sozila

[sozila]

sigh i loved this 😊 yes this is outside my usual fandom interaction but cm is sooo addicting (as is dr. spencer reid 😋) beautiful work!! ☀️

THE LAW OF TRULY LARGE NUMBERS ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x analyst!reader

summary: the law of truly large numbers says coincidences are inevitable. but somehow, running into spencer reid never stops feeling like fate.

genre: fluff! | w/c: 3.4k

tags/warnings: none really. reader has some self-image issues and insecurities related to a sucky ex but nothing too crazy. glasses!reid, reader works for the fbi but not the bau, written with fem!reader in mind but could pass for gn!reader too if you ignore one use of the world “girl,” story takes place over the course of a few weeks but I wasn’t wildly specific about it

a/n: based on this request from @oh-yourloveis-sunlight! this ended up getting longer than I intended originally but oh well, I was having way too much fun coming up with ideas for how they’d run into each other next lol. hope you enjoy, tysm for requesting! ❣️

You first meet Spencer Reid at 8:21am on a Tuesday morning.

You’re holding a paper bag of still-warm pastries because your unit chief is on a “morale boost” kick this week and nothing says team bonding like volunteering to bring in baked goods. You’re thinking about the long day ahead and how stale the break room coffee is going to be and not watching where you’re going when the elevator doors open and—

You almost walk straight into him.

He’s tall. Tall-tall. And thin in a slightly unwell academic way, tousled brown hair parted on the side, honey brown eyes wide and blinking at you through browline glasses.

“Sorry,” you both say at once. You take a step back. So does he. Then he does that thing people do where he gestures for you to go ahead, and you hesitate before stepping forward at the same time as him, and now you’re doing an awkward, uncoordinated dance in front of a steel box.

Eventually, you both make it in.

You press the button for floor 5. He presses 6. Someone else gets in and hits the button for 4.

You stand silently. He glances at you. Then down at the floor. Then at your badge, clipped to the waistband of your dress pants. Then at the bag of pastries.

“The cinnamon ones are the best. If those are from Van’s, I mean,” he says tentatively.

You blink. “They are, actually.”

He nods. “They use Saigon cinnamon. It’s from Vietnam. It’s stronger, a little spicier than regular cinnamon. I—sorry, I’ve, uh, read a lot about spices recently.”

You don’t have time to answer before the doors open and he’s stepping out into the hallway, manila file folder tucked under his arm.

It takes you a second to realize he got off on the fourth floor with the other passenger by mistake. You catch him making an embarrassed, awkward turn back toward the elevators once he’s halfway down the hall before the metal doors slide shut.

You think about Saigon cinnamon and those glasses for the rest of the day.

—

Friday morning, 9:12am. You’re running horribly late.

You’ve got a USB stick in your hand and a mission in your head — get it encrypted, get it cleaned up, get it into the system by 10am. You’re halfway through the lobby when someone says your name.

You freeze. Turn. He’s already waving.

It takes you a second to place him without the glasses.

He’s wearing contacts today. His hair’s a little neater. Another soft sweater — burgundy this time — and a leather messenger bag slung across his chest like he just walked out of a grad seminar.

“Hey,” he says, catching up with you near the badge check. “Van’s cinnamon pastries, right?”

You smile despite yourself. “You’re still thinking about those?”

“Hard not to,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m Spencer,” he adds, like you don’t already know that from his badge, same way you assume he knew your name.

You both hesitate. You’re painfully aware of the USB drive in your hand and the growing line of people waiting for the elevators and the clock ticking steadily toward 10am. Your eyes dart to the stairs — they seem to be the fastest option.

He shifts his weight, pushes his hair back behind one ear.

“Can I walk you up?”

You blink. “What?”

“To wherever you’re going. I’m headed to the sixth floor, but I’m not in a rush. We’re between cases right now.”

You laugh. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“Too late,” he says, and he falls into step beside you.

—

It’s raining when you see him again.

Not dramatic rain, just a halfhearted Virginia drizzle that dampens your sleeves while you fumble with your umbrella and mutter curses under your breath. You duck into the small coffee shop across from the office — the one with the black bistro tables and an overfilled bulletin board — and shake the water from your coat as you slide into line.

You don’t see him at first. You’re too busy debating between hot chocolate and your usual latte.

But then someone behind you says your name.

You turn, and there he is.

Spencer.

Hair damp and curling slightly at the edges. Glasses fogged. Sweater vest layered under a coat too thin for this kind of weather. He smiles at you — tentative, like he’s not sure if you’ll smile back.

“Hi,” you say, a little breathless. “You following me?”

He blushes. “No, I’m—I mean, we both work across the street, so it’s not, um, statistically improbable we’d run into each other here.”

“I’ll chalk it up to fate.”

He huffs a quiet laugh and steps up beside you.

“Can I guess your order?” he asks.

You arch a brow. “You’re going to profile my coffee?”

He shrugs. “I can try.”

“Be my guest.”

He tilts his head. “You work long hours. You probably don’t get enough sleep. You must drink something with espresso in it, but not just that — it has to be dressed up enough to feel like a treat. Maybe a seasonal flavor.”

Your jaw drops a little. “Okay, that’s… freakishly accurate.”

“Caramel latte?” he guesses.

“Close. Pumpkin,” you admit. “But that was impressive.”

He shrugs again, cheeks a little pink. “Lots of practice.”

A few minutes later, you’re both perched at one of the tiny round tables by the fogged-up window, drinks in hand, steam curling up between you. You’re technically on your break. So is he. Neither of you seems eager to get back.

You ask what he’s working on. He tells you about his last case, a triple homicide in Texas. Then he asks about your job, and you explain — badly — what exactly a tech analyst does for a department that isn’t the BAU. You’re pretty sure you’re boring him to death, but he’s watching you like you’ve just quoted Wordsworth.

“You talk with your hands a lot,” he says, after a pause.

You blink. “What?”

“When you’re excited,” he adds, quickly. “Not all the time. Just when you’re explaining something that matters to you. You kind of —” he makes a vague fluttering motion with his fingers, “— move them like you’re sculpting the air or something.”

Your face burns. You wrap your hands around your coffee cup.

“Oh. Yeah. That,” you murmur. “My ex used to say it was distracting.”

Spencer’s expression shifts. It’s subtle, but you see it — a flicker of something protective in his eyes.

“I don’t think it’s distracting,” he says. “I think it’s cute.”

You freeze.

He freezes.

The moment folds in on itself. His face goes pink again, and he ducks his head as he mutters something about meaning it in a completely observational way, not, you know—

You interrupt before he can spiral further. “Spencer.”

He looks up.

You smile. “It’s okay.”

There’s a beat of silence between you. Rain patters softly against the glass. In your chest, something flutters.

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just a friendly coffee. A weird coincidence of schedules and elevators and cinnamon pastries. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all.

But when he offers to walk you back — and when you say yes — your heart betrays you a little.

—

The FBI library isn’t exactly cozy. It smells like aging carpet and copier toner, but there’s still something about it that you’ve always found comforting. Especially on days like today, when your code has glitched five separate times and someone on your team said “let’s pivot” like that actually means anything and you just need a break away from a screen.

You’re curled up at one of the long wooden tables near the back with a spiral notebook, a pencil, and a pile of casefiles your unit chief asked you to cross-reference to give you an excuse to work on something that didn’t involve a keyboard. It’s not thrilling, but it’s quiet. Which counts for something.

You don’t notice Spencer at first.

He’s sitting at a smaller table a few feet from yours when you glance up — half-hidden behind a teetering stack of psychology journals, long fingers curled around a fountain pen, hair falling into his face.

He looks up a second after you do.

“You again,” he says softly, like it’s a private joke.

You arch an eyebrow. “Starting to think you’re stalking me.”

“You’re the one in my library,” he says, mock offended.

“Your library?”

He nods. “I basically live here.”

You glance at the empty paper cup beside him, the five or six books spread out across the table, the absurdly detailed notes he’s scrawling in messy handwriting.

“Yeah, I can see that. You’ve really made yourself at home.”

Silently, he gathers his belongings and moves to take the empty seat across from you at your table.

You go back to your work. So does he.

But every few minutes, you catch yourself glancing up.

Not on purpose, not exactly. It’s just… he’s got this way of reading like he’s somewhere else entirely. Lips moving a little. Eyes flicking fast across pages. You wonder if he knows how intense he looks when he’s thinking. How pretty his hands are when they move — when he writes, when he fidgets with his pen, when he adjusts his glasses like he’s trying to hide behind them.

You wonder what it would feel like if he looked at you the way he looks at those pages or if he touched you with those hands.

He wouldn’t, of course.

You’ve long accepted that you’re not the kind of girl guys like that go for — not crisp and stylish, not someone who walks into a room and makes the temperature change. You’ve never quite known how to wear your hair right, or what to do with your hands, or how to stop fixating on the way your nose looks in photos. You haven’t even dated since the last guy — the one who told you that you were being “a little much” anytime you got excited about something.

You shake your head. Focus.

You’re halfway through reviewing the next file when you realize Spencer’s watching you.

“Sorry,” he says, when you meet his eyes. “I was just—I was going to ask if that’s a 0.7mm Pentel mechanical pencil.”

You blink. Look down. “Uh… yeah?”

“I thought so,” he says. “You write really small. And neat.”

You stare at him, then down at your paper, then back up.

“Are you profiling my handwriting now?”

He shrugs, looking sheepish. “Only a little.”

You smile despite yourself.

After a pause, he adds, “I like it — your handwriting. It’s meticulous.”

You laugh. “I’ve never heard that word used as a compliment before.”

“Well, I mean it as one.”

There’s something in his voice — not flirtatious, exactly, but sincere. Earnest. He doesn’t even realize it’s making your heart hiccup a little.

You don’t talk much more after that, but when you both stand up at the same time twenty minutes later and realize you’re heading out in the same direction, you fall easily into step beside him.

And this time, you both walk a little slower.

—

It’s just after 1 p.m. when you walk into the Quantico cafeteria.

The lunch rush is tapering off — fewer suits in line, more empty trays abandoned on beige tables. You slide your badge into your pocket and step toward the soup station, only half paying attention. You haven’t eaten much today, and your stomach’s been in knots ever since Spencer spotted you in the stairwell earlier and asked what time you were heading to lunch.

You try to act casual when you spot him.

He’s at a table near the window, brown paper bag open in front of him and a spiral notebook beside it. He’s writing something down, but he looks up the moment you approach as if he’d been eagerly waiting.

“Hey,” he says, and the smile he gives you is small and a little shy. “I was hoping you’d come.”

You sit across from him, tray in hand. “Yeah, well, you did say in the library last week that the soup selection is better on Thursdays.”

His eyes widen slightly. “You remembered that?”

You nod, breaking off a piece of bread. “You said it’s the only day they serve lentil soup, which also happens to be the only soup they make that you claim is any good.”

“I stand by that.”

You laugh, and the warmth of it catches you off guard. It’s easy with him. You like the way he doesn’t fill silences just to fill them and how he listens like every word you say is a thread he wants to follow all the way to its center.

You talk for a while. About work, a little. About books and poetry and music. About your mutual disbelief that anyone could function on decaf. He doesn’t flirt, not exactly, but he compliments you — in that slightly awkward, matter-of-fact, Spencer Reid way that’s somehow more disarming than a rehearsed line.

You’re telling him about your failed attempt to install a new monitor alone while you had a broken arm last year when he goes still for a moment, causing you to trail off into silence. He clears his throat.

“Would you maybe want to, uh, go out with me sometime?”

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.

“What?”

He fidgets. Pushes his glasses up. “I mean, like, to a real lunch or coffee or something. Not in the office. I just—I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you, and I was thinking, if you wanted, we could—”

You shake your head.

It’s not harsh. You don’t mean it to be. It’s just… instinct.

He stops talking. His face falters. “Oh,” he says softly. “Okay. Yeah. No worries.”

You rush to explain. “It’s not you. Really—I mean, I just… don’t get it. Why would you want to go out with me?”

Spencer blinks.

You look down at your tray. “You’re a genius,” you murmur, voice low. “You’ve probably read more books this week alone than I have in the last two years. You talk like a textbook and still somehow make everything sound incredibly poetic. And you—God, you’re so—”

Cute. Attractive. Hot. That’s what you want to say, but you stop yourself before you can finish the statement. You swallow hard.

“And I’m… not,” you finish quietly.

It’s not that you don’t want to say yes. God, you do. But there’s a familiar ache in your chest, a voice you haven’t shaken, the echo of someone who once made you feel like being too much meant you’d also always be not enough.

Across from you, Spencer is silent. For a second, you wonder if he’s angry. Or worse, embarrassed.

But when you finally look up, he’s just watching you — gently, curiously, like he’s figuring something out.

He opens his mouth. Then closes it again. His brow furrows slightly.

You stand. The words come out too quickly: “I should get back to my office. I’ve got a code freeze coming up and I told my boss I’d review the rollout plan before—yeah.”

He nods. “Right. Of course. I’ll, uh, see you around.”

You hate the way his voice sounds now — too polite. Too guarded.

You force a smile as you gather your tray. “Thanks again for the soup rec.”

You make it out of the cafeteria before the lump in your throat rises.

You tell yourself it was the right call. It’s better this way. You’re not built for someone like him. You’d only mess it up.

But when you glance back, just once, through the glass of the cafeteria doors, Spencer’s still sitting there, scribbling in his notebook like maybe if he writes enough, he can make sense of whatever just happened.

You don’t know it yet, but he’s writing a list.

—

It’s raining again the next afternoon.

Not much — just a misty drizzle that turns the parking lot into a soft gray blur. You’re already halfway to your car when you hear footsteps behind you. Then a voice, calling your name.

“Wait—wait, just—can you stop for a second?”

You turn.

Spencer is jogging toward you, messenger bag bouncing against his hip, one hand holding a flimsy-looking umbrella, the other gripping something — a piece of paper, maybe. His coat is half-buttoned. His glasses are a little fogged.

He’s completely out of breath by the time he reaches you.

“Hi,” he pants. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to chase you down, I just—I tried to find you on your floor, and they said you left early, and I—”

You blink. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he says quickly. “No. I mean—I’ve been thinking. Since yesterday.”

You look away. “Spencer, we don’t have to talk about—”

“I made a list,” he blurts out.

You freeze. “What?”

He thrusts it at you — a folded piece of notebook paper, lined, slightly smudged. You unfold it slowly, holding it under the umbrella he’s angled over you, and he watches you like he’s just handed over something radioactive.

It reads:

Reasons I like you and want to go out with you: A non-exhaustive list by Dr. Spencer Reid

you talk with your hands

you remember weird things I say about soup

you were nice to me in the elevator even though I rambled about cinnamon

you snort when you laugh (you try to hide it but I’ve heard it twice)

you don’t pretend to know things you don’t, and you always ask good questions

you hum under your breath when you’re concentrating

you don’t hold my technophobe tendencies against me even though your job is literally all tech all the time

your whole face lights up when you’re excited about something

we have the same taste in pastries and poetry and classical music

you talk about the people you care about with more kindness and affection than I thought possible

your nose scrunches a little when you’re confused and I think it’s adorable

speaking of which, I think everything about you is adorable. “beautiful” would be a more apt word to use, actually

you said us meeting in the coffee shop that one day was “fate” and I haven’t stopped thinking about it (or believing in it) since

You stare at the list for a long moment. Then you press your lips together, eyes stinging.

“It’s not exhaustive,” Spencer says quietly. “And it’s in no particular order. I wrote it fast. I could probably think of twenty more things. I… I like lists.”

Your fingers tremble slightly on the page.

“I don’t understand,” you murmur. “You’re… you. And I’m…” You trail off.

He tilts his head, studying you. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

You look away.

He steps forward, voice softer now.

“I don’t like you despite who you are — I like you because of it. Because you say what you mean, and you get excited about the little things, and you care more than most people do, and you never look at me like I’m too nerdy or too awkward or too much.”

Your chest tightens.

“I thought I messed everything up yesterday,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“No,” he says. “You were just scared. I get that.”

“I’m still scared,” you admit.

“That’s okay,” he says, and there’s a faint smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Me too. We can be scared together.”

You smile and fold the list carefully like it’s something delicate.

And before you can overthink it, before the doubt creeps in again, you lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek.

But in the same moment, he coincidentally turns his head just slightly. Just enough that your lips land on his mouth instead.

It’s only for a second. A little awkward. Completely accidental, but also completely real.

He blinks. You blink.

You start to pull away.

But then he wraps his free arm around you and kisses you again, on purpose this time, the umbrella overhead shielding you both from the rain. It doesn’t last too long, but it’s soft and smiley and achingly wonderful.

When you break apart, you’re still in disbelief that it even happened at all. You look up at him, studying him, searching his face for signs of regret. You can’t find any.

“I keep thinking about all the times we ran into each other,” you say softly. “So many coincidences, it almost feels improbable.”

He smiles again, brighter this time. “There’s a theory called the law of truly large numbers,” he says. “It basically says that with a large enough sample size, coincidences are inevitable.”

You tilt your head with a quiet chuckle. “So this was all just math, basically? That’s kind of depressing.”

“Or,” he says, stepping closer, “it means the universe just kept trying. Over and over, until it got it right. Like fate.”

You smile fondly and kiss him again before he can say anything else.

Not just a coincidence. Not anymore.

ᝰ.ᐟ

masterlist

PSA: likes do very little for promoting posts on tumblr! if you'd like to support a fic, please reblog!

[sozila]

hi goobers. i took an unpredicted hiatus and unfortunately did the ao3 writer thing of having a bajillion traumatic events happen to me back to back lol, but i want to get back into writing 😵‍💫🤍 i hope you all are doing well and been enjoying good writing from others lately ☺️ just posting to show i’m not abandoning my work heehee

[sozila]

… hi guys 😛 so ik i haven’t been very active in a hot minute..

BUT!!!! WAIT!!!!

i am resuming writing on convalescence 😋 i’m here i swear…….

also: i have drafts of the asks i got a very long time ago, so please hold tight a little longer for some cute little stories too! 🩷

[sozila]

yeah 💖

''what if my writing isn't good eno--'' what if it's a reflection of your soul. what if it has a place in this world. what if you write it anyway

[sozila]

i’m so sorry guys 🥹 classes caught up on me and on top of that, i’m finally on thanksgiving vacation 🙆‍♀️ currently at a ski resort! hope i survive 😛 anyways, i hate to say i don’t know when the next update of things will be definitively! however, i hope to push out convalescence first since you guys voted that :) hope you all are getting the rest you need and deserve! 🩷 much love always

[sozila]

oh my god sukuna is winning by DECIMAL POINTS 😭

sigh better start writing LMFAOOOOO y’all REALLY love my vers of frat boy sukuna

[sozila]

yeah.. yeah

Hand practice (procrastinating..)

[sozila]

also i apologize if my posts seem scattered 😅 i do in fact have adhd, i try my best :)

i really cannot stick to upload schedules for the life of me 😭 i have 60% of the last chapter of chiaroscuro, two (secret!) requests, and around 20% of convalescence chapter five done 😣

actually ykw let me ask you guys 🙆‍♀️

will casually wait for your answers 😛

[sozila]

for anyone wondering how i feel after the release of jjk 29’s cover:

yeah that’s all. goodnight 🩷😮‍💨

[sozila]

you're studying medicine??? that's soo cool

hi anonnie 😊

yes! i’m still in my undergrad, but my goal is med school :P definitely dying rn!!!!!1!!1!! jk but no i love this, i wouldn’t choose it if it wasn’t something i can see myself doing ten years from now :) 💕

also big psa: please stay in school! no matter what you do, i promise it will be fulfilling in some way! winter depression hits hard but remember to take care of yourself and not lose sight of your goals! 🩷🙆‍♀️

you can do it 💪🤍

[sozila]

Would you ever write a SatoSugu x reader fic 👀? Asking for myself 🩷

hi anonnie 🎀

short answer; yes! but i think maybe not in the way you’re thinking hehe 🤭

i feel like most of my stories are pretty monogamous, i mean up until now both my fics are just singular x reader pairings. i think what you’re asking for is like polygamy or a threesome (lol eiffel tower 😜) which i think isn’t my personal cup of tea just yet! i’m not writing off smut entirely, i just don’t think i could accurately represent one given i haven’t written intensive smut. but i’m not totally closed off on the idea 🤗

my alternative for now that i could definitely write for you would be like a love triangle situation that’s messy haha, if that’s up your alley :P i loooove writing complicated relationships. like ooh, your boyfriend is satoru, but every time he has a fight with you, his sweet best friend suguru comforts you, toooootally no ulterior motives. lolzies 🫣😮‍💨

however i was thinking about writing an old western au with cowboys satosugu fighting for your love…... if that’s also something you’d like, tell me 😋💕

thank you for asking anonnie!

[sozila]

Who's your favorite jjk character?

hi anonnie 😊!! what a cute q 💕

i’ve liked nanami’s character from the beginning of me reading jjk, but i think sometime this summer i started reading sukuna fics and now i like him fanonically HAHA. also do love me some satosugu angst dynamics 🙂‍↕️🙏

on a completely different side note i really love gojo arranged marriage au 😲😲 but i usually see heavy angst or heavy smut for that trope 😣

anyways yeah 😋 what are you guys’ favorites? ik gojo seems to be a huge fan favorite hehe

[sozila]

omg i love you guys 🫣 immediately got 3 very slay asks and i’m already scheming them out 🫡 please keep requests coming! 💕 or if u just wanna send a lil message hehe 🤗

[sozila]

hi!!! when is convalescence chapter 5 coming out?? no rush!! i love it sm i cant wait for the next update

hii my love! don’t ever feel bad about asking for progress updates on fics! 💕 i don’t mind 😊

i have the outline ready for chapter 5 but i’ll be finishing my nanami girl dad drabble tomorrow, and then start writing chapter 5 😋 i want to target monday or tuesday, but i’ll try to speed it up cuz ik you guys are waiting hehe!!

thank you for your ask anonnie 🤗🤗

[sozila]

waiting for requests and asks posted up in my bed like 🙆‍♀️

ugh i swear i don’t bite 😣 please don’t feel shy about talking to meeeee

[sozila]

on the mission to revive good slowburn 🫡

i totally feel the person that said it’s hard to find good stories without excessive smut. i crave slowburn stories!!

slowburn has become extinct 😔

[sozila]

nanami as a girl dad (happy 100 followers!)

synopsis: just a very long drabble about kento as a father to a girl.

pairing: husband!kento nanami x wife!reader, first time girl parents

warnings: descriptions of sexual activities, mdni.

masterlist | part two

a/n:

this was originally just a little blurb i thought of bc of a post i reblogged, but i decided to keep it as a treat until now! thank you for 100 followers (now 110, i can't keep up with you guys☠️), i truly appreciate it! 💕 i hope you enjoy 🤭 so sorry i split this, but it's probs too long together 😣 the next part will be up tomorrow or the day after tho 😜 much luv 🤍!!

p.s. subtle reminder all requests and asks are open… 🩷

nanami as a girl dad!

you were caught by surprise when you found out you were pregnant. you and your husband weren’t exactly trying for a kid, but you weren’t taking steps to prevent it either. you stopped birth control when you got married to kento, which was coming up on two years ago. 

you weren’t one to track your cycle, but even then you knew it had been a good while since you had one. three pregnancy tests later, you were sure this wasn’t a false positive. you slumped on the bathroom floor in shock and joy. all you could think about was kento’s reaction.

you and kento wanted a family. you established this very early on. he wanted marriage, kids, the whole nine yards. he was so collected in his life he had sorted all serious life decisions as soon as you started dating to avoid any and all conflicts of interest. that was your beloved, alright. the calm and collected one. he held down the world so you could live freely and happily. 

but one thing that took you by surprise was something he didn’t have to outwardly tell you, but you deduced over time. 

kento nanami was obsessed with the thought of having a daughter.

anytime you’d be out shopping, you’d see him linger at the baby section going through tutus and little pink onesies.

he’d send you videos of babies during work, which you scolded him for. (they were very adorable, however.) they always seemed to be daddy and daughter ones.

when you were putting away laundry, you noticed in his tie drawer a tiny pink bow tucked away. you giggled to yourself. maybe he’d bring it up with you when he was ready.

and when your friends had their daughter early last year, you saw the way kento’s eyes twinkled with hope when you both visited the newborn. he asked so many questions to the new parents, what books they read and where they bought their stroller from. he was so engrossed in jotting notes down you practically had to tear him away to go home that night. 

so it was safe to say your husband was very much excited in the idea of having a baby, especially a little girl.

you knew the chance of not having a girl was there, but something told you it was fate your first would be one.

you couldn’t keep the secret for very long because just as how you found that sweet little bow so easily, your husband was quite the detective himself as well. 

you were reading on the couch when kento bursts in the living room with a very familiar stick in his hand, face incredulous.

“darling, please tell me this isn’t one of your friend’s.” his voice was filled with raw emotion; you hadn’t seen him tear up this badly since your wedding day.

you throw your book to the side and give him a betraying laugh. “did you dig through our bathroom’s trash?! you didn’t even let me surprise you properly!” you protest, your eyes welling up as well.

he ignores the accusation and instead falls to his knees in front of you and cups your stomach, fully sobbing now. “we’re pregnant,” he says. “you’re carrying our baby.” he’s buried his face in your thighs, trying to hide the ugly sobs leaving him. you pull his face up to yours and have him to look at you. “yes, ken. we’re pregnant.”

if kento wasn’t already very protective of you, he definitely was now. holding doors, lifting things, hell- even making breakfast was all getting done by him. your hormones made it very hard to deal with his overbearing behavior and you ended up getting angry every time you were barred from doing something.

“ken, let me make my own goddamn coffee or i’m picking up this knife.” you grit out, shuffling groggily to the counter in disheveled clothing, your tiny baby bump peeking from under your tank top. the man silently backs away with his hands up. he knew what battles he lost with you.

(he still turned the pot on every morning. just to keep the water hot, of course.)

he also was big on making sure you got all the nutrition you needed; his cooking focused on your health while also incorporating your favorites. it definitely helped that he was a phenomenal cook.

your morning sicknesses were brutal. you ended up an entire two weeks of being woken up at 3am running to the bathroom to puke your guts out. kento took note of all the foods that made you nauseous and remembered not to buy them.

however, kento was buying a ton of baby gear. bottles, pump machine, diapers, bibs, everything. soon your bonus room (soon baby’s room!) was filled with miscellaneous items that kento kept bringing, which again: you scolded him for.

(he never listened. that man is stubborn too.)

the weeks fly by and soon it’s time to see the sex of your baby. kento’s the one who’s been micromanaging all your checkups and helped pick out an OB-GYN that you both loved. he’s been calling off work every appointment, and you once cried in the car because you felt so overwhelmed with happiness that your husband was so supportive and attentive. he had to rock you for a good five minutes before you went in. 

“uncross those little legs, baby..” your doctor cooed as she moved the cold device over your belly. you’re gripping kento’s hand with a vice-like hold. you knew you wanted a girl so badly, and you’d love the boy equally— you just knew how much it meant to kento. his eyes were also trained on the sonogram, nervous. his foot was tapping intensely and it only stopped when you touched his knee. you both share a loving nonverbal glance before turning your attention back to the screen.

“congratulations mommy and daddy, it’s a little girl!” your doctor exclaims with a whisper. 

kento gives a shudder and smiles at you, overjoyed. you look at your little girl on the screen again and immediately burst into tears, throwing yourself on kento’s chest.

your doctor slips out for a moment to let you both recollect yourselves.

he’s been repeating to you in soft whispers, “i’m going to be a girl dad, i’m going to have a little girl!” 

your belly started showing a lot earlier than you thought, but genuinely you didn’t mind. your over-prepared husband already bought comfort clothing that were loose but cute, and even maternity jeans?? you burst out laughing when he showed you them, and he was confused by your response. they’re extremely efficient..” he defensively said, a pout on his lips.

another weird upside of your pregnancy was that kento was never working overtime at his corporate job. he practically races out of the office to come home to you and the little biscuit, something you started calling the baby.

and of course, he loved seeing you pregnant the most. sometimes he would come home and immediately go in for kisses, which led to you laying on kitchen counter spread open for him as he eats you out eagerly.

“god, you look so sexy like this,” kento murmured between you. he has his arms hooked around your thighs, but his hands were firmly on your round tummy. you could see his wedding band glint as he stretched his hand over the top; that definitely turned you on.

you’re not even there mentally from all the white stars you were seeing (your husband had that effect on you). “mm.. yeah?” you reply weakly, trailing off into soft moans. you were blissed out and so happy you were having this sexy man’s child.

safe to say when the summer heat really kicked in and you were in crop tops and summer dresses, he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. or his dick out of you. you were worried the baby would be uncomfortable, but kento reassured you he took the utmost care in keeping you and the baby first.

given your hormones, it became free-range pounding all around the house after that talk.

you both knew you didn’t want a huge baby shower or any parties, but a small gathering of your friends and family at your house was held by the request of your mother. you had told both your and kento’s parents ahead of time you were pregnant, and the gender. they were both equally excited for the new addition.

you had some of your college friends attend, and similarly, kento’s came too. you had known satoru gojo and suguru geto since you first started dating kento, and they’d become your friends as well. when you saw them, satoru was instantly raving over you and your “pregnancy glow” and how he and suguru would be the rich gay uncles that would spoil their new niece or nephew. (it was no doubt their present was the largest on the table.)

kento was mildly irritated with satoru hovering you so much, but you swatted your husband and told him to let it be. 

some of kento’s students also came because you knew they were very dear to kento. a pink haired yuuji and his two friends greeted you with small gifts they scrounged up with their allowances. you thanked them warmly and chatted a while before the anticipated event of your gender reveal.

given your family was non-sorcerers, the reveal was not themed like you originally wanted to— where kento would pull a cursed tool from a box, and it would be either pink or blue. kento had to break it to you that he’s never actually seen a pink cursed tool, nor did he own one. it sounded way cooler in your head, but kento was against having any sort of weapons at your party anyways. 

so, the classic cake cutting was what you chose. a simple white cake with “girl or boy?” in fancy lettering, and the hidden center was filled with pink frosting.

everyone gathers around you and kento as you cut the cake, and once you both hold it up, they all erupt in cheers. 

you kiss kento sweetly on the lips and smile up at him. "thank you, my love," you whispered to him before your family came to bear hug you both.

you could’ve sworn you hear satoru sobbing in the background while egregiously taking candid pictures of the moment, but you were too wrapped up in the hugs from your husband and immediate family to really hear. 

you started to really collect the pink items after that. your favorite was a pair of dolly shoes with a matching mommy set nobara dropped by with one day, saying she just had to buy them when she was out at the mall. you were so touched she even thought of you and your baby on her personal time. she waved your thanks with a smile, and only requested that she gets babysitting duty over the boys if need be. she said quote, “they are never trusted to be alone with a child”. you laugh and accept the deal.

you receive your due date at the next appointment, which is around january. your OB-GYN tells you your baby girl is growing accordingly and everything is going in good time!

your husband develops a habit of resting his hand on your belly all the time. sleeping, he’s the big spoon with a hand under your baby girl. reading on the couch with a hand on you. he gives your belly a kiss every time he leaves for work in the morning. (you too, of course. his lovely, beautiful wife.)

he comes into the bathroom one day while you’re at your vanity braiding your hair for the night, a pensive look on his face. 

“what is it, love?” you say, looking at him from the reflection in the mirror. he hums, twirling his wedding band.

“have you been thinking of names? it’s no rush really, i just wanted to know if the letters would fit in an engraving on my ring.” your hearts swells and you can’t help but let out a small adoring sigh. before you know it big fat tears are rolling down your face and the hormones once again got the best of you. you’re going to give your partner a heart attack with all the big emotions you’ve been feeling!

he’s already dropping to his knees to embrace you and reassure you. “darling, please don’t cry.. you’re making me sad,” “b…” hiccup! “…but you’re so-!” hiccup! “sweet..!” 

you eventually settle for a name related to new beginnings, considering your baby girl was set to be born in the first month of the new year. aurora.

you yourself also got into your nesting instincts, finding cute bookshelves and other items to be built in your online shopping cart. little did you know kento had already ordered them and was on a mission to build them before the baby girl was here.

one night, you found your precious husband asleep with a book in his hand and a notebook by his side. it was a parenting book.. your heart squeezed. you move to pick the book from his grip when you notice what he wrote in the notebook. “always remember daddy loves you my dear.” he was writing letters to your little biscuit. you had to leave your bedroom so kento wouldn’t hear your happy sobs.

after a good grueling nine months, your due date was quickly approaching. kento had requested time off, which his boss begrudgingly allowed. the man knew that it wasn’t worth it fighting with his hardest worker. you were waddling everywhere; kento thought you were positively adorable for a pregnant lady. “you’re not just my beautiful wife right now, you’re my beautiful wife carrying my daughter,” he would tell you. 

it would be one in the morning, three days before your expected due date when you would feel a large cramp in your belly. you knew your little girl had a knack for kicking and dancing, but this definitely felt different from before. you were in bed with kento, his body engulfed around yours. you flip with a wince to face him, tapping his face gently. “ken.. ken, the baby’s coming,” you manage with a small groan. your husband practically leaps out of bed when he hears the words come out of your mouth. before you could blink, he was already putting on a shirt and his glasses, rushing to get your hospital bag. “don’t worry, my love!” you know he was uber prepared for this moment. you push off the bed with much might when you feel your husband’s arms around you, holding you up right. he looked beyond worried, but his words were nothing but soothing. “iv’e got you, honey. we just need to get to the car, okay?” 

the delivery itself was also rather gruelling, you ended up in labor for the whole night. aurora nanami was born at 11:42 AM, five pounds even. 

when you heard your daughter cry for the first time, you couldn’t help but cry yourself. kento was right beside you, holding your hand as you had given birth to your child.

during skin to skin, he was looking at you and aurora in absolute awe. you gave him a small smile. “you’re so strong and amazing, do you know that?” he tells you. 

when he held aurora for the first time, you knew he was enchanted. your girl was immediately his entire world.

after staying at the hospital for the required amount of time your OB-GYN suggested, you tell kento you want to rest at home. he’s already packing the bags as those words leave your mouth.

the drive home was extremely slow because he wouldn’t drive over 15 mph, earning tons of honks and angry drivers. he couldn’t care less, he had his tired wife and newborn in tow!

several months later..

something you and kento learned very quickly was that your girl was extremely, extremely smart.

she was walking well before her age range, saying “mama” and “papa”, and even learning her numbers.

kento told you it was all your genetics, which you proudly accepted. 

also, aurora was born with a surprising amount of hair on her head! she had the same golden blonde hair as your husband, which he proudly accepted. 

“my little flower, would you like pigtails or a ponytail?” the chubby face staring back at him was in contemplation. she holds up a “two” with her fingers. kento nearly cries on the spot— she knew that pigtails meant two! “alright my love! two it is.”

you also found out your husband was learning new hairstyles in his free time, and used you as his model. “darling, aurora still has her baby hairs.. we can barely tie it as it is,” you tell him over your shoulder with a giggle. he wasn’t listening, he was too engrossed in the youtube video of fishtail braiding— the next step after he had mastered regular braids on your hair. “hush, my dear. natalie was just about to tell me where the left strand goes!” 

when her first birthday came, it was a huge celebration. kento spared no expense to make the party memorable. 

you had baked her smash cake and ordered a separate more elegant cake for guests— kento would not stop bothering you in the kitchen that morning, his hands all over you from the back while you tried to finish your work in a timely manner. your swatting did nothing to fend him off.

“ken, if you keep rubbing me like that, you’re getting a second kid.” “who said that wasn’t my goal, dear?”

the party had pretty much the same people from your baby shower, this time including some families you met at your mommy and me class at the gym. 

your baby girl was sporting a hair bow you had definitely recognized— then remember it’s the same one you saw in kento’s drawer a year ago. how cute you finally get to see it on her.

aurora was all smiles, thank god. she wasn’t a fussy baby at all in her first months, but you knew she was still a kid that could get cranky randomly. you were glad it was such a seamless and perfect day.

once again, so grateful for you guys! <3 happy 100 rahhhh 😈

peace luv bathtub!!!

heart divider by @cafekitsune

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