nanami-about you i surrender-kento! pregnant x reader āø(ļ½”Ė įµ Ė )āøā”
the home your husband had built for you was quiet, with the smell of the coffee nanami had made and let go cold beside the couch because heād forgotten it the moment youād fallen asleep against his shoulder.
you were eight months along, and somewhere in the last few weeks kento had become someone who could sit motionless for an hour just to avoid waking you. (he is very strict when it comes to you getting your beauty sleep)
he looked down. your head had slipped from his shoulder to his lap at some point, and your shirt had ridden up over the round swell of your belly, bared to the lamplight. he watched it rise and fall with your breathing. sometimes, if he was patient, heād catch a small ripple beneath your skin, an elbow, a heel, something of the two of you deciding to stretch.
heād never tell you this, because it embarrassed him even in the privacy of his own head, but he thought your belly was the most beautiful thing he had ever been allowed to touch. if he had to tell you, he would describe it as something beautiful the way something sacred was, quiet, warm, entrusted to him.
his eyes drifted to the little tin on the side table, -youād bought it weeks ago on a whim- belly paint, safe for skin, safe for baby, made for exactly this kind of nonsense, joking that he should paint you a masterpiece sometime. heād laughed then, politely declined with
āiām not an artist, loveā
he looked at the tin. then at you, deep asleep, utterly trusting, utterly unaware.
now, nanami didnāt usually act on impulse. but some things, heād learned, were worth the exception.
he worked slowly, barely breathing, the brush light as a whisper against your skin so it wouldnāt wake you. he started with indigo along the top curve, blending down into something softer, dusk-colored, and then he let himself get carried away. small strokes of gold for stars, a pale crescent moon just above your navel, a few careless swipes that might have have been clouds if you were generous about it. it wasnāt perfect. his lines wavered where his hand wasnāt used to this kind of work. but he kept going, painting an entire sky across the place where his child was sleeping, because some part of him wanted them to have one before theyād even see the real thing.
he was cleaning gold paint from his thumb when you stirred.
āā¦ kento?ā your voice was rough with sleep. you blinked down at yourself, and went still.
a whole night sky looked back up at you. stars scattered like heād flicked them there by hand. a moon slightly off center, slightly imperfect, painted by a man who had never once called himself an artist.
āyou painted the sky on meā you said, with a smile and a laugh stuck on your throat. maybe even a lil cry
āI did.ā he didnāt look sorry at all. he set the brush down and rested his hand, bare and careful, over the curve of your stomach, right beside the little painted moon.
he was quiet for a moment, thumb tracing slow along your skin, and when he answered, his voice sounded so honest and soft. which you were used to cause duh, youāre his wife the only person he needs in every lifetime, but this time it just felt a littlee more softer.
ābecause iāve spent my whole life looking up at it and thinking it was the most beautiful thing iād ever seeā he said. āand then i met you. and now our child is going to grow up looking at you the same way i do. as if you were the whole sky, and everything worth wishing on is already living inside you.ā
you didnāt trust your voice enough for it to not break if you decided to say something right away.
he leaned down, pressed a kiss to the crescent moon over your navel. nowhere else in the world where he needed to be.
āi just wanted them to have their own sky before they got here,ā he murmured against your skin. āsomething to sleep underā
outside, the real sky had gone fully dark, stars finally out. but you didnāt look at it. you looked at him instead. at the quiet man who carefully spent an hour painting galaxies onto your skin just so a child who hasnāt even arrived yet, would never have to wonder if they were wanted.
āi love youā you whispered. āso so so much it terrifies meā
nanami smiled, resting his forehead against yours. āgood.ā he said āterrify me back for the rest of our livesā āĖā¹ā”ā
ā½^ā¢ā©ā¢^ā¼: while listening to that song i couldnāt stop thinking nanami would dedicate that song to his wife omfg
gummygunk
dailybridgerton
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2087
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