#nanami fluff

[chastiefoul]

being in nanami’s arms while he reads.

resting your head on the crook of his neck, inhaling a scent you’d always call as home. his hold on you was tight, secure; even though his whole focus in that moment was on the words of his thick book. you nestled closer, and the man just complied even without you saying anything, tilting his head to give you further access. silently needing you as close as you physically could as well.

you closed your eyes, and what followed was his quiet hums, the crisp sound of pages being turned, soft kisses he gave atop of your head like it’s a habit nanami couldn’t quit.

“feeling comfy, love?” he asked, now holding the book with just one hand as he used the other to rub your back gently. you nodded happily in response, “mhm, how many pages you have left?” you mumbled to his neck still closing your eyes; a question that will get easily answered if you’d just turned your head a little.

“a few more,” he replied, glee was apparent on his feature—the indescribable joy at seeing you feeling so relaxed and unguarded in his arms. it’s worth everything, he thought, as nanami got back to his book, rereading the last chapter for the fourth time in twenty minutes.

he didn’t need to do that, perhaps.

he could just say he’d finished the book. but at the risk of you getting up and out from his embrace? nanami is not taking that chance.

[makismei]

“my love,” nanami calls, stepping into the living room with wrinkled pjs and damp hair. you’re laying on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through one of your various shopping apps— spring sales have you adding everything to your cart.

“yes?” you reply, craning your neck to meet his gaze. he lifts your legs, sitting where they were resting before lowering them back down, in his lap. he smells like water and clean laundry— it’s familiar and comforting.

warm hands rest on your calves, you put your phone down to give him your full attention.

“you have my debit card on your phone and wallet,” he starts, “you know that, right?”

you nod slowly, giving him a confused look. “i know.”

“you haven’t used it at all. i just checked my statement.” he says, “didn’t i tell you to buy whatever you want?”

“you did,” you smile, almost laughing at the situation. “and i’m grateful, always, that you offer to pay for my things, but i have my own money too, ken— also! i did use it, actually.”

he rolls his eyes, not malicious, of course. “yeah, for boba. twice. do you know how many shopping bags you’ve hauled into this house the past month?”

he’s being sarcastic and you laugh. this has always been something you guys quarrel about, kento giving you all his money and assets, immediately throwing his card whenever you mention something you like. “why do you want me to spend your money so bad?”

kento pouts, just slightly, it’s barely even noticeable.

“i’m grateful, baby,” you say, “but you already pay for so much— this house, my car insurance, the bills and date nights… i’m already spending quite a lot, no?”

“you can spend more,” he pouts, “what i pay for already is nothing— i want to buy you more, for you to have everything you want.”

“i already have everything i want,” you tease, “he’s actually sitting in front of me, kindly massaging my calves.”

he narrows his gaze, a smile twitching onto his lips.

“we’re going to the mall this weekend— the far one,” he decides, “we haven’t been to the mall together for a while, love. i wonder why is that?”

you hum, avoiding his gaze, “maybe because the last time we went, you secretly took my wallet out of my purse and hid it in your underwear drawer so you could pay for everything?”

he laughs, recalling the moment. “i am absolutely doing that again— also, i saw that app you were scrolling on, let me see what you have, i’ll get it for you.”

notes from mei! i do have a shopping addiction actually (im dirt poor rn and in withdrawal) but i see my future (this fic) and its so so bright

[7pmwithkento]

Oblivious!reader who..

Oblivious!reader who laughs when her friends point out her and Nanami’s relationship. “Oh, he’s just a friend. His future girlfriend will be so lucky though!”

Oblivious!reader who brushes it off when strangers and cashiers assume they’re a couple by the way they act.

Oblivious!reader who smiles sweetly when Nanami picks her up from her job, waving at her coworkers who were glancing at each other.

Oblivious!reader who tells stories about her best-friend Nanami who always gives her gifts, calls her every night and knows her schedule by heart.

Oblivious!reader who meets Nanami’s family, being welcomed with open arms as Nanami’s nephew exclaims, “It’s Nanamim’s girlfriend!” as his mother covers his mouth and shakes her head.

Oblivious!reader who was confused while opening her front door to find Nanami holding a bouquet of her flowers, blinking when he asked to come inside.

Oblivious!reader who’s jaw drops when he admits he liked her since the start of their friendship, and trying to make it clear but she still wouldn’t get it.

Oblivious!reader who confesses that she also liked him for a while, but didn’t think he felt the same.

Oblivious!reader who shrugs when her kids ask why she wasn’t able to read Dada’s hints.

[chikithree]

Kento Nanami x Reader

OlderBoyfriend! Kento Nanami, posted on his instagram??..

you’d recently taught your older boyfriend, Kento, how to use Instagram so you could tag him in posts and stories of the two of you. But you never expected him to eventually engage in posting online, so it was a surprise when you refreshed your feed, only to find a short video of your boyfriend lifting weights at his gym, with an ancient heavy metal song overlapping the background noise he didn’t mute.

And lord behold, he has over fifty thousand likes on all his posts, equaling up to four. Four singular posts. And he's already on top-charts of instagram, without hashtags, and only one previous follower, you.

You currently were sitting in the living room of the shared apartment you'd bought with him a while back, sliding off the couch and walking to the bathroom where he was showering, since he'd just got home from the just mentioned gym.

You knock on the bathroom door, before walking into the steam filled room, shower running and fan on. “Baby.” you say, pulling the curtain aside, staring at him.

Kento wipes his face of water and turns to you, a small concerned frown on his face as he sees your odd expression, “sweetheart, are you alright?” he says quickly, turning the knobs of the shower to stop the water.

You held up your phone that was displaying his page, “you didn't tell me you started posting videos?” you say, legs shifting slightly as you spoke, and of course, he noticed.

He grabs his towel and wraps it around his waist, stepping out and taking the phone out of your hand and putting it down on the countertop softly, pulling you into a small embrace, looking down at you, “is that the matter, darling?” he mumbles, kissing the top of your head, “I’ll delete them if you'd like, i just thought other men would like to see the process-”

You stop him, placing your fingers to squish his lips together, “I’m just surprised you didn't tell me, that's all, I’m not mad.” you say quietly, “but I do want you to put my username in your bio.” you finish, kissing his cheek and letting him go.

He blanked for a moment, a brow lifting.

“Sweetheart, What's a ‘bio’?”

© all works belong to chikithree. do not copy, repost, or translate my works.

[nanamisgirly]

she is my baby ! ྀི

“kento, my love,” you try to hold back a laugh, resting your hand delicately on his shoulder. you really do try.

nanami has been on edge ever since Satoru Gojo's eldest son, saviri, stepped foot onto your patio.

not because he doesn't like the kid—if anything, kento's been weirdly tolerant of saviri over the years. maybe even more than he tolerates gojo himself. but that tolerance went up in flames the second saviri sat next to your daughter on a pool lounger and casually rested his hand on her knee. 

kento hasn't blinked since.

he had been inventing excuses to walk past them every five minutes like some sunburned, poolside secret agent. at one point, he tripped over the garden hose just to interrupt their conversation. 

and everyone was laughing at kento like he was crazy.

but the truth is : he did not invite the gojo family to his daughter's 17 birthday bash just to witness that insufferably shirtless boy flirt with his precious girl. 

“she's a grown girl now,” you say gently, hopping up onto the kitchen counter next to his abandoned beer. His forearms are flexing where they grip the edge—eyes locked on the pool, laser-focused on saviri.

“she's not,” he snaps, a vein flexing along his jaw. “she's my little baby.” 

you hum, biting back another smile as you steal a sip of his beer. 

the thing is, kento had been fine with her adolescent chaos. he took it like a champ—the loud music, the mismatched hair colors, the time she said she wanted a nipple piercing. hell, he even nodded like it was normal when she came home with a tiny tattoo just above her hip.

“i'm going to kill him.” nanami's eye twitch.

“no you're not,” you reply sweetly, a little lovesick by how protective he is. “you're going to smile, pretend you're fine, and then maybe glare at him slightly less murderously when we cut the cake.”

“i should've invited yuji. yuji wouldn't flirt with her.”

“you paid yuji to stop calling you ‘dad’ every time he walks in the door.”

he doesn't answer. only hums darkly and gives your upper thigh a little squeeze. “mission one : in progress," he mutters under his breath. "see you later, love.”

before you can even ask, he's already marching across the patio, preparing himself as if he's about to fight some upper class S-grade curses.. except, this time, the enemy is 21-year-old with floppy hair and six-pack. 

as nanami approaches, he hears a glimpse of their conversation. “—I don't know,” saviri's saying with a low chuckle, “I always liked how you wear your hair up like that. shows off your—”

“saviri,” your husband's voice is pleasant, too pleasant, when he slides onto the lounge chair beside them. the way a normal man absolutely would not. “you look warm. do you need a towel?”

“uh-oh, no, i'm good, thanks… nanami-san.”

“hmm.” nanami reaches over and with the softest, most fatherly gesture in human history, gently lifts saviri's hand off his daughter's leg and sets it aside.

“dad,” she says slowly, squinting at him. “we're literally just talking.”

saviri leans back on his elbows, his skin tanner than his dad could ever be—earning this from his mom. “so, nanami-san,” he says with the exact same annoyingly charming smile satoru has. “do you work out, or is that just all residual cursed energy stress?”

nanami stays as rigid as a statue, arms crossed and sunglasses pushing his blond strands back. “do you want to be buried in the shallow end or the deep end?”

your daughter groans, dragging her hands down her face. “daaaaad”

saviri only laughs as nanami's legs stretch out slightly—a clear boundary line between his daughter and him. “i'm just saying you look good for your age. i hope i'm that fit when i'm, what, fifty?”

“i'm forty-five.”

“oh, wow. and you're not even grumpy !”

nanami exhales slowly. “saviri,” he says carefully, “are you flirting with me?”

saviri smirks, tilting his head innocently. “i mean… your daughter says i’m too flirty, so i thought i’d diversify.”

you can hear gojo wheezing in the distance. nanami’s knuckles go white on the armrest.

“i’m going to get more drinks,” your daughter mutters, standing abruptly, grabbing her towel. her cheeks are a little pink “saviri, come with me—”

“oh no,” your husband cuts in, voice sharp but still polite, the way one talks to an aggressive raccoon. “he’s fine here.”

“dad.”

“sweetheart.”

there's a deadly beat of eye contact. she throws him a look that promises revenge in the form of emotional manipulation, then stomps off toward the cooler with an exaggerated sigh.

“hypothetically speaking…” saviri says, turning his head casually. “how old would she need to be before you stop trying to assassinate me with your eyes?”

“hypothetically?”

“mm-hmmm”

“dead you'd have to be dead.”

saviri nods thoughtfully, still smirking. and kento doesn't miss how is blue vivid eyes follow your daughter's steps. “cool, cool. just gauging the timeline.”

nanami rubs the bridge of his nose like he's aged ten years in ten minutes before looking at gojo's son.

“you're just like him.”

“flattered.”

“don't be.”

[sinkuna]

୨୧ — As you're reaching for Nanami's favorite coffee mug -the one you bought him as a joke that says "worlds hottest daddy"- you find yourself struggling with your new center of gravity…

At six months pregnant, your balance had shifted quite dramatically, your rounded belly making even the simple tasks challenging.

Standing on your tippy toes, you stretch as far as you can, Nanami's oversized shirt riding up perfectly to tease the swell of your stomach.

Your fingers wiggle around just barely grazing the handle... "Almost... got it." you mutter to yourself, straining just a little further.

That's when Nanami walks in.

He pauses in the doorway, his tired eyes instantly softening at the sight before him. Your hair tousled from sleep, legs bare, his shirt riding up exposing the curve of your belly where his daughter was growing. His lips curl up into a smile at the way your ass is sticking out and how hard you're trying to reach the cup, ignoring the doctors and his orders, but still…

"Don't move," he says, his voice soft and gentle, yet still authoritative. Your freeze, turning your head to find him pulling out his phone, a look of absolute adoration on his face, "just... stay exactly like that,"

"What are you doing?" You giggle, but you remain as he requested, watching as he snaps a photo, then another, and another.

"Preserving this moment," he says simply, crossing the kitchen toward you. Turning his phone, he shows you the screen, and... damn... you had no idea he was this good at taking photos. The picture shows your entire profile, your pregnant belly, the smile on your lips as you look over your shoulder at him, and how the morning sun gives the top of your head a makeshift halo. You look, good... radiant, even.

"You're beautiful, and this is how I see you every single day," Nanami whispers, leaning down to kiss the top of your head as he tucks his phone back in his pocket. 

Before you can respond, he steps behind you, one strong arm wrapping carefully around your waist, just beneath your pregnant belly. With surprising gentleness for such a powerful man, he lifts you slightly and places you at his side away from the counter.

"Kento!!" You squeal, giggling as he holds you to him, positioning himself in front of the shelf.

"Let me," he says with a smile, easily reaching up to grab the mug.

"I could've gotten it," you protest weakly, though you and him both knew you loved his attentiveness.

"I know you could," he agrees, giving you a squeeze so soft you almost missed it, "but why should you when I'm here? Taking care of you both is my favorite job."

You practically melt into him, "I ask myself everyday how I got so lucky... maybe we should send the bar we met at flowers and a thank you card."

He chuckles, "Perhaps we should... But I think I should get some lower shelves installed first. I don't want you struggling while I'm not here."

"I'm pregnant, Kento. Not an old granny."

"No, you're definitely not," how could he disagree when you were in fact much younger than he was... "Humor me though, please" He murmurs, pressing the sweetest kiss to your cheek.

"Fiiiine," you sigh dramatically, though you're fighting back a smile, "I suppose I can let my big strong husband take care of me..."

"That's my good girl," Nanami murmurs, his voice ever so gentle against your ear as he sets the mug down on the counter.

Without warning, his large hand slide down to rest on your thighs, and before you can even process what's happening, one strong arm slides beneath you, supporting you under your bottom and thighs.

"Hold onto me," he instructs softly, and you barely have time to wrap your arms around his neck before he's lifting you effortlessly off your feet in one smooth motion.

"Keeennnto!" you whine playfully, your face flushing at how easily he carries you despite the pregnancy.

"I've got you, my love." he says simply, a sweet kiss to your temple as he carries you the few steps to the kitchen table, "I've always got you."

He sets you down gently on the edge of the table, his hands lingering on your waist as he positions himself between your legs. This close, you can see the way his eyes have gone soft with pure adoration, the way they keep drifting down to your rounded belly.

"You're going to spoil me rotten," you whisper, your hands coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the wonderful beat of his heart beneath your palms, a feeling you’ll never grow tire of.

"Good," he replies without hesitation, one hand coming up to cup your cheek while the other spreads across your belly, "That's exactly what I intend to do. For the rest of our lives. Now-" he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, "let me make you breakfast while you sit there and look beautiful."

Prt 1

[angelkiyo]

first love! nanami, who wasn’t big on falling in love. high school relationships were futile and an excuse for self-sabotage during the most important years of your life. he wasn’t very fond of that, and wasn’t fond with getting with anyone. until you.

first love! nanami, who you met in your high school p.e. class. when all the stress and eye bags were from his advanced classes and extracurriculars. he was always so kept to himself and only talked to haibara, your student rep, until you came along, offering him some water after you noticed him slumped on the side of the track.

that stuck with him for some reason. no one’s ever noticed him apart from his mini friend group of haibara and his three upperclassmen who were graduating that year. of course, maybe you felt pity for him. not a lot of people talked to him unless necessary. besides, you were too pretty, too out of his league. you were smart, witty, and a social butterfly; everything he wasn’t.

first love! nanami, who didn’t know what to say when his english teacher recommended the writing center. he didn’t know what to say when he saw you as one of the tutors; you were all happy, cheery, and bright.

“hello, nanami! what do you need?” he froze. you remembered his name; you smiled at him. you perched your head on your wrist and listened to him speak so intently despite his words being minimal.

you asked him about his day, had questions for everything he said, to the point where you both stayed there even when everyone left.

that was your arrangement for a while until your senior year. he’d go to you for english help, you’d listen to him. you’d have the occasional train ride and library visit to study, leaving him giddy for the rest of the day.

first love! nanami, who was surprised out of his mind to see you suddenly ask him to senior homecoming that year. you had liked him the whole time? and gave him water as an excuse to speak to him? he had no choice but to oblige. he couldn’t say no to you.

when you showed up at the steps of your venue, you made him practically speechless. again, you were too pretty, too out of his damn league. but you looked at him like he was the most handsome guy in the room, and he felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest.

the slow dancing, the stares from across the room when you weren’t together. something about it made him rethink everything he thought about love. maybe those romance movies were realistic…

speaking of which…first love! nanami, who’s seen his fair share of romance movies. he’s only watched them a few times against his will. but now, he needed help from them. he captured how chivalrous the main love interest is to the lady, and attempts to try that with you. he holds the door, holds your hand, buys you little things that you mention once.

he’s never been a boyfriend before, never liked someone like he liked you. so when you had your first valentines’ day, he made it a point to write you handwritten letters (since according to quora and reddit, they worked wonders) and treated you out.

first love! nanami, who loved taking care of you. he liked having the responsibility of being the one to help you. you got sick? he was there. you felt overwhelmed? he was there to soothe you. he’s never done something like that before, but with you, it felt so right. there was nothing more he wanted than to just be with you and taking care.

he loved to study with you even until college undergrad, him with his finance and you with your major. he loved your mini cafe dates and watching you study. the way you bit your pencil when you were focused or the way your hair slightly fell to your face.

first love! nanami, who would take little keepsakes from your dates. movie tickets, your corsage from prom, your double acceptance letters, even a polaroid from a frat party (first and last). albeit not seeming the type, he liked to keep little physical memories, keeping them in a little box on his bedside. he loved having his firsts and making memories with you.

first love! nanami, who learns to bake and makes you a cake for every celebration. your college acceptance cake, midterm survival cake, finals celebration cake, undergrad cake. he would always make them your favorite flavor and would always eat it with listening to your rants about your day.

he loved the way you spoke: elegantly you, kind, gentle. he liked a lot of things about you and your rants were his favorite parts of the day.

so when he calls you over randomly for a cake a few days after your grad school acceptance, you were confused. he had already made you one and had told you to meet him at the roof of his apartment complex. you couldn’t help but wonder what this was for.

first love! nanami who stood on one knee with a heart-shaped cake, the words ‘please marry me’ written in frosting of your favorite color. you didn’t know how you got so lucky. the guy who you crushed on all throughout high school, with majority of it, you didn’t make a move—to now?

your eyes swelled up with tears and you felt warmth in your heart. you never said yes to something so fast.

first love! nanami, who felt overwhelmed with marriage; but not in a bad way, oh no. he felt happy that he got the privilage to live out the rest of his life with you. happy that he got to see you every waking moment and sleep next to you. even if he might not always express it due to his quiet nature, his face reveals everything. from the softening of his gaze to the slips of smiles and laughs at stupid jokes you told when searching for more furniture.

the overwhelming nature of newly-wed life struck him even further as he found himself anxiously pacing outside your shared bathroom. he froze as he heard you scream and open the door, tackling him to the ground and sobbing ‘ken, we’re gonna be parents’ over and over again. and then, the great kento nanami who only cried once in all the time you’ve known him (during your wedding), broke down in tears.

first love! nanami, who would fall in love with you all over again if he could. your precious personality, beautiful smile, the way you held him in silence. “he would love you in every lifetime”, the thought crossing his mind again when he sees you hold your precious daughter, asleep in your arms.

— lolllll self-indulgent i fear.

[nanamisweetgirl]

🜼 ⋆ nanami kento trying to hold it in but ends up breaking down while you’re riding him

guys i love nanami so much this just hurts, im not ok

his hands are resting on your hips, heavy and sure, but trembling just slightly—just enough that you might think it’s the aftershocks of your rhythm. but you’ve been riding him slow for minutes now, your knees on either side of his hips, thighs aching, spine curving into the soft arch that makes his breath catch each time you grind down. it’s not a frantic fuck. it’s not desperate.

it’s the kind of movement that says i want you to feel this—each inch, each wet, sweet clench, each time your body opens around him like it knows his name.

nanami’s head is tilted back against the pillow, throat flushed, golden skin glowing in the amber haze of the bedside lamp. he hasn’t opened his eyes in a while—like if he does, the spell might break. you’re bent over him slightly, hands planted on his chest, the soft drag of your pelvis against his keeping the pace low and warm and intimate.

his breath comes in quiet gasps. not harsh, not needy. just overwhelmed. like this—this exact rhythm, your skin on his, your fingers tracing down his neck—is too much. not from lust. from love.

you notice the shift when his hands move—not to guide your hips, not to speed you up, but to pull you down, gently, into his chest. one palm flattens between your shoulder blades. the other presses at the small of your back, urging you to lean into him. you do. your bare chest presses against his, your heartbeat loud in your own ears.

his mouth finds the crook of your neck like he’s seeking shelter there. not to kiss. not to bite. he just breathes you in—deep, like you’re the only thing tethering him to this moment.

and then you feel it.

not from his breath. not from his body.

from the slow, sudden warmth that seeps into your skin.

your movement falters, just slightly. you don’t ask. not yet. your hand slides up, cradling the back of his head, fingertips threading through sweat-damp hair.

“kento…?”

he doesn’t answer right away. doesn’t lift his head. he just stays there, arms wrapped around you, cock still seated deep inside you—so snug, so full, like you were made to hold him.

but the wetness spreads. soft. persistent. and your heart twists.

you shift just enough to pull back, hand slipping to his cheek, your thumb brushing gently under his eye.

his eyes are open now.

and they’re full. not just with tears, but with everything. pain. relief. awe. something ancient and breaking apart like waves finally reaching shore.

“you’re crying,” you whisper. not accusatory. just gentle. worried.

he blinks, and another tear falls. his voice, when it finally comes, is wrecked—quiet and cracked at the edges.

“i didn’t mean to,” he breathes. “i just… i don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.”

you brush your thumb over his cheek again. “nothing’s wrong.”

he exhales, jaw tightening like he’s fighting a thousand things he can’t name.

“you love me like i’m not broken,” he says softly, like he’s ashamed of the truth. “like i’m not exhausted. like i didn’t give up on myself years ago.”

you don’t speak. you just kiss him. soft. slow. with your body still wrapped around his, like you can pour all your love into him that way. like if you kiss him deep enough, he’ll finally believe you.

and he melts.

right there beneath you.

arms curling tighter around your waist, lips parting against yours, tears slipping freely down his temples now as you begin to move again—slow, slow, like the pace you started with.

like you’re telling him i’m here. i’m not letting go.

he sobs once. just once. not loud. not harsh. a small, broken thing that escapes against your shoulder, and then—

“i love you,” he chokes out. “god, i love you. i didn’t think i was allowed to have this.”

you pause, breath catching. your hips grind down, slow, deep, pressing your foreheads together.

“you are,” you whisper. “you are.”

his hands hold your face now, trembling slightly as he kisses you again, tears wetting both your cheeks. and still—you’re joined. still, you move together. no thrusting. no hurry. just the soft slide of your bodies in sync, like he’s being reborn between your thighs.

his voice cracks again.

“you’re my everything,” he whispers. “you’re the only thing that makes me feel like a man. not a weapon. not a machine. just… someone worthy.”

you cry too, then.

not loud. not messy. just tears against his skin, mouths pressed together, arms wrapped tight like if you hold each other hard enough, the world might stop spinning.

and in that room—low lit, hot skin on hot skin, your name tangled in his lips and his love spilling raw from his chest—you both stop pretending.

he’s yours.

you’re his.

and the tears? they’re just proof he finally believes it.

[fumiliar]

"what's your favourite part of me? physically," kento asked in the midst of your dinner, causing you to slightly choke on your food out of shock.

"what?"

"what's your favourite body part? something that you absolutely love?" kento asked again, now getting more serious.

"what's with the weird questions ken?" you asked as you copied his previous actions, setting down your utensils.

"gojo talked about how everyone fawns over his freakishly blue eyes, so it made me wonder what do you fawn over?" kento was deep in thought at this point. "it's not that serious, i am just curious."

"well, your height? your figu-"

"be honest love. i know that isn't it," kento raised his brow.

"well..." you were ashamed of the real answer. a blush quickly crept up your face as kento's eyes never left you. "i like your...hands."

"i knew it," kento let out a small smile.

"what?!" shock was an understatement to kento's reveal.

"well, i've seen you stare at my hands for an uncomfortably long amount of time, so i just guessed," he shrugged as he continued eating dinner once more.

"i don't stare that much. plus, your hands are just pretty, they are very attractive," you couldn't stop rambling, to try to defend yourself somehow.

"it's fine. i think it's cute. who knew that my love would have a hand kink?"

well, safe to say. kento used that knowledge a little too well.

[satoruined]

you shouldn’t have agreed to dinner.

you’re in your early twenties. kento is thirty-five. the age gap stretches wider under your parents’ scrutiny, made worse by the fact that he never once rises to the bait, which only makes your parents more brittle. your mother puts too much vinegar in the salad and calls it “an acquired taste.” your father mispronounces kento’s name for the third time. the first two, he accepted your correction with faux politeness. the third, he lets sit in the air for a long moment—knife pausing mid-slice through his beef tenderloin—before continuing like it never happened.

you try not to flinch every time they say things like “girls your age” or “he’s old enough to know better.” kento, meanwhile, is infallibly gracious. attentive when they speak, responsive but never chatty. not a single wrinkle in his shirt or crack in his composure—absolute model guest.

yet, you can feel the tension rising.

then comes the final jab. your father clears his throat after dessert, levels kento with a bland smile. “i suppose you’re going to tell me this relationship is respectable.”

he doesn’t blink. “only if you’re asking.”

“i’m asking,” your father says, tone flat. “because from where i’m sitting, it’s pretty pathetic.”

you stiffen. kento’s face doesn’t change. he rises from his seat and smooths down his tie. takes your jacket from the coat rack and helps you into it. your hand finds his instinctively, grateful. then he turns to your father.

“for what it’s worth,” he says, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, “your daughter is a brilliant, independent woman, and fully capable of making her own decisions.”

a pause.

then, with all the cool detachment of a man discussing weather:“she also calls me daddy.”

not waiting for an reaction, he guides you out the door with a hand placed firmly on the small of your back.

“thank you for the supper,” he adds politely, as the latch clicks shut behind you.

[be-ee]

Sypnosis~Picking out bathroom tiles with your Husband Nanami

☆⌒(ゝ。∂) inspired by pt2 of the amnisiac kento fic you wrote and Y/N gives Kento a little tour of thier home! This is how I iamgine picking out the tiles went! [ you love it.right?..(ᗒᗣᗕ)՞ @barbieandkento]

The hardware store lighting was sterile, almost clinical, but somehow the tension between tile colours had turned it into a battleground.

“I’m just saying,” Y/N started;holding up two square samples like sacred relics, “this one feels like... calming coastal vibes. Like, showering in a beach house.”

Nanami adjusted his glasses, arms crossed. “It’s a bathroom. Not a beach house. You’re going to be brushing your teeth, not battling Poseidon.”

Y/N snorted. “Come on, Kento. Stone Fog? That sounds like a rejected cologne.”He sighed — deeply, theatrically, as if this decision weighed as heavily on him as his actual job did.

“I liked the simplicity. Neutral. Clean. Classic.Less... blue.”

Y/N stepped closer, raising an eyebrow. “So you hate blue now?”

“I don’t hate blue.” He paused, eyeing the two tiles again.

Nanami took the tiles from your hand, inspecting it with that eternally furrowed brow. “It’s too... theatrical.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“Theatrical?”

He gestured vaguely. “It looks like something that belongs in a magazine spread. One of those ‘10 Dreamy Bathrooms That’ll Change Your Life’ articles. Not where normal people live.”

Y/N grinned “So you love it.”

He sighed. “That’s not what I said.”

“But you didn’t not say it,” you teased, and before he could argue, you added brightly, “Great! Sapphire Mist it is.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re going to love it once the towels match.”

[junkuna]

| lazy mornings w husband!nanami

“hey, wake up,” nanami’s voice breaks through the silence, low and dry like he’s trying to sound annoyed but the sleepiness makes it soft around the edges.

you don’t say anything, just curl deeper into the blankets, the warmth pulling you in like a soft trap. his arm slides around your waist, steady and firm, gently tugging you closer like you’re the only thing worth holding onto.

he shifts beside you, hair a total mess—spikes and curls everywhere like he fought the pillow and lost. without thinking, your fingers find their way into the tangled strands, and he hums softly, eyes half-lidded and lazy, not quite awake but not ready to give up the quiet just yet.

“stop messing with my hair,” he grumbles, but there’s no real bite. just tired teasing, like he can’t be bothered to be serious this early.

you smile against the pillow, eyes still shut. “you look like a disaster.”

“yeah, well, you look worse,” he fires back, voice rough and slow, and you laugh softly, muffled by the pillow.

nanami leans down, pressing a sloppy kiss to your temple—warm, slow, and lazy, like he’s barely putting in the effort because moving feels like the worst idea ever.

“you’re not even trying to get up,” he says, voice thick with sleep and just a hint of mock frustration.

“maybe i don��t want to,” you whisper, voice soft and heavy with contentment.

he groans, that low sound somewhere between annoyed and amused. then his lips find yours, sloppy and warm, teeth lightly scraping, the kind of kiss that says he’s too comfortable to be precise. your fingers tangle in his messy hair, pulling him closer, and he sighs, eyes fluttering closed, sinking into the moment.

you both just lie there, tangled under the blankets, time slowing until it feels like you’re the only two people in the world.

“mornings with you suck,” he mutters, half sarcastic, half fond.

“the worst,” you agree, smiling into the quiet.

nanami shifts, pulling you tighter, breath warm against your ear. “you’re gonna regret staying in bed all day,” he says softly.

“maybe,” you admit, “but that’s future me’s problem.”

he doesn’t reply, just kisses the side of your neck, slow and tender like everything else this morning.

—

taglist - @whorishminds @throatgoatgeto @besidesjustmyamour

[7pmwithkento]

Imagine seeing Nanami walking in at work, his suit and tie perfectly ironed as it always was— you notice how his eyes keep darting to his phone, almost waiting for a message as he slowly sat down on his chair.

He had barely set down his shiny, leather briefcase before his phone rang. Nanami grabbed it before it could ring a second time, his practiced tired expression immediately turning into a small grin.

“Hey, darling, what’s the problem?”

You and your friend groan, “Love is so cringe,” you mumble, rolling your eyes. Your friend nodded, agreeing.

“Oh, I left my lunch? It’s fine, I—”

“Hm? Ah, you really don’t have to, darling.” he says, his grin forming into a soft smile as his fingers tapped into the desk quietly. “Well, if you insist, my love.” his voice was awfully calm, as he loudly sighed into the phone’s mic, pretending to be annoyed.

A few minutes later, you glance up over your computer, just in time to see Nanami’s sweet wife bringing his lunch in a small, paper bag.

Your nose scrunched up as the couple kissed, his wife chuckling as they pulled away. “I know you left your lunch on purpose, handsome.” she said, tilting her head as Nanami’s ears went slightly pink.

“See you 7, Kentoo~” she sang as she walked away.

You squinted, as you thought you saw a yellow sticky note, your mouth slightly opens as your eyebrows raise.

‘You’re a dummy, but I still love you.’

You shook your head, sighing. “I can hear you, you know. Stop being love-phobic. I’ll introduce you to a friend some time.” Nanami says, peering up at you.

“Yeah right, like I’ll ever get with any of your crazy friends, Nanami.”

-

“I can’t believe you had so many options and chose the worst one,” she giggled, glancing at your date. Gojo scoffed, “As if Nanami’s better,” he mumbled.

You only laughed, taking a bite of your food as your fiancé and Nanami’s wife bickered once more.

[chikithree]

Thinking of Dad!Kento Nanami playing with his daughter, telling her to be careful but ends up being the one getting hurt.

warnings: mention of scrapes with blood, and little kid crying thinking their dads gonna die.

Kento rarely let loose like this, but after you’d come home from the fair, Kentos backpack stacked pull of candy and prizes, your daughter begging to go play with the bubbles in the back yard,

How could he refuse?

You sat on the wooden veranda, filming on your phone discreetly knowing that if your daughter saw, she’d start screaming for you stop filing her.

Kento dipped the stick wand into the bubble mix as your daughter cheered with giggly squeals, running around in circles as she waited, Kento telling her to slow down and be careful.

It stared with him just blowing bubbles with her, she ran after them, grabbed them as they popped in her hands, then running back for more. But gradually, he’d gotten more into it, seeing you film and deciding to be the world’s best dad as always.

Kento dipped the wand into the mix before holding it out, “I’m gonna run, okay? Catch the bubbles.”

He ran, like he said, in circles with your daughter, but as soon as he turned the tight corner of the backyard— he slipped, bubble container flying out of his hand like someone used an expelliarmus spell on it.

You heard it. Your daughter’s feet coming to a complete stop, before a large, very dramatic cry.

Kento quickly standing up, brushing himself off dispite the new scrape on his elbow from the rocks in the dirt, blood beading at the cuts. By that point you had put the phone down and held back your laugh, focusing on getting your daughter to calm down first.

“Daddy almost died!!!” She wails, hugging Kento like it was her last mean to, crying into his now wrinkled, and stained grey shirt.

Kento shook his head, a small laugh escaping from his lips as he pats her back, “Daddy’s fine, only a scratch sweetheart. He was being a little too silly.”

You hum, shaking your head with a small laugh, “Seems like daddy was having more fun with the bubbles than you, baby.”

Your daughter looked up, teary eyes rounded and big, rubbing the snot and tears off her face with her hot pink long sleeve as she sniffed.

“Daddy do it again.”

A/n: saw this on a instagram reel and thought of Nanami, ain’t no way it’s not.

© all works belong to chikithree. do not copy, repost, or translate my works.

[nanamisgirly]

Am I, not a good dad? ྀི

“I want mama!” your son screams, tears filling up his eyes—the same color as Nanami’s.

And speaking of Nanami…he feels helpless.

The boy won’t stop crying, won’t stop calling for you. His little face is red and scrunched up, his cheeks wet, chest heaving with each shaky breath. You’d told him you’d be gone for a few hours—explained it gently, with a kiss to his forehead and a promise that Papa would take care of everything. But none of it seemed to matter.

You’re gone and his world feels like it’s ended.

“Please, baby…Mum will be back any time soon.” Nanami spares a glance at the clock, in thirty minutes you’d be here. “Should we finish your meal in the meantime, mh?” He tries, voice tight, panic folding over his usual calm.

But your son only screams louder, fists pounding the highchair tray, tears flowing freely.

It’s been hours, and Nanami has come to the conclusion that : he doesn’t want me.

He stares at his son’s red, tear-slicked face. There’s no hatred in it, just unfiltered, helpless longing.

“I want Mamaaaaaa!!” Nanami flinches. Exactly, the toddler is longing for you.

The little boy’s small chest rises and falls in erratic sobs, hiccupping on the edge of breathlessness.

Nanami exhales slowly through his nose. You can do this, he tells himself. You’re his father. You can do this.

So, he tries.

He pulls out the little wooden train you carved together one weekend. Places it on the floor. “Do you want to show Papa how fast it goes again?” he asks, voice as gentle as possible.

No response.

He tries the animal book—the one with flaps and texture that always make him giggle. “Tell Papa where’s the lion. Can you find the lion for me?”

Nothing.

Just a heartbreaking, hoarse little “Mama…”

Nanami even tries to put on the cartoon with the talking blue bear. The one your son usually dances to.

As nothing seems to work, Kento feels his heart breaking inch by inch. He picks him up despite the flailing little arms, holds him against his chest, firm but not tight, like you’ve teached him.

His son won’t stop. Not even a little. The screams turn into an open-mouthed wail, the kind that turns cheeks purple and voices raw for hours. 

Nanami’s hands tremble slightly. He sits down on the floor with the boy in his lap, gently cradling him, head bowed. He’s never felt this powerless.

Not during cursed missions, not under pressure—but here, in his own home, with his child breaking apart in his arms… He feels not enough.

Not soft enough. Not warm enough. Not you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the crown of his son’s head. “I’m trying. Papa’s trying so hard.”                 

And that’s when the front door creaks open. “I’m home!”

And just like that, your son’s head snaps up from where he’s been sobbing into Nanami’s lap. Your husband doesn’t even have the time to rise to his feet that the boy is squirming violently in his arms, “mama! Mama! MAMA!!” Nanami lets him go without resistance. He stands slowly as your son flings himself into your arms when you appear in the doorway.

Concern is written all over your face. “I’m here, baby. I’m here…”  you look up and see Nanami standing a few feet away, shoulders sagging, eyes tired behind his glasses.

“he’s been crying for hours,” he says softly. “didn’t want anything from me. Wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t play.”

You nod as your rubs your son’s back. “I’m sorry. He’s just been going through this clingy phase.” 

“I know.” Nanami offers a tired smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “it’s okay.”

Later, after dinner and a bath your son is finally asleep, curled on your side of the shared bed, clutching one of your shirts tightly, your scent comforting him.

Nanami stands in the doorway, arms crosses, watching the soft rise and fall of your kid. You come up behind him, circling his waist with your arms, letting your cheek rest on his strong back.

One of his hands intertwin with yours. “He wouldn’t even let me hold him,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I’ve never felt that…useless before.”

“Kento…”

“I know he’s still small. I know it’s not personal. But…” he pauses, swallowing hard. “I tried everything. Toys, books, food, music. He didn’t want any of it. It felt like…like…I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t…probably am, not a good dad.”

Your heart twists at the words. “Can you please turn to face me, love?”

He lets out a deep exhale, like the breath hurts to let go, and turns. When his eyes meet yours, you feel like the weight of the whole world just collapsed onto your chest. 

Nanami is silently crying.

His eyes are rimmed red, and cheeks drenched wet.

You gently cup his jaw. “You were more than enough Kento. You held him even when he didn’t want to be held. You didn’t get angry. You didn’t walk away. You didn’t even raise your voice once. That’s not just ‘enough’. That’s what a good dad does. That’s love.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as more tears gather in his long blonde lashes. “I just…” his voice breaks. “I just wanted to be what he needed.”

Nanami wraps his arms around you tighter, letting his forehead drop to your shoulder. He breathes into your neck, letting your scent comforting him­—just like his son does.

“I don’t mind not being the favorite,” he murmurs after a while, his voice quiet and raw. “But I hope, one day, he’ll reach for me too.”

You press a kiss the top of his head, pulling him impossibly closer to you. “He will. And when he does…he won’t want to let go.”

(request)

[sinkuna]

୨୧ — The divorce papers had been signed that afternoon, three years of marriage reduced to legal documents and a splitting of assets… That’s how Nanami found himself at the local bar, liquid amber burning down his throat, tie loosened, the weight of his wedding ring suddenly unbearable… 

Then you walked in.

Twenty-one, maybe twenty-two. College girl written in the innocent tilt of your yellow sundress, the way it clings to your waist, your breasts, the hem flirtatiously brushing against your thighs.

You look so sweet, he thought. A drink like the ones the men were buying you would surely corrupt your pretty mouth, but you sipped with an ease that spoke of experience, even when you cringe at the taste, making the guys around you laugh. 

It made him think about his wife -his ex wife now- the last time they made love, when she bit her lips to hold back a moan, as if afraid someone might hear. He wondered what noises you would make if you were on top of him, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrust up into your tight pussy. 

Would you call out his name? Moan like a whore? Would you beg him to go harder? Deeper? Or would you be shy, too embarrassed to ask for what you really wanted, forcing him to take what he wants, making you take it?

He shook his head and knocked back the rest of his whiskey, trying to clear his mind. You were far too young, far too innocent... Nanami looked away... He had no right to feel this way about a female he didn't know, a girl that had her whole life ahead of her.

You ordered something sweet and fruity while he nursed his drink, watching the way you tucked your hair behind your ear. And then, your eyes met his.

He doesn't remember buying you drinks. Doesn't remember the conversation that led to your hand on his thigh, your breath wine-sweet against his ear as you whispered, "I know somewhere quiet."

But he remembers his Lexus. God, he'll never forget the damn Lexus. 

"Fuck-" The word tears from his throat as you sink down onto him, your tight cunt splitty open around his cock like you were made for this moment. The leather seats creak beneath you both, divorce papers scattered on the floor like confetti celebrating his rebirth.

You were so goddamn young, so wet, so eager- everything his ex wife hadn't been in years, and my god... You're so fucking tight it hurts, and he's so fucking thick you can barely breathe around the stretch. Your sundress is hiked up around your waist, his hands fisted in the fabric and your hair- his wedding ring catching strands as he holds you against his body.

"You- mph - you're going to ruin me," His hips jerk up involuntarily, "aren't you?" driving deeper, and you cry out like he's hitting some spot inside of you that only a man like him can reach. He's massive- way more massive than you initially thought, thick enough that your eyes water, that your cunt burns trying to stretch around him. The head of his cock forcing your walls apart, claiming every inch as you slowly take him to the base. 

Nanami can feel you trying to adjust to his size, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each bounce as you babble incoherently- "S'too-m'fuckfuckfuck-sh'too big!!" tears leaking from your eyes, "don' ev-even know -hah - your n-name!"

His name is Nanami, but that doesn't matter... He felt how your pussy clenched at your words. You were getting off on the wrongness of the situation, just like he was. The depravity of it- this older man using your young body, his wedding ring cool against your skin. 

You don't know him, don't care who he is, and that makes this all the more exciting.

His lips crash against yours, swallowing every little noise you make as he ruts up into your heat, the windows fogging up, the car shaking with the force of his thrusts.

"S'doesn't matter," is all he says, his voice low, husky while his one hand guides your hips in a rhythm that makes his vision blur.

The condom stretches tight around him, already straining from how hard he is, how deep he's buried inside your young cunt. He can feel your orgasm building in the tremor of your thighs, the way your breath comes in desperate little gasps.

When you come, you scream. Actually scream, head thrown back like a religious experience, and your pussy clamps down so hard he sees stars. The sensation drags out his own climax, his hips lifting clean off the seat as he empties himself into the latex barrier. 

The condom swells inside you, and you whimper at the added pressure, grinding down like you want to milk every last drop from him. Your cunt spasms around the intrusion, wringing another orgasm from your oversensitive nerves.

Afterward, you collapse against his chest, both of you breathing like survivors... His wedding ring still tangled in your hair... 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It happens again a week later. Then again. And again.

Always his car. Always that same desperate hunger, like he’s trying to fuck the loneliness out of himself. You learn to take him easier, your body adapting to his size, but he never gets used to how perfectly you fit around him.

"Missed this," he groans against your neck as he bends you over in the backseat, your sundress -a different one, pink this time- bunched around your waist, pink lace panties ripped and tossed in the front seat, "Thought about you all week."

His cock twitches inside you, and the way his hands grip your waist possessively, you believe him.

You feel his breath hitch when you start to move against him, grinding your hips back against his, feeling him so deep you could choke on it, the head of his cock pressing so hard- nestled against the opening of your womb. You swear if you looked down you’d see a perfect outline of it stretching out your stomach.

With a cock-drunk smile you can't help but imagine him coming inside you, painting the deepest part of you with his seed. "Mmn, missed this, too, Nanami-san~" you gasp sweetly, the confession falling from your lips before you could stop yourself.

He wants to say more, his tongue heavy with words unspoken- "missed you", "you're beautiful", "god, I can't get enough of you"… He always wants to say more.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he fucks you like he owns you, like your young cunt exists solely for his pleasure.

He never gives you his number, never takes you anywhere but his car, and when he pulls out, the condom is always filled to the brim with his cum- stretched obscenely with your arousal coating the outside.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Three weeks later after he's fucked you stupid in his car, he asks you, "Come home with me tonight." The words are quiet, almost uncertain.

You look up at him from where you’re starting to doze off against his chest, "Your place?"

"My place." His fingers trace patterns on your bare shoulder, "Stay the night."

His apartment is exactly what you’d expected- minimalist, expensive, cold. But his bed is warm, and he fucks you properly there, taking his time to explore your body, to discover the things that made those pretty lashes flutter, those gorgeous lips moan his name., "K-Kento~♡!"

He’s so gentle, so slow, making you come so many times that by the time you finally pass out, the sheets were soaked, his cock still buried deep inside with a condom so full of cum, it nearly split at the seams.

That night Nanami watches you sleep, the way your hair fans out around your face, the little snores escaping your parted lips. He brushes a lock of hair from your cheek, a sudden ache in his chest as he sighs, "What am I doing?" This was wrong, "I'm too old for you," he mumbles, pressing his forehead against yours while gathering you in his arms, "This can't be a long-term thing…"

His voice trails off, the warmth of your body against his pulling him under.

"This can't be a long-term thing," he repeats the words in his dreams, and it sounds like a lie.

In the morning, he makes coffee and breakfast… Actual pancakes, not the instant kind from your dorm.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It becomes routine. Your toothbrush joins his, the spare pajamas in his drawer are yours, and his apartment begins to smell like flowers and the perfume you wear. He drops you off at lectures, picks you up after. Pays for textbooks without blinking. Watches you study at his kitchen table while he cooks dinner, domestic in a way that terrifies him.

Nanami even learns your coffee order at Starbucks- extra vanilla syrup, always, because you're still young and believe sweetness won't hurt you. When the barista flirts with you, his jaw tightens, the way his hand tightens around his own cup. You thought at first that it was just anger, irritation at the line, but-

"Jealous?" You ask as the two of you exit the store, sipping your drinks.

"Why would I be jealous?" He responds coolly, even though his heart is hammering. He keeps trying to tell himself that this isn't an exclusive thing, even if he does call you his pretty girl while you bounce on his cock. It isn't exclusive… even though he bought a new bed to accommodate both of you. A king sized bed, the most comfortable one in the store, because his favorite thing is watching you fall apart beneath him, above him, against him… falling asleep with your scent in his lungs, waking up to your sleepy smile…

You're free to date whoever you want… but the thought makes his stomach churn…

"Beeeecause~ the cute barista was totally hitting on me," You grin, "He even gave me his number on the napkin."

"Oh?" His tone is disinterested, but his jaw ticks, and there's something dark in his eyes when he looks at you.

"Yeah, see," You show him the napkin, and sure enough, the guy had wrote his name and phone number, and-

Nanami stops.

The napkin even has a little note scribbled at the bottom, a flirtatious one saying, Call Me Anytime Cutie ;).

And that's when Nanami snaps.

He drags you back to his car, his grip bruising, and when you look up at him with those big eyes, lashes fluttering innocently… the idea that someone else might touch you like this, might hear the noises you make when you're close, might get to see the look on your face when you come undone, and god, the way you say his name…

Fuck.

He doesn't want to share.

He's become possessive.

And that afternoon he proves it. Has you bent over the hood of his car in the parking garage, splitting you open with his cock while he growls about who you belong to. Your pussy gripping him like a vice, your juices running down the car and dripping onto the cement below as he fucks you harder than he ever has- condom threatening to split around his cock with every thrust.

"Y-Yes!!!~♡," you sob, because it's true. Because somewhere between the first time he made you come and now, you became his completely.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

One morning Nanami comes home after his run, a rare day off, and finds you sitting at his table in the kitchen, dressed only in his button-up, the one he wore to work the day before. Yout hair is still sleep mussed, your favorite mug of his in your hand, and its like his breath leaves him, his heart hammering against his ribs, because for the first time in a long time… Nanami Kento is happy.

He loves you…

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck… This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to be here like this- wife like and wearing his shirt. Greeting him each night he comes home late… 

Shit…

Nanami Kento was completely and utterly in love with you.

The realization hits him like a truck, and his mouth at that moment goes dry.

As you turn to him, eyes still sleepy, he also realizes he wants to memorize this moment, to preserve it forever- the early morning sun casting a beautiful glow on your skin, the soft curve of your bare shoulder. 

"Mornin', Kento," you smile at him, and he can’t take it anymore. He can’t hide this from you any longer. 

"Come here," 

"Mm? What's up?"

"Just-" He can’t speak, not properly, so he grabs your wrist in the most gentle way he can manage and tugs you from your seat, pressing you flush against his body, his hand finding your cheek, thumb tracing your lower lip.

"K-Kento, what are y-"

"I love you."

Your eyes widen, lips parting, and for a second he’s terrified. Worried that this will change everything, and then- 

"I-I love you, too. I just-" You look away for a moment, the sweetest blush spreading across your face- your smile the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, "I just didn’t know how you would- I didn’t want to scare you away…" 

God, you could never scare him away. Never. And a part of him hated himself for ever making you feel that way. That the only reason you didn't tell him is because you thought it would drive him away. 

"I love you," he breathes again, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head, his forehead pressing against yours, "So much. You could never scare me away, darling."

The kiss that followed was everything he's ever wanted. Soft, sweet and loving- everything a first kiss should be, and when the two of you part, he whispers your name against your lips, as if trying to reassure himself that this was real.

That night he takes you in his arms, carrying you up to the king size bed so that he can show you just how much he loves you. To show you just how serious he is about you. 

"No condom tonight," he whispers in your ear, his arms wrapped around you, your legs wrapped around his waist as he pulls back to look at your face. 

"Mn," You nod, "Sounds fun~, but you know I’m-"

"I know… You're not on the pill," he interrupts, the corners of his mouth quirking up, "but we'll just have to deal with the consequences, won't we?"

The consequences… 

He’s never sounded so happy about anything. 

"I want to feel you," he breathes, rolling his hips, slowly, deeply, tenderly as he nudges against your entrance, "want to fill you up properly… Make you really mine," he kisses your cheek, "Make a family."

"Ahhn~♡," the moan that is drawn from your lips as his cock sinks into was music to his ears. No latex, no barrier between your bodies, just thick, bare cock spreading you open. It was indescribable- the way he filled you up, the heat of his length, every vein and ridge rubbing deliciously along the sensitive walls of your pussy. 

"God, you're perfect," he groans, and when his cock kisses your womb, his hips twitch involuntarily. The thought of his seed flooding your deepest parts was far too alluring- painting your walls white, coating the entrance of your womb, the image of your belly round and heavy with his child making his cock throb inside of you.

"Please~♡" gasping as he fills you completely- not just with his cock, but with the promise of something more permanent. 

He cums inside you that night, and every night after, marking you as his in the most intimate way possible. 

This started with divorce papers and whiskey, but it had become something else entirely. Something that tastes like forever and feels like coming home.

Prt 2. │˚₊‧꒰ა. 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚