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Posted before, but my Nanami/Bakery Girl fanfic is finally complete (all three chapters have been uploaded!) I’m boosting it again for those who are interested in reading and for stans of the ship (we are small but mighty!) I’ve added graphics/visuals to this post so you can get a feel for the fic’s vibe.
Summary: Nanami Kento walks into the bakery, and when you meet his eyes, you think—oh. So this is what it means to fall in love at first sight.
Rating: M (for language + some spicy [but not explicit] scenes)
tags: CHAPTER 120+ SPOILERS (DO NOT read if you haven’t finished shibuya arc!), Nanami Kento/Bakery Girl, Nanami Kento/Reader, you’re bakery girl, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, Romantic Angst, Post-Shibuya Arc
a/n: hi everyone there is a lack of nanami/bakery girl fics so i decided to write one. it’s nanami/reader except YOU are bakery girl! another thing that pushed me to write this was when someone said “she’s probably still waiting for nanami at the bakery.” my heart, ahhhh.
preview of the fic, my personal favorite part :)
Nanami wonders what it would be like to make a home with you: to wake up to the smell of fresh bread baking in your oven and the distant clinking of plates as you set up breakfast for the day. To have the sleep kissed away by the softness of your lips, his face fitting perfectly in those delicate hands of yours. Buying groceries and cooking dinner together, or him visiting you hard at work just to see you smile. To have more dances under the yellowed kitchen bulb, which he’ll promise to replace, but for now it’s a shoddy substitute for starlight (even though he sees it in the twinkle of your eyes.)
The song ends, and you’re back to instructing him on how to make the pastries. You’re rambling on,unaware that his mind is drifting off. He’s still paying attention, of course, but not fully to your words. Beautiful, he carves this moment into the back of his mind, so beautiful.
Nanami watches you work away, baking appliances strewn across the grey counter as your hands diligently knead dough beneath you. You have a glint of determination in those eyes of yours, and it sends a searing feeling into his chest, the way you’re so focused and content, caring and free. He admits to himself that he could stare at you for hours as you perform such a plain little task: as long as he’s by your side.
This is when he thinks he might love you.
But then you look up at him, wearing nothing but his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a messy apron on top. There’s flour on your cheeks and nose, strands of hair falling from your loose ponytail. For a minute, the white powder dusted on your face bleeds away into pink as you catch his gaze, and then your lips turn up into a smile, beaming warmly like a hearth in a home. You feel like home. You are home.
And this—this is when he knows.
