He continued to ravish you, reveling in the feeling of you clawing at his back and the sound of you sobbing in pleasure, until it became too much for him as well. His balls tightened and his hips stilled long enough for him to paint your walls white with his cum, the warmth of it enough to send you over the edge for the nth time.

He made sure to keep you plugged full, deep strokes becoming shallow grinds before his pace increased again. As you writhed beneath him, Geto kissed your lips with a smile while resuming his previous pace. "I know, sweetheart, I know.", he comforted you as he tugged at the shell of your ear with his teeth.

With that being said, his words were not the threats he thought they were. As soon as you realised who he was, you went straight to Suguru and told him, up front and honest. 

Naturally he was unsure at first. “He’s my best friend, I don’t want things to be weird.” 

It wasn’t weird for you and you assured him it wouldn’t cause a rift your end. You didn’t remember too much of the party and there was no point in dwelling on it. You did admit it took a hot minute to remember Satoru’s face because wasn’t too much of the encounter that you did remember. An awful blur to which you didn’t even recall drinking that much. 

And that was the truth in full. 

Satoru didn’t seem to see it that way. And in a fucked up way, he began to make the rift Suguru was so anxious about, and you worked like a dog to prevent the cracks from showing which in turn made your daily life a wreck.

You just wanted Suguru to be happy and have nothing to worry about the car wreck of his friend trying to manipulate you. But you opted for coming clean to your boyfriend and set the record straight and move on, no matter the consequences.

You couldn’t be in a relationship stressing over someone else, it was not fair and not at all right for Suguru. 

 If he dumped you, the status quo still stood. Stay the hell away from Satoru Gojo. 

“Hey, I got your text, are you alright?” Suguru was clearly worried, never taking a second to pause and look at you before he came through the front door.

“Y-yeah, I think we need to talk about something that’s been bothering me and it’s time we spoke about it.” 

“If it’s something I’ve done, I apologise-“

“No, no, no! Nothing like that- you’re amazing.” Holding your arms up in surrender, you realised how grave you made your dramatic little announcement. 

“It’s about Satoru actually…” Shit.  Suguru followed you into the living room, you didn’t sit down it wasn't possible, tucking your hair behind your ears only served as a temporary comfort. “He’s uh…”

You thought of the countless ways you could break this horrid information to him, positive, abrupt. And standing here with Suguru in the room was an entirely different can of worms to open. 

“If it’s because you two before us it’s alright, I’m past all that.” Suguru took your hands and held them in his. His warmth settled your stomach if only for a second. “It kind of bothered be at first, but I trust you both and I’m secure enough to leave it in the past.”

“It isn’t that. It’s what came after that, Satoru is… he’s…” May as well come out and say it. “Babe, he’s fucking crazy.” 

He took a step back with a confused chuckle. “What? What’s he done now?”

“It’s not what he did, it’s what he’s doing.” Your phone, it was the key and your fingers tapped away the passcode on the screen. 

“What has he been doing then? I mean Satoru’s always been a little unorthodox but crazy?” 

“I have evidence, it’s better if you hear it.” It took a while and you had as about as much stealth as a sloth in a low tree. But you learned. 

“Evidence? Hun, what’s going on?” His was serious now, his hand didn’t leave your free one. 

“He’s been trying to blackmail me, threatened to make things up and lie if I didn’t break up with you.”

That was the hardest part, you remembered that one particular threat at a house party a few weeks back. He’d cornered you in the bathroom and did his usual bullshit. 

The door to the bathroom you came into opened and closed, you expected it to be Suguru. 

It was Satoru and you remembered clearly that he asked yet again your thoughts on the two of you like there was something going on. 

So you started the recording.

“Get out of here seriously, my answer is no, it was one time and it wasn’t even that memorable.” Suguru was in the same fucking house, Satoru blundered in here so brazen and too foolish.

He didn’t react to your bitterness, a quick flash of a smile and folded arms leant up against the closed door. “Break up with him.” 

“What?” Someone might have heard that had the music not been blaring.

“I said break up with him, you’re too good for him. If you don’t then I can do it for you if that’s easier?” 

“What did you say?” Had you heard that right? He really was that delusional.

“You do it, or I’ll do it.” 

You didn’t react too well to demands. “Or what?” 

“You’ve only been with him, what, not even a year? Do you really think he’d believe you over me? I’ve known Suguru since we were kids.” 

You managed to get most of it backed up on your phone, whenever Satoru was around your thumb anxiously hovered over the record button. Like watching over your shoulder every night walking home on your own. A sneaky bastard in his own right.

Suguru had his eyes closed, sat down in the arm chair and listened to that recording, brows knitted and dipped so close to each other. This was hurting him and there wasn’t a thing you could do about it, your future together in his hands so vulnerable. 

You would never expect him to take this easy, hearing someone he cared for so dearly speak that way. There was plenty more but you didn’t push for him to hear it yet, that depended on what he wanted, he was probably going to break up with you soon enough. 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Sadness.

Like Suguru was going to believe his girlfriend of barely a year verses his friend of over two decades? You worked tirelessly to gather evidence and recordings to show him so that it was concrete. It was paramount that the recordings were concrete. 

Whatever Suguru did after that was entirely his prerogative no matter how heartbreaking. “I needed something to show you, I didn’t think you’d believe me just like he said. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything I just…” 

It seemed like you were digging yourself a hole, choking on words and Suguru said nothing to put it to rest. He said nothing at all. “It’s all- I don’t know why- please say something.”

“Suguru… babe, please say anything-“ There was a knock at the front door. You didn’t want to leave him sat there. Ignoring it would eventually make them go away so you hoped.

It continued, more frantically subtle than before causing your stomach to tipple. “Who could that be?” 

“It’s probably Satoru…” 

“Sato-“ His name froze you up. “Why- why would he come here?”

Suguru sat vacant and staring through the wall to the next room. “I was on the phone to him when you text. Told him I was meeting you first before we went out. We had reservations for dinner.” 

“Right… okay I’ll sort it- I’ll get it sorted. Wait here.” 

Walking to the door felt like a prison walk, like the ones you’d seen in movies. Long, slowmotion, dramatised to emphasise on the depressive view. It was just like that. 

The living room door was shut, the front door opened forcefully, the latch almost catching your nail and pulling on it. “Hey, I didn’t see Suguru’s car in the street, has he gone?” 

Satoru waded in like he owned the place, head turning from side to side, paranoid and edgy past each door looking. “Don’t just barge in here Satoru- wait what are you doing?” 

He paced as an animal, a lion from the zoo you’d seen as a child. “Did you finally do it? You break up with him?” 

“No I did not, are you out of your mind? Get out of my house.” He didn’t move no matter how hard you pushed him away. “This has to stop.”

“You didn’t?” That was dark. “I told you to break up with him. Why the haven’t you done it yet?”

“Don’t come into my house and demand from me, do you know how much damage you’ve done being the way you’re acting? It was one night which I regret immensely. You think you’re so special don’t you? Parading around like you’re so irresistible. I’m not interested, you’re delusional-“

“I’m delusional?” There was fire behind Satoru’s eyes, so hot it radiated through his fingers, pinching your arms to grab you. “You look at me differently, I know you want me; you’re just fooling yourself because Suguru’s holding you back-“

“Get off of me- get-“ You struggled in the trap, the more you squirmed the tighter his grip. “I said get off me!” 

“Satoru you son of a bitch!” A fist straight to his jaw, pounding out of the open living room door. 

You hadn’t noticed him, now he was right in front of you bounding straight through Satoru sending him to the floor. 

“Ever put your hands on her again, you aren’t going to like where this goes Satoru… get up and get out.” 

The long pause lasted a lifetime. Satoru’s chuckle grew in size and volume, so poisonous. He didn’t move from the floor, he just sat there, hands pressed behind him to prop himself up. “What did she tell you Suguru? If you have this reaction I’m guessing not the whole truth.” The fucker was already trying to smooth talk his way out of it.

“I told him everything. Just go Satoru, please just leave.”

After the first punch, Suguru appeared calm, hands on his hips as close to him as his eyes were on his friend. “What gives you any right to harass anyone? You’re my friend, why would you do this to someone I care very much about? I don’t get it.” 

“I love her man.”

Suguru stood over him with his fists clenched, knuckles white and his breathing laid laboured. If he was going to snap which was very unlike him, it was going to be explosive. Something you didn’t want happening in your house. 

The front door was open in time by a fraction before the two men bouldered through and over the threshold, rolling around and scrambling on each other and yelling obscenities in the street. 

In anger it supposedly brought out some home truths apparently. 

“She’s the girl I wanted to marry eventually Satoru!”

“I liked her way before you Suguru, even before the party. I’ve liked her for years!”

“How could you hurt someone I care about?!”

The display was almost childish, neighbours came out to spectate the sport, upturned grass and churned dirt, peaked emotions and gritted teeth. They would talk and spread rumours and to be honest you wanted to deny you knew either of them. 

You’d never seen this odd side of your boyfriend when he was always so docile, placid. This was unbelievable had it not been for the undertones of pure vitriol in their words. 

And Satoru managed to get the upper hand. He drew blood and carried on punching and throwing hits to Suguru’s face. You ran to his side as quickly as you could, the neighbours be damned. “Satoru, stop! Stop it; leave him alone, you’ll kill him!” He didn’t move, just his shirt did and you ripped it trying to pull him off. 

Suguru wanted to marry you and you couldn’t just stand there and let him get hurt like this. He wanted to marry you. Despite all of… this.

Satoru kept at it. Hit after hit, punch and silence in the sunset of the evening light. “That’s kind of the point!” 

“Stop it!” That wasn’t Satoru Gojo who grinned at you, it was a monster.

At least there were sirens in the distance, maybe that was the saving grace to set everything back to normality.  Well as much normality that could come out of it. Which wasn’t much. 

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Geto decides to humor the man,for his and his best friends entertainment mostly. "Gojo how many would you say?" Gojo sighs—lazily leaning his lanky yet muscled frame against the back of a beat up couch. "Since we get here...uhhh probably like four. In high school probably like six."

"You've ever filmed any of em?" Naoya asks. Geto raises a neatly done brow up,"Why are you asking?" Naoya rolls his eyes,"I'm just askin there's no real reason behind it."  Gojo looks at Geto from the side of his eye,"Sugu' it's not that big of a deal to answer. Plus it's not like we have filmed any of them."

"I guess." Mutters Geto. Gojo loudly claps his hands and paints on a goofy smile onto his face. "Anyways...Naoya truth or dare?" The man sits back in wonder before answering,"Dare."

"Okay! I dare you to call the one girl in your phone that you'd have to be paid like a million dollars to ever fuck anddddd you have to ask her to send a pic of herself." Naoya voices annoyedly,"How the hell do I get her to send a pic of herself?"

Geto smartly suggests,"Lie.Make something up." The man with highlighted hair smirks,"That shouldn't be hard. She's a dumb bitch anyways."

Naoya scrolls through his contacts list and spots a contact dubbed "Piggy." Geto and Gojo lean over his shoulders to see the view and both of them wince once seeing the name. "She's fat?" Gojo asks. Naoya snickers,"Oh fuck yeah! She's fucking big as hell! I could never stick my dick in her."

Gojo chuckles,"I couldn't fuck a fat girl,seems like too much work." Geto adds on,"Yeah they're not really my type either....there's just too much everywhere for me." Naoya agrees as he presses on the contact,"They're all usually fucking ugly anyways. So it doesn't really matter."

Noaya's fingers press on the call symbol while he lets out one final chuckle. He presses one finger to his lips,signaling the pair of friends to shut up.  The man finally calls and the phone rings three times before it finally picks up.Naoya makes sure to put the phone on speaker. "Hello?" A sleepy voice calls out. "Hello (Reader)."

"Naoya what're you calling me so late for? I thought we finished everything for the project?" Naoya rolls his eyes,"Yeah well our introduction project isn't finished yet,I still need you to do something." Geto and Gojo don't miss the biting tone he speaks to you in. "Oh um well..I'm sorry I didn't think I missed anything."

"She sounds cute." Gojo whispers in the ravenettes ear. "Mmm." Geto hums in agreement.  "Yeah you should be sorry. But luckily for you  I'm nice so I'll allow you to still do it."

"Thank you? But anyways what do you need me to do?" Naoya smiles while looking back at the men," I need a picture of you." For a moment there's static silence—a silence that's riddled with confusion. "Umm why do you need a picture of me? Our project has nothing to do with ourselves."

"It's to prove our teamwork to the professor uhh how well we got along and shit like that." It's quiet until Naoya receives a dinging notification. "There you go,bye." The phone loudly hangs up while Naoya's jaw clenches in anger. "Fucking bitch hung up before I could."

"That doesn't matter show us the pic." Gojo says impatiently. "Fineee." The male opens up his messages and soon as he does he snickers. "I don't know why she tried to send me cute a one,she looks fucking stupid." Wrong. Naoya was so fucking wrong.

You don't look fucking stupid...you look so fucking cute. Your have such a pretty face—a face that needs to be came on. Those adorable fucking pudgy cheeks are just begging to be decorated with cum. And fuck those pretty lips you got—both Geto and Gojo just wanted to stick their dicks in your mouth.

They can't even see your body in the picture but they just know it's so fuckable. What do you have a cute pudge hanging down—a pouch of flesh keeping your pussy warm? Do you have warm doughy thighs that their fingers will just sink into the moment they touch the flesh? You just look so...soft. So wonderfully soft—plenty of soft sweet palpable skin just begging to be marked by them.

But despite Gojo's and Geto's shared thoughts—the lustful and wanton thoughts they wouldn't say that they want to fuck the ever living life out of you. They wouldn't disagree with Naoya saying you look fucking stupid. They wouldn't even admit they think you're attractive. Why? Because admitting a mere few minutes ago that you wouldn't fuck a fat girl and then switching up isn't the best look.

So what do the pair say when Naoya says that? Do they disagree and defend you? Do they admit the pure desire they have to want to be inside you? No they say," You're right she looks weird,let's just move onto the next round."

━━━━

"I didn't just leave her on the frats lawn! I at least gave her some cash to get herself home." Naoya proudly states.

"Wow,Noaya thank you so much for not being the worlds biggest douche." Geto states sarcastically.

"Whatever, don't act like you two aren't assholes yourselves. You may fool a bunch of bitches but I know how you really are."  Geto peers at Gojo,the man beside him. They both give each other a knowing look—a shared thought surging through the kept gaze. A gaze that screamed,"We're aware of what dicks we can be." Huge dicks who have left girls high and dry after telling them they love them—spewing lies straight from hell just to get their cocks wet a few times.

But are they really dicks if no one really cares to point out they are? Are they really assholes when women flock towards them even though it's known they'll only use them like a human fleshlight? They could thank their good looks,popularity,and Gojo's plentiful wealth for never being confronted for just how cruel they could really be.

Geto smirks,"I guess you could say we are assholes but at least we appear to be nice ones." Gojo hums,"Mhm but anyways it's your turn to ask us."

Naoya sits there,clutching his face in devious thought. "If you guys pick dare,you won't pussy out with anything I say,right?"

"Nah as long as it's nothing too illegal." Gojo answers. "Good cause I got something in mind. Truth or Dare?" The two best friends stare at each other once more,silently agreeing on an answer,"Dare."

Naoya laughs,acting like he just had the best idea in the whole world. "You fuckers set yourself up. This is going to be sooo funny." Gojo rolls his eyes,"Yeah,yeah,just get to the damn dare."

"I dare you to fuck with little miss piggy for me." Naoya cruelly states. "That girl you just showed us?" Gojo asks."  The question had a little too much enthusiasm,too much excitement for some girl he said looked weird. Hopefully it went unnoticed by Naoya though. "Yes that bitch."

"We'll do it but lemme ask why you wanna bother her?" Geto questions. The male shrugs,"Do I need a reason? She's annoying." Geto hums,"Alright I guess that's a good enough answer. But what's on the table for fucking with her?" The white haired male perks up at that,"Ooo yeah? How much can we bother her?"

"I don't really give a shit about what you do to her. Just ruin her,make her miserable. The only thing I want is some evidence that you're doing at least something." 

Make her miserable,huh? Ruin her? Does that include every part of you? Because Geto and Gojo had something wonderful in mind...just for lil ole you.

"Oh yeah,we can definitely do that." They both remark.

━━━━

"Okay,I think this is the last book I need." You whisper to yourself. See,today is a good day! Why? Because this is the day you're almost done researching for a extremely tedious paper. That means for just a few days you wouldn't have to shove countless information down your throat anymore.

So naturally your chubby hands reaches to grab the book that's placed on the fourth shelf. Just as your finger grazed the spine of the book a tall figure grabs it from behind you. Quickly you turn and see a raven haired man,staring at the book with faux interest.

"Umm, I'm sorry I was gonna grab that...it's really important that I have it." You say politely. The male raises a thin brow,"Is it not important for me too? I might need it even more than you do." Immediately you feel yourself heat up from embarrassment," Oh no no!  I didn't mean it like that—I just really really need that book. Im so sorry if I came off uncaring."

Cute. Geto's just starting the fun with you and he already wants to stuff his dick in your mouth. You don't even need to worry about some dumb book,you could just warm his cock all day. Besides the way your dressed right now it's like you want him to tear your clothes off and fuck you. Those denim shorts that are showing off those thick thighs and that damn thin white tank top you got on really shows a lot he wants to see. The pudge of your tummy just clings to the fabric so deliciously—it's tempting so tempting for the man to just reach out and grip the pudge but he resists the urge.

But still despite how cute he finds you,he still needs to make your little life unbearable. So he says,"Well I need this book more." With that he "kindly" smiles and walks off. He leaves you there,mouth agape and eyes wide. Did he really just—DID HE JUST TAKE THE BOOK?

Angrily you call out,"Hey! I need that book." The man continues walking,ignoring you completely. With a mission you charge after the male,keeping his speedy pace until you bump right into someone. Broken from the determined haze you were just in you look and see the person you slammed into.

It's odd,you swear no one was in front of you before and then suddenly someone just came in front of you. No matter how weird it really is though,apologizing and catching up with the book thief is more important.

"Omg I'm so sorry! Are you okay! I was just in a rush—" The very tall man you just bumped into places a long finger on your lips. The sheer boldness of the action instantly shutting you up. "I don't wanna hear it. Ya know,you should definitely be more careful. People are not as nice as me."

He leans down,shortening his noticeable height ,"But since I'm sooo nice all I'm gonna ask if you to beg on your knees for my forgiveness." The hell? Who does this guys think he is? The president? You weren't gonna beg for forgiveness just for bumping into someone?! Hell no!

" Look I'm sorry, but I'm not doing all that just for bumping into you! Don't you hear how fucking crazy you sound?" You snatch his finger away from your lips and cross your arms angrily. He chuckles,"Oh so you wanna act all tough? Fine,I didn't wanna threaten you this early,that was gonna be some fun for later but since you're a lil stubborn I guess the hard way is for you."

Your brows pinch together in frustration and confusion. Who is this guy? Acting like he's all high and mighty? Can he even threaten you when he doesn't know you? Yeah,right. You're sick of this already.

You attempt to move past the male,too sick and tired of precious time being taken away from you. But you're stopped by a veiny large hand that's securely wrapped your wrist. He yanks you to his chest,"Ya know,it's not very nice to walk away while someone's talking to you.I thought you were a polite girl." His warm breath travels all the way to the back of your neck. It's oddly...intimate and sexual for someone you just encountered.

"Be a good girl and beg or else I'll get you out of this university so fucking fast and then I'll tell someone in every single university in the radius you're a fucking cheat. I can go even farther than that if that doesn't scare you enough." He mutters. Chills run across your spine—it's scary,the threat,it holds so much weight but no way some guy you just bumped into has the power to do that,right?

"Y-You can't do that!" The exclamation is a unsteady one,you yourself not even believing that. For some reason this stranger just oozes so much effortless authority—so much power that's unexplainable. It's confusing but still it instills some type of fear in you. "Oh can't I?" His tone is cocky—assured fully in just what exactly he's capable of. Scary—it's scary how confident he's in ruining your educational career.

"Are you taking me a little serious now,hmm? Do you think you should take my good grace and get on your knees already?" It's no big deal,right? If you just get on your knees now,you'd probably never see the man again. This university is big and no way the man would make an attempt to find you—a complete stranger.

Would a little humiliation be so bad if you never see him again? "Are you? Or are you gonna just stand there like an idiot?" Nervously you gulp before facing the man and sinking down to your knees. As you level yourself at his feet you can't help but stare at the rich brown leather that his shoes are made of.

You look up at him and instantly Gojo's glad he chose to his dark sunglasses today. He could feel his pupil dilate as soon so you kneeled for him. Everything about you looked sooo good on your knees—those pretty lips parted slightly because of nerves—your thick thighs squishing together and fuck those gorgeous tits that are just peeking out of your tank top,just begging to be fondled with his big hands.

"Are you gonna start begging or do I gotta force your mouth to move too?" You shake your head no and gulp down a lot of pride and self respect. "Please uhhh—" you pause to search for the man's name. "Gojo. It's Gojo."

"Gojo,please forgive me. It was a mistake and I'm so so sorry." You think your apology is good enough but what you think isn't always right. The man scoffs as a big hand completely palms the whole crown of your head—pushing your body to bend straight down. The tip of your nose kisses the carpeted floor of the library.

" Ah,ah, You're supposed to lean all the way down like a good girl,yeah? Now do it again." Your clammy and stubby hands angrily and tearfully grip the fine hair of the carpet. This is just so...humiliating it hurts every ounce of self respect you have contained in your body.

"Gojo,please forgive me. I'm so sorry." He hums and places his large hand on your head,"I forgive you...for now." With that the man removes his hand and quickly announces his exit. "Thank you for the apology,don't be so clumsy next time."

You watch as his long limber legs make their way farther and farther away from you. Your nose still kisses the carpet—a reminder of the humiliation that was just acted on by the man casually strolling away. The humiliation being so damn demeaning you no longe care for retrieving your much needed book back.

But it would be okay,right? It would be okay cause you'll never see Gojo again. You haven't seen him before and you won't see him again.

You could just move on from this right? Is the thought you have as your eye stay trained on his brown leather shoes.

━━━━

Have you ever been more more wrong before? So irritatingly wrong?

Because both the mysterious man who unfortunately learned is Geto, and Gojo from the library have not left you alone since.

Everywhere you go there they are! Always calling you mean names,like slut or whore. Always taking away your stuff away from you. Always threatening you. And worse—always finding you.

And that is the exact reason why you're stuck between the two—pushed against a random wall in a hallway. "You wanna runaway from me and Geto,some more? Huh,(Reader)?"

You shake your head rapidly and squeak as Gojo's large hand reaches out and grips your tucked pudge that's hidden well within the high waisted material. "D-Don't grip me like that!" You squeak. "Like what? Like a slut? Cause you are a little slut." Gojo remarks.

"I'm not a slut!" Your words are met with chuckles,true genuine laughter for something that wasn't even a joke. "Mmm then why are you always with those lil dorks after hours? You prolly let them cum in you. You prolly let them spit in your pussy and mouth,don't you slut?"

You start to tear up and resist Gojo's grip but it only gets tighter. "Maybe you wouldn't see me hanging out with my friends if you guys weren't always stalking me! Just leave me alone! You don't even know me! I've never even done anything to you!"

"You think we're stalking you? You think we're genuinely interested in someone like you?" Geto chuckles. "Yeah,we know you're a little slow but to think that is on another level of delusion."  Gojo adds. Liars,the both of them know that they're watching you. Keeping tabs on every single move you make,every person you talk to,every time you go out,anything—just so they know when to strike. They told themselves it's not cause they like what they do to—they don't like seeing you beg and plead,they don't like humiliating to the brink of tears—absolutely not. Liars.

"Oh and you've never done anything to us? Hmm,I can remember you fighting for that book pretty hard. I think you may have pushed me,right Gojo? You saw her push me?" Gojo hums,"Hmmm,yeah I swear I saw her. She was so mean to you. And not to mention she didn't even wanna apologize to me for rudely bumping into me."

"What the fuck??! I didn't even push him! I know for a fact I didn't! And last time I checked you just randomly popped up and bumped into me!" You make sure to face backwards and points towards Gojo. "Ah,Ah she's got a little potty mouth,doesn't she Gojo?"

"Mhm,that's not very ladylike (Reader)." Gojo says. "We can't have that,can we?" Behind you the white haired male shakes his head. Gojo's lengthy fingers dig into your tummy even more,sinking the dull tips of his nails deeper.

"You should learn not to talk like that but don't worry Gojo and I will help you learn,m'kay?" How? How—can someone look so kind,so calm while plotting to do something humiliating to you? It doesn't' matter how or why because Geto is still standing over you—kind smile and welcoming eyes gently intimidating you.

"So,open your mouth like a good girl for me and say ahh!" Geto demands. You shake your head no and quickly tuck your lips together. He tuts—disapproving of your stubbornness. "You wanna make it hard for yourself—Fine be that way then. But you will open your mouth for me."

Geto's relative distance to you shortens as he walks closer and closer to you—pushing your body against Gojo's even more. "Gojo pull up her shirt."

"No—NO! D-Don't!" You thrash against Gojo but once more he tightens his grip on your pudge. "You should've listen to Sugu the first time." Gojo mutters as he lifts up your shirt revealing a pastel pink bra. The glasses adorning man whistles,"Is that lace? Who are you wearing that for? Hmm? Is it for me and Sugu,little slut?"

"N-No!" You whimper. "Oh so it's for somebody else?" Geto asks. "No." You reply back. "Mmm so you're wearing something"—Geto's large hand reaches to pinch the strap of the bra—"this pretty just for no one to see it? I don't believe that."

"I think just for her lying you should give her double punishment." Gojo encourages. "Yeah? I think so too. Lil slut won't learn if we aren't a little hard on her."

"Gojo make her open her mouth." Geto says as if they share the same brain—having the same thoughts riddling their in synced minds. Long fingers trace their way down your tummy,teasing the beginning of where your high waisted pants start until finally a loud gasp collapses off your tongue when they're pulled down—revealing the smooth fat that rests on your middle.

You think he's gonna start groping your boobs but instead the pale hands begin gripping your tummy—kneading the skin oh so well that his fingers mush into it. "Oh!" You gasp. And it's cute ,so cute that Gojo's dicks throbs in his loose fitting jeans. Would you make that noise when he puts it inside you? When he makes you swallow his spit? How about when he makes you hump his big thigh while in public?

Gojo's taken away from his thoughts once he hears Geto's familiar voice. "Mmm you got her to open her mouth." Geto hums in approval,"Look at how good her mouth looks open. I think she really is a little slut."

The black haired man pulls your cheeks apart and sticks his middle appendage in your mouth—your tongue crashing against the skin like a giant wave. "Mhmpp!" You move against Gojo once more,droplets of salty tears starting to pour out of you. "Shhh don't fight...take your punishment."

You watch in horror as Geto puckers his lips and translucent liquid drips down his lips—realizing that his lips start getting closer and closer to you.

Until finally you feel wet—degrading liquid coat your lax tongue. The cool saliva coats your mouth,traveling the whole expanse of your open cavern.

"Swallow." You know it's not a question or even a pushy request—it's a command. A reminder that you're under their thumbs like a mouse who's constantly running away from a cat. It's sickening so sickening—so beneath you to be treated like an object yet you find yourself swallowing your pride and gulping down the spit.

"Good whore." Geto mutters. His long finger pops against your inner cheek as he takes it out of your mouth. He pats your chubby cheek and wipes your saliva on your half exposed chest.

"Mmm this kinda bored me." Gojo remarks. Geto hums and backs away from you,"Yeah this pig is kinda not entertaining me anymore. Wanna get something to eat?"  The tall man that was positioned behind you snakes his to way over to  Geto.

Leaving you to watch as they casually saunter off but Gojo suddenly stops his big strides. "Oh and (Reader),"his tones lowers a bit—scarily so,"don't let us see you hanging out with those guys again. Or we'll actually do something to you."

You stand there in shock—shirt ridden up to your chest and pants flashing bits of your panties. Gojo smiles at you,but it's not a pleasant one—a smile that makes you want to run and hide. They both continue walking and you watch,counting and waiting the steps to see if they're far enough so you can quietly sob.

The moment they get far enough you slide down the cool wall and break out in a array of tears. All you can think is why you? What'd you ever do to anyone to have your life be meddled with so cruelly?

WHY YOU?

━━━━━━━━

"I regret not taking pics." The white haired man pouts. Geto chuckles," There's always next time."

"But she only looked like that awhile ago. Her bra looked so pretty that day. I wished I filmed her swallowing your spit. She looked so fucking cute Sugu...I just wanna stick my dick in her mouth. I wanna make her embarrassed like that again,so fucking bad."

The male smiles amusedly at his friends whines,however he feels the same,he wishes to see you like that all over again. "I think we should  give her a visit soon. We haven't seen her in like what two weeks?" Geto and Gojo knows that's not true,they have seen you actually but you haven't seen them. They always check up on you at certain points during the day—making sure you're listening to them about the people you're hanging out and it makes them so damn proud when they see you alone and avoiding all your male friends. You're such a obedient girl.

"Oh thank God! This time I actually wanna do something with her,I've been thinking about what she feels like. And I want you to film it. "

Gojo says enthusiastically. "What do you have in mind?" The bright blue eyed man smiles widely,"You'll see."

━━━━━

"(Reader) are you sure you don't wanna come and watch a movie with us?" The kind voice halts your motions of packing up for the day.

"Nah,I'm sure. I'm gonna catch up on homework so I need the extra time." You explain with a smile. "Alright,but text me if you change your mind. The movie doesn't start for a few more hours."

You nod and wave as your kind classmate walks out the door. You're about done packing up until your trusty mechanical pencil begins rolling down the rows and isles of the seats.

"Dang it." You sigh and annoyedly crouch down—following the pencils straight arrow path. You take tiny steps in order for your bigger body to keep up with the quick pace of the rolling writing device.

Finally it stops at the third row—leaning against the leg of a mahogany chair. You bend down to get it with a smile etched on your face but as you reach to grab it a hauntingly familiar brown leather shoe is planted in front of you.

Suddenly you forget to breath—fear and anxiety grasping the natural function away from you. That same fear making you incapable of looking up to see intimidating bright blue irises.

It's quiet—too quiet and that's what makes it worse for you. You feel like prey—being teased,chased,stalked on, by two superior animals who are waiting to take the final kill.

"Do you wanna stay there on your knees for me or are you gonna greet me?" Jolly is the only way you can describe Gojo's voice—which makes his words only 10x times worse to hear. Ever since you encountered him in the library and attempted to forget him all you got was all too much of him. After the incident you've constantly been hearing about the "Great Gojo", the impossibly handsome trust fund baby of the university. The Gojo who's cute and loud and funny—it makes you wish you knew him due to different circumstances so you could admire him just like everyone else.

No,you had to remind yourself that this isn't the case. Instead you'd get bullied and assaulted by him and his friend Geto.

"Hello?? Is anyone there?" Gojo bends down and prods at your forehead,roughly poking it. "Do you think she heard me Sugu?" Gojo asks. "I dunno let's see." Geto's large hand suddenly rushes to your face and grips the warm flesh together. Both of the handsome men sneer at you and condescendingly share a glance with one another.

"I think someone is home but they're too shy to answer."  Geto peers down at you before he whispers,"Shhh it's okay,me and Toru just missed you so much. We just need you to be good for us,m'kay?"  You look up at him with wonder—confused by the oh so sweet tone of his voice. It almost makes you feel safe and cared for—almost is the keyword here. Because in only a few seconds your hair is suddenly yanked,having long fingers tangled in it. "I expect an answer when I say anything to you." Geto grunts into your ear.

"Y-Yes!" You whimper out. A warm wet kiss is placed on your chubby cheek as the black hair

man praisingly remarks,"Good job!" 

"Since you're gonna be for good for Gojo and me I want you to do something, okay?" You nod and mumble a fearful okay. "Good,now take off your panties and give them to Gojo."

You gulp down a wad of spit as you nervously and shamefully stand up and start quickly sliding off your panties. By the time you get the plain white cotton undies to your ankles Gojo's expectant hand is waiting for you—and like he was expecting you hand the worn material to him.

He places the pair of panties into his pocket and grins at you happily.  

Geto's voice rings out,"Now get on his shoe." Snapped out of your fearful daze you yell,"WHAT? I'm not doing that! That's so gross and unsanitary." Gojo pouts,"What's wrong with my shoe? It's not good enough for you?"

"No! That's so gross! No way in hell am I doing that!" You attempt to stand up right and walk away from the pair but a large hand pushes you back down. The force of the body part making you whimper by the sheer power. "Nu uh Geto already filmed you taking off your panties for me. If you walk away we'll have no choice but to show everyone at this university what a dirty slut you are. How would you like that,hmm?"

You mouth flaps open in shock,since when did Geto have a chance to do that?? When did he even take out his phone? You turn and there you see the cellular device pointed right at you. You thought you were screwed then but now...they actually have something way worse to use against you.

Gojo smiles at your realization," So now are you gonna put that pussy on my shoe?" You look up at him and defeatedly turn to still see that Geto's filming and you simply just give in.

You waddle closer to Gojo's foot and set your bare pussy on the rich material—the thick pubes on your mound making contact with the shoe. You can't help but gasp by how cool it feels,it feels new,almost good.

"Move." Gojo says. You look up at the man and gasp once you see and hear how different he looks. His voice sounds less high—lacking the usual teasing and playful tone he talks in. And his eyes—his normally bright blue eyes are now toned down,muddled with dark lust and eagerness.

Your clit bumps and grinds on the expensive laces as you try to set a pace on your own. You huff and whine at the oddly good sensation.

You lean your face on Gojo's pants,slightly biting into the material to hush down your pleasured noises. It feels good because it's so degrading and so wrong—yet you can't deny how wet begin to you feel the more you thrust against the man.

"Mmmf!" Is the noise you're making as you hide your face into his legs,teary eyes closed in hated bliss and ashamed mouth taut open in pleasure. How disgusting you are—enjoying fully how good this is making you feel. You're riding a man's shoe for gods sake, but you can't bring yourself to care anymore. Not when your poor hole is opening and closing for nothing. Not when you you can feel four eyes staring at you get yourself off.

"Look at you,such a fat slut. And you tried to act like you didn't want me and Sugu's attention. Dirty slut." You hear a wet noise of Gojo's mouth right before warm hot spit lands on your forehead. You go to wipe it away but Geto's hand grips your wrist,"Don't,you'll ruin your pretty face. Leave it."

You nod and silently gasp once you see the angry bulges of the two men. It makes you even wetter once you see how aroused this made them. Geto seems to noticed your focus gaze,"Aww do you wanna actually see some dicks in real life? Hmm,is that what you want whore?"

Your mouth almost forms the word yes until you remember these men aren't some friends with benefits or boyfriends—no they're bullies who enjoy seeing you struggle. So with that reminder you shake your head no and go to hide your face in Gojo's leg only to feel a hot sting run across your plump cheek. "Liar. Gojo get her off your foot. I'm gonna show her something."

"Aww but I was enjoying watching her! At least let her clean the mess up." Geto rolls his eyes,"Alright,make it quick." Gojo smiles happily before he peers down on you,"Lick." He's not specific because you already know what he wants you to place your tongue on. You stare down where you placed your cunt at and feel grossed out. However,you know one way or another you're going to have to lick his shoe. And you'd rather not get another burning slap from Geto.

So you prod your tongue out,lapping at your own juices placed on the man's costly shoe.

You taste yourself and the taste of oddly wood like leather. It taints your palate,making you scrunch your face in distain as you finish the task. You look up at Gojo and he seems so enthralled—his chest is heaving and his pink lips are slightly agape in surprise? You can't tell but he just looks so fascinated by you. "Wow,you really are a slut." He breathlessly chuckles.

"Mmm,she really is. Anyway take her to the desk Gojo,make sure she's bent over."  Without warning Gojo pulls you by your underarms and walks you to the desk. He pushes you down onto it,his hand presses down on your roll adorned back to keep your stomach flat against the desk. You feel him move from behind you,changing his position to be in front of you.

Suddenly you feel a warm hand graze against your dimpled ass—long fingers sinking into the supple flesh. "Now since you wanna lie and act like a fucking prude Imma make you see how badly you want our dicks."

For a few seconds you're left waiting to see what happens. It's suspenseful so suspenseful that you're even staring at Gojo in anticipated wonder. THACK! Is all Gojo hears along with a pained cry.Hot tingles flows though out your pussy—burning sensation fleeting in the wet organ.

"That's what happens when you're not being honest. Your lil pussy gets punished. If you want it stop I just need you to be honest with me. Say you want our dicks inside you."

Your bottom lip trembles pathetically,"I want your dicks inside me." Another harsh slap rains down on your cunt. "Again! You're not saying it like you mean it." This time you force your voice to be louder,"I want your dicks inside me!" Geto leans forward until his warm breath can be felt on your face and his big hand yanks your head back. "Now look at the camera and say you want our dicks inside you."

You defeatedly look up at the iPhone camera held in Gojo's large hands,"I want your dicks inside me!" Geto let's go of your hair and stands straight,"Good cause we're gonna give it to you." Two hands spread your thighs open and something large and veiny fills the empty space between them. "But you don't deserve any dicks inside you yet. You should've been honest the first time."

Geto grabs your supple waist and grips your tummy from below—with a snap of his hips he's brushing his cock against your inner thighs. Each thrust his rough and fast paced,forcing your head to bob up and down the desk. The graze of his dick against your throbbing clit pulls occasional whimpers and whines from your lips.

On the other side of desk Gojo unbuttons his pants—pale fingers rubbing against the expanse of his tight briefs. "Touch it." Gojo demands. You look up at him as you reach and feel the constant pulse of his cock. It's warm,so warm that the heat is comforting to your whole body in the cool lecture room.

You cup the thick shape protruding from the pure white material and start moving up and down. Gojo pushes himself into your hand—his once opened eyes closed in pleasure. The camera continues to peer down at you as your lays lip on his covered cock."S-Shit pull em down." The camera continues to peer down at you as your lays lip on his covered cock.You obey the pleading man,gripping the beginning of his underwear until his oozing cock is revealed.

A gasp falls from your lips at the sheer beauty of it. You stare points blank at his pre cum ridden tip that's oh so rosy. Your thumb finger graces the slit—going up and down on it,feeling his dick get harder and harder. Though, before you can really get a good grip on it one hard thrust from Geto pulls you away from him.

"Aww Sugu...you messed her up." Gojo whines. "Calm down you can use another part of her in a little bit. Switch spots with me." Gojo huffs but obeys Geto. The white haired places his still filming phone onto the desk. The ravenette ends up in front of you,his girthy dick resting on the desk right next to your face. "Have you sucked dick before you?" Geto asks. "N-No." You quietly reply.

"Mmm,of course you haven't. What loser would wanna get sucked off by you?" Liar. Geto's been dreaming of having those pretty lips surround his cock—of slapping your face and cradling those chubby cheeks you have on you. Choking you with his dick while you're all teary eyed and begging for air. But he doesn't hate you,no not at all,this was just a dare that he's happening to be enjoying.

So since it's your first he's gonna go easy on you. "Wait does that mean you've never been fucked before?" Gojo says excitedly. "Mhm." The confirmation makes Gojo's and Geto's dick jump. This is great! No one's been inside before so that really means you're really all theirs,their personal fuck toy who's only been fucked by them. After months of planning how they're gonna pop up into your life and destroy what you've known before,they're finally getting award.

"But that means I gotta stretch you out first,huh?" Gojo dejectedly says.  "I know just the way." Gojo sinks down go to his knees and pulls your waist closer to him. You feel cool air fan your warm pussy.  Lanky fingers spread your lips apart,pulling the coarse pubes away from the another. The sheer slick of your pussy laying and slicking them down to the mound.

"You surprisingly have a real pretty pussy. It's perfect for taking dick. Too bad no one else is really gonna want it." Untrue,Gojo really wants it. He's been wanting it since Naoya showed that picture to him. He's been craving the feeling of sinking into you and fulling you up. Craving to grip your round tummy as he pounds into you,drilling every single last sperm into you.

A long wet tongue licks the expanse of it,the sensation draining a surprised whine from you. "Mmm, while he warms you up Imma give you a lesson on how to suck." Geto leans down so his face his leveled with yours. He grabs Gojo's phone and points it towards him and you. He points out his index and pointer finger,pressing the digits against your lips. "What I want you to do is ease these into your mouth,okay?"

You nod and your mouth drops open as you feel Gojo's long tongue dig into your cunt. "Mmmf!" You whine.  You attempt to only take the tips of Geto's fingers but you rush them into your mouth as you feel more pleasure. Geto roughly taps your face,"I said ease,don't take it all in." You look up at him and just suck on the tips of his fingers. "Good girl,like that until I say so."

Gojo releases his tongue from your hole,instead prodding into your entrance with his fingers. He slips one in and then two,slowly scissoring you open with each curl of his fingers. Geto pushes more of his fingers into your mouth,almost reaching the back of your throat. You gag and attempt to move away from him only to have your head held in place. "Stay. Breath through your nose."

Taking his advice,you hurriedly stable your breathing. Your eyes bubble with tears and your face contorts in uncomfortableness.  Finally you're full of relief once Geto slides his fingers out of your mouth. "Good. I think you're ready for the real thing now,huh?"

"Y-Yes." Geto smiles,"Good slut,you learn so fast. You're meant to be a whore for us." Gojo pulls his fingers from your entrance. Geto faces the camera directly on you,"Are you ready to be fucked?" You look up at the camera—flashes of all the treatment you've endure from these two,constant examples of cruelty for no reason course through your memory's, yet you want so badly to mutter the words yes please.  You want to be fucked by them,want to know what it's like to have someone inside you.

"Please." Pathetic,weak but you don't care. You've given in one last time and your decision is rewarded with a almost loving kiss from Geto.  Gojo practically mounts you as he rests his muscular chest on you,he plants a kiss on the back of your neck that could be seen as a sweet praise or an apology for what he does next.

Without a single warning Gojo sheaths himself in you. You scream and writhe against the wooden desk but Gojo grips your violent body. "It's okay,just take it. Take it."

"I think it's my turn now." Geto looks down at you right before he plunges his cock into your mouth. Your eyes widen and you don't have time to process what's even happening. All you can do it feel. Feel the slowly pleasurable feeling inside your pussy and feel Geto's thick dick go in and out of your mouth.

The more you begin to feel the better all the overstimulation is. Suddenly Gojo's downright stretch feels so fucking wonderful as thrusts in you. Geto grips onto your hair,guiding your face to go deeper on his dick. "F-Fuck,good slut. Good whore. Imma cum if you keep letting me fuck your face like this."

Minute after minute,you can't catch a break. Not when Gojo's snaps his hips into you like a animal. Like he's so desperate to stay in you—drowned in the utter wet and warmness you offer him. "Good girl,good girl! This pussy feels good! So good!" The blue eyed man babbles.

You feel your oxygen slowly leave you and you roughly tap on Geto’s legs. He frees himself of your mouth and instead busies himself with slapping his heavy cock onto your face as you catch your breath. You can’t even do that though because Gojo reaches from under you and rubs your clit with a passion.

Moan upon moan leaves your mouth,like a broken record playing over and over again. Your song is becomes muffled once Geto finds his cock in your slack mouth. You quiver underneath Gojo as you feel a hot feeling tingle with in you.

You were gonna cum,so soon. With three snaps of Gojo hips you come undone and you begin to lose feeling everywhere. You feel like a lifeless fuckdoll,just a cocksleeve for Gojo and Geto’s dicks.

Gojo feels you cum and groans,”Shitttt I’m close.” Although Geto doesn’t agree verbally his thrusts in your mouth become more hurried and desperate. In and out is all you can feel.

It feels like hours of tortuous pleasure. A sick sadistic game being toiled onto your body. But it ends once hot,warm fluid courses in your walls. “Mmmmmm!” Is all the men can hear from you. Gojo pulls out and Geto pulls one last thrust into your mouth before he cums all the way down into your throat.

He grips his dick and slides it out. You hurry to swallow his seed and almost choke due to the quickness.

It’s quiet throughout the big classroom,only heavy breathing being heard. Geto looks down at you having Gojo’s phone in hand and travels the entirety of your body. He finally tosses it to him and the man catches it quietly.

Geto bends down so he’s once again on your level,”I’m telling you this now and I want you to know I mean it. You,your body,everything that makes you a person belongs to us.” Each word is said with such powerful emphasis that all you can do is silently agree.

An agreement that leads you down a interesting path with the pair.

━━━━━━

From a game of truth and dare,to bullying,to becoming fond of you ,all the way to fucking you every single day,to adorning you with the proper title of their girl.

The two have learned some truth from a juvenile game. They learned that they’ve should’ve never met you,should’ve never crossed paths with you because now they’re completely and utterly infatuated with you. Even if they cover it up with insults and threats,they’d go crazy if other people had you like how they have.