nerdjo’s a fool for his pretty, high maintenance girlfriend.
I. PRINCESS MELTDOWN #107 : “BUT TORU, I DON’T GET IT..”
11:57 am location: SC/MATH 3020 (Vari Hall, Room B)
you’re supposed to be solving laplace equations. instead, you’re sending satoru doodles of you pregnant with his child.
satoru gojo is jacques marie mage glasses & messy blanche hair & forearms thicker than his head. he should be studying—god, he should be, but his pretty girl is texting him mid-lecture & satoru’s something of a fool for you so he foolishly decides, who is he not to reply ?
and his replies are earnest. always earnest. too punctuated, too grammatically correct.
toruu : You’re the cutest girl in the world.
toruu : Pay attention, okay?
his first message makes your heart swelter & bloom. the second makes it drop to your ass.
but satoru gojo is honey mouthed & heart-achingly sweet. and when your boyfriend asks you to focus so sweetly, how could you not obey?
so you open your notebook & close it right back.
you : toru i tried :( i don’t get ittttrt
toruu : Send me the question.
and you do. along with a selfie of your cute pout, of course. satoru’s reply comes in in an instant:
toruu : Gorgeous girl.
toruu : Okay, try isolating the variable first.
you do as he says. satoru’s instructions always come easy-sweet. sugar coated & simplified like he’s talking to the softest girl in the world. & perhaps he is.
toruu : Good. Now distribute.
toruu : Yes. That’s it. Keep going.
toruu : That’s perfect, baby. My smart girl.
your cheeks grow mushy & sticky & heart-wrenchingly soft.
satoru gojo is going to be the death of you.
II. PRINCESS MELTDOWN #126 : LOVER BOYS DON’T IGNORE THEIR GIRLFRIENDS !
time : 1:48 pm. location: york lanes ( indoor mall )
“satoru hasn’t texted me in fifteen minutes.”
“they faces killing me why nobody give a fuck.”
you ignore shoko & her bitter response. you’d rather die than argue with a bitch & her bad bob. you lean to rest your head on suguru’s shoulder, who’s much more empathetic & strokes your hair lovingly.
“isn’t he tutoring right now?”
and he is. somewhere across campus, in a cramped corner of the scott library, gojo satoru is bleary-eyed & suffering.
he’s supposed to be explaining calculus to confused first year yuuji itadori. but his phone, face-up & gleam-screened on the mahogany table, hums and vibrates with desperation.
1 new message: princess 🧸💗 1 new message: princess 🧸💗 1 new message: princess 🧸💗
satoru’s jaw is tight. there’s crescent shaped crevices in his palms & his knuckles rouse rash red. his focus flickers. he catches a glimpse of your latest message: the preview of a selfie, that low adorable angle where you’re peering at your phone from under your lashes & your lips jut out in a ‘where are youuu’ pout.
fuck.
“uhh, gojo?” yuuji’s biting his pencil again before he points it at the vibrating device. “aren’t you gonna answer that..? i dunno, it looks important.”
it is important. it’s you. but if satoru answers now, poor yuuji’s paid tutoring session would immediately be over.
“it’s fine, yuuji. let’s focus on finding the derivative.”
and it is fine. because gojo satoru is a man of logic. a man of discipline. a man of pa—
princess 🧸💗: i always knew you’d get tired of me one day
princess 🧸💗: it’s okay. thank you for everything toru 👍
gojo satoru grabs the phone faster than you can say go pandas! his thumbs fly over the screen, ever precise, ever trembling.
toruu: Baby, please don’t say that.
toruu: I’m almost done. I’ll be with you in ten minutes. I’ll buy you that Drake meal you wanted.
toruu: I love you. Please wait for me?
back at the mall you’re reading his text. and god, your heart bubbles up like soda pop. “he’s coming,” you murmur into suguru’s shoulder, scrolling past his text without a reply.
“great!” shoko cheers with fake enthusiasm, taking a puff of her vape (suguru’s complaining that the pineapple & kiwi she blows make his poutine taste sour-ish, & she shouldn’t be vaping anyway, but guess what? shoko doesn’t care!)
“now can we stop acting like it’s the summer hikaru died?”
“no.”
instagram’s algorithm is always on your side. you’ve opened the reels tab to find a video of a rainy window, a quote captioned over it: ‘if he wanted to, he would. silence is a choice.’ simple. short. effective.
you add it to your story. suguru catches a glimpse of your screen & chuckles.
“y/n,” he sings your name, tutting. “you’re gonna give the boy a heart attack before he even hits the common area.”
“he deserves it.”
satoru gojo has already viewed your story. he shows up within the next five minutes.
III. PRINCESS MELTDOWN #167: BABY, I’M BORED.
time : 3:58 pm. location: science & engineering building
there’s solution bubbling pink in a flask. in lab four, the air’s sticky with the sweat of too many boys with glasses & a half-drunk energy drink rotting in the corner.
gojo satoru is huddled over a circuit board with two other boys who look like they haven’t seen sunlight in days.
nerd #1 points at the monitor : “if we adjust the frequency here,” he’s muttering, “the entire wave function collapses. it’s an impossible solve, gojo.”
“it’s not impossible. you’re just missing the constant.”
gojo satoru is the god of lab four; formulas on his fingers & equations on his tongue. he’s leaning over now, fingers on the screen when the heavy steel door swings open,
“hi, toru!”
you’re all soft perfume & clicky heels & smile as sweet as sugar. satoru’s head snaps up instantly—his glasses slip down his nose, & he flicks them back upward, eyes glimmering in the fluorescent light.
“hi sweetheart,” he breathes, “you’re here early.”
the other nerds are staring now, and for good reason. how did gojo satoru—who’s paperbacks & friday nights spent bent over research papers—pull a pretty thing like you ?
“are you doing science ?” you’re already across the room, arms around his neck as his palms press you flush against him from the side. your perfume’s sticky in his lungs. “why’s that line so squiggly? you guys should make it straight. it’d be much prettier.”
nerd #4 winces. “actually, that’s a representation of—“
“you’re right, baby. it would look prettier. have a seat, okay?”
you hum an okay! & plop yourself down on his lap. nerd number 3 & 2 exchange glances. nerd #1 asks, god, me when ?
the group discussion starts up again. satoru is half-science half-yours—his thumb traces circles on your thigh as your feet kick in his lap, & you’re asking one too many questions while satoru tries—tries to pay attention.
“toru, what does this button do?”
“that’s the power supply, baby. please don’t touch it.”
“but it’s glowing. can you make it glow pink ? i think it should glow pink.”
“noted. you’re squirming, princess.”
and you are. nerd #4 wonders how you’re still balanced. the discussion continues but you’re a constant background noise of ‘toru, look at this tiktok’, and ‘baby, i think the lighting’s washing me out.’ you try to touch a wire. gojo catches your hand mid-air & cups it with a kiss.
you flop against his chest. “satoru, i’m bored.”
& satoru is tired. exhausted, really. he’s fighting the rash creeping up his neck as nerds one to four watch you pout in his lap like a spoiled child. “i want matcha. can we go get some?”
you can’t. because this is a project due in twelve hours. because satoru has only so much time to lock in—
“alright, let’s go.”
nerd #3 is distraught: “huh—?! gojo, you can’t leave now, we’re in the middle of a breakthrough!”
satoru doesn’t even look around. he’s smoothing your skirt after you hop off his lap, your bag already slung over his shoulder. he’s leading you out by the hand; “sorry guys. i’ll send my solution to the group chat. brief me on the updates later?”
the door swings shut. nerds one to four are in awe.
synopsis: olderbf!sukuna is having sex with you for the first time but your ex was a douche about sex, leaving you hurt and sceptical. so imagine your surprise when big old scary sukuna is sweet and gentle?!
✮⋆˙ 18+ MDNI, smut, little bit of angst, comfort || wc: 2k
it’s late. the apartment’s quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional car rolling past outside. sukuna’s place always feels bigger at night. high ceilings. dark wood floors. floor-to-floor windows. that constant scent of leather and his signature cologne.
you’re on his couch with your legs tucked under you. wearing one of his old black tees that swallows you whole. your makeup has melted off because you’d been making out with sukuna for the last forty minutes. your shorts have disappeared somewhere on the living-room rug.
he’s between your thighs now. large form kneeling on the floor in front of you. big veiny hands surprisingly gentle on your soft knees. slowly spreading them like he’s asking for permission every inch of the way.
“still okay?” he asks, voice rough but you can hear the gentleness underneath.
you nod. quick and shy. heart hammering so loud you’re sure he can hear it.
sure, you’ve done stuff before. hands. mouths. grinding until you both came in your underwear like horny teenagers.
but this is different.
this is him inside you. no clothes. no excuses. no pulling back at the last second.
your ex had never asked if you were okay. never checked. just pushed right in, grunting through it. when he was done, he rolled off and left you staring at the ceiling feeling like you’d done something wrong.
he’d laugh sometimes - crude little comments about how tight you were. how you ‘took it like a champ’. how you’d probably get used to the pain eventually. sometimes, he’d snap at you for crying when he went too rough – chastising you for being a baby. then he’d scroll his phone while you curled up around yourself, pretending that your poor little heart wasn’t breaking.
so when sukuna, slow and carefully, tugs your shirt up and kisses the soft skin under your ribs. you brace yourself for what’s coming. for the roughness. the impatience. the part where he finally stops being so sweet and just takes what he wants…
but he doesn’t.
he just kisses down your body. stomach. hip bones. inner thighs. warm, open-mouthed kisses. no teeth. no impatience.
when he finally hooks his fingers in your panties and slides them down your legs. he doesn’t just toss them aside mindlessly and ruts into you like a feral dog. instead, he folds them neatly once and sets them on the coffee table like they matter. like you matter.
you blink at that. you feel your chest tighten. not in an uncomfortable way.
he notices. of course he does. sukuna notices everything about you.
“what’s with that look?” he murmurs, settling back between your legs.
you swallow. “nothing. just… waiting.”
his brows knit. thumb brushing the crease of your thigh. eyes never leaving yours, not even for a second.
“waiting for what, baby?”
you shrug. small. dismissive. “for you to… i dunno. get it over with.”
he completely stills.
there’s a silenct pause. he leans up slowly until his face is inches away from yours. one callused hand cups your cheek. thumb stroking your cheekbone.
“hey,” he says quietly. “look at me, baby.”
you do. reluctantly. you feel your cheeks flush with warmth. almost certain that your face resembles a tomato.
“i’m not him,” he says. simple. certain. “i’m not gonna fuck you like that. and i’m definitely not gonna leave you feeling like shit after.”
your throat clicks. your eyes are stinging. you’re blinking rapidly in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. he kisses you then - soft. lingering. tongue just brushing yours like he’s tasting you for the first time all over again.
“tell me if you want to stop,” he whispers against your lips. “anytime. i mean it.”
you nod and let out a shaky exhale.
he kisses down your throat. collarbone. tits. slow licks over your nipples until they pebble. you arch with a small whimper, prompting him to lightly graze them with his sharp teeth.
then he kisses lower. and lower. and lower.
until his mouth is on your wet cunt. he eats you out like it’s his grand mission in life. slow circles on your clit with his thumb. flat tongue dragging up and down your slit. sucking gently. two thick fingers sliding in when you start dripping. he curls them just right to stroke that spot that makes your thighs shake uncontrollably.
you come fast. embarrassingly fast. crying out his name while your fingers are knotted in his pink hair. hips bucking to ride against his face.
he doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering from oversensitivity. only then does he pull back. his lips shiny. red eyes dark with lust and pride.
“good girl,” he murmurs. kisses the inside of your thigh. “so fuckin’ sweet. sweetest thing i’ve ever tasted in my long life.”
you’re still catching your breath when he finaly stands up. peels off his shirt. sweats next. cock heavy and thick between his legs, already leaking precum.
your eyes widen. just a fraction. he’s big. way bigger than your ex.
he notices that too.
“we’ll go slow,” he says, voice barely concealing his smirk. “i promise, princess.”
he grabs a condom from the side table. rolls it on careful. slicks himself with the strawberry lube you bought because it’s ‘too cute not to’. then he’s back on the couch, pulling you onyo his lap so you’re straddling him - face to face. red eyes staring at yours. big hands on your hips.
“whenever you’re ready,” he says. voice absolutely wrecked. “you set the pace.”
you nod - shy and sweet. lift yourself up. notch the head at your sopping entrance. then, proceed to sink down - just the tip for now. it stretches. the burn shocks you a little. you gasp and freeze. he stills instantly. hands freezing on your waist.
“hey, princess. breathe. take a deep breath for me.”
you do. shaky. flustered.
“too much?” he asks. you sense no judgment, just concern and care.
“a little,” you admit, barely louder than a whisper.
he just nods. kisses your forehead. then your nose. then your mouth.
“we can stay like this. just the tip. no rush.”
you swallow. nod. then, sink down another inch. it burns more, but nothing unbearable. and underneath it - the heat and fullness. you start to feel something good beginning to bloom from inside.
he groans low when you continue to take more of his thick cock. forehead dropping to your shoulder. you can hear his shaky breath, as if he’s forcing himself to hold back for your sake.
“fuck, baby. you feel so good. so fuckin’ good.”
the praise hits different compared to your ex. it feels warm. safe. intimate.
you keep going. slowly. taking him inch by inch. until he’s fully inside. so deep that you can feel him in your stomach. you whimper, clinging to his shoulders.
he doesn’t move yet. just holds you. big arms wrapped around your back. one hand stroking your hair.
“doing so well, baby,” he murmurs. “taking all of me. i’m so proud of you.”
you finally start moving. tiny rocks of your hips. he groans. hands flexing on your waist.
“yeah,” he breathes. “like that. nice and slow.”
you find a rhythm. shallow at first, then deeper and faster. every drag makes you gasp. every grind makes you whimper.
he watches your face the whole time. red eyes uncharacteristically soft. almost reverent.
when you start chasing your orgasm, your hips rolling faster. sukuna starts helping. with one hand sliding between you. thumb finding your clit to rub gentle circles.
“come for me,” he whispers. “come on, baby. wanna feel you cum all over my cock.”
it builds fast. overwhelmingly fast. you bury your face in his neck. moaning broken little sounds against his skin.
you come hard. your whole body shaking. walls clenching tight around him. crying out against his throat.
he follows right after. low groan rumbling in his chest. hips stuttering up as he fills the condom. holding you so tight, almost like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. you’re sure you’ll have beautiful bruises the next day.
for a long minute you both just sit there. panting. clinging. his arms still locked around you.
then he moves - slow and deliberate - careful not to startle you. he gently lifts you off him and places you on the couch. disposes of the condom. grabs a warm washcloth from the bathroom (he’d put one in the sink earlier - just in case) and cleans your up softly. no rush. no dismissiveness. no jokes.
when he’s done he pulls you into his lap again with a pink fluffy blanket draped over both of you. he gently tucks your head under his chin and lightly kisses your squishy cheek.
“you okay?” he asks. fingers tracing lazy circles on your back.
“yeah. really okay.” you nod, shyly. you sneek a look up at him, making eye contact. causing you to blush and nuzzle even further into his neck. as if you want to merge yourself with him.
“good.”
there’s a quiet, comfortable silence for a bit until sukuna says:
“he never did this with you, did he?”
you freeze. just a little. not expecting the question.
sukuna tightens his hold on you, “didn’t hold you after. didn’t make sure you were alright.”
you shake your head. small.
“no.”
he exhales. slow. like he’s trying to calm himself down and swallow down his anger that he feels for you. he lightly noses his face into your strawberry-scented hair.
“fuck him,” he mutters. then softer, “you deserve better. always did. stupid son of a bitch.”
you bury your face deeper into his neck. tears slipping out now. quiet ones. he doesn’t say anything else. just holds you that little bit tighter. lightly rocking you.
when your breathing finally evens out and you’re half-asleep against his chest. he carries you to bed. tucks you in. slides in behind you and pulls you back to his front. with one muscled arm around your waist and hand splayed over your stomach.
“sleep,” he murmurs against your shoulder. “i’m right here. i’ll always be right here for you.”
and for the first time in your life, you fall asleep feeling safe. cherished. wanted.
based on this request here
A/N: another longer one for u guys!!! i need to work on these!!!
⟢ cw - praise :: degradation :: cunnilingus :: eiffel tower :: kissing :: oral (f&m receiving) :: NOTHING happening between the 2 brothers, this isnt incest dont you start :: sato = fratjo :: toru = nerdjo :: porn with plot :: jealousy :: use of 'good girl' :: female reader :: fingering :: explicit sexual content :: mdni :: threesome
⟢ a/n - finally writing gojo twins ! this was super fun to write i love their dynamic. reblogs and comments are appreciated ! <3
the door swings open and for a second, your brain short-circuits.
this is definitely toru’s apartment. you checked the address three times. you’re here for calculus tutoring because you’re dangerously close to flunking and toru gojo, with his perpetually neat notes and infuriatingly patient explanations, is your only hope.
but the person leaning against the doorframe is not the toru you know.
this one is shirtless, low-slung grey sweatpants hanging off his hips, revealing a torso that is lean, defined, and completely at odds with the baggy hoodies your tutor favors. his hair is the same shock of white, but it’s artfully messy, not haphazardly pushed back. and his eyes… they’re the same impossible blue, but the expression in them is different. sharper, lazier, brimming with a confidence that feels like a challenge.
“well, hello,” he says, a slow, crooked grin spreading across his face. his voice is similar, but there’s a deeper, more melodic tease in it.
you blink. “toru?”
his grin widens. he runs a hand through his hair. “not quite, sweetheart. he never told you about me?” he extends a hand. “sato. the better-looking half.”
you stare, your grip tightening on your backpack strap. the resemblance is uncanny, but the vibe is galaxies apart. where toru is contained intensity, this guy—sato—is relaxed swagger. where toru makes you feel intellectually flustered, sato makes you feel… seen, in a much more direct way.
your inner monologue is screaming: why does he look so different? where are the glasses? why is he built like that if he’s always studying?
“he, uh, didn’t mention a brother,” you finally manage, taking his hand. his grip is warm, firm, and he holds it a beat too long.
“figures,” sato laughs, a rich, easy sound. “he’s probably worried you’d like me more. come on in, trouble. he’s in the den, probably reorganising his highlighters by spectral frequency.”
he steps aside, and you walk into a spacious, modern apartment. it’s clean, but there’s a lived-in clash. one side of the living room has sleek, minimalist furniture and a huge tv with gaming consoles strewn about. the other side, visible through an archway, is dominated by a massive desk covered in stacked books, three monitors, and those very highlighters sato mentioned.
toru emerges from the kitchen, holding two mugs of tea. he’s in his element: dark-framed glasses, a soft, worn-in henley, and a faintly exasperated expression aimed at his brother. “you could have put a shirt on,” he says, his voice the familiar, calm cadence you know.
“you could mind your own business,” sato retorts cheerfully, flopping onto the large sectional sofa and grabbing a controller. “your study buddy’s here.”
toru’s eyes shift to you, and something flickers in them—apology, maybe, or annoyance. “sorry about him. he’s… a permanent fixture. ignore him.” he gestures with a mug toward the archway. “we can work at the desk.”
“hey, no way,” sato calls out, not looking away from his game. “i want tutoring too. work out here. i promise i’ll be quiet.” the grin he shoots over his shoulder suggests the exact opposite.
toru sighs, a long-suffering sound you realize must be a common feature of his life. “fine. the table.”
you settle at the large coffee table, pulling out your battered calculus textbook and a notebook filled with desperate scribbles. toru sits beside you, close enough that you can smell his soap—something clean and subtle, like linen and ink. he sets a mug of tea in front of you. “start with the problem set from chapter seven. show me where you’re stuck.”
as you begin explaining your confusion over related rates (how fast is the ladder sliding really, and who cares?), sato’s presence is a tangible distraction.
he’s not being loud, but he’s there, a lazy panther stretched on the couch, thumbs moving deftly over the controller. every so often, he lets out a soft chuckle or a muttered “nice” at the screen.
toru is, as always, an excellent tutor. he explains the concepts with a clarity that cuts through your panic, his fingers tracing equations on your notebook. “see, you’re treating dx/dt as a constant when it’s clearly a function of the angle’s derivative. you need to implicitly differentiate the pythagorean relationship first.”
“she’s nodding but her eyes are glazing over, toru,” sato’s voice floats over. “your bedside manner needs work.”
toru ignores him, but you see his jaw tighten slightly. “ignore him, focus on me. try this one.”
you struggle through another problem. sato pauses his game, rolling onto his stomach to watch you both, his chin propped in his hands. his gaze feels heavy on the side of your face.
“this is painful,” he announces after five minutes of silent work broken only by your frustrated sighs. “for both of you. you need an incentive system.”
toru finally looks at his brother. “what are you talking about?”
sato’s eyes gleam. “i’m flunking stats, remember? coach said i gotta pass or i’m benched. so i need tutoring too. but i’m not doing it for free.” his blue eyes lock onto you. “new rule. for every problem i get right, i get a kiss.”
the air in the room evaporates. your pen stops dead on the paper. toru goes very still beside you.
“absolutely not,” toru says, his voice low and flat. it’s not a shout, but it carries a finality that surprises you.
“why not?” sato pushes, sitting up. “it’s motivational. high-stakes learning. she doesn’t mind, do you?” he winks at you.
you feel your face heat. “i, uh…”
“it’s inappropriate and distracting,” toru cuts in, his tone leaving no room for argument. he adjusts his glasses, a nervous habit you’ve noticed. “if you want help, you can sit here and work quietly. no incentives.”
sato holds his hands up in surrender, but the smirk doesn’t leave his face. “fine, fine. killjoy.” he saunters over and drops onto the floor on your other side, grabbing a spare notebook. “but i’m working here. the view’s better.”
and so it begins. the most surreal study session of your life. toru guides you both through problems, his explanations precise and patient. sato, it turns out, is not stupid—far from it. he grasps concepts quickly when he bothers to focus, but his focus is sporadic and entirely performative.
“so if the integral of this function represents the total distance,” sato muses, tapping his pencil against his teeth, his eyes on you, not the paper, “what’s my reward for finding it?”
“the reward is not failing,” toru says dryly, not looking up from correcting your work.
“boooring.” sato solves the problem in three swift lines of work, his handwriting a chaotic scrawl next to toru’s neat script. he nudges your foot with his. “c’mon. one little kiss? for academic excellence?”
“no,” toru and you say at the same time. you glance at toru; he’s staring fixedly at the textbook, but the tips of his ears are pink.
sato just laughs. “you two are no fun.”
as the hour wears on, the dynamic becomes a strange, tense ballet. toru is the composed center, a steady stream of knowledge and quiet authority. but you notice the subtle signs of his irritation: the way he clicks his pen, the slight tightening around his eyes when sato leans too close to you to point something out, the clipped tone he uses only with his brother.
sato, meanwhile, is a master provocateur. he “accidentally” brushes his arm against yours. he asks you to explain things toru just explained, just to hear you talk. he makes silly analogies that somehow make the math click (“so the derivative is basically the speedometer of the function, right? and integration is the odometer, adding up all the little trips.”). he’s charming, in an utterly obnoxious way.
and you’re caught in the middle, your calculus-induced anxiety now laced with a buzzing, confusing awareness. of toru’s focused intensity beside you. of sato’s playful, hungry attention across from you. of the fact that these two opposites, these twin forces of nature, are sharing the same air, and you’re the focal point.
during a break, while toru is in the kitchen refilling the tea kettle, sato scoots closer. “so,” he says, his voice a conspiratorial murmur. “what’s the deal with you and the professor over there?”
“there is no deal,” you whisper back, acutely aware of toru just out of sight. “he’s my tutor.”
“right. he looks at you like you’re a particularly fascinating unsolved theorem,” sato grins. “all intense and stuff. gives me the ick.”
“he does not.”
“he sooo does. and you get all flustered when he points out your mistakes. it’s cute.” sato’s gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second. “my offer still stands, by the way. the kiss-for-answers deal. i’m acing this practice set.”
“no deals,” toru says, reappearing silently with the kettle. you jump. his eyes are cool behind his glasses as he looks at sato. “stop harassing my student.”
“your student,” sato mimics, but he leans back, giving you space.
the final half hour is the worst. or the best. you’re not sure. you’re working on a particularly nasty optimization problem. toru is walking you through it, his voice calm, his finger tracing a curve on the graph you’ve drawn. “the maximum area will occur when the derivative of the area function is zero. so we set a'(x) = 0 and solve.”
sato is watching, his chin resting on his folded arms on the table. he’s been quiet for a full ten minutes, which is a record.
you finally solve for x. “so… 25 meters?” you venture.
toru nods, a small, genuine smile touching his lips. it’s a rare sight, and it does something funny to your stomach. “exactly. well done.”
in that moment of your triumph and his approval, sato moves. it’s fast and smooth. he reaches across the table, cups the back of your head gently, and pulls you into a kiss.
it’s not deep or overly sensual. it’s firm, warm, and over in maybe three seconds. but it’s a shock of contact, of his confident mouth on yours, the faint taste of his mint gum. he pulls back, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “told you i’d collect.”
time stops. your lips tingle. you’re frozen, staring at sato’s smug face.
then you hear a sharp, sudden sound.
snap!!
you and sato both flinch and look at toru. he’s holding two halves of his mechanical pencil. the graphite inside is shattered. he’s not looking at the pieces. he’s staring at his brother, his expression utterly blank, but a storm is raging in those crystalline blue eyes. a muscle ticks in his jaw.
the air crackles, thick and dangerous.
sato seems to drink in the reaction, his smirk deepening. “what? she got the answer right. that was my incentive for hersuccess. my rules.”
toru carefully sets the broken pencil pieces on the table. he takes off his glasses, cleans them slowly on the hem of his henley, and puts them back on. the simple actions are charged with a terrifying control.
“session’s over,” he says, his voice eerily calm. he stands up, gathering his books without looking at either of you.
“aw, don’t be mad, ruru,” sato says, but there’s a new, watchful edge to his teasing now. he’s seen the fracture.
you’re scrambling to pack your bag, your heart hammering against your ribs. “toru, i’m sorry, i didn’t—”
“it’s fine,” he interrupts, his voice a low, tight wire. he still isn’t looking at you, methodically stacking his pristine notebooks. the broken pencil lies between you like a crime scene marker. “it’s not your fault. my brother has the impulse control of a toddler. we’ll resume next week.”
the dismissal is a physical force pushing you toward the door. but your feet feel rooted to the spot. the air is thick with everything unsaid—sato’s grin, the searing memory of his lips, and toru’s cold, silent fury that feels like it’s sucking all the oxygen from the room.
sato watches the exchange, his earlier amusement shifting into something more intent, more predatory. he sees his brother’s rigid back, your hesitation. he leans against the doorframe leading to the hall, blocking the exit in a casual, unspoken way.
“aw, don’t run off,” sato purrs, his eyes on you but his words aimed at toru’s back. “the fun’s just starting. ruru's just jealous he didn’t think of it first.”
that does it. toru turns around slowly. he’s taken his glasses off again, and without them, his gaze is startlingly direct, a glacial blue fire. “jealous?” he repeats, the word soft and dangerous. he takes a step toward you, not his brother. his focus is entirely on you now, and it’s overwhelming. “you think that’s what this is?”
you swallow, unable to look away. “i…”
he stops right in front of you, close enough that you have to tilt your head up. the clean scent of him—linen, ink, tea—wraps around you.
“he got a kiss for one right answer,” toru murmurs, his voice dropping so only you can hear. a faint, unfamiliar smirk touches his lips, one you’ve never seen before. it’s not warm. it’s competitive. “what do i get for teaching you the entire module?”
your breath hitches. this isn’t the toru you know. this is someone else, someone unlocked by that snapped pencil and his brother’s taunt.
behind you, sato lets out a low whistle. “oh, shit. here we go.”
toru ignores him. his hand comes up, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek with a touch that’s surprisingly gentle, at odds with the intensity in his eyes. “well?” he prompts, his thumb stroking your jawline.
the last thread of your sanity snaps, pulled taut by the twin forces of their attention. “well… what do you want?” you whisper.
his answer is another step forward, forcing you back until your legs hit the edge of the heavy coffee table. “you.”
then his mouth is on yours, and it’s nothing like sato’s quick, confident steal. this is slow, deliberate, and devastatingly thorough. it’s a claim. his lips are softer than you imagined, moving with a precise hunger that melts your bones. one hand cradles the back of your head, the other rests on your hip, pulling you flush against him. you moan into his mouth, a soft, shocked sound, and you feel him smile against your lips.
when he pulls back, you’re dazed. his eyes are dark, pupils swallowing the blue. “see?” he says, his voice rough. “context matters.”
a slow clap comes from the doorway. sato is grinning, a wild, approving light in his eyes. “fucking finally.” he pushes off the doorframe and walks toward you both, his movements loose and predatory. “knew you had it in you, dude. all that pent-up nerd rage’s gotta go somewhere.”
toru doesn’t let you go, but his arm loosens slightly as sato circles you both. “this doesn’t involve you,” toru says, but the edge is gone from his voice, replaced by something heavier.
“the hell it doesn’t,” sato laughs. he stops behind you, his chest not quite touching your back, but you feel the heat of him. “i started it. i get to finish it.” his hands come to rest on your shoulders, his thumbs rubbing circles into the tense muscles. you shudder, trapped between them. “unless you wanna stop?” his question is a challenge, murmured against the shell of your ear.
you shake your head, a frantic little motion. “no.”
“didn’t think so.”
what follows is a blur of sensation, a dizzying transfer of focus from one brother to the other. toru kisses you again, deep and consuming, while sato’s mouth finds the juncture of your neck and shoulder, biting down just enough to make you cry out against toru’s lips. your bag drops to the floor forgotten.
toru’s hands are methodical, almost clinical in their efficiency as they push your shirt up and over your head. sato’s are everywhere, impatient, skimming your waist, unhooking your bra with a practiced flick before toru can even process the clasp.
“you're always in a hurry,” toru mutters, but he’s pulling you back to kiss him, his hands covering your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples with a focused curiosity that makes you whimper.
“and you overthink everything,” sato retorts, his hands sliding down to your jeans, popping the button. “just feel it.”
his fingers dip inside your panties without preamble, finding you utterly soaked. he groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your neck where his lips still linger.
“fuck… already dripping like this? for us?” his fingers circle your clit with a firm, knowing pressure that makes your knees buckle instantly. a sharp, needy whimper escapes you, and toru’s steadying hand on your hip tightens, pulling you closer into his chest as you melt between them.
toru pulls back from the bruising kiss just enough to speak, his breath ragged, eyes dark and stormy behind his slightly fogged glasses. “upstairs,” he rasps, the single word laced with urgency. “the table won’t hold.”
sato chuckles, a deep, wicked rumble, but there’s no argument in it. before you can process, he’s scooping you up effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. the hard line of his cock presses insistently against you through his sweats, and you grind down on reflex, drawing a hiss from him.
toru follows close behind, already tugging his henley over his head as he climbs the stairs two at a time. the sight of him shirtless—lean muscle honed from who-knows-what disciplined nerd regimen, pale skin marked with faint freckles across his shoulders—makes your mouth water.
sato kicks open the door to what’s clearly his room: a glorious disaster of gym bags, crumpled jerseys, basketball posters, and a king-sized bed piled with unmade sheets that scream “sex has definitely happened here.” he tosses you onto the center of the mattress with a playful growl, the springs bouncing beneath you. you land on your back, breathless and flushed, staring up at the two towering figures stripping down with predatory focus.
sato is first, shoving his sweats and boxers off in one go. his cock springs free—heavy, thick, flushed a deep pink and curving slightly upward, already leaking pre-cum from the tip. he strokes himself once, lazily, eyes raking over you like he’s memorizing every curve.
toru is more methodical, setting his glasses carefully on the nightstand before unbuttoning his slacks and letting them pool at his feet. he’s not as girthy as sato, but longer, elegantly straight with a thick vein pulsing along the underside, the head glistening. both of them naked is a surreal overload—identical faces, identical blue eyes burning with want, but bodies sculpted by polar-opposite lives.
“shirt. now,” sato orders, voice gravelly, and you obey on autopilot, arching your back to peel the fabric away. your bra follows, snapped open by sato’s impatient fingers before you can even reach for it. naked and exposed under their twin gazes, you feel like prey—vulnerable, electric, wanted.
toru crawls onto the bed first, graceful as a panther despite his usual awkwardness. he pulls you up into his lap, claiming your mouth in a kiss that’s slower, deeper than before—less frantic claim, more thorough exploration.
his tongue maps every inch, teasing, drawing soft, needy sounds from you that he swallows greedily. sato presses in from behind, his naked chest hot against your back, hands roaming possessively. he kneads your breasts, rolling your nipples between rough fingers until they’re hard peaks, pinching just hard enough to make you gasp into toru’s mouth.
“god, these tits,” sato murmurs, voice muffled as he mouths at your shoulder. “fuckin' perfect. been thinking about ‘em since you walked in.” he bites down lightly, soothing with his tongue, and you arch into him with a whine.
toru breaks the kiss, lips shiny, to watch his brother’s hands on you. “she responds so well to touch,” he observes, clinical even now, but his voice is wrecked. his hand slides down your stomach, dipping between your thighs to stroke through your folds. you’re drenched, and he groans. “so wet already.”
toru doesn’t hesitate. he maneuvers you onto your back against the pillows, spreading your thighs wide with strong hands. sato kneels beside your head, cock bobbing inches from your face as he watches. toru settles between your legs, blue eyes locked on yours for a beat—intense, questioning—before he leans in.
his first lick is heavenly, the flat of his tongue dragging from your entrance to your clit. you jolt, a sharp “ah!” escaping. he hums approval, then dives deeper—precise flicks over your clit, lips sealing around it to suck gently, his tongue circling in tight, perfect loops. it’s calculated, like he’s solving you with his mouth, learning your rhythms.
“t-toru—oh fuck, toru, yessss…” your hands fly to his hair, tugging the soft white strands.
sato watches, transfixed, stroking himself slowly. “shit.” he reaches down, tweaking a nipple, making you cry out.
toru slides two fingers inside you—long, elegant digits that curl immediately to that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. he pumps them steadily, mouth never leaving your clit. the wet schlick-schlick of his fingers mixes with your escalating moans.
he doesn’t. he sucks harder, fingers crooking faster, and you shatter. your thighs clamp around his head, back bowing off the bed as you scream, waves of pleasure crashing through you. toru works you through it relentlessly, only easing when you’re sobbing, oversensitive and twitching.
he pulls back, lips glistening, chin slick with you. “you're sweet,” he murmurs, licking his lips.
sato’s had enough watching. “fuck that. my turn.” he hauls you up by the arms, positioning you to straddle his lap as he sits back against the headboard. his cock stands proud, and he notches it at your entrance. “ride me, gorgeous. show me you can do.”
you sink down slowly, the stretch burning deliciously. he’s so thick, filling every inch. “s-sato… oh god— s'big…”
“fuuuhhck,” he groans, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “that’s it— t-take it like a good girl.” you start moving, rolling your hips experimentally, then bouncing in earnest. each downward thrust bottoms him out, the head kissing your cervix, making you gasp.
toru kneels behind you, his chest to your back. his mouth finds your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin as his hands roam—cupping your bouncing breasts, pinching nipples, sliding down to rub your clit in time with your rides. “just like that,” he whispers hot against your ear. “such a good girl— doing so well for us.”
sato thrusts up to meet you, the slap of skin loud and filthy. “moan for me. louder.” his hands guide you faster, relentless.
you’re incoherent, a litany of “yes yes yes” and their names, stuttering through gasps. toru bites your shoulder, his free hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head back for a messy kiss over your shoulder. the angle has sato hitting deeper, and you come again, clenching vise-tight around him with a wail: “c-coming—sato!”
“shit—take it, baby— who knew you'd be such a slut?” sato grunts, but he holds off, flipping you suddenly onto all fours without pulling out. “toru—her mouth.”
toru understands instantly. he kneels in front of you, cock hard again, tapping your lips. “open wide, beautiful.” you do, sucking him down eagerly, hollowing your cheeks. he groans, threading fingers through your hair, thrusting shallowly. “thaaat's my smart girl… so perfect.”
behind you, sato resumes pounding, one hand fisting your hair beside toru’s, the other spanking your ass sharply. both brothers facing each other over you, using your body—feels depraved, immersive. you’re stuffed full, rocking between them, drool slipping from your stretched lips around toru’s cock.
“fuck— her throat,” toru pants, eyes flicking to his brother for a split second before squeezing shut. “s-s'tight…”
“you close, baby?” sato growls back. “god— m'gonna come—where?”
“i-inside,” you whine around toru, the word garbled.
that undoes them. sato slams deep, moaning as he floods you, hot spurts painting your walls. the sensation tips you over again—“mmph! fuck!”—muffled by toru, who follows seconds later, spilling down your throat with a stuttered “sh-shit—swallow it all. yeahh, that's it— takin' me so good.”
you do, gulping greedily, even as cum drips from your chin. they pull out slowly, and you collapse face-first into the pillows, a wrecked, trembling mess.
sato flops beside you, dragging you half onto his chest. toru curls behind, spooning close, his softening cock nestling against your ass. lazy kisses pepper your skin from both sides—sato on your mouth, toru on your neck.
“jesus fucking christ,” you slur, boneless.
sato chuckles breathlessly. “i told you guys incentives work.”
toru nips your earlobe. “shut up, sato.”
the bed shakes with their shared, exhausted laughter. you’re already drifting, sated and claimed.
I’m not sure if you’ve watched bleach but what’s your thoughts on Grimmjow and Aizen
I need to **** *** **** them until their *** ****** out of my ***** and won't stop ******** until they have to **** ** *** **** in again and my house ***** are ***** 🤭
I think you guys were moots but do you know what happened to that one creator that posted the frat boy Suguru x virgin shy reader 😭 I’m sorry I’ve been trying to find that fic for AGESSS
I think reader was like being bullied by her friends or something and there was a sukugo mention but I lowkey don’t remember much
girlll i swear i've searched every blog i follow and i couldn't find it either 😭😭 i don't remember reading a fic like that. maybe the blog got deactivated? i really hope you find it though!!
“p-please… please, just like that,” choso gasps, his head thrown back against the pillows, hands gripping your hips as you ride him with a slow, deep rhythm. his eyes are squeezed shut, lost in the sensation.
you lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart under your palms. “you feel so good,” you murmur, watching his face contort with pleasure.
“i know… i know, it’s so much,” he whimpers, his voice cracking. his hips stutter up to meet your downward strokes. “feels too good— c-can’t think…”
you slow your pace, grinding down in a tight circle that makes him cry out. his fingers dig into your skin. “don’t stop… please, don’t stop!”
“i won’t. don't worry,” you promise, resuming that steady, rolling pace that drives him mindless. his babbling starts up again, a stream of consciousness spilled into the air between you.
“s-so good to me… always so good— y-you take such good care of me…” he pants, tears gathering at the corners of his closed eyes. “wanna be good for you… w-wanna make you proud…”
you smile, brushing his damp hair from his forehead. “you always make me feel good, cho.”
that seems to break something in him. his eyes fly open, glassy and desperate, locking onto yours. the words tumble out in a rush, raw and unfiltered. “th-thank you… thank you, mommy—”
he freezes. his entire body goes rigid beneath you, his eyes widening in pure, unadulterated horror. the plea dies in his throat, replaced by a choked, silent gasp. the color drains from his face, leaving him pale and stricken.
the world stops. the only sound is the ragged pull of his breath.
his hands fall away from your hips as if burned. he looks like he’s just been physically struck, his mouth working soundlessly. shame floods his features, hot and immediate, followed by a wave of panic so profound it vibrates through him.
“i— i didn’t—” he stammers, his voice a shattered whisper. he tries to move, to pull away, to hide, but he’s trapped beneath you, exposed in every possible way. “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean— it just slipped out, i swear, i would never— oh, god.”
he brings his hands up to cover his face, a broken, mortified sound escaping him. he’s trembling, not with pleasure anymore, but with sheer, catastrophic embarrassment. “please forget i said that. please. i’m so sorry.”
you don’t move. you stay seated on him, feeling the frantic, panicked hammer of his heart against your core. for a long moment, you just look at him—the way his shoulders are hunched, the red tips of his ears visible between his fingers, the absolute devastation in the line of his body.
slowly, you reach up and gently pull his hands away from his face. he resists at first, a weak, pathetic sound in his throat, but you’re persistent. you uncover his eyes, which are screwed shut, fresh tears leaking from the corners.
“choso,” you say, your voice soft but firm.
he flinches at his own name. “i’m sorry,” he whispers again, the words wet and broken. “i ruined it. i’m so stupid—”
“look at me.”
it takes him a second, but his dark, watery eyes finally blink open, meeting yours. the shame there is so deep it’s painful to see.
instead of speaking, you lean down. you kiss him. not with passion, but with a slow, gentle sweetness, swallowing his next shaky apology. you feel him go still beneath you, confused. when you pull back, you’re smiling, just a little.
“call me that again,” you whisper, your breath mingling with his.
he stares, uncomprehending. “w-what?”
“you heard me.”
a full-body shudder wracks him. “i… i can’t,” he breathes, his voice trembling with a new kind of fear. “you’ll hate me.”
"no i won't," you shift your hips, just a tiny, subtle clench around him where he’s still buried inside you. he gasps, a sharp, punched-out sound. “try.”
the conflict wars on his face—the mortification, the desperate need, the dawning, terrifying hope. his lips part. nothing comes out. he tries again, a silent shape of the word.
then, so quiet it’s almost inaudible, choked and thick with emotion: “…m-mommy.”
you reward him with a slow, deep roll of your hips, taking him all the way to the hilt. a broken sob escapes him, this one laced with relief as much as shame.
“again,” you urge, your voice a low command.
“a-aahngh,” he moans, a little louder, his hands coming up to clutch at your arms. “please— fuck!— mommy…!”
it unlocks a floodgate. once he starts, he can’t stop. the babble returns, but now it’s laced with the word, each one a confession that seems to both torture and liberate him.
“feels so good— thank you, thank you… ‘m so close— please… w-wanna be good, wanna make you happy. d-does this feel good for you, mommy? am i doing g-good?”
his hips are moving in helpless, stuttering thrusts, chasing his release, his face buried against your chest. he’s clinging to you, his earlier horror completely overwritten by a desperate, needy devotion. you whisper praise into his hair—“you’re so good for me,” “such a good boy”—and each word makes him cry out as if struck.
when he finally comes, it’s with a wailing, shuddering cry that he muffles against your skin, his body convulsing under yours as he spills himself deep inside you, utterly spent and completely owned.
he collapses back, boneless, his breathing ragged. you ease off him, lying down beside him. he immediately turns into you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, his entire body trembling with aftershocks and residual embarrassment.
“sorry,” he mumbles again, but it’s softer now, drowsy.
“don’t be,” you whisper, kissing his temple. you feel him relax, the last of the tension bleeding away, replaced by a warm, sated exhaustion. he nuzzles closer, and within minutes, his breathing evens out into sleep, one hand still clutching yours like a lifeline.
nanami's tie was loosened, top button undone, the sleeves of his crisp work shirt rolled up to his elbows. he'd had one of those days, the kind that left him drained but still wanting this, wanting you on top of him, with your cunt wrapped around his weeping cock.
"you're quiet tonight," you murmured, leaning down to kiss the column of his throat. "usually you're at least making those quiet grunts when i ride you like this."
nanami's hands came up to your hips, his grip firm but not tight. "i had a long day," he rasped, his voice already rougher than usual. "i needed this. needed you."
you smiled against his skin, picking up your pace slightly. you loved these moments with him, the way he let go just enough, the way his usually composed exterior cracked just a little. but even then, it was always controlled. always contained.
until tonight.
as you found a rhythm that had your breath catching, nanami's head fell back against the pillows. his eyes drifted shut, and then it happened—a soft, breathy sound escaped his lips. not a grunt. not a sigh.
"ahhh..." he moaned, the sound longer, deeper than anything you'd heard from him before.
you froze for a second, your eyes widening as you stared down at him. "ken?"
"don't stop," he murmured, his voice strained now. "please."
you started moving again, slower this time, savoring the change in him. his fingers dug into your hips, and another sound escaped him, louder this time.
"haah— fuck yes," he breathed, his eyes still closed but his brow furrowed in pleasure. "oh god..."
you were starstruck, completely captivated by the man beneath you. this was nanami. the stoic, put-together sorcerer who rarely raised his voice, let alone moaned like this.
"you like that?" you whispered, leaning down to capture his lips in a kiss.
"more," he groaned against your mouth, his hips meeting yours in a perfect rhythm now. "fuck, don't stop. please don't stop."
the sounds continued, a symphony of pleasure you never thought you'd hear from him. "s-shit— s'too good. pleasepleaseplease—" he chanted, his control completely gone now, replaced by raw, unfiltered need.
"look at me," you whispered, your own breath coming in ragged gasps.
his eyes flew open, and you saw something new there—desire so intense it almost scared you. "you have no idea," he panted, his grip on your hips tightening as he chased his release. "how much i needed this."
you leaned down, your forearms resting on either side of his head as you moved faster, chasing your own release now. "i love you, ken," you murmured against his lips. "just let go for me."
with a final, deep groan that vibrated through his entire body, nanami did exactly that. his half-lidded eyes locked with yours, pupils blown wide with lust, and suddenly he was the one moving.
his hands shifted from your hips to grip your ass, pulling you down as he thrust upward, fucking into you with a desperate, powerful rhythm that stole the air from your lungs.
"fuck—yes—" he gasped, each punctuated by a sharp upward snap of his hips that made you cry out. "just like that—oh god—so tight—" his voice was raw, breaking on every syllable as he drove deeper, harder, chasing that release he'd been denying himself all day.
pairing — single dad!nanami kento x babysitter!reader
synopsis: After finally admitting how you feel, life with Kento and Ella begins to fall into place—quiet mornings, shared dinners, and the kind of warmth that makes every day feel like something worth holding onto. The holidays pass in a blur of laughter and late nights, and by the time New Year’s Eve arrives at the cabin, everything feels different. Between fireworks, soft confessions, and the way he looks at you like there’s no one else in the world, it starts to sink in: this isn’t temporary. It’s the beginning of something lasting.
tags: eventual smut, (slight) age gap, established relationship, domestic fluff, post-confession softness, cozy holiday vibes, christmas + new year setting, cabin getaway, soft tension, arguing, quiet domestic intimacy, emotional comfort, subtle yearning, gentle romance, slow emotional burn, warmth and reassurance, fluffy banter, parenting moments, ella being a menace (affectionate), proposal foreshadowing, light humor, cozy slice-of-life, nanny/parent romance
wc: 13.4k (LOL)
author's notes: MOSTLY PROOF READ! i took five years with a part two ngl then sat on it for a while bc i wasn't sure if anyone would read it :( i'll tag everyone who asked for a part two! thank you for all the love and support on the original fic it's super long bc i got carried away and wanted to give them a good ending
part one | m.list
“We are gathered here today to witness the joining of two lives.”
You and Nanami shared a glance, both of you fighting to keep a straight face. You took a deep breath and tried not to fidget.
“This is the marriage celebration of two people who are special to you.”
“How are two dolls supposed to be special to us?”
Ella groaned, dropping the doll. “Daddy, you ruined it.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
You pressed a hand to your mouth, stifling a giggle. The three of you knelt around Ella’s playtable in the living room. She had insisted on playing tonight, even though you had a pile of studying to do. Naturally, you’d given in.
Ella turned her gaze on you, and you froze.
“Proper brides do not hoot and holler at their own weddings,” she scolded, smoothing the doll’s wedding dress in your hands with solemn precision.
“Yes ma’am,” you said quickly, nodding like your life depended on it. Best not to argue when Ella was in her element. Turns out she had passions beyond unicorns and princesses.
“Next is vows. Daddy, you have to do it really well, okay? Like it’s the real thing.”
Nanami raised an eyebrow, but didn’t argue. He adjusted the groom doll’s posture (Ella had made it bow down to the bride) and cleared his throat.
“I’m ready.”
Ella lifted the camera again, eyes snapping to you. “Bride, are you ready?”
“Yes!”
Nanami’s voice was steady as he began. “From the moment I met you, I knew there was something different. I couldn’t explain it then, but you stayed in my mind. And slowly, you became a part of my life in ways I never thought possible again. You made the long days easier, and even when I didn’t understand it. I found myself looking forward to the next time I’d see you.”
He adjusted the groom doll slightly, his voice quieter now.
“I won’t lie, I’d given up on this. On love. After what I went through, after being left behind, I thought that part of my life was over. That maybe I just wasn’t meant for it.”
He paused, steadying his breath.
“But you proved me wrong. You showed me that love doesn’t always look the same, and that it can come back even stronger the second time. You’ve given me laughter, peace, and hope I never thought I’d have again. You’re the reason I push through the hard days—just to see your smile.”
His eyes finally lifted from the doll to you, and suddenly it wasn’t play-pretend anymore.
“I don’t know what I did in my past life to deserve you, but I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of what you’ve given me. I promise to spend the rest of my life trying to give back the same peace and happiness you’ve given me. To stand beside you in every storm, and to keep choosing you, always.”
Your chest tightened, tears spilling before you could stop them.
“Ahem.” Ella’s interruption broke the spell. “What about me?”
Nanami blinked, still half dazed. “What about you?”
“Daddy, duh. Don’t I get a mention?”
You choked on a laugh as Nanami sighed.
“That was cute and all, but the crying was not. Everyone take five—we’ll run it again.” She hopped off the couch and darted upstairs, probably to grab more props.
You turned to Nanami just in time to see him subtly (and unsuccessfully) wiping his eyes.
“Kento.”
He froze at your tone. You chuckled softly and climbed into his lap, tucking your face against his chest.
“So… are we going to address the elephant in the room?”
“No.”
“Okay. What about the other one?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “…Ella definitely knows.”
“Yeah.”
“And this—” he gestured to you curled up in his lap—“isn’t exactly helping our case.”
“If it’s a problem, tell me to get off.” You tilted your head to look up at him.
Instead of answering, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. You giggled.
“We should tell her soon.”
“And have her laugh and say ‘I told you so’? Absolutely not.”
He gives you a bewildered look. “You’re just as bad as her,” he muttered, though the faint smile on his face betrayed him.
Before you could reply, footsteps thundered down the stairs. You scrambled off his lap and grabbed the bride doll, pretending to fuss with its gown. Nanami gives you a pointed look and you barely conceal your laugh.
“I’m back!” Ella announced, twirling in a new dress. “Changed my outfit.”
“It looks amazing,” you smiled.
“I love it,” Nanami added.
She beamed, plopping back onto the couch and scooping up the officiant doll.
“So when are you going to tell me?”
The two of you stiffened.
“Tell you what?” you asked cautiously.
“That you’re together,” she said simply, brushing the doll’s hair. “Finally. Took forever.”
You shot Nanami a look
“How long have you known?” he asked.
She tapped her chin, pretending to think. “I just knew! Daddy, you look at her like she hung the stars. Like in the movies.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What movies have you been watching?”
“Don’t worry about it. We’re talking about you and Daddy dating right now.”
Nanami dragged his hand down his face with a groan. You bit your lip to stop from laughing.
“Aw, Daddy, don’t feel bad,” She hugged him, then leaned in to whisper loudly as if you weren’t a few feet away. “I like her. She makes yummy cheesecake!”
Nanami’s lips softened into a smile, the creases on his forehead disappearing. “Really?”
Ella nodded. “You’re perfect for each other. You frown all the time, but when she’s here, you smile more.”
Your heart twisted. Nanami glanced at you, and you offered him a watery smile. Unexpected or not, the conversation had gone well.
“Alright, enough sappy stuff. It’s time to marry these dolls.”
“It’s way past your bedtime,” Nanami countered.
Ella frowned, crossing her arms in protest. “But she didn’t even say her vows yet!”
He sighed. “The bride can say her vows. Then it’s bedtime.”
“Deal.” She shoved the camera at you. “Your turn!”
You brought the bride doll in front of the groom, your stomach twisting with nerves.
“Well, um…” You hesitated. Nanami’s vows had been so good—even if they were “pretend.” You weren’t sure you could top them.
Ella shoved the camera closer. “Well?”
Nanami’s eyes were on you too, his hazel eyes watching with quiet intensity.
You moved away from her and let out a shaky breath.
“Love works in mysterious ways. I never expected it to find me, not like this, but then you came along—on a random Saturday night of all times. Somehow, everything started to feel lighter.”
Your eyes burned, but you kept your voice even.
“You’ve been my safe place and my best friend. Being around you made everything easier, and I’ll always be grateful for that. You’ve shown me patience when I stumbled, laughter when I needed it most, and a kind of love I didn’t think I’d ever deserve. I promise to keep building that life with you—the quiet mornings, the dinners with Ella, the everyday moments that feel extraordinary because you’re in them. And I promise to keep choosing you, every single day, for the rest of my life.”
By the time you finished, tears were streaming down your face. Nanami dropped the doll and reached for you. You buried your face in his chest, sobbing, and he dipped his head to press a gentle kiss to your cheek, rubbing small circles across your back.
“Aw, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Ella said, her voice full of concern. You lifted your head, brushing your cheeks with trembling hands.
“No, it’s not you. I’m glad you’re enjoying your early birthday present.” For some reason, the soon-to-be five-year-old had specifically requested a wedding play kit. You hadn’t questioned it—and now you understood why.
Ella knelt and hugged you tightly. “Thank you, I love it. I’m sorry, please don’t cry.” She squeezed you so hard you could barely breathe.
“Ella, don’t crush her,” Nanami reminded her gently.
She released you and turned to him. “Okay, Daddy!” She jumped up and grabbed the camera. “Let’s watch it!”
“Ella,” Nanami said, stern but soft, “we agreed that after the bride’s vows, it would be bedtime.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she frowned. “Okay…” Slowly, she set the camera on the couch and began heading to her room. At the foot of the stairs, she paused and looked back. “Can you guys tuck me in? Pretty please?”
You and Nanami exchanged a knowing glance. All week, she’d been insisting she was “bigger” now that she was almost five, but deep down she was still your little girl.
“We’ll be up in a few minutes,” you promised. She nodded and scampered up the stairs.
You gathered the parts of the wedding set, carefully putting each piece in its proper place, while Nanami cleared the leftover snacks and drinks from the table.
After cleaning up, the two of you sat on Ella’s bed as Nanami read her a bedtime story. Halfway through the book, she was out cold.
“Hm. I guess playing cupid tires a person,” you whispered with a smile.
He didn’t reply. His gaze wandered across the room.
“Kento?”
He blinked. “Hm?”
“Everything okay?” you ask softly, putting your hand on his arm.
He hesitated before facing you.
“I’m just processing everything. The vows. I mean, it’s dolls getting married. But still…” He trailed off, shaking his head.
“It wasn’t really pretend for us, was it?”
You bit your lip before responding. “I meant everything I said. I didn’t really plan on saying all of that, it kind of just happened.”
“Same here. For some reason, it felt real.”
You shrugged, “It’s nothing to stress over.”
A beat passed.
“You’re right.”
“I should probably get going. I have to study for my exam.” You stood up and gave him an awkward side hug before darting off.
The drive home felt longer than usual, your mind spinning. You cursed yourself for making things more awkward than they had to be. You both just got caught up in the moment—nothing more, nothing less.
But why did it feel like more?
When you got home, you sat in your car for a bit. Your four month anniversary with Nanami was quickly approaching. You’d already spent Thanksgiving with them, and Christmas was right around the corner. You were part of the family, no doubt about it. You had helped plan Ella’s birthday party and you practically lived there, you had a few drawers and everything. But it never entered marriage territory.
You had boundaries: only sleeping over when Ella asked, carving out time away for school. Medical school was still a lot, and with your last semester looming, you’d been drowning in study sessions. Marriage was not on the table.
So why am I even considering it?
You blew out a breath, grabbed your bag, and headed inside.
Shrugging off your coat, you dropped your things in the kitchen before settling in front of your computer. The mountain of assignments waiting for you loomed large, but instead of starting, you opened your inbox.
At the top sat an email from your childhood best friend:
To: You
Subject : Care package ;)
————————————————————
Hey! Your care package should arrive in the next day or so. Don’t worry, I packed your special pens from Danny’s. I still think it’s absurd, but I digress. I miss you so much—I hope you like it!
Love,
Samantha ❤︎
You smiled, warmth softening your chest. You and Sam both lived busy lives, sometimes going days without talking, but you always made time for each other. Care packages had become your tradition—snacks, photos, scribbled notes. A little piece of home, tucked into a box.
Still tired, you pushed studying back until tomorrow. After washing your face and changing clothes, you collapsed into bed, asleep the moment your head hit the pillow.
“Julia!”
Ella bolted down the hall to give her friend a hug. She greeted Julia’s mom before dragging Julia into the living room to play.
“Hi, how are you?” Julia’s mom greeted, extending her hand.
You shook it and beamed at her. “I’m great, how are you?”
She nodded toward the girls already giggling. “Those two are something else, huh?”
You laughed. “Oh, one hundred percent. Last night Ella made Kento and me perform an entire doll wedding ceremony.”
Sarah laughed in sympathy. “Yesterday Julia tried to give me French braids and almost ripped my hair out.”
“Sounds about right,” you grinned. “They’re definitely cut from the same cloth.”
“Exactly. Well, I’ll be back at five to pick her up.”
“Perfect. See you then.”.
You returned to the living room where Ella and her friends were sprawled across the carpet, drawing and singing along to Kidz Bop. You snapped a photo of them posing, already imagining how much the parents would love it later.
Nanami peeked into the room and joined you. “Looks like everything’s running smoothly.”
“This is the calmest I’ve ever seen her with girls her age.”
He chuckled softly.
You leaned over Ella’s shoulder to peek at her drawing. She immediately slapped it face-down on the table.
“Is that me?”
From the quick glimpse you’d caught, it looked suspiciously like your profile—with an oversized ponytail and dramatic shading.
“No!” she blurted, cheeks heating.
“No, no—it’s nice,” you said quickly, biting back a laugh. “It’s so nice, actually.”
Ella crossed her arms, sulking. “I don’t think it looks good.”
“It looks fantastic,” you reassured her, though your voice cracked as you noticed Nanami trying—and failing—to hide his laughter.
The other girls looked up curiously. Ella turned crimson.
“Why is Daddy laughing?” she whined.
He coughed into his fist, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him.
You lost it completely, snorting.
“You guys are so mean!” Ella pouted.
“What are you laughing at?” one of her friends asked.
“Nothing, honey. Don’t worry,” you said, still trying to compose yourself.
“I’m going to get some water,” Nanami muttered, standing with a flushed face.
You hurried after him, both of you bursting out the moment you cleared the doorway.
“Oh my god.”
“I know.”
“That has to go on the fridge.”
Nanami narrowed his eyes.
“Absoutely not.”
“C’mon, you don’t see the vision.”
“Thank God.”
You dissolved into another fit of giggles while he just shook his head.
“We can’t hide out here forever,” you teased.
“I’m mentally preparing myself for the rest of the night,” he muttered, raking his hand through blond hair.
“It’ll be fun. They’ll ask you to be the dragon-slaying knight again.”
“For the tenth time?” he deadpanned.
“You know you love it.” You winked and dragged him back into the living room.
“Who wants some hot chocolate with marshmellows?” you called.
“Me! Me!” all the girls shouted.
“Let’s ask our butler.” You turned to Nanami.
“Fetch us some hot chocolate, will you?”
“I preferred the knight,” he muttered under his breath, but still made his way to the kitchen.
After everyone had left, the three of you curled up in the master bedroom.
“How did you like your birthday party, Ella?” you asked.
“It was so much fun! Thank you!” She pulled both you and Nanami into a group hug.
“Of course,” you and Nanami said together.
“You were a great butler, Daddy. Five stars!” She held out her palm and wiggled her fingers.
You cackled as Nanami turned slightly red. “Thank you?”
“Okie, I’m going to sleep now! Goodnight.” She planted a kiss on both your cheeks and darted off to her room.
You nestled against Nanami’s chest with a sigh. “Today was a success. I was so scared she’d hate it—she’s very picky.”
“That she is.”
Glancing at your phone, you noticed the time. 9:07 PM.
“I should head out,” you said, starting to get up. But he caught your wrist.
“Wait. Stay.”
You raised a brow. “You never ask me to stay.”
“That’s because Ella didn’t know about us. She does now.”
You hesitated, then nodded. “I guess you’re right.”
“You already have clothes and a toothbrush here,” he reminded you, tugging you fully into his chest. His head buried against the crook of your neck, voice soft.
“So stay.”
“Mmm. Okay.”
Your fingers threaded through his hair, slow and gentle.
“I’ll stay.”
The next few weeks were a whirlwind—Christmas shopping, decorating the house, and trimming the tree.
Ella insisted on putting the star up herself. Nanami lifted her carefully onto his shoulders while you steadied both of them, trying not to laugh at how serious she looked.
“Careful,” you warned. “If you fall, your dad’s going down with you.”
“I won’t fall,” Ella huffed, tongue poking out in concentration as she placed the star crookedly at the very top. “Ta-da!”
Nanami tilted his head. “It’s leaning.”
“It’s perfect,” Ella shot back immediately, hugging his head like a koala. “Don’t touch it.”
You covered your mouth to hide your laugh. “I think it’s perfect too.”
Nanami gave you a pointed look. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Not when it comes to Christmas decorations. This is serious business,” you teased, brushing pine needles off your sweater.
Later, the three of you sat cross-legged on the floor with bowls of popcorn in your laps, threading it onto string for garlands. Ella, however, was eating more than she managed to string, her little fingers sneaking pieces while pretending to concentrate.
“Ella,” Nanami said dryly, “the point is to put it on the thread.”
“I’m just taste testing to make sure it’s good popcorn,” she argued, cheeks full.
You stifled a laugh. “Quality control. Very important job.”
Nanami sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, though the faint twitch at his lips betrayed his amusement. “At this rate we’ll be out of popcorn before we finish the garland.”
“Then you’ll just have to make more,” Ella said sweetly.
That night, the house smelled like cinnamon and pine, the faint notes of holiday music playing in the background. You and Nanami tucked Ella into bed, only for her to insist on “one more story.”
“Ella, it’s past bedtime,” Nanami said firmly, tucking the blanket around her shoulders.
“Holiday rules are different!” she insisted. “You can stay up late.”
“Nice try,” he replied.
When she was finally asleep, you and Nanami ended up in the living room, sitting on the couch with mugs of hot cocoa. He had insisted on making it the “proper way”—warming the milk on the stove, melting chocolate into it, and topping it with the tiniest dusting of cinnamon.
You cupped your mug between your hands, letting the steam warm your face. “You’re spoiling me. I can never go back to instant hot chocolate now.”
“You shouldn’t have been drinking that in the first place,” he muttered, but there was no real bite in his tone.
You nudged him with your knee. “Admit it. You like all this Christmas stuff more than you thought you would.”
He gave you a long, unimpressed look over the rim of his mug. “I tolerate it.”
“Uh-huh,” you said, fighting a smile. “Sure. That explains why I caught you humming along to Ella’s Christmas playlist earlier.”
He paused mid-sip. “…You imagined that.”
You grinned into your cocoa. “Nope. Definitely real. I’ll treasure the memory until the day I die.”
Nanami exhaled slowly, like a man resigned to his fate. “You and Ella are impossible.”
“Maybe,” you said softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “But admit it—you wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He didn’t answer right away, but when his hand found yours on the couch cushion, fingers lacing through yours, it was answer enough.
“You know…” you began, voice low, “I could get used to this.”
Nanami glanced at you, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Used to what?”
“This. Nights like this. Tree lit up, Ella asleep upstairs, you actually sitting down instead of pacing around worrying about something.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “So you’re saying I dwell too much.”
“You? Never.” You gave him a playful look, and his lips curved into the faintest smile.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The soft glow of the Christmas lights reflected in his eyes, and you felt his grip on your hand tighten just a little, like he didn’t want to let go.
“To be completely honest,” he said finally, voice quiet, “I never thought I’d want this kind of life again.”
You tilted your head. “And now?”
His gaze lingered on you, then drifted to the tree. “Now I can’t imagine not wanting it.”
Your chest warmed. “Careful, Kento. That almost sounded romantic.”
He smirked faintly. “Almost?”
“Mm, maybe I’ll need a little more convincing.”
Nanami sighed like he was exasperated, but his hand squeezed yours again, and he leaned in just enough that his shoulder brushed yours. “You’re something else.”
“And yet,” you teased, resting your head against his arm, “you keep me around.”
He didn’t answer right away, but when you glanced up at him, the look in his eyes was more than enough.
The next day was Christmas Eve. You propped your iPad on the counter and called your parents.
“Hi! I miss you guys so much,” you said as their faces appeared on the screen.
Being away from home had hit you harder than you expected. You’d grown used to it over the years but homesickness still crept up on you.
“We miss you too, honey.” Your mom leaned closer, snowman earrings bobbing as she adjusted the camera.
You laughed. “Cute earrings, Mom.”
“Cute? They’re festive.”
“No, tell her the truth,” your dad cut in from the side.
“Paul!” she scolded, swatting at him.
“What? They’re… a bit much.”
She rolled her eyes but you caught the tiny smile tugging her lips. “Says the man who bought them for me.”
“Well, because you love them.”
You groaned. “Don’t bicker like two idiots in love when I’m not there. It makes it harder being away from home.”
Your mother’s expression softened. “That’s why you should come visit. Everyone misses you.”
“I know. I miss you too.” You hesitated before adding lightly, “But I came last year. It’s your turn,” you joked but you felt a tad bit guilty. It was your first Christmas at the Nanami household and you didn’t want to miss out. Unfortunately that meant breaking your streak of coming home for the holidays.
“Maybe next time,” your dad said, already distracted by a voice calling him in the background.
“Take care, sweetheart. Love you.”
“Love you, bye!”
The screen went dark. You set the iPad down with a sigh. They hadn’t asked about Nanami—never did, really. They didn’t need to say anything; their silence was its own kind of disapproval. Older, divorced, with a child—it was too much for them. You tried not to let it sting.
Your iPad lit up again. Samantha.
“SAM!” you squealed, answering immediately.
“Holy shit I miss you. It feels like I haven't heard your voice in ages.”
“Same here. How are you?”
“Same old. How are you and…” she lowered her voice dramatically, “…Mr. Beekeeping Age?”
You gasped. “Samantha!”
“What? He is!”
You laughed despite yourself. “It’s going well. He makes me breakfast in bed every Saturday, and he actually blocks out time in his schedule for date nights.”
She sighed dreamily. “See, they don’t make men like that anymore. A man who knows romance. A man who worships the ground you walk on.”
“You’re acting like Henry doesn’t absolutely adore you.”
The silence stretched too long.
“Sam?”
Her voice cracked. “Apparently not. He’s been cheating on me with a coworker. The whole cliché—late nights at the office, text messages he swore were work-related…”
You were shocked. You were so sure those two would be endgame. He had fooled everyone.
Your chest tightened. “Oh my god. Sam, I’m so sorry.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks on the screen. “Five years. Five years down the drain.”
You shook your head. “That asshole. I wish I could give you a hug.”
“It’s okay. I… I need time alone to process anyway.” She sniffled, then forced a wobbly smile. “I just wanted to check in. I’ve got guests coming later, so… I’ll talk to you soon?”
“Of course. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
The screen went black again.
You leaned back, trying to process it all. Sam had been so sure Henry was the one—she even kept a secret vision board of her dream wedding tucked behind your bed. And now… five years, gone in an instant.
“Everything okay?”
Your head snapped up. Nanami was standing across the counter in a white compression shirt and grey sweatpants. The deadly combo was back: broad shoulders, defined chest, muscles outlined just enough to be distracting. For a second you forgot what he asked.
“Yeah,” you finally said. “Sam’s upset. I’m worried about her.”
He poured himself coffee with his usual calm precision. “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Her boyfriend of five years cheated on her.”
Nanami stilled, spoon hovering over his mug. “Oh wow.”
“I know. She’s devastated. Rightfully so.” Your shoulders slumped. “I wish I could be there for her.”
He leaned against the counter, studying you. “Then visit. Surprise her for New Year’s.”
You blinked. “What about our little getaway?” He had planned it for weeks—renting a cabin in the mountains, finding a sitter for Ella. It was supposed to be just you and him, tucked away from everything.
“It’s okay,” he said simply, sipping his coffee. “I know how much she means to you. We can push it to Valentine’s Day instead.”
You hesitated. “Maybe. Let’s see how she’s doing after a few days.”
He nodded. No argument, no sigh—just quiet understanding.
Before you could thank him, Ella burst into the kitchen.
“Gooooood morninggg!” she sang, hair wild from sleep. “Can we go window shopping? Pretty pleeease?”
Nanami raised his mug and peered over the rim. He didn’t answer.
“With a cherry on top?” She clasped her hands together, tilting her head to unleash the infamous puppy eyes. He lasted all of two seconds before looking away.
“I was hoping to get some work done today,” he said, then glanced at you. “Maybe you can take her?”
“Sure, why not?” You shrugged.
“Yay!” Ella squealed, bouncing on her toes.
After a quick breakfast, you bundled up and headed to the mall. It was packed—shoppers weaving in and out of stores, arms full of bags, the air buzzing with last-minute Christmas energy.
Ella had insisted on visiting the pet store for some reason. Little did you know you were walking straight into a trap.
“Aw, look!” She tugged on the end of your sweater, pressing her face to the glass. “That one has really cute eyes.”
You followed her gaze to a golden retriever puppy, tail thumping against the floor. “You’re right. He does.”
She clasped her hands together dramatically. “Can we adopt him? Please please please pleeeease—”
You held a hand up. “Whoa there. I can’t speak for your dad. I don’t even live there.”
“You basically do at this point. But still,” she whined.
“Who’s going to take care of it? I have school. Your dad has work.”
“I will.”
You laughed automatically. She glared.
“Oh. You’re serious.”
“I am! We can do the foster adopt program thing. If I don’t take good care of him, we can take him back.”
You considered this for a moment.
““That’s… very convincing. But you still have to convince your Dad.”
“Give me your phone.”
You handed it over wordlessly, and she dialed with the confidence of a seasoned negotiator. “Watch me work my magic.” She wiggled her eyebrows at you.
Three minutes later, she passed the phone back wearing a smug grin.
“Kento?”
“Get her the damn dog,” came his tired voice. “And a bed. And toys. And food. The whole list.”
Your jaw dropped. “No way you folded that fast.”
“She pulled the ‘my mom is away again and I never see her’ card.”
You winced.
“Yikes.”
“It’s fine,” he said quietly. “Whatever makes her happy. Her mom’s cancelled four visits in a row now.”
You leaned against the counter, lowering your voice. “You know it’s not your responsibility to make up for her incompetence. You already go above and beyond for Ella. You’re an amazing dad.”
There was a pause on the line, then a quiet sigh. “I do my best.”
“You do,” you said firmly. “I’ll see you in a bit. Love you.”
“I love you too.”
You hung up, and the mission began: paperwork signed, a cart full of toys and puppy food, and Ella cradling her new best friend like treasure.
“Daddy, look!” she burst into the study not half an hour later, puppy squirming in her arms.
Nanami turned from his desk. His expression was somewhere between exhaustion and reluctant affection.
“Isn’t he so cute?” Ella beamed, and the dog panted happily, tongue lolling.
Nanami already looked tired just seeing it. “He is very cute, honey.”
“I’m naming him Simba. Like from The Lion King.”
“What an original choice,” he replied dryly, and you shot him a warning look.
Ella hugged the puppy tighter, unfazed. “Simba likes me already. See? He won’t stop licking my face!”
“Then I suppose he’s yours,” Nanami muttered.
“Regretting your choice to spoil her?” you teased.
He met your eyes.
“Never.”
On Christmas morning, Ella snuck into your room, insisting on opening presents first thing.
Nanami told her sternly that she had to eat breakfast first.
She groaned dramatically but complied, dragging her feet toward the kitchen.
“I think she knows not to push you after the whole dog situation,” you whispered, following behind.
“Good. It truly gets to a point.”
“Does it?” You gestured toward the mountain of wrapped boxes spilling out from under the tree.
“Some of those are for you too,” he said, matter-of-fact.
“Mhm, sure,” you shot back, slipping into the kitchen before he could argue.
Ella was already perched on a stool, apron tied around her waist, Simba stationed loyally at her feet. She seemed to be in unusually high spirits: she helped whisk eggs with exaggerated concentration, narrating each step to the puppy like she was hosting a cooking show.
“To crack an egg, you have to be very careful not to drop any shells into the bowl.”
Simba barked in response, tail wagging wildly.
“No, you can’t help, silly! You have paws!”
You pressed a hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter as Nanami moved past you to steady the bowl Ella was nearly tipping over.
“Careful,” he warned, voice soft but firm.
“I got it!” she insisted, tongue poking out in determination. Simba yipped again, and Ella leaned down to whisper, “See? He believes in me.”
You snorted, earning a angry bark from Simba in return.
“Even he can tell when you’re being a big meanie,” she scowled, pointing a tiny finger at you.
“It hasn’t even been a day since you got him,” you teased, cleaning up the flour dusting the counter.
“Hmph!” she huffed, crossing her arms but clearly thrilled by the chaos.
Simba jumped up, trying to lick her face, and she squealed. “No! You’re supposed to help, not attack my face.”
You laughed, brushing some flour off your hands. “I think he’s just excited about breakfast.”
Ella rolled her eyes, but you caught the way she beamed at the little golden retriever. You exchanged a glance with Nanami, who was quietly arranging the plates on the table, watching the scene unfold with a soft, amused expression.
You let it go and kept helping with breakfast—the smell of sizzling bacon filling the air, sunlight spilling through the curtains, the warm buzz of morning wrapping around all three of you like a cozy blanket.
Ella hummed to herself as she set the tiny dishes for Simba on the floor. “You can’t forget his napkin!” she exclaimed, pressing a folded square beside the puppy’s little bowl. Simba sniffed at it curiously and gave a soft woof.
“You’re spoiling him too much,” you said with a grin, wiping your hands on a dish towel.
“Never! He needs manners,” she declared proudly, hands on her hips.
Nanami leaned against the counter, watching. “I think he’s already learned more about etiquette than I have,” he said dryly, but you caught the small smile on his lips.
Ella gasped. “Daddy! Did you just laugh?”
“I may have,” he admitted. “Just a little.”
You set the last of the pancakes on the table and gestured to the spread. “Breakfast is served! Everyone grab a plate before the syrup disappears.” You shot Ella a pointed look.
Ella practically sprinted to the table, Simba bouncing at her heels.
"First come first serve, me and Simba are first in line."
“You’re just fast,” Nanami said, smirking. “Try not to knock the table over this time.”
“Hey! I’m careful!” she protested, but the proud smile on her face said otherwise.
Once breakfast was over, Ella immediately ran to the tree, pointing to the stack of presents.
“Can we open them now? Can we? Pleeease?”
“You have to wait until after dishes,” you said, trying to sound stern.
“But that's not fair!” she whined but still helped clear the plates.
The second the last dish was placed on the rack, Ella made her way to the Christmas tree.
Nanami handed her a small gift first, neatly wrapped in gold and red paper. “For you.”
Ella tore it open and squealed. “A new puzzle! Thank you, Daddy!”
You handed her the next one. “This one’s from me.”
Her eyes widened when she saw the drawing set inside. “Oh wow, I love it!”
Simba had climbed into her lap, wanting to be included in the excitement. Ella giggled, stroking his fur. “See? He loves it too!”
“Looks like he approves of your presents,” Nanami said sarcastically.
Once the gifts were done, you headed back into the kitchen. You and Nanami exchanged glances across the room, the kind that said without words that these were the moments that mattered most.
Ella, surrounded by wrapping paper and her new toys, squealed in joy, oblivious to the quiet little bubble of contentment that had formed between the two of you.
Even Simba seemed to sense it, curling up at Ella’s feet, tongue lolling happily as the two of you watched the tiny chaos of Christmas morning unfold.
Eventually, Ella grew restless again. “Come on, Simba! Let’s go explore!” she said, dragging the puppy toward the staircase.
You watched them go, smiling softly at the chaos they left behind. The warm sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, catching the sparkles of tinsel and the tree lights, making everything feel like a quiet little bubble of calm amid the morning frenzy. Nanami leaned against the counter, cradling his coffee mug, the muscles in his arms flexing subtly as he tilted it to take a sip.
“Do you ever think about the future?” you asked quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
“The future?” he echoed, his tone careful. His gaze flicked toward the tree before returning to you.
“Marriage,” you said softly, letting the word hang in the air.
He didn’t answer right away. He set his mug down gently, the sound barely audible. The house felt impossibly still—only Ella’s laughter and Simba’s yips from upstairs.
“I think about it,” he said finally, voice low and steady. “Probably more than I should.”
You tilted your head, curiosity mingling with something warmer in your chest. “And?”
“And…” He paused, eyes tracing the glow of the lights and then settling on you.
“I wonder what it would be like. Not just for us—but for Ella. Everything I do—every decision—it starts and ends with her. I can’t ever make a choice that would make her feel unsure or… replaced.”
You nodded, your chest tightening. “Of course. I wasn’t asking for promises. I just… wanted to know if you thought about it at all.”
His lips curved faintly, the kind of smile that reached his eyes. “I do. Especially on mornings like this—when it’s quiet, and we’re all here. Feels like a glimpse of something I could live with forever.”
Your heart skipped. “You mean that?”
“I do.” His voice softened. “It doesn’t scare me anymore. Not with you.”
You blinked, suddenly warm all over. “You’re too good at this, you know that?”
“Good at what?”
“Making me fall for you all over again.”
His hand brushed yours, fingers tracing your skin. “Then I’ll keep trying.”
You couldn’t fight the grin slowly appearing on your face.
Nanami tilted his head, eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made you ache in the best possible way. “You know,” he murmured, “the thought of spending a lifetime with you… it doesn’t feel like a question. It feels like… He paused, lips twitching as if holding something back. “…home.”
Your chest tightened, and your fingers intertwined with his naturally. “Home,” you echoed softly, the word tasting like hope, like possibility.
He gave a faint, amused shake of his head. “I’m ridiculous, aren’t I?”
“You’re perfect,” you whispered, brushing your thumb over his hand.
Ella’s laughter echoed from the other room, followed by Simba’s sharp bark.
You both smiled.
“She’s back,” he murmured.
You and Nanami exchanged a smile, the kind that said more than words ever could. For now, the future could wait—but the thought of it, together, lingered, bright and undeniable like the twinkling lights on the tree.
The following day, you call to check in on Samantha.
“Hey, I know I've been texting you to check in but I wanted to ask you something over the phone.”
“What’s up?”
You press the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you reach for a bowl on the shelf.
“I was thinking maybe I could come visit for New Years. It would be nice to see everyone again. It's been a minute.”
“Is this out of sympathy,” she asked, tone serious. “Because I’m okay. Plus, I’m going to visit family overseas during that time. You’d miss your cabin gateway for nothing.”
“No it’s not sympathy, I miss you. And what happened to you was huge. I’m worried about you.”
“I guess,” she sighed.
“Wait, how do you know about the cabin? I don’t think I told anyone.“
“Uhm, you did remember? You joked about being kidnapped or being eaten by bears.”
“That does sound like something I’d say. But I swear I didn’t tell anyone.”
“All those all nighters you pull are starting to get to you,” she chucked.
“They’re worth it! I’ve maintained a 4.0”
“But at what cost?”
“Oo-kay Samantha. Goodbye. Love you”
“Love you bye!
You fill a bowl with Ella’s favorite snacks and you make your way upstairs. It was time to get her stamp of approval for the cabin trip.
The door was slightly ajar and you could hear her in there.
“Knock knock,” you say sarcastically, lightly tapping the door.
“Come in!”
You are greeted by a neat room: bed made, toys in the right place, and the dresser organized. You raised your eyebrows in surprise. Ella’s room was never completely clean unless Nanami interfered. Something was going on here.
She watched as you took in the room. “I cleaned it all by myself, are ya proud of me?”
She beamed and battered her eyelashes at you.
“I’m very proud of you, Ella. Good job.”
She frowned at the bowl in your hand.
“Eating in the room? You must want something.” She flopped on her bed. “This has got to be good.”
Trying to keep a straight face, you sat on the bed next to her.
“Your dad and I were thinking about going away for a few days next week for New Years, just the two of us. We’d rent a cabin for like three days max. You’d stay with a sitter.”
“I have a better proposal. I sleep over at Julia's for those three days. That way, everyone is happy!”
“I don’t know, it’s pretty short notice and three days is a long time to stay at another person’s house.”
“I talked to her mom already and she said it’s fine, she just needed the okay from Daddy.”
“Did you talk to him?” You gestured to her room. “Or is this phase 1 of your plan to convince him.”
She grinned mischievously. “Of course.”
Downstairs, you hear keys jangling and the sound of the door opening.
She widened her eyes at you and jumped off the bed. You followed her as she sprinted down the stairs and jumped into Nanami’s arms.
“Woah there. Someone’s happy to see me.” He gave her a tired smile and kissed her forehead.
“I missed you Daddy!”
“I missed you too Ella.”
He greeted you with a kiss and put Ella down.
“I cleaned my room, wanna see?” She bounced in place, full of energy, as she looked at him expectantly.
He gave her a confused look. “You. Ella. Cleaned your room. By yourself?” He glanced at you and you shrugged.
“Mhm, come see.” She tugged his hand and dragged him up the stairs. Naturally, you followed them. You couldn’t wait to see his reaction.
“Tada!” She was grinning from ear to ear.
“Wow. I stand corrected. Good job, Ella. This looks great. I'm proud of you.”
“Aww thanks Daddy," She sat on the bed and patted the spot next to her. “Now come sit,” she said sternly.
He complied, but not without looking at you over his shoulder with a scared expression.
You snorted and leaned against the doorframe. You’d be watching this unfold from a safe distance.
“Since you guys are going away for a few days and my room is super duper clean, canIpleasehaveasleepoveratJulia’shouse?”
He blinked. “What? Slow down.”
You couldn’t understand her clearly. Seems as though she lost her nerve.
You gave her an encouraging smile and she tried again.
“You guys are leaving me for a few days and I’m going to be alone with a new sitter and that’s scary. No one is as good as her.” She gestured at you.
“You’re right about that.” Nanami smiled softly.
“So I thought I could have a sleep over at Julia’s house. Please,” she gave him puppy dog eyes and he sighed. He walked right into a trap.
“Is that why your room is freakishly clean?”
She nodded, eyes widened.
Nanami turned to you and you lifted your hands up. “This is not my jurisdiction, you’re her father.”
He turned back to Ella and pushed up his glasses.
“I suppose, if her mom allows it. You better be on your best behavior.”
Ella grinned, pleased with herself. “Yes Daddy, I will.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Go get ready for bed. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”
She nodded enthusiastically and hurried upstairs, her footsteps fading down the hall.
When he turned back to you, he shook his head with a sigh.
“Were you in on that by any chance?”
“She told me her master plan a few minutes ago,” you admitted, trying not to laugh. “Seems like it’s been in the works for a while, though.”
“What am I going to do with her?” he muttered.
You chuckled softly, leaning into his chest. His arms came around you automatically, solid and warm, and you snuggled closer.
“Treasure her,” you murmured against his shirt.
He looked down at you, his expression softening as he considered that. “You’re right. She’s everything.” A faint smile tugged at his lips.
Then his voice grew quieter. “I do have to talk to her mom about the sleepover, though.”
You pulled back slightly, brows furrowing. “Do you need her permission or something? She’s always traveling for work and barely even sees Ella.” You bit your lip. “She doesn’t exactly have the court’s permission to keep failing to show up.”
“She’s Ella’s mother regardless,” he said carefully. You don’t miss how his tone shifts.
“She should be kept in the loop.”
You catch the subtle edge in his voice again.
“I’m not disagreeing,” you said, trying to keep your tone even. “It just seems like every time you ‘let her know,’ you’re really asking for permission. Like when Ella wanted to go to the lake house with you for a few days. Or when she wanted to join the neighborhood playdates.”
Your jaw tightened. “I doubt she even recognizes half the names you mention.”
He sighed through his nose, setting his mug down on the counter with more force than necessary. “That’s not fair,” he said finally. “She may not be around as much as I’d like, but she’s still her mother. I can’t just—erase her.”
You crossed your arms, trying to stay calm. “That’s not what I’m saying, Kento. But you bend over backwards for someone who doesn’t even pick up the phone half the time. You’re the one here. You’re the one showing up for everything, but you still talk like you owe her something.”
“I don’t owe her anything,” he said evenly, though the way his jaw clenches says otherwise. “I’m trying to do what’s best for Ella. She deserves to have both her parents, not just the one who’s easiest to reach.”
“That’s not what this looks like from the outside,” you said softly, but the words carried weight.
His brows furrowed. “From the outside?”
You hesitated, the air between you thickening. “Sometimes it feels like you’re still waiting for her to prove you wrong. Like you’re still giving her chances she doesn’t deserve.”
Nanami’s eyes flickered, the hurt there brief but sharp. “That’s not true.”
You took a step closer, your voice lower now. “Isn’t it? Every time she cancels, you cover for her. You tell Ella her mom’s just busy, that she’ll come next time. You protect her from the truth, and then you act like it doesn’t tear you apart when she doesn’t show.”
His silence was answer enough. You watched his throat move as he swallowed hard, the muscles in his jaw working.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, steady—but there was an edge under it now. “Do you think I haven’t thought about that? That I don’t hate it every time she lets Ella down?” He shook his head, the controlled calm starting to crack. “But what am I supposed to do? Tell my daughter her mother doesn’t care? That the woman who brought her into this world can’t even bother to see her?”
You winced, guilt twisting in your stomach. “That’s not what I meant. I just—”
“I know what you meant,” he said sharply, then stopped himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. His voice softened, but the exhaustion behind it was clear. “I know you’re trying to help. I do. But this—this is complicated, and I can’t handle it if every time I bring her up, it turns into a fight.”
You blinked, the sting behind your eyes catching you off guard. “I’m not trying to fight with you, Kento.”
“I know.” His voice dropped lower, gentler now. “But sometimes it feels like you don’t understand what it’s like. To carry all of this and still try to be fair. To not let your own bitterness bleed into the way your child sees the world.”
You looked down, the silence between you stretching. The glow from the living room flickered faintly, casting gold light over the counter between you.
“I just hate seeing you hurt,” you whispered finally.
His shoulders sagged. “I know.”
For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The air was heavy with everything you hadn’t meant to say, with the raw edges of love and guilt brushing against each other.
When he finally looked at you again, his eyes were softer, but tired. “Let’s not do this now,” he said quietly. “Please.”
You nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. Okay.”
He stepped closer, brushing his hand against yours, like a silent apology. You wanted to take it, to let it fix things, but the ache between you lingered—small, invisible, and heavy.
And for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel like everything between you was unshakable.
The days after Christmas felt strangely suspended, like the calm between waves. You and Nanami went through the motions as if nothing had happened, but the air between you stayed charged, brittle at the edges.
On the 27th, Ella spent most of the day showing off her new toys to Nanami’s sister over video call. You hovered nearby, helping her untangle ribbons and set up a new puzzle while Nanami worked in his office. Every so often, you’d catch yourself glancing toward the door, half expecting him to walk out and say something—anything—to bridge the distance between you.
He didn’t.
That night, after Ella went to bed, you sat on the couch with your laptop balanced on your knees, scrolling through social media just to distract yourself. Sam’s notification popped up, and your chest tightened.
You: How are you holding up?
Sam: Still not great, but better. Don’t worry, I’m not spending New Year’s crying into a bottle of wine—I’ll be with my family.
Sam: I wish I could visit, but I think I need some time to reset. I promise I’ll come soon, though. Love you.
You reread it twice before tossing your phone aside. The house was dark except for the soft glow from the kitchen, and you could hear Nanami moving around—dishes, the quiet hum of the dishwasher.
When he came into the room, he looked tired. His sleeves were rolled up, and a faint dampness clung to the edges of his shirt. You wanted to tell him about Sam, about how it made you feel helpless to watch her struggle from miles away—but the words stayed caught in your throat.
“Everything okay?” he asked, stopping beside the couch.
You nodded. “Yeah. Just heard from Sam. She’s visiting family for New Year’s.”
He nodded once, something unreadable flickering across his expression. “That’s probably for the best.”
You hummed in agreement, though you both knew you weren’t talking about Sam anymore.
The silence stretched. He rubbed the back of his neck, and for a second you thought he might sit beside you—but he hesitated, then just said, “Don’t stay up too late,” and headed upstairs.
You exhaled slowly once he was gone, sinking deeper into the couch.
The 28th brought a quiet, uneasy rhythm. Nanami took Ella to the park in the morning while you stayed home to catch up on work. When they returned, Ella was covered in snow, cheeks pink and eyes sparkling, while Nanami looked like he’d just fought a war.
“She made me build a snow fort,” he muttered, shaking his head as he unzipped his coat.
“It’s a masterpiece!” Ella shouted, stomping snow off her boots. “You should’ve seen it!”
You laughed, grabbing a towel to help her dry off. “You two have fun?”
Nanami gave you a look that said define fun, but there was the faintest hint of amusement hiding there, and you felt something in your chest loosen.
Dinner that night was quiet. Ella dominated most of the conversation, retelling every second of her snow fort adventure. You and Nanami exchanged the occasional glance—small smiles, soft hums of agreement—but the words that really needed saying hung unspoken between bites.
Later, after Ella went to bed, you found him sitting at the dining table with a cup of tea, papers spread out in front of him. You lingered in the doorway for a moment, unsure whether to disturb the quiet.
“Do you ever stop working?” you asked lightly.
He glanced up, lips curving faintly. “Not often enough.”
You walked over and rested a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch away, didn’t tense up—just looked up at you, eyes warm but tired.
“You should. Rest, I mean,” you said softly.
He nodded, and though he didn’t say anything, you could feel him trying. Trying to meet you somewhere in the middle.
By the morning of the 29th, things had settled into a fragile peace. You packed for the cabin in quiet coordination—folding clothes, checking lists, sharing brief glances that carried something like truce.
When Nanami loaded the last bag into the car, you lingered by the doorway for a moment, Simba circling your feet. The winter air bit at your cheeks, but it felt good—clean, bracing, like a reset waiting to happen.
Nanami shut the trunk and looked over at you. “Ready?”
You smiled faintly. “Yes.”
The drive started out quiet again—soft music, snow stretching endlessly across the horizon. But it didn’t feel quite as heavy this time. The silence between you was still there, yes, but it felt less like a wall and more like something you could cross if you were brave enough.
At some point, he reached over and turned the heat up, glancing at you briefly. “Are you cold?”
You shook your head, and he offered the smallest smile before looking back at the road.
It wasn’t perfect—not yet—but as the miles passed and the world outside turned white and still, it started to feel like maybe, just maybe, it could be again.
You woke up in the cabin bed the next morning, sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains. The drive up had been a blur—you must’ve fallen asleep somewhere along the way, because you didn’t even remember getting into bed. When you rolled over, you found yourself face-to-face with the man responsible.
As strange as it sounded, you loved watching him sleep. It was the only time he ever looked truly at peace—no furrow in his brow, no tension in his shoulders, no endless worrying or stress. Just Nanami, quiet and still, the faint rise and fall of his chest a steady rhythm in the hush of the morning.
A few moments later, he stirred.
“Are you watching me sleep, you creep.” He murmured, voice still laced with sleep. He rubbed his eyes and stretched to yawn. He reached forward and pulled you into his arms. You squealed and scooched closer.
“No, I would never.”
“Liar.” He said into your neck, his breath warm against your skin.
You sighed, sinking into his hold. You had missed this. Missed him—without the noise, the stress, the world outside constantly pulling him in a dozen directions.
For the first time in weeks, it felt like time had stopped just for the two of you.
Eventually, you managed to pull yourself out of bed and into the kitchen. The cabin smelled faintly of pine and coffee, sunlight spilling in through the frosted windows. You tugged on one of his hoodies—because of course you did—and started rummaging through the small pantry. It seemed like he had gone out at some point and bought groceries.
“You don’t have to cook, you know,” he said from behind you, voice still a little rough with sleep.
You looked over your shoulder with a smirk. “You made the drive, I can handle breakfast.”
He shook his head, stepping in beside you. “We’ll do it together.”
Before you could argue, he was already reaching for the eggs, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, moving with that quiet, efficient calm that was so him. You sighed, giving in easily. “You know, some people might actually take a vacation as a chance to rest.”
“I’ll rest when you sit down,” he countered, not looking up as he whisked the eggs.
You couldn’t help smiling as you set the table, the steady rhythm of the whisk and the scent of fresh coffee filling the cabin. It was peaceful—too peaceful, almost. The kind of calm that only existed right before something fragile needed to be said.
When you finally sat down, the two of you had built a perfect little breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast, coffee, and quiet tension. He handed you a plate, his fingers brushing yours, and took his seat across from you.
“So,” you started, pushing your food around with your fork, “we’re not going to pretend that fight didn’t happen, right?”
Nanami exhaled slowly, setting his coffee down. “I was waiting until the right time to talk about it again. The topic was never fully discussed.”
You shrugged lightly, though your chest still felt tight. “I just don’t get it. You inconvenience yourself for someone who barely shows up for Ella. She doesn’t ever make time for her.”
He didn’t respond right away, eyes fixed on the steam curling from his mug. “She’s still Ella’s mother,” he said finally, voice low but steady. “And no matter how many times she disappoints her, I can’t be the one who takes that away. Ella deserves to make up her own mind.”
You leaned back in your chair, frustration flickering beneath your calm. “You’re not taking anything away. You’re the one actually showing up, Kento. You’re the one she runs to.”
“I know that,” he said quietly, lifting his gaze to meet yours. “But I also know what it feels like to grow up resenting a parent. I can’t let her carry that. Not because of my choices.”
You swallowed hard. “You’re not responsible for her mistakes.”
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the soft pop of the fireplace. He finally looked away, jaw tightening.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a beat. “I know it frustrates you. I just… I don’t want to make the same mistakes twice.”
The tension in your chest eased just a little. You reached across the table, fingers brushing over his hand. “You won’t. You’re doing amazing Kento.”
His hand turned beneath yours, palm open, fingers lacing through instinctively.
“You’re allowed to be happy, too, you know,” you said softly.
He smiled faintly, thumb tracing circles against your knuckles. “I’m getting there.”
“Good,” you murmured. “You deserve to.”
For a while, the only sounds were the faint hiss of the stove and the low crackle of the fire. And then, quietly—like an unspoken promise—he stood, refilled your mug, and said, “Eat before it gets cold.”
You wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic, leaning into the heat, and let your eyes follow him as he moved around the small kitchen, everything slightly cramped but cozy, familiar in a way that made your chest tighten. He hummed something low and soft, eyes flicking toward you when he thought you weren’t watching. You smiled at the little detail—the way his sleeves stayed rolled up just so, the crease in his brow as he focused, the faint curl of his lips when he stirred the eggs.
The rest of the day slipped past like a quiet dream. You curled up on the couch, blankets tangled around your legs, and watched Christmas movies together.
“The holiday passed, you know,” he said, voice teasing, leaning back against the cushions.
“Shhh, they’re about to kiss." You scolded him, ignoring his eighth complaint of the day.
He had made you hot chocolate from scratch, insisting that the “package nonsense” wasn’t good enough and that it had to be done the “proper way.” You teased him relentlessly the entire time, but when you took that first sip, you had to admit—it was perfect.
He took a sip and you snorted at the sight of the cream mustache.
He lifted his own mug and took a careful sip, only for you to snort at the sight of the cream mustache forming over his lip.
He frowned, looking slightly offended. “What?”
You leaned closer, pressing your thumb gently against the corner of his mouth. He turned a shade of red that made you grin.
“You had a little something there,” you said, your voice soft but teasing.
“Thank you,” he muttered softly.
Day 2 of your stay began differently. You woke to the soft creak of the cabin floorboards and the faint, rhythmic thunk of wood hitting wood. For a moment, you considered staying under the blankets, letting the warmth hold you, but curiosity won.
Peeking over the edge of the bed, you spotted him outside, chopping wood for the fire. The morning light caught the angles of his shoulders and the way his sleeves clung to his arms with each swing. Even in the chill, even in work clothes, he somehow looked impossibly put together—like someone had carved him out of quiet strength and ease.
You pressed your hands to your face, pretending to stretch, trying not to stare too obviously, though you couldn’t stop the faint flush creeping up your cheeks. Every swing of the axe, the slight bend of his knees, the way his hair fell loose at the back of his neck—it was mesmerizing.
He glanced over his shoulder and caught your gaze, raising an eyebrow as if silently asking, What are you doing up already? You tried to look casual, pretending to yawn, but he smirked knowingly and went back to chopping, the rhythm steady and powerful.
You lingered in the doorway for a moment, taking in the crisp morning air, the scent of pine and snow, and the quiet satisfaction of watching him work. He paused, wiping sweat from his brow, and you couldn’t help but notice the faint crease at the corner of his eyes and the slight tension in his jaw—small, human details that somehow made him even more appealing.
When he finally set the axe aside and approached the cabin, boots crunching in the snow, you couldn’t stop the soft laugh that escaped your lips.
“Sleeping in, I see,” he remarked, voice low, amused, but there was warmth in it.
“I… might have stayed in a bit too long,” you admitted, brushing a strand of hair from your face, suddenly aware of the way your pajamas were bunched at your shoulders.
“Good thing I chopped enough wood for the fire,” he said, stepping closer, his coat dusted with snow. “Or you’d be freezing your toes off in here.”
You smiled, letting yourself be enveloped by the warmth of both the cabin and him, realizing that mornings like this—slow, quiet, messy with small domestic rituals—were the kind of moments you’d never forget.
Especially when he looked that good.
“You know, I run cold pretty easily. It would be nice if you could help me keep warm.” You watched him carefully as he processed what you were saying.
“What would you suggest?”
Five minutes later, he had you in doggy, pounding into you at a relentless pace.
He seemed very pleased at your suggestion. He gripped your hips tightly as he fucked you, digging into your flesh, as if he was making sure you didn’t try to crawl away.
“Kento-” You moaned, throwing your head back.
“Fuck, you’re so tight.”
“You feel sooo good,” you slurred. His cock was nudging your velvet walls you couldn’t think straight.
“Are you okay?” He asked you suddenly.
You nodded, still catching your breath.
He reached over and tapped your cheek.
“I need you to say it love.”
“'m okay.”
“Okay,” he said softly, kissing your shoulder.
He flipped you over onto your back and dragged his cock slowly across your entrance, coating it with your slick. He finally pushed in again, stretching you out beyond belief. You whined and gripped his shoulders, squirming at the sudden fullness.
This time, his pace was agonizingly slow. He took his time with you, kissing your cheek, whispering “I love you”s and sweet nothings with each thrust
“I can’t imagine my life without you. You mean the world to me.”
It was sweet. Too bad you were too cock drunk to fully appreciate it.
After he cleaned you up, he held you close to his chest.
Your cheek rested against the solid line of his shoulder, and for a long moment, you just breathed him in—the faint scent of pine from the fire, the clean tang of soap from earlier, the warmth that made your fingers tingle.
“You mean the world to me too,” you whispered. ‘It’s scary to admit but it's true.”
“Why is it scary?”
You paused, trying to figure out how to explain it.
“I’ve always found it crazy how people can spend decades together in a marriage, vowing to stick together no matter what, and they still get divorced. Whether it’s cheating or just growing apart, it’s crazy to think that. Swans mate for life. So many species do. How come we’re any different?”
He considered your question for a moment before responding.
“I don’t think all of us are different from that. I know many people that have stayed together all throughout or ‘mated for life’ like you said. I agree that it’s somewhat scarce but it exists. We should take more time to appreciate the art of it all.”
“You made vows to stay for life. Doesn’t scarcity apply to you?”
Pursing his lips together, he paused before inching closer.
“You’re right. I did. At the time, I was under the impression that I’d spend the rest of my life with Jessica. Unfortunately, she broke her vows and was unfaithful. Ironically, I couldn’t be more glad that she was.”
You blinked at him.
“What? You’re glad she cheated and broke up your family?”
“No, I was devastated. It was a very hard time to go through. I was glad she broke her vows because it showed me where the two of us were at. She and I were at completely different places even though we were in the same relationship. And I had no idea.”
He squeezed your shoulder lightly and continued.
“If she hadn’t cheated, I would not have known that and seen her true colors. I would have spent a lifetime with someone that didn’t cherish me the way I cherished them.” He glanced back at you.
“Like I’d hung the moon.”
Your face broke into a smile.
“Now, thankfully, I’ve found someone that loves me unconditionally and with their whole being. And I could not be more grateful.”
As your eyes welled up with tears, you realized right then and there that this was it for you. He was all that mattered. Any irrelevant guy from the past could never touch him. He was everything.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, my love.”
“Are we going to light up some fireworks?”
“Yes, we will.” He stood from the bed, the old wooden floor creaking softly under his socks. The fire crackled in the hearth as he crossed the small cabin, rummaging through one of the storage bins near the door.
You snuggled deeper into your blanket, the one that still smelled faintly like the laundry soap he used. Outside the window, the snow was still falling—soft, lazy flakes drifting down over the dark treeline. The world felt muffled and far away, like time had slowed just for the two of you. You couldn’t stop smiling, no matter how hard you tried. He was too much—too kind, too gentle, too good to be real. The warm, fluttery feeling that had been sitting in your chest since that first Saturday night hadn’t gone anywhere.
“Found them,” he said, turning back with a small box in his hand and that faint, careful smile that always gave him away. “I do ask you to be careful because these can be dangerous.”
“Yeah, yeah. Give me one.”
He extended the box toward you, then paused—his hand hovering midair. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, steady and serious despite the softness in them.
“Will you be careful?”
“Yes.”
“Will you read the instructions on the label?”
You groaned, exaggerating your eye roll. “Yes, I’ll read the label. Promise.”
He hesitated another beat before finally handing it over, his fingers brushing yours briefly. The contact was small, almost nothing, but it still made your pulse skip. He gave you that look—the one that said he didn’t quite trust you not to set something on fire—and you had to bite back a laugh.
You unfolded the label and read the directions out loud, your tone overly serious just to mess with him. He shook his head, smiling despite himself.
“Seems easy enough,” you said when you finished, clutching the sparkler. “I’ll be fine.”
“Mm. I’ll be the judge of that,” he murmured, stepping closer to take the lighter from the table. His voice was low, teasing, but the small curve at the corner of his mouth gave him away.
You followed him to the door, tugging the blanket tighter around your shoulders as he opened it. A gust of cold air rushed in, crisp and biting, carrying the faint scent of pine and smoke from the chimney. The snow outside glittered under the pale moonlight, untouched and soft, the whole clearing wrapped in quiet.
He handed you a sparkler, then lit his own. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
He nodded toward yours, flicking the lighter open again. The small flame danced in the wind, and when it caught, sparks burst to life, scattering tiny gold lights that crackled in the still air.
You both stepped off the porch, boots sinking into the snow. The night sky above was velvet-black, the stars sharp and endless. Somewhere far off, you could hear faint fireworks echoing across the valley—but here, it was just you two.
“Let’s do it together,” he said softly, glancing over. “On three.”
You met his gaze, smiling despite the cold stinging your cheeks. “Okay.”
“One…” he began, voice quiet and steady.
“Two…” you echoed, raising your sparkler.
“Three.”
You lifted them at the same time, golden trails swirling in the dark. You squealed as you watched the sparks burst to life, scattering bright little stars that hissed and fizzled in the cold air. The sound was sharp and alive against the stillness of the forest, and for a moment you just stared, mesmerized by how pretty it looked—how surreal it felt to be there, in that silence, with him.
He glanced over, amused. “Careful,” he warned softly, though his tone held no real scolding—only that quiet fondness he never quite managed to hide.
“I am careful!” you protested, but your laugh gave you away. You turned the sparkler in your hand, watching the light chase itself in small circles, your breath coming out in white puffs.
He shook his head, smiling to himself, the faint orange glow reflecting in his eyes. “You’re like a kid right now.”
“Maybe I just like fireworks,” you said, grinning.
“Or maybe,” he murmured, stepping a little closer, “you just like the excuse to stay out here.”
You glanced up at him, the sparkler burning lower between your fingers, its final sparks melting into the snow. The air was cold, but the look he gave you—soft, steady, impossibly warm—made it hard to notice.
You started back toward the cabin, your boots crunching over the thin crust of snow. The last trails of smoke from the sparklers drifted behind you, curling up into the dark sky. He followed a few steps behind, quiet except for the soft rustle of his coat and the faint jingle of his keys in his pocket.
“See?” you called over your shoulder with a triumphant grin. “I told you it would go okay.”
You turned to face him, ready to gloat a little—only to stop dead in your tracks.
He wasn’t standing anymore.
He was down on one knee in the snow, a small box in his gloved hand, his breath visible in the cold air. The porch light from the cabin flickered across his face— his expression nervous, but sure. For a heartbeat, everything around you went quiet: the trees, the distant fireworks, even the wind.
Your mouth parted, but no sound came out.
He smiled faintly, eyes never leaving yours. “I couldn’t let the new year start without asking you this.”
Your breath caught. The night was utterly still, snowflakes drifting lazily between you as if even the world itself was waiting.
“The time we’ve spent together…” he began, his voice quiet, a little shaky around the edges. “It started as something simple. Just you helping out—watching Ella, making sure she was okay when I couldn’t be there.” He huffed a soft laugh, lowering his gaze for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “But somewhere between her bedtime stories, the pancakes on Sunday mornings, and those long nights when she refused to sleep unless you were the one singing to her… it stopped feeling like just help.”
You blinked hard, your chest tightening. The cold bit at your fingers, but it barely registered.
“She adores you,” he went on, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Honestly, I think she figured this out before I did. Every time you’d leave, she’d ask me when you were coming back. And I started asking myself the same thing.”
The box in his hand opened slightly, the faint glint of a ring catching the porch light.
“I don’t know when it happened exactly, but somewhere along the way, you became home—for both of us.”
Your throat went dry, your blanket slipping off your shoulders without you noticing. He looked up at you then—hopeful, nervous, but steady.
“So,” he said softly, voice barely above the whisper of the snow. “Will you stay?”
“Yes! Oh my god, yes, Kento—yes.”
The words tumbled out in a breathless rush, laughter and tears tangling together as you stumbled forward, nearly slipping in the snow. He barely had time to set the box down before you threw yourself into his arms, the force of it making him let out a startled laugh.
He caught you easily, holding you tight, his breath warm against your hair. You could feel his heart pounding through his coat, steady and real beneath your palms. For a moment, you just stayed there, half laughing, half crying, wrapped up in him while the quiet night stretched out around you.
When you finally pulled back, your cheeks were damp and your nose was cold, but you couldn’t stop smiling. He brushed a tear from your face with his thumb, that soft, familiar fondness in his eyes. You turned his wrist to check his watch.
“Happy New Year,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion.
You laughed again, still shaking, still trying to catch your breath. “Best one yet.”
And when the fireworks flared in the distance—bursts of color lighting up the snow around the cabin—you leaned up and kissed him, the world outside fading into gold and quiet.
“You owe me big time,” she said, eyes sparkling as she clambered onto your lap without hesitation. “I should be your maid of honor.”
You laughed, steadying her before she knocked over your mug of cocoa. “Oh, I think you’ve definitely earned that title,” you said, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.
“Good,” she said, looking between you both with absolute seriousness. “Because I already have a dress in mind. It has sparkles. Lots of sparkles.”
Kento groaned softly, rubbing his temple. “Of course it does.”
You giggled, leaning your head against his shoulder. “We’ll make sure it matches the theme,” you teased.
“And I get to throw flowers,” Ella added quickly, just in case there was any doubt. “That’s, like, the law.”
You and Kento exchanged a look, trying—and failing—not to laugh. He reached out, brushing a hand over her hair, his voice gentle. “We wouldn’t have it any other way, honey.”
She smiled, satisfied, and nestled closer between the two of you. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, wrapping the room in golden warmth. For a moment, everything felt impossibly right—like every late night, every shared breakfast, every quiet laugh had been leading to this.
Kento’s hand found yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin. “You realize she’s going to plan the entire wedding now,” he murmured.
You smiled, glancing down at Ella, who was already humming to herself about flower petals and sparkles. “Honestly,” you whispered back, “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Can I please have everyone’s attention?”
You tapped the mic and winced as it let out a sharp crack of feedback. A few guests laughed, and you couldn’t help but laugh too, nerves fluttering in your stomach.
You turned slightly, your fingers tightening around Kento’s hand. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze back, grounding you instantly. The smile he gave you—soft, steady, the kind that reached his eyes—made your chest ache in the best way.
He looked unfairly handsome in his custom-made suit, the deep charcoal fabric perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders. The faint glint of his wedding band caught the light as he brushed his thumb along the back of your hand, a small reminder that this—he—was really yours now.
You took a breath, scanning the crowd of familiar faces. Family, friends, laughter, and the faint smell of the evening’s dinner filled the warm, candlelit hall. Ella sat front and center in her sparkly dress—her sparkly dress, the one she had insisted on—swinging her legs and watching you both like she was about to burst with excitement.
“First of all,” you said, your voice still shaking with disbelief and joy, “thank you all for being here tonight—to celebrate, to laugh, and to witness what’s easily the best decision I’ve ever made.”
Kento chuckled quietly beside you, his gaze fixed on you as if the rest of the room had fallen away.
You looked back at him, your smile widening. “And to my husband—” the word came out with a soft laugh, “—thank you for showing me what home really feels like. For every morning coffee, every quiet night in, every moment with Ella that made us the strange little family we are.”
Ella giggled, covering her mouth, and you laughed too. “I guess she was right,” you added, glancing at her, “I really did need to stay for dinner that night.”
The room filled with warm laughter, the kind that felt like sunlight breaking through.
Kento leaned down, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’ve made every part of my life better,” he whispered. “I love you.”
You turned toward him, heart full, eyes soft. “I love you too.”
And as the guests cheered, Ella clapped the loudest of all—beaming as though the whole night had been her idea from the start.
Then, with a mischievous gleam in her eye, she hopped off her chair and tugged at the small tablet she’d smuggled in. “Wait! We have to watch something first!”
You raised an eyebrow. “What now, sweetheart?”
“You’ll see!” she insisted, already tapping the screen. The video flickered to life, and suddenly the room was filled with the familiar, squeaky “voices” of the dolls.
“We are gathered here today to witness the joining of two lives,” Ella’s tiny, earnest voice announced from the recording, and your chest tightened.
You and Kento shared a glance, stifling laughter as you remembered that night—the one where Ella had forced you both into a full-on “practice wedding” with her dolls. Nanami’s voice, deep and awkwardly formal, echoed through the room:
“From the moment I met you, I knew there was something different…”
You watched, mesmerized, as your five-year-old’s meticulous direction played out. The dolls bowed, curtsied, and exchanged vows that, in hindsight, had already been a rehearsal for this very moment. Ella occasionally whispered stage directions at the camera, and you caught yourself laughing, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.
“Your turn!” Ella’s voice chirped from behind the camera.
Your vows—slightly shaky, still heartfelt—filled the video. You remembered the knots in your stomach, the way Nanami had watched you with that steady, loving gaze even while playing along. Now, sitting in the candlelit hall, watching the little recording, it felt like a bridge between the two worlds: past and present, pretend and reality, all wrapped up in laughter, love, and a five-year-old’s perfect sense of timing.
Ella clapped when the video ended. “See! It was perfect! Just like tonight!”
Simba barked in agreement.
Kento reached for your hand, thumbs brushing against yours. “She's right,” he murmured. “It really was perfect.”
You leaned into him, heart full, and whispered, “It’s everything I could ever ask for.”
Ella beamed between you, already plotting a “baby scene" while you and Kento shared a quiet, unshakable moment—knowing this, truly, was the beginning of everything you’d always wanted.
jjk tag list (open) : @fallingvines, @laburantesdoll , @cupidstrace , @tiny-teacup103 , @1l-ynn
nanny clause pt.2 tag list: @gojo-sataro1fan , @aeanya , @nanamin-chan, im sorry if i didnt tag u im not sure if u would want to be tagged
