Wicked Games
Pairing: Exhusband!Kento x Exwife!reader
Content: Waking up tangled in hotel sheets with your ex-husband Nanami Kento was never part of the plan—especially not three months after finalizing the divorce papers. One disastrous high school reunion, too many drinks, and the man you’d sworn to avoid—the same blond you fell for back then, married after college, and left three years later—is suddenly back in your bed, and in your life, whether you like it or not.
Warning/s: MDNI, implications of sex (not explicit
Wc: 2571
Dust motes float in the morning light slanting through the half-closed curtains of the hotel room. The room is quiet, save for the occasional car honk that always manages to pull you from sleep on weekdays.
It was a Friday night when Shoko decided to drag you out of your apartment to attend your high school reunion in a hotel banquet hall, knowing that a certain someone was probably going to attend.
Alas, you reluctantly agreed, giving in to how persuasive Shoko can be as she shoved you toward your closet and pulled out one of your skimpy dresses.
“Come on, it’s not like he’ll be there. Have you ever known him to attend an actual party?” she insisted, practically pushing you into the closet to change.
She’s right, you thought, changing while trying to reassure yourself. “Let’s not be some pathetic divorcee.”
Turns out she was wrong.
Standing over in the far right corner was the blond you’d been desperately avoiding, casually conversing with some people, like he hadn’t been living rent-free in your head.
Apparently, Gojo had forced him out of his den, too.
Now, the memory almost feels like the biggest betrayal the universe ever did to you until this day.
You’re dragged from dreamland by an annoyingly loud snore. You wince as consciousness claws its way back in.
Blinking your eyes open, you’re met with the sight of an incredibly large chest just centimeters away from your face—your cheek pressed against it, your arm draped loosely around a solid waist.
You realize a hand has been thrown over your shoulders in return. “What the—?” you mumble groggily, scrambling away and tipping your head up to look.
You bolt upright, almost letting out a scream as you do so, when you finally see who’s beside you: your ex-husband, Kento Nanami.
“Oh shit.”
You realized you were naked as you looked down, your tits on display. You scrambled for the sheets, pulling them up to your chest as your head and lower back began to ache.
Your head snapped toward the man beside you as he shifted in his sleep, hugging the pillow and turning enough to reveal his face and the bare planes of his back. The skin there was marked with scratches, and a couple of dark purple bruises mottled the side of his neck.
You snapped back to your nakedness and wished the floor would open and swallow you whole.
“fuuuck,” you muttered.
Oh, you are fucked, alright.
Emotionally, mentally, and physically.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure that part out.
You glanced around the room you were in. Clothes were on the floor, an unfamiliar painting of flowers hung across the bed, and a white couch sat just below it, concluding you were in a hotel, not his house, judging by the way the place was designed.
You’ve known him long enough that he wouldn’t hang such a piece of crap in his place—okay, enough thinking, more escaping.
You needed to get out of there. Fast.
Slowly, careful not to make a sound, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and tried your best to tiptoe toward the bathroom, but your legs wouldn’t stop shaking.
On your way, you gathered your clothes and the pair of heels strewn across the floor, fingers fumbling more than you wanted to admit.
You paused, eyes scanning the carpet.
Right.
The stupid thong Shoko had bullied you into wearing. You crouched, looking under the edge of the bed, by the nightstand, anywhere it could have flown off to, but it was nowhere to be seen.
Of course, you thought bitterly. Trust Shoko to shove you into the tiniest scrap of fabric on a night that already went to hell. You quietly cursed her out in your head, heat creeping up your neck the longer you searched.
After another fruitless glance around the room, you gave up with a frustrated sigh and clutched your clothes tighter to your chest, heading straight for the bathroom instead, your heart thudding harder in your throat as the moment sank in.
You closed the bathroom door with as little noise as you could. Your reflection caught you first.
From your neck down to the curves of your breasts, your skin was covered in dark purple love marks, and a raging red bite mark sat right there on the right side of your collarbone. Your head pounded as fragments of last night skittered back into focus.
You were with Shoko and a few close high-school friends. Bottles and gossip were passed around as glasses were emptied, a blur that ended when you blacked out.
Still, none of it explained why you’d woken up naked under the sheets beside your ex-husband in a hotel room, no less.
For fuck’s sake, it hadn’t even been a year since the divorce papers were filed.
You let out a long sigh, pressing your fingers to your temple in a vain attempt to quiet the hangover. “I look like shit,” you whispered to your reflection. Dark mascara ran down your cheek, and lipstick was smudged along the edges of your lips, while your hair looked like a freaking bird’s nest.
After a few minutes, you slipped out of the bathroom after you’d washed the worst of your makeup away; fingers poorly combed your hair down. Heels were held in one hand, while your skirt was clenched in the other. You froze, staring at the bed, which wasn’t supposed to be empty.
Your stomach dropped. “shit!” grumbling to yourself. Your eyes dropped to the button up shirt, neatly folded on the edge of the bed. He’s still here.
Running a hand down your face, you scanned the room for another exit or a room to hide in until his surely gone.
Up until the smell of coffee reached you, and the faint clinking of cups, punctuated by a low string of curses. Before you knew it, your feet moved you down the hallway toward the sound.
In the kitchen stood Nanami Kento—bane of your existence—wearing a rumpled white shirt and his usual work pants. He froze when he saw you, hand mid-sip of his coffee, shock written across his face as clearly as the morning light cutting across the counter.
You stopped dead at the end of the hall, mirroring him, stomach twisting as you stared back with the same wide-eyed, stunned expression.
A strange heaviness settles in your stomach when you remember.
The first night you shared in each other's embrace, the morning after, he looked at you just like this. Although his surprise softened into what looks like love, and he was smiling.
“Afterglow suits you, my love,” you remember him saying as he handed you a cup of coffee, made just the way you liked it.
You snapped back into reality, “I-,” you managed to voice out, the words dying out as you crumbled internally under his gaze.
The room settled into an awkward silence, making you more aware of your disheveled appearance. Clutching your skirt tighter in your hands as you took a step back.
He averted his gaze away from you, face relaxing into one of his colder expressions, and he cleared his throat.
You kept your eyes on him, watching him pour coffee into one of the cups, mixing in a spoon of sugar and a good amount of milk.
“I thought you left already. Coffee?” he held his cup out to you.
Is this what they call Déjà vu?
He must’ve hit his head too last night, you thought.
No, you know better than that. You know him well enough to know he can stay calm even in the midst of the craziest moments. Hell, a man could point a gun at him, and he wouldn’t even bat an eye. So him offering coffee right now wouldn’t surprise you.
Looking back, that trait of his also pissed you off a lot of times when you were together. Dismissing arguments as something pitiful and not worth his attention.
“I was in the bathroom,” you mumbled, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “I- I should g-”
“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, placing the coffee on the countertop.
Now that shook you. The word hangs in the air, heavier than the smell of brewed coffee.
“What?” you mumbled, eyes widening as you looked at him.
“I was drunk last night.” He exhaled, fingers curling harder on the mug. “I should have known my limits. I only wanted to take you to a room after you got drunk, seeing as your friends were too passed out to do so, and everybody else was going home already. I guess one thing led to another after I carried you here. I apologize for that.”
You looked at him, catching the way his gaze didn’t waver, sincerity clear in his eyes.
You let out a shaky sigh, running a hand through your hair as you tried to steady yourself.
“You shouldn’t take all the blame.” You stared down at the floor for a second, then forced yourself to meet his eyes again. “As you said, I was wasted, so I guess I was also to blame for… whatever happened last night.” Heat crept up your neck and cheeks as blurry flashes from last night began to push their way back into your mind.
Silence enveloped the room once again, settling between you like a thick curtain. The faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant sounds from the hallway suddenly felt too loud.
“You should take a seat,” he said after a moment, clearing his throat. “I called for room service just a while ago. Breakfast should be coming up soon.”
“Oh no, I should go Nanami—” you started, taking a step back.
“Sit down, Y/N. and I’d prefer it if you call me Kento. We’re divorced, not strangers,” he cut in, his voice stern but not quite harsh.
You paused, lips pressing into a line. You remembered how he could be so annoying at times, always pushing, always stubborn—but hell, you loved that about him, when you were married, of course.
“Fine, Kento.” You moved toward the chair, shoulders dropping in reluctant surrender.
“I also asked for some bandages and some headache medicine you could use,” he said, lifting his cup and taking a slow sip of his coffee, eyes flicking away from you.
“Thanks...wait-bandages?” you asked, still frozen where you were standing instead of actually sitting down.
“...y-your neck,” he mumbled, gaze darting briefly to your skin before he looked away again, his face turning red.
It takes you a moment to realize what he means. The bite mark and the dark purple spots blooming along your neck are definitely on display, and your plunging neckline isn’t exactly helping to hide them.
“Oh. Okay, now I need the coffee.” You stepped forward quickly, using the movement as an excuse to escape the growing embarrassment, and took the cup from the countertop.
“Sorry,” he said again, voice smaller this time, embarrassment still coloring his cheeks.
“It’s fine, we were both drunk after all. Well, you should see your back tho,” you replied, gulping down the coffee.
He choked on his drink, coughing as he thumped a fist lightly against his chest. “My—”
A sharp knock cut him off.
He blinked, clearing his throat, eyes snapping toward the door. “I should get that,” he muttered, setting his cup down a little too quickly.
You only hummed in response, the sound low and noncommittal as you stared into your mug.
He walked over and opened the door, fully expecting to see a cart of food.
Instead, it was Shoko.
“Hm? Nanami?” she asked, brows lifting. “I was sure this was where they told me y/n were in.”
Kento’s face went pale. For a split second, he remembered handing over his card at the reception last night, asking the clerk to put the room under your name—just in case Shoko came looking for you. Now, that backfired quickly.
From inside, you heard the murmur of voices at the doorway. You couldn’t make out the words at first, but the casual chitchat was enough to jolt you.
What am I doing? you thought, stomach twisting.
Sitting here, calmly drinking coffee and waiting for breakfast with your ex-husband of three months. That alone didn’t sit right with you—and the fact that you had sex with him last night made your chest feel even tighter.
None of this was supposed to happen, not after everything.
From where you sat, you pushed yourself to your feet, legs still feeling a little unsteady.
You hate go admit but it’s not like it's your first time feeling like this, though.
Back when you were still together, every morning after making love with him, you’d wake up sore from head to toe. That alone said enough about how good he was in bed—no cause that would be an understatement, he was a god in bed.
Hell, did he know how to make a woman walk side to side.
You walked toward the door where Nanami still stood, the voices getting clearer with every step, but you barely processed them—you were too busy cursing yourself out in your head for even thinking such thoughts.
“Hey Kento, I should go—” you started, lifting a hand to cup the back of your neck as you approached.
“I was sure 120 was the room the receptionist told me where Y/N’s is —” Shoko was saying, and then her gaze slid past Nanami. “Y/N?”
You froze mid-step.
The brown-haired woman stared right at you from the doorway, eyes quickly sweeping over your appearance, like a doctor assessing a patient—hair a mess, last night’s clothes still clinging to your frame, and the marks scattered along your neck down to your chest.
The saxophones are getting louder in her head by the second as she looks you up and down.
“Ohhhh I see,” she drawled, a slow grin spreading across her face as her eyes flicked back to Nanami. She took in his appearance too, her gaze lingering on the bright marks crawling up his neck from beneath his collar, as far as she could see.
You and Nanami stayed rooted to the spot, both of you caught like deer in headlights.
“I’ll come back later then. You guys continue whatever you were doing,” Shoko said lightly, grin widening as she reached for the door, clearly amused.
“wait, Shoko—” Nanami started, finally snapping out of it, reaching out a hand.
But the door clicked shut before he could finish.
The room fell silent once again.
You stared at the closed door, your grip tightening on the hem of your skirt. This was exactly why you should've left the moment you woke up.
Better yet, this is exactly why you should’ve never attended the fucking party.
Now Shoko knew. And if she runs her fucking mouth to Gojo— which she definitely would, everyone else eventually would too.
Worse, standing here with Kento felt far too familiar. The awkward apologies, the shared coffee, the quiet domesticity that used to be second nature. For a fleeting second, it almost felt like you were living the merry days of your marriage again.
That realization hit harder than the hangover.
You glanced at him, only to find him already looking your way. The moment your eyes met, both of you looked away just as quickly.
This can't be happening, you both thought.
